#especially on that first month. like my girl pushed all the buttons in this disaster teen

[rbdbrainworms]

ok right, let's think about this from diego's perspective for a moment

lets start at the baseline that ur the spoiled son of one of the most powerful man in the contry, the ✨hottest prettiest most popular coolest boy in ur whooole rich kid elite school✨, and you just started dating this rly hot girl

except u also went out on a date w some older girls on the side and got drunk and totalled a car and ended up in the hospital and now u have to do community service and ur powerful dad is manipulative and crazy and overbearing and u dont know how stand up to him and ur home life is a disaster and ur actually really unhappy with your lifestyle and you very likely have a precocious alcoholism problem and you feel u have to hide the things youre most passionate abt - like music - , repress who you might actually want to be and bow down to your father's pressures. but its fiiiiine as long as you dont think abt it too much, right?

right, anyway! the girl ur dating complains abt this annoying new girl in you ~elite~ school, the daughter of a famous singer. apparently shes weird, and mean, and combative, so tacky and rude and unfiltered and disruptive. this new girl heard some mildly incriminating things you and your girlfriend talked abt, and now shes worried. your attitude is, of course, to go up to the new girl and threaten her for no real reason

and she is, well. much like described: strong-minded, agressive, irreverent, no filter. says and does whatever she wants. talks back to you and then some. you grab her and shes like. who tf are you. no i cant get u my moms autrograph. you threaten her right out and shes just, im sorry, are u chapolin colorado?? i think u forgot ur antennas sweetie

(sorry just. her dialogue >>>)

(she also lights up a sinalizer inside as bus beside u bc of it, but you never find that out)

ok,. you go on to your little rich kid school club. you get attacked and stabbed on the way to ur secret community service - yknow, over the drunk driving, - and a little child has to live on the street bc ur dad arranges that his brother is wrongfully arrested over it. youre not happy abt it, necessarily, but also youre not the type of person who would do anything to stop it, especially against your dad

your dad humiliates you and tears you a new one and you're all very frustrated w life. but you bow your head to him and move on, as always, because what else can you do?

you get drunk, again, and ends up kissing your girlfriends' best friend

the next day you stumble upon that girl in the hallway, and provoke her - like before, she claps back immediately. didn't she realize already this is your place, and the rest of your friends', and not for people like her??

heres the answer: she starts fighting your friend for calling her mother a slut (in not so many words) and you get in the way - and she reads you and your dad for filth. then, she gets her finger right at the center of the wound - she'd much rather have her people and her mother's artist crowd and revealing clothes and ""lack of class""" over having a corrupt father who'd sent someone to jail for a crime they didnt commit.

see, she is the type of person who wouldn't let something like that happen without consequence .

you dont really have much to say to that, or much to do really, except. seethe

you say to your friends, the best thing to do is to ignore her!

and then, well, you dont

by the way, you are the ✨prettiest, hottest, most popular boy in school✨ and this girl, as established, is inconvenient, weird, shameless, uncontrollable, she has no class or respect for you or your friends, her makeup is too dark, her hair is strange, her humor is cutting, her bad temper is obvious. you, well, you can have aaaany girl you want - so you're definitely not and would NEVER be attracted to her at all!

anyway, a gossip rag comes up and talks abt you kissing yours girls best friend. even though it makes absolutely no sense for this new girl to be the one to do it - she doesnt even know you all, and really doesn't seem like the kind to say something behind the back rather than in your face- and even though you've talked a grand total of two (2) times (and "talked" here is being generous), you're suddenly Convinced , it Has to be her. bc....... her mom is a famous singer. so. irrefutable proof. right there.

that, ofc, justifies you throwing her overboard into a lake, even though she doesnt know how to swim. all your friends think you exaggerated, after all you couldve really hurt her, maybe even killed her - you shrug and laugh it off.

"roberta is very rough" you say. SOMEONE has to show her whos boss, someone has to show her who REALLY has the power here, you tell them. obviously that someone has to be you

could it be possible that you're trying to feel powerful after your recent fuck ups and your dads latest humiliation? is it possible you overdid it bc this girl pushes aaaaall your buttons ? that it irritates you that she's so strong-minded and defiant and you're not?🤔naah don't worry about it

so, she finds out you couldve KILLED her. and then she throws ur 15k guitar into the water as retaliation . as one does. and you are LIVID. it is a 15k guitar, and also the one thing you really actually love - music

as the very not-unhinged person you are, you threaten to drown her, (again). she says she isnt scared of you, and you insist that she is. you tell her you have A LOT of power (do you?) and if she "continues with the gossip rags", which she denies writing, you will certainly "put her in her place"

she clearly has no framework for what she should or shouldnt do, or who she should or shouldnt mess with. but that should show her

so she's actually pretty freaked out. and leaves. you don't see her for three weeks

do you take this is as a win?

nope! you, the ✨ hottest, prettiest most popularest boy in school✨ apparently did not have much better things to do these 3 weeks than obsess over her, bc the first thing you do upon coming back is going out to find her, threaten her (you have to cuddle her to do that, for some reason) and put in place a questionable plot to try to get her expelled

see, you tell her, you always get what you want (do you?) and the thing you want THE MOST is for her to leave the school

why do you care SO much abt expelling her? you've talked what, 3 times. you've certainly had worst, more violent altercations with other people in this meantime. you don't know that she would mess with you again. if you're SO powerful and able to show her who's boss, why worry so much about making her , in particular, leave? weeell, don't worry about it

you're so happy about this plan and managing to screw her over, that you get drunk again! in celebration, you toast to the girl who made you the happiest lately - roberta pardo! . you kiss a pillow as if its her. when your actual girlfriend hears you, she thinks it means youre cheating on her - and who can blame her?

and then! the plan fails. bc ur a villain and the power of friendship defeats you!

also, she's extremely clever. you'll realize in the near future, its rare that you manage to outsmart her - and the times you do, you usually regret . but let's not get ahead of ourselves

you're furious. you vow shes "going to pay" ;.

pay for what? she hasnt actually done anything, other than respond to your attacks - all of the times you've met, she's always been answering your own agressiveness, standing her ground instead of bowing her head.

you have so far: threatened her on sight, insulted her family, thrown her in a lake, accused her without evidence, threatened to drown her, and tried to frame her for theft and get her expelled. she has... insulted you back, thrown your guitar on a lake after you threw her, and outsmarted you, defending herself against your accusations

now, not only did she escape your little plot, meaning she will stay in school, where you'll see her everyday, she doesn't even have the decency to be intimidated anymore! now she has the audacity of saying she's not scared of you, that you're the one who is going to pay, and this has just begun.

you hear all of that very closely, by the way, because you're pushing her against a wall

youre even more ... furious and dedicated to ~~bringing her down

you've known her for what ammounts to one (1) week.

[crackheadgeminibby]

better for you

pairing: chris evans x female!black!reader

warnings: age gap, angst, language

word count: 2.7k

a/n: this lowkey sucks and is very poorly edited, i’m sorry but on the plus side, i surpassed 400 followers yesterday!! so thank you to those 400+ people🤍🤍

i do not consent to my work being copied in any way, shape of form or reposted on any other platform

not my picture

You didn’t consider yourself a jealous person. Much less a jealous girlfriend. Not at all. Never had and you thought you never would.

You had practically raised yourself as your parents had always been more preoccupied with their jobs. You loved your parents, you really did, but when your high school counselor told you that you could graduate high school a year and a half early, you took the opportunity to start college immediately and move out of your parents’ house. This drastic change when you were so young made you become extremely independent. Which is why your relationship with Chris worked almost perfectly. You valued your independence, as he did his, and you respected his independence, as he did yours.

As a corporate lawyer that had multiple firms around the country, you traveled a lot, needing to meet with clients. Chris, as an actor, also traveled a lot.

You both trusted the other without a doubt at the beginning of the relationship despite that Chris was, at first, a little wary of being with someone as young as you. As a 24-year-old, he thought that you should be living your life, partying, sleeping with whomever you wanted without being tied down, but you had explained to him that despite your age, those were not the things that you wanted.

You and Chris were truly made for each other, knowing the other more than they knew themselves. You would even dare to call yourselves soulmates.

Which is why you could not fathom why you were in your current situation.

You had left early in the day for California, where you were overseeing the opening and start-up of your newest firm. Chris, on the other hand, had left 3 days ago to go on some trip his publicist had arranged for him. You hadn’t bothered asking what it was about, assuming that it was about ASP. Plus, you didn’t mind it: he had to do what he had to do.

But now, you couldn’t believe yourself.

You were sitting on your hotel bed, in a white and fluffy robe, fresh out of the shower. Your computer was open in front of you, the TV was blaring the news and you had your phone in your hand. It was almost 11pm but you had been doing this for at least 3 hours. All three electronics were talking about the same thing: Are Chris Evans and Lily James dating??

It was a bit your fault that people gave themselves the right to assume things like that, to be honest, since you had been the one to pressure Chris about keeping your relationship secret. You knew that people would talk and judge you for your 15-year age gap. You, personally, didn’t care and neither did Chris but his career was dependent on his public image and you didn’t want to hold him back, especially not at a pivotal moment in his life like right now.

So, you had agreed on telling your families and your very close friends and Chris had convinced you to let him tell his publicist, Megan. God, she fucking hated you. When Chris arranged for you guys to meet, she had called you “a walking, breathing PR disaster”. You had laughed it off calling her funny, but you knew that she was 100% serious. You really shouldn’t have been surprised that she would do something so fucked up at some point.

A bunch of different news outlets were pumping out new stories every 30 minutes, each article a little more detailed than the previous. It was all over the Internet and it seemed to be the only thing that people cared about today.

Considering the 8-hour difference between London and San Francisco, you hadn’t been able to talk to Chris at all since you got to your hotel. You weren’t even sure if you wanted to talk to him. He hadn’t even tried to talk to you. Why was he avoiding you and acting like he had something to hide?

You’re reading the latest Daily Mail article on your computer about how Chris and Lily apparently got to his hotel in the same car when you hear your phone ring on the nightstand. You don’t even bother looking at the caller ID as you reach for your phone, eyes still glued to your computer and answer,

“Hello?”

You hear a loud exhale on the other end of the phone before you hear Chris’ tired voice, “Baby, hi.”

You tense up slightly before asking, trying to seem nonchalant, “What’s up?”

“Have you watched the news today?”

You bite your lip, thinking, before replying, lying through your teeth, “No, why? What’s going on?”

Chris sighs again before answering, “Nothing, it’s fine. How was your day?”

You roll your eyes. Was he seriously not going to say anything?

“Fine, but it’s really late and I have to get up early tomorrow so good night.”

You hang up the phone before Chris can answer anything. You throw the phone at the end of your bed, frustrated beyond belief.

You continue to read the Daily Mail article as you hear a message coming in. You don’t bother to get up to pick up your phone as you see the message appear on your computer screen a couple of seconds later.

chris💙, 11:01pm:

Good night baby girl. Good luck tomorrow🤍

You groan loudly at his message. Even when he had pissed you the fuck off, his words still brought butterflies to your stomach.

You disregard his message and finish reading the article. You roll your eyes as you close your computer and get up to put it on the hotel desk. As you’re walking back to bed, you take your phone from the end of the bed and put it on its charger, ready to go to bed.

You’re not sure how you manage to fall asleep that night as your mind swirls with unending thoughts.

When your alarm wakes you up at 6am the next day, you feel groggy, having slept very badly last night. Which was to be expected.

You get up and change while eating a protein bar before heading to the hotel gym: you needed to do something to get your energy up. Once you finish your workout, you head back to your room to get ready for the day.

When you get out of the shower, you open your computer and, having left the Daily Mail website open last night, you see a new article posted 2 minutes ago: Chris Evans and Lily James seen on a date in a London park.You groan loudly, closing your computer as you hear that your cell phone is receiving multiple texts.

You reach for your phone on the hotel desk and your eyes widen as you see your lock screen.

5 missed calls

12 messages

You open your Phone app seeing one call from Chris, two from your best friend, one from your brother and one from your mom.

You open the Messages app as a new message from your brother comes in.

will, 7:31am:

When did you break up with your boyfriend? And why didn’t you tell me?

you, 7:32am:

i didn’t

yet

will, 7:32am:

You know i’m gonna fucking murder him right?

You smile fondly at your brother’s concern, chuckling softly as you type your reply.

you, 7:33am:

as you should(:

You open the rest of your messages, mostly asking the same thing. You didn’t feel like talking about it anymore so, you ignore them until you get to your conversation with Chris.

chris💙, 5:22am:

Hey, I’m sure you’ve seen the articles by now.

I’m so sorry

Call me when you can, please. I really need to talk to you.

You bite your lip as you think about what to answer. You didn’t have the energy to deal with this right before your firm’s opening. Shaking your head, you lock your phone, putting it back on the desk, getting dressed.

As you get back to your hotel room, exhausted from your day, you hear your phone signal an incoming text for the millionth time today.

You sigh loudly: you knew it was Chris texting you again. You had been ignoring his texts all day because you didn’t want to get in a bad mood while you were opening the firm.

You put your purse and work bag on the floor, unlocking your phone. You open the conversation with Chris, scrolling through his messages.

chris💙, 6:15pm:

I’m leaving a bit earlier than I planned, I should be home tomorrow morning.

Are you back in Boston or are you gonna stay in LA?

You sigh, feeling guilty that you had been ignoring his texts all day. You start typing a reply, your finger hovering over the send button for a couple of seconds before clicking on it.

you, 6:17pm:

i’m still in san francisco i’m leaving tomorrow morning

As soon as your message goes through, you see the three dots pop up in the conversation.

chris💙, 6:17pm:

Oh my God, hi. Are you okay?

Can I call you?

You chew on your bottom lip: you really didn’t think he was going to answer that fast.

you, 6:18pm:

i’m about to take a shower then i’m gonna go to bed i’m really tired sorry

chris💙, 6:18pm:

Okay, I’m sorry

Good night

You groan loudly. You really didn’t know why you felt so guilty: he was the one running around with another woman. As you think about this, you realize that you didn’t really know who she was.

You shake your head at yourself as you pull up Google on your phone and look for her. You don’t even realize it but, 20 minutes later, you were now at the oldest post on her Instagram.

You curse at yourself, dropping your phone on your bed, and head to the shower.

You stay under the hot stream of the shower for at least an hour before you finally get out, toweling off.

You order some room service for dinner, settling down in front of a random show playing on the TV. After pushing your food around for half an hour, you sigh loudly, put the tray on the hotel desk and get under the covers before finally falling asleep.

You had not slept very well so you had been in a rush to leave the hotel and catch your flight to LAX in the morning. You were exhausted and hungry when you got to your shared LA home with Chris but there was no food in sight, considering that neither of you had been here in a couple of months.

As it was not too late in the day, you decide to take a nap and order some food after.

When you wake up a few hours later, the sun has already completely set and the house is pitch black. You rub the sleep out of your eyes and take your phone before heading to the living room to order some food.

As you enter the kitchen and are about to head to the living room, you hear a deep voice, “Hey, you’re up.”

Taken by surprise, you throw your phone in the direction of the sound and scream, “Holy shit!”

“Ow… What the fuck?”

You’re breathing heavily, clutching your chest as you turn on the kitchen lights, brightness illuminating the area as you see Chris holding the side of his head.

“Jesus Christ, Chris! You almost gave me a fucking heart attack!”

Chris rubs at his head as he looks towards you. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you.”

Your heartbeat starts to slow down as you roll your eyes.

“What are you even doing here?”

Chris frowns and replies, “Well, you never told me where you were going to be but when I got back to Boston and you weren’t there, I assumed you were coming here.”

You groan silently, crossing your arms over your chest and raising your eyebrows,

“So, London seemed to be very fun.”

Chris shakes his head, looking up at the ceiling, before making eye contact with you, “I didn’t know that’s what the trip was about.”

You chuckle humorlessly, “Really, Chris? Since when do you go on trips, not knowing what they’re about?”

Chris exhales loudly, taking a couple of steps towards you, “I promise that I didn’t know. Megan planned everything and just sent me the info.”

You snort loudly, rolling your eyes. Chris frowns before asking, “What?”

“Megan, Chris? Really? She fucking hates me, of course she would pull a stunt like this.”

Chris frowns again, shaking his head, “What are you talking about? She doesn’t hate you.”

You laugh, this time, actually finding this funny, “Chris, she literally called me a walking disaster.”

Chris struggles to find an answer to that: he knew that Megan used this exact kind of formulation so he couldn’t deny it.

“And you know what? It’s fine. Maybe you really should be dating her instead of me.”

Chris’ face contorts in a mix of hurt and anger, “Why the fuck would you say something like that?”

“Because it’s true, Chris. She’s better for you. She’s actually your age, not a fucking child compared to you. She can give you the things you want from life that I can’t. Maybe it’s better that way.”

“What way?”

You shrug your shoulders, looking at your feet, mumbling, “If we weren’t together.”

Chris scoffs, “You literally have to be kidding me.”

Chris takes large steps, making his way towards you and takes your chin in his hand, forcing you to look at him.

“Y/N, I’ve told you before and I will tell you again. I do not give a shit about your age. And I thought you didn’t either. So, what’s the problem here?”

You bite your bottom lip nervously, “Because what if what Megan said is true? I mean… If people find out that we’re dating, the shit talking would never stop. I can’t do that to you.”

Chris sighs, enveloping you in a hug.

“Baby, it doesn’t matter. None of it matters if we’re not together.”

He lets you go, stroking your cheek, “You’re it for me. There is no one better for me than you. And no one is going to take that away from us. Not you. Not Megan. And certainly not my fans. If they love me as much as they say they do, then they’ll respect you.”

You chuckle slightly, “Chris, I don’t know what kind of fantasy you live in, but in real life, that’s not how things go.”

“Okay, but who cares? There’s two people in this relationship, you and me. Not you, me, Megan and my fans.”

You scoff, mumbling, “Yeah, tell Megan that.”

“I will. The same goes for her. I didn’t know she actually meant those things about you and I’ll tell her that she needs to knock that shit off.”

You sigh, nodding slightly, “Okay.”

“And, baby, I’m sorry.”

You furrow your brows, trying to understand, “I never should have agreed to Megan’s little plan thing. But, most importantly, I should have told you as soon as I knew. It’s just that I kinda owed Lily a favor and she needed this. But it doesn’t erase the fact that I should have been honest with you and I’m sorry I wasn’t.”

You sigh, “I know, it’s okay. I knew this kind of thing could happen when I decided to be with you, and I overreacted a bit so I’m sorry too. I knew it wasn’t true and I should have asked you about it instead of ignoring you. I just… couldn’t let go of the fact that maybe you should be with her.”

Chris shakes his head, “I shouldn’t. And I never will be.”

Chris laughs a bit before continuing, “Sorry, but you’ll have to try harder to get rid of me.”

You laugh loudly, throwing your head back. Looking back at Chris, you smile warmly before hugging him,

“I love you, Chris. Like, a lot.”

Chris chuckles, squeezing you tighter, “I love you too.”

[burnedbyshoto]

hole in the wall

In a party for the ages, Shouto comes across a room with hole in the wall that has him coming back for more.

⋄⋆⊹⋄⋆⋄⋆⊹⋄⋆⋄⋆⊹⋄⋆

pairing: todoroki shouto x fem!reader

warnings: 18+, smut, PWP, cult activity, drug mention, alcohol consumption, glory hole, cursing, degradation, praise, possessive jealous!shouto, stuck in the wall, spanking, overstim, bruising, bleeding, breeding

word count: 7,831

a/n: read the fucking warnings bro, im tired, I hate formatting, here’s to finally writing what I wanna write! also, this is for a lovely bnharem collab that kept getting pushed back... make sure to read the intro to understand my story! anyways, gloryholes is peak anonymous sex and I just,,, if thats the only way imma get to suck shoutos cock, I will. I had something else to say... I forgot. oH THIS IS WRITTEN IN A NEW STLYE-ISH??? porn from shoutos pov!!!

⋄⋆⊹⋄⋆⋄⋆⊹⋄⋆⋄⋆⊹⋄⋆

Traditionally, when people think of the connection between heroes and cults, they expect that the heroes eradicate the cults, not that the heroes are a part of a cult.

It was somewhat ironic that a group of people who advocated for public safety, for the wellbeing of every citizen of the country - the world - would demand compensation in areas that didn't involve financial compensation. Heroes saved the day countless amounts of times, but when they needed... help at night because they've been so busy saving the world, there needed to be compensation.

It had shocked nearly everyone within the hero community when none other than Yaoyorozu Momo brought them a solution. For nothing more than loyalty to saving the day, all heroes granted the benefit of joining the Savior of Eight Million, an… organization brought forth by the prodigious hero. It had shocked the hero community at first that the once thought of a modern-day princess, putting together a wicked group that served the beastly needs of heroes, was almost laughable. But as time passed, as trials tested the organization (cult), the more heroes realized how lucky they were that it was Yaoyorozu who created this.

The Yaoyorozus, in all their riches and connections, made this group untouchable.

Police were bought off, apprehended, silenced.

Heroes with the savior complex were put down.

Villains were never believed.

The Savior of Eight Million held ties with the greatest, the most esteemed people in the world. The parties were unworldly, dripping with diamonds and gold, the sweet smell of champagne barely drowning out the bitter acidic and burning plastic smell of the drugs used vicariously at their gatherings. All heroes joined, politicians and celebrities fought to get in, and commoners wished they could be the servants of the night, whether that meant they would be serving food, drinks, or drugs, or allowing the heroes to do what this was all started for: to fuck them.

Of course, it didn't help that each commoner was paid for their service, discretion, and loyalty. Those who attempted to give away the secrets of the nights were always taken care of, and every gathering after someone tried to snitch, there was always a complaint that a sex slave just wasn't good enough.

Yaoyorozu Momo was a sweet girl, a helpful woman. She was a hero.

Heroes far and wide grovel at her feet in thanks, and even more surprisingly, even her old class supported this. Oh, how great life was when you were the most significant, greatest, and most untouchable cult in history.

To Todoroki Shouto, well, he didn't really have an opinion on this all, not really at least.

The cult - the organization, was created to help out heroes such as himself live comfortably while having such a busy lifestyle. His sex drive had never been that high, with his twenty-fifth birthday approaching, he could count on his two hands the number of times he'd been attended to with the help of the organization within the past five years.

Yes, two years after debuting as heroes, Momo had approached the graduate class with her plan. Todoroki Shouto could never deny a friend, especially not someone as smart and intentional as Yaoyorozu Momo. He had been one of the first - if not the first - voice to approve of her project.

However, the fifth-anniversary gathering (it was not a party) was finally here. Two months ago, the first round of reminders came around in the form of a beautifully handwritten card by their fearless yet kind leader. Shouto wondered if she really had handwritten each and every card, or if she had created it with her quirk - while he wasn't that heavily involved, he was not ignorant to the numbers of the cult, group, organization.

