#once I find my damn Apple Pencil I’ll draw this

[lulushishii]

If anyone hasn’t seen the SBS where Oda answered what jobs the straw hats would be if they weren’t pirates or in the real world, and you’ve somehow come across this post, lemme just say that FROBIN IS REAL, ZOLU IS REAL!! I mean, look at the parallels! It’s so cute

[artificialqueens]

Gigi Has an Intelligence Kink (Crystal x Gigi) - A-tresia

Life gets a little bit more interesting when Crystal fully embraces the fact that Gigi has a thing for her brain.

In the same universe as Slow Hands. But you don’t need to read it to get this.

The first time it happens, Crystal thinks it’s just Gigi rewarding her for a job well done.

Crystal is obsessively refreshing her Twitter feed, waiting for an announcement that the MCAT scores have been released.

Refresh.

Nothing.

Refresh.

Still nothing.

Refresh.

“Crys.”

“Hmm? What?”

Gigi gently takes her phone off her fidgety hands. “Just turn your notifications on, hun,” she says, doing it herself.

“But –“

“I know. It’s been a month and they’re scheduled to release today,” she repeats what Crystal has been telling her for the better part of the day.

“It’s been a month and they’re scheduled to release today,” Crystal sighs.

Gigi pulls her in closer and sets her phone under their pillow. “Now, try to concentrate on this instead,” she suggests, motioning to the laptop where an episode of Gigi’s new favorite TV show has been paused. Crystal nods in agreement, hits the space bar, and snuggles in closer.

It takes another episode and a half for Crystal’s phone to vibrate, making them both sit up quickly. If Gigi’s being completely honest, she’s just as nervous as Crystal. And she didn’t take the damn test. But she makes the conscious effort to be the calm one here. One of them has to. And it surely won’t be Crystal.

Gigi hits the space bar to pause the show while Crystal gets up from bed to pace while she loads her account. She watches Crystal, jaw slack in apparent shock, stare at her phone before she gets up on her knees to take a look herself. The torture is killing her. She pulls on Crystal’s shirt to maneuver her closer to the bed so she can peek to see.

521.

“Is that good?” Gigi asks.

Crystal hands over her phone to Gigi, still in quite a bit of shock.

“Crys, is this a good score?” Gigi asks again before looking through the lines and numbers on the screen.

Crystal points to the bottom of the screen. “I would hope so because a perfect score is a 528 and this score is in the 99th percentile.”

When she realizes what this means, Gigi drops the phone on the bed to jump on Crystal who stumbles backward, barely catching her. “Your brain, it’s amazing. I’m so proud of you,” she says in between dropping loud wet kisses all over Crystal’s smiling face. “It’s enough for your dream school, right? With your GPA?”

“More than enough, I hope,” Crystal says.

“Is Crystal happy?” Gigi brushes a thumb over the apple of Crystal’s cheek.

“Crystal is still in shock but Crystal is very, very happy.” The pride in her voice makes Gigi’s heart swell.

Gigi takes Crystal’s face in her hands to give her a proper kiss on the mouth — slow and wet and full of tongue and obviously leading to something else.

“Okay, med school talk later.” She slowly slides off Crystal, gently planting her feet onto the floor. She walks them back to the bed, pulling Crystal down with her when the back of her knees hit the edge. “I think you deserve a treat,” she says reaching up underneath Crystal’s shirt.

“I’m not a dog, Gee,” Crystal laughs.

“Shut up, don’t ruin the moment.”

The next time it happens, Crystal thinks it’s just Gigi being her usual clingy self.

She’s on the floor, as usual, three videos deep into her cadaver dissection videos, her anatomy atlas splayed open on her lap, and drowning in paper and pens and colored pencils. She’s struggling to draw and take notes and memorize all at the same time. Maybe, she thinks, she’s bitten off more than she could chew.

Crystal’s muttering anatomic structures under her breath when she hears Gigi whine her name from behind her. If she wasn’t busy, she’d drop everything she was doing to attend to that very needy whine. But she’s too busy, too tired to even think about doing anything other than studying. She doesn’t even have time to sleep. So she ignores it.

“Crystal,” Gigi calls out again. It’s longer. And breathier. And needier.

Crystal turns to look at Gigi, comfortably nestled on the other end of the couch, making grabby hands at her.

“Sorry, babe,” she says before turning back to her work. Her tone is regretful. The smile on her face is tired. But the feeling at the pit of her stomach is telling her to just go for it. It’s Gigi. And she can’t ever say no to Gigi.

“I don’t want to have to deal with things on my own,” Gigi huffs.

“You know what to do with your hands.” She continues this conversation without looking up from her drawings.

Honestly, she doesn’t know why Gigi is even here in the first place. She knows it’s a busy night. She could be home catching up on sleep or hanging out with her friends. But she’s here. Doing what?

“Crystal.”

“Can I make it up to you tomorrow? Please?” She really doesn’t have the patience for this right now. She looks at the time on her phone, it reads 11:27 PM. “Look, I have less than 12 hours until this test and then I promise I’m all yours. I’ll come straight home after. I don’t mind if you do it right there on the couch if you really have to.” Gigi pouts at her so she reaches for Gigi’s hand to kiss her fingers. “Sorry, really. I am.”

She turns back to her notes before Gigi can make a face that she can’t resist. Suddenly, the dwindling time until her test gives her tunnel vision. Nothing else occupies her mind but this, Gigi’s whining is long forgotten.

Crystal doesn’t know what she expects Gigi to do while she studies. Scroll through her socials? Watch a movie? Online shop?

She doesn’t know what to expect.

But she didn’t think it would be this.

Not Crystal being pulled out of focus by the sound of Gigi’s moaning.

And that moan sounds like she just finished.

Crystal slowly turns her head towards Gigi, looking at her with narrowed eyes in disbelief. When she said she didn’t mind, she didn’t think Gigi would actually do it. “Gigi motherfucking Goode, did you just –“

Gigi looks at her smugly, raises a brow at her as she wipes her fingers on her shorts. “Yes. Yes, I did. You said you didn’t mind.”

“Really, Gee? Did the cadaver video do it for you?”

Gigi scrunches her nose at Crystal. “No, that’s gross. It was you studying and being smart.”

“What?” Crystal chuckles.

“It’s hot, okay? You’re hot. It makes me feel things.”

“What?”

“When you’re being your normal smart self – it’s a turn on, okay?”

“What?”

“Shut up!”

It happens again on Gigi’s birthday and Crystal thinks Gigi is losing her mind when she directs Crystal’s hands to her pussy and asks to be fingered while telling her about the cardiac cycle she was studying earlier today. Crystal thinks this request could have quickly pulled her out of the mood but oddly enough – with her whispering in Gigi’s ear, with her fingers inside Gigi, and with Gigi writhing and moaning and babbling against her – she finds that it makes her feel things too.

Life gets a little bit more interesting when Crystal fully embraces the fact that Gigi has a thing for her brain. Once in a while, when they’re bored of just moaning and groaning and panting their way through having sex, Crystal would look at Gigi – hair fanned out on the pillow, red in the face, chest heaving and sweaty – and lean closer to her ear and indulge Gigi in her ridiculous idea of dirty talk. She’d count the number of ATPs produced in the citric acid cycle, explain to her the mechanisms of action of cephalosporins, run down the cardinal movements of labor, practice on her techniques for a thorough physical examination.

When she passes major exams. When she aces her boards. When she graduates medical school with high honors. When she gets accepted to the surgical residency program of her dreams. Gigi is there – willing and ready and able to reward her, generously, for a job well done. Going as far as buying a new strap, saved and used only for occasions like these.

Crystal is in the middle of her orthopedic surgery residency training and there’s barely any time left for alone time. So Gigi takes what she can get. Even if it’s just a night out for drinks at the bar a couple of blocks away from the hospital with Crystal’s other doctor friends.

She listens to Crystal and her friends (Jackie, a urology resident, and Widow, an anesthesiology resident) exchange stories from their day in the operating room. Gigi is perfectly fine absorbing the excited energy they all seem to have; perfectly fine holding Crystal’s hand under the table; perfectly fine being close. She doesn’t mind that they go into graphic detail; doesn’t mind that they use medical jargon; doesn’t mind that they seem to have forgotten that they have a non-medical person in the group; doesn’t mind that all she is there is present.

When Jackie and Widow get up to get the next round of drinks, Gigi slips a hand up and in between Crystal’s thighs. Crystal catches her wrist before she can go further. “What are you doing?”

“I’m just playing,” she shrugs.

“I know. I meant, why?”

Gigi shrugs again. “You know shoptalk gets to me.”

Crystal knows but she still raises a brow at her. “That wasn’t too graphic for you?”

Instead of answering, Gigi takes Crystal’s hand and positions it underneath her skirt, letting Crystal trail her fingers upward, toward the seam of her underwear. Crystal’s fingers brush over a particularly damp spot. “Already?” Gigi nods like it’s nothing out of the ordinary. And Crystal thinks it really isn’t, at least for Gigi.

“I bet you are too.” And Gigi’s right; she’s always right.

Crystal looks up to see her friends walking back to the table so she signals that they’re going to the toilet. Jackie nods at her so she pulls Gigi up onto her feet and towards the back. It’s a one-person toilet and Crystal wants to thank all the gods looking down at her that it’s empty.

The door is barely locked when Gigi pushes Crystal against the wall and connects their lips and bodies together in a movement that’s demanding and hungry and contagious – hands tangling in hair, lips and tongues desperate to connect with the other, bodies arching and pressing.

“Listening to a story about me pounding at metal and bones got you this hot?” Crystal asks when she pulls away for a breath.

“I want you to pound me instead,” Gigi says, latching her lips onto Crystal’s neck and worming her hand into Crystal’s pants. Crystal moans and drops her head onto Gigi’s shoulder when she feels Gigi slip a finger into her. “But you can do that later.”

Gigi’s thankful Crystal isn’t wearing jeans; her slacks are loose enough for her hand to move freely. She slips another finger in and angles her hand so Crystal can grind against the heel of her palm while she pumps in. And out.

And in.

And out.

Faster.

And harder.

She nips at Crystal’s earlobe. “I expect a good pounding at home.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Crystal pants, head now resting against the wall, eyes now glazed over, breath now ragged, hips now following the pace that Gigi has set – slow enough that it builds, fast enough that it’s not frustrating.

Gigi concentrates on pumping and rubbing and kissing and licking and biting and making Crystal hum and moan and whimper. She feels Crystal’s body tense against her, feels Crystal getting wetter, feels her fingers slipping easier. Her muscles are strained but she speeds up the movement of her hand and Crystal speeds up the movement of her hips against Gigi’s palm.

“That’s it,” Gigi encourages as Crystal squeezes her closer and tighter, gasping and shaking as she comes. Gigi keeps a slower, gentler pace, shifting so she can rub her thumb against Crystal’s clit to drag out her orgasm.

She pulls Crystal in for a languid kiss as she waits for Crystal to stop trembling. When she does – it takes a little longer than a moment – Gigi pulls her hand out of Crystal’s pants and holds it up. Her hand is glistening in the low light, covered in Crystal’s slick. Crystal looks up in time to see Gigi lick her fingers, sucking them into her mouth with a sound so needy, Crystal is sure she needs to take care of it. Right now.

“Home time?” Gigi suggests as she straightens up Crystal’s pants.

Crystal manages to shake the clouds away. “There’ll be more later but I think I can get one out of you now,” she says, turning Gigi towards the sink and bending her over with a hand between her shoulder blades. Crystal leans over her to keep her bent, makes sure she’s braced herself on the sink, and slides a hand down the length of Gigi’s back to the curve of her ass, slowly lifting her skirt to expose her now soaking panties. “Missed you this week,” she says, dropping a kiss on Gigi’s jaw while she lets her fingers slip underneath the wet fabric.

Gigi wants to say she missed her too; wants to say she’s happy to have her at home for the next two days; wants to say they should just leave their friends so they can continue this at home. But Crystal is already on her knees behind her, not caring if the floor is dirty; already moving her underwear aside – one Gigi isn’t sure why she even wore in the first place; already burying her face into the heat between Gigi’s legs.

She puts both hands on Gigi’s ass to grope and fondle and squeeze and spread while she licks and nips and sucks at her folds. She feels Gigi squirm; arching and pressing back into her mouth, encouraging her to do a little more. A lot more. All of this is exciting and overwhelming and extremely naughty – a far cry from the white coat wearing, scalpel yielding, professional front Crystal puts on just two blocks away.

Crystal keeps her mouth on her clit as she presses two fingers into Gigi and lets her control the pace, lets her rock back and forth to chase her own pleasure. She feels Gigi contract around her fingers and she thinks it’s time to change things up.

Yes, Crystal thinks to herself, the bathroom of a bar you’re a regular at is the best place to change things up.

She licks long and hard from her clit to her hole, around her fingers, up her perineum, and over her asshole – something she thinks Gigi doesn’t know that she knows Gigi secretly likes. Crystal feels her freeze for a split second before reaching behind her to grab Crystal’s head to keep her in place.

“Fuck, Crystal,” she pants.

Gigi’s rhythmic movement is now jerkier and erratic and Crystal knows she’s close. Very close. Crystal continues to lick and pump and rub while Gigi continues to moan and rock and chase. She hangs her head between her arms and whines and pants and shakes as she comes.

Crystal gets up and leans over Gigi’s body, fingers still pumping inside – prolonging and intensifying. She’s wrapping her free arm around Gigi’s torso, nuzzling her nose into her hair to kiss the back of her neck when she feels her mewl and tremble and shudder into another one – unexpected but highly welcome.

“Love you,” she whispers into her ear.

Gigi turns her head to Crystal – her eyes are glassy, her forehead is sweaty, her cheeks are flushed. “Love you too,” she whispers back before catching her lips for a kiss.

They take their time straightening up; not worried about a line possibly forming outside, not worried that they’ve been gone from their friends for too long.

When they make their way back to the table, she sees Widow look at them with a knowing smirk. And Crystal can’t find it in herself to make up an excuse – there’s no excuse for being gone that long and they’re all adults here anyway. So they gather their things, say their goodbyes and see you laters, and rush home to give Gigi what she promised.

When Crystal graduates from residency, of course, she bags the outstanding resident award and the best scientific paper. All on top of being chief resident in her final year. Because of course, Crystal doesn’t do anything half-assed. Gigi decides, when they’re both stripped off their gowns and heels from Crystal’s hospital graduation dinner, that it’s an important enough occasion to use their special toy – there’s really nothing special or different about that strap; Gigi just uses it particularly on days when she wants to celebrate Crystal. It’s Gigi’s turn to prove that nothing in this house is done half-assed.

Gigi gives Crystal one final lick before trailing up her torso with wet open-mouthed kisses, lingering momentarily on her breasts, taking a nipple in her mouth – licking and biting and sucking. She drops herself onto Crystal’s side, hooking her legs over Crystal’s, and kisses her way up her neck, across her jaw, skipping her lips, and bumps their noses together, “Congratulations, baby.”

Crystal reaches up to cup her cheek and pulls her in for a kiss, tasting herself on Gigi’s lips. “You know I couldn’t have done all of this without you, right?”

“Nope, all you,” she says, nuzzling her cheek against Crystal’s palm before taking Crystal’s hand in hers and kissing the rings on Crystal’s finger – the rings she only usually wears around her neck when she’s at work are now on her left ring finger, where they’re supposed to be. “This is all you. I was just there. I’m just here.”

Gigi gets up to step into the leather harness – fastening the straps and adjusting the cock, all while watching Crystal rub at her clit, flicking back and forth lazily. There’s a satisfied smile on Crystal’s face that Gigi wants to keep there forever. She leans over Crystal, peppering her face with kisses, whispering how immensely proud she is of her, how she loves her dearly, how lucky she is to have her. She braces her arms on the bed, resting the length of the cock against Crystal’s wetness, just content with being skin to skin.

“What’s taking so long?” Crystal whines, breaking the little tender bubble Gigi created.

Gigi chuckles at Crystal’s impatience and decides, yes, okay, tonight is about her. She sits back on her heels and realigns her cock, settling the tip at Crystal’s entrance. With steady pressure, she presses inside; one hand guiding the dildo, the other stroking gently over Crystal’s clit. She stretches over Crystal, letting her weight rest on her when she’s buried deep inside. She pulls back a little and gently slides back in, hooking Crystal’s leg over her hip as she goes. Gigi keeps a slow rhythmic pace, hoping to stretch this out the whole evening.

Sure, the slow thrusts are good. Satisfying, even. But Crystal knows she could take more. And she knows Gigi could give more.

So.

Much.

More.

“This feels lovely and all but I need you to fuck me.”

Gigi thinks for a beat and reminds herself again that what Crystal wants, Crystal gets. At least tonight.

And Crystal will get all her favorite things.

“Up,” she instructs as she pulls out.

“What?” Crystal is confused at the sudden emptiness.

She pulls Crystal up from the bed and pushes her on her knees on the floor. Understanding dawns on Crystal’s face as Gigi steps forward, gripping the base of the cock – still wet with Crystal’s slick, guiding it towards Crystal’s mouth.

“I want to see you take it all.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Crystal murmurs, her eyes locked onto Gigi’s as she takes the dildo inside her mouth, slowly working her tongue along its length. Gigi groans at the sight of Crystal taking a silicone cock all the way to the back of her throat without gagging. She remembers asking Crystal why she likes doing that. All she got was a vague answer about liking the force. Whatever that means.

Crystal makes a show of licking and sucking and deep-throating. The way the harness rubs against her is not enough to tip her over the edge but it’s there and looking at Crystal taking it all oddly makes Gigi feel like this appendage is hers.

Gigi groans a she watches Cyrstal swallow the full length of her cock. “God, baby. That’s so fucking hot.” Crystal responds by making sure she’s tugging at the base harder so whatever part of it that’s brushing against Gigi is hitting her right. She grits her teeth and buries her hands into Crystal’s hair as Crystal slips a thumb beneath the harness to press on Gigi’s swollen clit.

“You’re going to make me come,” Gigi breathes out.

And she does.

Her body really doesn’t give her a choice.

When Crystal presses particularly hard on her clit, her thighs tremble and she thrusts forward and tightens her grip on Crystal’s hair.

And Crystal is quick to grab onto Gigi’s ass, clutching and pulling, keeping her there – nose pressed against Gigi’s pubic bone – as she rides it out.

Gigi pulls back quickly, aware that she’s cutting off Crystal’s air supply. She looks down to see Crystal reluctantly let go of her cock with an exaggerated slurp, looking up at Gigi with needy eyes and pouty lips, blinking away involuntary tears.

She helps Crystal to her feet and kisses her senseless, not minding that saliva has dribbled down Crystal’s chin.  Crystal grips Gigi’s side for balance as Gigi walks her backward against a wall.

Crystal is startled out of her daze when Gigi grips her waist and turns her around, effectively disconnecting their lips and pushing her flat against the wall. She looks over her shoulder to see Gigi squat, suddenly she’s very aware of the very aroused state of her pussy.

“Always so wet for me,” Gigi says, running a finger over Crystal’s lips. Crystal bites on her lower lip as she resists the urge to quote WAP lyrics and for good reason – Gigi hates that song. She, on the other hand, secretly loves it – the OR nurses may or may not have caught her attempting to do the dance in the dressing room.

Gigi spreads her lips apart, a moan stuck in her throat when a string of clear juice dribbles down her finger and onto the floor.

“Crystal, you fucking just dripped on the floor. Jesus fucking – “

Crystal shakes her ass in Gigi’s face. “Please, fuck me. Please.”

And Gigi gives her what she wants. Gigi gets up and slides the full length of her cock easily inside Crystal in one quick fluid motion. She’s rewarded with a deep moan and expletives begging for more.

Crystal’s pussy clamps down on the dildo when Gigi moves to give her a short quick thrust. “Yes, more, like that.” She isn’t sure where this savage need to fuck Crystal like this is coming from but she decides to embrace it. So she grips Crystal’s hips tighter and slams hard repeatedly, making them both grunt. She would have been worried that she’s being too rough if Crystal hadn’t instantly pushed back against her with a very enthusiastic, “Fuck, yes!”

It’s a pace they’re both surprised they both can keep up with. And they’re both determined to keep going. The jumbled words and incomprehensible sounds coming from Crystal’s mouth spurs Gigi on – orgasm after orgasm stealing her words from her.

Gigi is getting frustrated trying to chase an orgasm of her own. With a yelp from Crystal, she pulls completely away and flips Crystal around so her back is against the wall. She hikes a leg up, hooking it over Gigi’s hip. Crystal reaches between them to guide the cock back into her pussy and encourages Gigi to keep on pounding into her. She coos in Gigi’s ear, her hands groping Gigi’s breasts, her lips busy kissing Gigi’s face and neck. Soon, their sounds turn into whimpers and pants and sharp moans as they both race towards another orgasm.

Gigi gropes Crystal’s ass hard and leans to bury her face in Crystal’s neck as a strangled moan works its way from her throat. She thrusts one last hard thrust up into Crystal before she comes. Hard. Leaving them both trembling against the wall.

Gigi shifts to help Crystal regain solid footing, letting the cock slip wetly out of her, scattering kisses over her neck and shoulders.

“God damn,” Crystal breathes out.

“That was intense,” Gigi muses, holding on to Crystal tightly, still leaning themselves against the wall.

Crystal with her vision still cloudy and marked by black spots, pushes herself upright and pushes Gigi back into bed, and crawls over her. “No more for me,” she says trailing a series of wet kisses down Gigi’s body. “Your turn now.”

Crystal takes her time – So. Much. Time. – to let Gigi know how she’s wrong. How she wasn’t just there. How she isn’t just here. How the past almost ten years with school and training was because of her, for her, and with her.

[feverinfeveroutfic]

chapter fifteen: nightshade, hemlock, mistletoe, and oleanders

"you raise up your head and you ask, 'is this where it is?' and somebody points to you and says, 'it's his', and you say, 'what's mine?' and somebody else says, 'well, what is?' and you say, 'oh my god, am I here all alone?' but something is happening and you don't know what it is, do you, mr. jones?" -"ballad of a thin man", bob dylan

At some point, during Sam's absence, Scott had spoke with Charlie over the phone over the course of a few days. Apparently, the marriage was on its last legs while neither of them paid any attention whatsoever. It all happened in one fell swoop and without a shred of remorse to boot: he was asked to leave and move somewhere else in Queens. Scott ran his finger over the rim of his water glass and propped up the side of his head in the palm of his hand. Every so often, he took a glimpse up towards the front door of the restaurant: near there was a nook in the wall in which the maitre d' suggested they keep their instruments safe at.

“How you feeling in the meantime?” Belinda kindly asked him.

“Like I'm ready to just—faint,” he confessed. “I thought Marge was it for me. Like there was no one else for me in the world.” He sighed through his nose and Belinda reached over for a pat on his shoulder. He showed her a friendly little smile, albeit a sad one.

Sam and Joey sat right across from the two of them there at the table. She glanced over at him and he raised his eyebrows at her.

“I'm sorry I hit you,” she told him, to which he shook his head.

“It's okay—if anything, I deserved both of those,” he assured her. “I've had far worse injuries, too, playing hockey and whatnot. I'd get hit with pucks and smacked with sticks—you don't walk away from a hockey rink to be a full time musician and not have problems with your teeth.” He showed her another lopsided little smile and she returned the favor. “So you're down—where?”

“Santa Catalina Island. Twenty two miles off the coast. But then again, I still have a place in New York City. You know, the apartment in Hell's Kitchen.”

“It's an island, though,” Joey pointed out. “An island, Sam! You're currently based off of an island.” He then bowed his head and cocked his mouth to the side. “Not to brag or anything,” he started again, that time in a false pompous accent, “but due to the amount of wealth I've gotten, I can buy an island at no rhyme or reason at 'tall!”

She burst out laughing at that, and she had forgotten that Scott and Belinda were still right there across from them. She turned to them right as he fetched up a sigh and looked away from them, and thus she stopped right in her tracks. Sam returned to Joey as a result: he ran his fingers through his inky black curls and he tilted his head back a bit so as to show off a bit of his throat and his Adam's apple. Not as prominent or sharp as Alex's, but still one for her to look at for a little more than a few seconds.

He then gave his hair a little toss and he turned his head to the side, and he showed her his side profile. She had left her journal back on Catalina, but at least she knew she was headed back there soon enough.

“You know what I feel like doin'?” he asked her.

“What's that?”

He glanced over at the far side of the restaurant, past the front room and to the doors next to that big front bay window.

“You have to use the bathroom?” she asked him, and he returned to her with a smirk on his face. “Oh, no, Joey.”

“What? Why not?”

“I'm not going into the men's room with you.”

“I never said we were goin' into the men's room,” he pointed out, “but I do wanna—” He gestured to her body and he showed her that smirk once again.

“Well, we can't really do it in this place, though.”

“We can go outside,” he suggested.

“It'd be cold, though.”

“Nonsense. If it's cold, it gets the girls nice and pointy and it gets the channel below the equator nice and damp, too.”

“Here's a challenge for you,” she started with a raise of her finger.

“Okay. I'm up for a challenge. I'm an athlete, thus I'm always up for a challenge.”

“You go over to that woman whom you've just met and break it off with her 'cause I'm bored.”

He raised his eyebrows at her.

“Joey, if you really feel things with me, I want you to prove it.”

He never moved or said anything.

