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late-to-the-party-81 · 9 months

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I feel the rush, addicted to your touch

AN: sorry, not sorry - Have some brain rot filth courtesy of that scene from Crowded Room and Tom Holland’s slut era….As always an aged up Peter Parker…

Beta’d by no-one, bwahahahaha, but enabled by @buckyismybicycle

Dividers by @firefly-graphics and moodboard by me, with images from The Crowded Room courtesy of www.TomHolland.org

Master list

Summary: Peter’s on a mission. Whether he gets what he’s expecting is a different matter.

Relationship: Peter Parker x Sam Wilson - No powers au

WC: 1.4k

CW: Disaster Gay Peter Parker, Strangers to lovers, drug use, unsafe sex, unhealthy coping mechanisms, implied previous SA, hooking up, anal sex, spit as lube, daddy kink, oral sex, face slapping (once) being shared, angst. This is messed up - you have been warned.

I’m so fucked up right now!

As the thought crossed Peter’s mind he giggled to himself at the dual meaning. Because he was fucked up - his life so far had seen to that, but he was also high as kite, tripping his balls off after the two lines he’d done at home before heading out, so doubly fucked up.

He supposed he’d been a normal kid once. It was so long ago that he didn’t remember much. He got flashes now and then, memories of his mom singing to him, his dad reading him a story. But that part of his life hadn’t lasted long, courtesy of a drunk driver. He remembered being scared and confused when he went to live with Uncle Ben and Aunt May. Things had settled down, at least for a bit, and he’d had some semblance of happiness.

However, the universe decided that it hadn’t tortured him enough, so it sent a mugger who accosted and killed Uncle Ben over the $47.32 cents in his wallet. That’s when things really went downhill. The reduced income, the cost of the funeral. To say he and May had struggled financially was an understatement.

Peter had had prospects before then. He was smart, capable, excelling at school, but he’d had to get a job to help out, and his school work suffered. He got angry at everything and everyone around him and made bad choices. Choices which lead him to trust people he shouldn’t have trusted. People who gave him things, did things…

Peter shook his head. Tonight wasn’t about being maudlin. Tonight was about having fun. He might be fucked up, but he was planning on just being fucked too.

Black eye liner rimmed his dark hazel eyes, smokey eyeshadow spread across his eyelids. He’d tried to tame his milk chocolate curls by slicking it back - there was still a cowlick at the front - and it curled at the nape of his neck.

He sashayed into the club, hips swinging as he pushed through the crowd, so obvious in what he was after that the only way to be clearer would to have a light-up sign over his head like a cab. His black jeans were so tight they were almost painted on, moulding his pert ass and highlighting his slim waist. His matching black shirt was almost sheer and barely buttoned, giving a full on view of his toned abs and pebbled nipples.

With the bass thumping and the red lights pulsing, Peter shucked his leather jacket, slinging it over his shoulder and making his way to the bar. He straddled a stool, and started to look around, peering out from under his long dark lashes, and chewing on his thumb. He wasn’t exactly sure what - who - he was looking for, but he knew he’d know it when he saw it, or rather, him.

A-ha!

Eye contact was made and not broken. Two knowing gazes locked together, assessing each other. The man walked over, dark skin shining like mahogany under the club lights, and leant over, lips close to Peter’s ear.

“You want a drink, sweet thing?”

A large hand rested on Peter’s thigh, squeezing gently.

“Whisky please, daddy…”

A shudder running through the body next to him let Peter know he’d played it right.

“You old enough for the hard stuff, sugar?”

Peter turned on his stool, even as the man signalled the bartender. He hooked his calf around the back of the man’s thigh, pulling him between his legs.

“I’m old enough for all the hard stuff.”

A raised eyebrow, and then the hand on his thigh was tightening.

“Good to know.”

Two whiskeys were ordered and quickly knocked back. Peter slid down from the stool, letting his body rub up against the one in front of him. Now he was on his feet he could fully appreciate the height and breadth of the man, and he could feel the lust rushing through his veins alongside the coke. With his hand fisted in the man’s shirt, Peter walked backwards onto the dance floor, wholly enraptured by the sparkling eyes and knowing smirk aimed in his direction.

