#cause god how boring is it to have another lame ass white guy being the villain | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

cvtqr · 3 years

Text

we only have 15 minutes, sugar

pairings; eren jaeger x reader

content warning; mentions of past jean x reader, oral sex, masturbation, recording, manhandling?

february 19th

you always found eren jaeger attractive, especially tonight at this party. his long hair thrown up into a messy bun, his white shirt with water split on it - making it see through. god you were about to start counting his abs. but who you were really here for? jean. you guys weren’t in a relationship or anything, just friends who liked to help eachother. it started off when you guys would go to eachother for advice or he would find himself in your dorm room ranting to you. just helping eachother with little problems of course. that doesn’t mean sucking his dick was that much of a stretch from it, right?

anyways jean was in a frat house, along side eren. they were throwing a party, and somehow jean convinced you to stop by. you didn’t know if you were regretting it or not. jean was no where to be seen so you just sat yourself on the kitchen counter drinking some punch you found in a bowl. you were admiring eren from a far, remembering all the bad things jean had said about him. how he just annoys the living shit out of him. but god, how attractive he was. you could’ve sworn you looked down at your phone for not even a minute when you heard someone clear their voice right in front of you. you looked up to be met with eren.

“uh hi?”

“hey hey! erm- y/n. we had physics last semester together. eren, eren yeager.”

yeah, i already know your name

“oh hi!”

“my friend reiner over there says he knows ‘ya too. wanna come play truth or dare with us in the backyard hm?”

slipping your phone into the pocket of your shorts, you jumped off the counter, centimeters away from eren.

he let out a low chuckle, placing his hands on the counter, trapping you inbetween the granite and himself. he looked you right in the eye before reaching one of his hands back to grab a chip in the bowl behind where you were sitting. your breathing shakened a bit and you rolled your eyes at him, looking down.

he let out another chuckle before grabbing your chin and tilting it up, forcing you to look at him. “no need to roll your eyes sugar. if you were expectin-wanting something else, just say it. i’m not a mind reader baby.” he gave you a little wink before letting you go and backing up.

“i erm- i gotta pee i’ll meet you guys outside.”

he gave you a small head pat before running towards the back door.

right when you turned around to head to the bathroom you crashed right into jean, stumbling back a bit.

“oh hey jean!”

he sent you a blunt hey and started walking to the back door with an annoyed look on his face.

tch, what’s his problem.

your little bathroom excuse wasn’t actually an exuse, the amount of punch you were drinking finally caught up to you. right after you sat down your two best friends since birth, sasha and connie came bursting through the door, hysterically cracking up.

“YOO IM TRYING TO PISS.”

ignoring your comment they both collapsed onto the counter laughing their asses off.

you lightly smacked sasha on the back of her head, since she was the laughing the closest to you. “i swear if one of you idiots don’t tell me what the problem is-”

“YOUR BOYFRIENDS ARE OUTSITE FIGHTING OVER YOU-” connie said between laughs practically screaming.

“my who?”

“JEAN AND EREN. I-I ASKED FLOCH WHY THEY WERE FIGHTING AND THEY SAID IT WAS BECAUSE OF YOU AND HOW JEAN IS ALWAYS TALKING ABOUT HOW YOU ARE SO GOOD AT SU-”

“GOD SASHA YOU DONT HAVE TO TELL HER THAT PART”

“CAN YOU GUYS STOP SCREAMING!”

“SORRY, sorry y/n. apparently jean saw you and eren in the kitchen and well, tried beating eren up.”

letting out a sigh you pulled up your pants and ran out of the bathroom.

running outside you found jean knocked out in the arms of marco and eren standing up, wiping some blood out of the corner of his mouth while winking at you. walking right up to him you slapped him right across the face.

he let out a deep, long chuckle.

“i need to talk to you.”

“lead the way sugar.”

you grabbed his arm and pulled him inside while feeling every single pair of eyes on you.

“where’s your room.”

“if you wanted to get me in bed you could’ve just asked baby.”

god can anyone be that full of themselves

“no - no. i don-”

“i’m just joking sugar. follow me.”

he grabbed your hand and led you up into his room, closing the door behind him.

“what the hell was that all about.”

“for the record he started it. he got jealous for no reason and i wasn’t going to let him use me and his rag doll. and you shouldn’t be with someone like jean anyway. you should hear the way he brags about you being his bitch whenever the house is hanging out.” eren plopped down onto his bed

with that you didn’t know who to be mad at this point. he patted his lap signaling you to come over and sit on it. ignoring him you rolled your eyes and sat down next to him, causing him to chuckle again.

“you should clean your wounds that looks pretty deep on your cheek. and take a shower you smell like dirt and grass.”

he got up and headed over to his bathroom door. leaning on the door frame he turned back around.

“only if you stay.”

“hmph, i’ll think about it.”

15 minutes later eren walked out of the bathroom. you were no where to be found. he did know that he’d get back to you one day, considering you left your phone number on a gum wrapper in place of where you were sitting.

february 26

friday strolled around as quick as ever. this week you talked to eren a few times. he texted you on sunday night to have a good week. sicne he was being nice you replied with a “you too:’)”

after that he texted you yesterday afternoon asking if you wanted to come to another party. you never responded, and now it’s friday, 2:05. you just finished all your classes, and you’d be lying if you said you had anything else to do. well except for the pile of homework you usually wait until sunday to do.

sighing you texted him back saying you already had plans and wouldn’t be able to make it. after that you decided to take a short nap. what you thought would be a short nap turned into you sleeping until 6:30. you figured you should get up and get some dinner. you decided to grub hub some taco bell and eat it in the dinning hall. after getting your food you sat down in the corner of the room. it was pretty empty since it was pretty late for dinner.

“ouch, i’m offended.”

you turned around at the familiar voice

“even jean could convince you to come out but i get some lame exuse.”

“it, it wasn’t an exuse. i do have plans.”

“yeah with yourself.” he pulled over a nearby chair and sat next to you.

“i ditched the party, it was pretty boring.”

“so you came to bother me?” you said while still stuffing your face with your food

“yeah pretty much, you wanna hangout?”

“i mean do i really have a choice?”

he leaned over and grabbed one of your nachos, shoving it in his face.

“no not really sugar.”

rolling your eyes you threw out your garbage and led him to your dorm room. since it wasn't that far of a walk, neither of you said anything on the way there. he just simply followed you.

once you got into your room you shut the door behind you.

“if you’re sitting on my bed then shoes off.”

“demanding” he said while slipping his shoes off and plopping onto your bed

“soo..” he said as you sat down next to him.

“wanna watch a movie or something? i see you have a tv in here.”

“sure, let me just fix my blankets so get up.”

he nodded and chuckled, getting up. you pulled down your comforter so there was room to get in, and threw all your blankets into the corner before grabbing your remote and slipping into your bed.

“is this an invitation to come lay with you under your blankets.”

“shut the light.” you said while pressing power on the remote.

the last thing you remember from that night was cracking up with eren over some stupid movie the two of you put on. before you knew it you woke up with a tight grip around your waist. you look over to see eren, still sound asleep. he was so pretty. you figured the two of you just fell asleep while watching movies yesterday. moments like these you were grateful your roommate was on back at home for family issues.

you tried slipping out of his grip before he pulled you back in and groaned. he was still sleeping so you figured you weren't getting up anytime soon, so you closed your eyes and drifted off back to sleep. you woke up about two hours later to find no eren, but a note.

forgot i have to work on a project with floch. i had fun last night, lets do it again soon :)

you were in a good mood the rest of the day.

may 15

its almost been four months since you've met eren. you also cut off your contact with jean. he was a good fuck while it lasted. over the last four months you and eren got closer than ever. hanging out almost everyday, going to parties together, falling asleep cuddling every weekend, you name it. yet again, friday came around. instead of cuddling, you and eren decided to go to a party at some sorority house.

three hours later you were sitting in a circle with a bunch of people you recognized / were friends with. you were all playing a game of truth or dare, cracking up at each other. everyone’s secrets were coming out and people were doing some crazy things. and the list of things we had to do on campus was piling up. for example, connie has to pull a prank on professor ackerman during class on monday. until it was sasha’s time to ask you.

“hmmm. OH Y?N! truth or dare babes!”

you really had to think this one over. sasha had the power of exposing every single one of your secrets if you picked truth, but she's also kind of crazy so who knows what she would dare you to do. after a small debate in your head you went with dare.

“i pick dare.”

“alright! hmmMMM. i dare you to go into an empty room with eren for 15 minutes.”

you felt the heat rush up to your cheeks when you stood up and stretched your arm out for eren to grab.

you both left the living room and headed up to a room while hearing the small, faint giggles from your friends.

entering the room eren shut and locked the door behind the two of you.

“so.. what do you wanna do?”

“hmm. we only have 15 minutes, sugar.”

this is it. the moment you've been waiting for. you had eren right in front of you. just go up and kiss him already!

as you slowly walked up closer to him. he flipped the both of you, pinning you up against the wall.

“let me see if you taste as sweet as I've imagined, sugar. pleaseee you don't even want to know the amount of times I've fisted myself to the mere thought of it.”

you gave him a nod and that was all he needed to pull you off the wall and push you down onto the bed. pulling up your skirt and pulling down your panties, he grimly smirked.

“don't you dare cum without my permission.” was all he said before going between your legs and flicking his tongue onto your clit. your breathing quickly became heavy and irregular before he shoved two fingers, palm deep into your cunt.

“ahh~ f-fuck eren-” you blurted out while starting to move under his touch, slightly bucking your hips up.

that was until you felt a strong pair of hands hold your hips down.

“stop moving or i’ll stop.” he hissed out before going back down on you, eating you out more forcefully than before, brining you right to your climax.

“f-fuck eren i need to cum- please let me cum. pleaseee~”

“no.” he said while pulling his fingers out of you.

“the only place you’re cummin’ is on my cock. you hear me?”

you wiped away the slight tears forming in the corners of your eye while nodding.

“that's a good little girl.” eren said while smirking

he swiftly grabbed you and flipped you over onto all fours, while shoving your face into the mattress. your first reaction was to perk your ass up for him.

“well someones eager aren't they.” was all he said before pulling down his pants just enough for his fully hard cock to spring out. he could've came just to the feeling of eating you out.

he leaned down into your ear while whispering, “as sweet as sugar.” he started jacking off while still leaning down, before quickly cumming all over your ass.

did he just?

he pulled up his pants before getting up and heading up towards the door.

“well sugar, looks like our time is almost up. we should get back to the ga-” he was cut off by you running up to him and clinging right onto his shirt. practically crying you were blurting out small no’s.

“f-fuck the game, er - eren please just fuck me.” you were so desperate to the point where you were choking on your words.

“aw, i’m sorry baby i didn't mean to make you cry.” he said while stroking your hair and patting your head. “come suck me off in my car and maybe if you do a good job i'll take ya home and fuck you, yeah?

may 18

sitting in your first class of the morning you were bored out of your mind. getting some lecture from professor ackerman after connie drew all over his desk.

that was until you got a snapchat notification from eren. opening it you were oh so grateful you had your headphones in. it was a video of eren cumming all over his laptop with a video of him shoving his cock oh so deep into your pretty little cunt.

with the caption of missin’ the taste, sugar :’(

you’d be sure to pay him a visit during your lunch break.

#attack on titan #aot #attack on titan fic #attack on titan x reader #aot smut #aot fic #aot x reader #snk #snk x reader #snk smut #eren jaeger #eren yaegar #eren smut #eren x reder #eren jaeger x reader #eren jaeger smut #eren yaeger x reader #eren yaeger smut

496 notes · View notes

omg-im-such-a-masochist · 3 years

Text

⛽️ 🔥 FIRE AND GASOLINE 🔥⛽️ (PART 1?)

Prompt: Y/N’s life has changed drastically, precisely 10 years ago and all because of an adorable lunatic and two little maniacs. But what will happen when a divergency of thoughts leads Y/N and her lunatic to say some pretty harsh words, that they know they will regret it later?

Word count: Maybe too long?

Pairing: Jon Moxley (or even Dean Ambrose if that’s your liking) x Reader

Warnings: For now, just some cursing and angst

Notes: His time has finally arrived and I couldn’t be more nervous about it! This goes out to my sincerely unhealthy love for Jon Moxley and my mixed feelings about having kids (sounds like a good match right?). Y’all know the drill loves,sorry for misspellings,english isn’t my first language (bla bla bla),check out my other stories if you’d like to(it would make your girl here very happy 😊) and if you’re comfortable with it,please let me know what you think? Some feedback is always welcomed and appreciated ❤️You can check out my other stories typing ‘masochist writes’ on the search bar on my page and my newest story as a fixed post.Okay,now let’s get to the fun part,shall we? Hope you’ll enjoy 😉

A light smile formed on my lips as I watched through the kitchen sink window Atticus and Rosie play in the backyard as I did the dishes. I never thought that my life could change for the better with a 6 and 4 years old..and to think that I never thought of myself as the maternal type.

The plate I was rinsing off almost broke on the sink as my body jumped from fright, when a pair of hands embraced my hips

“Oh God, you almost gave me a heart attack! Are you crazy?”

“Not really, just a little lunatic..” He laughed “I’m sorry it wasn’t my intention to frighten you, but once I saw that ass kitten I lost my fucking mind! Just like I did 10 years ago...” His hands roamed on my hips until they reached my ass that he lightly slapped. “Did you miss me, cherry?” His lips glued on the nape of my neck

‘Cherry’ that lame ass nickname he gave me 10 years ago...and all because my cheeks go incredibly red when I blush or whenever the weather gets cold making a huge contrast against my pale skin.

“Of course I missed you! This house gets too boring without you in it” I lightly chuckled

“Is that the only reason why you missed me?” He grinds his bulge on my ass, as an insinuation to what he actually meant by that question

“Jon, the kids are outside...”

“I’m not doing anything, I’m just asking an innocent question kitten” He nibs my neck

I turn around to face him, placing my arms around his neck leaning in for a kiss. It started innocently, but Jon Moxley wouldn’t be Jon Moxley if things were kept innocent.

His hands reached the hem of my tank top, sliding in to meet my bare skin, he roams up til he finally founds what he was looking for.

“Fuck baby, I missed these” He whispers as he softly but firmly squeezes my breasts. As much as I would like to have some fun time with my husband it’s not ‘adult time’ yet, which meant the kids were still up. So no ‘dirty deeds’ for us just yet.

I took the little bit of sanity I still had and broke the kiss

“Jon, that’ll have to wait babe”

He sighs “C’mon Y/N is just a quickie kitten, the kids won’t even notice you’re not here..just a few pumps in, I swear!”

“The last time you wanted to give it just ‘a few pumps in’ I was birthing Rosie 9 months later” I reminded him

“So? We love each other, we’re an adult couple with a beautiful family and a lot of love to give” He nibs my bottom lip “What’s wrong with having another little maniac? I wouldn’t mind! We make some pretty fucking good looking kids, we should start practicing another one now” He vaguely said

Oh God not this again... This has been a pretty heated topic between Jon and I, he was always crazy about kids but I wasn’t very fondly of them. When I found out I was pregnant with Atticus I lost my mind! I wasn’t sure about the whole ‘mommy’ commitment for life thing, I didn’t even knew if I had one single bone of motherhood in me. That soon changed though when I first held Atticus on my arms, at that moment I knew my heart was sold to some stinky bum that would call me ‘mom’ for the rest of my life. Rosie was a surprise too, we haven’t even talked about the possibility of having another kid and I was already pregnant with her.

Right after that the baby factory was officially closed to me but not for Jon, he wanted at least two more kids and I didn’t, he had a bit of a trouble understanding that back then I didn’t even wanted my first one! I love my kids, I would die for them in a blink but that doesn’t mean that I eagerly look forward being pregnant every goddamn year.

Jon’s job doesn’t help either, with him constantly being on the road I do most of the raising when it comes to the kids. Of course he still is an amazing father in the short amount of time he is home but still, I’m the one who has to do the working, cooking, cleaning, give baths, put to bed, take to swimming classes, brazilian jiu-jitsu classes, dentist appointments, running to the emergency at 3am because one of them is suddenly sick while the other one sleeps at the emergency’s waiting room chair, wiping off their tears whenever daddy has to leave again..

“Jon, not this topic again, please” I beg

“What is wrong with me wanting to discuss having another baby with the woman that I love?”

“It’s not that simple Jon, I wish it was but is not” I said slightly angry

“Yes it is that simple Y/N! You’re the one who’s always trying to complicate things” He let go of my hips

Great! Now he’s angry too. That’s just what I needed!

“Jon look, I don’t want us to fight ok? You just got home and we all miss each other so why don’t we drop it for now huh?”

I tried to wave the white flag, but I should’ve known it wouldn’t work with Jon ‘The Stubborn’ Moxley

“Of course you want to drop it, it’s not of your interest is it? No it isn’t! You always do this! Whenever a subject doesn’t matter to you, you don’t wanna talk about it, you’re always so selfish! Always thinking about yourself, never once caring about me or what I want! Selfish as fuck!” He raised his voice

When people say that words can hurt more than actions they were right. If he had punched me in the face it wouldn’t hurt as much as the harshness of his words. To say that I am selfish? After everything I left behind just to be with him? That hurt! And instead of doing the adult thing and keep my mouth shut before I said something I knew I would regret it, I did the Y/N thing where I run my mouth with harsher words than he’s previous ones just so I could hurt him as much as he hurt me

“I’m selfish? Me? Oh you better place the mirror in front of your own face to find the definition for that word Jonathan! You are the one who gets to make your ‘wrestler life’ on the road, living like a single man with not even one worry on your mind while I get behind with two kids and all the shit that comes with the package! It’s easy for you to say it with your 15 minutes FaceTime parenting that you do! In the mean time I have to be the bad guy who has to always say no because glorious dad is on the road chasing his dream for when he gets home he will do all of his kids luxuries so he can try to compensate his absence with Barbie dolls and hot wheels cars! So yeah I’m the selfish one Jonathan, good thing you notice that” I regretted those words as soon as they fell from my lips.

Jon’s eyes briefly showed the hurt caused by them but he soon replaced that with rage and pride before lifting his head up to say

“And is thanks to glorious dad that you have this comfortable house, a nice car and a shit ton of food on your table sweetheart. Let’s be honest here Y/N, how are you supposed to support yourself and the kids with your shitty excuse for a salary? I wipe my ass with the pitiful money that you make” He huffed

I’ve never felt so humiliated in my life. Yes my paycheck was mere cents compared to his, but I worked hard for my money, I was proud to have my own money, to share the bills with him and was proud for not taking the easy path of relying on a rich man to support myself (like my dear old mother proudly did). So the fact that he took something that was so prideful to me and used to humiliate me, made me for once rethink all of our 10 years together and if it was worth it at all.

Tears threaten to fall from my eyes and Jon seemed to have realized what he just said as for he reached his hand to cup my cheek

“Kitten, I-“

“Don’t! Don’t touch me, I don’t want you anywhere near me” I said in between sobs

“Y/N please I-“

“Mommy, why are you crying?” I saw Rosie’s smile die on her lips once she saw me crying.

I heard Atticus’ fast footsteps coming by the french doors to stop by Rosie

“Yay, daddy’s home- Mommy are you ok? Why are you crying? Did you get hurt?” His small but smart baby blue eyes roamed my face and my body for any signs of physical hurt

“Yes stinker, mommy got hurt” I said trying to hold back my sobs

“Where? I can’t see anything” Those clever blue orbs that were a faithful copy of Jon’s roamed through me once more trying to find the injury

“Why don’t you guys come here and tell daddy how much you’ve missed him while mommy goes upstairs to clean up the scratch?”

They just nodded and ran towards Jon, who took them both in his arms

“Y/N” He started but I gave him a look that made him go silent.

I reached the safety of my bedroom, feeling the urgent need to run away. Run away from him, from this house, from this country. Taking with me only the clothes on my body and my two little beasties...the immature part of me yelled ‘do it, do it’ but the grownup in me knows I can’t do this. It’s not fair to the kids, they barely get to see their father whom they love and miss so much. It’s not fair to Jon either, he loves those kids more than he’s own life.

But right now I needed my safe place (or better, person), I needed to breath so I called her and when I received the ok on spending 3 days at her house I packed a small little bag with enough close for just those days, as I was zipping up the bag a faint knock came from the bedroom door soon after being followed by it opening.

“Kitten, can we talk- What are you doing?” He asked in urgency as he bursts into the bedroom approaching me.

“I’m gonna go to Nancy’s” I vaguely said looking at anywhere but him

“Nance? Your sister?”

“She’s the only Nancy I know, so yeah..”

“But why? I just got home, I wanna be together Y/N”

“It’s just for 3 days Jon..you’ll be with the kids, they need you and they miss you” My voice is a faint whisper

“But I need and miss you too! I want you here! How am I supposed to enjoy my family if it’s not complete? I’m sure we can figure it out whatever it is that happened earlier” He grabbed my shoulders turning me to face him and cupped my cheeks, tilting my head up to look me in the eyes.

“Y/N, kitten, I know that I’ve said some pretty harsh things to you earlier. I’ve been stressed out. It’s all my fault, I’m so sorry cherry. Please forgive me baby” He pressed his forehead with mine

That was typical Jon, always pulling the guilt towards himself, he has a hard time understanding that he was not always the only cause of a disagreement.

“Jon, we both said some stupid things ok? This is not all on you, love” I released myself from him, if he continued this close I wouldn’t resist, and right now I need to think.

“Yes it is Y/N. Me and my stupid fucking mouth, not you. You’re perfect kitten”

I scoffed “Trust me, I am not”

“Yes you are! Look at who I am now because of you, I stopped doing drugs, I’m not a drinking mess anymore, I eagerly look forward coming come because I know that the three pieces of my heart are waiting for me, look at what I’ve achieved, what you gave me, how you gave up everything and everybody to be with me”

Oh yeah,that.. my ‘high society family’ was not happy at all when they met Jon, they said that we were a very dangerous combination of fire and gasoline, that we would never be happy. I had two options they said, either them or him. I hated my family and loved Jon so it was a simple math. I left my house and all of the luxury behind to live with him in his ridiculously small one bedroom old apartment. The only person that I still talked to was Nancy my older and just as rebel sister, who gave everybody the middle finger and left the not so humble abode of my family never speaking with them again. So it made sense that the two rebellious black sheeps would become their own family, mine was Nancy and I was hers.

“Jon I need some time to think, we need it ok? Please, we both need to digest what we’ve said to each other. It wasn’t just a simple ‘fuck off’ we’ve said some pretty bad stuff so let’s just process this ok?” I beg

“Are you gonna leave me forever? Please don’t tell me you’ll want divorce because of this...I won’t handle it kitten” His voice was strangled by tears

“Jon-” I was thankfully interrupted by Rosie’s and Atticus’ screams of joy on the hallway as they ran towards our bedroom

“Mommy, daddy the movie is about to start c’mon” Atticus says as he jumps from excitement. They have been wanting to watch Moana for a while now, but only when daddy got home so he could watch it too.

“We’re going buddy” Jon fastly said

“Actually” I begin “Only daddy will watch the movie with you” It crushed my heart to see the disappointment on their faces

“Why?” Rosie asks

“Because auntie Nancy called and mommy’s gonna need to go and help her”

“Is auntie Nana in trouble?” Now it was Atticus turn to ask

“No stinker, she just need momma’s help with something, it’s nothing bad I promise”

“Can you go to Nancy’s after the movie?” Jon hopefully asks, he knows that the longer I stay the less likely it will be for me to leave.

The kids gasped at their daddy’s amazingly smart idea.

“Please mommy, please!” The kids started to beg as they kneeled down to make their begging really serious.

Jon kneeled down too, by my side. I looked at him confused and he just said

“Yeah mommy, please stay” He placed his hands on my hips “Please kitten, don’t leave me” He whispered

And now I have 3 pairs of incredibly beautiful and pleading baby blue eyes staring at me waiting for my answer.

What am I supposed to do?...

To be continued (?)

What do you think? Should this story continue? Would you like to see what will Y/N do? What would you do? Please let me know your thoughts, they are so very important to me and help me with my writing 💕🥰

#jon moxley #jon moxley one shot #jon moxley fanfiction #jon moxley x reader #aew one shot #aew fanfiction #dean ambrose #dean ambrose one shot #dean ambrose fanfiction #dean ambrose x reader #dean ambrose x oc #wwe imagine #wwe one shot #wwe fanfiction #jon moxley imagine #dean ambrose imagine #masochist writes

120 notes · View notes

gingerwritess · 4 years

Note

Theo, my girl, my idol, my star, my main bitch, I gotta read about the first time that Loki is seen out and about after he's been released pleeeaaaasseeeee (and some sexual tension wouldn't hurt)

part 18 of predating idiots, in which you speak with that idiot for the first time since…everything happened. (he hasn’t exactly been released, but close enough ;))

warnings: long ass chapter with blood, injuries, pain, alongside some denial and awkward moments :))

Life without a fake-boyfriend has become rather, well, quiet.

No more surprise visits with only the excuse “I’m dying” being given, no more lying about the exceptional dates you’ve been on…no more ridiculously attractive doctor on your arm.

No one’s stealing your bagels anymore. That’s a plus.

But work is slow, suddenly. The weight of the secret, sneaking Loki into your office to eat and sleep and rushing him home on lunch breaks for a shower, was, in it’s own twisted way, exciting.

Loki admitting to the fact that it’s been “centuries” keeps floating back into your consciousness. You continually choose not to dwell on it.

Your first day back after Tony gave you a four day weekend to recoup went smoothly, without a single hitch nor a word from your special alien. Asking about him while trying to remain casual didn’t get you far, so you resigned yourself to a quiet day at your desk, sometimes sending Marcus off to make copies for you when even he looks bored.

“I’ve gotta admit,” he pipes up one day from his station at the doorway, “I kinda miss Lucky. Thought maybe I’d get to stop a bad guy, that’d look good on a résumé.”

You shake your head with a laugh, scrolling through a file of release records. “Sorry you’ve got to just watch me all day. Can’t be the most exciting thing.”

“I don’t mind.” He shrugs. You don’t look up.

Another day ticks by, then another, and then a whole week and you still haven’t heard a single bit of accurate information regarding Loki.

