#2.7k

[laverte]

stay in the lines i drew for us

Nancy Wheeler x Reader canon-compliant post-s4 (everyone lives), toxic!Nancy, possessive! Nancy, jealousy as a love language, emotional manipulation, slow-burn that aches, co-dependency, angst with microscopic cute moments, no upside down in the present timeline, reader is implied to be the same age as Nancy [2.7k] ---

You meet Nancy Wheeler on a Tuesday in third grade when she punches Tommy Hagan for calling you “four-eyes” because of the thick glasses your mom insisted you needed. She doesn’t apologize for the blood on her knuckles. She just grabs your hand and says, “Come on, we’re gonna be late for art.” You follow her. You always follow her.

By the time you’re fourteen, you’ve memorized the way she bites her lip when she’s concentrating, the way her curls frizz when it rains, the way she says your name like it’s punctuation—sharp, final, mine. You’ve also memorized the way she looks at Steve Harrington across the cafeteria, the way her laugh changes when he’s around. You tell yourself it doesn’t matter. You’re her best friend. That’s enough.

It isn’t.

Barb dies in November of ‘83. You hold Nancy while she screams into your shoulder in the parking lot of the funeral home, her mascara smearing black across your gray sweater. You don’t cry. You can’t. Someone has to be steady. She clings to you like you’re the only real thing left in the world. Later, when Steve tries to comfort her, she shrugs him off and finds you instead. You don’t say I told you so. You just let her fall asleep on your bedroom floor, her head in your lap, your fingers carding through her hair until dawn.

You think maybe this is what love is: being the place someone lands when everything else crumbles.

You’re wrong.

Sophomore year, Nancy starts dating Jonathan Byers. You like Jonathan. He’s quiet, kind, takes photos of you and Nancy laughing in the photo lab and never makes you feel like a third wheel. But Nancy still calls you at 2 a.m. when Jonathan’s asleep, voice small and cracked. “I had a nightmare,” she says. “About Barb.” You drive to the Byers’ house in your mom’s station wagon, park in the driveway, and sit with her on the porch until the sun comes up. Jonathan finds you both asleep against the railing, Nancy’s head on your shoulder. He doesn’t ask questions. He just brings blankets.

You start to notice the pattern: Nancy needs you most when she’s supposed to need someone else.

Junior year is a blur of college applications and SAT prep and Nancy’s growing obsession with the Hawkins Post internship. You apply to Emerson because it’s in Boston and far away and maybe—maybe—you need to learn how to breathe without her orbit pulling you in. She finds the acceptance letter before you do. She doesn’t speak for three days. On the fourth, she shows up at your house with two plane tickets to Chicago. “Spring break,” she says. “Just us. Like old times.” You go. You always go.

The trip is perfect in the way only disasters can be. You eat deep-dish pizza until you’re sick, get lost on the L, take Polaroids in front of the Bean. Nancy kisses you on the cheek for one of them and your heart stops. She doesn’t notice. She’s too busy stealing your fries.

Back in Hawkins, she tells Jonathan about the trip. She leaves out the part where she fell asleep with her head on your chest in the hotel room, where she whispered “don’t leave me” into your skin like a secret. You leave that part out too.

Senior year starts with a miracle: Vecna is dead. The gates are closed. The world didn’t end. Everyone lives. The relief is so sharp it feels like grief.

You think maybe now things will be normal.

They aren’t.

Nancy gets into Northwestern. You get into Emerson. The letters arrive the same week. She opens yours first. Her face goes very pale. “Boston,” she says. “That’s... far.” You nod. “It’s a good program.” She doesn’t look at you. “You’ll love it.” Her voice is flat. You want to ask if she’s okay. You don’t.

The possessiveness starts small. She “forgets” to give you messages from the Emerson admissions office. She schedules study sessions during your shifts at the record store. She cries in your car when you mention visiting campus. “I just—I can’t imagine not seeing you every day,” she says. You hold her hand. You tell her you’ll call every night. She doesn’t believe you. You’re not sure you believe you.

Robin Buckley transfers to your English class in October. She’s loud, funny, smells like coffee and vinyl. She asks you to partner for the Great Gatsby project. Nancy finds out and spends the entire weekend “helping” you. She rewrites your thesis. She color-codes your notes. She sits so close her knee presses against yours under the desk. Robin texts you: your guard dog’s intense. You don’t reply.

The breaking point comes in March, the night of the spring talent show. You’re not performing—God, no—but Robin is. She’s doing a comedy set about working at Scoops Ahoy. Nancy refuses to go. “It’s stupid,” she says. “We have the chem midterm.” You go anyway. Robin’s hilarious. The crowd loves her. After, she finds you in the lobby, adrenaline-high and grinning. “Drinks at Steve’s? Celebrate my triumphant return to stand-up?” You hesitate. Nancy’s waiting in the parking lot. But Robin’s looking at you like you’re the only person in the room, and for once, you want to be selfish.

You go.

Steve’s basement is crowded with familiar faces—Dustin, Lucas, Max, even Jonathan with a beer he’s nursing like it personally offended him. Robin drags you to the center of the room and announces, “This one’s my new favorite person!” Everyone cheers. You laugh. It feels good. Nancy isn’t there to see the way Robin’s hand lingers on your arm, the way you lean into it.

You don’t realise its late until 2 a.m. Nancy’s car is in the driveway. She’s asleep in the driver’s seat, headlights off, keys still in the ignition. You wake her gently. She startles, eyes wild. “Where were you?” Her voice is hoarse. “Steve’s. Robin—” “I called you seventeen times.” “I didn’t have service.” It’s a lie. Your phone’s been on silent since 8 p.m. She knows. You know she knows.

She drives you home in silence. When you reach for the door handle, she grabs your wrist. Hard. “You’re choosing her.” “I’m not choosing anyone.” “It feels like you are.” Her grip tightens. “I need you.” The words are a bruise. You pull away. “I’m right here.” “You weren’t tonight.”

You don’t sleep. You sit on your roof and watch the stars until they blur. You think about Boston. You think about Nancy’s hand on your wrist, the way it felt like a handcuff and a lifeline.

The next week, she apologizes. Sort of. She brings you coffee and a new notebook and says, “I was scared.” You forgive her. You always forgive her.

Prom is a disaster waiting to happen. Nancy’s going with Jonathan. You’re going stag. Robin asks you to dance during “Total Eclipse of the Heart.” You say yes. Nancy sees. She doesn’t speak to you for the rest of the night. Jonathan finds you by the punch bowl, tie askew. “She’s freaking out,” he says. “She thinks you’re leaving her for Robin.” You laugh. It’s not funny. “I’m not leaving anyone.” Jonathan looks tired. “You might have to.”

