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findingjoynweirdstuff · 4 years ago

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Dream SMP Recap (May 5/2021) - He’s Back

Now that Wilbur’s returned, it’s about time he got a look around the server to see what he’s missed since he’s been gone. Tommy gives him a tour.

---

VOD LINKS:

Ponk

Foolish

Philza

Tommyinnit

Wilbur Soot

Skeppy

Captain Puffy

Foolish

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- Ponk continues work on the supreme fridge in the desert

- Sam logs on to call Ponk handsome. Ponk replies that Punz isn’t online.

- Foolish logs on.

Sam: Don’t ignore my messages ponk

Ponk: Hey, Foolish qt pie

Foolish: Oohhh ponk :)

Sam: He isn’t as cute as me :)

- Sam lands in front of Ponk as he’s watering the concrete.

Ponk: “Oh, he’s gonna take my other arm!”

- Sam calls Ponk handsome again and hands him steak. Ponk tosses Sam the picture of Coraline’s mother

- Sam tells Ponk that he’s been doing squats and starts twerking to demonstrate

- Ponk shoves Sam off the fridge. When Sam survives, Ponk figures his booty helped save him from the fall, as Sam comments that the weight sent him falling too fast for him to MLG

- Ponk compliments Sam, saying his eyes are glowing like the stars in the ocean

Sam: It’s because I looked at you

Sam: :)

- Ponk and Sam watch the sunrise together.

- They talk about Coraline’s mother. Ponk says that she is attractive...but not as attractive as Foolish. Sam immediately jumps off the fridge and runs away

Sam: you don’t got me atm. So it does matter.

Sam: I guess it wasn’t meant to be.

- Sam logs off

- Ranboo hires a mercenary Enderman to kill KSI

- Tommy meets with Wilbur at L’manhole

- Wilbur tells Tommy that all his memories are coming back. He remembers that Friend isn’t Tommy’s sheep but his own.

- Wilbur wants Tommy to show him around to see what he’s missed. He takes Friend along despite Tommy worrying that Friend could die (”Who cares about a sheep, man? It’s just a sheep.”)

- Wilbur’s made some plans, debated with himself what to do now, and tells Tommy that he’s sorry. It may be hard to believe, but Wilbur’s turned over a new leaf! He feels great now and wants to apologize to people.

- Wilbur is in his forties now and asks how old Tommy is -- twenties, thirties?

- First off, Tommy shows Wilbur Schlatt’s grave. Wilbur asks to see his own grave to see what people said about him. Tommy shows him L’manhole. Wilbur didn’t get a grave, only what he left behind.

- Wilbur sees Karl’s house (which he remembers), the Big Innit Hotel (which he doesn’t) and says he does remember a bit about the prison from Ghostbur’s memories of it.

- Skeppy comes walking past and they speak with him. Wilbur apologizes to Skeppy for not appreciating his trolling. Skeppy kills Friend by accident. He skepped all over Friend.

- Skeppy runs away and asks Bad if tridents are like swords in terms of damage. Bad asks what he killed and learns that it was a blue sheep. Skeppy puts the trident in an Ender Chest. Bad warns Skeppy that he may have inadvertently started the next war, and Skeppy ends stream

- Wilbur comes across the invisible staircase and Tommy shows him the McPuffy’s. He asks about Karl. Last Wilbur remembered, Karl was an enemy of his, but has he changed? Tommy says he hasn’t seen Karl around much.

- They reach the hotel and Jack Manifold is standing at the desk. He and Tommy get into a shouting match but Wilbur is excited to see Jack. Jack welcomes him inside and Wilbur waits in one of the suites as Tommy and Jack argue in another room, listening in.

- Tommy takes him up to the roof. There, Tommy tells him about coming up with the plan there to murder Dream in the prison.

Wilbur: “I’ve seen it all, you’ve had your little strifes -- this isn’t the first, right, Tommy. Tommy, do you remember when you got sent into exile? Yeah, I remember. I was there, Tommy. I was there. I was there -- I was in the cage of that little ghost’s fucking head. Every single step you and me took -- look at me, Tommy, look me in the eyes -- every single step me and you took, I was there -- I was there! I had no control of what was happening, I’ve no idea what was being said, but Tommy -- I’ll tell you what -- if I was there, and it wasn’t that stupid shell of a ghost instead of me...I would’ve struck down Dream right where he stood. We would’ve disemboweled him. We would’ve disemboweled him together.”

“Tommy, I’m not -- I wasn’t blind, I saw what he was doing to you, Tommy. I saw. I saw what he was doing to Tubbo -- I saw what he was doing to me. But you know what, Tommy? I wasn’t there. I wasn’t there, was I. We had Ghostbur. Ghostbur was there instead, right. And you know what the issue is, you know what the issue is? After seeing Ghostbur interact with Dream, I realized that no, Dream is not the enemy -- Dream is not the enemy!”

“This world was not supposed to be inhabited by a people of this caliber -- Dream is the hero! Dream needs to be let out of here! Dream’s not in prison for being a horrible person, Dream’s in prison because he dared to try and stop you all. He dared to try and stop you all from gaining all this power, because the minute I was gone, there was a vacuum, there was opening, and everyone just seeked to get in there! And Dream was the only one who stood up to them and told them not to, Dream was the only one who held my seat for me. He held my -- he kept it warm! He kept my throne warm, and you guys didn’t like that, so you threw him in prison! And if Dream died instead of me, I would be in there right now.”

“So Tommy, you should thank that I wasn’t alive to attack Dream when we got exiled! You should be glad we had little, passive Ghostbur, because now Dream’s in there, and I’m out here, baby.”

- Wilbur heads back down to speak with Jack Manifold. He tells Jack that he’s sorry that he didn’t grant freedom to Manifoldland, sorry that he led Jack into war, sorry that he denied Jack access to the election, sorry that he left Jack behind. Jack is a little surprised, but he thanks him and Wilbur and Tommy leave the hotel.

Tommy: “Wil, just look at me for a second. The reason we started L’manburg, and everything here, was because we knew -- together, me and you, the duo -- together we knew that Dream was the villain. He was the one holding this server down. He was the dictator! ‘Cause you’re telling me even then, you think...you think Dream was the hero?”

Wilbur: “Tommy, I’ve made an oath of not lying now that I’m alive again. So I’m gonna come clean to you with the truth. Uh...one thing, I didn’t actually care about L’manburg, I just cared about -- you know, sticking it to the man. Actually, I cared about L’manburg for the sole reason that I could use it to stick it to the man. You ever sticked it to the man, Tommy?”

“L’manburg was a tool. It was a great tool, it worked, you know. It divided so many people, man. Listen, Tommy, and in my oath of not lying I’m gonna tell you know -- Tommy, I’m sorry for a couple things, to each of these people on the server. I’m sorry to a lot of them -- except for Phil, I’ve nothing to apologize to Phil for. Phil’s done nothing wrong. But to the rest of them, I’m sorry for a lot of things -- but Tommy, that doesn’t mean I’m not gonna try again.”

- Tommy is confused. L’manburg was Wilbur’s unfinished symphony, how could he not care about it? Wilbur says maybe it wasn’t the right wording, he did care about L’manburg, but for the “wrong reasons.”

- Wilbur asks to see the museum (though Tommy was going to take him to the Egg). They make it to the museum and Wilbur is excited to see the hto dog van as Tommy continues to protest.

Tommy: “It was like we were a family! You can’t just say that!”

Wilbur: “We were family, Tommy! ...We were. But you know what? You just -- you just didn’t -- I guess you didn’t have the balls to follow along with me. When I pressed the button, you were always against -- we’re leaving it behind, Tommy. It’s in the past--”

Tommy: “You blew up our fucking home!”

Wilbur: “We’re friends now. We’re friends.”

Tommy: “I don’t want to be your friend! You’re annoying and I hate you and you’re ugly and you have a gray hair and I bet you twirl it round and use the dog filter--”

Wilbur: “You’re following me an awful lot for someone who doesn’t care.”

- Wilbur notices the Ranboo My Beloved poster on the wall. He remembers Ranboo as a good man. Tommy says he is, and that he sees potential in him.

- They call Ranboo so that Wilbur can properly meet him. Wilbur says he’s sorry to him. He wanted to get to know Ranboo better, ‘pick his brain.’ Ranboo never met Wilbur in person.

- What nation is Ranboo a part of, who does he align himself with? Ranboo says all of them -- he chooses people, not nations.

Wilbur: “Okay, so -- let’s go an say, so there must be someone bad on the server right, there’s gotta be a bad guy on the server and who --”

Ranboo: “Yeah. Dream, yeah.”

- Wilbur goes quiet for a moment. He then asks what Ranboo stands for. Ranboo says people.

Wilbur: “What ‘people?’ What people? You can’t just stand for people! People are good and bad!”

- Ranboo lists the people he sides with. There are quite a few.

Wilbur: “Everyone? Everyone but Dream, everyone but the one bad guy everyone’s supposed to hate.”

- Wilbur accuses Ranboo of being a “schmoozer.” Ranboo's philosophy is, if someone hasn’t wronged him or the people he cares about, he has no quarrel with them.

- Wilbur says that’s fine in a perfect world, but there are wars that get fought. Ranboo says the server’s been quiet ever since Dream was put in prison and there have been fewer wars since Wilbur died -- to which Wilbur asks if Ranboo is against him in the same way he’s against Dream.

- Wilbur says goodbye to Ranboo, saying that they might get to know each other better in time. Wilbur leaves with Tommy to continue the tour, telling him that Ranboo’s just a follower.

- Tommy gets angry and tells Wilbur off for being a nuisance, for making him feel like a ghost when Wilbur should be the ghost. They decide to fight, with weapons but no armor.

- They fight in the Holy Land and Tommy defeats him. Wilbur says, though, that he’s already won no matter what. No matter what happens next, he won when he pressed the button.

- He asks to see Phil. Phil sent him a whole backlog of letters, including ones about things Tommy can’t know about.

- They arrive at the Arctic and Wilbur remembers this place, remembers finding Friend here. Wilbur reunites with Phil and Wilbur is thrilled by the cottages.

- Wilbur thanks Phil for killing him and tells him the whole bit of what would’ve happened if he’d been there instead of Ghostbur.

- Tommy tells Wilbur that what led to him getting exiled was griefing George’s house with Ranboo. Ranboo didn’t get exiled because Tommy stood up for him -- to which Wilbur asks if Ranboo didn’t stand up for Tommy, letting Tommy get thrown under the bus.

- Phil asks about the lies in the letters. Wilbur tells him that he’s not lying anymore, and he lied in the letters because it’s like writing back from a summer camp -- he didn’t want to tell Phil that everything was going horribly.

- Wilbur’s made plans, and when they’re ready, Phil will be the first to know. He also asks Phil if he can stay with him for a bit, as he has no house. He also needs a shower.

- Phil agrees to let Wilbur stay despite Tommy protesting, and Wilbur and Tommy leave.

- Ranboo comes over to ask Phil how it went. Phil was skeptical, but it seems like Wilbur’s changed for the better, and that Wilbur spoke highly of Ranboo. As for Ranboo, he says it seems like Wilbur isn’t as bad as people said he was.

- Phil talks about killing Wilbur and what Wilbur said about it.

- For Wilbur’s plan, he needs lots of stone. Wilbur leaves Tommy at the Nether Portal to go get stone and speak with Phil.

- Phil gives Tommy several stacks of stone.

- Wilbur says he’ll be “back in the saddle” soon, that he can rebuild. He still doesn’t know how he was revived, but the first thing he saw when he got back was a chest.

- At the shrine, Wilbur opens the chest and reads the “PROJECT NEVADAS” book Quackity left for him. His old rival, his kinsman.

Wilbur: “Chat, power isn’t won through diplomacy. Power isn’t won through waiting, patiently, floating courthouses in the sky, blah blah blah...it’s won through blades. Swords. Iron...”

“And I was right all along.”

- Tommy leaves Phil and Ranboo for a bit and they continue to talk about Wilbur, whether he’s changed, whether he’s even telling the truth about the afterlife and if even Dream can change.

- When Ranboo mentions that he may have to keep some secrets, Phil asks about the experiments. Ranboo reiterates that they’re just to build resistance, like when a wound heals over stronger. He assures Phil that he’ll be careful.

- Ranboo then leaves to go stand in a corner somewhere for a bit. He doesn’t sleep much, and if Phil ever sees him walking around staring at random things, it’s nothing to worry about

- Tommy goes mining for stone with Mediashare

- Captain Puffy works on the graveyard. She reads the Wiki page for Sally the Salmon and makes some horrible discoveries. She later finds out the Samsung Refrigerator has its own page as well and spends some time learning about the canon family tree.

- She then makes the gravestones and fills out the history books for each of the dead members, including a spot for Ghostbur behind Wilbur’s headstone with his final words.

---

Upcoming events remain the same.

#dream smp #dream smp recaps #long posts

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lonelyasawhisper · 2 years ago

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If Queen Won't, Brian May

Sylvie Simmons, Creem, 1st March 1984

SO HERE I am back in the giant Ajax can on Vine Street and waiting for Brian May. I look at my watch; the little hand and the big hand are sticking up like a peace sign; almost noon and it's hard to believe I'm up at this ungodly hour after last night's festivities, let alone the star. (Capitol threw a party to welcome Queen into the Ajax Can family — Elektra won't be getting The Works when it comes out early next year. There were hors d'oeuvres, aperitifs, and talking of a pair of teeths, Freddie Mercury, Roger Taylor, John Deacon and Brian May.) This is not the usual fluorescent-lit room where Duran Duran posters smirk cheekbonely from the walls. This is a cozy chamber tucked around the back somewhere, through convoluted corridors and up and down staircases — couldn't find it again even if you threatened me with a night at Plato's with Steve Perry — dark and small as a confession box...

I confess! I know I shouldn't; I know there's a reputation to consider; I know Mötley Crüe told me just the other day that they're "the opposite" of this band. But I LIKE QUEEN. There, I've said it. Not only do I have all their albums (except Hot Space; I'm not that daft) but I sing 'Bohemian Rhapsody' in its entirety at the slightest provocation. And the Brian May-penned 'Flash' is probably the best sci-fi theme tune in the Universe.

Though Brian may not agree. For one, the title track on the first album he's ever done outside of Queen just happens to be a sci-fi theme tune called 'Star Fleet'; for another he's so modest and understated you virtually have to beat the bloke with rubber truncheons to get him to admit that Queen are pretty big.

Anyway, the Star Fleet Project is a mini album — as May's own liner notes say, it's "not your normal kind of album; not an album which has been 'thoughtfully pieced together by a coordinated band as a balanced and polished listening experience.' Not a Queen album." Certainly isn't. All three songs — 'Star Fleet', the theme from a Japanese Saturday morning sci-fi program that shows on English TV that Brian got hooked on thanks to his young son Jimmy, 'Let Me Out', a song Brian wrote for Queen years ago that was never used, and 'Blues Breaker', dedicated to Eric Clapton, the man whose axe-work with Cream inspired a 15-year-old May to build his own electric guitar — were recorded over a two-day period back in April during a break from the year-around Queen boxing match. At loose ends, Brian called up some music friends in Los Angeles and jammed. Yes — jammed. What they used to do in the old days when musicians spent more time with each other than their accountants. Anyway, after much thought — and a bit of persuasion from Heavy Pettin', a British rock band he was producing on the side who heard the tapes and drooled — and more red tape, the jamming session got put out as pure and untouched as Michael Jackson, and credited to Brian May And Friends. His friends? Neighbor Alan Gratzer of REO Speedwagon, Phil Chen, ex-Rod Stewart bassist, Fred Mandel, the former Alice Cooper member who showed up on Queen's last tour, and on co-lead, Eddie Van Halen. (The two met when Brian caught Van Halen's set on a Black Sabbath tour and got friendlier when they met up again in Germany and confessed to being mutual fans.)

Brian May has just walked into the chamber, right on time. He's tall, got the same hairdo he's had for years, an intent expression on his face and a soft, very English voice.

"We had some time off from the group which we forced on ourselves," he's saying about why he's just done a record that sounds like it could have been made any time in the past 11 years Queen's been together. "We felt, Queen, that we'd got too close to each other and we needed a break. We all do different things — Roger's been making an album, Freddie's been doing stuff with Michael Jackson, John's been doing all kinds of stuff with computers and weird machines, and I thought, 'Why don't I do something?' Most of my favorite musicians were around L.A. where I was, and they all said 'yeah, great, let's go and do it.' Which really surprised me; I thought people would say yeah great, but we're busy.' So I booked the Record Plant and we went in and tried it, and it worked out better than I could ever have dreamed. One of the best times of my life, really."

He doesn't have too many friends in the business, he says. "They are pretty well my best friends, but also some of my favorite players." They're also veterans of some of the most commercially successful, richest mainstream rock bands around. By doing this project, did they reckon they'd show us they weren't in it for the money alone?

"I don't think anything like that was in our minds. There was never any talk of it coming out to begin with — it was just to be in there playing really, and I was quite prepared to leave it that way. Possibly to prove something to myself — that I could play with other musicians and enjoy it, and make something worthwhile."

If he's saying Queen hasn't been making anything worthwhile lately, there's a lot of people who couldn't agree more. Like Hot Space frinstance.

"There's a lot about Hot Space I didn't like. But at the same time," Brian covers himself, "it was probably, in retrospect, the right thing to do at the time, because we had to investigate all those different avenues and get all those bits of R&B influence out of our systems. No, part of the problem with us, the group, was we got so close to each other that familiarity breeds contempt, and we didn't like the way each other played anymore. That was one of the things that happened six months ago. And now, having got outside it and seen a lot of other people. I realize that the other three are pretty good. And I think they've had the same experience. We appreciate each other a bit more now. After this record I came back to the group much fresher. You get to understand how other people play, and you realize that everybody has their own style, and I found that I was a bit more patient with John and Roger and Freddie. Also what I got from stepping outside was realizing what other people think of us as individuals and as a group."

And did he kill himself? "Well, they thought we were pretty good — which surprised me!" He obviously didn't get to poll the people who dismiss Queen as a pretentious sort of band. Brian chuckles. And this Star Fleet Project has to be one of the most unpretentious records a superstar musician has ever made, casually put together and released without the usual sheen and polish a Queen album goes through before seeing the light of day.

"Well it is very different, and that's part of why it was a release for me. I wouldn't agree with you that Queen are pretentious, but I know what you mean. Queen are a group who've always been — everything has to be perfect before it gets out. It's worked on and worked on and argued about and talked about and torn to bits and put back together. We work to keep the spontaneity in there, but nevertheless it was nice in this case to do something which worked immediately, the adrenalin from the fact you'd never played with these people before, and everyone feeling good. I had no desire to interfere with it."

Has Queen lost its excitement? When you've got so many followers and so much success that you can even put out an album like Hot Space and it sells, when you can flash a credit card and get a record co. employee to go out and charge up anything your little heart desires, doesn't it all get a bit boring?

"It's funny you should say that because that never goes through my mind. I certainly don't feel we could do anything. For instance, last night at the party — I suppose everyone's very up about a new deal and a new album, but I was very depressed underneath it all really because what I think about is still the music. And we'd just had a play-back to the record company, and I was really desperately unhappy about the way it sounded. And I couldn't even think about we're a huge rock group, all the things you're saying. All I could think about was I'd hated what I'd heard and I was ashamed of it. I don't really think about what Queen looks like to the outside world very much. I think about what it feels like. It has had its good moments and I think we can play some good stuff; but it also has some really awful moments."

A lot of the Outside World who do think about Queen probably think it's Freddie's band. He thinks of a direction, everyone fights a bit, but generally follow meekly behind. True?

"It's a continual fight, because we all have very definite ideas of what direction we want to go in, and none of them are the same. It's a continual battle and it's very democratic and it's very painful. Most of the time when we're recording, it's hell. You have this constant dividing line between being up and positive about what you're doing, and the other side is that you may be trying to push what you want down someone else's throat, and maybe the other three will take it for a little while but in the end they'll say, 'No, this is rubbish, we hate it, stop pushing.' And that's what's happened a lot.

"I had a very clear idea in my head of what I wanted [the new Queen album] to be. It's an oversimplification, but I wanted it to be more of a rock album. But I obviously pushed too hard in the early days, and everyone got very angry with me and said 'Look, stop. Don't tell us what to play.' And then you take three steps back and try and work it out again. That's happened with all of us. We all feel that suddenly we can see a path ahead and the other three can't see it at all, and that makes it really hard.

"The plus of it is that after you've had your arguments and found an intermediate course at least you've already been through a vast political process, and the stuff which does come out has been through a gigantic sieve. So I think in the end you come out with stuff which is a real group product, and it's better than any of us could do as a solo artist. I honestly think that, and that's why I'm still in Queen. I think the group is still better than any of its component parts."

So is the next Queen album going to be a rock album? (Bumped into Roger Taylor at the party and he slurred that it was definitely "very heavy — one side of the album especially will definitely give you brain damage")

"So far," nods Brian, "I think, in spite of all the shouting, it is."

When a group member leaves the fold to do his first album, it's usually "OK, here I am. Me, the Star." But Star Fleet isn't a flashy guitar album or ego showcase. What gives?

"I don't think I am a flashy kind of person really. When I come to do a solo album — maybe one day I will — I've no idea what it will be like. This isn't it. This is just an event of some people having fun together, and that's the way it should be looked at. I don't know what is me, if that's what you're asking. That's one of the difficulties I've had in thinking about a solo album. Because on the one hand I would like to do all heavy stuff, because I don't feel I've got enough outlet for the heavy stuff in Queen; on the other hand I'd like to do some guitar arrangements and continue the guitar-orchestra direction, which again we've sort of left alone for a while in the group. Then again I like to sing songs that have a lot of personal feeling for me, which also sometimes doesn't fit into the group framework."

Hasn't he ever had the temptation to leap out onstage, push Freddie into the wings and grab the limelight, just once?

"No, I'm very happy with how it is. I get my bit to do. As you say, I can be flash for a while and then blend into the group, and I'm very content with that."

That's the one thing Brian and Eddie Van Halen have in common. They're both pretty low profile guitarists in bands with the most outrageously flashy frontmen on earth. Do they feel any kinship there?

"Yes, a lot. There are parallels, obviously. The whole business of what roles people play in groups is something which interests me very much for its own sake, because you do find that the bass player is always a certain kind, the guitarist is usually a certain kind of person. I don't know whether it's the selection process or whether it's an environmental change process [I forgot to mention; he has a degree in physics!] — you can see those elements in the component parts of groups. Guitarists do tend to be like that, people who feel they have a lot to say but don't really want to be in the center of the stage doing it; they want to be at the side doing their bit and enjoying it and getting into it and not having the responsibility for what the singer does."

And if you're expecting any guitar duels on this album, forget it. Instead of playing superstars, trying to outdo the last lick, they're like a couple of polite gentlemen going "After you"; "No, after you."

"I think we're very alike, and there's no feeling of competition there because we both love what the other person is doing. Particularly in my case. My first reaction to seeing Edward was I didn't want to play with him because he's so great. And then my second reaction was I wanted to pick up the guitar and play with him. Because we're so different in playing, but we're very alike in the way we think. There's no duel there, and I'm glad you said that because I was frightened people would think Guitar Battle kind of rubbish. Just people enjoying each other's company really. And it's not just me and Edward — it's me and Alan and Philip and Fred. We were all in there, and it was a good interaction all round.

"I still think, sometimes, am I being foolish putting this out? But then every time I listen to it I get this great feeling about it. It's so real and live and personal that I hope that other people will get that feeling about it."

With all the members of Queen going their separate ways, there's always the risk that they might forget to get back together again. Does Queen still feel like a real band?

"It does again now. There have been a few crises in our history, and one of them was about six months ago, when we could have easily said, 'Look, we hate each other, let's forget it.' And it almost was that. But instead we said 'look, we're all getting very intense with each other because we haven't had a break for ages, and we've been in this endless make-an-album-tour-the-world-make-an-album cycle; so let's get out of it for a while and maybe we'll appreciate each other.' And it's worked pretty well. We got back together and we feel like a real band again."

Retrieved from The Creem Archive

#article #interview #brian may #creem #star fleet project #1984 #queen band #bri

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escapewithbts · 4 years ago

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They Find Out About Your Original Bias - Hyung Line

——————————————

Namjoon: It was the first time your boyfriend had come over to your place. The relationship was relatively new so you were pretty nervous to have him there; showing someone your personal space opened up a whole new level of vulnerability. But you felt ready to show Namjoon, and it was actually going very well so far.

“And this is my bedroom.” You stated as you walked in and let him enter ahead of you.

He strolled around slowly with his hands behind his back, taking in every detail; his eagerness to learn everything there was to know about you evident.

“It’s cozy in here,” he said looking back at you with a dimpled smile, “I like it a lot.”

You blushed and thanked him quietly. He then sauntered over to your large bookshelf full of all different genres. He ran his long finger along their spines, occasionally picking one up to inspect it.

“May I borrow this?” He questioned, holding up a particularly good one.

You nodded and leaned against the doorframe.

“Of course. You can borrow any of them.”

He nodded and tucked it under his arm, then went back to investigating.

You smiled, admiring the way his eyebrows furrowed while searching all the titles and how wide his eyes got when he found one that sparked his interest. You were so glad you found someone who loved to read as much as you did.

Suddenly, he burst out laughing, but you couldn’t see why since he had turned his back toward you.

“What about this one?” he asked, “Can I borrow it, too?”

To your horror, when he turned around he was holding up a notebook you had put together before you had met; a colorful notebook covered in pictures of your old bias.

“‘All the Reasons I Love Min Yoongi’,” he read out loud, “This sounds like a really great read!”

Your face turned beet red as you rushed over to him.

“Oh my god, oh my god, I forgot all about that!”

You attempted to grab the notebook from his grasp but he quickly held it up high, his height taking the upper hand.

“I’m serious, (y/n), I really want to read it! Maybe it will give me some inspiration!” he joked, grinning down at you as you tried to jump and take it from him.

“Joonie, nooo, oh my god, please give it back!” You demanded in between giggles.

Finally he lowered it down and you snatched it from him while you had the chance, holding it tightly against your chest. Namjoon couldn’t stop laughing.

“I-I really did forget about it...” you smiled, looking down at the ground shyly, “I’m sorry, Namjoon, I would have thrown it away...”

He wrapped his arm around your waist and pulled you closer to him, tilting your chin up to look him in the eyes.

“Please don’t throw it away, (y/n),” he said, “It’s so cute. I love that you were a fan of ours before we met... even if you did have poor taste.”

You chuckled and rolled your eyes.

“Besides,” he went on, “I know for a fact I’m your favorite Bangtan rapper now.”

You smiled wide at him and ran a hand through his soft hair.

“Of course you are, Joonie.”

