#bagel place of college park

[pellucid-constellations]

Are You Bored Yet?

Pairing: College!Bucky x Tutor!Reader

Summary: God, you hated Bucky. Bucky probably hated you, too. Maybe. It was hard to tell when he was drunk and calling you pretty at a party you shouldn't have gone to.

Word count: 8k

Warnings: Alcohol, annoyance to lovers, a bit of angst, a scary man in a parking lot, frat!bucky c:

a/n:​​​ I am so excited to finally post something!! It only took me four months 😅 If you enjoy it please please let me know ❤️❤️

Masterlist

~~

12:59 pm.

The birchwood table nestled in the back of the library was long but otherwise empty, the only thing occupying it being your laptop and quite a few books. He wasn’t late. Yet. You weren’t going to hold onto that hope, however.

Tutoring Bucky Barnes was not what you had in mind when you volunteered for the peer assistance program at your university. It was true you were only using the club to boost your resume, but you had assumed the only people reaching out for help would be those that actually wanted it. Unfortunately, that was not the case. 

Sure, Bucky wanted help. Just not with anything that actually warranted the word. He wanted help sweet talking the cops so they wouldn't shut down his parties. He wanted help recruiting girls to show up to his parties. And—the one thing you could actually do—he wanted help passing his classes with the minimum GPA required to not get kicked out of his frat. So he could continue to throw parties. 

Everything in his life revolved around his fraternity, which made you very important to him. When he wanted you to be. 

With your apparently astounding knowledge of biology (you took notes during lectures), you became the star in Bucky’s life every Monday and Wednesday from 1:00 pm (give or take ten minutes) to 2:00 pm. He was also very attentive during the thirty minute phone calls he initiated prior to tests, and always looked happy to see you when he passed you devouring a bagel at the crack of dawn in the dining hall. 

Every situation in which you had come in contact with Bucky was isolated and purposeful (minus the bagel). You didn’t hang out or invite each other places, and you were almost positive that if you were to see him in his natural habitat, you would want to tutor him even less than you did now, and that was saying something. So you were important to Bucky during the times you were supposed to be important, and he was important to you in the sense that he was a job. 

But as your laptop blinked the numbers 1:22 pm back at your unimpressed expression, Bucky became much less important today. You took in a long, tortured breath before sending your gaze up to the ceiling, giving it another three minutes before you truly gave up on him for the day. 

One minute. 

Two minutes. 

The library really needed new ceiling tiles. 

1:25 pm and you snapped your laptop shut. Your fingers itched to send yet another complaint about this whole ordeal Natasha’s way, but you stopped yourself. She had already heard plenty about Barnes at this point, plus she always gave you a weird look every time you came stomping into the apartment, grumbling about something else he had done. 

You hated her weird looks, all raised eyebrows and stiff lips.

With your backpack heaved onto the table and your things slowly funneling in, you figured a nap was the best reward for sitting in the library for an unnecessary twenty-five minutes. Your last prickle of irritation was stifled at the prospect of a warm bed as you stood, only to find that irritation had returned to you tenfold. In the form of Bucky Barnes. 

“You going somewhere?” he seemed to taunt, his bag slung casually over one shoulder. 

Your jaw ticked. “Home.” 

His mouth turned up at one side, an expression you had learned meant he found you amusing. He never seemed to outright laugh at your annoyance, but apparently, it was hard to tamp down all of the joy he got out of it. Bucky took two long strides to meet the table you were attempting to abandon. 

“But I still got about—” he checked his watch “—thirty-three minutes? And an arsenal of questions about amino acids. Help a guy out.” 

“And I still got—” you checked the nonexistent watch on your wrist “—no patience for this today. You’re over twenty minutes late, Barnes. Use that watch to set an alarm on Wednesday and I’ll tell you everything you’ll inevitably forget about amino acids then.” 

He groaned, rounding the table to set firm hands on your shoulders as he hovered behind you. “Sit. I’ll buy you a coffee and I promise I won’t be late on Wednesday, okay? I was dealing with something before this and lost track of time.” 

“Were you dealing with another sorority girl in your bed? Who was it last week? Amber? No, Michelle?” 

“It’s a Monday, y/n. Cut me some slack.” 

“You came to me on a Wednesday with a hangover,” you deadpanned.

Bucky grimaced, the expression visible to you as he managed to guide you back into your chair. “Oat milk, right? A double?” 

You grumbled, crossing your arms over your chest as he tossed his bag by your feet and jogged over to the coffee cart just outside the library. He fumbled with his wallet when he went to pay, and you watched him point to the carton of oat milk the barista had yet to reach for. His greek letters were printed on the gray hoodie he had haphazardly thrown over his shoulders, and you held the reprimand on your tongue when you saw the matching sweatpants he donned. 

The last time he had shown up in his pajamas—late—you’d had some choice words for him. Bucky turned around with your coffee then, poking the straw through the lid and sending you a sheepish smile through the window. 

He was lucky you accepted bribes. 

~~

“Please,” the boy across from you continued to beg, a pen held loosely between pliant fingers. “Just ask her, that’s all I want. You can even come too.” 

“Oh, wow, the great frat president letting me come to his stupid toga party? How could I ever thank you enough?” 

It was Wednesday now, and Bucky was surprisingly on time to the tutoring session. You’d gotten through about half of the last bio lecture before he started asking you ridiculous questions that had nothing to do with the content. Today, he was dead set on getting your lab partner from chemistry to go to his party this weekend. 

“Okay, yeah, you could come to whatever party you want, you know? I put you on the list—but this one will be even better if you’d just do this one thing for me.” 

You finally tore your eyes from your laptop, glancing lazily at him. “And what would make this one so—wait, what list?” 

He waved you off. “The one at the door. Did it like… the second week we started this? Anyways, Wanda?” 

You let this new information settle and tried to ignore whatever implications came with being on some frat list thanks to Bucky. He had never explicitly invited you to any of his parties over the past few months and you had never asked to come. Apparently, you could have shown up whenever you wanted to and had a grand old time. 

Not that that sounded the least bit grand. 

Bucky was looking at you still, all pleading features and a soft, infuriating smile on his lips. When he wasn’t talking to random girls in the library or taking annoying phone calls in the middle of your sessions, he was sort of endearing. In a terrible, awful sense. 

You groaned, throwing yourself back against your chair in begrudging defeat. “I don’t even talk to her outside of chem. Don’t you think it’d be a little weird to invite her to a party that I’m not even going to?” 

“So come,” he answered simply, as if that was in the realm of possibilities. 

“Yeah,” you scoffed. “Sure, I’ll come to your party, Barnes.” 

“Great,” he grinned. “Vision’s gonna be so hyped.” 

You watched as he pulled his phone from his pocket and kept your lie to yourself. He wouldn’t notice that you didn’t show up on Friday, and likely wouldn’t even bring it up the following Monday. He always had such vibrant, headache-inducing stories that you were sure your absence would be nothing more than a fleeting footnote. 

“You have a toga, right?” he mumbled, face still screwed up in concentration as he continued his text. 

“Isn’t it just a sheet all twisted up?” you asked, shutting your computer. Tutoring was obviously over. 

Bucky pocketed his phone again, brows raised in amusement. “Depends on your motives for the night.” 

“And my motives wouldn’t be to… wear a toga?” 

He chuckled and huffed out your name, resting an arm along the back of the chair to his right—your chair. “Other motives. Like if you’re trying to get someone’s attention.” 

You blinked at the warmth along your back. “Oh, of course. Then I would twist up a pillowcase instead, right?”

“Something like that.” 

He smelled like coconut. Like a day at the beach but afterwards, when the sunscreen still lingered in the air but fresh clothes covered skin that had been warmed by the sun. You could usually ignore whatever expensive combination he had on his skin, but when he got close like this it was almost impossible. 

Part of you always wanted to chuck his arm away when he leaned over you, but another part of you liked that he kept it there. It was a strange part of you, the same one that relished the looks you got from sorority girls in the library and harbored a sense of pride each time he made a blatant attempt to touch you. 

You had spent fleeting moments analyzing these emotions and chalked them up to some internalized desire for validation. Nothing else. Bucky was a hot guy and everyone knew that, so having his attention—in any capacity—felt nice. Sometimes. Meaning right now it was nice that he was looking at you with his arm practically glued to your back, but next week when he showed up late with a hangover and tried to steal the jacket off your body it would be not so nice. 

The duality of man. 

It helped your partial insanity that Bucky would never actually be interested in you. You weren’t in a sorority or interested to his parent’s money, and, worst of all, you didn’t know how to maneuver a sheet into a toga. When he put his arm around you or moved your hair from your eyes as you leaned over a book, it was probably out of habit. It felt nice, but you knew reality. This was a passing phase, and by the summer you wouldn’t even speak to him anymore.

“I’ll text you more info about everything,” Bucky called, pulling you from your thoughts. “You can come early and I’ll help you with that pillowcase.” 

You froze, the book you were shoving into your bag pausing in your hands. “Uh, maybe.” 

“No, seriously, it’d be better if you came early. I was kidding about the pillowcase but if you come on time it’ll be too crazy for me to show you around.” 

“You don’t have to show me around, Bucky. I’ve been to a house party before.” 

“Y/n, are you not coming to this thing?” Bucky accused, swiping the book from your hands and softly tossing it on the table. It still made a loud thud that had a few bitter looks thrown your way. 

“Dude!” you whispered, meeting each mean gaze with your apologetic one. “Why does it matter if I come? You just wanted Wanda anyway.” 

He knocked your hand away when you went to reach for the book again, encircling your wrist with his fingers. “You just lied to me. Straight to my face. You said you’d come and now you gotta.” 

You gave his fingers an experimental tug, but he was unrelenting in his soft grip. You glared at him through your lashes, meeting his uncharacteristically stern gaze that contrasted the humor on his lips. 

“You ever hear of sarcasm?” you whispered with a half-hearted bite. 

“Unfortunately, that’s about all I hear outta you,” he smirked back. 

You rolled your eyes, finally yanking hard enough to free yourself from him. “Then you should have known I wasn’t going to come. No matter what ‘list’ you put me on.” 

“What else could you possibly have going on on a Friday night?” 

Ouch. You felt your brows furrow even though you didn’t will them to, and even worse, you felt a rash defensiveness lodge itself in your throat. You hated the heat that now prickled along the skin of your neck, and you hated even more how it extinguished all of the good warmth you had felt from him earlier. 

This was humiliation, surely—the kind that only came from feeling small. 

“You don’t have to be a dick,” you seethed, snapping up the remainder of your belongings. “Just because I don’t want to go to your stupid frat doesn't mean I have nothing to do. I don’t spend all of my time hoping to get invited to ridiculous parties.” 

Bucky shifted up in his seat, eyes blown just a fraction wider. “Whoa, I didn’t mean—hey, stop a sec, I didn’t mean it like that.” 

“Whatever, Bucky,” you droned, as a new temperature seeped into the skin of your palms and made them clammy. Any semblance of delusion you’d fallen into earlier was long gone now, but you knew to expect that. He wasn’t interested in you and you weren’t interested in him. But embarrassment wasn’t a good feeling, regardless of a multitude of reality checks. 

Bucky got up when you did, his clothes looking creased and lived in. “We still have time in our session,” he defended, arm jutting out to the table. “C’mon, I didn’t mean you don’t have friends.” 

Your glare sharpened. “Great, another insinuation.” 

Bucky sputtered out incoherent words as you continued your trek outside, resorting to grabbing your wrist again, this time with more urgency. You felt the heat in you simmer down to a dull throb as he made contact, mostly out of respect for your future self. If you made this a huge deal it would only embarrass you more. 

“Look, it doesn’t even matter, okay?” you huffed, but he just tugged you forward. It was then that you realized you were in the doorway of the library, effectively blocking it off from anyone trying to leave. Bucky pulled you close enough to his chest that you weren’t in the way anymore. His cologne was back with a vengeance, your nose just inches from his collar.  

You took a steadying breath, blinking away the remnants of shame. “It doesn’t matter, I overreacted.” 

He clicked his tongue. “I’m still apologizing. I didn’t mean any of that stuff you were talking about.” 

Of course he did. You were sure he thought it all the time. He just didn’t mean to say it out loud. 

“It’s fine,” you rushed. “I have to go, anyway. Office hours.” 

“Okay,” he nodded, soft and low, like he just remembered he was in a library. “You’ll still come this weekend, right? Even if Wanda can’t?” 

“You have some kind of girl quota you need to meet?” you pressed.

Bucky smiled, still so close to you that you could feel the small breath that accompanied the expression. “And she’s back.” 

You left without promising anything, and Bucky left feeling like you had. 

~~

Sometime between Wednesday and Friday, your detestment for frat parties had snowballed into determination. You were going to go and you were going to look like you were having so much fun it was ridiculous. Then, on Monday, when Bucky would usually poke and prod about what you’d gotten up to over the past few days, you were going to pretend that it was nothing for you. That you did that every weekend. 

Of course, you didn’t. Your weekends typically consisted of calm nights with friends or dinners near campus. You’d been to a party before, sure, but you didn’t exactly frequent those kinds of scenes. 

Bucky had continued to make it clear that you were invited. He had texted you a few times, prompting you to come and thanking you for getting Wanda to agree. The messages looked strange under the plethora of biology related questions, but that just spurred you further into action. You weren’t just a tutor with no social life, and Bucky was going to see that tonight. You couldn’t remember doing something out of pure spite before, but you figured having fun to prove a point wasn’t the worst thing. 

Wanda pulled you out of your thoughts as the Uber rounded the last dark corner and revealed an overcrowded house with too many lights on. She rambled on about some guy she couldn’t wait to see and confirmed that she would likely be spending the night. You expected as much; it hadn’t taken much convincing to get her to come. If this night resulted in anything good it was apparently the blossoming relationship between your new friend and a man you’d never met. 

Wanda continued to chat as she yanked you out of the car and past the yard littered with sparse grass. The music was loud already—the type of loud that you needed to be at least a little drunk to enjoy. And that was the plan. 

“Okay, if I start dancing on a table you pull me down. And if you start dancing on a table I support you, right?” Wanda giggled, her voice now raised as you walked past the threshold of the house. 

“Exactly,” you yelled back. A guy nodded to you as he leaned against the front door, his eyes glancing up from his phone and then returning. It seemed Bucky’s ‘list’ was a page on some guy’s notes app. How luxurious. “Let’s drink.” 

The next hour was a blur. You tried your hardest to get as drunk as possible and Wanda tried her hardest to find the British man she was enamored with. You hadn’t seen Bucky, but you figured he wasn’t looking for you too hard since you hadn’t responded to any of his texts. Not out of anger, but because you didn’t know what to say. Somehow, with alcohol warming your blood and music vibrating your skin, none of that mattered anymore. 

You: Your house is soooo dirty

Your phone jostled in your grip, people bumping into you from every side. When he didn’t answer in the thirty seconds you spent staring at the screen, you locked it and continued on with your mission. 

After a few too many shots of hard liquor, you switched to beer. Gross, but decidedly less likely to make you pass out on the staircase of this house. Because you weren’t lying in your text—it was slightly disgusting. You figured you should clarify that with Bucky. You reached for your phone once again, knocking your head against the wall in the process and giggling to yourself. You had no idea where Wanda went. 

The device was snatched from your hands just as quickly as the screen had lit up your face. 

“You ever answer this thing?” an accusing voice called out. “Or do you just insult people and put it on do not disturb?” 

The look on Bucky’s face would have made you roll your eyes in any other circumstance. Right now, however, it had a startled laugh bursting past your lips. You clutched at your stomach as the laugh grew and you found yourself tipping forward until your forehead met his chest. You felt delirious, almost silly. A hand came around to rest on the back of your neck.

“Alright, alright.” Bucky’s words rumbled against your face. “I get it, this is hilarious.” 

“Your… your face,” you breathed out, catching your breath enough to part from him. “It was all—” you mimicked the straight line of his eyebrows, voice raising in a mocking tone. “—You don’t ever answer your phone. You’re so boring, y/n, answer your phone.” 

“I didn’t call you boring. Hey—hey,” Bucky stressed, reaching for you as you leaned too far to the side, a smile still lingering on your face. “Jesus, y/n, how much did you have to drink?” 

You went to mock him again, but his fingers on your jaw stopped you. He tilted your head up and to the left, and although he was much more composed than you were, you could still smell the alcohol on his breath. You scrunched up your nose as he continued his inspection. 

“Why’re you being so uptight?” you slurred, trying and failing to push away from him. “I thought you were all like, ‘I’m Bucky and I party and get drunk and have sex with girls.’”

Bucky pulled you forward as you laughed at your impression of him, his shaking head making you blink away a bout of dizziness. You toppled over a set of stairs as he threaded his fingers through yours, and then you stumbled through a doorway and onto carpeted floors. Being pressed into an uncomfortable chair was the most jarring action, the world still spinning as you sat. 

