#so many lines feel ripped straight out of a Saturday morning show

[pianokantzart]

Aaahhh you guys weren't kidding about ep 4 being uncomfortable

[1kook]

kissanime & foreplay

this is part of my netflix & chill collection !

summary; You get a glimpse of the KissAnime screen for a good two seconds before about seven ads pop up. Another tab to a raunchy hentai website opens, and Jungkook groans. warnings; mentions of hentai yes u read right, kook leads most of it, cunnilingus, masturbation (f), oral (f), use of a sex toy, fingering, nipple play, face sitting/fucking/riding idk (f), praise kink, hints of dumbification, cum eating, jk is like passive aggressive in this one, 4 (f) orgasms, this is the kicker: sub kook at the end😳, like 2 sec of dom yn lol, & u get 0.002 sec of adams apple kink misc; more dumb story lines, made up sex stores bc my creativity knows no bounds, Jungkook plays nice but is actually mean for the majority of it, once again doyeon plays a pivotal role in the furthering of women empowerment, internal love monologues about jk best boy<3 wc; 8.2k

notes; back when kissanime was offed I remember looking at this fic in the drafts like what the hell we gone do now.. n almost deleting it but I was like yknow what this isn’t a 1kook fic unless there’s smthn weird going on so here we are. also yes I know ohshc is on Netflix shut up!!!!! 

HAPPY BDAY MY LOVE AND MUSE JEON JUNGKOOK !!!! 🥺💜

—

The good thing about getting your own apartment is that you finally have a place to call your own. There’s no limit on how many potted plants you can squeeze into a one bedroom, one bathroom apartment, and if there was one, you’re twelve in and no one has said anything to you yet. You don’t have to share the shower space with anyone, label all your products with a hastily scribbled name. There’s a bathtub—something you haven’t had the pleasure of using during college—and a fairly open living space. There’s so many empty spots to fill with useless decorations and family heirlooms and that ugly plastic rooster Jungkook won you at the summer kick-off fair last month.

The bad thing about having your own place is that the entire world and their mothers seem to know now. Despite graduating from college, you still keep in touch with your trusted graduate mentor Kim Namjoon, who is still very much in school, and has made it his mission to bring you a new plant every week, hence your growing collection. Your childhood friend comes over every Saturday morning to lounge around after her Friday nights out. Jungkook, although the only one who is ever actually invited, runs through your strawberry scented body wash like a madman.

And of course, Doyeon.

Your beloved college roommate of four years, Kim Doyeon, has been the bane of your apartment experience so far. Unlike you, who had slaved away for four years, saving every penny you made during college for this moment, Doyeon was a big spender. She blew every dollar she ever came across, which is why she’s going to be stuck living at her parent’s house for at least a couple more years.

Nothing wrong with that, of course, if she wasn’t the most maniac online shopper in existence. It hadn’t been a problem in college because she was always good old pals with the students who worked the mailroom. If they saw something questionable, they’d let it slide as long as it was under Miss Kim Doyeon, Room 229.

The reason it became an issue for her now is because it’s poor Mrs. Kim who signs over the package from Sexuality Unleashed: The Best Toys Worldwide! one Tuesday afternoon as it is delivered to their suburban home.

So now she’s taken to ordering all her freaky stuff to your new apartment, where the small cabinet by the door has quickly become home to her impulsive shopping habits. Truthfully, you don’t mind accepting Doyeon’s weird packages, and have long since grown used to the uncomfortable looks the mail carrier gives you.

Jungkook’s supposed to come over today and you really hope he doesn’t ask about the state of your hall cabinet. Now that you work at a small company outside of your degree to make ends meet, time with Jungkook has been significantly decreased. You weren’t in college anymore, so you didn’t have the luxury of dropping by his house whenever you wanted to in between classes. Of course, it’s mostly your schedule that conflicts with your planned hangouts, because Jungkook is still working his dream job from home.

However, because Jungkook is quite possibly the most amazing person on this planet, he’s started coming over every Saturday night to make sure you’re still alive and not dying. And so weekly media binges are a thing, and it’s currently week four.

He gave up on showing you the Marvel movie franchise last week, after you had asked where Wonder Woman was three times in a row. Since the Barbie Movie Debacle of last month, you’ve found a nice medium between who picks when. Jungkook picks most of the time, because most of the time you don’t really care. It’s become a running joke between the two of you that movie binges are usually just terribly masked excuses to go to town on each other, so you don’t mind missing an entire 15th Century French Revolution documentary if it means Jungkook is deep in your guts by the time King Louis XIV gets beheaded or whatever they did to him. Is it too obvious you didn’t watch the documentary?

Occasionally, there are instances where one of you genuinely does want to watch something, in which case you have an intense match of rock-paper-scissors to decide who’s picking that night. Most of the time, Jungkook wins. But for every match Jungkook wins, he promises you’ll pick the next one so you’ve long since stopped trying to actually beat him.

Long story short, last weekend you sat through a two part Ancient Aliens episode on the connection between aliens and American presidents.

It was the most god-awful conspiracy theory you’ve ever heard of, but Jungkook ate up every minute of it. By the time the two hosts announced their conclusion you were just about ready to rip your own ears off and single-handedly fist fight every producer on the channel for allowing the production of such an atrocious show.

Anyway, because you had so bravely sat through the entire evening without complaints— well, no complaints towards Jungkook’s terrible taste; the show, however, was not safe from your wicked tongue —Jungkook has so graciously allowed you to pick the media for this weekend.

You’ve been telling him for the longest time that you were going to hook him on anime. It was one of the few interests you always believed Jungkook should possess, being a weeb and all, because it was only fair that he had one questionable trait to balance out the rest of his perfection. Liking anime isn’t bad— if a hottie like you enjoyed it, then it obviously had its perks. However, you know a lot of other people are turned off by anime-enthusiasts due to preconceived notions of the genre and the viewer-base.

Now, it was a widely known fact that you always had ulterior motives. So maybe turning Jungkook into a weeb was just a ploy to turn other women off from him and keep your jealousy at bay. Sue you, your boyfriend was a walking wet dream, and you’d do anything to keep him to yourself.

After long deliberation, you’ve decided on introducing Jungkook to anime with a classic: Ouran High School Host Club, a god among anime, a true Beyonce among shoujos. The only problem was that you absolutely refused to pay Crunchyroll or Funimation when you could so easily find the entire show on KissAnime.com, home to only the finest of hentai ads and Are You a Robot? questions.

He sends you a text when he’s outside your building, and five minutes later there’s a rap against your door.

“Hi,” you smile up at him, heart fluttering in that same trademark way it did whenever Jungkook was within a five foot radius. He smiles back softly, leaning down to peck your lips as you step aside for him to enter. He’s got on those cotton sweats that you love, the ones that send your brain into a censored frenzy. But he’s also got that soft curl to his hair that lets you know he came here straight out of the shower in his hurry to see you. How you managed to bag a dream boyfriend like him was beyond you.

You bask in the overwhelming feeling of unannounced love for all of ten seconds before Jungkook is lifting up a square package you hadn’t seen at his hip. “Mailman gave me this,” he says, waving around the signature bright pink packaging of Sexuality Unleashed. Jungkook, for all his politeness and respect, seemed to falter in those categories when it came to you. He turns the box over, reading the big fat name of the company on the side. “Since when did you start buying sex toys?” he asks rather loudly in the hallway.

You yank him inside, hurriedly slamming the door shut before any of your neighbors can come out into the hallway and get a peek of this avid sex toy consumer. “They’re not mine!” you hiss, standing still when he uses you to balance himself as he tugs off his shoes. You snatch the box out of his hands, turning it around to make sure it is actually addressed to your home. Sure enough, it’s for you. Couldn’t there have been some other sex toy fanatic on this floor?

With his shoes off, Jungkook wastes no time enveloping you in a hug, the Sexuality Unleashed box tumbling to the ground. “It’s okay, baby, no need to be embarrassed.”

You groan, leaning your forehead against his shoulder as he continues to pat your back like you’re actually embarrassed to be caught buying toys— you’re not. You’re embarrassed he caught you with a sex toy you simply can’t put to use. “Whatever,” you sigh, “your gross popcorn is in my bedroom and it’s probably stale.”

He releases you, not before pulling you into a slow and languid kiss that has you clutching tightly at the front of his shirt. He pulls away with a soft smooch, right eye falling into a wink. “Bring the box, gorgeous,” he teases, before sauntering off in the direction of your bedroom.

You groan loudly. “It’s not mine!” you repeat, but for some reason do as he says.

Not only do you have no idea what’s in this package, but you’re frankly not too keen on finding out. You’re more interested in Jungkook’s reaction to one of your favorite animes of all time. The package is tossed onto the end of the bed, where Jungkook has already stripped himself of his socks and cuddled beneath your covers.

Your laptop has gone dark from inactivity so you slam down on the space bar to bring it back to life. Your first mistake was pressing anything at all. It flickers back on alright, but you forget that you are working with a minefield of ads ready to explode. You get a glimpse of the KissAnime screen for a good two seconds before about seven ads pop up. Another tab to a raunchy hentai website opens, and Jungkook groans.

“What the hell is this?” he asks in a tone that screams he has never had to fight viruses off his computer just to watch something at two in the morning.

You ignore him, cuddling into his side as you hurriedly type in the title of the anime before another annoying ad can intercept you. “KissAnime,” you answer for now, accidentally clicking down on the mousepad with the heel of your palm. Another tab opens up to some sketchy credit site. You huff.

“Baby, I swear I just saw like twelve viruses,” he says. “And what even are these?” he scoffs, jabbing a finger at one of the many ads that lines the perimeter of the website. “Animated teacher porn?”

By the grace of god, you somehow manage to get onto the episode selection screen without having another tab open on you. You smile in relief, turning the power of your excitement onto Jungkook… only to find his eyes narrowed in on the square advertisement for some hentai website. “What? You wanna watch hentai now?” you snort, placing the laptop on his legs as you cuddle into his side.

Jungkook sputters, cheeks tinting red at the mere insinuation he would ever consume such media. “No,” he glares, releasing the arm around your shoulders to huffily cross them over his chest. “I am not going to watch anatomically incorrect illustrations of a woman teacher relieving herself, ___,” he says rather matter-of-factly.

You snort, repeating, “a woman teacher,” mockingly and in a high pitched voice that, honestly, doesn't sound anything like him. You click play on the video box that appears after only about twenty more pop-up ads. “Silence, you nymphomaniac, the episode is starting.” Jungkook pulls you close with a displeased expression, finally quieting down when you put it on full screen and the ads disappear from his view.

You’re beginning to wonder if Jungkook really is the script and plot dissector he claims to be, or if he just lives to get under your skin. He doesn’t make it three minutes without finding something to critique. First it’s the quality of the frames, and then it’s the characterization of the lead character. He nitpicks everything about the best anime in existence, and by the end of the first episode you’re considering breaking up with him.

“Oh my god,” you groan, tearing yourself away from him. He’s all laid up against your mountain of pillows, tongue prodding at the insides of his mouth in that ridiculously attractive habit of his. Usually, you’d be tripping over yourself to kiss him, but you’re about two seconds from ripping his head off. “I mean this in the nicest way possible, baby,” you sigh, picking up his hand in yours. “You gotta shut up.”

Jungkook rolls his eyes. “I have to shut up?” he asks in a scandalized tone. “You sang through the entire intro, off tune may I add.”

At this rate you’re getting nowhere, so you just snatch the laptop back up before you actually hurt his feelings. You escape the full screen, met with those hentai ads that are slowly becoming the bane of Jungkook’s existence.

“Who actually watches those anyway?” he mumbles, covering the sidebar full of naked cartoon ladies with his palm for you, a real gentleman if you ever saw one. “Really?” he says, knocking his pointer finger against a particularly raunchy ad with the caption Be a Good Boy and Let her Play beneath it.

You snort. “You are such a baby,” you tease, pinching his cheek much to his annoyance. “What? Can’t handle seeing some anime titties?”

Jungkook shoves your hand away, leaning back to become one with the pillows as you continue onto the next episode. “They’re just weird,” he admits. “And make unrealistic faces.”

“Unrealistic,” you repeat, finally giving one of the ads the time of day. There’s an adorably drawn character making the most perverted expression, knees hiked up to her chest. Her face is twisted up, drooling like a dog and with her eyes crossed in ecstasy. You shrug. “Just because you can’t get those faces out of me doesn’t mean they’re unreal.”

The second the words leave your mouth Jungkook is letting out a scandalized scoff, sitting up to level you with another glare. “First of all, I can get you like that,” he defends, tapping his finger against the ad on screen. “In fact, I can get you like that without even trying, so let’s not say anything too drastic now, okay?”

His sudden bout of defensiveness makes something playful in you switch on, laying back down beside him with a smirk. “Oh, you can make me all stupid like this?”

Jungkook scoffs. “Yes.”

“Uh huh,” you drawl, tracing a finger up his chest teasingly; Jungkook knocks your knuckles away, obviously still butt hurt about your comment. That’s fine, because a slightly riled up Jungkook was always the best Jungkook. You sit up and lean in close, letting your hand slip beneath his hoodie, palm running over his bare shoulder and around the top of his back. You give his nape a light squeeze, lips pressed against the shell of his ear. “Why don’t you prove it to me, Jungkookie?” you purr, before pulling away.

His jaw twitches at the nickname, one shapely brow unconsciously arching as he regards you with a calculative expression.

The thing about Jungkook was that, after almost a year of dating, you know just how to push his buttons. He has a rather calm and collected exterior to him, the same one he’s had since the day you met him, but beneath it all was a childish competitiveness that raged with the heat of ten suns. He disliked being taunted like you were doing now, especially when his credibility was at stake.

Honestly speaking, you don’t doubt Jungkook can make you look as goofy and messy as those hentai ads. In fact you’re rather confident he can. Either way, him being right or you being right, you would still get some fun out of it.

“Hm?” you add, tracing your hand up to dance over the skin of his cheek, pads of your fingers running over that stiff jaw. “Are you scared I’m right and you’re wrong?”

A hand snaps up to catch your wrist, fingers tight around your skin until you’re shivering against him. “Oh baby, I can make you cum until you cry,” he murmurs, his usual sweet and lilting tone dropping to a low vibration that makes your pussy throb beneath your panties. Your heart leaps in your chest, lips falling open when he ducks down to brush them against yours. It’s too light, just a simple touch that makes you follow his mouth when he pulls back.

With one firm shove, the laptop is tumbling off the bed, thudding loudly against your bedside rug. Jungkook leans over you, his usual trademark doe eyes zeroed in on you with the focus of a laser. “Have a little faith in me,” he teases, and when he presses close you can feel his fattening cock flush against your thigh. Your body is begging to be touched, every brush of his fingers against your skin searing trails in their wake.

Suddenly, he’s drawing back. “Kook?” you frown, barely biting down on a childish whimper when he snuggles back into your mountain of pillows, one arm stretched behind his head.

He flashes you a smile. “Go on,” he says, arms behind his head. “Show me how to get you like that.”

“By myself?” you ask, shifting onto your knees anyway. Jungkook nods, a soft jut of his chin as he gives you another one of those easy going smiles of his. His goal seems a little unclear, but you had a ridiculous amount of trust in your boyfriend that whatever he had planned was certain to be good. With one final skeptical glance his way, you sink down onto your bum, knees spreading and giving him a clear view of your little pink boy shorts, elastic band hugging your waist.

The material of your t-shirt is guided away, held to your chest by the hand currently not traversing the length of your stomach, gliding across soft skin, over your belly button and past that band until it slips beneath. You chance another look Jungkook’s way, only to find his eyes wonderfully downcast in the direction of your core. That smile is gone now, replaced with a somber look as he watches your hand move mysteriously beneath the fabric of your undergarments.

The first brush of your forefinger against your swollen button makes you twitch, back arching at the sensation that is magnified by his watchful gaze. “Mmh,” you bite down, hand twisting in the material of your shirt. Jungkook’s eyes glare a molten path across your skin, from the comfy bra that peeks out from beneath your rumpled shirt to the wrist slowly working beneath your panties.

A hand falls over your thigh, tattooed fingers giving the skin a light squeeze as you get to work swirling your bud around. The sight of his inked skin on yours makes something warm blossom in your lower abdomen, your eyes following the inky swirls up, up, up. They lead you to the face of your very handsome boyfriend, long lashes fanning across his cheekbones as he watches you play with yourself. “Wanna take these off for me?” he says, the tip of his pointer finger wiggling beneath the fabric of your shorts.

You nod hurriedly, wiggling around on the bed until you’re on your back, legs bent in front of you. The shorts come down your legs; the simplest press of your thighs makes something quiver in your abdomen. You toss them off to the side, and just as you go to sit back up, Jungkook places a hand on your knee. “Stay like this for me,” he says, sitting up from his mountain of pillows to glance down at you. You melt into the plush mattress beneath you, staring down at him between your legs. He’s got that adoring look in his eyes, the one that makes you feel so warm and in love, it’s only natural your hand slips down to play with your bare clit again. “That’s my girl,” he smiles, rubbing a hand down the outside of your thigh, urging your legs to fall open.

There’s this overflowing vat of arousal that builds up inside of you everytime Jungkook is around, like the moment your eyes land on him you’re reminded of every position he’s ever had you in. You remember the soft brush of his hands on your body, the way his lips feel on yours, the soft tickle of his hair when he gets too close. It makes your heart lurch in your chest, like if you don’t grab onto him tightly this feeling will slip through your fingers and out of your life. So you were crazily in love with your boyfriend— now what?

A puckered set of lips meets the inside of your thigh, the action ripping you from your overly gooey, overly soft inner rambling. Your hand trails down your quivering pussy lips, collecting your dripping wetness as you go. At the same time, Jungkook kisses down the inside of your thigh, soft smacks of his lips against your skin filling the air with an emotion that makes you bite down a whimper. Your hole puckers at the brush of your fingers, anticipating an entrance that you yearn to give into soon.

His mouth is on you before your finger can go deeper than a centimeter in. But Jungkook doesn’t brush your hand off, doesn’t shove you away to prove his mouth was undoubtedly better. He places a kiss over your knuckles, before swallowing up your significantly smaller hand with his, that of which he clasps together over your navel.

You groan, head rolling from side to side. “Don’t be so soft with me,” you whine, leg twitching when he presses a kiss against your engorged bundle of nerves. “Push me around like that one time, you know I like it.”

Jungkook grins, mouthing over your clit with practiced ease that has you releasing all kinds of whimpers and sighs. He’s got his other hand wrapped around your thigh, strong arm pulling you closer to that devious mouth and tongue that lavished attention on your clit. “Need me to be mean to you, baby?” he purrs, curling his tongue in such a way that it makes your entire body tense up, muscles pulled tight. “Want me to push you around like the stupid little girl you are?” You moan, head bobbing up and down at the ideas he stuffs in your mind. As he moves down the length of your cunt, that round nose you love brushes against your bud, and the cheeky shit takes an obnoxiously loud sniff of it, a soft groan breathed against your lower lips. “But isn’t this better?” he hums, languidly molding his lips against your lower ones, much in the same way he does with the ones on your face; he moves slowly, slips his tongue in every few seconds before eventually diving in head on. “Slow... and so easy.”

“Kook,” you mewl, getting this overwhelming urge to cover your face with your hands. But you can’t, because he’s knotted one hand with yours and his fingers only tighten when you try to yank them apart. Instead you’re left pressing one knuckle against your mouth, brows pinching as he begins slowly fucking his tongue into your cunt. “F-Faster,” you beg. He, of course, ignores your plea.

The wet mass moves past the clenched muscles around your hole, nose brushing against your lips with every intrusion. Every few cycles he stops to press a kiss against your pussy, so hard and wet that it hurts when he pulls off. You’re left writhing and moaning, your heel knocking against his shoulder when he pushes your leg up closer to your chest. “It’s enough,” you cry, your entire body shivering.

Jungkook pulls off with a loud pop, lips glistening with your arousal. He’s got this glint on his eyes, like he’s thoroughly entertained by your reactions. He shuffles around to get comfortable, finally releasing that grip on your hand. Immediately, your newly freed hand jumps forward to tangle in the hair above his ear, tracing down the delicate curve of his cheekbone. Jungkook turns his head, pressing a soft peck against your open palm that makes your heartbeat thunder in your ears.

As he moves around, his leg bumps against something that has both of you pausing. It sounds out of place next to your shallow breaths, and both of you glance down only to catch sight of that stupid package from Sexuality Unleashed teetering on the edge of the bed.

The moment you see it, it’s like you’re transported into an omnipresent view of the scene, the next few hours flashing before your eyes as Jungkook snorts. You know he’s going to reach for it in two seconds, and you know he’s going to tear the hot pink packaging apart with his bare hands. He does so with a scary amount of power, the industrial tape not standing a chance against him. A box roughly the same size as the package falls out, and before you can kick it away and save yourself from suffering beneath Jungkook’s teasing antics, he’s snatching up the box.

“The Bullet Bestie,” he reads aloud, dark eyes flying across the text with lightning speed before that box is also being ripped open. (Briefly, there’s a voice in your head that thinks of Doyeon, but you’re not sure why.) Out tumbles a little pink bullet with a strap on one end that bounces against your thigh and an even smaller remote.

“Baby,” you rush out, the sight of the tiny toy making your heart thunder in your chest. “We can look at it another time,” you try, hands coming up to brush against his face again. “Why don’t you finish off here?” you ask, a sickeningly sweet politeness dripping off your tongue as the knot in your tummy fades into the background of his attention.

Jungkook ignores you, picking up the remote with a wondrous look in his eyes. Before you can try to persuade him back between your legs, a quiet click cuts you off and the little bullet whirls to life. You yelp at the sudden vibrations against the inside of your thigh, so close to your throbbing core. The jump of your thighs has it falling onto the mattress below you, wide eyes snapping back to the smirk that grows on his face.

“No,” you say slowly, sitting back up, “no, no,” you try, your usual assertiveness melting into a whiny cry as you try to wiggle away from him and the nefarious ideas infesting his lust-addled mind. You’re barely turning, ready to make a run for it and hand him his victory by forfeit, when Jungkook is catching you by the waist. Your hips get pulled up, arms clawing uselessly at the sheets beneath you as he drags you close to him. He’s fast, already having moved onto his knees behind you, and when he yanks you up, you can feel every hot plane of his body aligned with your backside. “Kook, please just make me cum,” you gasp.

There’s a smile pressed against your shoulder, lips still wet from before, kissing along the side of your neck. “Look at my girl,” he murmurs, and you nearly jump out of your skin when something smooth is traced along your thigh. One hand slips beneath the material of your shirt, soothingly rubbing circled against your skin. This hand also holds the tiny remote between two fingers, and every nerve in your body is on edge waiting for it to be used. “Where’s that smartmouth now?”

“Jungkook,” you try to warn. But there’s no bite to your words, only an anticipation that grows the closer he moves that damned toy between your thighs. “Baby, we-we can play another time, okay? Just please—“

A soft click, and suddenly your spine is giving out on you, upper body flopping forward as Jungkook runs the vibrations over your clit. Of course Jungkook follows, never letting you slip far from his reach. A loud moan spills from your lips, lower lip wobbling at the unreal amounts of pleasure he bestows upon you with such a small toy. “W-Wait,” you sob, the coil from before suddenly magnified tenfold. It makes your orgasm loom over you bigger than ever, a wave that threatens to spill over and drown you in one go. “No-please.”

His mouth presses against your ear, hot breaths fanning against the skin there. “Hey pretty girl, does it feel good?” he husks out, kissing just below your ear. “Aw fuck,” he groans, something stiff pressing against the cleft between your cheeks, “can’t even see if you’re making that stupid face right now.”

You are, but you don’t even have the words to tell him that. The moment the vibrator had made contact with your already ravished clit, your eyes had rolled into the back of your head. You don’t doubt you look like those silly ads you’d laughed at earlier, mouth opening and closing every few seconds as he circles the toy around your bud. You settle on a high-pitched whimper that has Jungkook laughing meanly against your ear.

It ends too soon, the stimulation from Jungkook eating you out for a few minutes combining with the bullet to form a powerful duo that swallows you whole. An embarrassingly loud moan rips itself from your throat, hands twisting in the sheets beneath you as it washes over you. It’s so powerful, it blinds you, pussy spasming. Jungkook’s name is repeated about a thousand times in between, your body eventually melting back into the mattress as the final shocks run through you.

The vibrator clicks off just as quietly as it turned on, your harsh breaths filling the room in its place. “Good girl,” Jungkook praises, raining down a parade of kisses against your shoulder. You mewl in appreciation, still awkwardly shoving your face into the mattress, and your hips in the air. From the corner of your eyes, you watch him set the glistening toy off to the side, and you’re just about ready to thank the heavens for such an experience with your boyfriend, when said boyfriend hits you with a curveball.

The gentle pecks against yours shoulder dissolve into harsh kisses, rough hands trailing up your waist. The t-shirt gathers around his knuckles, pushed and pushed until he’s got those same hands cupping your breasts. “Did you like that?” he asks, biting down against your shoulder; the sensation is dulled by your shirt being in the way but it still makes you whine. You moan softly, nodding against the mattress as he gets to kneading your breasts over your bra. “Mm,” Jungkook sighs, “my pretty girl was so good for me, wasn’t she?”

Those deft fingers run back down, crawl beneath the elastic of your lounge bra and push it away until your breasts are bouncing out of their cage. “Kook,” you sigh, eyes fluttering shut as he traces circles around your nipples. “W-Wait,” you whimper, suddenly reminded of the swollen cock pressed against your backside when he leans closer.

“Shhh,” he soothes, tweaking your nipples. “Relax for me, sweetheart,” he coos, flicking your hardened nipples with his fingers. You can’t relax, not with your body still so sensitive and him playing with you. Still, the low intonation makes something soft and warm settle in your chest, the kisses against your jaw making your eyes fall shut. “That’s it,” he says, giving one nipple a playful twist that draws a high-pitched moan from you.

Just as you’re beginning to fall into the rhythm of Jungkook’s caresses and voice, he releases one breast to traverse his hand down and over your tummy, to your sensitive pussy. You gasp, biting down on your lip as he teasingly flicks your clit with his fingers. “Bet you could come again now,” he murmurs, taking the tip of your earlobe into his mouth and nibbling softly. You groan, shoving your face into the sheets as if that will save you from your doom. “Bet your pretty little pussy can cream itself just like this, isn’t that right, sweet girl?”

You whimper, hips bucking back against him when he begins nudging your bud, lewd sounds reaching your ears. His other hand remains on your breast, no longer toying with your nipple but simply holding it almost comfortingly. There’s a smirk pressed against your skin, that pearly white smile you usually adore so much teasing you as he circles your nub.

“Come on,” he encourages quietly, kissing up the column of your neck again. You moan, thighs quivering as he strokes a second orgasm out of you with no struggle. Your eyes and throat burn at the heat that washes over you, and you release a hoarse scream into the mattress— Jungkook chuckles at the sound, egging you on with that low voice until your muscles go limp a second time.

When he rolls you onto your stomach again, you try desperately to cover the tears that blur your vision, turning away from him like a child when he tries to look. “Crybaby, crybaby,” he sings teasingly, prying your hands away to capture your mouth with his for the first time that night. “Lemme see those tears, baby,” he purrs.

He tastes like you, tongue dripping with that sweet tang of your pussy, and he smells like you too. It strokes the flames of you ego, arms eventually wrapping around his shoulders as he settles above you. He pulls off with a curl of his tongue against your swollen lips, brown eyes lazily staring down at you. It’s embarrassing how well kept he still was compared to your half-nude state of dress. His skin is all glowy and pretty, not a single tear track in sight, and his grin is still too relaxed for your liking.

Jungkook’s body feels so warm and comforting against yours, muscles keeping the heat trapped between your bodies. You go to brush a hand through his hair, needing to feel the familiarity of those silky locks, before he’s suddenly leaning away. He shuffles onto his knees again, glancing down at your thoroughly abused cunt with a quirk in his brows.

“God,” you groan, knocking your foot against his side. “Just fuck me already,” you huff despite your earlier fatigue. You could only go so long without feeling Jungkook’s fat demon cock inside of you.

He snorts at your snappy tone, cutely tilting his head to the side to move his hair out of his face. His jaw looks sharp from this angle, facial features covered in shadows the lamplight behind him can’t touch. “Can’t,” he announces, and you could pull your hair out from all this unnecessary build up.

Truth to be told, you and Jungkook were both equally as unrestrained when it came to each other. Most of the time, the lead up to actual, penetrative, key-in-lock sex included a couple minutes of heavy petting from his end, and maybe a half assed handjob from you. Sometimes if you felt extra attentive, he’d eat you out and you'd him off. But for the most part, the two of you jumped straight into it after an orgasm, like horny teenagers despite the two of you being twenty-three now.

The most adventurous you’d ever gotten up until the point was maybe two orgasms bestowed upon you by a crazed Jungkook. And, well. You had hit two orgasms now. You were ready for his monster cock.

“Kook,” you whine childishly.

Jungkook shakes you off, placing a palm on both your knees. Slowly, he spreads your thighs apart again, eyes zeroed in on the glossy folds that come into view, the sparkling pearly cum that leaks out of your hole. “I can’t, baby,” he says, almost pained. “I gotta clean you up first,” he insists, and before you can tell him how counterproductive it is to lick you clean of your arousal before fucking you, he’s diving face first into your cunt.

But the biggest surprise doesn’t come from Jungkook going in for thirds, but from the hands he clasps around your thighs, the sheer strength he uses to roll you over (ignoring the shriek you let out) to sit you on his face. “No, no,” you yelp immediately, “I-I‘ll break you,” you cry, trying to escape from his hold.

From beneath your thighs, dark eyes peering up at you daringly, you can see the clear warning on Jungkook’s face. It’s a look that loudly says don’t you dare fucking move, shapely brows sending a jolt of genuine fear down your spine for a moment. “Jungkook,” you fret, trying to ignore the arousal that only continues to blossom as his tongue laps against your folds for the second time that night. “I’m, I’m,” you stammer, hands burying themselves in his hair as he ignores your cries. “I’ll break you,” you try again, spine arching when he slurps your clit into his mouth. “I-I’ll—“

He pulls off with a pop. “Fuck my face, baby,” he says, as if he hadn’t heard a single of your concerns at all. His nose nudges against your clit, a whimper catching in your throat. Briefly, his hand disappears from around your thigh, and when it returns, that tiny bullet vibrator from earlier is pressed against your thigh. “You got that?”

You nod, internally torn apart by your fear of crushing him and your need to drag your cunt all over your boyfriend’s handsome face. You glance down at him, watch him slip that vibrator into his mouth for just a second and lewdly coat it in his saliva, before he’s reaching around to shove it past your pussy lips. They’re still swollen and puffy, but have long since relaxed enough for him to slip it in. “B-But what if—“

“You won’t,” he cuts off, readjusting himself closer to your cunt again, “come on, pretty girl.”

The reason you think you and Jungkook click so well was because he was able to bring that vulnerable side out of you every now and then. He knew you liked to parade around with that huge superiority complex, and he loved it. But he also knew there were things you liked and disliked, and sometimes it took a little pushing for you to reveal them.

For a second, that horny cloud over his irises lifts, and he gives you one of those cute, sloppy winks as he taps your thigh gently. “Fuck my face, sweetheart,” he whispers, “drag that pretty cunt all over me until I can’t breathe.” A gasp catches in your throat, hands unconsciously curling against his scalp. He notices, and flashes you a lazy smirk. “You can do that, can’t you?”

Something akin to adoration blooms in your chest, and before you can blurt out something embarrassing—like I love you—there’s a soft click that has The Bullet Bestie revving up inside of you. You gasp, the sudden vibrations deep inside your pussy making your hips snap forward, clit rubbing against Jungkook’s nose.

“O-Oh,” you cry, and that’s all it takes for you to lose it. Your hips start off slow, at first just savoring the wet drag of his tongue against your lips, his nose against your clit. He sticks his tongue out for you, and part of you wants to tell him he’s a good boy, that corny hentai ad flashing in your mind, but you doubt you’ll survive the aftermath of that. Once you find that perfect pace, your hands are practically yanking at his hair, pushing him further into the mattress as you ride his face like he’s nothing but a toy. “Kook, Jungkook,” you pant, grinding your lower lips against his all too eager mouth.

It feels oddly weird being over him like this, using him like this. You like to think you and Jungkook have equal power in the bedroom, but you will admit that more often than not, he assumes control by default. You’re not particularly bothered by that, because you doubt you’d ever come up with the crazy ideas Jungkook did when he was horny (okay, a lie, because you definitely have thought of crazy sex schemes before).

But, this moment…

The power was quickly going to your head. “Fuck,” you sob, roughly dragging the length of your pussy over and over his face. The hands around your thighs are pressing against your skin with a strength that would hurt were you not blinded by arousal. His eyes are shut, lids fluttering open every now and then as he watches you buck wildly over his face like he was a pillow in high school and your parents were gone for the weekend.

It doesn’t help that the rhythmic pulses of the vibrator inside of you are doing their job well, the tongue that slips into your pussy joining together to form a powerful combination. It’s ultimately what has you halting your manic thrusts, instead falling into a slow grind over him. Your hips circle, eyes squeezed shut as you lose yourself in the lapping of his tongue against your dripping hole. “Mmmf,” you mewl, biting down on your lower lip as the wet muscle prods against a delicate spot within you. You hear feels light, view of the gorgeous man beneath you obstructed by the eyelids that can't seem to stay open. “N-No,” you cry, pulling his hair more roughly than you intended to in order to redirect him. “There, there,” you whimper, holding him tight against your pussy.

