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buckyskorpion · 4 years

Text

11 hours - part three

Pairing: Biker!Bucky x Reader

Summary: bucky is the mystery you can’t wait to solve. if you can get out of his bed long enough, that is. a biker au.

Warnings: gang-typical violence, sex scenes, alcohol mentions, probably more to come so stay tuned

A/N: we got some spicy things happening this chapter folks!! a lot of natasha too and plot and a tiny bit of fluff at the end. i hope you enjoy!! let me know what you think. i wont be taking tags for this so please dont ask.

title taken from 11 hours by wet | playlist

part one | part two

Mrs Shoreditch had agreed to meet you at the cafe you’d been inhabiting daily as you kept watch on Steve’s shop, and you’re waiting for her now at your usual table with unusual trepidation. Your leg is bouncing under the table, you’re darting looks left and right down the street trying to catch sight of her. You have to finish this job - seeing Bucky last night confirmed that. Looking into his friends and his life feels wrong, and you want to end it as soon as possible. It’s none of your business unless Bucky wants it to be.

She’s late, one o’clock ticking by and then some, anxiety hiking with every passing minute. The file on her husband sits unremarkable on the table in front of you, and you drum your fingers against it unconsciously. The sooner this meeting is over the sooner you can move on with your day, maybe go see your dad, take on some normal clients who don’t have eery connections to your personal life and keep you up at night.

Someone approaches the table and you’re about to feel relieved, until you look up and instead of seeing Mrs Shoreditch apologising for her tardiness you find Natasha standing before you. She blocks out the sun, a ring of red wisps escaping her ponytail lit up like a halo behind her head but the calculating look in her eyes is nowhere near angelic. She looks nothing like the girl you met at the party - gone is the sundress, replaced by an outfit weirdly similar to yours. Leather jacket, skinny jeans, Docs and chipped black nail polish you catch as she wiggles her fingers at you in that same, condescending wave.

“Natasha?” You can’t believe she’s caught you, but you’re technically not doing anything wrong right now - you just feel like you are, with the way she’s looking at you like a ‘gotcha’ moment not gone your way.

Natasha nods, smirking, and says, “What a coincidence.”

“Yeah,” you breathe, but you know neither of you believe it. “What are you doing here?”

“Visiting Steve,” she says. It takes everything in you not to glance over at the tattoo shop, giving yourself away. You bite the inside of your cheek and keep your eyes trained on hers, furrowing your brows in an approximation of confusion. She waits a beat, you don’t think you’ve convinced her, but then she says, ”He works over there.”

She jerks a thumb to the tattoo shop and you nod, following her finger with bone-deep relief. It doesn’t last long, tension eating it’s way back up your spine as she asks, “What about you? I haven’t seen you here before.”

Been here every day, lady, you think, but say with a tap to the folder on the table, “Work. Meeting a client.”

“Oh?” she asks, an eyebrow raised. She doesn’t question you further, but that in itself is suspicious. Everyone always presses for more with your vague answers - client? For what? Announcing you’re a private investigator kind of ruins your confidential reputation so you often have to work a lot harder than this to keep your work life private. Natasha doesn’t press it, though. Like she already knows. Dread curls low and heavy in your gut.

At that moment, Mrs Shoreditch finally shows up. She doesn’t seem harried, out of breath, or concerned she’s late in any way, shape, or form. She takes the seat opposite you, offering you a smile and placing her ridiculously expensive handbag on the table. With blonde hair tossed over one shoulder, to your absolute horror she looks up to Natasha and smiles at her, too. Recognition, as Natasha returns it.

“You should come over to the shop when you’re done,” Natasha says to you but it sounds more like a demand than a request, shattering the silence with a sledgehammer. You’d miscalculated, somewhere. Something isn’t right.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” you say, making eye contact with Mrs Shoreditch and hoping Natasha understands. You hardly think Mrs Shoreditch would want you going in there after you reveal that’s the place her husband has been shovelling her money into for months. Mrs Shoreditch avoids your gaze, however, picking at her perfect manicure. It clicks, then. You’re so fucking stupid.

“See you in a minute,” Natasha says, ignoring what you said entirely with a sparkle in her eyes that doesn’t bode well for you. She crosses the street, gone in a second, and you turn back to Mrs Shoreditch as a numbness creeps into your veins.

She’s a typical socialite, perfectly up-kept in every aspect and dressed to the nines even for a rubbish cafe in Red Hook. You didn’t think she was capable of hoodwinking you, and maybe that’s where you first went wrong. She finally meets your eyes, apologetic and almost tearful. She reaches a hand out, resting it on the file you’d prepared as if she realises last minute trying to touch you is a bad fucking idea.

“I’m so sorry,” she says, “I’ve been wasting your time-“

“Natasha hired you to hire me,” you say, cutting her off with the coldness in your voice. She nods mutely, retracting her hand back to her lap as if burned. “You already knew about Mike’s other bank account.”

“Yes,” she admits, rolling her lips together. At least she has the decency to look ashamed. “Ms Romanoff said she’d pay off an instalment of Mike’s debt if I hired you, and I- I didn’t ask questions. I’m so sorry, you seem lovely-“

You don’t wait to hear her finish, standing from the table and leaving your useless file behind without a second glance. You head across the street, for the first time approaching the front door of the tattoo parlour. Natasha knew you’d come here eventually, knew you’d see Steve and start putting dots together. She baited you here, but why? You were Bucky’s fuck buddy, nothing more. Why play this game at all?

You take a deep breath before shouldering the door open, entering the permanent twilight of the shop you’d come to know so well through the lens of your camera. It’s cool in here, the street noise dampened so all you can hear is pop-punk playing low through speakers and the buzz of the tattoo gun. Steve is at the back, bent over someone’s arm and doesn’t break concentration when the bell above the door rings, announcing your entrance. Natasha waits, however, hip propped up against the counter and smiling as she sees you stop at the door, not daring to enter further.

“What do you want?” you ask, calling out across the shop. It draws the attention of the two guys in leather, Steve’s regulars, sitting on the couch in the waiting area. They eye you suspiciously, as does the kid who mans the cash register you often see doing homework instead of his job. Natasha pushes off the counter, beckoning you to the back of the store where you know Steve’s office to be. You follow, heart in your mouth, aware you’re walking further into the trap you hadn’t even known had been set for you.

Natasha closes the door behind you and takes a seat at the desk, covered in stencil designs and files which she seems to entirely disregard as she crosses her feet on top of them, dirt smears be damned. You sit in the chair opposite, back ramrod straight with how uncomfortable you are, and wait for an answer.

“You’re smart,” she says, which is not what you were expecting. You blink, confused by the compliment, and Natasha smirks. “And a lot more observant than Bucky gives you credit for.”

“It’s my job,” you say, unsure of what to give away. Obviously she knows you’re a private investigator or you wouldn’t be in this mess, but she doesn’t know what you know. Not yet, anyway.

“I know,” she says, inclining her head, “I googled you.”

That makes you uncomfortable. Bucky doesn’t even know your last name, how does she? All that she would’ve found is your business website because you’re not stupid enough to put your life online, but still, the thought that she had been trying to look into you makes your blood run cold. You’re starting to really regret going to that party with Bucky - if Natasha’s weird behaviour then wasn’t a tip off, then your deep-dive into their secret lives has clearly shown you there’s a lot more to Bucky than he was ever intending of letting on. Natasha’s intervention in your job merely confirms what you’d already figured out.

“Why did you get Mrs Shoreditch to hire me?” you ask. Natasha regards you for a second, thinking, and it’s a look that reminds you eerily of Bucky.

“I wanted to see what you’d find,” she says. You feel your jaw clench, despite yourself - she’s being evasive even now, and it’s like she can read your frustration because she smiles then, says, “And I wanted to see if Bucky’s choice to trust you was a wise one.”

“He doesn’t trust me,” you say, defensive, too quick. She raises her eyebrows. Frustrated at this cryptic and frankly dramatic conversation, you ask, “Can you just tell me what you want? You’ve wasted weeks of my time and I think I deserve to know why.”

“As I said,” Natasha said slowly, clearly amused at the rise she’s managed to get out of you, “I want to see what you found.”

“Are you going to pay for it?” you snap. You don’t want to tell her - you don’t know why. Clearly, she already knows far more than you ever will, but this is the only thing you have over her and it feels like the most important thing in the world in this moment.

Natasha rolls her eyes and says, “You’ll be well compensated, don’t worry.”

You have a small stare off with the red head before you huff, conceding. That was a fight you were destined to lose, anyway. You grab your laptop from your bag and send a quick email of everything you’d collected to Steve’s business email. His monitor pings with a notification and and you raise your eyebrows towards it, watching Natasha unfold her legs off the desk and lean forward to start reading. You don’t trust her with your laptop as far as you can throw it, so you make sure it’s shut down completely before placing it back in your bag.

Natasha reads for a long time, because you’d found a lot. Her eyes dart across the screen almost too-fast, the set of her mouth growing tenser and tenser as each silent minute passes. You feel a weird, sick sense of satisfaction at that - clearly, you’d surpassed her expectations.

You had been thorough. Pictures of Steve, the kid working the counter, the regulars who park their bikes at the back, the bikes themselves, the inside of the shop from your window vantage point, Sam at one point, Natasha at others, meetings they held and rough angles of deals gone on inside the shop. You couldn’t get a clear shot, but you saw them exchanging money with leather-clad strangers for something. The long hours after closing they spend at the tattoo shop doing everything but tattooing is all captured and saved on your computer. You’d written up a run-sheet of the shop’s routines as well, based on what you’d observed from your little cafe spot - Natasha spends longer looking at that then anything else, mouse hovering over the word you’d written at the bottom. Gang?

You’d researched them all, except for Bucky. He never appeared at the shop while you were watching it, and it gave you the perfect out to leave him alone in your investigation. Steve and Sam had wrap sheets longer than your arm, and Natasha notably had nothing online at all. None of them had social media, which is weird, and the only photo you could find dated back to a highschool cross country picture of Steve and Sam, first and second medals respectively. You refused to look for Bucky. It made you sick just thinking about what you’d find on him, so you decided you just didn’t want to know. Not like that, behind a computer screen in your apartment with a bottle of red-wine half gone beside you. Bucky doesn’t belong there.

You could have kept digging, given more time. It had been eating at you, though, consuming the hours you were supposed to be sleeping and waking you up when you finally closed your eyes. It didn’t matter how much you found, ten more questions would arise from it, and you were becoming obsessed. So you decided to end it. Clearly, you’d come to that conclusion a bit too late.

“Bucky doesn’t know your last name,” Natasha says, suddenly, shocking you enough to flinch. She doesn’t look away from the screen, but goes on, “He doesn’t know you’re a PI, where you live, what you do in your spare time. He knows noting about you, but he doesn’t seem to care. I told him that was stupid.”

You swallow past the hard lump in your throat. You knew Natasha hadn’t exactly warmed to you at that party but you hadn’t expected this level of- what would you even call it? A threat? You feel threatened, a metaphorical knife to your throat as Natasha finally looks at you again, pinning you down with a cold green stare.

“He’s not in any of this,” she says, tapping a fingernail on the keyboard to emphasis your research. It’s not a question, but you know what she’s asking.

“I wasn’t hired to look into Bucky,” you say, refraining from adding because I have self control and I don’t need to invade his privacy to have sex with him. “Anything I need to know, I can get from him.”

Natasha is silent for a long time, staring at you, and you don’t dare look away. This, too, is a test. After god-knows how much time has passed, she stands and you do too, hurrying to grab your bag and meet her at the office door she holds open for you. Conversation over, you suppose - you’re starting to get used to Natasha’s cryptic ways even if they piss you off beyond belief.

“Delete everything you just sent me,” she says. You scoff, rolling your eyes at her, but she stares you down with the darkest, scariest look you’ve ever received from someone who’s a head shorter than you. You think about that word you’d written in your notes, gang, after one too many red wines and thinking back to the way Natasha looked at you when you described them all as a family. Maybe you shouldn’t argue with her, given everything you’d experienced today.

“I’d cover that window if I were you,” you say, instead of answering. A muscle ticks in her jaw but she says nothing else, so you take your leave. Steve waves awkwardly as you go but you ignore him, shouldering out of the shop and practically running down the street.

Energy burns in your muscles that you can’t seem to get rid of, even as you chose to walk all the way back to your apartment which takes over an hour. It’s anger, you realise, fisting your hair and pacing around your apartment like a crazy person. Uncontrollable rage at being played with, tested at every turn, and for what? You never asked to be a part of this game. You’d never done anything but exactly what Bucky asked and it still wasn’t enough.

Your phone begins to ring, Bucky’s name flashing across the screen, and with a scream of pure frustration you throw it full-force into the nearest wall. It makes a dent in the drywall, falls to the ground and the impact shatters the screen but that won’t stop it vibrating uselessly against the floorboards as Bucky rings and rings and rings.

You won’t pick up. This time, or ever again. And not just because you’ve now fucked your phone beyond repair, either. You never asked to play this game, so now you’ll take yourself out of it.

***

This is exactly why you keep yourself so guarded - cutting people out is easy when they have nothing to hold onto. You change your phone number when you go to get it fixed, and it’s like Bucky never even existed. He doesn’t know where you work, where you live, and you don’t go back to any of the bars you went to with him. It’s easier than breathing to remove him from your life.

The same cannot be said about removing Bucky from you.

He’d crawled inside your ribcage and stayed there, burnt a cigarette hole in your heart to claim it as his and you hate that. You never allowed him to do that. So he might not be physically in your life anymore but he’s still there, a ghost of a hand on your throat and an ache that might mean you miss him.

His friends are crazy and he’s in a gang, you tell yourself daily, like it’ll help. Like you believe it even slightly. It’s better this way.

“You’re quiet, kroshka,” you dad says, handing you a cup of tea. You remove your thumb from your mouth where you’d been gnawing at a hangnail to take it, smiling up at him in thanks. He doesn’t go back to his armchair, though, rather kicking a cushion off the couch to sit beside you. You dip with his added weight, closer to him, and he allows you to rest your head on his shoulder while you both blow on your teas in unintentional tandem.

“Kroshka is tired,” you mumble. He clicks his tongue at you, which is fair. Shit excuse, anyway. You sit up, twisting to face him, and ask, “How do I know if I’m overreacting to something?”

“With you, overreacting is baseline,” your dad says, grinning as you slap him on the arm. He takes a sip of tea and says, “Tell me.”

“No,” you say, aware you’re being a brat, but what are you going to say? This woman tricked me and she’s smarter than me so I cut the guy I like out of my life because I can’t let anyone in or I feel like I’m going to die? Doesn’t quite roll off the tongue.

“Well,” he says, giving you an unimpressed look, “If you’re questioning whether you’re overreacting, I would say there might be some truth to the feeling. It’s not like you to be unsure, though. Are you sure everything’s ok?”

“Yes, papa,” you sigh, going back to leaning on his shoulder. He might have a point. “You’ve just raised an idiot.”

“I did no such thing,” he says, placing his tea on the side table to pull you into a hug. You feel small, like you’re a little girl again, and you close your eyes against your father’s chest. Maybe you can just stay here and forget about the mess you’ve made of your life. He rubs circles into your back and says, ��You’ll figure it out.”

“Ya lyublyu tebya, luna,” you say softly. I love you, moon. You’ve been saying this since before you can remember, your dad whispering it into your hair when he tucked you in at night or you calling across the playground when he’d drop you off at school. In your secret language so no one else knows, a message just for him - from you to your entire world.

“Lyublyu tetbya bol’she, zvedzdy,” he responds, kissing your hair. Love you more, stars.

He sends you off with a bag of donut holes, an obvious reminder you’re both not actually Russian but New Yorker to the bone, and you eat two on the subway ride home while you think. Deleting Bucky from your life is instinct, protection - he’d gotten too close. But really, when you allow yourself to examine the tight knot of feelings sitting in the base of your throat, what’s making you run is guilt.

You crossed a line, investigating his friends. You pried into the life he very purposefully kept you away from and you’d changed your number not because you didn’t want Bucky contacting you anymore, but because he might decide not to and you couldn’t live with watching your phone for a notification that would never come. Natasha will have told him everything by now, probably even showed him, and he’ll never trust you now. You’d blown it. You could be angry at Natasha for baiting you into doing it, but she never would have felt the need to if you had just been honest.

You stuff another donut hole in your mouth to stop yourself from crying. It works only a little bit.

The apartment feels colder, lonelier than it ever has even though being alone was what you thought you wanted. It just allows you to think of Bucky some more, curled up on your couch with the bag of donut holes now empty on the coffee table, sniffling into the sleeve of your hoodie. His smell, the way he always runs hot, the callouses on his hands probably from working in his garage you’ll never get to see now. Stubble, short-shaven hair, tattoos all down his left arm you never gave proper attention to. You can’t remember them all. Just the star, red and big in the middle of his deltoid. You thought you had more time.

“Fuck it,” you say, fishing your phone out of your jeans pocket. Bucky might not have your number anymore but you have his. Maybe if you just called him and heard his voice for a second, just that rumbly ‘hello,’ it might scratch the itch driving you insane. Before you can dial though, you get a notification from your banking app - a deposit from a new contact.

Natasha Romanoff jumps out at you, stopping your heart in your chest. Does she have a sixth sense for any time you so much as think about Bucky? She’s transferred you an obscene amount of money, and it takes you far too long to realise she’s paying you for the Shoreditch case that turned out to be one giant trust test you spectacularly failed. The reason you’re being a pathetic mess alone in your apartment pining over a guy who, as Natasha said herself, doesn’t even know your last name. Get a grip, Jesus Christ.

You open up the notification just to check it’s real and she really did triple the quote you’d given Mrs Shoreditch. That’s when you read what she’s written as the name of the transaction - an address for somewhere in Queens. You should probably at least think about jumping up, grabbing your jacket and practically sprinting from your apartment to an address sent to you by someone you’re 99% sure is part of a biker gang, but you don’t. You have a pretty good idea of what that address means, and curiosity is your biggest vice. Natasha’s sending you a cryptic message and you might not quite understand what it means just yet, but you’re certainly not going to ignore it.

Half an hour later you’re standing across the street from White Wolf Mechanics, hiding in the gaps between street lights and watching Bucky fix up a motorbike. The three huge roller doors are all open, letting light spill out onto the street as well as the thump of a baseline from a song you recognise, because you showed him it. Natasha sits on the work bench cross legged, scrolling on her phone and occasionally handing Bucky tools as he asks for them. He stands, wipes his hands on his skintight black t-shirt and says something into the depth of the shop. Sam appears, grinning wide and tossing a greasy rag at Bucky’s head which he catches easily.

He seems well, and that makes you happy. It’s only been a couple of days since you last saw him but it might as well have been months from how much you’ve spiralled. He might not have even noticed you’d separated yourself from him, and that thought makes you sick. You should go. You need to go. But your feet carry you across the street, jogging into the shadows so they don’t see you. You’ll hear his voice and then you’ll go.

You linger by the farthest roller door from them, sticking outside the pool of light and half-hiding behind the wall of the shop. You can still see them, though, Bucky’s face now turned towards you as he learns over the bike. Brow furrowed in concentration, and you want to smooth out the dent between them with your thumb but that’s not for you anymore. It never was.

“Have you talked Sam about it?” Natasha asks Bucky. You watch him glare at the part he’s holding in his hands and his whole body stiffens. He keeps his back to Natasha so you can see the anger play across his face clear as day.

“What’s there to tell?” he snaps. “You’ve taken care of everything, fuck what I want, so what’s the point?”

“Cut it out, James,” Natasha snaps back, “You know I was protecting you.”

“When did I ask,” Bucky grits out through a clenched jaw, throwing the part to the ground so the clang of metal on stone echoes out onto the empty street, making you jump. He balls his fists up at his sides and says, “You were out of line.”

“I’m sorry,” Natasha says evenly. She unfolds herself from the table with an unfair amount of grace and steps behind him, placing a hand on his shoulder. Bucky sighs, shoulders curling in and tension leaking out of his body. You want to hug him, but you will yourself to stay where you are.

Eventually, Bucky shrugs off Natasha’s touch and says, like a moody teenager, “Whatever.” Natasha rolls her eyes, watching him go back to work on the bike with a bit too much aggression that is strictly necessary. She hands him the part he threw silently, and it takes him a beat to unclench his fists and take it. A peace offering, you suppose, in Natasha’s strange language. She doesn’t go back to the workbench, rather staying by Bucky’s side despite his annoyed grumble.

Then, seemingly out of nowhere, she says, “You proved me wrong, and I’m not too proud to realise that. I am sorry.”

Bucky looks up at her, as confused as you feel because where the fuck did that come from, and says, “Proved you- have you completely lost it?”

But Natasha isn’t look at him anymore. She’s looking at you.

Busted, you think, and you consider turning around and running before Bucky can see you. It’s a bit late for that, though, so you step into the light of the shop and halfheartedly return Natasha’s welcoming grin. It takes Bucky a second, snapping his fingers in front of Natasha’s face like he’s worried she’s actually gone in insane before he follows her eyeline and lands on you.

You’ve never seen Bucky shocked before, but he looks it now as for the second time the spare part he’s holding hits concrete with an ear-grating clang. You flinch at the sound despite yourself, and that seems to shock Bucky back into action. He whips around to glare at Natasha, pointing at you as he does.

“What did you do,” he demands. Maybe coming here really was a bad idea after all.

Natasha, ignoring Bucky completely, walks over to hold out her hand for you to shake. I’m lost, you think, as she says, “Let’s start again. I’m Natasha, James is the only family I have and I’m neurotically protective of him. He’s right to trust you, as much as it pains me to say I’m sorry for meddling in your relationship.”

You don’t take her hand. You’re not entirely sure you want to forgive her just yet, even if she did extend the olive branch to get you here. You fold your arms over your chest and say, “Next time, if you want to know something about me, just ask.”

She quirks an eyebrow at you, retracting her hand back to her side and you hate the way she always seems to be laughing at you. Natasha ducks her head, smirks, and disappears into some back office without another word. It’s just you and Bucky, the body of a bike between you as well as the weight of all the things you never said that’s all out in the open now. You’re looking at each other like you never have before, eyes open to the vast chasm of secrets you’ve both been keeping, and for the first time since you met Bucky you keep your distance.

“So,” he says, folding this arms over his giant chest. Not fair, you think, as his biceps flex against the tight sleeve of his t-shirt. Bucky averts his eyes to somewhere beyond your head and says, “You’re a private investigator.”

“You’re in a biker gang,” you reply, mimicking his folded-arms tight-lipped expression. He raises his eyebrows in a silent touché, and now that it’s out in the open you feel something inside you break off, slide down the tense hunch of your shoulders until you feel weightless. You should want to lock up tight, keep Bucky out because he’s gotten far too close already - you should use this blight as an escape. Somehow, though, having Bucky see you like no one else really has doesn’t feel as scary as you thought it would. Maybe because you have something of him, too, tucked against your head and healing that metaphorical cigarette burn. A secret for a secret. You can work with that.

“You changed your number,” Bucky says, and he’s walking over to you now. Guard dropped, hands by his sides, pinning you in place with his eyes on yours for the first time in what feels like centuries.

“I was scared,” you say, coming out more like a breath than a sentence, too transfixed with Bucky being so close to you when you never thought you’d get this again. He smells like car oil and sweat, but you’ll take any gross combination over nothing at all. He places his greasy hands either side of your neck, pulling you closer so practically standing between his legs.

“You know,” Bucky says, rubbing his thumb over the protrusion of your collarbone like he’s trying to turn your brain and legs into jelly, “Nat doesn’t have a high opinion of a lot of people. She means a lot to me.”

“She’s terrifying,” you say, and Bucky throws his head back in a laugh that has you grinning like an idiot. That sound settles warm in the pit of your stomach, spreading through all the dirty guilt and fear you’d been living in for the past few days. Biting your lip as you sober slightly, you say, “I’m sorry for prying, I should’ve just-“

“Don’t,” Bucky says, stern, shutting you up pretty effectively. “I’m sorry Nat is a nosy bitch-“

“Hey!” Natasha’s voice comes from the back office, startling you both into laughing even as Bucky turns to face the door with a murderous glare on his face.

“Don’t you have anything better to do!” Bucky yells, voice thundering through the echoey garage. He waits few beats for absolute silence, neither of you convinced Natasha had actually left, but it’s the best you’re going to get. He turns back to you, small smile on his face so at odds with how rough and messy he looks. Hulking muscle and scars and tattoos and you should be cautious, should be running, shouldn’t be letting him back you up until you hit the wall and he can pin you there with his hips pressed into yours.

But you’ve never been one to ignore something as intriguing and mysterious as Bucky Barnes, no matter how dangerous it might be. Bucky slides one hand up from your neck to splay across your jaw, fingers pressing almost too tight into the soft skin, and you should run from this, too. A reminder, a promise, a warning. You let him.

“Are we even?” Bucky asks, mumbled into the minuscule space between you. You can’t find your voice so you just nod, and Bucky cocks his head to the side as he asks, “You can still leave, y’know. I’ll understand.”

“No way,” you say with a vigorous shake of your head, probably too quickly if Bucky’s amused smirk is anything to go by. You shut him up real quick with a roll of your hips into his, watching with a sense of victory as his expression darkens and he tightens his grip on you. You say, eyebrows raised, “I’ve still got way too many questions.”

“Like what?” Bucky asks, but he’s not got his full attention on what you’re saying anymore, too busy using his grip on your jaw to tug your head to the side and kiss up your neck, warm and open-mouthed with just a bit of teeth.

You nod your head towards the bike he was fixing before, drawing his attention for a second as he flicks his eyes in its direction before resuming his trail of bruising kisses. A bit breathy maybe, you say, “Ever fucked someone on a motorbike before?”

“Absolutely not!” you hear a male voice practically scream, and soon enough Sam is practically running out of the back office with a smirking Natasha on his tail. “This is our place of work! It’s sacred!”

“Go home, Sam,” Bucky says into your skin, still loud enough for them to hear but he doesn’t get off you. You’re blushing, making eye contact with Bucky’s friends and wishing the ground will swallow you whole but Bucky just digs his teeth into the crook of your jaw and grins as he watches your eyes flutter shut. This mixture of embarrassment and unadulterated horniness is making your brain short-circuit.

“My eyes!” Sam cries as Natasha grabs him by the wrist and drags him from the garage. Not without a wink sent your way, and you’ll find time to be humiliated by that later. Right now, you’ve got Bucky’s mouth on yours to contend with and it’s going to take all of your attention.

