#I’m about to draw him with wavy hair now because honestly wavy haired Ran looks so cool!!!

[ccloudchan]

I actually headcanon that Ran’s hair is mostly wavy because he puts it into braids 95% of the time and the other 5% is having “bed” hair because he sleeps like every hour of the day

[bookwormsid1015]

BNHA: This Time Around

[A Semi-CloudNight Oneshot]

“Aaahhh! It feels so good to unwind like this,” Fukukado Emi, best known as the Laughing Hero: Ms. Joke, laughs in relief as she leans forward against the bar countertop, a mug of whiskey in hand. She’s dressed in her civilian outfit, which consists of high waist blue skinny jeans and a light yellow crop top tee shirt with a bold white stripe stretching across her chest. Her mint green hair is held back in a low ponytail, and black slip-on sneakers adorn her feet; her outfit accented by  a black choker around her neck and three beaded bracelets coating her right wrist. 

Joining her at their favorite bar is Tatsuma Ryuko (Ryukyu), Takeyama Yuu (Mt. Lady), and Kayama Nemuri (Midnight). Nemuri’s rosy red lips tilt upwards into a sly smile, and she raises her glass of red wine to her lips. Unlike Fukukado, Nemuri is dressed to impress, with her beautiful dark blue dress fading to a vibrant pink as it travels down towards the helm of her dress, perfectly matching her light complexion. Black three inch heels adorn her feet, and her deep indigo hair is held over her head in a messy bun, staked into place by a black pin that distinctly resembles a fox tail. 

Nemuri pushes up her crimson red glasses, still smiling. “Me too,” she agrees happily. “My agency has been so busy lately with all the League of Villain madness. It feels great to just be in the moment every now and again.”

Sitting on Fukukado’s other side, directly across from Nemuri, Takeyama stares down at her small glass of champagne, her eyebrows knitted together in exhaustion. The Giant Hero, like Ms. Joke, is dressed in casual clothing, wearing short blue jean shorts with a simple orange tank top and a single star-shaped golden necklace around her neck. Her long, wavy blond hair is tied back in a ponytail, which spirals down to her midback in beautiful platinum waves. 

“I knew starting my own agency was going to be hard, but I didn’t think it would be this hard,” Takeyama confesses, exhaustion lacing her tone. “Like, I can’t effectively take down any villains because my size destroys so much property, and I hate that my fans only seem to like me because they want me to step on them! It’s so weird! People are weird and gross!” She drops her head onto the table and groans mutely into the polished wood. “And here I thought the big city would be different from home.”

Tatsuma places a gentle hand on Takeyama’s back and pats it reassuringly. Like Nemuri, Tatsuma is dressed for the occasion in a simple yet elegant violet dress with a chain of pearls around her neck and diamond earrings in her ear. It is no surprise Ryukyu would wear such beautiful jewelry, though given her status as a dragon, Nemuri wasn’t surprised.  “Don’t worry, Takeyama. We all start off rough, but guaranteed your agency will become amazing,” the Dragon Hero encourages the blond heroine gently, and Takeyama’s shoulders only slightly relax.

Fukukado taps her chin, her dark green eyes thoughtful. “Come to think of it, aren’t you and Kamui Woods, like, a thing now? I heard his agency is successful, maybe you can talk to him about it,” she says, and Takeyama reaches across the table with frantic shushing gestures.

“Don’t say that outloud! We want to keep our relationship private! The last thing we need is the media crawling up our asses about it,” she snarls at the Laughing Hero, and Fukukado raises her hands in surrender.

“Oops! My bad!” Fukukado yelps and frantically checks around her in case anyone was listening in. Nemuri and Tatsuma make eye contact from across the table and snicker to themselves.

“Kamui Woods is a very dependable man, though,” Tatsuma adds. “I’m proud of you.”

Takeyama buries her face in her hands. “Can’t we talk about anything else?” she whines.

Fukukado’s smile returns full force, and a shit-eating grin splits across her face. “But why though? Everyone loves hearing about a good romance!” She cups her hands to her cheeks and swoons giddily. “Like, just the other day, I ran into Eraserhead at a coffee shop! It was so amazing, like something out of a romance novel!” 

Nemuri’s cerulean eyes widen slightly. “Oh yeah, he told me about that. Didn’t he leave the second he saw you?” she asks.

Fukukado’s cheeks flush red, and she chuckles awkwardly. “Oh, yeah, he did. Something about not wanting to deal with my energy or whatever. But that just makes it so much more exciting! I mean, look at him, all dark and mysterious and broody~!”

“Not to mention a total hobo who forgets to shower half the time,” Nemuri adds. The other heroines at the table chuckle.

“AND he’s the only one who I haven’t gotten to laugh yet!” Fukukado goes on, ignoring Nemuri’s remark. “One of these days, I’ll get him to laugh! If not, at least smile! Yeah, that would be amazing.”

“Why not use your Quirk?” Tatsuma asks.

Fukukado shakes her head adamantly. “He erases Quirks, remember? Besides, I don’t just wanna make him laugh! I want to really make him laugh, you know? Something authentic. Using my Quirk would just be dishonest and mean.”

Nemuri shrugs her shoulders, though a part of her is secretly relieved. She’s known Eraserhead since high school, and knowing him, the main reason he wouldn’t want to try dating Fukukado would be because he doesn’t want to be influenced by her Quirk. Then again, this is Eraserhead they’re talking about. After what happened in high school, he probably wouldn’t give her a chance either way. He has trouble enough making friends, let alone dating. The cruel reality of hero work scarred him, and the mere thought of it hurts her heart. Fear guides him, and Nemuri desperately wishes she could do something to help.

“What about you, Midnight?” Nemuri perks up, and finds the eyes of the other heroines glued on her. Fukukado leans forward eagerly, her dark green eyes sparkling like diamonds. “Do you have anyone you’re with right now? With your gorgeous looks and bedazzling personality, I’ll bet yes!”

Tatsuma casts Fukukado a significant look. “Ms. Joke, your bi is showing,” she comments, startling a laugh out of Takeyama.

Nemuri glances down at her wine glass and slowly sways it around in her grasp, watching the dark red liquid roll within its transparent chamber. Her smile becomes wistful. “I’ve had flings, but serious relationships? Nope. I haven’t had any in years. Probably not since high school,” she replies honestly.

Takeyama lifts her head, blinking at the R-Rated Hero in surprise. “What? There’s no way. Your entire aesthetic is about intimacy! Especially the sexy kind,” she gapes, and Nemuri chuckles at her reaction.

“It’s true. I haven’t had a proper boyfriend since my third year in high school, and to be honest…” Nemuri’s smile becomes bitter, and she chuckles in spite of her hypocrisy. “I don’t think I’ll ever date again. Hurts too much.”

Fukukado grimaces slightly. “Oof, was he really that bad?” she asks, and Nemuri immediately shakes her head.

“No, no. In fact, he was amazing. He was the sweetest, funniest, most loyal person I’d ever met. He cared about everyone unconditionally, and he would always go out of his way to help people. Hell, this one time, he found a kitten stuck in the rain and brought it with him to school,” she reminisces, smiling at the memory of him. Even now she can clearly see his broad, glowing smile, and the image sparks an old pain in her heart. “He was my everything. Even though we wanted different things out of life-- with him wanting to start an agency with his other friends, and me wanting to start the Midnight Agency-- we still promised we’d be together. That we'd make it work.”

Fukukado’s brows are drawing together in concern, now, and acid rises in Nemuri’s chest at the realization in her eyes. “Wait, you’re talking about him in the past tense,” she says. “What… happened?”

Nemuri’s smile falls completely, and she utters a deep sigh. “The worst,” she responds. “About fifteen years ago, we were alerted to a villain attack in Tasomiya Ward, a giant monster with the ability to stockpile power.” Tatsuma and Fukukado’s eyes widen nearly simultaneously, no doubt recognizing the event, but Takeyama blinks at Nemuri in confusion; she’s too new to the career to know. 

Her voice shudders, but still, Nemuri goes on, “All of us were there. Me, Eraserhead, Present Mic, and… him. We did everything in our power to stop the monster, but it was too big. We couldn’t do anything. I was evacuating everyone out of the area while he, Present Mic, and Eraserhead went to go stop the villain. Civilians got hurt; there’s no way to protect everyone. But he…”

The image washes over her, stealing away all her breath in an instant. She can smell the salty rain clouds, she can feel the slick pavement beneath her boots, the uncomfortable way debris clings to her sweaty skin. Above all else, she remembers rounding the corner just in time to see a cloud explode to life over a class of kindergarteners and their teacher, leaving them protected but him exposed. Their eyes made contact, and before Nemuri could do anything, before she could call out his name or take a step forward, a giant chunk of debris was upon him, and she was helpless to watch it swallow him whole.

The scene barely lasted for more than a few seconds, but she can still see it. The sickening crunch resonating through the air as his skull cracks open, the violent spray of blood from his head… She suddenly wants to throw up her wine and crumble into a ball. Old insecurities she thought she’d abandoned were suddenly creeping up the back of her mind, whispering terribly in her ears.

“Your quirk is useless. It couldn’t protect anyone, especially not your loved ones.”

“It’s because you’re so useless he’s dead.”

“Why are you even a hero?”

“Midnight?”

Nemuri snaps out of the memory and finds the other heroines looking at her in worry. She quickly realizes she’d dropped her wine glass to cover her face, and while thankfully the glass didn’t break, the wine was splattered all over the table top. It looks exactly like his blood.

“Midnight,” Tatsuma reaches out to her and gently takes her hands, leading them away from her face and gripping them tightly. Nemuri clings onto the contact, desperately wishing her hands were someone else’s. “Are you okay? Do you need a moment?”

Nemuri shakes her head slowly and slips her hands out of Tatsuma’s reach. She hates it when people look at her with those worried eyes. “It affected all of us,” Nemuri goes on. “Obviously, it hurt me. I lost my boyfriend and the guy I wanted to… but Present Mic and Eraserhead lost their best friend. Their brother.”

Fukukado shakes her head, tears springing to her eyes. “Oh, Midnight, I’m… I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to open an old wound,” she whispers in horror, and Nemuri shakes her head again, this time with more resolve.

“It’s fine, really. It gave me a horrible wake up call, that above all else, we are heroes. Whether we want to acknowledge it or not. Every day we go out there and put our lives on the line. We could live, we could die, but what matters most is protecting others.” She glances down at the wine spilled all over the table, and her own reflection stares back at her with wary acceptance. She sighs, long and tired. “Watching him die made me realize how easily life can be lost, how tragedy can strike in an instant. That’s why I want to embrace my youth for as long as I can, so I can live enough for both of us.” Her reflection’s lips quirk upward into a trying smile. “That way, when I die, when I can finally see him again, I can tell him about all my adventures with pride.”

Nemuri looks up and finds herself staring into the wet faces of the other heroes. Tatsuma, Fukukado, and Takeyama are all staring at their senior hero with wide, tearful eyes, and Nemuri likes to think in this moment, they felt more respect for the seasoned heroine.

Nemuri smiles back at them and wipes the tears from her eyes. “Remember that, you three,” she tells them. “Go forward knowing nothing-- not even love-- is certain, but don’t let it scare you. The world is scary, dangerous, and even cruel, but what’s most important is cherishing the people in our lives.” She raises her wine glass and what remains of the wine sloshes around in its glassy imprisonment. “To living.”

Fukukado, Tatsuma, and Takeyama look between themselves. One by one, they lift their drinks to the sky, each glass a different shape containing a different drink. “To living,” they echo, and tap their glasses together with Nemuri’s. The R-Rated Hero smiles truly, her heart swelling with pride.

Nemuri drives home alone that night.

Of course, the four heroines stayed at that bar for hours, laughing and drinking together once the shock of Nemuri’s lost-love bombshell faded away. As their senior, Nemuri only drank a few sips of her wine every now and again (although the gruesome memories made her want to get wasted out of her mind), and she allowed the other heroes to have their fun and get as wasted as they want. Takeyama and Fukukado were joking around, having a blast singing old pop culture songs together, occasionally getting Tatsuma to join in whenever the Dragon Hero got over her shyness.

Eventually, Nemuri dragged the three drunken heroines back into her car (thankful they all decided to take Nemuri’s car there and back), and she drove all the ladies home, making sure they had all their possessions with them before leaving. Once she dropped them all off at their houses and made small talk with any partners they had waiting for them, she decided to gather her wits and go home herself. Today was a long day, and she was surprised to find herself emotionally exhausted so soon.

The bar is a fifteen minute drive from her house, but as soon as she leaves her car and strides up the driveway, she pulls open the front door and steps inside her dark home. Despite it’s nice size, being a two story house with multiple bedrooms and bathrooms, only Nemuri lives in it, though she’s not completely alone.

“Meow!” Nemuri looks down, and her heart lifts slightly as her tabby orange cat comes bounding over to her, high in energy despite his age. Nemuri kneels down to collect him in her arms, and she cradles the cat like a baby.

“Hello, Sushi-baby,” she coos at him as she kicks the front door shut and locks it behind her. “How are you doing? Were you keeping the house safe from big bad strangers while I was gone?”

Sushi meows in response and nuzzles her bust.

The house is big and empty now, but one day, Nemuri hopes she’ll marry and settle down, maybe start a family all her own. It won’t be for a while, and honestly, Nemuri is scared to start dating out of fear of herself or her partner dying, but she decided a long time ago to live by her words so she bought the house regardless. She’s getting older now, and at thirty-two, she knows she doesn’t have much time left. At the very least, Oboro would want her to be happy, even if her happiness isn’t with him. She just hopes she can find someone accepting of her tastes and interests, like he did. 

Nemuri enters her living room and sits back in her recliner, pulling out her phone to amuse herself. Sushi immediately adjusts himself in her lap and kneads her legs with his paws, turning around in a circle before plopping down into a comfortable loaf. Nemuri scratches him behind the ears with a faint smile.

“We’ll be okay,” she says, more so to herself than to the cat.

Sushi’s lazy purring is her only response.

Nemuri leans back into her chair and sighs. Tomorrow will be a new day.

[littleeyesofpallas]

Bleach - Name Games

I don’t know how I didn’t think to do this one sooner.  Outoribashi(鳳橋) ROSE(ローズ) Roujurou(楼十郎) has a curious zanpakutou.  For reference, his own name (which I’ve covered before) references the Ho-ou/Feng/”Chinese-Phoenix” and by association rainbows (yes, just like the pokemon) and considering his very 70s shoujo look --very Moto Hagio and Ryoko Ikeda vibes-- in conjunction with some other themes that I’ll get to later, it definitely feels like he was meant to be gay, although we sadly got basically zero real character development for him over the series to elaborate on that...  But rainbows aside, the Ho-ou is why his hollow mask is a bird mask, and possibly the association with bird song could be where Rose’s music powers came from.

His sword’s name is Kinshara(金沙羅) written as (金):”Gold” and (沙羅):”Shala” which is a tree native to India, Shorea robusta, aka Sal tree.  As a translation Viz’s “Golden Shala” is actually perfectly correct!  It’s totally not any kind of translator error, but there’s really nothing to indicate what’s relevant about the Shala as a choice of name, so I’m going to dig into that instead.  And to be fair, I’m not super sure any of this is exactly “obvious” even in Japanese; I think this one is a lot of Kubo just being a big nerd about stuff, because that’s just how he is...

So, to start, it has numerous connections to images of the Buddha in relation to death, birth, impermanence, and attaining enlightenment, but what I think it’s references is a part of the opening line of the Heike Monogatari(平家物語) which reads...

沙羅雙樹の花の色, 盛者必衰の理を顯す: “The color of the flower of the pair of Shala trees, displays the natural truth that (even) prosperous people inevitably decline.”

It draws on the buddhist themes of life and death to note the inevitable fall of the Taira clan in the Genpei war, even as the story itself begins with the rise of the Taira.

The Heike Monogatari is often considered a Japanese equivalent to classical Western epics like the Illiad; it chronicles the events of the Genpei war, which itself is sometimes compared to the English War of the Roses, due to a similar start in which a reigning sovereign’s lineage comes into dispute between two offshoot families.  Notably the Genpei war ended the Heian period, a long standing era of peace in Japan considered the height of Japan’s courtly culture.  The Taira clan in particular were the ones who established the prominence of samurai in Japanese government, and the end of the Genpei war established the first Shogunate, the effects of which would shape the next ~500 years of Japanese internal conflict.

Anyway...  Point being that (沙羅雙樹の花の色,): “The color of the flower of the pair of Shala trees,” seems to be the reference point for the name Kinshara(金沙羅): “Golden Shala” and the sword itself being a long vine/whip ending in a Shala flower.  The name is effectively synonymous with, “Fleeting prosperity.”

The release calls kanaderu(奏でろ) means either “to play an instrument” or “to dance” both of which are relevant readings given Rose’s music based powers and dancer based bankai.

Although I don’t actually get where he connected the Shala imagery with music in particular...  I guess if you read the metaphor as “fleeting beauty” instead of “prosperity” it does kind of describe music as an explicitly sensorially in-the-moment form of art, but that feels like a bit of a stretch as far as intended reading.

His bankai is Kinshara Butodan(金沙羅舞踏団), retaining the same phonetics and kanji for Kinshara, and adding Butou-dan(舞踏団) which Viz translated as “Dance troupe” which is technically the literal reading of 舞踏:”Dance”+団:”Group” but it kind of dodges the fact that  Butou(舞踏) isn’t just a word for dance as a general art form or concept, it specifically refers to the particular family of Japanese, post-war, Western influenced modern dance forms.  It is most recognized, somewhat infamously, for a style using white body paint and extremely slow and hyper expressive controlled movements.  This reframes the release call from its “playing an instrument” reading to “dancing.”

Kinjiki(禁色): “Forbidden Color” was the first ever Butou piece, performed in 1959. (note the homonym in Kin(禁):”Prohibited” and Kin(金):”Golden.”)  It was based on a 1951 Yukio Mishima novel of the same name, and the phrase refers back to a Heian period law that restricted the colors that could be worn in court.  But the book and dance piece used the historical reference to compare the taboo of homosexuality with the arbitration of petty court conduct.

So, “Gold (Colored) Shala” is basically a pun on “Forbidden (Colored) Shala” and “Forbidden Color... Butoh...” immediately ques up the gay associations, which then fall in line with other more readily established themes with Rose’s character, like...

...Rose’s name being Rose (and again his very BL manga aesthetic) is a pretty clear reference to the word/term Bara(薔薇) which is the Japanese for “Rose” but is a slang term for gay men, derived from the 1970s gay culture magazine, Bara-zoku(薔薇族): "Rose-Tribe/Clan.”  (This same magazine ran a column for write-in editorials specifically from its female readers titled Yuri-zoku Heya(百合族部屋): “Lily-Tribe Room” which in turn is why Yuri is the slang for lesbians.)  

The magazine’s popularity (as well as that of others like it) with women was a huge contributing factor to the style and content of 1970s shoujo manga.  Which again is where Rose gets his general look of long wavy blond hair, European features, and frilly shirts from.  In particular I’m reminded of Moto Hagio’s emphasis on European men, Ikeda Ryoko’s world famous historical-fiction Rose of Versailles, and Yasuko Aoike’s From Eroica with Love. (pictured above)

Also a fun tangent, but it’s possible Rose was directly based off Bjorn Andresen, but it’s a little hard to tell...  Andresen was a huge influence on the 1970s shoujo aesthetic, specifically because of his role in the 1971 film, Death in Venice, where he plays an alluring androgynous boy that the movie’s protagonist becomes infatuated with.  His youthful and effeminate looks made him something of a celebrity the world over, but where as many western countries antagonized him over his role’s implicit homosexuality (he isn’t actually gay himself) in direct reaction to his fans’ embrace of it, Japan’s general public didn’t really seem to care, so he only ever got attention from his fans there --he’s actually commented that he’s been very fond of Japan largely because of the way it was the one place he wasn’t harassed over his perceived sexuality during his early career.

Anyway, Rose could just be based off the style that Andresen inspired, but the reason I think he could be a reference to the man himself is that Andresen is also a musician and performed with a dance-band called Sven-Erics as their keyboardist.  (I guess the dance-band thing could superficially tie back into the Butou theme, but honestly as a generic 70s-80s euro pop band the Sven-Erics definitely weren’t anything approaching the style of Butou.)  But the specific linking of the way he looks and the music powers feels more deliberate.

I didn’t even think about the fact that I did Yumichika and Ruri-iro Kujyaku not long ago, and putting the two next to each other, I never realized before now that we had TWO fabulous flower and bird themed men in Bleach that Kubo never even put in the same room together.  We were robbed.

[rosyk]

Devil’s Waltz

pairing: hwang hyunjin x reader

genre: romance, enemies to lovers, royalty setting

warnings: very uncomfortable moments, mentions of dagger and idea of r*pe or untolerable behaviors

word count: 2.4k

a/n: This was meant to be posted on valentines day but it took longer than I thought because this royal set up was new to me. Have fun reading! (I’d also like to thank you for the 42 likes I’ve gotten on my previous story, ily<3)

“Now’s the time,” I thought as I looked at the sparkly red wine placed on my right hand. I raised an eyebrow and half-smiled at the red ruby jewel on my finger, given by marquis Augustus as a sign of my royalty.

I was wearing a sheer lace flutter sleeve evening gown in shades and tints of plain red. The design only appears at the bottom of its sleeve as the rest goes plain. Unnoticeably, the dark portion of red is found at the bottom line of the dress. The high heels were plain black and I wore little earrings so it wouldn’t stand out as much. This might not be the best dress I could find but I do know it matches me like heaven. My curly messy bun with wavy strands of dark chestnut hair on each side complements the overall outfit.

As soon as I stepped into the grand palace, it was indeed remarkably exquisite. As expected of the Prince who holds precedence above all mankind and even other dukes. How marvelous for an irksome sophomaniac.

I started walking away from people but made sure I was meters near my target. My current target was an overly authoritative noble. This was the very first time I loathed a target. He acted so manly and fine during the day but he was nowhere near there. A hypocrite, to hit girls and threaten them until they agree. A man of immoral character.

I’ve heard rumors of his contradictory personality, but not a single thought had crossed my mind for him to be like that. After all, he was this charming tall guy who’d make you blush as soon as your eyes managed to fall on his. His gentle but respectful touches would make you feel so safe, wrapped in his arms. Sincere words that pique your interest and eyes, as described by innocent maidens, were unique and shimmers even in your darkest hours. It does match his name duke Pisén which is derived from Pissenlit, a french term for dandelions. He was known for having eyes, that show dandelions dancing in the night sky.

However, his worshippers were too incautious to leave with a man-too-good despite no one being around. In fact, dandelions never open at night.

I wore a sweet smile as I walked his way. The other nobles he’s been talking to had noticed me as they signaled him. He turned around, eyes slightly widened, and looked at me in awe.

“The Marchioness of Auclair, here you are!” he chuckled lowly and smiled as he opened his arms as a sign of welcome. He was indeed a duke but treated me so highly as if he won a jackpot. What a dullard.

“Your grace” I showed a smile exact to his liking, innocent and delicate. Now, do I look exactly just like your victims, Pisén? Don’t get too ahead of yourself.

“Great timing, I was just talking to the dukes about you” I felt his lewd eyes staring at me from top to bottom and I swore I saw him pressing his lips. I was taken aback by how he went steps closer to me and held my upper arm, caressing it gently. I wasn’t able to move for a second. Usually, he would give girls the space to show his sincerity but his patience ran out this time. I coughed to clear out my thoughts and continued the plan.

“You look lovely and nice” He spoke out as if it was the best pick-up line he gave. I pressed my lips together to hold out my laughter. Seriously? Was that all he got?

“You too, your grace” I complimented for the sake of respect and that’s just it.

We talked after a few minutes until he let his guard down and drank the wine I held. It was poison, as usual. It wasn’t thrilling but he wasn’t even worth holding my blade. He walked out as he was starting to get dizzy. Oh, how boring. I thought of leaving but a man called out to me with a voice unexpectedly attractive. I turned around and saw a heavenly duke in front of me. Now, he was the real deal.

“What a dainty figure for a dauntless marchioness” the sophomaniac spoke

Arriving at the palace of the duc (duke) is something I have to look out for. He was my target a year ago but I wasn’t able to draw out my blade in his room for he was called out. I still believe he has some suspicions after I had disappeared that night. Though, I had no grudges against him.

My job is simply to kill every noble who has a position greater than mines. My goal? It is to be the duchess of all and the only obstacle I would face would obviously be this guy in front of me. After all, he got the highest position. My mother would say the easiest thing to kill a man is to marry him, either break his heart or legally assassinate him. Honestly, I’ve thought of it as well. But why marry someone I hate? He was born with a silver spoon and had no problems as deeply comparable as mine. He is an egoistic, conceited, and enchanting god, Samuel Hwang.

As I bowed for respect, the music played. It was time for the dance and this was what I was trying to avoid. I looked around people who picked up their partners but most were staring at the figure in front of me.

Although I understand why. No words could describe the ethereal beauty of this blonde duke in a suit.

“A lot of your admirers are staring, so could you please get out of my way and ask-“I cut my sentence off as I was trying to process his doing. He showed his hand in front of me and looked at me in the eye. Oh dear, please tell me this isn’t what I think it is.

“Don’t you think the music played at such a good timing?” He raised an eyebrow and wore a smile. Yes, it was the perfect timing, I rolled my eyes mentally.

“Oh, you do know I’d hate to take this dance” He tilted his chin sideways, silently signaling me a lot of people are watching. I sighed and wore a sarcastic smile. “I feel honored you always love to embarrass me in front of people” I added and took his hand as he led me in the middle.

I know how to dance. In fact, that was a necessity before having a royal title. I also have manners, but he doesn’t deserve to be shown some.

I hate how he was genuinely enjoying it as he loved seeing me look so angry. Ah, how annoying. If it weren’t for the audience, I’d gladly draw my dagger out of my dress and murder this man. We were doing a few waltz steps and turns until I stepped on his shoes.