“You’re even more mean when you're drunk,” you heard Bucky mumble. You couldn’t quite catch him as he moved around whatever room you were in. “And I don’t talk like that.” 

You let out a careless sigh and leaned back. “You soooo talk like that.” 

Something cold pressed to your hand, followed by another touch to the back of your neck. You gazed down at the water bottle being guided up to your lips and couldn’t find it in you to fight against it, despite the small spark of defiance on the tip of your tongue. After about four large swallows, Bucky was satisfied. 

He asked again how much you’d had to drink. 

You answered that you didn’t know—that it didn’t matter because he wasn’t your dad and you were having fun like you always did. He bit the inside of his cheek and didn’t say anything for the next few moments. 

And then, “Thought you weren’t gonna come tonight.” 

You hummed, rolling your head against the chair to look up at his standing form. “Of course I was going to come. I love parties. Love drinking alcohol.” 

His expression twisted into something you couldn’t recognize. “God, you’re so drunk.” 

“M’not even that drunk!” 

“You’re willingly in my room right now. You’re plastered.” 

“Maybe I want to be in your room.” 

“We both know that’s not true.” 

You chuckled breathily, closing your eyes so you wouldn’t have to see the pretty flush of Bucky’s face. “You think you know everything, don’t you? Don’t know much about me though. Or biology.” 

Bucky kneeled down to the height of the chair. “And what do I not know about you?” 

“So much.” 

“How much?” 

You bit into your lip and cracked an eye open, catching the amusement that had slipped past the strange mask of his emotions. With blissful ignorance, you heaved yourself forward on the chair, your nose a few inches from Bucky’s. His eyes didn’t waver from yours as you swayed. 

“You don’t know that I’m the most interesting person on Earth,” you boasted, fingers gripping the upholstery of your seat. 

“That right?” Bucky probed, his voice a melodic hum. 

“Yup, I’m always really busy and even though you think I’m some boring biology tutor I’m actually super cool and, like, go to raves and stuff.” 

His brow twitched but his mouth stayed soft. “I’ve never said you were boring. And I don’t think you’ve ever been to a rave.” 

You groaned loudly and flopped against the backrest of the chair. “See! I’m telling you I do all this cool stuff and I’m so drunk my fingers are buzzing and you still don’t believe me.” 

You crossed your arms with a huff, a small pout forming on your lips. In any other context, this behavior would probably embarrass you to no end. In the dim light of Bucky’s room where you felt the feeling leave your fingers and the care leave your mind, you were just disgruntled, not embarrassed. If you remembered this tomorrow the latter would surely catch up to you.

Bucky stared at you from his spot on the ground, his gaze a bit foggy and unfocused. He was clearly intoxicated, as you deduced earlier, and it made him look more wild. Mused hair and pink cheeks, he looked like he’d been having plenty of fun before he found you. It was distracting. He was distracting you from proving that you were having a blast.

“What?” you snapped, the tone a testament to the drunken fit you were throwing. 

“You’re so fucking pretty.” 

He must be really, really drunk. Despite your clouded mind, you knew that, but the words affected you just the same. Your lips parted as a new lightness both lit up and compressed your chest, and Bucky watched the movement. 

“Yeah,” you scoffed, but it was hardly a scoff. “Sure, Bucky. How much did you have to drink—” 

“I’m not lying. I’ve thought about you in my room for weeks and now you’re here and you’re so pretty. Even when you’re yelling at me.” 

“You’ve… thought about me in your room?” 

Bucky shuffled forward and you subconsciously parted your legs to allow the space for him. “I think about you everywhere.” 

This was crazy. It was certifiably insane. A voice in the back of your head—Natasha’s voice, it sounded like—was screaming at you to stop and think about the situation at hand. He was drunk, you were even more drunk, and he was far too close to you. He had ushered you in here with good intentions and had sobered you up a fraction, but things had taken a turn and this was a sensitive situation. The kind of sensitive that altered your reality and his and probably a bunch of other people’s you’d never met. 

Or it could be nothing and you were over exaggerating. 

But then Bucky’s hand was warming your thigh. You’d felt the press of it on your back and your shoulder and your head before, but it had never been on your thigh. It felt heavy there, hot. His other hand moved to touch your face and he propped himself up on one knee. His thumb brushed your cheek. Words tumbled from your mouth before you registered that you were speaking. 

“Are you going to kiss me?” 

Why would you ask that? Who asks Bucky Barnes if he’s going to kiss them? 

“Would you let me?” he responds. 

“Yes.” 

He didn’t waste any time, his mouth hot against yours. He tasted like mint and vodka and his lips moved so slowly it ached. You had expected a fervor behind his lips, but instead you got a build up, an orchestra reaching its crescendo. He was kissing you like you were important, like this wasn’t some random hookup in his bedroom at 1 o’clock in the morning, and you had to catch your breath when he parted from you. 

But he moved back in so quickly after your brief respite, and you were eager to give him more. This was crazy, insane. This was the best kiss you’d ever have and also the worst. This was months of staring at his stupid lips when he tried explaining concepts back to you, but this was also weeks of feeling small in his presence. Bucky slid his hand back to press against your hair and you didn’t feel small anymore. 

A loud thud from the hallway interrupted the silence you’d created, and Bucky pulled back, keeping his hands on you as he craned his neck around to stare at the door. He waited a beat, and then two, and then he turned back to you. The moment was gone, but he was still touching you. You weren’t sure what you wanted—if you wanted him to kiss you again or run out the door—but when he slid his hands from your body and rubbed them down his jeans, it became clear that was not what you wanted. 

A knot formed in your stomach when he met your gaze again, and you tried blinking the feeling away. It didn’t work. 

“Um,” Bucky began, his voice sounding more clear, his tone not holding the weight it had.

Your plan had backfired. Severely. This was a mess and you needed to save yourself before you ended this night even more humiliated.

You were still drunk. Pretend you were still plastered. 

You giggled airily, the sound burning your throat. “That was loud.” 

Bucky blinked at you in what you assumed was disbelief. “Probably just someone trying to find the bathroom,” he clarified.

You shrugged, nudging him back with your knee as you stood from the chair. “I’m bored now.” You took fast steps to the door, your words foreign to you. “Thanks for the water,” you all but gritted out. 

You expected him to get up. Not to run after you or proclaim his love or even say anything. But you expected him to get up. 

He didn’t, and you couldn’t understand how the knot in your stomach had moved to your throat. Or how it made tears spring to your eyes when your feet hit the sidewalk outside. Your Uber came and you couldn’t understand how you felt hot and cold at the same time. How it was freezing outside but you were sweating. 

You couldn’t understand why you were crying over a boy that so often infuriated you, or why he kissed you in his bedroom. The reasonable side of you sent gentle reminders that he was in a frat and kissing people is just what he did. All the time. But the unreasonable side of you won out tonight, and it was telling you that this felt different.

That you should be different, somehow.

~~

Bucky: You’re here???

Bucky: Where are you?

Bucky: Y/n answer your damn phone

Bucky: This place is fucking packed tonight I thought you weren’t coming 

You stared at the text messages you hadn’t read last night, the bright light of your phone burning into your retinas. You had a brutal hangover, and the memory of the disaster in Bucky’s room felt like an even bigger one. 

You’d gone through a myriad of emotions the night before, tossing around excuses and speeches in your head until you were so exhausted you let the alcohol in your system lull you to sleep. With all of that delirious thinking, you’d landed on blacking out. You were going to tell Bucky you blacked out last night and couldn’t remember a thing. He obviously wouldn’t care and would probably appreciate it. 

Saturday was slow-moving. Reruns of television shows and bags of popcorn and overthinking. Natasha was at her parent’s house in the city, so you had no one to bounce your racing thoughts off of. You certainly weren’t going to text her about it. 

When the evening finally rolled around and your attempts at distracting yourself with mind-numbing movies failed, you checked your email. You always tried not to on the weekends, but doing anything else sounded much less appealing. 

Unfortunately, you didn’t get past the first one. 

From: University Peer Assistance Program 

Dear Y/n Y/l/n, 

This is an automated message from the campus peer assistance program. We thank you for your continued devotion to the betterment of students at this school. At this time, your tutoring placement with James Barnes has ended. We will search for a new placement to fill your current hours. 

Thank you, 

University Peer Assistance 

You blinked at the email, then blinked again. The breath left your chest and the muscles on your face twitched, but you were otherwise frozen.

This was what you wanted, wasn’t it? To be free from the haughty frat boy that didn’t even listen to you when you tried to help him raise his grades. You wanted someone nice, someone that had the same goals as you and appreciated the color-coded notes you took for them. Bucky only tried to get a rise out of you. He sat too close and made fun of you and put you on lists you didn’t ask to be on. 

But he had kissed you. He had kissed you and then tutor-dumped you. 

You knew you weren’t his type, but were you really that bad? Was the kiss so terrible? 

Every inferiority complex you had developed exploded. You over-analyzed things that had already happened, things you had said. Not just at the party, but in the library, the coffee shops, the lecture halls. 

Was he really willing to risk his position in the frat just to avoid you? 

The strangle tickle of tears itched to be released from your eyes again, but you pressed it down. No, this wasn’t on you. He had kissed you. He had dragged you into his room and stumbled on pretty words. If he didn’t want you to tutor him anymore because of his stupid mistake, fine. 

His mistake. 

That word felt wrong. 

You tossed your phone on the couch with vigor. The clock above the television read out 10 pm, but that meant little to you as you slid on your shoes at the front door. You were wearing sweatpants and a jacket that was far too big on you, sadness and frustration and raw confusion propelling you down your apartment stairs. 

Ice cream would fix this. 

The only place open at this time was the gas station at the edge of campus. It wasn’t university affiliated and was usually overrun with belligerent greek life trying to buy alcohol, but the decision-making part of your brain was currently shut off. 

Ice cream, anger, probably watching tiktoks until your eyes were too heavy to keep open—those were the only things rattling in your head. 

You yanked open the gas station door after your short walk, the glass smudged and fogged from the cold night. The fluorescent lights aggravated the headache you’d been sporting all day and the floor made sticking noises with each step you took. To add insult to injury, there were only three cartons of ice cream left, and they weren’t even the good flavors. Grabbing the least offensive one, you made your way to the small line of people by the register. 

“Nice outfit.” 

Too enthralled by the disappointing ingredient list on the side of your ice cream, you had missed the tall man now looming at your shoulder. You whipped your head around with a start, taking a step back, smelling menthol and asphalt and nothing good. 

“Thanks,” you quietly replied. 

He waited until you turned back around to continue. “You go to school over here?” 

You kept your gaze forward. “Um, yeah.” 

“Nice. I graduated a few years back. Marketing.” 

“Cool,” you replied. What had compelled you to leave your phone on the couch? This night sucked. 

You found reprieve in the line moving, the employee calling you over to check out. As soon as you paid—a few dollar bills funneled out of your pocket with shaky hands—you booked it. Your ice cream burned in your palm but you didn’t care, feet carrying you out the door and into the dimly lit parking lot. You fisted your keys in your fingers; pointless, you knew, but a small comfort. 

The man’s voice returned with the chime of the bell over the gas station door. “Wait! Wait, I’m Beck. I own a business nearby.” 

You should have kept walking, but one of your fatal flaws was, apparently, people pleasing. You turned to him. He smiled at you but it made your stomach twist. 

“Oh, nice,” you responded, rocking back on your heels. 

“We should connect. Maybe go for coffee or something?” He took a step forward. You fought the urge to take one back. His beard was unkempt and he held a six pack in his white-knuckled grip. 

“Um, I don’t know. I’m pretty busy with finals coming up. Plus, I’m not really in the business field.” 

“Not for business then,” he smiled again, teeth dull in the streetlight. 

Just agree. If you agreed you could block him soon after and everything would be fine. 

You took too long to answer. He took the final step forward to arrive in your space and wrapped his fingers around your bicep. “C’mon, I’m not asking you to marry me or anything.” 

Frozen by fear, you let out a weak laugh. The pint in your hand was sticking to your skin now in a way that would be painful when you tried to let go of it later. Your breath rattled in your chest when you laughed again. 

“Sure, okay.” But he didn’t let go of your arm, instead sliding it down to the bone of your wrist. 

“What about now?” he posed. “You don’t look too busy. I can make you something at my place.” 

He was at least ten years older than you. You attempted to pull yourself from his grasp to no avail. Maybe reasoning would work. 

“My roommate's waiting for me,” you lied. “Could you let go? I sprained my wrist at the gym last week,” you lied again. 

He refused with a shake of his head. You took a panicked glance inside the gas station to your right. No one was looking. 

“Please let go of me.” 

The call of your name from the other side of the parking lot initially sent more unbearable fear down your spine. But then the owner of that voice registered in your brain, and although it had been the cause of your recent internal strife, you couldn't be more grateful to hear it. 

He said your name again, closer now and questioning. Bucky jogged up to the pair of you, saw your wrist and the man holding it hostage, and looked back up at you with confused, wild eyes. 

“You know this guy?” he asked, jutting his thumb out at Beck.

“No,” you whispered. The word was short but the syllable still trembled. 

Bucky didn’t look confused anymore. He looked pissed. “Wanna take your fucking hands off her?”

Beck was tall, but Bucky was taller. And angry. Beck released your wrist and raised his hands in a placating gesture. “Whoa, man, no need for the theatrics. I’m guessing you’re here to stock up for a party? I used to be in Sigma Nu.” 

When Bucky’s silent glare failed to dampen, Beck continued with, “We were just planning a night at my place, right?” 

His nod in your direction made your breath catch. Bucky took his piercing gaze off of Beck and softened it as it fell on you. You wanted to respond, but words were gone. They were impossible. Your ice cream was melting. 

“Yeah, I think we’re done here,” Bucky scoffed, placing his arm around your shoulder. He guided you past the wall of a man, making sure to drive his shoulder into his chest as he went. Beck went to say more, to protest or whine, but Bucky shot him such a scathing look it almost made you wither. 

The smell of coconut and spices and a hint of whisky met your nose, and it was familiar. It was safe. You fumbled with the keys in your hands as your feet guided you wherever Bucky was going, and then you fumbled even more, soft jingling disrupting the softness of footfall. God, why wouldn’t you stop shaking? 

A hand fell atop yours, crunching the keys to a halt. You stared down at them, unsteady breath hitting the tanned fingers that served as your current anchor. 

“Look at me, y/n.” 

You couldn’t. You couldn’t do anything. 

“Sweetheart, eyes up. All you gotta do.” Bucky’s voice was as soft as it was last night. That was the only reason you were able to follow his request. “There she is,” he hummed. 

He removed his arm from your shoulders and shifted in front of you, placing his hand on your cheek. You ignored that it felt the same as it had last night. You ignored that you wanted it to feel the same for him, too. 

“You okay?” he asked, tilting his neck down to better see your face. His thumb brushed under your eye. “He hurt you?” 

You shook your head, whispering no, whispering that you were fine. 

Bucky nodded to himself, eyes tracking down to your toes and then back up again. He must have mistaken your shaking for coldness because the next thing he did was guide you into the car behind him. You didn’t know it was his.

He blasted the heat the second he got in. He had shuffled you into your seat with his hands before that, smoothed your hair down and closed the door after you were settled and not shaking as hard. The heat dried out your eyes. It distracted you enough to let words form. 

“Thank you,” you said. “He wouldn’t leave me alone. I didn’t bring my phone with me. I should’ve.” 

“Of course.” 

There was a beat of silence. The relief you had felt earlier had been muddled down to an awkward pit in your stomach, and you weren’t sure if Bucky felt it too or if he was still riding a testosterone-fueled adrenaline high. 

You wanted to go home now; this was uncomfortable and you had felt Bucky’s lips on yours less than twenty-four hours ago with no closure. He obviously didn’t want to be around you. This was probably a responsibility thing for him. 

“I can… I can walk home now. The guy left. I’m just a quarter mile away and you probably have to stock up or whatever.” 

He looked at you with a pinched expression. “I’m not letting you walk home after that. You kiddin’ me?” 

“I’ll be fine, really. I walk over here all the time.” 

“You get harassed all the time too?” 

“No…” 

“Exactly. So you’re not walking home.” 

“Bucky—” 

“Look I’m not gonna kiss you again, alright? So you don’t have to turn down a ride because of that.” 

Your ice cream was soup at this point. You let it roll into your lap as you clamped your mouth shut just to open it again. Bucky ran a rough hand through his hair before dropping it on the steering wheel, clutching at it with no place to go. 

“I’m not following,” you finally relented. 

A loud sigh released from his nose. “You don’t have to worry about me kissing you again. I just want to make sure you get home safe and then I’ll leave you alone.” 

