#and when i went off to college she sent me emails that read just like renee's to bella

[lawva-girl]

Historically.. We don't mix. pt. 2

Law x fem!Reader, College AU

Pt. 1

Notes: Sorry i took forever, i kinda forgot i even posted this... HERES PT 2!!! let me know about any ponderances or possibly any errors... i dont have a beta reader or anything.. ALSO i could not come up with a nickname for reader..... so in the chat rooms i put "Y:" for "You". PLEASE tell me suggestions i will go back and fix it :D

WC: 2526

Back at the dorm that Law and Bepo shared, there was no chatter. Law was simply laying in bed with his laptop open to 5 tabs, one for each of the classes he was taking. He was taking all history classes this semester, since his counselor told him to. He would definitely miss the bio information but he did like history. Scrolling through each class, he breezed through all of the syllabus quizzes. Once he felt satisfied, it was onto checking his email, with one catching his attention. 

“DIRE!! MAKE AN APPOINTMENT OR TEXT ME ITS EMERGENT!” The email title felt like a scam but he knew it was not, in fact it was a daily burden. The man who had sent it, his counselor and adoptive father, always communicated like this. After opening the email, he found himself irritated again, Cora had only wanted to remind him that classes start today. 

“How would I not know?” Law muttered to himself. Reading through the email, then deciding he had been too neglectful of the man Law opened up their chat.

L: I know it was the first day, I got to my first two classes on time.  C: Good!!! I miss you! <3  C: Any new friends?!  C: Do you like your professors?? I hand picked them :D  L: Hand picked? You are making me socialize on purpose.  C: Not true! Nico Robin is the smartest! She already had her masters by the time most have an associates!  L: The classes are fine. Bepo made a friend, her name is Perona. C: Oh! Mihawk’s kid! Good to know she’s here! Is his step-daughter here too? Maybe y/n?  L: Yes.  C: Oh! I heard she’s similar to you! Maybe you two can be friends or something?  L: How long did you have to think to come up with this plan of yours?  C: No idea what you are talking about…. L: Cora.  C: … C: Anyways, have you gotten all the textbooks you need?  C: I want to make sure you find them all!  C: It's my job, you know.  L: I still have two more classes to go to tomorrow, but i’ll be fine.  L: Thanks.  C: Anything for you! We should meet for lunch soon! I can make you salmon rice balls! Like when you were still a baby… remember? You loved my cooking! L: I did not. You should not be in a kitchen alone, Ill meet you on friday at 11.  L: Don’t start until i'm there. Please.  C: Okay !!!!! C: I'll see you then law! C: Cant wait ! C: Sleep tight <3<3<3 

Law closed his laptop, relaxing his shoulders. He glanced over and Bepo was already asleep. He kicked off his blanket and got up to go to the bathroom. After he finished his business, washing his hands like any good bio major, he strolled to the microwave area. He had only wanted water but he saw the picture of him holding a letter, standing next to Cora. Staring at it, he wondered why the giant had wanted him to socialize so much. It’s not like he never sees human faces, or stays inside all day everyday. He just liked being alone when he could, no one to ask him stupid questions. 

After finishing his water, Law went back to bed. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The two went through the rest of the week, meeting each other an embarrassing amount of times. Neither one had any reason to talk to the other, so they didn’t. Until Wednesday rolled around, and they were back in Nico Robin’s class. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Someone has it out for me. I know it for sure” You wrote in your journal, along with the date and class name. Looking at Law, like you had these past two days, made you realize it more. 

“I have pissed off whatever god actually exists and they want me to repent. There is no way that all four of my classes are naturally shared with Trafalgar.” You finish scribbling away in your journal, just in time. 

“Okay, pass forward the paper I handed out to you. This was just a fun assignment to see what areas we, as a class, are most interested in.” She spoke smoothly, with an even tone. It was almost like she didn’t care, or like she had done this 20 times. 

You heard some of your classmates groan and while you agreed, you thought it was inappropriate to voice that. Tapping a pen on the paper of your journal idly, you waited for more instructions. Even though your classmates weren't raised well, your father had done a fine job with you. You were nice, respectful, studious. Sure you are shy but it's not like it mattered. 

Why speak to people and risk being embarrassed if they don’t want to talk to you? 

“Okay, as I said before this class is based in groups and communication. Please tell one person about what you studied for this assignment.” Robin had said before sitting at her desk with a book in hand. 

Suddenly everyone was talking but you and one other person. 

“My assignment is on the Five years war. I chose it because of a coin flip, I found the sources in the library database.” Already you were irritated. Another interaction with the man who had no manners. 

“Hello. That is how you start a conversation, who raised you? Anyways, my assignment is on the First Crusade. I chose it because it was the first war I thought of-” “Really? The first? Liar.” He interrupted you, of course a man like him would. 

You squinted at him, before responding with “Not lying, I was watching a documentary on the pope a day before class, which made me think of all the holy wars. It's not polite to interrupt people.” 

“Okay. I think we have discussed enough.” “Fine.” You scoffed at him mentally, before turning back to face the front of the room. 

“Okay now, I want someone to tell me about their partner's work! This is worth participation, as a friendly reminder.” She smiled eerily 

You did not raise your hand, in fact you looked away. If you were called on you would end up having to lie, since stupid Trafalgar didn’t tell you anything about his assignment. 

“Okay, randomly generated, we will have Mr. Trafalgar, Mr. Reyes, and Ms. Churchill. In that order please.” “My partner researched the First Crusade, she told me that she learned about the context of the war. Specifically Pope Urban the second’s motivations for launching the crusade, who was mainly following the lead of the Byzantine emperor. She also learned about the cost of the war, not only economically but also what it did for the Pope’s approval rating.” Incredible. He pulled all that from his ass? Wasn’t he a double major? How long ago did he even learn that? How was he able to say it so confidently? He is actually smart?! Hold on, he could’ve seen the same documentary you did and just so happened to remember important stuff. But even then, he didn’t even hesitate, he was so confident, even with a professor like Nico Robin. 

“Very good, point earned. Mr. Reyes?”

As he relaxed into his chair, you couldn’t help but stare. His hair was sticking out, a bit unruly from his beanie. It was white with weird black spots on it, maybe a statement about faux animal fur? Could he be vegetarian or something? Maybe he likes to hunt? His sideburns went right into his weird facial hair, “should be shaved” was scribbled into your journal, along with “spots?” and of course “T is smart?”. You saw his black hair under his beanie and thought of your father, who would never slouch like the man in front of you was. 

“Okay good to hear. This wraps up our class for today, I’ll see you all on monday.” 

You started gathering your things, excited to go back to Perona. She promised she would have your favorite food ready for you as soon as your class ended. It was a little weird, but you two always were close. 

“Are you always the last to leave?” The sudden voice pulled you from your thoughts, and made you drop your pencil case. No pencils escaped but the case clunked right under whoever had just shocked you. Law, with no expression on his face, immediately thought of his giant  adoptive father; who was extremely clumsy.  

“No. Are you stalking me? I feel like the campus police or a trusted adult should know about this.” You looked up at him, not reaching for your case at all. 

“I’m not, somehow, we have the exact same class schedule. With the exception of my online class.” “That's crazy buddy… Will you grab my case?”

“You can’t get it yourself?” He scoffed and folded his arms. 

“I think the reason why I dropped it should be the one to get it for me, no?” You thought he looked childish, folding his arms like he just got told to go to his room. 

“Fine.” He reached down, grabbing the case and placing it on your desk, “even though you were closer to the floor… I'm sorry.” He looked away as he said it. Once again you thought he was childish. 

You found yourself staring again. This time you noticed his hands, the word ‘death’ tattooed on his fingers, and the heart on the back of his hand. Shocked to say the least.

“Holy shit.” Huh? You said that outloud? Maybe you weren’t nice. 

You looked up to see Law’s face, somewhere between shock and disgust.

“Oh uh.. I meant, holy shit your tattoos are cool. They look like they hurt.” Maybe you saved it, you really did mean it in admiration. 

“It was painful, but worth it. Bearable at times.” He looked at his hand and held it up between the two of you. Shocked that he held it up for display, you raised your eyebrows. Staring at the tattoo, you were about to reach out and hold his hand closer so you could get a better look at the line work. Then your thoughts were interrupted.

“I know we aren’t on the best terms, but you heard the professor. I think it would be a good idea to bite the bullet and partner up.” He said it so matter-of-factly you almost agreed without realizing you were lost. 

“Huh? Partner?” you blinked up at him. “Of course you weren’t paying attention. The collaborative presentation that you and another student must present on the 18th?” He sounded annoyed, but his face wasn’t telling. 

“Yes! Sorry I got lost in my thoughts, we might as well partner up. I don’t have anyone else in mind, so I can stick with you.” You finished packing, finally, and stood up. Swinging your bag onto your back, you held out your hand towards him. 

“Okay… What is that for?” He nodded down to your hand. 

“Give me your phone. I’ll put my email in. We can make a google slide and share it that way.” 

He paused, with a semi frown on his face then gave up. He put his phone in your hand, and watched intently as you typed in something. Then you returned his phone, much to his delight. 

“Bye then. Just do 5 slides on the First Crusade or whatever other war the pope has started.” He put both of his hands in his pocket as he casually strolled out, leaving you to the room. 

“Hey! We should at least pretend you won't be a dick this whole time! Don’t boss me around!” You realized that you had said that just a bit too loud for the circumstances. Maybe you weren’t nice. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Y: Okay! I just left class, do you have my salmon nigiri?  Y: You won't believe how good I was today. P: WHST  P: who are you?  P: The y/n i know would never ever say that.  P: Yes i do have it ready :) Y: I had to partner up with Him :/  Y: The strength  Y: Also he has finger tattoos?  Y: What the fuck.  P: You didn’t see them before?  Y: Sir traffy has been through it P: I wonder if hes like some ex-gang member? P: That is such a gang member thing to get tattooed P: Why aren’t you responding?  P: Helllllooooooo  P: y/n P: y/n P: ….

“Rona! You are literally crazy. I was walking over here, that's why I wasn’t responding.” You closed the door behind you, making sure to lock it. 

“Anyways! I’ve never seen you have such a strong reaction! To a guy no less, did he like to recite everything in the declaration of independence?” Perona called out to you while you entered and took off your shoes.

You walked over to the kitchen, where she wasdoing some dishes. Tossing your bag on the couch, then taking a seat at the bar that was connected to the kitchen. “If he did that I would’ve proposed on the spot… He just is kinda smart? It’s freaky! One second he’s brushing me off and not wanting to talk to me at all, the next he's explaining the cause of the First Crusade? Well… Kinda.” Perona turned with two plates in hand, and took a seat next to you. She placed the plate of sushi in front of you, “Well honestly i'm not surprised… Bepo says he is always studying.” 

“You talk about him with Bepo? Perona…” you made a disappointed face at her as you pulled your plate closer to you. “Noooo it’s all kosher! Bepo just offers up info about everyone he knows. I think he just doesn’t have a filter or whatever.”

“Yeah…” you took a piece of nigiri and dipped it, then ate it. As you chewed and swallowed you thought of your dad, “Do you think your dad would come visit us here?” 

“Hmmm only if your dad forced him to. I can picture it now ‘don’t you miss our girls?’ ‘Yes.’ ‘Then lets go! You pay and ill bring the beer!’ ‘beer isn’t allowed on a plane shanks’ or something like that…” Perona tried her best but didn’t really get the overall attitude of your dads. You decided not to comment and just take another bite. 

“Do I get to know why you asked?” Perona said, food in her mouth.

“Traffy, as you call him, has hair as dark as Mihawk’s. It made me think of him today…”

“Sigmund Frued would have a lot to say to you right now.” “No he wouldn't, he’s dead.” 

“Not for long…” “What the fuck?” You both burst out in laughter at the same time, something you had only ever done with your sister. 

After dinner it was off to bed, except you weren’t actually sleeping. Your laptop was open on your lap, on the google slides page. The document was created, named, and shared to Traffy. It wasn’t the most well-mannered thing, but you decided that nicknames meant you’re friends. Your sister desperately wanted you to have friends, and this would make her think you had them. You didn’t like the deception, if you could call it that, but it's not like you were gonna go out and get real friends. 

You started typing away, filling out 3 slides with information and pictures before deciding to get actual sleep. 

[amarantine-amirite]

Outrun, Outpace, Outlast

I looked at the dog's breakfast of instructions for my writing assignment and said, "I can't take this. We had so much work put on us today, on top of what we got all week, and I can't possibly get it all done. I don't know what I'm going to do."

Mom heard me and replied, "I'm busy, too. I did the grocery shopping and I went to work. The only reason I made dinner tonight is that you forgot. Evelyn, is it so hard to make meals once in a while?" She didn't even look at me when she spoke.

Mom only told me I'd have to make meals for the 66 days that it took her to complete work on the Clappison file. She never told me I would be on dinner duty permanently. "You finished the Clappison thing a week ago, so why do I still have to make dinner?"

"Why is this such a big deal for you? It should be second nature by now" Mom huffed.

It would be second nature, except I have so many other things happening. I have school projects that require a lot of extra tools with cryptic setup instructions, textbook readings I have to do because the teachers can't teach, and college applications that crash so much as you look at them the wrong way. You can't build new habits if you are constantly fighting fires. "You just don't understand what I'm going through! You didn't have the same...never mind!" I stormed off, foolishly leaving the computer unattended.

Mom ran with the idea that social media was to blame, and one day, she deleted every single one of my socials when I wasn't looking.

This had deeper consequences than it appeared to. After Mom deleted my account, she tried to turn on the parental controls to block the social media sites I frequented to stop me from signing up for a new account. The computer crashed twice as she tried to do this. She had to reboot twice.

She got frustrated by how temperamental the computer was, so she did a factory reset. The factory reset erased all sorts of important stuff, like her will, my college essay, and loads of old family photos and past homework assignments.

There's a backup of my college essay on Mom's work computer. Getting it back wouldn't be easy. If she emailed it to me directly, it would put her security clearance in jeopardy. She's already got two strikes, both of which came from when I sent it to her the first time. If she gets one more strike, she loses her clearance, and if she loses her clearance, she gets fired.

The only way that we could recover the college essay would be if I copied it down from either the work computer or a printout. Both options require me to wait for Mom to provide the solution for me. She either has to ask permission to work from home because she can't bring me to the office or find a way to sneak the document home after she prints it since you aren't allowed to take printouts from work home with you. Neither one of them looks like it's going to materialize.

I can't just pick a new prompt and come up with something else. The common app picks your topic based on your month of birth. I was born in March, so my prompt was "what does the word gratitude mean to you?"

I got stuck the first time I did this because what looks like an open-ended prompt had a "correct" answer. They were looking for one of two responses: either "I am grateful for my health because I have an ailing family member" (this would sort you into pre-med or biology) or "I am grateful for my friends because my parents don't like me" (this would sort you into literature). I had to strategically write it so that it would sort me into the program I wanted, but at the same time, I wouldn't have to say anything that wasn't true. My essay said the first thing, but I used a lot of technology metaphors so that the sorting algorithm my schools of choice used in the admissions process would at least sort me into engineering.

Things weren't lining up for me to recover from the delete. That is, of course, until Heather told me that she found a USB stick with a copy of my college essay on it.

I had no idea it would lead to this.

I can see why Heather had us do this on skis. You can cover a lot of ground on cross-country skis. Plus, since only the toe of your boot is attached to your ski, cross-country skiers can go up and down, various types of terrain. It's a lot easier for cross-country skiers to go downhill than the other way around. "Heather, if you had told me that I would need to go cross-country skiing in the back field of a ski resort accessed through a deer path at the side of the road so I could recover my college essay, I would have thought you'd lost your marbles," I said

"I like cross-country a lot better than downhill because you don't have to get special poles with a ski blade on them. You can just put your ski boot on the prosthetic leg and go," Heather replied.

We made a good pace along the deer path. The terrain got easier once we made it to a dish-shaped clearing that glistened soft hues of pink and purple as the sunset reflected off the snow. Heather made the time-out T sign with her hands. "See that valley down there?" she said.

"Yeah," I panted, "is my USB stick in there?"

Heather nodded. "At the bottom of the valley is a cave that a very high profile criminal gang keeps their ill-gotten booty." She made a circling motion with her hand, emphasizing the fenced-off nook in the rocks on the east side of the basin. "The only thing guarding that cave is some caution tape and safety fencing"

I looked at her with a shocked expression. "Really?" I said with my jaw open like a codfish, "There's no way it can be that easy"

Heather chuckled, "Well, most people see the signs and think it's hazardous terrain. Some people get the idea that there's something cool back there and try to remove the safety fencing so they can see what it is, but give up because it's screwed down pretty tight." she then removed a large, impressive pair of wire cutter from her backpack, " but we came prepared"

We cut down the safety fencing and searched the cave for the USB stick. I poked around the remains of some Chinese lanterns, a piñata with the head missing (probably so they could hide drugs in it), what looked like a couple of stolen Frida Kahlo paintings, and some plastic ferns. "I don't see it anywhere" I heard Heather say.

"That's because it's here," I said, pointing at the Regency-era aired desk with angel figurines, candles, and shot glasses on it. I reached into the shot glass with Kermit the frog printed on it, pulled out the USB stick, and we both got the hell out of there.

I slipped the USB stick into the pocket of my snow pants. Once we got somewhere well-lit, Heather and I both high-fived.

"I don't believe we pulled this off!" I laughed.

"Me neither"

"Yeah, aren't they going to notice that someone was there?" I said.

Heather shook her head. "Probably not. If Ski Patrol sees the safety fencing cut down for any reason, they'll patch it up. Even if it isn't theirs."

"But what if they see all the stuff in the cave that we knocked over?" I asked.

"Again, not an issue. They'll just think one of their own was trying to hide something"

We had successfully liberated the USB stick. Job done, right?

Wrong. Two gangsters saw us make our way back to the car. They must have come back to the cave before the ski patrol people patched up the safety fence. They knew someone had been there.

One of them grabbed me from behind and pinned my arms behind my back. His buddy held Heather down and aimed a gun at her brainstem. "Bitch, give us back the USB stick or else!"

Things looked bleak. One false move and one or both of us would be dead. I had to think quickly. "Oh, we're not the guys who took your USB stick," I said, "they went for that helicopter." I pointed at the Channel 8 News Chopper with my head. "If you hurry, you can catch them!"

Both gangsters unhanded us and motored towards the helicopter, while we went in the opposite direction, back to the car. I went north, and Heather went east

I found somewhere high up where I got a good view of them grabbing onto the helicopter by the blades. It became increasingly clear that they had no idea how helicopters worked.

Helicopters don't start up right away. It takes 10 to 15 minutes for the blades to rotate at full speed. The first guy fell off before the blades could even complete their first rotation.

The second guy managed to hang on. But hanging on the blade destabilized the helicopter. Adding a human to helicopter blades causes more vibrations than you think. The chopper flipped over before it got off the ground.

I went another 100 yards and my phone rang. "Evelyn, where are you?" Heather said.

"At the chairlift dropoff, where are you?" I asked.

"I'm on the patio," she responded.

I turned around. I was up high enough that I could see the main building of the ski resort. Sure enough, they had a patio.

I made my way down to the resort's main building through the woods in between the hills "Lover's Lane" and "Swan Dive". Once I got to the resort, I instantly saw what Heather meant she said she was on the patio.

She lay there on her back with her prosthetic leg and skis missing. "You OK?" I asked.

"Funny story," she said, "I went off the end of the ski jump."

All she had to say was I went off the end of the ski jump, and I had a picture. Upon landing, she lost both skis and took quite a spill. It looked like she rolled down the hill eight times before finally crashing into the seating area of the resort. Her skis came off, and the leg came off. "Where did your skis go?" I giggled.

"Look around," Heather said.

I looked at the city bus and noticed that the ski attached to her natural leg went through the front window. "Oh look, here comes my prosthetic leg."

I soon saw the stray prosthetic leg ski down the remainder of the slope right into a group of kids in a ski lesson.

Heather got off easy. Sure, it knocked the wind out of her and wounded her pride, but seeing the disembodied leg in a ski and ski boot uncontrollably hurtle towards them scared the bejeezus out of ski lesson kids.

I don't think the ski lesson kids are going to ever be able to ski again. I think even looking at skis will be enough to trigger PTSD.

[spikeisawesome456]

what happened this weeek bro????

Well, funny you should ask that, my friend! Completely unprompted and everything! 😅

Ahhh. But BOY has this week been a chore. The last two days especially. I'll put this in a read more to prevent dash clutter, because this is a LOT. -.-

Anyway. For context, I am currently getting my master's degree in Educational Counseling, to hopefully become a school counselor. My college is completely online, which is helpful in some ways, unhelpful in others. I am also an after school teacher at an elementary school, a job I've had for almost 5 years now.

So, on Monday the 3rd, almost two weeks ago, my very last grad class started. My program has us doing one class a month, instead of five classes a semester or something, so this is my only class for this month (and the next, since this is a research class/my thesis class, and is logically a bit longer).

However, instead of hearing from my new professor on the 3rd, we had radio silence for a week. This was very frustrating, since I have quite a few questions about my research project that I came up with in my last class in December (yes, my last class ended in December, I guess they didn't have this class until April for some reason. I've been doing my internship the last 3 months though, so I was fine with it), but I decided to overlook it and do the assignments, which were just to submit the assignments from the last research class I took in December, which was easy.

Then, this Monday the 10th, I finally heard from my professor. She sent everyone a few emails at 3 am (??? Why 3 am I have no idea. I bet she finally checked her email, went "OH SHOOT I HAVE CLASS" and frantically send the emails), one of which said our first zoom class was that day at 5pm. Problem is, I work until 6:00 every week day, and I didn't have nearly enough time to ask for the hour off. Plus, I was a bit pissed at my prof for not giving enough warning. I sent an email asking if she would record the class, as well as asking her my main question I had. She replied back saying that she wanted to meet up with me privately, which I said that I was amenable to, telling her my availability. She then... emailed me back (calling me KAREN, when I had said my name is KATIE VERY CLEARLY IN MY CLOSER AND MY EMAIL IS LITERALLY MY FULL NAME) saying I didn't answer her????? When I very obviously did???

Well. Whatever, it was weird, but we eventually decided to meet Friday (today) at noon. I confirmed it, she didn't, but I just hoped she'd make the meeting.

Which... she did not. I sent her an email this morning at 7:00 asking for confirmation, and she never responded??? At all??? Like... dude??????? Finally, at noon, I decided to call it a wash and went to lunch with my parents. I had left my internship early for the meeting, too, and I was honestly super pissed.

But you want to know the kicker?? The real kick in the nuts????? When I finally got to lunch and sat down at 12:50... I opened my email for funsies and saw that she had finally emailed me... AT 12:15, SAYING THAT SHE WAS WAITING IN THE CLASS ZOOM LINK THAT SHE SENT THE CLASS. THAT SHE NEVER TOLD ME WE WERE SUPPOSED TO MEET IN. WHAT THE HELL.

I was SO DONE at this point I wanted to scream. I have since emailed the director of the whole program, her boss, and hopefully the director will get back to me... soon. But I have a feeling I will be stuck with this moron, for my most important class. And the worst thing is, I STILL DON'T HAVE AN ANSWER TO MY QUESTION, MEANING I DON'T KNOW IF I'M WASTING MY TIME DOING THIS WEEK'S HOMEWORK. AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH. Ugh.

Anyway. If you thought THAT was bad, I also found out that I'm apparently not enrolled in my second internship class, despite the fact I'm at the exact same location, with the exact same counselor as my supervisor (I have a new internship class every 200 hours apparently, needing 600 hours total). No one told me I needed to apply for each class, either. But regardless, I now have to apply to the next class, even though I just finished my last 200 hours and am now starting my next 200, but I don't even know if they will count because my school is incompetent. And on top of that, the person who is reviewing my application has no idea how to insert my birth day and SSN into the credential website to see if I am clear to work at a school. I'm just... so freaking done with this school, I HATE THEM SO MUCH AHHHHH.

AND THEN, ON TOP OF ALL THAT... At work yesterday, there was legit a NAKED MAN IN THE WINDOW OF THE HOUSE OVERLOOKING THE AREA WE HAVE THE KIDS PLAY IN EVERY DAY. AND TWO STUDENTS SAW HIM, ONE A KINDERGARTEN GIRL. AND SHE SAID SHE SAW EVERYTHING. This poor little girl... I looked to confirm there was indeed a naked man, and while I was able to look away fast enough to not see anything untoward (and the window was slightly blurred at least), I was able to confirm that he was, at least, not wearing a shirt or pants. Whether he had underwear on, I don't know, but it was still very disturbing, especially because he's been watching us for a few months now... I thought it was just some guy looking over his fence curiously at the kids outside, but now, I don't know. He definitely knew we were out there, since I am fairly certain I saw his face. My supervisor is handling this one, but I still am very creeped out by this.

Anyway, there is more, but I'm tired just writing this. I want to sleep for days, but I don't even get to rest this weekend, since I have homework THAT I DON'T KNOW WILL EVEN MATTER SINCE I DON'T KNOW IF I CAN DO MY RESEARCH, but whatever. WHATEVER. At least the work isn't hard. It's just coming up with my questionnaire for the kids to answer. But still!!!

So, that's how my week has been going. How's yours?? :-) :-) :-)

[contralto]

hi. ok. i caved and made a teacher crush blog after months of having feelings for a gay guy twice my age who singlehandedly turned me from lesbian to bisexual and is also my community college voice teacher. he shall be referred to by 💎 from here on out.

call me susie. they/she/he. i'm 26 and i've been in community college for like 7 years on and off. it's complicated but the long and short of it is severe depression plus learning disabilities plus a wholeass plague can really lengthen your time as a student. i also tried a few other majors before this one but they weren't my cup of tea, so in the end i went back to my roots as a musician. not sure if i can hack it as a performer, but for 💎's sake i'm gonna keep trying, because he says he can see me doing great things.

i feel like this image ^ in the teacher crush community cause a lot of y'all are high schoolers and i'm halfway through my twenties. let me tell you, it's a completely different vibe when both parties are grown adults. i had a few (less significant) tcs as a teenager, one as early as middle school, and in retrospect you really really REALLY do not want those feelings to be returned at that age. even now at age 26 it would still be colossally weird if 💎 returned my feelings just cause of like... moral implications and whatnot. but it would not be straight up illegal.

idk where i'm going with this but uhhh. my breaking point for making this blog was that i recently sent an email to 💎 about my mental health-- it started as a "hey i'm gonna be absent today" email and quickly devolved into a "i'm so depressed and scared that the depression will affect me as a student and a performer" email. i got a brief email back offering to set up an appointment with a school counselor for me, and i was worried he had just kind of (uncharacteristically) shrugged off my concerns.

today was different though. i sang a piece of my repertoire in front of 💎 and the other voice students, as you do in studio class, and in return got a METRIC TON of praise about my singing voice from him in front of all the other students-- and a lot of agreement from the other students, too.

after class, just when i thought i was done profusely blushing, he made heart hands 🫶 at me and told me something along the lines of "hey, i got your email, i wanted to tell you all this in person instead of in writing." i guess all that praise was his way of reassuring me that he'll be there for me even when my multitude of issues make things difficult.

icing on the cake though? he offered to talk about the email more over coffee. off campus. we haven't scheduled a day to do that yet, but maybe over the weekend or something? i'll put aside whatever time i need to for him. he's worth it.

if you've read this far all i can really say is "thank you" and also "pray that my dumb ass doesn't accidentally let something slip whenever the coffee meeting happens". byeeeee

[theficcafe]

𝐦𝐚𝐲𝐛𝐞 𝐢𝐭’𝐬 𝐚𝐛𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐭𝐢𝐦𝐞 𝐡𝐞 𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐠𝐞𝐭𝐬. - 02

↳ Genre: Angst, Fluff

↳ Pairing: college!gojo x fem!reader

↳ Warnings: unrequited love

↳ Playlist: (will link here!)

↳ Masterlist: 01 02

��And what can life be worth if the first rehearsal for life is life itself?”

“Aki, I don’t know how to start this email. 

It’s my first time writing one (to you) after I transitioned from the traditional handwritten messages. I just found out yesterday that you haven’t been receiving the letters I have been sending—they were delivered, but scattered on the doorstep of your apartment. A kind lady had found one hidden in the bushes while she was tending to her garden, and decided to give the number a call to let me know that my letter has fallen astray.

 I’ve been writing for years, Aki. Just how much have you received? Read? Written back? You wrote back to me the first six months but that was three years ago. Was that even you? Where are you, Aki? What happened? What’s happening? I am seething with anger and resentment right now. But most of all, my heart hurts. 

Have you forgotten about me? I miss you terribly. 

Every day's the same since you left. I sometimes wish you hadn’t, but I’d be lying if I said that if given the chance, I’ll stop you. I would never. You have a dream. Bigger than us. Bigger than you. Bigger than me. You have a dream so big it won’t fit in your tiny little heart. And because I love you, Aki, I let you go. 

But I didn’t know you’d leave me. 

I didn’t know that letting go meant losing you. 

Write back. Or not. I love you. 

Toru.”

Your mind swirled with confusion and shock as you read the last paragraph. A minute ago, you were scrolling through your SNS feed when you got an email from a person called Gojo Satoru—who you have never heard of, in your entire life. Yet here you are, completely hooked in his emotionally written letter as if this was made for you. Just how much do random email occurrences like this happen? One thing stood out, though. Aki. There could be millions of Aki out there, but one thing’s for sure—that is not your name, and not close to it at all. 

The fact that he’d send this directly to someone else’s email has you perplexed; you could not wrap your head around the idea of this “Gojo” mistaking your ten-year old email made solely for game freebies for his girlfriend’s email address.

So why is this letter in your inbox? 

Your alarm suddenly went off, enticing a loud shriek from you as you accidentally fell off your bed. Groaning, you sat up, checking the time. The clock read 6:36 am. Thanks, you thought, as you looked up at the ceiling. What a great wake up call! 

“Just in time,” you mumbled breathlessly from the shock your alarm clock has given you, “just in time.” 

“You know, if you’re just going to space out, I’m gonna have to fire you.” Your manager, Mei Mei, playfully shoved your shoulders in hopes of snapping you out of your trance. You looked at her, void of any emotion - your mind too preoccupied with a certain person called Gojo Satoru. 

“Hey, Mei, do you ever get.. weird emails? From random people?” Mei Mei looked up from her phone and furrowed her eyebrows in curiosity. “What do you mean by weird emails? Like, chain messages? Of course I do! All the damn time.” 

Wiping the counter as you spoke helped you clean your mind a bit. It was Friday, and you received the letter four days ago—since then, it never left your mind. From the moment you woke up, to attending classes, to clocking in for your part-time job at Koi kōhī (a small café owned by a family friend: Mei Mei’s) -  the letter that’s been sitting in your mailbox has successfully infiltrated your mind ever since its existence. You have no idea why because technically, it’s none of your business—you can literally just delete it. Somehow, though, you couldn’t. The man seemed so melancholic that you didn’t even have the heart to delete it because then, that would mean writing this email would be in vain. He already sent it to the wrong person in the first place. At the same time, it bothered you; just looking at the message there. Opened. Waiting for a response. Begging, even.

While arranging the trays and paper-cups, it somehow dawned on to you—the reason why you couldn’t get the letter out of your mind. Because it is from a real person. And it happened in real life. 

There’s a girl named Aki, 

and a guy named Gojo, 

and somehow, there’s you. 

