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voxsmistress · 9 months ago

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Mama Didn't Raise No Bimbo - Part NINE

PHHEWWW this seems a bit of a filler but I wanted to show you some little moments she had with the Vee's - after all not everything can be big dramatic happenings - how else will we get to the good stuff if they dont build some trust together ;)

Plus what do you think is Y/n's surprise?

Part One / Part Two / Part Three / Part Four / Part Five / Part Six / Part Seven / Part Eight / Part Nine / Part Ten / Part Eleven / Part Twelve / Part Thirteen / Part Fourteen / Part Fifteen / Part Sixteen

It had been a week since that last meeting with the Vee’s and it had flown by. You were singing at the clubs, having meetings with Velvette to get your measurements done correctly, being more social on Sinstagram and other socials, you had a few interviews with small time magazines promoting you. You were a busy bee. And you loved it!

Tonight, you were going to a club opening that had asked you if you wanted a part time contract there as a singer – before you agreed you said you’d like to see what the night life was like first, which they then invited you to their opening night. Once you had the date set, Vel had been nonstop harassing you with pictures, sketches and videos of her designs and then letting you know all the progress when you chose the outfit you wanted. Sometimes you caught Vox or Valentino in the background of her videos; both rolling their eyes dramatically or pulling faces making you laugh. Or sometimes they took over the video and had a little chat with you pushing Velvette out the screen completely.

It wasn’t just Vel that you were in constant contact with either: Vox had taken to messaging you every day letting you know that certain media outlets wanted to talk to you (after he ‘persuaded’ them) about an interview or have you on their show. He also, a few days after you complained that your phone had such a crap camera, sent you a brand-new state of the art VoxTek phone. You laughed for ages when you turned it on as he set the background as himself standing proud with that charming grin of his. No matter how many times you tried to change the background, after a few hours it always switched back to that photo so after a few days you just left it.

Valentino, he was a bit more subtle than the other two. Sending selfies of himself and the other two on SinsChat with flirty little messages to you, a few text messages here and there but nothing too ‘Valentinoish’. When you mentioned that you were going to the club opening, he actually suggested some ideas to talk about if you were stopped by the paparazzi. Which you doubt would happen but better to have the ideas and not use them, than need them and not have them. Right?

You were in the elevator heading up to Velvette’s floor, you had a few hours to get ready and she was already in boss mode ordering everyone about when she phoned you this morning waking you up. You could only imagine what she was like now. Which is why you have brought the coffee: one for her, one for you, and two more in case the other two appear. They seemed to have a habit of appearing when you and Vel were having a meeting, usually causing Vel to have to kick them both out as they tried their best to distract you.

Striding onto Vel’s floor you hide an amused smile at everyone running around like headless chickens and Velvette in the middle orchestrating the mayhem. Your phone buzzing in your pocket distracted you, walking over to one of the tables with no fabric on – you were not risking your undead life by getting coffee near Velvette’s designs – you pop the coffees, your purse and jacket on top. Yanking your phone out your leggings leg pocket (thank you Vel for that genius invention) you spy Angel’s face pop up on a notification. Pressing it you quickly read the message, frown appearing on your face. He was letting you down tonight, so much for your plus one. Now you think about it, all this week you hadn’t see hide nor hair of him and his usual constant messaging was getting less and less. Hmm. Reminding yourself to call him tomorrow to speak about it you pop your phone back in your leggings pocket. Okay no plus one, you can totally do the opening by yourself. Wouldn’t be the first time.

A hand grips your wrist and swirls you into a seat. No longer surprised at Velvette’s ways you just get comfy and sit up straighter in your seat. After the third or fourth time she’d done this to you, it’s easier to just accept the gentle manhandling.

“Finally, you are here. You know you were meant to be here an hour ago, right?” She raises an unimpressed eyebrow at you, lips pulled down in a scowl. Yanking her coffee from the holder you hold it up as a peace offering, your best sorry expression across your face.

Taking the cup off you, a quick sip later she hummed under her breath before smirking: “fine you are forgiven! But do it again and I’ll start cutting that pretty hair shorter and shorter – an inch for every hour you are late” she threatens, swirling away to grab another sinner to start on your hair while she got her make up out ready. She had determined she was getting you ready for this club opening before you even thought about how you were going to get ready.

You closed your eyes as they got to work, the sinner working on your hair was sectioning it off and placing it in large curlers to make bouncy waves in your waist length hair and Vel was cleansing your face. At ease you barely notice anyone else until you smell the distinct aroma of a certain cigarette.

“Good evening, Valentino�� you murmur, completely docile because of the fingers combing through your hair. You didn’t realise you liked it so much, not remembering if it felt this way when you were human or if it was a new thing now you were in Hell.

“Evening Princessa, it looks like you’re getting all the works tonight”, opening your right eye you smile at the Moth Overlord. Over this past week you’ve settled into a more relaxed relationship with each other. Less threatening and overbearing sexual innuendos and more flirty banter, which you could cope with.

“Yes, Vel was determined she was the best one to get me ready even though I offered to do my hair and make up myself” a small tap to your nose with a brush made you scrunch it.

“Well darlin’, if you want something done right, sometimes you just gotta do it yourself!”

Humming in agreement you close your eyes again at the feeling of the sinner sorting your hair, sighing happily. Or you did until you heard a snarl and the fingers stopped combing through your hair: “enough. Fuck off!” Blinking in shock you look up to see the sinner running quickly away and a glaring Velvette stood with her hands on her hips. She flashed you a smile when she caught your bemused stare, “she was taking the piss bae, Val is gonna finish off your hair. It only needs a few more curlers put in and then to set”. Hmm … a smile tugged at your lips from her behaviour. Was she jealous that you were enjoying someone else touching your hair?

“Like you said, if you want it done right, you got to do it yourself. My hair is in your talented hands Val” you close your eyes again at Velvette’s instruction as she starts on your eye make-up.

Fingers raked through your hair that hadn’t yet been pinned up and curled, nails scratching at your scalp caught you off guard as a moan nearly escaped your lips. Okay. You learn something new about your body every day. Even in Hell. Clearing your throat when you hear him lowly chuckle you try to distract yourself from the luscious feeling that he was pulling from you by playing with your hair.

“There’s a coffee on the table for you Val if you want one. I know you are usually up late with shoots so figured the caffeine fix might be what you need” you tell him, nose twitching when Vel turns and her hair tickles it.

“You are so kind to us, mi cariño” humming your agreement you allowed them both to work, chuckling every so often as the bitched and picked at each other. A week or two ago you would have thought they’d hated each other the way they spoke – now you realised this was just how they showed each other they cared. Toxic and not your style but it worked for them so who were you to stand in the way and judge.

You must have dozed off as the next time you opened your eyes Velvette was putting the last touches to your make up and Val was taking the curlers out of your hair. Closing your eyes you felt yourself being blasted with a fuck tonne of hair spray. Not a hair would be out of place and your make up would not be smudged. You’d be surprised if you could move your own face with the amount they used.

“Now who is your plus one to this opening Princessa?” Opening your eyes you look in shock at yourself in the mirror that a random sinner was holding in front of you. The demon who looked back at you from the reflection looked like some kind of Siren. Velvette and Valentino worked miracles. In awe of their skills, you mumble how your riding solo tonight as Angel cancelled on you, missing the look they both shared behind your back as you twisted to see how the waves rolled down your back.

“Guys you are miracle workers, thank you so much! I don’t think I’ve ever looked this good even when I was alive!” Spinning in your seat you clap your hands giddily as Velvette giggles with you.

“Now for the outfit babes, then we’ve gotta get some photos of you posing before you go”, pushing you towards the dressing room you spy Valentino aggressively typing on his phone. Strange. But too excited to put on your clothes to give it another thought you barge into the room. A small shriek of excitement escaped your lips as you saw it finally. A black feather bustier with accents of the pink that you are starting to be known for, high waisted black leather pants which flared at the bottom, your favourite black stilettos with the pink bottoms were waiting for you. Pushing Velvette out the room to get ready you wafted away her complaints that she wanted to help you get ready saying you wanted it to be a surprise when you finally were all done up.

Carefully putting on the bustier, wriggling into it into place making sure it hugged your curves and synched your waist in but didn’t expose anything you didn’t want exposing. No nip-slips here people! The leather pants were a little easier to put on but again there was a lot of wriggling and jumping to get them completely up. And men thought we looked sexy putting these outfits on? The heels were the easiest thing to put on thank Lucifer. Slipping on the black choker you check that the little pink sapphire crystal was dangling correctly at the front of your throat, matching bracelet and ring then added. A quick spritz of your favourite perfume on your neck and wrists you were finally ready. Turning around to look in the mirror you grinned happily. Never in a million years did you ever think you would look this good.

Opening the door, you step out into the studio. Velvette and Valentino both talking about something heatedly together with their heads turned so you can’t read their lips. Hmm. Clearing your throat at them both to get their attention. Velvette was the first to look at you, beaming she claps her hands together as Valentino just licked his lips in a flirtatious manner.

“GIRL! You look AMAZING!! Right, we’ve gotta get some pics ready for your Sinstagram – you are gonna be trending tonight!” Suddenly there was a flurry of movement around you, lights blinding you as you were shoved in front of a backdrop. A photographer appeared from behind a big camera, him and Velvette directed you how and where to stand. Blinking in amusement you give your best seductive smile from over your shoulder to the camera, catching Valentino and Velvette watching you intently. Both of their gazes dark, Valentino was puffing aggressively on his cigarette. Blushing at their attention you lower your gaze before winking at them both. Screw it, you were going to have fun tonight! A few more photos turned into hundreds with you in different positions, places and sitting on different things. Your last set was you lying against the pink (you noticed this was a new addition in Vels studio) chaise lounge, back arched and your hair rippling down your back.

When you finally finished with the photographer you grabbed your phone and took a few selfies of yourself while you still had the light. Velvette appeared at your side, pulling your phone down a little you both took a few cute selfies together until a huff was heard from behind you. Smirking at the pouting Overlord you pull him closer by his hand.

“Come on you big baby, you’re gonna have to take the photos though as you’ve got the longest arms” you tease. Velvette clutching your arm on your one side and Valentino with his arms wrapped around your waist on the other you took a few selfies, laughing at how some of them turned out. Though you were having a blast with them both you couldn’t help but miss Vox’s sarcastic comments and charming smile. Shaking that thought from your head you check the time and squeak. It was time to get moving!

Thanking them both for helping you get ready and promising Velvette you would take loads of photos tonight you grab your purse and phone – glancing at the lone coffee left on the table you sigh a little under your breath. It woulda been nice to have seen Vox’s reaction to your outfit. Rolling your eyes at your own thoughts. Jeez y/n get a grip! Walking to the elevator you miss the smirks crossing Vel and Valentino’s faces. If you had, you’d have known you were walking into a big surprise.

Taglist:

@tasha-1994 @azullynxx @reath-solia @leathesimp @klorinda @twinklethewarrior @wonderlandangelsposts @th3rizzler @martinys-world @rosiethevoxobesser

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copperbadge · 9 months ago

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Lately, it's felt like every time I've started to work on writing, I'll just be getting into the rhythm of it when I get interrupted, either by work or the cats or because the time I'd booked in the library study room is up (you can only do two hours at a time, and only four hours a week total). It was getting to the point where I kept re-reading the same chapter or so of previous work but never managing to add to it.

So I tried an experiment this past weekend -- I found a really cheap rate on a local hotel room, and on Friday I took an overnight bag and a very old laptop with limited processing power and checked into a room about a mile from home for a quasi "staycation". I unpacked and had a quiet night on Friday, as prelude to working Saturday-Sunday. The idea was to write uninterrupted by other people, pets, the presence of all my Stuff around me at home, et cetera.

I had snacks but I also bought meals out, which was nice; I don't often order in or buy out when I'm at home. The way I set up was that I would do fifty minutes of writing with do-not-disturb engaged on my phone and then ten minutes of checking email, texts, etc. since often what pulls me out of writing is a text or an email that needs answering, or the anxiety that I'm missing one that would. If I set it so that every hour I check, well, nobody's going to die if something doesn't get answered in an hour, so the anxiety isn't there, and neither is the distraction. (I found a nice app for this, review later depending on how functional it continues to be for me, but it's a like $4 app called Forest.)

It worked pretty well -- writing for an uninterrupted hour, as long as I know what I'm working on, is very functional for me. I average about two thousand words, that way, though there is a limit to the number of hours I can put in. I ended up doing two hours in the morning and one hour in the afternoon, then switched from fiction writing to clearing out my tumblr drafts and some correspondence for the fourth hour. So it went something like

Go out and get breakfast, bring back and eat in room

Change into lounging clothes and do two one-hour sessions

Go out and get lunch, eat lunch out

Bit of a rest break back in the room

Two one-hour sessions, one of writing; when tired, switch to something that requires less creativity

Go out and get dinner, bring back and eat in room

And then in the evening the plan was to watch movies or catch up on reading, but I ended up being mentally weary, so instead I did some simple tarot reading. It was less divination or even meditation than just messing around, keeping the creativity stimulated; I did a couple of Creative Writing spreads, some very brief divination spreads (I nicked a nice three-card spread here that I mentally call He To Hecuba, and just used it in general rather than for a specific question) and then invented a spread when I was starting to get irritated that the same like, five cards kept coming up, more on this in its own post.

Sunday I did one more writing session but it was less successful, I think partly because what I was writing required a lot of research and partly because the previous day I'd dumped eight thousand words into the file. (Research took longer because I brought the most garbage laptop known to man, and the browsers crash if you try to open Google Maps, but in other ways it was ideal since there wasn't much I could do on it other than write.) But I had a good breakfast, got some rest, packed up easily enough, and headed home just ahead of the rain storm.

I don't think it's something I'll be able to do in that format especially often, since the deal I got on the hotel was an anomaly and Chicago lodging, even just AirBNB stuff, is stupid expensive. But in addition to helping get some work done it was a nice break, so I'm going to look into ways I could swing it on a perhaps monthly basis, or some other way to cheaply spend an entire day alone with decent access to a bathroom/snacks and a way to come and go easily. I've looked into coworking spaces before but they tend to be prohibitively expensive and don't really have the setup I'd prefer; there's a hostel on the north side with private rooms that I might try out but it doesn't seem significantly cheaper than a hotel. I might just have to pick one weekend a month and watch last-minute hotel price cuts where they simply want to fill a room for a day or two.

Anyway, functionally I wrote almost a fifth of a novel this weekend, and one that I wasn't feeling super on fire about; I'm feeling much better about it now that I've got some established plot going and I feel like I "know" the newer characters a bit better. (Also I'm enjoying writing Simon as someone who is absolutely entranced by his love interest and clueless that what he's feeling isn't mild antipathy because they met while fighting over ricotta.) So it was a big help, although if I were to put a budget line item in the Extribulum Press ledger for "writing staycation" it would wipe out my royalties surplus very quickly.

#writing #shivadhverse

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junedenim · 3 months ago

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not one goddamn thing

part one part two part three part four

if you're in love with you, you might as well be with him

warnings: smut, piv, angsty, fluffy, whatnot

word count: 4k

He's got the sheet resting at his hips. His back bare, your hand sliding up, contracting his body heat. His breathing is slow and steady. His eyes are still closed. You've debated waking him up. You've debated leaving. You haven't made an attempt at either. You're conflicted about feeling conflicted and you've stressed over everything you could and he still hasn't woken up.

You were up late last night. You know he was up later than you. He had left the bed while you were dozing off for a cigarette. God knows he probably got wrapped up in some work assignment that could have waited until morning but he took care of it then. He always seems to find a way to go to bed late.

He's stirred a handful of times, switching from lying on his back to lying on his stomach. You've stayed in the same place: naked and under the covers. You're not sure what you're hiding from or how something has changed in the last few hours to make you nervous around him, fearful of what will happen when he wakes up.

Maybe you should leave, at least get out of bed and take a shower. But his face is right next to yours. His hair is roughed up and fluffy, the edges touching your forehead. You long to be so close to him and so far away at the same time. You hate yourself for getting into this mess. But then he's doing this little sigh in his sleep where all the tension has rolled away from him. It's the only time you see him still. He's so button-up all the time, running around, determined to get everything done, to lighten everyone's load, but in bed he's still.

These early mornings, the first hour where he is just so still. He told you once that he hates lying around in bed for so long. It makes him feel like he's missing out on time. You told him to get out of bed then. He said he was comfortable here, next to you, finally feeling he could take a breath. You told him he works himself up too much. He agreed but got out of bed 15 minutes later to finish something from work.

"Hi," he croaks, taking you out of your moment of remembrance. His eyelids flutter, adjusting to the morning light.

"Hi," you manage.

He looks like he could go back to sleep. He pulls his arm around your stomach, holding you to his side. "What are you thinking?" Alex asks.

You shrug.

He exhales and rubs his hand up and down your side. "You're thinking something." You don't know what to say so you stay silent. "Come on. Did I fuck up so bad?"

You shake your head.

"I'm pretty good at reading you but I can't work off these non-verbal responses."

"I'm just thinking about work," you pawn off as a bad excuse.

"You mean, us at work," he corrects.

"No." A pause. "Yes. I don't know. I'm just figuring stuff out." You feel tense and you know he can feel it too. Stuck in your rigid muscles and stiff in your brain.

"Okay. Why don't we go away for a little? See if we tolerate each other out and about." He's cheeky and thinks distracting you like this will somehow work.

You fight off the grin and tell him, "I know I tolerate you. I like you, Alex."

"You like me?" He smirks.

"What do you want me to say?" You sit up, resting your back against the headboard.

"You don't need to—no, that's not true." He sits up beside you, wanting to make clear eye contact with you. "I want to stop dancing around what we are doing."

You raise an eyebrow. "By going on a trip?"

"By going to HR."

"No." You're quick to get out of bed. "I am not doing that." You throw the sheets and go for your clothes. Running feels easy now.

Alex moves closer to you but stays in bed. "We're having a relationship."

You're pulling last night's clothes on and, yes, you feel shameful doing the walk of shame in Christmas party attire. "That no one needs to know about. It's our own personal business."

He squints and starts doing that thing where he speaks with his hands, tapping his hand on the mattress and chest to emphasize his point. "No, it's my business and it's my ass on the line if we get caught."

"I'm not going accuse you of anything and we're not going to get caught."

"Consider our behavior at the holiday party."

You're quick to point your finger at him. "You're the one who took me into the closet."

He throws his hands up in the air. "I thought you weren't going to accuse me of anything!"

"I'm not going to HR." You turn away from him to grab last night's dress, a sloppy mess on the floor.

"Fine," Alex settles. "But are we even in a relationship? You seem to want nothing to do with me."

"I want everything to do with you! I just don't want everyone at work knowing that. I love working there and being with you but the second that comes out, everything I do gets labeled with preferential treatment and me being some kind of slut."

He falls back against the headboard and rolls his eyes. "Oh, come on, it's not Mad Men. You have the idea that everyone cares so much. People don't give a shit."

"I give a shit!" You yell at him. "I need to know that I did it on my own."

"You will know that. Who cares if Gunner or some loser thinks you got some favour? You did it on your own."