“You did that with pure will, didn’t you?” His eyes slightly widened and narrowed soon after as he slightly tightened the grip on my back, causing both of us to get a step closer.

“If you gave me enough space and didn’t go beyond the boundaries, I wouldn’t have done that, your grace” I mimicked his smile minutes ago and he was clearly ticked off.

“As they all say, keep your friends close, but enemies closer” The crowd starts to fall out and away from us two dancing, after seeing how close we were. Great, was he trying to make me have more girls holding grudges and death wills on me?

“You’re hurting me” I simply stated to let him know I was desperately wishing to blow this palace up and never see him again.

He acted as if he was thinking and sarcastically remarked “Did I complain when you were trying to kill me in my room for the past year?” He smiled as he knew he made a point. How I wish I could wipe it out and never see it in my life once again. If that happened, that could’ve been the best blessing.

“So you knew?” I questioned as he turned me gracefully around the center while the people watching were in awe. They loved the view, unfortunately not knowing the words spoken with nothing but contrasting emotions.

“How couldn’t I, darling?” the duke replied with a smug look. ”you were as transparent as an open book. Even right now, I could say you’re enjoying this dance with me.” He looked at me, acting so all-knowing as if he had known me for years.

“How flattering for a duke to assume that fast. Just because a girl smiles at you doesn’t mean she’s not planning to visit your grave”

“My, my, how unfortunate for a magnificent lady to have quite an indecent mouth” He lowered his head and chuckled in slightly deep and seductive voice girls would swoon over.

“So you do think I’m magnificent?” I backfired and went closer to him, wearing a smug look.

“Oh, I’ve always told you how much I find you beautiful, darling” He went closer until our faces were inches apart. I froze for a few seconds and stared at his eyes, a pity for him to be such a beauty. I found a smirk in his face and that like-what-you-see look which made me go back to earth seconds later.

“Your cocky smirk makes me want to pass away and never see you again, your grace” I smiled sarcastically for only god knows how many times in this day, as I sighed, trying to calm myself down.

“Be my guest then” I rolled my eyes and purposely stepped on his foot once again. “I’m sorry, I’m not used to dancing with someone who’s self-centered and conceited” I emphasized the last 3 words and told him in a low volume, whispering.

“How offensive,” he was simply entertained seeing me so irritated.

“Pardon me once again, I wasn’t aware you were offended by facts. Who wouldn’t want to jump off a cliff after seeing you?”

“But what’s the hold up for, darling? Why wouldn’t you jump off? Do you want me to be the one who will have to push you? I would be pleased to do so”

“If only you knew your grace Hwang, before you could even manage to push me off a high building, I would be the first who’ll come at you”

“Oh really? Because as what I knew, you weren’t able to kill a target last year”

“Someone called you out so you were really lucky” I gripped his hand to calm myself down and to know how much he had pissed me off. In return, he just shot an amusing smile as he looked at both of our hands.

“Just admit that you enjoy dancing with me. In fact, you love the view you’re seeing right now.” I rolled my eyes with a smile after his statement.

“Who would love dancing with the devil? I don’t but I do love having your throat slit and body 6 feet below the ground”

“Brutally fierce, I like that” he winked at me as I stared at him in confusion. Is he mentally unstable? What the hell do I do if I was actually dancing with a lunatic duke?

“But we both know you couldn’t seriously do that” he replied as he held my hand and twirled me around “because why so didn’t you kill me beforehand when we spent several hours in the room? My servant arrived very late in fact. You could’ve had lots of time with no worries. ”he held my back, causing our bodies to press together after the turn. The audience’s eyes had widened and most of them clapped.

My sarcastic smile faded and shifted into a frown. He was surprised by how serious I was with just a statement that he assumed I would take as a joke. I was about to leave the ball but he held my wrist with a startled look. It just took seconds but staring into his eyes made it feel like forever. I stared at him with pure anger and hatred. Something in what he said triggered me.

The facts he spoke infuriated me. Why didn’t I kill him right after the moment? Was it pity? Guilt? I was raised to kill people higher than me so why should I feel guilty? Or was I indeed pity of him when he trusted me? Trust doesn’t belong between enemies.

He got the hint and smiled like he knew everything. “With the way you’re behaving, I would assume you’re madly in love with me” He held his grip on my hand tighter but in a way that it doesn’t hurt.

I tried to clear out my expressions and anything I’m thinking about because he knew me so well even after just little late-night talks. “With the way you’re talking I could assume it was you, with me. But I do know that you’re not, aren’t you, your grace?” I raised my eyebrow and smiled. Though the way I spoke came out as if I was trying to defend myself from the way he’s making me feel and reassured myself nothing’s going to happen.

I recognized the music playing and it was near the last part of Old Russian waltz Sorrow, the last song. It means I had unknowingly been dancing with him for already more than 30 minutes. To think I wasn’t fond of dancing around people, why did I lose track of time?

He led and twirled me around as he smiled “who says I’m not, darling?” I stopped breathing for a second and instinctively held the dagger attached to my leg near the slit. Except, the dagger wasn’t there anymore.

He took me before I could even comprehend the situation. Have I lost it while I was busy talking to Pisén? Or was I waltzing? But I remembered I brought it. Panic arose me and my mind stopped working. Or what if-

We danced a few steps of the fast waltz and he turned me around. He lifted my leg slightly aligned below his hip, making me hold onto his neck and lay on his large hands supporting my back as soon as the last music stopped. He showed me the dagger, making sure others didn’t see him.

“Looking for this?” I was left shocked and as I was about to explain myself, he grinned like a cute kid to make people unsuspicious of all that’s happening. As soon as he leaned and whispered in my ear, his aura changed and I felt the goosebumps. I could feel how cold yet playful he was. He smirked mischievously as he spoke with a deep voice,

“I’m not letting you off this time, milady”

[yulmoldauer]

its better not to say such things out loud (Tyson Jost/OC): Chapter One

part 2

Story summary: Mason Wright was recently traded and because an Av. Sometimes a fresh start with a new team across the country is what a guy needs, right? It seems to work out, going to a place where no one truly knows you. That is, until someone finds out what you’re desperately trying to hide.

Chapter 1

Summary: Mason’s had a rough game, to put it simply. It was never the best idea to get into a fight with someone bigger than you. They won even with him taking a five-minute major for fighting halfway through the third period. The team goes out to celebrate his 23rd birthday post-win and Tyson takes care of getting him home and to sleep safely.

Warnings: None, I believe! Just some drinking mentioned and there’s a drunk character if that makes you uncomfortable. There’s also a slur against lgbt people used.

Words: 1,968

Notes: The title is from The Stigma (Boys Don’t Cry) by As It Is. This is the thing with the LGBT main character that I’ve had a few different people tell me they’d be interested in :) I’m having a lot of fun writing and plotting this so far, so let me know if you enjoy!

There were perks to being smaller than most other people in the league. Being an extremely fast and skilled defenseman was one of them.

Being outmatched in every possible articulation, being compared to a chihuahua yapping at a pitbull, everything like that. Which is how he ended up in the penalty box for five fucking minutes, the asshole in the box next to him chirping him the entire time, it seemed like.

“What are you, a fag?”

That was what Mason heard fly by him, aimed at Jost who wouldn’t get into a fight to draw a penalty. Mason knew for a fact that’s what the guy was trying to do. He still took the bait when Tyson didn’t.

Mason was smaller than nearly every player he knew. Watching him get into a fight was exciting yet painful at the same time for anyone with a brain. The other guy was at least six-foot compared to the five-foot-eight Mason. To say it was outmatched…

Mason was going to be lucky if he didn’t come out of this with some scrapes and bruises. A broken nose was pretty likely as well, once he thought about it.

But hearing that word ignited something in him that overtook the reasoning section of his brain and both of them were dropping gloves. Sure, he’d definitely have a black eye tomorrow, but he’d gotten a few good licks in as well.

They still won the game, which was nice.

“Dude, you gotta at least get into it with guys in your weight class.”

“You’re funny, Landeskog. Whole fucking league is out of my weight class,” Mason huffed as he stripped his padding off of his lean torso.

“Yeah, kinda the point,” Zadorov shrugged. “Not your fault you’re smaller, just the way it is.”

“I get it, I’m short,” he ran a hand through his wavy helmet hair and reached down to unlace his skates. “Z, you can fight for me, then. I’ll run my mouth and you can do all the hitting.”

“With you? Don’t take it, man, Wright can go on and on for hours,” Tyson chirped from across the room. That earned him a glove chucked at his face.

“Fuck y’all. I don’t even have a good comeback.”

“Because it’s true!”

Okay, maybe it was true. Mason was just a talker, it’s how it was.

Tyson gave him endless shit about it, but really he didn’t mind. He actually enjoyed just being able to turn his brain off and absorb whatever stuck from what Mason was going on about. Usually it didn’t even matter--ranting about how a show got robbed of some award that doesn’t even matter, spewing information about whatever book he was reading, going off about whatever asshole did something stupid during his day-- Tyson would just let him go until he ran out of steam. Conversations were nice, too, when he was in just a talkative mood as well.

Mason did know how to shut up, though. Sometimes. (Hint: that’s what made him the favorite out of the Wright/Zadorov best friend duo. He could be quieter than Z. They’ve threatened to separate the two on multiple occasions, though.)

“What’d that guy even do to rile you up? You looked pissed,” Nate broke Mason out of his train of thought.

“Just called someone something stupid. I’m not gonna repeat it.”

“He called me a fag because I wouldn’t take the bait for the penalty,” Tyson said soon after. “He’s just a fucking moron because he got a longer penalty than any of us.”

There was an uncomfortable moment as that sunk in, then a few “what the fuck” or “that’s gross” phrases before people moved on to heading to the showers.

Mason was about to sneak away when Tyson called out his name.

“Hey, I wanted to catch you before you hit the shower. You got a second?”

“Yeah, sure. I just have to do some pt kind of stuff before I shower. What’s up?” he offered with a friendly smile.

“I just wanted to thank you for sticking up for me. You definitely didn’t have to, but calling him on it drew a ton of attention to it. I think it’s really important to start weeding that shit out of the sport, y’know?”

“Yeah,” Mason smiled. “I--thanks, man. That means a lot to me.”

“‘Course,” Tyson gave a nod. “And you know if you were, like… y’know, gay or… anything, really, I wouldn’t care. And neither would anyone else on the team. It’d totally be okay.”

Mason wanted to give him a reassuring “I know” but couldn’t. Hockey was definitely not the environment known for welcoming lgbt kids and turning them into well-adjusted, accepted adults.

“Thanks,” Mason murmured. “Really, that means a lot.”

“Of course,” Tyson breathed, like he was getting a huge weight off his chest. “Um, yeah. I’ll let you go do your physical therapy stuff now. I’ll see you at the bar after everything’s done here?”

“Yeah, I’m not gonna ditch you for my birthday, idiot.”

With an excited smile, Tyson turned and headed in the opposite direction.

Once he reached an area to chill out while waiting for the showers to clear out, Mason sighed, plopping into a chair and resting his head in his hands.

Obviously he knew why Tyson brought up starting to call out homophobia and other bigoted shit they were all used to just overlooking. But why did he bring up the whole ‘we’d accept you no matter what’ thing?

The thought of ‘he was very sensitive to a slur so maybe he’s gay’ never crossed Mason’s mind. That would simply be too easy and rational.

Did Tyson know he was different? What exactly did Tyson know? There was no way Tyson would out him, but still. Trusting people to keep a secret was hard. It was just easier to bottle everything up.

God, he needed to figure this out.

Maybe he’d get drunk enough tonight to just forget for a little while. He didn’t get drunk or even drink all that often, he could let go every now and then.

At the beginning of the night, Gabe took his keys, promising that he’d give them to whoever would be driving Mason home. They all knew for a fact Mason wouldn’t drive drunk, it wasn’t even in the realm of possibilities. Honestly, they were more worried about the newly twenty-three-year-old losing them or putting them somewhere so he’d ‘remember where they are later’, which was proven ineffective at the last gathering Gabe threw.

“If you can’t figure out where the stupid keys are, he can come get them in the morning or I can drop them off to him or something,” Gabe rolled his eyes.

“You’re sure you don’t remember where you put them?” JT triple-checked. He’d been the designated driver for a few of them, including Mason, Tyson, and a couple others who had already gotten out to the car.

Mason shook his head. “I’m not even that drunk,” he insisted.

“Uh-huh. Gabe, just let me know if you find ‘em and we can work something out for him in the morning.”

Twenty minutes later, Gabe sent a picture and “anyone know who these belong to?” in the group chat. It was, without a doubt, Mason’s keys, adorned with a keychain reading “DETROIT” in graffiti lettering. He was from Detroit, and everyone knew that he refused to take that keychain off until it literally fell off for some sentimental reason, most likely.

‘Lol where’d you find it?’ someone texted back.

‘My dishwasher. His wallet was there too’

Mason has still never heard the end of that. No matter how hard he tried to explain that when he put them somewhere, it meant that he wouldn’t lose them or buy something stupid online (last time that happened, he bought a thing to hang on a window so your cat could sit on it and sunbathe. Mason has not owned a cat at any point in his life.) and he’d remember where it was once he sobered up.

Of course he still gets relentless shit for it. He wouldn’t expect any different.

Currently, Mason and Z were arm wrestling over a table in the back of the bar, people beginning to call it quits and going home. And with his pride hurt that he could not beat Z in an arm wrestling match, Tyson stole the other’s keys and wallet from Gabe, saying goodbyes and forcing Mason to as well.

“You are blasted, man.”

“Mmph,” he shrugged and laid his head against the passenger window. “I wanna lay down and sleep.”

“You can when I get you home. Gimmie your seatbelt so I can buckle you in.”

Mason followed the order with a small pout, not drunk enough to the point of incoherence but… definitely a little fucked up. Tyson had done this before: dealing with the mopey friend at the end of the night. Mason was definitely one to get mopey or clingy once they left the main event.

“My face hurts.”

“That checks out, buddy. I’ll get you some ice for it back at your place. What?” Tyson continued to ask when Mason stared out the windshield all angsty.

“Still can’t believe I couldn’t beat Z.”

“That guy could slam most of us through a table, don’t beat yourself up.”

“Can’t. Someone already did.”

“You’re full of jokes, huh?”

Mason just grinned sleepily as they pulled into the apartment complex and Tyson had an arm wrapped around his friend to keep him steady. Getting a drunk person to go to bed was usually one of the hardest parts of the night.

“Would you just--”

“I got it,” Mason huffed, fumbling with his keys near the lock of the door.

“Dude.”

“Shut up, you’re gonna wake up my neighbors,” he grumbled, finally getting the door open with a triumphant “see? I’m an adult.”

“I see. Go be an adult and get ready to go to bed,” Tyson rolled his eyes, taking the keys out of the door and locking it behind them.

“I don’t wanna sleep,” he replied quickly.

“You’re drunk, what do you mean you don’t want to sleep?”

“Not tired,” he flopped down on the couch.

“At least get out of your clothes. That way if you fall asleep it’s in pajamas.”

Mason was sprawled out, already clicking through Netflix.

“Fine, I will go get you pajamas. Here,” Tyson pressed a cold compress to a bruise on his face and headed to the bedroom.

“Thanks for driving me,” he heard from the other room.

“‘Course,” Tyson called back. “Here, put these on,” he tossed the clothes at Mason.

“Are you staying here? You can take the guest room, if you want.”

“Sure. Probably easier than trying to get home this late,” Tyson shrugged and headed for the kitchen. As he heard the rustling around of what he assumed was his friend changing, Tyson got a glass of water and painkillers for when Mason woke up.

“I can drive you home tomorrow,” Mason slurred even more heavily as he began getting more tired. He’d managed to get his jeans off and a pair of shorts on before moving onto the shirt. He’d just pulled his shirt off when Tyson walked back in the room with the water.

“Woah,” he said quietly, stopping quickly.

For whatever reason, he’d never realized that he had never seen his teammate and friend shirtless. That was weird, especially when you played sports together for a living. He assumed it was due to the faded scars along his chest, almost in a u-shape under each pec.

He didn’t even know what kind of injury would cause that kind of surgery.

“When did you get surgery?”

Fuck was all that ran through Mason’s head.

[starlighttaek8]

Redamancy

Pairing: Yoongi x Reader

Word Count: 4k+

Genre: Fluff. Just Super Fluff.

Plot Summary: This is a sequel to my other story, Untitled. I guess you don’t HAVE to read it, but this story will be able to be understood better if you do.

So, this is just a really fluffy Yoongi x reader story, with a lot of cute moments. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Him.

You had just met up with Seokjin and his wife. 

Tragic really, he was your first love and to see him married and with a child will always hurt. 

That nagging voice, toxic in nature, always in the back of your mind, plaguing your thoughts of how to rip and shred and cause havoc just to make him yours. 

Thankfully, these intrusive thoughts were only a very small piece of your mind and as you left the coffee shop that day, you couldn't help but be proud of yourself for how much you have grown as a person.

Although you have always been a more in your head person, a person whose world is so internally focused, you should really focus on what is right in front of you.

Especially when you walk out the door of the coffee shop right as another person walks in. 

The surprise collision also made you spill your coffee, all over this person's, objectively nice, sans coffee, dress pants and shoes.

"I'm so sorry!" You exclaim, rushing back into the shop to get some napkins.

"I'm really such a clutz, I'm always in my head, please forgive me!" You rush out, practically begging for this stranger's forgiveness although he had yet to speak. 

"Erm.. It's okay." He responded, shock from having hot coffee spilled all over his ankles substantially subsided.

You looked up and you admit, you were startled at his appearance.

He was quite handsome, bleached blonde hair falling lightly over his forehead. His eyes were the second thing you noticed, the intensity of the brown irises not one that you could soon forget.

Min Yoongi.

At the discovery of the identity of the person in front of you, once you had finished cleaning off his pants the best you could, you slowly stood up to meet him.

"Min Yoongi?"

"Um.. Yes, have we met?"

"Well... Not officially. I've been Seokjin's friend since we were little. He would occasionally talk of his friends and point them out to me."

"And you remembered me?"

"Well... Yes. I may be clumsy with my feet, but I usually never forget a name or face."

There was a reason why you didn't forget his face in particular though.

He was the only other one, besides Jin, that would have let you play with them. 

Occasionally, as the rest of the class was walking inside, he would look at the drawings you made in the dirt, and give you a tiny grin.

Then there was that one time where most of their friend group had gotten sick from the nasty germs that infested the public schools. 

This time, it wasn't a tiny grin as you drew intricate designs in the sand.

This time, he picked up his own stick, and as you drew, he drew. 

While your designs were more freeform, circular, wavy, carefree, his were angular, calculated. Each line he drew complimented yours, with the both of them creating a beautiful pattern in the sand.

Neither of you talked during this experience, two silent people drawing shapes in the ground.

As the bell rang, and the teacher started gathering kids to go back inside, you shared a small smile with him, as newly kindred spirits and went back inside.  

That same moment never happened again. 

5 months later and just as school was ending, you overheard that his parents were getting divorced. He was going to live with his father, about 3 hours away.

Until now, you never saw him again.

But then was then, and now is now, and seeing his older, yet still youthful features grace your eyes once more sent a small smile to your face.

"Well, color me impressed then. Are you in a hurry?" 

"Erm.. No, I'm not, I just.., I just met with Seokjin, his wife, and their new daughter. We haven't seen each other in a good 5 years."

"Wow, so it's been a while. Are they still here?"

"No, they left just about 10 minutes ago, Seokjin mentioned something about a pediatrician appointment. Are you sure you're okay? Um, I can buy you a coffee as an apology, if you want..," you offer, still embarrassed as you look at the mess you made on his nice pants.

"Oh... Yeah," he snickers softly, "I'm fine, these things happen, but if you don't mind, since I was the one who interrupted your thinking process, I could get you a new cup of coffee, and we could catch up a bit. You know, since you're not in a hurry and all."

Having an actual conversation with him was different.

When you were kids, the only conversation you had was the unspoken kind, the kind that only kindred, creative, quiet minds could have. 

But as you spoke with him that afternoon, you realized just how much you both were alike, and just how much you were different.

You shared a lot of the same interests. He had studied Music in university, you liked music, liked being a term that did not, in any way, describe your love for it. 

Music, to you, was another form of life in and of itself. Another plane of existence so to speak. 

It was vibrant, it flowed, each musical note a new wave in the air, perfectly differing from the note before it, creating chords, symphonies, tying in all that mattered in the world into neat little waves of sound. Each note had a life of its own, but only with the other notes did it have true meaning, only with the other notes was it able to become true music to your ears.

That's how spending time with Yoongi was. 

After your impromptu coffee shop date, you both exchanged contact information, and as soon as you arrived home that night, a small buzz accompanied by a picture of Yoongi greeted you.

As time went on, you were able to get to know Yoongi better. You often hung around the same coffee shop that you met at, and you could already feel a small twinge of something in your heart. 

The first time you held hands with him you weren't sure you should count, as it was, much like many things that you did, purely on accident. 

It had been precisely a week since you two exchanged numbers at the coffee shop, and you had already arranged to meet each other for dinner. 

There was something about not only the way you met all those years ago, but also, Yoongi realized from the short conversation you had shared over coffee that there was something special about you, from the way that you frequently spaced out into your own thoughts, as if your inner mind was a much more interesting place than anything the outside world had to offer, to the way that you got so excited when you saw a cute puppy across the street that you just about ran into traffic in an effort to get to it.

The way you started to take steps off the sidewalk alerted him immediately, and he took hold of your hand, barely saving you from a car speeding past you, and bringing you back into the safety of the sidewalk, and coincidentally right against his chest. 

As you looked up at him from his embrace, you could see the panicked look in his eyes and the short breaths that escaped his lungs in small puffs, visible due to the chilly weather. 

From that moment on, he didn't let go of your hand, claiming "I can't lose you because you get distracted by a butterfly and decide to get yourself killed by traipsing through fast traffic."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

As said before, many things in your life happened by accident, both good and bad. 

Two months after the hand holding incident, something else happened. 

Accidents happen, you understand that, but why of all the accidents did it have to be this.

"...and that's why Jin has a short scar on his hand."

"Oh my goodness! Yoongi!" You laughed as he told you some of the things that happened in your elementary years, bonding over nostalgic times.

This conversation happened on a phone, one night where you hadn't been able to see him all day, as was the same with most days, but  you didn't know how such an average day could turn into a special one. 

"Anyways, it was really nice catching up with you, I feel like we haven't seen each other in weeeeeks!" Yoongi said, making you both laugh a little bit.

"I know! But that's probably because it has been. We've both been rather busy lately. I should probably let you go now. It's 2 am and I have to be up in 5 hours."

"Alright, well then sleep well!"

You don't know what possessed you to say what you said next.

"Alright thanks! Goodnight! Love you!"

As soon as you pushed end, you flew into a self-deprecating swirl of a human.

"WHAT DID I JUST DO? DID I REALLY JUST SAY LOVE YOU?" You thought out loud before collapsing on your bed, face down onto your pillow, not caring if your mascara stained your pillowcase.

*buzzzzzzz* *buzzzzzzzzzz* 

It feels like your whole bed vibrates and so you decide to look at your phone before falling asleep.

One (1) new message

Yoongles: Love you too. Sleep well.

Delivered 2:17 am

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Ever since the accidental "love you" exchange, it has been, honestly, quite uneventful. You had work as usual, Yoongi had work as usual. You started going on little outings with Yoongi, maybe once or twice a week, and they started becoming your favorite parts of the week. 

The outings didn't have to be anything special, sometimes they were not even outings, instead choosing to spend time together on your couch (his place was always a mess, he said, plus you had the bigger tv).

The question of whether or not you two were actually dating always seemed to linger in the air. In every sense of the word, yes, yes you were, but technically speaking, he never asked, you never clarified, and labels were never that important to you anyways.

But labels are there for a reason, and that is for clarification. 

Jin and his family wanted to meet up with you again, and you asked if you could bring Yoongi, because it seemed Jin hadn't spent much time with him lately either, and this way he wouldn't be the only guy surrounded by women.

You arrive at the cafe, this time with Yoongi, (less of a chance to spill coffee on him again he said, if we came together) and you spotted Jin and his wife almost immediately. They didn't have their child with them, so they must have gotten Jin's parents to babysit. 

The outing with Jin, his wife, and Yoongi goes well, so well in fact that this conversation happens.

"So we've been talking a lot about us lately, now tell us, are you and Yoongi a couple?"

"Ye-"

"N-"

You both look at each other. He had almost said yes, while you had almost said no. 

"Trouble in paradise already?" Jin laughs.

"What she meant to say was yes, yes we are dating, and yes we are boyfriend and girlfriend, that is in fact, what she meant to say."

"And what do you think of that?" Jin asks pointedly.

"Um.. Yeah, yeah that's exactly what I meant to say, 100 percent, completely and utterly fact, it's just the first time we clarified it." You say as you rub your neck, a slight smile coming to your cheeks as you feel the blood rushing there. 

The rest of your lunch was filled with teasing coming from Jin, and from Yoongi, he was a lot more touchy, always wrapping his arm around you, holding your hand with his other one. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

As time went on, your life intertwined more and more with Yoongi's. 

You both shared your passions for life, even though you both already knew each other's likes and dislikes.

His passion was music.

Mixing, to be specific.

It always took a long time to finish each track, but when he did complete it, you were the first he called to listen to it. 

It didn't always go well though.

There were times where he didn't feel like his work matched up to his previous masterpieces. 

He would work as if he was tireless, often spending several days and nights without rest.

On these nights, it's become your custom to bring him some sustenance, as he usually worked so hard he forgot to eat. 

Vanilla Latte in hand, as well as a box of fried chicken, you knock on the door of his studio.

You tried the door, locked.

"Yoongi," You call out, knocking a few more times, "I brought food."

The door clicks and you enter, already finding Yoongi back in his chair, headphones around his neck, face illuminated by the computer screen. 

Which is also the only source of light in the room.

You tell Yoongi to close his eyes and you turn on the main light, the adjustment harsh on even your eyes. 

