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waitimcomingtoo · 4 years ago

Text

Pattinson

Pairing: Tom Holland x Actress!reader

Synopsis: Tom gets jealous when you reveal your celebrity crush on Robert Pattinson

Masterlist

“Okay I saw these on Tik Tok and I had to get them for you.” Zendaya grinned as she slid a small black box towards you.

“What is it?” You eyed her skeptically as you accepted the box.

“Just open it and look.” She smiled and rubbed her hands together.

“No.” You gasped as you opened the box. “Team Edward underwear?”

You picked up a pair of lacy black paintings and held them out in front of you. The phrase “Team Edward” was stitched in bold white letters right over the crotch.

“Oh my God.” You burst into laughter. “What are these?”

“They’re just panties.” She said innocently. “I thought you’d like them.”

“I do but I cannot wear this around Tom.” You laughed and set them down. “He’ll think I’m insane.”

“Them wear them when he’s away.” She shrugged.

“I cannot believe you bought these.” You shook your head at her. “Or that someone made them. Or that I want to wear them more than anything.”

“See?” She smiled proudly. “I knew you’d like them.”

“I do.” You admitted. “But Tom can never know they exist.”

You put the panties away in your drawer that night and forgot about them. It wasn’t until a few weeks later when you were a guest on the Graham Norton show that your love of Twilight was brought up once again.

“Now, Y/n, I hear you’re a big Twilight fan.” Graham began.

“Yup. Last time I checked.” You nodded, purposefully quoting Jacob Black.

“Are you really?” Graham giggled.

“I cannot tell you how many times I’ve seen those movies.” You shook your head. “Especially the first one. Everyone few months I just sit down and shot gun the series.”

“Were you Team Edward or Team Jacob?”

“Team Edward all the way.” You said immediately. “This is so embarrassing, but I used to leave my window open when I was in middle school so Edward could come in.”

“That’s some dedication.” Graham laughed. “Did he ever come?”

“No. He never did.” You pouted. “13 year old me was really disappointed.”

“I hear you even got a tattoo.” Graham raised his eyebrows, making you hide your face in shame.

“I do.” You laughed behind your hand. “I got too drunk halfway through Eclipse and got a tattoo.”

“You have to show us.” Graham insisted.

“Okay but don’t laugh.” You laughed in defeat and rolled up your sleeve. You held your arm out to the camera, showing off your tattoo that read “Robert Pattinson” in tiny letters on your arm. The audience and Graham laughed at the randomness at the tattoo as your face heated in embarrassment.

“Look at this, it’s not even Twilight related”. Graham laughed. “It’s just Roberts name.”

“I wanted to get to the point.” You shrugged, earning some laughs.

“Why this font?” He wondered as he stared at the tattoo.

“It’s helvetica.” You deadpanned, making Graham cover his face with his cards as he laughed.

“It looks like you’ve just typed this out on the computer.” He pointed out.

“I was drunk.” You rolled your eyes playfully. “And it felt right in the moment.”

“You’ve never met Robert, right?” Graham asked. “You haven’t showed this to him?”

“No, I’ve never met him”. You sighed dramatically. “And he will never see this tattoo.”

“Well then you better cover it up.” Graham said as he looked behind him. “Ladies and gentlemen, Robert Pattinson.”

You furrowed your eyebrows and looked behind Graham as Robert Pattinson came out from back stage. He was in a navy suit, looking as beautiful as ever as he walked towards the couch.

“Oh My God.” You covered your face with your hands as the audience became deafening. You could hear Robert and Graham greeting each other over the sound of your heart pounding in your ears. Slowly, you took your face away from your hands and sheepishly looked up.

“Nice to meet you. I’m Rob.” Robert smiled as he looked down at you.

“Hi.” You smiled weakly as you stood up. Robert shook your hand and kissed your cheek to say hello, making you die on the spot. You let go of him and sat down on the couch, never taking your eyes off Robert.

“This is…” Graham gestured to you a few times, reminding you to say your name.

“Y/n. Sorry.” You blinked a few times. “It’s so nice to finally meet you. I’m a big fan.”

“Are you?” Robert asked as he sat down. “You a Twilight fan?”

“No, I haven’t seen it.” You lied as you collected yourself.

“You just said-“

“I love all your other movies though.” You cut Graham off. “I really admire your work. Your acting is phenomenal.”

“Thank you.” Robert smiled at you. “I’ve seen some of your work as well. I’m always very impressed.”

“Are you?” You squeaked.

“I am.” Robert chuckled. “You’re very talented. I hope we get to work together someday.”

“I’m surprised you two haven’t met before.” Graham cut in. “Y/n, Rob was in a movie with your boyfriend, wasn’t he?”

“With my what?” You asked as you stared starstuck at Robert.

“Your boyfriend.” Graham repeated as the audience laughed. “Tom Holland?”

“Right.” You laughed awkwardly as you continued to stare at Robert. “Him.”

“Yeah, we were in a movie together a few years ago.” Robert answered. “And we’re going to start filming another one soon. It’s called the Devil All The Time.”

“Right.” You remembered. “He told me about it. I was so jealous that he’s getting to work with you for a second time.”

“I’m sure you and I will share the screen one day. Playing lovers, perhaps.” Robert joked as he nudged you.

“Perhaps.” You squeaked.

“We’re gonna cut to commercial.” Graham announced. “More with Robert Pattinson and Y/n L/n after the break.”

After the interview, you ran back to your dressing room with a huge smile. You had not stopped smiling since Robert had walked out on stage. You walked into your dressing room and saw Tom sitting on your couch, making you let out a squeal.

“Ahh! Did you see me?” You gushed. “Did you see me with Edward?”

“Edward?” He chuckled as he hugged you. “You mean Robert Pattinson?”

“Yeah. Him.” You clapped your hands. “He shook my hand and kissed my cheek. I almost passed out. I’m in love with him.”

“I didn’t realize you were such a big fan.” Tom laughed awkwardly as you danced around the room.

“Are you kidding me? I’ve been in love with that man for over ten years now. I’m never washing my hand again.” You held out the hand he shook. “Or my face. God, he’s so beautiful.”

“Yeah. I’ve seen him.” Toms smile slowly faded. “We worked together, you know.”

“I know. You’re so lucky.” You sighed. “Did you hear him saw he wanted us to play lovers in a movie? Can you imagine if that actually happens?”

“No.” Tom said flatly. Before you could notice his indifference, someone knocked at your soon.

“Op. Someones at the door.” You said as you twisted the handle. You opened the door to reveal Robert leaning against your doorframe, knocking the air out of your chest.

“Hello again.” Robert smiled at you.

“Rob!” You stammered in surprise. “Hi.”

“Nice to see you again, Tom.” Robert said as he looked behind you. “How you been, mate?”

“I’ve been good. You?” Tom asked as he stood beside you. He wrapped a protective arm around your shoulders, not liking how fond you were of his former costar.

“Can’t complain.” Robert shrugged. “I’m excited to start filming though. I’ve been working on the accent but I’m not sure I’ve gotten it yet.”

“I’m sure you’ll do great.” You told him. “You’ve done great accents before.”

“Thank you.” He winked at you. “You should come to visit us once we start filming. I’d love to see you again.”

“Of course.” You nodded repeatedly. “I’ll be there.”

“Great.” Robert grinned. “I’ll let you guys get back to it. Bye.”

“Bye.” You enthusiastically waved to him.

“Oh, and Y/n?” Robert said before walking away.

“Yes?” You asked hopefully.

“Close your windows.” He joked, calling back to your story from before. You felt your face heat up and gave him an embarrassed smile before nodding.

“I will.” You told him. Robert firmly squeezed your shoulder before walking away. As soon as you shut the door, you let out a scream and jumped up and down.

“Did you hear that?” You asked Tom. “We have an inside joke. Edward Cullen and I have an inside joke.”

“You do know his name is Rob, right?” Tom said, less than amused. “Not Edward.”

“He’s Edward to me.” You rolled your eyes playfully. “I’ve never been this close to getting a vampire boyfriend. Ah, I’m so happy.”

“You already have a boyfriend.” Tom reminded you as he slumped on your couch. First he had to watch you and Robert fawn over each other on Graham’s couch, and now you wouldn’t stop talking about him. Tom was more than jealous at this point and it was starting to get to him.

“I know.” You chuckled as you sat beside Tom and laid your head on his shoulder. “And I love you. Even if you’re not a vampire.”

“Wow. Even if?” He chuckled sarcastically as he wrapped an arm around you. You leaned up to kiss him, making him feel better. You may be a fan of Robert, but Tom was the one you were kissing.