“I want you to prove it and that I'm not just another fuck toy to you,” she continued.

Without any moment's hesitation, he clasped his hands on either side of her face and kissed her right on the lips. Those soft dark lips as smooth as molten chocolate. Right in front of everyone. Right in front of Scott and Belinda.

“Jesus, Joe,” he remarked with a chuckle.

“Yeah, Sam!” she declared to which she clapped her hands. Sam brought her hands down to his slender knees as they lingered close to her own. She was so close to the space between his thighs, so close to his belt, such that she could let her fingers find their way there.

But she kept her fingers upon those delicate knobby knees, right upon that snug rich black denim. Joey let his tongue slither right into her mouth a little bit: such a strange feeling to feel him inside of her mouth once again. His grip on either side of her face was soft and he slid his body closer to her. Even only a few inches between them and she could feel his warmth.

For a fleeting moment, she thought about when Alex leaned his body against her own back at the house on Catalina as he climbed out of that stool. But this was a different warmth, a different feeling. The softness and slim gentleness of Joey.

“French it up, why don't ya, Joseph?” Scott cracked. Sam squeezed Joey's knees as she slipped her tongue into his mouth a little bit for a taste.

Belinda whispered something to Scott, and he chuckled at that.

Sam then let go of his mouth and she gazed right into his big brown eyes as if she stared into her own. She then ran her fingers through his black curls and he closed his eyes. His curls, while soft and clean, felt a lot more coarse than usual. Coarse and fuzzy with the dryness that surrounded them there in California, the dryness despite the marine layer overhead and the rainfall from the night before.

She could smell him again on her clothes. She knew that she would never forget the taste of him on her lips and her tongue. She caressed the side of his face and she kept her eyes locked onto those soft brown irises as they swallowed her whole. As dark and full as the bottom of the ocean. As venomous as the very deadly nightshade he crawled out from onto the cold earth around them.

He parted those dark lips as he was about to say something, but no sound came out.

“Hey, love birds,” Scott called out to them, and they both broke out of it, and they turned their attention over to the waiter who brought the four of them their drinks to kick things off. Sam picked up her glass of lemonade and took a quick large sip of it; Joey blew on the surface of his coffee before he took a drink.

“You're not even gonna add sugar to it?” Belinda asked with an unsure chuckle. Sam turned her attention to Scott as he held his mug of Irish coffee to his mouth.

“Doesn't need sugar,” he assured her with a shake of his head. “It's already got the whole package.” He took a sip with his eyes closed.

“I've had Irish coffee before,” Sam recalled. “How is it?”

“Damn rich,” Scott replied, and he coughed. “Whoa. That'll put some hair on the chest.”

“Right back in where you shaved the word 'not' in?” Joey teased him, and Belinda laughed at that.

“Yes, Joey!” Scott laughed along with her.

“Wow!” Chuck's voice carried in right there, and the four of them turned their attention to the left side of the room. He stepped into the room at that moment and he showed off a big sheet of thick paper to them. It was a drawing of him with his arms curled out before him and his head bowed a bit. All along his arms were jagged points, all done in big bold but soft colors.

“Holy shit,” Scott declared.

“Beautiful, Chuck—” Belinda said, and her voice trailed off at the sight of it.

“It's all crystals,” he said, “at least that's according to Marla.”

“Marla made you that?” Sam asked him.

“Yeah, I was just gonna say, that looks like her style,” Belinda added.

Sam turned her attention to Joey.

“I left my journal on Catalina,” she admitted to him with a shrug of her shoulders.

“Damn. I really wanted to see what kind of art you've been up to lately.”

“It's been—I want to say autobiographical. On the next boat ride over, I'll make a note to show you.”

“Next boat ride over to visit yo' mama,” Joey cracked as he took a sip of his black coffee.

“Visit Joe Mama?” she joked.

“Visit Joe Mama, exactly!” He drank down a bit more of his coffee before Scott passed that drawing of Chuck over to them for a better look. Marla had sketched him out with some bright pink colored pencil and then she outlined him with thick lines of black ink, while the crystals where shaded in with those fine points. Down at the bottom of the page, she had signed her name “Marla Taylor” in large curly penmanship.

“Who needs to buy someone something when you can make 'em?” Sam proclaimed.

“Right, right,” Joey said as he took yet another drink of coffee. He still hadn't let things go with Testament, but she dared not let that interfere with her appreciation of her best friend's artistry. Those clean lines and Sam wanted to make some more pieces of art, all for Testament themselves. But she knew that someone on their end would recognize it, especially if she did something as obvious as sign her initials at the very bottom. Something more, something different.

An eager Chuck returned to them to fetch that piece of drawing and Joey then tapped on Sam's shoulder.

“Come with me,” he whispered into her ear, even though she was hungry and she wanted to stay there to see what Scott had in mind for brunch. But Joey insisted, and thus she followed him over to the bathrooms. They passed under a sprig of mistletoe pinned up to the wall over the entrance to the front of the restaurant; it was there she stopped right in her tracks when she realized where he was taking her.

“Joey, we're not doing it in the bathroom,” she scoffed.

“We won't,” he assured her; instead, he took her hand and he led her to that narrow hallway which led to the bathrooms. He kept on walking past the men's room and to the narrow little nook right around the corner from there. He pressed his back to the wall and he unzipped his little black leather jacket, and he showed off his chest to her.

“Oh, I see,” she breathed.

“Yeah—c'mon, Sam I am,” he begged her, to which he slid down the wall a bit so he was eye to eye with her.

“Where do you—um, want me to start?” she asked him.

“I'll start things off, actually,” he told her and he lunged for the button on her jeans. Sam held still with her legs spread out as he undid it for her. Butterflies danced about in her stomach as he ran his tongue along the edge of his teeth. He had such a fierce twinkle in his eyes: they shone brighter than the fire opals on her bracelet.

He brought his dark lips to the little bit of skin right under her belly button, to which she gasped at the feeling.

“Oh—!”

“Yeah,” he growled as he gave her another kiss there. She realized that he was going all the way down from her waist to what lay below. She had given it to him while in England and so it made sense that he returned the favor to her. His lips were warm and silken, and far more than the feeling of molten chocolate.

“Joey?” a woman's voice caught them both off guard.

He stopped. Sam froze in her tracks. He lifted his head and he fixed her jeans, but he never buttoned them back up again.

“What're you doing?” Sam demanded.

“What're you doing?” the woman laughed, and he clambered to his feet. He ran his fingers through his black curls and stood right before Sam so she wouldn't have to see her. The woman chuckled at him.

Sam peeked out from behind him to the woman across from them. She was about Joey's height, but she had a full head of frizzy but neat golden blonde hair down past her shoulders. She did in fact look older than Sam herself, but not too much older: her milky white skin had not a single blemish or crease on it, but her deep eyes aged her more than a piece of gray hair ever would for her. She was slender but with that classic hourglass figure, much like a model: it also didn't help matters that she wore big black stiletto heels on her feet to go with her fitted dark denim jeans.

“What're you doing?” she asked him with another chuckle.

“She—” Joey gestured back to Sam. “—had a spot on her jeans and I was just—checking it.”

She froze and she looked back at Sam, whose mouth had gone completely dry and whose mind had gone completely blank. Nothing to say and nowhere to begin. The woman then chuckled again, and then she shook her head.

“You're funny!” she told him, and he sank down a bit so she could Sam in full for herself.

“Krista, this is Sam—better known as Sam I am.”

“Sam I am?” Krista echoed him.

“Also known as Sammich, Samantha, and—my personal favorite—Sam hill.”

“Sam—this is—this is Krista,” he sputtered. “My new friend.”

“Friend?” she demanded from him. She gaped at him complete with a raise of her eyebrows.

“Y-Yes,” Joey stammered; even with his sun kissed skin, the blush in his face was all too obvious. Krista flashed her an unsure smile and she shrugged in response. He cleared his throat once, twice, four times and he bowed away from them so they wouldn't have to see his face; Sam lingered closer to him.

“H-H-How'd you know I was back here?” he stammered some more to her.

“Scott told me he saw you run back here,” Krista explained, and Sam frowned at the sight of the blush on his face and his heavy breathing.

“Are you okay?” she asked him, concerned, and he coughed a bit.

“Yeah—I just—got a—a—” He patted his chest and straightened himself upright. “—a—a li'l—um—”

“Joey,” Krista said.

“Joey,” Sam echoed her.

“Huh?”

“You don't—look good,” Krista told him with a shake of her head.

“Yeah, you look like you're about ready to pass out,” Sam added.

“I'm fine, I promise,” he assured them, but then his eyes rolled up into the back of his head and he fell onto his back. Krista and Sam glanced at one another in complete amazement, and they both stood over him as he lay there on the linoleum with his arms out on either side of him.

“What should we do?” Sam asked her in a small voice, to which Krista nibbled on her bottom lip.

“Good question.” She stopped and then she looked over at Sam with a tested look on her face. “Was he—actually checking your jeans?”

“Do you want the truth?” Sam asked her.

“Always.” She smelled faintly of peppermint, an aroma that Sam hadn't smelled in what felt like forever; Sam herself shook her head and Krista fetched up a sigh and rolled her eyes.

“Don't worry, I'll take care of this,” she told her in a low voice and with a wave of her hand

“Okay,” Sam replied with a nod of her head, and she stepped away from there. Her face felt so hot right then: it felt rather obvious in that hallway that Joey had kindled up a new flame there with another woman, and yet she still wanted him. She still wanted him even when she realized that her jeans were about to fall right off her hips.

She caught herself before anyone else caught her with her pants down.

Sam stopped right there, right underneath the sprig of mistletoe and she adjusted the zipper on her jeans. Krista's laughter floated out from that hallway and Sam sighed through her nose. Unless he really made it obvious to her, then she wouldn't have gone through with that with him. Or maybe he wanted to play the field, but there were too many questions she had already at that moment.

She straightened her shirt out and gave her dark hair a little toss back with a flick of her head. She could only hope that he was playing the field. That was the only hope she had right then.

“Hey, Sam!” Scott called out right then.

“Brunch is here!” Belinda added.

She turned to those tables right behind her and she joined them both for some French toast, sausage links, and biscuits and gravy.

“Where's Mr. Nightshade?” Belinda asked her.

“He's—He's—He's—” Sam could hardly speak herself. She sipped on her lemonade a bit so as to clear her head. “He's having a moment,” she spoke right then.

Scott chuckled at that. Even from a momentary glimpse, Sam could tell that that mug of Irish coffee had already left its mark on him.

But she shrugged and she dug into her biscuits and gravy, the former of which were light and fluffy and fresh out of the oven; the latter of which was pale but peppery and even soft in texture. She took a glance to the left and the booth that Testament had packed into for themselves.

Chuck and Eric were both still very much in awe of that drawing that Marla had made; if only there was a way in which Sam could find her way back to Catalina just to fetch her journal, but alas she could not, not with brunch at the helm. Meanwhile, Alex leaned his back to the wall there in the booth and he kept his cup of tea close to his chest. He took a glimpse over at her with those deep eyes, as they looked as deep as ever at that moment.

If Joey could play around with another woman, why not play around with other men? If he really wanted her that bad, then she would have to act.

Scott cracked a joke to Belinda and she almost choked on her bite of sausage from laughing so hard. But Sam had her attention fixated upon the young buck across the floor from her. The shirt that her mother had bought for her fit him rather snugly, all around his waist and his chest, such that he had undone the top two buttons and showed off a bit of his chest. He said something to Greg who then nodded at him: he leaned past him and flashed Sam a wink. She returned the favor with a pretty little wave.

Alex picked up his tea and sauntered across the floor towards her. For a second, she swore that he had a bit of a sway to his hips as if he knew what was going on.

He took his seat next to her but he never bunched up closer to her than the single couple of inches that the seats allowed them.

“By the way, I should tell you, that wasn't me who was rubbing your butt last night,” she promised him.

“I think you told me that and I wasn't able to say something about that,” he recalled, “to that I say—” He gaped at her. “—oh, no.”

“Yeah. But if it's any comfort, though, my mom had the hots for Joey when I brought him home.”

“Wow.” He raised his eyebrows at that.

“Yeah. If it's any further comfort, I'm nothing like that.”

“Is your mom like—always like that?” He lowered his voice a bit on that last part.

“Not really,” she admitted with a shrug of her shoulders. “It's like—something woke her up when I brought Joey home for her to meet him.”

He paused for a second.

“What exactly does she do?” he asked her.

“She's a writer. No clue what she writes, though, but she's got a good deal with it, such that—you know, she was able to move to Catalina and spoil us for a few days.”

Alex glanced behind him.

“Where even is Joey?” he wondered aloud.

“I have no clue.”

“Well, I saw you kissin' him,” he muttered to her.

“And?”

He held his hands on either side of his tea cup and he pursed his lips together.

“And? Alex?”

“Thought you guys were really gonna go there,” he confessed with a lean of his head towards her.

“We didn't, though,” she assured him in a low voice. She mopped up a bite of biscuit in gravy.

“How is it?” he asked her.

“Delicious.”

“We haven't gotten ours yet.”

“Are you serious?” She was stunned by that.

“Dead serious. Hope it comes soon, too—it smells divine.”

He took a sip from his tea and she ate up that bite of biscuit in unison with him.

“That was good pie, though,” he told her.

“The pie we had last night?”

“Yeah. Nice li'l slice of your mom's pie right in my belly.”

She giggled at him.

“Kinda wish we had some more of it,” he confessed.

“More of that plus the spag Bol from the first night,” she added.

“Oh, my god, that was unreal. So simple and homey but god—it just warmed me up so much that I fell asleep right when I lay down on the couch.”

He sipped on the tea some more and that time he closed his eyes to nourish the feeling. Sam took another bite of biscuit and gravy and she, too, closed her eyes so to relish in the lush pepper paired with the light and fluffy biscuit.

“Hey, you two guys wanna hang with us for New Year's and my birthday?” Scott offered them.

“Oh, yeah, that's right!” Sam declared. “Your birthday's New Year's Eve. Um—well, I was planning on coming to see you guys on New Year's but I dunno about afterwards, though.”

“Yeah, me, neither,” Alex confessed.

“Come on—it'll be fun!” Scott declared. “Metallica will be there, too. I talked to James just yesterday—they're gonna be with us.” Sam was reluctant however, given she had a hunch that Joey had his heart in Krista rather than her even with the kiss he had bestowed on her. Charlie called to Scott from across the room right then, and he raised a finger to them, and then he strode away from there. Sam turned to Alex and he looked on at her, puzzled and with both hands still around the base of his tea cup.

“Alex—will you hang with me on New Year's Eve?” she asked him.

“You're asking me to hang with you?” he echoed her.

“If you don't mind,” she told him with a shrug of her shoulders. He shifted his weight and flicked his black curls back from the side of his neck. The hair dye still held up but she could see it fading away from his hair. Those grays were persistent in how they didn't want to be hidden away.

“You know what?” he said. “I'd love to. Are we going back to Catalina or somewhere else?”

Sam hesitated for a second. That house up in Reno was empty but the memories still remained there.

“Let's go somewhere else,” she told him. “Has Testament ever toured Reno?”

“Uh, we've toured in Vegas. But—not really, no.” He gazed on at her, those deep eyes so deep and soulful. “Why?” He squinted at her.

She brought the tines of the fork to her lips but she never said anything to him. His face then lit up and he snapped his fingers.

“That reminds me,” he said.

“What's that?”

“I have something to give you,” he told her.

“More and more gifts each and every time,” she joked.

“Well, it's because we love you,” he declared. “You don't give gifts to people when you don't love them.”

He took another sip of tea and then he gestured for her to follow him into the front part of the restaurant, right to the front room and back in the direction of Joey and Krista.

“Careful with the mistletoe there,” she noted, to which Alex leaned his back towards the wall and let her go ahead to the other room. He then bowed after her, right underneath that little lush sprig of mistletoe. He joined her right by her side all the way back to the front door.

There was that small space right next to the door: near the front of the whole stack stood his guitar case. He crouched down to the floor and he nudged it to the side: Sam lingered next to him with her hands pressed to her hips.

“Let's see, I think—Eric had it stashed with him,” he said aloud, “like I showed it to him right before our second night in Reseda and he was like 'yeah, I'll keep it safe for you, Alex.'” He then lifted his gaze back up to her.

“Seeing as you just have your little purses,” he started, and he took out a large red wine colored handbag with a small five petaled flower comprised of large mismatched beads sewn to the front: a flower that reminded her of the oleanders there in the south land. It was obviously handmade but the sight of it made her gasp.

“Oh, my god, Alex—this is beautiful.”

“I just think of the glorious guitar strap that you and Belinda made for me for my birthday last year,” he confessed, “and I decided to make something of my own for you. I just see you with your purses and all the stuff you put into them, and at one point, I thought, 'man, Samantha could use something a little bigger, but I'm not finding anything larger, though.' It was actually an effort from me, my brother, and both my parents—I don't know the first thing about beading. But I suggested it to my mom and she goes, 'okay, honey, I'll give it a shot.' My brother and I picked out the color and the fabric, and my dad pieced it together—”

Sam threw her arms around him before he could finish his sentence, and then he returned the favor. Those long spidery fingers caressed over her back and her hair.

It was going to be the first New Year's Eve in which she would have no one to kiss especially if Joey was going to tease like that. But then again, Alex stood there next to her with his body close to her. The warmth of his body. The softness of his white skin and his jet black hair.

She looked right into his round boyish face and he showed her a little grin, albeit one full of imperfect teeth.

“So where do you wanna take me?” he asked her.

“I'll take you to the place I know all too well,” she told him. “It's a long drive, though.”

“I'm up for it,” he promised her. “As long as we get to see Anthrax in Long Beach the night before.”

“Of course! And that's Zelda's birthday, too.”

He gaped at her.

“Oh, shit, really?”

“Yeah. I just now remembered it, too. She threw it at me during the Stormtroopers of Death tour. I can't believe I still remember it, too.”

“Wow,” he said in a hushed voice. He adjusted the collar of his shirt and she slung the bag over her shoulder.

“Does it fit?” he asked her; and she brought the bag itself close to her hip.

“Like a glove,” she promptly replied.

“Excellent!” He flashed her a thumbs up.

“We have to go back to Catalina, though,” she told him. “Just—you know. Tell my mom what's up and whatnot.”

“Day after Christmas, though.”

“Of course,” she told him and with a nod of her head, “of course, of course, Alex. If she rubs your butt again, I'll tell her about it. Don't you worry.”

He fetched up a sigh and then he bowed his head a bit. He stepped back for a better look at the handbag under her arm. She brought it up before her thighs: the bud of the oleander was comprised of five small black onyx beads, much like the ones on the bracelet Chuck gave her, as well as one large wooden bead. Light pink and white beads meanwhile made up those five petals for that familiar poison flower.

“It almost looks like a book bag,” he noted. “Like something you take to school.” He froze right then. “By the way, are you even still in school?”

“I don't think I am,” she confessed. “I never got any pieces of mail from there—no grants or anything. As far as I know, Bill ended the whole entire career for me.”

“That greasy bastard,” he proclaimed. “Talk about not practicing what he preaches.”

“Right?” she laughed. “Although if I'm honest, Alex, I almost felt restrained while in school.”

“Well, I'm gonna relay the same thing Eric told you earlier—if it feels right, you're probably right.”

“Hey, Alex!” Eric himself said right behind them. “Biscuits are here.”

“Oh boy!” Alex rubbed his hands together, and Eric spotted the handbag under Sam's arm.

“Oh, hey, you found that in my case!”

“Sure as hell,” Alex replied.

“Thank you again, too,” Sam told him and they embraced one last time before Alex hurried back to the table with Eric. The warmth stayed in her face as she walked back to Scott and Belinda.

It was only fair to herself and Joey after all.

[animeniacss]

A Palette of Emotions - Artist! Taehyung x Teacher!Reader - Chapter 27- Dreams Come True

Synopsis: Taehyung dreams of being a professional and famous artist one day, but finds that the sea of creativity can be lurking with blood hungry sharks, as well as bland, motionless starfish. Swimming through the sea of opportunities somehow washed him up onto the shore of Bright Star Preschool, as an art teacher. This wasn’t where he expected to be 4 years into his career, but anything to get his big break though, right?

Feat. BTS, TXT, ITZY, Jisoo (BlackPink), Taeyong (NCT)

Genre: Romance, Slow Burn, Love Triangle, Drama, School Setting, Working!AU

Length: approx. 5k words

Chapter 27 - Dreams Come True

Kim Taehyung had only visited the Korean National University of Arts once. He was 18, hair rebelliously dyed a light coffee brown, clinging to Jimin’s arm as if he was a koala. The excitement was clear on the teen’s face as they strolled across campus, Taehyung commenting on every work of art on display, every building, everything that he came across. It was glorious, the idea of coming to that school back then seemed like nothing short of a dream, one that felt just a little closer to the realm of reality with every step he took onto the campus. Just thinking about it had Taehyung brimming with excitement.

            But that was almost 7 years ago, and Taehyung had never gotten into the school, despite sending in even more than what the application process required. Despite the defeat he felt in that moment, he knew one day the opportunity would come back full circle, and as he packed his weekend bag, that burning sense of opportunity rushed into his lungs as if it were meant to be air.

            “You excited?” Jimin asked Taehyung curiously, watching his friend zip up his bag and toss it by the door. His friend looked up, offering a boxy grin as he turned towards the closet one last time.

            “Of course! I’ve only dreamed of something like this for my entire life!”

            “You said that about the Ilsan Art Festival too. And about every other art show I’ve gotten you in.” The boys laughed a bit.

            “Well, this one takes the cake, and will continue to take the cake for as long as I live and breathe on this earth.” Jimin watched as Taehyung slipped past him, heading into the living room. “I need to finish packing my works.”

            “Do you know what you’re bringing?”

            “I have a few ideas, but there’s one I know I’m bringing for sure.” Jimin watched Taehyung walk towards a large canvas covered by a blue tarp. Curiosity piqued him, and he walked over towards his friend. Taehyung turned to Jimin, immediately catching the curious look in his eye, and he grinned. “Oh, you want to see?” he asked.

            “No, I just find the blue tarp covering it to be truly mesmerizing.” Taehyung laughed a bit at his friend’s sarcastic remark, but instead of revealing the work, he simply walked it towards the door, setting it down against the wall. “I can’t see?”

            “I’m revealing it at the art show. So no, you can’t see until we get there.” Jimin pouted, crossing his arms. That didn’t deter Taehyung though, and he stuck his hands into his pockets. “Jimin, don’t look at me like that.”

            “All I do to get you here, and I can’t see what could be your magnum opus ahead of time?” Taehyung huffed, shaking his head. “If I was pretty, you’d let me see.”

            “Jimin, you’re very pretty.” The boys had to laugh as Taehyung patted his friend’s shoulder.

            “…Okay, thank you.” Jimin grinned. “Let’s get some of this stuff downstairs. I rented a little trailer for us to fit all your stuff safely.” Taehyung nodded, and with that squared away, he scooped up his painting and quickly carried it downstairs. Presenting this work at that art show, the idea that this was no longer a distant dream, but instead a reality, Taehyung found himself heading to the elevator with a spring in his step.

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            Jung Hoseok was conflicted as he sat across from you at your dining room table. You both were cutting up some new activities for the students this upcoming week, as you were continuing to talk about colors. The idea you had for a poster had you beaming from the store all the way back home; a large rainbow, each color-filled not just with colored pencil, but also with drawings of different objects represented by each respective color. Red had apples, hearts, firetrucks, yellow had bananas, blue had the ocean and bluebirds, the list went on. The background was not left as white either. Anything on the picture was colored in, and colors outside the rainbow were added as well. Trees showcased the brown color, pink sprinkled along the light grass as variously shaped flowers. You were hunched over the table, hair pulled back tight as to not get in your eyes. Your eyes. Hoseok watched as your eyes fixated on the poster sprawled out before you. What was once a blank white canvas with limitless possibilities has now become an eye-pleasing set of various colors and words, just enough for the preschool children to enjoy looking at, as well as understand. Your eyes darted back and forth on the paper, before lifting your head in order to get a higher-level view. When you looked up, you saw Hoseok looking at you.

            “Everything okay?”

            “Hm? Oh, yeah.” He smiled. His eyes fell back to his work, and he continued cutting up some of the worksheets and paper, stacking them into individual piles. A moment of silence crossed between you both again, until Hoseok decided to speak up once again. “Taehyung’s going to that weekend art show today, right?”

            “Oh yeah. I meant to text him good luck in the workgroup chat.” You stated. “He’s probably preparing to head out so I’ll send it after I finish this; won’t expect a response for a while.”

            “Yeah,” Hoseok said simply. When he looked back up at you, you had already gotten back to work, coloring in the green section of the rainbow, showing grapes, grass, frogs, and anything else the both of you decided would make quick and familiar connections with the students. “Taehyung told me he wanted to go to that university when he was younger, so he must be pretty excited.”

            “Oh?” you hummed. “That’s awesome. I think that’s exactly what he needs to get his career going.”

            “Do you think he’ll stay at the school if his career takes off?” When Hoseok asked that question, your hand immediately stopped on the poster, the tip of the green-colored pencil resting firmly against the paper. You hadn’t thought about that yet. With every question swimming aimlessly in your mind, that was one you didn’t allow yourself to get to yet. Would he be able to stay? No, there’s a better question that should be asked right now.

