#so there shouldn’t be those extra scratchy lines in the legs

[every-eye-evermore]

Infinite murderbots!

[garybrower]

How to pick a perfectly fitting t-shirt for your size and style?

If you’re like many of us, you’ll spend more time in a t-shirt than in any other item of clothing (except your underwear, hopefully). In fact, the humble tee is so commonplace that the dark art of sizing doesn’t quite get the attention it deserves. Rather than bulk buying simple undershirts, try taking your time finding a t-shirt that fits, because there’s no simpler way to make your everyday look more fashionable. It’s easy to see why t-shirts have become so popular. In the age of athleisure, comfort is king and formal clothes are becoming less and less common. There’s hardly a more comfortable garment than a well-fitted t-shirt, which is neither too tight nor too loose, without scratchy labels or irritating collars. They’re also the most versatile of clothes. Some will only toddler tees for activities which demand no fashion—sport, sleeping, lounging around at home. But t-shirts are also an opportunity to show your interests to the world around you, whether you’re buying one or designing a custom t-shirt for your business, brand, event or group. If you show others what your favourite brand or movie is, you might find some new friends with something in common come and introduce themselves. But just because they’re comfy and versatile, it doesn’t mean t-shirts can’t be fashionable. A solid-colour tee is a classier look, especially paired with smart trousers and shoes, while colour-blocking with complimentary garments can make for a striking effect. You can put a tee under an open shirt for a relaxed formality, or tuck it under a jumper for a bit of extra warmth. There are plenty of joys to be found in the t-shirt, but that’s only if you can get one to fit right, which can be harder than it sounds. That’s where we come in, so check out this handy guide to the perfect fit. What’s your size? A perfect fit will mean different things to different people, but you’re generally going to want a shape of tee which is flattering to your body shape. Sizes change depending on the brand — you might be a medium in one shop and a large in the next. How to know if a t-shirt fits Tightness A tee shouldn’t be too loose, or it’ll hang awkwardly and make you look shapeless. Too tight and it’ll show your least flattering contours — even if you have a perfectly toned torso, you might look a bit showy in a tight tee. If you’re slim, choose a t-shirt with a tailored torso so you’re not swallowed up. If you’re larger, choose a structure which gives you some extra room. Length If you lift up your arms, the hem of the tee shouldn’t ride up to expose your belly. As a general guide, it should hang lower than your hips, an inch or two below your belt-line, but not all the way to your legs. That said, in certain circles, like skaters, oversized tees are all the rage. Arms Shoulder fit is the easiest way to tell if a t-shirt fits you right. The seam along the shoulders should extend across the centre of your shoulder to the very top of your arm. If that’s right, everything else should fall into place. Meanwhile sleeves should go halfway down your upper arm, though some men’s tees have stitched sleeves for a ‘muscle fit’, which is flattering to the definition of your biceps. Choosing a t-shirt according to style Slim Slim fit t-shirts are best for those after an athletic, “muscle” or body-hugging fit. This is a cut that will hug the body more tightly, with sleeves that will be tighter around the arms. For a really sporty fit, choose t-shirts that have a more elasticated material that means the sleeves can stretch around the arm muscles while keeping the rest of the t-shirt tight around the body . Classic The classic cut is smart and flattering, with well fitted shoulders and sleeves that have a comfortable amount of space around the arms. It should hang straight, just below the waist without excess material. Baggy The oversized t-shirt has become much more popular in recent years. You could choose a t-shirt specifically cut in this way – which means it will fit around the upper body better – or opt for a size or two bigger. While the baggy shirt has been associated with the skater or hip hop look, recently it’s become a smarter style too; a crisp oversized t-shirt in black or white can look just as smart when worn right. Other important tips Consider the fabric There are a range of fabrics to choose from, but 100% cotton is generally a safe bet. We like it here at ICON because it’s soft, strong and breathable. You might want to consider cotton blends, which are less likely to wrinkle or shrink in the wash, but with a quality, pre-washed cotton shirt, this shouldn’t be an issue. You want your t-shirt to fit even after frequent washing.

[cpd5021]

Here? Now?!

Hello again! I know I already posted the first story for my one shot Wednesday challenge, but after some careful consideration.....and bargaining over on the “Let’s talk about Upstead” group chat... I have decided to post this smutshot as an added bonus for the week. From here on out, I will probably post one new story every Wednesday until Nov. 11th, but if one of the prompts happen to be a smut shot then I will post that as a bonus. This way, if there is anyone who doesn’t enjoy the smutty/sex fics they don’t miss out on a story for the week. So without further ado, here is this weeks smutty bonus! Based on the prompt’s:

 Really? You wanna have sex.... here? Now?" 

and

 "I may or may not have left some.... marks.”

Sent in by the wonderful @thetwit. Thanks again to everyone who has sent in prompts for the Wednesday challenge series. Hope you enjoy!

Mandatory overtime. Two words that shattered Hailey’s hopes for a long weekend off. Platt had sent out the email yesterday morning that she needed two members from Intelligence to work a patrol detail and since everyone else in the unit had already pulled their fair share of OT, Hailey and Jay volunteered. More so, they were volun-told by Trudy that they would be the ones working. With a sigh, she pulled her unfamiliar blue uniform out of her closest and began the process of getting ready for her shift. She supposed that if there was anyone she was going to be forced to spend time with for the next four hours at work, on a Saturday, at least it would be Jay. Hailey stood in front of her mirror, tugging at the scratchy polyester material of her shirt and then pulling her hair into a quick ponytail. She grabbed her phone from her nightstand and headed downstairs. Vanessa was sprawled out on the couch, looking extra comfy in a pair of baggy sweatpants and an old band tee. She smiled up at Hailey when the older woman walked in. 

“Ah, I don’t miss those days.” Vanessa teased, trailing her eyes up and down Hailey’s uniform. 

“As I recall, you never had ‘these days’.” Hailey countered back with a smile. 

“True true.” Vanessa nodded with a grin, turning her attention back to whatever Netflix documentary she was watching. “At least you get to do it with your boy toy.” Vanessa waggled her eyebrows, popping a chip into her mouth. 

“He’s not my boy toy. And all we’ll be doing is patrol.” Hailey shook her head at her roommates antics.

“Yeah, the ‘it’ I was referring to was the overtime...not anything else.” Vanessa sent her a wink and Hailey felt her face blush at the innuendo. “You two aren’t ballsy enough to mess around at work.” Oh, Hailey thought, if she only knew. 

“And you are?” Hailey challenged, trying to shift the attention off herself. 

“Maybe...” Vanessa trailed off with a smug look on her face. Hailey’s phone when off then with a text from Jay saying he was outside. Since they were in official uniform they had to take an official patrol car and Hailey laughed at the sight of Jay sitting behind the wheel of the old crown vic. She buckled herself in, blushing slightly when Jay leaned over to kiss her cheek, and they were off. 

“So what is this event even for?” Jay asked causally as they turned off her side street. 

“Beats me. You got the same email I did and I definitely wasn’t about to push for more info.” Hailey mocked a shudder at the thought of their harsh desk sergeant. 

“Fair enough. Maybe there will be food trucks.” Jay sounded hopeful and Hailey chuckled. Jay was like a teenage boy when it came to food, he was always hungry and he would eat just about anything. 

They arrived at their destination and Jay parked the patrol car on a street where it would be visible to the crowds. The banner hanging over the street informed them that this was some sort of charity block party and, to Jay’s delight, a row of food trucks were lined down one side of the event. They got out, both tugging at and adjusting their uniforms, before they ventured into the crowds. Hailey had a personal bet going on how long it would take Jay to beg for the food trucks and she wasn’t disappointed when that was the first place he headed. The first place he headed was the pizza truck, ordering them each a slice and a soda. Food in hand, they began to lazily trail through the crowds, heads on a swivel and eyes scanning for anything or anyone out of place. It was a fairly large crowd but most of the patrons seemed to be families with small children. They stood and watched a group of kids playing a water gun game and smiled when the youngest kid won the biggest teddy bear. Jay took her empty plate and soda from her, tossing it in the trash and nodding towards the dessert truck. Hailey laughed and shook her head, but followed him anyway. Hailey was distracted by some guy blowing up balloon animals for another group of kids and didn’t notice that Jay was headed back her way with two giant churro’s. Her eyes bugged out when she finally saw the large dessert and Jay’s beaming smile. He was like a kid in a candy store right now and she could feel her uniform getting tighter with all the food she was consuming. They found a bench and sat to enjoy their treat. Hailey was still scanning the crowds but when her eyes met Jay’s she sent him a quizzical look. Jay must have been staring at her the whole time she was eating, but the look in his eyes sent her heart skipping a beat. 

“Why are you looking at me like that?” Hailey asked, brushing the sugar from her fingers and dipping her head self consciously.  

“Maybe a churro wasn’t the best thing to get you....” Jay trailed off, voice sounding oddly husky given the circumstances. 

“I don’t follow.” Hailey pressed, sending him another questioning look. 

“Well just watching you eat it, seeing you lick your lips like that...not okay.” Jay trailed his eyes up and down her body and Hailey felt her face flush. 

“Oh, I see. Too bad we’re not ballsy enough for that.” Hailey repeated Vanessa’s earlier words, knowing she was teasing him and already planning what they would be doing after this event. 

“Who said I’m not ballsy enough for that?” Jay asked, eyes a mixture of challenged and questioning. 

“Vanessa was teasing me earlier about getting to do it with my ‘boy toy’ at work. She doesn’t think we’re ballsy enough.” Hailey laughed at the look on his face. 

“So obviously you two don’t gossip like regular girls. You don’t go home and tell her all about our work...activities?” Jay scooted closer to her on the bench and she quickly moved away, maintaining their distance. 

“No Jay.” Hailey said, shifting again when he moved even closer. 

“So she doesn’t know any of it?” Jay pressed, a mischievous look in his eyes.

“Nope.” Hailey emphasized the word, moving one more time and finding herself at the edge of the bench.  

“Locker room? Break room? Your desk?” Jay whispered each location, his voice deepening with each mention. Hailey swallowed hard as the memories of each encounter flashed through her mind. 

“No Jay...” Hailey repeated herself, finally standing from the bench and brushing off the crumbs that had fallen on her legs. She looked down at Jay, who remained seated and looked as calm as ever despite how flustered she currently felt. He shifted slightly, leaning back against the bench and she glanced down as he spread his legs, thinking that maybe their was something happening down there that shouldn’t be considering they were in public, in uniform and at work. “Problem?” She asked, eyes meeting his as her heart rate increased again with his look. 

“Maybe a little bit.” Jay replied, eyes moving down her body quickly before meeting hers again. “Why? Did you want to help me with something?” 

“Jay!” She hissed, glancing around to assure no one was overhearing their conversation. 

“That wasn’t a no...” He challenged, looking smug. 

“Yes it was. You’re crazy! That is so not happening.” Hailey crossed her arms stubbornly and looked away from him. 

“Whatever you say.” He gave her a smirk and then stood up, shifting his belt slightly to adjust his growing problem. Hailey huffed and turned to walk towards the crowd. She felt the heat still present on her face but hoped she could play it off as just being hot from the warm Chicago weather. She knew Jay was following her but she didn’t dare look at him as she was trying to regain her focus. They walked slowly through the crowds, moving around the perimeter and scanning the middle. Hailey was starting to think she was in the clear as they made their second loop around the event, Jay walking quietly beside her. Suddenly Jay tugged her arm, halting her movements. His face looked mildly concerned as he nodded towards a dead end alley way full of empty trash bins and crates. 

“We better check that out.” He stated, voice in work mode. Hailey followed him as he strode down the alley until he got to the end and rounded the corner. They stood in a small but empty area, out of the view of the crowds, surrounded by old wooden crates. Hailey glanced around, looking for whatever Jay had followed when he was suddenly in front of her. Hailey looked up as he stepped closer and closer to her, a devilish glint in his eyes as he made her step backwards until she bumped into the wall. As soon as she was against the cool brick wall, Jay’s arms were framing her in, hands on either side of her head. He dipped his head down and pressed a quick kiss onto her mouth. 

“Jay!” She whispered frantically, not liking where this was going. Jay moved down, trailing kisses along her jaw line. Hailey’s hands flew to his shoulders. gripping them tightly as he moved his mouth along her neck. She couldn’t stop the moan that fell from her lips when he nipped the sweat spot just below her ear. “Jay..” She said his name again, voice less frantic and suddenly huskier than before. 

“Come on, we’ll be quick.” Jay whispered against her ear, his hot breath sending shivers down her spine. 

“Quick?” Hailey asked, still trying to talk herself out of this. 

“Yeah, it won’t take me long to get you there...” Jay pulled his head back slightly, biting his lip and boring his eyes into hers. She knew he wasn’t wrong, but this still seemed like an awful idea. 

“Really? You wanna have sex.... here? Now?” Her voice hitched as she finished her questions, Jay’s mouth was back against her neck and he nipped at her skin again, causing her to arch into him. He stepped closer and closed the gap between them. Now she could feel his excitement pressing into her abdomen and all rational of this being a bad idea left her mind. Her hands clasped behind his head and she pulled him into her. His mouth met hers in a heavy kiss as their tongues battled for dominance. Jay kept one hand on the wall behind her while his other moved to her side, gripping her waist firmly before reaching to undo her belt. Hailey held on for dear life as Jay’s hand effortlessly made its way into her pants, sliding underneath the rough fabric and teasing her aching core through her soaked panties. She moaned against his mouth as she felt one finger pull the fabric aside and slide into her heat. He teased her slowly, moving his finger in and out at a tantalizing pace. Hailey’s hip bucked into his hand, craving more from him. He smiled against her lips, drawing her bottom lip between his teeth and giving it some gentle pressure. He pulled his finger out slowly and then slide two back into her, his palm coming to rub against her bundle of nerves. Jay used his knee to spread her legs further apart and the new contact was enough to push her over the edge. She clung to his neck as she felt her walls begin to tremble. Jay kept his mouth over hers, silencing the scream with a kiss. Hailey rode out her orgasm, grinding down onto his hand and then trembled as her body came down from its high. Jay pulled back from the kiss, allowing them to both catch their breath and smiled down at her. 

“Shhh, there’s kids around.” He teased, earning a smack on the back of his head. 

“Shut up.” Hailey said breathlessly but smiled up at him. He withdrew his hand from her pants, causing her to whimper at the loss of contact. Hailey reached down, palming his hardened member through his pants. Jay groaned at her ministrations, hips slightly bucking into her hand. Hailey made quick work of his zipper and then slid her hand down to grasp him. Her hands set about an easy rhythm and Jay knew it wouldn’t take her long to finish him, but he wasn’t done yet. Jay stalled her movements, gripping her wrist and looking around the surrounding area. He nodded towards a crate beside them and Hailey looked up at him questioningly. Jay tugged her arm gently, causing her to move with him. He shifted her to stand in front of the crate that came up to her waist and then moved to stand behind her. Jay slid his hand back down into her pants, teasing her bundle of nerves once again. His hot breath ghosted over her ear as he nipped at the skin below it. Hailey shivered against him and gripped the crate in front of her. Jay had one hand down her pants while the other wrapped around her waist, holding her steady. 

