Hey there, have this cause you’re great. I’ve spent the last couple of days trying to find your b99/avengers crossover. Once I found it I literally cried cause I was so happy. Thank you for writing that, I love a ton. Can’t wait to see more!
summary: the development of something more between victor and andrew, as seen through the eyes of everybody else
a/n: im kinda obsessed with these boys ngl. this can be read as secret dating if you want
warnings: fluff
word count: 1.4k
masterlist
benji
Andrew spends a lot of time at Brasstown. This is a new thing, Benji notes, because he cannot recall a single time the other had ever come to the shop. Except for Battle of the Bands, but he hardly thinks that counts.
There’s a routine of sorts:
1. Andrew comes in with Victor before his shift starts
2. He sits at a table and doesn’t order anything until Victor moves to the counter
3. Andrew flirts with Victor until his shift ends and they leave together
The last one shouldn’t bother him as much as it does. Andrew was a regular customer who always tipped generously; there was no reason for Benji to be so off put by him spending so much time here.
Except for the fact that Andrew was not a regular customer. At least not to Victor. Victor had always had excellent customer service—always patient and polite even with difficult customers—but it was different with Andrew. There was a smile Victor reserved just for him, only appearing when Andrew did.
It irked him because he transferred back to this branch to be around Victor again. Benji pretends not to be bothered by the fact that they only say a handful of words to each other a day.
He tries not to sound bitter when he tells Victor to stop lounging around with Andrew and to get back to work. It doesn’t work.
mia
This was, in fact, an emergency.
Lake had sent her yet another flirty text, that Mia knows shouldn’t be taken out of context, but she’s pining and she can’t help it dammit.
She’s power walking through the halls during her study period, hunting Andrew down because he was the only one she’s told about her teensy crush on her best friend. He hadn’t been answering any of the frantic texts she’d sent him in the past ten minutes, so, yes, scouring the halls for him was her only option.
Mia finds him by his locker, leaning against it, arms crossed, talking to someone she can’t identify just yet from how far she was. They were leaning in close, whispering, foreheads almost touching—which is saying a lot considering Andrew towered over most people.
It’s only when she gets closer that she realises that this person was Victor. Victor, who is supposed to be in English class right now. They are both wearing matching lazy smiles, as though they can’t help it, and the sight would have been sweet if it didn’t confuse the hell out of her.
She clears her throat to get their attention. They don’t exactly jump apart at her presence, but they do slowly step away from each other, although reluctantly. As though being apart is the last thing they want to do.
Andrew glances at her curiously. “Code Hudson” is all she says and he nods knowingly.
“I’ll call you later, yeah?” Victor nods at that, a bright smile on his face as he walks away from them, presumably to the class he was supposed to be in.
The shorter girl regards her friend with crossed arms and a steely glare. “I texted you.”
Andrew shrugs easy. “I was busy.” Mia looks past his shoulder in the direction Victor left in, and thinks she’ll ask more about it later. Right now though, she needed to come up with a calm and collected text that said I definitely did not spend twenty minutes trying to come up with a response.
felix
Had he not been paying attention, Felix is sure he wouldn’t have noticed anything.
Mia’s house had become the unofficial official hangout, with Victor’s coming in close second. Everyone had vetoed playing Catan, which Felix tried not to take too personally, so they settled on 30 Seconds.
Lake and Mia were on a team, he and Pilar on another, and Andrew and Victor were together. Like, literally.
Throughout the evening, Andrew has had a hand on Victor’s knee; an arm thrown lazily over his shoulder; sitting way closer together than actually necessary, Felix thinks.
He tries to rack his brain for the moment when this started. When Victor and Andrew’s relationship stops being curt nods and one armed hugs and turns into casual and lingering touches.
Right now, Andrew’s arm was draped over the back of the couch, behind Victor’s head, fingers playing with the curls in his hair. Victor, who was never the biggest fan of physical intimacy, leans into his touch slightly, relaxes.
Felix can’t think of a distinct moment, eventually gives up trying to solve this mystery. Then, with an exaggerated grin, he realises that it isn’t really a mystery. He’s not surprised by this. In fact, he finds, this has been a long time coming.
He drags his attention back to the game when Pilar smacks the back of his head after he messes up an answer, and brings their team to victory.
