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j-graysonlibrary · 7 months

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Heartbeats; Paradise VII

Title: Heartbeats; Paradise

Author: Jay Grayson

Word Count: 112K

Genres: Psychological thriller, drama, sci-fi, LGBT+

Available on: Kobo and my website

Synopsis: Melvin Hardy and Kade Axel appear to be a match made in heaven. After a meet-cute in the rain, the two quickly find themselves in a burgeoning, wholesome relationship.

Yet, things feel…off. It isn’t the ghosts of their pasts that resurface to test the strength of their partnership—no—it’s something nebulous. Something indescribable. Melvin can’t put his finger on it but, the more time he spends with Kade, the more he starts to wonder what’s real and what’s pure fiction.

VII:

The scenes are plentiful but not at all chaotic. I feel as though I remember each instance as it passes me by so I’m not overwhelmed with the information. Instead, I’m gently reminded and my chest swells with nostalgic comfort. Even in the quiet moments where I am alone, I can sense pride and gratitude to still be alive.

I catch glimpses of myself in mirrors and I see that I no longer look the same. There is a distant similarity in my eyes and parts of my face but so, so much has changed as well.

Those round corners and soft features are now broader and wider—my shoulders stretch out and my face has filled out around the chin and jaw. Stubble lines my jaw and there are some patches of hair along my chest as well (though they are far spottier).

I don’t mind at all—I’m happy to see them, as unattractive as others might find them.

Gavin likes my changes as well. He tells me in almost every memory that I come across.

The passage of time is more evident on my husband with slight wrinkles forming around the corners of his mouth. They’re just smile lines though and I see them as a mark of our happy life together.

We watch our son grow together and every time I see him, he’s older too. He’s getting tall and I bet that he’ll end up taller than us both. He’s already bigger than me.

Cameron is off at a friend’s house for the weekend—an old childhood friend who has come back to town for the holidays. They don’t get to see each other much so Gavin and I let him just pack a suitcase and stay over so they can catch up.

Besides, the time alone gives us plenty of opportunities for dates.

We travel all over town like a couple of high schoolers in their first few weeks of dating; giggling and holding hands everywhere we go. Sometimes it draws attention but I don’t care.

As far as I’m concerned, the world is just me and Gavin.

Our break crescendos when Gavin wins some dinner vouchers at his office Christmas party. They’re for a nice restaurant—the kind we would never dream of being able to get a reservation at—and I definitely fuss through my closet over what to wear.

I have some dress clothes but I don’t know if any of them are quite nice enough. As I flip through each article with a huff, I am reminded that I have some old pre-transition clothes stuffed in the back.

A smirk comes to my face and I reach back for the old, silky red dress I used to wear out on fancy dates. There’s no way it would fit me now. The straps would burst if I even managed to get my shoulders through.

That doesn’t stop me from getting my husband’s attention. “Hey,” I call out and place the hanger to my neck so the dress rests over me.

Gavin glances over, halfway through figuring out what he wants to wear as well, and raises an eyebrow. “Huh?” Then he gets a good look at me. Instantly, he’s doubled over in laughter. When he catches his breath he says, “I would love it if you went out in that. I think you’d look great.”

“I think so too,” I respond with little sarcasm. I actually think I’d look great in a dress—only one that’s actually my size. “Shame the shoulder straps would break.”

My husband snickers again. “Maybe while we’re out we can go shopping for you.”

I laugh at the dramatic way he wiggles his eyebrows. He’s such a dork. I love him.

Eventually, we both decide on some basic but nice dress clothes that are almost matching. Mostly blacks with little pops of dark, cool colors. It’s cold out so we grab a couple of coats and scarves as well.

It’s snowing and there is a light fog that hangs in the air. Snow flurries just seem to manifest in front of me and fall to the ground. It’s magical, in a way, and I nearly forget how cold I am.

Gavin takes my hand as we walk and I can feel his warmth through his glove. We stay close together on the sidewalk as the fog grows a little thicker and more and more people join us. It’s always busy during this time of day and most people are leaving work so they’re not in the best moods. Several times, I have to dodge out of the way of the occasional business man or grumpy intern.

It’s nothing new but Gavin pulls me closer and lets go of my hand but only so he can wrap his arm around my shoulders.

We pass by the large, outdoor ice skating rink and have to walk around the line that’s formed on the street. It’s always crazy busy during Christmas time. I understand though—the romantic nature of skating with a lover under the bright, sparkling lights and massive Christmas tree is, well, very romantic. I bet many young folks have their first kisses on that rink.

Gavin and I went, ages ago, and we always comment on how we’ll go back one day but we still haven’t. With the crowd, it’s obvious we won’t be stealing a spot anytime this weekend but I’m alright with that.

And I guess he is too because he doesn’t mention the rink this time.

I check to make sure he’s alright and I promptly see what’s stolen his attention. A man, sitting on the border of the rink, is barely dressed for the weather and he’s got a cap turned out to the crowd. He looks like he could freeze at any moment.

Gavin picks up his pace, almost leaving me behind to meet with this man.

“Hey, friend,” he says straight away and kneels down close by him. From his wallet, he pulls out some cash. How much, I don’t see before he’s already passed it over. “There’s a restaurant down the street having a promotion. You could probably get a bit of food with this.”

The man’s eyes go wide as he’s certainly used to people ignoring him. The homelessness situation in the city has improved in recent years but it’s difficult to completely solve. And, unfortunately, most people’s attitudes remain the same as always.

“God bless you, kind sirs,” the man says, regarding me for a moment as well.

“Here,” Gavin says, clearly not done. He stands and pulls off his outer coat before giving it to the man. “Take this, it’s too cold out for just one coat.”

“I-I can’t take this!” The man shakes his head and tries to pass the coat back.

“Sure you can.” Gavin grins. “I’ve got plenty to spare. It’s stupid for me to keep them all, ya know?”

I watch him and a proud smile begins to stretch across my face.

I really couldn’t love him more if I tried.

The light from the rising sun warms me through the memory and pulls me out of the dream. I blink a few times as my surroundings come back, fuzzy but recognizable.

I’m in my bed and, to my side, lies a sleeping Oswald.

He told me to let him know if I have another dream and give him the details. While it’s still unclear what any of this has to do with us, my gut is trying to tell me that it is important. That it definitely relates to me and that I should get to the bottom of it.

Oswald groans in his sleep and I stare at him for a long while. He doesn’t look a thing like Gavin and I certainly look nothing like Liam but, I wonder…

I decide I’m through being the only one awake so I set my hand on Oz’s shoulder and begin to rock him back and forth. “Oz,” I say lowly and put a little more gusto behind my movements.

His brows pinch together and his mouth thins as he starts to wake. “Mmmn…Melvin?”

“Good morning.” I plant a kiss in his hair and then make myself comfortable by propping up on an elbow.

“Morning.” Oz finally opens his eyes and stares up at me. “How long have you been up?”

“Few minutes,” I guess and rest my head in my hand.

He mumbles and rubs his eyes, seemingly fighting the urge to go back to sleep. I feel a little guilty for waking him but I remind myself that I need to tell him about my dream before the details are lost to me.

“You told me to let you know if I had another dream, right?”

That wakes him up. Oswald glances up at me and then pushes himself further up on the pillow. “Already?”

I nod with my head still in my hand. “I’m even more sure now that what I’m seeing is the real world.”

As I’ve meditated on the dream, I’ve noticed how much…fuller…that world is than ours. Every person looked like they had their own worlds—their own stories—that they carried with them. There was no spotlight just on me and Gavin and we were probably extras in someone else’s life.

I relay the events to Oz and explain how busy and bustling the city was. It’s the first time I’ve gotten a vivid peek at the world and I feel there’s no way it isn’t real.

Aside from that, there is another theory I’m forming but I’m a little nervous to reveal it. With Oz’s eyes on me, his undivided attention directed toward me, I almost chicken out.

But I swallow the lump in my throat and I take the dive. “I think these memories are about us, Oz.”

His brows raise but, other than that, he shows little surprise. “You mean…who we were before ending up here?”

I drop my hand and sit up a little more. “I know it probably sounds ridiculous…”

“No,” he interrupts and follows me up. His eyes are narrowed and serious. “There’s a reason you’re having these dreams and a reason you’re having them now. I think they are important and if this has something to do with the real people we were before all this then…that would make sense.”

I look away from him. Even if he’s a little blurry without my glasses, his stare is still too intense to look directly at. “I don’t have any proof though. It’s just a feeling…”

Oswald lets out a short, breathy laugh. He pushes me back onto the bed and leans over me, forcing me to look him in the eye. “That doesn’t matter at the moment. Until we find solid evidence for these dreams, I’m okay with acting under the belief that we were married in a past life.”

I feel the smile forming at the corner of my lip. When he puts it that way—so plainly—I can’t help but feel elated.

“Yeah…” I agree. “It would make our desire to be together against all odds make more sense, right?”

Oz answers me with a kiss. He is far removed from his usual intensity but he still slips his hands between us, caressing my body and dipping down south. Everything feels very slow and borderline reserved.

We’ve had sex more than I can count but the way he’s touching me makes me feel like this is our first time. I almost blush at the thought. I do, however, let out a small moan into Oz’s mouth.

He responds to it with the introduction of his tongue, rolling against me in the same slow manner that his hands move on my body. One hand remains on my chest, working against my pec and massaging the muscle while the other reaches down to my member and wakes it up.

I play through his hair as my body moves with a mind of it’s own to better feel the warmth of his touch. My mind hums with the pleasant idea that we were, at some point, married to one another.

It means more than I realized when I first thought it. But, after seeing Oz accept it and seeing how much he wants it to be true… I nearly can’t stand how happy it makes me.

Oswald parts from me but it’s so he can lean over to the nightstand and recover the bottle of lube he brought over from his apartment. He pops the cap back with one hand and pours a decent amount into his opposite palm. He warms it up before getting it anywhere near me which I appreciate.

I close my eyes and suck in air through my teeth, tensing for a second before releasing that tension. It helps to make me more relaxed, I’ve found, and makes the preparation go a little smoother. Of course, Oz would take all the time that was necessary to ensure I’m comfortable and ready before doing anything anyway—I know that for a fact.

He works his fingers in me and I watch the look of concentration on his face that I’ve become so familiar with. Married, I think, basically on a loop.

We might have been married.

When he continues on and slowly pushes his way into me, I’m filled with something distinctly different than lust. I’m still terribly attracted to him, of course, but my need to be connected to him isn’t coming from just that carnal place.

I wrap my arms around his back and hold him close as he slides in and out of me, keeping that slow and gentle pace. My stomach still coils with that tight heat—it’s just not as desperate, not as explosive.

Our lips meet occasionally as our bodies rock together, moving rhythmically like the tide. Every other beat, I catch a kiss and, on the off-beat, I catch my breath.

The heat in my eyes alerts me that I’m on the verge of tears and I tighten my hold around Oz. My heart beats wildly even though we’re still taking it pretty slow.

The words are out of my mouth before I can stop them but, even after I say them, I can’t bring myself to regret them. “I love you.”

Oz captures me in a fierce kiss, pushing himself all the way into my body and holding me there for a moment. That fullness breaks the dam and I feel a tear roll down my face and into my hairline. A soft smack sounds when Oz pulls back from my lips and he rests his forehead against mine, staring straight through my eyes and into my soul.

“I love you too.”

I moan without restraint when he moves his hips again. My hands clasp together around his back and I stretch my legs out to their limits as Oz quickens his thrusts, taking us both to the end in a matter of minutes. His confession still wracks my body with a matching intensity as my orgasm.

We keep holding each other and Oz stays inside of me as we catch our breaths. Everything feels still—peaceful—and I forget we’re living in a simulation with no plausible way out. I’m happy to just exist in this moment.

I think we’re both ready to go back to sleep like this and I have no intention or will to let Oz go any time soon. It’s still early anyway, I argue with myself. We can afford to laze around a little.

But I don’t get to make that choice.

The doorbell rings and sends us both to our feet in an instant. My heart nearly bursts out of my chest but I still manage to throw on some clothes on my way to the door.

There are only a couple of people it can be and I’m not sure I’m ready to see any of them. Oz certainly isn’t and the two of us have a lot of explaining to do depending on who is on the other side.

The bell rings again so I call out, “Coming!” as I struggle to button my pants.

Oz hangs back (probably worried that it’s Kade) and I approach the door alone. Before opening it, I check the peephole.

It’s not Kade but Bree.

I unlock the door and open it in a flurry. Is she finally ready to tell me what she knows? Oz and I could definitely use the input.

I ready myself to ask but she beats me to the punch. “Kade needs your help,” she blurts out and her expression tells me it’s serious.

“What?” I ask on reflex.

A crease forms on Bree’s forehead and her body tenses. “We need to go. Now.”

#heartbeats paradise #my novel #my writing

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itsany62 · 3 years

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SteveTony - Alternate Universe

Here are some Alternate Universe fics that I love. Don't forget to leave kudos and nice comments in every fic!

Food for the Heart, by LagLemon, 14 k >, Cooking, No Powers.

After being introduced to a gourmet food on a budget blog by Pepper (a gift for her elderly, cheapskate mother) Tony starts cooking again. The recipes are good, but the blog owner is even better. Still, Tony isn't so sure Captain America, the guy who runs the blog, can compete with Hot Bagboy, the gorgeous blond who works at the grocery store.

"Free to Good Home" by Captain_Panda, 7 k > words, Alternate Universe - Animals.

"Oliver and Company" AU.

There's a great big world outside the box.

But it's a dog-eat-dog world, and Tony's just one cat. Then a stray dog comes along, looking for a friend.

A Day In Principal Stark's Office, by nannersmelo, 10 k > words, Steve Single Parent, Director Tony.

Tony Stark has his hands full with not only Stark Industries, but also his beloved mother's life project: The Maria Stark Academy, and as he enters his office in order to deal with a ferocious mother whose son was apparently assaulted by one of his brightest students, he was sure this day would culminate in nothing but a heinous headache. Little did he know - he was in for one hell of a surprise.

I Am the Night by gottalovev, 6 k > words, Alternate Universe - Vampire, Vampire Tony Stark, Wizard Steve Rogers.

That's it. Tony is doomed. He rolls on his back, crosses his wings over his belly and closes his eyes. He'll await death here, misunderstood by the world to the bitter end.

C is for Calculus and Compromise, by heydoeydoey, 11 k>, Gifted AU, Post-Divorce, Angts with a Happy Ending.

Steve's just trying to give his prodigy daughter a normal childhood. Enter a meddling school administrator, Tony Stark, and too many lawyers.

tell you my love for you by jelliebean, 22 k > words, Alternate Universe - Normal High School, Based on Love Simon.

A guy at Shield High comes out on tumblr, anonymously. Tony thought he was the only gay guy on campus--not out, because of Howard--and sends him an email.

“Hey, Flying. Same here. I’ve got a secret too, and it’s like I’m hiding who I am, every day. From everyone. All the closest people to me. But I just can’t tell them. I’m gay, too. It feels like I’m putting on this mask, this shell of who I think they want me to be. Even though I don’t think my friends would judge me. I don’t know why. I just. I’ve got a secret. –Shell”

The guy seems great--amazing, even, and then Hammer has to step in and ruin it all.

Mergers & Acquisitions by Robin_tCJ, 33 k > words, Angst, sex as currency.

Steve Rogers is the CEO of the Rogers Corporation, which he built from the ground up. When he learns that Hydra International is making a bid for a hostile takeover of Stark Industries, he decides he has to do what he can to stop Hydra from overtaking the market and becoming an unstoppable, unethical conglomerate. Tony Stark asks for something Steve isn’t sure he should give, but he does it anyway – and it completely changes everything. But when Hydra keeps coming, Steve and Tony realize there’s more to this than they’d realized.

Meeting the Monsters by itsallAvengers, 23 k > words, Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Creatures & Monsters.

Tony's at public school with kids his age for the first time in seventeen years, and he is determined that this year is gonna be his year. He's going to make friends. He's going to be popular. People will like him.

Unsurprisngly, none of that actually happens.

He does sort-of-maybe fall in love with a vampire in his class that everyone is terrified of, though. So... there's that.

(I Want You To See) The Darkest Side Of Me by ann2who, 45 k > words, Alternate Universe - No Powers, Alternate Universe - Fusion, Post-World War II.

In Monte Carlo, Steve meets the wealthy widower Anthony Stark. It’s love at first sight—at least for Steve—and he can’t believe his luck when Tony asks him to live at Stark Mansion, his large estate in Malibu. Never in his life had Steve thought something like this was possible… never had he been this happy. However, soon Steve realizes that Tony is still deeply troubled by the death of his first wife and haunted by the many ghosts she left behind. The longer Steve lives in her shadow, the more he understands that… He can never be what Tony’s wife had once been for him. And Tony might never truly love him.

Gift With Purchase Remix by sabrecmc, 43 k > words, Alternate Universe - No Powers, hooker Steve, Sugar Daddy.

Gift With Purchase Remix wherein Steve actually is a hooker. But for a Really Sympathetic Reason.

The Little Glass Screwdriver by ann2who, 19 k > words, Cinderella AU.

When Prince Steven is forced to find himself a bride, true love gets in the way. As the night of the grand ball unfolds, the prince meets a mysterious knight who might just change his entire life in a way he could have never imagined.

**Cinderella AU**

Covered in Lines by royal_chandler, 3 k > words, Alternate Universe - Student/Teacher, Alternate Universe - College/University, Age Difference.

He can’t lose sight of pale, deft hands that gesture on transitive verbs, an ink-stained thumb edging underneath Tony’s ribcage with an affection that can only be called dangerous.

half-wild and glimmering by deathsweetqueen , 15 k > words, Alternate Universe - Western, Prostitution.

“Give me a drink, Tasha,” Tony sighs as he lands in front of the bar. “I’ve had one hell of a day.”

Natasha raises an eyebrow. “Have you really?” she asks, loftily, sliding a tumbler of whiskey along the well-polished wood.

Tony lets his head hang, the sweat beading on the back of his neck. “You wouldn’t believe what I’ve had to put myself through today,” he sighs, wearily.

“I would not know. You will not let me work the rooms,” Natasha retorts, her voice a little strained, busying her hands in a dirty glass.

“I don’t let you work the rooms ‘cause you’re liable to kill anyone who touches ya the wrong way and we can’t lose that much of our business,” Tony reminds her, wryly amused, sipping at his whiskey. He shakes his head at the burn. “We peddle flesh, darling, not death.”

peers, fears and holiday cheers by jacobby, 24 k > words, Parent Tony Stark.

“He’s only two years older than you,” Tony finally says when the silence becomes too much to bear.

“Dad, Teddy is turning twenty-seven next year.”

“I am not dating your husband—”

“I’m not implying you are. I just want you to be...aware that he’s practically the same age as my husband.”

AKA

Tony Stark's new boyfriend is only two years older than his adult sons. Telling them is one thing, introducing them is another. What Tony doesn't expect is that the past always has a way of catching up to him, of biting him in the ass when he least expects it. Well, at least they're all together for the Holidays. What more can he ask for?

A Higher Form of War by sabrecmc, 292 k > words, Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Historical Romance.

Tony is a King with a surprising number of people out to kill him. Steve and the rest of the Avengers are fighting for Pierce's rebellion and end up with Tony as their prisoner. Oops.

you can call me babe for the weekend by complicationstoo, 10 k > words, Alternate Universe - No Powers, actor Tony Stark.

Tony left his small town for Los Angeles after high school, leaving behind everything to pursue his dream. Ten years later, he comes back for the first time and finds that some things are impossible to let go of.

Lord, What Fools These Mortals Be by iam93percentstardust, 72 k > words, Alternate Universe - Theatre.

Famed director Phil Coulson brings Shakespeare’s beloved play, A Midsummer Night’s Dream, to Broadway. This production though comes with a twist: a brief but passionate love affair between the faerie king, Oberon, and his attendant, Puck. In the roles of the two star-crossed lovers, Coulson casts America’s darling Steve Rogers, fresh off his third Academy Award, and Broadway royalty, Tony Stark. Steve quickly finds himself falling for the quick-witted and sarcastic actor but Tony is dating the stage manager. Unwilling to come between the seemingly happy couple, Steve steps back but all isn’t right behind the scenes and Tony may need him when everything falls apart.

and so we rebuild by raeldaza, 26 k > words, Alternate Universe - Star Trek Fusion, Soulmates, Mutual Pining.

Sometimes, a voice whispers: you will never atone for your mistakes.

Tony believes that, believes it so strongly some days he drowns in it, but he still tries. Tries through Starfleet, tries through inventions, tries through missions. Then, one day, he meets his new Captain, and things change.

and teach this heart (how to beat with light), by starklystar, 40 k >, AU Hospital, Single parent Steve.

Eight years ago, at a funeral with a baby's cries ringing in his ears, Tony Stark decided to turn his life around. He's a genius, billionaire, philanthropist. What's so hard to adding 'doctor' to that list? And after that, it can't be that hard to add 'husband' and 'father' too, right? But the past has a way of haunting even the very best of us, and in any universe, Tony Stark and Steve Rogers have never had an easy love.

Featuring: drama, chaos, Peter's scheming, meddling friends, and doctors learning again that the heart can never be as simple as four chambers and four valves.

Catching Lightning in a Bottle by sabrecmc, 120 k > words, Alternate Universe - Sweet Home Alabama Fusion.

College student Tony meets janitor Steve at MIT and they fall blissfully in love, until Howard happens and things fall apart. One divorce paperwork snafu courtesy of the ever-helpful Jarvis, and ten years later, Tony has to get re-divorced from Steve.

This does not go as he imagines.

Or, the Sweet Home Alabama AU that no one--well, okay, a few of you--asked for.

The Night Shift by weethreequarter , 16 k > words, Alternate Universe - Hospital.

Welcome to the Emergency Department of San Antonio General where Dr. Tony Stark joins the team fresh from his most recent tour in Afghanistan and - much to the consternation of the other staff - strikes up an instant rapport with Nurse Steve Rogers. Meanwhile, new resident Bruce Banner refuses to give up on his patient, and Dr. Sharon Carter learns something from her own patients. Throw in a pissed off hospital administrator, Clint using the coffee pot as a mug again, and a major car crash and you have, well, just another night shift.

Cake It Till You Make It by ChocolateCapCookie, 10 k > words, Kid Fic, Alternate Universe - Bakery.

Steve Rogers and Tony Stark have a lot in common. They're single parents, they own rival bakeries at the center of town... and they both hate each other's guts.

