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jazzandotherthings2 · 1 year ago

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Alona

Are you busy today? Alona asks over text. I have excess cheese for you.

I don’t check my phone until ten thirty, when I get off work. Did you end up with swiss or provolone

The reply comes immediately. Swiss.

Youre still awake

No, I’m sleep texting. Then, in a separate text, I’m still in my office, I had to stay late to file paperwork with the department chair.

Do you have anywhere else to be tonight

I wasn’t even planning on going home tonight.

If you wanna come over?

On my way

Have you eaten

I had lunch earlier. That’s why I have the cheese with me. Wait, did I eat lunch? I woke up around ten, practiced, spent an hour or so editing videos, went to the shop to get some work done, and then went home to get changed for the gig. Have I eaten anything today? Shit.

The stovetop glows red when I turn on a burner. Water runs into an empty pot, and I throw some salt in and set it to boil. Minced garlic thrown into a pan with chili flakes and oil as the pasta cooks.

I’ve just drained the pasta when there’s a knock on my door. I set the pot to the side before answering.

“Hi!” Alona greets, grinning. Her hair is tied back in a pony tail that swishes as she moves her head. “Smells good.” She hands me the package of cheese.

“Yeah,” I step back to let her in. “I thought we could eat dinner together.” She doesn’t say anything, and she’s not looking at me so I can’t see her face. I panic. “I mean, you don’t have to if you don’t want to. I can save it for later in the week when-“

She turns to face me. “Dinner sounds really nice.”

“Just a few more minutes.”

I finish cooking and move it onto plates. Alona sits at the kitchen table, pushed against the wall in my tiny kitchen so that there’s barely enough room to move around it.

“So how was your day?”

A sigh. “Long.”

“What were you doing all day?”

“I was planning the coming year with the department chair, going over travel plans, and filing papers for grants.”

“Sounds fun.”

“It’s not.”

“What’s not fun about talking to your boss and submitting financial documents?”

“Literally everything you just said.” She’s laughing. “This is really good, by the way. Thank you.”

“No problem.”

“I didn’t know you cooked.”

“I like watching cooking videos.” I’m not sure what to do with my hands. Cooking videos are the way I keep my brain the right amount of occupied when I can’t sleep. “You’re going to California on Wednesday, right?”

“Yeah,” she replies. “I’m leading a study up in Northern California, by the wildfires, and I’m doing some surveys, too.”

“And after that?”

“Well, I’m collecting samples, which I’m going to test to analyze the soil composition and research the nitrogen content and carbon ions at a lab in San Fran. That’s part of what I get grants from- I take samples all over the country- all kinds of soils, different climates and soil types and elevations and everything else, and I record all those factors to keep and maintain a catalog of a bunch of places all over the country, and how things like the soil, groundwater, lake and river water- all that stuff- how it differs.”

“You do all of that by yourself?”

“No. Other researchers will send in samples. It’s why I come here so often.”

“I thought that was to teach?”

“To teach lab work, yeah.” She takes my empty plate, as well as her own, and carefully stacks them in the sink. “So how about you? How was your work?”

“It was good.” I lean forward, elbows on the table. “Did I tell you about the wedding job I was offered last week?”

“No.” She mirrors my position.

“Well, the woman emails me asking if the rate is negotiable. I replied two hours later that on weekends, the rate isn’t negotiable, but it can be on some weekdays. She replies the next day, like, ok, well, how about Sundays? Now, lady, Sunday is on the weekend. She’s, like, ok, well, it’s my wedding. Do you have any deals for that?” I pause for dramatic effect. “Weddings are a good part of what I do, so, no. I don’t do deals for weddings. Well, anyways, this woman finds my number online, calls me, and starts cursing me out, like-”

“She found, like, your phone number?”

“My work number.” It’s a google number that I’d give to people who need to contact me. It’s the number I first gave Alona actually. Alona, who’s undoing the highest button of her shirt and rolling up the sleeves. I’d already undone the top two buttons of my shirt while cooking, so I hope that she’s comfortable too. “She calls me, starts cursing me out, so I hung up on her and blocked her. That’s weird, but I could have gotten over that. The weird part was the next day-” Alon is already laughing. “-when she emailed me, asking if I was ok with a slightly reduced rate on a Sunday night.”

“Did you turn her down?” That grin. I would say anything to keep that grin on her face.

“Well, of course.” It’s infectious. I’m smiling too. I can’t help it. “I have a way better Sunday night gig lined up now.”

She nods, her dark eyes searching my face.

My phone buzzes. You still awake? Alex asks.

Yeah whats up, I reply.

There’s a knock on my door. It’s Alex. “Hey, sorry, a fire alarm went off in the building, so I couldn’t stay there.” I have known Alex since we started college. He is my best friend in the entire world. He understands my thoughts better than I do sometimes. There are things I say to him that I don’t even let myself think when he’s not around. Of course he can come over.

My apartment is not large. It has one bedroom, the kitchen immediately to the left of the door. Alona can see the door from her chair.

And Alex can see Alona. “Who’s that?”

“Alex, this is Alona, she is a friend of mine. Alona, this is Alex. I’ve known him forever, he plays the piano.”

“Hi,” Alex offers his hand across the table. He’s changed since earlier, from his black attire to sweatpants and a t-shirt.

Alona takes his hand. “Hi.”

“Pleasure to meet you.” With everything he does, he overdoes it. When he talks, when he dances- when he signs his name there’s about five unnecessary loops. “I am going to play the keyboard.”

That’s another thing about my apartment: it’s on the third floor. Alex has an actual piano in his apartment (on the first floor, with its door in some back alley that exists almost exclusively so that all of the higher units have windows.) I’m sure that there are ways to carry an actual piano up three flights of stairs so narrow that it’s hard to carry a guitar up without banging it against the walls, but I do not know that way, so I have a keyboard set up against the wall of the living room.

“Sorry,” I say, “I didn’t know he’d do that.”

“I don’t mind,” Alona replies. “So you do gigs with him?”

“Yeah, when we get them.”

“So you have a band?”

Well, no. We have practiced before, but, like, I’ve done gigs where none of the players knew each other before showing up. We play well with each other, and we play gigs with each other. When our schedules work out, we do schedule group practices sometimes. I shouldn’t admit how often though. “Yeah, sometimes. It’s not my band though.”

“What’s this not-your-band called?”

“The Sam Fess Jazz Group.”

“That’s a boring band name.”

“Do you have a better one?”

“Intergalactic Panda Jazz-“ she seems to debate the last word. “People.”

I snicker. “Yeah, how about you keep that in mind for when you start your own band.”

“My band? I have no music skills.”

“None?”

“None.”

“You’ve never played an instrument before? Ever? In your whole life?”

“I have hit a drum before.”

“Well, then you are missing out.”

“Have you ever been camping before?” I shake my head. “Then we’re both missing out.” She takes my hand, just for a moment, just because she wanted to take my hand. “So tell me about your music.”

“Well-“ I pause. What about my music? “I have a degree in jazz studies, and that’s basically all I listen to or play, so I’m probably the most obnoxious person you’ve ever met.”

“Not even close. What songs?”

“Uh, all of them?”

“Ok. If you could pick anyone throughout all of history to play with, who would you pick?”

Ok. That’s a tough question. “I don’t know. It depends on what I’m in the mood to play.”

“Oh, come on. You know that’s not the point.” No. I do not know that.

Ok, a better answer then. “Well, basically since college, there’s this band. They’re called Snarky Puppy, and I would join in a heartbeat. I don’t even prefer playing in big bands that much, but they’re, like, the first group I found creating modern jazz that I really liked. It was, like, a childish dream for an easy way out, but it was so much to me that-“ I trail off.

“Cool.” That’s it. Cool. And a small, lopsided smile.

“What about you? Any, uh, lab instructors that you aspired to?”

Her laugh is sharp and short, “uh, no.” Then she thinks for a minute. “My father- my whole family really- spent a lot of time outdoors. I loved learning about the plants in our backyard and, well, for most of my life the backyard was a good few archers of desert, so I could wander around and, well, explore it. I guess that’s kinda why I’m, uh, here.” She hesitates. “Not here, in Chicago, but here with the University of Chicago and the parks service. Like-“ full stop.

“Where you are today?” I suggest.

She nods. “Exactly.” I don’t know when she took her hair down, but she did, and it falls over her shoulders, framing her face. Her eyes and hair are the same shade of black. I’d never noticed before.

“I like your necklace.”

“Thanks.”

“I know Alex is in there, but if you want to sit on the couch, it’s more comfortable. And I can make him put on headphones if-“ complaints rise from the other room.

“It’s fine, really.” Alona smiles and leads the way. “What song is that?” She asks as she sits on the couch.

“It‘s the accompaniment piano part to Concertino by Cicele Chaminade for flute.” He finishes up the section and turns around to face her. “I’ve got a job with it tomorrow.”

“Do you like it?”

“The piece?” She nods. “Well, I mean, it’s fine. It’s not about me, it’s about the flute player. So, like, it’ll hopefully not be too squeaky and I can go home without my ears ringing.” I’ve known too many young flute players to think that’s possible.

“Do you play with them often?”

“No, no, this is an accompaniment gig.” Alex frowns. “You’re not a musician.” Alona shrugs.

She checks her watch. “Shit, it’s late.” I check my phone. 12:58. “I should get home. I’ve got work in the morning.” She stands, stretches.

I stand too. “Can you get home ok?” I ask. “I can go with you-“

“I’m ok, Evan.” She puts a hand on my shoulder and pulls me into a hug.

I hug her back. “I can walk you to the train stop, or the bus stop, or-“

“Stay here. You probably want some sleep too.”

“Text me you get home ok, yeah?”

“Yeah.” She smiles as she steps out into the hall.

I close the door and then wash the dishes in the sink.

“So.” Alex immediately turns around when I sit on the piano bench. “Alona.”

“Alona Peahlakai,” I say, “PhD.”

“She has a PhD?” He makes a face. “In what?”

“Biology, I think.”

“But she’s not, like, a doctor?”

“Not a medical doctor, no.”

“Weird. What’s she do?”

“She’s-” How do I say this concisely? “A scientist.”

“What kind of scientist?”

A biologist, duh. “She works in environmental science at, uh, everywhere?”

“Right, and in Chicago?”

“Oh, The University of Chicago, she’s a lab teacher.”

“And how, exactly, do you know a lab teacher with a PhD well enough to have her over in your kitchen after midnight?”

“She’s a friend,” I say, and then I realize that’s not an answer to the question he asked. “She hired me to do some video editing for her.”

“Was it an interesting video?”

“I don’t remember.” It had some nature beauty shots I didn’t think twice of at the time, but now I wonder if she’s behind the camera for them. “Gig tomorrow?”

“Yeah, after that I’m going to the ballet school. Why?”

“Do you want to hang out?”

“When?”

I shrug. “In the evening.”

“Don’t you have a gig?”

Cocktail fundraiser. “Should be done by ten thirty.”

“I’ve got to be up early on Wednesday for some recording artist.” He slumps, somehow giving the impression of leaning back on the piano stool. “Damn. Maybe Thursday?”

“Can’t,” I reply. I’ve got meetings in the morning and a gig both in the afternoon and evening.

“Friday?” It’s a joke. We’re musicians; when do we ever have a Friday off? “Pick a day. A dedicated day. To take off of work. Ok?”

“Ok,” I say, not really meaning it. I feel guilty when I’m not working.

“We can find one we’re both free.” Alex lets his hands find the keys again. “What do you want to do, anyways?”

I shrug. “Do you know the movie that just came out?”

“A lot of movies just came out.”

“Knives Out?”

“That’s-” He hesitates, hands pausing over the keys. “Oh, the second one, yeah. We should get tickets.” It’s nice that I don’t need to ask. I hate the asking. Luckily, once I make myself clear, Alex has the confidence to just roll with it. “Let’s play something. Come on.”

My instruments are mostly in this room. There’s sound paneling on every wall. My guitars are on a rack next to the keyboard. I grab my old guitar, the one I’ve had since high school. It’s yellow fender, with single-coil pickups and a tone so familiar that it’s worked its way into my dream. Calloused fingers find the strings, playing major pentatonic arpeggios. A warm up.

“So what do you want to play?”

Thumb on the low E string, I pick a baseline, other fingers finding their percussive places on the plastic. Four measures, and Alex comes in on beat four. I do too, getting both the bassline and the melody. My fingers don’t mark beats when I’m playing the melody, but I do on sustain notes.

Kathrine is an amazing drummer. She is always right in the groove, her solos carry the melody through (which is hard on the drums), and her separation of limbs is impeccable. What surprises me the most is that she feels the music the same way I do. When we start a new section or song, she and I usually find the same place to sit on the beat right away. When we make eye contact, we can rise and fall at the exact same time, knowing exactly when the tempo is about to change. We have the same memories of jazz band as kids, in high school. We have the same memories. She and I, cut from the same cloth, delusional dumbasses who feel jazz better than we feel actual emotions.

“Blue Bossa” is a wonderful song. It groves, and I can feel the ocean, the way it flows in the way the music flows. The roll of the tide is in the way the drums in my head roll. Blue bossa, blue wave, rising and falling in my chest. Alex takes the first solo. He has since we first started playing jazz. It’s an old habit; when he wasn’t sure of the form, he’d know that it was time to stop when I came in. The song fills my fingers as his solo draws to a close. The waves are mirrored by chromatic runs, a sea growing stormy and then calming to seashells on a beach, with lemonade and umbrellas and Alona. It’s a good solo. As with everything, sometimes it’s better than others.

We play the head out, and the tag three times, and then my fingers fall still. Just for a moment, and then I turn down the amp, finding scale and arpeggio patterns that have become second-nature.

“Can we go again and record that?” I ask. I post videos of playing music sometimes. It makes for a few extra dollars sometimes, and I don’t mind sharing my work. It’s weirdly comforting, because I’m still improving, and you can hear that, and I think more people should know about jazz music. Actual, good jazz, not just elevator music. Music that moves, what it means to me, how it feels to make.

“Yeah, I can’t believe you’re still posting.” Starting it was Alex’s ideas. We were in college, and we were having fun, and we decided to share the music we were making with a few of our other friends. Eventually, he realized that he never posted to it, and I kept up with it. Now, for me, I like sharing my music. I come up with a lot of little things that can’t be used in a solo, some of which I write down.

#jazz music #story #writing

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zen-suality · 4 years ago

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CURIOSITY | HAN JISUNG

Genre: Smut

Word Count: 950

Parental Advisory Note: The following contains explicit content such as masturbation via use of sex toys and profanity.

Notes: This is purely for entertainment and this in no way represents who Han Jisung (or the rest of Stray Kids) is in real life or accurately portrays their sexual preference and/or sexual practices, concepts or fantasies.

This one goes out to Kim (@formidxble) because we love our Han Jisung is a polite, kinky bro agenda.

IT BEGINS WITH some lube.

After getting tired of jerking off with his bare hands and spit, Jisung discreetly orders some water-based lube online and hides it in the bottom of his underwear drawer. Two days after it arrives, he has already used the 6 oz bottle and immediately orders three more bottles without hesitation. Spit worked fine for as long as it did, but lube gives spit a run for its money.

When the three bottle order arrives, he decides to pace himself. Jisung gradually grows fond of and aroused at the idea of buying what a website described as “disposable masturbators” but relents from impulsively buying a six-pack of these little critters.

It’s tempting and he knows that if he buys them he’ll be using the shit out of them—two for each day—and plays it cool. He’ll use the lube sporadically, some spit here, a sock there, perhaps even trying something new by, say, stimulating his prostate.

It takes a week before he caves in and orders a “variety pack” of these eggs. A few days later, days wherein he pretended he wasn’t paying attention to every package that arrived in the dorm, the package arrives in a discreet box that someone—Minho, he guesses—leaves on his bed. After a day of recording, practice, producing, and more practice, Jisung takes a bottle of lube, the package—a transparent egg carton bearing the product’s name and brand—and ignores absolutely everyone on his way to the bathroom.

“You okay, Hannie?” Jisung hears Chan ask him, picking up on his confusion and worry in his voice.

“Yeah—uh—just tired—and sweaty,” is all Jisung manages to mumble, hiding the carton on his towel. He doesn’t stop walking and simply waves a hand over his head. “Gonna freshen up.”

Chan chuckles. “Oh-kay,” he responds. “Don’t stay too long, though. I wanna freshen up too.”

“You got it!”

Jisung hauls ass, missing his hyung’s look of amused confusion. He locks the door behind himself, drops everything, and begins to cautiously open the carton where six colored eggs in differently labeled wrappers are waiting to be used. It takes a good five minutes before he decides which one he wants to try out—a teal one labeled Wavy—and begins unwrapping with his tongue stuck out between his teeth.

His fingers are all over the place: crumbling the wrapper in his left hand while opening and putting the egg’s outer casing on the bathroom sink. Inside, there’s a smaller silicone egg and it feels weird to touch it—even more so when he notices a packet of lube inside the egg. He smiles and immediately pulls it out, opens it with his teeth as he undresses, allowing himself to groan as he frees his erection from his boxer briefs.

Jisung eyes his erection—uncut, veiny, the tip glistening with precum—and begins to gently pleasure. Jisung chuckles because (1) he has no idea what he’s in for and (2) he’s jittery with anticipation. Bit by bit, prolonging the inevitable, he strokes himself a bit faster until he stops to squeeze the lube packet on the egg. With his index finger, trailing circles around the little opening where he found lube stashed in, he spreads the excess on the opening’s edges before using what remains in his fingers to pinch his dick’s tip.

“Oof,” he whispers, already too excited about what’s going to happen. “Let’s fucking get it.”

Slowly, as slow as he possibly can, he guides his dick into the egg and thrusts into his hand, chuckling a breathy, shaky chuckle due to the egg’s soft texture and the euphoric sensation that begins to wrap around his member.

“Fuck,” Jisung mumbles, eyes rolling back then closing in pleasure. “Fuck—ah—yes.”

He fucks the egg slowly, head thrown back, feeling it envelop his dick until he feels it against his hand against his pelvis. Slow becomes a steady pace of strokes that have him cussing and moaning under his breath. Four different times, Jisung stops stroking to catch his breath when he feels himself close to reaching his climax. Four or five or six or even seven times, he catches himself almost moaning out loud.

After almost ten minutes of teasing himself, he decides it’s time to double down. He pulls out, pours more lube on his dick, then begins fucking the toy again. Jisung indulges himself with broader, faster strokes that leave him biting his lip and closing his eyes, a guttural moan leaving his lips as he loses himself in the moment. Pleasure, in the form of goosebumps, spreads across his body, until he can’t hold it any longer and he unravels.

“Fuck me!” Jisung moans, legs turning to jelly as he leans on the bathroom sink.

The egg feels warm in his hand. When he pulls out, he does it slowly, so slowly he shudders. He feels like his legs are gonna quit on him as he watches with satisfied eyes that he’s still rock-hard. Laying the egg on the sink’s edge, he watches it as a generous amount of cum gradually trickles down the drain.

Smirking, still stroking his still sensitive dick, he reaches for another egg.

“Round two,” Jisung says, ready to overstimulate the shit out of himself.

#han jisung #han jisung imagines #jisung #jisung imagines #han jisung smut #jisung smut #stray kids smut #stray kids #stray kids imagines #stray kids fic #stray kids spicy fic #spicy #smut #jisung skz smut #han jisung skz smut #skz smut #skz spicy

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aceinspace691 · 4 years ago

Note

"In my defense, I was left unsupervised." Maybe tiny Sapnap with George and Dream? Either they're both human/giant or one of them is also small. (This is giant-tiny-squid's main blog btw)

Sorry this took so long! I hope you like it! Sorry it’s short!

Warnings: Swearing, fear (mentioned)

Word Count ~600

(Story below the cut!)

---------------- Left Alone -----------------

“I’m glad you felt comfortable enough to meet Wilbur,” George shifted Dream from cupped palms into one hand as he fished for his keys with his free hand. He slid the key into the door’s lock and pushed the door open, walking up the stairs. “So anyway, I was just-”

The borrower looked up from his place in George’s hand as his human friend cut himself off abruptly. “George, what’s... oh.”

He understood immediately as they walked into view of the kitchen, where he could make out a fluffy black mop of hair amongst the mess. All on the counters were packages of crackers and chips, one of which was open and spilling out on the counter.

“Sapnap, what the fuck?!” George crossed the room quickly, voice irritated as he placed Dream down onto the counter near Sapnap, nudging the latter with a finger. Dream appreciated the gentle nature despite the obvious annoyance. It wasn’t much, but it made Dream feel a lot better about his decision to befriend the human.

“Hey!” Sapnap batted at the finger and took a step away, grin wide and mischievous as he stared up at the human. “In my defense, I was left unsupervised.”

“You said you didn’t want to go!”

“You did say that.” Dream affirmed, shifting his weight and leaning back against a nearby sugar container.

“Well, I- Okay, yeah, you got me there...” Sapnap grumbled, shooting a look at the scattered items on the counter. “But! I got hungry. And Dream has been so buddy-buddy with you that he hasn’t been borrowing like he used to!”

The smile he shot Dream let him know that he was teasing, but it still made him feel guilty. He had been spending a lot of time with George since the human had discovered him. He had been skittish at first, shying away from any of the human’s movements.

But George’s soft-spoken words and gentle kindness were enough to win him over. It wasn’t long before the two had begun to bantered back and forth, and he had mostly lost any fear of the human. Sapnap, on the other hand, had been unafraid since day one.

That’s what he said anyway.

“That doesn’t mean you get to make a huge mess in the kitchen.” George reached over Dream for paper towels, taking one with a soft ripping sound. Dream was thankful that the human decided not to comment on the way he ducked away at the fast movement.

Yeah, most of that fear was gone, but quick movements still caught him by surprise.

As George mopped up excess water from the side of the sink, Sapnap let out another loud laugh.

“Serves you right for stealing my best friend, you British bastard.”

George scoffed and shook his head slightly, dropping the slightly damp paper towel on the borrower, the latter sputtering and spitting out curses. “And this is for being a disaster, you little fiend.”

The two of the looked over at Dream, who was doubled over with his signature wheeze laugh. The banter between all of them had been a key part in all of the friendships they’d formed with each other.

“You’re both idiots.” The affectionate smile on his face only grew as Sapnap hurled the damp paper towel at the human/s face. It connected and slid slightly, falling back to the counter with a soft plop. “Let’s just get this cleaned up and then we can supervise Sapnap while we watch a movie.”

#ask answer #ace writes #prompt game #tiny!dream #tiny!sapnap #giant!George #borrower!dream #borrower!sapnap #human!george

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smugzayn · 4 years ago

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From London and Back (2/2)

Part One

“I need to shower,” you announce, looking at Harry expectantly.

Upon entering the room, he had promptly dropped the bags, and sprawled out on the too-small bed filling the middle of the space. You had quickly plugged in your mobile, letting your mum know you were safe (but she should alert the authorities immediately if you did not text her by half eight tomorrow morning), and checked the weather again. If you were lucky, you would be able to leave by mid-morning. Christ.

“Harry,” you tapped his foot. “I said I need to shower.”

His massive form shuffled a bit and he just barely turned his head to glance back at you.

“Do you want my permission, baby? Yes, you’re allowed to shower.” The smirk on his face was infuriating and it was even worse that you could feel your skin start to burn. You hoped the blush didn’t creep up into your cheeks.

You muttered under your breath, affronted, and looked pointedly at the open shower off to the side of the room. Apparently, the rich had little need for modesty. Aside from the toilet, which was tucked into its own little room, the place was entirely open aside from half-walls and some matte glass that offered minimal privacy.

