#also it took me a Year to finish this sketchpad which is surprising considering how fast i used to go through them but ive been really into

[sunjoys]

ive almost finished my A4 sketchpad (25 pages) and idk would anyone be interested in an ask game of some kind ? like send a number betw 1 - 25 (or 1 - 22/24 depending on if i finish that last page / remove the Two pages that have self portraits/personal info) and i share the corresponding page ?

[miraculousmarifan]

Felinette Month 2020 - Day 12: Reunion

The prompts on @felinettenovember are gold and everyone should check out what the others are doing for this month!

Theirs are also most likely on time, and this one is only 3 minutes away from being posted on the wrong day... but it’s still the right day for me!

Approximately 3100 words of absolute Lila salt. Her character is poorly enough written in the show that I had to make her villainy almost cartoonish to a certain degree.

Also before anyone takes my word for it at the silk part, just know I have the bare minimum of knowledge about the intricacies of fabric as I’m just a data analyst. I did however read a really interesting article earlier this year discussing the difference in modern and ancient forms of fabrics (it was specifically discussing cotton, if I remember correctly) and how industrialization of fabric production had drastically reduced both the initial quality of the fabric and the durability. Which they were using as an explanation of why it’s still possible to find cloth artifacts in archeology, whereas it’s suspected that the “same” fabric now wouldn’t have survived due to the poorer quality. So I willy-nilly applied this logic to silk weaving. If you are an expert in this stuff and want to pass along actual knowledge, I’d love to hear about it.

Marinette had found that going to university for fashion design was both easier and harder than it had been doing it during school. There were similarities with the existence of homework and specific class times to schedule around. Working at a smaller fashion house had been another beast entirely. Marinette had been offered a 5 year contract as the only pupil to the head designer, working both with the team of designers and working apart from them. Her ideas first needed to gain the approval from the head designer before she could put them through peer review with the team. She was required to have her designs be closer to a final product before she would get approval to proceed to peer review than the designs of many designers on the team had after multiple reviews. Marinette kept her head high, as her designs often went through fewer changes in the review stage as a result of this additional standard.

However with less than 10 designers doing all stages of the process, from researching ideas and sketching to actually assembling the final product and altering them for the models that would wear it, they were always busy. As a result, Marinette found herself more devoted to work outside of their standard hours, sketching variations on most outfits for potential changes she thought may be suggested while she sat at home.

At 25, Marinette found herself married to her career, with only two nights per week that she had set aside for her friends and her family and refused to budge on that time. This had left dating relatively untouched outside of some short high school relationships and a few first dates that never went further.

Alya never could understand why Marinette was so content on her own. She married Nino at 22 and had been happy in her marriage, but she was able to have her career and her relationship. Sometimes her journalism interfered but often she would just finish typing up any articles or notes she had while home and returned her attention to Nino. 

Marinette often didn't disconnect from her sketchpad until late in the evening and then she simply wanted to eat, relax a little, and sleep. Dating required too much effort and time during the week and she only had so much time on the weekends, especially because of the occasional work event on a Saturday night.

This Saturday was one such event, a black tie party in a ballroom, where many designers were getting together under the pretext of a party, however most realized it was an important networking event. Designers would be discussing the styles that were in currently, some boasting about what they expected the next trend to be, and many would try to woo the various models in attendance to sign on for a certain number of shoots or shows in the upcoming seasons.

Marinette knew that she had to show her best at this, as she was entering the fifth year of her contract and would need to get her options in order. She was determined to have at least one outside offer waiting at the end of her contract, so she felt more free to decide if her current company was the best fit.

She had invited Alya over before to help her solidify her outfit by reassuring her choice in dress and accessories, as well as providing suggestions with make-up choices as requested. Marinette really needed a hype woman to get her in the right mindset for dealing with pretentious models and designers for her entire evening.

The ballroom hosting this event was as decedent as Marinette had anticipated and each designer eyed the others' appearance critically. Many of the compliments bestowed on others were backhanded, in the most subtle manner possible. The more inexperienced often missed the jabs but Marinette had expected them. Her mentor had arrived shortly before her and gestured for her to join his conversation upon seeing her entrance. 

For nearly an hour, her mentor paraded her around, introducing her to each designer he personally knew and discussing with them her strengths. She was grateful for his support when he could have easily left her to flounder. The designers that had taken a liking to her brought others to meet her the moment he left her side to fetch a new drink. After dealing with their undivided attention for a while, she tried to find a polite way to excuse herself so she could breathe and let her face rest a moment.

The opportunity to slip away came when Gabriel Agreste entered, accompanied by his assistant and three others. The designers commented on his boldness to bring three young models and speculation started about which of the blond men was Gabriel's heir and if they knew the woman with them. He had brought Lila, Adrien, and Felix. She should’ve expected to see at least two of those three here. Time had allowed her to forget about their presence in this world.

Marinette murmured to the closest person that she was going to grab herself a beverage, then quietly slipped away while the designers speculated amongst themselves. She wouldn't contribute with an explanation of any person in that group, let alone bring an opportunity for her past relationships with them to come up.

She instead had snuck around, hiding amongst the various crowds filling the room to get to the hallway where the bathrooms were located. Rather than going into the bathroom, she walked around a turn in the hallway past them and stopped, leaning against the wall to take some deep breaths and think.

If Lila was here, she was definitely still employed with Gabriel and in good standing. She had cut contact with Alya and Nino after the graduation day incident so Marinette hadn't heard much about her since then. Luka didn't talk much about Juleka outside of their time together at the houseboat or in Kitty Section, but Marinette was sure he wouldn’t have let any news of her reach Marinette anyway. Mr. "High-road" Agreste was here so she would likely need to stay hidden or leave so he didn't try to be overly friendly with her. She didn't want to deal with his attempts to catch up and accusations about not staying in touch, even though he hadn't been a great friend of hers after trying to convince her to be a doormat, even if it nearly got her akumatized. Ice King Felix was a wild card. In school he had been a strange mixture of harsh and quietly supportive (primarily in dealing with Lila or Chloe). If Marinette had to deal with any of those three, he would be her preferred. He had potential to be on her side simply on the conditions that Lila still despised her and that Felix still disliked Lila or/and Adrien. Regardless, Marinette preferred if she could just make it through the night without needing to speak with any of them. Slowly she was considering going back to attempt navigating the party. Pushing herself off the wall, she took one more deep breath with her eyes shut.

And promptly fell to the floor due to the unexpected force of something ramming into her. Her head bounced off the carpeted floor and she felt like her brain was trying to restart.

“Oh, I’m sorry! I didn’t see you around the corner and ran into you. Are you alright?” The man leaned down next to her, while Marinette blinked a few times, trying to get her bearings. Then she slowly started to sit up. He spoke again, “Do you need to have your head examined? It looks like you may have bumped it and messed up your hair.”

Her hand came up and ran across the back of her head, over the hair, still blinking as her brain started running again. She turned to look at him and felt a little bit of dismay.

“Felix. I’m okay. My head is just pounding a little bit. I should really check to see what I need to do to make myself presentable again,” Marinette slowly moved towards getting up, hand reaching out to the wall. Felix took her hand and offered his other for more support. She took it without thinking, balancing herself as she stood. Then she turned her body, releasing his hands, and leaned against the wall again. “Thanks. It is Felix right?” Maybe if I play my cards right, he won’t recognize me and will think I just know from his ads.

“Yes Marinette. One and the same,” he smirked at her efforts and she groaned inside. “Did you know that you’re the hot topic in that room? Well actually you’re right behind whether Adrien or I will inherit Gabriel. As if the man is even considering retiring at this point.” Felix leaned one shoulder against the wall next to her, grinning like a cat.

“It seems that you made a splash socially, then disappeared right as Gabriel Agreste showed up. They’re speculating and Lila seems to have convinced enough of them that the two of you are friends. She’s so sure you have a surprise planned for her, even if she hasn’t figured out that you’re the same person yet. That only brought more speculation as to why you aren’t working at Gabriel. ‘Is it perhaps because she has an indecent relationship with an heir? Or is she the victim of nepotism?’ If you don’t make an appearance again soon, these rumors may live on past the evening.” His eyes had narrowed slightly as he brought up Lila and the rumors starting around her, trying to read the slightest reaction. Marinette just deflated. She had just been ready to go back before their collision and now she just wanted to curl up in a ball. With this last statement, she let out a little sound of exhaustion.

“Why did she have to be here? And how is it that even the people that are used to dealing with snakes don’t recognize her as one?” she groaned out, hands pressing her eyes. After a moment she straightened her back against the wall, breathed deeply and sighed. “Alright. We’re adults. Might as well act like it.”

“You’re going back now?” Felix stood, sounding more curious than before. Marinette had stood straight up, and was taking a step from the wall to walk back into the main hallway and looking at Felix as she replied.

“Of course I’m going to go back. I’m a professional that doesn’t lie and pretend to get places. I do the hard things and succeed--” she raised her eyebrows and smirked back at him “--Of course I need to fix my hair first, since you messed it up. Are you going to hide here longer?”

Felix faintly blushed at her expression as she told him he messed her hair up and thought about another way he could mess it up. As she slowly walked he turned to follow her. “Did you have a companion with you tonight? It’s not uncommon for designers to bring one…”

“I did not. I have been networking. Why do you ask?” Marinette slowly stepped towards the restroom door, nearly laughing at his stalling tactics.

“Would you like one when you’re finished fixing yourself up?” Marinette couldn’t believe how warm he was being with her, even with his mocking way of warning her what she was walking into. Is this really the Ice King I knew in school? 

“I guess you’ll have to wait if you want to see…” Marinette pushed into the bathroom, walking up to a mirror. Luckily my hair wasn’t too extravagant and the back is just a little messed up. With a little bit of water on her fingers and some adjustments of her bobby pins, her hair looking untouched and she was exiting the bathroom.

Felix had moved to stand against the wall near the bathroom, and straightened to join her. Marinette liked the way he was acting with her now and made a split second decision that at worst, she didn’t need to keep him around if he changed his tune. She could push him back out of her life. She reached a hand out to beckon him and he offered her an arm. Their strides matched as they walked back to the party.

Whispers started in the groups closest to the door as they saw their up-and-coming sunshine designer enter on the arm of the model known for his aloofness and cold professionalism. Felix’s face slipped back into it’s icy indifference, looking harshly at specific individuals that dared to make too inappropriate of a comment in his earshot. Marinette smiled and nodded at different individuals that she hadn’t spoken enough with at length. A small squeeze to his arm and twist of her head had the pair walking towards one of Marinette’s first choices for her next employer.

Other groups had taken notice of the pair, drawing more eyes, and conversations turned to theories about their relationship. The two ignored stares and managed to strike up a pleasant conversation with a woman that could drastically improve her prospects. With the increasing curiosity of most guests, one young woman noticed and began to formulate a plan.

“Marinette! Over here! It’s me! Why didn’t you tell your best friend that you were coming?” Lila loudly exclaimed as she began prancing across the room and waving a hand wildly like a child trying to catch attention. Her dramatics went unacknowledged as Felix used his most winning smile, describing Marinette’s designs throughout their school years and then drawing attention to the dress she was currently wearing. She couldn’t help but blush that he had recognized her craftsmanship even after years apart. The woman seemed to be swept up in the warmth and friendliness he was using, as well as the atmosphere those two formed around their group. Others paid particular attention to the hand Felix had rested on her side.

Marinette had been gaining attention up to this point, however the entire party noticed the atmosphere tense as Lila appeared to trip, right as she was about to reach the designer. Felix moved behind Marinette, having her twirl in front of him to show off the patterns embroidered into her dress, and felt the liquid on his back before Lila collided with him. Felix had made note of Lila as he was gesturing to Marinette’s dress and guessed at her plan with a fair bit of accuracy. Marinette was completely dry and far enough forward to avoid being bumped by Felix when the force from Lila’s impact pushed him. The icy glare returned to his face as he turned to deal with her.

A few men from nearby moved over to help Lila, who faked a sob story about how clumsy she was, because she was just so excited to see Marinette since “our schedules have just been so busy that we haven’t gotten to see each other!” when Felix interrupted her.

“Strange that you say that. I actually remember Marinette getting a restraining order on you after graduation, when you tried to poison her food. You claimed to be allergic to shellfish and said she was trying to slip clam broth into your food. However you had the broth container in your bag, it was slipped into her food, and according to her up-to-date school medical records, she’s severely allergic to mollusks so she wouldn’t come near the container. At the time, you were supposedly diagnosed with a disorder that causes you to compulsively lie. Regardless, the courts didn’t seem to believe that a disorder like that, which was unknown to and unheard of by medical professionals, wouldn’t have been grounds to explain trying to harm her and granted the order. Do you not remember that?” Felix recited the story almost impassively, as though it was simply a reminder of what she ate for breakfast, however he gave a mock confused look with his rhetorical question. The crowd had gathered around with her fall and were well within earshot as Felix described one of the worst incidents of Marinette’s life. The pale expression she wore and the Lila’s furious expression as he described it convinced even those that would’ve been inclined to side with Lila.

With one final look of distaste, Felix turned to Marinette and reached for her hand. The onlookers were surprised at the obvious tenderness as he spoke to her, “We should get you away from here. Do you want to stay at the party and talk to some more people or would you prefer I escort you home? We can see about getting some contact information before we leave, if you’d like.”

The room was deathly silent, even Lila having the sense to wait, in case she broke the tense quiet that had formed. After a deep breath and a shaky smile directed at Felix, Marinette turned back to the woman she had been speaking with before Lila’s act and politely said, “I enjoyed our conversation and hope we have the opportunity to speak again soon. I would love to hear more about your work to more effectively create silk patterns by hand. I know you said it before but hand weaved silk really is so much nicer than the machine weaved and I’ve read that it’s much more durable. Thank you for your time this evening!”

Felix moved to her side and Marinette slipped her hand into his before stepping towards the coat room. With coat in hand, the pair swept out of the ballroom to leave behind the drama of the evening.

Suddenly the room burst into chaos and Lila was escorted to a private room to wait for Gabriel to decide how to handle this revelation. He knew he would lose the respect of his peers if he kept a young woman on staff that they all knew had tried to murder another one. The cherry on that cake would be that the would-be victim is an up-and-coming designer that nearly all were considering making an offer to. It was clear to him that Ms. Rossi would be fired. Now it’s just a matter of the other clean up that would follow. Additionally, it seemed Ms. Dupain-Cheng also had a close relationship with his son, considering the show that he was putting on since they arrived. He would have to dig into his sons’ involvements with the designer's misfortunes, as that would impact how they looked to the public. There was one other aspect that Gabriel Agreste was rather certain of, one of his son’s was smitten with a good match and if they were happily married, it would help their careers immensely.

Marinette’s night out ended with a private car pulling up to her building, a kiss placed on Felix’s cheek, and her hand slipping a piece of paper with her phone number into his jacket pocket. She was pleased to find he messaged her immediately to make sure she made it into her apartment alright.

Felix was too lovestruck to sleep that night.

[patrick-donovan]

TEACHER | THATTIEMELT

WHEN: June 2nd, 2020.

WHERE: Thea Hudson’s house.

WHO: Thea Hudson & Patrick Donovan

EVENT: Thea invites Patrick over and lets him use some of her drawing materials and it kinda escalates. 

PATRICK: Patrick hadn’t really slept for the past couple of days. It had mostly been because of the whole situation; he didn’t want to go to sleep, because he didn’t want to miss out on any opportunity there might have been, to go home. He was still not feeling completely safe with going to sleep, and had only gotten a few hours here and there. The thought of his parents having to mourn him, absolutely broke his heart. But it meant that he was getting grumpy. No sleep and no appetite made him irritated and even more frustrated that he couldn’t do anything about it. 

Unfortunately for him, he’d ended up taking it slightly out on Thea. He hadn’t meant to be so grumpy, but it had just sort of happened; her pushing him to get a job and settle down on the island was something that had ticked him off. He knew he wasn’t in the right for saying some of the things he had, especially not after what Thea had been through, and he felt bad. 

He’d just gotten out of the shower when Thea had messaged about the class assignment that Patrick hadn’t signed up for. He was too tired to even consider doing it, not sure if he was in the right mindset for doing such a thing; he was focusing on trying to get off of the island anyway. He’d gotten himself ready after that, and she’d soon invited him over after he’d protested about the way that everything was run, his homesickness, his lack of creativity - and he honestly didn’t understand why. He’d been complaining and yet she still invited him to come over. The girl was truly something else, and Patrick knew that. 

Clad in a pair of black jeans, a white t-shirt and a blue denim shirt over, Patrick knocked on the door to Thea’s giant mansion, once again. He rolled up his sleeves as he waited for her to answer, softly biting his bottom lip in anticipation. She had that effect on him.

THEA: Thea had been struggling today to try to help Skylar as much as she could and also just trying to figure out how to get back into her Domme headspace after everything that was going on. It was definitely not the first nor the last time she would probably feel this way. But at the moment she was trying to be a Domme in a nonsexual way. Encouraging Patrick to get a job and not talk poorly, making sure to get Skye to find her hard limits during her recovery.

When she had messaged the male, she didn't realize he was still having these types of thoughts after he had been over yesterday and said nothing about them. It worried her. And she knew it would take time to adjust and figure out what exactly this island was, and the only she probably adjusted so quickly was because of her lifestyle back home and also her siblings being here. And so she figured she needed to show some patience with Patrick. She was hoping that coming over would help. 

Thea was back in her everyday fashionable attire, a small skirt and tight top. She had told Skye that Patrick was coming over and she had told her that she would be in her room. Thea made her way downstairs when she heard the door and opened it to find him waiting. "Hey," she said calmly.

PATRICK: It wasn't the first time that it was sort of tense between the Hudson girl and him. There had been many arguments and fights over the past five years of them knowing each other - over silly little things that weren't even relevant. And usually, it was Patrick who would apologize and try to make things good again, hating that weird "distance" between them. But this was different; it wasn't a silly little thing that wasn't relevant. This was incredibly relevant. It was their lives. And Patrick didn't want that tension to be there now. He wanted it to be like yesterday, when his primary goal had been to cheer the girl up, get a laugh out of her and make sure that she'd smiled at least 40 times during his short visit. 