You both eat together, him offering you the wings while you offer him the drumstick, sharing the Cola that came with the set. 

After eating, you clean everything up, and he gets back to his work, but this time offering you a pair of headphones as you turn out the light. 

You know that he's tired. 

His eyes have dark circles underneath them, body movements are slow, and if you look closely, you can see the red lines in the whites of his eyes, all of these clear signs that this might just be his 2nd day of no sleep. 

Nevertheless, you know that he refuses to sleep until he's satisfied, and you give him your thoughts on his latest piece.

Just like this, you both stay up the rest of the night, your head sometimes leaning on his shoulder.

As soon as the latest masterpiece is completed, you help him out of his chair and into his bed. He can shower after he's gotten some rest. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It has been approximately 6 months since you started dating Yoongi, and your dynamic as a couple was truly something amazing. 

Ever since clarifying the relationship to Jin, and to yourself, Yoongi had amped up his efforts to really make you fall deeper for him.

Or maybe he hadn't, but it sure felt like it, because you could feel the love for him in your heart grow every passing day.

You feel your phone buzzing in your pocket and see an incoming call from Yoongi. 

You excitedly pick it up, feeling your heartbeat quicken.

"Princess, can we meet tonight? I want to take you out to dinner," Yoongi said, his voice deep and smooth, just like the voice that you hear those nights that you spend with him in the studio.

Those nights were the best. 

He had gotten you your own rolling chair for his studio, along with a comfortable headrest and blanket. 

So those nights where neither of you could quite get to sleep, where just being in each other's presence was cathartic enough, even if you don't say a word, you would oftentimes find yourself at his studio. 

He would welcome you with a hug, arms around you tightly, head nestled ever so lightly in your neck, so that he could be as close to you as possible.

From there, he would wrap you in a blanket and pull you along to your chair. He would make you sit down and make sure that the blanket was covering every inch below your neck for optimum comfort. 

The final touch was the big, studio-quality, headphones that would encase your ears and cut off everything else that you would hear. The exception being Yoongi's smooth voice and background tracks  that played throughout the dimly lit hours of the night. 

Oftentimes, you would fall asleep right in the chair, it being more comfortable than you ever thought it could be.

Reflecting on what were some of the best nights of your life so far, almost caused you to miss something. 

Yoongi just called you Princess. 

It was a good thing he couldn't see you through the phone, because when you realized that he called you Princess, you could feel your cheeks get hot, and you had the biggest smile on your face. 

It made your heart start to beat just that little bit faster, but thankfully that didn't stop you from replying normally.

"That sounds wonderful, Sweetie."

You couldn't see it through the phone, but Yoongi's cheeks slowly turned pink when you called him that, and his heart started to beat just that much faster.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It has now been one full year since Yoongi started dating you. 

Before Yoongi, you didn't know it was possible to love a person this much. 

Sure, you had loved Jin before, you grew up with him, and there wasn't any doubt in your mind that your feelings for him at the time were absolutely, 100%, true. You knew they were true too, from the way that even after 5 years apart from him, when you met him again for the first time in so long, those feelings struck you hard again, and you could feel the jealousy creeping back up into your soul. 

But then, you saw him smiling.

You knew that he was happy. And you wanted that happiness for yourself.

You wanted to let go of all the negative feelings that came from keeping your love for Jin inside for too long. 

You wanted all of the jealousy you had towards his new family to disappear. 

And that's exactly what being with Yoongi did.

It took a while.

The first few weeks, when you weren't quite sure if you were dating or not, were difficult beyond belief.

So many thoughts would creep into your mind, saying that Yoongi didn't even like you, and that he was just reconnecting with an old friend from kindergarten. 

Saying that this relationship would end up the same way as your friendship with Jin ended, with you falling hard and no one to catch you. 

But after that fateful day in the cafe, when he told Jin that you two were, in fact, dating, your heart SOARED. 

He liked you back, and you could work with that.

Bit by bit, Yoongi tore out your old, still broken feelings for Jin, and replaced them with his own.

Except his weren't broken. 

His were healing, you could feel that every passing day, you were forgetting what you felt for Jin, the scars that were self-inflicted on your heart from an unrequited love were being healed by someone who wanted to take care of you, who wanted to love you. 

All of these emotions went into the planning for your 1 year anniversary.

You made his favorite food, made sure that he had time tonight, because tonight was something special. 

He was able to get out of work early tonight, coming to your place while you were still in the middle of cooking, and while you wanted to hug him, you didn't want to ruin his clothes, so you didn't run to the door and throw your arms around him like you wanted to, but that was okay, because he came in and hugged you from behind.

This was another one of your favorite moments.

Your back against his chest, his arms secure around your waist. A short kiss placed on your neck.

"Princess, I love you so much."

"Aww Sweetie, are you just saying that because I have your favorite food?"

"That's just a bonus. I love you so much."

"I love you too, Sweetie."

His arms let go of your waist and shortly after you could feel something cold and metal being placed on a chain around your neck. 

"I specially ordered this for you Princess. I was able to design this necklace to imitate the same designs we used to draw in the sand together back in kindergarten."

You had a huge smile on your face as you rushed to wash your hands so you could see it in the mirror. 

You fingered the small metal design, it looking so fragile against your neck. 

He wanted to see your reaction so he had followed you into the bathroom, and right there, you turned around and kissed him. 

Arms around his neck, looking into his eyes, you say, "Happy 1st Anniversary, Yoongi."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

6 months after your first anniversary, something else happened.

You adopted a dog.

Rather you and Yoongi, both adopted a dog. 

You went to the animal shelter that day, dead set on getting a cat with Yoongi. 

You both loved cats, they were always so adorable, with their little toe beans and whiskers. 

When you arrived at the shelter, that's when you saw a box. 

Specifically a box full of tiny, little, brown, curly puffs of fur, sleeping peacefully.

Then one of the puffs of fur opened his eyes, and you both had instantly made your decision, looking each other in the eyes and nodding. 

You picked up the small puff of fur and brought him inside the shelter.

"Ahhhh hello! I see you've spotted our puppies! Their mother was pregnant with them when she was brought to the shelter, and then in a very sad turn of events, passed away due to complications in giving birth."

A few tears dropped at the story, sad for this puppy's  start in life.

But that's what you were here for. 

"We'd like to adopt him now, please."

"Absolutely! Follow me and we can fill out the paperwork."

And that was how you two ended up with a dog instead of a cat.

That small, clumsy puff of fur immediately set off in your house, sniffing everything and becoming familiar with his new home. 

Around its neck was a simple collar with a tag that said "Min Holly"

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Your relationship with Yoongi was a whirlwind of emotions. 

From the very moment that you two had reconnected, to this very moment that entranced the two of you, you knew that what you felt for Yoongi was special. 

Your energies combined and swirled around each other in the same ways that your dirt drawings contradicted each other yet still made a beautiful picture. 

At this moment, you two were overlooking the ocean from a high cliff, watching the waves crash against the sharp rocks at the bottom, the water frothing and foaming with each wave. The sky was littered with stars, each twinkling in their own constellations. 

Your fingers were intertwined with Yoongi's, head on his shoulder as you looked out at the scenic view. 

"You know," said Yoongi, turning his head slightly to look you in the eyes, "I never imagined that the little girl who drew pictures in the sand every afternoon during recess would be the one I would eventually love to the ends of the earth. It's quite sobering, really, to find the one that completes you so fully, and yet I've never felt so completely entranced, yet so level-headed, I've never felt more sure about myself, than when I'm with you."

"I love you too, Yoongi." You whisper in his direction, his eyes drawn to yours, never breaking contact, never wanting to, because if you could do one thing for the remainder of your life on this earth, it would be to see the soul and passion of Min Yoongi in his own two eyes. 

There was something.... Special...about Yoongi. He made all of your troubles seem as they were merely cirrus clouds in the neverending blue of the sky, light and wispy, as if they were going to disappear with even the slightest of breezes. 

He made you forget about your past feelings towards Jin, as if every thought that was formed about Jin when you were younger was nothing but a mere breeze that briefly wove through your hair, and nothing more. 

Yoongi somehow erased all of your negative thoughts, worked with you through all of your lapses, and loved you every step of the way, through this very moment that you spent with him.

And as you looked into his onyx eyes, you knew that you loved him with every beat, every blood vessel, every ounce of your heart, and you knew that you wouldn't trade that for anything in the world.

"There you go again, staring into my eyes and getting lost in your own thoughts. Let me bring you back down to Earth." And, as he said that, he produced a small golden ring and slid it onto your left hand fourth finger. 

"Y/n, I love you, and with this ring, I promise that I will always love you, and I ask you, here and now, will you marry me?"

"Yes."

[ironwoman18]

We found love in a hopeless place part 12

Chapter 12: Power Point and classes.

The weeks passed an Spencer finished his hundred hours at the field so he started to work on his seminaries.

He decided to do it about forensic psychology. That month he had three around some Washington Universities.

He was working on it reading and writing that he didn't realized it was the afternoon until he heard the knocking on the door.

Max decided to go helping with the presentation. Using the right colors to catch the attention of the audience and even adding some things Spencer did not know about power point.

"Hey handsome" she smiled at him "I brought donuts and I was hoping for the coffee to be ready" she teased him.

He laughed and let her walk in "actually I was so into the reading that I forget about this" he blushed softly "but don't worry, my coffee machine is quick" she laughed and put the box on the table.

"It's ok. You are lucky that you are cute" she moved closer and they kissed softly "I will check what you had done while the coffee is ready" he nodded and left to the kitchen.

"I wrote some things but as I told you I don't know very much about it" he said as she checked the laptop.

"I can tell" the page was so full of text that you cannot read properly what it says "it will be a loooong night" she whispered.

She started to move paragraph to other pages. When she finished it. The slides looked better when Spencer arrived with two mugs of coffee.

He placed them on the table and handed her the sugar. He moved the box of donuts closer and sat next to her.

"Oh it looks better" he said drinking some coffee "I didn't know how to use this. Dave, who is older than me, can use it as an expert" she laughed at that "hey! Don't be mean!" He laughed softly.

"It's ok. You hate technology so I could imagine that you don't know about power point" she looked at him "but honestly I don't understand how a man with three PhDs and three BAs can't use a basic computer program"

"I never needed also my brain works faster than a computer" she raised an eyebrow "but now I need it to look more professional"

"That's right, a computer presentation is better, especially for these seminaries" he nodded.

Max explained everything about power point. From the basics of every Microsoft office program to the basic things of power point.

He learned fast and Max was good and patient with him. They drank the coffee and ate the donuts.

She explained how to organize the slides and how the colors could draw the attention of the people. They even add videos he had from interrogations, the FBI let him use them with didactic purposes.

At night they stopped to order some food and rest their eyes from the screen. They decided to watch a movie while eating.

"So how do you feel about these thirty days off?" She asked.

"I don't like it. I guess you could feel my anger on the phone when I told you a few weeks ago"

"Yes I did but now that it's inevitable. How do you feel?"

"I understand why they decided this. I'm one of their best agents. I never took days off except for three times when I really couldn't work" he looked at her "once when I was kidnapped, other was when my mentor and best friend died and when a woman I was falling for died" she lifted her hand to rub his cheek softly

"Your work it's hard and losing people you care about must be terrible. I think your boss is trying to keep you sane. I know you are careful and do a great job but even the best needs a rest"

He sighed and looked at her "yeah I know you are right but I still feel like I shouldn't be here but out there with my team"

"I know Spence" she rubbed more his cheek "but maybe this time will keep you focus and... Who knows? Maybe you will find something important that will help you in a future case" that made him laugh but nodded.

"Yeah... Who knows..." He kissed her forehead and finished their food to go back to work until they finished the slides.

Then he walked with her to her car. They share another kiss before she left to her apartment.

The next day he studied the slides and what he will talk about. He picked cases and studied them until he could talk about them in his sleep.

The seminar was the next day so he left early to the university. He put on a blue suit with a white shirt and a tie.

He drove to the university and the technician of it connected his laptop to the TV with a HDMI cable.

They checked everything was perfect and the people started to walk in. Before it started Max texted him 'Have fun handsome, and good luck' he smiled.

When the auditorium was full it was time to start the seminar. He taught them about forensic psychology. He could see must of them taking notes and asked about the cases he showed them.

Two hours later he finished the class and everyone clapped at him. He spoke with some people while getting his laptop, pencils, markers and pieces of paper.

He was answering questions when his second phone started to ring. It was Max for sure so he excused himself and answer.

"Hey handsome" he was getting used to that greeting.

"Hello there gorgeous" he decided to do the same.

There was silence for a few more seconds and he could bet she blushed "how was your class?"

"Amazing, it was really nice to share my knowledge with someone"

"I'm glad and, to celebrate, I would like to invite you to a restaurant close to the campus"

"I would love to. Send me the address and we can meet there"

"Perfect, see you there" she hung out and a few minutes later she sent him the address.

He left the campus and drove to the restaurant. He had his shirt sleeves folded up like he used to when he had a tough case.

He walked in and there was Max waiting for him. The waiter led him to the table and when he sat down Max kissed him gently.

"Congratulations for your first class" she whispered on his lips.

"Thank you Max" he ran his hand into her hair "and not just because the congratulations but because of your help" he smiled at her.

"I'm here for you whenever you need it" she said looking into his eyes "also I heard that the auditorium was full of people"

He laughed "oh really? And how did you know that"

"Well... There were these two girls and they were talking about this handsome teacher, in a blue suit, with big hands and long, wavy, brown hair teaching in a crowded auditorium" he blushed at that "and I immediately thought 'oh yes that most be Spencer' but yóu know what they forgot to mention?"

"What is that?" He asked curious.

"How good that teacher looked with his shirt sleeves folded up. He looks very handsome and even modern with that style"

He laughed and his cheeks were pink after that "you are enjoying this aren't you?" She nodded and smirked.

"I like to complement you. And I'm just saying what those girls said about you" she smiled but then held his hand "now I'm serious... I'm proud of this and I hope I can help you with this more often. Even if you already know everything about power point or colors. I like be part of this new experience for you"

He held her hand "you will because I like our time together and I will do anything to spend time with you" she blushed and kissed his hand.

She ordered champagne and they cheered for his first class. Then ordered their lunch and he told her everything.

OOooOOooOO

Hope you liked this one. I will focus on his time out the BAU, maybe will show some conversations with Emily or JJ.

Also I want them to go to New Orleans. Remember Ethan from S2E18? I want him to invite Spencer to visit him for a special event and he will ask Max. What do you think?

[fandom-will-be-my-fall]

Spill your heart out about Walter.

Okay so I basically got this question in what, January?? but I’m answering it now since I just rewatched the movie and have inspiration, sorry for the late reply Anon

Okay so, to start off this post with some keyboard smashing because that my primary go-to for expressing my emotions

sgklhfsgjksdlgdghkjlgjhOHUFLUSKHDGSLIDRGKJGKFSDHGlhjglksdhkglshglllllfa. knjcthxiudhusmnvsoidhéytbvonjyxclkkvbr. haeylicfvshdkgikc

HANDSOME BOY. HANDSOME. ‘NUFF SAID.

I could legit stare all day at his beautiful face… look at him. Enchanting sky blue eyes… fluffy, wavy brown hair, cute round cheeks, lovely smile… those hidden freckles that you can hardly spot and only in certain screenshots but nevertheless they’re there to raise the cuteness factor… ALSO HIS LASHES. MAYBE IT’S NATURAL?? MAYBE IT’S MAYBELLINE?? WE SHALL NEVER KNOW

Here you may be able to spot the freckles if you squint hard enough. I have 77 screenshots but this is the best example I could find.

Secondly… well, he’s a sticc. A short sticc at that (though still slightly taller than me bc I’m smol), but a sticc regardless! And that seems to be the most attractive cartoon body type for me. Don’t judge me, I just have a thing for twinks, I’m… twinksexual or whatever.

Look at him! He would fit through my doorcrack.

(Maaaybe the reason for me liking sticcs so much is partially the fact that I like the idea of a boyfriend I can protect and support, physically and emotionally. I’m mad at the universe for not letting me scoop him up in my arms bridal style and smooch the HECK outta him.)

I’ve encountered a few posts that claimed he’s got cake but, come on. That concept has canonically been proven to be false, even by Lance. This man is flat and you can pry this opinion off my cold, dead hands.

Speaking of hands! I like his big ol hands. Nice shape. They look soft. I wanna hold them.

According to a DVD commentary, and the visual facts, he has no shoulders whatsoever. Back in Venice Killian was able to restrain him effortlessly with only one foot on his chest, even as he kept struggling ans squirming and generally put in as much effort as he possibly could. Before then, he claimed the database was the first thing he has ever caught in his life.

Conclusion, our boi’s very much NOT athletic. Which makes sense for a scientist, braining all day and stuff, and because he probably barely even eats, or sleeps which are by the way both pretty concerning implications but anyway.

STOP BEATING UP THIS POOR FRAGILE LAD FOR GOD’S SAKE. Makes me want to protect him even more. That’s not necessarily a bad thing, but you get what I mean.

Now, on to the actual reason I’m so head over heels for him, a.k.a his personality.

He is one of the sweetest, kindest, purest boy characters I have ever seen in fiction, if not THE number one himself. (All my other cinnamon roll crushes are, or have been a villain at some point and WILL resort to violence if provoked.) Look at him, his pacifism… is unbreakable. He’s dead set on making the world a better place, by peaceful ways, and helping humanity. If that’s not a quality to be cherished then IDK what is.

And he’s just such a refreshing character. He likes pink, K-dramas, glitter, kittens, things that aren’t traditionally “masculine” (but is never made fun of those things in particular in the movie) and I love that. Nothing’s sexier than a man who’s, despite society’s shitty standards, openly and unashamedly himself!

His femininity is, if anything, just another turn-on. (This didn’t intend to sound sexual… but oh well.) I love his little hand gestures and mannerisms, dorky ramblings, the way he says “yep” popping the “p” at the end, all the small yet significant traits that were incorporated into his character. Bless you, SiD creators, bless you.

Have I said that he’s a genius?? Which is pretty obvious but c’mon, he graduated at 15!! He can modify human genes!! He successfully turned a man into a pigeon on the first try!! (The serum wasn’t the first prototype but we can assume he didn’t experiment on living humans with the previous ones.) And he’s still just 20!! Like what is that if not hella fucking impressive???!??

His inventions, to the untrained eye, may seem “stupid” or “childish” but alas! The observer couldn’t be more wrong! Because despite the odd designs and themes they’re all highly effective, as we have witnessed in the battle against Killian. And he is extremely creative for coming up with such ideas! Told you he’s brilliant!!

Which makes me all the sadder about how much they underappreciated him at the agency. In his words, nobody ever listened to him, or gave him a chance. They just left him and his “weird” ideas next to the men’s bathroom and called it a day. How could they be so blind? Didn’t they see the potential in his inventions? Oh well. Maybe I’m just being a smartass bc I have more knowledge, living outside that universe. But I’m totally right.

And I was honestly ready to throw hands with Lance for hurting the boi even further. (I’d stand no chance whatsoever, but still.)

Oh no baby please don’t cry.

He did cry in that scene though… you could see a tear rolling down his cheek and if it wasn’t for the machine beeping… He did have a pretty rough day afterall. But HEY, if we dwell on it too much the scene loses its comedic effect!! A guy gets sad over a stupid soap opera, har har har!! Now let’s move on, keep it fast and snappy for the kids, don’t let them overthink it!! Can’t have any emotional breakdowns onscreen. Keep it lighthearted y’know. Then let’s kill a random side character and have our dear protagonist almost die twice.

(Well jokes on you Blue Sky! I’m no kid, but a devoted fangirl who can and will overthink any material of my fictional faves at any given opportunity.)

You know what else I love about him though?? His love for animals!! And pigeons, especially Lovey!! He loves her so much, gives her gluten free breadcrumbs, nuzzles her, the first thing he does when he finds out Lance can talk to the pigeons is ask if she loves him too!! Like… That’s so pure and wholesome.

This here. THIS RIGHT HERE. BROTP forever.

(Not gonna lie, I used to be crazy for pigeons for like, an entire year or something. Not as in looking up all the facts there are about pigeons as I do nowadays with cartoons, but I’d feed them regularly and write my little observations on their behaviors. Did you know they sometimes scratch their neck with their leggies like dogs do?)

I think I’ve summed up mostly everything I love about this nerd. Oh wait, almost forgot the sass!! I love how sassy and smug he can be sometimes, in like, a really harmless way but it’s still a very nice characteristic.

Since I’ve ran out of coherent things to say, here’s an incomplete list of things I want to do to Walter Beckett. Put at the end of this post so those of you who were only here for the analysis part and not the selfshippy gushing don’t have to read further:

kiss he

like seriously

just kiss he a whole lot

cover his whole face in kisses

one kiss for each of his freckles. a finishing kiss onto the tip of his nose. then repeat the cycle

hug him. hug him like the world is ending. hug him so tight he can barely breathe

then ofc let go and apologize bc I would never hurt him on purpose

cuddle him

hold him close, let him lay his head on my chest

run my fingers through his hair

listen to his breathing

discover that he’s fallen asleep on me and smile fondly, then soon drift off to sleep myself so we can wake up entangled in eachother the next morning

fuck he

pin him to a wall and snog he

make him go cherry red

fluster he

compliment him. praise him. appreciate him. he’s a prince, a hero, an angel, a wonderful human being and he needs to know this

feed pigeons together

listen to his scientific ramblings and bird facts

write him love letters and give them to him. maybe read it aloud myself if I’m feeling brave so I can see his reaction in real time

serenade he

be the love of his life, and have him be mine

just… soft things, man

cook something for this malnourished sticc

make him small handmade gifts

they’re nothing like his gadgets but I tried

draw he

have him be my muse in general

not like he isn’t now but it would be lovely if he was real too

carry him bridal style

be the feral cryptid that lurks in his house when he isn’t around

sing along to cheesy pop-song together really badly

watch cheesy rom coms

flirt with eachother clumsily until we’re both laughing at our awkwardness

or, alternatively, shower him with compliments until he literally cannot handle it

have sleepovers together

give him hand kisses

be of emotional support

[fluorescentpipedream]

Velvet Touch

Ryki Paelyae sat outside on the back step of his best friend Jon’s apartment in Southern Illinois, a lit cigarette hanging from his lips and a pad of paper in his lap, tapping a pen against the paper. He was half writing, half thinking while drinking a cup of coffee in the brisk fall air. Tapping the page again, he scowled as he looked down at it and crossed out an entire section of what was supposed to be a song. Long tendrils of smoke danced in front of his eyes before disappearing and for a moment he tried focusing on them. His mind was running about 12 tracks back to back, between music, Jon’s slow recovery from his depression over potentially losing his husband, the goings on at work - mostly revolving around the sheer magnitude of insanity their boss had become. Ryki’s heart and mind were warring over the people who lived to the right of Jon’s apartment. Or rather, one in particular.  He’d known her once, nearly 8 years ago but neither of them were the people they had once been.

Kristy and Ryki had a rather heated argument last night and now he was trying to work out what he should do versus what he wanted to do. And partially, what he had already done...Ryki was a car thief and while he tried to justify it because of some pendulum swinging over his head for past misdeeds against his boss, the reality of the situation was that he hated his job. He used to like the rush but now...now it was amazing that Damian hadn’t shot him and his entire crew by now. Damian was a nutjob but he was also getting in the way of what Ryki wanted to really do with his life. He looked down at the note pad in his lap once more and frowned, frisbeeing it away from him. He heard a cough behind him and shifted his eyes towards the sound.

The man who came out the door was nearly as tall as Ryki, but significantly skinnier and incredibly pale. He looked kind of like a wisp standing there in an unbuttoned pair of skinny black jeans and no shirt. Seemingly random tattoos dotted his chest and arms and there was a large butterfly across his abdomen. Ryki acknowledged Louis with a head nod but little else.

“Why are you sitting outside?”

“Jon doesn’t like it when I smoke inside.”

“Ah..” Louis ran his long fingers up the back of Ryki’s head and through his short, black hair, giving it a soft tug before reaching around and stealing the cigarette from him. Taking a drag, he stepped around Ryki and off the back porch, stumbling a little as he missed the last step. Louis regained his footing well enough and offered the cigarette back to Ryki who turned it down. Shrugging, he knelt down to pick up the notebook, reading a few of the lines.

“So much heartaches and pain, always on my way...” Louis rose up gracefully and moved a swath of his long hair out of his face. “This is really good.”

“Eh...”

“No...really. Is it about her?”

Ryki frowned. He had been angry last night and called one of the numbers he’d meant to delete, looking for comfort. Louis knew exactly what he was good for and why he’d been called, which had paid off in the long run. Louis walked back over to Ryki, handing him his book with a smirk on his thin lips.

“I’m going back to the dorm, you should talk her.” Louis stepped around Ryki again and crushed the cigarette in a small, mushroom shaped ashtray beside the door. Ryki balked but got up, following the other man into the apartment. Jon was awake and Ryki could hear the shower turn on. He stopped as Louis leaned over to pick up a worn out heartagram t-shirt and pulled it on.

“What would you do?”

“With what?”

“If you were in my shoes?”

“Why are all the pretty ones so damn stupid.” Louis rolled his eyes and sighed. Ryki took a step back from him and waited for the inevitable clap back. “I would go over and apologize for being an asshole.” He flopped back onto the couch and pulled his shirt down over his stomach. His eyes were piercing if not a little unsettling. Louis wasn’t a particularly attractive man, Ryki had noticed that about him when they’d first met. He was long bodied with bony features. Though he had a chiseled jaw there was something about him that just screamed at being more trouble than he was worth. And to some extent, that was true. He was prone to depressive episodes and a generally bad attitude. Louis leaned forward on the couch, resting his elbows on his knees.

“Ryki...you called me because you wanted an angry fuck, and I’m good for that.” The scratch marks on his back could atest to that. “But what you really want is next door...you spent the entire night bitching because this woman had a weakness, wound up with the people who ruined both of your lives and you couldn’t deal with it. You’re a fucking disaster, albeit a beautiful one. Just...take a fucking chance on her, if you still love her. There’s nothing wrong with admitting that you fucked up, you hate your job, your boss is nuts and all you want is to walk over there, scoop up that pudgy little gothic girl and make her scream your name.”