Part 4

~~~

let me know what yall think of this part!! THANK YOU

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yoonzinow · 3 years

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red moon - k.mg

➺ inspired by gose’s bad clue episode, mingyu tells his side of the story

• warnings and note: mentions of s*icide, death, angsty angst, the reader’s medical license should probably be taken away lol, over use of the word endearing, lots of difference from the episode, also, Jeonghan, I’m so sorry. There is a lil romantic epilogue in the end but it’s optional, I just had to because I’m too soft and I love happy endings. Sorry if it’s all of the sudden, but if I extended too much it would be too long and I’m not that creative. Again, forgive any typos and I really hope it doesn’t suck ♥

• wc: 9.9k

Your office was simple. Even if you wanted to make it feel more like home, there wasn’t much that could be done. The most you could manage to get was a tapestry hanging on the wall. Even though the inmates were cuffed during the sessions, it was still required to remove any potential harmful object, as well as strong colors or shapes that could be triggering. There weren’t any pictures, ornaments or sculptures of any kind. It was just the locker, a table and two similar chairs.

You were still standing up, waiting for him to come in. You would usually wait for the patient to choose where they sit, but this time, it wasn’t that. It was simply because you froze in place.

-Come in. – you tried not to sound as small as you felt.

After the second noise, the door opened slowly, revealing the most confusing thing you could imagine seeing.

If you’re told you’ll be meeting a criminal, a murderer, the child in your head makes this image of a monster, a creature you wouldn’t want to look in the eyes. But the moment you laid eyes on Mingyu, you saw everything. Pain, confusion, grief and something else you couldn’t yet pin point. All of that in a face sculpted by the angels themselves.

-You can have a seat. – you pointed to the table, but not a specific chair. He sat down on the one closest to him. The guards locked his handcuffs to the hook on the table and left to wait outside. You bowed lightly and waited for the door to close. Walking towards the table, you sat down. The first thought when he first looked at you was that somehow, he knew. You wondered if anything would give away, even though it was highly unlikely.

-So, first of all, how would you like me to call you?

-Mingyu is fine. And you? Doctor? Ms.? Mam? – although his words could come out as cocky, he had a boyish charm that gave him an endearing look. It was like he sat next to you in a park and was simply trying to start conversation. It was like he wasn’t in therapy to understand his crimes. You just had to decide whether it made your job harder or simply more of a challenge.

-Doctor. – you feared you sounded a bit harsh, but it was probably your mind telling you he knew.

-So tell me a little about yourself. – you put your notepad on the table and the pen on your lap, in a force of habit.

-Could you be a bit more specific, doctor? I mean, there’s a lot about me. My past, my present, my preferences, my fears. So, any particular topic I should start with? – again, he didn’t sound cocky. He was genuinely asking.

-Hum… Yeah, it’s a bit of a vague question. Let’s start differently. How are you feeling today?

Like any other patient, you didn’t immediately take notes. Most of them weren’t exactly happy for being arrested, so at first, you tried your best to avoid triggering even more anger, making them feel analyzed instead of heard. Regardless of the backstory you had, Mingyu wouldn’t be any different.

-I’m a very sensitive person. I felt different kinds of distinct emotions since I woke up. – he took a deep breath. –First, I looked around the boring cell and felt… Well, I’m not sure what the feeling was but I guess I had a quick flashback of the recent past. I was quickly interrupted by a short yet stout guard with weirdly thin eyebrows. His grumpy expression mixed with curiosity of what was waiting for me here just made me feel… - he looked around as if he was searching for the right word. –Anxious, to put it simply.

Simply. You wondered what he’d say if wording it the complex way.

-So, what did you think about this place? I mean, what did you expect it to be?

-Honestly? I had no idea, but at the same time, I guess I knew. – he showed a bit of a sad smile. – I guess… - again, he paused. He was constantly trying to find the right words. You couldn’t help but wonder if he was naturally articulated when speaking or if he simply was trying to make your job easy. –I knew it would be visually boring. Why bother decorating for this kind of people, right? – again, he smiled sadly. –But to be honest, I also wondered how I would feel like, spiritually, maybe.

Looking at him was a very interesting thing. His words were obviously heavy in meaning, but what really caught your attention was his body language. As he continued talking about his expectations, he kept smiling as if trying to convince himself that it wasn’t that bad. But he knew it was, and it wasn’t likely to get any better, at least not anytime soon. He was relaxed in his seat, at the same time, holding a firm, polite posture. Giving his medical record, it wasn’t his first time doing that, except this time, it wasn’t about how he felt, it was about what he’s done. He also showed something unknown. His expression had this sort of acceptance to it, as if he knew that his fate was already determined and there was no way back. However, that meant he had something inside that he wasn’t showing completely, and something told you that he wouldn’t. Ever.

Or maybe he did already. You just didn’t pick up.

5 weeks later

The things were going smoothly with Mingyu’s daily sessions. The problem is: you didn’t start talking about the crime itself. You decided to approach him slowly, making him feel somehow safe to open up. Even though he was talkative and cooperated most of the time, there was still something about him that wasn’t being shown. The first troubled feelings and fear that treating him would be wrong was being vanished a lot faster than you thought. Sure, sometimes it would hit you that the man in front of you killed someone you were fond of, but the professional part of you needed to go deeper. Mingyu was polite, kind, not to mention his ridiculously handsome looks. It intrigued you very, very much. How could this be the same man who murdered six people in one night?

But you knew you had to get into the part of his life that led him to this fate. It would be hard and scary, yet intriguing and fascinating.

He entered the room with a smile that was now genuine. It wasn’t that wide or cheerful, but simply out of well manners. The whole process of cuffing him to the table was finished and the guards left. It was quite soon, but you would, eventually, tell the security that the cuffs were no longer needed, as you did with every other patient whose behavior didn’t come as threatening.

-Good morning, doctor.

-Good morning. How are you today?

-The same as yesterday. – he shrugged slightly.

-Okay. – you nodded, ready to jump to the next question. – I have to ask you a question and you might think I’m a bit late for that but… how are you feeling in general, about being here? And by ‘general’ I mean both physically and mentally. How is it that you are settling in the facilities?

-Well, I understand why you took the time to ask that. Obviously the first couple of days can be terrible. But honestly? If we’re talking about the facilities and the overall routine, I can definitely say it’s not that bad. I have a lot more freedom than I thought, so do the other patients. At least the non-violent ones. I won’t say I’m happy, of course. But it could be much, much worse.

-I see. I’m glad you are settling in. Have you made any acquaintances yet?

-I did, actually. I usually have long talks with this older lady when we have the common room time. And I’m also very close with this kid called Hiro, you know him?

-No, not really. He’s not with me. In fact, I don’t really recall that name. Is he Japanese?

-Nope. – he emphasized the ‘p’, amused with the story. –I actually don’t know his name, but that’s what he wants to be called. He doesn’t really talk about his past that much but he wants to leave it behind. So he decided he will be the man he wished he was. He chose his own name and his story began here, so he doesn’t really feel like he’s been locked up, but simply lives here? Don’t know if you got it but yeah. He’s a lot of fun to be around.

You never heard of that patient but you heard similar stories from the other doctors, since it was a huge facility with a lot of professionals, there was no way one could know about every case.

-I’m glad. I hope you can keep up. I heard you were very cooperative last Friday on the game night. You helped a lot before and after cleaning up. Does it feel good to be helpful?

-Yes, it does. – his response came quickly with the most adorable smile you have ever seen, making him look like a proud child. It made your heart clench a little, because you knew the course of the conversation was to bring no reason to smile.

-So, tell me. How do you feel about talking about your past? – you tried to be as careful as possible, not wanting to crash down the amused aura he had previously.

-Honestly? Not great. But also, I was kind of prepared. It’s therapy for inmates, of course I’d have to talk eventually.

His words felt like lots of pounds taken from your back. Mingyu showed himself as more and more mature as time went by and you couldn’t be more satisfied. He knew what you were doing, and he was by no means confused or scared. Sure, talking about the amount of abuse he had to face wouldn’t be a pleasant thing to do, but he knew it was the right thing to do in order to let you do your job.

-That’s true. It’s a very good thing that you know it’s a vital step for us. So, is it okay if I ask you some questions now?

He only nodded.

-Do you understand why you’re here? Not in the office, in the Hospital. – he pouted slightly, but you continued. – You don’t have to explain or tell me in detail. Just tell me if you understand.

-Yes, I do. I mean, I know why. Not sure if I comprehend, but I understand.

You liked the way he worded it. In fact, every single one of his sentences was captivating in their own way.

-Alright. We’ll get back to it later. But I have another question. Where do you think you should be right now? – you were genuinely curious about his answer. You feared he would say something harmful, or go to a more generic path and try to make you feel bad about him, but once again, he took a different turn from which you would expect.

-I should be in a loving home, in the company of a family, or, at least, of people that care about me. Oddly enough, I think I deserve it.

-I don’t think it’s odd. Everybody deserves it. You can say it with confidence.

-Isn’t it, though? I mean, I had family. But look where we are now. Do I really deserve a family that loves me if I got rid of the one I had?

You were in loss of words. He was one step ahead of you, as if he knew already the whole process. Half of you wanted to say to the board: ‘’Okay, tell the judge this man has no need for therapy, because he is more aware of this own emotions than any person declared sane you ever seen.’’

But the other half… That one had this little voice saying it was a matter of time before you found something lurking, waiting to jump on you and make all of your work go to waste.

-Before everything that happened, did you feel for those who were your relatives any kind of emotion that resembles a family kind of notion?

He thought for a minute, surprisingly, not giving you a quick response.

-Well, you can say that. I felt some kind of safety, but not the emotional kind. It was like… If I got into an accident or something, someone would be there to pay the hospital bills and such. It’s not the warm kind of safety but I guess it counts.

So does my insurance company, you thought. -Did you feel loved?

-I guess I’ll never know. I don’t know what if feels like to be loved, so I don’t really have anything to compare with.

Your heart broke a little by hearing his words. Whether he was a great actor or he was simply lonely. Completely, utterly, devastatingly lonely.

-So, what did yo- before you could finish your question, a screeching sound came from the speakers, making you jump from your seat.

-What was that? – Mingyu covered his ears with a pained expression from the disturbing noise.

-An inmate escaped. All of the doors will be locked for a while. – you tried to sound calm but it was always stressing when the sirens went off.

-How the fuck did someone escape? Seriously, there are more guards than prisoners here.

-It’s fine, they can’t go too far. It’s all the same security system all over the facility. The electrical fences automatically increase in voltage.

You didn’t actually think Mingyu would try to escape, but you chose to remind him there was no use trying. Getting off of a cell wasn’t impossible, or escaping from kitchen duty, maybe. Escaping the Hospital was a whole different story. So, it was better to just enforce the information to him.

Soon, a second noise, a shorter one was heard, signaling the inmate was found. However, the session had to be stopped. Every patient must go back to their room once someone tries to escape, for head count.

-As the door opens, the guards will come get you and you’ll go back to your room. I’ll have to warn you, though, they might get a little rough. These attempts of escaping make them a bit angry, just so you prepare for some sort of aggression. Don’t worry, they won’t hurt you, I wouldn’t let them anyway. But they do get a little…

-I get it. – he looked at you with an understanding complexion. –Thank you for warning me.

But were you really warning him? Or you were trying to prepare yourself to a potential scene of him being treated badly?

Mingyu didn’t have his sessions for the next two days after the attempt of escaping of a patient. All of them were put in some sort of lockdown, as an indirect warning. Later that day, he would be coming back, and you were strangely excited. You told yourself over and over again that it was only because you were still curious about the story he was about to tell you, but deep down, you knew there was something else. You could almost say you missed him, even though it was a terrible thing to even think about.

You just needed some time to cool down, so you chose a nice, calm walk through the garden. Everything was back to normal, so it wouldn’t be that boring to walk through the hospital.

The Sun was shining in its full glory, making everything around you seem brighter and more alive. You felt warm inside and out. A few older patients were sitting on a wooden bench, not really talking much, just admiring it all. Some younger ones were cleaning up and looking around.

At the back, there was this little area with a fairy garden kind of vibe. There were flower spirals and two swings, always busy with someone playing like a child. It made you giggle.

However, your smile faltered and you stopped in your tracks. There he was, sitting on the grass, admiring a humming bird kissing a flower.

As a patient called your name, his attention was brought to you. A girl with a shy smile and a flower in her hair came to you.

-Good morning doctor. It’s been a while! – she signaled you to come closer and used her hand to cover her mouth as if she didn’t want anyone else to hear. –To be honest, my current doctor has nothing on you.

You chuckled a little.

-Well, I hope you get along eventually. But for the record, I miss you. – you winked a little. –By the way, you look stunning. – you pointed at her hair.

-Oh. – she reached for the flower and put it on the back of your ear. –Now you look stunning too.

-Oh my, thank you so much! – you smiled widely, with warmth coming from your heart. –But what about you?

-I look pretty without it too. – she covered her mouth as she chuckled. –But if I want another flower, I know where to get it. She walked away, bouncing a little as she happily returned to the people she was playing with. As you brought your attention back to Mingyu, you saw him smiling, fond of the scene that he just saw. You wondered if you should go talk to him or just wave and leave. Apparently, your legs made that choice for you, seeing as you were already walking towards him.

-You look very good. – he said, admiring your features.

-You like my new gift? – you smiled, pointing at the flower you just got.

-I do, I do. – his look became a bit more serious. –But it’s not all. You look… I don’t know. You’re kind of glowing.

You gulped hard. In your sessions, you had your ways of being stern and diverting the situation, but there, just hanging out on the garden, you weren’t sure how to react. Luckily, he didn’t let you wonder too hard and just changed the topic.

-Your patients really admire you, huh? – he asked and motioned his head to his side, silently asking you to sit down.

You straightened your medical coat and sat next to him in the grass.

-It does make me really happy to think so.

He nodded in agreement.

-Me included, doctor. – his voice was small, barely audible.

-I’m sorry? – you asked in hopes he wouldn’t say something that could make you blush. The natural light would make it impossible to cover.

-I admire you. As a professional, of course. – it was endearing how he made sure his words weren’t misunderstood. You just hated the fact that you were expecting something else. –And trust me, -he continued- I have been to a lot of doctors. You listen to me, like really listen. To this person right here, not the boy they wrote I am on that medical record. I never felt the need of showing the real one to anyone because nobody would understand. That is until I met you. I feel safer being with you for this past weeks than I ever felt with doctors that treated me for months.

You completely froze. His words gave you a million sensations all at once, making all of what you thought about your job go to waste. You were a professional, you should be glad that you were doing your job properly. But this? This was affecting you in a completely personal level. It was the pride of achievement, except, not labor related. It was the good feeling of having a special place in the mind of someone you were growing fond of.

Maybe it started slowly, or maybe there was this one moment when one of his sweet words penetrated your soul and made you see something you haven’t before with a patient. It was this hunger for more, this need of understanding that man and even a bit of anxiety to find reasons to de criminalize him. Maybe you were growing the same affection you did in every case, only seeing it more intensely for some reason. Or, in the worst case scenario, you were happy you made him happy. Because you wanted him to be happy.

Not only cured, but happy.

You thought about a million words to use but none of those would hide your fear. You knew that a single word could make you look guilty, for something you were yet to find out.

-It’s almost lunch time. I have to go fill some papers but I’ll see you later, yeah? – you stood up quickly, shaking any piece of grass out of you. -Can’t wait. – he showed you his smile, as sweet as everything else about Kim Mingyu.

It was a nurse’s birthday, which explained the buzz and laughter coming from the staff’s kitchen.

-Oh, hey doctor.

You turned around to see whose voice was calling you. It was dr. Byeon, one of the older doctors. He was a nice old man, but didn’t talk much. Usually, the older doctors would have the that superiority complex, always saying they knew better. DR. Byeon, however, had faith in the next generations. He tried to teach the younger ones subtly, not wanting any credit.

-Dr. Byeon. – you bowed and smiled at the old man. –How are you doing today, sir?

He chuckled a little, probably not used to others going for small talk. That was a heavy energy place, but you tried to make the people around you feel more at ease. He liked that.

-I am doing just fine. In case you didn’t notice, I have a piece of cake I’m about to eat. – he giggled, happily looking at the chocolate cake in the plate he was holding. –There are fancier ones from big bakeries, but this one here was made by our beloved Nana. - He was referring to one of the most admired workers of the place, a sweet and kind old lady that worked at the kitchen since 30 years ago.

-Oh, don’t mind if I do. I’m with you on this one, sir. Nothing can beat our Nana’s baking, right?

Dr. Byeon smiled at your words, and then back to his cake.

-Well, I must go find some cake before it’s all gone. – you told him and he nodded.

-You should, sweetheart. There are a lot of delicious food there. Go eat it, I can see your bones! – he joked dramatically.

-Oh really? So you have X-Ray vision, sir? –you asked and both of you laughed.

-Alright, I’ll take something and leave because I have work soon.

-Yes, yes. – dr. Byeon nodded.

-It was very nice seeing you, doctor! –you walked away but after a couple of steps, he called your name once again. When you looked back, he started speaking again.

-There is something different about you lately. – he said.

You tilted your head to the side, trying to remember if you had a haircut or something visible. Maybe you were more tired than usual and your eye bags weren’t at all forgiving.

-Me? How so? I don’t think I have done anything unusual, my last haircut has a while ago.

-No, no. It’s not that. You are… glowing, one could say?

Your expression was clearly a confused one, so he snapped you out of any worries.

-Don’t worry, it’s a good thing! If anything, you look happy. – he waved a little and left you first. You stood there for a second, with nothing much to think.

It has to be a good thing, right?

Mingyu’s POV

As he heard the sound of the main door to the dorms open, he started to get out of his bed where he just took an afternoon nap, or at least tried. He knew his session would be happening soon, so sleep was out of question.

Mingyu knew that the sound meant the guard was coming to take him to you, which left a bittersweet sensation inside of him. Part of him was excited, like a kid about to open Christmas presents, because he knew that he would enter the room and you would be there, waiting for him. Sometimes, you were doodling on the last page of your notebook and closed it very quickly when they showed up. But your eyes would always find his first. You would greet the guards as well, but you would always look at him first. The other part of him, however, couldn’t stand still. He knew that you would start talking about his past and actions, but he also knew the answers were needed.

The thing is: Mingyu felt like such a fool. You wanted to see him happy because that was your job, but he wanted to see you happy because your smile was the most endearing thing he ever laid eyes on. Maybe it was all in his head and your eyes didn’t light up with his presence, but if in some universe it was true, he would be risking losing it. Of course, you knew how many people he killed, but hearing in details, knowing their names and stories might as well make you disgusted, and just the thought of losing the shine of your smile made him sick.

Or maybe… It’ll explain it all.

The corridor to your office was long, but there were a lot of entertaining things to see. There were other offices from other doctors and also different utility rooms, such as the game room, where the elders would play cards and board games, or the daycare, where the children of the employers would stay occasionally. It was a little weird to have that in a place with constant transit of handcuffed people, but he didn’t read too much into it.

When he finally arrived the thick metal door, there was that annoying screech he grew to enjoy, since it meant his session would start. Except that day, it almost made his heart jump out of his ribcage.

There you were, radiant as always. If not more.

This time, unlike others, when the guard approached to cuff him to the table, you stopped him.

-It’s okay, we won’t need it today. – you nodded politely to the guard, who only responded with a look that said something like ’suit yourself’’.

Mingyu’s heart once again beat alarmingly fast. You trusted he wouldn’t try anything, which he knew was true, but knowing that you believed it gave him a comforting warmth he hadn’t felt in a while.

He smiled in a silent ‘’thank you’’.

-I know we saw each other earlier today but I’d like to ask officially. How are you today? – you started as soon as the guards left.

-Honestly? I’m pretty nervous. – Mingyu knew there was no reason to deny it any further, so he chose to be straight forward.

-Hmm, and why is that? – you wrote something on the notebook, and it was one of the first times he was actually curious to know what it was.

-Last time our session was interrupted in a very crucial moment for me. And for you, I believe.

Mingyu was noticeably showing the relieve of being free of the cuffs, by making gestures and occasionally biting his nails.

-It was, it was… -you agreed and continued. –But are you okay to continue? Actually, to start?

With a dry throat and no idea of the right answer, he nodded.

-Where should I start? Will you ask me a specific question? – Mingyu asked and you perked an eyebrow.

-I could but… is there anything in particular you think I should know? – you leaned your elbows on the table and cradled your face in both hands, like a plead for a nugget. –If you only had a few seconds and sentences to explain what happened, what would you say?

Mingyu thought for a second. Sure, he wanted to see you happy, he wanted you to like him, but he didn’t really know what would be better. The truth, in his head, was crystal clear. But in yours, it could be read differently, or you simply wouldn’t believe. After pondering his options, he decided to tell you the truth. If anyone could understand it, it had to be you.

-I would say that I am not sick, troubled or crazy. I was faced with a situation that was basically a test to my patience. There was no mastermind planning to kill people for fun. It was only a moment of weakness that I regret very, very much. It was a risky move. The thing about being diagnosed ‘’crazy’’ is that no matter what you say next, will only make it worse, specially saying you’re okay. Maybe the majority of your patients would tell you they are not mentally ill, but there was this deep hope inside of him that you knew it was the truth. Something in your eyes made him believe that you saw the real boy sitting in front of you and that you would feel the truth to his words.

And every single bit of his sentence was true, specially the part about there not being mastermind behind the crimes. At least not for murder. That day, Mingyu told you his perspective of the story and could only pray you believed him, or else he might as well stop believing himself.

His childhood was no different from kids with rich families with secrets. He walked in angry phone calls and arguments when playing around the mansion he lived in as a kid, but since he was so young, nobody ever tried to distract him.

His relationship with his father wasn’t anything out of the usual. He was pretty busy and since his mother was no longer alive, Mingyu only had half of the parental attention, but this isn’t unusual.

At the age of five, Mingyu was too young to understand what happened to his father. The scene he walked in was devastating, but he only felt it in is instincts, that his father wasn’t okay. It took him some explanation, as well as you can explain to a child, but of course, with many excuses and holes he would only notice years later. By then, there were people making sure the story he would be telling later wouldn’t be validated.

Mingyu knew you were waiting for a story on how he planned the death of all those men. But the truth was: it wasn’t at all planned.

Even though Jeonghan knew he was the favorite son, it wasn’t enough for him. He never really liked the fact that he would always be the bastard and that would never change. Mingyu liked to have an uncle so close to his age. He and Jeonghan always played together as kids, but once Mingyu lost his father, they became closer, having more of a sibling relationship than anything. The boys had their discoveries and growth together, sharing everything. As they grew older, some stuff became a lot clearer. There were pieces of the story that wouldn’t fit, but they were now old enough to contest it.

The first thing Mingyu discovered was the abuse his father suffered from his grandfather. Even though he too was dead, Mingyu couldn’t help but feel betrayed, since he admired his grandfather with all his heart.

As time went by, Mingyu discovered more and more dirt on the family and their employers. They needed to find out which one of the sides was true, and if any of their doings and lies were justifiable. So they planned, not a murder, but a confrontation.

Mingyu and Jeonghan made sure all of the involved were invited to the gathering on the mansion, so they could force the truth out of them. That night, they would lock everyone in and start trying to solve the whole mess the family was involved in.

Mingyu and Jeonghan planned everything carefully. There would be a gathering at the mansion with all of the people involved somehow on the family scandal hidden up until then. So they made fancy invitations and made sure everything would go according to plan. The workers would be dismissed for the night and the guests would only be released once they confessed. It wasn’t anything out of the law technically. Unethical, maybe.

The day came and everything was ready to start. However, a few hours before the event, there was something that changed the entire course of the plan. Without telling Mingyu, Jeonghan hired a private investigator whose discoveries had been kept to himself until he found out the whole truth. But the detective chose to reveal it all in the night they would rip the truth from their mouth. Mingyu knew his family wasn’t perfect, but he didn’t think things would go that far.

The one Mingyu knew the most was his uncle Seokmin, who was relatively present in his life. Maybe it was the guilt for knowing how much Mingyu’s father suffered, since he was abused as well, both physically and mentally. That night, Mingyu realized the damage his grandfather caused: unlike his dad, Seokmin did not let himself lose the will to live. Instead, he turned the pain into something bad. The only thing he lost was his ability to care, and that is how he became the monster his father was. All the mess began with him, once he planned to murder his father to have his fortune. Also, deep down, to get his revenge. The only thing is: his father was killed before he could do it himself.

But his uncle wasn’t alone, and wasn’t the only one getting profit from the death of the president Kim Taesang.

At that point, Mingyu still thought the death of his grandfather had been an accident. Even though Seokmin wasn’t the one who killed him, he still intended to do so, except he lost his opportunity.

Kwon Soonyoung wouldn’t miss anything related to crimes, especially the ones involving corruption. A while back, the rumors that a coup was being set against the bSK board started to spread, and the reporter Kwon, of course, was there. There were a lot of suspects and too much money involved, which is why it was surprising that all of the sudden, Kwon Soonyoung stopped investigating. Back then, it wasn’t given that much attention, but giving the amount of effort Soonyoung would put in similar cases, it was extremely out of the ordinary.

Xu Minghao was the vice-president, and that made him one of the first suspects when the corruption scandal blew up. After a while, he managed to prove he wasn’t involved. That, however, was the only thing he was innocent from. The reasons why Minghao reached his position were far from noble, including a mountain of lies, blackmailing and other dirty doings. He wasn’t planning on steal the company per say, but he was guilty for throwing the dirt on the president, the dirt he planned himself. His relationship with Seokmin was good, better than the one he had with the president Kim. It would be a lot easier to take him down later so he had to make sure Seokmin took the spot. Minghao was too intelligent to simply plan a way to get rid of the president, so instead, he manipulated others to do his dirty work. He made sure Seokmin got the signs, being encouraged to dethrone his father. How would Seokmin get rid of the president? That didn’t matter to Minghao.

There were no innocent victims that night, but the person least deserving of his faith was the secretary Chwe. Chwe Hansol was a young man, who wasn’t too ambitious. He didn’t aim too high, yet, he didn’t want to lose what he already had.

Even though he started working for bSK at a very young age, he owned the trust and respect from president Kim. Eventually, Hansol was aware of what was happening and the abuse he used to cause his own sons. Hansol was also aware of the unethical ways bSK would profit, but kept silent about everything. So his destiny was set not by what he did, but what he didn’t do.

The plan was to find out what they had done to later decide what they would do about it. Except they now knew the story and, in a few hours, the men in question would be knocking on the door.

In the course of the next 43 minutes, hell broke loose between Kim Mingyu and Yoon Jeonghan. And that’s when it all started to go wrong.

Mingyu was telling the story looking at any flat surface, as if he was trying to visualize his memories in front of him. The words just spilled out of his mouth like they have been trapped for years. He was completely vulnerable as he shared the events of the worst night of his life. Most of the time, he kept his hands on his lap, circling his thumbs one around the other, again and again, sometimes, alternating the order. He sounded disappointed at himself, but somehow relieved. He considered the possibility of never telling the truth, because no one would believe him, and also, because of the guilt of saying it out loud and confirming to himself and to the world that he became a monster for a moment. And that moment would remain forever.

-What did you plan on doing when they got there? – you tried to sound calm and use the same tone you would in any situation and any ordinary topic. You needed him to feel like no matter what he said, you would not stop helping him.

-At first, when we first got the idea, we would corner them and try to force the truth out of them. Up until earlier that day, that was the plan. But Jeonghan’s news catch me by surprise. He was working with a private investigator called Lee Jihoon. This investigator found out all of the crimes committed by the company and their employers and sent it to Jeonghan. – you could see Mingyu getting more anxious, like he was circling the topic to finally reach the climax.

-Okay. What was the new plan? – you tried to hide the slight hesitation in your voice, showing confidence in your questionnaire.

-You know what it was. – the sentence itself was intimidating, but as Mingyu voiced it, it sounded nothing but embarrassing. And then he continued.

The night of the crime

-We have to call it off. Now that we know all of that, what are we supposed to say? All of that was planned so we could confront them, Jeonghan. What now? Shouldn’t we just leave it to the cops? – Mingyu was begging for his uncle who was sitting with his elbows on the arms of the chair, the tip of the big envelope touching his lips.

Jeonghan scoffed. –You are too naïve. Don’t you see? These people are bad, they have money and influence. What do you have? What do we have? The bastard and the crazy boy. What a great team.

-Crazy boy. That’s what you think of me? – Mingyu didn’t mean to sound as disappointed as he did.

-No, not at all. At least not me. Look, the little fucker I hired, Jihoon, - Jeonghan opened a smaller envelope that was on the top of the table. – he got his hands on your medical record. Wanna see it? – Mingyu wasn’t pleased with Jeonghan’s snobby tone but took the envelope from his hands.

The words written on it would stick to him forever. No matter what Mingyu said he saw, nobody would believe him. He was said to have multiple disorders and a person with no capacity to live without constant supervision. He was labeled as insane by the family doctor.

The moment Mingyu mentioned the name of Jeon Wonwoo, you curled your fingers inside the pocket of your coat. You bit the inside of your cheek, trying desperately not to show emotions that were any different from the other names of the involved. It was a confusing feeling. A part of you thought, at first, that you would be secretly angry at Mingyu. At that point, you had no idea anymore. You were no longer afraid of it or him, but you were, to be honest, of your own feelings. Somehow and at some point it shifted all the way around. You wanted the closure to why Wonwoo was killed, but that moment, what you wanted the most was for Mingyu to give you a reason why he didn’t deserve to be there. You wanted not to be angry with Mingyu, but deep down you knew and it scared the shit out of you: no matter what he said, there was no way you wouldn’t be able to forgive him if I asked you once.