He thought he was going to be on a high and float around on a pink sky, after she had kissed him, but his thoughts and brain had screwed him over on that one, when he'd laid down to go to sleep and thought about his parent's Sunday routine. He wanted to feel like he'd just won the lottery, again, but the thoughts inside of his mind were just too heavy. 

It kind of disappeared when he saw Thea in front of him though. It was so easy to get caught up in her beauty; that was why it was so easy for Patrick to draw her. A small smile grew on his lips. God, it was so obvious how smitten he was with this girl. He walked up to her and moved in to give her cheek a kiss. "What's up?" He greeted her and pulled away to take a look at her, his smile still there. "Are you okay?"

THEA: Seeing him smile, she thought maybe he could get over this sadness. But she couldn't be with him 24/7 to help him forget that this place wasn't home. Thea missed home a lot too, but she also had a lot of privileges here that she didn't have back home. So, she couldn't quite relate to his sadness for the moment. Thea let him kiss her cheek before walking him a bit more inside to close the doors. "Not much," she said before looking over his expression as she nodded. "Yeah, I'm fine. I just want you to understand, but don't know how I can make you understand. But right now, I think drawing might help relax you, and get you into a better headspace." She said as she gently took his hand. "Skylar doesn't feel like being social, by the way, sorry." She guides him up to her studio area where she had brought out her sketchpad for him.

PATRICK: It was all of the free time that Patrick had, especially when he was alone, that made him think about things; if he was distracted by someone or something else, he was fine. Which was why he so badly needed to paint or draw again. He couldn't take the loneliness and boredom, because it made his mind spiral out of control. He didn't want to feel that way, especially not around Thea. Back in New York, it had been so easy for him to just go and sulk alone whilst painting something, or sketching a random thing down in his book, and it had meant that he wouldn't take it out on anyone else. He couldn't do that here. At least not until his best friend had mentioned the supplies that she had. Thea was completely right. Drawing something would definitely help him relax. "I've always wondered why Van Gogh cut his ear off, y'know? It's making more and more sense to me, these days," His tone was teasing; he knew the original story. And Thea knew Patrick too well, to know that making art would help. He looked down at their hands holding. It had all happened so fast, but Patrick was grateful that he was actually moving into a territory with Thea, where they could share little intimate things like hand-holding and cheek kisses. "No, no, don't apologize. I can always see her, in a couple of days when she's had time to recover," Patrick said, alluding to the fact that he probably wasn't going anywhere, anytime soon. He looked at the supplies in front of him; she had it all, but that was probably down to the fact that she had to sketch her designs. "Thank you for doing this, by the way; letting me use your things." He turned to her and smiled softly, his eyes locking with hers. "A knife can only do so much on a plate, it's not quite the same as a pencil or a brush."

THEA: She rolled her eyes, "Now you're being just as dramatic as ever," Thea shook her head before giving a small smile as she wonders what Skylar was doing up in the room she was in anyway. "Yeah, she definitely needs friends surrounding her," she agreed, genuinely worried for sister's well-being. It felt like Skye was saying something without saying anything when she had told her that Patrick was here. So, now she just would live how she would until told what exactly was wrong, if anything actually was wrong after all. Shutting the door behind the two of them so that way the noise wouldn't bother her sister. She watched Patrick take in the space as she smiled and gave a small shrug. There were two desks, one with her fabrics and sewing machine the other one for sketching. She grabbed the seat from the desk filled with fabrics. There was a half-finished outfit on the mannequin but still so much more space. "Oh, c'mon, why would I keep this away from you? I've got some watercolors and colored pencils if you want to have at those as well." She let her eyes look into his, "Well it's a good thing that I have both of those then," she gives a soft smile before standing back up to grab a few more materials out for him. "So, just draw what you feel and get your catharsis."

PATRICK: "Does that come as a surprise to you?" Patrick asked, a small smirk lurking on his lips. Thea helped him tremendously to feel better, but he knew that he couldn't rely on her. She was someone who had been there, in his life, for such a long time, and they had done so many things together, so she had become this beacon a positivity in Patrick's adventures on the island, reminding him of all the good things that were there. "How do people treat her here, do you know? Other than the whole Switch thing that's apparently offensive to someone," he paused, rolling his eyes at the thought. It was ridiculous. "She's not got beef with anyone, right?" Patrick asked her, biting down on the inside of his lip. That had been another thing that had kept him awake; worrying about Skye and the attack, if he was in any danger at all. He sat down at the desk with all of the drawing materials and was ready to just get going and actually make something now. "Just wait and see, I'm gonna create some magic here." Before too long, the pencil was hard at work on the paper, lines coming into existence, slowly letting a figure take form. Patrick's face scrunched up as he concentrated, his jaw clenching and unclenching as his eyes stayed focused on the piece of paper. The figure was slowly coming to life, and with one last line going across, Patrick breathed out, satisfied with his work. Then he ripped the piece of paper out and was about to give it to Thea. Maybe he shouldn't? Maybe it was for the best if he didn't. Clenching his jaw again, he made a decision to go against his doubt, and he leaned over to give it to Thea. It showed her sat with her head in her hands, clearly upset. He'd only seen hee like that once - when Skylar had disappeared, back in New York. She was so good at keeping it together and not show anyone her vulnerability, but that moment had struck a chord in his memory, and the image of her sat like that, in total despair, had remained.

THEA: "I suppose it shouldn't be at this point," she said with a small smile before she felt herself tense a bit when the conversation came to her sister. "I mean...she doesn't really like talking to most people in general." Thea gives a shrug and shake of her head, "Um not really, not that I know of, why?" She asked not seeing what the relevance was. But she decided to add, "You know, she would probably be a good person to talk to about being a Switch and helping you figure things out as a Switch," she adds not wanting to put Skye on the spot right now while she was still recovering, but thinking it would be smart for them to know they were in this together. Once she was done placing everything down, she laughed at Patrick's comment, "Alright, alright, let's see what you got." She said before watching him a moment as he was in the mode. She had seen that face various times and it was odd to see it now, in this whole different place. While she waited, she did a sketch of her own, a dress she had been thinking about for a couple of days now. She didn't quite finish it when she heard the paper rip out and she looked back towards him. She watched his hesitancy, confused as to what exactly he was worried about as he had given her plenty of his sketches before. Leaning over to take the paper she looked at it and her heart sunk as she looked at it. It made her look weak and helpless. She remained silent for a moment before giving it back to him. "Why did you draw that?"

PATRICK: Patrick had met Skye only a handful of times through Thea; it was inevitable since they lived together in New York, and Patrick sometimes came over. He liked the girl and her sass - it seemed to be a trademark of the Hudson sisters, and Patrick enjoyed that. He shrugged his shoulders at her question, that being the answer. "I was just wondering," yeah, wondering if they could somehow figure out who had done all of this and punish them for the crime that they had committed. And not punish them the way that Matthias had punished Patrick for not including titles when speaking to him. "I know that she can take care of herself, she's like you," his hand moved up to pinch his nose quickly, his gaze falling to the floor. "You're both really independent. Stubborn. But that's a given," a small smile lingered as he looked up at her after he'd said that. "But that's not enough for anyone to have a grudge against someone," Patrick knew that it came down to the whole Switch thing, everyone had said so themselves. It seemed like they were specifically targeted for some reason. "What's so wrong about being a Switch here?" He asked her, his eyebrows furrowing. 

Patrick kept his eyes on Thea, wanting to see her expression. He knew that she didn't want to be seen in that kind of "negative" way, but Patrick found it beautiful. It resonated with him. "Because that's how I feel," he said, not hesitating that time. Maybe it was how she felt as well, after everything with Skye? He didn't know, he didn't want to just assume her feelings. But he knew that the hopelessness that her posture represented in that drawing was exactly how he felt about being on the island. Quietly, he turned back to the desk and started the next one. He could feel the tension and anger leave his body with each line he drew.

THEA: Thea gave a small nod as she adds, "She may be able to take care of herself, but it doesn't mean she shouldn't have to do this all alone, but I know that's not what you meant." She gave a small smile as he complimented her resilience, letting out a little bit of a laugh. "Yes, it's just in our DNA," she agrees before turning a bit more serious. She shook her head and placed a hand on his shoulder, "Hey, the people who think that it's wrong? They are the ones who are in the wrong. They're the problem. They think that just because Switches weren't one of the original marks you could have and it's only about Doms and Subs in a relationship that one person can't be both. And they're stupid and I hate them." She said as she started to feel a bit more anger about what happened to her sister, but tried to release that tension as it wasn't going to help Patrick. 

When he told her that the reason he drew it was because it was how he felt, she felt her heart hurt as she leaned forward a bit and kissed the side of his forehead. "I'm sorry, Pattie," she said softly as he goes back to drawing. She once again also turns back to her own sketch, figuring out what type of material she would want for it as she erased a few little details and corrected them.

PATRICK: "Yeah, no, definitely not. It's a good thing that she's got you, Thee," He told her. She probably knew that already, but he wanted to tell her. He was so proud of her, how she'd gone out of her way to make sure that her sister wasn't alone at any point in time, making sure that she was safe in her home, and seemingly dealing with crap from other people on top of it all. It was a lot, and he wanted her to know that she'd done an amazing job. She was using her stubbornness for something that benefitted both of the girls. Patrick listened to her as she explained. It didn't make sense to him, how people could care about something so much that they would harm another person. To Patrick, compassion was one of the most important things in life. His lips went into a straight line and he shook his head in pure anger, disappointed that it was such a problem. "But, it means that I could potentially offend someone, just because of my preferences?" It was the kind of danger that Patrick couldn't be bothered to deal with, it wasn't anyone's problem but his own, and it didn't make much of a difference to anyone else's life. Knowing that someone had taken it personally and almost like a threat to them, and then taken it out on poor Skylar broke his heart. 

Thea's kiss was welcomed. He didn't want her to feel sorry for him, because he wasn't the type of person to be pitied, but the kiss caused a wave of reassurance through his body; he knew that, even if he didn't have his family, he did have her. She was important to him. He appreciated the gesture. "You don't have to apologize," He told her softly, his dark brown eyes finding her hazel ones. "This is helping, a lot." He said, gesturing to the art. He was really thankful that she'd let him use her things for now, until he got a job and a steady income to buy his own supplies.

Patrick's style when drawing was more realistic, than when he painted; they were considered to be abstract expressionism, and he was moody and aggressive when he painted. Drawing was different. He paid attention to details in his drawings, and while they were quicker to do and didn't require a whole lot of brain power, it was good practice for him, and it stimulated him in ways that only sex really could. Looking over to his side, Patrick took in Thea's features as she sat there. The way her jawline curved sharply, her long eyelashes curling upwards, her round cheeks and those damn lips; they were red and full, and something that Patrick wanted to feel against his own again. If he tried hard enough, he could still feel the way his lips had been buzzing, when he’d walked home after their make-out session.

After a while, Patrick had produced yet another drawing, this time of Thea in the moment, and the way that she had been concentrating on her own work. He once again ripped the paper out and placed it on the table. He was getting pumped about feeling creative again. Leaning over, Patrick peeked at the work that the girl was doing. He looked serious as he said, “That fabric makes me itch, you’re not getting me into that,” He joked deadpan, but wasn’t able to hold it for much longer and soon enough cracked a smile. He got up from his seat and walked up to stand behind her, his hands moving into her hair as he pulled it back gently. Then he leaned down, his lips almost ghosting her ear. “But you can get me out of this.” He whispered, referencing to his clothes. It was a typical Patrick-move.

THEA: Thea felt her anger starting to get to her about the whole subject as it had a few nights ago. It made her want to punch a wall and burn down houses and break shit and even then it wouldn't have been enough at the moment because her sister was not okay and the guy who did this to her still could be out there. "Fuck the people that are offended by your mark, Patrick. They mean less than nothing. Don't go near them if you can help it," she warned him as she wanted to leave the subject at that. 

She said gently, "I know I don't have to apologize, but I wouldn't want anyone to feel the way I felt that day or any of the worst days of my life." Thea commented as she kept her eyes on him. She gave a small smile, rubbing at the back of his head for a moment before nodding, "I'm glad it's helping," she said to Patrick as she felt a proud feeling of at least she was doing something right. 

After a bit more time of perfect the look of the lace on the dress she thought that maybe it was done and with perfect timing too as she heard the sound of paper ripping once again. She looked over at the drawing with a smile. Patrick had sketched plenty of similar things of her, probably to the point that he could fit a whole art gallery with them. She had kept all of them in a shoe box in her apartment. If she was having a bad day she would look through them and it would help. She wondered what happened to that box now. 

She saw that his eyes wandered over to her sketch, and she looked up at him and said in a matching tone, "Well then it's a good thing it's not for you," Thea retorted before she watched him get up, feeling his presence now behind her, his hands moving through her hair. She felt the heat of his body move closer towards hers as he whispered in her ear, telling her to take off his clothes. If Thea was a Submissive, she would have melted, yet she was not and she turned her head to look at him, "I promised my sister it would only be kissing today."

PATRICK: Patrick hated the discrimination that existed. If he absolutely had to be sucked into a pocket dimension, couldn't he have been sucked into one where all these social problems didn't exist? He didn't want to talk about it anymore, he knew that nothing good was going to come out of it, unless he found a way to revolt against all of it, and even then, he relied on hope that it would actually work, and that he wouldn't get punished. The latter result seemed to be more possible than anything else. "I won't. I'm good at taking care of myself, and I don't plan on getting hurt by anyone." 

Smiling softly, Patrick almost purred at the feeling of her hand at the back of his head. The way she touched him made something within him feel more alive. Like she'd turned a switch on and electricity was flying through his body. He was a big fan of that feeling. She had a way of making him feel comfortable and safe. "You're helping," He softly corrected her, smiling. 

Slightly disappointed that his flirting wasn't working wonders on the girl, he had to remind himself that she had been immune to his charms from day one, for several years. Not everyone would melt under his touch, and he knew that, but after years of pretty much getting what he wanted, it still felt like a slap in the face when he got rejected. Shrugging his shoulders, he moved to kneel down beside her. "I'll happily take what I can get," He said, remembering how her kisses had been one of the highlights of the past couple of days. He want content with that decision, so he leaned up, one hand on her knee and his other hand moving up and under her hair and to the back of her head to pull her in for a deep kiss, finally connecting his lips with hers.

THEA: She was thankful that they didn't have to talk anymore about it. And once Patrick had finished his first painting he was starting feeling better. A small smile went on her lips as he corrected her statement, letting him her know that the act of painting wasn't the only thing that was helping, but that she was in general helping him. Thea let out a small sigh of relief at that. 

But it wasn't until after the second painting that he started to get a bit antsy. Thea watched over his expression and grinned as he knelt down. "See, you are starting to get the idea a bit," she teases at the way he was on his knees. Although she felt a bit odd with him him trying to take charge. She leaned forward to kiss him in return. Her hands moving to his shoulders as she slides her tongue instantly into the kiss, thinking of the drawings he had just been doing for her as she makes out with him.

PATRICK: There was this give-and-take relationship between the two of them that made sense and worked. He'd tried being there for her, when she'd found out about Skylar, and now, she was there for him, letting him do this thing and helping him express his thoughts and feelings. Granted, he'd only drawn two pictures, and they were both of Thea, he figured they were both a good representation of what it was like for him, at the moment. She'd been more supportive than he could ever have dreamt of. 

But there was still that adjustment that he had to make to the whole thing. She was a Domme, and he knew that. She wanted to be in charge, and he was flexible, only really caring about pleasing her and doing what she wanted, so she could be satisfied. But he also wanted to show her how grateful he was, how much he'd missed her, even if it had only been a couple of days they'd gone without speaking to one another. He wanted to let her know that he had this love and affection for her, and that he had a hard time expressing that outside of art and sex. That was why he had kissed her and initiated this make-out session. That was why he muttered the next thing. "Teach me?" 

With a sharp intake of breath, Patrick felt her tongue against his. He felt a flutter in his stomach, and the skin on the back of her neck felt like silk under his fingertips. He moved his hand to cup her cheek, as his lips danced with hers, and his body leaned further and further into hers, wanting, no, needing to be closer with her.

THEA: Thea was enjoying kissing him, he told her to teach him and it was all she could do to rip off all his clothes right now and teach him a lesson on being a Submissive sexually. But Thea also felt like he may need a lesson on what it meant to be nonsexually too. She didn't know how to reel this back in. He already knew her as a friend, as equals. But now she would have to figure out how to discern between the two. She was able to do it with Kurt, but then again they were never sexual. Thea thought how it was a good thing that Patrick and her had not been sexual yet. "Do you want to be my little bitch?" She murmured against his lips. 

She sat in her chair still, enjoying the fact that Patrick was on his knees as she was happy to kiss him, but Thea only pulled her lips away when she felt that need to breathe. But then she looked down at him. "If I teach you, you have to listen and take in what I say. Understood?" She said while looking down at him, "You have to learn how to be good."

PATRICK: Patrick had always enjoyed being dominated in the bedroom; it rarely happened, because of the people that he slept with were naturally submissive to him, when he initiated things, but the few times that someone had taken charge, he'd been absolutely ecstatic. To hear Thea speak to him like that was new and something that he didn't expect, but he didn't hate it. Even if they were just kissing for now, he couldn't help but find it incredibly hot - whatever she wanted to do with him, he would do. He nodded into the kiss, happy to oblige. "Please," He sighed. "Make me your bitch." 

Both of his hands had moved down to her thighs, slowly rubbing them. The fabric of Thea's skirt slipped out of his fingers every now and again and he could feel her soft her skin was, but he didn't dare to go under her skirt, not when she'd wanted them to stay at a safe level, and just kiss. He looked up at her, his smile having faded as he listened intently. "I understand. I'll be good, Miss Hudson." This time, he didn't have a problem with saying it, because this was different. This was him being willing to learn, seeking it out, and not being forced to do anything that he wasn't ready for.