Ryki stared at him for a moment. “I...She’s pregnant, not pudgy”

“Is she? Oh...well...Shit. But it still stands...You want that little gothic girl in your arms and you know I’m right. All you could talk about last night was her. If I cared any more about myself, I would have been offended.”

Louis set his jaw and Ryki couldn’t figure out if he was serious or not. But the man was right, after they’d had sex, Ryki had still been frustrated. When Louis had asked why, Ryki had unloaded. He was proud of Kristy, she wasn’t the same girl he’d met all those years ago. She had friends in both high and low places. She had big heart and a strong constitution, stronger than he expected her to have, honestly. She was brilliant and still so beautiful but eclectic...

“What do you mean?” Louis had asked.

“She devours books, hangs around creatively odd people...if you were nicer she’d be friends with you...”

“No thank you.”

“My point. But she’s into nerdy things too...”

“A fact that doesn’t surprise me...” Louis had mused, rolling onto his back while Ryki prattled on for most of the night. Now, Louis hopped off the couch, simultaneously pulling up his pants that had slipped further down his hips. Sizing Ryki up, he said nothing else as he grabbed a beat up jacket off the back of the couch and walked out the door. Half way down the sidewalk something small and fuzzy ran into his leg.

“Oof...Hey fuzzball” He knelt down and started petting the honey colored puffball that wagged her tail happily at him. It took him a second before he realized there was someone attached to the leash and he looked up through a veil of long, slightly wavy brown hair.

“Oh...hello” He knew immediately who she was but waited a minute before he said anything. Louis’ attention was more focused on the dog that was snarfling his pant leg. The young woman in front of him looked like a pixie with bright hazel eyes and a look in her eyes that told him not to push her buttons. Ryki had described her as Betty Crocker with a glock, and he could see it.

“You must be Kristy, it’s nice to finally have a face to put with the name.”

Ryki had been standing in the middle of the living room where Louis had left him before drawing himself out of his reverie. Jon had come halfway down to ask him to start the coffee pot, he was going to work today. Nodding to no one in particular, Ryki moved into the kitchen opening the small window over the sink. As he was filling the coffee pot, he overheard part of the conversation and cursed. Louis wasn’t exactly the most subtle of people and the look on Kristy’s face from where he was standing already filled him with dread.

“Louis. I’m a friend of Ryki’s....” Louis responded to one of Kristy’s questions. Ryki set down the coffee pot and hurried out the door, while trying to make it look like he wasn’t hurrying.  Louis held the cards in his hand and Ryki knew that all it would take was for the other man to want to add a little bit of drama to the situation and he’d tell her everything.

”He let me sleep on the couch last night, a water main broke in my dorm.” He pushed his hair behind his ear as he spoke. Ryki flinched and joined them outside. The puppy, Lilly, seemed to take notice of his arrival and made a bee-line right for him.

“Call me later”  Louis’ tone was almost a taunt but Ryki shrugged it off and knelt down to love on Lilly. He left her alone as she started doing little circles off to the side of the two of them.

“Water main broke? That’s....” It was a terrible lie and both of them knew it.

“Yeah...Louis is a....friend” Ryki winced, not entirely sure he wanted to commit that much to whatever Louis was to him. “About last night...”

“Seems like you found what you wanted somewhere else.” Ouch. But he deserved that

“No...Kristy..I...uh...” He floundered. “I want to talk to you about...that.” He gestured at Louis, who was driving away already.  “Please?” Kristy sighed very loudly and told Lilly to hurry up before she walked away. Ryki cursed and followed after her, catching her arm before she got too far away.  

“Kristy.” With an exasperated sound, she stopped and rounded on him. Ryki had a couple of inches on her so he took a step back and looked down at her. His blue eyes were icier than usual.

“I have some things to take care of at the condo before I can move in. If you want to talk....do it fast.”

Fuck. Where did he start? 8 years ago he came to Southern Illinois to escape the man he was currently working for after killing that man’s brother with a meat mallet when he assaulted Ryki’s little sister...He had no intention, at the time, to fall in love but when he did he wanted to tell her everything. His plans were waylaid by the very same hit men who she later worked for and had him so scared to come back because of their threat of watching her and having her killed if he did? Yeah...probably not.

“I...” I’m a car thief working with a bunch of degenerates no better than I am and I probably work for the mob in Chicago or India or perhaps for both at the same time depending on who my crazy boss wants to answer to today but what I really want to do is be a musician and do something meaningful with my life? ....Nope.

“I’m a fucking disaster” Ryki frowned and Kristy rolled her eyes at him as he gestured with his hands and then dropped them at his side.

“For fucks sake, Ryki! You are not a disaster! Just tell me the damn truth! What do you want, Ryki Paelyae?”

Ryki let out a breath he had been holding and just shook his head.

“I want to be doing anything other than what I am. It’s easy to say, but it’s nearly impossible to do with who I work for and what I do.” Ryki ran a hand through his hair absently.

“I had no right to get angry with you about the Four but it still dug the dagger in deeper finding out that they groomed you while threatening me that they’d kill you if I ever came back.” He paused.

“I would  -love- to walk into work and tell Damian to get fucked, but the way that little rat is strung, he’d shoot me square between the eyes and never have a second thought. I...I never stopped thinking about you and when I saw you I swore I was losing my mind.”

Ryki searched Kristy’s face for some kind of reaction.

“Me too.” Her voice was quiet, most of the venom gone. “When I realized it was you, that wound I thought was healed opened again and then you reacted the way you did...and pushing me away...”

“I know. There was some part of me that hoped if I pushed hard enough I would convince myself that I didn’t...”

“Didn’t what?” Kristy closed the gap between them, which was a little difficult as Lilly was trying to go back inside. Ryki could smell her shampoo with her this close and it brought a smile to his lips. Without hesitation, he leaned into her, taking hold of the back of her head in one hand and kissed her deeply. The kiss only lasted seconds but it was everything he’d hoped it to be.

“That I still love you.” He said as he broke the kiss but didn’t pull away.

[ryollie]

year 1; ollie and talbott’s first meeting.

fic under the cut! beta-ed by rina @catherinestark-hphm​

“Hey, Penny?”

Penny jerked at the sudden mention of her name. Her cauldron, which was bubbling angrily prior to her being called, started simmering down as she stirred her new concoction with utmost care. Ollie was slouched against the wall of the artefact room looking bored out of his mind. Penny let out a tut of disapproval. If there was one thing she disliked, it was being interrupted when she was in the middle of her intricate potion experimenting sessions.

"What do you need, Ollie? I’m kind of in the middle of brewing this variation of dreamless sleep and not to be rude, but this is advanced Potions work that requires concentration.” Her cauldron hissed in disapproval and Penny furrowed her brows in dismay. The potion was missing something. Oh! “Would you mind passing me the crushed snake fangs in the corner, please?”, Penny asked offhandedly as she flickered through the pages of her potions journal.

Ollie scrunched his nose and grabbed a fistful of snake fangs to pass to her, hastily wiping off the residue dust on his robes after Penny reached for them. Who keeps a potions journal, Ollie mused to himself.

“Oh, nothing much…? I was wondering if you’ve heard of this Ravenclaw boy in our year? You know everybody, after all,” Ollie began hopefully. “I was hoping you had some extra intel on him…”

Penny narrowed her eyes and shot Ollie a suspicious look before shifting her focus back to her potion. Twelve stirs clockwise, she made a mental note in her head and began to count the number of stirs.

“You must be talking about Talbott Winger. The quiet boy with the ruby eyes?”

Ollie’s eyes lit up at her description of the Ravenclaw. “Yes! That’s him!” Realizing he sounded a tad too enthusiastic, Ollie quickly composed himself so that he would have a more neutral expression. He awkwardly ran a hand through his messy white hair as he tried to look casual. “Right. As I was saying, what do you know of him?”

Twelve turns done, now, five drops of snake venom. Penny was struggling to brew this potion whilst upkeeping this conversation, but Ollie’s sudden desire to find out more about Talbott piqued her interest. “Well, he’s a loner. I don’t think it’s best to ask me for his background information, though. Talbott values his privacy.” Penny hoped that emphasis on the word privacy would give Ollie the hint to stop prodding deeper. But when Ollie started sulking, Penny couldn’t help but giggle a little.

She looked up to Ollie, arching an eyebrow. "What’s with the sudden interest in him anyway? Tulip and Andre not Ravenclaw enough for you?”, she joked.

Ollie gave her an affronted look before giving a half shrug. “I dunno. I think he’s cool.”

“Cool? How so? I don’t know if you noticed, Ollie, but I think you beat anybody in our year when it comes to coolness by a landslide,” Penny countered. “Ollie Potter, son of the wizarding heroes Harry Potter and Draco Malfoy, well adored by the public as the poster child – born with his father’s eyes that are as green as a fresh pickled toad and luscious wavy silve-“

She blinked when Ollie interrupted her, suddenly exploding emotionally.

“That’s the thing, Penny – I’m tired of all the unnecessary attention I get! People glorify me for my looks or for my parents’ achievements, it’s a bit stupid, really. I think it’s bloody brilliant that Talbott can just fade into obscurity like that and not be bothered by anybody. I wish I could do that…” Penny’s expression softened as she reached for Ollie’s hands to give him a reassuring squeeze. “…then maybe I wouldn’t have to spend my free time hiding out in the dusty old artefact room watching you brew some complicated potion.”

Penny was glad she retracted her hand in time.

She glared at Ollie. “Well, nobody forced you to be in here, you know.” Her look of disdain slowly morphed into a look of sympathy as she thought about Talbott. “I think you should try to befriend Talbott, you could learn a thing or two from him about being inconspicuous and avoiding the crowd. And truthfully speaking, I think he needs more friends beside me and Professor McGonagall.”

Ollie looked aghast.

“It’s been half our year and he’s only made two friends?! One of which is a professor? Blimey, that’s depressing. Couldn’t be me,” he murmured.

Penny was so sure that if she rolled her eyes any harder, they would disappear into her eye sockets, never to return.

Ignoring Ollie’s snarky comment, she began absentmindedly chopping up the bat spleens that she needed for last part of the brewing process. “Apologies, Ollie,” she began sarcastically, “Not everybody is as popular as Saint Potter.”

Ollie’s cheeks flushed angrily as he bit back a retort. He had to play nice if he wanted to coax any information out of Penny. “Tell me more about him so I can befriend him better.”

Penny added in the chopped bat spleens. “No. You do it yourself, besides, I’m bus–” There, fifteen milligrams of bat spleens.

“Just tell me a little b–” Wait. Was it chopped bat spleens or powdered bat spleens?

“No Ollie, I already told you to–” Sweet Merlin, it was powdered bat spleens. Stupid Ollie, with his stupid distracting questions and-

BOOM.

Smoke started billowing wildly from the Artefact Room as both Ollie and Penny coughed violently, desperately swatting the smoke out of their faces. Ollie managed to regain his bearings fast enough to cast an air-freshening charm to clear the smoke and dust in the room. After the surroundings were clear, Penny looked down to her cauldron and let out a cry of dismay – she found it completely melted and the ruined remains of the potion she spent the whole afternoon painstakingly brewing sizzled sadly on the floor; like fire snuffed out of a Hungarian Horntail.

Ollie winced and instinctively backed away for his own safety. Away from Penny, not the botched potion, he thought humorlessly.

“Ollie…”, Penny’s eyes glimmered dangerously, and she gripped the remains of her cauldron tightly. “Can you just leave and go live out your friendship fantasies with Talbott or something? I’ve really got to finish this potion by today and frankly with you around, I don’t see this happening!” she said exasperatedly.

Ollie grimaced and guiltily nodded before leaving the Artefact Room, solemnly promising to himself that he would get Penny a new and much better cauldron as an apology for ruining her potion.

…+++…

Ollie was pissed.

He had been in the castle searching high and low for Talbott for the past half hour, and his break was almost over. Merlin, I knew he was difficult to find, but this is ridiculous, Ollie thought miserably to himself. He let out a deep sigh. Perhaps this friendship was never meant to be. Just as Ollie was about to resign to his cruel fate, he caught a glimpse of a head of chestnut-brown hair in the corner of the courtyard.

Talbott!

Ollie’s heart quickened in excitement as he glanced cautiously at Talbott in the courtyard, hiding behind a giant pillar. Okay, just play it cool, he told himself. Slowly approach and introduce yourself, he’s standing right the-

It happened so quickly that whatever just happened barely registered in Ollie’s mind.

Talbott vanished.

There was an eagle in his place.

Oh.

Talbott was an Animagus.

Ollie’s eyes widened as a shocked gasp escaped his lips. The eagle turned its head sharply facing Ollie, before a flurry of feathers and magic swirled around him, with Talbott re-emerging out of it.

“Potter. You were stalking me.” Talbott snarled and he glared at Ollie with cold, unfriendly eyes. Ollie felt his skin turn cold as Talbott walked towards him menacingly.

“I-I…I didn’t mean to!”, Ollie stuttered. He felt his skin pricking with discomfort and somehow, at such a crucial moment, he lacked the words to explain himself.

“Didn’t mean to? What, you just happened to be standing there in a corner looking suspicious?!”

“I-I just wanted to be your friend!”, Ollie cried out desperately.

Talbott seemed taken aback by the sudden declaration and carefully observed Ollie with his steel, hawk-like gaze.

“I don’t know if you noticed, but I don’t do friends, Potter. Much less with somebody of your calibre – being associated with you would just draw so much unnecessary attention.”

“I want to be like you,” Ollie blurted out.

“You want to be a social recluse?”, Talbott asked with a look of amusement on his face. He was curious about Ollie – he’s heard so much about him. He heard that Ollie Potter was an arrogant brat who had everything he ever wanted handed to him. He’s heard that Ollie Potter towered above the weak and enjoyed ripping those who dare challenge him to shreds. He’s heard that Ollie Potter used others’ secrets against them and managed to get away with every bad deed he’s done because he’s Harry Potter’s son.

The boy standing in front of him was nothing like he expected, though.

“I don’t like all the attention,” Ollie said earnestly, breaking Talbott’s train of thought. “I wish I could be like you and blend into the crowd. I just want to be normal… I’m awfully sorry I intruded on whatever you were doing. I didn’t know you were an Animagus; that’s brilliant, honestly! Is that how you get away from large crowds?”

Talbott surveyed Ollie with watchful eyes. For some peculiar reason, he seemed to be glowing. He had an untameable mop of natural silver hair, his messy bangs covering most of his forehead, yet just enough to reveal his eyes. His eyes were so green. His cheekbones were high, and his features were sharp and refined, yet a hint of feral energy leaking out of him. Talbott slowly began to relax as he realised Ollie wasn’t a threat and not what people at school perceived him to be; he couldn’t sense an ounce of evil from that white-haired mess. Strangely, the longer he seemed to be around him, the calmer he felt.

“Fancy teaching me how to be one too? Maybe I can fly away from the crowd,” Ollie added, laughing softly.

Talbott was jolted back into reality. He felt his ears tinge red upon hearing his laughter, and Ollie somehow seemed to be glowing even more now. What? It’s not like you hadn’t heard laughing before, Winger. Get a grip!

Before Talbott could fully come to his senses, he had agreed to teach Ollie how to be an Animagus.

“Really?!” Ollie gave Talbott a toothy grin and he stepped forward to give him a big hug – only for Talbott to take a giant step back, resulting in Ollie tumbling onto the floor in front of him. Ollie let out a wince of pain as he rubbed his arms. “Ow, what gives?”

“No,” Talbott said firmly as he crossed his arms. “I said I would help you become an Animagus, but I never said that we were friends.”

Talbott couldn’t help but feel a little guilty as the smile slid off from Ollie’s face.

“Well…Do you think there’s ever a chance that we’ll be friends in the future?” Ollie looked up hopefully.

“No, Potter. Well, do you still want my help or not?”

Ollie gave Talbott a mournful look that somewhat resembled a kicked puppy. As though it was some kind of spell, the glowing around him seemed to dim too.

Talbott sighed and shook his head. “Okay, fine. Maybe sometime in the future, but not now.”

“It’s a deal! I’ll see you tomorrow then, Talbott, same time same place!” Ollie smiled and brushed past Talbott’s hand with his. “It’s a date!”, he added cheekily before running off for his Charms class.

Talbott’s face flushed a deep red as he gingerly touched the part of his hand that Ollie left his mark on. Stupid Potter, he thought. Talbott hoped that he didn’t make a mistake by befriending him. In retrospect, being friends with Ollie Potter was not the smartest move for somebody who preferred being in the back lines. With a sigh, Talbott retreated into corridors in preparation for his Potions class - he’d certainly have a lot to think about when classes are done today.

[ashintheairlikesnow]

Daniel Michaelson: Trembling

(for @whumptober2019, Day 20: Trembling TW: serious violence/torture, SW: creepy whumper thoughts, Abraham Denner is a bad bad man)

“Am, am I doing okay so far?” The man’s blue eyes are wide, moving from one lawyer to another, a constant dance of seeking approval and reassurance from anyone he can see. 

Of course, no one in the courtroom can see the lawyers he is looking at, only him - he is the center of the frame, wavy red hair falling nearly to his eyes, scarred hands flat on the table but visibly shaking even through the digital image projected on the screen.

“You’re doing great, Mr. Michaelson. We just need to keep going, okay? Do you think you’ll be fine to continue?”

The man slowly nods. “I, I can try to keep going.” The warm blue eyes are rimmed in red by now - his testimony includes several edits and jump-cuts, and the jury doesn’t see the tears but they do see the way his face has changed, over time, from nervous but resolute to sniffing and uncertain and finally to frightened and eager to smooth over whatever offense he thinks he might have caused by not being perfect enough.

He doesn’t give up, he never stops trying.

He’s trying so hard to be brave, and it’s so fucking beautiful.

He’s being such a good boy, and Abraham wishes he were right here in the courtroom so he could tell him so right to his face.

Abraham Denner can nearly feel those tear tracks that shimmer only a little in the soulless fluorescent lights, the way they would give the slightest damp warmth if he ran his thumb down pretty red scar dug deep into his cheekbone, down the softer skin below it, all the way to his jaw. 

He could picture how Red would hold himself so still, trembling under Abraham’s touch, but he would never flinch or pull away. 

If Abraham wanted information from him, of course, it would all fall out of his mouth like a waterfall of words, whatever he wanted to hear, to know, all his for the taking. Red was all his for the taking, but these lawyers - they did not know how to take him correctly.

Instead, they question and dance around and try to coax without really coaxing. It’s annoying, but it draws everything out, so he tries to sit back and enjoy it. Honestly, who knows when he’ll see his Red all tear-stained and gorgeously tempting like this again?

Little less bleeding than he likes to see, granted, but he can just imagine that part.

His memories provide so many images of Red bleeding. 

“Okay, Daniel. Let’s keep going.”

“What is your name? Who do you belong to?” He holds Red by the chin, tilting it up to meet his eyes where the man kneels on the floor, his wrists tied with barbed wire Abraham found in the body’s workshop out back and held out in front of him at chest level, holding himself perfectly still so none of the barbs will cut him. 

He’s been kneeling like that for an hour in the smokehouse, in the dark with the scent of old fires and curing meat all around them. Abraham set a timer on his phone and sat back to take some photos, then simply waited, watching him, until the timer beeped.

It’s hot, and Red is pouring sweat in rivulets and rivers, but he doesn’t try to get up, and he doesn’t try to move his wrists even as his arms begin to tremble with the effort of holding themselves up like this.

“Red, m-my name is Red.” The voice shakes, it shivers for him. Red is always shivering for him, one way or another, when he bleeds. “My name is Red and I belong to y-you, Abraham, to you.”

“Good boy. Put your hands on the ground.” He watches Red do as he is told, smiling as some of the barbs finally prick into his skin and Red winces, laying his palms flat on the ground. “Now are we going to try any of that nonsense again? You going to try picking the lock on your chain again?”

“N-No. I’m sorry, Abraham, I won’t. I’m sorry.”

“Good.” Abraham lets one boot come out and press against Red’s wrists, forcing the barbed wire to dig into the skin, and listens to the sound of Red hissing through his teeth at the pain, digging his fingernails into the earthen ground, with perfect contentment.

Those blue eyes stay open, and they never look away from his, even as they well with tears.

Abraham leans down, reaches out, and gently wipes one tear away as it slides down that perfectly scarred cheek. “I adore you, Red,” He says softly. “You’re going to be our perfect puppy forever.”

Red licks his lips, breathing in shallow pants to avoid making any noise as Abraham puts even more weight over the wire wrapped around his wrists, and nods quickly. “Yes,” He says in a gasp. “Yes, I will, I will, please stop, I’m sorry, I’ll try harder to be good-”

“Yes,” Abraham says thoughtfully, and pulls his foot back, listening to Red’s relieved half-sob in response. “Yes, you will try harder. And you will be good.”

“Th-thank you, Abraham,” Red manages in a voice just above a whimper. “Thank you for listening to my apology, thank you for only hurting me a little, thank you.”

The way the lawyers question him is irritating. What Red really needs, of course, is someone in that room to give him some orders, using his true name, the name Abraham had gifted to him, a way to understand his place, to become what he was meant to be.

If they would only tell his good boy what to do or say, of course, Red would understand what they want from him. He would feel safer, more secure, hemmed in the way he deserves to be. Red feels safer in a life full of cages, now, defined bars made up of commands and orders and expectations. 

Red likes the rules. He understands his name.

All those lawyers in fancy suits do, though, is ask questions, they give him choices. It confuses Red, makes him struggle to figure out the right thing to say.

No one bothers to get Abraham’s advice about any of it, of course. He’s the bad guy, he’s the villain, just for simply doing what came naturally to him and turning Red into what he had been meant to be all along. 

In a world where the monsters all wear nametags and point at someone higher-up when called to accept responsibility, Abraham is a monster all on his own, one they cannot tame, and so they want to lock him away.

They call him a lot of things, in the newspapers that report on the trial - he gets four newspapers every day in jail - but mostly he’s picked up the nickname The Carver in the Cabin, and he kind of likes that one. It’s better than he thought he’d get, anyway, and his guards are quick to let him know that the Carver is the nickname that seems to be sticking.

He likes the guards. They’re his best friends now.

Granted, everyone he talks to is his best friend if you give him long enough - that’s always been true.

Abraham and Ashley have been caught so many times, but until Nate burned the cabin down none of those moments ever seemed to stick.

Abraham Denner could charm the pants off anyone - and often did, shortly before killing them.

Ashley could never seem to charm anyone - something about her was too cold, the violence in her coiled too close to the surface and too visible to anyone who looked right at her. Abraham could bury his.  

To him, though, Ashley was always his warm and loving twin sister. To him, she had been arms around him from birth, arms he could still sometimes feel even though she had been dead for more than four years.

Nate’s fault - but he couldn’t feel angry… he couldn’t feel anything but pride at his black-haired prince for being strong enough to pull it off, to leave. No, he’s not mad at Nate. 

He’s mad at Ashley for leaving Nate the opening to kill her. She should have known better.

In the video, Red rubs compulsively at the scars around his face, and Abraham feels his mouth go a little dry just watching him, pouring himself a glass of water (next to him, his defense lawyer flinches, just the slightest bit, and Abraham feels good about that). He sips slowly, savoring the cool clear nothing-taste of it while imagining Red’s tears were just for him, just for him and Nate, the way it should be.

Red, a tall and lanky man with heavily muscled shoulders, is hunched over like a child waiting for punishment with fear in his eyes, and it’s all because of Abraham Denner. He’s so perfect, so genuinely and perfectly beautiful. 

Nate was his true love, of course - and Abraham fully intended to find some way to see his sweet man again, either a prison visit or, hell, never write off an escape, he’d done more unbelievable things in his life… but he would never walk away from his Red, either.

“All right, Mr. Michaelson,” The prosecutor on the video is saying. “We need to move on to speaking about what happened in this photo. Would you be able to look at this photo for us, Daniel?” 

The soft scrape of a bit of paper being moved across the table, and Red reaches out as if to touch it. His eyes glance down, too quickly to do more than take in the basics, and then he looks back up, looking more confused than frightened, pulling his hands back. “We, we have to talk about, um, about that?”

“Yes. We need to understand what was happening in this photo. Would you be able to talk about that now? Obviously if you need a break-”

“No,” Red says quickly, leaning forward, pulling the paper towards himself, shaking his head so his hair falls back over his eyes. “No, I’m fine, I can do it, I’m sorry, I’ll just try harder, I can, I can be good and do this for you-”

That’s my good good boy, Abraham thinks with a grin. He knows the jury watches him. He can feel their revulsion when he smiles at Red’s tears. 

He doesn’t care.

Nothing about this trial was ever going to end in anything but a prison sentence, and Abraham isn’t the type to delude himself. He’s not here to try and find acquittal. He’s just here to have some fun before he gets locked away.

“I will show the photo using the secondary screen,” The prosecutor sitting at the other table speaks out loud. The judge gives his approval, and when the prosecutor clicks the remote to pull up a large-scale version of the photo the man is holding in the testimony, everyone in the courtroom sees a photo of Red sitting on the ground, his face turned away and eyes shut but his mouth open wide in a scream, his hands wrapped tightly around himself.

Nathaniel Vandrum is crouched just behind him, one arm around him, one hand buried in his hair to pull Red against his chest. Nate’s chin rests on top of Red’s head and he’s glaring right at the camera - right at Abraham - with pure, loveless fury.

Closed around Red’s left leg is a bear trap. The smears of bright red showing through his torn jeans seem too brilliant to be real in the courtroom’s yellow light. 

Abraham takes a deep breath, seeing it blown up so large, larger than life really, and has to take another drink of water before he’s totally bowled over by the incredibly knife-sharp surge of pure joy that rocks through him head to toe.

Joy, and something much darker.

“I stepped in a bear trap,” Red says in the video testimony, staring down at the photo. “He took a photo before he let Nate get me out of it.”