Plenty of false information is circulating though, and you pick up bits of pieces around the break rooms and bathrooms.

“Yeah, he got the chair, they wouldn’t have kept him alive.”

“No, they’re rehabilitating him. He’s of use, he’s basically another Thor, don’t you think shield would want to hang onto him?”

“What, make him a new avenger?” The voice by the sinks laughs, and the faucet shuts off. “Just what we need. Another superhero. Jesus, I can’t keep up.”

Break rooms are to be avoided as of late, since you can’t go near another coworker without them jumping you with questions, assuming you must know what happened to him.

“Wish I knew,” you always reply. It’s not exactly a lie.

This fine morning, you pass the god of thunder on the way to the copy room. He gives you a grimace of a smile, lifts a hand, and turns to walk back the way he came before you can call out to him.

Strange. You haven’t seen Thor since the day Loki confessed.

Assuming he’s been busy helping his brother, you hadn’t worried about what he’s been thinking of you. Granted, his impressions of you haven’t been of the greatest, most respectable caliber, from asking you if you were attracted to his brother to watching you rip his brother’s shirt from him while straddling him on a bed—

Yeah, it’d be better not to dwell on what awkwardness Thor may have started to feel towards you. You’d rather not know his thoughts.

Then the next day, Thor is there again. You manage to get in a wave this time, giving him your politest please-don’t-talk-to-me smile and heading for the copy room again.

This time, the god follows you, fidgeting with the strap of mjolnir.

“I would like to talk to you,” he announces, trying to lean casually in the doorway. It doesn’t work well for him, so he straightens up and goes back to fidgeting with the hammer, staring at you.

“Okay…go for it.”

“I’d like to-to—” he breaks off and clears his throat. Finishing your copies, you turn to him with your eyebrows raised.

“Yes?”

“I’d, uh, like to apologize.”

Your brow knits in confusion and you cock your head at him. “What for?”

“Not to you,” Thor clarifies with a nervous laugh. “Sorry. Do I owe you one?”

“No, not really, I guess.”

“I’d like to apologize,” he tries again, “to, uh, to my brother. You know, Loki.”

“Ah.” You nod with a tight smile. “Yeah, I’m acquainted with him.”

Thor lets out a relived laugh at that, tossing mjolnir in the air and catching it. “Of course you are. The only trouble is, I don’t quite know how.”

“And you’re coming to me because…”

“Because you may know this Loki better than anyone.”

“Right.” Biting your lip, you stare at the crease in Thor’s brow. This Loki. A bit of a terrifying thought, really, but he may be right. However unpleasant, your interaction may have been the first semi-normal one Loki had had in a long time. “Well, um, how can I help?”

“How…bad is he?”

That’s a loaded question, and you pretend to look through your papers while you think. “He’s in a bad state,” you venture to say, “he’s definitely hurt. Somebody hurt him, and not just physically.”

“Right. Alright.” Thor nods, tossing his hammer back and forth between his hands. “I can work with that. Sensitivity, I’m getting good at that.”

“Good for you,” you laugh. “Be careful with him. I mean, I don’t know him very well. But I know he’s not one to open up, so…go slow. I’m sure he’ll appreciate the apology.”

In all reality, you have no idea if Loki will give a shit about Thor’s apology, but in theory it sounds like a good thing to happen. It can’t go terribly wrong.

“Just be gentle with him, will you?”

Thor nods. “Of course.”

You rifle through your papers, gaze dropping to them to avoid his. “Where, uh, where is he, by the way?”

Your stomach flips at the sound of the question leaving your mouth, but hopefully you can pass it off as casual curiosity, keeping your gaze trained intently on the papers in your hand.

“The healing wing,” Thor replies with a growing smile. “The two-hundred and third room. I am sure my brother would be happy to see you, my lady.”

“He hates me,” you answer way too quickly, flashing him a forced smile and pushing past him. “He won’t—no, he doesn’t—heh. Just curious. Thanks.”

—

Curious enough to go find him on your lunch break, that is.

Room 203 is a drab white room that reeks of disinfectant, one single bed in the center next to stacks of monitors and a cot-like couch beside it. It’s an improvement from the cell, you’ll give them that, but the pure white gives you a headache the moment you enter, and Loki still looks trapped.

Trapped, and deliberately expressionless upon seeing you sneaking through the doorway.

“Hello.”

He says it carefully, eyes narrowing at you as you wring your hands with a sheepish grin.

“You’re, ah, looking better.”

More like an angry cat who just had to resign itself to the fact that baths are inevitable, but better nonetheless.

“I feel like my limbs have been filled with lead,” Loki replies. He limply tries to lift his arms for emphasis.

“Nothing a god can’t lift, I’m sure,” you laugh, taking the few steps needed to be by his bedside. His piercing gaze tracks every one.

Checking his water jug and the tray of food still untouched by his bedside, you give him a mildly disapproving look, one he certainly disapproves of. “I bet you’d feel better if you ate something.”

“Not interested.” He sinks back into the pillows, watching you with hawk-like precision. “Why are you here?”

You give him a casual once-over, disguising it with a quick look about the room, as well. His arm is in a sling—that’s new, he must be cooperating at least a little if they’ve been treating him.

“Uh, curious,” you decide to answer. “I’m curious, just, y’know, want to make sure you’re being treated right. You healing up?”

Loki nods. Yes, he is healing, technically, but at a glacial pace that’s nearly historic for asgardian abilities. Maybe he had pushed his limits a little too far with all the illusions and covering undressed wounds for so long.

Your not-so-discrete scrutinizing of his shirtless body doesn’t slip his notice and reopens a whole other wound, but he can’t think about that right now. Or ever.

“You’re wearing a sling,” you lamely point out, desperate to fill the silence, and mentally slap yourself.

“That I am,” Loki replies, and can’t help the smug little smirk that starts to turn the corners of his lips. You’re a bit out of sorts—this could be fun. “Did you miss me, darling?”

Your face goes sour, crinkling at the nose. “Don’t call me that.”

Loki breathes deep with a grin, and Dr. Laing takes his place in the bed, lounging much more seductively, injury free and on his side, with an arm draped over his hip.

“You missed me, didn’t you.”

“If you weren’t on the verge of death and in a hospital, I would slap the shit out of you.”

Laing laughs as he fades back into Loki; it’s a tired sound, scratchy and painful and rattling in his chest, but somehow he manages to sound so disdainfully full of himself that you don’t know if you want to soothe his aches or cause him a handful more.

He does look better though. Weak, definitely still as weak as before, but better. Not so gaunt.

“Have you been eating well, then?” You ask, pulling up a chair beside him. “You’ve filled out a little.”

“Define well,” he replies with a quirk of his eyebrow.

“More fast food, I take it.”

“If I wasn’t close to death before, I am now.”

“Well, take what you can get.” You reach over and give him a pat on the arm, just one awful pat before you think better of it and immediately hate yourself for doing that. “So, uh, what was the verdict? On your…y’know. Crimes.”

Loki shifts on his pillows, trying to sit up a little straighter, and his blanket slips further down to his hips as he struggles to with one arm.

“My crimes…right, trying to conquer the planet. Those crimes.”

Without thinking, you lean in and straighten his blankets for him, tugging them back up to lay just under his arm.

His voice dies in his throat, and he stares.

You stare, too, but unfortunately at the bruises littering his ribs and the scar racing right over his heart.

“There you go staring again,” he says, clearing his throat. “Are you quite finished?”

Ripping your gaze from his chest, you meet his narrowed eyes and swallow thickly. “Sorry.”

“Don’t be.”

“Are you…are you using any illusions right now?” You gesture at him, emphasizing his relatively scar-free face.

“I may be,” he replies.

“Why? You should be healing, not hiding anything.”

His eyes roll and he sighs. “I do still have some semblance of a reputation to uphold. Maybe no longer with you, and something must be done about that, but as for the others, they don’t need to know any more.”

“I don’t really care about your reputation,” you tell him, and he laughs as if that were obvious. “Or any image you’re trying to make of yourself, just so you know.”

“Oh, you did miss me, mortal.”

“No,” you snap, “I just…well, I don’t want you getting any more hurt than you are. And…maybe might have been a tiny bit worried.”

The last part you blurt, staring out the window with a burning gaze. You would like him to know, just for the sake of knowing that he’s not necessarily alone in this, but when you say it out loud, like that…

Loki appears to have swallowed something sour, when you glance back at him, and he stares at you.

Confusion, maybe?

Or maybe just shock. Or maybe he has morphine pumping through his veins; that’s a very possible answer.

“Are you on morphine?” You whisper when he doesn’t move, still staring. “That stuff can kill you, y’know. Careful.”

Slowly, he nods, lips parted.

“I…am.”

“On morphine?” You give him a sad smile. “That’s why you’re being friendly. Well, by your standards.”

“No,” he cuts in, cocking his head at you. “Still using an illusion.”

You nod, glancing down at your hands in your lap. “I figured. You can take it off now, I’ve already seen the worst of it.”

Room 203 falls silent for a moment, nothing but the air conditioning whirring in the background as a wave of green energy passes over Loki’s body.

“Just for you,” he clarifies when you look back up at him, “only for you.”

“Of course. I won’t tell.”

Taking a steady breath, you scoot forward in the chair and begin your inspection, ghosting along the parts of him you can, too used to cleaning him up to the point where it’s almost routine. He sits quietly, you point out to him which bits he should really show the others, berate him again for waiting so long to tell the truth.

“I lie,” he murmurs, and you almost catch a smile playing at his lips. “It’s what I do.”

“Roll on your side,” you simply respond. “You’re letting them treat your back, aren’t you?”

He grimaces, but doesn’t move. “In a way.”

“Please? Can I see?”

“I’d rather you didn’t.”

“I don’t know if you realize this,” you exhale, exasperated already, “but I’m a little more trusted here than you are. I can help you, if you’ll let me.”

He squares his jaw, fighting with himself for a second longer—then rolls his eyes yet again and turns to face the other direction, exposing his back to you.

“Loki, come on.”

“I tried,” he cuts in before you can berate him further on the hideous state of his lashed back. “Really, I tried, but they can’t treat them yet. It’s not a flogging like any that have happened on Midgard, believe me.”

The thought of something worse than a flogging makes your toes curl, and you gingerly brush your fingertips over his shoulder before the sight makes you retch; one of the few unmarked patches of skin left on his back.

“You’re still bleeding.”

He nods, face turned from you. “I would imagine so.”

“Bled through your sling…” a quick look around finds the spare cloths and towels in the cabinet under his bed stand, and you take a couple soft rags. “Want me to, y’know, clean you up?”

He’s silent for so long you wonder if he’s fallen asleep, but then he nods, just once.

“I would–I would appreciate that.”

His whole body jerks with every few dabs of the cloth, trying to at least stop the trickling and sop up what’s pooled in the bony dip of his shoulder blade.

You try to tell Loki which cuts desperately need stitches, but he just chuckles dryly and explains that these cuts aren’t meant to heal; that they rip and open any stitching or bandages applied to them. Each attempt to close the wound is predestined to worsen it.

“So you’ll always have these?”

“Until I can find a way to heal them,” he grunts, letting you help him sit up, “yes. It’ll be wonderful for when I’m feeling nostalgic.”

The sling, as it turns out, is covering a much deeper gash than the rest, one that the skin around the edges looks burnt—but weirdly enough, also looks almost crystallized where it should be scabbed. Almost…icy.

You don’t know what to say to that, so you just continue in silence to switch out his sling, sick to your stomach. Nothing you could possibly have to offer, any assistance from anyone on earth could make up for that.

It’s been a couple months now, since New York. There have been no other attacks, clean up has been relatively successful with the camaraderie of the nation. The avengers have been assembled, tested, and proven effective.

Loki’s in custody, no longer hiding, no longer blackmailing you into keeping his secrets while he runs. He hasn’t stepped out of line since, he’s been offering his knowledge, he’s been cooperating.

Yet he’s the only one still bleeding.

“Loki,” you say quietly, glancing at the door, “are they actually helping you?”

He gives his shoulder a testing roll with a wince. “That’s too tight,” he tells you, tugging at the fresh sling. “I’m being treated. Accordingly.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“I’ve received the help I need.”

“I don’t believe you,” you reply with a huff, fighting with the knot in his sling. “I mean, has Thor even come to see you? He told me he wants to talk to you, but he’s the only person who’s mentioned you…”

Loki gives you a nod when you finish with the sling, finally lifting his head to look at you with an illusion-less face, ripped flesh around his lips where a cord stitched him silent.

A fist closes around your heart, clenching it and leaving a hollow ache in your chest. Your skin burns at the sight of him.

“You’re staring again.”

“Sorry.”

The stitching was crude, unevenly spread along his upper lip, and the left side has a couple gashes where the skin is torn all the way through. Must’ve had to rip out it himself.

“Don’t victimize me,” he warns. “Don’t make me into something I’m not. Don’t.”

Your jaw clenches, eyes flitting from his lips to meet his gaze. “How do you expect me not to?”

He drops his head back to his pillow, shutting his eyes.

“You should leave.”

“Yeah.” You stand, and he doesn��t open his eyes. The closer you look, his scars are fading again, back under the facade you broke. “I probably should.”

Before you can stop yourself, your hand moves to touch him, just once on the back of the hand that’s draped over his chest. He grabs your wrist before you can.

“I don’t think I trust you,” he whispers, eyes still shut tight.

A lump catches in your throat. “You–you can, you know.”

“I know.” He takes a shaking breath, wincing as his blood soaks the pillows. “That’s why I don’t.”

—

You give him a week.

You hadn’t gotten even half the answers you had gone in there for, leaving with more questions than before, if anything.

It’s hard to tell if he was pleased to see you.

So you give him a week. No visits, no telling him he needs to eat, no mention of him behind his back.

That week passes as normally as it could be.

By the next, you find yourself outside room 203 once again, psyching yourself up to just walk in there and cut right to the chase, not giving him even an inch over you.

But you open the door and he’s on his stomach, fists ripping the sheets as a nurse with a needle stitches the lashings on his back shut.

He’s bleeding. Badly.

“No,” you blurt, “stop, don’t do that–”

Your tongue falls limp in your mouth, and completely against your will, you walk straight to the couch beside the bed and sit.

Nothing you can do will allow you to move, and you spend the next few minutes struggling against invisible bonds, shouting silently into oblivion that you’re making it worse, horrified at the sight of Loki’s serene expression as he stares at you.

You can see it getting worse; each stitch undoes the last, reopening the wound from the beginning so that by the time she’s moved to the next cut, the one just finished is a fresh, open wound.

Even with his face perfectly calm, his gaze stone-set on you, his body betrays him. He jerks with every pierce of the needle, the vein on the side of his neck bulges, and he’s ripped the sheets by his fist.

It looks like pure agony, and you can’t do a single thing about it.

So you sit there, frozen to your seat and silenced, until the nurse gives up and apologizes for another failed attempt, promising that they’re trying to find a type of material that can hold as she tries to soak up the blood. She wraps his torso and he stays silent the entire time, knowing full well that nothing will change, and doesn’t move after she’s left the room.

You take a deep breath as Loki does, and the restraints on your body and tongue fall away.

“What the hell, Loki?!”

“Please don’t yell.”

“I think it’s warranted,” you cry, stomping over to his bedside. “You have a death wish, god, you–you–what the hell were you doing?!”

You’re shaking, half from the horror of having to sit there and watch him endure that, but mostly from rage—he could’ve stopped her.

“Why the hell didn’t you say anything?!”

“Shh…”

“Oh, don’t you shush me, I’m so sick of this–I-I can’t believe you made me watch that—”

A cold hand curls around your wrist and yanks, and you fall to your knees by the bedside, nose to nose with the god of mischief.

“Let me bleed,” he grits out, each word ripped painfully from his throat.

“What?”

“Let me…let me bleed.” This time it’s on an exhale and his eyes close, his hand dropping from your wrist.

You can’t find it in yourself to move away from him.

“Why’d you do that, you idiot?”

Half his face squished into the mattress, he manages a hoarse laugh. “Punishment for my sins.”

“That’s not your call,” you hiss, grabbing him by the arm. “You need to roll over, you’re laying on your injury. C’mon, move.”

He actually obliges and the two of you struggle to roll him onto his uninjured side. It’s not exactly comfortable, for either of you, and you realize after the fact that you had to practically hug the guy in order to haul him onto his side.

That’s probably why he went so stiff.

And…why he’s staring at you as if you’d sprouted wings, trying to catch his breath.

“Sorry,” you mutter, a little out of breath yourself from trying to lift him. “You’re a fucking masochist, you know that?”

“Oh, don’t act so surprised.” He forces out another laugh.

Always laughing.

Always bleeding, always laughing. It’s exhausting, not to mention unbearably irritating when you’re nearly writhing in pain for him.

“Do me a favor, darling.”

“Don’t call me—oh, wait, do you want me to slap you?”

Another dry laugh, but this one sounds truer.

“Don’t make me beg,” he grins, and you almost find yourself wanting to grin back; it’s a breath of fresh air, after all the blood and pain. “Please, would you do this for me?”

“Yeah.” You can’t help the tiny smile you offer back, hidden behind your exasperated sigh. “Yeah, of course.”

“Tie my hair back?”

You swear his cheeks burn bright red, but he doesn’t let his empyrean expression waver, sinking subtly deeper into the pillows and handing you a thin strip of leather.

“Sorry,” he says when you take it, voice muffled, “it only gets matted with blood if I leave it down. I’d cut it, but I can’t be wasting strength on that in this condition—”

“I get it,” you assure him with a smile. “Don’t worry. You’ve already ruined your reputation with me.”

“Right. Thank you for the reminder.”

Biting back a grin, you pull the strip of leather between your hands. “I’ll do it, on one condition.”

“You are unbearably difficult.”

“Thank you.” You lean towards him, a tiny, smug grin just turning at your lips. “You answer any question I ask while I’m doing it. And no lies, trickster.”

He mulls it over for a moment, halfheartedly glaring at your smug self. You do look sure of yourself, leaning onto his bed, eyes narrowed playfully, his leather cord taut between your fingers. Daring him to disagree.

It’s not a bad look. Confidence, he supposes. Power.

The day has reached sunset, and in this moment of weakness Loki can’t help but notice—the light filtering through the lone hospital room window hits your face in a rather flattering way.

That, or maybe it’s been so long since someone smiled at him, laughed with him, teased him—maybe it’s…nice.

Maybe it’s been missed.

Maybe…that would be alright.

― ― ― ―

~ masterlist link in my bio ~

loki tags: @bluediamond007 @himitoshi @drakesfiance @destiel1597 @dangertoozmanykids101 @archy3001 @jcalpha1 @yzssie @skullvieplu @forthesnakeofdragons @skulliebythesea @wegingerangelica @storiesfrommirkwood @agarwaeneth @adaliamalfoy @laurfangirl424@fitzsimmons-is-forever @ladylokimischief @katelinwrites @tarynkauai @polaristrange @loavesofmeat @canadian-ravenpuff-multishipper @lou-makes-me-strong @holyn0vak @chocolatealmondmillk @swtnrholland @kenzieam @jessiejunebug @the-republic-and-face-of-texas

~ scroll here! ~

@doralupin01 @whitewitchdown @atomiccharmer @falconfeather23435 @babygirlicecream @avengrcs @vethrvolnir2 @bookgirlunicorn @wabisabigrl @myhealingstar @khaleesi-marvel @ei77777 @spacecrumbs @scarlettghost13 @rocks-are-pretty-odd @confessionsofastrugglingteen @easilydistractedwriter @arttasticgreatnessoftheawesome77 @fluffyllamaswearinghats @milktearose @lcyouinhell @h0tshotholland @dontmesswithmemundane @southsidesarcasticwriter @helnik-s @lilith-akemi @fire-in-her-veinz @unlikelysamwinchesteronahunt @mischievousbellerina @kcd15

~ scroll here ~

@mellowgirl01 @lokislilcaribbeanprincess @allthingzhiddleston @scorpionchild81 @lokixme @blue-automne @devilbat @kangaroobunny @end-up-well @planetariumx @sarcsep @mrfandomtastic @amaru163 @im-way-too-many-fandoms @caswinchester2000 @kybaeza @wester-than-west @vintagesunshinebitch @adefectivedetective @poetic-nikolai @moonduhsted @kerri-masson @iamverity @innaminitus @spnbarnes @narcissxblack @woohoney @anxiousamandapanda @padmeisgay @authordreaming13 @lokisironthrone @theunknowinglys

~ scroll here ~

@highfuncti0ningfangirl @epicfallenismine @stubby-toe-589331 @fandomnerdsarecool @retrofantasyland @arch-venus25 @forever-trapped-in-my-dreams @littleredstarfish @marshyrebelcloud @okie–loki @atterodominatus @stfxlou @pandacookieowo @tonakings @shinisenko @tinchentitri @nildespirandum @thefallenbibliophilequote @vodka-and-some-sass @highfunctioningfangirl19 @sadwaywardkid @lokioneshot @brooksaza @wild-honey-piy @ellaenchanted91 @watermelon-lights19 @just-another-romantic @skinny-macncheese @lokisironthrone @rorybutnotgilmore

~ scroll here ~

@toozmanykids @brooklyn-times @nonsensicalobsessions @londonisacountry @peterparkerbabyyy

#loki x reader #loki reader insert #loki imagine #loki slowburn series #loki angst #loki fluff #pre-dating idiots #loki requests #loki fanfiction #loki drabbles #loki laufeyson

671 notes · View notes

forasecondtherewedwon · 4 years

Text

WIN A DATE WITH SPIDER-MAN!

Pairing: Peter Parker x Michelle Jones (Spideychelle) Rating: E (explicit sexual content) Word count: 10,358 @spideychelleweek

Spideychelle Week Day 4: Meeting Again After High School

Summary: The fact that MJ bought a ticket to this event doesn't mean she wants to be here. It's a favour for a friend, who is not the man someone in the room is about to win a date with. No, that guy isn't her friend, just a date-skipping, heart-breaking ex from high school. Whatever. She's out of here the second they draw the name. It better not be hers.

“If my name gets drawn, I’m going to murder you,” MJ informs Betty when her friend leans against the bar for a breather. She swallows the end of her drink. “Just so you know.”

“You won’t get picked,” Betty assures her.

She isn’t looking at MJ, but at the rest of the people assembled in the hotel’s large event room, a space generously donated for the occasion. It better be one of them, MJ thinks. Anyone but her.

“I could.”

“You won’t,” Betty insists, turning and flagging the bartender to request a glass of cranberry juice.

“Daring,” MJ mutters.

“I’m working, remember? Anyway, look around. Entry was fifty dollars―”

“That I remember. You’re totally paying me back for doing this.”

Betty rolls her eyes and continues. “It was fifty dollars per entry and how many times do you think they put their names in?” she asks MJ, pointing a subtle finger at a clump of socialites.

“Jeeze, hope nobody blew their allowance,” MJ retorts sarcastically. She’s tempted to get another drink, but more alcohol in her system isn’t going to help her get through this. It may, however, help her get over it afterwards, when she’s back in her apartment.

“Well, one of them’s hoping to blow more than their allowance,” Betty says with a knowing little cock of her head.

“Yikes, Betty, you speak to your grandmother with that mouth?”

Betty ignores her and takes a sip of the cranberry juice the bartender sets before her. She places the glass back on the bar, staring at it for a minute, before she winces―pre-regret, is the emotion MJ’s learned to identify the look as―and asks the bartender to add a splash of vodka.

“I have a lot riding on this,” she tells MJ after a heartier swig of her newly-adult drink.

“I know you do,” MJ replies in a softer tone.

“The event was my big idea and I didn’t think my editor would go for it and now we’ve done so much promotion and if it doesn’t work out...” She turns sharply to her friend. “Do you think it won’t work out?”

“It’s already working out. You got a great turnout. Hell, you got me here.”

“You’re my emotional support though. You don’t count.”

“Ouch. Is that what you tell your fiancé when he comes to these things?”

“I wouldn’t have to. Ned would kill to be here. He’d be laughing his ass off. In, like, a supportive way,” Betty clarifies.

“Guess their friendship’s still strong then,” MJ mumbles. She frowns when the bartender removes her glass. Now she has nothing to do with her hands. She thumps her elbows onto the bar.

“Don’t pretend you don’t know it is. I know he’s still on your radar.”

“He is not. Besides his picture in your paper―”

“It’s not my paper,” Betty corrects, but she’s flattered. Tonight’s event should land her a promotion and that’s one step closer to the editor-in-chiefdom she’s striving to attain by 35. Though she’s still got six years to capture it, she loves to come in ahead of a deadline.

“―I haven’t seen him in years.”

“Well, you’ll see him tonight.”

“Will I?” MJ glances sideways at Betty. “Is he even here yet?”

“Fashionably late,” is her friend’s positive spin. “But it’s fine because I built a twenty-minute buffer into the schedule just in case.”

“You’ll need it. He’s allergic to punctuality.”

Betty sighs so loudly that MJ sits bolt upright.

“Can’t you even say his name?” she snaps.

“Are you ok? Do you need me to find you a paper bag to breathe into?”

“Shut up. God, what time is it?” Suddenly frantic, Betty checks her watch, twisting it around her wrist. She glances up at the stage, where a man in a generic black suit is stepping out to scattered applause. “He’s not supposed to start his speech for another fifteen minutes! Sorry, I have to…”

“Go on,” MJ encourages. “Boss them around. Sort it out.”

“If you see Peter arrive…”

“You’ll be alerted by my loud screeches of aversion,” she promises. Betty hesitates at that, so MJ gives her a gentle shove.

When the back of her friend’s pale pink gown disappears through the crowd, MJ rotates on her stool to observe the room. She still hasn’t said his name and she wishes she wasn’t so aware of it. It’s come out of Betty’s mouth a hundred times today. Besides that, it’s printed on signs around the room, along with his face―unmasked, naturally, to help move tickets. Good looks are always for sale and the newspaper Betty works for isn’t above leveraging that. The money raised by this event is for a good cause though, MJ has to allow that much. Two new clinics to service the city’s vulnerable homeless population, one staffing mental health professionals and the other a safe injection site as NYC combats the opioid crisis. It’d just be nice to attend a fundraiser that wasn’t somehow all about him.