TO TODOROKI SHOUTO,

I WRITE THIS LETTER TO ASK IF YOU WILL BE JOINING US IN TWO MONTHS FOR ONE OF THE MANY GREATEST CELEBRATIONS WE - THE MEMBERS OF THE SAVIOR OF EIGHT MILLION - WILL HAVE FOR OUR FIFTH ANNIVERSARY OF BEING SUCH A WELL RECEIVED AND INFLUENTIAL ORGANIZATION. I AM GRATEFUL TO RELAY THAT OUR ESTEEMED MEMBERS BAKUGOU-SAN AND MIDORIYA-SAN WILL BE HOSTING OUR EVENT!

I FEEL AS IF WE HAVE NOT SEEN EACH OTHER IN SO LONG, TODOROKI-SAN, AND I MISS YOU SO DEARLY. I HOPE THINGS IN YOUR LIFE HAVE BEEN FINE AND THAT WE SHOULD MEET UP AS SOON AS POSSIBLE! PLEASE MAKE SURE TO RESPOND TO THE RSVP TO EITHER JIROU-SAN, KAMINARI-SAN, OR ME!

UNTIL WE MEET AGAIN, YAOYOROZU MOMO

The letter had been kind, inviting, and so fleeting it made Shouto feel like he needed more from one of his most missed and trusted friend. Still, there would be time to catch up with everyone, no use in pushing now.

Grabbing his phone, Shouto typed in Momo's contact name into the search bar, tongue swiping his lower lip while he typed in his message and sent it. He had never been one for these parties. Too often, there were just too over-the-top. The festivities and friends were fun, but having to fight the impossible crowds for a moment of peace kept him from attending.

A truly mundane member.

But this was different after all, it wasn't every day that they celebrated five great years of service.

I'll be going, Yayorozu.

⋄⋆⊹⋄⋆⋄⋆⊹⋄⋆⋄⋆⊹⋄⋆

Two months went by before Shouto had even realized it.

In those two months, he had received a formal invitation with a day and time. 

2X28, OCTOBER 23

STARTING FROM 20:00

Of course, the lack of an address is a precaution for keeping their organization out of the limelight should they be betrayed. Events of all shapes and sizes were always planned by the upper board of the organization. Only a specific few knew the place where the night would befall, and the rest of the members would be brought to the festivities by a chauffeur provided by the Yaoyorozu's. Getting to and from the party was always stressfree, no matter what befell that night, their safety of getting home was still safe.

The invitation was tucked away into the inside pocket of his jacket, it was his ticket to getting into the party, and it was best to not leave it behind. 

With the invitation now securely placed into his jacket, the smooth inflexible material stiff against his chest, Shouto stared into the mirror he stood before.

An elegant full-length mirror reflected his image to him, and truth be told, he was impressed with his presentation.

A charcoal grey Italian suit trimmed glinting silver nearly gleamed against the white light; the jacket was undone, exposing the white-collared long-sleeved shirt underneath. Typically, Shouto was a tie man, but the sleek black tie he was to wear lay hanging on the hanger, the first few buttons of the shirt undone. It highlighted his toned chest, the few pale scars on his chest just visible enough on his exposed skin to look like it was intensional. He looked good.

His fingers touched his hair, the once long style had been cut in a recent fight with a villain. It hadn't mattered much to Shouto, and in fact, the sudden haircut had spiked his overall ratings. It was short now, just long enough for his fingers to graze through the locks. It was slicked back, the swirl of red and white mixing and strands of red falling into his sight.

“Todoroki-sama, the car is here.”

Shouto didn't bother turning to the attendee, his gaze taking him in one last time.

"I'll be there."

His footsteps were quiet in the hallway, his waxed shiny black shoes gleaming in his hands as he walked to the front room. He slipped on the tight shoes and looked up to his servant, who stood at the front door with a patterned, black mask.

Nodding, he grabbed the mask and slipped it inside of his jacket as well.

A kitsune.

"Safe journey."

"I'll be back tonight."

And into the car, he went, the warm smell of leather and spices filling the backseat of the self-driving car. Shouto relaxed against the black leather, his eyes staring at the road while he slipped the mask out from his jacket. There was no reason to don the mask while stepping out of the house, being caught with it at his home always smelled trouble. 

In the car's silence, his fingers rested onto his lap, his lips set into a firm line while his thoughts lingered to what was to come at this party. 

The last time Bakugou and Midoriya hosted anything, it had ended with an overall disaster. Thankfully then it had been for their agency's founding party and not something dealing with the organization. But before he could muster the will to seek out further information on the private event, he realized that the car was already pulling into the large mansion where the event was being held.

People emerged from the cars before his own, the sleek masks donning on their faces, keeping their identities from unwanted eyes. The covers were specially made by none other than Yaoyorozu with the assistance of Hatsume Mei to ensure that those who wore it would be unrecognizable unless they were within a certain radius.

A small puff of air escaped Shouto's lips as his car pulled up to the unloading zone, and his strong fingers slipped on the mask before the car door opened. With the confidence and power, only those who worked as a top-ranked hero had Shouto emerged from the car immediately greeted by the entrance staff. 

With his hands moving to button his jacket, he nodded his head when receiving information on what to expect upon entering. Shouto felt like he nodded forever while making his way up the entrance of the event, his hand reluctantly offering his phone and wallet over and receiving a ticket for retrieving it. Of course, the ticket came the bundle of condoms.

An eyebrow arched under the mask, and Shouto couldn't help the amused smirk that befell his lips as he pocketed the condoms.

The fuckers made this a sex party.

Why they even bothered to deny that they were a cult was beyond him at this point.

But as the grand doors opened, Shouto couldn't help but tense at the room's mixing aroma.

The sweet smell of champagne bubbled in his nose, wafting in powerfully with the perfumes secreting from every person in the room. If it had been his first time at an event like this, Shouto would have missed the undertone of burning plastic in the air. His eyes followed a civilian dressed up in a zebra zentai bodysuit holding a silver powder with most definitely not cocaine to who looked like the Prime Minister since he had his mask on.

Rolling his eyes, Shouto walked further into the room, ignoring the offers of drugs and alcohol as he carried on. 

"Todoroki, my man! You made it!" came the loud and energetic voice of Kaminari Denki.

It shouldn't have shocked Shouto to immediately be swarmed with who looked like Kirishima (who wore a mask resembling a bear) and Kaminari (who had his mouse resembling mask resting on around his neck), who by the smell at least, were not sober.

"You're the last one to show up, dude! We almost thought you were gonna flake!" Kirishima added, his hand coming to land on Shouto's shoulder, his lips perked into a broad smile. "Everyone else decided to join the orgy room a few minutes ago, but this guy here—" he made a pointed jab at Kaminari's chest. "Was causing a large enough disturbance that we were kicked out."

"Bro, it's not my fault that those dummy civilians can't handle a few jolts of pain!"

"You literally electrocuted everyone in that orgy and left everyone unable to speak for a solid minute, bro!"

"Everyone else is here?" Shouto interrupted rather impressed to here that even Mineta was invited to this party - or maybe he had snuck in - choosing to ignore the mention of an orgy room.

Typical cult things, he reminded himself.

"Yeah, Denki and I don't have to go in tomorrow, so we pre-gamed at his place before coming. Sero did too, but after a few minutes of talking with some trapeze girl, they went into a room and well…" Kirishima trailed off, letting Shouto put two and two together. "Mina is flirting with the crown prince, Yaomomo and Jirou are in the orgy room, Bakugou and Midoriya seem to be micromanaging everything—"

"Those two need sex the most out of the entire class! Have you ever seen a bigger work pole up anyone's asses than in those two?!" Kaminari groaned, his fingers roughly rubbing the skin of his face, and Shouto laughed softly in agreement. It was somewhat ironic that their virgin classmates were the ones who organized and put together a sex party.

"I can't begin to imagine Midoriya having sex. Although that man is basically becoming sex on legs," Kaminari continued to gripe, Shouto grunting softly in thanks when Kirishima handed him a cup filled to the near brim with a copper liquid that burned smoothly down his throat. Shouto grimaced as he managed to down the entire thing. "I can see Bakugou just blowing a hole into the wall and fucking it and considering that sex. Ain't nobody normal who can — OH MY GOD!"

Shouto looked at his friend with nearing annoyance; however, the alcohol already taking a humming effect over his body made the annoyance slip easily.

"Bro, you're gonna get us kicked out of this party, and that's gonna be the shittiest thing!" Kirishima groaned while Kaminari spazzed with what seemed to be the biggest lightbulb of an idea.

"The hoes — the holes! For the glory!" Kaminari slurred with how fast he was speaking, his hands fisting into both Shouto's and Kirishima's jackets, his yellow eyes burning bright in his excitement.

Shouto tried to keep his annoyance down, and the itch to rip Kaminari's iron grip from his shoulder.

"I don't know what you're talking about—" Kirishima tried again, his hand resting on Kaminari's ribcage to steady him. 

"Ei, the gloryholes!"

Gloryholes? 

Shouto numbing mind searched the banks of his memory to figure out where that word came from and why it sounded vaguely familiar.

"Oh, fuck," came Kirishima's strained approval, and Shouto looked at his two friends who were grinning pervertedly at each other.

"What's that?" Shouto asked, his lips buzzing slightly as the alcohol was fully absorbed into his bloodstream, and somehow the smell of sex filled his nose, and the noises of unadulterated carnal lust filled his ears.

"Oh man, Todoroki, if you don't know," Kaminari trailed off, his lips pinched into an elfish smirk, and electricity coming off his hair in his evident excitement. "Just trust me, you gotta experience this shit!"

Shouto wasn't sure if it was the alcohol that thrummed merrily in his veins or the knowing glint in his friend's eyes that whispered to him to find out just what it was, but he felt his head nod without his full awareness. The feeling of their hands on his upper shoulder felt fuzzy as they took him away, intent heavy in every step they took.

He could barely take in the passing rooms as they went, the aerial artists, the sex rooms, the orgy rooms. There were so many rooms designated for just about every kink imaginable that even the stoic Shouto felt his cheeks flaring in embarrassment. With each passing step and opened room, the smell of sex, pheromones, and lust grew in Shouto's nose; the more the sticky sweet moans and screams of the cult members clung to his skin.

For a hero that was never too hot or too cold without his own ministrations, his skin was feeling feverishly hot with cold feet when they finally stopped in front of the only closed door in the hallway.

"Welcome!" came a cheery voice, Shouto blinked, and a woman appeared from nowhere.

She wore a powder blue ava tea dress; it was elegant, sleek, yet too old-school for an event such as this one. Shouto immediately assumed that she was not partaking in the sexual activities, but was instead acting as a hostess of sorts.

"Just you three patrons tonight?" she asked, her head tilting to the side and Kirishima speaking up in agreement for the group of three. "Good, good. We do have enough openings for the three of you, most people haven't found our little… hole in the wall, if you would," she took a moment to giggle joyfully, her gloved fingers pressing to her ruby red lips and Shouto fought the urge to walk away. "So please, feel free to look around and stay as long as you want!"

Her words were light and breezy, but still, there was rising suspicion and tension in Shouto's spine at her small quip.

With an innocuous smile and a glint in her eyes, she opened the door with a gentle, "have fun," and Shouto's friends ushered him in.

His initial reaction? What. The. Fuck?!

The room they entered was large and spacious, or well, at the very least, Shouto assumed it would have been if it wasn't for the obviously installed maze of walls. But with every wall, there was a collage of pictures. Faces of women, men, humans, mutants, everything you could think of plastered above a hole. Curiously enough, the images above one hole were of the same person.

His eyes swept the room, and he saw a few spots already taken, men with their pants and underwear dropped to their knees pressing up against the wall so that their noses were smushed to the makeshift walls.

Shouto blinked.

Gloryholes? Pictures of random people?

Were they fucking ghosts?

"This is paradise!" Kaminari groaned in pleasure, his arms spacing out as if he had come with fantastic news. "These normies always look at you so weirdly when you fuck at orgies, here… you get the nut and don't have to have them staring at you!"

Paradise?!

Shouto stared as his electricity wielding friend approached a hole that adorned photos of a girl with hooded eyes and a tongue piercing. He dropped his bottoms before sticking his hardening cock into the waiting hole with two raps of his fist. At this point, Shouto wasn't sure if what he had drunk was actually alcohol now. 

"These aren't dead people, are they?" Shouto couldn't keep himself from asking, his palms sweating while Kirishima laughed deeply in his chest.

"Not at all, man, it's real people, I promise! Pick your hole and have fun!" Kirishima encouraged, placing a solid pat on Shouto's shoulder before approaching a hole with a picture of a girl with bright eyes and a bright smile.

Nodding numbly to himself at this point, Shouto meandered the different walls, his eyes absorbing the various pictures on the walls.

But he fell on the spot with a picture so vivating that drew him in. The chasms of your eyes defiant yet shy, a smile that called him in, and lips that looked supple and strong.

He stood no chance in defying the itching, burning need to follow suit of every other person in this room. Shouto approached the hole, his fingers pulling at his belt, quickly lowering his charcoal grey slacks and black boxer briefs. He stared into your pictured eyes, mesmerized by them, and grasped onto his hardening cock.

A soft shudder invaded his skin as he pressed his cock through the awaiting hole, the skin of his heated cock scraping against the hole, making him strangle a grunt in his throat. But when the wet heat of your mouth enveloped his cock past the hole in the wall, Shouto's face nearly crashed against the wall.

Shouto wasn't sure what to have expected, but he had summed up that this was some over-glorified handjob, a vigorous clumsy jackoff he could have done himself. But he did not expect, in any sense of what this was, to be met with warm, wet lips and a tongue that pressed underneath the head of his cock.

A guttural noise slipped past his lips, and Shouto's palms pressed against the wall, his head spinning dizzyingly from the sensation.

Shouto's breathing was erratic, his cock hardening more, twitching within your mouth as he felt your head begin to bob against his length at a slow, leisurely pace. 

His hips thrust toward the wall, his vision spinning from what this heightened sensation of what he always thought to be a mundane act. Shouto's slacks were too far up his thighs; however, the fabric spread to his max despite his attempt to lower down. He wanted to get closer to the wall, get whoever you were past this wall to take in his entire cock without an issue, so mindlessly, instinctively, he shoved the slacks further down, grunting with relieved pleasure at being able to spread out further, at getting closer to you.

"Holy shit," Shouto grunted, his forehead pressing against the cold wall, undoubtedly crinkling the paper of your photos. His hips came forward, hitting the wall dividing him and you with low, vibrating thuds, and you let him, allowed him to keep his rutting hips at the pace they were. You took him in as if it was nothing, the smooth skin of your lips gliding against his throbbing length, your tongue running alongside the bottom of his cock, tracing the veins of his skin, twisting against the sensitive skin, providing new sensations and shivers.

Shouto knew immediately that you were letting him fuck your mouth however he saw fit.

He felt you moan around him, a long, deep, undeniable noise that somehow drifted through the hole, vibrated against his cock, and could be felt against his curling toes. The sound and sensations were proving to be effective, a pooling heat building in his balls, simmering up and down his spine and neck. How he wished to grab you by the back of your head and drive his cock down your throat without mercy.

Snarling in the back of his throat, suddenly fueled by the image of fucking you, the thought of you on your knees, tears built in your bright eyes and tears rolling down your cheeks feeding him. And as if you knew what he wanted, Shouto's knees near bucked out when your mouth took him in even further, the soft choking noise, the feeling of his cock pressing against the back of your throat sending his fingers digging into the wall.

He drilled in faster, grateful for your ability to keep up, the feeling of his cock pressing down the back of your throat sending his jaw flying open, curses and praises spilling past his lips with every inch you took him further down your throat. The area of his cock unable to be taken in your mouth was surrounded by your fingers — by god, what fucking fingers you had — warm and robust, they held his skin, sliding effortlessly against the spit lubricated skin.

"You can hear me right, whore?" Shouto growled against the wall, the hot air of his breath almost fogging the area he was standing in. Somehow, he heard the choked noise of agreement, the bobbing head vigorously nodding, sending you into a sputtering choke from the awkward angle. But Shouto liked hearing you choke, liked hearing the needy tone in your whining agreement, and he swore he was feeling his heartbeat in his balls. "You're not here entirely on your own will, are you? Came here for money, to suck some rich mans' cock?" His hips stammered when you sucked your cheeks in around his length, his eyes rolling in the break of his concentration, his blood pumping in his hormone pumped euphoria. "I want you to fucking choke on my cock, you hear that? Take me all the way in, don't be scared, I know you probably don't see much cock, but I promise if you can handle me, you'll never want other cock, slut. Take me all, and I promise you, you won't regret it."

A hiccuped breath came from your side of the wall, and Shouto almost wanted to simply burn the wall down to claim you for all his need and glory, someone with a mouth as gifted as yours definitely needed to be fucked correctly. Still, his hips reigned down, slamming against the wall so that the thuds of his impeding hips were heard softly in the other areas. 

And you? Behind the wall?

He could feel the weight of your head pressing forward, the feeling of his length sliding further and further down your throat. The pulsing of his cock ridiculously stilled with the restrained muscles of your throat, and the almost excessive drool and spit that dripped from his length with your choking movements.

More, he wanted more, he needed more.

"Fuck, slut, you're taking me so fucking well. You almost have me entirely in your mouth," Shouto growled, an inch or so of his cock still not entirely in your mouth, but not letting your tight fist work his cock. "Don't give up, take me all, I know a whore like you who shows up to be a sex slave can take my cock."

A whine (was that a horny or a frustrated whine?) emitted from the wall, and with a strained noise, Shouto felt your wet, hot lips make contact with the base of his cock as he continued to drill into you. Spluttering groans poured from his throat, the feeling of your hot cavern and resisting throat, sending him over the edge.

"Yes," Shouto gasped, the smell of sex, electricity, and barely burning walls simmering in his nose. "Fuck, yes, just like that."

Shouto could feel his nerves being shot out, the feeling of the compliant mouth keeping him pumping into the hole, his fingers digging further and further into the wall into it cracked and crumbled, his grip trying to keep his shaking legs from giving out, to break through the wall to get to you. He was almost there, so close, but needed to get over the hill. And then Shouto was swallowed completely when his slamming his stopped, he could feel your lip press to his skin hidden by the hole. He had no doubt that it must have been sorely uncomfortable for you, yet you were doing it to the point where he was fumbling for words, fumbling to keep his head on straight as your tongue wrapped around his cock, massaging the skin. Fuck, fuck, "Fuck!"

His head dropped back with the shooting electricity in his blood, sweat dripping from his temple and you, the stranger behind the wall, gave one vicious, strong suck, your mouth only surrounding the head of his cock, your wet tongue flicking the slit on his head, and he was spilling over.

Hot, thick, heavy ropes of white cum spurted from his cock and Shouto shuddered, his shaking breath echoing in his ears, and he could still feel your tongue moving, coaxing out the finality of his orgasm, teeth scraping against his sensitive cock just enough to have him seeing stars.

But the giggle that erupted in your throat was well noticed by Shouto, and he grunted in slight annoyance. Pulling away, a soft, almost unwanted pop echoed on the other side of the wall.

Shouto watched as his spit and cum covered cock pulled back to his side of the wall, and he grunted unwillingly. His forehead still rested against the wall, and he looked up to his left side with a disgruntled noise to see that he did, in fact, scorch his fingertips into the wall.

As he tucked himself back into his underwear and slacks, Shouto's blissed-out eyes fell onto the hole where your hand was perched out of it, your pinky the only finger visible.

"Pinky promise you'll come back later?" your raspy voice asked, and Shouto wondered if that was how you usually sounded or if it was from what happened.

"As long as you promise to do something like that again," Shouto smirked, his pink taking yours anyways.

He could promise that to the hole in the wall.

Shouto slips out the door and is immediately greeted with a bummed out Kaminari and a profusely apologizing Kirishima. He later finds out that Kaminari let out yet another round of voltage of electricity (he's banned from fucking anyone that can't absorb his quirk without damaging themselves), and that Kirishima in his blissed-out state accidentally went into his unbreakable mode and tore a hole into the wall. Shouto didn't bother telling them of the scorched walls and left with his friends.

⋄⋆⊹⋄⋆⋄⋆⊹⋄⋆⋄⋆⊹⋄⋆

It only felt like a few minutes before Shouto found himself outside the same closed door of the room with gloryholes. The alcohol had long since been burned from his system, he is practically positive that you managed to suck it out from his bloodstream.

For the past two hours, he had been around the mansion, aiding Kirishima in his objective to keep Kaminari from accidentally killing a sexual partner. It had been for the best, Shouto believed. He was no prude and definitely didn't hate indulging in the occasional orgies - especially at parties like this. But for some reason, as strangers attempted to shed him from his clothes, lips, and fingers roaming his scarred, heated skin, he thought of you and only you.

Your tantalizing mouth and fingers.

He had exited the orgy room faster than All Might at his peak. 

He was strangely obsessed with a stranger, a person who was no more than someone past a hole in the wall. Who knew if your picture was what you looked like, but he sure hoped it was.

But when Mina had appeared out of nowhere, her perfectly manicured fingers pressing against Kirishima's chest as she emerged from behind him. She was, obviously, one of the few easily discernable members of the cult. 

"So, the crown prince does not know how to use his dick, and I am disappointed in men all over again!" Mina pouted, but her usual sly grin was back on her face before Shouto could ask if she needed help scouting potential 'dick appointments' as she so fondly calls them.

This was where things got strange in that Kirishima pointed out that Mina should just fuck a woman to teach men how to fuck women properly. Kaminari filled Shouto in with a horribly done stage whisper that the two of them had fucked before and that despite the experience of any man, Mina was never truly satisfied. 

"Alright, student Kirishima," Mina had thrust her finger into Kirishima's chest. "Follow me to the hole-y wall and watch the master do her job!"

Once more, Shouto was outside the door, the woman seemingly materialized from thin air in her same powder blue ava tea party dress and ruby red smile. 

"Welcome back! For four patrons this time?" the woman gleefully smiled, her gloved fingers clasping below her chin.

"For one, actually," Mina spoke up first, "I'm teaching these boys—"

"I've actually never had a problem," Shouto spoke up, his calm and collected gaze unwaveringly met the hostess despite the chilling horror and embarrassment of his words that crawled up his spine. At the same time, Mina looked up him and down with a small, small smirk. "I'll be taking a spot."

"Ho ho, well, excuse me," Mina giggled, turning back to the hostess with a brightness to her stance. "Two spots then. I have boys to teach!"

"Of course!" the hostess spoke unaffectedly by the group's dynamics. "Please enjoy yourselves! This part is a special treat for you lovely patrons, don't forget to be mindful of our poor angels stuck in the wall!"

The door opened, and in the group of four walked in.