“Do you trust me?” He whispered into her ear. His voice deep with lust. Hailey couldn’t get her voice to work so she simply nodded her head, eager to see what he had in mind. Jay pulled his hand out of her panties and then gently tugged her pants down to rest just below her thighs. She glanced back and watched as he pulled his hardened member out. One hand gripped her hip softly while his other one went to her lower back, carefully pushing her forward to lean on the crate. Hailey moaned when she felt his tip tease her entrance, gripping the wooden crate harder as she realized what was about to come. With one slow motion, Jay slid his full length into her and the angle had her almost coming right then and there. He set about a slow pace, letting her adjust to his size, before picking up his speed. Hailey ground her hips back, meeting his every thrust. The angle was hitting spots she didn’t think possible and she knew it wouldn’t be much longer. Jay’s hand continued to grip her waist and his other hand reached around to her front, flicking her swollen bundle. 

‘You ready?” He whispered against her neck, causing her to shiver again. His voice was all it took to push her over the edge. Her walls began to quiver around him and her legs felt weak. 

“Yes..” She breathed, feeling the burn in her lower abdomen as her orgasm crashed into her. “Jay...fuck...” Hailey dipped her head down, shoving her hand into her own mouth and biting down to stop the scream that threatened to erupt from her. She felt Jay come undone above her and they stilled for a moment, both out of breath. He slowly pulled out of her and helped her to stand back up. They tidied themselves up the best they could and tucked their uniforms back into place. Hailey adjusted her ponytail she knew had been destroyed during their romp and then smiled up at Jay whose face was still flushed from his high. He reached up, playing with the collar of her shirt, a sheepish grin on his face. 

“What?” She asked, tilting her head in question. 

“I may or may not have left some.... marks.” He gave her another sheepish grin when her hands flew up to her neck. 

“Jay!” She hissed, caressing the skin of her neck. 

“No one will notice..” He shrugged, feigning innocence. 

“You better hope not!” She threatened quietly, a smile still on her face. 

“I mean, it was sorta worth it...right?” Jay asked, raising his eyebrows slightly. 

“It was. I guess.” Hailey admitted, teasingly shoving him back wards. “We better get back out there, only have one more hour to patrol.” 

“Then your place for beers?” Jay asked as they made their way back into the crowd. 

“No way. Vanessa can’t see these, I’ll never live it down.” Hailey motioned towards her neck, rolling her eyes at his grin. 

[sableflynn]

By flash and thunder fire - epilogue

posting this sexy and unedited bc i want to get in before the whumptober deadline 😘

Prompts: No. 19 (grief), No. 29 (reluctant bed rest), Alt. 3 (comfort)

CW: referenced death/torture, blood, grief

Taglist: @lave-e @justplainwhump @hurtmebeautifully @whumpymirages @slaintetowhump @justwhumpitwhumpitgood @whump-tr0pes @whump-me-all-night-long @greatandquestionablecontent @whumping-newbie @moose-teeth @butwhatifyouwrite

Also on Ao3

---

“Katia.”

Katia stirred at the sound of her own name. Something hard was digging into her back, and she felt cool leather on her bare arms, and her legs were curled and cramping up.

Blearily, she opened her eyes to see the backseat of Nic’s car. The seatbelt was digging into her, and her skin was sticking to the leather of the seats. Tilting her head back slightly, she saw Leila standing outside, the back door of the car open.

“Where are we?” Katia asked, her mind still in a fog.

“I got us a room in a motel.” Leila already had her medical bag slung over one shoulder. “You need some rest.”

All at once, the events of the past hours came crashing back into Katia’s mind. “No,” she cried out, her head spinning. “No, I killed—” She wrenched herself up to sitting and choked out a sob as her body flared with fresh pain at the movement. “We can’t stop,” she pleaded. “We need to keep going, they’re gonna find us—”

“Katia,” Leila interrupted, her voice soft and soothing. “No one is following us. No one knows where we went.” Her brow creased with worry as she looked Katia over. “And you need real rest. In a bed, not in a car or on a—a cement floor.”

Katia winced, her bones aching with the memory of the cold cement pressing against her back, her knees. Swallowing down her terror, she gave Leila a small nod and stepped out of the car.

Leila wrapped a blanket around her as soon as she stepped out. “In case anyone is watching,” she explained clumsily. “For the—you know—”

“The bloodstains.” Katia pulled the blanket tighter around herself, like it could protect her from everything that had happened. Her clothes were caked with dried blood, bruises still discoloring the skin on her face and body. She leaned heavily on Leila as they walked across the mostly-empty parking lot to their room. The sky overhead was streaked with gray clouds, and she could faintly see distant mountains over the horizon.

The motel room was sparse but clean, with two small beds and outdated wallpaper. It felt utterly surreal. Her mind could barely wrap around her being in such a perfectly normal place, after everything that had happened.

Leila walked across to the far bed and dropped her bag on it, immediately digging in and pulling out medical supplies. She glanced back over at Katia. “You, uh—you might want to get washed up, and then I can check on your—your injuries.”

My injuries. Katia let the blanket fall and looked down at her bloodstained clothes, the evidence of everything she’d been through. She shook as she made her way to the cramped motel bathroom. Shutting the door behind her, she turned and faced herself in the mirror.

She could barely recognize herself. Her face was battered and swollen, angry purple bruises standing out against her tan skin. Blood was streaked down her face and neck, smearing to mingle with the carvings Savio left around her collarbones. Her eyes stared out from under lank tendrils of hair, dull and exhausted and clouded with a distant, fuzzy pain.

Forcing herself to look away, she stripped off her bloody clothes, gritting her teeth as the fabric pulled at half-healing skin. She turned the water on full blast and stepped in. Red rivulets streamed off of her and down the drain, and she watched with a sort of detached fascination.

There was so much blood. It still didn’t feel real. She wondered if it ever would. She scrubbed herself with the cheap motel soap, harder and harder until a few of the cuts opened back up and began bleeding anew. It didn’t help her feel any cleaner.

She washed her hair with a mechanical detachment, numb to the way her shoulders protested as she lifted her arms to rub the shampoo in. The soap suds were frothy pink. She wanted to stand under the scalding water and let it soak into her until there was nothing left.

Instead, she turned the shower off and stepped out. The hotel towels were scratchy, but she wrapped one around her anyway and wound the other through her dripping hair. For one final second, she stood in the cramped bathroom, breathing in the steam from the shower. Then she walked back out into the bedroom.

Leila glanced up as Katia entered, and immediately moved to gather her bandages and supplies. “I’ll clean your cuts for you,” she said quickly, but then she hesitated a bare second before continuing. “And there’s a...there’s some clothes for you over there.”

Katia followed Leila’s gaze to the other bag, where a small suitcase lay open. Inside were some of her own clothes, shoved in haphazardly. A set of pajamas, some pants and a t-shirt. Socks and extra underwear. A pair of sneakers.

Swallowing, she turned back to Leila. “Where did you find this?”

“It...it was in the trunk of the car,” Leila said. Nic’s car, she meant. Katia’s mind spiraled, picturing Nic, frantic, shoving some of her clothes into a bag before running off to save her. Or maybe he was calm and collected, gathering up the things she would need, refusing to give in to panic. Always thinking ahead, knowing she would want a shower and change of clothes as soon as she was safe. Always giving her everything she needed.

And she had killed him.

She sunk to her knees, still wrapped in the towel, and buried her face in her hands. Leila crouched wordlessly by her side, not touching her, just waiting. For a moment, Katia struggled to breathe. She wanted to sob, to scream, but she couldn’t get anything out.

Finally, she looked back at Leila. “He brought me clothes,” she whispered, desperate to explain how much that meant. “He brought me clothes, and I killed him, and—fuck, oh my god. He lied to me about everything. He was a murderer.”

Leila was listening silently, patiently, but all at once Katia needed answers, validation, arguments, something. She took Leila’s hand in both her own. “I shouldn’t have done it,” she said, with no clue if she was trying to convince Leila, or herself, or neither. “I should’ve—I don’t know, I should’ve gone with him and then brought him to justice somehow, he could’ve gone to jail—”

Leila’s mouth was a hard line. “I’m probably not the most impartial judge when it comes to the sort of justice I think Domenic Sterling should have received,” she said in an even tone. Then her expression softened. “You were...you were just exposed to an incredible amount of violence in a short time. More violence than anyone should ever face.” She turned her head slightly, and for a moment it was as if she wasn’t even seeing Katia at all, her mind somewhere else. Then she ran a nervous hand through her hair and continued. “You were just...reacting to the things you’d gone through, and the things you’d learned.”

The things I learned. She’d learned that the past five years of her life had been built on a lie. That she’d shared her bed with a man who committed unspeakable acts of brutality and then had the audacity to say he loved her. “He was supposed to take me out for dinner last night,” she burst out suddenly, inanely. “He said he made some huge business deal or whatever. What was he doing?” She felt a surge of frustration. “How could I have been so stupid?”

She was crying, she realized. She scrubbed at the tears angrily, but she couldn’t stop. Something inside of her snapped, and everything she’d been carefully holding in place and refusing to think about flooded to the surface. If she had known, if she had picked up on it sooner somehow, realized just who her husband was, could she have made a difference? How many lives could she have saved if she hadn’t spent all that time in ignorant bliss?

Hesitant, Leila reached a hand out and brushed away a stray tear from Katia’s face. “It’s not your fault, you know,” she murmured. Katia blinked and gave a small hiccup. Leila’s hand lingered near her face. “Domenic was—he was a criminal. A master manipulator. He wore a dozen different faces depending on who he was dealing with.” She gave a small, sad smile. “It’s not your fault he kept those things hidden from you. It’s not your fault he lied to you.”

Katia stared at her, letting the words sink in. He lied to me. It’s not my fault. She swallowed down her tears, and her voice was shaky when she spoke. “I just—I don’t know if I did the right thing.”

“You might not know right away,” Leila said. “It might take you a long time to decide if you did or not.” It wasn’t an answer, not really, but something in Leila’s gentle tone and steady presence gave Kaita the smallest shred of hope.

She stood suddenly on shaky legs, moving to sit on the bed. “Can you, um, bandage me up?” she asked, already taking some clothes from the bag and pulling on a pair of underwear. She felt completely wrung dry, empty. She wanted to sleep for a year.

Leila looked the cuts over, applying some cream to some of the larger ones before bandaging them. She studied the gash on Katia’s stomach with a slight frown before bandaging it as well. “I don’t think you need stitches,” she said, giving Katia some painkillers and a cup of water. “But if that starts to look worse we might need to do something more with it.”

Katia couldn’t bring herself to worry about it. She pulled on the pajama shirt—god, it smelled like home—and crawled under the thin motel blankets, feeling clean and comfortable for what felt like the first time in forever. She was asleep as soon as her head hit the pillow.

***

Katia woke hours later, her eyes blinking open as she took in the fading wallpaper and old rug of the motel. The evening sunlight was slanting through the window, casting an orange glow over the room. How long was I asleep?

As she sat up in the bed, she realized she was alone. Leila’s medical bag still sat on the other bed where she had left it, but the other woman was gone. Panic spiked through Katia as her mind raced—someone found us, Leila had to run, oh god what if she’s dead—and then the motel door opened and Leila walked in.

Katia climbed out of the bed in a hurry, faint with relief. Leila was carrying a box of pizza, and hunger hit Katia all at once as her stomach growled.

“Do you think you can walk for a bit?” Leila asked as Katia made her way across the room. “There’s just—I saw a place where we could maybe sit and eat. It’s not far.”

“Sure,” Katia replied, not fully following what Leila was saying. The smell of pizza was making her mouth water. She grabbed two water bottles from Leila’s bag before following her outside.

The evening air was cool, with the last rays of the setting sun staving off a deeper chill. Leila led Katia down a thin dirt path branching off from the motel through a thicket of trees. Katia stumbled to keep up, the uneven ground tripping her up.

Then the trees cleared and they emerged on a rocky overlook, and Katia’s breath caught in her chest. She could see the land spread out far below for miles around, rolling hills with farmland and thick patches of forest. The mountains in the distance were silhouetted against the setting sun, darkness framed with painterly strokes of orange and pink and red.

Leila glanced at Katia, almost shyly. “I thought maybe we could sit and have our dinner with a bit of a view,” she said, setting the pizza box down and perching herself on a log.

“It’s gorgeous,” Katia whispered. She tore her eyes away from the view to look back at Leila. She was almost glowing in the light of the setting sun, her hair a halo of curls around her soft face. Katia joined her on the log, their legs just barely touching as they sat side by side. Their eyes met, and Leila gave a small smile. Despite everything, Katia returned the smile.

They ate the pizza together in companionable silence as the sun continued to set and the light breeze whispered through the trees. For that brief, gentle moment, Katia allowed her mind to rest.

[krisseycrystal]

Please, o' Granter of Wishes, in these dark days, I have but one request. On the Decree of Fluff, there lies both Soulmates & Reincarnation. Might I implore thee to pick a preferred option with the Fated Shuake pairing from the tale of Persona 5?

[sage voice] it is done.... 

shuake + “reincarnation” anyway alskdjf gOING TO WORK ON SHUAKE + “SOULMATES” NOW because i can’t help myself and couldn’t decide and honestly that sounds like a LOT of fun and also I have an idea (it will be a LOT happier than this one i promise alksdjfasdf)

thank you SO MUCH for the request, friend!! hope you enjoy and sorry for all the poetry

The Fool’s Courage [Read on AO3]

It starts with the tiny scribble of a pen in the corner of a crossword puzzle book and a, “Hey, any idea what 23 across might be?” which isn’t the way Akechi had ever planned on starting something that could remotely be considered a tragedy or a romance, but here they are.

He knows Kurusu sees the tiny, I think we’ve met before, because there’s a small furrow to his brow and a bend at the corner of his mouth and it’s not that Akechi’s been staring at the slope of that mouth, per se, but he’s always thought everyone else’s claims that the transfer student was hard to read was completely bogus if one just paid attention to the tiny inflictions in his face.

Kurusu adjusts his glasses and pivots the open magazine around the axis of his finger. He grabs Akechi’s pen out of his hand before Akechi can say a word--the nerve--and Akechi would say something, he probably should, but his own fingers are still tingling at that brief contact and he thinks if he tries his voice might betray him.

So he crosses his forearms over the counter and watches his pen--his--idly swing in the space between Kurusu’s thumb to index finger. It’s a rapid, thoughtless movement; it has no right to be so charming.