“Worry about—you’re the one trying to avoid me,” you snapped, frozen fingers pointing to your chest. “You tutor-dumped me.”

“Tutor-dumped? How do you…” he trailed off. 

“I get an email when you make a change request, Bucky.” 

He stared at you for a moment, lips parted and unmoving. He clenched his jaw a moment later, a red tint adorning his cheeks. 

“Well, you—you—look, I know you don’t like me, y/n. You’ve made that clear,” he stuttered, words getting louder as he moved his hands around with each one. “But I like you. I like when you get mad at me and when you yell at me for not listening and when you get all embarrassed when I play with your hair. And I’ve been trying to get you to come to one of my parties since we started this whole thing, but every time I talk about them you seem to like me even less. 

“If I had known insulting you would get your attention, I woulda done that week one,” he exasperated. You sat up in your seat but he continued. “I didn’t mean any of that shit you thought I did. You’re not boring. And I didn’t mean to kiss you, but you looked—well, I already told you.” 

“So you don’t want me to be your tutor anymore because you like me?” You spoke slowly, each word careful. 

“No,” he sighed, frustrated. “I can’t be around you because I kissed you and you didn’t care. Because I’ll want to kiss you all the time and you didn’t even wanna kiss me once. I know we were drunk, I get that, but I’ve wanted that for a long time and I need to move on. It’s nothing against your… tutoring skills. If that’s what you’re worried about” 

“But you talk about hooking up with other girls all the time, Bucky. To me.” 

“You ever hear of lying?”

“Why would you—” 

“You really gonna make me live out all of my failures with you?” 

You’d read so many things wrong. Taken so many things the wrong way. You figured the email earlier was the final nail in the coffin, but this was something else entirely. This was Bucky, sitting next to you in his car looking distressed and frazzled with his hair six different directions, telling you that he’s been trying to get your attention since he met you. That you weren’t small or insignificant or boring. 

It was probably a terrible idea to follow through with your next thought. You’d probably get hurt in the long run. But you did it anyway. 

“I wanted you to kiss me.” Bucky’s head whipped towards you. You bit the inside of your cheek and said, “I want you to kiss me all the time.” 

He whispered your name. It sounded like the air had left every corner of his body. But he didn’t move, and you needed to rectify that. 

“You’re infuriating,” you began. Bucky cringed, but you needed to explain as he had. “You’re like the antithesis of everything I want out of college. You don’t care about classes. You’re always late. You talk too loud in the library.” 

You took a deep breath, fiddling with the loose thread of your pants. You couldn’t make eye contact with anything but the ground. 

“But then you know my coffee order when I’ve never told it to you. You save me from losers in parking lots and make sure I’m not drunk out of my mind at your obscene party. You make me feel… you make me feel stupid sometimes. And I thought it was because you’re everything I’m not, but I really think it’s because you’re everything I told myself I should stay away from. But I don’t want to.

“I wanted you to kiss me at that party and I want you to kiss me now.” 

“Then get over here. I’m not kissing you over some bullshit center console.” 

You twisted to follow his directions, gasping as his hands clasped around your waist to tug you into his lap. It wasn’t seamless—there was laughing and your head briefly connected with the roof of the car—but Bucky’s touch was everywhere, soothing the uncertainty and fear and slight headache. 

His forehead connected with yours when you felt secure in his arms. His fingers slid down from your waist over the material of your sweatpants and when he spoke next you felt the words on your own lips.

“You’re wearing sweatpants. You get so mad when I wear sweatpants.” 

You laughed. “I get mad because it usually means you just rolled out of bed, and you’re usually. late.” 

“I got a secret,” he whispered, nudging his nose against yours. “I’m never late. And I only wear those sweatpants around you. You get cute when you’re pissed at me.” 

“Well, I’m about to be really cute—”

He kissed you. You’d have plenty of time to argue later.

[luminoustarlight]

Saccharine | Modern!Anakin Skywalker

What do you get when you mix a college Halloween party with beer and a pretty girl wearing a pirate costume?

A jealous Anakin Skywalker.

rating: explicit | pairing: anakin skywalker x afab!reader | wc: 5.3k | read on ao3 warnings: fluff, friends to lovers, drinking, jealousy/possessiveness, SMUT [fingering, oral (m & f receiving), unprotected p in v, come eating/swallowing, mild degradation, like a really brief moment of lactation kink(???)]

the lovely @queenie-official asked for someone to write anakin and reader at a halloween party and anakin gets jealous. i have no idea where 5.3k words came from but y'all i love this one!

and i dedicate this to @hanasnx because we were talking about how we would suck anakin's dick every day if we could.

Here’s the thing about Halloween parties— or rather, Halloween and parties.

Anakin hates both of them. Halloween is a stupid holiday where girls wear short skirts, low-cut tank tops, and a pair of generic animal ears and call it a “costume”. Then they complain about being cold and ask for your jacket. It’s fucking October in New York, what do they expect? 

As for parties, Anakin has never liked them. He’s not a particularly social person. Hell, he’s not even that pleasant of a person but he somehow wound up with you as his best friend in college. He’s the grumpy to your sunshine. He’s a pessimist, you’re an optimist. He drinks black coffee, you like it full of syrupy caramel. He hates everything you like and you don’t understand any of the things he finds fascinating.

The logistics of your friendship is complicated. You don’t know why Anakin is the easiest person for you to talk to even though you have just about nothing in common. You don’t know why Anakin chooses to spend all of his time with you, even though there are other girls in his engineering classes who would kill to talk to him about their shared major. 

You don’t know why he holds your hand when you walk through Central Park while telling you about his hookups. (You wish he wouldn’t talk about other girls with you but you just like the sound of his voice so you do your best at drowning out the meaning of the words). 

If only he knew how miserable it makes you feel to hear about his dating life. If only you knew how difficult it is for you to do the same because every single guy is lack-luster compared to Anakin.    

“I hate parties,” Anakin states. He’s tossing a baseball— the foul ball he caught for you at a Yankees game— in the air to keep his hands busy.

“Yeah, but you love me,” you reply while taking a cream flowy blouse out of your closet. 

“Not if you make me go to this stupid Halloween party with you.” 

You roll your eyes and rest your shirt hanger on one of the knobs on your dresser. You catch the baseball midair and flop beside Anakin on your bed. He props up on an elbow and you just want to soothe the crease between his eyebrows. “Pleaaaase, Ani?” 

“No.” 

“Oh, c’mon! When’s the last time you did something for me?” 

“Look around, sweetheart,” Anakin gestures his arm out lazily. “I helped you move into this place.” 

You huff. “Okay, fine. But you offered. And if I recall correctly, I supplied you with all of the coffee and bagels your heart desired.” 

“There’s only one thing my heart desires.” A lopsided grin forms on Anakin’s lips as his fingers brush against your elbow. It’s a barely there type of touch, one you might not even notice if it weren’t for the sparks you feel every time you and Anakin make contact. 

You fail to mask the sharp intake of air that passes through your teeth. “Wh-what’s that?” 

Anakin runs his tongue over his bottom lip and you think maybe, maybe he just might say what you want him to say. Your heart expands with hope as you await his answer with a bated breath. “To not go to a fucking Halloween party.” 

And just like that, your hope deflates. Of course he wasn’t being serious. Why does his blatant disinterest in you make tears threaten behind your eyes? Is your affectionate friendship really so common that it doesn’t mean anything to him?   

You quickly stand up from your bed and distract yourself by finding the skirt you want to wear in your pile of clothes on the floor. You clear your throat and rapidly blink back any tears before they fall down your cheeks. “Fine,” you say as you find your skirt. “I don’t want you there anyway. It’s the senior Halloween party and I’m not going to miss it because of you.”

“Fine,” Anakin says back. “Go. I don’t care.” 

You gather your clothes in your arms and stand at the foot of your bed. “I have to get dressed first.” 

“So?” Anakin is back to throwing the baseball in the air. Oh, you hate him so much sometimes. You swat the ball out of the air so it lands on Anakin’s stomach, making him groan and his legs curl up to his chest. “Ow.” 

 “So, get out,” you instruct. 

“Jeez. Alright, alright.” Anakin slowly gets up from your bed, being the overly dramatic douche you had to fall in love with. “What, they didn’t put enough sugar in your coffee this morning?” 

“Out!” you point to your door. You’re fuming with him. Why does he have to be so fucking difficult? At this point, you don’t even want to go to the party but you’ll go anywhere to get away from him. 

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───── 

You take a good thirty minutes to get ready for the party. Inspired by a recent rewatch of the Pirates of the Caribbean movies, you decided to dress up as a pirate. You didn’t have to buy a shirt or skirt, which helped keep the cost down. You did purchase a corset, hat, and knee high boots from a thrift store in Brooklyn. With the crimson scarf you’ve had since freshman year wrapped around your waist, you’re set. 

Anakin waits for you on your aubergine couch in your living room. Why he’s waiting, you’re unsure. He’s stretched across the entire length of the couch, his long legs hanging over the armrest. Upon hearing your boots scuff across the floor, he quickly locks his phone and stands from the couch. 

“What are you still doing here?” you brush past him and into the kitchen. 

“I changed my mind,” Anakin replies, following you. You don’t notice the way he looks you up and down, soaking in the entire image of you. The scoopy neckline of your shirt, the flounce of your brown skirt, and the tightness of the corset. The only thing he’s disappointed by is the length of your skirt. It’s not short enough. 

Still, there’s no way he’s letting you go to the party alone. Somebody has to pretend to be your protective boyfriend to keep the college douchebags away. “I’m going with you.” 

You turn around without realizing how close Anakin is to you. You practically step on his toes. He looms over you and you fear he might actually hear your heart racing with how close he is. You back away, straightening your skirt for no other reason than to not look at Anakin. “Are you, now?” 

“Yes.” Anakin crosses his arms. “Are you ready?” 

“You’re going like that?” You counter. “In a zip-up Yankees hoodie?” 

“Take it or leave it, sweetheart.” 

You hate him. You love him. You hate that you love him because you know he doesn’t feel the same way. At least not in a romantic way. You grab a banana off of the counter and march toward the door. “I’d rather leave you here.” 

“Not an option.” Anakin closes your door and uses his key to lock it. The act of him using the key you gave him for emergencies makes your insides twist. It’s on a ring with his own apartment key, as if he’d need yours as frequently as he needs his own. 

You walk down the hallway with a quick pace and make a point to stomp down the stairs, even if it annoys your neighbors more than Anakin. “You’re being exceptionally annoying today.” 

“Thank you,” Anakin accepts the insult as if it’s a compliment. He holds the lobby door open for you and a rush of late October air attacks your skin. You have to hold your hat on your head so it doesn’t blow away. You make an effort not to shudder in front of Anakin, knowing how much he hates girls being unprepared for the weather. At least you’re wearing long sleeves. But it’s not not like the fabric was made to keep the Autumn chill out. 

The party is only a couple of blocks away in Hell’s Kitchen and you’re determined to stay silent all the way there. You’ll just eat your banana and pray Anakin isn’t in a rare talking mood. 

“Why are you walking so fucking fast? I have longer legs than you and I’m practically running.” 

You ignore him. You just want to go to the party, have a couple of drinks, maybe flirt with some guys you have no intentions of screwing, and then go home. Preferably without the puppy dog currently following you. 

“So. Pirate. Interesting choice. You got a thing for Jack Sparrow or something?” Why does he never have anything interesting to say when you actually want to talk to him? Now he can’t seem to shut up. 

Just one more block. Why did he change his mind? Why couldn’t he just be content with going back to his apartment and finding someone to hook up with? You’re sure that’s what he was doing while you were getting ready. The way he locked his phone and shoved it in his pocket when he heard you come out of your room. Whatever. It doesn’t matter. It’s not like you two are dating or anything. He doesn’t have to hide his booty calls from you. 

“I see what you’re doing,” Anakin jogs in front of you and starts walking backwards. “You’re ignoring me.” 

You give him a look that has “No shit, Sherlock” written all over it. 

“Y’know I don’t like being ignored. I’m too sensitive.” 

You have to laugh. “You? Sensitive?” 

“Ha!” Anakin points at you. “Gotcha.” 

“Whatever,” you roll your eyes. “We’re here, anyway. I know you’re just gonna find a corner and sulk in it so please, just let me have a good time tonight.” 

“Alright,” Anakin surrenders. You walk into the brick building together, the heavy bass of the music thrumming through your bones. “But just one thing.” 

You raise your brows, waiting for him to continue. “You look beautiful tonight.” 

Your heart skips a beat and you hate how easily he makes you swoon. How easily your feelings of irritation disappear after one compliment. “Just tonight?” 

“Ah- what?” Anakin looks at you quizzically. Perhaps he didn’t hear you over the booming music and chatter. 

“Never mind!” you shout. “I’m gonna get a drink. You want a beer?” 

“Sure,” Anakin shrugs. You nod and skip off without another word. When you don’t come back after twenty minutes, Anakin starts to worry. It doesn’t matter how many girls have come up to him and batted their lashes at him. It doesn’t matter that he has 11 unread messages from several past hookups waiting for him on his phone. What matters is that you’re alone at a college party with booze and guys who get a little too handsy when they’re drunk. 

He pushes himself through the crowd, not an ounce of care that he’s severely undressed and out of place. Actually, he’s overdressed. He didn’t know the fire marshal could allow so many shirtless ‘Gladiators’ in one building. And here he thought only girls used Halloween as an excuse not to wear anything. He bumps into several people on his quest for you. 

“Hey, man! Watch it!” 

“Yo, dickhead, you made me spill my beer!” 

“What are you supposed to be? A sad Yankees fan?” 

Anakin hardly hears any of it. Actually, everything seems to fall silent when he spots you. Every other body blurs as he focuses on you and your hand on the forearm of some guy dressed as Captain Kirk from Star Trek. At least he has a goddamn shirt on. It doesn't make the uncomfortable feeling in his stomach disappear, though. You know why? It’s because you’re throwing your head back with laughter. Real, genuine laughter. What is this guy saying to you? And why hasn’t Anakin made you laugh like that recently? 

When the familiar figure of Anakin approaches you, you instantly feel bad. You forgot to bring him his beer! And then you realize that you actually handed it to the guy you’re talking to. Oops? 

“Ani! I never brought you your beer! I am so sorry. I got distracted talking to- oh my God, I don’t even know your name!” 

“Oh, uh, Jeff,” the guy tilts his beer bottle toward you and smiles. You smile back and tell him your name. You also introduce Anakin, but he’s not feeling very friendly right now. He’s too busy criticizing the way Captain Kirk introduced himself. 

Oh, uh, Jeff? He had to think about his name? He couldn’t just say Jeff? 

“Jeff and I were talking about baseball. He’s a Mets fan, though,” you fake gag. “I told him about the foul ball you practically saved me from. Whew, my life flashed before my eyes.” 

“Yeah, they come out of nowhere when you’re not paying attention.” 

Anakin hates this guy. He fucking hates him. His fists clench by his side before sidling up next to you, wrapping a strong arm around your waist. You stumble when he pulls you toward him. “She was paying attention. Are you implying that she wasn’t watching the game?” 

“Anakin, it’s fine,” you place your hand on Anakin’s chest to calm him. “I’m sure that’s not what Jeff meant.” 

“Yeah, man, not at all. I’ve had a couple of close calls myself.” 

“I wouldn’t be surprised if you’ve been hit in the head a couple of times with the way you introduced yourself,” Anakin spits. “Who has to think about their name? ‘Oh, um, I can’t remember. I think my name is Jeff,’” Anakin mocks.  

“Anakin, stop,” you try pushing away from him. “You’re being incredibly rude.” 

“I don’t care,” he replies. He begins ushering you away from Walmart Captain Kirk. “We’re leaving.” 

“Seriously, Anakin,” you manage to slither out of Anakin’s grasp. “Stop it.” 

“Hey, is this guy bothering you?” Jeff puffs out his chest. 

Anakin steps in front of you and squares himself in front of the guy with no chance with you. “Funny, I was going to ask her the same thing about you.” 

“Are you her boyfriend or something?” 

“He’s not-” you begin, standing on your toes to talk over Anakin’s shoulder. 

“Something like that,” Anakin answers. Huh? 

“Whatever,” Jeff scoffs. “Thanks for wasting my time.” 

“Wait, Jeff!” you call. “It’s not like that-” 

“Let him go,” Anakin grits. “He’s not worth it.” 

You had almost forgotten about the frustration Anakin made you feel in your apartment. Now it’s all coming to the surface again. Yes, you feel bad for abandoning him and not bringing him his beer but he had no right to ruin your conversation like that. “Oh, and you are?”

“We’re not talking about this here.” Anakin turns and expects you to follow. You have half a mind not to scream at him in the middle of the party but it would be a waste of breath. He’s already nearing the door. You down the rest of your beer and follow Anakin out of the party and onto the street. 