When a mix-up at Peter and Morgan's school has both fathers scrambling to prove they're the better baker, they do the mature, adult thing and compete in a bake-off. Between the mixing and the creaming, the baking and the icing, Steve and Tony find that hate is actually not that far from love.

Looking for Heaven by foxxcub, 31 k > words, Alternate Universe - Regency, Marriage of Convenience.

When young Lord Anthony Stark learns Steven Rogers has enlisted in the army, he thinks he's seen the last of his tiny, headstrong, haughty stable boy. But four years later, Lord Stark gets an unexpected visit from Steve, whose mother has fallen gravely ill and into financial ruin. Even more unexpected, Steve agrees to a shocking proposal: they will marry, giving Steve the necessary funds to save his mother, and Tony the much-needed reprieve from harassing would-be suitors. It is a business arrangement, nothing more. But as time goes on and circumstances arise, Tony begins to learn that keeping his heart away from his husband is easier said than done.

just a guy, standing in front of another guy by theappleppielifestyle, 12 k > words.

“It’s not real,” Tony says, still smiling, jaw twitching with effort. “The fame. It’s - I’m just a guy."

(Or, Notting Hill AU, with a twist.)

Mother of Exiles (A Titanic AU) by BladeoftheNebula, 21 k > words, Alternate Universe - Titanic Fusion.

“You’ll never guess what just happened!” Steve said, taking a deep breath to try and calm his breathing. “I met someone. A guy from first class.”

Dublin 1912: Steve Rogers is barely making ends meet, living in the tenement slums of Dublin. But a stroke of good luck gives him and his best friend the chance to change their fortune. Two tickets to America on board the RMS Titanic.

The Devil You Know by shetlandowl, 17 k > words, Alternate Universe - Detectives, Alternate Universe - Author/Novelist.

Best selling author Tony Stark revives the bodice ripper genre for a modern audience. From frisky gay cowboys to ravenous lesbian pirate queens, he consistently delivers riveting thrillers full of romance, drama, and the filthy, unapologetically kinky sex that has become his trademark specialty.

Tony has everything a man could dream of - horny, adoring fans, and boatloads of money. Or that's what he thought, until Detective Steve Rogers walks into his life and turns it all upside down.

Bears and Mountains and Lumberjacks Oh My! by justanotherrollingstony (adoctoraday), 24 k > words, Alternate Universe - No Powers, Lumberjack Steve Rogers.

It was supposed to be easy--go meet the reclusive artist and buy some art. And then came the broken down car. And the snowstorm. And the lumberjack with a face like a greek god. So yea, Tony is stuck in a cabin in the woods with a hot lumberjack till the storm clears. Could be worse.

Series: A Furious Vexation by Annie D (scaramouche), 18 k > words, Alternate Universe - Post-Apocalypse.

A Steve/Tony post-apocalypse AU that exists pretty much just for the smut.

That Feline Beat by Tito11, 5 k > words, Alternate Universe - Animals.

Presenting Steve and Tony in the Aristocats!AU

Tony and his three kittens have been kidnapped from their fancy Upper East Side apartment while their owners are away and deposited on the mean streets of Harlem. Unsure of where they are or how to get back home, they'll have to rely on street cat Steve to guide them. Will they get home safely? Will Tony's fear of abandonment cause him to drive away the best tomcat he's ever known? Only time will tell.

do you fondue? by calciseptine, 16 k > words, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting.

Tony has done crazy things in the name of food, but falling in love with Steve Rogers really takes the cake.

a glimpse of heaven's love by parkrstark, 13 k> words, Alternate Universe - No Powers, Terminal Illnesses.

The child begins to empty his pockets. He starts to count coins on the counter. Tony huffs a little impatiently as he realizes most of them are pennies.

The cashier actually humors the kid and counts along with him. They reach 3 dollars and 54 cents before he shakes his head sadly. "Sorry, kid. There's not enough here."

The kid sounds close to crying. "I need these paints for my Papa. It's Christmas Eve and these...he doesn't have any. The doctors said he doesn't have long. I want him to have these. In case he meets Jesus tonight, I want him to paint one more time. Please."

Tony takes a step forward, arms still full of toys he's buying just because. He can cover this child's gift for his dying father. Money. Money is what he's good for.

"I'll buy them."

Or, the Christmas Shoes AU no one but me asked for.

If you survive first impressions, you're good to go by itsallAvengers, 3 k > words, Parent Tony Stark, Alternate Universe - No Powers.

The first time Peter Parker-Stark sees Steve Rogers, he may or may not be standing in direct path of the man's motorcycle.

His daddy is really not going to be happy about that one.

A Rat-ional Conclusion by BladeoftheNebula, 6 k > words, Alternate Universe - No Powers, Alternate Universe - Veterinarians, Parent Tony Stark.

He had a strong flurry of patients throughout the morning and by the time it rolled around to noon, he was just about worn out.

He walked out into the reception, stretching until he felt a satisfying pop. “Are we done?”

Bucky checked the screen. “Just about. One more before lunch - a rat, singular.”

Steve breathed a sigh of relief. Hopefully straight forward then. “Great, let me know when they-”

He was interrupted by the bell over the door and looked up to see a little girl cradling a small animal carrier, being shepherded through the door by easily one of the hottest men he’d ever seen in real life.

Oh wow.

Tidal Pull by sabrecmc, 97 k > words, Octopus Tony Stark, Alternate Universe - Shipwrecked.

After the American Civil War, Union soldier Steve Rogers takes a chance on an opportunity to sail with the Stark Trading Company down in the Caribbean. During a terrible storm, his ship is lost. To his surprise, he survives, and ends up stranded on an island that isn't quite as deserted as he first thinks.

Or, a reverse Little Mermaid tale where Steve has to fall for the fish-man.

Twelve Days by elysianprince, 22 k > words, Alternate Universe - No Powers, Alternate Universe - Ghosts.

In which Tony finds himself in a town that looks like it crawled out of a Hallmark Christmas movie, trying to sell an inn he didn't know he owned, all while dealing with Steve Rogers, the resident ghost who has returned to haunt the inn each December during the twelve days of Christmas for the past seventy years. Tony has only one logical solution that benefits them both: break the curse that binds him - but falling for a man almost a century old wasn't among his plans.

She kissed me by S_Horne, 1 k > words, Tony Stark Needs a Hug, Howard Stark's A+ Parenting.

“Your mom kissed me.”

Steve blinked awake and lifted his head from his pillow to look over at the silhouette in the doorway. “What?”

“Your mom,” Tony reiterated. “She kissed me.”

“Yeah,” Steve said simply, “she does that.”

#stevetony #stony #fic rec #tony stark #steve rogers #my recs

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alexalily · 2 years

Text

I've had a couple story ideas lately that both start off as the usual cute fluff that I think up and then at some point transition into some kind of horror movie. These ideas are free to a good home aka I’m unlikely to actually write them so feel free to take these ideas and do whatever you want with them. If you do end up doing that please let me know because I would love to read what you write!!

The first one is, well, I was going to say "inspired by" the movie Willow Creek (2013) but as I typed this out I realized it's more or less a full ripoff of that (lmao). Renee is a cryptid seeker/hunter/believer and Anita is her very supportive (albeit non-believing) girlfriend. At some point, Renee plans out a whole trip to go searching for something/someone (Mothman or Sasquatch or whatever) and Anita agrees to go with her because she doesn't want her not-very-outdoorsy girlfriend going out into the middle of some random woods for several days on her own. From there, it's just a lot of cute relaxing hiking moments. Getting to the top of some trail, looking out across a valley, Renee saying something like "wow, look at the beautiful view" and Anita says "yeah, it is" but she isn't looking at nature, she's looking at Renee. Renee gets caught in some branches or briars or whatever and Anita has to help her get unstuck. But in doing so, Renee takes a branch to the face. Anita kisses it to make it better. Stuff like that, y'know?

That night, they set up camp but start hearing noises. Renee gets spooked thinking it's wild animals or a cryptid or hunters or cultists or who knows what. Anita assumes it's either some animals that'd be more afraid of them than they are of it or it's some locals from the nearby small town fucking with them. But as the night carries on, the noises continue and Anita gets less and less sure about what she's hearing. Renee is way too scared to sleep at this point. I'm not entirely sure where it goes from there, though. Spoilers for Willow Creek but, uh, it goes real bad for those two. And I'm not sure I'd want to put Voidstrike through that. So, maybe it's a tense rush through the forest in the middle of the night as the eerie noises chase them. They get to Anita's truck but it's been smashes or the tires or slashed or it's in some way undriveable so they just have to keep running. Suddenly Renee is thankful that Anita forced her to wake up early to go running with her with some frequency.

The next day they either rent a car or find someone willing to take them back out to Anita's truck and it's absolutely trashed. Anita is heartbroken but Renee is excited because she takes it as undeniable proof that they cryptid they were looking for is absolutely real.

This second one a little bit inspired by Kristy (2014) but mostly inspired by The Rental (2020). I initially wrote this out as a series of tweets but after like 20 tweets I decided it was Too Long to post to twitter and just threw it in a text file and told myself I would definitely flesh it out and write a proper fic of it and haha no I’m not doing that. I’m also not reformatting/retyping this so it’s mostly in 280 character chunks, please enjoy.

College AU Voidstrike where they're roommates. Renee was going stay on campus over break but Anita convinced her to come home with her instead. Renee said it'd be weird to spend the long weekend with someone else's family but Anita says it'd just be the two of them..

Jackson is spending the holiday with his gf's family and her parents decided it'd be a good time for them to go on that cruise they always wanted to go on. So Anita convinces Renee to come with to keep her company cause it's a big house and she'd be lonely on her own.

Important to note: this is all before they're officially dating. Everyone else considers them a couple but they both deny it. Renee is oblivious and thinks Anita isn't even interested in her. Anita isn't sure about Renee's feelings but keeps saying she's gonna shoot her shot soon

They make the drive out to Anita's parents' place. Renee had no idea how well off her parents were, to afford a sleek modern house out in the woods near a lake with barely any neighbors for miles. Anita laughs it off- they only started living it up after she and Jackson moved out

Growing up, she thought they were doing okay but just kinda getting by. Turns out they were saving it for college and vacations. Less than a week after Anita moved out her childhood home into her dorm room, her parents announced they were moving to this new fancy place lmao

Once they get there, Anita has to call Loba and Kairi back. She didn't want to answer the phone while driving but they apparently didn't get the message. Of course all they wanted was to tease her about how this was a setup for her to make a move

"It's not even like that!" she insists. They laugh at her because she's such a terrible liar. She hangs up with them once Renee comes back down stairs from carrying her bag into the guest room. "What did they want?" "Nothing, they just wanted to say hey"

Next, Anita suggests a movie. Renee says she might fall asleep during it. It was a long drive and she's exhausted. Renee cuddling up close to Anita isn't unheard of. She does it every time they watch something in their dorm But that's on a lil futon and not on this giant couch

Renee was right and she falls asleep on Anita's shoulder halfway thru. After a bit, she stirs awake, moves to rest her head on Anita's lap instead, and goes back to sleep. Anita texts Loba and Kairi in a gay panic. "She's too fkin cute! What the hell!"

The movie ends and Anita stays in place for a while but she can't sleep like this so she carefully slides out from under Renee and switches her thigh for a pillow. She gets some blankets for Renee and tucks her in. She considers a good night kiss but decides that'd be a bit much

Anita is careful to be quiet as she goes up to her room (aka the room she's been told is hers even though this is only her 2nd or 3rd time even staying in this house). Just as she's getting in bed, she hears something? A thump? New house. It's probably nothing. The wind.

It bugs her though, so she goes back downstairs just to check everything out. She freezes when she enters the living room, as does the person trying to drag Renee away. Renee tries to scream but a big gloved hand muffles the sound.

Anita takes a step forward but the intruder raises a long kitchen knife at her. Anita freezes again. Her parents insisted on some self defense classes but she doesn't need that to know not to rush someone with a knife.

While the intruder is focused on Anita, Renee takes the opportunity to stomp on a foot and bite the hand over her mouth. It tastes leathery and bad but it makes them flinch enough that she can slide out of their grasp. She stumbles forward, over the couch, and into Anita's arms.

Together, they rush upstairs and into Anita's room. The door doesn’t have a lock so they shove the dresser in front of it and hope that'll be good enough. "Where's your phone?" Renee asks. "In the kitchen. I had to charge it after I called Loba. What about yours?"

Renee pulls hers out of her pocket but explains that hers doesn't get service out here. (Anita suddenly realizes why her parents insisted on a new phone & plan/carrier for the new school year). Renee figured she'd be fine without it for a few days.

The intruder is pounding on the door now. After two strong hits they realize it won't be long before they break the door down.

This was the part where I stopped writing it because I wasn’t sure where to go with it (and also had other obligations to take care of and then never got around to writing more of this). I was thinking that they’d climb out the window and onto the roof. Anita jumps across to a tree and tries to climb down without just plummeting to the ground. But Renee is too scared to jump. Instead she moves across the roof and goes back in the window to the guest room she was staying in (she opened it earlier when she put her bags away, to let the room air out or something). And then... I dunno. They don’t die, I know that much. They get away and are closer than ever. Maybe they catch and/or kill the intruder, I didn’t really think that part through.

I think I’ll be doing posts like this relatively frequently as I work through my old WIPs folder that has been collecting dust for over a year now. I figure if I’m not doing anything with these ideas, I may as well throw them out there and see if anyone else wants to do anything with them. Or, if nothing else, maybe just reading the ideas will bring some people some momentary joy, y’know?

#voidstrike #fic ideas free to a good home

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ill-skillsgard · 4 years

Note

is faith dealing w being away from fausty? I miss them so :(,, I hope you’re well love xoxo

Warning: 18+ Mentions of sex/phone sex, mentions of alcohol and drug use, violent threats, non-consensual touching, brief mentions of rape.

Note: I missed writing Faust stuff so much over the holidays. He’s definitely one of my favourite secretly soft boys. I can’t wait to get back into the swing of writing. Thank you to the lovely anons who haven’t given up on this pairing yet! I will try not to go 2 months between posts for these guys.

Summary: Faith starts to miss Faust so much while he’s away on tour that she goes to his apartment to spend the night in his bedroom. However, her plans are interrupted by the people Faust warned her not to hang around.

Faust x Faith Masterpost [x]

Faith awoke in a sweat, chest pumping hot torrents of blood to her head as the ceiling came into view, the walls containing her after a flight through a nightmare faded into obscurity. She rolled onto her back, her flimsy cotton nightgown sticking to her dewy skin, and tossed the comforter from her top half. Streetlamps and passing cars cast geometric blocks of light on the ceiling, illuminating the dust motes floating by her face. Faith breathed in and out, shaking her head free from the gripping terror of unconsciousness.

She had dreamed of receiving a phone call from Faust in the middle of the night, and when she answered, he explained to her in a laconic, matter-of-fact voice why they shouldn't continue seeing each other. He was too busy to maintain a relationship with a girl who's path would never intersect with his goals. She was too young, too naive, too proper. Too this and too that and in no way matched him. The terrible sinking in her chest returned as it had in the dream, but she dismissed the sensation. It was all a silly dream, a manifestation of her worst fear. Faust loved her and would never break up with her—least of all over a phone call.

The cellphone next to her pillow came to life, vibrating a couple of times before she found it and squinted at the bright screen. Faust. She sat up, and her lungs froze, the cavernous hole opening up under her skin. When she answered, voices and loud music came through like warring radio waves.

"Hello?" She whispered, not wanting to wake her dorm mate.

"Faith? You there?"

"Yes," her voice crawled from her throat, no louder than a rasp. She cleared her airway and said again, "Yes."

"Aw, are you sleeping, babe?"

"No," she whispered.

"Hm? I can't hear you. Hang on, let me find a quieter place."

Faith swung out of bed and left the dorm to go to the shared washrooms where she could speak. She entered a stall, put down the toilet seat and sat atop the cold plastic, waiting for Faust's deep voice to tickle her ear again.

"You there?" He asked.

"Yeah, I'm here."

"That's better, yeah. I can hear you now."

Faith squeezed her knees together, his voice like warm liquid flowing into her stomach. She sighed, relieved.

"Sorry, I know it's late for you. We had a really late soundcheck, then I was in the green room until we went on. I didn't forget to call."

Faith nodded, smiling, though Faust couldn't see the respite his words gave her after the unpleasant dream that had jarred her awake.

"It's okay. Where are you again?"

"Utah, probably a couple hours behind you. We're out of the venue now."

"How was the show?" Faith asked.

"It was good—big stage. Couple hundred people, but maybe a quarter of them were there for us. We sold a lot of merch, though."

"That's great, babe. I'm glad you're having fun."

"Yeah," Faust sighed. "I miss you, though. Can't believe there's still another three weeks of this."

Faith leaned her head against the stall's metal barrier, reading the scandalous notes engraved in the chipped paint. "I know. Seems like forever."

"You're still good to come to our last show?"

"Yes. I told my parents I'm going to a friend's cottage for the weekend."

"But really, you're getting on a Greyhound and coming to see me."

She closed her eyes and giggled. "That's right."

Faith wondered if she should tell Faust about her bad dream. She knew what he'd say to her: it was just a dumb dream, and he would never break up with her, so she shouldn't let it bother her so much. She accepted this assurance without bringing it up.

"I'm in my bunk now," Faust told her.

"I'm in the bathroom," said Faith.

"Wish you were here, though. It gets so boring sometimes, driving from place to place, listening to these dumbasses argue over the shower."

"It's the same here. I've started taking showers at midnight just to avoid the headache and bargaining. These girls all have the same night routine. There's always a line-up to use the shower."

"Mm," Faust grunted. "Yeah. Stupid."

A moment of silence passed between them. Faith savoured his soft breaths coming over the line, wishing she could feel the warmth behind them. She craved his scent, the smell of his shampoo, the distinct mentholated freshness of his deodorant. She wanted to stroke his face, and touch his biceps, inspect the hair underneath his arms until he told her she was weird for finding such things fascinating. She wanted to feel the twin ruts coming to a peak below his navel, leading down to his groin where he'd snatch her hand and berate her, ultimately relenting and letting her stroke the soft skin underneath the band of his plaid boxers.

"I wanna touch you," she whispered.

"Fuck," he drawled. "Me too, babe."

"I had a bad dream you called me in the middle of the night to break up with me... then you actually called. Do you think that's weird?"

Faust scoffed in that indignant way he always did. She pictured the corner of his mouth snagging, his brows descending at such a silly thing.

"That's kind of weird."

"I hate not being able to sleep next to you."

"Don't worry, babe. I'll be home soon. You can get through the next few weeks."

"Yeah, but... Do you miss sleeping next to me?"

"Oh, definitely. I really miss you hogging the blankets, pushing me to the edge of the bed, punching me in your sleep."

"I don't do that!"

Faust snickered. "Yeah, you do. But it's okay. I'm like way stronger than you. I can move you like nothing."

"Don't remind me," Faith groaned.

"Don't remind you of what? How strong I am?"

Faith made her voice small. "Yes. I can't think of that kind of stuff right now."

"You can't think about me overpowering you?"

"Sh. Quiet."

"What? Don't want to think about me pinning your arms above your head with one hand while I finger you? S'that what you don't want to think about?"

"I hate you," she said.

"Hate it when I pick you up and fuck you against the wall?"

"Yes."

"So...You're definitely not thinking about my cock, then? You haven't been playing with my pussy while I've been away? Pretending your fingers are mine? Or using that toy you bought to fuck yourself in your dorm when your roommate isn't there?"

"Oh my gosh, Faust. Please."

"You don't make yourself cum to the thought of me eating out that pussy? You don't miss my fat cock stretching out that poor little slit? Making you bounce on it? Sucking it until I cum buckets down your throat?"

"Faust," she whispered. "You're bad."

"Answer me. Do you think about riding my cock every night before bed? Rub yourself against a pillow between your legs?"

"Yes, I think about it all the time."

"Can you do me a favour?" Faust asked. Faith agreed before hearing the terms of said agreement. "Tomorrow, I want you to go to all your classes without wearing any panties under your skirt."

Faith's cheeks burned from his request. "What if it's windy and it blows up my skirt?"

"I don't really care," he said. "Know what? Never mind. Scratch that. This isn't a request; it's a command. I want you to take pictures while you're in class to prove you listened."

"I can't! Someone will see."

"Think I give a fuck? Sit in the back if you have to."

"I'll try," said Faith, toying with the sleeves of her nightgown.

"That's my girl."

They spoke for a few more minutes until Faust's bandmates flooded onto the bus, yelling and searching for the drummer who'd stowed away in the bunks. Faust said his goodbyes, made sure Faith understood her instructions for tomorrow, then said goodnight. She heard his friends mocking him in the backroom, calling him pussy-whipped, listened to him threaten their lives and giggled.

"I love you," Faust said, loud enough that anyone around him might hear. His unabashed affection filled her to the brim with warm fuzz.

"I love you, too," Faith replied, then looked at the phone screen until he hung up.

Later in the week, Faith started having trouble sleeping. Even if she filled her days with activities, studied into the night, ate properly and read before bed, her mind swam with anxiety. She told Faust about it, but he had no solution other than to stop by his place to grab one of his hoodies to sleep in, maybe one of his blankets if she missed him so much. Delighted, Faith accepted the suggestion, and Faust texted his roommate to leave the apartment door unlocked for her. She made her way over after dinner one night and walked in on Faust's roommate hosting a party.

The apartment was in disarray—worse than she'd ever seen. Beer bottles and cigarettes overflowing the ashtray was commonplace, but now there were grease-stained pizza boxes open on the floor, salt stains on the rug from people coming in and out from the balcony. The sofa pocked with several more burn marks, the dishes hadn't been washed since Faust left, and the entire living room reeked of stale food and smoke. Not only that, but she'd come in at the precise moment the music transitioned, and every eye in the place went to her.

She recognized half the people in Faust's apartment from other parties—Anika, the most familiar face that turned in her direction. The tall, blond girl smiled and pushed a guy's hand off her shoulder before approaching her. The metal music picked up, drowned out the silence, and Faith relaxed when Anika hugged her.

"Hey! I didn't know you were coming!" Anika exclaimed.

"I wasn't... Well, I didn't know anyone was here. I just came to get some stuff from Faust's room."

"Oh, cool. How is Frosty? I haven't seen you guys since Halloween!"

"He's good," Faith said, voice tapering off when she saw a pair of malicious eyes grilling her from across the room. "You know... Just touring."

"Yeah, I heard. That's awesome. Hey, you want anything to drink? We have beer in the fridge," Anika said.