When Kurusu finally scribbles in the boxes and returns both crossword and pen, Akechi scoffs. “You could have given me a hint. No need to show off.”

Kurusu’s smile is something that handsomely reads, Isn’t that usually my line?

Akechi tries not to smile back. When Mr. Sakura walks up with a phone pinned between his shoulder and cheek, he and Kurusu share a Look that means another order to-go and immediately, Kurusu moves for the disposable containers tucked above the fridge. 

Akechi taps his pen against the puzzle and hums. 

In the string of boxes, the poet of Infinitati Sacrum has been penned in Kurusu’s jagged, near illegible English (really, who taught this boy his English characters?): J-O-H-N-D-O-N-N-E.

He doesn’t know how the hell Kurusu knew that but the echo of possibility makes some, jaded part of him feel hopeful again. More importantly: written to the side, is a dark and small, I think I know what you mean.

When Akechi lifts his eyes, Kurusu is watching him with those quiet, steady eyes. He is too clever, too brilliant, for such an unassuming young man who hides behind thick glasses and a cafe shop counter.

- o - o - o -

It is England and it is Westerham and 1817 and he drank too much wine and made a fool of himself in the downstairs parlor, but it seems there is mercy yet to be found in the inoccupation of this room because damn the sounds this man’s tongue draws out of him are obscene.

In the cooling afterglow, he slips his long-awaited reply in an inside pocket of the man’s black coat, which had been heedlessly tossed over an upholstered chair. After a sweat-slick grin and teasing jibe about being more careful with the articles of his wardrobe or else people might get ideas, he straightens his cravat and dismisses himself out the servant’s halls with a, “Until next time, my dear burglar,” tossed over his shoulder.

It would not be good for him to be seen here.

They will meet again outside of Kent and then it will be strictly business. They have their roles to play after the Good Lady of Ramsgate complained about her missing silver after opening her doors for a social evening. If he wishes to uphold his post, he cannot give anything away about the promiscuous nature of his relationship with the man who is undoubtedly the culprit.

Not if he wishes to see him again in the fall.

- o - o - o -

It’s not just crossword puzzles. Over time, sudokus, word searches, cryptograms--passed from one hand to the other over LeBlanc’s counter--also become the means of their secret correspondences, the channels by which those burning things on the edges of their hearts finally have their chance to speak. Akechi would say he isn’t sure why or how he has become so certain of his and Kurusu’s strange connection, if only every time he looked at the young man, he wasn’t absolutely certain that the soul of him, even if not his face, was somehow familiar.

They start to use ciphers where well-placed puzzles and requests for help with English word searches to loop the letters R-E-I-N-C-A-R-N-A-T-I-O-N with a scribbled question mark next to it aren’t enough.

Kurusu struggles with the ciphers at first (adorable), mouth pinched and brow furrowed at the extra effort it takes to work out Akechi’s true message (also adorable). He himself doesn’t attend Shojin, so he can never watch him to verify this hypothesis, but it’s clear that Kurusu must spend some time working on his ciphers during his lectures or between his Metaverse missions because it only takes a single day for Akechi to receive each response, folded inside the cursory napkin between his daily coffee cup and saucer. 

And each time, he is forced to stifle the fluttery, warm feeling in his chest. 

There is nothing for Akechi to be affected about. Certainly not the idea that Kurusu spends at least some of his non-renewable hours and minutes thinking about him and what it is he wishes to tell him.

The happiness is silly. Foolish. It shouldn’t make him glad that a young man who he has been told should be his enemy wants to pursue these conversations, especially when Akechi makes it so difficult to do so in the first place in the hopes of keeping their written messages safe from unwanted eyes.

But their letters are a simple joy.

And Akechi does not have many simple joys in this current life.

- o - o - o -

It is Greece and it is 159 and a new shipment of papyrus has arrived when that damned thief strikes again. This time, just as the previous time, and the time before that, the thief steals more than his employer can afford to lose. At last, at last, having enough of this, the guard lays his trap.

When, by torchlight, with men at either shoulder, they corner the thief in a stone alcove, there’s something glinting in those dark eyes that, ironically, arrests him.

It is something old.

Something familiar.

And he cannot escape the wondering question: have they done this song and dance before?

- o - o - o -

It is 1816 and there are times, though they are few and far inbetween, when his burglar stays late into the night, entwined in the cotton of his sheets, and though he knows it won’t last until morning, the brush of their legs tangled together are enough to power him through centuries apart, he is sure.

“Tell me something you’ve read lately,” he whispers with his cheek pressed to his pillow. He breathes softly as his fingertips trace over the back of his burglar’s hand, following the soft ridge of blue veins under his skin.

“I’m afraid all I have for you are poems,” his burglar murmurs.

“How typical of you.”

“Is Donne too morbid for our faire?”

“If it’s recited by you, it’s perfect.”

And his burglar frowns thoughtfully, eyes askance. Slowly, he rolls onto his back and his arm twists so that his palm is up and settled beside his ear. His own hand follows it and their fingers intertwine.

“I sing the progress of a deathless soul,” his burglar hushedly murmurs and for not the first time, he finds himself marveling at the man’s perfect, rote memory. “Whom Fate, which God made, but doth not control, placed in most shapes; all times before the law yoked us, and when, and since, in this I sing…”

Angels know he could listen to the rumble of that quiet voice forever.

- o - o - o -

The ciphers, admittedly, get out of hand. What starts as, Do you believe in past lives? You probably think I’m crazy and You’re too good at chess to be crazy; I will see what I can find in the school library turns into You seriously need to better your handwriting and I can tell the news station the Detective Prince drinks his coffee here anytime then I have a geography test coming up that I am NOT looking forward to and Have you been sleeping well? You’ve been looking exhausted lately.

They start writing about anything and everything in between. The latest celebrity gossip from the news on the ancient TV with the crooked antenna in the cafe’s corner to their personal likes and dislikes. You can call me Akira, you know, and Very well; then call me Goro. They share childhood experiences both good and bad and dreams and, Have you ever thought about what you might do after your probation year is finally over?

It’s a question Akechi has always longed to ask as someone who has never fooled himself into thinking he might live past the age of eighteen.

He would be lying if he tried to claim that he didn’t look forward to their notes.

They talk over the counter, as a regular and barista so often do.

But it’s so nice, he thinks, so very nice, to have this one good, hidden thing that he can take home and read alone and know the secret message within is meant for his eyes only. He wonders if there is anyone else in the world so lucky as he is to receive an encrypted message in such a scratchy and slanted font.

- o - o - o -

Eastern Han period, China. 768, Egypt. 1511, Italy. The lives and the motif of their stories blur together in a vague idea of memory. They are not sure how and why everything first began. Ask either one and the answer will be a shrug or a turned-away head, beleaguered by a small smile. Have they always been an ill-fated pair? Has their star-crossed story always been that of a thief and a hero? But who is the hero and who is the thief, because Akechi isn’t quite sure he knows anymore.

If the hero is supposed to be the one who saves the day, then he already knows the answer to their age-old riddle. 

In this life, anyway.

- o - o - o -

It’s done. 

Things are as they should be. Maybe how they were meant to be.

Akechi lays in a pool of his own blood, sirens blaring around him, and stares at the steel ceiling of Shido’s ship and knew, somehow, in the center of him, that it would come to this. 

“Great Destiny the Commissary of God,” he whispers and it’s funny, isn’t it? It should be funny. A 1601 poem being somehow relevant and applicable four hundred years later. Akechi supposes that’s what happens when you have two lives who are again and again and again remembering old things and experiencing new ones but are never able to change the repetitions of their fate, these damnable roles they were meant to play.

“That has mark’d out a path and period for everything,” Akechi murmurs and touches the blood pooling over his chest. He lifts his hand above his face and watches the way his own blood webs between his fingers. “Where we of-spring took, our ways and ends see…at one instant…” 

He thinks of Kurusu, which might be precisely what summons him. He can hear the others’ indignant, pitched cries of, “Joker!” as he jumps onto the top of the bulkhead door. With a graceful leap, arm extended, he grabs the railing that lines the walkway along the side of the partition and flips down. Elegant. Stunning.

A fool.

“What…” Akechi coughs and doesn’t get to finish his question. Kurusu’s knees push under his head, red-gloved hands clutching at his shoulder and pulling him up--up--and suddenly there is screaming pain that whites out his thoughts. “Don’t! Don’t…that hurts.”

“Good. Because you’re supposed to live.”

Kurusu is not one to often talk so when he does, it feels like all of nature snaps to attention. Akechi lifts his head in surprise, which is when Kurusu takes the opportunity to press his fingers into the lining where his dark helmet meets the neck of his suit. Akechi opens his mouth to say something like these costumes aren’t supposed to work like that in the Metaverse, idiot, but then Kurusu yanks up and the helmet slips free and--well--shows what he knows. 

Maybe he’s the fool.

“Stay with me.” 

Kurusu’s hand is new and startlingly warm on his cheek. Akechi decides he likes it.

“Thou knot of all causes, thou whose changeless brow ne’r smiles nor frowns.” Akechi laughs and coughs and murky, red spittle dots his lips. 

“Stop it.”

“I always thought that part described you rather well.” 

“You weren’t supposed to be a murderer, Goro.”

Oh.

Akechi sighs and with it, he feels his strength ebb. “You think so?”  

“I know so.” There’s something in Kurusu’s voice that sounds like anger and it is surprising. It is comforting. It is enough to hear it. “You never have been before. You--you have always been brilliant and clever and just, but Shido took you and made you this when we could have been friends. I won’t forgive him for it.”

“Good.” Akechi’s stomach spasms against his will and the pain is near enough to make him black out. It’s time. “Then get him for me, won’t you, Akira?”

“I will.”

“Who knows. Maybe in our next life, we’ll have better luck.” 

Kurusu tilts his head close and leans in. They have never, not once, shown any intimacy but somehow the feeling of those chapped lips against his brow isn’t in the least bit foreign, nor unwelcome. It is all Akechi has ever hoped for.

“I’ll find you,” Kurusu promises and the words seal like a vow in his chest. “And this time, I won’t let them change you.”

- o - o - o -

Memory blurs, that’s the point. If memory didn’t blur you wouldn’t have the fool’s courage to do things again, again, again that tear you apart.

- Joyce Carol Oates, We Were the Mulvaneys

[setmeatopthepyre]

Mental Health Tips

So, I was looking through my mood tracker recently and realized there’s been a gradual but undeniable increase of good days and a decrease of bad days, and it hit me that yeah, I have been doing better and better. I’m not being hyperbolic when I say that getting my ADHD diagnosis in January was a life changer. There’s a (great) book on ADD called You Mean I’m Not Lazy, Stupid or Crazy? and that was exactly how I felt. Wait, all the things I’ve been struggling with, all the times I beat myself up over my lack of discipline or worried that I had a brain tumor because I’d forget things in seconds or thought I might be bipolar because I could go from the highest highs to extreme lows multiple times a day, that was all because of one thing? Amazing!

Anyway, realization is one thing. Then there was medication (also a life changer), and therapy, and look where we are now! Over the past year I’ve learned a few things that have had a huge positive impact on my mental health, and I thought they might be useful for others struggling with their mental health, whether it’s ADHD or something else.

You’re not the only one

Just to start off nice and cheesy, but it’s true. The reason it might feel like you’re the only one dealing with what you’re dealing with and struggling to do what seems so easy to others, is because mental health is still stigmatized and not something people generally talk about. But that doesn’t mean they don’t know it.

When I got my diagnosis, I talked about it a lot. Part of it was hyperfocus; it was something that was on my mind a lot so it became my one subject to fall back on. However, another part of it was knowing that if I’d known what ADHD really was earlier, my life would have been so much better so much sooner. At times I was sure I brought it up too much, but I’m glad I did. Being open about my mental health issues made people around me open up about theirs. Whether it’s people you know IRL or a tumblr page with mental health memes, that affirmation that other people have the same quirks and struggles as you do helps so much.

The bare minimum is better than nothing

Yes, it’s obvious. It’s still something I struggle with because there’s that little voice that goes ‘yes, but I should be able to do more’. Guess what? That there thought qualifies as not one, but two negative thinking patterns: should-statements and all-or-nothing thinking. Just because you think you should be able to do something doesn’t mean that’s the best choice for you, or realistic. Besides, who says you should? Society? Society knows nothing.

Thinking you should just be able to do all your dishes but getting overwhelmed at the prospect of doing so isn’t helpful. Washing a single dish, or even just rinsing one because that’s all you can manage? That’s still better than nothing.

That said, yes, strive for progress over perfection, but remember that progress is not the bare minimum. Sometimes, the bare minimum is maintaining the status quo, or even just making sure things get slightly less worse than they could have. And that is okay.

Remove steps & automate

Speaking of which: often it’s possible to make the absolute minimum easier. How? By removing obstacles, simplifying things so that they don’t take as many steps or spoons to complete. If your laundry basket is in the bathroom while you tend to undress in your bedroom, that’s where you move your laundry basket. Personally, even having a laundry basket with a lid on it is too many steps for me most of the time. If I can’t chuck my dirty clothes right in, they end up in a pile on the floor. Solution: my laundry basket is within throwing range and doesn’t have a lid.

It only has to work for you

Sure, society dictates that clean clothes go in a wardrobe or a dresser. That’s just the way it’s done. But guess what? When clean clothes start piling up all over my room because I can’t bring up the energy or focus or whatever to put them away, I break out boxes. One box for clean laundry. One box for clothing I’ve worn but isn’t dirty yet. And then the laundry basket goes right beside those boxes in my room, in plain sight. That’s my system until I feel better. If I’m feeling up for it, there’s an extra box so that I can divide my clean clothes up between ‘large’ (aka pants and shirts) and ‘small’ (underwear and socks) to make it easier on myself when I get dressed. Did my laundry? Clean clothes go in the clean clothes box. Wore something but it still smells okay and there’s no stains? Toss them at the ‘worn’ box.

Is it how “things are done” normally? No. Does it mean my clothes are even more crumpled than usual? Yes. However, it also means that there’s less clutter in my room, it’s easier to find something to wear, and there’s less risk of me just living in a pile of trash because my room’s a mess anyway.

Your idea of progress may be different from others. Your coping mechanisms might not work for other people. Your adaptive behaviours may not line up with societal expectations, and that’s fine! In fact, that’s more than fine, because they shouldn’t. They only have to work for you.

Remove forks

So the whole spoon theory is fairly well known in mental health circles, but reading about the Fork Theory was an eye-opener for me. It’s explained here, but because reading that article is another extra step (ooh, so meta), here’s the most important bit:

You know the phrase, “Stick a fork in me, I’m done,” right?

Well, Fork Theory is that one has a Fork Limit, that is, you can probably cope okay with one fork stuck in you, maybe two or three, but at some point you will lose your shit if one more fork happens.