If Shouto had been taken by surprise the first time, he was beyond belief the second time he entered this same room. His first time coming, there had only been those beautiful glory holes, but this time? There were no material holes.

Where the holes used to be, there were only large holes where the person assigned to the area was now presented to the public.

Asses curved to the sky, asses pointed to the ground. Cocks leaking, limp, and red with overstimulation, cunts soaked, throbbing, and swollen with overuse. It was indeed as if these individuals had been stuck in a wall, and Shouto already felt his cock twitch in his carnal lust and need to see just how you were positioned. How he prayed that you were at your spot, laying on your stomach, ass hanging out to the world waiting for his cock to claim you, waiting for him to ruin you. He wanted to feel your liquid lust drip from your cunt, splashing and trailing down your inner thigh.

Shouto didn't bother saying goodbye to his friends, the smell of sex, and his own lust switching his brain onto a one-track mindset with the growing need to get to you immediately. 

And almost to his raging hormonal anger, he came to the aisle where you were parked, and while his heart hammered with the growing pleasure to see your ass hanging in the air, your thighs pressed to the wall, his vision turned red at the sight of some no-named man rutting his ugly cock between your dry folds.

In no time flat, Shouto was behind the man, his hand fisting into the collar of the man's shirt and tearing him away from him.

"Mine." he all but growled, his aura darkening while he glared at the red-faced idiot who attempted to cover himself up in the act of running away.

It didn't matter that what Shouto did was probably entirely rude and could result in him getting thrown out, you were his, and no way was someone going to fuck you when he was there. The weirded out gazes that fell upon him temporarily did nothing to Shouto, his focus back onto your squirming bottom, no doubt weirded out by the sudden lack of contact.

But with a sigh, his fingers combing the few falling free strands of hair out of his face, Shouto stood centimeters from your shifting thighs, watching you continue squirming until he finally moved. His hands pressed against your supple, smooth ass, enjoying the way you fit against his hands perfectly. 

He stepped forward, allowing the bulge of his strained cock to press against the top of your ass — the perfect height for him. Shouto leaned forward, his forehead once more pressing against the cold wall, his eyes taking in the still visible scorch marks he had left behind and chuckled deep in his throat.

"I'm back, my precious whore, I bet you missed me," Shouto spoke through the wall, hoping that you would respond back to him. He thought he could hear an agreeing sound on the other side of the wall, another layer of muffled, and he wondered if maybe you had been gagged. The thought made him exhale slowly, his hips strained from rutting against you, but against his belief, your ass ground against his hardening cock, sending waves of pleasure through him. "You did miss me, huh?"

His calloused fingers moved from your supple ass to the outsides of your thighs, feather-soft touches skimming your skin, leaving behind trails of goosebumps and twitching nerves. Shouto's gaze remained hard on your body, watching how you completely stilled when he found his fingers against the inner part of your thigh and just shy of the excessive heat that was radiating from your cunt.

And he leaned down, his lips pressing against the curve of your ass, his eyes partially hooded when he felt you relax against his hold. But the relaxed position you held quickly erased the moment his teeth sunk into your skin, and his finger pressed against your swollen clit. 

Immediately, your body arched, a weak attempt to buck out of his hold while he heard a muffled cry from the other end of the wall. But Shouto was a hero, he was some with extreme control over his body, and as his tongue moved to soothe your throbbing ass, one finger continued to delicately dance against your clit, while the other shifted over to your softly beating cunt. 

Shouto groaned against your skin, his pants feeling too tight, the material of his underwear too hot and stiff for how strained his cock was right now, yet it was nothing to the feeling of your tight, wet, hot cunt. In and out, he pumped his finger, curling the long digit against your puffy spongey walls, the thumb on your clit circulating in slow, intentional figure-eights until you were pathetically rising and falling against his finger, a garbled whine for more barely audible through the wall. He chuckled at the feeling of your inner walls forcible clenching against his intruding finger, and he rewarded you with a second finger.

"Doesn't this feel good?" Shouto groaned, his body straightening back up so that he was flushed against your ass, his forehead resting on the wall, and his now free hand slowly grinding your ass against his crotch.

He watched you with the intensity of a predator stalking their prey, his mouth twitching into a smirk when your toes curled with a sudden drag of his fingers over a ribbed area of your core. Growling in need, Shouto's hips slammed into you, mindlessly fucking you even with his clothes on. His fingers doubled in speed and intensity until the rapid clenching of your walls was unignorable around his fingers.

His forearms ached slightly with his continued fingering, his thumb almost stiff as he continued to assault your clit, but with the arching of your back, the stuttering of your hips as an impeding orgasm was growing bigger and stronger. Shouto barely registered the sight of his own hand rising and falling heavily onto your ass, the sound of the spank echoing loudly, but that had pushed you over the edge.

A loud mewl sounded from the wall, your legs trembling entirely uncontrollably against Shouto, who still drove his hard crotch into your soaked cunt. He didn't care if you were to wet the expensive suit, his mind now solely on the fact that he needs to claim you, needs to sink his cock all the way in, and make sure you were bruised for days to come. 

Wasting no time, Shouto sheds off his pants and his underwear, letting them fall to the floor with a soft thud before aligning his already hard and swollen cock head to your clenching, sopping cunt. Shouto nearly shivers as he grips his fingers into your ass, his eyes mesmerized with how your flesh molds to his grasp, moving and shifting accordingly. With only a moan as a warning, Shouto wasted no time in pressing his cock to your cunt, and thrusting in with a single, sharp thrust.

If he had thought your cunt was tight with just your fingers, if he had thought the instance where you had vacuumed your mouth while sucking him off was tight, he was in a world of surprises when he came through from entering you. Your cunt was hot and oh so fucking tight around him, milking him dry of all and any precum that he had gathered at his swollen slit. Your inner walls flutter around him, intensely and quickly trying to adjust to the monstrous thickness that he was, and he could hear the pained panting pleasure of you through the wall, and he almost lost it at the keen whine on your tongue.

He shifted, moving his hips just so slight as to regain what little sanity he had left to ensure that you were thoroughly and roughly fucked. 

"Fuck," Shouto moaned, his fingers digging bruises into your skin, his skin feeling sticky and sweaty as he felt you continue trembling beneath him. "For a fucking whore, you have a really tight cunt. I bet you wished I had used fucking lube, huh?"

Shouto took a tentative thrust into you, his legs quivering at the feeling of the way your cunt gripped his cock, making it almost impossible for him to move as he did. "Should've made your pussy wetter then," he spoke in a near whisper to the wall, unsure if you had heard him as he began his conquest in fucking you.

With his fingers gripping your hips, he enjoys the way you bruise against his hold, almost as much as he enjoys the way the wall rocks with every slam of his brutal hips.

The sounds of his cock slamming into your sopping cunt send loud, wet noises ringing in his ears, sending a few other nearby patrons to turn their heads to look at him - to look at him in his conquest of claiming you as his. It only fueled him on, and he picked up his pace until there was a medley of sounds: his thighs crashing against your ass, the squelching of your wet cunt against his thick cock, and your thighs slapping the wall. 

Shouto growled at the feeling of your cunt stretching for him, the tremble of your legs, the way your feet twisted and curled against his knees, almost as if in a silent beg to get him impossibly closer, to make him fuck you impossibly faster, harder. 

His gorging fingers break your skin, and Shouto delights in the painful, garbled scream from your side of the wall. Your body is weak against him, yet he can still feel your hips jutting against his rutting hips, your body desperately trying to keep up with his insane speed and lust.

And when his hand presses to your lower back and the other right above your crotch so that he can raise you higher, the new angle of penetration sends Shouto fumbling for strength. It's then he can feel the head of his cock pressing against your cervix, your toes digging into his skin as he continues to pound away at your cervix, and he takes the rolling shrieks and moans from your mouth like a good thing. 

"Such a good fucking whore, I never found many of you who enjoyed when I literally rearranged their guts," Shouto huffed, his fingers tweaking and yanking at your clit until you were shaking in his arms. "You're enjoying this so much, I bet you wanted this the entire time after I left, didn't you? You wanted my cock in your pussy, I wanted to have my seed pumped into you until everyone knows that you're mine. You'd look so pretty pregnant with my babies, your stomach swollen, and your tits just fucking leaking milk for our children, huh?"

It's then that your cunt around his cock becomes a vice grip, and Shouto shudders at the feeling of your orgasm rocking through you, your pathetic keens barely audible in his blood rushing ears. And he continues, Shouto could feel the familiar sensation of his nerves being shot out, the feeling of your cunt desperately trying to milk him of his seed and worth as you grew limper in his arms, his fingers raking raised lines against your ass, forever marking himself against you, his grip trying to keep his shaking legs from giving out, his mind solidifying over the need to somehow appear where you were now so he could fuck you with no restraint. He thought of your crossed eye gaze, the possible spit pouring from your mouth as you took his every drop of seed greedily into your cunt. He imagined seeing your eyes spilling with tears, seeing your fingers rip into the fabric as he fucked you with no restraint, and with his imagination, he lost himself.

Shouto continued to blindly ram his cock into your cunt, a savage, insane last attempt to spill himself into you, fumbling to keep his head on straight as your cunt pathetically clenched against his hammering cock, finally sending his left hand to the wall, fire bursting from his palm as finally his orgasm tears through him. Shit, shit, "Shit!"

Shouto's temples are damp with sweat, and his vision swims with his overwhelming desire for you and the need to get to your room without destroying the wall to completion.

He picks up his pants and underwear, quickly fixing himself up so that he's almost remorse in the way that he can't appreciate watching his cum spill from your cunt, but the lack of you on his cock is enough to have him zipping up his pants and racing to where the hostess appears.

She doesn't stand a chance when both fire and ice bite against her neck.

"How do I get into the rooms?"

⋄⋆⊹⋄⋆⋄⋆⊹⋄⋆⋄⋆⊹⋄⋆

After being caught flirting with whoever you had pinky promised, you had been gagged. It wasn't a bad thing per se, that man had been the last person to visit you when the room was still functioning as glory holes. With the new stuck in the wall theme, it only invited men and women to be aggressive, and a part of you guiltily and ashamedly enjoyed how rough they would get in there attempt to hear you against the gag.

But you couldn't help the flutter in your cunt and in your heart when the familiar voice of the pinky promise man sounded through the wall. Right now, however, your body felt wholly and thoroughly used. Every inch of your asscheeks and cunt was abused, but the orgasm that came with his fucking was otherwordly. 

There was still nothing to prevent the shameful clog in your throat when he abandoned you after a single orgasm, but then again, you didn't expect the door to your cubicle to be thrown open, and a man stood there with a black kitsune mask. You wondered who it was, but there was the distinctive, infamous red and split white hair behind the cover, and you whimpered at the sudden shame at being caught like this by a Pro Hero you absolutely adored. 

The mask was torn from his face, the door closing behind him, and you were ripped back into the tight cubicle, pressed flush against his chest as he sealed off the hole with his ice. You were speechless as his obviously hard cock pressed against your diaphragm, and you trembled upon hearing the zipper of his pants coming down.

And the voice of one Todoroki Shouto sent shivers down your spine, reigniting the flame in your cunt.

"I got to fuck your mouth and your cunt through other people's rules, I think it's about time I get to fuck you however I see fit."

[ironmariposa]

(The things I did) Just so I could call you mine

Chapter 3/4

Also found on Ao3

Notes: A huge thank you to @writing-as-tracey for giving me key words to use for Heather & Rays project and for all their encouragement for this story!! Keeps my motivation going. If you haven’t yet you should definitely check out their ff!

“The Senior baseball tournament.”

“Oh.” Heather laughs holding up her hands, “There’s no way you want me on the team.”

“Not a choice, Hill. Everyone has to play.”

Heather shakes her head, “Trust me, Ray, you do not want me.”

His eyes flash and she swallows because damn why does she keep slipping up like that. Making off the wall comments that have double meanings.

“I mean on the team. You don’t want me on the team. I’m horrible at organized sports.”

He leans towards her, “You can’t be that bad. Come on, it’ll be fun. Just. Go out to Andy’s and practice in the batting cages.”

Andy’s is the local putt putt place that is mostly a piece of shit but pretty much the only fun outing that’s close by. Her, Bishop, and Natalie spent most of their middle school years there. Playing putt-putt but for the one time. One time Natalie was crushing on a baseball player and forced the three of them to go to the batting cages. It was an absolute disaster.

“Lets just.” Heather sighs, “get back to work. I only have another hour before I have to pick up my sister.”

Ray drops his chair back to four legs and picks up the book she slides across the table to him. “Just think about it.”

She studies him as his eyes flicker through the book. They’ve had multiple meetings together at the library and sometimes at school. He’s given her rides home, teases with her sister and just recently started calling out to her in the hallways. The first few times she jumped, because in the past it meant he was about to mock her or Bishop.

He’s different and as the due date for their project approaches she finds herself almost sad. Because after they’re done she won’t have a reason to hang out with him. And she finds she actually likes hanging out with Ray Hall.

“Are you serious?” Heather stares at her friend, her best friend, in complete shock. The news she just dropped on them as they sat on the side of main street was shocking. To have known someone for so long and not see such a bombshell coming…. Heather was lost for words.

Bishop just shakes his head, “You know what, I'm not even that surprised.”

Heather looks at him then back at Nat, “Well I am. You’ve always said it’s a stupid game for idiots to play.”

“Nooo.” Nat says with a tilt of her head, “You've always said that. I just agreed.”

Bishop points his drink at Heather, “She’s got you there.”

“I mean…” Heather shakes her head and picks up her drink. Hearing that Natalie plans on playing the Senior game after two Seniors died last year playing it, is just terrifying. She never thought she would have to watch someone she cared about go through it. Although, the closer she grew to Ray, she knew in the back of her mind she would have to watch him. There was no way he wouldn’t play, especially since his brother won just a few years ago.

Nat nudges her with her arm, “You’re not mad, are you?”

“No. Not mad.” Heather meets her friend's dark brown eyes and cringes, “Just …worried.”

Nat laughs, “It’ll be fine.”

“Yeah. I’m sure that’s exactly what Jimmy and Abby thought too.” Bishop says with a bit of a bite to his voice. Both girls look at him with wide eyes and he makes a face, “Too dark?”

“Yeah.”

“Just a bit dude.”

They all laugh and if it’s a little strained, well, no one points it out.

Heather rushes into their established room in the library with an apology on her lips. “Sorry, my boss made me stay later because he wanted to get high with his girlfriend.” She slams herself in a chair and begins to unload her bag.

“Sounds like a douche.”

Heather grunts, “He one hundred percent is a douche.” She slams one book then another down on the table before pulling out her notebook and flipping it open, “But he pays me. Most of the time. So I have to put up with him.”

Ray closes the book he was reading and leans forward, “What do you mean he only pays you most of the time?”

Heather shrugs, “Doesn’t matter. So did you figure out which chapters we should focus on because I was thinking …” Heather stops her ramble as Ray's hands fall on top of her notebook, covering it completely.

“Heather, it’s illegal for them not to pay you.”

Heather sighs, “Well considering there’s absolutely nothing I can do about it.”

“You could quit.”

She laughs harshly at that, “You sound just like Nat and Bishop.” He makes a face at the comparison, “I can’t quit. I need the money. The portion my mom doesn’t take for living in her house, I’m saving for college.” She looks up at him with a desperation for him to understand because her friends never could. They both come from families that love and support them. Families that can afford to send them to college. Families that lift them up instead of dragging them down so deep, it feels like she will never be able to dig herself out no matter how hard she tries

But if anyone could get it, it would be him, “I have to get out of this town.” She says in a quiet voice and there it is. His eyes say it all, complete understanding.

She feels relieved at having someone understand her so completely. She feels like she can actually breath.

He nods after a moment and pulls his arms back, “I was thinking chapters ten and eleven and then the last few chapters.”

Heather nods as she flips through her notebook to those chapters.

“Hey.” Ray steps up to her locker and she glances quickly at him before focusing back on the contents of her locker. She can still see him out of her peripheral as he leans up against her locker door, grinning, “We’re taking the boat out tomorrow afternoon, want to come?”

Heather nudges him with her arm and grabs her locker door to shut it, “Did you finish your character analysis and also who’s we, because I have no interest hanging out with a drug dealer and a pediphile.” She starts to walk to class and he follows. Moving around her to walk backwards so he can face her. And it works for him because no one wants to be the one he trips over so everyone makes a path for them.

Ray chuckles, “I did finish it.” He waves the paper at her and she takes it, her eyes skimming over his handwriting, “And Adam’s not a pediphile.”

“Did he not date that freshman for a few months?” She asks as she tucks the paper in her notebook.

“Well sure but he was still seventeen at the time.”

Heather shakes her head at him silently. He laughs, his dimple flashing and her eyes once again lingering there. He notices. Of course he does, his eyes say it all.

“It’s not just them. Sarah will be there and probably Ruby Anne.” Ray stops causing her to stop or run into his chest. And she kind of wants that. At school he manages to keep his shirts buttoned but any other time she sees him or spends time with him, he usually has his bare chest on full display. And she’s been getting the urge to touch it more and more.

“Come on. It’ll be fun.” He urges.

“Okay.” She finally agrees. Ray shouts loudly and steps around her to head off to his class. He continues celebrating loudly as he leaves her and she shakes her head in embarrassment. Glancing around she finds no one is paying them much attention besides a curious look or two. Thankfully neither of her friends have class down this hallway.

She actually has that Saturday off but she tells her mom she’s working. She can’t use that excuse on her friends because they’ll expect her to meet them on her break so she tells them she has to watch Lily and work on homework. They don’t question her because it happens often enough. She feels bad for lying to them. They both mean well but they’ve been making little comments here and there about how much time she’s been spending with Ray.

She approaches the dock with trepidation. She can see Adam and Sarah already on the boat. Ray is messing with a fishing pole off to the side. He looks good in low riding swimming trunks and a sleeveless button up. Of course it’s unbuttoned. Adam gives a soft whistle and nods to her when Ray glances at him. Ray turns to her, the smile on his face wide and genuine. He pushes his sunglasses on top of his head and her heart pounds at the look on his face.

“You came.” And he sounds genuinely surprised.

“I said I would.” She smiles back at him and they stand there for a long moment.

Tyler pushes past them, “Let's go bitches.”

Ruby Anne follows behind him and smiles apologetically at Heather. Her eyes find Rays again and he nods his head to the boat.

They’re last on the boat after Ray unties it from the dock and other than the captain's chair there’s nowhere for Heather to sit. Ray fixes that by pulling her onto his leg once he sits to drive the boat. She looks over his shoulder at him.

“Is this really necessary?”

He winks at her, keeping his eyes on the water but for that small glance, “Unless you prefer the floor?”

Heather glances over her shoulder. Sarah smiles at her as she lounges back in her seat, a can of beer already open in her hand. Tyler and Adam are passing a joint back and forth. Ruby Anne is sunbathing in her seat.

They're going pretty fast and as Ray turns the boat around a corner she falls more into his lap. She tries to move back to just perching on his knee but he maneuvers his arms around her waist to steer. After a moment of hesitation, Heather relaxes against his bare chest, her head resting just below his chin. He nudges her slightly with his nose and she glances up at him.

“Are you smelling me?”

He laughs out loud and she smiles at how much it thrills her to make him laugh. He presses his nose against her hair again and takes an exaggerated deep breath.

“Smells like peppermint.”

She doesn’t respond. Just enjoys being in his arms, letting herself relax for once where it concerns Ray. No one here is going to tell her it’s wrong or how horrible he is. Or how stupid she’s being. She can just enjoy the moment.

And she does. It takes them another twenty minutes before they get to where they’re going. Ray tells her it’s his favorite fishing spot. The others jump out and make their way to a floating dock where they continue their activities of sunbathing, smoking and drinking. Ray waves them off when they ask if they’re coming.

They spend the entire day out there on the water, not returning until twilight. Heather knows she’ll be red from playing in the water with Ray, to sunbathing on the dock with Sarah and Ruby Anne. She even had a semi deep conversation with Tyler about how honeybees play an important part in their ecosystem and how without them we wouldn’t have coffee or avocados or even medications. Heather's mind is blown with how much knowledge Tyler seems to have on this one subject but Ruby Anne informs her that when he’s high, Tyler likes to watch nature documentaries. They all laugh so hard at him, he storms off a huff.

Ray walks her to her car. The others already went on their way as she helped him unload the boat.

“Thanks for…” she turns and is left speechless as he his eyes meet hers. It’s dark out, hard to see much but his eyes are filled with want. For her. He takes one step, then another, crowding her smaller body back against the truck. And she thinks this is it. This is when he’s going to kiss her. And she was going to let him.

She whispers his name as her legs fall open, giving him room to press against her. She feels the hardness of him all over. He brings his hands up but instead of touching her like she expects. Like she wants, he brackets her head between them as he presses them against his truck. His head tilts down and she lets out a long breath as he drags his nose up her neck and to her ear. His breath is hot as he whispers in her ear, “You’re so far from cute, Heather Nill. I could absolutely devour you with how fuckin sexy you’ve looked all day. I’ve been hard since the moment you appeared on my dock.” And he proves this by grinding himself in the warm space between her legs. Heather's head falls back against the truck with a groan. She curls her hands with want. She wants to fill them with him. To touch him all over, starting with a handful of his hair and ending with a handful of his ….

Ray's nose is back to dragging over her neck and he nips at her pulse causing her to jump. She reaches for him, her hands spreading over his bare back as she pulls him in. He lifts his head, his lips a breath from hers.

Her phone goes off and it’s obnoxious enough that it pulls them both out of their lust haze. Ray pulls his body away from her as she reaches in her pocket to pull it out. It’s her neighbor and she knows she has to answer. It’s never good when she calls.

Glancing at Ray she flashes her phone at him, “I have to…” he just nods and she steps away from him as she presses the accept button.

As she suspected, Bo and her mom are at it again and Lily needs her. She quickly explains to Ray who accepts it with more understanding than she expects. Her friends aren’t usually so understanding but then again they have perfect families that never have drama. Ray on the other hand…

Ray sends her off with a tuck of hair behind her ear and a soft smile she’s never seen him give another. Her thoughts are on getting to her sister but her body is still aflame with desire as she speeds to the trailer park. And after she gets Lily settled in bed, the house now quiet with Bo gone and her mom passed out, Heather lies in her bed thinking of that moment out by his truck and how she knows without a doubt she would have let Ray take her to his bed if they hadn’t been interrupted. And she wonders if that’s a good thing or not.

Heather is waiting for Bishop to finish switching books in his backpack at his locker when Natalie runs up to them and grabs Heather's arm, squeezing tightly.

“Ow Nat.” Heather attempts to pull her arm from her friend's grip but the taller girl refuses to let go.

“You went on a date with Ray Hall?” Natalie practically shouts.