“Well, I can’t very well shower with you in here.”

The shower was mostly, thankfully, sectioned off with half walls, but the door that opened into the shower was made of patterned glass. Your entire silhouette would be exposed for Harry’s peering eyes.

“Well,” Harry parroted, “then I guess you won’t be showering at all.”

You glowered at him. “Can’t you go to the lobby for a minute? Or just wait out in the hall? I will be quick.”

“Not a chance, darling. Y’threatened to steal my keys, remember?”

“My keys,” you instinctively argued and rolled your eyes. “Take the keys with you, and then I can’t steal them.”

Harry laughed, loud, and dry, and he stood up from the bed to get closer to you. “I’ve an idea,” he suggested, reaching around and grabbing the towel you had placed atop your luggage. “How about we shower together? Then, we don’t have to worry about the other slipping away? And,” he scanned you up and down as he inched closer. “We can get to know each other a bit better.”

When you bumped into the wall behind you, you realised you had been scooting away from his encroaching advancements. You snatched the towel out of his hand.

“Fine. Just don’t look.”

Harry smirked and watched you turn on your heel with your towel and luggage in hand.

Fully clothed, you stepped into the shower, and, before removing any of your clothes, you carefully hung the towel from the rack to block your lower half from any prowling eyes. The shower was nice and hot and it helped to relieve the tension in your back, shoulders, and neck that you didn’t realize was there but didn’t surprise you in the least. Harry was stressing you out.

You rolled your neck when you noticed him slip around the corner to use the toiler. His eyes flickered towards you quickly, a devilish smirk twisting his lips as his eyebrows raised in appreciation.

You made sure to use every last drop of the complimentary shampoo, conditioner, and body soap. You even took the time to dump the excess moisturizer down the drain. If you thought there was a chance you could’ve used the entire hotel’s hot water, then you would’ve tried to use that all, too.

You’re not sure what about Harry brought out the obstinacy in you. He just seemed to demand the upperhand, and the control, and the power in between you two and you were unable to keep from pushing against that. Something about him made you want to push, and shove, and tempt until he couldn’t fight it any longer. There was always an undercurrent of threat and god if you weren’t desperate to see if it was real.

Harry was right there when you stepped out of the shower. Still wrapped in a towel, you had decided dressing in the toilet would offer you the most privacy; you clutched the three empty bottles in your hand.

“Whoops,” you shrugged, as you dumped them in the bin. “I guess I used them all. Maybe run down and check the front desk.”

Harry looked more amused at your pettiness than seriously irritated, but that same glint of danger was deep in his eyes, so you knew he wasn’t letting on as much as he might have felt.

You leaned against the vanity, drying your hair with a fresh towel.

Harry leaned in close suddenly, reaching around to the sink behind you, and grabbed a bar of hand soap wrapped in yellow paper and matching ribbon.

“Honey,” he mused, reading the packaging, and then watching in delight as you rolled your eyes.

“You’re a twat,” you clipped, holding the towel more securely to your body, and trying to slow down your racing heart.

Harry’s face dropped slightly, a threat lacing his features as his smile just barely hung into his lips. “That mouth,” he tsked, unwrapping the packaged soap and holding it under his nose to sniff.

“I wonder if it tastes like honey?” He watched you carefully, gauging your reaction. “Want to say that again?”

He raised an eyebrow at you in question, and there was nothing kind or good-natured on his face now. It was all challenge, and danger, and warning.

You were frozen on the spot as Harry reached out, lightly taking a hold of your jaw with just the tips of his fingers. If you took a step back, you were sure he’d let you, but you didn’t have anywhere to go - the edge of the vanity pressed flush against your toweled back. Your eyes didn’t leave his face as he reached out with the bar of soap, running it slowly along your bottom lip, and then top, and then just slipping past your lips to coat the tip of your tongue.

Your breath was sharp, your blood coursing in your ears, and a burning running through your stomach, and chest, and reddening your neck.

“Want t’say that again?” Harry repeated, taking his eyes from the bar resting on your lips to look into your eyes.

You wondered what would happen if you said yes. Would he demand you take it into your mouth? And would you? Or would he turn you around, trap your arms and hold you close to his body, and force you to do it?

You shook your head slowly, still unable to step away from his powerful touch.

His lips quirked slightly, and you could see his nostrils flare in need.

His thumb tugged down gently, just parting your lips slightly, and the bitter taste of the soap soured the end of your tongue. Heat flooded through your body and your eyes fluttered shut in shame, and desire, and vulnerability.

Harry’s hand trailed down your neck and he let you go, and the bar of soap fell to his side.

“After I shower, we’ll order some food.” Harry decided, pulling his shirt over his head. His stomach was hard, and there were defined lines disappearing under his trousers, and his shoulders were large, and round, and thick with lean muscle. “Pizza or pub food?”

“Yes,” you muttered, not even sure of the question - you were short-circuiting and over-processing. You stepped into the toilet, pulling the door shut, but not before Harry stepped out of his trousers to reveal a pair of short, black pants hugging his thighs.

The door clicked shut with more force than you intended and the sounds of Harry’s gruff chuckle slipped under the crack.

You didn’t know how to recover from the soap. Harry had only smirked when he saw the nearly empty bottle of water clutched in your hand. It didn’t matter - you still tasted the bitter honey.

This wasn’t you. You were confident, and in control, and begrudgingly followed the lead of others. You got into PR because you could wrangle the difficult singer, the diva movie star, or the eccentric talk show host, and you were good at it. So, what the hell was wrong with you when it came to Harry Styles?

“I’ll order,” you decided as Harry used his towel to dry out some of the remaining water drinking from his hair. He had pulled on a pair of gray sweats and a hoodie.

You went to grab your mobile before Harry had time to protest or give you permission - you weren’t sure which you were expecting. It was time to regain some footing, and taking control of the dinner situation was the first step.

“Chinese, Italian, or Sushi? You decide.” You didn’t glance up from where you were perched on the very tip of the bed; rather, you scanned pointedly through the menu pulled up on your screen. “Chinese has four stars, so does Italian...the Sushi place only has -”

As the mattress sunk down beside you, your mobile was plucked from your hand. You involuntarily reacted to the proximity by jerking your thigh away from where it was all of the sudden pressed flush against Harry’s.

“I’ll order,” you repeat, trying to grab your phone but Harry’s forearm in the middle of your chest keeps you at bay. You’re not so indignant, or naive, to think you can get it back from him by force. So, instead you step away from him and hold your hand out to wait. You’re not going to give him the satisfaction of his stupid power games.

“We’ll do pizza - sausage or cheese and get a side, too.” He hands you your mobile, some place already pulled up on the screen. You watch him shove the card key in his pocket before he grabs the ice bucket and mutters something about buying drinks.

He gives you a warning glance and you look away when he tells you to “behave” before slipping out the door.

You roll your eyes to the safety of his back.

You order Chinese and quickly deadbolt the door before running over to dig through Harry’s luggage. He’s just stuffed everything haphazardly into the duffel, so you don’t worry about keeping it organised as you search his pockets, and unravel tops, and search for your car keys.

You can’t stay here with him tonight. He’ll have you gagged, tied up, and shoved in a closet by morning, and Christ if that thought doesn’t send a shiver through your body.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” you mutter in your panicked search. You start unzipping the side pockets and digging around. You throw the duffle back on the floor and start opening and closing different drawers in the place. The bathroom cabinets are empty, and the keys aren’t hidden in the closet, or tucked away in a nightstand drawer. You start ripping up the sofa cushion in a frenzy.

The door slams suddenly and you can hear Harry out in the hall. “Hey,” he barks and shoves at the door again. “Open up. My hands are full.”

You reshove the cushions into the sofa and throw the pillows back to their spot.

Just as Harry’s growl comes barking at you again, you unlock the door and swing it open as casual as you can.

“Sorry,” you grab the ice bucket from his hands as an excuse to turn away. “I must’ve accidently deadbolted it. You were able to buy drinks, then? I was worried they might be out. Y’know with the storm, and being full, and everyone being trapped here for the night. From the weather, it almost seems like…”

You trail off as Harry leans against the door, his arms folded across his chest. You follow his gaze to the open drawers of the wardrobe doubling as a TV stand.

“Oh,” you shove them close with your hip and foot before setting the ice down. “I was thinking about unpacking my stuff. I hate when it gets wrinkly -”

“My stuff, too?” Harry questions dryly as he looks at where his completely unzipped duffle is abandoned.

You take a deep breath to keep from cursing.

“Yes, yes, yours too.” He walks towards you, his broad shoulders looking hulking and threatening. It makes you prattle on nervously. “I guess I am so used to working for celebs and since you’re a popstar - I just - I was thinking about laying out your stuff for you. I wouldn't want your Gucci, or Givenchy, or Prada to -”

“Are you lying?” Harry’s grabbed onto your wrist to stop you from shuffling backwards any further. He doesn’t let go as he sits down on the bed. He’s tall enough that he’s eye level with you as he sits, and he pulls you in until you’re basically wedged in between his thighs.

“No, I’m not-”

“I don’t like being lied to,” he interrupts. “I get lied to all the time. From my bosses, my PR people, my designers, my publicists, my fans. I don’t want lies.”

The hand wrapped around your wrist squeezes in warning.

You swallow your nerves and opt for the truth. “I want the keys,” you confess, pulling your wrist until it’s free from his hold.

His lips pull upward, not in delight, but in some sort of dry amusement. A harsh chuckle flares his nostrils and you’re sure the lies go along with never getting the truth from anyone. He doesn’t get told no, or hear any criticism, or receive any pushback from all the yes-men who surround him.

Well, if he’s asking for the truth then you will fucking give it to him.

“Give me the keys,” you state firmly. “I want to leave, so give me the keys.”

Harry shakes his head, rolls his eyes, and runs a hand roughly along his jaw. He levels you dead in the eyes before sinking you with one word, “No.”

You storm away, over to the sofa, and sit with your arms crossed and your back towards him. He turns on a footie match and lays back on the bed. You two don’t exchange another word until the delivery man shows up at the door.

You like him better that way - silent.

“I thought I told you pizza,” he growls as a boy holding two bags of Chinese looks up at Harry in embarrassment.

“I’m not one of your yes-men, popstar,” you snatch the food from the boy’s hand and flash him a smile. “It’s a snowstorm; make sure to give a good tip.”

III

It’s late by the time you finish eating. The day had been long, the ride treacherous, and every interaction since entering the hotel completely draining.

While the Chinese food wasn’t that great, you had delighted in every grumpy swallow Harry took of the Chow Mein. His irritation was clear when he growled at you about trying to throw away his chopsticks.

“I’m saving them,” he had snarled, plucking them out of your hand. They were nicer than the usual takeaway chopsticks - heavier and a bit more durable, but what millionaire keeps takeaway utensils?

“You liked the Chinese so much that you want a souvenir?” you taunted and only smiled wider when Harry glowered at you darkly.

“Something like that,” he muttered, placing them safely on the nightstand.

That was an hour ago and the mindless drone of bad telly has lured you into nearly forgetting the exhausting celebrity lounging at the head of the bed.

“Harry,” you prompt, looking back to where he’s leaning against the headboard, his sock-covered feet crossed casually near where you rest at the end of the bed. “I think I’m going to go to bed.”

He didn’t respond, just flickered his eyes from you and back to the television as if it was none of his concern.

You stood up, tired, and in a bit of a huff.

“Aren’t you going to go sleep on the sofa?” you question, trying your best to keep the bite out of your voice. “There’s no sense in us both sleeping here.”

Harry just flipped the covers down and patted the spot next to him without glancing your way.

“Seriously?” you rolled your eyes. “I’m not one of your yes-men - or girls. I am not sleeping with you!”

“Then, sleep on the sofa, or stand, or find a comfy spot on the floor because I’m not moving, princess.” You glared at him from the foot of the bed.

It made you angrier the longer he paid you no mind.

“You’re so surrounded by people so stuck up your arse that you don’t remember what it’s like to have someone tell you no. Do you?” Harry licked his lips, his nostrils flaring dangerously. “You always get your way? Grab this, schedule that, talk to them... Well, fuck you, Harry because I am telling you no.”

Harry stands up, taking two large steps until he’s closed the gap between you two, his lips are on yours as he pulls you into his body. His scent overwhelms you first - fills up your nostrils and you’ve never felt so wrapped up in someone in your entire life. His tongue demands entrance next, and you part your lips to let Harry slip in. He rolls against you, pressing deeper into you, and muddling your brain from any coherent thought.

“I’ll make you say yes,” he growls, a hand crawling up your waist until his thumb brushes over your nipple. His mouth is still hard against yours. “Tell me no again and I’ll make you mine.”

You use his shirt to pull him closer into you, and he forces a bit of separation by dragging that same hand up your throat, his thumb pressing gently against the sides of your neck this time.

“Say it,” he demands, “Tell me no.”

You’re scared, and hungry with desire, and your brain can hardly make sense of what he wants from you and what you want from yourself. You think back to the bathroom, and the soap, and his threat. You push him away.

“What would you have done?” you ask as Harry stares down at you, his lips just slightly puffy from their assault. “If I called you a name again? In the bathroom?”

You can see Harry’s breath hitch, but he smiles - a taunting, arrogant smile that makes your heart flutter in desire.

“You want to know?” he asks and after a pause, you nod. You were starting to realise that Harry demanded answers to all his questions. “I would’ve made you stand there and watch me as I lathered my hands up, and then I would’ve told you to open, and I would’ve ran my finger all through your mouth - along your gum, under your tongue, and the inside of your lips, and then you would’ve sucked my fingers until you apologized.”

You feel numb and he stares down at you carefully, calculating. His hands spread wide across your hips

“I wouldn’t have let you,” you whisper.

Harry throws his head back in a humorless chuckle. “Darling, you wouldn’t ever want me to stop.”

His hands run up your sides, across your breast, and rest under your jaw, forcing you to tilt your neck to meet his gaze. The pads of his fingers wrap behind your head and his palms cup your cheeks.

He stares down at you expectantly, and the word parts your lip with a rush. You know it means everything - freedom, and permission, and acceptance that you want everything he will give you.

“No.”

The smile that splits Harry’s face doesn’t fool you for a minute - it’s intimidating, and threatening, and makes you want to crawl away from the touch you crave.

He sweeps you away with one deep, demanding kiss before turning you around, pressing your back tight into his back, and sinking his hand beneath your panties.

“My favourite people aren’t yes-men,” he growls into your ear, his fingers discovering the wetness coating your thighs. “They tell me no. I can’t resist no - it reminds me I’m human, and I’m man, and it’s naughty.” You moan as he adds pressure to his exploration and you feel his own hardness pressed into the top of your bum. “How have you been naughty today? Huh? Tell me.”

His free hand roams up your body until it’s wrapped around your neck and he pulls your head back against his shoulder. You moan when he pinches your clit threateningly.

“Tell me.”

You squeal when he pinches even harder.

“I called you a twat, and I didn’t listen and ordered Chinese, and I - I” Harry snakes a finger into your mouth but encourages you. Your words come out garbled and fuck it makes you needy. “I snuck through your stuff and I told you to fuck off. Fuck.”

Harry pats you lightly on the cheek and rubs your clit once more before guiding you to the bed. When you move to lay down, he stops you, and positions you with both feet firmly on the floor, your arms tucked under you, and your cheek pressed firmly into the mattress. Your bum sticks out and it makes your face glow red.

“Harry, I-”

He shushes you.

“I’m going to make you my yes girl, ya?” You watch him reach back to the nightstand, and he picks up the chopsticks. “Open,” he demands, holding them in front of you and waiting until you’ve had your mouth open for an embarrassing long time before placing them between your teeth and telling you to close.

Harry pulls your shorts down and rubs his hands soothingly over your bum. It’s been a while since you’ve had doggy style and never before with chopsticks between your teeth. You push back into Harry, eager to feel him press into you.

He pulls your panites up slightly, and you practically purr at the fabric against your sensitive flesh. The pressure against your clit makes you needy for more. You wiggle your bum, desperately asking him to stop playing with you.

“Have you ever been spanked before?”

You freeze.

Harry pulls your panites a little more taut and warms your bottom even more.

“Yes or no?” he prompts lowly, “Have you ever been spanked?”

Your face burns into the duvet when you shake your head no and you practically hear Harry’s satisfaction at your response.

“Didn’t think so,” he chirps lightly, almost slightly disproving. “We’ll change that.”

He pulls your panties tighter, balling them in one of his first, and forcing you to arch your back and pop your bum.

“Eight this first time,” Harry decides. “Two for each offense. I’ll explain more tomorrow, but for now it will just be two. Understand?”

You’re so caught up in your shame, and confusion, and the feeling of wetness dripping down your leg that you nod into the mattress noiselessly.

Harry grins and adjusts himself where he’s still tucked in his trousers.

You jump at the first three, the shock of them surprising you more than any real hurt or pain. You study Harry’s face, see the hunger in his eyes, and how he licks his lips as he studies your bum, and even the way his lips twitch delightedly when you gasp at his touch. You think you’d let him spank you every day if it means getting to see him look at you like that.

By the time Harry says, “That’s eight” you’re grateful that’s all he had wanted from you. Your bum feels hot more than anything, but Harry had snapped harder for the last two and you wondered how much he was holding back. You try to stand up, but Harry’s hand in the middle of your back keeps you still.

He reaches around to grab the chopsticks from your mouth. “Tell me thank you,” he orders, looking down his nose at you.

You feel like you should want to crawl away, but instead you find yourself giving a breathy “thank you” to the man that just spanked your bottom red.

IIII

After Harry helps you up, you think you’re going to have sex.

When he sits down on the bed, you swing a leg over top of him, straddle his waist, and grind down on his hardness underneath you. You’re so desperate for him that you feel no shame - just need, and desperation, and an aching burn somewhere deep in your stomach. Your lips are hungry for his, and his hands crawl up your thighs, palm your stinging bum, and settle at the dip of your waist. His long thumbs dip playfully under your panties.

You moan when his thumbs dig in right under your hip bones.

“Let me ride you,” you beg, sneaking a hand under his sweatshirt and Harry lets you pull it off him. You reach down to untie his sweats.

His hands clasp around your wrists suddenly, and he holds them captive in one hand while his other wraps around your neck and a fat thumb pushes just slightly into your mouth.

“Harry?” you moan in question and his thumb presses down more harshly, prompting your jaw open more.

He stands up, shift you off his waist, and sets you down on the bed.

“Don’t move,” he orders without a backward glance and disappears into the toilet.

You figure he’s rolling on a condom, and you take the time to peel off your own top and bra. You leave your panties on in anticipation of the feeling of Harry pulling them off you.

Your brain is drowning in so much desire that you don’t really have the will to consider what’s happening. Harry’s power hungry and it makes you absolutely desperate for him. You think you’d do anything he wants, whatever he says, work to meet all of his needs.

You lay back on the bed and touch yourself, gasping at the wetness in between your legs. You yell at Harry to hurry up, a bit more breathiness in your voice than you intended.

After another torturous moment, Harry walks out of the bathroom with his top back on and his pants noticeably less...strained.

“Ready for bed?”

“What the - are we not? I thought you were going to?” There’s a small smile on his face, but his eyes betray whatever image of innocence he’s trying to convey. He leans down to kiss you. “We-we were going to have sex?”

Harry shakes his head. “After a spanking?”he looks at you with an infuriating patience.”No, you should go to bed. Maybe another time, after you’ve earned it.” He taps your leg to get you to scoot, as if that’s it, as if he’s just settled, closed, finalized the matter.

“Are you joking?” you seeth and it looks like he’s trying to bite back a cocky smile. “We’re not going to fuck? You just spanked me and let me ride you some and I’m horny and we’re not going to have sex?”

“Yes,” Harry nods. “Now get under the covers.”

“But you were hard -”

“And I took care of it myself.”

You want to scream at him. He looks so satisfied, so sure of himself, so confident you’re going to do exactly what he says and christ if he’s not 100% right.

“Fine,” you growl, pulling your shirt back on and crawling over to your side of the bed. You scooch as far from him as possible and curl up with your back towards him.

“That's it, darling. Just as I say,” he’s absolutely taunting you for a reaction and it sends a wave of desire through your already desperate body.

The mattress sinks as Harry slides in and then the room is plunged into darkness when he turns off the telly and flips off the light. You should’ve known it wouldn’t be that easy, he’s an absolute devil and apparently you are his new favourite toy to tease.

You yelp in surprise when his hands wrap around you and pull you tight into his body. You wiggle away, but he holds you tight and, after a moment, you let him. You’re angry, he’s a prat, but his body fits so well around yours that you can’t bother to fight too much.

For a while, his hands innocently splay across your stomach, unmoving. You’re hyper aware of his fingers ghosting right above your panties.

“Please,” you beg as Harry slides one giant hand deeper into your panties and rubs slow circles around your wet folds.

Harry just shushes you, and you think you will die like this - horny and in the arms of the man who did it to you.

***

When you wake in the morning, it takes two minutes before Harry is on top of you.

“I’m sorry for calling you names. I’m sorry for cursing at you. I’m sorry for - for,’ Harry peels your shirt off and hovers above you.

You prattle on some more - listing off every apology that crosses your mind - you had slept, but it was restless. You’ve never woken more horny in your life.

“Open,” Harry demands, tapping your chin. Again, just like last night, he makes you wait a shameful second with your mouth hanging open before he stuffs your shirt inside. “I don’t want to hear anything but moans from that filthy mouth. Got it?”

He wraps a hand around your waist and flips you onto your hands and knees. He guides your shoulders and cheek into the mattress with a firm hand.

“Answer me,” he smacks your sore arse. There’s a softness in his voice, a slight desperation that you didn’t notice last night when it was all arrogance, and sharp, and firm.

“Mmmphhh,” you moan as Harry spreads your knees apart further and keeps a hand right above your bum to force a wanton arch in your back.

He runs his fingers along your folds. “Is this just from this morning, baby? Or is this still from last night? Fuck.” Harry growls and snakes just the tip of a finger into you. “Did you like that? Going to bed horny for me? Hmm? Tell me?”

You moan and buck back on where it feels like he has two fingers in you.

“We’ll have time for slow,” he shuffles behind you and when you subconsciously lean up slightly he gently but firmly pushes you back down on the bed. “I don’t have time to tie you up. Stay still.”

He shuffles around and then you gasp when you feel just the tip of him glide against you. He chuckles when you lean back for more of him. You think he calls you greedy, but your heartbeat is so loud that you can barely hear a word.

Harry dips into you a few times, stretching your pussy, and making you moan in pleasure. You desperately want to ask him to touch your clit, or you want to touch it yourself, but the angle he has you at makes it impossible.

“C’mon, lean back f’me, darling,” you feel his length fill you and your eyes roll back in your head in pleasure. He rolls his hips inside you and then sets a quick tempo. The sounds of smacking flesh quickly fill your ears and you groan in need.

You beg into the gag again, pleading with Harry to touch you.

“That’s right,” he growls and leans down to grab you and pull your back against him. The angle keeps him in you but his thrusts make you feel split full with every pull and push of his hips. He’s desperate and when you cry into your gag, his hand finds your neck and pull you even tighter against him, your neck curved back to rest on his shoulder. His other hands ghosts down your stomach until he’s rubbing circles into your quaking folds.

“Come for me, doll,” he demands, pulling the gag from your mouth, and then running his fingers down your body to cruelly flick your clit. You clench down on his cock as your orgasm explodes through your toes, and thighs, and chest. You gasp and moan into your gag and then hear Harry do the same as you grip down on him in need.

“Fuck me,” Harry curses as you both shake through your orgasms and then collapse on the bed.