You find Nancy outside, smoking a cigarette she stole from Steve. She doesn’t smoke. “Nance.” She doesn’t turn. “Go back to your girlfriend.” “She’s not—” “I saw you.” Her voice cracks. “You looked happy.” You step closer. “I am happy. With you.” She finally looks at you. Her mascara’s running. “You won’t be. Not when you’re gone.” “I haven’t decided—” “You will. You always do what’s best for you.” The accusation stings because it’s true.

You reach for her. She lets you. Her cigarette burns forgotten between her fingers. “I’m scared,” she whispers. “Of what?” “Of being the thing you leave behind.” You don’t have an answer. You just hold her until the cherry burns out.

Graduation is in June. You give a speech about resilience. Nancy cries in the front row. You both get into your respective cars—hers to Northwestern, yours to wherever you decide. You haven’t told her you deferred Emerson. You haven’t told anyone.

The summer is a slow unraveling. You work at the record store. Nancy works at the Hawkins Post. You see each other every day. She brings you lunch. You drive her home. You kiss in her car once, twice, a dozen times. It’s never enough. It’s too much.

Robin leaves for Bloomington in August. She hugs you goodbye in the parking lot of Family Video. “You know where to find me,” she says. Nancy watches from her car, arms crossed. You wave. Robin waves back. Nancy doesn’t speak the entire drive to her house.

The night before Nancy leaves for Northwestern, she shows up at your window. It’s 3 a.m. She’s crying. “I can’t do this,” she says. “Do what?” “Leave you.” You pull her inside. She’s shaking. “You’re not leaving me. You’re going to college.” “It feels the same.” You kiss her then. Really kiss her. Not the stolen moments, not the almosts. She tastes like salt and terror and home. When you pull back, she’s staring at you like you’re a mirage. “Stay,” she says. “What?” “Stay here. With me. We’ll figure it out.” “Nancy—” “Please.”

You think about Emerson. You think about the life you almost had. You think about the way Nancy’s hands tremble when she’s scared, the way she says your name like a prayer. You think about Barb’s empty chair at graduation, about every time the world ended and you were the only thing left standing.

You stay.

Northwestern is two hours away. Nancy comes home every weekend. She calls you every night. She sends you letters on stationery that smells like her perfume. You enroll in community college. You tell yourself it’s temporary. You tell yourself a lot of things.

The first time she accuses you of cheating, it’s over nothing. You mentioned a study group. She heard “girl named Emily.” She drives to your house at midnight and screams in your driveway until your mom threatens to call the cops. You calm her down. You always calm her down.

The second time, it’s Robin. She’s home for Thanksgiving. You have coffee. Nancy sees the Instagram story. She doesn’t speak to you for a week. When she finally does, it’s to say, “I trust you. I just don’t trust her.” You don’t point out the difference. There isn’t one.

Christmas break, she gives you a necklace. A tiny silver locket with a photo of you both from eighth grade. “So you don’t forget,” she says. You wear it every day. You don’t take it off even when it leaves a green ring around your neck.

Spring semester, you transfer to UChicago. It’s closer. Nancy cries when you tell her. Happy tears, she says. You’re not sure.

You move into an apartment off-campus. Nancy decorates it with string lights and Polaroids. She has a drawer in your dresser. Then a shelf. Then half the closet. You don’t mind. You like the way her books look next to yours, the way her shampoo smells in your shower.

Robin visits once. Nancy is polite. Too polite. Robin leaves early. You don’t ask her to stay.

The first time Nancy says “I love you,” it’s during a fight. You’re screaming about boundaries, about space, about the way she reads your texts over your shoulder. She’s crying so hard she can barely breathe. “I love you,” she chokes out. “I love you so much it’s killing me.” You stop yelling. You kiss her instead. She kisses back like she’s drowning.

You say it back. You mean it. You’re not sure what it means.

Years pass. You graduate. Nancy gets a job at the Chicago Tribune. You get one at a small press. You move in together. The apartment is too small, but it’s yours. Hers. Ours.

Robin gets engaged. You go to the wedding. Nancy holds your hand the entire time. When Robin kisses her fiancée, Nancy whispers, “That’ll be us someday.” You smile. You’re not sure if it’s a promise or a threat.

Some nights, you dream about Boston. You dream about a life where you left, where you learned how to miss her without breaking. You wake up with Nancy’s arms around you, her breath warm against your neck. You stay.

You always stay. --- A/N: for the ones who learned love as a clenched fist.

[criminalmindsgonewrong]

The Lost Unit

The BAU's jet goes down on The Island.

0K this has been sitting in my drafts for over a year now and I haven't touched it. I'm posting it for Augusnippets day 6, but it also works as a stand-alone crossover, so I'm posting it individually, too. I'm really unlikely to continue it, so I hope you'll enjoy it for what it is, and imagine what it could have been.

read on AO3

2.7K words

[fizzyxcustard]

I’ve hit 2,700 followers. I’m just…..astounded!

[ishouldreallybeelsewhere]

I Don’t Dance; An Analysis

By someone with no idea what they’re doing

Can I just say,,, this song slaps. Like, ignore everything,, all the connections, all the subtext, all the whatever, this song (I Don’t Dance from High School Musical 2) is just rlly good. I’ve been listening to it a lot (shocker) and I have to say, perhaps pop isn’t so bad. I’m lying, of course, rock forever, but also not the point. Now, onto what I was actually planning on talking about.

Songs can say a lot, especially when paired with dances, and to see the full meaning of a song, one must look past it’s surface level meaning and dive deep into the subtext. Contextually, the song makes sense as just talking about baseball, but on a surface level only. Look into it for even a moment and you’re sure to find all the queer subtext you need to confirm the theory that High School Musical as a whole is a metaphor for accepting your queer identity.

A quick overview of the song; it starts as a friendly game of baseball between Ryan and Chad, the dancer and the jock. That’s fairly straight-forward, and as they play, Ryan encourages Chad to dance, insisting that he can and should, while dancing in ways that enhance his own playing. I should mention right now, I know fuck-all about baseball. I learnt to spell it, like, 15 minutes ago. It should not be spelt like that. Regardless, I’m gonna do my best to some-what grasp/avoid the thing entirely. Anyway, I’m getting off track. Back to what I was saying, the song is Ryan encouraging Chad to dance, in a somewhat flirtatious matter. The song ends after a dance routine involving the entirety of both teams, and then, in the following scene, Chad and Ryan are shown having a good time, talking and laughing while eating lunch, WEARING EACH OTHER’S CLOTHES!! If someone can give me a heterosexual explanation for that,,,, don’t.