Then you stood on your tip toes and put your lips to his in a tender kiss.

~~~

Seokjin: You had spent the day showing your boyfriend Jin around your hometown, ending at the house you grew up in where your parents still lived. He had followed you through the whole tour of the home, listening to the all the anecdotes and memories you had of the things you experienced there. He loved getting a glimpse into the childhood that had shaped you into who you are as an adult. It made you two feel closer than ever.

“So that concludes the tour!” You exclaimed, throwing you hands up and entering the foyer where the tour had started. Jin looked at you quizzically and pointed at the staircase.

“But you didn’t even show me your old bedroom. Can’t I see it?”

You shook your head. “No, no that’s not interesting. It’s just a bedroom... you know, there’s a bed, dresser, desk... normal stuff.”

You waved your hands in protest, trying to convince Jin it wasn’t worth seeing. He cocked his head and squinted his eyes at you suspiciously.

“Hmm, no, I’d actually really like to see your old room,(y/n)-ah.”

You sighed and ran a hand through your hair.

“Fine.”

You headed up the stairs, Jin folllowing close behind you, your heart beating faster with every step. You stopped outside the bedroom door and turned to him.

“Jinnie, I love you, you know that right?”

“Yes of course. Why are you being so weird? What is in there?”

You put your hand on his arm in reassurance.

“Just remember, I haven’t been in this room in 5 years... A lot has changed since then, okay?”

Jin knitted his eyebrows and nodded hesitantly.

Finally, you took a deep breath and opened the door. You switched the overhead light on to reveal what had made you warn Seokjin before entering; all the walls were covered in pictures and posters of your old BTS bias, none other than Kim Taehyung. You bit your lip and glanced at your boyfriend. His wide eyes scanned the whole room, his mouth open in shock.

“Oh my...” he trailed off.

Suddenly he burst out laughing his infamous windshield wiper laugh, wrinkles forming around his eyes. He brought his hand up to his mouth and slapped his knee with the other.

“Jin-ah! Stop laughing!” You demanded with a smile, hiding your embarrassed face in your hands.

He couldn’t stop. You noticed tears falling down his cheeks from laughing so hard.

“Oh my god, I have to take a picture for V-ssi!” he said, pulling out his phone from his pocket.

You quickly snatched the phone from his hand.

“Oh no absolutely not! No one is ever seeing this room ever! I’m-I’m taking all this down!”

Jin finally began to catch his breath and held up his hands. “Don’t take it down, (y/n), please,” he said, stepping toward you and pulling you into a hug, the chuckles still escaping from his chest making you shake against him, “It’s okay, it’s okay. You just found a different BTS Kim to love!”

~~~

Yoongi: You sat on the couch flipping between channels when your boyfriend walked in the living room. He had come from his studio down the hall where he had been working on music.

“Hey (y/n)?”

You glanced over at him and noticed an annoyed look on his face.

“Yes, Yoongs?”

He sighed and scratched the back of his neck.

“Can I borrow your laptop? My computer is completely fucking up and I can’t seem to fix it.”

You smiled sympathetically at him.

“Of course you can, it’s in the bedroom at the desk.”

He turned away then came back a couple minutes later holding your computer and a pair of his headphones. He plopped down next to you and propped his feet up on the coffee table before opening the laptop and recovering the files he had been working on. You let him do his thing, happy that now with a portable computer he was able to be next to you while he worked.

Some time passed when suddenly out of nowhere Yoongi burst into a fit of giggles, leaning his body away from you slightly.

“What, what? What’s so funny?” You asked, smiling at his outburst and cute gummy smile.

He waved his hand at you while still staring at the screen.

“Nothing nothing.” He snickered.

You turned your body toward him and nudged his arm.

“Come onnn Yoongi, show me.”

He covered his large grin with his hand and slowly turned the laptop so you could see it.

There on the screen, to your horror, was a file folder with the title “WWH Jin”, full of pictures of your old bias Kim Seokjin. Your face turned hot and red, and you went to close the laptop. Yoongi’s hand stopped it.

“Don’t shut it, I want to look!”

He was still laughing.

You put your head in your hands and whined through a smile, “Yoongi-ahhhh, you weren’t ever supposed to see that, I meant to delete it!”

He scrolled through the pictures while you just peaked through your fingers in shame.

“Damn, (y/n), I knew Jin was your favorite but I didn’t think you would have a whole folder dedicated to him.”

You shrugged. “It was a long time ago.... can we stop looking at it now please?”

Yoongi rubbed your shoulder.

“Sure, sure, but I’m emailing the whole folder over to Jin hyung.”

Your eyes got wide and you quickly grabbed the laptop from his grasp.

“Oh no you are not Min Yoongi!”

You closed it swiftly and put it on the coffee table in front of you. Yoongi laughed and pulled you by the shoulders until you fell into his warm chest, his arms holding you close to him.

“I’m just kidding jagiya, I would never do that to you.”

He kissed the top of your head and you looked up into his dark brown eyes.

“Just maybe make a ‘Min Suga’ folder, too, hmm?”

You laughed and snuggled more into him.

