#the girl on drums needs some clips for her hair :3

[ancient-qveen]

- gifs by me from my favourite feature length film, the Emperor High Wycombe rehearsal ^w^

[tldrthor]

Not even death (2) | bucky barnes

// Summary: In the wake of the attack, (y/n) and Steve are moved to DC for protection. Rumours of corruption within SHIELD come to a crescendo, and they learn the identity of the man who attacked them at Bucky's grave. The world is turned on it's head.

// warnings: ws!bucky barnes x avenger!wife!reader, lots of grief, canon-typical violence, angst, f!reader, platonic!steve being a cutie patootie

// word count: 4.1k

enjoyed? please like/reblog! you can find my masterlist here <3

part one | part three

The second best day of her life was the day Bucky came back from the POW camp in Europe. The day that Steve Rogers, her tiny, frail friend, was suddenly two feet taller and double the weight. It was the second best, but probably the most confusing.

To describe it, we have to start somewhere else.

Colonel Phillips sat behind his desk, the heavy weight of authority evident within his posture. His fingers drummed lightly on the edge of the paperwork in front of him as he studied the transfer forms with surgical precision. His words came clipped, almost dismissive, as he finally looked up at the young woman standing before him.

"Nurse Barnes," he began, his voice cold and matter of fact. "I need you to understand that you've been given special treatment here." His words were sharp, cutting through the sterile tension of the office. His eyes flicked to the top of the paper, then back to her. "I see that Sergeant Barnes is your husband. We understand him to be missing, but I am sorry to say... it's unlikely he is still alive."

He spoke softer, then. Like he had realised halfway through that the girl in front of him – she couldn't have been older than 25 – was likely a widow.

"Yes, sir." The girl answered, her words as flat and mechanical as she could make them. Her sweaty palms smoothing her creased white uniform.

"You'll be sharing a cabin with the other women on base – Agent Carter here will show you around, get you situated. You'll start in the infirmary tent tomorrow."

He dismissively waved towards a figure in the corner of the room -- an image of perfect composure in her neatly pressed uniform and pinned hair. The nurse suddenly felt inadequate, vulnerable even. She hadn't been thinking straight since she got that awful, awful telegram. The one she had prayed would never come.

Agent Carter stepped forward with quiet grace. Her smile was warm and genuine, a soft hand outstretched to the nurse, which she quickly shook with her own.

"Peggy Carter," she introduced herself. "Come with me, I'll show you to our cabin."

"(y/n) Barnes." The nurse introduced herself, unable to say much else in the wake of the worst few weeks of her life.

"So," Peggy's voice broke through the silence as they walked. "Where were you stationed before?"

The nurse swallowed hard, the words scraping out of her dry throat. "The French front." She could feel Peggy's widened eyes on her, but she kept looking towards the cabin they were marching towards.

She let out a quiet, nearly reverent sound. "God, so you've seen warfare then." It wasn't a question, rather an acknowledgement, a small recognition of the horrors of the front.

The nurse's heart quickened at the mere mention of her previous station, a cold shiver moving down her spine. She didn't want to remember the chaos, the blood, the screams. But it hadn't left her mind since the moment she was deployed.

"Yes." She muttered, her voice barely above a whisper. There was so much more to say than just ‘yes’,  but there wasn't a way to succinctly describe some of the horrors she had seen.

They climbed the steps to the simple wooden cabin, Peggy opening the door with a soft creak. "Well, here we are."

The room was simple – clean, functional and small – but the nurse barely registered in the space.

"The top bunk at the end is yours." Peggy said gently, motioning towards the far corner. "I'll let you get set up, if you need anything let me know."

She swallowed, looking upon the nurse who seemed so... defeated. She spoke, perhaps out of turn; "Colonel Phillips hasn't given up on the men. There's still hope."

"Thank you," The nurse whispered, her throat too tight to speak. Peggy stepped back, giving her space.

"Take your time. I'll check on you later."

In the present day, her dreams – as they always were – were filled with memories of Bucky and the war. The sound of his voice was a particular issue, recently. She felt like she was forgetting it. The way his arms had felt around her on their wedding day, and then the day they said goodbye before he shipped to the Italian front and she to the french front. It all felt like the memories were slipping away.

But tonight, on Steve's couch, the dream shifted. She found herself walking through a foggy graveyard. She knew immediately that something was off, but it felt real enough. She could hear his voice – just faintly, calling her from a distance. 

She tried to run to him, but her legs felt like stone.

"Bucky!" She called, nearly crawling along the floor in her desperation to get to him.

The fog parted just enough to reveal a figure. Not quite Bucky, but tall and hauntingly familiar. It was wrong, though. As the figure stalked towards her, she saw the glint of his left arm.

It wasn't Bucky. It was the man who attacked her in the cemetery, the one who had bestowed on her what she was sure was at least four broken ribs. His eyes were cold and empty as the all-too-familiar metal arm reached for her.

"(y/n)?" She felt something on her shoulder, and suddenly she jerked awake with a gasp, her breath coming in sharp, ragged bursts.

Steve sat in front of her, whispering soothing things, his hand on her shoulder. He had bags under his eyes, and didn't seem like he had been asleep. A lamp in the corner cast soft shadows over Steve's living room.

"Sorry, nightmare." She whispered, once she got her breath back.

He nodded, a sort of half-smile on his face. "I know. You were calling for Bucky."

His hand still rested on her shoulder, his touch steady and gentle. It reminded her of how she used to comfort him when they were just kids -- whenever he got into a stupid fight, or the neighbourhood kids took to showing him what for. The weight of it anchored her to the present, even as his mind drifted back to the foggy graveyard and the nightmare she couldn't shake.

She inhaled sharply, still failing at steadying her breath. "Sorry... it's just –" she faltered, her eyes on her lap as her hands shook. "It's like I can hear him, feel him. But I always lose him again."

He nodded, humming in recognition.

"I was thinking about the Italian front, the other day. Do you remember?"

He smiled, the memory of the first time he disobeyed orders to save his best friend. The day he promised his other friend that he would do everything he could to bring home her husband.

One of his greatest victories.

"I remember. You were so angry at us – and he couldn't stop grinning because you had come all that way just to tell him off."

Her pensive face broke, at that, revealing a reminiscent smile.

"God, I'd do anything to go back to that."

The atmosphere in the crowd crackled as Captain America walked back, his best friend at his side, and a sea of men trailing behind them. Their victory hung thick in the air.

"Prepare yourself," Steve murmured, his voice low but edged with something akin to amusement. Maybe he should have warned him...

Bucky's gaze flickered to a ripple in the crowds in front of them -- the crowd parted with the ease of moving water, but it wasn't a force of nature that cut through them.

No. It was something more personal, smaller than all of them but ten times as dangerous.

She emerged from the crowd, eyes blazing, shoulders tight with fury.

His wife.

"You two," she shouted, her voice slicing through the charged air like a blade, "are two halves of one whole idiot!"

"Oh my god, what the hell are you doing here?!" Bucky rushed forward with a rather aggressive passion, very nearly knocking her to the ground. If she wasn't so apoplectic with rage, the hug would have softened everything.

Unfortunately, she was very nearly vibrating with anger.

She screwed up her face, wiggling out of his touch. "I came to get you, James." She jabbed a finger in his face, her hand trembling with an uncontainable rage. "Do you know how worried I was," She frowned, "that damn telegram nearly killed me!"

The men around them chuckled before giving the not-so-happy couple some space. He smiled at her with a soft, love-sick smile. He didn't even have it in him to feel guilt, although he was sure he would eventually. He knew military transfer orders, he knew the bureaucracy behind all the paperwork. She had probably fought tooth and nail just to find her way closer to him.

"You transferred here?" He spoke as his hands moved up to hold her face, his thumb stroking her cheek as she furrowed her eyebrows and scoffed at him, slapping away his hand before turning away to the other moron in the situation.

The crowd around them had dissipated now, leaving only the both of them, and a much, much taller Captain America. Steven Grant Rogers. The kid she had spent most of her life protecting in some way or another.

"Don't even get me started on you." she snapped, her voice venomous. She stared him down, his new stature making no difference in how uncomfortable he felt with her intense gaze. He had the decency, at least, to sheepishly look at the ground. "What the hell were you thinking, Rogers?"

"I- " He started. He held his hands in the air like she was holding him at gunpoint. He wished she was, he was much better at that than dealing with grief turned relief turned anger.

She hissed, "Save it. Get yourselves to the infirmary tent, now." She turned on her heel, leading to where the men were beginning to line up to be checked over.

"Fury wants us to move to DC, says we’re better protected there.” After a full breakfast, the situation didn’t feel as dire. She looked at her friend with skeptical eyes, her fork clinking on the plate as she put it down with more force than she had meant to.

She tilted her head and squinted her eyes. “Fury’s up to something.”

“Why do you think that?”

“I don’t know if you have the clearance but…” She hesitated. The weight of the words she was about to speak was almost too much, but she couldn’t back down now.  “We’ve had some intel. Someone’s using unauthorised SHIELD resources. We think whoever it is… is based at the Triskelion in DC.”

Her word’s hung heavy between them. She could see the suspicion on Steve’s face, the flicker of concern. He leaned in slightly, his eyes piercing as they met hers. “You think Fury’s hiding something?”

She sighed, dragging her hand through her fresh-washed hair. It was the last thing she needed, the organisation she had built up with her bare hands and dearest friends to be compromised. “I… ever since I stepped down as director, I’ve felt like something’s wrong. I regret putting Alexander Pierce in control, I’m worried it’s completely compromised.”

“I think Fury knows something I don’t – the question is what.” She shook her head, her words faltering for a second. 

Steve didn’t say anything for a long time. He didn’t have to. He could see it in her eyes – the frustration, the fear, the doubt. They both knew that if SHIELD was the next big bad, it was going to be harder than just killing aliens that come out of a big hole in the sky. It would be questioning the very thing they fight for in the first place.

“Okay.” Steve finally spoke, his voice low but steady. “Let’s just be careful. We’ll figure it out together – Nat’s already out there anyway, we can ask her to keep an eye out.”

Days later, they were on the move. The rumours they were tracking seemed to grow louder, and a certain name that neither of them wanted to ever hear again kept popping up through the cracks. 

HYDRA.

Natasha met them at the new apartment – they had decided to all move in together for safety. Fury assured the commander that there was nothing behind the move, that he didn’t expect anything from her.

“You think we’ll investigate the rumblings about SHIELD being infiltrated.” She frowned at him, finally figuring out his motive.

He smiled, his cards on the table. “Commander, I know you will.”

She couldn’t help but feel a disconnect between her life before and her life now. She didn’t know what had caused it – maybe something about the attack. She had been targeted before, the victim of many plots over the years. Who wouldn’t want to take out an enhanced, seemingly unaging artefact from a time period that was quickly fading from living memory.

But this one felt… different. She couldn’t help but think of Bucky when the knife-edged memory of her assailant made its way to her consciousness again. Something in the way he moved…

She looked up at the Triskelion, her new place of work. It was somehow familiar and unsettling at the same time. A place that had always symbolised SHIELD’s strength – her own blood, sweat and tears – now felt like the beginning of something far more dangerous.

Weeks passed. She almost forgot about the potential mole within SHIELD, she was kept so busy with work given to her by Pierce. She hated being around him, even though she had seen him rise the ranks as a young man nearly from the beginning of SHIELD. Something about him… she could tell he didn’t have good intentions anymore.

Steve and Natasha were starting to dig into the activities that SHIELD was covering around them. There was money, moved around so much that it was impossible to trace it to its destination. Weapons missing from the armoury’s logs. People who walked like they had more power than they should.

And then Fury was attacked in broad daylight. Declared dead. Steve crashed down stories into the foyer of the building, having been attacked by the STRIKE team that (y/n) once commanded. Pierce himself marched into the Commander’s office and declared she was being held on suspicion of treason – she would never have gone quietly, and she got a nice gash across her upper arm to prove it.

They found each other in the hospital after their no good, very bad day.

“Thank god.” Steve wrapped his arms around her as she found him outside the hospital.

She reciprocated. “Is it true? Fury’s dead?” She demanded, a tone in her voice that showed more vulnerability that she would have liked. She looked between him and Natasha, who had tears in her eyes for the first time in a long time.

He could only nod in response.

The truth hit them hard – the realisation that SHIELD had been compromised so thoroughly that it was completely unrecognisable. HYDRA was back, and it was using their own creation to cement itself again.

After that, everything changed. The triskelion was under siege. The situation had escalated faster than anyone could have predicted, and suddenly, they were fighting not only for their lives but for the world. They had picked up Sam Wilson, an ex-air force special forces pilot with helpful strategy ideas and even more helpful wings.

“So, how’d you make it to commander so young?” He had asked her.

Steve, Natasha and (y/n) had just laughed in response.

And then her world shattered even further, even more maliciously. Sitwell grabbed and thrown out of the car in front of a truck – a most effective way to shut him up. Each of them was attacked by an assailant that had haunted her since that moment at Bucky’s grave. She had been so distracted by the return of that memory that she hadn’t seen the knife coming.

One second, she was fighting with everything she had to hold her ground and protect the civilians around them, and the next – pain. Cold metal cutting into her side. A scream of shock that didn’t even escape her throat before her body crashed to the ground.

The world blurred around her. She heard Steve’s voice, desperate, calling her name as he fought to hold the line. And then… the mask fell. For a split second, she thought she must be hallucinating. The pain from the stab wound – and the steady trail of blood seeping through her top – was enough to make her think she could be.

She couldn’t tell which outcome she would have preferred in that moment – for her husband to be dead, or for her husband to be killing her.

The air felt too thick to breathe.

And then, she heard Steve speak his name, stopping in his tracks, too. And her heart stopped.

It couldn’t be. Not after everything – she had mourned for decades. So how could her dead husband, body somewhere in a ravine in Europe, be standing here, now. How could her Bucky – her wonderful, generous, brave husband – have caused the sea of thick crimson that had started to pool around her.

The man who had broken her ribs, and tried to murder her only weeks earlier. That same man, the one with no memory, with no soul, stripped of everything he’d ever been and replaced with a cold, mechanical weapon. A ghost from the past, a soldier she couldn’t recognise.

Natasha had told them the name earlier. A name that sat bitterly on her tongue.

The Winter Soldier.

Her chest tightened as the world seemed to freeze around her. Her pulse was pounding in her ears, and for a moment, she thought she might choke on the grief, the shock, the guilt.

Her hands shook violently as she struggled to push herself up, the pain almost unbearable, but it was nothing compared to the agony in her heart. The man who was supposed to be dead, the man who was supposed to be lost forever, was standing right in front of her — twisted and broken nearly beyond recognition.

But she would recognise him anywhere, anytime. Her Bucky.

The world seemed to tilt, everything spinning around her in a dizzying blur of emotions. How could this be? She couldn’t reconcile the image before her with the man she remembered, the boy she had once loved. She had grieved him. She had clung to every inch of him like it was her only lifeline – his touch, his smile, his cheeky jokes that made the burden of what they were just that little bit easier to manage.

Now, everything she thought she understood was unraveling.

She couldn’t fix this.

The sound of Steve’s voice reached her through the fog of her emotions. She knew he was moving toward her, his panic filling the space between them, but she couldn’t focus on that. She couldn’t focus on anything other than the man standing in front of her.

How could he not remember her?

How could he not remember them?

He locked eyes with her as he raised his gun. Those blue eyes that had looked at her lovingly since the moment they had met, now replaced with emotionless disdain. She decided that her only course of action was to close her eyes and accept whatever this cruel twist of fate had in store.

The Winter Soldier.

A name that would haunt her forever.

Both Bucky and Steve had been sitting outside the infirmary for what felt like hours. The sounds of the camp were muffled around them, but they could hear the laughter and celebration from the mess hall starting already. Closer, the occasional sharp sound of boots on gravel as men trickled in and out of the infirmary, patched up and sporting bandages in various places.

Dugan passed by, a small bandage wrapped expertly around his forehead. “Hell of a woman, Barnes. You’re a lucky guy.”

Morita, who had a nice bruise forming on his cheek, waggled an eyebrow. “Wouldn’t want to be on the receiving end of her anger.”

Bucky only grinned and shrugged, his attention never straying far from the door. “Hey, you should be so lucky.” He smiled.

Finally, the line in front of him cleared. He stood, wincing slightly as his leg protested the movement, and made his way into the infirmary. The air was thick with the smell of antiseptic and sweat. The soft sound of hospitalised soldiers and the rattle of medical equipment filled the space.

And there she was.

The moment his eyes met hers, the world around him seemed to still. Her frown deepened, but the way she looked at him told him all he needed to know. She was mad. Madder than he thought he’d ever seen her, maybe aside from the time he and Steve decided to play baseball indoors and smashed her favourite vase.

Bucky took a hesitant step forward, trying to make light of it. “Hi, Nurse.”

She didn’t even look up at first, but when she did, the way her brow furrowed made his stomach twist. She motioned for him to sit, a sigh escaping her lips as she set the clipboard down next to him. 

“Sergeant Barnes.” She said, a quiet edge to her voice. “What did they do to you?”

Bucky winced as she touched a bruise near his cheekbone. He had been through a hell of a lot worse in his life, but he wasn’t exactly in the mood to pretend like it didn’t hurt. “Nothing too bad. A little blood, some bad food… the usual.”

The corner of her mouth twitched like she might’ve smiled, but it disappeared almost instantly, replaced by that serious look. He could feel the weight of it pressing down on him.

She frowned. “You really shouldn’t joke right now.” She murmured as she worked, pulling out some supplies. The cotton swab was rough against his skin, and he winced as she dabbed at one the cuts across his eyebrow. The silence stretched between them, thick and heavy. Bucky could feel the tension even in the way her fingers moved – quick, precise, anxious.

When she finally spoke again, her voice was small and fragile: “I thought you were dead.”

The words hit him like a punch to the gut, his throat going dry. There was no anger to her words now, just a quiet, raw vulnerability. He looked at her then – really looked – finally seeing the bags under her eyes, her red-raw hands from sanitising and scrubbing them over and over and over again. The shine over her eyes from tears that she fought not to spill.

He leaned forward slightly, covering her hand with his. His thumb brushed over the back of her hand gently, “I’m sorry, baby.” His voice was gravelly but soft, “I’m right here. I’m not going anywhere.”

Her eyes met his, and for a moment, everything else disappeared. The anger was still there, tucked away beneath the surface, but it was quieter now – he saw it for what it really was. Love.

She nodded slowly, swallowing thickly. “I know you say that,” She muttered. “But sometimes I wonder… how much longer I’ll get to hear it.”

Bucky’s chest tightened at the implication. He couldn’t imagine what she’d gone through in receiving that telegram. Living with the fear of her husband, gone forever. He knew that if it had been him in that position, he’d have gone mad. 

He pulled her hand toward him tilting his head so their foreheads touched, his voice low and steady. “You’re stuck with me, you hear me? No one’s getting rid of me, not even you.”

For a long moment, neither of them spoke. They didn’t need to. It was just the sounds of their breath mingling in the quiet of the infirmary. There was finally a moment of peace amongst the chaos of the war, even if it wasn’t perfect.

But the reality of their lives could never stay far for long, and she pulled away gently, putting that professional mask back on. Bucky had to fight the urge to pull her back, to keep her in that soft, quiet space. She had always been strong and capable, but he felt that she was different now… hardened to the world in a way she wasn’t before. He wondered if he would ever see the sweet, innocent girl he left in New York again. 

“I’m on the clock, Barnes.” Her tone returned to being sharper, but it had a softer edge now. “You’re gonna have to send Steve in. I need to check him out.”

Bucky’s mind returned to his alarmingly big, formerly small-friend. “What the hell happened to him, anyway?”

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[fondueforall]

🎵You, you got your own opinions. But baby, I don't even need to hear 'em. It used to hurt me, used to bring me down. Do your worst, 'cause nothing's gonna stop me now. Don't let those losers take your magic, baby, yeah. 🎶 (let 'em talk by kesha plays automatically when you go on brittany's blog)

LIMA LOSER? OR IS THAT BRITTANY PIERCE? THEY MIGHT EVEN PASS FOR HUNTER SCHAFER IN THE RIGHT LIGHT. THEY'RE TWENTY-TWO, BUT STILL STUCK IN LIMA AT MCKINLEY. THEY'VE BEEN CALLED THE BLONDE AIRHEAD, BUT PREFER TO BE THE UNICORN. MAYBE IF THEY FIX THEIR AESTHETIC AKA LONG MOMENTS DANCING WITHOUT A CARE WITH THE MUSIC BLARING, GOSSIPING ON ALL THE DIRT OVER A TOO HOT POT OF CHEESE, AND GETTING SWEATY OUT ON THE FIELD IN A TOO SHORT SKIRT AND THE ROLLER RINK WITH THE GIRLS ON SKATES THEY'LL GET THEIR WAY. WORD ON THE SHOW CHOIR BLOGS ARE THEY'RE IN THE TROUBLETONES. SO GOOD LUCK TO THEM!

THE BASICS:

name: brittany susan pierce aka brittany s.pierce. 

nicknames: britt, b, bee, britt-britt.

pronouns: she/her. NOT IT, NOT HE/HIM. thank you.

gender: 🏳️‍⚧️ ♀️

birthday/zodiac: march 14th, pisces.

birthplace: lima, oh.

relationship status: single, but i've kissed just about every member of the senior and junior classes at mckinley.

sexuality: bisexual. 

occupation: host of fondue for two. 

sports/clubs: cheerios, dance, the muckraker, gay/straight alliance, mathletes. also it's not at school, but! i play on the local roller derby team here in lima, we're called the pinup punks. my name there is pierce the blade, i'm the jammer. i also play the drums in a band called high road.

major/minor: journalism and media communication.

languages: english, spanish, asl, and a language i invented in middle school!

social media handles: fonduefortwo professionally everywhere, fondueforbritt everywhere else for my friends.

PHYSICAL APPEARANCE:

height: 5'10'’.

build: ⌛️

eye color: blue.

hair color: blonde, sometimes i clip in fun colors when i'm not in cheerio mode though.

piercings: i have a lot! four on each ear, three on my lobes and one a helix and on the other an industrial. i also have my tongue, nipples, and belly button pierced.

tattoos: i have a rainbow on my wrist, a unicorn on my lower back and a small ufo on my shoulder. a portrait of my amazing feline friend lord tubbington. (someone who is Not brittany typed that in and later brittany removed it)

other distinguishing features: good tits and a big heart. 

style: carefree and fun colors when i'm not in my cheer uniform. i love everything from bold patterns to simple ones.

PERSONALITY/INTERESTS:

traits: i like to think i’m loyal and creative, funny, friendly and pretty adventurous. but i know some people think i’m kind of stubborn and impulsive, probably naive and aloof too. also dumb or an airhead.

likes: to dance, fondue, my cats and the cats at love meow, art, math, performing, taking baths.

dislikes: bullies, being called stupid, ignorant people, conflict, injustice, feeling lonely.

fears: not being good enough or being hurt simply for being who i am.

skills: i can get out of handcuffs easily, bend pretty much my whole body, can put my feet over my head, do complicated math in my head, super good at reading peoples signs and i'm probably a lil psychic.

quirks: super bendy and flexible, does that count? double jointed, i can talk very fast, i do “voice overs”... mostly in my head.

hobbies: drawing, dancing, cheering, interviewing people, listening to true crime podcasts and alien/cryptid conspiracy theories, rollerskating, motocross.

music tastes: anything by kesha and beyonce, but also anything that i can dance to. ♪♫♬

myers-briggs: i did this because it was fun, but i can't remember i think it started with an e?

kinsey scale: 3, i'm equal opportunities.

strengths: i'm majorly talented, especially when it comes to dancing. i think people are surprised by how much i can lift too.. i also got like... an iron stomach, at least that's what my parents tell me. and despite what some people think, i'm pretty smart.

weaknesses: i get lost super easily.

She's the one they made me talk to when they found out I was keeping that bird in my locker.

[emeraldzephyr]

Glory Days: A Baseball AU Fic

Part 1 of my Baseball Player Steve Harrington Fic!

Eddie Munson was at the last place he thought he would ever be on a Wednesday afternoon. 

After arriving in Chicago for the next stop on Corroded Coffin's Raising the Dead tour, their manager, Nancy Wheeler, presented them with suite tickets to the Chicago Cubs game.

"One of the player's brothers is a huge fan" She said as she passed over the envelope, "It would mean a lot to go, and it's good press."

"Nancy," Eddie started, and the rest of the band sighed, preparing for his rant, "We are not sports sorts. In fact, it was those same types that made our lives such hell in school. And yes, that was 10 years ago but I have a very good memory, and even a few scars to remember it by!" 

"Look, it's 3 hours tops, there will be food and drinks in the suite, and if you get pics at the game I bet you sell out the rest of those tickets before the show on Saturday. Chicago loves the Cubs, and Steve Harrington is their golden boy."

Eddie looked to his band members, eyes darting between the three of them.

Gareth shrugged "Might as well, maybe it could be fun."

Eddie frowned, and glared down at Jeff, "Weirdly enough, I kind of like baseball."

Eddie gasped, murmuring traitor under his breath.

Finally, he leveled his gaze to Frank, who gulped before sputtering out, "I mean, free food and drinks is nice." 

" Ugh… .fine!" Eddie snaps, throwing his hands up and flopping down on the couch in the hotel suite," but don't expect me to be happy about it."

Which brings us to the present, where Eddie sits in the cushy Legends suite at Wrigley Field. At least the day was nice, the sky a bright blue with fluffy clouds, a chill breeze just enough to cool the warm rays of the sun.

A bat cracked, and Eddie flinched. He knew there was netting keeping the balls from getting to them but that didn't stop his anxiety from expecting every single one of those fuckers to come flying at his face like some kind of jock powered magic missile. 

“I would say you get used to it, but you really don’t.”

Eddie turned to see a woman with short brown hair and blue eyes seated two seats over. Her long legs were propped up on the seat in front of her, and she wore a white and blue striped jersey with HARRINGTON across the back.

“I mean, I’ve been going to Steve’s games since college and I still flinch every time.” She said, chuckling to herself, “I’m Robin, by the way.”

“Ah, so you must be Harrington’s lucky girl!” Eddie exclaims, sweeping his hands open in a dramatic bow, “Eddie Munson, pleasure to meet you.”

“Eww, no.” Robin clips, “Steve is my very platonic best friend. And roommate, but I am but a humble graduate student and he makes fuck you amounts of money.”

Eddie barks out a laugh at that as the loudspeaker in the stadium crackles to life.

“Batting Number 4, Your Shortstop Steve Harrington!!”

The crowd roars to life, Robin cheering enthusiastically next to him, and Eddie’s jaw drops open as he hears a familiar drum and guitar riff before his own voice shouts through the stadium “I don’t need your crown!!”, the fans echoing his words as the guitar and drums kick into a fast and heavy riff. When Jeff explained the concept of walkout music to him earlier in the game he never expected to hear one of their own songs blasted through the stadium.

“Holy shit!” Gareth shouted, shaking Eddie by the shoulders “Harrington has our song as his walkout music!”

Eddie looks up to the jumbotron screens to see a close up of Harrington as he steps up to the batter's box, a beaming smile on his face as he taps the end of the bat on each shoe before bringing the bat up and squatting slightly to get in batting position, his eyes focused like a laser on the pitcher. 

The first pitch flies in just below the strike zone, the second in the dirt. 

“Ooo, they’re scared of him.” a curly haired man says, plopping into the empty seat between Eddie and Robin.

“Scared of him?” Eddie questions, tilting his head at the new arrival.

He turns towards Eddie and a look of recognition crosses his face, “Holy shit, you’re Eddie Munson! Steve said he was giving you and the band tickets but I didn’t think you’d actually come! I’m Dustin, his little brother!”

Dustin grabs Eddie’s hand, shaking it enthusiastically as Steve fouls off the third pitch.

“They’re scared of him because he’s a damn good player,” Robin fills in, sitting up just enough to make eye contact with Eddie over Dustin’s head.

“Yeah, they don’t want to give him anything he can get ahold of,” Dustin muses as the crack of the bat against the ball rings out through the stadium.

The ball rockets up the middle, cutting between the second base and shortstop and rolling through center field. Steve takes off at a sprint, rounding first base and making it comfortably to second before the ball flies in from the outfield.

“Hell yeah Steve!!” Dustin shouts, with Robin whistling.

* * * * *

Eddie spends the majority of the game talking to Dustin and Robin about a variety of topics. Eddie learns that Dustin is working at a tech company that does…something with radio waves. Honestly Eddie was lost on that one after about three words. He also learns Robin is studying linguistics at the University of Chicago. Eddie talks to them both about his music, their tour, and a few early ideas for songs. 

The group always stops when Steve comes up to bat. It’s endearing how much the pair cares about Steve, contrasting with how little they care about the rest of the game. It honestly surprises Eddie how good of a time he is having. 

Steve’s next two at bats are a sacrifice fly, putting the Cubs on the board but still behind. His second at bat ends in a double play, giving Eddie precious little time to admire the man as he ran the bases. And Eddie was a weak, weak man, and those baseball pants hugged just right. He should honestly know better than to crush on the straight jock, but looking was fine, right?

It was the bottom of the ninth and the Cubs trailed 4-1 when Steve came to bat, bases loaded. After Steve’s walkout music cut off you could hear a pin drop in the stadium. Pitch one was a fastball, rocketing in right down the center of the strike zone. Steve stood completely still, taking the strike. The next, a breaking ball down and left, outside the strike zone. One and one count.

“Holy shit this is stressful,” Eddie said through clenched teeth, twisting the rings on his fingers nervously.

“No kidding,” Robin mumbles, her knee bouncing anxiously as Steve stepped back into the batter’s box.

Pitch three was a fastball that floated just outside of the strike zone, pitch four a curve ball fouled off into the first base stands. The count was even, and it felt as if the stadium itself was holding its breath. 

Pitch five was where the pitcher made a grave error. It flew straight down the center of the strike zone, but Steve was ready for it this time. The ball cracked off the bat, soaring towards right field. The stadium erupted, growing louder and louder the further the ball flew, until it landed in the right field bleachers.

“HOLY SHIT THAT WAS A WALK OFF GRAND SLAM!!” Dustin screamed, as all of them jumped to their feet, shouting and cheering as Steve and his teammates all rounded the bases. 

The entire stadium was whipped into a frenzy, the team included. Steve rounded third base and beamed as his entire team waited for him at home plate, where they instantly swarmed him, multiple coolers of gatorade dunked on his head as the team celebrated. 

Eddie and the Corroded Coffin boys couldn’t help but be swept up in the kinetic atmosphere of the stadium, jumping and cheering. His eyes locked with Gareth’s when the entire stadium began to sing.

“Go Cubs Go! Go Cubs Go! Hey, Chicago, what do you say, The Cubs are gonna win today!”

“They have their own theme song?” Gareth exclaimed, “We gotta do a cover.”

“Wouldn’t be the first!” Jeff shouted over the crowd, slinging an arm around Gareth’s shoulders, “Pantera wrote a song for the Dallas hockey team that they play when goals are scored.”

The crowd continued singing as they all filtered out of the stadium, while the suite that Eddie and the others were in continued their libations. After a few minutes, the door swung open and a chorus of “Steve!” rang out from the box.

Eddie may as well have looked right at the sun with as bright as Harrington was beaming as both Dustin and Robin threw their arms around his shoulders, both speaking lightning fast at him in their excitement. His eyes darted between the two of them, trying to keep up with the separate streams of conversations, when his eyes finally settled between the two of them on Eddie, Gareth, Jeff, and Frank.

“You must be Corroded Coffin!” He greeted, slipping between Robin and Dustin and walking over to shake hands, “I’m really glad you could make it, Dusty and I are both big fans.”

“Gotta say,” Eddie started as he shook Steve’s hand, “I didn’t expect a pretty boy jock like yourself to be a metal fan.”

Steve flushed slightly, rubbing the back of his neck, “Yeah, well Dustin was the one who got me into it in all honesty. That plus a smidge of teenage rebellion was the right combination I guess. Plus, it makes great workout music.”

A woman’s head popped into the door as the group chatted, “Steve, we have a presser in 5.”

“Guess that’s my cue,” he said, thumbing over his shoulder at the door, “If you don’t have plans after the game, we are doing a barbecue at my place.”

The Corroded Coffin boys all looked between each other, Jeff nodding enthusiastically. Frank shrugged, and Gareth smiled mischievously at Eddie. He didn’t like that look one bit.

“I guess we can swing by,” Eddie said, eyebrows knitted together in confusion at Gareth’s expression, then turning to smile at Steve.

“Great!” Steve beamed, clapping Eddie on the shoulder, “Robin can give you the details.”

Steve walked up to Nancy just before leaving, giving her a hug and lifting her slightly off her toes.

“It was good to see you Nance Pants,” he grinned, “See you at the barbecue!”

"Nance Pants?" The band choruses in unison.

"We are NOT talking about it."