THEA: She kissed with even more passion as he seemed to want to learn what it really meant to be in a Dominant/Submissive styled relationship. Thea had expected at some point he would figure it out, but it was a lot sooner than she had expected. Thea was definitely collecting Switch bitches now it seemed. The only thing she was nervous for now was how this might affect their friendship. But it was obvious they were bringing things to the next level anyway as she had her tongue in his mouth. 

Thea felt his hands and tried her best not to feel wet, but her body couldn't help but reacting, but she wouldn't show that to Patrick. She wouldn't indulge him with that quite yet. When she looked over his face, a smirk rising on her lips, "Good bitch," she said softly before standing up so she was towering over him. "Now, before every scene starts, a Dominant will ask for you safe words, your hard limits, and sometimes your soft limits. Tell me yours."

PATRICK: To go from friends for so many years, to suddenly kissing and now to him being Submissive to her was a drastic change. He hadn't seen it coming at all, but he didn't mind it. It made him focus his energy on that, instead of him being stuck on the island. There was still a huge amount of fear that this was ruining their friendship. It was one of the things he'd thought about when he'd returned home after their first make-out sesh. He didn't want to lose Thea, and while he figured that they were both adult enough to completely destroy their friendship, he was still absolutely terrified about what would happen. Patrick was normally really chill, and took things one day at a time, not one for worrying about things in advance, but with Thea it was different, because he actually valued their friendship a lot. 

She looked so powerful as she stood there in front of him, her long and lean legs right there for him to touch and kiss. But he didn't. He remained calm, following her orders of keeping it strictly to kissing. "My safe word is 'Voodoo'. I don't do anything that involves bodily fluids, like watersports, scat or vomit," He let out a deep breath, his eyes raking over her body. He wanted to touch her so badly, he could feel his fingers itching to do so. "I might be okay with letting you peg me at some point, but not today, Miss." Licking his lips, he moved his eyes upwards to finally connect with hers. "How can I satisfy you?"

THEA: Thea looked down at him as she gave a nod as she listened to his words. She moved to pet his face a bit, a bigger grin moving across his face as he told her he would be interested in pegging. "Well, I do enjoy getting my dick out for special bitches," she smirks as she moves her fingers to stroke under his chin for a moment as she shook her head. "Well, we won't be doing anything sexual today, but don't you worry, I'll keep that in mind. I think your heart might explode if you saw me naked, so we'll work up to it." She teases Patrick a bit before sliding her hand down the side of his face. "I want you to think of a title that you would like to call me while you are my Submissive, that is your first task."

PATRICK: Patrick let out a light moan at the feeling of her fingers. It felt like they sent sparks through his body, and he was melting under her touch. "And I'm a special bitch?" Patrick asked her, a soft smirk on his face. He wanted to hear it, even if she'd implied it. He was almost drooling at the thought of her being naked, and it really wasn't fair that she was just dangling it in front of him. What the hell was he supposed to do with the growing boner in his tight jeans? He couldn't just whip out his dick and jerk off right then and there, that didn't feel right. Instead, he snapped out of it and paid attention to the Domme. "Just the anticipation of it..." He started out, biting down on his bottom lip softly at the thought of it. "Well, let's just say that I'm glad that I jerked off in the shower, before coming here. If I hadn't, then there would've been a major cum stain on these jeans right now." It wasn't because he had problems in that department - no, Thea would've heard about that from her friends if he did. It was more a testiment to how fucking sexy she was. He hummed lightly and leaned into her touch. "I do enjoy calling you Miss, even if it didn't seem that way a couple of days ago," he said, referencing to his stubbornness about not wanting to give into any control. "Would it be okay if I called you 'Miss'?"

THEA: She looked at him for a moment before giving a very light slap to his face, "That is yet to be found out yet, my sweet bitch." Thea said teasingly as she looked down at him, seeing a bulge start to form in his pants at even the mention of her naked. "Yes...anticipation," she said eyes his groin before letting her slowly come between his legs and run up his crotch before bringing it back to her other foot. "Oh is that so, little bitch? Tell me what you thought about while you were jerking off in the shower," she let her eyes meet his as she watched him like he was a kitten rubbing up against her touch begging for more. Her thumb rubbed against his lower lip as she thought, "Hmm, I was thinking more creative, like 'my muse'." Her eyes glinting with joy and power all at once.

PATRICK: The slap took him by surprise. God, if he had known that she was like that, before coming to this island, he would've tried way harder to get into her pants. His smirk turned to a surprised smile, his mouth slightly open. Who knew she had it in her? It wasn't long before the smile on his lips turned into a genuinely surprised and perfectly shaped "O" and he gasped. The sensation that he felt on his crotch made him almost fall over, and he had to put a hand on the floor in order to keep his  balance. Why were jeans so fucking stupid and always in the way? He wanted to be free of them. He could barely think straight, having difficulty getting an answer out. "I- hnng..." He was lost for words until she finally stopped teasing him, and he let a deep breath out, not knowing he'd held it in. Then he straightened back up and looked up at her again. "I was thinking about you," his voice came out in heavy breaths and he licked his lips. "And that little red dress that you used to wear, whenever we went out with the group. And how it'd slide up... That, mixed with your kisses and you straddling me." Patrick revealed, not caring that he was sharing all the details. He saw the expression on her face and how it'd lit up. He liked seeing that. "You're right, 'my muse' is 110% better. I apologize."

THEA: Seeing how he reacted, she could tell he was turned on and that only made her more excited. Thea watched his facial expression change almost instantly as her foot went between his legs and she could see just how easily she could tease him. Seeing how he couldn't even focus as she felt him up. She felt herself tingling between her own legs, but she would deal with that later. Right now it was about torturing Patrick. Thea gave a nod as he spoke. "Oh really? Were you a naughty bitch? Would you peek to see if I had anything on under my dress? I bet you enjoyed that, the feeling of me on top of you. Who knows, maybe the next time that happens it'll be because you're inside me," she teases him as her fingers go from his lips into his thick hair. "That's what I thought, bitch."  Her hand moved to the back of his head, tugging at his hair to bring his head up more, "Do you enjoy how I'm talking to you?"

PATRICK: One moment, he had been quietly drawing, trying to get his mojo back after feeling frustrated and angry, and now, he was on his knees, so incredibly close to begging for some sort of release. Nodding, a slight blush crept up on his cheeks. He hadn't actually meant to look at her and check, but there had been times where it had been obvious to him; those were the nights where he would also feel a little jealous, knowing that she probably planned on going home with anyone, but him. "I liked it when you wore the black thong," he admitted, still wanting to show her a little bit of respect. He'd enjoyed it when she'd gone commando too, but he was still a gentleman, and he wanted to show that, despite it not being very gentleman-like to say. "I truly hope so. My hand is great, but if your kisses are anything to go by, then you're even better. Perfection, even," Patrick mused, already dreaming about the moment where he'd be inside of her. God, he hoped that'd be soon! He groaned quietly when she tugged on his curls and he moved up slightly. "I do," He groaned out again. "I do, my muse. I love it."

THEA: Thea could see just how excited he was for her. She raised a brow as he mentioned her thong and knew exactly what he was talking about. She actually purposely wore it knowing it would rile Patrick up, especially letting it ride up her body when it was in view of him. The brunette slid her hands away from him and towards her skirt, sliding the cloth up her body slowly to reveal a black thong, "You mean this one?" She grinned before letting the material fall back down again. Thea gave a small shrug before saying, "I've been told I've been the hottest sex someone has ever had on multiple occasions." Thea smiled at the small noise that came from his lips. Loving the new name he was calling her, and the fact that he enjoyed feeling having her be in control only made her think that this could work out. "Good bitch," she said as she let go of his hair and went back to normal Thea. "And that's just a little taste of a lesson of me being a Domme." She said with a sly grin.

PATRICK: Patrick watched as Thea's hands moved up her legs, her skirt following. He didn't blink or look away, or anything; his focus remained on the girl's legs. His breath hitched in the back of his throat when he finally got a peek of the black fabric, barely covering anything, and it had to take him everything he could to not just grab her, push her down on the table and have his way with her right then and there. But he didn't. He was going to be a good boy, and submit to her. "Yeah, that's the one," he told her, swallowing hard. And then it was all over again, thankfully. Another second of seeing that, and Patrick would've leapt up immediately. "I believe them," he managed to croak out, not sure how he hadn't started touching himself yet. He was quite impressed with himself. And then all of a sudden, she switched back to normal, and Patrick almost got a little bit sad. He'd enjoyed it. But he also knew that it couldn't continue, if she wanted him to just stay kissing her and do nothing else. "Fucking hell, Thee," Patrick sighed and let himself fall back onto the floor. His cock was twitching in his pants, he could feel it. A hand went to rest on his forehead as he closed his eyes for a second to take it all in. "That's so fucking hot," he told her, before looking up at her from his position on the floor. "But what am I gonna do about this mess?" Patrick asked her, pointing to the bulge in his jeans. He needed a release, it would just be pure torture if nothing happened.

THEA: She felt so evil but yet so good all at once as she teased her friend by showing off her underwear. He was malfunctioning and it was all just so delicious. He could barely talk or even think it seemed like. Although she was surprised at how well he was controlling himself. Even though she could tell he was eager from his facial expressions and his words, the way he stood still, it made it even more aware how obedient he could be. But she could tell if she went any further he might have a stroke. A laugh left her lips as he went to the ground. She saw how hard he still was and looked down at him with a nod, "It is right? You were really good. Very good self control." When he asked her what he was going to do about his boner, she grinned before she expertly slid off her black thong coated with her own anticipation and tossed it down at his face. "Suffer," she said teasingly as brought her foot down towards his crotch and rubs up against with a bit of pressure.

PATRICK: Patrick wanted to show Thea that this was worth it, that he was worth it. He knew that she may have had her doubts about him being a Submissive, but he figured that had been because he'd put up a fight earlier, with both her and Matthias. He didn't like being told what to do, he didn't enjoy being controlled - unless he asked for it. Unless he actually wanted that, then there was no way in hell that he wasn't going to rebel against it all, just a little bit. But he was proud of himself when she praised him. He could be very obedient when he wanted to be. Before he knew it, she was peeling off her underwear, and then it landed on his face. His hand moved up to it, but he didn't remove it. Instead, he took in the sweet, delicious scent that was Thea. "You smell amazi-" he groaned out, interrupting himself when he felt her foot on his crotch. "Fuuuck..." He hissed and closed his eyes, his breathing harder. "Please," Patrick moaned. "More."

THEA: Thea was watching him on the ground, watching as he inhaled her scent and it only turned her on more. His reaction to her foot only made her even more excited. But, she had promised her sister that it wouldn't be anything more. She had teased Patrick so much now, yet she enjoyed the thought of making him leave with a massive boner. Her foot pet up against him once before she took her foot away and said, "Alright, alright, I expect to see you soon as I know you'll most definitely be wanting more." She smiles down at him, giving him a wink.

PATRICK: His eyes rolled to the back of his at the sensation. Though there were two layers of fabric between her foot and his dick, the pressure that she was putting down on it was enough to make him moan out. He wanted to grab something, needing to hold onto something, so he couldn't help himself when his hand found her calf and his fingers wrapped around it. It wasn't to remove it or take control, he just needed to support himself on something. And then all of a sudden, it was over. Her foot was off of him again. He groaned, absolutely frustrated that he wasn't getting a release. A heavy puff escaped his lips as he sat back up straight and looked up at her. "You're definitely going to be the death of me, Thea Hudson."

THEA: He was practically writhing, and Thea felt his hand come up to her in pleasure and she just really couldn't help herself with teasing him. She could see his frustration and laughed a bit as she watched him collapse once more before sitting up. She gave him a little pout at his words, "Aw Pattie Melt, I'm sorry. Like I told you, I promised Skye." Thea held out a hand for him to take to stand back up again, not wanting him to leave just yet, but also knowing if he stayed any longer she absolutely would be fucking him.

PATRICK: Patrick accepted Thea's hand, and stood back up, finally getting to look right into those hazel eyes of hers. He was still trying to catch his breath after what had happened, but he was calming down slowly. His dick, however, was not. It was still eager to escape the prison that it was encaged in. He heard her words, and knew that he needed to just go home and masturbate, like he'd previously done. She was making his balls blue, that was for sure, but it also made him want even more. He just had to be patient. "I get it, don't worry," Patrick told her, a soft smile. He understood, but that didn't mean he wasn't suffering. "I'm gonna go home and...take care of things," Patrick teased, leaning in to kiss her lips. He bit down on her bottom lip, smirking. "I might send you a picture." And with that, he pulled away and turned to walk towards the door.

THEA: She smiled as she looked back at him, letting her fingers linger with his a moment before taking her hand away. Glad he wasn't being pushy with her, because that would have totally turned her off. She was surprised to how well this experiment had gone, and was looking forward to testing his limits even more as he learned his role. She let out a small laugh as he said he was going to go take care of things. When he bit on her lower lip, her hand moved to smack his face as she knew that would turn him on. "You better, bitch." Thea murmured as he started to leave, she cleared her throat, "I believe you're forgetting your present." She said scooping up the thong that was on the ground and dangling it in front of his face.

PATRICK: The slap made him groan at first, but then grin. She really wasn't helping the situation, and now he had to walk all the way back with a huge boner. Something about it turned Patrick on though; knowing that she had the control over him. He was already looking forward to the next time he would be seeing her; even if it didn't involve any foreplay or other sexual antics. Hearing her, he looked over and saw the thong. Another grin grew on his face, and he walked back, delicately taking it away from her. Leaning in, Patrick still wore the grin, and growled lightly before pecking her lips again. "Call me."

[denimwrites-archive]

“I love you, dumbass!”

Prompt: Not a request - The way you said “I love you.” prompt list #3- A scream and #15- Loud, so everyone can hear

Fandom: Dear Evan Hansen

Pairing: Connor Murphy X Reader

Summary: You were tired of Connor pushing you away. You attempted to talk to him, but he only responded when he was high, nevertheless you keep trying. It starts to get better with the help of a certain meme man, but three words are the key to saving your relationship with Connor.

Word Count: 5,706

Warnings: Swearing, mentioned homelessness, talk of mental illness?, and drug use

