#science party (extended)

[icedhotcocoa]

@tf2rarepairweek day 3: [same faction/cross-faction]

they r going to blow up your body into tiny little pieces and then gaykiss over your grave <3

[orcelito]

I do find it so funny that I will graduate college days away from my birthday. Like my birthday is literally in between the end of the semester ("graduation") and commencement

It really will be like a joint graduation & birthday party for me lmao

[euphoriaslux]

two’s a party.

summary: you recently transferred to stanford, and decide to tutor a tennis player in your class. he has a friend. severe indecency ensues.

word count: 3.3k

warnings : smut, threesomes, f!oral receiving, swearing, smoking, drinking. slight cuck energy if you squint (i’m sorry ((no i’m not))). no challengers spoilers!

a/n: this fic got away from me big time but this movie has rotted my brain and as a result i have written utter debauchery that i will not apologize for. just had to get this out of my head, enjoy!

-

stanford science hall. monday , march 3.

You swear the last thing you’ll hear before your body is lowered into your grave is the process of lactic acid breakdown.

It’s 2:30 PM. Kinesiology 189 with Professor Wilson, a lanky middle-aged man with a PhD in exercise science and a half-grown beard that you don’t think will ever fully grow in, is almost over. He’s teaching Extended Studies of the Human Body in a humid classroom filled with student-athletes, most of whom are trying to stay awake, trying to hide that they’re taking a nap, or making no attempt to hide that they’re on their phones. You don’t really blame any of them, because the professor’s voice is so soft and monotone that it feels like he’s begging everyone to pay attention to anything but him. You’ve managed to stay somewhat on course with the thread of today’s lecture, the notebook in front of you filled with scribbles of incomplete molecular structures and somewhat legible drawings of the muscular anatomy of a hamstring.

This class is required for your biology major since you’re on a pre-medicine track. You don’t know why you’re doing it, the whole doctor thing, but you’ve developed a weird fixation for this class. The functionality of the body, how muscles stretch and tear with each movement, and how amino acids work to build them back even bigger.

And, possibly because of the tennis player who sits four rows ahead of you every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday.

His last name is Donaldson. You know because of the faded label on the massive bag he throws on the floor every time he walks into class, at least ten minutes late with a backward Stanford Tennis cap on his head. His first name remains a mystery, partly because he never talks in class, and mainly because you’ve made no attempt to speak to him. You like to think it’s because you’re so focused on the curriculum.

Professor Wilson knows your name, though, since you’re in his office hours every Thursday at 11 A.M. In part because he gives out most of the answers to his homework, and because you just transferred to Stanford your last year and very desperately need a letter of recommendation for medical school. Hence why you agreed to tutor a student with lower than 60% in the class during one of your meetings. And why everyone in the class was staring at you right now.

“... first come first serve, so reach out to her sooner rather than later.”

You give a tight-lipped smile, glancing around the room. Most people have looked away, back to their distraction of choice, but you meet eyes with the fluffy blonde-haired tennis player.

stanford library. wednesday, march fifth.

It’s 11 A.M., and you feel like your brain is about to explode if you look at another practice set.

“Hey”.

Your head whips around to the harsh whisper, only to be met with the blue-eyed mystery from your class. He has that large bag slung over his shoulder, with the end of a tennis racket peeking out of it. His hair is slightly stuck to his face, and his compression tee is slick to his chest like a second skin.

“Hi,” you whisper back. He smiles before tossing his bag on the floor and sitting in the chair across from you, either unaware of or completely ignoring the glares he’s receiving from the other students studying.

“You know,” he pulls out some kind of nutrition bar from his bag, unwrapping it and taking an aggressive bite, “for someone advertising their services, you’re pretty hard to find.”

“You’re in Mr. Wilson’s class, right?” you ask, hoping your subdued voice will remind him that he’s in a notoriously quiet place. He hums, pointing at you with his half-eaten snack.

“And I’m trying not to fail, but you didn’t leave your number anywhere in the classroom, and you bolt after every class. So how am I supposed to patronize your tutoring services…” he trails off, his volume the same level as when he walked in. You furrow your brows as he leans back into the chair.

“That’s when you say who you are.”

You feel a burn on the back of your neck as you tell him your name. He glances down towards the problem set you’ve nearly finished.

“How do you turn in any of those, I can’t get halfway through one of them.”

You pause for a moment before leaning slightly across the table to whisper:

“This new weird thing called studying. I think it just got approved by the CDC.”

“Very funny,” he shakes his head as reaches for your binder with your class schedule printed out on the front of it.

“Why are you taking so many bio classes?”

“Because I’m a biology major,” you can’t help the sarcasm dripping from your voice, and he looks at you with a raised eyebrow.

“Sorry, you’re making this too easy for me,” you raise your hands in conceit.

“I have practice every day at five so you can tutor me for like an hour beforehand,” he says before standing up, crunching up the silver wrapper and stuffing it into the front pocket of his blue jeans. You scoff at his sentence.

“Well, thank you for so generously fitting me into your schedule,” you roll your eyes, turning the page in your textbook. He grins.

“Tell the coach you’re there for Art. They’ll let you through.”

stanford tennis courts. friday, march 7th.

It’s 4 PM, and the California sun is sweltering. Your shorts feel like they’ve become a part of your legs, and your bag feels like it weighs a thousand pounds. By the time you make it to the tennis courts Art is already on the green concrete, shirtless with beads of sweat dripping down his face and chest. You hear his grunts as he sprints across the court, hitting the ball toward a slightly taller brunette with dangerously short red shorts. You watch them at the entrance for a few minutes, slightly entranced as the two play so seamlessly, as if they know every move the other person is going to make. You force your eyes away as you walk up the bleachers, stepping over leftover water bottles and chip bags to sit down and grab your notes from your backpack. It takes a couple more minutes for Art to notice you, yelling your name after he turns around to grab a ball his partner had hit particularly hard. You wave, and he says something you can’t hear to the brunette before the two of them jog across the courts and up the stands to where you are, blocking the sun as the two stand side by side.

“Who’s your friend?” you ask as you stuff the problem set you were working on in between the pages of your notebook.

“I’m Patrick,” he says, with a toothy smile and his ears poking out from under his hair. He has a bit more of a boyish charm to him than Art does, whose eyes are glued to his brunette counterpart.

“Are you in Mr. Wilson’s class too?”

Patrick opens his mouth to answer but Art speaks first, slightly pushing his friend with his shoulder as he says “He doesn’t go to Stanford, too busy being a tennis pro.”

Patrick rolls his eyes but his smile doesn’t leave his face. You notice how different this Art feels from the one in the library, how direct his playfulness is and how close he and Patrick stand together, their sweaty torsos nearly melding together.

Interesting.

“Like, Andre Agassi level pro?” you smile as the two of them laugh. Patrick raises the bottom of his shirt to wipe the sweat off of his forehead, and you can’t help but take a glance at the exposed skin just above his waistband.

“Sorry, he’s like the only tennis player I know.”

“No, no I’m taking that as a compliment that you think I’m on the level of Agassi. No takebacks if you see me play,” Patrick points at you.

“Will do,” you salute, turning over to Art.

“You ready to study?” you ask him as he makes a comically loud groan, his head falling back. Patrick laughs, reaching over to ruffle his friends hair.

“You do remember that’s why I’m here, right? Midterms are in two weeks.”

“I definitely have not forgotten that.” he says. You purse your lips just as Patrick’s eyes seem to light up.

“I’m staying at the Courtyard Hotel for the weekend. You two can come over and study, I need to review my last match anyway. Kill two birds with one stone,” Patrick suggests.

“Just studying?”

“Just studying,” Art says, wrapping his arm around his friend's shoulder. You glance between the two of them, trying to decipher the unspoken communication they seem to be doing. But you can’t crack it, so you shrug.

“Sure.”

“Let us finish this set, and then you’ll have me all to yourself. Sound fair?”

“Wow, what a privilege. Don’t take too long, it’s hell on Earth out here!” you yell the last part as Art jogs down the steps and back down towards the net. You look up once you realize that the sun is still being blocked, and Patrick is still standing in front of you.

“You ever play?” he grins, flipping the tennis racket in his hand.

“Tennis? God, no, that would not be a pretty sight. I’ll stick to what I’m good at,” you gesture to the books and notes in your lap. Patrick nods.

“If you ever want to learn, I could teach you sometime, you know if-” he’s cut off by Art yelling his name, and you both glance to see him with his hands on his hips.

“Go, don’t keep your boyfriend waiting,” you wave him off, and you swear you can see him blushing. Must have been the glare.

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” he says over his shoulder as he runs toward Art.

courtyard hotel. saturday, march 8.

It’s 11 pm. There’s a cold shiver in the elevator as you wait to get to the fourth floor, your tennis shoes tapping against the floor as one hand plays with the handle of the pack of beer in your hand while the other crumples and re-crumples the piece of paper with the hotel room number Patrick scribbled on it.

what are you doing?

You don’t have time to think about the consequences of your actions as the robotic voice signals that you’re on the fourth floor, the elevator doors fluttering open. It’s like your feet have a mind of their own, as you find yourself almost mindlessly wandering through the hotel halls until you’re planted in front of room 4B. You raise your hand to knock on the door but before you can make contact with the wood it’s thrust open, and Patrick is standing behind it. His dark hair is slightly tousled around his face, his striped shirt unbuttoned and his black boxer briefs low on his waist. He’s smiling, that same big smile as before, but his face is a little flushed, a gentle pink hue touching his cheeks. The two of you don’t say anything for a few seconds, as if you were both testing to see who would concede first to acknowledge the other’s presence. You raise the pack of Pabst Blue Ribbon in your right hand.

“I brought studying fuel.”

You were never good at waiting.

Patrick laughs before he moves slightly out of the way to allow you to walk into his room. It’s small, with a queen-sized bed and a tiny desk, and the A/C emits an odd rumbling sound as it smacks against the window. Clothes and scorecards are strewn across the floor, and the scent of cigarettes permeates the room. You place the alcohol on the floor before deciding to sit on the bed, kicking off your shoes as you cross your legs. Patrick seems to stall for a moment, smiling to himself before closing the door behind him. He doesn’t lock the door, but you didn’t notice.

“Art’s not here yet?” you ask, watching as Patrick walks over and tears open the cardboard case, cracking open a can. Taking a sip, he leans against the desk as he smiles.

“Art can be bad with time.”

“As I’ve noticed,” you reach your hand out to motion towards the drink and Patrick hands it to you, staring as you take a large sip.

“Well,” you wipe the side of your mouth, “I told him to bring the topics he wanted to study, so I guess we can’t do anything until he gets here.”

Patrick nods with a slight pout, his fingers playing with the pop tab of the can. “I guess we can’t.”

“How’s tennis… stuff,” you laugh as you finish the question, not sure of exactly what to say.

Patrick seems to tense a little at the mention of the sport, moving over to sit next to you on the bed. His knee grazes your leg and you feel a slight buzz at the contact as he takes the beer from your hand.

“I’m kinda fucking it up right now,” he says, and you furrow your brows.

“How? You were like, really good yesterday.”

He chuckles, shaking his head slightly. He hands you the beer and you finish it off, placing the empty can at the bottom of your feet.

“I’m good with Art. It feels so fucking natural and easy with him. But in my other matches, I don’t know. I just … can’t replicate it.”

You nudge him with your leg.

“Sounds like you two were made to play tennis together.”

He makes a noise of agreement, his hands slowly moving to ghost over your thigh.

“You and Art are pretty close?” you ask as he plays with the bottom hem of your shorts, but he doesn’t say anything. You take his silence as a yes.

“Do you ever get jealous?”

“Of Art?” he asks, almost incredulously. You shrug.

“Yeah, or jealous of the girls he’s with. Either or.”

Patrick sits on that for a few moments before smirking.

“What’s mine is mine, and what’s his is mine.”

You laugh at that, a real deep laugh, and Patrick giggles next to you, the both of you tipsy from the can of beer you finished. You reach over and put your hand on his flushed face, rubbing your hand across his cheek.

“What were you doing before I came?” you feel his face warm even more against your skin as you position yourself closer to him.

“Practicing- or, sorry, rereading my scorecards from my last match.”

You tutted as you moved your hand to the back of his neck, gently running your hands through his hair.

“You can tell me the truth, Patrick.”

He turns his head to press a gentle kiss to the palm of your hand before looking up at you as if to check if that was too much. Whatever your expression is gives him the confidence to move down to your neck, his tongue licking your skin.

“I think you know.”

You feel a pull in your lower stomach at his words, muffled by his mouth nipping at the sensitive spot just below your ear, and he sucks hard enough for you to put your hand around on his face at the pressure. Pulling his face up, the two of you stare at each other for what feels like an eternity, and his eyes glance toward your lips. You wanted to wait, to make him beg and plead for it, but your body seemingly pulled you forward as your pressed your mouth onto his.

You were really quite bad at waiting.

He tastes like tobacco and faintly of the fruit medley in the dining hall, and you sigh as his lips interlock with yours and his hand grabs the back of your neck, pressing you into him. The kiss gets messy and hard, his tongue gliding over your bottom lip and into your mouth as you lift your leg to straddle Patrick, grinding into him. He whimpers into the kiss as his calloused hands drop down to the waistband of your shorts, hesitating for a moment before dropping his hand into your underwear. You grind just a little bit faster as his fingers press circles into your clit, covering your mouth with your hand as you moan.

“You’re so beautiful,” he murmurs as he uses his other hand to guide your hips, and your move your hands down to tug firmly on his hair. You can feel your climax building, the pressure in your stomach getting closer and closer to taking you over the edge-

You both jump at the sound of the hotel room dor slamming shut. Art is standing there, in that damn backward cap and a Stanford tee shirt as he crosses his arms over his chest, saying nothing as you and Patrick sit up straight, him adjusting his crotch and you smooth down your shirt, avoiding his gaze. Finally, the silence is broken by Art laughing.

“Christ, I’m not the cops,” he slips out of his slides as he waltzes over and opens a can of beer, drinking about half of it in one go. You look at him, and at Patrick, and then back at him, not knowing what the hell you just got yourself into.

“You want to fuck him right?” Art asks, and you can’t help your small gasp at how easily he said that. You glance at Patrick, hoping he’ll know what to say, but he’s just staring at Art.

“I-um,”

“So, no one’s stopping you,” Art cuts you off, taking a final swig of his beer and moving to stand directly in front of you. You open your mouth to try and explain, but before you can talk Patrick’s mouth is on yours again, his hand roaming your body. His grip is firmer now, his fingertips digging into the side of your stomach. He tugs at the bottom of your shirt and you separate, breathless as you pull your shirt over your head and toss it on the floor. Patrick’s mouth moves down to your neck, then your collarbones, and then your chest as he reaches around to take of your bra, and you feel on fire from Art’s gaze across the room. As Patrick kisses down your stomach and yanks down your shorts, you turn over to meet Art’s eyes.

“Come here.”

Whatever resolve Art was holding onto crumbles as he quickly takes off his shirt and slips out of his Nike shorts, tossing his hat on the dresser. In a flash Art’s hands are on your neck, tilting your head around to kiss you as Patrick lifts up your hips so he can take off your underwear. Art’s lips are softer than Patrick’s but he kisses you a little bit harder, his hand cupping the base of your neck. Somehow, they both taste the same. You moan into Art’s mouth as you feel Patrick’s tongue swirl around your clit, rolling your hips into his mouth as Art’s cock presses into your back. It’s just so much so fast, and that familiar buzz starts to pool in your lower stomach.

“Look at him,” Art turns your head to Patrick and you look into his eyes as you cum, Art’s hands hold your head forward as a wave of euphoria crashes over you. Patrick’s hands are digging into your hips as he stares up at you and Art. Your chest heaves up and down as you try to catch your breath, leaning against Art as Patrick leans back up, his mouth a few inches from yours.

“Who do you want first?

[waitimcomingtoo]

Interception

Pairing: Peter Parker x Best Friend!Reader

Synopsis: Flash’s pool party turns into a kissing party and Peter fears you’ll kiss someone else

Masterlist

“Hobo. Bride of hobo. Are you coming to my party Friday?” Flash said as he held up a bright orange flyer that had the details of a pool party at his house on it.

“What party?” Peter asked as he shut his locket.

“The party you weren’t invited to. Later suckers.” Flash laughed obnoxiously, flipped you both off, and then ran away. You and Peter looked at each other before shaking your heads in disbelief.

“Wow. I haven’t been called a sucker in…ever.” You realized.

“Me either. I thought it was one of those fake high school experiences that only happens in movies. Like a bully asking for your lunch money or dunking your head in a toilet.” Peter replied.

“Or making a volcano for the science fair.” You added, making Peter smile.

“Yeah. Exactly.” He said as he looked at you fondly for understanding him.

“So what are we gonna do Friday while the rest of our school goes to Flash’s super cool party?” You asked as you threw some books in your locker.

“Oh, we’re hanging out on Friday? I didn’t know that.” Peter blushed at your nonchalant invitation. You’d never hung out just the two of you before and the fact that it seemed like an obvious choice of plans for you made Peter happy.

“Well, duh. Neds definitely gonna be invited ever since him and Flash bonded over getting left behind on the field trip freshman year. We should do something.”

“Just you and me?” Peter asked with a hopeful smile.

“Yeah. It’ll be fun.” You smiled back and wondered if the thought of alone time was as exciting for you as it was for Peter.

“Maybe we can grab some ice cream and then hang out on my roof. It’s pretty nice up there once you scare the bats away.”

“I love that idea. It’s a date.” You replied without thinking. You face dropped when you realized what you called it while Peter turned bright red.

“Or whatever we want to call it.” You quickly added with a forced laugh.

“We can call it a date.” Peter shrugged, taking you by surprise. You smiled at him just as the bell rang.

“Well then it’s a date. Catch you later, P.” You squeezed Peters arm before going to your next class. Peter watched you leave with a dreamy smile on his face. This Friday, you’d finally be going on a date. Whether it was an ice cream date, a friend date, or a date date, he was just happy to be going with you.

The next day, Flash caught up to you on campus and walked with you to your next class.

“Hey, pookie. I would like to formally invite you to my pool party.” Flash said as he held out a flyer for his party.

“Really? What made you change your mind?” You laughed in surprise and took the flyer.

“I realized something and had a change of heart.” He replied.

“Oh yeah? What did you realize?”

“That inviting you gets I mean to see you in a bathing suit.” Flash said, making you laugh in shock.

“Gross. But thanks. For the invite, I mean. Not for the other thing.” You said and shoved the flyer in your backpack.

“You can bring Parker too. Since you two are dating or cousins or whatever.”

“Neither.” You chuckled. “But yeah, I’ll bring him.”

“Perf. See you Friday, my little cinnamon apple.” Flash blew you a kiss and walked away just as Peter approached you.

“What did he want?” Peter faked a laugh and hoped it hid the jealousy he felt when he saw Flash blowing you a kiss.

“Good news. Flash kindly extended the invitation to us.” You said and took the flyer out to show Peter.

“Oh, really? So we can go?” Peter asked and hoped he didn’t sound as disappointed as he felt. He could care less about a stupid party. He just wanted to be with you.

“Yeah. If you want.” You shrugged, also not really wanting to go. Your date with Peter sounded much more appealing.

“Sure. It’ll be fun.” Peter lied through a smile.

“Maybe we can still get ice cream after. Just the two of us.” You suggested, making Peters smile turn genuine.

“Yeah. If the party’s lame, we can just slip out and go on our date.” Peter said just to use the word “date” again. You smiled sheepishly and nodded your head.