[howlingday]

Jaune can’t help but find it a bit odd that his girlfriend Winter will only allow him into her panties if he’s cosplaying as Captain America.

The Winter Hero

Jaune Arc was a man of principle. He was raised to be a gentleman; kind, generous, and sensitive to a woman's needs. His mother and sisters groomed him to be the perfect boyfriend for anyone lucky enough to have him.

Chocolate ice cream at 3 AM, even though all the stores are closed? Done before dawn.

Need some guy to stop stalking you? Jaune wasn't a man of violence, but he had his ways to deter creeps.

Need another girl for your sleepover? Not a problem, even though he got a few awkward glances from his sister's friends.

However, almost as soon as he left the nest, his first girlfriend was completely independent. Any offer to help was completely shut down. But this was to be expected from an officer of the Atlas military. Yes, Winter Schnee never made any requests to her boyfriend.

That is, until one Halloween night...

Jaune looked himself over in the mirror at his costume. His blue spandex bodysuit was slim, if not constricting. It featured a white letter "A" on his forehead with a pair of wings just behind his temples, a star in the center of his chest, and a design of red and white stripes over his abdominals and circling around the back. He looked down to the flat, metal disk shield that weighed about thirty pounds. Not all too heavy for him, but it still weighs down over time. Yes, he was the hero of life and liberty, Captain America!

He sighed and shook his head as he looked over his ridiculous outfit. When he asked about their plans for Halloween, Winter explained she already ordered his and that she intended to go to a costume party with him. He knew better than to question it, but did it have to be this superhero?

Jaune has read his fair share of comics, and when asked who his was, he would answer Batman. Unfortunately for him, though, Winter was a Marvel fan, so his favorite superhero would have to stick to the sshadows tonight.

A knock at the door interrupted his thoughts. Picking up the shield, he walked over to the door and opened it. The sight in front of him almost made him drop his shield.

On the other side of his apartment door stood a beautiful woman with snow white hair, cascading down over her shoulders like an avalanche. She wore a silver body-suit, reminiscent of the ones worn by special forces, that hugged all of her curves perfectly. Around her waist was a gray belt designed to look like it had multiple compartments.

"Is there something wrong, Jaune?" He blinked and gave a nervous chuckle. She looked him up and down and smiled. "I see your costume matches the measurements I provided."

"Uh, actually, it feels a little tight." Jaune replied, tugging at his collar. "I can breathe just fine, but-"

"Good." Winter turned around and began walking towards the stairs. "Let's go. It's time for the party."

"Uh, yeah, sure!" Jaune shut the door behind him and followed her. "I like your costume. Who are you supposed to be?" Being a gentleman, Jaune asked, since he was certain it would tie to her interests.

"Silver Sable." Winter replied without looking back. "Russian mercenary. Leader of the Wild Pack. First appearance in 'The Amazing Spider-Man Issue #265'."

"Oh, she sounds... intense." Being a man, Jaune's eyes wandered to her hips, where her ass lightly swayed with every step, leaving nothing to the imagination. His costume felt tighter.

At the party, Jaune struggled to keep his shield up. He had shifted between his arms twice since he started carrying it. He could set it down, but every time he did, Winter would find out. The first time, she lightly chastised him, saying, "I thought you were supposed to be a hero." The second, and last time, she hit harder, telling him, "You're supposed to be a hero. So be one." She knew one of Jaune's dreams was to be a hero, someone who helps others and can be looked up to with pride. He sighed as he looked over the crowd.

The costumes varied, but he recognized everyone as someone from Winter's command. Elm Ederne, a specialist of Atlas' Ace Operatives, was dressed as some kind of monk, she explained, and carried a set of drums on her waist. He thought she was a hippie at first, but was swiftly corrected. Their commanding officer, General James Ironwood, was luckier than Jaune and dressed up as Batman. Jaune was green with envy. Or he was when Councilman candidate Robyn Hill showed up, dressed as Orchid from Killer Instinct. He never played the game, but he recognized the costume from... research.

"Jaune," he looked to his left and saw Winter standing with her arms crossed, "do you want to leave?" Jaune blinked, but before he could say anything, she spoke first. "I know that look on your face. You're bored. If you wish to leave, I won't force you to stay."

"I'm fine," Jaune replied, "I'm just... reading the room." Winter sighed, leaning against the wall next to him. She had an annoyed look on her face. "Are you okay, Winter?"

"I'm fine." She replied without looking at him. Instead, she was looking at the attention Robyn was getting. With a scowl, she huffed under her breath. "Pigs."

"Svin'ya." Winter looked to Jaune, who was wearing a smile on his face. "Svin'ya is pig in Russian."

She chuckled at that, gracing her lips with a smile. Jaune liked making people smile. Well, maybe not make, but help smile. She leaned closer, forcing Jaune to shift his shield to his other arm. She held his arms and sighed. Jaune felt his suit grow even tighter.

"Do you want to leave?" Winter looked up to Jaune. With a smile, she replied.

"Yes."

Winter and Jaune arrived at her apartment door. The walk home was certainly brisk, but made warmer with their body heat combined as they held close on their trip, as well as Jaune holding the shield against the wind. She reached into her belt and clipped open one of the compartments and pulled out her keys. Jaune held the shield behind her, pretending to protect her from some evil or another.

As she opened the door, Jaune stepped away. "Good night, Winter."

Winter turned to face Jaune. "Won't you come in? After all, it's cold outside tonight."

"I'm sure I'll be fine." He replied with a red-cheek and -nose smile.

"At least warm before you go." Winter gestured for him to enter. "I couldn't bear to think of you becoming hypothermic because of me."

"Just another part of being a hero!" Jaune chuckled.

"Actually," Winter said, placing her chin between her index and thumb, "I'm not sure if you're aware of this, but your costume has an interesting feature."

"Feature?" A stray wind blew in, chilling Jaune where he stood. "On second thought, maybe staying a second to warm up wouldn't hurt." He stepped inside, setting his shield down by the coat rack inside. She shut the door behind him.

"I'm glad to see you've come to your senses." She stepped further into the apartment, Jaune following close behind.

He had been here twice, but the size always amazed him. It was at least three times the size of his, and included it's own washer and dryer set. It was only a balcony away from being considered a penthouse. With the click of a button, Winter summoned a fireplace from the darkness.

Following her to the couch, Jaune sat down next to Winter. She leaned closer to him then nuzzled against his chest. She leaned up, kissing him as he leaned down. She prodded tongue past his lips, and upon receiving invitation, grabbed him by the back of his head and pulled him into her. Their breathing became heavy as the two pulled themselves closer to the other, their make-out growing more intense by the second.

Pulling away, Jaune groaned. "Damn."

"Something wrong?"

"This costume's in the way." Jaune tugged at his collar,causing Winter to chuckle.

"No, it isn't." Before he could ask, Winter slipped to her knees, kneeling in front of Jaune's crotch. "I custom-ordered this, you know." She traced her middle finger from the couch up to his groin. "I needed to get," she dug into a flap he never noticed, "your exact," and she pulled down the zipper he never knew, "measurem- Ack!" Winter recoiled as she was slapped by Jaune's dick.

"You okay?" Jaune asked.

"I'm fine," Winter waved him off, "I just... got my measurements wrong." She eyed his penis with a critic's glare. It was larger than the average she suspected, possibly six-and-a-half, if not seven inches in length, with a girth that made making her index and thumb have difficulty meeting. "But I'll adapt."

Before Jaune could say anything, Winter wrapped her lips around Jaune's head, tracing over it with her tongue. He lightly gasped as she pumped his shaft and she moved her head in a rhythm up and down his cock.

"F-Fuck!" Jaune grunted. "I'm gonna-!"

Winter pulled away and pumped with more vigor. With a moan, Jaune came a thin rope onto Winter's costume, a stream of white oozing onto her hands. She turned around, looking back to Jaune.

He squinted for a moment, then took notice of the zipper at the top of her back. He reached forward and pulled down. The costume came splitting in half as he dragged the tab closer to it's destination. As he reached the end, Winter stood up.

"Jaune," he couldn't see, but she looked at him with a sort of predatory gaze, as if he were a breathing meal for her to devour, "do you want to keep going?" With a gulp, he answered.

"Uh, I don't have any condoms."

"No?" She chuckled. "Check your shield." Jaune stood up and walked over to the hat rack where he placed his shield, his now flaccid cock swaying in the air with every step. Felling around, he noticed a hatch near the center, behind the handle. With a click, it opened and he found box of condoms. He couldn't see the brand, but the box felt small. That was fine, though, since he wasn't expecting to burn through ten or so condoms tonight. "Did you find them?" Winter called out.

"Yeah, they were behind the han-duuuuuh..." Jaune's jaw dropped at the sight in front of him. Bathed in firelight, Winter removed her soiled costume and laid back against the couch, her legs spread, her hair wild, and her eyes hungry. She became instantly erect.

"Then come here, my hero."

Winter moaned loudly as Jaune thrusted himself into her from behind. Every movement forward by him drove her further over the edge. This may have been their first time, but Jaune was clearly experienced. Some way, somehow, this man had a lover before her, and they perfected him into the breeding bull slamming into her.

With a grunt, Jaune came into the condom and pulled out. He huffed as he removed the rubber from his semi-stiff staff. Winter whirled around and slurped on his phallus until he was nice and hard again. Once he put the next condom on, she pushed him onto his back, then slipped him inside.

She bounced up and down his rod as she moaned and gasped. Jaune tried to match her pace with his thrusts, but she was moving too fast for him. He panted as she rode him like it was a rodeo. He settled his hand on her hips and took a deep breath, closing his eyes for a moment. When he opened them, she was above him, her hair acting as a white veil to hide themselves from the world. Her mouth split to a predatory grin.

"You like it?" She growled.

"Y-Yeah!" He grunted.

"You like it?" She repeated.

"Yeah!" He whined.

"You want me?" She leaned closer, slowing her pace.

"Y-Yes!" He panted. She leaned next to his ear.

"Then take me."

Jaune flipped Winter onto her back and held her legs above her in a mating press. She screamed as Jaune pounded with greater vigor into her, grunting as he did so.

"Fuck me!" She shrieked as she held her ankles. "Fuck me! Fuck me! Fuck meeeeeee!"

With a grunt, Jaune came again, panting hard. He pulled out, pulling the condom out with him. He removed the prophylactic the his cock, setting it down next to it's seven siblings.

Eight condoms. The couple's box held eight condoms. With eight used condoms, Jaune sighed as the night's activities drew to a close.

SHUP!

Jaune looked down to see Winter bobbing her head up and down his shaft again. He groaned and pulled her off. With a sigh, he told the truth. "I can't anymore."

"No?" She tilted her head to the side.

"No." He stepped away and gestured to the condoms. "We went through a whole box, it's only a few hours until dawn, and I... I don't think I can do it again."

"I see." She said looking down. She almost looked sad.

"It's nothing against you, but I don't think I can do a round nine like this, condom or no condom."

"Like this?" She tugged on his bodysuit, now soaked in sweat and, in the lower region, genital fluids. "With the suit?"

"Yeah."

"Well, in that case," she reached behind Jaune and pulled down his back zipper, "here." She tugged on his sleeves and helped him out, peeling the it free from his skin. He shivered as the cold air rolled over his bare skin for the first time all night. She stepped free of the suit and sat down.

"That's much better." Winter was about to walk away, but felt him grab her hand. "We're not gonna cuddle?"

She smiled and sat down next to him. They embraced for a moment, then felt him pull her down, so they were laying on the couch. His body felt hot; clearly from the body heat trapped by his suit.

Winter closed her eyes, momentarily thinking about fucking her favorite superhero, Captain America, until she slipped into her dream where she was held in the loving embrace of her hero, Jaune Arc.

[missmitchieg]

Julie and The Phantoms Season 2 (maybe 3 and 4? Dunno how long they’ll keep it going.) Wishes

Luke calling Julie Butterfly/Mariposa (but maybe once or twice, he slips up and calls her Mi amor).

Luke calling Julie Star/Starburst/Supernova (hi @metaorigin 👋 That concept is beautiful and wonderful)/Superstar/ESTRELLA.

Luke calling Julie Sun/Sunshine/Sunbeam/SOL.

What I’m saying is GIVE ME LUKE LEARNING SPANISH AND JULIE SWOONING OVER IT BECAUSE IT’S REALLY CUTE WHILE ALEX AND REGGIE ARE OFF TO THE SIDE LAUGHING THEIR ASSES OFF AT THEM.

Julie calling Luke Lucas teasingly. She will be the only one allowed to call him that because “it’s cute when she says it.”

Reggie and Alex casually calling her Jules.

Reggie catching up on Star Wars and complaining about Jar Jar.

More group hugs.

Carrie redemption.

Luke being jealous AF of Nick but in his cute Luke way.

Reggie/Julie bonding.

Disaster Bisexual Reggie being a Disaster Bisexual because yes, he is.

Distinguished Bisexual Julie being a Distinguished Bisexual because yes, she is.

When Reggie realizes he’s not entirely straight but also not gay, he nervously goes straight (lol) to Julie and says “I don’t know if there’s a word, in 2020, for what I am, but I know I like both boys and girls.“ and Julie just hugs him and says “Me, too.“ Luke is Super Very OK with this (because he’s a little not straight, too.) and loves his best friend and his Julie just the same. Alex is kind of happy to not be the only not straight one in the band.

Julie and Reggie having cute little matching Pride bracelets.

A scene where Julie comes home absolutely fuming and says “Guys, I need you to haunt someone.” A wide eyed Alex, slightly terrified of an angry Julie, says “Ok.” and Luke instantly, fists clenched, jaw clenched, eyes squinting, like he is pissed just because his Julie is pissed, is like “Who made my girl angry?” and Reggie is like “I will steal all of their left socks!“ Absolute chaos ensues. Alex is awkwardly knocking stuff over while Reggie steals left socks and a shoe lace. Luke is just going full Paranormal Activity in this house, messing with the curtains and blinds, knocking more stuff around, turning the TV on and off, just bonkers over whatever this person did to Julie or Flynn that Julie said she needed them to haunt this house. Post haunting Juke hugs ensue.

More of Julie’s cute doodles.

Carrie, Julie and Flynn being friends again.

Carrie and Alex becoming besties.

More Sunset Curve flashbacks and songs because Now Or Never and Bright both SLAP and I need more.

Julie schooling the boys on all the music they missed out on.

Willie watching Julie and The Phantoms performances.

Alex/Julie bonding.

Julie teaching the boys about technology.

LUKE FINDING OUT ABOUT PERFECT HARMONY.

Perfect Harmony but not a daydream this time.

More group hugs.

More of Carlos being The Best little brother.

A Willex reunion and hug.

Flynn deciding the boys need some clothes that isn’t 25 years old and going shopping with them. “You can’t just wear the same five shirts all the time.” (Can they wear clothes that’s new/not theirs? Eh, whatever. They should.)

ALEX BEING SUPER CUTE AND EXCITED IN THE PRIDE SECTION AT TARGET. “GUYS. GUYS. THEY HAVE GAY PRIDE STUFF HERE.“ JULIE, FLYNN, LUKE, REGGIE AND WILLIE BEING SUPER HAPPY FOR ALEX.

I love Julie’s season 1 fashion, but I kind of want the boys’ fashion senses to bleed into hers a little bit. Like, give me Julie in her usual cute, girly outfits but with a familiar looking orange beanie. Luke and Julie wearing orange beanies at the same time. Give me Julie in an Alex-esque distressed jean jacket but there’s stars or butterflies embroidered on the sleeves. Give me Julie in her cute little butterfly hair clips and a leather jacket. Give me Julie in a snapback and skull print skater dress. Give me Julie in 90′s band tees and a flannel. OH. Give me Julie wearing Rose’s bedazzled Sunset Curve shirt. GIVE ME JULIE IN LUKE’S FLANNEL.

JULIE’S FASHION SENSE BLEEDING INTO THE BOYS’ FASHION SENSES. LUKE WITH A STARRY GUITAR STRAP. LUKE WEARING A CRESCENT MOON MUSCLE TEE THAT MATCHES JULIE’S NECKLACE. LUKE WEARING A SUNFLOWER SHIRT THAT MATCHES JULIE’S. REGGIE IN MORE BUTTERFLIES. ALEX WEARING GLITTER. ALEX WITH CUTE, COLORFUL STREAKS IN HIS HAIR. LUKE AND REGGIE WITH COLORFUL STREAKS. LUKE WEARING BUTTERFLIES. LUKE AND REGGIE WEARING GLITTER. THE BOYS WEARING SHIRTS JULIE DOODLED ALL OVER AND LOVING THEM. LUKE AND REGGIE WEARING JULIE DOODLE GUITAR AND BASS STRAPS. LUKE, REGGIE AND ALEX WEARING BLACK NAIL POLISH. LUKE, REGGIE AND ALEX WEARING PRETTY COLORED NAIL POLISH.

Phantom/Flynn bonding.

Movie nights.

Carlos meeting the phantoms for real.

Carlos and Luke mischief.

Willex dates.

Julie/Willie bonding.

Flynn/Willie bonding. I JUST WANT EVERYBODY TO BE FRIENDS AND BE HAPPY.

FRIENDSHIP BRACELETS WITH LITTLE GHOST CHARMS.

Did I mention more group hugs.

I wanna see what’s gonna happen with Caleb!Nick.

More of that cute thing where Reggie sings into Luke’s mic.

More of that other cute thing where Reggie and Julie sing back to back together.

Learning Alex and Reggie’s last names and more about their parents.

More Dirty Candy performances with Alex poofing in.

WILLIE WATCHING ALEX DANCE WITH DIRTY CANDY.

BOBBYTREVOR KNOWS ABOUT THE PHANTOMS AND I NEED MORE TIME WITH HIM PROCESSING THAT THEY ARE A GHOST BAND NOW.

Willie, Alex and Reggie being the biggest Juke (Jukebox?) shippers.

Julie, Luke and Reggie being the biggest Willex shippers.

Luke teaching Julie guitar.

Julie teaching Luke piano.

Reggie solos.

Alex solos.

Willie solos.

Willex duets.

Willie teaching Alex how to skate.

Alex teaching Willie how to drum.

Alex wearing Willie’s bracelets.

More Jukebox duets.

CHARLIE AND MADI WRITTEN JUKEBOX DUETS BECAUSE THOSE TWO REALLY WENT OFF WITH PERFECT HARMONY AND I NEED MORE.

MORE GROUP HUGS.

Reggie just absolutely killing it on a piano and Julie being obsessed with it.

A scene where Julie trips over something and Luke catches her and they Have A Moment. Bonus points if the boys witness The Moment.

ROSE AND THE PETAL PUSHERS FLASHBACKS.

ROSE IN GENERAL FLASHBACKS.

Alex becoming a Louis Tomlinson stan. Willie’s only a little jealous and Alex thinks it’s cute.

Reggie becoming a Keith Urban stan.

Luke being #1 Julie stan.

Julie being #1 Luke stan.

CUTE LITTLE PRIDE STICKERS ON THEIR INSTRUMENTS.

JULIE DOODLES ON THEIR INSTRUMENTS. OH MY GOD, JULIE DOODLES ON THEIR MICROPHONES LIKE HERS.

Nick showing off more guitar skills because we saw that like, once in season one.

More of Nick being a Julie and The Phantoms stan having a blast and a half at their performances.

MORE. GROUP. HUGS.

[lclas]

heLLO everyone! tis i, mon, 26, she/her, est, and ready to party! im a little late to the game but here’s my daughter Lola, the sweetest thing in the world, if you’d like to plot just shoot me a message on discord or here through DMs! 

tw: gang affliations, prison. 

APPLICATION.

* MEG DONNELLY, CISFEMALE + SHE/HER  | you know HARLOW ‘LOLA’ MCCARTHY, right? they’re 20, and they’ve lived in irving for, like, TWO YEARS? well, their spotify wrapped says they listened to VIOLENT BY CARLOESDAUGHTER like, a million times this year, which makes sense ‘cause they’ve got that whole BUTTERFLY HARCLIPS FALLING OUT OF LOOSE CURLS, HOT PINK HEELEYS DRUMMING ACROSS HOT PAVEMENT, and THE SKIPS OF AN OLD RECORD PLAYER thing going on. i just checked and their birthday is AUGUST 25th , so they’re a VIRGO, which is unsurprising, all things considered.

STATS.

NAME: harlow ‘lola’ dawn mccarthy

HOMETOWN: boston, MA.

DOB: august 25th, 2000

HEIGHT: 5′3″

SEXUALITY: bisexual

TATTOOS: a blue butterfly on her right side on her ribcage.

FAMILY: mother tatiana mccarthy, father adrian mccarthy, older brother jameson mccarthy, twin brother adrian jr mccarthy.

AESTHETICS.

lavender-honey wafting off freshly released curls bouncing against slender freckle covered shoulders, butterfly hair clips clattering on a wood table being plucked up one at a time by baby blue nails, the drumming of wheels across hot pavement while red raspberry shaved ice drips down ring adorned fingers, soft humming to the spin and skips of an old record player, chunky sneakers lost underneath a twin bed, half smoked pack of menthol cigarettes forgotten on the fairy lit balcony of the second story apartment. 

CLICK HERE FOR AESTHETIC BOARD.

PERSONALITY. 

Lola McCarthy is the pride and joy of her family, the youngest, the only girl, and growing up with two older brothers shaped her into the person she is. At first glance Lola has a childish demeanor, she’s all smiles and retro hairclips, skating around town with her pink heelys with little to no care in the world. But she’s an insanely passionate person, she puts her whole heart into everything she does, work, school, friendships, relationships, she never holds back. She’s kindhearted and sympathetic and can cry on the drop of a hat, but she doesn’t let herself get walked all over, there’s a temper underneath all the smiles and sing-song voice, and when she’s pushed hard enough she’ll snap, and she doesn’t hold back with the cruelty that’s embedded deep in her heart. Lola is an amazing friend, she goes up and above for everyone. In terms of romance she’s a little behind, she’s had a handful of boyfriends but one she ever let herself get close too, but since moving to Irving she’s been hoping to try and take a step in life, she no longer has her brothers overprotectiveness holding her back, and there’s no fear of her father’s not so empty threats towards the boys she brings home if he’s not a fan of them. Lola is a fun-loving spirit who finds the positivity in any situation, and will more than likely rip you a knew one if you push her far enough.

BACKGROUND.

Lola grew up in the southside of Boston with her family, her mother was always around, tending to her and her brothers with as much love that filled her heart, and her father worked at the local boxing gym. When she was young that’s all she knew her father as, the ex-famous boxer, at least famous in southie. He never lost a fight, never threw a game, and always supported his family, build his sons up in his footsteps to be miniature little fighters just like him. It wasn’t until much later in her life did she find out her father wasn’t just a boxer, that he had ties with the local gang in southie, a small criminal organization that got them enough heat to have the FBI coming to their door when she was around fourteen. 

Her father hid his transgressions well, he kept his family out of the business as much as possible, and he adored his little girl more than anything... though the things he did kept him distant, something she can remember easily, how he would be gone at odd hours, how he’d come home and look like a ghost. Her mother would usher her and her brothers away from him, telling her that daddy was tired, little did she know her father was full of guilt, remorse for the things he did just to provide for them. He didn’t feel guilt any longer though, after the FBI came, looking for her father, none of the family knew what had happened, what he’d been involved with, and soon their family name became a scandal on the television, and her father was being put in prison for running alongside the Siridean gang in South Boston. After that they lost everything, the bank foreclosed on the house, her mother had to move her and her brothers to a small shoebox apartment, and everything seemed to get more complicated. Lola tried to keep her head up though, she didn’t want to make things worse for her mother, who was grieving after the loss of their life and the absence of her a husband, a man she thought she knew.

As the years went on their lives began to pick up again, they all worked for what they needed, Lola kept her grades up, she kept her ambitions high, and before she knew it she was out on her own, ready to take on the world, ready to be whomever she wanted to be. Though her brothers hardly let her be on her own, and so rather than moving to New York City all on herself like she thought she could, her and her twin Adrian went to the local community college, and she fell into the routine of listening to her brother, her new father figure. It wasn’t until two years ago she finally broke from her routine, decided enough was enough, and wanted to see the world for what it was... though somehow she ended up in Irving, not New York.

Since coming to Irving Lola’s made a little life for herself, she goes to school part-time, works at Rockin’ & Rollin’ full-time, and is just doing about all she can to enjoy her life. She’s often seen at her place of business even when she’s not working, loving the environment and the party scene, but also can be found around the local parks, enjoying the fresh air and talking to the new faces.

TLDR.

Basically Lola is a sweet girl with daddy issues and a knack for cheering people up. She loves making friends and she loves flirting with them all, she’s always a good shoulder to cry on and she’s always up for a party. She’s shy when it comes to romantic escapades but always open to try, she’s just had a very controlled life. She’s up for any sort of plots, romantic, platonic, even some angry bitch who hates how smiley she is, so just shoot me a message for plots!

[artificialqueens]

No Strings Attached, Part 3 (Willaska, Bitney) - Albatross, Veronica

AN: New life, new university, new friends…what more could Alaska ask for? Following the end of her relationship with Jinkx, Alaska has decided to pack up and move to a new college…on the other side of the country. Nothing like a bit of space to get over a break up, right? As she settles in for her new life, Alaska must navigate her new surroundings and of course, her new roommates with some very strong personalities of their own. A collab with the amazing @veronicasanders.

All things considered, Alaska was having a pretty decent start to her school year. Sure, the first couple of days had been difficult. And sure, she still had times when she just wanted to crawl under her covers and block out the entire world. But she thought she was adjusting quite well, otherwise.

When she first met Bianca, she was completely thrown by her particular brand of in-your-face, abrasive humor. But over the next few weeks, she began to see Bianca for who she really was – consistent, reliable, organized to the point of compulsiveness, and (though Bianca would never admit it), genuinely caring. She was the one who brought home orange juice and medicine when Alaska got a cold. She was the one who kept the liquor cabinet stocked and the kitchen clean and made a schedule for the bathroom on busy mornings to keep them all from losing their minds.

Alaska had to admit, also, that they had a bit more in common than she first assumed. Even more than the fact that they were both gay transfer students who sometimes felt out of place. They could both appear a little judgey and uptight. But once they trusted you, both of them were ride-or-die loyal. And both, with just a little arm-twisting, could be persuaded to really cut loose, having no problem keeping up with their life-of-the-party roommates.

Alaska had written Courtney off that first day as a vapid, overly familiar busybody. The type of person who sailed through life with a pretty face and shallow charm. But quickly, she realized that Courtney’s sometimes endless questions were just a sign of genuine interest in other people, a desire to get deep – maybe a little too quickly for Alaska’s comfort, but certainly with the best of intentions. Her bubbly personality, rather than annoying Alaska, soon became endearing, and Alaska found herself looking forward to their chats, to getting recaps of her favorite lectures and even to opening up.

And then there was Willam. Alaska still hadn’t quite figured Willam out. She liked her; she knew that much, but she remained a bit of an enigma. For starters, Willam never seemed to crack a book. While the rest of them would be stressing over papers and exams, Willam would be out shopping, partying late into the night and then up at the crack of dawn to go to the gym. Of the four of them, Willam seemed to be the only one who regularly brought home any overnight guests. (As far as Alaska could tell, Bianca’s liaisons were discreet and off-campus. And Courtney, despite being the most flirtatious person Alaska had ever met, seemed to keep her romantic adventures limited to above-the-waist making out at parties.) More than once, Alaska had stumbled out of bed in the morning to find a “friend” of Willam’s being entertained in the kitchen. Usually by Courtney, with Bianca offering them coffee and a complimentary STD test. As for Ms. Belli herself? She’d be at the gym or the mall, content to let her forgotten tryst fend for themselves.

And that was the other thing. So far, every one of her one-night-stands was with a boy. Which was fine, and Alaska was usually the last person to judge someone’s romantic choices. However, Willam had been pretty clear about being bi, so it made Alaska wonder. Why only guys? Was she actually attracted to girls, more than just in theory? And if so…what kind of girl would she like? Alaska tried not to dwell on all the questions, especially the last one, but it was hard. Willam was just such a mystery. One she found more intriguing than any others.

But in spite of that, and the elusive weirdness of how Willam earned her money (thankfully, Alaska still didn’t have more details on that), there was something truly compelling about her. Her wicked sense of humor, her surprisingly soft heart, her ability to make any and every situation fun.

Although occasionally, her need for fun got a bit out of control. Like tonight. Alaska and Courtney were sitting in the living room studying when Willam waltzed in with a healthy buzz and a man on each arm. Tall, dark, identical men, like a pair of Ken dolls.

“Jeremy, that’s Courtney. She’s the one I told you about,” Willam said, then added in a stage whisper, “No gag reflex.”

“Hey Bill,” Courtney said with a wary smile. “What’s going on?”

“Not much. I just thought you’d like my friend Jeremy here. He’s got a nice dick.”

“You haven’t seen my dick,” Jeremy laughed.

“No, but you guys are twins, right?” Willam smirked, then turned back to Courtney, saying, “It’s real nice, trust me.”

“Good to know,” Courtney said, voice just slightly clipped. She might have had a tense, polite smile on her face but Alaska could easily spot the growing irritation in her eyes.

“I think that’s my cue to leave,” Alaska muttered, gathering up her things. Time to go hide in her bedroom, she figured. Hell, she’d almost rather study in the dorm’s parking lot than stay in the living room for whatever this was.

“You sure?” asked the Not-Jeremy Twin with a wink. “You don’t wanna stay and party?”

“She’s a lesbian,” Willam informed him. “But Lask, if you’re curious-”

“Uh, no thanks. Have fun, kids.” Alaska saluted and hightailed it into her bedroom, shutting and locking the door firmly behind her.

As soon as she had dumped her belongings on her bed, she dug out her headphones and blasted some music in preparation for what she’d likely be hearing later on. The only thing she had wished she’d remembered was to grab a snack from the kitchen. Likely Willam and Courtney would be busy entertaining for the next few hours and the last thing she wanted to do was walk in on something. Especially given how loud she’s already heard Willam being from time to time, even when knowing one of her roommates was still around.

Oh, well. It was only a few hours. Could be worse, she figured. Now to figure out what playlist to use this time.

*******

Hours later, Willam emerged from the bedroom, yawning, hair a mess, expecting to find Courtney and Jeremy on the sofa. Instead, her roommate was curled up beside Bianca with a huge bowl of popcorn, watching some bullshit on Netflix.

A bit miffed, Willam marched around the side of the couch in front of the pair of giggling women and put her hands on her hips. “Uh…hello?” she asked, annoyance tinting her voice.

“Hey,” Courtney replied, neck craning to keep her eyes on the TV.

“Where’s Jeremy?” Willam demanded impatiently.

“Gone,” Courtney replied simply and with a pleasant smile to boot.

“Yeah, I see that. What the fuck, Courtney? You were supposed to keep him entertained!” Willam was getting even more irritated at the way Courtney practically ignored her.

“Yeah, well, for some reason, he was under the impression that I was gonna blow him, so things got real awkward real fast.”

Bianca snickered in the background, then noticed Willam’s angry glare and looked away quickly, shoving some popcorn into her mouth. Still a grin was still present on her lips as she undoubtedly listened with bated breath for what would happen next.

Willam stepped closer towards, arms crossed and asked, “So why didn’t you just blow him?”

Courtney rolled her eyes and said irritably, “I’m not gonna suck a dick just because you tell me to.”

“You should be thanking me!” Willam exclaimed. “You haven’t gotten laid all semester and he was hot. I was doing you a favor.”

“Thanks, Bill. You’re so generous,” Courtney said, voice dripping with sarcasm.

“Whatever, you’re such a baby!” Willam flounced from the room, beyond annoyed and not wanting to look at Courtney’s stupid face anymore. She just didn’t understand how Courtney could turn down such a hot piece of ass (who was clearly up for anything) in order to just laze around on the couch with Bianca! She thought Courtney would be grateful to her for bringing home such an easy score. God, the nerve of her sending him off! She could have at least given him back to Willam.

******

“Hey…” Alaska nodded to Willam as she approached the coffee maker. She’d obviously just come home from the gym, and per usual, hadn’t gone straight for a shower. Instead, she was sitting at the table, sipping some hideous-smelling vanilla protein shake.

“Morning,” Willam replied.

Alaska poured a generous mug of coffee, blowing on it softly while she leaned against the counter. She looked at Willam again, questions from last night still swirling around in her head.

“You and Courtney still fighting?”

“Huh?” Willam blinked in confusion.

“Bianca said you guys were fighting last night,” Alaska replied slowly and carefully, “Over the whole Jeremy thing?”

Willam’s brow furrowed. “Who’s Jeremy?” she asked, as if she really had no idea who Alaska was talking about.

Alaska’s jaw dropped in amazement. How could Willam not remember this? “The twins!” she exclaimed, “The one you brought home for Courtney?”

“Ohhh.” Willam waved her hand dismissively. “That wasn’t a fight. I just didn’t understand why she’d turn down perfectly good dick. She’s basically been celibate all semester, it’s weird.” Alaska raised an eyebrow, and Willam quickly added, “She doesn’t have a reason, like you.”

