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asheurbanipal · 2 months ago

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Larger Rules Even You Must Follow

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Venom, Eddie x Venom, symbrock

Explicit

7k words

Content: mention of suicidal ideation, angst, reunion, minor gun violence, tentacle masturbation

Ep 1 in series

On Ao3

Summary:

It's been six months since...well...since the voice stopped altogether. Life was supposed to be normal again. He's working as a reporter again! It's fine! Except there's some kind of new, mysterious figure climbing across the roof's of New York. Good thing the multiverse opens the door for those we think are gone to get...a second chance.

Notes on continuity:

Fun fact, I know the Venom comic canon backward and forward, intimately. However, the movieverse doesn't follow comic canon and technically wraps itself up with Madame Web and Morbius. And while I want to include facts and characterization from the comic canon, the movie continuity seems like more fun to write in with more spaces to write into. What the FUCK is a boi to do?

My solution? Well? Fuck it, multiverse.

Which means I also had to watch Madame Web and Morbius. These movies aren't nearly as bad as people say they are.

Eddie laid on the couch and stared at the ceiling. It was too quiet. He scrambled for the remote and turned it on to General Hospital. Too quiet. He used another remote to turn on the window AC unit, turning the fan all the way up. Too quiet. If he turned on the radio, too, the downstairs neighbors would complain again.

That was fair, honestly. She was a work-from-home mom with three kids under five. She didn't need him making her life harder.

eddie

He rolled off the couch and hopped a few times, shaking the auditory shadow from inside his ears. He shuffled over to the office/exercise area he had set up in his dining space. He didn't touch the free weights, instead dropping to the chair in front of his laptop. Then he looked at the dumbbells. Then the computer.

"Ten reps. Just ten reps of ten." Once he actually started, though, he rolled into a proper, basic, low weight arm routine. Nothing fancy. Nothing hard. Just something to keep his body moving so his brain wouldn't catch up.

Before Ve-...before he wasn't really the dedicated exercising type. Living in walkable cities kept him fit enough for what he needed to do on the daily. When he met…when he had the other, though, he learned quickly he was not in any kind of shape to handle the things his body demanded of him. Yeah, he wasn't necessarily doing most of the heavy lifting, but he could feel it afterward. Punching through walls still hurt even when the force was distributed by black goo around his wrist and arm. Even a basic weightlifting routine had helped him get out of bed every morning without feeling like a robot.

He had fallen out of the habit over the last six months. Since…

He was determined to get back into it, though. Something to make it easier to deal with…

"Fuck, I'm crying again." He dropped into the computer chair and swiped his hands across his eyes. It kept happening. He didn't even feel some specific swell of emotion, just suddenly his eyes were welling up. He had convinced everyone in the office that he just had the worst allergies known to man and they appeared at extremely inopportune times.

Speaking of, a Teams alert went off on his laptop. He didn't have a dedicated desk, one of the hybrid reporters, but there was a last minute meeting. They wanted him at the office.

He slammed the lid of the computer closed. Good. Fine. Anything to get out of this apartment where only shit feelings lived.

Grief was supposed to get easier with time. That's what the book said.

It better start working soon.

The problem was that it came in waves. Through the weeks after, through moving back to New York, through settling into a shitty one-bedroom apartment, through all the little things he needed to do to get his life back on track, he had been fine. Sad, but fine. Distant from everything but fine.

It was after that. After he found a routine again. After life started looking normal.

That's when the weight of the loss hit.

No one to talk to as he drifted off to sleep. No one to make half of breakfast poorly. Yeah, he hadn't eaten a head in half a year, but was that worth it? Really?

He had made it from his apartment, to the subway, then down a few blocks to the building of the Daily Globe , all without really thinking about what he was doing.

"Thanks for making it Brock." Barney Bushkin was a weird guy. Fat bald. A man caught in the middle of a different time. The Globe was on the downswing, falling apart against its rivals that had better been able to adapt to an all-digital world.

But they were willing to take them--him back.

They probably needed him more than he needed them. The Eddie Brock byline was facing another Renaissance after internet conspiracy had (mostly correctly) decided he was the victim of some alphabet agency black op. If he kept his head down, he could ride it into a book deal of some sort.

What the fuck would he actually write about, though?

Bushkin led him into one of the small conference rooms with the handful of other managing editors for sections of the website and paper. Eddie shouldn't technically be there. He was a team of one, covering obscure crimes and tracking down the seeds of high-level corporate espionage. No one else wanted to touch his niche, so he had no one to report to but Bushkin himself. It was nice to have a long lead, but that also meant if something went sideways, he was the only one carrying the weight. Again.

Bushkin closed the door and dropped the blinds.

"This is an in-person meeting because I don't want any of this in writing." He dropped a manila file on the table and opened it up to a few 8 x 10s. It was some guy in red, swinging on some kind of thin rope between skyscrapers. The pictures got picked up and passed around the room.

"These came in anonymously, and I got a call from Jameson at the Bugle and a few other places that they got the same. Now this combined with some weird street crime patterns lately means we've come to a bit of a truce. We're all gonna hold back until we have more information. Not just gonna run any random old picture. We're gonna at least pretend we're journalists. Because honestly? None of us know what the hell this is, and no one wants to look stupid. Doesn't mean we can't get the scoop, though."

The pictures made it to Eddie, and he flipped through them. Something pinged a memory deep down that shot an arrow of unease through him. Action shots were blurry, a red and blue figure hurtling through the sky. A nighttime candid from inside the crown of the Statue of Liberty when it was absolutely closed to the public. He sent them along to the next person.

Bushkin nodded to a young woman with pink hair. One of the designated "younger generation" that every paper needed and he had been at one time.

"Lee, is this enough to figure out how and where these were printed? Get us something to work back from?"

"I've got an ink analysis guy," she assured, and that was enough, for now.

"Okay, everyone else, I want you on your toes, looking into this, but I don't want you dropping off your main stories. We've still got a paper to keep running."

Bushkin answered a round of questions, then everyone was released out of the office.

"Brock." Except one.

Bushkin waited for everyone else to filter out before leaning into Eddie.

"Is this the kind of thing you might know something about?"

Bushkin knew Something. Eddie didn't know how or what or any actual useful details that would help him navigate this conversation, but Bushkin had some kind of information that other people didn't. And he had figured out Eddie did, too.

"Nothing from me." Eddie had gotten good at failing to commit to anything specific. In more ways than one.

"You sure? Maybe, you find something no one else would think to look for?"

Eddie sighed.

"Barney, you don't want it to be something I know about. Because I won't be able to give you that scoop without being put in a wooden crate and stored at the back of a warehouse. Are you getting me?" This was the first time he had been this direct about the situation, and it was still skimming around the outside. But Bushkin nodded.

"Then I'll just ask you to use your unique experience and keep an eye out."

"I can do that." He gestured vaguely toward the door. "We good?"

Bushkin flicked his head in dismissal.

"Hey, Yousef, can I ask you about something?"

Eddie slid into the bodega at the corner by his apartment and headed straight back for a six pack. By the time he made it to the counter he had a bag of chips and a chocolate bar. He didn't remember grabbing the chocolate bar. For a half second he stared at the shelf, considering whether to put it back. Then Soup the calico nudged his hand from her station on the counter, and he focused his attention on petting her, instead.

eddie, kitty

"Stop it," he muttered to himself.

"What are you yelling at me about, boss?" Yousef emerged from the backroom. He was probably only a few years older than Eddie, but he'd been in the city his whole life. Street level.

"Do you remember something maybe…fifteen years? About some dude in, like, I don't know…a unitard chasing people around the city?"

Yousef stared at him with narrowed eyes, thinking.

It had struck him while he was dredging through crime reports looking for possible clues or information, a sort of weird nag of information in the back of his head. He had been a dumb college kid at the time, though, still pretending he was hot shit out in the suburbs. He was too disconnected from things happening in the city. The general internet had shit-all, and if the crime beat archives at the Globe ever had anything, it was gone now.

Suspiciously gone, honestly.

But people don't forget so easily.

"Yeah…yeah." Yousef knocked his knuckles on the counter then started ringing up Eddie's purchases. "Some fucking asshole in black pajamas blew up a taxi then went chasing an ambulance through Queens. News said they were shooting a music video and the pyrotechnics malfunctioned. Never believed it for a second."

Yousef looked at him sideways.

"Big shot reporter asking makes me think I'm right."

Eddie leaned across the counter conspiratorially.

"Not that you heard it from me. But if you happen to see or hear anything else about a man running around in a onesie, I would appreciate the notice."

Yousef tapped the side of his nose that he understood.

Eddie sat on a crate on the fire escape pretending it was a balcony drinking a beer and doom-scrolling on his laptop. The city was noisy. Bright. A lot of extra-sensory information in the background to keep the soft parts of his brain occupied.

eddie

He tossed the echo of a sound out of his head and chugged down the last half of his beer in one gulp. His thumb hovered over the trackpad. He told himself he would stop doing this, but the urge kept rising up.

His fingers found the keystrokes before he realized he was doing it. "Life Foundation rocket" "Carlton Drake" "San Francisco church" "Cletus Kasady" "Nevada aliens" Then a collection of additional keywords and searches laying out the major events of the most eventful year of his life. True to the word of the US military, there was nothing that could incriminate him beyond being in the wrong place at the wrong time.

Carlton Drake had died in a rocket launch failure. The Life Foundation had been shut down, at least temporarily, for unknown disclosed FDA-related reasons. Cletus Kasady had orchestrated a prison break with a homemade explosive and burned down a church. Which, by the way, Eddie Brock had nothing to do with upon further investigation. It was a misunderstanding based on the raving declarations of a now-dead serial killer.

And, of course, there was an absolute glut of conversation about aliens at the old Area 51 site. Some of it was eerily accurate, but it all lived on forums and subreddits and Discord servers and old-school IRC channels that didn't exactly hold themselves to a high burden of proof.

"Goddamnit, Martin," he muttered. Once he had figured out his handle, it was easy to track him across every site. "They're gonna come get you if you're not careful." But the Martins of the world helped keep the secret. Cover the truth with loud absurdity. He glanced through the window at a manilla folder on his desk. Inside were photocopies he'd secretly made of the weirdo in red and blue. He wiped away a mysterious stray tear.

"I swear to god, if all the politicians end up being lizard people, I'm gonna be so pissed."

eddie

He sat up in bed, the fabric of his blanket agony against the gooseflesh of his skin.

"Stop it." He pressed his palms to his ears and growled into the empty room. "Stop talking to me like this. Just…be dead…I can't…I can't keep doing this."

I'm sorry, Eddie. Do you want me to go?

He froze, hands still over his ears. It was real. It was real and it was inside his head. This wasn't possible. He had watched the symbiote melt in a rain of acid. Felt the connection sever. Felt the silence descend and expand through his body until the only thing left was himself.

"Buddy?" Eddie searched the room, crawling to the end of his twin bed. "Buddy, are you there?" The tears came hot, pouring down his cheek, dripping down over his chin and jaw. "If you're actually here, you need to fucking talk to me. I can't…I can't do this."

Can I come into you Eddie? I want it to be better this time.

"Yes, please oh my god." He held out his hands, unsure where to aim them. Part of the pitch black darkness of his room reached out and touched his fingertips. It crawled up his arm, circling his chest, his neck, his face. Then it settled down under his skin. A sea of bubbles spread between his fat and muscle, popping in quick succession until he was floating in his own skin. He focused on the sensation of the symbiote--his symbiote--wrapped around his spine. The tendrils curled around his ribs and settled into the spaces between his organs. He felt so heavy. So dense. Mass stacked on mass stacked on mass.

He didn't even realize how much he had missed this. How much he missed the weight .

"So you didn't die or…where have you been this whole time?"

I'm tired, Eddie. Took so long to find you, again. Let me rest then I'll show you.

Eddie moved the conversation to his internal monologue, tripping into the line of thought awkwardly. He had barely mastered it before…well…shit before the alien died.

Yeah okay, buddy. Yeah.

Eddie fell back against the lumpiest set of pillows in existence. Matter raised along his chest, seeping out of his skin and through his undershirt. It formed into the shape of an arm across his sternum, a half-formed hand dropping around to his back.

Is that safe? For you to be out like this?

It's fine. I'll tell you what I learned later.

They sounded so tired. Eddie nodded. Rest. Right. There was a twitch in his arm, and he followed the impulse to pick it up and place it across his stomach. His symbiote's arm moved lower, and their hand intertwined with his, fingers clasping over the back of his hand.

I missed you, Eddie.

I missed you, too, bud.

Eddie was out the minute he closed his eyes, and he had the best goddamn night of sleep in months.

Something in his body was waiting for the symbiote to wake him up when he sensed the sunlight on skin. They didn't.

Eddie forced it himself, blinking his eyes open against the new daylight. It was brighter. Whiter. Like he used to see it. When he tried to move his hand, it was stuck in a death grip of alien matter. His other hand was free and he looked down at his body. He was wrapped in thick bands of matter around his chest and stomach. Thinner stripes coiled around his thigh, and he couldn't tell whether they were curling up the leg or down the waistband of his boxer briefs. Or if they simply erupted from his skin.

He brushed a hand over a band of matter. It was warm. Pulsing. The matter was unmoving, but not still, micro-twitching and breathing under his hand. He ran his fingers along it, trying to find out how it faded back into his body before giving up and giving in to the feeling.

This specific display was new. A strange middle ground between extension of his body and limbs and existing as their own being.

"Hey, are you awake?"

Waiting for you, Eddie.

The bands moved around his body, sinking back into him. Eddie let his symbiote move him out of bed and gently pad across the room to the window. His symbiote emerged from his shoulder.

"You can't see the statue from here, Eddie," they said. They're cadence was still subdued but not as tired as the night before.

"Well, yeah, you can't see it from everywhere. I'll take you down to Battery Park when you're feeling better." He could feel the matter-deep weariness in the other part of him. His other part. His Other. The Other touched the top of their head to Eddie's, knocking their temples together.

"You gonna tell me what happened?" Eddie asked.

"While we make some breakfast. You're hungry."

On cue, Eddie's stomach growled in anticipation. The Other sunk back into Eddie's shoulder and let him stay in control as they moved into the kitchen. The other's arms and tendrils hesitated at first, feeling out the new kitchen. Then they moved, slow and deliberate, pulling eggs and milk and bread to their workstation. This wasn't the same frenetic energy that he'd fallen into sync with.

No baking powder, Eddie. Can't make pancakes. A tendril touched Eddie's cheek in apology.

"That's fine. I usually have coffee and nothing for breakfast. So…"

Not good for you, my beloved.

Something tightened around their words, like they had let them slip and fall and tumble without thought. The Other produced a small head to speak again.

"What have you been doing while I was gone?" they asked.

"Nah, you go first. My life is boring without you. You can just pluck the last six months from my brain."

"I'd like to listen to your voice," The Other said quietly. The eggs they had scrambled and thrown in the pan were cooking up perfectly smooth and light and fluffy.

"Ahh. Okay. Well. I'm at the Globe . Bushkin has me looking into these people in spandex tooling around the city. I think I might be onto something, but…I don't know."

He could feel the other's interest pique.

"Are there pictures?"

"Yeah, actually. I'll show them to you…after you tell me where you were and what you've been doing."

The Other slid back into his body with a sigh.

Eat your food.

This time they were forceful, dragging Eddie's body to the high stool on the other side of the kitchen island while they finished and plated the eggs. The other added fresh toast then went searching in the fridge for something. They returned with butter slammed hard on the counter.

I didn't die.

"Obviously," Eddie replied, taking a bite of the best fucking eggs he'd ever eaten.

Shh and listen.

The other thwapped him on the side of the face with a tendril.

A few cells survived and remained here, but my consciousness retreated into the hive. Back beyond the edges of the cage. Then…I don't know.

The Other showed him something. A forever collapsing infinity. An event horizon. Light and heat and time compressed in on him revealing an eventuality at the end of time.

I was nothing. I was everything. I connected to all the different versions of us through space and time.

"Wait, what?" Eddie found himself pausing with the tip of his fork resting on his bottom lip.

The multiverse Eddie. Versions of us over and over and over again. I watched through the eyes of different hosts. Versions of me that weren't bonded to versions of you. I watched you hesitate as you held a gun to the roof of your mouth. I watched you actually pull the trigger a few times.

I saw you angry and sad and riddled with sickness. I saw you fueled by rage, justified and otherwise.

I saw Anne dead.

That stopped them both. Eddie had texted her exactly one time to inform her he was in New York and off the FBI's most wanted list. She congratulated him. From there, he had decided to let her go. She had a life to lead, and he didn't belong in it anymore.

I saw…I saw versions of your life that I don't know how to give you, yet, but I want to. I saw versions of us that…hmmm. I'll have to show you. But not, yet. We're not ready.

The Other slid a tendril across Eddie's chest, dropping over the opposite shoulder.

I was wrong about the Codex…..no….not wrong. I was just missing pieces. Knowledge all caught up in the hive that I knocked loose. Knull knows it now, too. But that means he won't try to kill us again. Not yet, at least.

"What did you find? About the codex?"

The Other made a rumbling sound. Nothing he heard but felt in his stomach.

I can't figure out the words. Can I show you? I'll be gentle.

"Yeah, yeah, go for it." Eddie closed his eyes, waiting for the boil-over of information. It wasn't like the last time The Other had done this, forcing a curling mass of sticky, prickly Stuff down his throat. This was nice and slow and his dumb-ass understood it.

It took more than a single codex to unlock the cage around Knull. It was a collection of codices. And they came together and…and that part he wasn't sure he understood, yet. Something about…connection…to the hive? It must be something symbiotes…klyntar understood innately. He'd get there. It would all come together.

So there are more codexes? It was easier to keep the voice in his head now that he'd slipped into the liminal space of thought.

Yes. Which is super confusing to me, I'm not gonna lie. I know that we have one, but now I'm not so sure how they're made.

Can you go back into the hive thingy?

Not without Knull knowing again. And I don't think I'd find the answer. I think this may be new. Or something so old we've forgotten how it works.

But you're sure Knull won't come after us?

Yes. I'm sure. Not yet.

That "not yet's" scaring me a bit, buddy.

It's fine, beloved.

They did it again, freezing up for half a moment.

If you're done eating, show me the pictures.

He was halfway through a bite of toast when The Other yanked him off the stool and across the room, dropping him at his desk. Symbiote matter dropped over his head, and he found himself looking through The Other's eyes. His hands moved the pictures over into the center of their shared vision. Matter emerged from his fingers to trace the line of action of the blue and red swinging figure.

Spider-Man.

"Whomst the fuck?" Eddie said, the incredulity pushing his voice from his throat. The Other released his face to emerge as a head. They spread the rest of the pictures out.

"There are universes where we never meet, but in all the ones we do, it's because of Spider-Man," the other explained. "Sometimes he finds me on a space station. Sometimes I hitch a ride on a meteor. He becomes my host, but we never truly bond. Not really. He gets tired of me and uses sound to pull me off."

"That's rude," Eddie said.

"You did the same thing with the MRI machine, Eddie."

"Yeah, but not because I was tired of you. I was scared because of the, you know, organ failure."

"And when you kicked me out the second time?"

"You beat me up then left!"

The other vibrated and hummed. A tendril passed over Eddie's cheek.

"I don't want to fight with you. Not now."

"Keep telling me about this Spider-Dude," Eddie said softly.

"After he leaves me, I find you. And we become Venom. This is the only universe where none of that happened. Where he wasn't part of our creation. Maybe because he didn't exist yet."

"I'm not gonna pretend I understand this multiverse shit, but…like…why?"

"Maybe we're simply inevitable."

Venom sat on the edge of the rooftop not doing anything in particular. Just…existing…a black mass against the night and the lights of the city. They pulled another chocolate from the sampler box and threw it back.

Cherry cordial is fucking disgusting.

I don't disagree, but the only other option was vegan.

That's unacceptable.

I know. Fiending for brain?

I'm okay. That probiotic actually took the edge off.

Yeah, I learned a little about bio-chem while you were gone.

Smart man.

It had taken a few days to readjust to being Venom again, all of which he had managed to convince Bushkin he needed to work from home from. He sweetened the deal by strongly implying, without outright lying, that he had information on their mystery masked crusader and was close to tracking them down. The Other expressed some uneasiness but didn't say anything outright.

What do you want to do, Eddie?

Is this not fine for now? Still getting our sea legs back.

No, in the long term. What do we do with ourselves?

Gotta figure out how to deal with the big guy in the cage, but otherwise, I don't know. Been a rough two years, mate. Having a hard time seeing very far into the future.

Well, I've seen a whole bunch of futures, so-

Something disturbed the atmosphere. A twitch in the fabric of reality. Then a scream maybe five blocks over.

LET'S GO EDDIE

They were running across the rooftop before he ever realized he was moving. The wind rushed past their head as they leapt to the neighboring rooftop. The next jump dropped them down the side of the building, claws slamming into the brickwork and slowing them as they dropped downward.

You need to hold back or the military's gonna have our ass.

It won't be the worse thing that happens to us.

That cryptic shit was getting old fast, but it certainly kept piquing his interest. They slipped through a few more alleys and fire escapes, fast enough that no one caught them.

They finally found the source of the scream in a blind courtyard between buildings. A group of four that was almost cliche in their arrangement. Two men in beanies pulled low over their brows were bearing down on a young couple. One had a gun and the other looked like he maybe wished he had a gun, too.

Eat their heads?

Let's stop them first, then cross that bridge when we get to it.

Good enough.

Venom didn't need to be fast, now, heavy doing all the work as they came down hard on the man with the gun. The woman screamed again. How did no one else hear this? These muggers were just some asshole dudes, so landing on him was enough to disable him. The other mugger tried to get away, but a fling of matter around his waist pulled him back to join his friend with another glue of matter.

Venom turned on the victims, keeping his mask in place but pulling back on the teeth a little.

"Are you ok-"

The man had a camera up, filming them, dancing around to get better angles.

"You fucking kidding me?" Venom snatched the phone. This was, again, just some dude, so it was easy. He broke it in half with a quick snap. "You can't fucking film me, dude. What the fuck? You want me to be fucking X-filed? Goddamn think for a fucking minute, dude."

"GUN!" The woman shouted.

Venom turned. They had forgotten about the gun. One of the muggers had been able to wriggle out of the matter enough to reach it. He got one shot off. The kinetic energy pushed him back half a step, but bullets didn't exactly do anything.

" Oh, now we're eating his head."

A soft quick sound -- a thwip -- ricocheted down through the canyon of buildings. Some kind of sticky material, not unlike his own matter, shot down from the rooftop and knocked the gun to the ground, glueing it in place. Venom looked up. At the edge of the roof was a guy in a red and blue one-piece morph suit with bright white eyes. Most of the other details were lost in the distance.

"Spider-Man?"

" Nope!"

And The Other yanked Venom up through the night, dashing across rooftops.

Venom rolled through the window, breaking apart into Eddie again.

"Why did you pull us away? The kid was right there!"

The Other emerged from his shoulder with gnashing teeth.

"No. Not until we understand him better."

"How am I supposed to do that if I don't talk to him, huh?" Eddie fell on the couch, dropping his face into his hands, pinching the bridge of his nose.

"We just need to be careful."

"Careful for-" but then Eddie felt it. Fear. Worry. Something that reached back through the Everything. "What does Spider-Man do to us? What have you not told me?"

"When he rejects me, the other versions of me become so…mad. Sorrow. Need. I can still feel it when I look at him. In all the universes I seek out hosts who feel the same about him just to feed the rage. To have a like-minded partner. It's what he does to you, though. That's what scares me."

"He seems like a good dude, I'm sure whatever it was--" but there was that shiver of panic again. The other clicked their teeth and re-merged.

It's a little different every time, but you're working on a story. It's important. It's the break of a lifetime. You're at the top of your game. Then Spider-Man undermines you. Scoops you. Finds the real killer. You lose your job, your credibility. You lose Anne. You lose your mind. Lose your will to live. I find you at your lowest and we bond over our shared hatred.

"Okay, well, you already found me at my lowest. We've been through that. Anne is off being…all…happily ever after with Dan. She's solid. I've got a new job. And I didn't even want to kill myself." The Other knew it was a lie when he said it, and something grazed his brain in consolation.