“It probably will be lame. We can stay for the food and then have some real fun. Just me and you.”

“Ned will probably want to come with us, though.” Peter realized as his disappointment returned.

“Too bad.” You shrugged. “He can hang with us anytime. But he can’t come on our date.”

Peter grinned as you said everything he hoped you would. Your date was still on the table and he might even get to see you in a bikini before it. That was the only thing making either of you want to go to the party.

When Friday came, there was prep to be done. You and Peter went to your dorms after class and began to prepare for the evening ahead. Peter laid out all his swim trunks before trying them all on to see which one he could best impress you in. Meanwhile, you were looking in your floor length mirror and making an important decision.

“I’m gonna shave my entire body.” You whispered to yourself. When MJ came home from class a little while later, she found you covered neck to toe in shaving cream with a razor in your hand.

“Should I even ask?” She asked when you froze at the sound of her opening the door.

“Pool party.” You told her. “Peters gonna be there. I don’t want him to know I have body hair. He can’t see the hair on my upper thighs. He just can’t, MJ.”

“Every single person literally ever, including Peter, has body hair covering their entire body. He already knows you have hair on your thighs. Everyone does. Why do you have to do all this?” She couldn’t help but laugh as she gestured to your shaving cream covered body.

“Look, you don’t shave your armpits and that’s amazing and more power to you for not caring about society’s expectations for female body hair, but tonight, I do care. I care enough to need Peter to think I’m as sleek and slippery as an exfoliated baby dolphin covered in baby oil.”

“Fine. Give me a razor. I’ll do your back.” MJ sighed and held out her hand. You fist pumped before giving her a spare razor.

Peter was back in his room making sure he looked his best for you. He ended up in navy blue swim trunks and a fitted white T-shirt that you complimented once. He twirled around in front of his mirror and made sure everything looked right. When he was satisfied, he drenched himself in body spray, grabbed a towel, and headed to your dorm.

You rinsed off the shaving cream and put on a perfume that Peter said he liked once before changing into your bathing suit. You put your hair into two braids and threw a big shirt on over it just as Peter came knocking on your door. You gave MJ a look before throwing on a smile and opening the door.

“Hey, P. Oh, I like that shirt.” You complimented him as you leaned against your door.

“Oh, thanks.” Peter blushed even though he only wore that shirt for you. “I, uh, like your hair like that.”

“Thanks. I didn’t want the chlorine to dry it out.” You shrugged and tugged on one of your braids to draw attention to it.

“It’s cute.” Peter said in a weak voice, making your smile.

“Yeah? I’ll have to do it more often then.” You did your best to flirt. Peter laughed shyly and rubbed the back of his neck.

“You should. It looks really good on you.” He said without making eye contact. Something was most definitely in the air between you tonight and you both felt it. You touched your braid again not to draw attention to it, but to feel beneath your fingers what Peter was seeing.

“Damn. I thought the awkward friend hook up happens after the party. Should I leave?” MJ said from behind you. You hung your head in shame as Peter turned red.

“We’re leaving. Bye.” You gave her a look as you grabbed your bag and shut the door.

“Use protection! And I don’t mean sunblock.” She called after you from inside your dorm room.

“Oh my God. We need to get out of here.” You laughed in embarrassment and took Peters hand to pull him towards the elevator. Once you were in the elevator, you stood side by side and avoided eye contact since MJ had now made things awkward. You didn’t know how tonight was gonna go, but going to sleep as more than friends with Peter would be nice. Even if all that happened was a kiss, you’d be satisfied.

You and Peters hands bumped a few times as you walked to Flash’s house. You had a feeling in your gut that once you walked into this party, things were going to change. You could only hope they were changing for the better.

“Well look who it is. Frick and Frack. Welcome to my party.” Flash greeted you and Peter as you walked in through his gate. Flash’s house was naturally enormous and his pool looked like a lake. There was a water fall on one end, a diving board, and a tray of drinks going around on an inflatable table. Flash himself was in the tiniest pair of swim trunks you had ever seen. They were golden and had his name stitched across the butt, making you and Peter burst out laughing when you saw it.

“Hey Flash. Thanks for the invite.”

“My pleasure. Or, it will be once you drop that shirt.” Flash winked at you. “Anyways, hope you guys brushed your teeth before this.”

“Why?” You frowned. You had, of course, and so did Peter.

“Because this is a kissing party.” Flash said like it was obvious. Your eyebrows went up and you looked at Peter who was just as confused.

“Sorry, what? What the hell is a kissing party?” You laughed, thinking he was kidding.

“Duh. It’s a party where you kiss as a competition.” Flash rolled his eyes. “The person at the end of the party who kisses the most people wins.”

“Wins what?” Peter wondered.

“The Cuban Rizzle Crisis.” Flash shrugged. “You’re crowned Rizz Khalifa. The Rizzly Bear. You get a degree in Quantum Rizzics. You become the Rizzard of Oz. You star in Harry Potter and the Rizzoner of Azcaban. You feel me?”

There was a long, long silence as you and Peter stared at Flash. Flash’s gaze was piercing as he looked back at the two of you with no shame.

“What?” Peter said finally, making Flash roll his eyes.

“Just kiss as many people as you can and keep count.”

“But can’t multiple people win if they all kiss everyone at the party?” You pointed out.

“Not everyone plays.” Flash shrugged. “Plus, people are always coming and going. There is never a fixed amount of people here. And you can deny a kiss if you think the person is gross.”

“So you probably won’t get any kisses then.” Peter said, making you laugh.

“Suck my balls, Parker.” Flash scoffed before turning to you.

“By the way, cutie pie, that’s an open invitation.” He said with a wink.

“Hard pass.” You replied.

“All right. Let me know if you change your mind, pookie.” He winked at you again and you looked away.

“I won’t. And I don’t think I’m gonna play. I don’t really get down like that.” You told Flash. Peter internally sighed in relief. He had feared that you were gonna play and end up kissing other people while he had to watch. But luckily, you were on the same page.

“Me either.” Peter added. You looked at him in surprise before smiling.

“Fine. You two can just make out in the corner or call your grandma or something.” Flash grumbled.

“Again, not dating and not cousins.” You corrected Flash.

“Whatever. I don’t judge.” Flash held up his hands and walked away. Once you and Peter were alone again, you looked at each other and laughed.

“Kissing party? Come on. That’s not a real thing, is it?” Peter asked you.

“I think he got it from a movie or something. There’s no way people really do this. Imagine the germs. Bleh.” You stuck your tongue out and then pulled your shirt off. Peters whole world stopped as he saw you in a bathing suit for the first time since sixth grade. He didn’t realize how much he was staring until he heard you laugh uncomfortably.

“Peter? Are you still with me?” You asked and waved a hand in front of his face.

“Yeah. Sorry. I thought I saw a bug on your leg.” He lied before tugging his shirt off. You stared at him shamelessly until the shirt was over his head and then pretended you were looking somewhere else. It had slipped your mind that Peter got randomly jacked one day and he had just reminded you with a full view. You’d only ever seen his muscles through his occasional tight shirt but this was much more revealing than that. You snuck one more glance and gulped before throwing on a smile.

“Do you want to get in the water?” You asked. Being in the water mean you wouldn’t have to fight for your life trying not to stare at Peters body for a while.

“Sure.” He smiled and held out his arm. You wrapped your arm around his and walked over to the stairs of the pool.

“Ah it’s…not cold. It’s actually the perfect temperature.” You realized after bracing yourself for the cold pool water.

“Of course he has a heated pool.” Peter grumbled and walked in. You swam over to a spot near some people but also a little isolated. The people behind you were making out and once you both noticed that, you blushed.

“Wow. They’re earning points already.” You chuckled.

“I know. I wonder who’s gonna win.”

“Us. Definitely.” You joked, making Peter laugh.

“Oh, for sure. I’m already making a list in my head of all the people I’m gonna kiss.” He played along.

“Oh yeah? Who’s at the top of the list?” You asked as you swam closer to Peter. Peter looked at your lips and then into your eyes before smiling shyly.

“The list is actually just your name written a hundred times in your handwriting.” Peter joked. You smiled in shock and wrapped your arms around his neck.

“Really? Tell me more about that?” You asked. Peter gulped and wasn’t planning on telling you anything. Instead, he’d show you how he felt by finally kissing you.

But before that could happen, Brad Davis swam over and tapped your shoulder.

“Hey, Y/n. I didn’t see you come in.” He smiled.

“Oh, yeah. Peter and I just got here.” You smiled in disappointment and let go of Peter.

“Cool, cool. So, I’m sure Flash told you what kind of party this is.” Brad said, making Peters senses go off. Brad wanted a kiss and as the captain of your schools basketball team, he might get it.

“He sure did. Which is when Peter and I told him we aren’t playing.” You said through a fake laugh to dilute the uncomfortable situation.

“Oh, my bad. I came over here to kiss you but I didn’t realize you guys were dating.” Brad said apologetically. You and Peter exchanged a look and he gulped.

“We’re not dating.” Peter forced a laughed as well.

“Ohhh. Cool. So I can kiss you?” Brad asked and moved closer. Peter felt white hot jealousy in his veins and looked at you to see what you were gonna do.

“Like I said, not playing.” You laughed awkwardly and moved away from him.

“No sweat. Let me know if you change your mind.” Brad smiled at you and swam back to his friends. Peter blew out a breath he didn’t know he was holding and looked at you. You had your hands over your mouth and wide eyes.

“Oh my God. That was so awkward. I need to get out of here.” You whispered to Peter.

“Let’s go get some food.” Peter suggested. You agreed and got out of the pool together. Peter put a hand on your back and got a towel for you so you could cover yourself when you went inside.

“Uh oh, my Virgin alarm is going off.” Flash said when you and Peter walked into the kitchen where a group of your classmates were. Peter rolled his eyes as Flash walked towards the two of you with his hand flat like a metal detector.

“Beep, beep, beep. I found them. I found the virgins.” Flash gasped as he waved his hand over you and Peter.

“Knock it off, Flash.” Peter grumbled as his face flushed.

“I had to. You two are the only ones not playing.” Flash replied. Everyone looked at you and you suddenly felt insecure for not participating.

“Really? I thought you said other people weren’t playing.” You asked.

“They dipped.” Flash shrugged. “Everyone here is a part of the game. Expect for Chastity Mary and Pete the Prude over here.”

“I’ll play.” You blurted just to make everyone stop staring at you like you were a giant loser. Peter looked at you in confusion and you gave him a stressed look.

“Me too.” Peter nodded to back you up. You didn’t actually want to play, but the peer pressure had gotten to you. That and the fact that this little game might be the perfect excuse to get Peter to kiss you.

“Oh, shit. You’re really playing? In that case…” Flash closed his eyes and leaned in to kiss you with his lips puckered. You picked a strawberry off the table and shoved it in his mouth while Peter laughed.

“Guys, Neds here.” One of the boys in the kitchen gasped.

“NED! NED! NED! NED!” Everyone funneled out of the kitchen in a mob while cheering for Ned.

“Did you know Ned had a cult following?” You asked Peter.

“Kinda. He’s famous around here ever since he got them to reinstate all day breakfast in the dining hall.” Peter explained.

“That was him? Shit, I’d cheer for him too.”

“I should go say hi to him. If he had time for old friends, that is.” Peter joked.

“Y/n, over here!” One of the girls in your grade came over and took your arm. You gave Peter an apologetic look as she pulled you away.

“I’ll catch up with you later!” You told him before disappearing back outside with the girl.

It was almost an hour before you and Peter were reuniting. Now that you were in the competition, Peter could not relax. He was on high alert all night as he tried to spot you in the large crowd. He couldn’t enjoy the party because he was too busy fantasizing about the worst case scenario of you kissing all the popular boys and falling in love with one of them. After you’d been mingling in your respective friend groups for a while, you spotted each other on either side of the pools waterfall. You swam under the waterfall and stayed close to the wall so you were protected by the wall of water but not getting wet.

“There you are. I’ve been looking for you.” Peter smiled and swam to you.

“Have you?” You smiled in return and swam closer to him.

“I have. The boys started wrestling each other and I wanted to give it a go with you.” Peter joked. You laughed and swam even closer to him so that your chests were touching. A comfortable silence fell between you and the rest of the party fell away. You couldn’t really see or hear anyone outside of the waterfall so it felt like it was just the two of you.

“So have you kissed anyone yet?” Peter asked and held his breath.

“No. People keep asking me but I keep declining. I don’t think I’m winning tonight.” You clicked your tongue.

“Me either.” Peter laughed in relief.

“So you haven’t kissed anyone?”

“No. No one’s asked me.” He admitted.

“So kiss me.” You shrugged and held your breath for his response. Peter turned around and looked behind him but didn’t see anyone.

“Who are you talking to?” He asked you.

“You, you dingus.” You laughed. “I’m asking you.”

“You want to kiss me?” Peter asked in disbelief and pointed to himself. You nodded your head and Peter felt a panic rise in his chest.

“N-no.” Peter weakly stammered.

“No?” You asked as your eyebrows went up.

“Sorry. No, thank you. Is what I meant.” Peter corrected himself.

“Oh. Right. Sorry.” You laughed awkwardly and swam back a little.

“Just because-“

“No, it’s totally cool.” You cut him off. “You don’t have to explain anything to me.”

“I just-“

“I’m gonna go get a drink. See you later?” You smiled at him and quickly swam away. Peter was frozen under the waterfall as he processed what happened. Suddenly, Ned burst under the waterfall with urgency.

“Dude! What the hell was that?” He asked and swam to Peter.

“I panicked! I didn’t think she was gonna ask me that!” Peter whispered harshly.

“Why wouldn’t she? This is a kissing party!”

“Kissing parties aren’t real! That’s not a thing that exists. This is a made up concept. Think of the germs! You haven’t thought of the germs you bitch!” Peter exclaimed. Ned jutted in his back in surprise and Peter felt bad.

“Why are you yelling at me?” Ned whispered.

“Because I just blew my chances with Y/n and I’m angry!” Peter whispered back.

“Well why didn’t you kiss her?”

“Because.” Peter whined. “I don’t want our first kiss to be because of this gross game. I wanted it to be because we wanted it.”

“Dude, she hasn’t kissed a single person tonight. You’re the only one she asked.” Ned pointed out.

“Your tone makes me think you’re leading me to a profound conclusion.”

“Clearly she only agreed to play so she could kiss you. That’s why she’s been saying no to everyone else but asked you. She’s not playing the game. She just wanted to kiss you.” Ned said and smacked Peters chest.

“No. That would mean she likes me. And there’s no way she likes me.” Peter insisted.

“Then why would she agree to play this game if she was gonna say no to everyone but you?”

“Because she’s a silly goose? I don’t know. I don’t have all the answers, Ned. Maybe she was just being a silly little guy.”

“Dude, she’s likes you.” Ned groaned. “And she just shot her shot. And you shot her down.”

“That’s way too many shots.” Peter whispered in fear that Ned was right.

“You need to go smooch that girl before you lose her forever.” Ned told him.

“Oh God. Do you think that will happen? Do you think she’ll kiss somebody else?” Peter gulped and chewed his nails.

“Probably. If I’m right about her liking you, that means she just got rejected and is probably super hurt and embarrassed. She’ll be looking for someone to distract her and remind her that she’s desirable. Plus, I heard Brad and Flash are tied and Y/n is the only girl they haven’t kissed. If they get to her before you do, you’re done.”

“Oh God. I can’t let that happen.”

“You might be a little late for that. Turn around.” Ned looked guilty as he pointed over Peters shoulder. Peter turned to see you and Flash sitting on the edge of the pool together. You were laughing at something he was saying, making Peters stomach drop.

“Oh no! She can’t kiss Flash. I’ve never seen him apply chapstick once in his life. And he licked the back of the bus seat in fifth grade during a game of Truth or Dare so he’s definitely carrying some sort of disease.”

“I remember that. He picked truth and then randomly licked the seat top to bottom.” Ned recalled.

“She can’t kiss that mouth. He has cooties. He can’t give my beloved cooties.” Peter said as determination filled his body.

“You need to do that think football players do when they catch the ball that was thrown at a different player.” Ned told him.

“Interception?”

“No. That’s the show about sitting down your family member who has an addiction and sending them to rehab.” Ned waved his hand.

“That’s Intervention.”

“No, Intervention is the Tom Cruise movie where he goes to space and his daughter is Renesmee from Twilight.”

“For starters, I’m not really sure why you called her Renesmee “from Twilight” as if there is any other character in any other movie with that name, but you also just described the movie Intersteller. Which is with Matthew McConaughey, not Tom Cruise.” Peter corrected him.

“So what movie am I thinking of?” Ned wondered.

“Fuck if I know. I’ll be right back.” Peter said and swam over to you and Flash. He saw Flash starting to lean in and in a panic, grabbed a beach ball and threw it at him.

“Ow. What was that?” Flash looked around once the ball hit him in the head.

“Hey guys. What’s going on?” Peter smoothly slid into the convo.

“Hi, Peter.” You smiled shyly and then looked back at Flash.

“It was Inception.” Ned said suddenly as he joined Peters side. Peter face palmed and you just looked confused.

“What was Inception? What did that mean?” Flash asked in genuine confusion.

“The movie I was thinking of. Inception starring Leonardo DiCaprio. That’s what you have to do to Y/n.” Ned explained. He slowly turned and realized you were sitting right there on the pool edge and smiled sheepishly.

“Oh, hey Y/n. Lovely weather we’re having, no?” Ned asked.

“What about an inception?” You playfully narrowed your eyes at Peter.

“He means interception.” Peter mumbled in embarrassment.

“Intercept what?” You asked as you slipped into the pool to be closer to Peter.

“Your kiss with Flash.” Peter admitted as he looked into your eyes. His big brown eyes were full of guilt and you couldn’t stay mad even if you wanted to.

“Ew. You thought I was gonna kiss Flash?” You laughed. “Not after what he did to that bus seat in fifth grade. No offense, Flash.”

“Was it that bad? It tasted like dry Ramen.” Flash shrugged.

“Who eats dry Ramen?” Ned asked.

“People who question the status quo and reject the suffocating confines of the shell society puts us in.” Flash stated.

“What the fuck are you ever talking about?” You whispered to yourself.

“Who knows? Did I hear Y/n wanted to kiss little old me?” Flash batted his eyelashes and pretended to tuck hair behind his ear.

“No, you didn’t.” You told him.

“Wait, so you didn’t come over here to kiss Flash?” Peter asked you.

“Ew, no. Why would you ever think that?”

“Because you wanted to forget that I rejected you.” Peter said, making your eyes widen.

“You rejected Y/n?” Flash laughed in surprise. “That is an M.Night Shamelan level twist right there. That shocked me more than that one Black Mirror episode where it turns out he was a pedofile after I spent the whole episode feeling bad for him.”

“What are you talking about now?” You whined.

“I actually know what he’s talking about.” Peter admitted. “That episode was crazy.”

“Right? When the mom was like “Kids, Kenny? You were looking at kids?” I nearly threw my phone at my TV. On God. I was rooting for him. And best believe, that is the last time I will ever root for a white man.” Flash shook his head. Everyone in the pool was looking at you guys now and trying to peer into the conversation. There was an awkward silence and even more awkward eye contact before Flash spoke again.

“So why didn’t you want to kiss Y/n?” He asked Peter.

“I was kinda also wondering that.” You admitted and looked at Peter for answers.

“Can we talk somewhere else? In private?” Peter asked you quietly.

“You’re just gonna let me hear that much of the conversation and then leave at the end? Talk about edging.” Flash scoffed.

“Fine. He can hear. In fact, everyone should hear this.” Peter decided and got up on the pool steps.