A/N: Okay I’m not super good at angst, but I gave it a shot. Also I’ve never been high or anything so god knows if I even portrayed it correctly. Plus I said something about Larry working from home which I have no idea if that’s canon or not but I think that that’s one of the reasons why Larry and Connor are at odds because it’s just like one of them is always there meaning they’re always at each other’s throats?? (Also Artist!Connor). (Sorry for repetitiveness, this probably sucks but I spent way too long on it so I’m just going to post it).

~~~

This was the last straw. Connor had ignored you practically all summer, responding to your texts days later with only one word or maybe just an emoji. You had tried to respect his wish to be left alone, but you had wanted to check up on him at least once a week. That isn’t bad considering at the end of Junior year you two had been hanging out almost everyday after school.

You thought that maybe it was just the summer changing him since he had to spend more time with the family that didn’t understand him, but then you heard from Zoe that he had barely been home that summer. Disappearing early in the morning and usually sneaking back into his room after everyone had already gone to bed.

You wished you could have seen him over the summer, but you got a job as a camp counselor that was a few hours away. It was an okay experience, but you missed your home and your friend. When you were finally making your way home at the end of the summer, you couldn’t think of anything but hanging out with Connor again, making fun of the other stupid teenagers and complaining about homework and worrying about the future, together.

When the first day of senior year rolled around and you finally saw him in the hallway, you ran up to him, a big smile on your face, expecting at least something that said he was happy to see you. But all that met you was an angry Connor who slammed his locker and stormed past you before you could even say ‘hi’.

You stood there stunned for a good minute, the annoying voice of Jared Kleinman finally snapping you out of your trance. “Sorry, (Y/N), looks like Connor finally stopped believing in your ‘friendship’.”

“Shut it, Kleinman,” you said, brushing past him on your way to class. You sat through all the shitty first day icebreakers and the going over of summer materials, not really paying attention as your mind raced over all of your summer interactions with Connor, and even back to the end of junior year.

You couldn’t think of anything that could have caused him to be so angry at you. Your brow furrowed as you made your way to the cafeteria, you got in the lunch line and got some food. Scanning the room you see Connor sitting by himself at a table in the corner. You set your shoulders, take a deep breath, and make your way over to him, ready to stand your ground.

As you approached his table, Connor looked up at you and you could see his eyes soften slightly before his eyebrows furrowed and he looked down at his plate in almost disgust. That look was supposed to be aimed at you, your mind said. You shook your head slightly and sat across from him, not scared of his apparent anger.

You didn’t say anything as you began eating. You paid him no mind, even when you could feel his gaze on you. If he wanted space, then he would have to be a big boy and use his words to tell you as such instead of pushing you away.

When you both had finished eating, you finally looked at him and he was looking at you. He was definitely less angry now, but his face still didn’t hold the friendly look that he used to aim at you whenever you two were together. You took a deep breath, about to say something, when he abruptly said, “What the fuck do you want from me?”

You sat there looking at him in confusion with your mouth slightly open for a few moments, completely unsure of what he was asking. When you didn’t immediately answer, Connor stood up and grabbed his things, leaving his lunch tray behind as he left the cafeteria. You were still frozen, trying to comprehend what the hell he meant by his question.

However, you did notice when the cafeteria went mostly silent to watch Connor leave and then stare at you. Snapping out of your thoughts, you glance around you and the normal sounds of high school started once again. You furrowed your brows at your lunch tray and the tray that still lay in front of you. Taking a deep breath, you grabbed your stuff and both trays, throwing them away as you head out of the cafeteria.

You didn’t know where you were going but you knew that you had to get away from people for a while. Heading out the school’s back door, you made you made your way to the football field. Quickly climbing the stairs of the bleachers, you took a seat and started rummaging through your backpack, looking for anything to distract your from the thoughts in your head.

But when you reached for the book you had to read for english, you heard a voice coming from underneath you. Just great, you thought, first I have Connor being a moody bitch, then Kleinman has to be an ass and make things worse, and now I can’t even try to have a second of peace to myself.

You get up, and work your way back down the bleachers, bookbag in hand, then look for a way underneath them so you can see who decided to be a wise ass and encroach on your spot. When you finally found the culprit though, you started to turn around, not wanting to get your head bitten off by Connor again. But when he saw you, he called out to you. Slowly turning back around to face him, you see the smoke that permeated around him and realize that he was getting high.

You sigh, slightly in relief but also from the memories of the random stuff he would say when high. You had learned that there were different kinds of stoners, and Connor was more of a relaxed stoner, something that you never thought you would be grateful for before now. As you made your way closer, he patted the spot next to him and you cautiously took a seat, setting your bag next to you.

To your surprise he put an arm around your shoulder and brought you closer to him. You sat in his half embrace rigidly, unsure of what you were really doing. He didn’t say anything, just smoking and looking off into space. Sometimes he would give your shoulders a squeeze and you’d look at him only to find him already looking at you with an actual smile on his face.

You smiled back and gave him a slight bump with your shoulder which caused a laugh to escape from him. You smiled and laughed with him. Then he was smiling. And your heart started to beat just a little bit faster. Even with the shit way Connor had been treating you lately, you still couldn’t help the butterflies that formed in your stomach whenever he was happy. You really wish it happened more often.

Soon enough he was actually talking. He spoke his sentences at a leisurely pace, in no hurry to convey their full meaning. He was talking about how shitty life at home was and how Larry thought he was such a screw up and his mom tried to understand him but could never see things from his perspective. Zoe was always on his nerves, and even if he didn’t mean to he always let his anger out on her, cause she was the closest target.

That much wasn’t really new, but he went on to explain that over the summer, things had gotten worse since there was no school to get away from his parents, especially Larry. With him working from home, it was nothing but constant scrutiny for Connor. So he would just leave. He would wander around town and get lost. Hike through the woods and end up sleeping outside. He was almost homeless, only stopping by for a new sketchpad, pencils, change of clothes, or a shower. And even then, when he came to do stuff he made sure that no one knew he was there.

“It was just better to disappear than deal with all of that bullshit, you know?” he asks. You nod, and he continues to talk about some of the cool people at the park that he would sometimes sketch. He was talking about this one plant near his favorite people-watching spot when he suddenly went quiet.

When you looked up at him, he was just staring at you again. You give him a quick nudge and then he shakes his head slightly before looking at the ground in front of him, still not saying anything. As you’re about to ask him something, he turns back to you and says, “I don’t know why you want to be friends with the school shooter. I mean you’re just too nice to be seen with me so I don’t know why you are. Seen with me. “

“What’s the matter, scared I’ll ruin your bad boy reputation?” you teasingly asked. But then Connor’s head was slightly resting on top of yours and he was mumbling something you couldn’t hear. “What was that, princess?”

“You’re too good for me. No wonder I don’t stand a chance with you.” You’re left dumbfounded at his words and you sit there in shock, Connor’s arm still around your shoulder, his head resting on yours, as his breathing gets more even. Soon enough it’s obvious that he’s asleep. You almost try to get out of his grip, but it’s quickly obvious that that would wake him up, so you sit there quietly contemplating all that he just said.

Your thoughts are still quite a mess by the time that Connor starts to stir sometime later. You shift a little bit when you feel him tense next to you and carefully look up at him, only to see his eyes still hazy but growing harsher by the second. He quickly removed his arm from your shoulder and rose to his feet. You get up without prompting and grab your bag, sulking away from him and back to school before he even utters a word, feeling his glare on your back.

Even with only an hour before school ended, you couldn’t focus on anything that the teacher was saying, your mind racing with all that Connor had said. It definitely explained his shitty communication, but what the hell happened that made him hate you? Or did he like you? You thought it was hard before, now you were all kinds of confused.

Sure you thought Connor was a great guy, but he never seemed interested in you that way, so you didn’t think of him that way. Even if you stole glances of him, looked forward to all of your conversations, and your heart beat just a little bit faster whenever he smiled, it was only because he was a good friend. Totally.

His words ran through your head late into the evening. I don’t stand a chance with you. Who did he think he was competing with? He knew that you disliked pretty much every other person in your grade. Maybe the weed was just making him spew bullshit, you thought to yourself, trying to come up with an excuse as to why he seemed so wishy washy between his words and actions.

You didn’t get much sleep that night with all of those thoughts and possibilities running through your head. So when it came time for school the next morning, you weren’t ready to deal with Jared Kleinman first thing.

“Hey there, (Y/N). How’re things going with the shooter? I heard he was quite the sweetheart yesterday in the cafeteria. Care to comment?” he asked with his usual smirk.

You scoffed at him and continued the walk to your locker, unaware that Jared had decided to saunter after you. He made his presence known again as he slammed your locker door into the ones next to you, causing you to jump. He leaned against the brightly painted doors in an obviously forced casual kind of way.

Glancing at him warily, you start to grab the things you need for your first class. You notice Connor out of the corner of your eye and you take a deep breath, all the thoughts from last night sprinting through your mind. But you decide to take the chance, walking up to him and clearing your throat when he doesn’t immediately notice your presence.

When he finally turns towards you, his annoyed expression turns to something more along the lines of hostility. It almost makes you take a step back, when his smiles from yesterday make their way into your mind, helping you to hold your ground. Squaring your shoulders, you open your mouth to ask him something when he looks behind you and scoffs before pushing past you, knocking into your shoulder as goes.

You turn around confused as to what the hell happened when you see Jared still standing by your locker, staring intently at you. You narrow your eyes at him before marching up to him. “What the hell did you do?” you demand.

“Nothing! What makes you think I did something? He’s the one who always acts like a psychopath.” Jared isn’t looking you in the eye and you know he isn’t saying something, but whatever he did to piss Connor off doesn’t matter as much as the fact that he did it.

“Just leave me and Connor alone, okay Kleinman? I don’t know what your beef with him is, or if you’re really just that much of an asshole that you would mess with him for no reason, but seriously, just drop it. For your own sake.” You slam your locker and walk away from him, not sparing him another glance, missing the slightly hurt look on his face.

The morning ticks by agonizingly slow as you wait for it to be lunch so you can try to straighten things out with Connor again. Finally the bell rings and you rush to the cafeteria, grabbing your lunch and making your way to the same table that you sat at yesterday.

And like yesterday, you set your shoulders, took a deep breath, and made your way to where Connor was sitting. You take a seat across from him, but today you look at him expectantly. This time, he’s the one to ignore you, just sitting there looking at his plate. After a few minutes of waiting for him to at least acknowledge you, you let out a sigh and proceed to eat.

After you’re both done eating, it’s obvious that Connor is just going to try and brush you off again so you reach across the table and grab his hand, but he quickly jerks back and stands, already gearing up to storm off. You attempt to grab his arm again, desperate to get him to listen to you. He makes it quite obvious that he isn’t going to pay attention to anything you have to say, but you follow him anyway as he makes his way into the hallway.

You knew that the cafeteria was watching you chase after him, but you couldn’t find it in yourself to care. Connor seemed to be making his way to the front of the school, probably ready to skip the rest of the day. Knowing you didn’t have much time, and just wanting him to stop ignoring you, you yell after him, “Connor Murphy!”

The other kids milling in the hallway all turn towards you, but his steps don’t falter as he continues to stomp towards his destination. Gritting your teeth in frustration you start running, trying to catch up with him. Damn you, Connor Murphy, and those insanely long legs of yours, you thought.

You’re finally able to step in front of him, but when he moves to step around you, you’re in front of him again. You continue to block him until you hear him sigh in anger and annoyance. “What do you want?” he asks, venom in his voice.

“I want you to be straight with me. I want you to talk to me without sounding like you want to bite my fucking head off when you aren’t stoned out of your mind. I want to know why the hell you didn’t think you could come to me when your summer went to shit. I want to know what happened to my best friend, Connor Murphy.”

He rolls his eyes at you, like you were the one being dramatic, before scoffing and turning away from you, already moving away. You can only stand there and wonder what the hell happened. Feeling something build up in your chest you don’t really know what happens until it already has. Almost like an out of body experience.

You find yourself grabbing ahold of the back of his jacket, pulling him to a stop before marching in front of him and getting into his face, finger poking into his chest as you scream at him. “I don’t know what the fuck your problem is, but I’m done with it. You are done blowing me off. I don’t care about your problems getting in the way because I will make them my problems too. You aren’t alone in this mess of a world, you moron. So stop acting like you are. Pushing me away isn’t going to accomplish anything.”

Out of breath from your tirade, you finally realize what you just did. Taking a step back you look around to see everyone staring at you, including Connor. He doesn’t look as angry as he did, more surprised than anything else.

As you’re about to say something else, he pushes past you again. You don’t follow him this time, staring at the ground in defeat. You turn around and head back inside the school, through the back and to your spot at the bleachers. You glance below them, even though you know Connor won’t be there, you still hoped that the relaxed Connor of yesterday would be there again so that you could actually have a conversation.

Letting out a long sigh you lean back and look at the clouds, letting time pass by unnoticed. As you zone out of your thoughts you don’t notice what’s happening under the bleachers until you smell a hint of weed. Your heart races as you make your way under the stairs, hoping it’s your stoner. You freeze as he finally comes into sight, obviously higher than he was yesterday by the fact that he doesn’t even notice you sit next to him.

After a few minutes of stillness and silence, you quietly ask, “Connor?”

His unfocused eyes snap to you, and he gives a big smile. “(Y/N)! I was just thinking ‘bout you,” he mumbles. Connor gestures for you to come closer, and you gently ease your way towards him, but when you’re in his arms reach he grabs you and pulls you into his chest. You tense at the contact, thoughts racing with how his sober self probably hates you. As he wraps an arm around you he starts talking to himself about random things.

You don’t even notice it when his hand starts running through your hair, or when his hand rests on your hip, too caught up in your inner dilemma. Slowly you become aware of these things as you start to listen to what Connor is saying. His words seem to float from one subject to another, and as you shift to look up at him, he stops talking just to look at you.

Then he’s talking about you and all the things he admires about you. The way your eyes light up when you talk about something you’re passionate about. The look you get on your face whenever Connor teases you about your taste in music. The way your eyebrow furrows when you’re confused by something in class. He continues to talk and you just look at him in amazement, astonished that he noticed all of these things.

Soon he’s just rambling about how cute you are and just listing all your different body parts. “Your elbow is really something, you know that? It’s the cutest fucking elbow I’ve ever seen. Even your wenis is cute. And really moisturized. It’s a nice wenis.” Connor finally noticed your staring and looks deeply into your eyes. You sit there, contemplating everything that he’s said, when he says it. The words that would change everything.

“I love you.”

You sit there speechless. Connor doesn’t seem to mind as he rests his forehead against yours, his eyes soon drifting shut. You carefully shift from under his grip until you’re sitting a few feet away from him, looking at anything other than his sleeping form. You had no idea how to deal with the bombshell he had just dropped. Was that the reason he had been acting like a dick lately? Having to deal with confusing emotions about you while also managing all the shit his parents put on him?

You had no idea how to process it, so you got up and walked back to class, almost numb as your brain focused on nothing but those three simple words that had built and destroyed so many things throughout history.

The rest of your classes bring no answers and as you try to work on homework that night your mind only wants to think about all of the things Connor said leading up to his big confession. It couldn’t just be the weed, right? It was the reason he was telling you, yeah, but his feelings weren’t entirely made by the drug. Or could they be? The same questions from yesterday ran through your mind, but this time they were that much heavier.

The next morning you barely noticed Jared next to your locker, trying to annoy you again or something probably. You didn’t even know why Jared had been hanging around you so much lately since you guys weren’t really friends. Nonetheless, he shakes you out of your thoughts with a poke to your cheek. Rubbing it and giving him a look you ask, “What?”

“Look, I know that it isn’t my place, especially since Connor and I have a mutual-hate agreement, but he just really doesn’t know what he’s doing.”

“Doing?”

Letting out a sigh, Jared continues, “He doesn’t know that treating you the way he has been is no way to deal with feelings. I know from experience. But you didn’t hear anything from me.” Then he’s gone, walking down the hallway. Your eyes follow him and you see him share a glance with Connor as he goes. Connor feels your gaze on him and turns to look at you.

You give him a small wave, and he just turns away, slamming his locker hard as he leaves for his first class. You sit in your first period, Jared’s words ringing in your ears, and you make a decision then and there. You will try to talk to Connor again today at lunch, and if that doesn’t work then you’ll just have to go back to the drawing board.

As lunch draws nearer, you start to doubt your plan. Nerves setting in, you try to calm yourself as the bell rings. You head to the cafeteria again and this time decide to sit at the table Connor usually uses before he gets there instead of waiting in line for lunch. You keep scanning the cafeteria for him, starting to think that he might not sit here if he sees you.

You’re thankfully proven wrong when he sets his tray on the table while you weren’t paying attention, lost in your thoughts. You take it as a good sign that he decided to sit at his normal spot, but are still unsure about how to start the conversation. You two sneak glances at each other, and are relieved that Connor’s looks are actually pretty gentle, especially compared to the ones you’ve seen in the past few days.

Time continues to pass as you sit in silence. You still haven’t gotten lunch, but the tension holds you hostage, not wanting to screw up again and have to think of some other way of getting Connor’s attention.

Much to your relief and confusion, Jared comes by and sits next to Connor. His eyes immediately snap to Kleinman’s and you swear if looks could kill, Jared would be pushing up daisies. Jared gives him a knowing look, drops a note onto his lunch tray, pats him on the back, then walks away as if nothing happened.

You look at the note in curiosity, but don’t reach for it. Connor glances at you before snatching the note and sticking it in his pocket. He then starts to stand, grabbing his lunch tray and hastily making his way towards the exit. You stand and follow him, knowing that you weren’t the reason for his retreat made you confident that you might actually be able to talk to him. If you were able to catch up with him that is.

Connor was almost jogging through the hallway, which meant that with his long legs you had to practically sprint to catch up with him. He stopped at his locker and grabbed something before going through the school’s back door. Knowing where he was going, you paused at the door to catch your breath.

When you finally make your way back under the bleachers for the third time that week, you sit across from Connor, rather than next to him. He reaches out to you, but you just shake your head gently. He seems to pout slightly, but continues to smoke nonetheless. You sit in silence for a while as he finishes his blunt.

You can see him relax more and more and then he’s insistently reaching for you. You try to resist, but he just seems so open and wanting of some kind of touch that you give in and lean into his side. His arm rests around your shoulders and soon enough your head is on his shoulder and his head is on top of yours, resting gently. As you shift slightly, Connor begins talking and you freeze, not wanting him to clam up again.

He spoke of the shitty summer again, but added that he always tried to keep his phone charged so he could talk to you. Connor had looked forward to your little check ups but didn’t want to worry you with his almost homelessness, so he tried to brush you off. You understood why he had done it, but it made your heart hurt to think about all of the days that you were unknowingly standing by as he was in pain.

You grabbed his hand and gave it a squeeze when there was a lull in the conversation. He squeezed back and you said, “I promise to be there for you in the future. As long as you promise to be honest with me and tell me when you need me. You know I would have been here in a heartbeat if I had known, summer job be damned.” He nodded his head, and you could feel the movement, giving his hand another squeeze.

Connor also talked about the good times over the summer though, like how he was able to really focus on his art this summer. And how there were these really sweet old ladies who would walk through the park on their way to bingo and compliment him on his sketches and offer to take him home for a meal.

Your eyes were starting to close, lulled by the sound of Connor’s voice and comforted by his arm around you. It was also becoming obvious that he was also starting to drift off by his slurring words. You snuggled further into his chest, head turning to hide itself in his neck. He tightened his grip on you and started mumbling about how caring you were. You fell asleep with his kind words floating through your head.

Awakening with a start at the sound of the bell, you look around in a daze, not seeing Connor anywhere. You frantically looked around but didn’t see any sign of his bag or anything. Then you were running back to the school, desperate to find him. You knew you were going to do something you might regret, but you couldn’t live with Connor only talking to you when he was high.

The hallways are flooded with students who are at their lockers or heading to the parking lot, ready to leave school for the day. You rush around trying to spot him in the crowds, and head outside, hoping he was waiting by his sister’s car. Your peers give you strange looks as you run down the aisles looking for Connor, starting to call his name.

Finally you see him walking down the sidewalk and you really start screaming for him. You know that he heard you since he glances back at you while grabbing his headphones out of his bag. You pick up your pace and run after him, catching up with him halfway through the parking lot.

You are out of breath and double over, a few feet away from him, but he continues to walk, ignoring you. He doesn’t slow down or even acknowledge you as you step next to him. You grab his sleeve and he turns to you with a scornful look, yanking his arm out of your grip. “Connor,” you start, but he just picks up his pace. You try to keep up with him, but he just keeps speeding up. You finally stop and yell, “I love you, dumbass!” At that he gives a pause, still turned away from you.

“I don’t care about all the shit you’re going through, I want to be there for you, but I can’t do that if you’re always running away from me. That’s not going to stop me from trying though, because I’ll always chase after you Murphy, because I care about you.”

It seems as if time is frozen around you. Your heart pounds as you realize that everyone is staring at you, and that Connor still hasn’t turned around. Trying to breathe properly and wondering how you could be so stupid to bear your heart in front of half the school, you don’t notice that Connor has turned around until he’s standing right in front of you, looking at the ground sheepishly.

He quietly takes your hand and pulls you along with him, ignoring the students who gape at you as you pass by. You walk in silence off of the school grounds and down the sidewalk. You don’t know where you’re going, but you let him lead you there. Soon enough you find yourself at the local park.

You take a seat at one of the benches and Connor pulls you into his side by tugging at your hand, still in his. You comply and are resting your head on his shoulder just like you were earlier. Connor takes a deep breath, like he’s about to say something, but then lets it out as a long sigh. You don’t know how long you sit there, but you understand that this is hard for him.

“I really do love you, you know?” you ask him quietly. He doesn’t say anything, but squeezes your hand. “I’m sorry for not being there for you this summer, but--”

“I’m not mad about the summer,” he cuts you off. “I just…” he trails off, unsure how to say what he wanted to. Connor takes another deep breath and continues, “This summer made me realize that I don’t know what I would do without you. I was dependent on your smile and your stupid jokes, and it scared me. But I also scared myself with how much angrier I was when you weren’t around.”

He swallows, trying to piece together what to say next. “You ground me. And I didn’t want to burden you with the fucked up thing that is me. So I thought that if I pushed you away everything would go away, but it only got worse because I saw you everyday and wanted nothing more than to hug you tight and not let you go.”

You give his hand a squeeze. “I would definitely be okay with that,” you look up at him with a small smile on his face. You see his lips quirk up, and he shakes his head at you slightly. You squeeze his hand again and he looks back at you. “I mean what I said though. I will be there for you no matter what. Even if you try to push me away, I’m going to be there. Because you’re my rock too, Connor.”

You two sit on the bench actually talking for the rest of the afternoon. School goes back to normal, and you can see Jared give you two a knowing look in the cafeteria the next day. Connor flips him off and you just chuckle, reaching for his hand. Things will be okay if you just stick together. Grounding each other.