“Maybe she just…isn’t interested in dick right now. Even if it’s good,” Alaska offered. Her nails drummed against her coffee mug.

“Pfft. She is, you should have seen her last year. She’s just…I don’t know, punishing herself for something.”

Of course, Alaska had noticed how Courtney hung on Bianca’s every word, laughed gleefully at every joke, eyes sparkling with adoration. She noticed the way Courtney’s touches would linger on Bianca’s skin, the way she leaned into Bianca with every chance, had to force herself to leave Bianca’s side. She thought you’d have to be blind not to notice. And Willam, it appeared, was blind.

“Right. Well…I’m glad you guys are cool.”

“Yeah, we’re always cool,” Willam laughed. “Even when she’s a spoilsport.”

“While we’re on the topic of dick…” Alaska began tentatively, and Willam’s eyes lit up.

“Reconsidering that threesome idea?” she asked. Willam’s stomach flipped in anticipation of the answer.

“Definitely not. No, I was just wondering…” She hesitated, unsure if she really wanted to go down this line of questioning. It was potentially invasive, and she knew that Willam might very well get defensive. Or worse.

“What?”

“Nothing,” Alaska said, wrinkling her nose and taking another sip of her coffee. “It’s probably offensive.”

“I dare you to offend me,” Willam challenged, eyes narrowing slightly, but still shining with joy.

“Well…you’re bi, right?”

“Yeah?”

“I’ve only ever seen you with guys though,” Alaska said carefully.

“So?”

“Well…so…are you sure you’re into girls, too?”

“Wow. You’re right. That is offensive,” Willam deadpanned.  

“I just mean…you know, you talk about dick a lot,” Alaska said. “But I’ve never heard you express any…you know what, it’s none of my business.”

“You’re right, it’s not.” Willam stirred her drink violently, lips pursed.

“Okay then.” Alaska began to back out of the room. “Sorry.”

Willam heaved an aggravated sigh. “Alaska.”

Stopping in her tracks, Alaska replied softly, “Yeah?”

It took a few beats before she answered. Her eyes had dropped to her smoothie, suddenly having lost any desire to finish it. Her stomach felt like it was in knots as she debated letting Alaska see this more vulnerable side of herself. There was a reason she didn’t really like to go on about girls. A very good reason. One she doubted Alaska would truly understand. “I guess I just have a harder time with girls. I don’t really know how to read them. Even flirting sometimes just feels…risky.”

“I can’t imagine you ever having a hard time flirting,” Alaska said, a cautious smile curling at the edges of her lips. She took a few steps closer to Willam and cocked her head to the side as an invitation to continue.

“Well. It’s relative,” Willam began to babble, “I mean, guys are so easy. They’re like…simple, basic, dumb creatures. You know? It doesn’t take much. Usually nothing more than a smile.” She looked up for a second, then back at Alaska, eyes clear and bright. “So I don’t have to work hard, or be intuitive, or sensitive. Women are more complicated than that. And…it’s a lot harder to brush it off if they don’t want me. So…” she trailed off. 

Alaska sat down next to her, saying quietly, “That may be true. But…what if it’s worth it? The extra suffering?”

“Good question. I dunno.” Willam chuckled wryly, shrugging.

“Just some food for thought,” Alaska said, giving her a big smile and quick wink.

******

“Come on, please?” Willam pleaded as she shadowed Courtney around the tiny kitchen space. “For $500? It’s such easy money!”

Briskly preparing her tea, Courtney replied firmly, “I said no, Bill!” Irritation was beginning to creep in at the edges of her voice. But Willam was relentless.

“But you’re not even getting naked.” Willam argued with a heavy sigh, causing Bianca and Alaska, sitting at the kitchen’s island to exchange a look of confusion and curiosity with one another. “Just sitting on your bed, reading. You said you had a lot of reading to do.”

Courtney swirled in a dash of almond milk with her tea, clanging the spoon quite deliberately against the sides. “Yeah, I do! And I need to concentrate,” she stressed, raising the cup to her lips. After taking a shallow sip and deciding she needed one last glug of milk, she huffed out, “I don’t need some gross dude heavy breathing at me while I do it.”

Now things are starting to make more sense, Alaska thought to herself. Bianca shared another expressive look with her and returned back to flipping through the study packet in front of her. Taking that as her cue, Alaska pretended to find something much more interesting on her phone. In truth, however, she was listening in quite acutely and she had a guess Bianca was probably doing the same as well.

Groaning in frustration, Willam pointed out, “He’s not that gross.”

“High praise,” Courtney muttered as she rolled her eyes and returned the milk back to the fridge.

Willam watched in bewilderment as Courtney settled in at the island with their roommates. How could Courtney refuse such easy money? It was literally getting paid to just sit somewhere and go about her business.

But she needed Courtney for this appointment! She had her eye on a pair of new Louboutin heels that were supposed to be released in the next month or so and she had to get her preorder in now! They always ran out of her size by the time they actually hit the shelf and who knew how long it would be before they were restocked?

This one appointment, if all went well, would be the last chunk of change she needed in order to confirm her preorder. This client had been a long standing one, scheduling regular sessions every few weeks, especially if Willam could entice another cute co-ed to join her, even if it was just in the background. And when she saw him reaching out at the most absolutely perfect moment, Willam immediately offered pull in a second person. 

Normally, Willam would have simply reached out to Tatianna, a flirty sophomore she met last year at some frat party. Tatianna never had an issue joining Willam’s appointments for a cut of the action and was always up for a quick make out session, on or off camera. She was absolutely perfect for this client but as Willam soon discovered, she was working off-campus today with absolutely no chance to get back in time for the appointment. Even Willam’s second, third, and fourth choice all had plans or simply weren’t interested.

Fuck!

But maybe…she might be able to entice a certain roommate of hers…she hoped.

However, Willam could see that Courtney was absolutely not going for it. Wincing to herself as she made this decision, she offered, “Fine, a thousand.” Good bye, matching sunglasses.

“No!” Courtney squealed out. God, Willam was persistent today. But even Alaska had choked a little as she heard the amount.

Perking back up, (and confirming Alaska’s suspicions she’d been listening with bated breath), Bianca was baffled, “You’re turning down a thousand dollars?”

“Would you do it?” Courtney countered, staring at her with a pointed look in her eyes.

Not even having to think twice, Bianca answered, “Hell yeah.” Turning back to Willam as she gathered up her text book, study packet, phone and pen, she asked, “Right now?”

Seeing some light at the end of the tunnel, Willam’s beaming smile returned and offered up a high five, “Alright, B!” She stuck her tongue out at Courtney for good measure.

Nose wrinkling, Courtney asked with disbelief, “You’re really gonna let some disgusting mouth breather watch you study just to make a few bucks?”

“It’s a thousand dollars,” Bianca pointed out as though it were the most obvious thing in the world. And really, wasn’t it?

Even Alaska had to admit she had not seen this coming. She’d given up all pretext of staring at her phone in order to watch this exchange instead.

But before Bianca could scamper off with her things, Willam piped up with, “Whoa, whoa, whoa…I said I could get her a thousand dollars. I don’t have an offer for you yet.”

Bianca opened her mouth in indignation to begin arguing but Courtney cut her off with a very confused, “She should get more than me. Her tits are bigger.” 

“That’s not exactly how the pricing works,” Willam laughed out. If only Courtney knew the half of it, she thought to herself.

Drumming the fingers of her free hand against the counter, a smooth, rhythmic clicking sound filling the kitchen, Bianca remained thoughtful for a moment before asking, “So how much would I get?”

Even Alaska was curious about the answer. “Probably at least five hundred,” Willam shrugged before unlocking her phone. “Gimme a minute.”

How does that conversation even go? Alaska wondered. But then her thoughts drifted back to Willam’s entire business venture. How did Willam find her appointments, book them…talk to her, um,… clientele. 

Maybe some day she’d ask about that. Maybe even what, ahem, “services” she offered. Willam would probably be more than happy to tell her but somewhere deep in the pit of Alaska’s stomach, a twisting winding knot was starting to form. It often happened when her thoughts trailed towards questioning Willam’s side job and she learned pretty quickly just to let it drop after that. The twisting wasn’t exactly unpleasant but it was more than weird and Alaska just didn’t have the energy most of the time to figure out why.

As she thought about this, Bianca scurried over to Willam, looking over her shoulder and down at her phone. “I’ll do it for a thousand,” she said, trying to read Willam’s tiny ass messages running across her screen, “Why can’t I get a thousand?”

“Well, she’s blonde and she looks 16,” Willam replied simply as she messaged her client and answered his questions. 

Courtney let out an emphatic groan of disgust, “Gross!”

Bianca’s eyes narrowed at the implication Willam was trying to make. Pursing her lips, she asked testily, “Are you saying I’m too old to be a cam girl?”

“No!” Willam said all too quickly, head popping back up. “It’s just…you know, you look…like…early 20s?” There was a slightly apologetic tone to her voice that Bianca didn’t care for.

Annoyance creeped into her answer as she stated, “I am early 20s.”

“Right.”

“Rude,” she huffed out. “I could totally be a cam girl if I wanted to.”

“Of course you could, dearheart.” 

“Fuck you,” Bianca grumbled. “Bet I’d make a better one than you .”

“Look, just chill out, okay?” Willam muttered. Not her best attempt at smoothing things over but that was alright. “I can get you…750? But only if we kiss,” she quickly added in.

Bianca went thoughtful and silent for a few moments, mulling over her options. Courtney and Alaska watched her carefully while Willam returned to typing away on her phone. What’s she gonna do? Alaska mused. Seems like she’s really thinking about it.

Courtney looked to be holding her breath as well but her expression was a bit difficult to decipher. Cloudy, certainly, but not angry. No…maybe even- 

Finally, Bianca broke her silence to ask consideringly, “Would I get the money today?”

“Bianca!” Courtney gasped out.

Ignoring her, Willam answered in her most professional-sounding voice, “Yeah, they send it by Paypal.”

“Okay,” Bianca decided, “but I want the money first.”

“Fine,” Willam muttered, tapping away at her phone again, “Jesus.”

Bianca waltzed off with her belongings towards Willam and Courtney’s bedroom, smirk on her face and lazy thoughts of what she’ll do with the money, but Willam’s voice quickly interrupted her as she called out a strong suggestion of ‘prettying herself up a little’. “They love to think we just lounge around looking perfect all the time, waiting for them to call.”

“Ugh,” Bianca groaned, “This is turning into work.”

“Welcome to my life, bitch!”

******

Two hours later the women emerged from the Willam’s bedroom, laughing their asses off. Bianca was even wiping away the traces of a tear from her eye as they wandered into the living room. Both Courtney and Alaska looked up at them; Courtney from her text book and Alaska from her laptop where she may or may not have been streaming a podcast instead of reviewing her class notes.

“Appointment went well, I’m guessing?” Courtney spoke with a hint of suspicion in her tone. Or was that bitterness, Alaska wondered.

“Definitely,” Bianca assured her with a laugh.

Willam grinned as well and added in smugly, “Told you it was easy money.”

“Now I know why you do it,” Bianca quipped, resting against the arm of the couch nearest Courtney, addressing both of her roommates. “And I already checked; money’s in my account. $850, ” she boasted proudly. “He even tipped, the sleazy little sweetheart.” Then elbowing Courtney lightly in the side, she said with a smirk, “Betcha regret skipping out now, huh?”

“And having to kiss Willam for it?” she replied, her ears beginning to heat up. “Hard pass. I regret nothing.”

Bianca and Willam shared a brief look with one another and broke out laughing once again. Now feeling her cheeks beginning to grow warm, Courtney huffed out, “What? Didn’t you do it? Or was it just a stage kiss, like where you kiss your thumbs?”

At this, the women laughed even harder. Bianca even clutched onto the fabric of the couch as she tried to remain upright. Courtney’s eyes shot over to Alaska but even she had no clue what was so funny. All she could offer up was a very confused shrug after pulling out her ear buds.

“Care to let us in on the joke?” Alaska asked, her voice managing to sound both curious yet uninterested at the same time.

A teasing glint rose to Bianca’s eyes as they narrowed in on Courtney. Her voice was sweet and mocking as she leaned down and cooed, “Why don’t I just show you what we did?”

Courtney’s mind began to short circuit as a myriad of questions ran rampant through her thoughts. Was Bianca going to kiss her? Did she and Willam actually kiss? What did she mean by ‘show her’? Wait, was Bianca leaning in closer?

Every little detail felt like it was magnified by 100 as Bianca’s face slowly crept closer to hers. Then in an instant Bianca was on her feet again, one hand buried deep in Willam’s wavy hair while the other gently tilted her chin up and guided her lips towards Bianca’s. Willam’s own hands were gripping onto Bianca’s hips and pulling her in tight as they closed what little gap remained between them. Almost as soon as their lips touched, a low, drawn out moan echoed deep in Willam’s throat. The hand in Willam’s hair retreated, pulling a few strands along with it, as Bianca moved to carefully cup Willam’s cheek, stroking the skin softly with the pad of her thumb. Her other hand dropped to the curve of Willam’s back and kept her neatly in place; pressed tight against Bianca. Courtney had enough time to witness the subtle flexing of Willam’s fingers before a flurry of emotion swept through her.

All at once it was like a tidal wave had crashed over her as she sat dumbstruck on the couch watching their little show. Each emotion felt like it was clawing its way up through her stomach, trying to make itself known, only to be pulled back down again by another before Courtney could truly figure out what she was feeling. She was just beginning to recognize the growing sense of jealousy when her roommates broke apart, giggling like mad. Even Alaska didn’t seem much better off, her lips slightly parted in shock as she watched Willam and Bianca. She felt a strange burning in her chest. No, not exactly a burn but something heating up, overheating, twisting and knotting, feeling heavy and unmoveable.

“Definitely not stage kiss,” Bianca commented with a little wink for good measure as her hands finally withdrew from Willam’s body.

An awkward laugh escaped from Alaska as she noted, “Good job. Looked pretty real.”

“Thanks,” Bianca chuckled, smoothing out the hem of her shirt before settling in on the couch between Alaska and Courtney. “I’m a great actor, what can I say?” she added in dramatically before her giggling got the best of her. “But really, I did do a little theater work in high school.”

“Don’t recall any high school plays calling for that, ” Courtney remarked stonily.

Bianca rounded on her with a curious expression, as if trying to will Courtney to explain a little more. Even Willam raised a brow at her while she made herself comfortable in the recliner. But as Coutney’s gaze travelled from one pair of eyes to the next, she found herself withdrawing under the scrutiny. A strange sense of irritation was beginning to build in the back of her mind and was certainly not helped when Bianca mocked her with, “Something you wanna say, sweetheart?”

“No,” she grumbled all too quickly, then thinking better of it added in, “I just don’t remember any of my high school plays calling for something that…provocative.”

“‘Provocative’?” Willam repeated in that seal-laugh voice of hers. “The fuck do you mean, ‘provocative’?”

“I just-I don’t see any kissing like that in you know, Grease or Wicked or Our Town-”

“All straight couples,” Willam pointed out in a perfectly demeaning and mocking manner. “I see how it is. I’m sorry our rampant lesbianism offended your sheltered, innocent eyes.”

“Wow, Court,” Bianca added in, dramatically feigning a tone of surprise. “Didn’t take you to be such a prude.”

“I’m not!” Courtney interrupted, high voice climbing in pitch.

Willam pretended not to hear her and directed another “innocent” suggestion to Bianca, “Maybe she really is just homophobic?”

“I am not homophobic!” Courtney protested in a loud squeal. Alaska could see her becoming more and more frazzled but she was still trying her best to sound calm and level-headed.

She might have succeeded had Bianca not piled on with an incredibly disappointed, “Damn, Courtney. Homophobia in this day and age? I gotta say, I expected more from you.”

“Mh-mm,” Willam agreed with a nod of her head. “Cancelled!” she noted in a singsongy voice. 

Alaska picked up on the little smirks on each of the women’s lips but all of it went over Courtney’s head. She simply let out an angry huff and crossed her arms over her chest. “Whatever,” she grumbled moodily, “If you guys wanna be porno actors, go-”

“Oh!” Bianca interrupted with a scandalized gasp. Turning back to Willam with wide, appalled eyes, she said, “Did you hear that? She’s attacking sex workers now!”

“Double cancelled,” Willam stated all too seriously. “Very disappointing.”

Shaking her head sadly, Bianca continued to mock Courtney with a sugary sweet, “You wanna go for a triple? Say something about women of color, too?”

It was here Courtney completely lost it. She sputtered out protest after protest, or rather that was what Alaska imagined those stuttered, half choked off words to be. Courtney didn’t seem to know where to begin, what to say, anything really to defend herself. It was as if her brain had short circuited and every time a thought appeared that she tried to vocalize, in just another second, it would disappear without a trace and she’d have to start again.

Willam and Bianca found the whole thing to be hilarious; they were now outright laughing at her frustration as she tried to speak. Alaska however felt a sense of pity…and just a hint of irritation. Her stomach had grown uneasy as the teasing had built up and now it was just downright annoying. They just didn’t know when to stop and poor Courtney looked like she was nearing tears as she tried to explain herself.

“That’s enough,” Alaska interrupted through the loud laughter. Her voice was steady and clear. Polite yet firm. Leaning past Bianca, she placed a comforting hand on Courtney’s knee and assured her, “We know you’re not homophobic, Court. They just don’t know where to draw the line.”

She cast a pointed look towards both Willam and Bianca. The latter actually received quite a withering glare. Willam might be used to teasing Courtney like this but Bianca really ought to know better, Alaska reasoned.

Before withdrawing back to her seat, she offered a reassuring smile to Courtney. To her relief, Courtney didn’t seem as overwhelmed any more. She was able to return the gesture with a shaky smile of her own but she didn’t seem to trust herself to speak just yet.

Alaska’s glare seemed to have some kind of effect on Bianca, thankfully. She shifted uncomfortably in her seat then offered up a small apology to her roommate.

“It’s fine,” Courtney replied blankly, picking up her textbook again and trying to find where she last left off.

Alaska tried sending another glare down Willam’s way but she only rolled her eyes and pulled out her phone. Alaska gave a heavy sigh and shook her head. Lost cause, she figured. But to her surprise, only a second or two after she turned her attention back to her laptop, she heard Willam saying in a shocking bout of sincerity, “Sorry, Court.”

It was reluctant, that much was clear in her voice, but she meant it. Courtney seemed equally as surprised by the apology as Alaska was. Her acceptance sounded rather stunned and amazed, if a bit cautious still. 

When Alaska glanced back towards Willam, she found her roommate staring at her with an odd expression. It was difficult to decipher but it almost looked…embarrassed? No, not quite that. Not ashamed, either.

Contrite.

That’s what it was.

Alaska had actually managed to make her feel guilty for teasing Courtney. A feat that seemed almost impossible to the both of them. And yet here it was.

Willam’s eyes darted away for a moment but once they returned to watch Alaska, the latter gave her roommate an approving nod of her head before returning to her business. If Courtney would accept her apology, then so would Alaska. Though she couldn’t deny there was still some queasiness in her stomach…especially when her thoughts trailed back to Willam and Bianca’s kiss.

But those thoughts didn’t belong in Alaska’s head. Instead she forced herself to think about other things. It didn’t sound as if Courtney had completely forgiven Bianca yet. They actually remained quiet towards one another for another hour, even after Willam turned on the TV and traded loud, sarcastic commentary with everyone else.

But by late afternoon, when Courtney had gotten up to retrieve another drink from the kitchen and Bianca followed, Alaska had the chance to witness their true reconciliation. She was a bit suspicious that Bianca had followed so closely behind but she noticed that again, Willam seemed blind to it. She was so focused on the trashy reality show on the TV, Alaska doubted that even realized anyone had left the couch.

Craning her neck, Alaska was able to subtly watch her roommates talking in the kitchen. She couldn’t hear them but she had a guess as to what they were saying. Bianca looked truly apologetic, even a little upset herself, while Courtney’s gaze was focused solely on her drink. Her eyes seemed a bit sad and dull to Alaska.

She watched anxiously as Courtney lifted her gaze to look Bianca dead in the eyes. Then those magic words played out on Bianca’s lips; “I’m sorry.”

Alaska didn’t need to hear them to know that was what she said nor that she truly meant it. There was a tense pause…then a slow, bittersweet smile rose to Courtney’s lips. She nodded her head just so and said something back that set Bianca’s nerves at ease. Bianca visibly relaxed at what she had heard and pulled Courtney in for a hug. As it was returned, Alaska would swear she saw Bianca’s lips moving once again but what she could be saying, Alaska could only speculate.

Shifting back to the TV, Alaska tuned in again just in time to hear another one of Willam’s hilarious, if slightly ridiculous,  commentaries. She laughed along with Willam, returned a jab of her own at the played up drama, and let herself relax with the newly restored peace.

******

The fear of midterms were now looming on the horizon…well, it was still like a month away but as Alaska found out all too dramatically freshman year, these kinds of things have a way of sneaking up on you. If you weren’t careful that is. 

Bianca was careful. Alaska was careful. Hell, even Courtney was somewhat careful. Willam though…

Alaska had yet to see her crack open a textbook for more than 10 minutes. Often she’d just pull one aside, sometimes open, sometimes not, and leaned over it with her phone in hand. She probably spent more time posting about studying than actually participating in it.

That frustrated Alaska. By now she knew all too well that Willam still had not chosen a major yet. She seemed to feel no pressure to pick out any particular field of study, or even just to study. Her grades seemed decent enough…so what was the problem?

She knew it wasn’t any of her business but she felt some concern for her friend. She wanted Willam to do well. She knew she could, if she had the right motivation. That was why Alaska kept reminding her about midterms, hoping she’d take the hint and finally look at her textbooks. But Willam’s only response was a carefree shrug, maybe a small noise of acknowledgement, and then she’d go right back to staring at her screen. 

All of this would cause Alaska to groan in frustration but she wasn’t ready to give up just yet. She kept reminding Willam of the upcoming exams and finally Willam agreed to accompany Alaska to the library. Unsurprisingly, however, she failed to bring a single book or a laptop with her.

While Alaska diligently took notes from her psychology textbook, Willam scrolled through Instagram, chuckling to herself and trying to find the best light for selfies.

Well, at least she got Willam through the door. That was some kind of progress, right?

After about two hours or so of being bent over her textbook, Alaska stood up to stretch, and Willam immediately perked up. “You done?” she asked gleefully, “Wanna go out? It’s two for one margarita night at Twist.”

Alaska shook her head, chuckling.

“I don’t think midweek margaritas are the best choice for me,” she said. As Willam’s expression fell into a pout, she added, “But I could go for some coffee. Wanna walk over to the café?”

“Yeah, I guess that’ll do,” Willam said, standing up and helping her gather her things.

By the time they finally sat down at the cafe with their lattes, Willam was practically dancing in her seat.

“Have you checked Instagram?” she asked giddily, blue eyes sparkling.

“Oh god, what have you posted?” Alaska asked, picking up her phone. She opened Willam’s story, and soon found herself scrolling through multiple selfies, followed by an elaborate, goofy stop motion story of two of her own highlighters going camping under a dictionary. The second to last frame was a shot of Alaska herself looking up from her notes.

‘You’re not taking a picture of me, are you?’ she asked, head tilted. An animated crown gif sat atop her head, the foreground filled with fat adorable bunnies rolling around.

‘Of course not!’ Willam said.

The last shot was Willam, flipping the camera back to herself and giving a mischievous, lopsided grin.

“You’re so dumb,” Alaska laughed, shaking her head.

“So, you liked it?” Willam asked, smile spreading across her face.  

“Yeah, very creative,” Alaska said. 

Willam was beaming by now. A perfectly happy smile that even reached her eyes. It was cute, Alaska realized, Willam was cute. Impulsively, she then leaned forward and planted a kiss on Willam’s mouth. Her finger tucked itself under Willam’s chin for just a moment before pulling back.

The first thing she saw was Willam’s comically widened eyes; she was in a state of complete shock. “What…what do you…I-” she stammered, and Alaska giggled.

“Calm down,” she assured her roommate, “I’m not asking you to marry me.”

Willam let out a braying laugh at that. “Touché, bitch.”

With that goofy grin back on her lips, she leant in for a kiss of her own. Each could feel the other smiling into the kiss. Willam could’ve sworn she must have been drunk or fallen asleep back in the library in order for this to make sense. But every brush of Alaska’s fingertips across her bare arm or the feel of the material of Alaska’s skirt in her hand as it traveled up her thigh told her it was no dream.

Pulling away, just enough to speak, she suggested in a low voice, “Car?”

Alaska’s nod was immediate and in seconds they had grabbed all that they brought and were rushing back to the parking lot. They had the small presence of mind to relocate to the back of the lot, far away from where most cars would usually park, but following that, there was hardly a rational thought left between them. The hook up was messy and quick, neither of them getting any more undressed than necessary. Part of it was fear of being spotted, most of it was simply impatience.

It took very little for either of them to get worked up. Between the frantic, sloppy kisses, the desperate pawing to remove just some of their clothes, and the drunken high of just being able to touch one another…it was all over much too quickly. Their hair and clothes were in an absolute state by the time they managed to separate themselves enough to realize what they had done.

“That…” Alaska began, “That was something.”

“Yeah,” Willam agreed vacantly. Her mind felt elsewhere. She knew there were things to ask, things to be discussed but it was so hard to think right now. Not just because of the after-sex buzz but also because she truly and genuinely happy right now. She didn’t want to shatter that illusion, not yet.

“I had no idea how much I needed that.”

Willam let out a huff of a laugh. “Really?” Alaska nodded. Her lips curled into an almost self-conscious grin. It was kind of adorable, Willam had to admit. Scratching the back of her head, she commented airily, “Well, anytime.”

Alaska’s eyes lit up with cautious consideration. “Yeah?” she inquired.

There was a loaded pause. Willam could hear the blood pounding in her ears. As much as she tried to ignore it, something in her felt giddy and overexcited. She wouldn’t have thought Alaska would consider this to be more than a one time thing and yet…just maybe…“Yeah,” she finally confirmed, keeping her voice level and steady.

That seemed to be all there was to say for the longest time. Each was slowly coming down from their high and trying to sort out the mess that was their hair and makeup. Or at least Alaska was. Willam still felt in too much of a daze to care at this point. 

She remained lost in her thoughts until Alaska ventured, “We…Should we tell the others about this?”

“No-Yes! I mean…eventually, yeah, we have to but for right now, maybe just-”

“Our little secret?” Alaska proposed with a sly grin.

“Definitely,” Willam agreed with relief in her voice, glad to be on the same page. She really wasn’t sure how she could even explain this to their roommates. But that was a problem for another day.

She figured that’d be the end of this, at least for now, but Alaska managed to completely shock her by saying, “I really don’t want this to be the only time though. Is that okay?”

Willam’s heart was racing. She looked at Alaska long and hard trying to find any trace of this being a joke. She couldn’t get her hopes up like only to have them dashed away. But Alaska looked sincere, honest…She really wanted this…As casually as she could, Willam forced out, “Um, sure. Whenever.”

The smile she received shot straight through her soul. She was absolutely fucked and she knew it.

[hrina]

Primi Passi (Il Ritorno Extra)

PAIRING: Alex/Y/N RATING: R WORD COUNT: 7.1k REQUESTED: nope

hi all :-) it’s been ages but i figured it was about time i start delivering on the promise i made regarding il ritorno extras. i really hope you enjoy this

il ritorno (part 1) / l’amato (part 2) / il devoto (part 3)

[masterlist] [come yell at me]

~*~

Alex doesn’t know at what point the anxiety had set in. He’d rolled out of bed this morning, and he’d been fine. He’d stepped out of his apartment, turning the key and hearing the lock click into place, and he hadn’t felt a thing. Even as he’d cruised down the road in his new (used) car, his heartbeat had been steady and consistent.

But now…

Walking into the waiting room has his palms clammy with sweat and his attention divided. He’s uncomfortably aware of the dryness of his mouth, his tongue dipping out to moisten his lips. The action soon unfurls into him gnawing nervously on the inside of his cheek and scratching the skin beneath his eyebrow with uneasy fingers. Small perturbing voices in the corner of his mind irk him relentlessly.

He shouldn’t be here.

He should go home.

There’s a soft squeeze of his hand, and he looks down to find you smiling up at him reassuringly. Your eyes are bright, and your expression is nothing but genuine. You’ve pinned your hair back with a simple black clip, and you’ve actually opted to wear a pair of trousers today. Alex’s gaze flits down to where you’ve pleated your yellow blouse into the waistband of the bottoms; he calms slightly when he remembers how he’d tucked you under his arm this morning, pressing a kiss to the side of your head and murmuring something about you being his little bumblebee.

“Your hand is sweaty,” you whisper. The smile that you previously bore has fallen from your face, and you peer up at Alex with inquisitive eyes. “Nervous?”

“Yeah.” He can’t lie to you.

“That’s okay,” you say, shrugging. “It’s completely normal. But I’m here, aren’t I? Right here, right next to you.”

“And I love you for it,” he replies, almost immediately. The quiet declaration shocks you slightly; you’ve both admitted your feelings for each other but hearing him remind you of it makes butterflies erupt in your stomach. It feels good; it feels real.

“Let’s go sign you in,” you offer, tilting your head toward the front of the room. “It shouldn’t take too long.”

Alex nods, swallowing heavily.

The lobby is…odd. Alex doesn’t quite know what he had expected. The walls are white and barren, and the chairs lined up for waiting patients don’t look to be too comfortable. There’s a table in the middle of the room with several daily newspapers strewn about on the surface and a small vase of flowers standing amongst the chaos of tabloids. The yellow daffodils in the jug are wilting slightly; it must be time for a new bouquet.

You gently lead Alex to the desk across the room. A secretary with glasses and greying hair sits behind it; from what he can see, Alex guesses that she’s perched on one of those same painful-looking chairs. She’s hunched over, licking her thumb as she rifles through papers in a drawer.

“Hi,” you say softly. You lean forward slightly, never releasing Alex’s hand. He’s grateful.

The secretary is a little stoic, but she returns your greeting nonetheless as she sits up from her search. You do the majority of the talking; Alex chimes in only when he needs to give her pertinent information regarding his name, his address, and any previous sought-out medical care. As the woman (he learns that her name is Amélie) jots down each detail, he feels a weight slipping off his shoulders like water from a raincoat. The process is gradual, but after a few minutes, Amélie tells him that he’s all set, and he doesn’t feel as terrified as before.

“You can have a seat. Dr. Lawrence will be with you soon.”

Those two sentences shatter the illusion, and suddenly, Alex is right back where he started.

His chest is tight with fear as you lead him over to the waiting area. You both sit down (he was right—the chairs are extremely incommodious) and his leg immediately starts bouncing up and down. You notice, shooting him a confused look.

“What happened?” you ask quietly, placing your hand on his knee to quell the jittery movement. “You were doing so good.”

“I know,” he grits out, his head falling shamefully. “’M sorry.”

“Don’t apologize.” You shake your head. “It’s not something you need to be—just talk to me, yeah? Take some deep breaths.”

You put your palm on the nape of his neck and idly play with the curls growing there. Alex tries his best to follow your advice; his lips twitch when he spots your chest rising and falling as well, trying to keep time with his.

“What?” you ask wryly, tucking your free hand beneath your thighs. He just shakes his head, reaching behind him so that he can grab firmly onto your fingers. He gives a light tug, angling his head somewhat so that he can press his lips to your knuckles.

“Nothing,” he replies, his mouth moving against your skin when he mumbles, “Y’just—you’re taking deep breaths, too.”

“’Course I am,” you say; a hint of playfulness laces your words. “How else do you expect me to stay alive?”

“Shut it,” Alex says, chuckling softly. He covers your hand with both of his; the difference in size is almost comical. His palms are still slightly sticky, but his heart is beating normally again, and he doesn’t feel quite as distressed as before; he’ll attribute it to your silly joke and your presence overall.

“Ah, there’s a smile.” You smirk at him, leaning over so that you can nudge your shoulder against his bicep. “Makes you look good, you know. So very handsome.”

“’M I not handsome when I frown? Thought girls liked that—a rugged, no-nonsense man.”

“No-nonsense Alex is lovely,” you say. “But happy, smiley Alex…he owns my heart.”

Alex is about to reply, but then the door of the front entrance swings open. You turn once you hear the sound of heels clicking against the tiled floor. The pair of you watch as a woman struts across the room and over to where Amélie has resumed her hunt for a specific file. She has long black hair that cascades down her back, and she’s wearing a pretty blue dress with a puffy skirt. When she glances over her shoulder to idly scan the room, Alex notices that her eyes are a stark shade of grey.

“You alright?” You bump him gently with your elbow. He snaps out of his stupor and turns his attention back to you, nodding once.

“Yeah,” he says, licking his lips. “Yeah, it’s just…”

How can he possibly explain the impact that this woman has made on him? How can he even begin to describe how she’s made him feel? All she’s done is make her way across the lobby.