Heather shushes her as she glances around. Bishop looks up from his backpack, frozen. They stare at one another for a long moment before he says one word through gritted teeth, “Well?”

“I…”

Bishop slams the door to his locker so loudly, if people weren’t looking at them before, they sure were now. Natalie seems to notice this as well and pulls them into a dark empty classroom, closing the door behind them.

“Ruby Anne is going around saying you and Ray hooked up this weekend.”

“We didn’t hook up.”

“That you spent the day with them out on his boat. But that couldn’t be true, right? Because you told us,” Natalie points between her and Bishop, “That you couldn’t hang out because you were watching your sister all day.”

Heather presses the heels of her hands to her eyes and then runs them through her hair, “Okay. I lied.”

“You lied?” Bishop says.

Heather avoids meeting his eyes, instead choosing to look over his shoulder into the dark corner of the classroom, “Look, I just didn’t want you guys to give me shit about hanging out with Ray.”

“We don’t give you shit.” Natalie tries to protest.

“You actually do. Even when it’s just to work on the project, you give me shit. I’m so..” Heather takes a deep breath and lets it out, “I’m so sick of feeling guilty for wanting to spend time with someone.”

“Not just someone.” Bishop says through clenched teeth, “But Ray Hall.”

Heather tilts her head back as she breathes in deeply through her nose. Here it is.

“Ray Fucking Hall.”

“Okay, Bishop. I get it. You hate him.” She runs her hands through her hair again but says the next words without hesitation, “But I don’t.”

Bishop blanches at her words and she looks at Natalie who wrinkles her nose at her.

“Heather, you know what he is. You know.” Bishop says with so much heat. Heather just stares down at her feet as Bishop continues his rant. She knows he’s been building this up ever since she was partnered with Ray. She thinks maybe if she lets him have his say then he’ll just back off. Because between him and Ray and everyone else she feels so confused. “All he is and all he’ll ever be is a Meth Row idiot, heading down the same path as his father and brother. You have to see that. You have to know that after all these years.”

“Okay Bishop, that’s enough.” Natalie finally steps in. His eyes flash to her then back to Heather. Without another word he turns on his heel and storms away.

“He’s an idiot.” Natalie says.

“He is.” She agrees.

Natalie wraps her arm around Heather and guides her back out of the classroom, “But you know it’s because he’s in love with you.”

Heather tilts her head back with a groan, “He is not in love with me, Nat.”

Natalie just gives her a look. The look, “If you say so girl.”

After the confrontation, Heather keeps to herself. She doesn’t see either of her friends the rest of the day. She attempts to smile at Ray in class but he just turns in his seat to talk to Adam. She’s too distracted to think anything of it and slides into her seat silently. It’s the week before Spring Break which means their presentations are all week. Their day to present is on Thursday and so Heather sits through the week watching the other presentations. Bishop isn’t talking to her at all and Nat is being distant. She spends her days after school working and keeping Lily away from their trailer as much as possible. The fallouts between her mom and Bo usually last longer than a day or two and it’s always safer to keep their distance.

But then Thursday comes and Ray is nowhere to be seen. She sits in class as the bell rings and picks at her nails. Mrs. Plaza calls her up to the front, “It looks like your partner isn’t going to show. Are you comfortable doing the presentation on your own?”

“I am. But he’ll show.”

Mrs. Plaza looks at her with sympathy, “I’ll put you and Ray last on the list.” She reaches out a hand and places it on Heathers, a comforting touch, “But, Honey, I wouldn’t count on him showing up.”

Heather smiles, “He’ll be here.” And though she sounds confident, with each minute that ticks by, her confidence falters.

Finally, there’s no time left and it’s their turn to present.

He doesn’t show.

[ourardenoliver]

Second Chances | | A + Julian

WHEN: late 2018

LOCATION: Octavia restaurant and other locations, California

NB: after having been at Monarch University for a few months, Arden agrees to a blind date that’s organised by one of her classmates. the date itself is a disaster and as she goes to leave for the night, she runs into her high school ex-boyfriend @juliantaylor. It’s the first time that she’s seen him since their breakup. note: this is an ongoing chatzy and will be updated as we go.

Arden was still fairly new at Monarch University and had allowed one of her classmates to set her up on a blind date. She had high hopes at the start of the evening, especially as her date had booked them a table at Octavia, however the night had just gone downhill from there. The man had drunk too much, had political opinions that Arden strongly disagreed with, and some of his attitudes towards women were slightly archaic. Arden had politely declined his offer of a ride home, not wanting to spend another minute with him, and was now waiting outside the restaurant for her Uber to arrive.

Julian hated to admit it, but he spent quite some time thinking about his ex-girlfriend, for years now. The girl continued to occupy his mind, even way after the fact of their breakup; she was the only one to have that effect on him. And although he was certain she didn't keep tabs on him, he kept tabs on her. There were still a few mutual classmates from high school that followed her on social media, classmates that he was still fairly acquainted with -- which is why it wasn't so hard for him to find the girl. He had been in California for training that week, but made it a point to ask his trainer to find a gym in San Diego, so he can be close by. It was only merely a coincidence that the two had been in Octavia at the same time. Him being there for a professional dinner with his trainers and agent, and her being there for what was obviously a date. And a bad one, at that. She didn't notice him, but he sure as hell noticed her...which is why he subtly excused himself from the table before following her out of the restaurant. "That dick didn't say anything to you, right?" He asked, not even bothering to greet her.

Arden would recognise that voice anywhere, no matter how much time had passed since she had last seen him. Julian was her first love and her first heartbreak -- and as much as she wished that it wasn't the case, he still had a hold on her. It was surprising that she hadn't noticed him in the restaurant but as she turned to face him, she realised that was probably a good thing. He looked amazing right now and if she had seen him inside the venue, she wouldn't have been able to keep her attention on her date. "No, he didn't. If you must know, we're just not a match. He couldn't handle his liquor, his political ideologies clash with mine, and he thinks that women belong in the kitchen, not the court room", Arden informed him. "You can head back to whatever you were doing, you don't have to defend my honour". It said a lot about their dynamic that she wasn't even surprised that he was there, used to Julian showing up at the most bizarre of times.

Seeing Arden in the flesh for the first time in god knowns how long...well, lets just say it felt surreal to the man. It hadn't been the first time the two saw each other after their breakup, and yet every single time he knew that there was still something between them. Whether she wanted to admit it, or not, he knew he still had /some/ effect on her. He buttoned up his dress jacket, chuckling softly as she went on to explain what exactly went wrong with her date. "I don't know, you never had a problem being in the kitchen when I was around." He said cheekily, recalling one of the many moments they had together in high school. "So you're not going to question how we both ended up here at the same time, after all these years?"

Arden groaned and rolled her eyes at the cheeky comment. "Well, I made a lot of mistakes with you", Arden retorted. "You seem to have this uncanny ability of showing up unexpectedly, Julian. It's like you have this sixth sense for whenever I might finally be moving on so you show up to try and reel me back in. I don't know if you've realised this but even when you don't want me, you hate the idea of other people wanting me", she pointed out. "Since my Uber isn't here yet, I'll bite. What are you doing here? How have we both ended up here at the same time, after all these years?"

Julian raised a brow at her argument, shaking his head in amusement. "Now, I wouldn't ever really categorize orgasms as being mistakes." He argued back. As much as she hated it, he /loved/ going back and forth with her like this. It was like it gave him a high that drugs couldn't. Her next statement hit close to home, because she was right. He /hated/ seeing her with other people, just the thought of it alone made him sick. But he didn't want her, not in /that/ way, not in the way she needed or wanted. So he simply just ignored the statement. If he didn't respond, did they really speak about it? His eyes trailed down her body once more, taking in her curves in that dress. "I'm here for you." He said softly, the words rolling off the tip of his tongue naturally. He took a few steps closer to her, his eyes remaining fixed on her at all times. "I was hoping we can talk. I miss you, babe."

"Continually going back to you, despite the fact that you were happily giving orgasms to anyone that you found attractive, was the mistake", Arden responded. She always told herself that she wouldn't waste time arguing with Julian as it never got them anywhere, yet he knew how to push her buttons better than anyone else. "Besides, you aren't the only person that's capable of getting me off", she added. It was technically a lie -- Julian remained the only person that she had slept with but he didn't need to know that. Her pulse started to race as he stepped closer to her, even as she told herself not to believe it; not to buy into what he was saying. "I'm assuming that you drove yourself here, right? You can drive me home and you can have the duration of said car ride to talk, not a minute more".

Julian let out a deep sigh in response to her words. "It wasn't like that..." He trailed off, giving himself some time to come up with a good enough response for her. This was always the argument they got into - probably the only thing they ever did argue about. "Maybe not. But I'd bet money that I'm the only one who can make you feel certain things others can't." He whispered, his eyes slowly flickering back and forth between her lips and her eyes. The man knew this was bold of him, and that this probably wasn't the time to be attempting to get at her - and yet, he didn't care. He took a moment to consider her offer. It wasn't what he wanted in that moment, but at this moment he would take anything he can get. He knew how to wisely pick his battles. Pushing his hand into his pocket, he pulled out a set of keys to the rental he had for that weekend. "Start the car. I just have to say goodbye to a few people." He said as he handed her the keys, all before turning on his heels and walking back into the restaurant.

“It doesn't matter anymore. It's in the past and we're not together so it's not like it's going to happen again", Arden said simply. Her breath hitched slightly and her cheeks flushed a light pink in response to his words, making it impossible to deny the truth in what he was saying. "I... I wouldn't know. I haven't actually gotten that far with anyone since you", she quietly admitted, glancing away in embarrassment. She was surprised when he gave her the car keys without any further argument before disappearing back into the restaurant to say goodbye to whoever he was with. Julian was usually the one that called the shots within their relationship so it was surprising that hadn't argued with her; still, she made her way over to the car and waited for him in the passenger seat.

"Mhm." Julian simply hummed in response to her words. He came to see her one last time, to see what she had been up to lately. But more importantly, although he would never admit it to both himself and to her, he was there to make sure that nobody had replaced him. That /he/ remained her one and only. Because at the end of the day, there was a part of him that loved being loved by her - and there was a part of him that missed being loved by her. He gently stroked his hand down her cheek, turning her head so that she would look up at him. His efforts were matched with some resistance as she glanced away from him. "Why?" He asked curiously. Arden was a beautiful girl, and even he knew that she had the ability to get anyone if she put herself out there. Julian walked back into the resturant to say his goodbyes to his trainers, granting them a quick two minute discussion about when, where, and what time they would be meeting the following morning, and throughout the duration of his stay in California. After saying his goodbyes, he made his way back to the car. He unbuttoned his dress jacket and took it off before climbing into the drivers seat of the black bmw, making himself comfortable as the gently tossed the piece of material towards the backseat. "Where am I taking you?" He asked simply as he put on his seat belt, putting the car in reverse and beginning to pull out of the big parking lot.

Arden knew that Julian didn't love her in the way that she needed, nor the way that she deserved. He loved her in the same way that her father loved her -- she was a possession, a prize. It wasn't authentic and she knew that, yet he still had this power over her and they both knew it. Whilst she wanted to avoid his gaze, she reluctantly allowed him to guide her face so that she was looking up at him. "Sex means something to me. I lost my virginity to you because I was in love with you. I haven't met anyone that I've really cared about since then, nor someone that I find so ridiculously attractive that I'm willing to try the one night stand thing with". It didn't take long for Julian to join her in the car. "I'm living in the Theta Phi Kappa house".

Julian release a soft sigh, simply nodding his head in response. "Sex with /you/ meant something to me, too." He said in the gentlest tone, showing some emotion without making himself appear too vulnerable. The man turned on the radio so that light music was playing in the background, providing each of them a small distraction so that they didn't sit in the agony silence. He simply just drove anywhere, but specifically to the one place he can somewhat recall direction to -- his hotel. "I have no idea where that is. I think you're forgetting that I'm not from around here." He said with a light chuckle, there being no heat behind his words. "Why don't we go back to the hotel? It'll be more private there, and it'll actually put my money to use." He softly laughed once more.

“Just not enough”, Arden said quietly, more to herself than anything else. She knew Julian well enough to know that he’d side-step the uncomfortable topic. She sang softly along with the radio before laughing when he pointed out that she had forgotten that he wasn’t from here. “Right, of course. I’ve done a terrible job at navigating”, she conceded, having given absolutely no directions. She paused for a moment, considering his suggestion before nodding her head. “Fine but I’m not staying and we’re definitely not sleeping together. I’ll catch an Uber home once we’ve finished talking”.

[iwanthermidnightz]

“Not a shot. Not a single chance. Not a snowball’s chance in hell.”

Taylor Swift — who, at 30, has reached a Zen state of cheerful realism — laughs as she leans into a pillow she’s placed over her crossed legs inside her suite at the Beverly Hilton Hotel, leaning further still into her infinitesimal odds of winning a Golden Globe, which will zero out when she heads down to the televised ball in a few hours.

Never mind whether or not the tune she co-wrote, “Beautiful Ghosts,” might actually have been worthy of a trophy for best original song (or shortlisted for an Oscar, which it was not). Since the Globe nominations were revealed, voters could hardly have been immune to how quickly the film it’s a part of, “Cats,” in which she also co-stars, became a whipping boy for jokes about costly Hollywood miscalculations and creative disasters. Not that you’ll hear Swift utter a discouraging word about it all. “I’m happy to be here, happy to be nominated, and I had a really great time working on that weird-ass movie,” she declares. “I’m not gonna retroactively decide that it wasn’t the best experience. I never would have met Andrew Lloyd Webber or gotten to see how he works, and now he’s my buddy. I got to work with the sickest dancers and performers. No complaints.”

If this leads you to believe that the pop superstar is in the business of sugarcoating things, consider her other new movie — a vastly more significant documentary that presents Swift not just sans digital fur but without a whole lot of the varnish of the celebrity-industrial complex. The Netflix-produced “Taylor Swift: Miss Americana” has a prestige slot as the Jan. 23 opening night gala premiere of the Sundance Film Festival before it reaches the world as a day-and-date theatrical release and potential streaming monster on Jan. 31.

The doc spends much of its opening act juxtaposing the joys of creation with the aggravations of global stardom — the grist of many a pop doc, if rendered in especially intimate detail — before taking a more provocative turn in its last reel to focus more tightly on how and why Swift became a political animal. It’s the story of an earnest young woman with a self-described “good girl” fixation working through her last remaining fears of being shamed as she comes to embrace her claws, and her causes.

Given that the film portrays how gradually, and sometimes reluctantly, Swift came to place herself into service as a social commentator, “Miss Americana” is a portrait of the birth of an activist. Director Lana Wilson sets the movie up so that it pivots on a couple of big letdowns for its subject. The first comes early in the film, and early in the morning, when Swift’s publicist calls to update her on how many of the top three Grammy categories her 2017 album “Reputation” is nominated for: zilch. She’s clearly bummed about the record’s brushoff by the awards’ nominating committee, as just about anyone who’d previously won album of the year twice would be, and determinedly tells her rep that she’s just going to make a better record.

But she suffers what feels like a more meaningful blow toward the end of the film. In the fall of 2018, Swift finally comes out of the closet politically to intervene on behalf of Democrats in a midterm election in her home state of Tennessee. As the Washington Post put it, this announcement “fell like a hammer across the Trump-worshipping subforums of the far-right Internet, where people had convinced themselves… that the world-famous pop star was a secret MAGA fan.” Donald Trump goes on camera to smirk that he now likes Swift’s music a little less. The singer is successful in enlisting tens of thousands of young people to register to vote, but her senatorial candidate of choice, Democrat Phil Bredesen, loses to Republican Marsha Blackburn, whom she’d called out as a flagrant enemy of feminism and gay rights.

“Definitely, that was a bigger disappointment for me,” Swift says, pitting the midterm snub against the Grammy snub. “I think what’s going on out in the world is bigger than who gets a prize at the party.”

It was not always thus for Swift — as the detractors who dragged her for staying quiet during the last presidential election eagerly pointed out. If you had to pick the most embarrassing or regrettable moment in “Miss Americana,” it might be the TV clip from “The Late Show With David Letterman” in which the host brings up politics and gets Swift to essentially advocate the “Shut up and sing” mantra. As the studio audience roars approval of her vow to stay apolitical, Letterman gives her what now looks like history’s most dated fist bump.

Thinking back on it, Swift is incredulous. “Every time I didn’t speak up about politics as a young person, I was applauded for it,” she says. “It was wild. I said, ‘I’m a 22-year-old girl — people don’t want to hear what I have to say about politics.’ And people would just be like, ‘Yeahhhhh!’”

At that point, Swift was already starting to record isolated pop tracks, taking baby steps that would soon turn into full strides away from her initial genre. But whether she had designs on switching lanes or not, the lesson of the Dixie Chicks’ forced exile after Natalie Maines’ comment against then-President George W. Bush had branded itself onto her brain at an earlier age, when she’d just planted her young-teen flag in Nashville and overheard a lot of the lamentations of older Music Row songwriters about how the Chicks had thrown it all away.

“I saw how one comment ended such a powerful reign, and it terrified me,” says Swift. “These days, with social media, people can be so mad about something one day and then forget what they were mad about a couple weeks later. That’s fake outrage. But what happened to the Dixie Chicks was real outrage. I registered it — that you’re always one comment away from being done being able to make music.”

Maybe the most transfixing scene in “Miss Americana” is one where Swift argues with her father and other members of her team about the statement she’s about to release coming out against Blackburn and — it’s clear from her references to White House opposition to the Equality Act — Donald Trump too. The comments were so spontaneous that Wilson wasn’t there to film the moment, but the director had asked people to turn on the camera if anything interesting transpired, and here it most certainly did.

“For 12 years, we’ve not got involved in politics or religion,” an unnamed associate says to Swift, suggesting that going down the road of standing against a president as well as Republican gubernatorial and Senate candidates could have the effect of halving her audience on tour. Her father chimes in: “I’ve read the entire [statement] and … right now, I’m terrified. I’m the guy that went out and bought armored cars.”

“I needed to get to a point where I was ready, able and willing to call out bullshit rather than just smiling my way through it.” TAYLOR SWIFT

But Swift is adamant about pressing the button to send a nearly internet-breaking Instagram post, saying that Blackburn has voted against reauthorizing the Violence Against Women Act as well as LGBTQ-friendly bills: “I can’t see another commercial [with] her disguising these policies behind the words ‘Tennessee Christian values.’ I live in Tennessee. I am Christian. That’s not what we stand for.” Pushing back tears, she laments not having come out against Trump two years earlier, “but I can’t change that. … I need to be on the right side of history. … Dad, I need you to forgive me for doing it, because I’m doing it.”

Says Swift now, “This was a situation where, from a humanity perspective, and from what my moral compass was telling me I needed to do, I knew I was right, and I really didn’t care about repercussions.” She understands why she faced such heated opposition in the room: “My dad is terrified of threats against my safety and my life, and he has to see how many stalkers we deal with on a daily basis, and know that this is his kid. It’s where he comes from.”

Swift was recently announced as the recipient of a Vanguard Award from GLAAD, and she name-checked the org in her basher-bashing single “You Need to Calm Down,” which was released as one of the teaser tracks for last fall’s more outwardly directed and socially conscious “Lover” album. Part of her politicization, she says, is feeling it would be hypocritical to hang out with her gay friends while leaving them to their own devices politically. In the film, she says, “I think it is so frilly and spineless of me to stand onstage and go ‘Happy Pride Month, you guys,’ and then not say this, when someone’s literally coming for their neck.”

A year and a half later, she elaborates: “To celebrate but not advocate felt wrong for me. Using my voice to try to advocate was the only choice to make. Because I’ve talked about equality and sung about it in songs like ‘Welcome to New York,’ but we are at a point where human rights are being violated. When you’re saying that certain people can be kicked out of a restaurant because of who they love or how they identify, and these are actual policies that certain politicians vocally stand behind, and they disguise them as family values, that is sinister. So, so dark.”

Her increasing alignment with the LGBTQ community wasn’t the only thing raising her consciousness to a breaking — i.e., speaking — point. So did the sexual assault trial in which judgment was rendered that she had been groped by a DJ in a backstage photo op (for financial restitution, Swift had asked for $1).

Her experience with the trial was crucial, she says, in finding herself “needing to speak up about beliefs I’d always had, because it felt like an opportunity to shed light on what those trials are like. I experienced it as a person with extreme privilege, so I can only imagine what it’s like when you don’t have that. And I think one theme that ended up emerging in the film is what happens when you are not just a people pleaser but someone who’s always been respectful of authority figures, doing what you were supposed to do, being polite at all costs. I still think it’s important to be polite, but not at all costs,” she says. “Not when you’re being pushed beyond your limits, and not when people are walking all over you. I needed to get to a point where I was ready, able and willing to call out bulls— rather than just smiling my way through it.”

That came into play when Kanye West stepped into her life and publicly shamed her a second time. In the video Kim Kardashian released in 2016, you can hear the people-pleasing Swift on the other end of the line sheepishly thanking him for letting her know about the “Me and Taylor might still have sex” line he plans to include about her in a song — only to regret it later when the eventual track also includes the claim “Why? I made that bitch famous.” The boast, of course, referred back to the moment when he interrupted her and stole her spotlight at the MTV VMAs six years earlier as she was in the middle of an acceptance speech. West’s is not a name that ever publicly escapes Swift’s lips, so it might be surprising to fans that these events are recapped in “Miss Americana,” although Swift says the filmic decisions were all up to the director, who explains that Swift’s reaction to the episode was important to include.

“With the 2009 VMAs, it surprised me that when she talked about how the whole crowd was booing, she thought that they were booing her, and how devastating that was,” says Wilson. “That was something I hadn’t thought about or heard before, and made it much more relatable and understandable to anyone.”

“I see the movie as looking at the flip side of being America’s sweetheart.” LANA WILSON, DIRECTOR OF “TAYLOR SWIFT: MISS AMERICANA”

Swift acknowledges how formative both incidents have been in her life, for ill and good. “As a teenager who had only been in country music, attending my very first pop awards show,” she says now, “somebody stood up and sent me the message: ‘You are not respected here. You shouldn’t be here on this stage.’ That message was received, and it burrowed into my psyche more than anyone knew. … That can push you one of two ways: I could have just curled up and decided I’m never going to one of those events ever again, or it could make me work harder than anyone expects me to, and try things no one expected, and crave that respect — and hopefully one day get it.

“But then when that person who sparked all of those feelings comes back into your life, as he did in 2015, and I felt like I finally got that respect (from West), but then soon realized that for him it was about him creating some revisionist history where he was right all along, and it was correct, right and decent for him to get up and do that to a teenage girl…” She sighs. “I understand why Lana put it in.”

Adds the woman who started her recent “Lover” album with a West-allusive romp that’s pointedly called “I Forgot That You Existed”: “I don’t think too hard about this stuff now.”