“Hey, everyone. I have an announcement.” Peter said as he cupped his hands around his mouth.

“I like Y/n. As more than a friend.” He announced as he pointed to you. You smiled in delight while everyone else gave each other the side eye.

“No one gives a shit, Parker.” A boy shouted after a long moment of silence.

“Everybody knew that.” Another girl added.

“Do a flip!” Someone shouted.

“He thinks he’s the main character or something, I swear.” Someone else muttered.

“Oh. I thought that would get a bigger reaction.” Peter frowned and walked back down into the pool to go back to you.

“You like me?” You smiled softly.

“I do. A lot.” Peter admitted with the same soft smile.

“Then why didn’t you kiss me?”

“Because I didn’t want our first kiss to be apart of this stupid game.” Peter told you. “I also wanted to be wearing underwear the first time we kissed. I guess I’m picky.”

“I’m never wearing underwear. Ever. Even when I wear jeans.” Flash said, reminding you that he was there. You turned your entire body to look at him because of how shocked you were by that statement.

“Why not?” You asked him.

“It blocks the flow of my mojo.” He said and pointed to his crotch before moving his hand it and outward flow. You blinked a few times and then turned back to Peter.

“Peter, I only played the game because I wanted to kiss one person. You.” You told him.

“That’s why I started playing. But when you came up to me and asked me, I was so caught off guard that I panicked and said no.”

“Is your guard up now?” You asked him.

“Probably not. Peter could never afford a guard. Get it? Because he’s poor.” Flash said and then laughed at his own joke. Peter rolled his eyes before looking at you again.

“If you asked me again, I’d say yes.” He told you.

“I’m not gonna ask you again. But that’s good to know.” You smiled at him, making his smile drop.

“Y/n, over here.” A girl on the other side of the pool called.

“See you around.” You waved to Peter before swimming to the girl. Peter and Flash stood there in shock as the processed what had happened.

“Dude, that was brutal.” Flash said. “That was worse than the staph infection that hospitalized me after I licked that bus seat.”

“I can’t believe she didn’t ask me.” Peter whispered in disbelief. “And who the fuck keeps saying “Y/n, over here?””

“I can’t believe you rejected her, announced to the whole party that you liked her, and then she rejected you! That’s gold, man. You can’t make this stuff up. Anyways, later loser.” Flash hopped into the pool and started to swim away. He suddenly popped up in front of Peter, this time, with goggles on this time.

“Unless you wanted to play mermaids?” Flash asked him. Peter stared at him for a minute and then nodded.

“I do, actually. Yeah.”

“Amazing. My tail is blue. What’s yours?”

“Please let me be blue.” Peter whined. “I just got rejected by my best friend.”

“Fine. I’ll be orange.” Flash rolled his eyes.

Once the party had started to fizzle out, Peter got out of the pool and went over to where he had left his stuff. You walked over to him and he tensed up.

“Hey.” You said as you approached him.

“Oh, hi.” Peter said cautiously. He had no idea what you were here for after all of the bizarre interactions you had tonight.

“Towel?” You asked and offered him a fresh towel.

“Yeah, thanks.” He accepted it and eyed you skeptically before drying off.

“You should really try to ring your hair out. Chlorine might damage those curls.” You said and nodded towards Peters hair.

“Oh, thanks.” He said and rubbed his towel all over his head. When he was finished, he noticed you staring at him with a fond smile.

“What?” He wondered.

“You missed a spot. Here, let me help.” You said and took the towel. You rubbed it all over his head to dry his hair and then moved it to reveal his face. He was blushing, like always, but had a sad look in his eyes. You let the towel fall to around his neck and then pulled it to bring him closer so you could kiss him.

“Did you really think I was gonna kiss you for the first time with Flash Thompson sitting between us?” You asked once you pulled away.

“So that’s why you didn’t ask me again?” Peter smiled as he connected the dots.

“I’m like you. I wanted it to be special.” You shrugged.

“I think it would be even more special if it happened again.” He replied. You laughed and kissed him again, which he was ready for this time.

“So.” He said once you pulled away. “You still down for that ice cream date?”

“It’s a date.” You nodded and smiled.

“I know. I literally just said that.”

“Don’t ruin the moment, P.” You warned him.

“Fine.” He smiled. “Let’s go on our date.”

Tag List 🏷️

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[withahappyrefrain]

FRAT TASM!PETER WITH

“I had a dream about you last night. Woke up hard/wet. Wanna hear about it?”

THIS IS SOMETHING THAT COCKY ASSHOLE WOULD SAYYY OH MY GOD

This is how blonde frat Peter returns bless you

Warning: language, frat Peter being a cocky little shit, female reader, I think that's it!

"Hey, you made it after all."

You audbily breathe in through your nose, trying to ignore the fumes of vodka and who knows what else was in this God forsaken jungle juice.

Anything to give you the strength to face Peter Parker.

You turn around to find him leaning against the door, a joint tucked behind his ear, hands in the pocket of his black hoodie, bleached blonde hair somehow perfectly messy.

"Don't get ahead of yourself Parker. I'm only here to support my roommate," you scoff, turning your attention back to the game of beer pong. Not that you were truly interested.

But you couldn't let him know that.

You regret being late to the first day of your Science Diplomacy & World Health class. Had you known it would have left you no choice but to sit next to Peter Parker, you wouldn't have hit the snooze button for your alarm five times.

It wasn't even like you had asked to borrow a pencil from him. He seemed drawn to you, like a moth to a flame.

"Y'know, I feel like I would have remembered a face like yours. You a transfer?" He asked, as if you two weren't in the middle of a lecture.

Thanks to your roommate being in the sorority that paired up with his frat, you had heard all about Peter Parker. The infamous parties. How he dyed his hair blonde at the beginning of sophomore. How he's the biggest flirt that Delta Lambda Phi had.

You didn't even look at him when you responded, "We've been in the same class since freshman year. But I came here to get a degree, not to party."

Ever since that day, he wouldn't leave you alone. At first it started with ridiculously over the top pick up lines.

"Are you made up of copper and tellurium? Because you're cute."

All you could do was roll your eyes at every line, mustering all the strength you had to not smile. You had eyes, the guy was cute. But you also knew his type.

So when he extended a personal invite to the latest frat party, you simply turned him down, like you had for countless of other parties.

Of course, as luck would have it, it was exactly the party your roommate wanted to go to.

You hoped to avoid him, hoped that your roommate would find whoever she was looking for so you could leave.

But it was as if Peter Parker had a sixth sense for you specifically. His inability to find you in libraries, dinning halls, and the university's coffee shop (bc fuck Starbucks) had now extended to frat parties.

"You know Parker, stalking is a serious crime," you scoff, refusing to look at him. The ever present scent of cinnamon alerted you that he was now standing next to you.

"It's not my fault you have a beautiful face that I could pick out from a crowd," He mumbles, a stark contrast to the usual cocky bravada you're used to.

"Excuse me?" Without thinking, you turn to face him, making contact with those big brown eyes.

The corner of his pink lips jerk upwards as he leans in, brushing a piece of hair out of your face. His touch is gentle, something you weren't expecting at all.

"You heard me." The cocky smile had returned, causing you to roll your eyes.

"Hey, don't gimme that. I know you love how cheesy I am."

Unfortunately, it was true. He was never crude and it somehow sounded genuine, despite being accompanied by a worn snapback.

"It's not crass, unlike your fellow brotherin. I'll give you that Parker." You would have taken a step back if you could, but you were now up against the wall. But he still had space to close in on you, not that he did. He always kept enough distance that you could walk away.

Come to think of it, you hadn't seen or heard him flirt with anyone since the first day of classes.

"Y'know, I got an offer from Delta Chi. It could be way worse." His comment earned a laugh from you, a feat Peter was quite proud of.

"You're right, I guess I should give you that."

"I think you can give me a lot more," He leaned in, closing some of the distance between you two but not all the way, "If you want."

The ball was in your court. His lips looked so soft, no doubt from the vanilla chapstick he used. God, why did you know that about him? And why did he always smell like cinnamon instead of Axe body spray? That's what he should be using, it would certainly make it easier for you to discourage your own feelings about the guy.

Tired of denying, tired of putting up a wall, and not kissing anyone in the last four months caused you to grab at his hoodie, your lips crashing onto his.

You vaguely register the sound of the dropped plastic cup, as your fingers thread through his hair to find it soft, despite all the hair dye and bleach.

Peter's hands feel large as they skim your sides, landing at your hips. When his tongue slid across your bottom lip, you could feel your knees begin to go weak. As if he could sense it, he pushed your back firmly against the wall, one of his large hands going down to your thigh to help steady you.

Fuck, his lips were soft. There was muscle underneath that hoodie, you could feel it.

His lips trailed down to your jaw before settling on your ear.

"I had a dream about you last night. Woke up hard. Wanna hear about it?"

Desire burned at the pit of your stomach, your fingers gripping the strands of his hair.

"Where the fuck is your bedroom Parker?"

[muzaktomyears]

John Lennon and Yoko Ono: his affairs, binges and diet pills

For years the radio host Elliot Mintz was the only person the former Beatle and his wife trusted. Now, he has written a book about his intense relationship with the couple — including what really happened during Lennon’s infamous ‘Lost Weekend’

John Lennon, Yoko Ono and Elliot Mintz outside the Mampei Hotel in Karuizawa, Japan, 1977. Right: Lennon and Ono in 1980

I am holding a pair of glasses. They are antique, made of steel wire and perfectly round. The trademarked name is the Panto 45. This is the 26th pair of John’s glasses I’ve examined on this snowy night in February 1981. It’s been about two months since he was gunned down in New York outside the Dakota, the gothic edifice where he and Yoko Ono had been living since 1973.

I’ve been tasked with the responsibility of inventorying his personal effects so that Yoko, and posterity, would know precisely what he had left behind. I did not want this task. For one thing, I live 2,500 miles from the Dakota, in Los Angeles, where I host a late-night radio interview show. But Yoko asked me to do it, and I have rarely been able to say no to Yoko, let alone John.

I found their idealism infectious and inspiring. Still, as I got to know John and Yoko as flesh-and-blood friends, I began to see their flawed human sides as well.

The trio at a restaurant in Kyoto, 1977

Yoko, for one, was even more airy and ethereal in private than she was in the media. She could be a fountain of aphorisms, dispensing endless nuggets of Zen-like philosophy. Her haiku-esque homilies on manifesting one’s desires or the wisdom of the nonrational mind could be a bit much for some people.

There were moments when even I was a bit baffled by it all. Except then she would say or do something that would absolutely convince me that she was connected to some higher plane.

John, meanwhile, was every bit as charming, funny and intelligent as he came across in public. But I gradually discovered he was far from perfect. For starters, for a guy who aspired to be a world-shaking peacemaker — a thought leader on a par with Mahatma Gandhi, Martin Luther King Jr and Nelson Mandela — he was surprisingly uninformed about historic figures like, well, Gandhi, King and Mandela.

He also had some Luddite-like notions about science, particularly medicine, extending well beyond his annoyance at “daddy doctors” for not letting him perform his own weight-loss injections. Even though John had smoked, ingested or snorted just about every illegal recreational drug he could get his hands on, he was weirdly suspicious of the ones that were properly prescribed and proven efficacious.

Lennon and Ono on The Dick Cavett Show, 1971

John and Yoko could be incredibly sensitive, honest, provocative, caring, creative, generous and wise. They could also be self-centred, desperate, vain, petty and annoying. In John’s case, also shockingly cruel — even to Yoko.

An example…

Early one morning in November 1972, the red ceiling light that would flash whenever my hotline to John and Yoko rang started blinking. I picked up.

“Ellie, I f***ed up,” were the first words out of John’s mouth.

“Why?” I groggily asked. “What did you do?”

“We were at this party last night,” he said, “and I got loaded. And there was a girl…”

I sat up in bed.

The party was at Jerry Rubin’s Greenwich Village apartment. A small crowd of well-connected peaceniks had gathered to watch the presidential election returns on television. As it became clear that Richard Nixon would win re-election by a landslide, the mood grew bleaker and the crowd began drinking more heavily.

Alcohol was not John’s friend and on this occasion, John’s evil inner gremlins truly outdid themselves.

I got some of the specifics from a hungover John during his morning-after call. The upshot was that John had indeed hit it off with some girl at the party and had slipped into a bedroom with her, where they proceeded to have such loud, raucous sex that everyone sitting around the TV in Rubin’s living room — including Yoko — could clearly hear them going at it.

Lennon and Mintz in 1972

At one point, a well-meaning guest put a record on the turntable — Bob Dylan’s 11-minute ballad Sad Eyed Lady of the Lowlands — at high volume. Yoko sat on the sofa in stunned, mortified silence.

Whatever they said to each other later, I suspect the conversation was not a pleasant one.

“I slept on the sofa,” John told me, sounding defeated and embarrassed — although, frankly, not quite as contrite as I thought his situation warranted. “Things like that happen,” he said, way too matter-of-factly for my taste. “A bloke cheats on his wife… If I weren’t famous, nobody would care.”

Yoko, unsurprisingly, felt differently.

“Are you OK?” I gently asked her when I phoned to check in on her a few hours later.

“There is no answer to that question,” she said shakily.

“Do you think you’ll ever be able to forgive him?”

“I can forgive him,” she said. “But I don’t know if I can ever forget what happened. I don’t know if it will ever be the same.”

After a few weeks of cooling down, though — during which Yoko wrote and recorded Death of Samantha, her bluesy ode to burying one’s pain for the sake of outward appearances — the crisis seemed to abate. John and Yoko chose to roll the cosmic dice with a spectacular gesture of faith and hope in the staying power of their love. They bought an apartment in the Dakota.

“It’s apartment No 72,” Yoko announced when she called to tell me about the purchase. “Do you see the significance?”

Lennon’s 38th birthday party, 1978

When you add seven and two, you get nine, Yoko explained, which was a hugely significant numeral to the Lennons, a magic integer that seemed to mysteriously recur throughout John’s life. Yoko would rattle off the number’s many repeated appearances: John was born on October 9. She was born on February 18 (1 plus 8). Paul McCartney’s last name has nine letters…

I was somewhat mystified as to why they chose this particular neighbourhood. “Aren’t you worried it’ll be too stuffy for you?” I asked John. “Will the people who live there even know who you are?”

“I don’t want them to know who we are,” he said with a laugh. “I don’t want to know who they are. We just want to be left alone.”

The Dakota struck me as one of the most eerily beautiful — and oddly daunting — structures in all of New York. John and Yoko greeted me in the vaulted vestibule, eager to begin our tour, which started on the ground floor with the new headquarters for Studio One, the business entity behind John and Yoko’s creative enterprises. Tellingly, John did not have an office in Studio One; Yoko did.

The main attraction was on the seventh floor. It was nearly 5,000sq ft, with massive windows offering eye-popping views of Central Park. Virtually everything in its expansive living room, from the plush carpeting to the grand Steinway piano, was as white as Japanese snowbells.

Lennon, Ono and Mintz at a Shinto temple in Kyoto. The custom was to hang your horoscope on a line

There was only one highly conspicuous work of art in the White Room: a Plexiglass case on a white pedestal, in which was a 3,000-year-old sarcophagus. John and Yoko had scored the very last mummy allowed out of Egypt before the Egyptian government put a ban on exporting their national antiquities.

“You should x-ray it and see what’s inside,” I suggested. “There might be something of great value, like precious jewels.”

“I don’t care what’s inside,” Yoko responded. “The great value is the magic of the mummy itself.”

Another thing I clearly remember about that long afternoon at the Dakota was how enthusiastic both John and Yoko seemed about the life they were building together in this new nest. John giddily described the “entertainment centre” he wanted to construct in a nook off the kitchen. Yoko, ever the artist, chattered about the endless design ideas she had. It was all too easy to forget about the pain and stress they’d been dealing with. I managed to convince myself that the worst was over for John and Yoko. I was wrong.

There are those who believe Yoko not only approved of the affair but arranged it. That she planted May Pang in the seat next to John on that American Airlines flight from New York to Los Angeles knowing full well what was likely to happen. That their comely 23-year-old assistant would sooner or later end up sleeping with her husband.

It’s possible, I suppose. It could be she saw some strategic long-term advantage in setting up the affair; by handpicking John’s mistress, she might have felt she could exert some dominion over his extramarital wanderings. Perhaps, thanks to her mystical advisers, she really did see that John was heading for a free fall and was endeavouring to soften his inevitable crash.

If any of that is true, though, Yoko never breathed a word of it to me. All she said in October 1973 was that she was sending John and an assistant to LA. Could I please meet them at the airport?

With his assistant and lover, May Pang, 1974

I was by then aware that their marriage was in deep trouble. Despite their best efforts to mend the relationship, the red light on my bedroom ceiling had been blinking even more feverishly than usual leading up to what would later be known as John’s “Lost Weekend”, the 18 months he spent in exile from his wife in New York.

Yoko’s demeanour back then, as always, was not demonstrably emotional but it was clear from our phone conversations that she was in pain. John’s calls were every bit as depressing.

“Has Mother been talking to you about us?” he asked during one early morning chat.

“Yoko talks to me about everything,” I answered vaguely.

“The other day I shaved and got dressed up and told her I wanted to take her to her favourite restaurant and she turned me down,” he lamented. “She said she didn’t have time. Me own f***ing wife said that to me!”

Yoko has always been a methodical person, and my guess is that she precisely and carefully orchestrated John’s eviction from the Dakota. John might not have even realised what was happening to him. He certainly didn’t seem like a man who’d been kicked out of his home when I met him and May Pang at LA airport.

“You look trim, Ellie,” he said with a big grin when I greeted them. “Have you been taking those diet pills again?”

They had very little luggage, suggesting that neither of them was expecting a long stay. My instructions from Yoko were to drive them to music manager Lou Adler’s house in Bel Air, a mini-mansion up on Stone Canyon Road.

“I need some money,” John said as we settled into my weary old Jaguar. “Mother said these could be used for money,” John continued, shoving a fistful of traveller’s cheques in my hand.

The couple outside the Dakota building in New York, 1980. They bought an apartment there in 1973

John was functionally a child when it came to taking care of himself. But then, that was what May was for. Whatever other intentions Yoko may or may not have had for the assistant, her primary job was to make sure John was properly fed and cared for, that all his basic needs — or at least most of them — were satisfied.

John and I spent a lot of time together over the next several weeks. He was also expanding his friendship circle in LA, hanging out with people like Harry Nilsson, the brilliant but notoriously hell-raising singer-songwriter. But after three or four months, much of his initial enthusiasm had boiled off and his mood was starting to curdle. He was missing Yoko: he began asking me when I thought she’d be ready for him to come home. He started spending more and more time with Nilsson, drinking at the Troubadour till all hours. After John famously got thrown out for drunkenly heckling the Smothers Brothers, the late-night shenanigans moved to the Rainbow Bar & Grill on Sunset. That’s where John and Harry and a collection of others — including my old pals Micky Dolenz and Alice Cooper — formed an infamous drinking club known as the Hollywood Vampires.

It would be difficult to exaggerate the level of unbridled indulgences that took place in the Rainbow’s VIP room, a small alcove atop some stairs overlooking the bar. The amount of alcohol imbibed was staggering, to say the least, and there were also small bags of cocaine discreetly passed into the room. Nilsson, a great big bear of a man, could pound down a dozen or so brandy alexanders — a potent mix of brandy and cream, his cocktail of choice, which John soon adopted as his own — in a single sitting.

Not being a celebrity, I was never invited to become a member of the Hollywood Vampires, but I was a welcome visitor and spent many a late night on the edges of their wild, sometimes harrowing saturnalias.