She slips from her stool and realizes cutting herself off at one drink was a good idea; she has unforgivingly-high heels on tonight, the kind that make grown men cry, and her balance is still intact. MJ’s not using the intimidating height the shoes give her to compensate for the secret fear being here inspires. She’s not. Smoothing the front of the silky material of her pants, she lets them fall back into place before circling the room. There’s an art to it, moving through the wealthy strangers without actually mingling, and MJ thinks she’s gotten pretty good at making people scared to meet her eye... until a lackey from the mayor’s office steps directly in front of her and presses a leaflet, featuring the evening’s itinerary, into her hands. MJ sighs and slaps it down on the first tall cocktail table she passes. She doesn’t mean to look, but the white letters on a red background catch her eye: WIN A DATE WITH SPIDER-MAN! No thanks, MJ thinks, walking quickly away in search of Betty. I try not to make the same mistake twice.

Half an hour later, with the mayor’s long-winded speech running over before finally wrapping up, MJ watches her friend step up to the podium that’s just been vacated, clapping and beaming. It’s not her stressed smile either. Fuck. MJ exhales slowly. That smile says everything’s going smoothly, which tells her Peter’s here. Where is he? How did she miss him coming in? In spite of herself, she cranes her head around to look, not paying attention to Betty’s speech that thanks everyone for coming before shifting into introducing the guest of honour. She’s heard it before. Helped her friend practice. MJ was open to that kind of thing, weeks ago, before Betty pressganged-slash-guilted her into buying a ticket for the fucking Spider-Man lottery. She’s right though―they’ve sold thousands of tickets. She’ll never win. If she’s really lucky, Peter will never even know she was at this thing.

Which is definitely what she wants, MJ reminds herself, adjusting the lapels of the tightly tailored blazer she’s worn with no blouse underneath. For him to not notice her.

When Peter steps out from a side door with a big wave and a nervous smile, she’s deaf to the fanfare. Belatedly, she starts to clap, glancing around and dropping her hands when everyone else does. She doesn’t want to be the last idiot clapping. He’d spot her then for sure. As she watches him mount the low stage and let Betty guide him into position, MJ thinks he looks fairly anxious. Like, he looks nice, presentable, but unsure of himself. It’s the nicest suit she’s ever seen him wear, but his all-purpose one back in high school didn’t set a high bar.

He says a few words, voice coming out high at first as his eyes dart around the crowd (MJ steps slightly behind a very tall man and tells herself she isn’t hiding), then Betty takes over again, lightly touching his arm and eloquently rescuing him while keeping her event on track. She’s exceptional, MJ thinks. Distinguished master-of-ceremonies and gregarious gameshow host at the same time. MJ couldn’t do this job, which is why she switched from journalism to a literary agency three years ago. She’s better at negotiating than pleasing, better at handling people one-on-one. Except for him. She sees Peter step to the side and try to look excited as Betty holds a red pail (ok, a little lame―one of the interns failed in prop acquisition) for the mayor to submerge his hand into and pluck out a name. MJ had him one-on-one, looking only at her, with no sea of people. She was fifteen, unaware of his secret identity that still was secret at the time, and things didn’t work out. People think dating a superhero is such a fantasy. Disappointment was the boring reality.

A name’s drawn and MJ starts clapping along with everyone else. It takes almost half a minute for her to realize the name was hers.

They want to get her on stage, but she balks. Betty makes an excuse into the microphone, something about MJ not wanting to take attention away from the evening’s mission. The fact that landing a date with Spider-Man wasn’t the evening’s sole mission might come as a shock to some of the whining voices around her. Normally, she’d glare at them or make a sarcastic comment about their noble motivations, but she can’t. First of all, she won’t jeopardize the success of Betty’s event. Second, her human wall has stepped aside and Peter’s looking at her. And MJ’s looking back. Betty gracefully wraps things up on stage, her diamond engagement ring catching the light stunningly to add glamour to her showmanship, and then she, the mayor, and Spider-Man himself are descending into the crowd.

Does she flee? Is this MJ’s one chance to run?

But no, Betty weaves through to find her and grabs her hand like she knows what her friend’s plotting.

“You have to find someone else,” MJ says hurriedly. “Draw another name.”

“I can’t. You won fair and square.”

“I didn’t want to win.”

“I know.” Neither of them are looking at each other; they’re both looking in the direction Peter will inevitably approach from when he escapes the impromptu meet-and-greet.

“Tell them I’m sick.”

“Wouldn’t work,” Betty says. “The date’s not tonight.”

“Tell them it’s the beginning of a prolonged and ultimately fatal sickness.”

“Not very on-brand for Spider-Man to skip out on a date with someone terminally ill.”

“I’ll make it extremely clear that it was my decision. Would you take a last-minute opinion piece on why I hate Spider-Man and publish it tomorrow?”

“Babe, you don’t hate Spider-Man, you just don’t forgive the people who hurt you.”

Betty’s assessment is presented so casually that it startles MJ. It’s absolutely accurate, but she’s horrified that she’s been so easy to read. That’s the problem with having close friends. They know you and on top of that, they bully you into entering contests to date your high school ex. She’s never making a friend again.

“Yeah, I know,” MJ sighs, and then Peter appears, shaking one last hand, before turning their way.

“I owe you, I owe you, I owe you,” Betty hisses. “Please don’t make a scene.”

People are looking. Jealous weirdos.

“Hey, MJ,” he says, eyes catching hers. She breaks that shit off immediately, looking up and away from him.

“I go by Michelle now.”

“She doesn’t,” Betty cuts in.

“Oh... ok,” Peter says with obvious and understandable confusion. “So, you wanna...?”

He goes to put a hand on MJ’s back and she dodges it.

“What the hell are you doing?” she demands.

He glances uncertainly from her to Betty and back.

“Betty said they’d need to take a picture of me with the, uh, winner.”

MJ laughs bitterly.

“This just keeps getting better.”

Betty mutters a reminder: “No scene.”

So she acquiesces, following Betty over to the spot she previously decided on for the photo, next to one of the signs for the event. MJ doesn’t let Peter touch or guide her and he doesn’t try again. A photographer―signaled by Betty―approaches and she tactfully poses her friends to make them look friendly without physical contact. Betty gestures for her to smile and, for her, MJ manages a brief closed-lipped one, standing stiffly at Peter’s side. She’s a little curious about what his face is doing; is he being Spider-Man, beaming and happy to be here, or is he as uncomfortable as she is and just faking it until this evening is over?

After a dozen rapid clicks of the camera, the photographer and Betty walk away, Betty seeming to tell him what else she’d like shots of. Peter can return to his adoring fans, but he hasn’t yet and with Betty occupied, MJ’s floundering for a polite way to excuse herself. She makes the mistake of meeting Peter’s eye and he gives her a soft smile.

“You look so good.”

Heart seizing, she turns and marches for the exit, leaving him standing there.

―

“Thanks for taking the time to say goodbye,” Betty says over the phone, sarcasm perky and damning.

MJ groans. She stretches out on her couch and mutes the TV. It’s the morning after the event and she’s unproductive, not that it has anything to do with seeing Peter last night.

“I’m sorry. I had to get out of there.”

“You know, I think you’re the only person in this city, aside from criminals, who runs the other way at the sight of Spider-Man.”

“I didn’t run.”

“You didn’t stick around either. Peter could’ve used you there.”

“I’m not even going to respond to that.”

“Look, MJ,” Betty sighs, “I’m on your side, but do you really think it’s impossible that he’s grown a little since high school?”

“I haven’t seen any proof of that,” MJ huffs. “What I remember is him always showing up late, if he showed up at all, and let me remind you that he was late last night.”

“It’s the nature of his work.”

“Sounds like you’re defending him and therefore on his side.”

“The world is on his side and not all of us are stubborn enough to disagree with seven and a half billion people!” Betty exclaims. “Fine, I am on Spider-Man’s side, as an admirer of the good things he does, but as a friend, I’m on your side. A hundred percent.”

“You’re still making me go through with this date, aren’t you?”

“I have all the details right here in front of me, if you―”

MJ hangs up. Betty will forgive her.

―

The date takes place in the middle of the day in Central Park. It’s been two weeks since Peter allowed himself to be auctioned off, which has meant two weeks of MJ pleading with an immovable Betty to find a replacement and about two hours of stoic acceptance (just this morning). The time and location were selected for them based on what would result in the best pictures. Oh yeah, there’s a photographer here again, ready to spend the next three hours (three hours?) trailing them around the park to take candid shots of their afternoon. The paper’s planning a big image gallery for their website. According to Betty, this follow-up to her event will be their main photo story of the summer. Fucking excellent. All MJ could really do to prepare was wear comfortable white sneakers and a light denim jacket in case a wind came up or something. She’s already regretting that, with the sun right overhead in the sky and the air totally still around her. She moves her hair off her neck and turns to the photographer.

“He’ll probably be late,” MJ warns.

She, like the photographer, was early. Wanting to get today over with, she paid more attention to her willingness to participate (which might not last) than to showing up a full forty-five minutes ahead of the scheduled time. If this was a normal date, that might look like enthusiasm. Peter, in contrast, probably forgot this is happening today. He’s probably asleep or off somewhere being... Nope, here he comes, bounding up the path. Why did MJ wear the jacket? She’s so overheated.

“Hi,” Peter greets the photographer first, shaking her hand. Perennial people-pleaser, she thinks, but she did the same when she arrived. It just feels so natural to be judgemental towards him.

“And is it MJ or Michelle today?” he asks her.

Ooh, there was a little bite to that and MJ raises her eyebrows at it, though, if anything, she’s impressed that Peter’s developed some measure of a backbone.

“Michelle,” she says. She doesn’t offer her hand. He doesn’t reach for it.

The photographer’s probably great at her job, she wouldn’t have been given this assignment otherwise, but patience must be her next best quality; MJ knows she and Peter aren’t making today easy for her. Things are tense between them, their body language is awkward, their attempts at conversation are worse. She’s done a great job at keeping him out of her life, despite their best friends being engaged, and she really doesn’t want to ruin that by talking about her work, her hobbies, her family, her apartment, her aspirations. None of it. That doesn’t leave a lot and MJ isn’t encouraging Peter to share details of his life either. She’s spent such a long time striving to remain ignorant of everything Peter-related. Basically since they graduated high school.

The best photos of them will probably be at the pond, where they fed ducks and MJ felt her expression soften, if not quite break out into a smile. Then, there was the ice cream. There should be a few useable shots there, seeing as eating doesn’t require smiling, meaning MJ’s lack of a grin won’t seem odd. The best images will probably come from right after. MJ’s ice cream dripped on her jacket, which seemed like divine intervention at first―she finally had a reason to remove it that wouldn’t look like she was trying to get Peter to watch her take her clothes off―until he stealthily grabbed the jacket from her hand while she was trying not to dump the rest of her ice cream. He hasn’t given it back. Probably looks so fucking chivalrous, carrying it around for her and all MJ can do is feel exposed and too aware of her bare shoulders in her green tank top. The self-consciousness makes her grouchy and there’s still an hour of this date to go.

“Michelle, I know you don’t want to be here,” Peter informs her while the photographer’s a short distance away, changing out her memory card, “but this isn’t about you. You could at least try a little bit.”

Her face floods with angry heat.

“I don’t want to be here? Neither do you. You wish I was anybody else.”

His head jerks back.

“What? No, I don’t. If anything, I’m relieved.”

“Are you?” MJ’s suspicious.

“Well, I was when the mayor picked your name. I thought it might be nice to catch up with you rather than have to entertain some rich stranger. You don’t know how exhausting that is.”

She laughs and he spins towards her, clearly upset.

“Why do you have to react like that, like what I do is a joke?”

MJ holds up her hands.

“I’m sorry being with me is so tiring for you. I guess that’s why you were never around when we were supposed to be together.”

“We’re talking about high school now? You know why I missed dates.”

“Or showed up late, or left early,” she continues for him.

“Nobody knew then, dammit! I was all on my own, trying to be me and Spider-Man and, at the time, being him felt more important. Now, I can apologize for that, but I can’t fix it.”

MJ snorts.

“Would you even want to?”

“MJ,” he says, giving up on calling her by her full name, “we were fifteen.”

“And that means what? That it wasn’t a real relationship?”

A laugh bursts out of Peter that the photographer may have caught because MJ can hear her snapping photos of them again. Hopefully, she can’t see the wounded, incredulous look on MJ’s face from that angle.

“It means I was crazy about you and I had no idea what I was doing.”

“You could’ve told me about Spider-Man,” she says, lowering her voice and smoothing her expression as the photographer circles them.

“I kept trying to figure out how,” he admits. She studies his face in silence for a few seconds. “You dumped me before I could.”

“Yeah, well, it wasn’t very much fun being ignored.”

“I know. That’s been my life ever since.”

MJ rolls her eyes.

“Please. You aren’t ignored.”

“I meant by you.”

She opens her mouth but finds herself shaking her head instead of speaking.

“MJ...” Peter starts.

“Don’t,” she tells him. “Not... right now.”

MJ starts walking again, but not before seeing his eyes turn hopeful at the way she left things open. Peter skips to her side. They look sideways at each other and the atmosphere feels suddenly lighter. It’s been a long time, but also, maybe not so long. It pleases and terrifies her to see that he’s still Peter, even with the fame he’s gained over the years.

“Would you want to have dinner?” he asks quietly. “I think it’s pretty obvious that we have some things to sort out.”

She eyes him, wary.

“When?”

“Tonight?” Peter proposes. “Why not, right? I don’t know what these last two weeks have been like for you, but I don’t want to have to do that again. Sit around and wonder what you were thinking and how you could possibly still be so mad at me.”

MJ’s already told him she won’t get into that again at the moment, but now that he’s offering her an opportunity, she’s unsure if she wants to discuss their history at all. Maybe fourteen years later is still too soon.

“I’m wearing shorts,” she says, like that’s a feasible excuse. Peter looks down as if to confirm that.

“It’s not like I’ve never seen your bare legs before. MJ, come on,” he laughs when she strides away over the grass.

What is this looking like to the photographer? Playful? Adventurous? God, MJ doesn’t envy her or the person who’ll write the story, trying to weave a narrative out of this.

“You can go home first and change.”

“And where am I meeting you?” she asks, like she’s considering the idea.

“My place? Because it’s private,” he explains quickly at the look on her face. “I assumed you would’ve had enough of being watched for one day. If we went to a restaurant or something, everyone would stare.”

Ok, that’s reasonable, she supposes. She still doesn’t rush to agree.

“Just to talk?”

“Just to talk,” Peter confirms, jumping ahead of her and walking backwards so she’s forced to look at him. “I can make dinner too. What do you like? I have to buy groceries anyway.”

MJ halts.

“I’m not picky.”

“That means pasta, unless you say otherwise. Remember, I was raised by an Italian woman.”

“Fine.”

“Ok.”

Peter nods and gets out of her way so they can walk side by side again.

“By the way, all I meant by the leg thing was that I’ve seen you wear shorts before.”

He’s grinning. Such a little liar. MJ laughs loudly, surprising herself.

“Yeah, sure, Parker.”

They walk along in companionable silence for a few minutes, running down the clock on this date. Suddenly, Peter’s head tips towards her and he mumbles something. She asks him to repeat himself.

“Can I touch you now?”

“What?”

“Like, touch your back or hold your hand. Just so whoever puts this article together has something to work with.”

Yes, it’s the same thing she was thinking a little while ago, so she should agree to it, but she was also thinking that before he made another reference to her bare legs, and all the implication behind that comment. Would she say the fact that he brought it up surprises her? Yes. (Does that night still cross his mind?) Would she say there’s any sexual tension between them now because of it? Of course not. (Is she the only idiot here who just realized the feelings she swore she buried before junior year were in a very shallow grave?)

“Gimme my jacket back,” she says. When he does, she sighs and offers her hand in exchange.

―

“Theoretically,” MJ says, hunching and twisting to check her pinned-back hair in the bedroom mirror she hung a little low, “what would you wear to a first date at a guy’s apartment?”

Betty’s gasp comes across loud and clear on speakerphone.

“MJ, you have another date today? I know the one with Peter was technically fake, sorry to all the readers who are definitely going to ship the two of you, but don’t you pace yourself? I had no clue your dating life was so, um, active that you had to squeeze two in on the same day. And don’t tell me how that sounded. I hear it now.”

“None of that was advice.”

“You don’t really want my advice. I bet you’re already dressed. You just needed an excuse to call me because you’re nervous and too proud to ask me for a pep talk.”

“Ok, stop making me feel so fucking transparent!”

“Who’s the guy?” Betty wants to know. “What do we know about him? First date at his apartment, that’s―”

“It’s Peter.”

“I’m sorry, did you just say it’s Peter?”

“Yes, it’s Peter, so you don’t have to worry about me going over to his apartment.”

“But... how do you know where it is?” She can almost see her friend’s panicked expression.

“He texted it to me.”

“He has your phone number?”

“Why do you say that like it’s the most scandalous part of this situation? We exchanged numbers at the park this afternoon.” MJ steps back, still studying her reflection. She’s done the top half of her hair up and it looks pretty even.

“Right, at the park, on the date that you said would be the first and last time you cross paths this decade.”

“Maybe it’s like Cinderella and we get an unlimited number of meetings until midnight.”

“What if you stay later than midnight?”

“No reason to,” MJ assures her. “We’re just going to talk for a bit and eat, I don’t know, spaghetti or something.”

“Romantic.”

“Only if you’re a couple of dogs in a Disney movie.”

“Ok, now I’m curious,” Betty confesses. “What are you wearing to this absolutely not earth-shattering spaghetti dinner? If you say jeans, I’m staging an intervention.”

“Why not jeans?”

MJ says it to provoke her, reaching awkwardly around to fasten the hook at the top of her dress’s zipper.

“I love jeans,” her friend says, “but this isn’t a jeans occasion.”

“No?”

“MJ, quit it. Promise me you’re wearing something nice.”

“Don’t worry, Mom, I’m wearing something nice.”

“Good. Put some condoms in your purse.”

“Betty!”

“Just one condom? MJ, it’s always better to be pre―”

MJ hangs up on her again. She’ll have to make up for this one.

―

His apartment isn’t what she was expecting. It isn’t a dump, but… Peter (or at least his alter ego) has to be one of the most renown living New Yorkers. MJ was picturing a space somewhere between ‘tasteful showroom of a modern furniture store’ and whatever the Spider-Man equivalent of Paris Hilton’s interior design sense is―red instead of pink and framed pictures of himself everywhere. This place isn’t any nicer than hers. Actually, it’s a little shabbier around the edges. She must have left her poker face at home because Peter (who, in her experience, is largely oblivious to her feelings) seems to know exactly what she’s thinking.

“I give most of it away,” he calls to her from the kitchen. He paused in his cooking to let her in, but he’s back at it while she tours his cramped living room.

“Give what away?”

He laughs.

“Whatever they try to give me. Free stuff, prize money for being chosen as Hero of the Year or something. I don’t know. I stopped paying attention. I just donate everything.”

“Are you trying to come off all noble and shit?” she accuses. She’s smirking though, with her back to the kitchen.

“No, just trying to guess at the questions you want answered. You don’t do much of your thinking out loud, you know that?”

“Why should I?”

She picks up a framed photo of Peter and Ned at the beach. When she sets it back down, she notices that the one beside it, clearly from the same day, is a shot of Peter and Betty doing a synchronized leap on the sand; Ned must be the photographer. What makes her almost knock it off the shelf is her jerky reaction to seeing Peter in nothing but swim trunks. With a surreptitious glance in Peter’s direction, MJ steadies the frame and steps away, face hot. Yeah, she’s seen his body before―when they were teenagers. Another decade and a half as a career ass-kicker and justice-bringer hasn’t exactly hurt his physique.

Ok, so he looks like a damn underwear model. Whatever. MJ can compartmentalize that and move on.

Joining him in the kitchen, she toys nervously with the box she brought. There’s a chocolate cake inside and she’s too wound up from nerves to be able to tell if it was the right thing to get. Is it too childish, like she sees this evening as some kind of Sixteen Candles throwback to the romance of their youth? Is it too decadent, like she’s trying to show up Peter’s cooking skills? God, she doesn’t know. MJ starts to wipe her clammy hands on her dress before spinning and hiding them behind her back instead as she leans backward into the counter to watch him.

She doubts this guy has experience cooking for an audience (and secretly, she’s relieved at the thought that there hasn’t been a parade of hookups through here). There’s food on his short-sleeved button-down, utensils gripped desperately in both hands, and his feet are bare. Not that it’s a problem, in his own home, it’s just weirdly vulnerable. Although, MJ’s are bare too. It’s summer and she wiggles her toes freely, anxiously, wanting to both have something to do and to stand here observing him without getting involved. Being in Peter’s apartment is already so involved.

“Can you grab the bowls for me?” he suddenly requests and MJ jerks, realizing she’s been staring at the way his shirt hugs his shoulders.

She does it without replying, retrieving the bowls from where Peter points and handing them off with a civil little nod. The closer she is to him, the quieter she seems to get. It feels wrong and like the complete opposite of what happened earlier today. This is her opportunity for closure, isn’t it? If this is really the end, like she told Betty it would be, then that’s why she’s here tonight; they’ll hash things out and spend the rest of their lives peacefully keeping their distance―as opposed to maintaining it irritatedly, the way MJ’s been doing. Why else would she have come?

“Aw man,” Peter sighs as he dishes up their food. He’s just noticed the stains on his shirt.

“Yeah, you were a bit of a hurricane in there.”

“Sorry,” he says, setting the bowls on his tiny kitchen table, “I’ll… I’ll just… You can start eating. I’ll be right back.”

MJ’s going to refuse for the sake of good manners, but her mouth closes almost as quickly as she opens it because Peter starts unbuttoning his shirt faster than he turns away. She almost knocks over her water glass. He might be the one with food on his clothes, but she’s a fucking mess tonight. Quickly, she averts her eyes as he stumbles to the door that must conceal his bedroom, presumably for a fresh shirt. She can only try to calm her heartrate and twist her bowl back and forth on its placemat in his absence. Conclusions. Endings. Closure. Renewed attraction, MJ thinks―staring down into the colourful splay of thin sauce, vibrant vegetables, and bright seafood―is not on the table.

And it really might have worked out the way she planned if Peter had redressed completely in his room, instead of walking out still pulling his t-shirt down. Instead of shuffling towards her as he tugged it into place. Instead of catching her staring at his naked stomach.

She’s flustered by being caught, hands fluttering over her silverware, and by the feeling of him looking at her. Why is he doing that? To make sure she knows he caught her? She’s embarrassed enough. When she reminds herself that she’s a successful, independent adult and not the teenage girl whose heart was broken gradually by neglect, she has the strength to glance up. He isn’t looking at her anymore. They eat dinner like regular people. If anything, they’re more courteous versions of themselves, skimming the details of the personal lives they didn’t discuss earlier in the day. He’s curious about her job; she asks after his aunt, her last memory of whom is a smiling face behind a camera on graduation day. This must be part one of how this goes: catching up.

Towards the end of dinner, when chewing has loosened MJ’s face enough to let the smiles slip out and the wine Peter eventually remembered to open has added more colour to his cheeks than their afternoon in the sun, they slide smoothly into part two: reminiscence. They’re not drunk, there’s just something awfully tempting about the freckles strewn across his nose. Self-policing the way she’s drawn to him makes MJ gawky and making conversation gets dicey. One minute it’s football games and decathlon practices, the next it’s the dates he missed and the passive-aggressive responses she gave him. He’s wounded, she’s flippant. He all but orders her to stay seated while he clears the table; she tosses her hair over her shoulder and swishes out of her chair to get the cake.

“You could’ve called me to say you weren’t coming,” MJ snaps, trying to unknot the ribbon securing the box. She presumed it was purely decorative; it turns out to be shockingly sturdy. “One of those times. Any of those times. But you just… never showed up.”

“I was preoccupied. I was saving people, on my own,” he retorts. She hears the dishes clatter into the sink. “I thought you were the one person I wouldn’t need to explain myself to.”

“I didn’t need a justification, Peter, but it would’ve been nice to know why you were never there.”

“Yeah, and it would’ve been nice if you could’ve been a little less selfish.”

His words land like a slap and she spins around. Likely spotting her movement from the corner of his eye, he turns from the sink opposite, bracing his hands behind him.

“I was selfish?” she echoes. “Because I was fifteen and naïve enough to think that when I finally let somebody in, they’d do the same and be there for me?”

“A lot of people needed me!” Peter insists. His chest is heaving.

“What have they ever given you in return?” she demands. “Money that you won’t take? Awards you can’t use? A date―” She laughs and gestures to herself, hands sweeping her body. “―you sure as hell never asked for?”

“That’s not nothing.”

“It is nothing! I gave you everything!” MJ shouts at him. The roar of it doesn’t stop her so much as convince her that she’s started something she can’t stop. “I went home with you after that party because your aunt wasn’t going to be there. Because you told her you were spending the night at Ned’s.” It’s controlled fury in her voice now and Peter doesn’t try to halt the recitation. “We were so shy with each other that we barely managed to hold hands in public, but I fucking felt something that night, so I got on your bed and said I was ready and when I woke up afterwards, you were gone.”

“There was an emergency,” Peter murmurs.

“Oh yeah?” Her voice isn’t loud, but it flicks out like a whip. “What was it? Can you remember? Do you remember it better than you remember us taking each other’s virginities because, honestly, Peter, I think my memory of realizing I’d been left all alone in that apartment is stronger than what happened before that.”

“Don’t. Don’t say that.”

“So it’s nice, actually,” she continues sarcastically, “if us having sex only comes in second place for you too.”

“Of course it doesn’t.”

“I. Don’t. Believe. You.” Well, she hasn’t cried, so that’s something. She points beside him, hand shaking slightly, at the black block holding a selection of knives. “Pass me a knife.”

“What? No.”

“It’s to get the stupid cake box open. Pass me a fucking knife!”

Peter pushes away from the sink, hard, and holds her eye as he nudges her out of the way and snaps the ribbon with his hands. She’s breathing heavily.