-I never understood why my family insisted on such a young doctor. When that guy was finishing med school, my family offered to help him pay his loans in exchange for him to work for them full time. The only answer to why is how easy it would be to manipulate him. The amount of money they would pay? He would do and say anything. Including invalidating me for the rest of the world. One word from him and pft. There goes my sanity. I could swear he needed to go through residency first before being able to diagnose me officially, but apparently there is a whole lot of shit that can’t be explained but can be bought.

You gulped as you listened. Mingyu was tired, was defeated. But he kept his chin up, continuing his story.

-But he wanted more. That’s when he formed some sort of alliance with my uncle and his attorney, Hong Jisoo, or Joshua, as he was known. The three of them had a plan, to poison my grandfather by using his simple sleeping medication mixed with another drug, making it lethal and easily looking like an accident. It would be pretty much undetected by exams, making it the perfect crime. But luckily for them, someone was faster. My grandfather died before they could kill him.

-How did your grandfather die, if I may ask?

-He was murdered. The amount of people wanting to kill you shall tell you the kind of person you are. That’s Kim Taesang for you.

-The prescriptions weren’t used. The drugs weren’t taken from the pharmacy. In fact, it wasn’t the same used to kill grandfather. They didn’t kill him, then who did? – Mingyu was still in shock about all the information, dizzy and blood pumping furiously on his chest.

-That means nothing. They could have changed their plan, change their method. I don’t care. And even if they didn’t kill him, they wanted to.

Mingyu wanted to believe Jeonghan had a point and he had the right to be angry, he really did. But it was too much information and so little time. They tried to place more than Mingyu could handle inside of him and there was no way it could end up well.

-Mingyu, you, me and my mother are the only people that could be called family. Now that my mother is gone, we only have each other. –Jeonghan was now hovering over Mingyu, who was sitting on the floor with his head on his hands. He was hyperventilating, crying and confused. –They are evil. They will keep doing those things if we don’t put a stop to it.

Mingyu raised his head and looked at Jeonghan with sad, red eyes.

-How do we stop them?

-That was one of the most frustrating things I ever felt. My uncle, my best friend. He was sitting there, trying to convince me that killing them was the right thing to do. And I was weak and agreed with him. No one would believe us. So we needed to do it fast.

You had too many questions you couldn’t ask, so you just let him keep talking.

-We would give them the same poison uncle Seokmin, dr. Wonwoo and Joshua would use on my grandfather. Only we would also take it, but a smaller dose, enough to put us to sleep for a few hours until the workers came back. We would give one of them an intermediate dose, so maybe he would survive and make the thing less suspicious, or so he would die in the hospital. It would be the secretary Hansol, probably. All of the confrontation went out the window. Instead, we just needed to make them thirsty.

-Thirsty? – you voiced and raised your eyebrow.

-Well, we put the drug on the water, so we needed all of them to drink willingly, in case there were survivors for some reason. We turned down the humidifier to make it extra dry inside and served spicy food.

-Oh, I see. But something went wrong, I suppose? I mean, your uncle Jeonghan died as well. Did you choose to kill him too? – there was a chance all of that story was bullshit and Mingyu killed them all after planning alone, trying to blame Jeonghan instead. But why would he only tell you in confidence? To manipulate you?

You needed more answers, so you waited.

-It wasn’t planned at all. I was nervous and scared and almost giving up. But they came in and I couldn’t back up anymore. If I told them the truth that moment, I would be locked up for good. So, guess who was there?

You shook your head ‘no’, waiting for him to say it.

-Lee Jihoon. – Mingyu sounded disappointed with himself, rubbing the bridge of his nose. – That moment I realized Jeonghan already planned that before. He cornered me to agree with his plan because he needed help, and he gave me no time to tell anyone, that’s why he waited until only hours before the guests came. The investigator knew the whole story and he also knew Jeonghan was the one who hired him. When the news of their deaths showed up eventually, Jihoon would put two and two together. That was clear now. Jeonghan had planned that. – So I was ready to confront him when I overheard his conversation with Xu Minghao. He voiced clearly how much he despised my grandfather for lying about funding the payment for his mother medical treatment. He purposefully neglected her and it got her killed. The anger in his eyes got me thinking and I was almost sure Jeonghan was the one who killed my grandfather.

Mingyu took a deep breath and you knew he was about to tell you the crucial part of the story.

-I was a wreck, I had no idea how to fix that. If told everyone, I’m pretty sure Jeonghan would also make me look crazy. And then… then I saw it. Jeonghan was putting the mixture on my drink. Not the sleeping pills like he said he would. He couldn’t have any loose ends so he chose to kill me too. – a single tear slid down his cheek, followed by many others. His next sentence was messy and interrupted by hiccups as he started sobbing. –He was the only person I had, you know? And to see him trying to poison me, I mean… How could he do that? – he sniffed and rubbed his eyes like a child trying to stop crying. – At that moment I saw red. I completely blacked out from reality and I realized I had nothing left. So I changed our cups when he wasn’t looking and I watched him swallow his own venom.

You did the one thing you know you shouldn’t. Instead of handing him a tissue, you stood up and cradled him in your arms. He turned around instantly and wrapped his hands around you, burring his head on your chest. Why the fuck would I do that?

Seeing the state Mingyu was in opened a hole on the floor under your feet and you felt like your heart could burst at any second. To see the pain on that boy messed with your insides, making you throw your values out the barred window.

You kneeled on the floor next to him and dried a random tear falling from his eyes. You wanted to dry them all.

-I didn’t take my drink. – he said in a small voice.

You stood up and got back on your seat.

-I’m sorry?

-I didn’t do what Jeonghan planned. You know, to take a sleeping pill and pretend I was a survivor. – he looked deep inside your eyes. - Doctor, where would I go from there? I had no family. I had nothing and I knew nothing about life. I had no idea of what to do with my life and I knew I would never be able to forgive myself. I didn’t want the fortune, the presidency or whatever. I didn’t want to be alone and I lost the little I had. It was the wise choice to tell the truth. Well, most of it. So I hid some valuable objects in case I needed some money eventually and then I called the cops. It was awful. They treated me like an animal who didn’t understand human language. I didn’t bother telling anyone all of it and I expect you to keep it between us. No one will ever believe me, doctor, not even you I’m afraid. But I would never sleep properly again unless I trusted someone with this. So, thank you. I will lay me head on my pillow tonight and it will much, much lighter.

You heard him. You respected his secret and kept it with yourself. However, you didn’t promise him you would sit and wait. It was no longer about admiring him in a different way. Or maybe it was, maybe you were completely unprofessional and let yourself be manipulated, but either way, you made a decision not to stop until the world saw the Mingyu you saw.

It was a hard, a lot harder than you would ever think. It took three months for the board to keep track of Mingyu’s progress and your statements to finally get his case another trial. You had the help from an old time friend who was a lawyer, who walked you through the whole process. First, you stopped your sessions, putting Mingyu in a group therapy. You still talked on the garden where you would watch the humming birds. You tried not to tell him too much so he wouldn’t get his hopes up.

After four more months, his case was finally solved. Mingyu managed to open up to other doctors, realizing that yes, people might not believe you, but that shouldn’t keep you from telling the truth. He was being heard by other people, not only you, but that didn’t change the fact that it was you the one to wake that inside of him, the feeling that there was something for him out there, and that’s what he kept in mind as he walked away, finally free.

here comes the romantic ending, it’s completely optional though ♡

It was a lovely night, that one. It was only a few days after Mingyu’s discharge and you were over the moon. You knew you saved people from their own demons, but the feeling of bringing justice to Kim Mingyu was like nothing you ever felt before.

You could feel the night breeze coming from the windows and shaking the curtains, and watched as your cat played with a little plushy he was obsessed with. You were on your way to the bathroom to shower when someone knocked on your door.

Standing there, wearing a fluffy beige knit sweater was Mingyu. His smile was different, wider and more alive. Seeing him without the white uniform from the hospital was something else and you couldn’t keep your eyes off of him.

-You look amazing. – the words slipped out of your lips before you realized.

-Thank you. – he gave you a cheeky, boyish smile. –I feel amazing. Although, there is something bothering me. I never got to say thank you.

-You don’t have to. I wish the world could apologize to you, though.

-Yah, stop saying nonsense. You have done more for me than the world. Just a little bit over a month you saw me and you trusted me. You listened to me in a human way, not only as a doctor. I used to believe that every day, but I tried to keep it real to myself. You were doing your job but… a part of me had hopes that you were seeing me. Me, not your patient. I would never cross that line before but I have to ask you.

-Ask me what? – your words were shaky, like the rest of your body. You were getting dizzy in the best way. It was like a childish, innocent feeling.

-Did you see me, for a moment, as anything other than a patient?

His eyes were wide, like his life depended on your answer.

-No, not for a moment. – his eyes fell to the floor, but before he could get too embarrassed, you continued, not realizing how bad the timing for the pause was. –Not one moment, but all of them.

That night, you shared your first kiss. In the moment his lips touched yours, you believe heaven has sent that man to you. You would never know if it was worth the trouble it could get you, the issues you would face and the way the world would look at it, at him, at you. All you knew was that Kim Mingyu had been mistreated by the world. He made a mistake, a big one that would never go away. He would still pay for it for a long time, but at that moment, the only thing he knew was that right there, by your side, he was finally feeling his place on the world, like he might actually deserve a chance to be happy.

-Won’t you lose your job because of me? – he asked, later that night.

-No. I mean, I’m not sure but… let’s not think about it now, okay?

-Okay. – he blinked a couple of times before closing his eyes and dozing off.

You asked for your vacation. You had three weeks and decided to do something different. By then, no one really knew about you and Mingyu going out. Even though you were early in the relationship, getting to know each other better, you were bonding more and more. It all happened fast, but you were not afraid, not even one bit. You came to learn that Mingyu wasn’t just a lost boy. He was an intelligent man who struggled a lot with his feelings, mostly because he didn’t feel like he was entitled to have a say on stuff.

You decided to go to the countryside with him. So both of you packed and drove all the way to the lodge you had been told about by a friend. It was in a smaller town, but still had a fair amount of buildings and stores, making it a very pleasing place to go around. The place you would be staying was a hostel owned by a couple in their 60’s. There were a few wooden cabins, two floor each with a smaller space on the top floor. The insides were cozy and warm, like the whole atmosphere of the moment. The wooden chair near the balcony on the top floor had a beautiful view to the lake nearby, with a stunning sunset.

-I could live here forever. –you said as you were about to fall asleep, your head buried on the crook of his neck, both of you under a blanket.

-Tell me about it. I don’t think I’m a city boy. This, right here, is heaven.

You had been staying there for a week and a half and you were pretty sure you weren’t leaving. You didn’t really have anything other than your job keeping you in the city, and you never felt more at ease than you had been in that small city.

You woke up and Mingyu was no longer in bed. Confused, you got out of the bed and went to the balcony. You were welcomed with the sight of the owner of the place showing Mingyu how to ride a tractor. He was laughing, happy. It was a genuine image, so special it almost rid of your head completely the image of the lonely boy in a prison uniform. That guy was still there, but he was blooming and that made your heart skip a beat.

You repeated to yourself silently.

I could live here forever.

2 YEARS LATER

Mingyu was still visiting doctors, going to therapy and being supervised by the local social workers. When he was done, he rushed to the construction utilities store he worked part time and rushed home to start his shift at the hostel. Mr. Jung, the owner, was very fond of Mingyu. The moment you and him both showed interest in moving to the city, he offered to help, showing everything around and offering Mingyu a job as a handyman in exchange for a place on a small cabin used by the eventual keepers, which he no longer needed. You moved after you found a job at the local hospital working with children in early stages of mental illness, wanting to prevent more kids from having their childhood traumas haunt them in the future.

Eventually, he found out about your relationship with Jeon Wonwoo. It wasn’t easy, it took a few days for him to process it all. Some part of him felt like you would wake up one day and realize you could never forgive him, but you made sure to remind him every day that you loved him with all your heart and that would never change.

It was already getting dark, but you probably were home already. Mingyu came home from the store and walked towards the little house he was now living. There were no maids, no luxury, nothing fancy. But there you were, playing with your cat and the now grown puppy you found abandoned in the road almost a year ago, sitting on the floor, legs crossed and the small dog jumping, trying to catch a toy in your hand. The way you would always run to him when you saw him coming home was enough to make Mingyu tear up. He felt all of the love he never got in his life in a single look, a single kiss, a single smile. He was happy, completely, entirely happy.

He knew he had done something bad. Still, Mingyu couldn’t help but wonder what amazing thing he could have possibly done to deserve to feel all of that love. It was dark once, but the clouds eventually disappeared and the sky was finally clear again. The blood moon was gone, but unlike the celestial event, it wouldn’t come back anytime soon.

a/n: that’s it! It’s a lot shorter than I thought it would be. Well, I kind of went through a dr. harleen quinzel vibe of ‘’she thought she was curing him but she was falling in love’’ in this, except mingyu is a good boy. I am very, VERY nervous to post but what the heck, let’s do this :D

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rainbowserenity · 4 years

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warning: this is basically pwp. I tried to give it something of a plot, but uh........the smut is just overpowering lmao I’m sorry ahhhhhhhhHHHH

The thing was, they were supposed to hate each other.

It had, naturally, been her manager’s idea, born from a moment Lightning saw as a minor irritation. She’d arrived well before the call time of her shoot, only have to have Fang shove a tablet in her face.

Lightning was used to looking at photos of herself. She was, after all, a model – one of the most sought out ones in the industry, according to her agent, and was the current face of luxury fashion brand LV. It was weird if she thought about it too hard.

This particular photo, however, was a candid shot taken at a party the night before. She hadn’t wanted to go, but apparently the world would have ended if she’d missed it.

Now she wished she’d listened to her gut.

“Look at this!” Fang had exclaimed. “Someone caught you lookin’ all pissed off!”

She wasn’t sure who had taken the photo, but it was a perfectly captured moment after some silver-haired man had spilled red wine on her dress. Lightning admittedly hadn’t paid much attention to who had done it, mostly because she’d finally had a perfect excuse to leave.

Apparently she hadn’t left fast enough.

“So?”

“So? So?” Fang barked out a laugh. “You got any idea who messed up your outfit?”

“I’m sure I don’t care.”

“Hope Estheim!”

The name hadn’t rung a bell at all, but according to Fang, this man – Hope – was an up-and-coming fellow model who was the new face of Pradya, another overpriced luxury brand. It’d been LV’s rival in the industry for years.

“So?” Lightning echoed.

Fang had been completely exasperated with this reaction. “Hello? Face of the opposing brand spilling wine on your expensive outfit? People are gonna see this and think rivalry. We’ll get the whole world talkin’ about you two!”

“And?”

“And in a season or two, LV and Pradya will do a sort of collaboration – with you and Hope as the faces! Public interest will skyrocket. I’m brilliant, yeah?”

Lightning had been trying to follow, but it was difficult. “So he’s supposed to be my...rival?” She rolled her eyes. “Do you have any idea how stupid that sounds?”

“You’ll be thankin’ me later. Just do what I say.”

“Right.”

–

So Lightning did what she was told.

The ‘rivalry’ was set up during the next few months. She was forbidden to interact with Hope in any way – not that their paths crossed at all – and when asked about the photo of him spilling wine on her during interviews, she was supposed to act haughty and annoyed while somehow implying that LV was superior.

It was ridiculous, but considering she didn’t know the guy at all, it was easy to just go about her day and not think about it too much, though she did wonder if Hope found the whole thing as stupid as she did.

And then came the end-of-season party.

It was huge, as usual, with tons of her fellow models and lots of important people in attendance. Lightning only went because she was obligated to and wore a deep red dress that wouldn’t show any wine stains if someone decided to try something funny.

She hated this part of the job. Modeling was fine – she could use her image to bring awareness to issues important to her, and the money didn’t hurt either. But all of the schmoozing and parties and dealing with people?

No thanks.

When she’d made small talk for the last time she could stand to that night, Lightning quickly excused herself to try and find a place to breathe. She thought this would have been easy, since the party was being held at a huge, ritzy hotel this year. Surely there was a janitor’s closet or something she could sneak into.

But no – everywhere she looked, there were either locked door or too many people. She was fairly sure they were guests or staff since no one asked for an autograph or a selfie, but it was insane that she couldn’t find anywhere to take a breather. Was it too much to ask for a minute alone?

Finally, in a huff of annoyance, she stomped – quite a feat in heels – over to the elevator, which was blessedly empty. She’d ride it to the top and back down again, or maybe just get off at a random floor. She didn’t really care, as long as she could be alone for five minutes.

“Hold the elevator please!”

Apparently even that was too much to ask.

Lightning couldn’t help but scowl a little, extremely tempted to hit the ‘door close’ button, but she relented with a huge sigh and held the door, staring at the buttons with a frown, not wanting to give who was interrupting her peace the time of day.

“Tha….nks.”

The weird pause got to her, and she looked up just as the doors slid shut.

“...Hope?”

There he was, in the flesh, mere inches away from her. His eyes were wide with – fear? Panic? She couldn’t tell, but she was more intrigued by how his cheeks grew pink when she’d said his name.

“You’re, um – Lightning.”

“Yes.” She raised an eyebrow. “Are you under the same stupid obligation not to interact with me until that collaboration?”

He cleared his throat and nodded. “Sorry.”

“What?”

“For spilling that wine on you. We never would’ve been forced to do this if I’d just been watching where I was going.”

Of all the things he could have said to her, she had not expected that. Lightning turned and stared at him in obvious surprise. His cheeks grew even more pink, which was strangely mesmerizing.

“It’s…” She trailed off as she stared at him some more. Though they, of course, had not been near each other since the wine incident, there was something about him that felt weirdly comfortable. She felt like she could tell him everything – how she felt about their stupid ‘rivalry,’ her thoughts on the industry, things about her personal life – and he’d actually listen instead of it going in one ear and out the other.

But of course, she said nothing except, “It’s fine.”

He finally met her stare, the tiniest hint of a smile quirking the corners of his lips. Was that the kind of stare he used during shoots? She didn’t know – she didn’t follow his work or anything, but in that gaze, she could very easily see how he’d rose to stardom.

“I tried to apologize that night, but you walked off before I could.” He seemed a little more confident now, talking to her. Could he hear the way her heart was pounding, just from the look in his eyes? “Was that dress ruined?”

“No.” Her tone came out much lower than anticipated and she cleared her throat. What the hell was wrong with her? “No. I got the stain out.”

He raised his eyebrows. “You did?”

“I’m pretty good at housework.”

He smiled again, about to say something else, but the elevator suddenly lurched. Lightning was caught off-balance and she stumbled, her heels not keeping her upright.

Quick as a wink, Hope reached out and steadied her, one hand awkwardly gripping her arm and the other on her waist. For a heart-stopping moment, they stood there, afraid to move in case they both fell in a heap.

When the elevator didn’t budge, Lightning glanced up at the display. “Top floor.”

“I’m amazed it didn’t stop.”

“I know.” Her eyes slid back to his face, realizing at that second he was still holding onto her. If he was anyone else, she would have torn herself away the moment she was steady, but she felt frozen to the spot.

Hope’s arm slowly – almost too slowly – slid down her arm, his fingers leaving a tingling sensation on her skin. His hand loosely gripped her wrist and his other one curled in the fabric at her waist.

It was getting difficult to think. She needed to get back to the party or leave or something, but he had her pinned to the spot with that gaze. She couldn’t help but wonder if she was doing the same to him, somehow, but how was she supposed to look away from those eyes? They were such an unusual shade of green that complimented his silver hair perfectly – hair that she suddenly wanted to run her fingers through and tug -

As though she’d been waiting for it the moment their eyes met, it was such a sweet relief when he pulled her against him and crashed their mouths together.

Lightning had been in relationships before. She’d kissed her fair share of people, and it’d always been nice.

But it was nothing compared to how Hope’s lips made her feel.

There was nothing soft and sweet about it, just pure lust that thrummed through her core, sending fire through her veins and waking up sensations in her body she had no idea she’d been capable of feeling until now. A low moan escaped her as she scrambled for dominance, always one to take the lead, but Hope slammed her against the wall of the elevator with a groan, pinning her there with his body as he cupped her neck, seeking more of her lips.

It was dizzying and strange and so much, but she already couldn’t get enough. Vaguely, she wondered if it was the allure of forbidden fruit, considering she was supposed to stay away from him.

But no – it wasn’t just that, not by a long shot. No one else had ever made her lose her head with just a kiss; a kiss she hadn’t even known she’d wanted until he’d touched her.

She already felt so far gone. The elevator could open right now with all the industry professionals in the world on the other side, catching them in the act, and she wouldn’t have been able to stop. His tongue, his lips, his body – everything in her screamed for all of it.

When she hooked a leg around his waist, pushing his groin closer to her, Hope pulled away with a whimper. The sound literally made her tremble with desire – to think that she could make a grown man so far gone so easily, especially someone who likely had to keep his composure most of the time.

He leaned again, his teeth grazing the skin under her ear and gasping at the sound she made. “I have a room here at the hotel,” he whispered. “Would you care to join me?” He punctuated his question by rolling his hips against her, letting her know exactly what his intentions were.

Lightning knew there was only one answer.

“Please.”

That simple plea got another whimper from him and he looked away long enough to press the button for his floor before their lips met again, desperation growing in every kiss. She could hardly breathe for it and she couldn’t help but grind her hips against his, which got twin moans from both of them. The absolute need for his touch was getting alarming and if they had to wait any longer, she was going to go completely crazy.

By some miracle, nobody else needed the elevator and they made it to his floor. He grabbed her hand when the doors opened and they practically raced down the hall, stumbling from their shaky legs and empty lungs. How he actually managed to pull out his room key and open the door on the first try, she had no idea, but the second the door was shut behind him, their lips immediately met again in a clash of tongues and teeth.

“Bed,” she gasped out of the corner of her mouth, her leg lifting around his waist again.

Somehow he knew what to do and grasped her thighs, lifting as she hopped up and wrapped both legs around his waist, kicking off her stupid heels in the meantime. They groaned as their hips moved together with the motion and Hope carried her with a surprising deftness towards the huge bed. He set her down and practically fell on top of her, apparently needing to be as close as she did.

This wasn’t enough.

Naturally, being a model, she did tend to give a lot of thought to clothes, but right now they were such a damn nuisance. Hope was wearing a button down and slacks, which wasn’t much, but at the same time it was far too much. Even her cocktail dress suddenly felt way too confining.

She managed to pull her lips away and pressed them to his neck instead, taking immense pleasure at the sound he rewarded her with. Her shaky fingers clumsily undid the buttons of his shirt and she couldn’t help but kiss down the path of skin she created, her desperation clear with every movement.

To her momentary disappointment, he pulled away, but thankfully it was to pull his damn shirt off the rest of the way. It was likely an overpriced designer garment, but he tossed it aside like it was nothing but a piece of paper, his focus entirely on her instead.

She took the momentary pause to scoot up on the bed a bit more and he follow suit, straddling her as his lips trailed fire on her neck. Lightning’s head fell back a little with a shaky gasp, giving him room to explore. Her neck had always been sensitive and nobody else she’d been with had ever really bothered to find that out.

Clearly Hope was different.

She could actually feel the bruises blossoming on her skin, but she didn’t give a damn. Let him mark her, she thought. Anything, anything for this feeling. She never wanted it to stop.

While he lavished her skin, he also found a moment to unzip her dress. Lightning hurriedly tossed it aside with the same care he had with his shirt, leaving her in just her bra and panties...which, considering how tight the dress had been, left very little to the imagination.

Hope pulled his head away for a moment and

stared,

his eyes lingering on her chest and slowly tracing every inch of her body before his gaze met hers. The sheer lust burning in his eyes made her throb with need.

And yet, instead of the frenzied kiss and touch she was expecting, he simply stared some more and sat back a little, a tiny smirk on his face as his fingertips traced the inside of her thighs in an agonizingly slow manner. Her legs fell open of their own accord, so slick with desire that she could feel it. All she wanted – needed – was for him to touch her.

Apparently he was in no rush all of a sudden, however. He ignored the way her skin visibly shivered under his fingers, how her breath caught in her throat, the sheets twisted in her grasp. It was ridiculous how they hadn’t even really done anything and she already felt like such a mess. How could one person drive her into this state with hardly any effort?

Just as she was about to ask if something was wrong, Hope grinned wickedly and shoved her panties aside with one hand, the other slipping his fingers inside her.

Lightning immediately cried out, her back arching off the bed as she scrambled to touch him, just needing to feel him. He seemed to rightly take that as a good sign and moved his hand into an easy rhythm, her hips rocking as she continued to gasp with pleasure. It was like she couldn’t feel her body at all and it had disappeared to mere sensation.

He lowered his head, kissing her breasts through the sheer fabric of her bra and she didn’t even care that she was still wearing it, she didn’t give a damn about anything except the way he was making her feel. His fingers moved so easily and it was so good, so damn good…

She gripped his hair, tugging on it slightly and gasped at his moan. It was too much and not enough, she didn’t know because her vocabulary had dwindled down to a plea. “Don’t stop, don’t stop, please - ”

And then he moved his thumb just so.

Lightning let out a sound she had no idea she’d been capable of – a kind of cry that was a moan and a little scream, or maybe she gasped. Her hips jerked against his hand, completely out of control, and all that kept her rooted to earth was her hand gripping his hair.

Hope sucked at her neck as she writhed against him, groaning when she pulled his hair. As though he knew she was breathless anyway, he lifted his head and kissed her in the middle of everything. Her body was so alight with pleasure that she barely had the mind to kiss back, a sharp gasp escaping her when he pulled away and stared.

If she’d thought there was lust in his eyes before, that was nothing compared to the stare he was giving her now. Honestly, she wouldn’t have been surprised if singe her with that gaze - fire burned in his eyes, so desperate and needy and longing.

He slowly slid his fingers from her, his eyes on hers the whole time. Then, quick as a flash, he straddled her and rocked their hips together, both of them groaning in unison at the sensation. “I want you,” he practically growled, still moving his hips in that tantalizing motion as he slipped his hands under her bra to grope her breasts. “Please Lightning, I want you so damn bad...”

She almost wanted to laugh. Apparently it wasn’t crystal clear that she was putty in his hands, and somehow, he demand for permission just made her even more desperate.

With a sharp tug, she brought his face up to hers, initiating a kiss that fanned the flames sizzling through her veins. Out of the corner of her mouth, when she dared to pull away, she managed to murmur her answer.

“You have me.”

The noise Hope made in response made her toes curl in anticipation. He tugged her up just enough to fumble with her bra hooks for a minute. She eagerly tossed it aside and her hands immediately went to his pants, trembling so hard as she undid them that it was a wonder she didn’t nick herself on the zipper. He kicked them away like he was offended by them and their underwear quickly followed suit.

Finally they were as naked as the day they were born. It was almost a relief to fully feel him against her, their mouths and hands groping, kissing, touching – god, she loved the way he touched her; so deliberate and sure of himself like they’d done this hundreds of times before.

She wanted him. She needed him.

Eagerly, Lightning pushed at Hope’s shoulder and flipped them over in a tangle of limbs, scrambling up his body so she was the one straddling him. He looked momentarily surprised, but definitely pleased, his breath visibly hitching in anticipation.

They’d already gotten each others' permission and she didn’t want to wait any longer. She was already throbbing with need again, and therefore had no hesitation as she lowered herself onto him, sheathing him inside of her.

The feel of his fingers was nothing compared to this.

They didn’t even give each other a second to adjust, which was just fine with her. He immediately thrust into her and she met him perfectly, wondering how the hell it could be this damn good with someone she barely even knew.

Her hands wandered over his lean chest, scratching into his skin every time his thrust was just right. Likewise, his nails dug into her hips, gripping her like a lifeline and tightening his hold every time he gasped. When she started getting particularly vigorous, he hooked his legs around hers and flipped them over, barely losing momentum in the process.

She didn’t even care. She was chasing that desperate high and wanted it so damn badly, but she also never wanted this to stop. Her nails dug into his back and left trails on his skin and she couldn’t resist sucking at his chest and neck. Let the makeup artists find them, damnit.

Lightning could tell that he was struggling to hold on, that his release was so close but he didn’t want this to end, either. It wasn’t just her who had never felt this kind of pleasure before, so intense and perfect with her skin tingling and her toes curling and everything in the whole world dwindling down to how he was making her feel. It was fast and hard and overwhelming and amazing -

Her hips suddenly jerked again, practically thrashing against him as pleasure consumed her in a way that she’d never experienced. Her very being was no longer skin and bones, but nerves of fire that took over everything. She cried out his name over and over, babbling in a way that was completely unlike her.

Hope groaned at her reaction and he thrust into her so hard that all she could do was hold on. Vaguely she heard the headboard bang against the wall as he moved, and any other time she might have been embarrassed, but now she didn’t care if the whole damn world heard them.

“Light - “ he cried out in a strangled tone, his hands groping her body desperately. “I need - ”

“Do it.”

When he came, she saw fireworks behind her eyes, the aftershocks still coursing through her. Their lips frantically crashed together as they both rode it out, though Lightning had no idea how she would ever come down from this high.

It seemed like a long time before they finally stopped moving, sheer exhaustion taking over. She could still hardly breathe and her heart was pounding so hard it made her dizzy. Their lips brushed together and it was so damn good that tendrils of desire were already curling within her.

Hope moved his head a little and kissed her neck again, lazily trailing his lips to her ear. “I’ve been wanting to do that since I spilled that wine on you.”

Lightning raised an eyebrow, though of course he couldn’t see it. Any other time she might have brushed off such a comment, but after the way he’d made her feel, she was stupidly glad that he’d had such a desire at all. “Was it worth the wait?”

“Yes,” he answered immediately, lifting his head. He stared at her, the lust in his eyes still there as a gentle flame rather than blazing. “Oh yes. In fact...” He kissed her, his tongue slightly against hers as he rocked his hips teasingly. She moaned into his mouth, already gasping when he pulled his lips away. “I have a late call time tomorrow, if you wanted to spend the night.”

She raised her eyebrow again, trying to look stern, but it was difficult when his hands were wandering again, one slipping teasingly in between her legs. All she wanted was more. The idea that she was supposed to hate him seemed so ridiculous.

There was no doubt in her mind that they’d be able to break the headboard tonight.

“With pleasure.”

43 notes · View notes

darker-soft-starker · 5 years

Note

Can I request a starker no-powers au where Peter watches construction worker Tony from his bedroom window as the older man works across the street ?

His name is Tony.

Peter knows this tidbit because he heard it yelled once or twice as he’d walked by the construction lot, the same dark haired man perking up at the name.