Faith felt awkward standing in the middle of the front hall, while groups of people occupied her boyfriend's apartment. She realized she had very little dominion and shrank into herself until Anika pulled her into the kitchen. The blond pulled out two cans of domestic beer and handed her one, noticing Faith's unease.

"What's the matter?" Asked Anika.

Faith wondered if Faust knew about all the people in his apartment, if his roommate had asked him if he could have a party and invite all the people Faust talked shit about—the people he warned her not to hang out with.

"Uh, nothing. Just feels weird being here without Faust," said Faith.

"Aw, it's okay, girl. We party here all the time."

Faith questioned the verity of Anika's claim. She couldn't recall them having any big parties there since she started dating Faust eight months ago. Faust didn't like too many people in his space. Whenever they partied, it was always at someone else's house or out in the bush around a fire.

The same pair of blue eyes had Faith in a stranglehold. She cocked her head, and Anika noticed her attention locked on a man with fine blond hair touching his collarbone.

"Is that—?"

"Sven? Yeah. You probably remember him from that time we went camping."

Faith wished to turn in on herself, abandon the can of beer Anika had given her, grab what she needed from Faust's room, and leave. Anika sensed her discomfort and placed her thin hand on Faith's shoulder.

"Don't worry, he won't bother you. He has a girlfriend now."

"He's a creep," Faith muttered.

Anika shot Sven a look over her shoulder, and he turned away, pulling on a beer and wiping his mouth. Faith remembered the stench of his burnt hair in the fire, how Faust had punched him and dragged him through the dirt toward the pit where he held his face in the flames. Sven complained about the scratches and scrapes on his arms and legs from Faust dragging him the entire way home after they cut the trip short. The same tension that pierced the atmosphere in the van while Sven took the front seat and Faust held her hand in the back seat was the same strain she felt now as he stole glances at her. His wispy mustache had grown back along with his eyebrows and pale lashes.

Faith felt a pang of guilt in her stomach but dismissed the feeling with a swig of beer and Anika's encouragement. Faust would get angry with her if he knew she felt even an inch of remorse over what happened. Sven deserved what he got, and that's what she kept telling herself throughout the night as she drank a couple more beers with Anika and took a hit off a joint someone offered her out on the balcony.

A few of Faust's friends asked her about him, and it filled her with pride knowing everyone there knew who she was, who Faust was. She told them where the band was that night, where they were slated to go next, that they had sold out of merchandise and had to place an emergency order and have it shipped to the next venue. After a few hours, Faith felt the tug of exhaustion creeping over her shoulders and told Anika she had to head out, though she'd already missed the last bus and had little money in her bank account for a cab. Faith considered asking someone for a ride back to campus, but nobody seemed sober enough to trust behind the wheel.

Instead, she went to Faust's bedroom and shut the door and all the noises behind her. In his room, she took in a deep breath, and then another, filling her senses with the comforting scent of pine, stale air and the boyish aroma Faust carried with him. She went to his closet and brushed a hand over the black t-shirts and one of his leather coats. Next, Faith opened the third drawer in the lowboy and pulled out a hoodie that had shrunk in the wash and didn't fit Faust anymore. She often wore it when she came over, but he refused to let her take it home until now. She slipped it on over her blouse, smoothed it over her skirt and wrapped her arms around her ribs. The hood still smelled of Faust's hair.

Without thinking much, she arranged the objects on his dresser into an organized system rather than a mess of pens, splintered drumsticks, guitar picks and snack wrappers. She shovelled the waste into the garbage can under his desk, made his bed, fluffed the pillows, cleared the dirty clothes off the floor and kicked it all into the closet. If there wasn't a party going on right outside the door, she'd have done his laundry and took the dirty plates and forks to the kitchen sink. She did what she could without having to set foot outside the bedroom, and by the time she finished folding the clothes in his dresser into neat stacks, it was far too late for her to go anywhere.

Faith took off her panties and skirt, changed into a pair of his pyjama pants and sat on his bed with her hands folded, wondering if Faust would care if she spent the night in his bed. The fluffy pillows called out for her head. His comforter promised visions of them together again. She considered texting him to say she was staying over, but there was a knock on the door as she went for her phone.

She lifted her feet off the carpet and tucked them under her thighs, balled herself as small as she could until whoever knocked got the hint and walked away. The knock came again, and Faith's throat tightened.

"Yes?" She called.

The door opened, and she expected to see Anika's blond head poking in, but it wasn't her. The person was blond, but the face was not smeared with white foundation, nor were the blue eyes overlined with charcoal black. Sven stepped into the room and shut the door behind him.

"What are you doing in here?" He asked.

"What are you doing in here? This is my boyfriend's room. Why wouldn't I be here?"

"Sorry," said Sven, opening his palms to show he meant no harm. "I wanted to talk to you for a second. Is that okay?"

"I don't see why that's necessary."

"Mmkay, well, you don't have to be a bitch about it. Your boyfriend is the one who almost burnt my face off."

"Well, you were being weird. You're being weird now by coming in here. You should probably go."

"Sucks when he's not around to intimidate everyone that ever wants to start a conversation with you, huh?"

Faith pressed her lips together. Was he threatening her? She wasn't sure. He kept his distance, though his eyes ricocheted off the valuable objects in the room. The Gibson guitar hanging on the wall, the vintage RD bass in its stand just below, the electric drumset next to the desk, Faust's five-thousand-dollar computer, and finally, her. Faust's prized possessions all in one room.

"What do you want to talk about?" Faith broke the silence, sweating.

"I wanted to apologize for acting like an idiot back in the Summer. I was really drunk. I shouldn't have said that shit."

"Okay, well, thanks for the apology."

Sven gestured at her, pale eyebrows high on his freckled forehead. "And?"

"And what?" Faith asked.

"Aren't you going to apologize to me?"

"I have nothing to apologize for."

"You can apologize on behalf of your psycho boyfriend. That’d be a start."

Faith scoffed, heated by the insult. When it came to Faust, she never wanted to hear the negatives. It reminded her of her father's disapproval, filled her with useful venom. "Sorry, if you want an apology from Faust, he’d have to give it to you, and I don’t think that’s happening any time soon."

"Wow," Sven said with a click of his tongue. "And I thought you were a nice girl."

"I am nice, but right now, you're in my personal space, and it's making me uncomfortable."

As she spoke, she noticed Sven's knees wobbling. He was drunk. His beer breath filled the room. Faith shifted closer to the wall, clutching her crossed legs, silently begging for him to leave. He took a step closer, and she gasped.

"Relax, I'm not gonna do anything. Jesus, you chicks watch too much TV, thinkin' every dude is a rapist or something."

"Whatever you say, man. Look, if you're done, I think it's time you leave."

"Why? You going to sleep?"

"You just shouldn't be in here. If Faust were home, you wouldn't set foot in this room or even think about talking to me."

Sven threw his head back and laughed. "Just because he caught me off guard once doesn't mean I'm afraid of him. He can suck my dick, and so can you."

"Get out," Faith said.

"Hey now, hey... It's all good. Christ, I'm just trying to mend bridges, but you're being a total bitch when I'm here apologizing."

"You just told me I could suck your dick. You're literally insulting me to my face. I've asked you to leave, and you're not!"

Sven pushed air through his teeth, teetered closer to her and sat down on the foot of the bed. Faith's body froze, her limbs stiff as boards as the man laid on his back. His face was a foot from her.

"If it weren't for your boyfriend, I'd be on tour right now. I'd be the one selling out venues and merch, signing shit and having people ask me to take pictures."

"It was your fault."

When the words floated from Faith's mouth, his forehead crinkled, and he shot up. She gasped, scrambling against the wall like a cornered rodent.

"Fuck you! Stupid fucking slut! Faust is a way bigger piece of shit than I am. Ask anybody! Everyone knows how much of an asshole he is. Nobody actually likes him. They're just afraid of him because he threatens to kill anyone whoever disagrees with what he says."

The venom roiled in Faith's stomach, blistering up her neck and filling her mind with violent static. Her hands shook as adrenaline pumped into her veins. One more minute alone with Sven and she thought she might lose control of herself.

Sven got off the bed and went for the bass. Faith hissed at him not to touch it, so he leaned over and spat on the finish.

"Get out!" Faith cried. "Get the fuck out right now!"

The music outside the door must have drowned out her yells, for nobody came looking for her. She stood up on the bed, back pressed against a poster. Sven grabbed at her ankle, but she kicked and slapped the top of her foot against his forearm. He laughed and swiped again as she danced away.

"LEAVE!"

"Make me!"

"I'll fucking call the cops on you!"

"Do it, bitch. I'll knock you out and do what I want before anyone even realizes I'm in here."

"Help!" Faith hollered. "Rape! Rape! He's trying to rape me!"

"Woah, woah, calm down. I didn't say that—"

The venom boiled over, shot up through her esophagus and escaped her mouth in panicked screams. Stunned by the banshee shrieks ripping through the air, Sven backed toward the door, feeling around for the doorknob while Faith screamed her face red, blood vessels popping in her eyes, throwing explosions of stars across her vision until he left the room and she dropped onto the bed, crying. Faith felt around the bed for her phone and called Faust.

He answered on the first ring.

"Faust," she blubbered.

"Don't worry, baby. I'm coming home right now."

"W-what?"

"Look over at the computer."

Faith wiped the snot from her nose onto the hoodie's sleeve and glanced at the desk where the computer monitor stood. "Huh? I don't understand."

"See that light right beside the monitor? Wave at it."

Faith lifted her hand. She squinted at the blue dot belonging to a small camera set up between a speaker and the monitor.

"I installed a Bluetooth camera before leaving for tour. Don't trust people to not go into my room and touch my stuff."

"You mean—?"

"I saw everything. Heard everything, too. It's motion-activated."

Faith paled at the thought of Faust watching her cleaning his room, the way she'd caressed his clothes on her face and huffed his scent before Sven came in.

"What should I do, Faust? He's still out there."

"Don't worry. I'll take care of it."

"Should I call the cops?"

"No, don't call anyone. Don't say anything. I said I'll take care of it."

"Okay," she whispered.

"Faith, I'm serious. Let me handle this," his voice was stern.

"What're you gonna do?"

Faust went quiet for a moment until she motioned at the camera. He sighed. "I can't tell you right now."

The adrenaline depleted, and Faith let out a sob. "I need you, Faust. I'm scared."

"Don't be scared, babe. I got you. I'll be home as soon as I can, but I need you to be strong. Don't talk to anyone about what happened until I get there, understand? Nobody. Not your friends, not your parents, don't write it in your journal or breath a word. I promise I'll make it better."

#faust x faith #valter skarsgard fanfiction #valter skarsgard imagine #valter skarsgard

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forasecondtherewedwon · 4 years

Photo

Schwarzenegger Holiday

Pairing: Peter Parker x Michelle Jones (Spideychelle) Rating: E Word Count: 11,874

Includes the following prompts:

snowed in

making latkes together

“You didn’t think I’d let you spend the holidays alone, did you?”

Summary: When MJ’s granted a sudden visit to the safehouse where Peter’s been hidden for six months, she’s... nervous. What if he doesn’t want her to come? What if he doesn’t like her that way anymore? She has 24 hours to figure out what they are to each other and make peace with it. That’s the plan. Until they get snowed in.

MJ’s leg is jumping in the backseat of the SUV, the bop of her foot barely audible over the thickly-packed snow grinding under the tires. Anywhere else, this large, white vehicle would be conspicuous, but she supposes it’s fading in pretty well against this wintery backdrop. Probably less visible from above too; she quits bouncing her foot long enough to unbuckle her seatbelt and slide over to glance up at the sky, until the driver brusquely reminds her to keep her face away from the windows.

She’s dying to snark back and ask what the darkly tinted windows are for if they aren’t good enough to conceal the face of the vehicle’s occupants, but this guy kinda scares her. He’s something more secret than the Secret Service. If Nick Fury (the real Nick Fury this time, apparently—she has a whole backlog of questions and complaints that there wasn’t time to bring up during the handoff) hadn’t done an extra security check on the driver before sending MJ off with him, she’d be really worried right about now. Her suitcase is in the trunk and she’s clutching the box May gave her to her hip, wondering how she’ll be able to use its contents for self-defence if the need arises. Tear open the bag of flour and throw it in the guy’s eyes maybe?

Her strategy with the flour is sturdy, but there’s something else in this box for which she has no plan. There wasn’t time for her and May to discuss it, like there wasn’t time for MJ to interrogate Fury on where exactly he was while Peter was grappling with Quentin Beck all over Europe. Time, time, time. It’s been months, actually, since any of them seemed to have enough of it. She’s curious to know how the summer, fall, and now early winter have passed for Peter. He doesn’t even know she’s on her way. Nervous, MJ bites at the skin around her thumb nail. She hopes he’s happy to see her.

When Jameson totally fucked up her first date (and her new boyfriend’s whole life), Peter fled. He had to. Luckily, he’s being protected—so MJ’s been told—though the trade-off for safety is isolation. If it were her, she’s not sure she’d mind being handed an extended stretch of time to catch up on her reading, but she knows Peter’s different. Peter needs people. (She needs Peter.)

MJ knows that May Parker misses her nephew desperately. That’s why she tried to get the woman to go in her place, but everything with these Super-Secret Service assholes has a reason and a rhyme, even when the Scrabble tiles for Peter’s situation clearly spell ORANGE. May visited him for his birthday. Ned spent the weekend over Thanksgiving. Taking time away from work and school qualifies as a ‘noticeable absence’ and those need to be minimized. In the plainer terms May used when she explained the circumstances (at the same time that she proposed MJ take a trip to see Spidey the Desperado), none of the people formerly known to be close to Peter Parker can draw attention to themselves. They’ve been watched on the street, questioned by reporters, photographed by tabloids, and otherwise surveyed by who knows what methods operated by who knows whom. The last is MJ’s assumption; she isn’t stupid.

Apparently, becoming Peter’s girlfriend right before his identity was leaked to the world bumped her up to the third most important person in his life. She’s yet to learn whether Peter views her that way. The people protecting him do not have a schedule coordinated with him, so this trip wasn’t his call. Windows of opportunity open and close, schemes are adjusted, and girlfriends get left on doorsteps hugging boxes with the ingredients for latkes, crossing their fingers for a warm reception. MJ hasn’t figured out what she’s going to say to him after six months of nothing.

Then again, that’s basically how their friendship in high school went until her crush on him stopped crushing her enough to allow her to get the occasional insult out.

If he’s gotten over his feelings for her or just isn’t in the right headspace to entertain her, this is going to be awkward. At least it’s only until tomorrow. The same driver (for security reasons, blah blah) is picking her up before noon. One night of struggling to transition from dating back to just friends would, ultimately, be bearable for her, if that’s what Peter needs. She’d be able to talk it out with him without pining for their quick first kisses on Tower Bridge. Or their sloppy make-out session in the airplane bathroom when they woke up from their nap with half the ocean still to cross and the sudden feeling of relief that they were both alive. Yeah. MJ could definitely put that stuff behind her. In fact, maybe it’s better not to think of it at all and go into this visit assuming Peter’s feelings have cooled in light of other priorities. That way, this can be a night away from home hanging out with a friend, and not being left undisturbed with Peter ‘Where’d Those Abs Come From?’ Parker in the middle of nowhere.

She upends the mixing bowl in the box over that other item May included.

After so much doubling back and zigzagging down what have to be the most deserted roads in Upstate New York, the driver rolls to a stop in the shadow of a cabin-like house. It’s too house-like to attract the attention of wandering hipsters thirsty for cottagecore, but too cabin-y to suggest anything beyond temporary residence. MJ judges it to be a convincing safehouse. She climbs out, hefting May’s box, and accepting her suitcase from the driver. He moves much more swiftly, evidently uninterested in assessing the dwelling’s façade. Probably not his job. Even with her arms full, MJ steps precisely in the man’s footprints in the snow, just to see if her overexaggerated precaution will get under his skin. He ignores her. By the time she reaches the porch, he’s already completed whatever secret handshake or password exchange or retinal scan he had to do with Peter and is brushing past her, back to the milk-white SUV. She turns and stares after him, her last tie to civilization (until tomorrow), squinting against the light glinting off the snow.

Eventually, when the vehicle is gone and everything’s quiet, MJ accepts that she’s stalling. Eyes lowered, she faces the open door.

She starts at his feet. Red socks, the wool bobbled, the toe of the left twisted slightly like he put it on wrong and didn’t fix it. Her throat’s thick as she scans up his legs, in sweatpants, and remembers them encased in the Spider-Man suit as he crouched on the streetlight and watched Jameson blow his life apart onscreen. Hovering by his thighs are his hands. Oh, his hands. Though MJ’s gripping the box and suitcase with all her might, she’s recalling the gentle way he fit his fingers between hers. With a shaky breath, she can’t wait any longer and her gaze darts up to his face. Peter’s wearing this look she’s seen in videos of soldiers being reunited with their dogs—specifically, she’s seen it in the eyes of those dogs. The look is mushy and wet-eyed and begging for an eyeroll, possibly some verbal ridiculing, and instead, her heart reacts by flopping around unfamiliarly inside her chest. Him, is the sound of its thumping as it stumbles into her ribs. Him, him, him.

“Hi,” she says, voice coming out high. “Don’t hug me. The porch is wet and I’m holding a box.”

“I see that.”

He speaks. MJ’s mouth twitches into a relieved, silly smile. She’s missed the sound of his dork speaking so much that three words have her tripping over the threshold, almost slipping as her snow-slicked boots hit wood floor.

“The box is from May,” she explains, putting her back to Peter in order to set it down and to collect herself all over again. She’s here. He’s here, right where he’s supposed to be and where she was expecting him, but looking at her like that and with a jawline erupting in a faint scruff. It feels like a million years since she saw him last. It feels like a day.

“Can I hug you now?”

The suitcase she just drops.

MJ whirls to throw herself into Peter’s arms, hiccupping a relieved breath when he squeezes her close. Before she shuts her eyes to concentrate on the sensation of him solidly in her grasp after so long apart, she gets a glimpse of the living area beyond, the unlit fireplace. It’s homey and she isn’t sure if that makes her sadder, knowing he’s been living here alone. His hands slide over her back and she realizes she’s been hugging him a long time.

With a tight, uncertain smile, she draws back, cupping his shoulders, then dropping her hands to swing at her sides.

“Are you surprised to see me?” MJ asks. She already knows he should be, but she has to do something besides just stare at him.

“Yeah.” Peter laughs. “Take off your boots and stuff, come sit down.”

He’s smiling at her even as she’s fumbling to untie her laces.

“Sorry,” he laughs again. “I’m not trying to stare. I’m just not used to—”

“People?”

“Well, I see some people. I get supplies. But not super often and not people I… know.”

She saw how his face went pink before settling on that final word.

“You didn’t think I’d let you spend the holidays alone, did you?” MJ teases, now shrugging out of her coat. She didn’t notice that she forgot to zip it up when she got out of the SUV. She stuffs her gloves down the sleeve and passes it to Peter to hang on a hook by the door.

“I didn’t really think that was anybody’s call,” he admits.

His tone is joyfully unconcerned, but she frowns a little, experiencing second-hand frustration at the way Peter’s life isn’t so much being lived right now as run.

“I didn’t either.” She shrugs. “But your Avengers handlers, or whatever their job titles are, contacted me through May, so I figured I might as well come out. Not that I didn’t want to see you. I did. I really wanted to see you.”

God, now she’s probably come on too strong, overcorrecting after worrying she sounded like she could take or leave being reunited with her boyfriend.

“I really wanted to see you too,” Peter assures her. His expression softens. “We didn’t get a lot of time, before.”

“I’m only here until tomorrow,” MJ warns.

“Oh, no, that’s perfect. That’s great. I wasn’t expecting you at all, so this is incredible.”

He goes to grab the box, but she shouts, “No!” Peter stares at her. “Uh,” she says, “can you take my suitcase instead? I don’t know where to put it.”

“Sure.”

She follows him into the living room in her sock feet, wishing she packed slippers.

“The floor can be cold,” he says before she can voice her regret. “I have slippers around here somewhere that you can wear, and it’s warmer when there’s a fire. We can light one tonight, if you want.”

“That sounds nice,” MJ agrees.

“You can put that down in the kitchen.” He points her through a door. “I’ll just take your bag to the bedroom. The, uh, second bedroom. There are two bedrooms. I wasn’t gonna put it in my room. I don’t want you to think—”

“Peter, it’s fine.”

He nods jerkily and walks, glancing back once. She spies the promised slippers and shoves her feet into them before racing into the kitchen. Instead of systematically emptying the box and laying out each item, MJ rifles desperately through to the bottom and grabs the thing she avoided the whole way here. What was May thinking, including condoms in the care package? Well, logically, she can guess. Peter, mostly alone, opening the door to discover his girlfriend, arrived for an overnight stay. Yes, she can see exactly why May wanted to take precautions on their behalf because MJ definitely didn’t think of that and she doubts whoever brings Peter his updates and frozen pizzas has thought to equip him with prophylactics. They’re mostly concerned with keeping him alive and out of the hands of the authorities, not getting him laid.

Knowing Peter will return any moment, MJ looks frantically around the kitchen. She thinks she hears his footsteps. Shit. She yanks a pullout drawer open and chucks the box of condoms in next to the Cheerios, hitting the drawer shut with her hip as Peter walks in and grins at her. She plasters an anxious smile on in response.

He joins her at the counter and they begin to unload the box.

“Wait,” he says, partway through, “is this the stuff for latkes?”

“Mhmm. May told me she didn’t want you to miss out on any of your regular holiday traditions, even if she couldn’t be… Peter?”

MJ observes him, sympathy wringing her heart like a wet washcloth. He turns away from her and raises a hand to his face. She hears a sniff and assumes he’s wiping at his eyes and cheeks. She reaches out, hesitates, overcomes, lays her hand on his shoulder.

“I told her it should’ve been her coming instead of me,” she mumbles.

“No, no,” Peter assures her, still facing away, “I’m so happy to see you, MJ, seriously. I just miss her.”

“She misses you too.”

When he turns to face her, eyes still shining, MJ rewards his vulnerability by taking his hand.

“It’s not fair,” she tells him.

“It’s what’s gotta be done,” Peter says with a resigned shrug. “What I want isn’t as important as fixing this mess so I can go back to being Spider-Man. People need me.”

“You’re people too. There are people you need. That’s part of your humanity.” She’s ramping up now, arguing on his behalf with no one there to argue against. “Without that humanity, you wouldn’t be a good Spider-Man. You wouldn’t be a good guy. Protecting you shouldn’t just be about sticking you somewhere and watching you by satellite or whatever! Exposing your identity is a psychological attack and Nick Fury and the rest of them should be doing everything to ensure you can weather this storm psychologically, including keeping you connected to your family and your friends and—"

“My girlfriend.”