“Okay, I can do that Yoongi-ah.”

~~~

Hoseok: You were preparing dinner for you and Hoseok when you suddenly heard your Twitter notifications going off like crazy. You got mentioned a lot being in a public relationship with an idol, but this seemed excessive. You wiped your hands on the kitchen towel and unlocked your phone to see what all the fuss was about.

Your eyes widened in shock when you scrolled through the tweets about you... someone had found your old Tumblr where you had written stories about your old bias, Park Jimin. How they figured out it was you you had no idea, but you did know fans could be quite detective.

“Hobi!” You called to him, rushing into the living room where he was sitting on the couch, “Please tell me you haven’t read any of the tweets about-“ you stopped when you saw him looking at you with the biggest mischievous grin on his face.

He raised his eyebrows at you suggestively. You groaned, hiding your embarrassed face in your hands.

“‘I closed my eyes and felt Jimin’s soft plump lips on mine as he kissed me passionately...’” Jhope read out loud from the app on his phone.

You leapt towards him.

“Hobi-ah, noooo!”

He moved the phone away from your reach.

“Ohh Jimin, yes, I love your 6 pack and plump lips, ohh you’re so sexy Jimin-ah!” He teased.

You laughed and rolled your eyes, attempting to take his phone so he couldn’t read anymore. He held the phone above his head and laid back on the couch, using his other arm to pull you down on top of him.

You squealed, falling into his chest.

“So you liked Jimin-ah, huh?”

You tugged at his shirt gently, not meeting his gaze.

“Yes...” you mumbled, “I honestly totally forgot about that site and those stories.”

Hoseok kissed your nose and ran his hand through your hair.

“I think it’s cute, Jagi.”

You cocked you head at him.

“You do?”

He smiled.

“Yeah! And it just confirms my suspicions about you having a thing for dancers.” He said with a wink.

Masterlist

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the-dream-team · 4 years ago

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Happy 420! Enjoy a fluffy little 6th year jily fic featuring plenty of ouid and pining :) tw: recreational drug use

Read it on AO3

“I have a feeling the properties of that water might reinforce the Deception Elixer I’m working on with Slughorn, so the next time we go to the Mirror Pond, remind me to bring a jar, Mary.”

James’ head snapped around so fast, he nearly gave himself whiplash. Maybe he should have been subtler about listening in on Lily’s conversation across the Common Room, but old habits die hard and he was too caught off guard by what she said to stop himself.

“The Mirror Pond?” he practically shouted, grabbing Lily’s attention and earning him a confused raised brow. “The one in the Forbidden Forest? With a surface so reflective it could be mistaken for solid glass?”

“That’s the one, Potter,” she replied casually, exchanging glances with Mary and Dorcas. “Glad to know your hearing hasn’t been affected by sixteen straight years of Mummy shouting her praises at you.”

A year ago that quip would have bothered him, but something affectionate glimmered behind her eyes and sent a flurry of hope through his ribcage. Of all the ways he’d felt towards Lily, hopeful had never been one of them… until recently.

“It’s been seventeen straight years now, Evans,” he pointed out with a grin. “I know you, of all people, haven’t forgotten my birthday party last month.”

Even from across the room, he could see a pink tinge spreading across her cheeks. His heart soared, remembering a few weeks back when Lily had- with the encouragement of an emptied bottle of Firewhiskey- given an impassioned speech about James’ ‘surprisingly lovely qualities’ and how lucky she was to be his friend. It was the first time, to his delight, that the “F” word had been used, despite months of suspecting they were close to reaching that point. The speech concluded with a sloppy hug (that James cherished every second of) and her promptly falling asleep on the nearest armchair.

It was a birthday he wouldn’t soon forget, and neither would Lily, judging from the blush continuously growing on her face.

“For real, though, Evans,” he continued, “how do you know about the Mirror Pond? I’d think a Prefect such as yourself would know the Forest is off-limits.”

“Then how do you know about the pond, Potter?” she asked with a smirk.

He glanced back at his friends, who sat around the fireplace amused, listening to the conversation. Remus arched a brow, curious to see how James would explain away their monthly trips exploring every corner of the forest, and Sirius just laughed. At least Pete had the good sense to pretend to be reading, despite holding his Divination textbook upside down.

“Doesn’t matter,” James waved, dismissively. “I’m just surprised you girls spend your free time in the forest. There are dark creatures in there, y’know.”

“Are you scared of the Flobberworms, Potter?” laughed Lily.

“The Forest is beautiful,” chimed in Mary as she left her seat by the windows to join the boys around the fire. “That’s why it’s the best place to go after raiding the Greenhouses.” She plucked a sugar quill from Sirius’ hands before settling in on an armchair, a sly grin curling at the corner of her mouth. Lily rolled her eyes, but she too had a suspicious smile playing on her lips.

James glanced around his mates, wondering which one would take the bait.

It was Peter.

“What do you raid from the Greenhouses?”

“Keep your voice down, Pettigrew,” said Dorcas in a hushed tone, swiftly moving to join Mary on the chair. Lily reluctantly followed her friends and James’ heart leaped when she chose to sit next to him on the sofa.

“We get the best stuff from Sprout’s private collection,” Mary sighed. She seemed to be speaking vaguely on purpose.

“The best stuff for what?” asked Peter, unknowingly taking one for the team yet again. Sirius leaned back in his seat with an air of nonchalance, but James could tell his curiosity was getting the better of him by the sudden tapping of his foot.

“For smoking, you posh knobs,” said Dorcas.

“Oh!” barked Sirius, relief washing over his face. “I smoke all the time. I’ve even got a pack on me now-”

“Not cigarettes, Black,” Lily cut in. “We smoke grass.”

Sirius looked dumbfounded, not bothering to hide his confusion anymore, and James reckoned he looked the same. Suddenly, Remus burst out laughing and James nearly fell out of his seat.

“Oh, like Muggle grass?”

“Exactly, Lupin,” said Mary, turning back to the girls. “See, I knew there was a reason we liked him best.”

Sirius whipped around to look at Remus as though he’d just transformed into the Giant Squid. Remus hit him with a pillow.

Peter knit his brows together and let out a huff. “Why would you smoke grass?”

“Bloody hell,” groaned Dorcas, “not the grass that you walk on, Pettigrew. It’s Marijuana. We’re smoking drugs.”

“Like medicine?” asked Sirius, picking his jaw off the floor from Remus’ betrayal.

“Well, technically it is medicinal when you use it in potions, but when you smoke it, it’s a bit more… fun,” Lily chuckled and James turned to look at her. The amusement lit up her eyes in a way that made him say stupid things.

“Oh yeah,” he said with mock confidence, a hand raking through his hair, “we’ve actually been meaning to try that stuff for ages now.” He shrugged, hoping the girls couldn’t peer into his brain and see that he’d never even so much as sniffed one of Sirius’ cigarettes before.

“I’m sure you have,” said Lily, patting his shoulder. Her touch- intoxicatingly warm- acted like a reward for his idiotic behaviour.

“Well, do you have any on you?” he asked, holding her gaze. He let his smile go lopsided and watched her expression turn from amused to mischievous.

She glanced at Mary and Dorcas. “Alright. We’ll meet you in your room in ten minutes.”

And with that, the girls stood up and left the Common Room, leaving the Marauders gaping at each other in their wake. In a flash, the boys jumped to their feet and raced up the staircase to their dormitory.

“Moony, you’ve got to tell us everything you know,” said Sirius, pacing back and forth, a cigarette twirling around his fingertips.

Remus flopped onto his bed. “I don’t know much! I only did it once last Summer with the boys down the street.”

“Bloody help you are,” moaned Sirius.

“But why are we taking medicine when we aren’t sick?” asked Peter.

“You heard Evans,” James jumped in as he quickly made his bed and shoved dirty laundry into a drawer, “when you smoke it, it’s fun. Right, Moony?”

“I guess, but when I did it I just got lightheaded.”

“Oh, Merlin, we’re going to look like fools.”

“We already look like fools, Padfoot. Stop pacing and lean up against the bedpost or something. Act casual.”

“You’re one to talk, Prongs, you’re running around like a house-elf with its head chopped off!”

“Don’t tease him, Sirius, this might be the only time he’ll ever manage to get Lily in his room.”

“That’s a low blow coming from you, Moony.”

“Sorry, mate, you know I’m rooting for you.”

A knock on the door scared the four boys stiff. They stood frozen, staring at each other with wide eyes until a second knock brought them back to their senses.

“Act casual,” mouthed James as a reinforcement before leaping over his four-poster to let the girls in. “Evans, Meadowes, Macdonald,” he greeted. “Long time, no see.”

Dorcas rolled her eyes and brushed past him with Mary into the room, but Lily hung back.

“You excited, Potter?” she asked. “I know you’ve been looking forward to this for ages.”

He stilled, his breath caught in his throat before realizing she was talking about smoking. “Oh, ‘course,” he sputtered. “So excited. Well, not too excited. The normal amount.”

The flurries in his chest from earlier, now mixed with a healthy dose of nerves, picked up speed as Lily laughed and made her way into the room, sitting down on- of all places- James’ bed.

He short-circuited. Lily Evans was sitting on his bed.

Remus perked up on his own four-poster, trying to subtly catch James’ attention, but having a hard time keeping his eyes from bulging out of his head. Sirius didn’t bother hiding his own bewildered grin, going so far as to point at her animatedly as though James couldn’t see what had happened with his own bloody eyes.

Peter didn’t even bother to hold back. “That’s James’ bed.”

“Okay,” said Lily, unphased, “are you giving me a tour, Pete?”

“No, I just-”

“So, we should get started, right?” James cut in, his voice an octave higher than it should’ve been.

“Sounds good to me,” said Dorcas, settling down on Remus’ bed across from Lily.

So, they were going to be sitting on beds. That was no big deal. No big deal at all. James gathered up every last ounce of casual that he possessed to walk over to his four-poster and sit down next to Lily. He prayed that she couldn’t hear his heart threatening to beat out of his chest. Lily seemed completely unbothered to be next to him on his bed, however, and nearly caused him a brain aneurysm when she scooted closer in order to let Mary slip in on her other side.

“So,” said Remus, providing a very welcomed distraction from the thousands of thoughts rushing through James’ brain, “is it about the same as Muggle grass?”

“Practically,” said Dorcas, pulling out a small jar and another ceramic object that looked vaguely like his father’s tobacco pipe. “It’s just a bit stronger.”

“Much stronger,” added Mary, beaming.

“It’s quite strong,” Dorcas agreed, laughing as she packed the pipe with a green substance that smelled impossibly fragrant. “Lily, do you have the lighter?”

Lily reached into her robe’s pocket, leaning against James for a split second as she did so ( Merlin have mercy ), and handed over a well-loved Muggle lighter.

“Technically we could use our wands,” said Dorcas, producing a flame from the plastic and lighting up the green substance. She breathed in through the pipe, waited a moment, then exhaled. “But, when in Rome…”

She passed the pipe to Mary, who repeated the process and moved it on to Lily. James had been so caught up by Lily’s leg bumping up against his own, that he barely noticed how quiet his friends were as the girls blew smoke around their dorm. When he looked up, he noticed Sirius intently staring from Mary to Lily, trying to pick up any tips on how smoking this “grass” worked. As Lily placed the pipe in James’ hand, he wondered if he should have done the same.

“Er, okay,” he said, staring at the pipe. He brought the ceramic piece up to his mouth, like Lily had done before ( Holy Merlin, she just had her lips exactly where his were now ), and hit the little plastic button on the lighter. Nothing happened. He flicked the button multiple times, but the flame wouldn’t come.

“Oh, of course, you’ve never used a Muggle lighter!” Lily grabbed the plastic from his hand and switched the flame into life before his eyes. “Keep it to your mouth, I’ll light it for you.”

She did just that, leaning over to reach the pipe, her fingers so close to his face, she accidentally brushed the tip of his nose, sending his stomach swooshing. And just when he thought he couldn’t get luckier, she put her hand over his to demonstrate how to hold the pipe properly and cover the little hole that let air in. She was warm and soft and smelled so nice that he instinctively breathed in deeply, forgetting all the smoke piling in his throat.

The coughing came in sputters, then gasps. He’d never coughed so much in his life.

Thankfully the sounds of him hacking covered the fits of giggles from the girls and once his own coughs subsided, Peter had managed to pick up where he’d left off. Remus was able to hold his own okay, but Sirius nearly fell off the bed after doubling over from choking so badly.

The pipe traveled around the circle of sixth years, their coughs became less frequent, and the rigidity that plagued the beginning of the night burned away with the funny smelling plant. James barely noticed anymore how he had let his leg relax against Lily’s. Barely.

He looked up to Sirius and pointed to his leg as if to say “Can you believe this is happening right now?” Sirius’ eyes didn’t follow where he signaled, but he nodded all the same, a glaze covering his pupils.

Remus was sprawled out on his back, staring at the ceiling, and occasionally asking questions.

“Is the Giant Squid lonely or just alone? Is there a difference? Are bones the only thing preventing our muscles from acting like tongues?”

Peter just stared, unblinking, towards the door, then back down to his stomach, and back to the door. He interrupted Mary, Dorcas, and Lily attempting a three-part harmony (badly) to say, “I feel like I could chew for a hundred kilometers.”

“Snacks?” squealed Mary, hopping off the bed.

“Snacks!” responded Lily. She grabbed James’ arm, dragging him to his feet. He thought about how he would let her drag him off a cliff if she wanted to. Maybe he should tell her.

He followed Lily down the staircase, through the Common Room, and into the corridors, all the while thinking of the cliffs she might lead him to in the near future.

“Should we watch out for Peeves?” squealed Pete from behind, but James just laughed.

“No worries, Wormy, we’re under the cloak. He won’t see us.”

“Prongs,” said Sirius, laying a hand on his shoulder, “I hate to break it to you, mate, but we aren’t using the cloak.”

James looked around as if seeing his surroundings for the first time. “Blimey!” he laughed. “Would you look at that!”

“Potter,” whispered Lily rather loudly between fits of giggles, “ you can’t shout, we’ll be late to the kitchens! ”

How stupid of him to forget! But when Lily held up a finger and pressed it to his lips while she shushed him, he thought he ought to forget everything he’s ever known if it meant getting her skin directly on his mouth. Maybe he should tell her.

“Do the paintings move when we can’t see them?” came Remus’ lofty voice from several meters ahead of them.

“That’s an excellent question,” Lily said, still whispering. The way she beamed up at James made his whole head spin. “ Personally, I’d like to find out how the paintings work. ”

“I actually know the answer to that one,” James said, his cheeks painful from smiling so wide. Lily looked up at him with eager eyes. “It’s magic.”

“James Potter you twat!” she gasped, punching his arm and running ahead to stand next to Remus at the top of the moving staircase. He watched her link arms with Moony and follow his gaze up to a massive portrait.

“I know exactly how you feel, mate,” said Sirius, throwing an arm around his shoulder.

“Do you, Pads?”

“Happy.”

“Yeah, actually.”

Sirius gave him a long, hard look. “That prank is going to work out so well.”

James paused. “What prank?”

“The one I just thought of. It’s gonna be really good, I’ll tell you about it when we get back to the room. Don’t let me forget.” And with that, Sirius wandered over to join the rest of the group in front of the large portrait.

What was so great about that painting that it warranted all his friends drooling over it?

As he moved closer, it became quite clear that this was actually the most beautiful piece of art that had ever been made. Tall grass danced in a draftless wind, carrying brushstrokes of flower petals over taught canvas. Colors moved together like schools of fish flowing separately, but together, creating life out of something as still as darkness.

“It looks like you, Prongs,” said Remus softly and James wondered if he too could see the energy vibrating off the paint. But then he looked a little harder and saw the majestic stag staring back from the other side of the frame.

“James looks like a deer?” asked Lily, still whispering.

“It’s his soul,” said Sirius. There were no further questions.

Peter whined about his stomach growling and the others mumbled in agreement, moving on from the portrait on the top of the stairs.

But not James. He stayed, glued to the floor, marveling at the way a single hand could create an entire world on a blank page, drawn in by the stag and how watching him reminded James of looking in a mirror and meeting a new friend all at once.

“Your soul looks nice,” said a voice off to the side. Lily had stayed. James had hoped she would stay, but he had been too scared to look. But she was still there and moving closer as a smile stretched across his lips.

“Thanks,” he said. He looked down to meet her eyes, so clear and bright he could make out the reflection of antlers deep within her irises. “I see your soul there, too.”

“Oh really?”

“Yeah,” he continued. “Your eyes are brushed into the leaves and the sunlight is stroked with your hair. You’re in the wind because you’re here and you’re on your way at the same time.”

“You’re funny, James Potter.”

It was the most poetic thing he’d ever heard.

He opened his mouth to respond, but a flash of mocha brown caught the corner of his eye. He turned to see a beautiful, graceful doe stepping into the frame, joining the stag.

“There I am,” said Lily and her words sounded like music.

James could have floated away in that moment. She was so beautiful and he was high as a cloud, wondering how he’d ever be able to contain these emotions once he was back on the ground. He looked at the painting like a crystal ball and wondered if his future could be immediately ahead of him. He had to find out. Did Lily want to learn, too?

He reached down and grabbed her hand, thrilled that she didn't let go, and realized what he had to do. How he could show her all their possibilities.

James took a deep breath, gripped Lily’s hand, and lunged forward, pulling her with him directly into the wall. He rammed headfirst into the canvas and bounced backwards onto the floor with Lily toppling after him.

“What just happened?” asked Lily, wheezing from the floor beside him.

He turned his head to catch her eye. “I thought I could take us into the painting.”

After a beat, Lily burst into laughter and James followed close behind. Giggles crashed over them like waves he wouldn’t mind drowning in.

“I think we need some snacks,” said Lily, standing up and pulling James with her. She didn’t let go of his hand once they made it to their feet. He felt her warmth rush up his arm, igniting his nerve endings with happiness and excitement and hope. A hope that he knew he could live in for the rest of his life as long as she was on the other end of it.

Maybe he should tell her.

#jily fic #jily #6th year pining #ouid #420 #tw drugs #i was so stoned writing this #it might just be nonsense!#but we'll find that out in the morning

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mmvalentine · 4 years ago

Text

Let Me Touch You Pt 6 | Feysand

High school AU. Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 7

The next time Rhys and Feyre were alone was when they had all and gotten back to Mor's place, only for Mor to suddenly remember she was supposed to be in tutoring at the library today and had to leg it back to the school.

Rhys had started making more of a point to walk home with them. He used to make a beeline straight out of his last class and beat them home, but now he hung back on the days Feyre studied with Mor. At first, Mor had looked at him weirdly, and he had asked Feyre if she minded. She shook her head, blushed, and tried very hard to be cool about it in front of Mor.

Now they were left standing in the doorway, Mor's dust still settling, and Feyre didn't know what to do. Without a third person, the electric hum settled itself back over them. Feyre rubbed her arms as it crackled over her skin.

"Well, I guess I'll just go home then," she said lamely. "Don't," Rhys said. "I'm your friend too, you know." You are? Out loud, she said, "Okay," and put her bag down in its usual spot. Rhys put his hands in his pockets.

"Did Mor ever give you a tour of this place?" he asked her. "No, but I imagine it'd take a week." Rhys laughed. "Nearly. Do you want me to show you around?" Actually, Feyre did want to see the rest of the house. She had pretty much only been in the foyer, kitchen, and Mor's room.

So Rhys walked her around- up the spiral staircase, down long corridors, into plush sitting rooms that had such rich colours Feyre's fingers itched for paint. And then into his bedroom.

Feyre stared around the room. She thought maybe it'd be dark like his wardrobe, sparse and monochromatic. But it was so warm in here. The walls were a creamy colour, and the curtains were pulled back so that late afternoon sun poured in. Rhys' bed was in the corner, with soft looking, dove-grey sheets. He had a big wooden desk with a laptop on the close edge, the rest of it scattered with paper and coloured pencils. On the far wall leaned an acoustic guitar. And dotted through the room, on shelf edges and table corners and hanging on the arm of a lamp, were little clay sculptures.

Feyre tried not to smile at them, but they were so funny. Little alien creatures, faeries, fantastic animals with pointed ears and bat wings. Some had been brightly painted, but most were glazed simply in a light eggshell colour. She loved them.

"So... yeah, this is me," Rhys said. He stood with one hand in the pocket of his jeans, and the other on the back of his neck. The contrast of this serious, black-clad trouble maker with his whimsical, funny room made Feyre laugh out loud. She clamped her hand over her mouth as soon as it escaped.

"What?" Rhys asked, uncertain now. "Nothing," Feyre said. "I just... didn't expect your room to look like this." "What were you expecting, metal posters and weed smoke?" "Well... yeah, kinda." Now Rhys grinned. "Okay, okay, I'm still cool. Come on, I'll prove it to you."

He led her then back downstairs, through the house and into the garage. He flicked on the lights, and gestured for Feyre to walk through. With Mor's parents gone, it was mostly empty, save for a dusty, old looking, black and silver motorcyle. Feyre’s jaw dropped.

"Is that yours?" she asked. "It was my mother's, I'm fixing it up." "Woah," Feyre said. "Your mom must have been so cool." "You know, I was going for you thinking that I'm cool but yes, she was super cool." Feyre stepped forward to get a closer look.

"Can you ride it?" "Yeah, it runs okay." Feyre had to admit. This was pretty freaking cool.

"Do you want go for a ride with me?" Rhys asked. Feyre balked. "What like... right now?" Rhys grinned. "Sure." And dammit Feyre really, really wanted to. What eighteen year old girl didn't, right?

xxxxxxxxx

Rhys couldn't believe it had worked. He was for sure hoping that the motorcycle angle would earn him some points, but he didn't expect to be here, zipping her into his spare jacket.

And fuck if she didn't look drop-dead sexy wearing it. Rhys had to take a deep breath to stop his fingers shaking as he pulled the zip up her body.

You're putting her in clothes, not taking them off her, he reminded himself. Still, between her looking adorable in the oversized leather, and the clothes being his that she was now wearing, the effect was... destabilising. Rhys handed her a helmet and gloves, too, and then hauled on his own gear before stepping over the bike.

"Okay," he instructed. "See those pegs there? Those are for your feet. Yep, that's it. And you'll have to hold onto me, and and try let yourself lean with the turns and not away from them. Does that make sense?"

He looked back and Feyre nodded, then slipped her arms around his waist. A broad grin spread over his face at the thought of her little body curled around his, and when she shuffled closer, he was half delirious. He gunned the engine.

In the end, it was all over way too fast. They went for a ride through the town and into the city, then looped back to the house to pick up her bags before he dropped her home. Feyre stepped off the bike, took the helmet off and if the image of her shaking out her gorgeous, pear-scented hair hadn't stopped his heart, the adrenaline-flushed smile as bright as daylight that was painted all over her face would have done it.

He packed away the jacket, helmet and gloves as she removed them, and before she went through her front gate she gave him a swift kiss on the cheek that had him in absolute ribbons. That strange, heaviness in the air that she always brought lifted as she walked away, but now it just made him feel untethered.

Rhys watched her walk into the house, then turned around and rode home. The whole time, his mind replayed the squeeze of her arms around him and the press of her chest against his back through the leather, and by the time he got home he was going out of his fucking mind. He walked straight past a mid-sentence Mor, into his bedroom, and locked the door.

****

Alright alright that's enough of this fluffy filler shit we about to escalate. I don't know about this chapter but the next one is my favourite.

TAGLIST: @ghostlyrose2 @highladysith @stardelia @feysand-babies @tillyrubes10 @ratabrasileira @live-the-fangirl-life @maybekindasortaace @annejulianneh111 @teddytdr @thebonecarver

#feysand #feysand fic #acotar #acomaf #mine #fluff

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dont-cry2020 · 5 years ago

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“I Love You Too, Mr. Superstar.”

Harry Styles x Reader

requested by @softiebowen

//technically the prequel to “Too Early for Another One?” but id recommend reading that one (here) first so you understand what’s happening//

//17 y/o harry reconnects with 16 y/o y/n, realizing that she’s it for him//

//smut (exp. harry with virgin y/n) & fluff//

//this is 4,820 words so strap yourself in lmao//

The week came and went quickly as the hot New York weather only got hotter. It was Saturday, so you weren’t mad when you woke up at 9:30, starting your routine a little bit later after you’d had your coffee.

Checking your phone didn’t really cross your mind, so you carried on your morning routine as usual. You brushed your teeth and ate breakfast, greeting your mom with a cheery ‘good morning’ and going out to the roof of your apartment building to do some yoga.

It was still early, yet the sun was beating down on you, making you long for a long shower. You did just that, letting the water cascade down your body as you washed your hair and shaved your legs.

It was going to be a good day.

After showering, you picked up your phone, checking any texts from friends who wanted to hang out this weekend, but one particular text caught your eye.

‘coffee shop harry <3′

hey...

i know it’s been a few, but i��m in town and wondering if u want to meet up ?

You were shocked, to say the least. You’d barely heard anything from him since you met last May; just a few ‘hey’s and ‘what are you up too?’s were exchanged in the two fleeting months.

After about a month of waiting for him to call or text, he didn’t really cross your mind. Sure, you had seen his face on billboards and posters around the city, reading ‘One Direction, the Hottest Boy Band of the 2010′s’. You would grin to yourself as you remembered the words ‘i’m in a band’ rolling off his tongue in that smooth British accent.

If you were being honest with yourself, you hadn’t really bothered to listen to his music. Not that you didn’t want to, you just didn’t really want to think about that day when you met him.

You had given him a tour of New York City, or as you would say, ‘all the places that matter’. Then Harry would laugh and you would admire the sparkle in his green eyes and the dimples in his rosy cheeks.

He had told you a lot about himself, too. And, yeah, you had a good amount of assumptions about a British boy wandering the streets of New York City alone.

One of them being that he liked you.

You were proven wrong when you thought he was going to kiss you, but instead gave you an awkward hug. Your lips were met with his chest and you had never been more embarrassed in your entire life.

Thus why you were so confused at his text.

sure, want me to give u another tour lol

Your phone dinged not even a minute later, Harry eager to see you again. He felt terrible about ghosting you, but he was so caught up in this newfound fame that he really didn’t know what to do with himself. Let alone someone else.

After the night he met you, he had wanted to kiss you so badly, but he knew he couldn’t. For Christ’s sake, he lived in a different country. You were still in school and you had a long future ahead of you. He thought that you were the smartest girl he had ever met. Not to mention the most beautiful.

r u good with dinner ? and maybe a tour of the harbor 😂😂 pick u up at 6

You couldn’t help but feel ecstatic at his message. You had seen tabloid pictures of him, but they really couldn’t capture the sparkle in his eyes when he laughed or the blush that crept up his cheeks when he was nervous.

sounds good

You replied almost coldly, hoping to not make your excitement obvious. You weren’t sure if this was a date? Probably not, you thought.

Around 3 was when you started to panic. You still didn’t know what you were going to wear or where you were going to go. You had only briefly mentioned that you were going out with a friend to your mom, quickly leaving the room before she could grill you about where or who you were going with.

You threw a few outfit options on your bed, settling on a light pink dress that ended at mid-thigh, and a pair of platform sandals. You figured it was hot enough that you didn’t need a jacket, so you finished your outfit off with a pretty pearl necklace and some earrings to match.

By the time you finished your hair and makeup, it was half-past 5, and you were nervously awaiting Harry’s arrival. What if you looked too dressed up? Would he notice that your hair was longer?

A light knock on the door startled you from your thoughts, and you shouted your mom a quick goodbye before taking a deep breath and opening the door.

Harry was dumbfounded as the front door swung open, revealing the most beautiful girl he had ever seen. He had somehow forgotten how beautiful you were, mentally scolding himself for not claiming you as his when he had the chance. He wondered if you had been with anyone after you met.

“Hi,” you said, making eye contact with the gorgeous boy standing in front of you. He was wearing a simple button-up shirt with the first few undone, a cross necklace resting on his pale skin and a sliver of a tattoo poking out from his left shoulder.

“Hey,” he says, shuffling awkwardly out of the way so you could step out of the door. “You look,” he takes a deep breath, “amazing.”

Your face heats and you look at the floor to hide the rosy tint creeping up your cheeks.

“Not so bad yourself, Mr. superstar,” you tell him.

He shakes his head, trying to hide the smile creeping onto his face.

“Mr. superstar?” he raises his eyebrows, trying to hide his smile.

“Seems like everyone knows where you are and what you’re doing except me,” you tell him, hurt lingering in your voice.

Harry sighs, running a hand through his unruly curls.

“Look,” he says stopping beside you on the sidewalk. “I’m sorry about ghosting you. There hasn’t been a day where I didn’t think about you. I just... I’ve been overwhelmed”

You meet his eyes and your heart flutters.

Clearing your throat, you ask him where he’s taking you.

“ ‘S surprise,” he says, long legs carrying him quickly down the pavement.

The two of you don’t talk much as you walk down the still busy New York street, you occasionally asking how far because your feet are killing you (you don’t tell him that though, you don’t want him to feel bad) and him responding almost there and then making some comment about how you should be used to this, being a big city girl and all.

Eventually, he stops in front of a small Indian restaurant that you’ve seen before but never been too. He holds the door for you and you shuffle into the bright little facade. It’s a quaint little place, only a few couples sitting around, chatting softly and laughing.

Harry stands next to you, his fingers drumming softly against the wood of the host station. You notice how he keeps his head down, assumedly to not be noticed.

His rings catch your eye, the H and S on his fingers reflecting the soft light of the room. You mean to ask him about them, but a host comes quickly, asking for his name.

“Styles,” Harry says quietly, keeping his head down. You watch as the host nods, leading you down a hallway and through a side door.

“Where are we going?” you whisper to Harry, having to stand on your tiptoes a bit to reach his ear. He gives you a small smile, nodding forward.

“You’ll see,” he whispers back, leaving goosebumps erupting over your skin.

You lift your head, the host leading you up a set of stairs.

As you reach the top of the creaky wooden staircase, the host opens the heavy metal door for you, and you gasp as you step onto what seems to be the roof of the restaurant.

Sitting in the middle of the concrete is a small table for two, candles and string lights providing a dull but warm glow over the area. The sun is just starting to set, and bright colors splash the sky.

You turn to Harry.

“This is amazing,” you say quietly, standing face to face with him. He smiles softly, taking your hand in his and leading you to the table. He pulls a chair out for you and you sit down as Harry goes to his seat, doing the same.

“Y/n,” he says, pulling your nose out of the menu you were looking at to meet his eyes. I just want you to know that I really didn’t mean to ghost you. I hope this makes up for it.”

You can’t help the smile that graces your face for what seems like the millionth time tonight.

“Thank you, Harry. Means a lot.”

Soon, a waiter comes around with a glass of wine, pouring a glass for you and one for Harry.

“Harry, I’m 16!” you whisper after the waiter leaves, laughing to yourself.

“Okay?” Harry says, adding his own laughter to the mix. “And ‘m seventeen. No one gives a fuck.”

You roll your eyes at him.

“Okay, Mr. superstar.”

The rest of the dinner goes fairly smoothly, and you find yourself learning a lot about the British boy sitting in front of you. Harry feels the same about you, finding himself invested in your stories about your friends and family. By the time you’re finished eating, you’re both in tears at the stories and jokes you’ve told each other... and maybe just a tiny bit tipsy.