Now, for what I’ve been meaning to get to; what does the song actually mean? (I use the phrase ‘Now,’ at the start of a lot of sentences, sorry in advance.)

Obviously, it’s about accepting your queer identity and living your life to its fullest, not allowing the heteronoramilty of the world hold you back. Anyone who’s ever watched the movie can tell you that, however, as is the way with any piece of explanatory writing, I have to assume that you’ve never even seen any of the movies (heathen).

The plot doesn’t matter. I don’t care about all but four characters, Zeke, Sharpay, Chad, and Ryan. This will primarily be about the latter two, and their own acceptance of who they are.

From the start, Ryan is flamboyant and feminine, the archetype of a gay man, as ‘subtlety’ isn’t really a thing in High School Musical. Less so in the sequel, aside from the sub-text of course, but they had to get that past Disney’s censors. Also, Ryan is one of the ‘villains’ of the trilogy, meaning that he can be queer-coded as much as the writers desire. Off track once again. I apologise. No I don’t. Anyway, Ryan is a theatre kid. The theatre kid, excluding his sister, of course, but as I said previously, Sharpay is not the topic of today’s discussion. Why is theatre so important you ask? Well, not only is the whole point of the trilogy theatre and musicals, but it’s often associated with queer identity, gay men, and femininity. While that is not true, necessarily, it works well as a metaphor and for subtext in the series. Ryan’s theatre/dance-centered personality is made as such because he is one of the few openly gay students in the movie. Theatre and dance, in this context, are queer. And Ryan is incredibly open with his sexuality, especially after he steps out from his sister’s shadow and comes into himself, realising who he is in his entirety.

Chad is on the opposite side of the spectrum. He’s, to put it bluntly, a Chad. Sporty, masculine, ‘straight’, everything he’s expected to be, but, secretly, he knows that that’s not quite true. He’s likely bisexual, as we never recive a label I will refer to him as such, and he knows this about himself. He accepts it, but refuses to act on it, or really acknowledge it, so it is not true acceptance. He is still hiding and suppressing part of himself, dancing only when everyone around him is doing the same, conforming to the heterosexual society that we all must reside in. So much of who he appears to be centered around sport and straightness, but after he is left by his closest friend (Asshole Troy. My cousin stunt-doubled Zac Effron once lol) he’s unsure where to go, and accepts an offer to play a friendly game of baseball against Ryan.

Ryan knows that Chad is bi. He knows that Chad is suppressing and hiding a part of himself, and, on some level, understands what that’s like, and knows how harmful that can be, and takes it upon himself to change that, and the game begins. Literally. And of all games, it’s baseball, one of the only sports I know filled to the brim with euphemisms and gay slang, and let me tell you, I know very little about both things, but I did actaully do research before this.

Chad knows what Ryan is trying to do, and rejects it, insisting that he has to ‘just do his thing.’ He steps up, the batter, insisting that he can be straight, that he doesn’t need that other part of himself to feel whole. Ryan sees clearly that this is bullshit.

‘I’ll show you that it’s one in the same, baseball, dancing, same game.’ In this line, Ryan is explaining that Chad doesn’t need to give up his masculinity or his love for sport to live in his true identity, that dancing and baseball are the same thing, different flavours. He can stay who he is while still being true to himself and stop suppressing a part of himself. He’s also flirting, a lot. Saying that he can show Chad what he’s missing.

‘I wanna play ball now, and that’s all. This is what I do. It ain't no dance that you can show me,’ replies Chad, saying how he doesn’t agree, and has no wish to change who he is, regardless of the consequences. He doesn’t think that the two parts of his identity can live in harmony, and he’s gotten this far in life while suppressing his queer side, he can do it forever. Of course, as you likely already know, dear reader, this is far from true, and Ryan has made it his mission to prove that, through song and suspiciously flirtatious dance.

‘You’ll never know, if you never try.’ Ryan now is telling Chad that he’ll never know if he can be happier as an open bisexual if he doesn’t try to expirience life in a different way, and is also telling Chad he’s dtf.

‘There’s just one little thing that stops me every time.’ Chad is on the verge of agreeing, accepting Ryan’s advances, when it cuts to his team, watching him play. He can’t come out, can’t fully accept himself, even if he wants to, without risking rejection from his team, from his friends, and having to possibly leave behind the world of sports that he so loves. The masculinity is fragile in this one, I must say. But his team not backing him up, leaving him behind, that scares Chad more than anything at that point in his life. Even if it is living his truth, he won’t risk the life already built up around him. In his eyes, nothing would truly be worth it. But Ryan won’t give up on him.

Then the pair go back and forth, arguing over whether Chad has it in him to accept it, risk everything to be who he truly is. ‘If I can do this then you can do that.’ Ryan is telling Chad that if he can play baseball while still retaining his queer identity, then Chad can do the same while dancing. Doing one thing does not invalidate or cancel out the other. He can, and should, do both, to become a more complete version of himself. However, Chad’s team is still supporting him only in baseball, at this point in the song anyway.

‘Hey, batter, batter. Hey batter, batter, swing.’ At this point, no one is actually swinging at the ball, showing that this is not what they’re talking about. ‘Swing that way,’ is often used to refer to whom one is attracted to, and Ryan is telling Chad to ‘swing,’ to come to terms with his attraction to men, and to Ryan himself. While they are singing this, Chad is literally approaching first base, not too dissimilar from the bases in a relationship. Like, any other sport, any one at all, and they had to pick this one. Even urban dictionary agrees it’s gay as all hell.

‘Bases loaded, do your dance. It’s easy.’ Here, Ryan is telling Chad that baseball is almost a dance on its own, it requires movement and coordination like dance, and at this point Chad can’t disagree, because the bases are loaded (I do actually know what that means) and he has to hit the ball and free them up, else something happens (reaching the end of my baseball knowledge sorry).

‘I've got what it takes, playin my game. So you better spin that pitch. You're gonna throw me, yeah.’ Here Chad is admitting that Ryan is distracting him, his dance and words throwing him off his game. ‘I’ll show you how I swing.’ Chad is play-flirting now, not-quite-mockingly responding to Ryan while dancing, ever so slightly, while still remaining in the game. He comes closer to accepting it than he has before, but still refusing to truly accept it.