MJ exhales.

“Maybe not her,” she jokes. “She might just come in here and rant at you about reducing your stress, which is kinda counterproductive.”

“If I could listen to you rant every day, I’d be happy.”

She flushes and busies herself with putting May’s gifts away, probably all in the wrong spots, but Peter never corrects her, just works quietly alongside her until there’s nothing left in the box. Because she wasn’t permitted to bring her phone, MJ checks the time on her watch. It’s early afternoon.

“What do you do all day?”

Peter’s face lights up.

“You wanna see the room?”

“I recognize that look. This has something to do with Ned, doesn’t it?”

Her hypothesis is proven right when he leads her down the hall and opens a door to reveal a room housing a dozen Lego models. Everything’s probably Star Wars related, but she’s lost beyond the Death Star.

“Ned,” she says.

“Ned. He brought them when he came. I’ve done them all… well, a few times each.”

“I know I should be delicate with you because you’re a genius hermit, but, Parker, that’s so lame.”

Peter laughs out loud.

“That’s not all I do. Come on.”

He takes her hand (it doesn’t seem like he’s thought for a second about scrapping their relationship) and they walk back to the living room. On one of the couches, he has his Spidey suit laid out. But it’s freaky, like a skinned animal, with the innards of its tech exposed and skinny screwdrivers scattered on the floor nearby. He’s been tinkering. Because they have nothing else on the agenda, he explains the maintenance he’s done, more features he’s discovered. The list of protocols and capabilities seems almost endless. Watching him speak so enthusiastically, she wonders if maybe this is Peter’s version of holing up with a tall stack of books.

“No tracker in the suit?” she asks when they sit down at opposite ends of the remaining couch, legs stretched out and resting against each other.

“Nah. All that stuff’s turned off.” He lays his arm along the back of the couch and tips his cheek against it. “Where do your parents think you are right now?”

“At Betty’s.”

Her family knows she pines for Peter, but they don’t know she’s been granted this opportunity to see him. She doesn’t know what they’d say. Like the majority of New Yorkers, they like Spider-Man and don’t believe that he murdered Quentin Beck. That doesn’t mean they’d want her as involved as she is—though involved feels like a strong word when she hasn’t seen him since the day he was exposed and had to ride the first leg of this journey with a blindfold on. Seemed pretty antiquated. Her parents just want her to be safe, like how May wants Peter to be safe. MJ recalls the condoms. Ok, not quite the same.

“They think we’re in some kind of study lockdown, prepping for a decathlon thing in January, phones off,” she continues. “Betty doesn’t know I’m here, but Ned told her enough that she’ll lie for me if my parents call her. I’m thinking of promoting her.”

“How’s the team doing this year?”

MJ studies him. I spend every practice thinking about you even more than Flash talks about you, she thinks. I went home and cried the day Mr. Harrington told me I’d have to fill your spot. Nobody’s as smart as you. I’m bored without you. Sometimes I worry that I’m not a good captain and I just want to talk to you because I know it’d make me feel better, but you’re not there.

She pokes her toes into his thigh.

“Decent,” she says. “Flash wanted our name changed to the Midtown Spider-Men, but Mr. Harrington said no.”

When Peter groans and tucks his face into his arm in embarrassment, MJ does what she’s been too shy to do yet: she moves down to his end of the couch and kisses him as he turns his head to look at her. He holds her securely around the waist as she darts back in for a second kiss, a slower one. There’s no one around to spy, no one to interrupt. Everything in her zings upward like a hurled snowball and the kiss gains momentum. It’s not as hasty as the one on the flight home—it’s deeper, more grownup somehow. The prick of his facial hair enhances that adultness. For her, this is a kiss that says she’s been surviving without him, but now that they’re together, she prefers catching up this way rather than with words. They kiss like they can’t be stopped. MJ cups the back of Peter’s head, then his face, as their mouths nudge and coax, their tongues tracing each other’s lips before retreating. They separate to breathe and she presses her face to his neck, letting him hold her as she sits, still twisted with her feet on the floor, wearing his slippers.

“That’s one of the toughest things to do without,” he tells her. “I forgot it felt that good.”

“Too good,” she says wryly, lifting her head.

“Hey, based on what you were saying about my psychological needs, I’m due something ‘too good.’”

Really, it just isn’t possible not to think about the condoms as she smiles at him and chews the inside of her lip. Having sex with Peter is something she’s contemplated. She contemplated it when she watched him play trombone with the marching band during football games, and when he smiled as he walked down the hall at school with Ned. She contemplated it when she silently observed his late entrances to decathlon practices, and when she muffled her moans in bed at night, fantasizing about him. They kissed in London and sleeping together went from a daydream to an inevitability; they separated in New York and it went back to a dream. But now…

She’s only here for one night though. It’s too soon. When MJ kisses Peter, she knows she wants to keep going, but she doesn’t want to do anything impulsive and hurt them both more when she has to leave tomorrow. They need to think about this together. She should probably tell him about the condoms, so they have all their metaphorical cards on the table. And yet, she’s not able to jump from a single reunion kiss to asking if he wants to have sex on one of her future visits (if there are future visits). It’s not organic. It feels like working out their romantic plans on somebody else’s schedule. That makes her feel gross, cheated even.

MJ sags back from Peter and asks him to give her a tour of the rest of the house.

—

She’s rubbing the skin off an onion when, pausing in the grating of a potato, he turns to her and suggests something that proves he has gone a little screwy living alone: he wants to cook the latkes in the fireplace.

“You have a stove,” she points out.

“Yeah,” he agrees, now grating vigorously.

“We cook these in oil, right? You want to put a pan full of oil on an open flame?”

“We don’t fill the pan to the top or anything.”

“Ok, right, but still,” MJ persists. “Oil. Fire. A house you kinda need to stay standing because, one, it’s your secret hideout, and two, the sun’s gone down and it’s freezing outside and we’ll be cold without shelter.”

“How could we be cold if we had a burning house to stand next to? Kidding.” Peter grins at her. “It’ll work, MJ. I’ll be careful.”

“You will? No way am I letting you do this alone.”

“Aww.” He leans towards her and kisses her cheek.

“I didn’t say that to be romantic. I’m genuinely worried that you’ll set the place on fire.”

“I know.”

They continue preparing the batter and, after pouring oil into the heavy pan May packed for this, MJ warily hands it off to Peter. He carries it into the living room, where he lit a fire half an hour earlier. Setting the pan down away from the fire, he retrieves his nanotech suit and tugs his sweatshirt off to put it on, extoling its temperature-control virtues. He’s sure it can withstand a little heat. After all, it handled the cold of space no problem. MJ watches him nervously.

At least the fire’s died down some, so when he grasps the handle of the pan to hold the base over the heat, there aren’t any flames licking up his arm. Once the oil’s sizzling, Peter withdraws the pan so that MJ won’t have to reach into the firebox to distribute the batter. She spreads each glob out quickly to avoid melting the spatula. And, after standing way back because the oil pops from the pan to splatter Peter’s metal sleeve, it doesn’t go terribly. Though some of the latkes seem overcooked to her, he assures her he likes them better crispy. The way he says it has her touching the lump her black dahlia necklace makes beneath her sweater.

They return their latke paraphernalia to the kitchen, then settle on the couch again to eat.

“Good?” MJ asks. She likes them, but she’s never eaten a potato pancake before, so she has no frame of reference.

“Best ever.”

She smiles at Peter, watching him chew for a minute.

“You’ll miss this house’s fireplace when you’re back home.”

“This is my favourite meal in a long time and it has nothing to do with the fireplace,” he says. Her heart genuinely skips a beat. With quiet pleasure, she goes back to eating.

At home, she has her phone and her books and the TV—so many reasons to postpone loading the dishwasher. Here, there is no dishwasher and MJ realizes it’s really nice to dry while Peter washes the dishes by hand. Until he somehow cuts himself on the grater, bleeds in the water, and they have to leave the remaining dishes in the sink for a rewash while she forces Peter to the paltry selection of first aid equipment in the bathroom. Thankfully, the nick in his finger is small enough to cover with a single band-aid. She glares at him the whole time.

“I don’t even need this!” he says. “It’ll be healed up by the time I go to bed.”

“Keeping it clean until then won’t hurt you. Just take care of yourself, please?”

MJ isn’t aware that she’s pleading until she glances from his bandaged finger to his face and takes in his expression. He’s looking at her like he’s starting to get that she cares. Really cares. Cares more than it would take to come all the way out here just because someone else arranged it for her and provided the ride.

“Ok,” Peter gently agrees.

Without the usual evening distractions of a night at home (and after MJ refuses to construct a Lego Star Destroyer, whatever the hell that is), Peter pulls out the checkers he found on day two of his stay. Apparently, he was stir-crazy enough by then to raid ever nook and cranny of the house in search of entertainment for his overactive mind. They sprawl out in front of the fire. Neither of them know the rules, so he stacks his checkers into towers while she lays down patterns and skips them across the board. That devolves into deciding to create a single high stack, which devolves further into attempting to flip the checkers of the collapsed tower into the air with their thumbs, like tossing a coin. Peter flicks one as MJ’s leaning forward and it drops straight down the front of her sweater. He makes an offhanded joke about retrieving it and they laugh until their eyes meet and they remember that they’re alone, that it doesn’t have to be a joke. They scatter the last of the checkers scrambling to get close to one another.

She kisses him fiercely. The fire makes one side of her body hot, one of her eyelids glow orange before her closed eyes. Every time they do this is one time closer to having to let him go, but MJ isn’t interested in that right now. His neck is warm under her palm and her foot slips on the empty checkerboard when his fingers hook behind her knee to draw her leg towards him. They aren’t in each other’s laps yet, but it’s close. She’s getting used to the scratch of his scruff against her cheeks, chin, and upper lip. Can Peter feel her sweating when he slips a hand up the back of her sweater? Is his shiver as she moves her leg over his more than a sign that he wants to scoot closer to the fire? Pulling back from the kiss, she lets him strip her sweater off. The checker plonks out. He smiles as he spots the pendant hanging against her t-shirt. He groans more than he did cutting his finger as she takes his hand and places it on her ribcage, urging him with her eyes to reposition his palm where they both want it to be. MJ watches him swallow. Looking down, she sees firelight rippling in the flower’s black glass and Peter’s hand rising to cup her breast. She leans into it and grabs the back of his neck for another kiss.

As she’s psyching herself up to straddle her boyfriend’s lap, there’s a trill from nearby.

“What was that? I thought you didn’t have a phone.”

MJ releases Peter and—it’s not her fault—her gaze skims down his body as he stands. There’s a noticeable bulge in the front of his sweatpants.

“It’s an alert,” he says, tone so serious that she feels bad for staring at his erection. She only sneaks one more glance as he unearths a tablet from amongst the tools he’s been using to fiddle with his Spider-Man suit. Two glances.

“What happened?” she asks. “Are you in danger?”

“I’d protect you if there was any danger,” Peter promises, not looking away from the screen. He says it like it’s obvious, but the statement floors MJ, preventing her from quipping back about being able to protect herself. “But it’s not that. Just the weather.”

He tilts the screen in offer and she rises to stand next to him, looking at a swirling graphic.

“Snow?”

“Mhmm.”

“But it’s already snowed,” she says. “This is worth sending you an alert about? How do we set this thing to ‘do not disturb unless someone has a missile locked onto this house’?”

“Jesus, MJ.”

She shrugs.

“Or just a shifty-looking mail carrier driving by. Whatever. I don’t want to be narrowminded in my assumption of the appearance of a modern assassin.”

“Sometimes the people looking out for me go overboard about the wrong things,” he allows. “Looks like the snow isn’t coming until around three in the morning. We’ll be asleep. It won’t bother us.”

“It’ll bother me if I have to hear that sound again for no good reason.”

Peter tosses the tablet back onto the couch.

“I’m supposed to keep it on, but we can ignore it.”

“Yes,” she agrees, the heat of the fire around the level of her knees inspiring new heat to rise higher. “Let’s ignore it.”

“We can just get ready for bed. You’re probably tired from the drive today, right?”

And he’s looking at her so honestly, so innocently, that MJ finds herself nodding at his solicitousness. He’s too busy being kind to appreciate that she wants to stay right here by the fire and rub up against him until she sees stars. But maybe he doesn’t think they’re there yet. The timeline of their relationship is slightly fucked up, what with Peter having to flee the city as a fugitive. Have they been together the past six months or is this their second date? Maybe shyly holding hands is still their speed and MJ is majorly jumping the gun in wanting to pull his pants down and get a better look at what she started by putting Peter’s hand on her boob.

So, he puts the fire out and she brushes her teeth, then changes into her pajamas in the second bedroom. The house has central heating, meaning it’s still warm, but the walls and bedspread are bland, there’s no atmosphere without the hearth. MJ realizes she’s kept Peter’s slippers all day when she sits down on the edge of her mattress with a sigh and kicks her feet free. He’s right, she should be tired. The travel and the overwhelming joy of getting to see, hear, and touch him should make it easy to crawl into bed and let the sound of the wind—it’s picking up, carrying snowflakes—lull her to sleep.

MJ doesn’t even get the blanket folded down before she’s up, opening her door and crossing the hall to Peter’s room. Her hand hovers over the doorknob, then raises, ready to rap on the door instead. No, fuck it, she twists the doorknob and steps into his bedroom. Peter’s lying on his back in the dark with his eyes wide open. She leaves the door open behind her so the light he left on in the bathroom (in case she needed to get up during the night) can continue to show her the look on his face. The look of relief.

“I was gonna come to you, but I wasn’t sure…” He trails off.

“That would’ve been ok with me,” she assures him, holding her arms as the chill of standing around in a t-shirt starts to get to her, “but I don’t mind coming to you.”

“Come to me then,” Peter says, pushing back his bedsheets and shifting over.

“I missed you so much,” she gasps.

“I missed you.”

She strides to the bed and feels his arms tug her close even as she’s still drawing the blanket over herself. Peter hugs her hard and it’s ok that it’s horizontal because he’s also held onto her a hundred feet in the air, the two of them swinging between buildings. Any way he wants to hold her is ok.

What MJ thought, when she barged in here, was that they’d have some dramatic, fiery scene with passionate kissing and creaking bedsprings. She regrets undervaluing Peter’s warmth. As a person, but also physically. Cuddling into him beats slipping between cold sheets in the other bedroom. It’s nice to be wrapped around him in a moment that isn’t immediately following an attempt on his life, knowing that he isn’t going to leave her this time. Though she’s the one who’ll have to leave the next day, trusting Peter to stay put while she sleeps is what gets her to start drifting. This is better than having him as a captive napping buddy on the airplane. No motion sickness. They’ve already landed. He kisses her temple and she ducks her head into his chest, imagining she can count his heartbeats instead of sheep, knowing the steady glug of her own heart means more to him than he could tell her in words alone.

—

This morning is not last night.

The first thing MJ does is raise her head to squint at the time on the digital clock next to Peter’s bed. The second thing is pressing her mouth to his as he mumbles a sleepy, “Good morning.” It’s 6am, a disgusting hour at home, but here, a perfect time to start the day, and seize that day, as she is seizing a fistful of the t-shirt he slept in. She can feel him smiling. She can feel him reacting in lots of ways.

When she doesn’t slow the kisses, loosen her grip on the front of his shirt, or draw back entirely in embarrassment, Peter pulls her beneath him. It’s a lazy motion, like a cat swiping at something with a paw. His weight rests comfortably on top of her. Shifting around rucks her t-shirt up, so she drops a hand to his waist and slides his up too, until their skin meets from their ribs to the bands of their pajama bottoms. Her boyfriend groans and gropes for her thigh, hiking it against his hip. The noise and the blatant display of want (in addition to the erection now pressing directly between her legs) have MJ rubbing against him excitedly. She attempts to simultaneously kiss him harder and get his shirt off over his head. They struggle together, laughing, and once it’s gone, Peter drops back onto her with fervour.

His hands grip her hips, skim her waist, get tangled up in her hair. MJ catches one and guides it beneath her t-shirt. Their gazes lock and he seems to buck against her involuntarily, lightly squeezing her breast. With an airy moan from her, their kisses turn rabid. Their hips rock agonizingly out of sync for a minute—maybe less, maybe more, her mind isn’t on the clock anymore—then his erection strokes firmly up the center of her and they figure it out. They have to. She’s suddenly hellbent on feeling that again and, honestly, Peter doesn’t look any less devoted when their kisses are forced to stop thanks to the violence of their clothed grinding.

She comes first, clutching his back and his shoulder. He comes with a sharp flick of his hips that brings to mind the way he looses a web from his wrist. Kinda the same principle, she concludes, feeling the dampness of his pajamas against her abdomen before he flops to the side with a blissful, disbelieving sigh. MJ stretches out her legs and curls her toes. A grin creeps up her face.

“Good morning,” she replies.

Peter lets out a solo laugh.

Then he just says, “Wow.”

Still smiling, she buries her face in his pillow and lets him move around her as he gets up for the day.

“It’s early,” she says, lifting her head at the creak of him pushing the bedroom door wider.

“I know.” He stares at her adoringly. There’s no other word for it. “Being in bed with you is… too good. If I stay, I’ll go back to sleep, and I don’t want that. I want to see you as much as I can before you go.”

MJ’s smile fades. Right. That.

“And you’re walking out of the room,” she points out.

“Because I have to take a shower,” Peter laughs. “A short shower. Then you can shower, or not shower, and we’ll have breakfast and make the morning last as long as we can, ok?”

Can she just make him tuck himself into the box of kitchen stuff she brought and take him back home with her? Being apart from him again—willingly turning her back on this house and making new tracks in the snow—feels impossible. They aren’t supposed to be apart. But MJ nods, knowing it’s easier on them both that way. She watches him head towards the bathroom and reminds herself that this stay with him has already meant more to her than she anticipated.

She’s in her room gathering toiletries and clothes when she hears Peter shut the shower off. That’s on purpose. She doesn’t need to wonder any more about her lack of restraint today; seeing him walk back into his bedroom soaking wet and likely dressed in nothing but a towel would definitely test her. His presence in her thoughts as she shampoos her hair under the low pressure of the showerhead is sufficiently distracting. She braids her hair when she’s done, simply to focus herself with the task (and because she didn’t bring a hairdryer and accepts that her boyfriend’s probably not hiding one here someplace). Pausing at the door, she takes a deep breath, determined to look him in the eye and not just stare at the floor and blush because he’s touched her skin and brought her to orgasm. She smiles to herself in a moment of private congratulation.

Peter would probably hear her approaching footfalls no matter what, but with his too-big slippers flapping on her feet, MJ’s prepared for him to be looking at her when she makes her entrance into the kitchen. She’s not prepared for the box of Cheerios sitting on his table. Shit. Only now does she remember the condoms and where she stowed them. As she looks on, trying to think of what to say, Peter cheerfully pours himself a bowl and adds milk.

“Two things,” he says while she shuffles cautiously into the room. “First thing: you won’t believe what I found in with the cereal. Talk about a prize in every box.”

“Loser,” she mutters, rolling her eyes even as her cheeks flush.

“Super weird that that’s not the biggest thing I have to tell you, but I definitely want to get back to it, but, second thing, it snowed.”

She narrows her eyes.

“Uh, yeah, I remember.”

“Ok, well, it really snowed. Serious snow. Big, high, white and drifted snow.”

“You’ve slipped into song lyrics.”

“I got an alert,” Peter says, lifting the tablet he showed her the night before from the table.

“I didn’t hear anything.”

“It came through when you were in the shower, though it is harder to hear the noise from down the hall.”

MJ gives him a questioning look.

“I might’ve been on my way to the bathroom to, uh, see if you needed anything,” he explains, blushing guiltily, “when I heard it and had to come back out here.”

“Is this your handlers overreacting again?” But even as she asks, she turns towards the window. Of course, for security reasons, the blinds are down and the curtains are shut. “Can I look?”

He nods and she crosses the kitchen to take a quick peek, not wanting to jeopardize his safety. The level of the snow dips down near the side of the house, but the drift rises steeply. Within a few feet, it appears high enough to come up to her hips if she waded outside. And it’s still falling.

“There’s a lot of snow out there,” MJ informs him in a mildly panicked tone, snapping the curtains back into place.

“Mhmm. Cheerios?”

“You should be eating the eggs I brought you while they’re fresh,” she counters.

Her comment is half-hearted and distracted though and she too goes for the cereal. Between spoonfuls, Peter, across from her when she sits down at the table, unspools the consequences of the heavy snowfall.

“So, obviously, this isn’t an emergency, but it’s not ideal. You’re probably gonna have to stay another night.”

“Ok,” MJ says slowly. “Another night. But my parents are expecting me home tonight.”

“I’m sure Fury or somebody’ll get in touch with May and have her make something up. Trust me, nobody wants any questions to come up that’ll lead back to me.”

“What’s the ‘probably’ depend on?”

“Hmm?” He slurps the milk off his spoon.

“You say I’d probably have to stay tonight. Does that depend on how much more snow we get?”

“Um, yeah, that and a couple other things,” Peter says vaguely. MJ frowns at him.

“I came all the way out here to be with you, Parker. I could not be more in the middle of things than I am right now. Tell me what you know.”

“You’re right, you’re right.” He lets his spoon clink into his bowl. “So, the snow for sure. I mean, I’m guessing they have something heavy-duty that could plough the road if they had to, but getting a plough here would be conspicuous thing number one and having this rural road cleared when the rest of the area won’t be would be conspicuous thing number two. If you left that way, I’d have to leave too, get put in a new safehouse—”

“I don’t want to cause that big of a problem,” MJ assures him, finally pouring out her own bowl and trying to find some comfort in breakfast.

“You’re the furthest thing in the world from a problem,” Peter says with a quick smile. “But alright, so, with the alert, they suggested another option.”

“Which is?”

“To airlift you out.”

She bites down on her spoon as her jaw tenses.

“I don’t, um, really enjoy heights.”

“Yeah,” he laughs, “I remember.”

“You dropped me and it wasn’t funny.”

“Aw, that was months ago. Can’t we laugh about it now?” Her expression is his answer. “I actually did figure you’d feel that way. This would’ve been a helicopter, no landing, just somebody coming down a ladder to grab you and help you up into the chopper.”

“Don’t say ‘chopper’ like you’re Arnold Schwarzenegger. You’re way too much of a dork to be using that word. And yes, before you ask, I am criticizing you to mask my fear over how horrifying that sounds.”

“I told them no.”