“Why were you in a bear trap, Mr. Michaelson?”

“I was bad and I did not apologize,” Red says, head tilted down at the photo, tracing his fingers along it. “When you do something wrong, you apologize, and you get hurt so that you do not do it again.”

Someone in the jury coughs hard.

Red’s eyes are glittering again, and Abraham can see him trembling, even though this isn’t really happening right now.

He shivers so well, little Red.

He knows just how to shake the way Abraham likes best.

“Are you saying that Mr. Denner forced you into the trap? We need you to be absolutely clear, for the record, Daniel. Can you be clear about this for us?”

Red takes a deep breath, licking his lips, and slowly nods. He looks around the ring of lawyers offscreen again, looking for their approval, and then lets his eyes drop back down to the photo. Abraham looks over to the jury to see some of them glaring right at him with hatred, most of them looking at the photo still, and one old woman dabbing at the corner of her eyes with a tissue.

“Yes,” Red says finally, and his voice is shaking as hard as he is. “He told me to step in the trap as hard as I could or he would, um, he would… he would…” His voice trails off and he hunches over, mumbling too low to be heard.

“Please, Daniel, please try to speak clearly for us, just to finish this last little bit. Then we’ll take another break. Describe what happened.”

“He told me I had to step in the bear trap to punish myself or he would hurt Nate again.” Red looks up, pleading with them to understand with his wide eyes. “He, he said he would really hurt him this time - he’d break his leg or worse, if I didn’t go in the trap, so I had to. The last time I wouldn’t, I wouldn’t take my punishment like a g-… like he wanted me to, he beat Nate so badly, so.. so I had to go in the trap. I had to step in it, I had been, I had been bad I had tried to say no again, and I don’t get to say no. Puppies don’t get angry, pets don’t… I had to, I, I had to be good, I had to…”

They cut the video short again, but Abraham isn’t done with this memory, not at all. He’s going to be thinking about the bear trap for days, running over and over in his mind the moment Red had agreed to do exactly what he said to spare Nate.

The way Nate had glared at him over Red’s head, holding onto him, the way the guilt had shredded Nate for days and days, that Red had been so willing to take a punishment to save him. 

“I’m sorry, Abraham, please, I’ll do it. Don’t hurt him, please!”

“I won’t, if you step right in. Not just a little step, either. These things are made for much larger animals than my skinny little puppy. You stomp your foot right into it and take your punishment, or Nate takes it for you.”

Red’s hair is sweat-soaked and stuck to his forehead, even out here in the chill air. He nods quickly, hugging himself around his middle as though it would ever make it any better. “I will, I’ll do it, Abraham, just, just give me a second, I just need…”

“Take a moment. Deep breaths, Red. In and out, in and out. That’s my good boy.” Red’s whole body shakes, but he nods, breathing slow and deep, just the way Abraham tells him to. Nate steps over to him, hands on either side of his face.

“You don’t h-h-have to d-do this,” Nate says softly, gently, and Abraham missed the love in his words, because he was so busy searching for it when Nate looked at -him-. “I c-can take it. I’ve t-t-taken it before, Red. I can t-take it. Don’t d-d-do this just because of m-me.”

Red looks up at him, tears in his eyes, and shakes his head. “I’ll do it. You were so hurt last time, I can do it, Nate. Okay? Okay, Nate?”

Nate just pulls him close for a hug, holds him tightly, and finally steps back. “I’ll b-be right h-h-here to hold you after,” He says, gently, reassuring, leaning in to kiss Red’s forehead, each side of his face, the tip of his nose. “I’ll h-hold your hand.”

Abraham’s not jealous, not yet. He had taken Red to give Nate a friend, after all, and in Abraham’s world there was no such thing as a platonic friend. The puppy’s not a person, and taking is what puppies like Red are made for.

Red nods, stepping back, taking breaths as deeply and slowly as he can.

He turns back to the bear trap, one hand gripped white-knuckled onto Nate’s, as he moves towards it, staring down with abject dread. He shivers, he shakes, and Abraham all but purrs watching it.

Red’s left foot is trembling as he slowly lifts it up above the open trap.

He looks back at Abraham - maybe hoping for some sort of last-minute mercy - but Abraham just smiles and waits, shaking his head. “Will you be good for me, Red?”

“I’ll be good,” Red whispers. “I’m going to try harder. I can be good, just… just don’t hurt Nate.” Then he jams his left foot down into the trap, onto the little metal plate in the center, as hard as he can.

The trap snaps shut around his left leg and Red collapses long before the pain reaches him. He gives out and falls backwards, Nate grabbing onto him tightly around the chest and waist, holding onto him and murmuring soothing nonsense sounds.

Red goes suddenly still, his eyes wide and white-ringed, and he begins to scream. The sound shatters the woods around them, sends a flock of birds flying up into the sky in a burst of wings, bounces around the trees and crisp air, goes on and on and on.

Red screams, and screams, and screams.

The video testimony cuts to after the break, his little Red looking shaken but still resolute, still resolved to see this through. Abraham glances over to the prosecution’s side and sees Red’s little brother, that Ryan kid, ashen under his darker skin (adopted brothers, and still the brother comes here every day but the parents don’t… interesting, that) and staring at nothing now, twisting a little bit of paper into shreds with his hands.

He sees Nate, looking straight at the screen still, his jaw locked tightly and his green eyes totally focused. He doesn’t look to Abraham. He doesn’t see what his reaction was.

But Abraham settles back. He doesn’t care about this next bit of testimony.

No, he closes his eyes and relives, one more time, the moment his beautiful Red put his foot down in the trap.

[paradisobound]

Sail Away With Me: Part 3

Summary: It was a fluke. Dan shouldn’t have ever gone with Sam to a party on a yacht. He shouldn’t have trusted her to go. But in a chance encounter, he ends up in bed with Phil Lester, a billionaire CEO of a luxury clothing company. When he thinks he’s screwed up enough, he realizes he’s in way too deep. Because Phil Lester has fallen in love with him. The catch: Dan gave Phil a fake name and all Phil has to remember Dan by is the tattoo on his hip and the necklace he left behind.

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 2.8k

Warnings: A semi-explicit sex scene between Dan and another male

Pairing: Instagraminfluencer!dan and CEO!Phil

This is a chaptered work. Updates every Saturday around 1pm EST

**MASTERLIST | ARCHIVE OF OUR OWN | WATTPAD**

DAN POV 

“I got an email from a company called Luxor.” 

The breeze is blowing through Dan’s curls as he pushes his hand through them and shuffled them a bit on top of his head. They were sat on the balcony just outside of Sam’s room, overlooking the coast. The mist from the water kept kissing his skin, leaving his cheeks a bit dewey. 

Sam looks up at him, tucking a stray strand of her wavy red hair behind her ear. She’s wearing her glasses this morning and although Dan’s seen her with them often, he knows that if she were to be photographed like that right now, she would definitely be seen as ‘over-casual’. But truth was Sam was nearly blind. 

She wraps her lanky arms around her knees and draws them closer to her chest as her shorts ride up her thighs a bit. She sniffles a bit and wipes at her nose before finally opening her mouth to say something to Dan. 

“Not impressive.” 

“Oh?” 

Sam shrugs again and lets her feet down from the edge of the chair, putting them on the floor. “Luxor is just another stereotypical clothing brand.” 

“But the email seems promising.” 

Dan scrolled a bit further down the email where they said they would love to meet up with him at their London office to talk about negotiations for a potential contract deal between them. To say Dan was intrigued was an understatement. He was used to companies reaching out to him for his large Instagram presence but he often doesn’t get anything that pays him anywhere near what Luxor would probably pay him. 

He lets out a sigh and looks back out at the coast. In the distance, he can see boats of all kinds: yachts, sail boats, everything. Dan takes in a deep breath, holds it, and then lets it go as he relaxes his shoulders. 

He’s actually feeling pretty lucky that he wasn’t too hungover this morning. He definitely cannot say the same for Sam who currently looked like death ran over her twice but he can at least say he’s feeling better. 

Although, the tinge in his backside was definitely an indication of his night last night. He wouldn’t even be entirely sure that the night was real if it wasn’t for that light ache in his lower back. If he closes his eyes, he can still feel everything and it makes his skin tingle. 

“It’s up to you,” Sam says, drumming her fingers against the side of her chair. Her finger nails made a pleasing yet slightly obnoxious clicking every time they hit the metal. “But I don’t think Luxor is worth it.” 

Dan shrugs. “I’ll think about it.” 

Sam shrugs again and leans down, resting her chin against the railing of the balcony. 

“How are you feeling?” Dan asks her, knowing full well that she isn’t feeling the best. She follows his question by another shrug—she must be in that mood today—and then sits up. She reaches into her hoodie pocket and fishes out a pack of cigarettes, tapping one out and placing it between her lips as she lights it. 

“Does that answer your question?” She asks with a chuckle. “I’m hungover as fuck and I have a headache thats bigger than the whole of the UK.” 

Dan lets out a soft chuckles and reaches over, rubbing her arm gently. She twitches for a second and then laughs. “We’re a mess.” 

“And that’s why we’re best friends.” 

“Because we’re both hot messes?” Sam asks with a lighthearted chuckle. 

Dan nods and lets out a loud snort as he reaches for the table in front of him and picks up his cold coffee and takes a sip. 

Sam finishes her cigarette and puts it out in the ash tray that she has hidden under her chair. She then lets out a loud groan and stretches up before she kicks her long legs out in front of her and stands up. “Let’s go.” 

“Where?” Dan asks. 

He knows its the afternoon, but he’s didn’t know they had any plans. 

“Lets go swimming.” 

She extends her hand out and Dan takes in as she lifts him up and forces him back inside the doors to her bedroom and they get dressed to go out. She calls for a cab via the PA system she has in her room and then they leave to go towards the beach. 

***

“We couldn’t get ahold of Phil Lester.” 

They’re sat on the beach, the warm summer breeze blowing in their hair. People are walking all around them and Dan is digging his toes into the hot sand. 

“Oh?” 

Sam nods with a sympathetic look. She’s got her hair tossed up in messy double braids now and her freckles are darkening in the sun. Dan reckons that Sam is actually quite pretty. And if he was attracted to females, he’s sure he would jumped on the opportunity to be with her. But it’s just not something that would have worked. 

They tried...once. When they were newly eighteen and Dan was still figuring out if he liked girls. They met at a club while Dan was on a trip to Ibiza with his university friends for a vacation. Dan had no idea who Sam was when they first met but they shared a few drinks and found themselves to be natural friends. 

Dan tries to forget about how they tried to have sex once and he totally failed at it, panicking just as Sam undressed. And it wasn’t even like a genuine panic, it was more that he knew this wasn’t what he wanted and the thought of it was unsettling to him. Sam didn’t mind, and despite the first few hours being a bit weird, they can laugh about it now. 

“I asked Gillian to get ahold of Jeanna Trombley who is Phil Lester’s personal assistant. She takes all of his calls and everything. And she tried but Jeanna said that Phil Lester was far too busy right now to answer a call about a missing possession so...sorry, babes.” 

Dan feels a bit of sadness willing in his chest. He pulls his knees up to his chest and lays his cheek on his knees, turning his head towards Sam. She reaches out and puts a hand on his back and rubs it and that simple act is enough to make him sniffle and will himself not to cry right now. 

“I’m sure you’ll get it back one day.” 

“How?” Dan asks. “He doesn’t even know my real name and I doubt he even remembers me.” 

“My dad is good friends with Phil Lester, in case you didn’t know.” Sam juts in. “He does a lot of business deals and in return, he often offers Phil a place to stay in our hotels in a private executive suite just for him. I’m sure I can ask him to see if he can even talk to Phil.” 

Dan lets out a scoff. He know Sam’s dad wouldn’t ever do anything like that. 

“He probably is keeping it as a trophy.” 

“A trophy?” Sam asks, clarifying. 

Dan nods. “Yeah, like, oh I fucked this guys brains out and his necklace fell off so I’m going to keep this to remind of that night. You know, that kind of a trophy.” 

“I don’t think Phil would be that selfish.” Sam says, furrowing her brows. “I’ve met him before...I mean, I don’t think...” She stutters on her words. “Yes, it’s true that there are times where Phil can be a bit cold hearted but I don’t think he’d keep someone else’s possession for a trophy.” 

Dan shrugged. His skin was feeling a bit hot and he was beginning to feel a bit sweaty and gross. Sam let out a sigh. “I don’t know what else you want to do, Dan.” She says, her words cutting through to him. “There isn’t much to do at this point. Honestly, I would just let the necklace go. For all we know, maybe you didn’t lose it in his bed. Maybe you lost it on the dock or somewhere else in the yacht. You’re just thinking of the worst case scenarios right now.” 

Dan swallows and reluctantly nods because Sam was right. But he didn’t want to admit it. The necklace was still something that meant a lot to him and it wasn’t easy for him to come to the realization that he might have to part with it. 

“Come on, lets go swimming.” She says, grabbing his hand and pulling him up. “There is no point getting all pissy right now. It’s our last here. Let’s make the most of it.” 

Dan lets a smirk take over his lips and he dips his head down as he allows for her to drag him into the warm Mediterranean water. 

***

They ended up in a club somewhere, the music blasting and the lights strobing all around them. Dan’s got a few drinks down and Sam has a few more downed and they’re well past sober. Sam is dancing with some random guy in the crowd and Dan is dancing a bit off to the side where their table of empty drinks and cups are. He’s downed his third mixed drink and he’s reaching for a test tube shot from someone walking around the dance floor. He reckons he should be a bit more responsible but he’s also way past the point of giving any fucks whatsoever. 

The guy with Sam gets a bit handsier with her and Dan looks protectively to make sure she’s okay. And she definitely is by the way she’s kissing up and down the Adonis’s neck. Dan watches her for a few moments before she takes the mans hand and winds her way through to their table. 

“I’m leaving with Nick so you know the drill.” 

And Dan does. If Sam doesn’t text him within three hours of leaving, he needs to call her and etc...

He gives her a smile and watches her leave out the door with this fit guy as he left stood alone with an empty test tube shot and another one coming his way. He’s tempted to reach for it but he’s stopped when someone comes up next to him. 

“You’re looking a bit lonely over here.” 

Dan turns and makes eye-contact with a beautiful tanned male stood in front of him. His knees go a bit weak and he feels already the tell-tale signs of arousal spinning in his stomach at looking at the attractive male. His voice was sugary sweet in the best way possible and his bright green eyes shone directly into Dan’s brown. 

“Maybe.” Dan answers, smirking a bit. 

“You’re too cute to be lonely,” The male says. “I’m surprised no one else has snagged you up yet.” 

Dan shrugged. “Most people can’t handle me.” 

“Handle you?” 

Dan nods, playing along. “I’m a bit more than people can normally handle.” 

“Is that so?” The man asks, moving a forward. “Show me.” 

Dan reaches out and takes the mans hand in his palm and drags him into the middle of the crowded dance floor. He knows the man probably thought Dan meant he was going to drop to his knees and blow him in the middle of the floor but this was nicer. 

He wrapped his arms loosely around the mans neck and they swayed together as the mans hands placed themselves firmly on Dan’s hips. 

“What’s your name?” Dan asks. 

“Ivan. Yours?” 

“Dan.” 

Ivan smiles at him and leans down, pressing his lips against Dan’s neck and sucking a bit onto the tender skin. Dan’s breath hitched and he let out a low moan as he clung in closer to Ivan and let him suck continuous kisses onto his neck. 

They left, not long after. Dan shot Sam a text saying he was going home with a guy too and the fact that she replied with a thumbs up emoji made him chuckle a little bit. They took a taxi to the guys home, which was a small little villa on the coast. 

Once inside, it didn’t take long for the heat between them to intermix with the heat of the night. Dan shimmied off his clothing somewhere in Ivan’s living room and Ivan’s pants found their way with his as well. 

Dan went down on him, sucking him off the best he could but by the second round “Yes! Suck that cock!” came from Ivan’s mouth, he was getting to feel a bit less excited about what was happening. 

He still very much wanted to have sex, that was definitely still true. But somewhere in the back of his head as he swung his legs over Ivan’s hips and seated himself on top, he could still hear Phil’s voice and feel his hands on his skin. Ivan’s hands felt bigger, and colder. Phil’s were soft and gentle, warm to the touch like they were sear Dan’s skin if they were left too long. 

It took Dan a lot longer to get off with Ivan. Ivan finished pretty fast and then proceeded to let Dan ride him until he finished. But by the time Dan was close,  his thighs were aching and he was beginning to feel like this was more a chore than actually getting himself off. 

He came with a whimper and then pushed off from Ivan, landing beside him on the bed. Ivan kissed him, softly one last time, before Dan pushed off and told him he needed to get going. My friend is probably worried. He lied. 

He grabbed his clothing and dressed as fast as he could. He used Sam’s contact to call for a taxi and he waited outside for it and jumped in as soon as they came. When he got to Sam’s home, she was inside too, sitting on her bed wiping off her melted make up. 

“Was your night a bust too?” She joked, the remnants of black mascara on her cheeks. 

“Kind of.” 

Sam chuckled. “Nick came after a few seconds and then blacked out on me. I was back here within an hour.” 

“Ivan was okay but it took me a while to finish.” 

She sucked in a breath. “Oh no.” 

Dan looked at her and crossed his arms over his chest. “Oh no, what?’ 

She shook her head. “Was it because you were thinking about a certain someone instead?” 

“Don’t be daft.” Dan says with a laugh. 

“Your red spot on your cheek just got darker. You’re lying.” 

Dan felt his cheeks light up more “I wasn’t thinking about Phil!” 

She shrugged back and the conversation ended. 

He fell asleep next to Sam in her bed that night and in the morning, a private cab was waiting for them to take them to the airport where they would catch Sam’s family’s private jet back to London. 

It was bittersweet for Dan as he watched the plane lift off out the window. He really felt as if a part of him was being left behind in Amalfi and he knew that part of him was currently in Phil Lester’s hands. 

***

Dan went back to his flat in London with a heavy feeling in his chest. He threw his suitcase down on the floor of his living room and then collapsed on his couch. Sam said she would be over a bit later for take out but he was really enjoying the time alone right now. 

He pulls out his laptop from his bag, the first time he’s done it the week he’d been gone. He finds his browser is open to his emails and he refreshes the page and looks at the Luxor email, still sitting proudly at the top of the list. 

He reads it over again and sees that they want him to be a brand model for their Instagram page. They want him to model their clothing on their Instagram and his own and they would compensate him for it. He could easily do that. 

Shooting back an email, he agrees to whatever they want him to do and he asks if he can meet up at their headquarters in London sometime this next week. He closes his laptop down and waits for their reply just as soon as a text appears on his phone. 

Sam: Phil’s assistant just got back. Says Phil doesn’t have your necklace. He only has one that belongs to a guy named Ethan...

Sam: I tried to tell her it was probably yours but Phil is adamant on not giving up the necklace to anyone besides Ethan...

Dan felt tears rush to his eyes and he wiped them away stubbornly with the regret of what he did that night with Phil. 

Because fuck Phil Lester and fuck everything else too. 

[kosmosian-quills]

Angel Prologue - Part 1

I’m feeling brave so decided to post what I have for the prologue for Angel. It is still just the first draft, and I’m worried that it’s very much an infodump, since it is the first part of the actual story that is going to get read. I do have more but I’m reworking one or two things about it and will post it soon, but any feedback you can give me for the first ~2000 words would be very appreciated!

Tag list (please let me know if you would like to be added or removed!) - @cirianne​, @writeblrbraindump​

May 4th, 2026

I’m late. Father will be most displeased.

I’m also a complete mess, and if I arrive to our Independence Day festivities looking the way I am, I would cause a scandal. It’s unbecoming of the Crown Princess to look and act in such a way. I have my father’s, and my reputation to uphold.

I’m still here in my room, with my friends frantically trying to get me more presentable than I am right now. My friends mean well, they’re trying to keep me out of getting in to trouble with my father, and I admire them for caring so deeply about a man who doesn’t care about what I think.

On the day of our Independence Day festivities, no less. What a cruel irony.

“Please, Andzia, I need to fix this.”

Karolina is one of my Maidens of Honour – the five girls who were assigned to be my companions back when I was 17 years old. They are my only friends in the whole world, too.

Karolina is a tall young woman, just younger than me, with fiery red hair that surpasses her shoulders and emerald green eyes. She’s trying to fix my dress, as the shoulder pad keeps coming loose. Her dress is much simpler than mine – a lilac and violet coloured shin length dip-hemmed dress with a sheer layer over the top of the delicate satin, adorned with golden flowers over the skirt. I have to admit, she’s better at dressmaking than I am. We made these dresses ourselves, and it was now coming back to bite me.

All of my friends are wearing a dress of their own making. It’s a tradition we have here. Our Independence Day is represented by our celebration of springtime, the Flower Festival. My country, to anyone who does not live here, is known only by this event. My country is famous for practically nothing but its flowers.

I can tell that my friends over by the door are getting a little restless waiting. They know there will likely be a telling off for me in store later for this. I wish I cared about that as much as they did.

My friends do look stunning in their dresses, over there. It’s when I’m looking at them, here and now, that I am realising just how much my sour mood is likely to put them to shame. I do feel bad about that, but they aren’t the ones who will be punished for my tardiness. It will be me.

“Are we ready, Kasia?” Zofia asks from her place by the door.

Zofia is my eldest Maiden of Honour, she’s even older than me. She’s a wonderful friend, even if she sometimes takes her job more seriously than I do. It took her longer than everyone else to stop calling me “your highness” when we’re in private. She has long, dark hair with chestnut eyes and tanned skin, and her navy dress is not shy about hiding the prosthetic left leg she wears.

“Please stop Kasia, I think I’m fine now,” I tell her, taking one last glance at myself in the mirror. I’m still a mess, but a better concealed mess. At least, I am compared to what I looked like 20 minutes ago.

“Alright, Andzia,” she surrenders, putting down the box of pins onto the dressing table, and we both make our way to the door.

I pass by my other Maidens over there.

Anastazja is sporting a dress that looks like a rose, a ruffled red skirt that goes down to her shins and perfectly accentuates her athletic figure. Her normally wavy blonde hair is tied up in a ribbon, with small red roses dotted in her hair, something that seems to make her blue eyes shine. She’s fiddling with her shoes, she doesn’t normally wear heels. She can’t get away with it today, unfortunately.

Irena is a bespectacled girl with shoulder-length brown hair, dark blue eyes and tanned skin like Zofia’s. She’s wearing a bright green dress that goes further down, all the way to her ankles. She’s not any taller than me, but she isn’t skinnier either. Honestly, I don’t care about that. She gives wonderful hugs like that.

My final Maiden is Matylda, and she is the youngest of my friends. She’s only just turned 19, which is not much different than me being 21, but she was only 15 when she was chosen for this job. She is small, skinny and wearing a warming yellow and gold dress. When she smiles, she really makes the world seem brighter. She has untameable blonde curls and such bright blue eyes.

The door is held open for me by Zofia, who lets me out of the room first, before we all take off down the corridor together. There’s Sergeant Jelen there, too, stood just to the side of my bedroom door. He’s here for one reason, and that is my protection. He’s only been doing this for a year or so, but I still lament the fact that he’s even necessary. I am grateful to have him now, it’s just unfortunate that where I stand with needing such protection is too little, too late.

Sergeant Jelen is a tall, strong man, with straight brown hair and brown eyes, and he is looking as smart as ever in his uniform – the uniform that marks him as a member of the Royal Guard. A deep, rich green coat, black trousers, and the one thing that marks him as not just a simple guard who patrols the corridors. The small pin on his lapel, with burgundy and dark blue stripes beneath a golden rose. It’s my symbol – the symbol of my position. That pin is so precious that very few have been honoured to wear it – it means that he works directly for me, the Crown Princess.

He’s trailing behind us, as he always does, probably more than a little irritated at my tardiness too.

I can hear a bell tolling somewhere in the distance – the clock tower in the courtyard that signals where I am supposed to be. Ding dong, ding dong, they chime, and no matter how quickly I proceed down this hallway, it won’t make me any less late than I am, ding dong, ding dong. Besides, the festivities do not need me to commence them. Father just likes me to be there when they do commence. Or at least, he did previously.

The normally cold stone corridors are vibrant with colours today, with all the flowers growing here bursting with life. The banners and drapes that hang as decorations from the ceiling are all just as uniform as ever – blue and burgundy. The colours of my family, the colours I wear for only the most important public occasions. The sunshine is streaming in through the windows, catching me in the eyes as I pass, but I don’t care enough to shield them from the intense light. The briefest of shadows that blocks my view when I walk past every wall partition is enough.

I have a hold on the skirt of my dress, my hands clenched into fists as I do so. The orange fabric is itchy, I don’t know why I didn’t just fix last year’s dress. I haven’t grown since then, or at least, I don’t think I have. Why didn’t I –

BOOM!

The sudden noise is enough to grind me to a halt, and the floor shakes almost simultaneously. I can hear my friends behind me gasp out loud with me.

There’s a brief moment between that sound and the next one, it’s a strange silence, where no one is quite able to process what is going on, before it kicks in. There’s something else, and it is getting louder and louder.

“What was…?” I can hear Irena ask that, but nothing more.

The Sergeant is in front of me, protectively, and I am waiting for his word. I have no idea what any of that noise is.

“Go back to your room, now,” he commands, leading me back there within moments.

Once we’re back inside, he stands in the doorway. “I’m going to find out what that was. Stay here, lock the door, do not open it for anyone except me, do you understand?”

We nod, and then another noise echoes through the corridors.

A quiet, muffled, rapid clicking.

The Sergeant notices the sound too, looking out at the corridor, before turning to us for one last instruction.

“Stay away from the windows, stay quiet, your Highness. I will be back soon.”

And with that, he was out of the door, I heard the lock slide into place when Kasia did as he instructed of us, before retreating into the centre of the room with us.

“What is going on?” Matylda asked quietly from the back of us.