Harry’s hand finds your jaw. He has thing for holding your face in his hands, but you’re starting to think you might have a thing for it, too.

“B’mine?” Harry asks, his cheeks still red, and his lips puffy, and the dark hair sticking to his sweaty forehead. “Be my good girl? Tell me yes.”

“Yes,” you mutter, your face flushing with heat and desire.

“Say it. All of it,” he demands and you don’t know how you’re ever going to survive London with him in it. You had left London a respectable woman and now you were absolutely preening with the thought of going back to it after bending over, letting Harry spank you, and call you his good girl. It sent a shiver up your spine.

“Yes,” you promised and watched a dangerous smile paint his face. “I’ll be your good girl.”

[masterpost]

#this is dirty sorry #feminism on hold #one direction #one direction fic #one direction imagine #one direction writing #harry styles #harry styles imagine #harry styles fic #harry styles x reader #one direction x reader #reader insert #my writing

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jungcity · 5 years ago

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𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞, 𝐞𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐧𝐚𝐥. | ii

word count: 7k

“Meet me at midnight

in the forest of

my dreams.

We’ll make a fire

and count the stars

that shimmer above

the trees.”

“How do I politely ask my boss that I want to slap him over the head with a chair?”

Those words were the first thing that came out of your mouth the moment you stepped inside the kitchen of your small apartment. You saw your sister propped comfortably on one of the chairs while munching her dinner. She ran down a scrutinizing look over you, her eyes painted with the words ‘I told you so’.

Rolling your eyes at her, you slumped too hard in one of the chairs, causing your butt to hurt from the contact. She chuckled loudly from the silent ‘ouch’ you exhaled before she gulped down a glass of water.

“What did he do this time?” Yuqi asked, wiping her mouth off the excess water.

Her question brought you back to the incident earlier. How Jaehyun gripped your arms trying to squeeze an answer from you. The pain left a numbing pain on your skin, reminding you to be extra cautious around him for your own sake. The man, just like what Soojin said, is not one to mess with. But you felt utterly coward reminiscing the way you cowered under him. He is your boss, yes, but he is still a man. He is just a man; flesh and blood just like you. “Earth to you, sis?” Yuqi snapped her fingers in front of your face, making you blink your way back to reality. You debated telling your sister of what happened. But you remember that behind her 5’0” height sleeps a volcano that you wouldn't want to wake.

“Nothing happened. He was just, you know, being extra jerk today.” You frowned.

“You don’t have to tolerate his attitude. You can always quit,” Yuqi commented, pulling a chair towards you and sitting on it, concern written on her face.

You slid off your three-inches high heels while laughing at her. Quitting after a week of work wasn’t in your list of priorities right now. You still have to endure your contract which lasts for a year, before you could quit or renew it— that is if he doesn’t get angry enough to let you stay in his company. And you still have tons of debts to pay and a future to secure; you wouldn’t want your sister to suffer just because you were being whiny.

“You know that’s not possible. We need money to stay alive,” you reminded her. She sighed in frustration, trying to open up the topic of her working so she could help provide for you both. You half listened to her sentiments while munching your dinner of ham and egg.

“I don’t understand why won’t you let me help,” Yuqi sighed.

You looked at her as she slumped further into her own seat. “I know you want to help. I couldn’t let you because of your condition. I wouldn’t stand idly as you risk your health doing jobs that I could do myself.”

“I am not as frail as you would like to paint me.” She sounded irritated, conviction clear in her voice. Of course you knew that. You are only refusing to test her strength when it’s clear that one simple job could harm her.

“And you’re not as strong as you believed to be,” you retaliated, challenging her to say something by looking at her intently. She sighed and let her hands fly above her head, defeat clear in her action.

“Alright. You win. I won’t talk about this again.”

“And I won’t let you even if you try to.” You chuckled, lifting the heavy atmosphere that’s coaxing from your discussion.

“You are annoying.” Your sister chuckled back. That was when you knew that you had won the argument again.

You stood up, gathering all the dirty utensils in the kitchen to wash in the sink. Yuqi offered to wash the plates, but you declined and told her to study instead.

“There’s something I wanna tell you, though,” she voiced behind you. You turned around to face her while wiping your hands with the apron wrapped around your waist. She nibbled on her bottom lip, the mannerism she always does whenever she feels uncomfortable to talk about something.

“I… I wanna try and join the archery team in our school,” she stated, refusing to look. Knowing Yuqi, she would always say tons of explanations to convince you about it, so you patiently waited while leaning onto the sink.

“I really wanna join… but I want to inform you first. Since, you know, my condition…”

Archery is the one sport she could do. It doesn’t really require heavy trainings and that could also help with her stamina.

“Just promise me that you’ll take care and discipline yourself,” you pointed out while raising your finger.

Her head snapped at you, eyes twinkling by the silent yes between your lines. You nodded at her, confirming that you indeed would let her join the sport. Her squeal pierced your ears as she jumped in happiness and hugged you.

“You’re the best!”

She peppered your face with little kisses, making you laugh and jokingly shrug her off of you. She kissed you one last time before dashing to her room with a stupid grin painted on her face. Going back to cleaning the dishes, you shook your head by your sister's silliness.

Teenagers are the hardest stones of the world, and you hope you were doing a great job taking care of one.

The day was beyond exhausting and you barely made it to your bed after washing your body and face in the bathroom. Your limbs felt heavy and your eyes were almost closing as you trudged the small distance from the bathroom to your mattress. The pain in your arm throbbing as you lay comfortable on the sheets. There wasn’t any bruises when you looked at it in the small mirror, but it was painful nonetheless. You wonder just how much strength Jaehyun emitted since you didn’t feel the pain earlier.

After you left the room, he didn’t call you back for anything again. Chaelin left not five minutes after you bolted out of the room. Regarding your boss, he departed his office earlier than the usual time. He was clearly pissed; with his narrowed brows almost crashing against each other paired with his usual scowl. As expected, he said absolutely nothing to you. Not even a sorry. Not even a glance.

Who are you kidding? Of course he was not apologetic. The heavens would open up and the angels would sing once a man like him admits his wrong. Men like him has a pride as fragile as a china vase. But deep in your heart, you expected him to at least say something to you, because you were hurt from his own doing.

Maybe it was bad idea to work for him, maybe it was a mistake that you didn’t listen to your best friend’s and sister’s warning. But what could you possibly do? What choices do you have left? Nothing. You have to endure him or else your sister would suffer. Besides, the company offers a great source of income, you really just have to live through the asshole CEO that comes with the package.

In spite of that, maybe you could exchange work to your co-workers on the lower floors. Surely, there is someone who would be willing to take the job. Jung Jaehyun is a pleasant view to look at, not until he talks and say something that would degrade and bury your confidence six feet under. Nevertheless, it wouldn’t hurt to try.

You exhaled by the thought of talking to your boss about your plan of exchanging works with his other employees. You know it is unprofessional, but could he blame you when he literally went on and tried to crush your bones, scaring the wits out of you? He couldn’t be that heartless and emotionless not to feel your discomfort, right?

Assuring yourself that you could successfully execute the plan tomorrow, you drifted into oblivion mere seconds after closing your eyes.

The bad day seemed to stretch up to your dreams. Your mind is in a haze of blurry images; bodies and faces alike. But you feel your own limbs, standing in the crowd of people waltzing in a slow jazz music at the center of the hall.

You tried to look around; seeing different faces contorted like smudges of oil paint. It made your head hurt. The whole place made you dizzy. From its grand and shiny chandeliers to bodies full of iridescent jewels. It feels as if you were back in the past, but having no knowledge of where in history you were into. Eighteenth century? Nineteenth? You have no idea, yet it almost feels as though you were in the right place.

You stepped your foot forward, feeling the hard and slightly heavy shoes attached to your soles. That was when it occured to you that you were wearing the same elaborative gown as every woman in the festivity; with a corset wrapping your body, making it harder for you to breath. The feeling of your hair in a tight and fancy bun against your scalp and the dragging sensation of cosmetics on your face felt utterly real that you started to question yourself whether everything was only a dream, for you felt like living in the moment.

A servant halted in front of you, breaking your reverie. His one hand carried a tray of various drinks.

“Mademoiselle,” he greeted, slightly bowing his head. You reluctantly took a glass containing of red liquid. The servant smiled before continuing on his task.

The elders warned not to eat or drink anything in your dreams, for it is an offer by the devil and a sign that they could take your soul from your body. Looking down at the glass, you could almost perceive your own silhouette against the red surface— making everything more sinisterly eccentric.

“My lady.”

A voice rang from behind you. You turned on your heels to face the owner of the masculine voice, almost losing your balance as you saw that familiar eyes piercing on your own.

“Jaehyun?”

You were beyond certain that he was your boss. With his raven black hair standing bright against his pale skin, and the same cherry lips paired with his dark brown irises; there was no doubt he is Jung Jaehyun. The only difference is his hair, that is much longer than what you remember. But all about him— from his voice to his aura— is Jung Jaehyun.

Have you been thinking about him too much that his memory clung in your mind and into your dreams?

“Pardon me, my lady, but who is Je—?”

He was having difficulties pronouncing his own name. It was obvious by the way his brows were knitted together with his tongue stuck in his mouth. You realized that the name ‘Jaehyun’ was too modernized for a place like this; convincing you that the Jaehyun you know and the man in front of you might have the same face but they are not the same person.

“I’m… I’m sorry.”

There was an unusual glint painted in his orbs as he looked at you; so different from his passionless eyes in real life. You tried to tell yourself that all of this is just a dream. But the first time your mind opened the door towards this fantasy, everything felt strangely veridical.

“It’s quite alright, my lady.” He smiled.

Jaehyun was a pleasant art to look at even with his scowl and narrowed brows. Yet his smiling face left no words in the dictionary to be used as a description to how dashing and comely he looked like with his pearly white teeth and luscious lips perfectly contrasting each other. And if only you could take a picture of it with your brain and print it out once you wake up just to taunt him tomorrow, you would. But the image would exist only in your mind and would solely be yours to keep.

“…can I finally have the pleasure to dance with you, ma chérie?”

You blinked. He offered you his hand, still too pale even in your dreams. Deep in your heart, Jaehyun feels too familiar that there was a slight pang of pain throbbing in the arteries of your heart as you stared at him. He whispered the last words like you share some kind of secret you didn’t want the world to know.

“What’s… your name again?” You asked.

His brows shot up to his hairline, clearly surprised by your question. “I see that you have consumed too much liquor tonight, my lady,” he chuckled.

He chuckled and you would lie if you would say that it wasn't the most pleasant sound you have heard in your whole life. It was deep, like it came from the depths of the ocean. You and Jaehyun were close to being strangers— but as you look at him with the eyes that you know were only a part of your imagination, you wished to bottle up the sound and replay it for the rest of your life.

He showed you his triumphant smile when you took his hand. Guiding you towards the throng of dancing bodies, he leaned closer, his lips so near you could feel his breath fanning your cheeks. “I am—”

“Y/N!”

You jolted awake, clutching your chest tightly as you stare at your younger sister with widened eyes.

“What on earth?” You breathed.

She smiled cheekily at you, “Breakfast’s ready.”

She hummed her way out of your room, giving you a look that tells you she knows you were dreaming about Jaehyun. You grabbed one of the pillows and attempted to throw it at her, sending her dashing to the kitchen with her laugh echoing through the whole house.

You stared at the window, noticing the rays of the sun slowly creeping in inside your room, leaving golden colors to everything that it touches. They say you would forget ninety-percent of your dream once you wake up, but that was not in your case. Your dream was so vivid you could draw Jaehyun’s smiling face if you wanted to.

The cold floors bit your soles as you stood up from the bed, washing away the last bit of sleep remaining in your system. You tied your hair into a messy bun and walked towards the bathroom to brush your teeth and wash your face.

You debated telling Yuqi about the dream, but you shrugged the thoughts off the same moment it occured to you. There was no point telling her about it. She would certainly tease you once you tell her about Jaehyun’s occurrence in it.

“I’ll be late tonight,” Yuqi started as you both settled down on your chairs. You nod your head at her since you have been through the reason why she would come home late.

“Please, take care.” You eyed her intently.

You were still a bit reluctant to let her join the archery team. But your sister is on her last stage of being a teenager and you wouldn’t want her to miss the things she wants to enjoy. You wouldn’t wish to take away the life she wants to explore; the one you didn’t had the chance to experience when your mother died in the peak of your teenage life.

“I will, mom.” She snorted and rolled her eyes, but promising to take care of herself nonetheless.

—

“Sir, would you like to eat some breakfast?” You asked your boss.

It took you a lot of courage to walk in his office and pretend like nothing happened yesterday; because let us be real, he was still your boss and you were still his secretary.

He was sitting on his throne, rummaging through the files stacked up on his table with his usual scowl. Instead of answering you right away, he pretended not hearing you for two-minutes straight— making you stand there like a puppy waiting for his owner to give his orders. You soothed yourself despite the temper starting to boil inside you.

“Sir, would you like to eat some break… fast…?” Your last words barely came out of your mouth as he suddenly looked at you with his ice-cold gaze. It was so chilling that it locked you down on your spot like a zombie shot by the ice-peashooter in a game. Then there you were again, slowly cowering in his gaze like an animal trapped in a pen.

“Look at me, Y/N,” he commanded. And you wonder just how much power this man has that his words could literally pull you down on your knees, right there and there. With your heart on your throat, you slowly lifted your gaze to meet his.

Suddenly and without any warning, your mind went running back to the dream that you had; Jaehyun asking you for a dance while smiling at you. Today, his face was still beautiful, but there was nothing friendly in it as he looked at you— only danger and mischief.

“Does your arm hurt?”

Yes, fucker. It still does hurt, thank you. You would’ve said the words if it wasn’t for the fact that you still need a job and you couldn’t afford sleeping in the streets for the next month. So you lied instead. “No, Sir.”

He pushed his chair away from his table, silently stretching his shoulders and craning his neck as he stood up. He then, pulled a small bottle out of his pocket and laid it on the table. “Take this and get out.”

He didn’t give you a chance to say something for he walked straight to the meeting room— not bothering to glance at you. You blinked a few times before taking the small bottle and left the office.

You opened your hands. A small smile crept up on your lips as you stared at the bottle of ointment for body aches laid in your palms.

Maybe Jaehyun wasn’t that heartless after all.

—

Apparently, lunch is the only time you and Soojin could mingle together. Today, the lunch was surely meaty because of her stories and chitchats. You haven’t told her about the incident that occurred yesterday, for you didn’t want any drama attached to your name. Soojin is a reliable friend, but she’s the type of person who could drop a bomb in a group people, so you decided to be quiet about the matter.

“Oh! Before I forgot, Yuta sent me a message yesterday. He’s coming home to visit!” She cheered while scrolling through her phone.

The name brought you too many memories in an instant that you almost choke on your drinks. Soojin eyed you sheepishly before handing you a glass of water.

She laughed while patting your back and saying, “Relax, Y/N. It’s just Yuta!”

You nudged her ribs before quoting the air, “He’s not ‘just’ Yuta, y’know.”

You and Soojin were both friends with Yuta when you were in your freshman years. The three of you shared some memories that you wouldn’t trade for the world. You cried and laughed with each other— until you and Yuta became a ‘thing’.

It wasn’t hard to love Yuta; he was simply the best that you could ask for a guy. With his wise mind and smart mouth, gentleman antics and protectiveness, he captured you like a little dragonfly between his fingertips. Your relationship tied a rope so tight it couldn’t be loosened. Not until you saw her with a girl; him shoving his mouth down her throat you were certain he was trying to reach her liver.

He was your first love and your first heartbreak; your first in almost everything. And it had hurt you to think that you were just his another ‘first time’. But you have moved on, because you couldn’t love a boy who made you feel that your all wasn’t enough.

“It’s been years since we last saw him. I wonder what does he look like right now?” Soojin asked you. Her chin propped on her hand.

You shrugged, obviously ignoring her question since you didn’t feel comfortable talking about your cheater ex-boyfriend. Yuta went back to his home country when you finished college, pursuing whatever dreams he had in his mind. You have no idea what could possibly be the reason of his return. You severed all communications that you had with him. So he probably didn’t know about your mother unless Soojin told him. Nevertheless, you didn’t receive any consolation from him.

Going back to the 28th floor of Jung’s Fiscals, your mind couldn’t get off the possibility of seeing Yuta again— after so many years. Not that you were scared, but you know to yourself that he took a slice of your heart when it broke into millions of pieces because of him. But you were much capable to guard your feelings now than you did back in college. You just hoped that the bars you have put around your heart were well secured so no one would slip inside.

The rest of the day, you spent checking emails and schedules of your boss. He departed his office when he ate lunch (you have no idea where), returning an hour later and never came out again. It was past six p.m. when your mind tinged of an idea. Suddenly, you wanted to draw Jaehyun’s smiling face. You grabbed the sketchbook that you always carry along with your mechanical pencil. Uncomfortable as you were because of the dream, his face never left your mind— begging you to keep it in your memories. And there was only one way to do so: drawing.

You started with a circle, giving it a 3D interface to easily draw the parts of the face. The brightness of the image in your mind gave you goosebumps. His smile, his dimples, and his eyes were so detailed you could truly print it out if possible. After thirty-minutes of fast sketching his face, the canvas could no longer deny that it was Jung Jaehyun. The only missing details were his long hair and his clothes. You started to sketch his hair when Mother Nature called on you. So you left the sketchpad splayed on your table— which became your huge mistake of the day.

After you have relieved yourself, you went back to your table— to see Jung Jaehyun holding your sketchpad with his lips pressed in a tight line. Disappointment clear on his face.

You bit your lower lip— cursing the fact that both of you were the only person in the whole floor. It made every step of your heels echo against the silence. You calmed your raging heartbeat, convincing yourself that you didn’t do anything wrong; you drew him smiling and that was that. Nothing offensive or whatsoever. But you knew something about your sketch had vexed him.

“You drew this?” He asked, running his pointer finger along the rough surface of the paper.

“Yes, Sir.”

The room is so quiet you could hear a pin drop. You hated the silence, more than anything— because it amplified the sound of your boss ripping the page off your sketchbook. You have never expected him to praise your work, but you also didn’t think that he would ruin it. That made everything much worse. Yes, it was only a thirty-minute worth of sketch, but you made it nonetheless. Nobody has the right to rip it in front of you.

He crumpled the paper with one hand, letting it drop on his feet while looking at you with his stupid, emotionless gaze. You remembered the small ointment he gave you earlier, and the way you even allowed yourself to think that maybe he wasn’t that heartless as some other people might think. Yet here he was, shattering your hopes and proving you wrong.

“How could you be so hateful?”

You were certain you said it in muted tones, but it echoed off the whole floor— slapping you the fact that you indeed said it to your boss. Aloud. But the asshole didn’t even flinch. He only raised his brow, obviously saying that you have no right to ask him the question. You were too vexed to care about his feelings because he obviously did not care about yours when he ripped your work.

“You know what? I’m done! I couldn't work for someone like you anymore!” You trudged the distance between the both of you, closing your sketchbook and collecting your things. He didn’t stop you. You were certain he hated you as much as you hated him and that he also wanted to get rid of you.

“Does that mean you’re resigning?” He asked.

You would lose your mind, literally. You have no idea how could someone be so devoid of emotions as Jung Jaehyun. His voice doesn’t even have a sliver of feeling. You stopped bagging your things and looked at him— truly looked at him. The distance between you only one step away you could perfectly see the outline of his dark brown eyes— reflecting your face.

“Yes! I’m quitting this job!” You told him. Your pointer finger digging in on his chest by every word.

He caught your wrist and pinned you down with a glint of amusement dancing in his orbs— a warm smirk spreading across his lips. “So feisty.”

You blinked at him. His smirk spreading wider by your stoned reaction. In that moment, the only thing you wanted to do was smack his smug face off his head.

“You cannot resign,” he simply declared, not letting you go.

“And why not?” You tried to wiggle your wrist free from his grasp, but he only pulled you closer.

“I forbid it.”

You couldn’t believe him. Of course he was going to forbid it. He knows no one would beg to be his secretary once you quit and tell the whole world how awful Jung’s Fiscals’ CEO truly is.

“Listen—” You were interrupted by the loud vibration of your phone inside your bag. But your boss didn’t let go of your hand even if you tried to release yourself again. You were left with no choice but use your free hand to grab the phone inside.

“Hello?” you greeted.

Jaehyun made it clear that he wouldn’t give you the privacy that you deserved, so you glanced at him sideways while waiting for the other line to answer.

“Good evening. Is this Miss Y/N?”

“Yeah… how may I help you?”

“This is Sacred Heart’s Hospital. We are calling to inform you that your sister, Yuqi, is currently in the emergency room—”

You lost your balance, sending your phone crashing on the ground. Jaehyun was quick to catch you, his brows in its usual knitted state. Both of you didn’t say anything and you have no idea whether he heard the news or not. You regained yourself and tried to collect your stuff with shaking hands. The whole world seems to shrink, making your head dizzy and sending your heart to run a mile.

What happened? Your mind kept repeating the question. Sweat started to form in your forehead as you think about the worst answers. You wouldn’t forgive yourself if something terrible happened to you sister.

Quickly, you ran for the elevator— some of your belongings clattering on the floor. You picked them up as fast as you could, nearly tripping on your toes.

“I’ll give you a lift.” Your boss declared, stopping the elevator doors with his arm. It opened free, allowing Jung Jaehyun to step inside.

You couldn’t construct a word, not even a syllable to tell him to fuck off and that you don’t need his help would come out of your mouth. But you have guessed he saw the irritation in your face that he answered it with his same scowl.

“If you ride a bus from here to that hospital, it’d take you half an hour. The risk you wouldn’t want to make now that your sister could be dying.” So he really did hear the call.

The veracity of his opinion made the hairs on your skin crawl. He was not wrong, but you still hated him. You detested the possibility of your sister dying on a hospital bed right now and you didn’t need him to hit you with that on the face.

Riding a bus is a risk you don’t want to take, but you didn’t like the idea of Jaehyun helping you either. The matter at hand doesn’t require you to prioritize your pride— so even with a heavy heart, you let Jaehyun guide you towards the parking lot. All eyes were on you as you walked through the lounge. Soojin looked at you with concern printed on her face, you gave her a curt nod to tell her you wete fine. Even when you were sweating waterfall.

He parked right in front of you, waiting for you to hop in. You glanced around, suddenly reluctant to enter his car. Aston Martin— you have seen it in magazines. One of the most expensive cars existing today. The windshield went down, revealing Jaehyun with his one brow shot up to his hairline. Left with no choice but to give up and ride his car, you shrugged and hopped in.

The fifteen-minute ride to the hospital gave you a lot of anxiety. Sitting in his luxurious car made you irrelevant and small again. You were not one to envy the success of other people, but looking at him swerving the steering wheel and push buttons inside the vehicle made you realize that Jaehyun was indeed meant for the elite kind of life. He was sitting there, nonpareil. And that was a bit unfair to you. You were almost the same age, but your worlds were poles apart from each other— with him in the north, and you in the south. You wonder where did you go wrong that all you have experienced in this lifetime were hardships and misfortunes.

Tears pricked your eyes, the envy and the restlessness about your sister’s situation mixing together. But you refused to be weak in front of him. You would get through this, because that was what all you have ever known— getting through everything in life.

You gave Jaehyun no time to say anything for you dashed outside his car towards the emergency room once you reached the hospital. With your heart beating against your throat, you grabbed the nearest nurse by the arm to inquire about your sister.