“Do you know her?” Your eyes momentarily flit to where the stranger is still standing at Amélie’s desk, now absorbed in a quiet conversation with the secretary.

“No.” Alex shakes his head. “I don’t. But she just seems so…”

So relaxed.

So natural.

So normal.

And it makes him think that maybe he can come out of this feeling normal again, too.

~*~

An hour and a half later, you’re still sat in the waiting room, but now you’re alone. The woman with the dark hair and grey eyes had been called into an office shortly after Alex, leaving you to study the plain walls of the waiting room and lazily scan the headlines of the newspapers on the coffee table. Your left leg bounces anxiously against the floor, and you absentmindedly drum your fingers against your thigh.

Amélie is still sat behind her desk; you can hear the wayward scribbles of her pen. Suddenly, she stands and stretches, peering at you over the rim of her spectacles. “Can I fetch you a cup of tea?” she asks. “Seems you could use it.”

“Oh,” you say, slightly taken aback. “Er…that’d be lovely, thank you.”

She nods; you think you see her lips twitch upward in the smallest of smiles. You watch as she steps out from behind the desk and disappears around the corner of the room, the same way Alex had when he’d been invited into Dr. Lawrence’s office.

About five minutes later, she’s back, carrying a plain ivory mug. The steam floating from the surface of your tea drifts upward and fogs up her glasses.  

“Here you go, amour,” she says, handing the cup over to you. You wrap your hand around the handle, careful not to burn yourself. You feel her eyes on you as you lift the drink to your lips, but before you can take a sip, she asks, “Did he fight?”

“Sorry?” you sputter, caught by surprise at the bluntness of her inquiry.

“Did he fight?” she repeats, her gaze never straying from your face. You quickly realize the context of the question, tucking your lips into a fine line and breathing out a solemn affirmation. Amélie sighs quietly.

“My boy did, too,” she tells you. “He died in Sedan.”

You swallow heavily, your throat suddenly extremely dry. “I’m so sorry.”

“It’s alright,” she replies; she waves away your condolences, but her eyes are slightly shiny. “But thank you.���

You nod.

Just then, you hear voices murmuring quietly, followed by the closing of a door and footsteps drawing near. Subconsciously, you straighten up. A moment later (though it feels like an eternity, if you’re being honest), Alex is rounding the corner with an older gentleman by his side.

You don’t know what you had been expecting. Would he have been even more slouched and jittery than when he’d first walked in? Would he have played mindlessly with his fingers and refused to meet your eyes? Would he have stared at the road the entire ride back to his apartment and given you little to no detail about the session? You’d considered each of these possibilities, and you’d been prepared to deal with them if they became realities.

It seems as though your worries had been misplaced, though.

Alex is actually smiling. The man next to him has an arm thrown over his shoulder, and Alex is trying to stifle his grin as he scratches at his nose with two knuckles. They look like a pair who have been friends for a long time, despite the obvious difference in age. They come to a halt in front of you, and it’s only then when Alex seems to notice that you’re staring at him with bewildered eyes.

“And this must be your lovely wife,” the man says, gesturing to you. You set your mug down and stand abruptly when he holds out his palm to shake your hand. “Wonderful to meet you, my dear. I’m Dr. Lawrence.”

“Hi,” you say, quickly offering up your name in return. You try to ignore the slight fluttering in your stomach when you register that he’d referred to you as Alex’s wife. “It’s nice to meet you, too. How did everything go?”

Your question is directed at Dr. Lawrence, but your eyes subconsciously drift over to the man you love. Alex has his hands clasped behind his back, now; you wait with a bated breath as he slowly lifts his gaze to meet yours. His eyes shimmer with something good, and the tension melts from your shoulders when his pink lips quirk up at the corners ever so slightly. Everything about his expression is alleviating, and it makes you want to cry with relief.

Dr. Lawrence fills you in on as much as he can without jeopardizing any ethical regulations. You beam when he tells you that he’s glad that Alex reached out, and that he seems like “a fine fellow”. Sometime during your short conversation, Alex has migrated to your side, and you reflexively slip your hand into the loop of his arm, giving his elbow an affectionate squeeze. He seems a bit more confident, standing up straight with relaxed shoulders and his head held high. You’re not sure if you’re simply watching him through rose-coloured glasses, or if a single therapy session has already had that much of an impact on him, but there’s an obvious difference in the way he’s carrying himself.

Alex shakes the therapist’s—his therapist’s—hand and thanks him sincerely.

“Next week, then? Same time?” Dr. Lawrence inquires.

Alex nods. “Yes, please.”

“Perfect. I’ll let Amélie know so she can remind me a day or two in advance. Take care, you lot.”

You and Alex manage to successfully exit the lobby and turn the corner before you’re squealing and pawing at his arm excitedly.

“Okay, so it actually went well?” You grin. “Tell me everything! Well, alright, not everything, yeah? Some things can obviously remain private, I promise I won’t be offended if you want to keep them to yourself! I’m just really happy that you—”

“Christ, love!” Alex laughs, covering your fidgety hands with his. You clamp your mouth shut, tucking your lips against each other to contain your enthusiasm. He tangles your fingers together, lifting them up so that he can press a kiss to your knuckles. You abandon your attempt to fight against a smile and openly beam at him.

“Let’s go home, first, alright?” Alex suggests. “Come back to my place and—and we can talk it all out. I just wanna discuss it somewhere a little more private, ‘f that’s fine.”

“That’s more than fine.” You nod earnestly. Alex leans down, tucking his fingers beneath your chin so that he can guide you up for a gentle kiss. Your eyes flutter shut when his soft lips mould against yours. The action lasts a bit too long (considering the fact that you’re both in public and anyone walking down the hallway could pass by) but neither of you can find it in yourselves to care.

Alex tries to deepen the kiss, his palm nestling itself firmly against your cheek and his fingers splitting apart around the shell of your ear. His skin is warm; a small part of you wants to lean into his touch, but you force yourself to draw the line. Your lips detach with a soft smacking sound, and it’s extremely difficult to look away from the deeper shade of pink that’s swelled across Alex’s mouth.

“Not here,” you murmur, though you wish—more than anything—that you could continue. “Home. Let’s go home.”

~*~

“Shall I put the kettle on?”

The question falls from Alex’s lips in a soft exhale. You peer up at him from where you’re removing your flats and shake your head, but there’s a gentle smile stretching your lips.

“No, thank you,” you say. “Amélie gave me a cup of tea while you were gone.”

“So that’s what the mug was for.” He smirks slightly. “Wasn’t sure if it was Earl Grey or Old Crow…”

You laugh. “Whiskey? Who do you take me for?”

Alex snickers in response and places a large hand on your waist, leaning in and stealing a chaste kiss before you can even blink. When he pulls back, there’s a befuddled expression on your face, and it makes him smile. His hand slips down your body and he pats your bum playfully.

“Go have a seat on my bed, yeah? And don’t be afraid to get comfortable,” he says, tilting his head in the direction of his room. Your eyes flicker over to where the door stands slightly ajar before zeroing back in on his handsome face.

“Anything else, my lord?” The corners of your mouth quirk up.

Alex cocks an eyebrow. “If you wanna take a couple layers off…,” he starts, clearly trying to mask a smirk. “I s’pose that wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world, either.”

“I hate you,” you deadpan, whipping around and quickly making your way down the hall. You shake your head when you hear him laughing behind you, refusing to look back and reveal just how flustered he’s made you.  

“No, you don’t!” he calls out. “Love me, don’t you?”

You don’t reply.

About ten minutes later, you hear the shrill whistling of the kettle. A few long moments after that, Alex appears in the doorway of his bedroom, leaning against the threshold with a dark mug in his large hands and a delicate smile playing on his lips.

“Certainly made yourself comfortable, I see,” he muses.

“I was just doing as you said.” You look up at him from where you’re splayed out on his bed, your arms and legs tickling the edges of the mattress. You giggle childishly and sit up, patting the spot to your right as an invitation for him to join you. He grins, making his way over.

“That so?” Alex grunts as climbs onto the futon, taking extra care so as to not spill his tea. He cups the drink with both of his hands, inching his way backward so that he’s propped up comfortably against the headboard. You copy him, sighing softly and subconsciously gripping his duvet in your fists.

“Why didn’t you get a bit more naked for me, then?” Alex asks; his words ooze with mischief. “Told you to do that too, didn’t I?”

“Stop it!” you squeak, swatting half-heartedly at his shoulder.

“Hey!” he protests, but laughter flanks the word. His torso twists as he curls into himself, protecting the hot beverage in his hands. “Woman! I almost spilled my Earl Grey!”

“You’re not posh enough for Earl Grey,” you snort, shaking your head. “I’ll bet that’s chamomile.” You nudge him. “And you deserve to spill it! You’re entirely too bold, considering the fact that the sun hasn’t even set yet.”

“Love,” Alex starts, fighting the glee threatening to make itself known on his features. “People do have sex during the day, y’know. It’s not an activity reserved exclusively for the nighttime.”

“They do?”

“Yes! Christ, you’re actually being serious right now?”

“Of course not, you dimwit! I’m not a child, I know how it all works.”

“Thanks to me.” Alex smiles smugly. You scoff and roll your eyes.

“Thanks to myself,” you clarify. “And you know that. Nearly had you on your knees that first time in the shower, in case you’ve forgotten.”

Alex growls faintly at the memory, and your stomach flips in the most delicious of ways. “How could I possibly forget?” he asks. “Still think about it to this very day; every night, when I’ve got m’hand wrapped around my—”

“Right!” you cut him off, your voice rising a few octaves. A nervous laugh tumbles from your mouth. “That’s enough of that, I’d say. Why don’t you tell me about how your session went, yeah?”

The playful atmosphere in the air slowly dwindles, replaced by earnestness and sincerity. You reach out, placing your hand on the back of Alex’s neck and toying with the curls that have sprouted. He’s in dire need of a trim, but you have to admit that the shaggier length makes him look just as good as the close-cropped style he’d donned when you’d first met.

Alex smiles softly. All traces of the impish, cheeky boy from a few seconds ago have disappeared. Standing—or rather, sitting—in his place is a calm, thoughtful man, a person having just undergone a very sobering experience. You weren’t able to accompany him during the appointment, but you can be there for him afterward.

“It was good.” Alex’s voice is gentle, as is his subtle nod. “I think he could tell I was nervous—guess you two have that in common.”

You smile.

Alex continues, sparing no detail of the session. He tells you about how he must’ve wiped his clammy palms against his trousers at least fifty times inside Dr. Lawrence’s office. He tells you about how the therapist hadn’t forced him to disclose anything he didn’t want to discuss. He tells you about the kindness that he’d felt radiating off of Dr. Lawrence, and the reassurance and support exuded by his responses. He tells you that you were right, and he thanks you for pushing him to set up the appointment.

The two of you sit there for the better part of the hour. By the time Alex reaches the part of the story where he’d come out to meet you in the lobby, you’ve got your cheek on his shoulder and your fingers are intertwined.

You lift your head, gazing up at him affectionately. Alex is still talking, but when he catches a glimpse of your doting expression out of the corner of his eye, he pauses. He nudges you softly, his lips spreading into a fond smile. “What?”

“Nothing.” You shrug; your eyes are sparkling. “I just love you.”

“Really?” Alex lifts a brow, raising his nearly-empty mug so that he can finish off what’s left of his tea. “Thought you hated me, hmm?”

Your face twists in mock-offense, and you push away from him, burrowing into the pillows that had previously been supporting your lower-back. “Never mind,” you say, your voice muffled. “You’re right; I do.”

“Hey, y’can’t take it back now!” Alex squawks. There’s a low clink! when he sets his cup down onto his bedside table; seconds later, he’s pressing his front against your back and smacking dramatic kisses against the side of your head. You try to roll away, but he throws a muscular leg over your thighs, effectively trapping you in his embrace.

“You love me,” he mumbles, his breath tickling the shell of your ear.

You shake your head vigorously, refusing to answer him with words.

“Say it,” Alex whines, snaking his arms around you. He tries to wrestle your hands out from where you’ve tucked them against your chest, but you don’t budge. “Say you love me, darling.”

“In your dreams.” Your reply is stifled by the cotton of the pillowcase.

“Sounds likely,” Alex says. He abandons his current strategy, opting instead to straddle your waist. You shriek when his knee pushes against your hip; he uses the leverage to turn you over so that your back falls against the bed. You reach out in an attempt to push him off of you, but he captures your wrists easily and pins them down so that they flank your head. Your fingers flex, but the both of you know that he’s too strong; you’ve got no chance of winning this fight.

“Sounds likely,” Alex repeats, shooting you a wry grin. “Because you’re always in my dreams, pet.”

“I think I just gagged.” Your laugh is infectious, and he can’t help but to join in. He giggles, leaning down and burying his face into the crook of your neck. His grip on your wrists loosens with each shake of his shoulders, but you don’t bother with taking advantage of the opportunity. You’re enjoying having him on top of you like this (a bit too much, if you’re being honest with yourself.)

“My wife is so mean to me,” you hear Alex say. His words fan out against your skin and the warmth of his breath sends a shiver down your spine.

You scoff, but it’s impossible to ignore the fluttering in your stomach. “It was an honest mistake,” you tell him, though you find yourself chuckling soon after. “But yeah—I wasn’t even wearing a ring!”

“That should change, no?” Alex asks, pulling his face away from your throat so that he can get a proper look at you. He shrugs, but you can tell that he’s serious. Your muscles tense up when you register the sincerity in his eyes.

“Could get you a nice, big diamond,” he continues; he’s trying to act nonchalant, but the way he swallows forcefully is extremely telling of his true emotions. “The country club a few blocks away is looking for a new landscaper; I applied.”

You cock your head to the side. “You didn’t tell me that.”

“I just went in yesterday.” Alex’s lips twitch. “The pay’s quite decent, too.”

“Oh.”

The two of you bathe in the silence for a few long moments. Alex clears his throat and shifts uncomfortably on top of you. You fear that he’s making a move to roll off of you; your hands shoot up to grip his biceps, anchoring him firmly in place.

“Hey,” you say confidently. “I love you.”

He smiles.

“And,” you begin, “I’m not saying no. Maybe, just—”

“Later?”

You nod gratefully, chewing on the inside of your cheek. “Later.”

“’M fine with that,” Alex murmurs. He lowers himself down, smearing his lips against yours. “Completely fine with that. Love you.”

You take it upon yourself to deepen the kiss; it catches Alex by surprise, you can tell. You don’t hear him complaining when you wind your arms around his neck, though, so you take it as sign to continue. You sigh blissfully when he cups your jaw and spread your legs reflexively at the sensation of his hips slanting down to press against yours.

“Scandalous, love,” Alex berates, mockery evident in his tone. “The sun’s not even set yet.”

“Do you want to or not?” you ask, breathless. He laughs boyishly and nods, his fingers already beginning to fiddle with the buttons of your blouse. You arch your back and push your chest out in encouragement.

Within seconds, he has your shirt open, and you giggle as you struggle to pull it from your shoulders. Alex gets to work on your nipples through the thin material of your bra, cupping one breast in his large hand and thumbing over where the small bud is straining against the fabric. His free hand slides down to grip your waist, keeping you still as he latches onto the other breast and litters kisses along the exposed skin of your cleavage. A low sigh tumbles from your mouth.

“What d’you want?” Alex’s inquiry is a bit difficult to hear, mostly due to the fact that he’s speaking against your collarbone. You peer down at him when he lifts his head slightly, and your gazes lock. His eyes are dark, large pupils circled by only a thin ring of green. Even as you take a moment to mull his question over in your head, he continues to sponge his lips against your heaving chest—he has to be touching you at all times, it seems.

“All of it.” The words are certain, floating from your lips and dissipating into the air. You shift beneath him, reaching for the hem of his shirt and tugging him even closer to you.

Alex smirks.

“Let’s get these off,” he mutters, directing his attention to your trousers. He shifts down your body so that his chest is level with the apex of your thighs. Your stomach begins to rise and fall a bit more rapidly when he flicks open the button of your pants and unzips them carefully.

“My little bumblebee,” Alex murmurs, landing a quick kiss to your hip. Despite your nerves (you’re still trying to get used to the fact that he enjoys seeing you naked), you exhale softly and bury your fingers in his hair. He hums happily, his eyes fluttering shut for a brief moment as your nails scratch lightly against his scalp. “Feels good.”

“Yeah?” You giggle, and he nods, the ghost of a smile on his lips. You lift your hips when he hooks his fingers into the waistband of your bottoms, making it easier for him to slide the material down your legs.

“Lemme—,” Alex swallows heavily when his eyes land on the simple cotton panties decorating your hips. You spread your legs shyly as he burrows himself between your thighs. His hands are warm when he places them beneath your knees and encourages you to bend them, littering a few haphazard kisses along your calves. “Lemme make you feel good, love.”

“Okay,” you whisper.

Your heart pounds erratically beneath your ribs when Alex presses his nose to your clit over your underwear. Something in the pit of your stomach lurches hotly when he breathes a deep inhale and groans at your scent.

Alex begins to mouth at you over the damp material of your panties; the heat of his tongue makes you gasp. Your fingers tighten in his hair.

“Let’s get these off, now,” he says, and you nod. With a dramatic flourish, he removes your underwear, and you reach behind your back to thumb open the clasp of your bra. When Alex turns back to you, he’s met with the full display of your naked chest, and he nearly whimpers at the sight.

“You’re killin’ me,” he groans, shaking his head before covering your body with his and taking one of your nipples into his mouth with no preamble.

“Oh,” you breathe, your back curving in delight. “Don’t stop.”

Alex hums in response. You can vaguely make out his quiet promise, hearing him murmur, “I won’t.”

As he laves his tongue over the tight bud, he brings his fingers to where you’re throbbing for him. You jump when his thumb presses firmly against your clit, but the small circles that he proceeds to rub against you has your body relaxing in seconds.

“That’s good,” you tell him through a sigh, tilting your head back. Your eyes drift shut as you try to process the wet sensation of his mouth on your chest and the confident, determined movements of his fingers between your legs.

“Look at me,” Alex mumbles, the words gentle. You force yourself to meet his gaze, chewing on your bottom lip when you find him swirling his tongue around your nipple. At that exact moment, he chooses to slip a finger into your heat, probing around for a second before locating that one spot inside of you that you’ve never properly been able to reach by yourself.

“There!” you say breathlessly, your toes curling into the duvet.

“Found it, didn’t I?” Alex’s tone is dripping with self-satisfaction, and his fingertips speed up against your clit. “Is it good for you?”

“So good,” you assure him, nodding quickly. You know that your eyes are blown out with lust when they land on him; he hides his smile in the valley of your cleavage.

He pulls an orgasm from you a few minutes later—the combination of the frantic rubbing against your clit and his finger inside of you has your eyelids screwing shut and your hips bucking up from the mattress. The force of your climax knocks the breath from your lungs, but you can’t even feel embarrassed about your helplessness. Alex stares at you intensely, his gaze burning holes through you.

“How do you feel?” he asks, studying your parted lips and your clammy neck.

“Great,” you reply. A breathless laugh slips from your lips. “Really great.”

“Brilliant.” Alex beams. You tilt your head down to look at him, and your hand snakes down his neck so that you can toy with the collar of his shirt.

“Take this off,” you urge, pinching the fabric gently. “Fuck me.”

“Christ.” There’s a pained expression on his face. You know that it’s because of your sudden boldness, and you like that you have that effect on him.

“You want that?” He asks darkly, sitting back on his knees and beginning to unbutton his shirt. You push yourself up onto your elbows, your cheeks growing warm when you realize that you’re completely naked and he’s yet to even remove his socks. As though guided by an invisible string, your legs fall open, and Alex’s eyes bulge when he becomes privy to the mess between your thighs.

“I want it,” you confirm in a shy squeak.

He smirks, standing up from the bed and shedding the rest of his clothes. You gulp when his cock bobs up against his stomach, the tip flushed a light pink. He wraps a calloused fist around his shaft, giving himself a few steady pumps before reaching blindly into the first drawer of his bedside table.

“Condom,” you both say at the same time, and you laugh loudly. Alex smiles at you sheepishly, eventually pulling out a small paper square clutched between his fingertips. You catch a glimpse of the label, the words Lucky Silk standing out in bold red lettering.

“Aren’t they an Italian brand?” you ask innocently, staring up at Alex with inquisitive eyes as he carefully rips open the wrapper. “What are they doing there, in your nightstand?”

“The little shop round the corner has them imported.” He grunts as he climbs back onto the bed. The edges of your mouth curl upward when he fixes you with a teasing smile. “How d’you know so much about condom brands, anyway?”

“I like to read.” You shrug.

“What in God’s name are you reading?”

“Quiet!” You laugh. Alex snickers as he rolls the condom over his length. You pout up at him, pretending to be annoyed. “Are we going to do this, or not?”

“Do what, hmm?” he asks, his eyebrows raised.

You scoff at his silliness. “You know what.”

“Maybe,” he concedes, and then his eyes are growing dark again. “But maybe I just want to hear you say it, yeah? What are we gonna do, darling?”

With each syllable that leaves his mouth, he leans in closer to you. By the end of his last question, he’s got his jaw nestled against your neck as he nips playfully at your earlobe. Despite your exasperated sigh, your fingers slip into his hair, and you let your eyes flutter shut.

“Fuck,” you breathe, the word barely audible. “We’re gonna fuck.”

“’S right.” Alex shifts above you, placing his palms on the bed next to your torso. “C’mon, then. Put me in, love.”

You guide his cock toward your cunt, and your mouth drops open slightly when you feel the tip nudge past your entrance. He tilts his hips forward and you reflexively wrap your legs around his waist, your ankles locking together right above his bum. You welcome the stretch that accompanies the next few inches of his length, even going as far as arching your back to pull him further in.

“God…fuck.” Alex purses his lips and blows out a heavy sigh through his nose. His arms are already trembling above you.

“Alright?” you whisper to him, cupping his face in your hands. He nods quickly but doesn’t meet your eyes.

“Sorry,” he groans. “You just…feel so good. Dunno if I’m gonna last.”

He chuckles awkwardly at the confession, but you can tell that he’s truly worried about the prospect of a failed performance. Something warm unfurls in your chest when the realization dawns on you: he doesn’t want it to be sloppy.

“It’s okay,” you say, shaking your head. A thought pops into your head, seemingly out of the blue, and before you can weigh it properly, you’re pushing back on Alex’s chest and murmuring, “Here, let’s—let me try something.”

His brows knit together in confusion, but he only nods again before lifting himself off of you. You have to hold in the whimper that threatens to escape when his cock slides from your heat; after having become accustomed to his size, the sudden withdrawal leaves you feeling devastatingly empty. It lights a fire in the pit of your stomach, kicks your neediness into a frenzy, and makes you nudge Alex down onto the bed so that his back is flat against the mattress.

“What’re you—? Oh.” His eyes grow ridiculously wide when you throw one leg over his waist. You would normally laugh at his expression, but you’re too preoccupied with wanting to feel him inside of you again.

You shift down his body until your groin is level with his. Alex hisses when you angle yourself lower, unknowingly dragging your wetness along the shaft of his dick. Looking down at him, you see his head tilted toward the ceiling and his eyes squeezed shut. You roll your hips experimentally, causing his cock to slide between your folds, and the two of you moan in unison.

“Can I?” you whimper, unable to keep your desperation at bay. “Is this okay?”

“Fuck.” Alex’s head bobs frantically. His hands land on your thighs, fingertips digging into the plush skin. “Sit on me, love, please.”

You lift his cock with shaky fingers—Alex groans loudly—and spend a few torturous seconds lining him up with your entrance. Your jaw drops when you slowly sink down his length, the muscles in your abdomen tensing at the incursion; he feels so much bigger like this. You can feel him so much deeper like this.

“Is it—are you—?” Alex can’t seem to form a proper sentence, but you somehow know exactly what he’s trying to ask.

“I’m good,” you breathe, looking at him through your eyelashes. “You?”

“Fuckin’ amazing,” he wheezes, a hoarse laugh tumbling from his mouth. “You feel incredible.”

“So do you,” you reply. Your hips move in a tentative rotation, and Alex throws his head back at the sensation. A low growl tears itself from his throat, and his thighs stiffen beneath your bum. You repeat the movement, watching in awe as he reacts with his entire body. His chest is flushed a light shade of red, and his torso ripples with contractions. The strong jut of his jawline jolts while beads of perspiration begin to gather on his forehead.

“That’s it, love,” Alex mumbles, though his voice sounds far away. “Ride me.”

It takes a minute for you to find your rhythm, too caught up in all of the new sensations brought on by this position. Despite having slept together on several further occasions since your first time, you’ve never been on top before. You’re finding that you like it, though. Alex is spread out below you, a thin sheen of sweat gleaming on his skin, his biceps flexing as he holds onto you with strong, unrelenting fingers.

“How do you feel?” you ask shakily.

“So good,” Alex tells you; his voice seems to grate against his throat, and the guttural tone makes you pulse around him. He releases a high-pitched moan when your walls clamp down on him, his hands flying to your hips to steady you.

“How’s it for you?” he pants. “Doin’ alright?”

You nod, and to prove your point, you lift yourself up and begin bouncing on him steadily. His eyes slam shut, and he exhales through his nose, his nostrils flaring hotly. There’s a muscle twitching in his jaw; you impulsively lean down to smear your lips against it.

“Love you so much,” Alex mutters. One of his hands reaches up to palm at your breasts, while the other cups the side of your neck to guide you in for a kiss. You sigh against his mouth, your tongues dancing together messily. Your hair sticks to your shoulders and your hips falter, straying from the pace that you’d established.

“I’m almost there,” you whisper. Alex nods fiercely, pinching one of your nipples.

“Cum,” he tells you, his forehead wrinkling. “Cum for me.”

As though to punctuate his order, the hand on your chest slides down your body. You feel his fingertips on your stomach, then your hips, and then his thumb is landing squarely on your clit. He gives you a few firm rubs, and the burning knot in your pelvis explodes, sending tremors throughout your body. You shake on top of him, burying your face into his neck as you grab fistfuls of the pillow beneath his head. Alex wraps his arms around you, his hands stroking up and down your back. It’s only when his palms still, and when he releases a series of throaty groans, that you know he’s joined you in ecstasy.

“God,” he gasps, inhaling deeply. Your responding giggle is winded, breathless. You steady yourself onto your forearms, refusing to pull your face from where it’s nestled against the column of his throat. A long beat of silence ensues.

“You alright?” he finally whispers.

You nod. “My thighs are burning, but…I’ll live.”

Alex chuckles incredulously. “Good. We—,” he swallows heavily, “—we need to do it like that more often.”

“Get some food in me, and then we’ll see,” you say.

He cocks his head to the side, curious. “What time do you need to be back home?”

“Tomorrow.” You snicker cheerfully. “Told my mum I was spending the night at Tracy’s.”

“Menace,” Alex says; you giggle in response. He squeezes your hips adoringly, nuzzling his cheek into your hair.

“Love me?” he asks.

You kiss his collarbone. “So much.”

The two of you spend a few more minutes cuddled up like that before your stomach growls loudly. You laugh when Alex jumps at the noise. He insists on feeding you something homemade, and you roll off of him, agreeing to help with the preparations. You bite your bottom lip when he stands and locates his boxers on the floor before sliding the material up over his legs. He turns to you, then, and finds you shrugging on his button-up. You fasten the first few clasps and gather your hair to one side before shooting him a soft smile.

“No knickers?” Alex questions as you step toward his bedroom door.

You glance at him over your shoulder coyly. Your bum peeks out from below his shirt, and his mouth goes dry. 

You shrug. “I was going to go pee. Do you want me to put them on?”

Alex pads over to you, wrapping his arms around your waist. He reaches for one of your hands, lifting it up to his mouth and pressing a solid kiss to your knuckles. “Not at all.”

You grin. “Good.”

“Brilliant,” he replies.

“Fantastic.”

“Love you.”

“Love you more.”

Alex shakes his head. “Not possible. Gonna love you until the day I die, darling.”

“That may be sooner than you think,” you joke. “We’re making food, aren’t we? I’m not really the most capable when it comes to the culinary arts.”

“No? That’s alright—I’ll teach you a thing or two.” He smirks. “Won’t be marrying you for your talents in the kitchen, then, now will I?”

And though you’d both agreed to bury the gravity of the subject for now, your heart still somersaults giddily in your chest when you process his words. You stare up at him, and you can’t even be embarrassed about the affectionate twinkle that must be painfully apparent in your eyes.

Won’t be marrying you for your talents in the kitchen, then, now will I?

You smile shyly and give Alex a small shake of your head.

“No,” you say softly, “I guess not. Not for that.”

[drawing079]

Exception On Line 129

Chapter 3: Numin

[1] [2] [3] [4] [5] [6] [7]

A Human AU SCP-079 x SCP-682 Fanfic

Warnings: Violence, Alcoholism, Brain damage/trauma, Police brutality

Description: Zero is a reclusive computer science major, floating by in college with the help of vodka by his side. His only human interaction seems to be from his distant father, who abandoned him as a child but now is trying to make a bit of effort to be back in his life. And after a failed virus he sends to a Cray supercomputer gets exposed, he is forced to pay for the consequences of his cyber crimes in more ways than one.

During an unnecessarily violent arrest, he suffers a brain injury and anterograde amnesia, damaging his short-term memory. But during his time detained, he meets a violent man with an infamous short-temper, who takes a surprising interest in him.

(Read it here on Ao3 or continue below)

Exception On Line 129: Numin

Bright. That was the first coherent thought in his head.

Too bright, it was overwhelming his senses. Brilliant vivid white that hurts to look at.

Zero stirred, shifting in a hazy state of not-so-conscious consciousness, blinking in response to the white fluorescent lights above him on the ceiling. In the room he heard a rhythmic electronic beat, a synthetic representation of his pulse, and when he shifted in his stiff white bed sheets he felt the tug of the cord around a clip on his finger, along with an unyielding pinch on the top of his hand from his IV drip’s needle being disturbed.

A throbbing bang echoed inside his head, aching from the disturbance brought on by the brightness.

Familiar pain. But he struggled to remember how.

It reminded him of his wasted weekends hungover from blacking out alone in his apartment, a vengeful bang ringing around in his head to haunt him for his indulgences from the night before. Then wasted weekends became weekdays, and the familiarity of a hangover headache was one that often followed him into his morning classes at school.

Not quite, though. Familiar like something else.

It was reminiscent of the first time a girl hit him. It wasn’t a slap; if only, then perhaps it wouldn’t have stung as bad, but granted his back was turned to her it probably made the most sense to her at the time to sucker punch him. It was his sophomore year in high school, and he had taken her to Homecoming, still discovering himself and trying to force himself to like girls. The girl was more into him than he was to her, so perhaps when she stepped outside looking for her date only to find his tongue down another boy’s throat it must’ve really hurt deep. Still, as Zero would argue, not at hurtful as the throbbing headache he had for the rest of the night. At least the cute boy that helped him discover himself that night had some ibuprofen in his car.

But no, still not right. Familiar, but this headache was different. The pain wasn’t from within, it felt… without.

A thin pale hand, shaking undeliberately, reached up to his temple, feeling the skin enveloped in the softness of gauze. Confused, eyes still adjusting to the bright ceiling he was facing above him where he lay, Zero went straight to tucking his bottom lip under his top so he could anxiously chew at his lip ring. Only to find, much to his delirious surprise, that it was missing. A quick swipe of his tongue along the inside of his upper lip also confirmed his medusa stud piercing was also missing as well.

Without his default comfort stimulation, his anxiety bubbled up, darkening his mind.

A horrible burning tightness curled in his chest, and his lungs felt constricted by some invisible weight getting heavier and heavier with each passing moment of being awake.

Familiar, but different. Bright, but dark, oh so dark, everything in his head was dark and faint with every throb echoing in his skull.

Something is wrong. Something is wrong with his head.

Finally, as if waiting to confirm what he had a haunting feeling he already knew, his fingertips ghosted the hem of the gauze on his temple, trailing gently until reaching a heavier padded section of bandages on the side. Perhaps not in the clearest state of mind, his shaky fingertips left the hem to drag his middle and forefinger ever so gently over the thick padding on his head, a little above his right ear.

And, on the ever-so-slightest press from those fingers, a splitting pain tore through his skull and ricocheted inside his head.

A hoarse whimper clawed its way from Zero’s throat, both of physical pain and devastating remembrance.

A police officer had split his head open.

That dark tight grip in his ribcage suddenly squeezed. It squeezed so much that the air leaving his breath was just a little huff, forcing him to suck in an inhale to try and lighten up his painfully constricted lungs, only to have the newfound air leave just as quickly on a sudden exhale. The confusion and fogginess in Zero’s mind swam in circles, riding the waves of the thunderclaps in his head, seemingly throbbing faster and faster.

The lights are too bright. His chest is too tight. There are echoes of drums banging around in his brain.

He couldn’t catch his breath. The air was escaping him, and he felt just the start of tears well up in his eyes in sheer anguish in his confusing new state.