"Did you give me the assignment with Jeff because you wanted to sleep with me?" That fact had played on your mind when you first got together. You hadn't thought about it in a while, so, rightfully it comes bubbling up in an argument.

His face scrunches up and he looks around bewildered, unable to believe what's coming out of your mouth. "What?!"

"Come on, you had just broken up with your girlfriend, we were having a company party later that day, and you wanted a piece of ass so you buttered me up by saying my proposal was better than Jeff's."

"I thought you weren't going to do this accusatory shit?"

"It's just a question."

"No! I picked yours because yours was the best. Not the shit Jeff threw together in 2 minutes. Don't act like you weren't willing either. Do you think this whole relationship has been some plot for me to get an easy hook-up? If I wanted to bang someone, I would have fucked Elizabeth."

You throw back at him, "Why don't you?"

"Because I only want to fuck you. What? Do you feel some other way? You want to go fuck Gunner?"

You cross your arms, scoffing, "Yes, Alex, I'm the office slut—"

"Don't pull that card, okay? You know what." He stands walking over to you. "I love you and whatever else you want to imagine, go for it, but that's not changing. If you don't feel that way, then fine. Trust me, I've gone through a lot more than losing you."

"I wouldn't know. You never tell me." The blanket of his past has been largely uncovered and though you don't care much hearing about his various ex-girlfriends, it's clearly held part of him back.

He seems to hesitate on this like he is combing through his brain looking for an answer. He moves his head back and forth like it will help him decide his next move like a Magic 8 Ball. Then, he stops and looks at you. "I'm gonna take a shower. Leave or stay, either way, I'll have my answer."

He disappears off into the bathroom. You're left trying to figure out your directions again. There's leaving, which feels like the easiest. Running away has always been a specialty. There's joining him in the shower, which used to be so easy. Now, it feels far and suffocating.

You decide to walk around, making your way to the kitchen. Evidence of last night is found with your high heels scattered on the floor and Alex's tie was stuffed halfway into a couch cushion. You open his pantry and front and center a new box of your favourite cereal. You had finished the last box the morning before your fight in his office, which means he got this new one after you started speaking.

Maybe it's for him but it's still unopened and you've never seen Alex eat a bowl of cereal, only ever stealing from your bowl. So, you pour yourself a bowl and wait for the shower water to stop running. You try not to think too much but it feels impossible. Your mind wanders to the water flowing down his body in the shower. Your desire for him almost overcomes that pit in your stomach.

He stops in the doorway. You see it. He's shocked you're still here or maybe he's pissed you are. You can't tell. He walks behind you, still dressed in a shirt and boxers, his hair now damp. You turn your head to watch him as he starts the coffee machine.

"Do you want some?" He asks as he stares as the coffee drips into the pot.

You shake your head and turn back to your cereal. "No. I'm good." He stays put, leaning against the counter. You stay put, scooping your cereal. "What time did you get to bed?"

He loudly sighs. "Late."

"Maybe if you went to bed earlier you wouldn't need some much coffee."

Alex snorts a chuckle. "Probably."

He knocks his knuckles against the counter and waits for his coffee. You finish your bowl before it's fully dispensed. You look at him, making your gaze clear, and he keeps staring at the coffee. "Do you want me to leave?" You ask, so unsure of yourself now.

He doesn't respond. Doesn't say anything. Doesn't shake his head. Keeps looking at that damn coffee.

"I don't want to leave," you confess. "If that's why you're not answering. You know, like, if you think I don't want to be here and you're too scared to say anything. I want to be here."

"Okay." He reaches up and grabs a mug, pulling the coffee pot out.

"Alex." You want some answer from him. You fear you've let your doubt linger for too long and it has spread to him.

Then, he stops you. "I bought you a mug for Christmas."

The statement leaves you confused, unsure of why presents are being brought up, unsure of why he's talking about this and not the status of your relationship. "Okay."

He shakes his head and you're not sure if it's at you, himself, or the coffee he's pouring. "I couldn't think of anything else to get."

"Well," you shrug, "I like mugs. I'm an easy girl to shop for. I like all kinds of things."

He nods, reaching into the fridge for half-and-half. "I know. But I don't really know you."

"You know me," you reason. "You love me." You heard him say it so he can't take it back now.

He hums, leaning his hip against the counter, the mug warms his hands. "I don't know you. I mean, compared to...past relationships, I don't know you. But I get this feeling when I'm around you and I noticed it before. Thought it was some measly crush." He laughs at himself and stares down at the floor, avoiding your eyes. "Then, when I was single, I was down for a while, not sleeping. You know, smoking too much."

"You don't smoke too much now?"

He cracks a smile and his eyes finally lift. Your stare at one another is warmer than expected but filled with questioning. He confesses, "I didn't like you much at first. Did you know that?"

I nod, managing a tiny smirk. "Yeah. I didn't like you at all."

"It was in your first week and I talked to you in your office and when I walked away you and Elizabeth did that thing where you whisper with one another. I figured you were talking about me. I was so sensitive back then."

"You still are now. I like that about you. Besides, we were probably just talking about your ass."

He nods a laugh and continues, "A few days after my break-up, you walked into the lounge and had me pour you a cup of coffee. Then, it just switched."

"Because I ordered you around?"

"Yeah. Kind of. Gunner is so scared of me he pisses himself, I can barely hold a conversation with Elizabeth, Ed is too aloof and he is my boss too, plus he doesn't wear a mini skirt to work." You laugh and he shrugs, crossing his arms. "I just clicked one day."

"It was when you told me I could laugh at your misfortunes. At that dinner. Before then I just thought you were a jerk."

Alex accepts this, always willing to take criticism and see the worst in himself. "I picked your proposal because it was better than Jeff's but I'm not going to say I wasn't attracted to you. That I didn't want to get to know you better."

"You have to be okay with the fact that I don't want people at work knowing we're together." You don't ever want to hurt him but you won't give parts of yourself up in the process.

"Okay."

"But I do love you." He needs to know that. Needs to know that part is true. "Proudly. I just can't mix the two."

"That's okay."

"Are you sure?"

He nods at his feet before making his eye contact with you. "I'd do anything for you. You have to know that by now."

"But I don't want you to have to feel that. That you have to sacrifice your own happiness and wishes because of what I want."

He shrugs. "Yeah, but I want you and so that's that."

"That's that?"

"Yeah."

You probably worry about him too much. He's a grown man but, to you, he's much more. A man who is pained by rejection and disappointing anyone. "But I don't want to take things away from you or feel you have to give things up for me because—"

"Can I kiss you?" He stops you dead in your tracks. A smug look and a sip of his coffee.

"What?"

He takes a few steps forward, leaning his body closer, his head now hovering so close to yours. "Can I kiss you?" He could do it if you wanted to. Easily. His lips are so close that he could swoop down right away.

You try your best to be of a clear mind, but his gaze, his words, his lips, him. Everything is so difficult. "We can't just shove these things around until the next fight. We have to be practical."

"I am being practical. I want to kiss you."

Your brows furrow. "Why?"

He laughs. "Did you seriously just ask me why?"

You curl your arms around his neck bringing him closer, despite insisting, "Let's be serious." Sometimes you just need to feel him. His skin contact calming your heart rate, his lips racing it.

"I am being serious." Your breathing gets heavy, your skin feels prickly as the anticipation builds. You've missed him, all of him, the way he speaks and the power he holds over you, the rare occasions you had time to just enjoy yourselves and take things slow, the warmth of his body curled up next to yours at night—and the way he touches you, grabs you, takes you, and his lips brushing up against your own, his skin against yours and the friction between you.

“Can we go back to bed?” Alex asks.

“Are you for real?”

“Of fucking course.”

And he leans over, gently grabbing the back of your head, and pulls you in to close the distance between you. His lips crash onto yours and suddenly you don’t care about anything else but this moment. You close your eyes, the bitter coffee taste on his mouth remaining the only thing on your mind. Fast, erratic, his breath against yours. You push against him, harder, every ounce of missing him channeled into this kiss.

“I hate you,” you say, breathless, as you pull apart.

“Uh-huh.” He smirks and takes your hand, dragging you back to his bedroom.

Initially, he's slow with his movements, like he wants to take you in piece by piece. He lifts last night's dress off of you, staring at you in your bra and panties. He plays with the strap of your bra, pushing each strap down one at a time. He kisses the top of your breasts, giving each his love. He reaches back and unclasps and you let the material fall to the floor.

But you want some too. You pull on his shirt, signalling for him to remove his mouth so you can take his shirt off. You snap the waistband of his boxers and he slides the fabric off his butt, kicking it down the rest of the way.

His lips reattach to yours. His hand plays its way down your skin before he snaps the waistband of your panties. You remove your hands from around his neck to pull them off when he slaps your hands away. He shoves his hand into them, connecting with your clit right away, pulling a shocked moan from your lips.

He leans his head back to get a clear look at your face. The way your eyes flutter and your lips slightly part makes his erection even more brutal. He tells you, "You know, I think I want to fuck you. What do you think about that?"

You bit your lip, desperate not to give him the satisfaction of you moaning as he works away at you. You nod, equally desperate for him.

He hums and removes his hand, walking away. It leaves you confused until he sits down on the edge of the bed, eyes transfixed on you, standing so lost and innocent, and he motions for you to come to him.

You stand in front of him, waiting for his order. He kisses your stomach, slowly sliding your panties off of you. His hands come up to squeeze your ass before he pulls you down onto his lap, making you yelp in the process. "Do you want to fuck me?" He asks again.

You nod again, just to toy with him.

He squeezes your side, making you pull away from him with a giggle. He laughs out, "Come on, you want me or not?"

You sit up straight, straddling over his lap. "I want to. I want you."

So soft and vulnerable, he asks, "Promise?"

With the most sincerity, you nod, holding his face in your hand. He's so rough and can make you drown in your desire, but to hold him in your hands. You hope to make him feel at home there. Always. You kiss him, just kissing him, for a little while.

Eventually, you pull away and he pushes your hair back and there is such longing but also a wish to keep still like this. Horniess wins out. You reach down between your legs to pull his dick forward to rub it against your pussy. Your folds part around the thickness of his cock, sliding yourself along his shaft and coating it before sinking down on it completely.

"Fuck," you both moan in relief. You bounce on him, rocking your hips. His hands stay on your waist, moving along with you. Always in need of control, Alex flips you, pressing you into the mattress and thrusting into you before you can fully process what's happening.

He leans down to kiss you, keeping the affection, even when being so rough. He slips his tongue into your mouth and swallows your moans as he keeps pumping into you in deep strokes. You widen your thighs so he can settle even further between them and then wrap your legs around his waist to keep him there like there is even the slightest chance of him pulling away.

"You like fucking me?" He asks, frantic for words of affirmation. "Huh?"

"I'm close," you tell him, forehead pressed against his and your words spoken against his lips. You slip your hand between your sweaty bodies to work your clit, but before you can make contact, Alex is batting her hand away so he can do it himself.

Your body arches off the bed as he rubs you and thrusts into you. "Come for me?" He says it like a question—a simple request. You whimper and writhe underneath him, eyes threatening to roll back in your head the longer you try to keep them open.

You roll her hips against his rubbing fingers and his cock pounding into your cunt, trying to pull him even deeper into you. The ball of pressure that has been building up inside you bursts. You feel so spent already, wanting to collapse, but he keeps going.

You feel too sensitive and your orgasm is still vibrating through you, but you don't have the energy to try to do anything and you want to make him feel good.

"Wait," you whine, gripping his forearms to keep him in place in case he does try to pull away. "Not so hard," you tell him.

He listens, slowing his hips and switching up his pace to pump into you in long heavy strokes, once, twice, three times, and then staying. He shoves his cock in deep and unloads.

His body falls over you as he comes, his hips twitching sporadically as he pumps into you. You sigh at the comforting warmth you haven't felt in a while. You clench your pussy around his throbbing cock as he finishes emptying his load into you. He slowly pulls it out watching as a river of his cum starts to flow out for a moment before flopping down onto the mattress beside you.

His arm comes over you, needing to feel your warmth. "You're beautiful," he mumbles.

"What?" You heard him but sometimes you just want to hear it again. To be sure, you know.

He smiles, scooting closer to you. "You're beautiful." He kisses your temple and his eyelashes brush against your skin.

"Don't fall asleep on me," you warn.

"I won't." He sits up straighter, adjusting himself, sinking into his pillow.

You turn your head and kiss his cheek. "You're beautiful too. I hope you know that."

"Well," he sighs, "you have good taste."

You giggle and turn your body to face him more. You take his hand and yours, wanting to convey a sense of seriousness. “Are you sure you’re okay with everything?”

He chuckles, finding your concern adorable. “Yes. I don’t need Gunner knowing how good I am in bed to know you love me.”

You slap his chest, pushing yourself away. “You’re so cocky.”

Alex rolls onto his back, raising an eyebrow. “Yeah? I thought that’s what you liked about me.”

“I’m partial to it.”

He looks over at you with a wide smirk. For now, you hope this is enough.

a/n: i kind of abandoned this series a while back but goblinontour reminding me of it brought this part on. i don't know if it's the end but here's a little something for now.

#alex turner fic #alex turner x fem!reader #alex turner x oc #alex turner x reader #alex turner x y/n #alex turner x you #alex turner #alex turner smut #junedenim #the business

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loganwritesprobably · 6 months ago

Text

I Can't Do This Anymore

Inspired by some chatting about Shanks I was doing with @fanaticsnail and @maritimebird

Content/Warnings: Shanks/GN!Reader, breaking up, arguing, hurt/no comfort, Shanks is characterised as a bad guy/ kind of toxic

Four years. Four entire years of your life dedicated to Red Haired Shanks. He was globally revered and respected, considered one of the strongest of a generation, a real contender for Pirate King as an apprentice and honorary son of Gol D. Roger. He was also a scumbag. It seemed like you were the only person who knew that, though, and frankly you were ashamed it'd taken you this long.

You'd woken up today feeling stronger than you had in ages, and when you sat for breakfast alone once again, you knew it was over. You were already gone, you'd emotionally left your partnership months ago, you'd just been hanging on for the sake of nostalgia, because of the man he'd been at first, who you'd wanted him to be. Who he hadn't been in a long time. Plus, you were finally coming up on an island and the Red Force would be docking, so you'd be able to completely leave Shanks, the ship and the crew. A clean break.

He wouldn't wake up for hours, you knew that now. No matter how many times you'd told him it would be nice to spend the morning together, to be quietly present for each other when you first woke up, he never stirred til after noon. It was because of his drinking of course, and you knew that, but he wouldn't cut back on that either. Why would he do that?

You left the kitchen before Lucky had even finished preparing breakfast with just a slice of toast in hand. You didn't feel like food this morning.

You sat on the deck with Beckman while he smoked, and you explained to him what you were about to do. He accepted it, had even seen it coming, and agreed to help you leave without Shanks clinging on or lingering on the island to try to make you come back.

When Shanks finally emerged after lunch had already been served, you headed to take a shower while Yassop and Hongo helped to pack up your stuff from Shanks' room, wanting to cause as little suspicion as possible.

Freshly washed, in the perfect outfit for the occasion which made you feel confident, you returned to the deck. Shanks sat with Beck, one smoking and the other drinking, idle chatter occasionally passing between them.

"Shanks, I need to talk to you." You said, interrupting whatever they'd been speaking about. "Sorry doll, I was just chatting with Beck, can you give me ten mi-" "No. I can't. This is more important." You said, voice firm, expression stony. "Oh c'mon just a few-" "No Shanks. Not this time. We can have this conversation here and now if you really want, I don't care, but it might be better for your ego to go somewhere more private." You said, and Benn awkwardly scratched the back of his neck, clearly wishing he was anywhere but there. "Go on then, gorgeous, what's up?" He asked, taking zero regard for your serious tone or the look on your face. Of course he didn't, nothing ruffled the feathers of Red Haired Shanks.

"You are, you overgrown child," you hissed, surprised as the words came out of your mouth, you'd been intending on separating peacefully but clearly that wasn't going to be happening, "I am sick of you, and your bullshit Shanks! This? Us? It's over, I'm done. I'm getting off at the next island, and I'm not coming back." Shanks paused, looking temporarily confused, before a smile came back over his face and it made your blood boil. "Oh c'mon, is this cause I missed breakfast? You know I try, I just don't do mornings. I'll try again tomorrow." You'd never wanted to strike someone more. "I don't know why I bothered even trying to have a conversation - I can't even have a damn argument with you! I'm fucking leaving, you cannot grin and laugh your way through or away from that. I'm leaving this ship, this crew - I'm leaving you." You couldn't stop your anger from pouring out in your words, your hands slightly trembling from the rage coursing through you. "That feels like a bit of a rush decision, love, are you sure you've really thought about that?" Shanks replied, now looking concerned for you, as if you were experiencing some sort of meltdown.

"Oh- I've never been so fucking angry. Rush? I've been planning on leaving you for months! I'm so tired of the way you treat me, Shanks. You treat me like I - and frankly like nothing else - matters! You can't just laugh and shrug all your problems away, and ignore my attempts to communicate and tell you when there's a problem in our relationship. I have dedicated four years of my life to you, and most of those years were spent being delusional and convincing myself that it wasn't that bad, and I just had to remember how could things could be. But they never went back to being that good. I'm not even sure they were that good to begin with, you just charmed me with your words." It was a lot to scream at someone in public, knowing the crew had all stopped what they were doing to listen to you, to witness what would happen when you raised your voice at the Captain like that. "There's no need to yell doll, c'mon. This should be private." You couldn't believe him. A wave of unstable, humourless laughter overcame you that you couldn't help releasing, and Benn eyed you warily. "Oh you are so lucky you're stronger than me, because if I thought I had any sort of chance, I'd attack you." You told him, still laughing just a little. It was a cruel sort of power imbalance between you really. "Is that a threat?" Shanks asked, and you pinched the bridge of your nose, the humour passing and being replaced by just.. exhaustion.

"Benn, my stuff is all packed, I'm going to go sit with it until we dock and then I'm gone." You said to the first mate before turning on your heel to walk away. "Where are you going? Are you seriously just walking away from me like that?" Shanks yelled after you, standing from his chair. "Yes! That's exactly what I just told you I was doing!" You replied, but you didn't turn to look back at him, just continued on your way.

When you docked, Shanks appeared to have disappeared. You hauled your stuff from the ship, and hugged the crew goodbye. It wasn't fair that you'd lose your friends just because you'd split with Shanks, but that was just the way of things. They were his men, not yours. You sat on top of a crate, rubbing hands over your face as you shoved down the rising tide of emotion in your chest.

"Hey," Benn said, stepping up to stand beside you, "if you ever need anything.. I mean it anything, just call." He said, handing you two pieces of paper. One piece held the number for his den den, while the other was blank - his vivre card. "Thank you." You said emphatically, and then he walked away, back to the crew.

You sat there, just observing, as the crew ran to quickly board their ship with their small restock, and undocked from the port, Shanks stood on the deck observing you.

The red force sailed away, and you heaved a deep sigh of relief. You finally felt like you could breathe again.