“How is Yuqi? Yuqi L/N? I’m– I’m her sister! Y/N Y/L/N!” You thump your chest, wishing the nurse would understand your wobbling words.

Before he could answer, a doctor emerged from the emergency room. You quickly ran, frantically bombarding her questions.

“Yuqi L/N? She had a severe asthma attack earlier. The nurses from her university couldn’t risk the odds that’s why they sent her here. Her breathing has calmed down now. But we still need to monitor her situation for she looked like in so much pain earlier.”

You let your body lean on the white walls of the hospital, trying to refocus your mind and handle all your emotions. You were so close to breaking down, and you were surely on your wit’s end— a thread of the thinnest yarn barely keeping you intact. The doctor tapped your shoulders before she walked away.

Almost an hour had passed when they decided to transfer Yuqi into a private room. You quickly followed, helping the nurse make the bed and such. Yuqi’s already awake, looking at you apologetically. You nodded at her with tear stained cheeks. And only when the nurses left you alone you allowed yourself to seat on of the chairs, clasping your sister’s hand between yours.

“I’m sorry…” she croaked.

You silenced her, “Sssh. You shouldn’t cry. It’s not good for you.”

“How could I not cry? Here I am! Being the useless person again! I hate myself!” She pounded the sheets while crying. You continued to shushed her with comforting words.

“Don’t say that! It’s not your fault.” Your voice broke, and all the emotions swallowed you whole.

“I’m sorry… I’m sorry…” she repeated, voice barely audible from all the crying.

“Sssh. It’s okay— I got this,” you reassured her.

Yuqi cried for five-minutes more, while you stroke her hair and tell her all the soothing words that she needed to hear. And then she fell asleep of exhaustion, tears leaving stain on her cheeks. You softly wiped it away with your handkerchief.

Looking around the room, you have taken notice of the empty bedside table. You have to go home and fetch some clothes, buy food and fruits for Yuqi and file a leave. But first, you resonated to calling Soojin. It was past eight p.m.. You were certain she was already on her way home.

“Hello? Y/N? Thank God you called! How are you? Are you okay? I saw you leaving with Mr. Jung. He didn’t hurt you, right? Tell me he didn’t!” she bombarded. You would have laughed if you weren’t in an unfortunate situation right now.

“I… I’m alright. I called to ask you a favor— I hope you won’t mind.” You sniffed.

“Of course I won’t! Tell me what is it? Do I need to call the police?”

“No, silly. I need you to come here, at Sacred Heart’s Hospital—”

She gasped, “What happened to you?!”

“Calm down. I’m quite alright. It’s Yuqi. I need you to look for her. I need to fetch some clothes and buy food. I’ll explain it once you get here.”

“Alright, Y/N. Wait for me!”

“Thanks, Soo. Take care.”

You tucked your phone in your pocket, running a hand through your hair while looking at Yuqi. She looks so peaceful yet weak, her lips barely having any tint on it. And you couldn’t help but blame yourself for what happened to her. I shouldn’t have let you join that team, you whispered— biting your lower lip to stop your tears from falling again.

You decided to rest your head on the sheets while waiting for your friend. Twenty-minutes later, the door creaked opened and you saw Soojin trying her best not to make a sound. She was early, maybe because she was already halfway when you called. You swiftly stood up. She boxed you with a tight hug as soon as she reached you.

“Is she okay?” She asked when you both pulled away.

You nodded at her while sniffing. “It’s my fault. I let her join the archery team.” You pitied yourself for being so careless.

But Soojin only shook her head at you, reaching for your hand. “None of it was your fault, Y/N. I’m sure you only wanted her to enjoy.”

“Still—”

She held up her hand, “Sssh. You have other things to worry about.”

You looked at her with knitted brows then she rolled her eyes at you.

“I saw Mr. Jung outside the hospital. Seems like he’s waiting for you.” Soojin wiggled her brows then.

Your palm automatically slapped on your forehead, remembering that you indeed went to the hospital with your boss. You completely forgot about him because of your anxiousness. Without a word, you departed Yuqi’s room and ran towards the exit— towards Jung Jaehyun.

Cool breeze greeted you outside, making you feel sticky from the sweat and tears your body excreted. The hospital provided cemented tables with chairs around them. You didn’t expect to see him waiting since it’s been almost an hour. But there he was— sitting on the farthest bench the lights could barely reach. A blunt was lit between his fingers, smoke coming out of his mouth while he scrolls through his phone.

You sat beside him, fanning the smoke away from you. There was silence but after a few minutes, he finally gazed at you. He didn’t say anything, just offered you the blunt.

“I don’t smoke. You shouldn't, too. It’s bad for the health.”

“Remind me that once I’ve had enough fucks to give.” He sipped on his blunt, blowing yet another eye-stinging smoke.

You ignored him. There was no point dwelling in the words that left his mouth.

“Why did you wait?” You asked instead.

“I thought you’d ask me about your salary.”

You didn’t say anything because he wasn't wrong. The idea, indeed, has already crossed your mind. But it seems embarrassing to ask about it. You were working on a prestigious company. Paperworks are needed for you to file any advanced salary and loans.

Jaehyun suddenly shifted on his seat, reaching for his wallet and pulling out a card. “Here. Use that for the bills.”

If you were not devastated beyond reckoning right now, you would have dropped dead to see a black card being offered to you.

“I don’t want your pity,” you snapped. Maybe it was your ego that was doing the talk, but you refused to receive any help from him.

Jaehyun deadpanned, “Hate to burst your bubble but your eyes tells me you absolutely do, chérie.”

Chérie.

You have heard of it, as clear as a crystal. Shivers ran down your spine, remembering your dream from earlier. It couldn't be possible. The accent and his voice sounded the same it creeped you out of your wits. You felt your heart somersaulting inside your chest, you were afraid you would lose your breath. But you tried to remain laid back, not letting Jaehyun witness that the monicker he called you rocked your world upside down.

“Is that… Is that your way to recompense?” You asked instead. Suddenly appreciating the grass underneath your feet. Noticing that your throat went dry, you gulped.

“You should know that I don't do that shit.”

You knew it. Jaehyun had no plan to acquit himself of what he did. There was silence again. You ran out of words to say to him. The dream and your reality slowly coaxing in your mind you thought you would go insane.

“Thank you, for going with me here.” You breathed at last.

He only nodded at you, placing his card back in his wallet before standing up and walking away— keys swirling on his finger. You let out a breath as you watched his back gets smaller and smaller.

Chérie. God, what is wrong with me?

—

Jaehyun absolutely has no idea what had got to him to offer you a ride to the hospital. Now that he thought about it, the idea was so unusual of him it made him slightly mad. Not only that, he even gave you a small body pain ointment. Chaelin gave him a lot of shit after the incident in the office, telling him he wasn’t being careful blah blah. And then she had forced the ointment into his hand, threatening him to give it to you.

He was sitting on his couch for twenty-minutes now— scolding himself because of showing a little decency towards a creature he vowed to hate with all the fibers in his being.

Humans. Weak and sinful humans. He breathed the words. Filling his glass of hard liquor and drinking all the contents in one gulp.

He reached for his pocket, digging the crumpled paper inside. Seeing your sketch enraged the living hell out of him, he was surprised he didn’t burn it with his own hands. It was so stupid of him to pick it up and pocket it as fast as he could when you were losing your shit because of your sister earlier.

Now as he stared at the paper again, he still couldn’t help but be furious. The edges of the sketch were rough, but the details were there— screaming at him. He couldn’t stop himself to remember the days when smiling was easy and laughing was effortless.

How many years has it been since he last felt his lips stretch into a genuine smile? Of course, a hundred fucking years ago— he whispered as an answer to his own question. He has no idea what came into your mind that you have decided to draw him smiling— but it infuriated him to the point that he almost fired you.

He reached for the locket on his other pocket again. It became a ritual; him staring at her face on a little locket every night since she died. She was still smiling— her hair flowing freely while a flower crown sit atop her head. Jaehyun clearly remembers the moment like a water on a fresh river.

They were both seated on the grass, with only the moon providing them the light. Then the girl offered his lap for Jaehyun to rest his head. The lake did its best to make everything more romantic by reflecting the moon onto its surface.

Beside her and onto her lap were the only places Jaehyun wanted to be forever. But he knew, in the hardest way, that forever only exist in him— not on the people around him, and especially not on her.

But he hopes— his stone-hard, ice-cold heart hopes that the saints could hear him every time he begged them to take care of her. Because yes, he was a sinner— but he still whispers her name like a prayer.

His world still revolved around her. His heart still beats for the same girl with eyes as blue as the ocean and hair as black as his own soul. The girl who loved painting so much she even gave colors into Jaehyun’s life with her delicate hands.

He ran a hand through his face, feeling that his world is collapsing again and again.

“Aurora, come back to me.”

—

You came back at the hospital after an hour and a half, the shame washing over you the moment you saw Soojin sprawled on the sofa while snoring. It was almost midnight yet she still needs to go home and wake up early tomorrow. You looked up at the ceiling while biting your lip, fighting the urge to cry again. You have no one but her. But only if you could split your body in half to do all things that needs to be done, you absolutely would. Just so you would never have to burden others with your own problems again.

You quietly walked towards her, leaning then shaking her lightly.

She stirred, quickly standing up when she realized it’s you and fixed her hair. “You’re back,” she groggily said.

You nodded at her. “I’m sorry if I had kept you waiting.”

“Oh no. It’s okay, Y/N.” She smiled at you. “The doctor arrived here twenty-minutes ago, checking on Yuqi. She said they still need to monitor her breathing. Hopefully, she could go home in two days.”

You nodded, glancing at you sister. Seeing her in a hospital bed made your heart hurt. It reminded you of the time when your mother was in the same situation, fighting for her life.

“Oh, I need to go home now. Just call me whenever you need me, Y/N.”

“Thank you, Soo. I owe you one.”

You hugged each other. But before you forgot, you grabbed your wallet inside your bag and handed a bill to Soojin. She looked at you, bewildered.

“For your fare, take it.”

“No! I couldn’t possibly take that, Y/N—”

You pushed the money on her palms, shaking your head at her with a thin-lipped smile. “Please, Soo. I won’t be able to sit still if you won’t take this.”

She sighed, finally taking the money. “Take care, okay? Don’t burden yourself too much. You couldn’t possibly control everything that’d happen, Y/N.”

You nodded at her, and then you shared one last hug before she departed the room.

Feeling that your bones couldn’t hold your body any longer, you decided to lay on the same sofa. It was still warm, giving you a little comfort in the cold room. You turned sideways, looking at your sister. Even though Soojin reminded you not to take everything as your fault, you still couldn’t help but blame yourself. No matter how you see the situation, your carelessness still stood as the main reason of why your sister is lying sick on the hospital bed right now.

You remember your mother when she was in the same situation— looking so frail and almost dead. And you, crying your heart out— begging the gods not to take your mother away but you already know that it was impossible. The sickness had spread in every cell of her body already, coating all of her strength and not making room for any improvements. Prayers couldn’t even help when the line had gone straight, the sound it made telling you that your mother had finally given up.

You felt warm tears slide down your nose and on your cheeks, making your eyes sting. Wiping the tears away, you shifted on the sofa and tried to close your eyes to sleep— the tears and the exhaustion delivering you into oblivion.

A lake. That was what you first noticed as you realized that you’re dreaming again.

The moon was on its full glory, white light reflecting in the silent waters of the lake. Unlike from your previous dream of noise and smudged faces, you couldn’t seem to hear the chatters of people or see any instruments tonight. You were completely alone.

But not until a voice spoke from nowhere.

“Aurora…”

You couldn’t name the voice. It sounded like it came from heaven, from the earth, from sundry places. Yet it fondled your heart with a familiar ache— like the name was your own. You tried to step your foot forward, your gown billowing because of the wind. The grass tickled your soles, making you realize that you were indeed barefoot.

The voices never halted as you sauntered up towards the lake. It proceeded with calling the same name. You kneeled on the grass, leaning forward to see your reflection in the water. Thanking the moonlight for mirroring your face clear enough for you to see. But it wasn’t yours, the face, yet your body and soul belongs to you.

Your hair seemed too black, and your face smaller. And your eyes— the color thrilled you. They were blue, as the ocean itself. A flower crown sit atop your head. You were breathtakingly flawless.

“Aurora…”

You immediately looked around. The voice, no more coming from various people— but to only one. You saw no trace of any living bodies as you roamed your eyes around your surroundings. But the voice still lingered in the air, saying the same name over and over again.

“Aurora… come back to me.”

It was becoming too familiar now— with its deep and raspy tone. You closed your eyes. Jaehyun couldn’t really seem to leave you alone even in your dreams.

masterlist.

#jung jaehyun au #jaehyun nct au #jaehyun imagines #nct 127 au #nct au #nct smut #jung yuno imagines #part ii #nct imagines #nct scenarios

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lemonlushff-iy · 4 years ago

Note

(Lostinfantasyworlds here!)

I’d love to hear more about Mad Scientist please!! 🥰👀

AHHHHHH THANKS FOR ASKING @taryn-artistic-optimism 🥰 🥰 🥰

This was inspired by @clearwillow and Dr Jekyll and Mr Hyde and COVID. Because most things in my life are inspired by @clearwillow. Specifically Strange...which everyone should TOTALLY check out! With her permission though, I followed the urge for an evening to see what happened.

I started this...I think last year. I can’t recall anymore because...what is time?? Anyways! It’s a modern take on the classic... And...Here’s the first highly unedited chapter. Sometimes I need to just...write the first chapter so I can refocus on the babies that are already “out”.

List of WIPs HERE

“Your request to move forward with human trials has been denied.”

“Denied.”

Denied.

The word swirled around his brain like the steam in the shower, flooding his senses and clogging his brain. It kept repeating itself over and over and over and over again…He was sick of it. This wasn’t the first time. Hell, it wasn’t even the second.

No.

This was the third time, and he was running out of funding...but what the hell was he supposed to do? He wasn’t approved to take his project to the next level! And it was absurd! They needed to begin testing immediately.

They just…

They had to.

Inuyasha closed his eyes, allowing the nearly scalding water to run down his body as the spray of the shower coated his flesh. He liked it hot. He hoped it would wash the feeling of failure from him.

Denied.

Bunch of pricks. The whole lot of them.

He turned the knobs, the metal squeaking as he stopped the flow of water from the head above, and wrang the excess out of his long black hair. He watched it pour to the tile below his feet as he opened the glass door, grabbing the towel on the hook just outside the shower.

Denied.

Maybe...maybe he shouldn’t try a fourth time. Maybe he needed to refocus his attention. Give up the lab and start teaching.

What was the saying?

Those who can’t do, teach?

He didn’t feel like he could do, that was for certain.

He sighed, stepping out of the shower and smoothing a hand across the glass of the mirror above the sink.

Denied.

Sunken, taupe eyes stared hollowly back at him. Frown lines marred his forehead. Stress was etched across his face. A face that should be more vibrant. Excited. Determined. It sure as hell used to be. What had happened to him?

Denied.

He smiled sullenly at the face in the mirror, and the expression was returned to him.

Denied.

He should update his resume. Start applying for teaching jobs. He was a waste. All those years of schooling...all those years in the lab...What was it even for? He had nothing to show for it.

He closed his eyes and the image of his lab partner floated past his mind’s eye.

Kagome Higurashi. Smart. Funny. Sexy. Completely out of his league, and yet inexplicably single. He just didn’t get it. The woman was perfect. More than perfect. She was…

If Goddesses were real, she may as well be one.

She was the reason he got out of bed in the morning. Her unflinching determination to get the serum to work. Her unshakable confidence. Her and...Well...The obvious.

He ran his hand down face, trying to not think of his mother right now. He had been dodging her calls all day. Which, with as perceptive as she was, meant that she already knew.

Denied.

His hand fell to the edge of the sink and he gripped it between his fists, his knuckles turning white. What was he going to tell her? He’d been so sure that they would be approved. He’d been ready to spend the night with Kagome at a sushi place eating dragon rolls and throwing back sake. Now he was...sullenly eating take out and trying to swallow his egg rolls around a thick throat.

Denied.

He was a failure.

He couldn’t get their approval and now because of it, his mother…

Denied.

He wasn’t ready.

He wasn’t ready!

Denied.

He didn’t know what else they could do! Kagome had suggested morphing the protein a little more. Just a bit more, and they would be good to go. They could proceed with the H4NY0U drug, and then they could…

He pinched his eyes shut - his breath hitching in his throat.

That wasn’t going to happen because he was a fucking failure. He didn’t care what she said. They’d never move forward with it. And it was because the head of the board had a grudge against him.

____. Fucking asswhipe. He’d hated them since the first grade. How he’d gotten to be the head, he’d never understand. He wasn’t smart. Wasn’t talented. He suspected that the only reason he was interested in this particular project was because of Kagome.

Sweet, beautiful, smart Kagome…

He sighed and backed away from the sink, pulling the towel from around his waist and rubbing his hair in it.

Denied.

He tossed it to the floor as he heard the vibrating of his phone from the other side of the room. When he got to it, he saw the litany of missed calls, including this one. All were from his mother, and Kagome. He couldn’t bring himself to call either of them though. He couldn’t handle the disappointment in his mother’s weak voice...or the overly enthusiastic optimism from Kagome.

He just couldn’t handle that right now.

Denied.

His phone clamored down to the top of his night stand, breaking the otherwise crypt like silence in his bedroom.

He believed in what he was doing with Kagome. So much. He believed in their mission. In what the H4NY0U serum could do for the weak. Those dying from Y0UK4I virus. Those like…

His mother.

He pinched his eyes shut and rubbed his fingers in the corners of his eyes, trying to dispel the negative thoughts, but it wasn’t working. He was spiraling again. Thoughts of “how could he let her down” and “failure” were flooding his mind and his chest. He could feel the painful throbbing of his heart with every beat as he tried to pull himself out of it but it was just getting worse.

He was killing his mother by not being able to convince them to move forward.

Denied.

She would be dead within the year.

Denied.

He had promised her he’d help her.

Denied.

Was this helping her?

Denied.

Was failure helping her?

Denied.

No. It wasn’t.

Denied.

He was killing her. Just like the Y0UK4I virus.

Denied.

But there was nothing wrong with the serum!

Denied.

He believed that! He believed that to his very core!

Denied.

Hell, he’d take it if he could!

Denied.

He would!

Denied.

He’d march right into that lab…

Denied.

Pick up a bottle…

Denied.

And give himself a dose.

Denied.

His face went slack as the idea permeated his being. Take the serum himself.

Take it. Himself.

He hadn’t considered that before. It’d never really occurred to him to use himself as the test subject. But...Why the hell not? No, he didn’t have the Y0UK4I virus...but...also...The serum did so much more than cure it. So why couldn’t he take it? Why couldn’t he get stronger? Why couldn’t he improve his overall health with it?

Denied.

That was just a word. That wasn’t his fate. He wasn’t going to let that lone word control himself, or his destiny, or Kagome’s, or his mother’s.

Denied.

No. He wasn’t going to let that stop him. He believed in their work. Believed in the serum.

Denied?

No.

Accepted.

***

The glass doors of the lab closed nearly silently behind him as he entered. It might have been nearing midnight, but so what? He wasn’t giving himself a chance to second guess this. He believed in this. In them. This was how he was going to prove it.

Inuyasha set up his cell phone on top of the desk, turning it on to record.

“Day 0 of the H4NY0U trial,” he began, looking at his visage in the glass screen of his cell phone. “Doctor Kagome Higurashi and I were once again denied moving into clinical trials of our serum. Something that I, strongly believe, is a mistake. I’m not going to wait for the board to continue to deny us our research though,” he explained, noticing the tick in his left jaw muscle from clenching it so hard.

“I’m going to volunteer myself as a willing subject, just as Alexander Fleming did when he discovered penicillin. I believe just that strongly in the H4NY0U serum. I’m of sound mind, and perfect health. There are no blemishes or rashes on my skin. I’m not currently experiencing any aches or pains. I’m going to move forward with injecting the serum into my right forearm, as I am right handed.”

He quickly stood from the desk and opened the refrigerator in the back, grabbing a syringe and alcohol swab as he returned to his place in front of the camera. He held the materials out in front of the camera, making sure it focused on the serial number on the bottle before he read it aloud.

Inuyasha glanced down at the camera, giving it a small smile as he removed the syringe from it’s plastic packaging, sticking the tip of the needle into the top of the bottle. He read out the exact amount he was drawing, and took an alcohol pad to wipe down and cleanse a part of his skin.

“This is for you, Ma,” he muttered as he placed the tip of the needle on his skin, closing his eyes.

He wasn’t going to turn back.

He couldn’t.

He couldn’t let her die. Couldn’t let years of research be for nothing.

He pressed the down on the plunger, and felt the cold liquid shoot into his veins.

It was done.

***

“What do you mean you took the serum, Yash?” Kagome demanded, looking at the place he had injected himself in disbelief. His skin was a little red - a little irritated. But wasn’t anything major. It certainly wasn’t worth her fussing over it.

“I mean I took it,” he shrugged, taking his arm back and hiding it behind his back. “It’s ready. We know it’s ready.”

“But the board--”

“--the board was never going to approve it. You and I both know that now, Kags,” he sighed, unable to bring himself to look her in the eye. “I thought you believed in this…”

“I do,” she insisted. “I’m just...They denied it for a reason…”

“Did they?” he demanded, and he watched her shift her gaze away from him. She doubted it too. He could see it. Clear as day. She thought that they were full of shit too.

Good.

It wasn’t just him.

“I’ll be ok, Kagome,” he promised, smiling weakly at her. “Trust me. Trust us,” he insisted, taking her hands in his. Her skin felt so soft…

“Trust us, huh?” she breathed, glancing from their hands back up to his face. “I think I can do that…”

***

He felt hot.

More than hot.

His whole body was on fire. He couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t think.

It was like he was being suffocated as searing pain shot through every joint - every limb - in his whole body. He tumbled out of bed, trying to get to the bathroom.

He needed to cool off. Needed water. Needed air.

He shoved his boxers down his scrawny legs, turning the shower on as cold as it could get. His flat chest was coated in a sheen of sweat - as were his thin, wiry arms. He pushed his way into the shower, allowing the cold spray to cool his body. The cold felt good. Calming. For a time. He could feel his muscles contracting beneath his skin. Could feel something happening to his bones. His eyes. His smell. It was overpowering him.

Can’t think.

Can’t breathe.

Can’t…

Darkness.

***

His teeth were chattering when he awoke. His jaw ached from clenching it so tightly. He was lucky that he didn’t bite his tongue off. The spray of the shower still fell around him, but instead of burning, he was freezing now. His fingers were blue, and he took that as a good sign.

A horrible side effect of the H4NY0U serum, for sure...but...He was fine. That was what mattered.

He rose up from the tile floor of this shower and turned the knobs, making the spray stop. His head felt weird. So did his mouth. His tongue felt thick and fuzzy. Like he was hung over, but he hadn’t been drinking. He needed to make note of these side effects.

This was important research.

Inuyasha grabbed the towel off the hook outside of the shower, running it through his black hair as he tried to warm up.

He patted it over his face as he stepped out, walking to the mirror above the sink so he could get some water. Maybe wash out this bitter, horrible taste in his mouth. He’d known that there would be side effects, but this...this wasn’t something he had anticipated…

He wrapped the towel around his waist, and turned on the sink, filling the glass beside it with water. When he turned it off, he caught something silver in his mirror out of the corner of his eye.

He paused.

Straightened his back.

And looked in the mirror.

There, standing behind his shoulder was a perfect copy of himself. Only this copy wasn’t his mirror image.