Lennon with his Hollywood Vampires drinking partners, from left, Harry Nilsson, Alice Cooper and Micky Dolenz, November 1973

There was always a crowd of attractive young women at the bottom of the steps leading to the Vampires’ VIP lair. Frankly, though, by the time the boys descended, usually at closing time, most of them were too wasted to take advantage of the opportunity. I lost count of the number of times I all but carried John down those stairs and poured him into whatever car service I had called to the bar’s car park.

For the most part, I kept my promise to Yoko: I kept John safe. But one night, I realised things were starting to spiral out of my control. Normally, John didn’t put up much of a fight when I helped him down the stairs at the Rainbow Bar but on this occasion, he resisted. He didn’t want to go home.

He pushed away and dived straight into the crowd. It was my worst nightmare: a drunken star lost inside a drunken mob.

Finally, I spotted John with Nilsson at the edge of the car park, the two of them climbing into the back of a black limousine. A moment later, it pulled away into the night, going I had no idea where.

John, I realised with a sinking feeling in my gut, was slipping away.

I was about to walk into the nadir of the Lost Weekend, John’s rock bottom. The call came not on the hotline but my regular house phone, and the voice on the other end identified himself as a security officer working for Phil Spector. John was in trouble: could I please hurry over to Adler’s house and help “calm him down”.

What I saw when I stepped into Adler’s living room some 20 minutes later looked like a scene out of The Exorcist. Drunk and wild-eyed, John was strapped to a high-backed chair, his arms and legs restrained with ropes, which he was struggling against with all his might as he shouted obscenities at his captors, a pair of beefy-armed bodyguards who stood in awkward silence nearby. The place was a shambles. John had torn some of Adler’s framed gold records off the walls and smashed them to pieces. Bits of broken wood and shattered Plexiglass littered the floor.

The couple in Selfridges in London where Ono was signing copies of her book Grapefruit, July 1971

Apparently, the meltdown had started earlier that evening at the studio, where John and Phil had nearly come to blows. What precisely they were arguing about, nobody seemed to remember. But the session ended early with Phil’s guards restraining John and shuttling him to Adler’s house, where John slipped away from them long enough to pick up some sort of walking stick or cane, which he swung wildly around the living room until the guards were able to subdue him.

I slowly stepped up to John, who had stopped shouting. His head hung low on his shoulders, his chest heaving furiously. After a long beat, he slowly lifted his eyes to me. He looked possessed.

“Get these ropes off me!” he erupted. “Get them off me, you…”

And then John spat out an epithet so hurtful and offensive, I can’t bring myself to repeat it.

I looked straight into his eyes, barely containing my disgust and disappointment. He looked back into mine. And that exchange of glances seemed to reach some shred of humanity buried deep in John’s alcohol-addled brain. Suddenly he became very, very quiet.

After a moment or two, I turned to the guards. “I think you can take those ropes off him,” I said. “I think he’s done.”

John stood up, rubbed his wrists and, without another word, slowly made his way down the hall to the bedroom, where he must have collapsed on the mattress and passed out.

The next day, as I was getting ready to leave for work, the hotline started flashing.

“Ellie?” John said. “I’m sorry for what I said. But if you think about it, if that’s the worst thing I could say about you, you couldn’t be all that bad, right?”

“Thanks for the compliment,” I said.

“Well, welcome to the real world, Mother Virgin Mary. I’m me. I have a big mouth and express meself the way I feel when I feel it. I don’t hide behind some microphone. I sing into it or speak into it when it suits me. I’m not always the Imagine guy or the Jealous Guy or the Walrus. So I said I’m sorry to you. That’s all I can do.

Lennon and Ono in 1972

“Do you want to have dinner?”

“No,” I answered. “I think I’m going to take the night off.”

For the first time I can remember, I was the one who hung up the phone.

Obviously, our friendship took a hit after the incident at Adler’s house; how could it not? For the next several months, John and I barely spent time together — at least, not in person. We would talk almost every day on the phone, as we always had, and eventually our rapport began to feel as easy and familiar as ever. But I no longer joined him for evenings at the Troubadour or the Rainbow.

John, meanwhile, had shifted from the mayhem of the Spector sessions to the slightly lesser bedlam of producing a record for his pal Harry Nilsson. The most notable thing about the Pussy Cats sessions was who else was in the room. Ringo Starr sat in on drums. And although it never made it onto Nilsson’s album, another ex-Beatle unexpectedly turned up and even sang with John, the first time the two of them had performed together since the Beatles split.

I wasn’t present but later heard that Paul McCartney and his wife, Linda, had popped in without warning, bringing Stevie Wonder with them. According to those who were there, John and Paul seemed to pick up their friendship as if they were teenagers again, but when John told me about it later, he was kind of dismissive about it, saying, “They were all just looking at us, thinking that something big was going to happen. To me, it was just playing with Paul.”

Lennon with Harry Nilsson, left, outside the Troubadour club in West Hollywood, having just been ejected for heckling a performance by the Smothers Brothers, March 12, 1974

What John didn’t know, though, was that, according to Yoko, Paul had an ulterior motive for the visit. A few days earlier, she had called me to explain the machinations behind the visit.

Yoko told me she spoke with Paul, who offered to speak with John. “I thought it was very kind,” she said. “I was very appreciative. But I made it very clear to Paul that it wasn’t something I was asking him to do. It would have to be Paul’s idea, not mine.”

To me, there was never any question that John desperately wanted to get back with Yoko. Yes, he had feelings for May, yet at some point during virtually every phone call I had with him, John would sooner or later beseech me to talk to Yoko on his behalf. “Tell Mother I’m ready to come home, Ellie. Tell her I’m a changed man.”

“I don’t think she wants to hear it from me,” I would say. “She wants you to show it to her.”

Paul, I later heard, gave John similar advice. Sometime after popping into the studio in Burbank, he sat down with John and laid out, step by step, what he would need to do to win Yoko back.

It’s impossible to say if Paul’s presentation was what did it, or if John experienced some other epiphany around that time, but over the ensuing months he did indeed begin to clean up his act. In the summer of 1974, he started working on his next album, Walls and Bridges, regularly flying to New York for rehearsals and recordings at the Record Plant on West 44th Street. By all accounts, those sessions were entirely professional, with John showing up 100 per cent sober every day.

At the Grammy Awards in New York, March 1, 1975

Then, as work on the album neared completion, John made a fateful decision: he decided not to wait any longer for Yoko’s invitation to return to New York. Instead, towards the end of the summer, he and May rented an apartment of their own on the Upper East Side. It was a small but comfortable place that had a wraparound balcony with spectacular views of the East River.

When I flew to New York to tape some interviews, I took the opportunity to pay them a visit — my first face-to-face meeting with John since the ugliness at Adler’s house. It was an awkward encounter for numerous reasons. For one thing, I had just spent an afternoon with Yoko at the Dakota, some 20 blocks away; taking a cab across town to John and May’s felt something akin to betrayal.

Perhaps sensing my apprehension, May gave me a wide berth, leaving to make some phone calls in a bedroom while John and I stood together on the balcony, catching up.

“Does this make you feel uneasy?” John asked after a beat.

“You mean being here with you and May? Yes, a little,” I admitted. “It just reminds me of the fact that you and Mother are still separated, and that makes me sad.”

“Well, that’s the way Mother wants it,” he said. “At least for now.”

Then, unexpectedly, he wrapped his arm over my shoulders and added, “Don’t look so glum, me boy. Put on your radio face. There’s nowhere you can be that isn’t where you’re meant to be.”

It was one of the few times he’d quoted a line to me from a Beatles song.

Walls and Bridges was released a month or so later. John sent a prereleased signed copy (“To my little dream lover on ice, with love and old pianos,” he wrote, referring to my affection for Bobby Darin’s hit song).

As it happened, Elton John had joined John on keyboards for one song on the album. Elton made a bet with John. If the song was a hit, John would have to perform at Elton’s upcoming concert at Madison Square Garden. John agreed, never imagining he’d have to honour that promise.

Of course, Elton was spot on: Whatever Gets You Thru the Night did indeed become John’s first No 1 solo single. And so it came to pass that, in November 1974, onstage at Madison Square Garden, in front of thousands and thousands of fans, that the Lost Weekend finally began to fade to a finish.

Lennon’s surprise appearance at Elton John’s concert at Madison Square Garden, November 28, 1974

The details of what exactly transpired backstage that night remain, 50 years later, shrouded in some mystery. What is known is that Yoko, who’d been invited to the concert by Elton’s manager, was in the audience. She couldn’t have been prepared for the reaction around her when Elton announced, about two thirds into the concert, that he was bringing John onto the stage for his first public performance in two years. The crowd went berserk.

After the show, Elton’s manager approached Yoko and told her that Elton had requested her presence in his dressing room. Yoko was led backstage to a door with a star on it. She knocked, the entrance opened, and inside she saw her husband standing there, alone.

I cannot tell you what happened after the dressing room door closed behind them. Nobody but Yoko knows that, and she has never shared with me any details. What I can tell you is that in the weeks and months that followed, there must have been many more rendezvous as Yoko and John re-established their connection, even as he continued living with May in their East Side apartment.

According to one of May’s early accounts, John was ultimately hypnotised into ending his relationship with her; she has long claimed that Yoko hired a mesmerist to help John quit smoking but that it was all a ruse to brainwash him into splitting up with her so he could return to Yoko. To this day, many people believe that story. But I know for certain that it wasn’t true. Because, as it happens, I’m the one who arranged the hypnotist.

Yoko had nothing to do with it.

John had remembered that I had interviewed a hypnotist on my radio show and asked me if he might be able to help him kick nicotine.

At the Lincoln Center in New York, circa 1975

I called the hypnotist, planned for him to fly to New York, booked him a room in a Midtown hotel, and set up an appointment with John. In just about every respect, though, the hypnosis was a total bust. John told me immediately afterwards he was never put under; the hypnotist claimed John was but just couldn’t remember. The hypnotist also turned out to be something of a diva. He disliked his hotel — he thought the desk clerks were rude — and checked out the next day, flying back to LA in a huff.

John didn’t quit smoking, not for a minute, so it’s hard to imagine the hypnotist had succeeded in brainwashing him into anything else — like, say, leaving a lover. But the very next day, John did break it off with May and returned to the Dakota, resuming his marriage to Yoko and ending, at last, the long and lonely winter that had been the Lost Weekend. He called me in LA shortly afterwards to share the happy news.

He said, “Let the media know the separation did not work.”

‘He’d weigh himself twice a day’

Elliot Mintz on his friendship with John and Yoko. By Georgina Roberts

When a red light in Elliot Mintz’s bedroom flashed, it meant that John Lennon or Yoko Ono was calling him on a special hotline. “In an average week, 20 hours of phone conversation would not be unusual,” the 79-year-old former radio DJ and talk-show host says from his Beverly Hills living room.

Mintz describes the friendship with the couple that “dominated” nine years of his life as “almost a kind of marriage”. He was taken aback when Ono called him in 1971 to thank him for not asking about Lennon when he interviewed her on his radio show. When they began to speak for hours at night, she batted away his concern that her husband might get jealous, saying, “Aren’t you giving yourself a little too much credit, Elliot?”

Lennon first called Mintz to ask if he could get him fat-melting pills. “That was my first conversation with John Lennon. It wasn’t philosophical. It wasn’t about Elvis or the Beatles. It was about weight loss,” he says. Sometimes Lennon would weigh himself twice a day and the couple “were obsessive about diet”.

In Hotel Okura in Tokyo, October 1975

After six months of speaking, the couple summoned him to meet them in Ojai, California, where they were trying to kick a methadone addiction. Ono barely spoke until she was in a bathroom with the tap running. “She whispered to me, ‘This house is bugged. Everything we say here, they’re listening. So you have to be very careful what you say.’ ” FBI files released years later showed that Ono wasn’t being paranoid. President Nixon had placed the couple under surveillance after rumours they planned to disrupt his convention, Mintz says.

His clandestine friendship with the couple wreaked havoc on his love life. When he couldn’t explain whom he’d been speaking to in the middle of the night, one love interest assumed he was married and stormed out. “I realised at that moment that my love life would have to take a back seat to my relationship with John and Yoko,” he says.

There were times when lines were crossed in the friendship. One morning, Lennon summoned Mintz to kick out a girl who’d stayed the night. “I told him, ‘Please don’t ask me to do something like that again.’ He flipped out. He said, ‘I will effing ask you to do anything that I feel like asking you to do. Do you understand that?’ ” Mintz was hurt and offended. The next day was one of the few times he said no to “grabbing a bite” with Lennon.

Becoming parents was “the biggest game-changer” for the couple. After his son Sean was delivered via caesarean section in 1975, “John was outraged that when Yoko was clearly struggling, doctors would come up to him and say, ‘I’ve always dreamt of shaking your hand.’ He would bark at them, ‘Look after me wife!’ ”

While Lennon threw himself into childcare, Ono, who came from a banking dynasty, handled the couple’s finances. After becoming stratospherically famous so young, Lennon was “clueless” about money. “I doubt if John was ever in a supermarket, went to a bank, wrote a cheque. That’s what Yoko did,” Mintz says. “If not for Yoko, there’d be no money in the Lennon-Ono estate today.”

A drawing by Lennon on a postcard from Japan sent to Mintz in 1977

The first time Mintz met their son, Lennon said protectively, “Not too close. Germs.” “He said, ‘Look, we were going to make you the godfather, but we decided on Elton, because he would at least give him better Christmas presents.’ ” “This is typical John,” Mintz says.

Sean would only spend five years with his father before Lennon was murdered outside the Dakota in December 1980. Lennon had always “poo-pooed” Mintz’s requests for him to employ more security. “John said, ‘I’m just a rock’n’roll singer. Who would want to hurt me?’ ”

When Mintz speaks about learning of Lennon’s murder from a weeping flight attendant, his honeyed radio-presenter voice cracks with emotion. “Even now, after all these years, just thinking about that moment…” He trails off. The most gut-wrenching of his responsibilities was making an inventory of Lennon’s possessions. When he signed for a stapled brown paper bag that came from the hospital where Lennon was taken after he was shot, he could not bear to open it. “It was what John was wearing, what he had on him when he fell, including his broken, bloodied glasses.”

He is reticent about his friendship with Ono today. “I want to give her a sense of privacy,” he says, but adds, “It still feels like family. I still love her dearly.” The last time he saw her was at her 91st birthday in February. It was there that Sean encouraged Mintz to write his book, We All Shine On. Does he think Ono will like it? “I’ve never tried to predict a Yoko Ono conclusion.”

How different would his life be if he had never met the couple? “I could have got married. Could have had children.” Were the sacrifices worth it? “Of course. I got to spend that amount of my time with these two extraordinary people.”

We All Shine On: John, Yoko, & Me by Elliot Mintz (Bantam, £25).

(source)

[artificial-transmutations]

4k! Dropout Dorm 1

Hey guys! And there is even more big news today!

It seems like yesterday I celebrated 3k followers, and now, all of a sudden, I have just reached 4k! Honestly, I'm at a loss for words. I'm really happy (and a bit bewildered) that so many of you want to read my stories!

As a celebration, I will receive one previously exclusive four-part story from my once membership site (now a tip jar) here on tumblr, with new pictures! The writing is more than a year old, but I decided not to adjust it to preserve the original charm, so please don't mind the rough edges here and there. And now, enjoy

Dropout Dorm

The line in front of Marvin was long and Marvin was unhappy with himself. He should have come earlier! Who could have known that it was customary to be that early for dorm room assignment? Well, that was an easy question. Obviously, every student in front of him. 

He wasn't technically the last one to arrive, since there was one other guy that came even later, but the two of them marked the end of the queue. The student behind him, a brown haired young man with a narrow face, studied him carefully, before extending a hand.

"Hi!", he said. "I'm Aiden."

"Marvin", answered Marvin. He wasn't the outgoing type.

"Pleased to meet you, Marvin!", Aiden smiled. "So, we'll be rooming together, I suppose."

"We are?" How did Aiden know?

"I'm pretty sure we are." Aiden nodded. "College rules dictate that rooming is determined by order of appearance on the registration day. Since there are 84 people in the line in front of you, and always two are called into the office at a time, it is only logical that we will be roommates."

That made sense. Marvin didn't bother to count the line yet, but he wasn't entirely unhappy. The person directly in front of him looked like the typical meathead jock type, while the thin man behind him proved that he was capable of logic reasoning.

So, Marvin smiled. "Great. I'm looking forward to it, you seem like a good roommate! I'm majoring in computer sciences, what about you?"

Aiden grinned. "Mathematics. Sorry, that's hard to hide for me."

The grin was genuine, and Marvin and Aiden used the waiting time to get to know each other better. To Marvin's delight, Aiden was quite nerdy himself and wasn't keen on partying or taking girls home - which qualified him as a good rooming choice even more. 

Finally, they were called into the secretary’s office, where a woman with large glasses looked at them.

"You are the last ones?"

Marvin nodded and the woman sighed.

"Good. Well, here is the bad news: You too should look for a room elsewhere, outside the campus."

Marvin was confused. Why was that?

Aiden verbalized his question: "Why? Aren't there any rooms left?"

The woman sighed again. "Technically, there is one room left, and you can have it, but... room 148 has a bit of a bad reputation."

"How can a room have a bad reputation?" Aiden asked quizzically.

"Look, the room is called the 'dropout dorm'. For whatever reason, no student that ever took that room graduated. Most dropped out in the same or the following semester.

Aiden looked at Marvin, who, in turn looked at Aiden. How to put it delicately, Marvin asked himself, but Aiden was quicker again, just being honest:

"So, it's just superstition?"

The woman shrugged her shoulders. "Maybe. Maybe not. I can only tell you what happened to students in the years before."

"Did you always offer this room last?" Marvin asked and the woman nodded. He exchanged another look with Aiden and then smiled. "Thank you for your concerns, but I think we'll take the risk."

After the formalities were over, they got their keys and went up to their new room. It was located on the second floor, and when Aiden opened the door, he saw a big window facing the lake and the sun shining brightly through it.

"So, why do you think this is the 'dropout dorm'?" Aiden asked.

Marvin smiled. "Because it is the 'dropout dorm'. You see, there had probably been one or two dropouts in this room. Then, someone decided that the room was bad luck or something like that, and they started to offer it to the last students. Now, usually, the last ones in line are those students who care about their studies the least."

"Except in this year" Aiden added.

"Exactly. So, it became a self-fulfilling prophecy. They gave the 'dropout dorm' to the students with the worst starting conditions, and they dropped out, fueling the myth of the 'dropout dorm'."

"Flawless reasoning", Aiden congratulated. "Now, do you have a preference on which side of the room you want?"

Both young men settled in quickly and moved their stuff to their dorm room over the course of the day. It wasn't a bad room at all: It had a small bathroom with a shower, and a nice view from the window. Most importantly, though, it had two nice, big desks, which were quickly filled with books on Aiden's side of the room, and a powerful PC on Marvin's side. The day passed quickly, and it became time for bed. 

Aiden was slightly amused, as Marvin went into the bathroom to get changed and emerged in pajamas. He certainly didn't judge Marvin for being an introvert, but Aiden had given up pajamas a few years ago and slept in boxers since then. Still, that was nothing of his business.

Both their dreams were restless and although Aiden couldn't remember what exactly he had dreamed off, when he woke up the next morning to the sound of the shower running, he found himself with a bad case of morning wood. It was rare for Aiden to be aroused, but right now, he felt outright horny. His dick throbbed against his boxers and the outline was clearly visible since he had untangled himself from his blanked in his sleep. He just hoped that Marvin hadn't noticed.