Beneath you, Jungkook exhales harshly against your lips, hands moving frantically over your thighs as he works his tongue inside of you alongside the bullet vibrator. If you weren’t so caught up in your own pleasure, all kinds of sounds spilling from your lips, you would have heard the quiet moans that fall from his. Alas.

It takes a few more pulses from the toy and a few more licks from Jungkook until you’re coming for the third time that night, features twisting up as your pussy clenches around his tongue before spilling down his mouth. Your back arches, a defeated moan escaping you as you release the same mess he’d claimed to clean up onto his lovely face. You can barely breathe afterwards, mouth dry and head dizzy when Jungkook finally pops back out from between your thighs. You barely have enough time to lift yourself up, pussy lightly brushing across his Adam’s apple as you stop yourself from crushing his windpipe. It makes you twitch.

“Good girl,” Jungkook praises with a cheeky smile that distracts you from the bullet toy he retrieves from your quivering cunt. His face is absolutely glistening from your arousal, skin warm and flush. He’s looking up at you like you’re some mythical goddess and he’s but a humble villager coming to pay his respects at the temple that is your body. Fuck, were you okay? You don’t think you’ve ever felt this good in your entire life, and Jungkook’s mushy gaze was doing things to your heart.

He presses a kiss against the inside of your thigh before helping you off of him, laughing meanly when you flop limply down beside him. He’s still fully clothed, a fact that irks you when he leans over to kiss you with that glossy face of his. “D’you like it?” he mumbles, kissing softly down your face. You nod, legs twitching from the aftermath of that wild ride. “I saw it, y’know,” he says suddenly.

“Saw what?” you mumble, mindlessly rolling your head to the side and exposing more skin when he begins kissing along your neck.

Jungkook says nothing, just rolls over you. Part of you thinks he’s crazy, but you’re suddenly hit with the realization that while Jungkook’s drawn three orgasms out of you in the course of an hour, you hadn’t done anything for him. Before you can dive head first into swallowing his cock, he’s kissing you softly. “That stupid face,” he smirks, slotting his mouth against yours. “That weird, now realistic face,” he tacks on.

You huff out a laugh, throwing your leg around his waist comfortably. Jungkook smiles, kisses you one last time before settling in your arms, face cutely pressed in between your boobs. “Hey,” you call, “don't you wanna cum too?”

He shakes his head, a soft sigh filling the air. “Nah,” he says, cuddles closer into you. “Rest now, baby.”

You roll your eyes. “I can feel your dick against my thigh,” you point out, wiggling your pelvis upward to brush against his throbbing erection. Jungkook holds you down in an effort to stop you. “Fuck me.”

He groans against your collarbone. “No, you’re tired,” he tries to convince you, but his skin is warm and flushed in the way it always gets when he’s riled up. “Sleep.”

With the leg around his hip, you pull him closer. “Fuck me, Jungkookie,” you purr, using the hands in his hair to turn his face up towards yours. His dark eyes are drawn down cutely, pouty lips too. “Use my body,” you suggest, “I’m yours anyway.”

His eyes flutter shut, a quiet whimper falling from his lips. “Don’t say that,” he sighs, “makes me wanna do very mean things to you.”

You smile. “You can do whatever you want to me, don’t you know that?” Another groan, his head falling forward until he’s hiding in your neck. Still, there’s movement from below, he sweats slipping down at his hips until that throbbing cock is pressed into the tiny crease where your thigh meets your pelvis. There’s a moment of hesitation, and you wonder if this is what he felt like earlier when he’d managed to get you to sit on his face. “Inside, Jungkookie,” you murmur, reaching down to line him up with your sensitive entrance. He whines softly, arms wrapping around you as he pulls you close. “Good boy.”

Despite your earlier belief that you’d never survive an encounter with Jungkook after using such a term on him, the result is much different from what you had anticipated. He visibly melts into your arms, cock slipping past your folds easily. “No,” he says, his voice feathery and whiny against your ear. “I can’t.”

You soothe a hand down his back, eyes fluttering shut as he begins slowly rutting against your swollen lips. “That’s it,” you encourage, tugging softly at his wavy hair. Jungkook moans wantonly against your neck, rolling his hips harshly against you until his arms are the only things keeping you from jostling out of his hold. “Do you like this pussy?” you ask, purposefully clenching around him, tummy tightening at the stimulation you keep packing on.

Jungkook shudders, pace growing slipping inside of you. “Yes,” he pants, “s-so wet… creamy.”

“Yeah?” you huff, pressing a smiley kiss against his forehead. “It’s yours.”

“Ffffuck,” Jungkook chokes, picking up his pace as his well-deserved orgasm reaches its peak. He’s breathing harshly now, and it’s taking everything in you to keep your pussy tight around him. But after the night he’d given you, the sounds and faces he pulled from you, it’s the least you can do. Besides, your body, after being so thoroughly pleased, still rears up for one final orgasm with him. “Mine,” he growls, bucking his hips into you. “You’re mine, baby, mine,” he seethes, ending his little tryst with a piston of his hips that makes you gasp, body almost unconsciously spasming around him. It’s painful, but so, so delicious how he manages to pull this last orgasm from you as he finally busts inside of you.

He comes with a stuttering garble of words, none of which you catch as he collapses into your hold for the final time that night. “Fuck,” he pants afterwards, leaning into your touch when he finally registers the soft combing of fingers through his hair. “That was evil.”

You laugh, pulling him closer. “As evil as you making me suffer through three orgasms before putting your dick in me?” you tease. Jungkook slips out of you, and you know it’ll be a hassle to clean your sheets tomorrow but it’s worth it.

“It’s called building the scene,” he weakly defends, blindly tugging the puffy blanket over the two of you. “I was gonna rhyme it with that horrible website you made me use but I already forgot it’s name.”

“Rude,” you snap, “it’s called KissAnime.”

“And fore-play,” he suddenly says, and you almost yank his eyeballs out of their sockets for doing that stupid thing again.

—

epilogue 

Two weeks later, your favorite website and home to hentai ads is shut down after years of piracy. Jungkook laughs at your demise, sits and actually cackles at your heartbreak, until he eventually comforts you with his flaming demon cock and a subscription to both Crunchyroll and Funimation. Doyeon spends weeks tracking down a missing package, apparently some freebie she’d gotten for being such an avid customer on Sexuality Unleashed: The Best Toys Worldwide! before eventually finding it in your drawer. And because her and Jungkook have some awkward life-long rivalry for your attention, he doesn’t pay for that. 

—

Copyright © 2020, 1kook on tumblr. absolutely NO reposts allowed.

[garbagevanfleet]

Brightest Blue (series)

PART FOUR

Pairing: Josh x reader Warnings: some sexual tension and light flirting. Summary:  Things are changing. New state. New school. New roommate. You just pray things are going to click into place. Notes: Meet your roommate’s brother, Jake. Charming, right? Thank you as always to the loves of my life, @lantern-inthenight and @myownparadise96. They’re the best editor and inspiration respectively. 

MASTERPOST

taglist: @valleyd0ll @satingrass-maidensfair @guitarfingers @thebohemianpenguin @peaceisouranthem @oblvions @hansonobsessed

@bigblack-catattack @myownparadise96 @lara-gvf @anditsmywholeheart @kill-fear-the-power-of-lies​

The weekend had come with the prediction for cooler weather. You had complained about it on the couch as you brought up the weather app on your phone. He had quickly reminded you that 62 degrees was not cold. Not even chilly, by Michigan standards, but that’s just about the coldest it ever got back where you were from. 

It had been a tradition for Josh to put in a DVD of cartoons on Saturday morning, and you had to admit, you kind of liked it. It was one of the many things he did that was delightfully soft. He didn’t ever seem to take himself too seriously, which you had been guilty of for nearly your whole life. He was really beginning to remind you of the lighter side of life, and you couldn’t say that you minded. 

After breakfast, you sat on the opposite end of the couch as him, reading what parts of your presentation you had put together. 

“The content is good so far, but you’re still not looking up from your paper.”

You chanced a glance up at him, giving a defeated look. “I’m nervous,” you admitted, setting your notebook down in your lap. 

“It’s just me,” he assured, placing a hand over his chest. “You just have to make a connection with your audience.” 

You gave him a frown, reaching up to anxiously tuck a strand of hair behind your ear. “How?”

“Well,” he started, leaning across the couch. He wrapped his finger and thumb around your chin and tilted your head up until you were looking straight at him. You wanted to laugh, but you had a feeling it would come out sounding nervous. “It helps to improve your posture, first off. You want to be straight but not rigid, so let’s loosen up a bit.”

He mimicked shaking out the tension, so you followed suit, trying to be more fluid. You hadn’t noticed how tight you were before.

“And think about this presentation in the context of ‘I have information that will be really valuable to these people’.”

You groaned, curling your knees up to your chest and setting your chin on them. “It seems like it comes so effortlessly to you.” 

He gave you a little smile, raking his teeth across his bottom lip absently. “Well, it doesn’t. Confidence comes from yourself, yah know? It’s all about tricking people into believing that they should like you and want to listen to you. Humans are weird that way.”

You gave a hum, nodding. It all sounded good in theory.

“The next time you read me this paper, pretend that you’re a top executive at an important company and you’re trying to convince me about the importance of your subject.”

You couldn’t help but crack a smile. “Oh, you wanna role play?” 

He snorted, giving you a playful eye roll. 

+++

On Sunday, you had planned to do chores - you had even started a little calendar for you two to follow. This week it was supposed to be your turn to do laundry, but since you weren’t anywhere near close to finishing your paper, Josh had graciously offered to switch chores so you wouldn’t have to leave the house. You had sent him out with two full baskets of laundry, indescribably grateful that you wouldn’t have to brave the cold. 

After taking a relaxing shower, you were posted up in your room, absently tapping the eraser of your pencil against the side of your notebook as you reread through a paragraph in your textbook. You went to jot down a note when a knock on the door caused you to jump a bit. 

As you made your way to the living room, you had assumed it must just have been Josh, not able to grab out his key while juggling all of the laundry too. You had told him to message you when he was leaving the laundromat so you could help him, but he wasn’t the best at following instructions. 

As you swung the door open, your body went rigid, because standing before you seemed to be a clone of your roommate, except his long, silky looking hair fell around his shoulders and over his chest. Some of the slopes of his face were a bit off too, and his outfit seemed to be one of the very last things Josh would ever wear.

You opened your mouth to say something, but not a single word came to mind. Instead, you opted to reach up and pull the towel from your head, letting your damp hair slip down around your face. 

His eyebrows raised at you expectantly, a humored smirk playing across his lips. 

“Uh, hey,” he offered. “Josh here?” 

You broke your eyes away from him, shaking your head. “No, sorry, he went to do laundry. You must be his brother.”

He nodded at you as you stepped out of the way for him to enter. “You must be his new roommate.” 

“Newish,” you agreed, raking your fingers through your locks and trying to make it look slightly more put together for company. “Can I get you some coffee?” 

“That sounds great,” he agreed, shooting you a smile. 

You were sitting in the living room with him, chatting easily about school when Josh fumbled his way through the door, his frame hidden behind a stack of laundry baskets. You rushed over to help him, setting your mug on the coffee table. Once the top basket was out of his arms, he was easily able to set the other one down on the hardwood. 

“Okay, it’s all done except I didn’t fold anything.”

“Uh, that’s fine,” you laughed breathlessly. “We have company.”

His eyes flicked up to Jake’s form, sitting- no, lounging- on the couch. He was practically melted into the worn cushions, and his ease made you a little envious. He seemed like the kind of person that never looked out of place.

 “How’s it going?” Josh asked as he stood from his bent position. 

Jake shrugged in return but paired it with a smile that told you all you needed to know about how it was going. “I just wanted to get my wallet back.”

“Oh, shit, right.” Josh disappeared into his room, and the sound of him talking himself through where he put it was clearly audible in the living room. When he returned it to Jake's waiting hand, he gave a half-hearted apology. 

“Why did you have his wallet?” you chanced through a suspicious smile.

He rubbed at the back of his neck sheepishly, his cheeks suddenly taking on a flushed tone. “I, uh. Had a lot to drink at that party the other night and mistook it for mine.”

“Even though they look nothing alike,” Jake chimed in cheekily before continuing on in a more genuine tone than you’d heard him use thus far. “It was nice to see you having a good time though.”

You had been amusedly watching Josh react to the ribbing until the last bit of Jake’s comment. His features leveled out instantly, slipping from the obvious enjoyment of attention to something more somber. 

In an effort to turn the tide, you stood and gestured toward the kitchen. “Jake, did you want to stay for lunch?” 

He shook his head at you politely. “I have plans in a bit, but could I take a rain check?” 

“Of course,” you agreed. The goodbyes were simple and didn’t drag on, and as soon as Jake was gone, Josh cocked his head at you.

“So. What’s for lunch?” 

You snorted a laugh at him, having expected something more informatory. “I’m not sure. What would you like?” 

“Should I make us some salad or something?” 

You shook your head at him, giving him a sour look. “No way I’m letting you make lunch - you just did all of the laundry.”

He gave you a bright-looking smile in return, looking pretty pleased for the recognition. “Were you able to get any homework done?”

“Not really,” you admitted with a slight cringe. “Jake showed up as I was getting out of the shower.”

“Ah yeah, he can pop up at really inconvenient times.”

You shot him a smirk over your shoulder as you pulled a head of lettuce from the fridge and started ripping it apart. “I’m going to assume you share that trait as well.”

“Who, me?” he teased, leaning forward onto his elbows on the kitchen counter.

 You paused, unsure how to continue with the question you wanted to ask. 

“Do you and him...have a good relationship?” 

His brows furrowed, his mouth setting into a puzzled line. “Yeah, I think so anyway. Why do you ask?”

You bit your bottom lip, turning to look at him face to face. “It just seemed to get a little tense there at the end.” Your fingers reached up to tuck a lock of your hair behind your ear. “Is there something I should know about?”

He gave you (what you can only assume was meant to be) a reassuring smile as he placed his hand on your shoulder. His skin felt warm against you, even through the fabric of your long-sleeved shirt. 

“There’s nothing you need to worry about.” 

You hadn’t been convinced until you actually looked into his eyes, somehow finding a pleasant warmth in the deep honey color. 

So when you gave him an “okay”, you actually meant it. 

You turned to him again after a moment with a sly look. “Hey, is your brother single?”

Just as you had expected, his eyebrows shot up in a dumbstruck look. You watched him open and close his mouth a few times before he figured out how to speak again, but this time with a smirk. “I mean, he’s always at least kinda single, I think.”

You nodded amusedly. You had gotten that kind of vibe from him as well. 

“Why, are you thinking of moving in on him?” he tried, crossing his tan arms over his chest. 

You feigned a surprised look. “Who, me?” you asked, mimicking what he had said to you just moments before. “Nah, that sounds messy. I’m actually thinking maybe for Kate. She seems like she wouldn’t want anything too serious.”

He lets out a breathy laugh as he nods. “Then she sounds like the girl for him.” 

You hummed contentedly as you let a few olives drop into the salad bowl. “And what if she wants some kind of Romeo to sweep her off her feet and treat her like a princess?” 

Your tone had been as light as a feather but when he smiled wide enough to show you his pearly teeth, it nearly knocked the breath from your lungs.

“Then she sounds like the girl for me.” 

+++

“Okay. So you’re saying he showed up while you were in the shower?” Kate was looking at you with the highest amount of interest you’d seen her give anything thus far. “And...he saw you naked?”

You laughed a little louder than you should have in the semi-quiet classroom. “No, are you even listening to me? It’s not a rom-com, it was just a normal situation.”

“Okay, so. What’s going to happen?” She was still looking at you like she expected you to tell her some grand story.

“Well, I was thinking about giving him your number. Then he could see you naked and you could tell me about it.” You flashed her a cheeky smile to pair with your teasing tone.

She sat back in her chair, wrapping her arms around her frame. Her eyes were fixed on the dark slate of the tabletop, looking like she had a lot to take in. After a brief moment of dragging her teeth over her bottom lip in thought, she replied, “Yes. That seems perfectly acceptable. But then can you also see Josh naked and tell me about it? I have a theory about twins I want to test out.”

You gave her a playful look of disgust. “If that ever did happen - and it would be an accident, if it did - I would definitely not tell you about it.”

She rolled her eyes lovingly at you. “I think you’d be surprised.” 

“With what-” 

Your question was cut off by the boisterous greeting of your professor as he entered the room. She shot you a triumphant smirk after effectively having had the last word. 

As she walked you out at the end of class you asked her, “Do you want to have lunch with us today?” 

“Hmm.” She pretended to ponder it for a moment. “Yes. But do you both want to come with me to Subway instead of eating here?”

You gave her a frown. “I’d love to, but our money is pretty tight.”

She flashed you a smile that made you feel warm and fuzzy as she materialized a black credit card from the pocket of her mom jeans. “My daddy’s buying.”

+++

You had texted Josh to meet you by the D doors on the south side of the building for lunch, and you and Kate waited there until you saw him round the corner. He gave you both a smile and a little wave as he got closer. 

“Kate, right?” he asked, holding his hand out for her to take. “She talks a lot about you.”

She grinned over at you, making you smile awkwardly. “I’ve seen you around at parties, but it's nice to meet you for real. She talks about you a lot too.”

Your eyes widened at that and despite yourself, you could feel your cheeks turning pink. 

“Yes, yes, I’m very fond of the both of you, now can we go?” you asked, trying to appropriately portray your annoyance as you ushered them toward the parking lot. 

“Shotgun?” she asked you as you approach a beat-up sedan. You nodded in agreement and hopped into the front seat. 

As Josh shuffled into the back, he leaned forward between the front seats. “So, you’re buying us lunch?”

“My dad is” she informed, meeting his eyes through the rearview mirror as she started the engine. “He gave me a credit card for emergencies, so I can’t do it very often, but every now and then I’ll treat myself to some takeout and a bottle of nice shampoo.”

You hummed, smiling over at her. “That’s why your hair always looks so nice, huh?”

She flicked it back, but it was short and silky enough that it didn’t catch on her shoulder. “Well, that and genetics. I’ll let you use it if you come sleep over some time.”

“Me too?” Josh teased, earning him an eye roll from her and a huffy laugh from you. 

+++

It was later, back at the apartment, that he finally said something about your lunch experience. The both of you were full from dinner and posted up on the couch, an open textbook on your lap and a notebook off to the side. You were supposed to be working on one of the three chapters you were meant to be taking notes from, but you had been pleasantly distracted watching Penny lazily swim around in her bowl on the coffee table. You found it rather charming that if Josh was in the house the goldfish usually wasn’t too far away from him. 

“Hey,” he started, plucking the pencil from your fingers and laying it along the spine of your notebook.  You met his eyes curiously. “Thank you for inviting me to lunch today.”

You gave him a look. “Of course. I like having you along.”

He smiled down at his hand, rested on top of the blanket between the two of you. 

“She seems like a good friend. You should invite her over here. I can even vacate - leave the apartment for you guys.”

“That is absolutely not necessary. You could be a bro and invite Jake over some time. And if that happens to be when Kate is here then maybe that’s just a happy coincidence.” 

He snorted a laugh. “Wow, you really want that to happen, huh?” 

“Okay, honestly. I half want it because I think he's handsome and they’d get along, and the other half is because I love that their couple name would be Jakate.”

He frowned over at you, eyes squinted. “There’s a lot to unpack there. Firstly, you think he’s handsome? And secondly, why wouldn’t you simplify it to Jate?”

“Hmm. Yes, obviously he’s handsome - I know he’s your brother but even you have to know that.”

He quirked an eyebrow at you but didn’t say anything else. 

“And their full first names fit together so perfectly. Why would you waste that?” 

He smiled as he absently picked up your pencil and drew a tiny circle on your notebook paper. 

After a moment of silence, you asked him, “What was it like growing up here?”

His eyes flicked up to meet yours for only a moment before they were back on his doodle. 

“Well,” he started, tilting his mouth down on one side as he tried to find the correct words. “I didn’t grow up exactly here - about an hour away.”

You smiled at him, prompting him to continue. 

“It was nice. We had a great childhood, a nice home, lots of love and attention.” 

It was quiet for a beat as you watched him draw a smiley face inside of the little circle (facing your way, so it was a little sloppy, but you thought that made it even cuter).

“I’m excited to see snow.”

He looked up at you with an inquisitive grin. “You’ve never seen snow before?”

You shrugged at him. “Only in movies.”

He gave you a breathy laugh. “You’re going to love it,” he promised. “At least for the first couple of days, then it gets old and you start to miss the sun.”

You knew what you wanted to say, but it took you longer than you’d like to admit to work up the courage to get the words out. 

“Being around you is like having your own personal sun.”

[avintagekiss24]

Hot for teacher [4] > Bucky Barnes

PAIRING; Dark!Professor!Bucky Barnes x black!reader, Dark!Peter Parker x black!reader

WORD COUNT; 7,973

WARNINGS; Age difference, teacher/student dynamics, spanking, smut, sex, loss of virginity, vaginal fingering, mention of blood, slight praise kink, slight crying kink?, overstimulation

SUMMARY; A friend comes to your defense and Bucky finally gives in.

NOTE; Gif credit goes to @/fluturojdallandyshia! I wanna say/reiterate that Cher, reader, and Peter are in their senior/last year of school AND they are all 18 years old. I had a “late” birthday (May), so I turned 18 three weeks before I graduated. My brother had an early birthday (September), so he turned 18 like two weeks into his senior year. Peter, Cher, and reader all have early (August/September) birthdays. Any crap about aging Peter up will be deleted and blocked. You’ve been warned multiple times - if you continue to read after this point, it’s on you.

I also gave reader a last name. Sue me. Hope this lives up to the hype... I’m probably gonna hide for the rest of the night and not look at tumblr for the rest of the night... posting anxiety sucks.

Any mistakes are mine, I was rushing towards the end, lol.

☞ PART FIVE | ☞ SERIES MASTERLIST

You toss your freshly braided hair over your shoulder as you move through the halls towards Bucky’s classroom. You’re actually pretty excited. Sure, you were fuming for most of the day yesterday but after a joint and an appointment with your vibrating boyfriend, your mind cleared. Your mother's words came floating back to you, and you knew what you had to do. Kill ‘em with kindness. After all, healthy competition goes both ways. 

You turn into his room, finding it empty, but the light on. No bother, you just move up the rows and plop down in your seat, pulling out your laptop. You don’t even look up when Cher walks in - late, of course - and sign loudly when she acknowledges you.

“Didn’t realize sucking up started this early.”

“And yet here you are,” you smile quickly, “Late, but here, nevertheless.”

She rolls her eyes, mumbling something about you being a bitch before she sits in her seat. Bucky arrives some minutes later, a cup of coffee in his hand, his glasses low on his nose, “Morning ladies. My apologies, I'm dragging ass today, had to get some coffee.”

You don’t answer. You don’t even look up from your screen as you tap away, finishing up your English paper. You hear the two of them making conversation, flicking your eyes up as Cher moves to the desk, leaning over it to no doubt show off the boob job her father paid for over the summer. Her irritating laughter rings out, but you pay it absolutely no mind until you feel a set of eyes on you within minutes. 

“You’re awfully quiet this morning.” Bucky says, tilting his head as you finally glance up at him from over your screen.

“Good morning Bucky.”

You watch as his jaw twitches slightly and his eyes squint at the sound of his first name. You shift in your seat, dropping your eyes back to your google doc, having to literally stop yourself from grinning. You’ve got him already.

“Bucky?” He questions, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose.

You click your teeth and scrunch your face as you pretend to be confused, “You did say at the beginning of the year to call you Bucky, yes? Has something changed?”

He scoffs lightly, a confused smirk playing on his lips as he rubs his chin, “I did, yes.” He agrees, shaking his head, “I thought you said you preferred Mr. Barnes.”

You shrug, “Well, I guess I don’t anymore.” You cut your eyes to Cher, who squints back at you, her lip slightly snarled, “If you want to be called Bucky, then I’ll call you Bucky.” You lift your eyes back to his, crossing your legs, “Just like everyone else.”

You drop your eyes back to your Macbook and fill the silence by tapping away at your keyboard again. You feel his eyes on you for a few seconds more before Cher draws his attention with some bullshit question. You stay true to course, never lifting your eyes back to him as he throws random looks at you, trying to get your attention as the class starts to fill up. 

You close your laptop but never really give him your full attention as you usually do as he begins his lecture. You glance out the window, or keep your eyes cast down on your pristine white shoes You gaze at your nails, making a mental note to schedule an appointment. You keep your legs crossed. You don’t engage, you don’t answer any questions, you don’t offer any insight. You just sit there -  like everyone else. 

His eyes are on you the entire hour. He poses questions, but ignores the raised hands for a few moments, waiting for yours to pop up into the air. When it doesn’t, his eyes linger on you for a few beats before he finally calls on someone. His questions get short, his thoughts sort of jumbled as the time dwindles. You smile. This is going to be easier than you thought. 

The bell rings and you fall in line with everyone else, heading towards the door. A hand catches your bicep and you sigh, but you keep your eyes straight ahead. Bucky nods and smiles at a few students before he turns his attention to you.

“You stopping by after class?” He asks gently, “I got something in my pants you might like.”

You smile back at him, cocking your head, “No, I can’t make it today.”

His lips part as his eyes bounce back and forth between yours, “Why not?”

“I have a riding lesson with Mr. Udaku.”

He laughs in disbelief as he runs his hand through his hair, “A riding lesson?” He repeats, “That early in the afternoon?”

“Yes.”

He clears his throat as irritation starts to bubble in his chest, “You gave me your schedule. Wednesday through Friday, six to eight, twice a day Saturday and Sunday.”

You shrug, “Not anymore.”

You take a step from him, but he stops you, grabbing your arm again. You turn towards him, your lips set in a hard line. He looks back at you, crossing his arms over his chest as you refuse to give in.

“Come on,” he says after the last student clears the room, “What is going on?”

“Nothing.” You shrug again as you answer sweetly, “What do you mean?”

“You’ve barely spoken to me today. This isn’t about yesterday, is it?” He probes, wrapping his arms around your waist, “I was just joking. You know you’re my favorite girl.”

You smile. It’s too late for that. You step out of his arms and head for the door as his eyes follow you, “You were absolutely right, Bucky,” you stress, “A little competition is healthy. For everyone.” 

You turn and walk out before he can respond.

----------

You brush down Apollo, your most prized possession as he neighs gently. You shush him, patting him softly on his side before you kiss him on his snout. He shakes his head and you laugh, reaffirming his good boy status just as Cher walks into the stalls. You throw your eyes at her as she stops in her tracks before rebounding quickly and moving to her horse’s stall.

“And just what are you doing here?” She asks.

“Isn’t it obvious? I have a lesson.”

You hear her scoff, “I’m not stupid.”

“You sure about that?” You giggle, rolling your eyes, “I moved my lessons to mirror yours, just so I can crush you everyday of the week. Show you who’s boss.” 

She tuts, batting her big eyes, “You just can’t stand it that Barnes doesn’t want you anymore.”

“Please,” you scoff, “Just the fact that he’s entertaining you, makes me reconsider his intelligence.”

You smile sweetly as you grab Apollo’s reins and start to walk him out of the barn. You lean into her and push some of her blonde hair off of her shoulder, “You fuck with me, I fuck with you. You should have stayed in your place, little girl.”

She slaps your hand away and you laugh before moving out into the field. You place your foot into the stir up and hoist yourself up onto Apollo, adjusting yourself on the saddle. You start a slow trot around the fenced in area, warming him up before you start working the obstacle course. 

Your lesson goes exactly how you thought it would, compliment after compliment from Mr. Udaku, (or T’Challa, as many of his students call him) about your form, your technique, your skill - while Cher struggled to keep up. Pride swells in your chest as you gaze upon her flustered, red face as she rips off her helmet and runs her fingers through her hair.

“Cher, you still need to work on not bouncing as much when you canter, you're still gripping too hard with your legs. Here,” T’Challa says,  “Watch Ms. Prescott.” 

He waves you forward and you start a canter with Apollo, your body moving naturally with his, “See how relaxed she is? You gotta let your legs stay soft. You have to remember to stay aligned with Cotton’s body or you’ll never be a smooth rider. Thank you Ms. Prescott.”

“Not a problem,” you coo sweetly, “I’m always here to help. You have my number Cher, you can text me anytime if you need any pointers.”

She narrows her eyes at you as she exhales hard, “Thank you.” She hisses as sarcasm drips from her words. 

“I mean, now that I’ve switched my schedule, we’ll get to ride together more. I don’t mind showing you the ropes. I know you’ve only started riding a few years ago.” You smile widely, continuing to step on her throat.

“I think that’s a good idea actually,” T’Challa agrees, “There’s no shame in asking for help sometimes Cher. Ms. Prescott’s knowledge and skill set could really help elevate your riding. You know she and Apollo are three time Champions.”

“Going for four,” you smile proudly, “Cher was there, cheering me on for all three of my wins. What did you place last year?” You ask, knowing good and damn well she was disqualified from your skill class.

“Fuck you,” she mouths.

Your smile practically breaks your face in two. Kill ‘em with kindness. You pull Apollo away from T’Challa and Cher, starting another slow trot around the fence. You glance over your shoulder and spot Bucky walking through the grass. You squint slightly, pulling on the reins to slow Apollo to a stop. You’ve never seen him out here before. He must be checking up on you, seeing if you really had a lesson this afternoon. You smile again. Men.

You click your tongue quickly and pat Apollo on his hip, turning him back towards the two teachers. You ride just close enough to hear their conversation but not close enough to where they’d know you’re snooping. You jump Apollo over the hogsback in the center of the arena as their conversation wafts towards you.

“I didn’t know she rode this early in the day, especially on Tuesdays.” You hear Bucky say.

“She usually doesn’t, but she texted me last night wanting to change her schedule to free up her weekends. She wouldn’t tell me why. It’s not like she really needs to practice this hard.”

You glance over at the two of them at the fence and meet Bucky’s gaze. You blink back at him, never one to back down from a staring contest, and quirk your eyebrows up your forehead. He turns his attention back toT’Challa, before he sends his gaze towards Cher. You turn Apollo again, trotting him over to another jump. 

You cut your eyes over your shoulder, watching Bucky shrug, “She’s been my TA for a few weeks. I just thought it was kinda sudden that she couldn’t stop by after class today.”

T’Challa slaps him on the shoulder, “I’m sorry man. Didn’t mean to steal your help away.”

“No, no,” you hear Bucky say before he links his eyes with yours again, “We’re just going to have to share her it seems.” He shakes T’Challa’s hand, “I’ll catch you later, huh?”

You watch as he moves back across the grass, running his hand through his hair as he bows his head. You let Apollo cool down for a few more minutes before you ride him back into the stalls. You brush him down again, before cleaning out his stall and laying down some fresh hay for him. You give him his dinner, feed him a few carrots as a treat for a job well done and rub noses before kissing him again. 

“You’re the only man I can depend on. See you tomorrow baby.”

You remove your gloves as you move out from the back of the barn, jumping slightly and clutching your chest when you come face to face with one Bucky Barnes, “Bucky -”

“Stop calling me that.” He answers sternly, his hands in his pockets, “You switched your riding schedule? Really?”

You shrug definitely, “So I wanted more lessons during the week, shoot me.”

“T’Challa said you don’t even need them. You’re just fucking with me.”

You giggle, “And Cher,” you add, “This isn’t all about you.”

“Can we just knock it off please? I’m sorry, okay? I told you, I was just joking yesterday.” He says with a huff, running his hands through his hair again.

You cross your arms over your chest, a smirk on your face and a sing-song tune in your voice, “But I’m just getting started, Bucky.”

“This isn’t funny.”

“Oh,” you laugh, “It’s a little funny. Look at you all worked up.” You mock, bopping his nose with your index finger, “You’re cute when you’re mad.”

“Hey. Prescott.”

You snap your head back towards the new voice, taking a quick step away from Bucky. You smile as the young Peter Parker leans up against the fence, nodding his head at you, “Peter Parker. How are you?”

“You got a minute?”

Your smile widens, “Of course.”

Bucky grabs your arm again before you step away from him, “I’m not finished talking to you.”

You pull away from him, “Well, I’m finished talking to you.” You state, stepping away from him, “I’ve been involved in competition my whole life, Bucky. I don’t cave and I certainly don’t lose. You wanted a competition, now you got one.” 

You turn on your heel and bounce towards the waiting Peter. He stands up straight, smiling at you again but keeps his eyes on Bucky as he walks off. Once you’re close enough, he nods towards him, “I didn’t mean to interrupt.”

You wave it off, “No interruption. I don’t see you out here much.”

“Nah, I came by to see you. I think we can help each other out.”

“God,” you roll your eyes playfully, “You read my mind. I smoked my last joint last night.”

“Not with that,” he laughs, “Well, I can help you with that too, but I have something else in mind.”

You raise your eyebrows, intrigued with him, “Oh?”

“Word’s getting around that you and Cher are battling over Barnes.” You shoot your eyes towards him, “You know she’s got a big mouth.”

“Fuck,” you mutter.

“Don’t worry. Everybody here has something on them, nobody is gonna snitch for fear of it coming back on them ten times over.” He says slowly, scrunching his face slightly as he faces the sun, “That’s what I thought I could help you with.”

You cross your arms as you glance around the deserted area, “How’s that?”