Tags: @claryeverlarkf @uselessboots @cainnoable

#one piece #fanfic #writing #reader insert #loganwritesficlets #angst #red haired shanks #akagami no shanks #shanks x reader #one piece x reader #gender neutral reader #anti-shanks

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l0relaii · 10 days ago

Note

Good morning!! Chris with a reader who can’t last more than 3 hours without being fucked

Like he’s busy working on computer stuff and he has you in his lap (or underneath his desk if he needs to focus) and just lets you get your fill of his cum

💐

yea if i was his gf i wouldn't last either girl 😔

chris loves how touchy you are. it makes him feel needed

you're always laying a hand on his thigh or an arm around his neck

or you're just placing yourself in his lap

i imagine he'd mostly work from home at some tech job.

so he's always on his phone or laptop or whatever

so you made a habit of snatching his phone away from him when you needed him

holding your arm as high as you can pushing him down so he won't reach it

ofc he's 100x stronger than you and he could just flip you over and get his phone back at any time

but where's the fun in that?

he enjoys this little game you've got going on.

making him earn the privilege to work after he fucks some sense into you

so you end up riding him while still holding his phone above your head

and you feel it buzzing. someone's calling him

"fuck babe, it's my colleague-"

"answer it"

now you're listening to him talking about some project while bouncing harder and moaning louder on purpose

you hear the dude on the other line asking him if he's alright and 'what the fuck are those sounds?'

"o-oh, don't worry man i think it's my ugh- my neighbours cat mfuck.. yeah i think it's in heat or something"

or imagine he's on the couch with his laptop on the coffee table and you come in and snatch it making him chase you around the house until he corners you in the bedroom

now you're on all fours with his dick buried deep inside you and his laptop resting on the small of your back

"please chris please please move-"

"wait a second babe.. i'm not done yet..if i move the laptop will fall off.. "

the next thing you do is wiggle your hips making it fall on the bed.

oh you're getting your ass slapped HARD

or you're sucking him off under his desk while he's on some zoom meeting and he has to leave early because he can't wait any longer to fuck you 😵‍💫😵‍💫

#until dawn #until dawn x reader #until dawn smut #chris hartley smut #until dawn chris #chris hartley x reader #until dawn chris x reader #chris hartley

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wooahaeruby · 2 months ago

Text

Chapter 38: Misery Business

Chapter Word Count: 5,538

Talk of gambling, car crash, and stealing (brief) KIDNAPPING & Drugging Language Start of torture and suffering LISTEN TO ME, I'M SORRY.

Author's note:

:D Poor Mouse…That is all I can really say to that. I'm sorry. So sorry

Master List | Prev | Next

“I hate all this mistletoe!” Minghao yelled out after his fourth discovery of the day, annoyed that he kept finding the dreaded plant.

“Looks like you’re gonna win.” You laughed, nestled between your lovers on the loveseat, “Wonder what Cheol has in mind.”

“No one will know until midnight.” Seungcheol lounged on a pile of pillows on the floor, arms up and hands clasped behind his head. Comfortable and unbothered. “But everyone will be disappointed they didn’t win.”

“Don’t egg then on.” Mingyu huffed at Minghao’s side as they made another bowl of popcorn (and kissed his friend’s cheek). “Let it happen naturally.”

“Yeah yeah.” Cheol waved him off.

“There is only a few minutes to midnight so we could start counting up.” Seungkwan started, “But you, it looked like Hao is going to win either way.”

“I’m too lazy to even get up and try and beat his score.” Chan snickered, laying at the leader’s side, yawning as he tugged his blanket up around himself tighter, hugging the stuff otter you got him. “Congrats, Hao.”

A quiet murmur of laughter fluttered through the group. Everyone had been close to dozing off for the better part of two hours, another Christmas movie playing in the background. Jihoon was curled up in a ball dead to the world, asleep. Soonyoung was just as knocked out on the floor, hugging his pillow like his light depended on it. You couldn’t lie that you didn’t feel tired since you fell asleep for maybe a good hour there, but it had been a long day overall.

“Alright, let's see…” Mingyu sat down on the couch with Minghao, phone in hand. “In the end, since everyone is done…Hao got seven points, Mouse got four, Vernon got two, and Seungkwan, Seungcheol, and Joshua got one each. So…Minghao wins!”

Minghao huffed, shaking his head with a pout on his lips. “Got slobbered on by fucking animals.”

“Cheol, what was your prize for this year's winner?” You asked, resting your head on Joshua’s shoulder, feeling your boyfriend’s arm tighten around your waist.

Seungcheol sat up, stretching his arms out and popped his neck. “So…Minghao gets to go on a two-week, all expenses paid vacation wherever he’d like to go.”

There was a groan coming from those who were awake, grumbles of how it wasn’t fair, but you gave a thumbs up, laughing happily.

“Good for you, Hao, get your vacation.”

“Maybe it is all worth it in the end.” The winner sighed, tucking his knees up to his chest. “I will think about my vacation spot.”

“No expiration date. It can be used now or later.” Seungcheol laid back down, getting comfortable. “Congratulations, Minghao.”

While you didn’t want to, you and Seokmin had to leave the house to be at work all week. Both of you stayed at your place, spending the evenings cooking or ordering in, watching whatever TV show or movie that piqued your interest. Work was incredibly slow and more unnecessary than anything, half the time you were going through emails or reviewing paperwork. Sometimes you even sat in Seokmin’s office, complaining together that there was nothing to do and they should just be at home.

“Did you get something for Joshua’s birthday?” Seokmin laid on the couch, his head in your lap, dropping his phone on his chest.

“Yeah, I was going to ask that before we head home in the morning if we could stop at that bakery he enjoys and grab his favorite dessert.” You patted his head, poking his cheek. “And some other stuff for everyone since we are having a little party.”

Seokmin nodded, grinning up at you. “We could get a little bit of everything!”

“Okay, maybe not everything . I don’t want anything to go to waste.”

“Ah, nonsense, between those who like sweets, nothing would truly go to waste.”

“Highly doubtful, you’d all get stomach aches before you finish anything.” You poked his forehead now, watching his nose scrunch up.

“Maybe so.” He hummed, curling up and yawning. “I’m so glad this week is almost over. Then we have Shua’s party, then New Years, and back to normal. I want normal back.”

“Skewed definition of normal, but I understand. The holidays usually suck so I’m simply happy I haven’t been sitting at home alone.”

“The holidays always suck either way, but now you’ve surrounded yourself with us.”

“Hey, Min?” You pushed some of his hair back, seeing him raise a brow. “Can I ask about your past?”

For a moment, he looked away, a look of being lost in thought that you’ve seen before crossing his face.

“You don’t-”

“I grew up in a good place for a while. Suburbia, white picket fence, food on the table, good school, smart older sister.” He stared up at the ceiling, glancing at you. “Then…everything kinda went wrong.”

Carding your fingers through his hair, you could see some of that bright light dim behind his eyes. You regretted asking but said nothing to stop him.

“Mom lost her job first and really struggled to find a new one. Dad…he had a gambling addiction. When they both had jobs, it was easier to pay down his debts regularly, then he also lost his job. Because they weren’t paying the mortgage, the house ended up taken by the bank. My sister got to stay with some friends she went to school with but I stayed with my parents.” He had this far out look in his eyes, his gaze going from neutral to…sad.

“They couldn’t find jobs, interview after interview they got rejected and one day it was too much for them I guess.” Seokmin swallowed thickly, sighing through his nose. “I got a call while I was in school from my sister…The police found them, their car pretty much wrapped around a tree. From the evidence, it was intentional, both died on impact.”

“I’m sorry, Minnie.” You whispered, but he continued.

“My sister really tried to stay on a good path but it wasn’t easy. There was food on the table, most days, but the place we lived was shitty, the area wasn’t the best. It only got worse.” he scoffed, shaking his head. “I ended up having some pretty sticky hands. I stole a lot and got really good at pickpocketing people. Anything valuable was pawned, food that I took. I kinda lied to my sister that I went to a local food bank for it. She got a good job and started to get us set up for a better life.”

“Then my dumbass pickpocketed the wrong person.”

That got him to laugh, even if it was weak and breathy.

“Who?”

“Seungcheol Choi,” he shook his head. “Landed myself in a chokehold. You should have seen how pissed he was when I got caught. Thought he was going to kill me.”

“I could imagine.” You gave him a sympathetic pout, maybe a sad smile.

“Him and Jeonghan were ready to beat the shit out of me. Then Joshua kinda played devil’s advocate and calmed them down. They – or well, Joshua – offered me a job and I stayed with them, which seemed like a good idea at the time. Told my sister I got a job, but I lied about what it was. She only thinks I work for the government now but I send her money every month like Vernon and Wonwoo do for their families.”

“No regrets?”

“Never. Like I told you all the way when you first found out. It all makes me feel powerful. I’ve never regretted it at all.”

“As long as you are happy.” You leaned down and kissed his forehead, ruffling his hair. “But…I guess sometimes the brightest lights have the biggest shadows.”

“It’s been a while since I talked about it. Since I told all the guys, I didn’t have anyone to tell outside of SVT until now. It feels cathartic all over again.”

“Hey, wow. I thought I was SVT? Us mafia people if I remember?”

Seokmin laughed, a wide, bright smile spread on his face. “Shut up, you know what I mean.”

“I know, I wanted to make you smile.”

It wasn’t too long before you were getting ready for bed, but just as the rest of the week, both of you were on the couch, curled up in your individual places. Conversation was quiet and Seokmin was the first to fall asleep, the soft murmurs of his sleeping talking lulling you to sleep.

The next day…was definitely going to drag on. The moment you woke up, you felt uncomfortable. Anxiety was through the roof, every inch of your skin inches like you could have peeled it off. You tried to shake the feeling as you got ready and Seokmin stopped for breakfast. He asked if you were alright and you shrugged, explaining you felt like shit but maybe you were just having an off day.

You sat in your office all day, getting your job done, or trying to at least. The work was slow, yet you were managing to get things finished before the weekend. You’d spend one more night at home then head up to the house the next morning since the traffic would be horrendous after work.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” Joshua hummed the question.

You had called him at the beginning of your lunch break, waiting for Seokmin.

“Yeah… I’m okay. I really wanted to hear your voices.”

Jeonghan had taken Joshua’s phone when he heard you called him. “Do you want us to drive down?”

“No no, it’s fine. Minnie and I will be leaving early tomorrow to be there for Shua’s birthday.” You rubbed your temples, leaning back in your desk chair. “You both know I have my bad days so I’m chalking it up as that.”

“Did you tell Min?” Joshua has a lilt of worry in his voice.

“Yes,” You snorted, a quiet chuckle leaving you. “He promised me Chinese food and dessert. I’ll see you both tomorrow, I love you, both of you.”

“Oh, that’s new~!” Jeonghan snickered, hearing Joshua sigh, muting a thanks for that . “I love you too.”

“We’ll see you tomorrow. Love you, sweetheart.”

Hanging up, you sighed, spinning yourself side to side in the desk chair.

You felt a little dumb worrying them but they were a part of your comfort. The anxiety felt a slight bit alleviated after speaking with them. Somehow they always knew just how to help you. Maybe you should find a professional to talk to, it had been in the back of your mind for a while but how could you tell them the truth yet keep things a secret. That would be more of a struggle than it would be worth…

“Alright, Honey! I got us those horribly amazing burgers delivered.” Seokmin barged in, holding up the drink holder and the take out bag. “Let’s eat and get through today. I still hold my promise of Chinese later!”

And Chinese food you got.

Seokmin and you vegged out on the couch, bitching that work for the week was over and you’d have a few days before you had to get back into routine. You suggested you make a list for the bakery, however Seokmin said you’d both figure it out when you got there, and you weren’t too happy with the answer but still laughed at the idea.

“Do you have everything?” Seokmin tossed his bag over his shoulder, watching you stuff some things into your tote bag.

“Yeah, it doesn't really matter if I forget anything, I’ll just take it from Hannie or Shua anyways. Let’s get out of here.”

Waking up with your paranoia and anxiety tenfold from the previous day wasn’t fun. Even when nothing was happening, your heart was beating out of your chest uncomfortably and you had some dizziness from the feeling. You had been awake a few hours before Seokmin, letting him sleep while you cleaned your place, making the two of you breakfast once he woke up. He did the dishes as a thank you before the hunt for his things began to head home.

The drive over to the bakery was nice, you believed the fresh (city) air was helping how you were feeling. It was nice near the outside of the city, sadly in the opposite direction you needed to be in, but neither of you cared. The adventure itself for a mind numbing amount of sweets would be worth it.

You and Seokmin spend way too much time deciding on what to get outside of Joshua’s favorite and his birthday cake. There ended up being multiple pastry boxes worth of stuff you’d need to carry out to the car, seeing them still being stacked on the counter. Somehow you ended up with individual treats for everyone.

“Definitely too much.” You dropped two twenty dollar bills in the tip jar from your wallet, nudging Seokmin. “Give me the keys, I’ll start to load these in a couple at a time.”

He beamed a smile, handing the keys over. “I’ll wait for everything and pay, then I can start helping.”

Humming a response, you took the first two boxes and left the shop to head to the car. He had to park a few spots down on the side of the curb, making it relatively easy to pop the trunk and start placing the boxes down. You hurried back for more, seeing the stupid grin on Seokmin’s face that had you rolling your eyes. Once more, you trekked back to the car, laughing to yourself at the thought of bringing so much dessert back. They’d call you dumb, but you’ll just tell them that you could freeze some of it.

Closing the trunk, you dusted your hands off, turning back towards the sidewalk, ready to head back. Behind you, you heard the ear piercing screech of a car coming to a stop rather quickly. Looking back, there was only a split second before you were grabbed, a damp cloth being pressed tightly over your nose and mouth, breathing in the fumes.

You tried to scream, to thrash, anything to get away, but your body felt weak. Everything began to get hazy rapidly, whatever they had doused on the cloth was the cause – you guessed chloroform – and despite the mental battle to stay awake, your vision went black.

“Has anyone heard from Seokmin and Mouse?” Vernon asked, lifting his head from the couch pillow. “Thought they said they’d be on the road by now.”

“They made a stop on the way at a bakery on the far side of the city.” Wonwoo clicked his tongue, pushing some hair from his face. “Probably going overboard so it’s taking a while.”

With his feet kicked up on the coffee table, Seungcheol pouted, looking over their group chat where Seokmin informed them they were stopping. It wasn’t too long ago that he sent it out, and knowing the dynamic duo, they were most definitely going overboard like Wonwoo suggested. They were going to need to figure out what to do with everything they bring back…

“Watch them come back with a thousand boxes worth of stuff.” Jeonghan’s shoulders shook with laughter, bringing his mug of coffee to his lips.

“Hey! Where is your birthday hat?” Soonyoung bounded in from the hallway, hollering at Joshua, hearing the other man groan.

“I’m not going to wear it all day. You do this with everyone’s birthday.” Rolling his eyes, Joshua walked away from Soonyoung into the kitchen. “I’ll put it back on later.”

Seungcheol scoffed, shaking his head. He scrolled on his phone boredly, thinking of what was going to happen later in the day. Joshua would be locked in his room while everyone else either decorated or cooked, having been divided earlier into who did what. Seokmin and Mouse were on cooking duty, which wasn’t surprising, and apparently both were getting dessert options on top of the cake. He was ready to celebrate today and the next day to ring in the new year.

Breaking him from his train of thought, Seokmin’s contact name popped up on his phone, the ringing catching some attention with how loud it was.

“Hey, dude, are you guys-”

“She’s fucking gone, Cheol!” The panicked sob that Seokmin let out had Seungcheol shooting to his feet, concern written in his expression.

“What do you mean-?”

“She- Mouse took some pastry boxes out to the car- I thought it was fine! It wasn’t even two hundred feet from the shop-” He was hyperventilating, desperately trying to catch his breath. “She was right there, Cheol- and now she is gone- I-”

His heart stopped, but Cheol shook off the feeling the best he could. He didn’t have the time to freeze up.

“Seokmin, breath for a second-” He rushed to grab his jacket and keys, sliding on his shoes, not caring he was still in his pajamas. “Did you see who-?”

A panic started to radiate through the room, all eyes scanning for some sort of answer. Seungcheol looked around the room to their worried gazes. He gave a curt nod, a tight lipped gaze, and everyone started to scramble.

“I was inside- Paying for everything. She came back the first time and I thought it was fine- Then she didn’t come back the second time, I thought she just stayed in the car since I could have gotten the rest-” Seokmin let out a yell and a loud, harsh thunk was heard on the other end of the line. “She was right here! She was right fucking here and I let whoever it was take her! It’s my fault! Her phone, my keys, everything is just on the ground! It’s my fault, Cheol!”

“Seokmin!” There was command in his tone, enough to get the distressed man's attention. “Send Wonwoo your location, now, and I’ll have him scan the street cameras. Meet us at the warehouse and don’t do anything stupid, please.”

Pocketing his phone, Jeonghan was at his side instantly, concern and stress swirling in his gaze. Seungcheol looked over the group, sucking in a breath to settle the mix of anger and fear coursing through his veins.

“Mouse was taken.” Those three words were enough to have an uproar of questions thrown his way. His head was spinning and he yelled out. “Hey! I don’t have any answers right now! Get to the warehouse, we’ll figure this out.”

Almost everyone filtered out, car engines heard from the garage, leaving the three leaders standing in the living room.

Jeonghan, one who wasn’t easily emotional, looked close to crying. He used his sleeve to wipe his eyes so no tears went down his face. He took in a shaky breath, eyes searching for something in Cheol’s eyes. Joshua placed a hand on Jeonghan’s shoulder, clearing his throat despite the tears welling in his eyes.

“Let’s get to the city, come on.” There was a stutter to his words. “We’ll find her.”

“Call all of our team in, we’ll need everyone. Call Sona first.” Seungcheol let out a slow breath. “Call the other group leaders.”

Nodding, Jeonghan took the liberty of calling Sona, following behind the two as he called her. Seungcheol drove the three of them, speeding way more than he should have to catch up behind Minghao’s SUV. He had Joshua calling Hongjoong, Chris, Soobin, and Minji, explaining to them in a brief rundown and asking them if their teams could meet at the warehouse.

“Guys…” Jeonghan had barely said a word throughout the ride so far. Each time Cheol looked in the rearview mirror, he was staring out the window aimlessly. Lost would be a good word. “What if we don’t find her?”

“Don’t say that, do you hear me?” Joshua warned, turning in his seat to look back at him. “Don’t.”

“We’ll find her, I’ll make sure of it.” The grip Seungcheol had on the steering wheel was enough to turn his knuckles white. “We’ll get Mouse back. I promise.”

There were too many voices filling the space.

All of SVT, ATZ, DC, SKZ, and TXT were crammed into the second floor office. They all arrived before SVT did, dressed down much like their crew for being called in on their day off. Seungcheol did give everyone an apology but the urgency was already in the air. Woowoo, Felix, Yeosang, and Siyeon were manning their computers that littered the conference room table, scouring every camera they could to see if they could find any scrap of Mouse.