A fork could range from being hungry or having to pee to getting a new bill or a new diagnosis of illness. There are lots of different sizes of forks, and volume vs. quantity means that the fork limit is not absolute. I might be able to deal with 20 tiny little escargot fork annoyances, such as a hangnail or slightly suboptimal pants, but not even one “you poked my trigger on purpose because you think it’s fun to see me melt down” pitchfork.

This is super relevant for neurodivergent folk. Like, you might be able to deal with your feet being cold or a tag, but not both. Hubby describes the situation as “It may seem weird that I just get up and leave the conversation to go to the bathroom, but you just dumped a new financial burden on me and I already had to pee, and going to the bathroom is the fork I can get rid of the fastest.”

It’s close to the whole ‘removing steps’ thing, but less about making a task easier and more about giving you space to deal with things.

What this means for me is that when I’m having a less than stellar day mentally, I pay extra attention to what clothes I put on in the morning. Nothing too tight, nothing even slightly scratchy. It may be a tiny fork in the morning, but if I’m in a socially difficult situation, it might be a tiny fork too many that will lead to me being overwhelmed or overstimulated. I need to make sure I’m as comfortable as absolutely possible, aka remove as many forks as I can. Sometimes this means shaving my legs even though I think it’s bullshit that I care about that, or wearing clothes that draw as little attention to me as possible. No, I don’t want to care about what others think, but the truth is that part of me does, and I can’t change that right that instant. What I can do is minimize the chance that I get overwhelmed on an already stressful day.

Forks don’t have to be annoyances. They can also be tasks you keep putting off or something you keep reminding yourself of. Sometimes having a self-care day for me means doing all the easy things I’ve been meaning to do for ages but haven’t gotten around to. Sometimes it’s writing down all the things that are buzzing around in my brain, just so that I can assure myself I don’t have to remember them anymore because they’re on paper now. Sometimes it’s turning off notifications for specific apps because seeing them pop up makes me feel guilty when I’m not in the right frame of mind to respond.

Sometimes removing a fork costs spoons, like when I’m at a restaurant with a friend and I know that sitting in a spot where people walk by behind me is a pretty big fork for me, but removing it means asking them if they mind switching spots. That’s when it helps to be open about what you’re dealing with, because most of my close friends know by now that I always prefer to sit with my back to a wall, and I don’t even have to ask.

Compromise and automate

Back to the should-thinking. Sometimes removing forks means throwing all the shoulds out the window because they just aren’t working right now, and you’ll get back to them later. As I mentioned earlier, I don’t think I should care about what other people think, but I’m not there yet, so sometimes making life easier for me means compromising on that and conforming to societal standards if I know I’m going to need everything I have to get through a day. Another example: I feel like I should buy whole vegetables and cut them myself and cook my own meals, because pre-cut and prepackaged things are often more expensive and just contribute to more plastic waste. Okay, cool, but that ideal version of me who has the time and energy to do that hasn’t shown up yet, and in the meantime I need to eat. Buying a pre-packaged meal with actual vegetables in it is still cheaper than ordering pizza because I can’t get myself to cook, and it’s still healthier than trying to fill up on crackers because I couldn’t deal with the social aspect of opening the door for the pizza delivery. 

Sometimes, in order to remove steps, you have to compromise. Sometimes, in order to remove another worry (aka fork), you have to automate. When I first started on meds, I would write down the time I took them, calculate when I’d need to take my next dose, and set an alarm. It made me procrastinate taking my next dose, because it was too many steps. There was an app that did all that for me, but I thought it was ridiculous to pay for an app that did exactly what I should be able to do myself. 

I bought the app. I tap one button and my phone sends me a notification when my next dose is due. I have my phone on silent/no vibrate all the time, because notifications are overwhelming to me, so I have an activity tracker watch that lets me reroute only specific notifications to my watch, and now my watch vibrates when I need to take my next dose. I know this isn’t an option for everyone because obviously those things cost money (and it just goes to show how life is so much easier for the rich because they can automate so much), but if there’s any way to turn something you have to do often into something that will do itself mostly on its own, it may be worth looking into. Yes, even when you think you should be able to do it yourself. 

Are you sure the thing you’re worrying about is a problem?

This may seem super simple and obvious, but I legit had to change the ‘worry flowchart’ my therapist gave me to have an extra first step: ‘Do I have proof the problem exists?’ Spoiler: most of the time the answer is no.

I’m running late, I’m not sure if I’m going to make my bus to work. I’m stressing out about what will happen if I’m late. Maybe my superiors will get angry at me. Maybe this will be one too many times. But guess what? I don’t know if I’ll miss the bus. I might still make it. Until I know for certain that I’m going to be late, there’s no use worrying about what might happen. Even if I end up being late, I don’t have any proof that my superiors will be angry with me. I don’t know yet if the problem even exists, so why act like it does?

Another example: I can beat myself up over the fact that people think I’m lazy because I need to take a break. I feel terrible. I don’t want them to think I’m lazy! I can’t relax even though I desperately need to take a break. I told my therapist, and he asked me for proof. Do I have irrefutable proof that people think I’m lazy? Of course not, that’s an assumption I make. Am I a mind reader? No, I just tend to assume the worst. Okay, so why am I worrying about it if I’m not even sure the problem actually exists? Right.

This is not a moral failing and it does not affect your worth

Building on that: even if people think I’m lazy (and I don’t have proof that’s true!), that doesn’t mean their opinion is fact. Their perception of me is not a moral failing on my part. My therapist made me provide proof for and against the hypotheses that I was lazy, and there was way more proof against that statement. At the time, I was in school four days a week, working three, and had two other projects on the side. If, for example, my parents thought I was lazy for having no energy to do chores on my one free day in two months, (again, I had no proof they even thought that), they would’ve simply been wrong. They could’ve thought it all they wanted, but it did not mean I was lazy.

A lot of symptoms of mental health issues can be perceived by others as negative character traits, and that’s one of the reasons it’s so difficult to discuss sometimes. The thing is: their perceptions and opinions do not actually reflect on you or in any way determine your worth. Your brain going about things differently than theirs is as much your fault as needing glasses is (it isn’t).

And last but not least:

Emotion comes first (and goes last)

That sounds nice and cryptic, right? What I mean is that knowing your immediate reaction to something is unnecessary and that things aren’t as bad as they seem is different from feeling it. Your knee-jerk reaction is going to be emotion. Likewise, it’ll take a while before your emotions catch up with where your brain is going when you reroute your thoughts away from negative places.

The RSD, or Rejection Sensitive Dysphoria, that comes with ADHD means that sometimes I have extreme negative emotional reactions to situations. When someone responds a little less enthusiastically than what I’m used to, for example, or when friends talk about something they did without me (even if I wouldn’t have wanted to do that particular thing and they know that), or even when someone didn’t hear what I said, it can cause this void to just open up in my chest and swallow every sense of happiness I may have been feeling. It happens suddenly and drags me straight down to my lowest point.

Lately, in those moments, I’ve been able to check in with myself and analyze what it was that triggered this meltdown. Thanks mostly to therapy I can rationalize that things aren’t so bad, and I can claw my way out of that pit, but that always comes one step after that first instinctual emotional reaction. Likewise, knowing things are fine does not mean the negative emotions disappear straight away. They take some time to dissipate, and I’m a little more emotionally vulnerable for a bit while they do. Emotion happens first, and leaves last.

It can be disheartening. It can feel like progress isn’t being made, but that very realization is progress, even if you’re not feeling it yet. Emotions follow the path they know best, and if for you, like me, that path is automatically assuming the worst, you’re gonna feel the emotions associated with that for a while, even when you rationally know it’s all crap. The thing is, practice makes perfect, and redirecting your thoughts into a more positive direction will, eventually, make that path the easiest one to find. Your feelings may take a little while to figure it out, but they’ll find that path eventually.

I’m not saying I’m cured. I’m not saying I know everything. I have bad days and struggles and all that, but I have been doing better. 

I mentioned it briefly at the beginning of all of this, but I started tracking my mood in July. It’s just one general mood a day, which obviously doesn’t quite display the ups and downs I deal with, but I tried to log the average for the day. I started doing so because I sort of knew I was doing better and better but of course once you get used to something, it becomes the new normal and it’s hard to tell when progress happens, so I tracked it:

[unfortunate-stranger-losers]

Six Baudelaires AU, Part Three {AO3} {Masterlist} {Part One} {Part Two}

Chapter Nine → in which Lilac and Nick are very pissed off

“We’re almost there.” 

Quigley glanced up at Violet; they were, indeed, almost to the top of the slope. “Hopefully it’ll be a faster trip down!” he called over the wind. 

“Don’t say that, we’ll just end up falling or some shit.” Violet said. 

“Pfft, we’ll be fine.” 

“I like your optimism, but I’d rather not tempt fate.” 

“What do you think we’ll find up there?” 

“Set!” 

Quigley glanced at her. “What does ‘set’ mean?” 

Violet’s face lit up. “I didn’t say that.” she said. 

“Set!” “I knew you’d find me!” 

Violet beamed, and hoisted herself up to the top of the waterfall, yelling, “Sunny!” 

“Violet!” 

Violet ran across the ice, glancing briefly over her shoulder to make sure Quigley got up alright behind her. As soon as he clambered onto the waterfall, Violet leapt across the snow. 

Against Count Olaf’s car, Sunny was climbing out of a casserole dish, running forwards with her arms held out. Violet raced over and then jumped down, picking up Sunny in a tight hug and almost collapsing into the snow. 

“Sunny! Sunny, you’re okay!” 

“Violet! Violet!” 

Violet pulled away slightly, checking her over and pushing her baby sister’s bangs out of her eyes. “Are you hurt? What did they do to you? Did they-” 

“Nocere!” Sunny said, which meant something like, “I’m alright, they haven’t done anything too bad.” 

Violet glanced over her again. “Where’d you get that coat?” 

“Uncus!” “The hook-handed man made it so I didn’t freeze.” 

“But you’re not hurt?” 

Sunny looked over Violet’s shoulder. “Duncan?” 

Violet jumped and turned, seeing Quigley slowly coming over; he looked a bit confused, as if he wasn’t sure if he was allowed to be here or not. “No, Sunny. That’s Quigley. He’s the survivor of the fire Jacques was talking about, and he’s been helping us, he led us to headquarters with a map he drew himself.” 

“Oh.” Sunny nodded, saying, “Arigato,” which meant, “I appreciate your help, Quigley,” and then she asked, “Senio?” which meant, “Where are the others?” 

“They’re waiting for us at the bottom of the waterfall.” Violet said. 

“Were you the one who signalled us?” Quigley asked, as Sunny dragged them behind the car and put a finger over her mouth to signal them to quiet down. 

“Yep. Lox.” 

“Count Olaf’s been making you do the cooking?” Violet asked, horrified. 

“Cinderella.” Sunny huffed. 

“Okay, well-” Violet began. 

She jumped, then, when they heard a scratchy yell. 

“Where are you, you toothy little freak?” 

Sunny’s eyes widened, and she whispered, “Hide.” Violet opened her mouth to protest, but Quigley had already grabbed her hand and was starting to drag her under a car. 

Almost as soon as they disappeared under the automobile, Count Olaf and Esme Squalor stepped over. “Ah, there you are.” they heard Olaf say. “At least you stayed in your casserole dish.” 

“You better get cooking, orphan.” Esme said. “Tomorrow is False Spring, and it would be very In to have a False Spring dinner.” 

“You hear that, baby? My girlfriend wants a stylish dinner. Get to work.” 

“Olaf! We need you!” the deep voice said, and Violet and Quigley backed up against the car tires, suddenly feeling even colder. Two more pairs of feet appeared in their line of vision, and Olaf and Esme suddenly flinched. Violet jumped, and then flinched again as her fork-shoes hit the tire, slowly puncturing it; air started to filter out, and she really hoped nobody heard it. 

“Yes, Olaf,” said the man, “Our recruitment pan will happen first thing in the morning, and we’ve just figured out what you can do.” 

“Can’t you ask one of the henchpeople?” Esme goaned. “Why should we do it?” 

“You’ll do it,” said the woman, her voice suddenly growing deeper, “Because I say so.” 

There was a long, ominous pause, and then Count Olaf said in a squeaky voice, “That’s a good point. Come on, Esme. We’ve bossed around the baby, so there’s nothing else to do around here anyway.” 

“That’s true.” Esme said. “I’m bored anyway, since we ran out of those green cigarettes. I want more of those, do you have more? No? Well, unless we want to scour the ruins of Headquarters for the Sugar Bowl-”  

“We already did that.” said the man, as the adults started to walk away. “It’s not there, so perhaps it’s at the Last Safe Place.” 

“Not in front of the baby!” Olaf said. 

Then there was silence for a few moments, and Violet and Quigley held their breath. Sunny waited an extra minute or so before peering under the car. “Coastkleer.” 

“Those were terrible people!” Quigley said, climbing out and helping Violet to her feet. 

“They certainly had an aura of menace.” Violet agreed. “Who were they, Sunny?” 

“Nosra,” Sunny said, which meant, “A man with a beard but no hair and a woman with hair but no beard; they’re arsonists who burned down the Headquarters.” 

“The others are decoding a message that survived the fire.” Violet said. “Hopefully they’ll be done by the time we take you down. Come on, we’ll strap you to my back.” 

Sunny looked at her, and then stepped back. “Nogo.” 

“Why on earth not?” Violet asked. 

“Unasanc.” Sunny said. “Those villains mentioned the last safe place, and I need to spy on them to find out more.” 

“Absolutely not.” Violet said. “Sunny, it’s not safe for you here. Firstly, Olaf wants you to cook dinner-” 

“Coquus.” Sunny said. “I can do that. There’s enough ingredients to make spinach rolls in the trunk, including an eggplant that’s about as big as I am.” 

“Sunny-” 

“Matahari,” Sunny added, meaning something like, “Serving them dinner will be the perfect time to listen to conversations.” 

“If there’s a place where volunteers are gathering,” Quigley said nervously, “Then we need to know where it is.” 

“No!” Violet said. “I’m not going to leave my baby sister on top of a mountain!” 

Sunny slowly walked over to Violet, and then said, “I’m not a baby.” 

She gave Violet a tight hug, and Violet looked down and saw that it was true. 

“But… how will you get away once you find out?” 

Sunny smiled, and pulled a small string from Violet’s coat, and then used the scrap of fabric to tie her bangs and hair back into a ponytail. 

“I’ll invent something.” 

Violet and Quigley managed to reach the bottom of the slope just as it was getting dark, and he said, “The ice seemed less solid on our way down.” 

“By the time False Spring arrives,” Violet said, taking off her shoes and flinching as her socks hit snow, “The slope will probably be only half-frozen.” 

“Hopefully we’ll be on our way to the Last Safe Place by then, with Sunny.” Quigley said. 