As promised, Tom brought you with him to the set of The Devil All The Time. He left you in his trailer early in the morning when he left to film, but you were nowhere to be found by the time he returned at the end of the day. Tom pouted when he found his trailer empty and went for a walk around the set to try and find you. When you didn’t turn up in any of the places he checked, he returned to his trailer in defeat.

“Darling?” Tom asked as he walked into his trailer. “Are you in here?”

“Where the hell you been, loca?” You asked as you threw your arms around Tom.

“What?” Tom laughed as he hugged you back, just happy to have found you.

“It was a Twilight reference.” You explained before kissing him hello. “I’ve been trying so hard not to make them around Edward all day.”

“You’ve been with Rob all day?” Tom pulled away, his mood dropping quickly.

“Uh huh.” You nodded in excitement. “I was helping him run lines in his trailer. Can you believe he asked me to help him?”

“Good for you.” Tom grumbled as he flopped down on his couch.

“What’s wrong?” You asked when you noticed Toms tone.

“Do you have feelings for this guy or something?” Tom asked. “Cause it’s starting to seem like you’d rather be with Rob.”

“What?” You laughed. “Tommy, don’t be silly. Of course I don’t have feelings for Rob.”

“Really?” Tom raised an eyebrow. “Because you’ve spent all days running lines with him instead of me, your boyfriend. When he’s around, he’s all you talk about Y/n. And I remember you saying you were in love with him multiple times.”

“I’m not in love with him, silly.” You insisted as you took a seat on his lap. “I’m in love with Edward Cullen. He was my comfort character growing up. I didn’t have a lot of friends in school, so I read books. Sometimes, it was nice to pretend a gorgeous vampire was willing to risk the Volturi to be with you.”

“The what?” Tom asked.

“It’s like the Vampire Supreme Court.” You replied.

“The what?” Tom repeated.

“Oh, right. British.” You remembered. “They’re just the most powerful vampire coven, okay? They make all the rules. You’d know them if you saw them. It’s Charlie Seen and that bitch from Cat in the Hat.”

“What does this have to do you liking Rob?” Tom whined.

“Right, sorry.” You waved your hand in dismissal. “I don’t have feelings for Rob. I don’t even know him. I’m just projecting the character I loved growing up onto the actor who played him. You’re telling me you didn’t geek out the first time you met RDJ?”

“I did.” Tom admitted.

“Exactly. He was your childhood hero and Edward was mine. That’s all this is.” You smiled and patted his cheek. “Nothing to worry about, Tommy.”

“Okay. I’m sorry.” Tom pouted and rubbed your back. “I shouldn’t have accused you of anything.”

“It’s okay. I can see why you got a little jealous. I have been talking about him a lot.” You admitted. “But I promise you, when I look at him, all I see is Edward. Just straight up baseball uniforms and spider monkies.”

“What the hell goes on in those movies?” Tom mumbled under his breath.

“Well, the last two are pretty much an abortion debate.” You began. “But they’re also about Bella being willing to die for that vampire dick.”

“In a vampire movie?” Tom wondered.

“Yeah. But the first one is a baseball movie.” You told him.

“What the fuck?” He whispered.

“You’d understand it if you saw them.” You shrugged.

“I don’t think I would.” He said skeptically.

“I also don’t think you would.” You realized. “But you’d finally understand why I call you my “monkey man” sometimes.”

“That’s a Twilight reference?” He gasped.

“Yeah. A lot of things I say are Twilight references.” You chuckled.

“Well if my darling loves them that much, I might have to give them a chance.” Tom smiled as he leaned in to kiss him.

“Mmm.” You hummed against his lips. “You wanna watch 10 hours of Twilight with me?”

“Absolutely not.” Tom laughed against your mouth. He slowly laid you down on the couch as he hovered on top of you, never break the kiss. The kiss got more heated as you gripped his shirt while his hands slid down to your pants. As his hangs found your zipper, you realized something terrifying.

“Oh no.” You gulped.

“Whats wrong?” Tom wondered as he pulled away.

“Um...” you gulped and looked down at your lap. “You’re not gonna want to do that.”

“Why?” Tom raised an eyebrow, eyes darting down to your zipper skeptically.

“Daya sent me underwear a while ago.” You began. “Um, special underwear.”

“Did she?” Tom smirked as he tugged the zipper down.

“Not that kind of special.” You quickly moved his hand. “It um, it has a slogan on it.”

“Okay?” Tom said slowly.

“You’re not gonna like it.” You told him, only making his curiosity grow. Tom looked at you curiously before tugging your pants down. You covered your face with your hands as he gasped in horror.

“Team Edward?” He yelled. “Your underwear says Team Edward?”

“It was all I had!” You protested as you tugged your pants back up.

“You’re telling me you happened to be wearing these the day you come to visit Rob on set?” Tom pointed an accusing finger at you.

“What are you implying?” You asked as you swatted his hand away. Tom ran his hands through his hair and gave it a stressful tug. He didn’t want to take his insecurity out on you, but the underwear had crossed a line.

“Did you think something was gonna happen between you guys?” He mumbled without looking at you.

“What?” You laughed in shock. “Do you seriously think I woke up this morning and thought “hm, might fuck Robert Pattinson today. Let me make sure I put on my underwear that references a character of his from ten years ago!””

“I don’t know!” He whined. “I can’t believe you’re wearing those.”

“I didn’t mean anything by it.” You laughed as he stormed out of the room. “Tommy, come back.”

“Why are you laughing?” He pouted, face still red from jealousy.

“Because you’re upset over my underwear.” You tried to hold back your laughter. “You know, you could solve this problem by taking them off.”

“No.” He stamped his foot. “You don’t want me. You want you Edgar Curtain and his killer vampire penis.”

“It’s Edward Cullen.” You corrected. “And yes, I do want that.”

“Oh my God.” Tom rubbed his face, making you laugh again.

“Edward would never treat me this way.” You teased. “He would have sex with me and then get scared that he hurt me so he just plays chess with me the rest of our honeymoon.”

“Would he now?” Tom seethed.

“Tommy, please calm down.” You chuckled as you cupped his face. “It’s just an unfortunate coincidence that I was wearing these. I promise, you don’t have anything to worry about. You’re the only one I want.”

“Really?” He asked skeptically as you stroked his cheek with your thumb.

“What can I say?” You smirked. “I’m Team Tom.”

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bitsandbobsandstuff · 5 years ago

Text

Ink on his heart

Summary: Here’s how Bucky Barnes got a haircut and then decided it was about damn time he controlled his own destiny - starting with a bit of ink.

Star Spangled Bingo Square: “A thoughtful gift”

Characters: Bucky Barnes x TattooArtist!Reader

Words: 7,400 Warnings: Tattoo experiences, a couple stories about war. Some swearing. Mostly lots of feels and fluff.

A/N: This one has been in my head a long time, I love tattoos and I love the idea of Bucky getting them! While I desperately wish I could draw the designs in my head, hopefully you get enough of a word picture to imagine. And yes, it is kinda long (I know, I know), but I couldn’t stop myself!

Want to find all my stories? Search #bitsmasterlist or try the link in my bio!

*****

Not that Bucky’s counting, but it’s been three days, 18 hours and 26 minutes and he can’t get over it.

In the damp, chilly hours before dawn, he sits on the floor of the tower living room, watching the marshmallows in his hot chocolate melt in white swirls. Now and then, he lifts his eyes to the windows, finds the faint edges of his reflection in the dark glass, and tilts his head. Tentative fingers scratch through close cropped hair and a slow smile appears. Even now, he expects long strands trailing through his fingers. Believes he can feel the phantom tug of a snarl.

It was just a haircut. What a simple, ordinary thing.

But Bucky Barnes has never been ordinary.

That small act triggered a startling transformation. Decades of heartbreak fell away with that dark hair, revealing the shape of a man he begins to remember, and it makes him think. About small things, about change. About simple acts making an extraordinary difference.

The last haircut Bucky remembers before the beginning of his first ending, was January 1945. The memory came back one evening, of a tent in Austria, the heavy silence of snow drifting down. He remembers Steve with a dull scissors, snipping carefully along his ear, remembers the catch of a knife gently shaving his neck. It was a ritual they shared for years. When pennies were tight and life was tough, they took care of each other.

And then? Then there was after.

After the fall, after capture, after the world went pear-shaped. Hydra wasn’t concerned with the formalities of self-care, a haircut was functional. Sharp scissors biting into his scalp, rough hands tearing his hair, a harsh slap if he considered resisting. Get it done and get it done fast. The Asset has work to do.

He despised those haircuts.

But now, here he is. No more handlers and horrors. No more running. No more hiding. No more ropes dragging him somewhere he doesn’t want to be.

Wresting back his independence was exhilarating.

