#and if they don’t listen… well…. there’s other health insurance offered by my work

[marvelingjules]

You’ll all be very proud to know that I finally messaged my doctor to request she provide me a referral to an asthma specialist.

So we’ll see how that goes. 🤞

[awakened-human-design]

I WAS A MILLENIAL ON A SPIRITUAL QUEST

How would you like to get started on learning Human Design?

????? what the heck is that ??????

My Story

In December 2017, I was on a call with one of my teachers from the group Trillium Awakening. They asked me for my birthday, time and place of birth, and sent me my Human Design body graph. They talked about how I was a projector, and they were too, how it was a rare type, and that I had a lot of open centers, meaning, I was really open to conditioning from the outside world.

They suggested I check it out and some of its free resources. A small tool too accelerate my spiritual process. Which, by the way, could take up to 7 years.

I *WAS* A 20?Something ON A SPIRITUAL QUEST: 

THE VICTIM STORY

Yikes! This is cool, but heck if I had the time or money for more of that!

I hardly had enough money to pay for our weekly group calls in a women’s circle - that put a price beyond compare - but stretched me, even at the discounted rate they offered.

No one in my family had put money into spiritual or personal development work, while I was knee-deep in the stuff. To be honest, I didn’t really feel like I had a choice.

Doing work on spiritual development was a choice between “This stuff is so expensive. If I do this I won’t have any money and I will die” and “This stuff is absolutely what I need at this point in my life and that the world needs to evolve so if I don’t do this…I will also die.”

So? It was, as one of my teacher’s Marc Gafni would call, an erotic double-bind.

I made the choice to go knee-deep in work towards spiritual evolution.

I left the teaching world and I worked in the “gig economy.”

My resume had 5 different education companies.

I worked between 1-40 hours a week, and spent half of it driving.

For months at a time I did what I loved - working with kids - and had no “boss” to call me to the office.

Sounds good, right?

Finally free from educational institutions, I saw how life really worked in people’s homes. I saw the truth of District public and charter schools, and, no matter where I went, I taught kids in the way that felt good to me.

Of course, not everything ended well, and some parents and classroom teachers asked me to *get out* on the first day! But…the recognition of my abilities as a teacher *direct* and *instantaneous.* The progress of the children showed in their creativity.

Let’s get real though about this so-called “gig economy” that promised millennials freedom. No boss meant no W-2. No health insurance. No retirement plan. No coffee breaks. No co-workers.

The road was lonely.

Between driving to tutor or babysit kids at their home, substitute teach at a random school in Maryland, or attend a retreat in New Jersey, I started to feel less like a teacher and more like a truck driver. I took up bad habits that I never imagined as a yogi. I ate protein bars with more sugar than a Snickers and smoked the more the occasional American Spirit that even listening to Adi Da podcasts could not save me from.

I felt sad - but who else could see me but myself?

Some of my friends from my “previous life” no longer spoke to me. I felt ashamed I had left the active lifestyle I once had of biking, walking and yoga, but I knew I could not afford it. I paid for retreats by offering to cook batch meals for the sangha.

I lived in a basement apartment in a house owned by an electronic musician that hosted bands from all over the country. My next door neighbor was an indie musician as well with a great wardrobe and occasional clothing swaps with her New Zealand friends. My closest friend made her own jewelry and tye-die. Two blocks away from the thrift store! So… Major perk - getting to listen to and play music on the reg. and get free, cute clothes. Major downside - working all the time with hardly enough cash to pay the rent to show for my good deeds, and sometimes looking “woke up like this” and other time looking like I hadn’t changed out of my pajamas.

OKAY…SO WHAT IS THIS HUMAN DESIGN STUFF AND HOW DID YOU LEARN IT

Okay, cool. So back to the start of the story. My teacher gave me a tool and I don’t think I looked at it for two years.

But then …. the covid, the lockdowns, the confinement , and suddenly we all had no where to go, everywhere to be (on Zoom) and time, too much of it.

How was I ever going to ‘be’ someBODY?

I won’t go into the depth of “the lockdown” story because at this point, we all have one.

But lockdown story did not produce the kind of “free time” that one might really hope for, unless, of course, you enjoy “free time” like a character from a Albert Camus novel.

Coincidantalment**, I spent the entire time of “confinement” in two foreign

No exit. Like - am I ever going to get out of this? Am I ever going to escape this like square box my form is trapped inside of, speaking to people in a language no one understands?

Okay. I am going to revisit this Human Design stuff. I am going to learn a language that describes the programming of the human body.

No, this isn’t some weird genetic altering stuff. Au, the contrarie!

A system of empowerment that came along at the right time.

When we are, as David A Temple puts it posed between utopia and dystopia. We are getting the call to know ourselves - NOW - in a progressively globalizing and demanding world. And not just globalizing in terms of “oh maybe this bag of chips I’m eating right now came from a Uyghur death camp and perhaps its made of sawdust.” Okay…maybe that too…but really…Globalizing in terms of the planet - the “PLAN-(N)ET” - has a plan to catch us and we best follow her word…or…else.

TO POPPY-SEED QUEEN CURING HER ADDICTIONS: A HEROINE’S JOURNEY

So I spent…every day of French class, every morning, looking at the transits (both astro and HD), recording my dreams, reading my graph, reading the Cross of the day, the Gate, drawing the iChing…taking a university-levelcourse on iChing…ok…maybe there was some magic involved…and many sleepless nights…and…yes…going down to the depths of the bottom of the bottom…the rabbit hole…the worm hole…the brain hole…you name it…its the the “dark night of the soul “ and there ain’t no batman to help you sidekick robin so you better be the hero of your own story and save the day.

I can tell you. I’ve been there. There’s no going back. 

…..*di di di di*** the song of “why do I like Human Design so much” ***do do do do**….

1- TRANSPARENT AND EASY AS F**** TO LEARN

I like Human Design because it is a very transparent system. If you’ve gotten a reading in astrology or tarot, the “method” or “magic” is usually a little hidden from the person receiving the reading. This is more “Teach yourself your Self” and a reader is more like a guide.

Like a contractor explaining the blueprint of a house from the day it was built. You might not of had the tools to build the house - but you get it. The plan is clear.

It’s not like Enneagram or Myers-Briggs where you take a quiz and find out a type, only to have it change again half-way through your life. Those tools of human development are well and good (but are subjective), and you should use those too. But that’s not what this is.

This system starts with the objective.

And then you have to test it out.

2 - the 100% USE FOR 100%…KIDS

This system, for as weird as the origin story may appear, was built by a teacher. It was built for children and the generations to come.

Anyone who has ever been a teacher (*and hopefully left the profession because they KNOW how the conditioning is happening) for kids under 7 can SEE how easily children and manipulated and cohereced into a “not-Self” program.

They are literally “programmed” to not-love themselves! The sh*t people are paying beaucoup bucks for to *fix* them later in life!

So let’s cut that s-t out before it beings. Let’s raise a generation of kids who don’t need to go to therapy when they grow up to un-do all the trauma that came from their conditioning.

And for you - “grown up” let’s help you re-parent your inner child.

(People always told me I needed to do that. I had no idea how, or the privilege, I felt, to do it.)

Let’s help you learn to “be alone” with your “Self” as you already are - whole.

3 - IS THIS A RELIgION?

Okay, let’s talk religion - if you grew up Christian (like “me” yay****) confirmed in the Christian church…yadda yadda…you probably have SOME trauma from that stuff. Don’t really care if you go to church every Sunday, are a flat-out atheist or extreme right..some body has GOT to say it…

Everything you have been brought up believe is not the meaning of the Christ.

With a little toe-dipping into esoteric Christianity…

The current image of “Jesus on the Cross” is no more than a sacrificial lamb that has you totally tricked into thinking you need to “die” (to the empire) in order to be “saved.”

No. You are a unique balance of light and dark. Although these do move in the 4 directions, they do not always look like a perfect “cross.” More on that later. 

BUT The beauty of it …is also that THERE IS a cross. And you can understand it. And you can be and become your own Christ. 

Your own Savior. And take back the power into your own life.

I don’t care if you can name me every book of gospel or if you tell me that Jesus was a historical figure or in fact never lived and is a myth in our imagination. Or if Jesus is coming back down from the heavens tomorrow so repent your sinners or oh shit maybe the world really *IS* on fire and maybe the highest court in the land (the UN) and now has “Inner Development Goals” and realizing that maybe infrastructure is not just made of things. It’s made of people. Who hurt. Who feel. Who laugh. Who cry. And is telling people that maybe they should consider working on themselves. 

In other words: It’s not just the third world world that needs supported. 

I’m not even sure if this has everything or nothing to do with a guy named Zeus with a big white beard who lives in the sky (although, I have had a couple teachers with big white beards that could compete quite fairly with Grandaddy Marx see “The Stoa” for reference)…but I do know this has everything to do with YOU and your unfolding FATE and DESTINY to live a radical life among the stars.

 Yeah…there. I said it. 

I’m prothetlytizing on the sidewalk sweeties and its time to convert.

Burn me for it. It’s okay. 

Joan was a 5/1. She dressed up as a boy.

They canonized her has a saint. 

Let’s see what the rest of us can do. 

OKAY….NOW I’M THE BAD GUY BECAUSE…

This knowledge is not free. So I do charge.

It’s an Interior Science. No one will do it for you.

It takes time. You have to test it out for yourself.

Let me ask you this: If you didn’t have a story before…do you have one now?

Try Human Design. 

My Design - A Poem

I’m a Savior, but not a Saint.

But the crisis is urgent. And the task is real.

There’s a Devil in command, and I’ve trained him to be quiet.

Wearing masks, playing charades, yet we know it’s all a game. 

Yes, it’s all an illusion of MAIA. She’s the goddess. The veil of illusion.

She’s written these words and she’s ended my confusion. 

Her values will break you apart and make you whole again.

Come home, and be your Self. No one else will do it for you. 

————-

 ~*~ b3 @uTh3nTiC ~*~

**Spell check (?) You can send me a French dictionary later

***HD uses Kabbalah, iChing, Western Astrology, and the Chakra system.  

**** For the Americans out there, Labour Day in the rest of the world is May 1st

[shorkbrian]

I swear I ain’t in it for the money, but I can’t stop thinking about sugar daddy shoto. Maybe he sweeps a cute little college kid or barista of their feet, just something fun and casual. But this man starts falling harder, needing a way to lock them down to him. Money isn’t quite cutting it anymore, so he decides fucking a baby into her would do the trick. Shoto would push her down into the mattress, large frame twisting her into a sweet mating press. This way they could stay together forever and Shoto would have absolutely no problem providing for his sweet family <3

but fr tho I feel like Shouto is NOT the type for kids.

Mans will tolerate them when they babble or wave at him, but he very actively Does Not Want them.

Always uses condoms, and even though he’ll threaten not to, it’s never a legit thought in his mind to cum inside. Shouto doesn’t want to be a dad.

-----

You’ll be sittin on a park bench, fading sunset dark and pretty in front of you yet all you can do is cry. There’s not really any people around so it’s not like you’re bothering anyone - you hadn’t wanted to cry in your shabby apartment (half the cause of your worries) just in case you received a noise complaint.

“Are you alright?”

A somber, smooth voice is heard. You’re swiping at your tears quickly as you look up, trying to laugh off your state of distress. “Oh, haha, yeah I’m fine. Thanks for asking.” It’s hard to smile with your puffy cheeks and red-rimmed eyes.

The man in front of you frowns, hands in his coat pockets, scarf draped around his neck. “You don’t look fine. Mind if I sit?”

He’s already claiming the spot next to you on the bench before you can say a word, turning to you with a passive expression. “Why are you crying?”

And that’s all it takes to have you breaking down all over again, tears streaming down your face. Just one person offering to listen to the heavy burden you have to bear.

‘’M sor-sorry...” You sob, wiping at your eyes with frigid fingers, successful in doing nothing more but smearing tears around your face.

“Here.” The man’s taking off his scarf, gloved hands offering it you.

“I ca-can’t use your sc-scarf sir.” But he’s insistent, pressing it into your hands up by your face.

“I’ll just get another one. Keep it, you’re in need of it more than I am.”

The kindness makes another fresh bout of tears roll down your cheeks, but this time you're able to dab them away with soft fabric as you sniffle.

It takes a moment for you to calm yourself. When you do, you can finally engage in conversation with the man.

You tell him about your job hours getting cut, how you’ve been turned down or ignored by every single place you’ve applied at for a second job. How you’re barely affording to wash your clothes - you have to hang them or drape them across things in your apartment because you don’t have the money to pay for a dryer cycle.

And to top it all off, you’re still short on rent, despite how you scrimped and saved and even forced yourself not to buy groceries this week - you’ve gone hungry for the past three days.

“You haven’t eaten?”

You glance up at the man and his incredulous expression, shaking your head. “I’ve been trying to save money, I thought I could afford my rent if-”

“What kind of food do you like?” The man is pulling out his phone, swiping and tapping immediately. 

“Thank you, but I’m not-” looking for charity is what you want to say. Plus, you shouldn’t accept favors from strange men.

But the handsome man is waving you silent. “I’m cold, plus I’d like to grab a bite to eat before I head home. I don’t like eating alone though, you’d honestly be doing me a favor.”

You take a moment to process. Is he telling the truth? He sounds like an honest guy.

“Seems like the only place open around here is “Joe’s 24 hour Diner”.... You mind burgers?”

So that's how you end up in a booth opposite the man (”Shouto” he had told you as you both headed to the diner), munching away at warm food. It tastes so good, you hardly have time to worry about the man watching you as he eats.

You’d been shocked at his looks the moment you’d seen him in the light of the diner. Pretty two-toned hair, different colored eyes, perfect skin, expensive clothes. Why was he even talking to you? It’s obvious the two of you led very different lives.

“How does everything taste?”

“Delicious.” Is your response, and Shouto seems pleased, nodding before taking another bite of his meal.

Maybe it’s stupid... but you feel weirdly safe with this man. He doesn’t seem to bear any ill-intent towards you, nor has he made any comments about your body or let his hands or eyes stray. He seems like a gentleman.

Conversation flows easily between the two of you, even sharing a few chuckles at times. He’s some fancy rich businessman, you learn, and you share about your own life, laughing at the comparisons. Shouto can’t fathom growing up in a house with less than five bedrooms and a personal servant.

He asks for your number, and you’re hesitant in giving it - he surely can’t be interested in you? But he seems so sincere, it’s hard to say no.

When the two of you part ways, Shouto gives you a wave, “Hope to see you again soon, and under better circumstances.”

“You too! And sorry for being such a mess and stopping your walk-”

Shouto shrugs, cheeks beginning to pink from the cold air as you two stand outside the diner. “You needed help. I like to assist.”

-----

The next morning you wake to find an atrociously large sum deposited in your Venmo account by none other than a Shouto Todoroki.

Immediately, you’re calling him. “It’s too much, we just met. How can you give away that much money to some low-life?”

You hear him sigh on the other end of the phone. “You’re obviously struggling. I was wondering what your hours are this week, perhaps we could talk about this over dinner? Or lunch, if that fits better with your schedule. I’m flexible.”

It’s a few days later, days spent questioning yourself, questioning his intentions, before you see him again, both of you deciding to meet for lunch to further discuss... whatever had just happened.

“Was what I gave you adequate to cover your rent?” Are the first words out of Shouto’s mouth after you greet each other.

“Yeah, more than enough-” You squirm. “But I need to ask.... why?”

“Why?”

“Why me.” 

“Oh.” Shouto’s expression clears. “That’s easy. I told you a few days ago - I like to assist. I’m quite lonely, and it feels nice to use my money on someone other than myself. I think providing for someone brings me... I wouldn’t quite say joy, but... contentment.”

You contemplate his answer for a moment. 

“Well... you saved me with my rent, I don’t really know how to thank you.”

The man leans forward. “Well.... I know it might be a bit sudden, but how would you feel accepting me as a.... benefactor of sorts?”

“You mean like a sugar daddy?” Is your immediate, blurted response. You want to slap yourself for speaking before you have the chance to think about your words, but luckily Shouto just lets out a light laugh.

“If you’d like to call it that. I’m willing to provide financial assistance for you, in exchange for companionship, if you’re willing to give it.”

Your face heats up as you drop your eyes, fidgeting nervously in your seat. “I don’t feel comfortable with a... a sexual relationshi-”

“That’s perfectly acceptable.” Shouto cuts you off before you can continue. “I wasn’t trying to insinuate a contract of that nature. I’m thinking more along the lines of accompanying me at meals, sharing experiences with me, providing company and friendship to a lonely man. If it seems that we’d like to progress further than that after we get to know each other, well, that will be addressed then. For now-” Shouto meets your eye, dipping his head a smidgeon so he can look at you directly. “All I ask for is a simple, non-intimate bond between two people.”

This is crazy.

And yet you accept.

The situation may be wild, and completely absurd, but you’d be a fool not to say yes.

Shouto is charming and handsome, respectful, courteous - you could go on and on about his positive qualities. He just seems like a sad, lonesome man swallowed by work and responsibilities, too stressed and busy to put the effort into making friends the conventional way. 

-----

Months pass by.

You’re eating at every meal, sated and never going hungry. You’re able to move into a new place, one that doesn’t smell like cigarettes and sits right next to a railroad.

Clothes aren’t a worry anymore, you have your own washer and dryer in your new apartment (Shouto offered to buy you a house, or a penthouse at the least, but you couldn’t justify it to yourself). You’re able to afford new things, and pretty dresses, shoes that are comfortable and fashionable and that fit.

You no longer have to wear clothes down until they have holes in them. You’re able to go to the doctor’s when you feel sick, able to pay for health insurance.

Life is good.

Shouto is a personable man, serious, but he can be rather funny and even crude at times.

The doubt and thoughts of “Why is he doing this for me?” and “I’m not good enough for this.” plague you, but Shouto always seems to catch on, reassuring you that you’re exactly what he needs - a friend.

And you’re more than happy to be that.

You think sometimes, that even if he wasn’t paying you, you’d still like to be friends with Shouto Todoroki.

Until he starts acting weird.

“You should just stay at my place. I have more than enough room,, it’d be easier for both our schedules. We’d get to see each other more often.”

“Uhm...” You don’t really know what to say. You like your freedom, and having your own place where you can walk around in your (expensive) underwear without being bothered.

“I think it’d be nice, don’t you? We could have breakfast every morning, you wouldn’t have to worry about traveling to and fro, we could spend more time together. We don’t see each other nearly enough.”

He’s pushing, insistent. How are you supposed to tell him no? He’s paying for your entire life. Plus, it wouldn’t be that bad to actually live with him. Shouto’s an amicable man.

So you move in.

“I bought you a few things, they’re on your bed.” 

Shouto’s striding into the kitchen where you’re making coffee, buttoning up his shirt as he comes closer. You’ve found that the man likes to sleep in nothing but boxers, shrieking and flushing an embarrassing shade the first time he’d come to wake you up with a sweet “welcome” breakfast in bed.

It’s taken a while to adjust, but you finally feel that you’re fully settled in.

“Oh, you really don’t ha-”

“I wanted to. I went through your closet - your clothes are nice, but your underwear seemed to be lacking.” He’s so matter-of-fact.

All you can do is stare at the back of his head.

“Could you pass me a spoon please?”

-----

Shouto had splurged on expensive, fancy lingerie. 

At least eight different sets were laid out on your bed. It was overwhelming. It also felt.... a bit intrusive? They were all in your size, in a complementary color for your skin tone. 

Weird.

Not as weird as the onset of Shouto’s casual touches.

You’d be reading, or drinking tea and watching cars race by on the street so far below, and Shouto would come up behind you, caress your sides before intertwining his fingers with yours on one hand. He did it as if it was a normal thing, but it felt anything but normal.

Or you’d be on the couch together, and Shouto would shuffle closer until his large body was pressed to yours, almost curled around you. The faux-cuddling was a bit more off putting. How do you tell him no?

The touches became more and more intimate, Shouto’s gifts more and more frequent until you weren’t even spending a penny, the man taking care of everything.

The arrangement was beginning to make you uncomfortable.

Shouto’s bi-colored eyes seemed to always be on you, tracing the shape of your body, watching you move, or breath, or sit. It was distracting, and you felt bad for feeling this way towards the man who’d pulled you out of poverty, but it was so unnerving.

He seemed to notice.

“You’ve been so stressed these past few days. Is something wrong?” Shouto’s rubbing a hand into your shoulder, hovering over you at the dinner table.

“No?” Is all you can manage, wiping your hands on your napkin as you finish your food.

Shouto frowns. With a sigh, his hand drops from your shoulder and the man leaves your side, heads toward the kitchen.

You clear your plate from the table, following after him so you can wash it and put it in the dishwasher before you head off to get ready for bed. 

But Shouto is rummaging in a cupboard, pulling down two wine glasses to accompany the bottle of wine that’s standing proud on the island.  It’s your favorite, a sweet wine that Shouto knows you like, always brings it out when he decides to drink whisky or bourbon after dinner.

He pops the cork and pours you a glass while you finish with your dishes, handing you the glass when you turn away from the sink, pressing it into your hands. “Let’s relax a little bit, it’ll be good for both of us.”

You’re fine with that, knowing that a little wine won’t hurt you, especially when it’s of such fine quality. You’d never dreamed that you’d be able to taste such richness in your lifetime, spend frivolous amounts of money on wine and fine eateries. Yet here you are.

Shouto pours himself a glass, barely a sip filling the bottom. The man raises it to his lips and takes a swig, grimacing a bit in his flat, unexpressive way. You giggle a little.

“Too sweet?’

The man nods, setting the glass back down. “I’m not entirely sure how you can stand to stomach it. But if it makes you happy-” He shrugs, before pulling on of the bar-stools out from under the island so he can sit facing you, long legs stretching out before him.

You look at him, and he looks at you, and then you take another sip of wine to avoid the awkwardness.

“You’re distancing yourself from me.”

The accusation is quiet, Shouto’s eyes focused on your fingers wrapped around the stem of the glass.

He’s always been straightforward with his words. “Is there a reason you keep drawing away?”

The wine disappears from your glass, sliding down your throat and settling in your stomach. You fill your glass again before speaking, struggling to find the right words without upsetting your... benefactor.

“Well, Shouto... I don’t really know how to...” You trail off, hoping Shouto will say something, change the subject, say it’s alright and move on to something else.

But the man stays silent, eyes appraising you.

Taking a deep breath, and another gulp of sweetness, you try again.