“And your triplets, too.” 

They walked into the ruins, and saw the rest of the Baudelaires; Nick was hugging himself on a chair while Solitude stood on his lap and played with his hair, Babbitt still frozen on the table, and with Klaus and Lilac looking over ashy pages. 

Lilac noticed them first, and she immediately vaulted herself over the table, running over. Klaus tried to follow her, only to almost fall on the ground, only saved because Nick threw his arm out to catch him. 

“Wha happened? What was up there?” Lilac asked. 

Nick and Klaus ran over, Nick holding onto Soli, and Violet said, “It’s Sunny! Sunny’s at the top, she was the one signalling us, she’s with the troupe-” 

“Sunny?” Klaus asked. 

“Is she safe?” Nick asked. 

“How’d she get up there?” Solitude asked. 

Lilac’s face fell. “Where is she now?” 

“She’s still up there.” Violet said. “We-” 

“Excuse me?” 

“Hold on, listen.” Violet held up her hands, as Lilac’s face went a very worrying shade of red and Nick almost dropped Soli. “Listen. She’s fine, they’re not hurting her. She wanted to stay behind and spy, she needs to find out about the Last Safe Place-” 

“You left her?” Lilac shouted, and Nick placed Solitude onto the ground, a dark look on his face. 

“Why would you do that?” Klaus asked. “She’s a baby!” 

“She’s not a baby anymore.” Violet said, smiling a little. “She’s grown up quite a bit-” 

“She is an infant, and you…” Lilac shut her eyes. “Alright, give me your shoes.” 

“No!” 

“If you won’t bring her down, I will!” 

“Lilac, no, we’re just lucky they didn’t spot us-” 

“I don’t care, I am getting her back!” 

Lilac tried to push past Violet, who grabbed her arm and spun her around. Lilac let out a frightening yell, trying to rip her arm away, and Quigley quickly retreated a few steps, realizing he was about to witness a family argument. 

“Let go!” 

“No, Li-” 

“Listen to me!” Lilac shouted. “I don’t know what you think you did or what you think she can do, she is a baby, she cannot be around those people any longer, and we need to protect her!” 

“We need to get to the Last Safe Place!” Violet shouted. “It may be the only place we all can go!” 

“I don’t care!” 

“Listen, there were two people up there, a man with a beard but no hair and a woman with hair but no beard, they know-” 

Violet was cut off as Nick suddenly ran forwards and punched her. 

“What the fuck?” Klaus shouted, as he and Quigley raced forwards to drag him back. Violet, in surprise, released Lilac’s arm, but the eldest Baudelaire only stepped back in shock as Nick threw off the other boys, fury bursting from him. 

“How could you?” he screamed. “Violet, how could you? She can’t be up there!” 

“Nick! Stop it!” Solitude shouted, starting to run over, hiking up her skirts and poncho so that she could go faster. 

“Nick!” Violet said. “Nick, I promise-” 

“No! I don’t wanna hear it!” Nick screamed. “I don’t wanna hear it, Vi! I don’t want her with these people!” 

“Nick-” Klaus began. “Nick, if Sunny thinks-” 

“I don’t care what she thinks! I thought I could fight them, and…” Nick shut his eyes as Solitude grabbed onto his leg. “And you left her up there with them, and with dangerous arsonists-” 

“You know them?” Violet asked, shocked. 

“I know what they can do!” Nick screamed, tears springing to his eyes, and he stepped forwards, breaking a shocked Solitude’s hold. “And Sunny shouldn’t be near them! How dare you? How dare you just let her stay there? Would you have let me stay?” 

“Nick!” Violet shouted. “Of course I-” 

“I know, Vi! I know what they’ll do to her, what they’re probably already doing to her!” 

“She’s not hurt!” 

“She could be!” Nick ran forwards and pushed her back, and Klaus and Quigley started, prepared to run and grab him again. “She could be, and now how the fuck are we going to get her back?” 

“She can handle it!” Violet said. “She’s not helpless!” 

“Yes, she is!” his voice broke. “I was helpless! I thought I wouldn’t be, but I was! And she’s a baby! I was almost thirteen!” Tears streamed down his face, as he pushed her again. “I was almost thirteen, and I was wrong!” 

“Nick! We’re not just gonna leave her with them!” Violet shouted. “I promise, I promise, it’s not like you. They’re not hurting her, and she can spy, and she’s going to be okay!” 

“No, she’s not! You think they’re just gonna let her go? Vi, I tried to escape so many times, and none of it worked! It just made it worse! You think she has a chance? As soon as she tries- they’ll…” 

“Everyone stop!” Quigley said. He and Klaus ran forwards, standing in between Nick and Violet, and then he said, “Listen, we’re sorry! But we all need to calm down a second.” 

“No, you need to listen to me!” Nick shouted. “You weren’t the one who got…” he cut himself off again and stepped back, throwing his hands over his face and shaking. “You didn’t… you don’t… you… we have to get her back.” 

“We will.” Violet vowed. “Nick, Lilac, we will get her back. But she can do this. I believe in her.” 

“But…” Lilac shut her eyes and tried not to cry. “But she… Klaus?” 

Klaus bit his lip, watching Solitude toddle over to Nick and hug him again. “I… I trust Sunny. But Vi, Nick’s right, we can’t just expect her to escape without a hitch. We’ll need some kind of plan.” 

“What did you find out?” Violet asked, staring at the ground. 

“We found Verbal Fridge Dialogue,” Klaus said, awkwardly stepping around Lilac, who pushed past the crowd to sit against the wall and bury her head in her lap. “It’s a bit complicated but basically, number of olives shows a day- Thursday- for a meeting, mustard referred us to a poem, poem referred us to… well, a river.” 

“So we got nothing.” Lilac said. 

“No, no, that’s gotta be something.” Quigley said. “I can find tidal charts, or a map of the area… but we did find something. The Volunteers are meeting at the Last Safe Place, on Thursday. Soon as Sunny finds out where the Last Safe Place is, we can go there.” 

“I think you’re all forgetting,” Nick said, still sounding very upset, wiping his eyes with his sleeve, “That she can’t escape.” 

“We’ll climb back up and get her tomorrow morning.” Violet said. 

“They’ll know she’s gone!” Nick said. 

Klaus bit his lip. “And if they’re at the top of the waterfall, they’ll be able to see everything, so even if we get back down the slope, they’ll know where we are.” 

“They outnumber us.” Lilac said, standing up and pushing her hair back, still struggling not to cry. 

“Maybe…” Violet considered. “Maybe we could arrange a trade?” 

“If we had something he wanted more than Sunny,” Klaus agreed, “We could trade that. But what do we have that he’d think was more important?” 

“We have me.” Lilac said. 

“Yeah, no, that’s off the table, bitch.” Violet said, grabbing her sister’s arm again and dragging her closer to the group. “No more sacrifices. We promised.” 

“Maybe me?” Quigley said. “I mean, if he wants the Quagmire fortune-” 

“That’s not happening, either.” Klaus said. 

“I can get out. I’m good with-” Quigley began. 

“No.” Nick said sternly. “We’re not letting that bastard get anywhere near you.” 

“He loves money.” Lilac said. “Maybe if we could figure out how to get our fortune right now, we could trade that.” 

“Sure, Li.” Solitude said. “We can get the fortune in the middle of the mountains while we’re on the lam.” 

“Well, do you have any better ideas?” Lilac said. 

“He loves fire.” Violet said. 

“He can make his own fire, he won’t trade Sunny for that.” Lilac said. 

“Then what-” 

And then Nick said, “I have an idea.” 

He didn’t sound… right. His siblings and Quigley looked over at him, a bit startled to see how, as he stared ahead at them, his eyes had gone very dark, and his voice very low. 

“Nick?” Lilac asked. 

Nick narrowed his eyes. “We have to trade for someone we love. So we take someone he loves.” 

Violet’s eyes widened, and Klaus gasped. 

“Olaf doesn’t love anyone.” Solitude said nervously. 

“Wrong.” Nick practically growled. “He loves her.” 

They stared at him, and then Lilac clarified for the startled Soli. “Count Olaf loves Esme Squalor.” 

“So,” Nick said, “We capture the bitch, and trade her for our baby sister.”

[byuneebuns]

Hot Toddy (Requested)

Anonymous said: Hello! I just left a tip for you because your writings are so good and well thought out. I was wondering if I could request a scenario or something where the reader is comforting Jooheon because he isn’t feeling the most confident and they end up having sex due to all the love in the air. 😂😭 I find that to be the most romantic and intimate thing. Thank you! And I look forward to part two of the series with Jiho. 😭❤️

Jooheon x Female Reader

Rated: M for Smut

Tags: NSFW, Smut, Fluff, Mild Praise

Author’s Note: Thank you endlessly for the kind words, the request, and the tip ;A; ♡ This was fun to write and I love Jooheon soooo much, I hope that I did him justice and I really, really, really hope that you like it!!! 

Now I have to try my best to look at him when a straight face and not think about this fic when I meet him in a few weeks skjfbsjkfbs. 

“Jooheon, we have to go! You still aren’t ready?” You leaned against the doorframe and sighed when you saw Jooheon’s limp form on his bed. He was faced away from you but you could see the steady rise and fall of his breathing silhouetted against the legion of white flurries dancing outside of his window.

You strode briskly over to him, brushing off the few stray snowflakes that had managed to cling to your hair, and shook his shoulder roughly.

“I’m awake. I just don’t want to go.”

You tried to pull him onto his back so you could see his face but he was faster than you, pulling his blanket over his head at lightning speed and leaving only a few tufts of his black hair sticking out from the top.

You sighed again, exasperated, running a hand through your hair and glancing at your wristwatch anxiously.

“Joohoney, what’s wrong? We really have to get going soon. The roads are getting bad and I’ll get in trouble if we’re late again, so will you please talk to me so I can try to help?” You said softly, smoothing your black smock dress and adjusting your thigh high socks before sitting beside him and rubbing soothing circles into the idol’s muscular back through his blanket, grateful for his body heat as you adjusted from the bitter temperature outside. 

You’d been styling Jooheon since debut and you still couldn’t help chuckling over the enormous difference between his appearance and his personality.

You could still remember the nervousness you felt when you were introduced to him all of those years ago like it was yesterday. You were expecting the typical male idol, tall and thin with sculpted features. You were shocked, to say the least, when instead you were being introduced to a tall scowling man instead.

He was, of course, breathtakingly handsome. Just not in the way you expected.

His eyes were narrow and slanted and topped by low, sharp brows. His face was broad and undeniably masculine despite his full cheeks and pouty lips.

It didn’t take long for you to realize that the intimidation ended there and that Jooheon was actually just a giant marshmallow. You’d grown very close in the years you’d been styling him and he often came to you first with problems. You’d learned he was actually a very self-conscious guy and you were always first in line to remind him of how great he was when he was feeling down on himself, which is exactly what you expected was going on right now. 

There was no resistance this time as you pulled the blanket from him and turned him over to face you. His eyes were puffy and his cheeks were splotchy.

“What have you been doing? You look like a mess.” You questioned, patting his swollen cheek gently.

“Your hand is cold. I always look like a mess.” He huffed, his voice scratchy.

“Now we both know that isn’t true, but when you spend a bunch of time crying you’re bound to look a little worse for wear afterwards. Come on, let’s get you cleaned up and ready for the photoshoot, okay?”

You pulled an unenthusiastic Jooheon into a sitting position, trying to contain the blush blooming on the apples of your cheeks when you saw he was only wearing boxers. You’d seen him in that little plenty of times but it still never failed to make your heart skip a beat, if anything knowing his personality only made him more fatally attractive.

“I brought my kit with me so I can just do everything from here, okay? When you didn’t show up I figured something must have happened. Do you want to tell me about it?” You asked as you finger combed his bedhead into a more tamable shape.

“Hmm, that feels so nice.” He hummed in reply, leaning into your touch and igniting the flames on your cheeks again.

“I’m sorry for troubling you. I just...I saw some bad comments online and-”

“Jooheon, what have I told you about paying attention to that nonsense?” You asked, a hint of your former exasperation breaking through your voice. The things people said about idols behind the shield of their computer monitor were downright disgusting and it broke your heart every time that you had to spend time picking up the pieces of Jooheon’s shattered ego because of it.

“I know,” Jooheon sighed, “I know that I shouldn’t let it get to me. I just...sometimes...when I see myself I don’t see anything worth liking either.” He trailed off, staring at his lap in shame.

“Joohoney, how can you say that? Is your eyesight getting worse? Don’t see anything worth liking? Do you want me to tell you what I see?” You whispered, still stroking his hair.

You placed your other palm on his cheek, turning him to face you fully before it joined it’s twin in his hair, massaging his temples with your thumbs.

“I see a smart, kind, talented, and excessively handsome rapper, dancer, singer, writer, and human being. I see someone that too many people wish that they could be. Someone that should always be proud of themselves. Someone that works so incredibly hard and is always willing to go the extra mile for the people in his life. Beyond someone worth liking, I see someone worth admiring. I see someone that I feel thankful to know, and someone that I lo-” 

You cut yourself short, trailing off and refusing to finish what you’d almost blurted out in a moment of passion, cheeks blazing anew.

Jooheon’s eyes were locked on yours, somehow shining brightly despite the dim lighting.

“You really mean all of that?” He asked so softly that you scarcely believed he’d spoken at all, still not taking his eyes from you.

“Every word.” 

Your body froze when his lips met yours. His touch was feather light, his mouth only barely ghosting over yours with your hands still tousled in his hair.

As swiftly as it happened it ended, and Jooheon’s eyes were almost comically wide as he slowly pulled away from you.

Before he could say anything you were pulling him back, with only enough force that the slightest resistance would have stopped you, and pressing your lips together with his again.

He stayed this time, his hands clumsily finding their way to your cheeks, his thumbs absent-mindedly stroking them while your lips moved together slowly.

His large hands mapped the expanse of your body while you lazily made out until they reached your hips. He tugged at them, pulling you into his lap where you wrapped your legs around his waist to draw him as close as possible.

Your unbroken kiss swallowed the gasp that escaped your lips when his growing erection brushed against your clothed center, eliciting a growl from him in return. 

It was like a switch had been flipped and suddenly your kisses were fast, sloppy, and growing in urgency. Your teeth nipped at each other’s lips, your tongues exploring each other eagerly.

His swollen cock was pressing into your clit and whether subconsciously or not he had started rolling his hips into you, desperate for more friction. You could feel your panties starting to stick to you from the slick growing between your legs and you were panting now, clinging to his shoulders for dear life with shaking hands while he moved against you, deep moans tumbling from his lips, his hands holding fast to your hips.

“Fuck, Jooheon,” You gasped, breathless, when he suddenly attached his lips to your neck, sucking down harshly, “Baby, you’re so sexy.”