Once he’d got into the middle of the throng, the press of bodies almost as intoxicating as the whiskey, Peter turned his body, pressing his back to the stranger’s front. Two large hands grasped at his hips, grinding them back, and Peter let his own arms raise up over his head, so his hands could rub over the cropped dark hair of his soon-to-be lover.

Peter felt dizzy, beautifully out of control, as he gyrated, letting the music flow through him. The hands left his hips to rub over his abs, sneaking under his shirt to feel his heated skin and to skim over the front of his pants. He arched up into the touch, sucking in air and rolling his body.

It was only a few minutes later when Peter found himself pressed face first against the wall of a stall in the men’s room. The music from the dancefloor, although muted slightly, was still loud. His pants were pulled down, and rough fingers, only lubed with spit, were rubbing at his tight hole. He gasped as one, then two, were harshly pushed inside him, a mere nod to prep, and then oh!

His lover’s hands covered his, fingers linked, and Peter cried out unabashed as his body was thrust up against the thin wall. He was so full! The stranger flexed his hips, thrusting his cock in and out, hitting that spot that made Peter whimper and clench in pleasure.

It felt so fucking good! He could almost forget everything.

It was over too soon, their fervour, their feral lust, pushing both of them over the edge, and Peter gulped in air, head still resting against the side of the stall.

“Come home with me, sweet thing. I got some more sugar for you, Sugar.”

Peter inhaled through his nose and threw down the rolled $20, before falling backwards onto his ass. What day was it? How long had it been since he left the club? Did he even care? He was high again - or was it still? - and he’d been fucked seven ways from Sunday. He giggled, rolling over and getting to his feet, to bop around to the music playing through the stereo. He only had on his underpants and a t-shirt given to him by his lover, but he didn’t care. For once the voices in his head were quiet and he felt so fucking happy.

He put on a flirty little show for the man in the chair, but after spinning too fast, he fell back over onto the floor. Laughing again, he came up onto his knees and crawled over towards his lover.

The sun coming in through the thin curtains made the man’s skin glow golden as he slouched, relaxed in an easy chair, smoking a joint and puffing perfect rings into the air, watching Peter dance. As the young man got closer, he spread his legs.

Kneeling between them, Peter undid the belt that was stopping him from getting to his prize. That damn knowing smirk had returned, and Peter smiled back before ducking his head and taking the thick, cut cock into his mouth. Fingers tangled into his curls, holding him in place as he swirled his tongue and hollowed his cheeks.

Somewhere, on the periphery of his consciousness, Peter heard a knock on the apartment door, and noticed it opening from the corner of his eye, but he was too caught up in own blissed out state to pay it much attention. That was until an enquiring voice broke through the fog swirling in his brain.

“What you got there, Sam?”

A grunt, and a flex of hips made Peter gag for a moment, but it didn’t deter him.

“Got me a sweet little thing.” A sharp tug on his hair made Peter lift his head up, and he looked around, mouth agape and eyes wide. A tall, dark haired man was leaning against the shelving unit. His arms were crossed and he was observing Peter with his crystal blue eyes.

A light slap across his face brought his attention back to his lover.

“You listening, Sugar? This is my main man, Bucky. He’s a good friend and I share all my shit with him, sometimes while I’m still using it, so just relax, honey. We’re gonna send you sky high…”

Tag list: @doasyoudesireandlive @chemtrails-club @talia-rumlow @peaches1958 @pono-pura-vida @writing-for-marvel @kmc1989 @mrsmischief209 @sebstanwhore @preciousbarnes @jobean12-blog

#peter parker #sam wilson #peter parker x sam wilson #disaster gay peter parker #inspired by the crowded room #tom holland fan fic #late writes

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kindlythevoid · 1 month

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11-13 for the fanfic ask game please!!

Knight, nooooo, ha ha!! Can't believe you did me like this, smh...