“Wait… I thought… you didn’t have communication, right? Like, that’s why you can’t talk to your aunt.” Or me, MJ tacks on internally.

“Oh, it’s not a conversation. They just send through the planned course of action and usually I don’t have a choice, but this time I could basically give them a yes or no, proceed or no-go, you know?”

She sighs shakily.

“Thank you for not making me do that.”

“Well, based on the weather, they could ask again, so you always have a chance to change your mind, if you want.”

Peter’s not meeting her eye.

“Why the hell would I change my mind about dangling from a helicopter in a blizzard?”

“If you wanted to go,” he says quietly. “You’re the other thing this plan depends on. Like you said, your parents are expecting you and—”

“Peter,” MJ says, “the fact that I’m not being subjected to an extreme chopper rescue is only the thing that I’m second most grateful for. Getting to spend more time with you is number one. If they don’t have to draw attention to this house, and if your aunt covers for me, that’s great.”

Looking up, he gives her a mostly-convinced smile. Seeing it, she knows she has to press further. She taps her slipper against the top of his foot under the table.

“I hope it snows for a week,” she says firmly.

Peter beams. He lifts his cereal bowl and holds it out to her.

“Cheers,” he offers. After a derisive snort, she taps her bowl against his.

They eat in a comfortable silence for several minutes. Blocking out the death-defying premise of the recent plan, MJ considers the ramifications of staying put. She trusts May. May will know what to say to her parents, she’s very compassionate—and hopefully a believable liar. Well, MJ figures she’d have to be, with Spider-Man under her roof. School’s on winter break, so she doesn’t need to worry about an alibi for her teachers, though the flu would’ve worked as an excuse. It seems like she’s good from every angle. Resting her cheek against her hand as she scoops the remaining Cheerios onto her spoon, she observes Peter and feels herself smiling just to see him in front of her. His face in real life is still sorta miraculous.

“So,” he begins when she grabs his bowl (the guy’s been doing his solitary dishes for months—she doesn’t mind helping out), “I have a really important question.”

“Still a no to the helicopter.”

MJ has her back to her boyfriend, placing the bowls in the sink, when he responds.

“Should I shave?”

She turns, frowning in confusion.

“That’s up to you.”

“Well, see, maybe I would’ve this morning, except I promised I would be quick in the bathroom, and then anyway, I figured you’d be leaving soon and there wouldn’t be that many more opportunities for us to—”

“Oh my god,” she says as she catches on. “Please stop.”

“But if it bothers you,” Peter presses, rubbing the back of his fingers up his stubbled cheek, “when we’re kissing…”

“It doesn’t. It’s different, but… I’m good. You don’t have to shave for me.”

“Hypothetically though, if we were kissing for a longer period of time, I wouldn’t want to hurt your skin.”

“God, Peter, how long are you imagining we’d be kissing for that my face would be damagingly abraded?”

“Then,” he says, spreading his hands to their apparent future possibilities, “what if it wasn’t rubbing against your face?”

Spinning away from him, MJ stares with wide eyes at the wall above the sink.

“Does the idea of me kissing your neck freak you out?” Peter asks her back. “I don’t have to do that.”

Her shoulders slump as she laughs.

“My neck,” she murmurs to herself. “He meant my neck.”

“What do you— oh.” Goddamn enhanced hearing. “Uh, well, I-I didn’t know you had stuff in mind.”

“I don’t have anything in mind,” she says, turning to look at him.

Peter grabs the Cheerios and gets up to put them away. Holding her gaze, he pulls the box of condoms out of the drawer as he slots the cereal in.

“These showed up when you did. Unless some assassin broke in and left me a really sickening present.”

“I didn’t pack them, your aunt-slash-wingwoman did.”

His expression changes several times as he digests that.

“That seems like something May would do,” is what he lands on.

“It’s… thoughtful of her. Responsible parenting,” MJ agrees stiffly, trying to deal with the visual of Peter casually holding a box of condoms. Cool. Fine.

“So, the thought of… It’s just May making sure, in case anything… Yeah. I got it.”

But that’s not quite right.

“I’ve thought about it,” MJ blurts. “Not for this weekend, because I only expected to be here a night and this is something we should, you know, discuss.”

“Totally,” Peter says eagerly.

“I just don’t want you to think I haven’t…” She waves a hand.

“Thought about it,” he finishes.

“Yeah.”

“Me too. I’ve thought about it. Like, a lot,” he divulges with a relieved laugh that he quickly concludes with a clearing of his throat. “A normal amount.”

“That’s good,” she assures him. Her gestures feel gawky, her features feel misplaced on her face.

“I’d definitely be up for discussing it, especially after, uh…” Peter ruffles his damp hair as his face flushes. “…this morning.”

MJ’s suddenly made up of thoughts, so many thoughts that there’s no room for words, no possibility of speaking. This morning. Uh huh. Valid recollection on her boyfriend’s part. This morning was fantastic and kind of but not wildly unexpected and certainly closer to the sort of thing they’d need those condoms for than the few times they’ve made out have been.

“That makes sense,” she says, voice weak when it finally comes out, along with plenty of nodding. Too much nodding, really.

He sets the box on the counter.

“We could talk about it now.”

“We could do that,” MJ agrees, pulse accelerating with every additional second he spends looking at her. “The thing is, it’s early, it’s really early, and if we talk about that now, we’re gonna lose the whole day.”

Peter’s eyebrows raise.

“God, yeah, you’re right. You know, I think I’m, like, oversimplifying this discussion in my head because, yep, definitely, if you have a lot you want to say about it before—or if, even!—we, uh, proceed, then you should absolutely take the whole day to just get all your thoughts out there. For sure. I… yes. I support you and you should take all the time you need. More than a day! You could definitely take more than a day, obviously. You know that. I hope you do. Whatever you want, MJ.”

“I actually just meant that if we started talking about it, we’d lose the whole day to doing it.”

“Oh.” He sits with that thought for a minute, eyes roving the kitchen ceiling. “Why would that be a problem?”

He asks with such genuine confusion that MJ has to laugh, and that relaxes her.

“If we can’t think hard enough to determine why it’d be a problem, it’s a problem,” she reasons. “I want to think this through. I want us to both be ready. That alone—” She points at the condoms. “—doesn’t make us ready.”

“Ok. We’ll completely forget about them. No problem.”

Fueled by the intense focusing power of sexual tension, they pass the morning learning something that may actually be checkers as it was intended to be played. Anything around them making sense is an accident, as far as MJ is concerned, and mastering the probably-rules of the game isn’t really a win because it means they have to scramble to find something else to distract them. Peter takes up a post on the ceiling, cross-legged, and lets the body of his Spider-Man suit dangle down while he retools something in the hands. When he puts on the mask and starts talking to Karen, MJ quits watching him and goes into the kitchen to make them an early lunch of an extra-large omelette. It seems like a nice idea to curl up and eat together until Peter touches her hip a certain way and she looks at him too long. They force themselves to sit on separate couches.

After lunch, he digs out some non-Stark-tech supplies, like paper and pens. He lights a small fire and she draws. Once he starts paying more attention to her drawings than to his stuff, she draws for him, pulling her legs back so he can share her couch. She crafts caricatures of their friends, plays them across the page in short cartoons that are semi-faithful to the boring goings-on of their lives at Midtown this fall without Peter. He falls asleep with his head resting against the back of the couch and she executes swift sketches to capture the softness of his features. She doesn’t know how long his supine pose will last. She never knows how long anything will last, with him. He stays asleep, so MJ leaves her drawings and steals into the Lego room, disassembling at will. Peter’s a little panicked when he walks in half an hour later, but sorting the pieces she’s jumbled will give him something to do while she takes her own nap, she reasons.

But where to? The spare room doesn’t call to her in the slightest and returning to his bed will bring thoughts that’ll only keep her awake. She needs to revive after their too-early morning; she troops back to the couch and passes out with the warmth of the fire near her feet and the jangling of plastic Lego bricks in the other room.

The rustle of paper is the first thing MJ hears when she wakes up. She can’t remember dreaming last night, but during her nap, her subconscious played a short film of the two of them giggling as Peter cooked his Spidey suit in the fireplace. Weird. She blinks, tracing the sound to her boyfriend, cross-legged on the floor with his back against the couch as he flips through her rough portraits of him.

“Maybe you can do one of you,” he suggests without looking back at her. “And I can keep it when you leave. I don’t have any pictures of anybody.”

She hesitates a moment, then leans to wrap her arms loosely around his shoulders from behind.

“How’d you know I was awake?”

“I heard your breathing change.” A pause. “It sounds pretty creepy when I say it out loud, but I’m just doing what you do.” Peter twists to look at her, putting his hand over the back of hers on his chest. “Observing.”

“Right.” MJ glances down abruptly. “Like with the cereal drawer this morning and what you observed in there.”

“I hate to tell you this, but it sounds like you’re gonna talk about the thing you said we shouldn’t talk about.”

“I found clarity in unconsciousness.”

“What does that mean?”

“It means our problems don’t just disappear. Obviously.” She waves one hand in front of him, indicating the room where Peter’s presumably spent most of his waking hours since arriving here. “We have to solve them.”

“Is it… us having sex… a problem?”

“I don’t want it to be. I just want us to be, you know, in agreement. Not rushing into anything.”

“I think…” Peter sighs and shifts so he can look at her without contorting. She withdraws her arms from him and sits up, crossing her legs in her lap, planting her elbows on her knees. “I think we’re not gonna get everything we want. How can we, with these conditions? I don’t even know when I’m gonna get to see you again. We can wait, which is alright with me, but I can’t tell you how long we’ll be waiting for.��

“I’m not asking.”

“Because you know I have zero control here,” he says in a tone full of more irritation than she’s seen him display yet. “I don’t even choose what I eat for breakfast! It’s not like they’ve asked me to write up a grocery list. I am so sick of Cheerios. Out there, I was helping people, but stuck here… I don’t know, MJ. I’m basically powerle—”

She folds forward and kisses him, grabbing his face to hold him in place for a few extra seconds until his lips copy hers and quit trying to form the rest of that word.

“No,” MJ insists, face still close to his, “you’re not. And just so you know where I stand…” She takes a deep, terrified breath, pushing out the only truth she’s ever had trouble articulating: “…you are everything I want.”

Peter’s eyes are awed and hopeful as his gaze darts across her face.

“What about what you said about not rushing?”

“That was for your benefit. Personally, I can’t rush what I’ve already decided.”

“Especially not when May sends you here prepared, I guess,” he checks with a coy smile.

“We don’t have to do anything else,” MJ emphasizes, sidestepping the dork’s comment. “It’s amazing just being with you—and I will deny I said that so bluntly if you ever tell anyone.”

She smiles so he knows she’s teasing. He still jerks his head back in mock offense. Suddenly, his expression clarifies to… horror.

“You don’t wanna do this because you’re worried, do you?” Peter demands. “Not because you think I’m gonna forget about you or stop caring about you like this?”

“No.” But she averts her eyes because she did have that concern on the drive here yesterday, right up until they hugged. “I’m not trying to use sex for anything. If… if you did stop… and you wanted to be just friends again, that’s not something I could prevent. I realize now that I can’t focus on that possibility because—”

“Because it’s not a possibility at all.” He ducks his head until her gaze is trapped by his. Shaking his head, Peter says, “I’m sure about you, MJ. I’m not sure when I’ll be home or if the world—or even just the neighbourhood—will still want a Spider-Man by the time I can be that guy again, but I know the first thing I’m gonna wanna do when I get back is give you a kiss. Not as friends.”

“What about now? Do you want to kiss me now?”

“I always wanna kiss you.”

Right as he stretches towards her—seemingly poised to prove what he said—MJ jerks back. Peter looks up at her quizzically.

“Anything while I was asleep? Any alerts? I don’t want a whole team to come storming in here while I’m taking your pants off.”

It takes her boyfriend a few seconds to get his words out.

“I-I don’t want that either,” he says, voicing cracking as his cheeks redden. He shakes his head. “No alerts. Nothing. That means no change to the plan for you to stay here tonight.”

“Good. I was sorta getting used to the idea. They would’ve had a fight getting me out of here.”

She raises her chin confrontationally and Peter grins.

“And some people think Spider-Man’s trouble. They should meet his girlfriend, who marches in with a box of condoms and won’t leave until he sleeps with her.”

MJ gapes at him.

“That’s not what I did.”

Peter pushes up to his knees, smiling as he cradles her face in his palm.

“It’s basically what you did.”

“You massively oversimplified the events of the past—” She squints and makes a guess. “—thirty hours.”

“I was hitting the highlights,” he argues, sliding his hand to the back of her neck to draw her down to him.

Her laugh is as brief as one of her quick heartbeats as Peter’s fingers stroke her neck and he angles his head.

“Is that how you’re going to tell this story to our grandkids?”

The mirth falls from both of their faces; they absorb her facetious quip in the same instant. Then, their mouths slam together—MJ diving down, Peter surging up. Though she has the high ground (and doesn’t say as much to the guy with a roomful of Star Wars Lego), he builds momentum out of nowhere, driving her up until he’s hovering, then lowering, on top of her. She’s holding him as tightly as she can as they continue to kiss hard.

On instinct, she assumes, their bodies copy the morning’s posture with her thigh against Peter’s hip. He grasps it and presses his hips to hers. MJ swipes her tongue along his when she feels him hardening between her legs. This was always only a maybe, she thinks, eyes moving fast behind her lids as they follow the red glow of the fire that the movement of his head is causing to shift across her face. But this definitely feels like they know where they’re going. Somebody’ll need to go get the condoms from the kitchen at some point. Peter swings his head to kiss down her neck and MJ sighs. Yeah, at some point.

These clothes might not come off as easily as the red suit on the opposite couch, but his eagerness compensates for the fact that he can’t just tap his chest to drop everything to the floor. When both their top halves are bare (as with anything, Peter does not mind lending a hand in undressing her), he pulls MJ up so he’s sitting with her straddling his lap. He groans into her mouth as she traces the muscles of his abdomen and she hops forward to nudge her hips into his again.

“If I don’t go now,” he pants, “I don’t know when I’m gonna get up to grab a condom.”

So, he’s been thinking the same thing she has. MJ smirks.

“You should probably get one,” she encourages.

But he has her jeans undone and her hand down the front of his sweats—still over his underwear, for the moment—before he manages to repeat his words with any resolve. She throws herself aside and stares into the fire, licking her lips to chase the memory of his mouth’s pressure, while he scurries to the kitchen. His naked torso is beautiful in the glow when he jogs (dork) back in.

“You think it’s safe to leave that?” MJ asks, nodding towards the fireplace. “My preference would be not doing this on a couch the first time.”

“Second time?” he jokes.

“Maybe,” she says seriously, just to see the dumbfounded look it puts on his face.

“Yeah… we can, yeah… It’ll be fine. So, you wanna… my bed?”

“The traditional yet practical choice.”

He happily sighs out his, “Yeah,” and she wonders if he heard anything following her agreement to a theoretical second round. Probably not—he spoke staring at her boobs.

“What if I carried you?” Peter blurts as she’s about to stand.

“…I can walk.”

“Yeah, but… can I carry you?”

She watches him for a moment as he awaits her answer. She’s watched him so many times, but never while he was waiting for her, trying to find something to grasp in the silence, this guy who’s more than human and always flitting from one web to the next. MJ ends his freefall.

“Ok, Peter.”

As giddy with nerves as she was on their first date when he held her tight and wrenched her off her feet, she stands. He steps in close, taking her face softly between his hands, kissing her. She hops into his arms the second he lets go and laughs at Peter and herself when the action tips him back. He holds on though, pulling her thighs in snugly around his waist before catching her back to press her to his chest. MJ’s scared to kiss him as he walks them to his bedroom; arms wrapped behind his neck, she stares at him instead. They’re about to do this. He’s going to be inside her.

“You got it?” she checks once he’s sat her on the edge of the bed.

Peter plucks the condom from his pocket to show her. MJ nods in acknowledgement and he sets it on the nightstand. With a condom nearby—this assurance that they are responsible people and can therefore do whatever the fuck they like—she reaches for his hand and draws him in. Kissing, she scoots back and he crawls over her. She gasps when he moves his mouth enthusiastically to her neck and he jerks his head up with a self-satisfied expression.

“The sheets are cold,” she lies defensively. Peter just smiles and burrows his face back into the warm crook between her neck and shoulder.

“They’ll get warmer.”

MJ can’t believe it when she’s the one being stripped out of her pants first (her boyfriend is such a willing undresser). She feels vulnerable, between the sheets in only her underwear, but she’s determined enough to relocate Peter’s hand from her waist to her breast. He thanks her in a passionate mumble that raises hairs on the back of her neck as he darts in to kiss her firmly. Parting her thighs, she thanks him in return, for the kiss or the way he’s kneading her nipple between finger and thumb or something, relieved when he lowers his hips and she can feel his erection under his sweats. Fuck, a week ago, she was trying to convince herself that she’d be lucky and get Peter back next year. This is the greatest surprise.

Though she doubts she could knock the wind out of him, he huffs when she squeezes her thighs to his hips and unbalances him, rolling him over and landing on top.

“Wow, you wanna do it like this? I mean, yeah, awesome.”

Sitting astride him, MJ rolls her eyes.

“I just thought it’d be easier to get you out of your pants this way, since you seem like you’ve forgotten that you need to actually take them off.”

Peter shakes his head rapidly.

“I just didn’t want to rush you, like you said. Or freak you out or scare you,” he rambles.

This idiot.

“Why would I be scared? Are you concealing a weapon or something?”

“No,” he jokes with a goofy smile, pressing his hips upward, “I’m just happy to see you.”

“You so did not deserve those condoms.”

“Didn’t I?” Peter asks, the two of them working his sweatpants and boxers down. (She’s touching his thighs. His bare thighs. Jesus.)

“No. Huge mistake. You’re not mature enough for this. I’m going to tell your aunt.”

As long as MJ keeps talking, dropping onto her side and slipping her own underwear off is just a background thing that’s happening while she speaks. Her heart is hammering.

“Oh, are you?” he questions, running a warm, tentative hand down the curve of her naked hip.

“Mhmm. She’ll be really disappointed in you for, uh, wasting supplies.”

“Maybe I could make it up to you and you could forgive me.”

Peter’s fingers trace low over her belly, making her stomach flinch with the anticipation. He touches between her legs, the contact the subtlest flirtation. The look in his eyes says he doesn’t know what he’s doing either, but that he wants to do it together. Holding his stare, she rolls onto her back.

He proceeds when she widens the space between her thighs. His touch feels… fine, but not exciting, and MJ wonders if it’s because she’s watching him, possibly making him nervous. She closes her eyes and instinctually angles her head to press her forehead against Peter’s shoulder. Gradually, he strokes her with more assurance and she quietly mutters “yes” each time he does something that feels good. By the time he’s gotten her seriously wet and turned on, she’s gripping the sheet with one hand and his wrist with the other, urging him to go faster. Her body’s not satisfied but humming as Peter jolts recklessly across her to snatch the condom. He kisses her right as she’s opening her eyes at the disturbance.

“Yeah?” he asks, dick in hand.

She nods, breathing quickly and needing him to act before the sensations he’s stirred up dim.

“Yeah.”

It’s out of character, how slowly he moves next. He’s capable of care in abundance, of course, but patience? Caution? Restraint? None of these are words that would come to mind if someone asked her to describe her boyfriend. They cling to each other as he works his way deeper in incremental thrusts. Because he’s trembling, she holds him tight. She probably would regardless. Things almost stall, but then he gropes between them, locating her clit, and her clutch on him squeezes and releases, allowing him to suddenly slide all the way home.

“Fuck,” he says softly, head hunched down beside hers.

MJ rubs her hands over the quivering muscles of his back, certain the two of them are generating enough heat to melt the snow around the house and all the way up the road.

“I’m gonna come if I do anything,” Peter says in a desperate tone. “I can’t move.”

“You can move.”

“No. I… I wanna take care of you. MJ, please.”

Between them, she finds his hand and guides it in rubbing her clit. His body’s held taut above her and she turns her head to meet his searching eyes. Her neck arches involuntarily at her first unexpected moan and Peter clamps his eyes shut like it’s all too much. So she watches his tense, determined face while manipulating his fingers over her. When she’s close, coating his cock in her arousal many times over, MJ tells Peter to open his eyes. Then, she begins to rock her hips, letting him glide in and out. Their hands continue to stimulate her until she orgasms with a wet cry and pulls his fingers away. They hold hands hard and he thrusts with crazed strokes, coming with an understated choked noise.

He hasn’t quit shaking when he climbs off of her to deal with the condom.

“I don’t know,” Peter says, sliding back into bed and allowing her to weave her limbs around his. She smiles at how baffled he sounds.

“You’re ok.”

“This feels like shock, like I get after a bad beating.��

She sighs exasperatedly at this news. She might’ve suspected his secret identity for a while before he confirmed it, but she doesn’t know everything, isn’t in on all the missions and outcomes yet. When he gets home—after all this bullshit—she’ll demand to be kept in the loop.

“I guess you’re just overwhelmed.”

“That felt really fucking good,” Peter confesses in a low, stunned voice.

MJ starts to giggle and can’t stop. Tears stream down her face, into her hair, onto her boyfriend’s skin. He laughs too, but holds her greedily all the while. It reminds her how temporary this is.

Except, no. It’s not. No one can stop them from remembering this after she goes and he stays. No one can stop them from making plans, having hopes. Days are temporary, like snow, but feelings can last. How she feels about Peter definitely can. She’s made it this far and, on his end, so has he. On impulse, MJ kisses his forehead.

“I know what’ll help. Something to eat. We can see what else you have that can be cooked in the fireplace.”

“Frozen lasagna?” he proposes.

“Why not? Let’s try it.”

#my writing #promptmas #spideychelle #spideychelle fanfiction #peter parker #peter x mj #peter x michelle #peter parker x michelle jones #michelle jones

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scarecoen · 3 years

Text

Trigger warning ⚠️ domestic violence.

I've typed this story a million times so I'm just going to summarize as much as I can.

A few days ago I was assaulted by my partner's family members. And as I've mentioned, I've typed this a million times and I'm honestly just exhausted thinking about it, but we could use some help.

My partner has always had a transphobic family. (I don't have anyone but my dad, who's in no position to help anyone.)

Her mom used her disability against her and manipulated her into giving her MOST of her checks. She's abused the system and my girlfriend.

When I met Jackie, she was with a terrible biggot. Jackie had came out, and her mother conspired with an abusive long distance ex, to fly her here, to stage an "intervention" and stop my partner from transitioning.

It worked. For years.