Guilty. Emphatic. Awkward…. Sad. 

It was a sad thing. To write and never be heard. To trust the wind to deliver your love and yet it fails you. To be acknowledged and discarded. It hurt to love. And if you looked close enough, you could see the corners of his words bleeding—and they’re not yours to wipe. 

In their ol’ little doomed love story, you’re only the spectator. 

An accidental one at that.

Upon giving it a thought, you hesitated telling her the truth of this so-called “weird” email; thinking about it, it would sound beyond weird if she asked why you decided to read it when you could’ve deleted it the moment it slid into your inbox. Shooting Mei Mei a shy glance, you spoke. “Yeah, like uh.. email promotions.. I guess.”

Mei Mei’s expression relaxed upon hearing it, sending a playful wink right your way before tossing the keys to Haru, your colleague, a usual sign that it’s time to close the shop. “Thank the heavens! I thought you were scammed.”

Oh how you wished it had been a poorly written scam campaign. Maybe if you saw the headlines “Congratulations, you won a car!” you wouldn't be feeling torn between keeping the message or deleting it. 

Before leaving, Mei Mei hugged you goodbye. “Be careful entertaining random emails, Y/N. You don’t know who you’re talking to!” 

Too late.

You could only nod in response. 

At home, you did exactly the opposite of what Mei Mei told you to do.

Your thumb has been grazing over the send button after an impulsive moment of typing the words “This isn’t Aki.” One send and everything would end. This Gojo guy would get the hint and perhaps feel a little embarrassed, but then, that’s going to be it—you’re pretty sure he will block your email address. No more heartbroken emails. No more Aki and no more Gojo. No more curiosity.

Send me a sign, you think to yourself. After all, you have the “God’s Tongue” - the universe won’t fail you now.

Except..

Today, it does.

As if the universe conspired to stop you, your phone vibrated upon receiving a notification.

Fuck your God’s Tongue indeed—you just manifested another email from Gojo Satoru.

In panic, you threw your phone on your bed, your heart hammering against your chest as if you just ran a marathon. And if that wasn’t enough, another notification came in: one that sounded exactly like another email. You squeaked a “holy shit!” as you scrambled to get your phone to quickly check your inbox. You were right: not one, but two emails from Gojo Satoru were sitting on top of your unread messages, waiting to be opened. You felt like you were violating his privacy. After all, these weren’t yours to read. But then again—the effort, energy, and emotions he’s put to write these—will be discarded. If you left it alone, it’ll just rot and be forgotten and you think he’s had enough of being forgotten; maybe it’s about time he forgets. 

So you click the first email, hands trembling nervously. Maybe this could be the last, you reasoned in your mind. Maybe he’ll get tired after two emails. After all - wouldn’t a normal person stop after getting no response?

Your eyes began to scan the first sentence.   

“Haruki Murakami. Norwegian Wood.

I’ve finally scored your favorite book. I went to the bookshop we’d often visit when we were in high-school. You know, the one next to lemon bakeshop near the old campus. You called it a cursed one—because every time you go there with a book in mind, you always left with a sullen look. You never once bought a book there because somehow, the universe always wanted you to lose. 

Well, today, we won, Aki. Took us years, but hey, better late than ever, right?

So come home. Read this. It’s for you. I always loved how you would annotate your books and run all the way to my house to show me the cool quotes you’ve found.

I miss your neon highlighters and your bright smile. Come home. Home to me.

Come home, Aki. 

Toru.” 

You felt as though you got punched in the stomach. The way he wrote this message was simple, as though relieving a memory, and yet your heart feels like it’s about to burst: he made sure to deliver it in a way that you’d remember, even if that memory isn’t yours. You could see it. You somehow could make out what they’d be like, minus the features of their faces; young, in love, stupid. You imagined a bookshop and relived a memory that did not belong to you; his longing and sadness bled and soaked through his words and you happened to be the unlucky one.

Lying down on your stomach, you raised your phone higher to get a good read before you click on the next one. 

“I never liked my coffee cold. 

You know that, right? I liked it hot. Even on hot days, you’d laugh at me for drinking hot coffee instead of iced ones. 

You said I’d get used to burning in “hell.” 

Hot coffee’s best for rainy days. When it feels cold and you could use some warm. When you were around, I drank coffee less. Even during the biggest storms, I’d bask underneath your warmth and laughter in bed all day and it would be the best thing ever - having to listen to the raindrops in tune with your laughter.

You gave me the warmth I needed in every season, Aki, and when you left for states, I drank coffee more. 

But everything is no match for the warmth you could only give.

My coffee’s been cold since you.” 

No sign. No usual ‘Toru’ or I love you’s. 

Exiting the mailbox app, you went to search for Tokyo’s weather forecast for today. 

It was raining.

↳  𝔀𝓮𝓵𝓬𝓸𝓶𝓮 𝓽𝓸 𝓴𝓪𝓸'𝓼 𝓬𝓸𝓻𝓷𝓮𝓻! 

hi everyone, it’s kao! i’m sorry for uploading a day late, i have added some revisions regarding the plot line to make sure y’all will be overloaded with angst  ૮ ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ ა

how are you guys liking lightness and weight so far? 

a feedback/reblog would me a lot to me! thank you for the smol appreciation you guys have shown!  ପ(๑•ᴗ•๑)ଓ ♡

see u guys in chapter 03!

kao, out! ʚ♡ɞ

[sukisdeliveryservice]

hello!! could i kindly request for a student campus crush! wonwoo hehe and you’re best friends and have unrequited feelings but u dont know if he feels the same so over a sleepover u tried confessing and you can continue from there hehe -🐼

let me hear you say | j. ww

✎ pairing: best friend!wonwoo x female reader

✎ genre: collegel!au, friends to lovers!au, mostly fluff

✎ warnings: none!

✎ wc: 2.40 k words

✎ notes: hi 🐼 anon! i got a little carried away with this one because soft, cuddly wonwoo makes my stomach do flips but i hope you like it! i'm not sure how i feel about my portrayal of yn here because i wanted them to be really supportive of wonwoo but kind of having a hard time because of their feelings towards him. i hope i was able to express that without portraying them as kind of eh :/

“Don’t you ever get tired?” You take a quick glance at your best friend as he folds up another piece of paper with a phone number written on it.

“Of what?”

“Of everyone in this school falling head over heels for you,” You say like it’s the most obvious thing in the world, proceeding to look back down at your notes. In reality, you were trying to prevent yourself from looking at the cute (albeit, confused) way your best friend was staring at you over your abrupt question.

“Well I can’t say I’m not flattered, but there aren’t really that many people yn,”

A total lie, you think to yourself. Every time you two walked around campus, your best friend attracted the adoring stares of all your classmates like some hotshot celebrity. Yes, he was popular, and yes, he totally deserved it, but if everyone knew how dorky he was, maybe they wouldn’t be so quick to hand him their number after a single conversation.

Another lie, if everyone knew what a nerd Jeon Wonwoo actually was, they’d probably fall for him harder. You would know of course, first hand experience taught you a lot of things.

It taught you how endearing it was when Wonwoo wore oversized clothing, so that he could pull the sleeves over his palms when sipping on a hot drink at the local campus cafe. It made you realize his habit of pushing his glasses up his nose, because he was too stubborn to get the bridge adjusted. It made your insides melt whenever he was nervous because he had a habit of fiddling with his fingers. You were certain that if anyone was completely head over heels and absolutely smitten by him, it was definitely you.

“Not many people my ass,” you scoffed, “you spoke to her once, just once! And now you are holding her number.” Wonwoo laughs at your poor attempt at hiding your annoyance, “For your information, we were talking about a group project, and exchanging contact information. Nothing more, and nothing less.”

You gave a little huff before going back to pretend-studying, you definitely couldn’t focus when he was sitting right across from you. You knew you were more prone to jumping to conclusions nowadays, and you hoped that Wonwoo didn’t notice your shift in behaviour. In reality, you couldn’t help but feel a little pang of worry whenever your best friend was asked out on another date. And while he rejected the offer every time, you worried that one day he might say yes and you could lose him forever.

Not that you were against Wonwoo falling in love someday. If he found a good person that he wanted to be with for the rest of his life, you would support him in a heartbeat. It was just the selfish feeling that blossomed in your chest that prevented you from feeling any true happiness for these kinds of situations, and you hated it.

You knew that he would never abandon you completely, because Wonwoo was the best friend you could ever ask for. But you also knew that it would kill you inside to see him sweep someone else off their feet.

You’ve known Wonwoo since high school, and you definitely harboured a puppy crush on him all of first year. This was back when he was still trading pokemon cards in the gym stairwell and poking at you to buy him something from the milk vending machine. The crush went away eventually and you found yourself enjoying the rest of your high school career with your closest confidant by your side.

Once you both entered university, Wonwoo had a sudden growth spurt that now put him a total head taller than you. He no longer lurked at the stairwells during lunch and instead made lots of new friends that he went out for coffee with. He started dressing nicer, and once he exchanged his old glasses for a pair of round silver ones that rested on his nose so perfectly, he instantly transformed into someone straight out of a kdrama.

Now, you have caught feelings again. And you’re scared to admit that this time a puppy crush doesn’t even encapsulate everything you’ve been feeling lately. Of course Wonwoo’s sudden change in appearance didn’t spark anything new in your feelings towards him. It was the fact that he had a new air around him that was just completely different.

Wonwoo in high school was shy, and you loved him for who he was. You two had your own small circle of friends and you would spend all your time reading or playing games in his bedroom. Wonwoo in college however, was breaking out of his shell and being the first to approach people and make new friends. He was still introverted of course, shyness and introvertedness were two different things after all. But you were proud to see Wonwoo take the initiative to make plans more often and reach out.

Wonwoo has also gotten a lot more comfortable around you. He’s grown fond of resting his head on your shoulder after a long day of classes, and wrapping you in his sweaters whenever you came by his flat. In conclusion, everything about university student Wonwoo, was driving you, (and probably the entire campus) crazy.

“Hello? yn? Don’t you have a class soon?”

You swat away the hand that was waving in front of your face to meet the eyes of the cause of all your heart troubles. One smile from Wonwoo and you were in shambles. You had it really, really bad. “Right, right, sorry I was just...distracted.”

“We’re still on for tonight right? You can just head straight to my dorm after your last class.”

“Of course Won, did you really think I was going to miss out on another rewatch of Extraordinary You?”

“Of course not,” Wonwoo chuckled. You were met with another one of those soft gazes from him, and you immediately tried to break your stare. Something in your heart tells you that you should just confess right now, and that Wonwoo was a sensible individual who wouldn’t let go of your friendship if he didn’t feel the same way.

“Hey Won, can I tell you something after class later?”

“Of course.” There was that smile again. If you weren’t so busy trying to slow your heart rate down, you would have caught the way his eyes brightened at hearing your question, and the way he looked down to twindle with his fingers.

You give Wonwoo your own smile before heading off to your last detour of the day.

Sleepovers with Wonwoo always consisted of a mountain of blankets, a never ending pile of snacks and a show to watch before eventually both of you fell asleep. When you arrived at his flat just as he was adding the finishing touches to a home cooked dinner, you realized that sleepovers with Wonwoo also consisted of another thing: Your tragic inability to keep your heart rate down.

“Dinner will be ready in a bit, you can just wash up and get changed for now,” Wonwoo turns to greet you before adding some pepper to the tteokbokki.

You nod and head over to his bathroom, where you already find your change of clothes resting on the counter. Any outsider would have been under the impression that you and Wonwoo lived together, considering that pieces of you were scattered all over his apartment. From the matching toothbrushes that were kept by the sink, to the drawer reserved only for your clothes in his bedroom.

The only reason that you and Wonwoo didn’t room together upon entering university, was the fact that your parents were wary of you rooming with a boy you weren’t even dating. Not that it mattered now, considering that you at least spent two nights at his place away from your own dorm.

After you showered and changed into your pajamas, you realized that Wonwoo had given you one of his sweaters to wear, instead of the usual shirts you slept in. Usually you would have raided his bedroom after dinner to steal one (you slept much better when you wore his clothing) but this time it appeared that he had taken the initiative for you.

Once you stepped out of the bathroom, you saw that Wonwoo was already sitting at the dining table and was on his phone. It looked like he was texting someone, and you felt your heart sink a little when he laughed at a message. No, you are not going to be jealous. You are going to be happy for your friend because he deserves all the happiness in the world.

“Is that the girl from your group project?” You sat down across from him and started piling the tteokbokki and rice onto your plate. “Yeah, she said that the professor just sent out a mass email to our class, saying that we were going to be given an extension. Turns out that email was meant for another course, but everyone is already celebrating the new deadline.”

Wonwoo shuts off his phone and turns to you, “Was there something you wanted to tell me today?”

Right. You were going to confess your feelings. It was now or never, and you weren’t sure if you could hold it in much longer. “I can just tell you after dinner, I’m starving.”

Tragic. Tragic. Tragic. Why couldn’t you just say the words, “Hey Won, I have feelings for you, do you feel the same way?” Must you be in a spiraling paradox of questioning the presence of unrequited love in the relationship you had with your best friend? Yes, most definitely yes. Since the world likes to make everything difficult for those in love.

Dinner was eaten in a comfortable silence for the most part. You liked that you never felt the need to fill the air with more conversation whenever you were with Wonwoo. There were days where you would just sit in each other’s presence and do your own thing, and those days left you with lots of time to ponder on your feelings for him. Tonight was the night that you were going to say these feelings aloud for the first time...you just needed a bit more time to procrastinate.

After you both finished your food, you relocated yourselves to the couch. You fidgeted with the end of your (his) sweater while Wonwoo searched for the show on Netflix. You figured that you would let him know in the morning, since there was a chance that you two would fall asleep before the episode ended. And you didn’t want to confess beforehand either, in fear of having to endure a brutal one hour of awkward tension if he didn’t feel the same way.

“Who would have thought that out of all the days the wifi could have chosen to bail on us, they chose the day where we were going to find out whether Haru belonged to Dan-oh’s story or not,” Wonwoo fiddles with the remote some more, while you panic in silence at the thought of spending the night with no distractions from your feelings.

“It’s not like we don’t already know how it ends,” You take deep quiet breaths to calm yourself down, you can definitely make it through the night, “We can just do other things.”

“What do you have in mind?”

You couldn’t answer him right away. The only thing you had on your mind was the fact that Wonwoo’s hand was now resting on your knee and that it was baffling how good he could look in pajamas. Wonwoo, sensing your inability to form words nervously glanced up at you before moving the conversation in a different direction, “Look, I know you had something to tell me today yn, but I realized that I wanted to share something with you too. I am in love-”

“I am in love with you Jeon Wonwoo!”

There. You blurted out a long-awaited confession before the anticipation consumed you whole. You couldn’t tear your eyes away from your hands in fear of seeing the look on Wonwoo’s face.

“Let me hear you say it again.”

“What?” You turn to Wonwoo, who no longer looked nervous. Instead, he wore the biggest shit-eating grin on his face that made you want to both kiss and strangle him. “Say it again.”

“Not when you look like you just won the lottery you nerd, you didn’t even say-”

“I am in love with you too yn.”

Well, you were never one to complain about the fact that your feelings were returned. But the way Wonwoo was cooing at your adorable expression of shock only made you want to shove him off the couch.

Which you proceeded to do.

“Hey! Aren’t you happy that I like you too?”

“Of course I’m happy! You didn’t have to try to beat me to my confession though, tonight was going to be my night!”

“You didn’t seem like you were going to say anything for the rest of the evening! You were going to wait until the next day weren’t you?”

Absolutely yes. “No!”

Any remaining tension in the atmosphere washed away as you and Wonwoo made fun of each other on the living room floor. You were beyond relieved and a little giddy that your best friend in the whole wide world saw you in the way that you saw him.

“But on a more serious note Won, were you also going to confess tonight too?”

“Actually no, but once you came out of the washroom wearing my sweater, I just had to say it before I tackled you with cuddles or something.”

“You gave me your sweater instead of my clothes to wear!”

“I know!” Wonwoo was holding your hand now and rubbing circles into your palm. The idea of cuddling the entire night didn’t sound so bad. “But you looked all nervous and shy and I was hoping that you were going to be the one to say something first.”

“Can we just agree that we confessed at the same time?” As the adrenaline from the confession began to slip away you suddenly became very tired, and you were hoping to just spend the night in the arms of your favourite person.

“Deal. So can we cuddle now?”

[andreafmn]

Collision - Chapter 1

Word Count: 3,434

Characters: Female Reader Uley Character, Sam Uley, Allison Uley, Charlie Swan, Bella Swan, Seth Clearwater, Billy Black, Jacob Black, Emily Young, Paul Lahote, Harry and Sue Clearwater, Leah Clearwater

Story Description: (Y/N) Uley is back home after being away for four years. Her life at it’s first standstill and she is taking this time to find out who she is without school. But she never thought that coming back to the reservation would turn her whole life around. In the midst of secrets and mystery, a man crashes into (Y/N)’s and her life will never be the same. 

*DISCLAIMER* I do not own in any way Twilight, all credits of the pre-established characters, script, and storyline belong to Stephanie Meyer and Summit Entertainment. The only thing I own is Uley Reader insert, any upcoming characters, and her storyline, as well as her effects in the others’ story line.

Chapter: 1/?

A/N: There’s no Cullen’s in the first chapter, we’ll see them soon though. Also, Esme is in the story but her and Carlisle are not together romantically. If you enjoy my writing I’ll also be posting them in AO3 and Wattpad along with other stories (I also hope to start taking requests if ya’ll want) Hope you enjoy and all constructive criticism is encouraged.

Next->

Chapter 1

Going back home felt bizarre for (Y/N). It had been 4 years since she had moved away from the La Push Reservation on a scholarship to a prep boarding school in Seattle. Although students were expected to go back home during summer break, she spent her time in summer taking college classes or attending internships in the area, so going back didn’t fit into her plans.

But she had just graduated from high school and decided that taking a gap year could not hurt. Seeing her family wouldn’t be that bad either.

(Y/N) Uley had not reunited physically with Sam and Allison Uley since she left for school, only calling occasionally but always being to busy for anything else. The mother and son duo had grown accustomed to the short phone calls and vague emails they would receive from their studious family member. The Uley siblings used to be a very close pair, being only a year apart helped their bond. But since (Y/N) had invested all her energy into her high school career, their relationship rapidly dissipated; replaced by untold secrets and life-changing details.

The Uley girl had no idea what was in store when she went back home. She had left when she was 14 and was coming back an 18-year-old with a high school diploma and a bachelor’s degree. (Y/N) had always been an over achiever and applying to the school she had and taking dual enrollment was no surprise to her mother and brother.

The bus ride from Seattle to La Push lasted almost eight hours, so (Y/N) equipped herself with two books, plenty of snacks, and a fully charged iPod to handle the ride. She had gotten the earliest ride available always enjoying the intriguing mystery that 3 am travels brought. Her brown eyes surveyed the curious characters that voyaged alongside her a young woman sat with a sleeping baby in her arms, the dark circles under her eyes signaled the baby was still a newborn getting adapted to a sleep schedule; there was a middle-aged man, his eyes attached to a computer and a briefcase tight to his side; there were two teenagers, backpacks at their feet and shared headphones in between them. They were wearing light blue polo shirt and her school insignia embroidered on the left side of their shirt. She had seen them in passing, two freshmen still energetic and excited for their school life. She looked at them and smiled, remembering being in their shoes four years ago.

Four hours in, (Y/N) had finished one book, and the bus made its first stop in Port Angeles, the place where everyone that traveled with her got off. It wasn’t surprising to see from the top of her book as everyone got off, she didn’t recognize any of them from the reservation so it would have been surprising if any of them had stayed in the bus. For the next four hours, (Y/N) continued to read her second book surrounded by a comforting silence. The sun had risen about an hour ago and a nice warmth was streaming from the bus window and (Y/N) felt herself drift in bliss.

Her eyes fluttered open once again when she felt the bus finally rolling to a stop. She blinked a few times as she adjusted her vision to the bright midday sun and her brain restarted normal functions. The brunette gathered the bag with her travel companions and got up from the chair she had been glued to for eight hours.

“Have a good day,” the driver chimed as (Y/N) was walking down the bus.

“You too, drive safe!” The girl smiled and got her two suitcases out of the side of the bus.

(Y/N) got startled as she felt two arms wrap around her midriff and quickly swung her elbow back.

“Woah, woah, careful with those arms, (Y/N). It’s just me,” the girl turned around, a gleaming grin adorning her face.

“Sam!” She jumped onto the open arms of her older brother, seeing the years that had passed on his tired face.

“Look at you, darling. All grown up,” Allison Uley smiled, tears threatening to spill from her eyes.

“Mom, I’ve missed you.” (Y/N) hugged her mother tightly, noticing the difference in heights of her and her mother. Another thing she noticed was the strain between her mother and her brother. Before she left, they all had a very close relationship but now it felt like so many things had interlaced into their bond. “Let’s go home yeah?”

“I’m, actually I gotta go to my house,” Sam scratched the back of his neck.

“What house?” (Y/N) chuckled.

“I moved out, but I’ll come over for your welcome dinner.”

“Sam, she just came back. Don’t you wanna spend time with your sister?” Allison begged, wanting to have both of her children under the same roof again.

“I can’t.”

“Why not?”

“I just can’t, mom. Leave it.” Sam sighed. “I’ll see you at dinner, (Y/N).”

He kissed the top of his sister’s head and left. He wanted to tell them the whole truth, but he knew he couldn’t. Knowing that information would put them in a level of danger that he didn’t want them to be aware of.

(Y/N) stared at the retreating figure of his brother as he ran down the street, leaving her and their mother.

“What’s up with him?”

“Oh darling, if only I knew.” Allison sighed grabbing one of the suitcases her daughter had brought. “Let’s just head to the house so you can rest.”

“Yeah, let’s.” (Y/N) gave Allison a comforting smile and wheeled the second suitcase towards the truck.

The drive home was as short as she remembered, and the house hadn’t changed a bit. She walked up the steps to the porch and opened the old wooden door; it still made the same creaking sound. The house still smelled of seawater and pine, an odd mix but a comforting scent. (Y/N) regretted all the summers she missed here and all the days she spent away from her family.

She made her way up the stairs and entered the first door to the right. She ran her fingers through the stickers she had pasted on there when she was 13: a wolf, a rainbow, a heart, and a picture of her family. Her name still carved at the highest point of the door and she smiled at the memory of that. She sat atop Sam’s shoulder when she was just 12 years old, a trembling hand holding a pick as she carved as best as she could the name “(Y/N)”.

The doorknob as it was turned let out a squeaky groan and the door needed an extra push to open. The room had not changed at all. The walls were still painted a light green, the light switch still had the pink princess cover, the bedding had the little purple butterflies embroidered on them, and the pillows were all pink and purple. In a corner rested the five boxes (Y/N) had sent to the house from her dorm room.

“It hasn’t changed a bit,” (Y/N) commented as she felt her mother’s presence behind her.

“I didn’t want to change it until you came back,” Allison smiled. “But I’m sure you’d like to give this place a bit of a makeover.”

“Definitely,” she laughed. “I think I’ll go to Port Angeles this weekend, doing some shopping can’t hurt.”

“That’s true.” Allison side hugged her daughter as she laughed. She headed towards the door but stopped when she was called upon by her daughter.

“Hey, mom?”

“Yes, darling?”

“By any chance, do you know where Sam’s living?” Allison’s body stiffened but shared the information with her daughter. Maybe she could figure out why he’d just disappeared.

(Y/N) was surprised to hear he was living with a girl she barely knew. She knew of Emily Young through Leah Clearwater, but not much after that. Last thing she had heard Leah and Sam had been dating. She certainly had missed some very important pivotal points in her brother’s life.

The house wasn’t far, so she decided to walk there. Upon arrival she could feel the warm and inviting aura that the quaint house emanated. The blue door called to her as she knocked on it. It finally opened and revealed her brother.

“(Y/N), what’re you doing here?”

“I’m here to see my big brother. Is that such a crime?” She laughed.

“No, of course. Come in,” he smiled begrudgingly. “I don’t have much time so we gotta make this quick.”

“Wow, feeling the love there,” she chuckled passing through the doorframe.

“There’s just some things that I have to do before dinner tonight.”

“It’s okay, I get it. I just wanted to ask if you could help me on the weekend with my room. I’m bringing it four years into the present, gotta make sure it looks like an 18-year-old sleeps there.”

“Yeah, I’ll come over Sunday afternoon and help you then. Anything else you need?”

“Well, not exactly, but it wouldn’t help to catch up. You know make up for four years of chit chat conversations and get me up to date with at the happenings in your life.”

“There’s not much to say other than I moved out and I’m engaged.” He said nonchalantly.

“Excuse me?! You’re engaged and failed to mention that to me?”

“It’s not that big of a deal, (Y/N).”

“Yes, it is, Sam! You’re getting married and this is the first I’m ever hearing of this or the fact that you moved out or the fact that you’re engaged to your ex-girlfriend’s cousin. I think it is a big deal.”

“Okay, yeah. Kind of a long story on that one.”

“Enough time to tell it to me?” Sam hesitated. He could hear Emily’s truck approaching and two male voices coming back from patrol. He needed to get (Y/N) out of the house before they got here.

“Maybe another time. I’ll call you on Sunday, yeah?” Sam asked as he nudged his sister out of his house.

“I guess.” (Y/N) mumbled as she was pushed out the front door. “Bye.”

“See ya.” Sam kissed the side of her head and closed the door.

(Y/N) left the house with more questions about her brother that she had begun with but didn’t want to press on. There was no use if he wasn’t going to talk, so she walked back home.

Her mother had gone out, possibly grocery shopping for tonight’s dinner, giving (Y/N) time to catch up on some much-needed sleep. She walked up the stairs and into her room, plopping down on the bed not caring how she landed. All she wanted was to close her eyes and rest.

By six in the afternoon her eyes fluttered open once again. She could smell the dinner her mother had been cooking. The room had darkened as the sun was going down and thankfully her mother had turned on a lamp for (Y/N) to have some vision. The girl got up from bed and grabbed some clothes from her suitcase to take a quick shower before dinner. She stripped all her clothes off and let the water wash away all the hours of the day. As soon as the water started turning cold, she shut it off and got out.

For a second, (Y/N) stopped and stared at herself in the mirror above the sink. She barely recognized the girl staring back. The bags under her eyes were deeper than the last time she had seen herself in this specific mirror, her cheekbones were more defined than before, her skin paler than usual since she hadn’t really seen the sun in a while.

It didn’t take her long to change into some new clothes and head downstairs, where she saw her mother on the phone. Disappointment evident in her eyes.

“Sam, it’s your sister… please… ok, fine. Just don’t flake on her on Sunday,” Allison sighed, turning off her phone and slamming it on the counter.

“Everything okay, mom?”

“Oh, yeah, darling. Your brother won’t be able to join us, but Billy and Jacob, and the Clearwaters are on their way, and I also invited Charlie and Bella Swan. I hope you don’t mind that they join in.”

“No, I don’t mind. What about Paul?”

“You know I’ve never liked that boy, honey.” (Y/N) stared at her mother. Refusing to continue the conversation until Allison answered the question. “I did invite him, but he couldn’t come.”

“I love seeing you make an effort,” (Y/N) laughed and kissed her mother on the cheek. “I’ll set the table.”

“Thank you, darling.”

(Y/N) grabbed the 10 plates needed for the night and the respective cutlery. She still remembered how her mother liked the table arranged and set it as such. She set the vase filled with fresh flowers in the middle of the table, leaving space on the sides for the dinner platters. The arrival of the guests was soon after. (Y/N) had grown alongside Jacob and Leah, and on the summers, she would spend her times with the Swan girl. Once Seth was born, he became very close with the Uley girl.

“My oh my, (Y/N), how you’ve grown.” Billy Black grabbed Uley’s hand and smiled up at her, with the warmness that summer brought.

“Indeed, I have, and you haven’t aged a day in four years. What’s your secret?”

“It’s in the genes,” he laughed alongside the young girl. She’d always been a charmer, he thought “You remember my boy, Jacob, right?”

“How could I ever forget? Hey, Jake!”

“How you’ve been, (Y/N)?” Jacob approached his friend and wrapped her in a hug. “Been an awful long time.”

“Four years, that’s not much,” she smiled. “Come in.”

The father and son duo entered the house, and next came the Clearwaters. Harry, Sue, and Seth. No Leah. They had always been close to the Uleys, a bit of divide coming after the rupture between the eldest offspring of each family.

“Oh, wow, where has the time gone?” Sue commented, greeting the girl with a tight hug.

“4 years really do go by quick, don’t they?”

“They sure do, Harry.” (Y/N) smiled, motioning the couple in.

Finally, Seth walked in and engulfed (Y/N) in a tight hug. The girl was 5 years his elder, but he considered her one of his best friends. Seth and Paul were the only two people (Y/N) kept in close contact other than her family. For some time, Paul and (Y/N) had drifted apart but Seth always sent his monthly excited letters, updating her on what he had been up to.

“I missed you, (Y/N)!” Little Seth spoke into a bundle of brunette hair.

“I missed you too, Seth.” She smiled as he walked past her, joining his parents.

The last to enter were Sheriff Swan and Bella. The cop smiled at the girl and gave her a quick hug, commenting on how much she had grown, a low chuckle leaving his throat. Bella entered with hunched shoulders, possibly not wanting to be there but she still smiled at her old friend. Vague memories filled the girls’ heads of summer play dates and days at the beach.

“It’s been quite some time, huh?” Bella muttered.

“It sure has. It’s great to see you again,” (Y/N) smiled. “How have you liked Forks now that you’re back full time. Still hating cold weather?”

“Yeah,” the pale girl chuckled. “But it has its better days.”

The girls joined in a quick giggled before joining the rest of the group at the dinner table. Allison had already set the table and had said her hellos to the group.

The three males had engaged in sports conversations and the teens were all huddled in the kitchen munching on cheese and crackers and engaging in small chit chat.

“So, (Y/N), 18 and already a degree, how does that feel?” Jacob asked, stuffing his mouth with cheese and ham.

“Well, as good as it can be. Don’t know exactly what I’m gonna do now. All I know is that I’m taking a year off and taking a breather for the first time.” (Y/N) chuckled.

“I just can’t believe you’d spend all this time going to school, twice as much. I don’t like school at all,” Seth chimed in, picking apart the cheese and filling his mouth.

“So, you spent these past four years studying, including your summers?” Bella added.

“That’s correct,” (Y/N) smiled. “And now I have a degree and nothing to do with it.”

The group chuckled and moved towards the adults as they were being called to dinner. In the center of the table was a big platter of spaghetti and meatballs, (Y/N)’s favorite food, a tray of toasted garlic bread, and a bowl of a colorful mix of spring salad.

(Y/N) always enjoyed her mother’s cooking. Even on her saddest days, Allison’s cooking could warm her heart at any time. She and her mother had a very close relationship, even after four years of distance. Since her father left early in her life, her mother had always tried her hardest to make sure both her children were loved and cared for. And she stayed wondering where she had gone wrong with Sam and hoping (Y/N) didn’t stray away as her eldest had.

The dinner group had all taken their seats at the dinner table and were passing around the various platters, serving themselves their desired portions. Jacob and Seth were overfilling their plates, receiving a laugh from their respective parents. Charlie, Harry, and Billy were filling their plates with more protein than carbohydrates and the moms at the table smiled at the males engulfing the meatballs. (Y/N) looked around the table and smiled. It had been a long time since she had sat down with the important people in her life and was relaxed, even if two of them were missing.