“I don’t know,” I croaked, my eyes solely focussed on the door. Waiting. Waiting for someone to either approach, or bang on it, or something. “That… that was an explosion, wasn’t it?”

“Will the Sergeant be okay?” Irena wondered aloud, still keeping her voice low.

Anja had not taken much chance, and had rushed to the windows to draw the curtains, enveloping us in relative darkness. The room was still bright because the curtains didn’t do much to block light, but combined with the lights already being off from when we left the first time.

“Do you think we’ll need to get out of here?” someone whispered.

“Maybe, should we get out of these dresses?”

“I can’t imagine it would do any harm –“

It took a few minutes, minutes we spent agonisingly waiting on the floor as those screams and sounds continued to echo to us. Not quite reaching us, but close enough to be terrifying. We were no longer in our fine, floral dresses. No, instead we were in the clothes we wore yesterday, that we had put out for laundry, that had yet to be collected. My clothing still consisted of a skirt and white blouse, which is not very practical considering the circumstances, but anything is better than the delicate fabric and heels I was wearing before.

Pounding footsteps sprinted past us, pairs of them. More than one person, but they didn’t stop, they ran right past us. I could hear us all collectively breathe again when blissful silence.

But it really didn’t last long.

Barely a minute later, and we can hear banging further down the corridor. Doors being kicked open. Out in the main hallway, there are very few doors that are connected to the corridor because the rooms are very large.

It means that they will be at this door within moments.

With no time to run or hide.

Someone was there, outside the door. No one moved, we all stayed right where we were. We daren’t move, we didn’t have anywhere to go if we could.

They had to know we were in here, the amount they were fighting at the door told me that much. I heard them. It’s not the Sergeant, and his words are the only thing in my head right now. Don’t open that door for anyone except him. Stay quiet.

Whoever was out there, we can’t trust them. Gunfire and explosions taught me that much.

The door gave way soon enough. I had no way to stop that, but the men that stormed in were armed with guns, aimed right at us! Two of them!

“Stay where you are! Hands on your heads!”

[monicaexol]

EXO Reactions

~ Stay with Me ~

Minseok (Xiumin)

He stares out his window, eyes chasing the small figures that ran in and out of the building. A raindrop trails down the glass and falls into the depth of air that lurked below the windowsill. Minseok sighs, thoughts that perhaps this relationship was taking a toll for the worst resurfaced in his mind.

You were out much later than usual, for longer than usual, with people who you usually never hung out around. But this unusual behaviour of yours became so repetitive that it almost became... usual. The front door clicks open, you shuffle inside, remving your raincoat and quickly closing the door behind you.

You hoped he would understand that it wasn’t a choice, you weren’t choosing your work over him at all. You walk into the kitchen, finding Minseok seated on the dining table with his head resting on it. ‘He fell asleep waiting for me.’ As soon as you came near, he lifts his head, eyes glimmering in peace that you were finally home.

Minseok stands, hand instantly moving to cup around your cheek. “You’ve been working for too long, Y/N-ah. You need to relax, let your body rest. Let me take care of you, stay with me.”

Junmyeon (Suho)

Junmyeon presses a hand against your forehead, his own creases with worry when he notices just how heated you are. “You have a fever, Y/N-ah. What did we say about working over time?” You huff, crossing your arms as if you held any sort of reasonable protest. He sighs and pulls the blanket further up till it tucked right below your chin.

“I’m going to get a hot towel, don’t you dare move, Missy.” Junmyeon was rather homely, though many would never see this side of him. Outdoors, he was formal. With his friends, he was casual. But with you, he was all things honey and gold. Junmyeon rushes back into your bedroom, a bowl of warm water in one hand and a clean towel in the other.

He sits on the seat next to your bed, eyes suddenly glinting from the spotlight of the lamp next to him. His nimble fingers carefully place the dampened towel onto your forehead, “You make me worry...” he mumbles, licking his lips once, “I want you to be healthy.”

You nod your head, an apologetic smile tugging at your lips. Junmyeon wasn’t always this soft, seeing this side of him brought a strange tingle of warmth to your heart. Perhaps you should fall ill move often. “And until I can see that you’re better, you will not be going to work. Just, stay with me.”

Yixing (Lay)

The doorbell rings, Yixing jumps to his feet, eyes shining as if emitting all the rays of the sun. He opens the door, only to be greeted with a fairly tired and sleepy looking Y/N. “Babe...” he mumbles while you step inside wordlessly and put your shoes away. “Honey, I made us some breakfast.”

You nod your head, giving him a brief thumbs up before rushing into the bathroom. Yixing knows how hard it is to work night shifts, spending the whole time staying awake. Sometimes you weren’t even given a break and it irked him on how dangerous it was for your health.

He jogs to the kitchen, and starts plating the French toasts he made, and waited at the dining table for you. Though almost twenty-five minutes later, he wondered if you were just taking an extremely stretched bath or if something had happened. Yixing rushes to his feet, upon reaching the bathroom door, he knocks thrice.

“Y/N, you okay honey?” Nothing. The bedroom door was slightly open, so he shuffles inside, only to find your body curled on top of the bed. Yixing smiles, and seats himself next to you. He notices your under eye bags, hollow cheeks, he sighs, “I’m not going to let you work night shifts again, you’ll stay with me.”

Baekhyun

Morning light sneaks into your bedroom, passing through your drawn curtains and landing gently on your husband’s face. Baekhyun turns on his side, closed eyes suddenly moving. He stretches out his hand, trying to find the curve of your waist so he could pull you closer. Though after a minute of waving his hand around, he opens his eyes, only to realise that you weren’t home yet.

“Aish, what time is it?” Baekhyun sits up and just as he does, the front door opens. A soft smile pulls at his lips. You open your umbrella and place it on the balcony, allowing the rain water to trickle away. Moments later, a pair of warm arms wrap easily around your waist, “Y/N-ah.” Baekhyun’s breath scans your cheek as he mumbles, perhaps he was still sleepy.

You chuckle and try to turn around, but he doesn’t let go. And just like that, steady in his arms, he lifts your feet off the ground and carries you inside. “Baek” you whine playfully, and he wrigggles his eyebrows to tease you. “Sit here,” He places you on the couch and jogs into the kitchen.

After a minute or so, he reappears with two mugs of hot chocolate and toast, “I added extra marshmallows for you.” Taking a sip, he shows you his chocolate moustache and you felt your heart swell with the sugar overdose. “See how fun I am?” You nod in agreement, “Don’t work too much, stay with me.”

Jongdae (Chen)

“I’ll be okay, Dae.” He mumbles, mimicking your voice from yesterday evening. “It’s only one more night shift.” He copies, reciting your words while lying on bed and pretending to twirl his hair in his fingers like you would. He sits up suddenly, ‘She just never listens does she?’ Jongdae has been worried.

After noticing how dark your under eye bags have gotten and even how much weight you have lost, it stressed him. Knowing you were awake all night meant that he couldn’t fall asleep either. What time was it now? 6am? He reaches to grab his phone from his bedside table, it was 8am. You’d be home soon.

So he stands and runs into the kitchen, although he wasn’t much of a chef, he thought he could prepare something... anything, so that you wouldn’t have to. “I think this looks right?” Jongdae wonders to himself as he glances down at his plate, your plate, filled with a failed attempt of cooked eggs and pancakes.

So when the front door brushed open, he mentally cursed himself and planned on ordering something instead. “Hey babe.” You smile, allowing your purse to drop from your shoulder. He walks over and rubs his hands along your shoulders and back, giving you a quick massage. “I-erm, I tried making breakfast. But you don’t have to eat it... we’ll order something. For this week, eat, sleep and stay with me.”

Chanyeol

It had been a few days since Chanyeol last saw you, and he missed everything. He missed seeing your bed hair in the mornings, he missed hearing your bathroom singing, he missed watching your soft smile. It was hard since you worked night shifts, while he worked days. Chanyeol would see you arrive home and crash into your bed, only to wake up a couple of hours before you had to leave again.

He groans, wondering if there was any way he could convince you to stop working altogether. There was honestly no need for the both of you to work, he made more than enough money on his own. A light bulb flickers over Chanyeol’s head, an idea flashing into mind.

It was around four more hours till you needed to wake up, so Chanyeol decided it was best if you simply didn’t wake up on time. After sneaking into your shared bedroom, he finds your alarm clock. Twisting the keys carefully, he manages to set your alarm clock behind by four hours, meaning you’d never wake up on time.

“Mr Park Chanyeol, may I know what you are doing?” Chanyeol squeezes his eyes shut, praying that you were still somewhat sleepy, “I was just checking the time.” He lies, flashing his teeth to fake a smile. You narrow your eyes at him, a smirk threatening to tug at your lips. He lets out an exasperated sigh, “Fine, I was tampering with your alarm clock. I just don’t want you to leave. Please Y/N, stay with me.”

Kyungsoo (D.O)

Kyungsoo walks into your bedroom and places a tray on your bedside table. Gently, he brushes away hair from the perimeter of your face, “Ah, there she is. Good morning sunshine.” You lips curl upwards, there was nothing more beautiful than seeing Kyungsoo’s soft smile first thing in the morning.

He walks over to the window, drawing the curtains to one side till the light bounced off his wavy hair. “You have a fever, you know.” You humm, eyes wondering over to the tray next to you. Coffee, croissants and chocolate. “I can’t believe how much you over work yourself, Y/N.” Ah, serious Kyungsoo was in mode now.

You nod obediently while he reached to take a croissant, he tears off a piece and presses it to your lips, “You shouldn’t be working so much.” You open your mouth, allowing the soft delicacy to blend inside. He watches you, a warm smile growing on his face, but then he looks to the ground, “I called in to your hospital, you’re not going to work tomorrow.”

Kyungsoo checks his phone immediately, using it as a distraction from your shocked face, “But Soo I-“ He sighs deeply, hand raising to cup around your cheek, doe eyes suddenly numb with worry. “You are not going anywhere until you feel better. And even when you are, you will not be over working yourself. I’ll make sure you feel better, so stay with me.”

Jongin (Kai)

You used to be able to do this, although recently it was starting to feel a whole lot more difficult. Jongin nudges you and you jolt in your seat, “Y/N, you’re missing the best part!” You blink your eyes rapidly while Jongin continues stuffing popcorn into his mouth. He glances at you through his peripheral vision every now and then.

Jongin wasn’t dumb, he knew you were falling asleep because you were tired. He understood it wasn’t on purpose. And he was aware that you worked during the night so that in the day, you could focus on your art. That is why he made you come on so many dates with him, so that he could bore you and you’d finally allow your body the rest of deserves.

He pulls the blanket further up your body, placing a cushion on the other side of your head in case you turned your neck. Jongin found it adorable, the way your nose would scrunch as you exhaled a soft snore. He gives it a little bop, chuckling quietly to himself when you snored a little too loudly.

You were mumbling in your sleep, something to do with sweets. Jongin switches off the tv, and rests his head back on the couch till he could count every lash on your eyes. “I want to always be with you like this,” he mumbles, tucking your hair behind your ear, “I’ll take care of you day and night. Stay with me.”

Sehun

“You work during the night?” You nod your head and Sehun parts his lips, as if wanting to ask another question, but his voice dies in the air and you both sit in an agreed silence. A couple of minutes later, he pipes up again, “Have you every fallen asleep during work?” You laugh, telling him about the time you found a YouTube video of typing sounds and played it out loud so your boss thought you were working, when really you were sleeping.

It was slightly windy, the moon was being pushed into a sea of stars, air slightly cooler than usual. You end up at your front door, moonlight trickling across Sehun’s features. “Thanks for the date.” You say, tiptoeing to place a soft kiss on his cheek. His ears redden and you laugh teasingly, as you are about to enter, he asks you a question, so softly that if it wasn’t so close you might have mistaken it for the wind.

“Are you working tonight?” You shake your head, his eyebrows lower in relief. “Good, I don’t want you to work too hard.” He ruffles your hair, and you find yourself asking him if he wanted to come inside. Minutes later, you found yourselves seated on your couch, cups of hot chocolate and a Sherlock Holmes episode playing.

“Y/N,” You glance to your side, a rather warm looking Sehun glances back, “is there any way you can stop working night shifts?” You swallow the last of your drink, “Yeah, why?” Sehun scoots a little closer, enough to leave a sensible gap, but enough so you could smell the chocolate in his breath, “Because I don’t want my girlfriend to be working when all I want is for her to stay with me.”

A/N: Please take care of yourselves my angels, I want you all to be eating and sleeping well! ❤️

[tasharii]

Your Colors: Ch.1.

A/N: I was hoping for this to be a oneshot, but it got out of hand very quickly, and became a full, multi-chapter fic. This is for @writingcroissant ‘s 2k challenge. I picked the Artist AU, and ran with it. 

I also couldn’t help but create the mood board that you see. Gotta love visual inspiration! I might make one themed for every chapter, not sure yet. This is my first fanfiction ever, so please let me know what you think. I’ll update the warnings with every chapter if something changes.

Summary:  Art was the one good thing between college, work, and the grey minutes in-between. Sometimes, it felt like she wasn’t alive at all. Just drifting. When she joined her new art class, she never expected to start experiencing everything in an entirely new light. All thanks to him. Or: Where Bucky Barnes gets more than he bargained from his new drawing partner.

Pairing: Reader x Bucky Barnes

Word Count: 11.5K

Rating: Mature

Warnings: Language, violence, attempted assault

Masterlist

Chapter 1  Chapter 2  Chapter 3  Chapter 4  Chapter 5  Chapter 6  Chapter 7  Chapter 8  Chapter 9  Chapter 10   Chapter 11  Chapter 12  Chapter 13

****

A cool draft of air pricked goosebumps up across her skin, and she suppressed the urge to shiver. One wrong movement would break her pose. The floral duvet under her was soft, but her knees were starting to ache from holding the position for so long. Her hands were curled against the tops of her thighs, as if she just rose up to kneel on her bed. Y/N’s head was tilted just a little, her hair pulled over one shoulder, facial expression calm. It was hard to stay that way, though. She could feel his eyes on her like blinding sunshine.

The lighting was controlled by mismatched lamps, keeping it consistent and gentle, almost intimate. Three lights were situated around her bed. One by the headboard behind her, another standalone closer, above her head to the left, and the last was further away on a chair in front of her. All the ceiling lights were switched off, and the windows were covered. It was just enough light to keep her bedroom area illuminated, but the rest of the apartment was coated in inky shadows.

Even with the heat on high, the loose, sheer long sleeve blouse she wore wasn’t quite warm enough. Goosebumps crawled up her bare thighs, disappearing underneath her jean shorts. Y/N’s studio apartment always ran on the edge of nippy. The stained tan carpet couldn’t block out the chill. The mass of tall windows on her back wall, across from the door, loved to let the fall air creep in. At least the windows gave a beautiful view of New York’s sparkling skyline. Being on the 14th floor did have some perks.

“You’re frowning again.” His voice broke through her train of thought. It made her shoulders tense up to her ears before she forced them back down. Subtly she flexed her fingers in and out of fists, trying to shake the anxiety. “Do you need a break?”

Y/N let out a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding “No, I’m alright.” She peaked at him from just within her peripheral vision. He was drawing her from a 3-quarter view, a little lower rather than straight on. A chair had been pulled over from her living-room area, and he lounged back in it. One foot propped up on a stool; other on his knee. His large sketchpad rested on his lap, and tucked up close to his face. Pale blue eyes focused on her with such intensity she felt another flush crawl from her chest down to her toes and up to her ears. This was one part of life drawing that she could never quite get used to.

His eyes drifted over her body, taking in every single detail. First trailing across the waves in her hair, then he paused on her lips, passed down to her torso, arms, legs, and lastly he focused on the paper. Bottom lip tucked underneath his teeth, he scraped against the page in small fluid strokes. The rasping of charcoal eased some of the heat that sparked across her skin. Then he looked up again, loose strands of hair falling across his forehead.

Bucky met her eyes for a couple seconds. Her heartbeat picked up again at being caught staring. Then he dropped his charcoal back down into its open case on the end table beside his chair. He let his socked feet down. Placed his sketchpad on the stool and rubbed at the black smudges on his fingers “I think I’m done anyway. I wanna get a drink real quick, then I’ll pose for you.” He wiped the smudges on his jeans as he stood up.

‘Oh thank god’  Y/N thought, then fell back onto her butt, rolling into a sitting position. Stretching her arms above her head, she cracked her back. As she rolled her stiff joints, she listened for Bucky’s footsteps. The light flicked on for her corned off kitchen area. It was all the way on the other side of the apartment, but she heard the fridge door open without one single footstep. He was so damn quiet. Like a ghost. Maybe it was just because of the carpet.

“Can you get me a coke?” She called, scooting to sit on the edge of the bed and then standing. Tingles trailed down her legs, feet asleep, and she awkwardly shook them off. With a couple bouncing steps she went over to the stool. Y/N didn’t dare touch it, didn’t want to smear any of his strokes. Instead, she just moved over so she could peer down at his latest masterpiece.

It had taken him a little over 30 minutes to draw her. Bucky always, somehow, made her look far more beautiful than any mirror had ever done for her. Her hair looked wavy and graceful as it framed her face, and she appeared to be deep in thought. As if she was captured in the moment between deciding to do something and moving into action. Y/N wished she could say that he drew her wrong, made her look like someone else. A girl far more elegant and pretty than her, but it would be an insult to his skill. Bucky captured her truer to herself than anyone else in the world. It was like he saw inside of her. Saw what she was made of and brought it to the surface.

Somehow, he did it every single time.

This was the fourth time he had been over for an art homework session. Probably drawn her upwards of thirty times now between all the impression sketches, and various timed drawings. Always in charcoal. Always with beautiful accuracy.

“What do you think?” Y/N felt something cold and damp brush her arm. She jumped a little bit and whipped around to glare at Bucky for spooking her. He was standing a good foot away, but his arm had stretched out to offer her the canned soda.

Snatching the drink from him, she took a couple calming breaths, and ignored his small smirk “I think this one’s your best so far. You’re getting better with the lighting.”

Now that she was aware of him, he took another step closer. Unconsciously, his right arm brushed hers as he tilted his head, eyeing the drawing critically “Still can’t get your damn nose right.”

“Got a problem with it?” She teased, sipping on her drink and studying the illustration. Honestly, she didn’t notice anything wrong with it. Her 2D nose looked about as accurate as the rest of her. Curling her bare toes into the carpet, she noticed the feeling had finally come back to them.

Bucky glanced up at her and scowled accusingly “Ya, it’s disproportionate to your face.” The light from the lamp on the chair accented his pout, deepening the dimple under his lip.

Y/N couldn’t help the bubble of laughter that came out of her. It was such an absurd, random comment. Still, she pressed her lips and eyebrows down. Tried to be offended. After all, he was insulting her “Excuse me. I think my nose is the best part of my face! You’re the one with a butt chin!” Her voice trembled over her own words. Then she giggled a little harder as his sulking deepened and he rubbed at his chin, shaking his head.

“Now who’s being rude?” His pout finally lifted to a small smile, and he brought his coke to his mouth, swallowing. “I think next time I want you laying on the bed. Think you can let your head hang upside down for 30 minutes?” He caught her gaze, eyebrows raised. She tried to ignore him saying anything about laying on a bed. There was a mischievous spark in his eye that made her stomach flip.

“If I pass out it’s your fault.” She warned, jabbing a finger at him threateningly. He smiled a smidge more at her before backing up and going to sit his drink down on her desk. Every smile he gave her felt like a surprise, and she couldn’t quite believe how much had changed in such a short period of time.

Things were getting easier with him. It had taken a good two weeks, seeing each other twice a week in their mutual art class, and then twice outside of class to work on the homework. Y/N knew he would be tough. She could tell that from ‘Hello’. Just hadn’t properly estimated how difficult.

 In the beginning, he barely talked beyond adjustments to her pose, and comments on her anatomical errors. Never rudely. Definitely blunt, but his voice was soft, and he helped her after critiquing her. She had thought he was irritated every time he came to her apartment to work. Thought she annoyed him whenever she sat next to him in class. It made her anxiety relentlessly torment her like the devil it was.

Last Friday, though, she finally started to pick up on his dry humor. It was only small comments here and there. Little quips about the poses she made him do, or her obnoxiously loud neighbors. When she fed into it, he made more. Now he was beginning to smile easier. She eventually asked him about his brooding, while sketching him sitting in a chair. Bucky had cracked up. A full body laugh that took up her entire apartment. Between snorts he explained that his friends said he had a ‘killer resting bitch face’. It was one of their inside jokes. He was sorry if he gave her the wrong idea. All his waving hands, gesturing as he spoke, completely ruined her sketch. There was no getting him back into the same position. It was worth it.

These days, she wondered why she ever thought he was scary.

“Got any plans for Halloween?” Y/N asked, turning her drink in her hands. The holiday fell on a Wednesday this year, so most parties were scheduled the Saturday after. That was only a week away.

Bucky smeared the condensation of his can across his right fingers, rubbing at the leftover charcoal dust. The small of his back leaned against her desk as he thought about it. Charcoal had managed to get all the way down to his wrist. His thumb brushed over his fingertips and then he rubbed them again on his jeans. There were smudged stains on the faded blue now, next to his side pocket. He didn’t seem to care.

She tried to stop staring, looking back down at his drawing right as he glanced back up to answer. “Probably gonna go to my friend’s party. Maybe scare the kids that dare ring his doorbell.” He gave a wicked smirk. Then clapped his hands together, rubbing them conspiratorially. The sound was muted by his glove and had a dull ring from the metal underneath.

“Like you need to give more poor people nightmares from your ugly mug.” She teased. Well that answered her question. She thought maybe she could invite him to go with her and her friends to club Hydra. Obviously, he would be spending time with his friends. Friends she didn’t have any idea about.

“Oh ha ha.” Bucky rolled his eyes with exaggerated, sarcastic laughter. “So! Where do you want me and my ugly mug?” He asked, arms spread wide in mock invitation.

“Don’t pout. At least you don’t have to buy a costume.” Y/N continued. He didn’t even bless her with a response. Just pinned his grey eyes at her a bit more.

Slowly, she walked over to sit her own drink down beside his, lips pressed together. Peering around the room, she crossed her arms in thought. Finally, she nodded her chin towards the window sill. It was her middle, largest window. The one that opened to her fire escape. The sill doubled as a seat and had a couple cushions already laid out on it.

“Open the blinds and lean against it.” It was getting to be later afternoon, so the light should be pouring in the window without the blinds blocking it. As he pushed off from the desk, Bucky knocked his shoulder playfully against hers. She hesitated back for just a second, watching him stroll easily across her apartment. Honestly, she hadn’t realized that he never touched her before until he started to. It wasn’t like he touched her all the time now, but something told her it was significant that he did at all.

With a shake of her head, Y/N followed Bucky over to the window and let him push aside the pale blue curtains. Then he tugged the blinds up, turned and rested back against the window, arms crossed. He didn’t completely sit down onto the sill. Instead he sat on the very edge, using his legs to support him. It wasn’t a very comfortable position, but it was visually dynamic.

“This good?” He tilted his head and studied her curiously. He was wearing a black hoodie, left hand covered with a glove. His hair was easily brushed back from his face, shorter on the sides. Stubble covered his cheeks, but he still had a boyish charm to him, even with the small smudges of rings under his stark blue eyes.

She knew what was under his glove. It wasn’t like Bucky insisted on hiding his metal arm, but he did go out of his way to keep it covered as much as possible. Sometimes in class he would shed his jacket, long sleeves underneath it, but then he would roll up the sleeves to wash his right hand. He would remove the glove to keep it from getting wet. Didn’t usually even flinch whenever anyone looked, surprised, but no one asked. Prosthetics were rare, but not unheard of considering the war. Metal prosthetics were rarer, only Stark Industries made them, and they were ungodly expensive.

However, in all the sessions they had drawing each other, she hadn’t drawn him without his arm covered in some way. He had drawn her in various stages of undress: dresses, skirts, shorts, jackets, and even a sports bra once. Y/N had a feeling that this would be what she would use for her final Figure Drawing project. If he just didn’t have his jacket on. Maybe she could finally capture the essence of him that she had missed every time.

“One second.” She stated quickly, stepping back and flitting around her apartment. First, she turned off all the lamps over near her bed. Then she walked around the wide bookshelf that separated her bed from the living-room area and turned off the kitchen light beyond that. There was enough light pouring in from the window for her to draw by. Plus, having only one light source made the shadows he created deeper.

Having all that done, she steeled herself, debating a moment longer. It wouldn’t hurt to ask would it? She picked at the edges of her sheer sleeves, they covered down to her fingers. Bucky tracked the movement with his eyes. He really did have artist habits. Sometimes she wondered if he ever missed anything. Any small detail.

“Do you think you could take off your hoodie?” She quickly asked, a little hesitantly. Just throw it out there. Despite the anxiety, she tried to be as casual about it as she could.

Bucky’s eyes widened just a fraction before he gave a smooth smile and furrowed his eyebrows “You trying to defile my honor?” He chuckled teasingly, giving her an obvious once-over, then tutted with a click of his tongue “I didn’t take you for that kinda girl!” He tucked his hands into the pockets of his jacket and reclined back a bit more. The light made pieces of his hair shine copper.

She scoffed “Oh you wish Barnes.” Then she shook her head, staring up at the high vaulted ceiling. Why did this difficult man had to be her muse?

“I just think the lighting and pose would look better without your dark ass jacket casting one big mass of shadows.” She jabbed a finger at it and stared at him stubbornly. She didn’t mention that his metallic arm would also look beautiful in the golden light of the sunset, but she figured he would come to that conclusion on his own.

“I’m wearing a tank top underneath this.” He stated, joking demeanor becoming subdued with his statement, voice softening. Bucky didn’t turn his gaze away from her. Slouched down like he was, she managed to stand at his height. Her bare toes were nearly touching his. The length of his stretched legs kept her a good arm’s length away. Bucky always seemed to have a bubble that he rarely let anyone in. People walked around him with a wide breadth. Y/N supposed he could be intimidating. Especially in moments like this. Where his eyes unwaveringly bore into hers, and he dropped his charming, dry humor. A joke wasn’t anywhere to be found.