When Aiden accidentally brushed against his erection, that was already forming a wet patch in his boxers from precum, he would have almost moaned out load. Damn, was this thing sensitive today. He looked at the bathroom. Marvin had left the door open, probably by accident. He could see the naked body of the other man moving under the stream of water and quickly drew back his head.

It looked like Marvin would still be busy for a while, so this was his chance! Aiden quickly disposed of his boxers and wrapped his right hand around his member, careful not to make noise. It was really difficult since he wanted to moan loudly so bad, but he could control himself. 

He quickly moved his hand up and down, rolling back his eyes. This felt just so good! Wave after wave of pleasure rocked through him and he was already close when he heard the water stop. It took an awful lot of willpower to pry his hand from his prick for a moment, to peek at the bathroom door. Marvin was drying up. If he hurried up, he still had time to finish. His hand went back to his erection, and he pumped on. He threw his head back as he came - in complete silence, but with wide spurts all over his chest.

Aiden had no time to recover though, as only a split second later, Marvin stepped out of the bathroom. Lightning-fast, Aiden covered himself with the blanket, soiling it with his cum in the process. Marvin hadn't seen anything, right?

"Good morning!" Marvin said, the towel around his hips, but stopped in the middle of the room. "Does it smell weird here?"

Stay tuned for the rest of the short series, following Marvin and Aiden on their inevitable journey, posted soon.

Read the next part here

[darielivalyen]

Eldritch Tales: Inheritance [WIP]

Eldritch Tales: Inheritance is a cosmic horror game with elements of romance, set in a Gothic manor. You and your high school friends are reunited after five years by a mysterious letter, and through this letter, you inherit an old Gothic manor and a substantial fortune.

There is only one condition: you must live in the manor together.

As you arrive at Blackthorn Manor, strange, unsettling events begin to unfold. Shadows move on their own, nights are unnaturally dark, and the atmosphere grows increasingly tense. The manor is full of secrets, and the more you learn, the less you seem to understand.

Play as male, female, or nonbinary.

Customize your appearance, personality, and sexuality.

Romance or befriend a wealthy and carefree playboy, a no-nonsense scientist, a disciplined and protective ex-soldier, or a sweet and free-spirited artist.

Manage your relationships, or face unforeseen consequences.

Pay attention to your sanity and health, or…don’t.

Search for clues, solve puzzles, and learn the truth behind your inheritance.

Discover hidden rooms, secret passages, and eldritch artifacts.

Confront moral dilemmas, and be careful as they may have far-reaching consequences.

Face randomized events that will keep each playthrough unique.

Experience multiple endings based on your choices and actions.

What darkness does Blackthorn Manor conceal, and how will it affect your fate? Can you uncover the truth and survive, or will the manor’s sinister influence consume you all?

TYLER REYNOLDS

Personality: Tyler exudes a confident, carefree spirit that's both alluring and slightly unnerving. He enjoys the present and isn't too concerned with the future.

Background: Born into wealth, Tyler has always enjoyed privilege and opulence. While his party-going ways have quieted recently, he still often boasts about his family's status.

Physical description: Tyler is tall and lean with an athletic build. He has dirty blonde hair, hazel eyes, and a preppy yet sophisticated style. He is fond of loafers and owns over two hundred pairs.

Smell: Tyler's scent is a blend of citrus and musk.

CALEB MITCHELL

Personality: Caleb is disciplined and protective, with a dry sense of humor shaped by his military background. Despite his rugged exterior, he dreams of a peaceful life.

Background: A former soldier, Caleb has spent the last couple of years doing different security jobs. His protective nature extends to his younger sister Julia, with whom he shares a close bond.

Physical description: Caleb is tall and muscular with a rugged appearance. He has a dark brown undercut, deep brown eyes, and perpetual stubble. His style is casual and rugged.

Smell: Caleb smells of cedarwood, with hints of amber.

JULIA MITCHELL

Personality: Julia is a no-nonsense individual who values efficiency and clarity. Her methodical approach to problems contrasts with her puzzlement at overly emotional responses.

Background: Julia has a deep passion for science, excelling in engineering and physics. Her cross-disciplinary focus defines her academic and professional journey.

Physical description: Julia is of medium height with a lean physique. She has neck-long black hair, deep brown eyes, and wears stylish glasses. Her style is Parisian chic.

Smell: Julia smells of lavender, with hints of paper and ink.

LUNA HARPER

Personality: Luna is a free spirit, and her vibrant personality is reflected in her artwork. Her infectious optimism and innocent humor reveal a soul untouched by cynicism.

Background: An eclectic artist, Luna finds solace in her paintbrush and palette. She embraces all sorts of spirituality and has a deep love for crystals.

Physical description: Luna is petite and has an ethereal presence. She has long platinum-blonde hair with pink highlights, and green eyes, and loves the bohemian style.

Smell: Luna smells of patchouli and sandalwood, with floral notes reminiscent of wildflowers.

DEMO | FORUM | PINTEREST | TUMBLR | KO-FI

[iinumakiis]

Damned If I Do Ya (Damned If I Don't)

summary: gojo satoru is your average frat boy; hosting parties, serial playboy, and somehow managing to pass his classes all the same. unfortunately for him and his normal day to day, he finds himself becoming far more interested in a new addition to his friend group: you.

pairing: gojo satoru/you

warnings: college au, slight smau inclusions, fem!reader, cussing, eventual smut, angst if you squint, gojo's a lil bit of a whore, not proofread, chapter one of multiple

a/n: decided to start a gojo fic 👹 i'm so excited for this y'all don't even knowwww. dividers by @rookthornesartistry + @cafekitsune <3

taglist: @sad-darksoul @seternic @imaddicted-b (ask to be added!)

masterlist / next chapter

Gojo stands outside of the business building, casually chatting up his most recent hookup before class. The woman wraps her well manicured fingers in her hair, toying with it, obviously flirting with a pristine grin. Which Satoru absolutely acknowledges (more so because half of her titties are out), but nonetheless pretends to be interested in anything she has to say.

Meanwhile, Shoko and Suguru show you around campus, being that you transferred in two months late from Kyoto.

"So this way is towards the business building, usually that's where at the dick-for-brains frat boys hang around-" Shoko is rudely interrupted by Suguru loudly yelling overtop of her.

"Speak of dick-for-brains frat boys: Gojo!" Suguru smiles and breaks into a steady jog, eventually meeting up with the snow haired man and clapping him on the back. "Who might this lovely specimen be?" He remarks playfully, eyeing up Gojo's newest arm candy.

His blue eyes roll instinctively, smile still plastered on his face. "This is Ayaka, the smokin' hot girl I told you I was seeing."

Shoko groans from a distance. "Looks like Gojo has another toy to play with." She spins around to face you, making your expression contort into confusion. Gently, she grabs the sides of your arms, "Whatever you do, do not fuck Gojo. He has a new girl like twice a month, and as the newbie to this city, he would feel no shame in taking advantage of your ignorance."

A frown replaces the look of confusion, your brows furrowing together. "Shoko, respectfully, I'm not really one for hookups anyways..."

She nods in response, sighing in relief. "Thank god, I cannot handle graduating being the only girl he hasn't slept with."

You laugh at her deadpan nature. "Yeah, sounds like that should be it's own personal award."

Suguru turns in you and Shoko's direction, "Come here you guys! Y/n you have to meet Gojo!"

Another groan is elicited from Shoko before she reluctantly leads the way towards the two men, Ayaka having given him a kiss and left for her class. Gojo glances at you up and down and quirks an eyebrow, something bordering on curious. He steps to meet you two, much to his own surprise and extends a hand.

"I'm Gojo Satoru, you can just call me Satoru." He says, eyes hidden behind a pair of round sunglasses, his bright smile plastered over his face.

Your hand timidly meets his and shakes, "I'm y/n, I just transferred here literally this morning." You shift your weight to one foot, already feeling too open from the way he's staring at you, but you smile back at him anyways.

The tension is thick, Shoko awkwardly shuffling beside you. Suguru is thankfully unaware of this and continues to ramble about whatever else they had managed to come up with in conversation.

Thankfully, Shoko speaks up between the two men for you, refusing to stand here and watch Gojo semi-ogle you while trying to hold a conversation. "Anyways, I'm going to finish showing y/n to the science and art departments, you two dorks can kiss or whatever it is you do."

Your wrist is enveloped by her hand as she drags you around the men and down the sidewalk, the both of you opting to ignore the protests of the duo behind you.

For some reason you can't put your finger on, you glance back towards Satoru, only to find his eyes already on you.

Satoru's eyes follow you, watching Shoko drag you to the north side of campus where the rest of the buildings were. He doesn't realize he's been tuning Suguru out the entire time, well, up until he interrupts the long haired man mid sentence.

"So does she have a phone number or....?" Satoru drags the question out, turning slightly to once again face Suguru, who's expression is one of mild annoyance.

"Yes she does, why are you asking?" He crosses his arms and cocks an eyebrow, almost in an interrogating way, causing Satoru's arms to shoot up in defense.

"I just figured if she's going to be friends with both of my best friends, I might as well be her friend too. Think it'd be pretty awkward if I wasn't her friend, actually."

Suguru sighs, but can't really fight the logic. Tapping away at his phone, he sends your number to Gojo.

"Don't fuck up man, she's new."

Later that night, after finally settling into your dorm and becoming acquainted with your roommate, your phone pings.

[partycule]

through the power of staring at rich merrils torso until something clicks you too can figure how to deal with designing isabeau.

transparent isabeaus and notes on hcs under cut

Isabeau in my style is uhhh, very Square and Very Round. I try not to draw him with like, visible muscle Definition beyond some solidity to the flesh — i try to keep him different from how i draw mirabelle, who's also buff and fat in my hcs but in a different way.

I try to keep the same thing that insertdisc5 does, but to his whole body? I round off any sharp edges, and extend it to his knuckles, elbows, hips — everything, really.

He's hairy. This is not necessarily canon and in fact actively contradicts considering scenes we see, but i enjoy hairy men, and it fits him, so into the design it goes.

Under his scruffy beard, i give him a bit of a baby face... Every time i see isabeau i think of these young, body positive gym influencers who are nerds about the science of muscle development, which is basically irl bodycraft when you think about it. I excuse it with insertdisc5 mentioning hes the second youngest of the party.

I also extend his freckles past the canon length — also because i want to. His facial features, especially his eyes, are deliberately a bit uncanny... I like to think in Vaugarde, bodycraft has given them some very distinct proportions over the generations, sorta like how it happens with the sims 4. Or with plastic surgery, but if plastic surgery actually changed your genes a little bit and also went beyond the beauty standards.

[jaytriesstrangerthings]

Not Sick Fic

744 words of Eddie not being sick and Steve not finding him endearing.

---

“I’m not sick,” Eddie argues, punctuating his argument with an aggressive sneeze followed by harsh hacking.

“Are you holding a loogie in your mouth right now?” Steve crosses his arms and tilts his head in what the Party has taken to calling his Mom Stance (trademark pending).

In a disgusting display of defiance, Eddie swallows. “No.” 

There’s a glob of neon yellow snot dripping from Eddie’s left nostril that he drags his crusty sweatshirt sleeve across before snorting up another drip of snot coming from the right side this time. 

“You are…” Steve sighs, exasperated, “so gross.”

The furrowed brows and grumpy pout paired with Eddie’s pink nose and puffy eyes could almost be considered cute if Steve hadn’t just witnessed him swallow a loogie.

“How the hell did I fall in love with you?”

Steve knows exactly how it happened. He could write a library’s worth of books about all the things he loves about Eddie Munson. That doesn’t change the fact that Eddie absolutely refuses to admit that he’s sick and is being very gross about proving his health.

“Because I’m so totally handsome and I can do cool guitar stuff.” His voice is scratchy and nasally and Steve can tell he’s trying very hard not to sniffle or cough. “And I’m super rich on account of the cool guitar stuff.” Eddie bats his thick black eyelashes and flashes a big bright toothy smile in Steve’s direction. It’s usually quite charming but the new bead of snot dripping towards Eddie’s upper lip causes his charisma to take a hit. “Gimme a smooch.”

Eddie sniffles harshly, sucking the snot glob back into his nose. He leans in, lips puckered up and chapped from extended forced mouth breathing, eyes squeezed shut. Steve reaches out a hand to stop Eddie from falling when he continues to lean forward. 

“You’re cute,” Steve admits, pushing Eddie back to balance on his own feet, “You’re also sick.”

“‘m not,” Eddie pouts again, opening his eyes and glaring at Steve.

Yes he is. Eddie is very sick. His nose is running a marathon and Steve could hear the congestion from a mile away. He’s running a 102 degree fahrenheit fever and shivering like a chihuahua on a sugar high. His eyes are red and puffy and his eye bags have eye bags. He’s sneezing and coughing and if the way he frequently grimaces and groans is any indication he’s nauseous too. 

It’s wild to Steve, how easily Eddie tends to ignore his own health and well-being. He’s going to work himself to an early grave and take Steve with him. It’s frankly astonishing how long Eddie’s made it and Steve is half convinced that Death is simply scared of Eddie. It wouldn’t be surprising. Eddie is absolutely horrifying when he wants to be. And also sometimes when he doesn’t mean to be. 

“Just lay down in bed, Eds. You’ll get better sooner if you rest.”

“Don’t need rest, ‘m not sick.” Eddie makes a noise like he might throw up if either of them make a wrong move. He clears his throat when the feeling seemingly passes. “Gotta finish planning out the next session for when the Party comes to visit next week and then work on some acous- acousti- ACHOO!” Eddie sneezes and a snot rocket launches toward Steve in a majestic arch of green and yellow nasal mucus. Steve, luckily, manages to move out of the way and not be hit by the bio weapon. 

“Did you just say “achoo” as you sneezed?” 

“I didn’t sneeze,” Eddie says, like a lying liar who lies.

Steve looks from Eddie to the small puddle of snot on the floor. “What’s that then?”

Eddie scoffs a couple of times, searching for a reasonable answer. His brain isn’t working at full capacity, which is reasonable considering he’s very sick, despite his resolute denial. “Science project.” 

Eddie lives and breathes gaslight, gatekeep, girlboss, Steve will give him that, but Steve has mastered manipulate, mansplain, malewife. Especially that malewife bit. If the government ever comes around to letting Eddie put a ring on it Steve would make a wonderful trophy wife. 

“Yeah? What’s the hypothesis?” That’s right, Steve knows science words. He may be a certified Ken but he’s not stupid. Eddie, of course, is a Barbie, but that was never really a question.

“It’s about projectile paths and stuff.”

Steve cannot believe how endearing Eddie is even when he’s being this gross.

---

[primus-why]

Rom-Com Cliché -- Saying the Wrong Name at the Wedding

Idk why but I just imagined some post-war bonding ceremony shenanigans. Imagine the war has ended, and all Cybertronians are invited back to the planet to rebuild...

The tentative situation they're calling "peace" between Autobots and Decepticons is under constant strain, which was to be expected, but the returning NAILs don't seem to like the factions either. With tensions on the rise, Optimus and his advisors decide their best bet is to try and forge a fresh relationship with the NAILs-- after all, Optimis only ascended to the role shortly before the exodus. He'll show them that he's different than his predecessors! By extending a servo in genuine trust and a desire to understand, the Autobots and NAILs may find new allies in one another.

(Which, as Prowl points out, is a strategic military maneuver as much as it is a political one. By bolstering their allied numbers, it will make the 'Cons think twice about breaking the treaty and restarting the war.)

However, to their credit, Megatron and the 'Cons appear to throwing themselves into rebuilding efforts as much as anyone else. They even agree to share resources with the NAILs-- in exchange for labor or something of equal value, of course. Optimus can respect that. He knows Megatron believes actions speak louder than words, so it's encouraging to see the Decepticons making the effort to unify as well.

Slowly Optimus is put more at ease-- the three primary factions fall into a rhythm which sees the return of buildings for shelter and science, free-flowing energon, and nature reserves. As a result, he feels much lighter. The Matrix practically sings when he sits on a Council where they are productive!

Ironhide: Careful there, Prime. I think that grin might become infectious.

Optimus: Ha-- I keep forgetting how easy I am to read without my mask.

Megatron snorts. He was always able to read Prime just fine, even with a battle mask. The mech is too open and honest-- a quality the bit-brained Autobots admired in their leader.

But, even he had to admit, it's hard not to stare when the fool is practically beaming. It comes as a shock to no one that joy was not an emotion he often saw in his encounters with the Prime on the battlefield. 'It's natural to be curious,' Megatron reasons with himself; he simply isn't used to that bare face-- especially when it isn't weighed down by sad optics... or lips set in a hard line...

'... Scrap, what were they saying?'

Windblade: Is everyone excited for the festival?

'Ah.'

Starscream: Ughhhh...

Metalhawk: It doesn't have to be perfect.

Starscream: Yes it does. There's less than a deca-cycle to complete the spires. If they're not-- nevermind. I won't get into it here.

Megatron: Isn't the point of this Council to communicate our collective needs? I daresay Winglord-- there's no better audience to hear your party-planning woes.

Starscream: Hmph. Perhaps. But I'd sooner scan another Earth altmode than accept your aid... no offense, Prime.

Optimus: None taken.

Ironhide: In all seriousness, if you need materials--

Windblade: --or even more flightframes to assist in construction..?

'There we go.' Megatron huffed to himself in satisfaction, 'That prideful idiot.' He knew Starscream would never have allowed himself to ask for help unless he gave him a poke.

A festival. He hadn't been to one in many years-- never in Vos, and never as a free mech. The last time he attended had been on those rare occasions he snuck out of the Pits. A handful of times he had been lucky and stumbled upon a festival. Once he deliberately snuck out to orate a speech, before the authorities broke up the crowd and spoiled the atmosphere of the event.

'... Maybe I should give a speech, for old times sake-- with the added bonus that Starscream would absolutely abhor it.'

Optimus stole a glance at Megatron, who had begun to help himself to the snacks brought for the meeting. The two faction leaders were certainly on better terms with one another than at the start of the rebuilding efforts, though Optimus would hesitate to call themselves anything more than acquaintances. Which felt strange, considering how intimately they'd come to understand one another in the context of war.

'He did it again...' For someone normally so prone to posturing, Megatron was not opposed to a display of subtlety, especially when in service to others. Of course he continues to lean into grand gestures, and always makes sure he gets the credit he is owed for his work in rebuilding Cybertron... but in these small, almost inconsequential moments, he still looks out for others in his own roundabout way. He'd cede his floor time to someone who spoke on an issue he agreed with, essentially handing them a platform; he'd do what he did just now-- toss out some snarky jabs to get a conversation flowing; Optimus once even saw him purchase fancy fuel at a market, then hand half to a sparkling who had been eyeing the goods... though he tried to hide gesture.

The duplicity fascinated Optimus. Has he always been this way? Surveillance of Decepticon command and years of combatting the mech head-on suggested this was not the case. However, they held different roles now. Optimus knows he's changed since the end of the war... he can't help but wonder how Megatron has been changed too...

'... Wait, oh no, did Metalhawk just say something?'

Metalhawk: Speaking of Earth, I've been meaning to ask you about it for a while.

'Ah!'

Optimus: Yes, of course! What would you like to know?

Metalhawk: Having never been myself, I'm curious about your affection for it. You must hold it in high regard if you've maintained your altmode all this time?

Optimus: Oh! That's... well, yes. Despite the many unpleasant memories, I also made many fond ones that I will treasure. Even when I chose it, this alt just felt... right.

