#this has sat in my drafts for ten fucking months i need to release it like a creature into the wild

[goodnightsocialitemp3]

dallon and breezy are milf4milf. hello

[1kook]

kissanime & foreplay

this is part of my netflix & chill collection !

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

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

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

—

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

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

And of course, Doyeon.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Jungkook scoffs. “Yes.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Kook,” you whine childishly.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But, this moment…

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

—

epilogue 

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

—

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

[alexiessan]

Never alone - Chapter Two - Soulmate AU

AO3

Previous - Here - Next

Master List

Hello! Faster than ever before, I present you the second chapter of Never Alone!

I chose to not describe Marinette with her clothes or hairstyle so that you can imagine her as you want! In my mind, since she's a fashion designer, I imagine her always changing her clothes and very fashionable. I don't see her with her pigtails either. But it's up to you as to how you see her!

Also, I'm French, so if there are any grammatical mistakes, do not hesitate to tell me so I can come back and correct them!

Two months in the new school year, and Marinette was already exhausted. While she had a very calm summer filled with outings with her friends, she was now drowning in work. Jagged wanted her to design his newest album cover, and Clara Nightingale has asked for a new outfit for a music video.

 At school, Alya and Marinette were doing their best to find a good trip for the end of the year. The school had a decent amount of money that was set aside specifically for their class trip, but they would need to organize an event or two if they wanted to go somewhere outside of Europe. They were lucky enough that their class’ trip was set for their first year of high school: Mrs. Mendelieiv’s class’ trip was set for the next year, right before the first set of exams for the baccalaureat. 

 Along with all that, there was also her duty as Ladybug. Hawkmoth has been relatively calm during the summer, but as soon as school started again in September, he released his akumas again.

 Except, now, they were more brutal than ever before.

 Ladybug cursed as the Akuma managed to deeply cut her on her left side. She watched as Chat jumped in as she collapsed on the roof they were battling. True to his promise, Chat took his job more seriously and only joked during patrols now. He also stopped to jump mindlessly in front of her to save her from a hit and actually tried to get both of them out of the way.

 The Akuma they were fighting was a dangerous one. His arm has been transformed into two big shears, and they hurt like hell.

 Ladybug watched with fascination as her hand was tainted with her own blood. She couldn’t remember if an Akuma had hurt her that much before… She knew for sure that she was bleeding too heavily and she was getting a bit dizzy. They would need to end the fight very soon.

 Standing up, she took advantage of the distraction Chat provided to trip the Akuma with her yoyo, succeeding in tripping him. Quickly, Chat snatched the man’s bow and used cataclysm on it.

 As she cleansed the Akuma and watched the light heal Paris and herself as she cast the cure, the red-clothed superhero couldn’t help but think it was time to contact the Justice League again.

 Back when they got their miraculous, she and Chat had contacted the Justice League of Europe to ask for help. They were just teenagers without any training entrusted to protect a whole city as big as Paris, and it was clear to them they couldn’t possibly do that alone.

 The person they had talked to at the moment had listened to them, took note and told them they would come back to them after informing the heroes of the issue in Paris. It was a month later that one of the heroes contacted them, informing them they would not intervene in Paris, as they have been doing a good job up until now and the miraculous cure healed everyone and repaired everything. They then give them words of encouragement before they cut the connection.

 Ladybug had then wanted to contact the Justice League of America before remembering they wouldn’t be able to do anything as France was certainly not under their jurisdiction. 

 And thus, there they were, still two untrained teenagers, acting on instinct against people with magic powers.

 Great.

 She let Chat take care of the victim, still feeling the pain on her left side, even though it was healed and there was not a trace of blood left on her person.

 “Are you ok?”

 Ladybug watched as the victim was taken care of by some policemen and turned her attention to her partner.

 “I’m fine Chat. Sorry I had to let you handle everything.”

 “Hey, you were hurt and losing a lot of blood. It’s a wonder you could even stand up afterward.”

 The girl smiled. “Should we try to contact the JLE again?”

 Chat Noir sighed. “Even though they won’t intervene, they are watching closely what’s happening here. If they haven’t decided to step in yet, contacting them won’t change anything LB.”

 Ladybug sighed. “You’re right. Of course. I should go Chat, I’m about to transform back.”

 “Sure thing. I’ll see you later, then.”

                                                                                               Back in her room, Marinette winced as she sat down on her bed.

 “Are you really ok Marinette?”

 Tikki was looking at her with her big, wide blue eyes. She was obviously worried.

 “I’m fine, just a bit sore. I’m lucky that the cure healed me, but I think I’ll still feel the pain for a few days.”

 While the cure healed her, the pain stayed for some time after, varying on the severity of the injury. Since her latest injure was pretty severe, it would hurt for a little while.

 “Alright, I still have some homework to do for tomorrow. You should eat something and go to sleep Tikki, you must be tired after today. There should be a cookie or two on my desk.”

 The kwami looked at her for a moment before flying over her desk, knowing it was useless to insist and there wasn’t anything she could do anyway. Even if she wished she could take Marinette’s pain away.  

                      “Alright girl, you said you found something for the trip?”

 It was early December now, and Marinette had asked Alya to join her in the school library to discuss the trip. The fashion designer took the laptop out of her bag and opened it to show her what she found.

 “So, you know how the trip also has to be educational? This is the Wayne Career Program. It’s designed for high school students. Each one of us would shadow someone in the firm as a sort of internship to learn about different professions.”

 “Putain, girl! That’s amazing. Wayne Enterprises have a lot of different sectors. I could totally work with the PR team if we can manage to secure a trip there. Plus it’s in Gotham, in America!”

 Alya literally squealed at the idea of traveling overseas.

 “Yeah, I’m a bit worried about that actually. You know it’s not really the safest place on Earth.”

 And what an understatement that was. Gotham was probably the city with the most crimes in the world. It would be a miracle if the school allowed them to go. But then again, the school board would do anything to up their reputation and a class winning an internship at WE… The principal would boast about it years after they had all graduated.

 “There is an essay we have to write to apply. I suggest we write it before we present the idea to Ms. Bustier. We also need to prepare arguments for her and the school board.”

 “No problem girl, I already have tons of arguments there.” The reporter showed her her notebook where there were two pages filled with arguments. The class president nodded, those were really good. She could really rely on her friend.

 “Well, that was quick. Those should be enough to convince them. On to the essay, then. ‘How do you think you can change the world?’”

 They spent hours after that, taking notes and making several drafts of the essay. It took them a week to have the actual final product and when they handed it to Ms. Bustier, she was delighted. It was decided they wouldn’t announce the destination of the trip to the class until they were sure it could be a possibility.

 Alya and Marinette had dropped hints about the destination though, to see if the class would actually like to go to Gotham.

 After a week or so, they knew they had chosen well.

 On Marinette’s birthday, on the 16th of December, after lunch where the whole class sang Happy birthday to her, the class president and the class deputy had a meeting with the principal and the board of the school.

 It was tough to convince them, and the meeting actually lasted the whole afternoon, but at the end of the day, they had all signed the papers that confirmed that the trip would happen in Gotham, should the two girls won the contest. They even agreed to unfreeze some more funds for it. This program would really look good on the school’s record. 

 It was with a bright smile that they returned to class ten minutes before the end of the day bell and announced to everyone that the trip to Gotham has been confirmed. Using the classroom’s computer, the whole class witness as the two girls applied to the Wayne Career Program.

 Now, all they had to do was wait for an answer. 

                                                                                 Life after that was a bit calmer for Marinette, if you didn’t count the Akumas. She worried that they were more and more violent, and more often than not, she had lingering pain from injuries she got at Ladybug.

 But life was good. Lila had even stopped lying and was herself. Even if it means that she wasn’t very kind to anyone, even mocking all of them at times, the class would just scoff and roll their eyes at her antics. The designer still wouldn’t talk to her, but the atmosphere in the class was lighter than the previous year, and for that Marinette was grateful.

 They were all at an outdoor ice rink at the end of January when Marinette’s phone beeped with a notification. 

 “Oh fucking shit, guys!”

 It caught everyone’s attention as the tiny Dupain-Cheng was not one to curse like that.

 “I just got an email for Mr. Wayne’s secretary! Our class is among the nine others to have won the contest! We are going to Gotham in May!”

 Everyone cheered at that, hugging each other and even going as far as carrying Marinette and Alya around, as it was their doing.

 “America, here we come!” shouted Kim.

 “You do realize that you will have to work extra hard on your English, right?” teased Max.

 “Oh, shit.”

 Everyone laughed at that, but it was agreed among themselves and their English teacher that they would all stay for an hour and a half after school to learn the language, up until their trip.

 “I can’t wait to see Gotham’s heroes in action!” squealed Alya.

 “Aren’t they vigilantes?” asked Mylène.

 “Same thing!”

 “Not quite, babe.” grinned Nino.

 Even Lila was smiling with them, and it was huge progress in their book.

 Marinette smiled, “We’ll be there for two weeks. The first week, we’ll be visiting around, and the second week will be dedicated to our internships. I will have to send a list of all our careers of interest to Mr. Wayne’s secretary, so they can organize who we will be shadowing. So, I’ll need you to send me those pieces of information this weekend, so I can send it on Monday, okay?”

 “Roger that, boss.”

 As Alya took her hand to skate with her around the rink, the baker’s daughter couldn’t help the huge smile on her lips. A year ago, there was a lot of tension in the class, and here they were, all laughing together and talking excitedly about the upcoming trip that their class president and deputy won them.

 She could hear Rose talking excitedly about the things she wanted to see in Gotham. She watched as Kim challenged Alix on God knows what and laughed as Max stated that he had a two-percent chance of winning that bet. She smiled as Adrien, with them at an outing for once, fell on his butt and Nino laughed as he helped him up. She even grinned as she watched Lila having a conversation with Nathaniel without being mean or mocking him once.

 She had thought a year before that Lila would never change, but she was wrong. And she was happy that she had been, because even though Lila wasn’t very nice, well, all her classmates were kind enough to make up for it.

 Yeah, Marinette thought with a smile, life was good. And she had a feeling that it would be even better.

Tag list: 

@bigpicklebananatree @animegirlweeb @crazylittlemunchkin @northernbluetongue @cutechip @justafanwarrior @iloontjeboontje @resignedcatservant

[lankylevi]

Chapter 4: Lingerie & Daddy Kink. Top Levi, Bottom Eren.

I totally forgot I still had the fourth part of the kinktober series sitting in my drafts, so here it is! 

No warnings apply to this chapter :)

Read on AO3 or below the cut

“So, Daddy huh?”