There had been a few moments in that six month gap between everything going to shit and joining with his other where things grew particularly dark. He had briefly wondered if everything would be better if he stopped existing. Had never existed to begin with.

"I'm just saying we'd be meeting this kid at a totally different time in our lives. And also those other versions of me seem super dramatic. We're chill."

Our hatred of Spider-Man turns us into a monster, Eddie.

"Sweetheart, we're already a monster."

Shut up and listen.

The other slammed him with a punchbowl of emotion. The same things The Other already described. Rage. Sorrow. Agony. All dialed up and tuned in to a level that wanted to pop his limbs at the joints. And at the center of it all the overwhelming desire to completely and totally decimate Spider-Man down to a molecular level.

Okay. Okay. I get it. We'll give the kid some space until we figure it out.

Thank you, beloved.

Eddie threw his head back against the couch.

"I want to ask how I stack up against this…multiverse of other hosts, but I think I might hurt my own feelings."

One version of me attached to a talking raccoon for a short while.

"Wait, is there a way into that universe? That sounds fun as hell."

Nah, those guys were fucking assholes.

"Anything else interesting from the magical symbiote multiverse I should know about?"

Matter rose across Eddie's stomach and started creeping up his chest. It tugged at his shirt and started removing it.

"I hate it when you do this, you know that."

Want to show you something. Take your shirt off.

Eddie tutted but obeyed, pulling it over his head. As soon as he leaned back, another shirt appeared, just like the first.

"Yo, what the fuck?"

The other branched from his shoulder.

"It's a trick I learned," The Other said. The shirt changed from blue to white and the words "FRANKENSTEIN HIMBO" appeared across the chest in block letters. "I've got shirts figured out, but I'm still working on pants. Then I'll figure out jackets. And suits. You look sexy in a suit."

"Ah, man, if you were able to do this in Vegas, we wouldn't have had to knock that one guy out. WAIT?! Can you make other stuff?"

A tendril emerged from the matter to hover over the coffee table. The Other formed a little cube of matter and set it on the table. Once it detached, it lost structure and melted into nothing. The Other reincorporated it back into their matter.

"Other versions of me were able to take on more solid forms on Earth without a host," The Other lamented. "I'm not sure how, yet." The other tilted their head against Eddie's. He reached up and pressed his fingers against their temple, stroking their cheek with his pinky.

"You'll get it. Anything else important?"

"It's all important, Eddie, but there's so much of it. Let me save some for later."

"Okay. That's fair." He pressed The Other's face to his. It was nice. It was one thing to have another voice inside his head, another to experience the physical touch.

The Other's head turned under his hand and pressed further into his cheek. A grazing of teeth ran along his skin.

"I did not miss this little bitey-kissy thing you do," Eddie said, slightly turning his head. "Just commit in one direction-" The Other answered him by kissing him. Actually kissing him.

Lips pressed to his, slithery tongue prying open his mouth and clicking around against his teeth. The fucked up thing was that Eddie let it happen. He let the other form hands to wrap around the back of his head. When his own hands came up, he knew it wasn't the other controlling him, and he hooked them around the back of the other's head. It wasn't until he started trying to work his fingers down a neck and back that didn't exist that he startled himself out of what was happening. The other almost didn't let him draw back, clutching around his neck. Eddie became starkly aware that he wasn't wearing a shirt as the other moved their hands down to his chest.

"We've never done that before," Eddied gasped stupidly.

"Fuck, you're right. Shit. Shit. I forgot we weren't here, yet."

"Have…other versions of us…done this?"

"Other versions of us have done so so many more things, Eddie. Brought you to the height of ecstasy over and over again."

"Okay that's…that's a lot. That's…I have to think about that."

"I know. I'm sorry."

"Stop saying you're sorry. Goddamnit, ever since you've been back…You weren't like this before."

"Did you prefer me before?"

"No! I mean…yes. I mean…fuck. I mean I don't get what your deal is. Apart from the whole dying and slipping through interdimensional portals yeah…okay. I'm realizing that I've also done that at least once, and it does kinda suck. You don't come back super normal from that."

"No, you do not." The other pushed their head back to create space, but they kept their hands touching Eddie's chest. "I've lived a hundred thousand versions of us, but in all that I've managed to mostly hold on to what is true to our reality. The things we've actually done. While there are other versions of me that despise you and tried to destroy you from the inside out, I can separate that from the Now. From the Us. But all those lifetimes of loving you? That I can't seem to get rid of. That's sticking around, and it's going to make some things more difficult."

"Love?" Eddie choked.

"You didn't believe me the first time, either."

"I didn't think it meant the same thing to you."

"It doesn't mean the same, probably. Klyntar don't have the need to form the sort of social groups that humans do, so the names for those things are different. Doesn't mean it's not important. That it's not strong."

"I didn't say it wasn't. I just don't think I understand. What do you want from me? What does whatever this word mean for you? Feeling a little lost."

The other rubbed their head against Eddie's cheek.

"I can give you the feeling I feel," The Other offered.

"No, that's too weird. I get all hungover when you do that."

"Then I'll show you."

"Show me what?"

But the other slid back into his chest. Tendrils rolled up from his stomach. One flicked at the button and zipper of his jeans, pulling it down. Another tendril slid down and around the bulge covered by his boxer briefs. His body reacted immediately. He couldn't be sure he didn't want it to. This was normal, right? Any red hot American man would react to any kind of stimulus of this nature. Right? Right…

A tendril slipped through the slot of his fly and around his dick which hardened immediately.

"Okay… okay… hold on."

Of course, I'll stop if you want Eddie, but…

"But what?" he choked.

Did you think I just disappeared when you masturbated? I've been here the whole time.

"I spent a great amount of energy not thinking about it, actually."

Eddddiiiee. I know what you like. Let me show you. The voice whined in his head, and The Other's impatience tugged at his spine. But they stopped, their matter pulling back into a mass at the base of his pelvis. Eddie took in a deep breath and sunk back into the shared place in his mind, the little hollow spot where their voices connected.

Okay.

The Other was slower this time, delicate. The Other pulled down the waistband of his briefs then slipped a tendril around his cock, pressing around it softly.

First it was just a ring that settled at the base of his cock, pulsing and squeezing in pattern.Then more matter stretched up from the ring, swirling upward until it covered his entire length. A soft tip of tendril traced along the sensitive head making him jump. The matter was dry but full of undulating pressure, squeezing bottom to top, dragging the sensations out of him by the root.

You think you like it hard, Eddie. You and your deathgrip.

It's how I learned to do it, I guess. Somehow his inner voice was panting more than the hot breaths that emerged from his lips.

I can feel your mind and all the dirty parts of it. What you really like is soft and slow.

With a slow pump, the matter began to move up and down, the inside against his cock moving faster than the layer on the outside. A piece reached down to cup his balls warmly, rolling them ever so gently in the hammock of The Other's hand. More matter emerged from his stomach and crawled up his chest with thin hands.

You like to be touched. Two hands splayed flat on his chest over his pecs, palms pressing into his nipples. Two more hands emergred to run up his neck. To be caressed . The Other's head emerged in a flow from his chest.

"To be kissed." Their mouth fell against his, tongue dipping casually into his mouth. Soft. Hesitant. Testing and tempered. Their teeth nipped at his mouth but didn't puncture. The Other was so rarely like this, treating him so gently. He didn't totally know who was in control of his hands anymore as he lifted them again to the sides of The Other's head, keeping them locked so he didn't drift down and freak himself out again. He focused, instead, on the sensation happening around his mouth., the ever deepening kisses, the fingers digging and scratching at his chest, the quickening movements of The Other on his cock.

A stifled moan rose in his chest, bleeding out around the edges where their mouths touched. The sound didn't stop as The Other moved faster and faster, increasing pressure slowly as the heat burbled in his body. The other clicked into the cavity of his mouth while he grunted and keened, climaxing into the warmth of The Other's matter. At the same time The Other's chirps became growls, pressing harder into Eddie's mouth, swallowing his breath and every other part of him.

The Other's head slunk back into Eddie's body, replacing itself with a tendril that crept around Eddie's head and neck. The Other tucked his now soft and sticky cock back into Eddie's shorts and patted it gently. Eddie leaned back against the couch, panting.

"Uh…did you also…um…"

I feel everything you feel, Eddie.

"So you…okay…okay wow."

Do you need some more time to process that?

"A little yeah, thanks."

We can go to sleep, Eddie. That might help. You're exhausted.

"That is actually a not terrible idea."

Eddie let The Other pull him up from the couch, across the living room to the bedroom. Let them strip him out of his jeans and flop him into bed. The blanket pulled up over his head, and he went out like a light.

Eddie woke to bands shifting around his body. He was on his side and a symbiote head was resting in the curve of his waist. He looked down to find The Other flicking through his phone, half body leaning against his back.

"Don't delete any of my e-mails," Eddie said.

"I'm on Twitter. We might have fucked up last night by smashing that guy's phone."

"Knew that would come back to haunt us, what's happening?" Eddie sat up, the bands shifting to give him space. The Other's half body followed, attaching at his side and head rubbing against his. They brought the phone over.

"Douchebag is all over Twitter saying a 'tentacle monster' attacked him and his girlfriend last night," the other explained.

"Leaving out that we saved him from a mugging, I'm sure."

"Of course. But here's the real fucked up part. A bunch of people got a bunch of photos of Spider-Man last night. So now people are putting those two things together."

"I mean…okay…not totally off, I guess. I feel like that is not gonna go well for this kid. Shit." A weird pulse of emotion shot through his body that he knew was from The Other. "Are you excited about everyone thinking Spider-Man's a bad guy?"

"Remnants of another me."

"Yeah. Alright. Okay. Don't be a loser."

"Takes one to know one," The Other replied. One of their tendrils curled around his shoulder, then ended up flicking through his hair.

"Do we…um…do we talk about what happened last night?" Eddie asked. "Is that a thing that happens? Or are we ignoring it?"

"I have no intention of ignoring it, beloved. I'm just waiting for you to catch up."

"For me to fall in love with you?"

"To realize you already are."

"You're so fucking weird."

The Other pressed their face to his cheek and slid a tendril down his stomach.

"I can show you something real fucking weird, if you want."

A text message on his phone saved him from having to make a decision about consenting, and he took it from the perch of The Other's matter. It was Bushkin asking if he had seen Twitter that morning. He was going to need about fifty lifetimes to figure out how to answer that question. He absently rubbed the surface of one of the tendrils that had dropped over his shoulder then let the tip of it curl around his finger.

"This is my new normal, isn't it?" Eddie sighed.

"Took you long enough." The Other pressed their forehead to his temple. Eddie brushed his fingers over their cheek.

"Sweetheart," Eddie said, really feeling the shape of the word form on his lips, "we have to track down Spider-Man."

"Fuck," the other replied. They sighed. "I guess it's…haaah…"

"Inevitable," Eddie finished.

#symbrock #eddie x venom #venom #fan fiction #venom the last dance

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coridallasmultipass · 5 months ago

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Vent / personal / s.i. / sh mention / long post / extremely negative dont read

I rly wanna fucking stop existing man life is too fucking hard I cant do this shit

My grandpa basically blamed me for the house's electricity usage when i literally only used my computer for one week last month and like 2 days this month. Anything else this month has just been phone charging or running my 2 small aquariums. Idk why i have to take the blame for that just because im a young person when my grandpa literally has been using large machinery in the garage and we rent out our guest house which has an a/c unit running ALL the time (our house does not have a/c or any internal system. Utilities are included in the guest house we rent so we pay for that person to stay cool while we sweat over here lmao.)

Ive been suffering for weeks in the 90-100 degree weather with no fan because my bathroom flooded due to grandpa installing the wrong fixture in my toilet (i literally only needed to replace the flap which required no disconnections! But he insisted, and now my only clean fan has been stuck in my bathroom with the window open letting in all the heat). Like. I enjoy the heat. Im fine with no ac. I tolerate it fine. But i need an occasional few minutes of being in the fan if the windows have been letting in all the heat. Normally id keep my blinds closed and the shower curtain closed so the heat doesnt get extreme but because i need to air out the bathroom i cant do that ((Literally when i lived in nyc w no ac, i would just go out to the living room and turn a/c on for like 1 minute while i stand in front of it, and then off again and i was fine for the rest of the night, i cant sleep with ac or a fan on or else i get hypothermic - i actually started getting hypothermic the other night because my blankets fell off the bed on a cooler night, it sucked lol))

Im so sick of having to wear shoes in my bathroom due to the carpet being pulled back, its uncomfortable to traverse that mess while having an injured back. Im sick of all the wildfire ash thats poured into my bathroom and probably my room too. (I had JUST changed my last air filter the day before the fire started lmao probably used up the whole thing already, i never got to keep my clean air room i had just started).

I had to deep clean the kitchen and deep vacuum the entire house with my back thats been injured since MAY since grandpa wont clean up after himself, and apparently my mom has also not been cleaning for years in her room (and my mom has the nerve to judge me for having a clean but cluttered room! Its her fault its cluttered because im not allowed to have anything of mine except food downstairs!). I havent been able to get treatment for my back because my mom has the only car and shes been out of town for the past month+.

Im fucking scared as fuck because i couldnt get ahold of a doctors office for a prescription for my endo and so now ive been having to take the leftovers i had of a lower dose. I live in a dead zone so a lot of the time i cant make phonecalls, idk if the issue was my end or the doctors and im just too stressed to try again bc if i think ab endo im gonna have a mental breakdown, its already bad enough having EXTREME phone anxiety due to not being able to understand people when they talk especially over a garbled phone connection. Im supposed to quit this med at the end of the month and idk how im gonna survive. I might not. I was completely su// ici// dal during the last couple flare ups. Endo is incurable and apparently im resistant to medication and surgical treatment. So its untreatable for me too.

Then theres my whole depression. This just fucking kicked off a really terrible mood swing and ive been like crying and moping in bed for hours trying NOT to think about where i know the things i used to s.h. before are packed. Bc that hasnt ever stopped being on my fucking mind since before i even started as a teen lmao. I cant stop thinking about how im existing against my will. Theres just no good way to die. Id feel guilty too because of how expensive my jaw treatments are and i havent even finished.

Speaking of, my jaw is still fucked and not getting any better lmao. Im in constant pain and headaches because of the aligners on my teeth. Im making myself sick from eating depression foods because by the time i take the things off my teeth to eat and drink, my mouth hurts, my jaw hurts, my head hurts, my tummy hurts, and after i eat anything i feel sick and tired and lightheaded from not being able to snack or drink when i want at my own pace, and then suddenly having to eat a whole meals worth of food in one sitting. (Not that i do that lmao ive been eating really lightly bc i am not physically up to the task of cooking or eating anything. I CAN cook. Just not physically, or mentally any more). So ive been eating terribly within my already limited diet. (And my jaw wont stop popping and cracking painfully every time i chew anything which is so humiliating and frustrating and painful and i cant eat a lot of foods i used to.)

There just too much going on all at once and im fucking sick of everything. I was already at my fucking limit before my mom fucked off to do pet sitting for a relative and went back on her word that she'd bring the dog to stay at our house. Which means ive gone since May without treatment for my back except for the chiropractor i see right after my therapy appointment. Which i dont think is doing enough. I dont know what more can be done when i constantly have to do back breaking things around the house. And when i told my mom ab how im not able to get the care i need because of her leaving, she turned it on me and said it was my fault for not making an appointment. Fucking gaslighting asshole. How the fuck am i supposed to get to an appointment 30-40 minutes away when i dont have the car? (Because theres no where local that will take my insurance, and i dont think even the places 30-40 minutes away will take it either.)

I dont know how anyone manages to live. Just existing is constant pain due to fibromyalgia and arthritis. Its constant hypervigilance and fear from the endo. Its extreme treatment-resistant depression (i fucking wish antidepressants worked on me lmao but that was the most miserable 5 years of my life trying every class of them). Its gender dysphoria and i cant transition because i cant work or live independently (its not safe for me to come out or transition while living in grandpas house hed kick me out). Its loneliness because i have like 2 friends i occasionally talk to online but no one close and were not on the same circles even, not like i even have a stable internet connection to do anything more than just over messaging. I dont have the mental energy to be friends w anyone either bc i have nothing to offer. Existing while alive is a full time job with no pay or benefits. I dont even know anyone irl thats not relatives (im not close with anyone in my family at all) or a doctor. I dont have a license or car because family wouldnt let me practise when i did have permits and i certainly can't afford the $12k a year it costs to own a car in Cali, let alone to purchase one. I cant work but im not disabled enough to be legally disabled. Certainly wouldnt be able to afford to live in this area/county even if i could do some work beyond an occasional online resale, which sucks because this is where my tribe is and i just wish this area was a better fit for me. Just doing things around the house is what caused my back to go out in the first place and now its a chronic fucking issue, and i can barely walk to the mailbox or do grocery shopping. Its not safe for me to live alone either, probably, even tho i cant handle living with roommates because im too asocial for them.

Im so sick of everything. Why do i have to be blamed for the electricity. Im an artist and apparently using the skills i spent 4 years learning at college and countless hours improving on my own is using too much electricity if i turn on my computer to participate in a week of a drawing challenge. What if i had a fucking work from home job?? (Not like that would ever happen, grandpa wouldnt choose the cheaper and faster internet plan i told him to go with and instead chose a more expensive plan with a different company that has a data cap, so now it sucks for no reason other than that he doesnt want to take advice from either a woman or a young person! [Im not a woman but he doesnt know that]). I cant even try to apply for any kind of work from home job bc of the internet. Its hard enough trying to make a call over data, having to put it on speakerphone and reach my phone against my room window while i lean over the counter. I was already unemployed before the pandemic due to the same mental health issues i havent stopped suffering from.

I wish that i wanted to live and do better for myself but whats the fucking point any more. I dont even want to live. I have no fucking reason to. At all. Im only alive bc there's no good way to die. Every day i think about how much i wish i didnt exist. It sucks and theres no fucking treatment that works. Therapy probably helps but its not making improvements for me when there are too many things out of my control making my life completely fucking miserable, its just damage reduction at this point.

I even exercise. Often. Despite the pain in my back and everywhere else. It does not help when i have fibromyalgia. Im in extreme pain even with the lightest exercise. But ive been exercising since the last endo flare up in fucking march in the hopes itll make my next endo flare up a little less worse if im stronger. Who knows if its working. Guess ill find out after the end of this month. God im so fucking scared.

I dont want to do anything rn im just so fucking miserable. But now my room is heating up since its the end of the day and im sweating too much to keep lying in bed being miserable. Idk what im gonna do. Besides ignore the ideation and knowledge about where my sharp objects are. I was working on sewing but i lost steam because of grandpa blaming me for the electricity sending me down a spiral. As if im not already doing enough cleaning up the whole fucking house and trying to prevent mold growth from the leak he caused and then laughed it off and wouldnt help me move (not my) furniture to prevent water damage.

Fuck i still have to measure the carpet padding so i can buy more later. At least the carpet itself is safe. Its getting dark out and i threw that padding shit outside and forgot about it last week so i dont wanna deal with measuring that right now. Ugh.

What do i even do when im too fucking depressed to do anything at all?? No one fucking prepares you for how fucking miserable being alive actually is.

#delete later / /#depression / /#chronic illness / /#vent / /#Cori.exe #Post.exe

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kittyfairyblog · 6 months ago

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July 4th 2024

Sorry about not keeping everyone updated on my whereabouts or my happenings lately. This neko boy has doing a lot of things since May. My Powkiddy V90 came in the mail in a timely matter from Aliexpress all the way from China. Meow I purchased lots of other things since then on that site. I purchased some FF8 video game socks from there. I bought also a Orange Pi Zero 3 from there which I use as a replacement device to stream or watch YouTube or movies on my TV. I don't use my Amazon Fire TV stick anymore since I have my Orange Pi Zero 3 now. Let me see I purchased from eBay Seasons 1 and 2 of Star Trek Strange New Worlds on DVD box sets. I purchased from eBay since May some Tinkerbell videos on DVD. I am pretty much have all the Tinkerbell movies on DVD and oh I bought a 1 Terabyte Hard Drive for my movie backups that I had to purchase because I was running out of room for. Meow I have yet to get the last Tinkerbell movie. It is in the mail but has not been delivered yet. Meow meow I met some cool girls since the blog post in May. Meow no I am not dating anyone yet. Meow let me see I have my fault of my own been off my Bipolar meds since last Tuesday. I have been struggling to get proper sleep in at night because of the lack of meds. Meow well our AC unit is on the frits and looks like we might have buy Window AC units for the house. Oh and one more thing Kylie our dog had a sick moment for a week but she is better and back to her self. That's about it. Meow well I need to catch some ZZZs it is 5 AM at the time of writing. Night.

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jhtechgeek2011 · 7 months ago

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Still struggling

Since my last post, my life has changed but it isn't easier. I stopped working all those 6 and 7-day stretches of 2nd shifts and for a while worked 3rd shift 5 days a week until I caught Covid-19 and my job didn't give me my shift back. I then started working all 3 shifts every week until I finally got fed up and got a note from my therapist stating for treatment to work that I needed to work a consistent shift meaning, not all 3 in the same week and not where I have to sleep at different times as when I would work 1st and 3rd shift.

My shifts were a bit better by this point, consisting of one 1st shift and three 2nd shifts, but when my manager got my letter she assumed consistent meant only 2nd shift for some reason. I explained to her that I just meant not working all over the place to the point I couldn't sleep and eat on a consistent schedule and that the 1 first 3 2nd shifts schedule was ok. My manager told me the general manager sent it to HR and we had to wait and see what they said while continuing to give me only 3 days a week.

I am a full-time employee it is NOT legal to give me part-time hours, and 24 hours a week is part-time hours. The GM also tried to justify it by saying that they can give me 24 hours a week if it's not a certain amount of time in a 3-month period which is CRAP! It is not legal to give someone full-time less than 30 or 32 hours a week at ALL. I applied for unemployment and am considering reporting them to the labor board.

I just got paid today and my check was SAD! If I had to pay my whole rent without my boyfriend paying half I would be screwed! I wouldn't have enough for anything else besides the rent. I already can barely afford the bills I pay when it's not time for the rent check like it is this time. I am so upset and worried! I need to find another job and some other ways of making money because I do NOT have enough at all.

My other issue today was those obnoxious guys at the car wash behind my house were being particularly ridiculous. One guy was doing this high-pitched annoying whistle all day no matter if I would get mad and yell for him to cut it out. The other guy was yelling and doing his horrible loud half-yell laugh thing he has. I was getting so angry and frustrated. I just yelled it all out until those guys finally shut up. I wish I could put my AC unit back in the window and drown them out with it but it's not warm enough out yet.

On another note, my boyfriend has been in and out of the house since he got home from work and it's worrying me. He went downstairs to the bar we live above to watch basketball but he has a problem when he goes in there he is tempted by the slot machines to gamble and he really shouldn't gamble because he has a bit of an issue with that and has done some dumb things when he has gotten on those slot machines down there. I just want him to stay home and out of that place. But he's working on it though. He came right home tonight after the basketball went off. I am glad he did.

On a final note, I have returned to school to obtain my degree in Psychology. Right now I am in the Bachelor's program and then I plan to complete the Master's program in Psychology with an emphasis in Life Coaching, so I can reach my ultimate goal of becoming a therapist and life coach. I was doing great in my first class, a university introduction course called University Success, designed to help students get familiar with the school and how the courses work. But now that I am in English Composition 1, I started to struggle.

There are so many papers in the class and it's a more immersive and intensive English course than I had in my previous schools. I believe that is because the course is only 7 weeks long so it is more accelerated than I was used to. Work also does not help the situation as it gets in the way, with my schedule being so stupid and with how much it stresses me out. I am getting tutoring and accommodations soon so that should help. It has been hard to focus and sometimes it is also very hard to get started on assignments.

I hate having ADHD and dyscalculia they make things harder than they should be. I didn't realize how much the dyscalculia causes me issues spatially, like clicking the wrong file when submitting homework, or even going to the wrong assignment submission link to submit an assignment because visually they line up where they can easily be confused one for the other. I turned in a paper and paper review wrong because I thought I was clicking the paper and clicked the review since the lines looked like the paper was on top and the review was at the bottom but it was reversed.