“You know Cher and I fucked around for a while late last semester, right before summer. Turns out, the fucking bitch burned me.”

“Ugh,” you grimace, “You’re kidding?”

“No. My parents intercepted the test results. That’s why my ass has been on lock down. Plus, I had to be on a fucking regimen of antibiotics to get rid of the shit. Killed my fucking game for the summer, man.”

You giggle a little, bumping your shoulder with his, “Sorry to hear it, but what exactly does that have to do with me, Parker?”

“It would kill her if we hooked up,” he says, wiggling his eyebrows, “Barnes too. He hates me.”

You inhale deeply as your lips curl into another devilish smile, “I didn’t know you had Barnes.”

“I have him in the afternoon. He busts my balls over every little fucking thing.” He rolls his eyes, “Cher is absolutely obsessed with you, it would drive her nuts. It’s the best revenge that I can get and I know you love making her feel second best.”

“It gives me great joy, actually.” You watch as Peter laughs, “Alright Parker, you got yourself a deal, but we need to draw some lines.”

“Okay,” he nods, shoving his hands in his pockets, “Lay ‘em out.”

“I don’t,” you start, clearing your throat, “I haven’t fucked-fucked yet and I'd like to keep it that way.”

“Saving it for Barnes?” He teases.

“Fuck you,” you giggle, “Make outs, blow jobs, heavy petting… whatever, I’m down with all of that, just no fucking. Deal?”

He holds out his hand and you take it, shaking it to make it official, “A woman confident in her sexuality. I love it.” He pecks you on the cheek before he starts to walk off, “It’ll be a pleasure doing business with you.” He calls.

“Same to you, Parker.” You smile, “Same to you.”

----------

You and Peter keep your newfound “romance” on the low for the next few days, as not to arouse any sudden suspicions. You continue to show up to Bucky’s class a half hour early (always making it in before Cher) and completely ignore him. You catch up on homework, you read, you paint your nails. Your nonchalant attitude towards him has continued to get under his skin, as his frustration and irritation has bled over into his lectures. Everyone picks up on his attitude, even Cher, now also receiving a cold shoulder from him in the mornings and afternoons. 

You and Peter decide to start your attack bright and early Monday morning. You meet up in the parking lot, hanging out next to his car, laughing and joking with a few of his baseball teammates. You walk in around seven fifty, twenty minutes after Bucky has been expecting you, hand in hand. Peter throws his arm over your shoulders, pulling you into his body as the two of you make your way through the halls. 

You pass by the open door of Bucky’s room and Peter stops purposefully in front of it as he calls for one of his friends down the hall. You glance into the room, but quickly cut your eyes away as you find Bucky and Cher gaping out at the two of you - Cher practically flipping over her desk she’s leaning so far forward. You and Peter push forward out of sight and you lean against the lockers, pulling him into you.

You kiss him hard, making him moan in surprise at first but he quickly follows suit. You smack your lips on his a few times before he pulls away, resting his forehead to yours as he drags his finger down your now swollen lips. The two of you whisper back and forth, smiling and giggling all the while before he leans into you again, capturing your lips. 

A throat clears loudly from beside the two of you, but you both ignore it, continuing to giggle and kiss as if you don’t hear a thing.

“Guys,” you hear Bucky sigh, “Break it up.”

“Oh, Mr. Barnes,” Peter laughs, wrapping his fingers around your neck softly - possessively, “Shit, man. Sorry about that. Didn’t even hear you, did you babe?”

You shake your head, “Nope. Sorry Bucky.” You peck Peter on his lips again before reaching up to wipe away the excess lip gloss you left behind, “You’ll walk me to my next class, yes?”

He winks at you before dipping back into you to kiss you once, twice, three more times, causing Bucky to speak up again.

“Guys, I mean it. You aren’t on a beach somewhere and you need to watch your mouth, Parker.” He sighs loudly, “Ms. Prescott, your seat please.”

You roll your eyes and push away from the lockers, you and Peter linking hands and extending your arms as you both walk in different directions.

“I’ll be right here after class babe.” He says, winking again.

“Ms. Prescott.” Bucky barks before pushing a hot breath out of his nose.

When your hands actually come undone, you wiggle your fingers at him before tossing your braids over your shoulder and push past the verklempt Bucky. You step past Cher, and she grabs your wrist, pulling you down into her.

“So you want my sloppy seconds all of a sudden?”

“Sloppy seconds?” You repeat, laughing lightly as you tilt your head, “Sweetie, it’s the restaurant metaphor all over again. Peter moved on from a bug infested pizza parlor to a clean five star restaurant. You’re still the sloppy one here.” You wink. 

You revel in Bucky’s anger for the entire hour. He continuously cuts his eyes towards you, now dark and brooding, but you smirk back and drop your eyes to your book, not giving him the satisfaction. Your legs stay crossed and your panties stay dry - much to his chagrin. Peter is right there by the door as soon as the bell rings. The two of you intertwine your fingers and swing them back and forth as you walk down the hall, two pairs of eyes on you all the while. 

“Mr. Barnes, I-”

“Not now, Cher.” Bucky bites back, running his hand through his hair again quickly before he damn near shoves her out of the classroom, slamming the door.

----------

You pull your next stunt in the library a few days later. It’s a study period, so there’s a few more teachers and students loitering around than usual - Bucky just happens to be one of the loiterers. Peter pulls you through the bookshelves by the tips of your fingers, finding the perfect position for the two of you to be aligned within Bucky’s eyesight. 

He’s perched at a table, his glasses low on his nose as he scribbles into his notebook before returning his gaze to the thick book just off to this left. Peter pushes you up against one of the bookshelves, jarring a few of the books loose from their spots and sending them crashing to the floor. You laugh, and Peter covers your mouth with his hand as he leans in and kisses your neck. His other hand snakes up between your thighs and pushes into your skirt, his fingertips brushing along your sex.

You push your chest into his and sink your teeth into your bottom lip as your hooded eyes flick towards Bucky. His jaw is tensed as he stares back at you. His lips are set in a hard, thin line, his face flushed red as his chest rises and falls harder than before. He falls back into his chair and crosses his arms over his chest, almost daring you to keep going - to keep pushing him. 

You dig one of your hands into Peter’s hair, pulling softly and hissing when his teeth sink into the fleshy crook of your neck. You push your hips into his fingers as he teases your clit with light, soft strokes. He licks a slow path up your neck and chin before he kisses you deeply and pulls you suddenly out of Bucky’s sight. 

“This is fun,” he laughs against your mouth, kissing you again as he squeezes your hip.

You giggle in return, tilting your head up towards the ceiling, silently asking him to continue. He obliges, and starts sucking on your skin again, pushing his hand back between your thighs. He slips his fingers underneath your panties and moans when the slickness of your sex coats his fingers. You let out a small moan as your hips move with his fingers. You grab his free hand and push it to your left breast, helping him to grab a handful of you. 

You gasp suddenly when Peter’s fingers push inside of you. You laugh again but spread your legs instinctively, raising one slightly to rub his calf. You feel him laugh against you as his fingers pump softly, his palm rubbing against your clit. 

“Fuck, Peter,” you say softly, pushing your body into his again as he finger fucks you up against the wall of books. 

You roll your head and jump when those familiar blue eyes are on you again, this time just on the other side of the bookshelf in front of you. Your mouth falls open as you stare back at him over the tops of the books. He slides a book off of the shelf, removing his eyes from yours to flip through the pages before he slides his angry eyes back to yours. He runs his eyes along Peter’s body, then halts at his hand as it pumps into you. 

You snarl your lip as a pang of excitement flashes through you. You’ve never been watched like this before - it’s kinda fun. You keep your eyes on Bucky’s as Peter’s hand quickens inside of you, his palm beating against your clit. You bite down into your bottom lip as you rest your chin on his shoulder, your head falling forward as your orgasm starts to build. 

“Shit,” you whine, your breath growing ragged as your hips pulse with the pace of his fingers. 

You lift your leg a little higher as the lust in your stomach starts to flood through your veins. You wrap your arms around his neck and ball his t-shirt into your hands, struggling to keep your eyes open as Bucky peers on. You watch as he runs his tongue over his teeth, blinking at you slowly, anger brimming just below his surface. He doesn’t shy away though, he doesn’t walk off, he doesn’t lash out, he just flips aimlessly through the random book he picked up as he watches as you come all over Peter’s fingers.

You slam your eyes shut at your orgasm rips through you. Peter moans as he slams his fingers into your wet, tight muscles. His free hand creeps back up to your face and covers your mouth, stifling the squeaks and squeals that dribble from your lips. Peter crushes you to the bookshelf with his weight, chuckling as he nips at your chin and neck. You keep your bottom lip between your teeth as you smirk at Bucky. You wanted a competition, now you got one. 

Peter pulls out his phone and lifts it into the air, hitting record as you still lean up against the bookshelf, still panting and giggly as your body floats on cloud nine. He smiles slowly into the camera, before leaning in and kissing you deeply, his tongue skimming along the roof of your mouth before it slides along yours. He situates your panties and skirt, like the gentleman he is, before he tugs at your wrist to pull you out from between the aisles. 

When he clears the bookshelves, he stops suddenly when he locks eyes with Bucky just on the other side. He nods his head towards him, before shoving his wet fingers into his mouth. He licks them clean before he pulls them out with a soft pop and  glances back into his camera, throwing a wink it’s way. The two of you waltz out of the library, smiles on both of your faces. You hear Peter’s phone as it starts to sound, ding after ding after ding as a quick flurry of text messages slide through. 

He pulls it out and snorts before he tilts it towards you, Cher’s name flashing across it as a call comes through.

“This is going tremendously.” He smiles, declining the call and sliding the sleek phone back into his pocket.

----------

You glance down at your watch as you whistle slowly; 8:06am. You’re now officially late to Bucky’s class, and officially late for the first time in over four years. You turn down his hallway, scrolling through your tumblr as you come to his closed door. You push through and feel the eyes of the entire class on you as you waltz in without a care in the world. Bucky’s lecture comes to a halt as he slides his eyes with you as you pick your way through the seats to find yours.

You sit, taking your time as you pull out your notebook and pen while everyone watches, just as surprised as Bucky that you’re late. You take a deep breath and expel it calmly as you finally glance up at him.

“Good morning.” You say cheerfully. 

He crosses his arms over his chest and licks his lips slowly, “You’re late.”

“Oh,” you sigh a little, glancing at your watch, “Sorry about that.”

“We had a deal at the beginning of the semester.” He says, his voice deep.

You cross your legs and swing your foot lightly, “Did we?”

He narrows his eyes at you as he pulls his glasses off of his face, “Should I remind you?”

“Please.” You nod, “It’s slipped my mind.”

He nods slowly, starting to pace, “You wanted me to hold you personally responsible if you were ever late.”

You squint your eyes as you tilt your chin towards the ceiling, pretending to rack your brain, “That’s right, I did. That little check mark next to my name on the attendance sheet is gonna hurt.”

“Oh no,” He chuckles as you challenge him so openly, “You wanted to be held responsible. A little check mark isn’t going to do that.”

You smirk, “So what’ll it be, Bucky?”

“Detention.”

Your face drops. Detention? Detention? For one fucking tardy?! “Detention?” you repeat, sitting up a little straighter in your seat, “That’s a little harsh, don’t you think?”

He turns back to face you, leaning back on his desk as he kicks his legs out in front of him. He shrugs, shaking his head, “You asked for it.”

“You’re joking,” you laugh, your mind starting to race, “A detention for being late one time? Have you handed out a detention to anyone else?”

He shrugs, “Nope. But you’re not everyone else, are you?”

You squint your eyes at him as he smirks back. This is the only way he could get back at you - to tarnish your perfect record. Your body flushes with heat - you honestly didn’t expect this. This… this is below the belt. You’d figured that he’s been so out of sorts that he’d just slap you on the wrist and beg to see him after class. You’d trade barbs back and forth, he’d eat your pussy and the two of you would be right back on track, like this never happened. But this?

“I’m getting you ready for real life. That’s what you wanted me to do, isn’t it?”

A chorus of oooh’s ring out from the rest of the class as you throw your braids over your shoulder angrily, “I have a riding lesson at three twenty five today.”

“I’ll talk to T’Challa if you’d like me to.”

You laugh sarcastically, “This is ridiculous. This’ll go on my record, you realize that?”

He shrugs again as he pushes away from his desk, “Maybe you should have thought about that. Now,” he smiles, turning his attention back to the rest of the class,  “Where were we?”

He completely turns the tables on you after that. He ignores you for the rest of his lecture. His mood lightens considerably. He cracks jokes, he banters with other classmates as you stew in your anger. When class is over, he holds out your detention slip between his fingers, which you snatch and crumple up in your hand as you pass by without so much as a glance in his direction. 

Asshole.

The final bell of the day rings hours later and you start the trek towards Dr. Banner’s room, the resident detention monitor. He’s surprised to see you and gives you a reassuring smile as you head to the back of the room, plopping down in one of the desks. You catch Mitchell Bryant, the fifth year senior and fuck up extraordinaire, smirking at you and roll your eyes deeply before shifting in your seat to block him from your line of vision. 

You busy yourself with your trigonometry homework, actually getting into it within a few minutes. The door opens and you flip your eyes towards it, doing a double take when you spot Bucky walking in. He smiles at Dr. Banner, leaning into his desk and muttering something before he heads back to the door. 

“Ms. Prescott?” He calls,  “Grab your stuff and come with me please.”

You cock your head as your eyes instantly narrow at him. You take a deep breath, but stand and collect your things. You walk out into the hallway, finding him waiting for you, “Yes?” you ask, your tone flat and irritated.

He doesn’t answer, he just points forward and waits for you to start walking. You roll your eyes but ultimately obey, your feet carrying you back to his classroom. He enters a few steps behind you, closing the door softly before he flips the lock. 

You spin on your heel to face him as your bag hangs off of your shoulder, “What is it, Bucky?”

“Drop your bag. Put your hands flat on the desk.”

His voice is deep and eerily calm. Your lips part and your eyes widen a little as you stand in your spot. He cocks his head when you still don’t move, “Did you not hear what I said? Hands flat on the desk. Now.”

You drop your bag from your shoulder and move to his desk, flattening your palms on the top of it. You’ve never heard him like this before - so stern. You swallow hard as your eyes dart around the chalkboard in front of you. You feel his presence behind you, hearing the material of his tie rubbing against his shirt as he loosens it, before pulling it from around his neck. 

You jump when he slaps lightly at the insides of your thighs, “Open sesame.”

You spread your legs wider as his fingertips brush along your soft skin. His hand slides up your spine slowly and pushes you forward until your chest is resting flush against his desk. Your breath becomes audible as he pushes his hips into your ass, making you gasp when you feel his hard on pressing into your flesh. 

He grabs your right wrist, bending your arm to place your hand in the small of your back before he reaches for the left. You then feel the soft silk of his tie as it wraps around your wrists, looping around them both before he ties it tightly into a nice, firm knot. Without warning, he bucks into your ass, jolting you forward as you gasp loudly again. 

“You are one smart cookie, Ms. Prescott.” He says softly, running his hands along your hips and ass, “I underestimated you.”

“Mental warfare is my specialty.”

You bite your lip as your body starts to warm from his touch. A moan escapes you as he rucks your skirt up around your hips and groans at the sight of your sheer, pink panties. You close your eyes as his fingers dance along your plump ass, cupping it in both of his large palms and jiggling it gently.

“Nervous?”

You shake your head definitely, “Of course not.”

“Never one to show weakness, huh? I like that.”

You let out a sharp scream when a hard slap is suddenly leveled to your behind. Your body tightens as you pull against the tie wrapped around your wrists. He spanks you twice again in quick succession and you slam your eyes closed as you squeal and squirm underneath him. He pushes his hand back between your legs, his fingers brushing along the sudden, new wet spot on your panties. Goddamn him.

“I’ve gotta give it to you, Prescott,” he says softly as his fingers push underneath your panties and slip through your wet folds, “You had me going. I was jealous.”

You hiss as you roll your hips into his hand, “I told you Bucky - “

He spanks you again, the sound of his flesh meeting yours bouncing off of the chalkboard, “That’s not my name.”

“Fuck!” You mewl as the sting radiates through you, but you don’t give in. Not quite yet.

“What were you saying, darling?” He coos as his fingers travel to your hips and dig underneath the thin band of your panties.

He pulls them down slowly, slipping them over your feet. You hear him inhale deeply seconds later before his fingers slip through your folds again. Your mouth drops open as he plays with your clit, drawing slow circles around it before he pushes two of his thick fingers into you. His thumb pushes between your ass cheeks and flattens against your tight hole, applying a slight pressure as he starts to pump his fingers slowly. 

“Did you have fun with the young Peter Parker?” He asks, pushing his hips flush to your behind, “Hmm? Did he make you feel good?”

You whimper as his fingers curl inside of you, his thumb pushing just inside. When you don’t answer fast enough, he spanks you again, making you squeal loudly. He pushes his thumb further and you squeeze your muscles as tight as you can as you tilt your head towards the ceiling, relishing in the electricity bouncing through you. His fingers push deeper in your pussy and you growl as you run your tongue over your teeth. 

“Yes.” You hiss, the smart ass in you still winning out, “You were there, Bucky. You saw how good he made me feel.”

He chuckles deeply, removing his fingers from you before he pulls you up into a standing position. He turns you around  to face him and picks you up, sitting you gently on top of his desk. He stays nose to nose with you, his eyes bouncing around your face as he smirks. He lifts his fingers to your mouth, smoothing your wetness over your bottom lip. 

You lick your lip slowly before you suck it into your mouth, blinking up at him slowly as you swallow your taste. He kisses you hard, wrapping his hands around your neck and pulling you into him as his tongue bursts into your mouth. You moan, letting your head fall back into his hands as you accept him, sucking on his tongue as you pull lightly against the tie still around your wrists. 

He pulls back slowly, pulling your bottom lip with him before he lets go. He tilts his head as his fingers drop to the buttons on your shirt, popping them one by one until it falls open. He flips his eyes back to yours as he starts undoing his pants, letting them slightly  fall down his hips. You bite your lip as you watch him push his hand into his black boxer briefs, stroking himself. He pulls his dick free and you inhale deeply, your eyes growing wide as he springs out from behind the stretchy material. 

“That little prick couldn’t satisfy you.” He says quietly, “Not like I can, baby girl. I’m a grown man.”

Your mouth falls open as he pushes the tip of his dick along your throbbing clit and through your folds. He pushes your legs open wider, wrapping your right limb around his hip. He pushes at your slit, positioning himself right at your opening. 

“What’s my name baby?”

You bite your bottom lip again as your lips start to curl into a smile. You bat your eyes at him but shake your head - not giving an inch. 

He smiles back at you, “You are stubborn as all fucking hell.”

“You started it.”

“I suppose I did,” He laughs, leaning in to kiss you softly, “You’re my perfect little princess.” He says, “You always were, you always will be.”

“And?”

“I’m sorry,” he says, cupping your face in his hands, “Don’t be mad at me anymore.”

You breathe in confidently, pushing it out of your nose as pride swells in your chest. You never cave. You never lose, “Apology accepted.”

“Good. Can I fuck you now?”

You nod slowly, “Of course you can, Mr. Barnes.”

He bites your lips and growls at the sound of his name tripping off your tongue with such ease. He grabs his shaft, slipping the head of his cock through your folds again before he stops at your slit. He wraps his other arm around your waist and starts to push slowly, breaking into your tight canal. You squeak as your muscles spread for his flesh for the first time, hissing as a delicious pain courses through you. 

His mouth drops open as he watches you swallow him. He pushes a focused breath out of his mouth as he pushes until he completely disappears inside of you. A tear slips down your cheek as he pulls out and slides back in. You dig your nails into his desk as you adjust your hips - the pain and the pleasure of it all mixing and melting together into a perfect harmony. 

You moan loudly as he fucks you nice and slow. He pushes his fingers to your clit and rubs quick circles against it as he sinks his teeth into his bottom lip, his eyes hooded as he watches you squirm and writhe.

“This is what a real man feels like,” he says softly, digging his fingertips into your hip as he fucks you, “Do I feel good, baby?”

“Yes,” you answer breathlessly, tears streaming down your face, “You feel so good.”

“Mmm,” he grunts, “You are such a good girl. You’re taking me so well.”

Your head swims as he praises you, stroking your ego, making you clench around him. His hips start to move faster as his hands run up and down your thighs, gripping and kneading your flesh. His fingers roam up to your breasts, pushing into your bra to tease your thick nipples, adding a new sensation to the mix. He drops his right hand back between your legs, pressing the pads of his fingers against your clit and starts to rub again, his other fingers still pulling and flicking at your aroused buds. 

Your hips jerk without warning, pushing his cock into you deeper, pulling a guttural scream out of you. Your eyes continue to leak as your head spins and your body tightens and flexes. A shutter runs up your spine, your thighs shake. You tighten them around his waist and try to grip the desk below you as a dull ache sits in the pit of your stomach. 

He fucks into you faster - recognizing that you’re starting to come undone as he overloads your senses. He rolls your nipple between his fingers, pinching and pulling as he continues to rub your clit and pump his hips into yours.

“You gonna come for me?” He starts to coax softly, “Hmm? Is my girl gonna come?”

My girl. Your brain can’t even form a coherent sentence. You’re nothing but sensation as he pushes you right to the edge of the cliff. His strokes get harder, his fingers faster as he rests his forehead to yours. He leaves your nipple to wrap his hand around your throat. His hot breath washes over your face as he kisses you quickly.

“I want my girl to come. Come for me, baby. Give it to me, I want to own you.”

You grunt as your eyes start to roll. He fucks into you as your toes curl with each of his strokes, pushing, pushing, pushing, until he tips you right over the edge. You mewl into the empty room as your orgasm floods through every vein, every muscle, every sensor in your body. He loses his control - pounding into you as hard as he can as your pussy quivers around him.

Your clit jumps with contractions as you tighten your legs around his hips. He coaxes you on, whispering sweet nothings as wave after wave crashes against you. His grunts grow louder and more erratic, his hips faltering every now and again until you feel a sudden warmth burst into you. He hisses as he spurts long, hot ribbons into your cunt over and over again. 

He nearly collapses - having to slam his palm to the top of his desk to hold himself up. His breaths are deep and ragged as his head falls to your shoulder. He leans back after a minute and tilts his head towards the ceiling as he focuses on his breathing, pushing them in and out slow and evenly. 

“Fuck,” he lets out as a laugh rumbles through his chest, “Goddamn.”

He reaches around and unties your wrists before pulling you up into his arms. You throw your arms around his neck and let him wrap your legs around his waist as he walks you around his desk and sits in his chair. He curls you into him, wrapping you up in his warm arms before he sweeps your braids over your shoulder. He kisses your forehead and the top of your head as he strokes your spine gently. 

“You are so pretty when you cry.” He says gently, smiling at you, “My perfect little girl.”

You still can’t talk. You just smile as you nuzzle into him, blinking down at your thighs, a small amount of blood splashed on your skin.

“Can you cancel your riding lessons tomorrow and Sunday?” he asks after a few minutes.

You nod slowly, “Why?”

“I want you all to myself.” He says, pushing his knuckle into your chin to tilt your head up towards his, “I want you to pack a bag for the weekend. I’ll text you my address, okay?”

“Okay.” You say simply. 

“Okay.” He smiles, kissing you again, “Come on, let's get moving.”

You reluctantly climb out of his lap and start to arrange your clothing properly, buttoning up your shirt and smoothing your skirt back down on your hips. Your legs are shaky, your pussy and clit sore, but you’ve never felt better. He grabs your bag and places it on your shoulder as the two of you move to the door. When he opens it, the two of you come face to face with one Cher Goodwin, her hand still in the air as she was just about to knock.

Her lips part as she stares at you, before flicking her eyes towards Bucky, “I thought you had detention.”

You shrug, “You thought wrong.”

She slides her eyes down your frame, squinting as she looks you over. Her face drops as the realization floods through her. Your smile widens. She doesn’t even have to ask.  She runs her hand through her hair roughly as she takes a deep breath, letting the dread of knowing she’s lost again flush through her. She’s come up just short - second place, once again. 

“Cher,” Mr. Barnes starts, “I’m sorry. Something came up, I’m not gonna be able to stick around this afternoon.”

She scoffs, clicking her teeth as she crosses her arms over her chest, “Mr. Barnes, I - “

“I’m sorry,” he cuts her off, “You know, I can get you a couple of names of some really great tutors that can give you all the attention you need. Okay?”

She runs her tongue over her teeth as she stares off into the distance, laughing slightly, “Sure, yeah. Whatever.” 

Bucky pushes past her and out into the hallway, “I’ll have them for you Monday morning, okay? I’m sorry ladies, I gotta split. Have a good weekend. Thanks for all your help Ms. Prescott.”

You smile at her as he moves down the hallway, “Oh, Cher.” You laugh, “Poor thing.”

“I’ll fucking get you.” She sneers, “One of these goddamn days, I will win! I will fucking beat you!” You shouts, stomping her foot.

You nudge her chin with your fist, “It’s cute you still believe that. The only thing you’ll ever have over me, is knowing how second place feels.” You brush past her shoulder as a frustrated tear slips down her cheek.

“Oh,” you say happily, turning back on your heel to face her, “I forgot to tell you. T’Challa signed Apollo and I up for the relay competition on Wednesday. You’re participating in that too, right?” You wink, watching as her eyes fill with dread, “See you there.”

You throw your hand into the air as you walk away from her, wiggling your fingers, “Tootles, darling.”

[miss-tc-nova]

Shared Ailments - Sora x Reader

Okay, I could probably do this better, but I’m brain dead and got other things to do. I was inspired to write something after listening to Yuukei Yesterday but figured the best fit was Sora, which I don’t normally write for but tada! Enjoy. 