“I don’t know if you like chocolate ca―”

“No,” he says firmly. “We’re not done talking about this. You hurt me. I never meant to leave you there, ok? I came back and you were gone and then the next day you dumped me. It tortured me that I left. It seemed like I was doing the right thing, going out to help people, but how could the right thing have made me lose you? I thought about that night constantly. Not the part where I walked out on you or you walked out on me, but the good part, and I felt guilty about that, like… like I wasn’t supposed to enjoy it? Because it must’ve been wrong since things went downhill for us so fast after that.”

“A mistake,” MJ summarizes. Voice flat. Dead, even. All these years she’s kept that memory and meanwhile, he’s been thinking it never should’ve happened.

“It wasn’t the mistake. I was.”

As mad as she is, she can’t let Peter put this on himself. It just wouldn’t be factual.

“You couldn’t be a mistake. It’s not in your DNA.”

“I never felt like that again,” he admits, offering her something in return for her reassurance. “The way I did the night we were together.”

“You haven’t had sex since then?”

“Oh, no, I have, it’s just never had the same…”

“I know,” she sighs and ignores the look he darts at her. She can’t stop him from replying though.

“Your sex life’s missing something too?”

“That is absolutely none of your fucking business.”

MJ flips the cake box open and crosses to the knife block, extracting a blade with a smug smile. She returns and slices the cake cleanly.

“Plates, please,” she instructs.

“You asked me first,” Peter points out.

“I didn’t make you answer.”

They are not talking about this, she will not talk about this. Not when she’s seen too much of his skin and they’ve finally dumped some of the baggage they’ve been lugging around this hellish airport of a somewhat-grown-up life. No, she’s far too attracted to him right now, with his glorious abs and his emotional intelligence. MJ is going to serve the cake and secure herself some goddamn closure.

“I just think it’s interesting,” Peter observes. He leans on the counter beside her. Sonofabitch, look at those forearms. “That neither of us has experienced anything like that with anybody else.”

With the flat of the blade, she lifts a slice and lays it on its side on the plate he lazily holds up for her.

“Probably just a numbers thing,” she says lightly.

“Meaning we are gonna have sex like that again?”

“Not with each other. Don’t get your hopes up, Parker.”

He grins and she realizes that, in the process of attempting to dissuade him, she might’ve just flirted with him. Completely by accident. MJ rolls her eyes and gets her own piece of cake. With a jerk of his head, Peter leads her over to his couch. When she sits at the far end, he doesn’t try to get too close, taking the other end. They spend a couple of minutes eating. She’s relieved that the cake’s good and that he seems to like it. He did a nice job on dinner.

“I’m a little embarrassed about the t-shirt,” Peter says eventually. She glances over and he looks down at his chest. The temperature’s changed again though; he isn’t being coy or suggestive, just genuinely humble. “I should own more dress clothes, but… I don’t really have an excuse.” He laughs. “I don’t really like them.”

“You’re fine. You’ve always been a t-shirt guy. Maybe this is an ‘if it ain’t broke’ situation.”

“You look really pretty.”

MJ blushes and feels silly about it. Her eyes drop to her plate and she watches herself push chocolate frosting around before piling it up on the cake she has left.

“I think I might be too old for ‘pretty.’”

“Bullshit.” Peter edges nearer and she looks up at him to see him pointing his fork at her. “You’re not too old to be called pretty and I’m not too old to be excited over chocolate cake.”

“It’s good, right?” she agrees with a smile.

“When you opened that box, I just about lost my mind.” He grins at her. “If we hadn’t been fighting when…”

MJ frowns when he trails off.

“What is it?” Her shoulders fall slightly. “Did you sense something? Do you have to go?”

“Unless there’s a meteor headed for Earth, I’m letting the cops handle things tonight,” he promises. “You just… you have chocolate on your lip.”

He traces the spot on his own face and she wipes at hers. Without Peter touching her to do it himself, this shouldn’t feel as intimate as it does, but the other thing he said won’t let her move on.

“Why should I believe that?” MJ asks. There’s no nastiness in her tone. She sets her empty plate aside and after the final bite of his cake, Peter copies her.

“Because I learned my lesson about priorities really, really well a long time ago.” He shifts closer again and she angles her knees towards him, heart clamoring.

“Are you sure?”

“I think so,” he tells her, face full of honesty. “I’ve never officially tested it because…” Peter shrugs. “…there was never another you.”

“She could be out there.”

“There’s only you,” he says softly, shaking his head. MJ didn’t quite notice when the space between them disappeared, but his hand is gentle on the side of her neck. “And you’re right here.”

“Don’t flatter yourself. I just happen to take my fake dating responsibilities very seriously.”

“This one isn’t fake.” His fingers slide around to the back of her neck.

“I’ll have to update Betty,” MJ says with airy thoughtfulness as her gaze dips to Peter’s mouth.

“I think you might still have some frosting on your lip…”

Apparently, he can still be as much of a cheesy idiot as he was at fifteen and she’d smile if she wasn’t so terrified. Their lips brush lightly, then Peter seals them together, holding her fast. She cries out a little at his certainty. That’s what it feels like, but certainty in what? In his kissing abilities? In them, here together? MJ isn’t sure where she stands on that issue, only that it’s far from where she started this evening, with her self-delusions on closure and walking out of this apartment either more at peace or completely unchanged. So much for those possibilities. She hadn’t accounted for what their second first kiss would feel like.

They aren’t kids anymore, so she can skip the tentative shit.

MJ grabs his face with both hands, fingers curling beneath his jaw, and kisses him back with a greedy feverishness. There, let him see what she wants. If he rejects her, he rejects her. He’ll never do worse to her than he already has. But Peter doesn’t ease off, doesn’t try to backtrack to a scrubbed-clean Disney kiss that compresses romance to two dimensions. He lets go of her neck and grabs her by the hips, hauling her forward. She takes his shoulders and settles her knees on the couch on either side of him. Right away, he pulls her down and she doesn’t resist, grinding in his lap with her dress accordioned between them. Peter’s hand finds the edge of her skirt and snakes up her inner thigh to cup her over her underwear. In the same motion, he rubs his fingers against her through the lace. She breaks the kiss wetly and pants next to his ear.

“I wanna take you to my bedroom now,” he tells her, still rubbing while she rubs right back, seeking the friction with a jerk of her hips, “unless there’s some other way you want tonight to go.”

“No, I think we definitely better fuck.”

With that unambiguous assent, Peter hitches her hips against his and stands up with his hands secure beneath her ass and thigh. MJ wraps her legs around him and crosses her ankles.

So, this is Peter at 29. His feet slap the floor of his apartment and their mouths meet over and over with passion and imprecision. He makes it from the living room and into the kitchen without hitting anything; the air smells like dinner as they pass through and what wine the pasta in her belly hasn’t absorbed makes her press her abdomen against his cock while she’s still in his arms. He shoves her to the nearest wall and rocks hard between her thighs, squeezed close by her heels digging into his firm ass. At this point, MJ doesn’t particularly care if they do this on a horizontal surface. There’s a lot stoking this fire and while there wasn’t this much heat in their history (they had sex one time and it was gentle, caring, unhurried), the small flame’s kept burning all these years, ready to be fanned high at the first opportunity.

Peter gathers her against him and heads for his bedroom instead. His willpower’s something, with how fucking solid he is in the front of his jeans. (Jeans, Betty! MJ thinks. Goddamn double standard.) He doesn’t stop to turn on a light―taking her right to his bed and never letting her go as he lays her back―but the late summer sun provides a fading glow through his window and the door he didn’t shut behind them lets warm light spill in from the kitchen. MJ’s breathing hard as her hands, trembling with impatience, peel the t-shirt off of the adult boy she knew. Briefly, he hoists her hips to remove her underwear. She’s embarrassed when he draws them down her legs with a look of realization on his face and holds them up for the light to shine through the lace.

“Even with the denial, it didn’t seem impossible that we might end up here,” MJ offers before Peter can comment. She sighs and admits the rest. “I also have a condom in my purse.”

“We won’t need it.”

He dives down, kissing her neck as his hands smooth her dress up her thighs. With her knees bent, it doesn’t take much to make the material pool at her hips. But MJ pushes at his shoulders and Peter lifts his head.

“Like hell are we not using a condom.”

“No,” he says, expression earnest (there’s his face the first time he asked her out), “I just meant we won’t need the one you brought. I, uh, I didn’t only buy groceries before you came over.”

“Good.”

“Yeah?” Peter grins down at her. She nods.

“That means I’m not the only one who…” Felt something. Hoped for more. MJ can’t quite say that yet, so she shrugs and moves on. “Also means I don’t have to go get my purse.”

He agrees by returning his mouth to her throat, sucking until she gasps, then bucking his hips into hers to make her moan.

“Stay right here.”

“Mmm,” she consents, scraping her fingers through his hair.

Noticing him leaning into the sensation, MJ closes her hand into a fist and gives his hair a tug. Peter groans against her neck and wraps his arms around her. With his hands wedged under her back, she can feel him hunting for her dress’s zipper. She’s lying on top of it and there’s the little hook to fiddle with. It's not that she doesn’t think he can figure it out―it’s that she doesn’t want to wait that long.

“Let me do it,” she murmurs, tapping his arms this time to get him to lift off of her.

He looks dazed when he does, flinging himself to the side, which leaves MJ temporarily leaning back with her skirt up and no underwear on. This is completely not how she saw today turning out. It does make her pause and think for a second, to see if this feels wrong or thoughtless or otherwise emotionally harmful to the person she might go back to being when it’s over. Maybe if she waited longer, her inner voice would say something else, but there’s a consensus of tens from the judges (her brain, heart, and vagina) that she should absolutely nail Peter Parker. If they didn’t share this history and he was a guy she met through mutual friends or a dating app who held off on disappointing her long enough for them to get here, would she sleep with him? With those eyes and that ass, yeah, why not? Maybe the rockiness of their mutual past should make this feel worse, but, in this moment, it feels better. It feels like that thing from fourteen years ago. And this time around, she has a confidence in her body that she couldn’t even see on the horizon at fifteen.

MJ scrambles off the bed and turns to look at Peter. On his back with his shirt off in the dying light, he could be selling an expensive cologne. He’s probably been approached. The obvious bulge in the front of his jeans makes it a little racy for ads though. She’ll just have to appreciate it on behalf of Spider-Man fans everywhere. After all, she’s the one who won a date with him.

“The condoms are… where?”

Peter points to his nightstand and her hand hovers in front of the drawer with a second of hesitation. What if there’s some kind of raunchy sex toy in here and she’s about to find out that his bedroom escapades with other women are not something she’s prepared to compete with. Or what if there’s a photo of another ex-girlfriend? She hasn’t had the right to feel possessive of him for a small eternity, but seeing some other woman’s smiling face would be a blow. MJ opens the drawer. Besides the unopened box of condoms, she sees a travel pack of Kleenex, a cord for a cellphone or a tablet, and a couple loose aspirin that he should at bare minimum be keeping in a container, if not in a bathroom medicine cabinet. Overall, she’s relieved. It’s the sort of stuff she would’ve expected if she hadn’t spent the years since high school trying to hate him. She gets the box open and tosses him a condom that he’s alert enough to snatch out of the air. Then, MJ turns to face away from him as she reaches back to unfasten the hook.

“Wait,” he says when she starts on the zipper.

Somehow, she knows what he wants. She drops her hands and takes a step back towards the bed, drawing her hair over her shoulder and twisting it around her hand. Soon, Peter’s hands land on the middle of her back before he lowers the zipper. MJ can hear him breathing. With that done, she shuffles the straps off her shoulders and lets the dress slip to the floor like an exhale. She didn’t wear a bra.

She turns and climbs on top of him. Their kisses are sloppy and demanding and Peter’s got one hand between her legs with the other groping her breast in about a second flat. He discovers how wet she is―it’s wetter than she gets for just anybody―and plunges two fingers inside her, which is really distracting since she’s trying to get his jeans open. Giving in for a minute, MJ holds Peter by the back of his neck, lets her head fall back, and pumps up and down on his fingers while he swears like she’s never heard him swear. No, they never could’ve produced this at fifteen.

Forcing herself to remember that she could have his dick instead, she rides his fingers more shallowly and refocuses on his button and zipper. On the downside, he removes his hand to help her get his jeans and boxers off (Peter, she thinks, you still wear boxers?), but on the upside, those same hands get the condom on with speed and precision. Carefully, she removes the pins that have started to become snarled in her hair and tosses them backwards. Sounds like they skate across his nightstand and fall onto the floor. She isn’t concerned at the moment.

“You like being on top or do you wanna be on the bottom?” he asks, sagged back with his elbows propping him up and MJ perched on his thighs.

“Let’s not ask,” she suggests.

Normally, that isn’t what she’d say at all. She’s big on telling her partner what she does and does not like. Even if it’s someone she’s been with a few times, sex can be a bit of an interaction―you do this for me, I’ll do that for you―with the end goal of both parties walking away sexually satisfied. She wants more from Peter than an orgasm. Not being able to say that out loud doesn’t negate it. She trusts his intuition and, more than that, she trusts this thing between them. Whatever it is, MJ’s leaving everything to it. She’s surrendering control because the thought of cutting this up with questions to make it fit the mould of what sex is like with anyone else makes her sick. She takes a slow breath and speaks again.

“Let’s just… be here.”

He’s nodding so maybe she didn’t sound stupid, or just not stupid to him.

“Ok,” Peter agrees softly. “I’m not gonna fuck it up this time.”

She can’t ask whether that’s a promise to her or to himself because he sits up abruptly to meet her lips with his. As he fills her mouth with his tongue, she relaxes into him, draping her arms around his shoulders and shifting her hips forward. She can feel his cock, rigid and hot. MJ starts lifting up, hinting for Peter to slip inside her, but he flips her onto her back to continue blowing her mind with the desire in this French kiss. He holds his hips back to leave space for his hand to once again work two fingers into her, this time also using his thumb to play with her clit. She’s woozy with how good he makes her feel. Just when the kiss has her thinking they’re slowing things down (and the kiss is getting particularly dirty now, making her clench around his fingers), Peter brings her to climax by sneaking a third finger into her channel and curling all three in a sudden stab at her g-spot. Gasping against his mouth, MJ breaks the kiss, hips pitching onto his hand for almost a full minute from when the bliss first hits.

“Shit,” she breathes.

Peter laughs with disbelief as he draws back to look at her.

“That’s something I never thought I’d get to see again.”

“Yeah, lucky you,” MJ congratulates, smirking liquidly.

He seems ready to proceed beyond foreplay now, withdrawing his fingers and grasping her hip, but she decides to enjoy him a little more thoroughly first. She lets him settle between her legs without pressing inside and winds her fingers into his hair again as she nudges her mouth to his. Peter thrusts slowly along her wetness, making her legs quiver when he bumps her clit. Arching up, her chest skims his and she’s sure that, with a little bit of time, she could come a second time from the way he’s grinding against her and the rub of her nipples over the hard planes of his chest. Spider-Man looks good outside the suit.

When she tumbles him to the side, he goes willingly and matches her fleeting, sultry smile. MJ shifts her weight to encourage Peter all the way onto his back, then gets herself positioned on top of him, still riding his erection without taking him inside. She wonders what’s making her start to sweat―a failure of his air conditioning or the buzz that’s getting stronger with every pass along his sheathed erection. Bracing her hands on either side of his shoulders, she bends to kiss and lick across his chest, finding the same faint saltiness on his skin. He grabs her hips and guides her more forcefully along his cock. MJ’s moaning in short pants, Peter’s groaning brokenly. He rolls her onto her side and their legs tangle before he lifts her upper thigh to make room to fit his hips into the gap and, with their foreheads pressed together, push into her.

She has to close her eyes. Her body takes him in immediately, but her mind needs a little longer.

Peter doesn’t rush her, but he doesn’t back off entirely, the way he would’ve when they were a couple of kids hanging all their hopes on it turning out right. MJ’s not putting that kind of pressure on the sex this time around. Back then, part of how badly she wanted it was that she harboured this belief that being physical with him would fix things; it was finally a way to guarantee his focus was completely on her. For Peter, well, she can only guess, but maybe he needed to feel more grounded in himself when he was living so much of his life in secret as this whole other entity.

“You want me?” she asks him now, opening her eyes to observe his face, so close it’s blurry.

“Yeah, I want you.” Sensing her resolve, he thrusts harder and she makes her leg slack so he can hike it up onto his hip.

“You wanna be anywhere else?”

Peter shifts his head back and she becomes aware that they’re on the rumpled sheets of his unmade bed. It’s so familiar that her heart surges even before he stares her right in the eye.

“Nowhere else,” he swears.

She gives him a sharp nod before her tear ducts can get any ideas and kisses him fiercely, swinging her hips down to meet his upstroke. There’s a choked sound from Peter’s throat and he tips her onto her back with a mumbled, “Oh god, M.”

On her back, MJ reaches to grasp the edge of the mattress and Peter pounds into her. She’s tempted to shut her eyes and drown in the sensations, but she fights it to gaze at him. Initially, she thinks he’s like a machine; strong, efficient, accurate (fuck, he found her g-spot before and he’s hounding it ruthlessly now). On second thought, he is what he made himself; perceptive, considerate, real despite the persona that’s grown and grown and grown. The action figure it’d probably be easy to slink into the shadow of. It’s clear to her that he separates them better now and that somehow embracing his other identity is what allowed him to do that. And she wasn’t around for any of it. Has she just stepped back into his life now that it’s easier for her? MJ has to admit that, on some level, of course. That’s exactly what she’s done, but she didn’t plan it that way and the intervening years haven’t been smooth for her either―changing careers, struggling to stay present with partners, maintaining friendships only with the couple of people who wouldn’t let her dissolve from their lives. It seems to her that she’s ready to hang on at the very moment Peter’s ready to be hung onto. This already wasn’t supposed to happen. The draw she wasn’t supposed to win, the date that she tried to get Betty to find her a replacement for, the invitation to dinner, everything that spilled out between dinner and dessert, and finally, how they came together on his couch. Both of them making that choice.

MJ cries out, one hand dropping to grab his shoulder, then cup the back of his neck, her gaze roving the ceiling.

“You can shut your eyes,” Peter huffs, driving forward. “I’ve got you.”

She does. He has her. Twining her legs around the backs of his, MJ urges him forward blindly. Peter sucks her nipple, runs his mouth up the side of her neck until she shudders, then does it some more. His hand tilts her hips and he slides into her just that much better, striking the right spot with fiery fixation.

“Peter! Peterpeterpeter,” she chants. Her eyes open and his face is right above hers. She orgasms with a flinch that lifts her mouth to his. A new reflex―to kiss him.

His thrusts are short and quick as he finishes, humming against her mouth, a long M. She can’t believe she tried to make him call her by her full name. She’d rather hear ‘MJ’ from Peter, and she’s rather hear it just like this, his lips vibrating against hers, feeling all the years between them and yet, not feeling them at all.

#my writing #spideychelleweek2k20 #spideychelle #spideychelle fic #spideychelle fanfiction #peter parker #peter x mj #peter x michelle #peter parker x michelle jones #michelle jones

70 notes · View notes

cora-the-dramatic · 3 years

Text

OC_JIRO'S-OLDER-SISTER-BNHA

[semi-coerent ramblings]

NAME:(?)

AGE:4-5 years older than jiro, 18/20

APPEARANCE: Purple hair(worn either waist length or pixie.), jewelded (?) eyes she always hides behind sunglasses.

PARENTS: dad had emotion based quirk, mom had sound(earjack) based quirk, dad emotionally manipulated, quirk abused,raped, got her pregnant, left her.

QUIRK:earjacks, just like jiro she has earjacks, with basically the same abilities, but she also has the ability to hear emotions, and when she touches others with the points and shoves emotions through them they feel it.

PERSONALITY:

-----0000-------

-She hangs around the shady bits of town, listening in on conversations and writing all the shadys funniest pieces(or what sounds kind of dangerous, and drops the tips off), sometimes she hangs around the creepiest bits and scares people with weird sounds in their head.

-graduated early and did college online(sound filosophy, psychology, and finances.)

-very flippant and kinda a rebel, thinks she's intruding on the family. Kyoka mostly thinks she's very cool, very happy when she helps her with her quirk, but also kinda tsundere and sad that she's never there and so calls her lame.

-Has incredible emotional control because of her quirk and because of practice, making it so she can be having a breakdown or panic attack but all you're gonna see is slightly harsher breaths and very little widened eyes(hidden by sunglasses)

-always has a bored/placid expression on her face (kinda like jiro but way more intensively, i-dont-wanna-talk-to-you-peasant, but also, i'm-not-interesting-i-don't-need-anything-from-you, or just plain neutrality.

-wears sunglasses cause her eyes are like her dads,

-has real god eyesight and can see normally even with sunglasses(inherited from dad)

-Kinda a softy, helping people when she can.

-smokes, both cigarettes and weed.

-A DJ at some clubs, very popular, but lowkey

-saved Dabi's ass but made sure he knew he owed her; he is very bitter about it, but accepts. She ends up making him take down the gang that originally beat him up-wich he finds out is way bigger than he thought-, and half a dozen lesser ones that are connected. She takes all the money and assets though and knocks him out before he can protest. Later on he finds medical supplies, a high quality joint and a quirk regulator for him. The last one is the most impressive and helps him quite a bit. He hunts her down, later on and finds absolutely nothing, but he does get a loose piece of paper with a phone number laying on the same place that the supplies he had given him had been. She contacts him for another job. Somehow along the way, he's become her henchman and a semi-vigilant. He almost never sees her again for at least half a year. Then she began dropping by and demanding food from him. They're friends, but both would deny it. He wears her mark(like a tattoo/piercing/etc)

-Sometimes she dresses up and stalks the nicer neighbourhoods, the banks, the commission, the hero agencies, and government agencies. Her range is wider than anyone would think and her hearing is sharper still. She has a LOT of blackmail.

-Dabi joins the LOV, but she knows it's because of his father. She had been gathering info, but it was slow going and she got distracted in her info gathering on the commission. They cut ties, but they're just being emo. And they still do 'favors' for one another(they just don't bother counting them unless they're BIG favours.)

-She finds AFO, she hates it.

-She ends up weeding out any bad seeds and recruiting new people, training them and establishing proper ranks and money making. She's very scared of AFO.(commission contacts)

-Hawks, the whole story.

-Endeavour, more details, proof.

-She meets her sister's friends and thinks they're all gremlins. And leads them to the Villain hideout so they can find they're little friend.(she helps all mights without anyone noticing, bombarding AFO the best she can with long range nausea-out-of-balance, feelings, as well as out-of-breath, making it unnoticeable because he'd already been feeling that, now it just intensifies.

-she stalks the league, and eventually does a dramatic entrance.(Hawks is there)(she drops out of a vent?)The entire league is tense and almost pounces, but she makes everyone's ears ring and then has an exchange with dabi that makes it clear she knows him, a kinda-friends-but-don't-you-DARE-say-it kind of way. She refuses to leave and ends up becoming a familiar face. She then has a dramatic reveal about how its all the commissions fault and that to take down the fake heroes they need to take down the commission(without hawks there)

-She appears in Hawks apartment when he's deciding whether or not to kill twice. She brings him files of two projects. Hawks joins the Down-with-the-commission bandwagon.

-She really likes bitter stuff and sour stuff, but not when they're together

-Obsessed with journaling dramatically or way to normal.

-Has an actual pet-hawk, Hawks feels kinda offended.

-Gives Toga blood bags and a connection with a blood bank guy and a blood bank for mutations, as well as tells her she can get her the documents if she ever turns over a new leaf and decides not to kill people. Toga is tempting.

-gets magne a quirk healer doctor, and makes the rest of her league her minions to take down overhaul. She ends up with a League Of Vigilants, a Tododriko family hunting down a brother, drama, and a cute white-haired little sister that lives with a hobo she threatened to gut, castrate, make him permanently affected with a quirk that makes cats either scared or hateful of him and make his loved ones suffer.

-LOV kinda lowkey hates him and only Dabi notices he's her minion again, But he got a good shot in at his father and(endeavour got both a flaming-blue punch to the face, a -quirk suppressing- gunshot to the shoulder and a knife to the leg) is too euphoric to complain(has not yet realised that he outed himself to his siblings. With the rest she distracts them with plans to destroy the commission, and chances to cause chaos in general(they mostly don't notice they're minions or vigilants, but are kinda iffy about being ordered around, but are distracted by opportunity of destruction, murder, chaos, and not having to deal with giran)

#bnha #boku no hero academia #semi-coerent ramblings #bnha jirou #bnha oc #Fanfic ideas

1 note · View note

lady-divine-writes · 4 years

Text

A Change in the Weather AU (inspired by Cacophonylights's A Change in the Weather) - Chapter 29

Read on AO3.

“Who in the world needs three trousseaus?” Sebastian moans, trudging behind his boyfriend, his sister, and his soon-to-be brother-in-law through what Olivia refers to as “the hallowed halls of Carolina Premium Outlets”. Kurt was initially surprised that a woman with the financial means of Olivia Smythe would opt to shop at an outlet mall instead of the other upscale clothing stores within a hundred mile radius of the beach house, but it also made him adore her even more.

Never let it be said that Kurt Hummel does not appreciate outlet shopping. His monthly bill to Rue La La alone will attest to that fact.

On top of that, not only had she invited Kurt to come, she demanded his attendance. “I need you, Kurt! I need someone with your refined, sophisticated eye for fashion to help me in this, my hour of need!” she’d declared with the dramatic flair befitting a literary scholar, grabbing him by the hand and wrenching him from his seat in Sebastian’s lap on the porch swing, not about to take no for an answer. At first, he suspected she chose him because her mother was otherwise occupied (which he discovered later on that she wasn’t), but it still flattered him that she went to him for help in this arena and didn’t opt for a personal shopper.

Going to a mall, doing something that could be defined by uncultured swine as banal, had been a welcome change. Not that Kurt didn’t absolutely love everything else they’d done so far - fighting the tides for their dinner, braving bee stings, nearly drowning in Sebastian’s Mustang …

… karaoke.

And the jellyfish. Oh sweet baby Jesus, he can’t forget the jellyfish!