ADHD and other issues are making my life quite a lot harder than it needs to be in a lot of areas of my life lately. I am trying to get help but it is far more difficult to get help than it has to be. I am sick of struggling and really need life to get better soon. I don't know how much more I can take. I really hope I can come back with better posts in the future and that my life gets better so I have more to say than how much I am struggling and how much help I need and how much I hate struggling. Tune in next time to see what's new with Just Me.

#fed up with this shit #irritated #mental health #adhd #job struggles #struggle #the strugge is real

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cryptid-crusader · 1 year ago

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Here's a fun little story for you guys! :D

Our air conditioning has been working off and on since April. We've put in 7 work orders with maintenance over the past 4 months about it. Each time they've come, 'fixed it', and then a few days later it stops working again. We had to start giving it breaks to get it to work, turning it off at night so that it would hopefully be charged up enough to blow cold air in the morning. Each time they have come I've had to totally relocate everything in my closet to give them room to work, and rearrange my room itself so they can come and go with enough room for all their equipment. Since I'm work from home and on the phones all day at my job, I've had to work around them and do a lot of apologizing to customers and coworkers for all the loud noises they hear randomly in the background, and my boss for having to take huge gaps of time off on my shift because it was just too loud for me to work.

Finally after months of repeat visits for the same issue, we convinced the landlord that our AC unit needed to be replaced and not just 'fixed' every other week. They finally called an actual HVAC team and we got a new system installed a few days ago. Originally they told us they would work with us to schedule a time that worked best for us for the HVAC people to come, but of course they did not do that and the HVAC people showed up randomly one day while we were working. 🙃The process was very obnoxious and invasive and ended up taking 3 days when originally they said it would be 1 (the HVAC team were very nice though so that was a plus at least, no hate to them). But it was done! We were so relieved it was all over and done with!!!

Except it stopped working last night, and the 'charging' method did not work this time. The AC was off all night and when I turned it on this morning it blew nothing but warm air. 🙃

So I call maintenance and they were quick with coming (probably because they know how pissed we are). The maintenance guy checks it out and informs me some major part of the system they just installed is faulty and needs replaced, something that will most likely take several more days. 🙃🙃🙃

This time they at least offered us a portable AC unit, which they swore they offered to us before but we didn't accept which uhhhhhh I don't remember them ever offering it at all so. 🤷‍♀️ But they have yet to bring that so it's like 83 degrees and muggy in this apt and I hate it. I'm sweaty and hot and grumpy and pissed. It's hard to work, cooking is abysmal, I want to wash our sweat soaked sheets but there isn't any point if we are just going to keep sweating gallons. All the windows are open, fans going, and it still feels like sweaty ass hell and probs will for quite some time. :)

So there's that. I feel like I've been complaining a lot so I apologize, but if I don't do it somewhere I will explode and just make things even hotter. 😅

#I'm just so tired of firey hot sweat ass hell #i hate it here #everything is so gross and muggy and stinky #and I'm worried about my figures and dolls :<#flapping my wings

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texas-electricity-ratings · 1 year ago

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Why is My AC Running Constantly In Texas

Is Your AC Running Constantly?

Your light company bills this summer will be worse when your AC is running constantly. Don't worry! It could be an easy fix! Check out our list of practical tips before you call the HVAC tech.

Summer heat and high power bills are a tough combo in Texas. No matter how much you try to conserve energy, it seems your constantly running AC keeps on chugging. But when your air conditioner runs non-stop, you might start to worry. The extra wear and tear on your HVAC system can lead to earlier repairs. And the last thing you want to happen is for your AC to break in July or August.

So, let’s explore some common reasons why your AC might be constantly running and provide you with practical tips to address the issue. We just might spare your wallet and your sweat glands.

Reasons for an AC Constantly Running

Here are the most common reasons you AC might not turn off in the summer:

Incorrect thermostat settings: Ensure that your thermostat is set to the desired temperature and the correct mode (cooling or auto). Wrong settings can cause your AC to run all the time.

Air leaks: Inspect your windows, doors, and other potential entry points for air leaks. Leaks allow warm air to enter your home. This triggers the AC to work longer to keep the desired indoor climate.

Inadequate insulation: Poor insulation in your home can result in cool air escaping and hot air infiltrating. Then, your AC works tirelessly to compensate.

Dirty air filters: A clogged air filter restricts airflow forcing your AC to run longer to achieve the desired cooling. So, regularly clean or replace the air filter for optimal AC performance.

Use the right air filter that your system is designed for. Air conditioning engineers rank air filters by their MERV rating, from coarse to fine. Using one that's too fine could overly restrict the air flow and cost you more.

Undersized AC unit that's too small for your home may struggle to cool the living area efficiently. As a result it will run longer. Even if you have a great electric rate, you don’t want your AC unit to be too small.

Tips to Relieve Your AC System

Most solutions to these common AC problems can be quite simple. Try the action items below before you call a pro HVAC guy.

When your AC is constantly running, check over the simple things first and save a lot on your light company bills.

Check and adjust thermostat settings: Make sure your thermostat is set to a reasonable temperature (typically around 78°F). Additionally, set it to "auto" mode to allow the AC to cycle on and off as needed.

Seal air leaks: Use weather stripping or caulking to seal gaps around windows and doors. This will prevent warm air from entering and reduce the load on your AC.

Improve insulation: Adding insulation to your attic and walls can help maintain a consistent temperature.

Clean or replace air filters: Regularly clean or replace your air filters every 1-3 months depending on usage. If you kick up a lot of dust when you mow, check your filter every few weeks. This will help you stay on top of how dirty your filter becomes. Also, having pets in your home can clog the filters faster.

If you've tried the above actions and your AC continues to run non-stop, consult an HVAC technician. A trained pro can diagnose any underlying issues with your AC system and make the right repairs.

Power Your Largest Energy User

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littlelovelyspiderling · 3 years ago

Text

Sunshine Boy

i've never written a story featuring a peter parker that wasn't tom holland's version, so i hope i did them justice...also fun fact the word "Peter" is in this 273 times haha

After losing May to the Green Goblin and everyone else due to Dr. Strange's memory-erasing spell, Peter Parker is on his own and struggling to adapt. Fortunately, a pair of unexpected interdimensional visitors stop by to help him adjust, and remind him how to feel joy despite his tragic circumstances.

word count: 8,357

_______________________

Puffy white snow flurries dropped from the sky and flitted past black eye-lenses. By morning, the city would be blanketed in a dense pelt of snow. Spider-Man disconnected the web-line from his wrist and stuck to the outside wall of his apartment building, shivering against the frigid breeze. This winter’s cold had a certain bite to it that felt icier than any he’d experienced before.

He made his way to his floor, careful to avoid the prying eyes of his neighbors, and slipped inside his room through the window. His AC unit was absolute shit, so the apartment offered little relief from the cold. But at least he was out of the wind.

Spider-Man shut the window and peeled the mask off his head, puffing out his cheeks. His hands were numb; his toes felt like miniature popsicle sticks. He cupped his palms around his mouth and breathed hot air between his fingers, trying to bring some feeling back. Now that he was using his own homemade Spider-Man suit instead of Mr. Stark’s (whose A.I. no longer remembered him, just like the rest of the world, and had therefore locked him out of the network and all of the costume’s functions, rendering it useless to him), Peter seriously needed to start saving for some thermals. He’d never realized how good he’d had it—wearing a suit with a built-in heater. That is, until now, when he was freezing his ass off every time he went out on patrol.

He checked the time on his phone. 1:58 AM. Could be worse. After everything that had happened, everything he’d lost, he’d unconsciously began spending way more time as Spider-Man, and as little time as possible as Peter Parker. Even after breaking and unbreaking the multiverse, Spider-Man still had a lot going for him as NYC’s friendly neighborhood (and now, once again, anonymous) superhero. He had power, presence, and a name people recognized, albeit some more fondly than others. And there was always someone somewhere who could use the web-head’s help.

But Peter Parker, on the other hand? He had…nothing. No one. All that was left from the life he once led was an old coffee cup, some Star Wars Legos, and a lonely headstone he stopped by once a week to leave fresh flowers beside.

He didn’t like to think about it. It was all too painful to dwell on. So when he wasn’t job hunting, errand running, or studying for the GED, he was out in the city, fighting crime as Spider-Man. It was a welcome and effective distraction from the weight of his grief, which clung to the inside of his throat and throbbed with every beat of his heart and threatened to drag him someplace dark and deep that he might never escape. He had to stay busy and keep himself occupied in order to combat that despair, to keep moving forward, to pay the bills, save the citizens, keep May’s legacy alive, keep everyone safe.

Peter stripped out of his suit and bundled into his old Midtown High pullover, some sweats, and a pair of fuzzy socks. He had laundry to do, a budgeting plan he still needed to finish, and another chapter left in his study guide to get through, but all that would have to wait. Right now, the only thing Peter had the energy left to do was crawl into his creaky twin bed, bury himself beneath mildew-smelling covers, and pray for a dreamless sleep.

He was in the middle of counting his one hundred and twenty-eighth sheep when a bright orange light suddenly flooded the room. His eyes flew open, and he was on his feet in seconds, fists raised, heart hammering in his chest.

“Ah! H-hey! The hell is—?”

Peter gasped. A glowing, circular opening yawned before him. It hovered in the center of his tiny bedroom, bathing the space in orange light, spitting sparks in every direction. It looked similar to the magical portals Dr. Strange opened, but less sorcerer-y, more fiery. Flaming tongues stretched from the opening and lapped at the walls and floors of his apartment. Arches of fire that reminded him of solar flares pulsed off the circle’s circumference. The harsh heat washed over his face and made him squint.

“It worked! It worked!” he heard an excited voice call. “You’re a genius, Doc!”

“No way!” a second voice exclaimed. Both sounded oddly familiar. “Does that mean we can go inside?”

“Machine’s stable now. Dimensional rift is holding steady and secure. Just beep me on the transponder when you’re ready to return, and I’ll pull you right back out.”

Peter shielded his eyes with his hands, inching closer to the portal. “Um…hello?” he called skittishly. “Who’s there? W-what’s happening?”

And then, two figures suddenly jumped through the opening and landed in front of him, startling Peter so much he stumbled backwards and fell onto his bed.

“Wha! Holy—!” His eyes darted rapidly between the pair of faces, which he immediately recognized. The realization dawned on him like a slap across the mouth. His muscles relaxed and his eyes went wide. “You…what? Oh…oh my god.”

“Peter!” Peter 2 greeted him. He wore casual clothes, though he could see the hem of his red suit poking out from under his collar. The man smiled wide and held out his arms. “I can’t believe it. It’s really you! We’re really here! Again!”

“Sorry for scaring you!” Peter 3 chimed in, gesturing between the two of them. “It’s us! The other Peter Parkers slash Spider-Men! You remember?”

Peter slid off the bed and dropped to his feet, huffing out an incredulous laugh. An overwhelming flood of emotions immediately rushed through him. He swallowed, pressing a hand to his chest.

“You—you remember me?” he barely managed to choke out. “I wasn’t sure—after Strange’s spell—of course I remember you guys, b-but—you actually remember me?”

“Yeah, we remember you,” Peter 2 chuckled, clearly confused. “You seriously expected us to forget about you that quickly? I know I’m older than the two of you, but I’m not that old. Give me a little credit.”

“It’s so good to see you again!” Peter 3 said enthusiastically. “We really missed ya, bud! How’ve you been?”

Peter’s jaw hung open while his brain grappled to process all of this. The knot of feelings in his throat branched through his chest down into his gut, overpowering all attempts to shut it out. His eyes stung as a smile touched his lips.

“I…” he began, voice tight. Then he shook his head and raced forward, crashing into their arms, which embraced him eagerly. “You’re here! And you remember me! This is—insane! I thought I’d never see you again!”

The other Peters laughed as they hugged him, squeezing him tight and patting his back. Peter didn’t even try to stop the tears from flowing; he hadn’t been hugged by anyone since the day he lost everything.

“Aw, buddy,” Peter 3 said, rubbing circles into his shoulders. “Come on, now. If you start crying, then I’m gonna start crying, then all of us are gonna turn into one big blubbery mess.”

“You okay?” Peter 2 asked earnestly. Peter pulled away and ran his hands under his eyes, struggling to compose himself.

“Yeah, yeah,” he insisted, sniffling. “Sorry, I just—I really missed you guys.”

“We missed you too,” Peter 2 said with a smile. The portal behind them fizzled out of existence, leaving the three Spider-Men standing in the dark. Peter dried his tears on his sweatshirt and ran to flip the lights on, which took a few seconds to flicker lethargically to life.

“How are you even here? How is this even possible?”

“Doctor Octavius and I have been working together to reconfigure his old fusion reactor design into a ‘dimension-hopping’ machine,” Peter 2 explained, putting air quotes around dimension-hopping. “Knowing that other universes existed and were able to be transversed gave us a solid jumping off point. Once we got the math and the power necessities calculated, we just had to find the connective string that linked our universes to yours.”

“Which was us!” Peter 3 stated proudly. “Us as in, Spider-Men. Peter Parkers. Universes where Peter Parker exists and is also Spider-Man. Ya get it?”

Peter blinked, mouth hanging agape. “You mean you and Doc actually managed to build a universe-jumping device?”

Peter 2 shrugged nonchalantly. “Sometimes magic is just science we haven’t figured out yet. I couldn’t have done it without Doc's help, which I wouldn’t have had if you hadn’t fixed his inhibitor chip. So you’re really the one to thank for all this being possible.” He nodded towards Peter 3. “After the machine worked for his universe, we figured we outta pop by and visit you in yours.”

“And now here we are!” Peter 3 cheered. “Is this not the coolest thing to happen, like, ever?”

Peter nodded, beaming. “It’s all—just—wow. Incredible.” A chuckle escaped him. “And hey, thanks for thinking of me amidst all these groundbreaking, multiverse-perusing technological discoveries. Warms my heart.”

Peter 2 swept his gaze across Peter’s apartment and hunched his shoulders. “So, uh, how have you been holding up? I see you’ve found a new place to crash.”

“Oh yeah,” Peter 3 said, eyeing the cracked ceiling and the eclectic culture of mold growing around the air vent. “It’s, um…it’s nice. You know, cozy, homey, not too pretentious—”

“It’s a shithole,” Peter giggled with a shrug. “But it’s my shithole. I’m just happy to have a roof over my head—even if there’s a fifty percent chance of it caving in from water damage at any given moment. Apparently it’s very hard to find a place that’ll accept your application if you don’t already have a job. Or, you know, ‘aren’t legally an adult’ just yet.”

Both older Peters smiled hesitantly. “Right.”

“I also didn’t realize just how expensive the things you have to pay for on top of an already very expensive rent are. Like, you know—water. And electricity. And a fee for an exterminator who is definitely not doing their job. And renter’s insurance! What the hell even is that? Has that always been a thing?” He sighed, scratching at his hair. “It’s all just—you know—very new. Eye-opening.”

Peter 3 pointed at the pots and pans crusted with a variety of burnt cuisines piled in the sink. “Have you been, uh, trying out some new recipes?”

Blush dusted across Peter’s cheeks. “Oh, er, yeah,” he stammered sheepishly, jogging past him to scrub at the blackened spaghetti sauce caked to the bottom of the pan. “Heh, another fun thing I’ve discovered over this past month: my complete lack of cooking skills. I can’t afford to eat out every day, so I’ve been trying to teach myself how to make a few of the dishes May always cooked for me. So far the only things I’ve managed not to burn to the point of being inedible have been grilled cheese and mac and cheese. So…thank god I’m not lactose intolerant.” He stared wordlessly at the dirty cookware for a few moments, his eyes going wide as the epiphany struck him. “Dish soap!” he cried, throwing the sponge down in frustration. “That’s what I forgot to get at the store today! Ugh—I knew I was forgetting something. I’ll have to swing by again tomorrow.”

Peter 2 and 3 exchanged an uneasy glance before turning back to Peter 1. “Still adjusting to the new living arrangements, huh?”

Peter huffed wearily before pasting on a tired grin. “Yeah. Haven’t figured out my routine just yet.” He yawned and rubbed his eyes. “But I’ll get there. You know, eventually.”

“I’m sorry you’ve had to struggle with all these things by yourself,” Peter 2 said, crossing the room to lay a hand on his back. “I know how hard it can be.”

“Have you asked MJ or your friend Ned for any cooking advice?” Peter 3 offered. “I’m sure between the three of you and that sweet Nana of his, you guys could whip up some cheap, meal-preppy type stuff to get you through the week. I suggest simple, healthy recipes with loads of carbs and protein. You know, to give you enough energy for late night web-swinging.”

Peter gazed into his stack of failed cooking attempts with a blurry haze over his eyes. After a few seconds of silence had passed, the hand on his back gave his arm a small squeeze.

“Peter? What’s wrong?”

Peter 3 cupped his palms over his mouth in horror. “Oh my god. Don’t tell me—did you guys break up? I swear, if you broke up, love is officially dead.”

Peter tried to laugh, but it came out more like a sob. “No, we didn’t—didn’t break up,” he said, swallowing thickly. His chin dropped towards the floor. “They, um…they just don’t remember me.”

Peter 2 searched the boy’s hollow expression, trying to understand. “What do you mean?”

“In order to stop the spell I botched from breaking the universe, Dr. Strange had to cast a new spell that made everyone in the world forget who I am,” Peter explained stiffly. “Including them. Ned and…and MJ.” He stared at his feet. “He did it after you guys were sent home.”

Peter 2 released Peter 1’s shoulder, his heart sinking in his chest. “Oh, bud,” he said mournfully.

“Wait, so…this whole time since we’ve been gone, you haven’t had anyone? You’ve been alone this entire time? Through the holidays and New Years and…all of it?”

“Have you talked to them? I mean, did you try to—I don’t really understand how magic spells in this universe work, but—maybe there’s a way you could get them to remember. Snap them out of it, jog their memory, you know?”

The longer they spoke, the more desolate the kid’s expression became. He shook his head, voice breaking.

“I tried. But, um…they don’t—don’t remember. They can’t.” He shrugged, sniffling. “But…maybe it’s for the best, you know? Without me, they’re so much safer and more successful. They actually have futures now. They’re both going to MIT next fall. And they’re, like, really excited about it. I don’t want to mess that up for them again.” He blinked the tears from his eyes and sucked in a shaky breath. “So…yes. I’ve been alone. But I’m—I’m okay with that.”

“Are you?” Peter 3 countered. Peter 1 turned to meet his gaze. The look on the poor kid’s face was absolutely heartbreaking. “I know I wouldn’t be,” he continued. “And I for one am not okay watching you try to do what we do without any kind of support system backing you. Trust me: it’s not sustainable.”

“Spider-Man was never meant to be a solo act,” Peter 2 agreed. “I wouldn’t be the hero I am today without the support and guidance I’ve had from my loved ones. We need to surround ourselves with people who care about us, who understand what we’re fighting for, and who can pull our heads out of our asses whenever we’ve lost our way.”

Peter wiped his cheeks and shook his head, voice laced with grief. “I can’t put them in danger again,” he whimpered. “Not Ned or MJ or anyone else. And even if I wanted to, there’s no one left who even knows I exist. I don’t have anybody.”

“You have us,” Peter 3 corrected him, wrapping an arm around his shoulders and giving him an affectionate shake. “We’ll be your support system until you find some locals from your own universe to help you out—whoever they may be.”

“Which we will be constantly hounding you about until you do,” Peter 2 added, ruffling his hair. “We can’t allow one of our own to hole himself up in his shitty little Midtown apartment like some sad spider-hermit. It’s not healthy, and gives a bad name to Spider-Men everywhere.”

Peter laughed in spite of himself, tears spilling from his eyes faster than he could mop them away. He nodded defeatedly. “Fair enough,” he said, gripping his arms at the elbows as he looked between the two Spider-Men. “Thank you. Honestly. You have no idea how nice it is to see you both again.”

Peter 3 lifted his hand off of his shoulder and frowned at his palm. “Um. You do know you’re bleeding, right?”

The youngest of the three Peters looked down at his arm in surprise. “Shit,” he hissed. “Forgot about that. I meant to patch it up as soon as I got home.” He poked at the fresh stain on his sleeve with a groan. “And now I’ve got this to deal with.”

“Four tablespoons of baking soda mixed with a fourth cup of water—gets any bloodstain out in no time,” Peter 2 recited. “Trust me: it’s a lifesaver for people who get injured as often as we do. Really wish I’d known that trick back when I was just starting out.”

“No one warns you about the perils of endless laundering that await you once you enter the superheroing world,” Peter 3 said woefully. He tugged at the bottom of Peter’s sweatshirt. “Come on—let’s get you cleaned up.”

Peter hesitated, then carefully slipped out of his pullover. Once they got a look at what lied underneath, the other Peters realized why. The kid’s arms, back, and chest were covered in wounds—most well on their way to healing, but others still alarmingly fresh. But the worst part of all of it were the gashes on his elbow and beneath his collarbone, which were being held together by messy, jagged stitchwork the boy had clearly sewn himself.

“I’ve been out Spider-Manning a lot more since May died,” he tried to explain, shrinking beneath their wide-eyed stares. “It helps keep my mind off things, but…sometimes I wind up over exerting myself. Taking on too many bad guys at once too many nights in a row.”

Peter 3 clicked his tongue. “Right. Okay. No biggie. It’s tough. We get it.”

Peter 2 leaned in close, his fingers hovering over the stitches in the kid’s arm. “Is this…fishing line?” he spluttered.

Peter hunched his shoulders timidly. “It’s cheaper than the stuff in those fancy suture kits…” he murmured. “Plus, one spool lasts way longer and works better than everything else I’ve tried.”

“I’m horrified to think of what else you’ve tried that’s somehow worse than fishing line,” Peter 3 said with a shudder.

Peter 2 kneaded at his temple. “Geez. Was I ever this insane and reckless? I once threw myself off a building after my powers started to fail and nearly broke my back, but I very quickly learned my lesson.” He snatched the spool of fishing line and the bloodied sewing needle from his side table and held them up pointedly, making Peter 1 wince. “You, on the other hand, obviously haven’t. You have to take care of your body, bud. No cutting corners, no cheap alternatives. Out of all of your priorities, your health always has to come first.”

Peter prodded at his sore stitches and scowled. “I can’t afford to go to the doctor all the time. And I can’t risk exposing my identity again.”

“I get that. Which is why we’re going to teach you how to treat your own injuries. Properly.” He tilted his chin toward the cut on his chest. “Where did you learn how to suture your own wounds?”

Peter licked his lips and averted his gaze. “Um…YouTube?”

A beat passed before Peter 2 inhaled deeply, then sighed. “I’m seriously considering barging into whatever superhero sanctum your teammates live in and giving them a piece of my mind. They haven’t exactly had your back through all of this. What did you call them again? The Apprehenders?”

Peter snorted. “The Avengers,” he corrected him. “And please don’t. We only get together for world-ending-type disasters, not for mending little scratches.” He sat on the edge of his bed, hands fidgeting in his lap. “Besides. None of them remember who I am, either.”

Peter 3 plopped down next to him, producing some medical sutures and gauze from a pocket in his costume. “How about I help stitch you up, and Peter 2 cleans your shirt and suit for ya?”

The young hero scoffed shyly. “You guys—you really don’t have to—”

“But we’re going to,” Peter 2 interrupted him, plucking his costume off the floor. “Gotta look out for our own, right?”

Peter stared between the two Spider-Men with an exhausted but grateful shine in his eyes. “Thank you,” he said, voice small. He'd gone so long without receiving any outside help, it felt weird accepting it now.

“Is this a new suit?” Peter 2 asked, holding it up to get a better look. “Did you make this yourself?”

Peter chuckled. “That bad, huh?”

“No. It’s just—different. I like it. The colors really pop.” He smiled warmly. “I think it suits you better. Makes Spider-Man look…I don’t know. More fun and friendly.”

Peter smiled back, then immediately grimaced as Peter 3 began stitching up the gash in his shoulder. Even with the proper supplies, the process still hurt like a bitch.