After everyone was served, everything went almost quiet. Some background music could be heard from the living room and the sound of forks hitting plates and mouths chewing filled the environment. Everyone was comfortable with the silence, but there was still one question in everyone’s mind.

“Where’s Sam?” Seth spoke up, voicing everyone’s question. The whole table paused in action and Seth felt like a deer caught in the headlights. Sue softly elbowed her son. “What?”

“It’s okay, Sue,” (Y/N) smiled. “He couldn’t be here, bud.”

“Maybe he was feeling bad, like Leah.” He added earning a burning stare from both his parents.

“Maybe, Seth.”

“I just wanna apologize for our daughter missing this dinner. I know she really wanted to see you, (Y/N).”

“Oh, Harry, it’s really no problem. I’m sure I’ll catch up with her soon enough.” (Y/N) smiled trying to ease the tension felt in the room. She could see her mother gripping her fork tightly as she kept her head down. “But I would also like to apologize on behalf of Sam, I know he wanted to be here.”

Everyone simply nodded and went back to their plates. The rest of the evening was enjoyable. No one mentioned the pair that was missing, and (Y/N)’s past four years were questioned in depth. She had an answer for everything except “What are you gonna do now?”

She didn’t know and that’s what she answered. She mentioned she wanted to study medicine, having finished a degree in biology and always loved taking care of other people. Sue was excited, being a nurse herself. But (Y/N) had landed at a standstill in terms of her life and career. A vast portion of her life had been defined as a student and now that this part was over, she didn’t know who she was.  

The dinner festivities were over soon thereafter, leaving Allison and (Y/N) to clean up after the group. The Uley pair put everything away in silence, exhausted from the eventful day. (Y/N) could see as her mother wiped away a few stray tears, sniffling behind her hair. The girl knew better than to bring the topic back up and left her mother with a kiss on the temple and a good night.

Upstairs, (Y/N) prepared herself for bed. The event had drained nay energy still left in her and she plopped down on the bed with a small thud. She had prepared her clothes for the next day, knowing her energy would also be drained but still excited to have this change. Her eyes fluttered close as she heard in the distance her mother’s quiet footsteps on the staircase, darkness overtaking her.

Next->

A/N: if you wish to be tagged for the next parts, please let me know. I’d be happy to. <3

[ptergwen]

web of lies

take a leap. if you start to fall, the net will appear to catch you.

photographer!peter x journalist!reader || masterlist

w/c: 7.1k

warnings: swearing, one drinking mention, descriptions of anxiety, and angst if ya squint

summary: peter can’t stop holding your hands, betty and ned are the modern day bonnie and clyde, ned is a terrible guy in the chair, the osborn’s are up to something, and mj hates you all

a/n: y’all i’m super excited about this series like i haven’t had an idea i’ve really loved in months? so it’s good to be back !!! there are tons of things i have planned and i can’t wait to share them with all of you hehe i really hope you enjoy part one <3 happy reading

to be honest, which is what you do best, you’ve had a thing for peter parker your whole time at the daily bugle. you actually almost told him once.

a couple months ago, peter walked you home on a night you worked overtime. he’d came in last minute to leave some pictures on your boss’s desk. no one else but you was there, hunched at your computer in the dim office lighting. peter was pleasantly surprised to see you, yet concerned for your well-being. you had to put your finishing touches on a story.

he didn’t feel comfortable letting you travel alone at that hour. so, he went with you when you were ready. his company was more than welcomed. you told peter about your article while you two sat on the subway. he’d listened intently, your head resting on his shoulder and his arm around you. he made sure you got to your apartment building alright as well.

“hey, peter?” you’d asked, halfway up the steps. he was waiting until you were inside and safe to leave. “hm? you good?” he’d smiled sort of expectantly. “yeah. i... i wanted to say...”

your words got caught in your throat when he gave you the softest puppy eyes you’ve ever seen. you couldn’t do it. for some reason, you were too scared to confess how you felt. “thanks again for walking me home,” you’d settled on. he’d seemed disappointed that was what you wanted to tell him. nevertheless, he said not to worry about it before taking off.

that one moment perfectly captures it all; how yours and peter’s narrative plays itself out.

—

“we’ve got an update on hydra v. the people!”

“those freaky giraffes escaped the zoo... again.”

“shoot one more spitball and it’ll be your last.”

“does anyone have an aspirin?”

welcome to the daily bugle, where the chaos never ends and the calm never starts. you’ll find new york’s finest writers, publishers, and creatives of all kind right here. that would include you. you’re one of the top journalists in the whole building, according to mr. norman osborn. he’s the brilliant and slightly insane man who runs this place.

although it’s rare for someone in your field, you were hired straight out of college. norman read a few pieces you’d written and loved them so much that he offered you a job. full time, full benefits, no questions asked. there was something special about the way you wove your words together. your writing had its own voice. a strong voice, one the paper was severely lacking.

you’ve been with the bugle for just over a year now. it’s not the quiet, nine to five gig you were initially expecting it to be. you’re each very unique individuals in your office, and there’s never a dull moment because of it. your coworkers can be found hosting debates on the riskiest topics or tackling each other for blueberry muffins, and that’s just a regular tuesday. the place is stranger than strange. but, it’s become home.

thanks to mr. osborn being so accommodating, you actually settled in rather quickly. another big help has been the friends you’ve made. your first was michelle jones, who prefers to be called mj. she’s a fellow journalist with a wickedly dark humor that trickles into her writing. if you had to describe her in one word, it would be blunt. mj is as real as it gets, and also eternally loyal. she keeps her circle small, so you’re honored you get to be in it.

mj sits right next to you, which means you’re always talking through your days. that’s due in part to the way your office is set up. there aren’t any cubicles, tables and swirly chairs taking up their space instead. norman heard it was more progressive, probably from his son harry.

harry is about your age, only a couple of years older. he hangs around quite a lot, but doesn’t do much with his time besides that. according to norman, he’s still seeking out his passion. he’s banking on him finding a suitable career at the bugle. he’d like to pass this all on to harry some day, hopefully sooner than later. either way, you don’t mind having harry here. he’s super funny and friendly with everyone.

there’s also ned leeds, who’s an editor and reviews most of your pieces. he’s sweeter than candy, even when he’s ripping your grammar to shreds. on the rare occasions you’re not discussing breaking news, you two talk about movies. ned is a film buff and gives you the best recommendations. you’re convinced he was a critic in his past life.

last but so from least is peter parker. he only works for the bugle part time, since he’s still in school. you both graduated from your respective colleges the same year. peter wants to get his masters degree, though. he’s a photographer who’s aspiring to be a cinematographer. him and ned have their passion for the industry in common, and that’s what makes them such great friends.

you learned this and more from the times you and peter have partnered up on stories. he’s one of your best friends not only at the bugle, but in your entire life. the many long nights you’ve spent collaborating have brought you close to each other. they consist of drinking and deep talks, along with some actual work. he takes the pictures, you do the writing. you’ve been told you make a lovely pair.

peter says it himself, too. you’d like to believe he means it as more than coworkers. he’s so caring, and smart, and pure, and peter. yeah, you like him an awful lot. you can hardly stand the feeling of it sometimes.

the fact that you you haven’t come clean already is ridiculous.

“goddamn. not again,” you mutter out. “em, you better come look at this. it’s bad.” mj wheels over to you in her chair with a puzzled look. her eyes follow yours, landing on your computer. “leeds just sent this? to everyone?” she questions, your reply a short hum. you’re both staring daggers at the email your screen displays.

ned is responsible for assigning each journalist their own topics to cover. he’s been lacking a bit recently, having you write up think pieces on fluffy things. in other words, stuff that no one cares about. he asked you to compare oat milk and almond milk just last week. you’d hoped this week would be better, but here you are.

“this is ass. who does he think we are, buzzfeed?” mj scoffs at her own words. the daily bugle prides itself on being a reliable news source, on paper and tv. you’re starting to stoop down to the low level of your competitors. “he assigned me some tiktok dance trend. i’m not writing a single word about that app.” she sets her elbows down on the table, head in her hands.

“aw, why not? grandma mj isn’t down with the kids?” you tease and click out of the upsetting email. “i don’t write for kids,” mj deadpans. she pushes her glasses up on her nose. “what’d you get?” “the evolution of memes,” you gloomily reply. you’re surprised norman has been approving these topics. then again, ned is the head editor. he can do whatever he wants regardless of approval.

mj glares over at the kitchen, where betty brant currently resides. she’s making two hot chocolates instead of her usual one. “i blame her,” mj mumbles to you. your eyebrows furrow. “dude, what? betty is an angel. she doesn’t even work in editing.” betty is the bugle’s highest rated anchorwoman. her and her news team are on people’s televisions every night.

“no, but she has been spending a generous amount of time with leeds,” mj grumbles. she’s admittedly very nosy. the upside is that she tells you any juicy office drama there is. “my theory is betty’s making him give us crap stories so she can report the good ones.” she glances over at you to see what you think. “no way. that can’t be allowed... or legal,” you laugh back.

as if on cue, ned appears next to betty in the kitchen. he takes the extra hot coco that’s piled high with whipped cream. betty tucks a sheet of paper into his suit pocket and kisses his cheek, then he’s gone. you can only gasp as you watch this unfold. what has she done to poor, clueless ned?

“not such an angel anymore, huh?” mj smirks in satisfaction. “suddenly, she has red horns and a pitchfork,” you bitterly agree with your tongue in your cheek. betty waves to you two on her way back to broadcasting. mj gives her a fake nice finger wave, you ignoring her. “we can’t sit back and let this happen, em. we have to do something,” you decide. “let’s tell norman.”

uninterested, mj takes off her glasses and starts to clean them. “like he’ll believe us. yeah, golden girl betty brant is sabotaging the writer’s room,” she rewords her previous statement to put its stupidity in perspective. you throw your hands up. “she is, though! we literally watched it happen!” mj puts her freshly wiped glasses back on and sighs.

“i doubt norman would care, y/n. every newspaper to ever exist is corrupt somehow.” your pessimistic old pal has a point. however, you’re not so willing to accept it. “why can’t we be the first one that isn’t?” you offer a small smile. mj snickers, wheeling back to her own computer. “those are words of the innocent.” she’s already tapping her fingers across the keyboard.

“i thought you weren’t doing the tiktok piece,” you say under your breath. you’re slightly pissed mj turned you down, since she’s the reason you know about betty’s meddling. “i’m not,” mj answers sharply. “i’m gonna email quentin and ask if we can change our topics. happy?” quentin beck is another editor in the building. he’s not bad, but he is intimidating. no one typically goes to him as their first option.

“i’m thrilled,” you confirm and grin at mj to emphasize it. “thanks for stepping up. you’re forgiven.” “i didn’t realize i had to be sorry,” mj notes, this time in a playful manor. she shakes her head as she begins writing. “you and your morals.”

what you value most in your career is honesty, under any circumstances. of course, the other daily bugle writers are the same. norman strictly prohibits clickbait and crazy headlines because that isn’t real news. you leave that to companies like buzzfeed. you’re honest in the sense that you say whatever has to be said, what everyone else is too afraid to. you’ll speak your truth no matter who tries to stop you.

it didn’t used to be that way. there’s some childhood trauma that remains deep in the back of your mind. you’ve left that behind you now, having over a decade to cope with it. hey, they say the past is in the past. what’s important is your takeaway, that you would never let yourself or anyone else be silenced from there on out. never again.

quentin ends up giving you the okay to write different stories. he lets you and mj choose choose your own because he’s got “better things to do” and you’re “big girls.” what a peach he is. mj goes with how capitalism is continuing to provoke global warming. she has something to say about every major world issue, and you admire the hell out of her for it.

you’re a bit stuck when it’s time to write your article. it’s terribly ironic because you pushed for this. you aren’t too worried, though. the city is crawling with material, so you’ll find what you’re looking for eventually. lucky for you, some much needed inspiration comes skipping out of the elevator.

“morning, peter,” you hear liz greet him at the front desk. she’s your floor’s receptionist. her wisdom and patience keep this place going. “hi, liz. how’s it going?” he asks. “things have been quiet... mostly. can i do anything for you?” liz peers up at him. peter sports a shy smile. “uh, yeah. mr. osborn wanted to see me?” “right. hang on.” she nods, dialing his office phone number.

it’s endearing how peter calls him mr. osborn, seeing as the rest of you go with norman. he’s probably the politest guy you’ve ever met.

grinning, liz puts down the phone. “you can go in whenever you’re ready. good luck!” peter laughs nervously and turns to leave. “thanks, you too.” his face falls when he realizes his mistake. “wait, i- i didn’t mean to say that. that was stupid. you’re not-“ “it’s fine, peter,” liz reassures him. his anxiety makes him trip over his words sometimes. that, and he’s a bit dorky in general. you find it rather adorable.

you also wonder what exactly he needs good luck for. he’s not even supposed to be working today, so your curiosity as to what’s going on has been piqued.

“um, i’m gonna go now. bye!” peter rushes off, his face tinted pink from the embarrassing encounter. you’re hoping he’ll stop and talk with you for a little while, but he heads straight to norman’s office. your whole body deflates at that. mj notices from her peripherals.

“what’s the matter? missing your hubby?” she coos, her words dripping in sarcasm. “no,” you lie. “i’m... i don’t know what to write about.” ok, there’s some truth. mj gives you a couple pats on the shoulder. “ask parker for help. you two work... well together. don’t you?” this must be the zillionth time you’ve heard that.

“we do,” you murmur and glance at norman’s closed door. peter is hidden behind it. “i just don’t wanna bug him. he has finals soon, and whatever norman is putting him up to. it’s my job, anyway.” mj pokes your arm. “those sound like excuses to me,” she concludes, still jabbing at you childishly. “you really just don’t wanna tell him you like-“

“can you keep it down?” you hiss, yanking your arm back. “he’s literally right over there.” peter stands up and shakes norman’s hand. you catch it through the blinds on his window. “y/n, you were drooling over his mere presence only minutes ago,” mj prefaces, a smile pulling at her lips. “you can handle three little words. i like you, that’s it. spit it out already.”

you’ll never admit this to mj, but she’s right. you lost your momentum after your first failed attempt to say the three little words. you’re still not sure what stopped you. you’d shared the details of that faithful night with her, and she’s been pushing you to try again since.

the door to norman’s office opens, and out walks peter. he’s beaming after their conversation, which seems like a good sign. harry passes peter on his way in to pay his dad a visit. he claps him on the shoulder, peter happily accepting before continuing his stride back into the main office. it takes a moment to register that he’s coming towards you.

you quickly set your focus back on your computer so he doesn’t think you’ve been watching him. even though, you definitely have.

“y/n!” peter calls your name. he’s on the opposite side of your table, in front of you. “peter!” you match his tone. “i was just dropping by. i thought i’d say hey while i’m here.” he’s still grinning. “what’re you doing?” he looks cute as ever in an oversized and cream colored sweater. his curls are slicked back with a tad too much product, cheeks rosy. you gaze up at him when he rests his arms on the table.

“pretending to be productive,” mj answers for you, pressing her lips together. peter cocks his head to the side. “pretending?” “ignore her. she’s being a shit stirrer today,” you explain. “like every other day,” he jokes, earning a laugh from you. mj just tuts and keeps writing. “talk about me like i’m not here,” she mumbles to herself, then gets back into her article.

“anyways, i thought you didn’t work today?” you ask to take the attention off yourself. also, because you’re curious. “oh! get this.” peter perks up even more, if that’s possible. he has energy like no other. “you know alex in broadcasting? betty’s camera guy?” “what about him?” you wonder. “he called in sick earlier this morning, with the flu or something.” he’s oddly excited to announce this. that prompts you to make a funny face.

biting back another smile, peter elaborates. “mr. osborn needed someone to fill in for him, so he picked me. i’ll be here all week.” it makes sense, since peter knows how to work a camera and does so wonderfully. you give him a celebratory push at his chest. “peter, that’s amazing! this is the perfect way to transition from pictures to film, right?” he’s nearing his finals at school, which consist of more movie-like projects. the news will be great practice.

then, he’s off to hollywood. you’ll put that out of your mind for now.

“exactly! i think it’ll be a good place to start. the pay isn’t bad either.” peter wiggles his eyebrows at you, you giggling once again. you do a lot of that when he’s around. that’s going to be more often now. “plus, i get to see you. everyone wins.” he squeezes your hand that was just on him. your heart begins to thump. “except alex,” you challenge, playing with his fingers. “but, for real. i’m happy you get to do this and that we’ll be spending more time together.”

“thanks, y/n/n. me too.” peter grins and leans over, taking a peek at your computer screen. there’s a blank word document on it. “you never told me what you’re up to,” he chuckles. “guess mj was right... nothing.” “i’m always right,” she chimes in from next to you. you look between the two of them with a scowl. “i haven’t found my story yet. i don’t know, this never happens.” peter nods as you share your dilemma. “no good ideas are coming to me,” you murmur.

“they will. you have a way of attracting things.” he licks his lower lip, your heart completely stopping this time. “well, i gotta go set up for rise and shine with betty brant.” he waves his hand like he’s presenting his words. that’s what betty calls her morning news segment. “be careful with her. she’s being really sketchy these days,” you warn peter, mj grunting in agreement.

confused, peter purses his lips. “really? ned says she’s a sweetheart. they’ve been going out for a while.” mj pops her head up and adjusts her glasses. “did ned also tell you she’s bribing him to give her all of our scoops?” she’s asking rhetorically because she already knows the answer. of course he didn’t. “it’s one thing to not like her. you’re just making things up now,” peter huffs.

mj kicks your foot under the table. “i told you no one would believe us. not even peter gullible parker.” “it’s benjamin,” he corrects her. “whatever,” she brushes it off, resuming her work.

peter does tend to be sort of naive, to only see the good in things when there’s plenty of bad. you’re the same in that way, unless you hang around mj for too long.

“is that true? betty’s stealing your stories?” peter turns to you and asks. you gesture to your screen. “i don’t have one, so you do the math.” he hums sympathetically. he’ll listen to you, never mj. “i’m sorry. thanks for telling me, y/n. i’ll watch out for her.” he bends his fingers to look like goggles, putting them around his eyes. you sigh lightheartedly.

“are you twenty two years old or twelve?” mj remarks, but not without a comeback from peter. “you’re, like, eighty five. worry about that.” they’ve had this type of banter for as long as you’ve known them. it’s equal parts amusing and exhausting. “don’t be late on your first day.” you snap peter out of it with a knowing smile. he returns it.

“i hope something crazy happens so you can write about it.” he’s walking backwards now, towards the elevator. “see you later, pete,” is all you say back, yet another laugh threatening to escape you. “see you. bye, michelle,” peter says just to bug her. “it’s mj,” she groans without looking up. he shrugs. “not so fun, is it?”

after peter is gone, you try to get back into work. or rather, you try to start your work. what he said about you having a way of attracting things keeps ringing in your head. was he flirting? no, he couldn’t have been. peter parker doesn’t flirt. words aren’t his strong suit, and you have countless memories that prove this to be true. earlier with liz, for example.

you’re probably reading way into this. peter was simply doing what any good friend would do and gave you advice.

it’s late in the afternoon when anything worth mentioning happens again. peter is still with betty, as far as you know. they’re probably preparing for the nighttime news now. all you’ve done since seeing him is nibble on snacks and bug mj, who’s almost done with her story despite your distractions. this is really bad, considering your deadline to submit is at the end of today.

you’ve never missed a deadline.

mj emails her work to quentin while you repeatedly bang your head on the table. she hits send before deciding to entertain you. “whatcha doing over there?” she cautiously prompts, powering off her computer. “trying to get an idea. i’m desperate, if you couldn’t tell.” your voice is muffled. “i could.” mj grabs your shoulders and pulls you back so you’re sitting up. you childishly pout.

“y/n, the only thing that’s gonna give you is brain damage,” mj says sternly, then softens her tone. “why don’t you ask for an extension? norman gives me them all the time.” whining, you slump down in your chair again. “yeah, but you’re you! we do things differently, have different expectations put on us.” she’s back to cold mj after you say that. “alright. at least i did something today besides pine over that little-“

mj’s insult for peter is interrupted by harry. “ladies, what’s shaking?” he comes up to you two with a the hint of smirk on his face. you manage a nod to acknowledge him. “oh, hey... harry,” mj unenthusiastically replies. she’s the one person who isn’t really a fan of him. “not much. y/n was just having a tantrum.” “she was not,” you dismiss her. “it’s work stuff. you know your dad.”

harry clicks his tongue in a teasing way. “yep, the grind never stops in this joint. boss man is...” he does the sign for cuckoo with his finger. you laugh a little at that. “in a good way,” you add on. mj only watches you two, blinking blankly. harry gives you a definitive pat on the back. “before i forget, he wants to see you.” that gets mj talking. “norman?” she questions. “your dad?” you choke out at the same time.

“who else? he said you two have to talk.” harry flashes you a weary smile. “have fun in there, old sport.” you’re too busy biting the skin off your bottom lip to respond. “mhm... she will,” mj speaks on your behalf. even she sounds worried. saluting you both, harry leaves to go pester your other colleagues. you’re completely and totally fucked.

“that’s it for me!” you grin sarcastically, freaked out by harry. “i’m fired, aren’t i? i’m definitely about to get fired, and it’s all because-“ “relax!” mj cuts off your rambling. she reaches down and grasps at your wrists. “get it together, y/l/n. you’re the best we have, okay? you aren’t going anywhere.” your grin becomes a frown. “then why does norman wanna talk to me? and, why don’t i have a story?”

mj always has the answers, but this time is the execption. she lets out a breath. “i don’t know. you’ll go find out and tell me what happens.” there’s no use protesting. you’re going to have to face whatever you’re about to at some point. “ok,” you give in, defeated. “i’ll be back soon, i hope.”

the walk to norman’s office feels like a walk of shame. mj can do nothing but sit back and observe it. if this ends the way you think it will, you’ll be collecting your things and won’t ever return. norman is a kind man, and he’s usually pretty understanding. he doesn’t mind the workplace shenanigans as long as you get your job done. unfortunately, you haven’t today.

you hear your boss’s booming voice when you approach his door. inhaling deep, you knock on it, and the room goes silent. “come in,” norman responds after a few seconds. mustering up a smile, you open the door to be met with your doom. “hi, am i interrupting something?” you check. “not at all! you’re just the person i wanted to see. sit, sit,” he beckons you over. he’s not using his angry voice, so maybe you’re in the clear. you enter the room as told.

you’re shocked to see a terrified peter is already in one of the chairs. he visibly relaxes a bit now that you’re here. what the hell is happening? whatever you were expecting, this was the last thing.

taking the armchair next to peter, you sit facing norman’s desk. you nudge his arm to get his attention. his big brown eyes lock with yours. “what’s going on?” you whisper. “no idea,” peter whispers back. the two of you turn to norman again when he claps his hands. he’s plopped down into his cushy leather seat.

“so,” he begins, gaze flicking from peter to you. “you kids know why you’re here?” “is it because i missed my deadline?” you blurt out. you’re once again a nervous wreck. peter doesn’t speak, just winces. “not that. although, i did hear from ned that you turned down his assignment.” norman flicks at a post-it on his desk. “i asked quentin for one instead. me and mj,” you explain, peter’s eyes going wide.

“you talked to quentin? that guy’s bad news,” he murmurs to you. “how so?” norman questions, since it’s his employee. “he- he, um,” peter clears his throat before answering, “he’s super critical, you know? hates all my pictures.” “i love your pictures,” you assure him, the corners of his lips turning up. “your style is so cool. yeah, though. quentin’s pretty bitter.”

considering this, norman drums his fingers on the desk. “i’ll look into that. but, that isn’t why you’re here. i’m letting you off the hook this time.” your whole demeanor changes and a huge weight lifts off of you. “really? you are?” “i have a scoop of my own that i want you to cover,” he continues, peter bumping your knee happily. a toothy grin takes over your face.

“since peter will be sticking around for a while, i want him to join you.” norman waits a beat in case you have any questions. it’s been a minute since you last worked together. peter laughs in disbelief. “you want me to take over for alex and do this?” norman nods proudly. “y/n will need the extra hands, if you have them.” “yes, sir. i do,” peter immediately confirms. “my last class is next thursday, so i have the time.”

“wait, so you’re almost done? that’s awesome!” you bump peter’s knee this time. “yup, all that’s left is finals... and studying.” he mindlessly takes your hand, lacing your fingers together. you’re enjoying his gentle touches. “thank you so much, norman. seriously, i appreciate this a lot,” you tell him and mean it. “hey, no problem,” he chuckles at your eagerness. you grip peter’s hand tighter.

“what’s the story?” “ah, yes. the most important part,” norman starts, peter sharing an excited look with you. “how familiar are you two with spider-man?” his excitement fades at the question posed. it’s unbeknownst to you, caught up in the moment. “uh, same as everyone else, i guess,” you casually reply. “how come?” “he’s your subject.” norman points at you both. “you’re gonna study him over these next few months.”

peter’s hand goes limp in yours, and he gulps hard, throat feeling dry. “you mean, like, an exposé?” “no, no. there will be no exposing,” norman clarifies. “i’m sure he wears the mask for a reason.” that settles peter only slightly. you’re not sure why he’s so tense all of a sudden. “what’s our aim here, then?” you steer the conversation.

“see what new york’s favorite hero gets up to every day, how his life is beyond the crime fighting,” norman further describes your task. peter exhales a shaky breath, shifting away from you in his seat. the golden sun hits his face and reveals a bead of sweat dripping down it. you stare at his figure in worry. “you okay, peter?” “fine. i’m just... hot,” he murmurs back. his sweater does look pretty heavy, so you concede.

getting back to norman’s story, you grimace at the idea. “do you really think people will want to read that? for lack of a better term, it sounds kind of...” you pause. “basic.” “i thought the same thing at first,” he surprisingly agrees with you. “harry pitched the idea to me this morning. you won’t believe it! the other night, he caught spider-man hanging outside his window.”

“harry... harry saw him?” peter squeaks out. he uses the wool material that feels like it’s swallowing him to dab at his forehead. “he stopped on his balcony. must have been pretty late, the kid’s a night owl,” norman says about his son. your face lights up as you listen to him. “he took some shots of spidey in action, when he swung off. i saw a few. they were pretty great.” he’s grinning at his son’s success.

“maybe he’ll get into photography with you, pete,” norman suggests. peter gives him a weak smile in return. “we’d be happy to have him.” he usually has a lot more to say about his career than that. his behavior is starting to genuinely concern you. “anyway,” norman gets back on topic, “it got me thinking. how much do we really know about this guy? we’re supposed to blindly put our trust in him?”

you’re beginning to see the appeal now. you’ve written your share of pieces on the avengers and their methods, tackling the same questions norman just asked you. spider-man shouldn’t be overlooked, especially when he operates so close to your home. this could be another revolutionary superhero story in the making. and, you get to bring peter along for the ride.

“you know what? this has a lot of potential,” you smile at norman, then peter. he has his phone in his lap, fingers flying across the screen. it must be something important. you’ll discuss with norman while he takes care of that. “we could make it a weekly thing, about spider-man’s adventures. find out what we can about the man behind the mask...” peter shoots up in his seat. “without taking it off,” you finish, putting his mind at ease.

“see, i knew you were gonna love it! it was a blessing in disguise, you missing that deadline.” norman bangs his fist on the table with a hearty laugh. “what do you say, peter? you still in?” peter slips his phone back in his pocket. his tongue pokes out to wet his lips. “oh, of course. i can’t wait to work with you, y/n/n,” he speaks in a monotone voice, adding on, “again.”

something is definitely bothering him, and it isn’t the weather.

“i gotta go. betty needs me upstairs, so,” peter moves to get up, his body stiff. you assume that’s who he was texting. “thank you again, mr. osborn.” he’s rushing out of the room just like that, until you call after him. “um, don’t you wanna set a time to meet up? so we can get started?” you reasonably ask. “i... i really gotta go. find me later,” peter tells you, giving you both a tight lipped smile and running off.

“the dynamic duo is back!” norman announces to you. you’re disappointed you can’t share that sentiment with peter.

he’s absolutely booking it down the stairs, not bothering to wait for the next elevator. this is bad. this is a nightmare.

peter went from having one of his best days in a while to the worst in not even a full round of work. today started off fine, and got better when norman promoted him. it got way better when you came along. he saw your smile that makes his insides tingle, heard your laugh that’s the prettiest sound to grace his ears, held your hand that he never wants let go.

things went a bit downhill after that. betty was pushy and yelled at him a lot, demanding he only film her good angles for the segment. you and mj weren’t wrong when you told him to be careful.

later on when he saw you again, everything was okay. he was physically shaking as brad told him mr. osborn requested to see him. brad is mr. osborn’s assistant. a try-hard for sure, but good at his job. why did mr. osborn call him in? did betty complain already?

they’d been sitting in mostly silence, save for small talk until you came knocking on the door. simply being next to you was enough to ground peter and his racing thoughts. it was enough, then it wasn’t.

the whole day had gone to shit after he found out you were going to be writing stories about his alter ego. not only that, but he was helping. during the pitch, he’d texted ned to meet him in the bathroom. he was really anxious and needed a friend who understood why.

ned accidentally found out peter is spider-man last year. it’s a long story that involves peter hiding from some bad guys in the building and ned shrieking so loud the lights flickered. they’re cool now that peter talked things through with him. his secret has been kept, from what he knows.

pushing open the men’s bathroom door, peter is a mixture of sweat and ragged breaths. he’s panting from his fast descent down the staircase. he takes in his disheveled appearance using one of the mirrors. his styled hair is now damp and undone, hands trembling and palms sweaty, chest heaving. here’s his daily reminder that anxiety is not cute. as if he didn’t know.

his stupid, gigantic freaking sweater is only making things worse. it’s suffocating him. no one else is in here, so peter pulls it over his head and tosses it to the ground. he’s got a t-shirt on underneath that happens to be black. what a convenient day for him to wear the hottest material there is.

peter splashes his face with some cold water next to try and cool himself down. that doesn’t do much for him. his face still feels like it’s on fire, but now it’s wet. he takes his hands through his mop of curls, backing away from the sink.

“fuck. fuck, fuck, fuck,” peter repeats to himself. he’s silent for a moment, then rage overcomes him. he kicks open a bathroom stall. “shit! i can’t do this. what am i supposed to-“

the door creeks open, so peter shuts up in case it isn’t ned. it thankfully is, and he wears a deep frown at the sight of his best friend. “dude, what happened? you look...” “terrible. i know,” peter finishes for him. he tugs at his locks in another attempt to tame them. ned approaches him carefully. “you’re not, like, dying... are you? because betty was telling me you have to-“ “of course you were with betty,” peter exhales in frustration. “no, ned. i’m not dying.”

in ned’s defense, the text he received was very alarming. all peter wrote was, ‘EMERGENCY. SOS.’

“i mean, yeah. it was my break.” ned sits on the ledge by the window, close to peter. “you do the same with y/n.” the mention of your name upsets peter all over again. he hides his face in his hands as ned watches. “if you’re not dying, then what’s the problem?” ned finally asks. “me and y/n...” peter removes his hands from his face, meeting ned’s worried eyes. “mr. osborn wants us to do a project together.”

“uh, peter? you’ve been saying how much you miss her forever, dude! you’re not excited?” ned snorts at him. he means well, but he has no clue what he’s talking about. “no. it’s supposed to be about spider-man,” peter answers angrily. this isn’t the support he was hoping for. realizing the severity of the situation, ned gets serious.