Levi sat behind his computer, screen reflecting brightly on his black, squared glasses as he sorted out his patients’ files from today.

Checking the time at the top right corner of his screen, Levi let out a painfully long sigh.

8.34PM, again. For the past few weeks he had been working from six in the morning till ten in the evening because of all the paperwork Eyebrows piled on his desk. Shitty Glasses was on medical leave, they had hurt themselves during one of their famous experiments. The damned Four Eyes. What experiments a fucking dentist would be doing, was a mystery to Levi, but if he had to be completely honest, he really didn’t want to know what Hanji had been up to.

He shook his head and pushed his glasses up, groaning as he leaned back into his chair. He was tired, so fucking tired.

“Dr. Ackerman,” Petra spoke through the microphone, carefully as always, “Eren is here to see you.”

At least that was something he had going for him. A cute, hot nurse who brought him his dinner now that he didn’t have time to cook something for himself. A cute, hot nurse who also happened to be his boyfriend of a few months who made sure he didn’t have to stomach the awful food they served in the hospital they both worked in.

“Okay, let him in,” Levi said and took a deep breath. So. Fucking. Tired.

The door screeched as it was slowly opened. “Good Evening, Sir.” Eren peeped through the doorway, smiling hesitantly. His short brown strands of hair sticking in every direction.

“Drop the formalities already.” Levi rolled his eyes, gesturing Eren to come in his office.

Unlike Levi, Eren never showed any sign of fatigue. He was an ER nurse, one of the best employees of Hospital Maria, and he never had the slightest blemish on his face. Not even when he worked 18+ hour shifts.

Smiling, Eren nodded and walked into Levi’s office. He still wore his nurse’s uniform, a clean one Levi hoped, and carried a bag of Levi’s favorite restaurant under his arm. “How was your day?”

“Tiring,” Levi said, clicking his tongue, and got up from his seat, glasses falling on the bridge of his nose. “And you didn’t have to, really. Il Giardino is a fucking twenty-minute drive.”

Eren shrugged, “You deserve it. Plus, Shadis finally gave me that raise so I thought I’d treat you for once.”

Kissing Eren’s temple, Levi smiled, “I’m proud of you.” Now that he was this close, he could clearly see the pink hue on Eren’s cheeks. Cute, he noted, and took the bag out of Eren’s hands. “Did you bring something for yourself?”

“No… I already ate. I got hungry after my last shift.” Eren bit his lip, running a hand through his hair and rubbed his nape. “Sorry. I put your food in the oven though, so it is still hot.”

Fondness tugged at Levi’s heart, he didn’t know what on earth he had done to deserve someone like Eren; an actual angel in disguise. Clearing his throat, he recollected himself, “Thank you.”

He ate his meal in silence while listening to his boyfriend rambling about the newest hospital gossip.

Eren always managed to over-exaggerate the situation, hands flying in the air with wide eyes as he brought Levi up to date. Apparently, Eren’s fellow ER nurse, Mikasa, had managed to make a doctor almost cry on the spot when she had rejected him.

“Good thing she didn’t go for it, he looks like a horse.” Eren finished and cocked his head to the side, arm resting on Levi’s desk. “How was it?”

Swallowing, Levi’s mouth felt dry when Eren’s shirt shifted; sleeve loosely hanging over his shoulder so he got a good look at his collarbone. Dammit. Even a collarbone could make him hard already. Has it seriously been that long since they’ve had a good fuck?

He patted his mouth clean, swallowing the lump down his throat as he put the boxes away in the trash. “Delicious, thank you. Are you sure you don’t want something to drink?”

“No, I’m good.” Eren smiled and shifted in his seat, breath hitching in his throat, cheeks turning crimson.

Levi’s eyes widened and he gritted his teeth in frustration as all his blood rushed down south.

He was so fucked up. He was thinking like a hormonal teenager, all lust and need. Eren blushing like crazy and biting his lip was enough to make every cell in his body scream to fuck him over his desk, hard, until all that left Eren’s throat were breathless cries of his name.

Control yourself, Ackerman. You’re not a dog.

Fiddling with the hem of his shirt, pursing his lips, Eren looked at his shoes. “Do you still have some time, Levi?”

Levi furrowed his brows, hiding his inner struggles and smiled nonetheless, “You can stay as long as you want. “

Eren opened his mouth briefly before closing it again, eyes darting away and refused to look back at Levi: blush creeping all the way down to his neck and collarbones.

Levi let out a long breath through his nose. It was getting painfully hot in his office. God dammit. “Eren?”

Eren’s eyes shot up and widened as he saw Levi loosening his tie. “Hmm?”

Eren’s voice was ridiculously high pitched, hell, even Levi could tell there was something going through that thick head of his. “Is something the matter?”

“No. No. No.” Eren wildly shook his head and hands, “I just uhm- I’ve missed you.”

Looking at him dumbfounded, Levi could swear he could almost hear something click in Eren’s mind. His awkward, anxious fumbling on his shirt were nowhere to be seen as he confidently got up from his seat.

Dragging a hand over Levi’s desk, hips swaying with every step he took, Eren took hold of Levi’s office chair and turned it so his boyfriend was facing him. He placed both hands on top of Levi’s shoulders, one leg on either side of the doctor’s thighs, and sat down on his lap. He was blushing furiously yet his eyes screamed nothing but determination.

Levi swallowed thickly and froze in his seat, letting Eren’s warm fingertips dance over his cheeks before he let him take his glasses off. His eyes didn’t leave Eren’s face for a single second, enjoying this daring side of his boyfriend far too much.

Now that he was this close, he could smell Eren’s perfume and he realized just how much he had missed this. He had never thought of himself as someone who needed affection, or sex of that matter, but Eren shone a whole new light on his life.

Leaning forward, Levi caught Eren’s lips with his own and held him tightly at his waist so he wouldn’t fall back. He locked their lips together in a smoldering kiss. Passionate, yet tende and he darted out his tongue to lick at Eren’s bottom lip, getting a high pitched moan in return. Smirking, he chuckled lowly under his breath before he eased his tongue in Eren’s mouth, past his lips and slid his hands over his sensitive sides.

Eren whimpered at the attention, letting his head fall back to give Levi access to his neck as he started massaging his ass cheeks. His breath hitched every time Levi spread them apart and he shifted his hips, their arousals brushing against each other.

Levi moaned at the friction and pushed their bodies flush together and moved his attention to Eren’s neck, teeth grazing over his jawline before he left a trail of soft bites and nips all over his tanned neck. Leaving a sloppy suck under Eren’s ear, Levi licked the shell of his ear, before he whispered, “I’ve missed you too.”

Goosebumps popped up on Eren’s skin from hearing Levi’s low voice. Shuddering, he bit his lip, collecting his willpower to get off of Levi’s lap.

Confused and painfully hard, Levi watched how Eren got up from his lap and stood before him. Hair sticking to every side, eyes glassy and filled with need, cheeks flushed and lips plump as he took the hem of his shirt in his hand and dragged it over his head and took off the rest of his clothes with a cocky smirk

Levi’s mouth dropped and his cock twitched in response. Eren wore a lavender lingerie set; a sheer, see-through bra covering his pecs and nipples. Thick, lavender straps hugging his waist, in perfect contrast with his tanned skin. His panties, leaving nothing to Levi’s imagination with the hard-on he was sporting behind the sheer fabric.

Frozen in his seat, too wound up to make a move, Levi’s eyes widened when he saw Eren drop down on his knees, spreading his thighs apart and palming his cock through his trousers. A guttural moan rumbled in his chest as Eren mouthed his cock and opened his belt, slipped his fingers under the elastic band of his underwear and freed his cock out of its confinement.

Eren wasted no time and ran the flat of his tongue over the underside of his cock. Teasing the slit before he wrapped his lips around the head, giving his cock a harsh experimental suck.

Sucking in a sharp breath, Levi’s eyes drunk up the way Eren’s head bobbed up and down his cock. He entangled his fingers in Eren’s brown locks and licked his lips. Eren was too fucking sexy for words.

“You know you don’t have to do this, right?” Levi breathed and let out a low moan as Eren took him down his throat, head lulling back from the pleasure that was attacking his senses.

Eren chuckled, the vibrations doing wonders to Levi’s cock, and released him with a pop. Grinning, he lazily stroked his saliva coated length, “Do you want me to stop?”

Hips bucking, Levi groaned and trailed Eren’s jaw with his fingertips before he cupped his cheek. Eyes turning dark, leaving nothing but a ring of silver to stare back into, Levi shook his head, “Fuck no.”

“Then shut up and let me do it.”

Levi blinked a few times. Since when had Eren become so persistent? A question he didn’t care to find an answer for when Eren twisted his fist around the head and sucked one of his balls into his mouth. “Fucking hell.”

Eren grinned and lapped his tongue over his entire shaft before he tilted his head to the side, wet lips wrapped halfway around Levi’s cock as he slid them up and down.

Biting his lip, legs shaking and knuckles turning white, Levi clutched the edge of his armrest. It had been too long since they’ve last done this, the effects clearly showing as heat coiled in the pit of his stomach. Head hanging forward, groaning, Levi panted,  “Eren, I’m- I’m gonna come.”

Releasing him with a pop, Eren immediately backed off and rose back on his feet with a proud grin.

Levi licked his lips, realization finally hitting him, though he couldn’t complain. “You planned this.”

Eren fluttered his eyelashes and traced his lean torso with hands, knowing full well it’d drive his boyfriend insane. “Me? Never.”

Taking a deep breath through his nose, Levi ran his hands over his boyfriend’s thighs. Thick, muscular thighs he’d gladly get crushed between and he’d still thank Eren.

You thirsty old man.

Eren caught up on Levi’s inner struggle and turned around. Showing off his greatest asset, he rested his palms on Levi’s thighs and ground his ass against Levi’s arousal. Sheer, lavender fabric disappearing between his ass cheeks with every roll of his hips.

Overwhelmed by the view Eren gave him, Levi couldn't do anything but stare at him with wide eyes; mouth feeling dry as she swallowed thickly. He made a move to grip on Eren’s waist, but Eren immediately slapped his hand away.

“No touching.” Eren huffed, looking back over his shoulder. The look on his face said it all; determination clear in his eyes, cheeks flushed a bright shade of pinkish red, lips parted as shaky breaths left his throat. “Let me do this.”

Levi subconsciously nodded his head and let Eren do as he pleased.