“The key to successful suturing is precise movements and keeping everything sterile. The last thing you want is for your wounds to get infected.”

“Ouch,” he groused, trying to stay still. Fortunately, Peter 3 worked quickly.

“Us Spider-People are lucky enough to heal faster than most folks, but that doesn’t mean we’re invincible. Big cuts like this one need to be sutured and treated in order to mend properly.” A minute later, he finished off the last knot, then threw his arms in the air. “Ta-da! See? Not too bad, right? Sorry I don’t have any lollipops for ya.”

Peter looked down at the tidily dressed wound. Compared to his patchy handiwork—well, there was no comparison. “How long do I need to leave them in?” he asked.

“Minimum of three days. And be sure to take it easy—otherwise, you’ll wind up ripping them open and having to start all over again.”

“Suit and shirt are all cleaned up and hanging out to dry,” Peter 2 announced, returning from the kitchen and jabbing his thumb over his shoulder. “I patched the tear in the sleeve as well. Looks good as new.”

Peter huffed out a laugh as he wriggled into a Mets T-shirt. “Whenever I imagined what it’d be like if I ever saw you guys again, this is not at all what I pictured. I thought we’d be thwipping around the city together, having web-swinging races or teaming up for another battle. Not, you know, standing around my shitty apartment, doing laundry and getting lectured on self care. May would be so proud.”

The other Peters chuckled. Peter 2 joined them on the bed and patted the teen’s back. “Peter Parkers are multifaceted beings with multifaceted needs. We can do some fun stuff together soon, once you’re all healed up and have worked out a more stable living routine.”

“My vote is for the web-swinging race,” Peter said eagerly. “That needs to happen, like, ASAP. I have to know which would win: our artificial webbing, or that stuff you make in your body.”

Peter feigned a small smile, but it didn’t last. He chewed his lip and swung his feet, trying to find the right words to articulate his thoughts.

“Can I ask you guys something?”

Peter 2 and 3 shared a quick look before nodding. “Yeah. Of course.”

The boy hugged his arms to his chest and wrinkled his brow. “Did you ever…I mean. After you lost the people you cared so much about, were you ever able to, like…feel like yourself again?”

Both Peters sensed he wasn’t done yet, so they waited for him to continue.

“I don’t think I know who I am without them. I don’t feel like me anymore now that they’re gone. Being happy used to come so naturally to me. I used to be able to find a reason to smile no matter how bleak the circumstances.” He choked out a laugh. “May used to call me her ‘sunshine boy’ because all my life, I’ve been the one who smiles in the face of adversity and goes around cheering everyone else up. But now, it all feels so fake and forced. I don't even have anyone to cheer up anymore. I’m just going through the motions of the happy, carefree person I used to be. Hoping that one day I’ll wake up, and it will somehow feel normal again. Not something I’m forcing myself to do just to cope, you know?”

Peter 2 considered his response carefully. “I think part of what you’re experiencing is a very normal progression of the grieving process that myself and Peter 3 understand well. It’s been almost twenty years since I lost Uncle Ben, and I still don’t feel like the same person I was when he was alive. And…I’m not sure I ever will. He was a part of me, and you’re never going to feel completely whole when part of you is permanently taken away. You have to learn to just…live with it. To carry that grief, that emptiness, and be okay with it.”

Peter 2 heaved a lofty sigh. “Another part of it might just be that you’re growing up and realizing the world isn’t all sunshine and rainbows. Life is tough and painful, especially for people who do what we do, and it’s okay to not be happy all the time. After everything you’ve been through, you’re allowed to be sad and angry. You’ll feel authentic happiness again soon—I promise. But don’t try to force it. Let yourself process those negative feelings you need to feel right now. ‘Cause if you don’t, they could come back to haunt you as something a lot scarier in the future.”

Peter blinked up at him, sucking his lips to his teeth. “Wow. You’re, like, really good at this. You should host a podcast about the physical and psychological tribulations that come with being a superhero and how you’ve overcome them. I bet it’d be really popular with other up-and-coming heroes like me.”

Peter 2 chuckled bashfully. “Well, thank you. Happy to be of service. I’ll…keep that in mind.”

“Let me just say that I am totally on board with everything old Peter is saying,” Peter 3 interjected, moving his hands emphatically as he spoke.

Peter 2 frowned. “I don’t think I like that title.”

“Sorry. But anyway, yes, feeling your feelings is super important. The main reason I got so bitter and vengeful after Gwen’s death was because instead of dealing internally with my grief, I took it out on others. You have to give yourself space to feel all that pain before you can start to truly heal from it.”

“Did this just turn into Spider-Man group therapy?” Peter joked, even though that was absolutely what it felt like.

“Hold on, not done yet,” Peter 3 said, holding up his index finger. “What I’m saying is, yes, to feel more like yourself again, you’ve gotta follow old Peter—I mean, sorry—Peter 2’s advice.” A grin spread across Peter 3’s face. “However, there are little things you can do to make mundane life more enjoyable and make yourself happier in the present moment, even if they’re more of a short-term fix.”

Peter narrowed his eyes curiously. “Like what?” he asked.

“Try changing your perspective on things.” He sprung off the bed, an excited sparkle in his eye. “Like—like cooking, for example.” He gestured to the sink brimming with dirty dishes. “When you think about cooking, you probably see it as a chore, something you’re not particularly good at or looking forward to doing.”

Peter scratched the back of his neck. “Can’t argue with you on that one…”

“But instead of thinking of cooking as cooking, why not think of cooking as science?” Peter 3 shot a line of webbing from his wrist and whipped a cookbook off the countertop into his hands. “After all, at its core, that’s all cooking really is. Following a procedure, mixing solutions together, observing chemical reactions. It’s like you're cross-testing an experiment to try to get the same results other scientists have achieved—which just so happens to be a delicious meal!”

Peter tilted his head to the side. “Huh. I never thought about it that way.”

“We know science is a major passion of yours. Because—well, we’re you. So why not reframe some of these annoying adult-life things you have to do as fun, scientific escapades? Cooking, laundry, even cleaning—when you get down to it, they’re all just mini science experiments you’re trying to make work in your favor.”

Peter’s gaze shifted between the mound of dirty dishes, the overflowing hamper of smelly clothes, and the muddy footprints on the walls and floor adjacent to his window. “It’s not a bad idea,” he conceded.

“Just because you have to do more boring adult things now doesn’t mean you have to do them in a boring adult way. You’re still a kid, ya know? You’re allowed to act your age and put a fun spin on otherwise tedious chores to make them easier to get through. I know I do.”

“I might just steal that idea for myself,” Peter 2 thought aloud. “Even at my age, I still dread doing some of those things. Reframing them through a scientific lens is smart.”

Peter 3 pointed at him enthusiastically. “That’s the spirit! See? Everything is more enjoyable when you rewire your brain to recognize the science-y side of it.”

“That’s the problem, though,” Peter said, criss-crossing his legs on top of the bed. “Even science doesn’t inspire me the way it used to. No matter what I’m doing, I just feel...numb. Lifeless.” He deflated miserably. “It’s like…like I’ve forgotten how to be happy.”

Peter 2 laid a comforting hand on his shoulder. The kid obviously needed more time to process everything. His loss was still so fresh and new and painful.

“Maybe there’s a way we can remind you how to be happy,” Peter 3 suggested. “Ya know, with science. I mean, happiness as we know it is just chemicals in our brains and synapses firing off in the correct order, right?”

“That’s debatable,” Peter 2 remarked.

Peter 3 shrugged. “Still. Could be worth a shot.”

“What did you have in mind?” Peter ventured to ask, hunching his shoulders. “Shrooms? The devil’s lettuce?”

“No!” Peter 3 exclaimed, appalled. “You’re a baby! Babies don’t get to take drugs!” He wagged his finger in his face. “And even if you could, that is not a healthy way to deal with our emotions!”

“I was joking,” the teen insisted, the corners of his mouth lifting into a halfhearted smile.

“Well, stop joking. No more deflecting from our problems with humor. We’re the ones who should be trying to make you laugh, not the other way around.” A look of delight suddenly flashed across his face. Peter 3 snapped his fingers in the air and quirked one eyebrow. “Speaking of, that actually gives me an idea.”

“Maybe it’s best if we head out for the night, let Peter get some rest,” Peter 2 offered, checking his watch. “It’s…whoa. A lot later here than it is in my universe. Sorry we’ve kept you up this long.”

Peter shrugged passively. It wasn’t like he slept much these days, anyway. Peter 3 held up his hand.

“Just lemme try this one last thing,” he pried. “Trust me: it’s a safe, easy, science-backed hack for cheering people up who feel like they can’t be cheered up.” He smiled softly at the littlest of the Peters. “It’s, uh…it’s actually a trick my Aunt May used to use on me when I got low. Still does, sometimes.”

Surprise and curiosity overcame Peter’s expression. He glanced at Peter 2, then slowly slid off the bed to stand in front of Peter 3. “Show me,” he said.

Peter 3 grinned, crossing his arms against his chest. “All right. Okay. Cool.” He scratched his chin in thought and squinted up at the ceiling. “Let me remember—how did she do it? Um…okay. First, close your eyes.”

Peter searched the older Spider-Man’s face for a couple more seconds before doing as he was told. He inhaled and exhaled deeply. “Okay. Now what?”

“Now, uh…lay on the floor.”

The kid frowned. “With my eyes closed?”

“Sure. If you can. I mean, you can open them to lay down. So you don’t, ya know, trip or anything. But close them again once you’re on the ground.”

The kid looked skeptical, but went ahead and sank down to the floor, sprawling flat on his back. “Like this?”

“Yep. Perfect.”

“You said this was a science-based hack?”

“One hundred percent.”

Peter pursed his lips, then rested his head against the ground. “All righty.”

Peter 2 scowled at Peter 3 and mouthed ‘What are you doing?’ Peter 3 held a finger to his lips and mouthed back ‘You’ll see,’ a mischievous glint in his eye.

“So, what’s next? Do I just lay here with my eyes closed? Is this some type of meditation or hypnosis thing?”

“Not quite,” Peter 3 replied. He sat down on the floor next to him and pushed his elbow upwards. “Lift your arms above your head and interlace your fingers together.”

Peter raised his hands and gripped them together obediently. “This floor smells like cat piss,” he observed, wrinkling his nose.

“Hush,” Peter 3 snapped. “This is a very delicate process that must be executed with the utmost precision to work. Are your eyes closed?”

“They’ve been closed this entire time!”

Peter 3 grinned. “Spectacular,” he said, then placed his palm on top of Peter’s interlaced hands, pinning his arms above his head. “Time to science your way to happiness.”

The tiniest of Peter tingles itched at the back of his neck, making the young hero open one eye. “Wait—what’re you—?”

Five fingers suddenly clamped around his side and began squeezing his midsection, drawing a surprised shriek from Peter’s lips. Bright, bubbly laughter immediately followed, paired with a wild frenzy of squirming.

“AHAhehey! Whahat’re—whahat is—s-stahap!” He tried to pull his arms down to guard himself, but was stunned to discover that he couldn’t; the third Spider-Man was just as strong as him, if not stronger, and had also purposely positioned him so that gravity was on his side, leaving Peter defenseless against the unexpected tickle attack.

“See? Told ya it would work,” Peter 3 said smugly, scurrying his fingers across the teen’s belly. “Anything is possible through the power of science!”

“Thihis isn’t scihihience!” Peter giggled shrilly, his face flushing red. He bucked his hips and kicked his legs, but couldn’t find a way to dislodge himself from Peter 3’s hold.

“Sure it is!” Peter 3 protested. “Science is just making a hypothesis on something then observing the outcome, right? Watch this: I hypothesize that in the next three seconds, you’re going to scream like a little girl.”

“Thahat’s not—AAAHAhaha!” Peter 3’s wiggly fingers shot up to his rib cage, making Peter squeal and thrash. “StAHAp it!”

“But look how happy you are! If this doesn’t remind you how to laugh and feel joy, I don’t know what will.” He giggled in unison with the squirmy teen, endeared by his childlike laughter and the adorable radiance of his smile. In the short time they’d known each other, Peter 3 had watched the youngest Peter go through an exhausting rollercoaster of emotions: guilt, regret, heartbreak, grief, loneliness, rage, vengeance. The only times he remembered seeing him truly, authentically happy before now (which had only lasted a few seconds) were the times the three of them had hugged each other. He understood his struggles all too well, and recognized the kid still had a lot of healing to do.

But that didn’t mean he couldn’t cheer him up with a much-needed older brother tickle attack whenever he really needed it. Peter 1 had been forced to grow up and act like an adult way too much lately; it was about time they brought out the kid in him again.

And damn, did he sure laugh like one.

“I think I get the ‘sunshine boy’ nickname now,” Peter 3 said, mirroring the teen’s wide grin. “You’ve got the brightest smile and the cutest laugh in the whole world!”

“Shuhut uhup!” he giggled, burning from head to toe, fiercely regretting telling them about that. “Lehet me GOHOhaha!” He fought to break Peter 3’s hold on his hands with all his might, flailing and tugging between bouts of belly laughs.

“Not until the science experiment is complete!” Peter 3 retorted, wrestling with his arms. Keeping the kid pinned was growing more and more challenging. “Holy shit, you’re strong. Hey—Peter 2. Mind lending me a hand?”

The oldest of the Peters pondered the situation carefully, then chuckled. A playful smirk spread across his face. “What else are brothers for?” he asked, standing from the bed and joining the other Spider-Men on the floor. He grabbed Peter 1’s wrists and pinned them firmly above his head, making the boy gasp.

“Hehey! W-wahait!”

“Much better!” Peter 3 let go of Peter 1’s hands and wiggled all ten fingers at him menacingly. “Now we can really get you laughing.”

Peter shook his head, bursting with anxious giggles, his brain buzzing to warn him of the incoming attack. “Noho! Dohon’t! Gehet awahayHAYHAHA!” Two hands began scribbling against his sides, and the kid’s laughter immediately shot up in octave and volume. He writhed and yelped, trying to comprehend how the hell he’d gotten himself into this mess and grappling for a way out. Of all the ways to help him feel happiness again, why did they have to pick this? How could they have possibly known about that weakness?

Oh. Right. They were him.

Was this what having older brothers was like? Being blessed with people who looked out for you at your lowest points, had your back when you needed them most, who knew and understood you from the inside out, who then turned around and used that knowledge to embarrass the shit out of you and make you feel eight years old again?

Perhaps being an only child wasn’t so bad after all.

“T-TRAIHAItors!” he cackled, throwing his head back with his eyes squeezed shut, smiling the biggest smile in the universe. “Thihis is—SOHO unfAIRHAIRHAHAheehee!”

With his arms pinned to the floor, Peter 3’s hands were free to torment his entire torso. He squeezed his hips, kneaded his belly, and tweaked his rib cage, driving the ticklish teenager up the wall. He was no match against the combined strength of the two older, more experienced Spider-Men. He’d been poked and tasered by his loved ones in the past—those who knew him well enough to be privy to his ticklishness and how quickly it disarmed him and brought a smile to his face. But never to this degree: rendered completely helpless by his fellow superheroes who knew exactly what buttons to push to make him lose it. This whole situation was beyond humiliating.

“Unfair but necessary,” Peter 3 said wryly, pinching his sides. “Cheering you up when you’re down is our job as your older spider brothers!”

“And to remind you you’re still just a kid,” Peter 2 added. “A smart, tough, resilient kid—but a kid nonetheless. Who also happens to laugh like a hyena when you tickle his ribs.”

Hiccups began punching out of his chest between bouts of sunny laughter, making the blush in his cheeks bleed into his ears. How come no matter what group of heroes he was working with, he always wound up being the youngest? Even out of the multidimensional Spider-Man trio, he was still the littlest brother. It was a pattern he was growing sick and tired of very rapidly.

“Ohokay!” he squeaked, twisting and flinching as Peter 3 poked at his belly. “Ihit—it worhorked! You dihid it! Ihi’m h-happy nahow! Youhou can stahahap!”

Peter 3’s fingers scurried up his sides before digging into his underarms, making Peter 1 arch his spine and screech like a pterodactyl. The older Peters laughed at him, causing his entire body to flush pink.

“Not so fast!” Peter 3 countered, squeezing and scribbling the kid’s ticklish armpits. “We’ve gotta make sure we get every last bit of those happy chemicals flowing through your brain before you’re off the hook.”

Peter kicked his legs and squirmed helplessly against Peter 2’s grip, howling with laughter. “AHAHAhack! Sh-SHIHITHAHAha!”

“That spot seems to release a pretty good deal of them,” Peter 2 observed with a chuckle.

With no other means to fight against his tormentors, Peter swung his knee into Peter 3’s back. Peter 3 recoiled with a scoff.

“Ow! Okay, that’s it.” He aimed his wrist at the kid’s ankles and fired a glob of webbing over them, trapping his feet against the floor. “Bad kicky spider legs get put in time out.”

Peter wriggled and writhed, but his feet were stuck in place. Now he was even more restrained, leaving his entire body open for Peter 3’s sinister fingers to tickle. This absurd predicament was getting worse by the second. “Noho! Noho mohore!” he implored, his face aching from smiling so long.

“Relax, buddy! We’re almost done.” He spidered his fingers above his tummy threateningly. “Just a couple more hypotheses I wanna test.”

To Peter’s horror, Peter 3 slipped his hands under his T-shirt and started scuttling his nails against his bare sides. Peter jolted, giggling hysterically, goosebumps prickling across his skin.

“EEEheeHEEK! Oho my GAHAHAD!”

“It boggles my mind that so many people could still hate you even after seeing your face,” Peter 3 said, grinning down at the cackling teenager. “Just look at that smile! What kind of heartless, evil person sees that and doesn’t immediately fall in love?”

Peter felt like he was going to erupt—once from laughing so ridiculously hard, and again because of the relentless teasing. Why did they have to be so goddamn patronizing? He was so getting them back for this.

Peter 3’s hands moved higher, tickling his defenseless midriff and ribs, furthering Peter’s desire to implode. His brain couldn’t focus on anything besides the ten merciless fingers needling his torso. His laughter was becoming frantic. He couldn’t stand it another second. He had to make them stop.

“M-MERHERCY!” he hiccuped, tears collecting in the corners of his eyes. “Thihis—ihis—TORHORTURE!”

“This is a bit mean,” Peter 2 conceded, watching the poor kid flush redder and redder as the tickle attack continued. By now, he was laughing so hard, the only actual sounds he was capable of producing were quick snorts and violent hiccups.

Peter 3 tickled his underarms a few seconds longer before lifting his hands off the winded teen. “All right, all right,” he said, allowing the boy to catch his breath. “Don’t go blacking out on us. The good news is, I think the science experiment worked: we’ve activated almost all of your body’s happy chemicals.”

Peter sagged against the ground, panting and giggling weakly. It was nice to see him look so smiley and carefree for a change—even if in reality, he was understandably pissed at them. His goofy, childish laughter really drove home how young this universe’s Spider-Man still was—a fact that was as endearing as it was heartbreaking.

“Almost all of them?” Peter 2 asked, raising an eyebrow. “I’m pretty sure we got ‘em all.”

Peter 3 shrugged. “Oh, sure, yeah, probably.” He lifted the kid’s shirt with an evil grin. “But, ya know, just to be safe—”

Peter stiffened. “Hehey—w-what’re you—EHAHAHAAAGH!”

Peter 3 leaned down and blew a big, fat raspberry right into his tummy. Peter screamed and flailed, the sensation sending shocks across his entire body. Peter 3 snickered at his frenzied reaction and did it again and again, sending the kid into a silent, hiccuping spiral in seconds.

Fortunately, Peter 2 was kind enough to release his arms while this was happening, granting the youngest Peter a fighting chance. As soon as he realized he was free, Peter pushed frantically at Peter 3’s head, which was caught underneath his shirt, desperate to make the raspberries end without accidentally hurting him.

“Pleehease STAHAP!” he cried, his belly fluttering with panicky laughter. “I prahamise I’m cured!”

Peter 3 laughed, wrestling to escape his shirt. “Sorry—got stuck for a minute!” He popped out a second later with a playful grin. “There we go. How ya feeling now? Happier, I hope?”

Peter 1 responded by shoving him to the floor, making Peter 3 giggle. “Nohot cool!” he exclaimed, residual laughter still thrumming through his system. He hugged himself around the middle, panting and dizzy and flustered to his core. “Oho my god. Th-that was…so uncalled for.”

“But it helped, didn’t it? No way you can laugh that hard and not feel at least slightly cheered up.”

“My sihides feel like they’re about to split,” Peter wheezed, his cheeks burning bright red. He rubbed his eyes, struggling to wipe the goofy grin off his face. “Oh man. I’m gohonna p-pass out…”

“I think it’s about time we all passed out for the night,” Peter 2 said, tearing the webbing off the kid's legs and offering him a hand. A few seconds went by before Peter 1 reluctantly accepted, rising unsteadily to his feet. “Sorry for teaming up on you like that, but it seemed like you needed a hard reset.”

“Is that what we’re calling it?” Peter chuckled shyly, kneading at his sore ribs. “I get the sentiment, but ugh—dohon’t ever do that again.”

“Quit acting like it didn’t work,” Peter 3 said smugly, giving his side a few quick pinches. “Look at yourself; you can’t stop smiling.”

Peter 1 leapt away from his touch with a squeal. “Hehey! Ehenough already!”

The two older Peters laughed brightly, making the youngest Peter bristle with embarrassment. Despite his protests, they wrapped him into a big, squishy hug, sandwiching their little brother between them.

“Why does it feel like you pioneered dimension-hopping technology just for the purpose of coming here to bully me?” Peter 1 grumbled through a half-smushed smile.

“Because that’s exactly what we did,” Peter 2 chuckled. He released Peter 1 from his hold and gripped his shoulders. “And to tell you you’re doing really great, that you’re a really strong person, we’re really proud of you, and we’re here for you.”

Peter smiled sheepishly, his face still rosy and warm. “Thanks. I appreciate it. Everything you guys have said and done for me. Minus the last five minutes.”

“Don’t mention it,” Peter 3 insisted, hooking an arm around his neck and giving him a playful noogie. Peter 1 scrunched up his nose and squirmed out of his grip.

“Lay off,” he giggled. “You’re making me miss the times I only knew one Spider-Man—me.”

“I don’t miss those times at all,” Peter 3 said, his face falling a little. “It was lonely, thinking I was the only one going through what I was going through.”

Peter 2 smiled somberly. “Me neither. It’s nice to know there are others out there who get it. Even if they’re entire universes away.”

Peter 1 glanced between the other Peters, wondering what it must feel like to come from a world that not only had just one Spider-Man, but no Avengers. Maybe no other superheroes at all. How isolating that would be. He imagined it was similar to what he was going through now, but also entirely different. At least he had other heroes to look up to here, to befriend, to depend on when things took a turn towards the apocalyptic. But these guys were in this fight completely alone.

Peter punched them both in the arm and grinned. “I'm glad I'm not alone, too. Feel free to stop by my universe anytime. I'd love to visit your home worlds. Maybe I could introduce you to some of the other heroes I’ve worked with.”

Peter 2 chuckled. “Thanks, but this whole multidimensional Spider-Man situation might be hard to explain.”

“Oh. True.”

“Besides, you two are probably way more fun to hang out with anyway. How often does a guy get to be around a couple of alternate versions of himself?”

“Hopefully a lot more in the near future,” Peter 3 said exuberantly.

Peter 2 turned to Peter 1 with an earnest smile. “You’re going to be okay. You’re going to feel like yourself again. I know it may not seem like it right now, but I promise you. You’ll get there.”

Peter nodded, scratching behind his ear, trying his best to swallow his emotions again. “I know.”

“We’ll stop by again soon. I’ll bring some more medical supplies next time. And a pack of dryer sheets. And maybe a couple more things of baking soda.”

“Okay,” the young hero giggled. “Thanks.”

“Don’t forget to talk to other people, Peter,” Peter 3 reminded him, pointing sternly. “You need to form some in-universe friendships. We’ll always be here, but still. That goes for Spider-Man and Peter Parker. Got it?”

Peter offered him a sardonic salute. “Aye aye, Cap’n.”