~~~

At the end of the day, it dawns on you to ask, “Hey, Connor?”

“Hmm?”

“What did that note that Jared gave you say?”

“It didn’t say anything really, it was just an accurate drawing of what Kleinman thinks of me.”

“And that is…?”

He takes the note out of his pocket and hands it to you. You unfold it to find a fairly accurate picture of a donkey with several large arrows pointing to the animal’s rear end. “Ah,” you say, as if it were obvious.

Connor chuckles and gives you a kiss on the temple, taking the note back from you. “I guess we should thank him though, since he kind of helped us get our shit together.”

“Yeah, but annoying him is so much more fun.” You two share a look and laugh, glad to be comfortable with each other again, but at the same time closer than ever.

[5hfanfiction]

you're like a piece of art (you need to be nailed against a wall)

A/N:

Part of a one shot book on wattpad, at jaureguicabello5eva

–

Camila doesn’t know what she’s looking at exactly. Actually, she does know what she’s looking at, she just doesn’t understand the big deal. Like, it’s a bunch of colorful squares and rectangles? She thinks she’s absolutely capable of painting that, and she doesn’t even consider herself an artist, so yeah, pay her whatever they’re paying these “abstract” artists. Whatever that means.

God, she feels uncultured as fuck, she thinks as she takes a sip of her third(?) glass of champagne.

Camila’s spending her Friday night in a too-tight red dress at the Museum of Modern Art in New York instead of catching up on sleep like she had planned. The museum is holding an exclusive exhibit for the weekend that features several works from known artists around the world. Not that Camila actually knows any of them.

Dinah, her best friend since coming out of the womb, had scored passes for the event from the sister-in-law of her cousin’s best friend’s girlfriend? Camila lost track after sister-in-law to be honest. Dinah knows way too many people, and she’s related to like half of California, so who knows?

Anyway, Dinah had gotten these passes and had planned to surprise her ex-boyfriend, who is the broody, artist, mysterious, lying, cheating, S.O.B. type apparently. After finding her ex in a very compromising position with some wench in their previously shared apartment, Dinah had immediately broken it off and proceeded to get over him by getting under as many people as she could, until she got over that too, and now she’s sort of just wallowing in self-pity.

So, Camila, because she’s the greatest best friend in the world, naturally, offered to go with her to the stupid exhibit anyway in hopes of cheering up her best friend, and maybe you’ll even get lucky with some hot-shot artist who makes hundreds of thousands of dollars painting blobs, Dinah!

Well, now she’s kind of regretting her decision. She loves Dinah, she really does, but is everyone who attends exhibits just naturally broody and boring or does she just have to widen her perspective?

–

Lauren is in heaven. She thinks this must be where starving artists lay their brushes down and go to die. She’s surrounded by incredible pieces that range from hundreds of years old to decades to within the last few years. There are pieces from your classic Van Gogh and Warhol, to newer pieces by Philippe Parreno, and her personal favorite, Weiwei. She’s convinced she’d actually died and gone to artist paradise.

She’d gotten a hold of a pass for this exclusive exhibit from Normani, her best friend, and who, by the way, was already Lauren’s favorite person in the world before she’d given her the pass, but now undoubtedly and solely owns the green-eyed girl’s heart.

And because the universe is being extra kind today, the exhibit just so happens to have Piet Mondrian’s Tableau I on loan from Museum Ludwig in Germany.

Lauren is absolutely ecstatic. She’s been having kind of an artist’s block lately and there’s nothing like one of the greatest pieces in abstract history to inspire her. Mondrian’s Tableau I is a math-based geometric perfection that brings colors and lines and absolute arithmetic precision to life and Lauren can’t wait to see it in person.

She’s majoring in architecture [A/N: sorry I keep writing Lauren as an architect/aspiring architect lol] though if things were up to her, she would have majored in fine arts with a focus on painting and drawing. She’s a great painter and she’s not too bad at digital design either, but her passion lies in drawing. Give her a pencil and anything can be her sketchpad.

She’s studying architecture because it incorporates her love for design and drawing and you need to major in something realistic, Lauren. There’s a reason they’re called “starving” artists. Do you really want to starve your future husband and kids?

Has it been mentioned that her mother can be a bit overbearing? Well she is, and so Lauren is going to let her mom have her way because as suffocating as her mom can be, the dark-haired girl does love her with everything that she has. But since she’s hell bent on getting some say in the matter, she’s also minoring in fine arts with a focus on, yup, drawing and painting.

She needs inspiration for her project in her Drawing II class as well as for her Advanced Urban Design class and thinks Tableau I is the best of both worlds. Some people might think his work is just rectangles and squares but those are probably the same people who think pineapple on pizza is okay, which it’s not.

Also, her mother doesn’t know it, but she’s pretty sure she’s not going to end up with a husband anyway. Not when she’s just laid her eyes on the most beautiful person? goddess? God’s gift to gay women? she’s ever seen.

Lauren is on her way to where she knows the painting is displayed when she spots a brunette squinting at Mondrian’s work. One of her hands has delicate, slender fingers wrapped around an almost-empty flute, while the other is worrying the bottom of her luscious lip.

Normani who? This woman owns Lauren’s heart now as far as she knows.

Lauren is your typical artist/aspiring architect so of course, she carries a sketchbook and pencil everywhere she goes. She pulls them both out and sits on a bench not too far, but not too close to pretty, brown eyes either. She doesn’t want to seem creepy, even though she is being creepy.

Lauren forgets the world around her as she gets completely absorbed in trying to capture the beauty in front of her as best as she can. She needs to capture how this girl’s long lashes curve up in the most tantalizing way and the delicate way they fall over her mesmerizing eyes when she blinks. She needs to properly portray the gentle slope of her nose, the curve of her mouth when her desirable, full lips smile, and the defined cheeks and sharp jawline that flank her entire face. 

And that ass though.

She’s finishing up on outlining how her hair falls perfectly down her curved spine when she looks up and the object of her affection is gone.

“Shit,” she whispers to herself. “Where did she go?”

“I’m right here,” Normani says as she takes a seat next her. “I thought you’d be glued to an art piece by now, Laur” Normani chuckles. “You were so excited to come here and I find you just sat here, not even appreciating the work around you?” Normani clicks her tongue.

“Whatcha got there anyway,” she asks as she leans over and tries to see what’s got her friend busy.

Lauren scrambles to close her sketchbook and answers, “Nothing, just- um,” she struggles to look for an excuse that’s not I was drawing this pretty girl I saw. “Just working on a piece for my class,” she finally says. “All these pieces have given me the right inspiration,” she says with a bright smile and a thumbs up.

“Uh huh,” Normani says skeptically. “Anyway, I have to get back to finish this thing that’s due tomorrow. Did you want to leave with me or do you wanna stay for a bit?” Normani asks her friend.

Lauren takes one last desperate look around the museum for any sign of the mystery girl, and finally gives up when she sees none. “I’ll go with you I guess,” she answers despondently.

  –

It’s been two weeks since Lauren saw Ms. Brown Eyes and she still can’t get her out of her head. The girl’s been hounding her thoughts, partly because she feels frustrated that she can’t finish her piece, and partly because, well, pretty girls tend to occupy her mind a lot.

She’s rushing out of the Starbucks on campus to get to her design class on time for once when she spots the same wavy, brown locks that she’d been trying to re-create on paper, sitting on one of the outside tables. She guesses it won’t make a difference now if she’s late to class one more time.

She goes here! Of course she goes here!

When Lauren sees the girl get up to leave, she immediately follows her before she realizes what she’s doing. Stalking is probably not the way to get her point across to the girl, although, she’s not really sure what to say to her.

Hey, I saw you at the museum and then I started drawing you without your permission, but you left before I was able to finish, so do you mind just posing for me for a bit. Also, you’re really pretty. My name is Lauren and I’m an idiot.

That doesn’t sound like it would get her a very desirable outcome.

So, naturally, she proceeds to just follow the girl like the creep that she actually is and finds out that she’s taking a class in the BIOL. building around two-thirty on Thursdays. The stalking gets a bit out of hand and before Lauren realizes what’s happening, she’s basically got the girl’s schedule on three out of the five days of the week memorized.

In her defense, she really just wants to get a few more details on the girl’s face so she can finish the drawing. She’s an excellent artist, but she’s also a perfectionist, and her memory just isn’t doing the girl justice.

“Mani,” she catches up to the girl one afternoon. “I saw her again but she took a different route to the CHEM building today, and so I still don’t have enough details for my sketch,” she pouts. Lauren has given up on keeping the girl a secret from her best friend and since that cat got out of the bag, it’s all she ever talks about now.

Normani rolls her eyes and tells her, “You are an actual stalker. Just go up to the dang girl, geez. I’ve never seen you have so much trouble talking to a girl.”

“She’s not just some girl, Mani” Lauren insists.

“So you think the best course of action is to never speak to her,” Normani deadpans.

“Alright, fine” Lauren responds. “I’ll talk to her tonight. After her night class in the physics lab building” she decides with a determined nod of her head.

Normani looks at her like she’s crazy and shakes her head, “I’m not even gonna say anything about how that sounds.” Lauren rolls her eyes but slings an arm over the other girl’s shoulder. “I think I’m in love, Mani” she sighs dramatically, putting a hand over her heart as the other girl laughs and pushes her away.

–

So the whole coming up to and talking to mystery girl plan has totally fallen through. Lauren’s not sure how she got to where she is but that’s not important at the moment. Right now, she’s truly reached absolute stalker level because she’s currently following her in the dark to what Lauren assumes is her apartment on campus. Every time she tried to approach her, the green-eyed girl’s nerves got the best of her and she ended up psyching herself out. Now, the window in which it’s acceptable to approach a stranger about possibly drawing them has passed and Lauren is stuck.

She’s so lost in her thoughts she didn’t realize the girl she was following is no longer in front of her. She takes a few steps forward and when she passes an opening to an alley, the mystery girl jumps out in front of her with her hands holding something pointed towards the dark-haired girl and screams,

“I HAVE MACE! STAND BACK” the girl screams and Lauren can’t help but think even her voice is sexy, and wow she’s about to be sprayed.

“No! Wait,” Lauren pleads, raising both her arms up. “I’m not going to hurt you I swear” she tries to convince the girl.

Camila is a bit taken aback by the girl in front of her. When she first realized she was being followed, she expected some buff, tattoos-in-the-face, hoodlum, who may or may not be armed with a knife or – or like nunchucks (she’s never robbed anyone before, she doesn’t know which types of weapons are appropriate).

Anyway, she wasn’t expecting this- this, beautiful human being. God, those eyes are mesmerizing, she thinks. But, back to the topic at hand.

“Okay green eyes, I’m gonna need you to explain yourself and if you so much as make a move,” she warns, “I’m going to spray you.”

Lauren keeps her hands up and decides to just rip the band-aid off. This situation cannot get any more out of hand so she thinks it’s best to just come clean.

She takes a deep breath and says, “Okay, well, I saw you at MOMA a few weeks ago and I was just so taken by your beauty and I thought you were the prettiest piece of art there so I started drawing you for my class, but I lost you before I had the chance to finish, so I started to sort of follow you around? You know, to add details to my sketch but it’s so hard when you’re constantly moving, so now I have this unfinished piece and it’s due tomorrow and I was wondering if you would mind posing for me? So I can finish my drawing?” Lauren rushes her words all in one breath. “How was your physics lab by the way?” she asks with a nervous chuckle.

Camila tries to process all the information and when she does, she can’t help but flush red. This gorgeous human being called her pretty? And she wants to draw her? She’s not sure if she’s creeped out or endeared.

She decides on the latter.

She slowly brings her hands down and puts her mace away. Lauren relaxes at that and throws her a meek smile. “I mean, it’s probably a hundred percent not safe because you just admitted to stalking me and you’re a complete stranger, but you’re really pulling off the whole awkward-but-cute thing you got going on, so….” Camila trails, putting a finger to her chin and pretending to think.

 “…sure,” Camila concedes. “I’ll pose for you.”

“YES!” Lauren exclaims and then clears her throat. “I mean, thank you so much,” she says, her cheeks flushed. “My name is Lauren by the way.”

“I’m Camila,” the younger girl answers back while trying to contain a smile, extending one of her hands.

“Great, where do you want to do it?” Lauren asks after shaking hands with her. Then she realizes what that sounds like and backtracks quickly, “I mean do the drawing, for my piece, not like, do it in that way – I mean not that you aren’t, you know, attractive -  because you totally are, and I’m not assuming you’re even into gir–”

“Oh my gosh, Lauren. Calm down,” Camila says amidst her laughter while putting a hand on Lauren’s arm to calm the girl down. The touch is doing things to Lauren’s body and she feels a spark of heat travel from where Camila is touching her to the rest of her body, sprinkling a comforting kind of warmth in its wake.

Lauren flushes a deep red that’s accentuated by her light features and rubs the back of her neck.

Once Camila thinks the girl has gone back to her normal pale color, she answers Lauren’s question, “We can do it at my apartment, so at least if you turn out to be a sociopath, my roommate, Dinah, will hopefully get back to the apartment and find evidence of what you might have done,” she winks and Lauren is blushing again in no time.

On their walk to Camila’s apartment, Lauren says “Well if I were really crazy and was planning on killing you, I think I would be called a ‘psychopath,’” she explains. Camila furrows her eyebrows and Lauren elaborates,

“Both obviously have problems regarding their conscience and the way they think, but psychopaths tend to seem like well-adjusted members of society. They can even have charming personalities and hold high-paying jobs, like, they could be doctors,” Lauren explains.

“Sociopaths, on the other hand, are a bit more obvious in their behavior and they tend to be antisocial, and since you think I’m “awkward-but-cute” which I’m going to interpret as subtly charming, I would be a ‘psychopath,’” she concludes.

Camila looks at her and says, “Yeah, your knowledge of this is not helping your case in convincing me that you’re not out to kill me.”

Lauren looks back at her and shakes her head, “I was just clarifying you know,” she says nervously. It’s like she’s lost all of her ability to function socially around this girl. “I swear, I’m not usually this weird,” she responds with a nervous chuckle.

“I hope not,” Camila winks and continues to walk on.

Once they’re in the apartment, Lauren is wringing her hands nervously and Camila raises an eyebrow, “Is something wrong?”

“No, I just-” Lauren sighs.

“Not to push my luck or anything, but since we’re here and you’re willing to pose, do you mind if I start the drawing over? Like the one I’ve been working on is kind of hard to finalize because I’ve had so many viewpoints of your face. So, if it’s okay, would you be willing to pose for a whole, new drawing instead?” Lauren asks nervously.

“Well, since we’re here anyway,” Camila thinks about it. “Sure,” she finishes with a smile.

Laurens spends a couple of hours perfecting her drawing. Well, she tries to perfect it anyway. She doesn’t think it’s possible for anyone to capture Camila in a way that does her beauty justice. Now that Camila isn’t constantly moving and because she doesn’t have to draw from a distance, she does a better job at highlighting some of her features.

When she showed Camila the finished product, Camila had gasped into her hand and praised her talent so much that Lauren was convinced the blush on her cheeks was going to be permanent.

Now, they find themselves watching Black Mirror on Netflix and no, they’re not Netflix and Chilling. They’re actually just watching.

Lauren is in the middle of a passionate rant about the dangers of social media especially bullying in social media after watching an episode where literally hundreds of thousands of people died because of it, when Camila catches herself staring at the girl’s beauty.

Lauren is obviously pretty on the outside, but after spending a few hours with her and speaking with her about her passions and views on life, Camila is convinced maybe that the saying about beauty coming from within is true because Lauren is the embodiment of beautiful. She’s breathtakingly exquisite without reservation.

“Sorry, I’m ranting,” Lauren says with a weak smile.

“No, I think it’s great. I think you’re great,” Camila responds without thinking.

“Um, thanks” Lauren says. Then, she doesn’t know where she gets the courage, but she asks anyway,

“Would you like to have coffee or something, some time this week, my treat” Lauren asks shyly. “You know, it’s the least I could do to thank you for saving my assignment and not calling the police,” she says with a nervous chuckle.

“Are you asking me out,” Camila asks teasingly.

“I mean we can do something inside,” Lauren responds cheekily.

“Oh my gosh, you’re a dork,” Camila says mid-laugh. Lauren thinks she’d gladly shed her bad girl persona and be the biggest dork if it elicits laughs like this from Camila.

“It’s a date,” Camila says and Lauren’s heart soars.

Lauren is about to bid her goodbye when a loud clap of thunder, accompanied by a sudden downpour of rain and strong winds, sound from outside and reverberate through the apartment.