“oh... but, you’re still doing it?” he questions. “i didn’t have a choice,” peter scoffs out. “i can’t let either of them down.” “you’ll expose yourself!” ned escalates things further. “it’s not like that. we’re gonna follow spider-man around and post updates on him,” peter says, technically in the third person. he’s given an are you insane? look from ned.

“you are spider-man! and, no offense, but you’re not so good at hiding it,” ned refers to himself finding out. “how are you gonna be in two places at once?” damnit, peter hadn’t thought about that yet. he can’t be taking pictures of spider-man and swinging from building to building simultaneously. “i- i’ll figure it out,” peter stammers, unconvincingly.

ned looks him over in a disapproving way. “jeez. you’re really putting your life on the line for this girl-“ “woman,” peter interjects, not loving ned’s attitude towards you. “have some respect.” unfazed, ned gets up from the windowsill. “speaking of women, remember betty? you’re still on the clock,” he changes the subject. peter nearly forgot he has to go film her segment.

“i’ll head up to her now,” peter gives in. he scoops up his discarded sweater, not bothering to check his appearance again. ned follows behind him to the door. “we wrote her script together, you know,” he gladly informs peter, who already knows from you. “not really a flex,” peter mumbles his response. “peter, lighten up.” ned hits at his shoulder. the two of them exit the bathroom.

“you’ll figure this out later. i can always help.” he shoots him a sugary sweet smile. “thanks, ned. for talking with me and everything.” peter doesn’t smile back. they do a quick bro handshake, then they’re going their separate ways. “have a good show, dude!” ned yells back, to which he doesn’t get a response. peter doesn’t have it in him.

he allows himself to take the elevator back up to broadcasting. he’s so drained from the several anxiety attacks he endured. while peter waists for the elevator, he contemplates all the issues he’d better solve. it’s a relief to hear it ding because it brings him back to earth. that doesn’t last long because both you and betty are there when the door opens.

you’d each had the same idea, to find peter. unlike betty, your intentions were good. you asked liz if she saw peter leave. she told you he went downstairs, so you did also. betty was already in the elevator when it got to your stop. she was looking for him because, you guessed it, he had to record the news. the small space was filled with tension as you and betty occupied it.

“perfect. we’re going right back up,” betty beams, motioning for peter with her index finger. “hop in!” “coming,” peter does as told, going to stand between you and betty. she presses the button for your floor and theirs. the doors close. “pete?” you speak up, voice soft. “you kinda ran off earlier. i thought you were with betty.” “clearly, he wasn’t,” betty sneers.

you’re less concerned with her and more with peter. the sweater he looked so huggable in is now folded in his arms, his face splotchy and jaw clenched. he must have gotten triggered by something back in norman’s office.

“are you sure you’re okay? you... you can talk to me about it.” you take a step closer to peter, your doe eyes searching for his. he meets them with a tiny smile. at least, it’s real this time. “i’ll be fine, y/n/n. ‘s nice that you came to check on me, though.” “don’t mention it.” your arms loop around his neck and bring him into a hug. peter hugs you back by your middle, chin resting on your shoulder, breathing out in relief.

you keep your hands on his shoulders when you pull back. his stay on your sides, a lopsided grin now crossing his features. “spider-man...” you quirk an eyebrow. “how are you feeling about that?” “should be cool,” peter somehow maintains himself. “i’m mostly looking forward to doing it with you.”

listening in, betty joins the conversation. “what’s happening with spider-man? anything i should know?” her hand reaches into her bag and emerges with a notepad. does she ever think of her own content? “she’s nothing if not persistent,” you grumble to peter. chuckling, he pulls you into his chest. if he didn’t hold you back, you would’ve pounced on her.

“we’re gonna do a piece on him,” peter tells her. “you can’t copy or steal this one because it’s already been approved,” you contribute, smiling smugly as peter holds you tighter. betty is taken aback. “are you accusing me of stealing? who said i-“ “ned ratted on you... sorry,” peter says in a sing song voice. squealing, you jump away from him. “he did? we were right?”

“mj’s never wrong,” he reiterates. “mj knew about this? oh my god, i can’t believe her!” betty stomps her foot. “we got you on candid camera.” you make a clicking noise with your mouth. peter mimes taking a picture to back you up. “alright, alright. i won’t do it again,” betty mumbles, turning away from you two in annoyance.

“finally!” you hold up your hand for a high five, which peter gives you. “we really do make the best team,” he hums. your fingers intertwine with peter’s, and he lays his palm flat against yours. he prays extremely hard you don’t notice that it’s sweaty. you do, but you couldn’t care less.

“i was wondering when you’d wanna start our... research?” peter asks you, his lip between his teeth. “you were saying something earlier. maybe we could make a schedule.” “how elaborate of us that would be,” you tease. that earns a breathy laugh from peter. with a knowing smile, you put your free hand back on his shoulder.

“what are you doing tonight?”

-

peter parker taglist

@saturnpeter @tpwk-grande @itstaskeen @missyouhollnd @becicamina @dummiesshort @zspideyy @watchitimreadinghere @my-patronus-is-mabel-pines @dpaccione @karispotters11 @theofficialzivadavid @thehumanistsdiary @kelieah @aayaissaa @petersgroupie @annab-nana @tayyx @swtltlmrvlgrl @magicalxdaydream @haoluvver @kjune113 @captainamirica @marvel-dork98 @emmastarz @killingbxys @viriditie @misshale21 @veryholland @liliswifts @tommydarlings @rebelemilu @peterspideysense @cr-uelsummer @dreamy-clousds @quaksonhehe @quxxnxfhxll @blackbat2020 @babyblue19 @falconxbarnes @zachary-s @dirtytissuebox @dracoswhore007 @heavenlyholland @thsquad @etheralholland @dhtomholland @awh-lilies @tomshufflepuff @multifamdomfan12

-

if i forgot you please lmk!

[spine-buster]

Patience is a Virtue ft. Matthew Tkachuk | 𝒯𝑒𝓂𝓅𝑒𝓇𝒶𝓃𝒸𝑒

CONTENT WARNING: this story deals with cults, polygamous cults, escaping cults, strict adherence to religion, gender roles, abuse, miscarriage, and a character with a traumatic past. ̲𝖳̲𝗁̲𝗂̲𝗌̲ ̲𝖼̲𝗁̲𝖺̲𝗉̲𝗍̲𝖾̲𝗋̲ ̲𝗌̲𝗉̲𝖾̲𝖼̲𝗂̲𝖿̲𝗂̲𝖼̲𝖺̲𝗅̲𝗅̲𝗒̲ ̲𝗁̲𝖺̲𝗌̲ ̲𝗆̲𝖾̲𝗇̲𝗍̲𝗂̲𝗈̲𝗇̲𝗌̲ ̲𝖺̲𝗇̲𝖽̲ ̲𝖽̲𝖾̲𝖺̲𝗅̲𝗌̲ ̲𝗐̲𝗂̲𝗍̲𝗁̲ ̲𝗍̲𝗋̲𝖺̲𝗎̲𝗆̲𝖺̲ ̲𝖺̲𝗋̲𝗂̲𝗌̲𝗂̲𝗇̲𝗀̲ ̲𝖿̲𝗋̲𝗈̲𝗆̲ ̲𝗆̲𝗂̲𝗌̲𝖼̲𝖺̲𝗋̲𝗋̲𝗂̲𝖺̲𝗀̲𝖾̲𝗌̲ ̲𝖺̲𝗇̲𝖽̲ ̲𝗌̲𝖾̲𝗑̲𝗎̲𝖺̲𝗅̲ ̲𝖺̲𝖻̲𝗎̲𝗌̲𝖾̲.̲ Please be warned.

Word Count: 15,503

A/N:  I have been loving your feedback on this story so far.  Your canon question about Matthew and Effie are great and I would love to hear and answer more.  It means the world to me that a plot this...unconventional, let’s say, is really taking hold and generating interest.  I know that there’s some really, really serious stuff dealt with in the chapters, so I appreciate everyone’s feedback and maturity about it.  As always, please check the content warning for this chapter.  Otherwise, I hope everyone enjoys the update!

                                                          *     *     *     *     *

She wrote every message on Instagram like an email, and Matthew couldn’t get enough of it.

Hello Matthew,

Today was interesting.  I started classes for my business certificate today.  I sat in a room with about 50 other people and I listened to my professor speak about the course prospectus and what we would be learning and doing.  I didn’t meet any new people or make any new friends but that’s okay.  I want to focus on my studies.  I already have homework.

How has St. Louis been?  I bet you are excited to be back home.  I hope you are relaxing and staying safe.

Sincerely, Effie Schaffer

I know you are going to ace that program, Effie.  You’re very talented and smart and it’ll be no time until you find yourself with a certificate and able to explore more job opportunities.

St. Louis is good.  Brady and Taryn are home too so it’s good to be surrounded by family.  I know it’s not the same for you but one day I think you will find a group of friends that will make up your family.  Most days I go golfing with my dad.  I usually relax by our pool too, or play basketball or some other sport with Brady.  I go to the gym too, to keep up on my fitness for next season.

*

Hello Matthew,

Class was good today.  We started the beginning lectures.  The professor went quickly but I was able to keep up.  I’m definitely learning how to type fast on my laptop!

You said in your message that I’m very talented but I don’t think I’m talented.  I’m maybe talented at some things like baking, but I don’t think I’m talented in much else.  Talents are developed over time and I was never given the opportunity to develop anything because I was expected to be a good wife, tend to children, and read the Bible.  Sometimes I think about if I could have been a piano player or a singer or something creative.  Maybe I could have been a writer like Geneviève if I was given the opportunity young, but I wasn’t.  But that’s okay.  I am trying to make my peace with it.  I will develop what I have now and try to use it for good.  

Sincerely, Effie Schaffer

Nobody bakes like you, Effie.  Please don’t think you are not talented, because you are.  I know you weren’t able to develop anything like you said, but you can still find your talents now.  You’re still young!  You’re only entering your 20s in a few weeks.  You can do whatever you set your mind to.

*

Hi Matthew,

Levi and Jenna took me to the mall again today.  We bought some new clothes that fit me better and aren’t so baggy.  They look really nice.  I even bought a dress that falls right at my knee.  Can you believe it?!  I never thought I’d wear something like that.  I never thought anybody else would be able to see my legs!  It’s a very weird feeling but it’s a very pretty dress.  Jenna said I should wear it for my birthday and I think I’m going to do it.  Do you want to see it?  I can send you a picture of it if you want.

I checked the weather in St. Louis and saw there was a big thunderstorm.  I hope you weren’t caught it in or anything.  I can’t imagine your curly hair getting wet in the rain and what it would look like.

Sincerely, Effie Schaffer

What are you trying to say about my hair??????????

I would love to see your dress.  I bet it looks great on you.  And you will need to send me pictures of you wearing it on your birthday.

*

They happened daily.  Usually sometime after dinner, when Matthew knew Effie had just finished eating and was either winding down for the night or preparing to do homework.  Every day, he waited for the message.  And every day, he’d grab his phone the second he heard the notification, not bothering to wait, and read the message eagerly.

***

Matthew found himself at a raucous house party, one that could have been characteristic of any stereotypical college experience or American movie trying to depict a traditional American life.  It felt like it was straight out of the American Pie movies.  A friend of his was hosting, and there was everything – beer kegs, jungle juice, trashed guys jumping into the pool, music blasting so loud Matthew almost couldn’t hear his own thoughts, girls taking selfies and posting to Instagram or complaining about boys at the party not paying attention to them.  

Hot girls taking selfies and posting to Instagram or complaining about boys – he and Brady – not paying attention to them.

Brady was taken and accounted for – Emma was great and Matthew loved her, even though he saw her only sparingly – and so most of the attention tonight was placed on Matthew.  He was the shiny new toy every time he came back to St. Louis in the summers – well, shiny always, but new not so much.  Nothing was new about him being in St. Louis in the summer, but everybody always treated is as such a big deal because he spent most of the year in Calgary.  That’s why attention was always on him, especially at parties like this.  That’s why everybody wanted to talk to him.  That’s why all the girls wanted to talk to him.  Matthew didn’t want to think about it.  He wanted to enjoy his night with his buddies, drinking beer and chatting them all up.  

That was…until Leah made an appearance.

Leah, a girl.  Leah, a girl he would hook up with in the summers…occasionally.  Sporadically.  Like, once a summer when he was back.  Maybe twice.  She’d always show up everywhere and smile and be nice.  And when Matthew was tipsy, or just a little bit drunk, he’d think ‘What the hell’ and let the night take him where it wanted to take him.

Just like now.

“Hey Matty,” she cooed, smiling as she always did and biting the bottom of her lip.  She went in for a hug, wrapping her arms around his shoulders.  He could swear she spilled some of her jungle juice on his neck.

“Hey Leah,” he said, his lips in a tight smile as she pulled away.  She was wearing a frilly crocheted top and cut-off denim shorts.  She looked hot.  Any guy at the party would have wanted to hook up with her.  “How are you?”

“Better now that I see you,” her flirting was automatic.  “How long have you been back for?”

“A few weeks,” Matthew shrugged his shoulders.

“And no call or text?  Ouch, Matty.”

“You always show up places,” he found himself saying, feeling his lips curve into a smirk.  “Didn’t think I needed to call.”

“Well then maybe I should have sent you a text.”

The party went on.  Matthew hung out with his buddies and talked up a storm.  Everybody got a kick out of his hockey stories and were practically begging for more.  He’d catch Leah staring at him from a few friend groups away where she stayed with her girlfriends, or from across the backyard or something, and she’d always bite her lip and flutter her eyelashes.  The beers kept pouring down his throat and he noticed her get closer and closer until she wiggled her way in with her friends.  It probably took a while, but in Matthew’s mind, it felt like it was only a minute until she was right in front of him, red solo cup in her hand.  

“Have you tried the jungle juice?” she asked.

He shook his head.  “I’ve been drinking beer all night.”

“Come get some inside with me,” she said, already grabbing his hand.  She wasn’t taking no for an answer.  She pulled him as he staggered behind her, almost tripping on the steps of the patio and while walking through the screen door.  When they finally got to the kitchen, Leah looked over her shoulder and winked before tugging Matthew nearer to her body.  She spun around in front of the jungle juice to pour some more into her cup.  When she did, Matthew could feel her ass up against his groin.  He felt like he was going to pass out from the beer.

“Did you miss me, Matty?” she asked as she looked at him over her shoulder again.

“I miss everyone in St. Louis,” he replied.

Leah apparently didn’t like that response, because she grinded her ass up against his groin even harder now.  “Don’t say that,” she cooed.  “I know you miss me.  It’s not like there’s anybody in Calgary like me.”

Matthew hummed.  She was right.  There wasn’t anybody like her in Calgary.

Effie was nothing like her.

Matthew’s stomach twisted as images of Effie flooded his mind.  The first one that came was the day he had picked her up at the hairdresser’s when she’d chopped off all her hair.  She looked so cute, and he remembered how bashful he was.  Then came the image of her sitting on another couch watching Little Women intently, at least fifteen bags of candy spread out on the coffee table of Levi’s basement.  She was so into watching the movie, and he was so into watching her.  Then came the image of her face, sweet and innocent and beautiful – the last face he saw in Calgary before heading to the airport and boarding a plane to St. Louis.  “No,” he mumbled out, half-drunk and heart aching.  

“No,” Leah repeated with a smile on her face, turning around finally to face him before trailing her finger down his chest and letting in linger on the hem of his jeans.  “There’s nobody in Calgary like me.”

He furrowed his brows.  He wanted out, but his feet felt like cement.  They always were when he was on the edge of being drunk.  He gulped.  “Where’s Brady?”

“Come with me, Matty,” she tugged at his jeans before grabbing his hands again and dragging him through the house.  She kept looking over her shoulder to smile at him and he kept looking back towards the backyard.  “I know what you need.”

She led him down a hallway, and at the end of that hallway was the bathroom.  She turned on the light and dragged him inside, shutting the door behind them and locking it.  She looked at him suggestively when the click filled the air.  “Le—”

“Shhh…” she pressed her finger against his lips to shut him up, replacing them quickly with her lips as she began to kiss him.  

Matthew closed his eyes.

These weren’t Effie’s lips.

She was kissing his neck now, and had backed him into the sink so he could lean against it.  Her hands wandered down to the button and zipper of his jeans.  Suddenly, she dipped down and was on her knees in front of him.  “Want me to suck you off, Matty?”

“N—No,” he stuttered out, looking down at her.  Matthew felt the zipper being pushed down and her hand on his groin.

“You can come down my throat,” she offered.  

He closed his eyes tightly, and in the darkness, he saw only one person: Effie.  

The only thing that brought him back – because he could have stayed alone in the bathroom with his eyes closed and the image of Effie in his mind for the rest of the God damn party if he really wanted to – was the sound of his zipper being pushed down dramatically.  He opened his eyes.  “Would you stop?!” he demanded, wiggling out of where he’d been backed into the sink.  He grabbed the front of his pants and zipped them up again.

Leah, still on her knees, spun around and glared at him.  “Oh you’ve gotta be fucking kidding me,” she got up slowly, not breaking eye contact.  “You have someone in Calgary?” she demanded.

Matthew refused to answer as he did up his button.

“Who the fuck is she?” she demanded again.

“There’s nobody.”

“Fucking hell there’s nobody.  What’s her name?”

“Don’t go there, Leah.  As if I’d tell you.”

“You’re fucking someone in Calgary?  Since when?”

“As if I’d tell you,” he repeated.

She gave him one last glare because unlocking the door.  “Fuck you Matthew Tkachuk.  You’ll fucking miss me.”

“Doubt it.”

***

Hi Matthew,

I went to a Starbucks today to work on some school work and people watch.  When you get back to Calgary, we will need to find a new Starbucks because the one near Levi’s house is too far away now.  Anyway, I was working on an assignment and watching people interact and go about their daily lives.  It was eye-opening and a bit weird to me.  A lot of people were on their phones!  It makes me wonder if I should be on it more…?  A lot of the girls who walked in were really fashionable and it makes me want to go shopping again.  I don’t think I’ll ever look as good as Geneviève or Annica but I could definitely try, and they could help me.  I learn a lot by people watching.  Does that make me weird?

I had a Zoom call with Geneviève and Jacob in Sweden.  She is doing well and helped me with my assignment a little bit.  I’ve been baking shortbread recently, and I’m going to make butter tarts tomorrow.  I miss you being my taste-tester, but I bet you are happy to have home cooking.  Sometimes I wonder if my siblings miss my cooking but I doubt they do.

Did you think I was weird when I said I didn’t miss my family at all?

Sincerely, Effie Schaffer

I do not think you are weird at all for not missing your family.  They were abusive.  You have no reason to miss them.

People are addicted to their phones these days, which is why you’re so refreshing.  You’re not a slave to it…at least yet lol.  I hurt my eyes sometimes from staring at my screen too long.  

I can’t wait to eat ALL of your baking when I get back.  It’s the best, Effie.  It really is.

I miss you a lot.

*

Hi Matthew,

I miss you too.

Thank you for not thinking I’m weird for not missing my family.

I’ve been watching a lot of movies and listening to a lot of music.  I’ve been researching what’s been popular since I was born and I’m trying to, like, catch up I guess.  Some of the movies I don’t like or don’t get.  Some of them are really funny, and I watched them because I know people quote them all the time.  Like this movie called Bridesmaids.  I want to be able to get references people make even though I wasn’t in the moment of them.  There are some movies I’ve read about online that seem amazing, but I don’t want to watch them alone.  They are:

Eternal Sunshine of a Spotless Mind Moonlight There Will Be Blood Shoplifters Brokeback Mountain The Master Unorthodox

When you come back to Calgary, would you watch them all with me?

Sincerely, Effie Schaffer

Of course I’ll watch them all with you.

***

Effie Schaffer woke up the morning of her 20th birthday, on July 7, 2021, to her phone ringing.  Birthdays were not a thing in the People’s Dominion of Christ.  They were not celebrated.  Effie always knew when hers was, but as a kid she never had a birthday party, and when she was forced to marry the prophet, she hated her birthday.  Hated it.  She always wished that the prophet would forget about it but he never did.  It was the one day of the year she spent the most time praying, and when she was not praying, she was with the prophet on his demand.  Several weeks later, usually, after a lot of blood loss and visit from the cult’s midwife (though she wasn’t properly medically trained), Abraham would tell Effie that everything was her fault, that God was testing him when He spoke to Abraham and told him to take Effie as his wife.  “July 7.  7/7.  One number above the Devil,” he’d tell her.  “That’s what you are.  Just above the devil.  Your blood and your loss are the signs of having the devil in you.  That’s why you refuse to carry my Son of God.”

She wasn’t expecting anybody to call besides Levi and Jenna, but they said they would be picking her up at noon anyway.  After she rubbed the sleep out of her eyes and sat up in bed a little bit, she was pleasantly surprised, albeit a little shocked, to see Matthew’s name flash across the screen.  The giant FaceTime text was at the bottom of screen.  Effie swiped to answer.  After a bit of lagging, Matthew’s smiling face appeared.  “HAPPY BIRTHDAY!” he screamed, loudly, causing her to jump slightly.  

“Thank you, Matthew,” she said, her heartbeat going back to normal.

“How does it feel to officially be in your twenties?” he asked.

Effie could barely think, so she shrugged.  “When I wake up and my brain starts working, I’ll tell you.”

Matthew furrowed his brows.  It was only then that he noticed half of her hair in a scrunchie and the pillows behind her head.  “Oh shit, I fucked up time zones, didn’t I?” he asked worriedly.  “What time is it there?”

Effie looked at her watch.  “It’s 7:30 in the morning.”

“I woke you up!  Jesus Effie, I’m so sorry,” he began to apologize.  “I’m such an idiot—”

“It’s okay, Matthew,” she said, smiling at how his own smile had faded from his face when he realized he had woken her up early.  7:30 in the morning would have been a godsend two years ago, when she usually woke up at 5:30.  “It’s nice to be woken up by your voice on my birthday, actually.  Someone is at least treating it like a birthday.”

“Levi’s gonna treat you,” he said like it was the most obvious thing in the world.  As if Levi wouldn’t.

“I know,” she said.  “I mean, like…before.  Birthdays weren’t exactly a celebration.”

“You never used to celebrate your birthday?” he asked, thinking back to all the amazing birthdays his parents had thrown he and his siblings over the years.  Because his was so close to Christmas, it was extra special.  His parents always made sure Christmas didn’t overshadow it too much.  Same with Taryn being born on Halloween.  Brady’s parties were always good too because they were right after the start of school, so usually the entire class would be invited.  

“No,” Effie shook her head.  Matthew was sort of waiting for her to elaborate, but it seemed like she didn’t want to.  He left it at that.  “Levi’s taking me to that steakhouse we went to for Noah’s birthday,” she informed him.  “I think I’m gonna have another tomahawk.”

Matthew smiled again.  “Please do, in honour of me.”

“Maybe I’ll take a picture of it to show you what you’re missing.”

“Believe me, I know what I’m missing,” he said.  He bit his lip, wondering for a quick second if he should tell her about the gifts coming her way.  He quickly decided against it, thinking it would be better left as a surprise.  “I’m sorry I can’t be there, Effie.”

“You don’t have to apologize, Matthew,” she told him, meaning it sincerely.  “It’s an amazing thing that you’re so close to them.  I…believe me, I know how important that is…to be able to have people who love you unconditionally, to be able to have people who love you and want to see you and always have your best interests at heart.  I would never want to take that away from you.  And besides, when we watch all those movies together…you’ll be there.  We’ll be reunited.”

He licked his lips, nodding quickly.  “You bet.”

***

Matthew had been lying around the house all day after playing a round of golf with his dad that morning.  He’d tanned by the pool with Taryn and ate straight from the bag of Veggie Straws, but he was pretty glued to his phone because he wanted to see the delivery updates for the gifts he’d gotten Effie for her birthday.

The first gift was a giant bouquet of flowers.  Peonies, mostly, of course, because of her tattoo, set in a beautiful vase.  He’d gotten the delivery notification, then about five minutes later he’d received a picture of it from Effie over Instagram saying thank you.  Fifteen minutes later, she uploaded a photo of it to her Instagram feed and tagged him.  ‘Beautiful bouquet of peonies from my friend Matthew!  I am twenty years old today.’ was her caption.  That was the first gift.

The second was a delivery of some cookies from an amazing bakery in Calgary that Annica and Geneviève always ordered from.  The cookies were divine, but realistically, they weren’t better than Effie’s cookies.  But Effie making cookies for her own birthday wasn’t exactly a gift, so he knew he’d have to order her a batch.  Again, he’d gotten the notification that the cookies had been delivered, and ten minutes later, Effie had sent a selfie of her with one of the chocolate chip cookies.  ‘Yum!’ she’d texted with the photo.  Another notification on Instagram told him Effie had uploaded another photo and tagged him in it.  ‘My friend Matthew gave me cookies too!  How sweet!  Cookies are some of my favourite treats.’  He absolutely loved her feed and the way she used Instagram.  If he had to delete everyone else and just follow her, he’d do it.

The last gift was the trickiest.  He didn’t know how she’d react.  But she didn’t have one of her own – she’d been borrowing Jenna’s – and she needed one, quite literally, for her job.  He wondered if she’d like the colour.  And the make.  And all the attachments.

A ‘MATTHEW, YOU DIDN’T’ text suddenly came through on his phone, and he couldn’t help but smile from ear to ear.  It was the first time it didn’t sound like an email.

Do u like it? he texted back.

I LOVE IT IN THE PISTACHIO TOO MY FAVOURITE COLOUR AND THE SIFTER ATTACHMENT AND THE ICE CREAM MAKER ATTACHMENT MATTHEW!

Im happy u like it! Now u can bake all you want and not have to borrow Jenna’s

“Taryn, mom needs you inside to help with something,” Brady’s voice boomed through the silence of the backyard.  Matthew heard the screen door burst open, and watched conspicuously through his sunglasses as Brady more or less barged towards them.  

“Can she wait?” Taryn didn’t make any effort to move.

“Now Taryn.  She seems pretty adamant,” Brady didn’t give up, his tone serious as he continued to walk towards them.

Taryn grumbled and got up from her seat.  Matthew locked his phone and pretended not to care, even when Brady took Taryn’s place in her lawn chair right beside him and didn’t bother lying down.  Instead, he sat facing Matthew, elbows on his knees and hands joined together, like he was a cop about to interrogate his brother.  “Who’s in Calgary?”

Matthew looked over at him.  “Huh?”

“Who’s in Calgary?” Brady asked again.

Matthew was confused.  “G…Gio?” he asked.

“Who’s in Calgary that made you not hook up with Leah at the party?”

Matthew’s heart dropped in the pit of his stomach.  For fuck sakes.  He sighed deeply and took off his sunglasses, trying to make it seem like everything was being blown out of proportion when, really, Matthew just didn’t want people knowing.  But he told Brady everything – everything.  He was sort of impressed that the secret had lasted this long, if he was being honest.  “Brady…” he began, his voice low.

Brady took off his sunglasses too.  “There’s a girl.”

“Sort of.  It’s complicated.”

“It’s complicated?  What’s her name?”

Matthew thought about not telling him, but there was no point.  Brady would find out eventually, and Matthew would rather Brady learn the news from him than from the rumour mill or from Leah stalking his social media.  “It’s…Effie.”

“Effie?”

“Who’s Effie?” Taryn voice boomed.  The boys whipped their head to see her standing at their family room’s sliding doors, hiding behind the screen door.

“Taryn!” both brothers yelled at their sister.

“Effie?  Who’s Effie?” Chantal called out from the kitchen.

“What’s an Effie?” Keith asked from beside Chantal.  

“Oh my GOD this is a disaster!” Matthew screamed out in frustration.  “Get out of here, Taryn!”

“Who’s Effie?” Brady demanded once more.

Matthew put his heads in his hands dramatically before giving up.  There was no way he was going to get out of this.  Now his whole family would know.  It would be a game of telephone, and by the end of his and Brady’s conversation, Keith would hear Matthew married a girl named Jessie who’d grown up in a hut.  “You remember me talking about one of our physio guys?  Levi Schaffer?” Matthew asked.  Brady nodded.  “His younger sister.”

Brady furrowed his brows.  “Isn’t Levi in his thirties?  You’re dating an older woman, Matthew?”

Matthew rolled his eyes.  “No, you dolt.  She’s fifteen years younger than he is.”

“SHE’S FIFTEEN?!”

“WHAT?!” Taryn screamed from the screen door again.

“AAAAAAARGHHHH!” Matthew screamed in absolute frustration.  “You are literally the dumbest person alive, you know that right?!” he screamed at Brady.

“Matthew!  Apologize to your brother!” Chantal called from the house, opening the screen door and stepping through into the backyard with Keith.  

“But mom!  He’s an idiot!”

“Matthew,” Keith’s voice bellowed. “Now.”

“Sorry,” Matthew grumbled.  His parents always made the siblings do this stuff, ever since they were kids.  “Can we just drop it all?” he asked.

“Nope.  We’re all here now,” Brady said.  “Who’s Effie?”

Matthew sighed heavily.  “She’s a girl I met through my friend Levi at work.”

“What’s the big deal?  Are you dating her?” Keith asked.

“No,” Matthew answered immediately, shaking his head.  “No.  We’re not dating.  Not at all.  She…” he began, trying to find the right words.

“She…” Brady egged on.

“She’s a bit…” Matthew began again.  How was he going to tell them?  How was he gonna word it?  Should he sugar coat it or just come out and say it?  “She’s a bit…different.  She…she and Levi grew up in one of those, like, religious cults, out in rural Alberta.  But a year and a half ago, she escaped, and she’s been trying to adjust to the real world ever since.  I met her in January, at Noah’s birthday.  And ever since, I’ve just been, like…helping her experience the normal world.”

The entire Tkachuk family was silent as they processed the information.  They were definitely expecting a much different explanation from Matthew, that was for sure.  “A religious cult, Matthew?” Chantal was the first to speak.  Matthew nodded his head.  Chantal grew serious.  “Was she abused?”

Matthew hesitated, but he eventually nodded his head.  It wasn’t his business to tell – he knew that – but he couldn’t lie to his own mother.  “She could only wear dresses.  She had to read the Bible all day.  She was married at fourteen to the leader of the cult who was 55.  That sort of thing,” he explained briefly, not wanting to give any more details.

Chantal looked concerned.  Keith looked at his wife before looking back at his son.  “So you’re not dating her, but you’re helping her learn about the real world,” Keith clarified.  Matthew nodded again.  Keith looked at Brady.  “Then that’s none of our business! What’s the big deal?” he huffed.

“It’s not—”

“Why’re you busting his balls then?”

“Keith!” Chantal chastised.

***

Hi Matthew,

I still can’t believe you got me the stand mixer.  I love it so much.  It’s the only thing that I have out on my countertop because there’s no reason to hide it.  And the pistachio colour is sooooooo beautiful.  I promise that as a token of appreciation, I’m going to bake you whatever sweets you want when you get back to Calgary.  Seriously.  Anything you want.  Even if I haven’t made it before.  And I’ll make ice cream too!

I have been taking some walks around Calgary in my spare time.  It’s a really beautiful city.  Sometimes I will do my walks at night and see all the young people out at restaurants and bars and all the light are lit up downtown, and it’s even more beautiful.  It’s so nice to see life in people.  Everybody in the cult was so miserable.  Maybe I’m just saying that because I was so miserable, but that’s how I remember it.  Nobody was happy about life.  Well, they weren’t happy about life like the people in downtown Calgary are on a Friday or Saturday night.  