You offer to pay the bill, but Harry refuses, saying that it’s already been covered. What a gentleman...

He takes your hand for the second time tonight, carefully leading you down the creaky stairs and out of the restaurant. He nods at the host, wishing him a quick ‘goodnight’ before leading you out to the street.

“Where are we going now?” you ask, swinging your entwined hands back and forth. Harry can’t help but laugh at you, realizing that maybe you’ve had just a bit too much to drink.

“First,” he says chuckling, “we’re going to get you sober again.”

You whine at him, “I’m not drunk, though,” you say, stopping in your tracks and turning to him, sticking your lower lip out.

“Love,” he sighs, making your heart flutter, “yes you are. You’re not gonna remember this in the mornin’.”

“Yes I am,” you say, furrowing your brow. Harry can’t help but think about how absolutely adorable you look, pouty lips, squinted eyes and all. You gasp suddenly, “this is my favorite song!”

Harry cocks his head to the side as you drag his hand down the street where a man with a guitar was singing and playing what he recognized to be ‘The Chain’ by Stevie Nicks by the water.

“Dance with me!” you say, wrapping your arms around his neck. Harry’s heart does flips in his chest. This woman was going to be the death of him. He slides his arms around your waist, pulling you a little closer than he should, but he can’t help himself. You sway lightly to the music with Harry, resting your head on his chest and closing your eyes.

and if you don’t love me now

you will never love me again

I can still hear you saying

you would never break the chain

Harry feels like he’s never felt before. Words can’t describe the feelings that are running through his head and more importantly, his heart. He wants to kiss you, he really does. But he’s scared. His fleeting fear of constantly being photographed scares him, and he cares too much about you to put you in a position where you’re in the public eye.

“Y/n,” he calls softly, running a hand through your hair. You look up at him through your eyelashes and he gulps, trying to shake the dirty thoughts that just ran through his head. But her lips are so perfect and kissable and...

Before you know it, Harry’s lips are on yours. Suddenly the music is quiet and has faded to background noise and you’ve stopped swaying and all you can feel are Harry’s soft lips on yours and his hand cupping your cheek.

click

flash

Harry jumps, quickly disconnecting your lips and pulling you beside him, his arm wrapped around your shoulders protectively.

“The paps,” he whispers, pulling you down the street, shielding your faces.

“Mr. Styles!” one shouts, “Is this your new girlfriend or just a fling?”

You sink further into Harry, inhaling his scent and sobering up very much.

“See that building right there?” Harry points to a hotel a few buildings away. You nod your head. Harry doesn’t say a word as he starts walking quickly with you at his heels, his hand holding yours tightly.

You make it into the hotel and Harry leads you into the elevator, slouching against the cool metal.

“’ M sorry,” he says sadly. “’ ya must hate me now.”

“Harry,” you sigh, taking his hand and playing with the HS rings on his fingers. “I could never hate you.”

He looks up at you, and before you know it, his lips are against yours, and your back is pressed against the cool metal of the elevator. Your hands find Harry’s curls, feverishly kissing him with every ounce of energy that you have.

Neither of you noticed that the elevator had reached its designated floor until you heard someone clear their throat, snapping you away from your lip lock and blushing deeply at the older man standing on the other side of the door. Harry mutters a quiet ‘sorry’ before leading you down the hall to his hotel room. He fumbles with the key card for a moment leaving you impatiently waiting for what was going to happen next.

Should you tell Harry that you’re a virgin?

He pushes you against the door once you’re inside the hotel room, locking lips and pushing his chest flush against yours. You can feel him growing in his trousers and you push his chest with both your hands as his fingers start crawling under your shirt.

He pulls away, cocking his head to the side.

“Wha’s the matter? I didn’t hurt you, did I?” he says, concern lacing his deep voice.

“Harry, I-” you start, not being able to find the words. “I’ve never...”

Harry makes an ‘o’ shape with his mouth, understanding what you’re trying to say.

“It’s ok we don’ have too, lovie,” he says, rubbing the back of his neck.

“No-!” you squeak, eyes widening.

Harry’s terrified that he’s hurt you, and he doesn’t want to scare you off. He could care less about the damned hard-on in his pants, he’ll walk you home right now if you want him too. Hell, he’d do anything for you, all you had to do was ask and he would be putty in your hands.

“I- I meant that... I want to, Harry.” This time it’s his turn to widen his eyes.

“A-are you sure?” He asks, placing his big hands on yours.

“Yes, H.” you say. Harry can’t help but grow harder as the words leave your mouth. “I want you.”

“Jesus Christ,” he says, nuzzling his lips into your neck and nibbling lightly at your ear lobe. You shiver at his touch.

“Gon’ be the death of me, Lovie.”

He closes the space between your lips, backing you against the bed and laying you gently on the mattress. He unbuttons his shirt and takes off his rings before climbing on top of you and slipping his tongue in your mouth. You moan lightly and smooth your fingertips down the soft skin of his back.

Harry has to keep reminding himself to calm down and slow his erratic movements. He wants your first time to be special, after all. He pulls away from your swollen lips to catch his breath, and you cup his jaw in your hand, leaving soft kisses down the nape of his neck. He closes his eyes, steadying his breathing before leaning into your neck, sucking a light bruise on your pale skin

.He moved down to the front of your throat, leaving small wet kisses down to the neckline of your dress.

“Can I?” he asks, toying with the straps of your dress, his soft touches making goosebumps erupt over your arms. You nod your head.

“Words, Love,” he tells you, nipping at your ear lobe.

“Please Harry.”

He slides down your body, straddling your shins as he slides his big warm hands up your thighs, bunching up your dress and you sit up to help pull it up over your head. He discards it somewhere on the floor and he can’t help but stare at your body clad in a lace bra and matching panties.

“Fuck me,” he mumbles, sliding back up your body and pressing his lips back to yours. He begins kissing down your body, the cool air hitting the wet marks on your skin and making you squirm. His hands slide down your arms, rubbing them softly as he kisses and nips at the tops of your breasts.

“Can I take this off?” he asks you, sliding his hands around your body to your back, fumbling with your bra clasp after you give him a quiet ‘yes’.

Harry’s touches are soft and sweet, yet they still make your head hurt and your adrenaline pump through your veins. You wanted him so badly, but you knew you would have to wait.

He unclasps your bra, sliding it off your arms and again throwing it somewhere in the spacious hotel room before attaching his lips to your left nipple, sucking and licking the sensitive skin. You thread your fingers through his hair, tugging lightly at his curls as you arch your back into him, creating friction between the two of you.

He lets out the most delicious-sounding groan into the valley of your breasts which makes you grow wet by the second.

“Harry,” you whine softly.

“What is it, baby?” he says huskily, squeezing your breasts in his hands, (can u tell i have a kink for harry’s hands yes sorry oops) his cross necklace dangling over your chest.

You just whimper moving into his touch.

“Words, baby girl.”

“I-” you close your eyes and steady your erratic breathing. “I need you.”

He grins, kissing your lips for a moment before making his way all the way down to your navel, sucking a pretty hickey into your hips and kissing your inner thighs.

He wants nothing more than to ram your body into the mattress right there, making you scream his name, but he knows all he can do is love on you and tell you how beautiful you are and how much he loves you...

His eyes widen.

“I love you too,” you whine, pressing yourself closer to his body,

“Did I say that out loud?” he breathes, nuzzling his nose into your neck.

“Yeah,” you say, chuckling. “you did.”

“I love you,” he says again, going back down to his spot between your thighs.

“I l-love you, too,” you say, quivering as he places his lips onto your clothed cunt. He squeezes your hips.

“Can I take these pretty panties off, love? You’re soaking.”

You felt like you could cum from his dirty words alone, sighing as you nod your head quickly.

“Please.”

“Eager, are we?” he says, his eyes darkening.

Oh, God. You couldn’t take it.

He slides your panties down your legs, throwing them off the bed with the rest of your clothes. He blows air on your wait slit and you moan out.

“Haven’ even touched you, love. You’re soaking,” he slides his finger down your slit and your eyes shut along with your legs. Harry’s loving the sounds that come from your mouth as he places kisses to your clit, collecting your wetness on his tongue. He moans at your taste, sending vibrations through your heat.

He begins lapping at your slit at a faster pace, making you moan and writhe beneath him. He slides his index finger into your tight hole and you cry out.

“Oh fuck,” you tug as his curls and he groans, sucking on your button a little harder.

“You’re so tight,” he says, adding a second finger and stretching you out. At this point, Harry was aching in his jeans and he felt like he was going to explode if he didn’t get them off soon. Luckily, you came to the rescue, clawing at the tight fabric praying for him to take them off. He unbuckled his belt, sliding his tight jeans down his muscular legs.

Your eyes widen as you realize he wasn’t wearing underwear. You gulp at the sight of his bright red leaking tip. He was huge...and that was NOT an exaggeration. Harry continues to open you up for him, and you decide to release a little tension by sliding your hand between your bodies and pumping his thick member.

“Fuck me,” he groans, slipping his fingers out of you and putting them in his mouth. Your eyes widen. That was hot as shit.

Harry rolls off of you and digs through his jean pockets, pulling out a foil package. He rips it open with his teeth and slides it down his aching member, hissing at the constricting rubber.

“Are you ready?” he asks, rubbing his tip against your slit. “‘S gonna sting a bit, okay?”

You nod your head.

“Words.”

“Please Harry, I need you to fuck me.”

Harry felt his whole body flush. She’s so innocent and perfect and he couldn’t take it.

“As much as I would love to pound you into this mattress,” he growls into your ear, “I think it’s better if I made love to you instead.”

You’re heart and your pussy flutter at the same time and you push your hips up to his member, needing that friction between the two of you.

He stabilizes himself with his arms, leaning into your lips and kissing you as he slips the tip of his dick into your warm hole.

You hiss at the pain and he peppers kisses all over your face, muttering sweet nothings like “you’re doing so good” and “you’re okay, baby girl”.

He slides further into you and you scratch your fingernails down his back.

“Fuck, Harry,” you whine.

“Tell me when to move.”

“Please move.”

He pushes further into you, bottoming out into your sweet tight hole. He throws his head back as you clench around him, loving the velvetiness of your delicious walls. He starts to move out, pushing himself back in all the way this time.

Your moans get louder as pain turns into pleasure and Harry lets out deep growls into your neck.

“Har-Harry I’m-” You’re interrupted by your phone ringing against the nightstand. “Shit, Harry, I’m sorry,” you panic, but he doesn’t slow his movements.

“Don’t let me stop you from answering it,” he says, continuing to slide in and out of you. You curse under your breath, seeing that it’s your mom.

“H-hey, Mom,” you say as calmly as you can, Harry raising his eyebrows and slowing down ever so slightly. You give him a grateful look, pushing his sweaty hair from his forehead. He leans into your touch.

“Uh...yeah, I’m fine,” you say as Harry starts to pick up speed again. “Is it cool if I stay with Casey tonight?” You bite your hand, stifling the moan that leaves your throat as Harry hits that special spot. Harry grabs your hand and pins it to the bed. Your eyes go wide and you gulp, ending the phone call quickly and throwing your phone across the room.

“Fuck, Harry,” you moan as he grabs your other hand and pins it above your head. “I-I’m close.”

He groans, pumping faster and rubbing his finger against your button. Your moans get louder and more high pitched as Harry makes you cum. Your nails scratch down his back, feverishly kissing him and clenching around him, making him release his seed into the condom, pumping a few more times before pulling out of you and rolling off the bed. He disposes of the condom and slides under the sheets, pulling them over your body.

“Wow,” is all you say, panting as you drape your arm over your eyes.

“Yea?” he asks, chuckling, pulling you flush against his chest. You take your arm off your face and cup his cheeks, planting a soft kiss on his swollen pink lips. You pull away and Harry can’t help but think about how beautiful you look, all fucked out and bleary-eyed.

“Didn’t hurt ya, did I love?” he asks, unknotting your hair with his fingers.

You shake your head, burying your face into his sticky chest.

“Y/n?”

“Yeah Harry?” you whisper.

“Will you be my girlfriend?”

You chuckle at him, pulling away from him and looking into his emerald eyes, full of adoration from only you.

“Of course I will, Mr. superstar” Your eyes flutter closed as he kisses you softly and sweetly, caressing his hand up your back. He grins into the kiss at your little nickname for him.

Harry watches you as you fall asleep in his arms, and at that moment, he knows he’s going to spend the rest of his life with you.

Soft breaths against your face wake you from your slumber the next morning, and your eyes meet the gorgeous sleeping man next to you. He looked so peaceful and perfect that when you needed to use the bathroom, you had to carefully slide out from his arms. You couldn’t help but stare in awe at the pout that graced his sleeping face when you left his arms.

You grab his shirt from the night before and shuffle into the bathroom, taking your time to pee and wash your face and fix your hair before pulling Harry’s shirt over your arms and buttoning it over your body, leaving a few open at the top.

You saunter out of the bathroom to find a sleepy Harry squinting his eyes at his phone, trying to read the bright numbers. He perks up at the sound of the door and shamelessly checks you out, the tops of your thighs peeking out of his shirt that hung so nicely on your frame.

“G’ morning beautiful,” he rasps, his voice tired from sleep. You climb back into bed and he wraps his arms around you. “How’re you feelin’?”

You trace your fingertips over the few tattoos he has. “A little sore,” you chuckle, motioning to the spot between your thighs, “but other than that, I’m great.”

Harry chuckles at you, kissing your nose and nuzzling his face into your neck, dozing off for a few more moments before rolling out of bed and throwing on a pair of basketball shorts and a shirt.

“Ya hungry?” he asks, flipping through the room service menu as you look for your panties.

“Sure,” you say, pulling the lace fabric up your legs and clipping your bra under Harry’s shirt.

You slip your dress over your body, keeping Harry’s button up on over top.

Harry and you ate, enjoying each other's company before he called an uber and took you home.

“When are you coming back?” you sigh, sliding your hand down his chest as he walked you to your front door. A deep set frown appears on his face and you try to smooth it out.

“I- I don’t know,” his voice cracks a little bit, pulling your hips closer to him. “I’ll call you every night. I promise this time,” he tells you, sealing it with a kiss. You can’t help the tears that roll down your cheeks.

“Please don’t cry, Lovie. ‘Gon make me cry.”

You bury yourself into his chest inhaling his scent for the last time for a while.

“Here,” he says softly, pulling the S ring off of his ring finger and placing it on yours. “Keep it safe for me, yea? Promise I’ll visit you soon. Need you.”

Tears roll faster down your cheeks as you admire the heavy ring on your finger. You unclasp the pearl necklace from around your neck and put it around his. His fingers caress the material of the pearls before leaning into you and kissing your lips. “I love you so much,” he says into your mouth, eyes stills shut.

The uber driver beeps at you, making you jump. You close your eyes and rest your forehead against his. “I love you too, Mr. superstar.”

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literate-lamb · 4 years ago

Text

Man of the House | prologue

Sam Wilson/fem!Reader, future dark!Bucky Barnes/fem!Reader

Of first meetings with your landlord and being enamoured with the hauntingly beautiful house. A new start.

► warnings(!): none for this chapter, eventual dubcon/noncon, eventual choking in future chapters. this is a dark fic.

a/n: I’m opening a taglist for this series, just hmu with an ask.

When people think of Fall, they can’t help but attribute it to the crispy coldness, the yellowing of leaves, or children in pumpkin patches. Young adults would probably think of the pumpkin spice lattes from cafes, or for the fans of the occult, All Hallow’s Eve’s approach comes to the mind. Just like the changing of leaves, for you, Fall reminds you of new beginnings. A fresh start.

The autumn wind chills as you huddled closer in your coat, trying to retain warmth. Your old car —a Studebaker Lark ‘63— parked on the curb of the road as you approached the house.

Ahead over you, in its Gothic Revival glory, sat a white wooden house. The drab grey sky made it seem more imposing in stature. The roof was a contrasting grey, steeply pitched with an arched gable. Delicate wooden trims decorated the front; nothing intricate but a simple design. Dirty windows entered your peripheral, the accumulated dust blurring them.

Taking everything in, the house seemed well-maintained, but the chipping of paint reminded you of its age.

Nevertheless, for a structure of such grandeur, it was astonishingly inexpensive. After hours of pouring over internet searches, you couldn’t believe your eyes when you stumbled upon it.

The house was a classic; with its architecture and size, you deemed it perfect. Located in a quieter part of Maryland, bordering DC; not too far from your place of employment, but far from the cacophonies of the city. This, you considered, was your fresh start.

Standing near the driveway was a greying gentleman; grey hair perfectly coiffed, crow’s feet in the corners of twinkling blue eyes. You assumed he’s in his 60’s or 70’s. He greeted you, his weathered face smiling, with a walking stick in hand, although he still seemed strong for his age.

“Good day, Mr Rogers,” you smiled, shaking his offered hand. “Thank you for meeting me today.”

“It’s a pleasure, dear,” he replied. “Let’s go in, shall we?”

Stepping onto the porch, you observed your surroundings. The rustling of trees by the wind was the most prominent of sound, if anything else, it was dead quiet. You could see other houses scattered in the distance, however no immediate neighbours were within vicinity.

The click of the front door unlocking pulled you. The inside was dark, the dusty windows permitting little light, while the floor was covered by a thin layer of dust.

Mr Rogers walked in first, pushing the door and held it open for you. You thanked him, pleased with his gentlemanly ways.

A hiss left you at the sudden switching of lights, attacking your eyes as they readjusted. You blinked a few times to take in the interior.

The hallway was long; cream coloured wallpaper hugged its sides, ending to a larger room in the distance. The walls were bare except for a few random antique mirrors. To your left, a stairway sits. It contrasts the walls; a rich, sturdy, mahogany. To your right, an entrance way opens up; silhouettes standing in the dim shadows.

“I apologize, it’s a bit dusty,” said Mr Rogers, sheepishly. “I try to clean it up at least once a month.”

“By yourself?” you ask, bewildered.

He chuckled, “No, with a cleaning company, dear.”

Telling you to follow him, Mr Rogers stepped into the entryway to your right, switching the lights on.

The silhouettes you saw earlier were of the furniture strewn about; chesterfield sofas, armchairs, and antique floor lamps crowding the room. A fireplace stood near another entrance, a large mirror erected over its mantle, reflecting the rays from the porch windows. It looked like a scene out of those classic films you used to love. If tidied properly, this would be the best reading spot, you thought.

“This is the parlour,” he announced, “Great for having guests over.”

“It’s beautiful,” you beamed.

Moving forward, Mr Rogers walked through the other entryway, leading to a dining room. From your vantage point, you could see this is the room the hallway ends up to.

Smacked in the middle, a sleek white marble dining table sits. Its length stretches across the room, sets of dining chairs accommodating tens of people. It looked ideal for hosting dinner parties.

The dining room was connected to the kitchen in the back, easing the transferring of food. When you stepped foot into the kitchen, you didn’t expect it to be extravagantly spacious. You smiled, envisioning yourself cooking meals in this kitchen.

“There are a few pots and pans under the cupboards if you ever want to use ‘em,” the older man says. “They were my wife’s”

Curious, you pressed, “Your wife, sir?”

“Yep, my wife, Peggy,” he smiled, eyes distant, lost in a different time, “Actually, she was the one who owned this house, or atleast, her family did. I inherited it after she passed away, felt it was too big to live by myself ya know?”

You hummed in understanding. He must have lived a fulfilling life with his wife, judging by the look. After a few seconds, he snapped out of it, composed himself, and marched on.

“This here leads to the back of the house,” he gestured to a door, the upper half a transparent window. You could see tall blades of grass and the dense trees swaying out back, reacting to the wind. “And this one’s the laundry room, the bathroom’s next to it,” he continued, opening a second door in the kitchen.

You both left the kitchen, entering the hallway through the dining room. As you passed, you noticed a set of stairs obscured under the main staircase. It was smaller, leading down under, ending where a thick black door stood in slight darkness.

“Uhm, Mr Rogers?” you asked, pausing. “What’s that room?”

The older man stopped, turning to look back.

“Oh, that’s the basement. Nothing exciting down there though, just a furnace and some tools. I’ll show you soon,” he seemed to ramble, before turning his back quickly. Without waiting for you, he started climbing the stairs, slowly, hand gripping the railings tightly, walking stick in the other.

That prompted an eyebrow raise from you, he almost seemed flustered. Shrugging it off, you followed.

“So, tell me, dear,” he started, “What brings you searching for a house in this area? It’s not exactly the most happening of places for youngsters.”

The question surprised you. Usually most landlords don’t bother to know such, especially of potential tenants. Their only concern being prompt payments, or you’re out.

“Um, I’m a vet, and I actually work closer here than if I live in the city,” you replied, “Plus, it beats the DC traffic.” Which was true, harrowing through traffic everyday was exhausting.

Mr Rogers chuckled in response.

The second floor was the same layout as the floor below; a long hallway with doors. You noticed there were even more mirrors on this floor. Come to think of it, there were mirrors in every room you’ve been in so far.

“There are three bedrooms and a bathroom on this floor,” —the man explains, opening a door— “And this is the master bedroom.”

It was spacious and regal, light blue walls with dark furniture occupied the room; a king-sized four poster, a vanity, and a large wardrobe stood next to a closet. On the furthest side, two stained glass doors stood, leading to a balcony overlooking the front yard. The colours from the glass reflected on the walls, giving allusions to crystalline shapes. You imagined how they’d reflect during sunset. It was perfect.

The tour commenced with Mr Rogers showing the other two bedrooms and bathroom. At the end of the hall, he led you to a wooden ladder that stood connected to a latch door in the ceiling.

“That’s the attic, nothing much but dust and some old furniture,” he pointed, “You can take a look at ‘em and see if they’re to your liking when you decide to move in.”

Heading down the stairs, the basement was the last place on the tour.

“So, how are you liking the place so far?” he asks, walking beside you.

Biting your lip, you chose your words carefully. “It’s beautiful, the furniture, the decor, and such big space as well,” you said, “Although I’m surprised that I’ll be getting all of this, especially with the price.”

The elder man picked up on your apprehension, “Ah, about that, I’ll discuss the details with you after we finish.” He took the lead, pushing the thick black door with his body. He was stronger than you expected.

A sense of foreboding was felt at first as the door creaked. After going further down the steps, it wasn’t as dark as you expected. Minimal light shone in through small windows on the upper walls, the glass separating the two worlds.

The dangling chain on the ceiling was pulled, flooding the space in light. Adjusting to the brightness, you could see it was dustier in the basement. Cobwebs hung in corners, entangling corpses with them. Thick dust covered the surface of shelves, as if a blizzard invaded. An even thicker silence settled, deafening to the core.

“Don’t you worry about that thing,” the man’s voice echoed, pointing to a furnace in the back, “Got that serviced this year, if anything happens just let me know.” Turning to the shelves, he seemed to inspect them for a few moments, eyes squinting. “And there’s a lot of tool boxes in here,” he gestured to the heavy shelves, pushed to the walls, “Feel free to use ‘em.”

Not wasting any time, Mr Rogers turned back towards the stairs. You followed suit, pulling the chain, basking the basement in darkness once more.

As you began to ascend, a sudden strong scent invaded your nostrils, wafting through like an uninvited guest. You gave another whiff. A musky scent, wild, and smoky, further reminding you of Fall.

Casting one last glance into the darkness, you shrugged it off, and closed the door. Must’ve been Mr Rogers’ faint cologne.

You observed the state of the porch as Mr Rogers locked the front door. The porch needed sweeping, you noted, stepping on a sea of dead leaves, their crunching audible.

Overlooking the lawn, you noticed a pair of blue eyes at the edge of the porch. A pair of white fluffy ears accompanied, flickering occasionally. You smiled, it seemed like you had a visitor.

Squatting down on the steps of the porch, you chittered, hoping to catch its attention. After a few seconds, a white blur zoomed in, scurrying then stopping abruptly at your feet. It mewled, wide blue eyes staring, demanding attention. You petted and scratched below its jaw, the creature emitting content purrs.

“Looks like she’s taken a liking to you,” voices Mr Rogers from behind, “She’s a stray, always coming ‘round.”

“I’m surprised, she’s very friendly,” you said, petting snowy fur.

Seconds pass, the cat’s purr the only sound.

“I’m sure you’ve been wondering regarding the rent,” he breaks the silence, taking a seat on the porch steps. “Why it’s so… well, cheap, for a fully furnished house like this.”

“Well… yeah, I actually almost thought it was a scam,” you replied, sheepish. “I had to actually see it for myself.”

The older gentleman laughed, “I don’t blame you, it sounds too good to be true.”

And indeed, it was. For a classic house like this, dating probably a century back, and fully furnished, something must be up. It was too good of a good bargain.

“Actually, there’s a reason why I put it that way,” he admits after a few beats. “Tell me, do you believe in ghosts, dear?”

You frowned, wondering where he’s going with this, “Can’t say I do.”

“Let me guess, atheist?”

“Agnostic.”

He smiles mirthlessly, “Well, I can’t say I believe in them either, but for the past years, I’ve been having trouble getting tenants to stay.” That piqued your curiosity.

“What do you mean, sir?” you pressed, intrigued.

“Past tenants have told me they’ve been… spooked while living in the house, like things disappearing and reappearing, or hearing footsteps and what not,” the man explains, “But I can’t say it’s true since it’s all peaceful whenever I stay here, or check up on maintenance. I’ve even had a friend stay here for a week, and nothing!"

Ah, the classic household haunting you’ve always seen in movies; missing items, heavy footsteps, the feeling of being watched. Sitting on the steps, you felt like a walking cliché; the stupid girl who goes into a large house knowing it’s haunted, wanting a taste of thrill. Yet, you can’t be bothered. You’ve always been a skeptic, a believer that science and logic can debunk these things.

“What I wanted to ask you is, would you still want to move here after all I’ve told you?” the older man asked. “I’d understand if you want to back out.”

His question shows how concerned he is about others, even if it’ll put a damper in his business. You felt lucky to have stumbled upon an honest and understanding landlord, not everyone had that privilege. But something felt off.

“I don’t understand, while I appreciate it, why do you need to disclose this, sir?” you ask, weirded out. “Isn’t it buyers beware?”

“It’s a part of the law to categorize it under ‘stigmatized’ property,” he replied. “Besides, I wouldn’t be able to sleep at night if you didn’t know,” he chuckled, you joined him. “So, what about it, dear?”

Stroking the cat, you thought about it. You were never a believer of ghouls nor other other-worldly beings, and you weren’t going to start now. While the presence of ghosts could never be proven or denied, you believed that every occurrence has a logical explanation, even the paranormal. You weren’t about to let go of a wonderful place just because some ghost decided to move in as well. Stigmatized or not, you’ve found yourself a good deal. The perfect start.

“Don’t worry Mr Rogers, ghosts or no, nothing's gonna stop me from living in this house,” you smiled. He returned it.

Later, after much discussion and the exchange of handshakes, you left the house with a sense of relief. Pulling out of the driveway, you waved to the older gentleman, before speeding off.

A few metres ahead, checking in the rearview mirror, you saw Mr Rogers still standing in the driveway.

His smile never faltered.

The next day finds you working endlessly at the clinic, meeting furry patients left and right, tending to their dilemmas. The clinic was almost never vacant, the seats occupied always leaving behind fur. To you, it has always been a fulfilling job. Sometimes you’ll get scratched, or hissed at, but at the end of the day it was always worth the care.

Lunch came a bit later. Sighing, your shoulders relaxed. After attending to a cat that decided it needed to throw a hissy fit, you really needed a break. While shovelling food into your mouth, your phone suddenly rang; Sam Wilson flashing on the screen.

“Hi, baby,” you picked up.

“Hello, baby,” came the sultry voice on the other end. “How’s my girl doin’?”

“She’s doing fine, thank you for asking,” you teased. “Why’d you call? Did something happen?”

Muffled chuckles rang through the speakers, “No, nothing happened, just wanted to know how you’re doin’. Hey, how was the house? All good?”

“It was gorgeous! And fully-furnished too!” you replied, gleefully. “It was all antique, the master bedroom was my favourite,” and you continued telling him of everything, from the fancy parlour to the stained glass doors. Sam listened attentively, humming and responding at appropriate times. And this is why you loved him. He was always the talkative one out of you two, yet he never talked out of turn, always putting you first. “Oh, and I’ve found out why it’s so affordable.”

“Let me guess, someone died in that house?”

You chuckled, “Close, apparently it’s ‘haunted’, ooh,” you booed. “The landlord said he had never experienced it during all his years there, nor did his friend that apparently stayed there. So it makes you wonder, if it were just stories from people paranoid about living in an old house.”

“Sounds like it,” Sam hummed. “Can’t wait to have sleepovers at your new place now.”

You laughed, missing his dose of humour and his presence terribly. “I wished you were there with me.”

“I wished I had too, baby,” he murmured, “So when’s the moving date? Gotta put these bad boys into good use.” You heard him grunting, probably flexing his bicep from the other end. Sam’s antics always amused you. He was your happy pill.

“I told Mr Rogers —that’s the landlord— I’ll be moving in two weeks,” you explained. “Do you mind taking a day off to help me? Pretty please?”

“Anything for you, baby.”

#sam wilson x reader #bucky barnes x reader #dark fic #trope: haunted house AU #dark bucky barnes #horror #mystery #marvel fanfiction

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franboos · 5 years ago

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I don’t want to be your friend i want to kiss you neck

a vds college roommate fic

written by @gucciboner and me <3

word count: 3282

chapter one, part 1/3 (part 2/3)

They arrived in Antwerp about a half-hour ago. It is the beginning of September. The weather is still okay and since these are the last days of summer everyone is making the best of it by enjoying the sun outside. Lucas is driving a minivan with Isa in the passenger seat. They arrived in the last part of their journey, since they are just a few streets away from their new student residence.

“I already love Antwerp,” Isa says while looking out of the window, “the city looks so full of life.” She smiles and turns to look at Lucas. “Yeah, I’m excited too,” he says smiling back while still focusing on the road. “I hope our roommates are as nice as they told us online.” Isa starts laughing and bumps Lucas’ shoulder. “I’m sure they are nice people, don’t worry about it.”

Just a few minutes later they arrive in the correct street. “okay, now we gotta find the right house,” Lucas says slowing down slightly so he can absorb his surroundings, “It’s house number 264, you’ll look right, I’ll look left.” He slowly keeps driving through the street looking for the house until he hears Isa screaming next to him.

”Stop, it’s here, number 264!”

Lucas stops the van and turns to Isa her side to check out the house. “Well, that looks about right,” he smiles.

“We, surprisingly, survived this 2 hour trip together with you behind the steering wheel, so I think we are gonna be totally fine here in Antwerp,” Isa teases.

“Ah! I’m a perfectly good driver,” Lucas reacts offended but quickly changes his voice to a teasing one, “how dare you offend me like that Isa Keijser!”

“I think, Mr. van der Heijden, as one of your best friends, I’m privileged enough to offend you like that,” she says with a serious but still mocking tone.