When Steve had finished this haircut - because Bucky still preferred a Steve Rogers special to anything - he’d dusted off Bucky’s shoulders and waited. Sam stood behind him, and Bucky rolled his eyes, expecting a barrage of sassy comments.

But Sam just ruffled the freshly cut hair and laughed.

“Not bad old man. Still not as handsome as yours truly, but hey - maybe someday.”

Such a simple thing, a haircut.

It makes him wonder what else he might do, just for himself.

Fuzzy and disconnected, an old memory flickers to life. It buzzes in his brain, images and connections filtering through the cracks and Bucky lets out a breathless laugh.

“Yeah,” he murmurs to himself. “Okay.”

He closes his eyes and sips his hot chocolate.

*****

Steve yawns when he answers the door. Blond hair spikes in every direction and he rubs his eyes, looking for all the world like a sleepy, overgrown toddler.

“Hey, man. Everything okay?”

Bucky leans against the doorframe and chews his thumbnail while he gathers his thoughts.

“Sure, just - can I get a favor?”

Bemused, Steve ushers him inside and Bucky plops in the red bean bag chair Steve keeps tucked beside his dresser. Stretching out his legs, he waits for Steve to flop back into bed and snuggle his pillow, before he speaks.

“Remember back in ’37 when we were coming home from that shitty bar in Midtown, and we saw that sailor getting a tattoo?”

Whatever Steve expected, it wasn’t this. It takes him a moment to conjure the image, but when it comes he belts out a laugh.

“That terrified kid gettin’ a big heart on his arm? Looked ready to shit his pants?”

Bucky grins at the memory, a milk-faced kid with hair dark and shiny as an oil-slick.

“Thought he was gonna puke on the guy.”

“Yeah, and didn’t we stand outside that window arguing while you tried to convince me we both needed one? Something about good girls liking bad boys?”

“Hey, I stand by that statement!”

“Oh fuck off, you know exactly what your Ma would’ve said if we’d come home with tattoos.”

“Yeah,” Bucky chuckles. “God, she’d a skinned me alive.”

“Damn straight,” Steve agrees and they fall quiet, momentarily lost in shared memories of a woman with a voice of steel and a heart of gold.

Bucky leans forward and rests his chin on his knee.

“You know, all these years and I’ve never really - done anything like that,” he admits wistfully. “Gotten something done to me, I mean. Something I decided on my own. If that makes sense?”

Controlling his own destiny, choosing to do something by himself, instead of always accepting things done to him - the idea is intoxicating. He remembers the pained grimace on that sailor’s face and he relishes the prospect.

Pain you choose to feel holds a different meaning, than the torture he knows.

“S’never too late, Buck,” Steve says drowsily. “You can do anything you want.”

Bucky contemplates Steve’s words. He can do anything he wants. Heart beating fast, he takes a deep breath.

“So listen, I was thinking -”

*****

For two straight weeks, Steve works on ideas.

The floor of his bedroom is littered with sketches and concepts, crumpled sheets of paper dappled with flowing lines. Finally, after midnight on a dreary Thursday, he knocks on Bucky’s door. The moment it opens, he shoves his tattered leather portfolio in Bucky’s hands.

“So, I guess, uh - here.”

Steve crosses his arms, his toe tapping nervously, and Bucky chokes down a laugh. Some things about Steve Rogers remain comfortingly unchanged. No matter how incredible his work, all confidence seems to evaporate the moment Bucky lays eyes on anything.

—

“Give it back asshole!”

“God dammit Steve, YOU’RE the one who asked me to look!”

“Yeah well, I changed my mind, now give it back!”

—

Bucky remembers laughing while Steve chased him around their apartment. He remembers the neighbors banging on the wall, shouting at them to shut up, and he remembers the smell of their forgotten scrambled eggs burning. But most of all, he remembers that drawing - he tucked that portrait of his mother in his rucksack the day he shipped out and it stayed there, a good luck charm all through the war.

Steve had cried when Bucky told him.

Because Bucky’s opinion was always the one that mattered. Seventy years changes nothing.

Tonight, he opens the leather case, revealing three separate drawings. Outlines of black ink and a rainbow of colors paint over the curves and breaks of a human form and he pores over each page. Each drawing is utterly unique, telling the story of Bucky Barnes in metaphors and moments.

There are no words.

His throat feels suddenly thick, cotton lodged in his windpipe.

“I can redo them,” Steve blurts out. He snatches at the paper, but Bucky spins sideways, blocking the reach.

“The fuck you will. You ain’t touching these,” his voice cracks. Blinking back the flood of emotion, he looks up. “This is - they’re perfect, Steve. Thank you.”

Steve blushes petal pink and coughs to hide his delight. He fails miserably, of course, but that’s one more reason Bucky loves the little punk.

*****

One week later, Bucky stands before a demure brick storefront on a slow Brooklyn side street, the portfolio housing Steve’s three precious drawings clutched tight in a sweaty hand. Glancing at the address in his hand, he looks up to find stenciled letters curving across a glass window.

BROOKLYN INK ESTABLISHED 1973

“Here we go,” he mutters. Before he can lose his nerve, he shoves forward.

Three steps inside the tattoo parlor, he pulls up short.

Wow.

Black iron chandeliers hang from the ceiling, splashing sparkles across plush velvet chairs, rich violet and bright turquoise. The floor is an eclectic mix of reclaimed barn board, full of knots and whorls in every shade of brown. Artwork in black and white frames line the brick wall, tattoo designs, letters and fonts, photos of finished work. The entire space overflows with warmth, and Bucky feels instantly at ease.

The front desk is empty, but he hears someone rattling around back, so he takes a seat. Piled high on an end table are bundles of photo albums, full of work; he sinks into the cushions and starts flipping through.

Immersed in the images, he misses the sound of quiet footsteps.

“Are you James?”

The voice startles him and in one swift move, he manages to throw the album on the floor and tumble from the chair. Pages of photographs spill everywhere and he crawls over, hastily scooping them up and babbling one inappropriate apology after another.

“Shit! Sorry, I’m sorry! Shit, I mean I’m sorry for saying shit. Fuck, I didn’t - oh my god, I’m sorry, I’m not usually so - ”

Soft laughter greets him and he looks up in panic, a more refined apology on his lips, but the words evaporate.

Crouching beside him, graceful hands gather up the mess of photos, slipping them back into the album. Dropping it carelessly on the end table, she bounces back to her feet and offers him a hand.

“No worries,” she says with a breathtaking smile. “I shouldn’t have startled you.”

Although he has no need for the support, Bucky reaches mutely for her outstretched fingers because he can’t help but take them. When she tugs, he allows her to pull him up.

“I’m, um - Bucky. Please, call me Bucky.”

“Hello Bucky,” she says. She shares her name and he repeats it slowly. Clearing his throat, he takes a deep breath.

“Thanks for meeting me so late, I know it’s after hours.”

“Sure,” she says lightly. “So, what can I do for you?”

This is the tricky part.

“On the website, it mentioned you had experience with - with tattooing around scars,” he begins carefully. “Scar tissue I mean. Is that right?”

With his question, her expressions turns serious. She observes him for a long moment.

“Yes, I do. Can I ask how long you served?” she asks delicately and Bucky acknowledges her perception with a short nod. He toys with the zipper on Steve’s portfolio, debating his response.

“Seemed like forever,” he finally says, and it’s the most honest answer he has.

Nodding silently, she motions him behind the counter.

“Come on back, let’s see what you had in mind.”

Hugging the pictures to his chest, Bucky follows, eyes saucer wide as they weave through the work area to her space. The shop smells like the woodsy smoke from the candles sitting along her table, mixed with ink and latex and an odd sterile tang. He inhales and discovers he likes it, the strange scent lighting him up.

Dropping to her stool, she gestures for him to have a seat. Bucky sits gingerly, wide eyes still staring. When she catches his eye, he flushes.

“Sorry. First time I’ve been in a shop.”

“That’s okay, there’s lots to see,” she says easily. Looking at the portfolio still clutched against his chest, she grins. “Did you have some ideas already?”

He thrusts the portfolio at her. Propping it on her knees, she flips it open and he beams when he hears her astonished gasp.

“I like the colors there, if you think they’re possible?”

“Sure, might take some extra time, but I can do it,” she murmurs, pinching her lip. Turning the page sideways, she examines every minute detail, shaking her head in disbelief. “This is exquisite.”

“I’ll tell my artist. He’s a real diva sometimes.”

“I’d say he’s earned that right,” she laughs, tracing the paper with a light finger. She flips to the second picture and tilts her head. “The grays and silvers might look nice with midnight blue for contrast?”

Bucky nods eagerly. “Yeah, I love that idea.”

She looks again, examining the intricate design.