And when Andrew rests his head on Victor’s shoulder, snuggling into his neck, Felix nods to no one in particular. Yeah, he muses to himself, this makes sense.
lake
If there was one thing Lake was sure of, it’s that Victor was a good kid. A teacher’s pet, if you were feeling petty, which, it seems, she was because that’s exactly what Victor was.
The point is, if she was expecting anyone to be talking during class, Victor would be the last.
And yet, here they were.
Lake only looked up from her notebook she was pretending to be writing notes in when Victor’s incessant hissing became far too annoying for her to ignore. She opens her mouth to tell him off, when she realises he’s trying to get Andrew’s (who sat in front of him) attention.
He turns around, an easy smirk on his lips as he regards Victor with an amused look. “Just can’t get enough of me, can you, Salazar?” he teases.
Victor shrugs noncommittally, grinning cheekily at the other boy. “It seems so, doesn’t it?” And what? Because Andrew was a natural flirt, that part wasn’t surprising, but Victor was flirting back.
Andrew isn’t phased the slightest (is this a normal thing for them??), just laughs lowly and smiles brightly at the other boy. “If you keep talking to me, we’re gonna get in trouble and then I won’t be able to go to that movie with you.”
“We can’t have that, now can we?”
“Pay attention,” Andrew instructs with a fond eyeroll. Because that’s the only way to describe the way he’s looking at Victor right now. Fond. Lake wants to gag.
Without tearing his eyes away from Andrew’s face, Victor says levely, “I am.” And, well, smooth. Ten points to Hufflepuff.
Andrew snorts involuntarily. “Dork,” he says, catching the attention of their teacher. He faces the front again, giving Mr Hutcherson a sheepish grin. When his back is to the class again, Andrew twists in his seat and whispers, “I’ll pick you up at eight.”
No seriously, when did this happen?
pilar
Even though Felix had told her about…whatever it was that was going on between Victor and Andrew (and she believed him, because, well, it made sense), it was still weird to witness it herself.
It’s around eleven p.m. when Pilar hears them stumble through the front door. She vaguely remembers Victor mentioning something about going out with Andrew—a movie, or food, she isn’t sure—and not to wait up. She wasn’t going to, but whatever.
The thing is, when Victor said they were going out, Pilar didn’t think he meant going out. Like, on a date. The realisation catches her off guard.
Her room is right across from his and they were standing in the hallway, giggling quietly, as if they’re trying not to make a noise, but this only makes them laugh louder. The walls are thin. They need to shut up.
“Are you staying over?” Victor asks in a way that isn’t really a question. More like he’s suggesting it. Inviting Andrew to stay over.
“Ooh, does Victor want me to sleep with him?” Andrew asks suggestively.
The boy in question doesn’t miss a beat when he says, “Buy me dinner first.”
Andrew hums thoughtfully. “Didn’t I just do that?”
“No, I don’t think so,” her brother muses.
“No, no, I’m pretty sure I did. Now, does that mean I get to sleep with you?”
Whatever is said next is muffled and Pilar can’t make it out, but she hears the next part loud and clear, they might as well have shouted it from the rooftop.
“You love me.”
“Never said I didn’t.” And oh.
She wonders how no one noticed that this was going on right in front of them, because it’s not as if they were being discreet about it. Whatever, she thinks finally. She’ll text Felix in the morning.
summary: basically what happened when max and lucas went home together in suzie, do you copy?
a/n: there is a criminally low amount of fics with lumax as the main ship so here is my minor contribution to rectify this. title from ‘home’ by catie turner. also posted on ao3
warnings: fluff
word count: 1.7k
masterlist
This is not how Max wanted to be spending her Saturday afternoon.
Sheʼd rather be getting ice cream with Lucas, playing video games with Lucas, doing anything else with Lucas. Yet, here she was, at the top of this hill, assembling a dumb machine to contact a girl that probably doesnʼt exist.
But, Lucas is with her so it’s not all bad. (Which she never said if he asks, okay?)
Itʼs not all boring, sheʼll admit. Despite him annoying her, Lucas does make the entire ordeal more enjoyable for her and Will is actually fun to hang around with when heʼs not whining about playing D&D.
At one point, they get Dustin to forget about his walkie-talkie and teach them all the dumb war cries he learnt at Camp Know Where.
She doesnʼt bother to hide her accusatory look when Will asks where the water was.
By the time the sun had gone down, Max started to get more than a little cranky. They had moved to lie down, with Lucas and her both using his backpack as a headrest. “Dustin, come on!” she snaps exasperatedly, after the boy in question continued to try and reach Suzie. “She’s not there.”