His copy was athletic. Strong. Muscles rippled beneath the skin of his naked body. Silver hair flowed down his back and shoulders. A purple, jagged stripe was on each cheek. Pointed ears sat atop his head. Molten red eyes with turquoise pupils stared unflinchingly back at him...a smirk plastered across his face, baring a hint of...fang?

“Hello, weakling.”

His glass slipped from his grip, shattering across the floor as he fainted.

#taryn-artistic-optimism

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jincherie · 5 years ago

Text

florescence | iii

❀ — pairing: taehyung x reader x seokjin ❀ — genre: hybrid au, hybrid tae, hybrid jin, poly au, fluff, smut (future), angst ❀ — words: 5.7k+ ❀ — rating: sfw ❀ — warnings: fluff, fluff & more fluff ❀ — notes: I slipped in an extra scene and edited what I had for this chapter, and here we are!!! I still have a fair amount of excess so I’m going to continue working on that along with things like tentacledipity huhuhuhuh anyway hope u enjoy this!!!

Okay, so maybe you’re lonely, and maybe there is something missing in your life, a void that you maybe want to fill with a companion that may or may not be of human origin… You’re perfectly content not doing anything about it though, until your best friend calls you in desperate need for your help and you suddenly end up coming home with not one, but two hybrids that may or may not have been on the way to the chopping block had you not taken them in. They’re more than a little rough around the edges, and the situation is less than ideal but… maybe the best things don’t always come in perfect, shiny packages. Maybe they just need a little time to bloom.

— posted; 22.09.2019 // masterlist || prev. | next.

“Next, you put in the eggs?”

You hum in affirmation, feeling Seokjin hover just over your shoulder—far enough that the distance is polite, but close enough that the barest hints of his warmth from his body tickle your skin and make you yearn for more. A somewhat inappropriate and incredibly intrusive feeling that pops into your head, but not one that’s easily escaped either.

“Yup,” you chirp, already reaching for the ingredients. Before you can grasp them, Seokjin hastily retrieves them for you—nearly dropping them in the process but successfully delivering them into your hold nonetheless. You send him a smile and his cheeks flush pink, ears flicking back shyly. From the corner of your eye, you catch his tail attempting to whip eagerly from side to side behind him.

He is so cute you think you’re really going to burst.

“I hope these pancakes turn out better than the last ones,” you murmur softly as you stir, trying to fold the ingredients and mix them more efficiently. It was something that slipped out more as a musing, but you hear an affronted gasp from behind you as soon as the words grace the air nonetheless.

“y/n!” Seokjin says, tone taking on a reprimanding edge that has you fighting a smile. “The last pancakes were good! They were so good, I promise!”

You glance at him over your shoulder, finding him standing with hands in loose fists and a determined, somewhat distressed expression on his face. You really can’t hold back your smile.

“Thanks, Seokjin,” you said, feeling your chest warm as his cheeks flush on cue. “I appreciate that, and I know they must have been at least a little bit good since you nearly ate yourself sick with them.”

At the mention of the incident that occurred only a day or so ago, Seokjin’s blush takes on another degree of severity and a sound that seems awfully akin to a whine leaks from his throat. You’d learned from Seokjin that they’d never had pancakes at the lab, and had immediately nearly thrown a fit and had an internal meltdown that resulted in you making them right then and there, immediately, to rectify it. You aren’t the biggest fan of pancakes, they aren’t even your favourite food, but they feel like such a crucial experience in life that the idea of the two hybrids never having had the pleasure of trying them… you were compelled to fix it.

As it turns out, they love them, so much that here you are making them again, lowkey teaching Seokjin how to do it himself. You aren’t sure if he’s really here for your company or to oversee the production of the pancakes. You’re inclined to believe the latter, but letting yourself think it is the former is nice while it lasts. You gotta be a little kind to yourself sometimes, after all.

The rest of the cooking experience goes smoothly, save for Seokjin almost burning himself on the pan. He gets a little too excited when you hand him the spatula, ears upright and deceptively alert—you quickly realise you should have been paying more attention to the blur of his whirring tail as he focuses too much on the bubbling pancakes and not enough on his own movements.

When his wrist dips a little too low and brushes the side of the pan, the reaction is immediate—he jerks his whole hand away, spatula dropping from his grasp, and a whimper slips from his throat that has you immediately at attention.

“Ah, Seokjin!” You immediately move and grasp his hand, bringing it closer to inspect it. Subconsciously, you pull him over to the sink as well. “Oh, bub, are you alright?”

Seokjin’s free hand finds your upper arm, gripping the material of your shirt as he flounders and stumbles over a response—your close proximity has him a little flustered, it seems. Catching sight of the red welt beginning to appear on the tan underside of his wrist, you bring it over the sink and turn the tap, allowing cold water to run over the mild burn. He jumps, letting out an ‘eep’ before leaning closer to the sink and, as a result, further against you.

“I-I’m fine!” he attempts to reassure you, before a soft whimper slips out as you tilt his wrist. “I-I’m sorry, I should have been paying more attention… It was stupid of me…”

“A little bit silly, but not stupid. I’m not going to fault you for being excited, Seokjin,” you inform him, turning the tap off and inspecting the burn to assess its severity. When you deem it okay enough that it shouldn’t need too much more water or attention, you bring it to your lips and press a light kiss over it. “There. All better.”

In your defence, you hadn’t really realised what you’d done—for your job you’re around children often and do such things without so much as a second thought. But when you turn and see Seokjin standing stock still, staring at his wrist with eyes blown wide and his entire face turning pink, you quickly realise your folly and are immediately overtaken by the conflicting urges to coo, laugh, and apologise.

You’re a little embarrassed. He doesn’t seem upset about it though, just flustered, so you decide he can go without a flustered, bumbling apology in return and you can save yourself a tiny bit of your pride. You slap on a big, dumb smile and then shuffle back to the pan, flipping the pancakes before they can begin to burn.

With that little incident over, you get back to cooking. It takes a while for the flush to leave Seokjin’s face, and when you emerge from the kitchen with pancakes to greet Taehyung, he sends the two of you a curious, questioning look. The only thing that saves you from having to answer is the way the smell of the food seems to suddenly possess the two of them, and how as soon as it touches their tongues they’ve both completely forgotten.

You’ll have to be more mindful of your habits, it seems.

Over the next few days as you gradually get everything you had on your list and your orders arrive, you’re overjoyed to note that the two hybrids seem to be allowing themselves to open up slightly and draw a little closer, bit by bit. No longer secluding himself in the room or confining himself to the living room on his favourite couch, Seokjin will now occasionally wander into the kitchen when you’re cooking and hover as he had when the two of you made pancakes, curious gaze raking in everything you do. Sometimes he’ll make a comment and strike up a small conversation, ask whatever tickles his interest, but the silence that fills the air between you when he doesn’t isn’t an uncomfortable one, unlike how it might have been before.

Taehyung too seems to be allowing you into his heart in baby steps. While he still hasn’t spoken, it’s becoming easier and easier for you to stop associating his speech— or lack thereof in this instance — with however he might feel about you, and it means you’re able to enjoy the time he spends with you that much more. The tall russet-haired hybrid has taken to pulling you to sit next to him for a movie, sitting apart on the couch but just close enough that his shoulder barely brushes yours. He also, as his most recent effort, tugged you down to sit in the sun with him in your courtyard, both of you laying sideways across the hammock so that your upper bodies are supported and your legs hang over the edge. You can tell that he’s still warring with his incredibly shy nature, because both instances he spends with a pretty blush across his cheeks and nose. You think that both of the hybrids are beautiful, but you also think that the times Taehyung spends relaxing outside with you are where he is most beautiful; with the afternoon sun bathing his tan skin in rays of gold and melting his eyes into pools of ember, russet hair and fur gleaming like silk, he glows ethereal.

Seokjin doesn’t join the two of you when you lay outside, but sometimes when you enter and catch him by the doorway you swear you can see a glimmer of longing in his gemstone eyes.

It is perhaps a week after the events of the day that spurred everything into motion that you finally catch a glimpse of the most vulnerable parts of the silver fox hybrid.

Once more it’s a time of night where you should probably be asleep, yet you find yourself wandering into the kitchen in the dark with the intention of surreptitiously making yourself a tea and hoping you don’t wake your housemates with sensitive ears. You get to the point of boiling the jug when you notice the front screen door is slightly ajar and a breeze is sifting through to brush your skin with a cool caress. Curious, if slightly alarmed, you strain your ears and catch the slight creak you know too well as that of the hammock when it swings under the weight of a body. You pause for a moment, pondering how to proceed, and end up silently retrieving another mug from the cupboard, dropping another teabag in.

A few minutes later finds you padding softly to the door, sliding it open as carefully as you can with both of your hands full. You’re not sure who you expect to see occupying the hammock at this time of night, considering Taehyung is the only one who has shown an affinity for snuggling in it, but the animal he is spliced with is also not the nocturnal type. It is Seokjin that greets your eyes as they slowly adjust to the dark, and the sight of him makes your heart skip a beat.

If Taehyung is a child of the sun, then Seokjin belongs to the moon. His charcoal hair has turned to ink and shines like silk in the moonlight, tan skin tinged soft blue and rose petal lips painted violet. He is lost in thought, eyes glazed and glimmering, and beneath the moons rays he is aglow and radiant. The fur on his ears and tail is the same glossy ink as his hair yet looks so impossibly soft and fluffy your hands ache to touch it. When you take a step closer and his ears flick, registering the sound and your presence a moment later, and he almost jumps out of his skin.

“y-y/n!” he bursts, eyes wide as he scrambles from where he is curled in the hammock, almost tipping himself out of it in the process. “W-what are you doing up? Did I wake you? I’m so sorry—”

You can’t help but smile at his fluster, letting out a soft giggle. “You didn’t wake me, don’t worry Seokjin. I was up getting a tea and heard you out here so I made you one as well. Scooch over, bub.”

At the term of affection tacked on at the end, Seokjin’s face erupts into a violent blush. He sputters but he does what you say without thinking, cheeks glowing with heat. You ease down next to him so you’re both sitting with your legs over the edge, the nature of the hammock causing your shoulders to press together and your bodies to tilt towards each other. You hand him his mug and he takes it shyly, wrapping his hands around the heated ceramic immediately; it’s a little chilly, out here in the open.

“Thank you,” he murmurs softly, averting his gaze as he takes a sip. A pleased hum escapes him before he can stop it, his cheeks warming even further. You take a sip of your own drink to muffle your laugh.

The silence that sinks over you after that is comfortable, the two of you directing your gazes to the sky. You’re far enough from the centre of the city that you can still see the stars, and you’re admittedly a bit mesmerised as they glimmer. The moon, too, is hypnotically beautiful tonight. It’s waxing, and you don’t doubt that in a week or so it will be completely full.

Before long, you can feel a shift in the air, a slight weight that wasn’t there before, and your attention is drawn from the sky. Turning to face Seokjin, he has an expression like he wishes to speak, to ask you something, his eyes flicking periodically from your form to the sky and the flowers in your courtyard.

“Is everything okay, Seokjin?” you ask after a few moments. You wanted to see if he would voice whatever is on his mind by himself, but when he remains hesitant you decide to help ease him into it. “What’s on your mind?”

The hybrid eyes you for a long few moments, amber eyes glimmering, before he realises he is staring and promptly rips his gaze away. You fight a smile for the sake of his pride.

“I just…” he stops as suddenly as he starts, teeth sinking into his lip. Curiously, you note that his canines are a little bit longer than your own human ones—you hope that doesn’t mean he is prone to nicking himself with them. “I…”

You wait patiently, kicking your feet a little and taking a sip of your drink. Seokjin catches the movement of your legs and a small smile catches his lips. It drops when he sighs a moment later, apparently focusing on ordering his thoughts.

“I didn’t think this would ever happen,” he admits finally, voice small and a split second from cracking. His fingers tap against the mug in their hold, his eyes averted from your own and his brow furrowed. You give him a few moments, and he elaborates for you. “I didn’t think I would ever… we would ever, you know…”

When he risks a glance your way your head is tilted, eyes on him as you wait patiently for him to continue. He flushes, mumbling.

“I didn’t think… we would ever get a home.”

It’s as though your heart freezes in your chest for a moment, your mouth dropping open a little bit. Seokjin fumbles over his words a little, but now that he’s started he doesn’t seem to be able to stop.

“I-I mean, I kind of always knew Taehyung would get a home. He is sweet, and loyal, and he meets the aesthetic requirements of his batch. He’s shy, but it’s not a deal-breaker for everyone. But I…” he swallows, blinking rapidly; your hand itches to wrap around his own and intertwine your fingers to comfort him, but you refrain. “But I… I don’t fit what they want, what they aimed for. My features are a mutation—by the definition my creation was an experiment and my existence is a failure.”

“Seokjin…” you breathe, your own eyes stinging. He takes in a shaky breath, sniffling sharply once.

“I don’t know why I’m telling you this…” he says, and you can see his cheeks glowing with heat once more. “I… I can’t help it, though. You…”

He flushes further, if possible, and looks incredibly embarrassed about what he’s about to confess. His tail whips anxiously behind him before wrapping around his middle, ears pressed backwards.

“You feel… safe, to me, to us,” he admits in such a soft whisper your ears strain to hear it. He can barely look at you he is blushing so badly, and you curse the way your heart flips in response to his fluster. “P-please don’t think it’s weird, b-but your scent… it is very calming. It… feels safe. For Taehyung, too. E-even though we haven’t scented y—”

He suddenly cuts off, eyes blown wide and an expression of mortification crossing his handsome features. Unfortunately for him, you can’t squash your sudden burning curiosity.

“Even though you haven’t what?” you prompt, eyes searching his features—Seokjin looks very much like he’d rather sink into the earth and become one with the soil than answer you.

“N-nothing. It’s nothing, it’s not important.” You thought he was just flustered, but to your surprise you note a bit of fear filtering just barely through his tone. What is he scared of? Does he fear that he’ll receive some sort of reaction in particular from you? The idea saddens you a little bit.

“Seokjin, please don’t be scared to tell me things,” you say softly, finally allowing your hand to reach and grasp his own. He jolts, looking to you with wide eyes; yet his fingers still curl around your own immediately, and the action soothes any sudden worries that might make themselves known in your thoughts. As you speak, you realise that part of his hesitation might stem from the feelings he hinted at the other day. “Nothing you say or do will ever be a deal-breaker for me, Seokjin. Nothing you do will ever be something that makes me take you back. In all honesty, unless it was something I knew you wanted, I’d rather chop all four of my limbs off than take you back or do something that would hurt you.”

The hybrid is more than taken aback at your words, his mouth hanging open and ears part-way extended from his hair. It takes him a few moments for your words to sink in completely.

“Do you mean that?” he asks, and his voice cracks. His eyes begin to water. “Do you… do you really mean that?”

You nod at him, smiling softly. “I’m happy with you and Taehyung, Seokjin. I want you.”

The last three words that fall from your lips are simple yet seem to have a more profound effect on him than anticipated. He lets out a whimper, a choked-sounding gasp of sorts, and jerks as though he wants to throw his arms around you but restrains himself at the last moment. He doesn’t speak, can’t seam to speak, but the second you catch his gaze with your own you find an ocean of emotions shimmering and swirling before you. Gently, you take his mug from his hands and place it with yours down by the end of the hammock. When you sit back up, you open your arms to him and he doesn’t waste a second, another whimper escaping before he throws himself at you, hammock rocking dangerously from the momentum of his movement.

His face is shoved in the crook of your neck once more, arms looped tightly around your middle. You feel secure, safe, and your chest warms with affection as Seokjin shifts and brings you closer to him, barely a few movements away from pulling your straight onto his lap. You run your hand up and down his back soothingly, fingers dragging over the firm curves of muscle.

“Thank you, y/n.” His voice is a barely-there whisper that brushes your neck gently, and you can feel the movement of his lashes as he scrunches his eyes shut and presses his face closer. “Thank you.”

You can’t help but let out a soft chuckle, leaning your head against his as you did last time he embraced you; he lets out a happy chitter. You feel at peace, content, and you can feel the shift in the air—can feel how he has opened himself a little more to you.

“You’re more than welcome, Seokjin,” you murmur.

And you mean it, you really do.

x + x + x +

The next morning when you awake, it’s not to your alarm like you expect. Despite the fact you’d still returned to bed later last night, especially after your little one-on-one with Seokjin in the courtyard, you still didn’t want to sleep in too late. To be fair you love sleep, but don’t particularly enjoy the feeling like you’re wasting the day when you wake up too late. Hence, you’d begrudgingly set an alarm despite the fact you don’t really have to be up for anything.

Even so, you’re quick to realise upon waking that the alarm you’d set on your phone isn’t the culprit. Instead the real cause reveals itself as you crack your eyes open and rub them blearily, eyesight gradually adjusting. To your complete and utter surprise, it’s Taehyung’s face that greets you as you come to your senses, his cheeks already flushed the second your gaze lands on him. Confusion filters through your mind and then concern in quick succession—Taehyung has never come into your room before, what made him now?

“Taehyung?” you query, sitting up suddenly and clearing your throat so your voice doesn’t stay so rough. “Is everything ok? Did something happen?”

His cheeks flush further but he holds your concerned gaze as he shakes his head, shifting nervously where he’s standing by the top of your bed. Something twitches on your shoulder and you realise quickly its his finger, his hand gently cupping the curve of it—he must have been gently shaking you awake with his hold.

When he shakes his head, you feel all the tension leave you in one big huff of relief. “Oh thank goodness,” you manage to say before a yawn stopped you in your tracks. “What’s up, bub?”

Again you tacked on the nickname unthinkingly, and it seems to fluster the poor hybrid even more than it did Seokjin the night before. Taehyung stares at you with wide eyes, tail trembling behind him—his ears aren’t flattened against his head, though, so you take that to mean you haven’t embarrassed him too badly.

Instead of speaking—not like you expected him to at this point, in all honesty—he bites his lip and moves his hand to grasp your own. You have barely a moment to register how soft and warm his palm is as it cups yours before he’s tightening his grip and tugging it gently, urging you to follow him. Confused but curious to see what he’s up to, you allow him to guide you from the bed and out of your room, following him as he makes a beeline for the kitchen.

To your surprise, upon entering the kitchen you’re greeted with the sight of two plates with some cut up fruit, boiled eggs and toast placed neatly on top. Off to the side is a third plate covered in plastic wrap so nothing gets on it, and you assume that one is for Seokjin whenever he wakes. You return your gaze to the other two plates as you draw closer, sniffing and absolutely salivating at the smell of freshly-made coffee as it brushes your nostrils.

“Oh, Taehyung, that smells and looks delicious,” you praise him readily, keeping your hand in his as you move closer to inspect the meal that had been so nicely prepared for you. You can’t deny the way your heart skipped a beat, the giddy feeling tickling your stomach, at the fact that Taehyung had taken the time to do this—for you. And Seokjin too, but honestly considering how close they are you wouldn’t expect anything less.

He shakes his head shyly, blushing, and attempts to shake his hair so that it hides his face from you. His ears flick towards you at the giggle that escapes your lips, and he bites his lip as he forces himself to return his gaze to you. You watch as he reaches with his free hand to grasp one of the plates, before standing still and waiting pointedly. Quickly, you do the same, begrudgingly releasing his hand so you can grasp your drink as well. His arm twitches towards you before falling to his side. Cheeks burning, the male makes sure your attention is on him before he turns and begins walking from the kitchen. It doesn’t take you long to realise where he is going.

The sun is warm as it kisses your skin but the air is cool enough to elicit a shiver as you step outside, following the male closely. He moves to the hammock, already smiling as the sun hits his skin, and settles down before looking over at you expectantly. You really can’t hold your grin as you move over quickly, sitting down carefully so you don’t rock the hammock too much. You have to take a quick sip of your drink as you lower yourself so that it doesn’t spill over the top, and let out a pleased hum at the taste. He made it perfectly how you like it—it seems he’s more observant than he lets on.

“What a pretty day,” you comment, taking in the cool shadows of the morning in contrast to the crisp patches of sunlight. Taehyung nods from beside you, lifting his fork but hesitating before using it. You’re confused for a moment, before you realise its something both him and Seokjin have subtly done ever since they’ve been here. They won’t start eating until you do. You’re a little disappointed in yourself for not noticing earlier, since it’s clearly a carry-over of whatever rules they were taught at the lab. In your defence though, as soon as you see food you develop a tunnel vision of sorts. It’s clearly something you need to work on.

Quick to pick up your own fork and start eating so he doesn’t have to wait, you tell him he’s always welcome to start before you. He blushes, but after holding your gaze for a few moments nods in acknowledgement. You beam at him and he averts his gaze, shoving a piece of melon in his mouth. Cute.

You chatter idly as you sit there with Taehyung, not in an attempt to fill the silence so much as just because you wanted to—most of what you were saying were praises and thanks, anyway. He’s clearly flustered at your words but also seems to preen, clearly a little bit proud of himself. You’re pleased to see that. Little by little, he seems to be coming out of his shell, and the prospect is exciting.

Taehyung finishes before you, and the second the last item of food leaves the plate and enters your mouth, he takes the ceramic from your hands and moves it with his own out of the way on the ground. A temporary location. You’ve barely finished chewing when he pops back up, looking somewhat hesitant but with a shimmer of something else hiding in the depths of his gaze. His fingers clutch each other as he looks at you, tail winding and then unwinding around his waist as his ears lower then raise again.

Your immediate instinct is to ask him what’s up, but you hold yourself back—part of you wants to know if he’ll tell you himself, even if it isn’t with words. You want to see how he will proceed.

He seems to catch on quickly that you’re waiting for him, as he wriggles and averts his eyes nervously. He takes a deep breath, straightening his back, and frees one of his hands so it can lift—before it falls back down quickly and he loses his nerve. His cheeks are flushed still, so whatever is on his mind is clearly flustering him, and you continue to wait for him to do what he wants to do in his own time.

His hand lifts again, fingers tentatively touching your hand, then your arm, then your neck where it meets your collarbone. He retracts his hand immediately after, looking troubled as to how to convey what he wants. Curious, you watch as he gathers his thoughts and seems to steel himself once more, before he reaches out with only the slightest tremble to his hand and points at you. He then moves and wraps his arms around himself, looking at you pointedly.

You’re a little lost on what he means, a few possibilities trickling through your mind, but you decide to take the least likely and tease him a bit. “Are you asking if I’m I cold?”

Taehyung’s face drops, his ears twitching as he realises how you could have gotten that message. He huffs, shaking his head, and wraps his arms tighter and higher around himself. This time, he drops his head gently to the side onto his shoulder, looking at you pointedly with pink cheeks.

Biting your lip to contain your smile, you can’t help but tease him a little more. “Do you want a teddy bear?”

A grimace twists his features for a moment, before his expression drops completely—something that makes your stomach fall with it since he seems to be about to give up. He seems even more embarrassed now, in combination with downcast, as he straightens back up, and you’re quick to try and remedy the situation you just created.

“I’m kidding, Taehyung,” you smile softly, fingers fiddling in your lap. This will be really embarrassing for you if you misinterpreted what he was trying to say. “Do… do you want to cuddle?”

Immediately, his expression lights up, and he’s nodding so hurriedly you’re worried he’s going to pull a muscle in his neck. A laugh spills out of you of its own accord as you adjust your position on the hammock, moving to lay down along it and opening your arms to the male.

Taehyung, in what has to be the boldest movement you’ve ever seen him make, dives into your arms so eagerly that the hammock rocks dangerously as a result. It pulls another laugh from you as he stiffens and tries to hold his balance for a moment, tail a little more raised than usual and wriggling in excitement. Once he is sure the hammock has calmed and he wont be tipped to the ground, he eases himself down next to you and wriggles closer, so that he isn’t pressed too closely to the edge.