            Would he want to stay?

            “Well…” you began, sitting back in your chair. “He only has this job to make money while he tries to really start his career, so…”

            “You don’t think so?”

            You shook your head. “I don’t know…”

            “…Have you made your decision yet?” Hoseok said. You looked up at him. “You know what I’m talking about.”

            “I didn’t consider the idea that Taehyung possibly wouldn’t be in the area. I never factored in long-distance relationships…” Hoseok nodded.

            “Well, remember that I don’t intend to leave,” Hoseok said simply. Even though he shot you a playful grin, you seemed less than amused. “What? Don’t look so upset, it hurts my feelings.”

            “You’re not helping me at all by making comments like that, Hoseok, and you damn well know it.” Hoseok hummed, his head dropping in defeat as he continued to work. Setting the colored pencil in your hand down, you sighed. “He and I kissed when I went over to check on him.” You admitted. Hoseok’s hands froze, and he looked up. “After his concussion…”

            “Oh?” He hummed.

            “Mhm. I didn’t mean for it to happen, but it did. But after it happened, I…couldn’t stop thinking about it. I get more nervous whenever I see him now, the butterflies in my stomach won’t stop. I feel like I’m turning red just talking about it now.”

            “You are.” Hoseok smiled.

            You covered your cheeks, unable to control the breathy laugh in your chest. “I thought about it so much afterward, I even called Bong-Cha to talk to her about it. He told me he wanted to kiss me and…I told him yes.” Hoseok blinked, eyes focused solely on you as you continued to talk. “I didn’t even think of Namjoon or anything else at that moment. I just…really wanted him to do it.”

            As Hoseok listened to you speak, he felt his heartbreak in two. He knew the day would come where you made a decision, and he felt pained to know he lost the race to your heart. Though a part of him knew the outcome, another part of him was hoping it would all be a dream, and somehow, he would be the one to cross the finish line. But how could you win a race you were never apart of, to begin with? When he realized he had yet to speak up in response to your confession, he coughed into his hand, leaning forward to rest his hands out on the table, palms open, and motioned towards your own. You glanced at him but gently placed your hands into his for a moment. Hoseok squeezed your hands tightly in his own, lifting them and bit and planting a small kiss on your knuckles. You smiled a bit, watching as Hoseok looked up at you, and an ever-so welcoming heart-shaped grin flashed onto his face.

“It seems like you’ve made a decision, hm?”

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Taehyung and Jimin had finished setting up and unpacking in the hotel they had gotten for the weekend, a five-minute walk from the campus. As Taehyung finished unpacking, he walked towards the window, opening the curtains and staring out into the distance, eyes beaming as he stared out at the view. The view from the campus must be just as beautiful. He thought to himself as he watched people below pass by, the sounds of city-life filling his ears. He was so excited, knowing in less than 24 hours, he was going to be setting up his art at one of the most prestigious art colleges in South Korea. He could barely wait, he wanted to run and do it right away! When he turned around, Jimin was sitting at the desk in the room, shuffling through papers most likely needed for his assignment as an ambassador of the company.

“Tae, post a picture on Instagram saying you’re unpacked and ready. Get everyone excited and make sure to tag the college.” Jimin hummed, his eyes not even once looking up from the papers stacked before him. Taehyung walked past his friend, messing up his hair and earning a frustrating groan from his manager.

“I’ll do you one better,” Taehyung said. Once he got his phone from the bedside table, Taehyung quickly opened the video camera up, pointing it in his direction. He spun around the room, stopping when Jimin was in the frame. “Say hi, Jimin.” He cooed. Jimin finally looked up, it took a moment to adjust to what Taehyung was doing, but he was quick to adapt, waving at the camera. “We’re getting ready for the art show tomorrow. Hope to see you there~.” Taehyung was quick to flash a peace sign, and a grin to the camera before shutting it off. He then shuffled towards the artwork he had stacked by the closet, snapping a picture of the one still covered by the blue tarp. He snapped a photo of the scenery out on the balcony, and one of him holding up his official badge to get into the show the next day. With these photography skills practically on fire, Taehyung was ready to post. He plopped himself down on the bed, humming to himself as he set everything up on his Instagram, the photo dump showing every aspect of his excitement. “Now, for a caption.” He hummed to himself, pursing his lips. It had to be good!

So excited for my work to be shown at @KoreanNUArts this weekend. I’m hoping to see some people there! One of my newest works is going to be shown there! O.O

            “Done.” Taehyung grinned, tossing his phone beside him on the bed. He lied back, his badge still in his hands as he held it up by the lanyard. It wasn’t anything amazing to look at, just a white card with his name and the campus logo on it hanging off a campus lanyard. However, to him, it was one of the best things I have ever seen. “I still feel like I’m dreaming.” He admitted.

            “Have you tried pinching yourself?” Jimin asked curiously.

            “Several times, and now I’m bruising on my arm in several places.” Both of them laughed. “I can’t wait to tell everyone back home how it goes.”

            “I’m sure they’re excited for you.” Taehyung sat up, pulling his legs close to his chest and resting his chin on his knees.

            “You think this is it?” he asked curiously. Jimin, curious as to what his friend meant about that, turned his head to look at him. “The entire drive here, and the entire time we were unpacking and stuff, I kept thinking something crazy is going to happen.”

            “Maybe it will. This is a big deal.” Jimin smiled. “I wanted the guy to look at your work, I never thought he would invite you to participate in the art show so quickly. That itself is a sign of good luck.” Taehyung smiled, nodding his head in agreement with his friend. “How about we rest a bit then go find something to eat for lunch? I’m starving.” Tae nodded his head in agreement, flopping himself back on the bed. He grabbed his phone, looking at the flood of Instagram notifications he had already started to receive. Quickly, he swiped through a few to see what they were.

            So happy for Oppa! Wish I could go!

            I know what school I’m applying for if handsome Tae-Oppa is there uwu.

            You get even more handsome every post. Is the mystery artwork you? <3

            Taehyung hummed, closing the app down after giving a few comments like, and responding to others with a smiley face or a heart. Just as he was about to set his phone down and rest, his phone vibrated one more time, and the Instagram notification came up once again. When he took a good look at it, he felt his heartbeat just as a bit faster when your username was attached to the comment.

            Good luck at the show! You’ll do great! Also, beautiful view over there 😊

            Taehyung sat up, looking at the post for a moment in silence. For a moment, his body was at war with itself. His heart knew exactly what he wanted to say in response, a cool response that would hopefully have your heart thumping on the other end of the line: It’s nice, but definitely not the prettiest view I’ve ever seen 😉. However, his logical brain sent a thought through his mind: Do you really think that’s appropriate to say right now? Especially on a public platform like this?

            Taehyung pursed his lips in annoyance, but ultimately, knew his brain was right. Regardless of the absolute brilliant response he had, he knew it could lead to bad things. Still wanting to reply, he simply sent her the response: It’s even better in person, you should come to see one day! :D and tossed his phone on the bedside table, burying his head under his pillow.

            Jimin glanced over at his friend shuffled constantly under the covers. “…You had a really good pick-up line for her, didn’t you?” Taehyung’s eyes poked out from under his pillow, watching as his friend lifted up his phone, and pointed to the comments of the post, your comment in particular. Taehyung groaned, hiding his face as if it would also hide his shame, but it didn’t, and Jimin had to laugh. “But if it’s any consolation, whatever you were going to say most likely would have worked.”

            “Thanks.” He said softly. After a moment of silence, Taehyung added. “I don’t know what she’s thinking after she came to my house…but I hope she makes a decision soon. I want to at least know. It’s killing me inside to wait, but I don’t want to push her.”

            “Well based on what you’ve told me between you two, it’ll only be a matter of time. For now, get some rest, and let’s focus on this show tomorrow.” Taehyung nodded, nestling his head deeper into the pillow in hopes it would help him fall asleep.

            It didn’t.

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

            Before Taehyung knew it, Jimin was waking him up bright and early the next morning, shouting that they were going to be late if he didn’t hurry up and get dressed. Taehyung practically flew out of bed when he remembered where he was, rushing into the shower as he shouted behind him: “Call for room service! I’ll pay!” to a snickering Jimin. The days had turned to hours, the hours to minutes, and if Taehyung didn’t scarf down his breakfast when it arrived, those minutes would turn into fleeting seconds before they had to leave. Any moment now, he was going to be up in the biggest art college in the country, something he never thought he would get to do. It filled him with excitement, and he practically skipped out of the shower and got dressed.

            “You know we won’t be late now that you’re up, right?” Jimin asked. He was sitting on his bed, watching as Taehyung ran back and forth, tossing his pictures onto the cart he was using to move them around.

            “Well, you got me hyped up. You asked for this, you know.” Taehyung said. With the final painting sat securely on the cart, Taehyung hummed, satisfied. “It’s all ready.”

            “Good. Now eat. It’s getting cold.” Jimin motioned to the food room service had brought, placed on the desk where it waited patiently to be eaten by the artist. He slid into the seat, nodded his head, and quickly began to chow down. Whether it was because he was rushing, or because he was starving, neither Jimin nor Taehyung knew, but Jimin only chuckled in amusement as he finished up his own meal.

            Before the duo knew it, they were headed down the block. Then, they were already inside, Jimin signing the duo in and pinning their name tags onto their jackets. He patted Taehyungs as it rested on his chest, and blurted out a remark along the lines of “So official”.

            Before Taehyung knew it, Taehyung was being led to his spot, a blank wall that was right in the middle of the floor. It was only half of the wall that he had access to, the other half designated to a student. However, he found himself beaming regardless as he began setting up paintings. As he did, he overheard Jimin chatting to someone, most likely about his job. When Taehyung overheard the words: “We’re very grateful to have this opportunity. We’ll work hard.” Slip out of Jimin’s mouth, it reminded him he only got this opportunity due to Jimin, due to his job, due to his ambition.     

            Would I still have gotten this spot if I were on my own? He thought. Doubt it.

            “Don’t start doubting yourself now,” Jimin said. Taehyung looked over and saw Jimin fixing his blazer, grinning kindly at his friend. “I see those ‘My art isn’t good enough for this’ eyes. Get your smile on. We wouldn’t have gotten such a good opportunity for the company if it wasn’t for your art.”

            “…Yeah?” Taehyung asked.

            “Yeah! If I didn’t have your art and your status as a bargaining chip, we would have had to think of another way to get him to agree so quickly. Mr. Kim and I owe you our lives.”

            “The way you phrased that sound very, very manipulative in your case.” He said, and Jimin laughed a bit. Taehyung scooped up his phone, seeing the surge of support coming in through his social media from the fans. Some comments praised his hard work, others praised his face in the video of him spinning around in the hotel room, but instead of rolling his eyes at those, each and every comment made his heart skip a bit. He turned back to the final painting left on the cart, the one he had been waiting to showcase until the very last minute. Lifting it up, he set the tarp aside and quickly placed it on the wall. Jimin looked up, running a hand through his hair as he examined the painting for the first time, only moments before everyone else.

            “Wow.” Jimin grinned. Taehyung turned to his friend, seeing the sparkle of intrigue in his eyes. A small smirk formed on his face, and he nodded.

            “I know, right?”

            It wasn’t long before the doors opened to the public and people began coming in.

            Taehyung watched as Jimin spoke with college students and other individuals who passed by, a warm smile on his face as girls and boys alike swarmed him. They may have no interest in a future with the company, but they had plenty of interest in the two handsome men before them. Taehyung shuffled around, scanning every person that passed by. He was kind of nervous. No, scratch that, he was incredibly nervous, the most nervous he had ever been. He didn’t need to necessarily talk people into buying anything today, it was only for show, to get his name out there and show even more people his art. Despite this, each person that glanced his way, he wanted to go up to and start chatting up.

            I have to keep calm. Taehyung thought to himself. He put his hands in his pockets, walking slightly deeper into the room in hopes to get a better look at the artwork of those around him. Paintings decorated each white wall, each one like a blank canvas in its own way, allowing for the paintings to decorate them in order to tell a story. Small podiums held any statues or pottery made, placed directly onto the floor in order to allow people to get a 360 degree look at each one, to admire all of its features in any angle they chose to. Taehyung turned on his heel, staring up at a large painting, one that commanded the presence of anyone that turned in its direction. It looked to be about two times the size of Taehyung’s largest painting and decorated with just as many colors if not more. Taehyung’s eyes darted every which way, from one corner of the painting to another, trying to take in. Each section of colors told a different story, slowly blending into one another until they met in the middle, forming a cohesive story. It was truly a sight to behold, and Taehyung felt his heart swell just by looking at it. It was then he truly knew he was at one of the top schools for the arts in Korea. When he turned back around, hoping to call Jimin over for a moment in order to show him what he had found, something, in particular, had caught his eye. Jimin, once again, was chatting with someone at his little booth. This time, however, it was not a couple of typical college students, but instead a middle-aged couple, the woman turned towards Taehyung’s paintings while Jimin spoke to the man. Taehyung stepped a bit closer, watching as Jimin motioned to the centerpiece, Taehyung’s newest work of art. Taehyung, now fully invested, headed over to the man, pulling his hands out of his pockets. Jimin caught sight of his friend approaching and grinned.

            “Oh, there he is! Taehyung, there’s someone I want you to meet.” Jimin motioned to the older man, who was smiling. “This is Mr. Oh Jihoon and his wife.”

            “Pleasure to meet you, at last, Mr. Kim.” The man beamed, reaching out to take Taehyung’s hand. The boy quickly took it, giving him a handshake while also nodding his head.

            “Yes of course.”

            “I saw you were walking around. Did you enjoy what you saw?”

            “Very much, yes. That painting over there had just caught my attention.” Taehyung motioned to the painting on the wall that had just captured his full attention for a solid 2 and a half minutes, and he heard Jihoon laugh.

            “I’m not surprised. That was made by one of our seniors, Miss. Kang Areum. She’s very talented, remind me to introduce you before the day ends.” Taehyung nodded. “However, I came to make sure I introduced myself, and I wanted to see what I agreed to include in the art show in person. I wanted to make sure they were as captivating in real life as they were on Mr. Park’s slideshow.”

            A sheepish smile crept on Taehyung’s face, and he nodded. “Thank you very much. I appreciate the opportunity, Mr. Oh.” Jihoon motioned to the paintings one more time, pointing to one in particular; Taehyung’s newest work. It was a simple, minimalistic picture, the dark silhouette of a young woman from the chest up with a high ponytail that cascaded freely down her back, but the small details of hair strands sticking out making it much clearer where the hair begins and ends. The silhouette was colored black, with the only visible feature being a flashing white smile shape on the face portion. The only other noticeable features of the paintings were words. Words of encouragement decorated the background in black, and if they overlapped onto the silhouette, they transformed into white words. The words were beautifully written with a steady hand and flowed eloquently from one color to the next.

            “I didn’t see this picture in the presentation,” Jihoon admitted.

            “It’s a new one. I managed to finish it just in time for this and so I thought I could reveal it here.” Jihoon smiled, nodding once again as he turned to his wife, who looked up at the picture. Taehyung watched her for a moment, that same spark that twinkled in Jimin’s eyes only a few hours earlier just as apparent now, if not more so. “My wife has taken quite a liking to it.” Taehyung watched the older woman walk towards him, gently taking hold of his hands and smiling.

            “I think that is such a cute painting. It looks like it was truly made with love.” Taehyung’s ear heated up for a moment, and he only chuckled shyly. “I knew it. Whoever inspired that painting is a very lucky individual.”

            “Thank you…” Taehyung said softly. He watched Jihoon gently put a hand on his wife’s shoulder.

            “Why don’t you go look at the painting Taehyung said caught his eye over there?” he hummed, pointing down towards the other side of the room. “I’ll meet up with you in a few minutes, I need to talk to these two men.” Jimin and Taehyung shared a glance, watched as the woman said her goodbyes, and headed down the hall to another part of the show. When she was far enough away, Jihoon turned back to Taehyung, and only for a moment, he noticed a serious gleam in the man’s eye, one that sent a shiver down the young artist’s spine. “I have a few questions for you.”

            Taehyung gulped. “Yessir.”  

            “Do you take commissions?” Taehyung blinked. “My wife really seems to like this new painting for yours, but it is clear that a specific woman inspired this one. It wouldn’t be right of me to buy it for my wife. So, would it be possible for us to communicate and work out a deal for you to commission one for my wife as a surprise gift?” Taehyungs hands slipped behind his back, Jimin quickly noticing but keeping his gaze as subtle as he could. From the corner of his eye, he saw Taehyung’s hands form fists behind his back, and it looked like they were trembling. “We don’t need to discuss prices just yet; you find out what you need to do and throw a price at me. Is that something you’d be able to do?”

            “…Yes,” Taehyung said simply. “I would be honored to do something like that. Are you sure my work will suffice as a gift for someone as important as your wife?” Jihoon grinned, immediately letting out a belly laugh that attracted the attention of those around him.

            “My wife said it herself, she really liked that painting. When we walked past, she tugged my arm and pointed right at it. I was on my way to talk to one of the planners of this event until she caused that detour. So yes, I’m absolutely sure.”

            “…I see. Then, yes. I’d love to.” Jihoon smiled, patting Taehyung’s shoulder as he handed the man his business card. Taehyung glanced at Jimin, who quickly extended a hand to take the card since Taehyung’s clammy, shaking hands were still currently indisposed.

            “Thank you, Mr. Oh.” Jimin grinned.

            “Of course! Call me in the next day or two, name your price and I’ll send over anything you need.” The boys nodded. “Well, I need to go now. I see my wife eyeing up a few other works as well. Gentlemen.” The boys nodded, bowing slightly as they watched Jihoon stroll away, hands in his pockets. Taehyung stood there for a moment, Jimin examining the business card in his hands as silence fell over them. When he turned to Taehyung, he gently passed the card to his friend.

            “Taehyung? You okay?” he said. Taehyung took the card gently into his hands, staring at the name of the man he just spoke to, his phone number, and his business email. Taking a deep breaths, Taehyung gently sank down onto the chair behind Jimin’s little booth, allowing every muscle in his body to finally relax. Jimin couldn’t help but smile, watching as Taehyung stared at this card intensely, eyes beaming. He felt this was finally his moment, finally, he was the one given the opportunity he damn well deserved.

            Finally, he was the one with a sparkle in his eyes. 

Return to Masterlist

Next / Previous 

[diabloindigo]

Are you the person to open a box of cereal just to get the toy inside? As a kid yes. Right now, I don’t buy cereals with prizes anymore. Do they even stuff toys in cereal these days? 

Do you get scared easy? If it’s in the anxiety induced variety, yes. 

What was one of the stupidest things you cried over when you were little? Not sure, it could have been anything from not wanting to wear a fancy dress or dress shoes to a party or a broken toy. 

Have you ever drank milk from the carton? Despite having a working dishwasher and plenty of glasses, I “waterfall” milk and juice from the containers. 

Juice or milk? I go both ways, leaning more towards juice. Apple or orange. 

Do you ever turn off your computer properly? Once in a while. 

Do you wish you were a fish? Not really, though I kinda envy the blue Dory (Doctor Fish?) in the tank at my gynecologist’s waiting room. It likes to swim to the bottom of the tank and ride up to the top on a bubble jet. That damn fish has probably had more fun than I have in the past several months. 

Who’s your favorite super hero? Invincible (Amazon Prime). Along with Spider-Man (2002) and the Big Hero 6 movie, that character/series is a rare superhero show that makes me feel strong and vulnerable at the same time. 

Who’s your favorite super villain? Slade Wilson/ Deathstroke as seen in “Teen Titans: The Judas Contract” animated movie and the 2003-2006 “Teen Titans” cartoon series. 

Spiderman or X-men? Spider-Man. Tobey Maguire and Peter B. Parker from Into the Spiderverse. 

Movie theatre or stay at home movie night? Theaters. Alamo Drafthouse. I love ordering boozy milkshakes and finger foods.

Do you have a Blue Ray? I have one of those external drives for my Mac though I never use it. 

How about HD television? Yeah

Do you think HD television is kind of a waste of money? No. 

Do you get why people get so frickin’ freaked out during football season? I do not, and living in a state with a hard-on for (American) football makes it weird when I tell people that I do not have a favorite football team/player. 

Do you ever sneak scraps to the dog even though you’re not suppose to? I don’t sneak him food. If I cook or order too much to eat, then I scrape a couple of cup’s worth of leftovers in his bowl. He’s probably got only a year to live so let him live it up a little. 

Are you reading a book right now? If so what? A friend gave me a copy of “The Only Good Indians” but I can't get into it so I’m reading “Full Throttle” by Joe Hill. 

What was the last book you were required to read for school? It’s been so long I can’t remember. 

O donuts or jelly filled? Whipped cream filled. I love Krispy Kreme’s whipped cream filled donuts with raspberry filled donuts as a close second. 

If I’m feeling bland then I do like crullers. 

Do you like your ice-cream in a bowl or cone? Bowl unless it’s a tasty cone. 

Marshmallows in your hot chocolate or no? I could go either way unless it’s a tiny cup of chocolate. 

Do you like cherry coke? Hell yes. I love going to Sonic for a cherry-vanilla-lime Coke or this greasy little 1950s type burger joint for their cherry cokes since they load the cups with several cherries. 

Do you really think diet Dr. Pepper is the equivalent of a cupcake? No, it tastes artificial. Like a bastard child of a soft drink that wants to pass for cherry soda. 

Do you snore in your sleep? Drool? Talk? Snore and talk (I’m pretty stressed out).

Have you ever sleep walked? no

Are you a morning person? I am now. 

How do you wake up in the mornings? by alarm during the work week, naturally at 6-7 on vacation days. 

Do you think guyliner is hot? What is that? 

Is variety the spice of life? yeah

Do you think strawberry milk is disgusting? I like it. 

Have you ever drank after anyone? Like sharing a cup/bottle? Yeah, loads of times.  

Have you ever drank after anyone you don’t know very well? No. 

Do you have any limits on who you drink/eat after?

If we’re talking about sharing, then I will share food/drink with family and friends. If someone offers me bite-size pieces that are individually wrapped or can be torn off the main portion, I’ll eat it, but only from co-workers or acquaintances. 

Would you eat a sucker if someone already ate some of it? No. 

Would you chew somebody else's gum? Hell no. 

Do you know anyone who’s going to die of mono because of that? No. 

Do you enjoy school? My English and psychology classes. 

Are you a teacher’s pet? no

Do you have a job? Yes. 

How did you get to and from school? Parents drove me or I walked for elementary through high school. I drove when I went to college. 

Do you have a bedtime? And if so what is it? I’m in bed between 11-12 a.m.

What time do you get up? 6 am so I can walk/exercise before the sun boils the earth in full force. 

Have you ever pulled an all-nighter? Yeah in college. 

What’s more important? Beauty or brains? brains

Do you believe in yourself? Sometimes I do, and sometimes I don’t. 

Did you ever want to be an astronaut when you were little? No. Being a veterinarian or scientist were my highest ambitions as a small kid. 

How about the president? Never. 

What did you want to be when you were little? Veterinarian, scientist, cartoon character. 

Did you ever want to be a super model? no

Do you believe you’re attractive enough to be a super model? No.

Have you ever had an X-ray? Several in the past few months for pre-surgery and dental work.

What’s your favorite guy’s name? What’s your favorite girl’s name? Guys’: Shane, Mark, Tadashi, Austin, Cade, Trip.

Girls’: Quince, Sienna, Amy, Kit, Lizzie (Elizabeth), Raven.

Who’s your second cousin’s, grandparent’s, sister? The fuck...

Do you laugh to yourself whenever the ketchup bottle farts? No, in fact, I get annoyed when other people hear it and ask me if I farted. 

Do you have any real guns in your house? I have several. 

Do you know how to use nunchucks? No, I bought a pair at one of those Asian imports emporiums, but I donated them since I never learned to use them. They were these crappy foam padded ones with dragons printed on the handles. 

Do you know anyone who can use nunchucks? No. 

What do you want to be next Halloween? In better health and not shitting bricks about using up my paid time off to go to doctors’ appointments. 

Did you ever consider getting a job as a mall Santa? No. I’d rather be one of his elves or a reindeer. 

Are you the one responsible for taking out the garbage? Yes. Grosses me the fuck out sometimes with smelly discarded poultry trays or rotten food, but somebody’s gotta do it. 

Do you recycle? My city has the blue recycling bins, but I heard that since we’re an ass-backward community, “recyclables” and trash all go to the same place. I just place recyclables in the blue bin to help clear up space in the trash bin. Maybe I’m wrong and this city does recycle? Can’t hurt. 

When I was 11, I’d collect empty soda cans to take to the recycling guy since back in the day, they’d pay for aluminum cans. That’s how I scraped up funds for dollar movies and hot dogs. 

Are you a pyro? Yeah. I carry/collect Zippo lighters but mostly because the “click-click” is satisfying to hear since I flip the lids open and closed to relieve stress. And I burn a lot of old bills and letters with sensitive info on them. 

What was the last word/thing you wrote down? I was researching high fiber foods that are also low in carbs to make a grocery and dinner meal plan. 

Sleeping or eating? After my surgery, sleeping. 

Are you overall a positive person? I try to be realistically positive, if such a thing exists. The world will never be all sunshine and My Little Ponies, but I try to find some comfort and positivity when my world is a shit-show. Filling this survey out kinda helps. 

Do you hate hypocrites? Yeah, especially the “do as I say, not as I do” types. 