What’s not in the film is any mention of her other most famous nemeses — Scooter Braun and Scott Borchetta of Big Machine Records, with whom she’s scrapped publicly for several months. “The Big Machine stuff happened pretty late in our process,” says Wilson. “We weren’t that far from picture lock. But there’s also not much to say that isn’t publicly known. I feel like Taylor’s put the story out there in her own words already, and it’s been widely covered. I was interested in telling the story that hadn’t been told before, that would be surprising and emotionally powerful to audiences whether they were music industry people or not.”

Still, the way Swift has been willing to stand up politically for others parallels the manner in which she stood up for herself in regard to Braun, et al., at the recent Billboard Women in Music Awards, where she gave an altogether blistering speech, naming names and taking no prisoners, going after the men who now control her six-album Big Machine back catalog. Certainly Swift was aware that, along with supporters, there were many friends and business associates of Braun among the VIPs in the Hollywood Palladium who would not be pleased with what this very reformed people-pleaser had to say.

One thing everyone who was in the room agrees on is that you could hear a pin drop as Swift used the speech to get even bolder about the meat of these disputes. Some would say it’s because they were riveted by her boldness in speaking truth to power, others because they just felt uncomfortable. Says one fellow honoree who works in a high position in the industry (and who’s worked with some high-profile Braun clients): “People were excited for her at the beginning of the speech. But once she started going in a negative direction at an event that is supposed to be celebrating accomplishments and rah-rah for women, I felt it fell flat with a good portion of the room, because it wasn’t the appropriate place to be saying it.”

Wasn’t it intimidating for Swift, knowing she might be polarizing an auditorium full of the most powerful people in the business? “Well, I do sleep well at night knowing that I’m right,” she responds, “and knowing that in 10 years it will have been a good thing that I spoke about artists’ rights to their art, and that we bring up conversations like: Should record deals maybe be for a shorter term, or how are we really helping artists if we’re not giving them the first right of refusal to purchase their work if they want to?”

“Obviously, anytime you’re standing up against or for anything, you’re never going to receive unanimous praise. But that’s what forces you to be brave. And that’s what’s different about the way I live my life now.” (Braun’s camp did not respond to a request for comment.)

One thing Taylor Swift can’t bend to her determined will is her family’s health. She revealed a few years ago that her mother, Andrea, a beloved figure among the thousands of fans who’ve met her at road shows, is battling breast cancer. Swift addressed the uncertainty of that struggle in an anguished song on her latest album, “Soon You’ll Get Better.” Many who view “Miss Americana” will look for signs of how her mom is doing. The subject comes up in a section of the film that includes a relatively light-hearted scene in in which it’s shown that one of Andrea Swift’s ways of saying “eff you” to cancer recently was to break the mold and bring a canine — her “cancer dog” — into a famously feline-friendly family.

The real answer may come in Swift’s touring activity for “Lover.” Whereas typically she’d spend nine months in the year after an album release on the road, she plans to limit herself to four stadium dates in America this summer and a trip around the festival circuit in Europe. This may not be 100% for personal reasons: “I wanted to be able to perform in places that I hadn’t performed in as much, and to do things I hadn’t done before, like Glastonbury,” she says. “I feel like I haven’t done festivals, really, since early in my career — they’re fun and bring people together in a really cool way. But I also wanted to be able to work as much as I can handle right now, with everything that’s going on at home. And I wanted to figure out a way that I could do both those things.”

Is being able to be there for her mother the main concern? “Yeah, that’s it. That’s the reason,” she says. “I mean, we don’t know what is going to happen. We don’t know what treatment we’re going to choose. It just was the decision to make at the time, for right now, for what’s going on.”

In her case, it’s as if her manager had taken seriously ill as well as the person she’s always been closest to, all at once. “Everyone loves their mom; everyone’s got an important mom,” she allows. “But for me, she’s really the guiding force. Almost every decision I make, I talk to her about it first. So obviously it was a really big deal to ever speak about her illness.” During filming, when Andrea’s breast cancer had returned for a second time, “she was going through chemo, and that’s a hard enough thing for a person to go through.” Then it got harder. Speaking about this latest development publicly for the first time, Swift quietly reveals: “While she was going through treatment, they found a brain tumor. And the symptoms of what a person goes through when they have a brain tumor is nothing like what we’ve ever been through with her cancer before. So it’s just been a really hard time for us as a family.”

Compared with that, nearly any other topic the movie might address would pale. But it finds weightiness in addressing other kinds of unhealthiness, like the physical expectations that are placed on women in general and celebrity women specifically, Swift being no exception. In this department, she has her own heroines. “I love people like Jameela Jamil, because he way she speaks about body image, it’s almost like she speaks in a hook. Women are held to such a ridiculous standard of beauty, and we’re seeing so much on social media that makes us feel like we are less than, or we’re not what we should be, that you kind of need a mantra to repeat in your head when you start to have unhealthy thoughts. I swear the way Jameela speaks is like lyrics — it gets stuck in my head and it calms me down.”

Swift’s collaborator in this messaging, Wilson, was on a list of potential directors Netflix gave her when she expressed interest in possibly doing a documentary to follow the concert special that premiered on the service just over a year ago. You could discern a feminist message, if you chose to, in the fact that Swift chose a director most well known for a documentary about abortion providers, “After Tiller.” Swift says she was most impressed, though, that Wilson’s docs look for nuance and subtlety in addressing subjects that do lend themselves to soapboxes, and their first conversation was about their mutual desire to avoid “propaganda” in any form.

If there’s a feminist agenda in “Miss Americana,” Wilson and Swift wanted it to emerge naturally, although the director admits it was pretty blatant from the outset, given that she set up the film (which is co-produced by Morgan Neville, the director’s “sounding board”) with an all-female crew. Or nearly all-female, says Wilson, laughing, “I will say that we did always have male production assistants, because I like trying to show people that men can fetch coffee for women.”

Adds Wilson, “When I started filming, it was before she’d come out politically. She knew that she was coming out of a very dark period, and wanted collaborate on something that captured what she was going through and that was really raw and honest and emotionally intimate.” The political awakening, the director says, “was a profound decision for her to make. In that, I saw this feminist coming of age story that I personally connected with, and that I really think women and girls around the world will see themselves in.”

“The bigger your career gets, the more you struggle with the idea that a lot of people see you the same way they see an iPhone or a Starbucks.” TAYLOR SWIFT

The film borrows its title from a song on the “Lover” album, “Miss Americana & the Heartbreak Prince,” that’s maybe the one fully allegorical song Swift has ever released — and, in its fashion, is a great protest song. The entire lyric is a metaphor for how Swift grew up as an unblinking patriot and has had to reluctantly leave behind her naiveté in the age of Trump. Her partner on that track, as well as other message songs like “You Need to Calm Down” and “The Man,” was a co-writer and co-producer new to her stable of collaborators this time around, Joel Little.

With the song “Miss Americana & the Heartbreak Prince,” although the lyrics are cloaked in metaphor, “We like to think it was a very clear statement,” Little says. “There are lots of little hidden messages within that song that are all pointing toward the way that she thinks and feels about politics and the United States. I love that it uses a lot of classic Taylor Swift imagery, in terms of the songwriting topics of high school and cheerleaders, as a clever nod to what she’s done in the past, but tied in with a heavy political message.”

“Miss Americana & the Heartbreak Prince” doesn’t actually appear in the documentary, but the director says the film’s title is understood by fans as an obvious reference to political themes in the number. “Even if you don’t know the song,” Wilson says, “I see the movie as looking at the flip side of being America’s sweetheart, so I like how the title evokes that too.”

The doc doesn’t lack for its own protest songs though. In the wake of her midterm disappointment, Swift is seen writing an anthem for millennials who might have come away disillusioned with the political process. That previously unheard song, “Only the Young,” is seen being demo-ed before it plays in full over the end credits; it’ll be released as a digital single in conjunction with the doc. Key lyric: ““You did all that you could do / The game was rigged, the ref got tricked/ The wrong ones think they’re right / We were outnumbered — this time.”

“One thing I think is amazing about her,” says Wilson, “is that she goes to the studio and to songwriting as a place to process what she’s going through. I loved how, when she got the Grammy news (about “Reputation”), this isn’t someone who’s going to feel sorry for herself or say ‘That wasn’t right.’ She’s like, ‘Okay, I’m going to work even harder.’ You see her strength of character in that moment when she gets that news. And then with the election results, I loved how she channeled so many of her thoughts and feelings into ‘Only the Young.’ It was a great way to kind of show how stuff that happens in her life goes directly into the songs; you get to witness that in both cases.

So is the film aimed at satisfying the fan base or teasing the unconvinced hordes who might dial it up as a free stream? “I think it’s a little bit of both,” Swift says. “I chose Netflix because it’s a very vast, accessible medium to people who are just like, ‘Hey, what’s this? I’m bored.’ I love that, because I do so many things that cater specifically to fans that like my music, I think it’s important to put yourself out there to people who don’t care at all about you.”

In the wake of the last round of Kanye-gate, stung by the backlash of those who took his side, Swift took a three-year break from interviews. The mantra of her 2017 album “Reputation” and subsequent tour was “No explanations.” But her Beyoncé-style press blackout was a passing phase. With “Lover” and now, especially, the documentary, she could hardly be more about the explanations. Although this interview is the only one she currently plans to do about the documentary, it’s clear that she’s come back into a season of openness, and that she considers it her natural habitat.

“I really like the whole discussion around music. And during ‘Reputation,’ it never felt like it was ever going to be about music, no matter what I said or did,” she says. “I approach albums differently, in how I want to show them to the world or what I feel comfortable with at that time in my life.” Being more transparent “feels great with this album. I really feel like I could just keep making stuff — it’s that vibe right now. I don’t think I’ve ever written this much. That’s exhibited in ‘Lover’ having the most songs that I’ve ever had on an album” (18, to be exact). “But even after I made the album, I kept writing and going in the studio. That’s a new thing I’ve experienced this time around. That openness kind of feels like you finally got the lid off a jar you’ve been working at for years.”

Cipher-dom never could have stood for long for someone who’s established herself as one of the most accomplished confessional singer-songwriters in pop history. “I don’t really operate very well as an enigma,” she says. “It’s not fulfilling to me. It works really well in a lot of pop careers, but I think that it makes me feel completely unable to do what I had gotten in this to do, which is to communicate to people. I live for the feeling of standing on a stage and saying, ‘I feel this way,’ and the crowd responding with ‘We do too!’ And me being like, ‘Really?’ And they’re like, ‘Yes!’”

Swift believes talking things up again isn’t a form of giving in to narcissism — it’s a way of warding off commodification.

“The bigger your career gets, the more you struggle with the idea that a lot of people see you the same way they see an iPhone or a Starbucks,” she muses. “They’ve been inundated with your name in the media, and you become a brand. That’s inevitable for me, but I do think that it’s really necessary to feel like I can still communicate with people. And as a songwriter, it’s really important to still feel human and process things in a human way. The through line of all that is humanity, and reaching out and talking to people and having them see things that aren’t cute.

[angelofthequeers]

Hold Me By Both Hands: Chapter 17

Disclaimer: I don’t own ML.

Chapter 16 | Chapter 18 | AO3 link

“Die already!” Alya growls, furiously mashing the buttons on her controller.

“No can do, babe!” Nino mashes just as hard, trying desperately to keep up with his girlfriend. But she’s on the warpath and is out for blood, so there’s absolutely no chance of him getting any ground on her, and he’s soon utterly crushed by Alya, who whoops and punches the air.

“I never knew that Alya was so ruthless at Ultimate Mecha Strike III,” Adrien comments, his voice slightly warped by the phone speakers. Marinette just laughs.

“Why do you think I never play against her?” she says, turning her phone so that she can see Adrien’s face while still letting him see the gameplay. “She’s terrifying.”

“And I can never beat Marinette!” Alya snarls, already loading a rematch with Nino, who looks like he’d rather be akumatised thrice over than go up against her again.

“That’s because she’s super talented!” Adrien says. Marinette beams at the compliment, idly marvelling at how she can smile now at something said by Adrien that would’ve turned her into a hot, gooey mess only weeks ago. And it’s not like he doesn’t still make her insides shiver, but the more she focuses on being friendly without the looming pressure of asking him out, the softer those shivers become. Part of her misses the hot intensity of her feelings for him, but really, would she be interacting with him in this way if she was still a disaster around him? She’s become better friends with him over the past few weeks than she had in all the months of crushing so hard on him that she could barely talk to him. Hell, she’s even stroking his hair consistently now.

Who knows? Maybe those feelings will bear fruit someday. But as it is, Tikki had been totally right; she’s far closer to Adrien as friends than when she’d been stressing over asking him out. And if something does happen between the, at least she’s got a solid foundation of friendship to build on.

“I wish you could have come,” she sighs. “It’s not really a sleepover if you’re not actually sleeping over.”

“Father was pretty firm,” Adrien says, his smile fading. “And I didn’t want to push it. There’s a line between teenage rebellion and being outright disrespectful.”

“It’s probably wise to pick your battles,” Marinette agrees. “But still. Now Nino has to sleep on the floor alone because Mum and Dad are on the whole “no boys and girls together!” thing.” She makes a face and Adrien laughs.

“Can’t we talk about this?” Nino pleads. Alya just gives the most terrifying laugh that Marinette’s ever heard and proceeds to crush Nino, who drops his remote and throws his hands up.

“I think that’s the end of that,” Marinette says, her lips twitching at how Alya immediately loses her scary competitiveness and tries to cajole Nino into hugging her when he’s looking at her as though she’s an akuma. “Maybe we should do something that you can actually do with us.”

“I don’t mind watching,” Adrien says. “I mean, I wish I was there, but this is better than just sitting in silence.” He smiles at Marinette. “And at least I get to talk to you.”

Marinette grins back, wondering why his face suddenly morphs into a look of horror.

“Uh – and Alya and Nino – when they’re not playing their game – not that it’s not nice talking to you –”

A voice in the background on Adrien’s end halts his rambling in its tracks. He grimaces and drops his phone on his pillow, giving Marinette a wonderful view of his high bedroom ceiling as his footsteps cross over to his door.

“Adrien, your father has requested that you practice your current piece –”

“But I’ve already done my piano practice today!”

“Yes, but your father is dissatisfied with your progress. He feels that you should practice the piece a little more until you reach his standards.”

“Seriously? He won’t let me go to my friend’s sleepover and now he’s not even letting me be there by phone?”

“If it was up to me, I would be perfectly happy for you to continue talking to your friends. But it’s not up to me.”

Marinette desperately wants to jump in and say something but doing so will only make things worse for Adrien. Plus, he probably doesn’t even realise that he’s got an audience of not just Marinette but also Nino and Alya, whose bickering has ceased so that they can listen in too.

“You know what? No.”

“Adrien –”

“All I ever do is practice my piano and fencing and Chinese and model for him! And he can’t even let me hang out with my friends for one night!”

“Adrien, this is so unlike you –”

“What, like going to school was unlike me?”

“Those were exceptional circumstances –”

“Leave me alone.”

“But –”

“I don’t care what Father says! Tell him that it was all me and you tried your best. Just…leave me alone for the rest of the night.”

“Adrien –”

“Leave me alone!”

There’s silence for a few moments. Marinette bites her lip and exchanges a glance with Alya and Nino, who look just as worried as she does.

“I’ll tell your father that you’re coming down with something and feel too unwell,” Nathalie finally says.

“Thank you, Nathalie!”

“But be warned, he will expect more effort in the next few nights to make up for this.”

“I don’t care. Really. Just…thank you.”

There’s the sound of the door closing, followed by footsteps that gradually grow louder. Marinette has a brief bout of motion sickness when the phone is picked up, making the screen blur and move wildly until it refocuses on Adrien’s miserable face.

“You okay, dude?” Nino says. Adrien smiles, but it’s a weak effort.

“Sorry you guys had to hear that. Guess I didn’t hang up like I thought.”

“What Nino said,” Marinette says when she notices how pale Adrien is. “Are you okay?”

“Honestly? I think I’m about two seconds from a panic attack. I can’t remember the last time I’ve put my foot down like that.”

“Well, are you sure you can’t make it over here?” Alya says, while Marinette’s stomach lurches. “You shouldn’t have to be stuck there with a borderline panic attack just ‘cause your dad’s on a power trip.”

“I wish I could. But there’s no way out without my father seeing except through my window, and I’m pretty sure I wouldn’t survive the jump.”

Marinette briefly entertains the idea of turning into Ladybug and rescuing Adrien, but she has to force herself to think clearly. There’s no way she could explain how Ladybug found out about this so fast, not to mention that there’s no way she could explain her extended absence to Alya and Nino. Hell, she already pushes that enough during akuma attacks, and at least those are a convenient excuse. Her powerlessness right now makes her clench her fists. What good is she as Ladybug if she can’t help those who need it?

“Anyway,” Adrien says, pasting a grin on his face, “I’ll be fine so long as I can talk to you guys.”

“Do you at least know how to focus on your breathing?” Marinette says. “Five seconds in, hold for three, out for seven. Do it now, while we’re here.”

Adrien immediately obeys, sucking in a deep breath while Marinette counts to five, holding it, then releasing it while she counts to seven. After a minute or so, Adrien closes his eyes and sags.

“Thanks, Mari,” he mumbles. Marinette smiles at him.

“Any time!”

“I think I’ll be okay now if I keep my mind off it. What should we do next?”

“Anything but truth or dare,” Nino shudders. “Marinette and Alya get ruthless when they gang up on you.”

Marinette and Alya laugh together. The mood’s slowly starting to creep back to where it was before, but Marinette still can’t help but wish that there was more she could do for her friend than leaving him in his prison-like house and only having him over via phone call.

The next day, Adrien’s not at school, although Marinette’s not totally worried because he’d texted her beforehand to say that he’s being made to stay home due to Nathalie’s excuse of him coming down with something. Still, though, she can’t help but worry a little and that, mixed with her feelings of powerlessness, leaves her distracted all day. Especially since he’d also said that his phone was probably being taken for the day while he had lessons at home, so he hasn’t messaged her since his initial text and is therefore most likely unreachable.

“Marinette.” Ms Bustier’s voice snaps Marinette out of her haze. Marinette jumps and meets Ms Bustier’s eyes guiltily. “Please pay attention to the lesson.”

“Sorry!” Marinette says. Ms Bustier’s face softens.

“Are you feeling unwell? Do you need to be excused from class?”

“I…actually, now that you mention it, I do feel a bit sick.” It’s not like Marinette’s lying; her stomach really is rolling, and she hasn’t been able to concentrate all morning. Ms Bustier just can’t possibly know that it’s from anxiety over her friend rather than an actual illness.

“Alya, could you take Marinette to the nurse?” Ms Bustier says. “Marinette, if you still feel unwell after having a rest then please go home.”

“I’ll take her, Ms Bustier,” Chloé declares. The class goes dead silent. Ms Bustier is the first to recover.

“Thank you, Chloé, that’s very nice of you,” she says.

“I know,” Chloé says rather smugly. “I’m being super nice now. Come on, Dupain-Cheng.”

Although Marinette doesn’t trust Chloé at all, she can’t really say no when she’s the one showing Chloé how to be nice. So, rather than kick up a fuss, she swallows her words, packs up her things, and follows Chloé out of the classroom.

“What’s the deal, Chloé?” Marinette says when they’re walking down the corridor, Chloé strutting ahead of her. “If it was anyone other than me…”

“Because you’ve been a mess all day and Adrikins isn’t in class,” Chloé says. “I put it together. Something happened to him and you know what, and since he’s not answering my texts…”

“He probably doesn’t have his phone,” Marinette says. She explains what had happened the previous night, all the while wondering why she’s confiding in Chloé like they’re friends or something, and Chloé doesn’t look anywhere near happy by the end of her explanation.

“Cute,” Chloé drawls. “You’ve worried yourself sick over your friend. At least it’s not something super serious like I thought.”

“Nothing super serious? How can you say that?”

“Because his father’s like this all the time. It’s not like I’m happy, but at least I know it’s not something like having a broken leg or me needing to destroy whoever hurt him or something.”

Marinette totally doesn’t buy that. “Rubbish! After you let Adrien take the fall for what you did twice, pretending like you care is a total new low for you, Chloé. You don’t care about him at all, do you, you just see him as some trophy –”

Chloé’s hand shoots out to grab Marinette’s wrist and yank her down the next corridor and into the girl’s bathroom. “Don’t you even dare go there, Dupain-Cheng,” Chloé hisses, squeezing Marinette’s wrist as the door slams shut behind them. “I’m trying to be nice so that my best friend will talk to me again, so don’t you even think of implying that he’s just a shiny thing to me. I just…didn’t realise how special he was until he stopped talking to me for good. I didn’t realise that I was treating him like shit as well as all you peasants since, you know, that’s my default.”

An awkward silence falls over them. Chloé clears her throat and lets go of Marinette, then deliberately wipes her hand on her jacket. Marinette stares at Chloé with a tilted head.

“Are you really in love with him?” she says. Chloé just sniffs and looks away. “You can tell me, Chloé. I’m the last person who’d go telling everyone your private information.”

“You hate me, Dupain-Cheng,” Chloé snaps. “I hate you. Forgive me if I don’t believe that.”

“I don’t hate you,” Marinette says. “Not since you asked me for help. I’ve actually been…impressed at how you’re really trying to be nice. I don’t like you, but I don’t hate you. And even if I did hate you, I wouldn’t go spreading around anything that you tell me in private.”

Chloé stares at her for a long moment, then sighs. “You’re, like, the one person I can actually believe wouldn’t do that to me,” she mutters. “Stupid, goodie-two-shoes Marinette Dupain-Cheng. No, I’m not in love with Adrien, okay? He’s like my brother. But I don’t want anyone else to get near him.”

“Why? If you’re really that close, you can’t possibly believe that he’d abandon you for someone else, right?”

“He did!” Chloé clenches her fists and stomps her foot. “He left me for – for you! And that Ladyblogger and weird DJ!”

“Only because you were being mean and he knew that he had the power to push you to become a nicer person,” Marinette counters.

“Exactly! Now I’m stuck turning myself into some fake, nice, smiley person that I’m not just to get my friend back!”

Marinette’s face softens as she regards Chloé, who snarls and looks away, crossing her arms. “Then don’t do it for Adrien,” Marinette says. “That’s what I’ve been telling you. Find a reason why you want to be nice.”

“I don’t have a reason! Don’t you get it? Why should I want to be nice when I can get everything I want anyway?”

“You didn’t end up being class president. You’re always getting kidnapped by akumas with a vendetta. No one apart from Sabrina and Adrien likes you, and Sabrina’s more of a servant than a friend. Those are three good reasons.”

“Whatever, miss perfect know-it-all. Come on, we’re supposed to be at the nurse’s office.”