The girls jump and Camila says shakily, “Um, maybe you should stay the night? It’s late and it’s raining, I don’t want something bad to happen to you,” she explains. “Also, I’m not sure when Dinah is coming back, kinda depends on how her date goes.”

Lauren starts to refuse and says, “I don’t want to impose and-”

“Honestly, Lo. It’s fine. I’ll feel better knowing you’re safe,” she says with a genuine smile.

“Okay, I’ll take the couch,” Lauren concedes, the nickname catching her off-guard but sending another wave of pleasant warmth through her chest. She recognizes this feeling and she knows it’s way too early, but Camila’s soft smiles and genuine concern and just her overall presence is captivating Lauren in a way she’s not sure she has a chance to go against.

“No you can-,” Camila starts to protest.

“No, Camz,” Lauren says resolutely.

She shakes her head internally for letting the name she’s been calling Camila in her head all night slip out loud. “I’ve already asked too much from you, I’m not gonna take your bed too,” she says with a smile when it doesn’t look like Camila is going to object to the nickname.

“Okay,” Camila breathes out.

–

It’s about two in the morning when Lauren sleepily rubs her eyes as she hears movement from the far side of the couch. She jumps up from the couch in fright when she sees a figure standing above her and sighs in relief when she realizes it’s just Camila.

“Shit, Camila,” she gasps. “You scared me.”

“I’m sorry,” Camila answers quietly, her breath shaky.

“Is everything okay?” Lauren asks the younger girl.

“Um, it’s just that – I mean the thunder, you know, it hasn’t really stopped,” Camila answers weakly.

There’s a curve to Lauren’s mouth when she says, “Are you scared of thunderstorms?”

“What, no,” Camila says indignantly. “Of course, not. You’re scared of thunderstorms,” she throws back lamely.

Lauren raises an eyebrow and tries to stop herself from smiling.

“Okay fine, I’m scared of thunderstorms, so you’re either coming with me to bed or I’m joining you on the couch,” Camila dictates while crossing her arms.

Camila’s words spark a jolt of lightning through Lauren that starts from the base of her stomach and courses through her veins, spreading to her extremities, leaving her hot and bothered. She shakes the many different, dirty ways she’d made out of Camila asking her to bed and responds as steadily as she can, “Y-yeah, I’ll just join you. I don’t think we can fit in this couch anyway.”

She knows she wasn’t successful in hiding Camila’s effect on her when she spots the younger girl smirking at her shaky response from the corner of her eyes.

The heated atmosphere between them dies down when they settle in Camila’s bed. It’s not long before they start talking about anything and everything under the sun. They get in passionate debates about world issues and laugh at the silliness of toe socks.

Lauren, for her part, is decidedly continuing conversation between them because she recognizes a distraction is what Camila needs as she realizes early on that Camila’s fear of thunderstorms is pretty serious. Camila can tell that Lauren is fighting off sleep to keep her company and she feels herself falling.

It’s been less than twelve hours, Camila she thinks. There is no way she’s actually falling, right?

She goes to sleep free of the nightmares that usually plague her whenever there are thunderstorms and dreams about green eyes and white smiles and flushed cheeks instead.

–

The next morning, Camila walks out of her room and she is immediately jolted awake by the sight in front of her. Lauren had borrowed her clothes to sleep in and she’s wearing Camila’s favorite oversized hoodie that goes down to Lauren’s mid-thigh, sufficiently covering her short shorts and giving the illusion that she’s not wearing anything underneath.

Her messy hair is in a loose ponytail, highlight her widow’s peak and a few dark strands are framing her face. Her burrows are furrowed as her tongue is poking out between her teeth, seemingly in great concentration as she mixes what looks like pancake batter.

The sight is doing unhealthy things to her heart and even unhealthier things to the heat between her thighs.

She walks forward and makes her presence known. The green-eyed girl looks up and flashes her a smile that is threatening to combust her heart from where it’s trying to escape from her chest. The morning light catches Lauren’s eyes perfectly, making them the lightest green she’s ever seen them and highlighting the brown specks that are scattered right around her pupil. Camila’s heart needs a break, for crying out loud. How can anyone look this good at – Camila checks the time -  seven in the morning?

She’s shaken out of her thoughts when she hears a raspy voice say, “Good morning, I hope you don’t mind me taking over your kitchen. I made you breakfast,” she says while gesturing to a plate that’s already made with eggs, bacon, toast, and pancakes. Okay, she seriously needs to stop.

Lauren’s voice sounds even sexier in the morning and Camila has to take a deep breath to collect herself. She’s about to respond when –

“Why thank you, kind stranger,” Dinah says, walking out of her own room and grabbing Camila’s toast from her plate, proceeding to stuff her mouth with it.

Camila scowls and Lauren just looks amused.

“Wow, none of Camila’s previous hook-ups have made it past midnight before,” Dinah says while chewing. “And here you are making her breakfast and shit,” she says chuckling.

Lauren feels unmistakable heat creep up her neck and into her cheeks as Camila throws a piece of bread at her best friend, “Dinah! We didn’t hook up. Jeez,” she says scandalized, not yet at least. “She’s a friend. I helped her with a project. Lauren, this is Dinah,” Camila says gesturing to her friend, “Dinah, my friend Lauren,” she says as she introduces the two.

“Hm-mhm,” Dinah says, eyeing the two skeptically. “We all know what ‘friend’ means,” she says with exaggerated air quotes.

–

Their coffee date goes well and they continue to find out new things that they like about each other. Lauren is as passionate about her art as she is about world issues and Camila somehow pulls off being goofy and sexy at the same time while still keeping up with Lauren in their many, varied conversations.

They’ve gone on a few dates when Camila asks Lauren to go on a road trip with her to Baltimore one weekend. Lauren says yes without even thinking about it. She thinks she’ll follow Camila to the ends of the earth if she asks her.

Camila is finishing up her make up on the dresser in their hotel room when Lauren comes out of the bathroom, already made up, except for her dress, which she’s holding in the front of her chest with two hands.

“Hey Camz,” she says as she turns around and flips her hair over her shoulder so Camila can have access to her back, “Can you zip me up please,” she asks with her head only half-turned. She misses the way Camila basically drools at all the exposed skin.

They’ve only been dating a couple weeks and haven’t gone further than heated make out sessions where Camila had snuck a couple gropes on a breast or two and Lauren had made herself familiar with expanse of skin that is Camila’s ass. But right now, Camila is seriously considering throwing away her plans and throwing Lauren to bed instead and telling her she won’t need clothes for the rest of the weekend.

She’s shaken out of her trance when Lauren’s voice floats through the air and addresses her, “Camz?”

“Oh, uh, sure,” she says as she stands up and goes behind Lauren. They make eye contact through the full body mirror in front of them and shoot each other meaningful smiles.

Camila steadies her shaking hands as she rests her left hand on Lauren’s hip and the other grabs the zipper near her lower back. She swallows hard and slowly pulls the zipper up, her knuckles grazing Lauren’s skin and leaving goose bumps in their wake. She hears a soft gasp from Lauren and she squeezes her hard on the hip. When she sees Lauren through the mirror closing her eyes with her red-painted lips slightly ajar, Camila leans forward, turning her head to face Lauren’s side and grazing her mouth on Lauren’s ear as she breathes out, “Can’t wait to help you of this later,” she husks as she gives Lauren one final squeeze and a quick, but deep kiss just below her ear.

Lauren turns around breathless and says, “I don’t care what the surprise is, I want you naked on this bed now.”

  –

Camila should really get an award for having the world’s greatest self-control. After Lauren not so subtly expressed that she’d wanted to take Camila to bed, Camila had to power through and convince Lauren that the surprise is worth seeing.

Not very many people can defer such an offer from one Lauren Jauregui.

Lauren walks into the Baltimore Museum of Art and an energy of pure excitement courses through her as she looks around the exhibit. The museum had secured an exhibit from Ai Weiwei, Lauren’s absolute favorite contemporary artist. Weiwei is the perfect embodiment that showcases the intersectionality between Lauren’s two loves, art and activism. He uses his prominence to give voice to victims and decry faulty governments. He’s using a hundred percent of his profits from this specific exhibit to help the refugees in the Middle East.

The exhibit was pretty hard to get into and many other prominent artists and powerful figures had already secured VIP passes to this exclusive, one-night show months ahead, from what Lauren knows anyway. She looks at Camila and her heart soars at the way she’s looking back. Surrounded by magnificent art and Camila is looking at her like she’s the central piece.

“How?” she asks quietly, Lauren’s eyes stuck on Camila’s.

Camila shrugs her shoulders and says, “Pulled a few strings. I knew some people so…” she trails off when Lauren keeps looking at her like she had brought the moon to her.

“Thank you,” Lauren says sincerely squeezing Camila’s hand in hers.

“Anything for my girl,” she says with a with a wide smile.

–

After spending a couple hours in the exhibit, Camila finds Lauren in front of Weiwei’s Odyssey, a wallpaper piece that covers an entire wall on the far side of the gallery. The piece depicts the struggles of refugees in the Middle East in an ancient art style in which the characters in the piece are drawn as if they would have been in ancient times, on earth ware clay (Shaw, A. (2017) “Lest we forget, Ai Weiwei’s first show in Turkey is a meditation on refugee crisis. The Art Newspaper) [A/N: I still don’t know how citations work].

Camila comes up behind her and gently wraps her slender arms around Lauren’s midsection, laying her chin on the other girl’s shoulder.

“Do you like your surprise,” she whispers softly.

A fond smile forms on Lauren’s red lips. “I love it,” she says turning her head slightly. “I don’t even remember mentioning my favorite artist’s name to you” she says furrowing her brows.

“You may not have said his name, Lo” Camila explains. “But you mention his works a lot. Gosh Camz, there’s this artist I love. His pieces are so powerful and he’s a self-taught architect. He’s like me basically! An artist, an architect, and an activist,” Camila says in a deep, husky voice in what is supposed to be her imitation of Lauren’s raspy voice.

Lauren laughs softly, and god, she is endeared by the woman in front of her. “I do not sound like that,” she says mid-laugh. “I hope you don’t do that impression of me to anyone else.”

Camila feels that familiar warmth in her chest whenever she hears Lauren laughing because of her and she tightens her arms around the girl, trying not to say anything that could definitely scare the other girl away. Two weeks is way too short for such deep feelings.

“But I can’t believe you pay enough attention to my ramblings to pick out my favorite artist just from talking about different pieces. I mean, I talk about a lot of other pieces too,” Lauren continues to point out.

“Well, it really isn’t hard to pay attention to you, Laur,” Camila responds softly. “I know you don’t notice it, but half the room pays attention to you even when you’re not doing anything. It helps that I’m also always so in tune to everything you do. It’s like my body and mind are programmed to listen to and watch everything you do,” she finishes.

Lauren’s heart is hammering against her chest. She can’t believe Camila turned out to be even more beautiful on the inside once she got to know her. She turns around in Camila’s arms and wraps her own hands around the other girl’s neck.

“You know, you called me ‘your girl,’ earlier,” Lauren says.

“Oh did I?” Camila pretends to scrunch up her face.

“Well, am I?” Lauren asks hesitantly. “Your girl I mean, like, are we girlfriends?” she powers through the mad blush that is taking over her face.

Camila can’t believe this precious human being is all hers. “Lauren Michelle Jauregui,” she responds while trailing her hands down Lauren’s back so softly Lauren might not have noticed it if all her nerve endings weren’t firing like crazy at the moment.

“Will you be my girlfrie-,” Camila tries to say.

“Yes,” Lauren breathes out before she even finishes and attacks Camila’s lips with her own, immediately slipping her tongue in Camila’s mouth when she gasps. Lauren indulges in the warmth of Camila’s mouth and tongue and the soft breaths she’s letting out for every particularly hard swipe of her tongue before she pulls back, lest they get kicked out for public indecency.

Camila opens her eyes slowly, still slightly dazed, “I’m gonna go research a bunch of exhibits you like if I get thanked like that every time” she says in a breathless voice.

Lauren laughs and then leans close to Camila’s ear, playing with the hairs behind her neck when she rasps out, “That’s not all, baby. I plan on thanking you a lot more when we get back to the hotel.”

Camila swallows hard and responds shakily, “H-how exactly are you going to do that?”

Lauren smirks and subtly sucks on Camila’s skin where her jaw meets her neck while wrapping her slim fingers around Camila’s neck lightly, but noticeably more tightly than before,

“How about…,” she whispers, “I let you have your way with me?” she says and Camila drags her out of the museum before Lauren even has a chance to figure out what’s happening.

–

They’re cuddled up on Lauren’s bed one night with Lauren’s arms wrapped around the other girl and Camila facing away from the green-eyed girl, the brunette’s own hands playing with Lauren’s fingers, which have snuck their way in Camila’s shirt and is drawing patterns on her toned stomach when Lauren breathes out against her neck,

“Will you let me paint on you?” she asks.

Camila turns around in her arms and brings both hands to Lauren’s face, cupping her face gently when she responds with a cheeky smile, “You want to paint me like one of your French girls?”

Lauren laughs lightly and turns her head to plant a quick kiss to the inside of Camila’s palm. Camila’s gaze softens at the action and she’s close to saying the same words she’d made a conscious effort not say to anyone for a very long time when Lauren says,

“No I mean like, paint on you” she says. “I want to paint on your back, specifically.”

Camila shakes her thoughts away internally and thinks about it for a second. “Hmm, that’s very tumblr-y. And kinda gay. That’s very tumblr-y and gay, Laur” she finally says.

“Well then it’s perfect for the both of us,” she says with a bright smile. “Come on,” she implores while running her hand down Camila’s back and up her shirt, tracing the soft skin along the ridges of her spine as she leans forward to breathe out against the other girl’s neck, “Your back is so sexy, baby. It would be like making art on art,” she husks out after sucking on a sensitive spot on the other girl’s neck.

“You can be very persuasive,” Camila half says, half moans.

Lauren smirks against her skin and pulls back, “So is that a yes?”

Camila looks her girlfriend in the eye and says, “You’re way too charming for your own good, you know that? It’s kinda scary, like what if down the road you want to paint our kids’ room a crazy color or display raunchy paintings in our living room because it’s art, Camz.”

They both seem to realize the implication behind Camila’s words and the brunette flushes a deep red as her hands become sweaty.

Shit. She’s gonna run. I totally freaked her out.

Lauren’s heartbeat is thunderous in her chest and she can’t help but picture a future with Camila. A slow smile forms on her lips and she says before the other girl can backtrack, “Then I guess I’ll just have to persuade youthe only way I know if I want paintings of naked girls in our homeor if I want to paint our kids’ room a light shade of smaragdine.” [A/N: it’s green].

Camila’s heart leaps in her chest and it’s like Lauren and Camila’s hearts are competing to see who can jump out of their ribbed confines first. They look at each other with soft smiles and twinkles in their eyes, and against all the dating rules they’ve placed for themselves, with love. With Lauren’s response confirming that the green-eyed girl is in this for the long run, Camila can’t help but think she can’t wait to hang paintings of naked girls and design smaragdine-colored rooms.

That’s how Camila finds herself on her stomach with her top off and wearing only her Iron Man boy shorts with Lauren straddling her, the green-eyed girl perched right on top of her butt. They both go to sleep in just shirts and underwear so Lauren herself is sitting on Camila with nothing but a shirt and some lace underwear and Camila is finding it hard to focus.

They’re facing towards the foot of the bed so Camila has a perfect view of Lauren working on her back through the mirror on Lauren’s dresser, which is in front of the bed across the room. Lauren’s The 1975 shirt, or is it Camila’s(?), has already collected a few paint spots as Lauren seems too absorbed in her work to notice anything else. Her hair is up in a messy bun and her tongue is poking out between her teeth in the way that it does when she’s concentrating and she’s wearing her glasses and Camila is in love.

She’s still reluctant to say it because it’s still way too soon in her opinion and she’s had her heart broken too many times. She’d given her heart out way too easily in the past and she refuses to lose in love again. Her thoughts are broken when Lauren moves on top of her.

The older girl leans forward and props her right hand by Camila’s chest, her fingers grazing Camila’s exposed side boob, while she uses her left hand to work on, apparently, a very small detail on Camila’s back because her face is inches from Camila’s skin and her hot breath is sending a warm, tingling sensation throughout her body. Lauren leaning forward also shifts where the green-eyed girl’s center is sat on top of Camila’s ass and the friction causes Camila to moan.

Lauren seems to be shaken out of her focus and immediately asks, “Shit, are you okay? Did I hurt you?”

“NO! Um-,” Camila clears her throat. “I mean it’s just um-” she tries to gather her thoughts to no avail and swallows hard.

Lauren looks at Camila’s flushed cheeks through the mirror and sees how her blush has spread to her ears and the back of her neck. She smirks, “Oh, I see what’s happening. Can’t you keep it in your pants for like two seconds?” Lauren says while chuckling, their point of contact making Camila feel every vibration through her body.

“No I can’t just keep it in my pants. Have you seen yourself?” Camila huffs indignantly.

Lauren just shakes her head and laughs. She leans forward and puts her brush down, placing both of her hands on either side of Camila’s head, being careful not to touch the paint, and turns to give Camila’s cheek a lingering kiss followed by a whisper in her ear, “Later, babe.”

Lauren finishes up and takes a picture of Camila’s back with her polaroid camera while remaining seated on Camila. She retrieves the picture and can’t help the smile that forms on her lips. The flawless curve of Camila’s back had been the perfect backdrop for the galaxy that she painted, the swirls of the cosmos perfectly complementing the shape of Camila’s body. She can see her own pale thighs dotted with paint and contrasting against Camila’s tan skin as she straddles her. Camila’s head is turned to the side, showing her mid laugh with her eyes closed and smile wide.

Lauren looks at it and knows she’s in love.

–

Lauren and Camila are at another exhibit and this time, it’s Lauren’s.