“Sometimes the closeness... like, physical closeness? Makes me, well, uncomfortable.”

Hopefully, that would satisfy his curiosity for now. That wasn’t the only reason you’d been avoiding Shouto seeming distant, but you didn’t think sharing the others would result in anything good.

Said man accepted your response, dropping his eyes to his lap as he mulled it over. More wine was consumed, glass re-filled. You felt nervous.

“You’re saying that my touch isn’t something you’d prefer.”

Biting your lip, you soften at his confused expression, at the hint of sadness swimming behind his eyes. “Kind of. I don’t mind you Shouto, you’re really kind, and you’re good company, and a wonderful friend. I just don’t think the.... the intimacy is for me.”

Shouto raises his head, stares at you with those pretty eyes, lips parted as he comes to terms with your words. 

“It sounds like you don’t trust me. I would never hurt you, you know this.”

You scramble to assure him. “I do! I do trust you, and I know you wouldn’t.” (at least you hoped) “But I guess I just... Coming into this agreement I wasn’t ready for that type of... thing. I don’t know if I ever will be.”

The man rises, shakes his head as he steps closer to you. “Don’t worry, I remember our first conversation about that aspect. I see that for you, that type of relationship would only begin after you really cared for the other person, trusted and wanted to see them happy, am I correct?”

“Oh, Shouto-” You rush. “No, I care for you, and I trust you, and of course I want to see you happy. I think it’s just, y’know, my last relationship like that went really bad, and it sucked. I don’t want to go through that again.”

Shouto nods, understanding. “I see. You don’t have to worry about any of that with me then.”

A smile crosses your face, and you feel relived that he accepted your rejection with grace and understanding instead of violence or anger. “Thank you, it means a lot to me.”

The mood of the room shifted, from tense and uncomfortable, to easy and light, and you poured another glass of wine, laughing a little at how worried you were about the conversation with Shouto, only for it all to turn out fine.

“I’m going to go drink some of the liquor that’s kept in my room. I could mix a few drinks for you to try, you might like how sweet they are. I know hard alcohol isn’t quite your thing.”

You beam a smile, nodding your head eagerly. Before, you’d feel apprehensive about going into his room with him to drink alcohol. But with the conversation the two of you just had, you knew - things would be fine.

-----

The room was spinning and you felt giddy and light. You were definitely tipsy.

“You can lay down on my bed, you’re getting wobbly on your feet.” Shouto had offered, and you’d gladly accepted, flopping down onto his comfy bedspread with a laugh at how the motion made butterflies rise in your tummy.

Shouto leaned against his dresser, swirling whiskey in his glass as he watched you, a half-smile across his face. You smiled back, before closing your eyes, a little bit tired as you realized that you might be a bit more than just tipsy.

Shouto had mixed quite a few drinks for you, and you’d drank each one eagerly, impressed with how little alcohol you could taste in each one. You don’t remember how many you had, but it didn’t really matter.

The next thing you know, hands are on your waist, scooting you further up the bed so your legs no longer hang off the edge. Cracking open an eye, you’re met with the visage of red-and-white, eyes soft and warm as they regard you, Shouto’s face tinged a bit pink from the few drinks he had consumed. The man had never been too good at holding his alcohol.

When those hands started to slip beneath your shirt, you wiggled like a little worm, not really comprehending the situation. Maybe it was a dream.

Your shirt was discarded, then your pants. It felt much more comfortable now, and you mumbled a “thanks” to the man helping you settle for bed. He was so nice, Shouto took such good care of you. You still kind of couldn’t believe the turn your life had taken with him, the good luck pushed into your path.

Someone was kissing you.

With a grunt of surprise, you kissed them back, meeting their feverish pace and trying to keep up, soft lips puckering and pushing against your own with intent. Kissing felt good. You liked kissing.

Then a hand was cupping your face, stroking tenderly over your cheek before it began sliding down, down your neck, into the valley between your breasts, trailing over your bra. It felt funny.

Pushing back for air, you gasped when the hand on your chest started squeezing at you, eyes flying open with the startling, sudden sensation.

Shouto was hovering over you, lips puffy, panting as he stared at you with lusty eyes, an uncharacteristic look on his face. This... this wasn’t supposed to be like this. You knew. Hadn’t the two of you just talked about something... important? Was it important?

You didn’t feel panic until a hand cupped your sex, feeling your skin through your panties.

This wasn’t right.

Alarm bells were ringing, dull and far away, but you didn’t think that Shouto should be touching you in such a way. you should be going to bed.

“Mm, Sho, can you stop?” But your words felt funny on your tongue, and Shouto didn’t stop. Maybe he didn’t hear you.

His hair tickled your chin as the man bent to mouth at your tits, pulling the cups of your bra underneath them so he could feel your hot skin, let his saliva drag slick and wet against your chest. 

Your hands instinctively rooted themselves in his hair as you gasped again, not expecting such a move, tugging lightly at his head to pull him up. Shouto just groaned, teething gently at your breasts and not moving an inch. His hips were grinding against the bed though, as he stood between your spread legs.

Before you knew it, your panties were gone, bra clumsily unclasped and discarded, and you were completely bare. Shouto was undressing before you, struggling with the buttons on his shirt before giving up, easily ripping the fabric of his body with one tug, grumbling.

You didn’t feel so tipsy anymore.

“Shouto, what’re we doing? We shouldn’t be doing this, we need to stop-”

“Stay down.” Was his firm command, a hand splayed across your naked chest and pushing you back into the mattress as you tried to sit up. It made you breathless, the growl in his voice, the dominance emanating from the man. You stayed still.

“This’s gonna make us a stronger couple.” The man slurred, eyes dark and hands wandering, effortlessly keeping you pinned against the bed as he ground his hips forward against the edge. You were getting scared.

“Wait-”

You fell silent as one hand pushed down his pants, his underwear going with them, pink cock bobbing free. He was so pretty down there, and it made sense, all of him was pretty, but you suddenly realized the weight of the situation, what was happening.

“Shouto, no, oh my god. We gotta stop right now, we’re drunk, we’re-we’re-”

“Don’t care. Not gonna let you hide away from me this time.” Shouto shook his head, taking his cock in one hand and giving it a long, slow pump, flushed tip weeping precum and wetting his hand.

“No, no, this is wrong. I don’t want this, I could get pregnant!” You cried, beginning to panic for real, pushing against the one strong hand anchoring you to the bed.

Shouto just chuckled, letting go of his cock to crowd against you, getting up in your face to press a wet finger to your lips, the salty taste of his precum threatening to slip into your mouth unless you kept it shut. “Shhh, shh. If you stay nice and still, if you do what I say, I’ll use a condom.”

You couldn’t believe your ears.

“You’re gonna listen to me, you always do.” The man nodded to himself, once again dragging his cock against the bed between your legs, as if he couldn’t stop himself. “Or else I’ll fuck you raw.” The finger was pulled from your lips, only to be wagged teasingly in your face. 

You couldn’t believe how he was acting.

“Be nice.”

Shouto tapped your nose with a neatly manicured finger, before groaning as he heaved himself upright, red cock bobbing against his stomach, desperate for attention. The man gave you a look, as if to say “don’t move” before he took his hands off you, heading for his dresser.

Once you saw him pulling out a strip of condoms, you were on your feet, stumbling toward the door.

Although panic had sobered you somewhat, you were still struggling with the effects of the alcohol, so your reaction time was maddeningly slow. Slow enough that you weren’t able to truly fight against Shouto when he grabbed you from behind toned arms wrapping around your middle and heaving you into the air, only to throw you back on his bed.

You were almost sick on the bedspread, world spinning and stomach protesting, but you were able to calm yourself.

But then Shouto was on you, flipping you onto your back, a soft hand pressing against your throat threateningly. 

“You want to have a baby? Want me to cum in you so you’ll get all fat with kids? Hm?” He was so intense, almost choking you, straddling your waist and keeping you pinned. It was too much

You were able to manage a tearful, desperate “No!” despite the hand around your throat, and Shouto backed off, releasing the pressure to instead stroke his hand against the sides of your neck.

“Stop acting like this, it’s the next logical step for us. You said you cared for me, wanna make me happy. This’ll make me happy. I won’t be like the last guy.”

His cock was pressed against your stomach, and you could feel it twitching. Shouto clambered off of you, letting go of your neck so he could grab the condoms he’d tossed on the bed before snatching you up.

“Do what I say and I use these.” He waved them in your face before tearing one off, beginning to open it. 

You stayed still, gazing at him blearily, limbs feeling fuzzy, mind feeling the same.

The condom was rolled onto Shouto’s cock, the man spitting into his palm and giving the latex a few rubs to make it slick before reaching for you.

He dragged you to the edge of the bed - the perfect height for him to fuck you - and you didn’t fight, terrified of his threat. You couldn’t stand the thought of a baby.

(You didn’t know, but neither could he)

“Wanted to do this since I met you.” Shouto mumbled, pushing your panties to the side with a few fingers so he could guide his tip to your hole. “Want you so bad.”

You didn’t know what to think of this side of Shouto. This unreserved, uncareful, slurring mess of a man that loomed before you, gaze dark and wild, limbs everywhere as he groped and squeezed and appreciate the shape of your body.

But he must’ve gotten impatient, because then he was pushing inside.

It hurt, stinging pain rippling up your back and you keened, causing Shouto to pause. One of his hands darted down to wrap around your calf, hauling it up on the bed so he could lean forward and press it to you chest, sinking his cock a few inches deeper.

“You’re gonna take it.” He hissed before messily kissing you, pressed so close together that it was hard to breathe. “I’ll make it feel good after you do.”

[exuberantocean]

Listen, I’m pretty privileged.  My husband and I both have full time jobs that offer benefits.  We get our insurance through my husband, whose state job offers one of the best health insurances in the state, if not the country.

Early this year my son developed a cyst on his eardrum.  If left be, it would destroy his eardrum, permanently deafening him in that ear.  It would put pressure on a nerve, paralyzing part of his fact.  If left be, it could become infected leading to a life threatening case of meningitis.

So it has to be operated on.  It took a couple of months and we still weren’t able to get an appointment with a specialist locally, so our pediatrician's office helped us find a doctor about two hours away that took our insurance.  We went through the proper process.  My son had his operation and thankfully it all went well.

Yesterday we got a form from our insurance company that they’ve denied the entire claim.  We’ll owe a little over $12,000.

This is healthcare in America.  Where, despite having three hospitals within 30-45 minutes from our house, we had to drive 2 hours only to get the lack of coverage we were trying to avoid.

And we’re lucky!  My husband is the local president of his union and can try to work it out that way.  I’ll be calling the insurance company myself.  I think we stand a reasonable chance of getting this worked out and getting at least some coverage.  But that’s only because we’ve got the privilege of the time and ability to fight this.  

And if we don’t?  We’re privileged enough that we have enough in savings to swallow this, though it will definitely be a huge hit to the money we’ve diligently saved over time for other purposes.  But we’re privileged enough that we’re not going to lose our house over this.

But damn.  We did “everything right.”  Right kind of job, followed the proper process, hell even shopped around for the doctor.  And still...and still.

If we were just a little less privileged, this could have easily ruined us, as it has so many families.

So yeah, this is healthcare in America.

[holosuitekai]

Thinking about that time my psychiatrist offered me his sperm

Several years ago I was about to start IVF and I was working with my prescriber to get off one of my medications (for fetal developmental health). I had explained to him that I was doing IVF and that I’m married to a woman so it’s not like I could just try the hetero way. He had questions. It was a little uncomfortable. I explained how sperm banks work, and probably had to explain IVF to some extent.

Anyway, he, at that point, thought he knew something about something and noted that fresh sperm is better than frozen sperm, and offered me HIS OWN SPERM FROM HIS BODY. I naturally was stunned, and was unsure I understood his meaning, so I laughed it off / semi-politely declined.

To this day I don’t know what exactly he had in mind. My best guess is that he honestly thought I would welcome the assist, and was oblivious to how bizarrely unethical the suggestion was. I honestly don’t think he was joking (which wouldn’t be any better actually imo). Just my take on him. Could’ve been a power thing and I just wasn’t reading him well, not sure.

So a little more about me. I have a good job where employees are valued as much as can be expected in capitalism. I have good insurance by American standards. I even have an extra benefit with a separate company where there is a social worker / nurse I can call and tell them my needs and they will research the doctors that take my insurance and would be a good fit for me (like a concierge service). Which I had used to find him, after my prior prescriber was not a good fit and wasn’t supportive of my choice to do IVF.

Also, I pass, at the time my hair was a normal color, I would show up in professional work clothes, I’m not bipoc, I’m old enough to start a family, meaning to say, I wouldn’t have appeared somehow vulnerable, to where he might have thought he could say some bullshit and get away with it (I feel gross saying that, but this is the society we live in). I’ve seen a couple posts lately about bad experiences with therapists from others in the community and it is so frustrating because while I have a lot of privilege (and eventually found a great psychiatrist elsewhere) not everyone has access to provider choice.

Sadly, in the end he did say some bullshit and got away with it. I didn’t report it, and I wonder, with guilt, what else goes on in that office.

If any of my three mutuals actually read this, I love you and stay safe out there.

Teaser for next time: Thinking about that time a serial killer tried to lure me into his car while I was dressed like a gothstitute (goth sex worker) alone at midnight on the streets of Portland

Also here’s a super gay song about making babies that I was listening to a lot back then

[vergess]

@autismserenity​ said: Your tags are the most American thing I’ve ever read, we are truly so screwed here   

May I interest you in a more complete, and more excruciating, explanation of what I spent the last 18 months doing?

It is, I need to emphasize, fucking nasty. Don’t feel obligated, especiallly if you’ve already had A Day(tm).

There’s a lot of disease, a lot of worker abuse including sexual and racial abuse, a fine portion of letting people die for not being white enough for real medical care, all leading to homelessness.

For NDA reasons, because my former employer was just as vile as any tech company has ever been, I cannot be super specific about who I worked for. However, I can say that we handled the records and patient contact for all COVID testing for several states, as well as 2 of the 5 largest metros in the US, and several dozen smaller ones ranging from the approximate population of San Francisco, down to little towns, as well as the testing for several public school systems and at least two government agencies that I am not at liberty to disclose.

I tell you this for a sense of scale. When I say shit like, “my boss was more than happy to let thousands or hundreds of thousands die” I am not exagerrating for effect. We handled hundreds of thousands of tests a week.

Again, I need to emphasize, government agencies. Ones you would know if I named them. Ones everyone in the country knows.

And we were in charge of getting their test results from the already over swamped labs back to the patients, who often were not allowed to quarantine while awaiting results.

The fastest we got our turnaround time to on any consistent basis was about 30 hours. Often it ballooned well into weeks.

There were a number of factors for this, but the big one was always understaffing.

The staff we did have were treated like trash. One of the big selling points of this company is how “trans friendly” it is to work there. That is a lie. Every trans employee on payroll had their dead name displayed to all other staff, and until I personally changed the system setup on my arrival, patient facing trans people’s dead names were displayed to patients.

Remember that thing about “hundreds of thousands of tests a week”?

I was able to change the way patient-facing names were displayed. I was not allowed or able to alter the way internal systems displayed trans people’s names. But I was assured that it’s fine, because once you get a legal name change, you’ll be given new system accounts with your new name!

Your old accounts with your dead name would still be displayed and associated with the new ones though.

This is the “trans friendly” working environment. We were allowed to be out of the closet, as long as we were willing to put up with that. And any attempts to get it altered were the result of those nasty little transgender ingrates not being thankful enough.

Meaning that by asking to use our own fucking names we were already in the disciplinary shitter.

Another big selling point is the ~racial diversity~. The CEO was a man of colour, and so were like four other people on staff!! Wow!!!!!!!

This, too, was laughable.

Once numbers started coming in about the care gap for COVID between English and Spanish speakers, and our Southwestern US service area began to have a separate and brutal backlog just of Spanish speaking patients, my employer encouraged me to interview potential hires who speak spanish.

Fair enough! We all wanted to do our part to help close the already massive mortality gap.

So, I found candidates, did interviews, hired them, trained them, etc. But I don’t speak Spanish. As a result, I appointed 2 assistant managers who do speak Spanish to assist me in managing, you know, like the job name.

So when my super contacted them directly, completely skipping me on the chain of command, and told them to stop all of our Spanish speakers from translating helpful simple messages to send to patients, and instead start translating medical and legal documents, they very reasonably assumed I was in the know and went ahead with it.

TO BE CLEAR, that could have ended my life, theirs, basically everyone involved. Everyone in the company would have been completely fucked. At that point, my subordinates, the people for whom I am wholly responsible, were doing everything from practicing medicine without licenses, to encouraging spanish speaking patients to enter contracts that no one on the fucking executive tier could even read.

The moment I found that out, I and the A.M.s immediately started trying to get actual medical translation services to do our documents. We collected them in a neat folder. We queried translation services. We got quotes. We contacted my super and the CEO, about this over and over again for months. In the late autumn, we received approval for one of the translation services.

The CEO decided at the last minute that having people with no medical or legal training draft medical and legal forms was fine and good actually, and refused to sign the contract or send the documents for translation.

The excuse I received was that the COVID emergency HIPAA relaxations would protect us.

That’s not how that works.

Throughout all of this, Spanish speaking employees were told to either keep doing medical and legal translation work, or lose their jobs.

Oh, did I mention everyone was working between 30 and 80 hours a week, and all of us were marked as “contractors” so the employer could tax evade? Don’t worry, we filed complaints with the labour bureau.

So the entire department was let go, and “rehired” as temps through a temp agency, which because it was a temp agency could keep them marked as contractors regardless of the facts.

This change was presented to all of us, myself included, as the company getting a new accountant to handle payroll.

So if you’re keeping score, we’ve covered racism, queerphobia, medical negligence, fraud, and a frankly uncountable number of deaths.

Let’s talk about the sheer negligence towards employees ourselves. If you’ve worked in near-death medical care before, or any number of emergency services really, you know that the standard benefit suite includes either a dedicated therapist for your staff, or access to peer support groups with other emergency and medical servants through your employer’s benefits program.

Do you know what our mental health benefits were for this company?

The CEO got on a fucking zoom call with us all one (1) time, and said that if we were feeling suicidal or traumatized by the work, to talk to him about it, and he would be our therapist.

Do you know how many people per fucking day we had to contact only to be told they had already died because our understaffing delays killed them? He doesn’t. He never listened when we told him.

But let me put the cherry on the “Oh baby, you can talk to me, oooh” sundae.

Anyone who “looked” or “sounded” female, regardless of actual or assigned gender, was subject to constant flirtations and slimy, overly personal compliments about our appearances. Fortunately, at 3 levels removed from the CEO (Executives > Department heads > Managers > Employees), most of the people under my management had relatively little contact with him.

I was not nearly so lucky.

The CEO of this company has a watersports (urination) fetish. I know this, because he told me so and attempted to get me to join him in it. I have no idea how many other people in the company he did this to. I mean, what the fuck was I supposed to do, risk losing my job to find out? I have a fucking family to support, people.

Not that it mattered.

Eventually, all of these abuses became too much for my subordinates. Productivity fell off a cliff. Delays were getting worse and worse. In a medical emergency like this, delays=deaths.

So, like a fucking idiot, when the department heads reached out to me to ask what they could do to improve productivity, I shot down their frankly insulting suggestion of raffling a $20 amazon gift card to patient facing employees, and instead suggested a very simple, “enroll us with a peer support group, every single person in this department has PTSD from working in this pandemic.”

They were confused by my assertion of PTSD. I was asked to compile a document of complaints, concerns, and weaknesses in our patient facing services.

I and the A.M.s did so. It was roughly 40 pages long, with each page given a known problem, the reasons why it was a problem, and some potential solutions that might inspire further solutions or be able to be implemented. We submitted it. There was no response.

A week passed.

I had been working 80 hour weeks for most of a year. I hadn’t even been able to take weekends. I took my first sick day, in a company with “unlimited vacation days.”

I received a call at 3PM.

I had been fired for “differences in communitcation.” If you’ve ever seen that “Problem Women of Color in the workplace” chart? Yeah.

So had most of my department, including every transgender member of the department, and several of our extremely limited in supply Spanish speakers, who were presumed to be “on my side.”

Some of them, I barely even knew beyond the formalities of the job, and they were punished anyway.

I lost my insurance, and as a result I lost access to my medications.

But the real problem? I lost my house. And not due to lack of payment.

I lost my house, because when I got the job we waited 6 months for stability’s sake, and then readied to move out of the area. I got a mortgage on the basis of my employer’s written guarantee to the bank that I would continue to be employed for the next year at a minimum.

With the mortgage approval in hand, we entered a sales contract on our existing home.

We got and accepted an offer just days before I was fired. To keep our house meant paying a 25,000 dollar broken contract fine. We didn’t have that. We had a 10% down payment for a modest fucking place in a cheaper area, which is less than half that.

But without a job, my mortgage approval was also voided, meaning we couldn’t buy a house either.

All of a sudden, we were homeless during the plague, because my employer wrote and signed a letter to a bank guaranteeing my future employ, and then changed his mind when too many people died due to his own negligence.

Oh yeah, one last thing: the job paid less than Pandemic unemployment Assistance.

...After that, well, it’s homelessness until just last month. I... if you’ve never been homeless it’s.

It blurs. Everything is happening constantly, except for all the ways in which you are endlessly, mind breakingly bored. Bored, overloaded, and always uncomfortable.

Obviously my health would have declined regardless. Malnutrition, stress, everything.

But I was also unmedicated.

It was hell. I was in hell. I don’t know if I can recover from it, to be honest.

I bounced back from being homeless as a child. Children are as resilient as they are stupid, and the monstrosity of homelessness was little more than a vaguely remembered loathing and a panicky fear that it would ever happen again.

A child who is dying is worthy of sympathy, even if it is meaningless coos from passers by. If they have family, they may be able to rely on them too.

An adult with the indignity to die homeless and crippled, according to the average passer by, is worthy only of disgust and perhaps even punishment for being such a worthless waste.

My reward for nearly killing myself in a desperate bid to help stem the tide of COVID was the destruction of not only my life, not only my entire family’s lives, but the lives of every single family of every single employee who worked with me.

And you know what’s worse?

Each one of us still did more to limit the lethal impact of COVID than the entire united states government.

It breaks something in you, going through that.

It makes you realize that hope is a fool’s game.

But, I have ever been a fool, and so, I continue to play.