He seems pleased to have gotten where he is, but you still catch some hesitance in the way he is lying next to you, his arms curled at his chest and tail flicking restlessly. Your shoulders are pressed together, he’s not apart from you, but you get the feeling he is itching to be even closer still. You catch it in the small shifts and wriggles he does, the way his fingers twitch and legs move despite how still he stays.

“You’re too cute, Taehyung,” you laugh, the soft sound catching his attention as he looks up to meet your eyes. “Come here and actually cuddle me.”

With that, you shift and slip your arm beneath his back, wriggling into a more comfortable position and pulling him closer. He blushes madly, but seems relieved you’ve given him the go-ahead as he’s quick to wrap his arms around you, too. You’re on your back and he curls around you on his side, one arm slipping beneath the curve of your lower back and the other draping across your stomach—funnily enough, the way he’s holding you is like you are a big teddy bear in his arms. His tail is soft as it curls over his hip and, as a result, over yours too. The fur tickles you a little and you can feel Taehyung smile against your skin where his face is pressed to your neck. Part of the hammock is in the cool of the shade, but with him cuddled so close you’re more than warm enough.

Humming, with one hand you play with the hair at the nape of his neck and with the other you smooth and brush through the fur on his black-tipped tail. Instantly, the hybrid absolutely melts in your arms, body going so slack in contentment that it melds to your own. You catch him inhaling deeply and then letting out a big breath, the puff of air hot against your skin. His ears flick against your jaw, taking in each and ever sound around you. It’s…. serene. You feel so at peace, and comfortable—you can only hope Taehyung feels that way too.

The silence that settles over the two of you isn’t uncomfortable, in fact it’s quite the opposite. It’s like a blanket of warmth, and before long beneath it and the suns rays the two of you find yourself getting sleepy. Not long into your position on the hammock and you feel Taehyung’s breathing even out completely, his body curling around yours even more as he buries his face further into your neck. You follow him soon after, sleepy eyes drifting closed and sleep eagerly reclaiming you in the comfort of his hold.

x + x +

It can’t be much later that you’re shaken from sleep by movement on the hammock. Blearily, you open your eyes and blink away the remnants of sleep, struggling to focus them and see the cause of the movement. Taehyung shifts against your side, pressing futher into your neck and clutching you tighter. It’s not him.

You look up and catch Seokjin frozen in his movements, looking at you like a deer caught in headlights with wide eyes and flushed cheeks.

“Uh, y/n…” he stumbles over his words, clearly embarrassed. You quickly realise what he was trying to do as he goes to pull away.

“’s okay, Seokjin,” you smile at him, if somewhat sleepily, and grasp his hand in yours—you use the grip to tug him gently down. “You can come cuddle too.”

The hybrid is visibly overjoyed at your words, and wastes no time in crawling completely onto the hammock as he’d been trying to do before, curling into your side like a puppy. His bushy tail is wagging slightly, before he forces it to calm and wraps it over his hip so it flops over you as well. He seems a little unsure and hesitant of where to put his hands and head, and with a soft giggle you guide his head to your shoulder and his arm to drape over you. You don’t realise Taehyung is awake as well until he moves the arm across your abdomen to hold Seokjin’s hand, resting their conjoined palms over your stomach. The action warms your heart like nothing else and even in your sleepy haze you can’t help but grin, nuzzling into both of them and enjoying the warmth on your skin from the sun and their embrace.

You can only hope that they won’t be afraid to hold you like this again after today.

a/n: thank u for reading, pls let me know what u think!! and feel free to let me know its not total trash by dropping a like or rb,,, if it’s not too much trouble!! and if u enjoyed this and would like to support me, pls feel free to drop by my ko-fi :3

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suntrastar · 4 years ago

Text

abstract: chapter 3

chapter 2!! you can also read it on ao3 :)

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Artist!Reader

Summary: Wait- Bucky Barnes attends your art class? And you didn’t even recognize him?

Word Count: 9520. i am deranged. someone euthanize me i beg you.

Author’s note: jesus fucking christ. this is so long for no reason. probably kind of poorly written. that is okay though. i really really appreciate the support you guys have given me for the last 2 chapters!! i was a bit iffy about joining tumblr but i’m glad to be here now :) please comment and reblog!! i appreciate it so much!!! ily all ok now enjoy this mess!!!

“You want to paint me?”

Rina looks at you, shocked, mouth agape, lone cherry tomato speared on her fork.

“Yeah,” you say, and smile with your straw still in between your teeth. “You in a field of flowers.”

“You want to paint me in a field of flowers?”

“Yes- that’s literally what I just said.”

The bustle of the restaurant is loud enough to drown out the rising volume of her voice. Thankfully. She’s being excessive, again- as if this is the first time she’s ever been the center of attention- but you’re fine with it today. You almost like it.

Today, her enthusiasm is almost contagious.

“I know,” Rina says “Duh. But, like, it’s just so crazy to me that you want to put me in your second solo show ever- I mean, why me?”

“Because,” you say, and almost leave it at that, just to mess with her. “Because you’re my best friend, and the whole thing is focused on people I know. And your hair would look so good with poppies, and-”

“I’m your best friend?”

“Obviously,” you say, even though to her, it might not be that obvious. “Who else?”

“That is so sweet,” she says, and leans back in her seat, dramatically clutching her hands over her heart. Rings sit on each of her fingers, gold and heavy stone. “You are too nice to me.”

She’s really milking it. But you’ll let it slide.

Rina gives you a self-satisfied smile, which you return without too much trouble. She’s so overwrought and showy with how she sits, limbs sprawled all over, like they’ve been blown into disarray by the wind. Her hair, still glossy red, is parted down the middle and made up in two French braids, tips just barely brushing her shoulders. The hair ties don’t match.

She has no best friend. She probably has, like, five other people just like you, who she calls on when she feels like it, whenever she wants company, when she feels like humoring someone. Or when she wants someone to listen to her talk.

It comes as part of the lifestyle- can you really blame her?

“I know,” you say, veering back on topic. “Bucky gave me the idea.”

You do it on purpose.

Her eyes go wide.

“Bucky?” She says, incredulously. Like she doesn’t believe you.

The feeling of being incompetent comes quick in a flash, and it takes too much to put it away.

You’re not incompetent- his number is in your phone, after all, isn’t it?

“The Winter Soldier, I mean,” you say, and the words feel all wrong in your mouth.

“No . Shut up. You are not on first-name basis with the fucking Winter Soldier.”

“Oops,” you say.

Her jaw drops.

You’re grinning too hard. She didn’t expect this from you- you didn’t expect this from you! You take a bite of your food, some garlicky chicken thing you can’t pronounce the name of, to delay your response. It gives you time to think of what to say next.

Rina waits, stunned into silence.

“We’re… talking, I think,” you say. “I asked him for his number.”

“And he gave it to you?”

“Yep.”

There’s a story there, that you won’t tell her.

You texted him a day after class, on Tuesday. Was that too soon? You didn’t care, your mind was too muddled with so many other things- icy blue eyes and different techniques for drawing wrinkles and this week’s shopping list and the best color that went with orange-red, and the laundry that you still hadn’t done.

You were too giddy to get smart with it- all you sent was a simple Hey.

All he sent back was a simple Hi.

Then, once you had read over his message too many times, you turned your phone off and pretended it never happened.

It’s too nerve-wracking. And pointless. You’re going to see him on Monday again, anyway! There’s plenty of time to text him- everything doesn’t have to be so immediate- you’ll get around to it before then, for sure.

You just have to stop thinking so much.

“I cannot believe you,” Rina gushes, and from her expression, you believe her. “You’re all grown up! I am so proud of you. That man is delicious, I cannot-”

“Do not describe him as delicious, oh my god.”

You burst out laughing as Rina raises one eyebrow, filled in dark. Her eye makeup always kills. “Am I wrong?”

“Well… no, but…”

***

Steve leaves, but Bucky stays back at the end of class to help you clean up. Acrylics again, and it’s the second-to-last class, so you had finally brought out the canvas.

Canvas means more fun, but more mess. More paint splatters on the tables, more brushes with clogged-up bristles.

Bucky doesn’t smile as he says bye to Steve, and it makes you feel a certain type of way , but you stick to business. Cleaning supplies are pulled out, paper towels are ripped from the dispenser. Bucky starts on the tables while you roll up your sleeves and start the sink, preparing to start on the brushes.

God- these brushes.

If these brushes were washed incorrectly, you would cry. They’re new, and high-quality, and the bristles are still soft and not yet frayed or discolored, and the handles are made of thick, clear plastic, and they come in different sizes and styles, and you can barely believe it, but they all even have rubber grips.

They’re really nice brushes.

“You didn’t text me back,” Bucky says.

You wish the sink was loud enough to swallow all sound, swallow you up within it.

Still, you look over your shoulder, giving him a pained smile while he scrubs at a spot of dried paint. He looks back at you, but you can’t tell what he’s thinking.

Of course you didn’t text back- thinking less is way harder than it seems.

“I wanted to,” you say, “but I got nervous. Sorry.”

You turn back to the sink. It’s a little easier to breathe without having to look at him.

“You got nervous,” he repeats, voice still so unreadable.

Is he mad? He always looks mad, always sounds mad- you can’t ever tell if there’s anything behind it.

“Yeah,” you say, and shrug, like it’s no big deal at all, like you chicken out of things all the time, like texting is always such a cause for concern. “I didn’t know what to say. What was I supposed to say?”

“I don’t know.”

Ugh.

The sink water slowly circles the drain. You don’t look past it, only keeping your eyes on the sink and the remaining brushes- it helps calm your heart, a little. Bucky is probably on the last few tables. All of the paintings have been neatly propped up on the drying racks.

Bucky painted his entire canvas yellow.

You are so dumb.

“Um, okay” you say, shutting off the sink. The really nice brushes are all neatly piled up on the counter on top of a folded paper towel, washed and drying. “What if I was like, ‘hey, Bucky, after this class ends and I’m not your art instructor anymore, would you want to meet up sometime?’”

You turn back around and lean against the sink. It’s an effort that deserves applause- you look so collected, while your heart is beating way too fast, and Bucky, its forever opposite, just stands behind a table, spray bottle in hand.

Your hands are sweaty.

He nods slowly, and it’s a victory in and of itself- the action nearly has you weak at the knees.

“Meet up,” he repeats, voice low, like a halfhearted growl. Disdainful, kind of. “Like a date.”

You wipe your hands on your apron. It’s a totally normal, totally relaxed movement. But then you’re wishing that you wore something cuter- was this sweatshirt really the only thing you had? Do you not own, like, a blouse, or something? Didn’t you just do your laundry?

Fuck, you’re being annoying.

“We don’t have to call it that,” you say. “We can just… hang out. Eat something. Go on a walk.”

You say it casually, but honestly, you like nice dates. Dates at art museums, dates at fusion restaurants, dates at movie theaters showing indie films in foreign languages. Anything eccentric, haphazard. Spontaneous.

But you also like seeing him smile, and you like to talk, and you like to be listened to- and he is giving you that.

This is a different type of everything. It’s all upside down, inside out, twisted over in itself. You have to approach it all differently, maybe it’s because he’s too quiet or too famous or too dangerous or whatever the hell, but none of it matters.

What matters is that you want it.

You’ll realign your compass.

“Okay,” he says. “I like walks.”

“Great,” you say, and go on without hesitating, because long nights have you tired and hesitation is for the weak, “I like you.”

Bucky Barnes, real, unfitting name James, clutching dirty paper towels and a spray bottle, smiles at you.

It’s wrong, but you could just bite him.

A sudden, unprompted thought hurls through your mind- you want to paint him.

***

The last art class.

It was once long-awaited, but now, you’re actually sad to see everyone go.

You buy a tray of cookies. It’s the least you can do- everyone has been so nice to you, so respectful and cooperative. Everyone has made things fun. You don’t know if you were doing anything right, but it sure as hell has been enjoyable.

Crumbs might get in the paint, but’s a small price to pay.

“Knock yourself out,” you announce.

The tray is set out on the middle table. You forgot the package of napkins back at your studio, so you gesture to the paper towel dispenser.

Then you long for the kids in your Wednesday and Thursday classes, because unlike these people, they wouldn’t be looking so dead at the prospect of free cookies.

You shake your head and return to your perch, tucking your feet behind the legs of the stool.

Eventually the conversations trickle out, slowly turning the room warm and lovely and bright. You listen in, a little, savor it, and hop back up. There’s nothing to do- might as well make some idle chitchat, one last time.

Shonna uses a small brush to add purple highlights to the feathers of a pigeon. It’s gorgeous- and you don’t even like pigeons- but you like her painting style and the jewel tones she’s adding amidst the grey, and the orange beak, and the washed-out yellow background she’s painting over.

“Wow,” you say, and she adds another purple highlight with a flick of her hand. “I cannot stop looking at this pigeon.”

“Thank you, honey,” she says, without looking up.

She’s too focused for you to stay for too long- you have to leave the pigeon for others. Marcie waves you down and gives you the latest update about her son, abandoning her half-painted rose while she launches into a bit of a tirade- her son wants to pierce his nose, isn’t that ridiculous?

“Hey, I wanted to pierce my nose when I was his age, too,” you say, and spout something about self-expression that makes her frown.

Ahmed chimes in. You have no idea what the blob he’s painting is supposed to be, but you like it. “I’ve been trying to tell her the same thing! These kids are modern now- these are just the things they do!”

“These are just the things we do,” you echo.

Marcie heaves a heavy sigh.

***

You head over to a few more tables, and it goes by too fast and too slow, but then you’re suddenly there in the back, with your star student, and your…

With Bucky.

“I really like how this is turning out,” Steve says proudly, as you approach them.

Then, he adds, almost childishly, “Don’t look until I’m done.”

He has a half-eaten sugar cookie sitting by his paint water.

“I won’t look” you promise, and all at once, you’re almost emotional- he is such a nice guy. He’s like the human embodiment of a golden retriever. “Don’t worry.”

Steve nods, pleased and nervous at the same time. You pointedly look away from the painting as you slide into a seat, across from Bucky and his yellow canvas.

Yellow and black canvas. He’s hunched over with a fat-bristled paintbrush in hand, adding black stripes, blobby and unevenly spaced, but still unbelievably straight.

It is all so cute.

“Very bumblebee-esque,” you say, and his forehead creases. “I like it.”

Steve smiles.

Bucky adds another line. He didn’t take a cookie. He should’ve- the chocolate-chip is so good.

“Thanks,” he says.

And Steve just smiles wider, and you almost kick him under the table, and Bucky gives you an unsmiling look that turns you to jelly.

Hat aside, he is looking exceptionally pretty today. All hair and eyes and bone structure- it makes you want to do something, like reaching out and grabbing him by the collar of his jacket. Like running a hand over his jaw. Catching his stubble under your fingertips.

Parting his hair down the middle and French braiding it.

Taking a picture- it'll last longer.

“I'm going to miss seeing you guys around.”

Steve gives you a surprised look and shakes his head. He has one arm protectively curled around his canvas, even though you’re still not looking.

“Oh, I’m sure one of us will be seeing you around,” he says, and grins.

You glare at him.

Bucky laughs.

***

The goodbyes aren’t as bad as you thought they would be.

People leave with a simple goodbye and a brief thank you, shrugging on their coats and gingerly clinging to their still-damp artwork. Marcie makes you promise her that you won’t pierce your nose. One woman who would always come to the class with a huge coffee cup sets her painting aside to sweep you into a hug.

It’s very gratifying.

Steve and Bucky linger.

Shonna does, too, but for a completely different reason.

You want to give her Rina’s contact. She probably has some painting class available, if Shonna’s interested in that sort of thing, if she’s okay with being around so much personality.

And you also want to give her your contact- so she can keep on sending you pictures of those birds.

“One sec,” you tell her, and reach for your purse, sitting on the counter.

Bucky is standing closeby, remarkably closeby, and you accidentally brush against him.

He goes rigid.

But you’re busy pulling out a pen and a scrap piece of paper, and then you’re using the counter as a hard surface to write against, shoulders angled away from him, and you’re talking all the while- you don’t have the spare second to be concerned.

“This is my email,” you say, adding a smiley face after the address. “Send me your art. And, like, talk to me. Send me your grocery lists, if you want- I don’t care. Here.”

Shonna takes it and gives you a smile. There’s a glimmer of something in it, a knowing.

“Thank you,” she says, and laughs a little, and you suddenly fiercely miss your mother. “I’ll keep the last bit in mind.”

She looks past you. Steve, standing a few feet away, holding the canvas he still hasn’t shown you, nods respectfully. And Bucky, standing near the counter, still near you, even though he’s looking at you like you’ve scalded him.

“I’ll leave you to it,” she says.

You almost ask, “to what?” But she’s already left- Shonna and her pigeons are gone.

Steve steps up fast to take her place.

You still have no time to think.

“So, this is the finished product,” Steve says with no preamble, and with a great flourish that makes you laugh in delight, he turns the canvas around.

Oh.

Wow.

You’re not dizzy.

But you will be, if you keep on looking at this- a tangle of vines on a wall, with blooming flowers in what should be the wrong colors, dappled in light from a window you can’t see, drawn from a strange perspective. The leaves are really big and the vines are really small, and then it’s flip-flopped, and he has a hot-pink underpainting that he didn’t fully cover, so there’s pink in the leaves, pink on the wall. Pink in the un-pink flowers.

“Fuck,” you say, and then go quiet.

Steve tenses.

Now you have two very strong men looking at you weird.

You should probably fix that.

“I don’t- I don’t know what to say,” you say, stumbling over your words, feeling cotton-mouthed. “There are no coherent thoughts going on in my head right now. I’m just- where did this even- how did you even come up with this?”

“I tried to do that thing you said,” Steve says, sounding uncertain. He shifts and the painting moves with him, sending pink flickering over your eyesight. “No empty space. Because it’s boring.”

What is this called, again? Artists supporting artists?

“It is boring,” you say in agreement, and your voice comes back to you, all at once. “And holy shit, you pulled it off so well. I’m obsessed with the pink underpainting- it’s everything. You literally invented pink. And can we talk about these vines? How long did it take you to draw them all tangled up like that? And the flowers- you even gave them little stems, ugh. And all the colors! And this lighting- I’m sorry, I have too much to say.”

Like watching a flower bloom, Steve unfurls at your praise, blush deepening with each compliment. It’s so wonderfully endearing, and internally, you sigh in relief.

“Thank you,” he says, and bursts into the brightest smile you’ve ever seen. “Also, we have one more question.”

“We?” You ask, and Bucky clears his throat.

You turn to him.

Already, you have a whole slew of problems- you have to sketch out an emerging idea and place an order for new brushes, ones with rubber grips, and you have to cook dinner when you get home because lately you’ve been ordering too much takeout, and you have to organize your closet, and you have to give an adequate and peppy response to whatever Steve is about to say-

You’re bursting at the seams.

There isn’t much room for anything else. Any concern.

“You have something to say, Bucky?” You ask, and waggle your eyebrows.

He doesn’t crack a smile- just how you like it.

“I do,” he says, smugly, and then says your name in a way that ties your stomach up in knots, that has you thinking of flowers and chiffon.

“We were wondering if you’re free tomorrow,” Steve says, and then invites you out for drinks, for tomorrow evening.

So you’ve passed the initial threshold of friendship, and now you’re onto group drinking! That’s exciting- and you’ll get to see Bucky, and you’ll get to postpone that tedious process of planning out a date- a hang-out, and you’ll have an opportunity to show up in something besides jeans and sad sweatshirts.

There hasn’t been a chance to show it off to him, yet, but you can dress.

Steve mentions another friend named Sam, who might join, too, if that’s okay with you.

“I’m cool with it,” you say. “The more the merrier, right?”

He has to be a decent guy, if Steve associates with him, and you like new people.

But doesn’t Steve also associate with, like, Tony Stark?

That man is oh-so problematic. He rolls out with a new scandal every month. He’s had enough scandals that he could release a line of red-and-gold-themed calendars- with the dates of each scandal marked in. Each month could have its own photo, too, coinciding with the dates.

Tony Stark, making peace signs at a court hearing. Tony Stark, wasted on a yacht. Tony Stark, in the middle of an interview where he bashes people who have absolutely nothing to do with him.

“That sounds like fun,” you say, and Steve lets out a breath of relief, “but I have to ask, about Sam? Is he, like, a…”

An Avenger? A genetically-altered individual? A prominent public figure with a stupid amount of money?

“He’s a really nice guy,” Steve quickly says.

“He’s a pain in the ass,” Bucky says, immediately after him.

***

As it turns out, Sam Wilson is not a pain in the ass.

He is really nice, but more importantly, he is funny.

Bucky texted you the address a few hours ago. You walk into the bar and at once, you’re assaulted by an excess of dark- dark floors, dark lighting, dark accents on the decor. None of it is dingy, just low-lit. It’s a nice place.

It might be a little too nice- nothing like the sticky-floored, rowdy sports-themed bars you usually hit when you’re in the mood to get hammered.

You catch the back of a head, wavy brown hair and thick shoulders, in a booth tucked into the corner. Steve, sitting opposite him, against the wall, catches your eye and waves you over.

Next to Bucky is a guy you’ve never seen before, Sam. Black skin, close-cropped hair, looking over his shoulder to flash a grin at you. Even in a simple shirt, you can tell that he is built.

He’s an Avenger, then. Maybe.

You’ve just barely slid in beside Steve, and you’re grinning and making some dumb comment about the disaster that is the New York subway system, when Sam fixes you with a gleeful look and leans forward.

“It’s nice to finally meet you,” he says, casting a side-eye at Bucky. “I’m not joking when I say this- I was starting to think that Barnes made you up. He’s always doing crazy shit like that. Anyways, you will not believe why I’m actually here.”

You humor him, because why the hell not? “Why are you actually here?”

Already, you can tell that he has that vaguely-ironic, purposely-stupid sense of humor, which you always find absolutely hilarious. And you want to know what he means by crazy shit.

Bucky looks up at you for a few charged seconds, telling you something you can’t decipher, and then ducks his hand back down to stare intensely at his drink. Something amber, with ice cubes.

“I’m here to make sure that you don’t feel bad. Because these two fossils,” Sam says, and Steve winces, “can’t get drunk. But I can! So if you wanna get trashed, I’m game.”

Under the dimmed lights, Sam’s teeth shine perfectly white. All of Steve’s friends seem to have perfectly white teeth.

“It’s because of the serum,” Steve says, and you just gawk.

They both can’t get drunk?

Because of their fucking superhero vaccine?

“What the hell,” you say, and rest your elbows on the tabletop. Bucky’s gaze follows your arms, starting at the hems of the sleeves, trailing up to your shoulders. “That’s so… Steve, if you can’t get drunk, then why are you torturing yourself with that beer?”

“It’s for the feeling,” Steve says quietly, blushing pink, and Bucky is still quiet, and you have a feeling that this has something to do with nostalgia, or World War II, or something. The good old days.

Sam catches it too, so he buts in, quickly bringing the conversation back to something less layered, less wired.

He’s a man with nothing to hide. He tells you who he is with no hesitation, without trying to skip over or disguise anything- he’s open. He’s a war vet, too, and now an Avenger- he’s the Falcon. He has, he says, a pair of fancy-ass wings. And the coolest outfit.

“Wait,” you say, and you’re suddenly dying to know, “what does it feel like to fly?”

His eyes light up.

“You know when you’re trying to sleep, and then you randomly get that feeling that you’re falling, and your stomach does that thing?”