This vacation started out like an episode of Survivor: North Carolina Edition, and even though it isn’t over, Kurt has nothing to worry about because he’s already won the grand prize. But walking into this plucky haven of discounted commerce, with it’s bright, white, artificial lighting and grainy, outdated music piped over the speakers feels like returning to the familiar. Breathing the recycled conditioned air relaxes every muscle like a full-body Shiatsu massage. It reminds him of weekends spent hanging out with his girls, grabbing a soft pretzel and complaining about the men in their lives, which was really a disguised form of good-natured one-upping:

“Finn will never understand the sanctity of my evening ice water face bath! He says it looks painful! He won’t even try it, the scaredy cat! Something about brain freeze and him being afraid of shrinking his skull. But his pores, Kurt! He’s got pores so big, you could live in them! And the sun damage from all that football? He’s such a … such a boy! I don’t know what I’m going to do with him some days! Anyway, did I show you the absolutely adorable music note pin he got me? It’s so perfect, I’m surprised you didn’t have something to do with it! You didn’t, did you? No, I didn’t think so. He said it was for the anniversary of our second kiss! How did he even remember?”

(How did Finn remember? Kurt had thought scornfully. Aside from the fact that Rachel circled the date on Finn’s calendar, then filled in the box with a note written in blood red Sharpie; inputted a message into his phone; and then reminded him every day of the week before; Kurt had no idea …)

“I completely understand what you mean,” Kurt had agreed with an appropriately commiserate eye roll. “I’ve finally managed to open Blaine’s eyes to the importance of jade rolling, but he’s so impatient! Married to the idea that an alpha hydroxy toner is some magical elixir that is going to solve all his problems for him.” Kurt tutted, nodding his head solemnly when Rachel gasped at the failings of his boyfriend. “But he did go out and buy me the cutest raw silk bow tie, out of the blue and for no reason whatsoever, so I guess I can’t be too angry with him for neglecting his dermatological responsibilities …”

The current man in Kurt’s life wouldn’t be in the running to win that competition, not with his constant bitching and complaining about the pain in his feet, the pounding in his head caused by the ‘lame ass music’, and his all-encompassing boredom.

But in this instance, listening to Sebastian gripe doesn’t dull Kurt’s shopping experience an inch.

On the contrary - it heightens it.

“I do.” Olivia grabs Kurt’s hand and bolts towards Talbots to outrun her brother’s sour attitude. “Now, hurry up! We’ve got seven more stores to hit!”

“Why bother?” Sebastian reaches for Kurt’s other hand, frowning when his fingers close around air. “I think you’ve bought every white outfit and peony-covered bed sheet in this place!”

“Hmph. You can never have too much white. And floral never goes out of style,” Olivia tosses over her shoulder, smirking when she notices her brother’s ineffectual attempt at retrieving his boyfriend.

“Great! You can use those sheets when you’re a wrinkled old biddy then.”

“That’s the plan,” Olivia replies with a grin of superiority nearly identical to her brothers. It’s uncanny, like they pass it around, only one of them allowed to use it at any given time.

“Should you even be wearing white at this wedding?” Sebastian retaliates. “I mean, isn’t white reserved for the virtuous?”

“Oh boy,” Brian mutters, taking a gargantuan step away to show how not associated with Sebastian he is at this moment.

Olivia and Kurt stop walking, spinning around in unison to glare down the approaching offender. Kurt wraps an arm around her, shielding her ears with his hands.

“That’s a low blow!” he scolds.

Sebastian shrugs, unfazed. “All I’m saying is that Olivia and Brian haven’t exactly been waiting on a block of ice for this day to arrive, have you guys?” He glances at Brian, who’s strategically hiding behind his fiancee’s fifteen shopping bags and a rotund, fiberglass planter. “Come on, man! Back me up!”

“Look, Sebastian, I love you like a brother,” Brian says, “but I’m not doin’ that. I know which side my bread is buttered.”

“Coward.” Sebastian turns his attention back to his sister and his boyfriend. He rolls his eyes condescendingly at their united front, their matching expressions of umbrage. “Sorry, not sorry,” he offers as his trivial non-apology.

“Oh, okay …” Olivia rolls up her sleeves, gearing up for a fight. “If that’s the way you want it, let’s talk some truth! If I was worried at all about a higher power sending lightning down to smote the impure at my perfect wedding, I wouldn’t have invited Julian or you! Between the two of you, you could set the entire venue on fire!”

Instead of being offended by that remark, Sebastian grins. “You’re not wrong. In fact …” Sebastian’s grin widens like he’s just conceived the most brilliant plan in the world “… I think it might be better if Kurt and I didn’t attend your stuffy old wedding.” He creeps closer to Kurt, prepared to take his sister to the ground to get his boyfriend’s hand back. “For the safety of your guests, of course.”

Olivia pivots, maneuvering a giggling Kurt out of her brother’s reach as swiftly as a chess master would castle a king. “I never said Kurt would set the place on fire.”

“And who says I wouldn’t go just because you weren’t going?” Kurt points out as he’s shuffled towards the safety of another store.

Olivia squeezes Kurt’s hand and beams, proud to have such a loyal companion in this fight.

“Employing that logic, I don’t see why my presence was necessary for this shopping excursion,” Sebastian argues, though it comes across more like he’s pouting. “You have Brian here to play valet. You guys could have gone by yourselves and had all the old lady fun you wanted. I would have given you my blessing.”

Kurt’s jaw drops straight to the collar of his borrowed button-down. “We told you where we were going! And I told you you’d be bored out of your mind! You begged us to come!”

“As a favor to you, babe.” Sebastian crosses his arms over his chest like a petulant toddler - a toddler with biceps the size of Kurt’s calves, on breathtaking display in the tight t-shirt he’s wearing. But Sebastian also looks so charmingly immature, Kurt can’t help breaking, smiling at him with heart eyes. This attitude shift - his playful moping and edge-free teasing - is one of the things Kurt loves about having Sebastian out here, surrounded by the loving bosom of his family. He’s softened, less sardonic, stopped trying to keep Kurt at arm’s length via the use of inappropriate jokes and jabs that skirt a line.

He’s gone from minor criminal mastermind, the scourge of Dalton Academy, and has become a goofy teenager.

Sebastian caps off his claim with, “Lord knows neither one of you has any sense of style,” and this time, it’s Olivia’s turn to cover Kurt’s ears. “Offense! Now you’ve gone too far!”

“Come, Olivia …” Kurt sniffles, squaring his back with a dignified roll of his shoulders, symbolically sloughing off Sebastian’s slights “… I refuse to stand here and be insulted by a boy wearing boat shoes.”

“Now, Kurt, don’t you listen to that mean, bitter … oh my God! Neiman Marcus is having a clearance sale! Come on!” She grabs Kurt’s hand and bolts toward the store, and God, is she strong! Kurt feels his feet fly out from under him as he rushes to keep up, Sebastian and Brian chuckling behind them. Kurt loses Sebastian in a sea of discount racks, each boasting bright red and yellow signs proclaiming 50% off! Final sale! 85% off re-racks! Kurt frowns at the signage, but then can’t help snickering at his own reaction to them. These signs are tackier than Kurt would expect for a Neiman Marcus store, outlet or otherwise, no doubt, but look at him being a sign snob when he can barely afford half the items on the rack at regular price?

Kurt finds his size (or his general range) and starts sifting through items one at a time, savoring the experience. He hears Olivia ooo and ahhh at a rack beside him, but his mind begins wandering to thoughts of the boy sauntering their way, helping Brian bear his load, laughing while his eyes search for Kurt.

And smiling like he’s never been happier.

For all of Sebastian’s incessant whining and rude remarks, Kurt can’t say he hasn’t fantasized about going on a no holds barred shopping excursion with him. He’s curious as hell how Sebastian would dress him. How Sebastian sees him. This button-down he’s wearing, top button undone and collar popped, is one of Sebastian’s - something Sebastian had tossed Kurt’s way after breakfast with only a, “Please?” as if his intentions were clear without further comment.

And they were.

But in a dedicated ensemble-selecting situation, what would his aesthetic be?

Kurt assumes there’d be a lot of denim and distressed tees involved, which might actually be quite fetching on him. It is on Sebastian, and the two of them are proportionately similar. With a chunky leather belt and his Doc Martens, he could see himself pulling that off. It’d be comfy, less restricting than the clothes he chooses for himself. And who knows? Sebastian might throw him a curve ball, surprise him by choosing an out-of-left-field accessory.

He’s exceptionally good at that.

The more Kurt thinks about it, the more he finds himself getting excited over the prospect of such a trip even though it’ll likely never happen.

But it could. Who knows?

It gives him something new to fantasize over.

Cooper had once accused Kurt of picking out Blaine’s clothes, and Blaine had defended him. Or himself, come to think of it. His personal style choices. But the truth is Blaine balked at a lot of Kurt’s attempts to dress him. He borrowed items from Kurt’s closet and vice versa, but letting Kurt style him? They didn’t do that all too often. The two of them had such signature styles, it felt like stepping on one another’s toes.

Might have been a good thing that Kurt didn’t, in retrospect. As with Rachel’s carousel horse sweaters, Blaine owns a cardigan or two that Kurt wouldn’t mind setting on fire.

And the temptation is strong.

But as for Sebastian’s style - Kurt suspects there’s a degree to which someone else buys his clothes for him. Like a personal shopper, or perhaps even his mom. He wears a lot of the same outside of his Dalton uniform - designer label clothes that suit his figure but don’t exactly scream personality. Kurt can see Sebastian approving the colors and having the final say, but in the end, he doesn’t do the work.

His t-shirts are a different story. Those he obviously picked out personally. They’re conversational, speak to more than his taste in clothing.

They’re a peek into his identity.

If Kurt had the chance to get his hands on Sebastian’s wardrobe, he’d dress him in pieces tailored more for his figure - dress shirts with the sleeves rolled up and one tail untucked hinting at his trim waist, layered over simple tanks of solid colors, and jeans slightly snugger than he usually wears.

Kurt swallows, his mouth stone dry at the silhouette that combination creates in his mind.

He startles out of his daydream when he realizes he’s stopped searching. Olivia’s voice has become a low hum in his ears, blending with the music and occasional store announcements; his hands gripping two separate hangers like an iron vice determined to break them in half. He peeks up to see an amused Sebastian staring at him, heading in their direction, but his view gets cut when Olivia thrusts a hanger in front of his face.

“Oh, Kurt! Look! It’s Tom Ford and it’s leopard! It would look so fierce on you!” Olivia takes a gander at the tag. “And it’s 75% off! A steal, Kurt! You have to get it!”

“Should I?” Kurt turns to the nearest mirror, mounted on a support pillar, and holds the long-sleeved shirt up to his chin. It is rather stunning. He doesn’t have to look at the price tag to know that it costs a pretty penny. 75% off of Tom Ford’s average retail price is quite the splurge for normal, non-economically blessed humans. What Olivia considers a steal would mean the sacrifice of an entire weekend at his dad’s shop. But, luckily, he has it to spend. And he’s worth it, especially after everything he’s been through.

“Absolutely! You’d be losing money not buying it at that price!”

“You know what? I think I will!” And as excited as he is at adding a new separate to his Tom Ford collection, Kurt feels a pit grow in his stomach when those words pass his lips. He feels guilty not bookmarking every single cent he has for NYADA, but seeing as he has this new plan to put into action, he breaks down and decides to buy the shirt, a pair of slacks, and a belt to tie the whole look together.

“You know, you should just go crazy,” Sebastian mentions. “It’s all good. I’ll pick up the tab.”

Kurt’s heart speeds at the offer, an orgasmic Yes! pinging through his brain, but he shakes his head. “That’s very generous, but even on sale, the prices in this place are insane! I don’t want you spending that kind of money on me.”

“Why not? I have it to spend. What’s a couple thousand between boyfriends?” Sebastian says, playfully bumping Kurt’s hip with his own. “Besides, I like the idea of spoiling you.” He leans close to Kurt’s ear and whispers, “If you want, I can take it out of what I owe you. Or in exchange for sex. Whatever floats your boat.”

Those words, in contrast to the heat of Sebastian’s breath, make Kurt’s skin go cold. It’s a joke. Sebastian is teasing. And Kurt should be happy that he feels free to tease him about this. Things are slowly coming out in the open, people are finding out about their ruse, and they don’t care, because in the end, the two of them fell in love. They’re happy.

And no one died.

Jokes about money, or their relationship, may not mean anything to Sebastian, not since the end justified the means. So they shouldn’t mean anything to Kurt.

So why do they?

Bzzz-bzzz. Bzzz-bzzz.

Kurt’s phone vibrating in his pocket is rare enough for this trip that it makes him jump a full foot in the air. Truthfully, he forgot he brought it with him. He’d deemed it unnecessary for most outings, only holding on to it in case of an emergency. He sticks the leopard shirt under his arm and pulls his phone out of his pocket. He unlocks his screen and sees an incoming message from his father. He taps on it to open it, but it refuses, bouncing back to the main screen after a few seconds of stalling.

“What is it, babe?” Sebastian asks after Kurt stabs at his screen for the fifth time with no luck.

“It’s a text from my dad, but I can’t open it,” Kurt replies. “He sent a picture attachment, but it keeps freezing up.”

“Maybe it’s too big.” Sebastian puts his share of Olivia’s shopping bags down and rests his hands on Kurt’s shoulders, gently kneading away the tension this is causing him. “Lord knows I understand that problem.”

“Ha ha,” Kurt deadpans, assaulting the screen more vigorously like he’s interrogating it for information.

Which he kind of is.

“Speaking of, can I see those pictures?” Olivia asks.

Sebastian shoots his sister a disturbed look. “You want to see pictures of my junk?”

“Does Kurt have pictures of your junk on his phone? Because if he does, I think we’ve identified the problem.”

“And what’s that?”

Olivia stares at her brother with such intense seriousness, Kurt thinks she may not be kidding when she says, “His phone obviously has a virus.”

Brian guffaws unexpectedly and turns away.

“Funny,” Sebastian deadpans back.

“I want to see the pictures from that hot air balloon ride you guys took!” Olivia clarifies, blessedly halting the conversation in its tracks.

“Oh. Yeah,” Kurt says, distracted by this issue with his phone. “Let me just …”

“Did you forget how to use it?” Sebastian asks, only half kidding. “I mean, you haven’t really been using your phone since we got here.”

“It’s not that,” Kurt says, not surprised anymore by how easy it is to bypass Sebastian’s humor and see the real message inside. Kurt is struggling to open a text - a text from his father. Sebastian knows that’s going to cause Kurt anxiety. “This has happened to me a few times before. Shoot! Now it won’t let me access my photo gallery!”

“I should really upgrade your phone,” Sebastian says, like it’s his responsibility to handle this problem, as if he has the authority to make that decision.

“My phone’s fine, Bas,” Kurt grumbles, more annoyed at his phone than he is at his boyfriend.

“Kurt, this is serious! I don’t want your wack ass service to go out when I need to get a hold of you. What if we’re sexting and your phone locks my messages, too?”

“I don’t think it’s the service. I have full bars. I can get on the Internet just fine. It’s my internal storage … mmph!” Kurt gives up on his gallery, accessing Facebook for the photos instead. “It’s the phone! I think it’s finally aged out.”

“Ergo why I should upgrade it.”

“Grr!” Kurt doesn’t bother glaring at Sebastian since he accepts the fact that he made his point for him. Yes, it would be nice to have a new phone. This one’s been giving him grief for a while. But it still works, and it’s decent. Why toss something away because it’s temperamental and frustrating? If that’s the case, he should break up with Sebastian. He laughs out loud when that conclusion pops into his head, but he doesn’t mention why, regardless of the strange looks he’s getting.

“It’s okay,” Sebastian mouths to a perplexed Olivia while pretending to patronizingly pat Kurt’s hair. “He does that sometimes.”

“Okay, okay!” Kurt cheers as his Facebook page pops on the screen. “I’ve got it! Here’s the one at holy shit!”

“Holy shit?” Olivia repeats.

“I don’t remember us going there.” Sebastian crowds with Olivia and Brian around Kurt, all staring at his phone. The first photo that comes up is the exact photo Kurt wanted - the two of them kissing in the basket of that hot air balloon with the caption he wrote, Love Defies Gravity, overhead. But that’s not the issue. The issue is:

“Seen by … 1,452 people!?”

Even Sebastian gasps when Kurt reads it.

“That’s … a lot of people,” Brian says, a less astute observation than Kurt would expect from a lawyer.

“It is. I---I didn’t even know this many people were checking their Facebook pages over the summer. Everyone seemed so busy …” Kurt pauses, swallows heavy, one that fills all the negative space in his throat, then crawls through his chest when it gets that far - his lungs, the spaces between his ribs, his heart. There it stays, obstructing his breathing, rooting him to the spot with its oppressive weight. Because it’s not just the length of the seen by list that makes Kurt’s eyes swell (and yes, it appears that almost everyone he’s ever met, known, given his Facebook information to has seen this picture), but the comments they left. Only the first four are displayed, but when he clicks the View more comments hyperlink, they shoot down his screen, disappearing out of sight.

Kurt scans the list of names quickly, noting that pretty much every member of the New Directions has not only seen the pictures but has had something to say – something positive, and that makes Kurt giddy with relief. Not that their disapproval would have had any influence over whether Kurt stays with Sebastian or not. He doesn’t need a single one of his friends to approve as long as they understand that this is what he wants. But it’s nice to know that his friends are happy for him, even Rachel, who has left him a string of heart emojis, one or two of them broken, and the almost impossible to believe comment – I’m so sorry. About everything. Call me soon. I want to talk about this.

Kurt stops reading names after he sees Santana’s remark - Plot twist of the century! Way to get it, pretty pony! FYI - I’m still down to cut a bitch if he goes back to being a puto!

“Hey!” Sebastian says, pointing her comment out.

“What?” Kurt gives him a one shoulder shrug. “It’s her way of saying she approves. Besides, it’s good to know.” Kurt smiles to himself when he hears Olivia backhand her brother and he yelps, “Careful, will ya!? Your engagement ring’s sharp!”

Kurt gets so caught up in his happiness, he doesn’t see one name in particular at the way bottom of the list. The name of someone who had said they’d sworn off Facebook for the summer, but who’d been checking it on the sly whenever they got the chance.

One of the first people to flip through all the photographs on Kurt’s page, even though they didn’t leave a comment.

They couldn’t bring themselves to, not on any of the photographs Kurt has uploaded while he’s been at the beach house – the ones he took of the ocean view from Sebastian’s room, the selfie he took with Sebastian on the porch swing, the one he took of Sebastian asleep in bed.

Especially the one of Sebastian asleep in bed.

Blaine Anderson.

***

Several times on the car ride home, Kurt attempts to download his father’s message. He waits while the loading icon circles round and round and round, but all he gets back is the error message File not available for download.

“Shoot! But why aren’t you available for download?”

The phone doesn’t answer, but Sebastian does.

“Because I’m a shit phone, Kurt,” he says in a cartoonish falsetto. “Let your sexy boyfriend upgrade me.”

Kurt side-eyes Sebastian. “Is that code?”

Sebastian bounces his eyebrows. “Do you want it to be? There is such a thing as a gadget kink, isn’t there?”

“You would know,” Kurt mutters. “You do realize that even if you upgrade my phone today to one that is faster, more reliable, has a longer battery life, and …”

Sebastian glances from the road to Kurt stuck in the midst of that sentence with his mouth half-open “… and …?”

“I don’t know. I kind of lost myself in my own argument.” Kurt’s face goes blank, marooned on the question of exactly why it is he’s turning down the offer of a new phone. He’s never been a phone snob. He’s the one constantly defending the fact that yes, he owns an older iPhone, but if it’s not broke, don’t fix it.

Except now that argument is invalid.

A newer generation iPhone would be nice, but again, it’s too much money. He loves Sebastian, but he doesn’t need him paying for everything.

At what point would spoiling be considered mooching in Sebastian’s eyes, even if Kurt starts out by vehemently objecting?

Kurt shakes his head, demolishing the image of himself wielding the latest in Apple technology when he remembers the point he was attempting to make. “That’s right. Even if you upgraded my phone today, I still might not be able to open this message. If I can’t download it, it might not transfer over.”

“Why don’t you give him a call?”

“I’ve tried! It’s not just my texting that’s on the fritz, I can’t do anything! The infuriating thing is I haven’t gotten any significant messages from anyone the whole time I’ve been here! The one day my dad has something so important to tell me he includes a picture, it pulls this crap, deciding that, after a long and loyal relationship, today is the day it’s going to screw the pooch!” At least it waited longer than Blaine, Kurt thinks sourly. Was more reliable in the end, too.

“Maybe the problem is your service and we’ve entered a dead zone,” Sebastian says sympathetically, as if a similar criticism about Blaine may have crossed his mind. “You’ve had no problems using your phone at the house, right?”

“Right.”

“Then I say wait till you get to the house and give it another shot.”

“You’re … you’re probably right.”

“Hey …” Sebastian reaches across the center console for Kurt’s hand. Kurt takes it without looking, without needing to look “… if you’re that worried about him, use the landline. Put your mind at ease.”

“Yeah.” Kurt pockets his phone, his mind whirling through the spectrum of possibilities, trying to hit blindly on which one is more plausible. It doesn’t help too much since not a single one of them is any better than the rest. “I might just do that.”

***

To Kurt:

Call me as soon as you can. We need to talk ASAP.

Sitting alone on the edge of Sebastian’s bed, staring at his phone screen, those words are as far as Kurt gets before his phone goes loopy again, but the chills that spiral up and down his spine show no sign of stopping.

Now that he has that much of the message open, his Facebook app starts flipping out. He’d been reading the threads underneath his photos, but the longer he scrolls, the app errors out and shuts down, forcing him to log in all over again. He has two-factor authentification set on all his apps, which means waiting for an authorization text before he can do anything. He’s had to change his password twice so far. He prays he won’t have to do it again.

There are just so many variations of TheGoddessPattiLuPone he can come up with.

He’ll have to move on to TheGoddessBetteMidler soon.

In between shut downs, he catches snippets of conversations that solve a couple of mysteries for him. Like how Sebastian managed to see his old Cheerios videos. A helpful Brittany was apparently instrumental behind that one, bringing them up on her phone from the official Cheerios archive (accessible only by past and present members of the Cheerios) when Sebastian mentioned he was interested in starting a squad at Dalton and would she mind giving him a few pointers seeing as she was one of McKinley’s star cheerleaders and all.

Kurt sighs over the fact that she fell for that one but he can’t hold it against her. She’s a sweetheart that way, rarely thinks badly of anyone for too long. Even with everything Sebastian has done to sabotage the New Directions, it would be water under the bridge as long as he was nice to her. Maybe gave her a gummy bear or two.

Kurt’s coffee order - a splash of cream and a half spoon of sugar - Kurt deduces in a round about way came from Mercedes one day when they went to visit Dalton to pick up some transcripts and he took her to the commons for coffee. He remembers her commenting in a voice that could never competently whisper, “A drop of cream and a half spoon of sugar? Oh honey. What’s wrong now?”

It was only once. Kurt had forgotten Sebastian was even there. He had started to dish when he caught sight of Sebastian out the corner of his eye. He immediately took Mercedes by the arm and led her away out of earshot of ‘the criminal chipmunk’.

If Kurt doubted that Sebastian actually did spend a great deal of his time gathering blackmail fodder on people the way he claimed, his mind has definitely changed, though he’s not exactly sure how knowing Kurt’s secret coffee order would help Sebastian bend him to his will.

On the flip side, Kurt is interested to find out what else he knows, and about whom.

The phone shuts down and restarts. As soon as it springs to life, it rings, the volume turned up so loud, it shocks him, causing him to fling his phone a foot in the air. Luckily he catches it before it hits the floor. He can’t afford for this thing to break more than it has. He looks at the screen, expecting (but not necessarily hoping, and that makes him feel like a heel) his dad’s number. But it’s not.

It’s Rachel’s.

Kurt groans. He’s not sure he wants to talk to her yet. Because it won’t be talked to, but talked at, a dozen questions flying at him in a single breath which he won’t be given a chance to mull over adequately before he’s expected to answer. And even though he recognizes that he doesn’t owe Rachel anything - any explanations and definitely no apologies - she may ask questions he doesn’t have satisfactory answers for. Not according to her.

Oh God! He doesn’t need this now! Doesn’t need this stress, doesn’t need to be pressured, especially when he has a mysterious message from his father to reckon with. He argues over it to a phantom Rachel in his head, outlining his reasons in a numbered list as to why he doesn’t need her interrupting his calm, harshing the one luxury he’s allowed himself the entire summer, and how there’s not a single thing she can say that will guilt him into feeling anything other than over-the-top, insanely happy.

He gets so wrapped up in winning this non-existent argument, lining up the zingers he’s been stockpiling for just such an occasion, it takes him a few seconds to notice that his phone has stopped ringing.

He stares at the red disconnected call icon on the screen, a choked off, “Oh no,” slipping past his lips.

Kurt took too long.

This could be bad.

But on the bright side, it’s not bad right this second. It seems fate answered his question for him. At least now he has a chance to take a breath before he has to consider---

The phone rings again.

Kurt sees Rachel’s name re-appear on the screen and mutters, “Good God.”

Rachel has nothing going on this summer, so she has plenty of time to keep dogging him till he answers. He knows that for a fact.

He could turn off his phone, put it in a plastic bag, shove that plastic bag in a pillowcase, and then put that pillowcase in his luggage, but he’s still trying to get to the bottom of the text from his dad.

He has no choice.

Best to get this over with, he decides, before she sweet talks Finn into finding out where he is and makes him drive her to North Carolina to talk to him personally. Even if they can’t narrow down the exact location of the beach house, she’d make him drive around while she called out his name through a bull horn to hunt him down.

Erring on the side of caution, Kurt begrudgingly picks up. Rachel’s voice comes through before the phone even makes it to his ear.

“Kurt?”

“Rach?”

“Oh thank God!” she says with an exaggerated sigh, as if Kurt has been missing for months. “I’ve been trying to get a hold of you all day!”

Kurt glances at his screen, the call history for her number outlined in small white numbers denoting this as the fifteenth call from her in the past hour. “I can see that.”

Then comes silence.

Silence because she expects him to lay everything out for her without her having to ask.

And, at the moment, after everything she said about Sebastian being a temporary person (even though, to be fair, Kurt had given her no concrete reason to think otherwise) he’s bitter enough not to.

She breathes in as if she’s about to start a sentence.