As Chloé storms for the door, Marinette scrambles for one last line of reasoning as to why Chloé should keep being nice. Finally, as Chloé’s pushing the door open, Marinette blurts out, “What about Ladybug?”

Chloé freezes. “What about her?”

“You’re her number one fan, right? Well…why not do it so you can be the kind of person Ladybug would love to have as her number one fan?”

“Are you implying that she doesn’t see me or want me as her number one fan?” Chloé arches an eyebrow as she turns, letting the door slam shut again. Marinette gulps. Now she has to be careful with how she navigates this, or she’ll end up either outing herself or offending Chloé into hating Ladybug again.

“I never said that,” Marinette says slowly. “Look, if you truly can’t do it for yourself, do it to become a person that Ladybug would be proud of. I know I try every day to strive to be the kind of person that Ladybug would approve of. And once you’re in the habit of being nice, who knows? Maybe you’ll find that you really do enjoy having people like you and want to do nice things for you because they like you and not because they fear you.”

“Hmph.” Chloé crosses her arms. “Well, she did totally praise me for being nice and helpful at my party. Whatever. Come on, Dupain-Cheng. You’re supposed to be sick.”

“You could start being nicer by calling me by my first name,” Marinette says as she follows Chloé out of the bathroom. Chloé snorts.

“Over my dead body, Dupain-Cheng.”

[butwhyduh]

The Fall Festival

College Peter Parker x Reader

Warning: smut, danger, maybe language. Word count: 3300 Summary: just a normal day for Peter Parker full of a science club meeting, a hay ride, and rescuing the a bunch of people in front of his awesome girlfriend. @thewackywriter

Peter Parker fucking loved fall. He also liked the pumpkin spiced food and the pretty fall scents girls wore. Peter liked the swirly leaves in the park. Mr. Delmar would sell pumpkin empanadas on Fridays in October and they were awesome. The Halloween decorations would spill out everywhere and Peter prided himself on having the best spider webs on the block, probably all of New York. What kind of Spider-Man would he be if he didnt?

But this year he had extra reasons to love fall. He was a freshman at ESU majoring in biophysics and minoring in photography. He wasn't too far from home and could hang out with Ned who went to Queens College and obviously majored in computer science.

And finally, Peter had a girlfriend. He couldn't believe that he found a girl that liked him back. Liz was a disaster and MJ ended up with her coming out gay to Peter after he kissed her. It was horrible. Even though she was really nice about it.

But then he met you at an event at college. He couldn't help but stare at you from across the room. It was pretty unforgettable how you first saw him. It was at the end of the event and he tried to grab a donut beside you and instead you turned around and your foam coffee cup was crushed against his chest. Peter ripped his soaked steaming hot t shirt off right away.

Your eyes widened at his fit form. Woah, he was a nerd with those abs? You quickly looked away and flushed. Peter noticed of course. Instead of asking you out, he turned brick red and basically ran out of the room.

It was a week later, you finally had enough of his eyes on you but never talking to you. You walked up to Peter, who dropped his pen on the floor in the library, and asked him out. He barely stuttered out a yes. A month later you were now officially dating.

You had your hand in Peter's as you walked into the student union building. The science club was meeting and Peter had talked you into going. You sat in one of the last stools in the room. Peter stood behind you with his head on your shoulder. You ran a hand through his hair as the group began. Peter hummed as you scratched his scalp.

Normally Peter was involved but today he was distracted by the smell of your hair, the softness of your sweater, and the way you were scratching his head. He resisted the urge to kiss your neck. You gently tugged at his hair and he stifled a moan.

"Peter, do you agree?" You asked him. He shook out of his thoughts.

"With what?"

"Study group for genetics?" You asked smiling. Peter had been day dreaming. Peter turned red again and nodded in agreement. You noticed he softly gazed at you the rest of the meeting. You tried to pay attention but those soft doe brown eyes were hard to ignore. Especially looking at you like that.

"Hey Pete, what was that? In the meeting. You kept looking at me?" You reminded him. He adjusted his back pack before grabbing yours. You would complain but he always insisted. Plus he was freaky strong. You saw him pick up the corner of a fridge once to get something from under it.

"You...ah.. you look really pretty today," he said. You smiled at him. Sometimes he was too good to be true. You pulled him to the side of the hallway as the meeting room cleared out.

"You're the sweetest boyfriend," you said pulling his collar until he was face level. He grinned at you before lightly placing his lips on yours. You deepened the kiss and Peter practically melted in your arms. He groaned when you bit his lip.

Peter quickly pulled away and adjusted his pants before grabbing your hand and pulling you towards the door. You smirked at the thought that you had affected him so. Peter slowed down after a minute and stopped in front of the bulletin board.

"Hey, they're having a haunted hay ride tonight. Do you want to go?" Peter asked excited. You felt nervous. You hadn't ever gone on one. "Come on. Lets go on a hay ride."

You felt his big brown eyes persuade you. "Okay, fine. Don't make me regret this."

You pulled Peter to your dorm room. You needed to study. Plus, you kinda left him in a state. Peter was sweet but too nice and you had to take care of him because he would never ask. He tossed the back pack on your bean bag chair and sat on your bed. You basically pounced him.You straddled him and pulled his beanie and jacket off. "Woah." He ran his hands on your outer thighs. You kissed him deeply and soon you felt his arousal on your thigh.

You pulled his t shirt off and stripped your own top off. Peter gripped your hips tightly as you kissed his neck. He softly panted as you sucked a hickie on his collar bone. His eyes closed and his hands grasped at your bottom.

You lightly pushed at his chest for him to lay back. He flopped to the bed. His erection painfully tight in his pants. You unbuttoned and pulled them off. You shimmied out of your pants and panties. Peter tried to unclasp your bra and you helped him because he wasn't getting it.

You reached in your night stand for the box of condoms as Peter massaged your breasts. You opened the box to find it empty. Your head flopped down as you showed him the box in disappointment. He groaned.

"How are we out?" He whined.

"Uh.." you thought of the last time you had sex. It was after a basketball game and Peter actually took charge and pinned you against the headboard. You had mindless grabbed a condom from the box in the heat of the moment.

"We'll have to get creative," you said simply before bending and kissing his belly button. He shuttered at the sensation.

"Are you gonna?... oh my God," Peter said closing his eye tightly as you took him in your mouth. You were the first girl to go down on him and he still couldn't handle it. Peter began whining as you kitten licked the tip.

When you took him deep in your mouth he whimpered and grasped at the sheets. He was trying hard to not cum. You bobbed your head and his hips bucked softly. Peter panted heavily. Unbeknownst to you, his super senses were going crazy.

"I...I'm..." he gasped. You knew he was close the way he twitched. You softly ran a hand on his thigh as you took him deeper in your mouth. A panicked look flashed across his face and he made a strangled gasp as he came.

A knock at the door made you jump. Peter scrambled to put on his pants. You pulled your clothes on quickly and called, "just a minute." You looked at yourself in the mirror to make sure you didn't look crazy before opening a crack in the door. It was your RA.

"Don't forget that we have a haunted hay ride tonight," she said bubbly. She handed you an orange flyer with the info. You thanked her and shut the door.

Peter sat awkwardly on the bed. You smiled at him. "We should go. Oh, crap. Its almost time," you said looking at your phone.

Peter pulled his shirt on and nodded. "Yeah, okay. You don't want me to..." he trailed off. You grinned at him.

"Afterwards. We can stop at Walgreens on the way back," you whispered and winked. You grabbed your hoodie, okay Peter's, and pulled him to the subway.

Soon you arrived at the stop for the park the university was using for their hay ride. They had a food stand to buy hot chocolate and cider donuts. Kids ran around dressed as characters. Peter grinned largely at any superheroes.

You climbed on the hay ride next to Peter. He held your hand with one hand and wrapped his arm around your shoulder on the other. Soon the trailer was full of college kids and teenagers. A man dressed as a skeleton jumped on the front of the trailer dramatically.

"I'm going to take you to hell!" He began dramatically. An older woman looked at him sternly. "Not really, sorry Mrs Smith. Anyways I'm going to tell you all about the horrors of the park." She raised her eyebrows and he corrected, "the history of the park."

He began telling a story about a legend of the park as the trailer slowly drove down the gravel path dimly lit with Christmas lights around trees. You couldn't quite pay attention because of Peter's close proximity and your unfinished earlier activity.

"This bridge was built in 1904 by the city council because it was common for carriages to get stuck in the mud. During high river level that could be dangerous. So it's probably plenty haunted of people who drown," the guide whispered darkly. The trailer creaked over the bridge decorated with plastic bats and spiders.

"Tyler," Mrs Smith chided.

"Sorry, probably not super haunted. Not as haunted as our next spot that was an early medical facility. Which is also probably not haunted," he said after her look.

Peter suddenly sat straighter and looked around. His spidey senses were tingling. A loud clangour and then screech came from the bridge where the truck and trailer behind them was. Peter jumped from the trailer, grabbed his web shooters and mask from his back pack, and hoped you didn't see him swing through the trees. You definitely saw him. Your blood stopped in confusion and fear. The bridge wiggled visibly. People on the trailer shreiked.

"Karen, what's wrong?" Peter asked.

"Bolts on the top left of the northern side of the bridge are compromised. A 45% chance of collapse," Karen said. Peter cautiously swung close to the side. Ancient metal flaked gold rust.

"Jesus, has anyone ever updated this bridge?" Peter asked himself. He began webbing the broken bolts together. Above him the driver of the truck tried to drive forward. A bolt on the right side snapped loudly and the bridge began to lean the opposite direction.

"There is now an 85% chance of collapse. You need to get them off the bridge, Peter," Karen warned.

"On it," He yelped swinging to the other side. Peter webbed the bolts together. "Drive," he yelled at the driver. The man nodded before flooring the truck. The bridge groaned but held as it drove over. The bridge creaked and whined as it shook. Peter quickly swung away from it and into a tree. In a deafening groan, the bridge collapsed into the river below.

Peter climbed high in the tree to avoid being seen. He pulled off the mask and web shooter and shoved them in his pockets. The police began to arrive and Peter weaved his way through the crowd to you. He prayed that somehow you wouldn't notice his lack of presence.

You searched for him in the crowd. Peter was Spider-Man. Peter was Spider-Man, your mind kept repeating. You lost sight of him as the bridge collapsed. Suddenly you saw him searching for you in the crowd. You ran to him and hugged his roughly.

"You're okay," you gasped. He wrapped his arms around you. You pulled back. "Peter, we need to talk. Not here."

"Uhh.. w-why?" He asked nervously.

"You know," you said seriously. He visibly gulped and looked at you warily. You refused to let go of his hand as you left the growing crowd.

Back at his dorm you sat on the edge of his bed. He stood nearby awkwardly running his hands along the edge of his sweater. The room felt incredibly silent.

"So... you're Spider-Man?" You began.

"Uh... yeah..."

"How? How can you do that... stuff?" You asked confused. He was very strong, you knew. But a superhero? Your boyfriend?

"Well... uh... I was uh.. bit by a spider," he mumbled running a hand through his hair.

"A spider? What kind of spider? Are you messing with me?" You asked.

"No, no, I'm not. At Oscorp I was bit by a radioactive spider that changed my DNA," he said biting his lip. "And now I can do stuff. Don't tell anyone."

"That's... crazy. How long? What can you do? Did you really fight captain America?" You asked rapidly. He smiled slightly.

"It doesn't bother you?"

"Uh... I worry about you. But its... its actually kinda hot," you said slyly. Peter's eyes widened.

"It... uh... it is?" He said quickly. You nodded.

"Too bad we didn't stop at the store," you mumbled.

"I'll go right now. If.. If you want," he said eagerly. You laughed.

"Uh, yeah. Sure," you flushed. He grabbed your face and kissed you before running out the door. You grinned at the thought. Now what should you do? Take everything off? Take some things off? Put on his clothing? Do nothing?

You turned on his radio and walked the room. There were subtle clues to Spider-Man everywhere. He had a photo of a spider on his bulletin board and what looked like a blue print of an iron man armor. A newspaper claiming the evils of Spider-Man sat on the desk. His genetics textbook sat on top despite him taking the class the year before.

Peter came back lightning fast. His face pink and his hands clutching a small bag. He dropped the bag on the bed and walked behind you where you were looking at an old photo. Peter wrapped his arms around you.

"What are you looking at?" He said kissing your neck.

"Your graduation. You looked so happy," you smiled running a hand to his hair.

"I almost didn't make it on time. There was a bus that ran through traffic I barely stopped," he remembered. You turned to look at him.

"That's insane. You stopped it with your bare hands?" You said looking at his brown eyes in amazement. He blushed.

"Uh.. yeah, I did."

"That means you can lift a lot," you said with an idea. "There is... uh, something I want to try if that's okay..."

"What? What is it?" Peter asked.

"Can you pick me up when we.. you know," you said looking away.

"You want me to pick you up while having sex? I can do that," Peter said grabbing the back of your legs and wrapping them around his waist. You gasped in surprise. Somehow between your earlier activities, the fear from earlier, and this new knowledge about Peter, you've never been more turned on.

You grabbed his face and began kissing him. Peter groaned as you lightly pulled his hair. He carried you to the bed and laid you down softly. Peter pulled off his shirt and you scrambled out of yours. He grasped the buttons on your jeans and pulled them down. You unbuttoned his pants and pulled them off. Peter quickly yanked his boxers down and then your panties.

You grasped him and rubbed your thumb over his tip as you pumped him. He groaned in your hand. He ran a finger up your slit and rubbed a few circles around your clit before pulling his hand away. You moaned slightly. Peter pulled your hand from his cock and moved to grab a condom. You ran your hand between your legs and began circling your aching clit.

"Woah," he said when he was done rolling the condom on. "That's so hot. Like, wow."

You pinched a nipple between the fingers of your other hand. Your hips rocked as you fucked your fingers. Peter gulped and massaged himself while watching. You pulled your fingers from yourself and put it in your mouth and tasted yourself. He had never seen you do that.

"God, you're fucking beautiful," he groaned. You gave him a come hither motion and he practically hopped across the room. "Do you want me to pick you up? Like- like you said," he stuttered. You nodded.

He wrapped his arms around your bottom ad you grasped his shoulders as he pulled you up. You felt his arousal on your thigh. You kissed him, running your tongue in his mouth to massage his. Your hips ground on him and his hips jumped at the contact.

Peter pulled your hips slightly back and guided you on his length. Nether of you had ever tried this before. You stilled at the sensation. He felt so good in you. Finally you took him deep as you could and began grinding on him again. You could tell Peter wanted more but this position was perfect for rubbing your clit again him.

"Bounce, baby. Please," he finally whined. You began thrusting slowly. His hands deeply massaged your ass cheeks. You groaned as he hit the perfect spot inside you. Every once in a while you swirled your hips and Peter would whine softly. Peter tried to let you control, and you clenched around him felt amazing, but he needed more so he began moving your hips for you setting a harder and faster pace.

You felt your core tighten as you got closer. "Peter, fuck, Peter, fuck," you moaned as he bounced you on his cock. He got a perfect view of your head thrown back and tits bouncing. "Don't stop, it feels so good."

"Yeah, you're so fucking tight and wet. Gonna make me cum, baby girl," he groaned. You gasped in surprise. Peter had never said anything like that. He opened his eyes and slowed down to see what was wrong. "What?"

"Don't fucking stop. I'm close. Keep talking," you groaned as your hips bounced. He growled and continued bouncing you.

"So tight. Such a perfect pussy. Taking it so good. God, I love you," He whimpered lying his head on your shoulder. He was trembling trying not to come.

"Don't stop. Don't stop. dontstop. I'm gonna cum. Gonna cum. Gonnacum," you gasped and your body clenched around his cock and you moaned loudly in ecstasy and your thighs shook. He sped up before losing his pace and he gasped loudly in release, his cock twitching inside you. You kept your legs wrapped around him. His chest beat wildly next to yours. Too soon he laid you on the bed and removed the condom and threw it away. He scooted by you and pulled you on his chest. You lazily ran your fingers on his hand. He rubbed your outer arm with the thumb of his other hand.

"That was... I thought... it was... that was great. Did you-did you think so," he babbled nervously. You smiled.

"Babe, that was awesome. We should definitely do that again. Next week I get my loan and I'll be going to the doctor," you said.

"Oh, for like a check up?" He asked.

"Yeah, and I'm gonna get on birth control," you said casually. Peter stopped moving.

"Does that mean no more condoms?" He asked hopefully. You laughed heartily.

"Yeah, hun, it does. We've got a little while for it to work and everything. You know what we should do?" You asked.

"I'm a... a little to tired-" Peter began.

"Not that. We should get a pumpkin," you said sitting up. You reached over for your clothing and began putting them on. "You know? since we missed it with my boyfriend having to save the day and all. I wanted to get one today."

[murphystarr]

not so self assured

a sort of companion piece to chapter 10 of @ch-ch-ch-ch-cherrybomb‘s twin skeletons. features leslie harris, my harris kid, and a lot of self-reflection and some uneaten chicken enchiladas. 

mentions of suicide

The coroner had estimated that Brian had died sometime around 11:30 that Friday night. He had been dead for nearly ten hours before Leslie had found him, stiff and cold, dangling from the rafters, a makeshift noose made out of an electrical cord tight around his neck.

That was six days ago.

No.

Five days, sixteen hours, seventeen minutes and 48 seconds.

She was still pretty numb about the whole thing. Then again, nothing could really prepare you for finding your older brother dead. The paramedics had checked her out when they arrived to set Brian free from his noose and take him to the morgue; they took her blood pressure, put a stethoscope to her chest, shone a light in her eyes, asked her what day it was and her name. They calmly explained to her that she was in shock, then a paramedic who reminded her of her older sister, Morgan, took her to the living room and guided her to the couch, advised her to lie down and put a pillow underneath her legs. She stayed there with her, making small talk while Leslie heard her mother’s screams from the garage, and the faint voices of police officers, asking her father questions that Leslie thought would never relate to Brian:

“How long has he been depressed?”

“Did he say that he had a plan?”

“Has he flat out said that he wanted to hurt himself?”

Hurt himself? No. Hurt other people? Maybe. It really depended on the person.

Back when they were younger, Brian was the kid that future Brian would have loved to pick on. He was the fat middle child while his older sister was an actual pageant princess and his younger sister was a point spot flyer for their state’s most prestigious competitive cheerleading team. He was boxed in and overshadowed by his sister’s accomplishments and his parents’ divided attention. On Fridays, their father went to Leslie’s cheer competitions and their mother accompanied Morgan to the multi-day pageants. They would all return Sunday afternoon with trophies, tiaras, medals, and flowers, usually with the expectation that they were heading to higher and higher things.

The summer that Brian went to fat camp, Leslie’s team, Cheer Extreme Great White Sharks, placed first in their division at Worlds, and Morgan won Miss Virginia Teen USA.

Was Brian depressed? Leslie honestly couldn’t tell. The only thing she could point at was that when Brian was fat, he often parked himself in front of the television with an armsload of food, not moving for hours.

Kind of what Leslie was doing right then and there.

She had made herself comfortable in a hoard of blankets that would make any dragon proud, armored in four-day-old sweats, decked out in a messy bun that hadn’t seen anything but dry shampoo in days, staring at reruns of Family Feud, all while nursing a cold plate of chicken enchiladas that her cheer friend, Tazzy, and her two dads brought over yesterday. She wasn’t hungry, she had only cut out a slice of the dish an hour ago when Morgan begged her to eat something. It had been nearly 20 hours since she ate something, she needed to keep up her strength for the funeral tomorrow.

“You need to take care of yourself, babe,” Morgan had said when she put the enchiladas in the microwave for her. “Keeping yourself away from food isn’t the best thing for your body right now. I’m sure your coaches feel the same way.”

Oh, right. Her coaches. They had stopped by the other day with white chrysanthemums and a card signed by the entire team for Leslie. They uttered the usual platitudes, how sorry they were, how was she holding up, if there was anything they could do let them know, but they needed to know when she’ll be back. The Sharks had a huge competition coming up soon and they really needed her back at the gym.

Leslie missed the gym where she had been training at for the past ten years. Five times a week, since she was four, she was in her own world. Surrounded by her teammates, they tumbled, danced, stunted, jumped, and cheered. Practicing over and over until they could easily perform award winning routines in unison. Leslie found a second home in The Shark Tank over the years, a place where she found refuge from the drama in her family, where she was surrounded by the girls she grew up with, girls she considered to be her sisters, and her coaches: Anthony, Dallas, and Regan, who she looked up to as mentors.

But since Brian died, it seemed that cheer and all desires to return to The Shark Tank had been put on the backburner. She hadn’t brought herself to go through her at-home conditioning drills. She hadn’t even bothered to stretch, something that was vital to any cheerleader, especially to a point spot flyer. She was the focus of the entire routine whenever she and the other flyers went in the air, she had fought tooth and nail for that position, dealt with numerous concussions, conditioned her body and pushed herself beyond her limits to be the ideal flyer. She was the best flyer on the team, the entire team depended on her.

But now, all kind of spirit she could muster up for her team was reflected in her Great White Sharks hoodie, the one that had WORLD CHAMPION pressed on the back in obnoxious, blocky letters.

She wasn’t supposed to be going through this. This isn’t how it was supposed to be. Leslie was supposed to breeze through her freshman year at Central High, making her place in student council and yearbook committee. She was supposed to travel with her team to Disney World in June, where they had the opportunity for a threepeat as World Champions. She was supposed to keep up with her photography, having her pictures place in local shows like they had been for the past year and half. She was supposed to look up to Alana Beck as a guide, like she had been since her freshman year started. But the moment Brain let out his last breath, all of that went away. She wasn’t a two-time World Champion anymore, she wasn’t one half of the freshman representatives on the Homecoming court, she wasn’t a member of student council or the yearbook committee or even a photographer, she was just Brain Harris’ sister. She had been his sister at the beginning of the year, but she had worked hard to differentiate herself from him for the past two months, not wanting to leech of his popularity by blood association and the fact he drove them both to school every day.

But Brian killed himself in their garage, next to where they kept their bicycles and his snowboard. He waited until his family was asleep, disabled the alarm, then tiptoed downstairs into the garage, with no intention of coming back out alive. And Leslie wasn’t Leslie anymore. She was just his sister who was listed in the obituary as one of his surviving family members. Nothing she did mattered anymore.

She felt a warm hand on her shoulder. Leslie looked up to find an identical pair of hazel eyes looking down back at her. Morgan must’ve finally taken a shower, Leslie noticed, her hair was damp and skin was flushed rosy red. Her older sister looked down at the plate on Leslie’s lap, frowning slightly.

“Did you eat any of that?”

“Yeah,” she lied. “I’m not that hungry right now.”

Morgan didn’t fight it. She circled the couch and sat down next to Leslie, then began to softly play with her hair. Leslie instinctually leaned next to her, resting her head on Morgan’s shoulder.