Work had begun on the old house across from Peter a few weeks ago. The weathered colonial used to belong to old Christiansen, a bitter and lonely man who used to yell at Peter as a kid for the frisbees that used to land on his lawn.

When the elderly man had passed no immediate family had come to claim the property, and for three months while his estate was settled it stood empty.

One day, a brother and sister duo, estranged cousins of the late William Christiansen arrived to declare the property as theirs, as so declared in his Will.

A month later the old property was being gutted by heavy machinery. Bricks tumbled into a splintered, woodwork carcass, noisy bobcats scraped and upended the earth until a new landscape was formed.

Once the last of old Christiansen house had been razed, there stood the skeletons of three, tiny townhouses, cluttered close on the same lot.

In the beginning, Peter had only watched the proceedings with a vague sense of interest. He’d mourned the disappearance of the old house and quietly seethed at the likely uptick in traffic three new houses would bring.

It wasn’t until one afternoon, walking home early from his last class of the semester, that he notices the crew of workers wrapping up for the afternoon. The weight of academia off his shoulders and in no hurry, Peter had peered curiously at the workmen and their seamless teamwork.

Just as his fill is fulled Peter’s attention is hooked by a man emerging from the bare bones of one of houses. A sagging bag of concrete is slung over broad shoulders, biceps exposed from the cut of his shirt. Peter doesn’t mean to stare at the sway of the mans hips as he moves, lugging the bag around like it doesn’t weigh a thing.

He must be staring longer than he thinks - the man abbreviates his path, sunglasses sliding down his nose to wink at Peter lasciviously before continuing on his way.

Struck, Peter’s heart had skipped a beat at the attention, mind replaying the way the mans eyes crinkled in the corners, the easy confidence of his smile.

That had started it all, really.

Sat by the bedroom window that overlooks the street, Peter props his hand on his chin and looks out upon the building site in the waning sunlight.

It’s been six days since the guy, now known as Tony, winked at him. It’s been six days, each one spent with his free time by his bedroom window, watching as the man lumbers logs of timber around over his shoulders like they were matchsticks, watching the smooth swivel of his torso as he strikes old drywall with a sledgehammer.

Window cracked upon ever so slightly, the good-natured banter amongst the crew can be heard between the music and the mayhem. Tony quips and cracks witty one-liners and in his colleagues respond in kind.

And so summer begins.

—-

Having an active construction crew in close proximity to your sleeping quarters eliminates the ability to lie in, Peter quickly discovers. He’s heard more AC/DC, Black Sabbath, Cold Chisel and Dr. Hook in the last few weeks than he’s heard in his entire twenty-one years.

Once, Mrs Cunningham from three doors down tried to scold them for the bass laden 9:00am wake-up-call, but Tony’s scathing, insouciant response was to tell her to contact her local council.

She didn’t come back.

May also grumbles at the noise and disruption, but Peter still catches her swaying her hips and mumbling to lyrics on the odd occasion, so he thinks she doesn’t really mind all that much.

Nonetheless, it provides adequate gossip fodder for the old neighbourhood. It hadn’t really changed in the last fifty years, the same families growing up and out and back in again. So, whether it be bemoaning the line of trucks that clutter the street, querying the one woman who works among the crew or her pegasus emblazoned truck - or the inevitable unsightliness of the yet-to-be finished project - it gave everyone something to talk about.

Personally, Peter has never had such incentive so to study until now.

Oh yes, his window allows the perfect sum of sun into his bedroom for poring over textbooks. If anyone asks, he’s being proactive. Just trying to get a head start on next semesters readings.

And maybe when he looks up from his books he has the perfect view of the worksite across his house. There’s nothing shifty about it, just people watching during a study break.

Maybe he procrastinates and watches too long, long enough to hear the entire EP of an obscure band Peter has never heard before. It’s not his fault the crew sometimes use their hammers to amusedly imitate drumsticks or sing vulgar renditions of the tunes on their playlist.

Mostly, Peter finds it endearing how Tony appears to oscillate between the most theatrical or the most withdrawn, depending on the day.

Peter tries not to feel all Rear Window about it. There’s just something weirdly magnetic about the way the man moves so animatedly and is almost never still. Even sat upon the curb for a break, cigarette dangling between his lips, he’s captivating.

There are worse ways to pass the summer, right?

It’s not weird, no matter what Ned says.

“It’s kinda weird,” Ned says, sat beside Peter on one of the wooden chairs on the front porch.

“It is not,” Peter insists, bringing a pretzel to his mouth, snapping it in half with his teeth. He chews thoughtfully, gaze once again drawn across the street to the site. “I’m just making sure that they’re, y’know, doing it properly.”

“What, their jobs?”

“Yeah,” Peter nods, licking the salt off around his lips. “That.”

“With all your experience and expertise in construction?”

Peter grins, offering the bag out to Ned who takes a handful. “Hey, I built some mean Lego back in the day, didn’t I?”

“My mistake,” Ned rolls his eyes, directing his attention back to the noisy site. “So, which one are you hot for?”

“What?”

“Which one has you hot and bothered.”

Peter rolls his eyes, “I’m not hot for any of them.”

Neds eyes slide over to him in a glare laden with such scathing judgement it makes Peter feel like he’d just sinned in church. He shrinks back in his chair.

“….The one with the black hair,” Peter replies meekly.

With renewed interest Ned peers back over, rising up on his seat a little. The grimace on his face once he settles back down is telling, however unappreciated. Ned’s never shared Peter’s predilection towards older men.

“Gross, but okay. Are you going to ask him out?”

Peter snorts incredulously, shoving a handful of pretzels into his mouth to avoid answering the question.

“Dude,” his friend prods. “Have you even spoken to him?”

“Yes,” Peter answers defensively. “Last week he said ‘hey, watch out’ so I wouldn’t walk into my letterbox, and I said ‘thanks’.”

The stink eye returns. After years of friendship that’s all that is needed for Peter receive the condemning message, properly cowed. They fall back into staring out at the lot, transfixed by the shrill screech of the buzzsaws.

It’s not that Peter is never going to say anything, he just hasn’t figured out how to do it yet. How precisely does one approach an older man to tell him you’d like to bang his fine ass, but would also like to pet his hair and take care of him long-term?

Something about the guy makes a giddiness swell in his chest, reminiscent of his boyhood crushes where he would doodle hearts in his notebooks and find reasons to be in the same room as his infatuation.

“Gotta suck working in this heat though,” Ned says, interrupting his thoughts.

“You’re right,” Peter nods, an idea forming in his brain. “It would.”

Standing up suddenly and startling Ned, Peter rushes back inside the house, into the blissful airconditioning and aims for the kitchen.

Ned finds him there after following his bee-line, torso half emerged in one of the lower cupboards as he rummages through it.

“Peter?”

He studiously ignores his friend in favour of hyperextending his arm into the bowels of the dusty cupboard, crowing with delight when he finally grasps the still-sealed stack of plastic cups.

Quick as a fox, he fills each with water from the sink, placing cubes of ice from the freezer in each. Hands trembling with excitement he places them all on a tray and nods at his friend who only extends him a look of fond exasperation.

Anticipation sets his nerves aflutter, his feet flighty as he carefully balances the tray out the front door, Ned trailing behind him.

His face flushes as he crosses the lawn, hands tightly clutched around the handles as he mentally rehearses an introduction.

I’m Peter Parker, I bring some water - no, wait - I’m Peter, you’re really hot and I’d like you to drink my fluids - definitely not - I am Peter and I have water, you must be thirsty - better.

All his efforts are for naught in the end.

Upon pausing to check the road is clear he catches sight of old Mrs Carrington and her young, pouting grandson carrying perspiring pitchers of lemonade and a tray of sandwiches into the lot. The workers suspend their work to greet them with surprised glee, and Peter feels his own smile dropping off his face.

He looks down at his own pitiful offerings, the ice having all but melted in the cheap, plastic cups, bobbing sadly as they lose form.

“Better luck next time,” Ned says from behind him, patting his back in consolation.

Peter nods. Yeah, next time.

—

Unwilling to be disheartened, Peter tries his hand the following day. A renewed vigour jumpstarts his efforts early, already in the kitchen before the guttural vocals of Thunderstruck start playing.

Ned’s right. He’s an adult now - there are no lockers to leave love notes, no one is going to ask him to the prom. This is what real adults do - they see who they like, they ask them out. Simple.

But Peter has never been a locker love-note kinda guy. He wouldn’t know how to craft a slick pick-up line, doesn’t have the arresting good looks that do the talking for him.

Eager not to be bested by an ailing octogenarian again, Peter uses an entire loaf of bread and a full pound of half-price bacon to create a veritable tower of BLT’s. With their one sharp knife he cuts them into perfect angles, remembering the amputee he’s seen on site he ensures they can be gripped easily with a single hand.

The only two pitchers they own are poured full with freshly-squeezed orange juice, Peter’s wrists working themselves into a strain to drain the fruits dry.

May stumbles in sometime around nine in her sleep clothes, hair wild like a lion’s mane. She fixes him an odd stare as she fumbles for a cup of coffee.

“A bit hungry, Pete?”

“Oh, it’s not for me,” is all he says, shaking his head and adding a plate of apple slices to a tray for good measure. “By the way, we’re out of bacon.”

It must require a lot of energy doing all that work, Peter thinks. It gives him a warm feeling, providing, thinking his efforts might go some way into nourishing someone else. He’s a Parker through-and-through after all.

Even if the guy doesn’t like him that way - it’s fresh, good food. Far better than that delivery truck thing he sometimes sees stationed out the front of the site that sells greasy, microwaved meals. At least the whole crew will have something wholesome and heartfelt, if nothing else.

Stomach squirming pleasantly Peter lifts the two trays, balancing the items precariously as waddles on, opening the front door with a kick his foot.

This is it. He’s finally going to have a reason to say hello, to introduce himself, maybe ask Tony out on a date, if he’s single and willing. Peter smiles to himself as he imagines having the guts to do it in front of the entire crew.

It takes a bit of coordination to get down the porch steps without spilling anything, eyes trained on the ground for any impediments, but he makes it - this is it.

Except, when he looks up from his feet to glance across the street his heart sinks.

Mrs Dawes from four doors down is already there. She’s set up a fucking portable table and brought a feast; sautéed vegetables, breakfast potatoes, scrambled eggs, bacon and toast. All accompanied by fruit salad and a variety of brightly colored smoothies. As appetizers.

Appetizers.

From where he is rooted in spot Peter can hear her say with all honey sweet modesty: Oh, it’s no problem! You are doing such a good job, it’s my absolute pleasure.

Looking at his own offerings Peter can’t help but pout, a feeling of inadequacy sinking down his spine. Briefly, he entertains the idea of coming back for the lunch period instead, but knows by then the apples and lettuce will be an unpleasant brown, the bread soggy.

Shoulders slumping, he sighs and turns on his heel, looking up at his house with weary consideration. His arms are beginning to hurt with the weight of his aborted efforts.

A dark, doleful strain of self-pity wells up inside him before his gaze slides to the house next door. Mrs Martinez has four kids home for the summer and her husband is still on tour - suddenly his heart is twinging for a whole other reason.

Diverting his course, Peter rings their doorbell instead.

He can’t be too disheartened he decides later that afternoon, taking a break from his laptop to stare outside the bedroom window again.

He’ll try again tomorrow.

—

It doesn’t occur to Peter the next day, halfway through icing a luscious three-tiered chocolate cake, that it is Saturday.

Mournfully, he eats the cake himself.

—-

The next attempt at wooing - at providing - comes Monday morning.

This time Peter is prepared. He’d already gone to the store the night before, had bought everything he required with a too-eager swipe of his credit card - and okay, sure, he’s going to have to cover a few extra shifts at the bookstore, but it’s worth it, right?

If all else fails, at least someone will appreciate the food - if not his neighbours then at least he and his aunt will have food for the week.

The Parkers are not particularly renowned for their prowess in the kitchen, if he’s honest. Their friends and family are treated to many an over-seasoned dish or charcoaled toast to have any sort of claim over that domain.

But the one thing they can master is the work of Peters great grandmother, a recipe handed down from generation to generation, perfected over decades - a bastardized version of goulash, brimming with hearty beef chunks bought especially from the butcher, copious potatoes and carrots, noodles, some secret spices. It’s a home-run every time.

The key is to pour your heart and soul into it, his family would always say, that was the most special ingredient. Sure, stock and a generous helping of paprika were crucial, but it was the love you put into it that made the meal a veritable gustatory delight.

Maybe it’s the fond memories that make it anything but a chore, a highlight reel of his childhood playing as he cooks. When the stew is finally done simmering Peter prepares a loaf of fresh bread from the bakery, cutting it into satisfyingly thick slices, adding a side of oil. He has homemade iced tea ready in the fridge, and a bowl of diced watermelon as a palette cleanser.

To round it all off he has chocolate chip cookies made from scratch, still gooey and soft in the centre.

By lunch time he was done. Sweating a little from the steam, Peter transfers the goulash into a big, portable container and beams proudly down at his work.

Everything has his soul infused into it, like he was taught. He has a really good feeling about it this time.

Eager anticipation makes his stomach swoop. He double checks his reflection in the glass cabinets, attempting to tame his wayward curls into something a little less wayward, baring his teeth to make sure nothing is stuck in between them.

Finally, he smooths down the cotton of his tee he gives himself a shake. He’s going to do it this time. Mrs Dawes is at work and Mrs Carrington is at her crochet group. He’s checked, all the schedules line up - it’s his time.

So he grabs the two trays, food precariously towering upon each other in a quivering porcelain pyramid and takes slow, cautious steps towards the front door.

To save the trays from hitting the unlatched door he turns backwards to use the breadth of his back to push the door open, carefully reversing onto the porch.

“I have a delivery for –”

Peter whirls around quickly.

It’s a mistake because the next thing he does is roughly collide with a solid body, the trays under his arms slipping from his grasp. Everything goes crashing to the ground with a shriek of shattering porcelain and the sad gurgling of all the upended liquid.

“Shit, kid, I’m sorry,” the mailman says, but Peter doesn’t hear him, staring in abject horror at the food splattered all over the porch.

None of it salvageable.

He spent eighty dollars and four hours on this. He poured his heart into this. He was going to share this, he was gonna -

“It’s not meant to be,” he whispers to himself, slowly lowering himself into a squat, holding his hands out uselessly.

“Kid?”

Peter looks up in sorrow at the greying FedEx worker. “It’s not meant to be,” he repeats.

“Um… I just need you to sign for this.”

Peter wordlessly takes the small parcel and signs the E-POD, still staring at the perverse Jackson Pollock impression all over the woodwork. The parcel isn’t even for him.

Once the mailman has left and the fast-food truck has pulled up to the construction site with a giddy toot of it’s horn, Peter has accepted it.

It’s just not meant to be.

—

“You taking up bird watching or something?” May asks from where she is leant against his doorway three days later.

Peter shakes his head, abandoning his forlorn gaze to give his attention to her.

“Or something. What’s up?”

May holds up a stack of envelopes and smiles wryly. “We keep getting Mrs Carringtons mail.”

“Still?”

“Yeah. I can’t tell if it’s her mistake or the mailman though.”

“Probably the mailman,” Peter mutters.

She shrugs. “In any case, I gotta get ready for work. Would you be able to take these over to her?”

“Sure,” Peter says, stretching as he stands, taking the stack from her hands.

She sniffs him subtly. “It will do you good to get out of this room. It smells in here.”

Taking his aunt’s comments to heart he freshens up in the bathroom first, brushing the grime off his teeth and fixing his appearance, making himself feel somewhat presentable.

Cooped up indoors all day didn’t prepare him for how exceptionally balmy the weather was outside, sweat already forming at his hairline by the time he crosses the road. He studiously ignores the urge to look over at the construction site as he makes his way to his neighbor, however conditioned he is to do so at the Black Sabbath riffs playing through the air.

Mrs Carrington greets him with a smile when he knocks and invites him inside. She has her frail fingers circled around his wrist before he can begin to decline the offer, pulling him in, already talking a mile a minute.

Inside, it smells overwhelmingly like potpourri and her floral perfume.

“Thank you for bringing these over,” she says, leading him to the kitchen. “I don’t know why it keeps happening. I’m sorry for the trouble.”

“It’s no problem, Mrs C,” Peter assures, setting the mail on the counter.

She dodders past him to grab a cling-wrapped plate, holding it out to him with trembling hands, her gait noticeably uneven.

“Would you do me another favor?” She implores earnestly, pressing the plate into his hands. “Would you take these to those hard working folks next door, please? I’d go myself, but my hip…”

Clutching the plate, he looks through the layers of transparent cling-wrap to spot a dozen or so home-baked lemon slices.

His heartbeat accelerates, thinking that he’s finally going to talk to get a chance. But of all the moments he’d imagined, it wasn’t here and now, clutching an elderly lady’s sickly sweet lemon treats arranged on a floral plate.

When he looks back up to see her eager expression he knows he can’t turn her down.

“Yeah, sure thing, Mrs C - can I help with anything else?”

She squeezes the outside of his hands gratefully. “You’re a good boy, just this is fine. You help yourself to one too, okay?”

“Sure.”

Despite Peter’s protests, she walks him to her door, patting his back gratefully as he departs. He waves her off with his free hand, pretending like his nerves doesn’t have his stomach doing somersaults.

Pulse pounding, he enters through a gap in the construction site fencing, immediately drawn to the dark haired man that caught his attention all those weeks ago.

A few of the others notice his approach and tell him to watch his step, but Peter can’t hear them over the booming echo of his heart in his ears.

Tony straightens from where he’d been penciling in marks on a long slat of timber, crossing his arms over his chest as Peter nears. The movement shows off the impressive swell of his biceps and for a moment makes him forget why he’s there.

“Umm, hi,” Peter says.

Tony slides his sunglasses upon his crown to look at Peter, the full attention of his big, brown eyes making Peter’s mouth go dry and his palms sweat.

The man smiles, slow and appreciatively, stance loosening when Peter smiles back.

“Hi yourself,” Tony responds, placing his hands on his hips. “What’s your name, sweetheart?”

“P-Peter. Parker. I’m… Peter Parker.”

The mans grin at his inelegant introduction has Peter’s face flaming, his hands shaking.

“Nice to finally meet you, Peter Parker. I’ve seen you around, but you never come and say hello like the rest of your neighbors.”

“You have?”

Tony nods, ambling closer. “I didn’t know if I should be offended or not.”

“Oh, I –”

“I forgive you, in case that was an apology,” Tony interrupts. “So, what do we owe this pleasure?”

Heartfelt explanations rise and are arrested in his throat, recalling the humiliating discomfort of all his failed attempts at courting. Instead, he extends the plate to Tony, holding it out like a sacrificial offering.

Tony accepts it, looking dubiously down at the garrish floral design before looking back at Peter.

“You make these yourself, doll?”

Stomach squirming at the attention, Peter shakes his head. “No, uh… my neighbour –”

“Oh thank god,” Tony says, indelicately dropping the plate on the nearby worktable. “Everyone in this neighbourhood is crazy nice or whatever - I have never been more well fed in my life –“

“Don’t lie,” one of the workers yells from behind them. “I’ve seen your high school photos.”

“Hey fuck you, Barnes,” Tony calls back, shaking his head. “Anyway, baby fat aside, I didn’t want to break your heart when I say I’m definitely more of a beef and potatoes kind of guy.”

“You are?” Peter perks up. “Me too.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah, I make a mean goulash. It’s really good.”

“That so?” Tony scratches his beard, stepping closer. “I do like goulash.”

Steeling his nerves Peter inches forward, he can smell the sweat and musk from the man and the pursuing undertones of nicotine and cologne.

“Maybe I could make it for you sometime.”

“Like on a date?” Tony asks, dipping his chin to catch Peters eyes.

Heat floods his insides when he nods. “Yeah…you could come over? I’ll cook for you.”

Tony’s fingers comes up to toy with the cigarette tucked behind his ear, nestled amongst the black hair. He twirls it deftly between two calloused fingers, a crooked smile illuminating his features as he drinks Peter in.

“I’d like that a lot, Peter Parker.”

“That’s good. I mean - y’now, me too.”

The smirk Tony sends him is utterly devilish, corrupting Peter in the best of ways.

“Wish you’d come by and asked sooner, darling. Woulda given me more time to appreciate your pretty face.”

Cocking his head, Peters mouth stretches into a grin.

“Guess it was never the right time.”

—-

Two days later Tony knocks on his door donned in form-fitting dark denim and a button-down shirt. His usually wild hair is neatly combed back and arranged into a quaint quiff.

A smile breaks out on Peters face when notices the bouquet of red roses held in one of Tony’s hands, a box of expensive chocolates occupying in the other.

“Not the most original,” Tony concedes, kissing Peter on the cheek when he lets him in, passing the gifts over. “But it’s still heartfelt, I assure you.”

Tony looks at him with genuine fondness that Peter doesn’t have to taste to know it’s true. Peter leans in to place a chaste, tentative kiss on the corner of the mans mouth.

“It’s perfect.”

#starker #starker fic #fluff #tw: food #reluctantly loving thy neighbour #construction worker tony

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aliciameade · 4 years

Text

Santa's Little Helper - Merry Pitchmas 2019

Merry Pitchmas to @brandneweyesx!

Summary: Beca needs to earn some extra cash so Chloe hooks her up with a job at the mall. And maybe her motives aren't totally innocent.

Rated: T

(Also on AO3)

“Just cover me one more time; you know I’m good for it,” Beca says, giving her best big doe-eyes that she knows will win over Chloe. She doesn’t take advantage of the known weakness that often, but it’s useful when she does.

She watches Chloe sigh yet nod in agreement. “Okay. You know, if you’re so broke, I could try to put in a good word at a few of the stores in the mall. They all staff up for the holidays.”

Beca’s instinct is to reject it; she’s busy enough as it is with figuring out how the Bellas will defend their national title and repeat as champions. Oh, and attending class. She does that most days, too. She’s also flat broke as a result of her packed schedule and Chloe’s paid Beca’s share of the Bella house bills for the last three months.

“Fine,” Beca says, resigned. “But nothing lame like Cinnabon or hocking hand lotions at a kiosk. Get me in at Journeys or Sunglass Hut. Somewhere I can get a discount on stuff I actually want to buy.”

She smiles into Chloe’s shoulder when she gets tackled by a wholly unnecessary and welcome hug. “I’ll do my best. I can’t believe we’re going to work together!”

“Do not get me a job at Victoria’s Secret.”

“What—too tempting to look at all the pretty girls?”

“Shut up,” Beca huffs while pushing Chloe off her. She schools her face into a strong pout with a hefty glare that earns her a giggly kiss to her cheek.

“Don’t worry,” Chloe says, voice dropping to a whisper, “your secret’s safe with me.”

Beca’s pout turns into a furious blush. She’s still getting used to the whole someone-knows-she’s-gay thing. Chloe was the first—and remains the only—person she’s come out to. It’s been kind of nice getting to talk about it, even if it feels a lot like learning to ride a bike without training wheels.

It’s helped that Chloe had made no secret about her own bisexuality, and her current favorite hobby is quietly pointing out (or texting pictures of) girls she thinks Beca might find attractive and prodding her for an opinion. It’s also often accompanied with, “I can talk to her for you if you want.”

Beca’s been dismissive of the options, begrudgingly admitting that, “Yes, that girl is pretty,” but, “No, please don’t talk to her for me.”

“I don’t think I’m ready for that,” is the reason she provides when Chloe asks why not.

“What if we went on a date instead?” is the answer she wishes she could give,” but, “No, please don’t talk to her for me.”

“I don’t think I’m ready for that,” is the reason she provides when Chloe asks why not.

“What if we went on a date instead?” is the answer she wishes she was brave enough to give instead.

“Okay, no lingerie stores,” Chloe laughs, interrupting Beca’s thoughts. “Let me see what I can rustle up for you.”

~-~-~-~-~-~-~

When Beca shows up at the mall the following Thursday afternoon, she’s there via what seems like one step away from an illegal hustle based on the lack of information provided by the man who had called her.

“Southeast entrance. 4:00. Ask for Randall.”

Turns out the southeast entrance isn’t where she’s going; a man identified as Randall leads her through a service entrance and into a network of nondescript, neutral-colored hallways. She’s considering texting Chloe and asking what exactly she’s about to walk into or if she needs to have her family prepare ransom money when Randall pushes open a door into an employee locker room.

Her apprehension eases considerably at the normalcy that comes with it. Just walls of blue lockers, a few benches, and a vending machine.

“163,” he says, pointing vaguely.

“They’re assigned? What is this, high school?” she asks with a laugh, only he doesn’t laugh back and she sobers, apprehension immediately returning. She follows his orders though, glad to put some distance between them, and pops the latch on locker 163.

“What is this?” she asks, pointing at its contents as she turns around, but Randall is already leaving and has offered no further instruction or clarity. “Cool, cool, cool,” she says with a nod as she turns back to face her reality.

~-~-~-~-~-~-~

“We need to talk,” she texts Chloe, accompanied by a photo of the atrocious red and green outfit hanging in her locker before stuffing her phone into the pocket of her green skirt (at least it has pockets). The candy cane-striped leggings are itchy, the corsetted top is, in her opinion, too racy for Christmas, and honestly, don’t even get her started on the hat.

At least she can wear her own boots.

Unsure where to go, she stomps out the same exit Randall had gone and nearly runs into the man waiting on the other side of the door.

“Let’s go,” he says before dialing a number on a weirdly out-of-date flip phone.

“So, are you going to tell me what’s going on? I mean, I have a pretty good idea but it’d be nice to know—“

She stops mid-sentence when a door opens and she’s pushed (not led) right into the open floor of the shopping center just meters away from what is clearly the back of the mall’s installation of Santa’s Workshop, a noisy, bright monstrosity designed as a cash-grab for parents who need Instagram content. She’s avoided it like the plague every season while shopping, and now it seems the avoidance has ricocheted back upon her ten-fold.

She turns around looking for Randall but he’s gone and the door she was booted through is closed and the only thing left for her to do is to explore the obvious: she approaches the back door of the workshop and knocks while considering ding-dong-ditching.

The door swings open and a man that looks to be about her age, maybe a bit younger, sticks his head out. He’s dressed similarly but has a noticeable amount of rouge on his cheeks and he’s definitely wearing body glitter. “Beca?”

“Uh, yeah.”

“Just in time; I need a damn break. Get in here.”

She’s half-pulled into the structure which is much less magical inside than its exterior, save for a few deliberately placed decorations that can be seen if one looks in from the front windows. There are a couple of overstuffed chairs, a Christmas tree, a fake fireplace, and a plain table and chairs that sit in the back out of sight for employees. “Um, I don’t really know what I’m doing here. Literally and figuratively,” she adds hoping for at least a smile but instead, she gets a blank stare.

“You’re an elf. Go be an elf.” With that, her new, nameless coworker disappears out the back as if such an explanation is suitable for someone’s first day on a job, as basic as it might seem.

“And a Merry Christmas to you,” she says with a sarcastic bow in his direction. She checks her phone expecting a response form Chloe but she hasn’t replied so she does the only thing she can do.

She puts her phone away and opens the front door of Santa’s Workshop to the cheers (and screams) of children and a loud, “Ho, ho, ho! Here’s another of my little helpers!” from an unimpressive mall Santa who looks at her with what should be a criminal level of disdain. Or pity. “Well, let’s not keep the good girls and boys waiting!” He gestures at the line that has no end in sight and Beca figures there’s only one thing to do.

“Okay, little guy,” she says, reaching out to take the hand of the next child in line, “let’s visit Santa!”

She’s going to have some very strong words for Chloe when she sees her tonight.

~-~-~-~-~-~-~

“Dude, you said you were going on a break! It’s been at least two hours,” she whispers harshly under her breath when the elf she replaced returns. All he offers is a shrug and takes up a position at the front of the line to pass off the children to Beca.

At least she doesn’t have to walk back and forth trying to control the kids anymore. If they make it as far as her, most of them are agreeable to her lifting them on to Santa’s lap without too much of a fuss.

Her back is aching by the time someone tells her that she can take a dinner break and her hands are so uncomfortably sticky that she knows she’s destined to wake up puking tomorrow thanks to some illness she’s acquired. She pushes through the front door of the workshop and makes a beeline for the giant pump bottle of hand sanitizer, briefly considering bathing with it but settles on slathering it only on her hands and arms.

A check of her phone reveals to her her worst nightmare.

A photo, sent from Chloe, of Beca standing on the porch of Santa’s Workshop looking less than impressed by her situation, staring off into the distance contemplating her existence.

Only the photo was sent to the Bellas’ group chat, not just Beca, and there are at least fifty texts of varying levels of amusement and threats of blackmail that follow it.

She’s typing out a message intended just for Chloe to convey her irritation as she exits through the back door only to find the would-be recipient of her words waiting for her wearing exactly the smile Beca imagined her sporting when she sent her evil, evil photo to the girls.

“You!” she growls, her stride changing to stalk toward her co-captain. “You knew about this!”

“You asked me to get you a job, Bec!” Chloe says, voice so high and eyes so bright with mirth that it’s impossible for Beca to maintain any level of ill-will toward her. “So I got you a job.”

Beca pokes her squarely in the chest. “This wasn’t what I had in mind.”

“No?”

“I specifically said nothing lame.”

“It’s not lame,” Chloe grins. “I love Christmas!”

“Right. You love Christmas.”

Her correction goes unnoticed (or ignored) by Chloe. “I knew you’d make a good elf.”

Beca crosses her arms. “And why is that? Choose your words carefully.”

“Because I knew you’d look adorable in the costume.” Her eyes roam Beca in what feels like a slightly invasive manner. “And I was right.”

Beca blushes despite herself. “I look like an idiot.”

“But an adorable idiot. Are you on break?”

Beca lets her comment slide. “Yeah.”

“Awes. Me, too. Let’s go to the food court.”

~-~-~-~-~-~-~

Beca should have known that going to the food court in full elf attire would garner attention, especially from children. They flocked to her asking about Santa like pigeons to tossed breadcrumbs and if not for the stupidly cute way Chloe watched her while it happened, she would have probably done something to get herself fired on her first day, like yelling that Santa isn’t even real and to get the fuck away from her.

“You know you owe me. Big time,” she says as Chloe walks her back to the workshop.

“If I’m not mistaken, you actually owe me. That’s why you’re here.”

“Right,” Beca grumbles.

“But seeing you dressed up like this is definitely worth more than the money you owe me. Let’s call it even.”

“What? Dude, no,” Beca says, feeling immensely guilty that Chloe’s offering to forgive the nearly $100 she owes. “I’ll pay you back.”

She feels Chloe grab her hand once they’re behind the workshop and sidle up alongside her to whisper conspiratorially. “Tell you what: give me a private tour of Santa’s Workshop after you close. Then we’ll call it even.”

Beca’s stomach flip-flops, maybe from the mall sushi she just ate or maybe from Chloe being so close and sounding so suggestive. “I don’t think I’m supposed to do that.”

Chloe clicks her tongue and the fact that it happens so close to Beca’s ear makes her shiver. “Everyone knows Santa’s Workshop after-hours is the place to be. You just have to know someone to get in. And now I know you.”

Beca can’t help but smirk a little. “You make it sound like it’s the hottest new club.”

“Well, maybe not quite,” Chloe says with a shrug and puts a bit of space between them once again. “But I do want to see it.”

“It’s just a big empty box.”

“Then who cares if I see it?” Damn Chloe and her logic.

“Fine. What time does this thing close? I don’t even know who my supervisor is. Or when my shift ends.”

“Mall closes at 9:00. Santa at 8:30.”

Beca checks her very non-elf-like watch and groans that it’s only 6:30. “Then meet me here at 8:30.”

Chloe gives her one of her excited squeals and a kiss on her cheek before scampering away back toward her much less lame job at Aeropostale with a wave.

~-~-~-~-~-~-~

She spots Chloe spying on her in the open plaza of the mall when she’s helping the other elf close up the workshop (which involves little more than placing a sign in front of the door that reads Santa’s checking his lists - come back tomorrow!) and she throws a glare or two her way.

Chloe laughs at them and when Beca disappears into the workshop house to exit through the back, she sees Chloe all but skipping around it to meet her. Beca lets her fellow elf depart first who stops when he almost bumps into Chloe waiting at the back door. Beca’s immediate reaction is to panic that she’s in trouble but instead, he turns around smiling and says, “Nice one, honey. And on your first day.”

She doesn’t have a chance to ask what he means because he’s out the door and Chloe’s stepping in, closing it behind her.

“Why did he look at me that way?” Beca asks, trying to catch sight of him through a side window as he departs.

“I don’t know,” Chloe says airly. “This is cool!”

“Uh, sure,” Beca says as she steps aside so Chloe can explore what little there is to the place. She watches her try out both chairs, wondering aloud which one is Santa’s and which one is Mrs. Claus’s while taking more than one selfie.