“That’s fine by me.” She finally replied, clearing her throat from where it had become filled with sand. Honestly, she didn’t know Bucky all that well. They spent upwards of 10 hours a week together, working on the same class, bonding over art, but she still didn’t really know him. She knew he was a veteran, he was casually vague about that if the arm didn’t tip anyone off. Their art teacher, Ramsey, was also a veteran, and liked to talk about it with Bucky. Probably a sense of comradery. She knew his favorite medium was acrylic, and he worked at The Rosalie Bakery. That was about it, though, and all that stuff was pretty damn superficial.

As he kept his stare locked with hers for a few heartbeats longer than comfortable, she began to wonder if maybe she pushed too far. It was obvious he was a private guy. Maybe he was embarrassed about it. Maybe he didn’t want it captured forever down on paper. She was just about to back off when his right hand moved up to the zipper of his hoodie. Her eyes immediately tracked the movement. It rested below his chest, already partially down. The sound of the zipper broke the silence, louder than the clunking of her apartments central air.

“Alright, but good fucking luck drawing this hunk of metal. I swear shading it is gonna be a bitch for you.” Bucky groused, and she took a soft breath before smiling encouragingly with a flash of teeth.

“I think I can handle it.”

He tossed the jacket to the floor, and then rolled his shoulder a little. The wife beater didn’t hide much of anything. Y/N could see the thick jagged scars from where the metal ended, and his skin began. There was intricate paneling and the plates hissed a little as they shifted in response to him moving. His flesh fingers plucked the ends of the glove off, and then dropped it down on top of his jacket.

It only took two seconds for her trained eyes to devour every detail before she hurried to grab her sketchpad and standing easel. She wanted to draw him at eye level, just from the side closer to his metal arm. The light refracted, multicolored, across the silver. It was just as stunning as she thought it would be. “Can you just prop your left elbow up above your head? Ya like that. Now tilt your head towards me. Good. And relax.” She spoke quickly, already starting to block in shapes.

“Whatever you say Picasso.” Bucky rolled his eyes before relaxing his face, and he watched her draw.

Normally, she would tell him to look somewhere else. Maybe down, or up above her, but not this time. This time it was perfect that he was challenging her. Challenging the viewer. Daring them to look at him. Daring them to stare.

Y/N felt her heartbeat pick up, and she brushed the charcoal across her page, suddenly caught in a drawing fever. She could feel excitement sparking her fingers as she drew him. This was why she wanted him to be her partner.

When Ramsey told them that they would have a partner for the length of their class, she had panicked at first. Their partner was supposed to critic them, help them, and work their projects together. It was a lot to ask from someone, especially when most people in the class didn’t have a degree hanging on their performance. This was an extracurricular class for her, outside of her college, hosted by the Brooklyn Museum. It was meant for wanna-be-artists, but most of them weren’t being graded like her. At the end of the class their work would be hosted in an exhibit at the museum.

All her teachers would be coming to that show, and Ramsey was supposed to write weekly updates about her. Y/N didn’t like group projects to begin with. Most people just didn’t work well together, and she had high standards for herself. Besides, she only recognized a couple other people in the class from her college, but she didn’t truly know anyone.

As everyone started to pair off, being smart and probably taking the class with a friend, she glanced around the room. Twisted in her chair, observing as people laughed and started mulling over the syllabus together. She finally spotted him. He hadn’t moved from his drafting desk, hadn’t even looked up from his worn sketchbook. She noticed how people glanced at him, but then kept moving, looking for other options. He was beautiful. Intimidating. She wanted to draw him right then and there. It wasn’t anything new. Sometimes people just inspired her. Something about them made her itch to draw them. To capture their being onto a page.

So, she approached him. He slowly glanced up at her. Took in her position beside his desk with nothing else than a glare. Stubbornly not letting that deter her, she gave a small wave and the best smile she could muster under such uncomfortable circumstances “Hey I’m Y/N.”

“James.”

“You still have 20 minutes left. You can take your time.” Bucky chuckled, watching as her hand slowed for the first time since she started “I’m not going anywhere Y/N.”

It had taken the entire first week for her to make him laugh. Another week after that before the smiles came easier. The sad part was she had actively been trying. Of course, when he did laugh, she hadn’t tried. In the middle of rearranging the still life they were working with, she fumbled. She accidentally knocked her hip into the edge of her cheap end table when turning away. Managed to catch the flower vase, but at the cost of it spilling down the front of her shirt. At least it was on her, and not her camera. That same day, he had told her to call him Bucky instead of James.

He laughed a lot more since then.

Hearing her name made her fully give him her attention. Cars honked from far down below, and the shuffle of New York played like subdued background music. “You’ve got charcoal on your face.” He informed her. A smirk curled up one side of his lips, and his eyes danced in the fading auburn light behind him.

She wiped at her forehead, brushing back her hair. From the grin on his face, she probably only made it worse. She sent eye daggers at him “Shut up and get back to brooding.”

He pressed his lips together, trying to contain his smile. “Yes ma’am.” After that, she noticed that his shoulders were a little more relaxed. His breathing was deeper, and his gaze had softened. However, his eyes never stopped daring her to look.

**** 

Halloween was one of her favorite holidays. It was thrilling to get to pretend to be someone else. To have the opportunity to dress in whatever made her feel good without getting slut shamed for it. She had very few chances to act like a kid anymore, being in college, and having the adult responsibilities of a young woman living on her own. So, when her friends invited her to a Halloween party at the club Hydra she didn’t hesitate to agree. It wasn’t often that she drank, even less often that she partied.

The press of bodies made it difficult to get off the dance floor. She slowly weaved her way, slipping under arms and sliding through all the usual grinding. Her hair stuck to the nap of her neck, and she felt damp sweat on the small of her back. Leather was not a breathable fabric. It clung like a second jet black skin down her limbs and stretched across her breasts. As she stumbled, at last, out of the crowd, near the bar, she took in a muggy breath. The air tasted like various perfumes, and sweet smoke. Fog machines curled smoke around her feet and made the air hazy. Desperate, she unzipped her clingy jacket down a bit. Now she was showing an indecent amount of cleavage, only a pushup bra under the jacket, but at least it was cooler.

Time was drifting past 1 a.m., and she wanted to try to be home by 3. That way she could still be coherent when Bucky came over to work at 11. Multicolored strobe lights flashed overhead, giving everything a heady, surreal atmosphere. The music was so loud that she could feel it vibrating in her bones, across her heart. It mixed well with the slight buzz of alcohol making her skin tingle, and muscles loose. Her feet hurt from dancing so much, and she still had a throbbing bite mark on her neck. A gift from a guy dressed as a vampire who got a little too in character.

Finally, she made it into the bathroom, there wasn’t a line. The club was huge, and expensive. It managed to surprisingly be equipped with enough bathrooms to serve all its drunk, debauched guests. She leaned heavily against the porcelain sink, splashing some cool water onto the back of her neck. After a couple of calm breaths, she felt the last of the artificial fog leave her lungs. Peering up she stretched her neck to the side, checking to see if the vampire managed to bruise her. Thank god he didn’t.

Y/N’s makeup was smudged, making her sharp Black Widow look a little dirty. Her lipstick smeared around her mouth, and her smoky eyeliner ringed her bright eyes. Somehow, she got glitter across her cheekbones and chest. She hadn’t even worn glitter. Still, it managed to work with the leather, so she didn’t mind too much. Standing up straight, she dampened a paper towel and dabbed it under her eyes. Wanted to clean herself up just a little bit before she faced anyone again. Grabbing her lipstick from one of her many pockets she reapplied the scarlet, and then, satisfied, pulled out her phone.

Back facing the mirror, she leaned against the sink. Focused on her phone, she enjoyed the slight draft of cool air that dried the sweat on her chest. The music still crept in from outside, but it was the first minute in a solid 5 hours that she could hear her own thoughts.

First, she tried to call Gabby, who had drove them there. Gabby was always nailed to her phone and very reliable. It rang a few times, but eventually went to voicemail. Y/N left a quick message. Let her know that she wanted to head out soon, and to get back to her. They had agreed that they would stay no later than 1:30 a.m. at most. It was creeping towards that time.

Then she called Whitney, but the call was instantly rejected. She raised her eyebrows and hung up without leaving a message. Instead she went to text her. The buzzing of the florescent lights was starting to give her a headache. She jumped a little when a group of girls came into the bathroom, talking way too loudly. Probably still deaf from the base. The music followed in after them until the door swung closed again. Some remix of This Is Halloween. They barely glanced at her as they went about doing their business, checking their makeup and going into the stalls.

Y/N stepped back and out of the way of the sinks. She leaned against the other wall beside the trashcan. Her feet were starting to ache in her knee-high boots; so, she shifted her weight from one to the other, easing some of the pressure.

Y/N: Hey! Just wanted to knw if you’ve seen Gabs?

It took Whitney a couple minutes to text back. Minutes that went by gruelingly slow. The girls had all left by the time her phone vibrated in her hands.

Whitney: No idea! Srry about the call. I met a guy!  She followed that up with several winky faces and hearts.

Whitney: Let her know I don’t need a ride tho. Probably won’t make it home. Thnx!

That one was emphasized with some kisses and winky faces.

Y/N could tell when a conversation was over, so she tried to call Gabby again. It ended with the same result. She sent her a couple texts, but to no avail. Just more radio silence.

Buzz sufficiently tampered, she let Gabby know she was getting a cab. She stared up at the glass dome light about her head and groaned loudly in frustration. Then she pocketed her phone back in the pouch attached to her utility belt. She patted at her thigh pocket where she had her wallet, only to come up with nothing. Y/N patted down her hip pockets, and then back pockets. A bubble of panic started to rise from her stomach. She frowned, going for her bra, and then rechecking every single pocket she had.

Twice.

Then a third time.

No wallet. No goddamn wallet. She tried to think of where she could have left it, but it had been an hour since her last drink. There was no way she had left it at the bar.

Then she had gone to dance some more, and finally ended up here in the bathroom.

Somewhere between then and now her wallet had escaped.

Son of a bitch. She raked a rough hand through her hair. It probably looked wild in a crazy witch sort of way now. The mirror across from her confirmed her theory. Wild hair aside; ok, she could handle this. Maybe they had it at the bar. Maybe she dropped it, and someone gave it to the bartender. People were still nice like that.

With a rush of adrenaline fueling her steps, she shoved out of the bathroom and hurried to the bar. This couldn’t be happening.

It wasn’t at the bar.

The bartender helpfully informed her that they had been having a pick-pocket problem. Followed that up with a shrug and infuriating expression of pity.

Gave her a free shot of vodka for her troubles.

Dejected, it took her another 10 minutes to wind her way through the crowd. 10 long minutes to make it out of the maze of the outrageously huge club. She couldn’t help but feel pissed. All around abandoned by her friends. Robbed. She just wanted to do was go home, take a shower, and then collapse into her warm bed.

The frigid November wind only aided in agitating her more. The club was on a corner lot, and she walked a few paces away from the entrance. There were throngs of people still going into the club, and then stumbling masses making their way out of it. She waited on the edge of the sidewalk, watching as the headlights of the cars flashed by in blurs of color. She could see her breath in the wind and cursed her skin-tight leather jacket for not being warmer. The heat from the club abandoned her more every single time a gust of air pushed her to the side.

Luckily, she could feel the vodka coiling in her stomach, spreading numb warmth through her veins. It also managed to calm her down, guiding her from the edge of crying. She bit her lip and slumped against a lamp post.

A taxi started to pull over for her, and she let out a groan of frustration as she waved them on. No point in wasting the poor guy’s time. Renewed tears of frustration pricked her eyes as she tried to figure out who she could call. Her two best friends with cars had already outright deserted her ass. She pulled out her phone and started clicking through all her contacts. Rubbing at her fingers against the phone as she went. The light of her phone made her wince, and the harsh street light reflected white off her leather sleeves. No one else she knew drove.

No one except…

She hovered her thumb over Bucky’s name. He was probably still at his friend’s right now. If not there, likely passed out in some corner. They weren’t that close, and this would seriously be putting him out.

But she was desperate.

Y/N pressed the phone to her ear as it started to ring. Again, and again… and oh god he wouldn’t answer and he was going to wake up to a random call from an indecent hour and no explanation…

“Hello?”

“Bucky!” She uttered his name with an embarrassing amount of relief. Immediately she took a step away from the post, too nervous to stand still.

“Hey uh… are you alright?” He asked slowly, voice deeper over the phone. At least he sounded like he hadn’t been sleeping, or drunk. What if he was actually busy? What if he was _busy _with someone? She could just make out the sound of music over the line, and laughter.

“I’m not interrupting anything am I?” She ignored his question in favor of asking one of her own. What if she just interrupted a hookup? Accidentally cock blocked him? The thought made her a little queasy, and her free arm crossed protectively over herself.

“Oh no, um just at Steve’s party.” She pursed her lips, looking up at the sky.  Couldn’t make out any of the stars thanks to the city that never sleeps. Steve. He had never mentioned Steve before. Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea after all. She didn’t even know the names of his real friends.

He seemed hesitant when she didn’t say anything right away. Vodka was making its way through her. Her brain felt a bit slow “Is there anything that I can do for ya? Not that I don’t appreciate random calls or anything, but…” Bucky trailed off, waiting for her to finish the sentence for him.

The question made her straighten back up and scrub a hand over her face, suddenly remembering her awkward situation “I don’t want to put you out but… Well I’m kinda stuck at club Hydra. Without money, or a ride. Do ya think maybe you could give me a lift home? If you can’t it’s ok I can figure something else out. Promise I’ll pay you back though!” Her lipstick had smeared over her palm. She wiped it off on her thigh distractedly.

There were a few long beats of silence. The only way she knew he was still on the line was by the intermittent bursts of background laughter. Finally, she heard Bucky let out a sigh that made the speaker crackle “I’m not even going to ask. I can be there in 10 if you don’t mind riding on my bike.”

“No that’s fine!” No, she didn’t mind the idea of riding on the back of his bike at all. It sounded like the best thing ever. A great way to pick up her shitty night. “Are you sure though? I don’t want to make you leave your party.”

She could hear some shuffling, and it sounded like Bucky was talking to someone, but she couldn’t make out any of his words. When his voice came back he was a bit louder “Nah it’s alright. Starting to die out anyway.”

“You’re not drunk, are you?” Y/N suddenly asked, a bit concerned. Mostly not even for herself.

Bucky snorted a laugh “No I’m not drunk. Would never dream of risking my bike like that.” A screen door slammed over the phone, and he cursed. Something about stupid weather and stupid damsels in distress. She opted to ignore him.

“I was more worried about you than the bike, but I’ll take what I can get.” She paced around her small bit of sidewalk. It felt like there might be snow in the air. Above the buildings she wondered if the clouds were gearing up for it, thick and heavy.

“Shouldn’t worry ‘bout me, but thanks anyway.” There was a jingling of keys, and then a roaring crackle over the speaker that made her jerk the phone away from her ear. He must have started his bike.

To compensate she spoke up a bit louder “Thank you so much. I’m already outside. Can’t miss me. I’m in all leather.”

Bucky laughed a little, but it was distorted from the motorcycle “It’s Halloween weekend. I don’t think you’re the only girl out there sportin’ all leather.” Before she could defend her entirely unique leather get-up, he finished “But I’m sure you’ll stand out anyway. See ya in a bit.” Then he hung up.

The next 5 minutes passed agonizingly slow. She huddled herself up against a rough brick wall, thankful that she was wearing pants. Even if the leather was thin. She didn’t want to go back into the club, and chance missing Bucky. Besides, it was only 10 minutes. She could handle that. Her phone stayed pressed close to her face as she flipped through Tumblr, attempting to keep her mind off the howling wind. It bit at her fingers, and pink nose.

At first, she didn’t notice. There was always a background rush of voices on the streets, along with cars, and horns. City noises. A lot of the louder voices were guys, shouting obscenities at no one in particular. Even when she had been cat called a few times, it never amounted to anything.  Usually she just kept walking or flipped them off, then kept walking.

“Hey sweetheart why you all by yourself?” She glanced up from her phone, wondering what poor girl was getting harassed and if maybe she should do something.

Then she realized that poor girl was her.

Too stunned to say anything, she kept quiet. The guys were leering at her from down the sidewalk. Probably coming from the club. There were five, all in various costumes, and all likely in various states of intoxication. The ringleader stood in the front, backed up by two other big guys, the fatter one was in a basketball jersey, the other a pirate’s hat with a ruby feather. They were all tall, but not quite as tall as Bucky. Not many guys were.

When she didn’t respond, the ringleader stepped closer to her little ball of light. She stood underneath a streetlamp light. The post was positioned on the other side of the sidewalk, next to the street, but its illumination reached her against the wall. It felt like the safest place. Not that Hydra was located on a shady street, but it was late at night, or early in the morning. She was a girl. It was also Halloween. Now she was starting to wonder if the light was more like a beacon for all the goddamn scumbags of the world.

“Wanna keep us company?” He continued, a wide smirk making his teeth flash in the headlights of a car “We can warm you up real nice.”

Discount Jack Sparrow chuckled from beside him “You make one damn hot Black Widow. I’d love to see what’s under your leather.” She felt his eyes on her cleavage even if she couldn’t see him clearly in the shadows. Suddenly she wanted to zip her top back up, but she didn’t dare give him the goddamn satisfaction of appearing embarrassed.

Up to this point she was far too amazed at the blatant sexual harassment heading her way to say anything. That comment jarred her into standing up straighter, trying to appear bigger than she was. Then she glared at them “Fat chance asshole. Leave me alone.” She bristled more when they just laughed at her and felt her stomach drop. This wasn’t good.

If she screamed it wouldn’t do much. It was Halloween. People were screaming everywhere. Plus, in a city, one scream just disappeared like smoke among all the other noises. There wasn’t anyone around paying any attention. The main bustle was over at the club, but she was far away from it now. Went to wait next to a parking garage a distance away so Bucky would have an easier time spotting her. A huge building filled with cars, not people. Sure, there were cars going by, but no one gave a shit what happened outside the nice tinted glass of their ride.

To her left, yards away, the fluorescent lights of Hydra’s sign flashed mockingly at her. To her right the street was deserted, the parking garage was huge enough that it took up the sidewalk till it hooked around the other corner several yards away. In front of her the street flowed like an impassable, steady river of cars. The neanderthals blocked her from heading back to the safety of Hydra.

It would be a lucky day if anyone paid her any attention at all.

“Aw you even talk like her. Why don’t we play a little?” The ringleader stepped into her circle of light now. Contaminating it. She pressed further back against the brick behind her “I’ll be the Hulk, and you can be my little Widow.” He had greasy dark hair, pushed back from his long pale face, the brim of a scuffed top hat hooded his dark eyes. He was toned underneath his circus coat, she could tell by the way it hugged his chest. A literal evil ringmaster. How ironic. Probably not even all that ugly when that sneer didn’t stretch his face. Probably one of those guys that didn’t take no for an answer, even in a setting much nicer than this.

As they crowded closer in, she could smell the alcohol on them. Alcohol, and pot. Not that substances are any excuse, but it made her spine tingle with adrenaline. Substances just made people get angrier faster and hit harder.

Without even responding, she bolted, or tried. Lunged to the right. Maybe if she made it to the end of the block she could go across the crosswalk. Across the street there were restaurants, and people. She made it all of five steps before a hand caught her wrist and wrenched her back. Involuntarily, she stumbled into Ringleader’s chest. His other arm snaked around her waist, crushing her there as she tried to wiggle away.

She screamed then.

Whether she believed it would help or not. It was just a natural damn response. Fear sliced down her spine and beat the wail out of her.

His hand left her wrist and covered her mouth. Circus Freak’s palm tasted dirty when she tried to bite, but he just pressed harder. His thumb wrapped over her nose. She could barely breathe.

“Shut the fuck up.” He tugged her back, making her stumble with him, and then took her out of the light all together. The lamp flickered and hummed, above her head. She watched it get smaller. He dragged her over towards the opening of the car garage. It gaped at her like the ominous jaws of a monster. If she went in there, she might never come out.

Even if she did, she might not be able to put herself back together. Not for a second time.

Y/N tried letting herself go dead weight, but he just grunted and pulled her harder. Ringleader’s arm was an iron bar. It dug into and bruised her ribs. Her jacket hiked up from the squirming, and suddenly his grimy hand was squeezing her bare side. Heartbeat spiking, she scratched at his arms, kicked at his legs, started to buck back. Her feet didn’t connect with more than his shins, but at least he cursed. Blood welled up under her nails, and as she squirmed his hand started to slip. She fought with everything she had in her. Finally, he let go of her mouth to contain her arms.

“Grab the goddamn slut’s legs!” He demanded, voice rough from too many smokes. Hands caught her wrists in a bruising vice. He tugged them up above her head.

Fatty in the ball jersey did as ordered. He bent over and grabbed her thighs, lifting them off the ground. Couldn’t get a solid hold with her bucking. He managed to keep her calves lifted, and she used his support to push off. With all her strength, she brought up one foot when he pushed closer to her. She got in one good, hard kick into his snarling face. The heel of her boot cracked him right in the nose. Snapped his head back and he let out a surprised wail. A wave of gratification swept her chest. She even smiled a little, past the tears that smeared her mascara.

It didn’t last long. Jersey held his flooding nose with his left hand and stammered “You bitch!” The rage in his voice tremored through his muscles. He brought back his big meaty hand and landed a stinging backhand across her face. Bastard had a hulking ring on his finger. The jewel caught on her cheekbone and tore into her skin. Her ears started to ring, and glowing halos of light danced in her eyes when she blinked. The force split her lip and she tasted blood.

At least his nose looked broken, blood splattering across his stupid purple jersey. She hoped the stain never came out.

In slapping her, he let go of her feet, so she started trying to kick again. She kicked despite the throbbing through her skull. Kicked despite the ringing in her ears. Despite the hands that constricted her. Bruised her.

Still, it wasn’t really going anywhere. She pegged another guy with devil horns in the middle of his chest. He caught her feet, wrapped them under one of his arms, and constrained her. They started shuffling closer to the entrance, and she started to scream again. Her shoulders ached from bearing all her weight, and she stared up at Ringleader. His breath stank of alcohol when he stared down at her with a chilling grin.

That was when she heard a distinctive skid of tires on the sidewalk.

“What the fuck?” One of the others, he had on a very ironic Superman getup, muttered as headlights blinded her. The guys were circled around the front of her, Ringleader binding her arms above her head from behind, Devil Horns holding her feet in front of her. Dirty Superman and Pirate Hat flanked her sides. All of them turned to gape as the lights turned off, and the sound of boots against sidewalk stalked towards them.

Somehow, Y/N knew who it was before she even heard him speak or saw his face. Her entire body sagged in relief, and she strained her neck to try and see.

“Bucky!” She screamed, but then Ringleader cut her off. He jostled her to hold her wrists in one hand, covering her mouth with the other. Devil horns dropped her feet, and she barely kept from falling like a stone. Ringleader tugged her up and back against him.

The others huddled away from Bucky when he got closer. She could just make out his face in the street lights, and his expression made her freeze. His eyes were as cold as winter. Face stony to match. He stood up at all his height, more menacing than ever before, and had yet to utter a single word.

Didn’t really have to. His body language said it all.

Ringleader must have been too stupid to listen “Hey buddy. I suggest you move along. Nothin’ to see here. Our friend was just about to show us a good time. Weren’t ya?” He spoke down to her, shaking her a little. Y/N let out a shriek of rage, clawing at his arm, ripping up more skin beneath his sleeve. He squeezed her mouth tighter, cutting off her air all together. Tears blurred her vision, streaks already staining her cheeks. She couldn’t remember when exactly she started crying. Her lungs burned as she fought to breathe through his skin.

Bucky’s fists clenched at his sides, one covered by a glove. Sporting a leather jacket, white t-shirt, black jeans, and heavy boots he looked almost like John Travolta from Grease. Styled hair and everything. Would have made her weak in the knees in any other situation. Currently, she was struggling to breathe for entirely different reasons.

When he took a threatening step forward, her band of assholes stepped back. A gust of wind ruffled everyone’s hair, and she noticed little white flakes reflecting in the street lamp behind Bucky. Crystals caught in his hair, and she wondered why the universe made tonight the first snow fall.

A heavy silence hung thick in the air. She slapped progressively harder at Ringleader’s hand until he let her breathe again. By then her head was getting light. He still insisted on keeping his hand over her mouth. She sucked air in through her nose. The smell of cigarettes encased her, clogging the air.

Bucky’s eyes met hers across the tense darkness, and she could feel his worry without any words. It reflected in his blue eyes. Spoke through the small crease in his brow, and tense set of his mouth. Finally, though, he did speak up. His words dominated over the cars in the street and boomed across the sidewalk. Slowly, he stared down every single person with a deadly sort of calm.

“I suggest you douchebags let her go. Right now. If you want to walk away from here tonight.” His voice wavered just a bit in pent up rage. She tracked that rage across the stiffness of his shoulders and the clenching of his fists. Distantly she wondered how much damage he could do with a metal fist helping him. How many people had he made bleed with it during the war.

She watched a shudder pass through the spines of everyone standing there. The frost coming off him even made the tips of her fingers prickle. She squeezed her captor’s hand tighter, trying to pry it back off her mouth. He didn’t budge.

Stupidity, and pride always prevail. Ringleader laughed, and the movement jostled her. Her shoes scraped against the side walk as he tugged her up, making her stand on her tiptoes. The position strained her neck, and made her thighs burn. She arched her back to keep from pressing against him more than he made her. “Again, you should really leave before you piss me off. It’s five against one pal, can’t you count?”

Bucky smirked, but it was a bitter, piercing expression “I think you should count again.” Confusion passed through her for only a half of a second.

Then he charged. So fast she almost missed it. Pulling back his flesh hand he decked the nearest guy straight in the nose. It was Ironic Superman. The blow was so vicious she heard the crack from where she was a yard away. Superman’s head violently snapped to the left. His body followed it all the way to the ground. He didn’t move.  