It feels drastically colder outside but perhaps it’s all coming from Anakin’s stare. You stuff your hands beneath your arms in an attempt to keep them warm. “What the hell, Anakin? What was that all about?” 

“Nothing.” 

“I’m sorry, did you just say ‘nothing’? That was not nothing, Anakin. That was… that was…” you search for the word but your toes are starting to freeze. You don’t know how frozen toes correlate to not being able to think, but it does. The wind is biting at your legs and your teeth are chattering. 

“Jealousy?” Anakin fills in the blank. 

“Yes! Jealousy! Are you fucking jealous, Anakin?” 

“So what if I am?” 

You’re both shouting unnecessarily but you’re fucking pissed. This cannot be the way you admit your feelings for each other. This isn’t how it was supposed to go. It’s supposed to be romantic. It’s supposed to happen when you’re strolling through the park and the leaves are falling around you and you kiss and everything falls into place. It’s not supposed to happen during a screaming match on the sidewalk while you’re dressed like a historically inaccurate pirate. 

“So what if I feel like punching every single guy who talks to you? Or even look at you? Hm?” Anakin is backing you into the wall and you have no choice but to retreat. “I am jealous every fucking day. I feel possessive over you and I know I shouldn’t. You’re mine, even though you’re not.” Anakin has caged you in with his arms pressed against the wall above your head. His leg is nudged between yours and if you just lower yourself a tiny bit, you might feel a bit of friction where it’s needed. 

Anakin drops his head down so his nose brushes against your cheek. Your lips are so close, you can feel the warmth of his breath. “You never asked me,” you whisper. 

“What?” 

“You never asked me to be yours,” you unzip Anakin’s sweatshirt and slide your arms into the warmth of his jacket. You press yourself against his chest and you think perhaps everything is falling into place.

“Then I’m asking you now,” Anakin cradles your face in his hands. He runs his thumbs over your cheekbones and wonders why it took so damn long to finally get to this point. “Will you be mine?” 

“I already am.” You pull Anakin down to your lips by the collar of his sweatshirt. He tastes like Altoids and you taste like beer, which isn’t necessarily a pleasant combination but it doesn’t matter. Anakin’s lips are so plush and soft, everything you dreamed they’d be but better. They work against yours like it’s the only thing they’re made for. He’s groaning against you, slipping his tongue carefully past your lips. He’s not overzealous with it like some people are. It’s just perfect. He’s perfect. 

The heat in your core continues to grow and spread throughout your body, suddenly warming you up. “Anakin,” you murmur. 

“Hmm?” He replies, but he doesn’t stop kissing you. He pays attention to your neck—which smells of vanilla and everything nice— and is nibbling gently but kissing harshly. His hands have found their way to your breasts, massaging you through your bra and you just fucking wish he’d stop for a second because it’s all too distracting. 

“Anakin, stop,” you breathe out. 

“What? What, are you okay?” Anakin withdraws himself from you completely and you damn near whine at the loss of contact.

“I’m fine, Ani. More than fine.” 

Anakin relaxes at your assurance and takes a moment to admire you. Your hat is askew on your head and your shirt is crooked from him cupping with your boobs. He hopes the corset isn’t difficult to take off… 

“Anakin?” you snap your fingers in front of his face. 

“Huh?” 

“What are you thinkin’ about, pretty boy?” 

“So many things,” Anakin smirks.  

“Care to enlighten me at my apartment?” 

“Way ahead of you, babe.” Anakin whips out his phone and orders an Uber. He’s not walking five blocks back to your apartment with a hard-on. 

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───── 

You have no clue how either of you manage to keep your hands to yourself in the Uber, but you do. You hardly make it through your door before Anakin’s lips are back on yours with a heavy desperation. He throws your hat off, letting it land who knows where. His hand is on the back of your neck and you’re doing a clumsy dance around your living room. You’re tugging at the roots of his wavy hair, which he’s been growing out since last semester. 

You and Anakin are a mess of hands as you’re both trying to get the other’s clothes off with your mouths still attached to each other. He’s fumbling with the laces of your corset and you wonder how long it will take him to realize there’s a zipper in the back. 

You shrug off his sweatshirt, leaving him in a basic white tee. Anakin reluctantly breaks away from you when he accepts he’s getting nowhere with your corset. “This thing is fucking impossible,” he groans. 

You giggle as you draw the zipper down your back and remove the black corset from your body. You let it drop to the floor as you drape your arms around Anakin’s neck. “You were saying?” 

“I hate you,” Anakin says with a smile. 

“You love me.” 

“So much,” he replies, lips trailing down your neck once again. “I love you so much it consumes me. I’ve tried to fill this void inside of me with other women but it’s never enough. It’s not enough because they’re not you.”

You’re smiling so widely your cheeks hurt. You consume him. He loves you. You’ve never been happier. “I love you too, Anakin. You have no idea.”

“I have some idea,” he smiles. He grabs a fistful of your skirt and slips his hands beneath the hem to find your panties. “Are you going to let me take care of you tonight?” 

“Anything,” you nod, giving him the permission to remove your panties. You take off your boots and blouse and while it’s by no means a show, Anakin is enjoying every second of it. 

“I’ll let you do anything, Anakin.” You unclip your bra so all that you’re left in is your skirt. Anakin is still wearing a shirt and jeans, which is only mildly infuriating since his golden tan skin looks so radiant against the bright white of his shirt. 

As Anakin admires you, he can’t possibly be filled with any more lust than he is right now. Three years of pining after you is surging through his veins and his cock is insanely hard. He’s imagined this so many times. Would he fuck you slowly? Or maybe you’d rather have it fast and hard. Do you like to be called sweet things? Would you be his good girl? Or would you rather be his little slut? 

He’s overwhelmed with the incessant need to taste your cunt. “Get on the couch,” he instructs. “Take your skirt off, too. I want to see all of you.” 

You nod and once you’ve stepped out of the fabric, you situate yourself on your couch. Anakin kneels down in front of you and resists the urge to spread your legs open so he can see your pussy. “You have to take something off, too,” you say sweetly.  

Anakin swiftly tears his shirt over his head and you knew he was fit, but you just didn’t realize how fit. “Oh my God,” you practically drool. 

“Yeah?” Anakin smirks whilst hooking his arms beneath your thighs, pulling your ass to the edge of the couch. His cock strains against his jeans even more now that he can see your glistening pussy. “You like what you see, sweetheart?” 

You shrug. “Mm, yeah. It’s alright, I guess.” 

“You’re a little brat,” Anakin says before kissing up your thigh. The feather-light touch of his warm lips makes you wiggle. Your hand rests atop of Anakin’s head, fingers massaging his scalp in an effort to keep him traveling up to your core. “You’re lucky I can’t resist a pretty pussy like yours.” 

“Is it the prettiest?” 

Anakin lays a kiss on the inside of your other thigh. His nose brushes against your clit as he places a chaste kiss over your folds while running two fingers down your slit. “No doubt about it, babe,” Anakin praises. Fuck, you smell divine. He wants to spend all day between your thighs.  “The absolute prettiest. Bet you taste the sweetest, too.”

With that, Anakin dips a finger inside of you, making you gasp. “Fuck, sweetheart,” Anakin sucks in a breath. He lays his head on your thigh to watch his finger disappear inside of you and then reappear glistening with your juices. “How can you be this wet already? I’ve barely gotten started.” 

You roll your head along the couch cushions, impossibly worked up and craving more than just one of Anakin’s fingers. “Then show me what you’re made of, Skywalker.” 

Oh, that sends a jolt straight through Anakin’s cock. He wastes no more time teasing you and slips another finger into your hole while attaching his lips to your clit. He flicks the tip of his tongue over your bundle of nerves, two long fingers are curling against your walls, and Anakin can’t get enough. Pussy just tastes better when you love the person you’re eating out. It’s pure saccharine to him. He needs it pumped into his blood to survive. 

Anakin finesses his cock out of his pants and strokes himself several times to alleviate the terrible pain that has come over him. Your strangled cries of pleasure and hand on his head pushing him further into your cunt encourages Anakin to add a third finger. “Anakin! Fuck!” 

“You like that, baby?” Anakin is breathless, lips coated with your nectar. “You like being stretched by my fingers?” 

“Mm,” you hum, fisting his hair, “yes.” 

“Bet you do.” Anakin bites the inside of your thigh and pumps his three digits agonizingly slowly so he can really admire the stretch. It’s a toe curling sensation and a bit foreign more than anything. You had no idea fingers could feel so good. Maybe it’s just Anakin’s. He places the pad of his thumb on your clit, applying even pressured circles and yeah, it’s totally just Anakin who makes you feel this good. “Good little whores love to be stretched out.” 

“Oh my God!” you exclaim, pussy clenching at Anakin calling you a whore. Your bodily response doesn’t go unnoticed by Anakin. No, he’s storing all of this in his memory, creating a file of all the things that make you go wild. “Fuck me, Anakin. Please.” 

“Currently doing that with fingers, sweetheart.” He pumps his fingers faster but rolls over your nub with a more delicate touch. By now you’re squirming off of the couch, heels digging into the cushion and all you can do is chant Anakin’s name. You’re caught in a dichotomy of wanting to cum while also wanting Anakin’s cock. “C’mon, angel, let it go. I want you to cum on my fingers before you take my cock.” 

“But I- hngh…” your words are mangled as it’s no longer an option to stave off your orgasm. Your clit is overly sensitive and the tightness in your tummy begins to unravel as your walls pulse around Anakin’s three fingers. “Mm— oh, fuck! Ani-”

“That’s it, baby,” Anakin coos. “Fuck, you’re so beautiful when you cum.” He draws his fingers from you one by one, each time making you cry from emptiness. Anakin sits beside you on the couch, bringing his fingers soaked in your goodness up to your mouth. You open obediently, only taking in two of them. Your tangy sweetness coats your tongue and you’re looking straight into Anakin’s ocean eyes. The way he’s looking at you makes you feel seasick. 

When Anakin takes his fingers out of your mouth, you maneuver yourself on top of Anakin. The rough denim of his jeans creates a rough contrast to the silky tip of his cock poking your thigh. He manages to get his jeans down his legs and around his ankles. Kicking his feet out of them impatiently, his large hands find a home on your breasts while you grab the base of him and position him under your cunt. He’s kneading your mounds gently, rolling your nipples between his thumb and forefinger. You slot your lips between his as you lower yourself onto his lap. 

“F-fuck, Ani,” you rest your forehead on Anakin’s as your breathing becomes one. He runs his hands down your tummy, landing on your waist and gives you an encouraging squeeze. “So big, so full,” you murmur. Anakin guides your hips forward and backward, nuzzling his face in the crook of your neck. He’s sucking down hard, no other thought other than claiming you as his.

It’s fucking magnificent having his cock nestled deep inside of you while you’re moaning in his ear, and soft hands roaming his upper body. His hands drop down to your ass, grabbing a handful of your peachy cheeks. You start bouncing on his cock, each time you drop down you feel like he’s in your stomach. “Cunt’s so fuckin’ greedy,” Anakin groans. “You just can’t get enough of my cock, can you?” 

“Mmh, nuh uh,” you babble mindlessly. Your legs are starting to ache but the pain goes in tandem with the pleasure. Anakin presses your chest to his with his arms around your back. You kiss along his jaw lazily, feeling your energy deplete with each landing on Anakin’s thick length. “Need you to…mmm-” 

“Say no more.” Anakin flips you over seamlessly with his cock still anchored inside of you. He hikes your leg over his shoulder and he drills into you at a delicious new angle. His fingers fall to your clit and it sends you soaring. “Fuck,” Anakin breathes. “I can’t believe you’ve been keeping this tight cunt from me for three years.” 

“Y-yours now,” you have some brain cells left to respond. He’s fucking you hard, tits bouncing with each thrust and Anakin just has to have one in his mouth. While he encloses his lips over one of your nipples, he cups your other breast in his hand. He flicks his tongue across your bud and suckles, as if there’s something in there to nourish him. 

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” you chant. It’s all getting to be too much. The bulge you feel in your belly, the pressure on your clit, Anakin’s warm mouth on your breast. How is he so good at doing so many things? “Ani, I’m close.” 

“I feel it, angel,” Anakin drags his lips across your chest and up your neck until he reaches his final destination. With his lips slotted between yours once more, the roll of his hips is languid and methodical. He’s bringing you along gradually, until your second orgasm washes over you and your limbs are convulsing. You moan into Anakin’s mouth and he swallows it happily. “Fuck, I’m gonna cum. Where do you want it?” 

“Mouth!” you manage to say. Anakin loses every single semblance of control he had when you utter that one word. He pulls out of you just as he begins to cum, hot ropes landing on your chest before he’s propped his foot by your head and shoves his cock between your lips. 

Your warm mouth welcomes him greedily as his seed coats your tongue. “Shit,” Anakin grumbles. “Such a little cum slut.” 

You nod submissively, wrapping your hands around the rest of his length, all slippery from your juices. You look so fucking sexy with his dick in your mouth, he can’t even think straight. You on the other hand, you could suck his cock all damn day. You don’t even have to think while you’re doing it, you’ll just let your hands, mouth, and tongue do whatever they want. It isn’t until you feel his dick start to soften do you realize he’s finished releasing his load. 

Anakin breathlessly slumps down on the other side of your couch. You scoop up his cum from your chest and bring it to your mouth. “Don’t. Don’t fucking do that,” Anakin says rather firmly. 

“Why not?” you blink innocently. 

“You know exactly why.” 

You don’t reply. Instead, you crawl over to him, pulling the blanket that’s draped over the back of your couch and lay on top of Anakin’s chest. He lets you get comfortable as you’re sandwiched between his body and the back cushions of your couch. Once you’ve settled, his strong arm holds you against him protectively. He kisses the top of your head gently and mumbles something you can’t understand. 

Neither of you say anything the rest of the night. Anakin isn’t a man of many words, anyway. But when he has something to say, he’ll make sure he gets his point across. The point he made tonight was very clear. 

He loves you.

remember to reblog and leave comments to support authors!

(ps i'm not a yankees or mets fan. hayden's sweatshirt just kinda looks like the yankees logo even though i know it's not. okay that's it.)

◂ anakin masterlist ▸ main masterlist

[norrizzandpia]

She Doesn’t Know Who I Am (LN4)

Summary: Lando’s in New York and no one knows who he is. Especially the girl who asks for his number.

Warnings: nothing really, the vaguest inference to alcohol consumption? If that, man, but lmk if i missed any ofc

Lando was always weary of the United States. From the intrusive people to the crazed, horrific politics, he always tried to stay away. However, once a year, or season, he had an obligation to make an appearance in one of the fifty maniacal states. This year, the region in which would be graced with his chaotic presence was that of New York.

Y/n was the typical college student, ruthless and stupid as she went through her days at NYU. Crazy parties and a lack of sleep filled her days as she struggled to get through her second to last year in school. While part of her hated the way New York operated and how unsafe she felt, there was nothing like the beauty of the city. Her whole life had been spent in a small town where she felt trapped and alone, but in the big city, she felt a part of something, almost as if she was finally contributing to something. What she was contributing to, she didn’t know, but, in her mind, that didn’t really matter.

What did matter, however, was her friends dragging her out of bed and forcing her to go out with them whilst on two hours of sleep.

“I can get bagels literally any day. Please,” She put her hands in prayer as she pleaded with her best friend, “Paige, let me go back to bed.”

Paige looked back at her as if she had grown three heads, “No way. You go back to bed now, you’ll sleep all day and then be screwed up tomorrow. Then, you’ll complain about your sleep schedule being off and get mad at me for not waking you up. This is a much easier Y/n to deal with, thank you very much.”

Her response seemed to shut Y/n up as she hung her head low and trotted behind her brunette friend.

—

The walk to the bagel place had been longer than usual as they ran into George, a homeless man who lived at the end of their street and they had come to love. He had been there since the moment they moved in, coming and going as he moved to different places to sleep. After a few years of becoming friends with him, they learned he was a veteran who came back with severe PTSD, and, in turn, had to deal with tumultuous debts for his tries to stop the depressing spiral. While he had successfully gotten over the painful flashbacks, he never came back from the money he owned, the main reason why he ended up on the streets. The girls had found sympathy for the man and whenever he was there, sitting at the end of their block, they gave him fifty dollars each, whether they were struggling with their own financial burdens or not.

His smile had sent them into the rest of their breakfast with happier attitudes as Y/n’s annoyance for being conscious disappeared. However, they returned for the entire duration they spent waiting in the long line in the cramped, stuffy deli. Nonetheless, once she had scarfed down her bagel sandwich and chugged some water, she found life to be much lighter.