They were able to find the van coming up quickly on the side of the road where she stood behind Seokmin’s SUV, but these people weren’t dumb. They were smart enough to have a relatively unmarked van and used something to block the license plate. Whoever grabbed her was also covered head to toe with no way of identifying them through body features, tattoos, or markings.

“Though I doubt it, I sent out some boats to keep an eye on the waterways. Whatever coast guards we have in our pockets are boarding any ship and doing searches.”

“My team is spread out searching with SVT’s people.” The leader of Dreamcatcher paced, pinching the bridge of her nose. “As of right now we don’t even know where to start but they all have a picture of her.”

“Seokmin, sit down.” Minghao, along with Seungkwan and Jihoon, had been trying to calm him down since they arrived at the warehouse. He was pacing the entire bottom floor while Seonghwa was trying to reason with him earlier. “You already broke two knuckles from punching your car.”

“I need to find her, I can’t sit around here and let you all do the work.” He glared down at his wrapped knuckles, wincing at the pain when he flexed then clenched his fist.

“Min,” Jeonghan stood from where he sat, clearing his throat, face puffy and red from trying desperately not to cry. “You aren’t the only one worried here, sit down and listen.”

“How could I?! I’m scared!” He shot a glare at Jeonghan, throwing his hands up. “Sit here and scratch our fucking heads while they do god knows what to her?! Are you kidding me right now?!”

“You don’t think I know that!?” The yell Jeonghan let out was startling to everyone in the room, even Seungcheol was surprised. “I have called in almost every single favor I have for help! Everyone here is trying! I’m barely holding it together because someone took the love of my life and you think we are basically doing nothing? Do you not see the small army we have to find her? You aren’t the only one terrified!”

“Take a walk,” Seungcheol called over the crowd, straightening up to his full height. “Both of you.”

“I’m not-” Jeonghan tried to argue but Siyeon stood and easily guided him out of the room.

“Come on.” Jihoon pulled Seokmin out of the room by his upper arm.

Placing both hands on his desk, Cheol caught his breath, leaning over some to hopefully ease the tension in his back and shoulders. Everyone, even the other leaders, looked worried. Vaguely they knew about the weird, crazy stalker situation but no one – not even him – thought it would come to this. He was honest with them after the point of the mice box since they couldn’t find anything, hoping someone else could find it out, yet they also came up empty outside of what they had found.

“Send out everyone you have to search the city. If they would at least find the van, it would be something to start with. I’m not asking any of you to sacrifice your sleep for this, but the guys and I won’t be resting until she is found. I’ll cover any costs-”

“Much to your surprise, Seungcheol, Mouse has become friends with all of us one way or another,” Hongjoong looked between the leaders before his eyes set back on Cheol. “Even If I tried to stop them, I highly doubt anyone will be sleeping until she is back safe.”

“You should talk to them.” Minji whispered, looking over her shoulder. “They need you right now, we can handle this.”

Pushing out a shaky sighing, he brushed his hair back from his face. “SVT, med bay, now.”

“But-”

“No buts, please. Get Han and Min, I’ll meet you down there.”

There was hesitation in their familiar eyes, but the members filtered out of the room and down the stairs, heads hung and heavy steps.

“I don’t even know what to say to them-” His words caught in his throat, trying to keep himself together and think straight. “Nothing I say will help them. Nothing like this has happened before.”

“Don’t try to help them,” Seonghwa stopped forward, arms crossed loosely over his chest. “Be their family right now. They need that, not a boss.”

Stepping into the med bay, the anxiety in the room was palpable. Each of them were on edge; pacing, leg bounce, or biting at the skin around their nails. While some were attempting to hide it, tears had been shed at the current unknown. Jeonghan was leaning against Joshua, both huddled together. Mingyu was standing at Seokmin’s side, hand clamped on his shoulder as a strong comfort. The latter was slumped over, elbows on his thighs, face in hand.

“Guys…” Catching their attention, the room fell completely silent. “I can’t…suddenly make this all better. I wish I could but I can’t. I’m not speaking to you as your leader, I’m speaking as your friend, your brother…I will make sure we do everything in our power to get Mouse back.”

Grabbing a chair, Cheol sat down, his shoulders dropping but no tension was leaving him.

“Seokmin,” The aforementioned man raised his head, eyes and cheeks stained with tears. “Stop blaming yourself. No one expected this, we couldn’t have predicted any of this. Blaming ourselves will get us nowhere, not when we need to stick together, do you understand?”

“Guys,” Rushing into the room, Gahyeon composed herself enough to address the room. “The van was found but there is no sign of her. We are hoping to backtrack through cameras but they are asking for Wonwoo to go upstairs for some help.”

Standing quickly, Wonwoo marched towards the door, stopping to rest a hand on Seungcheol’s shoulder. “We’ll bring her home.”

Watching him leave, he sighed for the umpteenth time within the last hour.

“I’m not going to keep you here if you want to go out and search, but no one goes alone, bring a crew. I don’t know what to expect but go in hot if you must.” Cheol stood, scanning each of his family’s gaze. “Seokmin, Jeonghan, you don’t leave here until I say.”

“Cheol-” Both Seokmin and Jeonghan protested but he shook his head.

“Neither of you have a clear head to go out. Both of you will help Wonwoo until I think you are cleared.”

Joshua stood, leveling Seungcheol with a knowing gaze. “And you?”

“I’m going out, won’t go far, but I’m going to try and find her.”

Your head was pounding, the pain radiating behind your eyes and to your temples with no lull to recover.

There was something over your head, blocking any light and your vision overall. A twitch of your hands was enough to find them bound tightly. It smelled damp, musty even, and you could hear murmuring but the headache was making you woozy and difficult to hear from the ringing in your ears. You could tell you were sitting down in some sort of chair, metal if you had to guess, and you were trying to get a better understanding of your surroundings, taking slow, deep breaths to keep yourself calm.

There was a…dripping sound you think, like from a leaky pipe. From the murmuring voices, you couldn’t hear much of an echo so the room probably wasn’t too large and the footsteps that followed didn’t echo as they got closer.

“Is she awake?” The voice sounded familiar, and annoyed, but you couldn’t place where you’ve heard it before…

“No, because someone hit her in the head when she struggled.” A deeper, rougher voice answered, scoffing.

Another scoff followed, along with a click of a tongue. “That little bitch kicked me in the face when we were getting her into the other truck. Wouldn’t stop thrashing around when she first woke up. Luckily she didn’t break my fucking nose. Just the butt of my gun.”

That…kinda explained the headache. As you refocused, you noticed the side of your head was wet and sticky, whatever fabric was over your head stuck to it uncomfortably, probably from blood. Whichever asshole hit you left a decent cut in its wake, you couldn’t see his face since it was covered last you remembered. You woke up a little bit when they were moving you, you knew that, and you did land a pretty hefty kick to that asshole's face, it was the least he deserved for nabbing you.

“They are scrambling their group.” The first voice spoke, a low rumbling of a laugh reached your ears past the constant ringing. “They called in reinforcements through their allies. They are searching the whole city top to bottom.”

“I’d love to see the look on their faces.” A new voice entered, monotone with a lilt of amusement laced in it.

“I’d love to see the look on Jeonghan’s and Joshua’s faces knowing their little girlfriend was taken.” A laugh followed the statement and you had to bite your tongue. “Get a bucket of water, I want her awake.”

For a few moments, there were only hurried footsteps heard and the quiet sound of your own breathing. Gently, slowly, you attempted to see if there was any way to free your hands, but it was no use, the rope they used to bind you with was tied firmly with no give. It was digging harshly into your hands. You twitched your ankles, finding them tightly bound as well.

There was a clank and a swoosh of water heard before ice cold water hit you, tensing every muscle in your body and a shocked shout left you. The cloth over your head was ripped away, your eyes squeezing shut before opening and adjusting to the blinking intruding light from the construction lamps. A shiver wrecked down your spine as the water soaked into your clothes sticking to your skin.

“Rise and shine~”

Pushing out a labored, shaky breath, your eyes snapped up to meet one of your capture’s gaze and the blood in your veins froze.

Leaning down in your personal space with a wicked grin on his face was Kihyun. He eyed you deviously, a low hum leaving his throat, clearly amused at the turn of events.

“Good! You seem to recognize me. No need for introductions then.” He reached out and harshly grabbed your chin, his nails digging into your skin making you wince. “It would break my heart if you didn’t, Mouse . We had so much fun at the gala, didn’t we?”

“If I remember correctly,” You glared at him the best you could, jaw tight with anger. “I told you someone needed to teach you what uninterested looked like, loser.”

“I don’t believe you are in a position to make such comments.”

“And I think you should suck a fucking dick.” Some rage filled part of you answered and you spit in his face. You didn’t have hope you were getting out of here half alive either way…

“Bitch!”

Kihyun flinched back, letting go of your face to wipe his own off. He let out some sort of aggravated growl, raising his hand and slapping you across the face. You let out a cry of pain, the already excruciating headache increasing tenfold.

“I’m gonna have fun with her.” The deep voice from earlier was closer, in your personal space like Kihyun was previously.

“Do whatever you want with her, just don’t kill her. I’m thinking…a late Christmas present for our old friends.”

A dark chuckle left the deep voiced man, his droopy, almost puppy dog-like eyes swirling with flames behind the iris. “I can do that…Maybe I’ll get some information out of her too.”

“In your dreams, limp dick.” You rolled your head down, staring unfocused at your lap.

“I’m really going to have fun.” Reaching up, he grabbed a fist full of your hair and yanked your head back, staring down his nose to you. “Where should we start?”

Gritting your teeth at the pain, you glared up at his sinister smirk. “Maybe by shoving your balls down your throat.”

Tilting his head to the side, he gazed over his shoulder to one of his companions until he addressed one of them, Joker. You recognized him as the one that stared you down at the gala all those months ago. Somehow, his face reminded you of Soonyoung, both sharp and similar in the eyes and lips area. Just as Soonyoung, Joker had an analytical gaze that he could see into your soul with.

“Grab my stuff for me, I don’t want to waste a single second of time.” Your torturer set his eyes back on you, his grip tightening in your hair. “Now, where shall we really start, Mouse ?”

You huffed but gave no answer to him, watching something shift in his eyes as he thought.

Dickhead, as you will now refer to him, used his free hand to reach into his jacket, only to pull out a pocket knife. He flipped the blade up and brought the knife close to your face, ghosting the cold metal over your cheek before he dug in some, letting the tip pierce your skin shallowly and drag it tortuously slow. You bit the inside of your cheeks, eyebrows furrowing together as you breathed through the pain. The warmth of your blood trickling out of the cut was nauseating with the metallic smell.

Fear was present within yourself, you couldn’t deny that you were scared of whatever they would do to you. Minghao had been fearful of them for god sake and that man was a trained killer. The choked up, sick feeling was dead weight in your stomach that continued to grow and grow, but you didn’t let it consume you. No – you wouldn’t let it consume you. You were stronger than you really believed and you had to hold hope that everyone was using all their resources to find and save you.

“Keep that hopeful look in your eyes,” He chuckled darkly, “You’ll need it.”

Tag List is Open! Comment on the BSH Master List to get added!

Tag List:

@unlikelysublimekryptonite @iiaweirdo @aurorajoye @gaslysainz @sarcasticsagittarius1998 @vanteel @clownprincehoeshi @kpopandbookschild @honeybunchcrunch @black-swan-blog27 @peachie-wonu @kpopsimpsblog

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0mysticmidnight0 · 10 months ago

Text

~Mystically Broken AU - Chapter 4~

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You wake up earlier than usual, around 5 in the morning. You walked to your usual spot to meet either MichelAngelo or Raphael. After you, cleaned up and changed, you stop when you hear Donatello and Leonardo arguing.. "I KNOW YOU DID IT! STOP LYING, NARDO!" "I SWEAR! IT WASN'T ME THIS TIME!" "You're the only one who could've done it!!" "What proof do you have?!" "There wasn't a trace! The only person it could've been was YOU and your misuse of your ninpo! No one else could have left a crime scene so precise." "I'm telling you, Don! It was NOT me!" "I TOLD YOU, IT'S DONATELLO! NOT DON OR DONNIE OR-" He spots you and Donatello stops. "What? What else do you have to sa-" Leonardo stops as well once he sees you. "Right, your meeting with Raph was delayed. He said he was busy with Big bro stuff.. His words not mine. The first party you have to attend will be later tonight. I will be accompanying you." Right... you forgot about the four parties this year you had to attend to plead their innocence despite knowing they'll continue their "heroic" deeds.. to get what they want. Well, it was either that or dying. "W-Wait. I don't know how to help you yet! I don't know.. i can't.." "It seems we don't have time for that, you'll have to find an alternative."

You groaned as you were pressured to think of something on the spot.. "The party will take place in a Museum. Luckily my package came just in time. Here." He presents you a purple box. You take it. "Very... your style." He laughs at your comment. "Nothing more and certainly nothing less!" "Why can't i go with them first? I can go to a museum and talk all fancy too y'know!" You check the time again, it was pretty early. You still didn't eat too.. As if hearing your thoughts, Donatello snaps his fingers and the drone looking bot, S.H.E.L.L.D.O.N. was it? hovers over, with a cup of coffee on top of it. You grimaced as you remembered the last coffee Donatello offered you.. (chapter 2 reference<3) You hesitantly took a sip and you look at him weird.. or shocked? It tasted like how you like your coffee.. not too sweet and DEFINITELY not too bitter. huh.. "How did you..?" "To answer both of your questions, I've known them for longer and i'm sure with a little help they can come up with something in no time!" Donatello says this confidently while you just hesitantly took a long sip from your coffee... Leo just crosses his arms and raises his imaginary brow at Donatello. You just walk back to your room. You sit down at your desk and stare at and analyze Donatello's criminal files again.. and you groan. The little drone came in with a plate with food on top of him. You smile and pat the drones head as you take the food. "Thanks, Shelldon." The drone.. smiles back? "No problem bruh!" and it hovers away.. i didn't know robots knew slang.. You put on some of your favorite tunes and use your headphones. Slightly bopping your head to the music as you look through Donatello's criminal records. (many hours pass) You check the time, and sighed. You continued looking. You received a message from Donatello. "Get changed. We leave in 2 hours." You open the purple box and see purple custom clothing.. it was also sparkly? Did Donatello make this? As you expected, it fit you perfectly. You were a bit creeped out but appreciated it anyways. You fix your hair and get cleaned up, you leave your room to see Donatello fixing his goggles. He looked, breathe taking.. "Hm, we have an hour to spare." You two made your way to the living room and sat on the couch. "Hey, Beautiful. Come around often?" You hear Leonardo chime from behind you and you smile. You were never complimented much.. So it felt like taking a breathe of fresh air. "It's still me, y'know." "I don't see the difference." You paused and think about it before Donatello asks you a question. "Have you thought of what to say? How about you mention my advanced intellect!" "Not really.. It's not like i can say, Hey! My friend here can make super deadly weapons that can attack and defend- THATS IT!" Leonardo looked at you like you just exploded. "What?" Donatello thinks for a bit.. "That could work.. " Leonardo just looks at you both in confusion. "Can someone fill me in here? DO you two share the same brain or something?" "Donatello here could build and help advance police force weapons or even army weapons! They'll surely take us up on that and in return they'll stop trying to hunt him down as they see him as powerful ally!" Leonardo just looks at us still dumb founded. "Do i have to explain in dum-dum terms?" Leonardo ignores Donatello's question. "Are you sure about that? We don't know what the government or especially the police and army would do. Those guys's loyalty can be bought for just a few bucks. You and Donatello look at each other and nod at Leonardo. "If you two say so.. I trust you." "And Don, sorry- uhm. Donatello. I swear, it's not me who broke in your lab and stole your syringes. " "I'll forgive you temporarily and.. Its Donnie." You smiled at the two. Wait.. someone broke in and stole Donatello's syringes..?

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spankingwishes2 · 5 months ago

Text

The Slippering of My Life

@badgnome929

Last night I got the first spanking of my adult life - in fact, the first since I can remember. And true to her word, my girlfriend Zoe made it a good one! As she promised, she had me in tears and didn’t stop there! I think it’s fair to say it was ‘the slippering of my life’!

Nearly twenty-four hours later I was still sore - and she quite happily suggested we do it again! My first reaction was ‘No way!’ but, fortunately, ‘Are you crazy?’ came out as, “Well…”

You see, I’d waited a long time (at least it seemed like) to find someone who would spank me. Now that I had someone, I definitely didn’t want to discourage her - and I (nearly as strongly) didn’t want another already. If I said ‘no’, would it be a month, a year?

“Wow,” I said at last, “Glad you enjoyed it. How about tomorrow night?” I suggested this with a shiver, but it was an excited shiver. I wasn’t sure I’d be ready - that is, I didn’t know if my butt would be - but it was thrilling to think that I’d be spanked again.

“Okay,” she agreed easily, “but you have to be good until then.”

“Define ‘good’,” I questioned.

“You have to obey me, keep me happy, and do everything I say,” she supplied in the simplest terms.

“Or?”

“Or you get your spanking now.”

This was a kind of sexy suggestion - though not something I’d want as a long-term arrangement. “Just this once, right?”

“We’ll see,” is all she’d say. “And these things I’ll have you do, they won’t all be sexy.”

That was disappointing. Everything she’d had me do last night - or done to me - was definitely ‘sexy’.

“Okay, agreed.”

“Oh”, she retorted, “this isn’t an agreement - it’s information.” I could tell she was sorta-kidding - and again, I knew we wouldn’t be doing this long-term. “Now, I suggest that you check the bathroom, the kitchen, and the carpets - before I do.”

I did that - they didn’t need much, we keep up with things around here - folded a few last pieces of laundry, put some stuff in the hamper.

Other stuff was better - make her a dessert - in the oven - with whipped cream topping - that got a little sexy - while I was only half-dressed. Re-watch a movie of her choosing without looking at my phone or anything (at least it wasn’t one I hated) - and I painted her toenails during it, though not to her satisfaction.

“That’s going on your spanking,” she claimed, which, again, was thrilling and worrisome to hear.

Coffee in the morning and a further warning for not knowing how to make it (I brought her sweetener and creamer rather than putting in the right stuff myself). “This is all adding up! Your poor bottom! Or should I say, your poor, poor, poor bottom!” This was soon followed by my ‘one warning’ for cheerfulness!

The fact was, I was pretty cheerful - this is what I’d wanted, the spanking part anyway, and some bossiness on her part, and I knew that we’d either set up some ground rules or play it by ear.

After work it was largely similar - she had me run an errand on the way home, then get her wine, rub her feet and ‘put her in a good mood’ with my tongue.

“Your bottom will definitely thank you,” she told me. “As do I. Me and your poor, poor bottom!”

When I cleaned up after dinner I had to strip because ‘you’ll be getting spanked on the bare’, she said. Despite her dire threats, I was pretty aroused, while she seemed disturbingly ‘enthusiastic’ (she had just had a climax).

“Despite all your lovely pampering, I’m still in the mood to spank you,” she informed me as she sat waiting for me to bend over her lap. Last night when I suggested it, I really had nothing to spank you for - but you’ve managed to add a few. Little ones…”

“Oh good,” I said.

“But then there’s all this arousal! Ow!” she added as she slapped the slipper against her palm - hard. “It’s very naughty.”