But before grief and anxiety could completely swallow him up in a fit of hyperventilation, A gruff voice caught his attention from within the room.

“Don’t you start with that. You’re gonna get the fucking nurses up in here if you start freaking out.” It was a male voice, decidedly irritated and cold, that drew Zero to finally break his eyes off the ceiling and down to a fellow roommate in his overlit infirmary room.

His eyes meet with the bright green ones of a tan man, lounged back in a hospital bed of his own, one broad arm casually crossed over his midsection and brow furrowed in annoyance. It almost looked as if he had awoken the man from a nap, perhaps by either the start of his panicked breathing or maybe by the growing frequency of his heart monitor’s beats cueing off his racing heart for anyone to hear. A few-day-old stubble decorated the other man’s sharp jawline, matching the same umber brown of his short-cut hair. It seemed his right forearm was wrapped up in bandages, most likely the cause of him being here in the infirmary himself.

As soon as Zero’s confused big eyes met the other man’s, his roommate responded with a disgusted sneer, narrowing his eyes and abruptly breaking them off from Zero’s.

“Ah, I forgot, I’m talking to a doorstop. Your brain’s probably scrambled like eggs after that hit.” His tone portrayed no actual sympathy, more cruelty if anything. As if he was talking to a dirty cockroach on the floor, something he was inherently above and wasn’t gonna waste his time conversing with.

Recognition dusted across Zero’s mind, clearing some of the fogginess of the initial anxiety. Soon enough, it was bitterly overcome with a gripping anger.

“That fucking cop.” Zero hissed, remembering the arrogant officer who split his skull on the toe of his boot just to make a show of himself. “I’m gonna fucking kill him.”

A flicker of intrigue flashed across the other man’s piercing green eyes, surprised. And, ever so slightly, the look of annoyance lifted and the corner of his lip curled just a bit. As if the proclivity for revenge was what made the difference between him and a cockroach not worth his time.

“Oh, are you now?” His hands came down on the bed, and he pushed himself to sit up straight, turning to look Zero square in the eye. The green of his own took on a darker hue, almost mockingly. “I’m sorry to say, but you don’t look like you’re in much shape to even hurt a fly.”

Rather than yield, Zero’s eyes narrowed. Frustrated, even through his headache and disorientation. “Who the fuck are you to say?”

Amused, the larger man chuckled, enjoying the surprising spunk from such a lithe man.

“I’m something you can’t even comprehend,” there was an arrogance in his deep voice, but not an empty one.

There was an obvious power in those words, and Zero could hear it.

With an intrigued raised eyebrow, Zero debated whether he should take that as a threat. The residue anxiety still sitting at the bottom of his chest begged him to play it meek. But there was a dangerous feeling in the back of Zero’s pounding head, to entertain this interesting roommate.  

He crossed his arms. “Does this something have a name?”

The tan man smirked again, this time wider, showing teeth like a predator would to scare its prey.

“Numin.” His voice was low when he responded, more in tone rather than volume. It carried an unnatural power in it that Zero decided he liked.

He returned the man a smirk of his own. Not yielding like the prey Numin expected him to be.

“I’m Zero,” he offered back, a name for a name, “and I’m surprised you’re acting so almighty when you’re in this room, same as me.”

With a nod of his head to the rail of his hospital bed, Numin gave a jostle of his right hand, showcasing the clink of the handcuff chaining him to his place.

“Wouldn’t be here if I had a say in it. Unlike you, I’m enough of a threat that the police feel the need to chain me up, infirmary be damned.”

It was only at his acknowledgment did Zero looked down at his own wrists and found himself unbound. Even in his poor shape with his throbbing head injury, he was technically bound by nothing more than a heart rate monitor and an IV line.

“Ah. How careless of them, I wonder why.” Raising his two hands to show off his bare wrists, Zero felt the IV needle dig uncomfortably under his skin. It was hard to resist the urge to yank it out.

“I know why.” Numin’s gruff voice cut in, distracting Zero from his IV needle.

“Oh? And…?” Zero egged on, albeit distracted in both the steady backdrop thump of his headache, and his still evasive coherence keeping an underlying feeling of slight confusion lingering around.

Numin avoided meeting his eyes, but he wasn’t sure the reason for. Zero tried once more, prying a bit.

“And now you’re not talking… let me guess, you’re the quiet and brooding type?” Gauging the tone of the conversation was less hostile and more easygoing, Zero tested the waters with a further step, flashing him a devious smirk. “The bad boy aura must be popular with the ladies. Hell, even with men-- can’t lie, I’ve gone home with guys like that before.”

The sentiment immediately piqued interest back in Numin, but Zero couldn’t tell right away what from; a bit of regret suddenly washed up with how careless he was being, ignoring the chance this guy who could easily snap him in half could be homophobic.

But, before he could nervous bite at his bottom lip again and forget once more he didn’t have his lip ring, the other man responded with a low chuckle.

“Ha, makes sense why I get so many twinks coming up to me at bars. And here I was just trying to be a brooding recluse in peace.”

Zero blinked twice in surprise, and as if reading it on his face the moment he glanced back at him, Numin offered a solidarity smirk back, “can’t lie either, it’s always nice how easy they tend come home with me.”

Obvious brag aside, Zero was filled with such relief and intrigue all at once that he couldn’t help a quick little smile back at him.

“Thank god, I almost thought you were straight and I was screwed.”

Numin’s expression lit up with a bit of amusement, and he filled the air with a deep laughter. “You’re fine. I’m bisexual though, so don’t just think it’s only men who are constantly throwing themselves at me.”

With a playful roll of his eyes, Zero crosses his arms, feeling the sharp IV needle dig beneath his skin. “Ah, so humble of you”

The larger man shook his head, almost in an all-knowing manner.

“Humility is for the ones who don’t know their self-worth. Too many disgusting people just don’t put their money where their mouth is— I am an almighty force, and I am well aware of it.”

Like thunder forewarning the power of a storm, there was something in the raw power in his voice that persuaded Zero to believe it without needing to see it. After all, one doesn’t need to go outside and witness storm clouds to prove if thunder is telling the truth; rather, it is by nature to know that thunder means a storm.

Just like it is by nature to know an ungodly power when one is speaking to it.

Which Zero, in no doubt to his strength, decided to respond sarcastically in good fun, “Gotcha, so almighty that you can only be contained by a metal bracelet to your bed.”

Taking the comment amiably, despite knowing when he’s in a rage state he’s broken clean out of handcuffs before, Numin jabbed back good-spiritedly, “At least I’m not so unthreatening that they don’t bother handcuffing me at all.”

Amused, Zero chuckled, although upon the reminder of his lack-of-cuffed hands he did get the urge to re-ask his question from earlier.

“Actually, speaking of, you said you knew why they didn’t handcuff me…?”

The lighthearted atmosphere noticeably dropped.

The other man broke his eyes away once more.

“Yeah. I know why they didn't.” Despite his reply, Numin was starting to regret saying that earlier at all.

Zero perked an eyebrow, and cocked his head a bit to the side. He wanted to use the man’s name in a sarcastic reply, but it seemed to have slipped his mind. Disregarding the blank he was drawing, he responded back anyways; “You have me at the edge of my seat. Do I get to know?”

The sarcasm was there but Zero felt the delivery was lacking without the man’s name. His head was still throbbing, albeit less noticeable what with the exciting company, and he blamed his lapse of memory on that.

However, lost in his thoughts he failed to notice a change on the other man’s expression. During their conversation the harsh edge of Numin’s words was softer, finding a surprising liking to the young man rather than disgust. And for the first time since they’ve talked, Zero could’ve sworn a sliver of sympathy danced in those jade green eyes for a split second.

“They, um... I don’t think they expected you to wake up so soon…” Numin’s voice dropped in a lower octave, adding to the weight of his words, an eerie seriousness their chat hadn’t previously had. “...I think, from what I overheard, they were pretty sure your brain was scrambled good.”

Despite mentioning this fact earlier in a mocking jab, Numin seemed to have warmed up enough to Zero to feel a bit dejected at remembering what the nurses had said earlier. It wasn’t to him, it was to the attending officers asking about the state of their detainee, and from what Numin overheard it didn’t sound good.

“Scrambled? Yeah, I’m sure that pig did his worst. But I bet this splitting headache won’t stick around for more than a few days, and then I should be right as rain.” The confusion was tightening up Zero’s chest again, with his roommate’s newfound grim tone making him on edge.

Numin took a deep sigh.

“Look, from what I overheard… They were saying that it’s a TBI, a Traumatic Brain Injury. They don’t know how bad, but it's worse than a concussion, and so they expected you to be knocked out a while longer.”

A numbing drop hit the bottom of Zero’s chest, and that familiar constriction around his rib cage smothered him.

He didn’t realize how dry his throat suddenly felt until he began speaking.

“But… but that’s not right, right? I’m up. I’m coherent.”

Despite an overwhelming attempt to appear stoic, Numin failed to meet Zero’s eyes. His jaw tightened instead, reluctant to continue.

“Zero, you’ve been in a coma for five days. You were like that when you got here. I’ve been here a week and this is the first time you’ve even sat up, let alone speak.”

The banging inside his skull got harder. Each throb disrupting his train of thought, making it harder to keep track of anything else.

“No, no that’s not right. I just woke up here. I haven’t been here long, I-I just barely started talking to you…”

Each word was a fight against the constriction in his chest, and Zero couldn’t clearly recall how long he’s been awake. Or how he started talking to his roommate. Or why there was a painful dig on the top of his hand when he moved it, a pound in his head when he tried to think, and a rhythmic synthetic beep in the room that grew in frequency.

“I-I mean, who are you to even say? You’re not a doctor, I don’t even know you. Hell, I don’t even know your name.”

The delirium was festering inside his brain like a maggot would on raw meat. Further, said incoherence was becoming clearer to Numin, through a grim and painful display-- Zero’s memory was shot.

“Zero, I told you my name. It’s Numin.” Concern began to flood his jaded eyes. Pushing his legs over to sit off the side of the bed, Numin tugged at his handcuffs, testing their sturdiness and gauging their willingness to yield. Part of him felt strange but compelled, getting antsy and on edge seeing Zero get so distressed.

Something about this man he met resonated with a deep lost feeling inside him. Something like empathy. Or maybe something like care.

All he knew was it hurt to see Zero like this.

Perhaps Numin was too much of a stranger to these feelings to control them well. But whatever sliver inside him that saw something in this other man refused to let him feel in control; Numin was acting out of nature, out of straightforward desire to get these bad feelings to stop, as his tugging against the handcuffs grew violent.

Zero was already lost in the tightness gripping around his lungs like his whole ribcage was collapsing down upon them. Air in his chest felt fleeting and weak. Thoughts in his head felt throbbing and foggy. It was getting hard to remember where he was.

He was a bit too overwhelmed to notice a loud snap, the plastic base of the hospital bed’s metal railing breaking off from Numin yanking his cuffed arm with an extraordinary unnatural force to free himself.

And, snaking the cuff off the liberated railing, he hastily pushed off the bed’s side uninhibited.

Rather than panic, he made his way briskly over to Zero’s bedside, and put his hand on the smaller man’s back the very first moment he was within reach, sitting down beside him close.

As if having a sudden ground to the world around him, Zero looked up at Numin, bewilderment in his big watery eyes, and a glisten of a cold sweat starting on his face. Air was escaping his throat on gasps, as if he were suffocating on sheer anxiety.

A deep part in Numin’s chest ached too, just watching him.

“Slow breaths. Count with me, Zero. Inhale; one, two, three…”

The broad hand across his back went in firm yet gentle circles with each number, and Zero found himself instinctually following those instructions. On a count to three he tried to draw in air, even if it didn’t feel like enough. And on the next count, he exhaled, even though it felt like there was hardly any air in him.

“...that’s good, hold it. Now again, exhale, one, two, three…”

For a few moments this went on. Numin did so without question or hesitation, guiding Zero down from his delirious panic.

And as his breathing slowly stabilized and a calm set in, Numin found those bad feelings inside him fading too. Instead, a sense of relief filled him, relief that this new man he’s only just met was now calmed.

The concept was alien to him. All other people, for lack of a better term, disgusted Numin. Like the disgust one would have to a cockroach on the floor, and the lack of remorse they would feel to stomp and grind it under their shoe.

It felt like Numin has been living in a world of cockroaches all these years, until today he met someone else. The first real person on this planet, at least the first real one to him.

Long after Zero’s breathing has stabilized, Numin continued the gentle circles on his back, unspokenly so. And after coming down off of such intense panic, the gesture wasn’t dismissed by the smaller man in the slightest. Not even questioned.

He kept his eyes closed tight, as if it took every mental effort to pace his breathing in his head now that the other man wasn’t verbally guiding him. But it felt good to have those soothing rubs on his back to sync his breathing with, or maybe it just felt good to just have someone there for him.

Somebody there for him. Now that was a feeling Zero was unfamiliar with.

When he finally felt like he was collected enough to step back into the world, he opened his eyes once more, and the first coherent thought in his head kicked in...

Bright. Too bright, it was overwhelming his senses.

But this time there was a tall stranger beside him, warm hand on his back, making the brightness tolerable. His figure was so large, it blotched out some of the light by sitting next to him, enough that grounded him firmly to the infirmary room. It made everything less overwhelming.

Zero like this new stranger, and that’s not something he seems to think about anyone.

When he finally broke the silence to speak, he did it with a sheepish chuckle, “You’re gonna hate me. What did you say your name was again?”

The other man offered a low laugh, deep and rumbling. It felt very rewarding after the tension from earlier, like that last signs of the residue anxiety fading away.

“It’s Numin. Here, I’ll write it on the back of your hand so you don’t forget.” There was a noticeable softness to his voice this time, a fondness that bled through the fabric of his words.

He reached over and plucked a free pen clipped to Zero’s chart at the base of the bed, before picking up the smaller man’s hand, contrasting it in his own broad and calloused ones.

Upon lifting it, he noticed the IV drip needle taped down, lodged deep into a vein running lengthwise down the back of his hand.

Peaking up an eyebrow, he looked to Zero.

“Or with the limited real estate, I could write it on your wrist?”

Zero offered an exhausted smile, weak and drained but still pleasant nonetheless to the other man.

And, finally ridding himself of the irksome dig, he yanked the IV needle out from his vein in a single tug of his other hand, using the tape that once held it down as a surrogate bandaid. After properly smoothing it over, he presented his hand back to Numin, gracefully palm down.

“I think this is more important than some stupid IV.”

Numin flashed him a smirk in response. Uncapping the pen, he made quick work to record his name down in print.

Upon his finishing, Zero brought his hand up to take a good look at the lettering, surprised by the neat handwriting from such a brutish man. Then again, he should start expecting the unexpected with this new roommate of his.

“Numin, huh?” Softly, Zero smiled, bringing his eyes back up. They were practically beaming.

“I think I really like that name.”

[wakandaforeverwrites]

Learn Ya || Chapter 7

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Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6

Author Notes: There are a lot of words here like this is probably the longest chapter I’ve written for this fic thus far. I’m talking 6k+ words just for this chapter so it’s under the cut for obvious reasons. I told y’all I had some Daddy!Challa coming. So strap on in and secure your wigs. ALSO IT TOOK ME ALL DAMN DAY TO WRITE THIS SO Y’ALL BETTER LIKE IT

This was such a bad idea. Amaya didn’t know what she had been thinking when she thought it would be a good idea to cook dinner for T’Challa at her apartment. It sounded like a good idea when she convinced him to come over. He was a damn king and she had invited him to her tiny ass apartment that she shared with Charlie. There was a small part of her that was a little embarrassed, but there was no time to back out now. She had no choice but to make the best out of this less than ideal situation.

She pulled out her best wig and allowed Charlie to do her usual slay, making sure that she looked even better than the last time T’Challa saw her. She struggled with her outfit for far longer than she needed too, finally deciding to dress in a pair of black shorts since she knew that he enjoyed her legs so much and a yellow crop top. This was the first time he was going to be seeing in her person in weeks and she wanted to make sure that she looked damn good.

She wanted to make sure that everything was perfect and that was why she called up her grandma all the way in Florida at the ass crack of dawn to get her recipe for meatloaf. It wasn’t just any basic bland old meatloaf. It was the exact one that her grandmother had made for her granddad just months before he proposed. Let the old man tell it, he knew he was in love during that very same dinner and that had been over 50 years ago, and the old couple were still very much in love with each other. So as far as Amaya was concerned, whatever was in the recipe was magic

Flicking on the oven light, Amaya checked on the dish even if she hadn’t placed it inside the oven but five minutes ago. She was being a little obsessive she knew that much but she wanted to make sure that nothing went wrong. There was nothing worse than inviting someone over for dinner and then serving them that very same dinner burnt to a crisp.

The knock at the door has Amaya jolting to her feet. It was a soft tap of knuckles against the wood but it sent her heart pounding in her chest because of who she knew was standing on the other side of it. She raced to her bedroom, nearly tripping over her feet on her way there, and spritzed a little perfume on the sides of her neck, checking herself out in the mirror for a few seconds before deciding to add a little gloss to her lips and trying to fluff up the curls in her hair.

There was another knock, this time a little louder and harder than before, and Amaya had to take a deep breath before she walked out of her bedroom to answer the door. Taking another deep breath, she answered the door, and the air she had just filled her lungs with immediately escaped her at the sight T’Challa standing in her doorway. He was dressed in his usual all black attire but it was far more casual than the suits she had seen him in, and a little more Americanized. A simple pair of black jeans and a form fitting black shirt with a matte black bomber jacket to top it all off.

It just wasn’t fair that he could make something so simple look so good. There was no way this man could even be real and about to step foot into her apartment.

“You’re a little early.” Her words came out a little more clipped than she would have liked thanks to her nerves. She chewed on her bottom lip when he lifted a brow towards her.

The corners of his mouth quirked a little as if he were holding back a smile. “If I didn’t know any better I would think that you didn’t miss me, Amaya.”

“I didn’t say that….”

“Ah, so you did miss me. You have quite the interesting way of showing it.” The teasing nature of his words had her holding back a smile as she rolled her eyes. “Are you going to invite me in or will we be having dinner out here in the hallway?”

Amaya took a step back so that he could walk inside and suddenly her apartment felt so much smaller with him standing in her living room. She watched as he looked around the small room, from the love seat that Charlie’s mom had been so gracious to gift to them when they first moved in to the television that was mounted on the wall. T’Challa seemed to be taking it all in for a moment before he turned around and looked to her.

“Do you live here alone?”

Amaya shook her head. “Nope. I have a roommate. Charlie. The girl you conned my number out of.”

“I conned her out of your number?” He placed a hand on his chest and had the audacity to look offended.

“That’s exactly what I said. Don’t think she didn’t tell me all about how charming you were so you could get my number. You knew exactly what you were doing. Probably flashed that smile of yours and it was a wrap from there. You’re not slick.”

“I can not believe I am being accused of such a thing. I have never used my smile to get what I want.”

“Never?”

“Not once in my life.” The smile in question started to take over his lips as she placed her hands on her hips.

“That sounds like a lie if I’ve ever heard one and I just wanna let you know that I don’t believe you.” She threw back at him as she shook her head a little. “Do you drink wine?”

“I do.” There was a bit of confusion that passed over his face.

“Good hold that thought please.” She held up one finger before disappearing into the kitchen.

She grabbed the bottle of wine from the fridge that she and Charlie had been saving for a special occasion--she didn’t see an occasion that would get any more special than this. She grabbed two wine glasses from the cabinet before filling them both half way. With both glasses in hand, she walked back out to the living room to find T’Challa standing front of the the few bookcases that were able to fit in the living room.

“Finding anything interesting?” He looked over his shoulder before turning to face her completely and taking the glass she was handing over to him.

“Have read all of these?” She was distracted for a second by the way his hand gripped the glass and she found herself watching his fingers drum against the side, reveling in how thick they were.

She cleared her throat, trying to push all of those thoughts out of her head. “Yeah, I was a big reader as a kid. If you’ve ever seen the movie Matilda, I was a lot like that growing up.”

“Cannot say that I have seen that movie before, but I will take your word for it,” he took a slow sip of the win as his eyes wandered the shelves of her bookcases before he stopped. “And have you read these three?”

Amaya squinted her eyes as she read the titles. Fifty Shades of Grey. Fifty Shades Darker. Fifty Shades Free. She nearly choked on her wine. She could have sworn that she had gotten rid of those books when she realized just how terrible they were.

“That’s a funny story actually. I remember when it came out and I was looking for a mother’s day present for my mom and some magazine recommended that it was a good present so I ordered the whole series online, right?  Then I read the first book and was like there’s no way I can give this book to my mom…..so I kept them for myself and read them all.” She did her best to hide her embarrassment behind her wine glass, taking a large gulp of the bittersweet liquid.

“You kept them for yourself?”

“Listen, don’t you judge me. I was all of 14 and thinking this was the best thing I had ever read but I broadened my horizons and realized that this was not a great depiction of a healthy BDSM relationship and it was terribly written, but I will credit it to opening my eyes to a lot of things.”

There was something flickering in his eyes as he looked at her, something that she couldn’t exactly place her finger on, but she knew that she liked it. “No one is judging you, Amaya. The shift in the air between the two of them was so subtle that she almost didn’t realize it. “And what exactly were your eyes opened up to?”

“The kind of relationship that I do want and the kind that I don’t want.” She shrugged her shoulders and finished off what was left of her wine.

“I get this feeling that you give vague answers on purpose.” T’Challa licked his lips slowly and Amaya had to take a deep breath to calm herself.

“And so what if I do? What are you gonna do about it?” She knew very well that she was playing fire, and she was more than willing to get herself burned in the process if it meant she got what she wanted.

His only response was a small smirk before he turned back to the bookshelves. Feeling a little bolder, Amaya placed her empty glass down and moved herself between him and the shelves, forcing him to look at her. With the small distance that had been between him and the shelves, there was an even smaller distance between her body and his.

“You should know something about me, Sir…” her fingers toyed with the collar of his jacket, dangerously close to his neck. “I don’t like being ignored.”

His arm disappeared above her head and she heard the soft clink of the glass being placed down, but he eyes never left her face. Normally, the longer he stared at her, the more her bold nature would start to fade, but that was the furthest thing from the case. The wine mixing with how long it had been since she had seen him, there was no backing down as far as she was concerned.

“Is that so?” His hand wrapped around one of her wrists, holding it down by his side before yanking her forward quickly and without warning. Her body went crashing forward and closed the distance between the two of them.

Staring straight ahead of her she could only see just the barest amount of his chin and she craned her neck back a little to look him in the eye. Shivers worked down her spine as his thumb brushed against her bare thigh, tracing small circles that she could feel radiating through every part of her body with one part in particular. His other hand grabbed her other wrist and before she realized what was happening, both of her hands were pinned behind her back. The trapped feeling that washed over her body sent her heart racing, but she didn’t fight against it. There was a large part of her that embraced it, wanting to have more of it and wondering how she would feel if he had her exactly like this, but naked in her bed.

“That is exactly so.” If he could hear the want in her voice, he wasn’t acknowledging it which was only serving to frustrate her even more.

His grip tightened around her wrists, forcing her arms further behind her back and pulling a soft gasp from between her lips that borderlined on a moan.

“Well now you have my attention. What are you going to do with it?” She was unable to ignore the challenge that laced in his tone and the sharp edge in his voice. Maybe she had lit a fire that she hadn’t quite anticipated burning like this.

“What do you think I should do with it? Because I can think of a few things that I can do with it.” There was a voice in the back of her head that was telling her that she needed to chill out, but she was never one to listen to that voice anyway so why start now?

“I have had a few thoughts of my own now that you mention it. And I do recall that you said something about how you wanted to get into trouble.” His lips were dangerously close and she was dying to have him close the distance. She was seconds away from begging for it if she needed to.

Amaya opened her mouth to answer but she was cut off by the oven timer going off, signaling that the meatloaf was ready to be taken out. “You’ll never know now. Dinner is done.” She went to wiggle free from his grasp but it only resulted in him holder her even tighter, delicious pricks of pain coursing through her shoulder blades that had her chew on the inside of her cheek to keep from moaning out loud.

“You cannot keep using food to run away from me.” Her eyes were trained on his tongue, watching as it peeked out from between his full lips and moved across the bottom one, stealing every bit of her attention for a few seconds.

Just fucking kiss me.

The words were on the tip of her tongue but she held them back. Instead she chose to smile in response.

“If you would like to starve instead of eating the delicious dinner I made then be my guest, but do you know how hard it is to get the smell of burnt meat out of an apartment?” She lifted her brows.

T’Challa made a sound in the back of his throat as if he were thinking and there was a moment of silence before he finally released her wrists. She was both grateful and a little disappointed when he did. She grabbed both of their glasses on her way back to the kitchen. She made it just in time, turning the oven off and pulling the hot dish from inside. She grabbed the only two plates that matched and placed two slices on each plate. She quickly heated up the mashed potatoes and green beans before placing servings of each next to the meatloaf. She took T’Challa’s plate and now full glass back out the living room first and placed them on the coffee table, finding that he had made himself comfortable in the time that she had been gone, having stripped from his jacket to showcase the way the cotton material of his shirt stretched across his chest.

She had to tear her eyes away from him so that she could go get her own food. She could feel his eyes watching her every move. “Stop staring at my legs.”

Her words were met with his laughter, the sound following her as she grabbed her own plate and glass of wine. She settled on the couch, curling her legs underneath her body. She looked at him expectantly and waited for him to take the first bite. She watched him chew and go back for a second bite without saying a word.

“You’re staring.” He finally looked at her, another bite just inches away from his mouth.

“And you’re not telling me if you like it or not. I gotta tell my grandma something.”

“Did your grandmother make this?”

“No, it was her recipe and when I told her I was making it for you, she wanted me to report back so to speak.” She finally dug into her own food, cutting off a piece of meatloaf and popping it into her mouth.

“Well, you can tell her that I love it.” A little smile came to his lips. “So you told your grandmother about me?”

“Don’t let it go to your head or anything. My grandma is just nosy and wants to know about everyone in my life even if they don’t mean anything.” She pointed her fork in his direction, rolling her eyes playfully.

“I really am starting to get the impression that you’re just trying to hurt me tonight. Now I do not mean anything. I know when I am not wanted…” He started to rise from his seat, but Amaya quickly moved her legs from underneath her and placed them across his lap to keep from getting up.

“Didn’t anyone ever teach you that you can’t get up from the table until your plate is clean?” She kept her legs draped across his lap even after he sat back down. “Should I have a conversation with your mother so she can have a conversation with you?”

His gaze on her thighs was so intense that she could almost physically feel it, and it was a few long moments before his eyes were on hers again. “Why go through all the trouble when you could cut out the middle man and have the conversation right now?”

“You have a point, but did you ever think that maybe I just don’t want to?” She smirked at him from around her forkful of mashed potatoes.

“There’s something you should know about me, Amaya….” She found herself hanging on his last word as he took another bite of food, waiting for him to finish his statement. “I am very good at persuading people into doing things.”

“I really don’t doubt that, but I can be pretty stubborn when I want to be so I might not be as easy as the other women you’re use to dealing with.” She pulled in a sharp breath when his thumb brushed against her knee and the look in his eyes let her know that he knew exactly what he was doing.

“Let the record show that I am currently not dealing with any other women. Just you.” All the playfulness had left his voice and he held her gaze until she was the one to look away.

She pulled her bottom lip between her teeth to keep from smiling too hard. She hadn’t really thought about if there would be other women that he was talking to, but to hear that there weren’t made her feel good. It had been a long time since she had felt secure enough to not have to worry about being played by someone. Hearing it from T’Challa made her believe it even if she had no way of proving it. He wasn’t Rod and he wasn’t going to run off and get someone pregnant after telling her all of the right things. He didn’t seem like that kind of man and he didn’t deserve the comparison to Rod even on his worse day.

“In case you were wondering, it’s just you too.” She cleared her throat and finally looked up at him only to find him smiling back at her.

“I do enjoy the sound of those words.”

“I just bet you do.” She was grateful the moment had shifted back to playful as it had grown a little too serious, giving her an odd feeling in her stomach.

“I would also really enjoy dessert if there is any.” She had been so focused on him that she hardly realized he was done with his food.

“So I’m gonna be straight up with you, I suck at baking…...like I can’t even make box pudding without messing it up somehow and I didn’t think it would be fair to just go out and buy something from the store.” She pulled her lips between her teeth and averted her eyes. She only looked up when she heard his laughter. “That’s not funny! Stop laughing!” She swatted at his arm a few times.

“I apologize. I’m not laughing because I think it’s funny. No one has ever put that much thought into making me dinner before.” T’Challa’s laughter faded into a soft chuckle before giving way completely. “If anything, I think it’s cute that you put so much thought into it.”

“If it helps, I have ice cream.” She was trying her best not to smile, but it wasn’t making it easy for her. He really was a charming bastard when he wanted to be and she hated how easy it was for her to fall right into it. She wasn’t even trying to fight it at this point. There was no need.

“What flavor?”

“Strawberry cheesecake.”

“I accept that flavor.” He leaned forward to place his plate down on the coffee table, coming back and resting his hand on her legs as if it was something they had done before. Amaya had to contain herself because she was very close to jumping all over him in response.

“You didn’t have a choice. It’s the only favor we eat in this house.” When she started to pull her legs from his lap, he fingers wrapped around them to keep her put. “You know, in order for me to actually get that ice cream, I have to go to the kitchen which means I have to get up and that means my legs have to leave your lap I’m afraid.”

“This is quite comfortable though.” He shrugged his shoulders, fingers trailing up and down her calf never once moving above the knee even if she wanted him to. She was actually dying for him to do it. It had crossed her mind more than just once.

“But think of how good the ice cream is gonna taste.” Now she was thinking about the ice cream and despite how good his fingers felt against her bare skin, she was craving the frozen treat now.

“You have a point…..” He lifted one hand to tug at the hairs of his beard gently before lifting his other hand from her leg.

She paused before swinging her legs from his lap and collected their plates to take to the sink. She rinsed them off as a way to try to buy herself a little more time. Even more time was bought when she went to the freezer and took a quick shot from the vodka bottle that lie within before she grabbed the pint of ice cream. This man was truly working a number on her and she wasn’t use to it. She picked up two spoons on the way back to the living room. When she sat down, her legs were being pulled back into his lap and she found herself being pulled closer to him, her hip right up against his and his hands now resting on her thighs.

“You really have gotten comfortable?” She teased him but didn’t pull away because she was also a little comfortable though she would never admit it out loud to him. “I figured this would make up for the fact that I ate our last dessert….completely…..by myself.” She pulled off the plastic that surrounded the top before peeling off the top and licking some of the ice cream that was there. She could feel him staring but she decided to ignore it and instead handed him his spoon, beating him to taking the first bite.

“I have realized something.” She was so focused on the way his tongue moved across the bottom of the spoon that she almost didn’t hear him.

“And what’s that? Because I’ve realized something myself, but you first.”

“You never did tell me why you wanted to become a lawyer.” His thumb moved across her bottom lip, catching a bit of ice cream that lingered at the corner of her mouth before she could lick it away, and sucking his thumb clean. He did it in such a fluid motion that it almost felt like a normal thing between them that she shouldn’t be so turned on by.

“A lot of things. I guess it started when I was younger. I use to be obsessed with Law and Order, you know the tv show, and I use to think being a lawyer was the coolest job in the world and then I went to college and I took a pre law class and I saw it was nothing like tv. Somehow that made me want to do it even more because it wasn’t about the glory of winning a case, it’s more about trying to help people and that’s the part I love.” She licked at her spoon and made a small face. “And there’s so many people, especially black people, that are falsely accused of all of these crimes and end up going to jail because they can’t afford a good lawyer. I don’t think the justice system to should only work for the people who have a few zeros attached to their bank account or look a certain way.” She looked up from the ice cream and saw him staring at her. “What?”

A hint of a smile started to pull at his lips. “Nothing. You just have a really good heart. I can admire that in a person.”

“You’re just saying that to make me smile.”

“I am saying it because I believe it. Your beautiful smile is just a nice bonus.” He reached out and tucked a piece of hair behind her ear. She knew this move and she knew what would come next…..except it didn’t come next because T’Challa didn’t kiss her.

Amaya felt her stomach drop a little with disappointment. She hadn’t realized how much she wanted him to kiss until she thought it was going to happen and it didn’t. It was like a slight blow to the ego that he hadn’t kissed her yet. She didn’t care if it was technically the second date. She wasn’t one to fuck on the first date, but she wasn’t opposed to a little kissing by the second or the third. Hell, she would have fucked him on the first date if the opportunity arose so kissing definitely wouldn’t have been a problem in her opinion.

Changing the subject would be the best thing for her to do because no matter how much she wanted to ask him why she hadn’t kissed him yet, she didn’t really want to know the answer to that.

“So let’s say I wanted to become king of Wakanda, what would I have to do in order to do that?” She scooped up more ice cream to keep her mouth busy from asking the question that she really wanted to ask.

“Kill me.” He said it so nonchalantly that it took her off guard.