The older Spider-Men smiled at him and took a few steps back. “See ya around,” Peter 2 said, clicking a button on the high-tech remote in his hand. “Ease up on the patrols until those wounds are healed.”

The circle of fire reappeared behind them, swirling like a volcanic whirlpool, growing as tall as the ceiling and as bright as the sun in a matter of seconds. Peter shaded his eyes with one hand while waving goodbye with the other.

“Remember to smile, sunshine boy!” Peter 3 hollered as he jumped through the portal, throwing up double peace signs. “And if you can’t, I’ll be sure to remind you again! I love you!”

Peter rolled his eyes bashfully. Peter 2 chuckled and followed after Peter 3, disappearing into the ring of flickering flames. The opening sizzled and shifted, then spiraled in the opposite direction, spewing sparks across the floor as it shrunk smaller and smaller. It vanished in a puff of smoke, and Peter suddenly found himself standing in his shitty apartment again, alone. Alone, but not feeling it as viscerally as he had before.

When he finally went to bed that night, sleep came easier to him than it had in a long time. Maybe, eventually, the same would go for everything else in his life that currently felt so impossible. Maybe that old Parker joy would find him once again. And perhaps a new kind, too.

#peter parker #nwh #nwh spoilers #spider man: no way home #ticklish!peter #spider-man #sfw tickling

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hairringtonsteve · 4 years ago

Text

wrong house, right time

[joaquin torres x reader]

summary: Sometimes, life just sucks and nothing can be done. But when one (1) Joaquin Torres shows up to fix for air conditioner, your week gets just a little better.

word count: 2,262

a/n: I wasn't going to post this publicly, but @anna-phora told me to do it, so I'm accidentally stepping into MCU fic. Which like... was the eventual plan if I'm being honest. but this was written specifically for her because I'm a great friend. (edited so it's not including her name, lol)

________________________________________________

There are some weeks that are worse than others. You know this. You have accepted this It’s par for the course in life. But really – couldn’t Teacher Appreciation Week be better than the other weeks? It doesn’t even have to be by a lot. You’d take a smidge at this point. Hell, you’d take just about anything. You rested your head against the cool wood of your kitchen cabinet and sighed. On the counter, your phone chimed, signaling a text. A moment later, it chimed again.

“Better be something good,” you mumbled. You fumbled for it blindly, refusing to look for it. This week was exhausting. You weren’t going to move more than you had to for the next two days. After a few seconds, your fingertips bumped up against the edge. Unlocking it without looking, you finally cracked an eye open, pulling away from the cabinet just enough to catch a glimpse of your screen.

A second later, two more texts popped onto the screen.

You let out a snort of laughter as you read the messages. You’d almost forgot. One of your neighbors had recommended him, saying that a friend of a friend was pretty handy with fixing things, and would probably do it for a small fee. You’d hesitated at first, but thinking about how much money a handyman would be had swayed you over.

Glancing down at your dog, Darcy, you hummed softly. “If you’re extra nice, maybe he won’t charge us.”

You ran a hand over your face as you headed through the kitchen and to the front door. You hadn’t heard any knocking, so you assumed he was right in that he was at the wrong house. Opening up the door, you peered through the screen. It took a few seconds, but you spotted a guy slowly wandering down the sidewalk, eyes glued to his phone with a toolbox in his free hand. Every few seconds he would glance up, frown, and then look back to his phone. You figured that it was him, but you didn’t say anything. It was the safe thing to do, to not yell at random men from your house.

And besides, he was cute.

Your gaze slipped over him as he walked. Short hair, strong shoulders. Despite the distance, you could tell that he was handsome. A few more steps and he was one house down. Finally, you decided to put him out of his misery.

His head jerked up as he looked around, his gaze eventually settling on you. You quirked a brow at him and he held up his phone in question. You nodded, motioning for him to come inside. A grin stretched across his lips and something in your chest twisted.

Oh.

Oh no.

Oh no, he was really cute.

Very cute.

Handsome.

Shit.

You swallowed and mustered up a grin as he started up the steps. Darcy started barking, excited at the prospect of meeting literally anyone. You unlocked the screen door and took a few steps back, hooking your fingers through her collar to make sure she didn’t take a running leap at him.

“It’s open,” you called as he reached the door. Darcy barked, tugging forward in Joaquin’s direction. “Sorry about her, she’s just really friendly.”

Joaquin was already kneeling down, setting his toolbox down beside him. “It’s fine, I love dogs. You can let her go.” He paused. “If that’s okay?”

You shrug as you let her go. Darcy shot forward, leaping towards him with an excited bark. She was all over him, unable to decide whether jumping or nuzzling was the way to go. You straightened up, your heart already doing triple time at the sight.

“So,” he started, taking his eyes off of Darcy for a second to look up at you. “Your AC is acting up?”

You nodded. “I have no clue what’s going on with it, but it won’t work. Thank you so much for coming to check it out.”

“Oh, no problem at all,” he said, rubbing Darcy’s ears. Her tail wagged furiously. “Especially for a pretty girl.” Red crept up from his neck to his ears, flushing his face in a way that made him even more attractive. He ducked his head, bashful, as he focused solely on Darcy. “So what’s her name?” The sentence came out fast, like one long word.

“Oh, um, it’s Darcy.” Words were hard to form when the phrase ‘pretty girl’ was echoing around your brain.

“Like the author?” He lifted his head as he asked, a small grin tugging at the corner of his lips. “I had to read a lot of her stuff in high school. Pride and Prejudice was always my favorite.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” he grinned. “You read a lot?”

You shrugged. “Well, I am a high school English teacher.”

Joaquin laughed and nodded his head. “So you read a hell of a lot, then?” His grin settled more into a smile as he -- somewhat unsubtly -- looked you up and down. A beat of silence, and then: “So, you wanna show me the unit?” He grabbed his toolbox and stood up, arching his back a little as he tried to stretch it out from being crouched down.

“Sure,” you said as you started up the stairs. It was quiet as the two of you walked.

“So when did it stop working?” Joaquin asked, breaking the silence.

“The other day. It just started to sputter a little bit and then quit after a few seconds.” You opened up the door and motioned him inside. The AC was still in the window, still mocking you as it sat in the hot, unmoving air.

“And it hasn’t started up since?”

“Nope. I’ve been dying of heatstroke since Wednesday.”

“Makes sense,” he said as he began to shrug off his jacket. The black t-shirt underneath fit him well.

A little too well, if you were being honest.

He stepped over to the unit and began to lift the window up, as though he were planning to get it out by himself when it was clearly a two-person job.

“You need help?” You asked, already moving towards him.

“I’ve got it, I’m strong,” he said, waving you away. You went to argue with him, but he was already wrapping his arms around the thing. With his attention focused on lifting the unit out of the window, you were free to watch as his muscles strained. What was a two-person job for you was easily a one-person job for him. He took his time in setting it on the ground, guiding it down gently. He pressed his lips together as he sat down on the ground and reached for his toolbox. He looked up to where you were still standing.

“Oh, did you want me to -- I can head downstairs? So I don’t bother you?” You took a step back, but paused as he shrugged.

“Or you could stay up here. I wouldn’t mind the company.”

Your stomach flipped. You stepped inside and took a seat on the ground a few feet away from him, making it a little harder for Darcy to investigate what he was doing. That was it. You were there to keep Darcy away. But as you sat there, you realized that you had no clue what to talk about? What was he into?

It was quiet for a few seconds before he asked what your favorite movie was. And suddenly, the two of you were off. Time passed quickly as you spoke, moving from favorite movies to books to exchanging family stories. You learned that he was in the military, and traveled often. You’d asked what he did, and he just shrugged his shoulders, looking from the AC unit to you, and smirked.

“Stuff.”

“Like top-secret stuff?”

“Oh yeah,” he’d said, holding the smirk for another second before laughing. The corners of his eyes crinkled when he laughed.

You liked it.

Despite it feeling as though no time at all had passed, he announced the culprit -- a bad wire -- and it seemed like once he’d figured it out, he was done. But when you glanced at the time on your phone, your eyes widened. Two hours had gone by.

You shifted your gaze over to the window as Joaquin straightened up and tried out the AC unit. It worked like a charm. He nodded and gave the unit a little pat, as though silently congratulating it for working once more.

“So how much do I owe you?” You asked as he turned to face you.

“Nothing, that was easy.”

“That was two hours, I have to give you something.”

He shook his head. “Your company was enough.”

“Come on, let me--”

“Y/N,” he said, taking a step forward. “Your company was worth it, I’m not accepting your money.” He pressed his lips together, looking as though he wanted to say something more when his phone went off. He glanced down at it and sighed. “One sec?” He asked, already swiping to answer the call. “Hey Mom, yeah I -- yeah. Yeah, yes. I can pick that up. You want me to snag one for Grandma, too? No, I just finished fixing up the AC, I -- She’s -- Mom.” You couldn’t tell what was being said, but his cheeks were starting to flush. You could hear laughter on the other end of the line. “Yeah, yeah. I’ve got to go. I’ll see you in a bit.”

You raised a brow. “Your mom?”

“Yeah, she wants me to stop by the store on my way to visit her.” He glanced from you to Darcy and sighed. “I should probably be on my way out.”

Disappointment made itself at home in your chest. “Right, yeah,” you said, heading towards the door. The two of you made your way down the stairs, Darcy following happily behind. When you reached the first floor, you went to lean against the couch. Joaquin had his hands in his jacket pockets as he made it a few steps after you. He stood there, shifting his weight awkwardly from one foot to the other.

“Thank you, seriously. I cannot thank you enough for fixing that,” you said.

He shook his head and grinned softly. “It was no problem, Y/N.” He took a few steps towards the door before turning back to look at you. “I’ll see you around?”

You returned his grin with one of your own. “You’ve got my number.”

His grin grew even wider before he turned and headed out the door. Darcy trotted over to the door after it closed, her eyes tracking his every move as he headed towards the sidewalk. You watched for another second before calling Darcy away from the door. A minute and one treat later, the two of you were cuddled up on the couch. Idly, you switched tabs from Facebook to Tumblr, trying your hardest to avoid thinking about the last couple of hours before you heard your phone go off. Thumbing into your messages, your face instantly lit up.

________________________________________________

Two months later, you found yourself walking towards a small, hole-in-the-wall bar tucked into a sidestreet. Joaquin’s hand on the small of your back as you walked, you trying not to laugh as he gave you what felt like a rundown before one of his missions.

“Just… ignore them if they try to embarrass me, okay? I’m much cooler than whatever they say.”

You laughed. “Are you, though? Are you really?”

“Hey,” he said, giving you an indignant look as he held the door open for you. You stepped inside, taking note of how warm it was inside. People crowded around tables, the low hum of voices occasionally getting louder when the television in the corner showed someone making a basket. Joaquin tapped your shoulder, nodding to the right. “I am very cool, I’ll have you know. Just last week, I –”

“Hey, Torres!” A voice called from a back booth. Joaquin sighed as he stepped in front of you and lead you towards the booth. “Weren’t you the one to say, ‘be there at seven and don��t be late, I really like this girl?’ And you’re what, thirty minutes late?”

“Thirty-two minutes late, by my count,” another voice chimes in as the two of you get closer. You’re already grinning as you note how Joaquin ducked his head.

You lean forward, just close enough so he’ll be able to hear you. “You really like this girl, huh?”

It was difficult to hear his response with his back turned to you, but you watched as his shoulders slumped and caught what sounded like a “not you too.” You tilted your head back and laughed, bright and airy, as you approached the table. Your eyes settled on the two men crowded into the booth, your laugh cutting off as recognition settled in.

He hadn’t said that they were these friends.

“Y/N, we’ve heard a lot about you. Like a lot about you.”

He’d only ever talked about work in the abstract, which made sense. It wasn’t like he could go on, telling you all the details about whatever mission he was on. But he’d spoken of coworkers and even one that had become a friend. But he’d never mentioned names, or the context of things, or…

“Honestly, the kid doesn’t shut up about you.”

Or the fact that they were literal Avengers.

Joaquin groaned. “Can you two—”

Sam Wilson settled back into his seat and grinned as he motioned for you to sit down. “I’m Sam, this is Bucky. It’s good to finally meet you.”

#joaquin torres x reader #joaquin torres fanfic #joaquin torres x you #mcu x reader #joaquin torres #tfatws

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hale-13 · 4 years ago

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Enterobacter

By Hale13

For the Summer of Whump Day 2 - Food Poisoning

Being Spider-Man sometimes means that Peter has to eat on the job and eating in the job means eating a lot of fast food. Some of his favorite stops are new and local food trucks since most of them give him free food for the obvious influx of business he brings to them. And Peter loves Thai so much he just HAS to try the new truck that opened.

Words: 2339, Chapters: 1/1 (Complete), Language: English

Fandoms: Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies)

Rating: Gen

Relationships: Ned Leeds & Peter Parker, Peter Parker & Tony Stark

Characters: Peter Parker, Ned Leeds, Tony Stark

TW: Vomiting

Read on AO3 or below the line break.

Before the Bite, Peter was a staunch and vehement hater of warm weather. He spent every spring and summer feeling overheated and sweaty and gross and May and Ben would always joke that he ran hot which, Peter supposed, wasn’t completely untrue. He had always spent most of his falls and winters sleeping with the window by his bed cracked to let in the cool air and under a light blanket.

So November through about March was great for him. The rest of the year however? Awful. Miserable. Abhorrent. Just… any terrible adjective you could think of would work as a descriptor. The city heat was always so overbearing that their tired little AC unit couldn’t keep up and would, inevitably, give up and the Parker family would spend half the summer every summer without the blessed cool air flowing through their apartment. And the humidity! Peter felt like he was trying to breath and walk through soup – the heat wouldn’t be nearly as bad without the humidity.

One might think that, with the loss of his ability to thermoregulate well, the warm weather might be easier for him post-Bite but all it did was give Peter new things to worry about. For example: getting heat stroke for doing nothing more than sitting still in his bedroom and doing homework on a hot day.

Yeah. Peter really hated the warm weather.

Which explains why he wakes up on a Thursday in mid-May already angry and irritated and sweating through the ratty tank top and boxers he wore to bed about three minutes before his alarm for school is set to go off.

“Seriously,” he groans, rolling over onto his back and draping one forearm over his eyes in the perfect picture of teenage angst. His stomach twinges a little as he does and he bites back a grimace – probably shouldn’t have tried that new Thai truck while patrolling last night he thought. It didn’t help that he got it super spicy either, he supposed, but the delicious taste would more than make up for the irritability of his bowels later.

His phone started blaring a bright tone and Peter groaned louder, flopping out a hand blindly to snatch his the device up from where it was charging on his nightstand and shutting off the alarm, dropping the phone into the mess of sheets he had bunched up into a corner while he slept. He gave himself another couple seconds for his pity party before rolling off the bed and grabbing the towel he had draped over the end of his bed frame – intent on taking a cool shower to bring his body temperature back down to a reasonable level and wash off the sweat he could already feel drying over him.

“May?” Peter called as he walked out of his room. The apartment was almost eerily quiet for what should be May’s day off and Peter furrowed his brows in confusion – May normally attempted to cook breakfast on Thursday mornings before giving up and making them both bowls of cereal. Towel over his shoulder, Peter wandered into the kitchen and frowned at the fluorescent pink sticky note on the counter next to a fresh box of Lucky Charms.

Got called in to cover ER – twelve hour swing, home after ten.

Eat your breakfast!

Love You!

Peter crumpled the note and tossed it in the garbage. He was looking forward to grabbing ice cream after school with May at the new shop that had popped up the month previous but it looks like they needed a rain check on that one. His stomach bubbled again and Peter wrapped his arm across his abdomen in discomfort. On second thought, maybe it wasn’t such a bad thing to miss out on ice cream today.

The cool shower was refreshing but Peter, somehow, felt worse after. His stomach was straight up cramping now as he pulled on a light pair of shorts and a t-shirt, forgoing his usual layers and just hoping that the bagginess of the shirt would cover up his muscles. He frowned and swallowed down the sour, burning taste of stomach acid in his throat. He didn’t usually have a problem with acid reflux but maybe the spicy food was messing him up? Choosing to ignore it for now, Peter gathered up his books and homework to shove into his backpack before leaving the apartment to walk to school.

The subway that morning was absolutely vile. The smell that he could already barely handle on a good day was worse since it was simmering in the heat and Peter’s sensitive senses didn’t appreciate it. He had to choke down a couple of gags, which was not normal and hadn’t really happened to him before despite the offensive odor. He was used to the smell, it came with using public transportation in one of the busiest cities in the United States. The only good thing that came out of the nauseous feeling was the extra leg room when the other passengers sidled away from him with disgusted looks on their faces.

His relief (and that of the other passengers) was palpable when he was able to stagger off the car and onto the platform outside Midtown, though the temperature didn’t improve much since there wasn’t a good breeze that morning. Moving quickly, Peter made his way across the field and driveway to enter the blessedly cool school building.

“Dude,” Ned said, eyebrows scrunching, as he met Peter a couple minutes later by his locker. “You look like shit.”

“It’s hot,” Peter told him a little defensively, slamming his locker door just a touch too hard. Ned didn’t look impressed.

“No like, you’re really pale and a little green. Are you sick?” Ned asked, squinting his eyes at Peter.

Peter frowned, all he felt was a little overheated. Well, yeah, his stomach was still bubbling and cramping but that was just from the spicy food. He was fine. It was just the heat.

“I’m fine,” Peter protested, brushing past Ned to make his way towards their home room class. He wobbled just a little, lightheaded.

“Did you eat breakfast?” Ned questioned as he steadied his friend, still looking concerned, pushing them out of the foot traffic of the hallway and back up against the cool metal of the locker bank.

Peter’s mouth filled with saliva and he swallowed down the acid again before shaking his head ‘no’. There was no way he could stomach breakfast that morning – it would be like asking for disaster.

“I think you should call May to come get you,” Ned advised, still gripping Peter’s elbow and frowning deeper when Peter shook his head again in protest.

“She had to pick up a shift in the ER today so she’ll have her phone off and, anyway, I’m fine Ned!” Peter shook his arm a little, trying to dislodge Ned’s hand and not succeeding.

Ned bit his lip but released Peter’s arm. “You could call Mr. Stark?”

“For what?” Peter asked, frustrated. “I’m fine, I’m just hot and have a little stomach ache from eating at that new Thai truck.”

“Wait, you mean the one that normally parks off fifth? The green and purple one?” Ned asked and Peter nodded in confirmation. “Bro do you not look at the news? They had to shut it down late last night because some of their food was contaminated with E. Coli.”

Peter’s stomach twisted and grumbled ominously and his hands dropped to grip at the loose shirt covering his abdomen. “Oh,” he said slowly before abruptly turning to race through the near-empty hallway toward the closest bathroom. He barely made it into a stall, not bothering to close it, before he vomited up everything he felt like he may have eaten in the past week. He vaguely heard the door creak open as Ned entered but paid it no heed, doing his best to stay standing and hunched over the toilet so he wouldn’t have to touch it or the disgusting floor.

A few minutes and a round of dry heaving later, Peter didn’t care about how disgusting the floor might be and was just thankful to slide down the wall of the stall to rest, panting and dizzy, on the tile as he tried to keep anything that might be left in his stomach where it belonged.

“Peter?” Ned asked, peaking around the door to survey him. “Are you okay to walk? I’m going to take you to the nurse.” Peter moaned and leaned over to vomit another round. “I’ll take that as a no,” Ned sighed, his own face a little pale from trying to keep from being nauseous himself.

It took at least ten minutes after round two before Peter thought he’d be able to stand without falling over but Ned still insisted that Peter sling his arm over his friend’s shoulder so he could have support for the short walk to the nurse’s office.

“Oh Peter,” Ms. Shelly, the nurse, said sympathetically as she took in his pale face and trembling limbs. “You look awful honey.”

“He has food poisoning,” Ned told her, depositing Peter into one of the closest chairs and shoving one of the emesis bags on the table into his hand just in case he needed it. Peter gulped and nodded his head shortly in thanks, gripping the bag so tight he thought he might tear it.

“You can go on back to class Ned, I’ll make sure he gets home.” Ms. Shelly made a noise of pity and took his temperature before clucking her tongue in disapproval.

“Feel better buddy,” Ned told Peter with a pat on the shoulder before hastily making it out of the room so he could catch the tail-end of his home room, accepting the excuse note that Ms. Shelly passed him.

“Do you have a preference on which contact I call honey?” Ms. Shelly asked from where she was crouched down to eye-level in front of him and Peter let out a groan and squeezed his eyes shut in misery. May was at work which meant his only option was…

“Mr. Stark please,” he muttered, eyes downcast. Ms. Shelly raised a brow in obvious disbelief before she schooled her features. Peter was just glad she didn’t question him like most of his classmates and some of his teachers had taken to doing once the rumor about his internship had spread through the majority of the school.

“Let me just pull your chart and make the call okay? There’s a cot through the door if you want to lay down,” she gestured to the open door across from him before making her way to her office to pull up his digital chart.

“Thanks,” Peter said, seriously considering how nice it would be to just lie down again. This pleasant thought was interrupted by his stomach clenching again and he hung his head over the emesis bag, dry heaving but not managing to get anything up which was almost worse. He let out a little whine that he was glad Ms. Shelly wasn’t around to hear and stumbled into the single person bathroom in her office, sinking down onto the floor and gagging.

A light knock on the door sounded a few minutes later and Ms. Shelly’s soft voice called, “Peter? Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” he called back as loud as he dared before swallowing compulsively. It did nothing for the bile climbing up his esophagus and he leaned back over to vomit again.

“Just call me if you need anything sweetie. Your emergency contact will be here in about twenty minutes.” Peter let out a grunt of assent and let his eyes slip closed as he leaned back against the wall. He must have dozed off at some point because he woke up to the sound of the door creaking open and a low whistle.

“Looking a little rough around the edges kiddo,” Tony said, head leaned around the door to peer into the room. Peter, feeling tired and sick and embarrassed, let out a groan and felt his face heat up.

“This is the worst thing that has happened in my life. Ever.” Tony snorted as he entered the bathroom fully and crouched down on knees that popped and clicked to squat in front of Peter.

Peter closed his eyes when Tony reached forward to rest his cool hand on Peter’s forehead and hum. “Running a little warm too. The nurse said food poisoning?”

“Ate Thai that had E.Coli,” Peter said and then gagged at the thought, hanging his head back over the toilet to spit out bile. Tony moved his hand to rub up and down his back and made an empathetic noise.

“Just get it out buddy. Brucie’s waiting for us back at the tower with some anti-nausea meds for you and some fluids to help hydrate you.” Peter moaned and gagged again but nothing came up.

“Think I’m done,” he said a second later, wiping the tears of effort out of the corners of his eyes and letting Tony pull him to his shaky feet. The room spun briefly but he was able to keep most of his balance by leaning heavily on Tony’s arm. The walk to the car after signing out with the stunned secretary was a little blurry but soon he was ensconced in the darkness of the Roll’s that Happy favored driving lately.

Ignoring everything around him, Peter let his face fall to the cool, supple leather and he let out a sigh of contentment. He heard a chuckle before the emesis bag was pushed back into his slack grip with instructions to “Use that if you need to Bambino,” but Peter thought he might be done for a while.

Finally cool and mostly comfortable, Peter fell into a light doze, looking forward to spending the rest of his day cuddled up in a blanket under an AC vent in the penthouse sleeping and watching bad movies with his mentor.

#summer of whump 2021 #Prompt: Food Poisoning #spider man #irondad #summerofwhump #summerofwhump2

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attackonmyself · 4 years ago

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Beat the Heat--NSFW

Inspired by a prompt from @voltage-vixen‘s Summer of Smut Writing Challenge but took waaaaay too long for me to complete, and I missed the deadline. Anyways, thanks to @voltagesmutter, @passagesthroughpages, and Lia_Jones (all amazing writers themselves!) for all your help! Dedicated to all Victor stans, and my Discord family!

Please see this amazing artwork that inspired my fic!: https://m.sg.weibo.com/user/2173912080/4472175635540915

And also this Karma owned by MLQC:

Link on Ao3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25654276

I sprinted into the LFG lobby, out of breath. I was late. Again.