11. OC Moodboard of choice (either you or author picks the OC; author makes)

This is absolutely what took me the longest (and somehow no time at all?), but I'm pretty happy with how it's turned out!! (I absolutely did not do the anatomy drawing and if anyone knows who did pls let me know!!)

Anyway, this is for my Star Wars OC, Kirsi (half-Torgrutan, half-Clone), during the Rebellion era. I have been more or less been working on a Rebels not-exactly-rewrite with her and her sister worked into a few episodes and then going off and doing their own thing. :D

12. Write another line in your WIP.

Okay, because I've been terrible about writing during my break, I wrote another paragraph, and here's the last line:

The haunting sound of Morgana’s aborted yell accompanies him into the darkness.

Again, so sorry to anyone waiting for the next story.

13. Drop a playlist for the story!

I have approximately a billion playlists for anything, but since I've been listening to this one on repeat, I will give a sampling of the playlist below the ~keep reading~ at the end.

Well, I think that just about covers it!! Thanks again, Knight!!

Kindly,

The Void

Here's a portion of my playlist for my fanfic (working title: [Insert Clever Song Reference])!

Yeah, it's a Baby Driver x Fast and Furious fic bc there were only, like, two. Criminally underrepresented. Some are songs that I might feature in the fic, some I think are good for certain relationships (even though it might not be where they are in the fic itself), and some are just jams that get me writing the fic, ha ha!

#i am enjoying this IMMENSELY #i hope you get as much joy out of this as I do #i'm carefully conserving my ranting #bc I could really go on and on and on #carefully conserving #ask #rewind series #baby driver #ao3 #fanfic #kiki writes #spotify #kirsi #oc

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softguarnere · 11 months

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Like A Girl (Like A Man)

Shifty Powers x OFC

Chapter 16: Adalonige

Summary: Zenie blinks, stunned. A few feet behind her, the Dutch are smiling and kissing the Americans. Yet here, they’re humiliating some of their own.

A/N: Everyone say "thank you Tumblr" for finally letting me upload the moodboard 🙏🏼Chapter title is the Cherokee word for "orange"

Warnings: mentions of the boarding school era, war, death

Taglist: @liebgotts-lovergirl @latibvles @ithinkabouttzu @lieutenant-speirs @mrs-murder-daddy

Holland, 1944

The jump into Holland isn’t at all like the jump into France.

For veterans of Normandy, there’s no need to be nervous as they wait outside the planes. Those who are nervous do nothing for themselves but reveal their newness; they give themselves away as replacements, which is still a sore subject. Zenie’s already unworried mood soars when someone slaps her on the back and greets her with a friendly, “Howdy, Tommy!” If Popeye’s return lifts the spirits of Easy, then Sobel’s return humbles them once again. At least their old captain won’t be leading them into battle.

The jump itself is almost casual. Been there, done that. Instead of the anxiety that so easily crept in with the darkness back on that fateful June night, the bright blue sky and sunny weather remind Zenie of the training jumps back at Camp Mackall. It’s like jumping into an ocean of the deepest blue – peaceful.

She lands easily in the Drop Zone with the rest of her company and platoon. And instead of being greeted by a hostile German soldier, she and the others find themselves being welcomed by a Dutch population who seem happy with their arrival. So happy, in fact, that grateful women grab them and kiss them as they try to weave through the crowd that is clogging the town.

Not the first time that she’s been kissed after making a jump. But instead of Shifty she finds herself being pulled in by a very enthusiastic woman with perfume that smells like flowers after a spring rain.

“Blonde!” Skinny smiles from nearby, using one hand to point to the woman who has taken immense interest in Zenie, and using his other to caress a tall woman with glossy hair.

For her part, Zenie offers the woman a kind smile and then nimbly removes herself from her embrace as politely as she can. The woman is beautiful, yes, but Zenie has had only one person on her mind since they left that pub after Lipton announced that they were moving out.

There was no chance to talk to Shifty before they jumped. As they maneuver through the crowd, she catches glimpses of him. He’s always just out of reach. Did he feel this way when Zenie was avoiding him?

“Sign, sign!” An older woman insists. She thrusts a small book and a pen into Luz’s hands.