“Wait. Seriously?”

“It’s ritual combat. You either would have to kill me or get me to yield, and I never yield.” “What else?” All of this fascinated her, and she really did want to keep him talking because she enjoyed listening to him.

“Do you plan on taking me out to become king?” With his eyes searching her face, he shifted his body, bringing her even closer to him. Close enough that she could the faint amount of grey that was peppered throughout his beard.

“How old are you?” She blurted out and ignored the question she had been asked. It was something she did. When she got a question in her mind, she needed to know the answer immediately or else it would bother her until she found out. Sometimes she would even fixate on it, letting it consume on her.

“37.” His brows furrowed and sat low on his forehead in his confusion.

There was a 15 year age between the two of them that placed them in very different places in their lives. It wasn’t something that had crossed her mind before. The only thing that concerned her was how attracted to this man she was. She never thought to worry about how much older he was than her. In a very strange world, he was old enough to be her father, or at the very least her older brother…..maybe a distant uncle she only ever met at family reunions.

“Why do you look so horrified?” She hadn’t realized that a look had come to her face.

“You don’t have any kids, do you? None that are currently on the way?”

“No, definitely not.” He let out a low chuckle and shook his head. “Is that what you are worried about?”

“No. I’m more worried that you might want different things than I do because you’re so old.” Now that it had come to her attention, it was all that she could focus on.

“I wasn’t aware that I was ‘so old’.”

“You know what I mean.”

He gently pulled the carton and spoon from her hands and placed them down on the coffee table before giving her his full attention. “And what do you think that I want?”

“I’m not sure.” She leaned one arm against the back of the couch and used the crook of her elbow to cradle her cheek.

“Alright. Then what is that you want?”

“I’m not sure.”

“Then how can you be sure that I might want different things than you do?” He lifted a brow.

“No one told you to poke holes in my theory like this.” She pushed at his chest and swung her legs from his lap so that she scoot away from him.

He caught her arm and pulled her back, wrapping an around her waist so she couldn’t get too far away. “I would not call it poking holes in your theory. I was simply showing you that you had no reason to worry.”

“I see your point.” With her hip pressed against him, she could feel the vibrations that came from his pocket. His arm released her waist and he reached into his pocket as she moved away from him a little so he could grab it. “Do you need to take that?”

“It’s not a phone call. It’s a reminder of my meeting in the morning.” His thumb slid across the screen before he was sliding it back into his pocket.

“Oh. I’m guessing you need to go then?” She did her best not to sound disappointed.

“Unfortunately. If I could cancel this meeting I would.” She narrowed her eyes a little at him. “What?”

“I thought you said you were coming for me?”

“I did come for you, but what kind of a king would I be if I didn’t get a little work done while I was here?” He teased and she found herself smiling a little.

“Probably a terrible one.” She tossed back as she stood up to her feet slowly, watching as he mirrored her actions as he grabbed his jacket from the arm of the couch. She tried to keep herself from acting like a little girl who was having her favorite toy taking away as she walked him to the front door. “I had a lot of fun tonight and I’ll make sure to tell my grandma you said her recipe was the best you’ve ever tasted.

“Somehow I do not remember saying all of that.”

“Humor the old woman and let her have this win. You wouldn’t deny and old woman that, would you?” She leaned against the doorframe after opening the door for him.

“I wouldn’t dream of doing that to your poor grandmother.” He pulled on his jacket and somehow made even that look like the sexiest thing Amaya had seen in her whole life. This man was a whole ass man.

“I think she’ll really appreciate that.” She smiled at him and found herself unwilling to let him leave even if she knew it needed to happen.

T’Challa leaned down and closed the distance between the two of them and once again she thought he was going to kiss, but instead she felt his lips brush against her cheek. She was about to take matters into her own hands if he didn’t get it together, but she would let him slide this time.

“I will call you tomorrow.” She nodded her head and he gave her one last smile before she watched him walk down the hall.

She let out a small sigh as she closed the door and locked it. She grabbed the melted ice cream from off the table and replaced the top before going to put back into the freezer. She started to load the dishwasher and clean up the kitchen when she was interrupted by a soft knock at the door. Other than T’Challa she hadn’t been expecting anyone else so it was probably just Charlie who forgot her key once again. She tossed the dish towel down on the counter and went to answer the door. She peeped through the peep hole and was surprised to find T’Challa standing on the other side with a look of determination on his features. She immediately opened the door.

“Did you forget something?”

“Actually I did.”

He grabbed her arm and yanked her close until her chest was pressed right up against his. Before she had a chance to react, his lips were finally pressing against hers. There was nothing sweet about his kiss. He kissed her as if he had something to prove and she loved every second of it. Her arms came up to wrap around his neck as she stood on her toes trying to get closer and his arms wrapped around her waist.

Amaya let out a soft moan as he gripped her hips tightly. He was finally giving her exactly what she wanted and it was even better than she had thought it would be. She felt his tongue move across her bottom lip enough to make her part of her lips. She could taste the sweet taste of ice cream on his tongue and it sent sparks electrifying all over her body. Her fingers moved and she pulled at the short coils of hair as she felt her back hitting the wall near her door, trapping her between it and the hard planes of his muscular frame.

His hand crept down her body and his fingers curled around her thigh, lifting it off the ground and hooking it around his waist. The way he pressed into her allowed her to feel just how hard his body truly was and it pulled a needy whimper from somewhere deep in her chest. She took it upon herself to lift her other leg, wrapping it around his waist along with the first one, wrapping her arms tighter around his neck. He seemed to waste on time placing his hands underneath her ass, strong hands holding her up and gripping her ass tightly all in the same regard, pushing her even harder against him to allow her to feel just how much he also wanted this. If this was what she had been waiting for then it was well worth the wait.

By the time he pulled away from her lips, she was breathless, but craning her neck forward for more. She wasn’t ready for the moment to end just yet. She had to bite down on her tongue to keep from letting out a small sound of frustration as he placed her feet back down on the ground. Her hands moved from his neck down the front of his body, unabashedly feeling him in the process. She stared at his chest for a few moments before she looked up at him.

“Did you find what you forgot, Sir?”

“Some of it. The rest I think I should save for later if that is alright with you.” He cupped her chin gently, a far cry from the way he had just roughly kissed her.

“Depends on much later. I don’t think I have a whole lot of patience left.” She toyed with the zipper on his jacket.

“I am afraid you will need to find some. It could be a while...or it might not to be. You’ll have to be a good girl to find out.” The moan she let out was almost inaudible, but the ghost of a smile on his lips let her know that it wasn’t as quiet as she thought it had been. Those two words shouldn’t sound so good coming from him and yet there she was, with a heartbeat between her legs because of them. “Can you do that for me?”

She nodded her head once. “I think I can do that if the reward is worth it.”

“I would like to think it will be more than worth it.” There was a promise in his words that she was hoping like hell that he could keep.

“Then I can do that for you.”

“That’s what I like to hear. I will call you tomorrow. Goodnight, Amaya.” His lips brushed against her cheek once more and she found herself watching him disappear down the hall again.

“Well damn child. I can see why you didn’t want my grandsons.” Miss Catherine’s raspy voice brought Amaya back to reality. The older woman stood in her doorway with a black garbage in her hand and bright pink rollers in her hair. “If I was 20 years younger…..the things I would let that man do to me.”

“Goodnight Miss Catherine.” Amaya couldn’t help but laugh as she slipped back into her apartment and closed the door, her lips still tasting of T’Challa when she licked them.

[thehooliganhangoutspot]

(Submission) My “Blow” Review (Disclaimer: My Review is long & detailed, scroll past this if you don’t wanna read all of that. Lol)

Nerd here: Above is an old post I made back in May. ☝🏾☝🏾☝🏾We was discussing Bruno’s new fashion statement and I was wondering if this was a foreshadowing of what’s to come. I was wondering if Bruno was going into a Rock direction and it turns out that was correct with this new song “Blow”. For me personally, I feel like the song is a grower, meaning that the more I listen to it, the more it grows on me. I’m not gonna lie, when I first listened to it, I felt lukewarm towards it, like something was missing. I felt like the chorus needed an extra line to it. And it could have been structured better. I had to get used to it the more I heard it. But I LOVED that guitar solo Bruno did, it sounded so good! It’s my favorite part of the song!

This track is pure, hardcore Rock that harkens back to the past. It’s very reminiscent of AC/DC or Led Zeppelin. And that’s a good thing! Even though this is Ed’s song, Bruno was thoroughly involved, from beginning to end. He’s the co-writer. He played every instrument on this song (drums, guitar, moog synthesizer) except the Bass (Brody Brown played bass) And according to the credits Bruno is the SOLE producer of this song. I’m very impressed! I loved how Ed, Chris, and Bruno all took equal turns to say their verses. The lyrics are riddled with a bunch of double entendres and sexual innuendos lol! And their smooth voices are backed up by a gritty beat! The rhythm of “Blow” is edgy, it has a lot of bite, and a lot of spice. I could easily see this song being used in trailers for various action films! Ed said they started working on this song when Bruno came to Nashville to perform. And if y’all remember, Bruno performed in Nashville with Ed on his Birthday last year. Which means that Bruno help develop this song on his Birthday! Like wow! This man is always working!

Moving on to the video. I know some Hooligans was disappointed that the guys wasn’t in the clip and it was women on stage lip syncing to the song, but both Ed and Chris is currently on tour, so they couldn’t come to film a video with Bruno. And since they can’t be in the video, then it’ll be awkward if it was only Bruno singing in the video. It just wouldn’t work, so considering the circumstances, I’d say that this is a good alternative. Bruno wrote and directed this video all by himself. It was filmed in the famous Viper Room over the course of 3 days. The idea of the video was to have female versions of Ed, Chris, and Bruno to create an all woman Rock band which was completely unexpected and cool! It flipped the gender roles by having a bunch of women rocking out on stage, while having a bunch of men screaming and crying for them. Bruno knows what it feels like to be on stage and have thousands of women scream for him, so for him to make a video where it’s the opposite, I thought that was brilliant. It showed a bunch of strong ladies, and some Hooligans pointed out that the posters in the video read “Pussy Rules the World Tour” which was kind of a nod to women empowerment. That’s cool. The ladies in the video are all professional models, actresses, and musicians. The woman who played Chris Stapleton is El Debarge’s daughter, the lady who was a female version of Ed is a model from “America’s Next Top Models”, and the woman who portrayed Bruno is an professional actress. The 3 women playing instruments behind them are all Beyoncé’s bandmates! They are Beyoncé’s drummer, guitarist and bass player! I thought that was cool how Bruno borrowed some of Beyoncé’s band for his video.

Some of the women on Instagram described how much work went into the video, and how passionate and involved Bruno was even down to making sure the girl was okay to dance in stilettos and fixing her hair! Beyoncé’s guitarist mentioned that she was playing Bruno’s guitar in the video, so that mean Bruno personally lent them his own guitars to use! Which isn’t surprising cuz I thought those guitars looked familiar! Bruno’s taste and aesthetic is all over this “Blow” project and I have to commend him for that. Whether you like the song or not, whether you like the video or not, you just have to respect the amount of work Bruno put into this. His artistry, his craft, his vision, he grinded so hard, and I’m proud of him. Not everyone likes “Blow” and that’s okay, I highly doubt it’ll reach Top Ten, I’m hoping it at least hits the top 40 on the charts. It’ll probably do extremely well on the Rock charts though. I just love how 3 different artists from 3 different genres come together to make a song in yet another genre. I’ve honestly never heard of anybody else doing something like that before. That’s a cool new twist. And for Bruno specifically, he’s showing how musically diverse and versatile he is. Just when people was getting comfortable with Bruno singing throwback 90’s R&B, he throws us a curveball and hits us with some 70’s Rock! Lol! But Bruno always said, with him you gotta “expect the unexpected.”

[ichigopanhpff]

BNHA Fic: Blink! Ch. 3

Read Ch. 2 |  Masterlist

Read Ch. 2 | Masterlist 

 “We’re heading out, senpai!” the girls and guys greeted as they headed out. “Wish us luck!” “Kick some ass and we’ll celebrate when you return,” Ren shouted back.

She felt like a mom while watching the remaining straggling students quickly say their byes to her before running out; she couldn’t help but chuckle.

“What’re you laughin’ at this early?” a familiar voice gruffly muttered out. “Nothing of importance,” she replied back coolly. “Good luck today, Bakugou-kun.” “Tch, I don’t need luck,” he scoffed. “I’m gonna get it. Just remember our deal.” “I’m a person of my word.”

“Eh? What deal we talkin’ ‘bout here?” Kirishima enthusiastically asked.

“Where Bakugou would treat everyone nicer if he failed the exam today,” she joked. “Go to hell, fuckin’ idiot,” he angrily barked out and trekked away with his hands shoved into his pant pockets.

“Oi, don’t say somethin’ like that to a girl!” the spiky redhead shouted at his friend and turned to Ren. “Sorry, senpai. He didn’t mean it.” “I know,” she replied with a reassuring smile. “You should go before they leave you behind.”

Ren couldn’t help but feel anxious for 1-A. From what she heard, they’re up against some tough students this year, especially from Shiketsu and Ketsubutsu. This year is definitely a unique time to get a hero license with the recent shift in the pro-hero’s world.

Even though she has hers, she’s been hesitant in applying for agencies. Her quirk isn’t exactly the strongest and decided to dedicate her time in strengthening it before trying. Her freshman internship was with Hawks; she learned to constantly be aware of her surroundings and not let any small detail go unnoticed. He even let her tag along and help subdue a criminal trying to rob a convenience store once she proved herself to be useful.

Shaking her head to rid the worry in her head, she had to finish getting ready and get to class. The day dragged on as her mind wandered back and forth between class and how everyone else was doing during the exams.

Her main concern was her ballsy bet with Bakugou.

She didn’t mind telling him about her quirk; it was the former proposal that’s got her riled up. Inwardly groaning for rising up to his bait, she’s had to lay in the bed she made.

Why did she do that? It wasn’t like her to take such a gamble.

She’s barely been at the dorms with them for a month and they’ve already influenced her this much? What horrifying charisma they have, she thought.

As the bell rang for the last class of the day, everyone in 2-A chatted among themselves. Tomoe and Seri made their way over to Ren’s desk, to which she paid no attention to. Seri waved her hand in front of her face, trying to catch her attention.

“Ren-Ren, you okay there?”

“Hm?” Her head jolted up with wide eyes. “Y-yeah. What’s up?”

“You don’t look okay...” Tomoe replied and sat on the corner of her desk. “The babies got their exam today, right? You worried?”

“W-what? Of course not!” Ren huffed. “I’m sure they all passed.”

“Is that so? Then what’s this?”

Seri plucked her notebook from her desk and looked at it with Tomoe. She tried to get it back but the girls grabbed it just out of her reach. What was supposed to be her class notes were replaced with statistical data of each of 1-A’s student’s success rates depending on the exam scenario.

“Y’know, if you actually put as much effort into Intro to Hero Law as you did with this, you’d actually be higher ranked in class,” Tomoe teased and cocked her head sideways.

Quickly snatching her notebook from Seri’s grasp successfully, she hastily shoved it into her bag.

“It’s… whatever, okay?” Ren disregarded her friends’ comments with a tint of pink on her cheeks and looked away, rubbing the back of her head; her other hand drummed impatiently on the desk.

“Aw, she’s gettin’ all shy on us,” Tomoe gushed. “How cute.”

“Oh my God. Shut it before I shove your quills up your ass.”

“Speakin’ of 1-A,” her classmate, Ito chimed in. “Are they as troublesome as their reputation says?”

“Not yet, thankfully. I think they’ve been too busy to get in trouble lately,” Ren chuckled.

“The day is still young, Takahiro,” her classmate pointed out with a knowing look.

“I’m sure they’re all too tired to do anything after those exams. Remember what happened with us?”

“I slept like the dead that night,” Tomoe reminisced. “Even though I barely passed.”

“Shiketsu’s tactics in trying to take us out was dirty,” Ito remembered with a bitter scowl on his face.

“But highly effective,” Ren added. “We passed that phase by the skin of our teeth.”

Making their ways out the classroom, 1-A’s R.A. had to make a run to the canteen; she figured she’d whip up something tasty to celebrate their exam.

“Lunch-Rush!” she called from the entrance of the kitchen.

“Yo, Takahiro,” the robot greeted. “You made it.” “Thanks for doing this. I appreciate it,” she said with a small smile and looked down at the bags of ingredients. “This is what’s left over from today?”

“It was a little more than I expected since the first years from the hero course aren’t here.”

“This should be more than enough. Thanks!”

Ren grabbed the heavy bags of produce, slugging half a bag of potatoes on her back.

“Ah, w-wait! Takahiro!” Lunch-Rush called. “Are you sure you can handle this?”

She turned and gave him a smirk with a cocked eyebrow.

“Who do you think I am?”

Within a second, both her and the ingredients disappeared without a trace.

The silence of the Alliance Dorm was temporarily disturbed with a small zip in the air at the entrance to the dorm. Ren set the items down on and floor and stretched out her back.

“I forgot how much longer it takes doin’ that with items in hand,” she groaned out and proceeded to stretch out her arms. “I need to practice more.”

Ren’s quirk, Flicker, allows her to teleport short distances, with a maximum radius of 2.5m. The accuracy of the teleportation depend on whether she knows the location in her head or can see where she’s going to. If she teleports beyond her current radius, she’ll have a 5-minute cooldown. While that may seem like a short time, five minutes in a fight can mean life or death. Her ability fluctuates depending on her physical status.

Class 1-A managed to make it back to the dorms around early evening. They were tired, sweaty and very, very hungry. The moment they entered, their noses were greeted with tantalizing aromatic spices coming from the kitchen.

“What’s that amazin’ smell?” Kaminari squeaked out, his eyes beginning to roll up into his head in bliss. “Is it food? I hope it’s food.”

“Ah, it’s Takahiro-senpai!” Shoji exclaimed with one of his mouths. “She’s cooking.”

The R.A. could be seen busily tending to a pot of simmering goodness, humming to herself. The front part of her hair was clipped up and the rest hid her undercut. She was wearing an all black ensemble consisting of an over-sized t-shirt with a sports bra peeking underneath and a pair of drop crotch harem pants. Huge platters of already completed food sat on the kitchen island.

Her attention was then diverted by excited chatter from the doorway of the common room as they hurriedly removed their outside shoes before running to the kitchen.

“Senpaaiiii!!!!” Some of the boys shouted with tears of joy running down their cheeks. “You’re amazing!!!!!”

“Oh welcome back.”

“Wow, this looks like a feast!” Yaoyorozu gushed with a hand to her cheek. “You made all this?”

Ren nodded with a small smile. “I got the leftover ingredients from the school kitchen. Can’t let ‘em go to waste.”

She turned the stove fire off and removed the pot from the hot part of the stove to let the contents cool down. The chef then turned her attention to the class and propped her elbow up on the counter top.

“So how’d it go?”

She looked up to see beaming smiles from all but two people: Bakugou and Todoroki. Given their personalities and fighting styles, she had a feeling something like this would happen.

“Well, you can tell me all about it over food.” “Everyone!” Iida’s voice boomed aloud while stiffly moving his arms in an up and down motion. “Please wash your hands and change first before we eat!”

“Go, I got some final touches to do anyway,” their senpai huffed with a grin.

A short moment later, everyone filed back down in their own clothes and made their way to the dining area. Huge platters of freshly fried potato croquettes, salad, chicken katsu, a huge pot of Japanese curry and a giant bucket of white rice waited to be re-homed into class 1-A’s stomachs.

Ren wipe some sweat from her forehead with her arm and sighed.

“This was all I was able to manage given the time.”

“It’s still a lot considering...” Jiro stared at the spread in amazement.

“She’s a goddess! An actual goddess!” Mineta shouted with tears streaming down as he stuffed his face with croquettes.

Everyone was eating to their heart’s content, some even grabbing a second serving. Among all the happy chatter and laughter, she noticed two lone wolves to the side keeping to themselves, not wanting to spoil the mood. She walked up to where Todoroki was sitting and placed a hand on his shoulder, lulling his mind back from his thoughts.

As the boy turned his head to meet her gaze, Ren quickly leaned into his ear and whispered, “Find me here after everyone’s gone to sleep.”

And just like that, she walked away from him like nothing happened. A glint of curiosity stirred about his hetero-chromatic eyes.

“I’m so full,” Ochaco drawled up with a content sigh, patting her stomach. “Everything was so yummy.”

“I hope you guys got room for dessert though.”

“Senpai, you’re spoiling us,” Kaminari declared and sighed. “I might just fall in love with you.”

One by one, the class filed into the kitchen to see Ren’s plating demonstration. Cutting a sizable portion of the castella, she laid it down on the plate with a knife and then generously drizzled something on top of it with a squeeze bottle.

“Sato-kun,” she called the tall muscular boy. “Give it a try.”

“Me?”

“You’re the sweets guy.”

Accepting the plate, the burly boy thanked her and took a bite of cake. Within milliseconds, his eyes bulged out wide, as if he had an epiphany about something.

“It’s… sweet! But spicy!” he declared with twinkling eyes. “Two flavor profiles melded together like magic! It’s bliss!”

“Ehhh?” the class exclaimed.

“Oh good. It worked,” the R.A. happily commented and continued plating to serve. “Here. Try for yourselves.”

Bite by bite, each student got hooked.

“Oh my… This is delicious! How did you make this?!” Hagakure excitedly inquired with sparkles in her eyes, if they could be seen.

“I ground up a little candied ginger with the brown sugar at the bottom when I was baking it off,” Ren explained. “I felt like something was missing when I tried it, so I decided to make some hot honey for garnish. And since you’re such a big tea fan, Yaoyorozu, this cake will go well with an Earls Grey.”

“Wow, you really thought of everything!” Ochaco happily chimed in and took another bite. “Senpai’s so amazing.”

“Not really,” she shyly chuckled and scratched her chin. “I just like to eat and often cooked with my mom.”

“Yo, Bakugou!” Kirishima shouted with an extra plate in his hand. “You’ll wanna eat this!”

“The hell is that, cake? I don’t like sweet stuff,” the gloomy blond boy gruffly responded from the couch.

“Dude, you’ll like it. Trust me.”

The redhead set the plate beside him and cut off a piece to feed him.

“The fuck are you, my mom?” he barked out and snatched the fork from Kirishima. “I can feed myself!”

“C’mon Bakugou. Chill out,” Sero chimed in and sat across from the explosive blond. “I get you’re pissed you failed, but at least you have the provisional classes coming up for it.”

“That’s right!” Mina added and flopped on the backside of the couch between the two boys. “And Ren-senpai went through the trouble in making this for us. The least you could do is show your gratitude!”

Even though he knew his friends were right, he didn’t want them to know. He was also bitter about losing his bet with Ren. Yet here she was, putting in all of her efforts for them. Win or lose, he thought she would’ve done this for them. Gritting his teeth in annoyance, he shoved the piece of cake into his mouth and chewed. It was sweet, but the spice packed in was enough to satisfy his palette.

“It’s good, isn’t it?” the pink girl excitedly spewed out.

“… It’s edible.”

“Bakugou! There you go again!” his rocky friend exasperatingly scolded and face palmed. “Ya gotta get better ‘bout that attitude of yours, man.”

“Ren-senpai, we’re really sorry about Kacchan,” Midoriya apologized on Bakugou’s behalf. “He’s just really hot-headed.”

“Don’t sweat it,” their upperclassman disregarded and teased. “I can handle brats like him.”

“The hell you say over there?!” he barked aloud from the couch. A vein could be seen protruding from his temple.

In an instant, Ren went from the kitchen area to sitting to the right of Bakugou on the couch. She proceeded to poke his cheek with her index finger. His head immediately turned in shock, as did the rest of the class. She just felt like flexing her quirk at that moment for some reason.

“I said you were being a brat,” she repeated and rested her chin on her knuckles. “Are you always this pleasant to be around?”

Scoffing aloud, he swatted her hand away, her eyes not leaving his scowling side profile.

“Y’know, it’s not very plus ultra of you to be the way you are right now,” she pointed out as a matter-of-factly.

The ash blond boy scoffed again and stood up from the couch to walk away.

“Fuck this shit. I’m goin’ to sleep!” he yelled as he retreated to the elevator.

“And that’s as close to an apology I’ll get this time around huh,” Ren remarked with a smirk, watching him leave the common area.

“Pretty much,” Sero sheepishly replied, rubbing the back of his head. “Just give him some time. He’ll come around.”

“Never mind Bakugou. That’s just how he is,” Ashino disregarded. “What was that you just did before, senpai?! That ‘zip!’ thing you did! Was that your quirk?”

She proceeded to explain Flicker to everyone, with the green-haired boy air writing notes on the side, not letting one single detail go to waste.

“It’s good for defensive maneuvers, but I’m still playing around with a fighting style that best works for me.”

“That seems like a tough quirk to have,” Tokoyami commented. “To have to know where you’re going first before moving. It’s almost as hard as me controlling Dark Shadow.”

“It’s very draining on stamina if I overuse it,” she admitted. “Which is why I’ve do a lot of training so I can prolong and strengthen my quirk.”

“What kind of training did you do?” Midoriya immediately asked, his eyes completely focused on Ren. His hands were still in the position of holding an air pen and notebook.

“Lots of stuff: Running, boxing, aikido, dancing, basically anything that got my heart rate up and tired me out by the end of it. Come to think of it, I think an endurance exercise would be benefit you all. It’d definitely help you control your quirks better and have you last longer in fights.”

“Quirkless exercises?” Todoroki suddenly asked. “Do you think it’d work?”

“I mean, quirks are a part of us like a muscle, right? The more you train your body, the better it’ll be. It’s like building up a tolerance to something if you break it down to its bare bones.”

Majority of the class agreed to that statement.

“Uwah, I dunno if I could do somethin’ like that,” Jiro groaned out. “My body’s not built for that kinda thing.”

“Well, if you guys ever need any advice on this, you can always swing by my room whenever and we can have a one-on-one ‘bout it,” Ren suggested.

With the idea in agreement, everyone hung out in the common area a bit longer before turning in for the night. As the lights went out in the 1-A dorms, Ren stealthily made her way out of her room, holding her slip on shoes and teleported down to the common room.

She turned to see Todoroki waiting by the courtyard windows, holding his outside shoes in his right hand.

“Oh good. You remembered,” she whispered with a small smile and slipped on her shoes.

“Did you need something from me, Takahiro-senpai?”

“I wanna take you somewhere.”

“But we’re not allowed to leave the dorms. There’s security drones–”

Ren gave the boy a look and tilted her head.

“Little trust, please. We’re not gonna get caught.”

She held her hand out for him to grab on. He hesitantly did so; only because he didn’t know what she was thinking.

“Hold on tight, okay?”

Ren took a small breath and the two disappeared from the dorm. The sensation of being teleported was weird; It was like you were falling and floating at the same time as you felt the ebb and flow of time pass by what felt like an eternity, when it was merely seconds.

With a small zip in the air, she and Todoroki landed in a dark wooded area. Cricket chirps and hoots from owls could be heard from the lush darkness; their path only lit by scattered fireflies flying past. The mid-summer breeze strongly whipped through the night. It took both of them a few minutes for their eyes to adjust to the darkness. Before he could ask anything, he saw the R.A. already walking and followed her.

“Oh good. I didn’t screw it up this time,” she huffed out in relief. “Come on.”

“Where… are we exactly?”

“Still on U.A.’s campus. By foot, we’re probably… 20 minutes out? Look.” She pointed in the northeast direction, where the dimly lit side profile of U.A.’s campus could be seen.

The two came up to a small secluded area with a fallen log as a seat. A used campfire set up could be found nearby with some firewood to the far side of the small space.

“Whenever my friends and I need a breather, we’d come up here to hang,” Ren shared and proceeded to sit down on the log and turned to him with a small smile. “It’s kinda like our secret base.”

She invited him to sit down next to her, to which he did stiffly.

“So… why did you invite me up here?” Todoroki hesitantly asked.

“You look like you needed a place like this to clear your head from all the noise.”

His head slowly turned to meet her sympathetic gaze. Even in the dark, he was able to see her hazel green eyes shine.

“Do you have a mind reading quirk too?” “I wish,” she chuckled and crossed her legs. She propped her arm up on her knee and proceeded to rest her chin in her hand. “I’ve just learned how to read people better, is all.”

“Some would say that is a quirk.”

A comfortable silence sat between the two, with the light sound of wind filling the gaps in between.

“Do you ever think...” Todoroki broke the silence. “What you’ve done in the past will come back full circle at you?”

“You mean like karma?”

“I guess…” He sighed heavily with slumped shoulders before continuing on. “Since I’ve been here, I thought rejecting one side of me was the correct answer to go about doing things. Because of that, I got tunnel-visioned and didn’t realize how many people I’ve hurt in the process.”

He looked down at his left hand and clenched it into a soft fist.

“But after meeting everyone, my views begun to change bit by bit… I thought I changed, up until this exam. I was once again reminded my past mistakes will never leave me because of who I am.”

“Because of who you are?”

“You know the pro-hero Endeavor?” He swallowed the lump in his throat as if he was holding down vomit. “I’m… his son. But I’m sure you knew that already.”

“And why do you say that?”

“If I were Aizawa-sensei and bringing in someone new to be his assistant, I’d give them all the information I know so they’re on the same page.”

“Perhaps.”

As expected of Todoroki Shouto, she mentally praised. He’s analytic, calm and collected. He has great leadership qualities but like Bakugou, has a tendency to go off on his own in fights. There are times he gets into his own head too much and ends up affecting his performance, like what happened during the Sports Festival.

“Todoroki-kun,” Ren turned to face him and spoke in a soft but serious tone. “We all make mistakes, big and small. The difference lies in how we face and fix them.”

The boy looked down and slowly nodded, still feeling the weight from his shameful interaction with Inasa today.

“If I can offer you one more small piece of advice to you...”

She scooted closer to the red and white hair colored boy and flicked him on his forehead. His upper body flinched backward from the pain and let out a small hiss of pain; he pouted and rubbed the area his forehead got flicked.

“You’re too young to be this serious and worrying about over-existential stuff you got no control over. You’re gonna drive yourself nuts thinking in circles,” she playfully scolded. “Just focus on the you that’s here right now; the you who wants to right these wrongs. The rest’ll fall into place.”

She flashed him a small, calming smile and all he could do was nod because he knew she was right.

“Ah...” Ren looked up at the clearing sky. “There it is.”

She uncrossed her legs and leaned back with her arms supporting her; her face wearing a content and peaceful grin. Todoroki’s curious gaze followed suit and saw a heavenly body of twinkling stars above them. Even without the moon tonight, they were particularly bright.

“This is the main reason why I took you up here,” she revealed, pointing upward. “For perspective. And the view’s nice.”

“Perspective?”

“If you think about it, we’re like these stars: each a different shape, size and brightness; each with their own story and struggles,” she explained. “On its own, it’s just a random speck in the sky. But when you see the bigger picture, it’s much more beautiful and you realize we’re not so different, after all.”

She looked back down at Todoroki again.

“And the fact you’re already aware of the other stars means you’ve made that step forward in changing your ways. So why are you still beating yourself up?”

“My pride and ego, I guess...”

“That’s always a killer,” she offhandedly commented. “It won’t make you an efficient hero.”

“I’ll work on that so that I will be.”

“I know you will.”

A short beat of silence filled the void.

“Senpai…” the boy hesitated for a second. “Can I ask a question?”

“Shoot.”

“This has been bothering me for a bit, but your last name… it sounds familiar.”

“Does it? It’s pretty common.”

“But is it your real one?”

Ren’s eyes widened and flickered in the dark, staring straight into Todoroki’s bi-colored ones. The sound of the wind suddenly picked up again, as if to create a barrier between the two.

No one was supposed to know.

So how did he? No, she had to play it cool rather than react.

“Why do you think it isn’t?” “Just something I remembered reading a news article in passing a while ago...” He put his hand up to his chin and suddenly remembered. “Ah, it was–”

Ren immediately lunged and put her hand over his mouth, her face shadowed over by her short rose-gold hair. Todoroki felt no animosity from her, but what was this pressure squeezing from his lungs? In that short moment, he heard his own heart beating from his ears.

“Not another word if you value your life,” she whispered dangerously low, her breath shaky. The girl held on for a short moment before gingerly removing her hand, allowing him to breathe normally again. Ren’s trembling limb slowly descended, trying to get a grip on her stirred up emotions and clenched it into a fist.

“I won’t say it but… may I ask why?”

“The last person who said it...” her voice shook nervously. “… Killed my dad and brother.”

Todoroki’s eyes widened in shock, unable to say anything and realized he overstepped his boundaries with his upperclassman. The wind lightly whipped past the two, hoping to cool the two bodies down from this explosive revelation.

He decided to ask, “Is that why you decided to be a hero? For revenge?” out of both concern and curiosity considering what happened with Iida when his brother got injured by Stain.

“Please,” she scoffed and turned away. “I would’ve been a vigilante were it for something that petty. I’m actually insulted you’d think so little of me, Todo-kun.”