Metalhawk: I see. Would you be open to sharing some of those fond memories with me? Perhaps... at the festival?

'... Holy scrap. Is he asking what I think he's asking??' Despite his efforts Optimus can feel energon begin to rise to his face-- he hasn't been asked out since before he was a Prime! Distantly he is aware the room got quieter, save for Megatron coughing on a sweet that went down the wrong pipe.

Optimus: I should think there would be plenty of time, if we attended together.

Metalhawk: Then it's a date?

Optimus: Looking forward to it..!

Metalhawk takes his leave with a warm wave and a smile. Windblade and Ironhide gawk until he is gone before rushing to Optimus.

Windblade: Did you know that was going to happen??

Optimus: No, not at all!

Windblade: You handled it pretty well!

Optimus: Oh thank Primus. I don't know why I got so nervous all of a sudden. I speak to him nearly every day...

Ironhide: Ooooo, I'm telling Ratchet...

Optimus: Go ahead, it's not like I wasn't planning on telling my amica... preferable he knows before the press.

Ironhide: I was thinking more-so that he'd wanna squeeze you in, to check if your firewalls are up-to-date--

Optimus: -- 'HIDE!

Starscream: *ehem* Congratulations, Optimus Prime, you two make a handsome match. Now, if we could get back to planning the biggest event of the stellar cycle...

Fast forward-- past the festival, past the tabloids speculating on the nature Metalhawk and the Prime's relationship. The Autobots meet with Optimus once again. This time, some propose... a proposal.

That is to say-- a political bonding ceremony between the leader of the Autobots and a leader of the NAILs.

Ratchet thinks it's a bad idea-- much too soon for something so dramatic. It will seem farcical, an echo of a time long past where higher castes bonded to better their social standing. Optimus tends to agree.

But Prowl argues their festival date generated a lot of public approval. Having the people's high regard and trust is important in unstable times...

Prowl: Not to mention we'd secure our relationship with the NAILs. If the 'Cons ever stir up trouble, we'll be ready for them.

But Optimus isn't so sure of that argument anymore. Why would Megatron put so much effort into rebuilding, to personally have a servo in shaping their new world, only to destroy it again?

Optimus: ... Jazz? What do you think?

Jazz: ... *sigh* Honestly? I think a big, public-facing, cross-factional bond would go a long way towards helping things solidify. Feels more permanent... and obviously the 'Cons are off the table. So... why not Metalhawk? He's a nice guy, right?

Ratchet: Being 'nice' isn't all there is to it! Optimus has every right to bond with someone he loves..!

The 'Bots bicker, and Optimus has a moment to mull it over.

Finally, he speaks.

Optimus: ... I think... I could grow to love him. In time.

Ratchet: Optimus...

Optimus: It's okay, Ratchet. I accepted long ago that being Prime would require personal sacrifices.

Ratchet: ...

Optimus: Prowl, please prepare correspondence to Metalhawk. I want him to make an informed decision, so that I don't take this choice from him under false pretenses.

Ratchet exits without another word and doesn't return to the meeting.

Fast forward again-- to the day of the bonding ceremony. Metalhawk agreed (after making sure Optimus was of sound mind) to bond for the unification of Cybertron.

Anyone who is anyone is at this wedding. Councilmech, visiting dignitaries and ambassadors, the rich and famous. Sprinkled among them are genuine friends of the couple. Across Cybertron the event is broadcast live, and everyone waits with baited breath as the ceremony draws closer and closer to its conclusion.

Megatron made sure to sit on the end so he could beat the crowds to the open bar. In fact, he doesn't even stick around for the latter half-- why bother? He's already made his required appearance. Might as well crack open some high grade and head home early.

He eyes the solid fuel as well-- energon goodies and foreign sweets piled high for guests to choose from to their sparks content-- but he doesn't have an appetite. Hasn't for quite some time. He inspects his cube and spots the broadcast on a nearby holoscreen.

He sneers, frighteningly enough that the staff lingering in his line of sight make themselves scarce.

Megatron: I thought you were better than this. All that talk about forging our own bright future, and yet here we are. Lining up for the honor to dance in the shadows of a gilded past. Disgraceful.

On screen the couple turns to face each other, ready to recite the last portion of their fictitious vows before sealing the deal. Optimus, the self-sacrificing idiot-- still all too easy to read even in times like these if one knew where to look-- is putting on a brave face out of a sense of duty.

... He can't watch them do this. Instead, he turns back to lean against the bar and contemplate how far back this puts his plans for a free Cybertron... a world where high caste couplings are a thing of the distant past, and Primes can bond whomever they please...

Clergybot: To love and to cherish...

Metalhawk: To love and to cherish...

Clergybot: ... Until all are one.

Metalhawk: ... Until all are one.

Clergybot: ... And now I, Optimus Prime...

Optimus: I, Optimus Prime...

Clergybot: ... Take thee, Metalhawk...

Optimus: ... take thee, Megatron...

Megatron spits out his fuel and glares at the cube like it offended him.

'What the frag is in this--?!?'

But the gasps and murmurs of the crowd replacing the dull recitation alerted him to the fact that the ceremony... had stopped.

Optimus: I... I mean...

'Oh Primus...'

Cameras zoom in even closer, showing the Prime frozen in shock. The cube slips from Megatron's servo, shattering on the floor.

'Did he actually...??'

Metalhawk was stroking the Prime's servos that were still held in his own, whispering something blessedly inaudible, but the other mech eventually twisted them free.

Optimus: ... I'm sorry, I-I have to go.

Murmurs grew into a scandalized uproar as the Prime bolted from the altar and out the back of the temple. Metalhawk and the clergy attempted to placate them, but in time Metalhawk would leave to join the search party who had ran after Optimus.

Not before Megatron downed the rest of his drink and stole some snacks for the road (the reception wouldn't be needing them anyway.) He takes to the skies-- an advantage not many Autobots had on hand that would take too long to mobilize-- and opens a private comm channel.

Megatron:: Soundwave! Get me visual reports from the Westside of New Iacon, near the temple! Prime has escaped!::

After a beat, he realizes how that sounded. Old habits certainly do die hard.

Megatron:: He's fled the scene. Can you tell me which direction he's headed?::

Soundwave pings an acknowledgment. It doesn't take long to get his answer.

Soundwave:: Prime: headed towards Archives.::

Megatron:: The Archives? That's halfway across--::

Soundwave:: Clarification: The Old Archives.::

'Ah, that makes more sense.'

Megatron:: Thank you, old friend. What would I do without you?::

Soundwave:: Megatron: remain single forever.::

Megatron:: You-- wh-- that is not why I am pursuing him!!::

Soundwave:: ;) ::

Megatron hangs up and focuses on his flight instead, the impending conversation he'll need to have with the Prime looming ominously like a cloud.

[loving-azerath]

One night Stand

With Captain Price

You were bored.

Bored to tears.

Every day was the same. You woke up at a too early of a time. Your body craving more sleep and a body beside you. You would make your coffee at home, tricking yourself into believing you were saving money doing so. When you knew that you would just buy a coffee later on in the day.

You would work, a shift that bored you to tears just as much. You fucking hated it but it was either this or being homeless and that was simply something you couldn't do.

It was a boring life. You had tried to date. You really gave it all, but with all of the fuck boys that didn't take time to get you ready. The toxic assholes who has made you cry far more times than you would ever admit. You were bored of that too.

You needed something.

It wasn't like you to go to a bar. No, and you weren't stupid. You knew better than to go by yourself. Roping in your best friend. One who had way more experience with the scene. One that you knew you could count on.

She had helped you style everything. Knowing the bar ahead of time and what outfits went with the occasion. She had this down to a science. "Okay now hair down- men like to see how long your hair is. They wanna know if they can pull it" She says, you chuckle taking the clawclip out of your hair and letting it fall around your shoulders. You didn't hate your reflection. It just wasn't what you were used to. Yet that was the point of tonight. To get out of your comfort zone.

So you continued.

She drove you guys to the bar. Since she was going to be showing you how to let lose and keeping you safe in this spot, she didn't plan on drinking. Though she never seemed to need to drink to be the life of any party. She was fun that way.

The bar was busy tonight. Men in uniforms, men in grudge looking pieces, men dressed like they belonged at a frat. Various different kinds though none seemed to catch your own attention.

Well- that was a lie. You were more attracted to the frat guys. It was part of the reason every fucking interaction with any man had been so disappointing. You knew that. You were attracted to the assholes who only wanted a place to put their dick in. So you pretended not to be interested. Letting your friend drag you to the bar and ordering you the first drink of the night. A tequila shot.

"You look tense- this will help. Don't drink too much tonight. If you do meet a guy that you wanna fuck you wanna make sure you aren't too drunk for it to be skivvy" She says, you chuckle, rolling your eyes but mentally noting her comment.

"Are any of these guys regulars?" You ask her, she looks around shaking her head.

"No- but fuck do I see someone I wanna make a regular" She says practically drooling. You follow her eyeline. Watching it land on a group. You couldn't tell who she was looking at. There were four of them. Sitting around a table with a pint of beer in front of them half empty. It was where you could tell the smell of tobacco was coming from. As one of them had a cigarette between his gloved fingers, a mask pulled up above his nose. Then another in a black beanie and black weather jacket. a cigar resting in his hand.

The other two weren't smoking, chuckling between themselves. you watch as one stands up, dark skin and short coiled hair. He backs up from the table heading to the bar. She follows him with her eyes. So he was who she wanted. He leans against the counter, putting a signal up to the bartender who seems to understand exactly what he wants.

"You're new around here" Your friend says to him, he looks at her smiling slightly before nodding.

"I am. You notice every bloke that comes into a place like this?" He asks, her eyes seem to widen.

"Fuck and your british. Fuck me up" She says, he chuckles

"Get that a lot round here." He admits "Though it's from no one who looks like you darlin"

She smiles at him, looking up at him through lashes with a look you have seen her give a thousand times. She extends her hand.

"I'm Vivian" She introduces herself, he takes it.

"You can call me Gaz" He replies back

It was like you were watching a movie you wanted to insert yourself in so badly. Not that you could. You just watched, knocking back another shot before looking around the room for anyone. Anyone who might have their eyes on you. There weren't lack of them either. Just none you wanted to waste a night with.

"I send you over here to get a drink and you find a friend" A gruff also british voice says, You look making eye contact with the man in the beanie. Your stomach flops. He's older, gruff looking, hot for no reason at all.

"Sorry Cap, I am a sucker for a pretty little thing with blue eyes" He says looking back to Vivian.

"Cap? You guys military?" You ask, you don't know why you do. You knew the answer. You just wanted him to talk to you. He nods at you, once again meeting your eye.

"Affirmative. Just here for the weekend." He answers

"Pleasure or business" You ask

"Business. Finished now" He tells you "You ladies from here? Or is it a holiday?"

"From here." You say, it seemed like such trivial conversation though the eye contact made your stomach move in ways you haven't felt from previous interacts with men before.

You don't know how it happened throughout the night. When they invited you to join them, when you were watching Vivian make heart eyes at every man at that table though her attention remained mainly on Gaz. You learned the others names. Soap, the only Scottish man at the table. His mohawk needing to be touched up a bit but he was good looking. And Ghost. The silent one who had uttered maybe five words the entire time. It wasn't until midnight when you realized how much time had flown by. Small flirtations towards Captain who you now knew as John.

Vivian and Gaz left to fuck in the bathroom at around 1 am. Soap making out with a random chick against a wall which left Ghost and Price. Ghost being the watch dog you observed. Keeping an eye on the door.

A glass was dropped, shattering and you notice both men reach for their hip. The outline of a holstered weapon grabbing your attention. It made your thighs squeeze together and you almost mentally kick yourself for it.

"Just a glass" Ghost says, John nods putting his hand back on his lap, his finger tapping against it.

"You don't seem like this is what you fancy a night out, darlin" John says, you look up at him. Shrugging.

"It's not- I needed something different. Sick of the same thing. Sick of the same...men" You say, he nods clicking his tongue

"What type of men would that be?" He asks leaning towards you slightly. You swallow hard.

"Men who just want something to stick their dick in for the night. Not that I don't like a good one night stand but fuck at least try to let me enjoy myself" You say, it could be the tequila. You wanna blame it on the tequila.

He chuckles

"What makes you think I'm not just like them?" He asks, you chew on the inside of your cheek.

"Are you?" You ask tilting your head to the side. He smirks, chuckling slightly.

"Wanna find out?" He asks

Yes. Yes you fucking did.

So that might be how it happened. How you ended up agreeing to let him take you back to your place. How you didn't end up half way through the door before his hands were on you. His lips were on you. His didn't kiss like the men you were used to. He was hungry but he knew what he was doing. His hands were rough and calloused but fuck did they feel good grabbing at you. Holding you against him. Pinning you against the closest wall. Your arms wrapping around his neck as he trails hot kisses from your lips to your jawline. To your collar bone, then teasing at the hem of your dress's bodice.

"Which way is your bedroom, sweetheart?" He whispers against your neck as he goes back up. You whimper at the feeling. Fuck did he know what he was doing. You pointed to the direction. Grabbing his hanging dog tags around his neck.

"Let me show you" You whispered

So you did, almost dragging him by the tags if he hadn't been following so close behind you. As soon as you closed the bedroom door he was on you again. Grabbing your face with his two hands and walking you back to your bed until your knees hit the edge. Falling back on it. Though he doesn't fall with you. No, this man just bends over with a practiced ease that flooded you. Pulling you by your legs further down slightly to angle you where he wanted. Lifting your skirt.

"If you need me to stop-" he kisses your thigh "If I do something wrong" He loops his fingers around the hem of your panties "Tell me and I'll stop"

He pulls them off. He didn't give you time to reply before he latched himself onto your clit. Pulling a noise from you that you didn't recognize.

"That's it pretty girl, let me hear you" He mumbles against you. He laps you up like this man hasn't eaten in days. You were gripping the sheets around you and staring down at him as he devours your cunt. Panting through pleasure you haven't had before. His grip on your thighs to hold them open was almost a bruising pressure but you didn't seem to mind this time.

"Fuck- John" You gasp your head tilting back

"Mhm- that's right love say my name. Tell me how good I'm making you feel. One of his hands leaves your thigh, teasing your entrance and even that was sending you close to the edge.

"Fuck- yes right there. John fuck-please it feels so fucking good" You say so lewdly you don't even know if it's your voice anymore. He listens, letting his finger slide in and pumping in and out of you until you are spasming around his finger. Your eyes rolling back as curses and his name fall from your lips.

You were still panting, but he doesn't waste time. Unbuckling his pants and lifting your legs onto his shoulders. Almost bending you in half, pressing your knees against your chest. He doesn't put it in yet. Just slides himself through your folds. Wetting his length. You buck your hips trying to guide him into you but he just tsks at you.

"Gotta go slow for this part darlin, don't wanna hurt you" He says, you don't get it. Not until the tip hits your entrance and you realize. This man is fucking huge.

"Oh my go-" You don't finish as it turns into a whine as he pushes through. Slowly but every inch is sending you further into the stars. He backs out a couple of times starting again and it has you panting under him.

"Good girl- just breathe. Almost there" He tells you, he finally sinks fully into you. Groaning at the feeling of your wet walls clenching around him. Accustoming to his size. The first thrust has you literally seeing stars and the gasp that comes out of you almost has him in a chokehold.

He pace is brutal, but fuck does it feel good. The air around you filled with the sounds of your bodies slapping together and how wet you are made it sound so fucking pornographic you were in awe that this was you. Making a sticky fucking mess of his cock.

"You are so god damn wet- so fucking tight. This what you needed baby? To be fucked properly?" He asks you just nod because you are so fucked dumb what are words anyway.

Every thrust left you gripping for sheets, for heaven, for him. Finding his dog tags again and yanking it down. He groans deeply moving a hand to your throat. He doesn't squeeze and for a moment you were kind of afraid. Though it subsided almost as soon as you saw the absolute pleasure written on his face. The subtle pressure on the sides of your neck makes you dizzy but in the best way.

He was slamming against you, the combination of your moans together was filling your ears and imprinting itself in your brain. The same way he was imprinting his cock into your walls.

"Fucking hell...you're taking it so fucking well for me baby" He says, you almost lose your fucking mind. It was the most back arching, sheet gripping, mind blowing sex you had ever had and you weren't sure you would recover from it.

You couldn't even tell how much time was passing. Just that every second, every minute felt like you were floating. Like you were made for nothing but this and you didn't want to be anything else.

He slows, letting your legs down and massaging your aching hips for a moment before moving you. Manhandling you to bend over the bend. Your back arched so prettily for him over your bed. He presses your face into the mattress by holding you by the neck. Re-aligning himself. Pushing in was easier this time but you felt everything so much more. He doesn't begin right away grabbing your wrist with his free hand and moving it under you. Tapping you soaking clit with his fingers.

"Come on, tight little circles for me. Be good for me. I wanna feel you cum on this fat fucking dick" He says, you listen because you wanted it to.

His thrusts were just as unforgiving in this position. Though he was hitting your spots just right from it. Forcing you to climb a lot faster than you thought you could like this. He could feel it. He growled and moaned as he could feel you slowly tightening around him. Slowly losing your breath and your moans turning into something far more feral.

"Fuck- fuck oh my fucking god John. I'm going to fucking cum please please don't fucking stop" You didn't know who was talking, you didn't recognize the words or your voice but it was you. It was the bitch in heat he was turning you into. His hand leaves your neck moving to the base of your scalp where he pulls you off the bed and against his chest. Your hand still working those tight little circles sending waves of goosebump causing pleasure. A tight arm wrapping around you to keep you in place and release some pressure from your hair. His fingers spread across your abdomen and the size of his hand was enough to fuck you up.

It sent you. Off the cliff that seemed to only be safe because of his hand wrapped around you. You shook against him, eyes rolling back so hard you thought they would live there. Practically screaming his name as your hand comes down to his hips, digging your nails into his skin.

He growls but its not in anger. He's close. Proof in his stuttering hips and more panty type groans.

Finally he cums, filling you so full that you could feel the pressure of it. Both taking a moment as he pants through his orgasm and you pant through coming down from yours. He pulls out of you and you can feel him leak down your thighs and normally it would annoy you. But this time you thought it was the hottest fucking thing.

He stays the night. Though he isn't there by the time you wake up. A notecard with his phone number on your nightstand. You smirk down at it and tuck a strand of hair behind your ear. You now found a new craving. Not only for him. But for older men. For larger men. For men that knew what they were doing. He had ruined you. Ruined you for those shitty frat boys and toxic assholes. And you were so fucking okay with that.

[messedupfan]

Chapter 14

Summary: It's the new year! There's a new development in Reader and Wanda's friendship. Jean and Anna have a very important question for reader. And Rachel witnesses something special.

A/n: Hellllloooooo!! I hope y'all are having a good day. Anyone watch Love is Blind? Every season upsets me more than the last. Anyway, comment, like, reblog, and enjoy!

Masterlist | All Stories Taglist | All Chapters

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By the time you stopped staying with Wanda, the pillow wall ceased to exist. The pair of you were comfortable enough to share the space together on the bed and not overthink it. At least that's what you told each other to be able to hold one another at night. On the Sunday that Vision was meant to come for the boys, he called Wanda early in the morning. You were confused and exhausted when you accidentally picked up the phone. Your eyes went wide when you realized that you answered the wrong phone. You quickly put it on mute and woke Wanda up. She had to put on a fake voice to try and match yours. It was a hilarious attempt and she had to hit you to get you to laugh quietly. You just climbed out of bed to use the restroom. 