“These people sure do like us,” he remarks as he scribbles Clark Gable into the lady’s book. “I think I like them a lot more than the French.”

“Well, they’ve been occupied for five years,” Bill reminds him. He uses his neat script to sign a fake name in the little book before he tosses it to Zenie.

She catches it, followed by the pen, then freezes with the tip hovering over the page, Tommy Driver ready to be written. Something stops her. Instead, she uses the signature that she hasn’t used in years, and Zena McGlamery appears on one of the pages in the book. Marilyn had spent hours teaching Zenie to make a good, neat, loopy signature when she was thirteen, her older sister determined that she should have a good signature despite Zenie’s left-handedness. She’s always thought that had too many loops and took up too much space, but now, seeing the neat loops take up a whole page, Zenie can’t help but smile. Marilyn would agree that her name has never looked better. She snaps the book shut and hands it back to the woman before anyone can see what she wrote.

“We have to keep moving!” The command has been yelled over the noise of the celebratory crowd over and over again. It’s the first time that Zenie hears it. She tries to follow her company, only for their progress to be slowed as enthusiastic Dutch people swarm forward to hug them and shake their hands.

“Keep moving! Go! Go! Go!”

The crowd gives way very suddenly to a small clearing, like she’s just sailed off the edge of the world. Zenie finds herself at the crowd’s edge and takes a deep breath as she reorients herself. On one side of her, the happy crowd continues celebrating among the cheerful swirls of orange banners. She’s standing in a sort of channel that angry looking Dutchmen occasionally cross, leading scared looking women roughly by the arm. She watches them, only to find that on her other side, a much smaller, more aggressive crowd has formed. Words that Zenie doesn’t understand are chanted over and over. What really grabs her attention, though, is that coming from the center of the crowd, there are loud wails.

She somehow ends up among the chanting Dutch. They part for her, allowing her into their midst so she can watch the display happening in the center of their circle.

It reminds her of illustrations that she’s seen in history textbooks of prisoners fighting in the Roman Colosseum. The loud wailing is coming from women who have been forced into the center. People tear their clothes and force them to their knees. The women cry as their fellow Dutchmen step forward with scissors and shears and begin roughly hacking away at their hair.

Zenie blinks, stunned. A few feet behind her, the Dutch are smiling and kissing the Americans. Yet here, they’re humiliating some of their own.

“They’re hurting them!” Zenie turns to a tall man standing next to her. “What are they doing to them?”

The man gives her a blank look. Someone taps her on her shoulder from the other side. A girl about her own age gestures toward the crying women.

“They slept with the Germans.” She says it matter-of-factly, like it explains everything.

“Why are they – “ There are so many things to ask. She settles on, “ – doing this to them?”

Once, and only once, Zenie remembers her mother telling her about arriving at boarding school as a child and how she and some of the younger children had cried when their hair had been cut. Maybe hair is also important to the Dutch. Maybe, like those children, this is about taking away their memories and their strength.

The girl offers her a simpler answer instead.

“To mark them. So that everyone knows what they did. They will be recognized in an instant for what they have done.”

One of the women in the middle of the circle cries out, her voice much louder than the other sobs. It distracts the girl beside her, who turns her attention back to the public shaming. Zenie has more questions, but the girl is engrossed in the scene. Before she can ask anything else, a hand grabs her shoulder.

Eugene keeps his eyes on Zenie when he jerks his head toward some of the other men from Easy who are standing behind him. “Let’s go.”

She doesn’t protest when he leads her away from the crowd.

A lieutenant gets shot and it’s really all downhill from there.

Sergeant Randleman keeps everyone moving. Those who have known him since Toccoa are ready to follow his orders before he even finishes them. Shocked replacements have to be dragged along as they charge out of the ditches and into the town.

Zenie wasn’t at Brecourt Manor. Carentan had been bad, yes, but now, as she crouches behind the mazes of low walls and hedgerows, she wonders if this is what her friends felt like as they ran through the trenches, hunched over and high on the adrenaline of first-time combat.