[renaerys]

Prompt 50. But Berserk & Boomer😔👉👈💕

50. “I thought you left.”

We’re calling this one Unfortunately, She Impressed Him. This is a pair of characters I love with all my heart in any flavor of relationship and can’t wait to write more of in my ongoing multi-chapter fic Trinity House over on AO3.

This fic is part of a prompt challenge that is now closed to new requests, but you can read all the completed submissions here. Reminder that the challenge is to make everything SFW, so we’re getting creative here.

xxx

Boomer was halfway across the deserted lobby of Faust Keating Rogers, LLP when he realized he’d forgotten his keys at his desk. He groaned aloud because it was 8 p.m. and no one was around to hear him because they had all gone home to their families hours ago like normal people. Boomer didn’t have two to three kids and a house in the suburbs, though, and neither did his boss. The three hour lull reserved for dinner, baths, and bedtimes before the evening work-from-home grind offered him no alternative but to power through. He fully planned to grab take out on his way home and enjoy an episode of whatever was on HBOMax before getting back to the tedious work of reviewing the draft prospectus statement his boss had sent him to proof by tomorrow morning.

Except, his keys were forty floors up and he now had to risk running into her again when he’d managed to slip away so neatly. He’d even removed his tie on the elevator ride down, and now he rubbed his exposed neck, flushed with anxiety over what might happen if she saw him and asked him to stick around to finish the work here.

“Nice going, dumbass,” he lamented as he stepped onto the elevator and hit the button for the fortieth floor.

It wasn’t that Boomer disliked his job. In fact, he didn’t mind it at all. It was better than slinging drinks or waiting tables. He had health insurance, a steady paycheck, and a resumé that could proudly display the name of one of the most elite accounting firms in the country. He could pivot his career if he wanted to, as Brick would say. Boomer wasn’t thinking about his next job right now, though. Right now, he was thinking about this one and how his boss was a hard-ass and a workaholic even if she was brilliant, and how there was a one hundred percent chance she would detect him coming back to his desk (which was annoyingly set up right in front of her office so that he could answer her calls, manage her meetings, and deal with whoever passed close enough to her event horizon to get suckered into the latest heinous audit in need of staffing).

There were his traitorous keys sitting on the desk next to the framed picture of his brothers. He glared at them, as if they were a forgotten household item that had developed a supernatural grudge like in those old Japanese folktales he liked to read online. He half expected them to jingle and alert his boss to his presence, just to spite him.

They didn’t, and he slipped them into his pocket as quietly as could be. He released the breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding and took a beat. It was quiet. Most of the offices were dark, save for a few poor souls in the large conference room stuck on the ongoing year-end audit for one of the firm’s most important clients: Unicorn, Inc. His boss’s office was also lit up behind her closed door, but she hadn’t called out to him like she would during the day when he got back from his lunch break hoping for a few minutes to catch up on emails in peace before she dumped more work on him.

This, of course, was odd. The small legion of assistants who had come before Boomer were notorious for their short-term employment working this specific desk. The work was demanding and so was the boss, but there was something else that set her apart from other senior associates in the International Tax Services division, something that seemed to intimidate away any support the higher ups sent her way. Denise a couple desks down had warned Boomer not to bring too many personal effects to the office; chances were he wasn’t going to last long. Boomer had smiled thinly and thanked Denise for her advice, and brought the picture of his brothers in the next morning because he had his pride and Brick told him it was healthy to indulge that once in a while. Brick would certainly know.

So here he was, uncertain. Anxiety over having to sit here for another two hours finishing work and having tepid Doordash delivered pulled him toward the elevator and escape, while that annoying, rare pride demanded he check on his boss and make sure she knew he was here to support her, lest she get the idea that he needed to be fired.

The longer he stood there, indecisive, the greater his curiosity grew. What was she doing in there? It was quiet, even when he strained his Super hearing. He could hear Dean Matheson pouring whiskey a few offices down (that guy had a drinking problem and everyone knew they only kept him around because he had the Unicorn, Inc. account), Adebayo Hansou on a conference call with Dubai that was escalating to profanity, Shelly Kim with her head down and typing away at an Excel spreadsheet like a pro. Their assistants were long gone for the night, but here was Boomer, loitering and indecisive and what is she doing in there not yelling at me when she definitely knows I’m here?

He couldn’t take it anymore. He knocked on the closed door—rap, rap, rap—and called out softly, “Berserk?”

A beat, then: “Come in.”

Finding his boss in upward facing dog while still in her pencil skirt was not a sight Boomer was prepared for. Berserk had her eyes closed as she stretched at a near ninety degree angle and listened to music on her Airpods. Boomer had never seen her with her heels off and her mane of red hair thrown together in a messy bun; it was so casual that it was almost obscene.

“You’re staring.”

Fuck, he was staring and now she was looking right at him down her nose, even though she was the one on the floor. He stood up straighter, unable to help himself when she took that tone that reminded him so much of Brick’s when he was about to criticize, but he didn’t avert his gaze. “Sorry.”

She breathed in deeply through her nose and hoisted herself up into downward dog position. “Why are you here?”

Forgot my keys seemed like a really lame excuse that she’d probably laugh at him for, but he also was not in the habit of making shit up on the spot if he hoped to make people believe him. “I forgot my keys.” He took them from his pocket to show her, as if she might not know what keys are, as a concept.

“Smart locks.” Berserk exhaled and slowly walked her hands back on the yoga mat until she reached her feet and began to swing slowly left and right.

Huh? he almost said like an idiot, until he caught himself. “Don’t think my landlord would approve of me installing that.” Also, those things were like $200 a pop, which was not worth the occasional inconvenience and shame of forgetting his keys and then catching his boss doing yoga in her office after hours.

Berserk made some noncommittal sound like whatever, peasant and slowly uncurled upward one vertebra at a time. Boomer realized he was back to staring again, literally lingering in her door watching her and trying to equate this subdued, casual version of Berserk with the terse, no-nonsense businesswoman he was used to dealing with on a daily basis.

When she finally achieved her full height, she popped her neck. The hair that was too short for her bun fell in around her narrow face in a stylish, athleisure sort of way. The top buttons on her blouse were undone. She wore a small, golden necklace he’d never noticed before because he wasn’t in the habit of checking out his boss. “I thought you left.”

The accusatory nature of her words were totally at odds with her flat tone, only the barest hint of curiosity dangling there at the end, like she expected him to respond.

Oh, she expected him to respond.

Boomer took another step into her office because he was full of poor judgment today. “I forgot my keys.”

At which point he showed her his keys again and also had a mild stroke, because what the fuck are you doing, mate?

Berserk smiled. “Yeah, I got that part.”

Was she laughing at him? He had never heard her laugh before, unless it was at Dean Matheson, that comb-over in denial who, in addition to being a high functioning alcoholic, also had a reputation for throwing associates under the bus when a client wasn’t happy.

Boomer smiled back, because that was what he did when people smiled at him, and ‘people’ now included Berserk, apparently.

“Well, since you’re here,” she said as she padded around to her desk.

Crap, there was the work he was afraid of soliciting from her by remaining in the building. He debated an excuse to give her: picking up dry cleaning? Plausible, but transparent. Meeting up with his brothers? No, she’d probably make him stay all night for the chance to ruin Brick’s plans.

“Thai or Mexican?”

Boomer stared dumbly. He was becoming quite good at that (10,000 hours and you can become an expert at anything, they say). “Huh?”

The yoga must have put Berserk in an exceedingly gracious mood, because she actually repeated her question without getting that look on her face like she was picturing him getting trampled by stampeding monsters. “Thai or Mexican? I don’t have a preference.”

Oh.

Oh.

Boomer’s stomach picked that time to snarl at him—8 p.m. and still no dinner, the fiend.

Berserk snorted in laughter and fanned herself with her phone. “Jesus. Mexican it is.”

Which was how Boomer found himself on the small sofa tucked in the corner of Berserk’s office, shoes off and belt loosened, with enough tacos, tamales, and rice and beans to feed a small family. He even had a beer from the mini fridge Berserk kept under her desk.

She hadn’t stayed late to work. Well, she had, but only because she didn’t have a reason to go home.

“I just hate getting home to a dark apartment sometimes,” she said in between bites of food. She had her legs tucked up under her on the sofa close enough to brush Boomer’s thigh if he reached to grab the salsa.

“I thought you lived with your sister?”

“Brute got her own place a few months ago. The arrangement was only temporary while she was in between jobs.”

It was weird knowing so little about a person whose whole family had been in Boomer’s inner orbit since childhood. As far as he knew, Berserk wasn’t close to any of her cousins, not even Blossom. Boomer himself had never been more eager to leave a room than when Brat walked into it. Only Butch, Brute, and Buttercup had ever found common ground among each other once the sworn rivalries and blood feuds of their youth gave way to teenage rebellion against their respective overlord fathers and then the slog of adulthood that was inescapable even for a bunch of Supers flying high on Chemical X.

The fact that Boomer had gotten this job surprised him more than anyone. After drifting from restaurant jobs to office temp placements over the last six years, he’d never thought he would dust off his economics degree and land a temp-to-permanent position that seemed way above his qualifications. And he never thought it would be working for a woman he’d most definitely electrocuted in battle at least a dozen times before puberty.

“What?”

Boomer blinked. He’d been staring again, Jesus Christ. “Sorry, I was just thinking… I didn't know that. I’ve been working here for five months and I don’t actually know much about you at all.”

“Hm.”

Her magenta eyes were wine-dark against the murky sky beyond the window forty stories up. Boomer did avert his gaze this time to reach for the salsa, but he didn’t use it.

“I don’t even know why you invited me to stay for dinner in the office if we’re not going to do any work.”

“Why did you stay?”

“For the free food.”

Berserk grinned—the third time she had smiled at him tonight (or ever). He needed to stop counting; he’d be disappointed when it stopped happening tomorrow.

“Don’t get used to it. Much as I appreciate the company now and again, there’s no need for both of us to be stuck here while Matheson’s breathing down the associates’ necks. Can’t have him poaching you out from under me.”

“Well, I don’t work for him; I work for you.”

“It’s sweet how you don’t understand office politics.” She ate a lone slice of avocado with a fork. “He landed Unicorn back when they were early stage, and back when he was still putting in the work to earn his reputation. But since they IPO’d three years ago and make up twenty percent of our revenue now, he’s just another big name coasting by on associate work. You know he regularly schedules client calls and just doesn’t bother to show up? He forgets half the time, and the other half he’s busy playing golf or buying a yacht or whatever the fuck rich, white Boomers do.”

“Well, as a Boomer myself, I can say I’ve spent exactly zero hours buying yachts.”

She chuckled. Fourth time. “Oh, really.”

“Never even thought of yachts. As far as I’m concerned, they’re not even real.”

“Thanks for your expert opinion.”

“Any time.” Boomer turned his body to face her and draped his arm over the back of the sofa. With only the soft light from the floor lamp in the corner, he imagined himself adrift in the darkness, the sky scraper lights nearby stars. It was a lonely thought, one made romantic in the knowledge that she was here too, and he wasn’t actually alone.

“Matheson almost did poach you, you know.”

“What do you mean?” Boomer couldn’t recall exchanging more than a few words with the man.

“When we were filling support positions. Someone recognized you from the news a few years back, when the Cyclops Monster attacked the marina district and you and your brothers took it out. Matheson got it in his head that you’d be able to work at Super speed and help lower his billables.”

“Wow. Maybe you should’ve let him. What do you think the net savings would be in yacht units of measurement?”

Berserk rolled her eyes, but she was smiling again. “I claimed you before he could get the paperwork in.”

Boomer hyper-focused on that word: claimed. He also pointedly ignored it entirely, much in the same way he ignored the new count of five smiles tonight. “Showed him your bending powers, did you?”

Berserk’s Corona bottle turned frosty under her hand in a totally unnecessary, big dick energy display of said powers, and she took another sip. “No. Sharon from HR likes me. And I promised her I wouldn’t fire you after three months like your predecessors.”

Flattered was not how Boomer would describe the feeling of being claimed by Berserk and eluding Matheson’s vampiric clutches. But he was a bit tickled all the same. This was the woman Butch had once described as essentially Brick, if he were constipated all the time.

And then he realized what she was doing. “Hey, you’re sharing things about yourself.”

She clinked her bottle to his, and Boomer shivered at the frosty chill she transferred on contact. “Aw, you figured it out all by yourself.”

“Ha ha.”

She didn’t quite smile, but she did look kind of serene then, content even, as she lay back against the arm of the sofa and yawned. Her gold necklace—just a simple disk with an engraving Boomer could not make out—reflected the lamp light when she moved. It rested just beneath her collarbone, which had suddenly become the single-most interesting part of Berserk, and oh no, was he interested—

“You’re staring again.”

Son of a bitch.

“Sorry,” he said automatically. “I didn’t mean to.”

Hard no. He was not allowed to be any percent attracted to Berserk. First, she was his boss, and there was a cliché here that, while subverted on the gender role spectrum, was still very risky for both of them. Second, she was Berserk, a fellow Super, cousin to his best friend Bubbles and a shrewd, stiletto bitch in Brick’s estimation, which sounded bad. Not that she was bad, or even evil, unless you counted helping rich corporations accurately report their taxes while taking advantage of the many egregious loopholes in the Internal Revenue Code. Which, okay, point taken, but he also worked here and anyway, people should not be deemed good or evil so much as their choices ought to be—

“Are you thinking about fucking me?”

You shrewd, stiletto bitch!

She was smiling again, and Boomer pathetically logged that as the sixth time, although he wasn’t sure he should count it given the overt malice behind it.

Unfortunately, Boomer was, as had been previously established, very bad at making shit up on the fly. So he miserably said, “Yeah.”

“Hm.”

She sipped her beer slowly, and of course he watched. If it was out in the open, as fleeting a bout of insanity as it may have been, at least he could wallow in it without worrying about appearances.

It was the yoga. That fucking upward facing dog, Jesus Christ.

It was more than that too. Over the last few months, he had worked closely with her, watched her navigate the cutthroat halls full of piranhas like Matheson and other account managers, getting herself work on the best clients while managing her juniors with efficiency and professionalism. She was excellent and sharp, and she demanded excellency and sharpness in kind. After years of going it alone or temping for bosses who didn’t care enough even to learn his name, much less provide him with guidance and mentorship, it was an unspeakable relief to work under someone who knew how to rally the troops. Someone who knew how to lead, how to motivate, and how to reward loyalty with loyalty in return. It didn’t hurt that she looked amazing in her daily stilettos, either.

Unfortunately, she impressed him.

“I have some work to get done tonight.” Berserk stood up and smoothed her skirt.

Boomer scrambled to his feet. “Of course! Um.” He began closing food containers and repackaging them in the bags they’d come in, because he was panicking. “I’ll get rid of the trash. Do you want the leftovers in the fridge?”

“You take them. Otherwise my office will smell like a burrito for a week.”

“Okay.” Numbly, Boomer finished packing everything up, while Berserk made her way back to her desk and logged into her computer to check her emails.

Boomer lingered at the door. “I’ll have the prospectus back to you later tonight.”

“Thanks.”

Wow, way to go, stud.

He turned to leave, but her voice stopped him.

“Boomer?”

“Yeah?”

“Friday is good.”

He stared back at her in expert mode. “Huh?”

Berserk poked her head around the side of her large, external monitor. She was smiling again. Lucky number seven. “For fucking.”

“Okay,” Boomer said.

Okay?!

She pulled back behind her monitor. “I was going to get a cat, but you’ll do much better.”

Because she didn’t like going home to a dark, empty apartment alone. With no one to fuck.

“That was a joke.”

“Yeah, I got that,” he croaked.

Friday is for fucking, he thought, which was delightful alliteration and also completely insane and one hundred percent something he was getting more on board with by the nanosecond.

“See you tomorrow,” she said.

Boomer clutched the leftover Mexican food in his fist. “Okay. Goodnight.”

It took him the time to fly home and put the food away in his small fridge to realize that he had a sort-of date with Berserk lined up for two days from now.

He Y-posed at the window and whooped, “Hell yes!!”

Loud pounding in the floor followed by old Mrs. Cruikshank’s muffled Keep it down! couldn’t bring down his mood.

Boomer leaped onto his threadbare, living room sofa with his work laptop and took to the prospectus with alacrity. He’d send over superior work product and make Berserk’s job just that much easier tomorrow morning.

xxx

If you enjoy my writing, check out more of my fics on AO3, link in my profile. I’m currently updating Trinity House (which has a lot more Berserk and Boomer content, btw!) and The Alchemy of Us. Thanks for reading!

[darker-soft-starker]

Starker High School AU, Pt. 2 (Pt. 1, Pt. 3, Pt. 4, Pt. 5)

-----

Peter will admit that during he took an extended moment during his journey home to grieve the loss of his free afternoon, and indeed the impending headaches.

And the rest of his future, if he was honest.

Not that Peter was prone to melancholy by any means, but with this assignment his fate was officially sealed, there was no misunderstanding. He was going to fail this assignment. He was going to, for the first time in his academic career, be forced to submit garbage of a caliber worthy of Tony Stark. It will forever be a black mark on his academic record.

No respectable college is going to accept him after this. In fact, he might as well drop out of school now and hit up Mr Delmar for a job. All of his prep for his MIT application is as good as useless after this. Extracurriculars? Goodbye.

Because it’s confirmed.

He’s doomed.

Swaying with the motions of the train, Peter types a text to Ned, the only person who might provide him with some much needed sympathy.

>  I’m doomed >  paired w/stark for an assignment lollllllllll.  >  help

Maybe Peter could trade with Ned. Maybe he could plead with their teacher, for honest fear of his life and scholastic integrity. He wasn’t even exaggerating. In no known iteration of this universe could Peter amicably work with Tony Stark. It would be like Harry Potter sitting down for tea with Voldemort, or Frodo and Sauron chilling with a pint and a pipe in Bag End. 

It was unthinkable. Implausible. Laughable.

And Peter would laugh, were it anyone but him in this situation.

The feeling is unusual. Never had he found reason in his life to truly dislike anybody before, everyone could be redeemed or given the opportunity for penance. Natasha has said more than once that Peter would offer the devil himself a sandwich if he appeared. 

Tony Stark on the other hand? No sandwich for him.

Well, maybe a slice of bread. A stale one.

While he waits for Ned to responds he catches sight of his injured reflection in the train window, which is admittedly pretty gnarly. Even with his hood drawn up, there was a noticeable berth allocated to him in the busy carriage between himself and the other passengers.

< sux. can I have ur lego hogwarts if u die?

> dude :( pity me.

< lol. so, can i?

Peter sighs.

> sure. Look after May for me, bro. delete my internet history.

< deal. godspeed

Pocketing his phone, Peter wonders if it’s too late to take up praying.

---

By the time he’s back in his apartment his mood has managed to swing back up.

Tony Stark is not going to be the arbiter of Peter’s fate. Hell no. He’s smart, he’s creative and hardworking - it isn’t up to anybody but Peter to determine his outcomes. If he has to do the assignment with Stark then he will. And he will work his hardest. 

If he has to do it sharing the credit with Stark, well, Peter knows a concession when he sees one.

No matter how reluctant he is.

But he powers through it, like ripping off a bandaid. It’s fine! He’s a Parker and he’s come this far in life already against ill, Parker-like odds. What was being paired for one assignment with someone who escaped the nearest hellmouth? 

It’ll be fine. 

Probably.

Not letting himself linger on his fears, Peter clears out his previous plans of going on a YouTube spiral and eating sour gummies until his teeth stick, instead utilising the time to get his foot in and and begins prepping for the assignment. Cursory, preliminary research at first, before the inevitable deep dive begins.

Neanderthal, Peter scoffs, mad all over again. Who is Stark to call Peter a neanderthal? He’s second in his class. He’s a straight A student. He likes school.

And as much as he is moderately skilled in, and enjoys JV, it’s not like he received his scholarship to study at Midtown based on his physical prowess.

The graze on his cheek that stings every time he yawns is proof of that.

Stark can eat his entire ass and choke on it, he thinks darkly, as he continues his research. He doesn’t know the first thing about Peter.

The data is sobering as he delves into job listings and statistics of his projected salary in a three year margin. This is really what his teachers earn? Wow. Depressing.

The contrast of expected salary versus the forecast of steep student loans is disheartening further still.

Teaching quietly slips from second to third on his list of ideal occupations.

Turning on a playlist on his phone, Peter continues to compile notes, amassing a truly gargantuan amount of tabs on his browser. His computer, old enough to be on its’ last teeth, whirrs loudly in protest.

It’s not until his room goes dark that he thinks to check the time.

Ah, shit. It’s nearly six.

Peter pauses. Should he tidy up the apartment?

...Nah, no point in breaking a sweat for Stark.

He continues typing. Then he hesitates, fingers suspended in mid-air. 

But what if Stark sees his unfolded laundry out on the dining table and publicly shames him for his old-but-comfortable Bulbasaur themed boxer shorts?

Goddamnit.

---

A quick, cursory clean ensues and leaves a relatively orderly Parker apartment. No freshly laundered underwear is in sight.

Peter wraps up just a few minutes before six. Right on time.

Taking a seat at the now clear dining table Peter drums his fingers on the surface and waits.

And waits.

And waits.

---

He knows when Tony finally arrives when he hears the sound of a car pulling up outside his apartment block. The riffs of a Roxette remix can be heard playing loudly  from the ground to the seventh floor of his apartment, the bass so thunderous it reverberates the windows all the way up to his floor.

Drumming his fingers on the kitchen table, Peter checks the wall clock again. It’s nearly seven.

Tony’s late.

Not that Peter is particularly affected with surprise that Tony is incapable of following basic instructions, but still. Really? Really?

By the time there is a knock on his door, Peter is already before it, his arms crossed over his chest and a scowl on his face. Every second between Tony pulling up and his ascent to Peter’s floor has him positively fuming. He can’t believe how this day played out. It started with such promise. He had such innocuous, but high hopes.

Clearly, he miscalculated.

Feeling a touch petty, he waits to answer, listening to Stark knock a second and then a third, more insistent time before he rouses enough calm to open the door.

He instantly regrets it when he does. 

Tony’s expression is curious one as he breezes right passed Peter without waiting for further invitation. There’s a smudge of something dark on his brow, his otherwise white undershirt smeared in dark stains.

Peter watches incredulously as the other boy drops his backpack by the door with a thump.

“You’re late.”