Feeling as if he was about to burst, Eren rose up from his lap and slipped his fingers under the elastic of his panties. Back and ass still facing Levi as he got rid of the fabric. Levi wanted to do nothing but bury himself between those cheeks, having to push every cell in his body not to launch forward and grab hold of the two round globes of Eren’s ass. The little minx. He knew exactly how to play him. Levi was an ass man and there was no way he could’ve hid that from Eren with his perfect, tanned, curved behind.

Spreading his cheeks, Eren revealed a little surprise to Levi. Grinning from ear to ear as he heard Levi’s breath hitch at the back of his throat. He bit his lip, voice turning sultry. “Oh, you finally found out?”  

“Eren.” Levi started, eyes dark and voice low, filled with need. “You better get your ass on my cock or-”

Eren chuckled and turned around, knowing there was no real threat behind the raven’s words. He cupped Levi’s burning cheeks with a grin before he planted a kiss on his parted lips. Levi’s face was priceless; black strands of hair sticking to his damp forehead, pink hue coloring face and neck, lips parted as he panted heavily through his mouth. Mesmerizing.

With a cocky grin, Eren rummaged through his bag and took out the bottle of lube, swaying his hips a little when he strolled back to Levi’s desk.

Levi bit his lip, unable to hold back much longer, eyes fixed on Eren as he got rid of the black buttplug between his cheeks, breath beautifully getting stuck at the back of his throat when the toy left his body. “ Eren, ”

Eren knew that plea and drizzled a decent amount of lube on the palm of his hand. He reached behind him, lazily smearing the lube on Levi’s cock and ran a finger between his cheeks, over his hole.

Licking his lips, eyes dark and heavy-lidded, Levi watched how Eren sunk down on his cock. Hole stretching as he adjusted to his thick length. The heat he was engulfed in was too much to take, the brunet’s body sucked him in. “Fuck, Eren.”

It was when Levi was fully seated in Eren’s tight hole, that he lost it with an animalistic growl. Hands launching forward, one hand holding Eren tightly at his waist while the other grabbed a fistful of hair and pulled Eren’s head back.

Eren let out a long moan, feeling hot all over as Levi exposed his throat and softly bit on the junction between his neck and collarbones. “ Ohhh , yes.”

Levi let out an approving hum and guided Eren’s ass up and down, bucking up his hips to meet Eren every time he sank down. “More?”

“Yes, more… Please, D-Daddy .”

It just slipped out, but Levi couldn’t complain. He knew Eren had almost blurted it out a couple of times, stopping himself every time he was close to letting the letter ‘D’ roll off his tongue.

Levi’s smirk grew wider, giving Eren’s ass an experimental slap, “Go on then.”

Eren moaned in both relief and excitement. Bracing himself at Levi’s desk, knuckles turning white as he held on to the edge of his desk, he started riding Levi’s dick in earnest. Rolling his hips so sinfully, snapping them up and down while Levi’s sharp tongue and encouraging words spurred him on.

“That’s it, Baby. Ride Daddy’s cock.” The words rolled off Levi’s tongue without a thought, praises spilling off his lips with every snap of his hips, cock disappearing in Eren’s tight heat. “Just like that. Keep bouncing on Daddy’s lap. Fuck , you’re gorgeous.”

Levi reached around and wrapped his hand around Eren’s cock, smearing the precome over his dick before he started stroking his cock in unison with his unforgiven pace. “Fuck, I’m gonna come soon.”

Eren whined, letting his head lull back and opened his legs wider. Trying to keep up with Levi’s thrusts as pleasure took over his whole body. Hips stuttering with every snap.

Pulling Eren’s head back, teeth grazing over his sensitive neck, Levi thrusted his hips even faster when he whispered lowly in Eren’s ear, “You want Daddy’s come?”

“Yes!” Eren screamed out, bones turning into jelly when Levi picked up his legs so his back was pressed against the older man’s torso as he fucked him ruthlessly, “Want Daddy’s come, please. Please, come inside of me.”

With a final hard thrust, Levi pushed himself over the edge. Lowly moaning in Eren’s ear as his seed painted Eren’s insides white.

Levi’s voice was what did it for Eren, his release splashing hot over his chest, staining his lavender lingerie set as his eyes flutter closed.

Chests heaving, bodies slouched together in post-orgasmic bliss, Eren curled up on Levi’s lap and gave a quick peck on his cheek. Eren looked up at him, a pleased smile curled on his lips.

Levi grinned proudly, chuckling under his breath, “So, Daddy huh?”

[lauralikesbaking]

Feedback on my short story?

Hello! So as a writing exercise I wrote a short story based on one of my secondary characters to understand the character more and now I have a completely different character than the one I started off with. And now I’m hoping to get some feedback on the character and my writing style. 

The short story just mainly follows the inner dialogue of the character, Jack Drummond. He’s the lead singer of a band and he’s supposed to be writing music but he’s having a bad bout of writer’s block and anxiety. His label creates a contest - Jack is going to pick a fan with an original song the fan wrote and produce it in his studio. It goes into his back story of how he became a musician and a certain gay love interest, and why he chooses the winning song. 

The book I’m writing is going to follow the contest winner’s point of view - this is like a prequel to that. The book is going to focus on how music production works and what it’s like to work up close and personal with your favorite band.

Anyway please and thank you in advance!!

Shit. Shit. Shit. Absolute shit.

Jack Drummond was lying on his back on his old leather sofa, cradling his laptop between his stomach and his thighs. Scattered around him, stuck in between the cushions and on the floor, were various open bags of beef jerky and peanut m&ms. A couple of empty cans of Monster energy drink were on the coffee table beside him.

Jack had lost count of how many nights he had spent in the studio. He was trying to force himself to write something, anything. It had been over two months and he hadn’t been able to write a single lyric, melody, or even a decent beat to work off of. He was sifting through his library of saved voice memos on his computer, hoping something would spark inspiration. He had over 500 tracks of recorded material, and he had so far been unsuccessful..

So much fucking shit.

His voice memos contained different melodies, drum beats, harmonies and various compositions that had come to him on the fly. Scores and instrumentals he drafted while he grocery shopped. There were harmonies inspired by a flock of sparrows nesting in the trees who called out to each other. Composed guitar riffs and percussion to match the beat of his nervous energy while sitting in interviews. He’d be on the toilet in the middle of the night and find that his hands would be tapping out a rhythm. It never seemed to matter where he was, or what he was doing, or what time it was - there was always music in his mind.

For the last two months however, his mind had been quiet. His normally restless hands remained steady at his sides. His knees didn’t bounce when he sat. He wasn’t walking to the pace of the half formed song. There wasn’t a soothing lullaby in the back of his mind either to lull him to sleep. He was no longer overwhelmed by the music notes no one else could hear. His brain remained stoically and numbingly silent.

Jack reached the last voice memo. A jarring, pop beat played out from his speakers and just as soon as it started playing, he hit the spacebar, cutting off the music. He groaned, rubbing his hands over his eyes that were sore from staring at his computer screen from too long. He had listened to all 500 recordings he had made over the last three years and every single one of them were absolute crap.  

He was supposed to be working on demos for a new album. Now that the Archives cycle was over, he was due to hand in 10 to 12 new songs in a year and a half from now. Usually, around this time after the last cycle had ended, he would have handed in five, different sounding demos. His label would then approve the ones they liked and would tell him to write more like them. By now, he should have already had ideas lined up that he had thought of while he was way on tour during the long bus commutes from city to city. He had some half assed ideas, but when he recorded them listened to them, he’d just as soon as scrap it.

His band mates suggested that he’d take some time to do some solo research and travel to a couple of cities famous for music. He decided on the U.K., hoping the country’s old rock sounds and history of producing world famous bands like the Beatles and Queen would give him inspiration. He toured all the old famous recording studios; Abbey Studios, Olympic Studios, and Trident Studios. He visited the venues and cafe’s where The Who had first played at. He browsed through vintage record shops and scored a couple of rad guitars that he couldn’t wait to play around on. He even went as far to travel to Scotland, but the only thing he gained from that trip was a severe hangover after being challenged by a local to a drink off in the pub. It turned out the pub had a fun time tricking Americans into drink offs, get them completely wasted, and then take their photo and add it to their “Make Americans Drunk Again” Wall of Fame. Jack returned home to the states with two new guitars, a severe headache, and still no new ideas.

He dreaded the meeting between him and the label when he returned. He knew that once he explained to the label he still hadn’t thought of anything new, they would threaten to let him go. There was no point for a label to continue to support a musician who couldn’t produce music.

Instead, the label had suggested the fan contest. For one week, Jack would work with a fan one on one with the fan’s original song and produce it in his studio. Jack wasn’t entirely comfortable with the idea of having a fan shipped out here. It wasn’t that he despised or was afraid of his fans, even if he’d get the uncomfortably personal question at almost every meet and greet, or the time he was gifted a handmade doll of himself made with the fan’s own hair. He loved his fans, and he was grateful for their unyielding love and support of the band. It was himself he didn’t trust. He was afraid that he would disappoint the fan, that the fan would show up, eager to produce their song and Jack still wouldn’t have any fresh new ideas. The winning song is supposed to be released digitally at the end of the week of the fan’s stay, and if those digital sales and streams tanked, it would be Jack’s fault.

. The contest was a good idea. Sometimes working outside of your own work to someone else’s sound sparked creativity. But he also knew the contest was the label’s last ditch effort to get him writing again. If he didn’t, then Jack would know for certain; he would be done. He’d be Jack Drummond, former lead singer of the band 5 Years From Now, officially washed up at 27 years old.

Jack ran a hand over his tired face, feeling the scratchy stubble that had started to grow across his chin and jawline. It had been over a month since he bothered to shaved. He didn’t have any gigs, music videos, photoshoots or interviews he had to prepare for. He wasn’t supposed to be assigned to one for a while anyway. He was supposed to be using the time away to write music.

With an exasperated sigh, he closed out of his iTunes library and opened up Twitter. He ignored the hundreds of notifications he would get daily from fans tagging him in posts. In the search bar, he typed in #5YFNMYSONG. The page reloaded and displayed all of the fan entries, from most popular to most recently uploaded. The contest had closed a few days ago, but fans were still submitting entries.

Jack was responsible for picking a winner. Each of his band members and his team at the label were helping him sort through the entries, but in the end Jack would have the final say. The problem was there were literally thousands of entries. Word had spread about the contest, and aspiring musicians from all across the country were entering. The entries had a wide range of aged contestants, the youngest he had seen being about ten years old to contestants in their 20s.