“So you're one of my best friends? Weird I didn't know that.”

“Luc!” Isa says offended.

“I’m just kidding Ies, I’m really happy we are doing this together, since you are one of my best friends.”

She gave Lucas en smile with a hug right after. “Well, what are we waiting for, let’s go and meet our new roomies!” Isa giggles and jumps out of the van.

Once they both stand in front of the door, Isa rings the bell. They wait a few seconds until they hear a voice through the intercom. “Hello?”

“Oh, uh hi, we’re Isa and Lucas. we're here to move in,” Isa says.

“Ah yes! If you wait a sec, I’ll come open the door,” the voice, that probably belongs to a guy, says.

After a moment a figure appears behind the door. They hear the jingling sound of keys, a loud sigh, some more keys rustling together and finally the lock clicking open.

The door swings open to reveal a guy. Lucas swallows, taking in his appearance. He looks about their age, tanned skin and dark brown hair, or maybe it's black? Lucas can't really tell in this lightning. He's wearing a maroon-coloured shirt with grey sweatpants underneath that are just a tad too short. He looks taller than Lucas, altogether he was very handsome.

“Hey guys, come in,” the guy smiles stepping aside. They walk inside and Lucas closes the door behind him.

“I’m Jens, nice to meet you.” He stretches his hand out in front of Isa who takes it.

“Nice to meet you too, I’m Isa.”

Jens smiles and releases his hand from hers and turns to Lucas, sticking out his hand again. Lucas looks at his hand for a second before taking it in his own. He sucks in a breath at the touch.

Suddenly Isa elbows him in his side. He totally forgot to say something. “Oh uh,” his voice comes out shaky, “I’m Lucas.”

“it’s nice to meet you, Lucas,” Jens nods with a smirk on his face.

They drop each others hands. The small silence that followed was quickly replaced by Isa’s voice.

“So, can you give us a little tour?”

“Yes, sorry, of course,” Jens said, shaking his head, “follow me.”

Lucas and Isa follow Jens from the small hallway to the stairs, which leads them to another, but little bigger, hallway with a few doors on the right side, another staircase on the left side and a door on the end of the hall.

Jens point to the doors at the left. “these are few of the bedrooms which you can look at later, because first I’m showing you the living room.” He keeps walking to the door at the end of the hall, and opens it before stepping aside so Isa en Lucas can enter first.

There are two couches placed on the left side of the room with a small coffee table in the middle, which already as some empty beer cans laying on top of it. On the wall is a TV, and it looks like there is already a PlayStation installed. In the middle of the area, there is a big wooden dining table with place for at least 8 people. And on the right side is a kitchen that is, for the most part, separated from the living area with a white empty wall. Behind the kitchen table are a few large windows and two doors that lead to a balcony. The whole place looks a bit crappy, it is still just a student residence, but Lucas thinks they will be able to make this a nice and homey place. Maybe they can add some plants?

“This is our main living room. As you can see it’s mostly still empty, I just moved in three days ago and I thought it would be more fun to decorate it all together.”

“It looks nice,” Isa says while walking to the middle of the room to take a better look.

“Are any of the others already here?” Lucas asks Jens.

“Ah yes, one guy named Friso. We arrived at the same time, but I think he is in his room right now. He isn’t so talkative, so I don’t know much about him.”

Lucas nods.

“and the last people should also arrive today if I’m correct.”

“That’s awesome,” Lucas says while giving Jens a small smile. “But how does this work, can Isa and I just choose between the leftover rooms?”

“Yeah, the rooms are all kind of similar, so it doesn’t really matter who gets which room. So there are two rooms down this hall, one of which is already in use by Friso, with a small bathroom in between them. Then we have three more rooms on the second floor, but with a bit bigger bathroom. And lastly a room in the attic with a small bathroom.”

Lucas and Isa nod and take in all the information.

“I’m using one of the rooms on the second floor, the one right in front of the staircase, so you can choose between the rest,” Jens says while walking over to one of the couches to sit down.

“Okay, thanks Jens,” Isa said while grabbing Lucas's arm to drag him out of the living room. ”Come, Luc, let’s get ourselves a room.”

After checking out all of the rooms, Isa settles in a room on the second floor, at the end of the hall next to Jens his room, with the bathroom next to hers.

Lucas went for the room on the attic. It has a big window, which he likes because now his room has a lot of light, and there is enough room to leave all his art and his easel.

The rooms already contain a bed, a dresser for some close and a small desk with a chair. Lucas his bed is placed on the left side against the wall, opposite from the window. It is a double bed, which he likes. The desk is also placed on that side and the dresser is next to the window.

Lucas looks at the setting for a while, before deciding to switch the dresser and desk. He places the desk right under the window. this way he has a lot of daylight while working, and he can look outside while doing so, which calms him down.

After giving everything a place he is satisfied with, he hears Isa calling him from under the staircase. “Luc, come, we're gonna get our stuff!”

“coming!” He walks out of his room and hops down the stairs.

“Jens and Friso are gonna help us,” Isa says when Lucas walks up to her.

“Friso?”

“Yeah, that other guy. Do you ever pay attention, Luc?” she rolls her eyes in a playful way. “I just had a little chat with him, he seems nice.” “So come, you got to meet him too and we're gonna get our stuff from the van.”

They walk down the other staircase, through the hall to the front door. Jens and Friso are already waiting at the back of the van. This is the first time Lucas sees Friso. He has black hair, is wearing a simple grey sweater with dark blue jeans and wears a pair of glasses. He kind of reminds Lucas of Shane from buzzfeed unsolved.

When Lucas is in front of him, Friso shakes his hand. “Hey, I’m Friso.”

“Hey, nice to meet you,” Lucas answers.

“Okay, let’s get all this shit to our rooms,” Isa says, while opening the back of the van.

When Jens walks into Lucas his room, he sees him sitting on the floor opening one of his clothing boxes. “This is your last box”

Lucas looks up. “Thanks, you can put it next to the others,” he says while pointing to the last unopened boxes standing next to his desk.

Jens walks over to the other boxes and places it next to them. he stands back up and takes a look at the stuff that Lucas already took out. There is a skateboard placed against the wall under some band posters. He takes a better look at the posters. One of them is from the 1975 and the other from the arctic monkeys. He does recognize the names and knows they are indie bands, but he doesn’t really listen to it himself. Next to his desk is an easel with an empty canvas on it. There are a few pictures on his desk, probably with his friends, a few books, an open sketchbook and a lot of paint and some brushes. He wants to take a better look at the sketchbook, so he moves some of the boxes making more room for him the stand.

On the paper is a pencil drawing, a portrait of a woman laughing with wavy hair and eyes that sparkle. The whole drawing has a calm and happy vibe to it.

“that's my mom.” Jens jumps a little from Lucas’s voice, before looking up.

“It’s really pretty. Did you draw this?” Jens asks curious.

“Yeah, I think that's kind of obvious since half of my room contains art-related products,” he laughs, “but thanks,” he says with a genuine smile.

“Do you just do this for fun or do you also study art or something?”

“Well, of course, I do this because I like to do it, otherwise it would be a waste of time. But yes, I’m gonna start studying art, here in Antwerp.”

“That’s so cool! From what I have seen, it looks like you’re really good at it.”

Lucas laughs. “You have literally seen one pencil drawing I did.”

Jens rolls his eyes. “Okay, then show me more, convince me,” he says with a cocky smile.

Lucas stares out the window, staying silent for a second.

“Unless you don’t want to show me more, of course,” Jens says, realising art can be something very personal.

Lucas looks back at Jens. “Maybe another time,” he says before ducking down to grab another box and walking back to his dresser.

Jens stays silent for a second, watching Lucas walk away. The small interaction had left him stunned for some reason. “I’m heading to the supermarket for dinner, any requests?” he asks, walking over to the door.

“Uhm, can we just get pizza. I’m really hungry from the drive so some good pizza would be nice,” Lucas looks over his shoulder.

Jens nods. “That sounds good, see you later.”

“Later,” Lucas answers going back to unpacking.

After putting some of his clothes away Lucas decides to check how Isa is doing. He walks into her room and sees that there are still a lot of closed boxes on the floor. It looks like she hasn’t done anything at all.

“Looks like you have made a lot of progress,” He says while scanning the room.

Isa is laying on her bed that is located in the middle of the room with the head against the wall. She is scrolling through her phone while mindlessly eating out of a bag of leftover chips from the trip.

“huh? O yeah, I’m not in a rush,” she says with her eyes still glued on her phone.

Lucas laughs. “I can see that.” He walks up to her bed and drops himself down next to her.

“You excited for your first day of school tomorrow?” Lucas asks. “Gonna be kinda scary, new country, new people.”

“Yeah and new hot people,” Isa says with a cocky smile while finally taking her eyes off her phone and looking at Lucas. “It is time for you to meet a nice Belgian guy. On our way here I already saw some cute guys walking around.”

“Ugh Ies,” he says annoyed but with a smile on his face. “I’m not really looking for anything you know.”

“Okay I know that, but it doesn’t hurt anyone to at least meet some new guys, does it?”

Lucas rolls his eyes. “I know, I know. I will meet some people, for you,” he says while getting off the bed.

“No, no Luc. You gotta do it for yourself!”

“Yeah Ies, whatever. Get off your lazy ass and start unpacking these boxes” He gives her a big smile and walks out of the room.

They are all sitting on the couches in the living room, eating their cheap pizza while watching some random program on the tv when the doorbell rings.

“who's that?” Isa asks with her mouth full of pizza.

“Probably one of the new housemates,” Jens shurgs.

When nobody gets up to open the door friso says “somebody needs to get up,” but everybody stays put.

“Alright, I’ll go,” Friso sighs moving off the couch.

Just a few minutes later, Friso comes back with two new people behind him. Jens sits up straighter so he can see who the new people are.

One of them is a girl. She has blond wavy hair, her skin is kind of tanned and she is wearing light blue denim skinny jeans on her long legs with a black tank top and white Nike air forces. She looks kind of sweet but arrogant at the same time. Next to her walks a guy. He has messy dark blond hair, he is wearing a white oversized band shirt with dark blue pants and a pair of white dr. martens underneath. He has a big grin on his face while scanning the area he is standing in. He looks like a chill guy.

Before Jens observe them more, Friso starts talking.

“Guys, this is Annabell and Ely, our last roommates.”

They all put down their pizza and stand up from the couch to properly meet.

“Do you guys already know each other, since you came together?” Jens asks after they introduced themselves.

“O no, we just arrived at the same time,” Ely answers.

“Ah, okay cool,” Jens says. “Well you guys can fight over the last two available rooms. One of them right down the hall and one upstairs on the second floor.”

Ely turns to Annabell. “Oh, I don’t really care, you can choose. I’m going for a smoke,” he says while turning around to walk to the balcony.

“Is it okay if i come with you?” Jens asks.

Ely looks back. “Yeah, sure.”

Jens walks over to the coffee table where he has an already rolled joint ready. He grabs it, and walks to the balcony where Ely is already lighting his joint. He leans back against the railing and looks at the view. It is around 8:30 in the evening. The sun is slowly setting, giving Antwerp a orange glow.

“You need the lighter?”

“Yeah, thanks,” Jens says while taking the lighter from Ely.

He puts the joint in his mouth and covers it with his right hand from the wind while lighting it with his left hand. When it is lit, he lowers his left hand and takes the joint in his other and inhales slow but deep.

“What do you study?” Jens asks after exhaling the smoke.

“Music production, gonna start my second year tomorrow. You?”

“That’s so cool! I’m gonna study communication and multimedia design, it’s a lot about programming and visual design and stuff. This is my first year so I’m pretty excited.”

“I’ve heard of that, sounds cool,” Ely answers. “What do you do in your spare time?”

“I like to skate with my friends.”

“Really? I also skate, we should go to the park together sometime,” he says while taking another drag.

“Yeah sounds cool,” Jens says with a smile. It’s gonna be fun living here with these people he thinks.

“Does anyone else want anything?” Annabell shouts from where she’s standing in the kitchen

They’ve been spending the rest of the night hanging out in the living room, getting to know each other. Except for Friso, he wanted to go to bed early and get a goodnight rest before his first day.

“No thanks, we’re all good” Lucas yells back at her.

When she returns from the kitchen holding a can of coke, she walks over to the couch that Jens is sitting on. She plops down right next to him. Leaving almost no space in between their bodies. Jens rubs his hands over his legs and gives her an awkward smile.

“Have you lived in Antwerp your whole life?” She asks him, turning her upper body into his direction.

“Yeah I have.” he slides his body away from her, completely leaning against the armrest of the couch.

She pushes the tab of her coke can down before taking a slow sip, looking into Jens’ eyes the whole time.

Across from them, on the other couch, Isa is trying not to laugh at how uncomfortable Jens looks.

"wow me too, weird I haven't seen you before," Annabell says, making Isa and Ely snort at the same time.

Annabell tries to give them an innocent look. “What?” She says, batting her eyelashes.

Lucas rolls his eyes at her, he already doesn’t like her. Right when Annabell is about to say something else to Jens, Lucas cuts her off. “I heard there was a chill skatepark around here somewhere, is that right?”

“Yeah, there is.” Jens looks relieved and sends him a small smile. “You skate too right? I saw your board in your room.”

“Yeah, I do.”

Annabell slumps down against the couch and crosses her arms with a big pout on her lips making Isa laugh again.

“Jens and I were talking about skating together, you should join us,” Ely suggests.

“Yeah, you should” Jens grins directly at Lucas.

Lucas smiles weakly and nods, “Yeah cool.”

He was kind of hoping to skate alone with Jens, but there’s plenty of time for that in the future.

#this is my first time writing a fic #hope you enjoy #vds week #van der stoffels #skam nl #wtfock #I don't want to be you friend I want to kiss your neck #when the chapters are complete we will also drop them on ao3 #lucas van der heijden #jens stoffels #isa keijser #fic

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epochofbelief · 5 years ago

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Breath Control, Chapter Six

An A Court of Mist and Fury College Swim Team AU

All characters belong to SJ Maas!

Feysand.

Warnings: mature content, cursing

Let me know if you want to be tagged:)

Enjoy!

SIX

We pulled up outside the family house--an enormous, Colonial-style building, complete with six bedrooms, too many bathrooms to count, an enormous kitchen, and several living areas. My father had purchased it as soon as his business had started flourishing again in the middle of last year. I’d never understood why he’d bought such a large home for himself alone. I figured it was something about overtly displaying just how much wealth he’d regained to everyone in our home town. I didn’t concern myself with it too much; I’d never actually lived in the house anyway.

Nesta had for a few months before she’d moved down to Prythian to live near me and Elain. I’m pretty sure she’d lived on the opposite side of the house from my father to avoid running into him as much as possible until she’d saved enough money from her flight attendant job to get a place of her own. . . Out of the three of us, Nesta got along with my dad the least.

Rhys charmed Elain instantly, asking her questions about her baking, her gardening, her nursing classes. He skillfully avoided all talk of significant others, for which I was grateful, and by the end of the car ride Elain was half in love with him.

Elain hopped out of the car as soon as she pulled onto the enormous bricked driveway. I remained inside with Rhys for a moment. I twisted around in the backseat to look at him.

“Here is my final warning and disclaimer to you. I love Nesta, don’t get me wrong. But she will be a bitch to you. I don’t know how my father will act around. . .” I trailed off.

“Never brought a boy home, Feyre darling? I’ll try to pretend I’m not immensely flattered at the idea.”

Heat bloomed in my cheeks. “Of course I’ve brought boys home. You’re not that special.”

He rolled his eyes. “Come on, Archeron. Let’s go meet your family.”

If I was being honest, his eagerness scared me a little. I took a deep breath and followed him up the front walk, bags in tow. Elain burst into the house and I timidly followed her through the enormous entry way, painted a pleasant cream above the dark wood flooring. Past the staircase and to the right, we found my father and Nesta in the kitchen talking.

More like arguing, They weren’t yelling, though, which was progress for those two.

“I don’t like you working as a flight attendant, Nesta. You got an engineering degree for a reason, you know.”

“I don’t care. Working on planes is much more fun. I get to see new places during long layovers or overnight stays. So butt. Out. Dad.”

Elain cleared her throat. Realizing they now had company, they both shut up rather quickly. I was grateful. I wanted to spare Rhys from the family theatrics for as long as possible. Even if things had been better between all four of us for the past year or so.

“Feyre!” My dad exclaimed, unusually perky. It was probably for Rhys’s benefit. He moved to hug me and I acquiesced, glancing at Nesta out of the corner of my eye. She shrugged.

“And you must be Rhysand. I have to say, I was quite surprised when Feyre told me she was bringing a boy home for Thanksgiving dinner who wasn’t Tamlin.” My cheeks were absolutely flaming at this point. I decided to stare at my shoes.

Also, how could he mention Tamlin? He didn’t know a thing about our relationship except that we were broken up and I never wanted to speak of it again. Oblivious to all the embarrassment he was currently causing me, my father extended his hand to Rhys.

Rhys gripped it tightly, his crutch wedged underneath his arm. I was pleased to see that his grip was firm. “Nice to meet you, sir.”

“Yes.” My father had suddenly become quite solemn. “And what are you majoring in, Rhysand?”

Oh dear.

“International Relations, sir.”

“And what do you plan to do with that?”

And God bless him, Rhys didn’t miss a beat. “My father is an Operations Manager for a large global company. I plan to follow in his footsteps to manage a large company, particularly--”

I decided that that was enough. “Okay, Dad! I’m going to give Rhys a house tour. What time’s dinner?”

My father gave Rhys a look as though their conversation wasn’t over as I grabbed his arm and hustled him out of the kitchen.

I forced Rhys up the stairs. “Oh my god. What right does he have to give my friends the first-degree as soon as he meets them? He didn’t try to parent me in high school, so why start now? It’s not like you’re my--”

“Boyfriend?” He smirked. “It was fine, Feyre. I know what I plan to do with my degree.”

“You shouldn’t have to answer to him.”

“Relax,” he said as he followed me up the second flight of stairs. “By the end of this week, your father will love me.”

He met me at the top of the stairs, seeing as I’d stormed up them and he’d had to carefully ease his way up with his boot and crutches. Barely a hand’s breadth between us, he stood with his back to the stairs as I stared up at him.

“Why waste your time trying to make such a good impression?” I couldn’t take my eyes away from his face. I realized suddenly just how much taller than me he was.

“Consider it a long term investment.”

“Why invest in that?”

He edged around me and set off down one of the hallways. “Show me the house, Feyre darling. Isn’t that what we came up here to do?”

I could think of other things. The thought coalesced inside my mind, unbidden. I was the only one who lived on the third floor of this house. Those things I was thinking of doing . . . wouldn’t be difficult to accomplish here.

Nope. No, no, no. Not an option.

But as I followed Rhys down the corridor, I couldn’t help. . . wondering what it would be like. Kissing him, touching him, calling him mine. . .

“Archeron! You coming? I don’t actually know where I’m going.”

I puffed out my cheeks. Shit.

We worked our way through all the bedrooms and living rooms on the second floor and finally made it to the staircase that led to my room, alone on the third floor. It was quite a spacious room, actually, with an amazing attached bathroom. What I didn’t realize was how Rhys would get up the extremely narrow staircase. Technically, the third floor had been something like the servants’ quarters a hundred years ago, now remodeled and modernized. But the fact remained that the staircase was much too narrow for Rhys to get up with his crutches.

“You don’t have to see my room. I’m so sorry, I didn’t even think about it,” I said, glancing down at his foot.

He set his crutches against the wall. “I’m seeing your room, Feyre,” he said confidently.

I raised my eyebrows. “Well, okay then. Do you want to go first?”

“I can walk perfectly fine, Feyre. Chill.”

“Boys,” I muttered under my breath.

“What was that?”

“Nothing, nothing. Just get your ass up the stairs.”

“Bossy. I like a woman in charge.”

“Get your ass up the stairs, Rhysand!”

He chuckled. And began his slow ascent. It wasn’t that he was weak, it was that his boot was big and clunky and he wasn’t technically supposed to put his weight on it very often, according to Madja. On the narrow staircase, maneuvering the boot would be difficult. But he made his way up, giving me an extremely convenient view of his ass through his jeans as he climbed. I followed him until we reached the top and then squeezed past him on the tiny landing.

“Prepare to be amazed. My father ensured I had the room of my dreams even though I’ve never truly lived here. Parental guilt for not really providing for me all through high school.”

Rhys stood, arms crossed, waiting.

I sighed. This felt strangely intimate. I’d never had a boy in my room before. I mean sure, Tamlin had visited my dorm a few times but because he was older we had almost always ended up at his place at night. And my room wasn’t really “lived in” seeing as I’d never lived in the house. But it was mine, and I’d gotten to choose all the decorations, all the pictures… everything.

“Okay.” I turned the door handle and stepped briskly into my room, eager to get this over with.

Rhys hobbled inside, his gaze floating over the white-covered, four poster bed pushed against the far wall, two large windows on either side. His gaze floated over the dark wood floors, covered by a gray rug under my bed and a pale blue one under the sitting area, complete with a fireplace, couch, and two arm plush grey armchairs. It floated over my bookshelf, filled with all the books I didn’t have room for in my townhouse back at school. And landed on the grey walls, covered with paintings.

Every one of them painted by me.

There were landscapes, and abstracts, and a few canvases covered only with my favorite book or movie quotes.

He stepped into the center of the room and halted, turning in place, staring at the paintings. “Did you paint all of these?”

I leaned against my door. “Yeah…”

He kept looking.

“That bad, huh?”

He tore his gaze from the walls of my bedroom. “What? No. The exact opposite. This is--these are-- These are amazing, Feyre. I had no idea you were a painter.”

“I’ve sort of run out of time for it in college. Haven’t painted since. . .” I hadn’t really painted since Tamlin and I had gotten together. “Since the beginning of my freshman year. I miss it,” I said, and suddenly felt the urge to march downstairs and into the garage to retrieve all my old paint buckets, brushes, and the canvases that I knew were waiting for me.

“Wow. I’d pay money for one of these. You have an incredible talent, Feyre.” His eyes alighted on the painting hung above my fireplace. “Is that your mother?”

I nodded, smiling a little. “I painted it based off of a picture of her my dad has. She died before I really picked up the hobby. But that’s her.”

“She’s beautiful.”

I nodded and decided it was safe to enter the room. My paintings were a part of my soul. And I realized that if Rhys had looked at them and insulted them, or worse, just skated over their existence, I would have been crushed. Thank goodness he hadn’t. I collapsed onto my bed. I was suddenly exhausted from the morning practice that felt like it had been days ago and the following four hour drive spent with Rhys. He limped over and sat next to me as I stared up at the ceiling.

“This is why you were so nervous to bring me up here?” He asked softly.

I nodded.

“Anyone would be crazy not to be impressed by your art.”

“It was kind of a weird hobby to have in high school. I mostly kept it to myself. Not sure why the kids at my school thought painting in your spare time was weird.”

He was silent for a moment, as though debating what to say. Then-- “Well I, personally, find painting in your spare time to be hot.”

I sat up, my face coming within inches of his. If I moved forward just a bit, my lips would meet his.

“Incredibly hot,” he went on.

It was almost as if my body was leaning forward of its own accord.

“In fact, it might be one of the hottest things I’ve ever heard.”

I rolled my eyes. “Now you’re just making things up.”

He smiled and I might have melted a little bit.

“Maybe.” I could feel his breath on my cheek. Minty. Was there anything about him that wasn’t perfect?

I leaned closer. Consequences be damned. We were inches apart, so close my eyelids had fluttered closed, when--

“Feyre! Dinner!”

“Shit,” he whispered.

I swallowed. “We should go.”

He nodded. “Mmhm.”

I led him back across the landing and down the stairs. I’d reached the bottom step when he swore (again) and---

“Shit!”

I almost felt him trip before he stumbled forward, and I whirled around, gripping his shoulders in an effort to steady him at the bottom of the stairs. His hands reached out and grabbed my waist as he regained his balance.

“You good?” I asked, breathing more heavily than I should have been. Heat flared up and down my body from where his hands had set themselves around my middle.

“Yeah. Sorry.”

He still hadn’t let go. I didn’t want him to.

“Dinner. We have to go eat dinner. Your father probably thinks I’m doing unspeakable things to you right now, Feyre darling.”

Heat flooded my cheeks again. “Right.” And shaking my head, I released his shoulders and as I walked down the stairs to the kitchen, I chided myself for my weakness, for the desire to kiss him that had been growing steadily all day, all week.

------

Later that night, after a tense dinner with my father, I came downstairs after my shower to find Rhysand and my dad shouting at the television together. Prythian University’s men’s basketball team was on the screen, playing some school I’d never really heard of. Rhys and my father were berating the referees as I took a seat on the couch next to Rhys--a healthy two feet away from him.

Just to be sure.

“I didn’t realize either of you were so invested in college basketball…”

Rhys tore his eyes away from the screen to gape at me, openmouthed. “You go to Prythian and you don’t care about our basketball team? They were in the top four in the country last year.”

I shrugged. “I’m just not that into it.”

“I can’t believe I’m friends with you.” He placed a special emphasis on the word “friends.” I prayed my father didn’t notice his change of tone.

“Hey!”

My dad chimed in. “Can’t say I blame him, Feyre. Neglecting to educate you in team sports has been the biggest regret of my life.”

“Oh, please. You’re both making me feel like public enemy number one in my own house.”

Rhys poked me in the side and I hissed, then settled back on the couch for the next hour as the pair of new-best-friends shouted and raged and cheered at the screen until, in double-overtime, Prythian won out.

“Thank God that’s over,” I mumbled, although I was secretly happy Prythian had come out on top in the end.

“I’m dragging you to a basketball game when we get back to campus. Athletes get free tickets. You know that right?”

“Of course I know that.” Nevermind that I’d never used that particular advantage.

My dad stood up. “Well, kids, I’m headed to bed. Feyre, Rhys knows where his room is, right?” He gave me a look. Then bestowed another, different look, on Rhys.

“Yes, Dad. Good night.” I narrowed my eyes and he (thankfully) departed quickly.

That left Rhys and me, alone in the dark living room. Nesta and Elain had gone off to bed hours ago. An awkward silence ensued.

“Well,” I stood. “I guess I should get to bed.”

Rhys followed suit. “Yep,” he said lamely.

As he crutched after me toward the staircase, I spoke up, just to break the silence between us that hadn’t been there moments before. “I can’t believe how fast you charmed my father.”

He chuckled. “I hate to be so predictable, but I am a man and I do love televised sports.”

I sighed. “I’m not judging.”

We made it to the top of the stairs and I walked him to his room. He paused in the doorway. “I really am grateful though, despite your rather unfortunate lack of interest in sports. Grateful you invited me here.”

“What are teammates for?” I said, remembering what he’d asked me on that night a month ago.

He smiled a little, as though remembering that night too. “Good night, Feyre.”

“Good night, Rhys.”

It was difficult to refrain from inviting him up to my room to… just to have him near me. But I made myself turn away from him and climb the narrow staircase to my solitary bedroom at the top of the house.

I’d just crawled into bed when a text came through on my phone. I lunged for the nightstand, knocking my phone to the floor in the process. Relieved that no one had been around to witness such a display of grace and decorum, recognizing how obviously desperate I was for Rhys to text me, I reached down, scooped up my phone, and pulled up my messages.

Tamlin Spring: I heard you took Rhys home with you for Thanksgiving

All the air left my body.

Tamlin Spring: You never took me home to meet your family. I didn’t realize you were such a slut. Did a year with me mean nothing to you?

Tamlin Spring: I would take you back--if you got on your knees in front of me and begged

Tamlin Spring: You were only ever good on your knees, anyway

Now it felt as though all the blood had left my body too.

I threw my phone against the room. I sat up in my bed, face in my hands. I should just ignore his messages and leave it alone. He had no right to comment on what I was doing. Who had even told him I’d invited Rhys home with me for Thanksgiving, anyway? Besides, it was just friends helping friends. Rhys being here didn’t mean anything. It certainly didn’t make me a slut.

But as my phone buzzed again, and then again, as I tried to shut my eyes and shut out what he’d said. . . I couldn’t stop rereading his texts inside my head. Was I just a slut? A traitor for having these feelings for Rhys so soon after ending things with Tamlin?

He would still take me back? Like that was going to happen. But. . . I remembered what he’d said when he’d kidnapped me and forced me to drink…. Something about just giving me space, as though he didn’t think we were actually broken up...

But if he was telling me I was a slut over a text… He’d probably spread that rumor to the rest of the team by now. Along with a story about how I was a cheater too. After I’d worked so hard to stay out of the drama and sexual intrigue so abundant on my swim team. Against my will, tears leaked from between my fingers.

My phone buzzed for a third time and I dragged myself out of bed to retrieve it. I was determined to silence it and cry myself to sleep, but instead of another text from Tamlin, three from Rhys popped up.

Rhys: What was that bang?

Rhys: I’m in the room underneath yours, I think

Rhys: FEYRE ARE YOU ALIVE

As I read them, another popped up.

Rhys: Don’t make me come up there

I started typing my response, telling him I was fine and to go to bed when a soft knock sounded at my door. I padded over to it and pulled it open.

“How did you get up here so fast?” I whispered.

“Texted as I walked. Obviously.”

“Well you didn’t need to waste the trip. I threw my phone at the ground.”

“Your phone is enormous. The bang caused the elaborate chandelier over my bed to swing ominously. I feared for my life.” He was teasing me. But then the smile melted from his face as he noticed what I was wearing.

A large grey t-shirt that came to rest mid-thigh. And nothing else. I didn’t even have it in me to blush, I was so intent on not letting him see the tears left on my face. He looked down only for a moment, though, before his gaze settled firmly above my neckline.

“Thanks for checking on me, Rhys.” I turned to go.

Slut. The word echoed through my mind. I was sure to return to the team to find myself at the center of all the gossip. What would Cassian and Mor think? Would they believe the rumors? We hadn’t been friends for long. I’d barely interacted with Amren and Azriel at this point. They’d surely believe the rumors.

Rhys caught my arm, taking a few steps farther into my room. “Feyre. What’s wrong? Why did you throw your phone at the floor?”

I had no idea why I gave up so easily, but I brandished my phone at him. He took it from me and I stared at the wall beside his head as he found the texts from Tamlin and read them.

“What. An. Asshole,” he said through gritted teeth.

“It’s fine.”

He gave my phone back to me. “No, no it’s not. He needs to leave you the fuck alone. He’s not your boyfriend anymore.”

Now I really did turn away. “I don’t need the encouragement, Rhys. He’s right, yeah? I’m just a slut. Moving on way too quickly.”

He raced around to stand in front of me. “No. You are not a slut. Your relationship is over. You ended it the right way. And for good reason, too. Nothing he just texted you has an ounce of truth to it. You should block him and forget about it.”

I didn’t say anything, just kept my eyes glued to the ground. I didn’t trust myself to look at him. I’d probably try to act on my “slutty tendencies” if I looked into his violet eyes.

Two fingers hooked under my chin and pulled my face up to his. “Feyre. I promise you. You’re doing nothing wrong.”

I couldn’t stop the fresh tears that escaped me. How had a few text messages from an asshole managed to upset me so much? Or maybe I was crying in relief that Rhys was so vehemently disagreeing with what Tamlin had sent. Either way, the tears kept coming as he looked at me. And then, slowly--so very slowly--he removed his fingers from my chin and wrapped his arms around me, pulling me toward him.