Sincerely, Effie Schaffer

Calgary is definitely a beautiful city, and I’m happy that you’re starting to see that.  Wait until you see even more of the country and the world one day!  All of those young people that you see out and about are your age.  I know you are probably very nervous to make new friends, but if you ever want to go out to one of those places, I’m sure Levi or Jenna would take you.  When the team gets back into the city, I know any of the guys would take you too, just like when we went out for Andrew’s birthday.  You just let us know when.  And I apologize in advance for Noah’s behaviour.

I’m going to put in a request for snickerdoodles.  My mom used to make them a lot growing up, but she doesn’t make them as much now because then I’d eat them all and get too pudgy.

*

Hi Matthew,

Snickerdoodles it is.  I will perfect the recipe before you come back.

On top of movies, I’ve also been listening to music.  Levi lets me use his Spotify.  He also told me what an iPod is…was.  Have you heard of Adele?  She’s amazing!  I love her voice.  Most of the time I just let Spotify recommend me things and I end up liking them, but Levi introduced me to some bands too.  Have you heard of Bruce Springsteen?  Taylor Swift?  The Tragically Hip?  Red Hot Chili Peppers?  They’re all so good.  Red Hot Chili Peppers is Levi’s favourite band.  I also really like listening to Coldplay.  I think they’re my favourite out of all of them.  But I also like dancing songs, like the songs that have a good beat.  I wasn’t allowed to dance before (it was too sensual and would tempt the men) so now I feel like I should let it all out.

Sincerely, Effie Schaffer

Dance your heart out Effie.  Fuck them.

Fuck them.

***

Matthew was antsy.  Antsy.  The second the plane landed in Calgary, his leg was bobbing up and down to get off the plane, grab his bags, and go straight to Effie’s apartment.  

It was the first time since he had lived in Calgary that he wanted to go anywhere but his apartment after a flight back to the city.  But Effie had that effect on him these days.  He hadn’t seen her in three months – almost four.  And he was dying to.  FaceTimes and Instagram-messages-formatted-as-emails could only do so much, and satisfy so much in his mind.  He needed to see her, physically see her.  He didn’t know what had happened to him in the past few months, especially since he and Effie had left on such a good note.  No need to rush things.  Take the time.  But this entire summer, all Matthew could think about was her.  All he dreamt about was her.  He wondered if it was the same for her too.  And he wondered, if it was, if she would admit it.

Once he got his bags from baggage claim, he hightailed it out of the airport and got into a taxi.  He gave the driver Effie’s address, and within half an hour, he found himself with his suitcases at the foot of her apartment.

Okay, so maybe he didn’t think this through.  

He hauled both of his suitcases up the staircase, most definitely putting chips in the wood steps along the way.  It reminded him of moving her in to the place months ago, with him yelling at Sean for half of the day but ending with a slice of pie and his first kiss from Effie.  He didn’t know what to expect now, but he knew that whatever he’d get, he’d be happy with.  He knocked on her door and waited.  

When Effie opened it, she looked confused because she wasn’t expecting anybody.  But the second she saw Matthew’s face, her face lit up like a night show of fireworks.  “Matthew!” she squealed, jumping on him and wrapping her arms tightly around his broad shoulders as he wrapped his arms around her waist.  “What are you doing here?!  You weren’t supposed to be back in Calgary for a few days!” the shock was still evident in her voice.

“Just thought I’d take an earlier flight out,” he said casually.  “Gonna need to customize to the time change anyway.”

As if an hour was going to be a big shock to his system.

When Effie pulled away, she still kept her hands on his shoulders and he kept his hands at her waist.  She’d gained more weight throughout the summer, thankfully, and filled out more.  The pair of jeans she was wearing actually fit.  The top she was wearing actually fit too – a simple navy-striped long sleeve.  He was happy to see that.  She’d been so frail when he met her in January.  She looked like she had life in her now.  “Have you even gone home?” she asked, looking down at his suitcases behind him, snapping him out of his thoughts.

“Uh…no,” he said awkwardly.  “Can I bring them in?  I just wanted to see you.”

Effie couldn’t help but gulp at his words.  “I just wanted to see you.”  Nobody had ever said those words to her before – not even her own mother, she thought.  Nobody was ever happy to see her in the cult.  But in the real world, Matthew was.  “Yeah, come in,” she said, moving to remove her hands from his shoulders to give him more space to haul his suitcases into her entrance.  He closed the door behind him when he was done, and that’s when the reality snapped back into Effie’s mind.  “Oh no!” she exclaimed worriedly.

Matthew automatically got worried too.  “Oh no what?”

“You came home early and I—I didn’t make your snickerdoodles!”

A smile automatically appeared on his face.  “Effie, it’s okay,” he said softly, slipping off his shoes.  “It’s not like I told you I was coming back to Calgary.”

The worried look didn’t leave her face.  “Are you sure?  I—I didn’t mean to forget.  I actually made one batch but I thought they could be better for you so I was going to make another and—”

“Effie,” he said sternly, placing a hand over hers, which had bunched together nervously.  “It’s alright.  It’s okay.”

“Are you sure?” she asked one more time.

“I’m positive,” he squeezed her hands gently.  “Just gives me another excuse to come over again in a few days, really.”

A small smile crept on Effie’s face as she realized Matthew wasn’t angry.  Usually, when something like this happened, the outcome was much different.  She didn’t have to worry about that anymore.  “Well come in then, come in,” she said, moving further into her apartment so Matthew could follow her.  “D’you want something to drink?” she asked, already opening up her fridge.

“Tell me what you’ve been learning in school,” Matthew said instead, leaning against it.  “I want to hear everything I missed.”

Effie couldn’t stop talking after that.  They had managed to migrate to her couch and she told him about her courses and teachers and homework and assignments and textbooks and her new computer and the classroom and the building and the campus and the Starbucks on campus and the cafeteria she’d eat in and the vending machine she’d buy snacks from and the bench she’d sit on waiting for class and everything.  Everything.  There was nothing she didn’t talk about.  And he listened to it all, listened to all of it intently, not interrupting once, asking follow-up questions and asking her for more more more more more.  He couldn’t get enough.  He forgot about his water.  He forgot about the homemade Rice Krispie she gave him on a plate on her coffee table.  He forgot that he was going to suggest they go out to a Starbucks.  He forgot that he hadn’t seen her in months and was so desperate to see her that he came here before he even went to his own apartment.  All he could think about was here, and all he could pay attention to was what she was saying.  

He wanted it like this all the time.

“How’s therapy going?” he asked, finally remembering his water and taking a quick sip from his glass.  

“I’m seeing a sex therapist now too.”

That was a bombshell.  Matthew tried not to make it show that he was shocked at the news, but she’d said it so casually – like everyone saw a sex therapist.  And, like, a therapist was one thing, but a sex therapist was another.  He understood why she’d need one, but it was still a shock to him.  “Oh yeah?” he tried to say casually.

Effie nodded her head.  “I told Dr. Barlow how we’d been kissing,” she said, biting her lip and blushing slightly.  “And, um…well, I told her some other things, so she suggested I see the sex therapist to help fix them.”

Fix them?  Matthew had no idea what she meant.  He moved slightly closer to her on the couch as he furrowed his brows.  “What else did you tell her?” he asked softly.  Effie averted his gaze, looking away as if she were embarrassed.  “Effie, come on, you can tell me,” he urged.

“Well…when we—do you promise not to freak out at me?”

His heart ached.  “Of course.”

“When we started kissing—well, when I started kissing you…I liked it a lot,” she said.

“We were kissing each other,” he said, correcting her, because he knew language was important and the way things were phrased was important and he wanted her to know he was 100% in on it too.  He wasn’t exactly innocent.  He was a willing accomplice.  “I was kissing you too.  I liked it a lot too.”

Effie nodded her head.  “Well…I liked it a lot.  But then we had that talk and you left for St. Louis and we were in a good place.  Dr. Barlow told me that was very mature of me, and that she was very impressed.  But then…”

“But then…”

Effie kept averting his gaze.  “Um…but then, well, you weren’t here, and I started to have dreams of us kissing.  I’d lean into you and close my eyes and kiss you.  And your lips were soft like I remembered.  But then it would change.  Quickly.  And it would hurt.  It—it would hurt.  And I’d open my eyes and instead of you, it was…Abraham.  And I’d get so scared.  I’d wake up screaming.”

Matthew’s heart fell in the pit of his stomach.  He felt like he was going to be sick.  “I made you feel that way?”

“No!  No you didn’t,” she shook her head vehemently.  “It was only when you left.  When you’re—Matthew, no,” her words were jumbled because she had started crying.  “When we kissed, I liked it.  I liked it so much.  But my mind was playing tricks on me.”

“Effie, if I hurt you—”

“You didn’t.  You didn’t hurt me at all,” she pressed, her hand extending automatically to grab at his forearm comfortingly.  “You could never hurt me Matthew.  Ever.  I just…” her voice had gotten softer, frailer, more like it had been in January.  “I still see him sometimes.”

If Matthew’s heart had fallen into the pit of his stomach before, then now it had just shattered into a billion pieces.  “Oh, Effie…” he barely got out.

“I don’t want to see him ever again,” she said.  

“C’mere,” he said softly, pulling her body towards his so he could hug her.  He wrapped his arms around her tightly and could feel Effie melt into him, her head cradled on his chest.  He wanted her to feel as safe as possible with him – he’d wanted that since the beginning.  With this new revelation, he now wanted it more than ever.  “You’ll never see him again, Effie.  I promise you.”

“I know I won’t.  I know.  This is happening because of what happened to me.”

“When he would hurt you.”

Effie looked up at him, nodding, almost embarrassingly.  “I know that he can’t hurt me anymore.  But my dreams would take me back to when he did.  It wasn’t you, Matthew.  You didn’t make me feel that way.  I told Dr. Barlow and Dr. Stevenson that.  They’re just trying to help me not see him anymore, and move past the things that he did to me.  And they’re…they’re trying not to make me feel guilty about something so simple like kissing.”

“You felt guilty about us kissing?” he asked.

“Women couldn’t date, right?  So it wasn’t like I was kissing any of the other boys in the cult. We were harlots and sinners if we kissed men, and we were responsible for them straying away from God.  My first kiss was on my fake wedding day.”

Matthew could kill them all.  He had half the heart to jump into his car and drive to Sheerness so that he could.  “I will give you as many kisses as you want if it helps you forget,” he blurted out.

Effie couldn’t help but smile.  “Can we start again now?  Slowly?”

Matthew smiled slightly.  She craned her head up and placed one of her signature chaste kisses on his lips, and he reciprocated readily, the feeling of her lips on his after months of not having them there ranking up there with the best feeling in the world.  When she pulled away, her eyes were still closed, but there was a smile on her face.  Her prior tears had stained her cheeks.  “Hugging you feels nice too,” Effie said, finally opening her eyes.  

Matthew smiled.  “Well then we’ll start doing a lot of that too.”

***

At the beginning of every hockey season, right before training camp, the Calgary Flames hosted a gala to benefit the Calgary Flames Foundation.  The team would set a fundraising goal for the night – often surpassed – and then set one for the season – also surpassed – to give back to the city and community that supported them endlessly, through thick and thin.  The gala was unofficially the kickoff to the season.  Every member of the team, coaching staff, and head office attended.  It was one of Calgary’s biggest events.  It was the one night of the year Matthew didn’t mind being out and having to small-talk with hundreds of strangers, because he knew it was all for a good cause and a greater good.  

Matthew was forced to wear a tuxedo.  All the members of the team were forced to wear tuxedos.  He kept fiddling with his bowtie and Mark kept slapping his hand away.  Matthew thought they all looked like penguins.  He searched around the gala room, already filling up with people.  He took his phone out of his pocket.

You guys here yet? he texted Geneviève, knowing that since Elias and Jacob were already here, she and Annica were coming together.  

We’re in a taxi.  Eyeliner needed to be reapplied because Effie kept crying.

Matthew chuckled to himself, picturing the image of Effie sitting in a chair while Annica and Geneviève fussed over her makeup.  Before he could text her back, another text from her came through.

She looks beautiful, by the way.

Matthew was impatient.  He kept looking towards the doors even though he was supposed to be pretending to be interested in what these rich people had to say.  Levi and Jenna were already there, too, so it really was just him waiting for Effie to arrive.  This entire night didn’t start until Effie arrived.  

Matthew was in a conversation with someone when he saw her walk through the doors.  Annica was wearing a navy blue bodycon dress that showed off her curves, and she looked great.  Geneviève was wearing an emerald green midi-length dress with a high slit, high collar, back cut-out, and cap sleeves, and she looked impeccably chic and stylish, like only Geneviève could.  

But it was Effie, of course, who looked the best.  A bright red dress that fell to her knees, with floral lace and sequins and cape sleeves that covered her otherwise bare arms.  She wore a pair of low nude heels, and her blonde bob was styled professionally as a barely-there curl.  She looked impeccable.  Beautiful.  Stunning.  Gorgeous.  Divine.  Exquisite.  

“Excuse me,” he said quickly to the man and wife he was talking to, and left Elias alone with them as he made his way through the crowd and towards Effie, Annica, and Geneviève.  He pushed past some people gently before finally appearing in front of them.  He could see Geneviève smirking the second they saw him, but he locked eyes with Effie.  When she saw him in his tux, her breath hitched in her throat.  He looked good.  “Hi,” he said to Effie breathlessly.

Annica saw the look in his eyes and knew she had to skedaddle out of there.  “Where’s Elias?”

“Over there,” Matthew pointed behind him, somewhere in the crowd of four hundred people, as if that answered the question and helped her.

“Thanks,” she left, winking at him as she passed him.

Geneviève was next.  “I guess my husband is in the same place?” she asked him.

“Mhm,” he nodded his head quickly.

“Great.  You two behave.  If I don’t see you, I’ll assume you’re in a broom closet,” she said before disappearing into the crowd of people.

Matthew and Effie hadn’t taken their eyes off each other.  Effie thought he looked great in his tux; it was tailored to perfection, and really showed off how thick his body was, but in a good way.  She’d felt it when they hugged when he showed up to her place after landing in Calgary, and if she was being honest with herself, she had been thinking about it ever since.  She kept thinking about being physical with him, about touching him and hugging and cuddling and doing all the things she couldn’t have done with another man before.  And she only wanted to do them with Matthew.  Her mind – and now increasingly her body – wanted to do that only with Matthew.  With the dress and the makeup and the whole look all together, Matthew was a man possessed.  With Geneviève and Annica gone, Matthew couldn’t help but bite his bottom lip to suppress himself from smiling bashfully, like he usually did with Effie.  “You look beautiful, Effie,” he said softly.

“Thanks,” she smiled.  “This is the second dress I’ve ever worn that has shown off my legs.  It’s Geneviève’s.  And – if you can believe it – this is the first time I’ve word something red.”

He couldn’t take it anymore.  From her hair to her makeup to her dress to her shoes, he just couldn’t fucking take it anymore.  He looked around the room quickly before grabbing her hand.  “Come with me,” he mumbled.

“Where are we going?”

He dragged her out of the room and into the foyer.  There were more people out there, sipping on cocktails and eating hors d’oeuvres and getting checked in, so he kept walking with her behind him down the long foyer that connected all the different hall rooms in the complex together.  When it got quieter, and the rush of people were too far away, he led her into a short corridor where a men’s and women’s washroom was.  They were far enough away that he knew no-one from the gala would find them.

“Matthew?  Is everything okay?” she asked as she watched him close the door behind them.

“Everything’s fine,” he said, his voice strained.  “I just…God, Effie, you look so fucking beautiful.”

Effie could pick up on the strain in his voice.  She could also see the fire in his eyes as he looked down at her.  She didn’t know much about the world, and she knew even less about men, but those things alone were telling her something.  Her body was telling her something too, something she’d never heard from it before.  Instead of being repulsed by the body in front of her, she was drawn to it.  Instead of being scared to touch it, she wanted to feel it all over her.  Instead of allowing her mind to take her somewhere else so she didn’t have to focus on pain on hurt or anything else, she wanted to be in the moment and feel everything.  “Kiss me, Matthew,” she said.  She’d never been so bold in her entire life.  She didn’t think she had it in her.

Matthew didn’t need to be told twice.  He held her face between his hands, dipped his head, and began kissing her passionately.  Effie loved it.  It wasn’t a chaste kiss like the kisses they had shared in the past.  This kiss was hungry, and told her almost everything she needed to know about Matthew’s feelings.

Her feelings were similar.  She wanted to explore them.  She wanted to do more.  

That was why, when it was Effie who slid her tongue along Matthew’s lips, he stopped in shock.  Not that he wanted to – the action was just surprising.  He pulled away slightly, making sure it was something she wanted to do.  When he saw her open her eyes slowly, she was bringing her hands up, placing them over his.  “You can touch me, Matthew,” her voice was barely above a whisper.

He let out a shaky breath.  He knew they weren’t exactly gonna hook up in the bathroom or anything, but this was still huge, especially for Effie.  “Are you sure?” he asked.

She nodded her head.  “You won’t hurt me.”

He dipped down and kissed her again.  And he kept kissing her, letting his hands wander to her waist and hips, where he gripped them and pulled them closer to his body.  And she kept kissing him, letting her hands wander down his chest and under his tuxedo jacket to his back, feeling the thickness of his body.  And for at least a few minutes, they were in their own little world, kissing in the men’s bathroom of a banquet hall, hands all over each other as Matthew probably got lipstick all over his mouth.  

Effie was loving it.  The feeling of his soft lips on hers was unlike anything she’d ever felt, and his tongue in her mouth, tasting slightly of the alcohol he’d drunk before she got there, was intoxicating to say the least.  She felt like it could go on forever.  She was pretty sure she would let it go on forever if she could.  She was happy, so happy that she was doing this – that she could do this.  Two years ago, if she’d even thought about it, she would have been scared of being damned to hell for eternity.  Now, she was enjoying it.  Now, she wanted to do it all the time.  Now, she could—

She could—

She—

Now, it hurt a little.

Now, the lips weren’t as soft.

Now, she could feel a prickly, unkept beard scraping at her skin—

“STOP,” she instinctively pushed the body away, scrunching her face and gulping hard.  Before she could see Abraham’s face – before it could appear to her in her mind – she opened her eyes and looked at Matthew.

Matthew.

Matthew.

She saw him staring back at her worriedly and she let out a shaky breath.  He knew why she stopped; he didn’t need to be told.  “I’m—I’m so—”

“Hey hey, it’s okay,” he said soothingly.  “It’s alright, Effie.  We can stop.”

She diverted her eyes from looking at him.  She was so embarrassed.  “You won’t be mad?” she asked.  That was usually how it went for, well…

Matthew put his hand under her chin so he could look her in the eye.  “No,” he said, with as much conviction as he could muster.  “We can stop whenever you want.”

“I’m so—”

“Do not apologize to me,” he said sternly.  She didn’t need to.  He needed her to know that.  “Never apologize to me for that.”

She bit her bottom lip.  “Thank you for stopping.”

“There’s no way in hell I’d keep going.”

Effie nodded.  She understood.  “At least I’m getting better,” she said.  “I didn’t give you a black eye this time.”

Matthew couldn’t help but snort.  It released all the tension in the air immediately; even Effie was giggling slightly.  “That you did not,” he said, grabbing her hand slightly.  “Wanna go back out there?  Well, after we get all this lipstick off of me.”

***

The gala was nice.  It was formal and the food was decent and even though Matthew basically kept his eye on Effie sitting with Levi and Jenna the entire night, it was nice.  He had fun with his teammates.  He embarrassed himself on stage for charity.  At the silent auction, one of his packages with signed memorabilia went for the second-highest bid.  He was proud of what he and the team were able to accomplish in terms of giving back to the community.

But now he had more important things on his mind.  

By the time he found Effie again, she was standing in a group with Levi and Jenna, Jacob and Geneviève, and Annica and Elias.  It looked like they were chatting about something exciting, so Matthew knew he needed to be there.  When Geneviève saw him butt his way in, she smiled.  “I was just reminiscing about when Jacob and I met, and how my friends and I went to the pubs in Oxford after our graduation in our robes and Tudor bonnets,” she said, filling him in.  “There’s nothing better than showing up to a place severely overdressed and then having the time of your life dancing.”

Matthew looked at Geneviève in her dress.  He looked at Annica in hers, and Effie in hers, and Jenna in hers.  He looked to his teammates in his tuxedos, and to Levi wearing a form-fitted navy suit.  “Wanna go dancing?”

Elias smirked.  “The night’s still young.”

***

They ended up at a bar downtown, one that Matthew had been to before but couldn’t really remember exactly what happened (it was his first year in Calgary and he’d just found out hours before that the legal drinking age was only eighteen).  The bouncer looked at them all weirdly in their getups but let them in anyway.  It was only when they entered that they realized it was frosh week for the University of Calgary, and the bar was full of university students drinking and dancing.  The floor was slightly sticky.  It was the perfect venue for the goal they wanted to achieve.

“Oh, this takes me back,” Geneviève giggled, looking out at the sea of people.  She looked at Annica and Jenna.  “Spicy margs?”

Both women nodded.  “Spicy margs.”

She looked at Effie.  “Have you ever had alcohol?”

“No.”

“Do you want to try it while you’re safe with us?”

Effie nodded.  

Geneviève, Effie, and Matthew headed to the bar while the rest of the group went to find a bar table to take over.  Matthew made sure Effie got a spot right at the front as he stood directly behind her, his body pressed against hers.  Geneviève waved down the bartenders and ordered all the drinks.  All the university students clamouring to get a spot at the bar and the attention of the bartenders looked at them weird for their too-fancy clothes.  Geneviève didn’t care – it wasn’t like this was her first time doing this.  Effie was a little self-conscious, but that soon went away when she saw the drinks being made in front of her.

“Whenever you go out to a bar like this, you always want the bartender to make your drink in front of you.  Don’t ever accept a drink from a stranger or if you haven’t seen it made in front of you,” Geneviève cautioned her.  

“Okay,” Effie nodded.  “What happens if I don’t like the spicy margarita though?”

“Then we’ll get you another drink.”

Once all the drinks were made, they were brought back to the bar table the rest of the group managed to find and everyone began drinking.  Effie liked her spicy margarita.  Matthew let her take a sip of his beer but she didn’t like that too much.  She ordered another spicy margarita.  Her body began to feel tingly because of the tequila.  The music started to get progressively louder, too, the bass making the floor vibrate.  Effie looked out onto the dance floor to see a bunch of people her age dancing – grinding, as Matthew called it at Andrew’s birthday many months ago.  She watched them intently, while they were having the time of their lives.  

“You okay?” Matthew asked, bending down to ask as she was looking out at the crowd.  

“I want to dance but I don’t know how to,” she revealed.  “I’m just…looking to see what everyone else is doing.  I wouldn’t be comfortable with that grinding.”

Matthew couldn’t help but smile.  “Nobody knows how to dance, Effie.  We all just move our bodies to the beat of the music.”

The song changed suddenly and it made Geneviève scream at the top of her lungs in excitement.  Effie watched as she grabbed her drink and Jacob’s hand and dragged him towards the dance floor as they began to dance together.  Levi and Jenna followed, and so did Annica and Elias.  The couples weren’t grinding like the university students, but instead danced facing each other, holding hands or swaying back and forth, holding their drinks it their hands and raising them up in the air, miraculously not spilling a thing.  She and Matthew were the only ones left at the bar table.  “This was their wedding song, I think,” Matthew explained, watching Effie watch Jacob and Geneviève dancing.

“What’s it called?”

“I Wanna Dance With Somebody by Whitney Houston.”

“Levi hasn’t introduced me to that one.”

“Levi isn’t the type to listen to Whitney Houston.”

Effie continued to watch them dance, Geneviève singing the lyrics to Jacob at the top of her lungs.  They were so in love with each other, even she could see it, and she barely knew what healthy love was.  A part of her wondered what made them love each other so much, and another part of her wondered if she should ask.  Was it rude to ask something like that?

“D’you want to dance, Effie?” Matthew asked.

Effie looked up at him.  “Do you think people will laugh at me because I don’t know how?”

He shook his head.  “There’s so many people and they’re all so drunk, they won’t even notice you.”

She gripped her margarita tighter.  There was something to be said about overcoming fears ever since she left the cult, and this could be classified as one of them.  But she wasn’t like these university students who were moving their bodies so freely and easily.  She was much more restrained – with everything really – but she wanted to actively work to move away from that.  Conquer her fears.  Do what she needed to do to shed herself from the past.  So she nodded her head.  “Let’s go.”

Matthew grabbed her hand and led her on to the dance floor, moving his body to the song with his beer still in his hand, doing his best not to spill it everywhere, but especially not on Effie wearing Geneviève’s expensive red dress.  Effie watched, moving her feet back and forth awkwardly.  She looked up at Matthew for reassurance, only to see him already smiling at her.  “You got it, you got it,” he said, moving his feet in a similar way.  

“What do I do with my hands?” she asked.

“Just throw ‘em up!” he showed her.  She did the same movements, but she couldn’t step or move with the beat of the music.  Matthew could tell she was nervous.  “Just move your body, Effie.  Move it however you want.  Doesn’t need to be on beat.”

Effie closed her eyes, trying to get the feel of the song in her, but she lost her groove because it soon ended and another began.  This one was even more upbeat – well, it had a better beat – and Effie began to move again.  

Feel buried alive This city is airtight Suffocated and lonely in the crowd I'm surrounded by All the screens of their life Screaming in to space to drown them out

Effie not only began to move her feet and hands, but she tried swaying her hips a bit.  She liked this beat.  She loved this beat.  She lost herself completely in it, dancing with no inhibitions.  Matthew watched as she let loose, moving her body in tune with the music.  Her dancing was unlike anyone else’s around her, and the only thing he wanted to was copy her.  It looked a bit ridiculous, but it didn’t matter to Matthew.  He’d made himself look more ridiculous than this before.  This was nothing.

I felt down so low Found nowhere to go But I know you wait for me You wait for me So far out of sight Straight into the white But I know you wait for me I'm coming home I'm coming back down tonight

Effie opened her eyes to see Matthew.  Matthew, who would wait for her.  Matthew, who had waited for her.  

'Cause I've been hypnotized by the lights But I'm coming home I'm coming back down tonight Yeah, it's taken time to realize But I'm coming home I'm coming back down tonight

“Go Effie!  Go Effie!” Annica chanted, coming up beside them with Elias, grooving to the beat of the music.  Annica watched Effie moving and followed her movements too – albeit more fluidly – and when Effie looked up and saw Annica, a giant smile took over her face.  Annica screamed in excitement and cheered their drinks together before moving with her, beside Matthew, letting him get closest to her.

So hold me tight I just wanna fade out Somewhere we can ship the world away I'm ready to hide Far from the fallout They won't find us in the paradise we'll make

“Woooooooo!  You go girl!  Get loose!” Geneviève screamed from her other side, approaching them with Jacob beside her who was doing a modified version of the robot.  Matthew watched as Effie closed her eyes, going into her own little world, raising her arms and bopping her body to the music.  It was the happiest and most carefree he’d ever seen her.  He vowed right then and there to take her dancing whenever she wanted to go so she could feel this same way.

I felt down so low Found nowhere to go But I know you wait for me You wait for me So far out of sight Straight into the white But I know you wait for me I'm coming home I'm coming back down tonight

Effie was feeling it.  She loved it.  She loved this.  She loved the people she was surrounded by.  If this was love, she wanted to feel it all the time.

'Cause I've been hypnotized by the lights But I'm coming home I'm coming back down tonight Yeah, it's taken time to realize But I'm coming home I'm coming back down tonight I'm coming home I'm coming back down tonight I'm coming home I'm coming back down tonight

When she opened her eyes again, she saw everyone dancing around her.  She stepped closer to Matthew, almost so close that she could feel his body against hers.  They moved together to the climax of the song, Matthew looking down at her and smiling.

Free falling from the high I'm following the voice I know Free falling from the high I'm coming home I'm coming back down tonight

In his tuxedo and in her frilly red dress with cape sleeves, surrounded by people. it felt like they were the only ones in the world.

'Cause I've been hypnotized by the lights But I'm coming home I'm coming back down tonight Yeah, it's taken time to realize But I'm coming home I'm coming back down tonight I'm coming home I'm coming back down tonight I'm coming home I'm coming back down tonight

***

“I think I can live a normal life with him,” Effie told Dr. Barlow as she sat in her usual seat in the office, looking down at her hands.  She’d already been talking for almost an hour during her session, but she felt the need to get that statement out.  Dr. Barlow had the right to know.

“With Matthew?” Dr. Barlow clarified.

Effie nodded her head.  Who else would she be talking about?  “He’s never once made me feel uncomfortable or unsafe or…like…ashamed of what I went through,” she elaborated.  

“That’s a very positive thing,” Dr. Barlow said, her voice steady.  “It’s good that you’re thinking about these things, Effie.  You’re thinking about your future.  You actually see a future for yourself.  But how normal do you think a friendship or perhaps even a life with a hockey player can be?” she asked.

Effie shrugged her shoulders.  “I don’t know.  I barely understand hockey as it is.”

“Well, hockey players don’t exactly live the most conventional of lifestyles.  They travel a lot, as I’m sure you know since Levi travels with the team.”

“Yeah…” Effie didn’t know where Dr. Barlow was going with this.  “That’s…that’s not the biggest deal to me.”

Dr. Barlow nodded her head, writing something down on her pad of paper.  “Have you continued to kiss him since he’s come back?”  Effie nodded.  “Regularly?”

“Semi-regularly.”

“Have you told Dr. Stevenson?” she asked.  Effie nodded again.  “Do you still envision Abraham sometimes?”

Effie hesitated before nodding her head.  She knew she couldn’t lie.  “It’s been getting better though.  We kissed for a couple of minutes once before I, um, felt Abraham’s beard.  And when he stopped, he didn’t get mad at all.  I means it’s progress from when he brushed up against me in bed and I gave him a black eye,” she tried to joke.

Dr. Barlow apparently didn’t find it funny like Matthew had.  She just nodded again and wrote on her note pad.  “You should tell Dr. Stevenson about that.”

***

“I made another pint of maple pecan ice cream,” Effie told Levi as she handed him a Tupperware full of white chocolate macadamia nut cookies.  They were mostly for Jenna – she was craving them.  Jenna had been craving a lot of things lately, ever since Effie got her own mixer, anyway.  Effie had been experimenting making ice cream.  The café was pleased about this as well.  The owner was already looking to invest in ice cream storage to be able to serve it.  “I’ve found a real gem in you, Effie,” the owner would repeat over and over again to her.  Matthew had to stop himself constantly from getting a third bowl on nights he’d come over.  He’d tap at his stomach and say “I can’t” but when he’d go and put his bowl in the sink, she’d always see him hesitate before he did so.  “Do you want it?”

“Please,” he begged his sister.  She moved to open her freezer.  “I swear Effie, the best thing Matthew’s ever done was get you that KitchenAid.  I’ve been gaining weight ever since.”

Effie smiled.  “At least you’re not the hockey player that has to stay in peak physical condition.  Matthew’s been complaining that I’m making him pudgy.”

“Thank God.”

“Speaking of…” she began, handing him the pint of ice cream.  “Do you think you can teach me about hockey?”

“You mean like the rules and stuff?”