Tiger tanks emerge from seemingly everywhere. Haystacks mobilize to fire at them from along the fields. Windmills sputter to life as bullets fly from the tops of them. A few Dutch families lean from their windows and shout. Whether they’re trying to help the Americans or banish them before more damage can be done to their neighborhoods is anyone’s guess.

What have the British dragged them into?

“I don’t think the Dutch are gonna like us very much after all this,” Bill says as they run from one house to another.

From the tops of buildings, artillery fire rains down on the walls that have provided some cover, destroying what few routes they could safely travel on. Zenie falls into a pattern of running between buildings when she thinks the coast is clear, then using the walls for cover as she tries to shoot at rooftops that she thinks the Germans are targeting them from. Then she runs to the next building before they can zero her in. Her rifle probably isn’t doing her any good at such a distance, but at least she’s doing something – unlike the small clump of replacements that she can feel trapsing behind her.

“Are you gonna help or not?!” She demands as she stops behind a small shed.

The little band of replacements gape at her.

Zenie jerks her head toward the shed, trying to indicate one of the large, stately houses that sits across a lawn from them. “That’s where they’re firing from. We gotta avoid letting them zero us in.”

Bang! Bang! She fires, then ducks and runs, the replacements hot on her heels. Wherever he is, she hopes that Babe isn’t blundering around like this. He seems like he has a good head on his shoulders. Hopefully he knows how to fend for himself in combat.

Just as she thinks of Babe, she hears a gruesome grunt behind her. One of the replacements falls to the ground, dead. The others stop to stare at him with open mouths. Right there, out in the open.

“Come on!” Zenie urges them. “We have to – “

“Fall back!” The order cuts her off. One that she never imagined being pleased to hear.

“Thank God,” she mutters as she tightens her grip on her rifle and runs.

A few feet ahead of her, Bill and some others are hauling Compton on a door to drag him out of combat. Other men file past them, dropping down into ditches for cover as they flee the destroyed buildings and the artillery fire behind them. Zenie drops down and then quickly slides out of the way as the replacements file in behind her.

“Van Klinken!” Someone exclaims. “He’s still back there. He’s alive!”

Eugene springs into action, running in a crouched position to go find the wounded man. A few others list of men who were lost. Most of them are names that Zenie doesn’t recognize; almost all are named by replacements. Instead, Zenie searches the faces of everyone else in the ditch, looking for those she does know.

She does the same when they load the trucks. Which is a challenge, as men hunch over on themselves, burying their heads in their hands with disappointment and grief. Still, Zenie catches sight of Babe’s bright hair, a somber looking George with his radio, and Joe all covered in sweat.

“I don’t know where The Bull is,” Bill says to Johnny Martin just as the trucks start to pull out.

Zenie looks around as they move, trying to find others. McClung has his head buried in his hands. She hears someone say Popeye’s name.

“Aye, sit down!” Bill reaches across several people and tugs on Zenie’s arm to lower her back into her seat when she stands, looking around at all the trucks, trying to find him.

Her words tumble out before she can stop them – before she even realizes what she’s saying. “But I can’t find him!”

“Who?”

“Shifty!”

“Shifty?” A few seats over, McClung lifts his head. His eyes look so sad that whatever he’s about to say can’t be good.

Zenie’s mouth goes dry. “Yes.”

McClung nods. “He loaded into the truck in front of us.” Then, like he knows what she’s thinking, “I saw him. Looked fine.”

They hold eye contact for a minute. Zenie searches Earl’s eyes for any sign that he might just be saying this to pacify her. He’s searching hers for God knows what. Whatever he’s looking for, he must find it, because he nods, satisfied.

Zenie mirrors his motion. She sits back, sighing as the wind whips her face.

All is not lost.

#band of brothers #band of brothers fanfic #shifty powers x original female character #shifty powers x ofc #shifty powers #hbo war #hbo war fanfic #my writing #oc zenie mcglamery

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graygvf · 2 years

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You’re The One

Part Seven

Pairing: Josh x Sage (female OC)

Word Count: 2.8k words in this chapter

Summary: Sage is trying to adjust to her new life in Frankenmuth by auditioning for the school play. But will her past hinder her from reaching for her dreams? Or will Josh be there to lend a helping hand?