Music Inspiration: Yuukei Yesterday cover by Jubyhonic

~~~~~

              The sun beats down on the defenseless, little Destiny Islands. Citizens are subject to the glaring sunrays but have come to adapt to their harsh heat. I’ve only been here a few years and even I’ve become somewhat accustom to the tropical temperature but I will blatantly state that I detest the sunlight: it’s blinding and burning and ruthless. I’d rather spend my time inside, perfectly content in my own company.

              Today offers no relief from the typical threat of sunburn. I only just left school and my body is already starting to feel sticky with sweat. My feet swiftly carry me down the sidewalk towards my home, eager to get someplace cool.

              Just as I round a corner, something heavy slams into me. The force throws me to the ground before subsequently squishing me. Pain grates across my arm but I can’t even gripe about it because my winded lungs are busy with a coughing fit.

              “Sorry! Are you okay?!”

              Still hacking away, I open my eyes to see the brightest blue eyes I’ve ever seen. Despite his concern, the brunette doesn’t seem to think his full weight on top of me is a problem and the proximity sends fire surging up my spine.

              “Sora! Get off!” someone else demands.

              “Right! Sorry! Let me help you!”

              Relieving me from his mass, the boy hops up. He not-so-carefully takes my arm and pulls me off the ground. Hissing at the sting, I immediately rip out of his grasp. It’s not gushing, but the concrete certainly shredded my skin.

              “Look what you did,” a third voice scolds, the girl standing behind him.

              In this trio, I only know of Riku—he’s my neighbor. However, since I moved here a few years ago, I’ve only seen these three in passing; they seem to disappear for months, sometimes years, at a time before randomly showing back up. I’ve run into Riku a few times, but we didn’t really interact which was fine by me. From what I have seen of his personality, it seemed he wouldn’t be a bother at all, unlike the brunette: Sora.

              Sora apologizes again. “I’m sorry. Here, let me help.”

              I flinch away from him. “Get away from me!”

              “I can help!”

              “I don’t need your help,” I spit. “I need you to get away from me.”

              “But I can fix it!” Somehow, those big blue eyes get even bigger and something about that look disconnects my brain from my mouth. “Please?”

              Whatever he’s done to destroy my defense prevents a response, which brings a giddy grin to his face. The next thing I know, I’m being dragged in a different direction. The entire time, Sora radiates happiness like the sun even though his plans are now to help someone he injured.

              I’m still a little hazy on what happened from there. We ended up at Sora’s house, sitting around his living room. I thought he was going to get a first aid kit or something, but he just held my arm. I would’ve jerked away, except a gentle glow seeped from beneath his fingers, distracting me long enough to lull me back into the tedious discussion. When he finally let go, my jaw dropped. There was nothing left behind—no scrape, no scabs, nothing but unmarred skin. It had me stunned and questioning the normalcy of these people, especially Sora. He was able to overcome every habit cultivated to maintain my peace and privacy. I don’t know if it had to do with the stuff he used on my arm—or if that light was some sort of virus or something—but my sharp tongue could not get through his lightheartedness. Still, I was desperate for an escape so I dropped it and left, briefly mentioning that I hoped to never run into him again.

              But I did.

              Somehow, Riku conned me into hanging out with him—what he failed to mention was that Sora and Kairi would be joining us. I figured it was worth my while to be on neighborly terms with the guy next door, whether it be for favors, friendship, or emergencies, so I thought there wouldn’t be any trouble. Well, trouble was his middle name and he showed up just five minutes after I did.

              Unfortunately, that one accepted hang out apparently gave them the okay to bring me along on all their random shenanigans. They would ambush me after school or even straight up kidnap me from my front door. They were harmless inconveniences, so I endured them, but they repeatedly ignored my every attempt to sneak away or shut down another get together. Nothing I did stopped them from showing up later to abduct me again.

              Admittedly, Riku and Kairi are nice people that I could get along with pretty easily. Sora—Sora is like the sun; he’s so much for one introvert to deal with. He’s so peppy and energetic, even when he’s being lazy. Sure, that’s not necessarily a bad thing, but I just can’t deal with that for so long.

              To add to the exhaustion, every time I see that guy it’s like my body is trying to shut down. My heart shudders while I start to overheat and I can’t think straight. Sometimes I can barely get a word out, let alone against him. He must be using more of that weird magic or something to make me sick. I’ve considered talking to the other two about it, but as soon as Sora’s gone, I’m fine so I haven’t pressed for any answers yet.

              Today is Saturday. I’ve been holed up inside since I woke up, expecting to have the perfect, peaceful day. All my homework is already done, I don’t have any chores except for making food, and I’ve already collected everything I need to enjoy my free day. I’ve been looking forward to this all week.

              There’s a knock at the door. I don’t like that knock; I wasn’t expecting anyone today. For a moment, I simply stare at the door, contemplating whether or not I should answer it.

              What if it’s an emergency?

              A hand slaps against my forehead for such a stupid thought; now I can’t just let it go. Grumbling, I stalk towards the door to see who’s intruding on my respite.

              Immediately, I’m greeted with his beaming face. “Morning!”

              The door slams shut.

              Fuck.

              In that short second, my heart stopped and I can feel the blood rushing to my ears.

              “Ah c’mon!” he calls. “You didn’t even hear what we wanted!”

              “I don’t care what you want!” I shout, thankful I’m not arguing face-to-face with him or I’d never win. “Go away!”

              “We know you’re not doing anything today,” Kairi says.

              “Exactly! Nothing! And you can’t make me!”

              Riku’s with them. “C’mon. We need your help.”

              “No!”

              I find it suspicious when there’s a delay in their coercion but all hope of them abandoning their harassment is lost when I hear Sora’s voice faint on the other side.

              “Really? You think that’ll work?”

              I press my ear to the door.

              “Of course,” Kairi replies; there’s something in her tone that sends shivers down my spine.

              Riku’s got that same note in his voice. “Do you want them to come or not?”

              “Yeah, but they already said no.” The brunette is the odd-man-out, sounding more confused than anything.

              “Just do it,” orders the girl.

              Sora sighs. This time, loud enough that it must be intended for me, he begs, “Please?”

              It must be some magic spell because, without first consulting my brain, my arm reaches out to tear the door open. Sora seems just as surprised as I feel, however, when I realize what’s happened, I throw a glare to the smirking cohorts behind him.

              “What do you want?” I snap, grateful that this unforeseen circumstance hasn’t yet destroyed my conscience.

              This is where it starts to deteriorate. With all that sunshine back in full force, Sora says, “We’re gonna do some repairs on the stuff on the other island and we wanted to know if you’d help. You don’t have to do any of the hard stuff.”

              A hand over my eyes feigns frustration; in reality, it’s there to shield me from his cheeriness.

              “I just wanted to relax and be lazy today,” I groan.

              Somehow, Kairi shimmies past me to nudge me out the door. “You can relax while you keep us company.”

              “Uh, hey!”

              She drops a pair of my shoes at my feet and closes my front door.

              “And hold the nails,” Riku insists, pushing a bucket of metal into my hands.

              “I hate all of you,” I growl as the pair continues ushering me out of my yard.

              Sora jumps ahead, looking back at me joyfully. “It’s gonna be fun. But thanks for coming; we really appreciate it.”

              That happy face—those dazzling eyes, that beautiful smile—is the spell he holds over me; it eradicates all coherent thoughts and causes my stomach to squirm.

              Unable to lash out, I drop my gaze. “It’s fine.”

              So my plans are effectively destroyed. Once we arrive, the trio gets to work just as they said, fixing up some of the old structures scattered about the place—just a few worn planks here and there. We chatter along as the work goes by and I diligently do my job of providing nails. It’s hot and I’d still prefer to be at home right now, but it’s not the worst Saturday of my life.

              I’m not exactly sure when, but Riku and Kairi abandon Sora and I on the bridge in favor of the docks. Riku took with him a handful of nails, essentially condemning me to alone time with Sora. So I sit around, passing nails out, while he attempts to talk my ear off. And no matter what quips or insults I throw at him, he just goes on as if I hadn’t said anything. It’s like he’s impervious—or deaf. Still, no matter how many times I tell him to shut up, I can’t block out a single thing he says. He’s got my undivided attention whether I want to give it or not.

              He beats on the board with his hammer. “But I gotta say, being a pirate was more fun than being a mermaid…man…merman?”

              Exasperated, I reply, “Sora, if you’re gonna lie to me, you could at least make it believable.”

              “But I’m not lying,” he says with a childish pout.

              I pass another nail into his open palm. “Really? Pirates? Mermaids? Monsters?! There’s no way you turned into all these crazy things.”

              “I did!” he insists, lining the nail. “But you can’t tell anyone.”

              “And have them think I’m crazy too? No thanks,” I snark, looking away. Curiosity gets the better of me. “But why not?”

              “It’s this whole crazy world order thing. We’re not supposed to tell people about other worlds or it might freak ‘em out,” he casually says as he works.

              “Then why did you tell me?”

              Ocean eyes lift to ensnare my heart. With a smile more blinding than the sun, he answers, “Because you seem like someone I can trust.”

              That’s it: I’m done. Panic takes over while I fight the urge to vomit beneath this woozy feeling. That inexplicable fever begins to run rampant again.

              Sora’s high spirits falter. “Are you okay?”

              Dropping the bucket, I stand and blurt out, “I’mgoinghome.”

              “What?”

              “I can’t do this anymore!” I start for the hut, only for a hand to take my wrist.

              “Hey, what’s wrong?”

              “Don’t touch me!” I snap, ripping my arm away. The trepidation prevents me from answering his reasonable questions.

              “Wha…Did I say something?”

              There is no rational answer. “Leave me alone!”

              He slips around to block my path, that worry on his face aggravating my ailment. “Are you okay?”

              “Get out of my way!” I demand, my heart thumping so violently I’m sure even he can hear it. “I’m going home!”

              “But, why?”

              “BECAUSE OF YOU!”

              The second I realize what I’ve said, my hand slaps over my mouth. Sora’s surprise turns to horror and hurt. All the disorders in me disappear, replaced with utter dread—I royally screwed up.

              “Because…of me?”

              The words stockpile in my mouth, random ones falling out. “I-I…you…I can’t…”

              “Are you mad at me?” This is the first time Sora has ever taken anything I’ve said to heart. His heartbroken voice and kicked-puppy expression cause a vice in my chest.

              “N-No! I just…”

              “What did I do wrong?”

              “I DON’T KNOW!” I shout. “I don’t know what you did but every time you’re around I can’t function! I’m burning up! I always feel like I’m gonna puke! My brain doesn’t work right and I say stupid things! It feels like someone’s squeezing my heart! I don’t know what you’re doing but it’s freaking me out!”

              The sadness I instilled in Sora melts but gives me no comfort. It turns into some sort of revelation.

              “You feel it too?”

              I hesitate. “What?”

              Looking away, he scratches at the back of his head. “Every time I’m near you, I feel kinda sick, like I’m gonna throw up. I feel warmer, I always forget what I’m doing, and I know I talk a lot but, with you, I can’t stop talking—I even tell you things I shouldn’t. Mostly, it feels like my heart’s gonna burst. I really thought I was crazy or something but if you feel it too, maybe I’m not.”

              All I can do is stare; he describes it differently, but the basics seem to be there: fever, mild nausea, brain failure, stupid mouth, and a bewildering heart. I would almost consider this some minor illness, but I can’t think of a single illness that muddles thoughts and runs a mouth the way I have.

              “But you know,” Sora adds, “it’s also hard to stop staring when I’m with you. And…I can’t stop smiling.” Those are different but I still can’t make sense of any of it. On the other hand, for Sora, it seems like he’s following some train of thought. “It’s actually not that bad. I like seeing you and I like talking to you, even when you nag me. I really like hanging out with you.”

              He’s reached an epiphany, the light in his head shining in his eyes.

              So happy, yet so gentle, Sora says, “I like you.”

              “You…like me?” I whisper, trying to wrap my head around his diagnosis. “You feel it too…and you like me?”

              “Yeah.”

              The concept rolls in my conscience, taking in each symptom and carefully fitting it against Sora’s conclusion. They all align perfectly. Somehow, someway, I fell for this dork of a man and was just too much of a coward to confront it.

              “Oh no,” I complain, hiding behind my fingers. “I’m such an idiot.”

              “What’s wrong?” His concern is back.

              Looking him in the eye was difficult to being with; it’s damn near unbearable now. The sun is no match against the blood in my veins. Arms wrap around me to contain the anxiety building inside. It feels like an eternity before I manage to voice my problem.

              “I…like you too.”

              The sunshine that he radiates feels different. There’s nothing different about it by any means, but it represents something different now. It’s not the burning, overbearing brightness that I’ve been trying to avoid; it’s warm and welcoming. It’s still uncomfortable as hell, I still want to vomit, but with a tweak of perspective, it’s tolerable—maybe even enjoyable.

              “You do?” he asks hopefully.

              I can’t recall having ever smiled like this. “Yeah.”

              Sora’s expression blanks, a cherry red blooming across his face.

              “Sora?”

              Without warning, he grips my shoulders and pulls me into a tight embrace.

              “You have the most amazing smile,” he murmurs.

              My heart skips and I might be on fire but I don’t want to run away this time. So I slip my arms around his neck and hide my face in his shoulder.

              “You goof,” I hum into his shirt.

              Then I see them, across the sand, sitting on the docks, with the smuggest grins on their faces. The thought strikes me like a bolt of lightning—they knew. Those two assholes knew everything this entire time and planned this whole thing. As I glare, a pair of fingers wave at them behind the brunette’s back, receiving sneaky snickers in response.

              Sora leans back. “You okay?”

              I put on a quick smile—he doesn’t need to know. “I’m great.”

              A quick peck ambushes my cheek, reigniting the flustering awkwardness.

              “Yeah you are.”

[cyborgsquirrel]

Sanctuary: Chapter 22

Pairing: Wolfstar

Summary: The epic tale of Remus Lupin and Sirius Black, from their first meeting until their happily ever after.

Link to Prologue

Link to All Chapters

Monday, 8th November 1971, 1:45 pm Remus was sitting next to Peter in Charms class as far away as he could get while still being at the desk. The accident at the Quidditch match the day before had been a sobering reminder of how many risks he'd been taking. It had been stupid and reckless to attend the Quidditch match. Sirius insisted that their skin hadn't touched, but he was worried sick. Maybe it had, and he just hadn't noticed. He didn't know what to do; tell someone, or wait and see? On the one hand, if he told Professor Dumbledore, and he had been right and the Headmaster was unaware of how infectious he was, he might be asked to leave the school, even if Sirius was fine. On the other hand, if he told no one and Sirius was infected... Well, a lot of people could die.

He could afford to hold off on making a decision, though. The next full moon was over three weeks away. If he kept an eye on Sirius, he should notice if there were any signs of lycanthropy in him. Sensitivity to smells and sounds, for example, or acting like he was in pain when he moved around. He wouldn't be as used to hiding pain as Remus was.

They were practising Alohomora in class that afternoon, and Remus, Sirius, James and a few other students all easily unlocked the full range of locks they were given to practise on, and Professor Flitwick gave a demonstration of Colloportus and told them to attempt to relock them. He also promised a fun lesson as a final practical the following day. The students chattered with excitement at the news. Remus couldn't find it in himself to feel excited, despite how legendary Flitwick's "fun practicals" were. He couldn't stop thinking about the possibility that he'd infected his best friend and cursed him to a life of pain, suffering and prejudice. Sirius would probably never speak to him again, and who could blame him? He'd been so selfish. It didn't take him long to get the hang of the locking spell, and as he re-locked the last of the locks on his desk, he noted how pleased Madam Pomfrey would be that she no longer needed to take him all the way down the tunnel to lock him in. Of course, she would still have to come down after the full moon to get him and carry his injured, bleeding body back to the hospital wing. He was still a burden; he would always be a burden. Better to shut himself off so no one would have to suffer with him. The rest of the week continued similarly, with Remus keeping his distance from everyone. Including his friends. He returned to his old routine of eating alone in the kitchens and spent all of his free time alone in a deserted corner of the library. The other Marauders seemed to be understanding of his behaviour, but it was wearing on their friendship, and he kept catching them whispering in corners and passing notes in class that never got passed to him. He told himself it was for the best. It was safer for them to not be around him. Safer for everyone. But gods did it hurt. The fun practical in Charms turned out to be another maze, this one with locked doors in their path. Remus smiled throughout and joined in with his friends joking, but inside, he felt hollow. Dead. Sirius had yet to show any signs of infection, but it was far too early to say. The symptoms wouldn't show until three days before the moon at the earliest. Maybe not even until the day of. If he had been infected, he would have no time to prepare. Not that you even could prepare yourself for the agonising pain of your body ripping itself apart and rebuilding. Sirius would never forgive him. How could he? In Transfiguration, they had moved on from altering an object's shape, material and colour, and were working on the states of matter, specifically turning a liquid into a gas, in their case water into steam. A few people suffered minor burns when they were unexpectedly successful. Remus kept his eye on Sirius. If he burnt himself, would it immediately heal? He couldn't remember much about his time in hospital after he was bitten. It was all a blur. How long did it take for the regeneration abilities to kick in? It didn't matter in the end. Sirius didn't burn himself; he was far too skilled for that. They tended their flitterblooms and flutterby bushes in Herbology. It was the easiest class for Remus. The natural scents of plants and compost eased his mind, and having the gloves on made him more relaxed. His friends seemed happy that he was connecting with them again, but when the class was over and he was once again distant, he could see the disappointment on their faces and felt like shit. He should never have allowed himself to get close to them in the first place. It had been stupid and selfish. He wasn't safe to be around. When Saturday morning arrived, Remus spent breakfast alone in the kitchen as usual. He wasn't looking forward to the weekend. It would be the first one he spent alone since becoming friends with the Marauders, and he knew it was going to be painful. He didn't even have the chocolate-flavoured nutrition potion to cheer him up, as Madam Pomfrey had decided he only needed it the day after the full moon. He thanked Breen for the food and left the kitchen, feeling utterly miserable, and almost walked straight into Sirius, who took a swift step backwards to avoid the collision. Remus looked up to find all three of his friends waiting for him. 'You,' James said, pointing at him, 'are coming with us.' Remus shook his head. 'I'm going to--' 'The library,' Sirius said, crossing his arms. 'Yes, we know.' Peter shook his head. 'Not today, you're not. You're coming back to the dorm with us.' James nodded. 'We've had enough of you avoiding us.' Remus felt thoroughly ganged up on, and he slumped his shoulders in defeat. 'Fine,' he snapped. 'I know, it's such a hardship, having friends that care about you,' Sirius said, shaking his head sadly. 'I'm afraid that you're just going to have to grin and bear it. Because you're stuck with us.' 'Forever!' James added, his tone laden with doom. Remus chuckled despite himself and followed them up to the dorm. They walked in silence; Remus had no idea what to say to them, and it seemed obvious that whatever they had to say, they wanted to do it privately. When they arrived, they told him to sit down, and they stood in front of his bed in a line and launched into what appeared to be a well-rehearsed speech. 'We know you're freaked out by what happened at the Quidditch match,' Sirius said. James nodded. 'And we can't even begin to imagine how scary that was for you.' 'But we miss you,' Peter said. 'It's not the same without you.' 'We're your friends and we're the Marauders,' Sirius said. 'And one of the rules in the Marauders code is that a Marauder always helps a fellow Marauder.' All three of them nodded, their faces deadly serious. This was not a joke to them. 'Obviously we can't prevent you from being touched at all, although we will do our best,' James said. 'But we noticed that you're more scared about your skin being touched than when it's through your clothes.' 'And that was something we thought we could help with,' Peter said. 'So James wrote to his dad,' Sirius said. 'And he found these.' Sirius handed him a box. 'We all chipped in to pay for them.' 'Open it,' James said. Remus stared at the box for a moment, glanced up at his friends who were watching him, and back at the box, before peeling back the lid and peeking at the contents. It was a pair of gloves and a hood, with holes for his eyes and mouth. He pulled them out. They were pale white and incredibly thin. 'They're made from kelpie skin, so I wouldn't wear them in Defence class, Emhio might get upset if she notices,' Sirius said. 'But when you put them on, they'll take on the exact appearance of your skin underneath, so no one will know you're wearing them.' 'We figured you probably wouldn't want to wear the hood all the time, but it'll be useful if you have to be somewhere really crowded,' James said with a shrug. Remus didn't know what to say. They must have cost a huge amount of money. 'This is too much. I can't let you do this,' he said, putting them back in the box. 'You have to return them, get your money back.' 'Are you questioning our commitment to the Marauders' code?' James asked, crossing his arms. 'You need help, we have the ability to provide it. It's our duty to buy you these.' He shoved the box back into Remus' hands. 'I'm not sending them back, so if you don't use them, it will just be a waste of money.' Remus' eyes were burning with emotion. 'I don't know what to say. Thank you. All of you.' 'You're welcome,' Sirius said. 'So, will you start hanging out with us again now?' Remus grinned at his friends through his tears. 'Yes, I think I will.' All three of them whooped with happiness, and Remus swallowed the hard lump that had formed in his throat. They really were the best friends in the world. But if they ever found out what he was, would that change? Would the rule about keeping secrets extend as far as lycanthropy? He doubted it. Who would ever want to be friends with a werewolf? Even his own dad could barely stand to look at him. He had to be prepared to lose them one day. His secret couldn't stay secret forever.

-o-o-o-o-

James' dad was a genius, and Sirius wanted to kiss him. The gloves had been the best idea ever. Remus was eating in the Great Hall with them again, and he was back to being relaxed and happy around them, though Sirius could swear Remus was watching him a lot. He kept catching him looking at him. Did Remus suspect that he knew? Should he say something? Reassure him? He had no idea. The last thing he wanted to do was scare him off again. The week went by fast. On Wednesday, they started working on a new charm with a lot of potential; Locomotor. While similar to wingardium leviosa, the object would only float a few inches high, and it had a longer casting range. As far as the other side of the Great Hall, James had pointed out with a wink. Sirius had grinned. There were a few Slytherins that needed to be punished. They had come across them picking on a first-year a few days previously but had been unable to intervene at the time as they were under the cloak. Wednesday afternoon, they had earned themselves detention using locomotor to tip over four pitchers of pumpkin juice on four particular Slytherin laps. It was completely worth it, and they took the punishment dished out by Minnie with good grace. Polishing the trophies in the trophy room was kind of fun, anyway. A great way to use up some of his excess energy, while also admiring his reflection in the shiny surfaces. They all worked hard in Transfiguration on Thursday. The lessons had moved on to turning water into ice, and they all agreed it would be useful for the Christmas feast event. They hadn't discussed what they were going to do yet, but ice and Christmas seemed like they went together almost as well as Marauders and mischief. On Thursday afternoon, they had their first attempt at making a hiccoughing solution in Potions. Only Peter was successful, though James and Sirius both earned As. Remus earned a T when his cauldron started emitting a high-pitched whine before the potion inside vanished with a bang and a puff of smoke. While Slughorn was distracted, Peter swiftly filled a few vials from his own cauldron and slipped them into his bag. They would undoubtedly come in useful at some point. By Friday evening, the sky had filled with ominous dark clouds, and the air hung heavy with the smell of rain. Sirius was nervous. It would be his first storm at Hogwarts, and he really didn't like storms. They bought memories he didn't want to think about. He was going to embarrass himself; he knew it. When lightning lit up the dorm for the first time, he managed to stifle his yelp, and he was pretty sure the thunder that rumbled a minute later was loud enough to cover his whimper, but that wouldn't last. He knew from experience that by the time the storm had passed, he'd be a blubbering mess. Hiding was his only option. He couldn't let his friends see him in that state. It was humiliating. Sirius got up to go to the bathroom, planning to hide out in a shower cubicle until it was over. He could say he was having a very long shower if anyone asked. Halfway across the floor to the bathroom, though, another flash of lightning struck, and the thunder was close on its tail. He jumped about a foot in the air and squealed. James glanced up from the letter he was writing. 'You alright, mate?' 'Yeah, just made me jump,' he said, and to his great embarrassment, his voice came out shaky. James frowned at him. 'You're paler than Remus. Are you scared of storms?' 'No!' Sirius said, a little too fast and a little too loud. James held up his hands in surrender. 'Alright, no need to get defensive. I was just going to offer to sleep with you if you needed company.' Sirius hesitated. 'You'd do that?' 'Course,' James said with a shrug like it was no big deal. 'We're the Marauders, right? You need help, I'm here.' Sirius tried to swallow down the lump in his throat. He wasn't sure he'd ever get used to having people who cared so much about him that they'd share his bed during a storm just so he wouldn't be scared. 'Okay, I admit it. I'm a total baby, and I'm terrified of storms. And I'd really like to sleep with you if that's okay?' James didn't say a word, just pulled back his covers and patted the spot on the mattress next to him. Sirius bounded over and climbed in, pulling the covers up to his neck and lying down. James put his parchment and quill away and scooted down in the bed, putting his arm around Sirius. 'You're not a baby. You just have really shitty parents,' he whispered. When the next flash of lightning lit up the room, Sirius flinched, and he jumped when the thunderclap followed. James squeezed him tighter, and he managed to relax. 'It's okay. I've got you,' James said, and Sirius closed his eyes, feeling safer than he ever had in his life. When he woke at six, the thunderstorm had ceased but the rain was still pelting down in sheets, and he wondered if the Quidditch match would be cancelled. Sirius untangled himself from James--who was wrapped around him like an extra blanket--and showered, before returning to his own bed for his early morning journaling session. About half an hour later, he heard Remus moving around, but he still hadn't emerged after ten minutes and Sirius got curious. He tiptoed over to his bed and peeked around the edge of the curtains. Remus was sat up with his legs crossed and his eyes closed. Despite being sat up, he appeared deeply asleep. Is that what meditating looked like? He remembered Remus' promise a few weeks previous to teach him and eyed the rain out of the window again. If the match wasn't cancelled, today would be the perfect day for it. James and Peter would be gone for a while, and he was fairly certain Remus wouldn't want to attend. As it happened, the match wasn't cancelled, and Remus was enthusiastic about teaching him. So, after breakfast, they bid goodbye to James and Peter and laughed as they watched them dash out into the pouring rain, becoming instantly soaked, before they returned to the dorm. Remus used the charm they'd used in the Great Hall to create tinkling background music and then told him to sit down on the floor with his legs crossed and close his eyes. 'Are you comfortable?' Remus asked. Sirius shifted about a bit until he was. 'Yes.' 'You need to quiet your mind, let all your thoughts go until you have a blank space.' Sirius cracked an eye open to look at Remus. 'Is that even possible?' Remus opened his own eyes and frowned at him. 'If it wasn't possible, I wouldn't ask you to do it, would I? Close your eyes.' Sirius smirked. 'Sorry, sir,' he said and closed his eyes again. 'Focus on the music, and the sound of the rain. And your own breathing,' Remus said. Sirius did so, listening to the patter of the rain hitting the window and the melody of the music. He focused on his breathing, keeping it calm and even. Remus spoke quietly. 'Now think of a place where you feel safe and build it in your mind. Piece by piece.' Sirius instantly thought of Hogwarts. The dorm room he shared with his friends, the common room and its roaring fire. The Great Hall and the Black Lake. He built each part of the castle meticulously in his mind, including all the secret passages, alcoves and rooms they had found. He took extra care with the dorm room, making sure everything was exactly right. 'What now?' he asked into the quiet of the room. 'Have you finished?' Remus asked. 'Yes.' 'Okay, now. This part can be painful. I want you to think of a bad memory. It doesn't have to be your worst, just bad. And I want you to find an appropriate room to store it in. Put it inside and lock the door.' It wasn't difficult for Sirius to come up with a bad memory. He had so many to choose from. Deciding on one of the many times he was locked in the cellar at home without food, he asked, 'How do I put it in?' 'Imagine yourself there in your safe place, and imagine the memory has a physical form. Pick it up and place it inside.' Sirius pictured himself inside his mental Hogwarts, and he appeared there. Tall, long black hair, aristocratic features, every part of him exactly as he was in reality. The sensation was strange. He could still feel his physical body, sitting cross-legged on the floor, but he could feel his mental body too, trailing his fingers across the stone wall. 'I'm here, I can feel the walls and the floor. It's weird,' Sirius said. 'Yes, it can be strange at first. You'll get used to it,' Remus said, his voice quiet and soothing. 'Can I make the memory look like anything?' Sirius asked. 'Yes, anything that makes sense to you.' Sirius thought about it. The memory was desolate, and painful with the gnawing hunger. Lonely. Cold and damp. He pictured one of the bricks that made up the walls of the cellar. Grey stone with damp trails caused by the moisture in the room it was from. It appeared on the floor in front of his mental body, and he picked it up. He was instantly drawn into the memory. Feeling everything. He gasped. Remus' voice echoed from the cellar walls. 'Sirius? It's okay, fight through it. Put it inside the room.' Right. He wasn't locked in the cellar. It was just a memory. He was in his dorm with Remus. Safe. He clawed his way out and back to his safe place. Back to Hogwarts. He was standing outside the blank stretch of wall that hid the Slytherin common room. What better place to put all his unpleasant memories? He didn't need a password here. It all belonged to him, and the wall opened at his mental command. He walked inside. Looking around, he wondered where to store the memory. Somewhere it wouldn't look too out of place. He glanced at the fireplace. Well, he was in control here; he thought. Concentrating, he vanished one of the bricks surrounding the fireplace and pushed the memory stone into the space left behind before stepping back to inspect the result. It looked good. There was a faint difference in the colour of the stone, but it was only noticeable if you were looking for it. He wasn't sure why he wanted to hide his memories, disguise them, but it felt like the thing to do. Reaching out, he brushed his fingers against the cellar stone and was pulled back into the memory briefly. As soon as his fingers left contact, the memory stopped. He had complete control over it. 'I'm finished,' he said. 'Okay. I think we'll stop here for today. Exit your safe place and lock the doors behind you. Then focus on your physical body and come back to it.' Sirius followed Remus' instructions and strolled out to the Hogwarts grounds, locking the front doors behind him before realising the grounds were a part of his safe place. He needed to leave Hogwarts entirely. He finally reached the gates and locked them, before focusing on his physical body. The feel of the carpet beneath him, the solidness of the ground. The sound of the music and the rain in his ears. He opened his eyes and Remus was smiling at him. 'You did really well.' 'Did I? I only dealt with one memory.' 'That's more than I managed my first time,' Remus said with a shrug. 'Can't I do a few more?' 'It's been three hours, and I heard a particularly loud cheer a few minutes ago. I think James and Peter will be back soon.' Sirius was shocked. 'Three hours?' Remus nodded. 'Didn't feel like that long for you, right?' 'Nothing like it,' Sirius said, shaking his head. 'That's something you need to be careful of. Time can pass quickly when you're meditating.' 'I see that,' Sirius said. 'You said this was a muggle thing, though. That didn't feel very muggle.' 'Yeah,' Remus said, frowning. 'I thought the same. I learnt about it from a muggle book, but I think it might work differently for wizards.' Sirius nodded. 'Probably.' James and Peter returned a few minutes later. Hufflepuff had beaten Ravenclaw by 200 points, meaning Gryffindor would need to beat Hufflepuff by at least 150 to stay in the running. James was adamant the team could do it, and Sirius believed him. If there was one thing James knew about, it was Quidditch. Three days later, on Tuesday afternoon, James called a Marauders meeting, and they all gathered in the dorm room. 'I've called you all here today to discuss our plans for the Christmas feast,' James said, standing on his bed. 'The school will be expecting something spectacular from the Marauders, and we can't disappoint them. So, ideas?' 'Aren't you the Chief Imaginator? Sirius asked. 'Ideas are supposed to be your job.' James jumped down from the bed. 'I'm glad you said that,' he said, putting his arm around Sirius' shoulders. 'I think we should turn the feast into a party. Music, a dance floor, the works.' 'I like it,' Remus said, nodding. 'We should wait until the feast is over though.' 'See, that's what I thought too,' James said. 'But how can we time that? We don't know what time it will end.' 'Some kind of trigger word, maybe?' Remus said, frowning. 'I'll look into it.' 'Brilliant.' James turned to Sirius. 'I need you to design some ice sculptures.' Sirius grinned, his mind immediately brimming with ideas. 'I can do that.' 'Nothing rude, Sirius,' Remus said. Sirius scowled. That was three-quarters of his ideas out right away. 'Spoilsport.' 'What about me?' Peter asked. 'There's nothing for you to do yet, mate. But it's early days. I'm sure something will come up that needs your expertise.' Peter nodded in understanding. 'What are you doing for Christmas, Remus?' Sirius asked. 'Going home?' 'I was thinking about staying here, actually. I'd like to have access to the library for my homework. But I don't know if my mum will mind. I was planning on writing to her soon.' Sirius felt a thrill of hope. If Remus stayed, maybe he could bring up the werewolf thing somehow. James and Peter were both going home, so it would just be the two of them. It might be the perfect time.

-o-o-o-o-

Extract from The Official Marauders' Notebook

Notes passed between James, Sirius and Peter. Later removed and burned.

Monday, 8th of November Have you noticed Remus has been really quiet since the Quidditch match? I think he's really freaked out about what happened - Sirius I was thinking the same thing. We need to do something to help - James Like what? - Sirius I'm not sure. It seemed like he was most worried about his skin being touched, right? - James Yeah. That's what he asked me - Sirius So... Gloves? - James He doesn't like attention, though. If he's wearing gloves all the time, people will stare - Sirius I'll ask my dad. He might know something that could help - James Wednesday, 9th of November My dad wrote back this morning. He says there are gloves made from kelpie skin; they change to look like your hands, and they're 15 galleons. There's also a matching hood for another 20. I can cover 25 galleons. Can you and Pete make up the rest? - James I have eight galleons left of my allowance this month - Sirius I have two galleons, but that's all my money - Peter So? - Sirius So nothing. If it will help Remus, then he can have it, I was just saying. I'll have nothing left for sweets - Peter I'll buy you sweets, Pete. I'll get more money next week - James Thanks, James - Peter Thursday, 11th of November I sent Dad the money. He's going to buy them straight away. We should have them by Saturday morning - James Thank Merlin. Remus looks miserable - Sirius.

-o-o-o-o-

A/N Hi, I hope you all enjoyed this chapter. I just wanted to make clear that I do not advocate locking bad memories away inside your head, that is not a healthy way to deal with trauma and Sirius will be revisiting those memories to deal with them properly at a later date, this is just the first step. 

Also, my beta has gone back to work now, so updates will probably slow down a bit :( 

Chapter 23

[forever-rogue]

Bad Guy

A/N: Hey y’all! Here’s some bs that nobody asked or called for. But here it is anyway. Enjoy! Also....please let me know if you’d possibly be interested in a part 2...??

Pairing: Joe Mazzello x Reader

Word Count: 5k

Warning: light smut, light language

PART 2

»»————-　♔　————-««