I met Jackie here on tumblr, we became good, SECRET friends because she wasn't allowed to talk to anyone.

I told Jackie openly about my views regarding gender and how I myself, was not cis.

Eventually she told her partner about us playing games together, which she responded to by harassing me.

Jackie ended up spilling the beans to me, about her mom, about the ex, everything. I realized that she had been extremely isolated and controlled her whole life.

So I intervened.

I got the two of them to separate, which wasn't smooth because Jackie was scared. She had been with her abuser for 9 years at this point. She's never known anything else.

The ex moved back to her state, and I started seeing Jackie, although she was stuck at her mom's... who was trying to play innocent at this time.

Eventually, I kinda just came and picked her up, she stayed the night, she didn't want to go back home. And I can't blame her. The house wasn't only disgusting, her family microagressed her all the time and they would tell her to pretty much stay in a dark room all day.

Ofc I didn't bring her back.

During early quarantine, we had a lot of self reflection and she started distancing herself from her mother, coming around to holding her accountable for her horrible actions.

Her mom messaged her things like "Why won't you talk to me? It's like you're trying to punish us!" Ect, just every fucking manipulative thing she could say, without ever apologizing.

Unfortunately the place we were staying fell through when my best friend's ex husband decided he wants a divorce and decided to throw in some transphobic hatespeach towards me.

We were all looking for somewhere to go.

I'm sure you know where this is going but listen, she told us EVERYTHING we wanted to hear. She told us she's not hateful now, told us she would go to trans support groups, pride, said she's realized how much she loves Jackie and it's time to accept her- and look- we had NO WHERE TO GO. We have 2 cats and at the time, a car that has no a/c or functional locks. AND I have a chronic autoimmune condition that I recently started taking chemo meds for. (Methotrexate.)

I'm too sick to be on the street, and survive. I had to think about me, Jackie, Zoe, and Boops.

And Jackie wanted to go..

I told her we'd be cautious and try to get out asap.

Well, looking for places right when the housing market crashed really fucked us up. That- and because I had only just finally got approved for disability, means I was set back in life- and had no credit to my name. No credit= no place to live.

I had almost built enough, but things went down hill very quickly with her family. Which leads us to right now:

After weeks of microagressions, giving us breakthrough covid cases, yelling at us to clean other's messes, and forcing us and our cats to isolate in our room, many broken promises, and straight up transphobic hatespeach (because she promised to get vaccinated but then said nvm as soon as we moved in and she went on vacation and got covid and gave it to us, which nearly killed me--) she said not getting the vaccine "IS A CHOICE, JUST LIKE YOU BEING TRANS AND TAKING *gestures to my testosterone* THOSE DRUGS."

We just were avoiding each other while I desperately try to gather resources for us to get out, NOW.

Of course, that wasn't good enough, so when her step father messaged her in all caps about our cats having to stay in our room and "I WON'T FUCKING TELL YOU AGAIN" my partner had a breakdown..

Her mom had let her step dad talk to her like this her whole life, basically.

Out of desperation, we went to her sister for help, maybe hoping she'd give us a place to stay for two weeks while we sign off on the lease for our new apartment.

She pretended to want to help and even said... something fucking weird? She made the comment that I'm a good person and I'm so much like her own boyfriend, that it's "scary"...

A few hours later she came to the house. She talked nicely to us, to gain access to our bedroom.

Then she attacked me.

I called the police right before, and was on the phone with dispatch when she lunged at me because she was aggressively trying to MAKE Jackie go into a separate room WITHOUT ME and Jackie was saying no, BEGGING her to STOP.

I wasn't going to let her take Jackie into that room. She looked fucking crazy.

All of the family came into our room, her two sisters, her mom, and her cousin- When they heard yelling.

It was actually me telling her mom that she's a terrible mother, that triggered her sister to try and attack me- although I knew she was planning on trying to from the moment she came into our room.

And that was after her mom was screaming in my face that if I have something to say, say it now.

Dispatch heard everything and sent emt as well...

But the police stayed outside, talking to them for a WHILE before even asking for us.

Her cousin is the only one that would have stood up for me, saying her sister never should have tried to hit me. But he was in the room with Jackie, giving her support...

I faced the cops alone.

He already had "that look."

He shined a light into my eye, letting the family stay on the porch, throwing insults and just letting it happen. He asked me where I'm hurt, and before I could even show him the scratches on my arm, he said "how do I know YOU didn't put those there?"

I wanted to fucking die in that moment.

This is a conservative city.

No one has equality stickers here. No one flies gay flags. People here that are lgbt- they LEAVE.

This is EXACTLY WHY.

I said "well is there any reason I should tell you anything when, clearly, you're already bias?"

I looked at the emts. I looked at his partner. I looked at all the lights and people coming out of their houses-

And behind me was her family.

Her sister that assaulted me, was laughing about having work in the morning.

All of them were looking at me, with hate in their eyes.

He tried to feed me bullshit about "well if I'm taking someone to jail, there has to be proof."

He dismissed everything I attempted to say, until I just stared at the ground and he decided he did his job here.

I told him my whole fucking body hurts because I had 4 people fucking toss my 100lbs ass all over the fucking room, which was a mess that he refused to look at.

He said "I don't see bruises."

I SPAT "BRUISES TAKE TIME?"

He retorted IMMEDIATELY- "YOU'RE NOT EVEN RED."

I asked what about the dispatcher- she seemed concerned- to which he said "you see, sometimes when people call us- they scream and be dramatic- for a quicker response."

I asked what we could do while the two weeks go by for our new place, and he fucking said "I DONT KNOW. BARRICADE YOURSELF IN YOUR ROOM OR SOMETHING."

Needless to say, we are now safe, in a hotel and I've gotten in touch with a few lgbt organizations that are attempting to help us get justice.

Unfortunately because it's a holiday weekend, all we can do is wait right now.

Our first order of business is getting a protection order, so that we can retrieve the rest of our things without her sister trying to attack us again. (I say us because she kept jumping towards Jackie, like she was threatening to hit her.)

I've been so gaslit and victim blamed that I was too scared to go to the er, even though this all happened in the midst of a flare, possibly including my liver health.

There's so much more to this story, as I'm sure other trans people can relate.. unfortunately.

The emts reluctantly offered to take me to the er, but I was like "and leave my partner here with them?" And he just fucking shrugged dude.

I hate this city.

I want out so bad but unfortunately I've committed to a year, but at least it'll be *our* apartment.

We could NOT stay there for two more weeks. Her step dad is a violent offender that has attempted to murder a homeless prostitute over some fucking pocket change- and he has a GUN in the house.

This hotel might run us into a hole, despite it being the cheapest, shittiest hotel in town, it's still going to be about 700$ for ONE week.

To ADD INSULT TO INJURY, SOMEONE ATTEMPTED TO STEAL MY VEHICLE WHILE WE'VE BEEN STAYING HERE.

I'm feeling incredibly paranoid and unsafe, but I'm on anxiety meds now at least and its SORTA helping us cope (My partner and I have the same Dr and she gave her permission to have some.)

The organization BRAVO is trying to help us with a hotel voucher, but because of all the natural disasters, it's hard to find room in charity for people like us, which is fair enough. We aren't immediately on the street, and for that I'm incredibly thankful.

However, if you or anyone you know wish to help you can donate to venmo: kittyzibby. Or you could just signal boost this.

If you can't help, I understand. And IF YOU'RE STRUGGLING FINANCIALLY, don't worry about it, for real.

Right now I'm just scared we'll go into debt before getting the apartment settled in.

I will update on things once our case moves along more, and we were already considering turning to OF sexwork before all of this, so if there could be support that way, maybe we'll get that going once we get moved in. That way, I feel good about providing a service in return.

Thank you so much for sticking with us during all of this. And really- we're doing much better today. We've given each other pep talks, but we are still determined to start our lives together.

Her family was merely trying to scare me away from her, but I got my girl's name tatted on me for a reason.

I know I'm not the bad person here.

Every time Jackie is feeling more gender euphoric, and showing me her changes, and seeing her get more confident, the more I know that what I'm doing with and for her, is right.

I love her so much. And I will never abandon her, like they tried to get me to do.

Jackie is taking a break from some socials, but she's given me permission to talk about what's been happening.

She needs justice too.

I will update as much as I can, but seriously, I think we both just have a fire under our asses now.

Mentally, we're stronger than ever.

Thank you for reading. My heart really goes out to the rest of the queer community that have experienced or are going through similar things.

It's really made me realize why we need to stick together and fight this bigotry bullshit! 🏳️‍⚧️🏳️‍🌈

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southernrays · 3 years

Text

location: Fairvale + Jesup/Atlanta in flashbacks date: The second week of July 2020 + Ray’s entire life availability: closed solo tldr: Ray ponders his love life before-during-after the apocalypse cw for: transphobia, disclosure talks, transitioning, divorce, drugs (mentioned not used) and all of the general heart break affiliated with young love.

000.

Ray fell in love too easily.

It had always been a problem, really, but there was no real fix. Ray loved deeply, easily, and with his whole entire heart. He had done so since he was a kid, and he would probably always do so, apocalypse or not.

001.

His first crush had been on Brittany Walker when he was six years old. That was before he was Ray, before he was even Nate, but a crush was a crush.

Brittany was the most popular girl in their elementary school. Jesup was a small town that only grew smaller the older they got, and Ray was one of ten in his class. Brittany was classically pretty - blonde hair, blue eyes, a big smile, and kind eyes - but Ray knew it was more that that. He didn’t want to be Brittany’s friend, he wanted to be her best friend, and got jealous of everyone else. When the town got a new set of siblings, brother and sister, and Brittany started hanging out with them instead of him, Ray’s father noticed the frowns and sad looks at the dinner table.

“What’s wrong, champ?” David had asked, the nickname sticking from a t-ball championship streak of two years. Ray had pouted over the okra on his plate, and not just because it was slimy.

“Brittany has new friends and likes them better. But I like her more than anyone else on the playground.”

“Is that right now?” David had amusement in his eyes when he tried to keep a straight face, and Ray was old enough to see it. He was deceptively perceptive for his age and already a good people watcher at the bar. David knew that.

“I’m serious Dad. I’d marry her, like you and mom.”

Ray was still just six, though. He didn’t notice the tense of his father’s shoulder, the way he glanced over to make sure that his wife wasn’t in the room. He didn’t notice the frown lines on his face or how unhappy he had been for the last six years. He didn’t know that the divorce papers will be signed before their next Christmas, and it will be spent without Regina Turner. That all of his birthdays and holidays and life events would be without her, forever, very soon.

“That’s a whole lot of like, kiddo.”

“I mean it, Pa.”

“That’s alright champ. You can marry whoever you want to when you get older, alright? I’ll love you no matter what.”

“Alright dad,” little Ray had said with a wrinkle of his nose. “Don’t make it weird.”

David’s laugh had filled the kitchen, and Ray felt better about it all.

002.

Ray didn’t have a type growing up. The people he liked, he liked individually, not because they fit into a mold that checked off imaginary boxes. In high school his eyes turned towards a new girl in town that’s aesthetic screams southern gothic in an unironic way. Hailee wore her eye liner too thick, kept her music too loud, wore too much black and metal, and glared at everyone at Jesup’s only high school like their mere presence bothered her. Ray had no idea, in retrospect, why he was drawn to her, but he was. Ray was finally Nate by then, finally himself in his own skin and his own clothing and no one could take that from him. Not the busybodies of Jesup, not his mother’s stinging palm on his cheek, and not any pastor of a Church he wasn’t apart of, praying to a man he didn’t believe in.

Ray was unapologetically himself, and maybe he was drawn to someone else like that, too.

Hailee avoided him like the plague, too, at first. She scoffed at his worn levis and dirty cowboy boots. She ignored Ray when the popular crowd stopped by his locker. Ray was popular, too, in spite of his transition and small town gossip. His father owned one of the only bars in town that made him cool, and a source of liquor for unage drinking and parties. Ray didn’t care much for that, but he did appreciate the socialization of it all.

“Hey, Hailee, wait up now,” Ray had called out, almost not recognizing his own voice after his second puberty.

“What do you want, Nate?” Her eyes had narrowed, pretty and green despite the kohl surrounding them.

“You to come to Nick’s party this weekend. What do ya say?” Ray rocked back on his heels, nervous of her answer. People in the hallway stopped to look at them, and Ray wondered what they saw. Was it the stubble on his chin, his recent growth spike, and the new squareness of his hips? Or was it the same kid that had been there since pre-school, unable to leave that old, uncomfortable skin behind.

“I’ll think about it.”

“Yeah? You do that, then. I can pick ya up on the bike if you want?”

Her eyes flashed with something dangerous, then, and Ray knew he had hooked her. What kind of edgy girl could resist showing up to the party on the back of a sick motorcycle?

They find themselves in a closet, of all places, in the middle of the night. Ray tasted tequila on her lips when she slotted their hips together. He pushed back, pinning her against a wall as he slipped his tongue into her mouth. The groan she let out was sweet music to his ears and she melted like putty against his strong frame.

“Worth comin’ out for the party?” Ray asked against her lips. She bit his lip in retaliation before deepening the kiss. Ray’s hands wandered, fingers trailing the skin exposed by the black crop top she had decided to wear tonight. They separate when Ray needed to come up for air, harsh pants filling the small spaces of the closet.

“I didn’t expect it to be so good,” Hailee mumbled against his lips, and Ray can’t help but freeze.

“What? Kissin’ a redneck?” He tried to joke off, desperate for her to make some small town hick joke. Because Hailee was from Indianapolis. She was supposed to be edgy and alternative and beyond all of the small town gossip. She was different from the other people Ray had been taking hayrides with since the days of diapers.

He expected more out of Hailee - maybe more than he should have, maybe more than what was fair - which is why the disappointment felt so much worse with her.

“No, you know...” A brief pause of hesitation and Ray prayed, dear God for her to say anything but what he thought she was going to say. “Kissing someone like you.”

Ray flinched back like someone had dropped a bucket of ice on him. His eyes sting for a brief second of embarrassment before the rage took over. He takes one deep breath, and then another. Man, testosterone was a potent thing, wasn’t it?

“I... I’ll see ya ‘round Hailey.”

“Wait - Nate - I didn’t ... I wasn’t trying to-”

Ray doesn’t hear the rest. He doesn’t need to.

003.

Dating Xavier was a mistake, plain and simple.

Ray was new to the area. He was finally free of his town, free of the stigma and the knowing looks, and the everything else that came with a town so small it felt like a fishbowl. Here, in Atlanta, he got to start over. He could be Nate from the beginning, without any need to pretend otherwise.

And Nate was a useless bisexual. Always had been.

Xavier was kind of a douchebag. He met Ray at a bar, of course, his band playing on the makeshift stage. Xavier was a drummer. He was so dang pretty, easy on the eyes, and kissed in a dirty, grungy sort of way that had it’s charms. He was nothing like Jesup kids; Xavier was spoiled, wild, a city boy through and through, and Ray craved the simplicity of it all.

Xavier (who went by X) was not a good guy and did drugs (most X) and got crossfaded out of his mind after shows. He stayed up crazy hours, usually high, and wrote all sorts of lyrics for his band. Their relationship, if you could call it that, was very brief and mostly physical.

“You should play guitar, babe, like for real, you know?” Xavier said, waking Ray up at five in the morning to tell him that.

“Why’s that, handsome?” Ray had answered, sleep still clogging his voice as he rolled over. It looked like X hadn’t been to sleep yet, which made sense considering the binge he had been on.

“It’d make you more edgy, right, like, you’d be hotter. Everyone’s hotter if they play guitar.”

“S’that why you’re a drummer?” Ray teased, but the fun nature of it went over Xavier’s head. He leveled a big scowl at Ray, and Ray sighed.

“No need to be mean, Nate.”

“Was just a joke, baby.” Ray opened up the covers of the bed, glancing at the clock again. Xavier’s pupils were so dilated that he couldn’t see his pretty brown eyes. “Come to bed soon?”

“You know I have to finish this song. We hit the road in three weeks for our tour.”

In that three weeks, Ray picked up a guitar and had his first lessons, broke up with Xavier, and never saw the guy again.

He was not more edgy, not in the slightest, but he did have a new guitar and a whole city to explore.

004.

Meeting Luci had been accidental in every way. He had picked up an extra shift at the bar that his manager forgot to write into the schedule, so when he showed up for it there was double staffing and no need for Ray to be there. Instead of spending a Friday night alone, at his apartment, he decided to stay. Ray nursed a couple of beers as the bar filled up and texted his friends to show up early.

The Drunken Crown was a sort of themed bar-slash-pub in Atlanta. It was smaller, which Ray appreciated, and had theme nights on the daily. A lot of the college kids from nearby spent their time there, and the average patron was generally on the younger side. On Fridays and Saturdays their theme rotated, and tonight’s was Historic Night.

His friends arrived a bit later, dressed in Spartan battle gear. They did a couple rounds of shots before most of them took to the dance floor, leaving Ray laughing as he refused at the bar.

Ray had come dressed in an honest to goodness toga, including a gold spray-painted leaf crown and golden accessories. His time in the gym had definitely paid off as he was finally bulking up and gaining more definition in his shoulders. One or two girls had been orbiting around him, but Ray didn’t make any passes at anyone. He sipped on his beer, watching his coworkers make their rounds, and decided to people watch for the evening.

A group of flappers were tearing up the dance floor. Ray could see his buddy, Blake, drunkenly approaching them and attempting some dance moves that made him look ridiculous. Some guys in three piece suits were making out by the entrance. A group of hippies were eagerly chatting and mingling at the bar. Ray saw at least three girls who looked like some extras in a Nirvana video begging for some kind of song change from whatever was on the speakers.

Luci had been dressed up as an old writer, someone Ray knew the name of but couldn’t remember, not truly and definitely not any more, and kept all to herself in the very corner of the bar. She was sipping on some mixed drink and Ray’s eyes stopped on her. What was her story? The quiet girl, alone at the bar, barely hanging onto the fringes of all of the activity.

He was intrigued, and he wanted to know.

A simple introduction was given. Ray prodded, trying to get a feel for the quiet girl, who opened up immediately when asked about her costume. Ray was no academic, but he appreciated the passion in her eyes when she spoke about something, voice louder than either one of them expected.

“I’m Nate, by the way. It’s nice to meet you.”

And it was. Luci was his opposite in so many ways. He hadn’t expected to see her again after that night, too shy to ask for her number and unsure if she was interested in giving it. His coworkers had given him hell for chickening out, and Ray just gave them a good-natured smile.

A week and a half later, Luci came in, dressed normally, while Ray was working. He spent the entire night neglecting his duties, trying to get a conversation out of her and working his own natural charm. And she came back the next week, and the week after, too. Soon Ray was brave enough to ask for her number. And she gave it to him.

Being with Luci was different. Their first date, Ray had taken her out of the city to a local dirt track. They went mudding in ATVs and Ray nearly fell off of his trying to impressive her halfway through. Luci’s eyes had been wide the entire time, soaking up the whole thing with a curiosity that Ray came to associate with her. One date turned into two, which turned into a whole series of exploring together.

They took turns taking each other outside of their comfort zones. Ray taught Luci how to have fun the country way, with mudding and camping, and picnics in the bed of his truck as they watched the sun rise together. Luci surprised Ray with her deep thoughts, her sharp mind, and the push to better himself with her. She didn’t let him keep up his self-deprecation. They would have late night conversations, under the stars, all alone, wrapped up in each other.

She met his friends, his family, incorporated herself in his entire life.

Ray fell head over heels. And he told her so, earnest and eager and open to love. Open to a lifetime of learning and exploring with her.

And she left him, at the edge of the cliff he was ready to jump off with no parachute, without so much as an explanation. And she took a part of him with her, whether she realized it or not, that never really came back.

005.

There were more. Some before Luci, some after. Each person was different - different backgrounds, ages, race, gender, personalities - but one thing always remained the same. Ray loved too hard, too much, too easily. Ray was open to the idea of commitment, and committed, too easily.

It didn’t matter who he was dating, he was the constant, he was the issue, and it hurt to admit.

Ray tried, and he loved, before-during-after the outbreak. And it went like this:

There was Rob, a brewmaster he met while at school. They dated for over a year, before graduation hit; Ray wanted to go to Atlanta and Rob wanted to go to family back in Miami.

“It’s like - you know - I really like you Nate. I like you a lot. But long distance? It never works. It’s better to end it now.”

There was Sage, a wild child trust fund girl that wanted to save the rainforest with Daddy’s money. She laughed when he asked her to be his girlfriend.

“That’s cute, you thought we were dating? It’s not that serious babe.”

There was Fi, a survivor in a camp Ray had stumbled across after leaving the Fort. She was the reason Ray stuck around for three weeks. They had had an awful fight before the camp was overrun, and she hadn’t made it out alive.

“You’re too soft, Ray. I’d chew up your sunshine and spit it out. I don’t want to see you again.”

There was Ronnie, the permanent student with four different bachelor degrees. He cheated on Ray with one of his roommates after six months of dating.

“I was bored, Nate. I’m not ready to just settle down, dude. You’re smothering me.”

There was Destiny, a small town, kindred girl he found in Atlanta not too long after Xavier. She had looked at him in the worst way when Ray had come out to her.

“I’m - I’m not - That’s not what God would want for you, you know?”

There was Jenny, a financial advisor that Ray had met through the bar and mutual friends. She had always been so carefree, maybe too carefree, maybe just too free in general.

“Oh Darlin’, I don’t think so. We’re not exactly endgame, are we?”

It didn’t matter who, when, where they were. Ray wasn’t worth keeping around - that was the universally proven fact. It was one he had to stomach his entire life, and well, it sucked, but Ray was not one to stay down. He washed off the mud, dusted off his boots, and got back up again.

000. +

Ray tried not to play the self pity card. It just wasn’t his style. But with the outbreak, losing his family, and trying to re-invent himself yet again? A relationship was the last thing he wanted or needed. Fairvale was a clean break, it was (mostly) mess free. He could be whoever he wanted or needed. He could start over, again. He could protect himself and his heart.

Love mucked all of that up. It always had.

So when he caught himself - again, Ray, really? - people watching with his eyes settling on one person, he ignored it. When he felt that small flip-flop in his belly at their smile, he pushed it down. When his day would brighten at the familiar face of a kind-of-regular-that-showed up, Ray decided he would not have a crush again, thank you very much, and make things uneven.

He could not afford to give up his heart any more than he already had. He couldn’t afford to be let down, disregarded, by someone again.