“Yeah.  You know, like what’s going on out there whenever I’m at games.”

“Okay,” he nodded, shrugging his shoulder slightly.  “Any reason?”

“If I’m going to be surrounded by hockey because of you, then I should learn it, shouldn’t I?” Effie asked rhetorically.  

“Sure,” he side-eyed his sister playfully.  “But does this have anything to do with Matthew?”

“What if it does?”

Levi smiled.  He knew there was something going on between the two of them, regardless of whether or not they wanted to tell him.  He liked Matthew, he knew he was a good kid, so it wasn’t the worst thing in the world.  She could have hooked up with someone way worse.  Actually, she could have gone the opposite route of where she currently was (which many former cult members went), which was becoming a hypersexual after being sexually repressed for so many years.  Effie was taking her time with it, and that was fine, but if her friendship…or relationship, or whatever she had going on with Matthew was any indication, Levi figured Effie was thinking about it.  “I don’t care, Effie.  It’s kind of cute, actually.”

“So you’ll teach me?”

“Of course.  I’ll have you screaming at the referees in no time.”

***

“So Levi’s teaching me about hockey,” Effie said as she marinated chicken in her kitchen, her phone call with Matthew on speakerphone as she moved around and got her hands dirty.  

“He is?”

“Mhm.  By the time the home opener comes around, I’ll be able to understand what’s going on,” she revealed.

“I better get you a Tkachuk jersey then.”

Effie smiled bashfully, even though he couldn’t see it.  “You don’t want me wearing a Markstrom one like last time?” she joked.

“Effie.”

***

Effie was nervous as she sat in Dr. Stevenson’s office.  Not because she was scared, or because she wasn’t a good sex therapist, or because of anything like that.  She was nervous to admit to her the thoughts she’d been having about Matthew, even though she knew Dr. Stevenson wouldn’t judge her at all and that it was his job to help her.  Help her make peace with these thoughts; help her realize they were completely normal and okay; help her act on them, eventually, in a healthy way.  Dr. Stevenson already knew about Matthew – she knew about him from Effie’s very first day.  

“My mind may not be ready but my body is physically attracted to him. I don’t know how to…you know, mend the two so that both are on the same page,” Effie admitted after almost an hour.  “I want to be with him.  I do.  I know he won’t hurt me – that he’d never hurt me.”

Dr. Stevenson nodded.  “When you were in the People’s Dominion of Christ, there was a huge power imbalance between Abraham, being the prophet and leader, and the followers – you,” Dr. Stevenson began to explain.  “This imbalance made it impossible for you to give true consent to sex.”

Effie’s body stiffened.  Consent.  Geneviève had taught her that term early on.  Consent was giving permission for something to happen.  Effie had never given her consent to marry Abraham.  She’d never given Abraham consent to consummate their marriage.  She’d never given Abraham consent to touch her, stroke her, do anything to her.  She’d surely never given him consent to impregnate her.  “Okay…that makes sense.  But I didn’t know I had to give consent.  I thought that men could do whatever they wanted with my body.  Especially Abraham, since he was the prophet.”

“The institutionalized sexism in the cult is nothing I haven’t heard before.  Many victims like yourself have said the exact same thing to me,” Dr. Stevenson said.  “You are not alone.  There are many people like you, unfortunately.  When females are not equally valued because of misogyny, because of outdated traditional gender roles that are disempowering, it makes women like you experience sexual inequality and become more susceptible to leaders who will exploit you.”

“So how do I get it back?”

“Get what back?”

“My agency.  My…my…” Effie began to tear up, thinking about all the things she had to endure at the hands of Abraham – literally and metaphorically.  “How do I get my mind back?  My body is finally mine, and I can do what I want with it, but I don’t feel like I have my mind back yet if I’m kissing Matthew but then all of a sudden I remember the feeling of Abraham’s beard or that I can’t sit or lie at the foot of a bed because that’s where…”

Dr. Stevenson took a deep breath.  “One way to do so is to embrace, appreciate, and celebrate your sexual self.  That is what I am trying to help you do here.  You need to understand that your capacity for pleasure is not a luxury, and it is not shameful either.  It is a necessity for a well-balanced and emotionally happy life.  As a woman – as a survivor of sexual abuse, of rape – you should take a stand for your own sexual healing and embrace sexual pleasure as something that will help heal you.”

Effie nodded her head, more tears escaping her now, but she understood.  She knew what she needed to do, and the mental shift she needed to go through.  Touching could be pleasurable for the woman.  Sex could be pleasurable for the woman. Not everything had to hurt.  Not everything had to come with pain.  

“I’m not saying this is going to happen tomorrow for you, Effie,” Dr. Stevenson continued.  “I’m not saying it’ll happen next month, or year.  It happens quickly for some, and for others it can take years.  Everybody has their own timeline – you included.  You have to remember that your trauma comes with complex PTSD.  If you set goals for yourself, like you already have been doing, with a person you are comfortable with – Matthew – your sexual self will grow with your physical self and your mental self.  When those three parts of you are aligned, they will all grow stronger, and make you stronger.”

Effie kept nodding.  The words were permeating through her like lightning.  “I’m going to try.  I’m really going to try.”

“Just stop when you need to stop.  Go when you want to go.  You’ll get there, Effie.”

***

“Did you learn about gay people in the cult?” Matthew asked as he prepared Brokeback Mountain on the TV while Effie finished pouring the popcorn into the bowl.  

“Not in a good way, if that’s what you’re really asking,” she said from the kitchen.  “You know the stupid Bible verse.  The prophet called it an abomination.  But it was one of the first things that Levi and Jenna taught out of me when I first went to live with them, because Jenna’s brother is gay and has a husband and two kids.  Levi didn’t want me to be shocked if I ever saw them.”

Matthew didn’t know that about Jenna.  But he nodded his head and watched Effie bring the bowl of popcorn over.  “Have you met them?”

Effie nodded.  “They came over a few months after I arrived.  They were so incredibly kind,” she explained.  She handed the popcorn bowl to Matthew to take before folding her leg and collapsing onto the couch beside him, facing him.  “It really…it really messed with me.  I mean, it’s not like I wanted to think that way.  It was what I was conditioned to think.  I didn’t know better.  And I felt so bad, because I knew they knew, but they were so understanding.  From the moment they walked through the door they were so nice and they didn’t hold it against me,” she explained.  

Matthew could only listen.  And though he listened through her entire explanation, he was hung up on one thing.  “You should stop calling him the prophet,” he said suddenly, not really thinking it through but needing to get it out.  “He wasn’t a prophet.  He wasn’t even your husband.  He was just some guy.”

Effie looked stunned by what he was saying.  She’d never considered that before.  She was so used to calling him the prophet that the thought hadn’t even crossed her mind – ever.  “You’re right,” she said, unable to say anything else.  It was such a simple sentiment but it held so much power.  “I…you’re right, Matthew.”

He smiled slightly.  “Wanna start the movie?”

Effie nodded.  Matthew extended his arm to move the bowl to the side, and his other arm moved upwards slightly, signalling to Effie that it was already to cuddle.  She moved closer to him, snuggling into his side and letting both legs drape over his thigh.  Only then did he let his arm down, draping it over her back.  Effie looked up at him.  “Is that okay?” she asked.

“It’s perfect,” he whispered, placing the bowl of popcorn between their bodies so they had equal access to it.  “You comfortable?”

“Mhm.”

“Effie, are you comfortable?” he repeated.

She knew why he was repeating himself.  She looked up at him and smiled.  “The comfiest I’ve ever been.”

Matthew pressed play.  From that moment, Effie’s eyes were glued to the screen, hooked on the love story unfolding in front of her.  For Matthew, he was more hooked on watching her than the movie, but he kept up slightly.  At some point during the movie – Matthew didn’t pay attention when – Effie’s hand settled on his abs, and it was all he could think about for the rest of the night.  He was acutely aware of its placement.  Then, the sadder scenes started happening, and he’d feel the hand grip his t-shirt, and his body would seize up.  She’d soften it, but then grip again when something emotional would happen.  Then the scene where Ennis visits Jack’s parents after his death occurred, and Ennis was let into Jack’s childhood bedroom and found his old shirt.  Matthew watched as Ennis smelled it and clutched it against his chest.

Then he heard Effie let out a sob.  

She gripped him tighter than she ever had.  He tightened his hold on her too, shifting slightly and letting his shirt ride up against the couch, just so she could cuddle into him even more than she already was.  He could feel her hand on his skin now, gripping at his side tenderly as the tears still rolled down her face.  He took the opportunity to place his hand in the small sliver of space where her shirt had ridden up too, squeezing and massaging it gently to comfort her.  “Y’okay?” his voice was barely above a whisper.

She didn’t respond.  Her eyes were glued to the TV.  As the movie continued, Matthew left his hand exactly where it was, and Effie left her hand exactly where it was.  Holding each other.  Clutching each other.  

When the movie ended, Effie didn’t move for a long time.  Not even when the credits began rolling on the screen.  “Are you okay, Effie?” Matthew repeated his question from earlier, albeit a bit louder and more pronounced this time.

“I think my heart is broken,” she finally let out, bringing the hand that was squeezing his side to her face so she could wipe her tears away.  “That was beautiful.  Beautiful.”

“It was,” Matthew agreed.  It was very obvious the movie was affecting her a lot.

Effie moved so she could look up at Matthew, craning her head and bringing her hand up to cradle his face so she could kiss him.  When their lips connected, Matthew could feel the wetness of her cheeks.  “I can’t believe I was ever scared of that,” she whispered against his lips when she pulled away.

“Doesn’t matter.  What matters is what you think now.”

Effie nodded.  He always knew the right things to say.  He was helping her change her past and way of thinking one way or another.  “I think I want to kiss you again.”

Matthew kissed her.  And even as the credits finished, neither of them would let go of the other.

***

The Calgary Flames home opener at the Saddledome had Effie buzzing with excitement.  She wore a brand new pair of jeans for the occasion, and arrived at the game with Jenna, Annica, and Geneviève.  As was normal for them, Annica was wearing her tried and true Lindholm jersey, while Geneviève was sporting a Markstrom one.  Jenna wore Levi’s old Iginla jersey.  

Effie had Tkachuk sprawled across her back.  

“Do you want to go down near the ice and wave?” Annica asked, and Effie nodded her head.  “It might get a big crowded, so stay near me.”

The ladies descended down the steps, joining the pretty big crowd that had formed against the glass beside Jacob’s net.  A bunch of kids were up against the glass with homemade signs, their parents near them taking pictures.  Some men around Effie’s age were there too, drinking beers with their jerseys on and taking videos on their phones.  Other girls her age were there too, taking pictures of all the players.  “Can you see Matthew?” Geneviève asked as she looked down at Effie.

“He’s over there,” she smiled, pointing at Matthew across the ice.  He was practicing his stickhandling, in such deep concentration that he didn’t look up for a while.  When he finally did look up, happy with his stickhandling, he began skating around the ice, bumping into Noah and Andrew along the way.  

Effie waved excitedly.

Matthew stopped when he saw her.  Even though there was glass streaked with puck shots and some distance between them, she could see him smile from ear to ear, his mouth guard hanging out.  He waved back, his hockey glove looking like a giant bear claw.

“God you two are insufferable,” Geneviève said jokingly.

Matthew continued to skate around, shooting the puck at the net, each of them going in.  Geneviève noticed all of his glances back at them, and the small smile constantly on his face as he went about his drills.  When the practice was almost over, she kept an eye intently on him, watching as he skated over.  She knew what he wanted to go.  “Go closer,” she said to Effie, urging her with a little nudge.  

Effie took her cue and stepped down, closer to the glass.  Matthew had flipped a puck over the glass towards a kid with a sign for him.  Now, as Effie watched, he pointed to her and made sure everyone around knew who he was pointing to.  She turned around slightly, pointing to his name on her back.  He smiled wide and flipped another puck, perfectly, right into her hands.  

Geneviève watched as the young women around them eyed Effie suspiciously.

***

“Matthew!” Effie squealed once he finally emerged from the locker room, his suit back on and his tie tied loosely around his neck.  She hugged him excitedly, wrapping her arms around his shoulders as he reciprocated.  “Great game!”

“Thanks, Effie.”

“And your goal!” she continued.  Now that she actually understood hockey, and now that she wasn’t scared about every little thing around her at the arena, she could actually enjoy the experience and know what was going on.  “What a great goal!”

He had the puck in his pocket, and had planned to give it to her, but right now his mind was elsewhere.  Seeing her in his jersey at the beginning of the game did things to him, and although he was able to focus throughout the sixty minutes, now that he saw her again with his name sprawled across her back, his mind was right where it was the moment he first saw her that night.  “Wanna come over mine and watch a movie?” he asked, his voice low so no-one else would hear.

To his complete surprise, Effie nodded her head immediately.  “Of course.”

They left inconspicuously without saying goodbye to anyone.

***

Effie broke down during the first scene.

Matthew had changed out of his suit and into a sweater and track pants, and Effie had taken off the jersey and hung it up in his front closet.  They cuddled on the couch together, exactly as they’d done when they watched Brokeback Mountain, and Matthew pressed play on Netflix.  The first scene was the main character, Esty, packing up her most valuable belongings, including a small picture of her grandmother, and running away from her Hasidic community.  All before the opening credits.  When the show’s opening played, he heard Effie let out a loud sob.

“Hey hey hey,” he cooed, watching as she brought her hand up to cover her mouth to try and control herself, but there was no use.  Tears were streaming down her face.  “It’s alright, it’s alright.”

“It’s me,” she said softly, through tears.  “It’s me.”

“C’mere,” he said, pulling her even closer against his body, if that was possible.  Every inch of her was touching him now, with his arms wrapped tightly around her, and he hoped that brought her at least some reprieve.  She was wiping her face with her hands, and he could see her chest heaving, though he could tell she was taking deep breaths to calm herself down.  Maybe this wasn’t the best idea.  “We can stop it or watch so—”

“No,” she interjected sternly, looking up at him.  “I can do this.”

“I know you can Effie, but—”

“No buts.  I can watch this,” she was adamant.  

Matthew lost.  He knew he would.  He bit his bottom lip and nodded his head.  “Will you promise to tell me if it becomes too much?”

Effie nodded.  She snuck her hand underneath his sweater to feel his skin again, and she – surprisingly – game him a quick peck before laying her head on his chest again.  “Press play.”

Matthew kissed her forehead, then the crown of her head, then laid his cheek there before pressing play.  

Effie broke down again less than ten minutes later, when the grandmother was listening to an old German song, An Die Musik sung by Elisabeth Scwartzkopf.  And again, when Yanky was searching her childhood bedroom and found her personal items and her music.  The last scene she cried to was near the end, when Esty’s biological mother showed up and gave her documents to prove German citizenship “just in case you need somewhere else to go”.  When the episode ended, Effie was shedding her last tears.  Matthew paused Netflix before the episode could switch over.  “You okay?”

Effie nodded, despite her tears.  “I know it’s different religions, but a lot of things were just, like, so similar,” she explained.  “The…the beginning brought me back.”

“I can only imagine,” Matthew whispered.

“The grandmother crying listening to that beautiful song.  Esty’s music.  Her mom still looking out for her despite abandoning her.  It all just…it all just really hit home.”  Matthew nodded.  It was the only thing he could do.  If Effie wanted to elaborate, she could, but he wasn’t going to force her.  Instead, he shifted her body so she was sitting more in his lap as opposed to right beside him.  She steadied her breathing, and her tears had stopped.  “When I went to live with the proph—Abraham, as his wife,” she began, “he made me leave everything at home besides my clothes.  I couldn’t see my favourite things unless I was visiting, and even then, I’d never be alone in my room for more than two minutes because he knew I’d be reminiscing, and he said it was a sin to dwell on my past life when I should have been looking forward to my future as his wife and as a mother to his son of God.”  She paused, biting her bottom lip; Matthew could tell she was remembering it all vividly in her mind.  “After a year my mom threw out all my things anyway.  Because she agreed with him.”

“What did you have?  What were your things?” he asked, sad and angry and disturbed all at once.  

“Just simple things.  Nothing special,” she said.  “My…my own Bible that I’d been using since I was a kid.  A journal I had where I recorded my favourite verses.  A doll I had when I was a kid that another member made for me.  Just stupid things.”

“They’re not stupid things if they were special for you,” Matthew said.  “I can’t believe your mom threw them all out.  My mom has kept my kindergarten paintings.”

Effie smiled slightly.  “That’s because you have a good mom who knows how to be a mother.”

Matthew digressed.  Effie obviously hadn’t meant Chantal yet, but Matthew talked about her enough that Effie knew a lot about her.  “I know I keep saying this, but you’re so strong, Effie.”

“It’s a lot to overcome,” she whispered, nodding her head.  They sat for a while in comfortable silence, just being with each other.  Matthew’s arms were still wrapped around her.  Effie was still in hip lap, looking at him.  “Will you kiss me, Matthew?”

Matthew smiled slightly before dipping his head down and capturing her lips in a kiss.  It wasn’t long before – once again – Effie took the initiative to slip her tongue into his mouth.  There was kissing – so much kissing – and Matthew took it upon himself to start to lay Effie down on the couch, his body looming over hers slightly and—

“Stop,” Effie said, her hands on his chest, pushing him off her slightly.  Matthew immediately stopped and moved away from her.  Her chest heaved up and down once before she pushed herself up.  “I’m sorry.”

“Never apologize,” he said.  “Did you see him again?”

Effie didn’t answer.  “I think it happened because we laid down,” she said, her lips puffy from all the kissing.  

Matthew was catching his breath.  He was thankful that he was wearing track pants or else Effie would see how…excited he’d become.  “How about you stay on top then?”

She furrowed her brows.  “What do you mean?”

“We—we can stay upright,” Matthew explained.  “You can sit on my lap if you want…facing me.  Or you could just…you know, like, sit…” he was losing his words.

Effie looked confused.  Nervous.  Like she didn’t know what to think.  Like she was picturing the scenario in her head and couldn’t really make sense of any of it.  “W—Women are allowed to do that?” she asked softly.  Matthew couldn’t speak; he could only stare at her flabbergasted.  He nodded his head slightly, and Effie thought about it.  How women could be ‘on top’.  What that would look like.  What that would entail.  “C…Can you—can you show…” she was too embarrassed to even be asking.  

“C’mere,” he said, extending his hand.  She put her hand in his and he pulled her towards him.  “Put your one leg over here,” he said, patting to the space on the other side of him.  She did so slowly.  “And your other leg goes here,” he explained, and she did the same movement, “and now you can just sit on my lap.”

Effie took a deep breath as she lowered herself down until she could feel his thighs as her seat.  Both she and Matthew had barely blinked the entire time during his simple act of showing her how to straddle him, but she had never done it before (and it wasn’t like she would have been allowed to), and so everything about it was new to her.  Now, she was face-to-face with him, her hands resting on his chest, his hands resting near the bend in her knees.  “This is new,” she said.

“Are you comfy?” he asked.  She nodded.  “D’you like it?” he asked again.

“It’ll take some getting used to,” she admitted.  “But I can see it being nice.”

Being nice.  Matthew couldn’t help but grin.  “It’ll be nice.  Trust me.”

Effie nodded.  She did trust Matthew.  So when she went in to continue their kisses, it was nice, and it was beautiful, and it wasn’t so bad anymore.  Which is why, when Matthew’s hands moved from her knees up her thighs, it was okay.  When his hands squeezed at her flesh through her pants before going higher, it was okay.  When his hands moved to her hips and pulled her even closer, it was okay.

It was okay.

[leah-bobeea]

Magazine Girl; Steve Rogers

You ever start writing a fic about a journalist reader at two am who’s eventually gonna end up doing steeb, over his desk, biting down on his expensive leather belt?

❀ ❀ ❀

Warnings: CEO!Steve x Journalist!Reader, Angst, Steve’s a little mean, Bossy Steve, Shy/Anxious reader, Dom!steve, mentions spanking, oral (m receiving), unprotected sex, coercion (a little teensy bit), Bad writing lol

Word Count: 3.9k

A/N: Terrible writing w/ a terribly rushed ending. Written on my phone, in my notes app, not beta read, and barely proofread.

❀ ❀ ❀

Yes, your hands were busy. Not busy typing out a rough draft of this stupid article on Steve Rogers, not busy calling his secretary to set up a meeting with the man, or the closest to him you could get, not busy doing their job at all. They were busy tapping your pen against the glass tabletop of your desk, successfully annoying Wanda, who sent you an aggravated look from across the room.

“Seriously, Y/n?” Wanda moved from where she was at her desk, clearly not making a breakthrough on her article for this month's issue either. You could only shake your head in reply. Throwing your head back to stare at the ceiling, you starting explaining. “Maria gave me this huge article, Wanda. Cover! And, trust me, I know she’s testing me and doesn’t think I’ll actually be able to do it so she can fire me, or belittle me, or- or something! I don’t know what to do, help me, bestie.” As you finished rambling you looked up at her with your best puppy dog eyes, hoping for some of that amazing advice she gives.

Wanda laughed and pulled a chair over from an empty desk, sitting down and haphazardly throwing her feet on top of your cluttered tabletop. “She wouldn’t give you an article you couldn’t handle, she loves you, Y/n. If it’s truly as difficult as you’re making it out as that means that she knows you’re ready for it, and you’ll do amazing. Who’s it on anyway?”

She was doing such a good job at easing your nerves until she brought up the topic. You whined high in your throat and threw your head to the side before uttering, “Steven Rogers,” you turned your body back to Wanda, “What more do I need to say?” Her eyes widened just a little. “Sheesh...I’d start making phone calls, and praying, maybe?”

❀ ❀ ❀

“Hello, Miss. Carter, um- this is Y/n L/n with Shield Mag-“ “Please hold, dear.”

You pulled the phone away from your head and let it rest on your naked thigh, quickly pressing the speaker button. It was times like this when you were grateful that you let your grandma convince you to buy a house phone. Peggy Carter was the fifth person you’d contacted trying to get an interview with this man and she was the second lady that humored you enough to at least pretend like she’d get back to you.

She’s his main assistant so you might have better luck this time...

Thirty minutes later you had your head inches off the ground and your toes wiggling in the air. Humming the annoying hold music to yourself, you braided, unbraided, and re-braided a single strand of your hair. At thirty-nine minutes you were ready to give up until you heard a click on the other line.

You scrambled to turn off the speaker and press the phone back to your ear.

“Miss. Carter I was hoping to set up an interview with Mr. Rogers, over the phone, in person, or through email, if that’s possible?” You asked, hopeful that she wouldn’t shoot you down immediately like everyone else.

“Well, Magazine Girl, I only do in person. But I am a very busy man, so I need to know right away, what’s in it for me?” Your breath hitched and you almost fell and cracked your head open from how startled hearing his voice made you. Then, you nearly gave yourself a head rush from how fast you sat up.

“Well, um, Sir, you would get a headlining article, and uh, a cover on the June issue of Shield Magazine. That’s um, that’s if you want a cover- you don’t have to be on the cover if you don’t want to, just the interview would be mentioned on the cover, but-“ His chuckle was gritty and vivid, effective in stopping your babble. “I’ll see you Friday around noon. Goodbye Magazine Girl.” He hung up on you before you could even comprehend anything but that captivating laugh.

You rubbed at your eyes and grabbed your planner and pen. “Friday at noon...”

❀ ❀ ❀

The next day you were back in the office, sitting in Wanda’s stiff chair with twin caramel lattes sitting in front of you. That was the thing about you, you’d come to work early bearing gifts just to tell your closest friend your good news. You’re sweet like that.

When Wanda arrived it was fifteen minutes later and your latte was halfway gone. Hearing her black stilettos click on the glossy linoleum made you perk up immediately. As she approached, you stood, handing her the latte and wrapping your arms around her lithe body.

“I got an interview!” You squealed, rocking your bodies side to side. She stilled you and smiled. “Gosh, that’s great, Y/n. How’d you get it?”

“Well, I called, like everyone, and he picked up, Wanda! he picked up! I’m scheduled for Friday, and my Lord, Wanda, his laugh, it's like honey...” You trailed off, sighing at the thought of him. Your head was rested on her shoulder, a faint smile on your face. “You’ve got a crush on him!” Wanda exclaimed, grabbing your shoulders and holding you an arm's length away to get a good look at your bashful face.

You gasped, “No I do not! That would be totally unprofessional!” The cackle that erupted from her made her sound like the wicked witch of the west. And honestly, under her stare, you felt like Dorothy stuck under that house.

When Wanda was finally done laughing maliciously she let you go, plopping down in her desk chair and sipping her latte. She pointed over and your desk and gave you a look. “Better start drafting those questions... we wouldn’t want you to blank on your crush.” “Wanda!”

❀ ❀ ❀

The days leading up to Friday were excruciatingly long, yet the hours until twelve flew past all too quickly.

It seemed as if your wardrobe was never ending, full of clothes that you deemed inappropriate for a meeting with the CEO of American Enterprises. You threw yourself back onto the bed, hair and makeup done but body still wrapped in a fluffy white towel. “Oh Milky, what am I gonna wear?” The soft white kitty glared at you from the pillow she was perched on, meowing at you aggressively.

Ten thirty blinked on the clock and you sat up, glancing at all of the clothes that were scattered on the floor. “I guess this will do.” You picked up the same emerald blazer you had chosen originally and layered it over some basic Levi’s, and gray low cut blouse flowing over your form. A belt was necessary, so you grazed over your options. Brown wouldn’t go, even though it was your only fancy belt. The only black one you had was old, the leather cracked and worn, but it had to do. You slipped on some pretty black heels, lucky that you painted your toes a similar color to your blouse. After accessorizing you sprayed your signature perfume, the one that got you your first college-aged boyfriend, and the same one that you were wearing when you got your first real job.

By the time you were on the Metro, it was eleven o’ six, and you were worried. If you were late you’d lose this chance, and probably your job. The car stopped around eleven fifteen, giving you fifteen minutes to make your way to the building, check-in, and try to not seem so nervous.

Finding the building wasn’t difficult at all, after all, it is the second biggest building in New York City, competing with Stark Tower. The “A” at the top wasn’t illuminated, but it still stood out against the other buildings, cowering over them.

You found that the doors were heavy and if you denied Wanda of going to those burn boot camps you would have extreme difficulty prying them open. The inside was classy, just as you expected. The lamps had blue shades and the front desk lit up with a design that resembled the American Flag, but with less curved stripes and only one large star.

The receptionist was one of the women who shot you down immediately when you called and was a little surprised when you checked in. “Hello, I’m here for Mr. Rogers, twelve o’clock?” She searched for something on her computer, clearly trying to see if the appointment was legitimate. When you were proven correct, she handed you a temporary security badge and a sharpie to write your name on it. “Have a seat over there when you’re finished. I’ll call for you when Mr. Rogers is ready for you.” She smiled, it was fake, but it helped you feel more comfortable.

The red couch was stiff and small, clearly not meant for long periods of sitting. The badge was clipped onto your blouse, not your blazer, and the weight of it was pulling at the already low cut neckline. You thought about moving it, but your attention was quickly turned to the coffee table, where your magazine sat, opened to an article you wrote. Your hands were a little shaky as you went to close the magazine, but you were interrupted before you could grasp the bent pages.

“Miss. Y/n? Mr. Rogers is ready for your interview. Head up to floor thirty six, the door on the right.” Miss receptionist sounded bored, her eyes never left the monitor in front of her. “Thanks.”

Some of the others in the waiting area looked up to you after hearing where you were going, causing you to blush.

You felt lucky to get the elevator to yourself. Thirty-six floors is a long way to go, yet you got there in under three. In the elevator you adjusted your outfit and flattened your hair, hoping it wasn’t frizzy.

The door on the right was clearly not just a meeting room but an office, which you thought was odd. You also found it odd that no one was in the room, you expected to at least be met with his assistant or secretary, if not Steve himself.

Your eyes scanned the room to make sure it was completely empty before taking a seat on the leather chair on the opposite side of the big desk. You opened your notebook and got out your lucky rooster pen before going over your questions once again, hoping he didn’t think they were stupid.

You waited fifteen minutes for him, growing increasingly irked as the minutes built up. When he walked through the door you felt like your heart stopped.

Six-four build covered in a black suit and tie, white undershirt pristine. Blonde hair disheveled and a perfectly manicured beard. The door slammed shut and you heard the clinking sound of a glass being set down. Steve lifted his head and you snapped yours to the front, hoping he didn’t catch you checking him out.

The room was silent besides a rustling coming from behind you. You busied yourself with your notebook, highlighting the questions you wanted to ask most.

“You’re a very patient girl.” He observed. Steve made you wait on purpose. He knew from the first person you called that you wanted an interview, he was friends with Maria Hill after all. But he wanted some entertainment, and after looking into you, he knew you were the right girl. So far he’s made you wait an hour and fourteen minutes for just a smidge of his attention.

“Yes, Sir.” You mumbled, accidentally stopping the highlighter too soon, pressing it down, and letting the pink ink bleed to the next page. He hummed in approval as he rounded the corner, drink in his hand, coat jacket discarded, sleeves rolled up, first couple buttons loose. Finally, Steve sat in the big chair, keeping eye contact with you as he leaned forward, resting his elbows on the mahogany table.

“Give me that.” Your eyebrows furrowed at his statement, “What?” You asked, putting your pen down on your lap. Steve motioned for your notebook, and you opened your mouth, starting to stumble over your words. “Oh? um- Okay?” You handed it over to him and he relaxed back into his chair. A question bubbled in your throat, but you didn’t let it escape. Instead, you watched as his eyes scanned the papers, blue cursive, and pink highlighter, little stars and flowers drawn in the corners. “Mr. Rogers, are you ready to start the interview?” You tapped your watch, twelve twenty four.

He nodded, “Yes, I’m ready.” You cleared your throat and went to ask for your notebook, but he beat you to it. “Miss. L/n, is there an achievement or something that you’ve contributed to me that you are most proud of?” Why was he asking you your own questions? “Sir, I-“ He cut you off once again. “Answer the question, doll.”

You huffed and crossed your arms over your chest. “I- um, no. I haven’t contributed anything to you that I should be proud of, Sir.”

“Is there a particular moment or memory of building this relationship that stands out to you?” He continued with the questions, tilting his head to the side. Why was he twisting the questions onto you? When you didn’t come up with an answer he chuckled, sounding sickly sweet like molasses dripping straight from the sugarcane. “Patience finally wearing thin, honey?” You nodded eyes staring at his chest, you couldn’t quite muster up the courage to look him in the eye.

He snapped your notebook closed and slid it towards your side of the grand desk. “You couldn’t answer my questions correctly, Y/n.” You nodded, eyes now downcast, admiring the pattern on the blue carpet. You felt like you were going to cry. This big scary man was mean and just wouldn’t let you conduct your interview and you didn’t know why. “I’m sorry, Sir.”

“I know you are, doll. But, if you can’t answer my questions how can I answer yours? You have nothing to offer me.” This was it, you were losing your chance. “Business wise, that is.” Your head shook, and your hands were clasped together, your left thumb rubbing your right nail back and forth. “I don’t understand, Sir.”

“I’m friends with Maria, Y/n. If you’re able to get this article done and get me on the cover you’re gonna get a promotion, you want that, right doll?” Your eyes went wide, “Yes, Sir.” Now, he stood, coming around to the front where you are and leaning against the desk. “She said to make it difficult, but I don’t care enough to do all that. So, doll, I’ll answer your questions. They’re quite good actually. And I’ll do a little photoshoot for the cover, but you’ll need to pay me back.” You gulped, hands suddenly sweaty, you felt like a little chihuahua, trembling under his gaze.