Jooheon’s lips left your neck with a soft pop and you could feel a gentle throbbing from where he had certainly left a mark.

You untangled your legs from his waist and pulled away from him. His hands found yours and held them fast, fighting to keep you close while he watched you with confusion swimming in his eyes.

You pulled him towards the edge of the bed and he reluctantly followed, his legs swinging over the side as he watched you with apprehension.

“We don’t have to do this if you don’t want to. I’m sorry, I don’t know what came over me.” He whispered, the perceived rejection making him shy.

“Jooheon...I just want to make you feel good.”

He watched you drop to your knees on the floor in front of him with astonishment, lifting his hips eagerly when your fingers started to pry at the waistband of his boxers.

His cock sprang free, slapping his stomach with a soft thud. Your mouth watered when you saw it. You knew he was well-endowed but he just looked so...enticing. His pupils were blown out and you could see how much harder he was breathing as he watched you.

Pre-cum was already glistening on the head and you couldn’t resist leaning forward and eagerly planting a few kitten licks along the tip, shuddering when you felt him twitching at the contact.

“Stop teasing me, baby.” He growled from above you.

You ran your hands up his legs, relishing every sharp inhale and shudder he made as you inched closer to where he wanted you.

When your hands finally met your mouth you pulled away to admire him once again, running your closed fist along his length, pulling a groan from him and feeling yourself growing wetter by the second, ruining your panties beyond repair.

“So perfect.” You said in a hushed tone that was nearly drowned out by Jooheon’s labored breaths. He was watching you so intently while you pumped his dick in your hands, like he was trying to commit each movement to memory.

You leaned forward again, giving his tip a final squeeze before you replaced the pressure from your palm with your mouth.

You flicked your tongue along the underside of his length over and over while you sucked his cock like your life depended on it, one of your hands massaging his balls and the other gripping his thigh tightly.

Jooheon was leaning back on his hands, his head thrown back, gasps and moans pouring from his mouth indiscriminately.

“F-fuck, baby girl, your mouth feels so good.” He said through labored breaths, one of his hands abandoning its duty to keep him upright and instead snaking itself at the base of your neck and gripping your hair tightly, forcing you to take all of him.

You whimpered, tears pricking at the corners of your eyes from how large he was, the vibrations making him buck against your throat as he started losing himself to pleasure.

“I’m so close.”

His words were stilted and punctured by moans, as if to confirm the truth of what he said.

You swirled your tongue along him one final time before withdrawing. You pulled your dress over your head and slid your soaking panties off, leaving your tall socks and bra in place, and reclaimed your seat on his lap.

Your original intention was to let him finish in your mouth but you couldn’t take it anymore, you were so beside yourself with need.

“Is this okay?” You whispered. He was already lined up at your entrance and it took every ounce of self-control in your possession to wait for him to respond before sinking onto his throbbing, waiting cock.

“Yes.” He breathed, his eyes fluttering shut as he finally entered you.

You both stayed still for a few moments so you could adjust before you started moving. Jooheon’s hands were holding your hips steady, guiding you, while you rode him at a snail’s pace, not wanting to rush after how close he’d been to release only moments ago.

The rhythmic, albeit glacial, pace you’d set somehow seemed to amplify the feeling of Jooheon’s thickness dragging along your walls and brushing your g-spot, you could already feel your legs starting to shake with the promise of your orgasm.

“Joohoney...you’re so beautiful. You feel so good.” You whispered, hiding your face in the crook of his neck in embarrassment. He wrapped his arms around you tightly, holding you to his chest, merely humming in response.

His hands started guiding a bit more forcefully than before, his hips raising to meet your own in an attempt to go deeper and faster. You obliged, trying to match the new pace he was setting. His impatience won out and you found yourself being flipped onto your back with him still inside of you.

“I want to make you feel good, too.” He murmured, his voice huskier than you remembered it, his eyes sparkling with apparent adoration.

Before you could answer he was already rolling his hips into you with far better deliberate precision than you could have hoped to achieve. He groped you through the simple black bra you’d neglected to remove and shoved it to the side to free one of your breasts, which he immediately took in his grip, rolling your sensitive nipple in his fingers, heightening the sensations you were already in danger of drowning in.

His fingers abandoned your nipple and found your clit instead, sending jolts of pleasure through you and pushing you even closer to the edge.

“That’s it, baby. Cum for me.” He moaned, his eyes flitting between your face contorted in ecstasy and where his thick cock was disappearing in your tight pussy. He was slamming into you with renewed vigor now, the circles he was rubbing into your clit getting faster and faster.

The room felt like it was spinning when you finally felt your walls convulsing around him and warm liquid drip down your thighs. Jooheon’s grunts and moans were growing louder and more desperate as he followed suit, spilling himself inside of you and mixing your juices with his.

His arms gave out to exhaustion and he fell on top of you, peppering your neck with light kisses. You raised your arm to absent-mindedly stroked his soft hair, smiling contentedly, your other hand seeking out his hand and entwining your fingers together.

The sound of your text message tone broke the peaceful silence and you wiggled your way towards the nightstand where you’d abandoned it, somehow managing to retrieve it despite Jooheon still being on top of you.

Your mind was already racing, formulating excuses for how late you both were, glancing out the window to see if the car being stuck in the snow was plausible, when you slid the text open and breathed an enormous sigh of relief.

Don’t bother coming to the shoot, power outage on the whole block. Taking the boys out for lunch, you two can meet us here if Jooheon is feeling better.

You read the message aloud, giggling as Jooheon rolled over onto his side and pulled you into him, nuzzling you affectionately while he held you in a vice-like grip.

“Tell her sorry, I’m still not feeling too great and I need a lot more cheering up.”

[cheekyharold]

My Prince, Chapter Seven

Read previous chapters here!

It snowed the following two days, basically shutting down the city of London. It made it impossible to go to work, but Jude assured me that no one was able to make it in so I shouldn’t worry about it. Pippa and I stayed in our flat, complaining every five minutes about the snow falling down but still complimenting how beautiful it looked outside. On the streets below, people walked and threw snowballs at each other. I always hated the cold, so I stayed indoors even when Pippa whined about wanting to get a good Instagram shot of the snow.

“If you want a picture, go out and take one yourself,” I told her, cradling a warm tea in my hands.

When Monday came, we were each stir crazy and a little sick of the other person. It came as a godsend when the sun shone on Monday morning, melting everything. I got into the office earlier than usual so I didn’t seem like I had been slacking with the extra time off. But when I got to my desk, there was an envelope waiting. It was small and brown, and only had “Carolina” written on the front in scratchy handwriting.

I picked it up and it felt heavy. When I opened it, I saw a small note with a key.

When the world feels cramped and you need some solitude. –H, it said. I remembered I had told him those words about Wilton’s. I looked at the key and realized it was a key to the music hall. I don’t know how long it had been on my desk, but for whatever reason, I glanced around the office as if Harry would be there waiting for me to see it. He wasn’t.

By the time it was ten o’clock, I noticed Jude still wasn’t in. I lightly knocked on William’s door and walked in.

“Yes?” he asked, leaning under his desk for something.

“Hi, Mr. Mastfield. Um, I was just wondering – Jude isn’t here.”

“That’s not a question.” He flipped through some papers.

“No, um, I just wanted to make sure there wasn’t something I was supposed to be at, or…”

“Nope,” William replied, finally satisfied with whatever he was looking at. He placed it on his desk and looked up at me. “The princes have an engagement in Edinburgh this morning and will be attending events in Scotland all week.”

“Well, sir, I noticed that there hasn’t been much press lately about last week’s… event. Should I be in Edinburgh as well? I’m sure Mr. Lawson could use the help and–”

“The King still doesn’t think it’s wise,” William said, cutting me off. “The press may have calmed down for now, but we don’t just want them to calm down; we want them to forget the events. If you’re seen out so soon, they’ll write of nothing else but ‘the girl who got Prince Harry to punch Pierce Volier.’ We want them focused on the charity work the boys are doing, not the silly tabloid rumors that have spread.”

“What am I to do in the meantime?”

“Mr. Lawson will send the photos each night for you to take care of the following day. As there haven’t been any yet, I’m sure you can find yourself useful around here.”

I’ve been demoted to an intern, I thought begrudgingly to myself as I walked back to my desk. The rest of the day was spent helping everyone else – filing paperwork, refilling paper in the copy machine, fetching coffees, etc. – and I wanted to shoot myself in the foot. I was being punished for something I had no control over. What was I supposed to do? Say no to the prince? He knew I needed that escape, and I felt like he needed one, too.

Thankfully I didn’t have to stay until Jude sent the photos. William at least gave me that luxury. I arrived at the office just after 8 the following morning to an email from Jude sent just minutes before midnight. I scrolled through the images and picked out the ones I thought had the most potential. The photos from the morning before were classic hand-shaking photos of both the princes. They went to Edinburgh castle to unveil a new exhibit. Both princes were pictured individually giving a speech at a podium. Prince Alfred was wearing a classic navy suit with a sky blue button-down shirt and matching navy trousers, while Prince Harry wore a more daring ensemble of a white floral suit jacket with matching trousers and a white button-down silk shirt, with his trademark top buttons undone, exposing a bit of his chest.

Continuing through the photos, there was some sort of red carpet event in the evening that, of course, Prince Alfred had a date to. I assumed she was a model of some sort – her body barely even existed next to his. Her neck, arms, waist, and legs were so thin I worried about her being able to even stand upright. Prince Harry was pictured dateless, which made me slightly happy.

“At least I don’t have a weird crush on the gay one,” Pippa had said right after my job interview. Maybe that’s why we didn’t kiss. Maybe I did imagine the signals. He did dress rather flamboyantly and was never pictured with a girl – except for me, last week. At least for a brief moment, I suspended those gay rumors.

He’s gay. Get over it, I told myself. But I still managed to linger on his photos just a bit longer than Prince Alfred’s, if only to take in the entire sight of him. I spent all day editing the photos Jude sent in, but instead of going home that night, I decided to go somewhere else. I left Buckingham and walked to St. James’s Park Tube Station, hopped on the crammed District Line and stood crushed between people for an uncomfortable fifteen minutes. I wedged my way off the tube at the Tower Hill Tube Station and walked east for ten more minutes before finding the memorable alleyway. I pulled my keys out of my purse, fumbling with the gloves on my hands for the proper key. I put it in the lock and was half surprised it worked. I shoved hard on the door and found the light switches the prince had used before. Wilton’s Music Hall burst with light, and the Apollo message on the beam above greeted me.

I don’t know why I wanted I come here. Something just felt right with this place. It felt warm and good. Although, walking around alone felt a little creepy in the old building. I decided to do more exploring since my time here before was cut short. Instead of walking to the hallway on the left like before, I took a right turn and found myself in a small bar area. I played with one of the tabs and was surprised to see beer spill out from it. I didn’t think Prince Harry would be too upset, so I took a pint glass down and filled it up with the frothy, light brown liquid. I didn’t recognize the brand name but I didn’t care. It was sweet but held a bitter note at the back of my throat. It was delicious. I took off my hat, jacket, and scarf and wandered more about the hall while holding the pint.

More children’s drawings lined all the walls in the building, each one depicting something different. Some were family portraits (very rough portraits, might I add), others told fantastic stories of dragons or princesses. None of them had any rhyme or reason for being on the walls of this small music venue, it seemed. I walked back to the entrance and decided to take the stairs up to the balcony level. I sat on one of the chairs overlooking the stage below and propped my feet up on the rail. I sipped more at the beer, feeling a warmth settle in my stomach. I understood why Prince Harry decided to buy it when it went under. This place had such character and made you feel welcome, even if you were alone inside it. I never wanted to leave this place.

I finished the beer and went back to the bar to clean it. After, I walked into the main seating area of the hall and went straight up to the stage. Just days ago, the prince was here singing to me on that piano right there. I could still hear the melody in the air.

“Don’t let me… Don’t let me… Don’t let me go, ‘cause I’m tired of feelin’ alone.”

I got up onto the stage and walked over to the piano. I looked at the bench, still unbelieving Prince Harry had sat there. I looked at it for a few seconds, wondering if I should really do it. Then I did. I sat down and heard it creak lightly underneath me. I lifted the cover over the keys and plunked a few notes. The first one almost startled me by its sheer volume, only because it was so quiet within the venue. The curved walls and ceiling only made the note bounce around. It made it seem even louder. I only knew simple songs on the piano, ones that friends or music teachers would show me at school. Neither of my parents allowed me to take lessons when I was a kid because we couldn’t afford it.

I kept coming back every day after work. I found myself counting down the minutes until I was able to leave the office to come to Wilton’s. Pippa asked me every night where I was, and I told I was working late since Jude was gone. I don’t know why I didn’t tell her about Wilton’s – probably because I liked the alone time it allowed me. The city of London was always so claustrophobic that this little piece seemed to be carved out just for me. It was a breath of fresh air. Each time I went to Wilton’s, I sat behind the piano, trying to find the notes the prince had played for his song. It took me three days, but I eventually found the three repetitive keys. I didn’t remember all the lyrics, only the chorus, so I sang that over and over. It was on the fourth day, Friday, as I was singing the chorus for the fourth time, that I heard someone walking into the theatre.

I gasped when I saw Prince Harry’s figure round the doorway.

“You said you weren’t a good singer,” he said, a smile playing at the corners of his mouth.

“Oh my god,” I mumbled, backing away from the piano. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean–”

“Hey, imitation is the highest form of flattery.” His smile widened now.

“I’m sorry. I’ll go.” I got off the stage and gathered my coat.

“Please don’t,” he said, stepping closer to me. “I gave you that key for a reason. Though, I didn’t intend for you to come every day.”

“How did you…”

“What, you think I don’t have cameras or security installed?” He was only a few steps away from me now.

“You… You’ve been watching me?” Oh god, he’s seen me try and mimic his song for four days!

Prince Harry shrugged. “I get a notification on my phone whenever the doors are opened. Once I saw it was you, I usually didn’t pay attention. But you came here every day. I wanted to know what you were doing.”

“That’s embarrassing,” I mumbled, wanting to smack myself in the head.

“You liked my song, huh?” He nodded to the piano.

I bit the inside of my cheek, hard. “Er, yeah. I was just fiddling around…”

“You can sing, you know. You are good. You just need confidence. You said it used to be your dream, right?”

I laughed darkly and looked down at my feet. “Yeah, but I was a kid.”

“So?”

I looked up at him now. “All right then, Your Highness–”

“Harry.”

“–what was your dream, then?” To be a dashing prince?

He laughed. “Besides writing music? I’ve always kind of wanted to be an actor, I guess. I’ve always liked the idea of slipping out of my life and into someone else’s. Maybe even a model.”

I took a seat at the table and he followed suit.

“Actor? Model? Why can’t you? I mean, you’re a prince. You could do anything you want.”