“It is?” I asked hopelessly.

“Don’t you think so? Well, it is!” she insisted, while using the toe of the slipper to stroke me in (I admit) about the naughtiest way possible. “I really must spank you for all this naughtiness!”

What could I do? To say no would end my dream of having a spanking girlfriend…

Once over her lap, I jumped reflexively in response to a couple of light smacks.

“Oh, come on,” she said. “I know you’re not still sore…” and she gave me a very hard smack on each cheek.

“Whew - ow…” I breathed.

“That’s better. Maybe a little sore, no surprise.”

And with that we were off.

After completely roasting my backside, she remarked, “Even more tears than last time - maybe you really were sore.

“Now, just be good until bedtime, unless you want another one.” (I didn’t) ‘Until bedtime’ turned out to be not very long at all (about as soon as I calmed down and was allowed out of the corner) because she was so anxious to ‘reward’ me for ‘being so good’ - including being so good at ‘pampering’. She was quite very good at pampering, herself.

“Now that you know what they’re like, I’ll let you decide when you get your next one,” she told me and we drifted toward sleep. “I’m ready anytime.”

Decisions, decisions…

#story #slipper #g-n #bgn

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mayasaurusss · 6 months ago

Note

I have an adult Lottie req!! Reader has a stall in the farmers market next to where the purple, sorry, heliotrope, people sell honey and reader has become sort of close with Lisa and is generally a very chill person until one day Lottie is there and reader tries to flirt but is miserably awkward about it so Lisa has to be like “basically they’re trying to ask you out” to Lottie. Thank you!

Honey.

Contains: fluff, idiots in love, legal age gap, florist reader, reader is a horny bastard, beekeeper Lottie (aka, Lottie is a nerd), suggestive, crack fic threated seriously, grammar mistakes, done quickly, not proofread, I used the word "realize" more times than I realized ( ;D ). 250k, about five pages.

Author's note: I am sorry anon but I had to write this faster than usual, since I have so much stuff to write from now on until the end of summer. So, there might be many more grammar mistakes, sadly. Also, unreleated, but this might get cringy at times. I hope it's still okay! Enjoy!

The floral smells of the flowers filled your nostrils while you are lazily resting on your chair. You loved your florist job but at times, it could get boring; spending your days selling flowers was more tiring than it seemed. The only days you had to rest were Saturdays and Sundays and even those were spent taking care of the many flowers and plants in your little garden.

During the afternoon, the marketplace was quiet; people had just finished their morning errands and were either going back to work or to their homes. Still, you had clients: an old granny with her niece, a young woman with a gardening passion, an old man with a walking cane, a woman in her mid forties with the most beautiful dark eyes you've ever seen. That last one struck you.

She had come around four pm, when the marketplace started to become lively once more before shutting down for the day. You had already seen her; in fact, you had eyed her all day. She introduced herself as Lottie, your "market neighbor".

Her words are distant, "....y, are you listening to me?".

You are brought back to earth when she waves her hand before your eyes. "Uh, sorry! I was... thinking. Can you uhm, repeat yourself?" she gives you a weird look. You hope she hasn't caught you fawning over her; "I said I would like to purchase something".

You jolt up from your seat and put on your gloves. "Sure! What would you like?", Lottie takes a look at the small paper in her hand, "I would like... chamomile, echinacea, aster, cosmos and heliotrope, if you have it". Her hands brush on yours while you hand her her purchase; you can distantly feel your cheeks heating up, but pay it no mind. "Would you like to come take a visit to my stall? Maybe I could even make you join our community" she says, but something in her voice makes you distrust her. "No thank you, I'm fine on my own. But I'll happily stop by later".

You are interrupted by the sounds of an old granny almost knocking over a few plants. "... as soon as work allows me".

You close the stall one hour earlier than usual. The marketplace smells of food, wood, flowers and honey. "Listen, young woman!" you hear an old lady yell while you walk towards the purple stall, "There is no way you will sell me chestnut honey as all-flower honey! I am old, but not blind!"

Lottie was unfocused, staring into the distance, but once she spots you she completely abandons her poor employer to the old woman's ramblings. "You've come!" her hands close on yours. She flashes you her beautiful smile.

Her stall is small, consisting of a counter covered in a purple cloth with countless jars of honey and honeycomb on it and a beehive on display. Near the end of a table you see a flier. "Join our vibrant community!" it reads; "We help you understand and overcome your traumas! Become the best version of yourself!" written in bold purple font. "So, are you guys like uhm... a cult?"

It seems like Lottie was prepared for your questions, as she answers right away. "No, we are an intentional community" -"It's a cult", you think to yourself- "that specializes in helping others and ourselves".

A uhm leaves your lips, "I like the purple shades" you say. "It's a heliotrope". Man she's so weird. But so hot.

She gestures towards the overcrowded honey stand, "May I interest you in some of our all natural honey?". Countless jars sit on the counter: some big, some small, some filled with a dark substance, some so light you can see through them. Hit by the warm light, they make for a beautiful golden spectacle. You analyze the different names written on them: chestnut, pine, all flower, thyme, acacia, wildflower, eucalyptus, clover...

"You seem to be very passionate about honey" you tell Lottie, not having realized she is very close, towering behind you. "Making honey and beekeeping is hard. But, with the right care and treatments" she picks up an amber coloured jar, moving it and reflecting light in its shades, "something like this can come to life".

Why don't you tell me more about honey while we're fucking?

"This honey is particularly tasty. It's acacia. Perfectly sweet, not too hard on the tongue and smooth". She takes a small flat wooden stick and dips it in one of the displays made for clients. "Here, try it" on the tip of the stick there is a drop of the same shade of honey. You are about to take it from Lottie's hand, but she keeps a tight grip on it.

Oh for God's sake...

Your lip closes on the tip of the stick, savoring the taste of the honey. She's right, it's sweet but not too much. It's clear Lottie made it with love and care. Your eyes avoid her intense gaze, trying to maintain your ego intact.

The old lady and Lottie's employer are watching the two of you. You see a flash of disgust in the older woman's face. "Ugh!" she grunts, sauntering away, "I'm never coming here again!". The employer tries to call the woman back, but is promptly shutted by Lottie. "We didn't need her money anyway" she says, but you see a look of hurt painting her face. "Lisa, pack everything. We're leaving".

"Are you... are you coming again here?" The question is almost stupid, of course she will come back, but Lottie smiles. "Of course I will. I'm not usually here, but another alcol- employer is feeling ill, so I will be in his place for some weeks". You look up at the woman, cheeks still hot after your little show. "You... you don't come here often?" she smiles at you and it takes everything you have to not combust on the spot. "I am the community manager. I usually attend to other matters".

Oh she has gone from a ten to a one hundred. I love women with power.

"Uh I... I see". Lottie gestures towards the girl who has begun packing up, "Lisa is almost always here. She likes the lively atmosphere of the market. Don't you, Lisa?" you hear the girl scoff, followed by a "As much as I'd like to see my fish again". Lottie looks at her with a mean 'I am going to scold you' face, "Lisa. Packing". The girl apologizes and starts to move the jars into boxes faster.

Lottie takes the jar she had shown you before, setting it in your hands. "On the house". You are confused for a moment, looking puzzled at the amber liquid. "But- but this is expensive! I can't accept this gift!" She walks back to the stand, moving to help Lisa pack up. "Consider it a gift. To make you remember me".

Oh you're gonna remember her alright.

Over the last few weeks, you've visited Lottie's stand over and over again, during work hours, during lunch, sometimes you closed the shop one hour earlier or opened it one hour later. Lottie had loved your company, but ever so worried, she was preoccupied with your finances. She had tried multiple times to give you money or to make you join her community, fearing that you weren't in the best economical situation. You had assured her that most of your income came from your shop, not the market, but she wasn't very easy to convince.

You had also become close with Lisa. Very close. One might use the word "besties" to describe you two. And, you had accidentally spilled about your little crush to her. "Lottie is such a nice person" she said, while the older woman wasn't present, "she makes me feel cared for". You had been very happy to talk about your crush. "Oh yeah she's so funny, smart and so, so beautiful but- you know in a- in a normal way..." needles to say, you got caught red handed.

And Lisa was more than happy to help her new friend out.

The first attempt had gone horrible.

Lisa was near you, coaching you into flirting with Lottie. She gives you a pat on the shoulder, a smile and encouragement, then, you walk over to Lottie, who was attending to the beehive.

"Hey..." you said, making Lottie look at you, "Hello. Something the matter?". She stands up, hands clutching together as you saw her doing so many times throughout the past weeks.

"Have you, have you always been so... symmetrical...? ", a dead silence falls over your shoulders. Lottie watches you, confused and tilting her head to the side, "What?".

" Nevermind!" you skip over to Lisa who watched the whole scene, cringing internally for you. "Come on, next time it will be better!" you look over at her with the most shameful look ever in your eyes.

"I am going to kill myself" Lisa looked at you with disdain, but kept most of it to herself, "Don't say that".

The second attempt was easier, but a helping hand aided you; well, aided Lottie.

You had tried multiple times to flirt with Lottie but to no avail, always either bailing out the second before flirting or straight up ruining your chances. "Hey" Lisa says, eyeing Lottie, who was cataloging the various honey jars. She looked over at her acolyte, who had an uncharacteristic teasing smile on her lips, "Yes?"; Lisa looked over at you, who were arguing with some old woman back at your stall.

Her thumb pointed towards you, "You see that thing?" Lottie is a bit taken aback by Lisa's words. "Yeah?" your voice rises, "That thing?" the client starts to call you names. "Yes I see her" she throws compost over your apron. "That gremlin?" you call the old woman a bitch, "Oh Lisa stop, she's a bit messy sometimes but she's not a gremlin" your cute pink apron is covered in compost and petals. "...Sometimes" Lottie says, looking at your tired figure. "I better go help her..." but Lisa's hands stop her in her tracks, she leans up and whispers in her ear "She likes you".

Now, Lottie is old. Older than she ever realized, but throughout the years, some words and tones of voice always had the same secret meaning. Lottie moves back, a hopeful but scared stare in her eyes, "She...she does?" Lisa giggles, having known about both yours and her manager's crushes long before you realized. "Yeah, she does. As in 'like you', you know?" Lottie takes a moment to understand and walk to you, with the intent on telling you about her feelings once and for all.

But when she looks at you, covered in compost, smelling and tired, she knows that it's not the right time. She can't fuck this up. "Here, let me take care of you" she takes your hand and guides you to her tent, where Lisa is peeking at you both. "Change into this" she gives you some purple -heliotrope- clothes, "It's nothing, really" she answers your silent request when you look at her. Seeing you change -after finding a public restroom and having washed off the stench- in her signature color made Lottie's heart skip a beat. "You are beautiful..."

The third attempt was the one. You had gone on your own to Lottie, having decided to tell her your feelings. Lottie was resting, as no one was at her stand. " Hey... Do you want to go on a walk with me?" normally she would decline, there was always work to do, however...the marketplace had been emptier than usual. With the start of autumn and the sky getting dark sooner, people preferred going back home. There's nothing wrong with taking a small walk, right?

A small breeze blows on the streets, freezing the tip of your nose. You and Lottie are both silent, letting the sounds of the closing shops fill the air. The silence is not unwelcome, it's calm, it feels right. You feel Lottie's fingers tangle with your own, spreading warmth from your hand to every corner of your body. You are tempted to tell her, to tell her your feelings, but only silence follows. "You are a nice person, you know?" Lottie speaks into the space, and for a moment you think she's talking to somebody else, until you realize you two are the only ones who are walking in this street, having stranded far from the market.

"I am?" she sighs, you are so hard on yourself. "You are. You are beautiful, smart, funny. You are..." she takes a deep breath, steadying herself, "You are someone I wish to be closer to". She stops, looking into your eyes. "I want to be able to... love you" and that last part takes everything out of her, lungs left empty of air and heart hammering inside her ribcage. "Can you let me love you?".

You can't believe what she's saying. Maybe you've died and your brain is just playing fantasies to make you feel less lonely. "Please..." but the grip on your hands tells you otherwise, that you're here, you're here and Lottie just confessed her love for you.

Lottie is sure to have messed up, to have destroyed the only chance she had ever had to form a meaningful relationship outside of that place, outside of the compound, outside of her head-. But the voices stops once you kiss her. It's so tender, so loving that she thinks her heart will break. Happiness and tranquility flow through her veins, into her brain and heart. She touches your arms, any inch of your body to feel closer, her hands fall to your hips. She feels as if all the oxygen in the world won't be enough for her lungs to take in after each kiss, as if all the years in human history won't be enough to love you.

Lisa has finally finished packing. After a long day of work, she truly needs a relaxing bath at the compound. But neither Lottie or you seem to have come back. It's beginning to get late, the sky is already darkening and the way back home is a long one. She leaves her's and Lottie's possessions unattended and searches for the both of you, following the street you have walked down on. There you are: kissing together, street lights shining down on the both of you, shading you in amber colors.

A florist and a beekeeper. A match made in heaven.

#yellowjackets x reader #yellowjackets x you #yellowjackets fic #lottie matthews x you #lottie matthews x reader #fluff #idiots in love #yellowjackets #sapphic

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laurie-stark · 3 months ago

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Chapter I: Secret's Keeper

A/N: RAHHHHHHHHHHH Cherry Bomb is finally yours. Thank you to everyone for the tremendous support and excitement leading up to the publication. You guys loving Laurie means more than I can express.

A special thank you to w1steriaa_for being Laurie's biggest cheerleader and also the best proofreader ever. Guys, please go give Amber's works a read bc she is so immensely talented and I could not have done this without her.

see you guys in two weeks for the next update! lots of love, m<3

Word count: 2.8k

Cherry Bomb Masterlist

Seven in the morning was an ungodly hour to expect a fourteen-year-old to pay attention to ninth-grade algebra. The bell had just rung and I was already sitting in the same spot I had been since January. I may be my father’s daughter, but Pepper Potts drilled punctuality into me like it was my life’s blood. And I’d grown up watching how stressed she would get every time Dad ran late for an event or press conference. Being Tony Stark’s personal assistant was hard enough, so I decided when I was still pretty young that being early was another way of being kind. It was the least I could do.

My classmates started to file into the room and take their seats. Despite it still being early in the morning, the New York City summer heat was well on its way. And it was only May. Being on the fourteenth floor of a really old building didn’t help either. But hey, I was not one to complain. I was just happy to be at school at all.

Kidding, of course. That was horseshit. It was mornings like these, when the humidity made it feel like I was underwater and I’d only gotten four hours of sleep because I had been studying for the history test I had next period, that I truly cursed my younger self for wanting to go to real school so badly. Being homeschooled made the most sense when I was younger. Dad was hardly ever in one city for longer than a month and he had crippling undiagnosed separation anxiety to me. So, I spent my childhood following him around the world. It was nice though. I had complete control over my education and my dad did a pretty good job of being involved, as much as a billionaire harlot with a small gambling addiction could. Naturally, Dad spent the most time on science stuff with me. He’d work in his lab on weapons, and then eventually the Iron Man suits, while I did spelling and math and science. It was nice, nearly perfect. As I got older, I think I began to realize my dad was definitely working overtime to be a better father than his was. And he was a really, really good dad.

Homeschooling also meant that I had a lot more freedom and flexibility than the other kids my age. And where some kids do hard-core dance or varsity one sports, I would bother the Avengers over their intercom. So basically dance, if Tony Stark being a dance mom equated fighting by his daughter’s side to protect the people of New York…You get the gist. I was a registered agent of S.H.I.E.L.D. for a couple of years. It was never anything crazy, I just helped where I could. It started eight years ago, with Loki. Nick and his team knew virtually nothing about controlling the Tesseract and he thought me and my abilities would be helpful. They weren’t. So, Nick found other uses for me.

The Battle of New York left me fairly shaken up and my parents were super against any active participation during missions. In between my schooling and singing lessons, I would help with the preparation: scouting locations, hacking enemy mainframes, anything that let me feel like I was truly a part of a team. I was always desperate to impress the adults in my life, to show them that I could be useful and worth something. That feeling sparked when I first met Nick Fury and it never truly went away.

I liked being an agent. I liked being in on all the secrets, I liked helping people, and I loved working with the Avengers. Nat, Steve, Clint, Bruce, and Thor became family. Suddenly I wasn’t a lonesome only child whose only friend was her dad and his assistant. I was the guy in the chair, the one handing out coordinates and fallback plans. I had a purpose.

Sokovia changed everything. I still had nightmares about what happened a year ago. I’d wake up in a sweat, feeling the phantom grip of metal fingers around my arm. I don’t think I’ll ever forget the sounds of screaming people I couldn’t save because I froze up. They died because I wasn’t strong enough. Dad put his foot down after that. He told me that what I was doing wasn’t good for me and he’d be a terrible father if he let me continue. He was right, but I was still angry about it.

Real school was our compromise. If I wasn’t allowed to go on missions anymore then I needed someplace else to have a social life. It was pretty good timing too because I had just wrapped up the eighth grade curriculum. It took a lot of convincing and three PowerPoint presentations to finally convince my dad that being a normal kid in a normal school would be beneficial for me. He got me into Dalton and the rest was history.

However, what wasn’t history was the test on that very subject that was surely going to kill me next period. I spent the remainder of my math period going through my flashcards and study notes. I wasn’t alone, nearly half of the class was in the same boat as me. And if they studied as much as I had, then we were all fried.

…

Halfway through my history test, I knew I was screwed because all I could think about was lunch. Every factoid about Greek history was clouded with fantasies about turkey avocado sandwiches. There was a little French sandwich place just down the road from my school and it was my favourite. The owner was a true French man from a town just outside Paris and he let me practice my French with him. I spent at least two lunch periods a week being ruthlessly criticized by a middle-aged man, but that made it more authentic. I wasn’t super fluent, but I knew enough to hold a conversation, or at least get through a conversation with Emery. But French was not going to help me pass this history test and I was beginning to recall all my knowledge of Percy Jackson as a last resort.

Forty-five minutes later, I gathered all my dignity and shame and walked my test up to the front of the room. I handed it off to my history teacher, who gave me a grim smile. My classmates seemed to be just as stone-faced as I was and I think we were all hopeful that our teacher would curve the grade.

I rocked on the balls of my heels outside the classroom door, waiting for my two best friends to finish their tests. When I first started at Dalton, making friends was a challenge. Quite a few of the student body had been attending the school since kindergarten, so their relationships had been forged nearly a decade ago. I didn’t have an abhorrent amount of friends; I knew enough people to say hi when we passed in the halls or have someone to sit with in the cafeteria. I would have been content with just that, but I was fortunate enough to have made two wonderful best friends.

Like many of the numerous friendship pacts, Brianna Sinclair and Meredith Camden had been best friends since their preschool days. We met briefly during freshman orientation, but it was first-semester theatre class when we really got close. Brianna and I were both huge theatre nerds and she was quick to sit at the desk next to mine. She was a redhead with the spirit to match the fiery hair. She loved performing and astrology, and she was definitely the epitome of an Aries. It wasn’t long before she introduced me to Meredith and we all became happy chums.