Cindy spotted me, and quickly gestured towards the stairs. “He’s been waiting for you, go on up.” I groaned, still out of breath, then crossed the lobby. Great, I thought as I ran up the stairs. Another lecture on punctuality, coming right up. I stopped before the office door, taking a moment to catch my breath before knocking.

“Come in,” came the clipped reply. Even better, it sounded like he was already in a bad mood. This should be fun. I entered, closing the door behind me. Victor was sitting at his desk, skimming something on his computer. He looked up, removing his glasses and placing them next to his desk calendar. “It is 2:33.”

I grimaced. “I’m sorry.”

His normal poker face had been replaced with a scowl. “What time did I say to be here?”

“2:30.” It didn’t matter how close we had become, some things never changed. When at work, Victor was always in prime CEO mode, any trace of my shy and sweet boyfriend disappearing the moment he walked in the office doors.

“It seems your memory is indeed working today, despite all evidence to the contrary. So perhaps you like to explain why that was not the time you entered my office?” Being on the receiving end of a Victor-Li-is-irked glare was never a good experience, but unfortunately, that was often the position I found myself in.

“Our printer jammed at the last second, and wouldn’t print a contract that my 1:30 client needed to sign before they could leave, so I was stuck there calling maintenance and then waiting for them to show up, and then waiting for them to fix it, and then--”

“Stop. I’ve heard enough.” He rubbed his temples, eyes closed. “You do realize this is the modern era, yes? Contracts can be sent over email, and signed digitally. We will need to discuss your company’s disturbing lack of adaptation to current technology at another time; you have wasted enough of it already. Begin your report.”

“Right.” I pulled out my newly purchased tablet and cleared my throat. “As you can see, we exceeded our predicted revenue this month. Views that we lost last week were not just recovered, but doubled.” I fidgeted a bit under his intense stare.

“I implemented the ideas we discussed last week, and they were successful For future consideration, I’d like to bring to your attention--”

The soft whirring of the air conditioning of the building sputtered to a startling halt. I paused, and looked at Victor for direction. He sighed, and picked up the phone on his desk when it began to ring. “Speak.” I heard a hurried voice on the other end, and watched Victor’s frown deepen. “What?” More frantic explanation from the voice, trying to appease him, and then Victor hung up.

“Something wrong?” I asked, hoping that an urgent matter had come up, so that I could move my report to later when he would hopefully be in a better mood.

“The air conditioning stopped working. It will take a few hours to fix.” I groaned internally. It was the middle of July, peak season for hot days, and Victor’s office was directly in the sun’s path at the moment, the windows offering no protection from its heat. He shed his suit jacket, draping it over the arm of his chair. “Continue,” he commanded.

“Uh,” I scrambled to remember my place. “For future consideration, I’d like to bring to your attention trendlines predicting future revenue on episodes based on current events.” I began to sweat, already missing the almost too cold climate I had complained about in the past, and vowed to never do so again.

“Our most popular episodes to date have been ones related to current issues in the news. Our recent collaboration with Loveland TV gave us access to topics and resources that we might not have had otherwise. Therefore, I propose that we begin a new series to be aired in conjunction with local news stations beyond just Loveland TV that would cover oddities addressed in daily reports.”

Ok, the heat had officially become unbearable. I took off my white cardigan, putting in on top of my bag. Victor did a double-take, eyes widening. Uh oh. I forgot how casual my dress was. I tried to distract him with the report. “The series would cover not just super powers, but also delve into the psyche--”

“Stop, stop.” Crap. He was still staring at my dress. “What do you think you’re wearing?!”

“Uh, a sundress?” I responded dumbly. He glared at me. I fumbled for an excuse, though not knowing why I needed one exactly. “It’s the middle of July. I know it’s not formal business attire without the cardigan, but it’s hot in here without the AC. I thought you would understand that and be ok with me not wearing it considering the circumstances.”

He gaped, apparently shocked. “You thought wrong. Do you seriously not realize how alluring that dress is?”

Wait what? “Huh?”

He shook his head. “Dummy, you are astoundingly naive sometimes. Wearing that to any presentation, including this one, leads the audience to focus not on your proposal, but your physical assets.” I blushed, and covered myself a bit with my arms. He continued. “For example, I missed everything you presented after taking off your cardigan. Be thankful this was only a weekly report meeting, and not an official proposal for more funding with the entire board present.” He leaned forward and placed his elbows on the desk.

I looked down, ashamed. “I really am sorry, Victor. That would have embarrassed both Miracle Company and you; I understand now and I will do better in the future.”

“No, you misunderstand me.” He stood, and strode quickly towards me, crossing the room in a few broad steps. He grabbed my shoulders and forced me to look him in the eye. “The only person who should see you in outfits of this nature is me.” It was the hunger in his eyes that made me realize I was no longer talking to the CEO of LFG, but Victor Li, my protective and now aroused boyfriend.

Desperate lips met mine, taking my breath away. I was always weak for his kisses, this time literally. My knees gave in a bit, and I held onto his arms as he pushed deeper. I eagerly reciprocated, a need for his touch growing rapidly under my navel. We broke apart for only a moment, before he claimed my lips again and ran strong fingers up my neck and into my hair, gently nudging my face closer to his.

Victor was not a man of many flowery words, but he made up for it in his actions. Every kiss we shared was so fervent that you would think it was going to be our last. Even in moments of raw passion, it was obvious how deeply he cared for me, and I fell more in love with him each time our lips united. This kiss was no exception; I sank into his yearning for me, throwing my arms around his neck.

Suddenly, strong arms wrapped around my thighs, and I felt myself being lifted into the air. I scrambled to wind my legs around his waist, holding him tighter. We were intimately closer than before, and I could feel his heart pounding in his chest. It amazed me that I could have such an effect on the seemingly stoic mogul, that I could be the one to break his cool. His lips captured mine once more, then he impatiently moved us towards his desk.

“Hold tight,” he instructed, using one arm to awkwardly clear off the desktop, sending pens and his mouse flying. He set me atop it, beginning to suck at the pulse point above my collarbone, when reality hit me.

“Wait, stop,” I whispered harshly. He immediately backed away, arms to his side.

“What’s wrong?” Concern overtook ardor, and he scanned my figure. “Did I hurt you?” That thought seemed to shake him a bit.

“No, nothing like that,” I quickly reassured him. “But...should we really be doing this in your office? People might hear, or worse, what if someone came in?”

His confidence immediately returned, desire resuming its place in his eyes as I mentioned others overhearing our stolen moment of passion. He smirked, leaning in close.

“Let them hear.” He continued his attack on my neck, but I wouldn’t be swayed just yet.

“Victor,” I chided. “I’m not comfortable with someone catching us in your office. That wouldn’t look good for either of us.” He stopped, judging my sincerity, then walked away.

“Wait, where are you going?” I asked, reaching out an arm towards him needily, missing his warmth already. Had I angered him?

“Relax, dummy.” He strode up to the door and turned the lock, its satisfying click signaling his intentions. He turned and smiled devilishly. “No one is going anywhere until we are finished.”

He hastened back to me, as if I were his prey, strung up and waiting for him on a platter. He kissed me again, and loosened his tie to quell the sweltering heat. I grabbed for his shirt, undoing the first few buttons before he stopped me with a lick to a particularly sensitive area behind my earlobe. He undid his tie the rest of the way and set it down beside me on the desk. I finished unbuttoning his shirt, untucking it roughly. I gulped upon being met with the sight of his broad chest. As if controlled by some unknown force, my hands ran over his torso, brushing his collarbone and hips alike, searching for any point of contact with him.

He placed feather light kisses all over my face and neck, brushing my cheek; my eyelids; the small v formed by my collarbones. As lovely as his display of affection was--and it truly was; not often did we get a chance to bask in the other’s devotion--it wasn’t quite enough. I needed more.

I ran my hands down his abdomen, grabbing for his belt buckle, but he caught my hand in his and tsked.

“Someone needs to learn to be patient.” His hands left me, and I let out a whine. He picked up the flimsy piece of fabric that lay beside me and wrapped it around my face, covering my eyes.

“Is this okay?” I heard a soft whisper beside my left ear.

His breath tickled me a bit, paused in anticipation of my answer. I hold absolute control over him at this moment, I realized with a small gasp. The power was a heady feeling; Loveland’s most eligible ‘bachelor’ was all mine, treating me as if I was some queen to be worshipped. Although he was leading most of the action, I held the ropes. And I would be ever so careful not to abuse this gift. What’s more, after years of having to take care of myself on my own, I now could trust him. Completely.

“Yes.”

That one word spurred him back into action. He quickly fastened the makeshift blindfold behind my head, careful to avoid knotting my hair with it. I heard a low groan, and then my skirt was pushed up, warm hands rubbing slow circles on my inner thighs.

“You have no idea what you do to me,” he murmured, his lips brushing mine, sending shivers down my spine. "There is nothing I would not do to keep you safe and happy."

I bucked my hips towards his, searching for any friction to relieve my need. Suddenly, I felt a hand over my underwear, massaging my clit leisurely. I let out a breathy moan. Finally. His steady fingers ran back and forth across the fabric, gentle yet firm in their ministrations. "Faster, please Victor," I gasped, spreading my legs. He obeyed, for once, going faster and faster until all fear of others intruding disappeared. I could only think about him, his touch, and my palpable desire to become one with him.

I could feel a flush rise in my cheeks, the sounds coming from my mouth garbled and brimming with pleasure. I reached blindly for him, needing to touch him for stability; so that I could hold off my climax a little longer, but was met only with air. I let out a whine. I heard a chuckle from somewhere in front of me. Seconds later, strong hands guided mine to his shoulders; his warm body moved closer, parting my legs further.

I was already beyond wet by this point, and I felt ready for him but knowing Victor, he wouldn't enter me until he was sure I was relaxed and ready for him. "Please, hurry up, I need you, now," I urged.

Surprisingly, he decided to grant my request. I heard the soft clink of a belt buckle being undone followed by a rustling of fabric. I hooked my ankles behind him, wanting, no, needing him in me as soon as humanly possible. A hand ran through my hair, and then my underwear was pushed to the side; in one fluid motion he had both lifted me into the air and entered me with a soft moan. I gasped, throwing my head back and digging my fingers into the well-defined muscles of his shoulders.

The sensation of him inside me was more intense in the dark. I felt so safe, protected and satisfied in his arms. It was as if all my fears and worries had melted away. I knew that he would shield me from any incoming darkness that dared to threaten me. He pulled back for a moment, then slowly slid inside me once more, giving me time to adjust and savor the feeling of us, united as one.

We maintained a comfortable rhythm, my hips grinding down to meet his as I panted against his neck. There was no need for words; anything that needed to be said was communicated through movement and small gasps and moans. I realized that I could no longer hear the ticking of the wall clock, its telling absence revealing that time was no longer in motion.

I drew in a breath to mention it, but he suddenly changed to a different angle, shifting me in his arms, and sparks burst behind my eyelids. “Don’t you dare stop, right--right there!” I practically screamed. He hummed in confirmation, building speed. I let out a series of whines, bouncing down into his thrusts in desperation to add to the surging, rising tide of pleasure that's only just out of reach. I could hear Victor’s pleasure as well in the short, cut off breaths he let out.

“Are you close,” he ground out, ever the gentleman in refusing to come before me.

“Very,” I replied, concentrating on my climax, adding a finger to my clit. A few more strokes, and it hit me--hard. I screamed out his name and clenched around him. He gasped, and I felt a warmth inside me as he tightened his grip on me. The waves of pleasure taking hold of me ebbed slowly; suddenly, I could see again, tie dropping to the floor.

Victor cradled me close and kissed the top of my head. We remained entangled in each other’s embrace for a few moments longer, catching our breath. He slid out of me, but didn’t let me go. I buried my face in his neck, flushing at the whispered “I love you” that came from beside my ear.

Suddenly, the ticking resumed and the space that was only ours returned to being shared with the rest of the world. I was gently set down on the desk, and I grabbed a tissue to clean myself up. We began to redress and had almost finished when there was a knock at the door.

“Sir, the mechanics from Four Seasons Heating and Air have arrived,” Goldman’s voice came from behind the solid wood. “Would you like to direct them or should I handle it?”

Victor gestured at my cardigan, “That goes on; tightly,” he said in a low voice, then he grabbed his suit jacket and approached the door. I buttoned it quickly, barely finishing in time before he swung the door open.

There was an awkward silence as Goldman took in our appearance. He did a quick double take, then stammered an apology. “Sir, I--uh--”

I flushed brightly; there was no way to conceal what we had been up to. Only Victor stood stoic as always, not caring about our disheveled state or the smudge of my lipstick on the corner of his mouth. “Mark me as booked for the next two hours,” he announced, glancing at his watch. “I expect the air conditioning to be up and running when I return.”

“Next two hours--but sir! You have the meeting with the investors from--” Goldman was cut off with a glare. Typical. I felt sorry for him.

“Did I ask for any feedback? I said that I am booked for the next two hours. Make any schedule changes necessary in my absence.” He put an arm around my waist and led me out of the room in the direction of the elevator.

“But sir!” Victor paid him no mind and as the door closed, he pulled me into another kiss.

“How do you feel about lunch at Souvenir?”

“Mm, sounds great!” I replied, smoothing down his slightly rumpled shirt. Oh! Pulling back with a smile, I suddenly laughed. “Victor!”

He frowned. “What.”

“You forgot your tie!”

#mlqc #mlqc victor #mlqc victor smut #mlqc writing #my writing #this took way too long

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suknas · 4 years ago

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First Line Tag Game II

Tagged by @ruluxe (who dared to say that I have fanfics that I'm "holdin out on us" -- it is true tho lol)

Rules: List the first lines of your last 20 stories (if you have less than 20, just list them all!). See if there are any patterns. Choose your favorite opening lines then tag 10 of your favorite authors.

Tagging: Everyone who wants to do this! (I'm not sure which authors are still active here ;-;)

Now we all know how inconsistent I am. But I do like starting with what's going on with the characters/where they are... Don't I? Well I decided to start with the most recent published ones, descending to the first ones published (skipping some), and finally some of my WIP/"One day I will finish" fanfics.

Quick fun fact: I didn't remember writing most of those fanfics lol

So here we go!!!! (it's gonna be a bumpy ride)

1. Into the Storm [GrimmIchi]: The lightning and thundering's brightness and strong noises were slicing the dark-blue sky of a lonely and sleepless night. A storm was coming. The heavy rain and gusts of wind were not the only thing rapidly creeping through the night. Kurosaki Ichigo could sense something else approaching along with the dark clouds and the pouring rain that now was hitting his window. [2021 (but the draft was from 2017 maybe), Bleach]

2. Ascension [AoKaga]: Light appeared in the darkness and soon darkness became insignificant before the beauty and immensity of the bright light surrounding a tall and masculine figure. He walked calmly through the uncertain route that many others once also stepped into it. He had a goal. The time to seek the one whom he had once shared many memories with, good and bad. The one person whom he had loved immensely but had never gotten to experience that feeling truly and at its fullest. The time had finally come. [2021 (again the draft was probably from 2016), Kuroko no Basket]

3. The One Where Prompto Does Not Want To Be In The Middle [Gladios x Prompto x Noctis x Ignis]: Sleeping in the camping tent was always a challenge in Prompto’s opinion. It is not as if he does not like camping, it was pretty nice being able to sit under the stars and gaze them, it was relaxing. Sometimes Noctis would sit behind him, embracing him in a warm hug. They would spend a long time chatting and exchanging affectionate touches until both of them felt like sleeping. Other times Gladio would join him, and the shield would let the blond lay his head on his lap. More often than not Prompto ended up sleeping while feeling his hair being played by dexterous and caring fingers. And whenever Ignis had time to spare, he would also join him after cleaning the mess they did during dinner. [2020 (again the draft was maybe from 2017), Final Fantasy XV]

4. The Owl Who Got Caught [KuroTsuki + Bokuto]: The third day of the training camp was finally over. Soon, everybody was running to the school cafeteria to grab something to eat. In the meantime, while nobody was looking, Kuroo took the opportunity to take Tsukishima’s hand, guiding him to the room that the Nekoma team was sharing; closing the door right after they entered. Nekoma and Karasuno’s middle blockers became closer ever since their first practice game, now they were spending more time together, and their relationship had an unexpected development. [2020 (draft probably from 2017), Haikyuu]

5. A Boyfriend Text [KuroTsuki]: Laying in his bed with a smile on the lips Kuroo was texting his sweet strawberry shortcake boyfriend. Eyes rapt, staring at the bright screen in the dark room; he was feeling anxious if his stupid smile and trembling fingers were any indicator.

TETSUROU: Wanna come over this weekend?

It had been some weeks since they had the opportunity to meet; school and volleyball practice were mostly the reason for their inevitable long separation. Week after week something "magically" came up in their agendas, but Kuroo was hopeful, however, that maybe this time their schedules would finally allow them to meet. [2020, Haikyuu]

6. Domestic Bliss [KiriBaku]: Sitting comfortably on the couch, Kirishima and Bakugou were finally spending some time together after a rough week. It was one of those rare days where both could enjoy a peaceful and uneventful afternoon. To say that both men were lazily on the couch doing absolutely nothing productive was not very accurate. Bakugou was doing something with his spear time, he was reading a book. By his focused attention on the pages, anyone could tell that he was enjoying his reading and only someone stupid would dare to bother him. [2017, Boku no Hero Academia]

7. Getting Together [KiriBaku]: “Let’s grab something to eat!” The blonde shouted after stretching his arms above his head. Bakugou’s red eyes fixed on the figure of Kirishima, who was sitting comfortably in bed with his back against the headboard.The redhead’s own red eyes snapped at the figure on the chair, eyeing him from head to toe; he spaced out in no second. Kirishima wanted to touch those damn nice muscled arms, which were slowly lowered down while his hands were placed on his toned thighs. Kirishima couldn’t help himself and started to imagine Bakugou’s whole body underneath him wrapping his body with those strong legs and arms. [2017, Boku no Hero Academia]

8. AoKaga short stories collection [AoKaga]: The atmosphere of the place was hot and heavy. However, because of that, the two teens lying down on the bed were more connected than ever. Their bare bodies were united white skin with dark skin. Their breaths were out of rhythm and their hands slid skillfully on each other’s bodies. The movements were synchronized and intense. The pleasurable moans and whispers echoed in the dark room, making the place even more delightful for both of them. [2017 - Short Story #4, Kuroko no Basket]

9. It's Picture Time! [Pomptis]: In the Regalia, Prompto and Ignis were heading to the nearest outpost from their camping spot to get some supplies for the night. The sun on the horizon was almost hiding behind the tree path by Prompto’s right side, the scenery formed by dim light and shadowy dark spots caught Prompto’s eyes.“Wow! Look at the light, it’s amazing!” the blond shouted, “Can’t we stop just for a bit?” Prompto was thrilled by the idea of adding more photos to his portfolio. [2017, Final Fantasy XV]

10. That Side of You [MiSawa]: Miyuki was laying in the bed on his back, eyes glassy, hands shaking and skin hot. The body above his was driving him to a place where it was absolute bliss and pleasure. Hips moved together, swinging with movements that were making Miyuki moans the pitcher’s name in a short and breathless tone.“Sa-wamura– Aah! Do that again,” his voice low and hoarse made the order sound weak, and his usual snarky tone was lost a long time ago in some part of his foggy mind. [2016, Diamond no Ace]

11. Runaround [Sterek]: Everything was set neatly on the kitchen table. Stiles was going to be there soon, so Derek had already prepared every single book and even snacks that they may need for their studying.It wasn't new that both of them were hanging out for studying matters. Actually, Derek had come up with the idea first, mainly because he was having some issues involving fast heartbeats and some inconvenient hard-ons whenever Stiles was around. He had a ridiculous crush on his friend. However, the smart geek boy didn't have to know about that. [2016, Teen Wolf]

12. Eavesdropping [MiSawa]: Sawamura’s suspicions must be right for his sake. Otherwise, Miyuki would make sure his so careless kouhai would pay a high price for being so noisy about Kuramochi and Ryou-senpai making out when no one was seeing. The closed and almost claustrophobic locker didn’t have enough space to move around, but he and Sawamura managed to fit in somehow. So what? They were eavesdropping, and he still couldn’t say that he was regretting this. [2016, Diamond no Ace]

13. Sterek Short Stories Collection [Sterek]: Stiles had broken up with his last boyfriend a couple of months ago. Or it was what he usually says to Scott when his best friend asks him why he isn’t over his past relationship. Because according to Scott, it’s been a year and a half since Stiles had parted ways with, at the time, his other half. And right now it was one of those times.“You should move on. I haven't seen you with no one since then. What about Danny? Last night I saw him flirting with you, and when I looked again you were nowhere to be found, but Danny was still there drinking alone. And let not forget your grumpy humor because your sex life sucks. It's getting old bro.” [2015 - Short Story #3, Teen Wolf]

14. Urge [AoKaga]: The small public bathroom stall in that bar hadn't been made for sure to accommodate two giants, dumbasses, and impulsive basketball players. Nevertheless, this fact wasn’t that important for the Too player neither to the Seirin player. Kagami was already pressing his body against Aomine’s, who was stuck between the wall and Kagami while his mouth was being devoured by the other’s tongue. Both were fighting into that kiss as if there was no tomorrow. Their hands were traveling quickly by each other’s body, and quickly they were undoing their pants’ zippers and buttons. Their shirts were all messy, as well as their hair. Their breaths were heavy, and the kisses now were directed to their necks, sucking and biting the skin exposed. Soft moans could be heard, but not loud enough to echo in the bathroom. [2013, Kuroko no Basket]

15. After Dancing Lessons [AoKaga]: The music was set up, and his hips started to move, his steps were guiding him to where a dark skinned guy was sat on a chair. The dancer's eyes were fixed in front of him. The watcher's eyes sparkled with excitement when the other sat on his lap, one leg on each side of his body, and kissed his cheeks along to his lips and chin, returning the same way till his ear, biting there slightly. The dancer felt the other hands trying to take his clothes off and immediately stood up, preventing to have those hands on his body so easily. [2013, Kuroko no Basket]

16. Sleep Well [ZoSan]: The night was agitated on board of the Sunny and lots of dirty dishes were pilled up on a corner of the sink. Sanji didn't have this time someone to help him to clean everything up. 'Those lazy bastards!' He frowned, 'all right! Let’s put all these things in their right place!' And with that thought, Sanji started the tiring process of doing all the dishes. On the bright side, if he was the one doing it everything would be spot on in no time. [2013, One Piece]

17. Possessive Lover [KidLaw / LawLu]: The bell indicating the change of periods rang and the students gradually began to leave one room to proceed to another. In the middle of changing classrooms, some students went to a quick trip to the bathroom, which was where that a spiky redhead boy was heading to. He had a dangerous gaze gleaming in his golden eyes; he had quite a threatening presence, and his looks did not lie about his fiery and explosive personality. Any sane person would prefer to avoid crossing paths with him or to even look the boy in the eyes. [2012, One Piece]

18. English Lesson [WIP, AoKaga]: The room was a mess. There were a lot of magazines, books, sheets, some snacks, three soda bottles, two hoodies and two pairs of sneakers all thrown on the floor. Sitting side by side, in front of the center table with notebooks and pens in hands were Kagami and Aomine. They had that idea of starting to study at each other’s places every Thursday night after their club activities. It was not like they liked to take a book, read it and think about the subject, the matter here was way bigger than just casual study. Their grades were in the red mark, which meant that they needed to rise them at least not to get scolded and taken off the basketball team. This time around Kagami was helping Aomine with his English study. The redhead was doing his best to try to explain, but he wasn’t that good at teaching those so detailed grammatical things… [unknown year - present, Kuroko no Basket]

19. High heels [WIP, KuroTsuki]: Tsukishima walked all proud on a black suit, white button-up shirt, grey tie and black stilettos in the room. Kuroo was watching his slow movements with a fierce look from the bed, where he was sat with his hands tied to the headboard by a soft cloth. Tsukishima stopped at the bed foot, looking straight at Kuroo. Ever so slowly, Tsukishima’s hands loosened the tie around his neck, the button-up shirt was having his buttons calmly undone, soon the shirt was wide open reviling Tsukishima's snow-white skin for Kuroo’s delight. [unknown year - present, Haikyuu]

20. Christmas thing / The untitled fanfic [WIP, AoKaga]: It was Christmas the snow was falling outside, many sparkle lights, so many decorations everywhere, people receiving and giving presents, eating together and singing songs. A day to celebrate and stay with family and friends. A day full of joy and happiness.At Kagami's house every single tradition was made. Kagami invited the Seirin basketball team to celebrate, but it ended up with some unexpected guests, the self-invited guests were some of Touou basketball team. And of course, Aomine Daiki was there. The redhead didn't even want to know how Aomine had found out about his little party. He'd bet that Kuroko had told something to Momoi and she kindly invited Aomine and the rest of the troupe. [unknown year - present, Kuroko no Basket]

#ruluxe #tag game #Kuroos got tagged #that was fun and I'm also embarrassed that I wrote some of these lol #aokaga #kurotsuki #grimmichi #sterek #misawa #kiribaku #zosan #lawlu #kidlaw #kuroosden #Kuroos writing again

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sabraeal · 4 years ago

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Rarely Pure & Never Simple, Chapter 7

Obiyukiweek 2020, Day 4: Free Day

The air still smells like freesia and vanilla as Shirayuki returns from her shower, scrubbed clean and with the thinnest pajamas she can muster. Even now the heat’s starting to settle on her skin, turning her post-shower dew into regular summer sweat, and oh, she needs to get that fan oscillating stat, before she stews in her own juices like some Shirayuki-flavored pulled pork.