“Four.” It made her heart jump in her throat when Bucky’s voice rang over the scuffle.

Bucky didn’t stop there. He spun just in time for Pirate to throw a wide fist towards his head. It was like he knew the blow was coming. Bucky ducked down. Dipped to the left. Then he stood straight, so damn light on his feet. Pirate stumbled past him, having displaced too much of his weight. Then he sloppily caught himself and faced Bucky angrily. Didn’t waste a second to attack again. Bucky was waiting. He slid just far enough to the right to let the blow go over his shoulder.

Pirate fell against his chest, and Bucky used the momentum to his favor. He caught his shoulders. Then used the downward momentum to drive his knee straight up into the guy’s chest. The feather fell from his hat as he let out all the air in his lungs. Bucky then drove his elbow into the back of his head before dropping him like a stone. The pirate hat landed in the gutter off the sidewalk.

“Three.”

Y/N held her breath. All of Bucky’s movements were so precise. No energy was wasted. He was proficient in every step. It was terrifying. He was beautifully deadly.

Devil Horns charged at Bucky with a roar. He was shorter, but stout as a rock. His fists flew fast enough that Bucky had to block them with his arms. One of the punches thrust straight for Bucky’s nose. He caught the blow with his left hand. Devil Horns tried to yank back and grunted at the strain. She thought she saw Bucky smirk, but then he blurred again. With a wide swing, he spun Devil and drove him face first into the awaiting concrete. The man’s forehead hit it with a hard thud. He stumbled back three steps. Bucky grabbed the back of his head and smacked it against the brick wall a second time.

He slumped to the ground after that. Horns all askew. Blood dripped down from his hairline, mouth slack.

“Two.”

Bucky turned on fatty, who already had a shirt soaked in blood from her. He was holding onto his nose and panting loudly through his mouth in terror. All Buck had to do was take one challenging step forward. Jersey immediately booked it. He passed Bucky and ran straight into traffic. Seemed like he would much rather be hit by a car. Cars honked at him and skidded to a stop to keep from killing his ass. He just kept going. Skipped past the cars, and then disappeared around a corner across the street.

“One.”

She could feel the rage trembling through Circus Freak. A span of silence stretched between them as her captor debated on what to do.

With a whip, he flung her to the side, making fall hard onto the sidewalk. Her elbow smarted when it caught her deadweight, making her cry out in pain. Then she scuffled up as quick as she could, scooting back and out of the way. Y/N felt small down on the side walk, pressed back against the wall. Two goliaths fought it out in front of her.

Bucky dodged back as her attacker threw a fist. He dipped to the left. Weaved out of the way to the right. He narrowly avoided Ringleader’s punches. She wondered why he was being on the defensive more now. At least, she wondered until she caught the glint of the butterfly knife in Ringleader’s hand.

He knocked the knife out of the way and landed a solid punch on the guy’s jaw. It didn’t stop him, though. He just swung harder, faster. Fueled by rage and hurt pride. He crowded Bucky back until he was a step from the street. Cars whizzed by, and it seemed Ringleader wanted to shove Bucky under one of them. A semi-truck barreled down towards them, and she saw the heel of his shoe slip.

“Bucky!” She screamed in warning and his head whipped towards her. He stepped forward, towards her and away from the street. Distracted, she saw the flash of the blade before he did. Ringleader finally landed a sharp slice across his chest. She let out a sharp scream. Blood stained his white shirt. Bucky didn’t even wince. In fact, he didn’t react at all.

As Ringleader swung for a second swipe, he caught the guy’s arm in his left hand. His face carefully blank. Like he hadn’t been cut at all. He forced Ringleader back two steps and loomed over him. His mouth was set hard, and his silver eyes were the embodiment of winter.

Ringleader tugged, trying to get free. He swung loosely with his non-dominant hand, but Bucky caught that fist too. Then he squeezed. Only with his left hand. She watched at the man’s knees started to wobble under him. He dropped the blade with a clatter. Then he screamed.

“What the fuck?! Let me go you psycho! You’re gonna break­—” She luckily didn’t hear the crack of his bones. It was obvious in his wail, though. He kept going down until he was on his knees. Bucky let go of his non-dominant hand. Still kept his agonizing hold with his left.

Ringleader clawed at Bucky’s gloved hand with his free one. He tried to get free like a fox caught in a bear trap. Yanked so hard that she was surprised he didn’t dislocate his shoulder. The snow came down harder now. It caught on the brim of his top hat where it had fallen near his legs, making it almost grey. Bucky’s hair had come free from its pomade. It fell in his face as he stooped down to glare at the squirming man.

He wasn’t speaking. Wasn’t flinching when the man tried to pry the metal fingers off him. It was like he wasn’t there at all. Like his mind had checked out, and left behind a ghost.

“I’m sorry! Please man! Let me go!” His voice broke as he started to sob.

Y/N scrambled to her feet. Bucky wasn’t stopping. He already broke the guy’s hand. Yet he kept squeezing. The man was howling now, begging. Seemed like he might have even pissed himself. She took a couple steps towards them, hesitant at first. Bucky didn’t even seem to notice her anymore. He scared her like this. Terrified her to her very bones. She reached out a hand, but her feet were lead. Then Bucky brought back his flesh hand, ready to punch Ringleader again.

“Bucky!” She shouted, forcing herself to move. It took her just three easy steps to get beside him. She grabbed his fist in the air. Wasn’t strong enough to make it come down from its position, but she tugged anyway. Practically draped herself against him, holding his arm where it hung in the air next to her head “Stop! Stop it.” She spoke louder at first, but then softened her tone when she felt him freeze. He didn’t look at her. Just glared down at her attacker. “I’m ok. I’m alright now. Let him go. Please.” The muscles in his arm eased up just enough. She gently guided his flesh hand down, uncurling his fist. She pried at his fingers until his fist relaxed minutely.

“Y-ya man. L-listen to your girl you should j-just- Fuck!!” Bucky had started releasing his grip on the guy’s wrist, but the moment he started blabbering he squeezed again. A growl rumbled in his throat, like the guy personally offended him by breathing.

“Buck!” Y/N chastised him, reaching over and touching his metal hand. Probably for the very first time if she thought about it. She could feel it underneath the glove, harder than bone, and cold even through the material. “Please, let’s just go. He can’t hurt me anymore.” Probably wouldn’t hurt anyone anymore for a long time.

Bucky finally let go at her touch. He shoved Ringleader’s arm away like it disgusted him. Didn’t stop glowering at him, though. Still wouldn’t look at her. The man collapsed into a heap onto the sidewalk. His broken wrist was already blue, swollen, and bent wrong. It made her nauseous, so she stared back at Bucky’s face instead.

Ringleader scraped himself up after a minute and started to run away. Scrambled past the parking garage, down the snow dusted sidewalk. Shoes skidded a couple times, and his pants leg did have a noticeable damp spot. His arm was cradled to his chest. Only a yard away, he turned his head, coat bustling in the wind “Your dog’s a fucking psycho! Should keep him on a goddamn leash!” Then he jogged faster, letting his words disappear behind him. Like the coward he was.

Bucky tried to lunge after him. His muscles bunched under her hand as he snarled. She stepped in front of him just a second before he could start the chase. Y/N pressed herself to him, hands flat on his chest. The blood from his wound was hot against her hands, but she barely noticed. Too focused on blocking his path. Peering up at him, she realized that her eye had started to swell shut. He didn’t shove her out of the way. In fact, he finally looked down at her. It was like her action had finally broken him out of the fog he was in.

As they stared at each other for several long minutes, the defeated attackers slowly roused. One by one the other members of the group scraped themselves off the sidewalk. None of them were dead thank god. They quickly fled too. Silently, though. She barely paid them any attention. It was still snowing hard, and she watched as flakes caught in his eyelashes. Headlights cast shifting shadows around them. Wrestling like demons at their feet. She couldn’t help but question what demons Bucky kept locked inside of his head. Only demons could make someone fight as desperately as he just did.

Slowly, afraid of startling him, she reached up and touched his cheek. She cupped his face in her hands and studied him seriously “Are you alright?” Her thumb brushed over his bruised jaw. It did dawn on her that it was ironic for her to be asking him if he was alright. After everything that had happened. She did it anyway. He seemed to have lost himself during the fight. His eyes were focusing from somewhere far away. She couldn’t believe she just watched him break someone’s hand without flinching. With the adrenaline wearing off, she wanted to cry all over again.

Bucky blinked once. Then twice. He swallowed and grimaced. His flesh hand gently touched her left. His longer fingers cupped over hers. It was so warm. She could feel the calluses on his palms as he slowly guided her hand away. He didn’t touch her with his metal one, but she dropped her hand anyway. It was obvious he was uncomfortable with her touching him like that. She left small smudges of blood on his cheek.

“I’m fine. Are you ok?” He brought his right hand up and touched the side of her face. She winced, realizing that her cheek was still on fire. Her lip felt tender too when her tongue tested the dried blood.

“Why do guys always managed to hit a girl right across the cheekbone?” She asked, trying to make a joke but it landed flat. He didn’t even try to smile. His thumb brushed across her lip, and she grimaced, looking away. Ringleader’s hat was still on the ground right by her foot. She stepped on it, grinding it into the snow. When she moved her foot away, it inflated like a crumbled accordion. She thought maybe Bucky did snort at that. It was too quiet for her to be sure.

“God I’m a mess.” The words babbled out of her past the buzzing in her ears. She glanced down at herself. One knee was ripped open and so was her elbow, both were bleeding. Her jacket had come unzipped down to her ribs, leaving everything showing. Y/N brought her hand up to zip it back, but her fingers were shaking too much to get a good grip. Her breaths started to come in faster as she got more, and more frustrated. Her fingers were numb and clumsy.

Bucky’s hand came up and he covered her own, taking the damned thing. He slowly closed her jacket back up to her collarbones. She had never in her life been more grateful for such a simple action. His thumb stroked her collar just once, leaving a hot trail behind. Then his hands fell away.

Before she could find the words to thank him, her eyes caught the sheen of red on his chest “Y-You’re hurt, and b-bleeding a lot and you’re asking me if I’m ok?” She gave a hysterical laugh, tears already escaping her eyes again. They stung the cut the guy left on her cheekbone. Her hands shook as she brought them up. She wanted to get a better look at the cut. What if he needed stitches? What if he got a scar cause of her? Cause she distracted him like an idiot?

“I-I’m so sorry. I sh-shouldn’t have yelled. I was just so scared and—"

Bucky’s eyes widened, and he quickly brought up his arms. The motion cut off her babbling, uncontrollable apology. He tugged her into an enveloping, hard hug. She tried to protest as he pressed her against his wound, but then his chest rumbled as he started to talk. Her ear was trapped against his collarbone above the wound. It was the most comforting sound she had ever heard “I’m ok doll. Promise. It doesn’t hurt that much. Trust me, I’ve had worse.” He shushed her when she tried to speak “Believe me. Much worse.” Then he squeezed her shoulder lightly and rubbed. The metal hand he just used to crush someone’s arm rubbed hers with more tenderness than she had experienced in a very long time.

Somehow, it didn’t bother her at all.

Finally, once her shoulders stopped shaking and her gross sniffling died down, he pulled back. Bucky held her just a bit away, his hands still rubbing her shoulders. He reached up and wiped at her chin, grimacing. He gave a very weak, sheepish smile “Sorry, I got blood on your…” He trailed off, gesturing to her face. She just shrugged, too tired to care. There were a lot of things smeared on her face. Besides, she got blood on his too. Just didn’t even have the energy to tell him. When he noticed his left hand was still touching her, he dropped it down.

Y/N sniffed, trying to clear her nose. The cold snowy air hurt her lungs. Then she rubbed at her face as much as she could stand. Her eye felt tender and wouldn’t stop blurring.  Probably smudging tears, blood, and makeup all together. Then she spoke up, voice a bit rough “I don’t mind it.”

He raised his eyebrows at her, tilting his head a little. Confused. She shivered as a gust of wind caught her. Now that the adrenaline had passed, she was so frosty her teeth were starting to chatter. Still, she tried to elaborate “Y-Your metal arm doesn’t bother me.”

Bucky stared at her critically and then shook his head, as if she were ridiculous “Let’s get you home.” He sighed, wrapping an arm over her shoulders, his right one. The snow had covered any traces of a fight taking place at all. It was already sticking to the street, forming muddy tracks from the tires. He tucked her into his side where it was warm, under his jacket. Now that she had a calm minute, she enjoyed the way his smell enveloped her.

“I’m s-serious!” She still couldn’t stop shivering “It’s just another p-part of you. A-And I like y-you.” She glared up at him, trying to drill in her honesty with her eyes.

Bucky only stopped to consider at her after they reached his bike. He let her go and dusted the snow off the seat. Then he grabbed a helmet, offering it to her quietly. She was just about to speak up again when he finally whispered, “Thank you.” If she hadn’t been looking at him, she thought the words might have been stolen by the loud gust of wind.

There wasn’t much else she could say to that. So, she put on her silver helmet, and climbed onto the bike behind him. He shrugged out of his leather jacket, revealing a black unzipped hoodie underneath. He shoved his jacket into her hands, and she shrugged it on quietly, grateful. Everything ached too much for her to argue.

Bucky clasped on his own helmet and revved up the bike. When it jumped to life underneath her, she quickly wrapped her arms around his waist, stuffing them into the pockets of his jacket when the wind bit at her fingers. At least the helmet kept her ears warm. She thought she felt Bucky chuckle underneath her when she gripped tighter. He pulled on a second glove, zipped up his jacket, and then smoothly merged into the nighttime traffic.

The drive home wasn’t as wonderful as she thought it would be. Not after everything that just happened. Still, it was beautiful. He weaved through the cars with a precise control, that was definitely dangerous. It reminded her a little of how he fought. Daring, and proficient.

At lot of the time he passed cars without any legal right-of-way at all. Bucky went as fast as he could, and she wondered if he was running from something. Running from the demons she couldn’t see that nipped at his heels. Y/N never felt in harms way, though. If anything, he made her feel like they were flying. Like the bike was gliding up off the ground whenever she wasn’t looking. Colors blurred past her. Paint smudges on a canvas, outlined in charcoal. She bunched the fabric of Bucky’s jacket in her hands and turned her forehead to press against the broad of his back.

He covered her hand with his right one. Slipped it into the pocket and laced them together. His skin was warm on top of hers. Wistfully, she imagined he still had charcoal on his fingers. That the charcoal would smudged across her skin and stain it forever. Leaving a mark that would remind her he was there. Even when he wasn’t.

Next Chapter

[superpsychonutcase]

A short story I wrote and submitted into a contest. Based off play I am currently writing which was inspired by a monologue for a Theater Appreciation class that was required for my grade. 

The smell of paint lingered in the air even after four days. The odor was worth it though; maroon suited my parlor rather well. Perhaps another week and my friends will stay longer than five minutes before the scent chases them away.

I was cleaning up the tea service when someone began pounding on the door. “Bella? Bella, are you home?”

Hearing the panicked baritone of Damian Blackthorn made my lips curl in derision. Four days since Aria’s disappearance and he finally comes knocking at my door. I set down the china laden tray and dusted off my lavender tea dress. Kept me waiting long enough.

Damian continued his assault as I breezed through my childhood home. The small mansion felt almost too large. With mother five years dead and father slipping further into depression at the asylum, the halls seemed bigger. Tokens from our lives, their travels, pictures of us three, still dotted the rooms and walls of Atwood Manor. They invoked painfully sweet memories every now and then, but I couldn’t bear to store them away. Everything from the giant Ming dynasty vases in the parlour to the Faberge eggs display in the kitchen took up space, but moving the expensive knick knacks would only make the house emptier. The vacant rooms were mockery enough, a constant reminder of my humiliation by the hands of a man who once promised me the world.

I stopped in front of the gilded mirror in the foyer for a quick check as no self respecting belle should open her door before making sure she looks her best. My shiny auburn tresses were secured in a flawless french chignon. My makeup was impeccable, my clothes cleanly pressed, and my jewelry elegant yet simple. Perfect for watching a man grovel.

Another quick touch up, just to be safe, and I opened the door.

Standing on my porch, looking downtrodden and pathetic, was Damian Blackthorn. His black hair, normally in artful disarray, appeared to have been quickly combed. The man’s clothes would have sent his mother into a raging fit if she could see the wrinkles in his linen suit. Dark bags hung under red rimmed gray eyes, which lacked their usual spark. Even the family crest ring on his right ring finger seemed to have lost its luster. A white rainflower was tucked in his breast pocket. So he wishes to atone for his sins, does he?

His shoulders slumped upon seeing me. “Bella.” he sighed in relieved despair.

While he was weighed down by his woes, I stood tall and proud. “Mr. Blackthorn.” I replied.

He flinched at my formality. I had never said his name so coldly. “Bella, may I please come inside?”

It was tempting to shut the door on him, but it wouldn't be ladylike of me. I took a step back and bid him enter. Damian sighed, as if he has been holding his breath, before tentatively padding into a house he knew as well as his own. I wanted to slam the door, but Mama taught me better than to show weakness where others can see.

I shut the door with faux calm and followed the gentleman into the parlor. Damian was examining the walls in confusion. “You repainted?”

“It was time for a change.” I reveled in his hurt. Back when we were little, my parents had decided to redecorate. Papa had allowed Damian and me to choose the color for the greeting room. After much bickering, we had settled on a light, sea foam green. “Like your eyes,” Damian said. While we weren’t allowed to help paint, I remember we had been so proud. The parlor is an important room in a home, the first place a guest will see and must be maintained to make the best impression. Mama and Papa had liked it, too. They said it made the room feel lighter. Now the once bright walls had bled into a dark red, like my heart did when he announced his engagement to that floozie and made me a laughing stock.

Damian looked around the room again, his expression troubled. “Shame. I had a fondness for that color.”

A lady is a master of small talk, but I was in no mood to entertain him. “Why are you here? Shouldn’t you be out sending apology letters?”

The man peered down at his feet and heaved a despondent sigh. He twisted the ring upon his finger, a nervous tick he has always had. “That is what I’m here to do, Bella. Of everyone in this town, it is you that deserves an apology the most.”

Fury licked at my chest with white hot flames. All these months of minding my temper had been a test of my will, and it was crumbling under the strain. “So I am suddenly deserving of your gallantry? And what are you apologizing for exactly, Mr. Blackthorn? Are you apologizing for your behavior in the town square? How about for breaking your promises, hm?”

“Bella, please don’t do this.” A hand came up to rest over his eyes. “I’m trying to make things right again.”

I barely contained an unfeminine snort, instead crossing my arms under my ample chest. “Is that so, Mr. Blackthorn? Pray tell, how do you think you could make things right? Did you honestly think an apology could ever fix what you’ve done?”

Damian’s hand dropped to his side, clenched in frustration. His voice held a note of restraint as if he had the right to be angry. “Damn it all, Bella! What do you want me to say: that you were right all along?! If so, then I admit it! You were right about Aria! You tried to tell me that she was only after money and security, and I didn’t listen! I’m sorry for spurning you! I’m sorry for ignoring your suspicions! And I’m sorry for breaking my promise! Are you happy now?!”

I watched as he stood there panting after his loud tirade. Only after he gained his breath did I respond, calmly as a lady should. “No, I’m not happy, Damian. Do you want to know why?”

He didn’t say anything. All he could do was stare at me with depressed longing.

“I’m not happy because my hopes, our dreams, our future together are gone. Shattered and broken, torn asunder by your hands.” I began to stalk around the room, circling the man as a cat would a mouse. “I had always known we would marry one day. We would spend hours in our backyards laying in the grass and planning our lives.  You pursued me before my presentation, the suitors at my debut only attended in name as you had staked your claim for my hand. You were my shoulder to cry on when my mother passed, and I yours when your parents died. Even as my father retreated into his own mind, you promised that you would take care of me. Then you went on your three year trip to expand your business. Before you left, you gave me your grandmother’s bracelet. You said that would place a diamond on my finger once you returned. You asked me to wait, and wait I did.

“Several men came knocking at my door barely a month after your departure. Suitors of all kinds came bearing vows to love me till their dying breaths. Still I turned them away saying I was spoken for. No matter how long it took, I was determined to wait for you.”

Damian, the man I had dreamed about for as long as I could remember, looked so downtrodden. His eyes watered, tears threatening to fall. He reached out, his hand extended to take mine. “Bells…”

“No!” I draw back violently. “You don’t get to call me that! You have lost the privilege, Mr. Blackthorn, after you threw away our future to pursue that money-hungry harlot you supposedly put in the pudding club!”

He collapsed on the couch, hands running and gripping his thick, wavy hair. “What else could I have done, Bella? I know I made a mistake! I was only trying to do what was right!”

“And where did that get you?! Your fiancée got cold feet and ran off, taking with her an engagement ring that has been in your family for the last six generations along with a box of your mother’s jewelry!” I almost missed his quiet sob. The small shake of his shoulders was the only sign of Damian’s distress. “I warned you about her! I told you that a daughter of mobster would bring you misery! And what did you do, Damian? You brushed me off. And only 3 weeks ago, you dressed me down in the town square! You held that snake in your arms while you tore me to pieces for commenting on how thin she looked!”

Tears began slipping down his face, catching on his scruff. “She had a miscarriage.” His voice wavered with doubt.

I fought back another snort of derision. I rolled a manicured hand, loosening my aching muscles. “A confession she made not long after my humiliation, I’m sure. Tell me, Mr. Blackthorn, did it ever occur to you that Miss Kita lied about being pregnant? Lied so that she could marry into your money?”

Damian’s silence was answer enough.

I gave a haughty sniff, just like Mama taught me, and began padding toward the foyer. “I reckon you better be leaving now, Mr. Blackthorn.”

My trek came to a sudden halt as Damian gently grabbed my arm. “Miss Atwood, Bella, I know I’ve done wrong by you. However, if you would find forgiveness in your heart, I would uphold my promises I made to you and our parents.”

And so it begins. I fought the grin tugging at my lips. I whipped around, yanking my arm from his grasp, wearing a mask of rage. “You would uphold your promise?! Just where was this attitude when Aria came waltzing into town? When she was bawling on your doorstep, proclaiming that she was with your child? Now that your precious hummingbird has flown off I’m suddenly worthy of your name? Well I’m sorry, Mr. Blackthorn! While you were off nesting with Miss Kita, Mr. Callaway has been courting me.”

Damian, in a most ungentlemanly act, choked out a chortle. “Charles Callaway?! The head of Callaway Lumber?! He’s new money!”

I calming picked lint off my shoulder. “He may be from new money, but he is an honorable man.”

A soft wheeze of disbelief escaped Damian’s mouth. “So that’s it, then? You’re going to court Charles Callaway.”

“Perhaps.” My delicate shoulders lifted in a shrug. “The man seems to like me well enough.”

The male before me regained his senses. Anguish flared to life in his silver orbs. “But Charles?! Out of all the men in Whysteria, you chose the gambler?”

“He is a respectable man and seems to have a good head for business.” My back ached. Perhaps I should skip my embroidery today and take a nap.

Damian snorted lividly, not unlike a bull. “He leeches off his father’s success. Charles has as much head for business as a swine.”

I fiddled with a vase of light purple mallows and blue lobelias. The silky petals felt pleasant under my skin. “Perhaps he just needs a wife to steer him right.” I turned and faced my childhood sweetheart head on. “I am 25, Damian. For three years, I waited for you. I watched as my friends got married and had children. I wanted nothing more than to have that with you. And you returned only to be followed by a tryst you had on your travels and pledged your life to her.”

“I was only trying to…” I placed a finger upon his lips. They were chapped though still as soft I as remembered.

“Do the gentlemanly thing, as you were taught.” I lowered my hand back to my side. “You made your choice, Damian. And in doing so, you left me open to courtship offers. Unfortunately, you also made me the subject of gossip. Mr. Callaway wasn’t my first choice, but all other bachelors are either taken or refuse to challenge your claim.”

Damian reached out to take my hand only to drop it when I pulled away. “So you will settle for nw money?”

Breathing heavily through my nose, I nodded in confirmation. “It’s far past time for me to start a family.”

He took a tentative step. “And my promises to our parents?”

“Considering your short-lived engagement to Aria, they obviously meant nothing to you.” My voice was harder than I meant it to be, but his flinch pleased me.

Another step forward and I could feel his hot breath against my forehead. “But it does, Bella! Aria has run off. We can still be together.”

“I am not your consolation prize, Damian.” I let my head fall, closing my eyes. “I’d like for you to leave.”

The two of us, childhood friends long grown, stood in silence. Our soft breathes were the only sounds to be heard. The air was laden with bitter heartbreak. After an indeterminate amount of time had passed, Damian shuffled out of my ancestral home. Before he could close the door, I let loose a sob. It was soft and watery, yet loud enough that it made him pause before closing the door. My chest and throat shuddered as the wooden porch creaked under his retreating footsteps.

My abdominal muscles constricted again, and the sob was replaced with a snicker. Then I was outright laughing in the empty house. I stumbled along the hall, catching myself on the walls, all while laughing in euphoric triumph.

I wound up in the kitchen as my laughter trailed off into twisted giggles. Gazing out the back window as I caught my breath again, I let my eyes fall on the garden. The garden that was my mother’s pride and joy when she was alive. Under my care, the blooms weren’t nearly as healthy. It wasn’t hard to admit my mother had a thumb greener than mine. Gardening was never one of my passions, but I did my best to maintain Mama’s flowers and produce as best as I could. “That almost went too perfectly.”

Portraying hurt and anger wasn’t exactly difficult as just thinking of Aria stealing my future husband away from me always stokes my rage to a wild flame. “But he’ll come back. He’s too honorable to let to let me marry such common filth.” And if he didn’t, I’d have to stage some domestic dispute. “I’ll give it two, maybe three weeks time before he challenges that brute away from me.”

I sighed contentedly and took one last look at the garden. My roses were looking rather wilty. Hopefully, the plants will grow and thrive with Aria fertilizing them.