For instance, a certain family member is pushing good diet and health habits, but it aggravates the hell out of me if I see him drinking high sugar iced tea or eating ice cream. Or Door-Dashing Burger King, even if it is a Beyond Whopper with a diet Coke. 

Do you like to prank people? Yes, but I do benign pranks like leaving dirty riddles and meme drawings on their front doors. 

What was the worst prank you’ve ever done on anyone? I tried fucking with a telesolicitor but I could not stop laughing. 

Have you ever jumped on a trampoline in the ice? I don’t own a trampoline. 

Have you ever ice skated? No. I tried once after a local minor league hockey game. I got the skates on, but my ankles were bending/bowing out so I changed my mind.

Ever water skiid? No. 

Is vacuum spelled funny? Yes. 

Democrat or republican? I don’t associate formally with either party, but I hitch my pony a little to the left. 

Who’s the biggest asshole you know? My former boss circa 2013. Very unprofessional and a veritable loudmouth and a poor (shit) showman wannabe. 

Pen or pencil? Gel-ink pens. 

Should all paper have holes? nope

Speaking of holes. Swiss cheese, what’s the point of that? Fewer calories? Spinning slices in my hand like a TV cowboy spinning his revolver in the trigger guard with his finger? 

Have you ever been in a helicopter before? No. 

Own any airbrushed tshirts? Nope, not even in the nineties. 

Have you ever been suspended? No. 

Have you ever been in a fist fight? A few playground fights as a kid. 

Ever said something to someone that you didn’t mean to say? Yes. 

Do you forgive too easily? I don’t think so. 

What are you listening to right now? The AC running. 

Have you ever seen any of MCR’s music videos? Nope. 

Are you tan? No. 

Have you ever been in a tanning bed? No. I have no desire to look like a Cheeto or woo skin cancer. 

Have you ever played water volley? Once at my uncle’s neighborhood swimming pool. 

Ever had a sunburn? Yes, from neglecting sunscreen re-applications or underestimating the sun. 

How about wind burn? It hurts….. Nah, I don't live in a cold enough climate for that. 

What was the first word you learned how to say? I think it was “mama.”

[heli0s-writes]

IV. The First Taste*

Summary: NSFW Chapter. Pairings: Steve Rogers x Reader A/N: Modern AU, Teacher reader, Dad/Baker Steve… lots of pining, slow burn, romance. Enjoy!

Slow Like Honey Masterpost

Since you kissed Steve Rogers in your classroom on that Thursday afternoon, you’ve kissed him again and again after each meeting. It’s been precisely two more lunch dates, one more dinner date, and one long walk in the park on his day off before he was suddenly called in for an emergency pastry situation. That’s five kisses. Five dates. Five moments you lie in bed and think about while trying desperately not to scream.

You scold yourself every time because a part of you is embarrassed that you’re so—thirsty! But good God, the man is a tall glass of water you want to drown in. It’s been two stupid years since you’ve kissed anyone, and when you’re in bed at night, you hope that it’s not your lack of practice that’s been keeping him from moving forward.

You can’t be that bad, right? … Right?

But it’s always you who initiates, and Steve always keeps it short and sweet. Once, you felt the slightest flick of his tongue against your bottom lip, but then as quickly as he’d done it, he pulled away.

Grumbling, you press your pillow over your face and punch it a couple of times before settling back down into bed. You peer at the back of your hand in the darkness of your room and contemplate on trying it just like you used to when you were a kid. God, this feels stupid.

Tomorrow, you’ll just ask. Because you’re both adults and because he was your… boyfriend. You smother yourself with the pillow again, because that was an even more mortifying thought than making out with your own hand.

 In the morning you go for a jog and make yourself a quick protein and fruit shake breakfast afterward. Then you head to the pool for about an hour before coming back home. Everything is quiet, and the world is peaceful, now that you don’t have the lives of twenty-five children hovering over your every waking moment. You shower and lie down on the couch before turning on a baking show. Looking around, you survey your apartment. It is so damn barren and cream-colored. You’re not strong nor brave enough to go get a bunch of furniture by yourself and start arranging.

Sighing, you settle on an easier task: maybe today you’ll go buy some houseplants.

Steve texts you a picture of a cheesecake around noon as you’re spraying water into the soil of two new succulents and a hanging fern. You show him your fern, placing your hand next to it for size reference. The messages between you are short and brief, since you see each other pretty often.

Summer break unravels you a little bit, but you’ll be damned if you let your new (very adult) boyfriend know. You play video games and browse the internet with a bottle of wine on the weekends, and your summer is just a giant weekend. It’s almost troubling, really, because every summer you have to either find a new hobby to keep yourself entertained.

Last year you took up rock-climbing and baked a lot… but with Steve around, that just seemed like a good way to get laughed at. And of course, the summer before that one was spent moving out of your ex’s apartment and trying to keep your head above water. You shudder at the thought. If it wasn’t for the very fortuitous call back from your current workplace, you would have probably had to move back home or continued spiraling into credit-card debt.

You text Steve, asking him to suggest a new hobby to you.

Right away, he responds and recommends that you join his watercolor session at the bakery:

I’m teaching a two-hour workshop Sunday after we close. The sign up sheet is already full but… it helps knowing the teacher personally doesn’t it? I do a ceramics one in the winter, too!

You blink.

Steve… I can only draw if I invoke the spirit of Other Steve from Blue’s Clues.

Oh perfect, now he’s calling.

“Yes?” You answer. His laughter is ringing on the other line.

“Hey! Blue’s Clues is an excellent show! And, I gotta admit, that guy can really draw.”

You huff and sputter at him, “Stop messin’ with me. Last year I baked a lot but now that you’re here… I really need a new hobby- a doable hobby!”

He chuckles again before his voice grows quieter. Bossa nova plays in the background, and the coffee grinder is buzzing intensely. “Oh honey,” He whispers, and you’re nearly gasping at the way his voice sounds—low, deliberate—like he knows exactly what he’s doing.

“Come to the workshop, won’t ya? It’s just a beginner’s thing. I think you’ll really like it. For me?”

The quick-draw refusal you were so sure you could unholster on time is nowhere to be found, not with him asking you so sweetly like that. You grouse jokingly and accept, warning him that if he laughs at your unskilled hand, you’ll never take his advice again.

“Me? Laugh at you? Never, sweetheart. I can’t believe you would think that of me.”

“Oh hush, Steven.”

A puff of air escapes him and everything grows quiet. Steve mutters something you can’t quite make out, and then, even louder than before, the coffee grinder screeches. “Everything okay?” You ask, worried.

“Yeah. Um, yeah. Everything’s good.”

You’re suddenly reminded of the way he pulls away after a good night kiss and reach to unholster that gun.

“Hey—uh wha—why do you--- um.” What the hell is the right way to ask this question? Why have our tongues not fought for dominance? Why haven’t both my hands gotten lost in the front of your button-up shirt? Why have you not pressed your hard, broad chest against me?

Maybe you’ve been reading too much Cosmo or Buzzfeed Relationships in your quest to find the right answers.

“Huh?” Steve asks. “What’s that?”

You holster the gun.

“Nothing! Ha! I’ll see you Sunday!”

“Okay, hon… See you then. Don’t be nervous! It’ll be great!”

 You squeeze your eyes shut as you place your phone on the coffee table. Crisis averted. Then, you search for basic video tutorials on watercolors as well as tips for beginning artists on your phone before casting it to the T.V. It’s entirely baffling and when you pick up a pencil and try to draw your new succulent on a nearby notepad, the voice coming through the speaker sternly states that you should “make marks deliberately-- not fiddling about with sketchy, hairy lines like a fuzzy caterpillar!”

What you’ve been working on looks exactly like a fuzzy caterpillar, and your cheeks heat up with embarrassment.

So you try again, erasing furiously before attempting those “deliberate” lines. After nearly fifteen minutes, you sit back and peer at your creations.

“Jesus.”

Your smooth, plump, glossy plant looks like one of those inflatable tubes outside of an auto dealership in the middle of deflating.

You feel deflated, too.

Over your dinner table is a corkboard of photos and postcards, and you walk over to snag Steve’s thank you card from its place in the corner. You study his technique and peer at the delicate forest green line of each stem- just a single, continuous stroke. The petals seem to be merely blobs of color if you’re looking closely, and where the flowers touch, sometimes the pigments bleed over each other.

No, it’s not a perfect thing. But it is gorgeous, still.

So, you try… again. This time, you tear off the deflated succulent drawing and place it on your coffee table in the left corner. Just for good luck, you chant “Steve, Steve, Steve!” as if he’s Beetlejuice, and get to work. Half your brain is thinking of the striped green shirt and oversized crayon, and the other half is thinking of a striped blue shirt and oversized pecs. Either way, both of them could art.

You’ve drawn all year for your students- especially your ESL kids who struggled with codeswitching. Sometimes, when they were unable to find the right word, or you were, you’d draw a picture instead. According to twenty-five first graders, you were an amazing artist, so… what the hell!

Ten minutes later, you tear off the top of the notepad and set it down next to its brother.

The two are stark differences, and your second one is little bit better. You’re almost proud of it—smooth flowing lines, rounded edges, and even a flat plane of the table to ground the pot.

Sitting back, you click around some more, making sure to choose videos that are most helpful to your current ability. Those speed-up painting videos were hella tempting, but you do not want to get lost in the rabbit hole.

Sunday is two days away. At the very least, you were going to be able to draw a damn good succulent.

---

You come in early to help him close before the workshop begins. Cap&Co. closes on Sundays right at six, and the workshop would start half an hour later.

The baristas say hello to you and smile, and you do the same back before you grab a rag and spray a counter down. The leftover pastries and sandwiches are placed on a tray and put in the middle of the room, where the tables and chairs have been pushed together by Steve.

“Snacks!” He smiles, “For the students.”

“Does that make me your student too?” You tease, finding the situation a bit ironic.

He winks at you before hanging up his apron. Between the four of you and the work that’s left, it’s quickly finished in the next ten minutes and the employees leave, wishing you a good night as they go.

Steve lets you choose the music for the night as he brightens the lights, and you randomly scroll through the shop’s selection before picking an old album you used to like as a younger girl—Fiona Apple’s 1996 Tidal. Right away, the singer’s brassy voice catches his attention.

“Who is this?” He asks excitedly, “I think I heard her on the radio the other day!”

You tell him, and he nods along to the music as he sets out sheets of watercolor paper clipped neatly on boards. Then he lays out five travel-sized round palettes already filled with an array of colors. By the time all the paintbrushes are next to each clipboard, people are starting to arrive and Steve is back and forth saying hello and giving hugs. You finish the end of the preparation and fill up heavy mason jars with water and set them at each spot. Then, you take your seat with a cake pop and eagerly and watch him lead the demonstration.

“Thanks for coming, everyone!” He smiles widely at the end of the table. “Good to see some of you again!”

 This must be what your students feel like, you think—you hope, because you are absolutely enthralled with everything that pours from his mouth. Even the way he stumbles over his words fascinates you, and the fact that he is so animated and engaged makes you love it even more.

Steve tells the group that he’ll demonstrate for about twenty-five minutes before everyone can start either trying out various techniques, or if they’ve done it before, can begin on painting whatever they please and he’ll come around to offer help. He suggests the plants for a nice still life, or other knick-knacks around the shop. Some returning students have even brought their own objects and you want to pinch yourself because you could have brought your succulent!

Then, he begins, showing you the right way to load the paintbrush with paint and water, and how water tension is so important to the medium. He shows you the difference between a wet brush and a dry brush. He shows you how to layer the colors. Your brain can hardly keep up with your eyes as they enthusiastically soak up the colors over his paper and the way his wrist moves easily back and forth from the mason jar where he cleans the bristles, to the palette saturated with pigment, to the paper where strokes are being placed.

“Here is a quick and easy way to make a flower.”

Steve loads a fat brush with water and pulls two shades of orange onto the white of the palette. In one swift motion, he streaks a daub of it onto the paper, letting the water gather more heavily on one side.

“We’ll let that dry for just a second— but we can do this for now.” He presses the tip of the brush into a tiny bit of red and makes another mark similar to the first one. The edges of the paint that touches leaks into each other, creating a tiny blossom of red into the first petal.

“This is what will happen when your paint is still wet—but that’s okay!” He makes two more petals—slightly more yellow than the last and touches his finger to the one with the accidental red bloom.

“It’s pretty dry now.” He blows softly on it for good measure and mixes a rosy coral shade into his brush.

The last petal is swept over the first, and the overlapping area where they touch turns into a vibrant shade of ripe orange. Then, quickly, he sticks the wood handle of the brush sideways between his teeth and picks up a smaller brush, wetting it, loading it with a deep purple that’s almost black, and makes a spray of dots in the middle.

“There ya go!” He takes the brush out of his mouth.

A part of you thinks that you are fucked because you may have just fallen in some deep shit here, as you stare at him, grinning widely—so proud of himself and somehow proud of you, too, for listening.

He’s made it seem impossibly easy. An absurdly beautiful blossom from his imagination stares at you from the watercolor pad in his hand as you shakily pick up the brush next to your hand.

“Well… shit, Steve.” You whisper before breaking out into a silly laugh and putting your forehead into your palm at the thought of the herculean task at hand. The woman to your right laughs along with you as she makes scribbly marks and drips globules of blue water onto her paper. Steve beams at you lovingly as you try to imitate the way he made the first petal, steering the water where you want it to go.

It doesn’t.

But you’re determined, damn it. Because one, you really want to impress him, and two, you really need a summer hobby.

The next hour flies by as you paint diligently, occasionally humming along to Fiona Apple’s resonant vocals in the background, chatting with the other painters. They’re all regulars at Cap&Co., and they adore the Rogers family.

Steve circles the room and answers questions, giving pointers, and sometimes putting his hand over yours to lead your paintbrush. He even kisses you on the top of your head when you finish your first flower—a lavender five-petaled ...cephalopod.

The affectionate gesture doesn’t go unnoticed by the others as they smile and quietly ask him questions when they think you’re not listening. Your ears go hot the rest of the night—just as hot as the top of your head because Steve!

Before you know it, it’s time to pack up. The album has already repeated, and it’s back to an early track. No one seems to mind, however, as they take their papers and wave goodbye. You linger in the area, pouring out dirty water and putting the jars back under the sink. Steve puts away the paints, fixes the rest of the tables, and you return to the café area to join him. He’s patting his thighs with his wet hands when you come in, nodding along to the music.

You gaze at the damp spots on his legs, the fabric of his trousers slightly clinging onto his muscles. Quickly, before he sees you, you look away.

“This exact song was on in the car.” He mutters amusedly, “I really like this… she’s got a great voice.”

Steve walks closer to you, stopping a few steps away and leans against the edge of a wooden booth. He crosses his arms and press his lips together, eyelashes fluttering as he smiles.

“What now?” He asks. His voice echoes the same low and deliberate tone you’ve heard before, and you think that the question isn’t really a question at all. But you’re not really sure what to make of it—tonight may have been the most forward he’s ever been.

The lights are dimmed. The piano melody crescendos before the song ends. There’s a pause of silence before the next song begins, and you feel your heart leap as the first few words start.

I lie in an early bed, thinking late thoughts.

“Um…” Your voice cracks.

I do not struggle in your web because it was my aim to get caught. But daddy long-legs, I feel that I’m finally growing weary of waiting to be consumed by you.

Steve cocks his head to the side, also listening—to the music, perhaps to your now uncomfortably loud heartbeat. You run your hand through your hair. The music chimes into a more upbeat tone as the chorus starts.

Give me the first taste. Let it begin. Heaven cannot wait forever.

“Why don’t you ever kiss me first?”

His eyebrows raise briefly before he blinks a couple of times. You tilt your chin to your chest and lace your fingers together, foot tapping anxiously as you stand in wait. “I mean, I think I’m just a little confused. We’ve seen each other for like, two weeks now. I feel like it’s always me who initiates—but tonight you did a little bit more of that. And… I guess we’ve only kissed—Am I bad kisser? Steve? Am I?”

You’re full of rambling, nervous energy but you try your best to play it off. It was such an awkward thing to say out loud, and there was no way you could come out and spit: Why have we not had sex yet?

Steve surges forward and takes your hand in his, “No!” His head his shaking wildly, “You’re a great kisser! The best!”

His blabbering catches you off-guard and the snort of laughter that comes from you is anything but attractive. “Jesus, Steven, that’s too much.”

Steve slaps his palm to his forehead. “Ah… I’m sorry. I think I’m just nervous.”

“About what?” You ask, leaning forward and looking up at him, “Steve, I just… snorted. You can’t be nervous about this. I should be the one who’s nervous! Look at you!”

He takes a step back and puts one hand on his hip, the other reaching forward to signal to you. “Look at me? Look at you!” He gawks.

The two of you stand there, pointing at each other, making scoffing noises of disbelief for a good two minutes before you put up your hand. “Okay. Pause, mister. You look like someone Photoshopped a rugged Ken Doll and then 3-D printed it. Westworld-style. You bake, you paint, you’re a ceramic---ist? Ceramicist? What! Steve!” You throw your hands up in exasperation, “Come on! Your fuckin’ arms!”

He rolls his eyes, “I’m thirty-five and divorced. I sleep four hours a night. I’m a walking disaster.” Then he narrows his eyes at you.

“You’re gorgeous! You’re funny, you’re kind, you’re so sweet…! You’re honest?” He ticks off each adjective using his fingers, “You’re patient? God, Sarah throws half a tantrum and my world collapses. You’re dedicated. You’re---“

“Okay. Stop.” You mutter, cheeks burning hot, “I sleep on the couch next to a bottle of wine and have three pieces of furniture. We’re both disasters.”

Steve laughs and steps forward again, putting his hand over yours. “I just… didn’t want to mess anything up.” He whispers, “I like you so much… and… if we’re… talking about that. I haven’t… been with anyone in … two years. Other than you, I’ve only kissed one person my entire life… So, the question is—am I a bad kisser?”

You giggle as he gives you an apologetic smirk, shaking his head at the way you two have been aggressively complimenting each other. Standing on your tiptoes, you move to nuzzle your nose against his. “You’re a great kisser, Steve. The best.”

Darkness flutters over his eyes briefly before Steve expertly dodges your nose and catches your mouth with his instead. With a half-whimper, half-moan, Steve Rogers grabs the back of your neck in one large, warm hand and your lower back with the other and presses your body flush against his.

Oh.

He’s so tall he has to bend over and you’re so small against him that he’s nearly picking you up. A brief parting of your lips give you a moment to catch your breath, but he’s back again, tongue sliding against yours sweetly, as if asking a silent question.

Is this okay?

With a sigh of pleasure, you ask him to continue in the same, secret language. Your chest his burning hot, tummy quivering with nerves and delight as his hands roam your body. Firm. Strong. Almost desperate. Your own hands rest against his chest before one reaches up and cups his face, trailing your fingertips through his beard.

“D-does it bother you?” He mutters against your mouth before he slides down past your jaw and lands his lips on your neck, “My beard?”

“Mmm—no—” you’re breathless as he kneads his fingers into your waist, moving up to position them just below your breasts, “I like it—mmm-- lots.” You sigh, as his scruff tickles your shoulder, sending tingles all over your body. “I’d like to feel it… elsewhere, too.”

He freezes and pulls away. His hands place you back down on your feet-- back to Earth-- as he swallows hard, looking at you with open, red lips. Steve rolls the bottom one between his teeth and clenches his jaw, eyes half-lidded and lustful. You’re probably a wreck, too, you think as you catch yourself against a table.

“Can we---”

You cut him off. Your purse is already in your hands, keys swinging around your finger.

“God. Yes. I’ll follow you.”

 Steve tugs you from the driver’s seat of your car, hand entwined with yours as he leads you up the walkway and over the step. Once the front door shuts behind him and he’s made sure it’s locked, you’re pressed up against the wall, purse, shoes, keys, clattering onto the hardwood.

“Oh, honey,” he mumbles as he presses his face into your collar, scooping you up into his arms. “Oh, Jesus, sweetheart.”

You’re glad he knows how to navigate his house with his eyes closed because the whole way there, you can’t stop kissing him. Your hands tug his hair and your teeth pinch his bottom lip. Steve responds by growling softly, biting you back, squeezing your thighs before slowly easing you onto his bed.

It’s dark in his room, but you feel the bed dip as he climbs on too. Both your eyes are trying to adjust—trying to find each other. Your hands fumble around until you catch him, his knee. His hands find your stomach. Slowly, he reaches for the hem of your shirt and peels it up over your head. Then he does the same to his own shirt and both of you shimmy out of your pants.

He is hard and hot when your bare skin touches his. Steve lies down on his side to face you, panting slightly as you glide your hand up and down his arm. Oh fuck, it’s been two years and the first man you touch is more like a mythical creature than any man. It should be illegal for someone to feel this good.

Trembling, you touch the hard planes of his torso, the ridges in his abdomen, the swell of his chest taking hard breaths. You shut your eyes and imagine the way he looks right now—breathless and wild. His knee parts your legs easily and one hand descends to feel your center, saturating your underwear.

“Jesus, baby,” Steve sighs into your neck. “You’re makin’ me crazy. This--” He begins to slide his digits up and down, getting the slippery wetness all over his fingers, “Already...”

A shudder rolls through your body upon hearing his words and you arch into his touch, moaning when he rubs your clit in perfect pulsing circles. He moves forward, kissing the tops of your breasts through your bra, nipping at the soft flesh spilling from the cups.

“Steve, you’ll make me come.” You admit, a little shyly even as your hips rock consciously into his hand. You paw at his arms, squeezing the ridges of thick muscles.

The mischievous chuckle that pours from his throat vibrates against your chest. Steve grabs onto your thigh and eases your leg over his hips inching closer and straightening himself until you’re aligned perfectly. He tilts back and guides you against him until your center slides against his bulge.

Just as you find the elastic of his waistband, he jerks away and places himself in-between your legs as he moves you onto your back. You scoot until your head hits the wall, propping yourself up on your elbows, giving him more room at the foot of the bed.

“You wanted to feel this?” Steve caresses your thighs with his cheek, the hairs on his beard tickling your sensitive skin. Your toes curl up reflexively as he moves back and forth, trailing his lips and face all over.

You squeal when the tip of his nose touches your mound, mouth hovering over your soaked panties. His mouth latches on, almost in a bite before he takes them off. Both his hands slide beneath your bottom, squeezing the soft flesh of your ass before he pulls your hips forward. You land on his face, eyes rolling back in ecstasy.  

“Steve,” You gasp, “This is unfair.” Your body jerks with every teasing kiss he presses to your folds. His breath comes out in a smug puff of air that purposefully continues to drive you unbelievably closer to what feels like breaking entirely.

“Baby…” he mutters—right into your cunt, Jesus! You groan at the way his face is nestled there. “Baby---mm— It’s been two years for me.” He whispers, “If I don’t get you off now, in a really good way—it’s not gonna be good at all.”

“Steve—you know—ah! It’s been the same amount of time for me too, right?!”

He ignores you, crawling his hands around onto your hips to keep you from squirming. When you settle finally, he moves one hand to your center, sliding a finger up and down your slippery folds. His mouth latches onto your clit as his finger continues their trail. You fist his hair with both hands at the same time he slips a digit inside.

But he doesn’t move. Other than his tongue’s soft licks on your swollen clit, Steve doesn’t move at all. He happily lets his finger rest inside of you, gathering your juices all over his hand.

You whimper, trying to shimmy against them, anything to create more contact. Its intrusion builds a terrible itch inside of your body, and goddamn it, you want to scratch.

It feels like an eternity passes before he finally lets you have another—adding one more thick finger inside, stretching you as he moves them both around, curling them, pumping them in and out. He sucks enthusiastically on your sensitive bud, fucks you with two fingers almost wildly, and your body responds with fervor. You gasp and moan, arching your back into his hand and face, goosebumps blooming all over your shoulders and down your arms and legs.

“C’mon, that’s it. Thassa good girl. You’re so close. Almost there… Good girl… Good girl.”

With a cry, you come undone, rolling your hips every which way as you reach orgasm on Steve’s hand. His voice continues to praise you, lips kissing your sweat-slicked thighs, beard tickling your sensitive skin.

Instead of pulling away, Steve continues to stroke you with his fingers, slowly prodding at your entrance with a third.

“Just trying to get you ready.” He murmurs, and your heart stills. Ready?

You voice your concern, “What do you mean?”

With a slight chuckle, he sits up, wiping his mouth and parts of his beard with the back of his hand. In the dark, Steve reaches for your arm, guiding you to feel exactly what he’s talking about. A strangled cry escapes your throat as you wrap your fingers around his cock. Hot. Throbbing. Big.

Sweet, sensitive, divorced, baker, artist, ceramicist, father Steve fuckin’ Rogers was packing. And it isn’t until you nervously grip him in both hands do you realize the importance of his last statement.

“Can I get you ready, baby?” He asks again.

For the millionth time that night, your eyes roll back and get lost in your head as you lean against the headboard with a whimper. Steve crawls over on top of you, scoops you up once again in his arms, and places you on his lap. Your legs wrap around his back loosely as he holds you still, previous two fingers pushing inside gently.

You rest your head on his shoulder as your body shakes under his ministrations, already tired and overstimulated. Your hands find their way to grip him, massaging his length tenderly, savoring the temperature of his body, spreading the beaded precum at the tip of his cock up and down his shaft. Steve groans, scissoring his fingers inside of you, spreading your walls.