They couldn’t help but remind him of his time in Hollywood when he was on Great American Voice, the country’s singing competition. There were thousands of people who had tried out over the course of the few days he was there. They had driven from all over the tri-state area. There were people of all ages, which had surprised Jack since the show had only ever cast competitors ranging between mid teens to mid twenties. There were little kids dragged in by their parents who hoped to make money off by sticking them in front of cameras. There were adults who hoped to at long last chase their dream of pursuing music. And everyone he talked to had a deeply personal, traumatic, backstory; one girl had been abused by her father up until she was 13 years old; an 18 year old boy suffered from severe bouts of depression. There was another girl who had at last minute decided to enter because she wanted to make her recently departed mother proud. These were the type of contestants who got film time with the celebrity judges, and that was when Jack realized what they were doing. They were using their trauma, deaths, mental disorders, any type of leverage they could to get themselves filming time with the celebrity judges.

Several fans who uploaded videos to his contest were doing the same. They would spend a few minutes before performing their song to explain their own backstories of depression, anxiety, death of a loved one, abuse, and other various traumatic experiences, and how music has helped them become stronger. He wanted to believe their stories. But he wasn’t interested in selecting a fan just because it was their parent’s dying wish. If they were talented on top of their tragic backstory, then great. But Jack needed someone who was both talented and sparked his own creativity.

Truthfully, Jack hated singing competitions, and he despised the fact that this fan contest was essentially just another form of one. At least this way, he could just choose one person and be done with it. He knew first hand the true toxicity of reality competitions. It had been over ten years since he was on Great American Voice, but the memories still burned in his mind.

It was difficult from the start. In the beginning he was sectioned off into group harmonies with contestants who thought they were better than everyone else and tried to take charge. Those first few weeks of group harmonies and group performances were tests to see how well you collaborated with the other contestants. The test was designed to make you feel uncomfortable. Really, they were just picking out anyone who succumbed to the stress early on and send them home.

As Jack advanced through the weeks, he found each week was always harder than the last. There was constant pressure to sound great, look great, and be great. You had to convince the judges and the fans each week to vote you back for the next round. It didn’t matter if he nailed Michael Jackson’s “Thriller” last week. If you got a bad review from one of the judges, it could cost you your spot on the show. Soon sounding and looking great weren’t enough. There was always something new added each week. Photoshoots, interviews, and costume fittings. Charities, children hospital visits, school visits, parade appearances and sponsorship commercials. And you were still expected to do four to five hours of vocal rehearsals. The schedule was endless.

By the time Jack was finished with the show he had lost about 15 pounds and was struggling with episodes of insomnia and depression. Jack thought he’d be relieved when he was kicked off the show. He could finally sleep in. He could finally eat whatever he wanted and not what his vocal coaches and stylists told him to avoid. He could finally relax from being under the spotlight, from being picked apart week from week by his stylists, the publicists, the judges and from the public. He didn’t have to be followed by camera crew from the moment he woke up to when he lay his head down to rest in the evening.

But he wasn’t relieved. He’d lay awake at night, angry that he had come so far in the competition, and with a single vote, he was kicked off. He had developed his own sound on the show. He loved working on new covers each week with his production team, and each Friday night he couldn’t wait to get on stage and show everyone what he had been working on. But the show had left him high and dry. He beat himself up, blaming himself for not being good enough to make it to the next round. He self critiqued constantly, watching and rewatching his performances, trying to figure out where he went wrong, and what he could have done better. The sickening truth was, he wasn’t done being in the spotlight. He wanted it more.

When he made the decision to stay in L.A. after the Great American Voice LIVE! Tour concluded, he jumped right back into the music scene, scoring a small one album record deal with Kathoulos Records. But that had been a mistake. Right before the album was supposed to released, the label was taken over by new management and dropped Jack and his band. The label refused to sell them back the rights to their album and the album was never released.

The days following the label drop crept from Jack’s memory like a slow, sinking infestation. The black, bleak days when he continued to make desperate attempts to get resigned by a label. The swell of bitter disappointment of doors slamming in his face over and over again; the paranoia of over hearing security guards murmuring into their ear pieces. The nights he spent stumbling through bars and dark alleys in a dizzy, drunken hazes…

He closed his eyes and breathed in through his nose. He counted to four and exhaled slowly through his mouth. The flashbacks were coming at him more often now that his mind wasn’t distracted with constantly writing music. It was why he was so desperate to get back to writing music. When his mind was silent, everything else he suppressed began to resurface. Each night he lost more sleep, and each night it would whisper in his ears, reminding him of who he used to be. Who he still could be. They would become louder and more insistent as the days and nights blended together. He heard it now as he struggled to slow down his heartbeat, quickly rising into panic. He needed to get back to writing music, and soon.

Not all of his memories from those years were bad. He still talked with his vocal coaches from time to time. His real saving grace during those first few months was his hotel roommate, Danny, a boy his age from Mississippi. They had become fast friends when they discovered they had a bunch of shared interests - music, movies, online gaming. Jack had never become so close with someone so quickly. Maybe it was just the pressure of the competition, and it was his own selfish desires to meet someone who wasn’t trying to sabotage his performances. When Danny and Jack had both made it to the top ten, they had celebrated by sneaking cheap champagne into the hotel room. They had gotten deliriously drunk and were jumping on their beds belting Queen. Danny had hopped from his bed to Jack’s, tackling Jack on to his back. As they lay there, laughing and out of breath, he had noticed the precise shade of green Danny’s eyes were. Clover green with specks of silver, like morning dew sparkling in the sun. The way his heart had pounded in his ears.

Jack forced his attention back to his computer, yanking himself out of the memory. He refused to let himself go back there.

He scrolled through the entries. Twitter automatically displayed the most popular entries first, and then the most recently added. Right now, the fan favorite was a girl from Tennessee named Missy Maeve, the red headed version of Ariana Grande, except instead of singing about goddesses and ninety nine problems, Missy Maeve sung in a strong country voice about being true to yourself in a world of fake media. She stared confidently into the camera, pouring all of her energy into the performance.She had spared no expense in creating her video, using professional cameras and lighting, and had an entire back up band performing behind her as she danced around on stage with her long red ponytail swinging hypnotically behind her.

Right away, Jack knew she wasn’t the one. He had seen these types of artists before. They may have sounded and looked good, but at the end of the day, they weren’t connecting with the music. They’d be more focused on how they looked and sounded to other people. A real musician didn’t care about performing; he played music for the sake of music. He didn’t give a fuck who listened. He also would rather be caught dead than write a fluff piece about being true to yourself.

There were several decent entries, but none of them had what Jack was looking for. Jack wasn’t even sure if it existed in other musicians. He was searching for the moment when the musician was no longer a musician. It was those moments he felt himself, when he became so in tune with the music itself that reality fell around him. He’d forget he was on stage, performing in front of hundreds or thousands of fans. The music would fill him so completely, it was like he was the music. Every time he performed like that, it would leave him shaking and exhausted. It was the best kind of high.

He sifted through the videos. He felt guilty knowing he couldn’t possibly watch all of them. There were just so many. His label assured him not to worry about watching them all. The label was responsible for looking at the numbers - meaning who ever had the most likes and views. The band was free to look through them at their convenience, just as long as he had an ideal entry picked out by tomorrow.

There were a lot of good videos - too many good ones, in fact. A lot of the fans showed off their riffing skills, as if that was the one vocal skill that proved how well of a singer they were. Jack secretly despised artists who used too much riffing in their songs. It always sounded like the artist was trying to say “look at me! Look out amazing I am at singing! No one else will be able to copy these incredibly complex arrangement of riffs because I’m so amazing!” There were artists who tried to over compensate with autotune, which he detested more than any other sound engineering tool. It always felt like cheating. If you can’t hit the note, why bother pretend you can?

Jack continued to click through the entries. There were just as many bad ones as there were good ones. There were fans who recorded with voices too flat, or too sharp. They were monotonous, or pitchy. Some hadn’t even tried to submit an original song and sang a cover of one of his song. It was almost always his song, “Perfect Chasers” that he had written about the toxicity of perfection and his own personal addictions. Even though it had been years since he released it, it continued to be a fan favorite.

He kept sifting through hoping a song would jump out at him or he’d find an artist with unique vocals. He kept checking the time. 12 hours before he had to pick someone. Then it was 9. Then it was 6. Jack shifted his weight, so he was lying on his side curled up and had his computer sitting on the coffee table and continued to scroll with his wireless mouse. The couch perfectly cradled his thin form. His eyes burned from the white light of the endless scrolling through Twitter…

“DUDE!”

Jack jumped awake. The bright lights of the studio blinded him. He blinked away the the thick eye crust coating his eyelashes. He made out a silhouette standing in front of him.

“Huh?” Jack mumbled.

“We’ve been trying to get a hold of you,” said the silhouette that Jack recognized as Cody, his guitarist. “The meeting with the label is in a half hour.”

“Shit.” Jack sat up. The room spun around him for a moment and stars popped into his vision. His neck and back was sore after another night of sleeping on the couch. He grabbed his phone to check the time. It was dead.

“Did you pick someone?” Cody asked.

“Um…” Jack couldn’t remember. He saw him computer still sitting on the table. He reached over and tapped the keyboard. The screen lit up and showed all of the Twitter entries he had been looking through. He had gotten deep into scrolling through the entries last night. He was almost at the end of the list.

“Yeah,” he lied.

“Cool. Get ready, the guys and I are out back.” Cody left.

When he was gone, Jack groaned and leaned into his hands. Taking a moment to gather himself, he breathed in deeply. He figured he got maybe three or four hours of sleep. His head ached, rebelling against him for the lack of sleep. After a few slow deep breaths he got up and washed his face and brushed his teeth in the studio bathroom, ignoring the dark shadows under his eyes that matched the shadow of his beard.

When he finished he sat back down at his computer. He still had to choose someone. At this point he didn’t care if they were bad. He couldn’t show up empty handed. He randomly chose a name, scrawled it on a piece of paper and tucked it into his jeans.

Jack climbed into the backseat of the bassist player, Mark’s truck. He slid in next to Brendon, the band’s drummer..

“Good morning, sunshine,” Mark called back to him from the driver’s seat. “You enjoy sleeping in?”

“Mhm, right.” Jack mumbled, if you counted barely sleeping at all as sleeping in.

Brendon looked at him. “You kinda look like hell man,” Brendon said, concerned. “You alright?”

“Yeah,” Jack said. Brendon handed him a pair of sunglasses.

Out of everyone in the band, Jack had known Brendon the longest. They had gone to grade school together and form a band after Jack finished on Great American Voice. Jack was close with all of the guys, but Brendon was always the one who somehow understood Jack and noticed all of Jack’s warning signs. Like right now.