“Can you tell me about your pain tolerance? The designs are beautiful, but they’re complex. Each will take multiple sessions to finish.”

Bucky drops his eyes. He heaves a sigh at the obligatory question.

“It’s high,” he mutters. “Very - high.”

Silence follows his admission. When he dares to look up again, he feels a twinge in his chest at the compassion he finds. He offers a rueful smile and she slowly returns it.

“Would you like to come after hours? It can get noisy during the day, if you prefer things quieter. Most soldiers like that better.”

There is a sweep of relief at her casual acknowledgement. He huffs out a shaky breath.

“That would be great. If you don’t mind, I mean.”

“Not at all. I’m a night owl anyway.”

“Yeah,” Bucky says quietly. “Me too.”

She looks back to the portfolio, carefully shuffling the pages.

The third picture appears.

And Bucky sees it, that precise moment when realization sinks in. When she realizes exactly who is sitting in her chair tonight. There is no doubt the drawing gives that fact away. Heart pounding, he flinches, steeling himself for the inevitable.

But nothing happens.

She meets his nervous gaze head on and yet - that gentle smile remains.

“Bucky,” she repeats and this time she understands. “Oh. It’s nice to meet you, Bucky Barnes. Come back tomorrow night, 9pm. Don’t be late.”

He leaves the tattoo shop feeling lighter than he has in years.

*****

TATTOO 1: FOREARM

“Show me a man with a tattoo and I’ll show you a man with an interesting past.” - Jack London

*****

Perpetually early for everything, Bucky arrives at 8:45pm the next night.

The bell over the door tinkles when he enters, and she looks up from the front desk and waves. His stomach unexpectedly leaps and he thinks it must be nerves.

“Hey, Bucky,” her voice is soft.

“Evening,” he says shyly.

“You ready to do this?”

“Could hardly sleep last night,” he confesses with a grin.

Sliding timidly into her black leather chair, he watches her arrange tools on a shiny silver tray. An arm rest is attached to his right side, and he dries his sweaty palm on his jeans before easing his arm onto the cushion, palm up. When she drops onto her stool at his side, he offers a weak smile.

“You got the email I sent with all the information, right? Did you have any questions?”

He scrunches his nose, recalling the long, detailed summary she shared. For each of the three tattoos he requested, she gave him a detailed analysis of the process for creating each design; broke down how long each session would take; gave explicit instructions on the healing and care process; confirmed each individual color and how it would be applied; clarified the tools that would be used, including their brand names and how each one worked; she even provided floor plans of her shop - outlining entries and exits and bathrooms and locations of fire extinguishers.

It was a novel of information that must’ve taken her hours, and he was inexplicably grateful for the time she spent just to make him comfortable.

“No questions, I just, uh - thanks. For putting all that together. It was helpful to have all the information. Helps me keep my head on straight.”

“Of course,” she says. “So this first design should take probably 5-6 hours. Since you’re new, we’ll start with short blocks and see how it goes.”

Bucky gives a jerky nod and she pauses, pressing her fingertips against the smooth skin of his forearm.

“Here are the rules. You’re in charge, okay? We can go as fast or as slow as you need. This is not a race, and I have nowhere to be but here. Any time you want to stop, you say the word and I stop. We can take a breather, grab a cup of coffee and start again - or we can call it a night. This is your experience, Bucky. You’re in control. Understand?”

There is a fierce surge of gratitude at her words. Gratitude for her kindness, for her acceptance. Gratitude for her.

“Got it,” he whispers.

And with that, they begin.

Bucky follows each step, while she measures his arm, while she considers the contours and angles of his muscle, while she cleans and preps his skin. When she finally applies a stencil, his heart is hammering so hard his teeth are chattering.

The low buzz of the tattoo machine fills his ears with a click.

When the needles touch his skin, sweat instantly beads his neck. Adrenaline drenches his tongue and for one wild moment, Bucky panics. Wonders if this was a terrible idea, because what idiot asks for pain, seriously Barnes, what the hell is wrong with you, why’re you so stupid all the -

And then - oh.

Huh.

Interesting.

Wide-eyed, Bucky follows her careful strokes, black lines appearing on his skin.

It does hurt - sort of. Obviously nothing he can’t handle; in the grand scheme of his life, this would register as a minor inconvenience, but there is a pinch.

But that spark of pain vanishes, when the raw symbolism behind Steve’s design hits him full force.

Holy shit.

How many times through the decades did Bucky Barnes die? And how many times did he rise, born again from the frozen ash of oblivion? It was simply what the Soldier did. But it was a shadow-life, nothing more. Bucky never knew how close he was to giving up, until that day above the Potomac, Steve’s bloody face beneath his furious fists. He was so far gone, so lost and forgotten, until those memories cracked the Soldier’s fierce veneer.

And suddenly he was Bucky again. Awake and alive. For the first time in 70 years he felt fire in his soul. For the first time in 70 years he could breathe.

Tears inexplicably fill his eyes.

“All okay?”

Through a tunnel, Bucky hears her voice. Hypnotized by the metaphor inking itself into his skin, his head feels waterlogged when blinks up at her.

“Sorry?”

She scans his face, her thumb rubbing the pulse thrumming at his wrist.

“Everything okay?” She asks again and Bucky feels a potent rush of euphoria.

“Yes,” he says slowly. The excitement bubbles over and he lets out an ecstatic laugh. “Yes! This is incredible. This is - fucking hell, this is amazing.”

Chuckling to herself, she bends back to her task.

“So I guess we’ll keep going?”

“Yeah,” he laughs. “Yeah, let’s keep going.”

Two hours later, the outline of the Phoenix is inked into his skin, crisp black lines like fresh paint. Long tail feathers are curled around his wrist, the lush feathered body splashed over his forearm, her wings spread open and curving around his arm, her head reaching toward the sky.

Born from ash. Alive again.

Bucky hates to cover it up, but she insists.

“Follow the cleaning instructions and it should be fine. We need to wait between the sessions, give you time to heal.”

At that comment, he fidgets.

“Actually, I heal pretty - fast.”

“I assumed you might. Usually I say 2-3 weeks between sessions, so how about you come back in 1 week and we can see. Let’s just make sure. Does that work?”

Bucky glances at the crisp white bandage on his arm.

“Okay, that works,” he says.

She squeezes his hand and he meets her eyes.

“You did great,” she tells him.

Bucky smiles in return. And he doesn’t stop for the next six days.

*****

When he walks into the shop for his next session, he carries a large coffee for himself and an extra large iced peach green tea for her. When he gets to the front desk, he thrusts the cup at her.

“Evening. Um, here. Saw you had one last time, so - anyway.”

“Bucky, thank you. I’ve been craving one all day.” She gives the straw an experimental bite, before taking a long drink and for some reason, the silly quirk makes his heart bounce.

After a quick check on how he’s healed, she declares him perfect and they get started, settling into a comfortable silence. After an hour of buzzing, Bucky clears his throat.

“Is it okay to talk while you work?”

“It is,” she affirms, dabbing at the ink. Glancing up, she sees hesitant blue eyes. “I’m good at listening too. Sometimes it’s nice just to listen.”

Bucky figures that’s a fair statement. He fiddles with a stray thread on his shirt.

“Do you read much?” He asks hopefully, picturing the teetering stack of books beside his bed. She perks at the question.

“I love to read. Have a pile of books on my nightstand waiting for me to find time. What about you? Are you reading anything good now? Any favorites I should know?”

Bucky swallows the happy surprise. If he could, he’d be content to spend the rest of his years with a comfortable chair, a cup of coffee, and an unending supply of stories. He could talk about books for days, he just normally keeps quiet, because most people aren’t interested in that facet of Bucky Barnes.

So he begins to talk.

He tells her how Natasha lent him all her Russian copies of Pushkin and Tolstoy and Dostoevsky, insisting that reading in the original language was infinitely better. He describes how he found a copy of Rumi’s poetry at a yard sale, and what an incredible treasure it was. He flusters recounting how much he cried reading ‘A Fault in our Stars’ and says he was scared shitless to even see a clown for a full year after reading Stephen King.

He talks and talks and talks, and when he finally stops to breathe, she glances up.

“It’s nice to hear a man who’s so well read,” she says and Bucky preens at the compliment. “Do you have an all time favorite? Something you never get tired of?”

A favorite? No question.

“Yeah, I do. Something I read during the war and kinda fell in love. It’s about here, I guess. About Brooklyn.”

At the description, her mouth quirks, but she keeps working.

“Did you ever think about a book quote for a tattoo?”

Now there’s an idea. He makes a mental note to think of a quote he could add as another tattoo. Or maybe another couple tattoos. Hell, one session in and he’s already addicted.