With Ryan’s line, ‘hit it out of the park,’ we return ever so slightly to the literal playing of the game, and Ryan telling Chad to give it his best shot, showing his support despite being on the opposing team. Moments later, members of Chad’s team begin dancing as well, using the movements to enhance their play somewhat, and, subtly, showing their support for dancing and all that comes with it. Chad, however, has still not reached that point.

‘Lean back, tuck it in, take a chance. Swing it out, spin around, do the dance.’ Ryan’s now explaining how connected dancing and baseball really are, how they can easily coexist, of course playing into what Ryan has been trying to convince Chad of the whole time, that he can accept himself and still remain as Chad-like as he wants.

‘I wanna play ball, not dance hall.’ Chad doesn’t care, instead staying steadfast in his position that sport and dance must stay seperate, but his actions betray his words, as, however mockingly it may be, he does in fact dance along to those lines.

‘I can prove it to you til you know it's true. 'Cause I can swing it, I can bring it to the diamond too.’ Ryan is not giving up. He’s trying his best to say that he’s a dancer, sure, but his skills help him on the field. Were he not a dancer, he would likely not be as good at baseball as he is, explaining that if you are repressing a part of yourself, then you are not living up to your full potential, and not living life to its fullest.

‘You’re talking a lot, show me what you got.’ Prove it, Chad is saying as he throws the ball. And Ryan swings, and hits it, sending it far out over the playing field, proving his point, and with that, Ryan relents. Now, as he says he doesn’t dance, he’s dancing with his whole team behind him. They’re showing their support, and the dance becomes almost making fun of his past stance, and now he and Ryan flirt relentlessly through the song, as they dance.

They repeat their banter, all while dancing, and they come extremely close, closer than anyone else in the court, coming closer and closer to first base.

‘You can do it.’ It’s Chad’s team now, dancing behind him, showing their support for him, and insisting that he can dance, he can accept his identity in its whole, and they will still be behind him, still accept him for who he is. Chad and Ryan dance across from each other, back and forth, all of both teams and the crowd, all of them showing support.

Even as it returns to Chad batting, he does so bouncing on his toes to the music, and as he scores a home run, clearing the bases, each of his team members who are on the bases reach home with a flourish, a dance move of their own, even though they themselves are straight. Likely.

However, during the whole song, Ryan and Chad were openly flirting, the song is many things, as Chad knew his sexuality, he just wasn’t comfortable enough to admit it. At first the flirting was jokingly, on Chad’s side anyway, but tensions rise as the song continues, and Ryan makes sure Chad understands that this isn’t a joke, he means it. And that takes a few minutes for Chad to truly accept. The song is about self-acceptance and the chemistry between the two characters, more chemistry than literally any other characters, including Troy and Gabriella.

As the song ends, and Chad scores a home run, winning the game, the two fall over each other at the home base, and it’s over, the scene is anyway, and with the end of the game comes the end of Chad’s suppression. He can finally accept his bisexuality with the knowledge that his team will stay behind him and that he can be happy with a man just as he could with a woman, something that prior to this song, he didn’t truly believe.

And then, in the next scene, Ryan and Chad are wearing each other’s clothes, talking about the game in a far friendlier manner than any previous interaction. Together, they have hotdogs and good conversation, and the swapping of their clothes, including hats, implies that they totally fucked. Not to sound insensitive, obviously, but please, if you can think of any other explanation, please enlighten me.

Now, how does this tie into the rest of High School Musical? I should mention now I’ve not seen the third one and can barely remember the other two. However, I believe I know enough for my point to have some grounds. In this movie trilogy, theatre is queerness, as I have already explained, and conforming to society is heteronormativity. The path of Troy accepting that he loves theatre and basketball at the same time is one of accepting himself in his entirety. While I don’t personally believe that the character himself is queer, it is still a path of acceptance that still resonates with much of the LGBTQ+ community who would watch this movie.

The whole idea of the series is rejecting the status quo and living your life without rejecting any part of yourself. This is taken to another level between Chad and Ryan, someone who has accepted himself completely, and someone who doesn’t want to give up the life he has. There is little else to be said on the matter (LIES! I could talk about this for so long) so it appears time to wrap it up.

I don’t care that much about High School Musical. That may seem surprising, but before this weekend, I couldn’t tell you the character’s names. It is a strange feeling to fall so completely into something that you ignore all schoolwork to write an analysis (strong word) of a clip of a movie. I downloaded the Osu map (after finding it by accident) and played it until I got an S, even tho I’ve had the game only for a couple weeks, barely ever play it, and the easiest version of the map was 2.3 stars. I couldn’t tell you how many times I’ve listened to it, and I had to finish this piece of writing so I could have some semblance of peace, as all my friends are tired of hearing about it but I need to get my thoughts out. Perhaps now that this is done I can pay attention to the science class that’s been happening around me. I think I’ve said all I can, and I hope that is enough to satisfy my mind. And I am well aware that there is someone out there who has done this with fewer and better words, but I don’t really care.

TLDR; High School Musical 2 is gay, and even more gay than that is Chad and Ryan. Thank you and goodnight.

[wandaromanova]

thank you for 2.7K!!!

don’t know how that happened considering i haven’t posted a story in what feels like ages, but wow.

thanks so much for dealing with my randomness 😭❤️

[andromedaa-tonks]

holy shit i just realized i hit 2.7k a while ago i haven’t looked at my follower count in a minute but oh hey thank u for being here i love u :)

[spiderman-homecomeme]

day one - pull out pt. 1

ROAD TRIP AU

A/N: GUYS!!! Spideychelle Week is finally here!! We made it!!! hell yeah!!! I have been so excited to see what everyone’s been working on while also being very stressed trying to figure out what I’m working on, you know?? Anyway, I couldn’t wait to post this one. It’s the first part of two, the conclusion being with day 7. And i know, the title is a little suggestive, but the spicy stuff doesn’t come until the next part! 

Huge thanks to @spideychelleweek​ for setting this up!! 

okay!! hope you all enjoy some 2.7k of peter being a little shit, mj being an absolute saint, and some fluff mixed in!!

Read here or on AO3

-

“You almost ready?” MJ asks from the living room.

“Uh—” Peter runs both hands through his hair, mussing it up out of a mix of both frustration at himself and panic. He stares down at his now empty backpack, all of the contents he’d originally packed dumped unceremoniously onto the bed. “Yeah!” He shouts as he starts to stuff the wrinkled t-shirts and shorts back in haphazardly. 

“Are you sure?” 

He jumps at her voice suddenly entering his room. Spinning around, he smiles sheepishly. “Almost!”