Lucas, who seems to be as fed up as she is, exclaims, “Suzie doesn’t exist! No girl is that perfect.”
Max sits up at that and turns to Lucas with a raised eyebrow. “Is that so?” She watches as he sputters nonsense trying to backpedal and correct his blunder. It amuses her, and Max won’t deny that she enjoys making Lucas squirm. “Relax I’m just teasing. I’m obviously perfect, and Dustin is obviously lying.”
She stands up and dusts herself off. The redhead holds her hand out for Lucas, which he grabs and pulls himself up. As they’re walking down the hill, she hears Will call out after them. “Where are you going?”
“Home!” Max yells back without missing a beat. There’s a small, lazy smile on Lucas’ face that she doesn’t notice. She feels a tug on her arm and slows down to find that Lucas has stopped walking.
He has a mischievous grin on his face. “Race you the rest of the way?”
A smirk works its way onto Max’s face. “You’re on.”
She doesn’t give him time to react, just releases his hand and sprints down the hill. She can vaguely hear his indignant cries about how she’s cheating as he tries to catch up to her. Max lets out a hearty laugh, feels it in her belly as Lucas whoops and hollers behind her. The wind is beating against her face, blowing her hair back.
Thereʼs an unmistakable grin on her face when she makes it to the bottom. It only takes Lucas another five seconds to join her at the bottom of the hill, and when he does, he’s a heaving mess. He’s crouched over, hands on his knees, as he tries to catch his breath.
“I win,” Max gloats, beaming at him brightly.
He waves her off. “Yeah, yeah, I let you win,” Lucas reveals once his breathing has gone down to normal.
Max crosses her arms across her chest in an intimidating stance. “Oh, you let me?”
Lucas lasts a good three seconds before he cracks under the intensity of her glare. “Okay, okay, I surrender.” He raises his arms defensively. “You won.”
“That’s what I thought.” She turns on her heel to walk in the direction of where they left their bikes and her skateboard, and Lucas wastes no time in grabbing hold of her hand again.
They walk in silence for a while until Lucas pipes up and asks, “Hey, do you really think Dustin is lying?”
Max shrugs, still studying their joined hands. “I don’t know. It’s fun to tease him either way, though,” she adds, looking up to give her boyfriend a cheeky grin. He laughs and nods, absentmindedly rubbing his thumb against the back of her hand. “But I must say, aside from you drinking all the water by yourself—”
“I offered you some!”
“—It was kinda nice. Watching the stars, I mean. With you.” Her voice trails off at the end in embarrassment, ducking her head so Lucas can’t see her blush.
When he doesn’t say anything for a while, she musters up all the courage she can to peak up at him and finds that he’s already looking at her. The smile on his face is bright enough to rival that of the streetlight they’ve stopped under, and it causes something to flutter in her chest.
“We should do that sometime. Stargaze. Together.”
Max nods along, unable to fight the grin that works its way on her face. “Yeah. Yeah, I’d like that.”
When they reach their things, Lucas lets go of her hand and rushes forward to what she assumes is his bike. She can’t help but feel a little disappointed at the loss of contact. Max finds him clutching her skateboard to his chest, bottom lip stuck out childishly.
“What are you doing?” she asks incredulously. She moves to pick his bike up from the ground for him, and watches him with her head tilted.
“Can I ride it?”
Max’s face blanks. “You’re kidding.” “I’d like for us both to get there in one piece, thank you.”
Lucas puffs his chest out indignantly. “I’ve been practicing!”
“With what?”
Max looks at him expectantly waiting for an answer, to which he supplies after a moment’s hesitation. “Okay, so I taped a couple cans to the bottom of a piece of wood I found outside—”
“Oh my god.”
“—but it’s practically the same thing!”
“In what universe!”
Lucas is still looking at her pouting with pleading eyes and she knows her resolve is going to crumble. “You’ll fall,” she worries, in a final attempt to change his mind.
“You’ll catch me,” he says shrugging easily. As though he’s never been more sure about anything.
Sighing heavily, Max gives in. She knows there’s no way she can say no to him, not when he’s looking at her like that. “Fine.” Lucas punches the air in excitement and runs into the middle of the road. He places the board down and tentatively steps onto it.
“Just push yourself forward,” she instructs, standing off to the side on the sidewalk. “Don’t do anything crazy.”