He closes the door behind Tony and scowls at the other boys easy posture, hands shoved into his pockets, eyes taking in the apartment.

“I didn’t realise you lived all the way out in fucking Queens. Do you have any idea how bad traffic is at this time of day? Also, your elevator doesn’t work. I just climbed seven flights of stairs, where’s the hospitality?”

“Try earning it.”

The other boy rolls his eyes. “Like it’s worth my time.” He breezes past Peter and slides his leather jacket off his arms, tossing it atop of his backpack in the corner. “Look, I’m here now. Okay? You can unclench now. So, do I get a tour or what?”

“Or what. This wouldn’t have been an issue if we had just started straight after class like I said.”

“Oh I’m sorry,” Tony clutches his hands to his heart before gesturing to the room. “I didn’t realise I was interrupting your busy Friday night, Parker. You got a keg and the rest of the meatheads stashed away somewhere?”

Without waiting for a response, Tony wanders around the living room like a curious child in a new play room. His gaze inspects everything all at once, from peering at up close at the wall mounted photos and hovering his grubby hands over the oddments and knick-knacks speckled throughout the space.

Apprehensive, Peter can’t help but shadow him, afraid he just let loose a hurricane in a china shop.

Without asking, Tony picks up May’s old Magic 8-Ball and gives it a good shake. Peter’s fingers itch to reach over and stop him, but stops himself because then that would require actually making direct skin contact the other boy.

Not worth it.

“Cannot predict now. Huh,” Tony says to himself before placing the ball back in the wrong spot. 

They both watch silently as it rolls precariously close to the edge. 

“Anyways,” Tony helps himself to an armchair, lounging back and spreading his legs wide. “I know your long-term memory is probably as defective as the rest of you, so don’t strain yourself recalling that I had other priorities.”

“Like what?”

“Like literally anything that isn’t being around you,” the other boy grins. “Now, are we doing this thing, or did you invite me over so you could bitch at me?”

“I didn’t invite you,” Peter grumbles, swiping his notebook from the dining table before sitting on the sofa, as far away from Stark as possible. Shifting, he takes his phone from his pocket and opens the notes he’d taken earlier.

“So, I cross referenced some websites and current job listings,” Peter scrolls through his research, adjusting his glasses as they slip down his nose. “Assuming you have no savings, we’re looking at an average of sixty-thousand per annum based on my salary alone. The average rent in --”

“-- Uh, why are we assuming I have no savings?”

"Because... we’re being realistic?”

Tony springs to his feet and paces across the living room.

“Well,” he says, gesturing to Peter, “if we’re being realistic, does having no savings also that mean I have no debt -- or are you paying off two student loans on your salary?”

“I don’t --”

“Do we have car loans? Health insurance?”

“Wait, slow your roll, Stark. I haven’t yet --”

“-- Of course you haven’t. I mean really, Parker, do you ever think ahead? You should try it, we do have a baby on the way, you know.” Tony clicks his fingers and points at Peter. “Oh, names! I want to call it Molly.”

“As in the drug?” 

“No, as in Ringwald. Anyhoo, seeing as only one of us has the intellectual capacity to construct a budget,” Tony gestures to himself, “that would be me, consider maybe that I spent my savings paying off my student loans and bought a car for me and Miss Molly, leaving you with just your own stagnant debt. Happy?”

“Thrilled,” he says through clenched teeth, feeling utterly steamrolled. “But we’re not calling the baby Molly.”

“Yes, we are. Think of all the great nicknames. Hey wait,” Tony pauses in his pacing, “are your parents going to be home soon?”

It was in that moment Peters world narrows down to one, botched cosmic joke.

Turning his gaze heavenwards, Peter prays silently for mercy. What did he do to deserve this. This is all his bad karma come at once. This is the bad place.

“Ah, no,” he replies, eyes widening. “No, my parents are not going to be home soon.”

“Cool. Lucky you.”

Oblivious to Peter’s existential turmoil, Tony resumes his patrol through the living room, picking up a frame on the mantle. It houses an old photo of Ben, May and a young, bespectacled Peter. 

It is one of the more embarrassing immortalisations of his younger self, eleven-years old and grinning widely, bearing his silver braces to the camera as he holds up a science fair trophy, curls wild and untamed.

Oh god. That was exactly what Peter needed on this unholy day - Tony Stark in his living room, witnessing Peter in his prepubescent glory. 

Quick, create a diversion.

“So, as I was saying,” he says loudly, “rent is reasonably affordable with a sixty-thousand budget in --”

“Who’s the babe?” Tony points to a younger Aunt May in the photo.

Peter gets to his feet and removes the frame from Tony’s grasp. He glowers as he places it back on the mantle. 

“No one you would have a chance with. Can you stay focused? Like, are you physically capable of it?”

“Okay, calm down,” Tony holds his hands up in surrender. “You’ve got a lot of anger for someone so vertically challenged, you know that, shortstack?” 

“Focus, dumbass.”

“I’m focused! Let’s see, we’ve established that I am excellent at managing my money. You have a shitty job and a shitty salary, and apparently my imaginary future self has terrible taste in men. So. Have I got that right? Where are we living?”

“Queens. LIC has some one bed, one baths that could be affordable.”

“Uh, rewind. Going to have to eighty-six that - I am not living in Queens.”

Peter stares at him.

Tony rubs his hands over his face and sighs. “Fine, whatever. But I want a Pontiac Firebird in this imaginary life if I have to deal with you.”

“For someone so keen on getting away you’re doing your best to prolong this experience. It’s literally painful.”

“Well, I just like to see you get all riled up, Princess,” Tony grins, leaning back against the mantle and folding his arms over his chest. “You have this vein that bulges on your forehead when you’re mad. Makes you look like a pitbull.”

Peter swallows the particularly acidic retort sitting on his tongue and tries not to let Tony’s words sting. Be the bigger man, Ben used to say. As difficult as it is to channel even a modicum of the mans’ eternal patience, Peter takes a deep breath and reminds himself to stay focused. The less he gets sidetracked by Tony’s fuckery, the sooner it’s over.

He mentions the next part with unease. 

“...Miss Ahn said that we need references and should do field research. Speak to realtors. Ask people who have a similar lifestyle and budget.”

The look that comes over the other boys face is one of unequivocal revulsion. Peter can relate. The thought of having to spend more time with this guy makes his stomach turn.

“Well, Parker, any bright ideas who we can ask?”

The hinges of the front door squeaks before Peter can respond.

Moments after, Aunt May walks into the living room, placing her bag down on the dining table. She looks between the two boys curiously.

“Hey, Pete,” she comes to his side to squeezes his shoulder. “Who do we have here?”

Tony rushes over with his hand outstretched, an eager grin on his face. 

“Tony Stark, ma’am. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

“Oh, ah, okay, well,” May laughs as he enthusiastically shakes her hand. Her eyes are soft as Tony smiles brightly at her. “Nice to meet you too, Tony. I’m May, Peter’s aunt. Are you... friends with Peter?”

Peter snorts. 

“Definitely not. We just have an assignment --”

“-- Great friends, actually,” Tony talks over him, taking a seat beside Peter on the sofa. To Peter’s utter disgust, the other boy puts an arm around his shoulders, squeezing his bicep encouragingly. “Aren’t we, Pete? Hmm? Best buds. We go way back.”

Peter freezes, feeling the line of heat from Tony’s against his side, the weight of his arm on his body. 

Eyes widening, he feels his skin crawl. 

“That’s sweet,” May smiles, putting her hair up in a loose, messy bun. “Well, I don’t know about you boys, but I’m starving. I’m ordering pizza, Friday special. You should stay for dinner, Tony.”

Tony places his free hand on his chest.

“I would be honoured.”

May looks at Tony strangely before retreating to the kitchen to retrieve the menus.

As soon as she’s out of sight Tony takes his arm off Peter and quickly shifts away from him like he’s been burned. 

“Dude,” Peter whispers, bewildered. “What the fuck?”

“Oh my god,” Tony whispers, shuddering as his face scrunches up in disgust. “I’m going to have to pour scalding hot water on all the places your skin just touched me. Ugh, I feel like I just touched toe fungus.”

Peter slaps his arm.

“What is wrong with you?”

Tony backhands Peter’s arm in retaliation and then shudders all over again.

“Your aunt is crazy hot, okay, I couldn’t help myself. It was an instinctual reaction. Is she taken? C’mon. Vindicate me.” 

“I’ll eviscerate you --”

“-- I mean, clearly she married into the family, she doesn’t share your unfortunate phenotype, but I didn’t see a ring on her finger. So? Yes or no?”

“You’re unbelievable,” Peter hisses as his aunt comes back in. “She’s not available to you. Not now, not ever.”

“But she is available?”

“Don’t even, Stark. You’re like, sixteen. Don’t you have any shame?”

Tony smiles, as she nears. “Not a shred.”

“So,” May waves a menu at them. “You boys happy with pepperoni?”

Closing his eyes, Peter wishes for death.

As fate would have it, he gets pepperoni instead.

-----

If you had ever told Peter that he would be sitting down for dinner with his Aunt and a dirt-streaked Tony Stark, he would have laughed.

And if Peter were outside himself he would probably find the sharing of pizza and soda over their plastic, chequered table-cloth comical -- in that uncanny, Dogs Playing Poker kind of way. But in reality there was nothing funny about the discomfort of having Tony in his personal space or the heavy, suffocating tension that has removed the air from the room. 

The entire time Tony has been hamming it up, cracking jokes with his aunt, complimenting her on the decor, asking what she does for work. Peter doesn’t know if he’s being sweet to May for the purpose of buttering her up, or, given the wealth of his family in contrast to the Parkers, if he’s being cruelly facetious. 

Nonetheless, Peter has felt on edge. It’s disconcerting, is what it is. Every single movement Tony makes, every time he opens his mouth -- frequently to sweet-talk his aunt -- has Peter’s anxiety standing at attention, hyperaware of everything the other boy does.

He’s beginning to feel like a meerkat whose den has been invaded by a lion.

Through the course of a single meal Peter’s attention moves from the sky to the floor. There is no grace or higher power that is coming to save him from this profound, unusual torture. 

So he focuses his hopes to the south, seeing through their tiny, cramped, dinner table, past bargaining. He’s willing to trade his soul to end it all. Surely some wayward being from hell would come to his rescue. 

May has Peter’s chin between her fingers. She turns it this way and that, inspecting his injuries.

“What happened this time, bubby?” She frowns, brow furrowing. “You look like you got beat up.”

Peter, very aware of Tony’s amused gaze on them, gently pulls away from her grasp. He smiles placatingly and picks at his pizza slice. God he’s never going to live this down.

“Training accident. It’s okay, I feel fine. ‘Tis but a scratch,” he brings himself to joke.

“You sure?”

“Yep.”

She leans in to kiss his cheek, carefully avoiding the fresh scabs and injured flesh. “God, you bruise like a peach. Be careful, baby, you’re our money maker,” she laughs. “What about you Tony, do you play football?”

Tony, who is mid way through chewing on a mouthful of pizza, momentarily chokes, beating his chest with his fist to swallow down the obstruction.

“Uh, no,” Tony gulps, wiping his mouth with a napkin. “Nope. No recreational sports for me. Can’t.” He gestures to his chest and sighs heavily. “Asthma.”

Peter sips his coke and rolls his eyes, knowing full well there’s a half-empty pack of Marlboro Light’s in the pocket of Tony’s jeans. Asthma. What a schmuck.

“That’s a shame. Do you boys have classes together?”

Unfortunately, Peter thinks.

The other boy seems to have the same thought, as he glares at Peter from over the table. When he picks up his can of coke, he gives Peter the finger outside of May’s eye-line.

“That’s why Tony’s here,” Peter twists his napkin in his grip. “We have an econ assignment together on microeconomics. Teach says Tony’s destined to be on welfare.”

Tony leans in, chin rested on his hand. He addresses May but his stare, dark and odious, rests on Peter.

“Not accurate. Stay-at-home parent, actually. One might say that is the most important job of all. Wouldn’t you agree, May?”

She raises her Coke.

“Hear, hear.”

Tony grins roguishly, the same grin he gave the girls at the lockers earlier. “Petey here was just saying that we should ask you about your experience running a household on a single salary. We’d love to have you as a reference.”

“Was I saying that?” Peter narrows his eyes. “I can’t remember.”

Tony kicks him under the table. The hit lands right in his knee cap.

Wincing, Peter kicks back, satisfied when the other boy bites his lip to hold back a pained groan.

“Yeah, well, not surprising,” Tony says airily, waving his hand. “Hit your head today, didn’t you? Maybe you should get all that damage looked into.”

The napkin rips in Peter’s grasp.

“Maybe you should go f--”

“I’d be more than happy to help with your assignment, boys,” May cuts in.

Whatever snide reply he has in his mouth instantly wilts when he looks over to his Aunt. She looks...pleased. Delighted, almost. Her eyes under the dull, yellow kitchen light seem to get warmer, and her smile is small but softens around the edges.

Instantly, Peter feels like the worst person in the world. Of course May would be the best person to ask. She does so much for him, the least he can do is set his pride aside for one moment to make her feel good about how hard she works for their life.

He reaches over to squeeze her hand, smiling as gratitude swells unexpectedly in his chest.

“Thanks, May. That would be great.”

Across the table, a smug Tony looks like the cat who got the cream. 

Without warning, Peter’s chest goes hot with contempt, his fingernails dig into his palm. He’s not sure he’s ever met anyone he couldn’t like, until now.

I hate you, Peter mouths while May busies herself with rounding up the pizza boxes.

Kiss my ass, Tony mouths back. 

In an instant his expression flips from contemptuous to angelic when he stands and offers to help May clean up.

Peter stands too, sparing a disdainful glance to the floor. Turns out not even the devil was willing to give him a hand.

Natasha was right. It’s going to end in murder.

---

Peter walks Tony to the door after dinner to say goodbye to his ‘friend’. Following him into the hall, Peter closes the door behind them.

“What do you want, Parker?” Tony asks wearily, retrieving a cigarette from his pocket. “I’m trying to make a getaway here.”

Peter crosses his arms over his chest. “Don’t do that with my aunt. I’m not joking, asshole. It’s not cool.”

“Relax, princess,” Tony rolls his eyes, fishing for his lighter in his backpack. “I’m not actually interested. Just trying to get under your skin. Worked, see? You’re easy like that. Hey, why do you live with your aunt anyways?”

“None of your business,” he frowns as Tony holds one hand up in surrender and lights his cigarette with the other. “Dude, you can’t smoke in here.”

“Can’t, shouldn’t, gonna. By the way, you’ve got sauce on your chin, it’s very distracting.”

Peter wipes at it without thinking. When he pulls it away there is indeed a smear of red sauce on his hand.

Tony walks backwards down the hall and exhales a cloud of smoke, waving in a sardonic imitation of a farewell.

“See you Monday, bubby.”

Peter doesn’t bother with a response, too tired from the week, exhausted by this whole darn day, and it’s not like the other boy cares what he has to say anyway. He takes a moment to swallow his anger before he heads back inside, sighing. 

Well, at least he has an entire weekend free of Stark to look forward to.

May looks at him curiously when he reemerges, but says nothing. He considers for a moment about heading to his bedroom and playing a video game to disassociate - but then, suddenly, remembers her smile earlier, and how alone she looks now. A surge of affection hits him right beneath his breastbone.

He checks his watch and then catches her eye.  Tilting his head towards the living room, he says, “Hey. You wanna eat some ice cream and watch some Colbert before bed?”

She smiles just like she did earlier and kisses his cheek. “Sounds nice, Pete.”

Maybe the whole day wasn’t lost.

As May heads to the sofa and switches the TV on, Peter catches sight of the Magic 8-Ball from the corner of his eye. He walks over and gives it a shake.

Outlook good.

*

*

----

tagging: @bylerboyfriends @ravens-starker-stuff, @starker-rays, @ironspiderstarker, @notfor-temporaryuse, @tabbycat1220, @sugarfreecult, @rebel13lion39, @muse-of-gods

[yunatheintrovert]

shot through the heart (and you’re to blame) | Chapter 3 [Russell Adler/Female Bell!Reader Soulmate AU]

As you listened to the familiar gradual crescendo of Morning Mood overlap with the regular hiss of your oxygen mask, you looked around the darkly lit interior of the C-130. Red netting that comprised the seats stood out starkly against the dark interior. It was certainly uncomfortable but nothing you haven’t dealt with before. 

Aside from the several MI6 operatives sent as support for the operation, Belikov and Sims were seated next to you while Adler was seated across from you with some files in hand. Although, you didn’t know how he could read them in the darkly lit cabin while also having sunglasses on. 

You almost wished you brought sunglasses like Adler always did. The harsh desert sunlight was going to be quite the shock. But you were never sure how the hell he kept those things on his head. He somehow managed to do that in Cuba. 

Speaking of the man…

“How does he do that?” you asked lowly, well as quietly as you could in the cabin of a C-130 Hercules with an oxygen mask on and a walkman blaring Morning Mood, “I always see him with a cigarette yet he’s doing fine up here.” 

“Doc?” Sims replied before adding, “He knows how to handle hypoxia. Hell, he was one of the first in our unit to go through with HALO jumping in its experimental days.” 

You recalled that from your “memories” of being on Adler’s team in MACV-SOG. That did come up once in a conversation. Although, like everything else that “happened” in Vietnam, it was foggy. 

Truth be told, you were a bit envious. 

Adler could be a chain smoker and take only a quick breather with the oxygen mask while you and the rest of the team had to breathe through an oxygen mask for most of the flight to flush out nitrogen in the body. 

You must have trailed off into your thoughts at one point as you felt an elbow nudge you out of your thoughts. You glanced over at Sims only to notice the very topic of your idle thoughts staring at you. 

You stared at him for several moments before simply blinking. You were too tired and hungry for this especially after Lazar spent a whole 30 minutes talking with Sims about quarter pound burgers...

“Anything I can help you with, sir?” you asked tiredly. You saw his hands move minutely as if he wanted to take a drag from a non-existent cigarette. 

Habit, you thought vaguely. Military plane transport rides must be quite annoying to him since he couldn’t smoke in the military transport. 

“I had a friend in Vietnam,” Adler began abruptly with his voice taking that familiar turn you heard before, “His canopy got tangled after a collision with one of our own during terminal. He ended up in the treetops. Alive though that wasn’t a damn mercy.” 

...Really at this point, you weren’t sure if Adler was conducting psychological warfare on you or not. 

“...that’s uh unfortunate,” you said awkwardly, not quite sure of what exactly to say to that story. 

Especially since the very thought of crashing like Adler’s buddy was something you were trying to keep off your mind. 

You really were just too tired for a sudden story time with Adler, especially since you couldn’t figure out his angle like this. You’ve pulled all-nighters before back in your desk job at Langley but you had caffeine. Coffee had not been offered in the outpost and most of the team was going through caffeine withdrawal...hard. 

Well, Belikov was fine considering how he primarily drank tea in the morning but you and Sims on the other hand...

“I wasn’t finished,” Adler stated before adding as if simply stating a fact, “His radio wasn’t working. He was alone and panicking. You won’t.”

Oh . 

“...Understood.” was all you could quietly say as you turned your head to the side, suddenly finding the cargo box of M16s to be quite interesting. 

Perhaps if you had a heavy dose of caffeine, you’d have come with a more clever response to Adler's apparent vote of confidence or...support? You really didn’t know. 

Things really did seem simpler the last time you were on his team. 

Regardless, as you heard the pilots announce over the intercom about the approach to the drop zone, you couldn’t help but feel steadier. 

It was time. 

Watching in a trance

The crew is certain

Nothing left to chance

All is working

Trying to relax

“Bell, my friend!” Belikov said rather cheerily while adjusting the straps of his harness as if he wasn’t just about to jump from a plane 30,000 ft in the air, “You ready for this?” 

“...You’ll get my life insurance benefits.”

And really that was an answer in and of itself. 

All that earned you was an amused laugh by Belikov and a slap on the back as he cheerily said, “Just aim for the bushes!” 

As you chuckled at his jest, you vaguely noted that your own harness was a little too loose as it had shifted from the simple action. 

Up in the capsule

"Send me up a drink."

Jokes Major Tom

The count goes on...

“There is always the reserve parachute, да?” The light-heartedness in his voice made you couldn’t help but relax minutely. Although, you couldn’t help the giddy feeling that had nagged at you since the start of the plane ride. 

There were numerous possible scenarios where the reserve chute failed that ran through your mind at that moment: mispacking, entanglement of both the main and reserve parachutes, premature activation of the AAD...

And really it wasn’t quite the possibility of death that scared you as much as it was surviving a bad fall and dealing with the injuries...and the health insurance afterwards. 

The medical bills for the gunshot wound courtesy of Adler nearly made you go broke. 

“Well, at least I’ll die to the sound of Major Tom. There’s worse ways to die.” you murmured to yourself with Belikov looking curiously at you. 

But all you did was simply nod at Belikov as you busied yourself with getting the harness properly fitted to your form. 

Like Lazar, the man always had a way of lightening things.

Your thoughts were interrupted by the sudden sounding of the alarm. You noticed the light at the ramp turned to yellow for standby. 

The pilots were about to give the go-ahead for the drop. 

As you fell into line with the other operatives of the operation field team on standby near the ramp, you fidgeted with the straps of the oxygen mask on your head as well as the harness before checking the jump bottle attached to your harness. 

“Alright, guys,” Adler curtly said, “You know the drill. Keep the formation tight. I don’t want to see anyone trekking through the desert for miles to get to the satellite site.” 

Somehow, you felt that last bit was directed at you with how the man’s gaze lingered on you for a moment before looking over at the others. 

And you could tell the others felt the same way. The MI6 members were already looking at you as if you were the “problem child” of the group. 

Truthfully, you expected that, considering your rather...notable past even though you could only recall a handful of memories from it at best. 

If there was a bit of a bounce in your step as you lined up with your assigned group formation at the ramp, well you certainly weren’t going to pay no mind to the looks it may garner. 

You were going to be jumping out of an airplane at 30,000 ft while listening to Major Tom. 

Fewer pleasures in life , you told yourself. 

With a beep over the plane’s intercom system and the switch to the green light, the first cracks of painfully bright sunlight streamed into the dark interior of the plane. 

The glare of the desert sun only got more intense as the ramp fully unloaded. You could see the cloudless, clear blue skies and yellow sand dunes being akin to small yellow hills in the distance down below. 

As you followed the MI16 operative in front of you to the now open ramp, you took a deep, steadying breath through your oxygen mask. 