It’s been three years since Lauren stalked Camila on her way to her apartment and started their story of a lifetime. Camila graduated with high honors and is now nearing the end of her first year as a medical student. Lauren, on the other hand, had been picked up by a benefactor when Camila and Lauren spent the summer after graduation in France.

Her patron’s massive wealth combined with her incredible talent meant it took almost no time before Lauren gained ground in the art scene and became one of the fastest rising artists in the world. Following the footsteps of her artist/activist hero, Lauren has been donating a good portion of her profits to various charities, some she’d founded herself, after she had established a steady pace in her career.

Now, she’s in the middle of one of her most important exhibits yet. The gallery is filled with art pieces that depict her own life. Her benefactor had convinced her to create a showcase as a way for people to “get to know the artist.” She had used as many different media as she could think of to symbolize the many different layers and nuances that make up her life. She has her career, her friends, her family, her hobbies and interests, and of course, she has her Camila.

Lauren feels exposed and not because there are people looking into different aspects of her life, but because even after years of being with Camila, she feels the most nervous about her art when it comes to the brown-eyed girl. What if she thinks the whole exhibit is ridiculous and narcissistic?

“Hey, babe” Camila addresses her cheerily as she comes up to her girlfriend, effectively stopping Lauren’s train of thought. She looks up and sees her inspiration for just about every significant art piece she’d sold.

“Hey,” she says. “What do you think?” she asks nervously.

Camila comes up to wrap her arms around the other girl’s neck and Lauren instinctively places her hands around the girl’s waist. “I think you continue to amaze me with your talent is what I think,” Camila says, pride shining in her eyes.

Lauren lets out a sigh of relief and grabs Camila’s hand, “Come on, it’s time to reveal the central piece.”

Lauren is next to Camila as the curator for the gallery is giving an introduction about Lauren and her piece and Camila can feel the nerves radiating from the girl next to her. Lauren had refused to show Camila the piece before the actual exhibit. She had even worked on it in secret, sneaking out at night and sneaking back in the early hours of the morning. It had caused quite the problem for them.

–

Camila stirs awake and her hands instinctively reach out for her girlfriend’s warmth, only to be met with cold, empty sheets. She sits up and rubs her eyes, adjusting her eyes to the darkness and finding no sign of the green-eyed girl. She gets up and calls out into the empty apartment,

“Laur?”

Nothing.

Her heart thuds in her chest and she feels a familiar ache in her chest. Lately, Lauren has been busy “working on something” and she’s barely seen her. She had trusted the girl early on, but Camila had been cheated on so many times she knows the signs like the back of her hand. She picks up her phone and dials the other girl’s number only to see it vibrating on the coffee table.

“Damn it, Laur” she whispers.

She tries to stay up for the girl but finds herself falling asleep on the couch after a couple hours. She’s stirred awake when she hears keys jingling on the door. She stands up and crosses her arms immediately. Lauren walks in looking tired.

“Long night?” Camila asks harshly.

“Camila, what are you doing up?” Lauren asks.

Camila looks at her like she’d lost her damn mind, “What am I- are you kidding? Where have youbeen?” she asks angrily. Her temper rising against her own volition.

Lauren sighs and moves to the kitchen, “I’m tired Camila, can we not do this right now? I told you I’ve been working on something.”

“Something or someone?”

Lauren turns her head and says angrily, “Are you serious? Are you saying what I think you’re saying?”

“You’ve been out late most nights and all you have to say about it is you’re ‘working on something’.” Camila says heatedly. “I mean, we live together and I barely see you, Laur,” Camila says, her voice cracking. “I just miss you.”

Lauren looks at her with an unreadable expression, “Do you not trust me?”

Camila looks at her and stays silent. Lauren scoffs and shakes her head, “Unbelievable, after almost three years of being together, you still think I’m like your exes? Like I’m just gonna get up and leave? What do I have to do to show you that I love you and I’m here for the long run?” she asks exasperatedly. “You’ve been looking for reasons to not make this work, Camila, and as far as I know, I haven’t done anything wrong.”

“Lauren I’m sor-”

“You know what, I can’t do this,” Lauren says picking up her keys again. “Come talk to me when you’re ready to listen” she says as she walks out the door.

That following night, when Lauren doesn’t come home, Camila cries herself to sleep. Lauren had left her phone again in her haste to leave and now Camila doesn’t know how to reach her.

Lauren is spending another late night at the studio and when she walks out of the ART building, she sees Camila by the steps. “Camila?” she asks. The girl turns around and gets up quickly. Her body is aching to bring Lauren in her arms and hug her and never let her go again, but she’s not sure where they stand so she keeps her hands to herself, choosing to stuff them in her pockets instead. Her eyes are swollen and she looks like she hasn’t slept in the last couple days. Lauren’s heart breaks at the sight. She thought she was doing the right thing by giving them space.

“I’m sorry,” Camila says, trying to keep her tears at bay. “I do trust you Laur. I do. It’s me, I just get so insecure,” she looks up with pleading eyes. “Please come home.”

Lauren closes the distance between them and wraps her arms around the other girl. She’d miss Camila and her warmth and just her these past few days, it’s like she’d been on autopilot until she got to touch her again. “I’m sorry,” she responds. “I’ve just been so stressed lately and I thought I was doing us a favor by giving us a break,” she turns her head to give Camila’s head a kiss.

Camila pulls back with tears in her eyes and leans forward to give Lauren a watery kiss, “I love you.”

“I love you, too,” Lauren sighs. She’s glad to be home again.

The next morning, Camila wakes up to empty sheets again but when she turns her head, she sees a single rose with a note,

“I love you, Camila. I’m sorry if I did anything to make you feel otherwise. I’ve packed your stuff. Get dressed and come meet me downstairs, I’m getting the car ready. We’re going away for the weekend. – Yours forever, Lauren”

Camila smiles to herself and gets ready as fast as she can. She sees Lauren downstairs leaning against her car and holding a bouquet of red roses with her attention on her phone. “Is this how you’re going to make it up to me every time we fight?” she asks as she approaches the green-eyed girl.

Lauren looks up and smiles as she offers her girl the flowers. “Actually, I’ve had this planned for a while. I’d been working late because I was trying to finish my piece so we can have this weekend all to ourselves,” she says sincerely.

Camila’s gaze softens and she starts to feel guilty. “Don’t,” Lauren interrupts her moping. “I should have done a better job at communicating with you. We both messed up,” she says as she brings Camila’s chin up with her fingers. “We’re going to continue to mess up but it won’t matter because at the end of the day, we’re always going to come back to one another. My heart isn’t capable of doing anything else but beat for yours, okay?” she assures Camila as she kisses her forehead.

–

Camila looks over and sees the girl worrying her lip and fiddling with her fingers. Camila reaches out to stop her fingers and interlaces their hands instead. Lauren gives her a soft look and mutters a “thank you” in her ear when she leans over to give her forehead a kiss.

“…and now, it’s time to reveal, The Center of Her Universe,” the curator announces as the veil is pulled down from the framed piece.

There are soft gasps all around and flashes flicker as the invited press takes pictures of the gigantic drawing in the center of the room.

Camila herself is finding it hard to breathe. She’s looking at the piece and it’s causing a rush of emotions that bulldozes right through her entire being. The art piece is a larger-than-life drawing of a girl that looks a lot like Camila.

The artist’s perspective shows the girl’s side profile. She’s standing with her hand worrying her lip as she looks to be concentrating on what’s in front of her. Camila notes the familiar geometric shapes that the girl is looking at.

Tableau I.

It’s a drawing of Camila when Lauren first laid eyes on her.

What makes the drawing breathtaking is the fact that on the dress Camila is wearing and throughout her wavy, brown locks, there are miniature drawings of different scenes from Camila and Lauren’s time together. The mini scenes are drawn with exquisite detail despite the seemingly non-existent space. There are sketches of their movie dates, gifts they’ve given each other, and quotes and declarations of love they’ve said over the years.

Camila, with tears in her eyes, turns to look at Lauren, who of course, is already looking at her.

“Lauren,” she whispers in awe. “This is incredible.”

“It doesn’t do justice to half of your beauty and what you’ve done to my life since I found you,” Lauren responds sincerely. Camila can’t say or do anything but throw her arms around Lauren and say, “I love you so much.”

–

They’re sitting on the rooftop of the gallery a couple hours after the exhibit had come to a close with Camila’s arm intertwined with Lauren’s and her head leaning against the other girl’s shoulder.

Camila can’t think of any other place she’d rather be.

Lauren disrupts the silence when she reaches for something in her jacket and for the second time that night, Camila is speechless. In front of her, Lauren is holding onto an open small box with a ring.

“I actually wanted to this at the reveal, but then I remembered how every milestone in our relationship had always just been between the two of us and I also didn’t want to pressure you in front of those people so…” Lauren says with a nervous laugh.

Camila looks up into her favorite green eyes and she sees the other girl’s nervous gaze as if Camila could even say anything other than yes to her.

“Like I wanted to depict in my main piece,” Lauren starts. “You’re the center of my universe, Camila. You’ve brought nothing but happiness and pure love to my life and I can’t thank you enough. You continue to be my number one supporter and have stayed by my side through everything. I want to spend the rest of my life showing you how grateful I am for you if you’d let me, so…” she takes a deep breath.

“Camila Cabello,” she starts again, “Will you marr-”

“YES!” Camila answers and throws her arms around Lauren’s neck and kisses her as if to say every single thing she doesn’t know how to describe in words through the way her mouth moves along Lauren’s. She’s kissing her to show Lauren that with the green-eyed girl, it’s always going to be a resounding yes. Lauren owns her heart and everything else. She owns all of Camila.

“A thousand times yes,” she breathes into Lauren’s mouth as the other girl’s lips curve into a smile.

–

Camila is admiring the ring on her finger when she suddenly says to the other girl, “I still can’t believe you didn’t just come up to me that first day in MOMA,” she says with a confused look.

“That was probably honestly for the best,” Lauren says.

“What, why?” Camila asks curiously.

“The only thing that was going through my mind at the time was a lame pick-up line that definitely would not have worked in my favor,” Lauren says laughing to herself.

“What was it,” Camila asks.

Lauren looks at her and concedes. She clears her throat and says in a deep, husky voice,

“You’re like a piece of art,” she starts.

When Camila only raises an eyebrow, she continues.

“I want to nail you against the wall.”

–

The End.

  –

A/N:

Hey everyone,

I’m back with another one shot. I’m compiling my one shots in a book on wattpad under @jaureguicabello5eva (still working on getting these on ao3). I have a few ideas and I’m going to try to upload semi-regularly.

Feel free to send me some prompts or just general things you want to see in future stories and I’ll see what I can do.

Comments/feedback give me life so please tell me what you think. Talk to me about some ideas, scenes within the story, your thoughts on the plots, the characters, point out some typos if you want, etc.

Hope you guys enjoyed this one!

side note: there are pictures in wattpad if you want to have a better idea of the pieces being referenced

-Maddox

[twilight-mademegay]

These Things Take Forever, I Especially Am Slow

They're on a beach.

Where this beach is or the fact that it's freezing  and sprinkling rain doesn't matter. The two of them are on a beach and staring at each other. Well, Steve is staring. He's trying to physically will the unknown brunette to look at him. He was invited along to a picnic on the beach by his friends Clint and Natasha. Maybe "invited" wasn't the right word; the couple had all but dragged him out of his rundown apartment. It's not that he didn't want to go, Steve's just busy finishing the panels for the comic he's been working on for over a month. He's a comic artist. Spending days- weeks- cooped up in his apartment isn't something to worry about. But his friends had insisted and even packed an overnight bag for him while he pouted on the couch. Natasha "I dare you to say no to me" Romanoff had even taken his work and hid it somewhere his short frame probably couldn't reach.

"You can't stay in this dump every day." Clint "no filter" Barton was just as eager to get him out. "It's gotta be bad for your asthma not to mention you need sunlight, Rogers." Clint tugged him along out the door while Natasha made sure things were in order.

"I got a deadline, I can't just leave." Both friends audibly groaned.

Natasha locked his apartment door and led him out by the shoulders. "Yeah, yeah. We both know you're already done and just nit picking. Plus, Sam invited one of his vet buddies; thinks you'll like him." He rolls his eyes at that. Ever since Steve admitted- in a very inebriated state- he was up for dating, his friends haven't let up on finding someone for him. And Steve was always a sucker for a man in uniform.

Which is how he ended up sitting on a log freezing his ass off, watching said friend of Sam's. He's going to get sick, like always, but he can't make himself leave. Not when he say Sam's friend.

He nearly fell when he saw the brunette. He quite literally tripped over his own feet. He was gorgeous; in every way Steve could think of. God, he wanted to draw this man. Natasha had mercifully let him bring one sketchpad with him; he busied himself trying to sketch out the man's jawline for over half an hour. Every time he thought he had it, it was wrong. He managed to get the curve of his eyes down near perfect. His arched eyebrow when he talked. Steve even got the slope of his nose down to a T. His jaw- and those beautiful looking lips- were his biggest challenge. He needed the man to look at him fully so he could get them down. But drawing attention to himself was not an option.

"Hey man that looks great!" Steve froze before quickly turning around. Sam Wilson looked down at him with a gentle smirk. "You got him down perfect. Hey Barnes, come here." Sam looked away from him and to the brunette. Said brunette was having a deep conversation with Natasha; Steve had heard them speaking in what he could only guess was Russian. He hadn't been able to even guess what they were saying. Before Steve could protest, the man looked over. And looked directly at Steve. Steve's drawing did not do him justice with those piercing eyes. They were the color blue he would happily drown himself in. It took Steve all of three seconds to realize the man- Barnes?- was walking towards him.

"What's up?" He nodded to Sam. Steve felt very close to jamming his pencil into his friends kneecap. Steve tried to keep himself out of the conversation, keeping his sketchpad close to his chest.

Sam wasn't allowing that. "This is my friend Steve, the artist I told you about." Steve's tilted his head and glared daggers at his friend. He didn't like people talking about him. Even if it was to a certain cute brunette.

He looked down at Steve and held out his right hand. "Oh nice! Steve right?" The blonde nodded, wearily taking his hand and shaking it. "M'names James. But everyone calls me Bucky." Steve felt a shock run down his crooked spine as he spoke. He could definitely get use to hearing that voice. It's a good minute before Steve realizes he's been holding Bucky's hand for too long. He pulls back like he's been burnt; his cheeks go red. Bucky just smiles a crooked smile at him. "Whatcha got there?" He's looking at the sketchpad. Steve tries to hide it under his coat but is stopped by Sam yanking it from his hands. He's handing it to Bucky before he can stop him. He loves his friend a great deal, but right now he was okay with giving him a painful end.

"He's good at sketching. Look what he did." Sam's showing Bucky the page of the brunette portrait. Steve is definitely about to stab his friend with his pencil; he's busy finding out where it would hurt the most when he looks up at Bucky. He feels Sam squeeze his shoulder but doesn't hear the excuse for why he's leaving the two of them alone. Steve's eyes are locked on the shocked expression in front of him. He grinds his teeth. He can almost physically see the expressions change on the other man's face.

He's worried. "I- um sorry. I know I should've asked before I even started but I just..." He just what? His mind can't form coherent sentences as those dazzling blue eyes look back at him. "Sorry." He mutters and looks away. He's embarrassed beyond belief now and he seriously is considering never speaking to Sam "I'm the best wing man" Wilson ever again.

"These are really good." It's a quiet reply but a better one than what Steve was expecting. Steve's cheeks warm again and he looks back up. He's honestly still expecting to get hit or something because no man he's ever met was okay with him drawing them; especially when it was from a distance. Bucky's still smiling and he hands him back the sketchpad. "No one's ever drawn me before. I'm flattered." And that's the second Steve's sure he fell hard from this man he's never met before. "Can I sit?" Bucky motions to the seat next to him. Steve falters for a second before nodding. He scoots over. Which is apparently for nothing as Bucky slides up right against him. He's glad Bucky sat on his right side- at least he can hear without a hearing aid on that side.

Steve's suddenly too warm to notice the rain stopped. He's too busy studying the broad chest and slightly too long hair of the man in front of him to notice people pulling out blankets to sit on the sand. He doesn't even notice- amidst the idle chatter the two have- their hands find each other and fingers lace together.

He isn't too busy to notice Clint watching them- and when the blonde signs 'damn' and 'you got this' over his shoulder.

-----------------------------------------------------------------

It's been a year and a half since they met. A year of friendship and honestly some of the best days of Steve Rogers' life. Three months of them being just friends, nine months of them actually dating. Everyone else saw it coming a mile away except the two of them. Natasha and Sam had all but forced them together; the two of them had been tiptoeing the whole time. Clint had been surprised when they made it official. Apparently, he thought they were together since the start. Nine months of them laughing, smiling, kissing, drawing, and loving each other.

But it's also been six months since they broke up.

Honestly neither knows how it ended. It just did. One moment they can't keep their hands off each other and the next...they can't stand to touch each other. Steve found himself working more and more just so he didn't have to see his supposed boyfriend. Not like said boyfriend was putting much effort into the relationship. They had one argument. Just one. But it was the one that ended everything.

"I don't get it, why can't you tell me?" Steve tossed his bag down with more anger than needed. The two of them had been out for dinner when Bucky got a call. A call he didn't seem to think Steve needed to know anything about. "Why is it a secret all of a sudden?" They went back to Steve's small apartment once the call ruined the mood. The shorter of the two was rightfully pissed at their evening being ruined. Bucky apologized but said he needed to go; he dropped Steve off and meant to leave immediately after. Steve wasn't having it and made him come inside.

"Look, Stevie. It's better I don't tell ya right now." Bucky ran a hand through his hair in the way Steve knew there was something he wasn't saying. On purpose. "I'll explain it later but right now I just need you to understand." Steve understood. Oh he did. Bucky never purposely kept something from him so why now?