He breathes in, prepared to cut in and say, “I know what you’re going to say, Rachel,” though he doesn’t.

So he waits.

She clears her throat, and in a compassionate voice, she asks, “Wha---what happened?”

“Uh …” If that isn’t the loaded question of the decade, Kurt thinks. “It’s like this … he … Sebastian, that is … no - maybe I should start with Blaine … but first, there was this …” Kurt sighs. There is no good place to begin. “You know, it’s a lot to talk about and, to be honest, I’d rather not do it over the phone.”

“Fair enough,” she says, and Kurt can almost hear her nodding. She breathes in again but pauses, holding this one breath for a long time before letting it out in a rush. “You and Blaine aren’t getting back together … are you?”

She sounds so sad.

She sounds the way Puck’s hug felt after he and Blaine told their friends about their decision to break up.

She sounds like something important has been ripped away from her, because Kurt and Blaine’s plans for New York were, in small part, Rachel and Finn’s plans, too. As much as he’d daydreamed about living the poor college student life with Blaine, their Bohemia Academia in a run down apartment they’d make quaint and homey with a combination of stuff from home and accumulated kitsch, Rachel had imagined living somewhere nearby with Finn so they could drop in unannounced for impromptu trips to the farmer’s market; hang out on the fire escape during hot summer nights, sipping sweet vermouth and talking about the cattle calls they’d been to, the parts they hoped they’d get, commenting on no small parts, only small actors, which would turn into a dig at Blaine’s and Rachel’s heights respectively, and probably devolve into a pillow fight..

There was a future wrapped up in Kurt and Blaine’s plans that wasn’t entirely theirs and now that life is being mourned.

“No,” Kurt says, pulling off that bandage before it sits too long, hurts too much. It’s not the declaration that hurts. It’s the anticipation of what that answer might bring. He closes his eyes, jaw going rigid, hands clenching, bracing for the impact. “Never.”

Another in a long series of silences hovers between them. Not a tense one, but not a comfortable one. But then Rachel says the one word Kurt never expected to hear in response to that revelation.

“Good.”

Kurt’s eyes pop open, and inside his chest, his heart stops. “Come again?” he asks when he should be relieved he’s getting away relatively unscathed.

“He shouldn’t have broken up with you, Kurt! He was wrong! Everything he said at that party was wrong!”

“What about what you said at the party?” Kurt asks sarcastically. He can only keep so much of his anger over that contained. Of course what she said was annoying - typical Rachel Berry rhetoric. But he also felt betrayed by the person whose alliance was the most difficult of his life to obtain. He’d thought that made it the sincerest. “About how we were being very mature about the whole thing, and it was good that we were taking some time to reevaluate our choices as we stepped into the future as adults?”

“I was wrong,” she admits tearfully. And not Rachel Berry’s overacted I feel sad when you’re sad tears. These are the genuine article. “I wanted to support you. I wanted to support what I thought was your joint decision. But thinking back on it, re-evaluating what Blaine said, how you reacted to it …” She sniffles, blows her nose away from the phone, and all of the seething bitterness that has been building up in Kurt’s heart over her melts “… then seeing those pictures of you and Sebastian together, and after having a long talk with Finn, I realized that what Blaine did to you is wrong. On so many levels. You did nothing to deserve it. Nothing. And if Sebastian treats you right, if he treats you the way Blaine should have treated you, the way you deserve to be treated then …” She pauses for a deep breath, returning to form, coming to the crux of her argument “… you have my blessing.”

Kurt rolls his eyes at the insinuation that he needs any blessing from her, but he smiles fondly, so hard that his cheeks hurt. It’s a curse that none of them can seem to stay angry at Rachel for long. Even Mercedes, who had more right than any of them to hate Rachel’s guts after that rigmarole with West Side Story came around about a month later. “Thank you, Rachel. That’s very kind of you to say.”

“You’re very welcome,” she says, her voice slightly broken as she gathers herself together. “Well (*sniff*) now that you guys are official (and Kurt can see the air quotes on that one), may I ask you a very important question? And please answer honestly. This is for science.”

Oh boy. Here it comes, Kurt thinks. “Sure, Rachel. What would you like to know?”

“He’s a good kisser, right? Tell me I’m right! A boy with as much experience as he has should have gold medal technique!”

“Yes, Rachel,” Kurt says, laughing when he hears her snort. “A-plus. The absolute best!”

***

“Fuck …”

Sitting on the porch swing, stiff and expressionless as an Easter Island statue, Kurt stares at his phone screen, unable to blink even with the salty sea air stinging his eyes, sucking the moisture from them. His lips try to move instead so he can mutter to himself, sort things through with a private debate, but all he can manage is another expletive.

“Fuck …”

To Kurt:

Call me as soon as you can. We need to talk ASAP.

Along with that ominous message, his father sent a picture of an envelope, the return address NYADA, specifically the financial aid department. Across the bottom of the envelope where Kurt has gotten used to seeing the words AMOUNT DUE are stamped the words FINAL NOTICE.

Kurt swallows hard.

He’d tried calling his father when they reached the beach house on both his dad’s cell phone and the house phone, but they just rang and rang. They didn’t even go to voicemail. Considering the time, he was either running errands or in a meeting, Kurt didn’t know for sure, which didn’t calm his anxiety any. Because those errands could be to the doctor’s office, or with his cardiologist.

Spur-of-the-moment meetings, since Kurt didn’t know about them, indicating something important had cropped up while he was away.

He’d considered calling the Lima Police and requesting they stop by and do a wellness check, but that felt like an overreaction, so he decided to try one last hard reboot of his phone. The screen went black for what seemed like an hour but was probably more like fifteen seconds. After keeping him waiting, sweating it out, the operating system had the nerve to update. Close to five minutes later, the screen went white. His icons shuffled, then everything snapped back to normal. Then, without him touching it, the boxes he’d been trying to access for most of the afternoon opened, including the message from his father and its accompanying picture.

He didn’t have to look at it too long to know what it was. It slapped him in the face the second it filled the screen.

He wishes the file hadn’t opened so smoothly, that he could have eased into accessing it. Because now, underneath this beautiful star-filled sky, a stone’s thrown away from a magnificent beach, he’s about to be sick.

No, he thinks. Not now. Not when I’m here, in this sanctuary, where nothing bad can touch me, still trying to make sense of my feelings. Not when I don’t have a clue how to fix this, where to even start.

But maybe that’s the rub. Maybe he was never meant to figure this problem out. Maybe his acceptance to NYADA was something he was meant to lose, like Blaine, another part of his life he arrogantly thought was a sure thing, something he didn’t bother worrying about once he’d gotten it, slipping through his fingers.

“Hey! You figured your phone out!”

“Yeah,” Kurt says, quickly closing the text. “I just … turned it off and turned it back on again. Worked like a charm.”

Sebastian looks his boyfriend over, but particularly his smile - two-dimensional, not doing its usual job of lighting his eyes - and starts to worry. “What did your dad have to say? Nothing bad, right? He’s not … he’s not sick or anything?”

“No. No, he’s fine. He just got home, I guess.” Kurt tries to stuff the phone in his pocket, but his numb fingers have a problem working.

“You know” – Sebastian sits beside Kurt, his eyes lingering on the phone Kurt tucks out of sight – “I never did ask you what you needed $10,000 for. I mean, did you pick that number out of the air at random? Or was that what you thought dating me was worth, because, if that’s the case, then frankly I think you sold one of us short.”

Kurt nods tersely but doesn’t answer. He can’t. He’s paralyzed. Now is definitely the time to own up to something, but what? To his old plan of needing the money to go to NYADA? Or this new plan of moving wherever Sebastian is going that he’s become attached to? He knows he’ll tell Sebastian both, but which one takes precedence? If emotion weren’t entering in to it at all, if he wasn’t still confused about this relationship with Sebastian, then the answer would be NYADA, definitely. And even as that new plan, glimmering in his head, tickles his lips to make its way out, he knows the answer is NYADA no matter what, above all.

Sebastian puts an arm around Kurt’s shoulder and pulls him against him as he reclines. He pushes off the porch with his feet and starts the swing rocking its soothing rhythm.

“Originally I thought it was so you could buy yourself a new wardrobe,” Sebastian continues, trying to get Kurt relaxed enough to spill, “and I have to say, I was all for that. Hell, I was going to up it to $50,000 and take you shopping myself. Make sure you got your money’s worth.” Sebastian waits for a comeback, a snide remark, anything. But when Kurt remains quiet, Sebastian kisses his head. “Talk to me, babe. Tell me what’s going on.”

Kurt sighs. He can’t put this off any longer. Putting it off, coming up with some excuse not to talk about it, would feel like lying, and he doesn’t want to lie to Sebastian.

“It’s for … it was for college. NYADA.” God, he isn’t prepared to admit this. Not yet. Even after the time he’s given himself, he’d never wanted to admit to any of this out loud. That was worse than not having the money, so he’d been doing everything in his power not to. “I had gotten some scholarships and some financial aid, but I was approved before my father was elected to Congress.” Kurt hears Sebastian sigh. He knows he can fill in the rest, but Kurt feels like he has to keep going. “It never dawned on me to call and update them, but they found out on their own anyway. They readjusted my aid and, in the end, I came up short. Without that money, I … I can’t go to college.”

Sebastian sighs again, but instead of sounding frustrated, this sigh sounds hurt. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Because it doesn’t matter, Sebastian. I can’t take that money now. Not after …”

“Stop, Kurt.” Sebastian reaches into his back pocket. “Just … just stop.” He pulls out his wallet, takes out a piece of paper, folded once, and hands it to Kurt. At first, Kurt has no idea what it could be, though he has a nagging suspicion. But that suspicion can’t be correct! It would be ludicrous if it were!

But since ludicrous seems like par for the course this summer, it’s exactly what Kurt thinks it is – a cashier’s check for $10,000, made out to Kurt Hummel, dated the day Kurt agreed to their fake boyfriend arrangement. And even though Kurt is teetering on the brink of incredulity, he has to smirk at the comment Sebastian had the bank print in the memo line – For services rendered. Bow-chicka-bow-wow.

“You’ve … you’ve been carrying this around with you this whole time?”

“Well, yeah.” Sebastian shrugs. “Regardless of what you see on TV, you can’t just write a personal check for ten grand. And I had every intention of keeping up my end of the bargain. I got it drawn up early in case we didn’t fool anyone and my folks cleaned out my bank account. A personal check would have been worthless then, so …” Sebastian makes a go ahead and take it gesture, encouraging Kurt to put it away for safe keeping. But Kurt shakes his head.

“Thank you, but … but I … I can’t,” Kurt says, those words killing him, driving nails into his heart and twisting as he stares at this check, made out for more than he needs, his name in the pay to the order of line. It’s the answer to all his prayers, but for the sake of his conscience, he has to turn it down. Goddamned conscience! Fuck you! “That’s very generous of you, but …”

“We had a deal, Kurt,” Sebastian interrupts. “You more than held up your end. In fact, I would say you went above and beyond considering.”

Kurt nods. Objectively, he has to agree, but the way Sebastian chose to phrase it makes him feel sick. Plus, and he doesn’t know why, he feels offended. He doesn’t know what he expected Sebastian to say about the matter. He’d prepared himself for Sebastian to give him the money. He’d prepared to refuse and for the two of them to fight over it. But instead of indignant, he feels insulted.

“Then … then what does that make us? What does that make this? Everything we’ve done so far?”

“It makes it what it is, Kurt,” Sebastian says, throwing an arm in the air. “I love you, and you love me. And this …” He gestures to the check in Kurt’s hands like it’s an annoying fly he’s shooing away “… this is ancient history. Tying up loose ends.” Kurt starts shaking his head. It’s a reflex to object. This doesn’t seem right. It doesn’t seem like the kind of thing that boyfriends did for one another. Teenage boyfriends at that! It’s too much!

Sebastian, facing down his obstinate boyfriend, groans. “Kurt! Are you really going to throw your dreams away, your entire future, for something as stupid as money?”

“Well, you can call money stupid,” Kurt argues, his hand holding the check shaking. “You have it, alright? But when you don’t have it, it’s not stupid! It’s actually kind of important!”

“You’re right,” Sebastian agrees. “You’re absolutely right. It is important. It’s important, and you need it. You need it to go to college. So why the fuck aren’t you taking it, Kurt? I’m fortunate. I happen to have more money than I can use, sitting around, doing nothing. So let me give you some …” Kurt scoffs, rolls his head away. Sebastian amends his statement. “Or lend you some - however you want to do this. Remember when I said that money doesn’t matter to me beyond enjoying all the things my wealth can buy me? Well, I would really enjoy the opportunity to do this for you.”

Kurt doesn’t know what to say, so he stays quiet, hoping the right words will simply come to him. When they don’t, Sebastian takes that as Kurt trying to come up with a better argument against this, and he huffs out a frustrated breath.

“Look, if you don’t take it, I’m just going to send it to fucking NYADA with your name plastered all over it, so you might as well stop being so fucking stubborn and do it your damn self! If you and I hadn’t gotten together for real, if we hadn’t fallen in love, you’d be taking this check, conscience clear, and on your way to New York. But we lucked out, Kurt. We got something better out of this in the end. Being able to call you mine is worth the world to me. But if it causes you to give up your dream, then it’s a bad thing. I don’t want what we have to be a bad thing. I want it to be a good thing. I want it to grow and last, and that will only happen if you live out your life. If you follow your dream.”

Sebastian takes the check from Kurt’s fingers. He folds it and slides it in Kurt’s pocket. Kurt doesn’t move to object. He can’t. What Sebastian says makes sense to him logically. It’s his pride that has a problem with it. This isn’t the end. Sebastian isn’t Blaine. He isn’t going to let Kurt go just because they’re going to schools in separate states. Kurt is finally seeing an ending to this where he gets to have it all – the school of his dreams, the future he planned, and the boy he never planned on. This would be a loan, he promises himself. He’ll pay back every single cent, even if it takes him a lifetime.

“You’re going to NYADA, Kurt,” Sebastian says, kissing Kurt on the forehead between words, “one way or another. And there’s not a force anywhere on earth that’s going to keep me from making sure you get there.”

#ACITW #ACITW AU #Kurtbastian #sebkurt #sekurt

38 notes · View notes

ilovemygaydad · 5 years

Text

title: sincerely (i hope)

pairings: pre-romantic analogical

summary: (prequel to together) logan is finding a lot of new things while sneaking out of the house. not all of them are good.

warnings: technically there’s no happy ending but in the context of the end of the story it’s just bittersweet so um.... yeah, virgil is kind of like a total asshole in this, lots of swearing, kissing, yelling, anger, verbal fighting, crying mentions, mentions of bad parents, arrest mention, vandalism mention, transphobia (not from the main characters), smoking, sarcastic use of pet names, and possibly something else

a/n: there is a possibility that i’ll write the intermediate portion of this fic and together. i’ve got an idea, but i thought it would be better to post this now instead of making you wait for another however many words

check my bio for commission info

check out my ao3

buy me a coffee

Logan had found the stream when he was trying to escape his parents.

It was late at night--too late for an adolescent person to be outside alone, really, but Logan couldn’t stand the freezing cold of his house for another second. It was a metaphorical cold since the one place where the house didn’t lack warmth was the actual temperature, which was nearer to boiling than habitable. But the white walls and white furniture and white lighting and very obvious lack of decorations made the house feel as if he were in the Antarctic rather than sunny Mississippi.

Logan was only being mildly dramatic.

The stream was only about twenty feet wide with tall grasses and reeds growing up on either side. There were trees dotted around, but Logan hardly thought that it could be called a forest. In all honesty, he was surprised that he had never been there before. The stream was less than a mile through the fields near his house, and there were all sorts of interesting rocks and things to look at. It seemed just up his alley.

After a few minutes of walking along the edge, Logan settled down on a fallen tree that halfway hung over the stream and looked up at the stars. He didn’t go back home until much, much later.

---

It had been a few months since Logan had found the river, and he had made it a nearly daily occurrence to go out and look at the stars. This, however, was very different.

Someone was sitting in his spot.

Well, it wasn’t his spot because he didn’t own it, but it really felt like it was his spot. Plus, he’d never seen anyone else visit in all of the months he’d been visiting. And this person was just... sitting there.

The stranger took a long drag of a cigarette and blew out a slow curl of smoke.

“What are you doing here?” Logan found himself asking, and the stranger yelped, almost falling off the tree into the water before catching themself and glaring back at Logan.

“Dude, what the fuck is wrong with you? Hasn’t anyone ever taught you not to sneak up on a guy? Jesus fucking christ.”

Logan quirked his head and took a look at the person on the tree. They were probably as young as he was; they had soft, round features and dark hair, and they seemed to have a penchant for excessive jewelry if their facial piercings were anything to go by. All in all, their whole aura just screamed angsty, no-good teenager.

“Hello?!” The stranger broke through Logan’s thoughts with an annoyed growl. “Are you going to say anything, or are you going to stand there and stare at me like a freak?”

“You’re in my spot.”

Wow, Logan, that was very intelligent of you to say in front of someone who very likely could kill you!

“I’m sorry, what?”

Logan winced, gesturing vaguely at the tree. “I always sit there.”

“Newsflash, asshole! The world doesn’t revolve around you. Suck it up.”

“Um, may I sit on the tree with you, then?” If he was being honest, Logan would rather not spend more time with this person than he had to, but he also didn’t want to go back home, so he decided to suck it up.

“Whatever,” the stranger snapped as they took another drag and moved to lay on the tree. Carefully, Logan climbed down the trunk to sit a few feet away from where their head was. They sat in awkward silence for a few minutes before they continued, “Why are you even out here? You’re dressed like you just got back from the country club.”

Logan glanced down at his jeans and polo and almost disagreed, but instead he said, “I don’t like my parents.”

“Oof. Mood. I’m supposed to be on house arrest right now.”

“Why?”

The stranger laughed, which almost startled Logan to hear. “’Cause I got arrested for spray painting ‘be trans, do crime’ on the high school, and my parents got pissed. Fuckin’ squares.”

“Did you just call your parents ‘squares?’“ Logan asked incredulously as he watched them exhale smoke.

“Yeah. You know, boring and conservative. Lame-asses.”

“No, I understand what a square is. I just don’t think I’ve heard someone use it in that connotation in... ever. Especially not from someone who seems to enjoy using such colorful language.”

The person smirked and tilted their head back to get a better look at Logan. “I’ve always been full of surprises.”

“Oh, I’m sure,” Logan quipped. “Were your parents more upset about the being arrested part or the trans part?”

“Definitely the trans part, oh my god. They went fucking ballistic, dude. I mean, like, full on ranting.” They screwed up their face and aggressively waved the cigarette around as they mocked, “‘You’re not a boy! You’re a girl! That’s what you’ve always been and always will be!’ Then I took one of the knives in the kitchen and hacked my hair off right in front of them. Their faces were priceless.”

“You’re a boy, then?”

“Yeah. He/him.” He stuck out his right hand, presumably for Logan to shake. “I’m Virgil.”

Not wanting to be rude, Logan took Virgil’s hand and gave it an awkward shake. “Logan. I also use he/him pronouns.”

“Lit. So what’d your parents do?”

Logan rolled his eyes and groaned, “God, don’t even get me started...”

---

Logan very quickly became accustomed to his new routine. Every night, he’d sneak out of his house to visit the stream with Virgil. The other teenager would always bring a few cigarettes despite Logan’s many lectures on the dangers of smoking. The two would talk and laugh and stargaze and just exist outside of the bullshit that was teenage life. Days became weeks, which became months.

“It’s really weird to not see you smoking for once,” Logan said as he approached Virgil, who was idly blowing bubbles with chewing gum from his perch on the fallen tree.

“Yeah, well, I’m kinda tired of you getting on my ass about it every day. Can’t you just let a guy live?”

Logan smirked and got into his usual position on the trunk (sitting with his legs wrapped around it and feet hooked together underneath). He leaned forward on his hands so that he was hovering slightly over Virgil’s face. “Someone’s got to have some common sense here.”

“Hey! I’ve got plenty of common sense, asshole,” Virgil protested, swatting at him playfully.

He quirked an eyebrow. “You nearly fell into the water last week because you decided to be an idiot and tried to see how far down the tree you could walk before it wouldn’t hold your weight.”

“It was for science, Logan!”

“You can’t ‘for science’ everything, Virgil. That isn’t how life works.”

"Ugh, whatever. You never appreciate my experiments.”

Logan smiled down at Virgil. “That’s not true. I enjoyed the one where tested who could skip rocks better.”

The other boy pouted and whined, “You just liked that one ‘cause you won.”

“Perhaps.”

“Smug bastard. You need to shut your damn mouth.”

“And how do you suggest I do that?”

It was Virgil’s turn to raise an eyebrow, and his fingers toyed with the open front of Logan’s jacket. “Do you remember the first time we met, and I said that I’m full of surprises?”

“Yes?” Logan answered, confused. “I don’t see why that’s relevant--”

The words were forced back into his mouth as Virgil simultaneously pulled down on the jacket and pushed himself up until their lips crashed together. And Logan--wow, Logan had never kissed anyone before, and he was nearly certain that this would be considered a terrible kiss to anyone else, but to him, it was incredible. Virgil’s lips tasted like cool peppermint, and a similarly cold sensation ran through his veins as his face turned hot.

After a few seconds, Virgil lowered himself back down, and Logan was left in a shocked haze as the other boy blinked up at him through his long lashes.

“Dude, you good? You’ve literally never been so quiet.”

“I--you kissed me,” Logan whispered, too startled to think anything else.

“Yeah? I was trying to get you to shut up. It’s no big deal, Logan.”

“What do you mean that it’s no big deal?! You kissed me, Virgil!”

Virgil rolled his eyes and snorted. “I’ve kissed tons of guys before. You’re not special, sweetheart.”

“Right,” Logan affirmed, straightening up. “Of course.”

“Atta boy!” Virgil crooned as he reached up and patted Logan’s cheek.

“Oh dear, I’ve just remembered that I have a test tomorrow that I need to study for. I’ll see you later, Virgil.” Scrambling up, Logan quickly shuffled up to the shore and away from the stream.

Virgil popped up into a sitting position and made a move to follow. “Wait, you just got here!”

“I know. I’m so sorry, Virgil, but I really need to go.” Logan heard Virgil’s feet hit the grass, but he just kept walking. If he tried to look at Virgil right now, there was absolutely no doubt that he would start crying.

“Logan--”

“Will you let it go?! God, Virgil, just fucking waste your time smoking,” he snapped, not looking back.

“What is your problem--”

“MY problem?!” Logan screeched hysterically as he whipped around to face Virgil. “What the fuck is your problem? I had never had my first kiss, and you had the gall to not only take it from me, but you also told me that it meant absolutely fucking nothing! I can never get that experience back because your selfish ass decided that I was nothing more than a toy to you!”

“That’s not--”

“That’s not what? That isn’t what you meant? Wow, Virgil, I didn’t take you for such an actor!”

Virgil rolled his eyes. “You don’t have to be such a prick about it!”

Logan felt his blood run cold, and he snarled, “Get the hell away from me.”

“It didn’t mean anything--”

“It sure meant something to me, so speak for your own damn self.”

The other teen opened his mouth to respond, but Logan beat him to it. “I sincerely hope that I never have to interact with you again.”

With that, Logan walked away.

#sanders sides fic #analogical #logan sanders #virgil sanders #m writes things #m writes analogical

38 notes · View notes

nancywheelxr · 5 years

Note

I HEARD YOU WRITE FOR STRANGER THINGS would it be possible for you to write something where Steve is either being abused or bullied and doesn’t tell anyone because he doesn’t think he’s worth it but they find out

YOU HEARD RIGHT I DO WRITE FOR STRANGER THINGS, and hey, this is my first ST prompt! I hope I do it justice, anon!

Most of the time, Steve likes this job at the video place better. Well, it’s not exactly his lifelong dream or any of that shit, but hey– who has the time for that, right? What, with monsters and goddamn literal Russian spies running around.

It's been a busy summer alright.

The only bad part– actually, no, not the only one, Keith isn’t exactly a perk of the job either– but the worst part is Tommy.

He comes in at least twice a week, sometimes with Carol in tow, and hangs around like a goddamn creep and takes his sweet time insulting Steve. It’s his new fucking hobby.

And, like, it’s not like it's a big deal or anything, Steve can take it, he fought off those freaking demodogs from hell or whatever last year, Tommy Hall is like, not even in his list of problems, it’s just that– once upon a time, Tommy was his best friend, okay, so it kind of extra sucks. Steve went to Middle School with Tommy and Carol. Middle School. That’s, that's puberty, that's, Steve helped Tommy ask Carol out for the first time.

So yeah, it sucks.

And Tommy, he has some freaky timing. It’s like he knows when Robin is busy in the back room or just not there at all. It's freaky, seriously. Or maybe it’s just Steve’s bad luck that's freaky.

Like, right now for example. Robin’s in the back, organizing their stock. She won’t hear him screaming, is all he’s saying. And here Tommy is, ringing that goddamn bell while Steve hides in the Horror section.

“Come on, Harrington,” Tommy calls, sounding a weird cross of irritated and delighted. At least Carol's not with him this time to blow her goddamn bubble gum in his face. “I’m a customer and all, be a good working bee and come help me out here.”

Steve sighs.

He drags himself back to the counter and plasters his best fake smile on his face. “Hey, Tommy,” he grits his teeth. This is the last time he’s letting Robin get all the organizing duties. “How can I help you today?”

“I don’t know, I don't know,” Tommy grins meanly. It's not a nice grin, and unfortunately, Steve recognizes it, might even have worn one like that himself before, well, before. “Can’t really choose a movie. Why don’t you bring me all the new ones you got, hm, King Steve?”

“Come on, man, don’t call me that, you sound like,” he falters, clears his throat. Yeah, go on Steve, go on and bring up the dead guy, that's great, awesome, really. “Just don't call me that, okay?”

“Why? Oh, right,” he snaps his fingers as if he ever used his two brain cells for a goddamn thought in his life, “I forgot you’re all nicey-nicey now. Oh, man, you seriously still doing this crap nice guy routine even after the Wheeler bitch dump you?”

