My Response to Bad Het Fics
Pairing: Jesse/ME!
Me. Me. Me.
I am so awesome.
"You're quiet," Alex comments. His 6'4" frame is looming over me, and I don't bother to look up to see the amused concern that likely adorns his facial features.
I shrug lightly, and take a sip of the beer in my hand. I had wanted something stronger, but Nate had convinced me they would kick me out. It's my first time sneaking into a bar, and apparently people don't come to places like this to get drunk. It's all about meeting people. I am so naive.
"I'm not a people person," I mutter, after noticing that Alex is staring me down expectantly. My voice is quiet, and higher than I'm used to hearing it. It's fake, and Alex can probably tell, but it doesn't matter, really.
"And you're here because...?"
I don't respond, opting to occupy my mouth with the alcoholic beverage. After a few sips, the bottle comes up empty. My lips start pulling themselves into a pout, but no one notices. People are busy socialising amongst themselves, and I wonder why I even bothered to come. I barely know these people and all I want is to be sitting back at home, safe with my computer.
It would be rude to just leave and, even if I wanted to, I don't know the bus route. So, I dig through my purse, in search of money to buy another beer. If I'm going to be stuck in some crappy downtown bar, I might as well be drunk out of my mind.
"Bottle of Bud," I order. I'm not nervous or scared of being caught, because I'm used to asking for alcohol. Besides, my skirt is so short that even if someone noticed that I'm fifteen-- almost sixteen, though-- they wouldn't care.
I move to hand the bartender my money, but someone stops me.
"I'll pay for that," a voice says, and it's familiar. I look up and almost choke on the stale, smoky air of the bar.
Advantage of sneaking into bars number one: Jesse Thomas Lacey.
"Thanks," I say, and my voice is shaky and high-pitched. I cringe at the sound.
Damnit, Sheesh. You met Johnny Marr, remember that. You can do anything. Of course, you were also completely incapable of forming coherent thought/words when you met Johnny Marr, but it's the thought that counts.
"It's no problem," Jesse says, and he's smiling, smiling, smiling. I bet this is how he picks up chicks, and then I pause my thoughts.
Jesse Lacey just bought me a drink, and now he's giving me flirty looks. Oh.
"I'm Jesse," He says, holding out his hand. I stare at it for a moment.
Jesse Lacet.
"I know," I say, and my voice comes out flat and vapid, "I'm a fan."
That probably wasn't a good idea. You pretty much just ruined your chances of sleeping with him. If you're a slut then you're a slut. It's anonymous. You want sex. If you're a fan then you're a groupie. You want the bragging rights you'll get from saying you had sex with Jesse Lacey of Brand New.
"Oh?" Jesse responds. False intrique, hiding dissapointment. He probably wanted an anonymous lay.
I notice that his hand is still outstretched, and I shake it. Maybe bars are a good thing. I can work on my social skills, and then I won't embarass myself the next time my favourite musician wants to sleep with me.
"I'm Sheesha."
"Oh, pretty name."
Why is he still flirting?
"Ah, not really. My name's Alicia, but I couldn't say it when I was younger. Sheesha just stuck."
He shrugs, and he's still smiling that same, flirty smile that makes his eyes squint and catch the light perfectly. "Still pretty."
It's at this moment that I wish my skirt were a little shorter. It doesn't matter that I already can't lean over in it-- or run, or walk, or stand.
And then I panic, because my beer is almost gone and I don't know when it happened, and Jesse is staring at me so intently.
"I'm fifteen." I blurt out. Then I stop, and think about what I did. I can feel my cheeks heating up, and I fake a smile.
"Oh. I have to go."
Me. Me. Me.
I am so awesome.
"You're quiet," Alex comments. His 6'4" frame is looming over me, and I don't bother to look up to see the amused concern that likely adorns his facial features.
I shrug lightly, and take a sip of the beer in my hand. I had wanted something stronger, but Nate had convinced me they would kick me out. It's my first time sneaking into a bar, and apparently people don't come to places like this to get drunk. It's all about meeting people. I am so naive.
"I'm not a people person," I mutter, after noticing that Alex is staring me down expectantly. My voice is quiet, and higher than I'm used to hearing it. It's fake, and Alex can probably tell, but it doesn't matter, really.
"And you're here because...?"
I don't respond, opting to occupy my mouth with the alcoholic beverage. After a few sips, the bottle comes up empty. My lips start pulling themselves into a pout, but no one notices. People are busy socialising amongst themselves, and I wonder why I even bothered to come. I barely know these people and all I want is to be sitting back at home, safe with my computer.
It would be rude to just leave and, even if I wanted to, I don't know the bus route. So, I dig through my purse, in search of money to buy another beer. If I'm going to be stuck in some crappy downtown bar, I might as well be drunk out of my mind.
"Bottle of Bud," I order. I'm not nervous or scared of being caught, because I'm used to asking for alcohol. Besides, my skirt is so short that even if someone noticed that I'm fifteen-- almost sixteen, though-- they wouldn't care.
I move to hand the bartender my money, but someone stops me.
"I'll pay for that," a voice says, and it's familiar. I look up and almost choke on the stale, smoky air of the bar.
Advantage of sneaking into bars number one: Jesse Thomas Lacey.
"Thanks," I say, and my voice is shaky and high-pitched. I cringe at the sound.
Damnit, Sheesh. You met Johnny Marr, remember that. You can do anything. Of course, you were also completely incapable of forming coherent thought/words when you met Johnny Marr, but it's the thought that counts.
"It's no problem," Jesse says, and he's smiling, smiling, smiling. I bet this is how he picks up chicks, and then I pause my thoughts.
Jesse Lacey just bought me a drink, and now he's giving me flirty looks. Oh.
"I'm Jesse," He says, holding out his hand. I stare at it for a moment.
Jesse Lacet.
"I know," I say, and my voice comes out flat and vapid, "I'm a fan."
That probably wasn't a good idea. You pretty much just ruined your chances of sleeping with him. If you're a slut then you're a slut. It's anonymous. You want sex. If you're a fan then you're a groupie. You want the bragging rights you'll get from saying you had sex with Jesse Lacey of Brand New.
"Oh?" Jesse responds. False intrique, hiding dissapointment. He probably wanted an anonymous lay.
I notice that his hand is still outstretched, and I shake it. Maybe bars are a good thing. I can work on my social skills, and then I won't embarass myself the next time my favourite musician wants to sleep with me.
"I'm Sheesha."
"Oh, pretty name."
Why is he still flirting?
"Ah, not really. My name's Alicia, but I couldn't say it when I was younger. Sheesha just stuck."
He shrugs, and he's still smiling that same, flirty smile that makes his eyes squint and catch the light perfectly. "Still pretty."
It's at this moment that I wish my skirt were a little shorter. It doesn't matter that I already can't lean over in it-- or run, or walk, or stand.
And then I panic, because my beer is almost gone and I don't know when it happened, and Jesse is staring at me so intently.
"I'm fifteen." I blurt out. Then I stop, and think about what I did. I can feel my cheeks heating up, and I fake a smile.
"Oh. I have to go."