Warnings: Some mentions of mental health

Moodboard created by @parizonefourfour (Thank you for being my bestie <3)

MASTER POST

PLAYLIST

The rest of my classes move by slowly. I keep my headphones in my ears all day to keep my mind off Jude. I spend lunch alone in my car, not wanting to have to talk to Cora yet about everything. She would normally be upset that I wouldn't open up to her, mainly out of pure fear that I may begin to recluse myself again. But I told her that I would talk to her about everything at work so that I would have time to process this morning before needing to express my feelings further.

After school I run out to my car, bracing myself against the drizzling rain and cold until I can rush to open my car door. Normally, I would have time to go home and change before going to work, but today I was scheduled thirty minutes after school got out. I start my car before putting on my seatbelt, giving my 90s era jeep time to warm up before I start the drive to Clothesline.

I start to reverse my car from the parking spot, and I suddenly slam on my breaks as someone begins to rapidly knock on my driver's side window. I look over, heavily breathing from the sudden rush of adrenaline. It's Josh, his curls being weighed down by the rain collecting on each tendril of hair.

I start to crank down my window, only opening it halfway to prevent the rain from getting inside, "Hey, do you think we could talk before you head home." His eyes look at me eagerly, it kills me to have to remove that cheeriness from them, but I don't have a choice.

"I'm sorry Josh, I can't. I'm going to be late to work if I don't leave soon." His smile falls along with his shoulders.

"Oh, it's okay, we can talk later. Have a good night, Sage," He turns, picking up his speed from a walk to a jog to get out of the rain and into his truck.

My eyes dart to my rearview mirror, watching until he starts heading out of the parking lot. Once his truck is out of eyesight, I start my trek to Clothesline. The drive isn't very long, maybe fifteen minutes at the most, but I needed the extra time to calm myself and get ready for my shift in my car before everything begins.

I get into work that day and start mindlessly sorting through the donation pile, trying to come up with the right way to tell Cora what happened when she gets in for her shift. The words with my mother spin through my head repeatedly as I carelessly sort everything into different piles. The more I think the more guilty I begin to feel. Her words were given to me out of love, not out of hate. I know she really means the best, but I only started feeling normal again around the time school started. I had no intention of trying to find anyone while I finished out high school. I even had really no intention on focusing my time on anyone besides myself and drama, but that only changed when Cora fell into my life.

Feeling the guilt building up inside, I pull out my phone and start to type out an apology text to my mom. I only get to type out the first few words when I hear the ringing from the small tin bell above the shop's front door. I lock the phone screen and quickly shove it into my pocket, hoping whichever customer came in didn't see me. I sigh and lean against the counter when I see that it was just Cora, coming in for her shift.

"What's making you look all scared?" She says to me as she pulls off her raincoat and hangs it onto the coat rack by the entrance.

"I thought you were a customer; I didn't want them to see me on my phone. But I guess it's only you so I can go back to what I was doing," Smirking at her I pull my phone back out and continue to type my apology to my mother.

Cora laughs and walks behind the counter next to me, clocking in to work before trying to sneak a peek at my screen, "Who are you texting? Joooooooshhhh?"

Pulling my phone away so she can't see I type out the last few words and hit send. I turn around and cross my arms, "No it isn't Josh. It's my mom. Besides I can't even text Josh because I don't have his phone number."

"That doesn't mean you wouldn't if you could." She smirks at me as her words make me blush.

"You're ridiculous Cora," that's when I glance up at the clock to check the time, "And you're also thirty minutes early today, why?" I cross my arms and give her a condescending look. One that she knows all too well.

"Oh, don't look at me like that, you know why I'm here early. I need to know why my best friend avoided me all day today. And why she sat around and looked like someone had just stolen her pet hamster." I can't help but laugh at her response, turning away from her I start to sort through the donated clothing again, an attempt to try and get my laughing to stop.

She slaps her hand down on the pile of clothes, keeping me from being able to continue my work, "Spill it, Sage Walsh," Refusing to lift her hand no matter how much I tried.