It was time. 

You secured the glasses on your face as you motioned silently with your free hand, signalling the countdown of Major Tom to yourself. 

4

3

2

1-

And on a wing and a prayer, you let yourself just fall .

Earth below us

Drifting, falling

Floating weightless

Calling, calling home…

You could feel your heartbeat thudding in your chest as your stomach dropped. The adrenaline rush was similar to your previous jumps. 

Although, you didn’t quite feel this...giddy. 

Looking down, you read the marked dials of your altimeter at your wrist. 

29,500 ft. 

All you had to do was follow the “leader” or rather navigator in this case and make sure the parachute was deployed. If shit hit the fan, well...there was always your automatic activation device to deploy the main or reserve parachutes. 

You vaguely noticed the sharp hiss of the oxygen mask as you took each and every breath became louder and louder. 

Even as the low music in your headset- secured by your helmet -played the verses of Major Tom , you could still hear the whistling of the wind in your ears. 

“Approaching drop zone.” you heard the navigator’s voice come over the radio. As you listened to the confirmations over the radio by the other operatives, you shook your head idly. The whistling of the wind was triggering the ringing in your ears apparently. 

Second stage is cut, we're now in orbit

Stabilizers up, running perfect

Starting to collect requested data

"What will it effect, when all is done?"

Thinks Major Tom

You looked down at your altimeter yet again only to see a blur of red, orange, and blue at your wrist- 

And suddenly, there was a flash of light before your eyes. 

Back at ground control

There is a problem

"Go to rockets full."

Not responding

"Hello Major Tom

Are you receiving?

Turn the thrusters on

We're standing by."

There's no reply

________________________________________________________________

You vaguely registered the static of the radio in your ears. 

“We’ve got a job to do, Bell-”

“Wake the hell up!”

You blinked. Why the hell was Adler calling you on the radio like that? You had only blinked for a split second-

And then you looked down at your altimeter. 

4,000 ft. 

What...what the hell-

“ Your main chute is fucked, kid. You need to do a cutaway with your hook knife-” Yes...your hook knife. You reached over to the harness straps where you pulled the hook knife out from the pocket there. 

“Yes, good, now cut the lines.”

You blinked. 

There...there were a lot of lines. 

Almost like that of a cat’s cradle game...

“Bell, focus.” 

You were already sawing away at the tangled white lines of your main parachute. They were twisted so at least you sawed several out in one go-

“2,000 ft.” 

“...sir...I uh dropped my hook knife.” you said hazily with a sheepish laugh. 

“Then use your other knife.” 

Oh . 

“Yessir.”

It really was supposed to be simple. But really reaching for the knife in your thigh holster was an awkward affair when falling at terminal velocity. 

You brought your knee closer up to yourself as you reached for the knife. Suddenly, you felt the world spin-

“Bell, you’re going sideways. Get the knife. Now.”

You felt the firm handle of the knife as you quickly brought it up to the lines above you and dragged the edge across the parachute cord lines. 

“1,000 ft. Hurry the fuck up, Bell. Your AAD will deploy at any second now.”

Your AAD...oh fuck . 

How the hell had you forgotten about that...

4, 3, 2, 1 Earth below us Drifting, falling Floating weightless Calling, calling home...

On a hope and prayer, you sliced through the last remaining line and just prayed that the reserve chute wouldn’t get entangled on the main parachute you had just cut away. 

700 ft. 

Belikov , you thought with resignation, I sure hope you get my life insurance benefits . 

And just like that, you felt like a Soviet heavy soldier had just suckerpunched you with a cinderblock. 

Across the stratosphere A final message: "Give my wife my love." Then nothing more

________________________________________________________________

You stared down at the-relatively-solid ground beneath you. The grains of sand were hot to the touch even as you wore gloves. 

Were you dead…?

Suddenly, you felt a hand wrench away the oxygen mask you wore. You looked up into the blazing sun only to squint and see a dark figure.

There was the distinct smell of nicotine and smoke…

“Sir?” you asked only to see a large gloved hand holding a dark grey oxygen mask and shoving it onto your face. 

“Breathe.”

It wasn’t a request. 

You took a deep breath, hearing the hiss of oxygen and finally registering the ending notes of Major Tom . Wait, the next song was about to begin-

You shot to your feet, pulling the mask away from your face and handing it back to Adler. 

“I’m fine,” you swore fervently with a perhaps bit too forced of a smile. 

Sure, you were a bit dazed. 

But that was just the adrenaline working its magic, right? 

You unclipped the bag attached to your waist and quickly got out your XM4 with the magazine loaded and ready after two trusty taps on your helmet. 

“You’re experiencing decompression sickness right now, kid.” Adler sighed. You couldn’t help but wince at that slightly. 

You had disappointed him. Although, you had warned him about your inexperience with HALO jumping. 

“Just do overwatch for the operation at the cliff side.”

You opted to just obediently nod. 

You’d keep overwatch over the site unless the marked targets were secured and destroyed by the marked time designations. 

If that wasn’t the case...well you always had your good ol’ trusty C4 in your bag. 

________________________________________________________________

As it would turn out, things became a shitshow. 

Apparently Perseus supplied their hired DGI soldiers with more aid than expected. The team had come into the site expecting all kinds of things. Assault helicopters, spy planes, artillery-

But not radio jammers . 

Well, there was Plan B…

But you hadn’t seen the signal for it yet. 

And so you turned off your radio, no longer wanting to hear the crackling static of it all. 

Looking down the scope of your XM4 rifle, you decided to finally resume playing your Walkman. 

Sun is shinin' in the sky

There ain't a cloud in sight

It's stopped rainin' everybody's in the play

And don't you know

It's a beautiful new day, hey hey

Humming the merry little tune lightly to yourself, you fired several shots in a short burst through the skull of a DGI soldier emerging from the small canyon where the satellite had crashed. The body crumpled to the ground and you saw a shadow dart away from the entrance to the canyon. That was the tenth one you sniped down so far-

Your thoughts were cut short by the sight of blue smoke contrasting sharply against the yellow sand dunes. 

Plan B it was then , you mused to yourself. 

Runnin' down the avenue

See how the sun shines brightly in the city

On the streets where once was pity

Mr. Blue Sky is living here today, hey hey

Electric Light Orchestra’s Mr. Blue Sky graced your ears under the clear blue skies of Angola as you soon descended down to the canyon floor. Your gloved hands tightly gripped the ropes. 

The last thing you needed was to make another abrupt fall and land on your ass. 

As you let go of the ropes and fell the remaining several feet to the floor, you scanned your surroundings. The rocks to your left were a good cover in case the enemy tried to flank or ambush you. 

Although, you couldn’t afford to play defense at the moment. 

Plant the C4 and get the hell out of dodge, you told yourself. 

Mr. Blue Sky please tell us why

You had to hide away for so long (so long)

Where did we go wrong?

However, even the best laid plans were burned away by the fog of war.

And just as you finally arrived at the designated Zone A of the KH-9 satellite crash site, yours were stomped to pieces by all too familiar steps. 

Well, shiitake . 

It was your worst kind of enemy.

A Heavy.

Now, you could just waste an entire magazine trying to shoot that impossibly sturdy bucket off their head. But that would give away your position, expose you to those damn concussion grenades, and deplete your ammo. 

Hence why you decided on the only rational thing to do. 

You were going to kill that buckethead with your trusty 7-inch bowie knife. 

Hey you with the pretty face

Welcome to the human race

A celebration, Mr. Blue Sky's up there waitin'

And today is the day we've waited for

With a light whistle from your lips, you heard the Heavy’s footsteps approach your location. 

Just like Belikov taught , you thought as you readied your Magnum, cocking the hammer back. 

The large shadow cast from their figure was already past your hiding place behind the rock. 

They walked closer and closer until you could see the heavily armored plates protecting their legs walking past you. 

And then you took the shot. 

There was a muffled, strangled cry of pain from the DGI Heavy as they staggered back from the shot. You took advantage of the momentum by lunging from behind, sinking the bowie knife deep into the narrow gap between the helmet and the neck. 

The height difference made it somewhat difficult but you could deal with it. 

Hey there Mr. Blue

We're so pleased to be with you

Look around see what you do

Everybody smiles at you

That small fleshy opening was just enough for you to sink your knife several inches in. 

You were quite sure you nicked the carotid artery. 

But that wasn’t nearly a quick enough death. 

Still, you didn’t have time to go for a second strike. A short burst of gunfire erupted from their LMG. You ducked back under the cover of the rock that really was just getting obliterated by the LMG fire.

You silently counted. It wouldn’t take long for them to be forced to reload and throw a concussion grenade your way. 

They always did that. 

It was simply protocol that came from training. 

And you would use that against them. 

Mr. Blue, you did it right

But soon comes Mr. Night creepin' over

Now his hand is on your shoulder

Never mind I'll remember you this

I'll remember you this way

And true as church bells rang on Sundays, you heard the rapid fire of the LMG die down and you fired a quick round from your Magnum at the Heavy before lunging. 

This time, you didn’t half-ass it. 

Large hands were already heavy punches at your ribs but your padded combat vest absorbed most of the blows. Not stopping your momentum, you forced the bowie knife in through the same fleshy gap. This time though, it was a frontal attack. 

You felt the knife enter smoothly into the neck until it hit resistance in the muscle protecting the jugular vein and then you just twisted it. There was a choking gurgling sound erupting from the Heavy’s throat as you felt the hands now grappling at your shoulders squeeze painfully before relaxing. 

You severed their jugular and carotid artery. 

It was only when you withdrew the knife from the neck of the Heavy that you noticed the wet feeling on your eyelashes as you blinked. You rubbed at your eyes with the back of your glove. You stared down at the crimson stain on the fabric when you pulled your hand back. 

Your hands never really were clean.

With a sigh, you stood up from straddling the dead body and set your knife in its sheath at your thigh.

You still had to plant that C4-

And that’s when you heard it. 

That all too familiar beeping sound. 

It had been nearly instinct for you to simply drop to the ground and partially roll the still heavily-armored corpse of the Heavy to face you, shielding you from the direction the inevitable detonation was going to come from. 

Of course like clockwork, the beeping stopped. 

Hey there Mr. Blue (sky)

We're so pleased to be with you (sky)

Look around see what you do (blue)

Everybody smiles at you-

(And you proceeded to see stars in your vision as you felt what seemed to be a cannonball slam into you.)

________________________________________________________________

“Bloody hell! Are you okay?” you heard an accented voice ask above you. 

It was one of those MI6 field agents sent as support for the operation. 

“Yeah,” you murmured hazily, blinking away the blotches of color and stars still littering your vision, “I...uh should have paid more attention.” 

You didn’t quite know how you missed one of the operatives planting C4 at Zone A. They must have been stealthy about it while you were in the middle of stabbing a Heavy repeatedly in the neck. 

“Sorry about that, mate. I got a bit overzealous with the C4. We’re about to head to exfil.” the operative offered out his arm to you which you quickly took. Your balance was still wobbly as you could hear the deafening ringing in your ears drown out whatever songs your Walkman was playing. 

Speaking of your Walkman, you looked down at it worriedly only to sigh in relief. 

Miraculously, it hadn’t taken severe damage. Nothing not unrepairable. 

That was good. 

You could heal from bruises, concussions, and whatever the hell was thrown at you. But you couldn’t replace this Walkman. 

You idly looked down to see the corpse of the Heavy you had taken down. The armor had gotten large fragments but it looked like the corpse was still intact. With a glance at the retreating MI6 agent, you knelt down quickly, pulling away the armor from the corpse. 

Only a select few got to wear this kind of heavy duty armor. It was a privilege due to the sheer expensiveness and maintenance costs of the armor plates. 

Patting down the corpse, you felt a familiar rectangular shape in one of the pockets on the corpse’s vest. Pulling it out, you found that it was-

...a cassette tape? 

‘ Миллион алых роз ’ was written on the white label on the cassette tape. 

Your musings were cut short by the crackling of the radio at your waist. The radio jammers must have been destroyed by now.

“If I were you, I’d get to exfil now, Bell. Doc’s waiting for you.” 

You sighed. 

Honestly, you weren’t sure if you were going to face disappointment at how little you contributed to the operation or how you intervened in the operation after the radio jammers went off. 

Either one wasn’t good. 

Story Time With Adler it was, you thought hazily. At least, you liked his voice. There was just an assuredness and husky tone to his voice that was pleasant to listen to…

And with that idle thought in mind, you hurriedly made your way to exfil, trying not to trip on the rocks on the way there with your still wobbly sense of balance.

_______________________________________________________________  

“ Bell.” was all the man in question had to say. He took a drag of his cigarette in the helicopter as you reluctantly grabbed the offered oxygen mask in hand and took a deep breath from it. 

After breathing in and out for several seconds, you took off the oxygen mask and smiled with widened eyes as you gave a thumbs up gesture to the man across from you. Maybe you were exaggerating a bit too much but you really did want him to get off your back regarding the matter of oxygen. 

It hadn’t helped you much back during the HALO jump apparently. 

Perhaps, he’d buy into it-

“Bell, it’s oxygen, not cocaine.”

...or maybe not…

And so you resigned yourself to spending the next several hours wearing an oxygen mask while Adler watched you like a hawk while taking drags of his cigarette. 

[torque-witch]

🖤 Torque’s Witchy Wishlist 2020 🖤

Hello everyone! For informational purposes I am 28 and live in the US. If you would like to reach out to me for address info, please DM me privately here on Tumblr or on Instagram @dhdivination. These are where I will most likely see your message 🖤

1. Follow me on Instagram! 2021 will be the first year I am (hopefully) running my Etsy shop completely as my sole income! This is where I spend the most amount of time per social media and where you will see my art first. Every follow, like & share helps me support myself financially 🖤

IG: dhdivination

2. Follow/Buy from my Etsy shop! Every sale helps me keep up with bills, health insurance, medication, etc. I chose to quit my office job in April of 2020 as I am immunocompromised from Crohn’s disease medication as well as complications from comorbidities and should not work in the public during a pandemic (they refused to let me work remotely). My health is unpredictable, and this allows me more freedom to take care of it and buy things that help accommodate my illness like medicine, mobility aids, medical creams for skin conditions, pain relief, etc.

I currently offer crystals, Tarot readings, Tarot bags, rune sets, spirit boards, religious statuary, witchy wall decor, vintage home decor and crochet beanies.

Death’s Head Divination

3. Etsy Wishlist

Please support small businesses this year first wherever possible! Even if you don’t buy anything for me, some of these shops are people I know that could really use some help. Browse and see if there’s anything you like too 🖤

4. Buy this witchy planner for yourself (or me!) and share with your friends!

Plans & Intentions Day Planner

Lauren Kelly is a great friend of mine and created this awesome planner for anyone to use. Although it is sold through Amazon, you are still supporting an Indigenous creator and she did it this way so that it is accessible to everyone. You can also browse her other works and blog here

5. 💲💲💲

Frankly there are a lot of things I could use in order to run my business a lot smoother - a printer, ink, better paint brushes, restock of business cards, shipping supplies, stickers, ring light, light box, phone tripod, etc. I also pay a weekly fee to sell my items at auctions!

If you’re feeling generous or just want to buy me a coffee I would appreciate it!

6. Show me your art! Show me your friend’s art! Show me art you like! I’ll reblog it and try to get more eyes on them to help support artists and makers 🖤 If you want to send something via Ask or Submit, both are open.

7. Send me your podcast recommendations! I’m home alone for most of the day, so these really help me stay productive and feel like someone else is there.

8. Follow Bitxhin’ About on Spotify (or wherever you listen to Podcasts)

Another creation by Lauren Kelly and Megan Giselle that is super informative, inspiring & full of hot takes on topics that need discussed that definitely affect the witchcraft community and humanity at large.

9. Please be kind to essential workers right now. Most places are still understaffed, people are working long hours and they have to deal with crappy people all day long as well as being put at risk for illness. Tip where you can and be patient or say a kind word, leave a good review at places you visit often 🖤

10. If you need/want witchcraft books, buy from Portland Button Works first before Amazon if you can afford to!

Shop run by @upthewitchypunx

11. Send me your ghost & paranormal stories! I always love hearing them and will share them where possible 🖤

12. Drink some water & take your meds!

13. And finally if you’re feeling frisky - send me a letter! Mail is always nice when it isn’t bills, and I’ll be sure to send you one back 🖤

❄️ Happy Holidays and Merry Wishmas ❄️

[nerdygaymormon]

Hi, I was wondering is you have any advice on being a member of the church and being gay.

This is a wide-open question. If you were meeting with me in person, we could talk about this for hours. I can’t write everything I’d like to say, but I hope what I share is useful.

—————————

A person’s sexual orientation is how they experience the world. It’s how you love and how you connect with people. God doesn’t love you despite being gay, God loves you because you are YOU. God knows this about you, He made you. You are gay and you are known & loved by God and He is rooting for you. I hope knowing this will help you get through some of the tough moments of life.

—————————

It’s easy to focus on the negative. There are also positive things, remember those. 

—————————

Studies show that, on average, LGBT people are creative, have higher IQ’s and higher emotional intelligence (better at social relationships), have more compassion and are more cooperative and have less hostility. Does any of that sound like you?

—————————

The church doesn’t yet have the answers for LGBTQ+ people. The current policies, teachings & restrictions were created at a time when they believed people were made gay because of circumstances in their life and could change to be straight.  

Disregard any pamphlet or talks or advice from the Church on LGBTQ topics that is more than a few years old. The church leaders are slowly evolving and you don’t need to go back to less enlightened days and read the advice made when their understanding was even more behind than it is today

—————————

One day the church will need to rethink the place of queer people in the Plan of Happiness (currently we are absent). As we are unable to complete the highest goals in our church, you have to figure out what a successful life looks like to you.

In Mormonism we’re so accustomed to “knowing,” but the truth is there is no clear path forward for queer Mormons. It can feel wobbly and scary to not be on sure footing, but you have an opportunity to work out with God what your path forward is. When something feels right, trust that and move forward. 

Our pathway is less traveled and not well marked, we will trip and stumble, but we look out for each other.

—————————

Work on becoming more Christlike. Think about what is God doing in the world today and join that work. 

—————————

The Atonement of Jesus Christ means He can heal your heart and strengthen you in the hard times. 

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God doesn’t wait until we are perfectly ready and up for the challenge, we all have to go out and do our best as we are, learn along the way, adjust and try again. We all make mistakes and it’s okay to start over and try again. It is never too late, too dark or too hopeless. 

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Be patient with your progress. You don’t have to understand everything now.

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Get LGBTQ friends. It’s especially helpful if they’re also LDS because they’ll get you in a way no one else will. Online friends count. If you’re in school, perhaps they have a Gay-Straight Alliance. If you’re at a church university, seek out USGA. When I hang out with queer people I feel normal. It’s nice to step out of the heteronormative world which is always saying I don’t fit.

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Allow people to grow and change. Forgive and try not to carry around all the hurtful things.

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Seek therapy when you feel things getting hard. A lot of universities include psychological counseling in your tuition & fees; you can also be referred to LDS Family Services by your bishop, which is covered by some insurance plans. Another option is to check your insurance and find the mental health professionals in your area that are covered. Try contacting the psychology dept at a local university, perhaps they offer some counseling services to non-students. 

LGBTQ Mormons face much higher rates of mental illness than the average person, there’s no shame in getting help even when you’re not desperate or suicidal.

Studies show being active in church makes us more likely to have higher rates of depression, internalized homophobia and sexual identity crisis. We also have lower self-esteem and a lower quality of life. Most have the symptoms of PTSD and higher rates of suicidality. 

Be aware of these and be proactive in seeking help. 

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It is always okay to take a break from church to improve your mental health or if it feels hard. You can always step outside if people say hurtful things (even if they don’t realize how it sounds to you). You’re also welcome to go back whenever you choose.

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When I hear something at church that troubles me. I ask these three questions:

Does that sound like me, do I resemble that remark? (when they’re talking about gay people)

Is this consistent with the God I know?

Does this fit with the great commandment to love one another?

So often I find the things which trouble me fail these questions. It’s also highlighted for me that Mormons often obsess on things that don’t really matter.

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There will be people who can’t see your worth. Don’t let yourself be one of them.

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Have fun, enjoy life. Not everything has to be tough or serious. 

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You have claim to two great histories and legacies–LDS & LGBT+. Both the queer community and LDS church, in different ways, teach me about being kind and accepting others.

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I’m putting a lot of links here that I think will be useful resources for you:

This is a TedTalk that speaks about some of the reasons why Nature creates homosexuals, and some of the differences in people who are LGBT compared to the rest of the population.

This is long, but is the best write up I’ve seen about the LDS church’s history on homosexuality while explaining what this is like for gay Mormons

Taylor Petrey is a professor who in this article gives me many things to think about regarding gays & lesbians and Mormonism. 

This is a simple to follow explanation of why temple sealings for gay couples makes sense

This is dense, but it’s a listing of all sorts of queer people and relationships in Church history (we’ve been a part of the Church since the beginning)

Affirmation is the oldest organization for LDS/post-LDS LGBTQ+ individuals, family and allies. They have multiple Facebook pages for different situations. If you’re still active in church, a group for you to check out is Affirmation Prepare.

Collection of scriptures useful for queer people to understand - links to many discussions about the meaning of scriptures often used against queer people, includes some hopeful scriptures, too.

Stages of Faith Transitions - Jana Spangler helped me understand the different stages we go through and it helps us understand the faith we have

Biology of Queerness - I summarize a lot of studies done that show biology is what made us queer, not our choices.

Stonewall Inn and the Riots - This is the story of the beginning of the modern queer-rights movement. Because we are raised by straight people, we often don’t know our LGBTQ+ history and this is a good place to start.  

The Payne Papers - This is would be considered the beginning of the gay rights movement inside the Church. The truths and arguments presented still stand up over 40 years later.  

Queer LDS Heroes of the 2010′s - I think it’s helpful to learn about all these people who helped shape how our church membership has shifted it’s views about LGBTQ people because they were brave enough to come out and share their stories.

My Queer Playlist Part 1 & Part 2 - Listening to these songs can help me feel connected to LGBTQ people even when I am alone. 