"Take a picture," Y/N smirked at Joe, taking a moment to ruffle his auburn hair as she walked past him to get another drink at the crowded bar. It was round four? Five? She'd stopped counting a while ago, but also wasn't bothered in the slightest. It was Saturday, and after a hectic, long week of work she had decided that she deserved to cut lose.

That's how she ended up at the loud, overly packed bar that was almost vibrating with the thump of the music. She'd come with a couple of friends, who brought a couple of friends, which is how she found herself under the intense scrutiny of one Joseph Francis Mazzello III. She knew he hadn't been able to keep his soft hazel eyes off of her body all night, watching them slowly get darker and darker as time ticked by.

She would have been lying if she said it hadn't been flattering. He'd caught her own eye as soon as he had arrived with her friend Ben. A friend of friend was her friend too, and friends will be friends, right? She was glad she had made an extra effort to look good that evening; the tight, low cut red sequined dress was coming in handy for once. She had purchased it on a whim, wanting something they made her feel good in her own skin, and was eager to break it out. She wasn't interested in just hook up, a tragic one night stand that would end up with her stumbling out of a stranger's apartment the next morning, but some well deserved attention wouldn't hurt. And that's exactly what Joe was giving her, fueling her fire and the slight tingling between her legs.

But he came in looking just as good as the best looking men she had encountered. The dark, well fitted jeans, the shoes that displayed large feet, the tight button with the leather? Purely unfair and she wanted nothing more than to rip it all right off of him, ravage him, and leave him begging for more. He played a typical game, acting as if he was so tough and cool, but she could see right under his facade. Underneath it, she could spy the man he was, the kind that loved being taken down by a woman but would never admit it to another soul.

"Can I help you?" she pretended to be annoyed as she felt him standing behind her, almost too close for comfort, and yet not close enough. She turned around, fresh drink in and a hearty buzz ruining through her veins. She felt warm and sticky from hours of dancing, but being in such close proximity to him had her feeling bothered in all sort of ways.

"That depends," there was a little bit of a mischievous smirk on his face and he seemed to have gained a sense of bravado and swagger. The shot she saw him consuming before making her way to the bar must have finally hit him.

"And just what is it dependent on?" she raised an eyebrow at him before taking the class in her hand, filled with a vodka soda, and downing it in one long drag. She wasn't drunk yet, slowly and steadily getting there, and found it becoming easier and easier to throw drink by drink back. Joe's confident look flattered for a moment as he wasn't sure if he should be concerned or impressed.

"What's your MO?" he asked curiously, running a large hand along his stubble, trying to decipher her. She threw back her head in laughter; she knew her reputation, the effect she had on men.

"Haven't you heard?" she asked, coming down from her fit of giggles. He shrugged innocently and she pressed her empty glass into his hand, "I'm the bad guy. Duh."

She sauntered away, making sure not to let him let him get another word in edgewise. Swaying her hips back and worth purposely, she turned around and gave him a wink before disappearing into the large crowd on the dance floor. She made sure she was concealed, just enough to were he could catch glances, but not enough to satisfy him. He was wanted to see much, much more of her already.

"Oh mate," Ben snickered as he made his way back over to Joe, handing him a cool, sweating bottle of beer. Joe sighed as he gratefully took the bottle and clinked it against Ben's. They both took long drinks before Joe let out a long sigh, "you've already got it bad for her, huh?"

"I wouldn't say that," he countered weakly, not even putting up a large fight. Yeah, he had it already, hook, line, and sinker, "but she's...interesting to say the least."

"Interesting?" Ben almost spit out his sip of beer, coming close coating Joe in little droplets of the golden liquid. Joe gave him a look of surprise, but Ben swallowed it quickly, "that's not the word I'd use. Y/N L/N is interesting, but there’s much, much more to her than that. That and the fact that you're starting after her, clearly fighting a boner, would suggest that you think otherwise."

"Ben!" he hissed, shifting slightly so he could vainly attempt to cover the hard on that was indeed already prevalent. He had hoped it wouldn't be that obvious.

"No shame," he rolled his eyes, following Joe's eye line, where he was trying to pick her out among the crowd of people, "I love her, really, she's an excellent friend. But otherwise, I'd stay away from her. She's a maneater by every definition."

"Oh?" Joe's curiosity was peaked and he couldn't help the fact that he wanted to know more about her. He'd met her a few times here and there due to the fact that they had a plethora of mutual friends, but those had all been casual outings during the week. This was a whole different experience, this was like getting to see an animal in its natural habitat.

"She can get any man she wants, no matter how much of a tough guy they are, but enough to make your mum sad, make any girlfriend mad," he explained and Joe's eyebrow raised higher and higher until it almost disappeared into his hair, "like I said, love her, wouldn't touch her."

"That sounds like a bit of a challenge," he downed the rest of his drink and set the bottle on the table in front of them, "she's one person, how hard can she be? I'm sure she'll be easy to break soon enough."

"Mate, it wasn't a challenge," Ben could already picture the impending disaster. If Joe went and tried to make a move on her, it would only end up in a mess or he'd be practically begging Y/N to show him some sort of mercy, "it was definitely a warning. No matter how much of the Mazzello charm you give her, she'll get her way."

"And just what is her way?" Joe knew, of course he knew, but he wanted to hear the words of out of his mouth. Ben just sighed and rolled his eyes, polishing off the last of his own drink, a few lone droplets running down the side of the bottle.

"Sex," he answered bluntly, "she likes sex with people she approves of. Her standards are pretty high so consider yourself lucky if she's interested. She's not interested in relationships, she just wants the benefits. I've heard nights with her are...memorable to say the least. Not one stands exactly, but not relationships. She’s not that kind of girl, she prefers her independence.”

"And you've never-"

"Never," Ben responded firmly. Not that he hadn't thought about it, because he had, many times. But his boundaries were never crossed and he held her close as a friend, "I've known her since college, she's been a good friend and that's what she'll remain. Her friendship is priceless, truly. I'd get on her good side, but don't waste your shot."

"Oh, Benny Boy, I'm going to shoot my shot," he promised him, "but it won't be wasted, trust me. I’m going to win her over before the end of the night.”

“Or she’ll break you down-”

“Not a chance,” Joe smirked, patting his shoulder gently, feeling his confidence grow as the alcohol working its way through his system.

He left without another word, leaving Ben standing there in a daze, shaking his head. He flagged down a waiter and got another beer as he saw Joe's retreated back, "your funeral mate, your funeral."

Joe felt the music vibrating throughout his whole body, mixed in with nervous anticipation as he prowled the floor keeping a sharp eye for Y/N. He would be able to spot her, of that much he was positive. Her beautiful face was already emblazoned thoroughly in his mind, combining with the red sequined dress she had decided to sport. She had dressed to impress and had definitely succeeded, as every head, man or woman, was snapped in her direction. 

A couple of women tried to grab for his hands or wrists, but he just pulled away, shaking them off without another glance as he made a direct beeline for Y/N. A couple of women huffed at him, shouting obscenities at him, taunting him for not wanting them. But tonight there was only one woman that was on his mind tonight and she was currently surrounded by a group of her girlfriends, as she shimmed to and fro, her dress glinting brilliant in the club’s lighting. 

Almost as if there was an invisible force pulling them together, Y/N looked straight at Joe, a wicked little grin forming on her face. She turned to whisper something in her friend’s ear, jerking her head in Joe’s general direction as she made her way over to him.

He tried to keep his thoughts from going straight into the gutter as he practically undressed her with his eyes, unaware that she was doing the exact same thing to him, curious as to what he was packing. She already knew he was big, it had taken about five seconds for her to figure that from her sly examination of his feet; she’d had enough experience with all sorts of men to know how to judge. Besides that, there was something about him that just exuded big dick energy. He wasn’t cocky per se, but he knew exactly what he was doing, but didn’t feel the need to show it off.

“Couldn’t let it go, huh?” she asked as she crossed her arms over her chest, doing so right under her breasts and pushing them up ever so slightly just to give him a peek. Even if he thought he was being subtle, the light flush that colored his cheeks spoke volumes. She leaned closer to him, her soft lips almost brushing his earlobe, breath causing all the hair on his body to stand up, “are you sure you’re not making a mistake?”

“No,” he licked his lips as his eyes flicked to hers, “I don’t think so. Perhaps you just think too highly of yourself. Maybe you’re just a little girl playing at being the bad guy? This could all be a grand facade of you wanting to feel like you’re in charge, but underneath all the glitter and talk, you’re just looking for the right person.”

“And maybe you think you’re the right person?” she kept her body close to his, inhaling the scent of his cologne. It was even more  intoxicating than the alcohol she had running through her system; his natural musk mixed perfectly with the woodsy smell, and she wanted nothing more than to be bathed in it. He tilted his head to the side and narrowed his eyes, giving her a cheeky eyebrow raise. She laughed, putting her hand on his cheek and gently pushed him a step back, “get over yourself. You’re not that special. What makes you think you’re any different from all the rest of the men and women here? I could have any one of them, and perhaps I will.”

“I got your attention,” he countered, waiting for her smart response, but she seemed taken aback, unable to think quickly on her feet. He reached forward and grabbed a lock of her hair, twisting around on her finger, “and you’re still here, talking to me, not telling me to go away.”

“Normally I’d cut a hand off if someone touched my hair without permission,” she told him, grabbing his wrist and giving him a firm look. She took his hand and hovered it over her chest, just to taunt and play with him a little - it was working judging from how quickly he swallowed, his chest rising and falling rapidly, “but I’ll spare you. You’re right, Mazzello, there is something about you.”

“It’s all part of my undeniable charm,” he tried to put on an air of bravado, to make it seem like he was much confident than he was, but he had a sneaking suspicion that she could see through his game. There was something about her that made appear to be some sort of Oracle, like she could take one look at him and she completely through him. Y/N remained silent over a few moments as they silently studied each other, waiting for the other to break first.

A waiter walked by, carrying a tray of drinks and Y/N casually grabbed two of them, handing one to him and keeping one, “bottoms up.”

“Cheers,” he concurred as the two of them quickly polished off the fresh alcohol. He wanted to cringe a little bit as the alcohol burned the back of his throat, but he hid it as best as he could when he saw that Y/N didn’t even flinch.

“What’s your MO?” she posed the question back at him, tapping the glass thoughtfully against her lip, trying to figure him out. She’d have a few interactions with him before, seeing him around their friend outings, but never thought much about him before. Sure, he’d caught her eye, he was good looking and funny after all, but something tonight had her feeling all sorts of ways.

“Same as yours,” he answered as he grabbed her glass and set it down at a nearby table. As much as she tried to suppress the smile that was forming on her face, it was slowly becoming a lost cause, as she continued to win her over, “I’m just here to have a good time.”

“Bullshit,” she laughed as she stepped closer to him, deciding to be bold and wrapping her arms around his neck. He didn’t stop her, his arms finding her waist, gripping them tightly over the sequined fabric. A little victorious smile appeared as she kissed his cheek, relishing in the feel of his stubble under her lips, “are you trying to prove some sort of point that you can win over any girl, or are you actually interested? I know my reputation precedes me, but I can play nice.”

“Can you?” he asked, letting a hand wander ever so slightly over her bum, seeing how much she’d let him get away with. She wasn’t about to stop him; his large hands left her feeling warm all over. Biting her lip, and she gave him a small nod as they started moving ever so slightly to the thumbing beat. It was like time had slowed and they were the only ones there, despite the fact that they were in a crowded club.

Out of the corner of her eye she saw a girl, probably no older than twenty-one, staring hungrily at Joe, her eyes raking all over his form. Growing almost immediately annoyed, although she had zero reason to be, she dropped her arms from around him, gave him a quick kiss, startling him with surprise as she made her way over to the girl.

“You might want to be a little less obvious, love,” Y/N wrapped an arm around her shoulders, her voice dripping with honey. The girl’s eyes widened as she realized she had been caught red handed. Her eyes heated up as she opened and closed her mouth a few times, “it’s okay, I understand. He’s pretty good looking. But tonight he’s mine and maybe, just maybe, I’ll give you left overs if there are any.”

“I-I didn’t mean to stare at your boyfriend, I’m sorry,” she was embarrassed and couldn’t even make eye contact with Y/N.

“He’s not my boyfriend,” Y/N laughed, causing her a bit of confusion, “he’s just mine for the evening. I don’t date friends.”

“He’s looking at like he’s a little more than a friend,” the girl shrugged and Y/N fought hard to keep herself from looking back at him, but she could feel his eyes on her, “I dunno, I’m sorry for bothering you.”

“Don’t even worry about it,” Y/N’s face fell slightly as she realized she was quickly moving into something a little more involved with Joe than what was normal for her, “sorry for bothering you, sweetheart.”

She didn’t let her get another word, leaving her and making her way back over to Joe, a curious expression on her face.

“What was all that?” Joe wasn’t sure what had just happened. Y/N just shook her head and pulled his face closer to hers, “how can I help you?”

“I have a sort of policy,” she explained to him, wanting to make sure he knew the ground rules, “it’s a one and done deal. I don’t do relationships, okay? If that’s what you’re looking for, you’ve got the wrong girl.”

“Bold of you to assume I can’t change your mind,” he interrupted her, crashing his lips onto hers. She made a sound of surprise, but didn’t pull away, enjoying the feel of his soft lips on hers. Only when she was breathless, dizzy from his delicious feverish kisses, did she pull away from him.

“Bold of you to assume I won’t kill you for that,” she countered, stepping back from him and attempted to give him what she considered to be a hard look, “I’ve done much worse to men for much less.”

“You’re still here, aren’t you?” he was playing the game and playing it well. Biting back a smart remark, she decided on just giving him a small nod. He put his hand under her chin and tilted her head so she was looking at him, “what’s the matter, sugar? Cat got your tongue?”

“Are you going to take me home or keep trying to work up the nerve? I don’t like when people make me wait,” she asked asked after a few moments of silence, taking his hand and deciding to be bold by lightly sucking in his thumb. He inhaled sharply but took his hand and grabbed hers, leading her off of the dance floor.

“Let’s go,” were the last words out of his mouth as he led out her out of the loud club, eager to get home as quickly as possible.

Ben had watched them go, shaking his head as they left without another word. He had a feeling this would happen at one point another, and he was curious to see where it would go.

“Fools,” he said quietly to himself as he finished his round off, “passionate fools.”

"You probably think you're in charge, huh?" Y/N teased in between kisses, as Joe's hands tried to roam her body. She kept swatting them away, giggling as he became more and more desperate to touch her.

As soon as they had stepped into his bedroom he had kicked the door closed and slammed her against, kissing her with every bit of force and passion he had within him. She’d let him think he was going to have her with him, deciding to play with him a little. He had his body fulled against her, moaning desperately between every kiss.

"Y/N," he almost whined as he felt himself growing more and more needy (and hard) with each passing each second. She finally pulled completely, sliding out from under him, pressing her finger to his lips and giving him a wicked grin.

"Shhh," she said quietly. She was thoroughly enjoying this; but this was what she was after. Individuals that wanted her and she could take control of. But there was something about him that was different and kept her interested - part of her already knew that she wanted to see him again.

She kissed his lips before working her way along his jaw, slowly down the column of his throat, earning a few small whines from him. When she reached the apex of his chest, she slowly unbuttoned his shirt, taking her time to languidly undo every single button. She pressed a kiss to each spot of his skin that became exposed, sinking lower and lower until she was on her knees and face level with his erection that was strained against his jeans.

"Oh silly boy," she looked back up at him, feigning innocence with large doe eyes. His hazel eyes were dark with lust as she stood back up, leaving him worse off then before, no sort of relief achieved. She backed him until the back of his legs hit the bed, "I'm in charge here. I'm always in charge."

"Y/N-" his voice almost crack as though he was experiencing a bit of puberty as stood there, feeling like he was going to combust at any second.

"Lie down," she commanded with one eyebrow raised. He quickly obliged and laid down on the bed, eagerly anticipating her next move.

Whatever it was, he hoped it would lead to them both finally getting what they needed. She remained silent but kept her eye trained on him as she slowly unzipped her sequined dressed, letting it cascade down her body before it land with a soft thud on the floor. She was left standing in only her black, lacy bra and panties, glad she had worn that particular set, as it left very little to the imagination.

"Just because we're at your place doesn't mean you're in charge," she smirked as he watched her with widened eyes, breath hitching in his throat. Tying up her hair into a messy bun, she scanned his dresser, zoning in on an almost empty bottle of cologne. This must have been his favorite one since he appeared to use it religiously, the same one she had smelled on him earlier.

She picked it up and sprayed herself with it, breathing in the scent that she decided that she it was now one of her own favorites. Joe thought he might cum then and there, just from the sheer sight of the intimate moment. She titled her head to the side and offered him a lazy smile.

"They always say she's scared of me," she commented as she made her way over to him, "she is always some girl or another that I've apparently stolen a man from. I mean, I don't see it, but maybe it's because I'm always wearing their cologne. I like this one the best, I think I’ll keep it.”

“Are you trying to kill me?” his voice was weak and any resolve he had remaining for taking even an ounce of control was rapidly disappearing. She was good and she was getting exactly what she wanted - dominance and to frustrate him beyond measure.  She just gave an innocent shrug before tugging on his pants, as if to ask why he was still wearing them. He immediately understood, wiping away the sweat that had formed on his brow from all the anticipation before hastily unbuttoning his jeans with long, shaky fingers. He cursed himself for wearing such tight jeans that evening, hissing as he gingerly maneuvered them down his already weeping erection. 

“I don’t know, Joseph,” she let his name roll slowly off of her tongue, taking a moment to test it out and see how it sounded. She liked it, was the quick determination she came to, and she very much like the sight of him, laying on the bed in front of her, remaining only in his boxers. Letting her eyes graze over his pale, freckled skin, a smile came to her face as she decided that she was going to leave him covered in marks. That way everyone would know that he was hers - at least for the time being, or until she grew bored of him.

“You’re going an awfully good job of it,” he croaked as she reached into her bag and pulled out her lipstick; it was Mac’s Ruby Woo, her favorite that she reversed for only the few she deemed worthy. Studying her face in the mirror, she could see his gaze linger on her ass, taking in all the curves of her backside. Swiping it on quickly, she blew him a kiss in the mirror, followed by a cheeky wink. Every move was calculated and purposeful - the plan was to get him to his breaking point before finally indulged in her every carnal desire.

“Where are your ties?” she asked quickly, earning a confused glance from him, “don’t worry about it, just tell me where they are.”

“Hanging in the closet,” his voice trailed off as he jerked his head in the direction of the closet. Giving him a brief, she sauntered over to the door he had indicated, swaying her hips with every step, just give him something to think about. It took him a few a few moments to figure out why she was suddenly interested in his fashion taste, but he quickly put two and two together. His mouth dropped open and formed a wide O. She really was going to be the death of him at this rate.

“I like all the blue and greens,” she called from the walk in and he could hear her moving things around, the hangers screeching lightly against the metal rod, “I’m sure they bring out your eyes and look lovely against your creamy skin. But you know what I really like?”

“Tell me,” it was a desperate plea, as he was left hanging on each word that came from out of her mouth. She laughed, a musical sound, much too soft for her current demeanor as she clambered back into his line of sight. 

“I like red,” she held up two ties, in different shades of brilliant crimson, one displayed proudly in each hand, “red is the color of passion, lust, desire...everything.”

“Red’s my favorite color,” he choked as she came back over to him and reached for one of his wrists, taking and gently tying it to his headboard. That way he could move ever so slightly, just enough to make him think he had any sort of mobility felt. 

“Of course it is,” she teased, pausing before she grabbed his other wrist, “tell me you’re okay with this. If you’re not, I’ll stop right now.”

“No,” he wanted nothing more than for her to carry and have her way with him, “please continue.”

“Whatever you say baby boy,” she winked at him before going to the other side and repeating the same on his other wrist, “do you want a safe word, or do you think you’ll be okay?” 

“I’ll be okay,” he reassured her. She may have control at the moment, but this was far from his first rodeo. Granted, it was usually the other way around with him being in control and asserting his dominance, but he was eager to play the reverse role for once. Something told him it would be all worth it, and she knew exactly what he needed, “but I swear if you don’t touch me soon, I might lose it.”

“Don’t worry,” she grabbed his face with her and turned it so he was looking directly at her, “it’ll all be worth it. You’ll have the night of your life.”

He wasn’t able to find words, but instead made a few incomprehensible sounds as he nodded. She smirked before kissing him with some urgency, already leaving bright crimson marks on his face. Truth be told, she was just as eager to experience him as he was her; the fact that her panties were  almost soaked through was evidence enough of that.

She crawled onto the bed and straddled his hips, making sure to brush her wetness over his erection as she starting to grind against him ever so slightly. He craned his head up and captured her lips as he out a low moan at the much needed friction he was experiencing.

“Tell me what you want, Joseph,” she asked breathlessly in between kisses as she started to feel needier with each passing second.

“You,” he promised her, “I only want you.”

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[eddiesasspbrak]

Forever and Always Ch. 4

Eddie is the only one of his friends to stay behind in Derry after high school, causing him to lose touch with some of them. Now 24, Eddie has heard rumors that his now famous, former best friend (aka love of his life) may be coming back to town. That won’t be too awkward, right?

nsfw content to follow

Ch. 1

Ch. 5

Read on AO3

5k+ words

When Eddie arrived at work bright and early on Monday morning, the first thought he had was of his dream. He saw himself bent over the counter where he’d have to spend the rest of the day, Richie grinding into his ass and getting ready to rail him. It sent a shiver through him and he had to try to focus on anything else to keep from getting hard right there in the store. He went about opening up the store and found that focusing on different types of spices helped keep the dream and Richie out of his mind. The day was fairly normal. Old people coming and going, shopping and buying groceries. Monday’s were typically pretty busy, people stocking up for the week.

By the time Gerard came in for his shift after school, Eddie was ready for a nap. He was in the middle of checking out Mrs. Sanford when Gerard came in slouching, dragging his feet, his bag hanging almost completely off his arms. He greeted Eddie with a yawn on his way back to the break room. When he emerged minutes later with his apron on crooked, he came behind the counter to open the second register. Half Eddie’s line moved over to the other side and with the both working, the line disappeared quickly.

When they were finally free for a moment, Gerard turned to Eddie with a loud sigh.

“I fucking hate Mondays.” He said.

“Language. We still have customers.”

“Do you know how exhausting it is getting up at 7am?” He asked, ignoring Eddie.

“I’m up at six every morning.”

“But you’re not human so that doesn’t count.”

“Maybe don’t spend Friday through Sunday staying up till 4am.”

“Hey, I only do that on Friday and Saturday. Sundays I only stay up until 2am.”

Eddie rolled his eyes. “Oh, my mistake. You shouldn’t be tired at all then. That’s plenty of sleep.”

“Fuck you.”

“Language.” He warned again as another customer came to his register.

“What did you do yesterday then? Polish your attendance trophies?”

“I don’t have any trophies.”

“You just said you get up at 6am every morning.”

“So? When I was in high school, I ditched at least once a week to go to the quarry with my friends.”

“Seriously? You mean you used to be fun?”

“I’m still fun. I just have responsibilities now.”

“No, you’re boring now. So, what did you do yesterday oh lord of the dull?”

“I went for a jog, did some cleaning...had lunch with Richie.”

Gerard crossed over to Eddie’s side and grabbed him by the shoulders. “Tell me everything.”

“There’s nothing to tell. We talked about friends.”

“Did you fuck him?”

“What? No! We just had lunch and then parted ways. His dad had his surgery yesterday and he went to the hospital after his mom called.”

“Ok so if he hadn’t left would you have fucked him?”

“It’s not like that with us.”

“Who cares? It could be!”

“I thought you wanted to be with him.”

“I do but you have the upper hand being childhood friends. So, if he chooses you, I will be heartbroken, but I’ll have no choice but to cheer you on. I expect you would do the same for me.”

Eddie rolled his eyes. “Sorry to burst your bubble, but Richie is straight. Not into guys at all.”

“Bullshit.”

“Don’t believe me if you want but you’ll just end up heartbroken.”

Eddie’s phone chimed and he pulled it from his pocket with a speed that Gerard definitely noticed. He eyed him while Eddie smiled down at the screen and then typed out a message.

Richie: Are you working today?

Eddie: Until 6 like most days.

Richie: I thought we could go out tonight. Hit up a bar or something.

Eddie: On a Monday?

Richie: I figured they won’t be too crowded tonight so we should be left alone.

Eddie: Alright, yea I think I can make it

Richie: Have you had your break yet?

Eddie: No. Gerard just got here and we’re pretty busy

“Who are you texting?” Gerard asked, sure he already knew the answer.

“A friend.”

“Richie?”

“No. It’s...Beverly.” Eddie didn’t really know why he was lying. He just wasn’t sure he wanted Gerard to speculate about his true feelings for Richie. He wasn’t known for keeping his mouth shut and the odds of him blurting something out in front of Richie was a danger Eddie wanted to avoid.

“Oh yea? What’s she saying?” Gerard leaned on the counter with his elbow on the countertop and his head propped up on his fist.

“She’s saying to mind your own damn business.”

“Language, Edward. There are customers.”

“You’re so annoying.” Eddie sighed.

“Excuse me, if it weren’t for me, you’d have no one to talk to in this shitty town. You love me.”

“Do you really want to brag that I’m only friends with you because I have no other option?” Eddie asked with a laugh.

Gerard grumbled in annoyance and said nothing more when and older woman came to the counter to ask Eddie for help with something. Eddie left the counter in Gerard’s hands while he led the woman to an aisle near the back of the store. A second later, Richie was coming through the doors. He smiled and waved at Gerard as he approached the counter. Gerard let out a weird breathy laugh as he awkwardly waved back.

“You’re back! I guess you really liked that peppercorn!” Gerard said, immediately hating himself for his choice of greeting.

“It was great. I’m here for Eddie this time.”

“Sorry, but he’s not for sale.”

Richie laughed. “I’m not sure I could afford him if he was.”

Gerard snorted and immediately covered his nose and mouth with his hands in embarrassment. Eddie emerged from the aisles and paused when he saw Richie at the counter laughing with Gerard. Seeing him there brough his dream back to his mind for a second before he pushed it away with nutmeg, paprika, cardamom, turmeric. He approached slowly, still not used to talking to Richie after such a long time apart.

“What’s so funny?” He asked as he grew near.

“We’re discussing how expensive you would be.” Richie said, turning to smile at him.

“Ok…well, what are you doing here? Aren’t we seeing each other tonight?”

“Tonight? What’s tonight?” Gerard asked, leaning forward.

“We’re going drinking.” Richie answered when it was clear Eddie wouldn’t.

“On a Monday?”

“Oh, absolutely. It’s the best night to go out. Plenty of attractive people to take home after you’ve had a few. Just make sure you’re drunk enough to think it’s a good idea in the moment and then regret it the next morning when you wake up next to a stranger.”

“Beep beep Richie. He’s only sixteen and he doesn’t need you giving him advice and getting drunk and picking someone up at a bar.” Eddie said.

“I already do that.” Gerard said to Eddie before looking back to Richie. “So, people actually say the ‘beep beep’ thing? I thought that was just a bit for your shows.”

“It’s definitely a real thing people say. It’s the only way to get him to shut up.” Eddie rolled his eyes with a smile.

“My dear friends just don’t like hearing what I have to say because they know I speak the truth.” Richie said, nudging Eddie’s arm with his elbow.

“No, it’s because you aren’t funny, and you never know when to shut up.”

“Please, you definitely think he’s funny. You’ve watched like all his shows online.” Gerard said, outing Eddie for being a secret fan and mortifying him in one breath.

Richie’s grin widened as he looked at Eddie, amused. “Oh really? You watch my shows? Are you a fan, Eds?”

“No…I just thought I should support you.” Eddie said.

“He’s definitely a fan. We spend most days talking about you.”

“Shut the fuck up, Gerard!” Eddie said, giving him a look that said he might kill him if he kept talking.

“Aw, my sweet Spaghetti in a fan of his very best friend.” Richie said, ruffling Eddie’s hair.

Eddie smacked his hand away and glared at him. “I’m ten seconds from kicking you out of the store. You never even told me why you’re here.”

“Oh, right. I wanted to give you something.”

“It couldn’t wait until tonight?”

“I didn’t want to take it to the bar.”

Richie reached into the inner pocket on his jacket and provided a pile of notebook paper, stapled together. The pages were wrinkled and folded, some rips on the edges from years of being handled. He held it out for Eddie to take, whose eyes widened as soon as he realized what it was.

“No fucking way. You still have this?” He asked, his smile returning.

“I found it in my old room last night when I was going through some things.”

“What is it?” Gerard asked, standing on his toes to try and see from his spot behind the counter.

“It’s a comic we made with our friend Bill when we were kids.” Eddie explained, admiring the roughly drawn cover art.

All seven characters based on themselves and their friends were present in pencil and it brought back some good memories for Eddie. The three would write and draw different scenarios while in class and pass them back and forth. Sleepovers were spent huddled over a table plotting and drawing. Bill did the illustrations as he was the best artist out of the three of them. They’d imagined them all as superheroes and had designed outfits for all seven of them. One Halloween they’d convinced the others to dress up as their super selves. Somewhere Eddie was sure he still had the photo from that night.

“I can’t believe this still exists. Maybe we should post it online so people can see where up and coming author Bill Denbrough got his start.” Eddie chuckled.

“Hold up. Your friend Bill that you talk about is that Bill? Holy shit dude. How many famous people do you know?” Gerard asked.

“I don’t know…our fiend Ben is making a name for himself as an architect already and Beverly is definitely going to be a famous fashion icon one day.”

“She dresses me for most of my shows.” Richie added.

“Shit dude. Why are you still in Derry then if all your friends are so successful? Shouldn’t you be out there making a name for yourself too?” Gerard asked, wide eyed.

Eddie didn’t answer. It was a sore spot and he really didn’t want to talk about it in front of Richie. They’d already briefly discussed over lunch why he’d stayed in Derry and he didn’t want to open that wound again so soon. He kept his eyes on the comic as he flipped through the pages. His super self was definitely more impressive than he was. He wouldn’t have stayed in Derry. He would have left to save the world with his friends. Eddie tried not to let it show how sad he was when he looked back up at Richie.

“Thanks for this. It brings back a lot of memories.” He said with a forced smile.

“Yea, I thought you’d like it. I should probably split before someone sees me and posts on twitter where I am. I’ll see you tonight though, yea?” Richie said, backing toward the door slowly.

“Yea. I’ll see you.”

With that, Richie waved one last time before leaving the store and disappearing from sight. Eddie sighed, his smile falling away as he looked down at the pages in his hands again. He was reminded against how much he truly missed his friends. He survived on old memories, text conversations and occasional phone calls. It didn’t compare to the seven of them spending summer nights down by the quarry, drinking cheap booze and talking about their lives and their futures. Eddie longed to feel that way again. To feel unconditional love from the six people he held dearest.

*

Eddie had never cared what he wore in front of his friends in the past. Now, as he stared at his fifth outfit choice so far, he felt like he looked ridiculous. It’s not like this was a date. It was just getting drinks with an old friend and catching up. It wasn’t a big deal at all. He could show up in pajamas and Richie wouldn’t care. Actually, he’d probably give him grief for it but only because Richie didn’t know when to shut up and had to make everything a joke.

Eddie sighed as he stared at himself in the mirror. The jeans were ok, but the button-down shirt was definitely too much. He looked like he was going to a job interview. He stripped that off and traded it for a light blue t-shirt with the Golden Girls on it. It was stupid shirt that was a size too big he’d found at a thrift store outside of town. He thought Richie would appreciate it though.

Throwing a hoodie overtop that was thick enough for the cold spring night, he double checked for his phone, wallet and keys before heading downstairs. He tried to be quiet as he sat on the bottom stair to put his shoes on, but of course his mother was sat in her recliner in front of the TV. He knew she arranged the furniture that way so she could see him coming and going. A little bit of control from his childhood that she hadn’t let go of.

“Eddie bear, where are you going?” She asked.

“I joined a book club.” Eddie had thought of the lie earlier just in case. It wasn’t like she could stop him from leaving the house if he told the truth. He was an adult. But if he’d told her he was going to drink on a Monday night with Richie Tozier, she would have argued and tried to guilt him into staying home. Lying was easier. That’s what he kept telling himself.

“Really? What book are you reading?”

“I don’t know. It’s my first meeting. I’ll find out when I get there.”

“Well, be safe and make sure you don’t stay out too late.”

“Yea, sure.” Eddie said as he made his hasty escape out the front door.

Eddie shivered as the night air hit him. It was officially spring, but nights were still chilly. He zipped up his hoodie and tucked his hands into his pockets as he started his trek into town. Richie had texted him about an hour before to agree on a meeting spot. Eddie suggested the closest bar to their houses since he was walking. He’d briefly thought about taking his bike but decided that was probably a bad idea in case he got drunk. Not only was it dangerous, it counted as drunk driving if he rode his bike under the influence.

It wasn’t a long walk and by the time he made it to the bar, Richie was already standing outside waiting for him. Eddie stopped and stared at him for a moment before he noticed he’d arrived. He was standing with his shoulders up to his ears, his hands stuffed in his pockets, his breath visible with every exhale. For a second Eddie wondered if he was dreaming. So many times, he’d dreamt of reconnecting with Richie, of being with him again. And there he was, standing in the cold waiting for Eddie. It made him smile and for a second he could pretend that no time had passed at all. He could pretend he had followed Richie to New York all those years ago and they were meeting after work for a drink before going home. Together.

Richie finally noticed him, and his face lit up with a grin as he pulled one hand from his pocket and waved. Eddie crossed the street to join him and suddenly he didn’t feel the cold anymore. They greeted one another and headed into the warm bar. Richie was right about it not being crowded given that it was a Monday. There were a few people sitting at one end of the bar, watching whatever sports game was on the TV. Two tables were occupied and appeared to be friends blowing off steam after a long day of work. Eddie figured they must look the same. They opted to take two empty bar stools and made themselves comfortable while they waited for the bartender to come over and take their drink orders.

Richie looked over at Eddie and stared for a long moment before chuckling and looking away again.

“What?” Eddie asked with a smile, wondering if he should get defensive or not.

“I never thought I’d see you in a bar.” Richie said.

“Why not?”

Richie shrugged. “Just didn’t figure it was your scene. Bars are dirty, right?”

“Man, you don’t know me at all anymore. You’d be surprised how often I frequent bars.”

“Really? Eddie Spaghetti is a regular here, huh?”

The bartender made her way over and took their orders, setting two beers down in front of them a second later. They both took a swig, the unfamiliar tension between them creeping its way back in. This used to be so easy, now they felt like strangers. Eddie searched this mind for anything to say, anything he could talk about to break the ice and help them fall back into their old ways. Part of him remembered what it was like to joke around with Richie and speak freely about anything. He wanted that back more than he wanted his next breath.