“Yeah.”

“It’s like that, but you can control it. It’s fucking amazing.”

He launches into a whole spiel, talking your ear off about the feeling of high-altitude wind on his skin and aerodynamics and some science-y things you don’t understand, and you get your own beer and enjoy the sweet feeling of getting buzzed on a weeknight, and as the edge you constantly have on yourself shifts, the seats shift, too.

You don’t know how, but you end up next to Bucky, in between him and the wall. Not touching, but close. Sam is across from you and Steve is next to him, and all of a sudden they’re talking about Chex Mix.

“If the Avengers were Chex Mix pieces,” Sam says, throwing the word Avenger around casually enough to make Steve’s hesitations seem horrendously uptight, “I would be the garlic chip. The best part of the whole damn bag. Do you know what I’m talking about?”

“Yeah, those chips are definitely the best part,” you say, adopting a mock-seriousness. “And Tony Stark would be one of those knobby-ass, crunchy little mini breadsticks.”

Sam mirrors your expression, nodding gravely, like what you’re both evaluating is a highly intellectual subject. “I completely agree. And for Rogers- man, you’re a pretzel.”

You narrow your eyes. “Square or circle?”

“Uh,” Sam says, turning to survey poor, unprepared Steve, looking equal parts bewildered and embarrassed. “Square.”

“Great choice. And Bucky?”

“Bucky…” Sam hesitates, and the briefest smile flashes over his face before he schools his expression back into objectivity, “Bucky is one of those original Chex squares. Sorry.”

“That’s cold,” you say, and Sam smiles again, and leans all the way back in his seat, bringing his hands behind his head.

“He’s not one of the yellow squares, though- those are actually good,” Sam starts, grin growing wider by the second, and you can’t tell if it would be rude to laugh. “He’s not one of those squares with extra seasoning, either. Bucky is just one of the plain brown squares. The wheat squares, or whatever the hell. Have you ever, like- have you ever wondered what the sole of a shoe tastes like? Or the eraser on top of a pencil? That’s what those taste like- that’s what he is. Just one of the plain Chex squares.”

Your jaw drops.

A roast like that from a halfway drunk man is absolutely scathing.

Bucky just levels a glare.

He’s used to this, you think. Is that his crazy shit? That he never reacts to anything?

You’re definitely a little tipsy- this is obviously no time to get wasted, but the edge has certainly been taken off, the corners of your world having gone hazy. In a lull, you watch a well-dressed man standing by the vestibule doors lean past your field of vision and receive what you think is a kiss on the cheek.

Without thinking, you lean close to Bucky and cup a hand over his ear.

Maybe he won’t react, maybe he will, but you’re not going to give him the time for either.

“I think that you’re the garlic chip,” you whisper loudly, and you’ll probably cringe yourself into oblivion over it when you're sober, but you think he shivers- and then he snorts.

“Thank you,” he says, and Sam putters out, giving you an amazed look.

***

“Heyyy,” you say later, turning to Bucky, when time has passed and you’re no longer on the subject of Chex Mix and he’s still a little too quiet. “What’s up?”

He’s quiet and troubled, drinking what might be whiskey like it’s water. Is it whiskey? You didn’t think that people actually drank whiskey- just kept it around in crystal decanters and silver flasks to look cool, like they’re main characters in a movie.

“The sky,” he says dryly, like you didn’t say that same exact shit when you were in middle school, hopelessly thinking that it was the slickest comeback.

“Very funny, James,” you say, and he huffs, and you feel a brief flash of panic, and then you’re almost apologizing, when he grins.

You know maybe three whole things about him, but you’ll press yourself up against him right here and now, under the low light of a fancy bar, with rain sliding down outside the window panes, with his friends right across the table. You don’t care.

His friends can tell.

“We’ll be right back,” Steve says suddenly, making a very showy display of getting up with Sam. Both of them send you obnoxious grins and suggestively raised eyebrows.

Bucky glares. You can’t stop smiling.

“You kids have fun,” Sam calls, and you laugh.

Just you and him, then. The mood shifts fast, turning from one thing to… another. Bucky’s eyes reflect the window outside, falling dark and darker, and you’re slipping, too.

“You look really nice,” Bucky says, and his eyes dip down in the slyest fucking move- you’re almost proud of him for it, for having such game.

A spark of heat flashes through you, as he takes you in slowly, like he’s trying to savor it.

You opted for a slightly tighter shirt, and a pair of jeans, but they’re your nice jeans. The ones without any weird streaks of paint on the thighs. And you wear a beaded necklace, and in your ears, a pair of fun, delicate hoop earrings, dangling with charms in the shape of crescent moons.

“Thanks,” you lean back, into the wall, letting your voice drop to match the tone of his. “You do, too.”

He just stares at you, unamused. Still dark, and dangerous.

Purple chiffon, you think, and marigolds. The flower was meant for another friend, but she’ll have to manage, because now, you can only see Bucky with marigolds, with no room for anyone else.

“So,” you say, before the silence carries on and makes you do something stupid, “Done anything fun lately?”

He tenses. Again.

There’s all these things that you know you can’t ask him, things about his job and his hobbies and his metal fucking arm, which you still haven’t seen- which you’re fine with, but, like. It’s the fact that he has a metal arm in the first place- he is so detached from everything you know, and you aren’t sure if you know how to navigate it all. You don’t think he knows how to navigate it, either.

He’s hesitant, you think. But not unwilling.

You’re just going to roll with it.

”I watched a movie today,” he says, sounding so smooth that your clutch on your drink wavers. His eyes are raking you over, cold.

Red marigolds. Not the orange ones. Red marigolds with the little golden borders on the edges of each petal.

“Which movie?”

He shakes his head. “I forgot the name”

“Okay, well, what was it about?”

“Talking dogs.”

You laugh and he smiles, and then you feel light enough to float. “Talking dogs?”

“Yeah,” Bucky says, and he takes a sip. His mouth is very pink. Layers, you think, layers and overlapping, to make the fabric look hazy. Washed-out. “They talk when their owners aren’t home.”

“That sounds right up your alley,” you say, and you’re giggly and he’s all smiley and maybe you’re being embarrassing, but whatever, because he’s looking at you like he’s never been smiley with anyone else before, and you really, really want to lean in.

You’ll wait.

***

Sam comes back with Steve a little bit later, but it isn't until you’re getting ready to leave when he brings it up.

“You’re good for him,” Sam says, while Bucky and Steve have gone to pay. Your drinks are on him- how chivalrous. “Honestly, you’re probably too good for him.”

You laugh as you shrug on your jacket. “Doubt it.”

“No, I’m serious,” he says, voice dropping to an urgent whisper. You realize at once that he’s about to say something heavy, something concerning. “He has been through some fucked-up shit. It’s not his fault, obviously, but it’s always there. He’s never going to get over it. Sometimes he doesn’t sleep. He just stays awake, for like, three whole days at a time. Sometimes he just disappears. He never tells anyone where he goes. Sometimes he does this thing where he-”

“I get it,” you say quickly, and he must be able to see your sudden dread, because his face softens.

“I’m not trying to scare you. I just want you to know- that that’s what you’re getting yourself into.”

“Thanks,” you say, and zip up your coat, and then pat your pockets even though you know you have everything, just so you have an excuse to not say anything. Sam gives you a long look, before sighing and pulling out his phone.

Obviously, Sam is trying to tell you that Bucky is damaged.

You’re not in the business of fixing things, but you’ll take him as he is anyway, because...

“Sam?” you say, and he looks up from his phone.

“Sometimes,” you start, and swallow down whatever anxiety is starting to surface, “Sometimes he’s being all quiet and moody and angsty and whatever, I get that same feeling that you’re telling me. But then, like, he just does something. Like, he’ll make a joke, or say something, and then it’s like-”

You struggle with your words- it’s like everything you want to say is there, but you can’t reach it. Sam slides his phone into his pocket, and Bucky is coming back, with Steve in tow, moon and sun, peas in a pod. You wonder if Sam makes their duo a trio, if he’s the third invitee to their slumber party, or if he’s just on the fringes.

“It’s like- It’s like, okay. Like, I know who he is and it’s all okay.”

He nods, and smiles at you, and you sincerely hope that he isn’t just on the fringes.

***

The paintings of your parents are finished- and they are good. So good. Every detail is there, every color. Every line. The wrinkles and the flowers and the lace neckline of your mother’s dress. Looking at them makes you feel so proud- it’s been forever since you were able to properly convey your thoughts onto canvas.

They’re big, too. Larger than life. You’ll have to rent one of those orange U-Haul trailers to transport them.

On a new canvas is Rina, only halfway painted. She looks good too, even though right now she’s just a head and a torso and two floating feet, because getting the colors on her legs right is harder than you thought. It’s tricky to paint the shadows and contours without her legs just looking bruised- there’s so many flower stems overlapping with the skin, so you don’t have a lot of room to work with.

You’ll figure it out.

You might be a little in over your head, actually. Confident- a little too confident. You don’t even have this painting done, and you’re itching to start on another. A possible recipe for disaster, but every time you have a spare second, in the shower or on the subway or when you’re trying to fall asleep, you find yourself thinking about it.

Not in bits and pieces the way most of your thoughts are, but a fully formed concept; a real, true image brimming with fullness, already starting to spill over into everything you do.

You have it all figured out. You know what techniques you’ll use. What composition, what colors.

You text Bucky.

Nothing crazy. You know you could scare him off, or maybe not, not anymore- by the end of the night at the bar last week, you sat next to him and bumped up against him and whispered in his ear, and right before you left he flicked the charm on your earring, watched it sway, and then he smirked- and you almost died.

You text him Hey, and then set your phone on the farthest surface you can find, pointedly avoiding it. Rina’s calves need attention- you have paint to mix.

Ten minutes later, your phone rings.

You can’t help it, you’re weak-hearted- you drop everything and dash to your phone, dodging your carts of supplies and hopping over a stack of toppled canvases that you never bothered to pick up, and pick up on the third ring.

“Hi,” you say into the receiver, slightly out of breath.

“Hi,” he says, and he sounds slightly out of breath, too.

“Um,” you say, and laugh a little, with the heady rush of nerves flooding in, “I wasn’t expecting you to call.”

“I called because I’m a slow texter,” Bucky says.

You feel so fluttery. When was the last time you felt this fluttery?

“Oh. That’s okay. I was just wondering if you... wanted to meet up sometime soon? Tomorrow, maybe?”

Tomorrow is Saturday, a day off. For you, at least- do Avengers get days off?

“Okay,” he says, and you swear he sounds pleased. You want to cut straight to something else. Skip, jump, leap over all of these steps, so you can get to what you really want to tell him. “I think I can do that. Where are we meeting?”

“There’s this little cafe we can… we can head there first, I’ll text you the address, but I have this idea,” you say, and wait for his invitation to continue, with your heart beating dangerously fast, thrumming like it might just burst through your ribs.

“What’s your idea?”

Thank you, you almost say, but don’t.

The steps are skipped, formalities disregarded- you just tell him.

It’s the perfect time- there’s that currently rare, pretty daylight that grows with each passing day streaming in through your windows unfiltered, blocked by no blinds or curtains. You pace a little, at first, right in the sun, and then sit down on a stool, toeing the smooth wood floors beneath, cradling the phone.

You start it off simple, with the marigolds.

Red marigolds, you specify, because you feel like you have to. Then you delve deeper, into chiffon and lighting and this thing you want to try out with layering, where two elements that overlap go by a completely different color scheme. Like, you say, like the flowers are red and the clothes are black, but the places where they meet are electric pink or orange or blue or something else unusual and distracting.

Save for the sound of his breathing, Bucky is quiet. You can tell that he’s really listening, probably sitting down somewhere and focusing on you, not doing some other task with your voice as background noise. He doesn’t interrupt when you go off on a tangent about the importance of natural lighting or contradict yourself with opposing statements on color choice, or when your words start to deteriorate, when they start pouring out so fast that they slur together and become less than coherent.

Your mind is going even faster- you can see the image even when you blink.

Something at the back of your thoughts tells you to stop, to slow down. You need to chill out.

But the idea is so vivid, so you can’t- you don’t, not until the idea is totally exhausted and you give a final sigh and go quiet, not until after giving what could count as an entire fucking speech.

When Bucky speaks again, he sounds tentative.

“I… like it,” he says, and maybe he’s holding his phone at a bad angle, because his voice is quiet.

“You do?” You say, instead of asking something else, with a sudden bad feeling in your gut.

“Yeah. But…”

You know what he says without him having to say it.

It feels like you’ve been punched.

The picture behind your eyelids burns brighter.

“That’s okay,” you say in response to his unsaid words, speaking too late, so that it's obvious that it’s not okay.

Your heart is sinking, as if it has any right to, as if he’s in the wrong. How did you go from high to low so fast?

You scared him. You put too much pressure on him too fast- it’s exactly what Sam said, that he’s all levels of wary and weird, and little things can set him off, because of everything that he’s been through-

Even if he was someone else, though, even if he was normal, he would still say no- anyone would say no to being given such a request out of nowhere.

Well, Rina didn’t, but she doesn’t count in this situation, does she?

“Sorry,” he says.

That hurts worse.

“Don’t apologize,” you say quickly. “It’s not like it’s not going to work now- I mean, it’ll be fine. Are you still down to meet, though?”

“Sure,” he says, too late.

***

Bucky Barnes does not like anything in his coffee.

He takes it black, black like his clothes, black like his soul, black like whatever other emo shit you can come up with.

It’s not that funny anymore.

Still, you keep up with it- you’re funny and talkative and charming and everything else, because you don’t know what else to do. The subject will be broached, it’s inevitable- you’ll broach it, even, but you still have to figure out how.

He’s subdued. And wearing his stupid hat, again, and you would give anything to knock it off so you could really see him, and he’s cautiously cradling his mug in a way that makes you ache everywhere.

The cafe is busy and decorated with a specific aesthetic, one that you would call manufactured bohemian. Potted plants and quirky photographs and drinks that all have fancy and ridiculous names. The baristas wear yellow aprons, and if you have a membership card, every tenth purchase gets you a free sugar cookie iced with a smiling sun.

Your cappuccino foam is dissolving. Sometimes, even though it’s mostly tasteless, you swipe it up and eat it with a spoon. Today, it seems like a bad idea- frivolous in the face of his silence and your unmotivated charisma and this stupid idea lingering between you two, like a friend that’s overstayed their welcome.

“I’m sorry,” you blurt out, and wonder why you feel so jumpy for saying it. “For bringing that thing up yesterday.”

To your own credit, you still sound confident.

He looks at you so darkly that you wonder if you should be afraid. Have there ever been others in your seat, afraid?

You’re not afraid.

“It’s fine,” he says, and continues staring at you like it’s not fine.

“I’m just- I was just thinking out loud,” you say. You feel like you have to explain yourself, prove something to him, so that you won’t wilt. “It was just an idea that I thought could be cool. I told you because, no , wait. I mean, I know that I- fuck. I’m sorry that it made you uncomfortable. That was really dumb of me.”

He tilts his head, eyes sliding over, and you shiver.

He looks bored.

Which is unnerving and terrifying as hell, because you have this carefully hand-crafted, precisely-cut image of who you are supposed to be, and it is not meant to be boring in the slightest, but he's bored, and you’re going to lose it.

“I said it’s fine,” he says, monotonously, giving the sudden impression that he’s about to leave. But he’s just sitting in his seat, unwrapping his hands from his mug and setting them on the table, while your hands are on the verge of shaking. “It didn't make me uncomfortable.”

If that was true, then you wouldn’t be having this conversation in the first place. You wouldn’t be stumbling over yourself to say something so simple.

It takes considerable effort to keep your gaze steady. “Okay. But I still- I just want to say a thing really quick.”

“Say it.”

He’s being mean.

But this thing has been eating at you for a while now, so you don’t care.

“Um, so, we’re really different people,” you start, and before you second-guess it, you adopt your speaker voice, the teaching voice, the smart one. He has to know this about you- you’re smart. “And you obviously have all of your own things going on in your life that I can’t even imagine, and if you ever want to, like, talk about it, I’m here, but I also don’t care.”

He raises an eyebrow.

You push on.

“Like, it’s not important to me. If you want it to be, then it’ll be, but if not, then it’s whatever. I'm not- when I see you, I just see you. Does that make sense? Like, I don’t really think of any of that other stuff? If I’m supposed to, though, I’m sorry. I… I don’t even know what I’m saying.”

You don’t get nervous often, but you let out a small, nervous laugh.

It’s like your heart and head and lungs are suspended, frozen in ice while he takes your words in. The door to the cafe chimes and a large group of people step in. Middle aged women, all wearing athletic clothes. Devil’s ivy grows on the wall farthest from you- how chic- with vines snaking forward in your direction, reaching for you in green and streaky white.

He smiles.

All you see is teeth and creased eyes and a low, uncreased brow- you want to kiss him.

“Tell me the idea again,” he says, and leans back in his seat. He crosses his arms, and you watch his forearms shift and strain against his shirt, and then you clear your throat and look away and try to focus.

You inhale and gather everything, hoping that this time, you’ll be able to make it make sense.

***

One thing spirals into another. Your words were building and building, rising like a crescendo, overwhelming you to the point where you just said it outright, and-

He’s now in your apartment.

He is literally in your apartment.

You watch him survey the area- the clutter, the mismatched furniture, the crooked posters and photos and artwork hung up on the walls. The subpar paint on the walls that you didn’t choose, the cabinets made of old wood with newly replaced handles.

The entire place is creaking, becoming worse for the wear with each passing day. You could probably afford nicer, but it doesn’t matter, because you love it here- you’ve formed an emotional attachment that goes beyond sad paint and constant repairs. Your home is cozy.

But right now, with Bucky in here, it’s suddenly cramped.

“I want you to sit over here,” you say, and facing a great window, rounded on top with those gorgeous little decorative swirls, which is your favorite part of the whole place, is an armchair. It’s a steal you found at an antique store, with little tassels lining the back of the seat, upholstered with the tackiest floral print you’ve ever seen, but it’s perfect for what you’re trying to do.

The sun is shining strong and unfiltered- he’ll be lit up.

Bucky sits. He looks on edge, and beautiful.

You want to make this easy for him. But you might be too swept away in him to make any efforts- you’re still in shock that he agreed to this in the first place, so disoriented with him being here, in your place, that your trains of thought keep on derailing.

You’re closer than you wish you were, closer to losing it.

“Perfect. Give me one second.”

You go to your room, which isn’t really a room but a sectioned-off alcove with a bit of wall blocking it from view, no door- weird architecture, but whatever, to retrieve your supplies. Tape and the neatly folded swatches of fabric and your camera.

Photography isn’t your thing, but you need reference material.

When you return, he’s looking pensive, and dazzling. His arms fall tensely on the sides of the chair, but his hands dangle so gracefully, and the light catches his face and colors it golden- you are going to lose it when it comes to painting his eyes. They’re blue, but you see them as suns.

“You look great,” you say, and he blushes. You’re ready to pounce, right now.

The fabric is a little bit awkward. It has to be draped upon him- Bucky bristles at your actions in a way that tells you he’s never done anything even remotely like this before, but you persist, and he lets you.

“Get out of the chair really quick.”

“Okay.”

Bucky gets out of the chair. You hop up on it, to tape the corners of the fabric to the ceiling. It’s a flimsy attempt, but they hold and flutter just fine.

He takes you by the hand to bring you back down.

“Careful,” he says, as you make the daunting two-and-a-half-foot descent, and he squeezes your hand in his gloved one before you make him sit down again.

You are buzzing with electricity. Another point to him- that was smooth.

The loose ends of the fabric are tricky, You try at first to tape them to the back of the chair, moving back behind him to reach. Bucky’s head stays perfectly still, and the chiffon looks wrong. It looks weirdly stiff.

So you drape one on him like planned, sort of dripping down his shoulder in a bunched-up purple river, and let the other hang freely, swaying a little from the fragility of the tape.

You move back around to face him.

“This is perfect,” you say, and grin, because this is finally happening. “You look perfect.”

He’s staring all intensely again. You want to come close to him, tell him how lovely he looks, straight out of a dream. You’re so pretty, you almost say, but you have some semblance of rational thought left in you- and so you stay quiet.

The camera dangles from its strap around your neck. You take it in your hands and power it on. The settings are adjusted, and you fiddle with the shutter speed and focus and everything else before bringing it close to your eye, expecting this dream-

He’s all tense, again.

It’s the lens, you immediately think, even though that doesn’t really make sense. You look like- you look like him when he does his things. Lenses and targets and crosshairs. How is this thought so immediate?

You’re just trying to take a picture.

“Relax,” you say, and it does absolutely nothing.

“I am relaxed,” he bites out.

He’s really not. There’s something shifting in his face, something discontented, a brewing storm. His hands are starting to harshly curl into the armrests, digging at the upholstery, distorting the flowers.

The chiffon looms.

“Fix your hands. Like, move them- no, turn them back,”

You’re stooping over to fully capture him, almost ready to take a knee.

His hands flex and stay as they are, stressed and taut and not right, and the rest of him is still so-

You bring the camera down.

***

He’s in this ugly chair, surrounded by fabric, and you’re pretty and wearing a pale pink sweater, and you’re aiming a camera at him, for a picture, but he feels like a target.

White-hot adrenaline and cold and dark dread pull at both sides of him. He feels like a total mess.

Is this they all felt- how they all feel, when he is aiming at them? He tries to do things differently, now, but the tragedy still takes place, the trigger is still fired- the deed is still done. Karma, he thinks, retracing its path, coming back to bite him through you.

You’re frowning. He wants to apologize.

You take the camera down and let it dangle from the strap at your neck. He just had your hands in his- he wants them back and wants to get as far away from you as possible.

“This isn’t working,” you say, and straighten back up, placing your hands on your hips. You look powerful, and he might be trembling from clenching his jaw so hard. “You are not relaxed.”

“I’m not,” he agrees, and you sigh and fix him with a look that isn’t pity- he’d bolt if it were pity, but steely resolve.

You take the camera off your neck, and gently bend over to set it on the floor. Then you sit down beside it, wincing as your knee makes a noise, and giving him a bemused little smile that he wants to just-

Your head level with his knees as you sit, cross-legged. Hands splayed over your lower thighs, careless and carefree. Your posture slouches a bit, relaxing the way he is not, and it's relieving.

His hands grip the chair like a lifeline.

“Why isn’t this working?” You ask, more yourself than him. “You were so- nevermind. Or, Let’s… um, wait. Maybe- Can I?”

He’s always thought of you as so put-together, a born speaker, but now you’ve been stammering and stuttering all over his heart, and he doesn’t know what to do.

You reach out with your hand, hesitantly, wavering. The scar smiles pink.

He nods- his head nods, his body is moving outside of itself, and he feels sheltered and exposed, nearly covered in purple fabric and vulnerable and sitting above you, all of him bared for you to see. Hot and cold.

Your hand goes on his knee.

He’s so alarmed that he almost lashes out- he wants to think, but you’re giving him no time to-

Your other hand is reaching out, tugging at his own, and you bring yourself up to your knees and lean back on the balls of your feet, balancing. Your head is still below his chest and tilted so he can’t see your eyes, and you’re holding his hand like it’ll break.

There’s a dry-erase board fastened on the opposite wall, next to all of the other eclectic clutter. It’s filled in with a to-do list- the words COOK SOMETHING are scrawled at the top in angry red marker. He focuses on the words as you play with his fingers.

You gently trace a thumb over the ridges of his knuckles; he’s suddenly so ticklish that he flinches and chokes on a word that he doesn’t know how to say.