“I’m pushing, I’m pushing,” Lucas grunts as he pushes himself off the road. When he gets the hang of it, he cheers loudly. “Whoo, I’ve got it!” he yells loudly and Max chuckles despite herself, smiling wide for no one in particular. The cool night air nips at her exposed skin, but she can’t help but feel impossibly warm being here with Lucas right now.
The dark skinned boy skates farther down the street and Max rolls his bike alongside her as she jogs to keep up with him.
In his excitement, Lucas forgets that this is his first time skating and turns his head to look back at her. “Look, Iʼm Tony Hawk!”
He leans a little too much to the left and veers in the direction of the sidewalk. “Watch out!” Max warns and Lucasʼ eyes widen as he looks out in front of him.
“Aah!” he screams as he goes flying into a pile of trash bags sitting on the sidewalk.
“Lucas!” Max drops the bike and rushes to his side. “Are you okay?”
He grunts as he rolls over to lie on his back. “My knee,” he croaks out. A little dramatically, Max thinks, considering he landed on a relatively soft surface. “Can you kiss it better?”
The redhead rolls her eyes and pushes herself off the ground. Lucas laughs loudly, evidently proud of himself. “You smell like garbage,” Max deadpans as she dusts herself off. He lets out an affronted “hey!” and picks himself up. “I told you youʼd fall.”
Lucas pouts. “You didnʼt catch me.”
“You canʼt skate,” she fires back.
“Youʼll teach me,” he says, again as though he was absolutely sure about it. Max supposes he has every right to be.
“Yeah, maybe,” she says, going to fetch her skateboard from where it was lying on the edge of the street. “Cʼmon, letʼs go home.”
This time, as Lucas is picking his bike up holding both the handlebars so he can pull it along with him, Max can see the soft smile playing on his lips.
“What are you smiling about, stalker?” Sheʼs teasing
“You said ‘home’.”
“Yeah?”
He sighs a little when he notices that she doesnʼt understand what heʼs getting at. “No, I mean, like, you didnʼt say my house. You just said home.” Then, quieter, “Do you think of it as your home?”
The thing is, Max doesnʼt have the best reference material for what ʼhomeʼ should be. But Lucas is good, and safe, and the best thing sheʼs had in a long time.
And she supposes thatʼs pretty similar.
“Maybe,” is what she says. Nervously, head ducked and eyes trained on the road in front of her. “Just… with you, I guess.” She can feel her face flush and though she canʼt see it, she knows sheʼs blushing furiously.
“Aww,” her boyfriend croons, “youʼre almost as red as your hair.”
“Shut up,” Max mumbles without any real bite.
Lucas shakes his head, smile stretched across his face. “No I wonʼt, because Max Mayfield likes me!”
Her face burns. “Oh my god.”
“I donʼt blame you. Iʼm kind of irresistible.”
Max rolls her eyes at that. “Oh, really?”
Lucas nods enthusiastically, and Max just shakes her head in disbelief, a fond smile on her lips. “I like you too, by the way.”
“I figured,” the redhead jokes, trying to add some levity to the heavy atmosphere around them.
“And youʼre my home, too.” Lucasʼ smile is so bright, she swears it blinds her momentarily.
Maxʼs heart swells with something sheʼs pretty sure is love and she nudges him with her shoulder. “I never said that.”
Lucas waves her off. “Technicalities.”
“Race you home?” she challenges, more comfortable with the prospect and watches as Lucasʼ smile grows impossibly wider.
“Prepare to lose, Madmax!”
That night, when sheʼs staring up at the ceiling on the spare mattress in Ericaʼs room, Max decides to create a home for herself.
It’s when Lucas and her reach the garage, arguing over who made it there first; Mrs Sinclair greeting them both with a hug and a kiss on the cheek; Lucas holding her hand under the table as they all take turns recounting what they did that day.
She doesnʼt have that much knowledge to go off of when it comes to home. But what she does know is that whatever it is, Lucas is pretty damn close. (Donʼt tell him she said that.)
MJ hadn’t been expecting the gentle knock on her window, but it didn’t surprise her, either. It was the rhythm they’d come up with, and when Peter rapped quietly enough with his knuckles, it sounded like rain.
She put her book facedown on her bed and floated to the window. Peter waved at her from the fire escape.
“You’re hurt?” She asked as she pried the window open. He paused to greet her with a kiss as he climbed through, into her bedroom.