“So…which bar is your favorite then?” Richie asked, finally breaking the awkward, drawn out silence.

“Uh…it’s outside of Derry a little way. In the city.”

“What’s it called.”

“Why? Planning to head into the city for a drink while you’re in Derry?” Eddie was worried if he told him the name, he’d look it up and realize it was a gay bar. He wasn’t sure he was ready to mess up their reunion by coming out unexpectedly. He didn’t know how Richie would react. None of them had really batted an eye when Stan and Bill announced that they were dating. Still, it was scary telling a new person. Especially when only two people actually knew. Aside from the few guys he’d met at the bar and had killed time with.

“Why not? You can’t expect me to hang around the local bars the whole time I’m here, right?” Richie chuckled.

“Aren’t you out of here in a few weeks anyway?”

“Is there a reason you don’t want to tell me the name of this bar? Worried I’ll show up and embarrass you in front of your city friends?”

Eddie took a long swig from his beer. “It’s, uh, Over the Rainbow.”

“That sounds like a gay bar.”

“Can I get a shot of Jamison please.” Eddie called out to the bartender, not responding to what Richie had just said.

She nodded and poured the shot agonizingly slow while Eddie could feel Richie’s eyes burning holes in the side of his face. She brought it over and set it in front of Eddie and he tipped it back without a second thought. Telling him the name was definitely a mistake. Why didn’t he just make something up? He definitely knew now, and Eddie’s heart was beating so fast he thought it might leap out of his chest and land on the bar in front of him.

“Eds, are you…?” Richie’s question was unfinished. It didn’t need to be finished. They both knew what he meant.

“Another please.” Eddie said, setting the shot glass aside.

She handed him a second and he tossed it back just as quickly as the first. He’d probably regret it later, but for now he needed to get out of his head a little. When he made plans to hang out with Richie, he hadn’t planned on coming out. Especially in such a public place. The music was low and who knew who was listening to them. Richie was still looking at him, but he was too afraid to meet his eyes, to see what expression he was sending his way.

“Hey, Eds, it’s cool. Relax. I just can’t believe you didn’t tell me before given…” Richie said, finally looking away from him.

“Given what? That we used to be best friends?”

“We’re still best friends. We have a lot to make up for, but you mean more to me than anyone and we’re going to get passed all this bullshit, ok? As for…” Richie glanced around the room to see if anyone was obviously listening. “…that. It doesn’t matter to me. I’m not exactly straight either.”

Eddie finally looked at him, his eyes wide. So, maybe Gerard had been right. “Wait, really?”

“I figured you’d know that.”

“How? You only ever talked about girls back in the day.”

“Jesus, you make us sound old. And I wasn’t exactly eager to broadcast it in this shitty town, you should get that. With how close we were, I thought you knew.”

“I didn’t.”

They fell silent again, but this time it weirdly felt like a wall had disappeared from between them. Maybe speaking honestly was what they needed. Neither one was well known for sharing their feelings easily. Still, they used to tell each other everything so maybe they could get to that point again. The point of blind trust and unconditional love. Eddie was so starved for that kind of intimacy with someone and he was ready to cling onto anything that Richie had to offer at this point.

“So, you watch my stuff.” Richie said, breaking the silence for the second time.

“Yea. On YouTube. I look up clips people have uploaded.”

“You should come out for a live show. I’ll save you a front row seat.” Richie grinned.

“That’s tempting. Getting the Netflix special must be pretty exciting.”

“More like overwhelming. Getting paid to tell jokes is awesome, but there’s a lot of pressure. If something flops, it’s so…public. They want me to get a writing partner.”

“Are people getting tired of the jokes about Derry and your friends?” Eddie asked, taking another long swig of his beer and flagging down the bartender to order a second.

“I guess so.”

“Well, you were never very funny so why should it be any different now?”

Richie laughed and pointed a finger at him. “This coming from my number one fan? I used to have you in stitches when we were young, and you wouldn’t watch my stuff if it didn’t make you laugh.”

“Yea, well a lot of the jokes you tell about your childhood are bullshit.” Eddie chuckled.

“Like what?”

“Ben having a shrine to Beverly in his closet. That was definitely not a thing.”

“I said it might as well have been a thing, not that it was. Ben thought it was funny.”

The bartender brought over their second round and Eddie was already feeling that lightheaded buzzed feeling that spread warmth through his limbs. He hadn’t set out to get drunk, but now here he was, one beer and two shots in and feeling like he could keep going if it let him loosen up around Richie. He wanted to badly to go back to that feeling they used to have and if liquid encouragement was needed, so be it!

“Ok, what about Stan pissing himself in the middle of the pep rally? We all know that he dropped his water on his lap.” Eddie said with a smile.

“It’s funnier if I say he pissed himself.”

“And your first love? Who the fuck is that? You never showed real interest in anyone.”

“Totally made up.” Richie said, putting the bottle to his lips and taking a long drink. He wasn’t looking at Eddie and that made him think he was lying. He wondered who it really was but decided not to press him any further.

They continued to drink and talk, loosening up further as they became more intoxicated. They joked about old times and Richie suggested calling up the other Losers to convince them to come to Derry to see them. They could go for a late-night swim at the quarry like they used to and sleep on one of their floors all huddled together under blankets and sleeping bags. Their parents couldn’t tell them that Bev couldn’t come anymore. They wouldn’t have to sneak her in through the window for once. Richie sent her a text explaining their great plan, but they didn’t receive a response. She was probably sleeping, something they both should have been doing as well.

They closed out the bar, Richie picking up their tab. They entered into the cold night air once more, this time together. Richie draped his arm around Eddie’s shoulders while they walked. It was warm and comfortable, and Eddie forgot about everything he’d been worried about. All he could think about now was the feel of Richie’s fingers tightening on his shoulder. It wasn’t until they were a block away from Eddie’s house that he realized he couldn’t go home.

“Shit, my mom is going to kill me.” He laughed, stopping in his tracks.

“Why? Did you break curfew?” Richie asked with a grin.

“She’s never seen me drunk.”

“So what? You’re a legal adult.”

“Have you met my mother? She’ll definitely wake up when she hears me come in and she will give me shit for the next three weeks if she sees me this shit faced.”

“I guess you’re coming home with me then.”

“What? No. I can’t.”

“You gonna sleep on the lawn? Cause I think that will get you in more trouble.”

“Shit.” Eddie thought for a second. “Still got the couch in your basement?”

“Yep.”

Without another word, the two turned at the next corner and headed to Richie’s house instead. The last time Eddie had been there he’d only seen the outside. Walking inside was almost like stepping into the past. It weirdly still smelled the way he remembered and nothing much had changed. They’d replaced the couch in the living room and the TV was bigger, but everything else was the same. The same pictures hanging on the walls, the same wallpaper and carpet, the same kitchen with the same table and chairs. If Eddie closed his eyes, he could pretend he was sixteen and hanging out at Richie’s after sneaking out of his house.

Eddie followed Richie down into the basement and the nostalgia hit him even harder. So many weekend nights spread out on that floor with their friends, reading comics and watching movies on the shitty box TV with the attached VCR. The time Bill broke his finger messing with Wentworth’s weights in the corner. The old bookshelf full of old dusty novels that hadn’t been touched in ages. The old computer against the wall, that had been replaced by a newer model finally. He remembered the first time Richie had convinced him and the other boys to look up pictures of breasts on that computer when they were twelve. Eddie had thought it was gross and at the time he didn’t understand why. Now he did.

When he turned back from examining the things that were the same and different, he saw Richie setting a blanket and pillow out on the old plaid couch. His cheeks were flushed from a combination of the walk in the cold air and the alcohol. He plopped down on the cushion, which creaked in protest, and patted the spot next to him. Eddie joined him, enjoying the feel of Richie’s arm stretched out behind his head. They’d shared many talks spread out on that couch together. Heart to hearts between two best friends that felt so long ago.

“I lied.” Richie said, tilting his head back and closing his eyes.

“About what?” Eddie smiled. “The cat on the skateboard you said you saw going down the street on its own?”

“No. That definitely happened. I mean about my first love.”

“Oh.” His smile fell away and his gut twisted sickeningly. Maybe he’d had too much to drink, or maybe he just wasn’t prepared to hear who had stolen Richie’s heart. “Who was it then?”

“One of the Losers.”

Eddie felt like he could double over in pain from the stab that just landed in his heart. That was worse than some random classmate.

“Beverly?” He was sure all the other guys had had a crush on her at some point. He was sure he had a crush on her before he realized he was 100% gay.

“Nope.”

If he’d said yes, that would have been easier. Richie still liked girls and somehow losing to a girl was easier than to another guy. Especially one of their best friends. What if he still had feelings for him? At one point Eddie had a small thing for Bill and his heart had skipped a beat whenever Mike would easily lift him up as if he weighed no more than a feather. Stan and Ben were the only ones he’d never really felt an attraction to. Not that they weren’t both good looking in their own right.

“Bill?”

Richie smiled. “No not Bill.”

“Mike?”

“No.”

“Ben.”

“Ben’s hot as hell. But no.”

“Then Stan.”

Eddie could feel the vibrations from Richie’s laughter through the couch. “Stan would kick my ass if I said he was my first love.”

“So, it was him.”

Richie finally lifted his head and opened his eyes, looking at Eddie. Despite his best efforts, Eddie couldn’t help looking back at him. His heart was racing and breaking all in the same breath and it was painful.

“It wasn’t Stan.”

Eddie ran through their friends one more time in his head and he was sure he’d been through them all. The only one left was Eddie, unless Richie was going to say he was in love with his own reflection. Which was a possible joke he’d make but Eddie prayed he wouldn’t. He had too many emotions rushing through him at once and he was too drunk to deal with something like that right now.

“Me?” Eddie was breathless and wasn’t sure if Richie had even heard him. But he did and instead of responding, he leaned forward and kissed Eddie. It was soft and chaste, making Eddie’s lips tingle. It was over so fast, he wondered if he had made contact at all.

“It’s always been you, Eds. I thought you hated me for so long after I left. I wanted to bring you with me so badly. Letting you go was the hardest thing I’ve ever done in my life.”

Eddie heard the tremble in Richie’s voice before he saw the tears in the corners of his eyes. Instinctively, Eddie reached out and cupped Richie’s face between his hands, swiping at the tears with his thumbs as they fell. Not giving in and touching him had been so hard, but now there he was with his hands on his face and wanting nothing more than to crush their lips together. So, he did. He was drunk and in love and overwhelmed and he just needed Richie so badly. Part of him worried this was another dream, but when Richie grabbed his ass and pulled him into his lap, he knew it was real. His dreams never felt like this.

Straddling Richie’s lap, he parted his lips and traced patterns on the inside of Richie’s mouth. He tasted different than he’d expected. Not the beer or the Jamison or the pretzels they’d eaten at the bar, just completely Richie. His hands were in his hair while Richie’s hands were on his hips, pulling him close with every grind down against him. Years of want and need were coming to fruition and neither could stop themselves as they moaned against the others’ lips. Richie reached for the zipper of Eddie’s hoodie as he pulled it down, pushing the sleeves down his arms and letting it fall to the floor. His hand traveled to Eddie’s jeans next, hesitating over the button.

“Can I?” Richie asked, briefly breaking the kiss.

“Yes.” Eddie’s response was breathy as he dove back in to devour Richie’s mouth.

Richie made quick work of the button and zipper and Eddie all but whined when his hand slid beneath the fabric of his jeans and boxers. He bucked his hips against his hand as his cool fingers wrapped around his semi-hard dick. His hand was dry, but Eddie didn’t care because it was Richie and he was far too gone for it to feel uncomfortable. Richie left his lips to trail kisses down his jawline to his neck. Eddie tilted his head back, allowing for better access.

“Fuck! Richie…” Eddie groaned when Richie nipped at the tender flesh of his neck. “You too. Can I touch you?”

Richie nodded against his throat, lapping over the hurt he’d left behind with his teeth. Eddie fumbled with shaky fingers to unzip Richie’s pants to get his hands on him. Richie moaned against his skin as he wrapped his fingers around him. He was bigger than he’d been expecting. The thought of it being inside him made a shiver ripple throughout his body, but he’d have to wait for a later date to experience that. Eddie lost himself in the feel of Richie’s hot fingers, his lips and teeth and tongue peppering his neck in markings he was too gone to care about right now, his own hands working quick to get Richie off. To drag more of those growls from Richie’s throat that made him weak.

He felt the tension building in his gut, his toes curling against the couch cushion as Richie brought him closer to the edge. Richie bit hard just above his collar bone and that was it for him as he spilled into Richie’s waiting hands with a string of his name and curses and on his lips. Richie didn’t stop until he started to come down, chasing his orgasm to the end. Eddie’s hand had momentarily stopped when he came, but as he slowly came back to earth, he began to pump again. Richie buried his face into the crook of Eddie’s neck, a strangled “fuck” falling from his lips.

“God, Chee I’ve dreamt of this for so long. Touching you, coming apart in your hands. Tell me you feel good too.” He whispered into his ear, planting a kiss against his temple.

Richie’s jaw was clenched tight, his clean hand squeezing Eddie’s thigh hard enough to hurt. “Eddie…Eds…I fucking love you.” Richie seemed incoherent, lost in the pleasure. A second later he was moaning from deep in his throat as he tensed against Eddie.

The room fell silent, save for their joint heavy breathing as they both came down from the high. Richie held Eddie close to him, afraid he might run if he let him go. But Eddie didn’t want to run. Just the opposite. He never wanted to leave. He wanted to stay in this moment of bliss with Richie until the end of time. He didn’t care that their hands, and probably pants, were a mess. He didn’t want to move. As long as they sat there in that moment, everything was ok.

[hamlets-ghost-zaddy]

queen of peace

Part 3/10

Shifty Powers x Reader

Summary: He fights with a rifle, you with a needle. When the toll of taking lives grows too high on him, you’re there to stitch his ripped seams and patch him together again (after all, you’re awfully good at taking what’s old and giving it new life)

In the writhing shuffle to exit the dance hall, you shouted plans to Shifty, calling your available times and confirming his available dates over heads. Then, when Saturday midmorning finally comes, at a quarter-til eleven sharp, Shifty Powers appears on your front doorstop. Right on time—frightfully on time.

And now, quite implausibly—and downright unthinkable just over a month ago—an American perches in a chair at the sewing shop’s worktable. He’s squinting mightily at a long, boring needle pinchied delicately between his fingers while a trail of thread is pinched in the other. For your part, you’re trying desperately not to be so endeared.

A furrow draws his eyebrows together, a pucker of wrinkles separating the two, his mouth remaining a stoic line, but you’re most fascinated with his nose—slowly scrunching like an intrigued rabbit—as his eyes narrow yet further. You bite your bottom lip to keep from offering advice; you’d already wrestled a normal-size needle from his boyishly clumsy fingers, worried he’d stick himself, and swapped it out in favor of a longer, boring needle, really only good for khaki and softer leathers. Which, to be fair, you reason, watching his tongue poke out from between his teeth, the thread almost going through the needle’s eye, would be most of the fabrics he’d be patching in the field.

“Nearly there,” Shifty mutters, and you hum.

You feel eyes on the back of your neck, and glance up to catch your Mother peeking around the corner from the kitchen. Meeting your eyes, she raises her eyebrows at Shifty before withdrawing on quiet feet. She must have just come in from her weekly Saturday morning mass down at the parish.

Though you’d never admit the sting it caused in your chest, behind your eyes, you know some part of your mother hadn’t believed you when you regaled her with a recount of the dance. You tracked her skeptical frown at the promises of the American nurses, the praise lavished on the wits and humor of one George Luz, even the sewing lessons with the boy from Virginia. Logically, you reason it’s because your mother’s ability to hope was irrevocably fractured in the Blitz, dying under the atelier along with your father. Yet, the recesses of your mind felt it like a slap of doubt across the cheek: like she didn’t think the nurses would come with orders that’d save you both from financial ruin, or that you could hold a conversation with him—never mind sewing lessons. And maybe, that same corner of your mind whispers, you were foolish to feel that something-ness at the dance hall, to dare believe the tiny seedling of an acquaintanceship? Friendship? Relationship? whatever it was had been truly planted between you and Shifty?

Then, the nurses appeared yesterday, noontime. Then, a modest autumnal bouquet arrived—a riot of oranges and yellows, a note of cheeky thanks for your ‘tip-off’ attached—from George Luz after teatime. Yet, when you mentioned Shifty, when you walked down to the shops with him to help him pick his own needles and thread, as you sit next to him, he feels like what you have to prove most to your mother—or maybe prove to yourself?

Shifty trumpets, “I got it!” affectively pulling you from your thoughts. He beams at you, holding the threaded needle up as a pennant of victory, and you can’t help grinning back just as wide. “Only took forever, but look!”

An urge crashes over you, a wave on a pebble beach, to take his hand in yours, to kiss him in congratulations, but you shove it aside, pretending your skin hair isn’t standing on end with the keen awareness of Shifty and how he’s looking at you. You say: “Doesn’t matter how long it took; what matters is that you did it yourself. Do you remember how to tie a knot at the end of your thread?”

His grin fades into an abashed smile, small and embarrassed. “No, ma’am, sorry.”

And there’s no way around it, you have to touch his hands—your rough callouses locking with his for a flashing moment that sends electricity humming into your bones, sparks winking in your eyes—and gently you take his hard-fought threaded needle. Demonstrating as your narrate, you explain, “Work your thread into a big loop, and then roll it between your pointer finger and thumb so that they cross. Then, you pull on either side of the loop and it ties itself into a knot.” You show him the crossed loop, but untangle it without knotting it. You offer it back. “Here, why don’t you try?”

Shifty looks as though he can think of many reasons he ought not to try, apprehension pulling his eyebrows down, but then he nods with singular determination. Fixing his eyes on the thread, a focus you imagine was before limited to the rifle range, he mimics you, looping the thread into a great circle. “Like this?” he asks, face turning to you, askance of assurance.

“Yes, just so.”

With the thread pinched between his pointer finger and thumb, slowly he rolls the threads togethe. “And then you work ‘em so you can knot ‘em,” he mumbles, and you hum your agreement, your eyes memorized by his hands. Though blockish, dwarfing the thin metal needles and trivializing the delicate thread, the more you observe him, the more it becomes apparent he treats all the supplies you’ve placed in his hands—all the instructions you’ve given him—with reverence. He’s sensitive to his own out-of-placeness in your workshop, with a needle in hand, but he politely—with the differential glances to you, the muttered apologies and seeking of assurances—asks if he might carve a little place for himself here, by your side, in your world of thread and fabric. The thought makes your breath catch, distracts you from Shifty’s coaxing of the thread, and it’s when his pull makes the thread spindle out of a knot and back into a taut, clean line that you focus again. “Darn it,” Shifty grumbles.

“It’s—it’s okay,” you manage, shaking yourself, hurriedly looking up at him, wanting to ease his disappointment but then your noses bump, but your skin whispers against his, dry and chilled from the autumn weather but warmed by your blush, his blush. And when did you move so close? Why am I practically sitting in his lap? Why—shoving your scrambling thoughts aside, quieting your mind the only way you know how: by shocking yourself.

You cradle his neck and you’re not sure who kissed who.

His lips are soft, cool and steadying, slotting with yours so he can suck softly at your lower lip, and you could have been kissing rain. Shifty’s scent—boot polish, and autumn bonfires, and a summer day after rain—drenches you, leaves you soaking and your muscles whirring with revitalization, and you shift your mouth to kiss him deeper, with more urgency—a shower turns into a deluge.

Then, he jerks back, and your question has its answer: you know who kissed who, because he’s blinking at you with rounded eyes, skin draining of color. He’s pale, as though he just stepped in from a rainstorm. While you feel alive, rain cleansing your mind, your soul, he looks like he caught his death. “Um, I, uh, sorry, I…I…” he stutters.

A match has been taken to your skin: you flame with embarrassment and you hurriedly interject, “No, no, I’m sorry, that wasn’t—um. I, sorry. . .I’m sorry, forgive me, just pretend that never happened and work on getting a knot in that thread, alright?” Squaring your shoulders back to the worktable, feeling Shifty’s wide eyes still glued to your profile, you add, “I wanted to teach you some stitches today, and we won’t get anywhere at this rate.”

“Um, okay,” Shifty agrees, diligently following your instructions as you coach him through tying a knot again—at a safe, unkissable distance, this time. You can see the edges of his frown as he bends his face low over his needle and thread, know his mind is a scramble of unintelligible thoughts as yours is. If you could make sense of the kiss yourself, maybe you’d offer some clarity—another apology—but all you properly think is, as the lesson continues and you demonstrate straight stitches and whip stitches for Shifty, that surely the first sewing lesson will be the last.

. . . 

Yet, despite everything, the next Saturday morning, Shifty appears on your doorstep at a quarter ‘til eleven—sharp! Then, the following Saturday, and the one after, until November tumbles into December, and you’re staring down the fifth sewing lesson promising to be characterized by blushes, occasional jokes and hand-brushes quickly reined in by the ghostly memory of the kiss and resigning yourself to rigid constraint (it’s the a now careworn pattern established by the other lessons). You could slap yourself for your impulsivity in kissing him—an impulsivity you’ve never known yourself capable of—and maybe it had to do with the look Mother gave you, or the pressure of annoyance when she and Margaret decided you were attending the dance for you.

Or maybe, you dare to think in the early hours of the morning, awake and staring at the pale shapes the streetlamp outside your bedroom window casts, I wanted the seedling between us to sprout; I wanted it to be more than something delicate.

But delicate it was, and it couldn’t withstand the ferocity of a premature kiss.

Once, you heard a nature program on the BBC as you hemmed a pair of trousers talking about forest fires. Forest fires, the program said, were devastating only to humans, but were really a very natural part of the renewal process of a forest—burning away all the ancient, old vegetation and allowing new life to bloom. And, as you perch in the sitting room on Saturday mornings, waiting for Shifty to arrive, you allow yourself to think about that kiss. You wonder if, somehow, you mistook a fire for a rain. You could only hope—pray—it would scour away the old and allow something new to sprout.

Yet, with the approach of the fifth Saturday lesson, this habitual thought is far from your mind. The Tuesday before, finds you finishing a round of orders for the American nurses: new Christmas dresses and knitting accessories for the nurses’ sweethearts as gifts. It’s tedious work, allowing you to wonder if you ought to make something for Shifty. And, even if you did decide your tenuous relationship allows for gifts, what could you possibly give him?

The nurses wanted knitted neckties and bowties in seasonal colors, but you balk at the idea of such a frivolous gift, only appropriate when the Christmas season rolled around. You need something practical—a mountain boy like Shifty necessitates practicality—something that demonstrates you know him and like him, but, uh, not like that. But what if he doesn’t get you anything? What if your gift makes him feel awkward, sends him shuffling his feet, because he figures out the subtext of the gift: you do like him a horrible amount, and your seemingly innocent gift gives you away? What if it forces him to out and say it: he doesn’t like you like that (‘I beg your pardon, ma’am,’ he’d tack on, you can just hear him) and he’d tried awfully hard to be your friend with these sewing lessons but, gee, with this gift? Well, friendship is downright impossible.

And around, and around your mind went for most of the afternoon as you fulfill the nurses’ orders, treading over the hypotheticals until you wear a rut into your brain: until you’ve convinced yourself to not give a gift. There could only be one outcome: disaster.

Mother touches your shoulder at about three. She always takes a break now to rest her hand—you both silently fear the pain in her fingers is arthritis, but neither of you will put a name to it—to brew a pot of tea. Placing a steaming mug in a cleared patch of the worktable, she says, “Cuppa for you, darling.”

“Thank you, Mother,” you reply, thoughtlessly turning from pinning a hem to plant a kiss on her waiting cheek.

“You’re welcome, darling,” she relies. “And, dear?” You hum around the straight-pins you stick in your mouth, easy access to continue pinning. “There’s a young man here to see you. An American. He’s in the sitting room.” Full attention captured, you blink at her. Reading the question in your expression, she answers, “Not Darrell, another American. A George Luz, and he says that Margaret sent him—well, I suppose he said ‘Maggie;’ do you know when she started calling herself Maggie?”

You hum distractedly as you swipe the straight pins from your mouth—why is George Luz here?—your voice vague as you say: “Not sure; I think she’s trying to recreate herself. Did he say what he wanted? George, that is?”

Mother shrugs elaborately. “Hemming his uniform pants, I think? I had a hard time understanding what he needs; he was talking an awful lot.”

Snorting, you set aside your pinning. “Yes, that’s George. I’ll bring him back.”

“Do you think he’ll want tea?” Mother asks.

You ask who wouldn’t want a cup of tea, your Mother laughing and hurrying to put another kettle on. Taking a formative sip of your own tea, you straighten your skirt and smooth a hand over your curls, before peering in on George Luz—comfortably installed in the sitting room, feet propped up on the ottoman and leaning deep in your father’s old chair. His grin is slow-growing and ineffably mischievous at the sight of you. “Hey doll,” he greets, tossing a lazy wave as he climbs with lumbering sways to his feet. “Been too long; you been hiding from dear old George, huh?”

Briefly, you consider pointing out you saw him not three days ago while you were coming out of the grocers and he insisted you give opinions on his latest ploy for Rose Beckett (Evie Lowell was a distant memory when he saw Bess Thompson—then Rose Beckett; George seems more interested in falling in and out of love then actually pursuing any of the objects of his ‘ardent love’). Instead, though, you conduct him to the workshop, saying, “Mother says you want your trousers hemmed?”

“Oh, yeah,” George agrees, nipping back into the sitting room to grab the parcel with, presumably, his trousers, before hurrying to rejoin you. “Curse of being a small fry; the Army doesn’t really make pants that fit me right.”

“But at least it keeps me in business,” you reply, aiming for a joke and you’re rewarded with George’s bright laugh. You point him to a changing stall, and return to your pinning, listening vaguely as he treats you to a description of how his company’s headquarters has been all glammed up for Christmas—tinsel, holly, the whole works.

George pops out of the changing stall—and he certainly wasn’t exaggerating about the Army not making pants in his size, the pant-leg goes well past his shoes—with a flourish of: “When do you folks decorate? It’s only seven days until the big day, you know; is that an English thing to wait to put decorations up?”

“Oh, um,” you mutter. You have decorated: in the whole of the house, the sole decoration is a poinsettia a widower in the parish gifted to Mother (you know better than to tell her you suspect kindly Mr. Westerly fancies her). Your budget didn’t allow for any of the fresh Christmas garlands, and certainly not like you had in London apartment and atelier. “I just haven’t gotten around to it yet, and I don’t want Mother doing it on her own. Her back, you know,” you cobble together, averting your eyes, and you desperately hope George can’t sniff out the weak framework of the lie. “Would you stand on the block, please?”

Obligingly, George steps up on the tailor’s block, and you pull up a stool and tin of straight0pins. He’s oblivious to your awkwardness, he pattering happily: “So, you know how I got a pass to go down to London last week? I found some great things for the guys for Christmas; I got Joe a new shaving razor because he’s been complaining he looks like a hobo, and then Guarnere a whole box full of these old porno—er, forget I said that.” Pause. “Anyway, have you been?”

“To London?” you ask around straight-pins. You finish rolling one of George’s pant-legs, and sit back, judging how the fabric breaks at the ankle. “Do you know if the Army has any regulations on where the pant-leg hits?”

“Just above out dress shoes, I think,” George replies, distractedly, tacking on: “I meant have you been Christmas shopping?”

“Oh,” you reply, unrolling the pant-leg slightly to accommodate George’s directions. “I make all of my Christmas presents. Saves a little money.”

“Ah, something handmade!” he says, disproportionately delighted. You raise an eyebrow at him. “I should have expected as much; you’re queen of whipping things up, and I guess it only makes sense. I mean, you and Shifty are two peas in a pod, and he’s been driving everyone nuts with leaving wood shaving around the barracks. He’s carving wood animals for Christmas presents.” Misinterpreting your expression, George elaborates: “I asked him what he’s making me.”

Sliding a straight-pin into his pant-leg, before swiping the rest from your mouth, you ask: “Is he making something for you?”

George gusts out a sigh. “Yeah, a squirrel.”

“What?” you squawk. “Why?”

“He said it’s because they chatter as much as I do, but he said it with that accent of his that I can’t figure out if it’s a joke or insult or what.”

Frowning at the pant-leg, you observe: “Doesn’t sound like Shifty.” Shifty, you’re confident, couldn’t say a mean word to a cockroach, even if he tried. Three weeks ago, you accidentally served him a stale scone, and he politely ate it—complimented it even!—before you realized your mistake with sinking horror. He offered a praising phrase about Margaret’s frankly horrendous water-painting gifted to you for your birthday and hanging in the workshop. Completely unprompted, he lavished his soft words onto all subjects—all people—and it makes your heart twang achingly.

How vile had it been for him to kiss you that he had looked at you like that: pale, startled, sickly?

George is delightfully unaware of your inner turmoil, and you thank Heaven for his ability to blissfully chatter. “That’s what I thought, but I asked the other guys about it and all Malarkey had to say about it was that Shifty apparently eats squirrel.”

Politely, you offer, “How dreadful” even as you duck your head to hide your laughter at George’s exaggerated horror, shifting your stool to begin pinning his other pant-leg, carefully matching it with the other leg.

“Right? Thank you,” George declares, vindicated, and you wonder what other shit the guys in George and Shifty’s company gave him.

“What other animals has he carved?” you interject before George can indulge on another tangent, secretly hoping George might list an animal and you somehow magically just know it’s for you; you’d know if you ought to make a gift to exchange.

“Why are you asking, Nosy-Rosy?” George asks, leaning to squint down at you. Straightening once you fuss at him to hold still—an excuse to evade answering you readily cling to, if only for a few seconds—he continues, “You’re trying to weasel out of me what he’s making you, huh? Well, I’m not telling you; Christmas gifts are supposed to be surprises and I wouldn’t be jolly old Saint George if I ruined it for you.”

But it is answer enough: ‘what he’s making you’ reverberates in your ears, ringing loud and keen, as your heart plunges to somewhere behind your knees. In a fog, you finish pinning George’s pants, sending him to change. Your hands automatically except the plates Mother offers you when she trots in with George’s tea and crumpets fresh out of a package from the store—crumpets you made Mother promise would be kept until the Christmas Eve tea with Margaret and her family—but you’re too dizzy to argue, too cotton-brained to keep up with the bantering conversation George keeps up over tea or how Mother insists he come for tea whenever he likes.

You’ve fallen into a chasm where all you’re sure of is Shifty making you a gift, and the persistent wonderment of why on earth he’s doing that.

tags: @maiden-of-gondor, @gottapenny, @wexhappyxfew

[buzzdixonwriter]

The Rise Of Skywalker Review [SPOILERICIOUS]

=0=

I’m going to post all the SPOILER stuff way below in section 3, so as not to ruin anything for anybody who hasn’t seen the movie yet.

You’ll get plenty of warnings.

=1=

In my old age I’m starting to divide creative works into three groups:  Good, bad, and not-so-good.

A good creative work is any where the strengths overwhelmingly outweigh the weaknesses; a bad one is the obverse.

A not-so-good work is one where the strengths and weaknesses balance each other out.

It’s the kind of a work that will doubtless please those audience members who really enjoy the strengths in it, and equally irritate those annoyed by the weaknesses.

In my estimation, a not-so-good work is one done with straight forward intent and as often as not, a fair degree of technical and aesthetic competency, but fails to jell as a cohesive whole.  

No one need feel ashamed for enjoying a not-so-good work, and no one involved in the making of a not-so-good work should feel bad about their contribution (unless, of course, their contribution turns out to be one of the weaknesses that should have been avoided).

Theodore Sturgeon famously observed “90% of everything is crap.”

I think that’s a little harsh.

I agree with him that only 10% of anything is good, but think only 40% falls into the crap bin.

Most stuff falls in the 50% I call not-so-good.

Star Wars Episode IX: The Rise Of Skywalker is in that 50%.

. . .

The good stuff is really good.

Elsewhere I’ve posted my enthusiasm for Star Wars Episode VII:  The Force Awakens and Star Wars Episode VIII:  The Last Jedi hinge in no small part on just how emo Kylo Ren (Adam Driver) could get, and holy cow, does he ever deliver in The Rise Of Skywalker.

Easily my favorite parts of the picture.

Doesn’t really mesh with anything else in the movie but, hey, ya can’t have everything, right?  (I’ll discuss his performance in a little more detail in section =3=.)

Other performances range from adequate to doing-the-best-they-can-with-the-material to okay-smartass-you-try-recreating-a-dead-actress-via-CGI.

The dialog in The Rise Of Skywalker is the worst of any film in the series, with the possible exception Star Wars Episode III:  The Revenge Of The Sith, which I haven’t seen and have no intention of seeing (but more on that below…).

It’s not an attempt to depict characters talking, it’s a series of shouted declarative sentences.

Elsewhere I’ve referred to The Rise Of Skywalker as the best Jason Of Star Command episode ever made.

For those who don’t get the reference, Jason Of Star Command was a low budget albeit imaginative Saturday morning kid-vid Star Wars rip off by Filmation Studios.

To make sure the youngest kids in the audience understood what was going on, they tended to hammer home plot points repeatedly.

  DRAGOS Jason!  In just sixteen hours my space fleet will destroy Star Command!

  STAR COMMAND Jason!  Dragos is going to destroy us with his space fleet in just sixteen hours!

  JASON Don’t worry, Star Command!  I’ll stop Dragos from destroying you with his space fleet in sixteen hours.

  NARRATOR (i.e., Norm Prescott) Jason has only sixteen hours to stop Dragos from destroying Star Command with his space fleet!

  There is far too much of that in The Rise Of Skywalker.

Ten minutes into the movie, and there was already far too much of that…

The opening credit crawl reveals an off camera plot development that literally deserved an entire film of its own to fully explore.

There is no sustained coherent plot to The Rise Of Skywalker:  

Well, we gotta do this,

now we gotta do that,

first we gotta find this thing,

then we gotta find that thing,

now I’m feeling blue,

now I’m gonna get encouraged,

etc., etc., and of course, etc.

Everything feel frenetic, not fast paced.

There are far too many scenes that exist just to sell action figures and toy vehicles.

There was a desire to tie off loose ends and say good-bye to favorite characters and that was a mistake.

It undercuts the urgency of the story (or rather, the desired urgency; the fact the film is called The Rise Of Skywalker means everybody in the freakin’ audience ALREADY KNOWS HOW THE DAMN THING IS GONNA END!

(This is not a problem unique to Star Wars.  Gene Siskell famously upbraided Roger Ebert for spoiling the ending to the third Star Trek movie, to which Ebert retorted, “Oh, come on!  They’re going to call a forty million dollar movie The Search For Spock and not find him?!?!?”)

There is one nice little breather scene (“little” only in screen time; visually it’s pretty big and impressive):  The Festival of the Ancestors on the desert world Pasaana that gives a nice touch of exotic space opera flavor to the proceedings.

All of the Star Wars movies offer really great art direction and visual design, and The Rise Of Skywalker certainly delivers in that category.

Which makes the occasional mediocre special effects shots all the more obvious.

The Rise Of Skywalker has a few painfully obvious matte shots, a few shots obviously composed in post-production, and a few shots where the audience becomes aware the actors are performing in front of a greenscreen. 

You can get away with mediocre visuals so long as there is consistency in their mediocrity.  

If everything else consistently looks great, a so-so shot spoils the illusion; if everything consistently looks so-so, it’s simply part of the work’s look.

Indeed, you’re better off with consistently mediocre work highlighted by a few great shots than consistently great stuff undercut by a few mediocre ones.

Best thing about the movie is the complete lack of Jar Jar Binks.

=2=

Before diving deeper in The Rise Of Skywalker, let’s look at the series as a whole (just the numbered theatrical episodes, not standalone films, TV series, video games, comics, novels, etc.).

I’ve said the original Star Wars was the movie an entire generation had been waiting all their lives to see.

George Lucas wanted to do Flash Gordon but when Universal turned him down, created his own space opera.