—

Lando, on the other hand, had been wandering around Central Park aimlessly with Max and a few other McLaren PR employees. The group had been out shooting content for both the racing company and his own company, Quadrant. Checking out different sights and throwing middle fingers up when they crossed the Trump building, the two boys found themselves having lots of fun in the country they thought so little of.

“Maybe this shit isn’t that bad?” Max chuckled as they stared at the lake that stretched across the park, a piano sounding lightly behind them from a street performer.

Lando nodded, liking the way no one was recognizing him and he could just be, “Yeah, maybe it’s just the politics that dampens the whole thing.”

—

“I’ll seriously never get over how stunning it is in here,” Y/n whispered as she and Paige strolled through a particularly secluded area of Central Park.

“Mhm, me neither.” Paige smiled as the two girls cherished the moment together.

Y/n turned her head to catch the brunette’s brown eyes, “Ever think about what would have happened if we never met?”

Paige pulled a look, “Absolutely not. That sounds like hell.”

“You’re not wrong.” Y/n laughed, “But, seriously, like, how would we even be surviving right n-”

Her abrupt stop to her sentence had Paige turning to look at the girl. With Y/n’s jaw dropped and cheeks ablaze, she followed her best friend’s eyeline, stumbling upon two boys who looked about the same age as them.

“Wow.” Y/n said aloud as she stared, mesmerized, at the man.

“Which one are you looking at?” Paige tried to decipher.

“Brown curls,” Y/n responded immediately, allowing her best friend to finally hone in on the boy of her friend’s choosing.

Paige smiled softly as she pictured Y/n with the boy standing in front of them, a cute couple they would be.

“He’s cute. Go ask for his number!” Paige said excitedly as she pushed Y/n in the direction of the particularly striking young man.

Y/n instantly paled, “What?! No way! Absolutely not!”

“Why?! Y/n, you literally haven’t dated anyone since freshman year. Come on, you’ll never even see him again if he rejects you. Please? For me, at least?” Paige pleaded, giving her best friend a look that she couldn’t turn away.

Huffing, Y/n began walking away, muttering, “The things I do for you.”

—

Y/n first caught Lando’s eye in his peripheral. The quick flash of y/h/c had him turning around to quickly glance at the newfound presence.

He almost lost his footing at the sight of her.

Black leggings and a sweatshirt never looked so good on someone as she approached him. His eyes were followed by Max, the boy laughing at a Lando who was clearly very taken by the girl coming up to them.

“If she asks to take a picture, I’m going to be so devastated,” Lando whispered as she smiled at them, the sight making him want to melt to the ground and beg her to go out with him.

It dawned on him that he didn’t even know her name yet, but that was a passing thought as she came to stop in front of him.

“Hi,” She stared up at him, clearly nervous, “My friend is forcing me to do this, so don’t think I’m doing this willingly.”

Her next few words Lando was already preparing himself for. Either her sentence could send him into a euphoric orbit or she could crush his dreams by being a fan.

She took a deep breath, Lando smiling at her cute demeanor, before she continued, “I just thought you were really cute and thought that, maybe, I could get your number? My name’s Y/n, by the way.”

Max was quick to jump infront of his lovestruck friend, not trusting the girl’s intentions.

“Sorry, he doesn’t give out his number.” He shot out, Y/n grimacing as she took in the embarrassment.

“Is he a celebrity or something?” She tried to recover with jokes, but it just made the faces of the two boys pale more.

The one that she liked, the one with the soft curls, stepped in front of his friend as he shook his head, “No, no. He’s just overprotective,” He sent his friend a threatening gaze, “I’m Lando and I would love to give you my number.”

Y/n was too caught up in the meaning behind Lando’s look to catch the way he was staring down at her, brown eyes big and round as he shot her a toothy grin. Their eyes met, and she flushed under his stare.

Tucking some hair behind her ear, she quickly got out her phone, “Oh, cool! Here you go.”

Lando’s fingers flew across the keyboard as he typed in his work phone number, not his personal. While he wanted to trust in her cluelessness, he couldn’t be that reckless.

Sliding her phone back to her in a way that allowed for their fingers to brush against each other, Y/n beamed triumphantly, something Lando knew he was going to grow to love.

She stood there for a few moments before nodding her head and beginning her walk back to her friend, “I’ll call you soon. We’ll figure something out.”

Lando nodded eagerly at her, a sign that he liked her just as much as she liked him. When her figure was a dot in the distance, Max turned to him and smacked him on the chest, “What the hell do you think you’re doing!? You can’t just shovel out your number like that! That was way too dangerous, Lando.”

His stern lecture had Lando rolling his eyes, “Max, two things. 1) I gave her my work phone, and 2) I’m willing to bet my seat in McLaren that she has no clue who I am.”

His best friend shifted on his feet as he looked at him, “You really think so?”

Lando nodded, “Yeah. I’ve seen fans try to play it cool, and even then, when they outwardly say they know my favorite flavor of ice cream, I can tell they’re freaking out on the inside. Her nerves seemed more to be the type of just asking a random stranger out rather than meeting her idolized driver.”

Max shook his head, “If you insist.”

—

Paige smiled proudly at her best friend as they began making their way out of the park, “So, what was his name anyway?”

Y/n thought hard for a moment before guessing, “Land? Lanyard? Something like that. I can’t remember. I was too caught up in his biceps to comprehend anything he was saying to me. I just hope he isn’t a murderer.”

NOTE: lmk if you guys want me to make a part 2 to this where they go out on a few dates and a month in or so she finds out or he tells her (something roughly like that)

[lowaltitude]

Dial Tone 2 | Matt Rempe

- NHL, New York Rangers - x Reader

❪ FEM! ❫

───── ❝ description + disclaimer ❞ ─────

𖥻 Matthew Rempe x FEM!reader, in which a wrong number friendship is more than you'd hope for. OR he falls first, he falls hard, he's NYC's biggest enforcer.

𖥻 PART ONE HERE. 3.6k words

───── ❝ ❞ ─────

I could barely contain my excitement as I sat in the bustling airport with my classmates, waiting for our flight to New York. My leg bounced with nervous energy, and I couldn’t stop smiling. I had been looking forward to this day for weeks, but now that it was finally here, the anticipation was almost too much to handle.

“Someone’s in a good mood,” my friend Lauren teased, nudging me with her elbow as she sipped on her overpriced airport coffee.

“I can’t help it,” I said, grinning from ear to ear. “We’re going to New York!”

“Yeah, but you look like you’ve just won the lottery or something,” she laughed, raising an eyebrow. “What’s got you so giddy?”

I bit my lip, trying to tone down my excitement. I couldn’t exactly tell her about Manhattan, about how I was going to surprise him by being in his city. The thought alone made me feel like a giddy schoolgirl with a crush.

“I guess I’m just excited to finally see the city,” I said, half-truthfully. “I’ve always wanted to go.”

“Well, it’s going to be amazing,” Lauren agreed, leaning back in her seat. “I can’t wait to explore. Have you got any plans for when we’re not at the conference?”

“Not really,” I lied. “I figured I’d just wander around, see where the city takes me.”

In reality, I had been meticulously planning out my free time, making sure I’d have the chance to visit some of the places Manhattan had mentioned in our conversations. Central Park, the Brooklyn Bridge, and maybe even that bagel place he’d raved about. But I wasn’t going to tell Lauren all of that. Not yet.

As we waited to board, my phone buzzed with a message from Manhattan. I glanced at the screen, my heart doing a little flip as I saw his name pop up.

Wednesday, May 29, 2024Today, 10:17 AM MANHATTAN: What are you up to today, San Diego?

I couldn’t help but smile as I typed out my response, the excitement of the trip making it hard to keep the secret.

ME: Just hanging out, nothing too crazy. How about you? :) MANHATTAN: Same here, just getting ready for another big game. A little exciting. What’s got you in such a good mood today?

He knew me too well. I hesitated for a moment, debating whether to drop a hint or keep the surprise going.

ME: Let’s just say I’ve got something fun planned. I’ll tell you all about it later. MANHATTAN: You’re killing me with suspense here, San Diego. Now I’m curious.

I chuckled, feeling a mix of excitement and nerves as I imagined his reaction when I finally told him—or when I maybe even bumped into him in his own city.

ME: Patience, Manhattan. You’ll find out soon enough. MANHATTAN: I guess I don’t have a choice. Just don’t keep me waiting too long.

I tucked my phone back into my bag, my smile refusing to fade. This trip was going to be unforgettable, and not just because of the conference. I could hardly wait to step off the plane and onto New York soil, knowing that Manhattan had no idea what was coming.

“Alright, they’re boarding our flight,” Lauren said, standing up and grabbing her bag. “You ready?”

“More than ready,” I said, grabbing my own bag and following her to the gate, my heart racing with anticipation. New York, here I come.

As the plane descended into New York, my excitement was at an all-time high. I couldn’t wait to explore the city, but more than that, I couldn’t wait to surprise Manhattan. The plan was simple: I’d head to his college, catch one of his hockey games, and finally meet him in person. I could already picture the look on his face when he saw me there.

After dropping my bags off at the hotel and freshening up, I decided to send him a quick message. I needed to get some information without giving away my plan.

ME: Hey, how’s hockey going? My friend is heading to New York soon, and I was thinking maybe she could grab me a hoodie from your college. ME: Which college do you go to again?

I stared at my phone, feeling a mix of nerves and excitement as I watched the typing bubble appear. I wondered if he’d catch on to what I was trying to do, but he probably thought I was just being curious.

The typing bubble kept appearing and disappearing, and I felt my anticipation build. What was taking him so long?

Finally, his message came through.

MANHATTAN: Long Island University. Let’s go Sharks! 🦈

I smiled to myself, mentally filing away the information. LIU. Perfect. Now I just needed to find out when their next game was and how to get there. The idea of seeing him in action, playing the sport he was so passionate about, made me even more excited.

ME: Cool! I’ll definitely ask her to grab me one. LIU sounds like a great school. MANHATTAN: It is. I’m really enjoying it here. Hockey’s been great too.

I leaned back in my seat, feeling a rush of excitement. Everything was falling into place. In just a few days, I’d be at LIU, watching him play, and he had no idea what was coming.

ME: Glad to hear it! Maybe one day I’ll get to see you play in person. MANHATTAN: I’d like that. But for now, you’ll just have to settle for the hoodie 😉

I laughed, feeling a surge of anticipation. He had no idea that “one day” was much sooner than he thought.

ME: I guess I will. But who knows what the future holds? MANHATTAN: True. The future’s full of surprises.

I couldn’t agree more. Little did he know, the biggest surprise was about to come his way. I tucked my phone away, feeling more determined than ever. Tomorrow, I’d make my way to LIU, ready to see Manhattan in his element. This trip was turning out to be more thrilling than I’d ever imagined.

───── ❝ ❞ ─────

The next morning, I woke up early, my heart racing with anticipation. Today was the day I’d finally see Manhattan play hockey. After a quick breakfast with my classmates, I made up an excuse about needing some time alone to explore the city. They didn’t ask too many questions, which was a relief. I wasn’t sure how I’d explain that I was sneaking off to surprise a guy I’d never actually met in person.

With my bag slung over my shoulder, I set off toward Long Island University. The city buzzed with energy as I navigated the subway system, and I could hardly keep still as I imagined what the game would be like. What would he look like on the ice? Would I recognize him immediately?

When I finally arrived at LIU’s campus, I felt a rush of excitement. The rink was larger than I expected, and the atmosphere was alive with the buzz of college sports. I spotted a few people in Sharks gear and made a mental note to grab a hoodie later—something to remember this day by.

Just as I was about to head inside, my phone buzzed with a message from Manhattan.

Thursday, May 30, 2024Today, 9:00 AM MANHATTAN: What are you up to today?

I hesitated for a moment, torn between keeping the surprise and telling him something closer to the truth.

ME: Just wandering around, checking out some new places. You? MANHATTAN: Nothing too exciting, just got some practice. Gotta stay sharp for the game tomorrow.

My heart skipped a beat. If he was heading to practice, that meant he’d be at the rink soon. I grinned, feeling like everything was falling perfectly into place.

ME: Busy day for you then. Good luck with practice!

I tucked my phone away and stepped into the rink. The cool air hit me immediately, a stark contrast to the warm, bustling city outside. I found a seat near the middle, close enough to see the action but far enough to stay somewhat hidden. The rink was buzzing with the energy of casual practice, but I didn’t see anyone who looked like Manhattan.

Confused, I glanced at my phone again, but decided to focus on enjoying the moment. Maybe everything would still work out.

As the few players on the ice began to pack up, I couldn't contain my curiosity any longer. With a mix of nerves and excitement, I made my way down to the edge of the rink where the three boys were gathering their gear. They looked friendly enough, chatting and laughing as they peeled off their jerseys.

"Hi there," I greeted them tentatively, hoping not to intrude.

"Hey," one of them replied with a smile, while another gave a nod in acknowledgment.

Feeling a bit bolder, I held up the picture of Manhattan that I had saved on my phone. "Do you guys happen to know him?" I asked, trying to keep my voice casual.

The boy closest to me glanced at the picture and furrowed his brow. "Is this a test, or a bad joke?" he replied, a hint of confusion in his voice.

I blinked, taken aback by his reaction. "No, not at all," I said quickly. "He's a hockey player, right?"

The boy let out a chuckle, exchanging a glance with his teammate who rolled his eyes. "Yeah, he's a hockey player," he replied, his tone slightly mocking. With that, he skated off towards the locker rooms, his friend following close behind.

Left standing there, I turned to the last boy who was gathering his equipment. "Do you know where I can find him?" I asked, my voice tinged with disappointment.

He shrugged apologetically. "I don't know, maybe try MSG or something," he suggested, referring to Madison Square Garden. With that, he picked up his stick and followed his teammates off the ice, leaving me feeling confused and unsure of what to do next.

I stared after them for a moment, my heart sinking. Maybe this was a mistake after all.

Feeling disheartened and unsure of what had just transpired at the rink, I made my way back to the hotel. My mind was still spinning with confusion and disappointment over not finding any trace of Manhattan. As I walked through the lobby, Lauren immediately noticed something was off.

"What's wrong?" she asked, concern etched on her face.

I forced a smile, trying to brush off my disappointment. "Nothing, just tired," I replied vaguely.

To cheer me up, she leaned in conspiratorially. "Hey, you like hockey, right? There's some playoffs happening tomorrow, and apparently they're really shitty seats, but Professor Tenner says we can all go since it's included in the expo."

Her attempt to lift my spirits caught my attention. Playoffs sounded exciting, and even though I was still reeling from the day's events, the prospect of attending a hockey game in New York City was enticing, even if it wasn't one of Manhattan's games like I'd hoped.

"Really?" I perked up, feeling a glimmer of excitement return. "That sounds like fun. I could use a distraction."

She nodded eagerly. "Exactly! We'll forget about everything and just enjoy the game."

I nodded in agreement, grateful for her effort to turn things around. Perhaps the disappointment of today would fade with the thrill of tomorrow's game.

───── ❝ ❞ ─────

As we rode the subway towards Madison Square Garden, the excitement of the upcoming hockey playoffs managed to distract me momentarily from the strange encounter at LIU's rink earlier. The subway car was filled with fans dressed in jerseys, hats, and scarves, all buzzing with anticipation for the game. It was contagious, and I couldn't help but smile as I saw the neon signs outside the arena proclaiming, "NEW YORK RANGERS VS FLORIDA PANTHERS, 2-2 TIED SERIES."

Glancing at my phone, I noticed several unread messages from Manhattan. They started off flirty, but the last few were increasingly concerned:

Friday, May 31, 2024Today, 7:00 PM MANHATTAN: Made my sister take this so you can see how hard it is being so tall and attractive

MANHATTAN: Hey, haven't heard from you all day. Everything okay? ❤️ MANHATTAN: Did something happen? You're acting weird. MANHATTAN: Seriously, just let me know you're okay. MANHATTAN: San Diego??? MANHATTAN: I'm starting to get worried now. Please, just tell me what's going on.

Each message tugged at my conscience, but right now, with the game looming ahead and the vibrant energy of the city around me, I couldn't bring myself to reply. Turning off my phone, I focused on the lively scene outside as we emerged from the subway. Madison Square Garden towered above us, its exterior adorned with banners and flags of the Rangers. The atmosphere was electric, filled with the chatter of excited fans and vendors selling snacks and memorabilia.

My friend nudged me excitedly. "This is going to be awesome," she exclaimed, her eyes sparkling with enthusiasm.

I nodded, a surge of anticipation building within me. Stepping into the bustling concourse of the arena, I marveled at the sea of blue and red jerseys, each person radiating their team pride. It was infectious, and I found myself caught up in the excitement of being part of such a passionate crowd.

Finding our seats, I couldn't help but feel a pang of guilt for not responding to Manhattan's messages. I promised myself I would explain everything later, after the game. Right now, I needed to immerse myself in the thrill of playoff hockey and enjoy this unforgettable experience in the heart of New York City.