“Don't call her that either,” Steve snaps, clutching the tape with white knuckles. Just a few more minutes. Just a couple more minutes and Robin or Keith will start making noise back there like they’re coming back and Tommy will go away like the good cowardly bully he is. “Here’s your fucking movies.”

Tommy, of course, ignores him. “Gotta be nice to me, asshole, I’m the fucking client,” then, his grin turns into a full-blown smirk and Steve feels like shoving the tapes all up his goddamn nose. “But hey, how funny is it that you fucked yourself up like this for her and she still left you for that creep, whatshisname. So funny. How the mighty have fallen and all that, Carol was tellin’ me this shit the other day.”

You know, Steve would very much like to say he didn’t change because of Nancy, of how she kept going on about doing the right thing or how she made him want to be that guy, to be a good person. He really wanted to believe he changed because that was just the sort of person he wanted to be, that he would have turned out this way even if Nancy hadn’t taken him back after that first Upside Down scare.

But the thing is, he’s not sure. Maybe Tommy has a point and he did change just ‘cause of Nancy. Maybe he’s a hypocrite or something. Still, though. He likes who he is now, likes it a lot better than his old self.

“Working at a video store,” Tommy shakes himself, lips curling in disgusting as he adjusts his tie just to make sure Steve notices he’s wearing a stupid tie. “Man, you’re really at a new low.”

Honestly, if Steve didn’t know it would only encourage Tommy into bitching his head off, he’d point out Tommy has no room to talk since he’s working for his dad in a lame ass office job. No college for Tommy either, and at least Steve’s got a job without his dad having to intervene.

“Look, do you really have nothing better to do, man?” He sighs, dragging a hand across his face. The clock above the kid’s aisle reads four in the afternoon; Steve’s still got another couple hour on his shift. “It’s goddamn Friday. Are you this pathetic?”

Okay, maybe egging Tommy on wasn’t his smartest idea. Tommy snarls, “shut the fuck up, asshole. Least I’m not the one slumming here– what, even your old man didn’t want you? Too stupid for even the copy machine of his fancy office, too many buttons for you?”

There’s a second of silent where Steve tries really hard not to show the full-body flinch he really wanted to do, the way this one isn’t as easy to shrug off. In fact, he’s still thinking up a way to make his face stop doing whatever it’s doing and come up with a witty response or whatever, when the pile of New and Exciting! tapes he and Robin had organized earlier toppled right down on Tommy.

“What the fuck,” Tommy swears, stumbling back and tripping over his own feet, falling on his ass right in the middle of the store. Incidentally, it reveals the cause of the conveniently funny accident– behind him, by the door, all the kids are glaring at Tommy with big scowls on their faces. It’s kind of adorable, actually. Funny thing is, El is leading the pack, suspiciously wiping at her nose.

Huh. “Huh,” Steve says smartly. Jesus, so much for not being a dumb ass. “Welcome to, welcome to– okay, what the hell, guys?”

“Hi, Steve,” El smiles like she didn’t just send Tommy sprawling again, “me and Will are visiting.”

“I, yeah, I can– hey, it’s, uh, it’s nice to see you, but,” he clears his throat, leans a little over the counter to check Tommy’s enraged face. It’s kind of funny, really, he looks like a demented goblin, all red in the face. “You okay there, man?”

“Fuck off, Harrington–”

“Oh my god, we literally just piled that shit up,” Robin speaks, suddenly materializing beside Steve, hands on her hips and scowling darkly at Tommy. Still, her eyes are sort of gleeful as she tears into him. “Okay, dude, that’s like, a super high offense here, so I’m truly, terribly sorry to say you’re banned.”

“And who the fu–”

“For life. Seriously,” she continues, talking over him while Dustin cheers loudly from the door and the rest of the kids snicker openly. “I’m this close to chasing you out with a broom.”

Tommy seethes. He squint-glares at Robin but the humiliation is starting to get to him, so again, like the cowardly bully he is, he takes off, awkwardly walking around Max’s death glare to stalk out the shop.

“Oh, my god, El, that was so awesome–”

“Oh man, I hope the tapes are okay–”

“Can anyone tell me who the hell that was–”

“Oh my god, Max, you know him, he’s the dick that always gives us shit–”

“Okay, I always wanted to ban someone for life–”

Everyone is talking all over each other as they’re wont to do anytime there’s more than three of them together in the same room and it’s not bad, not really, but it’s kind of overwhelming and Steve really needs a bit of silence to get his shit together.

“OKAY, OKAY,” Dustin yells over the ruckus, herding the kids to the counter and somehow that gets all eyes back on Steve. Goody. “So, oh my god, man, why didn’t you like, punch him in the face? Steve, Steve, you already won your first fight, that could’ve been your second, come on, Tommy Hall is a dick, no one likes him anyway, you could have totally beat him.”

Steve shrugs. “He’s been around for like, two months. Figured he would get bored eventually– it’s not a big deal, okay? Can we, can we for once, not make a big deal?”

“What?” Mike scoffs, all offended, and makes a face. “We never– you’re the one always screaming and making a big deal out of shit, oh my god, we just wanted to watch the new Alien movie.”

“That is true,” Robin muses, nodding sagely. Then, she narrows her eyes at Steve in that terrifying way that means she’ll know if he’s lying. “What do you mean he’s been around for two months? He’s been giving you shit all that time– why didn’t you say anything?”

“It’s not– I mean, it’s whatever,” he mumbles, shrinking away from her and her righteous fury, “not a big deal, okay? I mean, thanks guys, really, I, uh, appreciate it. And it’s always great to see Tommy make a fool of himself. But you don’t have to– you don’t gotta worry about me or anything, is all.”

“Steve!” Max cries, horrified.

“STEVE,” Dustin screams, loudly.

“Steve,” Robin huffs, weirdly quiet.

“You’re welcome, Steve,” El smiles.

“You were great, El,” Mike swoons.

“Oh, my god,” Lucas rolls his eyes.

“Are we still renting the tape?” Will asks awkwardly.

“It’s fine, you guys–” Steve starts.

“And anyway, I could totally beat him up for you if you wanted,” Max adds helpfully, “I’m pretty handy with your bat!”

Steve zeroes in on her. A thousand horrifying scenarios go through his mind of what sort of trouble they could be getting up to with his bat, oh my god, that’s– that’s basically a weapon, Jesus, they shouldn’t get anywhere near that shit– “Since when do you have my bat?”

“Dustin nicked it off your car last month when you were giving us a ride to move his stupid radio,” she explains brightly and innocently.

“Max!” Dustin says, with all the drama of someone feeling deeply betrayed, “Steve, I didn’t steal or anything, okay, I borrowed it– it’s totally different, and anyway it’s not like you were even using it!”

“Well, it doesn’t matter, because I’m getting it back,” he replies, his hands immediately going to his hips before he can cross them over his chest. See, this is exactly why people think he’s their babysitter. He’s not even getting paid, what the fuck. “Where did you shitheads hide it?”

“Like we’d tell you,” Mike rolls his eyes with all the scorn and arrogance of someone just entering high school. It’s great, Steve is only gonna strangle him.

“I swear to god– if that shit isn’t back on the trunk of my car–”

“Come on, Steve, don’t be–”

“I SAID IF IT’S NOT BACK IN THE–”

“YEAH, WELL, MAYBE WE LOST IT IN THE WOODS, HAVE YOU THOUGHT OF THAT–”

“WHAT WERE YOU LOSERS EVEN DOING IN THE WOODS, OH MY GOD, WHAT THE HELL YOU GUYS–”

Robin is still watching him scream back and forth with the kids and she got this weird look in her eyes that Steve doesn’t know what it means, but he thinks it might mean something good. He hopes it means she likes the rest of the shitheads, hopes it means she would like to be part of their stupid, weird ass gang, because she’s kind of his best friend here.

But anyway, he thinks it does mean that. Saving Steve’s ass from hearing Tommy Hall shit talking his life has got to be some sort of bonding experience and she does say hell yeah when Dustin suggests very forcefully that they all go get burgers on the diner two blocks down the street. So. There’s that.

By the time the moon is high in the sky, Tommy Hall and his bullshit is completely forgotten.

#stranger things #steve harrington #robin #dustin henderson #eleven #mike wheeler #st #st season 3 #post season 3 #st fic #stranger things fic #look an ask #steve and kids tag #st tag

61 notes · View notes

michael-hearteyes-wheeler · 5 years

Note

”I’m drunk and I hate everything but you. I love you a lot.” + lumax. cause, not to be dramatic or anything, but I’m DYING for lumax content rn

[A/N] This was such an adorable prompt! Im sorry it took me forever to finish it. I was struggling with one of the scenes, so I just included a real life situation and it helped a lot (the one with the jocks and beer pong lmao). I really hope you enjoy!! 💖💖💖

“Why would anyone need a house that big?” Max scoffed, looking up at the almost mansion sized home. The party had barely started, but already the lawn was crawling with people.

Max really didn’t believe Stacey Altman when she said she was inviting the entire senior class, but now that she was actually here, she would call that number an understatement. She supposed the large turnout was probably thanks to their team winning this years homecoming. A loss probably wouldn’t have resulted in the debauchery she was sure was taking place inside.

“Yeah, isn’t Stacy an only child too?” Will sneered. The Party, like everyone else, had each been handed one of the obnoxious green and gold invitations. Their school colors, a vaguely terrifying picture of their mascot, and bulky block letters that looked more like a ransom note than anything else.

At first, they all agreed not to go. Parties were lame, and none of them really even cared about Football. Then, Max had gotten bored, and El was easy enough to talk into going. One convincing led to another and now everyone was standing on the Altman’s lawn and looking at the house apprehensively.

“Are we going to go inside? Or just keep standing here?” Lucas finally asked. Max, determined to have a good time, took that as the motivation she needed. She grabbed his hand and pulled him into the house.

The scene before them was pretty much exactly what they expected. Loud music blared out of speakers from somewhere in the living room, and dozens of people danced around the space. The kitchen counters were covered in drinks and bowls of chips that no one was actually going to eat. Beer pong was set up in the dining room, and a group of football players were doing keg stands in the backyard.

It wasn’t like this was the first party they had ever gone too, it was just the biggest.

Max felt a little overwhelmed. She pulled Lucas and El into the kitchen, and poured each of them a drink from the horribly sweet, red concoction in the punch bowl. All three made dramatic grimacing faces as they took their first sip. The drink was bitter, and stung like rubbing alcohol, but the aftertaste was worse; Cough syrup and cheap wine.

“Are you losers drinking tonight?” Max asked the other boys, holding out another solo cup. Will and Dustin happily obliged, but Mike mumbled something about being the ‘designated driver’ and Max rolled her eyes. It’s not like they did not live close enough to walk or anything.

The party awkwardly hovered around the kitchen for awhile after that. They watched the party happen around them, making fun of people for one thing or another. After a few minutes Max could feel whatever it was she was drinking start to polish the edges of her perception. Jokes were funnier, sensations further away, she felt warm. It was a good feeling, and fast acting too. She filled up her cup for the third time.

Like all parties, however, the group you go with dissolved pretty quickly once people get acclimated.

Will was the first to get pulled away. A boy he knew from his art class waved him over and the two disappeared upstairs. Max and Mike gave each other raised eyebrow looks because Will was definitely blushing. Unbeknownst to Will, they had a running bet about how long it would take for them to start dating.

Next to go was Dustin. Throughout high school he had become quite the ladies man, and he was determined to chat up Haley Jones, his current crush. Actually, crush was an understatement, his new obsession was more accurate. Not in a creepy way really, more in just a painfully devoted loyal sort of way. It was sweet, and definitely really fun to make fun of him for.

Then it was Mike and El. A song came on that she actually liked, and she pulled him towards the large group of people dancing. Mike wasn’t really a dancer, and honestly neither was El, but they could certainly make the best out of it. Max watched them get swallowed up by the crowd until not even Wheeler’s mop of hair could be seen.

So it was just Lucas and Max, both whispering to each other about people from school acting like fools, and laughing so hard they had to hold onto the counter for balance.

“Do you want to dance or something?” She asked, finished off her third drink.

“Naw, but beer pong might be fun. I gotta use the bathroom and then i’ll be back.” He winked and pinched her waist as he left. She made heart eyes at his back while he walked away. She poured herself another drink.

Then things got… fuzzy.

Another massive group of people showed up, people Max had never even seen before, and the crowded house got that much more crowded. It was so goddamn loud. The group made a beeline for the booze and Max stepped out of the kitchen and out of their way. Now she was just hovering by herself at the edge of the living room. Where was Lucas? Oh right the bathroom! Jeez, he’s been gone for a long time.

A loud crash and the sound of people cheering caught her attention. Drink in hand, she shuffled her way towards the sound and into the dining room.

The dining room smelled overwhelmingly of beer and that same fruity cocktail mix that was currently making her brain fuzz. Max watched for a moment, a group of boys playing beer pong. Sticking their grubby hands in and out of the cups of booze, plinking the ball back and forth across the table. It was disgusting. Hadn’t Lucas said something about playing this? Maybe she should just wait here for him.

A big sweaty looking football player, sporting his Letterman like a coat of arms, stuck a hand in one of the cups to retrieve the ball. Max grimaced.

“You should really be using water.” She scoffed as another cup fell over, washing sudsy beer out onto the floor. They guys all turned to her and laughed.

“Water doesn’t get the job done.” The sweaty football player knocked his knuckles against his head.

“Yeah, plus, the alcohol like, kills all the germs.” Another jughead added from where he was leaning against the wall.

“That’s so ridiculously untrue.” Max chuckled.

“Yeah well, it’s more of a boys game anyway. Wouldn’t want you to get your pretty little hands dirty.” The sweaty guy replied nonchalantly, and lined up his shot.

“Oh, you’re so on.” Max would never admit to it if pressed, but she was so competitive that it almost wore her out. That fact was doubly true if the person egging her on was getting personal about it, and the fact that she was a girl? Yeah, that was pretty damn personal. She chugged the rest of her cup and moved to one end of the table, across from sweaty.

He raised his eyebrows but nodded, and put all of his cups back in line. “You need me to run through the rules, princess?”

“Throw the ball into a cup, if it gets in the other person takes a drink. It’s not rocket science.” She brushed her hair out of her face. As much as she wanted to kick this guys ass, she was also way to out of it to be truly pissed.

For most of the game, it was pretty much a stalemate. He got a cup, she got a cup. He drinks, she drinks. The beer is warm and salty and she tries not to think about how many hands had been in that cup. They had been right about one thing though, water certainly wouldn’t have got her feeling this way.

Then, one well placed toss. That’s all it took. A cup of jungle juice spilled over, cascading red liquid all across her white shirt. She looked down at herself in horror.

“You son of a bitch! You did that on purpose.” Max had no way of knowing that but it wasn’t a hard guess.

“Not me babe, it’s all part of the game.” Sweaty snorted, high-fiving one of his friends.

She would see about that. Anger sobered her. It took less than five minutes for her to get him the rest of the way out. Plink, plink, plink, plink. The rest of the room cheered for her, and egged him on. Chanting for him to chug when he finally lost.

“Wow Mayfield, im impressed. You didn’t come here with that loser boyfriend of yours did you?” Sweaty asked, lowering his gaze at her from across the table.

Suddenly she felt sick. Like really sick. And drunk, really drunk. She looked down at her shirt and back up at him and all of the other boys who were staring at her. She needed a bathroom.

“Fuck off, meathead. I don’t date dogs.” Max was seething now, she turned and walked out of the dining room. It took her awhile to find a bathroom, and every step felt more and more heavy. More and more fuzzy.

When she finally did, she sighed in relief and closed the door behind her. She did not want to throw up. She sat on the edge of the bathtub and tried to just breathe deeply, in and out, find a little bit of clarity. The party sounded really far away. Where the hell was Lucas? Where were any of her friends? Time moved so sluggishly that it was hard to tell exactly how long it had been since she last saw them.

She heard voices right outside the door, and the knob jiggle.

And instead of acting like a regular normal person, and standing up to let whoever it was use the restroom, she let herself fall back into the bathtub and closed the curtain behind her. This is a good idea Max, they will do whatever they need too and then leave and you can calm down.

Max recognized the voices to be that of Stacy, the party thrower, and Valerie, Stacy’s best friend. They sounded about as drunk as Max felt.

“Thank god, a little bit of quiet.” Stacy sighed as soon as the door latched closed behind her.

“I know right? At least it’s a good turn out.”

“Yeah I guess, but a lot of people showed up who I totally didn’t want to be here.”

“Oh drama? Go on.”

“Well like, when you invite nerds, you don’t expect them to come. I was just being nice but they had to actually show up. Did you see Henderson talking to Haley? Like he stands a chance. What a loser.”

“Oh I know! And all of his nerdy friends are here too. At least the rest of them date amongst themselves.”

Max was practically vibrating with anger at this point. No amount of ‘Just stay and wait for them to leave’ was helping. What if they kept going? What if they kept saying worse and worse shit? It was their shrieky and slurred laughter that finally pushed her over the edge. In a flash, she ripped the shower curtain back open, and from her place in the tub she stared daggers at them.

“What the hell-” Stacy began, looking totally appalled.

“Listen, Stacy! The only reason so many people came to your party is because you have a big house and free booze, not because anyone actually likes you! The next time I hear you talk about my friends i’m going to kick your ass!” Again, fueled by anger, Max easily rose to her feet and stepped out of the tub. “Oh, and that dress looks terrible on you.”

Sometimes you gotta fight shallow with shallow. Besides, it was an ugly dress.

Max wasn’t even listening to whatever they were yelling at her as she left. She flipped the bird behind her back as she went. It was so loud out here. She was so angry. Where the hell was lucas!?

She stumbled her way back through the house, avoiding the dining room, weaving around groups of people and spreading through others. How many living rooms did this place have? It took ages just to get from one side of the house to the other. Eventually, she found herself once again in the kitchen. It smelled so strong of booze that the nausea she had bated off was back, and kicking. She felt her skin ripple with goosebumps that was followed by a surge of heat. She really didn’t want to be the girl who pukes in the sink at a party.

Just then, a cool breeze nearly knocked her over, and her attention turned to a small side door.

Outside! Her senses screamed. Quiet, fresh air!

She was moving before she even finished the thought.

Max let the door slam behind her as she stepped outside. The lawn was pretty much empty, aside from a few people sitting around a small bonfire at the opposite end. She walked sluggishly toward the end of the porch, and sat with her legs dangling over the edge. The sounds of the party were further away now. She took a few deep breaths to try and clear some of the brain fog that had crept in. You never really notice how drunk you are until you’re alone. If she could just chill like this for a little while, her stomach would calm down and everything would be fine.

What a stupid party. What disgusting idiots those football players had been. Why was Stacy so vile? Max was kicking herself for being the one to suggest they come. Right now they could all be in Wheeler’s basement playing a board game, or at the cabin watching a movie. She was so worked up about the whole thing that she could feel her skin heating up.

A few moments later, she heard the door open behind her, but she assumed it was just someone else looking for a little bit of solace. Then that person walked towards her, and took a seat next to her. Their legs touched the ground where hers just swayed above.

“You doing alright out here? Lucas. His voice was quiet and when she looked at him he smirked, a beer still in his hand. It was probably only his second, maybe third. She felt embarrassed.

“Im fine.” She snapped back, and then sighed, letting some of the tension leave her shoulders. “I’m not fine. I’m drunk and I hate everything.”

“You hate everything even when you aren’t drunk.” His face was so sobering. Like he could see through her bullshit, but he was still validating her feelings. Gentle.

“Not you.” She let her head fall against his shoulder and her whole body went with her. She was lucky he was strong enough to support the both of them because she basically gave up trying. “A revision. I’m drunk and I hate everything but you.”

“Well in that case,” Lucas wrapped an arm around her waist, pulling her snug against him. She felt him kiss the top of her head and she sighed contently. “Do you want to talk about it?”

“Im sure I will when im sober and can actually like, you know, formulate thoughts. I’m sure you’ll hear all about it.”

“Okay good, i’ll be waiting then.” He was quiet for a moment, and she relished in it. “Instead, can we talk about how cool it is that you beat the football team at beer pong?”

Even though her eyes were sagging closed, she could hear the smile in his voice. She groaned. “I don’t want to talk about that either. They’re gross. I drank shitty warm hand beer.”

“Okay, well, is there something you do want to talk about?”

She adjusted so she could look up at him, but no further than necessary. “Where were you? I haven’t seen you all night. And, how did you know I was out here?”

“Oh, uh, yeah. I kinda got caught up in a pool game. Did you know that the basement is like a full game room? And then someone wanted to play Foosball… It got out of hand. Also you literally almost knocked Will over in your mad dash to get outside. He told me you looked upset.”

Max snorted, and then laughed, and then she was laughing so hard that Lucas had to keep her from slipping off the edge of the porch. “Are you serious? We lost each other because we were both goaded into playing stupid games at this stupid party?”

“I guess so.” Lucas smiled at her, and the warmth of his hands bled through her shirt, making her shiver. He was so god damned competitive, and it was one of the things she loved about him. He was also, however, really god damned handsome and sometimes it still made her knees weak.

“This party kind of sucked.” She finally admitted.

“Yeah, it kind of did. It would have been way more fun to just sit out here.”

“Totally.” She snuggled in closer to his side, “Or… if we had, I don’t know, found one of the hundred rooms in this big stupid house and made out for like, an hour.”

“Hm, yeah, you’re right. That would have been better.” He was silent for a few seconds. “I’ll race you to the top floor.”

“Oh you are so on, Stalker!”

Instead of bolting, Lucas helped Max to her feet, and instead of racing through the house, it was more of him pulling her by the hand really quickly. Weaving in and out of groups of people, and rooms, and hallways. Once they finally got to the top floor, it was a guessing game as to finding an actual available room. They pressed their ears to a lot of doors, and were met with a lot of ‘Fuck off!’ and the usual drunk party girl crying. Luck finally came to them in the form of an oversized storage closet.

Needless to say, it turned the whole night around. More laughing and knocking things over then anything else, but he kissed her tenderly when she wanted him too and held her tightly when she needed him too. He always knew exactly how to make her heart quicken. They made a damn mess in that storage closet, essentially turning old camping gear and extra linens into a pallet on the floor. And there were the golf clubs they had knocked over, and whatever that thing was that fell and shattered. But that was Stacy’s problem.

Lucas always seemed to know the exact right things to say and do. It blew her mind that less than fifteen minutes earlier she had been rightfully angry on the back porch, and now she was lip locked and laughing. His hands tangled in her hair and she was glad she had taken El’s suggestion of bringing a brush so that she wasn’t such a hot mess when she got home. Her stained shirt was another issue, but right now she was just happy to be able to lay her head on his chest and listen to the party from what felt like far away

It was in this contented lul that he spoke again, softly, holding her tight against him. “How are you feeling? Still drunk and… hateful?”

“Yeah. Still drunk. I still hate everything but you.” She giggled, and cuddled even closer. “I love you a lot.”

He kissed the top of her head. “I love you a lot too, Madmax.”

As soon as the sounds of the people started dying down, they made their way hand in hand back downstairs; giddy and flushed and looking totally guilty.

They found Will first. He was almost as blushy as they were, and he said goodbye to his friend from art class in hushed tones before they left.

Then they found Dustin, who had passed out and was using a dog as a pillow. He was definitely the most wasted somehow, and Lucas practically had to carry him to the car.

Lastly, Mike and El found them. The couple were also holding hands, and also looking incredibly guilty. Well, Mike was. El looked so casual it almost through Max for a loop. She was actually thankful that Mike had stayed sober, because there was no way in hell she wanted to walk anywhere right now.

They crammed into Mike’s car, with El at shotgun and Dustin draped across the laps of everyone else in the back.

“So, uh, did you guys have fun?” Mike asked as he pulled the car out of its spot.

Max looked at Lucas, blushing all over again, heart beating fast, and smiled. “Yeah. Lots of fun.”

Lucas could make even the worst night into a good one. A great one. One she was excited to rant to him about all over again tomorrow.