MJ leans against the doorframe, her own duffle bag slung over her shoulder. “Need any help?”

Peter exhales sharply through his nose before scratching the back of his neck. He goes to one of his biggest decision-making problems, holding up two near-identical pairs of swim trunks, both blue, one a lighter shade, and one a darker shade. “Which one of these should I bring?”

MJ fixes him with a deadpan, unimpressed stare. “The light blue.”

Peter nods, almost resolute. “Yeah… Yeah… But I mean…” He sighs. “I do like the dark blue.”

“So bring the dark blue.”

“But you said the light blue.”

“Okay, then bring the light blue.”

Peter stays silent, his gaze flitting between the two similar pairs of shorts. 

“Bring both.” 

He looks up at her, letting out a nervous, embarrassed laugh. “Yeah, yeah. You’re right. Good idea.”

MJ stares at a spot on the wall just above his head, and he assumes it’s because she’s silently asking whatever higher being is watching them right now for another ounce of patience. 

“Sorry,” Peter says after a beat, his hands wringing the last t-shirt he plans to pack. “I know I can be a pain in the ass, so… Thanks. For putting up with me, I guess?”

Her stony expression doesn’t last long, falling as she lets out a quiet huff of laughter. She turns back around, heading into the living room again, and although he can’t see her face, Peter swears he can hear the hint of a smile in her tone as she calls back to him, “You’re good!”

His stomach flips, and he feels himself falling deeper and deeper into the pit of catching feelings for his best friend. It’s dangerous territory, he knows, but it’s not as if he can help it. MJ’s just… so… 

So...

She’s so  MJ.  

And he just likes her  so. Much.  

She makes him laugh, both times when he needs it and times when he least expects it. 

She’s such a wildly cool person, he’s not even sure she’s real sometimes. 

And although she has this hard, deadpan exterior, he’s seen her when she’s at her mushiest and softest. 

And today, he’s seen her today, as they get ready for their three day long trip to Virginia beach.

MJ had so graciously agreed to wait for him to be done with class before they’d head out. Why she was so willing to put up with that, he had no idea. He didn’t get out of class until 4:20 PM, giving them not very much daylight for the seven-and-a-half hour drive ahead of them to Betty’s parent’s beach cottage down in Virginia. Now at this point, nearly 5:00 PM, they wouldn’t be getting in until a little after midnight, and that was at the earliest; if they took out bathroom breaks, speed limits, snack stops, etc. 

Part of him, a tiny, tiny part of him, wants to think she might have originally agreed to this because of the minute possibility that she could feel the same way about him that he felt about her. 

But then that part of him is crushed by the realization that perhaps she was doing it because she’s a good person and a good friend. 

Of course, there’s been moments where he’s been sure—absolutely sure—that she felt the same way. Eye contact that’s lasted a bit too long, said too much; touches that have lingered and burned when they shouldn’t. 

And again, the rational side of his brain bursts in like the Kool-Aid man, rubbing it in his face that he’s just imagining things, that all of that stuff he thinks he’s seeing is just himself getting his hopes up.

It’s thoughts like these—the good and the not so good—that make the idea of spending seven-ish hours alone in a car with her seem like a really, really,  really  bad idea. He’s not sure how he’s going to function the rest of the day, and honestly, the next three days. How he’s not going to say something stupid and get himself in deep shit, he has no idea. 

Right now, as they get into the car, MJ climbing into the driver’s seat, Peter in the passenger seat, he figures the best way to deal with this—his feelings for her, his dumbass brain, everything—is just to avoid, avoid,  avoid.

His main objective is to not spend any time alone with her outside of this drive.

He’s lost in thought, planning out the sleeping arrangements—Betty had said that she and her sister and two cousins always stayed at this house, so it had four sleeping spots—so much so that he barely registers the car engine roaring to life, doesn’t even notice MJ pulling-out of the parking lot and onto the highway. 

“Dude?” 

MJ’s voice, once again, yanks him out of his thoughts. 

“Uh… What—huh?” He sputters.

She passes a glance in his direction, the corner of her mouth twitching upward briefly. “You good?”

He seems to have forgotten how to speak for a moment, stammering incoherent sounds that are only vaguely human before he’s actually able to answer her. 

“What? Yeah!” He says perhaps a bit too dramatically. “I’m fine. You good?”

MJ’s eyes shift between him and the road in front of her. “Uh-huh.”

“Good!” A wide, borderline too-excited smile stretches across his face. “Great!”

Again, she glances at him. “I don’t know. I mean, you look kinda pale. You seem jumpy. You’re not gonna puke are you?” She lightly teases, though it’s evident that there’s some genuine concern there.

“What? No, no.” Peter shakes his head vehemently. “No. No no. No. I’m fine.”

“Okay, good,” MJ gives a single nod. “Because I don’t wanna have to make you pay to have my car detailed again.”

Peter lets out a nervous chuckle. “Yeah—Yeah. Me neither.”

Already, he feels as though he’s not doing so great. He’s too much in his head. But… he doesn’t want to risk saying something stupid…. And yet… staying silent only lets him listen to his thoughts even more, and then he just keeps thinking about this whole situation. 

He just needs to distract himself. 

For the first hour of the trip, he has a hard time coming up with anything that isn’t talking to her, or listening to the faint music on the stereo. He tries looking at his phone for a bit during hour-one, but that only proves to make him the teensiest bit carsick, the contents of his stomach lightly sloshing as he attempts to read through his Twitter feed. Then, he tries to sleep a bit, closing his eyes and letting the gentle hum of the drive help him to drift off. 

He tries pointing out every farm animal he sees in hour two, and that proves to help just a little, giving his brain something else to focus on while also keeping his eyes on the moving world outside so he doesn’t actually vomit. 

“Cow,” he says, approximately a million times as they drive through a small bit of countryside in Maryland, pointing at every single one he sees. “Cow. Ooo, horse! Wait—” He stops. “It’s a cow. False alarm.”

“Cow.” “Cows!” “MJ! Another cow!”

Every time, MJ gives a slow, deliberate blink. 

“Oh my God. Cow-puppies!”

“You mean calves, Pete?”

“No,” He shakes his head, mumbling under his breath. “Cow-puppies.”

He’s not sure if MJ laughs at that, but he can definitely see the slightly-pained humor in her eyes as she glares at him. 

“Did you know that a cow can walk up a flight of stairs, but it can’t walk back down?” Peter even starts reading off a list of fun cow facts from different farming websites. 

Again, anything to keep him distracted.

Anything.