Meredith Camden was perfect. She was the only freshman I knew who was already planning her senior year class presidency. And, she was the most beautiful girl I had ever seen, and I don’t even like girls. Meredith was a true stunner, from her long, silky coils to her perfectly smooth dark complexion. She was kind as well. Even though I met Brianna first, Meredith was the one who really made me feel welcome at Dalton. At first, I was apprehensive about making a trio out of an already tight-knit pair, but Meredith always made sure I felt included. And soon enough we were as thick as thieves.

Post-test stress had kicked in while I waited for the girls. I used my thumb to rub circles into the centre of my palm, switching back and forth between my hands. When I caught a glimpse of red, my back straightened.

“How bad was that?” I asked.

Brianna swung her ponytail over her shoulders. “That was the dumbest thing I’ve ever done,” she huffed.

“It wasn’t that bad,” Meredith chimed in softly. “Everything that was on there was in our notes.”

“I was up until like three in the morning studying and I still think I failed,” I said as we began to walk towards the stairs to our next period.

“Well studies do show that quality of sleep greatly impacts test performance, maybe next time you should prioritize getting a good night’s rest and study more in the morning.”

Brianna rolled her eyes playfully at Meredith’s info dump.

I smiled at her. “I’ll give that a try.”

We squeezed through the flood of students walking around us and I slunk back behind the girls to give us some more room.

“So what are we doing today? Shop along Park? I think Madison Beaucard is having people over. Oh, we could go to the flower market, I have been dying to get my hands on fresh tulips now that they’re in season.” Brianna’s hands were flying around as she talked.

“Right now?” I asked.

“No, stupid,” Brianna teased. “After school.”

“Be nice,” Meredith chimed in. Brianna shot a playful look at the other girl.

“We finally, finally finished the renovations on the indoor pool yesterday so you guys could come over to test it out!” Meredith offered. Her family had been chipping away at that project for as long as I’d known her for.

Brianna tugged on Meredith’s arm excitedly. “Oh my gosh, yes! We are so doing that.” She turned around to face me, still hanging off of Meredith. “You in, Laur?”

I smiled but heaved a high. “Sorry Bri, I wish I could, but my family is gonna want me home right after school.”

“Of course, how silly of me,” Brianna feigned an English accent. “It’s Wednesday.”

“Are you sure your Dad wouldn’t miss you just for one week?” Meredith pouted.

“I’m sorry dude, it’s out of my hands.”

“Ugh, your parents are no fun.”

I smiled inwardly. “You know I’d be hanging out with you guys in a heartbeat if I could.”

To Meredith and Brianna, Wednesdays meant I had “family time” immediately after school each week. If it were any other day I would have happily tagged along for shopping or swimming or whatever new activity Brianna found on Instagram was. But Wednesdays were always signed off.

The truth was that I had training at the compound. Although my dad was firm about pulling my involvement with S.H.I.E.L.D., he allowed me to go Upstate once a week to do drills with Nat. Natasha Romanoff had been training me in hand-to-hand combat since I was seven or eight. She said it was important that I knew how to protect myself. At first, it was just for fun, but with how defenceless I’d felt in the last few years, I started to get more serious about it.

There was also the small matter of superhuman powers that I had very little control over. They showed up when I was seven, pretty soon after my father was kidnapped and held hostage overseas. They say it was the trauma and intense emotionality that triggered my powers being awoken. But my knowledge of the powers ended there. My father absolutely refused to let Nick Fury or his team study me or study the things I could do. Which, if I was honest, was a good call on his part, but it did leave me living with a lot of questions. From what we could tell, it was some sort of gravitational and elemental manipulation; the product of experiments my birth mother ran on me as an infant. I tried not to think about that too much, though. I just knew that when I feel things too hard, the powers can get out of control. It was pretty scary, and really confusing as a kid. But thankfully the Avengers found an expert.

Wanda Maximoff has been a great help in the last few months. Training with Nat became also training with Wanda after Ultron and the destruction of Sokovia. Her powers are very different from mine, but she approached me after she moved into the compound to see if I wanted her help. I remember I had woken up in the middle of the night to my bedroom at the compound looking like a storm had passed through. I must have been having another nightmare and set myself off in my sleep. After I did my best to put the room back in order through tears, I found myself on the roof of the compound, looking out at the stars. Wanda found me sitting out there. Turned out she was having similar dreams. She asked me about my powers, I asked her about hers and soon enough she was offering skills and advice and suggesting I start honing in on training. It had been about a year since then and my control had gotten a lot better. But of course, this was all a humongous secret I was keeping from my friends. One secret wasn’t too bad though.

“I was thinking we haven’t done our monthly movie marathon sleepover this month,” Meredith pointed out as we took our seats. The three of us had history and English class together this semester. “Laurie, is your place free?”

And there was the other shoe. Secret superhero shenanigans weren’t the only thing I kept from Meredith and Brianna. I was also under strict orders to pretend that I didn’t exist. Or rather, pretend that Laurie Stark didn’t exist.

Sometime after the battle of New York, probably during all the stuff with the Mandarin, my dad asked Nick Fury to erase me from existence. It was a safety thing. Somewhere between aliens and terrorists attacking our house over and over, my dad decided he needed to take a more proactive role in my general safety. Hazards of the job, he called it. I understood, I guess, but it just meant there were even more secrets to keep. I was enrolled in school as Laurel Potts. My private social media accounts were under that same name, and I even carried a fake learner’s permit with the alias. I always felt really guilty when I had to turn down bringing friends over or lying about why they had never met my parents, but the secrets kept me safe. And they offered me freedom. Win some, lose some.

“Sorry guys, our kitchen is undergoing a huge reno,” I blurted out the lie. “My dad has been super into…dutch ovens?”

I could tell they didn't believe me but they shrugged it off. Guilt panged at my heart and I rubbed at the centre of my palm again. When it was just me and my dad and our small world, I could be anything. And as much as I loved being out in society like a normal teenage girl, I wished I could live it authentically.

The girls snuck a look at each other they thought I wouldn’t see. I could almost hear the best friend telepathy going off. They were definitely thinking I must not want them around. With their backs to me, I felt my shoulders begin to tense. My girls had never once made me feel out of place since starting at the Dalton, but I had never been oblivious to the fact that three was a crowd.

I turned away from my friends when our English teacher pulled the class’s attention to the front of the room. We started our lesson on writing comparative analysis essays, but the only thing I was analyzing was the body language of the girls beside me. The pinch of my thumbnail against my palm was enough to bring me back to the present, and I forced myself to focus on worrying about that rotten history test instead…

#fanfiction #marvel #peter parker x reader #tony stark #steve rogers #tony stark x daughter!oc #peter parker x stark!oc #peter parker x stark!reader #tony stark's daughter #laurie stark #peter parker #natasharomanoff #original characters #marvel fanfic #marvel fic #mcu fanfic

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ashlingiswriting · 1 year ago

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do i know you? chapter seven

[ 5.4k words ] [ masterlist ] [ prev chapters: one, two, three, four, five, six ] you figure you can be good and still take it a little easier. that’s all you’ve done today, take it a little easier, and it feels really fucking good. richie jerimovich x reader, past mikey berzatto x reader, slow burn

after an eleven-hour stretch of sleep, a three-egg breakfast, and cautious self-reflection, you come to the conclusion that something has to change. and fast. yesterday, richie fucking jerimovich—constant leather jacket tracksuit combo, stab wound, aggravated assault charge, and anxiety and depression diagnoses, that richie—asked you if you were okay. it was a reasonable question for him to ask, and giving him the truthful answer felt like peeling off your own skin.

usually you’d cut and run—you’re not big on torture—but richie’s become as much a fixture in your life as cigarettes themselves. whatever you go through with him, you have a feeling that things would be worse without. so you do the reasonable thing.

you go to the library and google ‘how to stay mentally healthy.’

sure, it makes you feel like an idiot, but it’s not like you have other options. your health and benefits package consists of stolen medications, a grizzled retired doctor named beth, and weirdly extravagant christmas presents in years when the carusos are doing well. none of these qualify as conducive to mental health.

thus, doctor google. most of the listed mental health tips seem either impossible—you’re not about to make new social connections, you’re not that self destructive—or plain old stupid, as in a stress ball. like a little rubber ball to squeeze. great stuff.

there’s a few things that you think you can tolerate, though. you end up working out every day in your apartment, volunteer stocking the shelves of a food pantry every tuesday morning right before bed, and tackle the miserably unorganized state of your post-michael finances. occasionally you’ll eat a salad, but you’ll curse richie as you do it.

cultivating mental health for its own sake is not something you’d usually engage in, but mental health as a one-sided competition that you are determined not to lose? it’s a tolerable game.

as for richie, he seems to be holding steady. the new and horrifyingly fancy specter of the bear does seem to freak him out, but at least the bear’s got a future. the beef, as far as you remember, only ever had a past.

though this winter’s turned bitter cold, you never invite him inside, not even past the double doors into the pathetic excuse of a lobby with its single fake potted plant. you had your one little breakdown and that’s fine. but the rules stay strong, and you get a little stronger. he tells you that eva liked the girl who loved horses the best, and you tell him she’s got good taste. there’s still bad nights, but there’s less fear. you haven’t fucked it up, that’s the point. you’re being good.

and then one day he doesn’t come back.

you’re not a fool. you wait for three days before letting yourself go.

on the third day, you have to wake up to administer alessandera’s iud at the stupidly early hour of eleven in the morning. afterwards, too caffeinated to rest, you decide that you might as well head to the library to check his instagram.

the most recent picture is from eight days ago, so that’s no help. his two pinned posts catch your attention anyway. in the first picture, eva’s got two blonde ponytails sticking out of opposite sides of her head, and her ponytail holders have huge round sky blue plastic beads on them. the smears of chocolate on her fingers match the ones on richie’s cheek, and they’re both giving the camera a goofy thumbs up.

in the second picture, it’s him and michael. they’re both grinning, squinting against the evening sun, and staring at something or someone just out of frame. lake michigan spreads out glorious behind their shoulders. it was probably a fishing trip. it’s got to be an old ass photo, cause they’re both wearing shirts that say the original berf of chicago and you stole michael’s in the summer of 2020. you needed to have something of his during quarantine, and you kept it even after quarantine ended. it’s still folded away in your dresser, protected by mothballs.

michael disappeared on you too. after you broke up, you kept texting him about meeting to give him back some of his things, but he wouldn’t answer. to be fair, all you had to do was ride the elevator up a couple floors and drop off a box by his door. but you kept texting him anyways, texting on into the silence, until finally it occurred to you: he was punishing you. two could play at that game. you stopped texting altogether, and that’s when it happened.

this is no number of push-ups or good deeds or leafy greens in the world that can defend against an experience like that. the silence was supposed to only last a week, a month at most, and then it became forever.

so yeah, you go to the beef. the bear. whatever.

so much for being good.

the restaurant is closed for renovations, so you go around to the back and find an unusual pair sitting, eating sandwiches off paper plates, and arguing about greta gerwig’s little women. you recognize both of them from richie’s instagram.

fak breaks off mid-rant and peers up at you from under his baseball hat, as bright-eyed as a squirrel spotting a potential nut. syd, on the other hand, looks neat and cool in an apron, kerchief, and cautious expression. she’s by far the more intimidating of the two to you, though maybe that’s just richie’s influence coming through. she’s on another level and you know it.

can i help you? syd says.

yeah, you say. where’s richie?

he’s out sick.

out sick, that makes sense. relief warms you like the first sip of hot coffee on an icy morning, and then you clock the expression on syd’s face. she’s shifted from suspicious to outright dubious.

why, she adds, does he owe you money?

ah, fuck. you were so worried that you forgot that when you’re wearing your big coat and your stoic face, you look like trouble.

nah, you say. he doesn’t owe me anything. is he okay?

from the way she stares, syd must think you bizarre, but she humors you. i mean, two days ago he texted me a video of three chimpanzees attacking a gorilla. is that okay? she shrugs. you tell me.

he’s such a fucking weirdo. why?

i don’t know, i told him that one of the restaurants i used worked at was a vegan place and he’s been sending me shit like that ever since. am i vegan? no, i’m not, but why should that make any difference, you know? who knows why richie does what he does.

who knows, you say. it’s fun to grumble about richie, but you don’t actually find him mysterious. one or two scares aside, he’s the easiest person to understand in the whole city.

i should probably call him, you say. can i borrow your phone?

sydney looks even more weirded out than before for a second, and then she seems to have a lightbulb moment, just as you see the back door opening.

he does owe you money, doesn’t he? syd says, exasperated, but not surprised.

quién le debe dinero a quién? says somebody in an undertone, and then tina appears, her curly hair a little shorter than the last time you saw her, but otherwise unchanged. when she sees you, her expression breaks into a smile of welcome while her eyes get complicated.

hey, julie, she says. how you doing?

usually, you hate it when people ask you that. but with her, you just don’t.

doing okay, tina. you?

oh, we’re doing good, right, chef? she says, with a fond glance at syd that seems to invite her in.

still fighting for our lives with an auditor, but yeah, syd says. we’re on track.

you want to walk with me? tina says to you, and you nod, grateful that she seems to have instinctively guessed what you need.

while you’re strolling out of earshot of the others, syd heads inside, which puts you on a ticking clock. the chances of carmy knowing your actual name are slim, but the chances of him coming out into the alley to investigate? those are dangerously high.

tina interrupts your train of thought, stopping by the chain link fence and turning to face you.

so what’s wrong? she says, and though she’s as warm and genuine as before, you are reminded by the glint in her eyes that she’s perceptive and tough and not to be fucked with. no wonder michael loved her so much. she was one of the few people who knew how to love him back without drowning.

does there have to be something wrong? you say.

not necessarily. but historically speaking? she says it almost apologetically.

yeah.

you only ever met her two times, both in his apartment, once in the dead of night and once in the middle of the day. you remember meeting her, but that’s all. in your mind, each emergency blends into the nexxt, and you don’t probe them for details. all you remember is that one time she was there, you called for an ambulance even though he ordered you not to, and he hated that. tina stood firm and carried on amidst all the shouting, even when you lost it.

it’s a wonder she’s being kind to you now, actually.

i still carry the narcan in my purse, tina says.

the nasal spray? you say. the stuff that you gave her after the scare in october ‘21. that’s good. gonna find somebody savable eventually, right? and that comes out way more bitter than you meant it to, but you can’t figure out a way to take it back fast enough.

there’s a hint of steel to tina’s voice, a reminder that she’s deliberately granting you her patience and could revoke it at any time, when she repeats, so what’s wrong?

you take out your burner phone, your sad little nokia, and show it to her.

i busted my old phone, lost all my contacts, and i don’t have the money for a new one right now, so this artifact is all i got. do you have richie’s number? you say meekly.

sure, she says, pulling it up and handing it over so easy that you’re startled. you’re not used to being given something that you need simply because you asked for it.

you take her phone with a quiet thanks and start typing his number and address into your own.

i looked for you at the funeral, she says. it stings, whether she meant it to or not.

well, you say, still typing and glad of the excuse to not look up at tina’s face, i figured i’d spare his mom the fun of having multiple women show up.

that’s not a fair hit, not the full story, but you don’t bother to clarify.

to your surprise, she doesn’t give you what you deserve. instead, she says, you still mad at him?

why even ask. aren’t you?

i was never mad at him.

you have to look up, and not just because you’ve run out of stuff to type.

never? that’s impossible.

not after, tina says, her brown honest. he was just a kid, you know?

he was a thief and an addict and older than you. but yeah, you know. you really do. he was just a kid.

you want to tell tina that she’s a better woman than you are, that to love and forgive at the same time is a trick that you can only envy. but you don’t know how to say that.

there’s another version, too, a simpler one, one that doesn’t compare the two of you. she’s sunlight and she’s concrete, the type of kindness that defies the laws of physics, and you can’t figure out how to say that to her either.

how are you doing? you say instead. you already asked her, but you didn’t really ask her in the way she had asked you. this time you try to do it right.

from the way she smiles, you know you got close.

i’m good, she says. really. all the stuff they’ve got us up to out here? herbs and shit, fucking french. i don’t know, it’s working. and they’re gonna send me to the cia.

delight looks good on her, and it’s infectious. you say, why not the fbi?

the culinary institute of america, dummy.

oh shit, the level up machine. you’ve heard of it before, of course, because it seems to have turned carmy into a rock star, so that’s gotta be a good thing, right? you gonna come back, kick his ass, and take over?

she grins. girl, you know i could already do that if i felt like it.

true, true. you’re grinning too, and god, it feels good.

and then, glancing over her shoulder at the sudden sound, you can see the back door open.

thank you, tina. you hand her the phone back, quick. if she notices the sudden change in you, she doesn’t let on.

anytime, she says, and presses her wrapped sandwich in your hand. here.

i can’t take your lunch.

she waves you off. nah, there’s more where that came from.

hey tina, a voice calls. it’s carmy’s, so you keep your eyes trained on tina and hope he doesn't recognize you at that distance.

thanks again, you say, and then you flee, clutching your sandwich.

richie doesn’t pick up and your first call goes to voicemail. you’re wound too tight to enjoy the bill murray of it all, so you just hang up and call again.

he picks up after the third ring.

what? he growls.

hey asshole, where are you, you say, just as abruptly, but so pleased to hear his voice.

richie barely skips a beat. you dont have to kill me, i’m already fucking dying, he says, which is his idea of reassurance.

yeah?

i mean, i’m alive, he says, like it’s a great concession. but for how long?

not much longer. where are you.

dead silence. this, you did not expect and have no idea what to do with. you snap, richie, where the fuck are you? in a voice that makes a passing woman give you a wide berth on the sidewalk.

calm your tits, secret agent. i’m on my fucking deathbed with saltines and espn, jesus christ. everything’s fine.

you’d really like to strangle him, but you don’t miss his hint. that’s his way of letting you out of this, secret agent, everything’s fine, so don’t cross a line and then regret it. thoughtful of him, but you’re already a world expert in regret. you’ve weighed your odds, you’ll take your chances.

i’ll be there in twenty, you say, unless you tell me to fuck off.

there’s a split second of hesitation before he says, will you bring me a popsicle?

no.

you hang up. then you go and buy some popsicles.

you dig out the ring of keys from your pocket, another inheritance. the gold key is for michael’s old place, the silver is for the beef, and the square-headed one is for richie’s. when you turn it in the lock, the door to his apartment swings open, easy as pie.

his apartment is a mess. worse, it’s dead dull, with only a few old movie posters hung up over the off-white walls for decoration. at least it doesn’t smell. there’s a kitchenette to your left, one huge and incongruously new ikea wardrobe to your right, and across from you, his bed. it’s shoved up right next to the far window, so the deep windowsill serves as a side table to a tiny succulent and a laptop streaming espn.

richie’s sprawled out sans blanket and sheets, which are all huddled in a lump at the foot of the bed. he’s not bothering to watch espn and he doesn’t bother to get up at the sound the door opening, either. just looks over and watches you.

you lock the door behind you and take your shoes off out of habit, even though you know you might have to get out fast. as you walk over to him, you encounter some dirty laundry along the way and kick it into the corner. then you’re at hit bedside, looking down at richie.