“My apologies, senpai.”

“I’m kidding,” Ren quickly replied with a lopsided smirk that never reached her eyes. “You really can’t take a joke, can you?”

“I’ll… also work on that.”

She lightly chuckled and sighed, trying to lighten up the mood.

“My brother wanted to be one when we were kids,” she divulged. “I’m just fulfilling something he can’t.”

“And what did you want to be?”

Ren shrugged. “I was really indecisive as a kid. One day, I wanted to be a chef, the next I wanted to be a mermaid and another day, a dog.”

He couldn’t help but let out a small laugh and covered his mouth as his shoulders shook.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to laugh,” he apologized between his stifling giggles.

“It’s fine,” she waved it off with a small chuckle. “But somewhere along the way, I thought...”She paused for a moment. “I might be a halfway decent hero with this quirk. It’s not the flashiest, but I feel like I can save a lot of people in crisis.”

“I know you will,” Todoroki repeated the same words back to her.

The two gave each other a meaningful look and softly chuckled before gazing back up at the night sky, the breeze lightly passing by to calm both their hearts.

“Guess we should head back before someone notices we’re gone,” she suggested and stood up from the makeshift bench, brushing off any loose debris from the log; Todoroki followed suit.

“Senpai...” he uttered out and looked down at his shifting feet. “… Thank you.”

“You don’t need to do that.” She turned around and shoved her hands into her pockets. “When I saw you sulking, I just… wanted to help, is all.”

“Spoken like a true hero.”

Ren turned back around and held her hand out, with Todoroki taking it this time without fear. Feeling the same sensation from before, the two made it back to the dorms; they were on the 5th floor this time. Before he could ask, she quickly whispered her answer: “Less of a chance for us to get caught.”

Letting go of his hand, she took off her shoes and held them in one hand; the other waving him good night and popped down to her room one floor below. Letting out a long sigh, she put her shoes on the small rack by her room door and saw her mobile phone blinking from her peripheral.

Waking the screen up, she unlocked it to see two missed calls and a text message from Aizawa. Ren clicked on the text message icon to read the note. Her eyes immediately widened.

Midoriya and Bakugou snuck out and fought each other at Ground Beta. They’re currently at the nurse’s office on campus being treated for their injuries. Bakugou is under house arrest for 4 days; Midoriya for 3. She was to make sure no one from 1-A were to tell them what is going on during classes as punishment.

“These freaking idiots...” she hissed out with knitted eyebrows of anger, gripping the side of her phones with force.

Last night’s commotion created an even bigger one in the dorms and on campus. Ren was absolutely livid this even happened. Making her way down to the common area, she saw the two boys vacuuming while the rest of the class got ready to leave for the opening ceremony.

“Ah, good morn–” the small freckled boy started to greet only to stop in a state of fear and panic when he met Ren’s menacing death glare; it radiated an intense kill aura. There were many words she’d like to exchange to those two, but she’s sure Aizawa already pounded it into them.

“U-um, senpai...” the small green haired boy nervously muttered out. “We’re sor–”

“You’re only sorry you got caught,” she harshly interrupted and crossed her arms.

The two stood there quietly and looked down and to the side, guilt written all over their faces. The rest of the class who were getting ready to leave froze in place.

“I’m not even mad. Just disappointed,” she continued with a glower from her angry hazel green eyes. “So don’t apologize to me, apologize to them.” She pointed to the rest of 1-A. “You’re the ones who have to earn back their trust.”

As she walked away, she uttered, “Fucking morons,” under her breath in English.

Read Ch. 4

[thesinglesjukebox]

CHARLI XCX & CHRISTINE AND THE QUEENS - GONE

[7.79]

We do NOT fucking hate these people...

Elisabeth Sanders: I have no idea if this song is good or bad, all I know is that I am a homosexual. [10]

Alfred Soto: She triumphed at Pitchfork Festival against every one of my expectations: a diva who pirouetted, thrusted, and sashayed like a star with no interest in behind-the-scenes song doctoring. She played "Gone" in vivider incarnation; she sung "I fucking hate these people" as a shared joke between her and the festival's largest queer audience. The boom boom clap of the percussion keeps out of the way, but I wish it presented an obstacle over which she could hurdle. [7]

Nellie Gayle: Social anxiety does not exactly read as a the prefect pretense for a banger pop song, but then again, Charli XCX has a certain gift for emotional subterfuge. 'Gone' is a collaboration between Charli and a more subdued pop star friend, Christine & the Queens. The two wrestle between seething anger at fake social niceties and and a deeper issue - the desire to be loved and seen, even if by a group of people you couldn't care less about. It's comforting to know that even a seasoned partygirl like Charli XCX can feel the same debilitating and restrictive sense of social "unbelonging" - a scene she depicts fairly literally in the accompanying music video which features her in bondage. The jump between this wallflower characteristic and the club-ready beat feels like a perfect metaphor for Charli's career and persona itself. As pop music evolves and begins to cater to an even more confessional and vulnerable audience of millennials, it makes sense its most forward thinking vanguards would keep the pace by divulging their deepest longing while also maintaining a danceable beat. [7]

Nortey Dowuona: Sharp, rubbery bass backflips, pirouettes and twists as soapy, seething synths and steel tipped drums shimmy across the shoulders as Christine and Charli spin through as they become intertwined as one. [8]

Wayne Weizhen Zhang: What's that? Charli XCX writing a song about loneliness and social anxiety -- but somehow making it work as a duet? More like Charli doing this again, except this time instead of ruminating about the cosmos, commiserating about lost love, or contemplating redemption, she and Chris are plotting their escape. They spend the entire track pouring gasoline on their worries and stresses, until 3:04, when they finally erupt into flames. And then they're literally gone, leaving behind only the glitched screaming ghosts of their pop consciousness, any chance at salvation vanishing with them. [8]

Jacob Sujin Kuppermann: Charli XCX's trajectory since the release of Pop 2 has been confusing. Over the past year and a half, she's released 15-or-so singles/features, running the gamut from remixes of experimental rappers to big shiny club collabs with Diplo, Lizzo, and Troye Sivan. It's largely been good material (save for that Diplo Spice Girls remix), but the songs have kind of felt like diversions from the goals set out by Pop 2's post-PC MUSIC synthesis of pop artifice into sincere emotion. This is entirely her right-- if Charli just remade Pop 2 until she retired, it wouldn't have the same deconstructive power it had when it first came out. Yet even the best of her singles from last year (songs like "5 in the Morning" and her remix of Tommy Genesis' "100 Bad") felt somewhat unambitious-- playgrounds in the wreckage of pop, rather than attempts to build a new level upon it. "Gone," then, is that new level. It's the best of all possible worlds: the shiny synths and hard-hitting rhythms of "Nuclear Seasons"-era Charli, the glitchy breakdowns of her PC Music collabs, and the open, collaborative feeling of her wilderness year. "Gone" encapsulates Charli's appeal in a compact 4 minute salvo, taking a conventional core lyrical concept-- dancing the social anxiety away-- and twisting it to her will. Chris makes for perhaps the best partner Charli's had on her pop mission: her voice is clearer and more sincere, the perfect tool to clear out any suggestion of irony. But Charli herself is the key to why "Gone" works. She's the glue that holds together the disjointed impulses of the track, like she always is, but here she's also constantly moving it forward. Her vocals here are perhaps the best they've ever sounded, aloof and emotive all at once, and the fragmented lyrical picture that she and Chris paint is vivid. It took her a while, but "Gone" reveals a revitalized Charli XCX, capable of pop mastery once again. [10]

Oliver Maier: "Gone"'s release feels timed to ensure that Pop 2 fans don't abandon hope for Charli's album after the disappointing "Blame It On Your Love", with metallic globs of bass and sparkling synth arpeggios hearkening back to the palette of the 2017 mixtape. However, it's actually Christine and the Queens who gives the stronger performance here; Charli excels in emotional extremes and bratty earworms, but the purgatorial feeling of anxiety that "Gone" reckons with -- as well as the song's cavernous arrangement and less immediate hook -- are better suited to Chris' subtler wheelhouse. The breakdown in the last minute is a little superfluous, more a signifier of a willingness to experiment than a successful experiment in and of itself, but "Gone" still provides a brighter forecast for Charli than we had a few weeks ago. [6]

Joshua Copperman: So I did the dumb remix thing again. The Katy Perry one was a reorder of different parts, but this one adds more instrumentation and a four-on-the-floor kick that takes Charli back to 2009 instead of 1999. Despite my favorite performance I've heard Christine give ("do they wish to run through mee," the plainspoken way she says "baby" just before the breakdown), and the clear vocal chemistry between her and Charli, this song has so much empty space when a melody like that requires bombast. That breakdown feels like someone trying to recreate NSYNC's "Pop" using "Call Your Girlfriend" samples on a broken MPC. Couple that with the ugly flanging on Charli and Christine's voices, and any momentum and goodwill feels squandered. "Gone" is so strong until that point that it's still extremely listenable, but extremely listenable feels disappointing when it's this close to being great. [7]

Kayla Beardslee: I can't think of a more appropriate artist to enter the "crying on the dance floor" pantheon than Charli XCX: pop's resident party girl saying that she "fucking hates" the people at this party is not an artistic confession to be taken lightly. Although the marketing for this track has been informed by the tired "most personal album yet" cliche, Charli has thankfully pulled off the introspective turn by maintaining her PC Music inspirations, metallic synths bouncing off the edges of the song and giving the message of grappling with anxiety some much-needed bite. The presence of a feature is another XCX signature, and Christine and the Queens is a welcome addition: for once, a Charli track clearly shows the collaborator's influence, in this case with its clipped melodies and off-kilter yet evocative lyrics. [8]

Will Rivitz: "Backseat," off 2017's Pop 2, cascaded into perfection on the strength of its final minute ripping the preceding three into shreds. "Gone," in doing exactly that again, but even more transcendentally sublimely this time (and with a transcendentally sublime beginning three-quarters to match, something its predecessor missed by a hair), is by extension better by about one degree. And I gave "Backseat" a [9], so... [10]

Joshua Lu: In light of the multitudinous takes on social anxiety pop stars have churned out in recent years, "Gone" feels surprisingly honest. Anxiety is seen as illogical (Charli's cry of "they don't care" seemingly comes out of nowhere, which is where these feelings often come from), shameful (the song opens with an apology), and maddening (the entirety of the prechorus and Christine's verse is filled with an untempered rage), and the song's unapologetic portrayal of these aspects acts as an effective catharsis. It hits harder when casted over the stutter-step instrumental, filled with uncomfortable white space and coarse industrial noises that put the listener on edge. [7]

Joshua Minsoo Kim: A song about being impossibly and destructively tired, so much so that one can't help but be vulnerable as a last ditch effort to maintain sanity. The production captures it perfectly: steely and anthemic and spacious, it encourages one to sing along in a sort of therapeutic karaoke session. The outro is a cute release--a moment to decompress by way of A.G. Cook's love for Scritti Politti. [7]

Michael Hong: Like the best Charli XCX tracks, "Gone" deals with solitude in crowded spaces, no matter the number of collaborators involved in the track. The industrial soundscape threatens to cave in at any moment -- something that fueled by the pair's anxieties does inevitably occur, and yet remains this moment of euphoric bliss. While Charli and Chris pose several questions across the track, none are really answered. Instead, the two end with a shared statement, "don't search me in here, I'm already gone, baby," and by tossing aside the anxiety of the party, the two find peace outside of the crowd. In a crowded field of tracks about wanting to leave the party, "Gone" is one of the most captivating because of Charli's introspection and ability to bring her dystopian future into the present. [7]

Kylo Nocom: This song is a fever dream of DJ Mustard stabs warped into freestyle-esque basslines, Jimmy Jam & Terry Lewis communicated through modernized rhythms. "Gone" shines in stark contrast to the notable collaboration Charli's done with a certain other '80s fanatic back in late 2017, substituting emotional atmospherics for feverish danceability. Charli's unstoppable pop glee is bared down to the essentials, stripped of the dumbness that felt defining of her singles the past two years; Christine's dense songwriting and anxious percussive affinities are polished up and displayed proudly here, with no signs of the occasionally campy production cheapness that defined her 2018 album's weaker missteps. "Gone" pays empathetic attention to the overstimulation some feel at huge parties, and the bouncing, metallic chorus shivers with a knowing sensory discomfort that eventually culminates in a gloriously alien glitch breakdown. [8]

Alex Clifton: A contender for Song of the Summer that isn't "Old Town Road" (which I love dearly but does not work on its own as a party playlist). Charli and Chris are always Interesting Artists, never boring and always looking forward, and this is a perfect marriage of their strengths and sounds. It has the electro production Charli favours but never gets too overwhelming; it has a good dose of Chris's quirk and gravitas but retains a lighter touch. Moreover it's just a fun song--I can only imagine what it was like to record this in the studio, and that enthusiasm spills over to the listener. Like Jane Austen's prose, "Gone" is complex and layered but performed with ease. It's one of the hardest tricks in the book, but Charli and Chris have absolutely nailed it. [8]

Iris Xie: "Gone" listens like the measured dissertation of an almost ideal pop song in a post-PC Music world that is more open about mental health, attachment trauma, and how it damages relationships. Out of the two, Letissier is the one who delivers the vocals with the exact emotion required to hit catharsis, due to her visceral and forceful cadence that is in tune with the chorus's frankness: "I feel so unstable, fucking hate these people / How they're making me feel lately." The post-chorus is beautiful though, with one of my favorite pop-R&B vocal tropes where they both catch on the fourth word of each line, "Why do we love--" before Charli and Letissier exhale with a sharp glide before jumping back into step with the stuttering beat, with "--if we're so mistaken?" Another treat is served with the sudden drop-off into "Why do we keep when the water runs? / Ne me cherche pas, je ne suis plus là, baby," a dreamy and sad breakdown that then breaks down into more jagged edges and clipped and chewed up repetitions. This song could only be written by people who love pop music so, so deeply that they have command of masterful hooks and turns of phrase and expectations. Unfortunately, I also don't like it as much as I should, because for all of what it does right, it still lacks dynamism and range to make it stick in a way that really makes me overjoyed for it, because I feel both of their solo work was a lot sharper and more evocative, and I find the sound more muddled here, even amongst all of their loving approaches. [7]

Katherine St Asaph: One of my favorite songs is The Tycho Brahe's "Steel Wheels," a song about defeat and cutting ties to pursue other defeat. "Gone" is a lot like that song, attached to a lesser song: yet another false, poppily marketed take on social anxiety. When I'm socially phobic, which is almost all the time, it's never "those people" I hate -- I don't hate anyone without a good reason, and doing so would just add guilt and make me feel worse -- but myself. It seems too simple to posit that one song is Chris's contribution and the other's Charli's, but more to the point, I actually can't tell which is whose. Neither artist seems fully themselves, vocally or stylistically. Chris's strengths are staccato lyrics and precise bits of introspection: needles to the exact point that hurts. Charli's strength is sweepingly cathartic songs, emotions hemorrhaging out of the music and the skin. "Gone" is the midpoint of those strengths, playing to neither. [6]

William John: A favourite moment of mine in the Christine and the Queens catalogue is early single "Nuit 17 à 52", which, in its English adaptation, features a speaker in a "lace-like" state of being, waiting "for the rain to come through". It's an image of defencelessness that's so brusque it requires gentle piano chords to soften the mood. Water provides no solace to the song's protagonist; the fifty-second, pivotal night of melodrama fails to leave her mind. This is an image Christine and the Queens returns to for her contribution to Charli XCX's new single - interviews have made it clear that she penned the chorus, but it's obvious to anyone familiar with the charming peculiarities of her brand of franglais. This time the punishment of water is accompanied by inquisition - the metaphor is not used as a mere acknowledgement of self-flagellating tendencies, but and a need to know why they might arise is attached. The contention is that in the quest to know more about oneself, water can be framed not as a suffocating force, but as one of cleansing and catharsis; that in daring to be vulnerable, we open ourselves up to freedom and greatness. Enlisting a partner-in-crime to assist with such a quest doesn't hurt, and there's been few moments in pop this year as thrilling as the way these two jointly bellow "loathe" before the song gives way to its chirpy coda, as together they will themselves toward liberation. [9]

Jackie Powell: The production on "Gone" matches the exact emotional plot of the song itself. The bass synths and percussive claps are accurately abrasive and in your face. The vocal performances that both XCX and Christine give are impassioned. While the chorus might be a bit muffled and not as enunciated as I would have liked, they achieve a goal that all artists should strive for⁠--the ability to transfer their emotions through their lyrics and sounds into the soul of the listener. The mixing from their chest into their head voices that both singers do on this track brings out some sort of euphoria in me. Charli's previous singles "1999" and "Blame it on Your Love" have been catchy, but maybe not as substantive as Charli stans have wanted. I understand her strategy. It reminds me of Carly Rae Jepsen's approach to how she released "Dedicated." Both artists released advance singles that were a bit lighter in content and sound. And then of course, we heard "No Drug Like Me". The third single put out to the world was the sucker punch, the sly off-speed pitch that hits right in zone after two high fastballs that don't quite elicit a flinch. The 52-second outro in "Gone" was confusing when I first heard it, and maybe it should be a tad shorter, but I finally understand the reason it exists to begin with. If you listen closely, Charli and Christine's voices sound as though they are gargling water or are putting their faces into the water that they are claiming is still running. They make their point though, we've got to question why the water is running and it's up to us to stop it. It's uncomfortable, but we have the power to stop it. [8]

[Read, comment and vote on The Singles Jukebox]

[diedieri]

Creepslayerz Week - Day 6 -Fluff vs Angst

Sooo I have a few of these that I was unable to finish / never posted. I worked on mostly original stuff this weekend but I’m hoping to feel the inspiration to get a chapter up before the premier of 3 Below.

So read on, enjoy, I hope to hear from people either about this or my fic “For my glory, where do I stand”

(Side bar: I do have a pillowfort bc yikes this tumblr purge...)

I really would like to expand on this further (and it’s a quick oneshot, please forgive typeos etc, you guys know I don’t have a beta).

Tuesday. Thursdays. Saturday mornings. Sunday nights. Four days a week Steve Palchuk faced his past. The first time outweighed the in terms of fear. The first time, an accident saved Steve’s ass and damned him every day since.

  The first time, a Saturday morning, Elijah Pepperjack came into the coffee shop. Steve had recently switched shifts, explaining why he had never seen him before. His victim from high school, a living memory of the man he used to be. Eli, smiling, set his bag in a corner spot. The best seat in the house had been unusually open. Elijah claimed it like his throne. At the counter, he gave Steve a look. He adjusted his glasses and did a quick glance as his nametag.

 “Argentina.” Elijah did not ask, he simply said. He nodded and said the name again, “Argentina, can I get a caramel macchiato, hot, with almond milk? Extra caramel, no whip cream?” He spoke slow and timed it to Steve typing in his request. Eli was a regular, making Steve feel like a new customer. His fingers fumbled and Eli spoke slower and smiled with patience waiting to have it confirmed.

 Steve asked, “Anything else?” He forced a smile. He was not new at this, dammit! He was a surprisingly competent barista! He was just taken back how easily Eli accepted his nametag. It was not his own, but instead a coworker’s, fondly known as Arrrghh!!!! They had a second badge made, no one knew who Argentina was. Staff and guests alike only knew them as Arrrghh!!! Steve, having forgot his badge at home (or under a rock for all he knew) grabbed the long forgotten tag in the back. Elijah did not question it and Steve became unknown. In that moment they met without history.

 “Eli,” Steve called out his name. Was it the first time? Three years since graduation. Three years since he said, “see you later buttsnack” for the foreseeable last time. How long had they shared the same university? Every day of the week, not just the four he saw Elijah, Steve wondered and looked for traces of his old acquaintance. Their school was large, students were a number. Steve got in on scholarship, football. He did not doubt Elijah had gotten a hell of a scholarship on his own. He smart as ever—a quick glance at his laptop while picking up plates cemented the thought. His screen was all numbers, calculations and formulas going right over his head.

 Why had he not appreciated that growing up?

“Thanks, Argentina.” Steve had to keep wearing the badge. He kept it in his pocket, switching it out when Elijah came. He arrived on the same schedule, his routine was horrifyingly predictable. Eli had not changed, which bothered Steve even more. He could recognize Eli, was he so unrecognizable? Steve still had blonde hair, a stunning jaw, he was cocky, and proud and had muscles.

 The reason came to Steve on a Saturday night. The football games and practice. Spring Fling King Steve, would only ever be near the field during the season. To practice and to play. There was no way Steve, his bully Steve, would be caught dead anywhere else. Especially the biggest game of the season, homecoming and he was working as a barista. Most games, he’d be there, but everyone had plans. Steve talked to his coach, there was some debate but ultimately he said yes.

 Business was slow, even nerds were at the game, it was a grand tradition. Steve cleaned tables and folded napkins keeping himself busy. Nothing was enough to stop haunting thoughts. His shoulder ached and no amount of rolling would soothe them. A complete tricep tear had put Steve out of commission. His first surgery, his freshman year went well. He could not believe that shitty luck but pressed on. He came back hot and stronger than ever. Until the last game of Sophomore year. Steve had made it to the A-team. There was no ache that could stop him. His sweat and blood forced him to go on and on. He would be number one. He would be captain senior year—he would get sacked that game and let out a cry that turned every head.

 His doctor never gave him the go ahead to return to the game. His life was over. There was so very few people who would understand, so few who could pull him back. He stopped going to class. He stopped planning for what was going to happen next. Then, of the very few, he came. Captain Draal. A goofy big guy, with a serious switch that kept you on edge. Steve had complete respect for his senior, especially when he learned he was openly gay. As a freshmen who recently figured out he was bi, he was an idol. Steve had not been ready to come out though he almost did after hearing a story about Draal whooping a linebackers ass, off school grounds. Officially on the school record, the dispute had been settled with words. Draal was an inspiration for the teachers. Gay Athlete solves confrontation with civil words. Unofficially the kicker texted QB Draal with details, seeing the guy in his neighborhood, at a friend’s party. Draal showed up and threw down. Rumor went, he said if he ever heard him call anyone the F-word  again he’d wish it would be a dick being shoved down his throat.

 Draal was a king. He was the only one to tell Steve he heard how impressed his psyche teachers were with him. That he talked to the counselor about a new sports scholarship. He went from player to counselor. Steve the asshole was becoming Steve the shoulder.

 Working the slow night in the café was horrible. He could hear only an echo of Draal saying, “You’re still going to be great.” Steve asked, “Could I have been captain?” The words yes never hurt so much. How the fuck was he going to help counsel when he still had not gotten over himself?

 “Argentina?” A voice asked, concerned and soft as a mouse.

 Steve was standing at an empty table, his once wet rag dry from the circles he’d been wiping in.

 “Elijah, shit, sorry Pepperjack.” The words came out quicker than either of them could process. Eli shook his head, his brain firing off.

 “Pepperjack?”

 “Your last name.”

 Elijah, turned from his awkward angle at his lone table and faced Steve head on. He watched carefully and pointedly looked at his nametag. “I never told you that.” He was sure of himself, sure as Steve was that he’d been waiting for a moment like this.

 “Didn’t have to.” Weeks of watching and pretending had become exhausting. Arrgghh!!! Was getting annoying, annunciating Argentina everytime they called his name. Constantly saying, “You’ll get his number quicker if you just stop staring.”

 Psych 101, bullying is a form of interpersonal aggression. It is a group phenomenon with social factors contributing and perpetuating different contexts. His first psych class had been to fill a requirement. His teacher however inspired him. Steve took the material and had a true self reflecting moment. He didn’t have the badge to diagnosis himself and did not think he could ever commit to medical school to really get the degree for psychologist. But there was something. Something calling and sticking out. It started when he picked himself apart.

 Why did he harass Elijah Pepperjack? He was strange. He was his own person. He was quiet. A nerd. He was cute. Steve liked it when he raised his hand because no one else volunteered. Seeing him pout made Steve’s chest swell. But. There were environmental factors that made him noticing everything wrong. At the time, he wanted to beat the affection out. Unable to stop himself, he chose to stop Elijah. He tormented the kid because Steve could never face himself.

 Arrgghh!!! Was not wrong. He could get Elijah’s number a lot quicker if he texted Claire, she was on a study abroad trip and was always checking her email. He could even text Jim. They were never close but had a strange bond from some supernatural adventures. He would never text Toby, Domsalski would turn around and text Elijah, Jim, and Claire with a big OH MY GOD.

 Asking would be easier, if he did not have to keep up being Argentina. But being anyone else meant instantly being shut down.

 “Hey,” The voice pipped up again, “Are you okay?” Qualms of the last name were put to the back burner. Steve shook his head. No! It was homecoming night and he was not on the field! He did not even have a date to the dance because the girl he thought he liked he called it off with. For the past three weeks, every Tuesday, Thursday, Saturday, and Sunday he’d been thinking about a four eyes. He was right back under his skin and he was just as angry as he had been as a kid.

 “No.” Steve’s reply was clipped and curt. Elijah darted from chair to chair around the café, empty, he gestured to the seat across from him and his laptop. Steve left his rag on the table and took the seat, apparently he left his stomach there too. His gut twisted and turned, knotting on nothingness. Why did this feel like an interview that he lied to get in to? Five years experience required? Sure!

 “So…” Elijah closed his computer and drummed on the lid. The click-click drawing too much attention, he instead fidgeted with his hoodie sleeves, already frayed with years of panic. Steve watched the stickers on the laptop lid as they went down. He learned three fundamental things at the exact same time. First, despite his original findings, Elijah was still into the supernatural. There were three glow-in-the-dark ghost stickers in one corner and a Torchwood emblem at the very center. Second, what was a Creepslayerz and why were there three stickers of the same kind? Third, he needed to say something. Elijah was polite as ever, giving time to the world around while seeking none for himself.

 Silence was getting him nowhere. His counselor encouraged him to make his voice heard. He encouraged players on the team to stand up for what they believed in. Their focus needed to be on the game, not a lie. “Listen Elijah,” Steve did not need to draw his company’s attention. Nothing had been stealing his focus.

 “Do you remember a guy in high school, an ass. Totally handsome. Totally a jerk. Went by Steve, well his name was Steve—is Steve.” He fumbled over his own words, his lie already getting in the way of his focus. The lead did not require much inspiration, Elijah was smart, he didn’t need things to be laid out. A string pulled up on Elijah’s shoulders. His bully, hateful and impractical was supposed to be working in a car shop in Arcadia-Oaks. Not in a coffee shop on a game night. Not looking awkward in a dim light.

 “Steve?” Elijah was not sure. How could he! They looked a lot, of course, he thought Steve was Steve the first cup of coffee the other had made. The name tag was the deal breaker. Elijah could breathe knowing his past was behind him. His arm closed around his stomach, rubbing his side. His past was in front of him.

 “Yeah.”

 Steve’s past was in front of him.

 Steve actually said it! He was the nightmare. He was real. This night fucking sucked. Why not get it all out at once? His knee bounced, Elijah had to say something. Bastard. Why are you here? You ruined my life!

 Silence.

 Elijah locked up, reconciling the worlds.

 He stared and Steve read his thoughts. “I can’t play football anymore.” His shoulders sank at the confession. It hurt telling his mother, his coach, strange how it hurt telling a stranger. Arcadia-Oaks knew Steve to be the man. He posted on Instagram and Facebook constantly with updates and accomplishments. That was before the accident. He let everyone assume he was swept up in college magic, too busy to post. Eli too, had been under that spell.

 “It’s hard.” He answered for him. “And…I’m sorry, dude.” He laughed tight and forced. What had he belittled Eli about? A nerd unable to play ball? This was fucking Karma. “I’m sorry.” The apology came quicker and heavy, taking several breathes from him. “I’m really, fucking sorry.” He called Elijah a cocksucker. All his fears and denials were easy to beat on someone smaller. He couldn’t fight a thought, but he could terrorize a human.

 “Steve, hey man, that’s history. Are-” His lips flapped closed, Elijah nearly asked the same question. Steve was not okay, not even alright. Elijah had time to recover, distance between them had shown him the greatness that awaited him. Hours away from Arcadia was practically the other side of the world. Yet here Steve was, just on the other side of campus.

 “Are you busy tonight?” Elijah asked the unaskable. Steve gawked. Was he hearing him right?

 “What?”

 “What?” Elijah repeated, “I’d like to catch up. With Steve, not Argentina.”

 Warmth bubbled in the back of Steve’s throat. Elijah was always this good, once it made him hate him! Now he wanted his number even more. What sort of person could face their once bully head on? Steve looked at his watch, Elijah’s eyes were too much. They scrutinized and wondered.

“In two hours.”

“Cool. I’ll have my homework done by then.”

“Cool.”

It was not cool, busying himself around the shop, around Elijah. Any by standers wandering in he hoped they steered clear of Eli’s section. He didn’t want to go over and clean up. No way Elijah would mind, it was part of Steve’s job! But Steve minded. He minded a lot. It was too soon, what were they supposed to talk about? Eli’s favorite drink? The way Steve switched between hearts and smiley faces on the dot over the I? He wanted to be obvious. He wanted Elijah’s number—all when he was someone else. Argentina. Not Palchuk.

 Steve joined Elijah outside, wearing a burgundy school hoodie. The Batman symbol glowed on Elijah’s chest. Adorable. Perfect. His eyes flicked away, Elijah moving the straps on his backpack had to be a signal. “So,” What was he supposed to say.

 “Creepslayerz?” Steve had noticed the decal before, he had not realized there were three. All the same exact font.

 “My band.” Elijah grinned, he started them walking ahead, following the sidewalks under the yellow street lights.

 “You have a band? You, Elijah Pepperjack?” In high school Elijah had been into theatre. They bumped shoulders when Steve applied for the leading role—just for a kiss—more of anything to piss Jim off.

 “I do. I help write music. We actually have a light show,” Elijah pointed to himself. His shoulders rocked from side to side, a proud shuffle. “Designed that myself. Helps working as a stage hand for the school plays.” Steve could see that. The technical stuff, he doubted the band had much ground to it, but what would Elijah be able to do with a real budget?

 “So you help write the music? You don’t preform…?”

 “Sometimes. But Krel is really the face of the band. Aja too. She’s our hypeman.” Dancer, number one fan, Krel’s sister so she might as well be in the band. Her position only stayed unofficial to prevent a guilt trip commitment. Aja was president of the robotics club and treasurer of the international club. Her time was divided and the duo didn’t want to keep her.

 “Claire inspire you, huh?”

 Elijah pulled a tight face. Not really, Claire was great and they were on similar paths but completely different styles. He hadn’t talked to her in ages.

 “Krel and Aja though, huh?”

 “Transfer students from Cantalupa.”

 “Well that sounds made up.”

 “Yeah well, I think Krel makes up a lot of things. Then makes it real when you’re not looking, so I just go with it.” His smile grew, his eyes looked beyond one foot in front of the other, a place of fondness. A place where Steve wasn’t.

 “You two close?”

 “Yeah, I mean, we’re friends. Roommates freshman year, roommates now.”

 Steve nodded. He missed out on three years, four years before that, and more before that. “How come you’re not in the paranormal club?”

 Elijah looked to Steve, a grin growing, “you know I’m not?”

 “Well. I just. I’m in it so—”

 “You? You’re in it?” Elijah shook his head, no way! Not Steve!

 Steve grinned, doubt, everyone doubted that fact. “Yes way, Eli. I like. The spooky shit. The strange. All the junk you used to go on and on about.”

 “You’re serious?”

 “As the plague.”

 Elijah covered his mouth, his smile too big for a lame joke.

 “Why? You didn’t believe in it, do you now?”

 “Aliens? No. Chupacabras—we’ve had some heated discussions and have come to agree they’re racoons. Which, then they say Aliens are real. They’re left by aliens. I just say the Chupa—” Steve reeled himself in. He straightened his shoulders and quickened his walk. “Ghosts, yeah.”

 “Trolls?” Elijah’s stride double to meet Steve’s walk.

 “Haven’t met one yet.” Steve looked at him, letting the suggestion sink in.

 “So you’ve seen a ghost?”

 “Mhm. Well. I mean other than you tonight.” Another lame joke, Steve’s laugh was tight and Elijah’s exuberant.

 “That is so wicked cool! Are you guys going on any hunts?” He bounced up and down, hopping in front of Steve, completely serious.

 “Are you serious?”

 Elijah nodded and tugged on his backpack.

 “I mean yeah, it’s October. We always get fair-weather attendees so you coming won’t be a problem.”

 He groaned and spun on his feet, he couldn’t believe the club was active! Discussions and ghost hunts! “I never joined because I joined international club, thanks to Krel and Aja. Then there was the band, I got a job at one of the computer labs.” Matching his schedule to a half-interested club where he’d be nitpicked was not on the to-do list. College was going to be the change, no longer the nerd hiding in the closet. Really, he’d been missing on the chance to share his passion.