“The average domestic cow sleeps only four hours a day.”

“Cows are devotional mothers and are known to walk miles to find their calves. Aww that’s cute!”

“There are more than 800 different breeds of cows around the world. Wow. That’s… That’s a lot.”

“Cows drink the equivalent to an entire tub of bathwater each day.”

“You know, most people think that cows have four stomachs, but apparently that’s not true. Get this—” Peter starts when he gets to the end of his list of fifty fun facts. “It’s one stomach. With four chambers. Crazy, right?”

“Mmhmm,” MJ hums, staring straight ahead at the road. She seems to relax at the few seconds of silence that follow. “You seem really interested in cows today.”

Peter struggles to answer at first. “Oh, oh yeah. You know. They’re just… a super cool animal. Super… Super, uh… interesting.”

MJ’s mouth hangs open a bit as she passes him a side-eye glance. “Uh-huh.”

Finally, when they reach the half-way point, they switch drivers, Peter thanking God herself for giving him the chance to focus on something that’s not MJ. Or cows. It’s much easier at that point, driving being something that easily takes his mind off of everything going on. And MJ does help with that to some degree; she reads for a while in his first hour of driving—how she’s able to do that and not want to hurl all over the dashboard, he has no idea. 

And it still seems fine, normal even, when she puts her book down, stretching while suggesting they find something new to listen to. “Ned made us this playlist to listen to on the way. Said something about how it’ll ‘hype us up,’ whatever the hell that means,” she snorts. 

Peter grins, his hands relaxed at ten-and-two. “Ooo yeah. Sounds good.”

“Or, we can always just listen to Old MacDonald on repeat. You know, since you seem to love cows so much.”

Peter sighs in slight embarrassment, lips pressing together into a thin line to suppress a smile.

When the first song that comes on is  Let’s Stay Together, and Al Green sings the words  I, I’m so in love with you,  Peter thinks once again that he might be in trouble. 

Peter quickly tries to turn it down, but MJ stops his hand. “Wait, wait. I like this song,” she says as she pushes his hand back to the wheel.

He just keeps telling himself that it’s not a big deal, it’s just a song, and soon, a new one will play. Everything will be fine. He doesn’t need to worry. 

But then, he thinks he might actually kill Ned when  My Girl  comes on, and then again when the Beach Boys start singing  Wouldn’t it Be Nice .

He might really do it. 

In a panic, he just shuts off the music completely. 

“Hey—” MJ starts, reaching for the volume button again. 

“—Music distracts me,” Peter spits out hastily, a bit too defensive to be convincing. “I can’t—I can’t concentrate on the road. Just uh—Just need some quiet.”

He can actually feel her doubtful gaze burning into him, and he doesn’t have to look to see that she’s probably raising a very disbelieving eyebrow right at him. Even so, she doesn’t say anything else, settling back into her seat, bringing a knee up to her chest as she watches the fields pass by. 

The silence, as he had anticipated, doesn’t seem to help. He cringes, mostly at himself. He’s been trying to hard to make this casual, to be nonchalant, and he’s pretty sure he’s done the exact opposite in the nearly five hours that they been stuck in the car. He wants to apologize, but he holds back, afraid that saying anything at all would bring too much attention to how he’s been acting. 

But he also knows that it’s only a matter of hours, minutes, or seconds before MJ calls him out on all this bullshit. Frankly, he’s a little surprised and confused as to why she hasn’t already. 

Maybe she’s just accepted that one of her best friends is one of the weirdest people on planet Earth. 

So, why in the world he thinks it’s a good idea to say what he says next, as they’re driving along more countryside at night, he’s not quite sure. 

“You know that…  Manatees are considered the cows of the sea.”

“Oh, my GOD,” MJ groans. “What are you on?”

“I’m sorry! I’m sorry!” 

“I know you said you were good, but you’re acting really loser-y right now,” MJ glares, but her tone still has that slight hint of worry in it. “Like, way more than usual. Are you okay?”

“I mean, yeah?” Peter sighs. “Kinda. It’s fine. I’m sorry. I just—” He flinches, lips twisting as he tries to think of what to say without giving anything away. He passes a brief glance in her direction, seeing the faint concern in her expression, her face glowing prettily under the blue light of the dashboard. 

He lets out a sharp exhale. “I’m just tired,” he lies. 

She watches him for a moment, and he knows—just knows—that she doesn’t quite believe him. Being tired explains nothing about his behavior. 

But thankfully, she lets it go, or at least she seems to. 

“We can turn the music back on,” Peter speaks again, softly, nodding his head in her direction. “I’m sorry. Again. I’ll—I’ll stop being weird.”

MJ lets out a short sigh before shaking her head with a tired huff of a laugh. “It’s fine, man. Don’t worry about it.”

He flips back on the stereo, trying not to let his heart race as Electric Love plays.

The rest of the drive is spent in a much more comfortable silence, yet there’s still the hint of tension hanging between them after Peter’s weird behavior earlier on. This, he thinks, is something that will keep him up for nights to come. It’ll be that one embarrassing memory his brain decides to remind him of as he’s trying to fall asleep, torturing him. He’ll cringe, wondering why he couldn’t just be cool like any normal person. 

As they get closer and closer to the beach house, and as the time gets close to midnight, with still an hour left, he can see MJ falling asleep in her seat from the corner of his eye. But he can also see her fighting it, trying to stay awake.

And then he wonders if she’s only trying to stay up so she can keep him company. 

“MJ,” He says, voice soft. “You can sleep. It’s fine. I got the rest of the drive.”

With her eyes closed, she lets out a deep breath. “I’m not sleeping. I’m just resting my eyes,” she mumbles sleepily. 

There’s another flip in his stomach, his chest warming as he tries to fight back a smile, not able to think anything else besides how cute she is right now. 

He grins. “Okay. Sure.”

She reaches a hand out to smack him, but she misses. He chuckles under his breath. 

MJ doesn’t have to energy to try again, and soon she seems to have succumbed to her body’s need for rest. 

Peter lets his hand fall to the gear shift between the seats, relaxing. 

But he tenses, feeling MJ’s hand meet his, her skin soft against his own. She doesn’t seem to be awake enough to notice, as she doesn’t move away. He gently moves his hand again, letting his pinkie rest next to hers, his heart swelling, his head swimming in the feeling of just how nice and warm it feels to have her hand with his. 

What he doesn’t notice, however, is the way MJ’s lips curl into a small, soft smile as she finally drifts off to sleep.

[spaceskam]

The Bullet You Never Saw Coming

Summary: Michael wants to be with Alex, but a giant vampire-shaped barrier is standing in the way.