I stood there for a moment as he held me, arms hanging uselessly at my sides. And then I hugged him back, my arms coming up and over his shoulders to wrap around his neck. I slid one hand into his soft black hair. “Thanks for coming for me,” I whispered. “And I don’t just mean tonight.”

He huffed out a breath. “Anytime.”

I didn’t let go for a long, long time. Until I realized…

“Where the hell is your boot?”

He pulled back, his hands still resting lightly on my waist. “Uh…”

“Rhysand Night!” I whacked his arm. “You walked up here without your boot! Don’t you want to heal?!”

He put his hands on his hips. It was then that I noticed he wasn’t putting a whole lot of weight on his injured foot. “I heard a large thump and came up here prepared to defend you from a murderer or something, and this is how you thank me?”

I pushed him backward, forcing him to take a seat on my bed. “I can kill my own murderers, thank you very much. Now sit. I’m going to get your boot right now.”

But he reached out and grabbed my hand, pulling me roughly toward him so I stood between his legs. My hands came to rest on his shoulders to steady myself. “I’m trying to make sure you can train sooner rather than later, you know,” I managed to say, but the thrill at being so close to him like this was overriding nearly every other thought in my mind.

“I’m a big boy. I can handle it.”

And then he kissed me.

I was stunned for only a moment before my hands moved from his shoulders to thread through his silky black hair. His lips pressed against mine, so soft. His kiss was firm, neither too gentle nor too rough, and mere seconds passed before his tongue traced my lips and I opened my mouth, letting him in.

His tongue swept in and he inched back on the bed, keeping his mouth firmly planted against mine, pulling me onto the bed after him. His size hit me again, then. I was so small compared to him. He removed his lips from mine and he eased me onto my back. Turning, he leaned over me and his mouth claimed mine again, this time slightly more eager, as his right hand moved from my hair, down my side, coming to rest at my waist. I kept one hand firmly entangled in his hair while the other ran down his chest. He was so damn muscular.

I’d always been a sucker for swimmer’s bodies.

He pulled away for a moment. “So…”

I let out an irritated squeak of protest, but he slipped a hand beneath my shirt and flattened it against my stomach. I shut up.

“Earlier you said something about moving on too quickly.” His hand slid up a little bit.

“Hmm, I don’t recall…” I breathed, in a very futile attempt to hide how desperate I was for him to keep touching me, kissing me. More, more, more, I wanted.

His hand inched up, his thumb now caressing the skin just beneath my breasts. I was definitely not wearing a bra.

“What did you mean by that, Feyre darling?”

I tried desperately to suck down a breath as his hand slid up. . .

“Aren’t you smart enough to figure that out yourself, Rhysand?”

“Rhysand? You cruel, beautiful thing.”

His hand flattened against my breast and I lost all control as I pulled him down to kiss him again.

He smiled against my lips, and the joy that flooded through my body as a result of his happiness was almost better than how good it felt to feel his hands on my body, his lips on mine, his weight against me. Almost…

We stayed like that for quite a while, kissing, not going much farther, before he crawled under the covers, tucked me against him, and we fell asleep.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

TAGS:))

@sleeping-and-books @musicalfae

#acomaf #acotar #a court of thorns and roses #a court of mist and fury #acomaf au #acotar au #a court of thorns and roses au #a court of mist and fury au #feysand #feyre #feyre x rhysand #feyre x rhys #feyre archeron #high lord of the night court #books #sarah j maas #reading #breathcontrol ar ff

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chemiste · 4 years ago

Text

Foresight ~ ch.8

a/n : oof, i’ve been a bad writer! i didn’t update my story for a month, sorry y’all. please stay safe during quarantine and if you go to a protest, wear long sleeves, close toed shoes, nothing with brand logos, gloves and have a MASK!! covid is still here and spreading so be safe :)

masterlist

The jet was beautiful, and you expected nothing less for the rockstar in front of you.

Everyone had thankfully gotten through the security lines without a flash fan mob (bless sunglasses and big hoodies). Because you were taking a private jet, the group of y’all had to walk out onto the actual terminal and hop on an airport golf cart. Which sucked because it was still slightly dark out at 7am and 18 F/-10 C outside!

As another cart loaded up your suitcases to put them into the plane, your cart started to drive off towards the plane.

“Oh, Y/N?” Jeff turned to you has he was the one you sat next to in the flurry of events getting to the jet.

“Hm?” You looked up from your phone, having been scanning through some of the comments on your latest posts.

“I got a call from the intern and your extra luggage should be meeting up with us in Sweden.” You let the tension in your shoulders fall away from the good news.

“Thank you so much, it’ll be great to have a fresh set of clothing to choose from.” He gave you a smile and the cart slowed right in front of the high class air mobile you’d soon be in.

Everyone loaded up and before you realized the wheels had left the ground and you were on your way to Stockholm. Squishing into the comfy window seat you’d claimed, happy to be warm again, you pulled your laptop out of your backpack hoping to get through some pictures from the previous show and check up on your emails.

Harry and the band had dispersed throughout the plane, Sarah and Mitch sitting next to each other with the arm rest up so they could snuggle, Clare in the window chair facing opposite them with her book resting on the shared table between them. H was chatting with Jeff and Hélène in the seats in front of yours.

Ding!

1 New Email : Professor Clemet

Hello Y/N,

In regard to your recent email, I’ve spoken to the administrative board and because of your ‘certain situation’ we’ve decided to grant you impromptu abroad study. Please make sure to keep up with the assignments I post to the college online platform, as there are only a few left I’m sure you’ll have no problem finding a good source for photos.

Best of Luck,

Prof

You did a little fist pump in the air as you finished reading the email. You thanked the stars your teacher was okay with you basically missing the rest of the school year.

A body plopped down into the chair next to you. “Whatcha so happy ‘bout?” Harry asked.

“My Professor sorta just told me she knows I’m with The Harry Styles and that she doesn’t live under a rock so its fine that I do school online while we tour.”

He laughed, hitting his head back on the soft headrest.

“Well, that’s great news love.”

The rest of the flight was uneventful, basically just a bunch of tired musicians taking the couple hours they had to relax before the hustle started again.

A perk though was that you were all served a breakfast of toast, fruit, and yogurt. It definitely helped having something on your stomach before you had to brave the cold again.

As you all piled into the SUV Jeff had rented for time there, you turned to Harry who was sitting next to and offhandedly asked, “When do we get to the Air BnB?”

He looked at you with a confused expression as the car drove out of the airport.

“Huh what ‘re you—“

“Great news everyone, I’ve got a surprise!” Jeff said from the passenger’s seat, Hélène driving and paying attention the GPS on the dock.

“I’ve booked an Air BnB for the nights we’re here! It’s a big house that everyone will get to be hang out together in.”

The band cheered and Harry just chuckled, “That’s still so cool Y/N” he said looking up into your eyes again with a grin.

Jeff kept to his word, the house was big and very pristine.

The ceilings were high and boarded with white wood panels. When you entered the house, the living room was to your left; it had a glass doors instead of windows so you could open them all and walk out onto the wrapped around porch. The were two black couches, a large coffee table, and a fluffy cream rug.

About 15 feet in front of the door was a staircase to the second floor and them to the left of that the entrance to the kitchen. It had a bar that separated the living room and kitchen but space flowing as you could still see anyone from both rooms. The kitchen had a white marble island, the stove was to the back of the wall, the sink was the left wall under a cute window that had small white shutters.

To your right at the front door was a large glass dining table that had 8 glossy black chairs.

On the right side of the staircase was a hall way with a sliding door to cut off the living room from the rest of the house. The nearest door was open to a bathroom and them a few more doors that you concluded were bedrooms.

In conclusion, your jaw may have opened when you entered the home.

“Girls call the upstairs bedrooms!” Sarah yelled out, earning a few groans from the boys and patted up the steps with her suitcase in tow.

You followed her as she turned right at the top, taking the first room to the left. You went to 2nd door and rolled your luggage in.

It was a lovely room, the theme was a soft pastel purple but not too much that it gave you retirement home vibes. The tall ceiling had purple wood panels, the walls white. The white wooden poster bed was against the right wall, it was laid with a violet duvet and pillows with to small matching nightstand on either side.

The opposing wall had an antique dresser and a tv propped on top. To left was a small closet you guessed and to the right of it there was a sliding door to the en suite (that had a claw foot tub!!!!) and at the back wall were glass balcony doors cover with sheer white curtains.

The last piece of furniture was a desk on the left side of the balcony doors, set with a lamp and some pens in a mason jar.

You flopped on to the bed after you moved your suitcase to the other side of the bed. You took a couple seconds to yourself before sitting up and taking your boots off and hanging your wool coat in the closet then headed downstairs.

You heard the guys chatting to each other from their rooms, something about if Chelsea boots were superior to Doc Martins? You shook your head and went into the kitchen, you ran your hand across the sleek island counter.

Then an idea popped into your head.

What if I cook for everyone tonight?

A smile to hold of you face as a plan started to form in your mind. You pulled your phone out and connected to the wifi at the house (thanks to a little sticky note on the fridge with the router and password) and searched up the stores around and what you could probably scrounge up for 7 hungry people.

You raced upstairs, wrote the address and your grocery list down on a spare piece of paper with one of the mason jar pens. You changed into jeans and threw on a long sleeve undershirt and then black turtleneck, tucking them into your pants. You slipped your wool coat back on, buttoning it up and tying the belt. You tucked your gloves into the pocket with your phone and wallet.

As you exited your room and entered the living room, you were met with Sarah, Clare and Harry propped up on the the two couches, watching…

“Is that Twilight?” You asked, a bit of a laugh in your question.

The brown haired boy turned to you at the sound of your voice, “Yes it is, yo’ve got a problem wit’ it?”

You shook you head, a smile on your face. “I’m going to the market up the road to pick up fixings for dinner tonight, I thought I could cook for everyone as like a big thank you.”

Sarah cooed at your happy exclamation, “Thats so sweet Y/N, I’ll think I’ll come with you if that’s okay?”

You nodded, “The more the merrier!”

Clare stood up from the couch, “Me too, we’ll make it a girls outing.”

The girls started chatting and headed up stairs to get ready. You turned to the boy in front of you, now wearing a childish frown.

“What about me?” He whined, flopping back to starfish the couch.

“Sorry Styles, your hair needs to pass your shoulders, but since you’ve cut yours your out of the girls squad.”

He shot up from his seat, giving you a loud hey! as you doubled over laughing. Harry stood up and took his wallet out of his pocket, pulling out a sleek black card and tried to hand it to you.

“If I can’t come, at least let me pay for the groceries.”

“Harry no! I can’t let you do that, this is my treat!”

He thrusted it into your hands, “The treat is you making it, I don’t expect you to pay for 7 peoples worth of food as a college student junebug.”

You blew a raspberry, knowing he was right. “Fine, thank you.”

He clasped his hands in front of him and bounced on the balls of his feet like her was a kindergartner showing his mothers the macaroni necklace he made for her, “Not a problem lov’.”

The girls and you found the market easily.

You loaded up with zucchini, squash, some chicken breasts, lime and basil minute rice, and some yams. You grabbed a good bottle of wine as well.

Clare brought over some croissant and chocolate cookie dough, depositing both into the shopping cart.

Sarah grabbed cheese and crackers, as well as a tub of vanilla ice-cream.

The three of you checked out and bags in hand, headed back to the Air BnB. It was great time shopping with them, you felt like you got a bit closer to them both which was nice since besides Hélène (who had opted out of the shopping trip in order to look at photos) you were the only girls in the main traveling group.

Once back at the house, you unloaded the food, putting it away before slicing up the cheese Sarah had bought. You spread some crackers out onto the chopping board you had been using.

“Where is everyone else?”

You asked taking your coat, turtleneck, and boots off, then siting down on the couch next to Sarah and Clare.

The drummer grabbed a piece of cheese from the board while flipping through channels, “I think everyone is catching up on sleep, taking naps or working through emails, that sort of thing.”

You hummed and snuggled back into the cushions, watching whatever Sarah had set the tv to. The 3 of you watched a few episodes on HGTV, then stumbled upon The Golden Girls, which had you laughing till you sides hurt, and finally switched to The Prince and Me, commenting throughout the movie on the characters and situations they found themselves in.

As the credits rolled and the girls decided to turn the tv off and head upstairs to take showers, you checked the time. It was around 5:30, so you got up to start cooking.

As you marinated and seasoned the chicken, you looked to the stove to see where the timer was and instead saw something else that piqued your interest.

“Surround sound speakers? Hmm.” You tapped the panel that was on the left of the stove, which lit up and read ‘connect via bluetooth’. You grabbed your phone and hooked it up.

You scrolled through Spotify, debating what to play.

An idea popped into your head and you nodded to yourself, then clicked play on your playlist.

Hey, hey, hey, hey

Hey, hey, hey

Hey, hey, hey, hey

Hey, hey, hey

You started singing to yourself, setting the timer once you found it and popping the chicken and yams into the oven. You chopped the freshly washed zucchini and squash, clicking your heels together and bopping your head to the beat.

Sarah, accompanied by Clare and Hélène, came into the kitchen.

Simmer down, simmer down

They say we're too young now to amount to anything else

But look around

We worked too damn hard for this just to give it up now

If you don't swim, you'll drown

But don't move, honey

You put the knife down and picked up the spatula, using it as a microphone and pointing to Clare.

“You look so perfect standing there

In my American Apparel underwear

And I know now, that I'm so down

Your lipstick stain is a work of art

I got your name tattooed in an arrow heart

And I know now, that I'm so doooooown!”

You sang, twirling her around as she laughed.

“Hey Y/N, can I pop this wine?” Hélène asked.

“Go for it.”

Sarah found some glasses as the resident photographer got the cork popper.

Hey! Hey, hey, hey, hey

Hey, hey, hey

Grabbing a pan and cover, you turned a stove burner on and put the zucchini and squash with a glob of butter plus salt and pepper in to cook.

The girls sat at the bar, so you came over of the kitchen section to parade around the foyer/living room area.

Let's get out, let's get out

'Cause this deadbeat town's only here just to keep us down

While I was out, I found myself alone just thinking

If I showed up with a plane ticket

And a shiny diamond ring with your name on it

Would you wanna run away too?

'Cause all I really want is you

Before belting, you checked to see if the hallway door was slid closed, thankfully it was so you turned back to your audience and gave the performance of a lifetime.

You look so perfect standing there

In my American Apparel underwear

And I know now, that I'm so down

I made a mix-tape straight out of '94

I've got your ripped skinny jeans lying on the floor

And I know now, that I'm so down

Hey! Hey, hey, hey hey

Hey, hey, hey, hey

You look so perfect standing there

In my American Apparel underwear

And I know now, that I'm so down

Your lipstick stain is a work of art

I got your name tattooed in an arrow heart

And I know now, that I'm so down

During the song, you paused your jamming to see from your peripheral vision the sliding door open.

A just woken Harry came out in jeans and a t-shirt.

“Ohmylord, the food smells delicious. What’re you up to?”

He asked, watching you dance around him.

You smiled, “We’re singing!”

“Couldn’t you at least be singing one of my songs?” He huffed.

Hey! Hey, hey, hey, hey

Hey, hey, hey, hey

Hey, hey, hey

You look so perfect standing there

In my American Apparel underwear

And I know now, that I'm so down (hey!)

Your lipstick stain is a work of art

You checked on the food, putting your make shift microphone down.

“Y/N can you turn the volume up for next song?”

Sarah asked while Harry snatched a sip of her wine.

“Sure” you said and moved the dial up, making the end of the song louder.

I got your name tattooed in an arrow heart

And I know now, that I'm so down

“I can’t believe you listen to this Y/N, I’d never pegged you as a boy band type of girl.” H laughed.

You walked back over to the group as the ending notes of the song died out.

“Hopefully something better comes on.” He quipped.

You're insecure

Don't know what for

Everyone froze.

Harry’s back was to you as he had started for the couch, you were scared he might not be to happy to hear one of his pervious band hits.

You could see the girls at the bar waiting with baited breath.

You're turning heads when you walk through the door

Don't need make-up to cover up

Being the way that you are is enough

You saw him take a big breath and you immediately started into an apology.

Everyone else in the room can see it

Everyone else but you

“Harry, I’m so sorry I’ll go turn it off—“

“Baby, you light up my world like nobody else

The way that you flip your hair gets me overwhelmed

But when you smile at the ground it ain't hard to tell

You don't know, oooooooh ooooh

You don't know you're beautiful!”

You gawked as Harry bursted into song, all the girls’ shoulder’s sagging in relief. He came dancing over to you, twisting his hips to the song.

If only you saw what I can see

You'll understand why I want you so desperately

Right now I'm looking at you and I can't believe

You don't know, oh oh

You don't know you're beautiful, oh oh

That's what makes you beautiful

You both sang to your hearts content, holding hands and twirling each other underneath your arms.

So co-come on, you got it wrong

To prove I'm right, I put it in a song

I don't know why, you're being shy

And turn away when I look into your eye-eye-eyes

Everyone else in the room can see it

Everyone else but you

Baby, you light up my world like nobody else

The way that you flip your hair gets me overwhelmed

But when you smile at the ground it ain't hard to tell

You don't know, oh oh

You don't know you're beautiful

If only you saw what I can see

You'll understand why I want you so desperately

Right now I'm looking at you and I can't believe

You don't know, oh oh

You don't know you're beautiful, oh oh

That's what makes you beautiful

“Na na na na na na na na na na… Na na na na na na…” He sang into your face with a scrunched nose, making it sound high pitched and squeaky.

You sang the same thing back to him, the same sort of strange sound coming out of your mouth.

Baby, you light up my world like nobody else

The way that you flip your hair gets me overwhelmed

But when you smile at the ground it ain't hard to tell

(You don't know, oh oh)

You don't know you're beautiful

Harry turned and bounded over the coffee table, hoping up onto it and belting the chorus.

Baby, you light up my world like nobody else

The way that you flip your hair gets me overwhelmed

But when you smile at the ground it ain't hard to tell

You don't know, oh oh

You don't know you're beautiful

Grabbing your phone, you snapped a picture of the crazy rockstar on the table top to post later.

If only you saw what I can see

You'll understand why I want you so desperately

Harry made eye contact and pointed to you dramatically, serenading you with this specific part of the song.

Right now I'm looking at you and I can't believe

You don't know, oh oh

You don't know you're beautiful, oh oh

That's what makes you beautiful

The song ended and applause erupted in the room, but you both held eye contact, breathing heavily from all the movement.

It was, strange, it’s like you seeing him in a new light all of a sudden.

A hand on your shoulder pulled you out of the trance, “That was fantastic! Oh gosh Harry you scared us for a second—“

Sarah went onto chat about the band and you shook your head slightly as you walked back to keep cooking.

Whatever that was, it’s over now so don’t dwell on it.

A half hour later, the food was served and the whole group was seated to dig in. You received a few mmm!s and Oh how I’ve missed home cooked meals, suffice to say: they liked it.

After plates were half empty, people started to chat a bit more, taking their time to finish.

“So Y/N, We about your crazy powers, can you tell us a bit more about you?”

Clare asked. You eagerly nodded and patted your mouth with the napkin before starting.

“Well, I’m in my senior year at NYU, studying Photography & Media Arts with a minor in Creative Writing.”

“That’s so cool! NYU?” Sarah commented.

You nodded and took a sip of water, “Ya, moved to Larchmont as a kid and got residency in New York and then worked my butt off to send a good portfolio in. But some miracle that accepted it and I got a scholarship on top of it which, not gonna lie, I bursted into tears on the subway when I read the email.”

Jeff scoffed, “I bet the superstar across the table couldn’t get into community college now if he tried.”

The table laughed at Jeff’s nudge to Harry and the offended expression he wore.

“Hey, I think I’d do pretty well! Even NYU!”

“Oh my Harry darling,”

You leaned on the table to get a bit closer,

“No Gucci loafers aloud.”

The group bursted into laughter as they watched Harry’s antics of waving his arms around in an X shape and mouthing NO.

You continued,

“I’m afraid you’d either get eaten alive by the business majors or absorbed into the philosophy department and never talk to anyone else again.”

The boys offered to clean up after which you were grateful for.

You took a shower and changed into new pjs!!! As your suitcases had been delivered to the house from the flight they came over on.

You came down the stairs in your dark navy long sleeve and legged satin ensemble (don’t forget the fuzzy socks!) to see what everyone was up to.

The dishes were done and care was busy making the cookies she had bought.

You flopped down next to H, it was like second nature for the both of you; while he watched Clueless he opened an arm up for you and you snuggled down into his side, propping you phone up on his stomach to post the picture you’d taken.

“What do you think?” You held the phone up to his face.

“I look good, post it.” You nudged him with you shoulder and smiled.

You did have to admit, he did look good.

The concert was amazing, of course.

You were sad to be leaving the Air BnB, but alas you had to go.

Jeff and Mitch loaded the last of the luggage into the SUV and you all climbed in at the early time of 5:30 to get to the tour bus that was still parked at the arena.

“Bye Stockholm.”

You whispered as you looked out the window of your bunk bed in the tour bus, inner curtain closed and ready to sleep again.

You took one more glance, and then closed the window curtain.

masterlist

#harry styles x reader #harry styles fanfic #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles x y/n #harry styles x you #harry styles x reader series #harry styles #harry styles fic #harry styles fluff #harry styles tour

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bensakindofmagic · 5 years ago

Text

Dad and His Son

so i wrote an au based on this post, because apparently i like to hurt myself. you can read it if you like to hurt yourself too.

w/c: 1.8k

no warnings, just fluff

A/N: this is an au in which roger is ben’s dad, and for the sake of ease/clarity/my laziness, his mum is a fictional woman. i didn’t want to get bogged down in research and step-parents and exploring those relationship cause this is just a light-hearted wee blurb. don’t get mad about it. right. that’s the admin done with.

“Hey, it’s gonna be fine,” Ben said calmly, coming round to your side of the car as you got out and taking your hand in his considerably larger one. You took a deep breath, exhaling hard, as you took in the house before you. It had been intimidating from the end of the drive as it was slowly revealed behind the automatic gates, and as it grew before your eyes your pulse had started to quicken. It was beautiful, and enormous, and surrounded by fields and forests. You would have marvelled at its magnificence had you not been so nervous of what lay inside.

“Easy for you to say,” you muttered, disgruntled.

“It’s just my parents, and they’re going to love you, Y/N/N.”

Just his parents. Meeting the parents for the first time is hard enough, but when your boyfriend’s dad is Roger Fucking Taylor, that makes everything a little more tricky. Needless to say you were shitting a brick.

He rang the doorbell, even though they had already buzzed you in through the gate, and what was supposed to be a steadying breath rattled in your chest. Ben squeezed your fingers.

“Ben, darling!” his mum gushed, engulfing him in a hug. She managed to wrap him up entirely despite being significantly shorter than him.

“Mum,” he said, detaching himself from her after kissing her cheek, “This is my girlfriend, Y/N."

You smiled in your best impression of someone who’s not feeling horrifically awkward and contemplating a runner, “Hello Mrs Taylor.”

“Oh love, call me Jodie.” She smiled warmly and immediately pulled you into a hug. Ben grinned at you over her shoulder. “Come on in, lunch is nearly ready. Roger! They’re here!” she called into the house, bustling into the kitchen.

“After you,” Ben gestured, raising his eyebrows.

The house was massive, but beautifully light and spacious. A large staircase stood proudly in the middle of the hall, splitting the room and leading to the upstairs realm. Evidence of Queen’s rock-god days lay casually scattered everywhere, hiding in plain sight — framed gold discs were hung on the walls beside artworks, photos of the band were camouflaged between groups of children smiling giddily up from their frames. Conscious of not appearing nosy but wanting to see everything, you peered furtively through a half open door to see piles of old records surrounding an enormous speaker.

“Come on,” Ben gestured with a nod of his head, “I’ll give you the tour later.”

You allowed him to rest his hand lightly on your lower back, anchoring you to him as you ventured into the kitchen/living room.

Roger — that being Roger Taylor. Actual Roger Taylor — was sat in an armchair, idly flicking through the channels on the TV. He glanced at you over his shoulder, piercing blue eyes like ice as they caught you in their hooded stare. Ben may have got the green from his mother but the intensity of colour, the gaze that turns you into a puddle on the floor, that was all from his dad’s side.

“Rog,” Ben’s mum admonished, “come and say hello.”

He stood slowly, and crossed the space between you: it seemed to take a lifetime. Your heart thumped loudly around your head, the sound bouncing between your ears with each step.

“Dad, this is Y/N.”

“Y/N,” he said, testing the word on his tongue, and held out a hand to you. His skin was soft with age but still calloused in the places where his drumstick fit between his fingers. A smile hid beneath his moustache. “Ben’s told us a lot about you, but I see he didn’t mention how beautiful you are.”

Your blush was ferocious.

Ben scoffed, “Yeah, alright Dad. I know you still fancy yourself as a ladies’ man, but can you not flirt with my girlfriend please?”

“Well someone’s got to do it,” he mumbled, turning his attention over to his extensive wine rack. You laughed, incredulous, and Ben just rolled his eyes.

You sat down for lunch and gratefully tucked into the beautiful food Ben’s mum had made, making sure to to compliment her and thank her for her hospitality. You were desperately careful, as images of knocking over wine glasses or sending plates crashing to the floor with your elbow flooded through you mind’s eye. Ben felt your tension and laid a palm on your knee under the table.

He gave it a gentle squeeze and shot you a slight smile.

“Are you keeping up your drumming, Ben?” Roger asked.

His hummed his assent while he swallowed a mouthful, “Yeah, not as much as I’d like, what with work being so busy, but it’s a good stress reliever.”

“Are you a musician, Y/N?” Jodie inquired.

“No, no I’m not. I’m a music lover, for sure, but I never learnt an instrument.”

“But she has an incredible voice,” Ben interjected.

You fought a blush and admonished, “Given present company I think that’s something of an overstatement.” Roger chuckled; you felt a small glow of pride in your stomach.

“Y/N, sweetheart, tell us about yourself. What do you do?”

“Uh, I’m a film journalist. I actually met Ben to interview him for a piece.”

“So your thing is movies? Which is your favourite?” Roger asked.

You shook your head, “I can’t answer that, it’s like picking between your children.”

“That’s easy, Ben’s sister Rory, she’s the smart one.” His face was stoic but his glinting eyes betrayed him.

Ben grunted sarcastically, “Cheers Dad.”

Ben held conversation a lot of the time, knowing how nervous you were and how you struggled to make conversation with new people as it was. He talked you up wherever he found an opportunity and made it easy for you to engage. By the end of the meal some of your nerves had worn away and the gnawing in your belly was replaced with a satisfied fullness. Roger sat back, sated, and announced, “Alright Y/N, you get one question.”

You looked to Ben in confusion, “I’m sorry?”

“People are always dying to ask about Queen, and I like so you I’m going to give you one question. Make it a good one, mind, not just ‘what was Freddie like?’ Or ‘which is your favourite song?’”

“No pressure then,” you sighed. “Okay, who was best at scrabble?”

Roger laughed heartily. “Oh Brian, obviously. He got the highest score I’ve ever seen — it was ‘lacquers’ and he scored 168, the bastard. But Fred was a bit of a dark horse too. He used to just put one tile down and connect this here and that there and tot up all these points.”

His eyes glazed as the memory played out in them. He gave a sad smile, cheeks dimpling with the weight of it. “Oh the adventures of life on the road.”

You got the tour of the house after lunch; Ben showed the studio and his old bedroom and you delighted in seeing his old photos in his room. You gasped, picking one up, “Oh my gosh, Ben, is this you?”

A smiling Freddie Mercury was holding a blonde, rather pouty-looking baby.

“Yeah,” Ben smiled softly, “I never knew him properly, he died when I was still really young. But it’s pretty special to think that he knew me.”

There were more traces of Queen, and other rock ’n’ roll bands, around the room, posters and albums, and the drum kit in the corner bore the band’s logo. Photos chronicled his childhood, frequently featuring a much younger Roger. It was bizarre to you, to see that version of the man you recognised from your favourite band, holding a young boy who would grow up to become the love of your life. How strange, that those two strands of your life converged in the preserved bedroom of a teenage boy.

“I didn’t know you were such a Queen fan, Ben. You don’t talk about it much.”

Ben shrugged, “I was a bit obsessed when I was a kid. Obviously I’m still so proud of Dad, and I love the music, but I guess I’ve toned it down a bit. I’m following my own path now, but back then I wanted to be just like him.”

His hand was sat limply in his pocket, so you threaded your arm through his and kissed his cheek. “I think it’s sweet.”

“What do you think of them?”

“Your mum and dad? They’re lovely.”

“Not going to scare you off then?”

“Never,” you smiled.

Back downstairs you offered to help Jodie with the washing up while Ben and Roger talked shop in the studio about some new drum kit or other.

“You’re too good to them, letting them skip out on helping clear away,” you joked as you dried up.

“Oh I wouldn’t usually,” Jodie mused, “but Rog likes it when Ben’s home. I think he misses the kids more than he cares to admit. But I hope that means you don’t let Ben get away with not doing his fair share!”

“Absolutely it does. He’s good about it though, you taught him well.”

“I’m glad to hear it… You know, you’re the first girl he’s ever brought home to meet us,” she said, glancing at you. Your movements stilled. “I think he’s always been nervous about it. I suspect he was worried that they’d be intimidated by the whole thing, that his dad would scare them off. But he was very keen for us to meet you. He was most anxious that we make a good impression.”

Her words took you aback; you had been so worried about your own nerves that you’d barely stopped to consider his. When you came to think of it, there had been a slight tension in his shoulders, a hint of rambliness about the way he had spoken, as if he felt he had to fill the silences before they materialised.

Jodie continued, “You know, I thought you must be someone pretty special if he wanted us to meet you so badly. I’ve been very excited about it.”

You smiled meekly, pressing your lips together, “I hope I didn’t let you down.”

“Oh of course not darling, it’s been a pleasure. And it’s very sweet to see you with Ben, he looks so happy with you. I think he’s quite smitten.”

You were spared your blushes by footsteps in the doorway and Ben came in, followed by Roger, asking, “What are you two gossiping about? Already ganging up on me?”

He slipped his arm around your waist and looked down fondly at you.

“Hm, something like that,” you hummed, and returned Jodie’s knowing smile.

He leant down to whisper in your ear, “I think they like you,” and nudged your cheek with his nose.

Roger smiled, eyes sparkling, “Son, I’d say this one’s a keeper.”

#ben hardy #ben hardy imagine #ben hardy fanfic #ben hardy blurb #ben hardy au #ben hardy x reader #ben hardy x female reader #taylor!ben hardy #soft ben #roger taylor #dad!roger taylor #bohemian rhapsody #borhap #queen #the absolute shit i put in these tags #*shakes head in disappointment with myself*