 “Alright, okay, so you’ll invite me?” Eli let his words hands, his hands wiggled a neon green phone case. Oh. Oh—shit! He was about to score the number, “Um-uh,” He stuttered, smiling and laughing at himself. His hands patted his front pockets, his back and dipped into his hoodie pockets.

 “Phew,” His phone stuck against his hand, he was actually sweating. “What’s your number?” He typed as quick as he sent Elijah a text. Immediately Elijah replied with a ‘got it!’ Not like Steve was literally standing there.

 ‘Dork’ Steve texted.

 ‘Thought you were more of a butt-snack type of guy?’ Elijah watched Steve read, smirking when his lips curled into a smile.

 “Okay, now we’re getting into full sentences. I can’t walk and type.”

 “We’re standing still,” Elijah gestured around them. “Wow Steve, first night back together and already leaving me hanging? Impressive.”

 ‘Now you’re a butt snack’ He added an emoji of a peach, Elijah bumped their shoulders together. “I’m kidding.”

[a-walk-in-silence]

We Can Be Beautiful (Pt. 5)

Pairing: Peter Parker x Fem!Reader

Word Count: 6.3k

Summary: Heathers AU. You were used to the quiet life in Sherwood, Ohio. Albeit, you were bullied, but it was nothing compared to the shit storm that was about to happen when one boy showed up with an air of mystery around him.

Warnings: Cursing, mentions of date rape (n o t h i n g happens, I promise), underage drinking, implications of sexual activities (again, n o t h i n g happened), name calling, bullying, homophobia, manipulation, character death, gun-related violence, self flagellation

Prompt: “You’re the one I choose”

A/N: And here is Part 5 of WCBB! Woohoo! Halfway point! Yes! This is for @gab-spidey‘s 2k writing challenge! Honestly, I just wanna thank everyone for coming along for this ride and, again, thank you all so much! Here’s to the next few parts getting finished eventually! Once again, I’m reblogging suicide hotlines after this goes up. If you guys ever need to talk about something, my inbox and messages are open to the public and I will gladly talk to anyone who needs a shoulder to lean on. Thanks for reading! Also, just as a PS, the warnings are getting longer and longer and, hopefully, they’ll chill out for a bit in the next part (one can hope).

Masterlist | Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8 | Part 9

Key:

Y/N - Your Name

L/N - Last Name

Y/N/N - Your Nickname

Italics - Writing in Your Diary

Bold Italics - Speech of Deceased

Song Inspiration(s):

Blue - Heathers Cast Recording

Blue (Reprise) - Heathers Cast Show Clip (turn up the volume on this one, it’s a clip recording and not the best audio wise but the song is important)

Our Love Is God - Heathers Cast Recording

You fingers silently drummed across your knee as you sat between people sobbing uncontrollably into their handkerchiefs. Try as you might, you couldn’t bring yourself to look up at the open casket sitting at the front of the room, which, inside, contained the dead body of Natasha Romanoff. You couldn’t quite kick away the nagging voice in the back of your head, telling you that this was all your fault. And yeah, okay, it was.

You did kill her, after all.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, the service came to an end. You quickly jumped to your feet and left the building, being one of the first to leave. However, unbeknownst to you, Peter had followed right behind you and grabbed your arm before you could get far.

“Hey, Y/N,” he said, pulling your body towards him. You glanced up at him, trying to not lose your shit while standing in the middle of the small grass area in front of the church. “Where have you been? I haven’t seen in since school let out on Friday.” He brushed a piece of your hair that had fallen out of place behind your ear. “Everything good?”

“Yeah, of course,” you replied, offering him the best smile you could muster at the moment. “It’s just been weird, ya know? My parents have been hovering over me for the past week over the whole suicide thing.” You got onto your tiptoes and pressed a firm kiss into his lips. “I promise I haven’t been avoiding you. Just dealing with issues with Nat’s death, ya know?”

He opened his mouth to talk when a voice interrupted you. “Y/N!” your mother called, coming to your side. “Darling, how are you doing?”

“Hey, ‘Mora, come on. The girl just lost her best friend. I’m sure she’s doing great,” said your father, a sarcastic tone taking over, before smiling. “Say, who’s the fella?”

You shifted awkwardly on your feet before offering them a smile. “Mom, Dad, this is Peter Parker. He’s-”

“We’re kind of dating at the moment,” Peter said over you, quickly cutting you off before you could register what he even said. “It’s a little early on but it’s nice to meet you, Mr. and Mrs. L/N.” He held out a hand to the two of them, maintaining the worlds most purest smile.

Your mother raised an eyebrow at the both of you before cautiously taking his hand in a handshake. “Well, I’m Y/N’s mother.”

Your dad, meanwhile, gave the worlds most toothiest grin before grabbing Peter’s hand. “You’re a Peter? I’m a Peter! That’s really interesting that my daughter would go after a Peter, don’t ya think so, ‘Mora?”

“Peter Jason,” your mother said, clearly exasperated. “We’ll just head out, leave you two to... talk. I hope you can join us for dinner one night, Mr. Parker.”

With that, your parents left, allowing you a moment to catch your breath. With that, Peter turned towards you and offered his arm. “Come on, let’s ditch this place and go to my house. We can watch some TV, maybe unwind a little. Afterwards, I can take you home. I’m sure you need a moment to think.”

You gave him a thoughtful smile before grabbing his arm, wrapping it around your shoulders firmly. “Sounds good to me, anything to get me away from my parents for a little while.”

He chuckled softly. “Ya, they sound a little overbearing. And you dad is... very eccentric.”

“Mmm... That’s Peter Jason L/N for you,” you replied. “He’s always been a big joker and doing things just to confuse everyone around him. Recently, he picked up reading spy novels even though he hates him. He finds it funny. As for my mom, she had a rough childhood, so I suppose it’s understandable why she’s overbearing. Terrible stepdad and all that.”

Peter gave you a confused look, his eyebrow raised in question. “What happened with your mom’s side of the family?”

You sighed, leaning into his side as the two of you walked over to where Peter’s motorcycle was parked. “Her dad passed away while she was really young. Murder, never solved. Then her stepdad showed up, married her mom. And then she died a month later. My mom was left in his care with a crap ton of step-siblings, like my Aunt Neb. They all fought for his attention. She never really explained much outside of the sibling rivalry.” You shrugged nonchalantly. “Nobody’s life is ever perfect, and my mom’s is definitely not an exception.”

Peter plopped down onto his couch and you joined him, curled up into his side. He smiled down at you sweetly, wrapping an arm around you securely. “What should we do, darling?”

“Mmmm.... There’s always television. Maybe we can count how many news channels Sharon Carter went to, crying about Nat.” The two of you laughed for a moment, peaceful in your domesticated bliss.

Finally, Peter grabbed the TV remote and turned on the small box that sat in front of the couch. The two of you flipped idly through several channels, tallying how many were talking about Nat compared to how many had a sobbing Sharon.

Apparently, Sharon Carter had made it to no less than 10 news stations, one of which was a Spanish broadcasting station, where the only discernible words being Nat’s name and Corn Nuts.

“Alright, alright. Turn it off,” you laughed, pulling the remote from his hands. He pouted at you, acting wounded that you would ruin his fun, but didn’t fight you when you turned off the TV. “God, she has no shame,” you said, shaking your head in utter disbelief. 

“Hey dad, just got back from Nat’s funeral and I brought home my girl,” said the voice of Tony Stark, walking over to the two of you as you lounged on the couch. You quickly sat up, trying to hide the fact that you were clearly flustered to see him once again.

“Didn’t hear you come in, son,” Peter stated, wrapping an arm around your waist and pulling you back into his side despite your obvious discomfort.

His dad only chuckled to himself. “Yeah, sorry about that, pa. How was work today?” He took only a beat of pause before going into a rant about his work. “I was working on a new invention today when some of those damn protesters showed up, complaining about how my weapons and such are not ‘environmentally friendly’. Those damn hippies act so damn entitled sometimes, it’s infuriating. This isn’t the damn 60′s anymore!”

“You mean those old broads that camped outside of the house last week?” Peter questioned, clearly not happy with the “old broads”.

“The same.” Tony snorted before sitting down on the arm of the couch, throwing a look in your direction. “Say dad, can my girl stay over for dinner tonight? I’m sure she’d have fun.” Both of them turned their attention towards you, waiting for your answer.

“O-Oh,” you said, trying to fill the silence. “My mom’s already got dinner plans. She’s, uh... making my favorite meal. Ya know, spaghetti. Lots of oregano. Tastes great.”

You wanted to slap yourself. Why did you make up such a stupid lie? Sure, okay, Peter and his dad had a weird bond with one another. And boy would it make life awkward. But you definitely didn’t have to lie like this.

Peter gave you a semi-forced smile, pulling you into his arms. “Really? That’s your favorite dinner? Remind me to make it for you one night. Sounds like something mom would have enjoyed, but last time I saw her, she was waving out a window in the lab from Texas. Isn’t that right, Dad?”

Tony gave Peter the worst look possible, mixed between a glare and a smile, and the look nearly made your heart stop. Several seconds of tense silence passed before Tony responded. “Right.”

“I-I should go.” Your interruption turned both of their gazes towards you. “My parents are probably worried sick and all so... ya know. I should head home.”

“No, of course. I’ll drive you home.” Peter hopped up off the couch and held a hand out to you. “I’ll be home whenever, dad.”

Tony only grunted in response. As Peter dragged you away, you couldn’t help the thought from creeping into your head. If you ever married this boy, you would most certainly not let his father talk at your wedding.

“Y/N! Phone for you!” your mother called from downstairs. You groaned, sitting up, not realizing that you had passed out shortly after Peter brought you home. You grumbled incoherently as you made your way downstairs to answer the phone.

“Hello?” you asked, rubbing sleep out of your eyes.

“Y/N? Is that you?” Jane asked, clearly upset.

Hearing how upset your friend, well, ex-friend, was, caused you to wake up. “Jane? What’s wrong? What happened?” You didn’t even realize you were rambling until she started talking again.

“Y/N, please shut up and just come down to the cemetery, please. It’s an emergency, and you’re the only one who can help us. Please...”

You pursed your lips together, throwing a glance at the clock that sat on the wall. 9:45 pm. Surely your parents would understand since it was an emergency. “Yeah, okay. I’ll be there soon, just sit tight, alright?”

A reassured sigh came from Jane’s side of the phone. “Thank you, Y/N. You’re a lifesaver. We’re by Heathers grave and we’re in Thor’s car. Please hurry.” With that, her end of the line went dead.

You placed the phone back on the receiver before turning to your mother, who was leaning against the wall with her arms crossed over her chest, a displeased look settled on her face. “You’re heading out? Again?”

“Mom, it’s an emergency. Something might have happened. I’ll be back before you know I’m gone, I promise.” Her lips pursed, clearly not impressed with your attempts to reassure her. “Mom, she could be in trouble. I swear, I wouldn’t go if it wasn’t an emergency.”

Finally, she sighed, motioning for you to wake past her. “Fine, go.” You gave her a smile and started to leave, but she stopped you with a hand on your shoulder. “Hey, Y/N/N,” she said, her voice softening. “You know I worry about you, right?”

“I know, mom, and I’m grateful. Truly, I am.” You pecked her on the cheek to prove it. “I’ll be back home before you and dad even know I’m gone. I promise.”

She smiled, a soft, barely noticeable smile, but it was still there nonetheless. “You’re a great kid. Go on, hurry back home, do I make myself clear?”

You nodded and gave her a final kiss on the cheek before leaving the house, running towards the cemetery that was, thankful, just two blocks down the street.

“Y/N!” Jane said, waving to you, her hand sticking out of the driver-side window of Thor’s cherry red sports car sitting in the grass of the cemetery. You approached the scene in front of you, slowly drinking it all in.

On the ground was Thor, face-down in the ground, looking as dead as a rock. There were a few rustles in a bush just about 30 yards away, but you quickly blocked it out, choosing to ask the obvious question. “Is... is Thor-”

“Yeah! He’s fine!” Jane quickly said, rolling down the window a bit so that she could look at you. “He’s passed out. So like, I came here with Thor and Bruce and Shar to pour a bottle of Thunderbird over Nat’s grave, kinda like a goodbye from her friends, ya know?” Her eyes glanced to Thor, passed out just a few feet in front of the bumper of the car. “Well, Thor and Bruce drank it all and... they’ve been really grabby. Shar went to try and get Bruce to calm down but-”

“Wait, wait, wait. Why did you call me then? After everything that happened at Bruce’s party, I figured-”

Awkwardly, Jane leaned back from the window, her fingers fiddling together. “W-Well... Thor promised to leave me alone if, ya know... I called you here. So I panicked and I called! I’m sorry!”

Your mouth dropped open in pure shock from her answer. “Wha- Jane! You... avoided date rape... by offering me up for date rape?”

She grimaced to herself, her fingers still fiddling together. “Well, when you put it that way it just sounds ugly,” she mumbled, clearly trying to make it to where she didn’t feel guilty about the situation.

“I’m leaving,” you muttered to yourself, turning to leave. However, Thor, who had previously been on the ground, was now on the hood of the car, smiling sweetly at you. “Heyyyyyyy Y/N,” he said, his words slurring together. “I waited for youuu cutie. 10 whole beers.” To further his point, he held up both of his hands, wiggling all 10 of his fingers towards you.

“Enough! I said I was fucking done, Bruce!” came a shout from the same bushes that you had heard rustling from earlier. Turning, you watched as Sharon emerged, brushing off her skirt as she stormed away, followed by a stumbling Bruce.

“But baby-” Bruce whined before spotting you. Quickly, a huge smile spread over his features. “Hey, lookie, it’s Y/N! Maybe she can help me find release.”

You physically grimaced, taking a step away from the two drunk jocks. “You both have left hands, can’t you use those instead?” you said, trying to bargain with the two of them.

“But I want youuuu,” Bruce slurred, leaning heavily on the hood of the car while Thor, meanwhile, gathered his wits and started to swagger over to you. “Come on, don’t hurt their feelings.”

“Their?” you questioned, taking another step away from the two as they tried to close in again.

“My balls!” Thor piped up, motioning to his pants where, unfortunately, a small tent was starting to appear. “They need relief from a pretty girl! Even a nerdy girl like you!”

“Yeah!” Bruce added, coming to stand a few feet from Thor, trying to corner you between the two of them. “They’re so blue for you, Y/N. My hands are rubbing like a cheese grater, it’s sooo uncomfortable. Please?”

Once again, you found a sour look sprawled over your face. “Shar, Jane, please let me into the car,” you shouted, even if you were being cornered in the opposite direction of the car. Maybe you could make a run for it. They were pretty drunk...

“Sorry!” Sharon shouted from the car. “The car’s staying locked while they can still get in!”

You looked around desperately for an escape before your eyes caught onto a glass bottle, half full of liquid and sitting haphazardly in the dirt, but the contents were very clearly booze. You managed to get past the two of them and retrieve the bottle, holding it up like an offering. “Look here, Thor and Bruce! Booze!”

The two of their faces broke out into huge, sloppy, shit-eating grins as they eyed up the bottle. “Thank you so much, Y/N!” Bruce shouted, practically running you over to grab the bottle.

“You’re so welcome!” you shouted, stepping away from the two as they fought over the liquid remaining in the amber bottle. Finding the situation perfect, you finally slipped away, up the hill that lead back to the main road.

As if a saving grace, a familiar figure was leaning against a black motorcycle. You sighed happily before letting his arms envelope you. “You look like hell,” Peter murmured, brushing a hand through your hair.

“How’d you know I was here?” you asked, snuggling your head into his black-clad chest. “I didn’t tell you-”

“Your mom told me. I called, asking for you, and she told me you went to the cemetery to save Jane from an emergency,” Peter replied, twirling a piece of his hair around his finger. “Figured it sounded fishy so I came to investigate to see you escaping from the cemetery.”

You shake your head, leaning into him. “I just want to go home, Pete. Can you drive me?”

His lips pressed against the top of your head. “Of course, beautiful. Just make sure you tell me what happened tomorrow at school, got it?”

A laugh escaped your throat as you looked up at him. “Yeah, okay. I promise.”

Dear Diary,

You could call last night a close call. Yeah, close call. Definitely would have ended differently if my mom hadn’t told Peter where I was or if I hadn’t of found that bottle just sitting there. I can’t help but think that Nat was the only person keeping Thor and Bruce in check, and now she’s dead. So now the school is defenseless to their libido.

“Having second thoughts, bitch?” asked a voice that caused you to tense. Following the voice was a fit of coughing. “You know, I blame you and your beau for the fact that I’ll be coughing up Drano for all of eternity. Do you feel guilty yet, Y/N/N?”

You grimaced to yourself before finally allowing yourself to look up from your journal. You could practically see Nat standing there, wearing her silk red robe that she died in. Her body was littered with cuts from the glass that she landed in, and her eyes were completely white.

Choosing to ignore the phantom now standing over you, watching you, you turned your attention back towards you diary.

I know I didn’t technically kill her, but I can’t help but feel like I did. I feel bad for it... but not as bad as I should. And that’s what scares me. Maybe that’s why I feel like she’s standing over me, dictating everything I do.

You glanced up from your journal again to find Sharon and Jane digging through Nat’s locker, clearing everything out into a box. Your hands balled up into fists as you slammed your diary shut and stalked over to them. “Hey, I hope you guys are planning on apologizing for acting like Grade A Bitches last night.”

“Hey,” Sharon said, turning around to point a finger into your chest. “We’re cleaning out Nat’s shit right now. Show a little respect, why don’t you?”

“Y/N, tell her to get her little slutty hands off of my crap,” said dead Nat, now standing right behind Sharon as she dug through her locker. “Y/N? Y/N/N, make her stop it now!”

“Shut up!” you shouted, clearly distressed from the voices filling your head.

A pair of hands shoved you roughly, dragging you back to Earth. You glared at Sharon who was practically seething in your direction. “No! I won’t shut up! Never again!” Her hands fumbled in her blonde hair, dragging out her bow and replacing it with Nat’s red scrunchie.

Jane grabbed Sharon’s arm, trying to stop her. “Shar, that’s Nat’s-”

An animal-like snarl came from Sharon, causing Jane to flinch away. “Shut up, Jane! Nat’s gone, and someone needs to replace her! And it’s going to be me so shut the fuck up!”

Your mouth dropped open in shock, staring at Sharon like she was crazy. Replace Nat? How could anyone want to ever replace her? “Shar, please don’t do this,” you mumbled.

A scoff came from the blonde as she turned her back towards you and pulled more crap from Nat’s locker. “Whatever. You should worry less about me and more about your reputation, bitch. Didn’t you hear? Thor and Bruce were talking about your little three-way last night.”

“Three-way?” asked the voice of Peter from right behind you, causing you to jump. You turned to look at him, and you couldn’t help but nearly cry from the look of pure pain that had etched it’s way across his face.

“No, Peter, please... There was no three-way! Nothing happened last night, I promise!”

“Really?” Sharon asked, slamming Nat’s locker shut, causing you to flinch once more. “I remember it differently.”

As if on cue, Thor and Bruce came walking down the hall with a boy, who you could briefly remember being named Clint, following them. “A sword fight? In her mouth?” Clint asked, his jaw completely slack at the idea.

“Oh yeah,” Thor said, smiling. “A big sword fight in her mouth! It was crazy crowded!”

“Yeah, but then, after the sword fight, we bent her over backwards like origami!” Bruce added.

Peter’s hands clutched into fists as he grabbed onto the back of Bruce’s jacket at his comment. You reached out to grab him, despite the tears threatening to spill over, but he was well out of your grasp. “Don’t talk about Y/N like that!”

Thor pushed Peter’s hands away, standing next to Bruce in a protective way. “Don’t complain when you’re girls a fucking slut-”

Peter’s fist connected with Thor’s face, causing him to fall back to the ground. However, before he could react, Clint was suddenly holding Peter’s arms behind his back, which left him open to be attacked by both Bruce and Thor.

“No! Stop!” you shouted, trying to push through the crowd that was starting to gather, but Sharon grabbed you forcefully, throwing a wicked smile towards you. You fought against her, but she had a death grip on both of your shoulders now.

“Stop this nonsense right now!” shouted the voice of Principal Fury as he pushed through the crowd. “Odinson, Banner, Barton, my office, now!”

The crowd dispersed just as quickly as it had formed. Meanwhile, Fury had to fight to remove Bruce from Peter while two other male teachers had to help in hauling off both Clint and Thor.

You went to walk over to Peter who laid prone on the ground, tears burning your eyes, when a hand suddenly grabbed you. You turned quickly to see Bruce smiling, a horrible glint in his eyes. “Whore,” he whispered before being dragged away.

Being called a whore was the final blow, and it made you finally break down in tears as you dropped to your knees in front of Peter, helping him sit up. “P-Pete?” you mumbled, brushing his brown curls from his face to take it all in. His lip was split in more than one place, and a bruise was already starting to form on his cheekbone. You were sure there were more bruises if one looked at his arms and chest, but you weren’t about to look right now. “A-Are you okay?”

His arms wrapped around you tightly, and you could feel him shaking. “Y/N...” he mumbled, breathing into your hair. “How are you?” he asked, clearly ignoring your question.

“I-I’m okay,” you mumbled. “I... I’ve been called worse a-and... y-ya know, everything’s awesome.” You broke down in full sobs in the middle of the deserted hallway. For some reason, all of the teachers were long gone, and you and Peter were long forgotten. “I-I’m sorry for crying...” you mumbled, trying to bring yourself back together and failing miserably.

His hands brushed through your now messy hair, trying to soothe you. “You don’t deserve to cry,” he muttered, holding you tightly. “I swear, I will end this all. All of it, tonight. You...” He pushed you away until you were at arms length, looking into his brown eyes as he gave you the best smile he could muster. “You’re the only thing that’s right about this broken world.” His hand brushed a piece of hair behind your ear before cupping you face. “So cry, it’s okay. But come tomorrow morning... all of this will be long behind us, okay? Do you wanna know why?”

You slowly nodded, rubbing away the tears that were making trails down your face. “Y-Yes,” you mumbled, giving him a verbal confirmation to continue on.

“Because, Y/N, love like we have doesn’t come around often. Our love is special. Our love is God, and our love will fix all of this, okay?”

A small smile tugged at the corners of your lips. “O-Okay,” you mumbled, allowing yourself to revel in the thought. Maybe he was right. Maybe your love was strong enough to stop it all, make all of the pain and misery just... go away.

Suddenly, a thought dawned on you. He never answered your question earlier. “P-Pete?” you asked, crawling back over to him and curling up in his arms. “You never answered me... are... are you okay?”

You glanced up to see him smiling down at you. “I always thought I would be alone, like... Like I was a frozen lake. No one would ever be dumb enough to try and go crack the ice, but... now I’m realizing that I’m not. I can feel myself getting better, and it’s because of you. Now... now I know that I’m not alone, never again. I won’t be alone because I’ll have you.”

“Yeah... we’ll never be alone,” you smiled softly, running your hands through his hair.

“Y/N...” he mumbled sweetly before pressing a kiss into your forehead. “I want to see you tonight. I’ll sneak over to your place, okay? Say around 8-ish?” A nod was all you could do to answer him, and he continued on. “Until then, we should probably get to class, yeah?”

And so, that’s what the two of you did after a quick stop by the nurse so that way you two had a valid reason for showing up late to class.

“So what’s the plan to get back at Bruce and Thor?” you asked, leaning closer to Peter as he sat on your bed.

He smiled before pulling out several items from a brown paper bag. “We’re going to fake their suicides,” he replied simply. “I’ve got our Stud Puppie magazine, a Joan Crawford postcard, mascara... Ah, and the piece de resistance, mineral water.”

You giggled, staring at him as he put the items back in the bag. “Yeah, so, what? Do you need a forged suicide note then?”

“And for you to make a call to the boys to go behind the school so that we can set up the joke,” he responded, grabbing your bedside phone and setting on your bed.

“But why are we going to such great lengths? I mean, how are we going to make it look like they’re dead?” You grabbed the receiver, ready to make the call once he explained it all to you.

He watched you for a moment before grabbing two guns from... somewhere. You physically flinched at the sight of the weapons. “Peter, I thought our Bonnie and Clyde adventures were done. I don’t-”

He placed a finger to your lips to silence you. “Relax, we’ll fill them with Ich Luge bullets.” At your confused look, he smiled. “They’re tranquilizer bullets. My granddad scored a shit ton back in World War II. The Nazis used them to fake their own suicides when the Russians invaded Berlin. The darts should knock Thor and Bruce out long enough to make it look like a suicide. Once they come to, they’ll be the laughing stock of the whole school.”

Still confused by the whole concept of Ich Luge bullets, you forced yourself to nod along with what he was saying. “Yeah, okay, makes sense,” you said, more to assure yourself than anyone else. “So, we need a suicide note.”

Peter nodded, grabbing your notepad so that you could write. “Just make it sound really sappy. Remember, it needs to sound believable. And you can pick whichever of the two you want to write for.”

Nodding, you turned your focus on your diary as you scribbled out a suicide note in Thor’s handwriting.

Bruce and I realized the moment that we could not share our forbidden love that we would have to die instead. Though we will miss the joy of being in each others arms, we cannot continue to live in a world where we have to act like beer-guzzling jackasses. Thus, we have chosen to die rather than live in a disapproving world.

“Look good?” You asked, showing the note to Peter.

He instantly broke out into a huge smile, carefully tearing the paper out of your journal. “Perfect,” he replied, folding it in half and adding it to the bag of goodies that sat on the edge of your bed. “Now we just need you to call Thor. Tell him to meet behind the school at dawn.”

Nodding, you quickly dialed the number to Thor’s house, crossing your fingers that he would be the one to pick up.

After a few rings, there was finally an answer. “Yeah-lo?” came the voice of Thor, and you had to fight the urge to sigh in relief at the fact that he was the one to answer.

“Hey, Thor?” you asked, twirling a piece of your hair around your index finger. “It’s Y/N. So... I was wondering... How did you and Bruce know it was always a fantasy of mine to take two guys at once?”

“Dude, dude!” said the muffled voice of Thor, clearly trying to get Bruce’s attention. “It’s Y/N!” You tapped your fingers against your knee, waiting for them to decide to talk. “So, uhhh, I guess it was a lucky guess?” Thor said, finally sounding clearer.

“Well...” you drawled out, throwing a look at Peter to see him laughing. You threw a pillow at him before continuing the conversation. “If you want it to come true... Meet me behind the school with Bruce. At dawn.”

There was a choking sound from the other end of the line before Thor started talking. “Yeah, uh-huh, sounds good.” Before you could hang up, you heard him practically shouting to Bruce. “Bro! Free pussy! And we don’t even have to buy it a pizza! Punch it in!”

You cringed to yourself before hanging up the phone. “They’ll be there,” you said, placing your phone back on your nightstand. “That was hell.”

Peter laughed, drawing you into him as he pressed a firm kiss to your lips before pulling away to smile down at you. “Y/N... our love is a powerful thing. We can start and finish wars.”

Resting your head on his shoulder, you couldn’t help but smile. “Yeah, our love is what killed the dinosaurs. The world needed room for us.”

“You bet your ass it did,” he mumbled, pressing a kiss into the top of your head. “Hey, gorgeous.” You glanced up at him to see him staring at you seriously, yet his eyes were also filled with so much adoration. “I worship you, and everything that you are. I’d trade my life for yours if it was necessary to see you alive and happy...”

You pulled him into a kiss, silencing his words. He hummed in response, which was one of the few sounds made between the two of you for the rest of the night as you both eagerly awaited morning to put your plan into motion.

“So why did we steal your dad’s car again?” you asked as you both pulled into the school parking lot, just before dawn broke.

“The motorcycle’s great and all, but the car’s better for if we need to hide after our plan has been enacted.” You raised an eyebrow at him, not necessarily aware of why you’d need to hide if the bullets were just going to knock them out. Still, you didn’t question him and, instead, followed him out of the car and to the meeting spot.

You handed the bag of goodies off to Peter before grabbing the gun from him. “Just remember,” he said softly, brushing a piece of hair behind your ear, “I’m just behind that tree right there. When we shoot, you try and shoot Thor and I’ll get Bruce, got it?” Accepting your tiny nod as an answer, he kissed the top of your head. “Alright, they should be here any minute now so I’m going to go hide.”

With that, you were left alone in the small little clearing just a few feet from the main road. You decided to make a circle that surrounded you in the dirt, pretending it was your safe zone that Bruce and Thor couldn’t cross if they wanted to.

The sound of approaching footsteps made you lift your head up from your feet to see the two jocks coming down the small slope, practically tripping over one another to make it to where you were.

“Hey, Y/N,” Bruce said, a bright smile filling his features. “How’re you doin’?”

“Bro, cut the small talk,” Thor said, slapping Bruce with the back of his hand. “Do we just whip out our dicks or what?”

You fought every impulse to shudder or cringe at Thor’s blunt words. You forced a playful smile onto your features, meeting his muddy brown eyes. “Take it slow, Thor. I want the two of you to strip for me.”

They both laughed, clearly excited by the prospect of stripping for you. Thor started to tear of his own clothes before remembering that you said to take it slowly. He looked physically pained by the notion of strip-teasing for you, but he still slowed his movements down.

Bruce, however, looked a little more confused. “What ‘bout you, Y/N?” he asked, slowly removing his jacket.

“Well...” you said, voice barely audible to the two of them, “I was hoping you could rip my clothes off me... sport.”

Sport? Sport? Was that really the best word you could come up with in the moment?

Despite the fact that you felt like a complete idiot by calling them sport, they still nodded along and stripped faster until they both stood in front of you in their underwear.

“On the count of three, you both can come at me and take off my clothes. Ready?” They nodded eagerly and you forced a smile. “One... Two...”

“Three,” said the voice of Peter, coming from behind the tree, gun raised. You grabbed your own gun and aimed at Thor, firing one of the Ich Luge bullets into his shoulder. Meanwhile, Peter hit Bruce right in between the eyes.

Thor screamed at being shot and tried to run away, but Peter fired another shot into his back, causing him to fall face-first into the ground.

You found yourself staring at Bruce, as blood pooled around him in the forest ground and you suddenly felt sick. You fell to your knees, cupping Bruce’s face. “Bruce? Bruce? Oh my god. Peter-”

Hands hauled you off the ground, pulling you away from the scene. “We have to go, come on,” he muttered in your eye, practically dragging you all the way back to the school. Practically frozen, you let him do so.

You just killed two more of your classmates. 

Once back in the car, you finally released all of your feelings all at once. “God! I’m so stupid!” you shouted as Peter started the car so that music was playing in the background. Out of the corner of your eye, you saw him grab a cigarette from his dads glove compartment.

Absentmindedly, you grabbed the lighter from the car, staring at the orange metal. Before you were even aware of what you were doing, the lighter was pressed into the palm of your hand, and you were screaming from the pain.

Peter quickly yanked the lighter away from your burning flesh before placing the end of his cigarette against your palm. You whimpered as he leaned back, his cigarette burning through the car.

“Fucking Ich Luge bullets? Why am I so stupid? Why would I ever believe such a stupid lie?” you mumbled, more to yourself than anybody else. You held your hand close to your body, trying to ignore the mind numbing pain that originated from your burnt hand.

“Maybe because you wanted them dead,” Peter said, earning him a glare from you. “Oh come on! Ich Luge bulelts? If something sounds too good to be true, usually it is! Don’t play so naive, Y/N! Your mind wanted to believe the bullets were tranquilizer bullets because your thoughts are too icky and impure. You wanted them dead just as much as I did.” With the end of his statement, he tossed his half-gone cigarette out the car window before turning his attention back to you.

“No I didn’t!” you shouted, clearly exasperated by his remarks. “No one deserves to die, Peter!”

“Yes you did! Don’t lie to me! They made you cry! Besides, they’re just a bunch of-”

You covered your ears with your hands, despite the pain it caused you, and started making random noises to block out his talking. He groaned in response and tried to talk louder, but you only matched him in volume until you both were practically screaming at one another.

“Enough!” Peter shouted, removing your hands from your ears and silencing you with a kiss. You pushed against him slightly, trying to fight the kiss before finally relenting to his lips and the sweet feeling of being enveloped in his strong arms. In fact, you even found yourself kissing him back despite the anger you felt boiling beneath the surface.

Once deeming you calm enough, his lips left yours, brushing the hair out of your face. “Come on,” he mumbled, lips a few inches from your own. “It’s already done, okay? So let’s just go somewhere. I’m sure they’re going to cancel class today anyway.”

You nodded slowly before you relaxed into the passenger seat of his dad’s car. Your mind whirled with thoughts, primarily ones centered around Bruce and Thor. Once again, someone was dead, and you helped cause it. You killed two people today, and now you had to pay the price.

“Peter?” you asked quietly as the two of you drove through the practically empty roads of the town. “Can we go and grab ice for my hand?”

“Of course,” he responded, looking visibly more relaxed and less on edge. “I’m sorry about your hand, by the way.”

Tags:

@gab-spidey @daringbanshee @genzbitch @youreafangirl-harry @thedaydreamingwriter @starksparker