"No Buck, I can't understand. 'Cause I have no idea what you want me to understand. Is it something with your ma? Your sister? You gotta tell me." It went back and forth until they were yelling. Bucky needed Steve to let it go for now and the blonde refused. Bucky threw cusses, Steve threw his sketchbook. It ended with Bucky slamming the door and rattling the whole apartment. Steve went to sleep angrier than he'd ever been and honestly wasn't surprised when he didn't hear anything from the other for a week. Then two. Then a month. After a month passed he worried and asked Sam how Bucky was. The box of Steve's things that just ended on his doorstep after a week was enough for him to get the message; they were done. Sam didn't know about any of this. His friend had blinked down at him, surprised.

"He didn't tell you?" They met up for coffee and the darker one was stunned. Steve shook his head in confusion; the look Sam gave him was one of near heartbreak. "Man, Buck got shipped out. His platoon was called out about a month ago and he left three weeks ago." Steve froze. Oh no. Oh no, no, no. That was likely what the phone call was and why Bucky didn't want to talk about it. He knew it would upset Steve for him to leave. But they had stupidly fought and he never got a chance to say anything. And Bucky had left angry; he wouldn't want to talk to Steve because he thought Steve was the one mad. Steve felt like a complete asshole.

But that was five months ago and he hadn't heard anything from Bucky. Steve had asked Sam if he could send Bucky a letter apologizing; his friend said he would make sure it got to him. Steve never heard back. Now he could understand why Bucky never answered. He had only asked Steve to understand and then he would tell him what was wrong. Steve didn't listen to his one plea. Months passed. There was a huge ache in his chest where it was once warm. But he could live with it. He did. He stayed focused on the comics he was commissioned for. He went out when Natasha and Clint dragged him. He visited Sam and helped out with VA counseling; who knew art could be a good outlet?

Five months passed and every single day he thought about James Buchanan "eyes that could pierce you" Barnes. He didn't admit it but his friends knew. They saw it in every pencil sketch and line filled. They saw it in the shadows under his eyes from tireless work. They saw it in the way he looked too hopeful when anyone resembling Bucky came into view. They saw it with the way his eyes and heart dropped when he saw it wasn't him.

He just wouldn't admit it. Only when he came home one night from helping Sam at the VA did he admit it to himself. He had stopped dead in the hallway and dropped his book bag where he stood. Steve wasn't completely sure he wasn't dreaming; he'd had this dream before. Maybe he fell asleep at his desk again and this was the result.

But no.

There, in Steve's favorite black jacket, stood one James Buchanan "likely the love of Steve's life" Barnes leaning against his door. There was a duffel bag by his feet and bruises under his eyes. And something didn't appear normal about his left hand. Which, he kept tucked at his side.

"Bucky?" Steve blurted it out. It got the brunette's attention. His eyes that use to shine were glazed over; it broke Steve's heart to see. He used to want to draw those eyes for hours but now he just wanted to wipe away any tears from them. He swallowed hard and picked up his bag, walking hesitantly towards the man. Bucky stood still. Steve worried a little as he came to stand only a foot away. If possible, Bucky had gotten bigger. Not that Steve was big by any means but still. The man seemed to tower over him even more. His hair had gotten longer and has haphazardly tied back. "Buck." Steve breathed and hesitated to reach out.

"Stevie." Bucky looked like he was going to collapse. There was no hesitance in his movements; he reached out and wrapped one arm- his right arm- tight around Steve's small frame. The blonde reacted and wrapped both arms around the man's waist. His face was pressed against his neck. He felt Bucky press his face into his hair and held on tighter. It shouldn't have been this easy, they coming back together. It shouldn't have been this easy for Steve to welcome and want Bucky back in his life; but it is. But he noticed something amidst their embrace. It did bother him slightly that Bucky was only using one arm. That's when he realized it. Steve pulled back slightly and brought one arm up to Bucky's left. Or where it should be. His hand was met with a long sleeve rolled and folded over a stump. Steve's breath hitched and he looked up. Bucky was biting his lip and not looking at him.

"Is that why you never answered?" Why it was the first thing out of his mouth, Steve didn't know. But it came out. His only answer was a tight nod. Steve took a deep breath and looked back at Bucky's shoulder. "Let's go inside." And so they did. Steve led Bucky into his apartment and made him sit on the couch. He went back into the hall and dragged the heavy duffel bag inside. When he shut the door, he took a moment to look at Bucky. He wanted to be angry. Not one word from him and then he showed up like this. But he wasn't angry. Because Bucky had a perfectly good reason. He just didn't want to listen. "I'm sorry." He says it first to get it out of the way.

Bucky just sits there for a moment. He's unblinking as he just takes in the blonde in front of him. He blinks once and holds out his hand. Steve looks at it unsure before he takes it. He forgot how small his hands feel in Bucky's; how small he feels and is in general. Bucky doesn't bring it up. He doesn't do anything really. Just holds Steve's hand. The blonde is more than willing to just sit there. Even if he wants answers.

"I should have said something before I left." Bucky's voice is hoarse. Steve feels himself unravel just hearing it, even if it sounds so different. "I should have told you about the call but I just couldn't make myself tell you, Stevie."

Steve panics for a second. He quickly kneels in front of the bigger man and looks him in the eyes. "You've got nothing to be sorry for. I shouldn't have yelled at you, should've understood you needed time." He's squeezing Bucky's hand and sighs. "We're both stubborn and I should've listened." Bucky was shaking his head and near interrupting him. "No, Buck listen. I was angry for no reason and I let you leave without letting you explain. I can't tell you how sorry I am."

Bucky pulled him in close. So close Steve felt the air leave his chest.

"I'm glad I didn't die before I met you." Steve freezes. He pulls back- tries to- but Bucky isn't letting him. He's keeping him as close as he can with his one good arm. Steve lets himself be held, be cradled against his ex's chest. "Every day I thought about you. Every damn day." Bucky's face was pressed against his hair and his breathing irregular. "I drove all night to get here. Was gonna be stationed in Jersey but I kicked up a fuss. I needed to be wherever you are." His arm tightens around Steve's waist and he's all but sitting in the other's lap. He resettles himself, leaning into the brunette. "Everything changed after I left. I was stupid to not tell you. Felt like I finally woke up when I realized I was leaving without saying anything. Like a cold rain."

Steve's chest feels tight. He can hear every ounce of regret and something else. He wants to soothe them, to tell Bucky none of that matters anymore because he's here now. And hopefully will stay. He wraps his arms around his neck and presses his face there. He should be mad, should be upset, should be a lot of thing. But all he wants is to stay where he is and never let go.

"I don't care where I am anymore. I just wanna be with you and I'm happy."

They have a lot to talk about. So many months have passed and they need to talk about them. Steve needs to tell him about how horrible it's been and how sad he is. He knows their friends aren't going to let this go lightly. They need to talk about Bucky's left arm- what happened and if he wants to do anything about it. They need to talk about communicating more and if they even want to be together- if they can. But now it's fine.

"I think I like you enough to keep you around." Steve's voice is small but he knows Bucky hears him. He knows because of the small quirk of his lips and the light kiss he places on his cheek. Yeah, they need to talk. But it's raining outside and it can wait.

----------------------

Based on “First Day of My Life” by Bright Eyes

[megatraven]

Girl Crush

Right okay so this took forever but it includes the first three femslash feb prompts and is also a late birthday gift to @starscrumbling :D EDIT: I forgot a read more lol woops

Summary: After not having spoke for a little while, Alya decides to call Marinette, only to run into her in an unlikely place.

AO3

Snow fell over the city, wrapping it in a blanket of cool cleanliness as lights shut off and many Parisians went to sleep. The sky was dark but the city glowed softly still, and with its silence, very few would find it perfect to be outside just then.

Alya was not one of those few. Sure, sometimes the quiet could be nice, and being alone could be a gift, but there was always such a thing as too much. While she trekked through the snow, the quiet began to bug her, and it didn’t take long for her to think of a solution. Removing her hands from the warmth of her pockets, she took her phone out and began scrolling through her contacts.

“Wow,” she breathed, feeling a little guilty when she finally got to the one she wanted. “I... haven’t talked to her in so long.” She tapped the contact, and her thumb hovered over the call button. She didn’t notice she’d paused in the middle of the park, and her brows drew together as she considered what the consequences of calling so late could be.

On the one hand, they could catch up and the quiet of the city could be drowned out by their talking. On the other, Alya could be cursed out for waking her up. Deciding that even being cursed at was better than the lonely feeling she had, and before she could talk herself out of it, she hit the call button and put her phone to her ear.

A small smile lit up her face when she heard the familiar ringback tone.

~ ♪ ♫ Feel the magic in the air,

Allez, allez, allez

Levez les mains en l'air

Allez, allez, allez

Feel the magic in the air,

Allez, allez- ♫ ♪ ~

Hey, you’ve reached-

“...Marinette?” Alya asked, cutting off the message with a quick tap of the ‘end call’ button. She stared for a moment longer before rushing forward, shaking awake the girl sleeping on the park bench. “Marinette! Girl, wake up! What’re you doing, sleeping on the bench while it’s snowing out!?”

It took a little more shaking before Marinette opened her eyes and yawned. “Mmm... A-Alya? What’re you d-doing out here?” she questioned through chattering teeth.

“What am I- girl, what are you doing out here? I’ve heard of ‘blankets of snow’ but you shouldn’t take it as a literal blanket, Mar!” She sighed and pulled her friend into a hug, hoping to share her warmth. “Mon Dieu, you scared the hell out of me,” she whispered.

“I-I was dr-drawing,” she explained, gestured to a sketchpad that had a layer of snow covering it now. “F-first snow, you know? Good i-inspiration.” Alya tightened her hold when she felt Marinette shiver and bury her face in the crook of Alya’s neck.

“Mhm. And how long were you out drawing for?”

“Not t-too long! But, um, it’s b-been a long few weeks, and I h-haven’t been sleeping well. Th-the peacefulness put me to sleep I gu-guess.” A full-body shiver went through her then, and that drove Alya to action.

"C'mon, get up. I live closer, so you can crash at my place tonight," she said, helping Marinette to her feet. She kept her arm around the other girl, who in turn wrapped both of her arms around Alya.

"Um, s-so about the last t-time we-"

Alya cut her off with a look. "We can talk when you get warm, okay?"

Marinette looked like she wanted to say more, but she bit her tongue and nodded instead. The rest of their walk carried on in silence, save for Alya occasionally commenting on the sights or closeness to her apartment.

When they finally did arrive, Alya made quick work of climbing the stairs, despite half-dragging Marinette alone. She hoped that what had happened between them hadn't been the source of her sleepless nights, because Alya knew Marinette, and she knew it took a lot for her best friend to be capable of falling asleep while walking. Of course, it only usually happened when there was a big design competition coming up, but Alya hadn't heard anything. Then again, her and Marinette hadn't spoken in awhile either.

Sighing, she tried not to jostle Marinette as she dug out her keys and opened the door. She didn't flick on the lights, used to arriving and maneuvering in the dark, and walked until she could drape Marinette over the couch. Detaching herself from her best friend's vice-like grip proved to be a challenge, but it was something she had experience with, for better or worse.

Alya took off her own jacket, and laid it over Marinette until she could get a few blankets and some hot chocolate going. Luckily, over the years, she had acquired quite a lot of blankets, thanks to Marinette herself. It was, as she put it, 'a travesty among travesties' that she only have two blankets. Alya chuckled at the memory of it. Man, that girl is dramatic, she thought with a shake of her head. She quickly took a few blankets out of her closet, pausing only to add a couple more into her pile in case they'd be talking for awhile. She walked back out to where Marinette dozed, and made sure she stepped quietly, avoiding any creaky spots in the wood she'd come to memorize.

She took a quick moment to watch her friend sleep, enjoying the startling calmness Marinette exuded when she slept. Her lips were drawn into a small smile, and she looked completely at peace. Alya smiled down at her friend, and reached down to sweep her bangs out from her face, only allowing her touch to linger for a second. With a content sigh, she took her jacket away and replaced it with a couple of blankets. Marinette automatically snuggled into them, which Alya had expected, but she also grabbed onto Alya's arm when she made to pull away.

"Mari?" Alya asked, her voice quiet and gentle. "Mari, you have to let go, or I can't make us hot chocolate."

She didn't respond for a good moment, and Alya was convinced she was asleep until she tugged on Alya's arm and mumbled, "No hot chocolate."

Alya let herself be pulled down, taking care not to sit on her friend. "No hot chocolate?" she repeated, and Marinette shook her head, enough so that her hair fell over her face again. Alya snorted and quickly swept it away. "So what, then?"

"Mmm… talk. Bout stuff." she answered, yawning as she said so. She stretched her body out and adjusted her position so that when she finished, her legs laid over Alya's. Her tired gaze found Alya's own and a frown tugged at her lips. "Sorry for not calling."

"It's alright. I didn't either, so I guess we can both take the blame there, huh?" Alya responded with a small smile. It took a few seconds, but Marinette returned it in full, and it took just as long for Alya to realize that her best friend's smile filled her with butterflies. "Anyways, um… I'm sorry if I didn't respond well- okay, wait, no. I know I didn't respond well, because I was really surprised? I mean, I was always under the assumption you were… well, straight, I guess. That, uh… that sounds pretty bad, doesn't it? I know I shouldn't have assumed-"

"Shh. It's okay. Assuming is what people do. You know what Americans say about assuming, though, don't you?" Marinette says with a smile. Alya snorted in response. "Really though, it's okay. I never… I didn't ever tell you or anything. And I did chase after you know who for like a good couple of years. Guess I was kind of ignoring anything else, so I didn't even realize things until our last year of lycée. But when I did notice it was like a switch flipped or something. I suddenly noticed like everything, the little touches, the ones that lasted for awhile, the way you and others moved, and it was just like. Wow."

"But it's been years since then, Mari…"

"I know. And I meant to tell you, I did! But in lycée you were with Nino again, and I couldn't say anything that might hurt you or him. And then you guys broke up again and even though it wasn't so bad I knew you were still sad and needed space, so I obviously wasn't gonna tell you then. After that, I guess… I never found a good opportunity. Last time wasn't very ideal either, but I was, admittedly, a little tipsy-" Alya laughed at that, and Marinette shot her an unamused look before continuing, "-and you looked so goddamn amazing and it just… slipped out." She sighed and closed her eyes, laying her head back against the arm of the couch. "I didn't mean to make things so awkward."

Alya stayed quiet while all the information sunk in. Marinette stole a glance at her, and was relieved to see that her best friend didn't look mad or uncomfortable about it.

"I didn't even get a chance to say something," she finally whispered."You ran out yelling something, and I- I didn't... I didn't go after you. Or call. Or message or email or anything." She swallowed and looked at Marinette. "I'm really sorry, Mar. You ran out and I thought you made a mistake. I didn't want things to be awkward so I just…"

"Waited." Marinette finished for her. When Alya nodded, Marinette found herself sitting up and putting her hands on Alya's shoulders. "I did too. We both made a mistake in doing that, I guess. But I want you to know that even though we didn't talk for a little while, I still thought about you, and I still really, really, really want to be friends, at the very least. Like I really wouldn't know what to do without you in my life? I fell asleep in the snow on a park bench while we weren't talking, for crying out loud!" She threw her hands up and was about to launch into one of her ramblings, but Alya was always one to calm her down enough to prevent it.

The situation they found themselves in didn't change that.

It was Alya's turn to put her hands on her friend's shoulders, and when she successfully got Marinette's attention, she pulled her into a hug. The blankets fell from Marinette's form, and Alya's fingers dug into the cloth of her friend's shirt. It was soft beneath her fingertips, but she knew Marinette was softer still. She took a deep breath, appreciating the scent of vanilla, new fabrics, and paper that clung to Marinette, as it has since the two met. Her eyes shut and her hold tightened as she listened to Marinette's semi-frantic heartbeat slow into a rhythmic tempo. Eventually, Marinette returned the hug with just as much love and care as she rested her head against Alya's chest.

"Girl, I don't think there's anything in the world I want more than to stay in your life." Her voice was quiet, but in the silence that had permeated the apartment, it was loud and clear. "No matter if it's as an acquaintance, a fan, a friend, a best friend, a girlfriend..." She heard Marinette's breath catch. "As long as I get to be greedy and steal even just a minute of your time, I think we'll be just fine." She pulled away just enough to smile at Marinette, whose eyes shimmered with tears ready to spill. She wore a small, nervous kind of smile, one not unlike how she smiled in front of previous crushes.

Alya winked at her, which made Marinette lean forward and laugh into her shoulder. Her laughter proved to be contagious, because soon both were laughing, Marinette into Alya's shoulder and Alya into Marinette's hair. When it finally died down, they stayed in the same position until Marinette pulled away just enough for them to be looking at each other.

"S-so, uh… girlfriend, huh?" she asked, nervousness taking root again, though this time it was accompanied by hope.

"Mademoiselle Dupain-Cheng, are you asking me, greatest reporter of all time, to be your girlfriend?" Her voice was teasing in an effort to lessen the building tension, and to the relief of them both, it worked.

"Why, Mademoiselle Césaire, that's exactly what I'm asking," she answered with a smirk.

"Ah, yes, in that case," she started, leaning forward so her nose pressed into Marinette's cheek, "I would be honored to have such a title."

"Really?" she breathed.

"Really." Alya placed a quick peck on the corner of Marinette's lips. "Now, you're still kind of cold and I swear you look like you're gonna pass out at any second, so let me make us some hot cocoa and then we can get some sleep. Sound good?"

Her girlfriend- Marinette's my girlfriend now! Alya thought with glee- hummed, thinking about the offer.

"I think sleep sounds better. Cocoa's got nothing on blankets and cuddles, you know," she said in a very serious, certain tone. Alya snorted and moved to get up anyways, but Marinette, in a shocking show of strength, pulled her back down. This time, they were laying next to each other rather than sitting, and neither could lie about how nice it felt to share in each other's embrace. "You won't leave me to freeze, will you?" she pouted.

"Alright, alright, you've twisted my arm. Cuddles it is."

Together, they wrapped themselves in the plenty of blankets Alya had brought out until the warmth and rightness of their proximity lulled them both to sleep.