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Remember G.A.Y.–God Adores You

[iplaymatchmaker]

hello and good day! i would like a matchup for a3! and ikerev, please! she/her pronouns. you can call me juice, though! hm i think a good description of me personality wise would be im usually cheerful, friendly, childish but i tend to hide a lot of my negative feelings and overthink quite a lot. towards others i'm always curious about the littlest details of someone's hobbies or interest and sometimes i talk more than i listen. love literature and things like fashion or games (1)

Hello, thanks for requesting juice! Sorry for the long wait but I hope you enjoy it! I was pretty excited to write a match up for a3! since it’s been living rent free in my head for the last few weeks. I got a little carried away with the last prompt cause it was so fun to write, but I hope you like it! Also, the ikerev one might take some time but I’ll try to not take too long. Have fun!

I match you with

Tsuzuru!

The two of you first meet after you watch one of their plays, “A Clockwork Heart.” When you realize that the lead and writer is a classmate of yours from college you can’t help but approach him a few days later to discuss the play further.

He seems self conscious at first but quickly opens up as the two of you discuss his script and before you know it one conversation has turned into an in-depth discussion over lunch.

After that first encounter, both of you start talking more often, quickly growing closer. Tsuzuru appreciates your cheerful attitude, making it easy for him to be comfortable around you.

Considering your love for literature, you often help him brainstorm for new ideas, always looking forward to seeing how he brings it to life on stage.

It is easy for you to fit in with the rest of the boys from Mankai, despite their constant prying on your relationship with Tsuzuru. After all the time the two of you spend together, it is no surprise when none of the boys (except Azami) bat an eyelash when you make it official, after a lot of back and forth between friendship and romance.

Prompt: Bonding

“The reason S was created in the first place was because Luke needed a companion. It’s tragic that he was the one who left him in the end.”

“Well, yes, but he also taught him to open up to people, insuring that he wouldn’t be alone when he was gone.”

You and Tsuzuru had been discussing the end of his latest play “A Clockwork Heart” for a while, arguing over whether or not the ending was tragic. When you approached him to offer your praise for his work earlier that day you hadn’t been expecting him to engage in your opinions on a play he wrote, but he was actually deeply invested in the conversation, despite the matter at hand being trivial to the actual substance of the story.

“He couldn’t have known though. He also put his own wishes aside to protect him. That alone makes the ending tragic.” You vividly remembered the tears you had shed when the show reached its climax, a result of both his script and his acting.

“It depends on your idea of what the ending was. S was a machine, so as long as Luke was alive they could meet again, when it was safe for the both of them. That makes the ending-“

Ring Ring

You almost chucked at the generic sound his phone made as it vibrated.

“Give me a sec.” he moved away from the bench before answering. It wasn’t long before he returned, a flush expression on his face.

“Sorry, I didn’t realize I had kept you for so long. I actually need to get going.” He ran a hand through his hair, smiling shyly. It was only then that you noticed what time it was.

“I’m so sorry! I didn’t mean to bother you for that long!” Now you were both flushed, the realization dawning on you that you had spent two hours talking.

“I-it’s fine. Um, we can continue this tomorrow, if you’d like?” you were surprised he actually wanted to talk again, a smile spreading over your face.

“Definitely. “

“Okay. See you then!” he waved as he ran off while simultaneously trying to dial someone, resulting in him almost falling on his face. You looked forward to tomorrow.

After that first encounter, you continued to meet during lunch to talk about other works, quickly realizing you had a similar taste in books and movies. It was an easy transition, going from acquaintances to friends.

“How’s the summer troupe’s play coming along?” It was easy to tell that he had been losing sleep again from the – almost – comical black circle under his eyes, but you asked anyway, hoping that you could offer some help.

“I know what I want to write, the words are just refusing to form and settle themselves on the page.” The frustration was evident on his face as he tried to put the pieces flying around his head in order. You tried to think of a way to help him but you knew that he needed to figure this out on his own.

“Come on.” You forcefully pulled him out of his chair, carefully shutting his laptop.

“W-wait. Where are we going?” you pushed him along, despite his protesting.

“Trust me.” You flashed him your biggest smile before setting of, only mildly aware that your hand was still around his wrist.

“The movies?” he seemed confused over what your objective was but you were confident it would help him out of his slump.

“Yes. Come on, I’ll even get us popcorn!” you were beaming as you led him inside.

“What are we watching?” Tsuzuru, finally resigned to his fate, flipped through the leaflet, looking at the moves currently playing.

“Your choice, I’m fine with whatever.” You hurried to the bar to pick up snacks, leaving him at the ticket booth.

“Look at those effects.”

“The acting is top notch.”

Tsuzuru had been so immersed in the movie he seemed to have forgotten all about his tiredness. When you exited the theatre you could practically see the gears turning in his head.”

“It’s a very different take on pirates than the summer troupe’s play, but if I exaggerate the characters even more then there would be great opportunity for comedy.” You couldn’t help the laugh that escaped you as you observed him, completely lost in his own mind.

“So I take it the creative juices are flowing again?” he looked back at you, as if seeing you clearly for the first time in days.

“Yes! Thank you!” He put his arms around you, too far lost in his excitement to feel any awkwardness.

“I-I have to go write! I’ll see you tomorrow.” He continued shouting thank you over his shoulder as he run off with newfound energy. You expected you wouldn’t see him the next day, considering he’d probably be passed out by then, but you smiled anyway.

“See you later!”

Prompt : Cinderella:

“So, you’re thinking of doing Cinderella for the next play?” You and Tsuzuru were hanging out in his room, taking full advantage of Masumi’s absence that weekend.

“Yeah… I’m not sure how to go about it though. Everyone in the Spring Troupe agreed that I should be lead this time around but I just don’t see myself in the shoes of a prince… Itaru would probably be a better fit for the role.” You couldn’t help throwing a pillow his way.

“Hey! What was that for?” You sat up a little straighter, tempted to glare at him until he picked up on your annoyance.

“I can definitely picture you in the role of the prince.” You cleared your throat before switching to your best narrator voice.

A long, long time ago there lived a boy and a girl. They were the best of friends when they were children. The boy would often sneak out to meet with her and they would play for hours. But their happiness would not last long.

You see, the girl grew up to be the maid of one of the less-fortunate royal families in the kingdom. She had been forced into that position by her father’s latest wedding. It would also turn out to be his last, for he died a few years later, leaving her in the care of a wicked stepmother.

One the other hand, the boy grew up to be the most charming prince in the land. The women fawned over him and he always had everything his heart could desire.”

“I’m literally none of those things.”

“Fine then.”

The prince was an idiot who didn’t know how to take care of himself and never asked for help. He constantly worried his friends over his health but they loved him anyway.

“That’s not any better…”

“Shh, let me continue the story.”

Their difference in class ripped the two friends apart, putting an end to their relationship. While they weren’t allowed to meet again, they promised to never forget about each other. To keep that promise, the made matching bracelets and agreed to never take them off until they could meet again.

“Friendship bracelets? Who does that?”

“They were kids! Would you have preferred rings?”

“Wouldn’t those basically be promise rings?”

“I’m coming up with this on the spot, give me a break!”

That bracelet was what gave the girl the strength to continue living, despite her struggles.

When news of a ball arrived at the estate, her step-sisters were quick to start preparations, eager to have a chance at the prince’s hand in marriage. The girl was simply happy at the prospect of seeing her friend again.

When her family found out she was planning to attend the ball, they locked her in the cellar, not willing to risk any competition. The girl wept and wept, until suddenly a kind seeming lady appeared in front of her.

“Isn’t this just the movie?”

“Give it a second!”

The lady promised she would help her get to the ball if that was what she wished. Despite her suspicions, the girl earnestly declared that all she wanted was to see her friend again. And so the kind woman flicked her wrist and the rags the girl had been wearing were replace by a rich ball gown, paired with a glass slippers. The girl thanked her again and again before heading off in search of her lost friend.

“She doesn’t warn her about the time limit?”

“There’s no curfew here, it’s a stupid conflict anyway.”

You couldn’t contain the excitement and adrenaline that flowed through you as you went up the steps of the grand palace. You hadn’t been here since you were a child, when the king’s father still allowed you to visit, and childhood memories flooded your mind. It was difficult to keep your nerves at a reasonable level as you approached the guards at the front gate. By the time you had arrived at the palace, most of the guests were already inside, so you were completely alone when you handed the invitation, hoping the witch had done her work well.

“Enjoy your evening.” They smiled before urging you to step inside. A sense of awe filled you as you walked through the somewhat familiar halls, remembering all the places you and Tsuzuru would hide from the servants, before his title meant anything to you.

You weren’t sure you remembered the way to the main hall, so you followed the noise, hoping you could make your way there.

When you finally stood outside what seemed to be the entrance, you took a few deep breaths before walking forward, determined to see your friend again. When you stepped though the door you quickly realized that the door wasn’t the room’s main entrance, but the top of the grand staircase. Dread filled you as everyone’s eyes fell on you. If it wasn’t for the railing you thought you have fainted right then and there. You breathed in, allowing you hand to wrap around the bracelet the two of you had made so long ago, letting the warm feelings it carried spread through you.

You bowed once before making your way down the stairs, hoping you wouldn’t trip on your dress and make a fool of yourself before the night even started.

The moment you were off the last step, your eyes fell on your step-mother, eyeing you with absolute envy and disgust. You hoped the mask would be enough to conceal your identity.

You walked around the room for a bit, keeping to the less populated areas, hoping to catch a glimpse of Tsuzuru, disappointed to find that he was nowhere to be found.

“Please let this not be for nothing…”

You were about to make your way to the balcony, but a swarm of guests was suddenly in your path, dancing to the waltz the band had just started playing. You frantically looked around, searching for a way out when two arms wrapped around you, pulling you along with the rest of the dancers.

“I guess you’re my partner?” the face of the man that stood before you made your jaw drop. You had thought of so many things to say, but now that Tsuzuru was standing before you, the words seemed to catch in your throat.

“So, uh, are you having fun?” he was as awkward as you remembered. Something about the familiarity filled you with a sense of calm. I found him.

“I am now.” It was hard to contain the smile quickly spreading around your face.

“Actually I was-“that was when it was time to switch partners. When you felt his hand slip from yours, panic flooded through you. No… I didn’t have the chance to tell him.

As he pulled his hand away, his fingers brushed the bracelet on your wrist, eyes widening as he was whisked away by another partygoer, realization evident in his features. You tried to get closer, but were quickly taken away by another guest. Your eyes landed on Tsuzuru a few times but the hall was too crowded. It was almost suffocating. You took the first chance to slip out on the balcony, eager to get away from the crowds.

You stood at the railing, letting the air cool down your heated face. He had seen you, but you weren’t sure he would care enough to search. Negative thoughts occupied your mind as you gazed at the land beyond. Maybe this was foolish… He probably barely remembers me… He’s a prince after all. He was more important matter to attend to than a peasant he used to spend his free time with. You felt tears gathering at the corners of your eyes, your own loneliness catching up with you.

“Please don’t cry!” You were shocked to find Tsuzuru standing a few feet away from you, his face flushed and his knees bent. He must’ve been running.

“You’re the girl from back then, aren’t you?” he glanced down at your wrist, pulling up his own sleeve to reveal a bracelet identical to yours.

“Y-you kept it.” Your voice cracked, barely audible in the midst of the ongoing celebrations.

“Of course I did! It meant a lot to me.” The words seemed to call to something inside you and so you let the tears fall.

“W-what did I do? Please don’t cry!” he took a step closer, still unsure of what boundaries existed between you.

“I-I can’t help it. I’m just so happy!” you wrapped your arms around him, not caring who saw you. All that mattered in that moment was that the two of you were reunited at last.

“I missed you.” You couldn’t see his face, but you could tell he was crying too, by the way his heart beat against your, the way his hands shook, still wrapped around you in a tight embrace. Year’s worth of loneliness and regret spilled out of the both of you in a single moment.

You stayed like that for quite some time, allowing the relief to wash over you. When you looked at each other again, you couldn’t help but laugh at your state. You knew the scene must look ridiculous to any outside spectators, but none of them mattered. It felt like you were alone in the world, no barriers between you. Your class didn’t matter. You were just a boy and a girl who had been reunited.

“ The king was skeptical at first, knowing a commoner queen wouldn’t create any new alliances, but he could see the love his son had for the girl. And so they married. It’s said that the pair practically run down the stairs of the palace after their wedding, eager to get to their honeymoon, their laughter echoing through the streets.”

“That’s an ending befitting a prince Muku reads about in manga… I still don’t see where I fit into this… ”

“Fine. As they descended the staircase, the prince fell on his ass, causing even more laughter from the girl. A moment she would never let him forget.” You couldn’t help but laugh at the earnest look on Tsuzuru’s face. He may be clumsy, but he has always been kind.

“It will need a lot modifications, especially considering the fact that none of us can exactly pull off female roles, but it could work.” At some point through the story Tsuzuru seemed to have pulled out a notebook, in which he was now scribbling away.

“Are you seriously taking notes?” he was still focused on the story, not letting the inspiration go to waste.

“Of course I am. You’re brilliant!” he pulled you in for a kiss, taking you completely by surprise.

“You’re the best.” He turned back to his note taking, leaving you with flushed cheeks and a bright smile.

“You too.”

And they lived happily ever after.

[eerythingisshaka]

Check Up

[Doctor!Erik “Killmonger” Stevens x Reader]

Word Count: 3.5k

Warnings: A light filth

A/N:  I was in the Vagina Monologues at my college and there’s one skit/story about a vagina workshop that inspired this one.  Enjoy

Your leg bounces up and down anxiously as you sit waiting for your name to be called.  You made sure to arrive extra early to account for a crowd or forms to fill out asking all the standard, invasive questions that any health facility is required to know.  This visit was particularly nerve wrecking considering your friend’s referral to come.  

One night during a girls hangout, wine and tea was spilled while discussing your personal lives.  Your one friend from high school griped about how yet another Tinder date didn’t live up to their profile and couldn’t hold his own in the bedroom later to add insult to injury.  Your other friend from college  was a little more mum about her escapades and turned out it was for a reason you weren’t expecting.

“We decided to open up our marriage.”  She says.  

You both gasp involuntarily before bargaining for more information.

“Are you guys not happy?  Whose idea was it?  It’s only been three years!”  You exclaim.

She sniffs her wine glass while taking a deep breath.  “All valid questions and comments  but it was my idea.  In a small way, I’ve always been polyamorous.”

“I thought you were just a cheater but…”  Your high school friend mutters.

“Get outta here!  Those were misunderstandings of love.  I enjoy the company of every partner I come across but I haven’t found the one that could be my anchor as I continue to love freely.”

“So he is really ok with this?  With other men?”  You ask as slow as possible to get your point across.

“Yup!  Luckily he is not gross to think one sex is ok over another.  It’s all the same whether I liked men or women but my heart is his always.  And honestly, it’s been hot ever since we just talked about it.  Like we just got a jump start!”  

“Hell, I need a jump start.  I wish I could make an appointment to my vagina workshop but I ain’t had the time.”

“The hell is that?”  You whip around to your high school friend intrigued.

“It’s got some official title, but at the clinic on Grand, they have some workshop that teaches you how your vagina works and the BEST thing of all, how to achieve orgasm.  Now when I went there some lady just told me where to find and touch and how to relax but I heard some big fella up there now is helping out and chile, if he was there when I went, my next stop woulda been the OB!”

Your college friend fans herself.  “So wait wait wait.  A fine man doctor teaching me how my pussy works?  Why haven’t you told us before?!”

“I said he wasn’t there when I was!  Plus this was before I was told you married with an asterisk.  Emphasis on the risk.”

“On Grand you say?”  You pull out your phone to Google.

“Mhm, that’s right.  Cuz if anybody needs it, it’s you.  How long has it been since you even went out with somebody?  I have tried to set you up, make a dating profile for you, wingwoman a guy at the bar, with no results!”

You shrug.  “Sounds like your problem.  But ummmm listen.  I do wanna check this out, but no way am I letting a stranger touch me like that.  I just want pointers-”

“And a story to tell us afterwards, ok?!”  College friend cackles along with high school friend.  You roll your eyes looking over the website, praying they take your insurance.  No mention of a fine ass doctor but hopefully fate worked in your favor.

Which brings you to where you are today: in a lobby with about 4-5 women looking at their phones or a magazine preparing for their treatments.  

“Come on back!”  The joyful nurse says, holding the door open for you.  You snap back to reality as the white walls are almost blinding against the lighting as you are led to a room with a 4 above the door.

“You can have a seat while I get you settled.”  

You sit on the examination table as she signs on to her computer and asks you general questions.  What brings you here?  When was your last cycle?  Have you had issues with this?  Pain during that?

“I’m really just here for informational purposes more than anything.  I would like to know more about myself but I haven’t had problems.”

“Ok.  And when was your last sexual experience?”  She asks as she types.

“Including myself or…”  You ask.

“Not including yourself.”  She says with a reassuring smile.  

You think and start to feel hot with embarrassment.  “It’s definitely been over a year…”  Or five more like it.

“Ok, that’s fine.  And have you had issues achieving orgasm with a partner or by yourself?”

You mull it over.  “Not...necessarily.  It has been a while since I could lately, but I have been busy with work too, so…” 

“Ok, that is up to you to bring it up with Doctor Stevens when he sees you.  But that is the end of my questions so at this time we have a gown over there if you would like to disrobe.  We offer an examination or a self examination if you so choose.  Unless you request otherwise, it will be mainly superficial and informational so don’t expect a pelvic exam or anything like that, ok?”

You nod, thanking her as she steps out, closing the door behind her.  The room felt more cold and quiet now that you are alone, but you waste no time in getting undressed.  Your worst nightmare is to take your time and accidentally be walked in on.  

The gown is clean but lacks in softness, plus your ass was hanging out  no matter how tight you tied the strings around you.  The paper separating your skin from the exam seat crinkles loudly as you fidget, looking over the posters of the female reproductive system and molds of various vaginas.

One catches your eye that is see through, showing the depth of the canal.  You can’t help but get your phone out and take a picture.  You text it to the group chat and start to search for a good meme reaction when a rapid knock startles you.

“Good afternoon, Ms.- OH!”  

The deep voice behind you makes you drop your phone and it is not until you bend over to pick it up that you realize your ass is not covered in that gown.  You spin around, backing up to the wall to pick it up.

“Sorry!  I didn’t mean to barge in like that.”  He says, face covered by a clipboard.

You put your phone in your bag and tiptoe back onto the table, cursing yourself out for embarrassing yourself.

“It’s fine, really it was all me.  I shoulda stayed my ass seated.”

He pulls down the clipboard, giving a meek smile.  “Frankly, it’s not the first time it happened.  Shame on me.”  

You feel your breath leave your body a split second when you finally see the man that got your friends so ready to come back.  He did not look like the type to even be interested in medical school, but you thank God prejudices are not facts.  He was the most beautiful doctor you had ever been seen by and so modern looking, with his short locs bound in a mini ponytail to the back of his head, and the sides shaved.  His eyes were so youthful they made you feel silly to stare and despite his small smile, his dimples announced themselves proudly.

“Well, isn’t it, ‘fool me twice, shame on you?’”  You respond, pulling your gown down and sitting up straighter.

This made him smile wider, and you thanked God generously.  “I never blame a patient.  It might be a HIPAA thing, but I might be making that up too.”

He pulls up a stool and sits down, checking over the notes on the clipboard.  “Now, as I started to say...what brings you in?”

Your mouth began to feel dry.  This was easier to discuss before, but you really don’t want to go deep into your personal life with him now.  “I just...uh, wanted information on the body.  You know, the female parts and what I may not know.”

He nods, looking back to you.  “It says you have had trouble achieving orgasm lately?”

“WOW!  I did not-”

“It’s ok!”  he says, graciously interrupting.  “That’s what a lot of people are here for.  You aren’t alone.”

You cover your face.  “This is embarrassing, why did I even come here.”

“Look, I don’t want you to be uncomfortable.  I won’t ask you or bring up anything you don’t want to discuss.  But I am here to help, so let’s make the most of our time here.”

You look at him again, seeing the sincerity on his face.  A face like his can’t be completely trusted around any hot blooded woman but he is a doctor.

“Let’s start from the basics.”  Dr. Stevens pulls one of the example molds from the counter and places it in front of him, facing you.  

“Now a lot of people call all of this the vagina, but in actuality it is called the vulva.  That includes the labia minora, labia majora, urethra and clitoris.  Only when discussing your vaginal opening and inward, is it actually the vagina.”

“Ohhh, really?”  You ask, leaning in for a closer look.  He nods, smiling at your perceived interest.  “Now where is the urethra on here…”

He points to a tiny hole that you couldn’t have found with the CIA on your side.  

“I figured it was somewhere there, but you know I didn’t know there were three holes until an episode of Oprah told me when I was a teenager?”

“I have heard that before.  It’s unfortunate how many women don’t know about their own bodies when they own them, right?  But curriculums aren’t set up to teach it without thinking they are sexualizing things to kids.”

“But it’s not!  It’s their bodies, they have those things so they should know!”

He raises a hand up to you and you smack it without thinking.  The loud clap between you both sends a shock beneath you.  The doctor’s charm was bringing you out of your shell little by little.

“Right.  The best way of learning is demonstrative.  They gotta see what you’re talking about to get it.  Now I’m going to bring back what we spoke about earlier…”  He points to a higher area of the vulva.  “On here, the clitoris is here.  It’s fairly easy to spot, it’s not hidden and that’s just to make it easier for a teacher to show.  But not everyone is like this.”

“I know where mine is, so that’s fine.” 

“However…”  

You roll your eyes.  “Sure, it’s like your little paper says.  I can’t always get what I want from it.”

Dr. Stevens nods understandingly.  “Ok, that’s common.  Now one offer we have is an examination.  I won’t have to do anything but observe.”  

He stands up to reach underneath the side of the exam chair you’re sitting on to pull out a mirror on an extendable arm.  “You would just view yourself here and if you have questions along the way, I’ll answer them.”

You puff your cheeks to get rid of nerves, sitting back slightly as the paper crinkles and crackles.  

“I’ve been examined before.  Not my first rodeo, so let's do this.”   

A part of you couldn’t help but feel curious about what he may have to say about your parts as you hike your gown up.  He pulls out two mini stirrups to rest your feet on as you spread your legs apart.  Dr. Stevens stands next to you, adjusting the mirror to get the best visual of your vulva for you.

“Huh.”  You say.

“What’s up?”   He asks.

“Mine looks nothing like the diagram.”  You take your hand to pull apart your lips some. 

“What do you notice is different?”  He asks.