“How? Um, how do I pay you?” Gosh, even your voice was shaky. “Stand up. Lose the blazer.” Steve commanded, slowly unbuckling his belt. You could faintly tell from the buckle that it was Hermès. You stood and took off your blazer in a rush, folding it poorly and setting it on the arm of the chair. “Atta girl.”

He placed his hands on your shoulders and then ran them down to your hands, giving them a little squeeze before he hooked his index fingers into your belt loops, pulling you closer. So close that the tips of your shoes were touching. He leaned down to kiss your neck and you stiffened, but when he grazed his teeth over the bruised spot he just created you melted into him, your hands grasping at the pristine white button up, letting out a little whimper.

Steve pushed you back a little and took in your form, then he pulled the little security badge off, tossing it to the side. Like a little kid, he pulled at the neckline of your shirt. “Off.” You would’ve giggled at him if he didn’t look so scary right now. His blue eyes were piercing into yours, left hand so tight on your hip you thought he might leave bruises.

By the time your shirt hit the floor, he was pushing at your shoulders, hinting at you to go to your knees. “Sir, I don’t know-“

You started, knees hitting the carpet underneath you. He shushed you and guided your head to look up at him. “It's okay, baby, you don’t have to know how. I’ll do all the work, doll. Now, undo your bra.” As expected you did as he asked immediately, fumbling with the clasp until it fell down your arms. It ended up next to your thigh as you watched him pull his belt through the loops.

Steve walked around you and kneeled down, belt in his hands. “Put your hands behind your back.” You nodded immediately, so submissive, completely at his mercy. “Yes, Sir.” Steve loved how polite you were. He made quick work of restraining you, tying your hands to rest against your jean clad ass. The metal felt harsh against your skin and the soft, expensive leather snaked up your arms.

When he was back in front of you he sighed and shook his head. “I should’ve had you unzip me first.” Hearing Steve say that finally brought you to the reality of what was about to happen. You watched with big eyes as he undid the button and then the zipper, the sound making you tremble. His dress pants puddled on the floor and you were in awe as he massaged his bulge through his boxers. Slowly, he pulled them down to the middle of his thighs. His cock bounced up to hit his abdomen and he hissed as he stroked it a few times. “Open as wide as you can, honey.”

As always, you did as asked. Your tongue stuck out a little, wetting your bottom lip. He grasped the back of your head and leaned you forward a little, then you felt his blunt tip on your tongue. You gagged and spluttered when Steve was about halfway seated, he pulled out and leaned down, kissing you sloppily. “Breathe through your nose, baby. Don’t forget.” Then he was back at slowly entering your throat. “Fuck...” he grunted, finally fully seated in your throat, your nose pressed against his nicely groomed pubic hair. He caressed your throat then, rubbing the bulge in your throat, resisting the urge to press down and have you choke on his cock even more. “So good, Y/n.”

Steve started rocking into your throat, slowly fucking it as spit leaked from the corners of your mouth. After minutes of abusing your throat, he finally pulled out, adoring the way tears ran down your cheeks and how you hiccupped, wanting to desperately rub at your raw throat to soothe it. Your hands pulled at the belt and your eyes begged Steve to undo it. “Up, doll.”

He hoisted you up from your armpits and bent you over the desk. Steve pressed kisses down your back and reached in front of you, unbuckling your belt and throwing it somewhere to the left of you, then he unbuttoned and unzipped your pants, tugging them down with fervor.

Steve undid your restraints and left more kisses down your back until he reached your ass, spreading your cheeks to reveal your tight hole and glistening cunt. “I’d love to see this ass all bruised and red, but I’ll have to save that for another day.” His index and middle finger ran circles on your clit, your back arching to press into him more. “Sir, please!” You gasped, your hand flying out to the edge of the table and nearly knocking over the glass of whiskey he left on a coaster when Steve finally pushed two fingers into your aching hole.

“Gotta open you up first, doll, get you all sloppy and ready for my cock.” You cried out as he hooked his fingers, rubbing the magic spot inside of you. “Please, Steve, please.” He cooed at you, pulling his fingers out, and instead traced his name over your clit. “You gonna come, baby? Huh? You gonna drench my fingers, little girl?” You were moaning in wanton, hips humping his hand desperately. He brought his other hand down and started fingerfucking you again, giving you just enough to push you over the edge.

Your moans were breathy, your legs twitching, and you were panting by the time your orgasm faded. “I hope you know I’m not done with you yet, doll, I still haven’t come inside you.” That made you whine high in your throat and you tried, to no avail, to slam your legs shut around his hand.

Steve’s right hand fisted his cock a few times, making sure he’s rock hard and dripping with pre-cum, while his left kept your lips spread, showing him your gorgeous pussy. The blunt head at your entrance shocked you, and you yelped at the intrusion. “Sir!”

He leaned his head down and spit where you were joined, trying to make the glide even easier. “Shut up, doll.” He snapped after you cried out. Once he was as deep as possible inside of you he reached for his belt, looping it over as if he was going to spank you, and stuffed it into your mouth. “Bite down,” Steve demanded, a hand snaked around to the front of your neck where he was applying light pressure.

When you tried to push back against him he held your hips down against the wood steadily and started snapping his hips at a fast speed. Each thrust pushed you down onto the table, letting your clit rub against the mahogany wood.

Your vision felt spacey like you could black out any moment as he choked you. Your orgasm washed over you and you had to use all the strength you had in you to keep biting down on the belt. You didn’t want to know what would happen if you disobeyed his and let it go. Steve’s hips harshly snapped against your ass a few more times before he stilled inside of you, filling you with his spunk.

Before Steve cleaned you up and let you leave his office he had to finger his cum back inside of you, making sure none of it went to waste. Then, he made sure you had a way home, and a way to contact him, because, “Now you’re no longer Magazine Girl, but My Girl.”

@lo-bells

[babyjamiebarnes]

Build-A-Bear

Part One

Featuring: Bucky x Stark!reader, dad!Tony, Peter Parker (platonic), background MCU characters

Warnings: [chapter] language; [series] language, smut, violence

Summary: The only people who knew she was actually a Stark were her dad, her step-mom Pepper, and her “uncles” Happy and Rhodey. A promotion within Stark Industries takes her from an already-sought after position in the Weapons Anaylsis Unit straight to the Avengers as a Weapons Enhancement Specialist... which means her dad is her new boss. There’s only one rule at work: no fraternizing with coworkers. There’s one more rule at home: no dating any Avengers. So what is she supposed to do when a grumpy super soldier becomes not-so-grumpy around her? At 25, do her dad’s rules still apply? Or is her entire livelihood at risk?

Author’s Note: I’ve written a decent portion of this but know I won’t keep writing it or post it unless I hold myself accountable and get it out there in the first place 🙈 I haven’t written much for Marvel yet but I’ve read plenty and have written for other fandoms in the past (not to mention the writing degree on my wall lol). I’ll try to post every 2-3 days to keep this moving! And if you like it and want to, buy me a coffee!

No one knew Tony Stark had a daughter. No one but Tony Stark and his daughter. Well, and her step-mom Pepper. And her godfather Rhodey. And her uncle-not-uncle Happy. But no one in their everyday lives knew. She was given her mother’s maiden name and kept a secret, even when she turned 17 and moved to a small apartment near NYU’s campus (with Happy stationed right next door, of course) to start life as a truly normal adult, or as close to normal as an undercover Stark could be. When she graduated with her PhDs in robotics and electrical engineering at 25 — proving brains really do run in the family — she moved into her own apartment in Manhattan, funded by her father under the pseudonym “Michael Myers.” Subtlety was never his strong suit.

Fortunately for you, growing up without the Stark name let you live a relatively normal life. It also allowed you to apply for a position within Stark Industries without being ushered past any red tape because of who your father is. Outside of the financial advantage you had, you worked for your spot in a STEM career. You suffered through every man in your field belittling your work despite knowing less than you. You dealt with the constant interruptions and “well, actually” because of your gender. You powered through late nights and early mornings when your mind was flowing too smoothly to quit.

The last thing you wanted to do was have all that work disregarded because you shared a name with genius billionaire playboy philanthropist Tony Stark. So you filled out the application, sent in your resume and cover letter, and attached three letters of recommendation from your professors. You went through hours of interviews, background checks (conveniently redacting your father’s name), and polygraph tests until that offer letter showed up in your email. You even had to sign the Non-Disclosure Agreements that would bar you from discussing *anything* work-related with anyone outside of your department.

You spent your first year in the weapons analysis department, evaluating alien weaponry and determining how it worked and how to disable it. You had your fair share of mishaps, of course. Holes blasted into walls, fried robot dummies, even burnt animal carcasses. By the end of your first year, your supervisor sent a commendation and proposal for you for an undisclosed promotion. After Pepper Potts “thoroughly examined your resume, cover letter, and accomplishments during your tenure with Stark Industries,” as the letter read, you were awarded a position working on the Avengers’ weapons as a Weapons Enhancement Specialist. You’d never see a fight in-person, but you were assigned to work on advancements and post-battle repairs for everyone, from the Winter Soldier’s arm to the Falcon’s wings to Vision’s... everything. The only heroes you wouldn’t work on were Iron Man and War Machine (those were your dad’s territory) and Spider-Man.

On your first day in your new position, the one and only Pepper Potts showed you to your new lab on the 47th floor. It took all your willpower to look your step-mother in the eye and say, “Wow, Miss Potts. This is amazing. It’s such an honor to meet you,” with a straight face to convince any passerby that you had no outside affiliation with her. Even if her eyes stayed steady on you, you could see her mentally rolling them.

Once you were alone behind the doors of the elevator, conversation changed course.

“You’re going to be sharing a lab with someone else,” Pepper said.

“Sweet. As long as they’re competent, that’s fine by me,” you shrugged. Part of earning your degrees was learning to share a workspace with others, even those who bumbled and fumbled with no idea what they were doing. You’d had more hair singed by nearby explosions than you’d like to admit.

“He’s still in college so he’s not here as often as the others. Most of his work will be on Spider-Man’s gadgets and suit, but you can use him for any help you need.”

Walking past the familiar faces of Dr. Banner and Dr. Cho in their respective labs, Pepper ushered you into your lab, where you were met by your father and put on the same excited facade you did with Pepper.

“Oh my god, you’re Tony Stark! This is incredible! It’s such an honor to meet you, sir!”

He shook his head at you and reluctantly accepted your outstretched hand. Oh, the jokes you’d be making at family dinners.

“Yeah, anyway, this is your new lab, Miss [Y/L/N]. Make yourself at home. This lab rat over here is mister Parker. If you have any questions, he can at least bullshit an answer for you.”

The young man on the other side of the lab perked up at the sound of his name. He tugged the goggles off his face and set down his soldering rod to rush over to you.

“Hi. Hi, I’m Peter,” he said, reaching his hand out to you.

“I’m [Y/N]. It’s nice to meet you, lab partner.”

He looked to be a bit younger than you and at least relatively smart, if the MIT sweatshirt peeking out from under his lab coat said anything. If your dad gave him an internship like this, you knew you shouldn’t question it. He had to be a genius.

The kid just smiled at you, continuing to shake your hand past what most would deem socially acceptable.

“Okay, enough of that,” Tony said, pushing on your joined hands to separate you two. “Mister Parker might be in and out of the lab from time to time. He joins the Avengers on the occasional recon mission for immediate repairs but since he’s on break from classes, you’ll see him more often than not. Play nice.”

When he noticed you surreptitiously looking Peter up and down, he added, “Remember, no fraternizing with coworkers.” He pointed a finger directly at you before he spun and pointed to your fellow lab mate, realizing he should warn Peter too to save face.

“All the blueprints you need for the Tin Man’s arm are in the system. We’ll have you start on that and see what you can do about minimizing the sound that thing makes. Any other questions, give Pep a call.”

“Thank you, mister Stark. I really do appreciate everything,” you said genuinely.

“Yeah, well… don’t let me down,” he replied, patting you on the shoulder on his way out. Pepper followed close behind, leaving you alone with Peter Parker.

“So Peter,” you started, sliding onto the lab chair next to where he remained standing, “tell me about yourself.”

“Uh… what do you want to know?” he asked as he shoved his hands into his coat pockets.

“How old are you?” you asked immediately.

“I’m 21.”

Only four years younger than you. So you’d probably get along just fine.

“I assume you’re at MIT?” He nodded. “What are you studying?”

“Biomolecular and mechanical engineering.” He said it so casually, you’d think he was talking about the last song he heard on the radio.

“Damn,” you responded, eyes wide. “I thought robotics and electrical engineering was wild but fuck, that sounds like hell.”

He laughed and nodded, letting a bit of the tension in his shoulders fall. “Yeah, it’s not easy. But it’s worth it.”

He shot you a small smile before gesturing back at his project. “I should probably get back to work and let you get started.”

For the rest of the day, you familiarized yourself with the Winter Soldier’s arm to figure out how to… turn the volume down? You assumed it was the gears inside causing the noise, but part of you wanted to outfit an audio jack and speaker just to fuck with your dad.

You and Peter worked in relative silence, aside from the playlist he had quietly playing through the lab sound system. When lunch rolled around, however, you finally spoke up.

“Hey Peter,” you called, his eyes flicking from the chemical beakers in front of him up to you. “First of all, what are you doing?”

“Um, it’s Spider-Man’s web fluid. Just trying to find more durable combinations.”

“Interesting.” As much as you wanted to touch the stringy substance, you knew better than to fiddle with someone else’s lab work. “Okay so second thing, in my last position, I’d just order food and have it brought to my floor but now that I’m on an exclusive floor, what do you do for lunch?”

“Oh, there are a couple security guys who have clearance to come into this floor. They just can’t get into any rooms so you’d have to meet them at the elevator. But I usually find something in the kitchen down the hall.”

“Oh, sweet. Thanks!” you said as you made your way out the door. Before you could fully exit, you turned back to see if Peter wanted you to grab anything. Once he promised he’d take his own break ‘once I get this one thing figured out,’ you continued to make your way to the kitchen.

As you drew closer to the doorway, you could hear three voices speaking over each other. They didn’t sound angry, but they were definitely arguing. You opened the door anyway and almost immediately froze in your tracks. The Falcon stood with one hand on his own head and one on the Winter Soldier’s head while Captain America rolled his eyes before those same eyes landed on you, along with the rest of the room.

“Perfect,” Sam started. “Hey new girl, between the three of us,” he said, pointing to himself, the Soldier, and the Captain, “who has the best hair?”

“First of all, my name is [Y/N]. Second,” you continued, making your way past them to the fridge you hoped your dad kept stocked with goodies, “that’s an unfair question.”

You grabbed a soda and popped it open before turning back to the three men. “Your hair suits each of you. Cap wouldn’t look good with Winter Soldier hair and Falcon wouldn’t look good with Cap’s hair.” You took a few steps closer, leaning against the island counter between you and eyeing each of them. Your eyes settled on the Winter Soldier, unashamedly flitting across his face and admiring the sharpness of his features. “You,” pointing at him, “could probably pull off either of their looks, though.”

Bucky smirked at you, but his rosy cheeks gave away a hint of embarrassment at your compliment. Steve and Sam, on the other hand, weren’t taking it quite as gracefully.

“What?!” Sam shouted. “Okay, now I know you’re lying. I could pull off Cap’s hair for sure.”

“You know, I think shaggy hair would really suit me,” Cap said, only half sarcastically.

You giggled to yourself as the three of them started talking over each other again, all dead set on their own hair being the best of them and positive they could pull off the others’ looks. While they bickered, you searched the pantry until you found a snack to at least get you through the remainder of the day.

“Alright boys, it’s been fun but I have work to do,” you said as you walked past them again. “Actually, wait. Bucky — can I call you Bucky?” He nodded even though you continued anyway. “If you could stop by lab six today, I’d love to check out your arm in person. The digital renderings aren’t quite the same.”

“Uh, okay. Sure. I’ll find you,” he said quietly.

“Sweet, thanks!” And with that, you skedaddled back to your lab.

[justkending]

Moral of the Story (Prologue)

Series Summary: From childhood friends, to highschool sweethearts, the two naive, young, and lovestruck teens decided the best way to keep a strong relationship during college would be to marry right out of highschool. No one batted an eye at the idea as everyone knew they were soulmates. However, college is a big step in a person’s life. You learn new things about yourself, you make new friends, find new hobbies… And maybe being newly weds and going to different colleges across the states wasn’t the best plan… After a falling out, and a tragic heartbreaking divorce, the two now hold grudges for how the other handled the whole thing in the past. Neither not really knowing both sides of the story. 10 years later, and they both get a call from the lawyers office that settled their divorce. Somehow the papers never went through and the divorce was never completed. So now, the exes, or should we say husband and wife, have to meet back up after all these years to settle their failed marriage once and for all. (This summary will be shorter in other chapters. I just needed to get the full concept out there;)

A/N (repeat): So the other day while I was doing my hair (quite the process), I was playing music and the song Moral of the Story by Ashe came on. Mind you, I’ve heard this song hundreds of times, but for some reason, this time I got a major story idea! Listening to the lyrics brought me to this new series. Of course, the lengthy summary above will give you an idea of what came to my brain, but I recommend you listen to the song still because it plays a big part in my thought process:) (Plus it’s a good song;) Enjoy and please do not hesitate to share your thoughts and comments with me! I love each and every single one<3

(I will release the first chapter at the beginning of next week! That way I can give myself some time to write more chapters before sharing it!)

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Y/N (Modern AU)

Word Count: 1200+

Prologue:

"Melody, have the papers for the Bee's Knees company come in yet?"

"Uh, no. But I can call them again and see if they faxed it or sent over a physical copy though," Melody answered from her desk, already typing away to find the company.

"Perfect. We have a meeting with a recycling plant next week and I want to get everything set before we go in with them," Y/N nodded, coming out from her office with a file in her hands. She turned to her assistant at the front desk who was about 20 emails deep and already finding the issue. "Hey, you're not coming in tomorrow, right?"

"Um, no, no. I am. I rescheduled that date," she answered bashfully as if she had been caught in the act of something.

"Melody..." Y/N drug out, hand on her hip.

"What? I- He understood. He said he was fine moving it to Saturday," the young woman shrugged, never looking back at her boss that was clearly sending her a motherly stare.

"You're already over your 40 hours this week, and you've rescheduled with him, what? 3 times now?" Y/N moved to the front of the desk so the young brunette had to make eye contact with her.

"Yes," she answered hesitantly.

"Is it just nerves or something else?" Y/N smirked.

"I'm not nervous... It's just been a while since I've had time for a date."

"Two things about what you just said in the past minute. One, clearly this guy likes you because he's rescheduled with you this many times and hasn't called it off yet. So if you're nervous about it not going well on his end, I think you're safe," Y/N pointed a finger at her.

"But-," Melody started.

"Second," Y/N cut off with a raised eyebrow. "I'm giving you time to go on a date and you're still not taking it. Work is no longer an excuse."

Melody stopped avoiding eye contact and looked up at the Y/H/C hair woman leaning on her reception desk.

"You've been talking with my mom again, haven't you?" she sighed.

"I promised I'd take care of you. So yes, I have. And though her reasoning for you dating is because she wants grandbabies, I just want you to have fun and live your life. You're 22. Don't waste your young years being scared."

"Ugh, fine. I'll text him now and see if he's still available for tonight," she groaned.

"Perfect!" Y/N grinned in victory as she started to walk back to her office. "I expect the details in the morning," she winked before she walked in.

"Oh, Y/N!" Melody stopped her. "A message came for you while you were in that last meeting."

"Who from?" Y/N quirked an eyebrow, moving back to the desk.

"Uh, I don't really know. Didn't sound familiar, but here's the name and number they said to call back from," she answered, handing her a note.

Y/N took the small paper and looked it over. Her face dropped and her eyes widened.

"You ok? Is it someone you know?" the young assistant asked, noticing what looked like horror on her face.

"Um, yeah. Yeah, an old acquaintance of mine," Y/N tried to quickly brush off. "Um, I'm going to take this. Can you hold any calls and if anyone comes to talk, tell them to just email me?"

"Oh, ok. Yeah, I'll take care of it," Melody nodded.

"Thank you."

Rushing back to her office and quickly shutting her door, she raced to her phone. She read the business name again, not sure if she was dreaming or if it was a hallucination.

Nope. Hammer Attorney was written in Melody's perfect penmanship on the paper with a number that held an area code from New York. A place she never thought she would hear from again and from a town she hadn't visited in almost 10 years._________________

"Buck, did you tell Fury about getting those new water therapy machines?" Steve shouted from his room.

"We're at home, Steve. Why are we talking about work?" Bucky groaned as he slouched on the couch. A beer in hand and a documentary with I Survived stories playing in front of him.

Steve came in from around the corner looking down at his phone in hand before moving his eye line to his roommate.

"Because I just got a call from the night crew saying that the last one that was working, finally went out tonight while they were running it for some test," Steve raised an eyebrow.

"Ugh, you would think that a facility run by a billionaire who literally makes his money on high-tech machines, wouldn't have to ask for those kinds of things," Bucky groaned, grabbing his own phone and going through emails. "Let me check to see if the email went through. He wasn't in office when I went to tell him."

As he was sorting through the hundreds of emails sent back and forth just this week alone, he found the reply message.

"Yeah, management confirmed it. They should be in by Saturday it looks like. Guess Stark was still working out the kinks to a new one and was waiting to send one our way until the last one died to get more time on his newest model."

Steve nodded before walking to the kitchen and typing Bucky's response to the other crew members.

"The man is always finding new ways to upgrade them before he can even send them to us."

Just as Bucky was about to throw his phone to the side again though, it started ringing. Looking at the caller ID, he didn't recognize the unknown number. It was from in-state but in his hometown area of Brooklyn. He pinched his eyebrows together confused at the call, but answered it anyway, thinking it must be someone from home.

"Hello?"

"Hello. Is this Mr. Barnes?" The other voice answered.

"Yes, this is him. Who's this?" he asked, sitting up a little and putting the beer on the end table.

"My name is Matthew Murdock. I work at Nelson and Murdock Law firm," he went on. Bucky shook his head not knowing what that was supposed to mean. "Well, you may actually know us previously as Hammer Attorney. We recently just took over their business after some fraud issues."

Bucky's heart stopped. He knew what that name meant.

"I hate to inform you, but we were going through some of their old files. Ones we were informed could be incomplete or done completely incorrectly due to little care in the actual cases, but more so in taking the money."

"Incomplete cases?" Bucky said softly. His brain was still trying to wrap around the conversation.

"Yes, unfortunately, it looks like a lot of cases having to deal with divorces that the past owners handled, were done strictly in order to launder money. They weren't actually certified, nor trained in handling divorce settlements."

Bucky froze. Eyes wide. Mouth agape.

He stuttered out a response when the man on the other line didn't continue.

"A-And talking about incomplete divorce settlements, you called because..." Bucky knew. He needed to hear it out loud because if he didn't, it wasn't true. It couldn't be.

"I'm so sorry Mr. Barnes, but it looks as though you and your wife, Y/N Y/L/N or sorry, Y/N Barnes, are actually not divorced."

(I will release the first chapter at the beginning of next week! That way I can give myself some time to write more chapters before sharing it!)

Moral of the Story Taglist:

@taylormobley @ximaginx @vicmc624

Marvel Tags:

@thejourneyneverendsx @death-unbecomes-you @heyiamthatbitch @lizzymacy555  @srrymydood @xa-dia @redhairedfeistynerd @morganclaire4 @connie326 @captain-asguard @mollygetssherlockcoffee @teenagedreams-bucky @shower-me-with-roses​ @pham-tastical 

My Lovelies forever:

@natura1phenomenon​ @lauravicente​ @kakakatey​ @traceyaudette​ @notyourtypicalrose​  @laneygthememequeen​ @awesome-badass-cafeteria-sauce​ @sandlee44​ @thorne93​ @thefaithfulwriter​ @essie1876​ @greyeyedsmile14​ @capsiclehan​  @xostephanie​ @averyrogers83​ @awesomenursingstudent​ @gh0stgurl​ @cs-please​ @carls1022​ @jjlevin​ @rainbowkisses31​ @carls1022​ @anise-d-castle6​ @deannotmoose​ @their-bibliophile​ @kitkatd7​ @willowbleedsonpaper​ @mariaenchanted​ @snffbeebee​ @couldabeenamermaid​ @rebekahdawkins​ @alyispunk​

Bucky Barnes Tags:

@chloe-skywalker​ @charmedbysarge​ @jbarness​ @bellamy-barnes​ @katiaw2​ @aikeia​

[legends-live-in-memories]

Business (Mis)Management

AYO you know the drill. MGI Trope Tussle! 

Fics Masterlist

Timari Oneshot 2.3K words

Summary: 

"Right before her, where her professor usually stood every Tuesday and Thursday, stood a surprise guest lecturer. One problem, though. Marinette hates the guy. She hates him and his stupid well-fitting suit that she dedicated actual blood sweat and tears into making. "

One shot using two prompts for this server event: Day 3:College AU Day 5: "Why'd you do that?" "I- I don't know..."

without further ado: 

It was Tuesday, bright and early at 9:30 am, and Marinette was ready to commit murder. She was sitting in her Intro to Business Management course with her cup of coffee and notepad ready and pencil about to snap in her grip. Right before her, where her professor usually stood every Tuesday and Thursday, stood a surprise guest lecturer. One problem, though. Marinette hates the guy. She hates him and his stupid well-fitting suit that she dedicated actual blood sweat and tears into making. 

Right there, on this awful Tuesday morning, stood one Timothy Jackson Drake Wayne looking all the world like he would rather be anywhere else; stupid rich people were all the same, thinking the world was doing them a favour by letting them grace everyone else with their presence. Marinette also wishes he was anywhere else but life doesn’t work that way. Her actual professor stood off to the side, waxing sonnets about how accomplished the young CEO was and Marinette listened to none of it. Rather, she was silently stewing in her thoughts, lost in how this man became the particularly large thorn in her side.

It was six months ago when she got an email asking for a commission. A commission for the exact three piece suit he was wearing today. He had gotten her contact from another client and his emailed request was perfect and professional. He had asked for the suit, listed all the required measurements and requested any personalizations he wanted. They couldn’t meet for any in-person fittings so it was currently both aggravating and satisfying to see it fit his lean figure so perfectly. The drama didn’t start, however, until two weeks after, when Marinette had sent the finished product to the designated address. While Marinette isn’t one for showboating and bragging about her capabilities, it grinds her teeth when others try to talk down on her skills. 

When Marinette had sent off the suit, and emailed the man that the package was to be expected within three business days, she got a rather crude email in response, labeling her work as ‘tacky’ and a ‘pathetic attempt at wiggling her way into his family’s pockets.’ That had her doubletaking at the sender, making sure it wasn’t some spam mail that she was reading. Nope, that’s his email right there. Marinette remembered a particular twitch she had in her eye the first time she read that email. It was one thing to be ungrateful of a finished product, Marinette was no stranger to harsh critiques and pieces that worked better on paper than as actualized designs, but the accusation of being a gold-digger set off warning bells that threw her back into the tenth grade where she had battles with a rich blonde with daddy issues. At least he had paid her in advance for the suit. Marinette would have been perfectly fine with silently cutting all ties with Mr. Wayne right then and there, and putting the whole ordeal behind her, until he decided that a crassly worded email wasn’t enough. No. He felt compelled to go on national television and insult her suit for everyone to hear. Marinette remembers his words perfectly, as if they were ingrained in her memory forever.

“You’ve seen the suits I’ve worn, I look like I escaped my own funeral. I’ve tried local, and outsourcing designers and tailors and nothing matches my taste. I’m only twenty-three and I dress like I’ve gone through my third divorce—”Marinette had turned off the television to shamelessly cry into her pillow. She couldn’t bear to hear him insult her design over the poorly timed laughs of the ‘live-studio audience’ that particular interview was filmed in front of. 

After that, Marinette had reaffirmed her conclusion that all rich people were assholes best left to their own privileged bubble. 

A solid clap snapped her attention back to the front of the lecture hall, eyes narrowing at the man by the podium. The presentation pulled up on the smart board indicated that he was going to be speaking to them about professionalism and how to engage in buyer-seller conversations. Oh that was bloody perfect. What did this guy know about any of those things? 

The time was 9:45 exactly when the guy decided to start his presentation. 

“Hello, everyone,” his voice was smooth and firm, not wavering while speaking before a hall filled with two hundred students. “My name is Timothy Drake-Wayne but you all can just call me Tim. It’s lovely to meet all of you and I’m honoured to be here speaking for you today.” 

Cue a very predictable, very standard, very boring introduction. Marinette was beginning to tune out at this point.

“To start off this presentation, I would like to talk about misunderstandings in professional conversations.” He started walking across the front of the room. Slow and methodical; he knew he had all eyes on him and he was taking full advantage of it. Marinette wanted to gag. “Additionally, I want to discuss how to avoid them, and what to do if miscommunication occurs.”

Blah, blah blahblah. Marinette didn’t trust him as far as she could throw him.

“To start off, I’m going to talk about a situation I found myself in not too long ago.” That caught her attention. “It’s funny now and makes for great dinner conversation but not so much when it had happened. How many of you siblings?”

He paused and surveyed the room. His eyes passed over Marinette and for a brief second she thought he focused on her for a blink longer than necessary. She banished the thought from her mind; she didn’t have siblings so he had no reason to notice her.  

“Now,” he continued, “how many of you have siblings who aren’t afraid to sabotage your work when they’re mad at you?” 

Another pause as some of the students lowered their hands. Some were unsure and Marinette had a weird feeling in her gut. Her instincts were screaming at her but she couldn’t figure out why.

“Don’t feel shy,” the guy raised his hand to join the students, “my younger brother is a menace who can and has attempted to sabotage my business. Just recently in fact.”

Marinette looked around the room to see quite a few surprised faces. She was vaguely familiar with the Wayne family and remembered a few details about the youngest child. He was a menace, that’s for sure. As egotistical as any thirteen year old can be. That feeling in her gut returned with vigor. She was suddenly very alert and eager, almost desperate, to figure out how the ankle biter had sabotaged this man.

“About six months ago my brothers and I were butting heads as usual. My sister was enjoying everything while shit hit the fan from a safe distance. I’m not going to go into much details.” He’s arms were waving animatedly as he spoke. It was quite endearing. NO. Bad thoughts, Marinette. “The point of all this is that I pissed my younger brother off somehow. I don’t know, maybe I breathed too hard on his cat or something.” That got a laugh out of the students except Marinette. Six months. He said his brother had sabotaged him around six months ago. That gut feeling had turned her stomach into a pit, eating away at her nerves.

“My brother had hacked into my email and sent absolutely horrible replies to everyone that was marked as important in my contacts in a poor attempt at pretending to be me. Of course, most of those contacts work at Wayne Enterprises. It took a courtesy email explaining the mishap and a personal visit with an apology gift to clear the air. Now for the contacts who don’t work at Wayne E, that’s where it gets tricky.”

Marinette was holding her breath, wishing for this day to already be over and for the ground to open and swallow her whole. She both hoped she was and wasn’t wrong. On the one hand, it meant that he was truly that harsh in replying to her and she wasn’t among the contacts his brother emailed, justifying her slowly dwindling fury. On the other more plausible hand, it meant that he wasn’t responsible for the crude email. It still didn’t explain the interview he did but…but she never did watch the entire thing. She had started watching the interview already expecting him to tear her down. He never referenced her suit by any specifics before she had changed the channel. That probably meant that she had poorly misjudged him. But she would have been contacted in some way if she was among those people and she hadn’t. So he was still an ass to her. Right? 