The comment tumbles free before he realizes he’s spoken out loud. He blushes at her laughter.

“It can be addicting,” she agrees. Bucky understands completely, seeing the vibrant crimson ink soak into his skin, painting the bird’s feathers. And then she pauses, meeting his eyes with a peculiar expression. “The right words can make you feel invincible.”

Setting the tattoo machine down, she rolls her chair back a bit and sits up straight. Lifting the hem of her shirt, Bucky sees a line of gold text inked below her ribs, his eyes following the flowing cursive.

“She was all of these things and of something more,” he reads aloud.

“‘A Tree Grows in Brooklyn’ is my favorite book too,” she says quietly. There is a long, unbroken moment where they stare into each others eyes. He should say something, he thinks. Something intelligent or witty or anything, but instead he just thinks about the fact that he found a woman in Brooklyn to permanently carve pictures into his skin and she has the same favorite book as him.

Bucky always was a sucker for fate.

“That’s - that’s really - I love that,” he finally says instead.

*****

A week later, Bucky arrives with a bundle of folders and an exasperated expression.

“This is really annoying, but do you mind if I finish some reports while you work? Got behind, someone’s gonna have my ass.” Bucky raises the papers apologetically.

“No problem,” she says easily. “Let’s keep your ass safe.”

Bending back to her task, Bucky snorts a laugh. They’re just a handful of mission reports, normally he types them soon as he returns, but lately he’s been slacking, because lately he has other things he finds more interesting.

Like the scene in front of him.

Together they work, each with their own pen. Bucky writes, she colors, and the clock on the wall ticks along. After awhile, she takes a break to stretch. Rolling her shoulders, she observes him.

“Are you left-handed?” she asks curiously and it takes Bucky a moment to think.

“Oh. Uh, not really,” he says. “But I can switch. Never been a problem.”

At the confession, she raises her eyebrows.

“That’s impressive. I wish I had a talent like that.”

He ducks his head at the praise. And he keeps writing, of course. Maybe adds a bit more flair. After all, the old Bucky Barnes did like to swagger.

*****

“Well, I think that’s it.”

It takes a beat before Bucky understands what she means. Confused, he peers up at her with a dopey expression and she gestures at his arm.

He feels his heart lurch.

It flames to life along his arm, painted in vibrant ruby red and rich crimson and deep plum, highlights edged in shining gold. Mesmerized, Bucky stares down at the lines of ink and he flexes, the tendons of his arm shifting, and the bird moves. For one wild moment, he believes if he stays still, it could leap from his skin and take flight.

It leaves him breathless.

“God, this is better - fuck, it’s so much better - than I ever imagined. How did you - wow. I don’t know how you did it, but - thank you. Thank you so much.”

Unanticipated emotion makes his voice tremble. Because this is the first time Bucky Barnes chose something permanent for himself. Serums and metal arms and bullets and blades, those were always forced upon him, his pleading refusals met with violence and sneering indifference.

But this?

This.

This is all his.

*****

TATTOO 2: BACK

“Wear your heart on your sleeve in this life.” - Sylvia Plath

*****

“So, uh, how exactly does this work?”

Standing beside the leather chair while she organizes her inks, Bucky wrinkles his nose. She looks up and motions for him to turn, straddling the chair with his chest pressed against the back.

“Are you comfortable completely removing your shirt? Or would you prefer to leave it part way on? I’ll just need it out of the way for the right side of your back.”

Bucky grimaces. Eventually she’s going to see his shoulder - he knows that - but he’s not in the mood to rip that band-aid off yet.

“Uh - let’s do part of the way if that’s okay?”

“That’s okay,” she confirms and he awkwardly tugs his right arm free, baring the broad expanse of his back. Tucking his arms in front of him, he slings a leg over the chair and rests his chin carefully on the headrest.

He says nothing, simply stays still while she absorbs the sight. Littered up and down his back are a litany of scars, puckers from the occasional bullet, thin lines from errant blades, and a few other marks he prefers not to define. His voice is muffled when he warily asks.

“Are you able to - work with it?“

“Absolutely,” she answers firmly and Bucky warms at the decisiveness in her tone. Her confidence makes him feel infinitely more positive.

This is the largest of his three tattoos, stretching from the tip of his shoulder blade and flowing down to his waist. It will also take the longest, but Bucky assures her he has no issue sitting perfectly still for hours.

It’ll be worth it. He can’t wait to show Sam - he’ll get a kick out of this one.

Once she applies the stencil over his skin, she goes to work, dropping into that headspace of deep focus. She works so quietly for so long, he falls into a trance, lulled by the melodic buzz.

When she speaks, it startles him.

“What made you decide you wanted a tattoo?”

He lays his cheek along the edge of the chair so he can see her from the corner of his eye when he answers.

“S’random, but back in ’37, me and Steve were out and I remember walking by this old tattoo shop over in Midtown. They had one of those big glass windows with the chair in front, so people could stand and watch. Anyway, we walk by and there was this kid sitting in the chair, and no fuckin’ joke, he was getting a big heart on his arm with ‘MOM’ written in the middle.”

“Ah yes, the ever popular ‘mom’ tribute. I’ve done a few of those,” she says and Bucky grins.

“Well anyway, I always kinda wanted something, you know? Thought about getting one before I shipped out, but I didn’t, and then it was - “ he pauses for a moment, but she encourages him with a questioning hmmm? and Bucky bravely pushes forward. “I had lots of years where I didn’t get to make my own decisions. And there was so much - bad shit that happened to me. Anyway, I guess I thought if someone’s gonna do something to me, I wanted it to be on my own terms. You know?”

“Yeah,” she murmurs. “I think that makes perfect sense.”

Bucky sits quietly, contemplating. The question has been rattling around his brain for awhile and it spills free before he can stop himself.

“The whole process, it feels sort of - intimate, doesn’t it?”

He flushes at the insinuation, but intimate is the best way to describe it, he thinks, this practice of someone permanently carving their art into your skin.

“It is intimate,” she says softly, leaning closer. “It’s almost like you’re - leaving a piece of your soul under someone’s skin? I don’t know if that makes sense, but that’s what it’s always felt like.”

Bucky nods, watching her capable, artistic, beautiful hands as they move, slowly transferring bits and pieces of herself to him.

What a gift. He holds on tight.

*****

It was bound to happen at one of the sessions.

It’s been dark and rainy for days, buckets dumped from the heavens, the perpetual grumble of thunder always near. When Bucky comes through the front door, he feels like a wet dog. He shakes out his jacket, stomps his boots. He feels off base tonight, the result of bad sleep, bad dreams, and one particularly bad mission. He’s frustrated with himself for bringing it with him, thinks maybe he should’ve cancelled, but the thought of skipping his session - both the ink and her - was too depressing.

So instead of holing up in his room and moping under the covers, he braved the storm.

The one inside and out.

Searching for calm, he licks chapped lips.

“Hey,” he says, cringing when his voice cracks.

“Hey, Buck,” she turns cheerfully, but when she sees him squinting at her through the droplets cascading down his face, his shoulders hunched and tense, she stops. Looks him up and down and her expression softens. Beckoning him back, she digs up a towel and a dry t-shirt with ‘BROOKLYN INK’ stamped across the front, ushering him to the bathroom.

“Take all the time you need. No rush.”

Bucky mumbles his thanks and shuts the door. Gripping the sink, he glares at the mirror, at the smudge of dark beneath his eyes, at the clench of his jaw. Closing his eyes, he breathes slow and deep.

“You’re okay. You’re okay.”

He repeats the mantra, determined to settle. He’s been eager for this session all week, he’s sure as hell not ruining it because he can’t get his idiot brain to stop spinning.

When he finally emerges, he finds her arranging her work space. Halting in front of her, he keeps trembling hands stuffed in his pockets, eyes downcast.

“I’m afraid I’m poor company tonight,” he admits quietly.

“That’s okay. We can reschedule, Bucky,” she says softly and Bucky feels the disconcerting sting of tears. He rubs the heel of his hand against watery eyes.

“If it’s okay, I’d - I’d rather go ahead. Been looking forward to seeing you - uh, seeing you work, all week. It was just - “ he pauses and fights the temptation to spill his guts. No, he snarls internally, she doesn’t need to hear all your shit.

He clamps his mouth shut and shrugs instead.

She says nothing, but when she gives his hand a comforting squeeze, Bucky feels that familiar surge of gratitude. She guides him carefully toward the chair and he slumps into the seat, automatically tugging up his new shirt.

“Just close your eyes and breath. You’re okay.”

Bucky rests his chin on the edge of the chair. Troubled eyes flutter shut, and the comforting buzz of the tattoo machine fills his ears, muting the sound of the storm raging outside. When he feels the prick of the needles, he lets out a weary breath. And when he feels the easy pressure of her fingers, he begins to relax.