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paradisobound · 5 years ago

Text

It’s Time to Begin

Summary: Dan and Phil went through hell and back when they were teenagers to fight against the evil clown. However, when they get called back to Derry, they know that the fight is just beginning again with whatever it is. But old feelings begin to get rehashed and they decide to confess something to the other before they head towards the fight for their lives.

Phan IT Part 2!Au

Word Count: 3.9k

Trigger Warnings: Mentions of violence, homophobia, emetophobia, alcohol, death (not MCD) and general horror movie elements

Written for the @phandomreversebang for the art by softphiily and beta work by @flymetomanchester!

**Read on Ao3**

A/N: I purposely left the ending as hopeful because if you've seen the movie, then you know the ending and it's extremely sad. So i left the ending ambiguous because I want people to not read this and feel sad but read this and feel hopeful for the end!

When Dan got the call that was about returning to Derry, he vomited. It wasn’t that he was feeling queasy before then, but it was because he knew what the call meant.

The call had come in from Joshua. All he said was the words, “Come back to Derry” and the words had filled Dan’s head with dread.

He was due to go into his comedy show that afternoon, but the words rattled around in his head and he failed to say anything. People booed him, and he laughed because he tried to make the best of it.

He left the stage without announcing so and vomited in the bin on stage right just behind the curtain. He prayed that the microphone on his shirt was turned off and no one could hear him.

It had been so long since he’s thought about Derry, so long since he’s left there. He was convinced that he never wanted to think of the name of that town again, and he had been successful up until this point.

Joshua had told him to take a flight to Maine but Dan was all the way in Los Angeles and was reluctant to do so. He could drag feet, pretend he didn’t actually hear the words, and move on with his life.

But that wouldn’t be fair.

Oh, yes, why wouldn’t it be fair? Dan remembered the blood pact that they had made on the other side of the Stone bridge that one afternoon all those years ago. At the thought, his hand itches and he instinctively itches his palm, raking his fingernails over the slightly raised scar.

He can’t go back. No, there is no way that he could. Too many memories. Too much trauma. Too much everything. If he goes back, that literally only means one thing: it’s back.

Dan doesn’t even want to think about it. He doesn’t want to think about any of it. He doesn’t want to think about Derry, about his former friends, and especially about what they experienced the summer when they were 14.

No, Dan refuses.

He rubs the bridge of his nose between his fingers as he managers rushes a cold bottle of water to him and he takes the damp plastic and shoves it to the nose of his neck and holds it there.

He stands up a bit straighter and makes a beeline past his manager for the table of food and drinks in the back. He grabs the first bottle of wine that he sees, some white bottle that says it’s a Moscato, and he unscrews the cap and begins to drink it down.

Alcohol is going to be the only thing that can numb his feelings tonight.

***

It all started in Derry, back in 1991.

He was a young nerdy boy who just wanted to spend his summer playing the shitty arcade games at his local theater. He’d gotten pretty good at Pac-Man and Donkey Kong that summer, setting multiple high scores just to show off to all of the weebs around him that he was the best.

But when school came around that fall, things began to change a bit more. Namely, his friend group. He’d begun to hang out with Robbie and Steven.

Robbie had a bit of a stutter, but Dan didn’t mind. He likes to pick on Robbie, and sometimes Robbie took it well, and sometimes he didn’t.

Steven was quiet, kept to himself. He was Jewish and while Dan himself wasn’t any religion, he still decided to go with his new friend occasionally to temple to see what it was all about. As they grew up, Dan was willing to always help Steven with his studies for his bar mitzvah.

And then there was Jenna and Bradley. But Dan didn’t know them as well as he knew the others. Yeah, they all hung out, but he still knew the others better.

But it was Phil who Dan liked the most. He was a little bit of a hypochondriac—well, maybe a little bit isn't the correct way to phrase that. Phil panicked a lot about anything. His mom had him conditioned to believe everything and anything was a germ and it was a miracle to Dan that Phil even lasted this long in a public school without having an actual freak out.

But there was always something about Phil that Dan never forgot. Not even all these years later, as Dan is sitting in his car in the parking lot of the studio for his show, fighting back tears as he struggles to breathe.

His phone continues to vibrate on the seat next to him, texts from Joshua rushing in asking him to come back to Derry, that Derry needs their group there to save everything.

Dan knows what is waiting for them, and he’s not sure he wants to ever face it. He had faced it once when they were kids, trying to stop the monster from hurting any other children like they had hurt Robbie’s little brother.

For many years, Dan has tried to act brave because he tried to forget about everything that had happened to them. And really, he had pretty much done that until today's text and all of the memories came flooding back.

He starts his car, turns on the radio as loud as it will go as it blasts Radiohead out of its speakers. The couple in the car next to his turn their heads and he sings alone, trying to forget and drown out the buzzing of his phone on the passenger seat.

No...he won’t go back to Derry.

He can’t go back.

***

Despite Dan’s best efforts, he finds himself in the small town he grew up in, driving past the old arcade where he held all of his records and he sees posters still tacked on the outside from the ‘90s, the last time it had ever been open. Dan’s gut aches a bit more but he’s gotten sick way too much over the last 3 days to still have anything in his stomach.

Dan books an overnight stay in the only bed and breakfast in all of Derry. He books only for one night because he has no intention of actually staying. Part of him hopes that this is all a sick joke to get all of the Losers group to meet up again but he knows deep down that’s not gonna be the case.

After all, it had been a long time since the first ordeal happened.

Dan’s not even sure if he wants to see any of his old friends. It seems like so much has happened since they left and he can’t even decipher if he wants to try and make up for lost time. Maybe the only person he would like to reconnect with is Phil, see how he’s doing, how his health is doing.

Dan laughs to himself as he sits on the edge of the bed with the key to the room in his hand. Phil...good ole’ hypochondriac Phil. Dan does miss him, miss the way he used to freak out over just touching a handrail on a staircase and immediately start dousing his body in hand sanitizer.

He hasn’t heard from Phil in years. The last time he did, he heard Phil got married. And while that’s great for him, Dan can’t help but feel the punch in his gut over the fact that Phil got married.

Mostly because Dan is still harboring a crush on him after all these years. So many years of repressed homophobic language and words. He’s not out to anyone he knows. He’s not even out to his friends back in Hollywood. The only person he is out to is himself.

Dan drops the key out of his grasp and he jumps at the clatter it makes on the hardwood floor in the way too silent room. Part of him wishes he had gotten the nerve to come out to Phil before they all left for college--which Dan dropped out of anyway. They hadn’t even said that much before they all left for their own lives. Dan just gave Phil a quick hug goodbye at graduation and gave them all a promise he’d keep in touch and then they were all gone.

A knock sounds through his door and his shoulders jump as he stands up from the bed and walks over to the door. He opens it slowly and a bit of glee jumps into his chest as he sees Jenna standing there, her strawberry blonde hair tucked behind her ear.

“Hey, Dan!” She says, a voice wavering a bit with tiredness but her eyes still bright green. “Long time no see.”

Dan nods and lets out a laugh. It’s been so long that he’s seen her that it feels a bit unreal to see her now as 30 year old than her teenage self, “You look really good!”

A loud laugh escapes her lips and she waves him off, “Stop lying.”

Dan’s really not but he laughs along. She invites herself into his room and they find themselves talking about their life from the last however many years that they haven’t had contact.

Dan learns that Jenna is going to be filing for divorce from her abusive husband soon and Dan wishes her well in that. He tells Jenna about how he has an upcoming comedy tour beginning in a few months and she jokes that she’s going to buy tickets for one of his shows in New York City.

It feels nice to catch up, but in the end, they both still sit in silence because they deep down know the real reasons why they are here right now. Jenna begins to shake a bit and Dan feels sick again but they both just smile at each other and then Jenna tells him that the others are here too. So they walk downstairs together.

It’s like a mini-reunion but upon seeing everyone standing there, he quickly realizes that they’re missing someone. Steven isn’t here. Dan looked around to make sure he wasn’t just missing him.

“Where is Steven?” Jenna asks before anyone can say anything. She folds her arms over her chest, standing next to Dan.

Robbie stands up and Dan sees the pain behind his eyes, “Steven...Steven passed away. I got an unfortunate call from his wife.”

Everyone opens and closes their mouths and Dan particularly feels the wave crash over him. Did that fucker get to Steven first? How is that even possible? Steven didn’t live around here.

“I know you guys all have questions,” Joshua says, “And I’m sure that you already have some of the answers for them too.”

Dan nods along with the others. Joshua reaches down his side and opens the messenger bag on his shoulder, pulling out a notebook. As he does this, Dan turns his head and looks at Phil for the first time since he came downstairs.

Phil looks so much different. He’s wearing a pair of glasses and his black hair is pushed back into a quiff. His body has also filled out a lot more, more muscle and more definition. And if Dan wasn’t totally in love with him when they were teenagers, he definitely is now. He still is looking at Phil when he looks down at his hand and sees that Phil’s left hand is missing a ring.

His heart stutters for a moment.

“...So you all will need to go out and get that piece to put in our sacrifice to kill it.”

Dan wasn’t listening to much of what Joshua had told all of them. But he was listening now.

“So…” Bradley asks, sitting his hips against the bar behind him. “You’re asking us all to disperse on our own to relieve our teenage trauma just to find that missing piece.”

“Yes.”

“I’m not doing that,” The voice is Phil’s. He’s stood up straighter, his body a bit more rigid. “I can’t do that.”

“How do we even know where to look?” Dan speaks up. “This town is basically vacated. None of the locations we knew as teens are still going to be here.”

“Well, you have to try,” Joshua speaks up. “Or else we’re all going to end up like Steven.”

An uncomfortable silence lingers in the air and Dan swallows back the tension in his throat. He doesn’t want to do this. This seems like such a ridiculous idea and he really wants no part of it.

“If we all don’t get our objects,” Robbie says, speaking up again, “It’s not going to work.”

“So when do we need to have these found by?” Jenna asks, uncrossing her arms from her chest.

“We should all meet here by 6 tonight,” Joshua responds, “So we can make sure everyone has their object. We’ll also need to find Steven’s.”

“How are we going to find Steven’s?” Dan asks. “There isn’t…”

“We’ll find it,” Robbie speaks up, “We--we have to.”

The stutter in Robbie’s speech brings him back to the days of his youth when Robbie had a really bad speech impediment and Dan used to pick on him about it. Of course, he regrets all of that now, but he can’t take back what he did in the past.

“Okay, let’s break up then,” Bradley says, smoothing his hand over his face.

“I’m still not going to do this,” Phil says, standing his ground. “This isn’t worth it.”

“So everyone dying is?” Joshua asks, his voice serious. “If you don’t go and find your object, we’re all going to die. There is no question about it.”

No one else says anymore. Joshua and Robbie both leave and Bradley, Phil, and Jenna are left standing there. Jenna leaves eventually too and Dan stands there with Phil. He takes one last look at Phil before he leaves and he tries to ignore that he can clearly see Phil is crying. If he stays for a second longer, he’ll start to cry as well.

***

Dan doesn’t even know where to start. He gets into his car in the parking lot of the bed and breakfast and turns on the engine. He’s not sure where he wants to go, where he should go. He supposes he can just drive around because there has to be a sign somewhere.

He ends up on the main street and he finds himself parked in front of the old arcade. He remembers this arcade so clearly. It wasn’t really an arcade, it was a movie theater with some games in the front.

But Dan treated it like an arcade. He spent many afternoons here during the school year and during the summer. He particularly loved the Donkey Kong machine and as he opens his car door, he wonders if the machine is still here.

He gets up and walks towards the front of the dilapidated building and looks at the way the broken glass glistens in the sunlight behind him. The doors are completely broken open and when he looks down at the floor just beyond them, he can see many pieces of glass.

Maybe this wasn’t the best idea for him to come here.

But then he sees it in the distance, the donkey kong game that he used to play every single summer. He laughs to himself and braves the glass as he walks inside and goes over to the dust and cobweb-covered machine.

It probably doesn’t even work still, but he wants to try it out anyway. He pulls the sleeve of his jacket down over his hands and he quickly wipes the screen off and presses some buttons. The machine suddenly boots up and he laughs at the luck. He moves the joystick to the high scores and he feels a hit of nostalgia as he sees that his initials still hold all of the top ten spots.

He kind of wants to see if he can beat his old score. Just for the hell of it. But when he presses all of the buttons, it says he needs to insert one token and he knows that those must be long gone. But he starts to look for them anyway.

He looks beside the machine and on the floor and he looks inside the coin flaps of the machines in case any were left there and never picked up again. He kicks over a few pieces of glass, trying to be careful but still eager to find a token. He suddenly finds one and picks it up, looking it over in the sunlight.

It’s the classic gold token he remembers so much, having to pay a quarter for every token back in the day and his mom only giving him $2 at a time. He used to blow through all of that to play every game for as long as possible but sometimes that didn’t happen and he’d waste his token.

Especially when the bullies started to come more and more frequently. He remembers so vividly one day in particular. It was the summer after everything had happened with it. He came to the arcade every single day to get his mind off from the horrors he experienced and he quickly became a target.

He was called a nerd for a while. Weeb became more and more of an insult. But when the words stopped working, next came the punches and Dan became accustomed to them. They started calling him a ‘fag’ or a ‘homo’ and those were what stung the most.

He would always run to try and avoid them. Normally he ended up in the park across the street because he knew that’s where he could get away from them since the bullies didn’t dare to touch him while he was in front of everyone else.

Dan falls back to the present and looks down at the token in his hand. This has to be the object he needs to give to Joshua. He felt such a strong emotion from it just by picking it up in his hand.

He walks back out of the arcade and sucks in a breath as he sees a red balloon pass by him and continue down the street.

***

Dan winds up in the park by himself, twisting the token in the pocket of his jacket. It’s so empty around here now. It’s like no one even lives here anymore but really who can blame them? After all the horrific shit that happened, he’s surprised anyone stayed at all.

He’s sitting on the bench when he hears footsteps come up to him and he sees Phil standing in front of him, his own hands in his pocket as the cool spring breeze blew through, “Did you find your object?”

Dan nods and pulls out the token from his pocket, “Arcade token.”

Phil nods and takes a seat beside him, “I found mine too. My inhaler.”

“You used to rely on that all of the time,” Dan says with a chuckle. “I remember you wouldn’t go anywhere without it.”

“Did you know I didn’t even need this?” Phil asks, pulling it out of his pocket. “I was told a few years back that I didn’t even have asthma.”

“So what were you even using that for?” Dan asks because surely that’s not healthy.

“Nothing,” Phil says with a laugh. “I was just listening to what my mom told me.”

Dan just nodded and sat there, silence between them.

“How is your wife doing?” Dan asks because he’s trying to just make polite conversation.

“Oh, we’re not together anymore,” Phil says. “We settled our divorce over a year ago.”

“I’m sorry to hear that,” Dan says biting his lip.

Phil just shrugs, “She reminded me too much of my mom.”

Dan let out a snort and Phil did too.

“Oh gosh.”

“Plus I just realized something about myself that...well, that made it so it was hard to fully be in love with her.”

Dan bites his lip and tries to not get his hopes up by what Phil means. Of course, Dan would love for his crush to be reciprocated after all of these years but he knows that that won’t ever happen.

“What about you?” Phil asks. “Never did hear much about you once you left.”

“Oh, I never really had any relationships,” Dan says at first. “I put so much focus on my comedy career and it’s finally starting to pay off. I have a big tour coming in the next few months.”

Phil smiles at him, “That’s awesome to hear.”

The wind bustles around them and the sky begins to darken as the night rolls in. Dan didn’t realize he had been out for so long. It feels like only an hour or so has passed.

“Hey, Dan,” Phil says, his voice wavering a bit, “Can I tell you something?”

Dan swallows back his feelings and nods, “Of course you can.”

Phil sucks his lips into a tight line and then opens them as he says, “It’s just...if I die here, I want someone to know this about me so I didn’t live my entire life a lie.” He takes a deep breath. “I’m gay.”

Dan fights back the smile that plays on his lips at Phil’s confession because as soon as the words sink in, Dan feels his tears well up in his eyes as well. After all, he feels the exact same way. If he dies within the next few days, no one is going to know his secret either.

“Phil, I’m gay too,” Dan says.

Phil turns to him and forces a smile on his lips as a stray tear makes its way down his cheek and Dan fights back the tears that want to spill down his as well. He takes a few deep breaths.

“Well, that wasn’t so bad,” Phil chuckles out with a watery laugh.

Dan just nods and chuckles as well, “You’re the only person who knows.”

“You too, for me,” Phil says. “I haven’t told anyone else yet.”

The sun sets a bit lower and Dan feels his phone buzz in his pocket. Just as he grabbed at his, Phil grabbed at his own as well and sighed.

“It’s from Joshua,” Phil answers. “They all have their objects and are at the hotel so we should go too.”

“So this is really happening then?” Dan says, his voice wavering more. “We’re really going to finally kill this thing then?”

Phil nods, “I guess so.”

They stand up from the bench and make their way back to the main street. They round the corner towards the arcade and Dan sees his car is still sitting there. A single red balloon is floating next to the driver’s side window.

Dan takes a deep breath and he looks at Phil next to him as he takes one as well. As they walk towards the car, their hands brush for a second and Dan fights back the tears as he realizes that this may be the last time he can have a conversation like this with Phil.

Because they may not be alive after tonight.

Dan just prays to whatever God that is above that they can finally finish this battle tonight, kill the thing that’s been torturing them, and make it out alive. Because he wants to be able to see Phil on the other side.

And as Phil looks at him too, and their hands suddenly intertwine without either of them initiating it, Dan realizes there is nothing he wants more than to get revenge and move on with his life.

It’s time.

#phan #phanfic #phanfiction #phandom reverse bang #angst #horror #au #alternate universe #princesslexi763fics

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suicidalcatz · 5 years ago

Text

Dog Days Are Over : Chap 3

AN : hi guys! A longer chapter in which we get to meet Jake for real. I had fun writing it, especially the dialogues, I hope you’ll like it. Next chapter will be next week, I’ll be abroad again but I’ll have more free time. I think we can categorize this as a slow burn / friends to lovers fic. The more I write ideas the more I know where this is going. Feel free to leave me feedback!

Pairing : Jake Kiszka x reader

Genre : College AU

Previous parts : Prologue ; Chap1 ; Chap 2

Masterlist : here

Chapter three : Mind if I join you ?

By the time I finished my assignment, birds were chirping and sunrays were piercing through the scraggy branches of the December trees. A pleasant fog had settled around school, covering the park and the fields in a white blanket. Sitting by the windowshill, legs against the radiator, I was sipping my first tea/coffee of the day, but not of the night. My eyes were pricking with the familiar sensation of tiredness. Boy I knew this school was elitist but the amount of homework was impressive, I already missed sleeping. That was the main reason Mandy and I kept skipping parties, to be honest. I went half of the time to keep in touch with people, and be a little social. Mandy went more often and I didn't know how she could cope with that already infernal routine.

We were so busy painting and sewing that we napped whenever we had the time, every minute counted, we literally had no time to waste cooking or cleaning up the room we lived in. And the worst is that it wasn't even an excuse to our laziness, it was real.

Fabric of different colors and patterns were scattered accross the floor, a huge pile of canvas was pushed to a corner, our walls had my digits on them in the form of black dots because I didn't wash my hands after doing some charcoal drawing, and Mandy's sewing mannequin fully clothed in the middle of the kitchen always threatened to give me a heart attack whenever I went to the toilet and saw it in the corner of my eye. The good thing was that living together on campus and sharing a room was way cheaper than renting a place, and the legend was true ; art students really are broke. Sure it was smaller than we had expected, especially after filling it with all of our stuff, and we had to share showers and toilets with the other residents of the dorm but hey at least we had a little kitchen.

My phone alarm started ringing softly, and I immediately set if off, still gazing outside the windows at crows eating yesterday’s french fries and students already chatting, displaying posters for the Christmas school festival, and smoking in the designated area. Mornings really were for coffee and contemplation.

It turned out that my work paid off. Receiving compliments by the teachers was harder than expected but when they did congratulate me for my work, it felt twice as good. But that gigantic illustration got me running out of paper for the next assignment. Going to the school supplies store with a portfolio half my size was a pain in the ass, and feeling this enormous thing tug on my shoulder all day long was worst, but I had no choice. It was so unpractical that I accidentally kicked someone with it.

- Sorry I wasn't paying attention.

- No prob- Oh hey it's you.

- Josh ! Hi.

It was weird hearing his voice for the first time or at least talking for the first time, after having exchanged so many notes. I got cold just by looking at him, it's like he didn't even know it was Winter. Aside from a red and white flowered jumper, who definitely didn't seem warm at all, his tight jeans were cropped and he looked as extravagant as always. He had a very unique sense of fashion and I loved it, he really didn't look out of place in this school. A glance at his hands and I saw he came to buy some guitar strings. Before I could make small chat about it in order to break the ice, he saw me and addressed it, lifting the package in front of his face.

- That's for Jake, my brother. Playing the guitar isn't a part of my numerous talents.

So his name was Jake. Nice. I've been honestly so busy with work I had forgotten about him for a moment, but noneless mentally thanked Josh and his seemingly sixth sense for making things easier for me. The clerk was grumpy per usual, so we got out of the store before he could yell at us, and continued chatting in the hallway. It wasn't anything interesting, just getting to know each other a little. Much to my surprise, it wasn't awkward like I may have imagined it to be. Josh was a nice guy with great conversation and seeing him being at ease made me feel less shy too. He suddenly got in front of me and put a hand on my shoulder.

- So sorry about that ball of paper the other day, my pitcher skills are rusty.

- Not one of your talents either ?, I teased.

His expression softened before a small grin appeared on his face, nodding and shaking his finger like I just made a point. He gave me a light tap on the shoulder as the bell rang, cue for us that we should be in front of our respective classrooms.

- Let's meet here and have lunch together with Mandy, I'll show you real talent. We get out at 1 !, he added, running in the corridor past students to go to his next class.

Fuck, I really have to tell Mandy.

Having luch together wasn't exactly what I expected. But somehow, it made sense ?

After texting Mandy something along the lines of « Saw Josh while buying paper, he wants to eat lunch with us today ??? », I wondered how he knew our names and then remembered the teacher calling us last time because we were ''disturbing class''. Yeah no wonder Jake doesn't want to hang out with us. My eyes were on the clock the whole time I was in the workshop. Even without having to meet Josh, they were always. The atmosphere was heavy, nobody was allowed to say a word, not even « bless you » when another student sneezed. And it lasted four full hours. Thank God we could eat, drink and listen to music while painting (never understood this teacher's sense of priorities) otherwise I would've fell asleep on my canvas.

By the time I got out of my misery, Mandy was already waiting for me outside, assaulting me with questions. After little deliberation we thought it was best for us to run to our room to change, one of the pros of being in a boarding school. It was noon, and Josh said he'd go out at one, that let us some time to talk and wash away the paint from my arms.

- He said we had to meet them in front of the shop, I called from under the shower.

- What do you mean « them » ?

Turning off the water, I scrubbed my eyes. Yeah, what did he mean « we » ?

- I have no clue, he was in a rush. We should ask his number next time, if he wanna meet again.

- It'll save us three a lot of paper.

Letting out a snort, I got out of the shower, catching a clean shirt Mandy threw at my face for me to wear before going to meet Josh and whoever was with him. Boy oh boy was I not disappointed when I saw Jake's silhouette from the other end of the corridor. Panicking a little and trying to be discrete, I quickly glanced at the door behind me but Mandy caught it and put her hands on my shoulders to keep me from escaping this situation. It was so uncomfortable. The hallway was painfully long, just next to the cafeteria so sometimes someone would go out and slow us down, making things even more embarrassing. They made no move to meet us halfway but Josh interrupted his conversation with his brother to wave at us with a wide movement, shaking his arm in the air, which we replied by the tiniest gesture ever, the one you make at the supermarket when you see someone you really don't want to at the moment. That tiny wave of the hand, exactly.

- Hi ladies, I took the liberty of inviting my brother to the party, as he was feeling lonely without me.

- Not really, Jake interjected.

He greeted us with a smile and a charming nod, wearing actual winter clothes, in comparision to his twin. The dark oversized sweater and grey denim jacket looked good on him, like literally everything else, and I tried not to stare.

- Hi, I'm Jake, he said to cover Josh's pouting and complaints about him lying.

- I know, I half-whispered.

I got so busy staring at his brown eyes that I replied without thinking and now he was standing in front of me with a puzzled expression on his perfect face. Mandy poked me in the ribs, trying to save what was left of the chances of him wanting to have anything to do with us.

- Josh told us about you, she said with a convincing smile. Shall we eat ?

Not very subtle, but nice attempt to change topics.

- Oh yeah, let's go ! I have found the perfect place.

The ever enthusiastic Josh took the lead and we all followed after him as he showed and introduced every corner of the school like a real tour guide, only saying bullshit instead of real historical info, but judging by his interest in Art History class we weren't really shocked. What had us three surprised however was the place we were in when he exclaimed « Voilà ! ».

- It's a staircase, pointed out Jake.

- It's a place full of possibilities, corrected Josh.

Mandy gave me a look like they were both crazy and I could tell by her face she wondered how we got into that mess. Josh sat first and his brother, defeated, did the same, sitting by his side and motionning for us to join them. The patterned floor tile was cold as hell beneath me and I had so many questions I wanted to ask but didn't dare to do so-

- So why are we eating on the stairs ?

For a second I thought I had thought out loud but it was Mandy who broke the silence.

- See ?, Josh said to his brother, Told you eating in the park was best.

Jake shook his head like he couldn't believe it before looking at us.

- This crackhead wanted to have a picnic. It's literally freezing outside.

- So eating inside was your idea ?, I asked to made sure I understood.

With a nod, he took his backpack while speaking, unwraping his lunch from its aluminium foil.

- Yup. Looks like I'm the reasonable one. Didn't know we were gonna eat here though, he added with a little apologetic gaze.

- Well excuse me sir I did my best, Josh chimed in.

We couldn't help laughing a little, as Josh angrily tore the aluminium of his sandwich. What I also couldn't help was stealing glances at Jake who was sitting in front of me, by the window. It turned out the boy was less intimidating that I first had thought. Talking to him was nice, I had the feeling that he really care about what I said, looking me in the eye and nodding, listening intently before replying. He sounded like a quiet, composed, and cultured person, and I found his presence soothing. His low, raspy voice had a serene je ne sais quoi that I couldn't really explain. To top it off, his smile, just like his brother's, was mesmerizing.

- Still, said Mandy with his mouth full after someone made them move to use the stairs, you know we could've eat at the cafeteria, right ?

She teased and Josh started shouting again that he wanted a picnic, which made us all laugh because it was the hundredth time he had to justify his poor life choices.

- Oh yeah, I just remembered !

In a second, he calmed himself and his face lit up with the look of someone who just got a great (or terrible) idea. One thing I learned is that with Josh, it could've been both, we never knew. He fumbled in his bag in search of something, squirming, making a mess, giving his half eaten sandwich to Jake for him to hold and almost knocking him out with his elbow.

- I told you I'll show you real talent, he said with his head in his bag.

Four curious eyes turned to meet my gaze and I shrugged.

- He did ?, Jake wondered.

- Yeah, it made me freak out a little.

A little laugh escaped from his lips, and it was the cutest thing I had ever heard. Not that I'll admit it out loud. Thankfully, Josh interupted my staring contest with his twin and threw a bag of cheese balls our way. The sound it made almost covered the « Oh, not again » complaint from Jake and I quirked an eyebrow. Mandy opened the bag like she was asked to.

- Shoot, I'll catch.

Jake face palmed while Josh was already in position.

- That's the talent you were talking about ?, Mandy asked unsure. I don't know why, I should be surprised, but I'm not.

He was actually pretty good at it, if that was even something to be proud of. I could see her having a good time throwing chips his way and booing the rare times he missed.

- I swear they have after school contests with our brother.

Hearing Jake talking to me made my head jerk off of Josh. Brother ? Mandy caught the same info and paused the ball throwing to look at him.

- Do you guys have another brother ?

I took a sip of water while they were explaining, taking this opportunity to look at the hour just to make sure we won't be late to our next class as we were all in different buildings.

- Oh yeah, Sam, he's studying music too, but we're not in the same grade, said Josh. People often mistake him and Jake for twins even though he's the youngest.

This info almost had me choking on water imagining another Jake but fortunately, they mistook it for outrage that people would think that. By the time the bell rang, we learned that they all were staying in the dorms too, in another building. The twins shared a room together, whereas Sam and Danny, their best friend, shared theirs. We didn't exchange numbers, since Mandy forgot to ask and I was too shy to, but when we parted ways, they both left saying « See you later ».

#gvf fic #gvf x reader #gvf imagine #gvf fanfic #jake kiszka x reader #jake kiszka fic #jake kiszka imagine #josh kiszka fic #greta van fleet fic #greta van fleet imagine #greta van fleet #jake kiszka

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ohblackdiamond · 5 years ago

Text

the end of the world tour (kiss/endgame crossover, r) (part 3/4)

part 1 | part 2 | part 3 | part 4

In this chapter: Training continues, sans Rocky montage. Peter gets some answers courtesy Gene and, maybe, Ace. Prepare the preparations.

Or, four washed-up former rockstar superheroes don the spandex of old in a last-ditch effort to save an already half-gone world. They just need a little support from a billionaire who’s not too keen on KISS interrupting his private life. Somewhat Endgame compliant.

Two days later, the visitors started to arrive.

Peter couldn’t exactly call them fans. He didn’t think they were fans, exactly—he didn’t think more than half of the younger ones even exactly knew who KISS was. But they started to creep up to the yard, phones in hand, eager for even the barest hint of superheroism.