Just before the game began, one last text came in from Manhattan. The notification popped up on my screen, and I couldn't ignore it any longer:

MANHATTAN: Starting to think I messed things up. Please talk to me. I have to go, but PLEASE tell me you're okay.

The urgency in his message was palpable, and it weighed heavily on my mind. I knew I owed him an explanation, but right now, surrounded by the anticipation of the playoff game at Madison Square Garden, I couldn't find the words to reply.

My friend noticed my troubled expression and gently asked, "Everything okay?"

I hesitated for a moment, torn between the excitement of the moment and the guilt of leaving Manhattan hanging. "Yeah, just some stuff going on," I replied vaguely, hoping she wouldn't press further.

She nodded understandingly, sensing my reluctance to talk about it. "Well, let's focus on the game. It's going to be amazing!"

I managed a small smile, grateful for her distraction. As the national anthem played and the teams took the ice, the crowd erupted into cheers. The energy of the arena was infectious, and I found myself swept up in the excitement despite my lingering worries about Manhattan.

As the players came out and the game began, the atmosphere inside Madison Square Garden was electric. The puck dropped, and the game progressed smoothly until midway through the second period. Number 73, newly on the ice, was skating hard when suddenly, number 91 from the opposing team delivered a hard hit. The crowd erupted into shouts and boos as the large screen replayed the hit, the referees finally calling a penalty.

In the midst of the chaos, the camera panned back to the live action, focusing on New York Rangers' number 73 as he removed his helmet. And there he was—Manhattan.

My heart skipped a beat as I watched him on the screen, his presence confirming that the mystery friend who had been texting me was indeed using a picture of Matt Rempe. Confusion and disbelief flooded my mind. Had I been lied to this whole time? Was this some elaborate prank or misunderstanding?

As Manhattan skated off the ice, I felt a mix of emotions—surprise, disappointment, and a tinge of betrayal. The crowd's cheers and the game's intensity became distant background noise as I tried to process everything. The realization that Manhattan was real and here, playing hockey in front of me, collided with the unsettling feeling that someone had deceived me.

I glanced at my friend beside me, who was still cheering enthusiastically for the Rangers. She turned to me with a bright smile. "This is amazing, right?"

"Yeah," I managed to reply, forcing a smile while my mind raced with unanswered questions.

As the game continued, I couldn't tear my eyes away from Manhattan on the ice. Despite the whirlwind of emotions, one thing was clear—there was much more to this story than I had ever imagined.

On the way out of the game, the crowd slowly dispersing around us, I couldn't shake the feeling of betrayal and confusion. I pulled out my phone and hesitated for a moment before typing out a message to Manhattan.

ME: So, was this all just a joke? Using someone else's photos to pretend to be someone you're not?

The message hung in the air, my thumb hovering over the send button. I felt a mix of anger and hurt, wanting desperately for there to be some explanation that would make sense of everything. But as the seconds ticked by, doubts crept in. What if I had been naive to believe in this connection all along?

My friend glanced over at me, sensing my unease. "You okay?" she asked gently.

I forced a smile, trying to mask the turmoil inside. "Yeah, just… something came up," I replied vaguely, my voice betraying my uncertainty.

Finally, I pressed send, the message disappearing into the digital abyss. As we made our way through the bustling streets of New York City, I couldn't shake the sinking feeling that the person I thought I knew as Manhattan might not be who he claimed to be after all.

The crowd outside Madison Square Garden buzzed with post-game energy, but my focus was solely on my phone, waiting for Manhattan’s reply. The seconds dragged on before my screen lit up with his response.

MANHATTAN: What? A joke? What are you talking about?

I clenched my jaw, frustrated by his confusion. How could he not understand?

ME: I saw you. Or, I guess I saw the real you. You’ve been sending me photos of a hockey player this whole time, pretending it was you. Matt Rempe. Ring a bell?

I hit send, my emotions swirling between hurt and anger. Was this his way of getting a laugh? Why string me along like this?

His response came quickly this time.

MANHATTAN: Wait, what? I didn’t lie to you, I swear. I don’t even know what you’re talking about.

I scoffed at my phone. Was he really going to keep this act up?

ME: You sent me his photo. Matt Rempe. Number 73 for the Rangers. I saw him on the ice tonight.

My hands were shaking slightly as I typed, overwhelmed by everything. How could he keep denying it when I’d literally just seen Matt?

There was a longer pause before his next message.

MANHATTAN: I didn’t lie. I never pretended to be someone else. I’m really confused right now. How did you… how did you see me?

My breath caught. Why did he sound so genuine? My mind scrambled to piece it together. How could he not know that I’d seen the very guy whose pictures he’d been sending? It didn’t make sense.

I typed again, my heart pounding.

ME: I saw him play. I was at the Rangers game tonight. You’ve been using his pictures this whole time, and now I feel like an idiot for believing you.

There was another long pause, and I could imagine him, wherever he was, sitting there trying to figure out what had just happened.

The longer I waited, the more the knot in my stomach tightened. Finally, my phone buzzed again with his reply.

MANHATTAN: I’m so confused. How did you end up at a Rangers game? I never sent you anyone else’s photos. I swear. I don’t even know what’s going on right now. ME: I came here for a school trip. I wanted to surprise you, so I went to what you told me was your University yesterday to see you play hockey. I thought it’d be this cute moment, but you weren’t there. Some guys at the rink acted weird when I asked about you, and I couldn’t figure it out. Then today, at the game, I saw Matt Rempe... The guy in the photos you’ve been sending me. MANHATTAN: Wait. You’re in New York? You went looking for me??? MANHATTAN: Okay, this is all a big misunderstanding, and I need you to believe me. I’m not lying. I am Matt Rempe. ME: No, you're not. Stop it. If this is your way of messing with me, just admit it. Why would you pretend to be someone like him? You think I wouldn’t find out? MANHATTAN: I’m not pretending. I didn’t want to lie to you, but I also didn’t want to throw all that stuff at you so fast. I’m sorry if it feels like I’ve been hiding things, but I wasn’t trying to trick you. I swear. ME: So what, you’re just Matt Rempe all of a sudden? I’m supposed to believe that you’re the guy I watched get slammed on the ice tonight? MANHATTAN: Yes. I wanted to tell you but we became friends and never stopped the little nickname thing, this isn’t how I wanted you to find out.

I stared at the message, my head spinning. How could this be true? I couldn't wrap my mind around it.

[chris-continues]

What happened…?

Tired college students commemorate one more day of survival

Nai communicates through actions rather than words. (Acts of service FRRRR)

Your eyelashes flutter, breath stuttering upon the realization that the crisp linens and fabric softener scent surrounding you were in fact- not your possessions.

They were his.

Angelic, soft white hair lays spread across his pillow, eyelids opening to reveal his ethereal celeste blue eyes.

How the hell did you even get here? Nothing indecent had transpired between you two- god, of course not, you both had decency. But literally sleeping next to one of your classmates? Who probably found you annoying to no end?

Yeah, not a walk in the park. Not an easy situation to navigate.

“Shit, sorry..” You turned to sit up, Nai following suit. “I don’t know..” your voice drawls off as you intensely stare at your hands in your lap, a futile attempt to ignore the looming presence behind your person.

“You fell asleep on the couch last night.” He explained, “Vash had his.. friend over, so he insisted you rest here. Although I wouldn’t allow you to hog my room for the night.” He huffs frustratedly, “I sincerely hope you had no morning class today, it’s past 7.”

You rack your brain for any semblance of a schedule, and groan. Yeah, your morning class with Vash, and he might’ve slept in. Maybe you could get notes from Meryl.

That also explained the teasing lilt in his voice. “Not a morning person, are you?” You turned around to retort, “And you are?”

“Not really.” He shrugged, standing up to roll his shoulders. “You need to eat, get up.” His eyebrow quirked at your incredulous expression, “What, is your idiocy catching up to you?”

“Yeah, yeah..” you groaned, following him out of his room to the kitchen. He absentmindedly shoved two bagels into the toaster, rummaging the fridge for spread and whatnot.

You stood straight like a bowling pin, having no idea what to do in the slightest. “Uh.. can I help?”

“Drawer to my left, two down. You’ll find a butter knife.” He pauses, “You do enjoy cream cheese, correct?” You walk to fetch him the butter knife before answering, “Yeah, cream cheese is fine.”

It’s a silent exchange as the bagels pop up, and you walk to grab them, bringing them to him as he holds out two Star Wars paper plates for you to place them on.

“Vash insisted.” He spreads the cream cheese on them, “Found them at CVS and insisted we need them.” He scoffs.

“I dunno, I’d say it suits you.” It most certainly did not, Nai Saverem in his petal cloak snuggie spreading cream cheese on bagels placed on a Star Wars paper plate.

It was oddly..

domestic.

[kedreeva]

I would love to hear about the otherworld marketplace

oh right!

Okay, so the REASON I went the expo yesterday, when we weren't planning on it previously because it is Distant, is because my friend that takes me had to exchange some caging, and the crafters were going to be at the show, so why not vend as long as we're out there if we're driving 2+ hours each way anyway. So we vend the show, it goes well, we have fun, everyone's packing up... except the vendor she's exchanging caging with, who tell her they're going to be at least another hour packing up etc and also they don't have the cages with them, we'll have to drive to their brick and mortar shop.

Well, whatever, that means we can go grab some food. We look up sushi places, grab the first/closest one, and drive out. GPS takes us to a mexican restaurant. we fiddle with the GPS and when swapped to "walking" it tells us actually it's across the street. We can't see across the street because of trees, so we drive across the street, and there's a Mall. Like a legit, old mall- and I realize with a bit of dawning horror that I KNOW this mall, it was built a couple of years before I went to college, it was shiny and new when I first visited it, we used to come here often. I did not recognize it because it looked like it at been through some kind of apocalypse. So I turn to my friend and say, we have a choice, we either go in and get Mall Sushi from a food court, or we pick someplace else. She stops her car in the middle of a road, not a parking spot, and we both look at the list of sushi places nearby. I see one just plainly called "sushi market" and it looks normal and there's a picture of its storefront indicating it is, perhaps, not Mall Food Court Sushi, and we take off.

I am expecting a Hole In The Wall sort of strip mall place like the two near my childhood home, but instead we enter The City.

The City, if you do not know, is the same place. You enter into it and you may or may not have been to this city before but you have been to The City and it all looks the same, really. The shops maybe have different names, but it's unclear if that is because time has passed and the coral reef of storefronts has grown/exchanged inhabitants or if this is a different place entirely and actually it doesn't matter. Which street you entered from may determine which stores you see, but you are always entering The City.

This place we are going is a hundred yards outside of The City, and looks like it. It is the same 100 yards outside of The City that exists down by my little sister. If the air had tasted a little different, I would have told you for sure I was in North Carolina visiting my sister, not a little bit lost in northwestern Michigan. We park in a little street parking place and look around hesitantly. There's a storefront for a bagel shop. There's a storefront for a local barbeque (local to ME, not this place, or at least I thought that was the case until I looked it up at home.... they don't have a shop local to me. I have eaten there a dozen times, at work, with others. it does not exist near me. this is how The City works though, sometimes you have to accept that). The parking lot is almost empty. The street is vacant. it's quiet. Nothing is happening in this location. The building indicated is unmarked, plain brick. No windows except at the bagel shop and barbeque's storefront windows. They do not have doors of their own, only a set of unmarked, double doors between them.

But, the GPS insists it is here, so we go through those blank doors, and step into an Otherworld. Inside, is a busy marketplace.

The floors are all dark, smooth concrete. Above is all grubby, teal-grey steel and wood, the walls are covered in bright-colored artwork. There are stalls that don't look permanent fashioning the interior into a maze. This is the bible belt of michigan. There's Thai food, sushi, a mochi donut shop. There's a stall devoted to popcorns, both in different flavors but also from specialty kinds of kernels. There's a wall of soda in glass bottles from companies I've never heard of. There were four shelves devoted to black cherry sodas. Floor to ceiling shelves of ginger beer, birch beer, root beer. There's a pastry shop around a corner where I stood and watched someone slicing a cheesecake six inches tall, decorated in strawberries like a painting. We pass a charcuterie shop to reach a wine and cheese bar, which is across from a seafood shop peddling fresh catch from the great lakes, which is next to a deli of local meats, across from a shop exclusively dedicated to seasoning rubs for meat. Tucked into a back corner is a chocolaterie selling bonbons and hand scooped michigan-made ice cream. There's some kind of reunion taking place up at the front of the place. There are old ladies buying popcorn. There's a guy looking at the soda walls, dressed like it's 3am and he couldn't sleep.

The place is packed, but there's hardly any cars in the parking lot so I have to assume people walked here. We dodge people and make it to the sushi counter, where we are greeted by a young woman who has sparkles glittering across the bridge of her nose instead of freckles. She takes our order and welcomes us to sit at the bartop to eat (we don't), and we find a quiet corner to sit and eat. It was the best sushi I've had in my life- the rice was actual sushi rice which is a good start, it was slightly warm still, it was melt-in-your-mouth good. We stopped by the chocolaterie to get a small scoop of ice cream (cashew caramel) and a couple of chocolates to bring home. They're tiny, with local strawberry/cherry fruits, with little things painted on their tops. They were delicious.

My friend took photos of some of the inside of the place. I don't know if she waited for the right moments or what, but there's almost no people in her photos. I cannot express to you enough that this place was FULL. I waited in lines to get food. That's me at the chocolate/ice cream shop counter and there were several people in front of me in line.

There was a second story we didn't make it to, because we had to leave to go get the caging. We exited back to a normal Michigan spring a hundred yards outside The City. The parking lot was mostly empty. The building was plain brick. There was no one on the street. The bagel shop and the barbeque storefronts had no people past the windows. There was no storefront for the sushi shop, because it was in the very heart of the place, it shared no walls with the building walls at all, there was no door to it.

[probably-enjolras]

parking on my college campus is great because all the cars have something that is just slightly unhinged. here is a list of things i’ve seen YESTERDAY alone:

my own car that has a fall out boy bumper sticker encouraging people to keep honking at me and i’ll ignore them in favor of listening to TTTYG

a car that has the license plate “oh worms”

a regular car with military decoration saying the driver was in the marines and had family in the military and it’s all clean and organized except for a corner that just has an alien smoking a cigarette and saying “existence is pain”

a car with the license plate “mstr yda” (Master Yoda) and definitely lived up to it because instead of those antlers you can put on your car for christmas to be a reindeer, this car had Yoda’s ears on it

a car with a sticker that told people to be nice to them because their tummy was upset (AND i know exactly where this sticker came from bc it’s a local trans owned art business that does mostly DND, queer, and funny/relatable stickers, bookmarks, notebooks etc)

the staff parking has roughly 4x the amount of yellow cars than the student parking, even though it’s only two lanes compared to multiple lots for students

a staff car that was almost certainly an english professor with a sticker that said “let me tell you why i hate lord byron”

no one (including staff) following the rules on which corner to put your parking pass sticker on (guys we get free parking all over campus and they will give you more stickers any time you lose yours just PUT IT IN THE RIGHT PLACE)

a line up of three cars next to each other with one being a truck with an american flag with the blue line for the “blue lives matter” thing (gross), a confederate flag (gross also but we’re in rural virginia so not unusual), and surprisingly no tr*mp stickers but pretty much every republican in the state and local areas, next to a small red buggy that was mostly covered in doctor who, star wars, and marvel stickers and a small pride flag in the window, next to a jeep that had the sticker “silly boys jeeps are for girls” and a license plate that said “chicks rule” (in a way that fit the license plate amount of space)

and, my personal favorite because we have the same schedule and i see him at my local bagel place a lot, a guy with an ATV that has a lot of stickers about all the forests, monuments, and national parks he’s been too, but double the amount of stickers telling everyone that he loves bigfoot, bigfoot is real, bigfoot is his sugar daddy, and a line up of different cryptids in the corner that you’d see those little family stickers that show the mom, dad, kids, and pets as stick figures

i don’t like taking pictures of cars, i feel like it’s quite violating and because i’m at a local college if i took a picture, it wouldn’t be hard to actually doxx these people, so you’ll just have to take my word for it but i don’t think i’m creative enough to actually make this shit up lmao

[streettealee]

Not Another Rockstar | Chapter 1

Not Another Rockstar | Chapter 1: some thoughts in my head that were making me feel high

Hobie Brown/Original Female Character College AU Slow burn romance, unlikely friends to lovers, angst, hurt/comfort, fictional political drama, an engineering student and a law student have to partner up on a screen media project and it goes about as well as you'd think. Also found on AO3.