She settles on the bed, flapping out a hand to turn it on and--

Ugh, it’s just...pushing hot air around, at this point. Maybe if she’s sweats through another set of pajamas tonight, she’ll be able to convince Nanna she needs an AC unit in her window.

(Her room-- back when it was her mother’s-- had a unit, but after an unfortunate incident that involved her father, a thwarted clandestine encounter, and a hole in the garage roof, the replacement instead went into the kitchen, where it’s lived every summer until it malfunctioned and froze to the sill. Grandad’s replaced it since, but still-- it’s never returned to her window. Of all the sins of her mother Shirayuki’s had to answer for, this one is hands down the worst.

“Really?” Obi laughs, wiping the sweat from his forehead with the hem of his shirt. She sees the barest hint of abdominals and suddenly, the orientation packet isn’t half as engaging as it was before. “Not the whole...’grandparents convinced their first great grandchild will pop out before graduation’ thing?”

“To be fair,” she manages, breath thin as the worn fabric drops back over her current distraction. “The point was pretty much moot until, um...”

Oh, that-- that grin is trouble. “Until you climbed on top of me and made me come hard enough to go blind?”

He really, really doesn’t need to say it like-- like that. “S-something like that.”)

She’s ready to just call it a day at this point-- and nearly does. Rolling up onto her side, she reaches for the cord to her lamp--

Buzz. Buzz.

Shirayuki blinks. That’s...that’s her phone.

She’s tempted to ignore it-- she does not need Kihal speculating about what her and Obi could get up to in the woods “all unsupervised” tomorrow, and Obi should still--

9:12, her phone reads. His shift at the club is over, and by now he’s probably--

Home. Texting her.

Shirayuki nearly drops her phone straight down the crack between her bed and nightstand, and oh jeez, it would be nice if she could just...calm down for once. Be cool.

It buzzes again. She yelps, trying to flick the screen on with a wild shake. She can save being cool for another day. One where she’s seen him more than once in two weeks.

hey, the text reads, nestled in its innocuous gray bubble, we should talk

Shirayuki experiences something that could medically be called an event. Is he upset? Has she done something--?

not a bad talk, he clarifies, just miss you

She rolls onto her back with a smile, thumbs poking at the screen to say, i miss you t--

mebbe a sexy talk tho ;3 i *rlly* miss u

is that for the sexy or the bad grammar

Both.

She catches the call on the first ring, barely having time for a breath before Obi drawls, “You weren’t complaining about sexy things two weeks ago.”

With all the dignity of a mathlete champion, Shirayuki replies, “Hnn?”

(”Eek!” She yanks the controller up, to the side, anywhere that might help move her character away from giant beetle on the screen. “How do I--? Where do I--?”

Obi’s chest makes a hollow thunk when she rams into it. He coughs; it takes her a full, frantic second to realize it’s to cover a laugh.

“You know,” he murmurs, plucking the controller out of her hands, “joycons don’t have motion sensors.”

“I don’t know,” she returns primly, folding her legs back down over the edge of the bed. “And also you told me this game was easy.”

“Rune Factory is easy.” His mouth twitches. “Half the game is farming.”

“And the other half is fighting...whatever those things are.” She waves at the screen, scowling at the RETRY? stamped across it. “Which is hard.”

“It’s not,” He leans back, setting the controller on his nightstand. “You could even say...”

His arm hooks around her waist, dragging her on top of him. “...It’s as easy as I am.”

Her breath rasps out of her, and oh god, she can feel his dick pressing up against her thigh, so hard already. “You’re not making me feel very accomplished.”

“Well,” his fingernails scrape up the back of her legs, “we can fix that.”)

“You were very enthusiastic,” he remarks casually, “from what I remember.”

“Mm, well.” Two could play at this game...maybe. “It was two weeks ago.”

She may not be able to see him, but she can feel his grimace through the wire. Or well, the air? Wifi? Shirayuki wasn’t really up on how phones worked past the Edison era. It’s not like they ask how cell phones work on the SATs.

“Sorry,” he sighs, pillow audibly whumping over the receiver. “I know I warned you, but I really thought we’d have had more time to talk.”

“It’s okay.” She squirms against her sheets, fighting a shrug he can’t see. “I...I missed you, but I know how much the hours mean to you.”

“I missed you too.” His voice is so soft, so vulnerable, so unlike the boy who made her miss auditions a year ago. “I’m glad we’ll see each other tomorrow.”

“Me too,” she breathes, and oh, it doesn’t seem soon enough. Not when she wants to wrap her arms around him, lay her head on his chest and just listen to him breathe. “You could--”

Come over. Her teeth snap down on the offer. Sure, it’d be nothing for him to hop up to the garage roof, for her to leave the window open--

But that’s how she got here, and nope, no. Not happening.

“--come pick me up tomorrow?” she squeaks out instead, cheeks burning. There’s no way he won’t know she meant something else, that she was avoiding--

“What? Don’t want to be smooshed in the backseat of Big Guy’s swagger wagon?” She can hear the smirk on his lips. “I thought you were looking forward to it.”

“I don’t think Mitsuhide would appreciate you calling his minivan that,” she informs him primly, not a laugh in sight. It’s a feat only achieved by the judicious application of her teeth to her cheeks. “And I was! I mean, I am. It’s just...”

“Big Guy gives priority seating based on height?”

Well, that’s definitely part of it. With all five of them, she’s always left in the back seat, alone, and Obi--

“Gotta say, looking forward to all that leg room,” he drawls, “and getting an airbag all to myself. You think he’ll let me at the aux cable?”

“Never.”

“Aww.” Shirayuki knows he’s pouting; a full-on, little kid lip wibble. “You’re my girlfriend, you’re supposed to be on my side.”

“You know what you did.” A two hour meme mix on the way to Laxdo. “Besides, I just thought it would be better if we, um, had some time to ourselves. Before.”

“Oh?” he hums, so curious, and-- oh, it doesn’t usually take him this long to pick up on when she’s trying to, um, tell him something. “I figured you wouldn’t mind since we’d have all day-- oh.” There it is. “You mean alone.”

“W-well, it’s been two weeks,” she hedges nervously. “And I’m not saying I couldn’t, um, behave--”

“Yeah, I’ll pick you up.” The words come out fast, pinched. Maybe she’s being too pushy; Obi likes to tease, but that doesn’t mean he’s always in the mood to-- “I’m definitely not going to be able to keep my hands to myself.”

“O-oh.” Well. That’s hitting different tonight. Maybe because it’s already over ninety, and her temp is climbing with it. Or maybe because she’s only wrapped up in the thinnest, most barely-there clothes she has; the kind he could rip like tissue paper--

Or maybe because it’s been two weeks, and despite going eighteen years without needing any sexual contact, she’s as tragically hard up as a teen comedy protagonist.

“I didn’t know you were...in a bind.” His voice drops to a rumble, and ah, that is not helping the situation. Her thighs slip against each other, trying to dull the ache. “You know I’m always happen to lend a hand when you need it, kid.”

“It not that bad,” she murmurs, but it’s starting to get there the longer he talks. The more she thinks about him showing up tomorrow, just them alone in her house-- “And you didn’t have time to come over.”

“I don’t need to come over.” He’s laughing, but there’s something in it that’s more, that’s almost a purr. “Come on, kid, I gave you those earphones for a reason. Hands free.”

“O-oh.” She’s all too aware of them now, clipped over her ears. Her hand’s only holding the screen out of habit. Hands free.

“I mean, if you’re really hard up,” he hums, “we could do something about it now. Take the edge off.”

She-- she shouldn’t. “Obi! You don’t really mean...?”

“Absolutely. I’d really like to--” his voice cracks,and oh, oh-- “it’s been so long since I made you come, babe.”

(”Well, that’s the last vote for Dreamiest Hair,” Shirayuki sighs, her flyaways dancing at the edge of her vision. “What’s the next category?”

Kihal glances down and grins. “Sexiest Voice.”

She gapes. “Is Mrs Gazalt really going to let us give out an award for that?”

“Mrs Gazalt takes her position of club supervisor very seriously,” Kihal informs her, “and by that I mean, she sits in the corner playing Words with Friends and just lets us do what we want, as long as it isn’t dangerous. Or illegal.”

“Still.” Her mouth pulls tight, a grim line across her face. If the rest of the club could see her now, her Cutest Smile win would be revoked. “That seems, I don’t know...”

“Like it wouldn’t be a contest? I know.” Kihal shrugs. “But that’s what the freshmen picked. I guess they’re just really hoping Obi will growl through his whole acceptance speech.”

“No, I-- wait, Obi?” Her mouth is dry suddenly. She crosses her legs beneath the table. “Why would--? Obi?”

Kihal rolls her eyes. “Oh come on, you’ve heard him over the headset. He’s got that whole like, gravel thing going on. And when he gets heated with someone, like that time with Raj, hoo--” she fans herself-- “I know you have a thing for Zen, but like, I still don’t know how you didn’t jump him.”

Her cheeks burn, painfully. “I-I don’t-- that’s not--”

“Come on, Shirayuki,” she clucks, rolling her eyes. “You have ears. That couldn’t have done nothing for you.”

At the time she’d been so mortified that Raj had not only followed her to the place that was supposed to be her escape, but that he’d brought up what happened, like it didn’t even bother him--

Well, sex had been the last thing on her mind. At least the actual, arousing kind. But now, now--

Listen, I’m sure you have a lot to say but I really can’t-- his voice breaks, and the phantom pressure of his fingers weighs on her lips-- I was supposed to have your back, and I fucked up. I know it doesn’t make up for what happen but I-- his breath rasps from his throat, so raw that hers hurts in sympathy-- I’m sorry.

--she gets it.

“Right, um--” it’s hard to think with her face so hot-- “we should still count the votes anyway.”)

(He wins in a landslide. His acceptance speech at the drama banquet is so suggestive that he ends up with half a dozen panties shoved into his pockets. They tumble out of his jacket when he leans over the console to kiss her, right over the stick shift and onto her lap.

What am I gonna do with a bunch of ladies underwear? he’d murmured against her lips, fingers toying at the strap of her gown, earning her own personal vote. You need any, kid?)

“O-okay.”

“Wha-what?” She winces at the loud bang over the speakers, followed by a softer, more distant “Fuck.”

“Ah, is everything--?”

“Fine,” Obi assures her, sounding like maybe some of his limbs are out of order. “Just...dropped my phone. I didn’t...are you sure?”

Her fingers clench in her sheets. “Yes. I just...don’t really know how to start.”

“Well.” His voice drops playfully low. “Are you in the position?”

“Is the position laying down?” she asks, nervous. “Because I’m laying down.”

He tries to smother it, but she would know his laugh anywhere. “Yeah, great. Good. You’re ready?”

Shirayuki squirms against her pillow, legs rubbing together so hard they should chirp, like some sort of horny cricket. “I guess...”

Obi doesn’t hide his laugh now, just lets it rumble out from his chest in a way that is...not helping. Or maybe it is, considering the whole...situation. “You guess?”

“I just--” am terrified-- “don’t understand.”

He grunts, and by the sound of rustling in her ears, gets comfortable. “What’s holding you up?”

Everything. “It’s better if we just wait isn’t it? I mean to do this, um...”

In person. With someone who knows how to touch her, instead of her fumbling around and showing just how bad at all this sexy stuff she can be.

“This involves sexy talking, doesn’t it?” If distress is a destination, then she’s already laid out a lawn chair and ordered a drink from the cabana. She’s hopeless when her speeches are planned and PG, let alone when she’s trying to improv and it’s about-- about-- “Do I have to talk about penises?”

He makes an ungodly noise. “Kid.”

“I just don’t think I have the experience to talk about them with any sort of authority,” she presses on, brain undaunted by how ridiculous she sounds. “Especially if I’m also supposed to be doing...other things. It’s really--”

“Shirayuki--” he says her name so soft, so fond, and she knows, she knows-- “you should learn how to do it yourself, too.”

--that he’s seen right through her.

“I don’t see why,” she mumbles stubbornly, fidgeting with the hem of her shorts. “You’re going to Lyrias too. Your room is in the building next door, and it’s connected to mine! I don’t really think I need to learn how to-- to--” she whines, the words sticking in her throat-- “this!”

“Kid.” He heaves a sigh, and even though she’s dying from the mortification of Being Known, it sends shivers right through her. “Just because you’re subscribed to Sexy Culinary School Weekly with Obi doesn’t mean you shouldn’t know how to cook on your own.”

“You magazine needs to work on its name.”

“Yeah, let me just go workshop it with Princess Prettymane and Calico Dog.”

“It’s duchess.”

“You know that doesn’t make it better, right?” he deadpans. “Princess Prettymane at least has alliteration. Also,” his voice lilts, playful, “you’re trying to change the subject. Which is cute, and really makes me want to kiss you until you worry that we’re going to ruin another pair of tights, but--”

“I’m not wearing tights right now.”

His jaw snaps shut.

“See,” he manages after a long moment, hoarse, “that is a very distracting thing to say.”

The gravel in his voice scrapes at an itch she didn’t know she had, heat painting a searing line down her spine. She’s already slick from sweat, but this adds another texture to it, one that’s growing more insistent by the second.

“And very confusing.” She doesn’t know what it says that even his complaints are doing it for her. “Since a few seconds ago, you weren’t sure if you could talk sexy, and now you’re telling me all sorts of things.”

“I was just...informing you. Of the situation.” Her nails pluck nervously at her waistband. “It’s summer, so, um, no tights.”

“Oh right,” he breathes, wry, “just setting the scene.”

“You know,” she tries again, too shrill, “I’m really fine with how you do it. I don’t really think-- I mean, is it really necessary that I have to--?”

“Kid, you’re the one that said okay,” he reminds her. “You don’t have to do anything. It’s just better for you if you know what you like. That way if you...”

His breath rasps from his throat. “...You should know what you like, separate from, ah, someone else.”

It’s a nice wrapping job he’s done on this baggage, but even with only a year under her belt, she knows what the tag on this one says. “I’m not going to go to college and suddenly not want you anymore, Obi.”

“I know that,” he says, but he doesn’t, not really. Obi doesn’t really talk much about before, about all the girls he’s snuck into his room or met at a party or whatever, but he thinks that all this, this whole wanting to put Tab A into Slot B thing, is the default. That you meet someone and maybe you talk a little and then bingo-bango-bongo, you know if you want to get on a horizontal surface with them.

He doesn’t get that this, for her, isn’t her normal. If Zen hadn’t been kind to her that first day, if he hadn’t helped Kihal with her Brecker problem, if the rumors surrounding them hadn’t whipped up to a fevered pitch so even she couldn’t ignore them-- well, Shirayuki wouldn’t have even been thinking about romance.

So the fact that she can look at him and feel like she’s walked into the country club’s sauna with her school clothes on-- that different. That’s special. That’s not going to just happen with someone she meets in an 8AM lecture.

If only she were as good with word things as her English grades suggested she should be, she’d be to tell him that.

“This isn’t about...” Obi lets out a disgruntled huff. “Listen, I know I definitely had some inspired ideas about what you would like from...before--”

(She’s still panting as she comes down, tremors zipping up and down her spine, “How did you...?”

Obi smiles, a wide Cheshire Cat grin. Fitting, since she definitely feels like she’s been dragged down the rabbit hole. “How did I what, kid?”

“Know to do that. With my hips,” She smooths her palms over where he’d grabbed them. They ache; it wouldn’t surprise her if she had hand-shaped bruises slapped across them tomorrow.

“Oh, I thought you’d like that.” Obi curls into her side, too pleased. He’s hard against her hip, but-- she likes it. “When I caught you coming off that ladder, you made that little hiccuppy noise, so I figured...pretty sensitive right?”

She stares.

He blinks. “What, did I say something--?”

“Obi” she manages, “that was four months ago.”)

“But if you knew what you liked...” She doesn’t need to see him to know there’s a feral smile stretching across his face. “I could do much better.”

Oh, that sounds...nice. She shifts, and she-- she leaks, thick slick coating the tops of her thighs.

“Besides, if we’re going to bring toys into the equation,” he continues, as if he hadn’t just dropped a bomb in the middle of the conversation, “you should know what makes you feel good without any electronic intervention, if you know what I mean.”

Ah, she-- she definitely does.

“Toys?” she squeaks. “I don’t-- I don’t remember any, um, toy talk.”

Obi hums, amused. “Well, I did promise you a good graduation gift.”

“You--you already gave me one!” Her hand skips up to run over the smooth plastic. “I’m using it right now!”

“Mm.” He’s too pleased with himself, like he’s caught her scent on the air from all the way across town. “But you won’t need them much at school. So...”

“I won’t need t-that at school either!” She’s glad she’s got these headphones; her cheeks would be making her phone’s screen go haywire. “I’ll have you, and I’m very, um, happy with your performance. I don’t think we need to add, um, props.”

“As chuffed as I am to have you appreciating my prowess, kid--” oh he’s going to be unlivable after this, she can just tell-- “that’s all the more reason to have something in the wings to mix it up. Especially since we’re waiting t-to--” he stumbles, voice dropping to a murmur-- “I mean, since we both want to, um...”

He’s so tortured trying to talk about it without actually talking about it that she takes pity on him. “Since I’m afraid of penises, but we both like to touch each other.”

“I mean, since we’re waiting to have sex,” he manages, pained. “Or at least, the kind that involves dicks and, ah, going places.”

She’s been around him too long, because without even missing a beat, she claps back, “Oh, I didn’t realize yours was having its own hero journey.”

“It has certainly felt a Call to Adventure,” he mumbles, “and a Woman as a Temptress.”

“Excuse me?”

“I mean, a Meeting with the Goddess,” he amends, quick enough that she grins. “And once again, you’re trying to distract me. Though I thought it would more like ‘clothes I am missing’ instead of ‘Campell’s seventeen stages thesis.’“

“I’m sticking to what I know,” she tells him primly. “But I suppose I could tell you that, um, I’m not wearing a bra?”

He grunts, gutted. “Ohh, you are really just trying to make this difficult.” He adds, a little waspish, “All this trouble better be working for you, because it’s definitely working for me.”

“Oh, are you--” she swallows, hoping he can’t hear it-- “did you really want to try that?”

“Ah, I mean...” His breath comes sharp, short. “Yeah. If you would like to.”

Her breath catches. “I haven’t really, um...”

Done this. Ever. It would be so easy to say it, but it’s just-- belaboring the point. He knows. He just...thinks she’s a much better student than she is. At least about things like this.

“Listen, I haven’t...” He hesitates, and she realizes-- he’s embarrassed. “This isn’t something I’ve done with anyone before. You know I’m not really anyone’s...long term option.”

Grandad always says that she shoots from the cuff-- a nice way of saying doesn’t think before talking-- but she doesn’t regret it, not one bit, when she blurts out, “You’re mine.”

Obi’s breath rasps into the speaker. “Y-yeah. I know.” With a swallow, he adds, “And I know you think I have a lot of experience, but there’s a lot out there to try, and I haven’t even brushed the surface of it, you know? And I just thought, knowing you, knowing how curious you are...”

She blinks. “You mean...you’ve never been with someone long enough to, um, explore?”

“Ah, plenty of people would pick up Sexy Culinary Weekly up off the rack, but um--” he huffs out a laugh, soft and self-deprecating-- “you’d be the first to pick up a subscription.”

Shirayuki doesn’t like to pry, but for a good long moment, she considers asking for a list with some names. Just to talk, of course.

She takes a deep breath instead, trying to focus. “So you want to-- to explore with me?”

“If you want to,” he’s quick to say. “I know all of this is...new. I just thought since we won’t be doing a, ah, traditional progression here--”

“Traditional?”

He sighs. “You know, the uh, porn formula. Fingering, hand job, blow job, eating--”

“OKAY,” she yelps, clapping a hand to her face. “I get it!”

“Right, well, there’s a lot between what we’re doing and PIV.” She nearly giggles at how he says it, piv, like it’s a word and not an acronym. It's almost...cute. Like an adorable monster she could get a plushie of, instead of something that involved penises and could make her pregnant.

“And since we’re not doing any of that soon,” he continues, “we could, ah...take the scenic route. And maybe that would be a little less intimidating for you, since we’d both be new at...whatever we’re doing, instead of feeling like you had to catch up.”

Her heart flutters, and the warmth in her gut spreads up to her chest. “I think you’re mixing metaphors.”

“Sorry, I can’t think of cooking puns for everything,” he deadpans. “Think of it as not having to rush to read back issues, I guess.”

She hums. “I think you’re asking me to help with recipe development.”

“Well, if we’re going to embark on culinary adventures together--” he presses, voice bubbling like he’s trying to keep down a laugh. Several, if she’s anything to go by-- “then you should be comfortable with what your body likes before we add any...additional ingredients. You have to learn to do it the right way before we do it the easy way.”

“Oh,” she breathes. Obi was definitely starting to have a point about doing all this now. “Like New Math.”

“Wow, kid,” he deadpans, “really getting right down to the dirty talk.”

She flushes. Good thing he can’t see her. “I-I thought that was your job.”

He laughs, a rumble she feels right down to her bones. “You’re right. What are you wearing?”

She coughs. “Really?”

“I’m trying to set the scene,” he informs her, far too innocent. “This is a delicate shared fantasy we’re making. Wouldn’t want you to get thrown out of it because I mention panties and you’re wearing boyshorts.”

“I’m not wearing underwear,” she blurts out. “Wearing it overnight increasing the chance of yeast infections.”

Ah, there it is: the regret. It would be nice if she could just...not be like this. If she could just think through what she says when she’s nervous, instead of talking about diseased vaginas with her boyfriend while he’s trying to...make love at her, or whatever.

Now she has to contend with this endless silence, wishing that her mortification would at least dampen her desire even a little. Heaven knows they wouldn’t doing any recipe development tonight, after that. “O-obi?”

“Sorry, I just--” his throat makes a hollow thunk that echoes over the line-- “I got distracted.”

She blinks. “By what?”

“Thinking about how much I want to be there,” he admits, “and what I’d do to you if I was.”

“O-oh.” Maybe some culinary adventure wasn’t...so off the table as she thought. “A-and what would that be?”

A strangled groan tears between them. “I want to eat you out so bad.”

That-- that was not what she’d thought he’d say. “Really?”

“Yeah.” His sigh is strained. “You make such good noises.”

“You like it?” Her thighs clench, and oh, she wishes she knew what to do about it. “I figured it would taste...weird.”

Not that she’s ever tried. But she’s tasted blood (too coppery, bad texture), and well, boogers (too salty; thanks, childhood), and she can’t imagine that can taste much better.