#solo para #027 #para #YEEHAW BUCKLE UP #about

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ms-m-astrologer · 4 years

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Transiting Mars enters retrograde zone

Timeline (current events in bold)

Saturday, July 25, 2020, 14:10 UT - transiting Mars enters retrograde zone, 15:14 Aries

Wednesday, September 9, 2020, 22:22 UT - transiting Mars stations retrograde, 28:08 Aries

Saturday, November 14, 2020, 00:36 UT - transiting Mars stations direct, 15:14 Aries

Saturday, January 2, 2021, 19:10 UT - transiting Mars exits retrograde zone, 28:08 Aries

Before I even get started, the main thing I want everyone to take from any of this is to SLOW THE F*$& DOWN. It’s a guarantee that anything you try to start &/or accomplish between July 25 and September 9 will be revisited, when Mars is retrograde - and then, re-revisited, after Mars stations direct.

My #1 source for Rx Zone issues, Martin Bulgerin (www dot biopscinst dot com), has this to say about Mars retrograde:

During Mars retrograde periods, we get to experience how we sabotage our own actions, preventing us from achieving what we desire to do. The ability to express your will-power seems thwarted. The key here is to discover what is keeping you from effective action and changing it. This inner nemesis may be an over active temper, an impatience with planning when you can rush into activity, or simply a lack of awareness that causes you to ignore useful clues. This is not a good time to initiate new projects that require perseverence, nor is it easy to work with others during this cycle.

In a perfect world, we took to heart all the lessons about effective Mars expression, back when Mars was in Pisces. We learned how to be more of a Zen master than a trigger-happy soldier. Unfortunately, this is 2020. As if it isn’t bad enough to have Mars Rx in his own sign, DURING AN ELECTION YEAR IN THE US, we have a series of difficult aspects which transiting Mars is going to “do” three times each: Mars will square Pallas Athene, Jupiter, Saturn, and Pluto, three times each; Mars will also conjunct Eris/Aries three times.

Anyway, here we are in the pre-Rx zone. Issues that we’re going to have to deal with, during the time Mars is actually retrograde, will begin to crop up. Ms M has a strong natal Mars and has seen the writing on the wall, so to speak, for a few days now. I suggest that, if you’re also the possessor of a strong natal Mars (or Aries or Scorpio, or the 1st or 8th Houses), make notes on your planner about issues that crop up. Date and time, like that.

I haven’t gone into detail about the aspects of a planet, in quite some time. If I were you, I would pay attention to the transiting aspects that you may have in your natal chart. For example, I have natal Mars square natal Pallas Athene; I’m going to feel that set of squares very strongly.

You may also want to pay attention to any of the aspects that will trigger something in your own chart, regardless of whether or not you have it natally. The Mars-Saturn square on August 24, for example, will ding my natal Mercury/Gemini.

Finally: a few hours after Mars enters his Rx Zone (03:50 UT on Sunday, July 26), the Moon transiting Libra will oppose him. If we’re awake and aware, we should definitely feel this thing beginning to ratchet up.

Monday, July 27, 21:46 UT - Mercury/Cancer square Mars/Aries, 16:20

Third of three. This is the first non-lunar aspect Mars makes, and sets the tone for the whole experience. From Merc’s point of view, Mars is insensitive, cruel, and selfish; from Mars’ point of view, Merc whines too much and never wants to stand up for itself. My suspicion is that Mars is going to pick up on something unresolved from the recent Mercury Rx (some perceived insecurity), and run with it. Be smarter than that.

Placements affected lie between 15:20 and 17:20 of the cardinal signs Aries, Cancer, Libra, and Capricorn; and between 0:20 and 2:20 of the mutable signs Gemini, Virgo, Sagittarius, and Pisces.

Wednesday, July 29, 05:02 UT - Pallas Athene Rx/Capricorn square Mars/Aries, 16:51

First of three. You never like to see the warrior squabbling with the master strategist. Pallas Athene is telling Mars to follow procedures, perhaps, and Mars just wants to trash everything with his sword. Again, this may “just” manifest as some issue we’ll have to face more thoroughly during Mars’ retrograde.

Placements affected lie between 15:51 and 17:51 of the cardinal signs Aries, Cancer, Libra, and Capricorn; and between 0:51 and 2:51 of the mutable signs Gemini, Virgo, Sagittarius, and Pisces.

Tuesday, August 4, 13:06 UT - Jupiter Rx/Capricorn square Mars/Aries, 19:44

First of three. If I were telling a story (and I kind of am), it’s almost like Mars didn’t like the orders he got from Captain Pallas Athene, so he’s protesting up to General Jupiter. Which I don’t think is “done” in the Army! We could get carried away and overconfident; we may consent to take on some project that is way, way over our heads and/or our paygrades.

Placements affected lie between 20:44 and 22:44 of the cardinal signs Aries, Cancer, Libra, and Capricorn; and between 5:44 and 7:44 of the mutable signs Gemini, Virgo, Sagittarius, and Pisces.

Thursday, August 6, 07:30 UT - Neptune Rx/Pisces semi-sextile Mars/Aries, 20:28

First of three. Much of the reason for the typical Martian bravado and belligerence can be found in the fact that the sign which precedes it, in the Zodiac, is Pisces. Mars/Aries is a reaction to Neptune/Pisces. Mars is essentially trying to banish, or at least cover up, what it perceives as all the Neptunian insecurity. A very subtle situation arises where the two different fighting styles are contrasted. Take good notes.

Placements affected lie between 19:28 and 21:28 of all signs. You’ll probably feel that one of these planets is helping you, and the other is hindering you.

Thursday, August 13, 07:13 UT - Pluto Rx/Capricorn square Mars/Aries, 23:05; Friday, August 14, 19:40 UT - Ceres Rx/Pisces (8:35) semi-square Mars/Aries (23:35)

First of three, for both of them. Mars is beginning to slow down considerably, giving us this sort of “two-fer” situation to deal with. We all know the mythology between Ceres and Pluto, right? Here, Pluto is the strict, traditional husband; while Ceres is the anxious, overprotective mom. Now here comes Mars, spoiling for a fight. Whatever arises from this, it should be easier to separate the issues during Mars’ retrograde, and address them more appropriately.

Placements affected lie between 22:05 and 24:35 of the cardinal signs Aries, Cancer, Libra, and Capricorn; and between 7:05 and 9:35 of the mutable signs Gemini, Virgo, Sagittarius, and Pisces.

Sunday, August 16, 14:01 UT - Sun/Leo trine Mars/Aries, 24:09; Monday, August 17, 05:28 UT - Mercury/Leo trine Mars, Aries, 24:21; Monday, August 17, 16:39 UT - Eris Rx/Aries conjunct Mars/Aries, 24:29 (First of three)

I honestly looked at this situation and thought, “Hubris.” The braggadocio levels are off the charts. I’m thinking about all these so-called “militia” types we have in the US, the bunch of ugly idiots brandishing their guns all the time. And you know what’s really unsettling? August 17 is the beginning of the Democratic National Convention. Expect clown cars, I guess.

Placements affected lie between 23:09 and 25:29 of all signs. Planets in yang signs (Aries, Gemini, Leo, Libra, Sagittarius, Aquarius) will get more of a positive “boost” out of this, i.e., easier to express the energies.

Saturday, August 22, 14:04 UT - North Node/Gemini sextile Mars/Aries, 25:49; South Node/Sagittarius trine Mars/Aries, 25:49

First of three. The trine between the South Node and Mars makes it easy for us to “act up” in ways that have worked for us in the past. And in ways we’ve enjoyed acting up. However, we’re supposed to be going toward the North Node! We have opportunities here to “trade notes” and compare experiences with other people. There are smarter ways to get what we want. And we don’t have to fight all alone.

Placements affected lie between 24:49 and 26:59 of the yang signs Aries, Gemini, Leo, Libra, Sagittarius, and Aquarius.

Monday, August 24, 18:19 UT - Saturn Rx/Capricorn square Mars/Aries, 26:19 (First of three); Wednesday, August 26, 03:48 UT - Mercury (11:36 Virgo) sesquare Mars (26:36 Aries)

In case you were wondering, this is the week scheduled (as of July 24) for the Republican National Convention. Remember that astrological cliche about how Mars is the gas pedal and Saturn is the brakes? Maybe Mercury can be the backseat driver, snarking out unhelpful instructions?! (This is also when my school district plans on opening schools back up.) There is some absolutely infuriating situation which may be too impossible to extract ourselves from. Alas for us, the revisit of Mars-Saturn, during the retrograde (Sept 23-24), will feature Merc in Libra opposing Mars and squaring Saturn. (However, for the third and final Mars-Saturn square, Merc is otherwise occupied.)

Placements affected lie between 25:19 and 27:36 of the cardinal signs Aries, Cancer, Libra, and Capricorn; and between 10:19 and 12:36 of the mutable signs Gemini, Virgo, Sagittarius, and Pisces.

Friday, September 4, 09:12 UT - Venus/Cancer square Mars/Aries, 27:55; Friday, September 4, 13:15 UT - Mercury/Virgo inconjunct Mars/Aries, 27:55; Saturday, September 5, 01:54 UT - Sun/Virgo (12:58) sesquare Mars/Aries (27:58)

The final “situation” before Mars stations retrograde sees all the personal planets ganging up on Mars. (The Moon will be conjunct Mars on Sept. 5-6.) This is where Mars has to face facts - the old ways aren’t working any more. Venus is cutting him off, the Sun is backing up Venus (and being snarky about it to both parties), and Mercury is detailing all the ways he’s being ineffective. In the US at least there’s a long holiday weekend for Mars to contemplate all this.

Placements affected lie between 26:55 and 28:08 of the cardinal signs Aries, Cancer, Libra, and Capricorn; and between 11:55 and 13:08 of the mutable signs Gemini, Virgo, Sagittarius, and Pisces.

#Astrology #Transiting Mars enters retrograde zone #Ms M astrologer

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lallemcnt · 4 years

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i've got nothing to lose (with you) 🌊 (4.7k)

let's see: eliott and le gang on a mini get-away outside of france, inspired (superficially) by the scottish highlands; this is very much a piece centred on eliott's thoughts and feelings, everything else is secondary.

or, a pining, friends to lovers au

A house on the river with a white chipped window overlooking green valleys of soft-petaled ivory rose caninas fighting for land with the stone brambles and butter-yellow honeysuckle. Within minutes of their arrival, Eliott moved a rusty looking bottle-green desk directly in front of this window, as though compelled from an outside force. The valley demands his undivided attention at a time where the sky is in a perpetual state of change, transitioning from colour to colour as though indiscriminately picking shades on a colour wheel; specks of fuchsia accidentally blending and bleeding into a rust-orange and a startling red, colours which never turn out quite so captivating on a phone camera. Dusk recalls the beauty of the day, unwinding time and caressing the flowers that dare to grow at higher altitudes. Eliott sits there on what once was a rather plush seat, but now torn down the middle so he can feel the wooden foundations beneath him. Admiring the landscape as he cracks open the spine of a new notebook he uncaps a black pen. It hovers there with possibility for a few minutes until Eliott sighs and recaps it resting his face in his hand staring out the white chipped window.

Footsteps echo above him, muffled voices and slamming doors. He tries to find some inspiration within these movements and sounds but all ideas elude him. It’s been like this for the past two months so when Basile mentioned his parents had a little place a channel away he thought it fateful, fortuitous; a change in scenery from the humid city, away from the lungfuls of pollution to the countryside, a different country; a different language and culture — the endless opportunities for observation. He thought nature would spark something, get the ideas storming, the pen flowing, but he’s an empty machine. No feelings he can scratch out on paper or phone despite being told by everyone he’s ever loved that he feels so much. That he is an endless vacuum of emotions. He even bought a stupid notebook when he’s used to writing down ideas on the notes app on his phone. Maybe an alternative medium would strike an unknown area of his brain filled to bursting with worlds unlike his own. But, he’s being hard on himself, they have only been here a day. He has time.

A knock at the door has him looking over his shoulder before glancing once more out the window.

“Hey.” is all he says.

The door creaks at the hinges as footsteps pad towards him. The tips of fingers against his back almost makes him sigh out loud. It’s not a purposeful touch, it’s the simple act of fingers curling round the frame of his chair accidentally grazing his t-shirt, eliciting painful butterflies in his stomach. Eliott has imagined that touch filled with intention and it’s all he can do not to slip his hand over Lucas’, brush his thumb over the skin and tilt his head back to gaze into those eyes. Eliott wraps his arms around his stomach instead, biting down on his bottom lip.

“Nice view.” Lucas comments.

Now this is someone Eliott could have written many a poetry collection about. Forty poems in verse regaling their childhood mischief. Lucas the leader in all their make-believe games from the moment they ate their last spoonful of cereal until the moon was in full bloom, their parents having to threaten their separation for the rest of the holidays if they didn’t climb down from Lucas’ treehouse. He could lament over Lucas’ hair darkening from a dirty blond to a chestnut brown during which first kisses were had, Eliott broke his elbow falling off a skateboard and Lucas was there, leading him aside and letting him cry — insisting that he didn’t think any less of Eliott whose cheeks were flushed and stained with tears, hands clenched into fists from embarrassment. He had cried numerous times in front of Lucas, but this time had an undercurrent to it, a vulnerability marked by the changing of tides and secrets of the night; seeing Lucas began to evoke new sensations he hadn’t felt since his first kiss — a nervousness that had his hands shaking and his stomach turning. Eliott Demaury could craft twenty-one sonnets about this boy’s hands and the journey of emotions he has encountered over the years since his realisation. Though something about it doesn’t feel right, using pen and paper to express these feelings. The sentiments morph, become corrupted and lose their potency. They become the words at the end of a sentence squished in, overlapping each other, and cut off at the end, no room for them. No place for them in his heart. He believes those words are for Lucas. Someday. And only spoken among them are they meant to touch the world.

Lucas’ fingers poke Eliott’s back as he speaks. “I think everyone’s about to eat; Yann’s cooked some spaghetti.”

Dropping his head back to rest on the chair he finally meets that gaze; dark blue eyes inquiring, strands of brown hair brushing a strong nose, and Eliott responds: “Mmm, sounds good.”

Lucas shakes his head in a well, are you coming? gesture and Eliott only nods.

They continue to look at each other, searching for what Eliott knows not, only that they could both do this for years. Oh, it’s not romantic, though the scene has all the players and the setting to forge a wondrous story of fate and destiny, no such eventuality could Eliott lay claim to when it comes to Lucas. Their staring contests are the makings of legends, they could stare for France at the Olympics. That was Lucas' idea when they were twelve, to enter the Guinness Book of World Records. If only Eliott could telepathically communicate his love through his stare, he would be saved from the mortifying ordeal of laying his soul bear for Lucas to potentially stamp on, to do with what he will. The odds were not in his favour.

The next moment Lucas is grabbing him by the wrists tugging him to his feet. “What were you doing?”

A loud sigh. “Trying to write.”

“Ah.” A voice filled with understanding and sympathy.

“Yes.”

“I have no words of encouragement. Knowing you you’ve watched a hundred videos on how to get inspiration so, for now, let’s just have some fun this weekend,” He mines the breaststroke. “If you manage to write something, if only a three word sentence then great. If you don’t well then I’ll have to reset your brain or something.”

“I guess.” He’s feeling a bit dispirited is all.

“It’s the only plan I’ve got so you can either take it or leave it.”

“I’ll take anything you give me.” It’s out before he can stop it and he has no time to freak the hell out or try and amend this faux pas because that’s when they are summoned.

“FOOD IS READY!” bellows a voice from deeper inside the house. Basile.

“Just in time.” Lucas smiles, dragging Eliott along behind him, like he doesn’t trust him to not sit at that desk, staring out the window for the foreseeable evening to come. Eliott is a dreamer after all, it can’t be helped.

All the knowing brings a small smile to Eliott’s lips, Lucas catches it and a laugh bubbles out of his throat his grip tightening on Eliott’s wrist. He wonders if that’s what love is. Knowing. For some people the learning process is what keeps them in love, and for the others who have already mapped out the insides of each other, know them as intimately as they do their own body. What about them? Is it in the relearning? Rediscovering the constellations of their mind, the breadth of their movement and the deepest, most darkest secrets at their core where the imaginary apple tree blooms from all the seeds they dared to swallow as kids.

“Idiot,” Lucas whispers.

“Yeah, you are.” Eliott quips right back.

Lucas shrugs his shoulders, grinning. “Eat your spaghetti, dumbass.”

Eliott acquiesces and brushes his fingers over Lucas’ skin, where they do nothing but slightly graze, just once.

The evening brings them around a crowded table covered in an ugly mauve table cloth, five empty glasses holding it in place, and Eliott feels like it’s all a bit biblical. A cornucopia of sorts with the big spaghetti dish in the centre, napkins laid under cutlery, and — yes, lit candle sticks holding court at either end, illuminating the richness of the tomato sauce and the plates precariously positioned near the edges of the table.

“ELIOTT!” Basile yells the instant Lucas and Eliott enter the kitchen slash dining space.

“He made fucking placement cards.” Arthur chortles, shoving one in Lucas’ face, who grabs at it laughing.

Basile looks indignant, his ears flushing pink. He begins shepherding Yann to begin serving their food, refusing to look at the other boys, and Eliott’s heart pangs in his chest even when he knows that Arthur is only taking the piss, he means nothing by it. He can’t but help feel empathy in any given situation, because he was cursed to feel every fucking emotion in the world. He wishes there was an off switch as quick and easy as turning of the light but for your emotions.

And right on cue, “Baz, I’m joking!” Arthur grabs the place card back from Lucas and when Basile doesn’t respond, he looks around at Yann and Lucas for support, like did I misstep that badly?

“I was joking, Baz. Basile. Baz! I’ll do your stupid laundry for the rest of this trip if you open your mouth.”

Baz glares at Arthur while opening his mouth into an o shape.

“What the fuck.” he falls to his knees at Baz’s feet and throws his hands over his heart in mock anguish.

“That’s only two days.”

Relief spreads over Arthur’s face. “You prick. And for the next five days when we’re back home.”

Baz smiles. “Okay.” Just before Arthur wraps his arm around Baz's neck, roughing up his head and causing Basile to shout his head off like an idiot.

Yann and Lucas exchange an amused look as they take their assigned seats at the table. Eliott slides into his seat, taking the proffered orange juice from Baz and sighing quietly as the cool liquid hits the back of his throat.

Beers are passed around, spaghetti is ladled into ceramic bowls and bellies are satiated. It only takes five minutes before the toasts begin — it’s a slight downgrade from Shakespeare, but Eliott isn’t the biggest fan of his works anyway. These monologues do not bore him to tears, they manage the feat of the opposite; a well of innocence and love and disaster (in the best way) — and Eliott can feel his stomach cramping from the laughter to come. Baz’s excitement is an energy source of its own, powering up each boy in turn and only encouraged more by the alcohol in their veins. He thanks them for coming, his curls bouncing as he hugs each of them and kisses their temples in turn, giving a special wink to Eliott. This prompts Lucas to raise his eyebrows and air kiss Eliott in jest; Yann clutches his heart and narrows his eyes at Lucas in betrayal. But the real jester is Eliott’s heart, making a mockery of him.

There is something about the sun glistening on the water, the sparkles of light suggesting an underworld, and the heat and the tender breeze which fosters an exuberant vitality among these boys. Jumping into the rushing water like the rocks within aren’t sharp as nails, as fierce and demanding as deities demanding human blood. Embracing the camaraderie that comes from being complete idiots and living to tell the tale. Defying the ancient gods. Eliott has noticed his regard for his own life has drastically lowered since his acquaintance with Lucas’ school friends; they are wild and high-spirited that when their energies are fused together you have never seen a more brazen display of the human idiocy. Eliott came to the conclusion upon their second meeting that they share a single brain cell between them, no more no less. Their presence demands he shed his insecurities and feelings of inadequacy, that he be instead audacious so sometimes he finds himself retreating and requiring a few moments by himself just so he can keep up, reset and recharge.

Watching the other four attempt to kayak down the river, watching Lucas rub a hand across his throat where a collection of moles stand out against his tan skin has Eliott feeling some type of way. A nostalgia clings to him, the echoes of childhood innocence — running around with paint-stained hands intertwined, breaking the last cookie in half because they couldn't bear the thought of not experiencing every delicious moment of life together with the one person who they could just be with. The one who made them want to be bold. A time before feelings were made complicated and repressive by adult sensibilities and expectations. It’s a nostalgia breeding a melancholy Eliott feels too young to be unraveled by, because he is so very lucky to even be known quite this intimately by a person; it gives rise to a loneliness he feels no right to. He has to look away from Lucas before he gasps out loud because it will be obvious then. And he doesn’t know what he’d do if he was found out, because that’s the scary thing. He already made a mistake yesterday. He cannot give up now. He’s been good so far. Acted the performance of his life. He’s an artist. A master of repression.

But now he is in danger, at the precipice of possibility, because the way Lucas has been looking at him when he thinks Eliott isn’t looking; the tilt of his head, the softening of his brow and that gentle smile without any mischief behind it is simultaneously tearing at Eliott’s heart but also the last image he would want to see before closing his eyes forever. He doesn’t know when exactly it happened but he lost control somewhere along the way; in between the little moments when he lets himself dream, giving the reins of control over to his hapless thoughts filled with impossibilities and infatuation. Beneath the sheets of his bed where he can exist as he is. A multitude of muscles and tissue, blood and bones sinking into the safety of the mattress as his mind is whisked away by a boy sprinkling him in fairy dust and offering him the chance to fly.

It’s catching up to him now, he can feel it rising. A tidal wave promising to consume him, reveal him. His skin is sticky from the sun, it feels too tight. His throat is aching, a sob threatens to betray him. He wants to scratch at his throat to relieve the pressure; he needs to scream until he can no longer produce sound. Until he is an empty vessel incapable of such visceral emotion. He wants to tear out his hair. This loneliness so rapidly evolving into a creature of frustration, of anger. How haven’t they noticed? How can’t they see this volatile species among them? Can’t they feel the very toxicity in the air?

Eliott hits the surface of the lake hard. The initial pain of impact, welcome — a moment of distraction as he is plunged deep into the open arms of the biting cold and opens his jaw to let loose this beast of rage. Furious with himself for being so completely selfish, for having allowed this self-pity to threaten a friendship he would sell his soul to save, to keep forever close to his chest. To that organ known to most animals and at the centre of some of the most tragic and romantic sonnets found in between must-smelling pages and on the rough skin of ageing humans. Though not all the words are without detrimental consequences, Eliott feels like a letter on the verge of changing the entire meaning of a sentence. The power in his hands to rewrite the narrative so he can finally have what he has been waiting for for years. But nothing is without consequences.