This is written for @promptsforthestrugglingauthor​ ‘s friday night fight prompt for 9/13. I changed the prompt up a bit, changed the year and references, but still kept the structure and basic formula. Hope you guys enjoy!

ao3

Michael watched as Alex patiently sat on the couch with his eyes closed.

It seemed that every single time they had a not-so-one-night one-night-stand, Alex would choose to meditate for at least an hour after rather than cuddle. It had become a clear sign that he just didn’t fucking want Michael around. That alone was painful to accept.

“Listen, Alex, if you want me to leave, you could just fucking tell me,” Michael said, shaking his head as he walked further into the living room. Even in their decade apart and Alex had a penchant to never stay the night, he would always cuddle for a little while. The darkness was something they both found comfort in and it was something they could share together. Yet, since he came back, he’d only waited around once.

It would be different if Alex meditated all the time. He didn’t.

“It’s not that I want you to leave,” Alex said slowly, his voice trained and he never opened his eyes, “It’s that I would like you to put more clothes on and not get too close.”

That hurt worse than if Alex would’ve just told him to leave. His stomach clenched and he stood up straight, hoping not to show how badly that blow had hit him. Less than thirty minutes after they’d been in bed and kissing and touching and fucking and Alex wants him to not get too close? To put clothes on? To pretend that what they just did was a mistake and uncomfortable? They were a lot of things but never uncomfortable.

“You…” Michael said, but couldn’t find any words to follow it.

Alex slowly opened his eyes, the only things that seemed to betray that maybe he felt bad for what he was doing. Michael couldn’t even try to hide the hurt on his face. He was shit at that when it came to Alex. Anyone else in the world could tear him apart and he’d smile through it, but not Alex. Alex made it unbearable.

“I don’t think we should be doing this,” Alex said softly. Michael huffed a laugh, but it immediately turned into tears welling up in his eyes as he looked away. He didn’t know why it hurt so much to hear. He knew it was coming. It was always coming.

“Why the hell do you keep coming back, Alex? Honestly, why? You walk away time and time again, but you always come back to me. Do you know how confusing that is? I-I know it’s not because you’re taking advantage of me giving you what you want, it’s been 10 years. The only reason I keep letting you back in is because I love you and you know I love you, so why do it? Why do you keep doing it? Just fucking leave me alone if that’s all this is,” Michael rambled, not even hiding how bad he felt. Alex just stared.

Because of course Alex just stared.

“You know what, don’t fucking call me,” Michael said, grabbing his shirt from the floor and stalking towards the front door. Just as he opened it, Alex finally opened his mouth.

“Michael,” he called, his voice as monotone as humanly possible. And, of course, Michael stopped to hear what he had to say. “Can I ask you something?”

“Sure, why not, I clearly have nothing better to do than let you drag me around,” Michael said, letting go of the door and turning to face Alex. He did his best to keep his guard up.

“If…” Alex looked down, letting out a slow breath. Michael tried to show that he was annoyed, but he’d be lying if he wasn’t hanging on his every word. “If I hadn’t found out about you, would you have told me?”

Michael’s eyebrows slowly came together as he stared at him. “What’d you mean?”

“That… you’re an alien. Would you have ever told me?” Alex asked, relaxing just a little bit from his straight-spined meditation stance. Michael crossed his arms over his chest, shrugging his shoulders.

“I don’t know. Maybe. Honestly, probably. If you wanted to be with me for real, then I probably would’ve. I trust… trusted you. If we were in a real relationship and I wasn’t terrified that you were going to leave me, then I probably would’ve told you everything,” Michael answered simply. Alex nodded slowly as if that was supposed to mean something. “But you don’t, so what’s the point of asking?”

Alex was silent for a moment and Michael watched him. Then he realized that he didn’t know why he was still there. He had perfectly set up a dramatic exit and Alex had ruined it for something stupid. So, with a sigh, he went to leave again.

“Every time,” Alex started up once more, his voice loud before he cleared his throat and spoke again at a normal volume, “Every time I’m too close to you, I want to bite you and that’s why I don’t like to stay close and why I wish you wore more clothes.”

Michael scoffed, “Are you telling me that you won’t be with me because you’re scared I’m going to reject your kink?” Alex had clearly lost it if he thought that. Besides, they had done a lot weirder stuff than something as normal as biting.

Still, Alex groaned and rubbed the heels of his hands against his eyes. “No, it’s not a kink. I can hear your heartbeat from across the room and the closer I get, the more I hear it. The longer I’m around you, the harder it is not to-to, I don’t know, rip your throat out or something.”

“See, that’s a little weird.”

“I’m a vampire.”

The two of them fell silent as they stared at each other. Michael mulled over the word. His initial reaction was that it sounded like some elaborate excuse to get him to leave, but then he realized people probably would think the same thing whenever he told them he was an alien. Instead, he took a step closer with inquisitive eyes. The scientist part of him was taking over, abandoning the part of him that wanted to tell Alex it didn’t matter and they could be inhuman freaks together.

“A vampire?”

“Yes.”

“Why do you think that?”

“I don’t think, I know.”

“You don’t really act like one. You go out in the sun, your teeth look normal, I’ve seen you eat real food,” Michael listed, tilting his head to the side as he stepped closer and tried to see if anything odd stood out about Alex. He’d been with him for 10 years, he would’ve noticed a major difference in his body or something. But that’s the thing. Alex hadn’t changed much. “Okay, so, give me some details about the past. Something specific, that you could only know if you lived it.” Alex gave him that signature sarcastic look.

“I was only turned in 2016, what do you want from me? A dramatic reading of Work by Rihanna? My intimate feelings on Rogue One? My horrific shame that only a few years after the Twilight craze that I mocked so often, I became fucking Edward Cullen and I’m still terrified of teenage girls?” Despite the sarcasm, Michael’s stomach dropped.

“2016?”

“Yes.”

His fingers fidgeted against his jeans as he stared at Alex who didn’t fucking look different. He looked as beautiful as ever, he looked like his Alex. He didn’t look like a blood-sucking vampire. He definitely didn’t look like someone who became one of those things the same year as the accident that cost him his leg. That was traumatizing and Alex always acted fine. Fine-ish.

“What happened? Did you want to become one? Were you forced? Tell me what happened,” Michael urged, coming closer without even realizing it. Alex looked away from him.

“Why do you care?”