#yall i love lumax so much it hurts a lil #my writing #mine #lumax #stranger things #stranger things 2 #stranger things fanfiction #lumax fanfiction #lucas sinclair #Max Mayfield

63 notes · View notes

ruhrohrps · 5 years

Note

chardita 💍

wooooowwwww….

you want me ded

also just doing this from normal chardita pov cause all the aus go different wAYS

send me 💍 + a ship and i’ll tell you—

where they get married

asdfgrbvrgei some nice ass 5 star venue that’s usually booked YEARS in advance

when they get married

i was gonna say christmas cause they start dating on christmas but likkkeeee that’d get complicated with future kids so like january 10th. makes winter more bearable for her cause we all know she hates the cold. they have an afternoon wedding that goes into the evening with festivities.

what traditions they include

garter toss, bouquet toss, something old something blue {af didn’t see a point but charlie’s mom talked her into it}

what their wedding cake looks like

like this somewhat but with like the gold/silver/champagne aspects

who smashes cake into whose face

charlie gets af first but she retaliates

who proposed to who first

charlie proposed to af…. like a million times….

who walks down the aisle and who waits at the altar ( or neither )

af walks down the aisle and he waits at the altar

what their wedding dresses / suits / other look like

k but like i actually had this picked for the longest time. uhhhh this be her dress. this is more of a close up of the corset. this gives you an idea on the train. &&&& this is her reception dress. extra affffffff. i don’t want to pick out charlie’s tux like that’s a line i ain’t crosssssinnngggg but deff silver accents to match af.

what their wedding colour scheme is and what sort of decor they have

alright. they don’t have any of that lame white/red/black or tiffany blue/ their scheme is basically like champagne/silver/gold. cause… you met af, right?

what flowers are in the bouquet ( if applicable. bonus: what do the flowers mean? )

champagne roses where the tips are dipped in gold and some in silver.

champagne roses symbolize loveliness and tenderness.

what their vows are

lol i actually have her vows written in my notes but you ain’t getting them yeeeettt. they’re v traditional in a sense cause emotional and thankful and all that jazz. i don’t even wanna think about charlie’s cause they’re gonna make me cry so.

if anyone’s late to the wedding

i don’t think so

who’s in the bridal parties / groomsmen / other

lit a mixture of her friends from when she was younger to people she’s met who’ve become close friends to her within the passed couple years. groomsmen is deff charlie’s squad and friends from home.

what their bridal party / groomsmen / other are wearing

bridesmaids in this dress. af being the smart bitch that’s like ‘i’ll let them be flashy but MY DAY’ type of move. the champagnecolor is v fitting tho.

groomsmen be in this. this is more of a visual of the champagne accents. i think the tuxes would be a bit darker in hue though.

who gives speeches at the reception

her maid of honor who is their close mutual friend aka her roommate, and she’s just talking about how af’s been moonstruck over charlie since they’ve met and all these embarrassing things she’s done to get his attention and af lit just sinking into her seat but charlie finding it all so adorable but the tables turn when his best man starts talking about the vice versa of charlie and af thinking it’s adorable. charlie’s parents talk about how great they are and balance one another out, and then the floor is open to anyone who wants to talk so like warning cause so many memories

who catches the bouquet( s )

one of charlie’s squad buddies has been in this relationship with this girl for god knows how long and both halves of chardita has been on his ass about asking her and when the girl catches the bouquet, they both side-eye him.

what their wedding photos are like

they’re all over the place? like there’s fun in all of it, like the cake smash moment and the funny poses from the bridal party but there’s those photos where chardita being so in love and cute and soft… like them just glancing at one another and ugh cause i can see kenna looking through the scrapbook and being like ‘mom, dad is right by you in every single one of these’ cause lit they can’t be separated at alllllllllllllll cause they’ve been waiting for yyyyeearrrs.

what sort of food they have at the reception

she lets charlie have at this part tbh cause he’s a foodie. so like i can see him having it laid out like a buffet type of deal and there’s a pizza station and taco station and fries and mini burger sliders and she doesn’t even object on any of it because it’s so him. yes yes, and a dessert buffet as well.

who cries first during the ceremony

they….. both do… but i can see charlie seeing her and starting to tear up and that triggers her tears

how wild their reception gets

uhhhhh af purposely doesn’t get drunk because she wants to remember everything about the day. she tears it up on the dance floor though with charlie. her fam is fun in the aspect of loving parties so their reception isn’t dull at all. it kinda is almost like a night club cause of the dancing which is amusing.

what their rings are like

ok her rings are on YOU. but like his is going to match hers in base metal and will have a v simplistic design that correlates with hers. the thing about their rings is that they have each other’s fingerprints on the inside of their rings khbfbvcjndsfn.

what sort of favours they have

little gold wrapped champagne bottles with ribbon tying silver keys to them that are actually bottle openers

where they go for their honeymoon

she surprises him by taking him to the #1 place on his bucket list. i can see them traveling a bit afterwards tho cause af gets bored so easily.

something memorable that happens during the party / ceremony

besides the groomsmen and the bridal party getting drunk off the bar, af’s given a letter with familiar handwriting that she’s just like “where’d you get this?” and the moh is like “some guy just-” and af excuses herself cause it’s her father’s handwriting which means he just showed tf up to give this to her and she opens it and it’s lit just a short note with a check but the amount is if she wanted to bail or if things didn’t work out between them which is….. beyonnnnnnd messed up so she literally just rips it up and doesn’t tell charlie about it.

who officiates the ceremony

af ain’t religious so it’s most likely a good friend of theirs whose known them both from before they were dating, up until that point. like someone whose witnessed the whole history of chardita.

what song their first dance is to

uhhhhhh ‘can’t help falling in love’ by elvis???? that’s a given.

who gives who away as they walk down the aisle

you’re going to h9 me, but i see his mom giving her away to him? cause she’s the closest parental figure she’s ever had.

#otp; the stars crossed right #wow destroy me #daarkling

2 notes · View notes

moreracquetball · 7 years

Note

oh my GOD that idea that you just mentioned about the fan response??? would literally die for that wtf and tbh i just want to see a lot of jason and whizzer interacting because i Always live for that

Media/Fans

the media finds out about them before they’re even like officially dating. Somehow one lucky paparazzi person that is on like stealth mode gets a picture of a tender moment when Marvin and Whizzer are out together somewhere. In the picture, Marvin is like brushing an eyelash off of Whizzer’s cheek or holding his hand or doing something really sappy (basically trying to communicate to an emotionally-stunted Whizzer that hey sleeping together is cool and all, but I want to actually date you, you know). Well, the news BLOWS UP with headlines like ‘Whizzer Brown’s Mystery Man’ and ‘Playboy baseball player settling down?’ and everyone scrambles to find out just who Marvin is. Once they find out that Marvin is a divorced dad, news outlets like TMZ are flooded with headlines like (thanks to @a-lesbian-from-next-door-too for this GEM of a headline) WHIZZER BROWN WITH DILF???

Whizzer Brown secret boyfriend is the most searched thing on Google that day.

All production in the tabloid industries stops as editors bark for their reporters to dig up more on this story. Journalists scramble for any bit of info they can get on Marvin.

And here comes disastrously incorrect articles like:

Marvin was actually still married when he and Whizzer started “dating.” Whizzer was the cause of his divorce.

Marvin is like 15 years older than Whizzer and is basically using Whizzer for his money.

Marvin has been Whizzer’s secret boyfriend (HUSBAND???) for over ten years now and it’s been kept well hushed hushed secret bc Whizzer has built a brand out of Gay Baseball Player/Playboy.

Jason is Marvin and Whizzer’s adopted child.

CONSPIRACY THEORY: Marvin and Whizzer are not actually together at all. Marvin is not even gay! Whizzer just wanted to rebrand himself from “player on and off the field” and so hired Marvin to be his fake boyfriend (pretending to be “settling down”). (this prompts a startled Marvin to exclaim, “How could anyone think I was straight???” to which Whizzer dead-panned responded, “Honey, no self-respecting gay man dresses like that.”

Also consider the TMZ panel (also credit to @a-lesbian-from-next-door-too for this exchange, too)

“Marvin? What kinda name is Marvin?”

“I know. It’s such an old man’s name!”

“It’s like he was born a middle-aged dad, you know?”

“Uh, guys, Whizzer is a pretty stupid name, too. When you think about it. I mean, who names their kid Whizzer?”

“No one asked you, Brent.”

“Yeah, Brent. Shut the fuck up.”

Marvin finds out about the news bc he goes to work the next morning and some asshole coworker has taped all the headlines around his desk (the DILF headline is blown up and taped over his entire desk).

Marvin is obv pissed and lowkey anxious bc he doesn’t want this sort of attention to negatively affect him or (GOD FORBID) Jason. Whizzer himself is just a little annoyed and sees that Marvin is upset, so he tries to like make the issue go away by tweeting out: “tfw ur out with one of ur booty calls and ppl think that just bc he held ur hand u two are getting married’. And uhh, this makes the media die down but Marvin gets more upset bc hey asshole I think I’m falling in love with you but apparently I’m still just one of your booty calls, huh? And Whizzer gets mad bc Marvin is mad and he just tried to make Marvin less mad, and angst angst angst.

When they do get together, Whizzer posts a picture on Instagram of the two of them with the caption 'tfw you fall in love with one of your booty calls’. And the Internet just kinda explodes.

Fans are a little mixed. On one hand, they’re happy that Whizzer seems to be happy. On another, they’re terrified that a relationship will somehow hurt Whizzer’s playing. They then shut the fuck up when Whizzer plays the most vicious game of his entire career and just throws the best pitches and just basically almost single-handedly eviscerates the other team. At the press conference, people ask what’s up with Whizzer’s playing, and one of Whizzer’s team members just sorta smirks and answers for him, “He has a lot of pent up tension and aggression. He hasn’t seen his boyfriend in like a month [bc it’s the peak of the season and they’ve had to move around a lot to different cities and such]."

Guys guys guys guys, I cannot begin to describe just how i c o n i c Marvin becomes so quickly.

Because once they’re like “official,” Whizzer spams his instagram account with Marvin - Marvin in a new gifted Red Sox jersey while Jason (in his decked out Yankees uniform) glares mockingly at him; at the park during a crisp fall afternoon, Marvin breathless and red-faced and caught mid-laugh; Marvin comically but dead-seriously holding a baseball bat with a stance and grip that makes Whizzer and all baseball fans around the world weep; Marvin Jason and Whizzer, in a cheesy selfie after a really tough game; a picture of Marvin’s back as the man is hunched over an oven (this one has the caption “I love when a man puts the steak in ;) ” ); a particularly artsy one with a black and white filter, with Marvin (asleep, hair mussed, naked but only his bare arms, shoulders, and upper back is not obscured by the white sheets) asleep in their bed. The fans lose their minds over these pictures, along with the little tibits of info/stories that Whizzer shares when prompted about what a dorky/lame/baseball-hating/he-writes-me-poetry-literally-what-a-fucking-nerd that his new boyfriend is.

When tweets and questions about Marvin keep buzzing Whizzer, Whizzer kindly asks (not forces, Jeez, Marv, don’t make it sound like I held a gun to your back) that Marvin get his own instagram/twitter accounts so they can just fawn over Marvin directly and leave Whizzer the hell alone to answer questions about baseball and photography and not about his relationship every fucking five minutes

This turns out to be a mistake. Marvin amasses ten thousand followers in six months. The guy barely even posts about Whizzer himself. He posts about broadway reviews and retweets funny cat pictures and every once in awhile, he posts partiuclarly needling things like how chess is better than baseball and he tags and @’s Whizzer in all of them. And everyone??? Loves it??? Whizzer is a little jealous at how people fawn over Marvin?? Like where’s some Whizzer love??? Whizzer is still the twunk that everyone loves, right???

Marvin is slowly accepted by the baseball wives. They’re catty and cliquish and they make Marvin’s life a living hell those first few months, but when Marvin does not take their shit and keeps pushing back, they grow to a mutual understanding that soon turns into begrudged respect that eventually turns into tentative friendship that eventually much much later turns into “if you dare utter one mean word or look at Marvin the wrong way, I will slit your throat with my sharpened, manicured, pastel pink-painted nails.” Whizzer shares one picture on his insta of Marvin with the baseball wives, with a glass of champagne in his hand and looking like he’s talking shit and the other baseball wives are laughing and eating this shit up, and he captions it: I think my boyfriend joined a cult.

The media as a whole leaves the two alone after they turn out to be just a regular couple and not that interesting?? EXCEPT EXCEPT EXCEPT (see next bullet point)

Okay, so Marvin hates baseball, right? This is established. This is well known. This is Fact. Well, after they become like “official” and the media now knows who Marvin is, news outlets start to attack him/make fun of him/crucify him for looking bored at Whizzer’s baseball games. Like he’ll have his phone out or he’ll have his chin propped up with his hand as if trying to combat sleepiness and sometimes he brings like a magazine to read and he always has that bored, vaguely pained “I do not want to be here right now” look on his face. And any time that the Red Sox makes a good play or gets a homerun, it’s clear that he’s been spacing out bc whenever the people around him start cheering, he likes jumps and does that weak, wide-eyed “Idk what just happened and i kinda want death right now but I am being supportive” clap (one time, he zoned out and Whizzer’s opposing team got a homerun, and Marvin just started meekly clapping bc he heard the crowd doing it and ESPN and TMZ and all the news outlets had a field day of making fun of him).

And the media??? is like “why are you not supporting your partner? You embarrass him by looking so bored. Can’t you learn to love the sport if you love him??” and being really bitchy about it. And Whizzer gets pissed and so goes on air during a press conference - when some smart-ass reporter tries to make a barb about Marvin looking bored and in pain - and says really bitchily, “Guys, Marvin just doesn’t like baseball, okay? Yeah, that makes him an idiot - because baseball is incredible - but it doesn’t make him a bad partner. I don’t expect him to love the things that I love. I like that we’re different, you know? That makes him less boring. Like, he goes to my games even though he hates baseball. That is being supportive. Like fucking hell, guys, I’m with him because he makes me laugh and has a great ass - not because he’s some super baseball fan.” CUE MIC DROP.

And yeah, there are homophobic reactions to the relationship. Facebook groups dedicated to it. Marvin gets hate mail and one time got like yelled at on the street. Some of the media’s stories are overtly homophobic and overly crass. It’s 2017, sure, but there are still idiots out there.

Marvin and Whizzer don’t let the attention - good or bad - get to them. They just keep being in love and posting overly sappy instagram posts about their anniversaries and poking fun at each other on twitter and the attention never breaks them.

I will posts Jason specific headcanons later but like dang, this took a lot out of me bc I have a lot of FEELINGS and if you have more headcanons about this topic, reblog and add your own bc I’m curious how you feel the media/fans would take this.

#this got too long #ask #baseball au #send more requests i love this

127 notes · View notes

princessclawdia-blog · 6 years

Text

Call of the Wild

Now from the time I was a little kid, I could remember my parents would spank me for whatever nonsense or foolishness I had gotten into. Afterwards I remember feeling some shame, but the older I got it turned to more of an excitement. Like any kid at the time when I knew I was about to get my ass beat I would kick, fight back, run away, but afterwards it was such a turn on. The older I got when I finally had discovered masturbation and how if I rubbed my crotch hard enough how amazingly good it would feel, it was the same kind of excitement I would feel after being spanked. When I got close to adolescence I ended up stringing the two together. After I got my ass busted, once I was alone in my room, my cherry red cheeks throbbing I'd lay down onto my bed face down, put my headphones on and grind on top of my hand or a pillow. Now growing up in a Christian household with Christian parents, and my mother who at times was fanatical about her beliefs, I often felt ashamed like as if there was something wrong with me.

Homosexuality was a sin, masturbation was a sin, dirty or impure thoughts was a sin, rock n roll music was a device of the devil and pretty much anything else I enjoyed was a sin. I felt as if I were defective and a deviant. I would have nightmares about going to hell. My mother would blame our "sins" as the reason why she or my father had an illness, or the house needed repairs, financially they were struggling with bills or an unexpected expense that had come up that they weren't prepared for, because we were bad children. We were sinful children who didn't love God and so therefore God was punishing her and us because of our sins. I as a small child lived in fear of doing anything wrong or making mistakes because I was afraid God would punish me and or my family. No person could ever live up my mother's incredibly unreasonable expectations, regardless if God had a hand in it or not.

I truly believed this irrational nonsense until I was about thirteen and lived in a state of fear and constant anxiety. I loved reading to escape from the drama and I loved history too. Watching documentaries about the Nazis, about how the SS policed everything everyone said and did so as not to deviate from the ideal the Nazi party had set forth. Documentaries on the vietnam war and the fear of the rising threat of communism. I felt I could identify with the accounts people gave. They would give interviews and tell stories, remembering how scared and anxious they would be, living in fear of saying or doing the wrong thing, the paranoia and how it would bring about a horrible end. All of that would change once I discovered the heavens that lie beyond, in the internet.

Once I had access to the internet and had built my own first computer from odds and ends of other ones that had since been upgraded in the computer lab at school and then happened upon a local computer store that was happy to have a young eager mind willing to learn and donate their spare parts towards my cause I was on my way to opening a whole new world. Now in the days of dial up internet if you knew how to link into a phone line and swipe the AOL demos from the local Wal Mart in multiples so you'd have a supply of the free trial codes, you would have unlimited access, unless the phone lines were down. I found a plethora of free porn, which was completely foreign to me up until that point. There was so much available, from girls sucking horse cocks, to gangbangs, gaping holes, spanking which of course was my immediate favorite and it was then like I had discovered Valhalla.

I had, had dreams before of being spanked and at this point coming into transitioning from being a little kid and I was now twelve years old which meant moving up into junior high school and soon I'd be a teenager and all teens think they are the shit and know it all. For me though once I stumbled upon four letters BDSM: bondage and discipline, domination and submission, sadism and masochism. Now, I had heard the term sadist before, on tv when reporters would be referring to some terrible serial killer and the horrible crimes they had committed, but the rest really didn't mean much to me. I would comb through pages and pages of pictures, videos, women tied up, being fucked with dildos and vibrators, clamps and the popular clothespins hanging from throbbing nipples and I discovered my panties would be so wet after a little while of viewing.

So just like any other young, stupid kid I began experimenting. I would find clothespins, shoelaces, nylon rope in the garage and I would try to bind my still growing breasts just like in the pictures online and clamp clothespins to my tiny pink nipples. It hurt of course at first, but it was a good kind of pain. Not like the kind of pain when I fell rollerblading trying to grind across a handrail at the local church on an angle too steep to start with, but a pleasurable kind of pain. Then I moved to finding whatever I could find to fuck myself with. The big fat coloring markers, tampons still in the plastic applicator, vegetables, my hairbrush handle and my fingers. It all felt so good and it was addictive, like who doesn't want to masturbate every fucking day if they can right?

I suppose this is probably also how I ended up starting to fuck at an early age. I wasn't a complete idiot, I had taken sex education in school so I knew about STDS. My mother being a nurse and had a library of educational books in the house. When I ran out of books to read from the local library and it donned on me the wealth of knowledge in those anatomy books I began to devour them page by page. I had always loved to read since I was really little, I could read, write and spell before I hit kindergarten, but now I had a new motivation to learn. By age thirteen my mother had decided I was old enough to go to the gynecologist since my periods much like hers were getting terribly heavy and almost unbearable. Some days she would let me skip school and ride along with her to her job, and we would go to the mall for lunch sometimes when she could afford it. So by eighth grade and going on fourteen years old I was already on the pill, reading all I could about male and female anatomy and a porn fiend. When I started dating guys who were of course always a grade or two older than me and the opportunity arose after making out to fool around I thought I know exactly how to do this, I had watched so many videos online.

Even now as a grown woman I have always prided myself on giving blowjobs. I have had a lot of practice and when the first few times I had the opportunity as a teen I did what I saw online and to my surprise when I got complimented on how much he enjoyed it, it lit a fire. So when I started dating a guy who wanted to have sex, it was like my mind and body was in auto pilot. I would sneak out at night meet him in the local park, sometimes there against the silky lining on his leather trench coat in the dark under the moonlight, sometimes when his mom would be out of town and his little sister was fast asleep in her room he would let me into his bed, sometimes in his car if we could find somewhere hidden to park for a while. He was one of the first, others it would become sneaking in a quickie in their bedrooms knowing the parents were nearby. The ginger one when I got to high school, the local coffeehouse bathroom because it was quite spacious for a public restroom plus the aroma of chocolate pastries with caffeine just added to the experience.

By the time I got to college and I had friends who were just learning how to get good at fucking, their first few times in high school usually were awkward and not something they cared to remember or they were virgins waiting for it finally to be their turn I had already been through several "boyfriends". I referred to them as that, because there is not really any better term. They were boys, we were friends to some degree and we did stuff together.

Later on as an adult and into my twenties porn was something anymore I'd watch when bored or just dry up on available "boyfriend" options to pass the time. When I moved to another state and a much bigger city, my new girlfriends would talk about their boyfriends wanting to do things they just didn't enjoy. Like having her the woman get on top of him, doggie style or trying anal. Now in high school the first guy, yeah the one I met in the park at night, loved when he finally could sneak me into his bedroom and after he donned a glow in the dark condom he procured from the local gas station vending machine and I mounted on top of him. He had black lights all around his room, those tacky posters from Spencer's to match and White Zombie turned down low, thumping from his shelf stereo and it was a straight up party to the two of us. Probably one of the best reasons was while I was bouncing away on his cock to orgasm after orgasm he could lay back and we could both smoke the fat blunt he had just rolled. Sometimes his friends would come spend the night too, they would lay on either side of us on his bed, singing along to the music, passing the joint and eventually I would take my turn with each of them.

Of course my inner circle of closest friends back then, my fellow " juggalettes" (yeah, yeah I know I.C.P is so lame now, but back in the day they were the shit), the outcasts, drama and theatre nerds, the band geeks, only a few of them knew of my wild habits. They were the same few who I'd bump into at a house party or at the local coffeehouse where all the middle and lower class kids who didn't have Wranglers, Land Rovers, or tricked out pick up trucks to cruise around in at the mall, this where we went to hang out.

The few of my closer girlfriends I admit we were total sluts by definition. We would swap notes in classes, trying to one up one another about our raunchy tales from the weekend before. We would swap condoms and other goodies we purchased from various vending machines at truck stops and gas stations. Chewing on the flavored ones in class like they were fucking bubble gum. I'd swap my banana for strawberry which matched my wildly colored pillarbox red hair, as Manic Panic called it. In our minds, we felt grown up and badass as fuck. It was as if we knew a little secret the rest of our classmates had not yet figured out. Sex felt fucking awesome, it was fun and we fucking loved it. We loved to fuck every chance we got. Some of us like myself loved to fuck every chance I could with guys of course and girls too. I would salivate and get wet thinking about some of my girlfriends in their low slung hip hugger flare jeans, thong poking out in the back, spaghetti strap tops with their nipples showing through the cheap polyester fabric and the cheesy Playboy bunny glitter logo planted front and center, between their firm tits. Now that I think about this as an adult it all sounds so stupid and it is embarassing.

I still remember always feeling just a little bit off though from my friends. I would go back home, look at the darker side of porn and in the internet world I didn't feel so much as an outcast and a freak. I did eventually get a cheap webcam and I had accounts on AIM, YAHOO, and ICQ by now. I eventually late one night, at home and alone got bored and adventurous and discovered chat rooms. This wasn't like usual bullshit kiddie fun I had with my school friends, this was before emoticons were a thing too, you had to know the keystrokes to make each face. I of course found the over 18 chat rooms, quickly created an alternate profile with a fake name, address, age, and went to town. I got a cheap headset too, and I would spend hours talking to men and women from all over the world. I would exchange short videos and pictures with them. Clothespins on my nipples, tied up breasts, my fingers sloshing away at my puffy slippery wet pussy. It was in this world that I didn't feel I was an outcast, a defective, and certainly not a deviant. How could I be? There was a world of people out there just like me and enjoyed the things that I did. In this realm I felt like I belonged, like I had become part of some sort of kinky tribe. I at the time didn't know the definition of the word kink or that there was a name for these interests, just that they seemed to only come natural to me.

Now I don't know if this is the way other people have been introduced to the world of kink, but for me that is my earliest memory. As an adult now it seems to me that what I discovered was by happen stance, but if I hadn't discovered kink through the internet I would have eventually through another avenue in time. I now have piercings, tattoos, I change my hair color often on a whim and while some of these things are still considered even today in 2018 "alternative" or "wild" to me it just seems completely normal. Like my piercings and my tattoos I look at them everyday no different than the freckles on my skin. They are part of who I am, speak about me and I find them aesthetically beautiful. I don't think you can define or explain why it is some things are just attractive to some people and repulsive to others. The same with kink, it's just a turn on for many and for many others just seems bizarre and somehow unhealthy or there must be something wrong with you to enjoy such a thing. For those of us it speaks to, it's on a whole other level beyond just the physical sensations. There is a level of intimacy deeper than sex that's hard to describe, you just have to experience it.

Really and truly what it is at the core, for me at least, is an experience even when there is no sex involved. It does bring about that same kind of high you get after an intense orgasm, or at the end of a thrilling roller coaster ride. I get a high just from trying something new, it is for me a personal challenge, something new I hadn't tried before. It feels sometimes daunting, nerve wracking as fuck at times, even the feeling of danger maybe an element to it, and I have to self talk myself away from my fears of judgement or misunderstanding rooted in my conditioning since I was a child that this is not "normal behavior" and I am somehow a twisted deviant to derive such massive pleasure from participating in such things. Each new high, with each new experience it becomes cemented in my brain as a pleasant memory that brings a smile to my face. After so many years now it has become welded to my being. It is truly a part of me, of who I am, of who I was always meant to be.

I have in the past tried to supress it for one reason or another. Whether it was from a lack of time, the lack of motivation or simply just trying to fit in with a people or place, to belong where I was in life then, but after a time the hunger comes back. Like an insatiable thirst and there's only one way I know how to quench and relieve it. A call back to the wild is what I feel. Without it I don't feel whole, it is a part of my soul. Alongside my studies into the bdsm world I have also changed religious beliefs and philosophy over the years too and have come to find paganism and wicca to speak to my inner core like no other belief system could before.

My present day belief system is a fusion from different pagan practices, yes mostly from wicca, but nature and animals speak to my inner being and provide a peace I never found in christianity. I had read the Bible committed much of it to memory, I had read the Koran, books on buddhism, hinduism, jainism, back again to different versions of the bible and catholicism, but it I just didn't "feel" it. Something just wasn't right and so I continued my search until I found what I was looking for to end my hunger and thirst. Wicca and much of the other pagan beliefs centered around nature, just touched my soul in every right way possible. I felt the same kind of calm and peace when strolling down a trail on a cool fall day, admiring the colors of the fallen leaves, feeling the breeze through my hair, the fall sun warm on my cheeks, and I am one with the nature in the world around me. This is my religion, this is my spirituality, it was always there and all around me I just didn't know it until that moment.

My willingness to throw my whole self into the bdsm world and with every opportunity I can find, the closest analogy I can think of to explain why, is how I became a pagan over the years. It just clicks with me. It just speaks to who I am and to who I have always wanted to be deep down inside of myself. I had always been angry, self destructive even and at war with my inner self. I had grown tired and weary and longed for peace, for soildarity, for quiet, and to calm the storm inside of me.

The experience when I am into my subspace, participating in whatever activity I have chosen to experience, is what I like to think of as a call back to the wild. It is a call to just be, to let go of the many inhibitions that hold us back from experiencing the body and soul the way it is meant to be felt.

Life they say is meant to be lived. If you are "living" but not with feeling, with a passion, with a fire burning, with a sense of feeling free and enjoying the whole experience then to me that isn't really living. For me, I know I had heard the call of the wild many times before and I didn't fully understand it or I chose to repress it and pretend I couldn't hear it. It sounded like a lone wolf crying at the moon in search of its brethren.

I heard the call of the wild again and again and I had decided to follow it and now I know I am home. I feel the peace and solidarity with my soul that I had longed for. I am one with the wild. I am one with the wild fire burning inside and while I am learning how to master it still, I am one of the wild and no longer scared to be true to myself. I am no longer ashamed of what I am, to remain faithful and loyal to who I am. I want to become the call of the wild now to others who are willing to hear its message and want to come home to the pack. Come home my brethren, listen to the call of the wild inside of you. Do not be afraid. This is the call to love yourself, of self discovery. This is how I am learning to love and trust myself. I am one of the wild now and I will never look back.

0 notes