“For those who I couldn’t visit in person,” Oh god, he was still speaking. “I sent them more personal emails compared to what I sent the employees. That was really the most I could do and I hoped for the best. I got a reply from most; they were rather understanding, actually, some even claiming that their own siblings would do something like that. It went over pretty well.” He suddenly had this forlorn look as he rubbed his hands absentmindedly against the suit. 

“While I was lucky that most of my contacts were understanding, one important thing to be prepared for is people who won’t be that forgiving. Do you see this suit I’m wearing? I love this suit. I will absolutely get buried in this suit. I had commissioned and received it just before the email fiasco and I, regrettably, never got a response when I tried to both thank and apologize to them. My brother had used my email to accuse them of being a gold-digger of all things. I would have loved to commission them again but it looks like my brother burned that bridge permanently.”

What? No. That’s not true and Marinette felt hot rage flare up in her. Was he really lying to try and save face right now? She felt the strong urge to interrupt him. To march down those steps and let him know exactly how she felt about him lying about emailing her to apologize. But, a treacherous hopeful part of herself whispered to her, she had to be sure. She had to have irrefutable proof that she wasn’t one of the victims to his rabid brother and he was just an ass. 

She couldn’t get to her phone fast enough. She searched for all the emails the two had exchanged, finding the most recent to be his harsh email. She had another niggling feeling, however, and decided to check her spam mail. 

Marinette has most definitely stopped breathing. 

Right there, in bold letters sat a Wayne Enterprises email waiting to be opened and read. She couldn’t bring herself to click it open, ice flooding her veins, freezing her in her seat. She actually misread the situation. She wanted to scream. She wanted to cry. She wanted to bash her head on the table and grovel for forgiveness from this very handsome man. She didn’t do any of this, however, managing some degree of composure and sat through the remainder of his presentation. She would bet her left leg it was the best presentation she would have ever heard but she couldn’t recall a single word of it from that point on; too busy digging her own grave and writing her own eulogy. She could never show her face around Gotham again. Her life was ruined.

The sounds of people packing up had her crawling herself out of her own head. She mechanically packed her things up, gazing pathetically at her blank notebook. She made her way down the steps, eyeing the gaggle of students surrounding Marinette’s biggest missed opportunity to date. She was just about to walk straight out the door, resigning herself to her fate when she made a hasty decision. She turned to the dwindling crowd and marched like a woman on a mission. She wormed her away to stand directly in Tim’s line of sight and she braced herself for possibly her dumbest idea yet. She listened to the conversation going on and as soon as it appeared she was not going to interrupt anyone, she shot her hand out and grabbed him by his suit. The act caught everyone’s attention but before she could chicken out, she turned to leave and pulled the businessman along with her, leaving stunned silence behind. 

They didn’t get far out the door when he yanked her arm off him, stopping them in their tracks. He looked angry, confused but also very put out at her. Fair. 

“Why’d you do that?” 

“I— I don’t know.” His glare was intense. Marinette felt her face flush and her knees weaken. She wanted to make things right but it seemed she was only making things worse. She took a breath. Focus, she reminded herself. She just needed to address one problem at a time. “I mean, I do know why but I wasn’t supposed to do it like that. I just needed your attention.”

“Well now you have it. So what do you want?”

“I wanted to apologize. Not about dragging you out here. Yet. But for accidentally ignoring your apology email.” One of his eyebrows rose incredulously as she kept talking, but she ignored it and powered on. “It was, for some reason, in my spam mail and I didn’t see it. But if it’s any consolation, I would love it if you commissioned me for another suit. Or anything else really.” 

“Pardon?” He didn’t believe her, or was at least confused by her, that much she could tell.

“You suit. I made it. Here, look.” She turned her phone screen, showing him their conversations in her emails. At his slightly more relaxed posture she continued speaking. “I’m glad you like the suit.”

“Huh.”

“Also I’m sorry for dragging you out here.” She had curled her shoulders into her ears, still holding her phone out like an idiot. His chuckle in response eased her nerves only slightly. He had a cute laugh. And he was cute too. Bad thoughts! Stop getting distracted!

“Okay, I’ll accept your apology if you accept mine.” The carefree smile he threw at her was disarming. “And I would love to talk more about working with you, Ms. Cheng.”

“Marinette, please, Mr. Wayne.” She could breathe easier now, no longer on the verge of catastrophizing. “If you want to get started as early as possible, I’m free for an early lunch right now.”

“Only if you call me Tim. And lunch sounds great actually. I know a great bistro off campus if you will let me escort you.” He really needed to stop smiling at her like that. Her heart couldn’t take it.

“Sounds wonderful. Lead the way.” He turned and offered her his arm. She was slow to move, still faintly caught in the emotional whiplash of the morning. Her gentle grip on his bicep was enough for her to feel the muscle definition under the suit. It pleasantly surprised her but not nearly as much as his next words.

“Perfect. It’s a date.”

What?

[ddosie]

# 2 and soobin for the prompt please!

you wouldn't say you were the sentimental type.

things came and went. kids grew into adults. that was just how life was. people grew apart, sometimes closer, and it was all expected.

you just never thought you would have to face it yourself.

it was a problem that you had only read about in story books. the handmaiden watches the price she fell in love with get married. she moves on. the king lets go of the memories of his favorite knight. he moves on. the queen loses her son, her only son. she moved on.

they all moved on. so why couldn't you?

"class! class! let's start this school year by introducing ourselves! i'll go first. my name is ms. hilton, and i'm your english teacher for this year! i've worked at this school for a long time now, and i can't wait to teach all of you kids!

okay, now that i've done my introduction, shall we go along the classroom and introduce ourselves? starting from you sir, yes you with the white and black sneakers. please start by telling us your name and a fun fact about yourself."

you watched as the said boy stood up, pushing his hair back with his hand.

"uh... hi everyone, i'm soobin, and one fun fact about me is i went to Europe this year."

as the next person got up to introduce themselves, you found yourself staring at him.

jeez, he was tall for a middle schooler.

the sun is filtering through the blinds in your room, and rays of light are being painted across the walls. everything is a golden color, from the desk to the bedside.

"so... what topic are we choosing for this project?" you watched through the lens of your glasses as soobin furrowed his brow.

"do you think, maybe aristotle?" you nodded your head eagerly, so soobin stood up and walked over to the teachers desk. a second later he sent you a thumbs up.

"aristotle it is."

you twirled your pen in your fingers as soobin took a seat. "hey do you want to work on the project with me over the weekend? i know a really good café...?"

there was a small smile on your face, and you nodded.

"yeah sure, what time?"

you got up from your chair, grabbing a camera. in this lighting, the room was just too pretty to not take a picture of.

"y/n, for someone of that height, there is no reason you should be walking that fast."

you sent a small smile to the long-legged boy trying to catch up with you in the hallway.

"if you don't want to be late to class bin, you're going to have to put those legs to work."

you let soobin catch up with you, and you slowed down your pace from thereon so the two of you could walk side by side. soobin pointed at the trophy shelf.

"do you think we'll win this year too? i hope we do, yeonjun promised a party at his house if we get placed first."

you gave soobin a reassuring pat on his arm.

"you'll be finneee... if you win, i'll take you out to icecream after."

the boy turned to look at you, a smile creeping into his eyes.

"really?"

"really."

fiddling around with the camera, you brushed the light dust that had collected on the top off. you watched as the particles were swept away, dancing in the dying sunlight.

"we should do this every year."

you turned to look at soobin lying next to you, ice-cream sandwhich in one hand, while the other was tucked behind him, supporting his head. he was looking above, admiring the night sky.

"you mean climb some random apartment stairs to get to rooftops? and risk our lives every season game to see a different view of the city at night?"

soobin let out a small laugh. "yeah, well when you put it that way, it does sound bad." you smiled, lying down with your own ice-cream sandwich, propping an arm under your head.

"...i meant the icecream tradition. you'll be there for my next season game, right?"

now it was your turn to admire the night sky.

"of course. i wouldn't miss it for the world"

grabbing a tissue, you went to work at the camera, cleaning dust from all crevices and corners of the lenses. you were surprised. when was the last time you had even taken a photo on this thing?

"hey bin, what's up?"

grabbing your phone and placing it on your desk, you made yourself comfortable, ready for any facetime tea he would spill.

"ah, y/n..." you watched as he ran a hand through his hair from the other side of the screen. "i don't think... i don't think i'll be able to make it to your birthday this year."

there was a quiet silence. you felt like you'd been punched in the gut.

"if i can ask, um, why?" you fiddled with the hem of your hoodie, waiting for an answer.

"the schedules for the basketball game lineups just came out, and the final season game is happening on your birthday. i just wanted to tell you in case we do win that far and i won't be able to come."

you decided to smile at the way soobin had said just in case they win. the two of you were in your sophomore year, and he hadn't lost a game since middle school.

"yeah, don't worry about it soob. we can still get icecream after."

you felt a turn in your stomach when the boy gave you a relived smile, running a hand through his hair again.

"that's all i wanted to say, i've got to go now"

"hm? why?"

"chem tutoring. these freshman are horrible at science."

adjusting the camera, you zoomed in on random objects in your room. the bookshelf. your water bottle. the lamp. click. click. click.

“did you hear? that senior yeonjun will be throwing a bigger party than last year! are you going y/n?”

you shrugged. “when is it?”

“I think it‘ll be this saturday.”

"can’t. I’ll be out of town”

"for what?

“college. I sent an early application, and one of them reached out and wants me to tour the campus. if i go, I’ll have a guaranteed spot next year, and I probably won’t have to apply to any others.”

your friend let out a low whistle and patted your head.

"well when you put it like that, I guess you really can’t go… but maybe we could get something after the game? i heard the ice cream place was still open”

just like that, a mere sentence felt like a silent punch to the gut.

you looked away from your friends face, scanning the cafeteria unknowingly. you were met with the view of a senior tussling soobin's hair, an arm slung across his neck. you could hear their loud conversation even from where you were sitting.

"you coming to my house after the game? me and the guys we're planning to get some icecream and stay over at my house for the night."

you thought you saw something flash in soobins eye's before he smiled, nodding in agreement.

abruptly standing up, you tossed an apology to your friend about how you wouldn't be able to make it and you had just remembered you had some important emails to send. you didn't want to be around when the words of confirmation came out of his mouth itself.

so much for a flash. the last time you had icecream with him was two years ago.

adjusting the lens once more, you caught your eye on a ticket stuck between two books on your desk. you slowly pulled it out. it was blue and grey, your school colors. there was a hole punched on the bottom, indicating it was used.

"and it's the last two minutes of the game, and hybe high is in the lead! if they can make this basket, it will guarantee a regional win for the school. oh! there goes hyunjin... passing to donghyuck who... also just passed to eric who, jeez, passed to soobin...! look at that! look at that!! we are in the last minute everyone, and if captain of hybe high makes this basket, like i said they will be the regional winners!!"

you let the sound of the announcer wash over you, leaning forward in your seat to watch the game.

for some reason you kept coming back. to this gym. to the basketball games.

to soobin.

it had been over a year since the two of you had really talked, the last icecream run being well over three years ago (a promise to go before your birthday was conveniently broken), and the last facetime was to ask for calculus answers.

you knew that you had faded out of the life of the star basketball player.

you just couldn't accept it.

"and soobin gets closer to the rim... oh! it looks like taehyun from bighit acadmy is a pretty good blocker... anyways look at him go! we have twenty second left, and even if he doesn't score hybe is still in for a win... okay, okAY?? WAIT WHAT!! WHAT!!"

there's a loud screech of the intercom that mixes with the cheers of the crowd. you found yourself on your feet, fists pumping in the air in celebration alongside the students in the bleachers despite yourself.

"AND CHOI SOOBIN SECURES THE PLACE OF HYBE HIGH IN DISTRICT REGIONALS!! ONCE AGAIN THE ACE HAS TOPPED EVERYONE AND BRANG HIS TEAM TO VICTORY!!"

you held the ticket tenderly. on the backside was stamped senior, a marker that counted as a discount for the upperclassmen that wanted to watch the game. flipping it over again, you felt a wave of something hit your stomach as you took in the grey and blue.

"hey y/n, wait up!"

you whipped around at the sound of an all too familiar voice.

there, stood soobin, in all his six foot and one inch glory.

"you.." he panted, hands on his knees as if he had run a million miles. "you walk too fast. what's the rush? you were cheering for me so loudly."

there was that feeling again. of being punched in the gut. by that invisible hand that seemed to favor your stomach whenever soobin was around.

"ah, you know... just getting home."

you tried not to stare too long. soobin had grown, matured. the baby face he donned as a middle schooler was gone, only his dimples a reminder of the childhood smiles you shared together.

"you're not... going anywhere? going straight home?"

you gave him a small smile. "...yeah. i'm going soon, so i really need to pack. good game though! you really did good this time around."

"going soon... to where y/n? are you taking a road trip without me?" you sensed a wary tone under his teasing words. three years apart, and this was the news you would have to tell him. curse the fates.

"yup! im, ah... moving cross country. i got accepted a while back."

you could already see the question in his eyes. how far? which major? on campus or near?

why didn't you tell me?

there was a moment of silence while you rocked back and forth on your heels. soobin pushed his hair back, looking into your eyes.

the heaviness of a thousand unanswered questions weighed in the air.

"so... want to catch up over icecream?"

as you held the basketball ticket from senior year, you realized three things.

one: you were the sentimental type. you clung onto old memories and good times like they were life jackets, keeping you afloat in the mundanity of your new life.

two: you didn't really like the idea of always moving on. it seemed so easy in the story books, that after a couple years the queen goes back to her ordinary life, the king appoints a new knight, and the princess finds someone she truly loved. but was there a time where you would just stop caring? was there a day you would wake up and didn’t think about what could have happened, the if only’s and what if’s?

three: you couldn't move on. you prided yourself on being able to move faster, walking a pace before everyone else. life was a journey, and you were going places. quite literally. you were floating when everyone was sinking.

but you were only floating because you had your life jacket.

...

things came and went. kids grew into adults. that was just how life was. people grew apart, sometimes closer, and it was all expected.

you clutched the ticket in your hand, the end slightly wrinkled by your fingers.

you just never thought you would have to face it yourself.

[justthehiddleswrites]

Accidently Married | Tom Hiddleston x OFC | Chapter 1 |  Living Well is the Best Revenge or Just Trip Her on the Red Carpet

A/N:  Tom makes certain comments about an ex (who is unnamed).  It is a fictional girlfriend, take from it what you will.  Keep your hate to yourself.  

SERIES MASTERLIST HERE

Pairing: Tom Hiddleston x OFC (Molly Bishop)

Summary: Tom is stuck in a news cycle from hell; Molly is stuck in the dead end job of bartending with a pile of student and credit debt.  Tom has an idea to solve all their problems.  Get married, get the paparazzi off his back, divorce after a year and Tom pays off Molly’s debts.  Tom has everything figured out, that is until he sees Molly as more than a just a friend and so does someone else.  In this vying for affections who will win, the handsome Brit or the boy from Boston?

This Chapter: Tom is in Vegas to present at a music awards ceremony and what do you know his high profile ex girlfriend is nominated for two awards.  And the press are having a field day.  Molly Bishop is grateful for the awards show because it means extra tips and getting her closer to paying off her student debt.  An offhand comment by Luke coupled with an encounter with his old girlfriend has Tom’s mental wheels turning.  Perhaps he and Molly can solve each other’s problem.  All they have to do is get married.

Warnings: fake marriage, smut (vaginal sex), mentions of:  child abuse/neglect, foster care, substance abuse, cheating.

TAGLIST IS OPEN! PLEASE LET ME KNOW IF YOU WANT TO BE TAGGED!  THANK YOU FOR READING!

--

Tom dreaded turning his phone back on when the plane landed at McCarran airport. He knew what waited for him on the other side. Tom wondered if his publicist would buy the story he left his phone back at the bar in Heathrow. Probably not, he had tried that earlier in the year and Luke went ballistic until he came clean. He did not want a repeat of the earful he got back then. With a sigh, Tom switched on his mobile and shoved it into the front pocket of his jeans, vibrating as messages and emails came in.

Tom never imagined the relationship would end like this. He thought he was in love. He thought she was in love. But it had all been what were the words she used “escape hatch”. Tom had been a means to an end. And the punishment for his naivete was a news cycle that would not die. And that photo.

He waited until he was in the car on his way to the Bellagio before checking his messages. There were a series of several text messages from Luke.

Call me when you get to your hotel room.

Don’t read the papers.

Don’t talk to any reporters.

Don’t do anything until you talk to me.

Tom pinched the bridge of his nose underneath his sunglasses.

“Fuck!” he hissed under his breath.

This meant only one thing. Another story. Maybe more pictures. He shouldn’t have been surprised. After all, she was attending the same awards show. It ventured to guess the papers would play that up. Tom slumped against the car seat for the rest of the ride.

Check in went fine at the VIP check in. One perk of not only being a celebrity, but a presenter at the awards show. The bellhop delivered Tom’s luggage and garment bag. He pulled the outfit for tomorrow and hung it up, just like Illaria told him to. It was only when he flopped onto the sectional couch, Tom called Luke.

“I’ve been waiting for your phone call.” Luke deadpanned. “I started to worry you would pull that ‘I left my phone at the airport bar’ story.”

“I did cross my mind.” Tom let his head hit the back of the sofa. “Do I want to know?”

“Not really.” Luke winced. “They used the photo again.”

“Of course they fucking did!” Tom punched a nearby pillow. “I look like a twat. Luke, I need this to stop.”

Luke sighed. “Until something comes along that is better than this, expect it to hang around for a while. Unless you are planning on getting married in the next two days.”

Tom chuckled darkly. “Not bloody likely.” He sighed again. “Thanks for everything Luke.”

“It’s my job, mate. But you’re welcome.”

After Tom hung up, he stared first at the phone in his hand and then at the ceiling. He wasn’t sure how he got here, and he sure as hell didn’t know how to get out. Tom decided instead to wallow in self-pity and eat a ridiculously expensive room service steak.

-

Weekends were always busy when there were special events over at the MGM arena. This weekend was no exception. And while it may not be good for Molly’s back, her bank account greeted every penny with a smile. Vegas may be a cheap place to live, but it still costs money. And her college did not accept IOUs for student loans. She shoved more tips into the jar behind the bar and helped the next person.

“What’ll be?”

“Whatever you have that is strong and on tap.” Tom’s smooth voice cut over the din of slot machines and video poker machines.

“Coming right up.” Molly poured him a beer, and he signed the receipt with his room number before sliding to the end of the bar.

Three hours later, Tom still sat at the end of the bar, nursing the same beer. Most of the crowd dissipated at this point. Celebrities needed their beauty sleep. Or at least most of them.

“Would you like to switch that one out for a cold one?” She leaned over, smiling. “On the house.”

“Sorry.” Tom blinked and glanced around, looking for a clock Molly imagined.

“No clocks.” she commented. “Or windows.”

Tom’s brow furrowed. “Really?”

“The whole point of casinos is to keep people inside. Clocks and windows help people realize how much time has passed.” Molly replaced his beer. “The whole place is set up like a maze.”

Tom took a long draw of the fresh beer. “You seem to know an awful lot about casinos for a bartender.”

“You seem awfully forward for a movie star.” she snapped back. Tom’s eyes met yours. She shrugged her shoulders. “I have a friend who works at Regal Cinema, they let me in for free.”

“I’m having a bad day.” Tom muttered back. “You still didn’t answer the question.” He took another long draw, leaving the glass half empty.

“Oh, so we are adding pushy to your resume. I thought Brits were supposed to be charming. If you must know, I have a Bachelor’s and Master’s in Tourism from Arizona State.”

Tom opened his mouth to comment, but Molly cut him off.

“Funny thing about the tourism industry. You need experience to get a job, but you can’t get experience without having a job. Classic catch-22. Which does not pay my bills. So I bartend until I get hired somewhere.”

Tom felt like a prize idiot moping about his problems. He cleared his throat. “Apologies for my earlier behavior. I have been in a poor mood for the last several weeks and it has made me a terrible companion and customer.”

Molly smiled at him. The first truly friendly face in a while. “It’s fine. And you are entitled to a bad day.” She filled up his glass. “Once or twice. Share your troubles with me. Unless it is about which supermodel you should date next, then I don’t want to hear it.” she joked. Tom’s face fell. “Oh shit, I’m so sorry. I didn’t…”

Tom held up a hand. “Please don’t apologize. I take it you don’t read the magazines.”

“As a matter of course, no I don’t.” Suddenly a lightbulb went off. “Oh…”

Tom twisted his face into an exaggerated expression. “‘Oh’ is right. Usually followed by the words ‘shit’ or ‘fuck’.”

“And is she…”

Tom drained the glass. “Yep. Nominated for two awards.”

“Yikes! Well, if there is anything I can do, I am here all weekend.”

Tom stood up and left several twenty-dollar bills. “I might take you up on that. Thank you again for the conversation… I didn’t catch your name.”

“Molly Bishop”. she said, clearing his glass.

Tom offered his hand, and she shook it. “Tom.”

“I know.” she leaned in, her dark brown hair falling to the sides of her face. “Remember, you’re a movie star.”

Tom laughed. A real belly laugh. So loud that it jolted the old man at the other end of the bar awake. “I needed that. Thank you again. Have a good evening, day, morning.”

“It’s evening. Goodnight, Tom. Sleep well.”

Tom headed back towards the bank of elevators. He glanced over his shoulder to watch Molly wipe down where he had been sitting, shove the twenties into a tip jar, while tucking her hair behind her ears and help an obviously drunk couple. Tom made a mental note to find her again before he flew back and leave an even bigger tip.

-

Tom woke up the next morning and headed down to the gym to run on the treadmill. He would have preferred running outside but wanted to avoid people. After running five miles, he switched the machine off, wiped it and him down and headed upstairs to shower and change for the day. Tom wandered back downstairs in search of Molly, but the bartender on duty, a guy named Seth, mentioned she wouldn’t be back until the evening. Tom thanked him and headed back upstairs.

He was restless until it was time to get ready. After dressing, he took a selfie in the mirror and sent it to Illaria who confirmed he did it right. Now came the waiting game. Tom wanted to time it to avoid having to see her at all. Finally deciding he had wanted long enough, Tom called for the car and headed downstairs. What Tom forgot to account for was his incredible bad luck.

He arrived right after her and was forced to walk the red carpet, watching her out of the corner of his eye, with her arm linked around whatever man, boy, prey she ensnared for the evening. Tom plastered a killer smile on his face and continued to repeat the mantra in his head “Living well is the best revenge” when all he wanted to do is either trip her or return to his hotel room and eat an inordinate amount of chocolate cake.

The rest of the awards show blurred together into moments of white hot rage masked by a cool exterior and numbness. Thank god for the teleprompter or else Tom wondered if he would have made it through his presentation. But he did and thought he made it through the entire event without running into her and then…

“Tom!” her voice called out.

Tom froze and stiffened. What a difference a few weeks can make.

“Darling!” He spun on his heel to face her, smile firmly in place. He leaned forward and kissed her cheeks. “It’s good to see you. You look good.” he lied through his teeth.

“You too. I thought I might miss you. I just wanted to say—”

Tom waved her off. “Water under the bridge.” Another lie. Perhaps he missed his calling as a barrister or even a publicist. “Your date seems nice.”

She smiled. That smile that once melted his heart. “Thanks. He is. Where’s your—”

“Back at the hotel.” He checked his watch. “Which reminds me, I should head back. Big plans for the night.”

She blinked, and stutter stepped back. “Oh. Right.” She composed herself. “Well, it was nice to see you again. I hope we can be friends.” She held her arms open.

Fucking friends! Tom howled inside his mind. What was she playing at? More fodder for her songs? Tom seethed on the inside. He stepped forward to awkwardly hug her, praying there was no one around to snap a photo. Knowing her, though, she probably had someone in the balcony with a zoom lens.

“Of course, love.” He squeezed her a little too tight until she let loose a small yelp of pain. Tom allowed a genuine smile to come across his face. “I won’t keep you any longer. Enjoy the after party.” He walked away before she could continue on the conversation.

He waited until he was well out of earshot. “Bitch.”

-

The crowd started waning around 9:30 as the awards show let out. Molly figured most of the attendees would hit the after parties and things would pick up around 1 or 2 a.m. Until then, it would just be the regulars. She turned around to arrange the glasses she just cleaned when a now familiar voice rang out.

“Marry me.” Tom asked, his tie loosened.

“I don’t know you.” Molly teased back. “Now what will you have?”

“You as my wife.” Tom repeated, his palm flattened against the bar.

“Be serious.”

“I am serious.”

“Are you drunk?”

Tom shook his head. “Stone cold sober. Hear me out.”

She glanced around, seeing no plausible escape. “I’m listening. But if another customer comes up, I’m walking away.”

“I need something to move the paparazzi off this current news cycle with me.”

Molly smirked. “You ran into the ex. Did she have a new boy toy on her arm?”

“Yes, but that is beside the point.”

“It is entirely the point.”

Tom slammed his hand against the bar, rattling the container of nuts nearby. “Can I continue or are you going to keep interrupting?”

Molly crossed her arms. “Go on.”

“I need something to move the press off this story. You need money. We are the solution to each other’s problems.”

“You may be gorgeous, but if you think I am sleeping with you for money…”

“I never said sex. I said marriage. The last I checked, they could be mutually exclusive.” Tom’s expression softened. “Listen, you are clearly unhappy here. I am unhappy too. If us being together could alleviate a bit of that unhappiness, why wouldn’t we seize the opportunity? We get married. Get the paparazzi off my back. I would pay off your student loans and credit cards. And then after a year of living together, we quietly divorce. No sex. Just a business relationship.”

Molly chewed over what Tom said, while chewing on her bottom lip. He wasn’t wrong, she was unhappy. Vegas was supposed to be a brand new start, but it was more of the same. Dead end job and no career prospects on the horizon.”

“Did you say live together?”

“In London, yes. I have plenty of room. Your own space. You have a passport.”

“Yes.”

Tom’s face broke out in a wide grin. He couldn’t believe this was happening. The blood pounded in his ears and adrenaline coursed through his veins. He looked up at her with his bright blue eyes.

“Will you marry me, Molly Bishop?”

“Yes.” she smiled back.

Tom leaned over and kissed her cheek. “Then let’s get going, because the licensing bureau closes at midnight.”

Molly headed over to the manager, Nick.

“I quit.” she shoved her apron at him.

“What? You can’t quit, Molly. The big rush is coming.”

“You heard the lady.” Tom called. “She quits.”

“And who the hell are you?”

“Her fiancé. Come on, darling.” Tom held out his hand. She lifted up the bar at the entrance and took his hand.

-

The two of you were full of nervous energy the entire cab ride to the licensing bureau, fitting right in with the other couples waiting to get a license. While you waited in line, Tom made some calls to several chapels until he found one open and able to squeeze the two of you in.

“Now all we need is to get you a dress and some rings.”

“Oh!” Molly dug through her purse. “My friend’s kid gave these to me.” She pulled out two plastic rings. “I think these will do in a pinch.”

Tom closed his hand over hers. “I’ll buy us proper rings tomorrow. Now a dress.”

“There’s a mall on the way. I can grab something on the way.” Tom kissed Molly’s forehead.

“You are brilliant.”

“Thank you.”

Within an hour, Molly was wearing a simple white slip dress, Tom still in his suit from the awards show, although he did straighten up the tie. She smiled like a fool, holding onto a fake bouquet and Tom’s wedding ring, complete with a plastic spider in her hand.

Tom slipped on the plastic gem ring when the minister told him to, and she did the same with the spider ring. Tom giggled and so did Molly .

“I now pronounce husband and wife, you may kiss the bride.”

Tom leaned in and pressed a chaste kiss to her lips. His lips were warm and soft. It was… nice. Under other circumstances, she imagined Tom would be an excellent kisser.

Tom gazed down at her. “Hello, Mrs. Hiddleston.”

“Hello, Mr. Hiddleston.”

[missvelvetsstuff]

The Cowgirl & the Engineer

Notes: this is some sort of Heathers/Mean Girls/The DUFF mash up, in college au. I tried to make it original but will admit to being influenced by other stories I have read. I have not intentionally stolen anyone else's work.

Summary: Reader is a hard working vet science major. I tried to keep the description vague except she's a she, tall and not thin. Bucky is a studious engineering major with a mean girl girlfriend, Sharon whose sister is Steve's ex Peggy another mean girl. Steve & Nat, Sam & Wanda, Brock Rumlow is a dick, brief reader x Jack Rollins

Warnings: Swearing, bullying, marijuana use

Chapter 2

In the morning she left early to spend some time with Frostie so she could avoid Nat and Wandas questions but they were up and still home when she returned.

Of course they started asking as soon as she got home

"How was the big date?" Nat raised her eyebrow.

"Nothing worth writing home about. He told me how to eat and act if I wanted to be with him and when I told him I wasn't interested he asked me to help him get Nat because she's who he really wants. On the way home he demanded a blow job and kicked me out of the car when I refused so I walked home in the rain losing my phone and ruining my good pumps. So, how was your nite?"

Nat and Wanda were pissed "How dare he treat you like that?" Wanda raged "I'm going to find him and-"

"Please don't, just let it go. I'm sure he'll find someone else to bug now" Y/N pleaded.

There was a knock on the door and Steve, Sam, Bucky and Sharon came in. Y/N headed for her room until she heard Sharon call her name "So, yn, I heard you had a hot date last nite, with Brock. How was it"

Steve looked up "Brock? Rumlow?" Y/N nodded, Steve shook his head "Why, he's like the biggest douche on campus"

Y/N grimaced, "He wouldn't take no for an answer. It was bad so I don't think he'll ask again"

Sharon piped up "Maybe you should have blown him, beggars like you can't be choosers you know"

Y/N just looked at her and then walked away to her room. Nat was pissed "What the fuck is wrong with you Sharon? Why do you insist on being such a bitch to yn"

Sharon scoffed "I saw how she was looking at my Bucky. She needs to be put in her place"

Wanda got in Sharon's face "I'd be happy to put YOU in your place"

Sharon whined "Bucky. You see how mean they are when I was just being honest about their DUFF roommate? Why do we have to hang out with them?"

Bucky shook his head "You're free to leave if you like"

Sharon screeched "James Barnes!! You better take me somewhere nice right now!"

Bucky sighed "There's my cue again, see you guys later" and left, with Sharon bitching all the way.

In her room Y/N was checking her messages and ordering a new phone to replace the one she lost. There was an email from her mom titled URGENT but when she read it her mom had tried to call and sent the email in a panic. Unfortunately she was only interested in how the date went. They chatted online for a few minutes and Y/N gave her the details. Her mom responded with a lecture about mens needs and keeping them happy, ending with an emphatic demand that she give the next guy a blow job right away and implied that sex was all Y/N had to offer a man. She also told her that sticking to salads and avoiding dessert would be best.

Y/N signed off and slammed her laptop closed. How did she stand a chance when even her own mother supported Brocks abusive behavior? She shouldn't have been surprised since her mom encouraged her to marry her ex Mike instead of going to college, insisting that a man with a good job was worth more to a woman than a college degree or her own career.

Y/N shook it off and dove into her studies for the rest of the day.