I keep my head down and take a deep breath as I start to tell her the full story, "I had a fight with my mom this morning... or well I guess it was more of me being angry and storming out on her this morning."

"Mmmhmm, and why is that?" she knows I wouldn't just storm out on my mom for no reason, my mom is my best friend.

"She brought up Jude..." I hear her sigh, her arm pulling me against her. Saying his name out loud brings tears to my eyes and I let my body melt into her side in an effort to return her hug.

"What brought him up? You haven't said anything about him in a while... this all seems so out of place from her," I pull away from her grip and lean against the counter, shielding my body with my arms as I cross them against my chest.

"I came out of my room dressed nice and she asked if it was for a boy. When I told her no, she brought up how it had been so long since I had been with anyone and she thought it was time for me to put myself back out there." Cora stared at me, not speaking at all. She began chewing on her lip, obviously mulling over my mother's words, and trying to find the right words to say without upsetting me.

"Well, Sage... she's not wrong." I groan and roll my eyes and my head tilts back with them, making myself be as dramatic as I can. "All I'm saying is that it's been months since you guys broke up, and I think she's right. It would be good for you to try and put yourself out there again."

I turn from her and start mindlessly sorting out the clothes again, "I know."

My words obviously shock her, it's rare that Cora is unable to come at me with a quick remark, "Is this you finally admitting that I'm right for once? Without even fighting it?" She has a chuckle hidden behind her words, and I can hear her smile as she speaks.

"Yes, for once you are right, but I never said I was actively going to try for anything."

"What do you mean by that?" Cora stands next to me as a few customers start walking into the store, her words becoming quieter so that they aren't tempted to listen in.

"What I mean is that I understand that I need to get over him, but that doesn't mean I'm looking for the love of my life right now."

I hear her groan a little before she finally starts to speak again, "Well I guess that's fine, at least now you'll finally start talking about what guys are hot in school." I nudge her shoulder with my own and laugh at her response, us both becoming quiet as we continue sorting through each donated item.

It had been an unusually busy day that day. Cora usually dealt with talking to customers while I stocked the shelves and took in deliveries. Today had been so busy that I started letting people just leave things on the counter while we both ran around helping anyone who needed it. It took at least two hours before it was calm enough that Cora and I could take a break behind the counter. We both started sorting through the piles of things that had been left on the counter for donations, going through the clothes and old movies to make sure there wasn't any extreme damage to them. That's when my heart skipped a beat, I pulled open a plastic bin to find what looked like at least fifty vinyl records.

"Oh my gosh, it's been forever since we got anything like this," I run my fingers through the cardboard files and pull one out randomly. The bright yellow of The Jimi Hendrix Experience seemed to have never been touched. I pulled out the record and checked it, both sides looking like dust had never even touched them.

"Damn and they're all so nice, I wonder why anyone would want to give these away," I keep my eyes locked at the box as I flip through the different vinyls, paying close attention to the ones I'd buy once I got my next paycheck.

After making sure that they were all good enough to put onto the shop floor I pick up the box and head over to our usually small record section, "I'll organize these if you want to start on the clothes?"

"Sounds like a plan," Cora says, already starting to add price tags to a massive mountain of shirts. When I make it over to the music section, I start to remove each vinyl one by one, making sure each one is placed in the right section as carefully as possible.

I make it about a fourth of the way through the box before I hear the bell above the door ring again. I don't look up at the sound of the bell, Cora usually being the one to help if anyone needs it. Putting all of my focus into the records, I look at each one again before putting it away. Thinking about which songs are the best on each album before adding them onto the shelf. I almost drop The Beatles White Album when I feel a tapping on my shoulders. My adrenaline rushes through me as I watch it start to fall, but the hands that just tapped me grab it before it can hit the floor.

"Oh my gosh, thank you so much! You're a lifesaver," When I look up all I can see are two brown eyes that seem so familiar but also so new. I look at this stranger up and down before I realize who it is.

"No problem, I can't a beauty like that break, can I?" His eyes look over the record before placing it into the spot designated for it.