“Come sit on my lap,” Chloe says and it makes Beca wonder if she heard correctly.

“What?”

“Come on,” she repeats, patting it. “Don’t think I’m not getting a picture with Santa’s cutest elf in his workshop.”

“Oh, my God, stop,” Beca says with a roll of her eyes. “I’ll do it, but only if I get photo approval.”

“Deal,” Chloe grins, holding out her arms expectantly.

As if it’s really some big chore for Beca.

She perches cautiously on Chloe’s knee only to get pulled back until Chloe’s arm is around her waist, the other poised in the air with her phone at the ready.

“Say, ‘Have a holly jolly Christmas!’”

“Not saying that,” Beca says but she smiles for the photos anyway.

A few minutes and many photos (and one photo approval) later, Chloe has a new Instagram post and Beca has days of ridicule lying ahead. She’s also still basically on Chloe’s lap, the two of them shifting to share the chair, though Beca’s legs have to drape awkwardly over Chloe’s to fit.

“You know,” Chloe starts as she wiggles to get her phone into her pocket, “I’ve worked at this mall for three Christmases and I’ve never been invited to the workshop.”

“Should I know why that’s significant?”

“Well,” she says as she settles again, her free hand now taking up Beca’s to start playing with her fingers absentmindedly, “this is totes the make-out spot in the mall.”

Beca nearly chokes. “What?”

“I told you: it’s VIP. You have to be invited. It’s like, the law of the mall.”

“And you thought making me an elf would get you in? Dude, I’m not going to be a lookout while you hook up with someone in here.”

“No, silly,” Chloe laughs. “I didn’t mean that. I wanted you to invite me.”

Beca feels like her ears are on fire. “What?”

“You wanna make out?”

Beca’s sure she’s now entirely engulfed in flames, and Chloe’s hand resting on her hip isn’t helping matters. “Dude, what?”

“We don’t have to,” Chloe quickly follows with. “Unless...unless you want to? Maybe? I’m not trying to make anything weird, I just thought, you know, I like you, and now that I know you like girls, too, I just thought maybe...”

Beca’s brain tunes out after that because Chloe’s turned from a giggly, cuddly friend to a rambling ball of nerves; she can even feel how tense Chloe is beneath her. She tunes out because Chloe’s asking Beca if she wants to kiss. Each other. And something about Chloe having thought about it?

“Okay.” She doesn’t know where the word comes from but her brain spits it out and it cuts off Chloe.

“...Okay?” Chloe repeats slowly, as though unsure she heard what she thinks she heard.

Beca feels seconds from full-on panic so she just nods.

“Oh. Cool,” Chloe says, the uncertainty and tension starting to ease. “So…”

“So…” Beca repeats and finds herself adjusting her position next to Chloe so they’re less cheek-to-cheek and more face-to-face.

Or lips-to-lips, as it were. Not that she’s thinking of such things. Mostly her heart os pounding in her ears and her stomach is tingling because there’s no doubt that Chloe’s staring at Beca’s mouth with intent and there’s getting to be less and less distance between them.

Beca holds her breath when they’re so close she can feel Chloe’s. But then Chloe stops.

“Are you sure?” she asks and Beca almost laughs.

“Chloe.” She hears herself and is embarrassed by how whiney it sounds but it makes Chloe’s soft lips split into a grin.

“I just wanted to hear you beg,” she whispers before erasing the last inch between them to press her lips to Beca’s.

Beca’s still reeling from the fact that Chloe is kissing her when her sassy and startingly sexy words register with Beca. She starts to pull away with a grunt of protest, not of the kiss but of Chloe’s cockiness, but Chloe laughs against her lips and slides the arm that’s been around Beca’s waist higher up her back so she can’t get far.

Beca doesn’t really want to get away from Chloe anyway. Or stop what’s currently happening. Because Chloe’s lips feel amazing touching hers and just when Beca starts to sink into it, Chloe changes things up and tilts her head in a way that makes them fit even better.

The sound Beca makes at the touch of Chloe’s tongue to her lips is just as embarrassing as whining about Chloe teasing her but the sound Chloe makes in response is the sexiest thing Beca’s ever heard.

It fuels her. Emboldens her to press a bit forward, to part her lips and let Chloe in to meet her tongue with her own.

That’s all it takes for them to be making out in the darkened Santa’s Workshop. A rambly suggestion and Beca nodding like a bobblehead. If she had known it would be that easy, maybe they could have done this a long time ago.

Not that she has any regrets. Not when Chloe’s tongue is playing with hers in a way that makes Beca think she might be showing off. Or maybe Chloe’s just an amazing kisser.

(She’s pretty sure it’s the latter.)

She doesn’t know how much time passes but eventually Chloe is the one to pull back with a satisfied-sounding groan. “God, that was really good,” she says before leaning in to kiss Beca again, a hard, fast, wet kiss that turns Beca on more in those three seconds than everything prior.

“Yeah,” Beca replies and she can hear in her own voice how breathless she sounds.

“And you look...smokin’ hot dressed up like this.”

Beca almost finds enough snark left inside her to turn that into a comment about Chloe having a weird Christmas kink, except as soon as she thinks about Chloe having kinks of any kind, her mind shuts down again and she’s the one suddenly kissing Chloe, hard, fast, and wet.

Chloe groans again when Beca pulls back and it’s all she can do to not lean right in for more. It feels too good and knowing it’s affecting Chloe like it’s affecting Beca is even better. She manages to refrain, though, because she’s noticing how dark it’s gotten. “Dude, they turned off all the lights.”

“Mall’s closed,” Chloe says, voice sounding as dreamy as she looks.

“And it’s okay for us to still be here?”

“Security will let us out. Do you want to do this again?” Chloe’s question follows her comment about security with no warning and it catches Beca off-guard.

“Uh, I mean…” she stumbles over what she should say; she doesn’t want to sound like the horny college student she is, and she doesn’t want to sound like she’s rejecting Chloe’s offer (?), but she definitely wants to do this again. “Amy’s crashing at Bumper’s tonight,” is how she answers it and it’s not until Chloe’s eyes go wide with surprise that she realizes how that sounded.

“I just meant...oh, my God,” she rushes, trying to figure out how to explain that she didn’t mean it ‘that way’ except she kind of did, just not all-the-way that way. Except despite tonight being their first kiss, she’s pretty sure she would sleep with Chloe tonight if things went that direction.

It’s not like she’s never thought about it.

“I just meant we can hang out in my room and be alone and see what happens.”

Chloe’s smiling at her struggle to answer and it only grows. “‘See what happens’? What if what happens is more of that?”

Beca thinks it’s a dumb question. Dumb dumb dumb. “Then that would be fine,” she says with a nod.

“Then let’s go home,” Chloe whispers before pulling Beca into one more kiss, all of it leaving Beca’s legs unsteady when she finally rights herself so they can leave the workshop.

“I can’t get over this,” Chloe says with a tug to Beca’s skirt before standing up as well. “Can you keep it on when we get home?”

“In your dreams.”

Chloe hums thoughtfully as she takes Beca’s hand to lead her out of the workshop and through the hidden hallways of the mall to the exit. “Oh, it will be.”

Beca has a lot of questions about that: what exactly she means, what exactly she’d be dreaming of, what exactly what’s happening means for them as friends, and if it means something more.

Instead of asking about any of that, however, she says, “I didn’t forget what you did. You’re not off the hook for this elf thing.”

The look Chloe tosses her over her shoulder makes her breath catch. “Guess I’ll have to make it up to you.”

The End

#bechloe #merry pitchmas #merry pitchmas 2019 #fanfic #brandneweyesx

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mateoweston · 3 years

Text

PATIENCE → PARA

who: mateo weston, rory flanagan ( @switch-it-up-rory )

when: february 7th

where: mateo’s room

warnings: first sexy scene! smut!

Mateo Weston

He was excited. He was for most scenes but as evidence had proven, hanging out with Rory was always interesting to say the least. Mateo usually liked to think of himself as good at reading people and went into most scenes with a general idea of how his partners would react. With Rory, he wasn’t so sure. There was a big chance he’d be true to his declaration and be patient, but Mateo was mostly curious to see what it would take to change that. By the time Rory knocked on the door, Mat had long finished setting up and easily waved him into the room. “We’ll take this to my room this time,” he pointed out, grin tugging at his lips, as he led the way there. Cuffs were already attached to the head of his bed and a variety of implements and toys were laid out on it. Some extra lengths of rope. A cock ring. Lube. A vibrating wand with a masturbator attachment. He wanted it all on display so Rory could get a look ahead of time, be it to give him a preview or give a chance to voice if he wasn’t into something after all. Closing the door behind them, he strolled over to perch against the edge of his desk for now. “So, you brought all that patience of yours?”

Rory Flanagan

The more Rory was getting to know Mateo, the weirder things were. And that wasn't necessarily a bad thing, per se, but Rory was used to being the one with all the surprises up his sleeve, to be the one to catch people out with his random anecdotes of his life before Florida, and general quirks of his personality, and varied interests. But Mat seemed to have Rory beat almost every time, and this new revelation about more explicit scenes was definitely something. The Irish lad never cared what was going on with people, as it was their own shit to figure out, and he'd keep this secret to the grave, but he was definitely curious for what the Dominant had to offer. They had stepped into the Dominant's bedroom, and Rory curiously looked around the space, eyebrows raising at everything was laid out. "Very prepared, Sir," He commnted, pointing to the bed, "Or like do you just have your shit lying about like this?" At Mateo's question, he shrugged, because he didn't know how to answer questions he didn't really liked being asked. "To show, like a famous ogre, I have more than one layer. A patience layer or some shit, I don't know."

Mateo Weston

The smile on his face turned into more of a grin as Rory talked. He truly thought it was impossible to be bored in his presence and while that was always entertaining, it also intrigued him. Especially now that he’d gotten to see a little more of Rory, he was curious what other layers that onion was hiding, to go with the presented metapher. “Well, I’m looking forward to testing that patience, then. Either way, we’re gonna have a good time,” he promised, gaze travelling down Rory’s body and then back up. After a brief moment of consideration, he pushed himself off his desk and slowly closed the distance between them, hands settling on Rory’s hips. “Tell me your safeword,” he requested, thumbs rubbing slow circles against the other’s hipbones. He knew it, of course, but wanted to bring it to both of their attention before they really got into this.

Rory Flanagan

Rory acknowledged that this was different than before, in the intimate privacy of Mateo's bedroom, feeling the Dominant's eyes on him in a way he hadn't previously felt, and Rory actually felt himself feeling a little hot under the collar. "A big promise to make, Sir," He found himself saying with a grin, gulping when he felt the Dominant's hands on his hips, completely forgetting what his safeword was, only thankful that today he decided to wear the dungarees that had the least amount of buttons to mess with. "Radish?" He guessed, even though it was his own safeword and technically it could be whatever he wanted. "Radish." Rory then repeated with some sort of confidence, though he didn't know where that came from, entirely too distracted by the feeling of Mat's hands tracing circles on his body, and he didn't know if he'd be able to say much more than that now, not that it was a word he wanted to say at all in this moment.

Mateo Weston

Mat was about to ask whether Rory was telling or asking him, but hummed in appreciation when he seemed to almost read his mind. "Good boy," he praised softly. "Use it if you need to." Another pause to let that sink in before he went on to explain his plans. "First of all, I'm gonna get all these clothes off you," he paused briefly to move one hand up from Rory's hips, his index finger hooking under the front of his dungarees for emphasis, "and you're just gonna stand here, relax and be good for me." With that, he slipped the one dungaree strap off his shoulder, letting them both hang around his hips. With the obstruction out of the way, his hands moved to the hem of his shirt, dipping under it for just a moment to rest against his stomach. Somehow keeping a close, literal skin-to-skin contact, felt important. "Arms up," he ordered, fingers curling against the hem of his shirt to lift it up and over his head. "There we go," he hummed, hands finding Rory's now bare waist, pulling him close while the other hand slowly trailed up his chest. "All good?"

Rory Flanagan

"Don't worry Sir, I think that'll be the last time you'll hear the word." Rory promised with a wink, knowing it was extremely bold to promise something like that, in a brand new scene where a lot more could go wrong than intended. But something stopped Rory from thinking such things as he registered the other man's words. It was the idea of Mateo, in a more serious Dominant mode than Rory had ever seen him, being all seductive and in charge, having to remove his dungarees, that almost set Rory off, and although he managed to contain what he was sure would be a big laughing fit, a little chuckle escaped him, but the laughter choked with a hitch in his throat because, somehow, Mat did make somewhat alluring, flicking off the straps of the outfit, and the Switch managed to do exactly what was told of him, watching him like a hawk. Rory's fingers twitched whe he felt Mat's hand come in contact with his stomach, wanting to touch him in return, but he just lifted his arms up, goosebumps raising on his arms as his not-so-bare skin was exposed, letting out a pleasantly surprised huff when Mateo pulled him in close again. "Yeah," Rory agreed, "was a bit stifling, in all those layers. So....are you gonna strip next, Sir?" He smirked, "Tit for tat and all that?"

Mateo Weston

Admittedly, there might have been something a little amusing about trying to make the removal of dungarees sexy. But then again, it had been Rory's idea to wear them in the first place so he decided the humour of it was entirely on him -- even if he couldn't help the grin on his own face in return to the other's chuckle. At his question, he hummed, the hand on Rory's waist sliding lower in a subtle attempt at finding where these damn pants had their buttons hid. Fortunately, they turned out to be rather easy to locate and so he shook his head as his fingers trailed over them. "No," he settled on after a moment, fingers slowly moving to pop the first button. "I want to see you first. And you were gonna be patient, remember?" he grinned, popping the second button and causing the dungarees to begin slipping. Besides, he'd always found the difference in state of dress to add something to a scene, at least for a little while. "Step out," he ordered, moving back a little to give Rory room to get the rest of the way out of his pants. "And then I want you on the bed, on your back."

Rory Flanagan

The reminder of Rory's patience made him rasie an eyebrow, slightly embarassed that he forgot about that part of it all. "I am very patient," He countered, fingers curling to stop his hands from tracing against Mateo's as the other man undid his buttons, "I just like knowing what's what, you know? Making a schedule and all tha'." When in doubt, he supposed, talk shit. He shimmied out of the dungarees that pooled to his feet, thin fabric of his underwear being the only thing preventing his heavily tattooed body being fully exposed, feeling weirdly vulnerable. He had been in various states of undress with various different people, but something about Mateo being involved, a man who had very particular views on scening, made him feel like it was almost taboo to be in his boxers in his bedroom. Rory however did what was told, laying on the bed, ignoring every instinct to pick up the toys laid out on the other side and play with them, not wanting whatever scene Mateo had in mind to veer into punishments. "Comfy," He commented, patting the bed spread as if it were a pet.

Mateo Weston

Mat made no secret of the way his gaze followed Rory as he laid down, travelling over the expanses of skin exposed by now. And he had to admit -- he was a real pretty sight. In a very objective way, of course. It wasn't until Rory had settled down that Mat reached for the hem of his own shirt, tugging it up and over his head with little ceremony. His focus tonight would not be on himself, so this was mostly for hopefully making Rory feel a little more comfortable in not being the only one exposed. "There you go," he muttered as he finally followed suit, one knee on the bed as his hands nudged Rory's knees apart to make enough space for him to fit between. Leaning over him, he ran one hand up his chest, stopping only when it had reached his chin. Thumbing over the vague stubble there, he cupped it, keeping Rory's head in space when he spoke. "Good boy. You're doing great," he reassured, a little softer than he might have usually been. After a brief pause, he moved, sitting back enough so he could actually use his hands and find Rory's wrists. He pinned first one, then the other wrist above his head with one of his and leaned back in, his body weight pressing them into the mattress. His free hand was back on Rory's chin then, tipping it up for no real reason except that he could. Moving in closer yet, his thumb brushed over Rory's bottom lip. "And do you know what good boys get?"

Rory Flanagan

Rory wasn't aware that he wolf-whistled at Mateo taking off his shirt until he could hear the tune echo in his ears, and he merely smirked to cover up for the flush on his cheeks. He wasn't blind, he always knew the Dominant before him was an objectively attractive male, but something about his shirt being off really cemented it in that Mateo Weston was a ride. He let out a weird gasp-like noise at the feeling of Mateo nudging his knees apart, that his body allowed as if he was on auto-pilot. He gulped when Mat traced his face, feeling any smart comment he might have had leave his brain. "Thank you, Sir," He answered thickly, though he wasn't really sure what he had done so far to count as being good, though he didn't mind the phrasing this time around, in fact wanting to hear it again. He didn't even resist when Mat picked up his wrist, letting out a small gasp at the sensation of their bodies pressing together. "A prize?" He asked, hopefully.

Mateo Weston

There was something about seeing Rory like this -- all flushed and gasping instead of full of the usual witty remarks -- that got to him. It was part of what he'd always enjoyed when playing with someone who pushed back a little: that moment when he managed to topple the bravado. It was a thrill that never got any less exciting. "That's right. A reward," he returned, small smile on his face as he leaned in. His lips pressed against just the corner of Rory's mouth, then to his jaw, his neck. When he'd made his way there, there was a brief pause before teeth dug into sensitive skin -- lightly at first, to test the waters -- before his tongue soothed over the spot. At the same time, he moved one of his legs up higher between Rory's, mercifully providing at least a little bit of friction. He deserved a reward, after all.

Rory Flanagan

It wasn't like Rory to be frozen or tongue-tied, but it was like Mateo had some sort of hold over him, and he was under his spell, determined to wait patiently and be good for him, to listen to him and do exactly what he was told. A small groan escaped him when the Dominant's mouth moved from his own down his jaw, and throat, letting out a pant when he felt his teeth sink it, hissing out in pleasure, shifting at the feeling of the friction Mateo's legs were providing. "I thought this was a reward, Sir," Rory gasped out, somehow finally finding his voice again, "but it seems like you're just teasing me." He grinned as he made his comment, giving away that he perhaps didn't mind being teased at all, but he wouldn't directly admit that, of course.

Mateo Weston

Mateo hummed as if he was genuinely considering Rory's words, the vibrations of it meeting the other's throat where he'd decided to bite down a little harder this time. He had a thing for marks. "Something tells me it's pretty rewarding for you." he commented, moving his leg up against him a little for emphasis. Speaking of teasing, though, he did have further plans. Pulling back and sitting up a little, he brushed some hair our of Rory's face. "But I do think I'mma need two hands for the rest of this. So let's get yours nice and tied up." With that, he attached both of Rory's wrists into the cuffs already hanging from the headboard. Rope was nice but the cuffs were quicker to both put on and take off if needed be. And especially for their first time sceneing together, he wanted that option. "There," he proclaimed, clearly satisfied at his work once he was done, and sat back on his knees. Damn if he wasn't pretty, all spread out like that. This time, his hands settled on Rory's knees, slowly travelling up his thighs. While one hand continued up over his stomach, the other one hovered before giving in. Brushing the back of his knuckles lightly over the shape of Rory's cock in his underwear, he clicked his tongue. "Did you enjoy being teased?"

Rory Flanagan

Normally Rory would feel somewhat embarassed at how quickly it took for him to be turned on, but somehow with Mateo he couldn't quite bring himself to care. He wanted the Dominant above him knowing how much he got to him, as sad and desperate it may have seemed. "Oh, really?" He managed to say, with a playful eyeroll, "God I wonder what gives you that impression." He noticed when he seemed to relax more, when he wasn't so on edge, he could still be himself, though Mat was still managing to find ways to shut him up with each new touch on his body, and all he could was look up at him as he brushed his hair out of his face, a gesture so weirdly soft and intimate in the general weirdness of this whole scene, but definitely a good weird, he decided. He smirked seeing the handcuffs. "Last time I was in a pair of these it was a much less enjoyable experience than I'm sure this will be, Sir," He menitoned, moving his arms, the cuffs sliding along the bedframe, stopping when he realised it might get him into trouble, and also, because Mateo's hands were on him again, moving slowly to where Rory was aching to be touched. He gulped thickly, before nodding. "I did, Sir." He said, the attitude from before gone from his voice again, replaced by the lust that was a thick cloud in his head.

Mateo Weston

“Trust me, it’ll be enjoyable alright,” he teased in return. He’d gone into this still fairly careful, Fauna’s words of caution ringing in his head, and while Mateo wasn’t about to dive straight into the deep end of the most intense stuff he could think of, he was starting to relax more. Perhaps Rory didn’t have much experience -- but their banter remained easy and unless Mat was really reading the room wrong, he seemed fairly at ease, too. “I’m gonna have to keep that in mind, then,” he mused, as if the thought of teasing him further had only just entered his mind and wasn’t the entire theme of this scene. His fingers kept moving, feather light over Rory’s cock while the hand that had moved up to his chest paused to lightly pinch at a nipple, just to see what kind of a reaction he’d get. “I think we should get rid of this, don’t you?” he mused after a moment, hand moving from Rory’s crotch to the waistband of his briefs. Fingertips dipped under for a moment before he grasped at the piece of clothing. “Up,” he ordered, waiting until Rory lifted his hips to pull it down all the way. Discarding the item somewhere off to the side, he moved back on, hands hooking under Rory’s knees to bend and spread them to make room. “Such a good boy,” he praised, voice soft again, as his palms settled on either side of Rory’s hips. “All good?”

Rory Flanagan

A small moan escaped him as Mateo's hands brushed along his cock, taking advantage of being able to shift against him in an attempt to feel some relief, because there was no rule about him not being able to move. "You better not be getting any ideas, Sir," He said with a cocky smile, that was quickly replaced by a whine, arching his back as the Dominant tweaked his nipple, sending ripples of arousal down his spine. It wasn't even something that could have been considered painful, but it reminded Rory that he really enjoyed pain. He did what he was told, lifting his hips and helping Mat to the best of his ability wiggle out of his briefs, shivering slightly at the cold air on his now exposed half-hard cock, waiting with anticipation on what Mat would do next. "You love to man handle," He commented, before he could stop himself. It wasn't in his usual teasing tone, nor was it a criticism, just stating a fact, looking up at the Dominant with a curious expression, because he couldn't admit to himself he enjoyed that aspect a bit too much. "All good." He confirmed.

Mateo Weston

"I started this with ideas. Why'd you think I said we'd test your patience?" he returned, his own expression easily matching Rory's in cockiness. Which, admittedly, might be a little easier to do when you weren't the one tied up. At Rory's observation on his love for manhandling, he shrugged a shoulder and pulled Rory's hips towards himself a little as if on emphasis. "It's nice to make someone do something just by saying so -- but it's also nice to not give them the choice, sometimes." He took a moment to just look, gaze trailing over the seemingly dozens of tattoos covering at least some of all body parts. As he reached the one just above his crotch, he had to stifle a grin. God, it was all so in character. Considering his options for a moment, his gaze finally returned to Rory's face and he waited until he was looking at him to raise his palm and lick broadly across it. "So," he started, almost too casual, as he wrapped his palm around Rory's cock and began stroking -- too slow to really get anywhere, but enough to tease. "Here's what we're gonna do. I'm gonna get you nice and close and you're gonna tell me when you get there. You don't cum without permission. And if you're good, I'll make it very much worth your while. Understood?"

Rory Flanagan

"Because you have no faith in my ability to be patient," Rory murmured, the cocky tone in his answer being lost in the breathlessness of his voice, though he was thankful for the reminder that he simply had to be patient for Mat, so he could prove the Dominant wrong. That's what all of this was about, after all. The Switch had some smart comment on the tip of his tongue regarding Mateo and free-will but he'd only managed to get out "It seems like --," before his hips were pulled forward and the rest of the sentence was lost in a gasp, falling out of his head as his brain could only think about Mat's hands on his skin. He felt even more naked at the way Mateo's eyes seemed to linger on his body, a blush forming on his face as each tattoo seemed to be studied silently by the Dominant. He grinned almost sheepishly when Mat made eye contact with him again, trying to focus on his words, but let out a low groan when his cock began receiving some much-needed attention. "Hmm, yep, completely understood Sir," He said with an eager nod, almost wanting to ask him to pick up the speed a little, but not wanting to seem impatient.

Mateo Weston

It was almost comical, how responsive Rory was and how every comment died on his tongue with the touch of Mat's hand. And beyond that, it was nice to spend some time with someone he got along with so easily, whom he could push and pull with and still have a pretty good grasp on how this was going to end. Once he had Rory's confirmation, Mat leaned back in, teeth first against the skin near his collarbone, then further up his neck. He wasn't quite as careful this time, now that he'd had a chance to gage Rory's reaction. After a moment he paused, lips hovering just underneath Rory's ear and the hand that wasn't holding him up still working Rory over just a tad slow. "Good boy," he murmured, thumb swiping over the head of his cock as if to make his point. "Such a good boy."

Rory Flanagan

Everytime Mateo praised him, called Rory a good boy, the affirmations went straight to his cock, and in addition to the teasing touches by Mateo's hand, the Switch wasn't sure how long he could be patient for. He let out a groan at the feeling of the teeth grazing his collarbone, the delicious sensation of the pain sinking into his skin. "Sir..." He tried to say, blushing when it came out more as a whimper, pulling against his restraints again in an effort to silently ask the Dominant to go a bit faster, without having to actually beg for it and prove his point he wasn't that patient after all.

Mateo Weston

"Yes?" Mateo inquired once he'd finished leaving a mark low on his neck. He pulled back a little so he could look at Rory, one eyebrow raising. His free hand travelled across his chest, fingers pinching at a nipple again. This time, he payed a little more attention and time, twisting slightly as he kept his eyes on Rory's face. "Tell me what you want. Maybe I'm feeling nice."

Rory Flanagan

"Fuck," Rory groaned in response, half tempted to bat Mat and his smug expression away, letting out another groan when he realised he was still tied up, hissing when his nipple was once again pinced. "I want you to stop being slow, Sir." Rory said, "And go a bit faster, if you can."

Mateo Weston

"Such a good boy," he praised softly, the sweet words a perhaps stark contrast to the way his fingers continued to twist at his nipple. Still, he was true to his words and sped up at his request, wrist twisting each time he got to the head. "You tell me when you get close though, remember."

Rory Flanagan

It was like a wire had crossed in Rory's brain, because all he wanted to do was be a good boy for Mat, and he couldn't quite believe it. But everytime the Dominant praised him, it went straight to his head, and all he wanted was more. He let out an appreciative groan when Mat sped up, the twisting motion making the Switch bite his lip and wriggle against his restraints. "God that won't take long," He panted, "When you keep doing that," Rory tried to shoot a pointed look to Mat's wrist, though he couldn't really focus, and he knew he probably looked more desperate than annoyed right now.

Mateo Weston

"Good, that's the plan," Mat commented with a grin, pointedly twisting his wrist a little more now that Rory had brought it up. He wanted to see him let go, watch the bravado melt away and let him relax. It was part of the reason he liked playing with brats the most -- not only was it real rewarding when he finally broke through that shell, but it was also really nice seeing them actually giving in and letting themselves be taken care of. Shifting, he moved his free hand off Rory's nipple and down his body, nails scratching lightly over his skin as he went. Finally, gentle fingers cupped Rory's balls, squeezing slightly while his other hand kept up its motion.

Rory Flanagan

It was taking all he had not to groan and shift too much, because he didn't want to give Mat the satisfaction. But it was clear he was extremely stimulated, and a moan escaped him when Mat began to lightly scratch down his torso, whimpering when his balls were squeezed slightly. The knot in his stomach tightened, and he shifted his hips up. "Fuck, I'm close, I'm close," He panted out, voice more desperate than he intended.

Mateo Weston

As soon as Rory spoke, Mat's hand stopped stroking, squeezing around the base of his cock instead. "Good boy. Breathe for me, relax." His voice was soothing now as his free hand slid up and down Rory's thigh. He waited for him to settle down enough that he could be relatively sure he wasn't a second away from the edge anymore before he moved again, grabbing the cockring from the side. "Let's make sure you don't accidentally go over, hm? Would be a shame," he narrated as he fit it onto Rory, tightening it enough for it to be useful but not painful. "And now," Mat began, reaching for the vibrator with the attachment and the lube, "Let's make the second one a little more fun, hm?"

Rory Flanagan

He let out a gasping breath, following Mat's orders, willing his body to relax. He managed to calm himself down, his heart rate slowly, focusing on Mat's calming voice. He closed his eyes for a bit whilst he took a moment, and when he opened them, he was greeted to Mat holding a few toys, a shudder rippling through his body when the Dominant attached the cockring. "Oh, fuck," He murmured, eyes widening at the vibrator and lube. "You're going to be the fucking death of me."

Mateo Weston

"I'd hope not, that would be very hard to explain to people," he joked in return. Meanwhile, he took his time to get some lube, stroking Rory a few times to get him slick. With that done, he began to slowly work the cock-sleeve attachment onto him, giving him enough time to get used to the sensation without any further stimulation. Only once it rested around the base of his cock did he tap Rory's thigh to get his attention. "Rules stay the same, you tell me when you're close. I suspect it'll be a bit faster this time." And with that warning, he flicked the vibrator to the highest setting and began pumping it up and down his cock.

Rory Flanagan

“That sounds like a you problem, Sir,” Rory gasped out, though his brain forgetting whatever half attempt at conversation they were having as he stroked him with the lube, cock twitching with interest at what was happening. The feeling of the attachment was one he could only describe as weird and unfamiliar, but not necessarily bad, and truthfully he was excited to see what would happen next. He shifted a bit at the tapping on his thigh, biting his lip to stop a whine from leaving him. “Yes, Sir, I understand —,” His voice cracked when the vibrator started and he let out a groan. “Oh god, oh fuck,” He moaned.

Mateo Weston

If he'd thought the noises Rory had been making before were gorgeous, the ones the vibrator pulled out of him were music to Mat's ears. "Such pretty noises," he praised, the near shit-eating grin on his face definitely evident in his voice. The hand that wasn't operating the vibrator clasped over Rory's hip to keep him pinned to the bed, just in case. "Maybe I'll do this for a little longer than I planned -- now that you just sound so pretty, stopping sooner seems like a waste."

Rory Flanagan

Rory let out a moan that was half pleasure, half frustration when Mat kept him pinned down to the bed, his hips still thrusting upwards despite the obstacles. “I...” Rory gasped out, feeling himself close to begging for Mat to give him some relief, the stubborn part of him not wanting to give in just yet. “I think you should stick to your original plan, Sir,” He eventually managed to say, his the cracking in his voice giving away just how aroused he currently was.

Mateo Weston

“Unfortunately, that’s not really your choice right now,” Mat hummed playfully, thumbing over Rory’s hipbone as he moved the vibrator up to the head of his cock and paused there to watch the other twitch or a while. Still, his gaze was pinned to Rory’s face, watching carefully. As much as he liked to tease and push, he also didn’t want to push too far and have Rory go over accidentally. He wanted him to succeed -- it would make the reward in the end so much more pleasurable. “Are you close yet?” he questioned, free hand brushing over Rory’s balls and continuing on, rubbing absently over his perineum.

Rory Flanagan

If Rory was in the headspace to argue, he absolutely would, but he couldn't focus on a cohesive argument when he was trying to calm his body down against the vibrator and the attachment, to not much avail. He did let out a barked laugh at the question, looking at Dominant as if he were mad for asking something so obvious, but then he took a deep breath. "Yes. Yes I am very fucking close Sir." He whined.

Mateo Weston

As soon as Rory spoke, Mat turned off the vibrator and moved it back down towards the base of his cock to let it rest there for a moment. "Good boy. Take a deep breath for me," he soothed, one hand on Rory's thigh, the other one rubbing slowly from his stomach up to his chest. "You're doing so well. Relax." He kept the touches gentle and the words just as soothing as he let a few moments pass, hopefully enough to get Rory at least a bit more away from the edge. "One more edge, then I'll let you cum, alright? Can you do that?"

Rory Flanagan

Even though Mat asked for a deep breath, it took Rory a couple of shallow pants, as if swallowing the air without really inhaling it, before he breathed as instructed, letting his body relax into Mat's reassuring touches, letting the praise was over him. Once his body calmed down, he glanced back up at Mat. "Yeah, yep. I can do that, Sir," He promised, glad that Mat was checking in to make sure he wasn't pushed too far.