Val Bakirtzis did not consider herself a morning person. Honestly, it had to be a crime that the only available class time for Screen Media History 242 was 8 AM on a Friday. She’d been up since 6 AM just to make sure she had ample time to screw her head on somewhat straight, shower, and have a bite of breakfast before rushing out the door. The world felt like a different sort of place at 7 AM when everyone was only just waking up to get ready for work or dropping their kids off at school.

With headphones slung around her neck, Val trudged past row after row of suburban houses that were each ugly in their own unique way. She was not entirely sure she was fully awake yet because the rising sun painted everything to look like some kind of watercolour canvas, light pouring over the muted blues and greys that still lingered. The beauty was otherworldly.

Car doors slammed shut. Engines started. Keys clinked. The muffled voices of children asked where their lunchbox was. Overhead in the trees, a lone kookaburra laughed while the familiar call of smaller birds—Val had never known their name—bounced around the neighbourhood.

Her hand reached lazily out for her to swing around a lamppost with peeling green paint, then stayed outstretched for her fingers to brush bushes of jasmine. Val’s smile was weak, but there. It was still warm enough that the scent of the flowers seemed to seep into the air and infiltrate everything around them. A cool autumn breeze pulled at Val’s hair though. Change was coming, any day now.

She yawned as she staggered, finally, onto campus grounds, just past the sign on the footpath that warned… something or other about what not to do on these paths or on campus past the checkpoint. Val never stopped to read it. The writing was too small, too inconsequential on the quiet stretch of walk by the lake toward the multi-storey buildings that made up Warwick University of Kingsland. Despite the very English name that might suggest the campus was an old one, everything was state of the art, modern, and charmingly incorporated its natural environment. If Val was the one to come up with some slogan for it, it’d be: an institution of progress.

The parking lots were a ghost town. The bus station quiet, but with a few students interspersed around as they stepped off and began figuring out where they needed to be. Val passed one of the many open-air cafés located on campus and checked the time. She was early, but she still needed to locate where exactly her classroom was, because her schedule had said it was in a building she had never even been in before. Her brain was an alarming quality of mush. Val made the split-second decision to step in line behind someone else ordering an iced chai latte.

Really? she thought, remembering trying to ask for just chai in her first year, only to be told they only did iced chai lattes here. Val had relented and bought the iced chai abomination. The memory made her stomach churn.

“Hey, Val. What can I get for you?”

She straightened up, startled that they remembered her name, and stepped forward with a tired smile. “Hey, long time no see. Mocha, please. Medium.” The lactose free popped up on the screen showing her full order before she even said it.

“Anything else?”

Val stared longingly at the blueberry muffins next to the croissants and bagels, but said, “No, thanks, that’s all.” She tapped her card and stepped back to wait for her order, arms crossed over herself as she leaned against a beam. Her name was called just as she was threatening to doze off. After collecting her order with a quick “thank you, have a good day”, she stewed over the fact that she must come here way too often if it was the new year and the café staff knew her by name and dietary restrictions.

Finding the building, she doublechecked her schedule and groaned. She needed to find the stairs. The elevator right next to them inside was a taunting gleam of silver out the corner of her eye as she began the climb. The low sound of rock music from her headphones could only do so much to combat with the fact that this was too much exercise before 8 AM in the morning on a Friday.

There were three different doors. Because of course there were three to choose from. They probably all let out into the same hallway at different points… right? Val chose the lefthand one since it was the closest and emerged next to where the elevator let a few students pour out. There were a few faces she recognised from classes she took last year.

“Hold the door,” came a voice behind her. It was heavily accented Cockney, and Val might have laughed if she wasn’t so taken off guard.

She held the door open for a guy over a foot taller than her. His wild hair was full and dark, making her think of a storm cloud hovering over her. He breezed past her into the hallway with a quiet “thanks”, easily seeing over the heads of multiple students as they chattered and sorted themselves into their designated classrooms. Val let the door fall shut behind her. The appearance of this guy was bizarre even among students who weren’t her usual crowd. He was dressed like some member of an 80s punk rock band, but the DIY was obvious. What he wore wasn’t bought from some designer collection trying to replicate things like the goth and punk rock movements, that much was easy to tell.

He stood out like a sore thumb. Others dressed like they’d been on a morning jog and had been studying since 3 AM, which they probably had, with bright eyes and smiles, protein shakes in hand. Val spotted one vaguely emo-styled person who stood next to an immaculately dressed exchange student in simple jewellery and neat clothes, the two engaged in the kind of conversation that suggested they’d known each other a long time already. These were two people she knew from other classes but had never spoken to much.

Val almost wished she’d dressed in something a bit nicer than her over-sized jumper and skinny jeans with runners. She practically looked like the poster advertisement for “college kid life” worldwide with her beaten up backpack over her shoulders. At least, she thought, she was not wearing a cap related to her university or any football team.

No wonder no one gave her a second glance. They were all far more interested in British Punk Rock Guy (the nickname would work for now).

Half an hour later, they were all piled inside the classroom, lights down low as their professor concluded their introduction and began overviewing the semester’s content. Val nursed her mocha, mourning that it had gotten rather cold now, but trying to savour what she had left so that it wasn’t all gone before they at least hit the half-way point of class. It was just her luck that British Punk Rock Guy sat next to her. Every time he moved there was a squeak of leather or the clink of studs and other metallic accessories.

When she glanced sideways at him, she caught sight of the shine of a lip ring and eyebrow piercings. Val felt comically tiny next to him, and plain. Every inch of him was decorated as if he stood like a monument for or against something. No. She changed her mind when she saw him roll up his sleeves to reveal the slope of muscles. More like a temple. He’s his own symbol of worship.

“Somethin’ I can help you with?” he asked suddenly, not even looking at her. Thankfully, his voice came out as a whisper, so no one around them seemed to notice over the professor’s lecture.

“No, sorry. Was staring at something past you,” Val whispered back.

“Uh-huh.”

“You, um… you look good though. Nice boots,” she said.

Now he did look at her, eyebrows raised. “Yeah? Thanks.”

“You do your eyeliner really well too. I’ve never been able to get it right.” All she wanted to do was stare at him, but she forced herself to keep her eyes trained forward when she said that, preferring not to let him see how uncertain she felt about this entire interaction.

“Patience and practice is all it is. An’ a steady hand.”

Val, who had been about to take a sip of her mocha, hastily put it down, hopefully before he noticed the tremor in her hand.

“Whatcha drinkin’?”

“Not pumpkin spice, that’s for sure.”

He leaned back in his chair, and she could just see his smile. “Me? I love pumpkin spice, think it gets a bad rap just for bein’ something people seasonally enjoy.”

You? Val threw a sideways glance at him, trying to figure out if he was messing with her. “Just drinking mocha, anyway. I need the caffeine.”

“Well, judging by the way your leg’s bouncing, I’d say you’ve had enough of it. Didn’t think a mocha was that strong,” he said, peering curiously at her cup.

Val forced her leg to stop moving—she hadn’t even noticed it, and that made her more frustrated. “Depends on the day how much I need. And I have a low tolerance for caffeine anyway. It’s easy for me to wind up having too much.”

British Punk Rock Guy snorted.

“What, you’re telling me you drink tea or something?” she demanded.

“That—” he held up a finger— “is a cultural stereotype.”

“Well, do you?”

It took him a moment to answer. “Yeah, what of it?”

“Weak,” was her simply reply. What she didn’t say was that she also usually drinks tea. Horrible early starts like this one were her only exception.

Val blinked into the lights as they suddenly came on again. The professor clapped her hands and announced an ice breaker activity. Val did her best to hold in her groan. She hated these things. When no one volunteered to go first, Val reluctantly raised her hand. Just get this over with.

“Tell us your name, what you’re studying, why you chose this class, and give us a movie you like.”

Sighing, Val said, “Hi, my name’s Valerie…” And I have anger management issues. Oops, wrong introduction. Her comedy was wasted on herself, honestly. “…and I study law. I had an elective space and thought this class sounded interesting.” Wouldn’t be too much work. “A movie I like is…” Don’t say Legally Blonde, don’t do it, you’re a law student, you can do better than that. “Probably Dead Poets Society,” she said finally with a shrug.

“Thank you, Valerie.”

Val. But she would have felt weird introducing herself in a classroom with her nickname.

“Who’s next?” the professor cast about.

British Punk Rock Guy gave a theatrical raise of his hand. “Hey, I’m Hobie, exchange student from the UK, studying engineering and I also chose this elective out of curiosity. I s’pose I like a documentary, A Band Called Death. And that’s me.”

As the introductions moved on, Val caught herself sneaking looks at this Hobie beside her. She didn’t know what sort of name that was, but it was probably short for something. Because of course he would be the one to not bother with his proper name. This guy had no qualms, probably about anything. Val couldn’t tell whether she respected Hobie or hated him.

“Didn’t take you for a law student,” he muttered.

Watch it. “Why?”

“There’s got to be dozens of other electives you could have taken. Why this one?”

Val raised a single eyebrow. “I could ask you the same question, engineering.”

“Looked like it wouldn’t be too much work,” admitted Hobie. “Most of our study involves watching films and documentaries. It’s barely a class until we have to write for it.”

“That was my thinking too. There’s already a hell of a lot going on in my degree. Figure I deserve one class where I don’t have to work so much,” Val explained.

“Still though… law? You either hate yourself or you’re in it for the money. Or both.”

Val couldn’t help her glare this time. “I hate capitalism like any sane person would, thanks for asking, and the only way to change a system is to understand it. Hating myself has nothing to do with it.”

“But I guess the money don’t hurt, right?”

“What’ve you got against law students?”

“You’re on the side of the law, and therefore the government,” Hobie argued.

Val shifted away, clutching her cup. “That’s not even how it really works. Some of the greatest revolutionaries studied law.”

“Sure, because it was either revolution or gettin’ their heads chopped off.”

He had a nose ring too. A distant part of her noted that it looked good on him. Everything about him looked good. But it was ruined by him being a complete ass.

“Are you two partnering up?” The professor had come to a stop in front of their table. Looking around, everyone else had paired off for the first task. Val hadn’t even realised they’d start discussing groups yet. She threw a hostile look at Hobie, but his gaze was cool, aloof.

“Guess so,” he said. He must have noticed too that they had no one else to choose from at this point.

“Yeah,” said Val and the professor jotted down their names before moving on. Opening her laptop, Val began looking over what their first task was going to be. She hadn’t even paid attention to the overview when she applied for the course, so she missed the part that mentioned there would be groupwork for some of the assignments. “Oh, joy,” she said glumly. “We have to write a paper at the end of this about political movements that align with the list of films. It might be easier if we watch each movie with each other to take notes for the paper.”

Hobie sighed, tipping his chair back and letting his head loll. “When’s it due?”

“Week Seven, but after the mid-semester break. That’s almost two months to get it done.” Val made a hum. “Nice.”

“So, what’s it gonna be, little lawyer? We cosying up in the library after this to start getting through this list?” He pinched his brow. “‘Cause if we are, I’m actually gonna need coffee first.”

“What happened to tea, little steam engine?”

With an arch of a brow, he tilted his head. There was almost the ghost of a smile on his face. “I don’t believe in consistency.”

That was how, several hours later, they wound up in a corner of the library building, with their final movie for the day ending on Val’s laptop. She was scribbling down notes while Hobie sat back, still gazing at the screen. He was tapping his large empty latte cup against the edge of the desk.

“You don’t see too many French films nowadays, do you? Not in cinemas, at least. Last I saw of ‘em was probably French class in high school. Skipped most of those,” said Hobie at last.

Val’s voice was light when she said, “They’ve always been a creative and passionate bunch of people. I think they probably care more about quality cinema. Look at the US. I could probably count on one hand the number of actually good movies they’ve made in the last three years. And if the materials for this class demonstrate anything, it’s that the US dominates entertainment and media. Dangerous, and you could say they’re the ones controlling just which films end up in cinemas.” With a satisfied nod, she made another note. “I think that’s at least one key point of discussion. Got anything to add?”

“You know an awful lot about this for just a law student,” Hobie commented.

Val shifted to look at him. The spot they’d chosen wasn’t particularly spacious, and numerous times she had wound up with spikes in her side. Her knee brushed his leg. “Look, I took some politics and international studies classes last year, when I had more elective slots than I knew what to do with. You eventually learn that there are a lot of crossovers between classes like those and all you learn about in law. This isn’t necessarily way out of my field.”

“I always thought there’d be some formal law school or somethin’, but it’s straight from university to the corporate machine, isn’t it?”

“Am I so dead inside already?” Val asked, voice laced with sarcasm.

“Nah, just the opposite, man. You’re too full of life. It’s gotta hurt walking right to death row,” he said earnestly.

Val blinked. It took her a few seconds too long to register the burning heat in her face. She tore her eyes away from his dark and honest gaze, uncomfortable. “That’s weirdly… compassionate of you, I guess.” Clearing her throat, she added, “You know, if you ever got the chance, I’d tell you to study some first-year law courses. You’d be surprised what we learn. Universities might be government funded, but we still critique the powers that be and all that. There’s a lot of nuances.”

“So I’m startin’ to see.” Hobie cocked his head then held out his fist. “I think maybe we got off on the wrong foot, little lawyer.”

Val wrinkled her nose at the name. If he kept that up, it was going to get really old really fast. Still, she bumped her fist with his. Her skin brushed leather gloves and just a touch of warm brown skin. Lord, his hands are huge, she thought. She waved it away before it could veer off course. “Agreed. Can I call you Thomas the Tank Engine though?”

Hobie chuckled before he said a hard, “No.”

“Fair, it’d make you too much of a mouthful.” Val’s eyes widened and she hurriedly began packing up her things, talking fast to distract from what she realised she just said. “So, I think if we’re able to, we should just keep meeting up in the library to work after classes on Fridays.”

“I’ve actually got band practice on Fridays usually. I play gigs in the evenings,” said Hobie. If he had taken what she said the wrong way, he didn’t show it. Thank God.

“Oh, sorry. Did I—?”

“No, no. S’all right. Can you do Tuesdays?”

“Uh, yeah, that works. Oh, wait!” Val whipped out her phone, swiping at the screen. “Socials? We’ll need to be able to communicate and I don’t exactly want to email you about meet up times.”

“No kidding.” He took her phone when she passed it. When he’d finished entering his details, a smile curved at his mouth, making his lip piercing glint. “Skeletons as your background, huh? You sure you’re not a pumpkin spice latte kinda girl?”

“No, I’m just a chocolate kind of girl, hence the mocha.”

That startled a laugh out of Hobie. “Who says ‘hence’ in conversation? You sound like a bloody novel.”

Val crossed her arms. “Who talks about anti-capitalist sentiments and ‘the law’ and government like he’s some walking, talking protest sign?”

A smirk. “I am a protest sign. In fact, I am many things.” His brows rose and he checked a strange looking watch at his wrist. “Shit. What I also am is late.” Hobie slung his backpack over one shoulder and waved goodbye as he dialled someone. “Gwendy? Hey, about…”

He walked out of earshot and Val deflated in her seat, rubbing at her eyes. What is my life?

____________________

Author's note: if you made it this far--thank you for reading! Leave comments and let me know what you think!

[unspokenmusings]

✧ ┆ ( KOFI SIRIBOE, CIS MALE, HOMOSEXUAL, HE/HIM ). Not everyone can say they’ve been to Briar Glen, but KOJO OSEI, a 31-year-old, WEB DESIGNER, has lived in Briar Glen for 10 YEARS. This is the city for development and they know it. Living in this extensive town means you meet all kinds of people, we can’t wait to meet and see how KOJO develops.

B A S I C S 

full name: kojo osei. nicknames: tbd. gender:  cis male. pronouns:  he/him. sexuality:  homosexual. age:  31. date of birth:  june 27, 1993. zodiac sign:  cancer. birthplace: compton, california. current location: briar glen, california. residence:  apartment in briar glen. occupation:  web designer. languages spoken: english, ghanaian pidgin english, akan, conversational spanish.

A P P E A R A N C E

faceclaim:  kofi siriboe. height:  6’2. build:  muscular. eyes:  brown. hair:  dark brown. piercings:  none.  tattoos:  none. style:  street style fashion. 

P E R S O N A L I T Y

traits:  (+) confident, spontaneous, friendly/social, detail-oriented. (-) jealous, sensitive, impulsive, anxious.  mental health:  stable. physical health:  good, average. likes:  sweets, working out, video games, technology, horror movies, amusement parks, smoking marijuana.  dislikes:  arrogance, confrontation, people with no sympathy or empathy for others, cold weather.  fears: the dark.  skills:  roller skating, tech savvy, dancing. quirks:  humming under his breath, bouncing his leg when nervous or anxious.

F A V O R I T E S

ice cream flavour:  chocolate.  time of the day / night:  dusk. weather:  summer weather.  breakfast food:  pancakes, bacon, bagels, danishes.  dinner food:  anything seafood. colours:  black, red, blue.  music: hip-hop/rap, r&b, alternative, indie, neosoul.