Jack gratefully accepted the sunglasses.

Thank God for coffee, thought Jack as he filled a styrofoam cup.

At the label meeting, everyone was going around the room, pitching their chosen contest candidates. Someone mentioned Missy Maeve and Jack immediately shot it down, claiming if he had to write a bubble gum pop country song, he’d cut off his ears.

Each of the guys in the band got a turn to present someone. Jack waited to go last, since he technically didn’t pick out anyone in specific. He trusted his band, and hoped they would find someone decent enough to produce for that wouldn’t want to make him chuck himself over a cliff. Each band member played the video and explained why they chose it. Their reasons were good and valid, but despite the talent presented, none of them inspired Jack. He had been betting on one of the guys would find someone for him.

“Alright then Jack,” the label manager asked, swiveling his chair towards Jack. “Who did you pick?”

Jack swallowed the lump his throat. “Yeah, I’ve got someone. Her name is…” He pulled the piece of paper out of his pocket and read the hastily scrawled note. “...Robin Jones.” He walked up to the front of the room to the computer that was projected onto the pull out screen. He searched for her name in Youtube. Her video came up as the 7th result on the page.

Christ, she only has 6 views. Jack kicked himself. Why didn’t he bother to check the view count? He hit play. Please don’t suck, please don’t suck.

The video began with a blurry close up of blonde hair. The camera refocused as Robin leaned back from the camera. She was sitting at a baby grand piano. Around her were music stands, stage risers, and a variety of other instruments were stacked up against the wall. She looked like she was recording from a high school band room.

The girl cleared her throat and stated to the camera, “Hi. My name is Robin Jones. I am 18 years old. I am from Boston, Massachusetts and this my original song, Candle Light.” She turned to the piano, a curtain of blonde hair falling in front of her face. She paused for a moment to take a deep breath. Then she began to play.

She was nervous. Her movements were slow, calculated and careful. The notes began higher on the scale, and then steadily dropped into lower notes as she began to quietly sing the first verse.

“When did it begin?

Couldn’t you tell me where the start of it ends?

Cause I got caught in the light.

Yeah, it was too damn bright.

It left me blinded, just for you.”

She sang in a soft, lower register, which surprised Jack. He thought by the tone of her voice, she would have sung higher. But she was good. Thank God.

Her voice shook slightly through the first chorus. It wasn’t until she broke into the second verse, he noticed a shift in her performance. Her voice grew stronger, and she tucked the hair that had curtained off her face behind her ear. Jack found himself nodding along with the gentle rhythm of the song.

I had to take the long

way home, did you know I barely survived

I couldn’t see how and I,

Couldn’t see why after all this time

the goodbye still hurts you more.

Jack almost paused the video on that last line. It stood out to him. It was a good, subjective line that he liked to use in his own music. It was one of those lines he knew came from her specific experience, but it could relate to anyone. It could relate to him. It did relate to him. The goodbye still hurts you more. Jack knew exactly just how it related to him.

Memories of Danny popped back into mind. He saw Danny standing to the side of the stage with everyone else advancing, crying when Jack was voted off. He saw Danny fight with him at the end of the Great American Tour when he didn’t want to move back out to L.A. with Jack. The look on Danny’s face when Jack spit harsh words out of anger and regret. He saw himself a month later, staring at his phone, wishing Danny would just fucking text him back. Danny and his stupid, morning dew green eyes.

The harder lessons are learned

When you see the scars are from the burn

Wish I wasn’t so afraid to believe

That there could still be so much more.

There was Danny was again in the last line. Robin was good with her lyrics.

She launched into the chorus with a change of confidence. She sang with a soulful vibrato. Her eyes were closed as felt her way through the song, her fingers finding the right keys on their own. Her performance looked effortless, but Jack could tell she was pouring everything inside of her into the music.

Her fingers danced across the keyboard, racing towards the bridge. Robin’s entire body rocked along with the rhythm. Suddenly the song tapered off to the quiet notes from the beginning of the song.

I could for now, just stay where I am

Though I still don’t know how this all ends.

Until then I’ll hold on to a little light

So one day you might find me again.

When she finished, she rested her hands on the keys, drawing in a few deep breaths. Her hands dropped so suddenly from the keys, like someone had caught her playing when she wasn’t supposed to. Robin turned back towards the camera and leaned in to end the video.

There was silence in the room. Jack was holding his breath, waiting for someone to respond.

“Well,” the assistant manager started. “She has a nice voice, but -”

“This one,” Jack interrupted. “I want this one.”

His manager looked at him, arching an eyebrow. “You want this one? A romance song?”

Jack was equally surprised. What was he doing? He doesn’t write romance. He doesn’t even like songs about romance. And the memories that she pulled from the back of his mind should have given him enough of a reason not to pick this one. And yet, it had slipped out. He wanted this song.

Jack looked to his bandmates for their confirmation. He wasn’t about to make a decision without them, especially when it involved all four of them. They looked between the three of them, silently discussing the song. After a few moments, and some shrugging, Brendon nodded to Jack.

“Yeah,” Jack said. He cleared his throat. “She’s got a great voice, and the song sounds a little different from most romance songs I’ve heard. I think maybe the lyrics could use a little help, and I think if we put in some percussion with some better acoustics - “ Jack caught himself. He almost didn’t notice the click in his brain. It was like suddenly he turned on a light. Or lit a candle after the power had gone out. His was brainstorming. He was writing.

At that moment he knew for a fact - this was the winning song.

He looked around the room, waiting for everyone’s opinion. They exchanged glances, debating.

Finally, the manager stood up. “Alright, I guess that’s it then. We’ll go with…” He squinted his eyes, looking up at the project screen. “...Robin Jones. Tomorrow we’ll go live with the announcement.”

The meeting concluded. Everyone started packing up. Jack let out a breath of air he didn’t realize he was holding.

The guys approached him.

“So...romance now, huh? Didn’t know you had such a soft spot all of the sudden,” Cody remarked, smiling.

Jack shook his head, just as surprised as they were. “I guess maybe I need to start looking into the romance writing genre.”

“Hah, yeah man.” Brendon clapped a hand on his shoulder. “Good to have you back man.”

Jack gave him a smile of thanks.

When he got home, he pulled up Robin’s song again and rewatched it, beginning the process of drafting different types of instruments and background sounds he could add to the song. The ideas came easy, and he could feel something in him relax. He was relieved. He was writing again.

The song had resurfaced those memories of Danny that he fought for so long to forget. Some part of him still thought he was insane to want to work on this song. But another part of him, the part that he had shared with Danny all those years, demanded him to work on this song, and it refused to be ignored. He felt a nervous tingle in the pit of his stomach.

He didn’t want to acknowledge it, but the song had given that part of him a new, stronger voice. And it was screaming at him.

Jack continued to write.

[titusreno]

titus and reno

new first chapter draft idea

Reno

The sun was in my eyes as Benja launched his elbow into my solar plexus. His mask was sagging down the side of his face with sweat, the nylon snake eyes staring unnervingly at me, hollow with shadows. Behind him, the trees rose up from the swamp that had swallowed the old neighborhoods of Cypress Hills. I could hear the cry of seagulls and the thrum of cicadas. I stumbled backwards, trying to catch myself before I fell against the rough pavement of the road. I wrapped my arms around Benja’s neck and shoved hard with my knee into his stomach. He hadn’t expected it, and he lost his footing enough that I was able to hook my arm under his throat and spin him backward, moving fast enough that my momentum carried him. Benja was bigger than I was, but I had enough leverage that it just barely worked. I kicked him again in the chest as he fell backward, landing on his ass. I followed him down, grabbing for his mask and just barely getting it up over his eyes. I tried to let out the kind of howl that Benja did when he was competing, deep and guttural. I bent over him with my knee in his chest, pressing his face into the pavement. I could feel his breathing, fast and ragged. Benja coughed and looked up at me.

“Okay, fuck, time. Uncle. Whatever.”

Behind me, I heard Pancake laugh. He and Rustler were sitting at the edge of the practice ring, smoking, their legs extended just over the yellow line on the pavement.

“Was that your frog yell, Reno?” Rustler asked.

Benja laughed. “He’s learning from me, he’s gonna yell. I’m gonna teach him to yell. It’s cool.” He sat up, rubbing the blood from under his nose with the back of his hand.

“You aren’t mad that he’s stealing your thing? Your whole trademark?” Rustler let out a long puff of smoke. The smell carried over to me, pungent and green.

“You might wanna work on a kind of loud ribbit,” Pancake said. He snorted and tried to approximate the noise a frog makes.

I helped Benja up.

“I’m gonna get you back next time,” he said, reaching up to yank the frog mask off my head. “But that was pretty fucking good. You stepped it up since last time.”

I laughed. “That’s because you nearly killed me last time. I had to protect myself.” We walked over to where Rustler and Pancake sat. Overhead, the clouds moved faster and faster over the edge of the horizon, leaving the late afternoon sky a thin, dirty blue. The double electric fences at the edge of the facility reflected the light back in large flat gleams of yellow. I had to squint to see anything. “When am I going to fight you, Rustler?” I thumped him on the back as I sat down.

Rustler grinned, in the slow, half-lidded way he has. His eyes are darker than most other people’s at Auxie Mautlin, and his hair is almost as long as mine. He’s strong and about as beautiful as any of us here get. His legs are half the size of my torso. “You may need to wait a little. You get a little bigger or I get a little sicker. One of the two. If you wait about six months you’ll be able to pulverize me.”

“Don’t say that,” Pancake said. “You have at least a couple years.”

“Dude,” Rustler said. “Don’t bullshit. I’m eighteen already.” His voice was still measured, but his tone shifted a little. “You know I don’t have that long.”

“I bet you’re still gonna be the strongest Fore for a little longer, though,” Pancake said.

“Well, let’s hope.” Rustler offered me his joint, avoiding Pancake’s eyes. I took a hit and passed it to Benja, whose nose was still bleeding.

It isn’t a total taboo to bring up the worms when you’re hanging out with friends. Obviously, we all have them. But talking about death is something else. I remembered Rustler’s friend Foz, who was the biggest Fore when I first came to Auxie Mautlin with a selection of other piggos from my work camp. He had won sixteen matches my first year in the dorms, before the boils under his skin got larger and he started having seizures and was removed to the late-term infirmary. We don’t know how long he lasted after that. We aren’t allowed to visit the hospice units—they’re three miles away.

I got infected when I was two or three, which means I probably have longer than Rustler and definitely longer than Pancake, who had the worm in him already when he was born. They take about sixteen years to start affecting your central nervous system in a serious way, though some piggos start getting headaches at age fifteen.