"I... is there something I can help you with?" I stammer, my words coming out a lot faster than I mean them to.

"Yeah actually, I'm Jake, I think you're friends with my brother Josh?" My hearts start pounding and my cheeks start to feel hot.

"Yeah, I'm friends with Josh, is there something wrong?" He smiles at me and turns and points towards the men's clothing section. Josh is standing with his brother Sam and another boy. This one I don't recognize as well, very tall with long brown hair that is almost as curly as my own.

Jake turns back to me, a smirk replacing his bold smile. "Nothing is wrong other than he won't leave me alone about you, do you think I can get your number for him?" I move quickly and hide my body behind the record stand, trying to hide from Josh. Jake follows me, laughing.

"He knows I work here now?" I can't hide the panic in my voice.

"Wow there..." Jake's smirk falls, and his arms fly up in a defensive position, "He isn't stalking you or anything, I promise. I only know you work here become I come almost every Saturday, though you aren't the one who normally checks me out," His smirk returns before he finishes his sentence, "Cora normally helps me when I'm here."

My eyes fly to Cora, who seems to have been staring at us this whole time. Her emotions seem confused, but she leaves us to our conversation. My eyes fly back to Jake, and I start to relax, "Can I see your phone?" Jake obliges and I type my phone number into his cellphone quickly.

"Thank you so much! Hopefully, this helps him keep a little quieter at home... or well as quiet as Josh can be," Jake turns from me and heads over to his brothers and their friend, I crouch down and watch until they all decide to leave the store. Waiting until their car is out of the parking lot before I stand back up, stretching all the stiffness out of my muscles from the uncomfortable position.

By the time I'm fully standing, Cora's face is only a couple inches from mine, "Now what was that all about?" I jump back and start laughing before answering her question.

"That was Jake, Josh's brother." Cora rolls her eyes and crosses her arms.

"Sage I was born and raised in Frankenmuth; I know who the Kiszkas are." My laughing settles at her sarcastic tone.

"Jake came to ask me for my phone number, for Josh." Cora's eyes widen and a Cheshire cat smile beams from her lips.

"JOSH KISZKA ASKED FOR YOUR NUMBER," Cora screams and I hush her before she can continue to yell anymore.

"Well not really Josh, Jake did. It's probably just for our project, He probably needs it so we can start working on it." It's Cora who laughs this time, not me. Her eyes look at me with disbelief by my statement.

"So, you're telling me that the boy who begged me to let him drive you home yesterday sent his brother all the way here just so he can ask you for your number? And it's only for a project?" Cora snorts at her own comment, "Sure Sage that's why."

I bite my lip and decide that I won't tell her that Josh didn't even know Jake was asking, I don't need her to ask me a million questions that I don't even really know the answer to.

The rest of my shift was slow and uneventful, apart from random comments about Josh from Cora. When my shift is over, I grab my things from the coat rack by the door, "Bye Cora, I'll see you tomorrow!"

She smiles, "You better tell me when Josh texts you tonight!"

"Love you too Cora," I chuckle as I make my way out of the door. The cold wind and rain bite against my skin as I run to my car, flipping the heater on full blast as soon as I start it. The first few chords of, "Dream A Little Dream of Me," start filling up my car when my phone vibrates for the first time. It vibrates three more times before I make it home.

I sit in the heat of my car before going into my house. I avoid looking at my phone, not knowing who texted scares me, but knowing who it probably scares me even more. I take in three deep breaths before picking up my phone and looking at my screen. All three texts are from a not-so-unknown number.

Josh

Hey Sage, this is Josh!

Josh

Jake gave me your number; I hope that was okay.

A few minutes passed before he texted me again.

Josh

I'm sorry if I upset you, I really didn't mean to.

My heart fell at his last text. He never did anything wrong.

I look up at my front door, knowing my mom is waiting for me on the other side. I lock my phone screen, not sending Josh a reply before getting out of the car and going to the house. I need to talk to my mom before I talk to him.

Sighing as I place my hand on the doorknob, whispering to myself, "Guess like tonight is the night I apologize to everyone."

______________________________________________________________

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