When you came back, Wanda had her face in her hands. You rejoined her on the bed and she leaned against you once you were settled in. “Vision extended his trip. He said he'll pick them up next Sunday. Which, I'm okay with having them longer. Of course. I love them and I mean, they love you and Rachel so I'm sure that a part of them will be okay with it. But,” she shut her eyes and shook her head as you put your arm around her. “They're going to be so disappointed. I don't even know what I can say? What do you say to a kid when their dad would rather spend the holidays with his new family?” 

You frowned as you rubbed her arm. Even though you knew the question was rhetorical, you felt inclined to answer because you've been that kid before. “My mom wouldn't tell me. She wouldn't even make an excuse on his behalf. She would just distract me with so much fun that I wouldn't even know how long it was until I finally did see my dad.” 

“Do you think that will work?” She rubbed her finger under her nose. You laughed lightly as you shook your head. 

“No, definitely not. Those kids are too smart for that. But, I think I do know something that might work,” you began to remind her of the night before when the boys were bummed by the idea that they had to go with their father because they wanted to stay and have fun with Rachel. “Just say that you asked Vision to let you have the boys a little bit longer and he agreed to let them stay until school starts again.” 

And she took your advice, while you were in the shower, she went to the boys room and told them exactly what you suggested. They were so happy and they hugged her so tight she almost felt guilty lying to them. One of the hardest lessons she learned about being a parent was accepting that she did in fact have to lie to her children on occasion. She already had to tell them that she asked to have Christmas with them and they accepted that because Rachel was still in the hospital at the time and they knew their dad wouldn't take them to visit her. They were confused when they spent time with their dad's side of the family and he wasn't there but they had so much fun with their uncle Tony that it didn't matter. He chased them around and wrestled with them when Vision would have yelled at them for running and he would have punished them for playing around so much. 

The twins loved their dad but they didn't miss him. 

Wanda hosted a New Year’s Eve party that included her mom, the Starks, her brother and his family, plus her friends. You got to invite your friends, Steve and his partner Peggy, the new guy on the job site Thor, and Darcy. A girl you met on a dating app one time and the two of you decided to be friends after. It was rare for her to be in town because she is a political science major who is interning for doctor Jane Foster while she worked on getting her own doctorate. The internship had her traveling a lot. She brought Jane with her because she claimed that the woman was a shut-in. But with the way she almost instantly gravitated to Thor, you couldn't tell. 

You also invited Bucky, another work friend, and he brought a girl he'd started seeing a couple of months prior. A woman named Natasha. When she entered the house she appeared to be on edge. So did Wanda at first, you figured you'd have to ask her about it when you got the chance. After a bit, they both relaxed. 

Of course, Anna and Jean were in attendance as well. They kept wanting to tease you about co-hosting but with so many of your co-workers and your boss being there, they let it slide. You acted as a guest and the kids knew not to mention the living arrangement. 

“So, who are you kissing at midnight?” Darcy asks as she joins you outside on the patio. You needed a break from the party and it was a nice night despite the low temperature. “Me or the hostess?” She smirks then takes a sip from her blue disposable cup. 

You shake your head as you drink from your cup. “I’m not kissing anyone at midnight.” The kids were all in the boys room and you’d hate for them to run down the stairs and confuse them because you and Wanda kissed. They were already confused because one of the nights, Billy came running in from having a nightmare and caught you in the bed. Up until then, you and Wanda were telling them that you were sleeping on the couch. You got away with telling Billy that you also had a nightmare and he seemed to have bought the excuse as he climbed in and created space between you and Wanda so that he could snuggle with his mom. 

“Oh come on, that’s no fun,” Darcy nudges you. “Tell you what, I’ll kiss Agatha so you’ll have to kiss Wanda.” 

You narrow your eyes, “You just want to kiss Agatha.” 

She made a face as she laughed, “No, I just want you to kiss Wanda.”

“How much money is involved,” you ask, knowing the people that are inside. Darcy tries to deny that there’s a bet circulating around the party and eventually gives up. You look inside of the house through the windows on the doors and watch Wanda laugh as something her sister-in-law says. Things weren’t complicated with her but you were constantly afraid that they would become complicated. “I’m not kissing her so that you and whoever else is involved can win a bet.”

“Pietro was the one who started it so,” she takes another drink, “do you really want your boss to lose.” The look she gives you confirms your unspoken question of which side of the bet Pietro was on. You couldn’t believe that he bet that you would kiss his sister at midnight. You shake your head again and finish what’s left in your cup. 

“I need another drink,” you say as you get up from your seat and walk inside. Instead of refilling your cup, you toss it into the trash. Your eyes keep finding Wanda in the small crowd as you move about the gathering talking with the different people there. You liked getting to know Tony Stark but her laugh kept grabbing your attention. One of the times she catches your gaze and mouths a hello with a cute smile. You smile back and mouth, “Hey.” 

As it got closer to the countdown to midnight, you walked upstairs to check on the kids. All of them had made themselves comfortable either on a bed or on the floor. Luna and Rachel have taken the beds, the twins and Agatha’s son are on the floor. The tv was left playing a movie and you carefully turn it off since all of them are asleep. You put blankets over the three boys and tuck the girls into the beds a bit more. You don’t realize that Wanda is watching you until you look up to leave the room. You smile as you stand in the room of sleeping children and strategically step around them to avoid waking them up. 

You leave the door open a crack once you step out into the hallway, “I can move the girls out of the room in a little bit.” You whisper as you step closer to her. “I’m buzzed right now and would hate to drop any of them,” the truth is, you’d hate to wake any of them right now. 

Wanda looks at you with admiration as she continues to smile, “It’s okay. I think they’ll be fine for the night. I um, I actually wanted to warn you about something.” 

“There’s a bet on whether or not we’ll kiss tonight?” Wanda nods to confirm that’s what she was going to talk to you about. “What do you think about it?” 

She shrugs, “I think if we do, it wouldn’t be a big deal. It’s not like we haven’t before.” You nod. 

“But?” You anticipate. 

“But, I don’t want my brother to win,” she says mischievously. “Have you heard what side he’s on?” She asks and this might be the only time in your life that you don’t regret lying when you shake your head. The two of you walk down the stairs as you hear everyone counting down. 

“How are the kiddos?” Pietro asks as the countdown continues. 

“They’re all knocked out,” you inform him. He nods and is pulled in closer by his wife as they get to ten. You look around to find Jane and Thor gazing at one another, nine. Tony and his fiance, Pepper are holding each other close, eight. Agatha and Darcy each have an arm around each other's necks as they both face the television, seven. Mrs. Maximoff is sitting on the sofa with a big grin as she counts down, six. Howard is next to her with his head tilted back as he snores loudly and his wife Maria is next to him counting with a martini glass in her hand, five. Carol is kissing Val each second that is announced, four. Natasha is sitting on Bucky’s lap while he sits on the recliner with her arm around his neck and his around her waist, three.  Jean and Anna pull each other closer as they prepare to end the count down, two. That leaves you standing close to Wanda, one. 

“Happy New Year!” Everyone cheers as the countdown on the television concludes and they each exchange a kiss with their partners. You keep your hands yourself as you give Wanda an innocent chaste kiss on the lips. It’s quick, you’re not sure if anyone caught it. She smiles as she moves closer to her mom and kisses her on the cheek as she wishes her a happy new year. 

“Awe boo!” Darcy says as she digs for cash out of her pockets. The others that bet on you and Wanda sharing a kiss toss their money in the decorative bowl at the center of the coffee table. You wink at Wanda as Pietro shakes his head and puts money in the bowl. Wanda’s eyes widen ever so slightly before she continues to play dumb about the bet. The both of you fake being upset and make it clear that whatever is between the two of you is purely platonic. 

From the top of the stairs, Rachel hobbles back to Tommy and Billy’s room to hide the fact that she saw the whole thing. 

When Sunday comes back around, you get up early to get packed. School starts again on Monday so that meant you and Rachel didn’t need to stay with Wanda anymore. It sucks because you wish that you could have an excuse to be here longer but seeing as none of the kids will be in the house in the upcoming week, there isn’t a reason for you to stay. 

You hug the boys and thank them for being so helpful with Rachel as you say goodbye. They each give you a tight hug before running off to get ready for their dad to pick them up. Wanda called him early to confirm that he will be here for them in the afternoon. He sounded annoyed and convinced her to drop them off at his house since he was recovering from his trip. 

Wanda pulls you into a warm embrace to say goodbye for the time being. You’ve had to resist kissing her the entire week. You wished that you hadn’t done it on New Year’s Eve. She didn’t make it easy either. Too many times the two of you ended up too close to each other. Wanda was getting frustrated that you weren’t getting the signals that she wanted something more from you. 

When the pair of you pull back from this hug, you and Wanda hold eye contact for a moment. Both of you are considering leaning towards each other. That is, until Tommy and Billy start shouting at each other. Wanda sighs and steps out of your arms. “I’ll text you later,” you say as you grab your bag to take to the car. Rachel and her bags are already in your truck. 

You help your daughter out of the truck when you arrive at her mom's house and you only take one of her bags inside since you need to keep the rest at your apartment. Jean and Anna give you weird looks when you're inside and you're curious as to why but you don't question it. “I'll see you guys next Sunday,” you say as you're about to leave. 

“Hold on,” Anna says as she grabs your arm to stop you. “Can you um…” her words seem to fail her. 

“Do you mind staying for tea,” Jean finishes for her. You look between the two of them and notice that something is up with them. You fear that they're about to tell you that their marriage is over so you nod and allow Jean to drag you over to the living room. “So, we wanted to thank you for giving us some extra time to ourselves.” 

“Okay,” you drag out as you eye her carefully. “What's going on?” 

Jean gives you a nervous smile, “Just wait for the tea. Okay?” You nod and sit quietly. There's an awkward tension looming in the atmosphere. You were worried about what they're going to tell you and they are nervous to ask you something very important to them. 

Anna comes in with a tray of three steaming mugs a few minutes later. “You haven't asked them yet, right?” Jean shakes her head as she waits for her wife to get settled. You accept your cup of tea with a close mouth smile and nod. 

“Okay,” Jean starts as she sets her mug down. “Anna and I were wondering if you'd consider making another baby,” you’re about to laugh considering you just went through a break up, “with me?” She concludes. You spit your tea out at the absurd question. “I should have waited for you to swallow,” Jean says as she gets up to grab a dish towel to clean up the mess but Anna pulls her back down. 

“Are you crazy?” You ask as you set the tea back onto the tray. “You tell me that you can barely afford Rachel and you want to add a newborn to your expenses?” You shout in a whisper. You don't want Rachel to get curious and walk in and get excited about having another sibling. 

“Listen, we talked about that. With the budgets the three of us have come up with-” 

“And the GoFundMe!” Anna chimes in. 

“Yes, and the GoFundMe that we set-up for the medical bills, I think we'll be able to get that covered. And it takes nine months to make the baby. Anna and I can get to a better place financially in nine months,” Jean explains. 

“Can you?” You nearly shout out loud. “Look, it's not just nine months of you growing a person. It's doctors appointments, it's prenatal vitamins, it's baby clothes and toys and furniture. We got rid of all that stuff a long time ago. It's not like you have hand-me-downs.” With your pointer finger, you tap the fingers on your other hand as you list the reasons. “Not to mention how expensive IVF can be.” 

Jean and Anna share a look, “We weren't thinking about doing this through IVF. It's safer and more cost efficient to go the more natural route.” Anna is the one to suggest this. 

You stick your neck out and slowly blink as you widen your eyes. You cannot believe what you're hearing. “You really just suggested that I fuck your wife?” 

“You don't have to be so crude about it,” Anna chides. “I plan on being present and it wouldn't be wrong for you to fornicate with my wife. It's purely for reproductive purposes.” You cringe at the medical terms she uses to describe the act she is asking of you. It makes you want to throw up. “I don't understand what is so difficult about it, you've done it with her before.” 

You slowly close your hands into fists, not because you intend to use them but because air was the only thing you could grasp without hurting yourself. “I was in love, we were in love. Rachel was created from love.” 

“And this baby would be too,” Jean argues. “We care deeply about each other, Y/n.” She tries to take one of your hands in hers but you recoil, disgusted by the touch you once found comforting. 

You shake your head, “That's not the same and you know it.” You take a few breaths to calm down before you get too worked up and as your mind clears from the shock, you are able to come up with a reasonable argument. “You two might be ready to have another kid, but I'm not ready. I can't take that on financially or even emotionally right now. Besides, there is so much that happens during their first few developing years that I wouldn't want to miss when passing them back and forth.” They share another look and you already know they've thought about a crazy solution to that. You're starting to think you should just leave. 

“Well, we were thinking that you don't have any parental rights to this one. So that we can have a kid that's ours full time. We really want a baby that we can raise together that's just ours and we chose you to help us with that.” You scowl at this, they're actually asking you to not be present in the life of a child that you're supposed to help bring into this world. You couldn't believe it. “If you think about it, we can't have kids on our own and I really want Rachel to have a sibling that comes from both of us. You've said it yourself, half siblings aren't the sa-” 

“Don’t even. I was a kid when I said that! I would never say that now. I love Kate,” you interrupt. “She is my sister.” 

“Okay, fine, whatever. You still felt that way at one point,” Jean snaps, annoyed by your lack of support. “You can go off and have as many kids as you want with whoever you want. We only have so much time to do this and we used to talk about having another kid.” Jean tries hard to convince you that this is a good idea but it only sounds more and more bizarre. 

“When we were together,” you remind her as if she was an idiot. At this point, you're starting to wonder. “Those plans disappeared the second we signed the divorce papers.” You look between the women that you have tried again and again to support and defend. When Jean introduced Anna to her parents, they weren't accepting of the relationship at all. It took you the better part of a year to get her parents to tolerate the relationship. They still held out hope that you and their daughter would reunite at some point. They knew a few couples that split up only to marry each other again a few years later. Then came the wedding last February, Jean's family didn't want to attend because they didn't want to believe it was happening. You made sure they came. 

Now here they are, asking more out of you. With what return? What do you get out of this other than a few traumatic nights and a child you won't be allowed to raise but know is part of you? Then you think about Rachel and how when she would play with her baby dolls, they weren't ever her children. They were her siblings. You've had many talks with her in the past about why she doesn't have any siblings and she has expressed how she doesn't want to be an only child. You put your face in your hands as you realize that she's already ten and she'll be eleven soon enough. You had thought your eight year age gap between you and Kate was pretty big, and when you thought about having kids you always saw yourself having kids with small age gaps. That was until you had Rachel at seventeen. 

“We're not expecting an answer now,” Jean finally says. “Just please, consider it before you say no.” 

You sigh as you can't believe that you're actually going to think this over. “Okay,” you rise and walk out of the house. You drive to the nearest liquor store, the one you met Wanda at and buy a couple of bottles of the vodka she had suggested. As soon as you got home, you drank until you passed out to forget about the asinine request. 

You overworked yourself all week, being the first one on site and the last one to leave. Someone needs to be focused on paying off those medical bills and not trying to rack up more of them. The work keeps you from thinking about what Jean and Anna asked. You couldn't believe that is a real idea they discussed and thought was okay to run by you. When you got home, you had a bottle of vodka with a side of instant noodles. 

On Friday, your coworkers, Bucky and Thor, ask that you join them on a night out and you accept. You invite Steve as well because Bucky took a liking to him but wasn't sure if he could invite the guy himself. You thought it was funny that he was being weird about it but you didn't catch how flustered he was when you informed him that Steve accepted the invite. Then Thor requested that you invite Darcy and her friend. He tried to play coy but you know that he really liked Jane. He was just the idiot that forgot to call her the next day. He claimed that he waited too long and now he needed your help. You didn't mind extending it, he was a decent guy from what you've gathered. 

A couple of hours later and  you're drunk enough to start spilling your guts. Starting with how much you miss Daisy before getting into the real problem. Jean and Anna's request. Shocking everyone at the booth. The guys all agree that you shouldn't do it but Darcy plays devil's advocate and says that she knows someone that could help at no cost at all because they owed her a favor. “It's not just the sex that's the problem, Darcy,” you try to explain. “I can't just pretend it's not my kid. If I were someone that didn't mind that kind of thing, sure, I'd do it. But I'm not that person, I would want involvement.” 

She puts her hand on your back and rubs soothing circles. It would be comforting if it wasn't her touch. You begin to yearn for Wanda’s touch again. You didn't realize how much you missed it. There is a loud group of people that are being disruptive and it puts you in a bad mood as you start to miss the Hub being your go to. You doubt Phil would let you step into that building ever again. 

“Anyone want more? I'll get the next round,” you stand up even though you barely can and Darcy takes notice as she quickly joins you. Buck and Steve have engrossed themselves in a separate conversation. Jane and Thor were practically eating each other's faces. She gave him the cold shoulder when she arrived but he was able to crash through her walls pretty quickly. 

While you wait at the bar for the drinks, someone falls against Darcy and she complains about her arm hurting. That triggers something protective in you and you grab the person to try and get them to apologize. They spit in your face and you shove them. Your friends are quick to escort you out of the bar before you get into something you'll regret. 

“Give me your phone,” Darcy says as she digs through your pockets. 

“Hey, that's my phone,” you try to grab it but you're really out of it. Bucky and Steve are both holding you up, they didn't realize that you had drank so much. They exchanged worried glances as they held onto you. Thor and Jane were busy trying to calm the person you pushed. 

Wanda’s week was quite uneventful. She worked quietly on the project she was assigned. With the spare time she has in her day, she worked on her passion project. The dream house she one day hoped to build on a land she's trying to buy now. She doesn't want to continue to be limited by this house. The house that's so full of nightmares. There were good memories here, like the boys learning how to crawl and eventually walk, but it wasn't enough to erase the negative energy that has embedded itself within the walls like black mold. 

She was planning on inviting her girls over on Friday but she really only wanted to be hanging out with you. Because of that feeling, she invited someone to sleep with instead. She needed to get you out of her head. You were starting to consume her every thought. Even when she worked on the plans for her dream house. Would Y/n like this much natural light if I add this wall of windows? Wouldn't they like a woodworking space, like my father had? Maybe Rachel needs a room… she dropped her pencil and scrapped the paper. She didn't need to be thinking about that. 

Wanda was kicking the girl, Jessica, that she had over when her phone started ringing. Her heart jumped at the goofy picture of you with the caller ID that you had set, covering her screen. “Hey you,” she greets as she shuts the door. “What's up?” 

“Wanda, keep it in your pants.” Wanda moves the phone from her face as she doesn't recognize the voice. It was still your contact information. “This is Darcy. We met last week,” she says with an urgency. This gets Wanda’s heart to race with worry. 

“What's wrong with Y/n? Why are you calling me from their phone?” She asks as she searches for her keys. Ready to be driving to the hospital. 

“They're fine for the most part. I think.” She goes quiet for a second. “Look, they're really wasted and I was wondering if you could pick them up?” Darcy asks nervously. “No stop! Hey! Y/n, don't do that! Steve, Bucky, get them!” Darcy shouts away from the phone but Wanda can hear everything she says. Wanda shakes her head. So far she hadn't known you to be the drunk type. She'd seen you have a few drinks and get a buzz but she hasn't seen you in such a state that your friends have had to parent you. 

Wanda sighs, “Text me the location. I'll be there as soon as I can.” 

“Okay, thank you,” Darcy sounds distracted. “Damnit, Y/n, why do you have a flask! Stop drinking!” Is the last thing Wanda hears before the call drops. She sits in her car for a few minutes before she receives the text of the location. It was a bar close to her house and she was there in no time at all. She doesn't even have to get out of the car to help you inside because Steve and Bucky shove you into the front seat. 