For hours, she works. Firm strokes, painting the story across his skin.

The dark night begins to fade before she finally sets her tools aside. When he climbs to his feet, she pulls him into a gentle hug.

Bucky sinks into her arms.

That morning, the sun begins to shine.

*****

Bucky’s been sitting for a couple hours now, eyeing the brick wall behind the chair. A question pops into his head and he feels like a jerk for not asking sooner.

“Hey - all these hours together, and I never asked you - what made you want to draw on people for a living?”

She hums at the question, and he can hear the happiness in her reply.

“Well, I always wanted to be an artist. For my eleventh birthday, my best friend Mike gave me this set of gel pens, there were a million colors. When I told him I wanted to be a tattoo artist, he let me draw pictures all over him for practice. He insisted on being the first person I inked, once I got my license. Would always tell people he was the ‘original canvas’ for my brilliance.”

When she laughs, Bucky chuckles with her; it reminds him of Steve.

“Sounds like a good man,” he says.

“Yeah, he is - he was,” she quietly corrects herself. “He was an EOD specialist in Afghanistan. Right before he left for his last tour, I drew up plans for the arm sleeve he always wanted; he planned to get it when he finished. A month later, he was in a convoy that was moving through the Gereshk Valley in the Helmand Province, when an IED hit his vehicle. He didn’t make it home.”

The story hits home like a kick in the face.

Too many soldiers, too many lives. Bucky reaches back to still her hand. He slowly turns to face her, gently tugging the tattoo machine free and setting it aside. Wordlessly, he offers his hand and she accepts it gratefully, weaving her fingers through his. It takes a few attempts before she speaks again.

“It took me a long time to get through that. One day I met a friend working down at the VA, and I heard a vet talking about the scars on his legs. He sounded so - sad about them, you know? Kept saying he didn’t recognize himself anymore. And I just stood there thinking, maybe I couldn’t help Mike, but I could still do something.” Staring resolutely down, she considers her fingers still entangled with Bucky’s. “I did some research and took some classes and - learned how to tattoo on scar tissue.”

Bucky gazes at her. He feels a sweep of pride at the way she turned her tragedy into something beautiful.

“I’m so sorry that happened,” he says and she finally looks up, meeting blue eyes bright with compassion. “But you should know, what you’re doing for people, it’s incredible. And if you don’t mind me saying, I think he’d be real god damn proud of you.”

A tear slips down her cheek and she ducks her head, her whisper so low he nearly misses it.

“Thank you Bucky.”

*****

Hours later, Bucky hears a clatter of tools and her huff of relief.

“All done.”

Wiping her hands, she pops excitedly up from the stool and Bucky pushes back from the chair to follow. Without a thought, she grabs his metal hand, tugging him impatiently over to a set of floor length mirrors along the wall. Bucky grips tight and obediently follows, his pulse racing. When she positions him at the mirror, she adjusts the panels so he can see himself from all angles.

“There, have a look.”

Along his spine, the single metal wing bursts free, so intensely realistic, Bucky’s jaw drops. It arches gracefully up, curving over his shoulder blade and sweeping down his back, razor sharp feathers tickling his rib cage before billowing out above his waist. Made from silvers and grays and shaded hints of midnight blue, it glows in the light. When Bucky reaches toward the sky, the muscles shift beneath the ink and it creates the strangest sensation of feathers unfolding.

All the scars littering his back, a flesh and bone patchwork of memories left by vicious handlers and fights too close for comfort, have disappeared. Blending into the steel of his new wing, their only purpose is to strengthen the image.

After all this time, he’s come to terms with the metal arm so unwillingly gifted all those years ago. But it’s remained a relic of a past life, something heavy, to drag him down.

But now, he rolls his shoulder back and his new metal wing lifts him higher than he’s felt in a long, long time.

*****

TATTOO 3: SHOULDER

“I can bear any pain as long as it has meaning.” - Haruki Murakami

*****

“So our last session.”

“Our last session,” he murmurs.

Bucky thinks for a moment that she seems glum, but maybe that’s wishful thinking.

“This is a tough one,” she warns, “but I think we can do it in one session. I won’t try and cover them up, it won’t work. The best solution is to incorporate your scars into the design. Make sense?”

Bucky pictures the pattern Steve drew, bright green leaves and vines tracing the seam of his arm, melding with the thick ribbons of raised tissue. It doesn’t matter, but he timidly asks anyway.

“Will it hurt?”

“No,” she says gently. Pressing her hand to his galloping heart, she shakes her head. “It won’t hurt much there, but you need to tell me if it hurts here. You need to tell me if I should stop. Remember, you’re in charge, okay?”

“Okay,” he whispers.

Steeling himself, he whips off his shirt, balling it up in nervous hands. The cool air blowing through the shop is a relief for his overheated body.

“Do you mind if I feel the skin here? So I can make sure I approach it right?”

“Yeah, ‘course,” Bucky mumbles. Staring at his hands, he waits.

Leaning close, her fingers brush over him, feeling the lines and ridges, assessing the canvas. For ten minutes, she tests his skin, lightly pushing and pressing, observing the scars and bumps where metal meets man.

“Does it still hurt?”

She doesn’t want to ask, but needs to know what she’s working with. With a grim smile, he shrugs.

“Not really. Aches sometimes, but doesn’t hurt. Can’t feel much there besides some pressure.”

Nodding, she pinches her lip. “I was thinking last night, um - would you want to add anything else into the design? Nothing big, but a few flowers? Some daisies maybe?”

“Sure, I’d like that. Any reason for daisies?” Bucky asks curiously.

Pulling out a few additional bottles of ink, she absently touches the necklace at her throat, and Bucky sees a silver daisy spinning.

“Daisies represent new beginnings. Thought it might be a nice way to end, if you like?”

Does he like it? The idea of having this small thing in common?

Hell yes he likes it.

Maybe - maybe he even more than likes it?

“Yeah. That sounds perfect,” he says softly. He swallows hard and she nods encouragingly.

“Okay. Remember - stop me if you need a break.”

This one, Bucky knows will be hard. It was the reason he left it to the end - the mental fortitude required here is much different.

As she begins, he contemplates the pink furrows gouged into his skin. The memory of how they got there flashes before him, a sick image of shredded skin raked bloody beneath his blunt fingernails. Faint screams of a past life echo in his ears, the smokey cry of his own voice desperate for relief from the pain.

Cold sweat slides down his face and he slams his eyes shut, but that seems to make it worse. The images glow technicolor bright, and he grunts a frustrated breath.

And then, through the thin latex of her glove, he feels her cool hand press against his pounding heart. Cracking an eye open, he finds her calm face and he focuses on her, until his breathing begins to ease. Blinking rapidly, he drinks in the curve of her nose, the shape of her mouth, the beauty of her eyes.

His heart stutters, stunning him into a different kind of breathless.

“Okay?”

“Yeah,” he murmurs, wide eyes locked on hers. “Yeah, I’m okay. You can keep going.”

When she bends back to her task, Bucky melts. It occurs to him, that perhaps if she might let him, he could be content watching her forever.

But for tonight, this forever lasts only a few hours before she’s done.

And there it is.

Shades of green line his shoulder, the vines curling and winding around his scars, blending them seamlessly into the foliage covering his skin. Spidering vines trail across his chest, and it seems incompatible in a way, something alive bursting from the stark metal, but the leaves look so real, he swears they flutter with each breath he takes. Strewn throughout the greenery, small splotches of yellow and white reveal her daisies and he sucks in a breath.

For the first time in his life, Bucky stares at his scars and a foreign word comes to mind, one he never, ever thought to use.

“Beautiful,” he breathes. “They’re beautiful.”

*****

And so, after 3 months and 30 hours together, they were done.

Hands in his pockets, Bucky gazes at her. Ink on her hands, ink on his heart. It hits him then, this is it. They shuffle, making small talk, neither ready to say goodbye.

“Promise you’ll come back if you decide on anything else. Tattoos, piercings, anything,” she teases and Bucky laughs.

“Told you, I might be a little addicted,” he admits, knowing full well he means to tattoos and to her. “Soon as I can think of a reason, I’ll be back.”

“I hope so,” she says. There is a brief moment where she seems to gather her courage and then she leans in to press a soft kiss to his cheek. “You’re a work of art, Bucky, but - you were before any of this. Remember that.”

Dazed, Bucky touches his cheek.

Indelible and perfect, the tattoo of her lips inks itself straight onto his heart.

*****

When she arrives at the shop the next day, there is a new sight sitting on the front desk.

Daisies, their white petals and yellow faces as fresh as the afternoon sunshine filtering through the window. Bemused, she looks around the bustling shop and spies the card propped beside the overflowing vase, her name scrawled across the front.