The third finger meets resistance as you tense up.

“S-sorry,” You whisper, “I’m… I’m pretty nervous…” But you move his hand back and try again. He’s so tender and sweet with you as he turns his head to place kisses on your cheek and ear. It’s a few minutes of this exploration before you feel brave enough to shift and stroke him with determination. Steve takes the message as a confirmation and reaches into the end table for a condom.

It’s slipped on and you follow suit, gasping as Steve guides your hips with one hand, and grips himself with the other. Slowly, he fills you inch by inch until he’s so deep inside you think he could emerge from your throat.

“Oh… my… God!” You cry. There aren’t enough words to describe it— the sweetest sting, an all-encompassing and chilling burn, a mystifying and utter fullness that nearly brings tears to your eyes. You’re afraid to move, to lose this sensation, and afraid to feel what comes next. But you know that you want it.

Steve kisses your lips tenderly, babbling praise, whispering affirmations, soothing the shock that surges up your spine with his warm palm. Slowly, he rocks you back, holding onto your body with one hand, smoothing the hair that falls over your face with the other.

You’re gripping him so tightly it takes some effort to slide even an inch of him out— and there’s many inches of him. Sweat collects on your brow as you grind, dragging against his length, forcing shudders to course all over both your bodies. “Is this okay?” you mutter, delirious, “Steve? You feel so good.”

He flexes within you, grunts into your ear. A dry chuckle escapes him as his hand squeezes your back just a little too hard. He’s holding back, trying to prolong your pleasure, but his own is chasing him down, only a few steps away from pouncing.

You coax it towards him with faster snapping of your hips against his, clawing at his back, nibbling on his ear. “Come on, my love… just a little more.”

With a grunt and a shudder, and a hard kiss to your lips that makes your teeth clack against each other, Steve thrusts one last time as deeply as possible, riding out his orgasm as he pulls your hips against his. The two of you feel welded together, sticky with sweat and so tightly flushed that you’re not sure where he ends and you begin. You body slumps as you drape your arms over his neck. Steve turns his head to kiss your shoulder before making the effort to pull away and clean himself up. He goes into the bathroom first, lying you down and covering you with the blanket.

 When he returns, Steve finds you already dozed off. You palm rests under your cheek as you lie on your side, breathing deeply.

As quietly as he can, he squeezes in beside you, fitting himself against your back. He’s read it somewhere, that falling in love was a little bit like falling asleep. As his eyes slip shut, he feels it happening, just like that quote had said: slowly at first, then… all at once.

In the darkness behind his lids, there is strangely so much light.

Next Chapter

[theheaterishotjournals]

10/12/2020

Ok, I’m actually proud of myself. I was reading Cells at Work, the Code Black one this time, and the cells having so much trouble taking care of a body that couldn’t take care of itself made me look at my body and go, “You poor guys. I’ll help you out!” I actually worked out. HARD. My legs were sore and I felt so accomplished!

I kept trying to rebuild that and learning languages and drawing every day and writing all at the same time, and it was hell. I’m gonna focus on just the working out and hopefully, once it becomes a habit, it’ll be easier to add on the other habits I want. I’ve been doing pretty good at brushing my teeth too. And I wrote for an hour today! I’m behind on all the writing but I’m still pretty proud. 

I lost my apple pencil... That sucked. Especially since Daniel bought it for me. Hope I find it at work tomorrow. 

Also, the cats are cute every day. 

Daniel was trying to set up a capture set so I can play Yakuza 6 for Alex’s viewing pleasure but he had problems getting the shit to sync up. I’m so proud of him. He’s so dependable. I still think I should stream with a webcam and wear a low cut shirt. I got these boobs. Might as well try to cash in on it. Monetize EVERYTHING. 

Also therapy went well. It’s been. Rough. Therapist has been doing a little more tough love. I’m trying my best! I. really hope she finds a group therapy that is healthy. I’m ready!!! I’M READY. 

I guess habits I can be working on for now is journaling/self love exercises/brushing teeth/working out. 

Trying to find a new manga to read... Read all the cells at work I liked. Don’t wanna work tomorrow. Got lunch all cooked and shit. Proud about that. I say that but work’s usually chill but it’s OT all this week. And it’s hot. UGH.

SELF LOVE EXERCISE

I am mindful of the strengths, skills, and aptitudes I possess that have helped me become who I am. I feel grateful for...

Man. These prompts. It’s like. All the shit I use to scoff at but since I go extreme on the self-hate, guess I gotta go extreme on the self-love? Sigh. Um. 

I write half-decently. I can edit well. I think I can articulate and parse ideas down clearly in a way most everyone can understand. 

No. Ok.

I am grateful for my writing skills and editing skills. I’m grateful for my communication skills and capacity for empathy. I am grateful for my desire to be charitable and caring above my own wellbeing. I am grateful for... my desire to see the good in both sides. 

Damn. That’s quite a lot. I feel. I wanna write I feel arrogant but I don’t. I just think that because I said that, I’m gonna be arrogant but I won’t. Or at least I hope I won’t. 

I feel these to be true. I only pray that I’m not so delusional that I actually act opposite of what was written and instead actually am a shoujo villainess. 

Time for bed. Time to woo Arthur in RF4 before drifting off to sleep. 

Therapist says I gotta go back to grounding this week so MEDITATE BEFORE YOU FALL ASLEEP, VI. FUCKING SHIT. 

[the-hilda-librarians-wife]

Maybe just sommat fluffy? Maven's has a bad day at work for whatever reason and Johanna's there to cheer her up in the evening with hot chocolate & cuddles?

After The Rain

Summary:  The librarian had a bad day and an unexpected meeting makes it increasingly better. Thank you for the prompt, anon! 

Notes: So this is the second part of my Between The Pages series, you can read the first part here, but it isn’t necessary to read it to understand this one.

“UGH!” The Librarian groaned as she threw herself on the bench that had been strategically positioned under a tree. She was soaked to the bone from running in the storm, and just when she arrived shelter, it had stopped raining. Fantastic. Just what she needed after a long day.

Maven did love her job at the library. Books had always been her passion, and to work with them was a blessing. But that didn’t stop her from hating the days when the teachers from Trollberg’s primary school decided they should make a field trip to her workplace to “teach children about the value of reading.”

If they insisted on doing so, they should at least watch over the little goblins, instead of leaving all the mess and annoying questions for the librarian. That, added to the fact the her favorite amethyst necklace had broken in the morning, and that her walk from the library to her house had been interrupted by the rain, had gotten her in a mood so bad she was ready to curse the first person who tried to talk to her.

“Are you okay?” Maven turned her head abruptly to the sweet voice that had talked to her. Even if the rain had stopped, the fog still lingered, and she hadn’t realized that she had company until that moment. Once her eyes could focus on the face in front of her, she instantly recognized the woman.

They had officially met a few weeks ago, on a coffee shop that both of them enjoyed, and had occasionally seen each other on the streets every now and then. Johanna was a very sweet woman, and seeing her had definitely made Maven’s readiness to curse someone dissipate.

“Sorry, I hadn’t seen you there.” Maven apologized as she tried to squeeze the water from her cape.

“You didn’t answer my question.”

Maven groaned as she realized that the cape was unsalvageable. It would only make her colder, so she pushed at the clasp and made it fall down her shoulders. Her cardigan was another wet mess, and she pushed it over her head, only the white button up shirt remaining.

“What did you say?” She asked, turning back to Johanna. The woman seemed to have been staring at her, and blushed pretty when she was caught.

“I- ugh… wear this.” Lacking words and still with her face burning, she quickly took out the black leather jacket she had been wearing. She had two other layers, so she wouldn’t miss it, but the librarian looked pretty- cold. The librarian looked pretty cold, and she didn’t want the woman to catch a disease.

“Why, thank you.” Maven accepted the jacket. It was soft from how often it had been worn, and tasted like cherry and apples from Johanna’s perfume. “I would never have guessed you’d be the kind of person to like leather.”

“I’m actually not.” She chuckled as Maven put her garment on. “The mood just struck me today. But I hadn’t worn it in years!”

And she was glad she had left the house with it, she added silently. Maven looked very good in it.

“I’ll give it back to you as soon as I can.”

“No worries!” The artist chirped, merely happy she had been able to help. “Now, you still haven’t answered my question.”

Maven huffed. “Yeah, I’m fine. Just had a really bad day, you know?”

“Really? You look pretty worn down.”

“Well, try having to deal with thirty kids and tell me how you’ll feel later.” She tightened the jacket around herself, squinting at the memory.

“Not fond of kids?”

“Most of them are all right. But if you ask me if the Queen Of England is made up or not in the middle of a room filled with books, I won’t be looking forward to our next meeting.”

Johanna laughed. “Maven, they were children!”

“Okay, fine, but couldn’t they at least try to stay quiet and not make a mess?!” Maven was aware she probably sounded like a grumpy cat lady, but there weren’t many people she could talk to about her feelings and Johanna didn’t look like she was about to judge her for her annoyance with misbehaving kids.

“You’ve got a point there. But that’s something that parents should teach their children. It isn’t their fault.” Johanna opened the sketchbook that had been lying on her lap, closed since the rain had began, and continued to add details to a drawing she was working on. “My Hilda, for instance, may be a bit… impulsive. But she is very well behaved.”

The name jogged a memory. Wasn’t that the one who went looking for information on the Marra? “You mean the blue haired girl? She’s yours?”

Johanna looked up from her drawing. “Oh, so you’ve met her.”

“Yes, she’s quite an intriguing one. You should be proud. There are already too many boring people in the world.” Maven could clearly recall the wonder she has seen on that girl’s eyes. It was something hard to find these days, the magic of someone who wasn’t afraid to not be ordinary. And now the librarian could see that Hilda had had an excellent example to grow up to when it came to uniqueness.

“Anyway. What are you drawing?”

Johanna’s hair fell over her face and covered her smile. It wasn’t often someone other than her daughter was interested in her art. “Just some flowers I found here in the park.”

Maven leaned her head towards the sketchbook. She had to admit, the woman had talent. When Maven had tried to learn how to draw, when she was barely a teen, she’d always felt like nature was the hardest thing to capture on paper. It was just way too perfect and magical and detailed to draw, but she’d be damned if she said Johanna hadn’t made a very good job of it.

The thought made her remember something.

“Hey, how did that interview go?”

Johanna sighed. She could clearly hear in Maven’s voice that the answer actually mattered to her, and while she was flattered, she didn’t want to disappoint the woman that way.

“Not very well. I didn’t make a good first impression by showing up late, and it seems there were other, more prepared people competing for the job, so-“ she shook her shoulders “I’m still in the same place.”

“Oh.” Maven breathed softly, her eyebrows drawing closer in sadness. It was clear that Johanna didn’t like the state her life was at at the moment, and she didn’t like seeing the other woman like that. “I’m sorry.”

Johanna shot her a sympathetic smile. “It’s okay. There’ll be other chances. I’m sure of it.”

“Right.”, Maven nodded.

In that moment, a thunder sounded in the distance.

“Shoot. Looks like it will start raining again” Johanna turned her head to Maven. “Where do you live?”

The librarian frowned at the unexpected question. “Near the cemetery. Why?”

Shaking her head, the artist closed her sketchbook and got up. “That’s too far. You probably won’t be able to get there before the rain comes back. My house is much closer. Why don’t you stay with me until the weather gets better?”

Maven blinked. She wasn’t invited to people’s houses often, especially not to the houses of people with whom she’d only talked twice. But she supposed paying Johanna a visit wouldn’t hurt in the least. She took the hand the artist had offered her and gathered her wet clothes from the bench, being careful so as not to wet Johanna’s jacket, and got up to her feet.

“Thank you so much for your kindness.”

Johanna blushed at the genuine stare the woman was giving her. “Think nothing of it.”

_#_#_#_#_

“Hilda, I’m home!” Johanna shouted as soon as she opened the door to her apartment, Maven being a bit behind her and leaving her cape and cardigan at the top of the stairs, not wanting to wet the inside of the house.

When no reply came, Johanna turned to her. “She must still be at Frida’s. She should be back for dinner, though.”

Johanna gestured for the librarian to come in. Immediately, a white deerfox came to sniff at her feet. “That’s Twig.” She explained, “he’s my daughter’s. Just tell him if you want him to stay away.”

“That won’t be necessary” the librarian crouched down and petted the animal’s head, earning a soft sound of approval in response. “You don’t see many deerfoxes around town. Did you bring him when you moved?.”

Johanna nodded.

“He’s lovely. Do you have any other pets?”

Avoiding the question, Johanna snapped her fingers. “I have an idea! Why don’t I make us hot chocolate to take the chill out of our bones?”

Maven shrugged. “I’d like that.” She was beginning to think that she’d take any possible excuse to spend time near this woman.

“You’re welcome! Make yourself at home, it shouldn’t take long.”

With that she dashed out to the kitchen and left Maven to look around the house. The first thing the librarian noticed was Johanna’s drawing table. She didn’t touch anything for fear of taking her projects out of their order, but that didn’t stop her from admiring Johanna’s talent from afar. It really looked like she put her soul in every drawing.

She moved on to the nearest window, watching the rain fall outside. Johanna had been right. When they had been at the door of her building, the rain had come back full force. It was dark outside so she couldn’t see how heavy the clouds were; the apartment was too bright and there was very little light outside, the result being that Maven could only see her own reflection.

After a minute or two, though, Maven noticed a sound other than the rain falling against the window and the clatter of kitchen utensils. It was very faint, like something being scratched. Like someone was… writing?

Maven pushed the curtain even further back, revealing a small creature sitting on the windowsill, looking at her with wide eyes at having been caught.

“An elf? Does Johanna know you are in her house?” Maven whispered, not sure of the answer.

“Aha! You can see me! I knew you were a witch!” The small being raised his even smaller pencil in a gesture of success, though he didn’t have any judgement in his voice, just the happiness of someone who had their theory confirmed.

“Don’t say that! People aren’t supposed to know!” Of course the elf had figured it out. He had never seen her, so he knew she hadn’t signed the paperwork, and well, what was the one kind of human who could see elves naturally? Still, she didn’t want Johanna to find out. Not yet, at least.

“Oops, sorry!” The creature covered his mouth with his hands. “Answering your question, Mum does know I live here! Hilda and I had her sign all the necessary paperwork!”

“Okay, then.” This was a most curious situation. She couldn’t say she wasn’t intrigued as to why Johanna had an elf in her home.

Maven went back to watching the droplets of rain on the window and the elf continued scribbling notes, and they were both still at it when the scent of chocolate in the living room became stronger than before.

They both looked up when the clicking sound of Johanna’s feet on the wood floor came close to them. “There you are!” She smiled and handed her a steaming black cup, holding a red one on her other hand. “Hope you like it.”

“Thank you.” She took a deep breath to fill her lungs with the delicious smell, and then blew on the liquid even though she knew it wouldn’t make much of a difference to its temperature.

Johanna was about to bring her own cup to her lips when a high pitched voice startled her. “That’s smelling really good, Mum! What did you make?”

“Oh, Alfur. I didn’t see you there.” Johanna’s eyes widened as she found the elf just beside where Maven was leaning against the windowsill, and her voice wavered. What must Maven be thinking? That she had an invisible child somewhere? That there was a spirit in her house? How was she supposed to explain this? This was really not the type of impression she wanted to make on the librarian.

Noticing Johanna’s distress, which was clearly written on her face, Maven decided to put the woman out of her misery. “It’s hot cocoa. If there’s cutlery your size here I could give you a few drops of mine.” She said as she looked at the elf.

“Oh, thank you, Miss! Hilda carved me a bowl from a piece of wood she found, it must be somewhere in her room. I’ll be back in a second!” Saying that, the small creature jumped to the ground and ran as fast as his tiny legs could take him to the corridor on Maven’s right.

“You can see him?” Johanna asked wide-eyed and wide-mouthed. Maven thought that the shocked look looked quite adorable on her.

“I’m a librarian” she answered with a shrug. “That means I know a lot of things. I found out about elves years ago, and of course, I searched for one of them to sign the paperwork.”

That was a lie, but Johanna really didn’t need to know the truth for now. “Oh!” The artist exclaimed as she rubbed her arm, seeming relieved and nervous at the same time. “That’s good. I was afraid you were going to think I was a lunatic.”

One of the librarian’s eyebrows shot up. “Being a lunatic wouldn’t be what would help you to get rid of me, Johanna.”

She blushed prettily and looked at the ground. “Why don’t we watch a movie while we wait for the rain to pass? There must be something good on at the moment.”

“Sounds good.”

Johanna led her guest to the sofa, where they both sat down. They weren’t close enough for their legs to be touching, but they weren’t as far apart as one would expect from two people who were practically strangers, either.

The remote control was in Johanna’s hand, and the glow from the TV had them both squinting for a second before their eyes adjusted themselves. Just as she began searching through the channels, Maven felt her leggings being tugged at by something. Looking down, she saw the elf again.

“Miss?” He said as he lifted his little bowl is askance. Maven chuckled. She had to admit, the being was kind of adorable.

“There you go, little guy.” She lowered her cup down to his level, and he dipped his bowl in it with a smile.

“Thank you so much!” He said and then walked away to the same room he had just come from.

Maven sat back and watched her host’s face, noticing it was adorned by a slight frown. “Is everything okay?”

Her face opened up and she turned her gaze to the librarian. “Yeah! It’s just I hadn’t realized how close we are to Christmas yet. I’ve already skipped like, three holiday movies.” The corners of her mouth quirked up. “Hilda will probably want to put up decoration soon.”

Still scrolling through the channels, she asked. “Do you celebrate Christmas, Maven?”

Maven shrugged. “Yule, actually. But both holidays have similar spirits so I don’t feel out of place amidst all the trees and ribbons and lights.”

“Yeah, I heard once that most Christmas traditions come from Yuletide. Oh, this movie is good!”

Maven looked at the screen and lifted her eyebrows. “Parent Trap? Really?”

“We can look for another one, if you want to.”

“No, no, it’s fine. I just didn’t think you were a children’s movie lover. Though I should have thought, you do look the sort.”

Johanna crossed her arms. “Is that a compliment?”

“Maybe.” Maven answered with a playful smile tugging at her lips. She found that trate quite cute, actually, even though she was more of a mystery movie person herself.

They fell into comfortable silence, just enjoying the movie. That is, they were enjoying the movie, until Maven felt something weight her left shoulder down and realized with a start that it was Johanna’s head. Her heart began beating in a wild rhythm as the scent of cherry and apples hit Maven’s senses for the second time that evening. Luckily, she realized that the woman had simply fallen asleep and accidentally leaned into her before she could have a heart attack.

Relaxing once more, she tried to turn her focus back to the television to no avail. She was very tempted to put a stray curl of Johanna’s hair that had fallen over her face back behind her ear, but she knew that if the woman woke up she’d probably think Maven was creepy, so she twisted her hand on her black skirt to hold herself back.

Not half an hour later, when the librarian had already finished her cocoa and placed her mug on the coffee table, Johanna woke up with a start as she heard her phone ring. Slightly disoriented, she looked around herself in confusion before she remembered what she had been doing before falling asleep, and realizing who it was that she had been using as a pillow.

“Oh gosh, I’m so sorry!” She jumped away from the librarian and covered her mouth with her hands, chuckling a bit behind them. “I, uh, it wasn’t intentional.”

“It’s okay.” Maven waved it off. In fact it would be more okay if it had been intentional, but she wasn’t about to say that.

The woman excused herself to pick up the call and turned to Maven as soon as she was finished, looking slightly downcast. “It was the mother of my daughter’s friend. She just wanted to say that now that the rain is gone, Hilda’s on her way back.”

Both of their gazes turned to the window, and surely enough, there were no new drops of water joining the others on the glass. Maven realized that she had probably overstayed her welcome.

“Oh, I’ll go home, then.” She said as she got up and straightened her skirt.

“Y-you don’t have to. If you don’t want to, I mean.” Johanna said a little nervously.

“I appreciate the hospitality, but I probably should get going.” The librarian looked down at herself and realized she was still wearing Johanna’s jacket. “I should probably give you this back, too.”

“No need to!” Johanna realized she’d said it way too quickly when Maven looked at her with a curious expression. “You can give it back to me some other day. It’s cold outside and your other clothes probably aren’t dry yet. Besides, it looks better on you anyway.”

It was Maven’s time to blush. She looked at the ground, making her short hair fall over her face, and whispered “I find that hard to believe”. But Johanna didn’t listen (or at least didn’t acknowledge it) and headed straight for the door, the librarian following her closely. The woman opened the door for her guest and smiled.

“It was very nice having you here, Maven. I hope we can spend more time together in the future.”

Crouched down and gathering her humid clothes from the floor, Maven smiled at Johanna. “Likewise. If you ever want to talk to me, you know where to go.”

Johanna lifted an eyebrow. “Amongst the kids asking you whether or not the Queen of England is real?”

Maven rolled her eyes. “Unfortunately.”

They both giggled and said their goodbyes once more before Maven began going down the stairs. She would never know, but Johanna only closed the door once her raven strands were completely out of sight.

And Johanna would never know, but that night the black leather jacket was hanged on Maven’s bed frame, where she could catch whiffs of apple perfume while she slept.

What she would know, though, is that unless explicitly asked, Maven wasn’t planning on giving said jacket back. Johanna couldn’t say she could bring herself to care.

[everlarkficexchange]

Be In My Eye

(Prompt 70)

Written by: @reachingforaspark on tumblr, Grace_d on AO3

Prompt by: @567inpanem

Prompt 70: No one Katniss knew got reaped, and after the 75th the games stopped, hunting became easier, she’s looking forward to graduation, and she feels a growing attraction to boy with bread but she’s clueless as to what to do after 1 ½ decades of acting role of son her father never had and man of the house. She approaches problem like stalking game: observe. She learns a lot but realizes she needs help from only one person: popular merchant and Peeta expert Delly who’s thrilled to help in manhunt <3 

AN: Thanks so much for the prompt @567inpanem. I got super excited and planned out a multi chapter fic response to this prompt, but considering I’ve got two other two Everlark multi chapter WIPs already I abandoned. Instead I crafted a one shot from a scene in the story I planned, which still fits the prompt. When I have some free time I’d love to revisit and expand on the world presented in the prompt. Thanks to @xerxia31 and @javistg for organising!

Rating: General, minor coarse language.

Disclaimer: This is a fan work and I don’t own The Hunger Games!

Be In My Eye

Peeta Mellark is everywhere since the Revolution. At the moment, he’s between me and my way back into the district. And he’s not alone.

I pull back into the tree-line, watching as he walks in circles around the meadow. Twin blonde heads flash in the sunlight. He’s got his niece, Ava, scooped against his broad chest with one arm, a bag tucked under the other. He must find what he’s looking for, because he sets Ava on her feet and pulls a blanket from his pack. Peeta always spends a few hours on a Sunday looking after his brother’s toddler.

It’s a perfect spring day, and he’s picked the end where the wildflowers grow, under the overhang of the great oak tree that reaches across into the fence. Recently someone has hung a swing from the heavy branch, and it drifts softly in the breeze.

Belatedly, I realise there’s no reason for me to be lurking in the woods. I have a hunting permit now, and special permission to be beyond the fence. I hear Delly’s cross voice in my head. He’s just a boy, she’d told me, not a damn bear. Stop hiding. I’ve discovered that Delly Cartwright is an unexpectedly bossy ally. But for whatever reason I don’t feel like strolling out of the trees and interrupting this scene.

Peeta is propped up on his forearms while his niece sits in front of him, babbling away. From here I can just hear her bright tones, punctuated by squeals as she occasionally reaches over to pat his face. Babies in Twelve are round cheeked and happy now, and Ava is no exception. My mother and Prim cooed for a week over her the first time she attended the new check-up clinic. I’m not one for babies normally, but now the Hunger Games are abolished, even I have a smile for Ava, with her dimpled chin and blonde curls.

I can see Peeta’s concentrating, the tilt of his head familiar. It’s how he looks when he’s filling out the chalkboards in class, or listening to the New Panem broadcasts we get once a week from District Thirteen. I creep closer, sticking to the shadows until I can make out the dimple in his cheek as Ava pokes his nose. He catches her hand before it ends up in his eye and pretends to bite it. Ava squeals and toddles off, Peeta chasing her. Something about the scene makes my stomach hurt, and I brush it away.

It’s just the normal discomfort I have when I look at Peeta lately. It’s worse when he smiles, and awful when he laughs. I’ve chalked it up to ongoing guilt about never thanking him for the bread, compounded by the realisation recently that Peeta has probably never thought twice about it. Since the Revolution he’s demonstrated his goodness a hundred times over, volunteering every second he’s not in class or at the bakery, at the school, for the new construction, he even carries clinic supplies from the train station for my mother.

He’s left a sketchbook open on the blanket, pencil forgotten. My eyes linger on it for a second, but instead I track the two Mellark’s in the meadow. I walk parallel to their path, them in the sun, me in the trees, a fence between us, as Ava waddles from place to place ripping flowers from the ground and handing them to Peeta. He accepts each one with serious thanks. The sight of Peeta cupping fistfuls of daisies in his wide hands would be amusing if it wasn’t so achingly sweet. Something’s wrong with my damn stomach again. I’ll talk to Mum about it when I get home.