“A lot,” you say with a tone of defeat.  Why does every vagina depict this pink flower with symmetrical lips that barely overflow and a ready clitoris that probably distracts if you had to ride a bike.

Dr. Stevens stands beside you, hands behind his back, peering politely from you to the mirror reflection.  “What specifically?”

You exhale deeply.  “Right out the gate, the color is nothing like the rappers be talking about.  Pink pussy this and that.  It looks kind of like if you had grape bubblicious and once the flavor is gone and you toss it?  Yeah….”  You pull your inner lips to the side with your middle and ring finger.  “And my urethra is there huh?”

He nods, adjusting the mirror for shared benefit.  “Exactly right in the middle.  It’s kind of small so not surprising that you wouldn’t notice.”

“Interesting.”  You feel a sense of discovery within you as you actually learn a thing or two from this exercise.  Looking back at the model vagina on the counter, you think of a new question.

“Ok, so the clitoris right?  Why is it so difficult for me to get to it?”

Dr. Stevens crosses his arms.  “Well, you might be affected by the clitoral hood.  It helps to protect it but can be bothersome during arousal.  So depending on what position you are in, it may take some maneuvering.  Try moving it back now; take two fingers on either side and pull back.”

You do as instructed, feeling a sensation hit your exposed skin until you see the little pearl looking button that must be it.  Your finger grazes it, making your legs jerk unexpectedly.

“Whoa, ok, haha.  That’s it.”  You laugh sheepishly, pulling your legs closer together.

He places a hand on your back encouragingly.  “That’s ok!  Honestly, it's best to make sure you also have feeling.  Don’t be shy to try.”

You open your knees again and gently feel around for your clitoris again.  You can tell you’re close but the feeling is not as intense.  Embarrassment starts to affect you as you notice your concentrated expression is not at all sexy and what woman doesn’t know where to stimulate themselves.

Dr. Stevens notices the trouble, stepping away from you to get a pair of gloves, latex popping against his skin.

“It looks like you are rubbing yourself through your clitoral hood, which can be fine but I think for what issue you’re having, you would want as much surface area pleasure as possible.  Now I could show you, but that’s up to you.”

Your body tenses up at the question he was asking.  Seeing as he has gloves on, you don’t suspect he meant to show you on the model vagina.  But that’s why you’re here, right?  To get help and also to be touched by a smart, handsome, kind gentleman that you never met in a backroom: just the normal human experience.

“Uh...well, it would certainly make it easier.  Sure.”  You say, moving your hand back to grip the exam seat as you sat like you were in the final stages of giving birth.  You repeat in your mind that he is a medical professional that means no harm and any gynecological exam gets awkward sometimes and he has also seen thousands, so yours won’t get him any more rattled than the next one.  

You watch as he nods to you, confirming he received your consent.  He rests one hand on your knee and the other reaches toward your now throbbing lips.  Time seems to move slow until he finally makes contact, giving you a jolt again.

“Sorry.  I know it’s different with a foreign hand but let me know if it’s uncomfortable.”  He says kindly.

You take a deep breath and drink in his comforting words.  “All good!  X marks the spot, right?”

You feel his fingers slide along your inner lips, giving them an occasional gentle pull that curls your toes.  “Now, your labia minora doesn’t look like the model because the model is the depiction of a white woman’s genitalia.  More often, Black people won’t have that high pink color that is praised as you said.  But it does not make you abnormal or less desirable.”

“No?’  You ask quietly, relaxing under his touch once again.  The medical terminology is a good distraction from what is happening, so you try concentrating on that instead of your growing arousal.  

He smirks, revealing those dimples that caught your eye again.  “Not at all.  So don’t listen to anything otherwise.  You look perfect.”  He looks at you as he says this, pulling and stroking at your lips slowly you can’t help the arousal building between you, breaking eye contact as soon as possible to study the mirror.  

But that only makes you hotter to see him touch you as you gasp out,  “Well that’s good news!”  

He looks back down at your vulva again.  “Now I am doing this one handed, which may not be comfortable when you attempt, but it’s easiest for me since my fingers are thick and nimble.”

“Hey, practice makes perfect...I mean, not like you have played with a lot of vagina before.  Not played but examined...which I guess if you’re good at it, you would have played with many vaginas then, right?”

Dr. Stevens gives you a confused look before breaking into a chuckle.  “Not ‘played’.  I don’t play with anything.  I work.”

 And I am glad you clocked in, you thought.

“But as I was saying, the clitoral hood can be pulled back like so…” 

You feel it before you can see it.  His thick fingers fan your lips out so much easier than your own hands, you gasp audibly before covering it with a cough.

“Uh huh, go on.”  You croak.

He appears to barely notice as he studies the reflection of your clit in the mirror, pressing his middle finger right on the peak.

“And that makes for a more accessible area in which you can arouse yourself, like so.”  

He slowly circles your clit over and over again, much longer than you expected for an examination.  Are you supposed to say stop, you’re unsure.  Can he sue you for cumming on his hand?  You feel your thighs beginning to buckle and attempt to close them but his grip on your knee was stronger than you noticed at first.  Once his middle finger plunged inside of you, there is no going back.  You can’t control the small mewling sounds you make as he touches you.

“You have a good amount of lubrication produced as well.”  He says matter of factly, spreading your wetness along your lips.  He bites down on his lower lip as he rubs your vulva.

“No shit!  I mean…”  You slip up, getting too comfortable but he pats your knee, flashing that winning smile.

“It’s ok, just remain relaxed, you’re almost done.  But yeah, long as you keep the hood pulled back like so and set a rhythm, you should have a pleasurable experience going forward.  If not, come back to me”

“I’ll cum alright,” you moan as your head falls back as you bring your hips forward, rocking against his hand for more friction.   This naughty spirit enveloped you.  If he ever said to stop, your train would’ve derailed, but he never did.  His accommodations to your reactions sent you further down a path to unrighteous glee.

He penetrates you with two fingers, while running this thumb along your clit in tandem with the strokes.  “Is that better?”  He asks, stroking you faster.

You nod, throwing caution to the wind as you grab hold of his wrist, writhing against his finger before your body decides it has had enough.  You felt like how chocolate tastes: lush, sweet, a jolt of energy with a smidge of guilt but unwilling to put it down.

Erik holds you close with his freehand.  “That’s good, ride it out and hold on to me.  I feel you tightening, you’re just about there, aren’t you?”

“Mhm!”  you dig your face into his chest, breathing erratically as your climax approaches.  It mattered that it was him doing it.  How you got so lucky was a question you weren’t willing to confront because it just felt so good, why even think.

“Let that pretty pussy sing, you got it.”  The release you feel wash over you makes you feel like world peace started and ended in your pussy and you screamed for joy.  You lean back on your elbows as he rests his hand still against your mound, your walls pulse in the afterglow.  

“That’s better, right?  Luckily I see you have a fully functioning muscle down there.”  He says before going to take off his gloves.

You shakily pull your gown down and begin to sit up.  “I hope so cuz if that is what sick feels like, I don’t wanna recover.”

He snickers at your comment, writing something down on some paper, tearing off a piece, folding it to give to you.

“Now, this is something in case arousal doesn’t always come to you easily.  That’s a prescription that can get the job done naturally and quickly.  Take that home with you and you can order it any time you feel it may be necessary.”

You nod, getting up to put it in your pocket.  “Thanks.  You know my friends recommended I come here and I can’t say I am upset.”

Erik holds his clipboard in front of him, holding out a hand to you.  “I’m glad you came.”

You shook it and as he left, you got dressed and drove home feeling lighter than air.  You started to call your friends about it but figured you might start at the pharmacy just to see what he prescribed.  If men can have a ‘get freaky’ pill, why not you.  You dug out the prescription from your pocket and your mouth dropped when you read it.

Erik 555-0123, use as recommended.

Part 2

Masterlist

Tag

@chaneajoyyy​

[jmnjmnjmn]

Eternal beings | Chapter 10

Pairing: Vampire!Jungkook x Human!Reader

Key words: supernatural, vampire, soulmates.

Word count: around 3,000

Warnings: swearing,  sadness, jealousy, mentions of murder

Inspo board

Masterlist

This chapter took a turn while I was writing it today... More of a look into the past so to speak. Please let me know what you guys think of where this is going. I love reading the comments and messages.

The remaining majority of the ride was spent in silence. You looked out the window and Jungkook kept his eyes on the road ahead, glancing your way every so often. Taehyung’s neighbourhood quickly turned into a blur as Jungkook drove. At some point you heard your phone beep and reached into your jacket only to find an empty pocket that reminded you that Jungkook had your phone.

“Could you?” You asked, putting your hand out towards him. He just looked at you and smiled, shaking his head. “Can’t I just check it?” You asked again, growing more irritated. Jungkook sighed and reached into his pocket, but when he pulled out the phone and you reached to take it he took it out of your reach.

“Uh-uh.” He scolded you like a baby and unlocked the phone with a smile. “No passcode? Come on, (Y/N).” He shook his head, looking at the screen. “It’s Jimin. He wishes you luck on our date.” He read out the message with a small chuckle. “That’s what you told him you’re doing?” He asked you, smiling wide and put the phone back in his pocket. You decided to not answer his comment and just looked longingly at birds flying outside, wishing you were there with them and away from the deranged murderer who sat next to you.

Not more than ten minutes passed when Jungkook stopped the car in an alley behind a shopping centre stating that this is the place.

“This is it?” You asked him with a frown on your face.

“Yeah, he works inside.” He said undoing his seatbelt. “We’re a little early, but I think he knew that would happen.” You sunk into your seat at the sound of that statement.

“You mean your fortune telling friend?” You asked skeptically.

“Yes.” He breathed out and got out of the car. You contemplated whether to put up a fight and stay in the car for a moment, but decided upon getting out as well. When you opened the car door Jungkook was already standing outside, offering you a hand to help you out of the car, but you didn’t take it. The last thing you wanted right now was to feel his hand on yours. You eyed the building up and down, it looked normal compared to what you expected, because earlier you just assumed Jungkook would take you to some dark vampire den at the edge of town, but no. He took you to a shopping centre.

You walked beside him through the aisles of closed department stores, looking around at the dark displays. After a minute of walking around Jungkook led you into a grocery store on the ground floor. You assumed that he was hungry and maybe wanted a snack, but that turned out not to be the case. He, and you right behind him, walked straight to the registers and nodded at the person working behind it.

“Is he in?” He asked, reaching out his hand to shake his.

“Yeah, he’s in the back.” The guy answered, shaking Jungkook’s hand. He just nodded and walked towards the door marked “staff only”. You hesitantly walked behind him, slowing down your pace and letting him go ahead. He was strutting down the poorly lit corridor as if he’s been here many times before. He didn’t even look inside the open rooms on his left or right. After a moment he turned around, at that point you were good three or four meters behind him.

“Come on.” He said reaching his hand in your direction, probably for you to take it, but you didn't want to do that. Seeing your reluctance he walked up to you with eagerness in his eyes, grabbed your wrist and pulled you behind him. “Don’t be afraid.” He said as the two of you walked through the halls of the back of the store. “He’s a good guy. I’ve known him for years.” He said describing his fortune telling friend. Somehow Jungkook having a good opinion about the guy didn’t make you feel any better. “Here.” He stopped in front of a door marked with a number six. He reached to push on the handle, but you stopped him.

“Shouldn’t you knock first?” You asked and he just smiled, pushing on the door.

“Hey.” He greeted whoever was inside. Compared to the dark corridor Jungkook dragged you through this room was way nicer. It was some kind of an office or conference room with a big round table in the middle of it and bookcases full of files and boxes by the walls. In the middle of it all, on the opposite side of the table stood a guy about Jungkook’s age, dressed in jeans and white shirt. He was typing something up on his laptop when the two of you walked into the room. He didn’t look up or seem startled at your sudden entrance. After a couple of seconds he closed his laptop and looked at the two of you.

“Hey, Jungkook. (Y/N).” He greeted you both with nods as he packed his things up into his  backpack.

“(Y/N), wanted me to knock.” Jungkook said, smiling at you and putting his hands in his pockets. The other guy chuckled and looked at you.

“I knew you were coming.” He explained. “But thank you for respecting my privacy. Even those who foresee the future want to feel a little normal and have people knock on their door instead of barging in, because you know they’re coming anyway.” He laughed and walked towards the door you just entered through. You furrowed your eyebrows at the weird statement he just made turned around to follow him as Jungkook put his hand on your back to guide you through the door.

“Don’t do that.” You shooed his hand away as you stepped into the dark corridor and he just exhaled sharply and put the hand back in his pocket. The fortune-teller guy glanced back at the two of you and chuckled again, slowing down his pace to walk together with the two of you.

“Oh, we’ve got a long way to go.” He said, throwing his backpack over his shoulder. Jungkook sighed and you just looked at him not knowing what he exactly meant by that. “I’m Hoseok by the way.” He reached his hand to shake yours and you did it, not sensing anything dangerous like you did with one of Yoongi’s friends once before.

“(Y/N).” You said. “But you already know that.” You added letting the annoyance in your tone be heard.

“Yes, Jungkook doesn’t shut up about you.” He said smiling. You glanced at Jungkook who was now looking at his feet. If it weren’t so dark in this corridor you could probably see him blushing right now. “Let’s get coffee on the way.” Hoseok said and pushed open a door to his left.

You walked out not back into the grocery store through which you entered the corridor, but into the depth of the shopping centre. Hoseok led you and Jungkook through the aisles and into a McDonalds where he ordered himself, Jungkook and you a cup of coffee each. With the hot beverages in hand you walked back outside onto the alleyway where Jungkook’s car was parked. You opened your own door getting in mindlessly. At this point you didn’t even remember you were kidnapped in the morning to be taken to a fortune-teller. In the car you took off your jacket and threw it on the backseat next to where Hoseok was sitting. Before getting in Jungkook did the same. As he bundled his black jeans jacket into a ball and threw it on the backseat next to yours you remembered something.

“Can you pass me that?” You said turning around to Hoseok and pointing to your phone peeking out of Jungkook’s jacket’s pocket. He gave you the phone without a word and you quickly unlocked it to set up a passcode and text Jimin back.

“What are you-” Jungkook started as he got inside the car, but stopped himself as he glanced at Hoseok. For some reason he didn’t want him to know he took your phone away earlier.

“I’m setting a passcode.” You said in a stone cold tone, not even bothering to look at the consternated look on his face. “And texting Jimin back.” You added.

“You shouldn’t do that.” He said starting the car up.

“Why?” You asked, opening the messages app. You clicked on Jimin’s contact and noticed there already was a reply under his most recent message. “You answered him for me?” You asked, shooting him a deathly glare. If there was something you really hated it was people messing with your phone.

“I didn’t want him to worry.” He murmured, pulling out of the alley.

“Right.” You hissed and scanned over the message he sent. “Thanks. Can’t wait to tell you all about it. Kissy face emoji.” You read out loud. “Does that sound like something I would say?” You asked more yourself than him, but he answered anyway.

“I don’t know, but it sounds like something I’d definitely like you to say.” He said innocently at which you just rolled your eyes and locked your phone. You saw Jungkook glance nervously at it in your hand once more, before looking into the rearview mirror to check on how Hoseok’s doing. “How are you, dude?” He asked him to break the tense silence that set between the two of you.

They chatted about miscellaneous things like Hoseok’s health insurance and Jungkook’s new couch for the entirety of the ride. You listened in carefully, astonished at how casual Jungkook can be, how he can have an entire life outside of the time he spends stalking you and murdering random men on the street. You were unable to wrap your head around it all.

“Take a right here,” Hoseok’s comment took your focus back towards your surroundings. As Jungkook turned the car you noticed you were back in a familiar part of town. You looked at the buildings surrounding the small parking lot with a thin smile. “And we’re here.” He stated and undid his seatbelt. You did the same and got out of the car with your half empty coffee cup in hand. You stretched your arms and took a sip of the lukewarm drink.

“Where are we going?” You asked the two guys as you looked around.

“Park.” Hoseok said behind your back.

You felt your smile grow a little wider at the sound of that word, because it just happened that you knew the park he was talking about like the back of your hand. You used to walk through it almost every day when you were in high school. Your parent’s apartment was just a block away, your’s and Taehyung’s old school on the other side of all this greenery.

You followed Hoseok and Jungkook through the parking lot to the park’s gate and went ahead of them after crossing it. Your feet carried you through the old paths that were still near and dear to your heart. Looking around you didn’t notice how much everything has changed, you were too busy reminiscing about the past and how beautiful it seemed in your memory now.

You smiled to yourself while walking the same old path you and your friends would take while walking home from school. Your heart grew even warmer at the memory of ditching classes together to hang out by the river that ran through this park. During your high school years the benches near the concrete bridge connecting two sides of the park were the coolest place to hang out for teens in the area. That’s where you met Taehyung for the first time. At the very beginning of high school. Your group of friends joined his group friends for a hangout and you were introduced. Simple as that.

Soon after that you forgot all about Taehyung as you weren’t in the same class and you didn’t have any classes together other than PE. You sometimes saw him on the school grounds or by the river bank, but you were too preoccupied with your own problems to pay more attention to him if any at all. It all changed after a faithfull day at the end of January that same school year.

You were in the middle of zipping up your winter coat when someone bumped into you in the school entry way.

“Sorry.” You said startled. As you looked up you recognized Taehyung. You noticed his cheeks reddened by the cold of winter hidden under a thick beanie and a large scarf. He had a puzzled look on his face which seemed bizarre since he was always heard laughing with his friends in the corridors. Then out of nowhere he grabbed your hand and looked you in the eyes.

“Can you do me a huge favour, (Y/N)?” He asked sincerely.

“What is it?” You asked, starting to feel a little nervous. Taehyung glanced over his shoulder quickly and started whispering.

“Sara won’t leave me alone. She wants to ask me to go to the school dance with her, but I don't want to go with her and…” He breathed in sharply before continuing. “I don’t want to tell her no as well.” You looked at him patronizingly even though he was significantly bigger and taller than you.

“And you want to have someone to shield yourself with when she asks you?” You asked already knowing what his answer will be.

“Please?” He said in a cute tone.

“No.” You pulled your hand out of his and reached to zip up your jacket all the way up.

“Why? Please.” He begged, grabbing onto your zipper to make you stop and reconsider his plea.

“I just-” You shook your head, feeling the heat rising in your body. “I don’t want to.” You hissed at him and pushed his hands away. You zipped your jacket harshly and stomped around him. Of course you wanted to go to the dance with someone, but the way Taehyung asked you didn’t really seem like what you had in mind when you dreamed of your crush asking you out.

“You can’t keep saying no.” He called behind you as you pushed the front door of the school open.

“Yes, I can. And I will.” You said not turning around to face him, afraid he’ll see you blushing.

“(Y/N), please. I won’t stop asking.” He said louder while walking behind you.

“Leave me alone.” You whined as you stepped down the steps and onto the sidewalk in front of the school building.

“Go with me, (Y/N).” He called, slowly catching up to you.

“Oh, no.” You breathed out as you noticed a group of girls chatting in front of the building, Taehyung’s Sara among them.

“There’s no other girl I want to go with other than you.” Taehyung practically yelled after you at this point. You turned on your heel and shot him a deathly glare.

“I see what you’re doing. Stop it.” You whisper-yelled at him as he stopped less than a meter away from you.

“Please.” He smirked stepping closer.

“Taehyung.” You warned him and he took another step, practically closing the gap between the two of you.

“I’m not going to stop.” He said loudly enough so that Sara and her friends could hear him perfectly. “It’s going to take more than you avoiding me to make me stop liking you.” He said

“Oh my god…” You rolled your eyes, feeling both annoyed and flattered with this fake confession.

“I won’t back down until-”

“Okay, okay. I’ll go with you.” You cut him off deciding you’ve heard enough.

“Yay!” He cheered and hugged you tightly. “(Y/N) and Taehyung sitting on a tree K-I-S-S-I-N-Ah!” He started chanting teasingly, so you hit him on the shoulder jokingly.

“Stop it.” You hissed, not wanting to make Sara, who probably really like Taehyung, feel any worse.

“Alright.” He laughed and rubbed his shoulder as if your punch really hurt him. “Where are you headed?” He asked.

“West Estate.” You stated as you glanced at the pack of girls scattering away quickly.

“I live near there. I’ll walk you.” He exclaimed happily, but you couldn't get rid of the weird feeling that you just did something mean. “Honestly, (Y/N)...” Taehyung sighed, putting his arm around you. “Thank you.”

“Why didn’t you want Sara to ask you to go with her so badly?” You asked, slipping out of his embrace.

“For starters I don’t even like her like that, but also my friend likes her. I couldn’t do it to him and this way she’ll think I like you and stop liking me which makes it easier for my friend to do his move.” He explained.

“I see you had this all planned out.” You said, nodding at the complexity of his plan.

“Yes, I only needed a girl for myself.” He smiled at you.

“Was I your first choice?” You asked jokingly.

“Would you be mad if I said no?” He asked, matching your tone.

“Yes.” You chuckled.

“Yes, you were my first choice.” He said, laughing.

Though quick, the walk you had with Taehyung was very fun. You got to know him better and he learned a thing or two about you as well. You were deep in conversation when you realised you just passed your address.

“This is me.” You said, stopping reluctantly in front of the block of flats you lived in.

“Really? I live two streets that way.” He said in true shock. “We have to walk together in the mornings from now on. What do you say?”

“(Y/N)?” Jungkook called your name, but you kept walking deep in thought. “(Y/N)?” He asked again and this time you turned around.

“Hey, remember-” You said with a smile, expecting to see your oldest friend that you walked through this park with so many times. You got so distracted with all the memories this place rekindled in your head that you forgot who you actually came here with today. “Oh.” You stopped yourself, disappointed at the sight of surprised Jungkook and clueless Hoseok, a murderer and a stranger.

“What?” Jungkook asked curiously and matched your pace to walk next to you.

“Nothing.” You said with a heavy feeling of a let down coming down on you.

[vickers-n-lickers]

Moonlit pt. 2

((Contains mentions of violence and gore. BradxOC and the rest of the gang))

Horrible moans were muffled against the glass, fingers dragging long dark streaks.

Even with the blinds drawn tight, the dead knew they were in there.

"You need to go, Brad. Please… don't. Don't argue. Just go. Run before they get you…"

"I'm not going to leave you."

"You have to. You can't let them get away with this. They killed our friends. Jenna."

Her life hanging by a thread was a storm cloud hovering over them.