You nudge his hand over to the side, drape the fingers down, and your other hand is still burning his knee, setting him alight-

You’re molding him. Setting him to look how you want, manhandling him in the softest way possible. Should this feel violating? Rude? It feels good- purposeful. He’s letting you do this, and his heart is beating hard, but he can still hear your breathing and his breathing and the white noise of the traffic on the street below, stories away.

You take your hand off his knee, and nudge at his left hand, and he thinks now, how fucking stupid this is- if it’s his fucking hand, why does he wear this stupid fucking glove?

He goes to work it off and you understand, and if he wasn’t wanting so badly to be still for you, stay here as you take your picture, he would grab you by the necklace you’re wearing and drag you closer.

The glove is pulled off and dropped to the floor and the silver of his hand winks in the sunlight.

“Oh,” you say softly, and there’s a crack in your voice, and his voice would crack too, if you asked him to speak.

There’s this look on your face. He doesn’t know if you want to hold his hand or kiss it or put his fingers in your mouth, it looks like all three and he is all unfurled, too, because he is sitting back in this ugly armchair and you’re holding his hands again, and you’re backlit by the sun- like a vision sent straight from the sky.

You fix his hands.

This feels intimate- more intimate than kissing, or anything else. This feels like skipping steps.

After a moment, you pry your hands off of his, and lean back.

Wordlessly, you take the camera and stand up, and you fiddle it and back up, back to where you were at first, far away. Then you’re bringing it close to your eye, looking at him through a lens, and the shutter clicks once, twice.

You bring it back down.

“You got it?” He says, and his voice sounds rough- he sounds parched.

You look at its little screen and bite your lip. “Yeah.”

“Can you come here for a second?”

You look up at him and he’s glad that he couldn’t see your eyes before- they’re dark. “Yeah.”

The camera is tossed to the side, again, and you walk like you’re floating. The steps have been skipped, but Bucky will have to go back to them anyway- he doesn’t like to leave any stones unturned-

And so he waits until you’re close enough, and then tugs you down by your sweater- he doesn’t want to hurt you, and he’s reaching and reaching-

You laugh or smile or do something else sweet, but he’s too caught up to tell. He pulls you down to him, and surrounded by you and sunlight and fluttering purple chiffon, he kisses you.

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the--sad--hatter · 4 years ago

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You must have kind of good skin even under a filter for it to work so well. How do you get such good skin, share your secrest sis. I have huge pores and I can't get them to shrink 😣 Every time i Put foundation on it sinks into the giant holes on my cheeks and nose and looks horrible, even with primer underneath. I want my skin to look like yours? Help meh

First of all, never underestimate a good filter. But yeah, my skin is fairly smooth, so I get what you're saying. Other than the occasional spot, my main skin 'issue' is that it's very dry and red, especially around my nose.

Second of all, listen up, I'm about to drop some very important information on you. ((DISCLAIMER* I am not an expert or qualified in any way, this is all from my own personal experience and research))

Pores are natural, everyone has them and everyone needs them. If you have large pores on your face then no product is going to permanently change that. You can temporarily shrink and/or blur them, but you can not drastically change them for more than a few hours (cold water, sticky primers, and setting powder on top of foundation). The only thing that will make any difference to your skins appearance is time. As you get older your skin will change up. That's just your skin, and it is beautiful as is.

It's great to play with make-up and skin care, to temporarily change how you look, as long as you remember it's just for fun. It's art, it's telling a story with your looks. Once you wash the make-up off you are still the same person, you're still beautiful, you're still worthy of love and adoration. Having clearer or smoother skin doesn't make you any more amazing.

However, that being said, if it bothers you and messes with your confidence, that's not a failing on your part. You're not letting yourself down by giving a damn about these things. So I will give you my advice, but not because I think you need to change.

Skin Health. That's where it all begins. Putting foundation on is a polish, you need a good base for it to have the desired effect. How you should care for your skin entirely depends on what kind of skin you have, is it dry or oily, is it sensitive.

Step One - Cleansing.

Washing your face in the morning is the first important step. If you have dry skin then you should use an oil or creamy cleanser, if you have oily skin then try a watery or gel cleanser. Make sure to thoroughly cleanse and rinse.

Repeat this step at night time. You should be washing your face a minimum of twice a day, but don't overdo it.

And this part is especially important; Make Up remover wipes do not count. They don't cleanse, no matter what they say on the packet. I hate them, they're a waste of money and an environmental hazard. Use a cleanser and a cloth. They're fine to keep in your bag for emergencies when you're out, but don't rely on them.

Step Two - Exfoliation

Removing dead skin cells and build up of dirt in the skin is obviously important as well, but not as important as skin care companies would have you believe. For a start, Exfoliation should be gentle and not a daily thing. Once to twice a week is more than enough, and you do not need a gritty scrub that rubs your skin raw. You can use a serum or wash with Lactic Acid, Glycolic Acid, or Salicylic acid.

Step Three - Hydration

Regardless of what skin type you have, moisturising is essential. Yes, even if you have oily skin. In fact, using a good moisturiser can actually help your skin stop producing excess oil. Find one good daily moisturiser thats targeted to your skin type and make sure to apply every morning (and again in the afternoon if you can/want to) and a second heavier cream to apply at bedtime to work during the night.

And you'll have heard this, but it's true... DRINK PLENTY OF WATER. Your whole body needs the Hydration, from your kidneys to your brain, and your skin is no exception. Drinking enough water daily will have an effect on your skins health.

Step Four - Protection.

It doesn't matter where in the world you live, what time of year it is, or what colour your skin is, please use sun care!

I live in Scotland, and it's December. I still need to use spf. It's not to protect against sunburn, it's to protect against UV rays, which can age your skin as well as cause skin cancer. Everybody needs spf, always. It's even a good idea to use a lip balm with spf in it.

These are the basic steps of skin care, and all you really need unless you have a medical issue with your skin. You can add extra little luxury steps if you like, like weekly face masks, but if you stick to these four steps then you'll be keeping your skin healthy. And healthy skin, is beautiful skin.

As for which products to use, don't use the cheapest products on the market, or the most expensive. The best products usually sit on middle of the spectrum. If you're on a budget then of course buy what you can afford, and if you can't afford much then it's mostly just important you keep your skin clean. If you can, please buy from brands that don't use animal testing and have recyclable packaging.

So go forth and glow, and please, please remember, you are more than the skin you are in, and your beauty depends not on your packaging but your soul.

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theroguefeminist · 4 years ago

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What are the things an (minor) individual can do to help against climate change?

One book that really helped me rethink how I do things to be greener is called The Story of Stuff--this book is great because it thoroughly criticizes capitalism as the source of this problem while also connecting it to how we all live our daily lives. This video is a great introduction, their website is an excellent resource on ways you can get involved, and they have lots more videos. TL;DR: our society is obsessed with working and producing for the sake of it for endless growth instead of minimizing waste and work so we can rest and value the things we produce and buy. We should shift our thinking from endless production to only working and consuming things when we actually need to.

There’s a lot we can do in lots of different aspects of our lives and I think all of us (including myself for sure) could improve. No way can each of us do all of the things I’m gonna bring up in this post, but most of us could probably do a bit more. What we can do will vary depending on life circumstances and privilege, so keep in mind that not everyone will have access to these things and this is not an indictment on people who don’t do some of them (all of us, myself included) and it’s not even a comprehensive list, but it’s a start. Some of these things may not be possible for you as a minor, but you may be able to suggest them to your parents or keep them in mind once you move out on your own.

To make it simpler I will be breaking it down into different categories.

Political Engagement

Be politically engaged and vote / put pressure on politicians to adopt measures that will minimize global warming (this includes increasing regulation of corporate carbon emissions, protecting clean water, supporting the Green New Deal, protecting habitats, and simpler policies like eliminating single use bags and straws when possible, etc). I know you said you’re a minor, but you can still sign petitions and write to politicians (esp local ones). I’d say start reading up as much as you can on climate change policies and which politicians prioritize this issue so you can be ready once you are able to vote. You can still participate in protests / demonstrations and you may be able to join certain organizations like the Sierra Club (although you may need to be 18+ for some) Local Efforts You can join local organizations and volunteer / participate in beach/wildlife litter clean-ups and other efforts to improve your local environment or town. Pay attention to local issues like your parks, beaches, nearby wildlife, water and air policies, etc. In middle school and high school you’re probably required to do community service, so you can devote your hours to something climate change related. You can also find out what efforts are being made at your school to reduce carbon footprint and even get involved with your school board/ student government to address that.

Transportation

Minimize driving as much as possible. Use public transportation or walk or bike when you can. If you have a choice to work or go to school closer to where you live or to do work remotely, take it and minimize commuting. If you are in the market for a car, try to choose a hybrid or electric car or at least one with higher mileage. If driving is unavoidable where you live or for a specific trip, carpool where possible. Help out your coworkers or classmates by driving them or vice versa. This has the added advantage of helping others.

Energy Use / Pollution

Be mindful of energy you might be wasting. Try purchasing rechargeable batteries instead of disposable or using rechargeable appliances instead of battery-operated where possible. Avoid leaving devices on or plugged in when they don’t need to be. Use lower light settings on your devices (this is better for your eyes anyway!). Find out if alternative sources of energy are possible for your house (such as solar power instead of coal). Don’t smoke/vape or pick up smoking/vaping as a habit or quit if you have. Avoid creating sources of smoke such as bonfires or wood stoves/fireplaces unless necessary. Minimize use of heaters / air conditioning except when necessary.

Fashion

Resist fast fashion: try to shop at thrift stores or when you buy new clothes, from sustainable outlets or at the very least more durable staples (i.e. something that will stay in fashion and in good shape). You want clothes that last as long as possible instead of following short-lived trends or being cheaply made and wearing out quickly. (Example: the prom dress I wore for high school was a chic but understated black dress that has lasted me over ten years--most people wear their prom dress and then toss it in the trash). When you outgrow your clothes or become tired of them, donate them to a thrift store, someone you know, or charity--don’t throw them away unless they are stained, have holes or are otherwise worn out.

Technology / Goods Don’t ditch your phone, tablet or computer for the latest model unless necessary. Avoid brands that are designed to die quickly and be replaced. Do research and try to purchase well-made products that will last and get repairs where possible. Avoid hasty purchases for things you will only use a short time then throw away. Try to buy things with re-use value instead of disposable (for instance, a re-washable mop or sponge instead of disposable wipes). When you decide you do not want a product anymore, donate it instead of taking it to the dump. You can also research companies that are making efforts to be reduce their carbon footprint and which are the worst offenders and try to buy from greener ones.

Food

Shop with reusable cloth bags or where not possible, recycle or reuse paper bags (one option during covid-19 is keeping reusable bags in your car or getting bags that roll up small to keep in your pocket and bagging them once you leave the store). Compost, give away or donate food you don’t eat before it expires. Avoid food with excessive plastic packaging. Try to buy local at farmer’s markets, local grocery store outlets or co-ops if affordable and feasible. Use biodegradable bags when shopping for produce instead of plastic bags. Consider minimizing your meat and/or dairy intake if possible. Try to buy in bulk where possible. Try to buy sustainably / ethically sourced food where possible.

Waste

Learn how to properly dispose of special kinds of waste like electronics, batteries and medications. Dispose of these properly instead of just tossing them in the trash. Re-use and recycle where possible. Compost. As mentioned above, avoid purchases that involve high levels of waste such as disposable items or those with built in obsolescence or a short life. Avoid unnecessary use of water (i.e. leaving the sink on while you brush your teeth, long showers, frequent baths). Where possible, avoid buying items with a lot of plastic packaging or individually wrapped parts.

Again, It’s not possible for every single person to do all of these things, but probably the majority of us could do more of these things. Just listing this out made me thing of more things I could be doing. I encourage people do do their own research too on ways to minimize their carbon footprint bc there’s probably a lot more than what I listed here.

#global warming #activism #environmentalism #climate change #green #awkwardbutinwardlyverysassy

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cryoculus · 5 years ago

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Lunaris [3/11]

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Chapter Title: First Quarter Pairing: Yokai!Akaashi Keiji/Reader Word Count: 2,557

***

A few days passed by in a blur after your fainting spell at training.

When you came back to school once you've fully recovered, Itsumi practically bawled her eyes out, sputtering apology after apology as if the reason for your absence was because she'd untied your laces. You could only console her awkwardly, explaining that, no, the untied shoelaces weren't the cause of your domino effect of misfortune.

For missed school work, your classmates had been kind enough to share their notes from the previous lessons you'd missed, filling you in on some of the upcoming requirements for the week. You only had two days' worth of backlog, but it was a lot. Thank god you were generally a likeable person.

"Yo, (Surname)!"

In the middle of rewriting some missed notes, the familiar glee in Bokuto's voice sang in your ears. Your body reacted before your mind could, sending jolts of heat creeping up your face before you could even face him. The ace stood by your desk, and when you looked up, he was grinning like he'd just won the lottery. You weren't even classmates. What was he doing here?

"Bokuto-san," you breathed, hoping he won't comment on your flustered appearance. "Do you need anything? Ah, belated happy birthday, by the way."

Bokuto waved away your concern. "Thanks, but it's nothing. Heard that you blacked out the other day and I didn't even notice." His words were followed by the ace reaching a hand to scratch the back of his head apologetically. "If I'd known, I would've helped out."

You could feel your heart rate doubling at the sight of him apologizing for something that wasn't even remotely his fault. Why? Why was the universe orchestrating this interaction? Were they seriously trying to make you like him more?

"You don't have to feel guilty, you know," you chuckled, putting your pen down to face him directly. "You looking out for me is nice enough of you."

"Heh, really?" A sheepish smile stretched across his mouth. "Akaashi kind of guilt-tripped me for being so dead-set with going home that day, that I was totally oblivious. And then..."

Akaashi. The mere name was enough to trigger a dull throb in your temples. Your memories of that day were still muddled, but there were a couple of things you recalled with striking clarity: your glowing charm, and Akaashi's apathetic gaze turning blood-red feral in the blink of an eye.

When Fujimoto explained that you got hexed by a yokai, you didn't ponder about it too much—total recovery being your top priority during the past two days. But now that the topic of the seemingly ordinary second year had come into light once more, your instincts told you that he was, indeed, the cause of your so-called affliction.

"You alright, (Surname)?"

Blinking, you realized that you spaced out in the middle of Bokuto's rambling. He's gazing at you, golden eyes wide and head tilted to the side like a curious owl.

"Um, yeah!" You followed that up with a nervous-sounding laugh. "I'm just swamped with all this school work, and I just don't know how to manage them all."

"Ohhh," he drawled, nodding in understanding. "Well, I won't eat up any more of your time. See you around!"

Once that force of nature stepped outside of your classroom, you noticed that some of your classmates were casting you curious stares, whispering among themselves. Itsumi, who was grinning at you like a fox, just happened to be one of them.

You sighed, occupying yourself with your notes. Who knew what kind of ideas Bokuto's little chat had planted in your best friend's head? You didn't want to know, nor did you have the time for it.

***

"You really didn't have to lead today's laps when you just got back, you know?" Coach Yamamoto told you off with a hint of a scolding in his words. "If you relapsed, I think the Amatsuki shrine might just have my head offered at the lunar festival."

You humored him with a soft laugh as you squeezed what's left of the contents of your water bottle in your mouth. Wiping the excess moisture from your lips, you turned to your coach with a reassuring look. "I'll see to it that it doesn't happen, coach."

When he politely excused himself out of the conversation, you headed straight to the gym, where the rest of your teammates have just about finished showering. You looked around for a bit, and it seemed that the volleyball team finished early because it was only their manager and coach left inside along with the track team. You refused to acknowledge that the bite of disappointment that pricks your heart was because Bokuto wasn't around.

"Hey, (Name)! You gonna shower?" Itsumi called out from the bleachers as she towelled her damp hair.

You shook your head, slinging your gym bag across your shoulder. "I just came in to check on you guys. Could you make sure everyone gets home safely? Oba-san's making me run errands for the festival."

Your best friend nodded. "Sure. I'll tell them to send updates to the group chat so you can see, too."

"Thanks. I owe you one, Sumi. Bye guys!"

"Bye captain!" was the singsong response of the rest of your teammates who were waiting on the others. You smiled before turning on your heel to make your exit.

The walk from Fukurodani to downtown Tokyo didn't take very long. You knew each nook and cranny like the back of your hand, and wading through the abundance of evening commuters didn't hassle you as much as any other person. Your grandmother had only told you to meet with her middleman somewhere near Ikebukuro station, and that you would definitely recognize the man when you see him.

That didn't really offer enough clues about the middleman's identity, but as you neared the station, you were able to spot a middle-aged monk in traditional Shinto robes, carrying with him a gilded crate similar to the ones you've always seen in the shrine's offertory hall. He certainly stood out from everyone else in the vicinity.

"Takahashi-san?" you asked once you got close enough to speak to him.

The monk turned to you questioningly, but his eyes shone with recognition the following second. "Ah, Amatsuki-sama! The elder mentioned I would be meeting with someone who wore a charm."

You blinked in confusion before glancing at the bell on your wrist. It tinkled with the slight motion, and you realized that he was talking about your bracelet.

"Oh, I'm not an Amatsuki," you corrected sheepishly. "My grandmother just sent me out to get the...?"

"Omamori amulets?" Takahashi continued, chuckling as he turned the knob on the crate and lifted the cover. Inside, dozens upon dozens of omamori or protection amulets were safely sealed in bubble wrap packaging. Each pouch came in a plethora of colors and patterns on the fabric, and you found yourself gaping slightly at the beautiful designs.

When Takahashi sealed the crate shut once again, he handed it to you like its contents were fragile. You half-expected for it to be quite heavy, but it was lighter than you thought!

"I apologize for mistaking you for Anri-sama," he said, the name catching your attention. "You're her daughter, yes? You do look very much alike."

The mention of your mother made your heart sink, but Takahashi probably had a long way to go back. Your grandmother did say he was from one of the sacred shrines in the Fuji mountains. He didn't have the time to hear your tragic backstory.

"Thank you for going all the way here, Takahashi-san. Our shrine is looking forward to giving these to our visitors." You bowed politely. "I'll be on my way, and I hope you make it safely back, as well."

"May the gods favor you," he imparted with a gentle smile.

***

When the weekend rolled by, you found yourself climbing up the moss-coated pathway that led to the highest point of the hill. You'd just finished eating dinner with your grandmother before excusing yourself to go up to the cemetery to do some contemplating. The worried look that creased her brow once you said the words was an expression you'd prefer for her not to make, but you've been itching to go back up here since meeting up with Takahashi last week.

The rusty, metal gates creaked with age when you nudged it open with your foot. After, no other sound followed. It was just you under the watchful gaze of the half-filled moon, standing before the grave of several of your shrines followers.

You breathed in the rich scent of the earth before treading forward.

Most people would be unnerved to be walking alone in a cemetery at night, of all times. You understood why. It was like time simply stopped flowing for both those buried beneath the ground where you stood, and the area itself. The air was stale and the leaves underfoot fell apart much quicker than those scattered in the lower parts of the hill. The grass seemed like it's been a while since it was last watered, leaving the shrivelled up blades decaying at your feet.

But not once did you ever feel a surge of fear whenever you paid your parents a visit.

"I'm back," you said, kneeling before their graves as you clasped your hands together to offer up a quick prayer. There were no incense sticks to light up, no offerings to be made. Your grandmother said that her daughter hated receiving things she couldn't give back to, and you respected that preference up until now.

Amatsuki Anri and (Surname) Kazunari died in an accident about sixteen years ago—too long ago for you to remember. You'd been in the same car with them on that fateful night, but you miraculously survived; having been protected by your mother until the very end. Though you had no actual attachment to your parents, you were still grateful to them for bringing you into this world, and for saving you as well.

Lost in your thoughts, you didn't notice the way a gust of wind rustled the nearby trees; didn't notice the figure emerging from the forest your grandmother warned you to stay away from. Akaashi observed you with rapt attention, blue eyes never missing a motion made. You were speaking to a couple of stones, and though he found the practice quite useless—for lifeless objects did not have the capacity to speak back—he's witnessed hundreds of humans in his lifetime do the same thing.

When the demon announced his presence, you were quick to identify where he was. Akaashi frowned. For a human, you were awfully perceptive.

"Y-You..." your voice trembled, and for the first time, dread settled in the pit of your stomach, creeping up your skin in the form of gooseflesh. "You were the one who hexed me!"

Akaashi cocked his head to the side. "Hexed you? Yokai do not have such capabilities. It seemed to me that your body simply reacted to my presence is all. Oh, and so did that little warding charm, I suppose."

Your arm jerked away instinctively when you felt the familiar heat searing your skin. But the sensation wasn't as severe as the last time—the charm's glow having been contained into a small prick of light. With a grimace, you turned to look up at Akaashi, who seemed so normal, so unassuming that you never would have guessed what he actually was.

"Why are you pretending to be a human?" you asked, knowing full well that further interactions with yokai would only lead to your demise. "Is there something you're after?"

In lieu of an actual response, Akaashi took it upon himself to walk closer to you. However, the closer he got, the hotter and brighter the charm glowed on your wrist. You hissed, attempting to undo the knots of the bracelet until the bell simply stopped glowing. You muttered a confused, "what?" before turning to Akaashi, who was barely a meter in front of you.

"Were you really about to take off your only line of defense in the face of a yokai?" he chuckled. "Humans really are strange, indeed."

You inched away from him slowly, but each step you took back, he closed the distance with a step forward—trapping you in between him and your parents' gravestones.

"We've been going to the same school for two years," he began, taking your hand in his. "Didn't you ever wonder why that charm of yours never tried to repel me before?"

You were too stunned to take your hand out of his grasp, but you took note of how deceivingly smooth his skin was. When you didn't respond to his question, Akaashi heaved a sigh, tracing each of your fingers with a gentleness that yokai shouldn't have.

"I can conceal my demonic presence so warding charms like that do not react to me," he explained. "The only reason it did the last time was because I wanted to alert you of my presence."

"Y-You still haven't answered my question," you told him, praying to the gods that he didn't hear the terror in your voice.

Akaashi sighed, carding his free hand through his messy hair. "Impatient little creatures, aren't you all? But I suppose it's fair. Your time on this earth is awfully limited." He then lifted your hand up to his chest, flattening the palm on the firm surface. For someone who seemed slender, Akaashi's chest was certainly toned underneath his shirt. You could feel yourself flush at the idea of feeling up an athlete like him, but there was something amiss—something that should be there but wasn't.

"You don't have..." The realization dawned on you, turning your gaze frigid. "You don't have a heartbeat."

"That, I do not," he affirmed, loosening his grip on your hand so that it fell to your side.

You were gaping at Akaashi like he's grown two heads. Though yokai were an entirely different race, they still needed a heart to be able to use their powers. If Akaashi was able to conceal his presence at will and assume the form of a human all without a heart, then he must be someone powerful; someone you never should have involved yourself with.

"Who are you?" you whispered, almost fearing to hear his answer.

Instead of morphing into his original form to kill you on the spot like you expected him to, Akaashi spared you a lopsided smile. He shoved his hands in his pockets, turning around while waving a hand in farewell.

"If you want to know, meet me here tomorrow night, where the moon shines brightest." His words were obscured by the sudden breeze that howled in your direction, but you managed to understand, still. The wind cut through your face sharply enough for you to shield it with your hands, screwing your eyes shut. It roared in your ears, and you genuinely wondered if you were ever going to go home tonight.

Suddenly, the gale died down. When you lowered your hands and opened your eyes, there was no trace of the boy who'd been here just a minute ago.

It was just you under the watchful gaze of the half-filled moon.

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