“When was the last time you took a shower?”

“I don’t know.”

“Les.”

“Five days ago?”

Morgan just let out a sigh. Leslie closed her eyes. Let Morgan pet her head in a soothing motion.

“Are you ready for tomorrow?”

“Not really.”

That was a lie, Leslie had her outfit picked and had laid on her desk two days ago. Black scalloped dress with a black cardigan, black pumps and sheer tights, even black pearls to go in her ears. The pearls had been from her grandmother, a gift to celebrate her starting high school. Leslie had never predicted that she would have to use them so soon.

Physically, she was ready. Emotionally? Not a chance in hell. She wasn’t ready to face all of Brian’s teammates and friends, her dad’s clients and colleagues, her mom’s book club friends and old sorority sisters from college. She wasn’t ready to see some of her teammates who had texted her a few days ago that they would be at the funeral to support her. She just wanted to stay in bed, isolate herself until everything was normal again, press some sort of button that would skip the entire grieving process, exterminate every emotion she was feeling that arose when she saw her brother’s body hanging from the garage ceiling last Saturday morning.

She wanted to disappear.

“...gonna be there.”

Leslie must’ve tuned out again, only coming back to hear the tail end of Morgan’s announcement.

“Who’s gonna be there?”

“Mr. Murphy. He’s coming to the funeral tomorrow.”

That made sense, he and her dad worked at the same law firm downtown together. They had known each other from their days rushing Pi Kappa Delta. It was natural that Mr. Murphy would be there to support his friend during this time. She had once heard that Mr. Murphy and her father had to wrestle in mud pit during their time pledging, only Brian had told her later they had to do it naked.

“That’s nice of him. Are any other Murphy’s gonna be there?”

“I’m not sure about Mrs. Murphy, but I’m pretty sure Zoe might be there.”

Leslie nodded. She liked Zoe. They used to dress up together and play make-believe when they were younger, and Leslie taught Zoe how to do a backflip on their trampoline. They spent a lot of time together in the summer, when Leslie didn’t have cheer and Zoe didn’t had guitar lessons, usually swimming in Leslie’s pool or riding their bikes down to the park to play on the swings. She hadn’t seen Zoe since last winter break, when they went to Colorado for the annual “Harris-Murphy Skiing Trip / Disaster”. Morgan chose to stay back in Chicago with her boyfriend for the holidays, and Brian had decided to torment Zoe, snapping her bra and mimed jerking off whenever she passed by. But Leslie and Zoe made the best out of that week, making friendship bracelets out of colored string and making snowmen outside of the timeshare.

“That’s good. I like Zoe.”

Neither of the Harris sisters had to bring up the fact that Connor Murphy wouldn’t be attending the funeral. Even if he wasn’t in rehab, he wouldn’t want to show up within three miles of the service.

During that same ski trip, he wasn’t any nicer to Connor either. She vaguely remembered him trying to shove Connor off the ski lift when they were high off the ground, but Connor had gotten revenge by dunking Brian’s head in the toilet. Leslie remembered silently cheering for Connor during that trip, Brain wasn’t any nicer to Leslie as well. He had stolen her Nintendo 3DS and wiped her save file of Ocarina of Time, “just because”. So when she saw Brian’s hair soaking wet, running off to tattle, she couldn’t help but snicker.

Was she a bad person for still thinking that was funny?

She didn’t bother to answer that question, instead choosing to lean in closer to her sister. She then heard something buzz. Morgan fished her phone out of her pocket, swiping it open.

“It’s Eli. He’s gonna swing by in an hour and pick me up to get dinner. You wanna come with us?”

She just shrugged. She liked Morgan’s boyfriend enough, but she didn't think she could handle a sympathy dinner at the moment.

“Not really.”

“Are you sure? He invited you.”

“I’m not that hungry.”

Morgan just let out another sigh, typed out some words to Eli, then sent the text.

“Okay, I won’t push you. But can you promise me you’ll try and eat something tonight?”

“I’ll try.”

“And will you take a shower?”

“Yes, mom.”

“Thank you.” She kissed Leslie’s forehead, gave her a last squeeze, then got up, ready to head upstairs.

“Oh, hey, I found a cute picture of you and Brian on my phone. I sent it to you a while ago, I thought you’d like to see it.”

“Okay, I’ll look at it.”

She waited until the thump-thump-thump of Morgan’s footsteps trailed off upstairs before fishing for her phone. She thought it was somewhere in her blanket pile, but she eventually found it between some couch cushions. She turned it on, and sure enough, between thousands of notifications from Instagram, GroupMe, and Snapchat, she found a text from Morgan, sent about an hour ago. She tapped on it, revealing a picture of her and Brian last June at Orlando. It was just after Leslie had gotten off the mat from Finals at Worlds, and she was somehow sitting on Brian’s shoulders. She think Morgan might’ve forced Brian to let her up there, but she could barely remember anything just after the performance from all the adrenaline pumping through her veins. She remembered hitting a solid routine, no one had fallen or slipped, and just an hour later she heard her team’s name was being called as two-time champions.

She was in her uniform, decked out in a full face of makeup with blue and silver eyeshadow, her team’s colors, what seemed like five sets of false eyelashes, hair teased to the Heavens in a high pony, and the biggest smile on her face she had ever seen. She could see that she had picked out gray rubber bands on her braces, a choice that she had made at the orthodontist’s just weeks before. But what really stood out to her is that Brian was wearing a Great White Sharks T-shirt. She recognized that shirt, it was the shirt that the team gave to parents and siblings when the girls made the team every year. She knew that on the back it said LESLIE “BIRDIE” HARRIS. Brian was giving a smirk to the camera, flexing both of his arms while Leslie had her arms in a high V. It was a picture that her team’s Instagram would have loved to have posted a few days ago when they announced their support for Leslie, instead of Brian’s Sophomore yearbook picture.

But Leslie continued to stare at the picture. She didn’t know what to think. It all looked so… fake. Sure, Leslie looked like a model for a Great White Sharks’ Barbie doll, but the fact that Brian and Leslie could be civil for a moment to take a cute picture together was strange. Brian didn’t take cute pictures with Leslie. He stole her epsom salts way beyond when football season was over and would hog the upstairs bathroom to soak when Leslie was sore after three hours of conditioning at the gym. He didn’t show up to support her at her competitions. He didn’t even seem to care that Leslie was already being scouted by colleges as a freshman. He didn’t even seem to care about Leslie.

So why was Leslie sobbing on the couch, ears burning red and ugly tears cascading down her face? Maybe it was because when they were younger, he would hold her hand while they walked anywhere together. Maybe it was because he taught her how to play Legend of Zelda and would read the guide out loud to her because she couldn’t read yet. Maybe it was because he took care of her when she lost her very first cheerleading competition and held her while she cried. Maybe it was because she was grieving for the Brian she knew, and mourning for the relationship that they could have had.

But Brian had killed himself.

Leslie managed to calm herself down enough to reply to Morgan with a heart emoji, save the picture on her phone, and set it as her new phone background.

She was mourning her brother, but not for the brother she had lost five days, seventeen hours, fifty-seven minutes and 21 seconds ago. The one she lost what felt like forever ago.

And she didn’t know how to feel about that.

[itsteaveetime]

Could you do more Mike/Veruca? I love the way you write their interactions!

//I wasn’t sure if you meant in the Sky High AU, or just in general, so, uh, I wrote both.  Here’s the first one://

Sky Higher

She glares up at him.  Her head is tipped nearly all the way back.  She is, Mike Teavee knows, extremely flexible.  She does not seem to notice she is in a position that would put most people in traction.

“You are lying to me?” Veruca Salt half asks, half accuses.  Her point shoe taps against the floor.  Her slender arms are folded across her chest.

His own freakishly over-sized fingers are balled into fists.

“You know I’m not!  I’m not going to the dumb thing, and nobody can make me,” he spits back, before stomping away.  His long spindly legs almost tangle at the knees.

Mike Teavee can’t dance.

And he’s not saying he could before he grew to a staggering and strangely proportioned 7'6, but he probably could have faked it without making a fool of himself, if he’d wanted to.  Not that he’d have wanted to.

Now though…

He has been Veruca Salt’s assigned sidekick for about two months.  He had definitely thought she wasn’t going to go through with her demand to have them paired: that she was just playing around, or would forget, or would change her mind.

She hadn’t.

It has been…something.

Something volatile, sure.  Veruca is used to getting what she wants, and there are clearly days when she is very over the fact that her power to make people do as she says doesn’t work on him.  (Mike might just secretly enjoy having someone to yell at who isn’t Ethel, because Ethel no longer really yells back, because Ethel read some parenting book that says you shouldn’t, which is crap, because sometimes Mike just needs to yell.)  She also has a very…hands-on approach to super-team work.

Mike eats his lunch alone, usually in the computer lab, because who would he wanna sit with?  Nobody, that’s who.  Also…sometimes his hands don’t completely cooperate and the food doesn’t exactly make it to his mouth, and nobody needs to see that.

At least, that’s how it used to be.  The second day they had been assigned, Veruca had located him somehow (probably Ethel), dragged him to the cafeteria, and pushed him into a chair at a table full of superheroes.

“This is mine,” she had announced.

The heroes, with all of their traditional powers and good looks (not a freak among them) had stared at him, and he had stared flatly back, but he had wanted to sink into a 7'7 hole and die.

Mike doesn’t eat lunch anymore: just shoves down a sandwich or a bagel between classes.  It’s fine.  He’s never been a big eater anyway.

But he can’t deny that his grades in his physical training classes are all way, way up.  Teachers look at him now like he isn’t a total write-off.  His mom is…proud.  They work well together.  Veruca knows he’s not just a very, very tall person.  She doesn’t even need a very, very tall person: she can fly.  She knows to use him for his brain: that his brawn is unreliable at best, and completely klutzy at worst.  And it’s…nice.  It’s…kinda fun.  She insists on almost always being around and, you know, he doesn’t mind.  Her being being around.  She doesn’t laugh at him.  …She always smells nice.

But dancing is the worst.

And Mike knows because, for some reason, they had devoted a week to it in P.E.  (It’s dumb enough that they have P.E. at all.  They battle against physically simulated dangers and disasters: there’s no reason why they should also have to play dodge ball.)  It had been a nightmare.

Mr. Shaiman had at least known better than to let them pick their own partners: he had paired them off and rotated them throughout the class.

Every girl had so obviously not wanted to dance with him.  He hadn’t totally blamed them: where were they supposed to start?  How were they supposed to reach?  But it wasn’t as though he was drooling over the idea of clutching at all of their sweaty hands either: as if all of them were such prizes.

He had stepped on all of their feet.  Every single one.  Every single time.  It hadn’t even been intentional: his feet are just big and far away, and it’s hard to tell where they are all the time.  But he’d gotten sick of the whining and the yelping and the dirty looks, and the trying to make his legs move in patterns when it’s hard enough to just put one foot in front of the other.  By that Wednesday he had conveniently ‘lost’ his gym clothes, and it’s not like he can fit in any of the extras, so he had spent three days plodding slowly around the track, trying to shake off the humiliation.

Veruca is not in his gym class, but she should have realized.  She knows how legs work (or don’t, sometimes).  He’s just not going to any stupid dance, and that’s that.

Except it isn’t, because Ethel makes him.  

She’s chaperoning the thing.

She’s sure he’ll have a nice time, if he just lets himself.

She’s wrong.

He sits in the bleachers, curled up as small as a 7'6 boy can curl, and stares at his phone; tries to tune out the terrible music, and the laughing teenagers, and pretend he is anywhere else.  Ethel has tried, really, but the black trousers she has found for him are still a little too short above his sneakers.  The button down shirt is long enough, but too big, especially around his scrawny neck.  Any kind of suit jacket is thankfully out of the question, so he at least still has his hoodie.

And he ignores them all.

Except.

The crowd of super-teens shifts and parts and there she is: a petite blond in a pink dress with a poofy skirt.  He has never seen her in non-ballerina clothes before.  She is still wearing her crown, though.

And she’s dancing with a boy.  Tyler, Mike thinks his name is.  Or Taylor.  Or maybe Jake.  And he’s tall, but normal-tall, and broad-shouldered, and square jawed.  And they fit fine together.  And they are smiling, and Mike is suddenly angry; so, so angry, and he doesn’t know why.  All he knows is he can’t be here, not anymore.  He tries to extract himself from the bleachers without drawing anyone’s attention.  He almost makes it.  And then…

His toe catches on a support and he stumbles.  He topples.  He doesn’t fall very far (but it’s always a long way down for him), and he’s on the floor of the gym in a awkward sprawl of gangly limbs.

The music doesn’t screech to a stop, but it might as well.  Everyone turns toward him.  Everyone sees.  Someone starts to slowly clap.

He flees.

Up on the roof, the night air is chilly, and that’s just fine.  He gulps at it, trying to cool his burning face.  He glances towards the fire door, but no one has followed him.  Good.  Maybe they’ll all just leave him alone forever.

But of course, she won’t.

He hears a tell-tale ‘whoosh’ of girl-through-air, and then she appears, hovering next to the building.  She lands on the roof silently; gracefully.  Her arms are folded.  She frowns at him.

“You say you are not coming,” she says.  "And then you come.  You come, but you do not dance.  Why is this?“    

He stares incredulously at her.  There’s no way she missed his little trip down to floor town.

“Are you serious?” He asks.  "My mom made me.“

"If I cannot make you, she cannot make you,” Veruca insists.

“She’s my mom,” Mike informs her.  "Sorry to break it to you, but she can.“

Veruca looks as though she does not entirely believe that, but she presses on.

"Well you are here, then.  But you do not dance.”

She cannot be this stupid.  His face is starting to burn again.

“You saw what happened,” he growls.

“That was not dancing, that was falling,” she tells him, rolling her eyes.

“That’s what happens!” He yells.  "It doesn’t-…!  And I can’t-…!  Because my stupid body-…!  I can’t do anything!“

His hands claw at his chest.  One of his legs kicks out.  He wants to do more than that, but he’s not sure he can survive a fall from the gym rooftop.  That is a long way.

"They all laughed at me.  Because I’m a freak,” he mutters.

Veruca raises an eyebrow.

“They laughed because you fall,” she tells him.  "They will laugh at anyone who falls.  They worry also.  You are so thin, they say, you could break.“

"I don’t,” he grumbles.  "My bones.“

They’re weirdly rubbery.

"I know,” she says.  "I tell them.“

She cocks her head to one side.

"Do you want to dance?” She asks.

“No,” He says, instinctively.

But she’s drawn close now.  Very close.  And she’s looking up at him.

“Do you want to dance, with me?” She asks.

The music from the dance is faint, but audible, wafting up from a few stories below.  He looks down at her.  He could…

He lifts his arms, then lets them fall limply to his sides.

“How?” He mumbles.

She’s so small.

He starts to try to maneuver himself onto his knees.  She moves forward and up instead, taking to the air again, grasping his shirt collar and dragging him upright.  She hovers in the air in front of him.  She places her hands easily on his shoulders.

“Your hands on my back,” she tells him.

He places his huge spidery hands on her lower back.  She’s so close.  He isn’t sure where he’s supposed to look.

“It is easier, maybe, if you close your eyes,” she suggests.

The world goes dark.  It is easier.  It makes the music seem less distant.  It makes his feet seem less distant too.  It’s…nice.

The song winds down.  Mike opens his eyes.

Veruca is looking at him with a strange expression on her face.  And she seems…not so small in his arms suddenly.  And her feet are touching the ground.  

He takes a step back; almost stumbles over the hem of his trousers that is now dragging on the ground.  He pushes his sleeves back and stares down at his hands: his real hands.  Hands the size a teenage boy’s hands should be.  He touches his face.  It feels…normal.  Not like the strange, stretched out thing that stares back at him in the mirror in the morning.  He looks back up at Veruca.  They are almost eye to eye.  He’s normal.

“You are short,” Veruca says.

There’s a rushing sound in his ears and he soars back up again.  It doesn’t hurt, but there’s nothing he can do to stop it.

“No!” He wails, anyway.  "No!“

He presses the heels of his once again giant spidery hands to his eyelids.  His face feels long and strange under his fingers again.  All 7'6 of him sinks ungracefully down to the ground and he buries his face in his sharp knees.

He will not cry in front of her.  He will not.

But he wants to.

A small hand touches his back; rubs gently between his shoulder blades.

"You can just do it again,” she says.

He twists his head around.

“No I can’t!” He roars.

A small fist punches him between the shoulder blades.

“You did,” she says.  "This means you can.  If you want to.“

Her blues eyes are so sure; her small, doll-like face is so determined.  It’s hard not to believe her.

She settles on the ground next to him; wraps her slender arms around one of his.  Rests her head against it, like he’s comfortable and not pointy.

"You are not a freak,” she tells him.  "I like you this way, but it does not matter.  Any way you are, you are mine.“

[valkyrie-echo]

Project Echo, Part 1: Chapter 4 (Astana)

Part 1 Summary: A long-buried Hydra disaster, a monster in the shadows, a missing child. Eight months after the events of “The Winter Soldier”, Bucky turns himself in to the Avengers on one condition: They must help him find a girl snatched off the streets by Hydra seven years ago. In their quest, the Avengers accidentally unleash a horrifying creature of darkness and shadow, intent on making their quarry its prey.

[Edited 4/30/19]

Chapter 4: Astana

Getting the blueprints for a Hydra facility turned out to be a hell of a lot easier than finding the slip of information that had led them there. 

Agent Ivanou came through within hours and an encrypted data-burst included not only base schematics, but also a personnel list and guard rotation schedule- confirmation it was still very much active. At least as of that morning.

Within five hours Steve was back on the Bus with Sam, Agent May's team, and about a dozen support agents. While Steve and Sam made for the records room the others would take control of the facility and wipe out Hydra with extreme prejudice.

Hydra Facility Astana turned out to be a top-level research arm. Mechanical, scientific, chemical- if it could be experimented with or on it passed through Astana at some point. 

The best and brightest of Hydra all conveniently gathered for destruction.

Natasha's assessment of Tony wasn't promising, and frankly Steve fought alone for so long it didn't seem appropriate to bring them into this fight now. He and Sam were going to Astana with only the two of them- and neither were bullet proof like Thor or apparently immortal like the Hulk. An Iron Man suit would have provided some added level of comfort, but Steve wasn't about to trust Stark to help them on anything- not just after he found out the guy they were hunting killed his parents.

Sam spent the flight socializing while Steve and Tripp swapped more stories of Gabe Jones while Sam wandered, happy to have a variety of people to chat with for once.

Simmons and Skye were keeping busy in the corner discussing someone named "Ward" in hushed tones. Sam ambled over to the girls and joined in their conversation, "Sorry, I couldn't help but overhear, you're looking for someone too? We might be able to help, we do kind of owe you."

Skye was always open to any and all help on the Ward front, "A member of our team. He turned out to be a Hydra agent- you know what that's like."

"Actually I'm not SHIELD- not really." 

Both women were surprised at that, "Weren't you one of Captain Rogers' support crew members?" Simmons asked.

He shook his head, "I met him jogging. We ran the same route. Well, I run, he sort of flies past me… Fury made me an Agent at some point after I became an Avenger, but I'm really not sure what that means."

"So then, how did you go from jogging buddies to partners stopping Hydra's big Doomsday plan?" Simmons was incredulous.

Sam shrugged, "He turned up on my back porch with Natasha- Agent Romanov- looking for a place to lay low. Fury was dead, SHIELD agents were trying to kill them, and I offered them a place to regroup."

Skye waited for more, the story couldn't be finished just like that, "And-?"

"And I showed Steve and Romanov what I worked on back when I was a soldier. Project Falcon. We took it from there and two days later the Triskellion raid happened."

"Wait," Simmons said, "he finds out SHIELD is infested by Hydra and Captain America, Leader of the Avengers, doesn't go to his team for help, but a man he met jogging?!"

"And if you think that's scary he only learned my name like a day before."

"Now that's trust," Skye laughed, "and you've been running ever since?"

"Pretty much, yeah. We've done a couple of stints in Avengers Tower for repairs to my wings, but otherwise we've been hunting. We can't get help from the Avengers just yet- it's kind of a tricky situation."

Simmons understood immediately, "You needed pictures of the chair to prove Barnes isn’t a threat... do you think it was enough?”

Sam's mood took an abruptly somber shift, "Honestly? No idea. I barely know the others… Bucky’s admission into Avengers Tower isn't even the biggest question on our list- it's if Steve and I will have to go underground entirely…"

This was the first time Sam voiced his fears aloud- that finding Bucky was only part of the battle. Steve acted like it was an endgame, the grand finale. Of course they'd all skip off into the goddamn sunset and even Stark would welcome Bucky in without any worries. 'Project: Echo' would be forgotten and Steve's world would be a bit less lonely with his old friend and brother in it.

He told Simmons and Skye nothing about Bucky being the one to kill Howard and Maria Stark. Even if the Winter Soldier had nothing to do with their deaths, it was still too much to expect the Avengers to swallow.

I wish I had Steve’s faith that this would all work out, Sam looked down at his hands. 

He teased Steve about his eternal pessimism, but what Cap saw as a finale to a horror story he saw only as the beginning to something else. Tony was a good guy, but stubborn. He wasn't the forgive-and-forget type, and how many more families had Bucky torn apart for Hydra? How many people were out for his blood? What about Bucky himself? 

The psychological fallout was terrifying on its own. What if they never caught up with him though? Sure, he stole a file, but it might have been insignificant in whatever his grand scheme was- collect reports on all his missions to try and jog his broken mind. 

It didn't mean he was hunting for 'Project: Echo' specifically. It might be nothing to him at all.

Steve was a pessimist with an optimistic outlook, Sam was the optimist with the pessimistic outlook. When the hell had that happened? Somewhere in the 8 months of frenzied searches and half-planned raids they'd switched places.

"What's up, Mopey?" 

The pitch and volume of Sam's scream would have been funnier to Skye if she hadn't done basically the same thing when Natasha Romanov, Black Widow of the Avengers, suddenly plopped down on the couch next to Sam. 

Steve laughed so hard at the commotion he fell out of his own chair as several SHIELD agents hastily drew, then just as quickly holstered, their weapons.

"Where the hell did you come from?!" Sam sounded angrier than he intended. He was red-faced and embarrased as hell.

"I'm bored, you need backup, ipso-facto I'm here."

"When did you get here?!" Sam was positive he would have noticed Natasha and her bright red hair getting on the plane with the SHIELD agents- especially since it seemed to have doubled in length since he last saw her. Her tactical suit was unique to say the least- between the two he was either blind or she'd mastered invisibility.

Steve wandered over as his giggles subsided and shook Natasha's hand. He'd seen as much as Sam- nothing out of place one second and the next Natasha was just there. 

"How's it going Steve?"