“What do you mean why do I care?” Michael demanded, scoffing as he shook his head, “I love you, Alex, and you’re telling me the reason we can’t be together is because you think you’re going to kill me. Well, news flash, I thought I was gonna kill you for awhile too because of my lack of control when I’m angry, but that hasn’t happened, so I’d like some more answers.”

He watched as Alex took a heavy breath and wondered if it was necessary for him to breathe or if it was just a habit. He wanted to know everything about this situation that didn’t seem real. He wanted to experiment‒though he knew he never would. He didn’t want to be a science experiment and he knew that Alex probably didn’t either.

“It isn’t the same thing, Michael. Your power is a gift that helps you. This… What’s wrong with me is a curse. I don’t deserve your love,” Alex responded. Michael sat on the opposite side of the couch. While his instinct was to protest, he knew that would do nothing other than push Alex away.

“Well, you have my love, so can we talk? Just… just tell me about it,” Michael urged, pulling his shirt over his head to make it easier. Alex was quiet for a moment, staring at the floor as he seemed to try and piece together his thoughts.

“When the explosion happened, a piece of shrapnel pinned me to the ground at my leg. I was bleeding out, I was gonna die,” Alex said simply as if it wasn’t something horrible. Michael didn’t say anything. “One of the locals in the town who survived saw me. I’d seen her before, I’d given her food before and we’d talked a few times. She was an older lady and now that I know what she was, she was probably much older than even that. But she said I was going to die if I didn’t get help immediately. She offered to be that help.”

“Did she tell you what she was going to do? Did she give you a choice?”

“Not really. She didn’t explain, I just was crying and bleeding and I was so scared that I’d die without making things right with you, so I just said she could do whatever to me. I didn’t realize that meant she was going to bite into her fucking arm and feed her blood to me,” Alex said, dry laughter coming from his voice. Michael wanted to move close, but he didn’t.

“Why’d you drink it?”

“Vampire blood is basically irresistible. You can fight it, but as soon as it touches your lips, it’s like you haven’t had water in days and you’ve found a spring,” he explained, shaking his head, “She gave me enough to make it through being found and the surgeries and everything. She showed up the next morning before I got shipped to Germany and asked me if I wanted to take away the pain and fix it. Obviously, I said yes. So she bit me and then gave me more of her blood. Then she fed me a water bottle with human blood which solidified my change. If I hadn’t had any human blood, I would’ve been human again. I… I didn’t get that option,” he laughed, shaking his head. Michael reached out to rub his shoulder, but Alex flinched away.

“I’m sorry that happened to you,” he said as he let his hand fall between them. He tried not to take it to heart that Alex didn’t want to be touched. He was reliving something horrible, it made sense. It wasn’t Michael.

“It’s okay. I mean, I feel like she genuinely thought she was helping me. And her English wasn’t very good, so maybe she did want to explain more to me but couldn’t because I didn’t speak her language either. I don’t know. I just know that now I’m not human. Which is why we can’t be together,” Alex explained.

“Alex,” Michael said softly, “I’m not human either.”

“Close enough! You have blood flowing and a heartbeat and body heat! You smell alive, you taste human. I’m basically a dead body! All I’m destined to do is hurt you!” Alex argued. Michael gulped slightly.

“You haven’t yet, not like that.”

“But I want to.”

“Do you?” he asked, trying to keep calm even though he felt like he was talking to a man who could never be persuaded, “Or do you just think you will and don’t want to risk it?”

“Michael,” Alex said firmly, staring him in the eye to show how serious he was, “When I’m in bed with you and you’re naked and in my hands, all I want is to tear you apart. I want to bite you, I want your blood, I want to taste you. I don’t know how much longer I can control myself.”

“You want to bite me. You don’t want to kill me. You just want to taste me. It’s mixed in your mind, sex and blood,” Michael concluded, though he admittedly felt his heart beating a little faster. He wasn’t scared of Alex, but he seemed so intense. “So bite me. Let’s find out.”

“Michael,” Alex said, his voice breaking as he shook his head, “I can’t control myself. I don’t want to kill you and I don’t want to change you.”

“I won’t drink any of yours and I won’t drink anyone else’s. If you go too far, then I’ll push you off. And, besides, I’m not human, so we don’t even know how that might affect it, it might be something completely different,” Michael said, scooting closer, “Come on, let’s experiment.”

“What is wrong with you?” Alex asked weakly, “Why can’t you just let it go?”

“Because I want to be with you and I will try anything and everything until I’m certain there is no way to be together,” Michael said firmly. Alex breathed slowly, not looking at him. Michael stared and stared until, slowly, fangs became apparent in Alex’s mouth. “I trust you, Alex. Don’t you trust me to make sure you don’t take it to far?”

“We’re not even having sex,” Alex tried limply. Michael chuckled.

“Okay, then do you want to? Or do you want to just cuddle? Do you need to eat first and see if that makes a difference? Tell me what you need,” Michael pressed. Alex gulped, shaking his head slightly.

After a moment of silence, Alex moved closer and put his hand on Michael’s cheek. He was nervous and his heart was thudding, but he wasn’t lying when he said he trusted Alex. On top of that, he just wanted to know.

Alex moved in and pressed a soft kiss on his lips then on the side of his lips and then on his cheek, on his jaw, and landing on his neck. Michael closed his eyes, relaxing completely as Alex kissed at his neck. They laid back slowly with Alex partially on top of him, holding his jaw in place as his tongue dragged over his skin.

Then there was a pinch.

Michael didn’t know what he expected, but he definitely thought it would hurt more than it did. Alex was sucking on the bite mark, kissing and licking all the way. It didn’t feel much different than a normal makeout session; it felt just as soothing as Alex’s kisses.

They stopped before Michael even felt lightheaded or anything and it had him wondering if Alex even drank any at all. The part of his neck where the bite was felt sort of numb, but otherwise it was fine. Alex was cuddled up to him, his forehead against Michael’s jaw.

“You taste different than humans,” he whispered after a moment. Michael snorted a laugh, wrapping his arms tightly around him. He wouldn’t mind doing that again. It didn’t scare him. If anything, it just confirmed that they could do this.

“That wasn’t bad. You controlled yourself,” Michael pointed out.

“I don’t know if I always will be able to,” Alex admitted. Michael shrugged.

“We’ll just make sure you’re always well-fed so you never get to a point where you lose control,” he decided. Alex sighed.

“You really wanna do this?”

“I really do.”

A few moments passed before Alex lifted his head and looked up at him. His lips were stained red and his pupils were dilated as all hell, but he looked beautiful. He always did. And, god, Michael was excited to have him as his own. Human or not.

“Then fine. Let’s do this.”