Harry clucked his tongue in his mouth. “Not exactly. I could donate to a charity regarding acting or modeling, but I can’t do any of that myself.”

“Why not?”

“When’s the last time you saw royalty do any of that?”

He had me there.

“Have you talked to Jude?” I asked. “I’m sure he’d be willing to at least help in the modeling.”

Harry gave a dry laugh. “Oh, we have. We’ve done shoots. But the damned press secretary refuses to release any of it.”

“Does she have to?” I never met the press secretary, but I emailed her every night my photo edits from Jude. She never replied, but I would see a couple of them on the royal’s social media pages the following day.

Harry pursed his lips tightly together. “People have this notion of royalty – that we can say and do whatever we want simply because we’re royalty. It’s actually the opposite. Every second of every day is planned out for you. Charities are picked out for you. Hell, I can’t even send out a Tweet. I live in a glimmering straightjacket.”

“I’m sorry,” I said simply. I didn’t know what else there was to say.

“Anyways, shall we have a drink?” Harry slapped the table, essentially slapping away the pity in the air.

“Um, sure.”

We both stood from the table and made our way to the small bar near the entrance again. Harry grabbed the pint glasses, which I promptly took from him to pour.

When he raised an eyebrow, I smiled and held the pint glass under a tab to pour. “They always say to watch your drinks, in case anyone puts anything in them.” I chuckled. “Plus, I did some bartending when I was at uni. I can’t imagine you’re too good at topping off.” I finished the beer, making sure it only had a small head of foam. I handed it to him and he looked rightly impressed.

“You’ve got me there,” he said, tipping the glass at me and then taking a sip.

I poured another one for myself and we both went back into the theatre. I don’t really know why – there were chairs in the mini bar area, after all. Maybe we both felt more content in that large, open room.

“So – I have a question,” I asked boldly, after taking a few sips. I was beginning to forget that Harry was a prince and not just a friend.

He nodded. “Go for it.”

“What’s with the drawings? The children’s drawings?” I pointed to the door.

“Most have been up for as long as I can remember. When I bought the place I continued to have regular events, some of which were groups reading to children. I guess at these events, they have the children draw something. Since I assumed that’s where all the drawings came from, I kept up the tradition by hanging them on the walls.”

“Any by you?”

A cheeky smile spread across his lips. “Maybe.”

I gasped. “Where??”

He winked. “Ah, you’ll have to find that for yourself, Miss Pearson.”

I rolled my eyes and took another few gulps of the sweet-tasting beer.

“I have a question for you, then,” he said after a few moments of silence.

“Oh boy.”

“How are you finding your job so far?”

I puffed out a large breath of air and chuckled. “What, you mean the one assignment I’ve been to? Yeah, it’s been great,” I said sarcastically.

“I’m sorry it’s been so difficult…”

I shook my head. “I never know what to think of Mr. Mastfield. I mean, he seemed to be in my corner after Pierce but half the time I never know where he and I stand. And then after our tryst last week,–”

“Tryst, huh?”

“–he’s barely spoken a word to me. And when he does, it just feels so condescending.”

“Will’s never been one for feelings,” Harry said softly. “For the longest time as a kid, I didn’t think he had feelings. But as I grew older, I learned his mannerisms and now he and I get along swimmingly.”

“Oh, well,” I scoffed, “if he and you can get along…” Eye roll.

“Carolina,” Harry said, placing a soft hand on mine. I almost gasped and dropped my beer. “I don’t want you to feel uncomfortable at work. I can talk to him if you want.”

I couldn’t take my eyes off of his hand on mine. It was so warm. I didn’t know if the heat came from his hand or if I was imagining the fire under my skin. I took too long to reply.

“Carolina?”

“Oh, uh,” I stuttered, looking away from our hands, “no, that’s okay. Thanks, though. I’m sure everything will blow over soon enough.”

“Are you sure?”

I nodded. “Why – uh – why don’t you play another song of yours? Seeing as I’m your number one fan.”

His features immediately lit up. “You sure?” His hand left mine, and an icy chill fell over where his palm had just laid. “You really want me to?”

His excitement was contagious, although I pitied him a bit to see how excited he got. He obviously didn’t get to play for people often, if at all. I may be the first person to hear some of these songs.

“Go ahead.” I motioned to the stage ahead of us.

Harry put his beer on the table and jumped onto the stage, getting behind the piano again. “So, this one is much newer than Don’t Let Me Go. I wrote this one just a few months ago, while I was fiddling on the piano.”

I nodded, urging him on. “Woo!” I shouted. “Go Harry!”

We both chuckled before he began playing the heavy, slow notes. After a few seconds of that, he began, “Just stop your crying, it’s a sign of the times. Welcome to the final show, hope you’re wearing your best clothes. You can’t bribe the door on your way to the sky. You look pretty good down here, but you ain’t really good.” A short pause, then he surprised me by going into a higher, falsetto voice that, with his deep voice, I didn’t think was possible. “We never learned we’d been here before. Why are we always stuck and running from the bullet? The bullet? We never learned we’d been here before. Why are we always stuck and running from the bullets? The bullets?” A few short, chunky notes on the keys and he voice left the falsetto behind, becoming stronger and louder as he entered the chorus. “Just stop your cryin’, it’s a sign of the times. We gotta get away from here. We gotta get away from here. Just stop your cryin’, it’ll be alright. They told me that the end is near, we gotta get away from here.” The chorus ended, and he went back to the same, heavy notes and melody as the beginning. “Just stop your cryin’, have the time of your life. Breaking through the atmosphere, and things are pretty good from here. Remember everything’ll be alright. We could meet again somewhere, somewhere far away from here.” He paused and went into a falsetto again. “We never learned we’d been here before. Why are we always stuck and running from the bullets? The bullets? We never learned we’d been here before. Why are we always stuck and running from the bullet? The bullet?” With a louder, more demanding voice again, “Just stop cryin’, it’s a sign of the times. We gotta get away from here, we gotta get away from here. Stop your cryin’, baby, it’ll be alright. They told me that the end is near, we gotta get away from here.” Without missing a beat, he moved, impressively, back to falsetto. “We never learned we’d been here before. Why are we always stuck and running from the bullets? The bullets? We never learned we’d been here before. Why are we always stuck and running from the bullets? The bullets?” Again, he switched into a more powerful voice slammed away at the keys and moved into the bridge of the song.  “We don’t talk enough. We should open up, before it’s all too much.” He took the break in lyrics to furiously play the keys in impossible notes. “Will we ever learn, we’ve been here before? It’s just what we know. Stop your cryin’, baby, it’s a sign of the times. We gotta get away…” His voice trailed, and I could tell he was leading up to a large moment in the song. “We got to get away! We got to get away! We got to get away! We got to get away!” He held onto the last part of the word for a while before repeating, “We got to, we got to get away. We got to, we got to get away. We got to, we got to get away.” He held the last note of the song even longer than before, and I worried his vocal chords would bust. But he held on, only making my heart glow brighter. Then he played the same, heavy piano melody from the beginning of the song, eventually fading out.

I clapped furiously again, still awestruck of how beautiful his music was.

“That was amazing!” I said, amazed. “What’s that one called?”

He stepped away from the piano and back towards our table. His face was red, either from the power drained from him from the song, or from embarrassment. “That’s Sign of the Times.”

“I mean, Harry…” I was shaking my head in disbelief. “That was incredible. Seriously.”

“When are you going to sing for me, huh?” He sipped his beer.

I shook my head. “Um, never.”

“Come onnnnn,” he begged. “I’ve sung two for you, now! I think you owe me.”

I tipped my nearly-empty pint glass in his direction. “I’ll need a whole lot more of these, then.” I had hoped that would put him off, but instead, he stood and took my glass.

“Fine then,” he said, about to walk away.

“I was joking!”

“Too late,” he said, already halfway out of the theatre.

Four pints later, I found myself on the stage, belting out Whitney Houston’s version of “I Will Always Love You,” as if I was in some sort of lonely karaoke bar. Harry was down below, sitting at the table, cracking up and covering his face. The skin of his face and neck were red from laughing so hard, which only made reaching my high notes even more difficult.

When I finished my last trills, I took a staggering bow.

“Thank you, thank you. I’ll be here all night,” I said as I air-kissed the invisible crowd. I stumbled down the stairs back to our table where I plopped down onto the chair and finished the remaining beer.

After his laughing fit subsided, Harry wheezed out, “That was… that was something.”

I faked a gasp. “Ouch. Rude.” I knew my cheeks were flushed red from the alcohol.

Harry looked at the watch on his hand. “Is it really 12:30?”

Without thinking, I grabbed his wrist to look at the time myself. Once my vision steadied, I saw that it was, indeed, half-passed midnight. “Fuck.” I checked my phone and, sure enough, Pip had messaged me about 30 times asking where I was. “Fuck,” I whispered again.

“Miss a hot date?” Harry asked, eyeing my phone and me.

I scoffed. “Right, yeah. No, my flatmate is just freaking out. I should call her, but she’s probably already asleep.”

“Not freaking out too much then, huh? If she’s already asleep?” He leaned forward and took the phone out of my hands.

He was so close to me, and he wasn’t backing away. Was I making up the signals again? I had felt so relaxed with him now because I had thought he was gay. I mean, that’s the only way things made sense – and that’s the only way I could think of him if I wanted to keep my job. But I kept feeling something pulling me toward him, and I couldn’t stop myself.

“You know why I love this place so much?” he suddenly asked, breaking the mild tension. His voice was low and soft, as if he were in a crowded room, trying to make sure only I heard his words.

“Because you went here a lot as a kid,” I replied. After all, it was what he told me.

“Yes and no,” he continued in the same low voice. “Because it has no windows.”

I looked around. He was right. The walls, though peeling with paint, had no fixtures on them aside from lights.

“No one to pry. No one to take pictures. Just… silence from the outside world.”

I was busy looking at the way his lips moved to form their words. “That must be nice.”

“Inside of here, I’m not a prince. I’m not the second in line to the throne. I can be anyone, do anything.”

My heart was racing painfully fast. I could smell the beer on his breath, he was so close. It mixed with his cologne beautifully. I wanted to bathe myself in it – in him.

“That… must be a breath of fresh air,” I mumbled out. I may have been feeling the alcohol, but I knew I wasn’t drunk. I was in control of myself. I remembered William’s words – that he knew of my mother’s history of alcohol abuse but hired me because he didn’t think I’d travel down the same path as her. With that thought, I drew back from Harry, my illusion of him instantly shattering. “I should get going.”

“It’s Friday, you don’t have work tomorrow.”

“I know but…” I shook my head, trying to clear the fuzziness of the alcohol. “This isn’t right.”

“What isn’t?”

I pointed between us. “This. Whether you want to forget it or not, you are a prince, Harry. And I’m… I’m just a photographer. It isn’t right to be sat here pretending you’re anything else.”

He swallowed, his face losing its cheeky grin. “I wasn’t saying that to get pity.”

“No, I know but–”

“I said it so I could do this.” He stood from his sea to cross the small distance between us. His hand reached out to cup the back of my neck while the other touched my cheek. He took a moment, reading into my eyes but I was already drowning in the depth of his emerald ones. Then, he leaned down to my height and lightly touched his lips to mine. I should have pulled away. I should have told him, again, that it wasn’t right. He was a prince! But none of those thoughts occurred to me then. Instead, I did the opposite. I pulled his waist closer to me, closing the distance between our bodies, and kissed him back.

Sign of the Times by Harry Styles

[sebbytrash]

желание - Part Two

Longing: A yielding desire

Pairing - Bucky Barnes x Reader

Warnings - Swear words. I’m Scottish, I can’t help it.  A little angst, I’m sorry. Some kissing. Bucky needs a hug. Everybody needs a hug.

A/N: REPOSTING BECAUSE OF BLOG MOVE

желание Masterlist

You wake the next morning, a little disorientated, with a heavy weight across your waist and what appears to be a furnace plastered to your back. It takes a few seconds to recall the events of the night before.

Bucky.

Jesus fucking Christ the heat coming off this man was insane; hotter than the 9th circle of hell. You could feel the heat of his breaths on the back of your neck, his head buried in your mass of hair.

Attempting to pull yourself from his tight grasp, you grip his arm and give a gentle pull, hoping you don’t wake him. Which is about as successful as toddler pulling a car.

Opting for another route, you kick the covers off you, basking in the cool air now caressing your skin. You let out a breath of relief before closing your eyes again deciding you may as well get some sleep since you clearly weren’t going anywhere until Bucky woke up. Which was another issue entirely? Where you gonna talk about last night at all? Why did he come to you?

Your thoughts are interrupted by a gravelly voice, thick with sleep.

“Sorry, the serum makes me burn at a higher temperature…”  

You startle a little at the sound of his voice. He rolls away from you and the relief you should feel isn’t present. Instead there are just hints of regret and longing and thoughts you desperately try to bury.  You feel the bed dip as he sits up, and you roll over onto your back. You can’t help but stare at the way his t-shirt stretches over his shoulders and back.

“I should go…” sounding more like he’s talking to himself than you. He rolls his shoulders a little before standing and making his way to your door. It’s at this point you realise you still haven’t uttered a word to him.

“B-Bucky? Should we…?”

He stills, immediately going tense and you instantly regret saying anything. Whatever last night was, it was progress and the last thing you wanted was for that to count for nothing. He puts his hand on the door handle and you think he’s going to leave without saying anything before you head a faint whisper. So faint, if you hadn’t been holding your breath you doubt you’d heard it

“Thank you.”

As the door closes softly behind him you lie on your bed contemplating what had just happened.

Later, you venture down to the kitchen in the hopes of grabbing something quick to eat before Steve finds you and makes you train some more. You were distracted yesterday, and he noticed.

He’s likely to double your sets today and that thought alone has your muscles groaning. Your hanging off the fridge door, stuffing a leftover pizza slice into your mouth when a large hand grabs your shoulder

“That’s hardly a good pre-workout meal, Y/N” Steve’s disapproval evident in his ‘Dad voice’ making you yelp a little and drop your pizza slice.

“Dammit Steve, that was the last one!” you groan before bending down to pick it up; tossing it away before dipping back into the fridge.

“Well, after yesterday’s performance you should really be having a better breakfast. “  This time you can’t contain the eye roll. You knew it was coming, but it didn’t stop you being annoyed. “What was with you anyways? You’re never that distracted”

“Nothing…” your voice muffled around the noodles you were now stuffing into your mouth from a Chinese container, “I was just tired?”

“Did it have anything to do with Bucky?” Steve asks, raising an eyebrow at you

“W-What do you mean?” You stutter, heart suddenly beating wildly in your chest.  He can’t know.

“You guys looked like you were about to beat the crap outta each other when I walked in.” He explained,” You need me to talk to him? He just needs some time to settle in.”