He herds Ava back towards the shade, and distracts her with cut up apple slices while he picks up his pencil again. If I climb out onto the branch supporting the swing I’ll probably be able to see what he’s doing, but I hesitate. There’s pretty good foliage cover, it’s not like I would be interrupting, but it feels like it’s crossing some kind of line. I try to remember if Delly said anything about that. Somehow I don’t think it’s come up yet. We’re still on the ‘how to say Hello to Peeta’ stage. Casting my mind about, I do remember her saying, Show you’re interested in what he’s interested in. Checking out his art is being interested right? I’ll just scoot out and scoot back before he even notices me.

Deciding that sounds reasonable, I spin my game bag around my back and scale the tree, my handholds sure and steady. I inch along the branch on my stomach, shifting out until I’m almost overtop the swing. Ava’s still got an apple slice clutched in one hand, and a stick in the other, scratching it against the dirt. And Peeta is sliding his pencil against the paper, drawing. I suck a deep breath. It’s incredible. He’s loosely sketched Ava, crouched in a pile of wildflowers, plump fingers clasped around a stem. With each run over the outline he refines her soft form, lines becoming clearer as if he’s pulling her out of the page. It’s mesmerising, and I rest my head against the branch as I follow his hand across the page. The breeze blows my hair against my forehead and I relax into the tree.

I watch Peeta’s hand gripping the pencil lightly, follow the line of his forearms, watching the muscles underneath his skin ripple a little. The light hairs on his arms glint gold as the breeze catches the light and dappled shadows play over his shoulders. Between the rustling leaves around me, the swishing of the grasses and the soft scratching of Peeta’s pencil, I feel trapped in a sort of dream. He flips the page, starting a new sketch, and a rope braid begins to form. My daydream is interrupted by Ava clambering on Peeta’s lap, a prize clutched in her hand.

“Rock!” she demands, holding it out to him.

“Thanks Ava,” he says, “what a pretty rock.”

I smile a little to myself.

“Apple!” She points to the basket and Peeta agrees, picking up a daisy and tucking it into her hair. It slips straight through her thin curls.

“Tree!” she points again and Peeta attempts to tuck the daisy behind her ear. It falls out, dragged by the heavy head of the flower. “Bird!” she squeals, ducking out of Peeta’s reach. “Swing!” she points again.

I bite my lip, holding back a laugh, as Peeta uselessly tries to fix the flower in her hair.

“Girl!” Ava squeals.

I freeze. Ava’s pointing directly at me. I wiggle backwards, trying to retreat.

“Girl?” Peeta sounds confused as his head swings around. “Oh!”

He’s seen me.

“Hey Peeta.” I say lamely, sitting up with a little wave. “Fancy seeing you here.”

“Hey Katniss,” he says, squinting up at me. “Fancy seeing you…up there.” The left corner of his mouth lifts.

I scoot forwards and quickly lower myself down the rope swing. I drop onto the wooden seat. What did Delly say again? Smile, (no not like that Katniss, you aren’t a maniac), and be nice. I force a smile onto my face. It feels like a grimace. Two pairs of blue eyes watch me. I’m suddenly aware that I’m a hot, sweaty mess, with a bag full of dead animals, and there’s a leaf in my braid.

“Katniss, this is Ava,” Peeta says politely, flipping his notebook closed. “Ava, this is my friend Katniss.”

She tucks herself into Peeta’s side. “Bird now?” She asks.

Peeta laughs, lifting the girl into his lap. “Yes, Katniss is just like a bird. And when she sings all the other birds stop to listen it’s so pretty.” He busies himself with finger-combing Ava’s hair.

“Preddy.” Ava repeats seriously, looking at me.

I flush and look away. No wonder I can’t talk to Peeta. I can hardly cope with him telling a silly story to a child.

Sit up straight Katniss, Delly chides me. I roll my shoulders back. Ask him about himself.

“How are you?” I say and cringe at my pathetic conversation starter.

“I’m good thanks. Ava and I are having a lovely picnic. Aren’t we?” He says smoothly, tickling Ava’s sides and smiling a little at me. “And you? Good hunting today?”

“Yeah, very successful.” I kick my foot against the ground, pushing myself on the swing a little. “I forgot my key, for the gate, that’s why I was in the tree. Had to get home.” I stumble over my lie.

“Well lucky for us then. We got to see you in your natural habit.” Peeta says. He’s doing that half smile of his again.

I scowl and pull the leaf from my hair, feeling more like a wild thing than ever.

“Hey! Aim that laser glare elsewhere.” Peeta protests, rubbing the back of his neck. “I meant that as a compliment.”

My stomach rolls. I’m saved from the horror of trying to work out what to do with a compliment from Peeta by him letting out a horrified yelp and lunging for Ava. “Ava! Spit that out.”

She’s got a bundle of dandelions clenched in her chubby fist. A stray yellow petal is stuck to the drool on the side of her chin. I laugh and reassure him that dandelions are completely edible. I’ve eaten enough of them.

“Are you sure?” He asks. He flops back on the blanket, propping his hands behind him. “Oh right, apprentice botanist and resident woodland expert. That’s exciting.”

I nod, surprised he’s heard about my job offer. I guess most people have, new opportunities like that are exciting in Twelve. I push myself on the swing a little, lifting my feet out of the grass.

“You can’t eat these can you?” He gestures to the pile of white flowers beside him. “I feel bad. We practically stripped the whole meadow.”

I laugh.

“You can make wine with them, but I have a better idea.” I say.

I kneel down beside him on the blanket. I run my thumbnail through the stem of a daisy, then thread another daisy through it, showing him what I’m doing. Peeta picks up the method quickly, pulling together his own short string of flowers. Ava wanders back over, sitting between us, leaning on my bare knee with her sticky fingers. I hum to her as I thread dandelions as well as daisies together, trying not to look at Peeta’s hands.

“How do I finish it?” Peeta asks eventually.

I take his short chain from him, rounding off the end to make a tidy crown. I lay it onto Ava’s head. She looks a picture, with her round blue eyes staring seriously at me and the daisies floating on her golden curls. Peeta’s looking at her too, a gentle smile on his face. There’s a smattering of golden freckles across the bridge of his nose that I’ve never been close enough to see before. My stomach flutters again.

Impulsively, I lean over and place my completed chain on Peeta’s head. “For you.” I say, pushing his messy waves off his forehead.

I realise what I’ve done just as Peeta reaches up to grab my hand, startled. I shoot to my feet, knocking Ava back into Peeta’s lap.

“Now you’re matching.” I stammer, avoiding his wide-eyed gaze. Ava seems unaffected by my awkwardness, blowing me a bye-bye kiss as I scoop up my bag and bolt across the meadow, hand tingling.

I try to think of what Delly would say in this circumstance, but all I can recall is her parting advice.

Just be yourself.

[yurtletheturtlehenderson]

S.T REWRITE - S1:E7; Chapter Seven, The Bathtub - [Pt. 3 - FINAL PART]

A Will Byers x Reader Series

While on the run, Y/n uncovers a startling truth. Eleven struggles to contact Will and the party joins forces with Joyce and Hopper.

Warnings: unedited (kinda?)

||Reader's POV||

The sun had set behind the trees by the time the chief's car pulled up in front of the Byers home. Strangely, it feels like years since we were last here when it had only been three days ago. As we all exited the vehicle, three figures emerged from the house; Nancy, Jonathan, and Ms. Byers.

"Mike. Oh, my God. Mike!" Nancy exclaimed, running towards Mike.

He stepped forward and she engulfed him in a hug.

Grabbing him by the shoulders, she pulled away. "I was so worried about you." She scolded.

"Yeah, uh... me, too." He said awkwardly.

Nancy's eyes trailed over to El and an odd look crossed her face and she tilted her head slightly.

"Is that my dress?"

El looked to me not knowing what to do and then back at the older girl. For some reason, and what I can only assume to be my state of mind and being under so much stress i begin to chuckle, finding the whole situation kinda funny.

+++

"Okay, so, in this example, we're the acrobat."

We had all made it inside and currently, we were all gathered around the living room. The boys, El and I were sitting on the floor surrounding the coffee table while the others were seated on the furniture. Mike had drawn up Mr. Clark's diagram of the flea and the acrobat and was catching everybody else up with what we've learned so far. They all stayed quiet for the most part -occasionally jumping in to ask clarifying questions which we were more than happy to answer - and listened intently. I, however, remained quiet. I was still trying to process what had happened during my encounter with the men. I was also transfixed in the living room around me. Wondering how the once welcoming and cozy second home had changed so drastically.

"Will and Barbara, and that monster, they're this flea. And this is the Upside Down, where Will is hiding. Mr. Clarke said that the only way to get there is through a rip of time and space,"

"A gate," Dustin interjected.

"That we tracked to Hawkins Lab"

"With our compasses,"

"And El's help of course," I added, smiling at El who shyly returned it.

The others exchanged confused glances.

Dustin took this as his cue to talk.

"Okay, so the gate has a really strong electromagnetic field, and that can change the directions of a compass needle.

Hopper spoke up for the first time in a while.

"Is this gate underground?"

Surprising us all, El answered almost immediately. "Yes."

The two made eye contact. "Near a large water tank?" He asked.

She nodded and her gaze dropped to the floor. "Yes."

Beginning to feel more on edge, I spoke up, my voice faltering. "H-How do you know all that?"

The man said nothing and only kept his gaze. Mike looked to the drawing. "He's seen it."

I frowned at his odd behavior and I didn't try to hide my confusion and anxiety from him, I then dropped my gaze to my hands, growing tenser at the thought that these horrible people could be out to get me.

Ms. Byers spoke up, addressing El. "Is there any way that you could... that you could reach Will? That you could talk to him in this--"

"The Upside Down." El finished.

Joyce's voice fell into a whisper. "Down. Yeah."

El nodded her head yes.

"And my friend Barbara?" Nancy spoke up hesitantly. "Can you find her, too?"

I could see the confidence build in El and it was then that I knew she was willing do everything she could to help us.

+++

We were all gathered around the dining room table, watching with bated breath as El attempted to find Will and Barb. She had breifly explained that she could sometimes find people telepathically somehow. She required white noise, hence Will's walkie was on the table, switched to a blank station so static filled the silence and she had her eyes closed.

Nancy had offered a once torn up photo of Barb sitting on the edge of a pool as a reference for El. What felt like minutes passed and suddenly the lamp overhead flickered and El opened her eyes. Her voice was hoarse.

"I'm sorry."

"What? What's wrong? What's happened?" Mrs. Byers stuttered.

El was blinking back tears and her voice broke. "I can't find them."

+++

El had excused herself to the bathroom, probably to catch her breath. I just hope she wasn't blaming herself. The rest of us are still at the kitchen table, processing everything. My attention was pulled to the boys when they began elaborating more on her powers.

"Whenever she uses her powers, she gets weak." Mike said.

My head perked up at this.

"The more energy she uses, the more tired she gets," Dustin added.

I've had a lot of time to think about what had happened and what I had done earlier today and in that time I could never help but assume that however, whenever El got her powers, I got mine. Whatever it may be, we must be connected somehow.

I recalled that in the short time I've known her and seen her use her powers, I've seen the toll it takes on her.

If it makes her weak, that must have been why I passed out earlier... my body had never grown accustomed to the exertion.

"Like, she flipped a van earlier."

"It was awesome."

"But she's drained."

"Like a bad battery."

I sat there, my eyes glued to the floor as I listened to the boys unknowingly talk about the similarities between me and El.

I felt a pair of eyes on me and I hesitantly lifted my head and briefly made eye contact with the chief who seemed the slightest bit suspicious of me. I quickly looked away and tried to focus back on the group.

"Well..." Ms. Byers stuttered. "How do we make her better?"

"We don't. We just have to wait and try again." Mike said.

"Well, how long?" Nancy asked.

Mike shrugged his shoulders weakly. "I don't know."

"The bath." El's quiet voice grabbed everyone's attention and we all turned to see her standing just outside the kitchen.

"What?" I asked.

"I can find them." She seemed very hesitant, almost afraid of what she was going to say next. "In the bath."

+++

Well, this is happening.

We really are calling our science teacher at ten o'clock on a Saturday and asking about sensory deprivation tanks and how to build them.

That won't be weird at all.

Nevertheless, we all watched nervously as Dustin stood by the phone and made the call.

"Mr. Clarke? It's Dustin."

"..."

"Yeah, yeah. I just, I... I have a science question,"

I cringed, unable to imagine any scenario in which this would pan out.

"..."

"Do you know anything about sensory deprivation tanks? Specifically how to build one?"

I run my hands through my hair.

"..."

"Fun."

I furrowed my brows and then sighed defeatedly before putting my face in my hands.

"..."

"You always say we should never stop being curious. To always open any curiosity door we find. Why are you keeping this curiosity door locked?"

I couldn't help but let a small chuckle escape, slightly impressed he threw Mr. Clarke's words back in his face and I looked back up.

"..."

All of the sudden Dustin motioned for something to write on and with and Jonathan grabbed a spare notepad and a pencil and Dustin sat at the table, listening to the instructions and writing them down.

"Uh-huh... uh-huh. How much? Uh-huh. Yep, all right. Yeah, we'll be careful. Definitely. All right, Mr. Clarke. Yeah, I'll see you on Monday. I'll see you on Monday, Mr. Clarke bye." Dustin quickly trailed off and was quick to hang up the phone.

"Do you still have that kiddie pool we bobbed for apples in?" Dustin asked Ms. Byers almost immediately after hanging up.

"Uhh, I think so, yeah."

"Good. Then we just need salt. Lots of it."

"How much is 'lots'?" The chief asked.

Dustin took a look at the notepad and looked back at the chief.

"1,500 pounds."

"Well, where are we gonna get that much salt?" Nancy asked the question everybody seemed to be wondering.

+++

The school. It was the chiefs idea. We all headed to the school, taking separate cars.

The chief and Jonathan went to the shed to grab the bags of salt, Mike and Nancy were getting the hoses while Dustin, Lucas and I set up the pool in the gym.

"Damn, this thing is heavy." Dustin panted as we both rolled the folded up kiddie pool to the center of the gym.

Together we undid the ropes holding it together and attempted to unfold it. After much trial and error we finally were able to get the pool set up. The water temperature had been tested just as much as the bouncy of the egg to determine if there was enough salt.

The finishing touch; Will's walkie switched on to static nearby. Finally, we were ready.

Ms. Byers and and I had helped El into the bath. She had just taken off her shoes and socks as well as the digital watch Mike had given her almost a week ago. Ms. Byers and her seemed to have constructed a waterproof blindfold with ducttape and goggles from the science lab.

We all sat nearby, ready in case she needed anything and it was almost chilling to watch her float on her back. Suddenly, the lights in the gym flickered accompanied by the sounds of the electricity surging and lights went out. We all looked cautiously towards the ceiling before looking back to El.

Seconds felt like hours when suddenly, El spoke. Her voice broke, she sounded fearful.

"Barbara?"

My heart began to faster once more.

El's breathing became frantic and the lights flickered once more.

"What's going on?" Nancy asked worriedly towards us.

"I don't know." Mike said, just as panicked.

"Is Barb okay? Is she okay?" Nancy asked frantically to El.

El began whimpering.

"Gone. Gone. Gone."

I looked to Nancy, who brought a hand to her mouth to mask her sobs. My heart ached for her.

My heart was pounding by now. My hands were shaking.

Ms. Byers immediately reached a hand out to El and held her hand, and rubbed her arm comfortingly.

"It's okay. It's okay. It's okay." She cooed.

"Gone. Gone!"

I felt like I was stuck in the middle of a storm, unable to move. Unable to help. Useless. Waiting for the worst.

"It's okay. It's okay. Hey. It's okay." Ms. Byers was doing everything in her power to calm the girl.

Even the chief gently grabbed her other hand to try and soothe her.

"It's okay, we're right here. We're right here, honey. It's okay. I got you. Don't be afraid. I'm right here with you. It's okay. You're safe."

||3rd Person POV||

Eleven found the wave of panic dissolve into nothing as she heard the distant echo of Joyce's voice reassuring her.

For the first time she felt somewhat calm in this horrifying place. Suddenly she saw something the distance.

It was a small hit roughly her height, made from large sticks and branches. It was decorated with flags and a painted sign that read

《•••》

"Castle Byers." El muttered.

My eyes widen in shock and my eyes were glued to the girl in front of me. Terrified of hearing the word "gone".

My heart was pounding so hard I could hear it in my ears. My fingers grasped the edge of the pool and my knuckles began to turn white.

《•••》

Eleven slowly approached the fort, scared of what she might find. But she knew she had to. She needed to.

After everything everyone had done for her. How kind Mike and [Y/N] had been. She felt she owed it to them. Facing her fears she brought her hand up to the blanket entrance and brushed it aside as she stepped inside.

There he was. Drenched in sweat and slime and shivering from the cold conditions, laid Will Byers unconscious, but clinging to life.

She lowered herself to the ground and sat on her knees.

"Will."

《•••》

"Will?" El asked hopefully.

I let out a breath I didn't know I was holding and everyone around us gasped.

《•••》

In his life-threatening state, he saw the girl kneeling before him and like a mirage, his mind chose to see the girl he grew so fond of.

《•••》

"[Y/N]?" The voice over the walkie talkie echoed all throughout the gym.

My heart stopped and I felt everyone's eyes on me and everyone gasped.

The voice, the sad and broken voice of Will Byers crackled over the radio saying my name causing me to stare at the walkie talkie.

My eyes became glassy and my vision blurred.

He's alive. He's alive and that all that matters.

"That's Will! Tell- You tell him... tell him I'm coming."

《•••》

Eleven spoke the words that echoed in her brain. She grasped the boys hand shook it ever so slightly.

"No, but she's looking for you. Your mom... she's coming for you. Everybody is looking for you."

Finally gathering enough strength to open his eyes, he looked to her and spoke.

||Reader's POV||

"Hurry."

His voice echoed through the gym once more and we all watched feeling helpless.

Ms. Byers began feeding words to El once more.

"Okay. Listen, you tell him to... to stay where he is. We're coming. We're coming, okay? We're coming, honey."

We heard whimpering on the radio and suddenly El shot up, gasping for air making us all jump back. She scrambled backward into Ms. Byers arms and she softly calmed the girl down.

Tears were now freely falling down my cheeks as I try to process everything that just happened.

"Oh, okay, okay. I've got you. It's okay. I got you. I got you. I got you, honey. You did so good. Are you okay?"

I quickly attempt to wipe my tears away with the back of my sleeve as I watch everything unfold. I wanted to be strong for El.

For Will.

+++

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[silaslibraryclub]

Prompt Response #7

Pining!Carm and Oblivious!Laura are friends who are donating at a blood drive - delivered by @jg-firefly

The first year that Silas Inc. had hosted their annual blood drive, there had been approximately three donors, all of whom had been instrumental in organizing the thing in the first place. The goody-goody type, the sort that believed in charity for the sake of doing good, they had set up the damned thing again every year that followed, with an extra dose of guilt-tripping at each subsequent event.

When this had still not turned out quality results, they had resorted to a far more tried-and-true method.

Bribery.

Which was how the whole of Silas Inc., from designers to programmers to accountants, were bundled in sweaters and scarves, hands shoved deep in their pockets, in the parking lot on a blistery Tuesday morning.

An hour off of work had been a lot to promise, but it had certainly done the trick, once Perry had sorted out the paperwork and pushed the issue up the HR ladder. There was a camera crew from some nobody local station, a collection of balloons, and an assortment of food trucks. The whole thing was practically a fall carnival, if they just threw in a few rides, and it was nearly enough to make Carmilla turn on her heel and stride back inside.

If it weren’t for the veritable ray of sunshine working her way through the crowd, she might well have.

“They had pumpkin and apple, and I didn’t know which you’d like, so I got both,” Laura said, beaming. There was whipped cream on her lips, no doubt from the sugary coffee drink she had tucked awkwardly in her elbow, and it took a very real effort not to reach out and thumb it away.

She focused her attention on the proffered pastry, plucking one from Laura’s grasp with a shrug.

“Either is fine, cutie.”

The nickname, even after years of use, still managed to tug a blush up into Laura’s cheeks. It was a sight that Carmilla could not imagine growing tired of, but one that pained her all the same.

Laura had hated all of Carmilla’s pet names, when they had first met. Every time they met—sometimes there were days in between, but more often weeks, and, once, months—she would insist that she was not a confectionary and that she deserved to have her real name used like any other coworker.

It was not until they were put on the same team, Laura the lead writer to her head of graphic design, that Carmilla actually backed off, and she had never meant for the names to come back. Laura had made her lack of interest quite clear, between her righteous indignation and her multitude of serious relationships, and Carmilla was hardly the type to waste her time where it was not welcome… but somehow they had become friends, and the names had crept back onto her tongue, and Laura had smiled and rolled her eyes as though this was an amusing inconvenience rather than a cardinal sin.

So, she kept using them.

“I can’t believe we actually got you out here, y’know,” said Laura. She has settled onto the steps, and Carmilla slid down beside her with a great, shivering awareness of the closeness in their shoulders.

“Mm. Does that mean you lost the betting pool?”

Laura’s eyes blew wide. “Wait, you know about that?”

“Accountants don’t know the meaning of subtlety, cupcake,” she offered dryly. Careful of the scattering crumbs, she peeled a bit of the crust off of her turnover and tossed it into her mouth. “They’ve been doing this every year. They’ve got one for whether or not I’ll join the Secret Santa exchange, too.”

This seemed to momentarily stun Laura, whose mouth opened and closed in a charming impression of a goldfish before she stuttered out, “Well, you’ve lost me a lot of money, just so you know.”

Carmilla, eyes widening in startled wonder, was spared the need to form words by the call of “Laura Hollis!” from across the lot.

“Oh, that’s me!” Laura cried, bouncing to her feet. She hesitated a moment, the uncertain shift of her toes on the pavement drawing a stutter into Carmilla’s pulse, but a moment later she merely thrust her half-eaten pastry forward and shattered any ill-advised hope. “I don’t think I can take this… could you hold it, Carm?”

She nodded—still lacking the capability to speak—and nearly caved in on herself when Laura’s fingers brushed against her own in the exchange of napkin-wrapped sweets.

Laura noticed none of this, giving a dorky little salute before she dashed off.

She was entirely too good for Carmilla, and Carmilla knew it, but every now and again she said something, did something, that challenged all of the foundations of reality. She would nudge an elbow into Carmilla’s side when she wanted to share something funny, or tilt her head just so when she was about to ask if everything was okay. She would send a text whenever she saw something that reminded her of Carmilla, or recommend a song that she thought Carmilla would enjoy, and every now and again she would look at her with a warmth that Carmilla had no way to explain.

And every time she found a new girlfriend, there was a piece of Carmilla that fractured.

There had been approximately two months between Laura starting at Silas and the start of her year-long relationship with an obnoxiously nerdy women’s rugby player. After that (messy) break-up, she had spent six weeks moping before she showed up at the office in a ridiculously chipper mood for a Monday, babbling nonstop about the perfect girl that had bought her coffee. That had lasted seven months, before Laura had broken it off, and she had spent three months going on dates before a one-night-stand turned into yet another year’s worth of flowers and drop-ins and joint photo-ops. That had ended, at long last, only because of her feelings for Danny, and it had been over a year and a half before that, too, fizzled out.

She had been single, now, going on five months. It was the longest Carmilla had seen her without a girl’s photo on her phone lock screen, without their work lunches interrupted by giggly visits, without her tossing in ‘oh let me see if insert-girlfriend’s-name can come, too!’ whenever the staff was planning an outing.

Carmilla would by lying, if she said she had not been waiting for the moment when it would start all over again. There was always another beautiful girl waiting in the wings, another girl with a supportive family and a real education and an encyclopedia of knowledge on all Laura’s favorite television shows.

Eventually, as much as the idea made her stomach churn, she’d meet the right girl—the girl that she would never break up with. The girl she would marry.

She’d probably invite Carmilla to the wedding.

It was with this rather nauseating thought in mind that Carmilla stood to follow the call of her name onto the donation bus, and she only managed to dull the ache with the image of Laura’s beaming face that was waiting for her.

“Carm! Look!” she declared, holding her arm up halfway in apparent pride at the thick, red tube that was sticking out of her elbow.

Carmilla grimaced, which apparently only served to amuse Laura. The nurse was less thrilled. She shoved a clipboard into Carmilla’s arms, directed her onto a cracked plastic bench, and then set about attending to one of the interns (who was looking pale with a full bag of blood hanging out of him.)

“You look nervous.”

Her pencil pausing halfway through her personal information, Carmilla raised her gaze to find Laura craning to see her. It was not a pose that looked particularly comfortable, but it did nothing to affect her temperament. Her eyes sparkled just the same as ever.

“I’m not nervous,” Carmilla scoffed. She returned to the papers, scowling as she took in just how many pages were involved. What did it take to give blood, a doctorate in medical science?

“You haven’t done this before, have you?”

How she always seemed to know these things, Carmilla would never understand.

“No. But it seems fairly straight-forward.” She tapped the clipboard, “Step one, fill out ridiculous permission slips,” she pointed to Laura’s arm, “Step two, part with half my blood supply. For free, apparently.”

“There’s a t-shirt.”

“Peachy.”

She turned back to the paperwork.

“Why do they care if I’ve been to England?”

“Mad cow disease,” Laura offered knowledgably.

“All of this seems unnecessary.”