Lucas, it needs be noted, is not a good writer.

Whatever visual talents he has, they don’t extend to telling a good story.

One can easily find early drafts of Star Wars online, and while they all share certain elements, they’re all pretty bad.

The development of Star Wars the movie grew organically with storyboard and production art, characters and incidents changing and evolving along the way.

It’s long been rumored that a more skilled writer than Lucas came in to do the final draft; one thing’s for sure, the shooting script is head and shoulders above the earlier drafts.

Star Wars the original Han-shoots-first-dammit theatrical release is very much a product of the 1970s.

20th Century Fox thought they had a good enough kiddee matinee movie for summer release; they expected their big sci-fi blockbuster of the year to be Damnation Alley.

Instead, they hit a nerve and found themselves with a blockbuster on their hands.

Lucas did show one great example of foresight:  He trademarked all the names / characters / vehicles and held the licenses on them, not 20th Century Fox.

This gave him the war chest he needed to build the Lucasfilm empire.

And let’s give Lucas and his crew their due:  They added immeasurably to the technical art of film making, as well as making several entertaining films.

What Lucas did not fully envision was how to mold his Star Wars material into a coherent and thematically cohesive saga.

He started out with grandiose plans -- four trilogies with a standalone film connecting each for a total of 15 movies -- but that gradually got whittled down to 12, then 9.

After Star Wars Episode VI:  The Return Of The Jedi, Lucas put the Star Wars movie series on hold, waiting for film making technology to develop to the point where he could tell the stories the way he wanted to tell them.

Okay, fair enough.

But the problem is that while the film making technology improved, the technology of the Star Wars universe didn’t.

As I said, the original Star Wars is very much a 70s movie in taste / tone / style / sensibility.

While the designs look sufficiently sci-fi, they reflect robots and spacecraft designs of the 1970s -- in fact, even earlier in many cases.

That fit in with Lucas’ “used universe” look and the tag line “A long ago in a galaxy far, far away...”

But compare the original Star Wars with Stanley Kubrick’s 2001: A Space Odyssey.

Kubrick spent a lot of time researching where technology was heading.

Long before visual displays and vector graphics became commonplace in real world aircraft, he showed them being used in the future.

The first example of what we refer to today as a computer tablet appeared in 2001 as a throwaway background detail.

Kubrick’s next film was A Clockwork Orange and he successfully predicted punk culture a decade ahead of reality (his only mistake being the assumption white, not black, would be the base color).

Star Wars Eps I - III take place a generation before the original Star Wars movie.

Star Wars Eps VII - IX take place a generation after.

Name a two generation span since the start of the industrial age that is not marked by radical technological change that produces an ensuing change in the social order.

Now I grant you, the Star Wars universe isn’t trying to tell that kind of story, but the story it is telling is static.

Characters in The Rise Of Skywalker talk about cloning as if it were A Really Big Deal.

Cloning today is cutting edge bio-tech, to be sure, but it’s already common place.

It’s as if the Star Wars characters were getting worked up over steam engines.

One can intercut scenes from the movies and, unless one is a familiar with each movie, it’s impossible to tell one film from another.

Lucas’ financial success enabled him to issue edicts re Star Wars (and other Lucasfilm projects) that undercut the strengths of his projects.

Lucas is a technological guru and a savvy businessman, but he really struggles to tell a story.

Frankly, I think he would have been a better film maker if he’d spent a decade or so making American Graffiti scale movies, not space operas and epic fantasies and adventure movies.

His decision to make the original Star Wars the fourth episode in his saga and going back to start his story with his villain was fatally flawed.

I grant following the Skywalker saga from Anakin to Luke to Rey could work if it started with Anakin.

But what he did was the equivalent of the James Bond movies jumping back in time to follow the pre-Bond career of Ernst Stavo Blofeld.

(And the Bond movies, at least up until the Daniel Craig era, are all standalone films insofar as one does not have to see any of the previous films to understand and enjoy the one being watched, not does the sequence they’re viewed in matter.  And the Craig films were conceived from the beginning as having a coherent overall arc, so in that case they are the exception to the rule.)

The joyous whiz-bang space opera of the original Star Wars got bogged down in a lot of meaningless politics and talks of trade treaties, none of which explained why anyone would want to conquer the universe in order to rule it as a decrepit, diseased dictator in a dark hole.

Look at Hitler and Stalin and Castro and Mao and the Kim family in North Korea.

These guys enjoyed themselves (well, Hitler did until things went south for him).  They loved the attention and went around preening themselves in public.

The off screen Empire (and implied Emperor) of the original Star Wars served that film well:  It was a story about a tactical conflict, not a treatise on the philosophy of governance.

Lucas’ universe does not make sense even in its own context.

And because of that, it becomes harder and harder to fully engage with it.

A sci-fi movie doesn’t have to explain everything, but it has to at least imply there is an underlying order that links up.

Lucas began subverting his own universe almost immediately.

The Force was originally presented as a spiritual discipline that any sufficiently dedicated intelligent being could gain access to.  (Robots seem to be specifically excluded from The Force, implying it needs a biological connection.  But that would seem to exclude intelligences that may not be organic in the commonly accepted sense of the word, which means such beings cannot appear in the Star Wars universe, which means…well, I digress…)

That was a big hunk of the original Star Wars’ appeal, the thought that literally anybody could become a Jedi if they so desired.

It speaks to a religious bent in audiences from many different cultures around the world, and it offers up an egalitarian hope that allows everyone access to the Star Wars fantasy (“fantasy” in this context meaning the shared ideal).

But already in Star Wars Episode V:  The Empire Strikes Back Lucas began betraying his original concept, sowing the seeds for self-serving deception and innate superiority as endemic in The Force.

By the time he got around to Star Wars Episode I:  The Phantom Menace, Lucas abandoned the hope established in the original Star Wars movie.

Now one has to be a special somebody, not just dedicated.

Mind you, that sort of story has its adherents, too.

Way back in the 1940s sci-fi fans were saying “Fans are slans” in order to claim superiority over “mundanes”.  Today many Harry Potter fans like to think of themselves as inherently superior to “Muggles”. 

It’s a very appealing idea, so appealing that the United States of America is based on it, the assumption being that white people are endowed with more blessings -- and therefore more rights -- than non-white people (add force multipliers such as “rich” / “male” / “Christian” / “straight” and you get to lord it over everybody).

Lucas with his stupid midichlorians robbed audiences of their healthy egalitarian fantasy and replaced it with a far more toxic elitism.

It appeals to the narcissistic stain in the human soul, and encourages dominance and bullying and cruelty and harm as a result.

It’s an elitism that requires a technologically and sociologically stagnant society, one where clones and robots and slaves can all co-exist and nobody points out they are all essentially the same thing.

A progressive society -- and here I use “progressive” strictly in a scientific and technological sense (though as stated above, advances in scientific fields invariably lead to changes elsewhere) -- does not let such conditions exist unchanged for generations.

As technology changes and improves, the culture/s around it change (and hopefully improve, too).

As I mentioned above, I’ve never seen Star Wars Episode III:  Revenge Of The Sith.

My reason for not seeing it?  Star Wars Episode II:  Attack Of The Clones.

Little Anakin Skywalker and his mom are slaves in The Phantom Menace.

He saves the Jedis and Princess Padame’s collective asses in that movie.

Okay, you’d think at the end of the movie that Padame would hand Qui-gon her ATM card and say, “Here, go back to Tatooine and bail the kid’s mom out.  He did a solid for us, it’s the least we can do for him.”

No, they leave her there because there is no desire to change the underlying social order of their universe.

There can be no changes in Lucas’ bleak, barren moral universe.

There can be no help, no hope, no improvement.

When an edict is issue -- be it Jedi council or Emperor (or president of Lucasfilm) -- it is to be obeyed without question or pause.

Daring to say one can change their status -- change their destiny -- results in tragedy (and ironically, proof that is their destiny).

It’s dismaying enough that a large number of people enjoy cosplaying Star Wars villains, especially storm troopers, as that seems to indicate they’re missing the whole point of why the rebels were striving against the Empire in the first place.

Originally that could be written off as (at best) just enjoying the cool costumes and props or (at worst) finding an excuse for bad behavior (i.e., “I vuz only followink orders”).

But Lucas’ tacitly endorsing a sense of innate superiority pretty much destroys everything about The Force that the original Star Wars audience found enlightening and ennobling.

The Star Wars universe has become at its core a very ugly thing, and The Rise Of Skywalker doesn’t really clean it up.

SPOILERS ahead.

=3= 

Seriously, SPOILERS follow.

Holy crap, The Rise Of Skywalker is a damn mess.

Nice eye candy, but a mess.

It pretty much undoes everything good in the previous two episodes.

I’m glad it’s the “official” end of the original saga because now I never need to see another Star Wars movie ever again.

(Oh, I’ll keep my DVD of the original Star Wars and if I find Solo in a bargain bin somewhere I might pick that up, but as far as the rest of Star Wars goes, I am D.O.N.E.)

The series stopped making sense long ago, so I’m really in no mood to analyze why nothing links up or really works.

It’s full of absurd, stupid ideas, such as space barbarians galloping across the deck of a star destroyed on their space horsies.

The whole back and forth between among Palpatine / Kylo / Rey goes on for two long.  If hating somebody is bad because it sucks you over to the Dark Side, then why doesn’t somebody start building Terminators that can track down beings with midichlorians and kill them?  (They’ve got the technology to detect midichlorians, that’s canon.)

It’s not anywhere near a good movie.  It’s not as bad as George Lucas’ Star Wars Episodes I - III, but it’s clearly the worst of the last trilogy.

The scene where Rey gets off camera encouragement from all the dead Jedi?  It seemed awfully familiar to me, as if the writers consciously or unconsciously remembered the John Wilkes Booth / Lee Harvey Oswald scene in Stephen Sondheim’s Assassins where all the presidential assassins and would-be assassins past and future encourage him to plug Kennedy.

Not what I want in a Star Wars movie.

I think we may be seeing the end of Star Wars.  It’s been crammed down our throats for too long.  I’m aware of The Mandalorian series and how insanely popular it is, but y’know, sooner or later every pop culture craze dies out.

Star Wars has nowhere to go.  Star Trek is hemmed in, too, but nowhere nearly as bad as Star Wars.

We’re about to enter a generational shift in America, and I wouldn’t be surprised if a badly dated 1970s sci-fi concept fails to make the cut.

It ends on a frustrating note, taking much too long to come to a close, far too much self-congratulatory bullshit, and the deliberate planting of clues for a future set of sequels should the Mouse start jonesin’ for that sweet, sweet Star Wars franchise money fix.

It’s a really bad script, and dragging Carrie Fisher’s digitally reanimated corpse into it and then killing her off by suicide is a damned stupid / offensive idea.

Mark Hamill’s ghost walking out of the flames of Jedi hell (thank you for that analogy, David Brin)?  Wow, who didn’t see that one marching down the avenue?

Harrison Ford coming back as a memory / hallucination to tell Kylo to do the right thing?  Skrue dat noiz.

(Though I have to say Kylo Ren is the best thing about the movie and his character turn parallels both Luke’s and Vader’s in The Return Of The Jedi only his is much more believable and poignant so dammit, Disney, you could have done a much better job with this movie than you did.)

The plot and pacing is straight out of a video game.  First do this, then do that, now ya gotta do another thing -- feh!

And unless I misheard the dialog, this whole film supposedly takes place over a span of sixteen hours!!! 

They visit a half dozen worlds, crash and repair spaceships, go undercover, get captured and escape, fight duels to the deal -- all in sixteen hours?!?!?

Yeesh.

And I’ll say this, the last line is wrong wrong WRONG.

If the Star Wars saga has taught us anything, it’s that Force users are a threat to everything.

They should be eliminated for the good of the universe.

Rey shouldn’t have buried the Skywalker lightsabers.

She should have destroyed them -- and the one she made, and any others she found lying around.

And when she’s asked at the very end what her name is, the answer should have been:  “Rey…just Rey.”

I know I put The Rise Of Skywalker in the not-so-good bin, but truth be told, that’s the nostalgia talking; it’s only a eyelash away from being bad.

The whole epic saga is a failure as far as I’m concerned.  One and done is the way to go; the moment it started making money as a toy franchise it went south.

  © Buzz Dixon

[she-is-tim]

Neighbours AU Part 8  Apart

Lucas is a young, exhausted musician who just tries to relax, while Eliott is the overexcited, dubstep loving artist who lives next door.

Aka Lucas confronts his annoying neighbour who turns out to be gorgeous

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6, Part 7

Saturday 16:49

Lucas was sitting on the couch, his eyes were still red because of all the crying. He just couldn’t stop thinking of Eliott, though, wearing the hoodie he left there wasn’t really helping about that either. It still smelled like him and Lucas just needed that comfort. The piece of clothing was way too big for him, but that was the reason why it was just nice to wear it. It was like a warm hug that had the smell of Eliott’s cologne. 

His mind was filled with memories of his boyfriend... well, probably ex-boyfriend by now. It was painful to even think that little “ex” to it. He didn’t wanted to let him go, he wanted to believe that their relationship was real. It couldn’t just be Eliott’s obsession. 

He looked at the coffee table, it was a big mess, just like Eliott. His laptop was in the middle, surrounded by sketchbooks, brushes, paint tubes, pencils, special pens and everything art related. Then there was the coffee mug he got for Eliott, it was light grey with a cute raccoon on it that was hugging a heart. His boyfriend was out of this world when he came home from work with the gift. Right after that he made a drawing for Lucas, just to thank him the gift. It was a two piece actually. On the first drawing there was a sad hedgehog, sitting on a couch, but the other one was a raccoon and a hedgehog sitting on the couch together, surrounded by cute little hearts. Lucas framed the second drawing and put it on the top of the piano. It was still there, burning holes into Lucas, but he couldn’t make himself to look at it. 

He instead got up, walking to the kitchen like a zombie, making himself a coffee and slowly drinking it, while avoiding to look at the living room. So many memories were in the air. They spent so much time here together, it was painful not having Eliott by his side. Hearing his laugh, seeing his charming smile, feeling his soft touches, kissing his lips. 

Tears were rolling down his cheeks before Lucas even noticed it, dropping from his chin into the mug in his hand. His body was shaking, he barely could see and grabbed the kitchen counter with his free hand, trying not to spill the coffee that was in his other. He was whispering Eliott’s name over and over and over. He wanted it to just fade away, but it didn’t. His heart kept hurting more and more. 

Sunday 15:23

Eliott was laying in bed, under the blanket from head to toe. His eyes were hurting from all the crying, his lungs were still burning, making his harder to breathe. There were paperbags next to the bed on the nightstand, also a glass of water, some pills he refused to take and a sandwich from this morning. He couldn’t eat, since he felt like his stomach is smaller than a walnut. 

Flashes of Lucas tried to crawl their way up in his brain, he struggled to hold them back, but they kept coming. It was just painful. He hurt the only person he loved more than anything. Yes, he loved Lucas for sure. That week they spent together was just everything to him. 

They were sitting in Lucas’ living room, cuddling on the couch, well Lucas was leaning on Eliott tiredly, he just came home from work an hour ago. All he wanted is to sleep and be next to his boyfriend, but Eliott had to finish a project that was due to tomorrow noon. He was holding a digital drawing tablet, he barely used it, since he liked to draw on paper, but this thing had to made digitally. He focused on the lines, the small details, but being this close to Lucas, smelling him, feeling the warmth of his body was kinda distracting. 

He kept looking over to see his face. His eyes were closed, he was breathing slowly, probably was sleeping already. one of his hands were grabbing Eliott’s hoodie, while the other rested on Lucas’ stomach. He looked adorable, as he opened his mouth just a little. Eliott wanted to kiss him so badly, but he needed to work. 

He took a deep breath, giving a kiss on Lucas’ forehead and then going back to his project. He was working for hours, not noticing how the time was passing. He jerked his head to his side when he felt Lucas moving, letting out a yawn, stretching his body. It required a lot of strength from Eliott to not jump on this beautiful boy and kiss him until one of them passes out. A smile appeared on his face, his eyes were basically shooting hearts at his boyfriend.

Lucas slowly opened his eyes, looking at Eliott under his long, beautiful eyelashes. He smiled softly and wrapped his arms lazily around his boyfriend’s neck, which made Eliott’s heart skip a beat. He put down his tablet on the coffee table, grabbing Lucas’ waist. 

“You slept well?” he asked softly, leaning forward a little. Lucas did the same until their foreheads touched, looking into each others eyes. 

“I hope I didn’t cause any trouble.” he mumbled with a lazy smile. 

“Not at all... well, it was hard to focus on work with you next to me, but I managed to finish the project.” he said softly, putting a hand on Lucas’ face, caressing his cheek with his thumb. “I will do the colouring tomorrow morning.” 

“Wise decision, cause right now your hands will be occupied.” Lucas said with a playful smirk, winking at his handsome boyfriend. Eliott chuckled, pushing Lucas down on the couch, leaning above him.

“Oh really?” he asked, leaning so close their nose touched. He could feel Lucas’ breath on his face, his big, blue eyes were filled with desire and passion. He was so lost in this boy.

“Yes, of course.” Lucas mumbled, sliding his fingers into Eliott’s messy hair. “Your hands are going to be busy touching me.” he said, pulling Eliott’s head down for a slow, passionate kiss. 

Eliott shook his head, he wanted to scream, but his throat was so dry, it was basically the desert itself. He should be drinking some water, but he just couldn’t move from under the blanket, it was his safe place where he could still remember Lucas and imagine that they are still together. 

Monday 17:46

Lucas came home from work, he barely had the strength to leave the house, but he had to. Money isn’t coming from itself. Although he called in sick for the orchestra practices for this week. He haven’t touched his piano since friday, and he didn’t even wanted to. Everytime he just looked at the instrument, he remembered how Eliott looked at him when he played, how he was sitting next to him on the bench, or drawing on the couch, giggling. 

He dropped his keys on the kitchen counter and went straight to his room, falling on the bed like a bag of potatoes. He felt so empty inside, like someone ripped out his soul. He was thinking about Eliott all the time, he wanted to reach out, text him, but he wasn’t even sure if he would check his phone or answer him. And he also didn’t know what to say. He didn’t care about Eliott’s illness, that doesn’t make him less of a person. But he also remembered how he couldn’t do shit for his mom, even when he tried to and it made him feel bad. He wanted to do something for Eliott, he wanted to give everything into this, because for him Eliott meant everything. 

He stared at his phone for an hour, fingers dancing over the screen, but couldn’t type anything. He opened the chat between him and Eliott. They weren’t talking much in texts, since they were mostly together, but when Lucas was working or at the practice, they kept texting each other. 

To Eliott I’m almost done, can’t wait to get home to you

From Eliott Want me to prepare dinner? ;P 

To Eliott GOD no! I am planning to stay alive for more than just 19 years, thank you very much

From Eliott You are seriously hurting my feelings right now, Lucas

To Eliott I’m your boyfriend, I’m supposed to be honest with you

Lucas stopped reading at this part and just threw his phone to the other side of the bed. Honest. Lucas still didn’t understand why Eliott couldn’t talk to him about his illness. He would have understand it. He gave no reason for his boyfriend to doubt in his feelings, right? He was always open and showing his love towards him. 

He turned around, facing the ceiling now, trying to push back the memories he shared with Eliott. Both of them seemed happy during that week, He just couldn’t understand how everything went shit so quickly. 

He sat up, pulling his laptop on his lap, opening google. He searched for information about mental illnesses. He was aware that Eliott had a panic attack at the pub, but he didn’t know what kind of illness he had exactly. The websites mostly said anxiety, because he paniced in a crowded place. He tried to read up on things, putting pieces together, trying to understand the situation more. He wanted to learn how to approarch people like that before actually reaching out to Eliott, because he WILL reach out. 

Wednesday 13:12

Eliott was sitting on the couch, he was at Lucille’s place still, her apartment was much more clean and organized than his. He actually didn’t like it, but he also couldn’t go home. If he goes home he wouldn’t be able to stop himself from going to the flat next door. He can’t meet Lucas, not after what he did to him. He deserved better than a sick boyfriend. 

He slowly drank his coffee, chewing on the sandwiches Lucille made this morning for him. Sometimes he wasn’t hungry at all, sometimes he had the sudden urge to eat. He got pale, dark circles around his eyes, his veins popping out on his arm. He was slowly feeling better day by day, but it was a long time ago since he had such a bad period. Lucille convinced him that he had to take his meds in order to get well. She wasn’t lying, Eliott knew that, but he just hated the fact that he had to live on pills forever, because his illness won’t be going away. 

When he finished eating and drinking his coffee, he walked to the kitchen, putting the mug and the plate in the sink. He then noticed his phone on the counter. He haven’t seen it since he lost it on friday. Lucille probably found it when she came to take Eliott home. The screen protector had a crack right in the middle, but otherwise it looked fine. He grabbed it, but it was out of battery. Lucille probably didn’t take the effort to charge it since friday.

He walked to the bedroom, luckily Lucille had the same phone type as him, so he grabbed her charger and sat in the armchair that was close to the plug on the wall. putting his phone on charge now. It took some time until he could turn it on.

He unlocked it, looking through his messages and his heart skipped a beat when he saw that he got texts from Lucas. He quickly opened them and felt guilt, because they were from yesterday. Lucas probably thinks that Eliott didn’t even care to check the messages he sent. 

From Lucas I wasn’t sure what to say, I’m not even sure what happened on friday. I had a lot of time to think, and you can be sure that you were the only thing in my mind. I was going crazy... The way I feel with you is something I never felt before. You made me happy with such little things. I just can’t put my feelings into words, because it’s impossible. There are no words for how I feel for you. I am not gonna lie, you scared me on friday, but I am not scared of your illness, I was scared that you are not okay, that you were hurt. Then Lucille came and shit went down. I left, because I felt like I couldn’t help you, I’m not sure that you would be in the right hands with me, but I really wanna take the risk Just text me if you made a decision.

Eliott couldn’t hold back his tears now, they were dripping down from his jaw to the cracked screen. His hands were shaking, he couldn’t see properly, so he had to wait with the answer. He wanted to see Lucas, hug him, kiss him, tell him that he wanna do this too. 

To Lucas Be there in 20 minutes

He got up, putting his phone on the armchair, letting it to charge a bit more and started to get himself ready. He couldn’t meet Lucas looking like a 100 year old vampire. 

________________________________________________________________

Writers note: I bet ya didn’t see this coming, huh? I just got an inspiration and some free time, so I wrote this chapter. Enjoy and feel free to leave a comment, either here or in my inbox! Love y’all!

[hollandandi]

“you weren’t supposed to hear that.”

——

entry for @underoosbws’s 3k writing challenge!🧠💓

tom or peter

type - mostly angst, some fluff🧠💓

word count - 2.5k

warnings - swearing/language

w/n; sorry I’ve been absent lately! family drama has been in my head! enjoy this! and let me know your thoughts, please!💓

tag-list; @therealme13posts @crxssourbones @space-starz

——

It had been two weeks since the secrets began filling the hallways, and each room of your shared apartment. It soon began infiltrating your phone, messages being deleted shortly after you pressed the send button and saw the ‘delivered’ font appear briefly. You would glance over to the brunette boy who would sit on the couch, zoned into whatever show was playing at the time of the day, before gently tapping details of the plan into your notes section, and sending screenshots to your closest friends to ensure the idea was bulletproof.

You spent your days online. Reading success stories of similar situations, and researching current trends to ensure you were going about it the right way. You would clear your history after any searches, and would log out of Amazon after any purchases. Your laptop went everywhere you did, and your phone suddenly had a passcode on it.

You felt guilty at times; confiding in your best friend over FaceTime on a Thursday night, in a cropped hoodie and pyjama shorts, but when Tom arrived home early one day, and heard you muttering things like “I just don’t know if this a good idea anymore,” and “I feel bad,” followed by you quickly ending the call when you heard his footsteps along the wooden floor of the main hallway, he finally lost it.

“What the hell are you hiding from me?!” He yelled, spitting anger throughout his tone. “I am tired of this, Y/N! You could not be more god damn secretive!” He raised his arms in a mix of exhaustion and frustration, before bringing them back down to his sides in a swift motion. His head shook, making his hair follow, while he looked up to you with dark eyes, that were equal parts hurt as they were mad. You stood there quietly for a few seconds after the latter outburst, and you stepped closer to him in an attempt to reduce the tension between your two bodies, which were simply standing in your shared loosely-lit bedroom. “I’m sorry, Tommy. It’s nothing, I promise. I’m just researching for a school proj-.”

“Bullshit, Y/N! If you want to lie to me, then at-least have some fucking respect, and don’t do it straight to my face.” He almost yelled, but his tone was more controlled now. His voice was laced with pure exasperation as he expressed his final comment, before turning around, shaking his head once more and slamming the door behind him.

By the time you had pulled open the wooden door which physically separated you, though, the front door was closed too. The handle was jittering due to the force he had used to slam it shut, and your face dropped. Your hands shook lightly, as you pulled them up to run through your slightly greasy hair - your gaze not leaving the closed door he had placed between you both. You sighed deeply, hoping he would not be out for long, so you made your shared-bed, turned on the lamp, and stayed up reading a book he had brought you from his last travel. But your initial hope was wrong; Tom didn’t come home that night.

The next day came, which happened to be a Thursday, and it was now the afternoon - but the morning had dragged you slower than you could have ever imagined. You didn’t know when he would be home, and after several morning hours doing unproductive activities, which included six cups of hot tea; you decided to try and at-least get some of your initial plans to progress. You opened your shared wardrobe, before rummaging through the jacket section and pulling out a large plastic box with three letters scribbled on the side. “Tom.”

As you laid all of the contents out on the living room rug, your body in a crossed leg position, you realised the situation was getting hectic. You attempted to continue the work independently at first, but it wasn’t long until you called a familiar face to help you along. To your surprise, Harrison was free. Majority of your thoughts assumed Tom would be with him, drinking an afternoon beer and expressing his irritations he had accumulated lately.

“No - he’s not here. I can definitely come over and help: we only have a few days left so if you need help, I’m there.” He smiled through the phone, before leaving his apartment and arriving at yours in around fifteen minutes. A couple of hours went by - scissors, glitter, glue, paper, sharpies and string were littered over the carpet. You had laid newspaper down, but it didn’t help that much - glitter was always going to end up everywhere. You were on your phone, ensuring people were still okay to join you on Saturday evening, which you received numerous ‘yes’ replies to, making you smile and feel a lot less nervous.

All was content, and as Harrison helped you pack the previous items, along with new creations, into the plastic container that usually lived in the wardrobe, you finalised a few things that were on your mind. And as the snap sound of the container plastic rang through both of your ears, you didn’t manage to hear the normally all-too-familiar car lock from outside the studio apartment.

Tom made his way to the front door, placing his key within the lock compartment before turning it clockwise to produce a faint ‘click’ unlocking noise, and pushing the door open slightly. He expected the sounds of a Netflix show to be ringing through the building, imagining you sitting on the couch, eating popcorn, either crying over a character death, or laughing at a joke. What he didn’t expect, however, was the sounds of his girlfriend and his best friend, laughing lightly and expressing future plans.

“And you’re still free on Saturday night?” You expressed, moving the box to a couch cushion, ready to be placed back in the bedroom once Harrison had left.

“All fine - I can’t wait, if I’m honest. Today has got me really excited.” He grinned, moving his jacket sleeves back down now any glue on his hands and arms had dried.

“Okay, great.” You smiled softly, tucking a piece of loose hair back in your ponytail carefully. “But remember, no telling Tom.” You looked seriously at him, your eyes not leaving his until he nodded and replied. “I know, I know. I won’t - I promise.” He stood up, stretching his legs out as he helped you with any loose rubbish you two had produced.

“Someone want to tell me why the fuck not?” A voice echoed through the hallway, and into the usually happy, laughter-filled living room. You heard the front door shut, along with the sound of a jacket being flung across the stair bannister, before footsteps marched along the wooden floor. “No telling Tom? Are you fucking serious?” He exclaimed, scoffing slightly as he spoke.

“Oh my, Tom, you, you weren’t supposed to hear that.” You stuttered, your eyes slightly wider before as you froze in your tracks, your eyes quickly glancing to the box that was still resting on the grey couch that was centred in the room.

“No shit. Why the fuck would I want to hear my best friend and my girlfriend making fucking secret plans?” He yelled now, looking at Harrison, before his gaze flicked to you, seeing your eyes drop, hurt filling them from his tone of voice.

“Tom, trust me, it’s nothing bad.” Harrison followed, stepping towards him and placing a hand on his shoulder, trying to calm him down. Tom quickly shrugged it off, pushing it with his rough right hand, before looking at you, seeing you glance to the box again, trying to turn it with your hip so it was less out of sight.

“What the fuck is in there then? Hm? Clearly it’s got your bloody attention more than the current situation!” Tom’s eyes were dark now, more of a black than a brown. His jaw was tight, and veins were pulsing in his neck and arms as he began to storm over to the couch. Your instinct was to move in front of the box, facing him as your put your arms on his chest. You didn’t push him, but it was more of a physical barrier as you attempted to plead, while attempting to diffuse the situation in anyway you could. “Tom, really, it’s nothing. Just some stuff I’ve cleared out, I’m going to throw them away in a minute!” You let out, trying to move your head to stop his line of sight being available on the contents of the transparent box. This quickly frustrated him even more though, if that was even possible, proved by him grabbing your hands from his chest and pushing them down before moving you to the left of him and ripping off the grey, plastic lid.

He had no idea what to expect in the contents. His thoughts had been all over the place in the last twenty-four hours. It began with the cliché; lingerie, photographs, love letters, romantic gifts, all from other people, or simply, another guy. It moved to other ideas, some a lot more far-fetched than others - at one point the idea of you being an assassin popped up in his mind, but he quickly dismissed this, drank more of his beer, and moved onto a more rational idea, like you contemplating on different ways to break up with him. Advice columns on how to make break-ups easy, good lines to use when doing it, what to expect in the aftermath, etc. His eyebrows were raised, and his lip was bit - almost bleeding due to the pressure he was placing on it. His grip on the lid was tight, his knuckles practically bulging from his skin as he inhaled sharply and opened his eyes to see what the last two weeks had bubbled over for.

What he did not expect, though, was a box full of handmade, glittery banners that read expressions such as “Happy Birthday!”, tens of packets of party poppers, hundreds of metres of different colour streamers, too many balloons to count, and small packets of confetti and place-cards with family and friend’s names carefully written onto them. An invitation card laid on-top, one that had “Tom” written on the top row, with a small wink drawn next to it. After the typical line, ‘You are invited to the birthday party of...’, there was a three letter word, revealing the true intentions of his girlfriend in the past weeks. It explained the secrets, the quickly ended phone calls, the secretive texts, the consistent Amazon packages arriving at the door from places such as “PartiesRUs”, and finally, the all-nighters you had pulled throughout the time.

‘You are invited to the birthday party of...you.’

“I told you, you weren’t supposed to hear us.” You sighed, feeling slightly defeated - the cat was out of the bag. He knew, the surprise was gone.

Two months ago, on a Sunday morning, as the morning sun shone brightly through the curtains next to your shared bed, onto the white duvet cover you were both under, Tom expressed to you that he hadn’t had a birthday party in three years. Due to work, the difficulty to get a date everyone was available for, and one year, pure stupidity, the event had been missed. As soon as his confession left his lips, a plan formed in your mind. You checked his calendar app that night, while he was showering, choosing a date he was free and selecting the ‘busy’ option, but left the event blank.

As two weeks passed, secrets were filling the hallways of your apartment, along with his parent’s home, his friend’s homes, his colleagues’ homes and those of your family too. Each room of your shared apartment had hidden compartments, featuring essential additions to the date. Your bathroom had a basket of receipts under the sink, your kitchen had RSVP’d invitations in an blank envelope, pinned to the board next to the fridge, and your bedroom had a plastic container of decorations, some handmade by you and Harrison.

He dropped the invitation gently into the box, before turning around to face the girl he had yelled at two nights in a row. His eyebrows returned to their usual position, and his jaw loosened. His face dropped, his mouth parting slightly as his shoulders slumped. “I’m so,” He expressed slowly, “shit, my love, I’m so sorry.” He softly held your hand, standing close to you, before looking up to his best friend that was also standing beside him.

“Haz, I’m sorry too. My mind - it just, jumped to the worst conclusions.” He sighed, running his free-hand through his hair, as Harrison smiled sympathetically, patting his shoulder. “No hard feelings mate; we were probably a little too secretive. I’ll leave you two it, though.” He smiled at you, receiving a soft, and thankful, one back from you, before he nodded at Tom, and made his way out of the room.

“Love, I really am sorry - I just, my mind started racing; after all the things you were doing, and the call the other night.” His eyes dropped significantly, and you didn’t know whether you saw them water a little bit. “I thought you were planning on leaving me, especially after you were telling people you felt bad.” He sighed, moving his hair from his forehead, pushing it back. “I should have known you were planning something harmless, something thoughtful in-fact, so fucking thoughtful. But I had to come in and start yelling, screaming and just fucking the whole thing up. I can’t believe I’m such a idi-.”

His words were interrupted by your lips on his, pressing gently, with your right hand softly resting against his chest. He leant into the kiss, but didn’t harden it - this kiss was loving, but calm. It was a ‘I forgive you,’ kinda kiss, and it was all that he could hope for. His right hand laid on your hip, with his left cupping your cheek gently as the kiss continued for a few more seconds. As you slowly pried yourself from his lips, a soft smile curled on the corners of your lips once you saw he was grinning slightly, and a sigh of relief emerged from his lips. You gently nudged his shoulder with your fist, shaking your head jokefully before looking up to his gaze again.

“You’re half-forgiven. You’ll get the other half if I’m happy with your fake-surprised face on Saturday.” You laughed lightly, slowly taking the lid from the couch and clipping it back onto the box carefully. “And until then, no freaking out at me.”

“Deal.” He agreed, a smile plastered on his face as you hid the box behind the jackets, closing the wardrobe and walking back into the living room, where your slightly silly boyfriend was still standing.

“Okay, now show me your surprised face.”

“Bloody hell, that is awful, aren’t you supposed to be an actor or something?”

“Fuck off.” He laughed loudly, collaborating with an eruption of giggles from your lips. He may be a complete idiot, but at-least he was yours.

[siyeonrk]

MGA SEASON FIVE !      EP. 2 → PART ONE: MAIN SKILL CHALLENGE       ( SINGING ONE 0:59 - 2:59 )

she’s never felt as nervous as sitting amongst so many talented people waiting for each name to be called. for a moment, she’s bitter that her family name hadn’t been ahn or bae so the metaphorical band-aid could be ripped off early, but at least she isn’t yoon siyeon. a silver lining amongst her sweaty palms and trembling fingers, perhaps, but it isn’t enough, especially as they reach the nohs and she knows park must be next.