Mateo Weston

"There you go, that's it. Such a good boy." With how well Rory seemed to respond to praise, it was easy to lean into that, to allow him to relax into the knowledge that he was doing well. "Good," he chuckled at Rory's eventual answer and, with that, reached for the dial on the vibrator to flip it up to its highest setting once more. For now, let let it rest around the base of Rory's cock and ran his hands up his thighs. "Next time, we'll make it four."

Rory Flanagan

It felt like he had barely any time to recuperate from the edge when he heard Mat's chuckle, eyebrow's raising with curiosity at what he was about to do. When he switched the vibrator on again, a loud groan left him, his body feeling like electric shocks were jolting down his spine, wishing his hands were untied so he could move it off his cock, precum leaking onto his stomach, twitching at the sensitivity, back arching at Mat's hands moving up his thighs. "You're fucking killing me, Sir," He gasped out, voice cracking in what almost sounded like a sob.

Mateo Weston

The noise of the near-sob went straight through Mat, making his skin prickle and his heart beat a little faster. A part of him wanted to be meaner and tease Rory, ask whether he was going to cry for him. And with someone else, he just might have. But Rory's apparent inexperience with d/s was enough to make him tread a little carefully, lest he step over some line even Rory didn't know existed. "It'll be worth it," he promised instead, grabbing the vibrator to begin moving it up and down his length once more. "Just imagine how nice it's gonna be when you get to cum."

Rory Flanagan

If Rory could focus on both trying not to cum, and being snarky back to the Dominant hovering over him, he would have rolled his eyes and asked if it was worth it, really. But with each pulsating motion of the vibrator going through his oversensitive nerves, arms going dead from where his tied wrists had managed to grip the headboard, he knew truly, it definitely would be worth it. "I can't imagine, Sir, or I'll actually cum," He admitted with a pant, "Please, fuck, fuck I'm so...close, I can't anymore." All previous bravado had faded, and he was just a blabbering mess, half desperate to cum just to feel relief, and half desperate to not to, his urge to be a good boy for Mat more powering than anyhing else in that moment.

Mateo Weston

It was a very pretty display, the second that Rory broke. All the snark melting away for good, every muscle in his body pulled taught as he strained against his restraints. Mat truly hoped he'd get to see it all again. "You're doing so well," he praised again and, after brief consideration, moved the vibrator off Rory's cock and discarded it off to the side once it was turned off. He wanted to use his hands for the last part. "I'm going to count you down. 10 seconds, you can hold on that long." With that, his hand wrapped around him again, picking up speed easily and twisting his wrist with every stroke as he began the countdown. At two, he popped the cockring open and let it fall to the side. "One -- well done. Cum for me, Rory. You can let go."

Rory Flanagan

He didn't know how long he could last, and the countdown seemed to be almost mocking him, though he knew deep down it was to keep ihm steady and grounded for a few more seconds, to give him a sense of time. He groaned heavily, and though he doubted he'd admit it to his face, Mat's hand around his now throbbing cock was a much preferred sensation over to the vibrator, and not just for sensitivity reasons. He moaned heavily when the cock ring popped off and the extra pressure was gone, and the moment the command fell from Mat's lips, Rory let go, coming hard with a collective of curses, body shaking, feeling the cum fall warm onto his stomach. "Shit, fuck, fuck," He panted, giving himself a moment to breathe. "Wow." Was all he said, remembering they were in a scene, and he turned to Mat. "Thank you, Sir."

Mateo Weston

Mat continued to stroke Rory through his orgasm, stopping only when he seemed to be all done. With someone else or at another time, he might have continued just a bit for fun but he wanted this to be a well-rounded and wholly fun experience for Rory. So he just ran his clean hand up his side for a moment, wanting to keep the skin-to-skin-contact. "Good boy," he praised, then leaned to the side to grab some wet-wipes from the bedside table. Doing more of a quick than a thorough job to clean up first his hand and then Rory, he discarded everything off to the side and then moved up Rory's body. Experienced fingers undid the ties on his wrists and carefully brought his arms back down. "You did so well," he reiterated as he carefully massaged at one of Rory's forearms, wanting to make sure no harm was done. "How do you feel?"

Rory Flanagan

It was admittedly nice to just say there, whining slightly at cold feeling of the wet-wipe on his skin, but refreshing all the same. He groaned when his arms, stiff from being in that position for so long, were finally free, and though he was tempted to shake them around like a particularly aggressive game of the hokey-cokey, Rory thought it was best to leave for Mat to check over him. "Like I've been fucking tortured and used," He snarked, but he couldn't help the grin that came over him, partly from the post-orgasm endrophins pumping through his system, "but also good, satisfied, happy I achieved a task...patient." He laughed, letting out a hum at Mat massaging his arm, "How do you feel?"

Mateo Weston

Mat merely raised an eyebrow at the snark, a playful smile playing around his lips. The addition Rory brought on a moment later made him hum in appreciation, switching to his other arm in the meantime. "Good. You were very good for me, so you can be proud of yourself," he pointed out, fingers passing over Rory's skin to make sure he was all good. "I feel really good. Glad I made you feel good, proud of how good you were." Satisfied with Rory's arms being fine, he reached for one of the water bottles on the nightstand and handed it to Rory. "Have a few sips."

Rory Flanagan

Though he'd be quick to deny it, Rory was actually happy to hear that Mat was proud of him, and that the Dominant enjoyed the scene as much as Rory did. He took the water gratefully, making sure to sip gently rather than chug it as he was tempted to do. "Did you know it's the Superbowl today?" He suddenly asked, wondering if they could have a normal conversation, or if Mat would try and divert it back to scene talk. "I wonder if we missed the half-time show."

Mateo Weston

The laugh Mat let out at the sudden realisation sat somewhere between amusement and surprise, head shaking slightly. Of course this was where this conversation had suddenly gone -- there was always something unexpected with Rory, it seemed. "I do. I'mma catch the rerun later," he said, deciding not to reveal that he'd ended up cancelling on a superbowl party for this scene. That made it all sound a lot more grave than it was and maybe was a little weird. "But we could definitely see whether we can catch half-time show and the second half," he added with a glance towards the time and grabbed for the remote -- and a chocolate bar, offering the latter to Rory. "Eat that, gotta get your blood sugar levels back up."

Rory Flanagan

It would take Rory a few days to really accept the fact he enjoyed this scene more than he thought he would, and he took the bar of chocolate gratefully. If these were the bonuses, in addition to the endorphins pumping through his system, it might be something he could consider in the long run. "Hey maybe watching the Half-Time show could be my aftercare, Sir?" He suggested, with a cheeky grin. And really, though he wouldn't admit to Mateo who seemed too big for his boots about this kind of thing, scening with him wouldn't be so bad after all.

#rory #para

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demaury · 5 years

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the best of me (chap.5)

“If anything bad happens I flush the rings, I leave my bestman spot to Baz, and I fly back to Paris.“

OR. Eliott and Lucas have never worked up the courage to actually make a move, and thus spent years dancing around each other without ever acknowledging their feelings. However, an engagement party gone a little too wild, an hotel room and a very bad idea might be all it takes to make everything blow up. (read on ao3)

He walked.

He walked for quite a while, actually. First taking the direction opposite to their hotel, then wherever his feet would take him. Right, left. Right again. He hadn’t really thought it through — the whole “walking by myself in an unknown city I barely speak the language from” — but it wasn’t like he had thought much about anything since they got here. Right now he just needed to walk, and to be left alone, or else he was afraid he might blow up. Two fucking days. He couldn’t believe it had only been two fucking days. He couldn’t believe how everything between him and Eliott had crashed in less than forty-eight goddamn hours, because of something he didn’t even remember doing.

At some point he just sat on a fountain until it got dark and most streets deserted.

His chest felt hollow but his body strangely heavy. The adrenaline was slowly wearing off, leaving him exhausted and profoundly upset. At himself. At Eliott. There was a part of him that hated him for pretending he didn’t know they had hooked up, but the nagging voice at the back of his head was stupidly aware he had done just the same. It didn’t answer the question about how Daphné had found out though. Had Eliott told her? He doubted it. If anyone had known, it might have been Alexia. Manon? Lucas had kept every single of her secrets ever since they were seventeen, he didn’t want to find out now that it was one-sided, he thought tiredly.

The way back to the hotel was a bit of a blur — he was on automatic pilot. A weird streetlamp, a flashy sign announcing a beauty salon, a vague memory of his whereabouts, and there it was. All he wanted, as he pushed past the door of the lobby, was for this day to be over. He didn’t think much either as he hit the right button in the elevator, merely slouching back against the metallic walls of the cabin as the door rolled closed. It was nearly 2, and he had certainly not expected for anyone to be still up after the evening they had, let alone that as soon as he’d pull the doorknob and step in, he’d be met with furious looks and exasperated faces. Emma, Imane, Basile, Manon and Arthur all scooted around, some sitting, some standing, and in the middle of the room, Yann, whose fuming face melted into something close to relief as soon as his eyes stumbled on him.

It took Lucas aback, to see the room so crowded, to the point his pace faltered.

“What are you doing here?” he asked, voice rough, only letting go of the doorknob after a moment of silence.

Immediately, as soon as the door shut itself, Basile jumped from the foot of Emma’s bed, quick as a shotgun. “Lucas, Lucas, my man, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry,” he blurted out, gesturing from his hands nervously just like he was doing so often whenever he was tense. He always blamed it on being one quarter Italian, no matter how many times Arthur and Lucas had told him he couldn’t inherit this from anyone, biologically speaking. “It was shit of us, really-”

“He’s right,” Arthur chimed in, “it was totally not okay, we should have never-”

Basile nodded vigorously as he exchanged a look with Arthur. “Oh fuck, no, never-”

Headache. Lucas took a step back. “What the fuck are you talking about?”

There was a pause and Arthur and Basile seemed to deflate.

“You- you didn’t listen to the voice messages?” the latter asked, a little thrown-off.

“No. Care to explain or you really want me to check my voicemail at almost 2 in the fucking morning?”

Another pause. Lucas wanted to strangle someone as everyone glanced at each other. Imane was the first one to break the silence, glaring at Emma who was sitting on the side of her bed. “Emma? Wanna say something maybe?”, she articulated, arms folded on her chest.

Emma swallowed thickly and met Lucas’ eyes before quickly looking down. “You didn’t- uh, you didn’t sleep with Eliott. Well- I don’t think you did. I don’t really know, maybe you guys-”

Yann huffed, exasperated. “Straight to the point!”

Lucas’ heart skipped a bit as his attention grew suddenly ten times more acute, making him feel like the entire room was spinning for a split-second.

Emma bit down on her bottom lip some more. “I’m the one who put you in his bed,” she said in a breath, words tumbling out of her mouth. They hung up in the air for a certain amount of time before they actually meant something to Lucas’ ears — and yet, even then, it just didn’t add up.

“You didn’t,” he gritted out after a minute.

Emma stood up. “I’m sorry, I didn’t think it’d derail like that!”

“Why the fuck would you do that? What is wrong with you?”, he shouted, then he turned to Arthur and Basile, pieces finally starting to stick together. “And you helped her, you assholes?!”

“We were really wasted,” Arthur pleaded. “It wasn’t- I mean it’s not an excuse, we, uh, we know that-”

“We very much do-,” Basile nodded.

Lucas stared at them in disbelief, unable to find the right words. At some point he had fallen into another dimension, it couldn’t be any simpler. His friends of ten years couldn’t have done that, it was just- “This is so sick,” he blurted, and he spun around to face Yann. “Did you know?”

At the moment it was the only thing that seemed to matter. He could survive Emma pulling some sick joke on him, he could survive Basile and Arthur helping her, but he wasn’t sure he could live with Yann, Yann of all people, being even aware of it.

Yann shook his head and a sparkle of relief fluttered in his stomach. “I just found about it all. I swear.”

He didn’t know. Yann didn’t know. He remembered now the face he had made, stunned and shocked, just before he stormed out the restaurant after Daphné blowing up-

“I can’t even-,” he huffed and ran a hand through his hair. “Was it some sort of joke to you? Strip someone naked while they’re wasted and just… put them in someone else’s bed?!”

“I didn’t- I just thought that it could be the kick you guys needed.”

“This wasn’t your fucking business, Emma!,” he shouted again.

“Stop yelling at me, they’ve already done that since you left!”

“And what did you expect exactly?” The attack had come from Manon’s side, strangely enough. She had been quiet since the beginning, but the glance Lucas spared her was enough to admit to himself he hadn’t seen her this angry in years. “That they’d thank you? For God’s sake, you’ve got no idea what it feels like to be in this situation!”

“It’s Eliott we’re talking about!” Emma protested. “He’d never do anything Lucas doesn’t want to!”

“I can’t believe you even took the risk!” Manon snapped.

Emma turned to Lucas. “I’m sorry, okay? I’m sorry, I’ve been apologizing for hours. It was a stupid idea, it was wrong, I messed up. Now could you all please stop acting like none of you ever did anything wrong and regretted it afterwards?”

“As far as I’m concerned I’ve never done something like that, no, because I respect people and their boundaries,” Imane retorted, fuming. “You all gave me hell for that one bad decision I made regarding Manon and her relationship, and we were in high school, we were fucking kids. You’re a freaking adult, Emma, you’re not sixteen anymore!”

Emma opened her mouth to protest but Lucas cut her off. “Does Eliott know?”

They all looked back at him, with a hint of surprise, as if they had forgotten it was about him — them. “He hasn’t returned yet,” Arthur said after a short while. “So, unless anyone texted him- or unless he just, I don’t know, remembers-”

“How did you even do it, anyway?” Lucas demanded.

Emma looked at the ground and Imane huffed an annoyed sigh. “Apparently, Eliott was upset because you hooked-up with some guy and went back to the hotel to drink himself out.”

“He did drink himself out, and he was pissed,” Emma protested. “Alex already told you, we brought him back to his room that night.”

“Okay, so then you saw me and you thought ‘oh that’d be fun’,” Lucas gritted.

The anger bubbled inside of him, threatening to spill. He was rarely if ever violent, and generally mostly towards himself rather than the others. He had punched walls before, broken his hand once in the process. And right now, well, right now he wanted to hit something. He wasn’t shaking, he wasn’t trembling — it wasn’t the same type of anger he had felt earlier than night. He didn’t want to throw a chair across the room, what he wanted was to punch a fucking wall, over and over again.

“We can’t keep talking about it now,” Yann said, his voice echoing weirdly as if from afar.

“Some people could really use a night to reflect on what they did,” Imane scowled, looking at Basile and Arthur in particular.

“It’s late and we have to be at the airport at 8h44 tomorrow morning.”

Everyone hummed in response and people started to motion around him.

“Tell me when Eliott comes back,” Lucas said as Arthur walked past him to head out.

His friend nodded. “Sure. Yeah. Anything you want.”

In the end, Imane offered to switch rooms with Lucas in order to spare everyone the trouble of a confrontation between him and Emma, but she had to promise Yann she wouldn’t strangle her in her sleep either before the decision was made. It was nearly 3 when Manon went to take a shower and prepare to bed, leaving Yann and Lucas alone in the room after Imane grabbed a few things and retired for the night.

“I don’t think I should even come to the wedding,” Lucas said, somber, staring at an invisible spot in front of him. “Just look how I managed to screw up this weekend.”

Yann snorted and shook his head. “If anyone ruined anything, it’s Emma. And Arthur. And Basile. You and Eliott didn’t do anything wrong.”

There was a silence, only disturbed by the sound of the water running in the bathroom.

“I’ve been an ass, right?” Lucas whispered. “To him.”

Yann seemed to ponder the question. “I don’t know,” he admitted. “I guess so, in a way? I just- I don’t know, I just don’t understand you two anymore.” Lucas lifted tired eyes on him and his best friend looked a bit sheepish. “You two have been in this… weird place for years. I’ve lost count of how many times we all thought something was up between you two. And frankly, sometimes it looks like you and Eliott don’t know what’s going on either. For what my opinion is worth, I don’t think it’s doing anyone a favor to keep this situation going like that.”

Lucas let his look drop and fiddled with the hem of his shirt. “We never meant for it to become weird. For us it’s… it just is. It’s just how it works.”

Or, rather, worked. When Yann had left Paris after high school to study in Strasburg, he had gotten closer from Eliott, and at the moment it had felt like the most natural thing in the world. They had established a different routine, with different rituals, and Eliott had slowly filled Yann’s shoes and the part he was occupying in Lucas’ life up until then. When did things become ‘weird’, then? He had troubles figuring out. It wasn’t like most things they were doing together weren’t things he’d have done for Yann, and the other way around.

Back in high school, one of the things they had bonded over was their families, and the fact that both lived alone. No one really knew what it meant not to have a parent at home to cook dinner or someone to come and get you after a party. All their friends saw was that there wasn’t anybody to pester them about their BACs and their whereabouts, but they barely acknowledged the downsides of it all. Lucas’ dad had moved out of Paris a few months after separating with his mom, then the latter had been admitted into a psychiatric ward, for short stays at first, and then longer ones. Not long after Lucas was living in the flatshare and his dad got barely bothered enough to pay the rent, when he wasn’t simply forgetting about his only son at all. Eliott too was an only child, and although Lucas guessed his parents loved him, they loved their job even more. Mr. Demaury was an environmental and wildlife photographer and Mrs. Demaury a journalist, and they had both agreed, when Eliott was born, that at least one of them would remain in France to care for him; after Eliott turned 11, however, they started spending more and more time abroad, and their son more and more time at his grandmother’s. I don’t wish anyone to have a kid like me, Eliott had told him once after confessing all the rebellious shit he had pulled year after year, in hope that his parents would finally notice him.

“Aren’t you gonna ask?”, Lucas said after a while.

“Why you reacted the way you reacted?” Lucas nodded and Yann waved. “It doesn’t matter, what’s done is done. I just wish-” He paused and sighed, scrapping the back of his head. “I just wish you had told me, if it was bugging you. We promised to be honest to each other after the Chloé Disaster.”

The mention of it made Lucas’ skin prickle, like every time they talked about it �� which, fortunately, didn’t happen often –, but this time for a whole other reason. It was funny, in a way, that two of the worst nights of his life both featured Eliott.

“I thought about it, you know,” Lucas said, almost like an afterthought. “About how I always manage to find myself in fucked up situations like these.”

The first time something even remotely close had happened to him was towards the end of their second year in high school, back when he was still very much in the closet. He had been dating Chloé for three, maybe four months, and objectively he had known the entire time that sex would come up at some point – probably sooner than later even. Up until late spring of that year, Lucas had managed to dodge he bullet at least thrice (including two weekends where Chloé’s parents had been out of town), and to save his reputation within the Gang by pretending that Chloé being a year younger, it was only natural that she wanted to wait a little before letting him in her panties.

It had worked tremendously.

At first.

Until someday Arthur told him that Maria, Chloé’s best friend, had just confessed that Lucas’ girlfriend was planning on doing the deed during the next party, which was exactly two days away. Breaking-up was out of the question, since it was the only thing the guys were talking about for the two days that followed, so his only strategy to counter any embarrassment to come had been to drink until he could barely stand. That’s the story of how he found himself peeled off his clothes, one Friday night, in a bedroom he didn’t know and with a whole bunch of teenagers right on the other side of the locked door partying like there was no tomorrow. He remembered feeling panicked and dizzy as he started making out with Chloé, and that her hands grew bolder and bolder, but it was about it. He faintly remembered someone banging at the door, and whenever he allowed his mind to go back to that night, there was always a flash of a memory, of Chloé huffing loudly and yelling to the person to fuck off. Then? A few seconds were missing, minutes even for all he knew, but then Eliott was there, looking furious and outraged, and the boys were there too, and that’s when he had passed out. The last thing he remembered from that night was Eliott’s cool hand on his face, and the sheepish explanations of Basile as Chloé was throwing a tantrum, and everyone within hearing distance gathered in the doorway to peer at what was going on.

He woke up the next morning with the worst hangover of his short life and his friends scattered haphazardly in the flatshare. Later that day, he had come out to them over breakfast, and almost instantly found himself wrapped in Eliott’s arms for the second time in a couple of hours only – it had never stopped after that. Afterwards, Eliott had confessed that he had his suspicions regarding Lucas’ motivations when it came to Chloé, and that he had tried to make peace with the idea that it wasn’t his place to intervene, but finding out that Lucas was barely conscious at all and that Chloé was planning on doing the deed regardless had just made him snap. Lucas had told him he could never hate him for that, and just like that Eliott had become a part of the group. Basile, Arthur and Yann had received an hour-long lecture about consent from him after they had dragged Lucas away from Chloé, Yann told Lucas he would always be able to confide about whatever was bugging him and profusely apologized for any joke he had done in the past, Lucas promised he would try his best to be honest, and soon the night was only referred as ‘the Chloé Disaster’ — and then not referred at all.

The bathroom door being unlocked drove Lucas’ and Yann’s attention away, and Manon stepped in the room. Yann took it as his cue to leave and with a sympathetic pat on the back, he left after wishing them both a good night.

The night wasn’t good by any means, but Lucas already expected it, in complete honesty.

He turned and tossed so many times he had long lost the count, and when morning rolled around he felt the weight of two sleepless nights and too many fights in a row in the form of a knot between his shoulder blades, that no amount of stretching could possibly make up for. No one seemed to be in a talking mood over breakfast, particularly because Eliott had yet to show up after his exit at the restaurant, which was confirmed by Arthur when he told them he hadn’t slept in their room. Lucas didn’t like the thought of him spending the night with some fuckboy like that damn waiter, but he still rather liked to know Eliott somewhere with him than wandering around all night long.

Lucas went back to his original room to pack his stuff and Emma had the decency to leave him the fuck alone as he walked around and grabbed his things to shove them carelessly in his travel bag. All he wanted was to come home. He couldn’t stop himself from foolishly hope that maybe, just maybe, things would be okay again when they’d be back to Paris. They’d figure it out. They always had — not so much about them, because they had never fought this way, but everything else. If Yann had forgiven him for breaking him and Emma up when they were 16, he and Eliott could surely get through this too.

Nothing bad had happened. It was okay. Right?

“Lucas, you wanna come?” Nola asked warmly as the second cab they had ordered parked in front of the hotel. One had already left with a portion of their group a few minutes before, and she was holding the door as Yann and the driver were filling the trunk with their bags.

“I’ll take another one,” he said with a waving gesture, putting his earbuds back on.

“Alright, don’t miss the flight, okay?” Yann said from the sidewalk, using his dad voice. Lucas snorted and promised.

The second cab left shortly after. Alexia and Emma were smoking outside and Imane was on the phone with Sofiane, while Manon was reading a brochure, sitting close-by from Lucas. Time was flying by and soon the third cab showed up. Manon said she’d take the last one with Lucas and the girls hopped in.

“How did Daphné find out?” he asked after a while. Did you tell her?

It seemed so stupid now. Such a detail.

“I didn’t tell her,” Manon said, slowly lifting her head up. “But I did tell Imane and she overheard. I wasn’t gossiping, I know it’s not an excuse, it’s just that I got worried, you looked so stunned and… I know, well, I know that Eliott means a lot to you. I know he’s a big part of your life.”

“Not big enough according to some.”

They fell back into silence and Lucas forced himself to zone out as the playlist on his phone kept going, just to force himself to stop counting the minutes. It worked so well that his heart skipped a bit when Manon elbowed him discreetly, pointing at the door of the lobby and the person opening the door.

Eliott. Lucas stood up from his spot and took off his earbuds just as Eliott’s eyes were landing on him. He looked tired, with dark circles under his eyes and his shoulders slumped.

“Hi,” Lucas said.

“Hey.” Eliott’s voice sounded flat, neutral, completely void of emotions.

Lucas chewed onto his bottom lip and let his gaze slip past his friend’s shoulder for a little while, if only for the sake of being able to focus. “I wanted to talk to you last night but-”

“Alright. Go ahead.”

The singularity of their exchange threw Lucas off and he found himself searching for his words. They had never really acted like that towards each other. It was all so polite and forced that it made him want to crawl into a fucking hole. He took a small inspiration. “You and I, we didn’t- we didn’t hookup. Emma and the guys, they pulled some sort of sick joke and-”

Eliott nodded, without any indication that he was anywhere near as upset as Lucas was upon finding out the night before. “Okay,” he interrupted, and Lucas’ voice trailed off. “Thanks for letting me know.”

And with that he walked past him.

He walked past him.

Lucas was left staring at the void where Eliott had been standing not a second ago, before he spun around, eyes wide. “That’s it?”, he heard himself saying.

Eliott’s pace faltered in front of the concierge’s desk, and he turned back to face him. “What more do you want me to say?”

“I don’t know,” Lucas said, “maybe why you didn’t seem surprised when Daphné blew up last night?”

There was a twitch of annoyance in Eliott’s face. “Oh, so now, you’re asking for honesty?”, he sneered. “Here’s what honesty looks like: you hurt my feelings. The problem is not that you shot me down, or that you yeeted out, it's how you treated me afterward. Like I was disposable, like I was some sort of perv who made you uncomfortable.”

“The situation made me uncomfortable,” Lucas protested. “I wasn't ready to treat it as a joke, like- like it wasn't a big deal.”

“Because you feel better having made a big deal of it?”

“No,” he said, earnest. “I freaked out. I woke up and I was feeling horrible and then I saw you and I just-I just yeeted out. I didn't even think about what would follow because I panicked. It's what I do.”

“Yeah when you freak out you get spikey, breaking news,” Eliott snorted humorlessly.

He winced a little and stared at his shoes. Maybe he deserved it, but if anything he had good hopes they could get through this. Things were fine. Things were going to be fine. He looked up at him sheepishly. “Can we just go back to where we were before leaving Paris?”, he huffed.

Eliott seemed to ponder the question, a chill running up Lucas’ spine when he eventually shook his head. “I don't think we can.”

“Why? You just said that I was wrong about making a big deal out of it,” he protested.

“It doesn't have anything to do with you and I maybe or maybe not hooking up!” Eliott snapped. “The problem is what you said last night. When you said that you'd have to deal with me and my depressed ass once again.”

No, no, no, that’s not happening, no, Lucas thought, his heartbeat picking up. “Eliott-”

“All my life, I've felt like I was a fucking burden,” Eliott cut him off. “To my parents, to my family, to my friends, to my boyfriends, to my girlfriends. You've always been the only one who made me feel otherwise. And that's what made it so special with you!”

“It is special,” Lucas exclaimed, voice wavering a little. “I didn’t mean that you were burden, I just meant-”

“It doesn’t matter what you meant, that’s not what you said,” Eliott exclaimed, and his eyes looked so tired and so sad that Lucas felt like he could start crying any second now. “And now it’s just never gonna be the same again because that’s all I’m gonna hear.”

It’s not doing anyone a favor to keep this situation going, Yann had said. Lucas’ look fell onto the tattoos on Eliott’s arms. Not afraid. Not afraid. Not afraid. He was afraid. He was fucking terrified. Terrified to ask and terrified to find out what it all meant. If Eliott wasn’t able to go past what he had said, if he was never able to forgive him, if he was never able to trust him again, then it meant-

“So what? We should break up?” Lucas asked quietly. It didn’t matter if they were not a couple. It didn’t matter if they were not together romantically speaking. Lucas hadn’t felt his heart breaking so badly in a long while.

Eliott pressed his lips together, his gaze fluttering a little before landing on him. “I think we should,” he said. “I think we already did.”

#*tbom #elu fic #skam france #mine #*#eliott demaury #lucas lallemant #elu #warning: this is overly dramatic #and it was also incredibly emotionally draining to write for some reason #i'm pretty anxious about this one bc it was planned this way since the beginning #but i've had major doubts when people started making theories #me vs trying to please everyone #sticking to the original plans was HARD

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pretty-well-funded · 5 years

Text

rented omega pt 2

continued from part 1

Tony wakes up the next morning to his cock being mounted and ridden like a coin-operated pony.

It’s...well, it’s not a first, but honestly it’s not something that’s happened in a long time. It takes him a minute of staring up at the very young face on the mountee - a face he hadn’t inspected with any kind of detail the night before - to understand what’s going on.

The kid must misinterpret his blank look for outrage or something, because without slowing down, he says, “I’m sorry to wake you up, sir, I just...I just needed...”

“No, it’s fine, help yourself.”

The kid’s face goes on an interesting emotional journey at that (admittedly a bizarre thing to say, but he hasn’t had coffee yet, alright?), but chooses not to comment.

The position does make Tony wonder though... “Aren’t we, um. Supposed to use gravity or whatever to help with the...”

“When we can, but it’s not required every time,” the kid informs him. For all the omega-in-heat jokes, he’s remarkably collected. Maybe last night is just what happens when they’re neglected - not like Tony’s met an omega before, much less one that’s in heat. “It’s more important to inseminate me frequently than to use any particular position. The benches are just to make up for the fact that we can’t knot.”

“Ah,” Tony says eloquently, “that makes sense.”

“Right, so I’m probably going to regret asking this,” Tony says once he’s got caffeine in his veins, “but how old are you?”

The kid’s face - Peter, his name is Peter - does something complicated. “They didn’t give you my file?”

“Technically I think that they did, I just never, you know. Read it.”

Peter looks as baffled by that as he had by Tony’s offer of caffeine, which he is apparently verboten.

“Look, in all honesty, this was never my idea. I don’t want kids and I never intended to rent a person, but my board has me by the balls, so here we are.”

There’s a degree of alarm and reluctance now, on Peter’s face.

“NOT that any of that is your problem. I was being a selfish jackass last night - I won’t neglect your well-being again. Or, not on purpose. And if I do on accident, just sick JARVIS on me.”

The kid - and he’s definitely a kid - cocks his head, which only enhances his resemblance to a cocker spaniel. “Jarvis?”

“You didn’t introduce yourself?” Tony directs to the ceiling. It’s a pointless but helpful gesture for people experiencing J for the first time.

“Mr. Parker was out of sorts when he got here, Sir, I held off on introductions to prevent undue distress.”

Tony winces at the pointed use of the term, but ignores it. “So that’s J, or JARVIS - if you need anything, he can help. Hell, if there’s anything you just want to know. He’s hooked into all the electronic functions in the entire building, as well as Stark Industries’ databases and the internet at large, so he’s pretty handy.”

Peter’s eyes are huge and excited. “He’s an AI?”

Tony debates the company line for two seconds before shrugging and admitting, “Pretty much, yeah. Just don’t tell anyone.”

He winks, and Peter - adorably, hilariously - blushes. They had a Q&A earlier with Tony’s dick up his ass, and he didn’t look this out of sorts.

“Anyway, he’s used to running herd on me, so if I forget something you need, or forget that you...you know, exist, just tattle and he’ll sort it out.”

“Okay, thank you. And JARVIS?”

“Yes, Mr. Parker?”

“You can call me Peter.”

“I’ll adjust my protocols.”

Tony forgets all about the kid’s age until later when he kills some data compilation time with a skim of the kid’s file.

He’s fifteen, but like. Barely. Which. Makes sense. The board was all set on the freshest eggs. It’s not like contracted omegas sit on the shelf long after they hit the minimum age.

No wonder he looks so fucking young. Because he is.

“Sir, Peter is requesting you return to the penthouse at your earliest convenience.”

Duty calls.

Stud service is about as arousing as Tony always assumed it would be. He gets off - obviously, that’s the point - but it’s weirdly detached. Purpose-driven. Tony is mostly spurred on by Peter’s pheromones, and Peter by what seems to be a disturbing level of training. He’d rather not think about that.

The point is, neither of them are mad with lust, exactly.

Tony does all the work this time, for fairness’s sake, has a relatively frustrated orgasm (his body finds the lack of knotting to be very off-putting, apparently), and then Peter puts his legs in the air for good luck.

Tony excuses himself, and has JARVIS order takeout. Apparently his file - which Tony still hasn’t read - includes dietary restrictions and preferences. Which, of course it does, the kid’s gotta eat.