“Nothing fatal,” he assured. “Just missed you.”
“Your clothes are in the bottom drawer,” she said, nodding at her dresser.
“Thanks.” Peter pressed the spider emblem on his chest and stepped out of suit. He grabbed sweatpants from the drawer, and an undershirt that wasn’t soaked in sweat.
(It had been Peter’s idea to leave some clothes at MJ’s. You know, he’d said faux-casually, what if I left some stuff at your place? For long nights.
She’d looked at him, eyes crinkling like book pages. You want a drawer, she’d said, and it must have come out accusatory, because Peter had put his hands up in surrender.
We don’t have to— and MJ had cut him off with a hand on the back of his neck and a kiss on the lips, and when she’d pulled away his face was red.
Bring some clothes next time you stop by, she’d said in the silence she’d created. And a toothbrush.)
MJ re-settled onto the bed, her back against the headboard. Her hair was wet on the back of her neck from her shower. Peter climbed in beside her.
“Busy night?” She asked as he curled up like a cat, head at the junction where thigh met hip. She leaned down and wrapped her arms around him. She pressed her lips right above his ear.
“Had to chase Felicia halfway across Manhattan,” he mumbled. “She’s gotten faster, I think.”
MJ hummed. “What did she steal this time?”
“She’s branched out to artifacts,” Peter said. “One of those tiny statues they have at the Natural History Museum.”
“Was a Natural History Museum robbing on the Bingo card?” MJ asked.
Peter shook his head. “The Met.”
“Mmm… Low hanging fruit. You wrote that one in, didn’t you?”
“I wanted a win,” Peter said. “I can’t afford to keep buying us dinner every month.”
“The problem is that you lack imagination. These criminals have a lot of fun with it. You gotta think outside the box.”
“You’ve always been better at that than me,” Peter mused. He was tracing shapes on her knee, eyes half closed. If MJ focused, she could feel the shape of a flower blooming under his finger.
“And that’s why I win our monthly Bingo games.”
Peter made a sound that was partial-groan, partial-purr. “Whatcha readin’?” He asked, to avoid the topic of his regular failure. He lifted a finger to point at the book. He kept his palm flat on her knee, and MJ counted three points of contact— his hand on her knee, his head on her lap, her mouth on his temple.
“Poetry by dead men,” MJ said.
“Sara Bareilles,” Peter cited. “Who were you reading when I interrupted?”
“Yeats.” Peter broke a point of contact to reach out and grab the book. He held it up to her. “Read to me?” He asked.
The request lodged itself between MJ’s ribs and squeezed at her heart. She plucked the book from his fingers, pressed a kiss to his temple, and sat up.
“When you are old and grey and full of sleep, and nodding by the fire, take down this book, and slowly read, and dream of the soft look your eyes had once, and of their shadows deep,” MJ read, carding her fingers through Peter’s hair. It was matted down from his mask, and she worked the knots out as she read. Every so often, her nails would scrape his scalp and he would sigh, contented.
“… Murmur, a little sadly, how Love fled and paced upon the mountains overhead and hid his face amid a crowd of stars.” When she’d finished the poem, she let go of Peter’s hand to turn the page, and he rolled onto his back.
“You look angelic,” he told her, and she scoffed quietly.
“Cheesy, even for you,” she criticized with a smile.
“No, I mean—“ he pointed up, behind her head.
She craned her head to see she had arranged herself under the lamp in the perfect position for a halo of light to erupt around the crown of her head. When she turned her attention back to him, Peter’s eyes were already closed. MJ sighed and smiled fondly at him.
I keep thinking how much more powerful the Spiderman origin story would be if Peter Parker was an African American kid, whose Uncle Ben was shot by police while being arrested for a minor parking infraction. There is no formal investigation, and Peter decides to put himself on the line to prevent it happening again. He tackles the white crimes that go unpunished, punishes POC criminals fairly. He is the leveler, always fighting to be without bias, to be just. To protect people like his uncle.
This not only mirrors so much of what’s happening in America, but feeds right into the complex relationship between Spiderman, the authorities and the media.
Peter Parker is a brilliant student, awkward, a nerd, but is branded a thug, a gang member, a criminal, because of his appearance. The media latch on to that and misrepresent him totally.
The police, humilitated by the fact that he refuses to work with them and often punishes cops themselves for brutalizing innocent people, or guilty people who still deserve better treatment than they get, attempt to hunt him down.