“Wanda!” You say happily as you realize whose car you've been dumped into. Your eyes are closed but you recognize the scent you had been wrapped up in for two weeks. “Where's Wanda? I want to say hi,” you mutter as you start to get sleepy. 

“Here's their phone,” Darcy says as she stands at Wanda's side of the car. “Don't let them call or text anyone. They're going through something with the ex and you have to make sure that they don't say something they'll regret.” 

Wanda is confused, “What happened between Y/n and Daisy?” 

“Oh no, honey,” Darcy smiles, “Not that ex. This is baby momma drama. You'll have to ask Y/n about that one in the morning. It's not my place to go into the details.” 

Wanda nods in acknowledgement. “Thank you for calling me. Does anyone else need a ride, I'd be happy to -” 

“Nope, we're good. Just focus on Y/n. Maybe try to get some water in them.” Darcy taps the car. “Good luck,” she waves as she rejoins the group on the sidewalk. Wanda drives you back to her house and helps get you inside. She didn't realize how heavy you could be when you're not holding your weight yourself. But she manages. 

“I’m sorry I drank too much, Wanda,” you mutter as you lean against her on the sofa. She was trying to get you to drink some water before she attempted to move you up the stairs. 

“That's okay, just drink this now,” she says as she puts the plastic cup against your lips. You take a sip and nearly spit it out as you show your disgust. 

“Poison,” you exclaim. “Gah, what is that? It's awful,” you say as you lean away from it. 

“It's water,” she leans closer to you. “Drink it!” She demands. 

You make a face and take the cup and chug the whole thing. “I think my body is rejecting it. I need to chase it down with something. Do you have any vodka?” You complain and Wanda shakes her head. 

“What did Jean do to you?” Wanda asks herself and you laugh maniacally when you catch her name. 

“She wants my baby,” you answer. And Wanda is concerned that there is going to be some sort of custody battle. She can't think of why there would be. Unless Jean has a better job opportunity somewhere else. 

“She can't take Rachel from you,” Wanda says as she gets up to refill the cup. 

“Not that baby!” You shout. “My other baby. Er. A new one. She wants a new one and she doesn't want me to have it.” Wanda relaxes a bit, still confused but at least it's not something that will necessarily disrupt Rachel’s life. She walks over and claims the cup of water is vodka. You drink it as if it was the first drink you’d ever had in your life. “That’s the good stuff right there, what’s that brand?” 

She is standing in front of you as she waits for you to finish the beverage. “I’ll tell you in the morning so that you don’t forget.” When you’re don’t she reaches for the cup and instead of handing it over, you grab her by the wrist and pull her to land on top of you. She tries to push herself up but you catch her lips in a sloppy kiss. “What are you doing?” She whispers as she pulls away. 

“Something I should have done a long time ago,” you reply. 

She shakes her head, “You’re drunk.” 

“So?” You ask as you try to kiss her again. This time she is able to slip out of your grasp. 

“So, this isn’t happening,” Wanda doesn’t go into how she’d be taking advantage of you since you’re so wasted and she hasn’t had a drop of alcohol all week. She doesn’t remind you of why you rejected her before or mention that she refuses to be a rebound for you. “Let's get you to bed,” she says as she lifts you up by your arm. You shake your head, disappointed by the rejection but comply. 

You're a little wobbly as you walk up the stairs. Wanda is closely behind you to ensure your safe ascent. You stop in front of her open bedroom door. Uncertain if she wants you to stay with her. But you decide that it's not her decision to make. So you move to the guest room. Wanda doesn't argue as she collects a bottle of painkillers and fills the cup again. She leaves the items on the nightstand beside you. You fell asleep the second your head hit the pillow. You snored softly and Wanda was surprised because you never snored during the time you stayed with her.

“I'll see you in the morning,” she says while she flips the light switch off and shuts the bedroom door. Wanda grabs the pillow that smells like you out of her closet and sets it on her bed before she gets in her pajamas. She crawls into bed and clutches the pillow to her chest as she inhales your scent in order to fall asleep.

Chapter 15

Taglist: @princessprudy @sayah13 @agaymilflover @awkwardmandalorian @bentleywolf29 @thatshyboy1998 @artisannat @thisischaismagic @wqndanat @madamevirgo @likefirenrain @tearsofglitter @feltlikethat @the-writer-arcane @natashasilverfox @karsonromanoff @aloneodi @lovelyy-moonlight @red1culous @jovialsublimecomputer @natasha-maximoff @iliketozoneout @doudouneverte @druggedduck @notbornbutforged @when-wolves-howl @lifespectator @justyourwritter69 @wandaromamoff69 @awesomelygayasf @nekoannie-chan @diaryoflife @wuwu96 @wandanats-goodgirl @sincerely-indi @blueredg52 @sisiofthemultifandom @fuzzyuniversityeclipsefriend @arcturusseer @scarlettwidow34 @chasethemoon @raven-ss @canyonyodeler @sokovianbaby @alexawynters @bittysworld @hopeless-romantic17177 @spongebobtentacles

[froggyfics]

Neon

Your first date with Dick makes you nervous. 

THANK YOU TO THIS BRAVE ANON! For the life of me, I cannot figure out how to format your message request into this post, so I replied to you separately. You are my first ever request and can I say, thank you so much for choosing a fluffy topic! Don’t get me wrong, I love me some angst, but I’m a sad bitch, so angst comes super easy to me. This entire blog is about me trying to become a better writer, so thank you for choosing fluff because it really challenged me. I hope you enjoy it as much as I do! 

I categorized this as a fem!reader, just because I mentioned “girl” once in this fic. So, I hope that those who prefer gender neutral readers will still enjoy this. 

Feedback is always appreciated. Feel free to message me privately or comment below to let me know what you think. Constructive criticism is always welcome! 

Pairing: Dick Grayson x fem!reader

Theme: Fluff

Word Count: 1,759

His arm was deceivingly muscular. You couldn’t help but squeeze his bicep a few times. You know, in the name of science. Who knew that Dick Grayson was this muscular? The biting winter night forced you two to bundle up. The weather called for sweaters, gloves, hats, jackets, boots, the whole nine yards. Even through the bundles of clothes he was wearing, you could still feel his muscles underneath. 

You decide on just one more squeeze. For scientific purposes, of course! One more squeeze and you’ll stop oogling. Both hands were wrapped around his upper arm. You tighten your grip and - 

Oop! He flexes his bicep! Your blush as you realize you’ve been caught in the act. Dick laughs heartily when you whine and smush your face into his arm in embarrassment. 

“I’m so-I mean- uhm-that was embarrassing,” you stutter.

“It’s fiiiinnnne,” he drawls. “I work out so much so that pretty girls like you can appreciate this.” He nudges the arm that you are latched onto for emphasis.

If you weren’t blushing before, you definitely were now. Dick Grayson thinks you’re pretty? Even if this is your first and last date with him, you were absolutely going to tell everyone around you that the Dick Grayson called you pretty. That was something to brag about. 

“Look who’s talking,” you murmur.

He really was the prettiest man you’ve ever seen. You stuttered all throughout the dinner date you two were just at. Initially you thought it was because of nerves. But as the date continued, you realized it was because Dick was just so damn pretty. Piercing blue eyes that never strayed far from your face had you stumbling and fumbling over your words. To a third party viewer, it might’ve sounded like you were a toddler stuck in the body of an adult. 

After he paid the bill, which you insisted on paying for, or at least paying for your portion of the meal, but he refused because he’s the embodiment of chivalry, you thought that would be the last you’d see of him. You thought he’d find you too jittery and weird for his liking. But to your utter shock and delight, he offered his arm to you and asked if he could just take a walk with you around the block to extend your date.

It was freezing outside, but walking so close next to him made your insides melt. As the two of you leisurely stroll away from the restaurant, with no destination in mind, the conversation flowed easily. Something about him by your side rather than in front of you made you less nervous, so it was easier to speak. You tell him about how you want to pick up a new hobby. You mention your coworker that got on your nerves earlier that week. You even tell him your favorite weird food combination that you eat when there’s no one around to judge you.

He talks about his early days with his father, Bruce Wayne, and how growing up as the billionaire’s adopted son was no walk in the park. He talks about Alfred, his pseudo-grandfather, with so much pride and joy. He tells you his favorite colors are blue and black, and that he finds himself wearing those colors quite often.

“And then my buddy Wally says to me-,”

He’s in the middle of his story when he abruptly stops. Neon lights flash in his face and he slowly breaks out into a smirk. You remain confused until you turn your head and glance at what you’re in front of. 

He slithers his arm out of your grip and then reaches to grab your hand. “C’mon, let’s go inside!”

Your eyes take a moment to adjust to the neon lights around you. Different colors of light flash all around you. Pinging sounds from the plethora of arcade games create a symphony of chaos. People hurriedly rush from one machine to another, trying to get to a game before others do. Laughter and chatter fill the air, alongside the clanking of coins. In your distracted haze, Dick retrieves a bucket full of coins for you two to indulge in from the arcade employee.

“You should’ve let me pay for that. You already paid for dinner,” you pout.

He’s facing you now, unlike when you two were walking side by side. You suddenly get the jitters, like you did when you were at dinner with him. You can still see the blue in his eyes, despite the lighting that tried its best to hide it. 

He comes dangerously close to you, almost toe-to-toe. Your head screams at you to look down or up or to the side, just anywhere else except his pretty face. He grabs the small of your back to bring you even closer and bring his mouth to your ear.

“Lemme take care of you.”

His breath on your ear makes you tingle, and you instinctively contract all the muscles in your body to control your reaction. The hand he has on your back slowly makes its way back to your hand and he pulls you closer to the rows of machines. 

You both silently stare at the machines in contemplation. There are so many choices to make, the both of you can’t decide on where to start.

You quickly glance at his face and notice his eyebrows are furrowed in concentration. He’s so freaking cute!

You take a deep breath in to psyche yourself up. He has taken the lead all night. It’s time you show just how interested you are in him, too. This time, you lead the way for him. While holding onto his hand, you shimmy your way past hordes of people until you reach your destination.

You let go of him to take off your gloves and reach into the bucket of coins. You deposit the allotted coins into the machine and the game comes to life. 

He places the bucket of coins on the ground. “Not tryna brag, but I’m a pretty good dancer. You might be in over your head.”

“We’ll see about that, pretty boy,” you bite back.

Three songs later and you conclude that the both of you suck at dancing. Neither of you score very high in the dancing game, but you do come out victorious, scoring higher than him in two out of the three games.

He raises his hands in defeat. “Alright, alright. You win!” He’s breathless as he says it. 

You giggle as you turn your head to examine the other machines in your line of sight. You suddenly gasp at the claw machine filled with Justice League superheroes as stuffed plushie dolls. 

You run over to claim the machine with Dick hot on your trail. Your nose touches the machine’s plexiglass as you look over the dolls within it. Superman, Batman, Green Arrow, Wonder Woman, Hawkwoman, and so many more. 

“Which one do ya want?” Dick slides coins into the machine, readying himself to retrieve whatever plushie doll you desire. 

You think for a moment, seriously looking over the options. “Batman,” you confidently reply.

Dick nods his head and begins to move the claw. He has his eyes set on the Batman doll that is conveniently located right at the top of the pile. 

“Batman, eh,” he begins covertly. “Is he your favorite of the Bats or…” He trails off as he concentrates his efforts on placing the claw directly above the doll.

“Hmm, I’m not sure. I haven’t really thought about it.” You look off into the distance as you formulate an answer. Meanwhile, Dick makes a few minor adjustments to ensure that the claw will capture the Batman doll as he waits for your answer. He finally is satisfied with his efforts and presses the button that will drop the claw down on the doll. 

“Red Robin seems pretty cool,” you innocuously answer just as Dick releases the button. You could’ve sworn that Dick’s eye twitches and the vein on the side of his neck bulges. You think it’s because he’s so concentrated on winning this plushie doll for you, but Dick knows it’s due to a twinge of jealously. He’ll never admit what you said to anyone, especially not to Tim. It’s prime bullying material for his friends and family.

The two of you watch in silence as the claw hooks onto the Batman doll, carries it over to the side, and drops it down the hatch. You squeal and jump up and down in delight as Dick reaches into the machine to retrieve the doll. He hands you the doll and you grab it.

“Thankyouthankyouthankyouthankyou!” In your excitement, you lean over and peck Dick right on the lips as a show of appreciation. 

You have no idea where you got the confidence to do that. You don’t even realize what you did until you notice Dick sport the goofiest grin on his face. 

You fiercely begin to blush again, for what seems like the millionth time that night. You hope you didn’t just ruin the experience for him. Your anxiety is squashed though as soon as Dick leans in close again. He again grabs the small of your back with just a tad bit more strength this time around. His other hand cups your chin. You both inch your lips towards one another. You lean in a little. Then he does. Then you do. And then he does. Until finally, your lips embrace one another.

The kiss is gentle. Sweet. Loving. One arm holds the Batman doll, and the other grabs the front of his jacket to pull him in closer. He chuckles into your lips as you do. There’s so much going on around, but it’s almost as if you two were the only ones in that arcade. All that you could sense was him. 

To your chagrin, you end up breaking the kiss. You had to come up for breath eventually. You can feel your lips plump up due to the extra blood flow. Despite the kiss being broken, the two of you remain close to each other. Your bodies melded into one.

His sparkling blue eyes bore into yours. This time, you don’t feel nervous. You belong in this moment. You belong in this moment with him. This feels right. 

You stare right back at him and innocently ask, “So, who’s your favorite Bat?”

His eyes crinkle as he smiles. There’s mischief behind his eyes. Perhaps you’ll indulge in that on another date. 

“Baby, have you heard of Nightwing?”

[girlfriendsofthegalaxy]

tuesday again 9/10/2024

someone adopt this little orange man from me in Houston TX! more details here!

listening

the 1991 Ella Mae Morse compilation Capitol Collectors Series is the official driving-cats-to-the-vet album bc it is so mellow but still fun. this album has previously been featured several times in tuesdayposts but i think you should all listen to it again.

seven thousand three hundred days IS a long long time to sleep ur so right ella

-

reading

two different works that annoyed me: Emily Hamilton's The Stars Too Fondly. my first clue should have been that this is my least favorite poem, bc ppl would quote it to me smugly after my mom died. im sure they thought they were being so super comforting to a budding astronomer, but, much like how i can no longer eat lasagna bc ppl gave us Twenty! Party! Size! Platters! Of! Lasagna! after my mom died (they would just Appear on our front porch, frozen), too much of this poem really soured me.

i had this book on hold Forever and then delayed delivery twice bc i have not felt like reading lately. here's the publisher's description:

In her breathtaking debut—part space odyssey, part sapphic rom-com—Emily Hamilton weaves a suspenseful, charming, and irresistibly joyous tale of fierce friendship, improbable love, and wonder as vast as the universe itself. So, here’s the thing: Cleo and her friends really, truly didn’t mean to steal this spaceship. They just wanted to know why, twenty years ago, the entire Providence crew vanished without a trace. But then the stupid dark matter engine started all on its own, and now these four twenty-somethings are en route to Proxima Centauri, unable to turn around, and being harangued by a snarky hologram that has the face and attitude of the ship’s missing captain, Billie. Cleo has dreamt of being an astronaut all her life, and Earth is kind of a lost cause at this point, so this should be one of those blessings in disguise that people talk about. But as the ship gets deeper into space, the laws of physics start twisting, old mysteries come crawling back to life, and Cleo’s initially combative relationship with Billie turns into something deeper and more desperate than either woman was prepared for. Lying somewhere in the subspace between science fantasy and sapphic rom-com, The Stars Too Fondly is a soaring near-future adventure about dark matter and alternate dimensions, leaving home and finding family, and the galaxy-saving power of letting yourself love and be loved.

should be catnip for me, right? wrong. starts out as a chat fic, which i hate.

i had a lot of trouble finishing the first chapter, which also has an extended third-person omniscient narrator flashback in italics, a thing i also hate. i KNOW you can figure out how to integrate this information into the book in a better way instead of dumping it in my lap.

i think part of why this is not hitting like i wanted is the tone, because i think this veers more new adult than i was really hoping for. i think introducing a big group all at once is very hard to do effectively. i do not like a series of character introductions that feel like they are trying to sell me action figures. or perhaps blind-bag figures. i do not like a six-deep list of cheesy puns about someone's name. i do not have the patience to see if this debut novel finds its footing a little later on, though i am glad a sapphic ghost in the machine romance exists in this world.

i also read dean motter's mister x (both the original late eighties through early nineties run and the 2008 follow-on).

let's yoink the description from wikipedia:

Set in Radiant City, a dystopian municipality influenced by Bauhaus and Fritz Lang's Metropolis, the series concerns a mysterious figure who purports to be its architect. His radical theories of "psychetecture" cause the citizenry to go mad, just as he did, and he takes on the mission to repair his creation. To accomplish this he remains awake twenty-four hours a day by means of the drug "insomnalin", all the while coping with a Dick Tracy–like rogues gallery and supporting cast including his long-suffering ex-girlfriend Mercedes. (ed note: the redhead in the santa beard below)

the art in this comic book is really and truly stunning. everyone was firing on all cylinders. beautiful retrofuturistic advertisement vibes, very fun play with panels and word balloons while still being readable, there are airships, you know how it is. looooooooove a hardboiled noir.

the Concept of mister x, this horrible awful futuristic city that grinds its citizenry up and spits them out? both figuratively and sometimes literally? love it!!! love a great wounded beast of a city as a character!!!

unforch the "who is mister x" subplot does not resolve in a satisfying way, imo. there's a lot of flip-flopping, there's a lot of options, he ends up being (maybe?) someone he was very definitively proven NOT to be in an earlier issue, and it really soured me on the whole experience. and also i don't believe it! that specific person makes no fucking sense! who mister x is, is by far the least interesting part of the series. tell me more about how he's fixing the city. show me more of the city. shut up and dance, robot artists

-

watching

X-Men: Apocalypse (2016, dir. Singer). this movie did not need to be two and a half hours long. appreciated the EXTREMELY divorced energy from charles & erik though, quicksilver rescuing the school scene was also very fun. my bestie's husband has informed me we are NOT watching Dark Phoenix, i'm not sure if we're going to loop back and watch the ??? number of wolverine films or if we're going to see how i feel about deadpool. bc i find this character insufferable through clips only.

-

playing

there is a feature in the video game genshin impact to turn your World Level (TM) down in order to make overworld enemies a little easier. i am at seven out of nine bc i genuinely can't finish the boss to unlock world level 9, and i am finding some of the overworld enemies too hard at 8 and want to finish the achievements in a more relaxed fashion.

-

making

this is going to be a lot of previously posted pics so bear with me.

saturday morning/saturday evening. plants? repotted. porch and stairs? swept. old wasp nests? knocked down. different mirror on the porch to go out to the curb when i have the energy? yes. also a giant slab of engineered stone from the top of a dresser but that's out of frame.

speaking of the giant broken dresser that was in my apartment when i moved in just over a year ago, i ripped it apart with a crowbar and threw it in the dumpster. put my pretty zebrawood desk in the empty space and started thinking about what to hang on that wall. the wall across from it is maps, bc i think a cozy office should have lots of maps and it makes a good video conference background. maybe this will be the dedicated cowboy nonsense wall. i did so much dusting and vacuuming and mopping and the girls can't even hang out in here bc the orange boy is in the office bathroom. big sigh.

also a lot of driving around and emailing and calling thirty shelters and rescues figuring out how to get this orange man a home. please take this orange man off my hands.