there’s no doubt in her mind that they’ll skip straight past her name. after all, hadn’t it been a miracle that she’d gotten here in the first place? being part of the top hundred ( for whatever reason ) had already been barely believable, but getting any further than this— isn’t it impossible? but then they skip straight past jeno and siyeon’s eyes widen and her jaw drops as she looks over at him, unsure how to read his expression. if they eliminated jeno, who undeniably brought far more to the competition than she did, there’s no way— but she does and she feels like her heart stops, her breath caught in her throat. 

and then the guilt settles in. not just for jeno, but for all the contestants who were easily more talented than her, more passionate, more desperate for this chance. she’s so grateful, of course, and still in shock long after the recording ends and they’re all sent home, but she can’t help the lingering thoughts that there are people who felt like this was their last chance or worse, their only chance, that she has taken the place of. 

“they chose you for a reason. they didn’t choose them for a reason. it might not make a lot of sense to you why, but they know what they’re doing.” her grandmother reassures her when they watch the episode together on the following saturday. “you worked hard, siyeonie. be proud of yourself.” 

she finally decides on a song for the next round on sunday morning. spending the last few days testing out different tracks from her endless spotify playlists, she’d become so overwhelmed to the point where she almost resorted to picking one from a hat, but the idea alone makes her grimace. putting her position in the show in the hands of fate seems like a risky move; siyeon’s never had much faith in letting things happen as the world intends. if you want something, you work for it, you don’t wait for it to fall into your lap, after all. 

it’s still a slower, softer song like the tracks she’s performed before. this time, however, it’s a piano ballad entirely in english. whether or not the choice to sing in a foreign language will backfire on her she doesn’t know, though she can’t imagine it would. even if they can’t understand the words, hopefully the emotion she intends to lace into her voice will be enough to move those watching regardless. 

her mirror is her audience for the following few days. at first, seeing her own expressions reflected back to her makes her cheeks flush to match her vibrant hair, but eventually, she grows used to the lines on her forehead as she puts her all into singing each word. she becomes familiar with the way her eyes delicately close towards the end of the pre-chorus, with the way her heart hammers in her chest as she belts out the outro.

as the filming nears, she becomes more energised, more nervous but excited. she has a good feeling about her performance — that even if she doesn’t make it to the next round, she’ll have at least stood and given her all, given something that she’s proud of. 

when she arrives and takes her seat, flattening her dress beneath her and over her lap, the nerves ultimately begin to take control. her eagerness to perform had dwindled seeing the forty-nine chairs laid out for the other contestants, some already in their places, and the five ceo’s seats, looming over them. singing for them will get easier, she’s sure, but for now, it’s still terrifying. they’ve seen, worked with, the best of the best and here she is; not a formal singing lesson to her name, barely even a singer at all, and yet standing on stage ( in due course, anyway ) and silently begging for a chance to continue progressing through such a heated competition. 

surely, this has to be the end of her journey here, right? she closes her eyes momentarily, stares down at the floor to recompose herself. 

eventually, filming starts. 

she’s fourteenth of twenty-one singers to go up if she remembers correctly. again, comfortably in the middle, with enough people before her to psych her out, but enough after that at least she doesn’t have everyone to follow on from. ( although, on the other hand, her performance would’ve been the freshest in their mind from singers, but she figures that with all the dancers and rappers still to go after them, it won’t make any difference. ) 

“park siyeon.” her name has never sounded so unfamiliar. she almost doesn’t realise it’s her turn, almost doesn’t move to take the stage once the previous girl has taken her seat again. she tugs on the bottom of her dress as she makes her way there, stands ready in her spot with a microphone in her hand. 

before the music can start, she transports herself to her bedroom in front of the mirror. she’s just singing to herself again, to her audience of old childhood teddy bears and her grandma who thinks siyeon doesn’t know she has her ear pressed to her bedroom door. she sighs an inaudible breath out, moving the microphone to her mouth only when she’s done. 

“hello, I’m park siyeon,” she announces in a smaller voice than usual from her. usually, however, she isn’t stood before fifty-four watchful eyes and countless cameras. “I’ll be singing one by lewis capaldi.” she shuffles on her feet, waits alertly for the music to start. she only has a single note, a single second to prepare herself to sing, after all. the worst thing she could do now is miss her opening cue. 

she gave you love, but it wasn't enough you had your mind set out on other things can't sleep at night, now you're paying the price you let another come and take your place

english, having been her primary language for the better part of three of the last four years, nearly sounds more comfortable on her tongue than her native. it flows smoothly, confidence spilling out of her perfect pronunciation, syllables clear and accent distinct. she’d perhaps had preferred a tinge to her voice not so ‘posh’, but how can she have avoided picking it up at boarding school? she loved her friends back in england but she couldn’t deny that they weren’t all the stereotypical queen’s english rich kids she’d seen in movies. that was their charm, though, and now it’s her’s, her voice unique against the other contestants. she doesn’t think it’ll give her much of an edge but every little helps, right? 

the song allows her to fully experiment with runs, lines often ending in drawn-out notes that the original singer flaunts his own colour through. her voice is softer than his as she moves through the second ( but her first ) verse, but it doesn’t take long for it to pick up both in volume and power. that’s where it stands out so starkly from the songs she’d sung previously. whilst it still has its ups and downs, a ballad such as this requires her to put a little more oomph into her tone than before. instead of making her audience feel relaxed or happy, he wants them to feel her gratitude — the singer’s gratitude for the man who didn’t realise what he had until she was gone, until she met the singer. siyeon hasn’t been through anything like that before, can’t completely relate to the emotions he’s feeling, but she knows she doesn’t have to have. what’s important is that she can convey it regardless, and she thinks of other things she’s grateful for that she could have easily lost or never had. her grandmother’s thriving health now that she’s here to help around the house. this opportunity. the love her parents showed her growing up, their support with this show, with any dream she’s ever had when they could have easily demanded she followed in their footsteps, been the heir to their business that they had been for her mother’s parents. as always, her eyes flutter closed as she moves through the pre-chorus, her voice fluctuating through strong and soft as she draws from all the fluttering in her heart and the nerves in her stomach. 

you don't know what you got till it's gone know when it's right till it's wrong in search of perfect when you had it with you all along you broke her heart down with ease now I'm pickin' up every piece you must be so hard to please

she takes a deep breath as she transitions into the chorus, finally hitting — so far — the highest notes and strongest belts. for others, perhaps this would be a walk in the park, but for siyeon, it’s meticulously practised, it’s smoothly executed thanks to countless hours repeating it over and over until it had been perfect and then over and over again to make sure it’s always flawless. hard work pays off, she reminds herself. viewers don’t want to see someone who can already do everything perfectly, they want to see growth, effort, passion. or maybe she’s just telling herself that. 

throughout the week, she’d tried her to best to push away her urge and instinct to belt the final word of the chorus a little too fiercely. her fear of falling flat overwhelms her each time, so much so that sometimes she doesn’t even realise she’s done it until she’s reaching the higher notes later in the song and realises it’d all been the same power instead of allowing the end to be the true climax of the song. it takes all of her focus and that becomes easier in the comfort of her bedroom, but even as she imagines she’s still there, she isn’t and her nerves push her voice a little louder, a little harsher than it needs to be as she repeats the last word, building up to drop back down for the bridge. 

I wish I could say thank you for all the mistakes thank you for all of the pain I guess somebody else's loss is another's gain I'm saying thank you to the one who let her get away, away

finally, the small contrast in the track arrives and allows her once again to experiment a little with what her voice can do. her control isn’t anything special but it’s enough to do a couple of fancy tricks even if they could be better thought out, better performed. realistically, she should have stuck to the original, copied it perfectly so she wouldn’t embarrass herself with a potential voice break or a flat note, but there’s nothing impressive about that in her eyes, especially with a song so easy to play with. when there are so many opportunities to add your own colour, if she didn’t, she already knows they’d ask her why. she’d rather do it slightly wrong but try than disappoint by not. maybe that’s her first mistake. maybe that’s not her first mistake, but amongst many. honestly, even with her eyes having reopened during the chorus, contact made with the judges, she can’t think about anything else but getting through this in one piece. anything she’s already sung is forgotten, only what’s spilling from her lips at the time and what’s to come important to her. 

thank you to the one who caused her heart to break oh thank you for giving me a soul to save thank you to the one who let her get away

following the bridge, the song drops down to its quietest, softest tone and so does her own voice. it’d been a little too deep for her initially during practice, but by now, she’s found a happy place where she can still capture the mood of such a drastic change, yet confidently pull off the vibe the verse requires. 

it only lasts a few seconds before she immediately builds back up to the chorus, her expression, her eyes finally conveying the song’s full desperate gratitude, the immense love the singer has for the woman who has captured his heart. she wonders if she’ll ever experience love like that, like something out of a movie. she’s still young, though; she has so much more to focus on for now, like getting through to the end of this song, to hearing the last piano note echo out over the venue. 

you know I wish I could say thank you for all the mistakes thank you for all of the pain I guess somebody else's loss is another's

oh I wish I could say thank you for all the mistakes thank you for all of the pain I guess somebody else's loss is another's gain I'm saying thank you to the one who let her get away, away

she’s breathing heavily when she finally finishes, her back immediately bending into a bow. she doesn’t know how well she’s done, whether she made any glaring mistakes, but it hardly matters. if this is the end of her journey, at least she’ll be leaving with her head held high. she’s proud of the performance she gave, proud of how far she’s come already. everything now is in the hands of the ceos. all she can do now is enjoy everyone else’s performances, will her heart not to jump out her throat. again, she flattens out her dress as she takes her seat. the next performer is already taking to the stage. 

she smiles to herself. a voice echoes in her mind. “you worked hard, siyeonie. be proud of yourself.” 

I am, grandma. I am. 

[anonymousmusing]

Taped up Papers and Photos

The car bumped down the road as I sat in the back, my head leaned against the window. My so-called parents chattered nervously up front. I reached up to touch the bandage on my forehead, as if to remind myself that this is real. That I was going home, that I had people who care about me. But I couldn't seem to conjure enough energy out of my sleep deprived body to care.

So I stayed quiet, only responding when I had to. I let my eyes wander around. I saw people I couldn't name, streets that didn't have familiarity, and yards I couldn't remember walking past.

Finally, they pulled into the drive.

"Does any of this help?" Michael, the man who I called my father, asked. His brow was furrowed in concern and my I could see my mother, Lindsey, look up with hope in the rearview mirror.

"No." I didn't mean to be cruel. But it didn't help.

My mother coughed nervously, sniffled a bit, and started rattling off. "Oh, well, that's okay, honey. The doctor said to show you some more places and photos and that the first couple things might not do anything. But the best thing is to-"

"Lin," My father cut her off. He didn't seem mad but concerned for her. He placed his hand over hers before turning back to me. "Mia, let's just go inside. Walk around some, get comfortable. Your room is the attic, the door on the far right."

I nodded, squirming to get unbuckled as I swung open the door to let myself out. My leg didn't seem to want to work as I stumbled forward, grabbing the door harshly to pull myself back up with my good arm. Before I lost my balance completely, both of them were there, fussing with me and checking for injuries. After readjusting the sling on my arm, Michael made me get the crutches, lightly scolding me for not using them in the first place. They walked ahead of me, waiting for me before I waved them forward.

"I want to stay out here for a minute, by myself." They look hesitant before giving a sigh. I must've been stubborn at some point for them to give in like this.

Before the door shut, I heard Michael call out, "We'll watch through the kitchen window!" I chuckled slightly before looking back at the front yard. It has a simple garden filled with various flowers and lush bushes line the outside of the house. Some toys lay around and three bikes stood off to the side. My brow furrowed for a moment before I made up my mind.

Using the crutches, I swung myself across the yard towards them, bending best I could to get a better look. Two were mountain bikes, one a bit smaller than the other. The smaller one was pink and black while the other was green and black. Then my brow furrowed once more. The math didn't add up.

"Hey, Mia!" A strange voice called. I whipped around to see a middle-aged man looking up at me with a bright smile. When I didn't respond, he faltered. "I guess I caught you at a bad time or somethin'." When I continued to just stare at him, he started turning. "See ya later then..." I watched his retreating back walk down the street before turning the corner.

I shook my head before looking around. The neighborhood looked like it was safe. Cozy with some kids playing in the warm spring breeze. Parents sat on porches watching them and drinking a refreshing liquid. But that's when I noticed the staring, the whispering. Some pointed.

I turned back to the house and continued up to the door. Once inside, I heard the clattering of plates. As much as I wanted to sit down and eat, I also wanted to go see my room. So I skipped the kitchen and headed upstairs and to the right, where a wooden door sat. It was covered in various papers and writings and splattered of paint. Foam lettering spelled "Mia's Room! Stay Out!" in a rainbow of colors and I smiled.

I pushed the door open to reveal a steep stairway, to which I groaned at. It was covered in the beige carpet as opposed to the hardwood flooring of the hall. I took off my shoes carefully, not wanting to jostle my knee. The plush carpet was nice and soft as I ascended the stairs slowly.

The walls leading up were painted a burgundy color. Sticky notes and various writings were taped haphazardly on the paint. Some were stained with age while others looked almost brand new. The handwriting was different like multiple people were writing things. At the top of the staircase, I turned to look into my room.

The bed was in the far corner, where the roof didn't slope. It had matching burgundy sheets with white accents. Many pillows adorned the mattress, along with an assortment of paper and pencils. I guess I was working on some sort of homework, I concluded after limping over to inspect it. Astrology. I looked up the roof, where flowy opaque curtains hung mixed with fairy lights that also draped over the walls. I imagined it must've looked beautiful with the lights turned off. Photos and pictures also hung around the walls.

That was a theme in my room. All kinds of things were taped everywhere. Looseleaf papers, ripped papers, little slips, photos, posters, drawings. The walls were absolutely overflowing with them, but it gave me a sense of comfort as if I wasn't alone. As if I really was the girl who lived here and taped all sorts of things to my walls.

A bedside table sat next to my bed. On it was various little trinkets and laying down a photo. I reached to pick it up, but I decided against it quickly. It was probably just another photo of me and my family.

The dressers were filled with clothing I liked but seemed off as I realized I couldn't place why I did. I pulled on a pair of oversized sweats and a loose band t-shirt. The faint smell of cologne filled my senses and suddenly I felt calm, protected. Like I was home. I shook my head to rid myself of my silliness.

Probably my boyfriend, or maybe a previous boyfriend.

I looked around again. The room stayed straight for a few feet, before slanting off to about three feet off the ground. A large window laid on the roof, allowing me to see up at the morning sky had I opened the cover. Two stacks of blankets and pillows were stacked on a rug underneath it, and I tilted my head curiously. I walked over and knelt down to sit, naturally going towards the one on the right. I leaned over towards the other pile and the scent of a cologne hit me again while I reeled in.

But then I felt strange, like it wasn't my place. Probably because it wasn't. I was sitting in a bedroom that was supposed to be mine. That I should know where everything was. But I had to go through all the drawers to find the types of clothes I wanted. This room should feel like a home, like I could relax. But I feel out of place and awkward.

My parents sit downstairs, my mother probably crying again because her daughter doesn't remember her. I can't imagine what they'd be doing, or if the 'they' would be a 'we', on a Saturday night. I had no idea if they'd let me out past midnight, or if I would be able to stay the night at my boyfriend or girlfriend’s house. I don't remember what classes I took or who my friends were. I don't remember if I smoked pot or if I was a mother figure to those who did. Maybe I was a goody two shoes who ratted everyone out.

I didn't belong here. I want to scream and rip the blackout curtains over the windows, to flip the matress and tear the lights down. But I couldn't. Because this wasn't my room.

It was hers.

Something beeped behind me. I turned towards the desk on the other side of the room where a simple laptop sat. It was open, and many icons cluttered the homescreen. A picture of me and a boy sat as the background. I tilted my head curiously as I realize I've seen him before.

My eyes scanned the walls before my lungs took a sharp intake of breath. I realized who it was now. It was Ash.

The boy who saved my life. The boy who was my best friend. The boy who made me smile. Made me laugh. Who protected me from the bullies until the very end, literally.

Memories rush back to me as I realize what had happened and I hear myself cry out. Hands grip my hair as images of us flash through my mind. Of us in the park, of him flicking wads of paper at me, of him hanging up another paper on the wall, of us on the floor underneath the roof window. Of Ash walking me to class, giving me an ice cream cone, fixing my bike. Placing a banage on my knee. Pushing me out of the door as the man with a gun pulled it out.

He saved me, went looking for me after I went missing. I spent weeks being tortured by that ruthless man. After everyone else gave up he didn't. When he found me that night he snuck through the basement window with his baseball bat. We waited for the man to return before he swung, cracking on his head before grabbing me and running. But he didn't account for his friend being there that night. So he pushed me out the door, closing it while shouting at me to run.

I never will forget the gunshot and cry as I fled. His pained yowl before another bullet was shot. I didn't look back, I couldn't. But I didn't make it two blocks before knocking on someone's door and passing out from the pain in my body.

I let out a cry openly, tears streaming down my cheeks. He saved me, but sacrificed himself. My best friend, my only true friend, is gone. Because of me. My throat feels raw and only then I realize I was screaming and crying.

I can hear my parents clambering over each other on the stairs. I sob and sink to the floor, my legs no longer able to hold me. My eyes skirt over to the photo on that table as I crawl over, grabbing it and removing in from the frame. I read the writing on the back of it as they finally reach me.

In loving memory, Ashton King, who died saving his soulmate.

[dracosollicitus]

dialogue prompt #8 damerey :o i’m ready for the flangst

#8: “How many times has he told you he doesn’t love you?”

Rey Niima wasn’t at Friday drinks.

It was the first thing Poe noticed when he walked into The Bar - and honestly, screw lawyers, because the place is literally called The Bar - and he hasn’t been able to stop looking over at the door for the last hour and a half.

The whole pining-over-the-first-year-associate thing may have had something to do with the empty glasses cluttered in front of him. He just couldn’t shake the feeling that something was wrong. She’d been skittish around the office for weeks now; she’d missed their long-standing coffee appointment the last four days (okay, so they chatted at the coffee cart in front of his office every weekday at 7:45 a.m., like clockwork for six and a half months now, and okay, Poe might have rearranged his whole schedule permanently when he bumped into her by accident that one time and hoped for a repetition). Rey Niima was avoiding almost everyone in the office, except for Rose Tico, one of the paralegals, and Finn Trooper, a friendly second-year associate (and okay, okay, Poe was definitely not jealous of Finn because Finn was dating Rose, and they’d been together since undergrad, and God, why does he know so much about junior attorneys and their lives? When did that become a thing he cared about?).

The bell over the door chimed, stirring Poe from his previous position of scowling at the mahogany of the bar, and he looked up expectantly. The cold early March air blew into the bar, bringing in Benjamin Solo with it. Great. Exactly who Poe wanted to see.

The guy was designed to annoy Poe. Tall, handsome, brilliant, and the son of one of the firm’s partners and a verified war hero - and, of course, he and Poe regrettably had very similar tastes in women. Specifically, one woman. A woman who had been a summer associate at Organa, Erso & Holdo three years ago, and was now their most successful junior attorney. A woman who had a torrid affair with Benjamin Solo, an affair Poe only knew about because he’d been sitting in the room when Organa called them into her office to scold her son for not disclosing the relationship to HR, to which Ben coolly responded, “What relationship?”

Poe would never forget the way Rey’s face fell; he would never forget finding her crying in her second summer as an intern at the office, having been hurt by Ben again. And then again, the summer after she graduated law school, when Ben slept with another woman five hours after he left her apartment. Poe would never forget watching her piece herself back together again, sometimes stumbling, sometimes rushing to the bathroom to cry (and he’d loiter outside the bathrooms, shooting the shit with anyone passing by, so she knew it wasn’t safe to come out yet with her puffy eyes and tear-stained cheeks).

After her third month on the job officially, they began to meet for a drink or two at this very same bar while they groused about their weeks. He admired her for how easily she steered the conversation away from her heartbreak in the beginning: for the first few months, she’d just shit on the situation good-naturedly, but after a while, she stopped mentioning it altogether. When Ben entered into an HR-approved relationship with Jess Pava, Rey had smiled genuinely and shrugged when Poe asked her worriedly if she was alright. 

That had been four months ago, and the word near the water coolers was that Jess had dumped Ben a few weeks ago. God, he hoped that wasn’t why Rey had been acting so weird. God, he hoped this next shot of whiskey could make that probability a little less daunting. 

He was fairly drunk when the bell chimed again, and he didn’t look up that time. A low, musical voice sounded over his left shoulder. “This seat taken?” He turned, half-smiling, to see Rey Niima standing there with a worried expression, twisting her hair behind her ear, that one piece that always stubbornly fell out of whatever style she attempted (God, Poe hoped she had no idea that he’d written poetry about that piece of hair). 

“No ma’am,” he answered, praying his words weren’t slurred, not really caring if they were. “It’s all yours. Was worried you weren’t gonna show.”

“And miss drinks with Dameron? I don’t think so.” She hopped up on the stool and signaled to the bartender. “Sorry I was so late, I got caught up with something.” 

Ben Solo had walked in precisely eight minutes before she did. Poe prayed to every god he could think of that Ben Solo wasn’t ‘something.’

“Don’t worry, ‘sokay.” Poe mumbled into his glass. 

“I’ll just have a water, thanks.” He heard Rey order, and he rested his head on the bar to look at her. Even in the shitty bar lights, she was the most resplendent, brilliantly perfect person he’d ever seen. How did people get that pretty? How did they get that kind? That sweet? 

“You drunk?” She asked, an odd note of cheer in her voice. Right. Rey didn’t like drunk people. Of course she didn’t. God, he was an asshole. 

“Not that drunk,” he muttered, trying to smile at her. “Mostly tired.” And that was actually true. Poe could easily walk home, could probably still argue well, but he was a little past buzzed. Mostly his exhaustion was bleeding through his pores, the exhaustion from having to hold back his declaration of love to the Aphrodite who just took a seat next to him. Calm down, Dameron. Be cool. You were cool once.

“Okay.” Rey nodded and then took the glass of water with a quiet thanks from the bartender. “Okay. So. Um. I need to talk to you about something.”

“Mmm.” Poe said, the picture of nonchalance. He could see Ben Solo looming in the back of the bar, in the mirror behind the bottles of vodka. 

“I know it might sound…odd, but I was thinking, you know, probably Post-Valentine’s Day malaise or whatever,” Rey cleared her throat, loudly. “But I was thinking about dating, and I was wondering about your thoughts on dating in the office -”

“Oh no,” Poe sighed heavily, picked up his last glass, and examined its emptiness glumly. 

“No?” Rey asked quietly. He looked over at her, but she was too fuzzy, and his head was too loud for him to really look. She seemed smaller than she did a second ago, but maybe that was just the way she was sitting. 

“No, no, no, not this again-” Poe set his glass down with another dramatic sigh. “Look, Sunshine, if this is about who I think it is -”

“He’s older than I am,” Rey said nonchalantly. Her finger tripped along the edge of her glass. “…and handsome, and a senior attorney, and we get along really -”

“I wouldn’t call that getting along,” Poe snapped. Rey shot him a look of - betrayal? That can’t be right. “Rey, the guy’s ripped you to shreds every time you’ve gone near him.” With his worst fear confirmed, Poe realized that the alcohol in his system was not going to let him get away with letting this slide. God. Oh well, regret’s for Saturday mornings. 

“Poe, I don’t think you know what you’re talking ab-”

“I don’t?” Poe raised his eyebrows at her. “I don’t, huh? Tell me, how many times has he told you he doesn’t love you? How many times do you need to hear it before it sinks in?”

“Poe.” She didn’t offer anything past his name, but it slipped out, and hovered in the smoky air between them. Poe slapped a fifty down on the table and slid it towards the bartender.

“If you wanna get with Solo again, be my guest. Pardon me for not wanting to sit here and watch you get your heart broken all over again. You deserve a guy who actually sees you, Rey. A guy who wants to treat you with respect, and who sees how fuckin’ amazing you are. Because you’re incredible, brighter than the fuckin’ Sun, but I will not and cannot watch you spiral into a Ben Solo Regret Cycle again. Because you’re too happy to go for the people who hurt you, Rey. You do this every time, it’s like you’re seeking out people who treat you like shit.”

Rey snorted angrily, and didn’t look up when Poe stood on shaky legs to walk away. “Guess you know better than I do, huh?” Her jaw was a straight, angry line, and Poe let out his breath when she finally looked at him. Her eyes blazed with fury, and even when she was about to breathe fire on him, Rey Niima was the most beautiful person he’d ever seen. “Poor little Rey Niima, wouldn’t know love if it stared her in the face.” 

“I don’t think you would.” They stared at each other then, Rey in anger, Poe in agony, and then he shook his head. “I’ll see you Monday.”

He stalked out the doors without another word.

Poe’s bad mood lasted all weekend, and when he stomped into the office on Monday morning at 7:30, he found it thankfully empty. Leia was off somewhere perparing for a big case, and Holdo was on vacation; Erso was at her daughter’s graduation. It was empty, and Ben Solo hadn’t shown up yet - Poe didn’t know what he would do if he saw his stupid, smug face, what he would do if the asshole so much as breathed a word about his weekend with that ‘cute little junior attorney’ - and Poe found himself dragging towards his usual coffee cart at 7:43. 

To his intense surprise, Rey was there. She looked exhausted and distant when he approached, her arms wrapped around her slender frame like she was trying to hold herself together, and any irritation Poe had at her lapse in judgment regarding Ben Solo vanished immediately, and regret for having yelled at her when she sought his opinion took its place. 

He stood behind her in line and cleared his throat. She shook herself out of whatever reverie she was in, and spared him a single glance over her shoulder. Her face arranged into something quite cool when she saw it was him.

“Dameron.”

“Hey, Sunshine,” Poe said weakly. “Sorry about Friday, I wasn’t-”

“Don’t worry about it,” she said, already facing forward. She ordered quickly, grabbed her coffee, and nodded at him. He watched her walk away, her short heels clacking against the marble floor, her shoulders set like she was going off into battle. 

Poe forgot to order his coffee, he was so distracted by Rey’s reaction to him. He must have really pissed her off - it was time to think of methods of reconciliation. She liked flowers, and she liked muffins (chocolate chip, which she insisted were different from cupcakes, but Poe, with no taste for sweets, didn’t see how), and she liked Jane Austen. There had to be something there, something good he could do- 

He was so busy thinking, aimlessly drifting towards the cubicles of the junior attorneys, that he almost didn’t see Finn until he bumped right into him.

“Hey!” Finn said cheerfully. “You look like it’s a Monday. No offense.”

Poe laughed without humor. “I feel like it’s a Monday.”

“You had that good of a time then?” Poe looked at Finn in confusion, at the cheeky grin on his face. 

“I beg your pardon?” Poe asked, the dots not connecting. Finn’s face froze, and he looked awkward.

“Sorry!” Finn said hastily. “Sorry, sorry that was super inappropriate, I know it’s not my place, just - Rosie and I were so excited that Rey-rey was finally going to do something about…well, you know.” He smiled again, a little less broad, but still genuine.

“I do?” Poe frowned. “What do I know?”

“C’mon man, you don’t need to hide it from me. Rey was psyching herself up for an hour before she went to get drinks with you on Friday. She had a whole speech planned, even wrote it on flash cards. It was very cute.”

Poe stared into space over Finn’s shoulder, feeling very much like an eighteen-wheeler had just run him over. Finn kept talking.

“And you know, she’s been in love with you forever now, and Rosie and I kept telling her that you probably felt the same, anyone with eyes could see the chemistry you two have-”

“Excuse me,” Poe said weakly, pushing past Finn. “I need to-” Finn faded into the background as Poe moved through the office. It wasn’t quite 8:00 a.m., so it wasn’t quite officially business hours, so this had to be okay, right? 

“Rey,” Poe said once he had reached her desk. “Sunshine.”

“Not now, Dameron,” Rey sighed. “I have to get the files ready on the Ackbar case, Solo needs them in his office six hours ago, and you know how he gets when-”

“Rey.” Poe sat down on her desk and stared up at her. She looked back with exhausted acceptance. “Can I take you on a date?”

She blinked at him in surprise. “What?”

“Yeah. As it turns out, I’m really, really in love with you, and I’d like to do something about that before I crawl to the bottom of a bottle of Jameson’s and make an ass out of myself again.”

Rey didn’t move, didn’t say anything, and Poe waited anxiously for her to do either. “I’ll think about it,” she said after an agonizing pause.

“You will?” Poe said, eagerly. 

“I will. Fine. I thought about it. Yes, I’ll go.” Rey laughed, her nose crinkling adorably, and she swatted at his leg with the papers in her hand. “Now scoot, you’re sitting on my brief.” 

“Sorry.” Poe leapt up and smiled at her again, not able to stop it at this point. “Does Friday work?”

“I get drinks with my friend on Friday,” Rey said cheerfully, already flipping through a folder. “But he yelled at me the last time we met up, so I don’t feel that bad about canceling on him.”

“He sounds like an asshole.” Poe had a feeling he was going to skip all the way back to his office. “You should definitely cancel on him.” He grinned like an idiot at her until she shooed him away, still laughing.

And he did skip all the way back to his office.

[jo-shane-provins]

To Copenhagen

29/09/2019: The morning was a bit cool and although damp, not raining. As was the case the last couple of days, the owners of the property again left the croissants at the door for our breakfast. The comments in Airbnb had mentioned that the chooks next door supply the eggs to go with the croissants, just get them yourself, add tea and coffee and voila! Breakfast. This worked well the first morning but there were no eggs the second. It was Saturday so maybe the owner's kids wanted them. Anyway, Jo mixed up the two eggs from Friday and added them to yesterday's lunch. We didn't bother with eggs this morning due to time constraints so coffee and croissants it was while we packed. We wanted to be out by eight thirty but were a bit behind. By the time we were ready it was not far off nine. The race hadn't started yet so it was okay to walk down the roadway to the car. By the time we actually got underway it was spot on nine.

Course des Remparts de Provins was being run for the forty first time, starting at the gravelled end of Avenue Alain Peyrefitte, turning into the towns beautiful tree lined streets and along the meandering Durteint before heading up through the ramparts and around the old town. The runners then head back to near where they started for the finish line. One lap of six kilometres or three laps of eighteen is the runners choice.

Stewards preparing for the race at Porte Saint Jean

We put Charles de Gaulle in the GPS, were directed out of town and (avoiding all road closures) were on our way, soon to encounter some serious downpours. It never stopped our progress though and by ten fifteen we had returned the Renegade to Europcar. The finding of the place, Terminal 2F was the easiest and stressless yet. Both Jo and Shane could feel their blood pressure rising from ten kilometres out but in the end it was plane sailing.

Prior to handing the keys in, Jo made comment on the form that went to the returns dude on issues with the vehicle. Stone chipped windscreen, mark on the driver's side rear door, car full of pet hair, the glue from delivery docket still on windscreen and generally filthy throughout. When Shane gave the form to the dude, he read the comments (whether he understood them was another thing), signed, dated and handed the form back. No checking of the vehicle. They were as slack with their returns as they were with delivery. What we didn't know was that the prick that filled the original form out in French ripped us off, providing us with a gold plated insurance policy that cost a bomb. He explained it away when quizzed that it was part of the deposit and would be refunded. Only if we could have understood French. A review of the Europcar reviews show that the French arm are very dishonest and rip non French speaking customers off continually. We were part of that.

The rest of the leaving France process was easy. Self check in handled by Jo, through security and onto the plane. Cruising. The plane left a little late but landed by not long after one thirty. The heavy Parisienne rain had followed us to Copenhagen, still pissing down as we landed. We took our time getting out, collected our bags and headed for the taxi rank. The first thing we noticed was the schmick Mercedes cabs. It was then that the footpath dude, enquiring as to how many bags we had, pointed across the road to a Tesla taxi. Even schmicker.

Typical Copenhagen taxi. If it's not a Tesla, it’s a Merc

Following an uneventful trip into town, the taxi driver dropped us off straight outside our accommodation. Jo texted the owner as everything was locked and then suddenly he appeared, opening the door with a big smile and introduced himself as Mauricio. With pleasantries exchanged he gave us a quick (very quick) run through of the house and its workings. The apartment was on the first floor, three flights up. Lugging our bags up was no easy feat, particularly with the old bugger in our way, half way up, bitching under his voice. Mauricio warned us about excessive noise as we would upset his disagreeable neighbour. We knew it was the old codger on the stairs.

The next hour was packing things away, sorting out our washing and working out where things were. We noted that after Mauricio left, the washing machine was going, the drier was going and he wasn't coming back for four days. This along with the fact that there was no mention of washing machine or dryer in his "how to" instructions nor washing machine powder. There was however info on the dishwasher and tablets. Shane was thinking that we were not welcome to wash our clothes. We finished his washing and drying while we went out for a look around. Straight out the front door was the Vandkunsten and its fountain.

Looking down a miserable Vandkunsten with the fountain mostly obscured by the trees

Vandkunsten (the fountain) started out as a mill pond during the middle ages. During the sixteen hundreds Kong Christian III built Copenhagen's first pumping station on this spot. Hence the name. The current fountain is just over one hundred years old

From there we winged it left looking for the old town but didn't make it. Dr google put us in the general direction as we moved from the square to Stormgade, around the channel and onto Nybrogade where, past the construction and to the end we encountered an overly excited crowd doing who knows what. It turned out that it was the opening day of the M3 Cityringen and there were a lot of excited people about. We didn't know what was going on but had an idea it was a new transport system, especially with the big capital M on the wall. The city ring is a fifteen and a half kilometre long underground series of tunnels that link Copenhagen H, Østerbro, Nørrebro, Vesterbro and Frederiksberg. Seventeen new stations come with the deal, linked at particular stations with the existing Metro.

Next was the souvenir shop where we picked up a few trinkets before looking for dinner. Casing the joint out for some tucker provided us with a quick education on what it will cost during our stay here. Very expensive. Two hundred and twenty Kronor for a two twenty gram steak. About fifty dollars. We settled on pizza. Two of those with two drinks each cost a hundred bucks. Anyway, it was a good feed. After some grocery shopping to get some basics, it was back to the apartment to settle down.

Pizzas at Mama Rosa's

The weather forecast is bleak. Atlantic Ocean storms pushing across Great Britain and across as for as Eastern Europe. Heavy rain and plunging temperatures expected.

Tomorrow, we look around and enjoy the rain.