M I S C E L A N E O U S

a cherished item:  his parents wedding rings. first love ( celeb crush ):  rider strong (circa boy meets world), the rock. usual mood:  upbeat, happy. 1 thing they want to do / experience before they die:  go on a year long vacation with friends and explore the world. 

B A C K G R O U N D

death tw

he's a first generation ghanaian-american. his parents moved from ghana to the states in the early 90s, and had kojo in 1993. he was their first and only son due to the difficult pregnancy and birth his mother had.

he's always been a social butterfly. there's never been a time in his life where he didn't have a group of friends to lean on or interact with.

when he was fourteen years old, he was orphaned because his parents passed away in a tragic accident. because he didn't have any family in the states, he was placed into foster care until he aged out when he turned eighteen.

losing his parents was a a traumatic experience for him and was the only time in his life where he truly felt alone. he had his friends, but he didn't have his parents. he found himself becoming jealous of his friends that still had their parents in their lives, something that he had to go to therapy in order to get over.

kojo worked hard in school, even more so after his parents passed, and was able to earn a scholarship to college, where he studied graphic design and media studies. he graduated with his degree and immediately landed a job with a start up company that went on to become successful.

[formeryelpers]

Boichik Bagels, 3170 College Ave, Berkeley (North Berkeley), CA 94705

Boichik Bagels are NY water style bagels. The owner missed New York bagels, so she decided to make her own. Boichik bagels start with a cold fermentation process overnight to develop a skin, they’re boiled, and then baked. They’ve received high praise in the New York Times and it’s not unusual to find a long line. The menu is very much classic NY bagel shop inspired.

The Berkeley location is the original and it’s a small one where they make the bagels. You place your order outside (and aren’t allowed inside). They’ll call your name when the order is ready.

Choose from 16 kinds of classic bagels (e.g., salt, pumpernickel, sesame, everything, poppy, bialy, plain, etc.), classic cream cheeses and spreads, fish and salads, veggies that you can add to your bagel, bagel sandwiches, hot coffee, juice, and other beverages. Bagels are $3 each. Every 12th bagel is free.

Sesame bagel with horseradish cheddar scallion cream cheese, cucumbers, red onion: They were generous with the amount of cream cheese but not the amount of cucumber or red onion. The veggies were fresh. The bagel was big and thick. It was soft with a chewy crust  – pretty good! Cream cheese was good though the horseradish flavor was mild and I could not taste scallion.

It’s set up for takeout only. Parking is available in the back.

You can get Boichik Bagels at Berkeley Bowl.

4.5 out of 5 stars

By Lolia S.

[ofhouseadama]

Hi! I wanted to ask your opinion as someone who used to live in New Jersey. I'm thinking of moving my family there. We want to get away because we currently live in a red state with horrific anti-LGBT laws, anti-abortion laws, and shamefully loose gun laws. One of the reasons New Jersey caught my eye as a possibility is that I've heard it has some of the strictest gun laws in the US (which is not saying much, but I'll take what I can get), which sounded very appealing to me. What's your opinion on the state? Is it a good place to raise children? Thank you for any advice or insight you can offer.

I lived in NJ the first twenty-three (ish, with college) years of my life, and have been gone long enough to feel comfortable to say that I lived in Middlesex County in Edison, Woodbridge, and Metuchen.

It's a good place to raise children, if you have money. Having now lived in both the north and the south for substantial amounts of time, I think it's hard for people not from the northeast to conceptualize how fucking expensive it is to live there. There's a reason that every other person you talk to in SC or FL are from NY or NJ -- people can't afford the goddamn property taxes. My wife who is from WV was astonished at how much houses cost, even before factoring in everything else. Seeing a 2-2 go for $500k in my hometown made her want to vomit.

But the money does fund the best public education system in the country. (Cue the joke about NJ's biggest export being college students.) When I graduated high school in 2011, I did so with 33 college credits. I had a genuinely good public school education, especially when compared to what I hear from friends and loved ones who weren't incubated in an ugly McMansion off the Jersey Turnpike.

NJ is also a cultural melting pot. Within 90 minutes of entering the state my body obligates me to order Indian food. Your neighbors are from all different countries and regions of the world. You will hear more languages than you knew existed.

As a child in NJ, I never saw, handled, or shot a gun. There's very little gun culture outside of people who go hunting. That's not to say there's not gun violence -- I was in Menlo Park Mall when this murder-suicide occurred in 2007, ten minutes from my house.

There's also still white supremacy. The Klan actively recruits in areas of South Jersey, was openly recruiting when I was in high school. NJ still has active sundown towns. I'd recommend staying closer to Philly or NYC, if the reason you're moving is to flee a red state with restrictive LGBTQIA and abortion laws. The western part of the state is a lot of rural communities and a lot of farm land and a lot of Trump country.

As with moving anywhere, I'd recommend researching where you're moving to very thoroughly.

It's going to be a big culture shock, especially if you're moving from a state that sees small talk as a requisite for politeness. The traffic will be terrible. All the roads have tolls, you have to buy an EZ Pass. Practice your bagel order before you get to the counter. The biggest sin is wasting someone's time.

I love SC, and want to stay and fight for the town where we currently live, which is about to host it's third annual Pride festival. The schools suck, but my wife and I are never going to agree on a working definition of a "good" school because our experiences with public education are wildly disparate. But I can sympathize with you deeply -- I have a trans son, and every time we reach a new election cycle I wince and wonder if my marriage will be undone for political scorekeeping. I don't understand the love affair with guns. I doubt I ever will. But it's worth fighting for, and right now the cost of staying in the fight isn't too high -- there are people we love in SC who are also staying to roll up their sleeves and refusing to budge.

For now.

But NJ is my home. If I could afford to live there, I would move back in a heartbeat.

[shadowfromthestarlight]

So many people are still talking about wanting to change their lives and I’m wondering whether I even need to. My life is pretty awesome. I’ve never lost a loved one suddenly or unexpectedly. I didn’t even lose a grandparent until I was 17. I’ve never been hospitalized. I’m in good physical shape with no major medical conditions. I’ve never been uncertain that I’d have my next meal or a roof over my head. I’ve never been unable to buy food or clothing or necessary supplies. I’ve never had a huge family issue with family members hating or not speaking to each other. I count my parents, my sister, my grandma, and my cousins among my best friends. I’ve never been hugely betrayed or cheated on or abused. I’ve never been a crime victim. I graduated from college and have an advanced degree. 

I’ve been to over 30 countries, over 30 U.S. states, and 27 U.S. national parks. I’ve been to some of the most recognizable cities in the world, including Sydney, Tokyo, Beijing, Singapore, Paris, Rome, Prague, New York, Chicago, Seattle, Las Vegas, Shanghai, Hong Kong, Dubai, Madrid, Miami, Philadelphia, Washington D.C., Venice, and Athens. I’ve watched the sunset from New Caledonia and Aruba and the middle of the Mediterranean. I’ve ziplined through the Costa Rican rainforest. I’ve walked over the border from Thailand to Myanmar. I’ve taken road trips in Europe where I’ve been to 4 countries in one day. I’ve hiked in Patagonia. I’ve dodged traffic in Hanoi. I’ve seen the sunrise over Ankar Wat. I’ve ice skated in the biggest mall in the world on my birthday. I’ve watched New Year’s fireworks in Brisbane, Queensland and Cusco, Peru. I’ve stopped for lunch in Lake Como. I’ve stood on the Great Wall of China. I’ve ridden a train through the Candian Rockies. I’ve been to the place I consider the world’s most beautiful - Glacier Point, Yosemite - 4 times. My family owns property in Florida and the Hamptons so I have a beach getaway about 10 times a year. 

I have an apartment with my own washing machine and dishwasher. I have a job I can work remotely whenever I’m sick or otherwise need to be away from the office. I have coworkers I actually look forward to seeing. I have a cat who loves me. I live about 30 seconds away from a bakery, ice cream shop, Mexican restaurant, pizzeria, and bagel shop, and within walking distance of three grocery stores. It takes me about 4 minutes from my door to the train platform to get to work. I say this just to point out that my day-to-day life is almost absurdly easy. 

Some people would look at my life and think there are still things missing from it; I don’t have my own house, I don’t have kids, I’m not married, I have very few friends who aren’t from work or family, I don’t have my own car, I don’t make six figures, I’m still just an “associate” without a prestigious job title or ranking within my firm. But I still have a lot that most people don’t. I need to remind myself of that at times, because sometimes I even feel unsatisfied. I never feel like I’ve learned enough; I’ve never read enough books or watched enough movies or practiced enough hobbies to please myself. I often feel happy doing activities alone, but sometimes I wish I had a close friend my own age to hang out with just once a week or so to make things more interesting. I live somewhere convenient, but there are trade-offs; it’s loud, there are too many lights obscuring the sky at night, it’s crowded, it’s not where I want to be forever. I haven’t even figured out whether I’m serious about doing some of the things I say I want to do; move to the West Coast, open my own law office or other business, conduct research and write articles, buy my own house where I can have chickens and a root cellar, climb mountains. Maybe I’m just too complacent a person deep down? I fear that. I’ve found that a decent life can be a trap; if things are good enough, you can start to genuinely wonder if it’s worth it to work any harder or take any more risks to make them better. Let this be a reminder that nobody’s perfect, I guess; I have a lot that’s enviable but I still don’t have all the answers.

[cloudy-babe]

i’ve grown so fond of this place that i have to leave. four years and now, i will never live here again. they don’t tell you that part when you go to college. you’ll learn all the of the secret places and the shortcuts through town just to never go through them again. you’ll visit, of course. but you won’t live there.

i’ve grown fond of the barista at the local coffee shop i visit every tuesday and wednesday morning. i’ve grown fond of the man who replaces our cleaning products and rugs every monday morning at work. i’ve grown fond of the aching in my calves on my daily walk up the hills to class. i’ve grown fond of my table in the library.

after may, i’ll never see these people and do these things again and i don’t know if i will ever recover. i will never do my morning routine, see the ducks at the park, or bake bread with my coworkers. i will never feed the fish, drink a mocha with a bagel, or make a bloody mary.

i’ve grown fond of busy mornings at work. i’ve grown fond of spending hours in the practice rooms, playing and singing and learning. i’ve grown so fond of just existing in this town that i will never see again.

[best-in-rise-berkeley]

Rise at Berkeley in Berkeley, CA

The Rise at Berkeley is a famous apartment for students in Berkeley, CA. In other words, college students no longer need to worry about searching for the best apartment home. There’s an awesome option, after all. Since they have notable UC Berkeley apartments for students there, it’s easier to fast track your search. Again, think about the benefits of staying at the Rise at Berkeley. The said place has awesome amenities. When it comes to their modern floor plan, you will have an exciting choice. After all, it is a fully-furnished double occupancy unit with twin XL beds and desks. In addition, the design is perfect for students who want to have extra space for sleep-overs.

Berkeley, CA

These days, there are several options when it comes to pre-scheduled events in Berkeley, CA. To have some choices, it is essential to check out social media and events websites to find the best events. As such, you can check out Eventbrite. By means of their famous travel portal, you can see that there will be Why It's Not Too Late event this coming Thursday, March 21, 2024, at around 6:00 PM at Brower Center. Second, the Bay Area Seed Swap is scheduled on Friday, March 22, 2024, at around 6:00 PM at Ecology Center. Lastly, you can also opt to attend the Will AI Be Humanity’s Last Act? event on Thursday, March 28, 2024, at around 6:30 PM at Berkeley Art Museum and Pacific Film Archive.

McLaughlin Eastshore State Seashore in Berkeley, CA

Are you familiar with any tourist attraction in Berkeley, CA? Maybe, you are planning to visit well-known sites soon. For example, you can have a day tour at McLaughlin Eastshore State Seashore. Well, McLaughlin Eastshore State Park is a state park and wildlife refuge along the San Francisco Bay shoreline of the East Bay between the cities of Richmond, Albany, Berkeley, Emeryville, and Oakland. Aside from that, it encompasses remnant natural wetlands, restored wetlands, as well as landfill west of the Eastshore Freeway. Lastly, its shoreline is 8.5 miles long, and its total area is 1,854 acres that includes both tidelands and uplands.

Berkeley bagel matriarch preps expansion into downtown San Francisco

There are many thought-provoking and inspiring news reports in Berkeley, CA that you should know these days. In a recent news article, the topic was about Berkeley bagel matriarch. Reportedly, the hottest thing in the world of bagels is about to land in San Francisco. Well, apparently, Berkeley's Boichik Bagels, founded by a UC grad, has become internationally known for its authentic New York style quality. On this International Women's Day, KPIX caught up with Emily Winston, matriarch of the new bagel empire. Winston explained of the process stating, "The dough is coming up.” She added: "It's been formed into this kind of rectangular log.”

Link to maps

McLaughlin Eastshore State Seashore Berkeley, CA 94720, United States Head south on W Frontage Rd toward University Ave May be closed at certain times or days 10 ft Turn left at the 1st cross street onto University Ave 1.8 mi Turn right onto Martin Luther King Jr Way 0.1 mi Turn left onto Center St 0.3 mi Turn left onto Kala Bagai Wy Destination will be on the right 0.1 mi Rise at Berkeley 2025 Kala Bagai Wy, Berkeley, CA 94704, United States

[cool-in-winterpark-fl]

Winter Park, FL, Is A Charming City

Winter Park, Florida, is a charming city near Orlando's theme parks. It was founded in 1887 to escape cold weather and has become a year-round destination. The city covers an area of 10 square miles and offers Michelin-recognized restaurants, locally owned shops, lakes with boat tours, and grassy areas for kids to play and fly kites. Winter Park has a rich history and is a must-visit destination for the residents of Orlando. Park Avenue is a popular destination in downtown Winter Park, with many stand-out restaurants and local boutiques. Just off Park Avenue is Rollins, a small liberal arts college contributing to the town's cultural activities. The waterfront connects six lakes and is a short walk from downtown. Winter Park is an excellent place for anyone looking for a break from the crowds in Orlando.

Apartments for rent in Orlando

If you are searching for a beautiful home for your family, look no further than the apartments for rent in Orlando. The best choice is the Winter Park at Westmount. This resort-inspired apartment community offers a peaceful atmosphere surrounded by nature and modern conveniences because of the excellent amenities. You can enjoy a relaxed lifestyle and immerse yourself in the tranquility of nature without compromising the comforts of contemporary living. Westmount at Winter Park is found on a serene lake, providing breathtaking views and a peaceful ambiance. Westmount at Winter Park is located in a highly desirable neighborhood with numerous options for shopping, dining, and entertainment, all within easy reach. You are close to everything, from Winter Park Village and Rollins College to Disney World. Call (407) 378-1810 for more details. 

Harry P. Leu Gardens

Harry P. Leu Gardens, located near Winter Park, FL, is a 50-acre botanical garden showcasing a diverse array of plants and flowers worldwide. Visitors to the Harry P. Leu Gardens can explore the Rose Garden, Butterfly Garden, Herb Garden, and other special gardens, as well as historical buildings like the Leu House, Orange Packing House, and Rose Garden Gazebo. The gardens offer guided tours and educational programs for all ages, including school field trips, adult workshops, and family events. They also provide a peaceful atmosphere for visitors to relax and enjoy nature, history, and relaxation. Harry P. Leu Gardens is a great place for people of all ages and interests to enjoy nature, learn about history, and relax in peace and quiet.

Top Steakhouses in Winter Park to go

The three top-notch steakhouses in Winter Park, Florida, are Outback Steakhouse, an Australian-themed restaurant chain that offers a diverse menu with lunch specials like Blooming Onion and Caramel Mustard Glazed Pork Chops. Fleming's Prime Steakhouse & Wine Bar is renowned for its exceptional service, warm ambiance, and delicious steaks. The staff, particularly Michael and Jason, go above and beyond to ensure a memorable dining experience. Ruth's Chris Steak House in Winter Park offers warm hospitality, a comfortable ambiance, and meticulously crafted dishes, including their signature Ribeye Steak and stuffed chicken breast. The restaurant also offers a satisfying happy hour with affordable options. 

Link to maps

Harry P Leu Gardens 1920 N Forest Ave, Orlando, FL 32803, United States Head west on Nebraska St toward N Hampton Ave 0.6 mi Turn right onto N Mills Ave 1.1 mi Continue onto S Orlando Ave Pass by Einstein Bros. Bagels (on the right in 0.3 mi) 1.6 mi Turn left onto Lee Rd/U.S 17 Truck/U.S 92 Truck 0.4 mi Turn right Destination will be on the left 157 ft Westmount at Winter Park 1701 Lee Rd, Winter Park, FL 32789, United States

[swagpaperuniversitymoney]

http://dlvr.it/Sq0L3y