He’s about to make a break for it with his portion of the food when Peter finally wanders out, looking rumpled and flushed and more interesting to Tony than anyone should after he’s been there and done them.

“Where are you going?” Peter asks, sounding disappointed. Immediately, his eyes widen and he backtracks. “I’m sorry, sir, you don’t have to...thank you for...is this larb? I love larb!”

“Yeah, JARVIS said.”

There’s a pointed lack of reply from the AI himself, and Tony sighs, putting his food back down and resigning himself to dinner with the kid. Peter’s only reaction is a blush.

They eat in silence, at first, Tony staunchly ignoring the kid’s side-eye. Eventually the kid starts, tentative, “Mr. Stark, can I ask...how old is JARVIS?”

Tony pauses, doing the math - JARVIS is like his left hand, always there, essential. He hasn’t thought of a time *before* JARVIS in so long.

When he pinpoints the year of his programming and subtracts, Tony barks a laugh. “Older than you, apparently.”

“Oh, wow, really?” Tony’s half-expecting some crack on his own age, but Peter looks earnestly impressed and excited. “But other companies only achieved domain-specific expertise in like, 2014. If he’s that old... In the late 90s, IBM had just created Deep Blue. Did JARVIS start as a rules-based system, with later upgrades, or - ”

Tony stares at Peter while he babbles away. “How much do you know about AI?”

Peter’s cheeks pink, eyes falling abruptly back to his food. “I mean, not as much as you, but - “

“Do they - is that...allowed?”

A little frown appears between Peter’s eyebrows. “What, because reading books would make us less fertile?”

Tony blinks at the tone, and then JARVIS, bless him, chimes in, “Sir, no law prohibits the education of omegas, though most finishing schools don’t focus on advanced academics. There is, however, a demand for omegas with a high IQ for individuals like yourself, whose offspring are expected to excel. In fact, Peter’s intelligence was one of many factors that lead the Board to choose him.”

Peter looks flustered and embarrassed. “I’m an asshole, kid, I’m sorry. I don’t know much about...” He waves his hand vaguely.

“The treatment of one-third of the total population?” Peter snarks.

Tony feels a little smile start to form on his face. You don’t like people who pull punches, sir. “Yeah. I’m kind of a dick. So you learned about AI in school?”

“No, like JARVIS said, they don’t officially invest resources in that stuff. But the school’s firewall only blocked omega’s rights and stuff, and we could get just about anything delivered from the library, so...”

“So you learned it yourself.”

Peter shrugs. “As best I could, yeah.”

“To answer your question, I have some older ‘bots equipped with rules-based intelligence - they’re still in the lab, actually, you can meet them. But JARVIS started out closer to AlphaGo than Deep Blue. He was supposed to just be a natural-language user interface, but I overshot the mark a bit.”

By the incredulity on Peter’s face, he understands exactly what an understatement that is.

“But yeah, he’s had a lot of upgrades over the years. The biggest limiter was hardware, really, computing power. He’s the whole reason SI was miles ahead in computing technology. Every time I wanted him to be smarter, I had to invent the damn tech myself.”

“That’s so cool. I was talking to him all day. When did he develop theory of mind?”

Before Tony can answer, J chimes in, “Oh, I believe it was the Great Vodka Binge of 2001, wasn’t it, sir?”

Tony laughs. Peter is grinning.

“So he really is self-aware, right?”

“Oh yeah, true AGI.”

“Why isn’t...why doesn’t anybody know about him?”

“J is...” Tony licks his bottom lip, a nervous tick, and only realizes that he’s done it when Peter’s eyes flick down for a moment. “J is special. And frankly, dangerous. Very few people know the full extent of his abilities. I’ve created other AI that are more limited in capacity, but once you get them to a certain point, the only way to keep them limited is to deny them opportunities to learn. And that always seems...”

“Sad,” Peter says.

Tony smiles, warmed by Peter’s comprehension. “I was going to say barbaric, but yeah. Sad works, too.”

A lot like keeping this boy locked away from the world just because he can get pregnant. Tony doesn’t say that, but it sits there between them anyway, just like the larb.

lol, idk shit about AI, but hopefully I bluffed well enough. the suckiest thing about writing smart characters whose expertise is wayyyy beyond yours is trying to keep them sounding smart without like...getting yourself a degree in engineering.

anyway, obviously this one is a lot less perverted than romantic. variety is the spice of life, right?

Part 3

#my shit

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aweirdkindofyellow · 5 years

Text

Here I Am, There You Are Pt. 11

Jack Barakat x OC ‘Rachel has been best friends with Alex, Jack, Rian, and Zack since high school. What happens when one of them gets married?’

Part 11

Jack and I had officially moved into our house. Once the painting was done and the bathrooms were completely finished, we left Jack’s apartment. It made everything so much more real. While we were still renovating, it seemed so far in the future, like it was still to come. But as Jack’s apartment became emptier and our house became more and more furnished and decorated, it turned into reality. The first night we spent at our house made it all concrete. Things changed. They changed a lot.

Even compared to living together back in Jack’s apartment, things changed significantly. It was only good changes, though. I wasn’t living in Jack’s space anymore, this was our space. We worked on it together, we decorated it together. There were no more fights about the dishwasher because we got a new one and both figured out what the best way to load it was. This was our home together. Of course, moving was stressful, and it didn’t happen without fights. We would fight about the strangest things. One day we’d be fighting about where exactly to put the couch. Three feet closer to the wall or further away? Then we’d be fighting about which plant to put where. These obviously weren’t things to really get into arguments about, but we were both just exhausted. After our first proper full night’s sleep, that all ended. The last thing we had to do was fix up our backyard. It really was just a matter of cutting all the grass, trimming the bushes, cleaning out the pool, and making the gazebo accessible. There were a few planks of wood that had come loose, it really needed painting, and we had to put some furniture in it so we could actually use it. The gazebo was literally the only thing that we actually had to do after living there for a few weeks. We had fixed it and painted the inside, all that was left was the outside now. But it was a weekend, and that meant that Jack and I slept in. Sometimes we wouldn’t even leave our bed all day, but usually I’d get up before Jack did. I was just in a routine of waking up relatively early and the imaginary concept of a weekend didn’t rewire my body. However, for the first time since we had moved into our house, Jack was actually up before me. After I took a shower and put on my clothes, I left our bedroom. I fully expected Jack to be up so early because he had a guitar riff or something in his head that he needed to record before he forgot it. However, once I popped my head into his workspace in our extra spare bedroom, I found it empty. The next best thing was to just go downstairs and see if he was there. But once I went back out to our hallway, I could already smell the sweet aroma of something cooking. I followed the trail all the way to the kitchen and found Jack hanging over the stove. There was definitely something nice of the menu for breakfast. He was wearing shorts that came to his knees and a t-shirt, but he looked so damn good. I sneaked up to him and wrapped my arms around his waist, looking over his shoulder to see him flipping a pancake. A smile crept up onto my lips and I pressed a kiss to the back of his neck. “Hmm, pancakes,” I whispered, licking my lips. “What’s the special occasion?” “No special occasion,” he shook his head and picked up the pan to slide the pancake on the pile he had started before making the next one, “just pancakes.” “Just pancakes?” I repeated, not believing him at all. There was something fishy going on. “I highly doubt that.” “What makes you so certain that it’s a special occasion?” he retorted, turning the questions on me. “Well, for starters, you got up before me and I didn’t even notice.” I hugged him tighter and pressed the side of my face into his back. “And you never make pancakes unless something’s up. Like whenever I would come over when I was still in Vancouver.” “Hmm, true.” He gave in with a nod. “But we live together now. It’s not your birthday, it’s not mine, it’s not our anniversary. I’m just making pancakes for m’lady.” “I’m no lady,” I whispered as I let my hands travel down his chest until I reached the waistband of his shorts and kissed his neck. “Ay!” He slapped my hands away. “I’m making pancakes here!” “Alright.” I ended the conversation just as I had started it, with a brief kiss to the back of his neck, and removed myself from him. If Jack was going to make pancakes for no reason other than wanting to, then the least I could do was set the table. I reached into our cupboards and pulled out two plates and two glasses. After putting them down on our wooden kitchen table, I pulled out the freshly squeezed orange juice I had made the evening before from our fridge. Yes, I was turning into one of those girls. Somebody who enjoyed making things and DIY-ing. It wasn’t because I wanted to be one of those pinterest-slash-instagram-blogger girls nor did I really have the time for it all. I just really did enjoy doing it. And Jack didn’t seem to mind trying homemade pasta or some weird cake recipe occasionally. If anything, he enjoyed it. It didn’t take much longer for Jack to finish making all the pancakes. He brought the plate with the large pile to the table along with some syrup. After sitting across from me, he gave the first pancake to himself, the next two to me, and the next one to himself. While he poured some syrup on his and started digging in, I just looked down at mine and back up at him. “What?” He asked with his mouth full. “What did you do to them?” I squinted at him and inspected the pancakes from afar again. He frowned back at me and swallowed what was in his mouth. “Nothing…?” “Are you sure?” “Yeah! What would I have done to them?” I still was too skeptical to pick up my fork and knife and touch them. “I don’t know. For all I know, you jacked off in them so I’d eat your cum.” “Why would I do that?” he snorted and continued to eat. “I don’t need to, you already swallow.” I glared at him. If he hadn’t gone out of his way to actually make these pancakes, I would have gotten mad. He thought it was funny, but was it really necessary? I was still allowed to get a little pissed off, though. So, I crossed my arms and continued to refuse to touch the food. “Oh, come on. Look,” he reached over, cut off a big chunk of one of my pancakes and stuffed it in his mouth, “it’s all safe.” I continued to stare at him, but when he didn’t even flinch, I gave in. I poured some syrup on then and started eating, keeping a close eye on Jack’s reaction. You know, just to be safe. “Damn, do you really not trust me?” He shook his head, noticing how careful I was being. “I’ve been friends with you for too long, Jack. I know to watch my back,” I responded. “And we’ve been dating for three years. Have I ever done something like that in that time?” I wanted to give him examples, but I could only think of things that happened before 2016, before we got together. He actually did stop playing stupid jokes ever sinace then. “Then why did you hand out the pancakes so weirdly!” “Because I was greedy and gave myself one first, decided it was rude, gave you some next before giving myself another.” He shrugged. “God, you’re weird,” I scoffed and knocked his leg with one of my feet, “and to think I want to spend the rest of my life with you.” He grinned at me. “I love you.” “I love you too.” I rolled my eyes. After we finished our pancakes, Jack and I were in the kitchen cleaning everything up. That basically meant putting everything in the dishwasher and putting the syrup back into the fridge. Jack was once again doing most of the work, but only because he started. “Hey,” he tried to get my attention as he tried fitting the pan into the dishwasher. When I gave it to him, he continued, “why don’t you go get your nails done today?” I frowned and looked down at my hands. My nails were a mixture of short, broken and chipped. Usually, I liked to keep them up, have them taken care of. But that all went to shit when we were renovating and moving. “I dunno.” I shrugged although thinking my hands hadn’t looked this bad in a while. “They’re practically ruined. I’m not sure if it will be worth it.” “Don’t you want to make them look good again?” he wondered as he closed the dishwasher and took my hand to take a look himself. “I’ll pay for it.” I slowly took my hand out of his. “Why are you being so nice today?” He raised his shoulders. “Just cause I want to. Also, we’re finally done moving, so you should treat yourself. Or, actually, I’m treating you.” “It’s like you’re trying to get me to warm up to you. Like you used to do with your mom when you wanted to have a sleepover.” “Hey, I’m just offering.” He raised his hands up in defense. I checked out my nails again. Who was I if I didn’t take this opportunity? Jack was literally offering to pay for me to go out and get my nails done. “Okay, I will.” “Good.” He smiled and hooked one hand around my waist before leaning forward and kissing me. “What colour should I go for?” I asked him despite knowing I probably wouldn’t follow his advice once I was at the place anyway. I rarely did. He’d tell me to go blue when I’d be wearing pink to an event. “Something neutral,” he suggested, “maybe white.” “No, not white,” I rejected the latter. “That’ll be like wedding nails.” “If you say so.” I did exactly as I said and did not go for white. That was something I was keeping for when I was going to get married. Last time I checked, I wasn’t getting married anytime soon. Sure, if I had been single, I wouldn’t have cared. I would have rocked that white. But, now I wanted to keep it for something special. I did listen to Jack for the neutral idea, though. He was pretty spot on with that one, ignoring how vague it actually was. There were so many options and I was nearly tempted to just say ‘fuck it’ and go crazy like a neon orange or a bright green. But, Jack was probably right to go for something more calm. I could always decide to go crazy a few weeks later. So, I just went with an ombre of pink to white at the tips in a coffin shape. It really did look so much better than my natural nails. Jack just had to make sure he didn’t expect me to help finish the gazebo, or else they were probably going to break off as well. Once I came back home, I obviously wanted to show Jack what I had gotten with his credit card. The first thing I did was call out his name and tell him that I was home, but I didn’t get a response. I called it out again, thinking maybe he hadn’t heard me, but I still didn’t even get an acknowledgement. So, I took a little snoop around the house, not bothering to check the garden. It almost seemed abandoned. When I also couldn’t find Olive around, I just assumed that Jack must have been out taking her for a walk. So, I just flopped onto the couch and turned on the TV to see if anything interesting was on. Unfortunately, it just left me looking lazy while doing some channel surfing. I was sure that Olive couldn’t have waited any longer for her walk, but I would have much rather been out with them. And then something unexpected happened. Olive came bolting through the door to our second living room, coming right up to me. I gave her a few good head scratches and my mind immediately went to Jack also being around somewhere. So, I called out for him again with yet again no answer. However, that’s when I noticed Olive had something attached to her collar. I was confused. It was some yellow-toned capsule. Because I knew it wasn’t meant to be there, I clipped it off and opened it. Inside was a rolled up piece of paper, not much bigger than the size of half a notebook page ripped in half. Jack’s handwriting was scribbled on it. All it said was: Hey! Come out. I want to show you something! I held onto the note and turned off the TV before shuffling past Olive, who decided to follow me anyway. This instruction was almost just as vague as the nail colour he chose. I was fully assuming he meant the backyard, so I made my way there. After opening the door, I saw Jack standing in the gazebo already expecting me. What was once green from moss and had been sanded down, was now all painted in with a nice white coat, exactly like we had done with the inside earlier. “You finished it!” I exclaimed in glee as I approached him. The way he announced it was a little extra, but I was happy. “We’re officially done with our house now!” Jack cheered and pressed a deep yet short kiss to my lips before taking a step to the side and showing off the pillows and blankets he put down on the floor. “What better way to celebrate than a picnic in our own backyard?” “You already made pancakes this morning, and now this. Are you sure it’s not my birthday?” I teased and decided I wasn’t satisfied with the brief kiss we shared. To keep the contact longer, I circled my arms around his neck and shuffled closer to him. “It’s not November for another few months.” He wiggled his eyebrows and leaned in for another kiss while I could hear Olive barking and zooming around the entire garden in the background. “Then what did I do to deserve all this?” I mumbled against his lips. “A lot of things,” he breathed back and let his hand creep up my back underneath my shirt. I decided to challenge him. “Like?” “For not thinking I was a weird eleven-year-old when I was moved to sit next to you after disrupting the class too often,” he whispered and pecked me. “For dealing with me throughout high school and not letting my stupid crushes get in the way of our friendship.” He brushed his lips against mine again. “For being my best friend throughout all that time and staying with me after.” Another kiss. “For making me realise how shitty it was to deny my feelings and not giving up on me.” Another one. “For not letting my past ruin us.” And again. “For giving me another chance after I fucked up.” One last kiss. “For loving me and letting me love you.” Nope. There was another kiss. Only, this one was much longer and deeper. He pushed into me, using the hand on my back to keep us steady. I pulled him closer as well. I was so lucky. Never did I ever believe that I would be kissing and dating the boy in middle school who annoyed the living shit out of me. And I certainly did think I’d end up with the boy in high school who was such a big dork and would drag me to concerts super early. But now I wouldn’t have had it any other way. Jack pulled away before I wanted him to. I didn’t want this moment to ever end. He parted from me and got down. But he wasn’t getting down to sit and eat the food he had in a basket. No, he was doing something very different. He was getting down on one knee. My eyes widened and my heart started racing as he reached into his back pocket and pulled out a small black box. He cautiously opened it to reveal a diamond ring glistening in the light. “Rach,” he started, looking up at me, his fingers trembling lightly, “I know things are moving pretty quickly right now–” “Yes!” I practically squealed, slapping both of my hands to my cheeks in eagerness and anticipation. He chuckled softly, the trembling calming down. “Let me finish.” I nodded, urging him to continue. “Will you m–” “Yes!” I interrupted again. “Rach!” “I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” I rambled, moving my hands about, “continue.” He took in a deep breath and gave me a warning look not to interrupt again. “Rachel, will you marry me?” I nodded in excitement, holding out my arms so he’d stand back up. Before he got the chance to take the ring out of the box, I enveloped him into a hug. I dug my face into the crook of his neck, just wanting to take a second and bask in the moment so I would never forget it. “You can say yes now,” he murmured into my ear. I broke away from him and wiped away some tears that had managed to fall from my eyes onto my cheeks. I could barely manage to make the word come out for a third time. “Yes.” Jack couldn’t stop smiling as he carefully took the ring out of its cushioned box. He held my left hand and gingerly slipped the ring onto my ring finger. It was the most beautiful thing I had ever seen. Jack could have gotten anything, and I would have been in love with it. But, damn, did that boy have a good taste. The band was thin, tiny diamonds all around it, leaving the rose gold to weave through them. On top was one large oval diamond that wouldn’t stop sparkling. As soon as the ring was at the base of my finger, my arms were around Jack’s neck again and my lips were pressed against his in a very hungry kiss. I jumped up and wrapped my legs around his waist, his hands immediately went to my butt to keep me up. Everything was so surreal. Just earlier, I was skeptical about Jack’s pancakes, and now we were engaged. I didn’t want to paint my nails white because I wanted to wait until I got married, and now I was going to get married in the future. We did end up actually eating the food Jack had brought outside. It took awhile for us to let go of each other, but eventually we did. We couldn’t stay and kiss each other forever, as much as I would have liked to. I was just eating some of the grapes, still subconsciously smiling all the time, when I noticed that Jack was taking a picture of me. “Hey!” I gasped in accusation. “What?” he laughed back in defense. “I’ve gotta announce it in some way.” “At least take a good picture!” “It’s not a bad one.” He turned his phone to show me what he had taken. He was right, but that was only because I wasn’t in the middle of eating. I was just smiling and you could see the ring because of the grapes I was holding. “But if we’re going to take a proper photo, then it’s going to have both of us in it. I want to broadcast it to everybody. Except for the guys, I already sent this photo to them.” I dropped my mouth open before grabbing my phone as well. Without giving him time to think, I raised my left hand and snapped a photo of it with him in the background. That went straight to my family and Sascha along with a caption saying ‘guess what’. “Now we’re even.” I stuck my tongue out at him. He shook his head at me, not caring as much that I had obviously just sent it to people. “Just get your butt over here so we have a photo to frame forever.” The perfect photo didn’t happen immediately. There were a few tries. It was pretty difficult to get the optimal position. We had taken many selfies together before, but this was just a little different. For some reason, actually getting the ring in the shot was the most difficult part. However, eventually, we settled on a picture where I was on Jack’s lap and kissing his cheek. My one arm was around his neck, both my hands resting on his shoulder, the ring in full view. While Jack was busy posting it on social media, his arms around me so he could type, my phone started ringing. I leaned over to grab it from where I was sitting and tried my best not to have to leave Jack’s lap. Not that he would let me leave. I could barely reach it to see that it was Ethan FaceTime calling me. When I finally got to answer it, Ethan immediately greeted me. “Hey!” “Hey, what’s up?” I replied as Jack locked his phone and put his chin on my shoulder to see who I was talking to. Only the bottom of his face was visible in the frame, so my moved my phone away a little so Ethan knew Jack was here as well. “Umm, what do you think is up?’’ Ethan mocked. “I just saw your message. I’m calling to say congrats!” I giggled and Jack nuzzled his nose into my hair. “Thanks.” “I’m excited!” He grinned back. “When Jack told me he was going to propose, I had to do everything in me to not tell you. It was so difficult.” I turned my head to look up at Jack. “You told him?” “Yeah.” Jack nodded like it was a given and started listing and counting with his fingers. “I asked your dad for permission, I asked your mom for permission, and of course I checked with Ethan as well.” I didn’t think that I could love Jack any more, but just the fact that he thought to include Ethan made me love him so much more. It was so adorable and heartwarming. I couldn’t help but smile at him and kiss him. “Please, not in front of me,” Ethan groaned. “You’re the one that called after we got engaged,” I teased back. If there hadn’t been food around, I would have let Jack fuck me right on this gazebo. Ethan could have called right in the middle of that, ignoring the fact that I wouldn’t have announced it to my family yet then. “I know, I know,” he brushed it off. “But I’m still maid of honour, right?” “You don’t want to be one of my groomsmen?” Jack asked, acting like he was personally hurt. “As honoured as I would be,” Ethan apologised, putting his empty hand to his heart, “maid of honour sounds just a bit cooler.” “Damn it,” Jack whispered underneath his breath, “it does, doesn’t it?” “It does,” I confirmed with a nod. “He’s my boy.” “I will keep the title maid of honour, I don’t want any of that man of honour bullshit,” Ethan made very clear. I chuckled in response. I loved that kid with all my heart. He was nineteen now, which was just absolutely insane and unreal. To me, he was always going to be my baby brother. But now, he had graduated high school as well. He was just a few weeks away from starting college. Back when Jack and I first started dating, he was still an inexperienced high school kid. He was almost an adult now and he even had his own girlfriend. I could still remember the day he called me in a panic asking me ‘how the fuck sex worked’ after his girlfriend expressed that she was willing for them to lose their virginities to each other. It was so adorable to me. He was super lucky, because Jack was visiting me at the time. He got both advice from me and Jack. Jack gave him some technique tips, while I was asked more about what his girlfriend would like. I loved how concerned he was about her and not just about his own pleasure. He was a good kid, and I could only thank my parents for how amazing they were at raising us. “Okay, before you hang up on me,” Ethan quickly added when he noticed the conversation was starting to die down, “let me go find mom so she doesn’t call you later as well.” He didn’t even wait for us to reply before he was bolting down the stairs calling out ‘mom’ loudly over and over again. Although he was almost an adult, he did sometimes still really act like a kid, but we all did that. I could whine like I was a teenager going through a phase to my mom for hours as well. It wasn’t as frequent, but it did happen. “Mom, I’ve got Rachel on the phone,” he said off camera although his phone was still pointed towards his face. “Okay, that's nice,” was all my mom said in the background. Ethan didn’t like the answer and forced his phone in front of her. She was wearing her reading glasses and I could tell she was working on her laptop because of the glare on them. Her eyes showed the annoyance brewing inside. I was fully prepared for her to shout. She didn’t shout just yet, though. But she did sigh loudly. “Ethan, I’m working.” “Didn’t you check your phone?!” he was quick to defend himself. “I’m not constantly glued to that thing like you are,” she scoffed. I had to hide my face in Jack’s neck to hold back the laughter. She had no idea what was going on. She hadn’t checked her phone and seen my message yet. In her mind, Ethan was just trying to disrupt and annoy her. Little did she know he was just trying to make things easier. He tried to reason with her. “But Rachel–” “What about her?” My mom turned to finally look at the screen. She looked like she was going to tell me exactly what she had told Ethan, just in a much nicer way. That she was busy and that she’d talk later. Usually, I’d respect that. This time, I slowly raised my left hand up to show the ring that was now nestled on my finger. Her eyes widened significantly and her mood changed completely. “Oh! Oh my god!” “Thank you,” Ethan grumbled from the side of the screen. “When did this happen?!” My mom continued to gush. “Like half an hour ago,” I laughed. If my mom said ‘oh my god’, you knew she was in shock. She would never use that phrase otherwise. Her mouth was literally agape. “How did it happen?” “Well, I had a plan,” Jack scratched the back of his head, “but it immediately went wrong. But then it went better than expected. All credits go to Rachel, really, she just made the transition so smooth for me.” “That’s why you made pancakes this morning!” I gasped and sat up straighter. He totally had been trying to butter me up. “And the nails! You planned all of it!” “Of course, I did.” Jack shook his head softly at my ignorance. “I know pancakes make your day, I know you’re a sucker for a good picture, and I know you love our new backyard.” “I can’t believe both of my daughters are going to be married now!” I mom smiled at us, her shock now turned into content. “I’m getting old.” “I’m still a teenager.” Ethan shrugged. “That doesn’t make me any younger…” She breathed out. “Anyway, I’m going to let you guys enjoy this moment, okay? I’ll make sure dad calls you later tonight.” “Okay,” I nodded, “I love you.” “I love you, bye,” she signed off before ending the call. I immediately shifted in Jack’s lap so I could face his better without having to crane my neck as far. While I put down my phone again, I grinned sheepishly. “You’re going to have to tell me your original plan now.” “Nope!” He shook his head and sealed his lips. “What?! Come on!” I tried batting my eyelashes to sway him. “No,” he refused, leaning back onto his hands. “The way it happened was perfect and I wouldn’t want it any other way.” As much as I would have wanted to know, he was right. The way he proposed was just perfect. I couldn’t imagine it going differently. I loved how it wasn’t overly planned, how it just happened so naturally. I loved how he brought our entire history up. I loved that it was so unexpected and personal. And, of course, I loved Jack. I put my hand on his cheek and kissed him deeply. Jack, while still leaning backwards, returned it with the same amount of pressure. My hand slipped to his hair on the back of his head behind his ear and I shuffled around to straddle him. He sat up to make it more comfortable and easy while he put his hands on my waist to pull me closer. There was just one thing we hadn’t done yet, and it was on both of our minds. His hands started traveling up my shirt when I realised something. I had been called by Ethan, but Jack’s phone had been awfully quiet. Strangely quiet. His instagram was probably blowing up, but he didn’t have those notifications on. Where were the other notifications? I pulled away from him, causing him to lean forward to try and make sure it wouldn’t stop. “Hang on, did you tell your family?” He looked annoyed and clouded with lust. There was this attitude like he was about to say ‘of course’ and get a little pissed off at me. But then his brow furrowed and he pursed his lips. “Oh… shit.” I raised my eyebrows to say ‘I told you so’ without actually saying the words. He gave me a little apologetic grin and reluctantly took his hands off me to take hold of his phone instead. I could already see that there were in fact notifications on his lock screen and they were definitely from the group chat he had with his brother and sister. I tried my best to read it all upside down and saw his sister freaking out just a little. She was mainly causing a fuss because she found out through his Instagram post instead of actually hearing something from him. Jack immediately sent an apology and an excuse. He even almost blamed it on me but noticed me reading along and deleted that sentence before it was even completed. Eventually, he just settled on being caught up in the moment, which was probably true. I couldn’t imagine him not wanting to tell his family. After a few messages, he put his phone back on the floor and returned his hands to my hips. “I’ll call my parents later. Let’s enjoy it ourselves first.” “Okay,” I agreed without a second thought and resumed the kiss I had interrupted before. This time, Jack was the one to break away. “Eager much?” “Like I’m the only one,” I whispered back against his lips and gingerly, yet not so subtly, put my hand on his crotch. He stared back at me and breathed out. “Fair enough.” As he restarted the kiss yet again, digging his fingertips into the back of my hips so I’d shuffle up closer to him. Once I was in the right position, he slowly started leaning back until his back hit the pillows he had put down. Everything was slow yet so passionate. I didn’t want to ever forget this day.

#all time low fanfiction #jack barakat fanfiction #all time low #jack barakat #all time low imagine #jack barakat imagine #Here I Am There You Are

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lacquerware · 5 years

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Cy Girls is a PlayStation 2 game

Some say it’s the most mediocre fragments of pop culture that end up defining each era, because they’re little more than amalgams of the flavors of the day, while the best works draw from some greater vision and seem to be immune to time. I don’t think it’s quite that simple. True, there are games like Shadow of the Colossus, whicheven in 2005 felt like it was stuck on the wrong hardware and stands out now as a timeless classic. But then you’ve got Super Mario Bros. 3, which is quintessentially NES despite being one of the NES library’s best-aged titles. So I guess it’s more case-by-case.

In the case of Cy Girls, you may find yourself having a hardcore flashback or two to the age of frosty tips, Fatboy Slim, and Matrix sequels, because CG is pure early 2000s chaff. I can’t think of another game that so shamelessly mashes together so many momentary fads. Bullet time? Check. Cover shooting? Check, and it’s awful. Wall running? Stylish kill screens? “Cyber” aesthetic? CHEX MIX. Plus it’s forged out of the table scraps of Metal Gear Solid 2, so the entire game looks like someone doing a comedic impression of the PS2.

↑ Wall-running was one of the more bizarre fads of the PS2 era, featured in games like Shinobi, Devil May Cry 2, Ninja Gaiden (on the Xbox), Bujingai, and Prince of Persia: Sands of Time.

Cy Girls isn’t a good game—the environments are boring, it feels crummy in your hands, the mission objectives are a crash course in how not to design mission objectives—but it exemplifies the ubiquity of the third-person character action genre and the freedom developers had to experiment during the PS2 era. It’s astounding now to fathom a time when something like CG could survive past the earliest phase of conception, let alone make it to market. It has one good idea (more on that later), lacks even basic competency in several areas, and yet is also so big that it spans two discs. It’s both bad and big. Double-disc titles had almost gone extinct thanks to the PS2’s DVD tech, but somehow Konami deemed Cy Girls, agame that is nothing but formulaic tropes, the one which warranted breaking form. I can only theorize that Cy Girls’ co-creator, the toy megacorp Takara, was donating heavily to the cause.

↑ A Cool Girl I found on Google.

To the game’s credit, the best thing about Cy Girls is its main conceit: a virtual, one-for-one cyberspace replica of the real world called “Cy-D.” Both protagonists have a rare gene that lets them “dive” into Cy-D without the typical need for a virtual avatar; they can simply upload their brains or something. They do this via enormous 1940s-style computer terminals scattered throughout the game. A slick FMV commences, and they emerge in a world of neon wireframes and particle effects and malevolent abstract objects.

It’s a pretty brazen invocation of Tron,and that’s just fine by me. It is inherently enjoyable to occupy Cy-D with its gentle mood lighting and soothing lounge soundtrack. You’re also much more powerful in Cy-D than in the real world, thanks to a long list of “Skills” found over the course of the game. You input these via different sequences of face buttons, an interface I think meant to evoke the feeling of entering and executing a string of code. Simple as it is, it works pretty well, and really helps set the Cy-D activities apart from the banal horseshit of the real world. The Skills themselves range from hollow gatekeeping mechanics (“use this Skill to flick the switch that only exists to give this Skill a purpose!”) to cool core abilities, like a soaring high jump, a flashy dash move, and a stockable projectile attack. You also innately have the ability to bust a tatsumaki-senpûkyakuand a few other martial arts moves.

Mostly, though, Cy-D time is spent “downloading” readable files, eavesdropping on avatars, and solving puzzles. You can only stay in Cy-D for ten minutes or you go crazy and die, so occasionally it turns into a race to find the right file or hack the right switch and dive out before the clock runs out. These were by far the most exhilarating moments of Cy Girls (especially one occasion where I escaped with literally one second to spare). It’s a cheap thrill, but overall I found the Cy-D stuff very charming and wished they would’ve sent me there more.