“Do you guys wanna go take some K-po with me in Caldegot?” Benja asked, after a couple minutes of silence where the only noise came from the seagulls and the sound of the distant gymnasium, where the letlets were still having their phys-ed class.

Pancake laid back on the pavement. “Nah, I hate the stuff it makes me see. It’s all like, purple dripping. Like every time. And those weird stars. It makes me feel all weird and out of it.”

Benja looked at me.

“I haven’t ever taken it,” I said, which was true. I’d had hits off joints that Rustler got from the truck driver that brought the cricketbev and frozen chicken, but never anything else. K-Po was newer, rarer. I wasn’t exactly sure what it was. “It’s like LSD, right?”

Rustler laughed. “It’s just fertilizer.”

“No, man, it’s real,” Pancake said. “You do really see shit.”

“No, I know,” Rustler said. “But it really is just fertilizer. Potassium, you know. Potash. It only works because potassium makes the worms in our guts release weird chemicals. It does it to anyone with the worm. If we were healthy, it wouldn’t do anything.”

“Is that true?” Pancake said. “I for sure thought it was like, a party drug someone snuck in.”

“Pancake, you’re a dumbass,” Rustler said. I couldn’t tell what his tone meant. Pancake looked a little hurt, but he might have just been out of it.

“I wish I knew where they got it,” Benja said. “I guess it’s from the garden sheds. But those are locked down. It’s some girl in Caldegot. She’s got like a total monopoly.”

“It can’t be Kacky,” Rustler said. “I thought she got sicker.”

“No,” Benja said. “Her name’s Jenny.”

“Huh.” Rustler stretched and stubbed the joint out on the pavement. “Well, you know, whatever. I’ll go over there with you if you’re going. Reno, you wanna see some weird purple stuff with us?”

I shrugged. I wasn’t really sure if I wanted to eat fertilizer. “Does it do anything to like, hurt you? Do you get like hungover or strung out or anything?”

“If you take too much,” Benja said. “But we won’t. You have to stay in top shape if you’re going to be able to beat Fib.” He punched my shoulder hard. I flinched a little, but less than I used to when I first was training with him. Benja tries to act tough and rowdy all the time, like he’s so strong he doesn’t know his own strength. I guess sometimes I do too.

As we walked over to Caldegot, I felt the sweat prickle uncomfortably down my back and run down my face. My hair melted against my ears and the back of my neck with sticky intensity. January isn’t the hottest season, yet. That’s still July and August, when temperatures can get into the middle hundred-forties and we all have to stay in the underground dormitories where the air conditioning gets pumped in through dry metal vents. But January is hotter than it was when I was born. I’ve heard that in the part of the country where Auxie Mautlin is, it used to get down to ten degrees in winter just a hundred and twenty years ago. There would have been snow. In the history classes we take, they show pictures of it. Once Mrs. Y showed us a picture of Queens, New York during a blizzard in 2015, the old cars buried in feet of snow, a bicycle completely cemented onto the sidewalk by mounds of shellacked ice. Now, January is hot, and it gets hotter every year, but they don’t let the older piggos go inside for gym because it is still supposed to be winter. When we ducked into Caldegot through a side door, the rush of cold air made me breathe a heavy sigh of relief.

The old dorms at the edge of Auxie Mautlin are different from the ones on the south side of the facility. The south dorms used to be a community jail, so they’re built with thick, bunkerlike cement and heavy doors. The Caldegot and Armistad dorms are just big brick buildings that used to be warehouses, and are almost three hundred years old. They remodeled them inside with the same fabric walls and florescent lighting as the other dorms, and they still have checkpoints and cameras, but they’re lower security than the Bertol or Musk buildings that the letlets live in. I was lucky to get in Armistad when I moved last year. It’s easier to get out to the roof or sneak to matches. I’ve heard older Fores say that things used to be stricter, but the facility is getting harder to staff and the older minders care less and less what we do. I guess that’s good luck.

Jenny’s room, a triple on the third floor, was already full of people when we got there. At least three of them were girls I knew from class. I hadn’t seen Jenny before except from a distance. She was oddly sinewy and sharp-looking, with long hair plaited into two braids that fell across either collarbone. Her uniform was opened to her belly, and I could see the faint sweat gathered at the top of her stomach. She was wearing one of the regulation bras, but pulled down a little, and I could tell that some of the boys were looking at her chest. She sat on the edge of her bunk bed, counting out small packets of something wrapped in brown paper towel. It felt so shady that I almost left then, but Benja moved to sit down next to one of the younger Caldegot girls and raised his eyebrows at me, so I moved inside the door and stood there.

Jenny looked at me. “You with Benja?” Her eyes were as black as Rustler’s. I figured she must be from the Arizzy worktown. I didn’t know any of those piggos very well.

“Yes,” I said.

Jenny nodded. She looked over her shoulder at the bunk above her and craned her neck. “Titus, get three more sets going,” she said. For the first time I noticed the scrawny boy in the bunk above her. He was hunkered down, portioning powder out into the paper packets. His dark hair was almost as long as Jenny’s, and fell across his face. His uniform shirt was open in the same way Jenny’s was, exposing an expanse of pale brown-pink skin that went down to his belt line. He grunted in response to Jenny’s command. Then, in a single long, lazy motion, he wrapped what looked like three packets of the orange powder. He tore each packet off after pouring the fertilizer—or whatever it was—onto the paper, and folded them into little squares. He licked the edges of the squares to make them stick, then looked up directly at me with a strange, unreadable glare. He was so delicate-looking that for a second I wondered if I was wrong about him being a boy.

“Here,” he said, and tossed one of the packets at me. I caught it and looked to Benja, who reached his hand up for his packet. Rustler, who still stood next to me, laughed, maybe at my expression. He ruffled my hair. I would have bristled if we hadn’t all just smoked together. I knew he was trying to be friendly.

“Reno here is going to be taking K-po for the first time today,” he said to Jenny. “Let him know what to do so he doesn’t make a fool of himself.”

Jenny looked at me closely, then nodded. I felt like I was being assessed. She stood up and brushed off her pants briskly. “Do you know what I do here?” she asked me.

“Um,” I said. “I guess I’m not really sure. You give people fertilizer to eat?”

One of the Caldegot girls snickered. The scrawny boy on the top bunk tensed, and I wondered if I might get myself in trouble if I sounded like I was insulting her business model.

“Well, yes,” Jenny said flippantly. “It’s fertilizer. But it is very important, cool fertilizer, because it lets the worms in our bodies show us things.” She smiled at me. Her canines were sharp, like Rustler’s or Pancake’s. Fighters do that to make themselves scarier. “The hallucinogens that the worms release are remarkably consistent. Right, Pozzlin?” She looked at the girl next to Benja.

“Yeah,” Pozzlin said. “You always see the purple planet.” She turned to me.

“The purple planet,” I said. I had heard people say it in classes. I assumed it was an in-joke in some clique that I wasn’t in on. There were a lot of those kinds of things. Everyone had their groups, their own special language.

“It’s like, a theory, right, that we all see the same waterfalls and birds and stuff—the stars and the sky with two moons and all that. And it’s a theory that that’s because it’s the planet the worm comes from. And it looks like it does because it’s an alien planet. It’s not just an acid trip. And sure it’s all like wavy gravy and you see like paisley and stuff too and colors move and distort, but you always see the same kind of cliffs and oceans and always two moons in the sky.”

Pozzlin let that sink in, smirking smugly at me. Benja was playing with a strand of her hair, and she didn’t seem to mind. I looked around the room for confirmation. People nodded.

“It’s like, maybe crazy,” Benja said, “but it’s like, it is sort of interesting. It’s true that you always see the same stuff. And it looks alien.”

“And we know the worm is alien,” another girl with long tight braids said. “It came here on a UFO.”

“A ship,” Benja corrected her. “A ship with a dead mummified humanoid alien on it. If you’re gonna say it, you gotta say the full crazy thing.” A few people laughed. When the doctors first announced that they were able to confirm the thing about the dead humanoid, back when I was still a letlet, everyone had taken bets on whether or not it was true. It was accepted fact now, but it still sounded crazy. Especially because the pharma companies and the state agencies had been insisting for years that the worm was a mutation of a tapeworm that had been bothering pigs for eons on Earth.

Jenny nodded and looked back to me. “So, it’s fun, right, and it is fun. But the real reason I do this is to get as many people as possible to document, to write down, what they’re seeing. Because I think it really might be the world that the bug came from. And if that’s true, it’s data. Important data.”

“Question,” I said. “How would that work? The hallucinations being like, a message. That’s like. Telepathy, right?”

“Yeah, something like that,” Jenny said.

“Do you think the worms are trying to send it to us?”

Jenny shrugged. “Fuck if I know. That’s why we’re out here. More data the better.”

“Hey Jenny,” a boy I didn’t know said from a corner. “You could get more data if the stuff was free, you know.”

“I have to make a living,” Jenny said. Her voice was mild but firm. “I don’t see you guys sneaking into the garden sheds at night to get this shit, so I can charge whatever I want. And it’s more affordable than it was when Kacky was here.”

I looked over at Benja inquiringly. I didn’t have that much to trade for shit. He shook his head and waved me off as if to say I have this one.

A girl laughed. “Bottoms up for science,” she said, and tipped her orange powder back into her mouth.

“Not yet,” said another girl. She looked at Jenny. “Is it okay to start?” The orange sun filtered down through the window and I felt for the first time how warm the room was. I was sort of thirsty.

“Cheers,” Jenny said. “I’m going to put out the paper and markers in the middle of the floor. When you come back up, draw or write what you saw, okay? Nobody leaves without at least one detail.”

“How long does it last?” I asked.                “Like twenty minutes,” the boy sitting on the top bunk said. I looked over at him and he stared back, unblinking, for a second, before he gave a small grin, as if he had just remembered that it might be a nice thing to do.

I saw Rustler raise his hand and dump the powder into his mouth. After a couple seconds, I did the same. I felt someone watching me and looked up to see the scrawny boy on the top of the bed staring me down. When he caught me looking, he looked away. I noticed that he wasn’t taking any K-po. For a second I thought about saying something to him, to try to ask a question or seem cool. But I wasn’t sure what to say. And then my vision started to swim. It was so instantaneous that I sat down against the door heavily, in shock.

At first it was just colors, and this sense of weird peace bubbling up in my stomach. I felt for a second like looking at the scrawny boy on the top bunk and telling him that I wanted to kiss him—which was weird, though I realized that I sort of did. But then I sank deeper, and the colors started to condense and drip and I started to see real pictures. The room in front of me completely vanished, and my hands and arms felt dense and numb and like they were made of fragile glass.