"That depends. How's Stark taking the news?"

Natasha winked at Sam, "He's upset, and we had to override JARVIS' systems a couple of times, but once he took a good, long look at that picture of the Chair from Alaska he changed his tune. You know Stark- he could probably build one of his own by now, and he sure as hell knows what it was used for. Still, keep his exposure to Bucky on a strictly supervised basis for the first few weeks. He won't try anything, but you don't want to push Tony's buttons."

"Natasha, I think you miss-understood what I said over comms. We've got a lead on some old case file, we still don't know where the hell Bucky is."

A trickster's glint lit her eyes, "I put a few of my contacts in Kazakhstan on high alert for anything unusual- no specifics, naturally. An hour ago one of my favorite little Baursaki street vendors called to report a man wandering through Astana towards the hills. Not unusual on its own, but apparently this particular man was covered in dried blood and his left arm was throwing sparks. I left as soon they hung up."

"Bucky's actually in Kazakhstan?” Steve's excitement couldn't be masked.

"We've been in the air for six hours,” Sam muttered to himself.

Natasha was smiling herself as she nodded. Steve’s honest, open joy was contagious. 

Eight hard months of searching were taking one hell of a toll- on both Avengers- but Steve in particular showed it. Now they finally had more than hope, they had proof. She was glad she'd delivered the message in person rather than over comms, if only to see Steve’s reaction- and the overwhelming confusion coming from Sam.

"We can bring him in and end this. Today."

Hope after so long without any overwhelmed Steve, "I can't even- it's hard to imagine this ending." He hugged Natasha, his face plastered with a dopey grin. 

"Six hours…"

"Well, do you think he'll be, like, waiting?" Skye was excited, "Maybe he brought everyone here intentionally. Take out some top-level Hydra scumbag and break the bastards once and for all, then he goes home with the Avengers!"

Simmons was more apprehensive, "He's experienced major traumas for an extended period of time,. If he's learning who he was he may be unstable. Throwing him in the Bus' holding cells won't help, and we're not equipped to contain someone with his abilities back at the base. I mean, Fitz would probably love to get a look at that arm, but-"

"We won't be coming back in the jet," Natasha said, "and I'm willing to bet Tony will be curious enough that he calls dibs on the arm. We'll figure it out at the party."

"Whoa, whoa, whoa," Steve's concern was immediate, "party? Nat, we don't know what condition he's going to be in or how responsive. A party is absolutely out of the question-"

"Dinner party, a small one," she promised, "Avengers and Bucky only. No one's even bringing a date- not even Pepper is coming. It's a welcoming reception for Thor, actually…"

"Thor's back?"

"Steve- six hours."

Natasha continued to ignore the dazed and confused Sam, "Odin appointed him the official Ambassador to Midgard. He's almost done unpacking- he sent for something to help with Bucky."

"OK, even so, we may have to keep Bucky locked up, Nat. A party isn't-"

"Nope, no arguing," Natasha held up a hand. "Everyone wants to help- and they will have to in different ways. Clint and I are well-versed in deprogramming, you and Thor can grab him if he starts a rampage, Sam has experience with PTSD, Tony gets the arm, and Banner wants to run tests to see what exactly Hydra has been doing to him. Barnes needs to meet everyone and the sooner the better."

"He can meet everyone without a party," Steve protested, "You know how crazy the others get Natasha. Tony will try to drink Thor under the table, Banner will probably be the one mixing drinks, and Clint will be forcing everyone to sing karaoke. It's a horrible environment for someone who's been tortured, traumatized, and spent eight months on the run. It will overwhelm him. Trust me- I was there the first time I got him back from Zola- he didn’t want anything to do with anyone."

"I bet you another $100 you're worrying over nothing. Tony and Thor swore to save the competition for another night and I had JARVIS disable the karaoke system. It'll be dinner and dessert, that's all. No games, no roughhousing. I made them swear on their pinkies."

"You mean pinky-swear?"

"No, if they fall out of line I’m breaking their pinkies.”

Sam was finally fed up with the entire conversation (not to mention being ignored), "Am I the only one who heard her say she decided to come an hour ago?!"

Steve was confused by his abrupt outburst, "Sam, we know, we're here too."

"What's wrong with that?" Skye wasn't following either.

"Oh, I don't know, maybe the fact that we've been in the air for six hours? How did you get here?"

Steve turned back to stare at Natasha along with the equally amazed Skye and Simmons, "Wait- he's right! How are you here?!"

"Irrelevant-"Natasha waved him off. "Now, where's Agent May hiding? We've got some catching up to do…"

They’d find out eventually, and frankly she liked scaring the boys, it kept them in their place.

---

---

Nestled in the rolling hills outside of the Kazakh capital of Astana was a simple storm drain- nothing much to look at on a normal day. 

Except today there were people running for their lives from it. 

Guards lined the drain with their rifles pointed inwards, covering fleeing scientists. They barely even turned when the cloaked jet's turbines were within hearing range. Whatever Bucky was doing here, he'd already made his presence felt.

With the exception of Agent May,  SHIELD's best and most lethal were gathered in the cargo hold readying for a fight. 

Steve, Sam, Natasha, Tripp, and Skye were separated from the others. Unlike the main force they were now the hunting party. Any plans to clear the base were gone the moment Natasha received confirmation of Bucky's presence in Kazakhstan. Now the parameters were different: Strike team goes in, the rest hold until the first level is cleared, and then they stick to their floor while the others aim lower in the building until they find Bucky. 

Once he and the Avengers were out of the way the rest would be free to take the base. Bucky might not be able to differentiate SHIELD from Hydra, so the new game plan was their best bet to protect their SHIELD allies.

"This is a Hydra containment and experimentation facility," Steve had to shout as the landing gear lowered and they began a slow descent to the ground, "if you take prisoners, make sure they are secure! We’ve got blueprints of the facility, but we still don't know where the Winter Soldier may be. Keep your guard up until we confirm contact!"

"We'll be making the initial entry into the facility," Sam was all business now, "We aim to soften this place up as much as possible for you, but our priority is recovery of the Winter Soldier. As soon as we have him, we’re out. Apologies in advance if that means we leave mid-sweep."

"Agents Brett and Wong will guard Simmons should we need medical assistance," Steve pointed out two agents he'd met in-flight. "No one waste her time by getting shot or stabbed- our goal is minimal casualties!"

"The Winter Soldier is not to be approached by anyone except for Captain Rogers or myself," Natasha announced. "If he comes at you drop all weapons and get out of his way- fast. It doesn't matter if he's in a cell with his back to you and you have a hand on the door controls- DO. NOT. ENGAGE."

"You'll know him by his left arm- made entirely of metal and probably damaged. If you see him contact us via radio beginning with 'Steve Rogers' or 'Captain Rogers'. DO NOT just say 'I found him'. If he even thinks you're Hydra he will shoot to kill,” Steve said.

Natasha wrapped up the briefing as the jet landed and May activated the defense systems, "We will be taking the Winter Soldier into custody by alternative means, so this is goodbye from us. We will check in later to make sure everyone makes it out."

The infiltration team stepped forward. A barrage of gunfire from the turrets eliminated the horde of scientists and security personnel running towards the distant jet in their haste to escape the base. Few Hydra facilities were as large or as active as Astana’s. All the technology Hydra had at their command and Bucky had them literally running for the hills.

"Skye, Trip, and Sam- use the stunners only as a last resort," Steve reminded them for the hundredth time. “They haven’t been tested on a super-soldier before. You might just piss him off."

"Get ready," Natasha called out. The ramp was moving, "Time to go to work kids."

The hills outside of Astana were all dead grass and soft inclines- great if you're worried about your enemies trying to sneak up on you, shit if you're the enemy. The team was totally exposed as they sprinted the half mile back towards the storm drain. 

Bodies littered the field but more Hydra agents poured from within. Any who knelt in surrender would be taken into custody- but the Bus only had so much room. Whatever had the scientists spooked was sending them running without thought or reason- so the jet's defense systems eliminated them. 

Agent Ivanou had sent word with the blueprints to remain on high alert- these people did things that would make Mengele shudder. It made Steve less than sympathetic to their plight.

Scientists, maintenance, doctors, cooks, launderers, service personnel- Steve was fine with leaving those to Agent May and SHIELD. The feisty-looking ones Natasha hamstringed before the Bus' bullets reached them- they at least deserved questioning before they died. Natasha kept her blades coated in a slow-acting neurotoxin. SHIELD would get 48 hours to get their intel before the prisoners died.

No one would ever accuse her of having a flashy hero name- she was the Black Widow.

The first wave of guards fell under the SHIELD suppression fire, but as Steve, Sam, Natasha, Skye, and Tripp closed the gap more guards appeared to hold the door. Natasha opened fire on a line of them to the left as Steve threw his shield to the right.

Natasha ran ahead as Steve caught his shield and opened fire on the ceiling. It had the desired effect- the crowd hesitated long enough for the troop to get in through the narrow door without being trampled.

Inside the Hydra facility it was chaos. Half the scientists were running for the doors, half for security checkpoints, and the guards were divided between covering people as they fled and stopping them from leaving. 

The Winter Soldier was a force of nature- but to inspire this much chaos? These people looked like they were afraid of something more than one man.

"Stay alert, Bucky might not be the only thing in here," at least in the crush of bodies the guards didn't care that a few Avengers had wandered in- at least not until the group began to open fire on them. Steve targeted anyone in his path- scientists and guard alike. He tried to keep fatalities high and casualties low, but as far as he was concerned Hydra were no than the Nazis they’d served. 

 For 70 years they thrived while he slept, now he was making his presence known. They should have killed him before the ice finished melting.

"Keep up the pace," Natasha was the only one who didn't break stride as they began to fight. 

She made herself the lead in their group and crippled anyone within reach. There were times when showing mercy to your enemies was the right path. This wasn't one of those. SHIELD didn't have the resources it would need to hold them and it wasn't worth risking leaving some Zola-wannabe on the loose.

At the first fork, some hundred yards into the base, Steve pinned a guard against the wall and dealt a fatal blow to the man's neck with his shield. Natasha spared a glance at Sam. He understood her question and nodded. 

Sam couldn't figure out how she got on the damned jet, but he knew why she came- to see if Steve was as uncharacteristically brutal as reported. If something didn’t change there would be bigger problems down the road. Steve was running himself beyond even his endurance and it showed in the violence with which he executed his enemies.

"Sam, go left with Skye and Tripp, we'll head this way. If you find the security room great, but don’t spend too long looking."

"The security room is our best chance," Natasha objected.

"Do you don't see what's going on here?!" Steve snapped, "We're not the only ones attacking! Finding the security room may be a waste of time and we don't-"

"I get it," Sam cut Steve off and peeled away. He knew enough about strategy and timing to make his own calls, and Steve was a big enough boy to get over it when his plans were scrapped. "See you on the other side! Don't die!"

---

---

An hour and a half later Steve was alone somewhere in the second level living quarters. 

Natasha had long since split off and no one was on comms. Their infiltration became a mindless cycle of opening doors, clearing the rooms (if the inhabitants tried to fight), locking the rooms from the outside, and moving on. 

SHIELD controlled the first level, and resistance was lighter by the second as the infiltration team progressed.

The last report Steve received was from Sam when he finally reached a security room.  Bucky had already gone through and smashed the monitors, then disemboweled a security guard. At least, Steve hoped it was Bucky. The man wasn't able to say- half his tongue had been pulled out. 

He had no chance of being saved, so Sam pulled out his gun and gave the man a quick death. He'd been silent ever since.

Something was definitely in the base besides the infiltrators and their quarry. Steve had a feeling something was creeping behind him, just out of sight. He was constantly on-edge, and the deep gashes in the walls weren't helping. 

The first time Steve noticed the creature was in a bedroom full of scientists who'd surrendered flat-out: four long scratches that began on the ceiling and continued down through the wall. When he demanded answers from a cowering lab tech the man swore they’d been there for years.

More and more Steve was finding signs of a creature moving through the halls. Those first marks were old but he had a feeling some of them were new. Fresh chips of stone on the floors was merely the first clue- dripping silver goo was the other. That was why Steve had SHIELD move in early. 

Simmons was busy collecting as many samples as possible.

Steve braced himself and opened the last door in the hallway. Any worries about a mysterious beast were cast aside at the first sign of what was on the other side. A half-dozen armed guards arrayed around the door in a half-circle. Steve found weapon storage.

Immediately he folded himself behind the shield and waited until the deafening pings of bullets stopped. The ricochet took out two (judging by the screams) and the moment the men stopped firing he was up and diving into the group. 

Two had indeed been injured, but they still threw blades to give their buddies time to reload. As Steve ducked a throwing knife he brought up his shield to break the elbow of an armed soldier. The problem with his abilities and fighting while tired was that he tended to misjudge his super-strength. Between spinning away to dodge the knife and his sharp uppercut with the shield he ended up severing the limb entirely.

‘Oh well, he was Hydra after all.’ Steve grabbed the screaming man's head and snapped his neck.

The fighting was cathartic and helped Cap release his frustration. He threw the shield at two men directly across from him in the cramped room. They couldn't move out of the way quickly enough and in such close quarters the shield was lethal. It took off one man's head and severed the throat of the other. 

Steve didn't waste time watching them die. He grabbed the last standing man and used him as a shield to absorb three blades from one of the injured guards.

"S-steve Rogers? Captain Rogers? D-do you r-read?"

"Give me a second!" Steve ignored Tripp and fired on the soldier, then snapped the final guard's neck.

"A-alright. You're busy. I’ll w-wait."

Tripp's voice was thin and reedy, he was hurt. He was also following Natasha’s protocol on how to speak around Bucky.

Steve's stomach dropped while his heart swelled. Good news and bad. The grandson of one of his closest friends in his old life was injured, but by the sounds of it he'd found another long lost ally. He yanked his shield out of the crates it was embedded in and began to run back through the halls to the first junction the team split up, "Tripp, give me directions to your location!"

His sigh of relief was cut off abruptly by a wheeze and a hiss of pain, "S-Steve, my location is as f-follows: right, right, l-left, right left, left, d-down three levels, left, right, then the third right. F-follow the b-blood from there for a right a-and two lefts."

"Is he with you?" Natasha rocketed out of the hallway ahead of Steve. She was nowhere near as bloody as he was, but he had no doubt she took out more agents.

"Y-yes," Tripp was having trouble breathing. 

Steve kicked up his speed as much as he could. He wasn't worried about whatever creature prowled the base (though he saw scientists in a side hallway freshly mauled), he was worried about Bucky hurting Tripp- a Howling Commando legacy- before he could talk him down.

"Almost there!" Natasha was keeping ahead of Steve but when Sam and Skye appeared from opposite halls near the stairs she fell back to run with them. Down on Level 4 the halls were longer and more grid-like. Steve led them through the first left, then skid to a stop.

The hallway was all but destroyed. 

Silver liquid oozed from the ceiling and floors where the concrete was ground to uneven rubble. Pieces of bodies were strewn everywhere. The largest solid piece Steve could see was the size of a fist, and intestine hung from ripped-out lights. 

Even Natasha was stunned.

"Holy shit," Sam wasn't sure what else to say. There were no shoeprints in the silver bog- this all happened after Tripp and Bucky came through.

"Stay here and cover our escape route," Steve tried to make his voice more confident than he felt. He was eyeing the ajar door on the right side of the hall, "Tell SHIELD we’ll be needing Simmons- Skye, you're in charge of escorting her down. Also- I know we didn't bring any heavy ammunition but Skye, if you know a way to bury this place I suggest you get ready. The safest option may be to blow this place to hell. Sam- if Tripp can't walk out of there on his own I'll send for you. Natasha- does our way out have anything to do with JARVIS?"

"Yes."

"Good. Tell him to get our ride ready and if you see or hear anything unusual call me immediately, alright?"

"Got it, go."

He was apprehensive about letting his boots touch the slime, but there was no clear path to the door. Steve stepped on it gingerly. It was slippery, but he didn't see smoke or smell burning rubber. As quickly as he was able to he made it to the door and edged through.

Most lights were out in the next hallway, and it wasn't comforting to find out the silver veins glowed the in dark. Hair rose on the back of his neck but Steve didn't turn to check the shadows, it would only make him more anxious. He continued forward- even though he could feel breath on the back of his neck (or at least imagined he could).

Just through the third door on the right Steve saw a splash of blood on the wall and the body of a guard. The guard's neck was broken but his gun hadn't been kicked out of his hand. A puddle of blood indicated someone- probably Tripp- had been shot before falling to the ground. 

No silver liquid oozed from these walls, and the sensation of being followed was gone.

Steve focused on what was in front of him and the problems Bucky might pose to Tripp's rescue rather than a possible Hydra animal loose in the halls. Judging by the long streaks of blood, Bucky had dragged his friend down the hallway. According to the metal plaque outside the door they were in "Research Lab 6". 

There was a meeting room to one side and several filing cabinets- but it looked like nothing had been used in a long time. Dust covered everything and the guard who shot Tripp wasn't significantly armed. Steve was willing to bet he was a simple security officer to babysit the hallways. The air was close in the lab, stale. 

In an active Hydra facility why would there be an abandoned room?

He followed the blood down a side hall on the right and saw a dim light ahead. A headache was just blooming behind Steve’s eyes, and he had a feeling the further he went the worse it would get. There was a scratch of an old speaker in the distance and a distortion to the normal ambient noise- like a television left on without any picture on the screen.

Steve used a clean knife to peek around the corner. When he detected no movement he inched into the first room. A row of computer monitors on his right were inactive, but labels above them read 'Heartrate', 'Blood Pressure', 'Blood Oxygen', 'Brainwaves', and 'Alerts'. Medical monitoring? 

On the left was a shorter row of monitors, a few panels of switches, and a very large one-way mirror.

The cell Steve looked in on painted a very clear picture of what happened inside so many years ago. 

Chains hung from the ceiling in the back right corner and were fitted with rusty metal cuffs. Were set all around the room with four under a large, clear table- which Bucky had pinned Tripp against. The walls and ceiling were fitted with lights, but a row of them seemed to have been torn out at the very back and through them Steve could just barely see a large, dark room.

Bucky watched the door with a level of fanatic determination that made Steve hesitate. He was bloody, disheveled, and barely able to stand on his own two feet. His hair- matted with grease and blood- hung lank over his eyes.

He looked more like a rabid animal than the calm, cool assassin Steve faced 8 months ago.

The metal arm had burned off the left sleeve of his thin coat and occasional sparks still shot from it. The whole unit had bits of wires poking through the metal plates. 

Steve secured his shield on his back before entering the cell. Bucky jumped and Tripp groaned- the metal hand was closed around his throat, locking him in place. The man was gray-skinned and pale.

"Bucky, please, let him go. He needs a doctor." Steve slowly removed his shield and set it by the door, then inched to the far corner. He kept his hands out to the side, "I swear I won't leave. That's Tripp Jones- Gabe's grandson. Do you remember Gabe?"

Bucky didn't even look like he could understand what Steve was saying. The stench of dried gore and sweat was overpowering. A spray of sparks near his neck made Tripp cry out and seemed to jar Bucky to life.

"He goes. You stay." His rough mumble was barely intelligible. How long had it been since he'd spoken?

"Can I have someone come get him?"

Again, it took Bucky a long time to respond. When he did it was by drawing an old hunting knife. Steve held his breath as he slid the blade between Tripp's neck and his metal hand, then pried his fingers loose. 

As soon as he re-sheathed the blade and pulled the wrecked arm away Tripp began to gasp and cough. There were cuts from the blade on his throat, but nothing too severe.

"Call your person, then come here." He backed into the corner opposite the chains and pulled the blade back out. Bucky set it in his metal hand and used his human one to close the fist and secure the knife. He looked up at Steve expectantly.

"Sam, come get Tripp," Steve walked towards Bucky slowly. As he closed in his old friend grew more agitated.  His headache was reaching epic heights- how long had Bucky been exposed to whatever was affecting him?

When Sam ran into the room Bucky lunged at Steve, spun him around, and held the blade to his throat. He kept him firmly locked in place as a human shield as Sam scooped Tripp up off the table and glanced back.

"I'm alright, go." Steve said. Sam nodded and hurried back out. "Thank you Bucky," he let out the breath he'd been holding.

Bucky spun him around so that they were facing one another, but kept the blade to his throat, "You help people?"

He hesitated, “I try my best."

Bucky looked confused, lost, and sad. He walked away from Steve to the far side of the table and stared at the blood left behind. When he looked up his eyes were over-bright, "Then help me find her." 

"Find who?"

"Echo," Bucky pulled a folder from the back of his jeans and set it on a dry part of the table. He opened it to reveal a few hundred pages layered in dirt or torn and wrinkled. The fruits of his hunt- and if the top sheet was any indication, everything was redacted to hell. 

"Sure, Buck. We’ll figure this out."

"Yeah, ‘we’. And if you think for a second you can put me back in that chair-" he took a step around the table.

"I would never do that. I'm not Hydra, I'm your friend. You and me, until the end of the line- do you remember that?"

This time Bucky took a long, hard look around the room, as if waiting for some kind of trap- or perhaps seeing phantoms of whatever past he had in this place. He looked down and pried back his metal fingers until the knife fell, "I don't." 

Bucky took a step back, allowing Steve to retrieve the papers, "We'll find Echo, I promise," he tucked the pages into his suit. Bucky was somehow more agitated when they were out of sight, "Before we find her we need to go somewhere safe, ok? I'll still help you find Echo, but from a secure base. Somewhere Hydra can't go. Deal?" Again, he wasn't even sure his words were getting through.

"Where?"

Steve considered his phrasing, "Do you remember my friends from the Triskellion?"

Bucky stepped back, then rubbed his head as if it could help him remember, "The man who was here. The assassin-woman?"

"Yes! Very good,” he felt a sliver of hope bloom in his chest, “those are just two of them. I have more friends, an entire team. You'll be safe with them, they're good people. We fight against Hydra."

"People like me?"

"People like Pierce. Every member of my team is more than capable of finding Echo. I swear Bucky, we will find her and you will be part of that."

"If I go with you then you have ten days to find her. If you don't, I leave on my own."

It was a risky deal to make, considering Steve already knew she was dead, but ten days was enough time to lock Bucky down and start trying to heal him. Once he remembered she was gone they could figure out how to drive out the Winter Soldier and bring Bucky back, "Deal. I'll take you to my friends. They'll come with us to our base. We can start looking tonight, okay?"

Bucky looked around the room one last time. He waited for Steve to retrieve his shield, then followed him reluctantly to the door. Just before they stepped out of the control room Steve could have sworn he saw movement through the split in the wall. 

Something silver shining in the black.

A shiver went up his spine.

SHIELD knew they were leaving with Bucky. Steve just hoped they could bury whatever was loose in the bowels of Hydra Facility Astana.

Chapter 5: Safe