he’s lying there in a worn out grey t-shirt, looking up at you muzzy-eyed, sweating, and unsurprised.

come to finish me off? he says.

after a second, you say, open your mouth.

he gives you a look that says, i could argue if i fucking felt like it, but then he does open wide with a little aah like a kid getting his tonsils checked.

you take a quick glance inside, then close your hand to imitate a mouth closing, fingers meeting thumb.

he does as instructed, but you can tell by the glint in his eye that he’s got a joke locked and loaded, so you lean over and put the back of your hand to his forehead before he can say a thing.

as you expected, he goes quiet. his skin is hot and damp with sweat.

after a second, you withdraw and straighten up, touch still echoing on the on the back of your hand.

yeah, you’re fine, you say. dehydrated, low fever, but you’re fine.

and here i thought i was dying, richie says. he’s not usually subtle, but for once you can’t tell if he’s mocking you or not. is that for me?

he reaches for the plastic bag hanging from your shoulder, and you yank it back out of reach just in time.

business first. when did you take your last tylenol?

richie slumps sulkily back onto his pillow with a petulant look. you’re no fun when you’re in doctor mode.

then don’t get sick, asshole. tylenol?

this morning, he says, and then before you can volley a follow-up, he skips ahead. bathroom, behind the mirror.

as a reward, you sling the plastic grocery bag onto his bed before you go investigate.

sure enough, there’s a miniature pharmacy on the two small shelves behind the foldable mirror. at first glance, the only prescription stuff is xanax and pravastatin. you grab the tylenol and you’re just about to go when you notice, down at the bottom left corner, a small familiar white box edged in magenta. four milligrams of narcan, nasal spray, your old friend. you gave tina way more of it than she needed and told her to pass it on to anyone at the beef that she trusted, just in case. narcan’s not a cure, it just buys you a little time. that’s all you were doing by then, buying yourselves a little time.

looking at the box now, you suddenly feel sorry for richie. it’s been bad enough for you, and you’ve been living like a fucking vampire, no daylight, barely leaving your lair. richie’s had to go into the outside world, and the outside world fucking sucks. michael’s everywhere out there.

when you get back with the tylenol, richie has a grape popsicle already stuck in his mouth, the extra package of saltines on the windowsill by his side, and your sandwich in his hands. he’s trying to unwrap it when you snatch it away and deposit a tylenol in his palm instead.

with a shrug, he takes the popsicle out of his mouth and swallows the tylenol dry.

trying not to think too hard about that, you turn away and head to the kitchen.

cups? you say.

upper left. he’s watching you make your way through his space, you can feel it. so you went to the beef, huh.

yup. in the upper cabinet, there’s an assortment of cups, none of them matching. you pick the plastic one with dora the explorer on it, then go fill that with water.

richie says, you talk to carmy?

no, you say, with just enough edge on it to warn him off the subject. on your way back to his bedside, you pause to peek in his fridge and freezer. fuck me, did nobody ever teach you that man cannot live on microwave burritos alone?

news to me. what are you, some kind of fuckin gourmet?

you complete your circuit, come perch on the edge of his bed with the cup in your hand, and wait for him to sit up.

woman can live on frozen pizzas alone, that’s a whole different thing, you say.

uh huh. he slumps back against the headboard, then accepts the cup from you and drinks. in the silence, you watch him. the small movements of his throat, the glint of gold slipping out over the nape of his neck. he wears that cross even in his sleep. hopefully it protects him. something should.

you could sit here for a long time.

but the cup runs out of water fast, and there goes your excuse. you take it back from him and say, just for the sake of saying something, your interior design is severely lacking.

he scrunches up his nose when he smiles, a wry little smile interrupted by a sniff. thanks.

go back to sleep.

but he doesn’t. instead, he reaches for the remaining half of his grape popsicle, so you go for your sandwich, unwrap, and take a bite. this is as good as the middle of the night to your body clock, so you’re not one bit hungry. but food works just as well as a cigarette, permission for silence.

you get a sando and i get saltines? he says. talk about a raw deal, man.

mouth full, you say, these are actually pretty good, you know?

what, you didn’t think they would be? he scoffs. c’mon, i know you were never a regular, but the thing with the gun, that wasn’t your first time in.

so he remembered you. even before he knew you had any kind of connection to the beef, he remembered you.

you pretend not to notice.

i’ve just never had it with the peppers before, you say.

you’ve never had it with the peppers? his voice rises with each word.

i’m not normally a huge peppers girl, you say nonchalantly.

you’re a fucking heathen is what you are.

for that, you take an extra big bite and chew as loudly and disgustingly as you can.

it backfires immediately. he gags and presses his fist to his mouth, and you bolt to the sink to grab the trash can from under it, nearly tripping and hoping like hell he doesn’t throw up all over himself because you do not have it in you to do that kind of laundry. trash can in hand, you turn around to find that he’s giving you the thumbs up and grinning. not gagging at all, perfectly fine.

oh, fuck you. you put the trash can back, stalk over, and drop down onto the bed beside him again, petulantly this time, making the bedsprings squeak.

he’s still chuckling. you should’ve seen your face.

you know what my problem is? you say.

you think you have only one problem, j? i got news for you.

that’s not the first time anyone’s used that nickname for you, but you still like it.

my problem is that you’re not scared of me, you say. i need to make you more scared of me, and then you’ll treat me with the respect i deserve.

okay, well, fyi: you are already the third scariest person in the world to me, richie says.

the third? you echo with mock offense.

third is good, man. there’s stiff competition. like, you realize isis is still out there? his eyebrows raise and he gestures emphatically. and there’s a lot of them?

you snort. isis is not still out there.

i think they are. he tries to tick them off on his fingers. isis, al qaeda. and the other one. what’s the other one?

i think you need to stay well away from middle eastern politics when you’re running a fever, you say, getting up to go.

you said my fever was low!

and yet you’re fuckin addled. go back to sleep. with that, you head back towards the kitchenette to see what you can do.

his pantry turns out to be not quite as empty as his fridge, so you pick up a couple things and get to cooking him something basic and nourishing. no sense in trying anything impressive. you’ll be lucky if the result is passably tasty.

sunlight comes in through the window, throwing a rectangle of warmth on your shoulder. you retrieve a pot, a cutting board, a large knife.

eva’s his number one scariest person in the world, obviously. number two’s probably tiff? donna’s scary, but you get the sense that she’d be worse to her kids, or at least that it’d feel worse to be her kids. richie’s never directly talked about her, though he did made a couple bitter remarks early on about what he did for ‘the family’, and given that sugar hates his ass and carmy wasn’t around, it has to be donna he was trying to take care of. wait, maybe carmy’s number two. no, it’s tiff. it’s definitely tiff.

yo, richie says, what the fuck are you doing? stop.

you look up, bewildered. what?

he’s sitting at the edge of the bed with his feet flat on the floor, like he’s prepared to stand up and stop you. with the light coming in through the window at his back and the hanging lamp of the kitchenette throwing gold on his front, he really does look like he’s coated in sweat.

put the knife down, he says. commands from his mouth are usually fruitless protests issued for comedic effect, but not this time. you put the knife down.

you okay? you say it like a gentle person would, only to have your gesture immediately spoiled.

who taught you to cut onions like that? he says, like you’re physically hurting him. you do not cut onions like that!

oh my god, fucking stop me. you roll your eyes and pick up the knife again, only to hear a tell-tale grunt from richie. no, that was a joke. don’t—you throw down the knife with an annoyed clatter. i’ll be fine. just watch your baseball or something, okay? sorry i’m not fucking carmy and i can’t go all human food processor on it, but let me do my thing.

after a second, richie says, ‘s gonna taste like shit, isn’t it.

you want me to go? you say, stung.

no, richie says immediately. i just want to know what you’re gonna do with those onions.

you shrug, a touch defensively. i was gonna brown it, add a couple cans of campbell’s beef and barley. something like that. it’s really sad when you say it out loud, just two ingredients: onions and canned soup.

i don’t hate that, richie says.

you look at him warily, unsure of whether that’s meant as an insult or the world’s most pathetic compliment.

just curl your fingers when you cut, right? fuckin—he imitates, to show you how your left hand is supposed to be positioned, while he mimes chopping with his right. it really should not be charming. unfortunately, it kinda is.

yeah, yeah, you mutter, and then you go back to your cutting board and try to practice what he just taught you.

usually, you have protein bars for snacks, frozen pizzas for meals, takeaway for variety, and pre-bagged salads for your recent attempts at health, so it really has been ages since you cooked like this.

kind of feels like you’ve been missing out. there’s a peaceful feeling to this simple concentration, a bit like your work but without any of the stress. you take little breaks every now and again to prevent the onion from making you cry. with each break, you take a look at something new: the drawings from eva that he has pinned to the fridge, the poster for the movie white squall, the stack of books that look like somebody’s actually read them.

when you start shoveling slices of onion into the pot, richie calls over, don’t turn the heat up too high.

i won’t, you say, unbothered.

you get about thirty seconds of peace, stirring your onions as you add some oil, and then richie pipes up again.

seriously, he says, if it doesn’t brown fast enough, don’t turn the heat up, just—

the heat’s at four out of ten, fuck’s sake. your swearing is just for show, because you’re feeling nearly mellow. there’s something so soothing about the crackling sound of the onions in the hot oil. are you drinking your water?

i already drank it all!

not believing him, you walk over, only to find that the cup is indeed empty. you refill it, then linger for a second, trying to make sense of the baseball he’s streaming on his laptop.

look at this guy, richie says, referring to some player that you’ve never seen before in your life and probably never will again. the guy’s winding up to take a swing. you both watch. the guy hits a foul, and richie shakes his head in disgust. you grunt, noncommittal and happy, and return to your caramelizing onions.

by the time you’re done cooking, he’s asleep.

you pour out two bowls of soup and put the rest of it in the fridge. that plus the saltines are enough to get him through the night and another day. you doubt the fever will last much longer than that.

as you do the washing up, you make sure to scrub off every last bit of onion from the bottom of the pot, and then you leave all the clean dishes on the rack to dry.

between soup and saltines, richie should have enough for tonight and tomorrow, and you doubt the fever will last much longer than that. with the cooking and washing up is done, you walk over, sit on the bed beside him, and set down two bowls of soup on the deep windowsill that serves as his side table. his laptop has gone to sleep, and the silence in the absence of baseball is pretty much perfect. so is the sunlight.

you take off your hoodie, finally—you were starting to sweat yourself near the end there, thank goodness he was too sick to notice—and tug down your original berf shirt. it’s safe enough. richie’s out cold, snoring a little. with the tylenol doing its work, he’s not as sweaty as before, so you drag the sheets up from the foot of the bed and make sure they’re tucked over his shoulders.

taking out a sharpie from your coat pocket, you root around in the pile of assorted mail by his bedside until you come up with a pizza flier you can write on. you leave him the phone number of the burner you kept for michael. reason being, it’s the only number you know by heart, and you’re too tired to deal with any more unexplained absences.

after all, you figure, you can be good and still take it a little easier. that’s all you’ve done today, take it a little easier, and it feels really fucking good.

settling down, you reach over richie again to get your bowl and your spoon. the bowl is warm in your lap, and even though you weren’t hungry before, the act of cooking has worked up your appetite. the soup smells good to you: sweet, savory, a bit like childhood.

your father used to say grace at the table, and though you never do that anymore, there’s something still left to be said.

you know, you say, you’re the number three scariest person in the world to me too. you sit with that for a moment, and then you add, number two once told me he would shoot me in the face, so. there’s that.

richie looks completely harmless like this, slumped on his side under the sheets, turned a little towards you with his eyes closed. he’s way easier to talk to when he’s unconscious, go figure. you can't touch him, though.

drink your fucking water, you say quietly.

and then, still looking at him like he’s a photo to remember, you begin to eat your soup.

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entriprises · 8 months ago

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Romeo Dixon on becoming an American rock sensation: ‘I spend a lot of time in my room’

He’s 25, calls his mom every Monday, and is the drummer and manager to one of the hottest bands out there, Heart Attack.

It’s a Saturday morning, the sun’s been out no more than an hour, and Romeo Dixon holds out to me his backpack to hold while he tries his hardest to unlock the back doors of Heart Attack’s recording studio. It’s not actually theirs, he’s sure to make known. It’s just the space they’re using, thanks to the the band’s current recording label that found it for them. They get to keep their gear there sometimes, like now, when they’re working on a lot of music and need the collaborative space. He asked permission for access to the studio today he tells me. He wanted to be able to share where so much of the work is done. The studio is open 24 hours a day, usually, and Dixon is lucky that it is. The key’s not working. He apologizes twice before stepping off to make a phone call for someone to open the doors for us. When the doors open, he greets Joe, a recording engineer who looks like he’s been awake longer than either of us and is ready to go home. Dixon introduces Joe as “the guy who makes a lot of stuff happen around the studio” and then talks about how they had met when Heart Attack first moved in to work on recording there. Joe doesn’t stick around, he can’t, he tells us before rushing back to where he’d been working and disappearing from the halls of the recording studio. Even though he’s gone, Dixon has nothing but praise for Joe and the skills he brings to mixing and producing, continuing on about him. Joe hasn’t worked on any Heart Attack songs directly, but it’s less about what he’s done for Heart Attack at the sound stations and more so about how “it’s been an incredible learning opportunity to just be able to sit down with him and listen to him talk about what he does and the magic of it.”

Just walking through the halls, en route to Heart Attack’s dedicated space, it’s clear that the studio has an effect on Dixon. He’s more awake, energetic, and constantly trying to point out something on the walls that are covered from floor to ceiling in photographs, news clippings, and poster. His nervousness has been left behind at the doors and now he is full of endearment and gratitude towards everyone and everything around him. It’s almost surprising when he starts telling me about how he doesn’t often do interviews, and even more rarely individual profiles like this one. But he’s right. Most media coverage for Heart Attack has focused on the band as a whole or its stage dominating members. He doesn’t mind that he says, the others are better at it according to him.

Today is new for him, and he’s agreed to it for a reason that is all but clear from the way he lights up at each and every thing he shows me. Heart Attack is everything to Dixon, and while it’s a profile on him, he is intent on making sure I don’t miss a word that he has to share about the band, its members, and it’s growth over the years through his jumpy and somewhat frantic monologues. Just when he’s about to tell me about a photo on the wall of a smaller indie band, he’s distracted by the sight of a recording session in progress. He then follows it up by asking me questions, and lots of them, and as time goes on it’s not entirely certain who is interviewing who. Through all of his frenzy, I get a genuine look into who he is unobstructed by flashing lights and the cheering of fans. Romeo Dixon is just a guy that cares.

Dixon has been a musician since as long as he can remember, although he says he wouldn’t call himself that when he first started playing the piano at age four. In his own words, he thinks he “was much more of a noise maker than anything else. There wasn’t talent there, just a whole lot of key smashing.” He comes from an art inclined family, with his parents running their own theatre company for Shakespeare plays and more recently original works. He denies acting much, although not out of any stage fright that one might assume. The stage itself was never something frightening to him. It still isn’t, Dixon says, although he thinks it’s because he tends to be further back than front man Jesse ‘Mac’ McCoy or bassist Jessie Wilson. There’s some comfort in where he’s located. It allows him the best view of every show, and to continue experiencing the atmosphere of a live performance and the way people are brought together in the process. It’s a love that began when he was working alongside his parents as a kid.

By now we’ve moved on from the hallway, and are situated in the center Heart Attack’s space. In every direction there is so much character and life to the waiting and still instruments. It’s clear everything is well loved, and although it’s missing the rest of its band, the room is no less full of character. Dixon shows me all the instruments they have in the studio. Each piece is more coated in stickers than the last, and he can’t resist playing a few keys or strumming a small tune on each one.

I ask him if there’s any instrument that he doesn’t play, a favorite that has perhaps evaded his skill set.

He’s surprised at first by the question, a little lost how to answer, explaining first that, “you sort of pick up a ton of stuff when you’re making bands and producing your own stuff and that all sort of feeds into our sound too.” When it comes to favorites, “If I’ve got one it’s probably in the band. I’m no guitarist like the others but I play,” he says, modestly, as if he hadn’t just played the intro to one of their songs for me moments ago.

“I guess… I guess sax?” Dixon goes on to say. “I’ve never tried those types on instruments, the horns and the woodwinds and… I’ve never tried those. I’d like to for sure. We had a sax player join us for a bit when we were working on our recent stuff which was incredible. It was a whole new sound and… I don’t think I’m supposed to be talking about that actually. Forget that I said that. Or… no you can include it. We have a sax on a couple songs in this album. You can write that, just promise you’ll go listen to the album when it actually comes out. That’s all I’ll say. You gotta listen to it. It’s really awesome.” I promise him that I will.

Arriving at his drum set, he has an overflowing basket of drumsticks by its side. There’s so many, and they all vary in color, size, and age. When he sees me staring, he’s already ready to jump into an explaination about all of them. The brand he has the most is Vic Firth, a very popular brand amongst drummers of all levels, and they’re also the sticks he tends to prefer.

Amongst the pile, there’s a standout pair: custom Heart Attack sticks.

“They’re a gift,” Dixon explains. “Most of my sticks are, but these are probably the best gift I’ve ever gotten, and they were from Jessie. They got me these right around when they joined the band too so it was just an incredibly thoughtful gift from her.”

“So are sticks the perfect birthday gift for you?” I ask. He laughs at that, shrugging.

“I don’t know. I feel like I have enough sticks.” Looking at his basket, I’d have to agree. “I feel like birthday gifts are always a from the heart, from the other person sort of thing. it’s not something you ask for does that make sense? so picking a perfect gift is… What I need is a better car, but I’d never ask anyone for that. That’s a crazy expensive birthday gift.”

We finally finish up the tour of the space, although tour is a generous word. They may as well constantly be performing a tiny desk concert with the incredibly limited size of the space. They make the most of it, according to Dixon, and they have no complaints for now. In this city, and on their budget, they’ll take anything they can get.

I join him as he sits on the floor, although he offers me a chair and just about everything else first. The floor is a comfier than expected seat, and sitting at his level I can get a peak into what long hours must be like in this exact spot. Staring up at the ceiling, I start to ask him about the band, and what the process tends to be for all their music making.

“I don’t know what it’s like for everyone else on their own, we’ve talked about it over the years but the process has changed a lot for me at least that I imagine it has a bit for the others,” Dixon begins to tell me. “That and songwriting on our own is just so private, y’know? It’s something we all have a very specific ritual for and then when we feel like something could go somewhere, that’s when we come together.”

“I think when some of us were first getting into it we relied a lot on the word and advice of artists we liked, which is cool and worked to some extent, but as Heart Attack it’s something we had to figure out as a band.”

Most of Heart Attack’s members, current and past, lack a formal background in music, and they’ve previously credited a lot of their growth to each other, online resources, and trial and error.

“Sometimes we all just sit around a room, mostly this room, with our gear and it’s just about working in the same space as each other. We do that a fair bit because we like to bounce stuff off of each other. When we’re together, one of us sort of throws something out there and we sorta build on it, play around a lot with it and see where we can take it and then the song probably goes through fifty different changes in that process. It’s not even really a song yet, just something we’re all messing with.”