I saw four figures walking on a moonlit landscape, tall and strangely stretched. I couldn’t see their faces, but I knew they weren’t human or piggo. I felt a cold sensation in my gut at the strange trancelike way they walked, and I tried to turn away, but I couldn’t. I was stuck watching them until they vanished over the edge of the horizon. Then my vision danced again, dissolved into colors, and melted into a new scene. I was on a hill, looking out at a sky of strange stars and a red sun. There were flat plains of weird plants, and spires stretching up that might have been stone or vegetable. I couldn’t tell. Spinning above me were two flat blue moons, and under my feet was an ocean of clear water. When I looked at the ocean, I moved toward it, into it, falling down from the hill so fast that I stretched out my hands to catch myself, sure that I would be dashed against the ground, that the pink rocks at the shore would tear me apart. But they didn’t, and I landed in the water. Worms swam around between my toes, the light shimmering off their opalescent bodies. The sensation was still peaceful, sensual. It took several minutes before occurred to me that these were the worms inside me. The ocean rose up under me and I got cold, as if it were really there. The sky went yellow, blue, deep pink, red. I felt a little nauseous, but somehow was having a really good time.

And then I started to come out of it. The ocean stopped feeling cold and I could feel the hot sweaty dorm room and the bodies on either side of me. The moons above me splintered and vanished, and I felt the floor under me for several minutes before I opened my eyes. As I did, I realized that the boy –Titus—was still staring at me from the top bunk. I felt too dizzy to sit up, and closed my eyes until I felt the world settle. When I sat up again, Titus was gone. Around me, other people were already awake again. They were writing and drawing with the markers that Jenny had provided. As the light stopped hurting my eyes, I looked around and realized they were all drawing basically the same things I had seen—everyone focusing on different aspects of the scenario. Jenny approached me and gave me a pen and a marker and a piece of paper that I realized was someone’s old medical form.

“Draw on the back,” she said. “Emotional woo woo stuff is fine for writing but try to draw as literal as you can.”

I’m not a very good artist, but I tried to draw the hill and the two moons. I tried to describe what I saw. I didn’t want to put any more effort into it than anyone else, but I felt profoundly changed and—I guess disturbed—by the whole thing, and suddenly it felt very important that I be honest and try to actually talk about what it had been like. I thought, well, maybe this is a real thing, a real project.

[sheepydraws]

And So They Lived (6/6)

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 

Ulrich pretty much just dropped into bed by the time they got back to their room, but after his mid-freak out nap earlier and the late dinner that Jeremie had squirreled away for him Odd was too wired for sleep. He sat down at his desk and rummaged around for his favorite pen and a fresh notebook. It was spiral bound with a flimsy cardboard cover. Odd dicked around for a few minutes, scratching his name into the purple cover and then the eye of XANA under it, but he was stalling. He knew where he had to begin.

I brought my dog to school with me because I was afraid that I wouldn’t have any friends here. I have plenty now, but only because I brought Kiwi and Ulrich had the balls to dognap him.

Odd wrote all night. He kept expecting to reach a stopping point, but the words kept coming. Perhaps it was because he didn’t just include XANA attacks. He wrote what the world thought really happened, too. He wrote about Sissi, and the shitty things she did to them, and the shitty things they did to her. He spent more ink than he would care to admit on Yumi and Ulrich’s ‘let’s fight-let’s fuck’ relationship. He wrote about William and his betrayal. He wrote right through Lyoko’s final summer as they took everything apart piece by piece.

Something strange happened. A narrative emerged. Events took on a shape. Days didn’t just end, arcs did. Things didn’t just change, they grew. When he stopped to explain what he thought were simple things to someone who might not understand, stuff he had never stopped to think about finally made sense to him. He knew it all sounded crazy, but as a story it was a pretty cool one. He remembered that it had been an adventure.

He finished the dismantling of the supercomputer and the scanners sometime around one in the morning. Then he kept going. He wrote about school, and Elizabeth, and trying to live without Lyoko, and how it should have been easy. He got a bit disgusting and sappy, and may have made some terrible metaphors about Elizabeth’s eyes and the night sky, and he might have cried a bit about how it was never going to be the same between him and his best friends, but they were always going to be his best friends, whether anyone else remembered all they had done for him or not.

Ulrich woke him at seven. He was hunched over his desk, drooling on his own hand.

“I have to give this to Elizabeth.” He said before he had even sat up, although it probably came out more like, “I hafta givisss t’Lizze.”

“What?” Ulrich said as his head popped out the neck of the sweater he was pulling on.

“I said, ‘I love you’.”

Ulrich had just kicked off his pajama pants and stood there in his boxers for a minute, staring at Odd. Then he smiled. “Yeah. I love you, too.”

In the cafeteria Odd wolfed down two bowls of cereal and a hot chocolate before Elizabeth arrived. He got up and caught her before she had even gotten in the food line.

“Here.” He said, and he placed the notebook in her hands. “It’s everything.”

She idly flipped through the first few pages and then kept flipping. “Whoa.” She said. “It-“ She stopped on a certain page. “Am I in this?”

“Of course.” Odd said.

She closed the notebook and clasped it to her chest for a minute. She had this little smile that Odd though was going to turn into a laugh, but it became a kiss instead. Not a long kiss, not when Elizabeth was blocking the cafeteria door, and Ulrich, Jeremie, and Aelita needed to be kept from cardiac arrest, but a good one.

“Is that why you’ve been so crazy?” Ulrich said the second Odd was sitting down again. “You’ve been falling for Sissi?”

Odd gave him a mysterious smile. Then, because he hated that kind of bullshit, he said, “It’s why I wasn’t in our room last night.”

Ulrich’s eyes bugged out while Jeremie and Aelita laughed.

“You realize,” Jeremie said, “That once Yumi gets here, you’re going to have to tell us everything.”

“Yeah. I think I can manage that.”

It is impossible to separate this movie from the chaos caused by its trailers. Last year instead of the laughably bad slew of christmas movies everyone seemed to be talking about a trailer that had premiered along side “To The Top” (a movie whose only discerning feature is having ten percent on rotten tomatoes). It was rather tricky to discuss, though, since the trailer did not reveal a plot, title, or release date. It seemed like an advertisement for a boarding school, complete with bored student volunteers, bad lighting, and bland pop songs. The camera recording this waste of tuition runs low on battery and is shuffled around before being plugged in, at which point the screen slowly goes white and a symbol flickers across it before disappearing. Aside from a slide with the words ‘coming soon’ that was the trailer in it’s entirety.

People started talking, but thanks to hefty non-disclosure agreements, no one came forward to explain what was going on. The second and third trailers appeared almost simultaneously a month later, and caused even more confusion. One looked like a sci-fi thriller, the other a young adult romance. However, they shared the same title, Code Lyoko, and the setting and symbol from the first trailer.

Finally, writer and director Odd Della Robbia casually mentioned that he was behind the project while doing an interview with Teen Vouge. The director is best known for his work on Buried in Stars the sleeper hit of the summer movie season two years ago, best described as the surrealist, most vividly technicolor rom-com to ever grace the big screen. When the interviewer asked about the discrepancy between all three trailers, as well as the secrecy that surrounded filming, Della Robbia responded with,

“When I pitched Code Lyoko the first thing they said was, ‘How are we gonna market this? Is it a heartwarming coming of age story or a YA sci-fi thriller?’ and I said, ‘If I can’t convince you it’s both by the end of this, then we might as well scrap the whole project.’ I guess audacity still counts for something.”

‘Genre defying’ is a greatly overused compliment, and in my opinion, it dismisses the importance of genre. There’s something to be said for going into a horror movie and getting a horror. Of course playing too tightly to a genre’s guidelines without shaking something up can be dull, but so can a movie that tries too hard to include many different elements without properly following through on any of them. Code Lyoko, however, does manage to step outside genre lines without over-burdening itself trying to be three stories at once.

Della Robbia deftly mixes over the top action and teenage drama with the keen eyes of someone who has been there before. Though the movie follows several different threads, the core of the story is the small group of friends it follows, and Della Robbia never forgets that. Unlike Della Robbia’s work so far the style is simple and sharp, the colors muted and the lighting high contrast. Even the virtual world of Lyoko, which is a bit brighter and more cartoony, has graphics simplified to the point where they are almost cubist in feel.

This serves the plot well. The main conflict at the beginning of the movie is that Walter (played by John Beck) finds an abandoned computer, which contains a virtual world and Gemma (Gina Pedroza), a young girl who claims that she is a real person who is unable to devirtualize. Walter makes it his mission to fix this, and accidentally begins recruiting people to help his cause. Unfortunately, keeping the computer on so that Walter can attempt to understand the code that will free Gemma allows another program in the computer known as ZENAT to wreak havoc on the outside world. While this could be a movie all on it’s own, the group’s interactions with each other, as well as their parents and other students, along with several satisfying twists, completely fill out the story and make it unforgettable.

Interestingly, the technology examined in Code Lyoko bears a striking resemblance to advances in virtual reality being proposed by Nintendo that are currently being developed in a team with Aelita Schiffer and Jeremie Belpois [Article Here], and though the technology isn’t the  showcase here, it is rather shocking to think that this film could theoretically happen in five years time. Although that is not the only element that lends Code Lyoko uncanny realism.

The mixture of high school drama and thwarting an evil invasion shouldn’t work this well outside of an after school cartoon, and it’s not just the depth that Della Robbia gives all the story lines, as well as the fantastic acting, which allows these seemingly dissonant themes to gel. In a subsequent interview with The New Yorker after the film’s release Della Robbia said, “I remember when I first asked my wife to read a draft of the story. As soon as I gave it to her I started to overthink. She told me she liked it, but I said, ‘There’s kids fighting giant robots!…Are you sure I shouldn’t take it out? Or make it a metaphor for standardized testing or something?’ and she said, ‘When I think about high school I don’t think about taking standardized tests, I think about fighting monsters.’ so she saved the monsters.”

By injecting it with sci-fi terror Della Robbia has stripped the fantasy from teenage coming of age stories, allowing it to resonate long after you leave the theater. Five stars.

[vigrxwarning]

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[toddmichaelrogers]

Letter to You

All in due time

I am obsessed with the concept of time. When I read an article about light moving across time and space to reach us from distant galaxies, and how...what we are viewing in those distances may have already passed into death thousands of years ago, it gets my dick “Super Mario 2 (Japanese Version) hard”.