Check tossed in her clutch, Joan looked over herself one more time in the mirror. Cap off her lipstick, she carefully painted on a clean line, then another.

Finally paid for performing at this over the top wedding, she might be able to get the water heater fixed and take a shower in her own apartment. Jack had been up her ass for a week, every time she showed up to grab a shower there was an argument.

She never told Brad. It wasn't his problem and he had enough on his mind with work.

He would have helped…

She frowned at her reflection. Depending on someone was always a bad idea in her book.

Even with that in mind, there were things in her that unfurled every time he swung by for 'just a minute'. Things that bloomed between cups of coffee and the way he swayed with her from behind while she made dinner; hands on her hips, chin on her shoulder, humming away to Steve Miller Band crackling through on the radio.

These little things strung themselves together into an idea.

A life. One that came to her mind as easy as breathing. White picket fences, BBQ grills, his corny jokes and a pack of kids chasing one another around an inground pool. An eternal summer where fireworks and lightning bugs shifted to strings of lights and Christmas mornings where they both were half asleep wrapped up in house coats in front of a massive tree he just had to have for them.

Tiny terrors racing around the house with new toys while basset hound puppy tried to keep up.

Dumping them all off at Forest's garage for a date night, half terrified of coming back to find the kids had burned the place down. Who was she kidding? Half of the time she swung by: Forest had set the place on fire himself.

Weddings always do this to me.

The wedding reception hall still looked grand as ever, even after guests had cut a rug for half of the night. It made her smile, thinking of her own future for a moment. Gift basket in tow, she bumped into someone on her way out of the Depot. "Oops! Sorry… David." Her eyes widened.

The man simply stared at her for a moment, hair as silver as ever. There was a time she teased him about going gray so early in life. There were other times she teased him that he should pick a codename that didn't belong in a steamy romance novel about spies. What sane person called themselves Hunk?

Now she was just trying to get to the door.

"We need to talk."

"Call me tomorrow and we will," She replied quickly.

"I want to see her before I leave. I have a right to see her," the man replied lowly.

That hit a nerve. The golden light of the outdoor lamps bathed half of her face. "Your rights? Hmm, what about my right to some help raising her? How about some health insurance or dental insurance covered? How about a gift for Christmas or a fucking call on her birthday?"

Everyone stopped and stared. 

"Everything alright?" Brad asked as he stepped outside. Confusion crossed his face as Joan offered up the gift basket and her clutch.

"Peachy." Her expression was torn between pain and rage.

Vickers took one look at the man, deducing just who would have managed to gain real ire from Joan. "I'll go start the car, babe." He paused when her hand snatched at his elbow, pulling him close enough to leave a lipstick mark on his cheek.

"I'm right behind you," She said, quick and anxious.

He couldn't see the argument that broke out as he stepped off the curb and out into the darkened parking lot, but the look on his three teammates faces told him to look back.

Joan's stance was hostile, even in an evening gown. Her hands were a flurry of gestures as she spoke in a heated fashion. A look fury on her face, her gaudy jewelry glittered in the dim light of the building's entrance. The man in front of her said nothing, toying idly with the toothpick set between his jaws.  He suddenly retreated. "There you go! Walk off, it's what you're good at," followed him back inside the building.

"Jerry, Jerry, Jerry…" Chris whispered, pumping a fist. Both Wesker and Jill gave him a sour look.

Brad could only look on, sighing heavily.

Miss Piper was trying to calm the fury as she marched up the sidewalk. A bright smile appeared as she saw Brad. "Hey Baby! Are we headin' out?"

"Do you still love him?"

"BRADLEY VICKERS!"

"She whipped out the whole name. Man…" Chris grumbled from the back seat. "Don't ask stupid questions while she's driving." He undid his tie with quick fingers. "He's just had too many, Joan. Don't listen."

Vickers shook his head, looking out the window. Part of him wished he had rode along with Captain Wesker and Jill.

Even though those two have been acting weird for weeks…

"I don't love David. That was a long time ago. He's an asshole."

"He seems like a deadbeat. I've never seen the guy before tonight," Chris added, sitting back.

"He doesn't even live in the States. We met when I worked for Umbrella. I did security for a lab that manufactured vaccines in a remote region. That's all."

"That's not all. You two literally have a kid."

"Stop it, man."

She signaled left at the stop sign, turning onto Jack Street. "You've been more of a dad to Jenna than he ever was. I know it's a lot to take in, but you try at least."

"He's still her real father."

"Brad, shut up!" Chris's last attempt to intervene was cut short by Joan pulling into a parking space and slamming on the brakes. "Now she's pissed…" He muttered.

Car put into park, she looked over at Vickers as she killed the engine. "Look, I am sympathetic to your jealousy. Everyone feels that, but this isn't going to work if you're going to act like this. My daughter will always come before me and I will always try to meet her needs. It's not about me, it's about her. The sooner you get that through your head, the sooner you'll understand why I'd rather shit in my hands and clap than ever take David back. I love you and I love Jenna. That's it. Everyone else doesn't matter. Whatever you're thinking: put it to rest or go home and sober up."

Brad visibly flinched when she slammed the door shut. Air blown out his nose, the brunette mopped a hand over his face, quiet for a moment. "…Goddammit."

Chris unbuckled his seatbelt in silence, leaning forward to clap Brad on the shoulder. "Write her a bad poem. Give it to her with some dandelions. That should smooth things over." Unlocking the rear door, he stepped out too. "C'mon Vickers, let's get you some coffee."

Joan was behind the bar by the time the two wandered in, despite still being dressed in the same attire she'd worn while entertaining at the wedding. "It's been a long time since I saw you last, Captain. What brings you by?" Her bright eyes followed Jill and Rebecca for a moment and lifted to him as she cracked open two long necks.

A single blond brow lifted. "Boredom and babysitting."

"Oh, well then… Johnny Walker. Right?" The brunette girl's award winning smile flashed briefly. Ice, glass, and liquor after; she slid the glass over to him with a sigh. "On the house, so long as you don't start frisking people."

A long sip taken from the glass, Wesker's lips briefly pursed. "What was happening in front of the Depot?"

"Oh, you saw that? David decided to make the mistake of speaking to me." Tongue rolling along the inside of her cheek, she frowned. "Spencer's dog." Rotating her own glass against the bar, she just shook her head. "I wish I had never joined up and taken the assignment on Rockfort."

"Oh, Joan. We all had fun. Well, you didn't. He liked picking on you quite a bit."

"You were only there for three months. I was there for two years and I regret ever getting tangled up with that man. Jenna doesn't need to know him." Another glass poured, she sipped it down like spring water.

"Vickers is probably a safer bet."

"Mmm… you'd think so, but he had the great idea to piss me off too tonight."

The blond blinked, eyes going wide behind his shades as he listened. Looking for an out immediately, he found it in Jill waving him over. "You can't kill him, Joan. I need him. I'm sure he'll figure out how to make it up to you."

"We shall see…" Her eyes lifted to Miss Chambers. "Beers are on the bar, Rebecca." Turning, she carried her glass to the sink at the other side and disappeared into the back. One heel after the other pulled off, she left them behind on the cooler before she made her way to the back stoop under a blanket of stars.

When she came back in from a needed break, a napkin of all things was rolled up in one of her heels. She snorted when she read the message left on it.

Roses are red,

Violets are blue,

I'm a jerk,

Your hair looks nice.

Rolling her eyes, she pinned it to the board with the work schedule before heading back out.

Rebecca and Jill cheered when Wesker sank the 8 ball into a pocket on the other side of the room. "We win." Rebecca beamed. "I want my jeep waxed too."

"That's not fair; you had the captain make the shot." Ed was almost pouting.

"Oh, you had no issue with him doing it when you two thought he wasn't going to win it for us!"

"Yeah, but he doesn't suck at pool. We thought he might suck at it."

"Well it serves you right for judging him. Shame on both of you." Rebecca grinned.

Leaning against the bar, Joan listened while Chris dazzled a few of the group with another tale from the Airforce. Fingers lacing with Brad's idle ones, her lips twitched up at their edges when he squeezed. Forgiveness came as a kiss against his cheek when he turned to pick up his cup of coffee.

Most of the group had taken off when the clocktower chimed at midnight. The remaining parties had ties loosened, jackets off, heels dropped and hair down at long last. Jukebox set to play the full list, Joan settled on one of the couches next to Brad. "It's 'Never Have I Ever'. Rules are simple. You take a drink if you've done the thing the person says they've never done. Alright, I'll start." Joan sighed. "Never have I ever owned a dog."

Everyone else groaned, taking a drink.

Brad was next. "Never have I ever flown with an airline."

Everyone else took a drink.

Chris was next, peering at his drink for a moment. It was time to start getting creative. "Never have I ever had sex with Brad."

Joan rolled her eyes at the collective snickering, taking a drink.

His date, Morgan, followed. "Never have I ever had sex with a woman."

Every man and Joan took a drink. Brad nearly choked. "What?"

Joan just shrugged. “I dated her for three years too.”

Jill peered at her glass for a moment, elbows on her knees. "Never have I ever been out of the country."

Most of the group had to take a drink.

Wesker sighed a bit, peering towards the bar as he thought. "Never have I ever paid for sex."

Brad and Joan both took a drink. Both gave the other a sidelong look.

Chris about died laughing right then and there. "Joan, you need to open up more to us. We're clearly not getting the best stories during happy hour."

"I think we all want to hear this story." Wesker smirked a bit, arm stretching along the back of the couch both he and Jill occupied.

Glass on the squatting table, she laughed. "Alright, alright. Is it safe to assume that you were saying that you never paid a working girl for their time?"

"I suppose you could, yes."

"I paid a woman in Germany for her time because it was on my bucket list. We ended up going to a movie and eating at a Donor Kebab stand. Her name was Sindy with an 'S'. I loved her to pieces."

"That's not paying for sex, though." Chris replied, sighing deeply. "I thought we were going to hear one of these wild and crazy 'Joan Piper: Lady of the Night' stories."

"I bet she remembers Joan still, unlike any man that crawled on top of her and wheezed his way through two minutes of the best time of his life." Jill uttered.

Albert let out a snort, shaking his head.

Joan's pearl grin was visible even in the dim light. "Alright, my turn. Never have I ever learned how to speak German fluently."

Only Albert took a drink, a couple brows raised.

"Never have I ever given oral."

Everyone just stared.

"That's not something you want to say in this game, Brad." Chris snorted, covering his face with a palm as he began to laugh. Red faced, he wiped away a few tears. "Oh shit, I'd be lost without you in my life Vickers."

"This is rather educational." Wesker uttered, receiving a slap to the arm from the female to his left. "What?"

Breath relaxing, Chris leaned back next to Morgan. "I've never… Huh, gotta think for a bit. Oh, Never have I ever had a 'ménage a trois'."

Jill's eyes were the size of dinner plates as not only did Miss Piper take a drink but… "What, really?"

Albert merely lifted a single blonde brow after taking a sip from his drink. "What? It was a long time ago."

Brad's jaw about fell to the floor.

"Wait, we heard my paying for sex story. You have to tell us about the threesome."

A deep sigh and Wesker pitched his gaze toward the ceiling. "It was during college, the two ladies living across from me in the dormitories—…"

"Okay, I've heard enough." Jill refilled her glass. "Sounds like the opening of a porno."

"We are spending way too much time together when Captain Wesker is talking about having a three way." Brad mumbled.

Chris's face was in both of his hands as he laughed.

Stare shifted to Jill, Wesker shrugged. "I was eighteen. Nobody would have passed that opportunity up."

Across from them, Joan leaned in to speak quietly to Brad.

"They're fuckin'."

Brad just nodded.

"You really think those two are?" Sleeves rolled up, Brad dunked another glass in soapy water.

"Who?" Joan asked, hanging her dress from a knob to one of the cabinets. Dressed down in a sweater and jeans, she felt a million times better.

"You know who. Captain Perfect and his best gal pal?"

She grinned, wiping down the glossy top of the bar. "They are or they're going to. It was pretty obvious when she reacted like that." She looked over to Brad. "Nobody is perfect, though."

Glasses set on the rack, Brad swiped the bar towel from her to dry his hands. "That could have been us."

Arms stretching above her head, the woman sighed. "True. We would have been forced to sneak around, only able to see one another during graveyard shifts. Screwing in your aircraft. So romantic…"

Brad snorted. "I'll talk to her about it. It might save her some headache."

"I thought this was strip poker." Forest said, taking a look at his hand.

"Well, the only one here who would want to see something like that is Richard…" Ed muttered.

Richard let out a chuckle. "None of you are my type, thanks for thinking of me though, asshole." A pearly grin appeared across his face when everyone else at the table chuckled. "Callin' it… Oh what the fuck, Brad."

"That's like the fourth hand, dude!" Joseph groaned, cards dropped on the table. "He's cheatin'."

"I don't cheat," The brunette sounded hurt when he gathered up his chips.

"Yeah, Joe. He doesn't cheat. We'd know if he ever did. Joan would be on CNN screaming she'd toss him in the wood chipper again." Forest replied with a smirk, finishing off his beer. "How long have you two been together?"

Brad cut the deck, shrugging. "Little over two years now?" His brow furrowed at the expressions all around. "What? Why?"

"When are you going to ask her?" Kenneth reached down, picking up his lighter.

"Ask her what?"

Everyone sighed.

"Ask her to marry you, dumbass." Joseph tossed off his bandana, raking a hand through bright red hair. "Have you even looked at a ring?"

"He's got one…" Forest leaned in, squinting… leaning in more when Brad recoiled. "…He's carrying it right now."

"How the fuck do you do that, man?" Vickers couldn't even react before Joseph had snaked a hand into the pocket of his vest, fishing out a box.

"Jackpot, boys. Ahhhhh! Hey!" His hand jerked to avoid a swipe at it. "We get to see it before you give it to her."

"It might be a Ring Pop and that's not going to work, chief," Kenny replied, the ash from his cigar flicked into the tray on the table. His brows lifted when the box was offered over to him. "Mmm… that's pretty nice."

Forest wrinkled his nose when he looked at the ring tucked in white satin lining. He let the box go when it was snatched. "You couldn't afford this. Are you a drug lord now?"

"It was my great grandmother's. Lay off." Brad replied, tucking the box away. He went right back to shuffling the cards.

"It's a nice ring, Brad," Richard added, trying to lower the temperature of the room. "When do you think you'll ask?"

"I'm asking her at the jazz festival."

"That's not until September," Ken commented, confused.

Cracking open another bottle, Joseph snorted. "He's going to need until then to get up the courage."

Dealing out cards, Brad was fuming. "Joseph, when was the last time you went on a date?"

"I can't go on dates, Brad. You know your mom gets jealous." He and his chair suddenly went over when Brad put him in a headlock.

Forest's jaw dropped.

Ed cackled up a storm. "Get 'im Vickers!"

"Can you guys stop so we can play some fuckin' cards?" Richard asked, picking up his drink as the cards, chips, and table went toppling over. "…Nevermind."

The house was older but it had a new roof. The white picket fence needed some work, grass growing tall along it. One of the windows in the back had a crack in it. A new coat of paint needed to be slapped on the south side. It would need some love, but they had plenty to spare.

Sunliner in the driveway, Joan pulled another box out of the backseat. She left it in a room painted in a cozy rose color. It would be Jenna's room soon. She took her time walking to the back door, turning about to gaze around.

A house, a real house.

She was going to get everything she wanted after all. A glass of sun tea in tow, it took some jiggling to get the back door open. "I think that needs fixed too."

Brad looked up from the lawnmower turned on its side. "Same with this, thanks babe." He drained the glass in seconds. It was unusually hot for late spring. "I think I'm just going to call a landscaper. This isn't working."

"Jack said it worked last week. Who knows…" Sitting down next to him, she took a moment to admire the ring on her hand. It always brought a little smile to her lips. So did he. "I'm just happy I get to wake up every morning and kiss you while living on Kiss Street."

Brad's turn for an eyeroll. "Cheese ball." His attempt to get away was met with a firm grip on his shirt and lips stealing a kiss.

"Just think... we'll be married next October."

He smiled fondly. "I can't wait."

Red pooled between them.

"I love you, Brad. I… We had a good life together." She worked the ring off her finger, offering it up. He still had a chance. She wasn't going to let that memory die with her.

He hesitated, then tucked the ring into his vest. "I love you too…" There was no arguing with her at this point. Her hands in his, he kissed her knuckles one last time.

She was already gone.

He wept in the dark for her.

[comphersjost]

Being a dancer and Matty finding out. He would get so cheeky so fast with all his chirps and when y’all eventually get together he definitely tests your flexibility😏

oh my god okay

smut under the cut

hear me out

like, you’re on an internship with the flames as a junior athletic trainer

and like, it’s your last year of college and you really just want to get this degree and go

and your kinesiology advisor was some washed up hockey player and had given you two options:

apply for a different physical therapy related internship

or work with the university’s hockey team

and after a few run ins with those guys at parties well, there was no way you were working with your university’s hockey team

so you applied for the flames position

and got it

but like, youre still a college student, and you still have to do things like make rent and pay your car insurance and your health insurance and utilities and groceries and billion other things that sucked all your money out of you

so, you found a nice little side hustle that only required a few hours a night for a couple hundred dollars

and it was perfect because it didnt just help you with your expenses, but also made you comfortable

you were financially secure with this job - as long as you kept your face covered

and you did

one night, it’s matthew tkachuk’s birthday

you only really know because noah hanifin had come down to the trainer’s rooms to get his knee checked out and taped just in case - he had an awkward fall and wants to be safe

he’s nice enough, always smiling politely and asking how you are

and then matthew shows up, waiting for you to finish

the two talk about their plans for the night, and you pretend not to listen

your ears perk when you here noah say “come on man it’s your birthday, let loose” 

“i know dude, theres just one thing i really wanted for tonight and i cant have it,” matty replies, and when your eyes flick up at him hes already staring at you. “ill  still come out with you guys though”

you finished up with noah’s knee and tapped him, signaling he could go

“look man, just try to have fun,” noah hops off the table, “dont think you much you know - thanks y/n - you know dude?”

matthew rolls his eyes and shoves noah in front of him, ignoring his yell of protest

“bye, y/n” he says, his gaze too intense for you to keep eye contact

“bye guys, see you tomorrow,” you say softly, the clean up in front of you suddenly the most interesting thing in the room

you push them out of your head as youre finally leaving the arena

youve got somewhere to be and you werent going to let whatever these two hooligans said make you late

you make it to the club you work at just in time

you get ready in a rush, trying to fasten all the clips and tie all the ribbons as fast as you can

one of the other girls helps you, fasting the last few clips while you tie a masquerade mask over your face

and like - you shouldve double knotted it

or at least double checked it like you normally

because you get out there and your boss tells you

“you’ve got a private booking first, some hot shot kid’s birthday”

the description makes you uneasy but you figure, calgary is a big city, theres not way its him

but you walk into a room set a side for private shows and -

there he is

dumb navy suit and dumb curls and all

he looks up when you enter the room, a smirk on his lips

but youve been around the team long enough to know when its fake

his eyes dont have the fire in them

you drop your voice a few octaves, purring to make yourself sound seductive but more importantly - different

every thing is going well, and youre almost through

matt has a hand on your hip as you grind on him and then -

it’s your fault really, you reached up to brush your hair out of your face and the same time matthew reached up to do it for you

your hands knocked together and his finer catches on the ribbon thats looped through your mask

it falls into his lap and he stares at it for a moment, before staring at you

you’re looking at him with wide eyes, while he stares between you and the fallen mask

“you’re-”

“please don’t tell anyone!” you blurt out before he can say anything “please matthew don’t tell any of the team or anything, please, i’ll owe you whatever you want”

“woah, hey, relax,” matthew laughs, calming you by squeezing your now-still hips with his abnormally large hands “i wont tell anyone, its okay”

with an uncomfortable and short conversation about you doing this because you needed the money (and quickly shooting down matty’s offer to help you out, the two of you stumble through awkward goodbye’s

he double knots your mask for you this time, making sure it’s on tight before promising you your secret was safe and walking out the door

you pretend not to notice the tent in his pants that started growing the moment your mask fell off your face

you and matthew dance around each other for a few weeks, until some gala thing you were required to go

“the event is mandatory for all staff, even the interns. the organization will pay for all of your attire and transportation necessary to arrive at the banquet hall” your advisor had emailed you, making it clear you werent being given a choice here.

you showed up at this event dressed to the nines

your best friend had been in town visiting you when you had gone shopping for the event, refusing to let you wear something she deemed anything less then goddess-like apparently 

matty doesnt see you at first, hes at the bar with his back to you

hes a few drinks in already cause like, he really doesnt wanna be here

and then elias shoves him in the shoulder, motioning with his head over matty’s shoulder

you watch as matty turns around, your mouth going dry at the burgundy suit, white shirt, and black tie he was wearing

his lips are parted, frozen in his spot

and really - you didnt mean to match with matty, you and your best friend had just seen the dress and fallen in love with it

until his friends chirping turns into sean shoving him again to get his attention

without even sparing a glance at his teammates matt is barreling for you

hes dodging higher ups and execs and reporters and everyone who wants to talk to him like it’s his goddamn job

you finally release a breath that youre holding when he reaches you

he grabs a hold of your hand, pulling you along as he weaves through the people

both of you catch your breath when youre finally out the door and into the garden area of the venue

“you said anything” matt says abruptly, turning to you

“what?” you say, confused, and matt wants to kiss the pout off your lips

“at the club,” he says, and your blood runs cold. “you said youd owe me anything i wanted if i kept your secret.”

you nod slowly, apprehensive of what his ask was going to be

“well, it’s you,” he repeats, sighing when you stare at him, not understanding what he wants

“i. want. you.” he punctuates every word with a step towards you. “you said anything but i’m letting you choose, let me take you home, or take you out, but any part of you that you’ll let me have, that’s what i want.”

hes towering over you now, his bright blue eyes darkening with every second his eyes roam your skin

it takes you a moment to find your voice, but you clear your throat and say

“how about both?”

a smile tugs at matty’s lips, and his hands slide around your waist

he leans down to your ear, whispering “both sounds just short of heaven pretty girl”

“what will it take to get you to heaven, mr. tkachuk?” you whisper against his mouth, arms looping around his neck

he chuckles darkly, stealing a kiss, then another, and another as he pulls you closer to his body

“let’s just say,” he hums, trailing kisses down your neck, “it definitely involves some of that flexibility i saw in the club that night”

and, well, you’re okay with that