“When I got home, I stood in front of the mirror for hours, staring at your artwork. Every time I told myself to go to sleep, I found something new I loved. The tail feathers on my Phoenix or the petals of your daisies. What you’ve given me is more than I ever hoped - I can never thank you enough.

But anyway, I remembered what you said - how this kind of art is like leaving a piece of your soul under someone’s skin.

Well, I won’t lie - you must have done, because I miss you already.

So at the risk of being forward (although I did break into your shop and leave this, so maybe this won’t seem that forward), would you have dinner with me?

I think there’s another new beginning waiting out there, if you’d like to find it with me.

Yours,

Bucky”

At the bottom of the note, a phone number is printed.

Brushing her fingers over the delicate white petals, she pictures him, that dark haired man with eyes like blue ink, so heartbreakingly beautiful inside and out. She feels the unconscious pull of her heart, telling her all she needs to know.

A new beginning.

She says yes.

*****

#bucky x reader #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes #SSB2020 #bucky fic #bitsmasterlist #tattoos #tattoo trope

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oh-ranpo · 4 years ago

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mistletoe wishes.

pairing: owen joyner x reader an: this is the first in my little Christmas collection that I have ideas for, so I hope you enjoy it! please let me know what you think! if you want to be added to any of my tag lists, please let me know! word count: 3.7k+

The Christmas party was already well under way by the time you arrived. It had taken you over an hour to decide on which Christmas sweater you wanted to wear, as you had way too many, but you were happy to see that you weren’t the only one who was decked out in the holiday spirit as almost every single one of your friends were wearing an ugly sweater of some kind.

“Look who decided to show up,” a voice greeted you, and you grinned when you turned to see Charlie heading in your direction. He had a drink in his hand and a Santa hat on his head, so you knew that he was already having a good time.

“Sorry I’m late, my wardrobe decisions got the best of me,” you replied as he pulled you in for a hug, his hand holding his cup away from your body so as to not accidentally spill anything on you.

“Well, it looks like it paid off. That sweater is amazing,” Charlie complimented when he pulled away and he saw exactly which one you had picked out. “Owen is going to die when he sees it.”

You had gone with your festive Star Wars sweater that had Darth Vader on the front wearing a Santa hat similar to the one perched on Charlie’s head. The red and green font across the front read, “I find your lack of cheer disturbing”, and it was one that you had adored ever since your other friend, Owen, had bought it for you the year before.

“Is he here?” you asked, and Charlie nodded, the smile on his face growing as you both heard Owen’s voice fill the air.

“Don’t worry, I’ll be fine! I’ll just be hanging around the mistletoe waiting to be kissed.”

“I think he’s still a little bummed that he’s one of the few people here without a date,” Charlie chuckled, and you giggled yourself, despite your heart falling in your chest. You knew exactly how he felt as this was the first year in a couple that you were showing up to Christmas parties by yourself as well.

Your last boyfriend, Jake, had recently broken up with you in October just before Halloween. You had been devastated, as the two of you had already put together your coordinating costumes and you had been looking forward to the holiday season together. You were sure that, when he ended things, your holidays were going to be ruined, only to be proven wrong when Owen had shown up at your apartment that Halloween in his bright yellow jacket and short shorts, ready to pull you out of your own personal misery. Surprisingly, it had worked, and now you knew that you owed him a holiday saving grace.

“I guess I’m gonna go find him,” you told Charlie a few seconds later, and he nodded as you assumed that he went to find the girl that he had been talking to for the last few weeks that he had brought along as his date for the night.

It didn’t take you long to find Owen, as you headed down the hallway in the direction that you had heard his voice. The familiar blonde was leaning against the wall, his phone in his hands as his finger swiped across the screen, seemingly lost in his own little world.

“That doesn’t look like mistletoe to me,” you teased, as you referred back to his previously shouted words, and Owen looked up at the sound of your voice.

“Yeah, well, I needed to say something to help myself feel better in the midst of this little Christmas love-fest,” he replied sarcastically, as his eyes trailed down to your sweater. A smile immediately formed on his lips as he pushed himself away from the wall and slid his phone into his pocket. “Wow, what a great sweater. Whoever picked that out must have great taste.” He was teasing now, and your heart lifted as it seemed that whatever little mood Owen had been in was starting to dissipate.

“I know, I’m quite the sweater connoisseur if I say so myself,” you teased back, and Owen rolled his eyes playfully.

“Right, cause you picked it out,” he drawled and you grinned even more.

“I did actually. Just a few minutes ago.” This earned another eye roll from your friend before he gestured back the way you had come.

“Did you want to get a drink?” he asked, and you nodded eagerly. Your first mission had been to find him, and now that you had, you were ready for a drink.

The two of you headed towards the kitchen while Owen started ranting at the lack of single people that had shown up to this particular party.

“I know it’s like, cuffing season or whatever, but come on. Does everyone have to be in a relationship?” he groaned as he leaned against the kitchen counter while you poured yourself some punch. You were thankful in that moment that he couldn’t see the look on your face, as your back was to him, because you were sure that there had been a quick flash of hurt that had formed on your features at his words. It wasn’t like you didn’t agree, but it was a painful reminder that you were also newly single, and you were one of the few that was spending the best holiday, in your opinion, alone.

“Come on, it can’t be that bad,” you replied when you turned around after regaining your composure. Owen had a red cup in his hands now that you knew was filled with the same liquid that was in yours, but he didn’t seem to pay it any attention as his eyes scanned the room. There were a few people hanging around, but they were all so engrossed in the conversations they were having with their dates that none of them seemed to notice either one of you.

“I mean, it’s fine, obviously. Like, good for them. But you can’t blame a guy for hoping for a romantic Christmas miracle.” There was a flash of something in his bright blue eyes when he looked over at you, but before you could place it, it was gone.

“Romantic, eh? Oh, Owen, I didn’t know you were into stuff like that,” you teased, and the corners of his lips turned up slightly as he finally lifted his cup so that he could take a small drink.

“A guy can dream sometimes. I blame the holiday atmosphere,” he responded coolly, and you nodded as you tried to quell the racing of your heart with a sip of your own punch. The feeling was one you had been experiencing a lot since Halloween night, primarily when you were in Owen’s presence, but you pushed it aside and ignored it, just as you had been for the last several weeks.

Eventually, the two of you moved into the living room where most of the rest of your friends seemed to be, and you took the next few minutes walking around and saying hello. You didn’t miss how Owen stayed close behind, though you were sure his reasoning for it was because you were one of the only other single people around, and he didn’t want to get stuck with a big group of couples where he had to pretend like he didn’t feel incredibly awkward being alone.

“Oh my god, look at you!” Savannah cooed when she saw you. “And look at your sweater! Wait, is that the one Owen got you last year?” When you nodded, a small gasp slipped from her lips as she grabbed your hand and quickly pulled you to the other side of the room, away from everyone else. The movement startled you, and the wild look in her eyes made you nervous.

“What are we doing?” you asked apprehensively, just as Savannah spun back around to face you.

“Is there something going on with you and Owen?” The question caught you off guard, but also made your heart clench at the same time.

“No? Why would you say that?” you asked, and Savannah gave you a pointed look. You had no idea where all of this was coming from, and it seemed like a stretch to say that it was caused simply by your choice in sweaters for the evening. It wasn’t like it was the first time you had worn it out.

“Ever since Halloween, the two of you have seemed… different. I mean, I always thought that Owen had a thing for you, but Jake was always there. But now that he’s out of the picture-“

“Wait,” you interrupted, your hand coming up to stop her. “What do you mean, you always thought Owen had a thing for me?” Your heart was racing again, and when Savannah gave you a sympathetic look, you couldn’t help but glance over your shoulder to try to find the boy in question.

Owen was standing a few feet away, talking with Charlie and Charlie’s date, but the second your eyes landed on him, his eyes lifted to meet yours. It was as if he could feel you looking, and a smile immediately blossomed across his features just before you turned away.

“See, things like that! He’s always looked at you with literal heart eyes, and I was sure as soon as Jake broke up with you, he was going to make his move. I think he’s just been hesitant because he doesn’t want to rush you.”

You couldn’t believe what Savannah was saying. You and Owen had been friends for a while now, and there was never a time where you thought he might like you. Sure, the two of you had grown quite close, but you just thought that your friendship was special. When he came to cheer you up, he was just being a good best friend. There were no other emotional motives, right? No, there couldn’t be.

“Savannah, I think you’re reading a little too much into our friendship,” you sighed, as you tried to reason with both yourself and her. “Owen doesn’t like me like that.”