I think about equations of time v.s growth on a nearly daily basis. I am obsessed about it.

Some may feel possessed

I myself obsess about it

My youngest brother was born twenty-two years ago. His name is Ben. This week, he came for a surprise visit by telling me he would be here and then allowing me to forget. The added bonus was we got to celebrate his birthday together. That night, I drove him and his friends and Kelsie around (they may all be kids to me, but Kelsie’s been my brother’s partner for longer than I’ve known my own). We spent the night at a false speakeasy, and a giant championship pool hall, empty but for a few of us. As the night ended I drove the kids up to a hill called love circle, where a year ago I had imagined killing myself (I had a concussion, it’s cool).

In the car Michael, this kid I had not seen in a decade, popped in a song that maybbbbe three people in the world might have known. It’s a B-Side which could only be known to someone such as myself, someone who cares entirely too much for a half-forgotten Scottish 1980s group. 

“Is this fucking Big Country?” I asked. And then both parties continued asking in astonished voices if the other if they enjoyed the same band, until Michael ripped his shirt open to reveal a 1986 tour tee. “What the fuck?!” I screamed. And then preceded to tell him that Spell Saga was inspired by this band’s music; there was no need to explain what Spell Saga was to the kids in the car, they had seen the card game and its stacks of packages sitting in my living room.

The game has continued to haunt me. The rest of the packages will be sent out sometime in the next 30 days, and the manufacturer will be paid up for services rendered in the next week. That is about 1500 days since I decided to pursue the project, and over 800 days since the Kickstarter worked and we knew it was going to go to print. 

Sometimes people write very frustrated messages online wondering where their packages are, but the comments that mean the most to me are the ones where people are nice hahaha. No, I shouldn’t laugh, it’s haunting. Trying to do something right and trying to handle your own mistakes in public is about as nerve-wracking and humiliating as anything since 7th grade.

In the meantime I’ve taken all those worries and embarrassments and pushed them into the next Spell Saga release (Deck 1.5 The Under Sky) which may or may not work, we’re about to find out in March. The concept and design are so ridiculous and in depth that I’ve been forced to finish the entire thing before playing it at all--something I have not done since Spell Saga 4.0 was finished to show at Gen Con back in 2011. The whole thing could be rendered nearly pointless if the game isn’t fun to play--but then again, how can you know? Countless hours of Photoshopping and weird little doodles for an unknowable outcome. If that isn’t the official theme of Spell Saga, or indeed, everything I make, then I don’t know what is.

Speaking of time, games, and 7th grade (and as was mentioned in previous correspondence) this Autumn, after twenty years of waiting, I will be releasing a card game I started making in 7th grade. The illustrator is my friend Weshoyot, who just sent me the final pieces this past week. This is after we began working on it together 9 years ago! My god, I know this blog has a sort of theme running through it but even that takes me aback, (it also takes me a-straight-back, to 2009, when I was getting married to my first wife, designing EPIOCH instead of planning a wedding, and about to start work on both The Novel & Spell Saga...what a fucked up year…)

The novel I started still continues, and work goes well, actually. Yes it’s been 8 years, but after forcing a second draft on New Years day of 2016 I have now arrived, one year later, into new territory. Most of last year was spent agonizing through a muck of the same few chapters. It was almost nerve wracking to pick it back up, after a month’s rest, and knock-out another two new chapters without a hint of friction.

I was talking to my brother while he was in town (we always have the same talk and he hates it, but I always push it) “why aren’t you making things” I ask him every visit. I know he wants to. And I can’t speak for him, or rather, I won’t but I think there’s this perfectionist thing that hits in varying degrees. (I’m speaking more about myself then him, right now) I’ve read that  perfectionism is linked to depression, and alcoholism--this idea that things need to be a certain way, or they aren’t worth it--when really, that’s not true at all. 

Things just need to be as good as you can make them at the time, and then finished. I spent most of last year stuck on the same songs, and the same chapters, unsure of how to move forward, yet sure they had to be brilliant or cool.

But, I’m not either of those things. I don’t know how many passes I think will bleach the uncoolness out of something, but it doesn’t work. There’s something to be said for taking one’s time--and of course putting something away and rewriting it is definitely in everyone’s best interest...but still, finishing things as best you can is important.

I was talking with Meagen the other day about this, about how we as human beings tend to think if something is not hard or time consuming that it must not be good--that a novel should take ten years and not, say two. See? I even wrote the word “one” there and had to erase it. A novel? In a year? How drab.

We as artists don’t believe in ourselves, and pretend that putting time into a project will make it that much more special--or even better, waiting forever to start it...Fuck the fuck outta that. Make it and be embarrassed and move on. Just make it as best you can.

I am afraid of many things, including the new chapters I just wrote, because they happened quickly. But that is how art appears! It boils up like feelings because that’s what art really is. The craft is in getting past yourself to sit down and start the thing past your own fears. The craft is in making it sound good. the craft is in finishing it. I hope my brother starts making things, and I hope I start making things quicker.

The last day he was in town, I put on the pants I bought when I was 22. They were my favorite pants to write in for years, lasting through a full marriage and into a new one. A pair of 2005 women’s jeans so old the crotch is ripped out (my dick hangs like a cotton bulge). I looked at myself in the mirror, decided against them, and picked out another pair of pants for the evening. It was President’s Day, and my band EFFORTS was about to play our first show.

I had spent three weeks wanting to vomit every time I thought about it. But the date on the flyer appeared and with it, our last practice before loading our gear. By the end of practice I was too hungry to be nervous, and Zach, Geoffrey and I arrived at the venue to drink.

Meagen appeared, worried about a friend of ours. We stood in a parking lot across the venue and I tried to console here, it had been a rough couple of days for the both of us.

Last week was Valentine’s. I spent the night before the holiday of hearts holding our dog, Ellie, as her heart began to fail. It had been three years since the doctor told us she would die any day, and now it seemed the curse had come to claim her. I whispered nice things into her ears as she melted across my chest, and then we both feel asleep. 

I dreamed she could talk, and she told me she was hurting. And then she transformed between a young girl and grown women, back and forth again as Meagen and I held her. At the end of the dream she told me to look up at the ceiling to see what death looked like for dogs; it was a dance of shadows and light that made no scientific sense, but I understood all the same. When I awoke Ellie was staring at me, alive and well, he heart has since settled to normal.

So Meagen and I were already wound up when some really bad shit went down for a friend. I tried to console Meagen across the street, minutes before the soundcheck. I was already hot in my leather jacket, but I kept it on because the homemade arm band was tied around my right limb. The arm bands were an idea I had floated by Zach months ago and, black for mourning, with our logo, the crucibolt emblazoned upon it. I had sat down sometime between my dog trying to die and the show to make the both wraps at home using ribbon, velcro patches and iron-on sheets cut carefully and branded by my wife’s straightening iron. (i. have. never. been. cool.)

Meagen asked if I was nervous, and I said yes. Then, we walked into the venue to smoke and drink some more, Geoffrey and I both having quit tobacco except for rare occasions and the first-show-ever exception.

I waited 32 years to perform music--it still feels like a daydream that was never actually supposed to happen, but at the same time, if I’m being honest, events were always leading to this. It feels like I pulled off a miracle that was always going to happen.

On stage we were surrounded by a dimly lit room, filled with lots of people we knew. I didn’t know what to do so Zach instructed me from his drum kit on what to say to the sound guy. Then we launched into our newest song, “6 pack, nice abs!(stinence)” and I immediately heard my own vocals for the first time ever. It was an awful shock. But that feeling was overwhelmed by the rush of sound screaming out from behind me as I stared down at what my fingers were doing and sang as well as I could.

It was Zach’s idea to start with “6 pack”. I had spent two years planning for this moment, certain (god-damn-it, certain!) that when I got to play this shit live, the band (whoever that would be, there was no band, barely any songs, a pipe dream), we would start the show with the opening track of the album “everyone will leave and you”, but two hours before the show Zach said we needed to open with  6 pack, it, and it was agreed. Plans are just plans, sometimes real shit needs to happen.

Here’s a video of it.

We got through the first pre-chorus, and then I was almost smiling as we launched into the second verse

Some may feel possessed

I myself obsess about it

By the end of the song I was already sweating from the stage lights and the leather jacket; and the way I was screamed, stooped with the guitar strap across my shoulder, I felt myself nearly black out several times, a moment that would continue throughout the show.

It occurred to me afterward the opening lyrics were written while driving down the very same street the bar was on, near-as-exact to a year ago as I drove to buy airplane bottle liquor while texting my Father in an AA meeting.

Dad’s on his way to a meeting

I’m on my way to the store

And there I was, holding the guitar I grew up pretending to play, the cherry-red-heavy my Father let me borrow as he left for California, a son who had never written a song, asking someone he didn’t know very well for a guitar they never used anymore. 

He used to write little songs

He don’t write nothin’ no more

Then, the song ended and I heard people yelling and applauding. without looking up, Zach clicked us into the next one and we slammed through another two minute punk song about feelings (the boys and I recently decided to call our genre mid-punk, as we are so damn old compared to ‘dem kids’). It was during this one my head started to get away from me, that I began to realize I was, somehow on a stage and not in my imagination, and I had to grip the guitar pick tighter and focus on what I was doing. That is how insane it felt. And then, at some point during the set, stage lights started to jump and bounce everywhere and the surreality lifted into some sort of mega-dise of everything I had ever wanted.

My favorite part of the entire show was turning to Zach & Geoff between songs and laughing before we launched into whatever was next. Here was the set list, lest we ever forget:

6 pack, nice abs!(stinence)

everyone will leave and you

may you absorb all evil

the bridge song

better off without you

I saw a pale horse

west coast

ash to dust

word waster

vera

Everything ended with me singing a song I had written about a time 5 years ago when Meagen and a friend--the very same one I was consoling her about--were playing Super Mario 2 (Japanese version).

I’ll never be as happy as I was

On those Winter nights

After the show ended, Ben walked up on stage to give me a hug and congratulate me. “I can’t believe you just watched me play a show!” I shouted. I hope he noticed how perfect it was not, as I sure did.

It is so important to just go for things, and fuck up, and not be perfect, and then try over, and over, and over again. When it comes to art, you can do anything you want (if you’re meant to do it). And why would you want to do it, why would you dream about it everyday, if that dream wasn’t meant for you?

Work hard. Fuck up. Fix it. Let go. And finish.

That’s my plan, over and over again, and somehow, it looks like it’s starting to work. If you’re waiting for a package, I hope you have it by the time you read this. And if you’re ever in Nashville, I hope you can see EFFORTS play a show.

-mE.