The other guys were eating it up. Even Ace, who wasn’t quite as introverted as Paul but still relished his time alone, started showing the visitors around the backyard like it was some kind of grand tour (unsurprisingly, the only sacrosanct portion was his spaceship, roped off as if it were the Venus de Milo—“’m sorry, you can’t touch it, but if you wanna stand over there and take a picture, you can”). He only looked mildly taken aback when a couple of the visitors got brave enough to go from sneaking around the yard to actually knocking at the front door.

“Don’t let them in,” Pete snapped, watching Ace get up on automatic to answer. Ace only offered him a lazy shrug.

“Why not?”

“You know why not. We’ll never get rid of them.”

“They ain’t gonna stay, Peter,” Ace started, interrupted by Paul hurriedly half-tripping down the stairs, having to grab onto the railing. The six-inch, star-encrusted heels of his Alive outfit seemed to be giving him trouble.

“Don’t answer it yet!” he called out, looking from Ace to Peter. “Don’t answer until you’re in costume!”

“Paul, you vain bastard—”

“I’m not being vain! You’ll ruin the mystique!”

“What’s the point? They all know we’re old!”

“That’s not what I mean! Ace, how the hell is anyone gonna have any faith in us saving the world if you answer the door like that ?”

Ace shot a brief, amused look Peter’s way just before a puff of blue smoke obscured him from sight. A second later, Ace emerged, in the facepaint and a purple, velvet onesie.

Paul looked as if he were about to have an aneurysm.

“ No ! That’s not even one of our outfits! How did you—”

“Don’t have to be. You can do any outfit you wanna.” Ace paused. “C’mon, Paulie, you didn’t just think we were stuck with the tour shit, did you? What kinda superhero only gets six costumes?”

The rapping from the other side of the door continued.

“Oh, come on, are you telling me if I want my black leather overalls back, all I have to do is—”

“I dunno if I’d recommend ’em, Paulie, but—” Ace stopped again, yanking open the door. “Hey, how you doing?”

The kid at the door—he couldn’t have been more than ten or eleven, by Peter’s reckoning—seemed to mostly be his dwarfed by his own mass of curly red hair, his face plastered with freckles. He just stared at the three of them, mouth a small round o of surprise.

“I didn’t think you’d open it!”

Paul was mumbling under his breath, gesticulating to Peter with about as much subtlety as a conductor during Handel’s “Messiah.” Transform , he was mouthing. Peter ignored him.

“Well, we don’t always, but…” Ace trailed, grinning. “How’d you hear about us, huh?”

The redheaded kid shrugged.

“Somebody at school said you were supposed to be fixing everything.”

“Yeah?” Ace’s expression didn’t shift a single centimeter.

“Uh-huh. They said you were gonna be the Avengers’ secret weapon and they’d pulled you out of the freezer like Captain America.”

Peter glanced over at Paul, who was still standing halfway down the staircase. From Paul’s expression, it was patently clear that the sheer amount of interviews, meet and greets, and impromptu hobknobbing he’d endured over the last forty years was all that was keeping him straight-faced.

“We didn’t get pulled out of the freezer,” Paul managed after a moment.

“I guess he didn’t,” said the kid, pointing to Peter. Before Peter could respond, but not before Paul and Ace started to snort, he continued. “Are you, though? Are you guys really gonna do it?”

“We—”

“I got a sister,” and the kid wasn’t looking at either of them now. Peter waited, expectant, a rock forming somewhere in his gut. He knew the story before the kid could tell it. He was sure of it. Just as sure of it, just as uselessly sure of it as he ever had been during their cancer ward visits. The kids all hoping just because KISS had come by, that maybe everything was going to be all right, even as they lay there hooked up to IVs and a half-dozen machines. Even as they lay there dying. The kid swallowed. “She… wouldn’t be coming back even if you did save everybody.”

“I’m sorry.” It was Paul. He’d said it before Peter could. He wasn’t looking the kid in the eye, either, Peter noticed. Just staring at the door directly behind him. Peter’s gut was lurching. He’d been wrong. She hadn’t disappeared from existence. She’d died before.

The kid didn’t say anything for a few seconds that seemed to stretch and pull like taffy. Ace’s lips were pursed so tight the black of his lipstick seemed barely-there. The cloistered existences they’d led the last five years, trying so hard to avoid pain when it enveloped everything around them. Everything past them. Consumed in their own grief, unable or unwilling or both to really acknowledge the real human toll of it for fear it would break them. Everyone on Earth had lost someone. Some had lost everyone. And some just watched as the ones left behind followed after.

Peter was almost starting to get it. Some of it. For Gene and Paul and Ace, FER probably hadn’t only been an exercise in talisman abuse and easy lays. Stupid as it was, hedonistic and disastrous as it was, trying to make a life in a dying world… it must have warmed them. It must have made them feel good for more than just the afterglow.

“I’m gonna see her again someday.” The kid finally glanced up from the floor. “Not for a long time. But I will.” An exhale. “You’re gonna try, right? You’re gonna try to fix everything.”

“We’re gonna try,” Peter said, throat feeling warm and thick and too-heavy.

“Okay.” And he was starting to smile, dimples pushing into the freckles on his face. “That’s good.” He hesitated. “Oh, uh…”

“Yeah?”

And he pushed his phone forward.

“Could I get a selfie? The kids at school won’t believe me unless I get a selfie.”

It might have been the most questionable selfie Peter had been a part of in his life.

“I told you to get in costume,” Paul mumbled as he held up the phone for the picture, putting his free arm behind Peter’s shoulder on idle default, “but no —”

Begrudgingly, with that utterly inevitable puff of green smoke signaling everything, Peter got into costume. Well. He got into the cat-embroidered jacket and cutout leotard he’d worn when it was too cold to go sleeveless. The kid’s eyes went buggy. Paul looked deeply offended. Ace just snickered.

“None of us match at all,” Paul said flatly.

“I don’t care. Take the picture.”

“Fine.” Paul was still fiddling with the angle, unsurprisingly, tilting his head as he stared at the camera. Peter waited for about fifteen seconds—fifteen seconds too long for Ace, who snatched the phone from Paul and snapped the picture before he could grab it back. Paul looked as if he were about to snag it back, or at least argue, but instead he just let Ace hand the phone back to the kid—after leaning over to inspect the selfie first.

“It pass inspection, Paul?” Ace lilted.

“It’s good enough,” Paul muttered, before turning his attention back to the visitor. “Anything else you’d like? Autographs? Posters?”

The kid nodded shyly, and Paul immediately scrambled for merchandise. For once, Peter was profoundly grateful Gene was gone on an errand run. The man might have tried to sell the poor kid some of those KISS-branded air guitar strings he still had in the basement.

Things quieted down faster than Peter had expected them to. A few weeks of buzzing activity, a few weeks of impromptu, free meet-and-greets, and then the visitors retreated again. Fickle. No attention span. No second tidal wave of KISSteria overwhelming their half-gone world. Peter found he didn’t really mind. Workouts and training were a lot easier to focus on without being stared at or recorded.

He’d spent an hour or so downstairs, fiddling absentmindedly at the piano, digging through old memorabilia and guitars, before coming back up to the main floor to start on dinner. His assigned day again. Gene was the only one hanging around the kitchen by the time Peter got there.

“Where’re Ace and Paul?”

“Trying to fix the spaceship.”

“They getting anywhere with it?”

“I doubt it. Ace didn’t get out the blowtorch.”

Peter snorted in reply.

“Three more months, he said. S’like how he used to say his next album was coming out in the spring. Only it was ten springs in a row, the lazy bastard.”

Gene shrugged.

“I can’t remember the last time he asked one of us to help with it.”

“I wouldn’t want us helping with it. C’mon, Gene, none of us have any business fooling with that shit when we barely know how to top off the oil tank in the car.”

“What’s gotten you so pissed-off this late in the afternoon?”

“You know what.”

“Peter, I really don’t—”

“Things are getting screwed-up again,” Peter said dryly.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. The connection bullshit’s back just like it used to be. Don’t you feel it?”

It was a moot question. Of course Gene could feel it. That weird bleeding in of everyone’s emotional states into a messy, almost indistinguishable puddle. Getting so in-tune it got creepy, borderline empathic. It was the one thing about their crimefighting days that Peter hadn’t missed much at all.

“I’m feeling it.”

“Somebody’s keyed-up as hell. And it’s not me, so it’s got to be either you or Paul or Ace…”

“It’s probably Paul.”

“Paul’s always anxious! What’s he got to be so nerved-out about?” Peter groused, yanking the trash bag out of the garbage can, tying it off, and setting it down on the floor. “Shit, I thought he might be feeling better these days.”

Gene shrugged.

“He’s sensitive.”

“Ace is, too, the big difference is he has a sense of humor about it,” Peter grumbled, heading outside with the trash bag in tow, still calling out to Gene as he toted it out. “I don’t like feeling antsy just because someone else is antsy. I’ll tell them both that as soon as they get in.”

“Don’t do that. There’s probably a reason.”

“Reason, my ass. My blood pressure’s high enough without Paulie dialing it up with all his fucking feelings.” Peter returned, only to find Gene had, surprisingly, replaced the trash bag while he was out. “What’d you want for dinner?”

“Do we still have any of that steak left?”

“Yeah. Probably enough for a stir-fry.” Peter opened up one of the cabinets by the stove, taking out a cutting board and a frying pan. Wok , he could almost hear Paul correcting. If it got the job done, the proper terminology didn’t matter. Mentally, he started to tally the vegetables they had on hand to toss in. Onions, peppers… maybe some mushrooms. He wasn’t after authenticity so much as getting rid of as much produce as possible. Boil up some rice, and it wouldn’t be a bad meal.

“Brownies would be good, too.”

“I didn’t buy any mix.”

“I did.” Gene dug it out of the pantry, along with a bottle of oil. Peter rolled his eyes.

“You know none of the workouts we do in costume do a damn thing for any of us out of costume, right?”

“I know. I just don’t care.” Gene was already taking the egg carton out of the refrigerator, absolutely shameless. Peter shook his head slowly, watching Gene set the ingredients out on the counter. “Figure we’ve earned it.”

“You’re gonna get diabetes, man.”

“I’ll live to be a hundred. I’ve got great… genes.” Gene said it with his usual dry, obnoxious self-assurance, familiar enough that Peter had long stopped minding it. He expected Gene to get out a bowl next, but instead, he went and plugged in the record player on the other side of the kitchen. Peter could hear him cross over into the living room, and knew he was probably pilfering through their records. “This’ll help your blood pressure. What album do you want?”

“Anything that isn’t us.”

Gene nodded, walking back into the kitchen with a ratty copy of the Beatles’ Yesterday and Today . Peter winced.

“Okay, anything that isn’t us or the fucking Beatles.”

“Best two names in rock and roll.”

Peter rolled his eyes. Gene set the album down on the kitchen table, still looking at Peter, which was a bit of a surprise. Peter had expected him to dig out another album and put it on the player, regardless of his opinion on the matter. But no, he was waiting on Peter to pick.

“One of the Krupa records is fine.”

“All right.”

Gene crossed back over to the living room, got another album out, and put it on the turntable. Peter recognized it after the first few bars as Burnin’ Beat. He sighed and retrieved the leftover steak and vegetables from the fridge, started to chop the steak into strips while Gene began mixing up the brownie batter. Peter’s arthritis wasn’t treating him half so badly this evening.

It was always a different kind of silence with Gene than it was with Ace or Paul. Strangely easier to handle. Gene wasn’t off in an avoidant, self-inflicted orbit like Ace, or stuck chronically ruminating like Paul. Gene was always thinking ahead. Always moving forward. Sometimes it aggravated the shit out of Peter, and sometimes it was just what he needed to be around.

“The talismans expose the true selves of the holders,” Gene said finally, as he poured a frankly disastrous amount of mini M&Ms and broken-up Hershey bars into the batter. “Did you ever give that any thought?”

“No. Not until the last couple months.” Peter shrugged. “I didn’t think about it back then. We’d been doing the makeup before we got the talismans.”

Nothing Gene didn’t already know. They’d mapped out rough designs themselves in a desperate bid for a gimmick. Something to get them noticed. The regular genderbending schtick they’d tried before, with the four of them in heavy blush and eyeliner and lipstick, hadn’t suited anyone but Ace. They hadn’t looked like they were tearing down the establishment, blurring the lines between male and female, any of that—they’d just looked sad. Putting on the white greasepaint had been the turning point they needed. The talismans just sealed the deal.

“I’ve thought about it a long time.” Gene’s voice, always quiet and deceptively even, got a little lower, as if there was any likelihood Ace and Paul could hear him from out in the backyard. “It’s a great origin story. Struggling band gets magic powers, becomes successful superhero musicians. But…”

“But what?”

“When your true self wears more makeup and higher heels than Frank-n-Furter, that’s concerning.”

“Like Stark’s Iron Man crap is any better.” Peter crooked a smile. “He doesn’t even have a codpiece.”

Gene snorted. He only looked marginally more at ease.

“That’s not exactly it.” He paused. “We were still wearing the outfits and makeup five years ago. Paul and Eric and Tommy and I.”

“Yeah, I know.” God, did he know. Peter didn’t even remember—or didn’t want to remember—when he’d signed over his makeup rights. He hadn’t been thinking about crimefighting then. None of them had. He just remembered disgust roiling in his stomach as he’d watched the band go on without him for the second and then the third time in a fucking row.

“It was getting to me. Getting to all of us—Paul won’t admit it, but…” Gene trailed uncharacteristically. “It was starting to feel like a parody.”

“ Starting to?” Peter snorted. Gene, surprisingly, didn’t look too ruffled.

“Yeah. At first, I thought I was fine with that. We’d been running off nostalgia since the nineties. If people were still paying to see us, who the fuck cared if I wasn’t stomping around anymore? If Paul wasn’t jumping all over the stage? Who—”

“Gene, the only reason either of you stopped that was because wasn’t turned into couldn’t .” Peter tossed the steak into the frying pan, started to chop the mushrooms, just dropping them into the pan, not bothering with the cutting board. “Didn’t matter how many tickets you sold. You couldn’t buy your way back to ’76.”

“That isn’t what I meant.” Gene’s eyes, always so appallingly focused, weren’t on Peter for once. “Fuck, if dignity was in KISS’ vocabulary, we would have folded our first concert in drag. I didn’t care about getting old and looking like crap onstage. I didn’t want to buy my way back to ’76.”

“Then what did you want?”

“Shit, you wouldn’t believe me if I told you.”

“Try me.”

“I wanted to hang it up.” Gene was pouring the batter into the pan now, smoothing it over more than he needed to with the back of a spoon, his mouth pursed tightly. He hadn’t even taken a taste of it yet. Peter knew exactly how poor a sign that was.

“You’ve wanted to hang it up before. You even said you would. Remember the Farewell Tour?”

“ Really hang it up. No more KISS, no more concerts—I was tired of it. Maybe Mick Jagger can keep on croaking ‘Satisfaction,’ but—”

“But Paul can’t get through ‘Detroit Rock City.’”

“Don’t tell him that. It’d kill him.”

“He already knows it.” Peter paused. Started chopping up the peppers and onions and dropping them into the wok, which was hissing with every new addition. A thought had come to him, one he’d mulled over for ages, but hadn’t dared mention until now. “Gene?”

“Yeah?” Gene had finally put the brownie pan into the oven.

“Was that the real reason for all the Hall of Fame crap? Was that why we didn’t play?”

“Peter,” Gene started.

“It was, wasn’t it? Why the hell didn’t you say so? I thought it was just the usual bullshit. Don’t let me and Ace play with you and Paul or everyone’ll be begging for another Reunion Tour. If I’d known—”

“That—”

“You should’ve said ! Did we really hate each other that bad? Was Paul that fucking scared of what we’d say? Were you?”

“Peter, at this point—”

“If you’d said, I might’ve understood. But Christ, Gene, just refusing without a reason was fucking awful. I didn’t wanna see any of the rest of you outside of a funeral home ever again.”

“I’m pretty sure we were all thinking that.” Gene sounded as if he were trying to force out a snort. “Even Paul and I didn’t coordinate suits.”

“The hell did you two have to be sore about? Did you insult one of his paintings?”

Gene just shrugged.

“We’re basically brothers, we have our disagreements.”

“Cut the crap, Gene, Paul ain’t ever been your brother. He’s your princess.”

“Fine, whatever.” The Krupa record slowed to a stop. Peter peered over as Gene turned it over and set the needle back down. “What happened at the Hall of Fame was a mistake.”

“You’re damn right it was.”

“But I didn’t get to dwell on it. We were in the middle of touring when…” Gene swallowed thickly. Peter knew he wasn’t about to detail him and Paul’s falling out. When without a specification always meant five years ago. Another four-letter-word for half of humanity disappearing in front of them. “But I figured it out before then. I’m serious, I really did. I was out there doing the fucking ‘God of Thunder’ routine and all of a sudden…” Gene shook his head, looking almost bewildered. “I realized I could not give less of a shit.”

“You? Are you serious?” Peter did snort. “C’mon, you’ve gone onstage sick as a dog before, don’t tell me you—”

“I’m serious. It was terrifying. You don’t—” Another shake of his head. “The audience wasn’t feeding me anymore. I wasn’t feeding them. I realized that the show didn’t really become a show until we stopped believing in it. I’d stopped believing in it.”

“So what changed your mind?” Peter turned down the heat on the stovetop, absently pushing a spatula through the stir-fry. Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed that Gene had gotten out the soy sauce for him. “What made you believe in it enough to get the talismans back out?”

“I don’t know.”

“What do you mean, you don’t know?”

Gene hesitated. Rare to see him hesitate. He looked as if he were about to deliver another practiced interview sermon, and Peter prepared himself for it, but it didn’t happen.

“I wanted to see for myself. Prove there might still be some magic there.” His lip was twitching. Peter shifted closer as Gene continued. “After everything, I needed it. But I didn’t want to get them out alone, I don’t know why. I suppose I was just afraid of nothing happening.”

“You really thought nothing would happen?”

Gene raised an eyebrow.

“Nothing had happened since ’80.”

“Nothing at all?”

“They’d just glow a little sometimes. I didn’t expect that much, but I was hoping for it. So I asked Paul to come up to the attic with me. I said I was wanting to look through some old pictures, maybe get something together for a KISS coffee table book—”

“And he believed you?”

“Of course not, but he came up there. Once I pulled out the box, he didn’t hesitate. He told me to go ahead and open it up.” Gene’s mouth twitched. “They were glowing, all right. They hadn’t been that bright in years. I’m not sure which one of us reached in and grabbed his talisman first.”

“Then you decided after that to join FER?”

Gene didn’t look too abashed.

“Yeah, I found an article on it a few days later. I showed it to Paul, then we told Ace, put in our applications and started in, then you found out, and the rest is—”

“If you say KISStory, you’re not getting dinner.’

“That’s fine. I’ll just eat the brownies.”

Ace and Paul returned a few minutes later, after the stir-fry was done but before the brownies were ready. They both looked weirdly drained, almost down, Paul stiffly pulling out his chair and sitting at the table without a word.

“How’s the spaceship?” Gene asked.

“Outlook not so good, Curly,” Ace mumbled, walking over on automatic to the sink, retrieving the bowl Gene had used to mix the brownie batter in. He started scraping a spoon up the sides, seemingly unaware that Gene had, for once, actually half-filled the bowl with water and dish soap, even if he hadn’t washed it. Paul threw him an acrid look. “But we’ll see, y’know?”

Peter didn’t bother to plate the stir fry, just put the wok itself on top of an oven mitt on the table. He did the same with the rice bowl a moment later. No need to clean more dishes than he had to.

“We’ll see,” Gene agreed, glancing Peter’s way. “Look, if you want us all to help, just let us know.”

“Nah, Geno, it’s—” Ace had put that first absentminded spoonful of water, batter, and suds in his mouth, and immediately spat it out. “ Shit! ”

Gene barely suppressed a laugh.

“Sorry—”

“Jesus,” Ace mumbled. “You usually just leave it in the sink and don’t fill it up…” he trailed, dropping the spoon back into the bowl and heading over to sit at the kitchen table across from Paul.

“If you didn’t get anywhere with the ship, what were you doing in there?”

Paul looked like he was about to say something, but then he just reached over and spooned out some of the stir-fry from the wok, staring at the vegetables like they had personally offended him. Peter had to swallow back a spiteful comment—God, Paul probably thought he’d overcooked the onions or some stupid shit like that—but then Ace piped up again.

“Well, we talked about flying. ’S kind of the one thing we still haven’t tried yet.”

Gene nodded, checked the brownies, and then got his plate, scooping up rice and the stir-fry in generous portions. Peter followed suit, a little warily, taking his usual spot next to Ace.

“Flying would give us one over half the Avengers.” Peter glanced over at Gene, trying to gauge his reaction first. For all his fear of heights, Gene barely flinched. Consummate professional. Or maybe he was just thinking about the brownies.

“Yeah. We’ve been putting it off too long.” Gene stuck a forkful of rice in his mouth. “Let’s review the tapes after dinner and start practicing tomorrow.”

“Review the tapes? C’mon, Gene, we’ve been doing that for ages! You just don’t wanna—"

“I do want to. First thing tomorrow.” Gene took a swig of water. Peter’s gaze went from Gene to Paul and then over to Ace, and he shook his head.

“You mean it?”

“I mean it. I’ve even got the equipment ready.”

---

“Gene, when you said equipment, I thought you meant a bungee cord.”

Gene just grinned widely. Gene’s idea of equipment had been a whole lot more useless.

Gene’s idea of equipment had been lugging the trampoline out of the garage.

And as good as it was to get an excuse to peel off their six-inch heels, and as entertaining as it was to jump on the trampoline, Peter had to admit it wasn’t getting either of them airborne. But it was giving them an excellent vantage point to watch the other two.

“We could be trying it up there.” Peter gestured, maybe unnecessarily, to Paul and Ace, who were perched, and arguing, on top of the third story roof. “You hear them, right?”

“How could I not fucking hear them,” Gene mumbled.

“Pauuuulieee. C’mon. You trust me?”

“We’re almost fifty feet off the ground!”

“It’s like with a baby! You put ’em in the pool and they’ll have to swim!”

“Ace, how the fuck did you ever have a kid—”

“Same way you did. Well, sorta.” Ace started laughing, shaking his head. “Relax, man. Just relax. You’ll be fine. We’ll both be fine. Look, if we’re about to crash I’ll teleport us both back down, okay?” Peter couldn’t see it from where he was, but deep down he was sure Ace was winking.

“I don’t see how he talked Paul into this,” Gene said.

“They’ve been hanging out more lately.” Peter wasn’t sure why. They hadn’t made another room switch or anything. Then again, Paul and Ace hadn’t ever had any major row between them, either. He managed a backflip, to his own surprise. “And they knew you were going to wuss out.”

“You’re not up there, either.”

“I will be once they get it,” Peter retorted. Right now, the scene on the roof was too entertaining to miss. Paul was wobbling slightly on the roof, grabbing onto Ace’s arm in an attempt to steady himself. Unfortunately, and predictably, Ace was wobbling, too.

“Ace, c’mon, this was a bad idea, let’s—c’mon, man, just teleport us back do—”

“Uh-uh, Paulie. Where’s your sense of adventure?”

“You do know I’ve had my hip replaced twice, don’t you?”

“I thought it was three times.” Ace was laughing. Worse, he was swaying. Paul hanging onto him was only making them both more off-balance, teetering towards the edge of the rooftop. But Ace was talking just as easily as if they were safely on the ground. “Two makes more sense. I always wondered how the hell you could break a titanium one—"

“I didn— fuck !” Paul screamed, clutching Ace with both arms as they fell off the roof together. Peter and Gene scrambled off the trampoline, running out to catch them—stupidly, neither of them had thought they’d need to—only to watch them swoop down, and then hover, six or seven feet from the ground.

By that time, Peter was pretty sure that Paul’s face at least had probably gone almost as pale as the greasepaint. He watched as Paul slowly loosened his grip on Ace and then let go entirely, eyes wide, smile spreading even wider as he realized he was still in the air. They both were.

“Ace, we—I—”

“See? I told you!” Ace was letting himself sink down further, barely hovering more than a few inches from the ground before landing in front of Peter and Gene. “I told you, just like a baby.”

“Gene! Gene, look, I’m doing it!”

Gene still had his arms out, hovering half-remembered, as if part of him still thought Paul was about to fall. He didn’t get a single word out before Paul dove down straight toward him, gathering Gene up in his arms and lifting him into the air with him, gradually higher and higher, laughing softly, excitedly. Peter half-expected Gene to start screaming, or at least be clutching Paul for dear life, but he wasn’t. The higher up Paul took him, the more relaxed Gene seemed to get. The looser their grip on each other became. Gene’s arms went from around Paul’s waist to up around his shoulders—then, finally, just as it was getting harder for Peter to get a detailed look, Gene caught Paul’s hands in his own.

Both of them flying now.

Peter watched them, shaking his head a little, for a few seconds more. They’d land eventually. It took him a bit—it took Ace tugging at his sleeve—before he looked down again. There was a weird winsomeness to Ace’s expression, almost a longing, that made something in Peter itch and ache all at once. But then it faded nearly as soon as it appeared, and Ace’s old, sleepy-eyed grin was back on his face.

“Your turn, Cat. Get your heels on.” He winked. “Don’t worry, I got a whole other rooftop for us to jump off of.”

Ace had teleported him as soon as he'd yanked on his boots. Peter knew where they were almost before he’d opened his eyes. Almost like a bottom of the barrel sense. Or maybe it was just the connection bullshit, letting him dig into Ace’s mind without even wanting to. But Peter didn’t think that was all of it. He could recognize this place anywhere. Anytime. The oldest of their stomping grounds as a band. Jimi Hendrix’s old studio in Greenwich Village. The Electric Lady .

They’d never done a photoshoot on the roof or anything. There wasn’t even much physical evidence left that they’d been there at all, besides the records themselves. Just a couple photos from their own albums, mostly, that had gotten scattered like confetti across the internet. Photos from those early, early recording sessions, when they were four nobodies that occasionally drove cabs and taught school and fought petty crime. When they weren’t much better than four kids.

The memories themselves were so intoxicating they were painful. It wasn’t just where they’d first recorded. It was where Peter had first met up with Gene and Paul, before he’d even auditioned for KISS. That made the Electric Lady almost sacrosanct even when he felt most embittered about the band, about the guys. And he wasn’t alone in his sentimentality. Gene and Paul had continued to record there occasionally in the early eighties, too, unable to avoid their own nostalgia.

Peter sat down on the roof, letting his legs dangle off the edge. Ace did, too, swinging them back and forth over the side like a little kid. They sat there in silence at first, watching the people, the traffic. The old, harried energy of Greenwich Village was gone. The weirdness, the newness. The hope.

“It’s not like it was,” Peter said finally.

“You think it was gonna be?”

“No, but I wanted it to be.”

Ace crooked a small smile.

“Y’know, back… aw, hell, it was probably five, six years after the Reunion tour… I was talking to Bobby.”

“You made up with him after that shitty book he wrote?”

“Kind of. It went sour again, dunno.” Ace paused. “Anyway, I was talking to him, and he said to me, he said, ‘Paul, you won’t believe it, I climbed a telephone pole the other day.’”

“The fuck did he do that for?”

“That’s exactly what I asked him. Word for fucking word.” A short, eerie laugh. “He said, ‘to prove I still could.’ He had to’ve been at least fifty then… fifty and climbing telephone poles. I thought it was stupid. But here I am, sixty-eight and—”

“Sixty-eight and flying is pretty good, Ace, I gotta say.”

Ace laughed a little longer.

“Yeah, well. S’like with anything else, all I need is a little motivation.” He was starting to lean his shoulder against Peter’s, just a bit, casual and easy. Pointing at the people going by, the cars going by. “It could be the same. You just gotta squint pretty hard. Get rid of the gentrification and shit… stick the kids in bell bottoms…”

“Can’t do it.”

“Sure, you can.”

“It’s gone, Ace. Can’t bring it back.”

“You can try.”

“Nah. Don’t it make you wanna go home, now,” Peter half-sang under his breath, “don’t it make you wanna go home—”

“All God’s children get weary when they roam,” Ace kept on with the old Joe South chorus, tuneless as always, “God, how I wanna go home… didja have that record, Pete? I had the 45 way back …”

“Lydia’d only give me a three-buck allowance, Ace, what do you think?” Peter laughed quietly.

“Three bucks? You told me it was a dollar-fifty, man!” Ace shook his head. “Shit, and poor Paulie always bringing you by sandwiches back then ’cause he thought you really were a starving fucking musician—”

“Hey, I didn’t ask for those—"

“I know. He was real sweet. Still is, you just gotta give him a minute to relax.”

“Or five years.” It came out more aggressively than Peter meant it to, and he glanced away, staring at the streets beneath them. Half-full like all the rest of the world. Even the cars looked dismal. None of that toked-up brightness he remembered, none of that hope. The part-time cabbies replaced by Uber drivers, the flowerchildren turned geriatric and bitter with the passage of time. He shook his head.

“Don’t take that long. Just takes being gentle. Gene’s always been real gentle with Paul.” Ace said it without any real rancor. Just matter-of-fact.

“Gentle, my ass. You mean he lets Paul do whatever the fuck he wants. Fucking bends over for him anytime, every time—”

Ace snickered.

“Didn’t used to—”

“Jesus, Ace, don’t remind me.” Peter winced as if the memory of it was really so awful. Or awful at all. He’d never actually witnessed that much out of Paul and Gene back in the seventies. They’d been about as exclusive as rabbits in heat, anyway. What they’d had, what they still had, Peter didn’t envy. “Doesn’t it piss you off?”

“Nah.” Ace shrugged. “Wouldn’t know what to do if somebody treated me like that. I used to think Gene was trying to make up for something, y’know?”

“He is.”

Ace shrugged again. Peter let the silence hang in the air for a moment or two before changing the subject.

“Hey, Ace?”

“Yeah?”

“Let’s say this all works out and we bring everybody back. What’re we really gonna do after? Where are we gonna go?”

“Jen—”

“No, really.” Peter paused. His throat felt sticky. “Where are we going to live?”

“Pete, we both got a couple million in the bank, we ain’t gonna be homeless—”

“I know we ain’t gonna be homeless, but we ain’t all gonna be living under the same roof anymore, either.”

Ace’s brow started to furrow up.

“I dunno.”

“What if Paul and Gene want to move back to Beverly Hills with their families? We couldn’t afford it out there.” The disparity between their incomes hadn’t been a big deal in five years, with all their relatively communal living. Especially at first, Gene had taken it upon himself to cover most of the expenditures. Then, once Paul had his bearings back enough to at least glance at legal documents long enough to scribble his signature on them, the two of them had mostly split everything in half. Everything but groceries and gas, really. To Peter, it hadn’t felt like they were living off of someone else’s charity, not at all. But in the real world, in a world back to the way it was… “What we’ve got here is gonna go away.”

“Nah, it won’t.” Ace sounded more self-assured than Peter could readily believe. “You think all it’ll take is us not living together to split us up? Shit, Peter, before the last couple years, we only lived together on the road, and—”

“That’s different, though!”

“’S not.” Stretching out, Ace looked over at Peter, brown eyes focused laser-sharp on his face. “We don’t all got a bond because we’re all in the same house. We don’t got a bond because of the talismans, either. We got a bond because—”

“I know.”

Ace’s lips pursed.

“I—”

Peter reached a hand out, catching Ace’s before he could finish. Ace’s expression tensed, then started to soften, slowly, almost imperceptibly. He nodded, and before long, they both stood up, there on the roof of the Electric Lady , there in six-inch heels and leather, hands still clasped.

“You ready, Cat?” Ace started to smile. “I got you no matter what.”

“’M not afraid of heights,” Peter muttered. “You wanna do a countdown?”

“Nah, you make the time—”

“One, two—three—”

Peter felt the brief, awful lurch of falling for hardly a second at best. Then he was hovering, buoyed up by—he didn’t even know. All he knew was the sharpness of the breeze searing through his skin, blowing back his hair. All he felt was that wonderful weightlessness, that ease, trickling down his spine, heady as a glass of champagne. Unreal.

Ace’s hand tightened around his.

“You gonna fly, Peter, or are we just gonna hang around here?”

Peter only yanked him up with him. Ace’s cackles seemed to soar to the heavens, up and up as they flew higher. Story after story. The people below, and then the buildings, got dimmer and dimmer, blurring out beneath them into pavement gray, each skyscraper like a glittering stalagmite pushing up to the surface as the afternoon sun shot through.

#kiss the band #kiss fanfiction #peter criss #ace frehley #paul stanley #gene simmons

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