Sometimes Eliott thinks about how life is made up of doing things you don’t want to do with small moments of reprieve in and amongst the mess, the stress, finding the will to carry on. The reality is that he doesn’t want to tell Lucas. He really doesn’t. He has contented himself with admiring from afar. Until it gets to be too much. He would rather know him in this way, as a friend, till his last breath than compromise a relationship that has given him more than he deserves, more than he has ever been able to give back. A bond that sets his blood racing, his heart soaring and his body an ardent vivacity of courage and pure, uncorrupted joy. Like a river discovered on a blisteringly hot day, where your fingers have swollen up in the clutch of the silver rings you wear and you want to strip off every piece of clothing clinging to your sweaty skin and it’s that instant relief, that feeling that you could live in the water forever. Your hair soaked and plastered to your neck and the sun that was only seconds ago unforgivably hot is now a blissful pleasure against wet skin. Lucas is solace in a world that too often demands him to not be himself. To just be okay at its call.

Here’s a not quite secret: Lucas knows.

Floating to the surface, his back to the sun, Eliott folds his limbs inwards as the pressure for oxygen begins to sing in his veins. Calling him back to the present to face the world he has made. The first breath is purely human instinctual relief at the intake of a luscious breath of air. The second slows his heart down a fraction. The third is coincides with a minor skip of a heart beat as Elliott shoves wet hair from his watery eyes and sees lean muscled shoulders. Get the fuck together, Eliott. He pushes himself out of the water and it’s as though he wasn’t listening before, as though his thoughts blocked the functionality of his ears, because as soon as he leaves the water laughter pierces the air, cut short when Eliott flops down beside Yann.

Yann immediately reveals that Lucas has an idea, and Eliott’s groan is an automatic response, he throws an arm over his eyes, closing them against the sun.

“So Lucas was thinking—”

“—I was thinking we should race down that hill—”

“—You mean mountain.”

Lucas scoffs. “It’s hardly a mountain.”

“No thanks, I’m cool. You guys can though. I’ll chill here.”

Eliott’s bent knee collapses to the floor as Lucas kicks at his leg. “What?” he asks, annoyed.

“I’ll do it if you do it.”

“Ha, yeah right.”

“I promise. Eliott, I swear I’ll do it.”

“And where has trusting your word ever got me, Lallemant?”

Lucas rolls his eyes. “Pinky promise?”

Eliott laughs.

“Spit shake.”

That’s basically kissing is Eliott’s first thought. “No thanks.”

“You’re acting like you don’t trust me.”

“I literally do not trust you.”

At Lucas’ hurt expression Eliott feels more defensive than guilty like he normally would. He’s tired of this day. He wants to sleep for twelve hours straight.

“It’s a fucking mountain. I don’t want to die.” he gestures emphatically to the mountain. Arguably, the distance is not far but Eliott’s not the biggest fan of running at such a steep, vertical angle. Knowing him, he would twist his ankle and break an arm versus the rather athletic Lucas and Yann, co-captains of a baseball team. “I have a headache.” he adds, not looking at either boys’ face.

Closing his eyes once more and longing for the privacy of the river; the secrets beneath the rolling surface of the azure water, conversation becomes muffled as Eliott finds his stasis. Lolled by the constant rush of water, Eliott is ignorant to his environment, though not frightened when his vision turns from a burning blood-red to a muted orange. He blinks an eye open and Lucas is there, a slight furrow in his brow, his lips a firm line.

He whispers, “You okay? We’re gonna be over there.”

Eliott nods.

“Okay.” Lucas brushes one hand through the hair framing Eliott’s hair, his long, callused fingers moving carefully. He finishes with a pinch of Eliott’s chin and sprints away, Eliott assumes, after Yann.

What if he let it all go? What if he let himself look at Lucas and touch his hand? Could he do it without having to justify it to himself and the world?

Lucas’ bedroom sits two doors down from Eliott’s at the end of the hall. It has a white door with blue accents like every other door in this house and it’s slightly open. It’s a sign Eliott decides because he needs one to do this. He needs every last ounce of courage available to him because everything is about to change. Whether it is small or life-shaking, and he doesn’t have to do this. But he does.

One step. He watches his foot take the next and next and three more until he is two steps away from being seen. That is if Lucas is on his bed, but if he’s only the other side of the room, then Eliott has more time to second guess this endeavour. He doesn’t know which to wish for. He is one step away and no Lucas. A breath out, his stomach clenches. Okay.

Walking into the room with all the confidence he doesn’t possess, Eliott bounces onto Lucas’ bed and leans up against the wall, and there the other boy is reading a book for school in a wooden rocking chair by a dusty looking mirror, half concealed by a brown throw. Meanwhile Eliott is being sucked in by the loveliest mattress his butt has ever had the pleasure to rest on. The duvet smells like Lucas.

“Fuck, this bed is so much bigger than mine.” he announces, shuffling down onto his back.

Lucas wiggles his eyebrows. “Lots of star fishing has happened there.”

“I bet.”

He has made it this far. Maybe with Lucas engrossed in his book it will be easier. The first part anyway, because he has no doubt Lucas will either try to avoid eye contact all together or shut the conversation down within seconds because he doesn’t like Eliott in that way.

“I like you.” Eliott clarifies. His throat tightening. He can’t believe he said it, he’s not known for being the most loquacious about his feelings. Despite being sensitive and greatly empathic, this does not extend to how he treats himself. Vocalising his turmoil is new and uncomfortable; he doesn’t feel like he can breath better, there’s not relief in it. He counts to ten and tilts his head up to examine Lucas who is staring intently at his book, his face a mirror of shock and fear. But Eliott’s not exactly sure if it is shock at his love or the act of the revelation itself.

Lucas clears his throat. “I don’t want things to change,” closing his book around his finger to hold his page, he licks his lips as his shoulders curl in slightly. Eliott is a hurricane, wrecking devastation and warning signs are blaring in his head to get out, get out, get out! “I do know that I like you.” And then all is quiet in his mind as he lowers his head back to the mattress. He doesn’t know what to do with his hands; folding them behind his head then across his stomach, the puzzle pieces not fitting. His stomach is clenched in preparation for a fall, for someone to jump out with a camera and say he’s been punked, for Lucas to bust out laughing and divulge his prank to the boys. He was expecting rejection so this is new and he can’t quite believe it. This isn’t going according to plan. Lucas isn’t supposed to say I like you. What the hell is happening.

Sitting up, Eliott can feel his face tightening and he’s confused as he gets to his feet, drifting towards Lucas’ bedroom door like a lone breeze. The light catches Lucas’ hair, lightening the tips to a golden brown and Eliott’s heart is in his throat, his jaw clenching he needs out of this space. He’s almost out the door but Lucas has somehow slipped in front of him, framed in the doorway and he fills the frustration building up.

“Hey.” Lucas’ voice is soft as he searches Eliott’s face, taking in his fists at his sides and the pronounced jaw line. He reaches up and rubs gentle circles just beneath Eliott’s ear; taking one of his fists in his own hands, he runs a callused finger over knuckles and under to where fingers are curled inwards. Lucas is not met with resistance because Eliott’s fingers unfurl and Lucas is slotting his own in between and Eliott is losing his breath, it’s been stolen, he can’t get it back and his eyes are near to welling up.

They drift towards the bed, Eliott floating, not registering any physical movements beyond their intertwined fingers, the soft pressure of Lucas grip on his own hand is a masterpiece. He is sitting down, in the middle of the bed and Lucas is sitting on his knees on top of the blankets, their hands hang in the space between them.

“How about this,” Lucas says, decisively, his gaze drifting from their hands. He shifts forward moving closer to Eliott, “We try. We don’t force anything. If it doesn’t feel right we stop, because I don’t want to lose you as a friend, Eliott. Fuck, that’s what terrifies me most. But I think we would both regret it if we didn’t try and I really fucking want to. Eliott?”

Right, he needs to speak. Say something. He shifts closer to Lucas, not quite believing what he’s hearing. Unlacing their hands he brushes his free hand through Lucas’ hair before pulling him in for a hug. Breathing in his scent which is tangy from the citrusy soap they’ve all been using, but the underlying cedar-wood, jasmine and toothpaste is there and it feels like safety. “You like me, too?” his voice is low.

Lucas’ laughter vibrates against his chest bringing a smile to Eliott’s lips, he pulls back and pecks Lucas’ forehead before returning his face to his neck and Lucas tightens his hold. And he swears he hears him say so much. Eliott knows he is in love, but this is enough for now. He would broach that later on. This he would trade for anything. The feel of Lucas in his arms, their chests pressed against each other, the feeling of Lucas’ plush lips against his neck and the warm feeling in his stomach. He is in elated shock and nothing can touch them, they have fallen into their pocket of space and time, they are safe.

“How are you this warm?” Eliott wonders aloud, pulling back from the hug, his eyes darting to Lucas’ lips. “Can I kiss you, Lallemant?”

Lucas reclaims the space between them, securing his ankles behind Eliott’s back, he quirks an eyebrow and presses his lips together. Eliott is bewitched by those lips. What secrets and answers do they hold? Are they as soft as they appear?

“Okay.”

And Lucas is leaning forward, his eyes flickering from Eliott’s eyes to his lips and back again, he brushes his nose up the side of Eliott’s and back down again. His eyes lock on Eliott’s blue fading into a lighter blue-grey. Eliott can’t help but brush the tips of their noses, then he slants his mouth upwards, tipping his chin and this is new, because whenever he imagined them kissing, him kissing Lucas, he was always leaning downwards because of their heights, but here Lucas is sitting in his lap with this lips hovering just millimetres above his own and it’s everything he has ever wanted. The second brush of their lips is lost completely to the thunderous sensations of the first and it’s vertigo from here on out.

#elu #elu fic #skam france #eliott demaury #lucas lallemant #my writing

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perksofbeingaharrie · 4 years

Text

In The Night

Another one - man I’m on the roll huh.

Enjoy this one too. I defo enjoyed writing this one here aha 🌝

SUMMARY

A weekend getaway with family and friends is all great even when there’s not much talking with one another in between. But the real action goes down when in the night it is just him and her.

Type: SMUT, little angst (?) and just pure love

Word count: <3000

MASTERLIST o REQUEST BOX

---

The Gerbers had to be the best of hosts she has ever come across.

Harry has dragged her along to many parties, get togethers, holidays hosted by a lot of people from the industry, but events hosted by the Gerbers is the only time she looks forward to them.

And it is not just about the great food, decoration, ambience or selection of place, but the mere fact about how coordinated and understanding the whole family is with one another.

The parents and the kids already know their place, what they have to do and how they must do it and that results in the most smooth and comfortable transition of events throughout the day.

This time around again, as Thanksgiving approaches right around the weekend, the Gerbers were very kind to welcome Harry, Anne and her, along with just two more families for this weekend getaway.

The location was perfect – their house in Canada, with the perfect firewood to warm up their cozy home and traditional food and drinks exquisitely for the guests.

Again, the coordination was beyond thought, as all Y/N could do was follow Mrs. Gerber around the house, watching how perfectly she handled everything.

Mrs. Gerber was equally kind to share everything and anything in Y/N’s company. Over the years of Harry’s and her relationship, Y/N managed to make the best of friends with the most genuine people of the industry, one such being the Gerbers.

The dinner was well lit and placed at their veranda which overlooked the most beautiful mountain ranges. The families were all seated at the long table, with the ladies to one side while the gents on the other.

Y/N was happily tucked with Anne on her side, and while she kept looking out to meet Harry’s eyes from across the table, that was all the contact she could manage all through the entire day since their arrival here.

With such a close knitted friend circle gathered in this place, it was never easy to only stick by one person the entire time, or sit with one group the whole trip. You just knew everybody and could not avoid even one of them.

So as their eyes could only meet discreetly once or twice all till midnight, this obviously could not be enough to make up for the lack of talking the entire day.

When the dinner finally was completed, and the guests extinguished to their rooms after a hearty feast, all Y/N and Harry could be happy about was having one entire guest room to themselves.

They followed Anne to her bedroom, and only after making sure she was tucked in well, they walked over to their room.

There was no doubt a little tipsiness in their walk and words from the drinks as they stumbled into their room, and immediately fell to their bed.

A moment of silence passed as they lay side to side, arms flayed like a snow angel on the white sheets. It was impossible to guess if either of them had already fallen asleep.

It had indeed been a long day.

When Harry finally sighs out loud is when there is a subtle movement in the room, and all while lying in the same position, he says on his second breath –

“We should get changed first.”

To this, Y/N sighs herself, turning to her side without much thought. At once does she come in contact with his body, she curls up into a ball and tucks herself over his open arm, snuggling into his armpit.

His hand comes down automatically too, palm flat against the small of her back like holding a baby to his side.

“You go in first please. I’ll need another minute here.” She says, dragging onto her words in a lazy tone.

Another beat of silence goes by before he, with a groan, sits up on the bed and looks back down at her.

“Just two adult introverts absolutely exhausted after an entire day of socializing.” He says, locking eyes with her.

“An entire day.” Her eyes widen in humour and he snickers into his shoulder.

Falling prey to his urge, he comes down to press his lips on her cheek, and she curls into the mattress more as he begins snogging all over the right side of her face. His nose snuggles into her skin, lips purposely kissing everywhere with a loud smack.

She finally whines out loud when it becomes impossible to breath, and he gets up, chuckling after his accomplishment.

Not done yet, he manages to even slap her behind as he gets up to head to the bathroom. He hears her tsk out loud behind him and that adds up to his satisfaction.

He comes out in good ten minutes, dressed in a soft shirt and joggers, having washed up pretty neat. He passes her on the way to the bed as she stumbles into the bathroom and in ten minutes too she is out, having removed all the makeup and now dressed in a comfy night dress set.

He is on the bed when she looks at him again, his shirt off and his phone in his hand, scrolling through his feed.

“Harry.” She scolds, climbing on the bed on her knees. “Don’t strain your eyes now. You’re tired enough.”

His head immediately snaps out of his device and he looks at her, turning off all the tabs and ready to put his phone away. His eyes scan her get up and he smiles, eyes crinkling in a fond feeling.

“This is cute.” He comments, pulling her shirt’s sleeve.

She smiles back, putting the extra pillows away and with just one pillow to rest her head on and lies her head down on it immediately.

He slides from the headboard too, turning to his side and moving closer so they now face each other as they sleep, bodies just a few inches away.

Her eyes are closed and lips pulled up in a pout, and in a small voice she instructs him – “Please turn off the lights, baby.”

He uses the switch on his side and does so, quickly turning back to her and with the same big eyes, adoring her sleepy face.

“I can still see you so clearly even after turning off the light.” He tells her, his voice now a little quieter and hush in accordance to the setting.

“Hmm?”

“Yeah, the moonlight coming from the windows is really beautiful.”

“Mmhmm.”

“Don’t you wanna look at it too?”

“Hmm.”

“Open your eyes too, and look at me.”

Her humming this time is even quieter that even from such a proximity he does not catch it.

“Open your eyes, please.” His voice is softer than before. “Just this once.”

She stitches her eyebrows together and slowly, with a flutter, opens her eyes. Though the initial look is not very pleasing, when she finally roams her eyes all over his face, it all changes.

The moonlight as it comes through the drawn curtains over the tall French windows beautifully decorates their room, falling in the right places, and his face.

She smiles at his smiling face, bringing her hand to his face and cupping his cheek, running the soft pad of her thumb against it.

“Told ya.” He answers to her expressions in a proud smile, already aware that he roped her in for a good thing.

Her smile widens and she leans forward to plant a peck on his lips.

Though what was intended a peck does not remain one – he leans forward to her as she begins moving back from the kiss, and he captures her lips in his mouth again, drawing her back to him.

What is an exasperated, happy sigh is released from inside her as he moves closer to her body with his lips pressing more into hers; to the extent that when they pull away, his arm is circled around her hip and her is around his shoulder.

“What are you doing?” She chuckles, looking at his satisfied expressions.

“Kissing you?” With this, he plants another smooch on her lips.

“Okay…” She draws her word and that gives him another opportunity to kiss her. “But we can’t go any further than this you know.”

He pouts and with the puckered-up lips, leans in for another kiss.

She is quick to block him, and leans up to his ears to say in a low tone – “We can’t get someone else’s bed sheets dirty.”

His frown intensifies when she brings her face in front of him again, and he breathes solemnly, rubbing his fingers in circles on the small of her back – his patent method to pushing her into anything and everything.

“I cannot sleep right now though.” His voice is a sad whisper.

“Hmm…” She thinks. “Why don’t I tell you about my day.”

His eyes narrow in an expression of disbelief.

“C’mon.” She chuckles, obviously enjoying his desperation. “We hardly were together the entire day.”

A beat of silence he takes to think (or actually not) and then nods slowly. “Okay.”

“Alright, so, I was with Anne and we were walking around in the lawn outside – so this is about the time when it got a little warm; maybe 2-ish –“ She goes on and on about her day, literally.

Harry listens, smiling at the way she is happy to tell him about all the sunshine and birds of the day. But it isn’t quite very deep into the story when the hand which was placed on her lower back begins to slide into her shorts from behind.

She catches the action, but not his intention.

When his hand entirely slides in and his long fingers get a grip around the full shape of her butt, for him to finally squeeze it with full resolve, does her voice squeak in the middle of talking.

“What are you doing, Harry?” She whisper-screams at him, eyes widening at him as his become narrow when he grins back at her.

“What-?” He chuckles, showing his full teeth. “Don’t worry, just keeping warm.”

She gives him the eye, but he acts to not mind any such warning and asks her to continue with her whereabouts of the day.

She is talking again, trying to piece together where she had begun and left at. But it not very late before her breathing begins to pick up. She is taking longer, deeper breaths in and she knows what’s up.

His abrupt squeezing of her behind picks up a rhythmic pace. It’s very subtle at first, and as soothing as a massage but soon there is a tension which drives into it.

She stops talking entirely. Her body is pushed up in the bed in the same pattern of his hands moving around her behind, and she is pulled back and to him too leisurely to be any subtle about the undertone of it all.

She breathes heavy against his mouth, their lips coming together to touch but also to not.

“I am not done talking.” She manages the words out of her mouth.

His voice has picked up the rough tone, coming right from the back of his throat. “Then talk.” He tells her, pausing his action for a bit. “I’m all ears.”

“Mmhmm.” Her eyes close in all the feels as his hand resumes again, going up and down the way her butt curves.

His fingers wind all the way to her front and then retract. Repeatedly, he takes her to this edge and watches her wither under the influence.

“You stopped talking.” He reminds her, lips pressing against her chin softly.

She moans, titling her face up so he kisses along her neck entirely.

His lips come down till her collar bones in open mouthed kisses, leaving a trail of his tongue’s mark, making her insane.

“Talk.” He pesters her again. “I’m gonna have to stop if you don-“

“No.” Her eyes open. She finds his face right in front of her again, cheeks flushed red and warm like hers, and pupils dilated like a beast in the night.

She moves closer to him, grabbing his chin in between the thumb and index finger, and tilts his to the side to angle their kiss deeper.

Graciously, her picks her up to pull her to him from where his hand already is, his fingers pressing down firm against her clit.

She quivers into the kiss, and his fingers gather their pace, drawing circles on the newly found skin.

All hell breaks loose.

Her hand goes up behind him, clutching the back of his hair and she is bringing her tongue in for the kiss, releasing the held back moan finally into his mouth. Her leg lifts up on his thigh under the blanket, spreading her core more and she is grinding to the way his fingers move on her.

He pulls from the kiss, throwing her leg off of his thigh, catching her off guard. They are both breathing heavy, even after Harry pulls his hand out from her pants.

She slowly moves closer to him again, warm, as he brings his hand up between them. He moves his one finger to her mouth, watching as she licks all over and around it, and his own mouth reaches for the index finger pointed in his direction; and they are fighting for this too.

“How are you doing? Down there?” She asks him as his hand comes to cup her face next.

He looks down into the blanket on her questions, lips lifting in a snicker and he shakes his head.

She understands this very confusing gesture of his, and instantly, her hands reach under the covers to inside his joggers.

He swallows her gasp in a kiss that erupts as her hand gets a hold of his very active muscle inside the pants, his body shaking from the touch.

“Are we really doing this?” She asks him once he pulls his lips and hands from her face, and his hand goes down to the front of her shorts.

“Listen,” He breathes, heavy, as his fingers slip inside her thin panties. “I do not know how thin or thick these walls around us are – so let’s play it safe, alright? Let’s just…keep it low.”

She grins, nodding.

They both go into work together.

Her hand wrapped around his dick get on with pace, feeling his entire length at once in an up and down stoke and thumb coming up to flick the tip in a tease. He curls more into her, their foreheads touching and breaths mixing with all the work.

His lubricated fingers are quick to feel her up; his forearm pushing her leg up his hip to spread her out more. He slides his fingers up her core, biceps flexing with the pressure he builds up inside her with his fingers curling and thumb pressing on her nub.

They’re both easily worked up within the few early minutes. After having to hold back their frustration and desire to moan and release the tension, their climax is sooner than they thought.

Together, they feel it coming.

Their eyes meet, fiery and understanding, face red and hot. Harry slides his other arm under her neck and pulls her to him. Her face lands on his shoulder while his goes on hers, and they are breathing out their hot, annoyed breaths on their skins.

He takes the liberty to bite her shoulder too, as with one last pumping of their fingers and hands, they both come undone, an absolute state of bliss and cold air surrounding them at once.

It doesn’t end there.

When they pull their hands back up, they wind it around one another, faces burying in each other’s neck and for a while they hold each other. Their breathless effort to trying to catch their breaths again ends at once, and they relax, feeling pure and together in this at once.

When they face each other again, Harry still has her neck on his arm while the other hand comes to position her face and end the night with one final kiss.

They turn their faces up to the ceiling, watching the exquisite cut work of the top and the next thing they know - they burst out laughing. Why?

“I am laughing because we literally cannot stop. Ever. Can we?” She says.

“I am laughing because…” He pauses to laugh some more. “Because we’ll have to clean now…and what if – what if tomorrow morning at the breakfast table too.”

He says and watches her eyes turn wide in horror while his own palm comes to slap his face.

“Just don’t say that. Please.” She consoles him, reaching over to give his tummy a rub and pepper his skin with kisses.

“Let’s begins a little clean up now?”

“In the shower?” She adds for him.

Their foolish smiles are the same.

“In the shower.”

#harry styles #harry #styles #imagine #harry styles imagine #smut #harry styles smut #writing #harry styles writing #angst #harry styles angst #blurbs #harry styles blurbs #one shot #harry styles one shot

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