He asks me then what I like to listen to, or if I’ve gotten into any new music lately. I tell him about a couple artists, and he takes all the suggestions quite seriously, writing them down in his phone.

“A big part of making music is also discovering music. We do a lot of listening to other artists and genres and we’ll share a lot of recommendations and playlists with one another. It’s how we grow and figure out what we like and don’t like and also what we could be doing.”

On the subject of learning and advice, we start getting into Heart Attack’s influences. While Dixon has a lot of personal heroes, when it comes to music and the band, he says it’s mostly rock and roll.

“Mac and I are big fans of The Who, The Kinks, Ramones, U2. Crash likes a lot of stuff, they’re pretty all over the place. Jessie brings a lot more alt to it and I mean she’s really contributed the most to our sound lately. The influence list is sort of endless now.”

As to how it’s changed them, Dixon says, “the indie rock scene has been becoming a bigger and bigger thing in the last decade and it’s taken on a somewhat new meaning. you hear the words indie rock and there’s a certain idea or sound that comes to mind. That has taken a big toll on all of us as musicians. In a good way. The indie genre is changing, we’re changing. We’re going to keep changing and that’s okay.”

“Is your songwriting process different from what you do as a group?”

“That’s different. Yeah. That’s pretty different. On my own is hard to explain, like I said before, it’s really personal and specific. I record everything, all the time. That’s a very big part of it and it’s a little slow sometimes too.” He’s comfortable writing anywhere, especially in the studio, but what he needs most is silence. “Is that weird?”

“I think it makes sense.”

“And it’s still fun, it’s just not the same kind of fun as when we do it together. It’s a more individual personal fun when I write alone. I’m never miserable when I write. I don’t really write from that place, it’s not what our music is about usually.”

In the last year, anticipation has grown for the soon to be released Heart Attack album, and its fanbase has tripled. With the quick rise on the eve of the band’s album, I ask him how the fame specifically has changed things for the band, and for himself.

“We’re busier. I’m busier. It’s all very busy,” he admits.

“Touring and playing live is great. It’s really unlike any other experience, and I’m incredibly thankful that we have been doing it so much. It sort of changes the songs to do them live, it gives them a lot more depth and meaning and getting to see the love people have for them has us all pretty breathless by the end of the night.” There’s an obvious but coming despite his enthusiasm. He doesn’t want me to misinterpret the love and dedication he has to the fans. I assure him it’s certainly not lost on me, and only then does he nod and give me what’s clearly the second half of his answer.

“But there’s a lot of recovery we all have to do. The people are great, we all get along great, but we do all need our time after the shows and the recording sessions to just get back to ourselves and our lives. Jessie has some of their own stuff going on and Crash too, some of us are still working other jobs and there’s always family stuff going on and any number of personal things. So there’s that part of it.” He sighs, settling in. It’s off his chest now.

“I spend a lot of time in my room. I like to call my mom pretty frequently, we just talk all that stuff through. She gets it, cause she’s been there a little bit with the theater stuff and touring.” Since the band came together, Dixon’s spearheaded all their managerial responsibilities. It’s clear from the way he talks about the band and their future that although it’s taken a toll, he’s far from burning out. He just needs his alone time like anybody else. “It helps that I have good people, I have really good people in my life who listen, and also they don’t let me stay in my room forever. They drag me out to be a real person.”

“That’s important,” I tell him.

Dixon agrees.

Heart Attack’s third album comes out in August.

#thank you to everyone who sent me questions for romeo that made this incredibly long writing piece possible #this was a lot of fun to write but i am also horrified at how long it turned out… my goal was short little fun pieces and this is… not that #its still fun. its just not short #anyways enjoy a little look into romeo and the band and his thoughts on music and stuff!!#im gonna be doing these for other muses on this blog but probably not as long #this was inspired heavily by a couple of different articles with actors & musicians #can we tell ive been in journalism for like a decade #headcanons ⋆˙ romeo dixon #dyn : heart attack ⋆˙ i know I’ll be a ok

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physalian · 2 months ago

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Y'all ever heard of "IB"? I'll tell you my tale of woe

So we know the US education system is ass, right? The pressure to get good grades over actually learning anything is detrimental to both learning and the desire to seek knowledge and discover our world.

Well I have a little story, about this exact principle on acid. Idk if anyone on here will ever be in/or is already in something called the “International Baccalaureate” (IB) program. What it is, is an “intensely rigorous” allegedly-standardized method of schooling that’s supposed to be transferrable between countries. Like, if I went to an IB school in America, I could transfer to the equivalent education level in France and not be completely lost. That’s the point.

It's way harder than traditional high school, with zero focus on things like arts and physical education (you know, important shit) and a draconian dedication to STEM… and nothing else.

If it’s not clear, this shit did irreparable damage to my high school career, so this is a warning to anyone considering it: If you are not neurotypical and somebody who’s willing to get hospitalized over how stressed you are (which did happen to a friend of mine) maybe skip the snobbish high school? If you don’t plan on being a lawyer or a doctor, maybe skip this bullshit.

—

So, guess who did not know that they’re neurodivergent back then? Me. Somewhere in the realm of ADHD and Autism, possibly both, who knows? Either way, I’m “high functioning” and you’d never know, or so I’ve been told.

I went to this high school because I wanted to be with all my super smart friends, and bought into the classist bullshit of “traditional high school is for dumb kids” and the whole “honors program” hierarchy—in my middle school, your first year there, you were separated into four groups of students.

Group A was the dumb kids, and everybody knew it. Groups B and C were the average-intelligence kids. Group D were the “honors” kids. First day in 6th grade, you were literally handed a themed t-shirt and compared to every other kid you know and don’t know and implicitly told “you’re not as smart as these kids and we want you to know it”. I was in the B-C group, which absolutely led to “well I’m not smart enough to be in D, but at least I’m not an idiot like A”.

Super healthy shit to teach children.

You did not have classes outside of your group. It wasn’t like elementary school where honors kids split off for a few hours but were still in your class. It was a complete social schism, and you only saw these people during lunch and maybe across the yard in P.E.

Fuck that school.

So anyway, with that damage done, I wanted to go to the fancy high school with all my smart friends, applied, and got in.

When I was younger, I had a massive procrastination problem. The usual stuff, like not starting a project until the night before it was due, forging my parents’ signatures on forms they were supposed to sign as the teacher was collecting them (got super good at that, bet school wishes they hadn’t encouraged it), doing homework in homeroom the morning of, and completely forgetting about readings and such.

Not the case now, but back then it was chronic.

In regular “dumb-dumb” school, one can get away with neglecting a little work.

In IB, if you fuck up in year one, that fuckup will haunt you through your entire high school experience. Everything in IB builds on itself, so if you have a shitty foundation, you are screwed without even realizing it, and there is little fixing it.

IB is also structured irregularly compared to traditional American high school. You only have four “blocks” of classes each day, and they switch off every other day. So I’d have Day 1 on M, W, F one week, and then T R the next week, yada yada, with those blocks lasting 90 minutes. As opposed to the 50-ish minute classes with the same schedule daily.

You would think that this would make it easier, as teachers had more time per period to really dive deep into subject matter without being rushed.

You would be wrong.

IB, like with all American schools, focuses on quantity over quality. Quantity in every facet of schooling. I needed a rolling backpack so I didn’t fuck up my spine hauling around my textbooks because the school didn’t have classroom copies/you needed them every goddamn night for homework and in class. The amount of homework, frequency of tests and quizzes, all that, is increased compared to traditional school.

But my very first class, my 1:1, was Algebra 2. Reader: I am awful at algebra. I cannot learn concepts without being able to ground them in realty. Geometry always came easy to me, because you can see and touch geometry. It has practical uses and follows logic. I can use a formula to measure the volume of a box, or I can bust out the tape measure by hand and get the exact same answer.

Algebra is fictitious, it’s not grounded in the tangibility of geometry, and once we hit stuff like quadratic equations, without being able to understand why I was learning what I was learning and how this all fits in to the greater concept of mathematics and why it matters, I not only checked out, but started to feel very, very stupid.

This was my very first class.

I almost failed Algebra 2. I had gone down to a 33%, because my teacher, for this super smart and super fancy high school, taught the same way every other teacher in that godforsaken place taught: Lecture.

If you do not learn through lecture, you’re fucked at an IB school. If you cannot process and retain information simply because someone tells it to you, you’re fucked. If staring at a 70-slide powerpoint presentation is understimulating, you’re fucked.

This teacher’s personality in particular was absolutely nasty. Haughty as the rest of the school, who made jokes at the idea of returning to the “trads” and the “dumb kids” at regular high school if you dropped out, and we had several who were way smarter than me who left by day 3, who were able to understand that this was not for them, while I stuck it out for 2 years.

I brought that 33% up to a 65% and got my first ever D.

But that first class, opening day of my high school career, left an impression that I carried with me for two whole years: Out of absolute terror of being thought of as “dumb” by leaving all my friends to go to traditional high school, I chose to be the dumbest of the “smart kids” instead of the “smartest” of the “dumb” kids.

And I paid for it.

I spent two whole years completely checked out and unwilling to learn because of this one math teacher on my first day of high school. Once I figured out that this man and this institution did not give a single fuck if I passed and would not change their teaching style at all to accommodate me, I could not be bothered.

I still got decent grades, and I did have classes, like geometry and my second year of English, in which I excelled. I had teachers who cared and loved their jobs, but by and large, I spent two whole years suffering because of the social pressure to pretend to be neurotypical, to learn the “normal” way, to pretend to be the only valid definition of “smart”. I had a Spanish teacher who gave me dresscode 3 days before the end of the school year, right after I failed an oral exam, in the back of the class where everyone could hear us. The entire foreign language department of conservative bitches stared at the girls wearing shorts with far more intensity than they should have.

We had this thing for “volunteer” hours that had three groups: community service, creative hours, and one other thing I can’t remember. I do remember desperately approaching my shit guidance councilor, the sole lady responsible for the entire school’s population of IB kids, asking if I could count my builds in Minecraft as part of my creative hours because I needed a certain number of hours to pass.

She I guess heard “video game” and thought I was slacking off killing mobs, when I played the game for the builds. But “creativity” only counts if it’s what they define as “creativity”.

Every step of the way, this education program demanded more. I got humiliated by multiple teachers in front of multiple classes because I did not understand something and got so upset that I cried, and they refused to explain it in any other way except repeating what they’d already said in lecture. I lived 45 minutes away from this school by bus and my parents couldn't come pick me up or drop me off to use office hours or study groups even if I wanted to, and I sure as hell didn't have a car.

So when I left, to go back to my regional high school for my junior and senior year (after getting gaslit and guilted by my parents for “failing to uphold my commitments”) turns out, I’m not an idiot.

Suddenly, I had teachers who gave a shit. I was turning in assignments on time. I was doing my homework the night it was given. I was starting projects in the very next class. I finally got straight-As. I liked learning again.

Turns out, not every “smart” kid I knew went to IB, they were instead very successfully running my regional high school’s SGA. They were doing just fine in getting into the colleges of their dreams and pursuing STEM. They didn’t need IB one bit.

The only good thing IB gave me was that by the time I got to college, it was a breeze.

All these years later, the thing that sticks with me the most was how much of a sham the whole thing is, and this insidious caste system of perceived intelligence. My super fancy IB school was inside of a larger high school built in a rural area, and put there to make that school look smarter.

So you had this institution not only giving these rural kids an enemy to hate, but reinforcing an idea that they’re not as smart as the special IB kids. And in turn, you’re telling the IB kids “you’re better than your peers, look at how dumb they are”.

While then sacrificing absolutely everything in the name of "quality education". Arts and music, physical exercise and sports, free time outside of school now spent doing homework, free time at all to have a mental break from it, and time to go to clubs and school events. You could take those extra classes, sure, but it cost you in time you needed to do all your other non-negotiable homework. You might graduate and get into Harvard Law, but you might get there with a heart condition from stress that you'll have for the rest of your life. Is that degree worth it?

But also how narrow and antiquated this idea of intelligence and learning is. I’m someone who, by and large, does not need to study, so long as I care about the subject matter.

One time in college, I took astronomy. I love astronomy. I ditched a class once and forgot all about a big unit test we had coming up. I walked into the next class to that test, having prepared nothing, and wrote a note on the top of my test before taking it apologizing to my astronomy professor for the F I was about to get.

I got the highest score in the class (a 92 I think), having only paid attention during lecture, because I cared and I wanted to learn and was able to retain everything only from hearing it, seeing it, and writing it down once. So long as something is grounded in the context of why it matters, one lecture is usually all I need, and I am consistently the fastest test-taker I know.

But back in high school, once the “you are not supposed to be here” baked in and solidified within the first week, that was detrimental for two long and stressful years, and, guess what? I’m not friends with any of those people anymore.

I probably could have done it, but the attitude of that pretentious, bullshit program ruined it. The people who stayed all four years? Some ended up at my college anyway, they just got better scholarships.

So to anyone who’s thinking about IB or knows anyone thinking about it or who is already struggling and suffering: Unless you plan on being a doctor or a lawyer, it’s not worth it, and you aren’t “smarter” just because you can learn one very specific way. I left after two years and never went back.

#physh be rambling #american education #international baccalaureate #long post

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sparkylilacs · 4 months ago

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The Amazing Adventures of Spider-Kid! Chapter 5

My real name is actually Jadin May Parker. My parents were-are Mary Jane Watson Park- "Like that new movie star?" Hey asks. Truly surprised, I look down at him, "What?".

"Mary Jane Watson, the star of that new movie about the talent show winner. Seriously, you haven't heard about it?". I shake my head. "The Great Morning America channel has been promoting her interview and performance nonstop. It'll be here at Thyme Square next month?". Shaking my head again I decide to continue without further comment.

And my dad is Peter Parker. They were high school sweethearts who got married in college. But Mom ended up dropping out after Beni and I came along. I can remember the night my brother was born, Dad was gone again. He always seemed to work extra hours. So Mom left to catch a taxi to the hospital telling me to stay at the apartment saying she'd call my Great Aunt May to get me. After a few hours I figured she must have been too busy, what with birthing a baby and all. Being only four I simply kept waiting. Eating a supper of soda crackers and grapes I stayed up in the kitchen coloring with my favorite sock monkey,Stinky. Dad named him that after I accidentally spilled almost an entire jar of pickle juice on him. Late in the night, like 2 in the morning, I had fallen asleep at the table. I woke up to noise in my parent's bedroom. Scared and disoriented from sleeping on the hard table I hunkered down in my chair hugging Stinky hard and peering over the table only to see Dad limp into the kitchen. He took out some food and started eating. I just stared at him until he noticed me and we stared at each other. Mouth full he asked where Mom was I told him the hospital, he asked why, so I said to have the baby. Swallowing what was in his mouth he said, "Has it been nine months already?" Then he started to grab shoes and stuff. When I asked what he was doing he replied to head to the hospital and see them. It was probably one of the most exciting things I had ever done in my four years of living. Riding the subway with Dad in the middle of the night with everything so different from the daytime. It was also probably one of my favorite memories when I got to hold Beni for the first time.

He was named after my Great Aunt May's husband who died long before either of us were born. For a few years things seemed okay. As Beni got older we were left at Aunt May's more often, I remember playing under the table of her poker nights with Beni. Aunt May told me to not mention the games to my parents though. When I asked Mom what she was always doing while we stayed with Aunt May, she'd say chasing a lost dream. Meanwhile Dad always seemed to be needed at work. I had a vague idea he worked for a research firm, but didn't know or understand the details. When he'd get home late or have to leave during a meal Mom would get mad. Sometimes she pretended not to care, but some nights I heard them fighting. Then one day she was gone. I think she left Dad a note to explain, and while I sometimes caught Dad wistfully reading a piece of paper, I never found anything when I looked through his room. Still I think her leaving had something to do with that dream she said she had lost. Mom's departure hit Dad hard, though he tried to show a strong front to us kids. We stayed after school at Aunt May's, even though he was four Beni was smart enough for kindergarten. Until one day about a year after Mom left. I was playing by myself in the backyard when I just knew something bad was happening to Aunt May. I started crying and ran into the house to find her. I screamed so loudly the neighbors came over, she was in the front hall: heart attack. They called an ambulance but she was already gone. In her will she left the house to my Dad so we moved in. We didn't get to stay long though because this is where things got weird.

In the middle of the night I found myself awake, but not sure of what had woken me then the whole house shook, something was on the roof. Hearing Beni cry out I dodged pieces of the roof as the house kept shaking. Finding him in his bed I saw he had been hit by cracked plaster chunk, there was an awful gash bleeding on his scalp. I pulled him out of the bed, which was not easy as he was a chunky four-year old and hid us under the bed as more pieces of the roof and walls started to fall. It felt like forever but was probably not more than 10 minutes until the house practically collapsed around us. We could hear fighting the whole time. Ready to jump out of our skin there was short silence. We could hear a desperate scraping, scrabbling and thudding coming nearer. I almost screamed when a bloody hand broke through the rubble that had become the doorway. The hand led to an arm then a whole body made its way inside. In my arms Beni was shaking, when I recognized the inhuman face. It was Spider-Man. Trying to reassure Beni it was alright now, because like everyone I had seen the articles and news stories of the amazing superhero. My efforts did not help, Beni cried harder, that's when Spider-Man took his mask off and it took me a moment to recognize my Dad.

"Wait up, you are trying to tell me you are Spider-Man's kid," Hey was giving me the-you-are-crazy look. Which is how telling someone "why I'm in the system and my family is shattered like Aunt May's house" scenario in my head always ended. "Yup, that is exactly it. Although I probably shouldn't have told you," I say, deciding perhaps to just stop talking now. “Sorry, keep going, I won’t interrupt again,” Hey apologizes. Giving him a hard stare and after a few seconds of silence I continue.

After I crawled out from under the bed dragging Beni with me it was the only time I saw my dad cry. He got us out of the wreckage holding Beni to his chest. He was really worried about Beni. On the way to the hospital Dad explained to me some big supervillain had found out where we lived he said we weren't safe with him. He asked me to look after Beni and not to tell anyone our real names in case that was how the supervillain had found him. I almost messed that part up, but the nurse at the hospital misunderstood me when I stopped myself before Parker and mistook May for our last name.

Hey was still giving me that “you're crazy” look as he said, "A lot of kids come here with tall tales I don't believe. And if I wasn't staring at you upside down on the ceiling and you hadn't saved me from that truck today I wouldn't believe you,” he paused for a moment then asked, “So what now?". Sighing, with a breath I had scarcely been aware I'd held, I abruptly fell onto the top bunk with a grin. After all these years finally I was going to be able to prove to my dad it would be safe to take us back. That maybe I could even help him. Still grinning at Hey I ask, “Robot nerd, huh, think you can make a pair of web shooters?".

#fanfic #into the spider verse #comic art #mj watson #spider man fanfiction #spidey #spiderman #across the spiderverse #spidersona #ultimate spider man #The Amazing Adventures of Spider-Kid #my art #my writing #my ocs #amazing spider man #spiderman homecoming

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