“No,” he hums. “You taste just right. Are you touching yourself yet?”

There’s no way to explain she’s just been rating bodily fluids on a scale of most to least appetizing, so she settles with, “N-no.”

Now that he’s mentioned it, now that he’s reminded her that her body isn’t just some inconvenient appendage for her brain, Shirayuki can’t forget that it’s there. And she certainly can’t ignore the heat between her legs, or the way her skin feels as sensitive as flash paper, ready to burn up at a moment’s notice.

“You should do that,” he tells her, just short of a command, and ah, yeah, that’s sounding like a better and better idea every second. “What are you wearing?”

She’s out of cutesy stalling tactics. Or at least, she can’t think of any, not when her vagina seems to have a pulse of its own. “A tank top. And pajama shorts.”

“Sounds cute,” he breathes. “Put your hand down them.”

He doesn’t have to ask twice. Pubic hair crinkles under the tips of her fingers, scratchy against her palm. It’s wet too, tangling when she tries to slide further down so she just..doesn’t. “What now?”

“What do you usually do?”

He’s panting just the barest bit, and the sound of him already so undone is what spurs her to admit, “I, um, usually don’t do anything.”

“But you’ve tried before.” She should have never told him that. “What did you do then?”

“I, um--” she licks her lips, nervous-- “put my fingers inside?”

“Right away?” He laughs, and it’s fond, gentle. “No wonder you’ve never gotten much of anywhere. How about you just cup yourself now.”

She does. Little hairs wrap themselves around her fingers, coming loose, and oh, those always refuse to wash off later, clinging to her with the same tenacity as glitter. It’s comforting to feel weight there, at least, even if it clearly isn’t Obi’s. Still, it’s...vaguely unpleasant.

“I don’t feel much,” she reports, trying not to let her frustration leak through. Maybe she just isn’t cut out for masturbation.

“You wouldn’t,” he confirms, “you need to part your lips first.”

She nearly does, until she thinks better of it. “What does that have to do with--?”

“Not your mouth.” He’s barely covering a laugh. “Your other lips.”

“O-oh.” Of course. That makes...more sense.

Her fingers splay, parting her flesh, and ahh, there is...a lot more of her than she remembers. She’s read about lips blooming like flowers before-- mostly in the books Nanna likes to read-- but nothing had ever...blossomed down there for her before. But it’s definitely all petals and sepals now, if things like that were made out of flesh. She saw something like that once, on one of those Syfy shows her grans liked to watch when she was a kid--

She jolts as something slaps her hard, right on the breast, and oh, she’s-- she’s forgotten she’s still holding the phone. Or at least, she was. Now her hand is boneless, empty, and her screen has belly-flopped right onto her boob.

“Oh, um, wait.” She fumbles with it, one-handed, trying to find some place to put it. “I need to--I need to put down my phone.”

He hums, bemused. “Two hands would help.”

Shirayuki’s definitely struggling with one, that’s for sure. Her bedside table is too far for her headphones to reach without tugging; the bed itself is just asking for her to squirm her way to an End Call. She’s stuck discovering all this with one hand plastered in between her thighs, dipping between her vulva in a way that can only be termed distracting.

By the time she settles it on her pillow, far enough away to avoid any mishap via cheek smooshing, she’s practically panting. Maybe she needs to take up a sport at Lyrias; Mathletes clearly isn’t cutting it.

“Okay,” she sighs, dropping back onto her bed. “Now I’m ready. I am parting my...myself. What’s next?”

“Are you wet?”

Well, if she wasn’t before, she certainly is now. “I, um, think so?”

“All right.” His bed groans, like he’s shifting on it, and oh, how she wishes she knew what he looked like now. “Just start sliding your fingers around. You know where your clit is, right?”

“Yes,” she manages, squirming as she rubs at her folds. “I’ve seen a diagram before.”

He laughs, a low rumbling chuckle that sends a shiver down her spine, and yeah, she can take a real good guess at where her clit might be. “Don’t touch it.”

Her fingers still. “Why not?”

“You’re sensitive,” he tells her, so casual. “You get squirmy when I touch it directly. I mean, feel free to try...maybe you’re a lighter touch than I am. You could like it.”

She’s about to balk-- if it doesn’t feel good when he does it, she’s not going to do any better-- when his voice drops and he adds, “Tell me if you do.”

Well, let it not be said that Shirayuki doesn’t believe in science. Which is the reason she’s doing this. Hypothesis testing. Not because her boyfriend asked in a ridiculously sexy way.

With a steeling breath, she swipes her clit with the pad of her finger and-- y i k e s.

She grits her teeth, nerves still jangling. “Um, yeah, that didn’t feel great.”

“Too bad.”

With a sigh, she stretches her neck, hoping to get that raised-hackles feel out of it and-- oh.

Rum Tum stares down at her with his glassy black eyes, mouth stitched into its permanent smile. That’s really...not helping.

“Um.” Duchess Prettymane is next to him, head tilted in question. Calico Dog is definitely just...judging her. “Give me one second.”

With her free hand, she turns each of her stuffies around, placing them in a line on her window sill. They don’t need to see any of this.

“Okay.” She settles back into her pillows. “So I definitely don’t touch that. I just...touch around it?”

“Yeah,” he huffs out, amused. “But no rubbing! Long strokes, just barely brushing it, both fingers, one on either side.” She can hear his grin when he adds, “You like to be teased.”

She wants to protest that; she nearly does, but--

Her fingers skid over her folds, tracing just around the lip of her slit, stopping just shy of her clit, and-- mm, all right, he, ah, definitely has a point. This feels much better.

Still, she’s so used to Obi’s touch; he lingers in all the right places, calluses catching on her clit in a way that makes her writhe. Her own fingers are too tiny and her movements too awkward. She’s too wet too; as much as it’s definitely helping with the, um, sensations she’s feeling, controlling her fingers makes her feel like a contestants on one of those Japanese game shows. Just when she thinks she’s gotten it, when she’s starting to build to something interesting if not good--

“How is it?”

She nearly nicks herself with a nail. “Better when you do it.”

“Ah, I see,” he hums. “A pillow princess--”

Shirayuki has absolutely no idea what that means, but she knows she’s being teased. “No--!”

A thunk stops her mid-thought. Her hand snaps away from her shorts. “Did you hear that?”

“Kid--”

She eyes the door warily. “Do you think it’s Nanna?”

Obi smothers a chuckle. “I’m pretty sure that was just your phone.”

“No, I put it behind my--” she looks down, and oh yes, there it is, right on the floor.

“Oh,” she breathes, mortified. “Oh. Right. Just, um, give me a minute.”

It’s a tricky proposition trying to fish it off the floor. For one, her bed is high and her arms are short-- oh, she was so committed to the whole fairy bower aesthetic of lofting her bed when she was twelve, but now it’s really inconvenient-- and for another, one hand is contaminated with, um, juices, and though she doesn’t want to smear any of that all over her phone--

Well, wiping it on the sheets is a bad decision. Nanna’s nose is sharp, and if there’s one conversation she doesn’t want to happen, it’s why does you bed smell like sex, Shirayuki? She’s done well not getting grounded so far, despite the number of times Obi’s been caught shirtless in her room, but she knows better than to try to test her grandmother’s patience on it.

Shirayuki drops to her belly, elbow digging into the mattress to ground her. Her finger are just long enough to brush the screen--

“Hey kid,” Obi sighs, “do you actually want to do this?”

She yelps. Only a quickly placed hand keeps her from meeting her carpet face first. She does have her phone though. “What?”

“I thought that this was going to be fun and sexy, but now...” He grunts, uneasy. “It seems like I might forcing you, and that’s really not what I wanted to happen. If you don’t want--”

“NO! I mean,” she manages, throwing herself back on her bed, “you have a point. Even though I prefer you touching me by lot--”

Obi hums, too smug.

“--we can’t always make the time to, um, do that.” It’s be nice if the bed could just swallow her whole right now, put her out of her misery, but-- she wants this. She wants him, and part of that is having terrible conversations that make her feel like a five alarm fire in a fireworks factory. “And if we’re having trouble just a few houses away, I’m sure we’ll find a way to have it when you’re only a few doors down too. Which is fine, it’s not like I have to, um...”

He makes a noise, intrigued, and oh, she really hates how badly she does want to keep this boyfriend. If only she liked him less, then she wouldn’t have to talk about any of this at all.

“I just mean, sometimes I think about you when we can’t be together--”

“Sometimes?”

“You know what I mean,” she snips, annoyed. “Sometimes I think about you in a specific way and I get a little, um, stuck. And that can be frustrating. So it’s probably better that I learn this now, than--

“Wait.” He’s breathless, unfocused. “Are you telling me you’ve been all...stuck lately?”

“N-no!” That is really not what she wants to be talking about right now. “I mean, a-a little? Kind of.”

She can hear the rush of his breath through his nose, his long thoughtful pause--

“Do you need some inspiration?” He’s eager, voice tight and nearly winded. “Purely above the waist, of course.”

It occurs to her that he means pictures; pictures of the adult variety. The yes leaps to her lips, but oh, what if Nanna saw it, and--

“Here, one sec.”

He’s not joking; barely a second later her phone buzzes, snapchat informing her that Obi has a new photo. She frowns, flicking open the app, and -- oh. Yes. That was. Definitely not there a few moments ago.

He’s naked from the waist up, lounging in a pair of gym shorts, his legs spread wide where he sits, and-- “Are you, um...?”

“Hot?” he growls playfully. “For you, yeah.”

“Hard,” she blurts out, since she never misses an opportunity to make a fool of herself. It would be nice if her curiosity could take a vacation for a day or two. Give her skin a break.

“Oh. Um. Yeah,” he grunts. “I mean, I’m trying to get you off, and I’m think about touching you. Sort of...a natural response.”

“But you aren’t touching yourself?”

“We hadn’t really talked about that,” he murmurs shyly. “This is supposed to be about you. I didn’t want to get distracted.”

“Ah...” That place between her legs throbs. She snakes a hand under her waistband, and oh, they’ve barely lost any ground at all. “You should.”

“W-what?”

“Touch yourself,” she tells him, running her fingers over her folds. “I think it would help.”

“Oh.” She might as well have hit him for the way that bursts out of him. “I didn’t--”

“I can give you inspiration too.” She whips off her tank before she can think better of it, struggling when she realizes, no, one hand will definitely not be enough to get the job done--

And then it’s nothing to take a picture, or to send it. A few taps and he’s choking, “Did-- did you mean to send this to me?”

It’s then that it strikes her: she just sent a naked picture to her boyfriend. Well, a half naked picture, but for what he could see she might as well have done the whole thing.

“Oh, is that-- is that okay?” She drags her safe hand over her face, sweat clinging to her palm. “I should have checked--”

“Yes!” he pants, half wild. “Yes, this is okay, Very, very okay. I just...you really want me to use this? For, uh, jacking off?”

“Could you?”

“Haah,” he breathes. “Yes. God, your breasts are so good, babe. And your face...”

“Then yes.” She licks her lips, nervous. “Please.”

“I don’t really need the help,” he warns, “I’m a real pro at this.”

“I want you to.” She doesn’t know how she says it without even a stutter. The thought of him touching himself like that, knowing that he’s thinking of her, just her-- “I want you to touch your-- you--”

“Really, kid, you don’t have to--”

“Cock.”

Just saying it shakes her up like a soda can, ready to burst, and she almost wishes she could take it back, that she could unsay half this conversation-- until he groans; the frantic slide of clothes loud from his end of the phone.

“What do you-- what should I--?”

He sounds so lost, his words hardly above a whine, and that’s the only reason she’s able to say, “I want you to, um, stroke it?”

“Yeah, I am-- I am already there, babe,” he assures her, voice throaty and strained. “You’re touching yourself too, right? You’re wet?”

“Y-yeah.” She slides her hand under the band, and ah, she hadn’t know it was possible to be wetter, that her thighs could be slick nearly to the edge of her shorts, but here she is. “I like hearing you. I-I mean...after graduation, when we went to the field, I--” she licks her lips, mouth so dry-- “I really wanted to hear you come again.”

“Jesus. Fuck.” His mattress creaks, distressed. “That was-- that was two months ago. You could have just--” he hisses, so sensitive-- “god, I would have come for you anytime.”

“Could you?” It comes out coyer than she expects, far too confident to sound like her, and she nearly apologizes, until he-- he--

He whimpers.

“If I asked really nice,” she hums, fingers skating along her folds, clit pulsing with how much she wants this, wants him. “Could you come for me again?”

He groans, pained. “Y-yeah. I could definitely arrange something.”

“Now?”

“Shit. Fuck.” He moans, but it trails off into a laugh. “Definitely won’t take long if you keep this up.”

“Good,” she sighs, pace quickening, her fingers daring to loop ever closer to the crux of her problem. “I want to hear you. It’s been so long...”

She hesitates. Obi is always the one to tease, and her the one that squirms away, the one that needs to be cajoled back into the scene, but now--

Well, the shoe is on the other foot isn’t it. “It’s been so long,” she says again, only this time she lets her voice go breathy, lets it linger on the cusp of whine. “Don’t make me wait, Obi...”

He doesn’t.

“Fuck,” is the only word he manages before he’s groaning, whimpering, making every sexy sound he can at once as he comes hard.

“Haah,” he moans, breath heaving. “That was-- that was definitely not how I expected this call to go.”

Shirayuki stills her fingers, mouth slanting into a smirk. She’d always wondered how Obi could watch her orgasm and not want to do it himself, not need to do it when she’s dying every time, but-- now she gets it. She may not have come, but there’s something supremely satisfying in watching-- no, listening to him fall apart instead.

“Oh?” She still sounds coy. Like Obi does every time she goes half-blind from the force of her own climax.

“You didn’t come, did you?” He’s put out, and she can tell his eyebrows are drawn, that his jaw is set. “I could--”

“No, no, don’t worry about me,” she assures him. “I’m fine. Besides, we have to get up tomorrow.”

“Ah, fuck, right. Senior Day.” He sighs. “All right, fine. But next time--”

“Next time,” she agrees. “Though I really enjoyed this time too.”

He makes a noise that sounds like dying. “Yeah, well, that’s great, but I’m not the one who needs to learn how to get off like a champ. But whatever,” he sighs, “we have all the time in the world for you to get it.”

Her chest warms, and she smiles against her pillow. “Right. I’ll see you tomorrow? Bright an early?”

He groans. “Yeah, yeah. Bright and early. Good night, kid.”

#obiyukiweek20 #obiyuki #akagami no shirayukihime #snow white with the red hair #lemon #my fic #rarely pure and never simple #listen this originally was supposed to run parallel to zen and kihal's B-side #BUT HERE WE ARE #this little opener turning into a whole fic in itself #but i promise #NEXT TIME IS SENIOR DAY

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let-me-love-you-loki · 4 years ago

Text

Surprising Too Late Part I

Part 1

Nick

“Matt, hand me that shelf.” My brother and I were practically dripping in sweat as we helped our dad put in a partition wall in the garage that had once been our home gym. It still was, technically, but we’d moved some of the pieces around to make room for a new purpose.

Y/N’s birthday was in a week, and we had a surprise for her. When we’d met almost nineteen years ago—God, had it been that long—she’d been an art student. There were so many times when she’d beg the two of us to sit for sketches. I remembered the first time she showed me one of her paintings. It was a breathtakingly beautiful self-portrait. She’d given it to me as a present on our first anniversary. But in the years that followed that gift, our wife spent less and less time chasing her joy of art. It was as if the moment that Mattie was born, Y/N set aside everything except for our newborn daughter and us.

“Is that going to be big enough?” he replied, holding out a piece of varnished and polished wood.

Our dad poked his head around the corner. He was working outside, making sure that the window AC unit was sealed. “What are you putting on it?”

I pointed to a spread of jars filled with a variety of paintbrushes and tubes of acrylic paint along with a bento box Kenny had given her where she kept her chalk. Dad looked between the objects and the shelf in Matt’s hands before he nodded.

“Yeah, just tack an extra screw at the back of the bracket top and bottom.”

I grinned and dug into my pocket for two more screws. “This is going so much better than the swing set.”

Dad practically cackled. “You two helped me build your ring when you were teenagers. How you couldn’t follow some simple instructions is beyond me.”

“To be fair,” Matt said as he passed over the electric screwdriver and the level. “We were stubborn.”

“You were showing off,” Dad called back.

“True,” I snorted. “Matt, hold this down.”

Matt

It was hard to keep a straight face in the days leading up to Y/N’s birthday. We spent those final days in a panic. We ended up having to be in Jacksonville an extra day for a taping, and we ended up making panicked calls to our dad to get some final hardware stuff handled. From Friday to Saturday night, I don’t think either my brother or I slept more than a few hours. We took turns keeping our wife occupied while the other slipped away to the other house with the kids or to the garage to hang shelves or photos or art.

I spent Saturday night—the night before her birthday—going through boxes of drawings the kids had done over the years. Nick had gone out that morning and picked up a dozen picture frames. I picked out two drawings from each of the kids and tucked them carefully into a frame to hang on the wall or sit out on the tables in the space we’d made for her.

Nick had crept into her charcoal pencils and sketched the outline of the Tokyo Dome. It had taken a while, but the story of that first time he’d kissed her came out in the early days of our life together. It was a moment I didn’t begrudge them and I memory I hoped they kept with them forever.

I’d spent hours trying to figure out what my addition would be. After a while, I decided to do my best to replicate that moment when our lives together really began. I went through my iCloud and pulled up the photos from our honeymoon. There was half a dozen of that day on the coast where Nick and Y/N had exchanged their rings. It took three tries, but I finally produced something that looked like the lighthouse on the edge of Oahu.

It was the early hours of the morning of Y/N’s birthday when I finally slipped back into the house, bleary eyed and exhausted. Nick stood in the kitchen, leaning against the counter, and chugging a bottle of water.

“Everything’s ready,” I said around a yawn. I thought about making a cup of coffee. “Is she still asleep?”

“Everybody is. RJ was having nightmares, so I slept most of the night in his room.” My brother smiled a little. “Go get in bed. I’ll be there as soon as I check on little man.”

I reached out and hugged him. “Thanks, Nick. For everything you’ve done all these years.”

Nick locked his arms around me and squeezed me hard. “Thank you for letting me be here. For taking me back.”

I squeezed my eyes shut. I wasn’t going to cry. “You and Y/N are the most important people in my life. And this life is the one for us, no matter what anyone says.”

I padded down the hallway to the master bedroom. Y/N was curled beneath the blankets in the center of the king-sized bed. For a moment, I stood there watching her sleeping. I remembered the first time I saw her, the first time I kissed her. My wife was the most beautiful woman I’d ever seen, and I couldn’t believe that I’d been lucky enough to have the last almost twenty years with her.

She snuggled close to me when I slipped into bed beside her. She pressed her lips against my cheek and tucked herself under my arm. Her head pillowed on my chest. I kissed the top of her head and closed my eyes.

Sometime later, Nick crawled into bed on her other side. He curled up behind her, his arm tucked around her waist. Together—just like we faced everything else in life—we went to sleep.

***

I woke up to a faint knocking. Sleep fell away slowly. I was warm and comfortable snuggled between Matt and Nick. They were both sound asleep, made evident by Nick’s slightly open mouth and Matt’s soft snores.

The knock came again. I sighed and sat up, crawling down to the end of the bed to avoid waking either of them. Rubbing my eyes to wake up, I opened the bedroom door to find my sixteen-year-old daughter.

“Happy birthday, Mom,” she said with a grin. “We made breakfast for you and Dad and Papa.”

I smiled, tears in my eyes. “I think Dad and Papa are out of it for a while. But we’ll save them a plate.”

She led the way to the kitchen where thirteen-year-old Nicole was piling eggs on the plates of her brothers. Ten-year-old Lee was carefully pouring orange juice into a line of cups. He turned and gave me a smile that looked exactly like Matt’s.

“Morning, Mama! Happy birthday!” he said as he carried one cup at a time to the table. He handed six-year-old Ty his favorite cup, earning a wide grin from his youngest brother.

The kids pulled me toward the table and tucked me into my normal place between Mattie and Nicole. The boys lined up on the other side of the table. Seats at the head and foot were empty, waiting for Matt and Nick to join us.

Mattie looked around the table and frowned. She stood up and practically stalked down the hallway back to the master bedroom. I hid my laughter behind my hand as I heard her pounding on the door, yelling for her Dad and Papa to get up right now you’re ruining Mom’s birthday breakfast!

Ty grinned, his smile pushing into his cheeks, and giggled. “Mattie’s yelling at them!”

RJ looked over at his baby brother and nodded. “Serves them right. It’s Mama’s birthday.”

My heart swelled at the sweetness from my sons. Lee looked after his sister and scrambled from his seat to run to join Mattie. He stood next to her, pounding his fist on the door in time with hers.

“We’re coming, we’re coming,” Nick growled playfully as he swung open the door. I saw him grin at our eldest daughter before he leaned over, picked her up, and threw her over his shoulder. “Do you think we’d miss your mother’s birthday breakfast?”

Matt appeared right behind him, swinging Lee up onto his back. “We were up late getting Mama’s present ready.”

“Present?” I asked, arching my brows. I followed their movement as they carried our eldest son and daughter back into the kitchen. They deposited them in their seats, slipped around to press a tandem kiss on my cheeks, and smiled as they sank into their seats.

“Who made this?” Matt asked, looking down at the plate in front of him.

“Nikki,” Ty said proudly. She was his favorite, and he loved everything that she did.

Matt’s brow lifted as he beamed at her. She blushed and looked away. “It looks amazing, Bug,” he said before taking a bite. “You cook like your mother.”

Nicole glanced up at me, pride on her face. I kissed the top of her head. “You can help me make Thanksgiving dinner this year,” I whispered.

***

After breakfast, Matt and Nick tied an Elite bandana around my eyes. Then they took me by the hands and led me through the house. I could hear the children following along, whispering and giggling at each other. I looked around, trying to get an idea of what was happening, particularly when we left the house for the late September sunshine.

Nick talked quietly as he guided me over the uneven bumps and dips. I followed a map of our property in my head as I tried to figure out where they were taking me.

“Okay,” Matt said from my left. “Mattie, you got the camera?”

“Yep,” I heard her reply.

The bandana fell away, and I squinted in the bright light. We stood outside the garage that the boys had converted into a home gym when they bought their homes next to each other. I stared at the door, not sure what was happening.

Nick stepped in front of me, his hand on the doorknob, and grinned. “You’ve given up so much for us, Y/N. Your passions and your hobbies. It’s time you got those back.”

The kids filed in behind Nick, Mattie walking backward to keep her cell phone trained on me. Matt pushed me forward with his palm on the base of my spine. The moment I stepped over the threshold, I started to cry. The space was no longer a gym. Somehow, the boys had created a whole new room. It was painted a soft heather grey and stocked with every art supply I owned. My bento box with my chalks. Mason jars of brushes and acrylic. An easel and canvases of every size. Parchment paper. Everything I could ever want or need to draw, sketch, or paint.

The walls were hung with frames of every size and shape. Some held pictures the kids had drawn over the years, signed at the bottom with their names and ages. Two of them were clearly by Matt and Nick. A rough black and white sketch of the curving roof of the Tokyo Dome. Another carefully drawn outline of a lighthouse along a coast.

A palette had been turned into a photo frame—I suspected Brandon’s wife had something to do with it. It was splashed with bright colors, and circular holes had been cut into the wood. A picture of each of my children had been placed inside. A larger oval had a picture of the three of us at the wedding, the two of them standing in their suits on either side of me. A photo we were desperately grateful for after the fact.

I turned around in circles, one after the other, trying to take in everything. My heart pounded in my chest and the tears poured down my cheeks. Mattie followed my every move with the camera, her hands shaking as she cried, too. Nicole sniffled.

“Do you like it?” Matt asked softly.

Nick leaned his chin on his brother’s shoulder. The two of them watched me apprehensively, almost terrified.

“I love it. So much,” I whispered, trying to take a breath. “You… you did this… It’s beautiful. It’s perfect.”

A moment later, I was wrapped up in their arms. “We love you,” Nick whispered in my ear as Matt cradled my head in his hand. “Happy birthday, Sunshine.”

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