Unfortunately you spend much more time in the physical world, which is rarely any fun. While Cy-D offered fantastic light shows and clear, urgent tasks in confined but densely populated spaces, the physical-world stages are sprawling labyrinths of drab, box-shaped rooms filled with drab boxes. Mission objectives are often vague, the map only sometimes gives you an objective waypoint, and puzzles are often nonsensical, unreasonably laborious, or both. There are no good block-pushing puzzles in gaming, but Cy Girls contains the uncontestable worst block-pushing puzzle in history. Even trying to explain why it’s so bad would be too tedious to bother, but I’ll just say it took multiple hours to even set it up, and another half-hour to execute even after looking up the solution in a FAQ.

Each of the two discs in Cy Girls is a separate campaign starring a different Cy Girl—there’s Ice, the gunslinger, and Aska, a katana-swinging ninja. I played the Aska campaign, which often felt like it was taking notes from Tenchu—you have a comically huge inventory of ninja tools, including a shamelessly similar grappling hook and several functionally redundant projectiles, but unlike Tenchu the game basically never challenges you enough to encourage any thoughtful strategy or discernment. Aska can perform cinematic insta-kills simply by jumping before an attack or by attacking when close to a group of two or more enemies, so she can get through almost any encounter by charging straight in. It’s like playingTenchuif you could stealth kill without being stealthy. That could make for some fun power-fantasy escapism were the mission objectives not so elusive or the enemies infinitely respawning. Even Aska’s more spectacular kills get really old after you’ve aimlessly scoured the entire map a third time.

At some point you take a step back and realize that the bulk of Cy Girlsis just an indiscriminate list of features from other PS2-era games. Its back-of-box text should read, “It sure is a PS2 game!”—even on the GameCube version. Instead, it says “Fight terrorism from deep caves to outer space.” Fine.

Anyway, it’s hard to recommend anyone subject themselves to Cy Girls, but there’s a timestamped charm to it I can’t seem to deny. What it lacks in entertainment value it makes up for as a conversation piece, and that earns it a permanent place on my shelf.

Weirdly, a bit of post-credits text confirms there was a sequel in the works by the name "Beyond the 8th Dimension," which was also the subtitle of '80s cult flick Buckaroo Banzai. I must know more.

#cy girls #gaming #games #video games #videogames #gamming #retro #throwback #ps2 #playstation 2 #underrated #hidden gems #konami #aska #review #reflections #criticism #lacquerware

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tearlessrain · 5 years

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time to subject myself to Dracula: The Dark Prince, aka another bad movie starring another dude from black sails. this time with 100% less horny on main because my only real motivation for watching it is it truly looks to be a whole new caliber of horrible and I have to see it.

witness my standards for incomprehensibly bad movies being raised prohibitively high in every way imaginable under the cut

I seriously doubt that.

this was made in 2013 by the way, not 1994 as the graphic design of that logo might suggest

oh good, once again we’re opening with an exposition narrator. except this time it’s a woman and she has less vocal inflection and emotional investment than an amazon echo.

I feel like she’s gonna tell me to turn left in 800ft

it feels like a dragon age epilogue, but just. worse.

WE ARE WATCHING A TRULY HIGH QUALITY MOVIE TONIGHT MY FRIENDS

I can’t even describe how bad this is, you really need the sound. that’s where the true lack of quality shines through. siri’s depressed sister is talking about pre-vampire dracula’s epic feats in battle to more weird sepia dioramas and the dying soldiers sound like they hired muppets to voice them

HOLY WIG BATMAN

also this dude is obnoxiously jovial considering he’s supposed to be dracula, even if this is pre-vampire

oh no dracula’s advisors, who all wear black hooded robes and scowl ominously, have betrayed him and killed his wife, how unexpected

someone drew these, looked at them, and thought “yeah that’s good enough to go in the final movie”

the characters are speaking both english and what I assume is... romanian or something? transylvanian? it’s not spanish or welsh I can tell you that much. anyway there are no subtitles and also no rhyme or reason to which they’re speaking at any given time so I hope I’m not missing anything important. probably not.

so like... they killed his wife, yes. and he went on a murderfest in what appears to be a church in revenge, makes sense. now a dude who... I think maybe he’s supposed to be a priest or something? but he wasn’t speaking english so I can’t be sure, then a voice over said “I have killed for god, the hand that fought for him will now be turned against him” but I’m unclear on who was speaking. this movie is an absolute clusterfuck and we aren’t even five minutes in yet. this is still the prologue.

now zombie alexa claims dracula was cursed with immortality “in punishment for his defiance” but I’m still not sure... what defiance. he killed the dudes who murdered his wife and that’s somehow not okay despite his apparent status as a war hero, a designation that implies a LOT of killing has already happened?

fucking finally, the title screen. usually a prologue clarifies what a movie is about but I went in thinking I knew and now have absolutely no idea what I’m watching.

a carriage drawn by friesians is rolling through a misty forest with wolf howling sound bites playing at random in the background to vaguely urgent music, now this is what I’m here to see.

nevermind the carriage is too slow so they’re leaving it because that’s a thing people do (?????)

“Lady Arwen, we cannot delay”

seriously though everyone’s mumbling so much I can’t understand them much better than when they were speaking whatever the other language was

BOOTLEG XENA RIDES AGAIN

but this time she’s accompanied by esme. we don’t know who esme is yet either.

there she goes

and now the knights are being attacked by hilarious squeaky goblin things? who I guess are led by this power rangers villain with, again, an unintentionally hilarious voice. it’s like a bad batman impression.

with every minute that passes I become less certain of what I’m actually watching.

they’re looking for the “light bringer” and telepathically overseen by the world’s most halfassed lestat dracula

they’ve also got some random prisoners in a cage wagon

okay the prisoners are being taken to dracula’s castle and I’m sorry for such an image-heavy post but I NEED you to understand the community theater level of set design/quality we’re dealing with here

“what is that?” cardboard and mod podge is my guess

so far the only thing esme has done is fall off her horse and be knocked unconscious, and now a Roving Band of Misogynists has appeared to harass Bootleg Xena 3.0 in the most generic way possible (the words “what ‘ave we got ‘ere” accompanied by a chorus of malicious cackling and some whistles have been spoken)

oooh no the ringleader of the Roving Misogynists has been given a name, and it’s ~Lucien~. I have a horrible feeling that I’m about to bear witness to the worst romantic subplot in the history of cinema.

oh for... I thought at least bootleg xena 3.0 would be a Strong Female Character and fight them off, but she just rapped lucien on the head with her sword and then they stole her very important box and left as obnoxiously as they came

OH NO SHE’S ASKING TO GO WITH THEM, SOMEHOW THAT’S HER PLAN I THINK I’M RIGHT SHE’S GONNA HOOK UP WITH LUCIEN AND IT’S GOING TO BE HORRIBLE.

“trust me” she says to esme, who, wisely, obviously does not.

I appreciate the timely thunderclap every single time the castle comes on screen

who the fuck are you, did you wander onto the wrong movie set

nope okay they’re not gonna explain that shot at all we’re just moving on to a shot of a weird angel shadow doing slow flamenco moves on the ceiling while ominously gurgling, and the prisoners being led into the throne room

“what’s happening to us?” I WOULD LIKE TO KNOW THE SAME THING, PRISONER #3

oh never mind that guy from before wasn’t a priest, he is remfield, chancellor of this kingdom, which means the last scene he was in makes even less sense

AKSLDGHJFGAKDLFJGHKAJGHFDKLFDS;GJokay so. remfield introduced himself then said “I will see that your needs are tended to.” then dracula in his new white contacts gets up from his shadowy throne, circumnavigates the cluster of prisoners, sniffs them dramatically, and walks back to his throne. remfield then says, “come, I will see that your needs are tended to” because proofreading is for COWARDS

now remfield is... literally giving the prisoners a tour of the castle and going on the “oh you’re our guests and many pleasures and adventures await you” speech and somehow the prisoners are accepting this despite the fact that they were just carted in on a barred wagon in shackles and got sniffed by a bad alucard cosplayer. they have a fucking harpist.

seriously, who the fuck are you

she’s just been twirling around in the background of this entire scene for no discernible reason no matter what rooms they go into

what the hell am I watching

yeah they’re just going for that incredibly suspicious food and also seem weirdly okay with the ambient clusters of scantily clad lesbians no one will explain okay they deserve whatever happens to them

WHOA TITS apparently this movie is a different rating than I thought

remfield: the newcomers have settled in

dracula: I d o n ‘ t l i k e s t r a n g e r s

then why pray tell have you brought them directly into your home in chains. I cannot stress enough how avoidable this situation was for you my dude

“just think sire, once the light bringer is in your possession no one need die again” “except those who defy me” [ominous chime as the angel shadow on the ceiling continues its sensuous flamenco dance]

meanwhile in the misty blue filter forest of eternal night, some guy in a tricorn finds a gold amulet that I think bootleg xena 3.0 dropped, and the power ranger villain rides menacingly in a random direction for a few seconds

I’m still waiting on whether this masterful display of cinematic calvinball has any cohesive story to it.

ah joy and we’re back to The Non-Adventures of Xena 3.0, Esme, and the Roving Misogynists

as an aside, I’m not calling her that just to be dumb, I’m calling her that because they still haven’t given her a name even though her sidekick got one in the first five minutes

they’ve opened the box and revealed... the light bringer, which is a wooden staff. because it is not shiny gold, the roving misogynists regard it with confounded disgrunglement and scoff at xena 3.0′s insistence that it can defeat dracula

these guys sound like what an eleven year old thinks gangs of ne’er-do-wells sound like. like cartoon weasels, if the weasels were also mediocre pirates who have heard of women, conceptually, but never seen one. like goblins in a pre-written D&D campaign run by a slightly overwhelmed first time DM.

HUR DUR WALKING STICK NOT TREASURE, WOMAN DUMB

it’s what cain used to slay abel, apparently. given that zombie alexa mentioned that dracula is the descendent of abel, this leaves us with the terrifying implication that someone did put at least some vestige of effort into writing this movie.

oh good she’s finally gonna fight lucien

no she failed again. please someone just punch the shit out of lucien so he’ll stop.

NO WHY ARE YOU MAKING OUT STOP IT GOD HAVE SOME STANDARDS WOMAN. STOP PLAYING FLOATY ROMANTIC MUSIC IN THE BACKGROUND THEY ARE LITERALLY STILL STANDING IN THE MIDDLE OF THE ENTIRE BAND OF ROVING MISOGYNISTS

I thought it might at least be a trick but no she is actually, genuinely starstruck over this profoundly mediocre olde-timey frat boy who called her “sweetheart” while she was trying to explain to him why the ancient dracula-defeating relic was important.

this guy.

we did it boys, we found a worse love story than twilight

also I just. I wish I could convey with words the way the roving misogynists react to every single thing lucien and sometimes xena 3.0 says like the world’s worst greek chorus in a literally neverending stream

lucien (post makeout and xena 3.0 explaining again that the relic is ancient and powerful and they’ve searched for ages to find it): well we may not be knights but we can respect that

[cacophony of rowdy but understated agreement]

lucien: what do you think boys, should we give it back?

[assorted grumbles of assent]

xena 3.0: hm, a thief with a conscience

[gruff mercenary-esque chuckling]

lucien: maybe even a heart

[chorus of “ooooooOOOooh”s and some whistles]

it just goes on like that in every scene they happen to be physically adjacent to, they never shut up but also never actually contribute or say anything meaningful

ah, the mysterious leonardo has appeared. I think he was the one they were trying to take the light bringer to so that’s handy

“what is happening here? what is this flirtation?? is this the people to share your sacred secrets with???” - leonardo, the only remotely rational person in the entire movie

oh he is schooling these idiots, finally someone with sense. it’s bouncing right off of lucien, but at least he’s saying it.

“the scourge” - leonardo

“scourge!” “scourge!?” “scourge?” “hrgghhg??” “hrrm...” - the roving misogynists

power ranger villain and his squeaking goblins vs leonardo, the most useless female leads of all time, and the roving misogynists. who will win.

not the people watching this movie, I can tell you that much.

oh no, the lightbringer isn’t working. this will do nothing to convince the roving misogynists that it isn’t a walking stick

oop, wilhelm scream

oh no lucien has picked up the light bringer

goddamn it he’s the chosen one isn’t he

yep he activated the stick and now we all have to suffer

oh xena 3.0′s coming for power ranger villain maybe she’ll actually do something

nope she bounced off him and now he’s grabbed her and hauled her onto his horse

“you’re coming with me” he says in his weird batman voice, to make sure the audience can tell that he is in fact taking her with him

and esme has yelled “no” to make sure we remember that she’s in the movie

wait what the. did lucien just yell “xena” is that her actual name what the fuck. what the fuck. I had to have misheard that. okay I can’t tell what he’s saying for sure but someone’s bound to say her name again at some point in the movie so I’ll revisit that.

and on that note, I think I’ll end here, because there ended up being a LOT more to unpack in this movie than I expected, it’s after midnight, and I’m tired.

tomorrow, we follow lucien as he presumably goes to save some lady he wildly disrespected and then made out with one time whose name may or may not actually be xena, and hopefully figure out what the hell is even going on with dracula, remfield, and their castle full of artfully strewn half naked harpist lesbians and dancing ceiling shadows. because right now I really don’t have time to unpack all that, and I have a feeling it will only get worse.

#this is #a masterpiece #no description of mine can hope to do it justice #hypnotically incomprehensible #tearless liveblogs

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theseventhhex · 5 years

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Gaz Coombes Interview

Gaz Coombes

Photo by Steve Keros

For some, Gaz Coombes is just the mutton-chopped likely lad who peaked with Supergrass mega-single “Alright”. Those people are missing out. The trio were perhaps Britpop’s most underrated band and their talisman’s solo career has continued to burnish a robust and quietly brilliant talent. ‘World’s Strongest Man’ is Coombes’ most confident solo album yet - a satisfying coalition of Here Come the Bombs’ trippy chutzpah and Mercury Prize-nominated Matador’s melodic sure-footedness. This is a carefully layered record to play right through entailing wrestling personal demons, middle-age and digital interruption. All the while, Gaz is moving forward with experimental synths, raw-boned riffs and wistful vocals distributed throughout in a striking manner… The Seventh Hex talks to Gaz about his lyrical perspectives, soundtracking movies and family time…

TSH: With ‘World’s Strongest Man’ you’ve found a pace that not only suited you but also allowed you to better transcribe your ideas into music. How liberated do you feel in the wake of this release?

Gaz: Yeah, it definitely feels good. To be able to find a rhythm following on from ‘Matador’ is so useful and it feels like a seamless continuation for me. There are definitely things that I changed around for this record and I also had different approaches to my writing and my starting points stylistically were varied too. I started this album on a high point after ‘Matador’ and I felt a bit of pressure to make something better than last time. However, I embraced this challenge and everything was smooth all in all.

TSH: During your twenties and thirties you felt part of a bubble being in a band, riding the wave and not looking around much. Now you’re in a better place...

Gaz: Yeah, I think life’s just more colourful now, which isn’t always for the better, but things are more positive overall. I encounter more challenges and more layers to my life than life I did in my mid-20s. Back then my life had a singular direction, and like you said, I was in a band bubble. I guess it’s a good thing to have more colour around you. Maybe it’s the fact that you grow up and mature, therefore you tap into more shit as a writer, which is cool.

TSH: With this latest release you’re opening up about some of the darker viewpoints of life. Did you feel compelled to cover stark issues?

Gaz: I think so. I mean even with the first album I was trying to write lyrics that were direct and kind of uncensored. It’s all about being honest and instinctive really. We did the same with Supergrass too, where we would write together and kind of create the idea together on the same page. With my solo stuff I enjoy being clear and straight to the point. For me, it’s all about getting the tone right, I don’t want to write something that’s overly morose or up your own arse.

TSH: Knowing that it can be difficult to transcribe what’s in your own mind, how do you overcome this block?

Gaz: It can be a challenge but the main core of inspiration in my head comes in the early moments. I have little lines, an odd lyric or a hook that emerges early on. It’s good that there’s something there quite early on that I can keep a hold of. However, it can take quite a while to translate what’s happening in my head in the right way. I guess I like to mix things up... With the lyrics that I come up with I like to have some lines which are direct, clear and dark and then I may go off in the next verse and be more visceral and more abstract - I like to be vague at times. I like lyrics that are a bit more poetic but yet they have a hard hitting hook that’s quite direct - I like that combination of writing and keeping it abstract at times.

TSH: How does the song ‘Oxygen Mask’ involve your two daughters...

Gaz: Part of the idea of that song is that my daughters could hear it maybe when they’re older. It’s like a time capsule and sort of a reference to how I see things at this point in time in 2018. It’s to do with the advances in science and also this giant echo chamber that we all live in online. I guess it’s kind of in relation to just taking a moment and making sure that you’ve got yourself set before you kind of start to judge or comment on other people. Getting one’s own house in order is where the oxygen mask metaphor came from. The opening line ‘What lies out in front of you, I know you'll work it out’ has the message of navigating in the right way, but if all goes weird have a listen to this when you’re older.

TSH: Did you have a direction in mind as you started work on ‘Deep Pockets’?

Gaz: I didn’t have a direction in mind for that song early on actually. It just stated with a drum machine and a bass guitar in my studio. I usually start with this type of method to spark an idea. For this one, I just used bass guitar and a drum machine for ages. The hook really intrigued me, but it took a few weeks before I came up with the chorus and guitars which have a Robert Fripp kind of chaos going on, in addition to the underground kind of drone thing in the chorus. We spent a lot of time on that one and it took quite a few sessions to get right, but I’m really pleased with the end result.

TSH: Are you tampering much with the compositions when you play these songs live?

Gaz: I guess the tracks are very close to the record when we play them live. It’s also worth noting that at the start of the year we spent two months in a room, myself and the band, just working through stuff for this album. Over time the material evolved with my band and there was this really nice instinctive feel coming into play. So now when we play live it’s great to play with a band than can help to rework these songs and put their own personalities into it.

TSH: What was it like to perform on the James Corden show during your US tour?

Gaz: It was great. The US tv shows just know how to look after you. It’s a whole different ball game out there. It’s quite common in the UK to be sat waiting in some big car park. However, the glamour and scale of production in America is just off the scale.

TSH: Being a huge movie fan, have you seen any films lately?

Gaz: I haven’t watched as many as I’d like to in recent times. I actually watched Deadpool 2, which I thought was quite funny, but weirdly sick in places too.

TSH: Does soundtracking movies still fascinate you?

Gaz: Absolutely. We actually did a track with Jonny Greenwood for ‘Inherent Vice’. I’ve always had such a huge fascination with soundtracking for movies. I love how music in a movie changes things - how it can really alter a scene or a moment with the right music behind it - it can totally transform your viewing experience.

TSH: How beneficial is it to form your demos from home and do your work in your own space?

Gaz: It just means I can get ideas out quicker. I guess I’ve always done it, even with Supergrass I’d do demos on a 4 track cassette recorder just to get an idea and get it down for later. Now things are different because I can do the same thing but have something that can end up on a record and not necessarily be badly recorded or unlistenable in ways. It’s great to go down in the morning and bash out ideas and keep them and come back to them months down the line. I love the first takes and performances where I don’t know quite what I’m doing, I like it when the music feels instinctive and not calculated.

TSH: Does being at home with your family give you the high-levels of positivity that you need when you’re off tour?

Gaz: Well, that’s the trick isn’t it? Trying to maintain the positivity. It’s mostly the little things that keep you grounded, just hanging out with the kids, watching a movie with them or having a family lunch in town. Having a bit of family time always levels me out.

TSH: Looking ahead, is the key parameter for you not to repeat yourself whilst moving forward and progressing with fresh ideas?

Gaz: Yeah, that’s one of the elements I strive for and look to improve on. Also, the drive that I need to improve in all factors of my life is all encompassing for me too. Regarding the music, I know that in a couple of months I’ll get that feeling of little ideas or combinations of things emerging in my head for new music. I know stems will emerge from me just thinking about something I’ve not heard and thinking ‘I’d love to do that!’ These kinds of ideas occur and play through in my head and then I’ll go into the studio and try and make things happen.

Gaz Coombes - “Walk The Walk”

World's Strongest Man

#Interview #Gaz Coombes #Supergrass

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unpretty · 7 years

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i lack self-control and there’s other shit i should be doing so it’s time for the first installment of

Let’s Read: Kraven the Hunter

Kraven the Hunter's first appearance is The Amazing Spider-Man #15 from August 1964, written by Stan The Man himself, which is how you know it's gonna be batshit. Every comic writer has strengths and weaknesses, and in many cases you kind of have to overlook those weaknesses to really enjoy the strengths.

Stan's strength is also his weakness, which is that none of his plots ever make any goddamn sense and all his characters come off as weird assholes, and whenever you finish a comic you are left with a vague sense that literally everything that happened in that issue could have been avoided if they'd just stopped being weird assholes for five seconds.

Some writers attempt to remedy this later. Those writers are wrong.

Stan Lee still writes the newspaper comic strip version of Spider-Man, as far as I know, and for years I thought those strips were just nutso because Stan Lee was old and out of fucks to give. Then I read some old-ass comics and realized that Stan Lee is just Like That, and always has been.

He also writes credits like these.

If there is a space where a man can reasonably fit more words, Stan Lee will find more words to put there.

Early Spider-Man comics feature a lot of weird old-timey bank-robbing gangsters? Like, straight-up Dillinger Gang motherfuckers. So anyway the issue starts with some old-timey gangsters, bla bla bla, the Chameleon bla, curse you Spider-Man, etc. We don't care about that part. What we care about is that the Chameleon (who is also, to be clear, kind of an old-timey gangster) decides he's gonna call in Kraven the Hunter to solve his Spider-Man problem.

Here are the first things we learn about Kraven, in order:

He's been in Africa, where he defeats terrorbeasts single-handed and with his bare hands.

He's a fucking hunk.

"You know what the ladies love? Rectangles. I’m gonna build a man entirely out of rectangles. For the ladies." - Ditko, presumably.

I know that what the creators were thinking was, 'let's give him an outfit like a circus strongman or something, to emphasize that he's tough', but what this implies is that Kraven the Hunter thinks this outfit is a good idea. He deliberately chose to dress like he got his wardrobe at the circus. Maybe he did! We don't know. Anyway never trust anyone who tries to take away Kraven's ballet flats and leggings because they are just as Iconic™ as his lion vest and I will not hear otherwise.

Okay but anyway the second thing that happens, after we learn all about what a fine cut of beefcake Kraven is, is that all of the animals Kraven has brought with him to New York have escaped.

This is not the only time this happens, presumably because Kraven has no interest in catching animals that aren't wily enough to try to escape en masse.

Since Peter Parker is on location to snap some sweet pics of Kraven's pecs, he makes an attempt to save the day, only to get beaten to the punch by Kraven before he can get his fucking pants on.

Just casually flinging some fucking cobras into a bucket, nbd. Hey, you know that weird fucking belt Kraven always wears?

Belt tusks. He wears fucking tusks full of drugs on his belt, in a constant outward stabbing position. Anyone who tries to remove Kraven's belt without Kraven's consent is getting knocked the fuck out. I mean he also has some Vulcan nerve punch shit going on, but more importantly, belt tusks.

Peter... please. You are a child. You are in high school. Control yourself.

I'd like to note that this was in no way part of any kind of 'fucking with Spider-Man' plan. There is no indication that Kraven even thought Spider-Man would be watching. This is just How He Do. However, Spider-Man was watching, and then had to leave to change into different pants again, meaning he failed to do either his hero job or his day job.

Peter. You should have had your camera out to take pictures of Spider-Man anyway.

Peter.

Did it seriously not occur to you to snap a single fucking picture while you were watching Kraven do sweet ape tricks.

Anyway here is where things really start to go sideways.

Now, personally, if I saw a dude save a bunch of people from rampaging gorillas, then refer to me as 'more beast than human' and 'the most dangerous game', I might consider taking him aside and letting him know that I am actually an orphaned teenager whose only family is an old woman with heart problems and also I get picked on in school. I mean, not to give too much credit to a guy who says 'man is the most dangerous game' without irony, but I'm pretty sure his stated goal of Kicking Ass is not furthered by beating up nerdy children. You don't even have to tell him your secret identity! Just show him your chin and explain how long you've been trying to grow a beard! This whole fight could be avoided and Kraven would go back to the Chameleon to laugh at him about how he got his ass kicked by a baby.

But this is Peter Parker, so instead of that he just regrets getting out of bed and considers building a nest in his bedroom and never leaving.

Incidentally, the b-plot of this comic is that everyone thinks Flash’s girlfriend Liz wants to bang Peter. His crush Betty is mad, Flash is mad, Peter does a lot of moping about how life is uniquely difficult for him and only him. His boss is mad at him, just because he didn't do his one and only job! A hot girl he likes is jealous of the other hot girl who likes him! It's hard and no one understands. I don't know if Stan Lee intended for this to be aspirational, or relatable content, but I'm kind of into it.

Either way, 'teenage boy would rather mope and then fight a grown man to the death than admit he's not worth fighting' is a pretty realistic beginning to a blood feud.

IT'S THE FIRST APPEARANCE OF A BULL ELEPHANT and also Kraven mentioning his total willingness to just drink weird shit in the jungle if he thinks it will help him punch better. Based on existing Marvel canon, I think it's totally possible that he drank something made from some kind of weird super soldier plant that exists in their universe. But also, if he had not specified Africa, I would probably assume it was coca. He seems like a guy who'd do a lot of coke and punch an elephant.

Also I'm pretty sure the Chameleon just gave him a bunch of articles from the Daily Bugle as research. SPIDER-MAN TERRORIZES CITY, SOMEONE PLEASE SAVE US FROM THIS MENACE, read headlines. "Yeah okay," says Kraven. FAMOUS HUNTER GOES NUTS AND TRIES TO KILL SPIDER-MAN FOR SOME REASON read headlines later this week. "What the fuck," Kraven will say.

Oh my god the best fucking part of this fight is that Kraven does one of his nerve punches and disables Spider-Man's arm, causing him to have to flail his limp arm around like a dipshit.

GOD I know this isn't what's happening here but I just really want Kraven to be trying to have a serious fucking fight with what he assumes is a grown man with the unholy powers of a spider, only to have a teenager furiously windmill his limp arms at him. Where is the Spider-Man comic we deserve about this.

Now, plenty of comic book villains are hypocrites, but rarely do you meet one as good at self-justification as Kraven. Bare hands! Mano-a-mano! Except, Spider-Man has spider powers, and that's cheating. Not like Kraven, with his drug powers. He got those fairly. But Spider-Man is cheating by having super strength, and the only way to level the playing field... is more drugs.

I love how consistently they use the word 'potion'.

"Look, this is totally fair. I, too, am on drugs." - Kraven, probably.

Incidentally, Kraven has from day one had this problem of being really weirdly sexually menacing. Bisexually menacing, even. Like, later comics writers absolutely used Kraven as a vehicle for their weird fetishes, but this has been a problem with Kraven from the start.

Kraven please listen to yourself.

GUYS THIS IS ALSO THE FIRST APPEARANCE OF KRAVEN'S NOT-BONG

YEAH THAT'S DEFINITELY A CARAFE, FOR THE TEA HE'S DRINKING. ABSOLUTELY IN NO WAY GIVING OFF MAJOR HIGH-VIBES. SITTING ON A DESK. Why is he sitting on a desk? Why is his leg like that? Why is he holding his cup like that? Is that bong on another, different table? Who arranged the furniture in this evil lair and why didn’t they put in more chairs?

Meanwhile Aunt May is trying to hook Peter up with her neighbor Mrs. Watson's niece. THIS IS THE FIRST MENTION OF THE ELUSIVE MISS WATSON. Right after Kraven's not-bong. Mary Jane is not named in this comic, she’s just the niece. Peter's lady problems with pretty girls being thrown at him continue apace, and he is as annoyed about it as ever. You know what else is annoying?

KRAVEN IN JJ'S OFFICE PROMISING TO KICK SPIDEY'S ASS

From Kraven's perspective this has to be just, the weirdest shit. OUR CITY IS BEING MENACED BY A MONSTER MAN, read headlines, while JJ's like "okay but don't break the law while freeing us from this reign of terror".

Kraven's clever plan is to let Chameleon pretend to be him, so that he can suckerpunch Spider-Man while Spider-Man tries to suckerpunch him. It's flawless.

"God, I'm awesome." - Kraven, literally just now in that panel.

Thanks, Stan. Every single word in these panels is very necessary. Thank you.

EVERY TIME I SEE THIS FUCKING PANEL I LAUGH MYSELF TO TEARS. KRAVEN LITERALLY MADE CHAMELEON PLAY THE FUCKING BONGOS TO DISORIENT THE ENEMY. THE ENEMY IS SPIDER-MAN SO IT FUCKING WORKED. PETER HAS NEVER BEEN SO DISORIENTED AS HE IS NOW, HEARING THESE SICK BEATS. WHY IS HE RUNNING LIKE A CONFUSED DOG THAT GOT OUT OF THE YARD. EVERYTHING ABOUT THIS FUCKING PANEL IS GOLD AND I WANT IT FRAMED.

I have turned off my caps-lock for readability but please know that there is a caps-lock on in my heart. My heart, which also knows that this is fetish gear. Kraven just put Spider-Man in magnetic manacles with bells in them.

I'm like 99% sure that at some point Kraven figures out that Spider-Man is Peter Parker, and when he does, I wonder if he ever does the math and figures out he put a high schooler in weird bell manacles.

GOD.

Anyway Spider-Man eventually figures out that HE CAN WEB UP THE BELLS. IT TAKES HIM LIKE THREE PAGES. HE'S JUST JINGLE JANGLING ALL OVER THE FUCKING PARK FOR, IDK, TWENTY MINUTES PROBABLY BEFORE HE REMEMBERS HE'S GOT WEBS. FUCK. That's when Kraven retreats because discretion is the better part of valor and you gotta know when to fold 'em.

What the fuck are spider beams.

God. What the fuck, Peter. Kraven's springs forth from the shadows with an action-packed punch and Spidey's just like HEY. CUT THAT OUT. EXCUSE YOU.

Why are you reinforcing the idea that you are an inhuman monster you fool.

He could have said... literally anything else. Anything. I mean, he's Spider-Man, so insulting his villains is kind of his whole deal, but like?? YOU ALREADY WON. YOU WATCHED THIS MAN SAVE A WHOLE BUNCH OF PEOPLE, INCLUDING YOUR BOSS AND LOVE INTERESTS. HIS ONLY CRIME IS TRYING TO KICK YOUR ASS, A CRIME OF WHICH THE ENTIRE POLICE DEPARTMENT AND FOOTBALL TEAM ARE ALSO GUILTY.

... also conspiring with the Chameleon. But like? Chameleon is implied to be a terrifying crime boss. You didn't even ask why he was conspiring with the Chameleon. You just assumed.

There's kind of this thing, which starts basically in this panel but which continues onward forever, where Kraven and Spider-Man seem to bring out the worst in each other? And part of it is that Kraven thinks Spider-Man is the Most Dangerous Game for some reason (possibly arachnophobia), but I'm pretty sure it's also that instead of just besting him in honorable combat like men, Peter insists on completely humiliating and mocking Kraven every single goddamn time. Starting with this one. Kraven kind of has a huge ego?? Being tough is his whole deal??? Peter said the exact wrong thing if he didn't want Kraven to come back for vengeance??????

But also Peter Parker is a teenage boy and Kraven is a grown-ass man who wants to hunt him for sport, and that's pretty goddamn terrifying. Covering fear with mockery is pretty par for the course. It just happens to be the worst possible thing to do to a man with a massive ego built around kicking ass who assumes you are a grown man who isn't human. Is all. It's a comedy of fucking errors, is what it is.

Anyway JJ rewards Peter for his pictures of the eventual arrest with a chocolate bar (WHICH HE KEEPS IN A FUCKING SAFE), and Betty apologizes for being so mean about assuming that Peter would want to go out with another girl, and proceeds to ask him out. Which he turns down, because he has a secret date with Mary Jane. But Betty foolishly assumes he has a secret date with Liz! Which is totally different from his actual secret date, which he is only going on to please his Aunt May. Life is hard.

Meanwhile KRAVEN IS BEING DEPORTED

to... South America? Apparently they just asked where they wanted to go, and then sent them there. Instead of actually sending them back to Russia. Which is a neat thing I guess the cops do sometimes instead of arresting people.

Hey, here's a question: WHY IS PETER RELAXING BY GOING TO THE FUCKING DOCKS IN COSTUME

So anyway, that's Kraven's first appearance. He shows up in New York to deliver some animals, saves everyone at the docks from gorillas armed with cobras, tries to rid the city of the webbed menace, and ultimately gets deported. It's a weird week for Kraven.

(Next Time, or, The Mess So Far)

#original #kraven readalong #kraven the hunter

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