Laura’s expression turned into a pout. “I swear, you better not give up on this over the paperwork. At least let it be over the needle, if you’re going to cost me my fifty bucks.”

There she was again, casually believing Carmilla was capable of more. Casually betting on her doing good.

The nurse stepped between them, surveying Carmilla’s answers and setting them aside, and then she found herself offering a finger to be stuck for what was apparently an iron deficiency test (something Carmilla could not help but think should have happened prior to the invasive questioning) and by the time she was settled onto the crinkly paper of a donating couch, Laura was being bandaged up.

Timing always had been a bitch.

“Can I get some cookies?” Laura asked, though, the moment the nurse had finished strapping a bright green ‘X’ around her elbow. She tested the flexibility, tapping her index finger on the crux in a way that Carmilla was certain the nurse would not advise.

[s-nebul0sa]

Just for that I have to work and can't go outside. Every even number 😄 have fun in the sun

🖕🏼🖕🏼😘😘 Thanks for asking

2. A picture of me:

You know it’s not gonna happen. So here is a very realistic and life-like drawing of me I totally did not make in 2 minutes time on my phone without any pencil thing or anything. My actual face is not as crooked I think. (And paler. I just compared and less reddish/pink)

4. Last time I cried and why?

Err.. I think maybe Sunday? Because I was anxious and wouldn’t stop being anxious. Otherwise, definitely Friday because same reason plus I was reading a fic.

6. Favourite band:

Omg I know nothing of bands. What are bands? Uhhmm I’ll pick the first one that comes to mind. When I look at my spotify playlist because I can’t come up with anything. I’m terrible at this okay. Is pentatonix a band? If not, sucks for you cause I’m still picking them.

8. Top 5 candies:

Black liquorice (look, I’m Dutch, don’t blame me, this stuff is in my veins. And yes, I mean the salty versions because we ignore that fake ‘sweet’ shit (unless it’s the coins version))

Haribo apple rings

Haribo anything else really

Lion bars

Katja yoghurt gums 

10. Biggest turn ons:

As if I’m self aware enough to know this… Fine. I’ll try 😋

Geeking out over stuff. Being excited about ‘nerdy’ stuff. Red lipstick. Being interested in me. Breathing/being alive.

I think that’s some of them probably.

12. Ideas of a perfect date:

Something where you can talk or not have to sit still for hours. I’ve never been on a date actually so I don’t know what I like. But like, talking seems good. Getting to know each other. But on the other hand, laser gaming sounds fun too. So something that’s either fun like laser gaming or laid back like a picnic.

14. Piercings I want:

None. I have pierced ears and I don’t even want that anymore (got them pierced when I was a kid and really wanted it…)

16. Favourite movie:

I think I’ve said this before but I’m not good with ‘favourite’ anything. So err the parent trap? Because I think that’s the movie I’ve seen most and it does always manage to entertain me even though I know the plot by heart.

18. Phobia:

I’m not sure if these are phobias or fears but: the dark, heights, fire…. and probably some more vague/not as material shit like losing friends.

20. Height: 

167.5 cm (yes, very important that 0.5 cm)

22. What’s your shoe size?

39

24. Do you smoke, drink, or take any drugs?

Nope

26. What’s one thing you regret?

I don’t like to think about this stuff because I end up in a spiral of negative thoughts and memories I cannot change. So I’ll keep it simple. Not buying better ice cream when I went to the store the other day. 

28. Favourite ice cream?

Italian ice cream from the one ice cream place in the village my mom works. Specifically, cinnamon and stracciatella flavour.

30. What my last text message says:

“I think I’m getting a real bad cold. Or ill. I hope the first.” (This is a translation, also not a text but whatsapp is the European/Dutch equivalent of texting these days)

32. Have you ever painted your room?

Yes, I didn’t like the unpainted walls because that’s ugly so I didn’t really have another option. Also, I think it was one of the requirements for moving in here. 

34. Have you ever slept naked?

I have, when it was really really hot.

36. Have you ever had a crush?

Yes, I think. Okay, no. Yes, I’m pretty sure.

38. Have you ever stolen money from a friend?

No, never.

40. Have you ever been in a fist fight?

Not really. I’ve punched someone before but I don’t think they hit back (I punched her in the face and she had braces and apparently that hurt…)

42. Have you ever had feelings for someone who didn’t have them back?

To be determined.

44. Have you ever made out with a stranger?

No

46. Have you ever left your house without telling your parents?

I do it all the time. Badass, huh. Or do you mean when I was a minor and living with them? In that case, no I didn’t dare.

48. Have you ever ditched school to do something more fun?

No, I was too much of a goody-two-shoes.

50. Have you ever seen someone die?

No, thank Rao.

52. Have you ever kissed a picture?

I’m pretty sure I had to do that in play once (just a peck). Don’t think I ever did it myself ‘in real life’ though.

54. Have you ever love someone or miss someone right now?

That’s one weirdly worded question. At least, my brain thinks so. But I’m not currently missing someone and I don’t get the other half…

56. Have you ever made a snow angel?

Yes, many.

58. Have you ever cheated while playing a game?

I was the sorest loser you’ll ever meet when I was a kid and I cheated all the time to avoid losing. I’d be the bank in all the games that needed someone to take care of that and then slip myself money or resources. 😂😂 I don’t cheat anymore, I just don’t play to win and then I don’t mind not winning.

60. Have you ever fallen asleep at work/school?

I’ve fallen asleep waiting for someone to come study while I was sitting at uni, but that was tucked away in a corner of a couch that was behind another couch with a super high back so no one saw me except my friend. Other than that, I don’t think I have.

62. Have you ever felt an earthquake?

I don’t think I have.

64. Have you ever ran a red light?

By bike, many a times. By car? Never.

66. Have you ever had detention?

Not a thing here, so no.

68. Have you ever hated the way you look?

Yes, often.

70. Have you ever pole danced?

Yes. I sucked. The muscles you need for that man… 

Want some context? It was during the introduction week for uni and we got to do some sports at the sports centre and every group was just assigned which sports they got to do. We got assigned pole dancing (and some others).

72. Have you ever been to the opposite side of the country?

Depends on what you define as opposite. I have been to the opposite side of where I live now and I guess also kind of from my parents. But my country is super tiny so I’ve been in most (general) places….

74. Have you ever cried yourself to sleep?

I have

76. Have you ever done something you told yourself you wouldn’t?

Definitely.

78. Have you ever slept with someone at least 5 years older or younger?

No

80. Have you ever sang in the shower?

Yes

82. Have you ever dreamt that you married someone?

I once dreamt I had a husband who passed away (and woke up sobbing only to realise a solid 10 minutes later I had never even married someone, nor liked someone enough to want to). 

84. Have you ever gotten your tongue stuck to a flag pole?

Are flag poles so prevalent in the U.S. that you actually know where to find one to get your tongue stuck to? Also, did they never teach you about touching cold objects with bare skin, especially wet skin like the tongue?

86. Have you ever been a cheerleader?

Also not a thing here, so no. And if it were a thing here, it’d also be a no probably.

88. Have you ever brushed your teeth?

Rao, I hope no one ever answers ‘no’ to this question. (So that’s a ‘yes’ for me.)

90. Have you ever played chicken?

What is this? Just pretend that you’re a chicken? Or is this some game I don’t know? It’s no to either I guess.

92. Have you ever been told you’re hot by a complete stranger?

I’ve probably been shouted at something along those lines. I mean, I’ve also been shouted at I got ‘nice tits’ whilst wearing a thick winter coat and a long scarf over it so I doubt it was even visible I had them in the first place…. Men… 🙄

94. Have you ever been easily amused?

I guess? 

96. Have you ever mooned/flashed someone?

I probably mooned my sister. But to be fair, someone allowed this Asian cartoon on a kids network and that boy mooned everyone so my sister started doing it too. I can only assume that if I ever mooned anyone myself, it was in this context and I did it to my sister. (That cartoon got banned and I watched some stuff on youtube the other day and damn what idiot thought that was appropriate for kids?!)

98. Have you ever forgotten someone’s name?

Yes, especially when being introduced to many new people. 

100. Give us one thing about you that no one knows.

I don’t know whether this exists (except if I don’t know this thing about me either). I talk about wanting a pet but I’m also kinda scared of animals?

[catstudyblr]

I’m new to the studyblr community so I think I should introduce myself! My name is Cat and I’ve finally got round to starting a studyblr (it’s only halfway through the year - whoops). I’m currently in Year 12, and with exams only a bit over a 100 days away I want to get my life organised and keep me accountable.

About me:    

I’m 18 and live in Melbourne, Australia                                                        

I’ll be studying a Bachelor of Primary Education with a major in literacy. 

Following my Bachelor, I hope to study my Masters in disabled education.

Interests:  

I love photography and the visual arts - I especially love painting.    

I love animals and have three cats who will probably feature in my posts from time to time - they think they’re helping me study but they certainly aren’t.

I would like to travel post Year 12 and if anyone has any study abroad advice I’d love to hear all about it.                                    

Favourite TV shows:

 Brooklyn 99, The Handmaids Tale, Rupauls Drag Race, The Good Place and Santa Clarita Diet (I’m always willing to hear new recommendations!).

Studyblr:

I’d like to meet people in the community as I have many aspects of how I study that I want to focus on getting better at; I’d like to get tips and inspiration from you guys!

I’m always here for a chat - (whether about studying or not) and I like to think I’m pretty damn friendly!

I currently use a MacBook Air and take handwritten notes, however, I plan to transition to using Goodnotes on an iPad Pro at the end of the year ready for Uni. 

Once I’m more organised I’d like to start posting more original content, but for now, I’ll mainly be sharing others notes and advice.

I will be tracking #catstudies.

Inspiration/Other Rad Studyblrs:

I was mainly inspired to start a studyblr by @emmastudies , who I’ve been following for a few years now! As I find more cool studyblrs I’ll add them below!

@studyquill​

@minimaliststudy​

@adelinestudiess

@alimastudies

@helloimstudying

@studylightly

@erasign

Updated (2019):

What I use:

iPad 6th Gen

Apple Pencil

Goodnotes Ver. 5

Microsoft OneNote

Macbook Air

VCE 2018:

What I studied:

English

Further Mathematics

Business Management

Studio Arts - Painting and Drawing

University:

What am I studying:

Bachelor of Primary Education, with a specialisation in Disabled Education (Currently first year)

[kawaiilikat1994]

Common Ground

*heavy breathing* Okay, this is the first IT fanfic I’ve ever done, so hhhhhhhhh enjoy? {roughly 2400 words}

@darth-stetter

Chapter One: 38 Days

“Just 38 days,” I told myself as I walked towards the front doors to Derry High School. “38 days until I'm free from this hell hole.” It was our first day back to school after spring break. Kids littered the front lawn, some hanging out in the shade of the trees, some playing catch. Then there were the unlucky few being mercilessly bullied. I ignored them all, though; I didn't have any real friends. It wasn't because I was some socially awkward loser hated by everyone. I just didn't like people enough to invest that much time and energy into a relationship. Despite my general apathetic nature attitude towards people, there were a few people who considered themselves my friend, even if the extent of our relationship was smoking pot and the occasional under-age drinking.

I kept to myself as I followed my normal morning routine: visit my locker, get my English books, grab an apple from the cafeteria, and wait outside the room 'til class started. I was pretty zoned out as I ate through my apple until Gretta, the junior's worst bully walked past.

“Slut!” she yelled before shoving another junior, Bev, into the nearby lockers. There was a loud clank as Bev's bony body slammed against the wall of  metal. “Off to suck another dick in the bathroom?” Gretta sneered as her friends snickered beside her.

“Shut the fuck up, you ugly toad.” Gretta and her friends all turned to face me, but the look on my face told them not to mess with me.

“Whatever,” she muttered before pulling her friends away.

“Thank-” Bev started.

“I didn't do it for you,” I interrupted her. “I just hate that stupid bitch.”

“Language.” I turned to my English teacher, Mr. Wilson, who was unlocking the door. “I'd hate to write you up this close to graduation.” I didn't reply, and when I looked back Bev had disappeared. The bell didn't ring for another three minutes, but I was used to being the first kid to class. I took my usual seat in the back left corner and watched as the rest of the class slowly filed in. Mr. Wilson was halfway through roll call when the last student, Vic, walked in.

“Mr. Criss, so nice of you to join us,” Mr. Wilson sarcastically greeted him. He continued with roll as Vic made his way to the last available desk, which happened to be the one next to mine. When Mr. Wilson finished, her sat down his clipboard and leaned back on his desk. “Okay, everyone, listen up. This year the teachers got together and decided to do something different for your senior projects. In each class you'' be paired up with someone and given your task. For this class each pair will be given a historic novel to dissect.” He continued talking as he walked around the room, handing out syllabuses. “This breaks down every task I want you to do, as well as how many points you can earn for each part. Please be aware these stories will not be short or easy; this will be your classwork for the rest of the year.” I quickly scanned the syllabus as most of the class let out a groan. Mr. Wilson clapped his hands together to regain our focus. “Rows 2, 4, and 6: look to your left and say hi to your new partner.”

I gave Vic a once over and said, “Could be worse.” He smirked and gave me a nod. I really didn't mind being paired with Vic. He wasn't the dumbest kid in class, and he kept to himself, too, meaning I didn't find him as annoying as my other classmates. Mr. Wilson held up his clipboard and began assigning each pair a novel.

“Last but not least,” he said, “Vic and April: you get The Great Gatsby.” I let out a sigh and slumped my shoulders. On the one hand, the project should be easy since I'd already the book. “On the other hand, I'd read it at least a dozen times, so I knew I'd be bored out of my mind.

“Fitzgerald, he's not so bad,” said Vic.

“You've read it before?”

“Not this book,” he answered. “I read The Beautiful and the Damned. It was pretty good.”

“No, Lauren,” Mr. Wilson snapped. “You can't switch partners because you think Ivan is gross.” Vic and I both snickered under our breath.

“So what's your phone number?” he asked.

“U-um, what?”

“What's your phone number?” he slowly repeated like I was stupid. “I was thinking we could work on this after school, so I need a way to get a hold of you.”

“Oh, right,” I laughed, mentally face palming. I quickly scribbled my name and number on a piece of paper, but I didn't give it to him right away. “Trade, mine for yours.” Vic quickly copied me, and we traded slips of paper. “It, uh, would be best if we made plans in person, or I called you instead.” Vic's brows came together in confusion, and I quickly looked down. “Just... don't call me. My dad would get super pissed.” That seemed to be a good enough explanation, and he didn't press the issue. We spent the rest of class going over the syllabus and dividing the responsibilities. Before we knew it, the bell rand, signaling the end of class. We quickly made plans to meet up after school before going our separate ways.

In my next class, Calculus, the teacher gave the same speech as before. “Now, I understand this whole 'group project' concept is a little harder to apply to mathematics,” Dr. Harper explained, “so that's why I've turned this into a tutoring project. I've split the class into two groups: those with the higher grades and those who... could use some help. Your final grade will be determined by Person A's ability to increase Person B's final grade.” I was annoyed by this proposal; it meant I'd actually have to be patient with someone. Dr. Harper began calling out the pairs, and my ears perked up when I heard my name. “April Brembly and Patrick Hockstetter.” My face fell into my hands. It was no secret that Patrick had the worst grade in class. Whether it was because he was dumb or just didn't care, I had no idea, but it didn't help that he only attended class half the time. I jumped as Patrick plopped into the desk next to mine, his long legs knocking into mine.

“April,” he said, slowly drawing my name out as he gave me a devious smile. I tried to smile back, but it probably looked like I was wincing. “Oh c'mon, this'll be fun.”

“Look, let's get one thing straight,” I replied with a serious look. “I'm not failing this class because you decided to fuck around.” His head dipped back as he laughed, and I smacked the back of his hand. “I'm not kidding! Don't screw this up for me.” He suddenly grew very serious and gave me a salute.

“Yes sir!” I rolled my eyes as he laughed again. “Lighten up, April. It's not like you won't graduate, even if we failed this class.”

“That's not the point, I snapped. “How did you even make it to this class, anyways?”

“I'm pretty sure the other teachers passed me just so they wouldn't have me in class again,” Patrick answered. “I had Mrs. Tremblay for Algebra three times. I think she started pulling her hair our because of me.” He smiled triumphantly, and I simply shook my head.

“You're awful.”

“Thanks.” He stretched out even more, placing a leg in front and behind my desk, trapping my own in place.

“Do you mind?” I asked, my voice dripping with attitude.

“Not at all,” he answered with that damned smile. I rolled my eyes again and took my assignment sheet from Dr. Harper.

“Great, derivatives,” I sighed. “Does this even look familiar to you? I'm pretty sure you slept through the only class you bothered to show up for.”

“You been keeping tabs on me”? he asked with a wink.

“No,” I blurted, but I could feel my face heating up. He just laughed and leaned forward to read the assignment sheet. His face was so close to my shoulder I could feel his breath running down my arm. I shivered as goosebumps popped up on my skin, and he responded by draping his arm around the back of my chair.

“So, teacher,” he purred in a low voice, “work your magic on me.” I avoided eye contact for the next thirty minutes as I went over all the notes I had. Honestly, I had no idea if he was listening to me at all, but I still rambled on because it was the only way to distract myself from his intense stare. When I finished talking, I held out my pencil and turned the paper towards him. H eyes the sheet for a few seconds before looking back at me.

“What's in it for me?”

“Are you serious?” I groaned.

“You think I give a shit about my grades?” he laughed. “I'm not doing this unless I get something out of it.” His eyes drifted down to my chest, and I casually draped my hand over my cleavage.

“Like what?” I snapped. His fingers brushed against my bare leg, and I jerked away. “Something reasonable.”

“Make out with me,” he answered, staring straight into my eyes.

“First of all-”

“Every day.”

“W-what?” I blurted, wide-eyed.

“You don't make out with me, I don't do the work.” My mind raced as I struggled to think of something to say, and he smiled like a predator looking at cornered prey. “I need the motivation,” he added with a shrug. How bad do you wanna pass?” We silently stared each other down; he knew I couldn't afford to fail.

“Just kissing?” I asked.

“Sure,” he said unconvincingly. After what felt like an eternity the lunch bell rang. Patrick followed me out of the room and draped his arm over my shoulders as we walked down the hallway.

“What are you doing?” I asked in a curt tone, quickly shrugging his arm off.

“Going to meet Henry,” he answered, I remembered Henry's locker was a few down from mine and felt my face heat up again, embarrassed that I thought he was following me on purpose. “You should come hang with us.”

“I'm good, thanks,” I quickly answered. We walked around the corner, and I could instantly feel Henry's gaze on us. My stomach twisted into knots. The infamous bully never paid me any attention.

“C'mon,” Patrick urged as I stopped at my locker. “It beats eating alone.”

“I like eating alone,” I argued. I felt his arm snaking around my waist, and I smacked his hand away.

“I'll give you a free baggie after school,” he coaxed. I glanced up and watched him mimic smoking a joint. My lips began to twist into a smile, and I quickly looked away.

“What do you even do during lunch?” I asked.

“Smoke in Belch's car.”

“Got any menthols?” I closed my locker and looked up again, finding a cocky smile on his face.

“Always.”

“Dude, c'mon!” Henry barked a few feet away. Patrick cupped my shoulder and steered me in his friends' direction. “What's this?” Henry asked, motioning to me.

“April, my new... friend.” I didn't like the sinister tone in his voice, but I smiled anyways.

“You cool?” Henry asked, speaking to me directly.

“I guess,” I casually replied. He looked me and up and down before huffing.

“Let's go.” He led us out of the school and over to student parking where Belch's blue Trans-Am was waiting.

“Ladies first,” Belch said as he held the driver's seat forward. I climbed into the backseat, followed by Patrick and Vic. Henry took the passenger's seat and Belch the driver's. Everyone was quiet as the cigarettes were pulled out and lit up. I took a long drag off the one Patrick gave me, closing my eyes when the wave of nicotine hit me.

“So what's the deal with you two?” Henry finally asked, eyeing Patrick and I in the rear view mirror.

“School project,” I answered before Patrick had a chance to say anything stupid. “Uh, speaking of, I'm gonna be late to the library after school today,” I told Vic. Patrick's hand slid over my thigh, and I clamped my legs together to keep from moving further north.

“Wait, you're partners with Patrick and Vic?” Henry asked.

“What's with the third degree?” I asked back, not bothering to hide my agitation.

“So my mom's gonna be at work all night,” Belch spoke up. “We'll have the whole place to ourselves.”

“April, you down?” Patrick offered.

“Who the fuck said you could invite her?” Henry barked.

“Well, we were gonna work on our project,” Vic added, “So if she just comes with-”

“Whatever,” Henry huffed.

“If you're gonna be a whiny bitch about it, I just won't go,” I threw at him. The other boys stared at me wide-eyed as Henry spun around in his seat.

“What did you say, bitch?!”

“You suddenly can't hear?” I replied, not backing down.

Henry's grip on his headrest tightened as he snarled, “Don't fucking talk to me like that.”

“Then stop treating me like shit!” I snapped. The car was silent as we stared each other down.

“Then prove you're not,” he finally said before slumping back in his seat. Patrick wrapped his arm around my shoulders, as if to comfort me, and I rolled my eyes. Henry was the first to finish his cigarette, and even though he didn't say anything, everyone knew he was impatiently waiting on us to finish. I quickly puffed on my cigarette and tossed it out the window after his. Patrick was the next to finish, followed by Belch, and eventually Vic.

“Meet here after school,” Henry said before getting out of the car. He looked back at me and added, “We'll leave your ass here if you're late.” He didn't wait for the rest of us to exit the car before walking away.

[imagineaworlds]

Caught in Your Eyes (Part One) — Billy Hargrove

Written by @rune-of-a-writer

Request: Hi. I love your work. I was wondering if you could do a billy imagine where the female reader is new to town and she’s a bad girl and billy instantly falls for her and tries to get with her. Thank you!!

Author’s Note: I’ve decided to make this into a series because of how long it got and because of how much I love it. If you guys like that idea please let us know, feedback would mean a lot with this!

Warnings: Cursing.

Pairing: Billy Hargrove x female!reader

Summary: You were new to town and the last thing you wanted was this blonde haired git and his blue car bothering you. But we can’t all get what we want.

Word Count: 2,414

Listen To: HeartBreaker Marina and the Diamonds

Gif Cred: @allaboutthatbillyhargrove

Being new to town was difficult, like it would be for anyone. But under the circumstances for which you were new to town, it was even harder for you. You really didn’t want to be there. You had made a mistake at your last school, you knew that. But it wasn’t your fault. And yet nobody listened to you. So there you were, beginning of the second semester in a brand new school. You didn’t know anyone, nobody knew you. Part of you wanted to keep it that way, keep the past underwraps, but nothing stays hidden, not for long.

Leaning yourself against the side of your black ‘70 Ford Mustang, your hands shoved into the pockets of your leather jacket, you watched carefully as the parking lot of Hawkins High School began to fill up. Kids exited their cars, talking excitedly with their friends about winter break; where they had gone and what they had gotten for their respective holidays. You surveyed everyone, who met up with who and how they interacted. There didn’t seem to be any big, overpowering groups. Simply smaller groups of 4 or 5, walking together into the school.

But there was a disturbance. A roaring screech of a blue camaro swerving into the school parking lot. Heads turned instantly, guys scowling and girls grinning. Everyone knew who this guy was. You watched as the car recklessly parked two spots away from you, instantly attracting two girls. If the guys were scowling, then whoever this guy was, he was an outcast, loner per say. He wasn’t in with the football players or baseball players. He was his own person, his own stereotype.

Your (e/c) eyes narrowed as the guy got out of his car, followed by a ginger girl. She looked like she was in middle school and it became obvious when she went in the other direction of the High School. She had her skateboard in her hand but she wasn’t riding it due to the icy ground. Your attention focused itself back on the outcast.

He wasn’t too tall— maybe 5’10, 5’11— but he was buff, it was obvious he worked out a lot. The acid washed denim jacket he wore was tight around his arms, the black shirt underneath low enough to reveal parts of his chest. He had blonde hair that seemed to curl a bit and striking blue eyes that stood out against the snow and bright sun. He didn’t seem all that interested in the two girls in front of him, but he put on a smile anyways, placing one of his hands on the brunette’s shoulder and sending her a wink. It seemed to satisfy the two of them because with a wave they walked off and into the school.

The parking lot was almost empty now, so you took this as your cue to pause your analyzing for the moment and head inside as well.

Finding your first class was easy enough. Before the semester started, you had been brought in so you could be shown around and get your locker ready. Walking into the classroom, students were still mingling and talking with one another.

“Ah, Ms. (Y/L/N), correct?” the voice of your European History teacher called out.

“Yup,” you said, walking over to him, your hands still in your pockets.

“Great, I’m Mr. Hodgins. We have assigned seating because this class doesn’t know how to behave anymore,” he grumbled out, his eyes quickly flashing up to look at a few students. You followed his eye contact, taking in the faces as well. “So you’ll be sitting in the fourth row beside the aisle,” he instructed, pointing to the seat with his pencil.

“Cool, thanks,” you replied with a nod of your head before walking over to the seat. Shoving your backpack underneath the desk, you leaned back in your chair and waited for class to start. But, as you predicted, the students eventually noticed a change in their surroundings and soon focused their attention on you. There weren’t many judgemental glances or rude stares, just curiosity and slight confusion.