“There’s nothing to talk about.” Even you can hear the way your voice his risen an octave or two

“What’s nothing to talk about?” Natasha asks suddenly appearing behind Steve

“Y/N and Bucky looking like they wanna punch each other during training yesterday” Steve explains before you get a chance answer

“Fine line between hate and heat…” Nat smirks at you, “all that tension's gotta go somewhere Y/N”

You groan and wipe a hand down your face, “Seriously Nat, can you not?”

“Hey I’m just saying…plus have you seen Bucky, now that’s a face I wouldn’t mind si-“cutting herself off, her eyes light up as she glances over your shoulder.

Please god no, not now. You knew it was him before you even turned around. Glancing back, sure enough there was Bucky, showing about four different expressions at once. You busy yourself picking at the Chinese carton in your hand, desperately trying to hide the heat on your face.

“Hey Buck.” And you thank the high heavens for Steve fucking Rogers. “Where were you this morning? I came by your room to get you for our morning run”

Did you say thank them, you mean curse them. Curse Steve for noticing everything. You peek up at Bucky wondering how he was going to answer.

“I uh, I went out myself.” Running a hand through his hair, he’s unable to stop his eyes flitting to you quickly before back to Steve. You hold your breath waiting to see if he buys it, if he noticed the look. You certainly had. You felt it.

“Okay cool. Next time just come by and get me. I need to run with someone who can actually keep up.” He laughs before elbowing you in the side, clearly impressed with his insult. God he was such a dork at times.  

They slipped into an easy conversation and you quietly slip out of the room. Opting to spend the rest of the day training, you manage to avoid Bucky for the entire day. You try to convince yourself that was a good thing. You seriously had to get over this thing, this crush, on Bucky. You stopped denying it a while ago, after you’d accidentally walked in on him training shirtless. Yeah, after that you knew there was absolutely no denying it any more, but that doesn't mean you have to be happy about it. God, the man was infuriating. So hot and cold. Mostly cold if you were being really honest with yourself there.

Back in your room, you quickly shower before getting ready for bed. Taking a little extra time to moisturise before slipping on your silk PJ’s you tell yourself it's for you and you only. Absolutely not incase you have a midnight visitor again. No. Definitely not.

You lie awake for a while, shifting to get comfortable but never quite reaching it. After what seems like an age, your eyelids get heavy and you find yourself being pulled into a deep sleep.

A soft click has you waking a short while later, before the bed dips and a heavy weight falls in beside you. Acting on instinct alone your fist automatically flies out meeting something hard whilst your brain fights to catch up.

“Fuck, Y/N, it’s me!” Bucky's gravelly voice instantly soothing your thundering heart, which was attempting to climb up your throat at this precise moment

“Bucky? Shit, I’m sorry!” You blink, trying to adjust to the darkness as you sit up, “God, didn't you never learn not to sneak into a girl's bed. I could've hurt you”

“M’sorry” his voice a little muffled now, “but you could never actually hurt me” he laughs a little

Great, he was mocking you now. Scrambling for your phone, you quickly flip the torch light on and set it down so you can see him a bit better. He blinks a few times as the light hits his eyes, his hand swiping his mouth but not before you seen the little trickle of blood on his lip.

“You're bleeding”, You gasp and scoot forward so you can get a better look at his lip, reaching out a hand and cupping his face slightly. It’s not bad, just a slight split lip. Such a shame though, those lips were so sinfully perfect.

The scratchiness of his unshaven scruff on your hand pulls you back to the moment and you suddenly realise how close you are. Breaths mingling, you take a deep breath to ground yourself but it only fills you with his intoxicating scent. Your hearts hammering again, this time for a whole new reason. His metal hand closes around your wrist, and you drag your eyes up to meet his. So expressive, so much pain, shining back at you. Your eyes flit to his lips again, instinctively.  

Bucky clears his throat and casts his eyes down, lifting the spell. You drop your hand from his face abruptly, inwardly cursing yourself.

“Uh, it’s fine. I probably deserved it. Shouldn't sneak up on a lady n all that” his voice is a little scratchy, like he hasn't drank water in days.

You scoff under your breath at his insinuation you're a lady, but decide not to call him on that. You scoot over to make room for him whilst turning the light on your phone off again, thankful he can no longer see the burning of your cheeks. You feel him settle in next to you, getting comfortable.

Rolling over so that you're facing away from him, you pull the covers up around you and take a few calming breaths. God, you had been so close to just kissing him, consequences be damned. And he knew it. He had to know it. God, you were such an idiot at times. You lie there for a while, listening to the sounds of Bucky's breathing. You weren't really used to sleeping next to someone, it was a little weird but oddly comforting. Long after you think he’s asleep, you hear a sigh before an arm is wrapping around you and tucking you tight against him. Satisfied that you're settled in, he slides his legs under up against yours and within a few minutes he's fast asleep.

When you wake the next morning, you're a tangle of sweaty limbs and blankets. At some point during the night you must have rolled over and were now nestled into Bucky's chest, his metal arm wrapped around you, hand dipping under your vest slightly, fingers splaying over your back. The metal feels soothingly cool against your hot skin.

You lift your head slightly, and move it down into the hard metal of his shoulder, the bite of the cold a welcome relief. He wasnt kidding when he said he burned hotter. Holy shit he was hotter than the sun! If he was going to sleep in here again, you were gonna have to change to a lighter blanket.

You glance up at his face, only to find him watching you, expression carefully neutral.

“Um, yeah, you seemed hot so I…” He gestures to the arm tucked around you with his other

“Oh. Uh, thank you. You are ridiculously hot!” you blurt it out and have about 0.5 seconds before your face falls in regret. Bucky just smirks at you a little and you think this might be the first time he’s ever even remotely smiled at you.

You push yourself up off him and attempt to pull your hair out of your face, strands sticking to your neck. Glancing back down at Bucky, you notice his eyes are fixated on your neck. You can feel a bead of sweat work it's way down your throat and into your cleavage and you watch his eyes track its movements whilst he rolls his bottom lip between his teeth. Good. He isn't as unaffected as he seems then.

He closes his eye for a beat before leaping up off the bed and practically sprinting to the door. You don't even get to utter a word before its closing behind him.

[syxhenry]

ALL THE EMOJIS!

⍤ : What does your muse’s voice sound like? Is it light? High pitched? Scratchy? Deep?

previously answered for sidereus: imma be honest, i wouldn’t know how to describe voices so i’m not going to attempt. henry’s voice is like his actual english talking voice in my head, of which i give you an example here.

✍ : What is your muse’s handwriting like? Is it neat? Sloppy? Fancy?

henry writes very seldom. when he does it’s usually quick, squiggly lines only for his own eyes to see (and be able to read). he hasn’t been taught how to write properly, after all, so most of his skill is self-taught with help from a few trusted friends over the years.

☕ : Does your muse prefer coffee or tea?

either works although other people prefer for him to drink tea usually, considering he turns into an even more hyperactive bouncing ball after coffee. of his own accord he tends to just drink water, nothing too fancy.

⌚ : Is your muse good with keeping on schedule for meetings, appointments, or events, or are they always late? Or, are they always a bit early?

surprisingly henry runs a very tight schedule. the only time he’ll be late for something is if he didn’t make the appointment himself. aside from that he is always on time with everything. that is not to say the time in between deadlines or appointments is spent in an organised fashion, but he will always be on time with things if he promised to be done/there by a certain moment.

♿ : Has your muse had any injuries in the past?

plenty injuries. he works a rather dangerous job, after all. the most notable ones are not from work, however. there is the time he broke his leg and then the time he got consequently hit by a bullet in the shoulder and slashed by a sword over his abdomen. he still has the scars from these wounds. anything else is hardly worth mentioning (according to henry).

☺ : What is your muse’s smile like? Do they smile often?

goofy and stupid. he grins like that all the time. however, when he genuinely smiles it’s more warm and he blinks his eyes slowly like a cat would do to signify all is well. this doesn’t happen often at all.

⚡ : How does your muse feel about storms? Are they afraid of them, or do they calm them?

asteroid storms? not really his cup of tea. they usually ruin the ship and give him a truckload of extra work to do. storms on planets don’t bother him much. he is very fond of lightning because it’s absolutely beautiful to his eyes, but he is not going to stand outside with a long iron pole to attract some, he’s a tiny bit smarter than that.

⚠ : How does your muse react to possibly dangerous situations? Do they face them head-on, or do they plan out their actions first?

head-on, unplanned and usually with so little preparation that it’s extra dangerous. the only time henry ever plans something out is when he considers what he’s going to be eating next.

☃  : What is your muse’s favorite season? What about their least favorite season, if they have one?

previously answered for sullivan: henry doesn’t know seasons that well. he doesn’t care very much about them either. if it’s cold he puts on an extra sweater, if it’s warm he takes something off. it’s all the same to him. he’s most used to sitting aboard a ship with regulated temperatures and doesn’t go planetside very often, so really; who cares?

☂  : Does your muse like rain?

he doesn’t particularly like nor dislike rain. it just is. and sometimes he is in the middle of it.

☼ : Does your muse like daytime or nighttime more?

previously answered for casta: henry hardly knows sunlight because of the haze in beaumonde and spending most of his life after that aboard a spaceship out in space, so he’s very accustomed to dark outside and having artificial lights to help him see. it’s not that he truly prefers one or the other, but he’s just a lot more used to darkness outside and very much not used to actual suns. it happens more often when he goes out in daylight that he’s wearing protective glasses even if it’s not that bright just because he isn’t very used to it.

🏨  : How well does your muse sleep?

previously answered for kafka: very well. he sleeps full nights whenever he can manages and regularly takes naps throughout the day because he doesn’t manage often. that’s not because of him being unable to sleep, however, but simply because there is so much stuff to do aboard a ship like serenity and henry has a hard time not doing things.

❤ : What are your muse’s thoughts on love? If they are not in a relationship, do they believe that they will ever find a perfect someone for them?

henry loves love. he loves to love and he loves to be loved. he loves the emotions that come with it and the warmth it can make a person feel. having said that, henry has never actually been in a relationship with someone, despite having harboured feelings for several people throughout his life.

circumstances have made him a little less focused on finding someone for him to be with and more on other things. but should he ever come across someone he truly loves, he will probably do everything he can to keep them around. (once he realises how he feels, of course. and if it’s not too late before he does the realising.)

he doesn’t actually believe there is a ‘perfect’ someone out there for everyone, nor does he look for someone with x and y qualifications. he just lives and feels his emotions; and whenever he falls in love with someone, he will go for it. if it doesn’t work out, so be it, he doesn’t consider that person less ‘perfect’ for him than the one who eventually will. those are not things he keeps busy with, after all.

☘ : Does your muse believe in luck? How about fate?

previously answered for casta: henry takes things as they come and doesn’t spend much time thinking about the why. if life throws him a shitty situation or a really good thing, he just takes it in stride and continues on with it (with possible attached emotions of course) but he doesn’t stop to think about things like luck and fate. it’s all stories for people who need reasons to be, henry is happy just being.

⚯ : Does your muse have good eyesight? If not, what is it like? Are they nearsighted or farsighted? Or both? Do they use glasses? Or do they prefer contacts?

henry’s eyesight is just fine. he doesn’t require any glasses nor contacts and is very capable of reading fine print at quite a distance.

👓 : If your muse wears glasses, what are their glasses frames like?

although he doesn’t require glasses to see properly, he puts a lot of glasses on. mostly safety goggles while working, but sometimes he also wears glasses to protect his eyes from bright daylight. 

♨ : Does your muse have good table manners? How do they feel about bad table manners?

previously answered for kafka: what even are good table manners? according to henry good table manners means eating the food you’re given and either putting whatever you used with the rest of the dishes or cleaning it up nicely if there are no other dishes. so according to those manners; yes, henry is very nice eater. people who don’t follow these guidelines are truly uneducated and shouldn’t be in the company of others.

actual table manners, though? he eats with his hands when he feels like it, wouldn’t know a fish knife from an actual one and regularly talks while his mouth is still half full. you decide for yourself whether you take offence or not.

❀ : What is your muse’s opinion about flower crowns?

henry’s opinion on flower crowns is entirely absent as he has never been faced with one before. but the minute he does (when he’s going out in his particular summery outfit perhaps) he will most probably love it and wear it tirelessly until the flowers wilt. (although, he tells me, this also depends on who exactly gives the flower crown to him)

♬ : Does your muse sing well? Regardless of whether they sing well or not, do they enjoy singing?

previously answered for sidereus: henry sings relatively well. he’s learned rhythm from all the working songs that used to be sung back home, and has always managed to keep a tone properly. he actually really loves singing and will randomly hum or softly sing a song while working (mostly out of habit) but he doesn’t belt things out for the entire ship to hear. not that he minds other people overhearing him sing either, though.

📐 : Is your muse good at math? Do they like it, or do they hate it?

previously answered for ephraim: extremely. he doesn’t know it’s math specifically, but he uses it for all his calculations whenever he builds or fixes something. it’s part of his affinity with machines and wires and whatnot, so he loves doing it all the same. but if you’d give him ten math problems on paper and ask him to solve them he’s going to give you a look and then turn back to his actual work.

♞ : What is your muse’s favourite animal?

previously answered for ephraim: henry does not favour any animal over the other. he has never had a pet, so he’s never made any specific attachment because of that, neither has he actually lived with many animals throughout his life. however, it’s not that he doesn’t care about animals. he finds them really interesting, but also slightly intimidating. (because you can’t screw a panel loose and figure one out, mostly.)

εїз : How does your muse feel about bugs and insects?

previously answered for ephraim: same way he feels about other animals. he has hardly been confronted with bugs or insects, so he isn’t annoyed by them. they intrigue and intimidate him all the same as for instance a cow does. when he was little he used to occasionally try catching a few of them but most of his time was spent on machines and metal even back then.

📱 : Does your muse prefer calling or texting?

previously answered for ephraim: to have a proper conversation he prefers talking out loud, so calling, but if it’s about calling someone over or quickly passing on necessary information he usually prefers to text. unless it’s necessary to pass it on really quickly then he just shouts into the comm at the top of his lungs.

☆ : Of the sun, stars, and the moon, which is your muse’s favourite?

previously answered for casta: is that even a question to be asked? the symbol for this one is also the answer.

ツ : Does your muse prefer lots of friends, or just a few close ones?

henry enjoys being ‘friends’ with everyone aboard the ship who can stand being in his company for more than five minutes. however, when asked who he would like to keep around for the rest of his life, he will only mention a select few that have become truly close to him over the years.

✝ : Is your muse religious?

previously answered for casta: very much not. henry doesn’t require any higher power or anything of the sorts to believe in. he doesn’t go as far as to ridicule people who do, but don’t try and make him believe what you believe because it will end badly for all parties involved. (and if there was an existing friendship it can easily break by force-feeding him your religion.)