“Hey,” someone finally said, breaking the barrier between you and them. “You’re new here, obviously. I’m James,” the guy introduced himself, holding out his hand. Once the obvious had been stated, that you were indeed new, most of the kids turned their attention elsewhere.

“Hey, I’m (Y/N),” you said, shaking his hand. He had dirty blonde hair that feathered to the side and caramel eyes. He was wearing a white shirt with blue cut off at the sleeves and brown jeans.

“Nice to meet you, (Y/N). If you don’t already have plans for lunch, my friends and I wouldn’t mind you sitting with us if you’d like. We have second lunch, I’m not sure if you do as well,” James offered, tilting his head slightly. You eyed him carefully. He wasn’t eyeing you up and down, he wasn’t smirking or trying to hold something back. His arms were lazily crossed in front of your desk as he leaned on it, a carefree statement.

“Yeah, sure. I’ll meet you by the doors,” you agreed, a smile making its way to the other boy’s face.

“Great! See you then,” and then he was off, heading towards his seat which was one row in front and to the side. The last bell for class rang, everyone else filing into their seats as well. Before Mr. Hodgins had the chance to close his classroom door, one more person made his way inside. It was the kid from the parking lot.

“Mr. Hargrove, I know you can count. That was the third bell. By the second bell you need to be in this class,” Mr. Hodgins scolded, closing the door once the blonde was inside.

“I’m fully aware Hodg’,” the kid said before making his way to his seat. Which was towards you. You kept your eyes on the board, but you were fully aware that there was only one empty seat in the class— the one next to you. So that must have been his seat.

Your theory was confirmed when he sat roughly into his seat, the chair moving back from his actions. “Wait, who’s this?” he suddenly called out, jabbing his thumb in your direction. Raising your eyebrows, you turned your head to face him.

“Why don’t you ask me yourself? Or do you constantly have to make a scene in order to feel some sort of importance in your life?” you questioned, tilting your head as you rested it on your hand. The class let out a mix of reactions. Some laughed, others oo’ed, and some scoffed. The boy on the other hand smirked widely at you, his tongue darting out to run over his lips. He was upset— you used that same tactic whenever you were mad except you’d press your tongue to your the tips of your teeth.

“Well, then, princess, who the hell are you?” he questioned, a slight snarl in the tone of his voice.

“None of your damn business, asshole,” you shot back, using the same tone as him.

“Language! The both of you!” Mr. Hodgins shouted, slamming a ruler onto the board. Some of the students jumped, but you and the blonde didn’t flinch. You broke the harsh eye contact first, electing not to get in trouble within the first five minutes of your first day of school. As you looked at the board, Mr. Hodgins began to go over the syllabus and expectations for the semester, while the blonde— Hargrove as you now knew— was still staring at you.

You could tell he wasn’t used to a response like yours. He was used to girls giving him what he wanted, or playing hard to get in their own teasing way. But not being straight out aggressive and hidden away. He hadn’t stopped looking at you in the past twenty minutes, going back and forth between tapping his pencil on his desk and eyeing the side of your face. It went on like that for the rest of the class period.

It was gonna be a long day.

When lunch came around, you found yourself leaning against the entryway to the cafeteria. Your foot was placed on the wall for balance and your hands still placed in your jacket pockets. Your bottom lip was pulled into your mouth, your teeth unconsciously chewing on it as you waited for James and his unknown friends to arrive.

“Hey! (Y/N)!” a voice suddenly yelled out, drawing your attention. Rushing down the hallway was James and two other boys. “Hey,” he said again once he had reached you, “This is Chris and Vance,” he introduced. Chris was pale with black hair and blue eyes. He had a Motley Crue shirt on which you thought was cool. Vance had dark skin and short black hair with brown eyes. He had a simple silver necklace on (that he was currently rolling between his fingers) and was dressed similar to James but with a yellow shirt with red cut offs and blue jeans.

“Nice to meet you guys,” you said politely, nodding your head.

“Yeah, you, too,” Vance grinned. Chris nodded in agreement but didn’t say anything.

“Alright, come on you guys, I’m starving.” James said once everyone knew each other, leading the group into the cafeteria.

You followed the three of them from behind, continuing to chew on the bottom of your lip. The cafeteria wasn’t too full, most of second lunch consisted of juniors and seniors so they’d leave campus to go elsewhere for lunch. James, Vance, and Chris fell into the lunch line talking among themselves.

“So, (Y/N), where’d you move from?” Vance asked, looking over to you. This is a question you’d be wanting to avoid; anything from your past.

“Oh, just the one from other side of town,” you said simply. Vance took the answer easily enough as the line moved forward, pulling you guys in front of the food. You weren’t too hungry, so you chose an apple and chocolate milk instead of a full tray.

After paying for your food, James led you guys to a table that hadn’t been taken yet and had plenty of room. You sat beside James while Chris and Vance sat on the other side of you guys. They began another conversation, one you weren’t too interested in, so you decided to look around the cafeteria. Lunch was different than that morning, everyone was in bigger groups than they were earlier. All of the sports players were piled into one table, laughing loudly at some joke, with some of the sports girls mixed in. The cheerleaders and what you assumed were concert girls sat at another table, their bright lunch boxes standing out against the bland walls of Hawkins High. The smaller groups, (AV, science, math, and so on) were mixed within each other, spread out among the cafeteria. Nobody was interacting outside of their group, and they didn’t seem too focused on anyone outside of their respected groups either.

Then your eyes landed on the blonde, Hargrove. He was sitting at a table by himself, the one across from you. The brunette from this morning was leaning on the table, not sitting at it but simply leaning on it. You couldn’t hear what they were talking about over the buzzing of the cafeteria, but by the facial expressions Hargrove was making, you could tell he wasn’t too interested. His eyes were wandering around the cafeteria as well while his fingers lazily turned the rings on his fingers. Not once did he look up at the brunette to actually give her his attention. Instead, he just nodded his head at random intervals as if he was listening. You watched carefully as the wandering of his eyes got closer to your table, but you didn’t bother looking away. What was the point?

When his eyes finally landed onto yours, an instant smirk broke out on his face. You didn’t return the gesture, instead you just raised an eyebrow and began to fiddle with your necklace. The brunette turned around when she finally noticed his attention wasn’t on her anymore. She frowned when she saw you before sighing and walking away from the blonde boy. The two of you ignored her, not breaking the eye contact you held. His tongue darted out again to run over his lips but it wasn’t as aggressively as it was this morning. You kept your face neutral, not wanting to give him the satisfaction of a reaction from you.

“What are you looking at?” Chris suddenly said, following your gaze along with the other two.

“Oh, god,” James moaned, looking away quickly when he saw who you were stuck in a staring contest with, “Why are you and Billy Hargrove trying to eye fuck each other in the cafeteria?”

“So that’s his name,” you hummed, a smirk finally making it’s way onto your face. You narrowed your eyes slightly before slowly dragging them away from the blond and back to the boys at your table.

“So, uh, what was that about?” Vance questioned, leaning forward.

“Oh, nothing,” you hummed, taking a bite out of your apple. “Just figured I’d piss someone off on the first day.” All three of them let out a chorus of ‘oh, my gods’ and ‘jesus fuck’.

“You know who he is, right?” James asked.

“Obviously not.”

“He’s a bad guy, (Y/N). He fucks around with girls, toying with their feelings. Gets in fights all the time. He’s a real ass to his sister. Drives above the speed limit. That kinda shit,” James informed you, his eyes briefly flickering over to Billy as he spoke.

“I don’t mind, really. Rumors are rumors. Besides, it’s not like I’m interested in him,” you said, giving James a playful shove and smirk. “I just think it’ll be fun to mess around with him. By the looks of it, he has the entirety of the Breast Population in the palm of his hand. Doubt he knows what it’s like to have one stand up to him.”

“You’re in for one hell of a ride, (Y/N/N),” Chris whistled, giving you a low chuckle before going back to his lunch.

A ride is just what you needed in order to distract yourself from what had happened at your old school. And this Billy guy seemed like the perfect one.

[mrshopkirk]

“Reach out for me” (part 1)

Characters: Steve x Bucky, mention of Sam

Summary: After Steve finds Bucky, he takes him to the tower to work on his recovery. Although Steve yearns for some kind of contact, he doesn’t show it and Bucky is still incapable of giving him what he needs but he’s trying. A stupid incident happens that Bucky takes very personal and he makes a terrible decision.

Warnings: angst (what a surprise), mention of blood, recovering from PTSD, tons of miscommunication or a lack thereof, swearing

Word count: 3848 (it got out of hand, sorry)

A/N: This fic is written mostly from Bucky’s POV. It’s based on the prompt “exactly what you’d expect” for the Cards Against Humanity writing challenge for @emilyevanston. I truly hope you like it. I used the prompt twice, once for the fic and once now to tell you that is probably exactly what you’d expect from me.

Thank you @abovethesmokestacks for proofreading. I love you, sweetheart. Feedback is appreciated.

*MASTERLIST*

Reach out for me and touch my skin. I long for your touch. Why can’t you see? Have I lost the look on my face? You used to be able to read me like an open book. I’m still here. You just have to turn the page and start a new chapter. I’ll even start a new book for you if you want to. I’ll do anything for you, just like I used to.

Worry fills your eyes when you see the dark circles under my eyes in the morning. Another sleepless night lies behind me but I can’t tell you why. I let you think it’s because of the nightmares although you must know by now that they’re mostly gone. Gone are the cries. Gone are the screams. Gone is death playing on loop in my mind. Yet sleep doesn’t find me. Or it does but I decline it every night. When nighttime comes I indulge myself in a guilty pleasure. You’re my guilty pleasure. I’d rather not sleep than miss watching you sleep. The way your eyelashes flutter close and cover those blue eyes of yours. The peaceful expression on your face. The rise and fall of your chest and I remember when I fell asleep on it, the rhythmic movement lulling me to sleep. The way your lips are slightly parted and short breaths escape. I wonder if you smell just as sweet as you used to. At night, in the darkness of your room, while I cowardly hide in the shadow in the corner, the memories come to me. Memories of you. Memories of me. Memories of us. They’re all the memories I need. I’ll gladly take this piece of my life and grow old holding it close to me. I don’t need to know where I have been or where I will go. I was with you and you’re with me now. I don’t need to know what life was like before the war. I was with you. I don’t need to know the pain that was done to me. You are here with me now. There is simply no stopping me when it comes to loving you.

Another morning is on its way. I’ll go now, my love. I’ll see you in a while.

I watch you eat your breakfast cereal and drink the last milk from your bowl. I think I always loved to watch your Adam’s apple bob up and down. You lick your lips and instinctively I lick mine as well. If I concentrate hard enough I can taste you. Everything there is to taste though it’s been forever. I long to rediscover you, every ridge and bump, the way you smell. I wonder if you still make the same little sounds and I shake the thought that maybe someone else has drawn them from you in the time we’ve been apart. The look of concern and frowns on your face are not the ones I want to see but scraping my nails against the cold hard surface of the table and the whirring of that damn arm gave away the sinful attention my mind was lavishing you with. Even when you give me that pitiful look I hate, I love you.

The drawings you make are still beautiful but then again I never doubted that. I am convinced that you are and always will be the best this world has to offer. When someone said ‘you make the world a better place’ for the first time, I’m sure they were talking about you. You can add ‘you make me want to be a better man’ to that list. God, you make my heart soar even by just sitting there. How do you do that? I wish I could just walk up to you, plop down on the coach next to you and watch you. Just like old times. You used to draw me. Would you do that now too, even looking like this? I wonder but I’m afraid to ask and more so afraid of the answer. I would pose though. Just so I could watch you stick out your tongue, the serious look on your face, the way your eyes would roam my body, the way your hand grips your pencil, the way you try to do me justice as you always said. You really did mean that in more ways than one, didn’t you? Is there anyone in this world that loves someone more than I love you? Because, sweetheart, oh do I love you. I don’t think I could stop even if I wanted to.

Maybe I should be training but I can’t bring myself to it, getting punched or punching somebody. I’ve had enough. But I just saw you exit the gym. Jesus fucking Christ, Stevie. I’m sorry I ran the moment I saw you. You’re even more beautiful than I remember and all I remember is perfection already. How can someone look like that? But I wouldn’t do you justice if I didn’t go back further back in time. Tiny feisty thing, disheveled hair that never does what you want, frail hands, short breaths, short so I could kiss the top of your head, thin so I could wrap my arms around you and protect you. I miss that so much, being able to protect you. I would do anything to keep you safe. Anything. You have me. Don’t you know that in that big heart of yours? Please reach out for me. Your touch will melt me. I’ll comply to each and every one of your demands. I guess it’s Hydra’s loss. All they needed was you as my handler and I would have destroyed the world for you. Because there is nothing that can make me stop loving you. I followed you in the jaws of death once. I’d do it again in a heartbeat because my heart beats for you. I was born just for you. There is no greater purpose to my life. You’re the picture in the bigger picture of things.

Food doesn’t interest me. The fact that you’re at the dinner table does. It takes all I have in me to face the rest of them and sit down. It shows, I know. It’s a shame that you always see me like this, awkward, uneasy, tense. I’m not like this, sweetheart. I want to boil tasteless food with you. I want to laugh at the awfulness of it and then tell you all I need is you. You’re my fuel in life. You’re it. You’re everything. Please, reach out for me. I beg you. Can’t you tell? But I guess I’m not exactly what you’d expect of a boyfriend. Trust me, I believe you when you say I’m worth it to you. I just think you deserve better. I’m sorry I’m not strong enough to tell you. Maybe later. I’ll try. I promise. I can’t deny you my love. I never will. You’re stronger than anything I have to offer. I just need to get better, to be better. For me. For you. For us. But mostly for you.

The evening is coming and I can’t help but smile. From dusk till dawn I have you to myself. All to my selfish self, my greedy self, my wanting self. You’re mine. And I can tell you don’t give others a second glance. It gives me life. It lets me breathe. It’s a silent victory. I’m yours. You chose me. You want me. You still want me. You save yourself for me. Please save yourself. I’ll make it worth your while soon. I try and remember how to do it when I’m alone in my room. I’ll remember soon. Trust me. I won’t be able to stop loving you. You light the dark path I was on and guide me home. You warm the parts of me that are cold to the touch. You awake everything in me that was laid to rest. When you close the door to your bedroom for the night I see your pleading eyes. I know what they say, what they ask. I know they invite me in. I see the want in them. I relish it. I always make sure I’m the last person you see at night. Is that torturing you? I don’t know. You probably think so when you see the slight smile on my face that you never return but it’s because I look forward to the night. You’re mine. Only mine. Soon, my love. Soon my darkness will corrupt your sweet soul because that’s how we are, even before. You were always purer than me. I’m sorry but I can’t stop loving you. It will happen. I’ll make sure of it. I promise. When I deserve you again. But please try and read my face. Love is written all over it. Can you see it? Have faith because I will never be able to stop loving you. I simply can’t. I wouldn’t know how to.

I open the door to your room like a thief in the night but there is nothing to steal. I know deep down that everything you own is already mine. Do you know everything I am is yours too? I watch you twist and turn, pain etched on your face, your fists clenching your pillow. “Bucky…” I hear you whisper my name and it’s sweeter than honey. My eyes roll back in my head and then it hits me like lightening. Dear God, I promise. I promise you now, I promise with all I have, with all I am, that tomorrow is the day. Tomorrow I will tell you. Tomorrow I will take a deep breath and show you the pieces of myself that I stitched back together like some ugly quilt that is yours to keep. People will look at it and wonder why you want something that old and ragged and ask why you don’t throw it out and get something new, something pretty. I understand them, oh I do, but I hope you will keep me anyway. I feel naked. I feel giddy. I feel free. Tomorrow will be the day.

It was supposed to be a prank. How could I know? He caught me by surprise. I had let my guard down promising myself to you.

It dawns on me now. I thought I was getting better. I let myself believe it. I truly believed I could do it on my own but I fooled myself. Look where it got me. The light you turned on shows what a failure I truly am, a creep hiding in your room at night. Even I am unwilling to believe that I could stoop so low as to watch you sleep like my life depends on it. I have longed for so much, a touch of any kind but the look in your eyes now is like a slap in the face. And I deserve it. There’s blood on my fist. There’s blood on the floor. There are spatters on the wall. There is blood trickling down Sam’s face. The stupid bucket of water meant for Steve lying by his side. I stand here watching the scene unravel in front of my eyes. This time I’m my own man but I still can’t move. I tell myself to move but nothing happens. Maybe I’m just waiting for someone to beat me to a pulp, to receive what I deserve. Bruises and broken bones and blood seeping from wounds, it’s all I’ll ever deserve.

72…73…74…75…76…77…78… I allow myself to breath again as soon as I know he’s still breathing. I close my eyes for a brief second to let relief wash over me that I didn’t take this brave and gentle man’s soul.

“Bucky?”

His voice is soft and gentle and I want to bask in it. When I look at him, his eyes are pure. They shouldn’t be looking at something like me though I want them to every minute of the day. I want them to see me and only me. I’m selfish I know but I still feel entitled to his undivided attention. I have missed him so long already.

I see his hand slowly reaching out for me. Finally. I will finally feel his skin again. Will he still feel as warm? Will his fingertips still brush my hand as softly as they used to? Will his touch still be gentle? It all comes back at once. All of it. It washes over me like a tsunami and it takes all of me to keep my footing. I embrace the force of it, the good and the bad. The more pain, the more love, the more strings that are pulled the better. I will never get enough of you. I close my eyes and feel the corners of my mouth curl upwards ever so slightly. I can feel. I feel. I finally feel. I will finally feel him again.

“Are you kidding me?” The harshness of his voice startles me. My eyes snap open and everything I saw a moment before in the face I know by heart is gone. “You’re smiling?! SMILING?” He’s seething. The blue has turned red. The pale has turned red. The smile now snarls with teeth bared. “You could have killed him, Buck, and you’re smiling?!”

“No,” I whisper, “no.” I take a step forward. “You don’t understand.”

“What don’t I understand, Buck? Why don’t you tell me?” He looks so mad and I feel like crying for the first time in… I don’t know how long actually. “Tell me why the hell you were in my room! In the middle of the night! Hiding in a fucking corner!”

His voice makes me cringe like when our teacher scratched the black board with her nails. A shiver runs down my spine. He’s asking me a question to which I have no good answer, not one he will understand anyway.

“Where is he now, Steve?” Sam asks, lying in the bed in med bay.

Steve rubs his face and sighs. “He’s been hiding in his room ever since it happened.”

Sam cocks an eyebrow. “And where exactly have you been, Steve?” He looks Steve in the eye. “You know what I mean. You know your place was with him and not here with me.

“You needed me.”

“All I have is a broken nose and a mild concussion. If he really wanted to hurt me he would have killed me with that punch. It’s a bullshit excuse, Steve. You knew something like this could happen. I know Barnes’ recovery isn’t exactly what you’d expect but it is how it is. Now get out.”

He doesn’t know how long he’s been standing in front of Bucky’s door. Too long probably but what can he say? He yelled at him. He walked away from him. He didn’t check up on him. He didn’t listen to his explanation. He left him in the cold. He left him in the dark. He did exactly what he promised he would never do.

It calms him somewhat to hear Bucky’s movements on the other side. His chair creaks. He hears him huff out a breath. A pen scratches on paper and is dropped on a surface. His clothes rustle. A zipper closes. Straps are being pulled. Steve leans his head against the door and listens to his breathing. God knows how much that used to calm him down. God knows how he longs for those breaths to fan across his neck, over his lips. Only God knows.

There are lots of things only God and Steve know. The way his fingers itch and his bones hurt from longing to touch Bucky. The way his lips tingle when he thinks about Bucky’s lips on his again. The way a fire spreads across his skin and spreads fiercely from head to toe when he sees him walking around barefoot, hair lose, lost in peaceful thoughts. The way his heart almost leaps out of his chest when he catches him looking at him, hoping against hope that he will reach out and touch him.

Steve will never forgive himself for getting lost in thoughts for so long. He will never forgive himself for waiting so long to reach out for him.

“Longing”

“Rusted”

“Bucky?” Steve’s eyes widen in shock and he finds the door locked.

“Seventeen”

“Daybreak”

His heart is hammering in his chest. This cannot be happening. What exactly is happening? Who is in there?

“Furnace”

“Nine”

“BUCKY!” He pounds on the door, screaming his name. “BUCK! BUCKY!”

“Benign”

Steve breaks down the door and lands on the floor. He gazes up at Bucky, his Bucky with a lost look on his face, tears in his eyes. He’s holding a recording device in his hands, an unknown voice saying the feared words. When Bucky’s notices Steve eyes fall upon it, he cries.

“Homecoming”

“No no no no…” Steve scrambles to his knees and rushes over to Bucky. He knows he’s out of time. Only two more to go. Two lousy words. He’s standing right in front of Bucky now and instinctively reaches out his hand.

Bucky’s eyes snap towards the hand that stops mere inches from his face. He wants to lean into the touch. It’s all he ever wanted. It’s all he craved and yearned and longed for, for months now. But he can’t move. You’re a fool, Buck, he thinks to himself, the last bit of himself he still has. So he tries to fight it. His eyes blinking rapidly and desperation rages through his body. His body is convulsing. His lips forms Steve’s name but nothing comes out.

“One”

“Sweetheart, no,” Steve chokes out. Tears are streaming down his face and he closes the final inch and his fingers brush Bucky’s cheek.

“Freight car”

It’s over. It’s over again before it started. He takes a step forward and without fear he holds Bucky’s face in his hands. He doesn’t know the mission of the winter soldier and he doesn’t care either. Without Bucky there is no Steve. Till the end of the line, right?

“I’m sorry, sweetheart. I’m so sorry.”

“Goodmorning Soldat.”

The voice comes from the little recording device in Bucky’s hand and it’s Bucky’s voice this time. What is going on? Steve’s grip on Bucky’s face tightens when Bucky’s eyes snap open and stare right into his eyes but see nothing and no-one. Bucky answers.

“Ready to comply.”

Steve is shaking Bucky frantically. How fucked up is it Bucky activates the winter soldier himself? How much has he disappointed his lover to make him do that? And Bucky himself explains it through his own words he recorded earlier.

“Your mission is to keep Steven Grant Rogers safe from harm, from yourself. You will not go near him. You will not touch him. You will not speak to him. You will hide yourself from him. You will not hurt him. You will forget him. You will,” Bucky’s voice breaks, “stop loving him.”

The device drops from Bucky’s hands. He comes out of his trance like state. He didn’t turn himself in the old winter soldier but Steve doesn’t know if that’s better because now the love of his life looks him right in the eye, pain and hurt in them, but steps back. Steve follows him, stepping forward only to have Bucky step away from him again. It’s like they dance their own dance of despair, of finding and losing, of coming and leaving, of protecting and hurting. It’s only when Bucky hits the wall that he executes his self-imposed mission. His left hand hits Steve in the chest with an unexpected and determined force pushing him back and he brushes past him.

“Bucky, no. Please no. Don’t do this to me, to us.” He grabs his arm making him stop. “Please, come back to me. Don’t leave. Just don’t.”

He lets out a relieved sigh when Bucky takes his wrist but the grip is too tight. Before he knows it Bucky has turned him around and presses his chest to his back holding him in a headlock. Steve tries to grip Bucky’s arm trying to break free but to no avail. He doesn’t even know if he wants to break free. It’s the first time since he found him that he’s felt his skin on his. His tears fall on the sleeves of Bucky’s shirt and he slips into unconsciousness. While his body slumps against Bucky’s, the latter holds him upright. His own tears draw wet streaks in Steve’s hair and with calculated moves he places Steve on his bed, like a sleeping beauty. He grabs his backpack that he prepared filled with food, clothes, money. He’s leaving as a civilian, the only mission to carry out is leaving Steve, is dying inside. But when he prepared for this, he couldn’t find it in his heart to leave Steve with nothing.

When Steve wakes up, he stays in Bucky’s bed, curled up in a ball in bed sheets that still smell like him. He doesn’t want to look around the room. He doesn’t want to see the device that turned his lover into a stranger. He doesn’t understand where he got the recording of a handler activating the triggers. He doesn’t want to see the notebooks he left on his desk.

When the sun sets and darkness covers the world, Steve sees a little light. It illuminates a picture frame. How he finds the strength to walk over he doesn’t know but his heart constricts in his chest when he notices the picture of Bucky and him in the army, arms slung over each other’s shoulders, cheeks pressed against each other’s, toothy smiles. Next to it there’s a notepad.

My love,

I can’t leave you without telling why I was in your room that night. I wasn’t just there that night. I was there every night. I’m sorry. You asked me why. Here’s why.

To watch you sleep.

To try and work up the courage to touch you.

To chase our memories that come back slowly.

To keep the nightmares at bay.

To make me feel safe like you always made me feel when you were close.

To feel want.

To own my love for you again.

Because being close feels like you chase away my demons.

To be close to you because we’ve been apart for too long.

Because I long to share that bed with you.

Because I want to love you in that bed.

Because you’re the hope to my despair.

Because I love you.

Because I can’t stop loving you.

Because I’m with you till the end of the line.

I ask only one thing of you. Please don’t forget me. If you do it’ll be like I never existed, like we never existed. No matter what happened, I feel like we deserve to be remembered, that we mattered. At least you always mattered to me. Tell Sam I’m sorry.

Forever yours,

Your Bucky

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