“But how do you feel about him?” she pressed, and that was the topic of conversation you really didn’t want to reach. While, before Halloween, you had never seen Owen as anything other than your closest friend, recently you had started seeing him differently. It all started with the fluttering in your chest when he was around, and slowly it had progressed more and more, but you had gotten quite good at suppressing it. You thought, at first, that it was just because you were lonely after having been in a relationship for over two years. But now, as the feelings grew, you weren’t so sure that could be to blame any longer.

“We’re just friends.”

It was clearly not the response Savannah was looking for, but just before she could protest further, she glanced over her shoulder, and another smirk formed on her lips.

“Hey, what are you guys talking about over here? I hope it’s more interesting than what Charlie and his date are carrying on about.” Owen’s voice made your heart stop, and when you felt his arm brush against yours, you did your best to hide your immediate emotional reaction.

“I was actually just about to go and get another drink. I’ll catch up with you guys soon,” Savannah told him before giving you a quick wink and walking off. You and her were going to have to have a serious conversation about subtlety later on.

“What was that about?” Owen asked, as you turned your attention to him.

“Your guess is as good as mine,” you replied quietly, before lifting your cup to your lips once more. You hated that you felt a little weird standing alone with Owen now, and you did your best to shake the conversation you had just had from your mind. “Did you want to maybe go find a game to play?”

“I thought you would never ask,” Owen responded brightly, and you couldn’t help but smile as you both went in search of something to entertain yourselves.

There were several different games that were being played throughout the house, but eventually, you and Owen found a game of charades that you were able to insert yourselves into. Anytime you had played this game, it had always been with Owen because Jake thought that it was stupid. More times than not, you and Owen won, and it had become an almost unsaid rule that you would be partners anytime you played.

“This isn’t fair,” Tori groaned as you jumped from your seat on the couch in victory when you and Owen won. “It’s like you two can read each other’s minds.”

You grinned as Owen lifted you from your feet and spun you around quickly in a tight hug before setting you down, his arm remaining wrapped around your waist as he turned to face his friend.

“You just wish you had a connection like us,” he taunted, and even though you knew that he was just being cocky, you still felt another pull in your chest as you slowly moved out of his embrace. He didn’t seem to notice what you were doing, which you were grateful for, as you didn’t move too far out of his reach for it to be obvious.

“We’re just really good at being on the same wavelength with these things,” you added, and Tori gave you a look that was similar to the one that Savannah had given you earlier in the night.

“Clearly not all things,” you heard her murmur, but you didn’t ask for her to elaborate because you were sure that you could already guess what she meant.

“I’m not really ready to go watch everyone be all couple-y again just yet. Did you maybe just want to… walk around?” Owen asked when the rest of the charades group started to disperse. You nodded, though you weren’t sure where exactly you were going to walk as the house wasn’t that big, and it was too cold outside to walk around out there. However, Owen reached out to take your hand as he guided you back down the hallway, away from everyone else, and you didn’t pull away as you followed him.

“You know, I thought this party was going to be a drag as one of the few single people here, but it’s actually been quite fun,” Owen mused as you walked through the hallway. You nodded as you looked up at him, your fingers still laced with his.

“You’re welcome,” you joked, and when he looked down at you, he laughed.

“I mean, obviously I’m having a good time because you’re here. We just hadn’t talked about the party or anything, so I didn’t know… I wasn’t sure…”

“Wasn’t sure of what?” you asked, as his voice trailed off and he seemed to get lost in his thoughts. Owen’s gaze was fixed on the floor in front of him while he walked, and he didn’t look back at you when he spoke again.

“I wasn’t sure if you would find someone else you could bring so you wouldn’t feel lonely too.”

Your heart jumped in your chest, as you let your eyes scan across the various pictures on the wall as you passed.

“And who in the world would I bring on such short notice? It’s not like I’ve been hanging out with anyone since Jake broke up with me. No one but you, anyways,” you replied, and it took half a second after the words came out of your mouth for you to realize how bad it sounded. “Which I’ve loved, of course. I love spending time with you.”

Owen slowed to a stop in the doorway for the stairs that led to the basement as he dropped your hand and lifted his to rub the back of his neck nervously.

“Actually, about that…” he started, but before he could continue any further, there was a gasp from behind you, and when you both turned to see what was wrong, you were surprised to see Savannah at the end of the hall, a wide smile on her lips.

“What’s going on?” you asked nervously, but instead of responding with words, Savannah just pointed above your head. You and Owen both looked up at the same time, and your stomach rolled when you saw the familiar green plant dangling from the doorway above you.

“Mistletoe,” you whispered, and Owen inhaled sharply from next to you. You hadn’t actually thought that anyone would have put up mistletoe, as it was incredibly cliché, but it was also no surprise that since they did, it would be over a high traffic area like this particular doorway. You hadn’t known about it, and it was clear that Owen didn’t know about it, and now, you felt stuck.

“Umm,” Owen started again, and you looked up at him to see that his cheeks were flooded pink, and you were sure there was embarrassment and awkwardness written all over your face.

“We don’t have to do this,” you replied quickly. “We can just pretend like we never saw it.” When you glanced back down the hall, you saw that Savannah was gone, which was also surprising given that you were sure she would have loved to witness this particular moment, even though you weren’t sure which way it was going to go. It was probably for the best that you didn’t have any kind of audience when you had your heart broken in the middle of a Christmas party.

“I mean, it is tradition,” Owen spoke up a moment later, and you gave him a quizzical look. “I mean, this isn’t how I really saw this happening, but now that we’re here…” His words only confused you more as you tried to piece together exactly what was happening.

“How you saw what happening? Getting a kiss under the mistletoe? Of course, I’m sure it wasn’t with me,” you laughed half-heartedly, and the small smile on Owen’s face quickly disappeared as his blue eyes bore into yours.

“That’s not what I meant,” he insisted, his voice serious now as he took a half-step closer to you. “You’re the only person I could ever imagine wanting to kiss under the mistletoe.”

A shiver ran down your spine at the look he was giving you now, and you found it hard to formulate a response. You had no idea what was happening, and even though Savannah had insisted there was something that Owen felt for you, you hadn’t really allowed yourself to believe it. However, if you truly had heard his words correctly, maybe you were the wrong one.

“I, I don’t understand,” you replied lamely, and Owen’s hand reached out for yours once more, this time more hesitantly than the first. You could see the conflict in his eyes, and while you were hopelessly confused, you could make this emotion out better than the rest. He was nervous.

“You know that I would never, ever want to do anything to ruin the friendship that we have. But, I’ve pretended like I don’t have feelings for you since the first day we hung out, and I gotta be honest, kissing you here, right now, would possibly make me the happiest I’ve ever been.”

You didn’t know what to say. Savannah had been right. You thought that you were so good at reading him, and yet you had missed the mark completely on how your own best friend felt about you. Sure, he was an actor and you were sure that he was great at hiding his feelings, but you felt quite dumb that you hadn’t noticed before. Not that it would have mattered then. But it sure mattered now.

There were a few, long seconds that passed between you as his confession hung in the air before you made your next move. He was waiting for you to make the call on what happened next, and instead of spilling your heart to him with words, you leaned up onto your tiptoes, curled your free hand around the back of his neck, and pressed your lips tenderly against his.

You could feel him kiss you back immediately, and his free arm snaked around your waist, pulling you closer to him as you smiled against his lips. It felt perfect, though incredibly cliché, but you wouldn’t have had it any other way. Owen had been the one that had always been there for you. He had been the one to cheer you up after your first heartbreak, and he had been the one to stitch the pieces of your heart back together. The connection you shared was deeper than friendship, and you saw that now. You could feel it pass between you as your kisses continued, and even when he pulled away to rest his forehead against your own.

“For the record, you make me the happiest I’ve ever been as well,” you whispered, causing an even bigger smile to form on Owen’s features.

“Maybe coming to the Christmas party alone wasn’t such a bad idea after all,” he mused, and you giggled as you buried your face in his neck. “Even better, now I don’t have to leave that way.”

Butterflies raged in your stomach as he kissed you again, but then a few seconds later, the sounds of someone clearing their throat behind you caused you to jump. Both you and Owen turned to see who had just walked into your moment, and you were greeted, once again, by Savannah’s smiling face.

“Just friends, huh?” She asked simply as she slipped past you, and you hid your face in Owen’s shoulder. You could feel him look down at you and then back at your friend, but he didn’t say anything as the blonde disappeared down the stairs.

When you looked back up at Owen, he was smiling down at you, and your heart skipped in your chest as you immediately smiled back.

“What do you want to do now?” You asked, and Owen pulled you closer with the arm he had wrapped around your waist before pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead.

“We can do whatever you want. I already got my Christmas miracle. I’m good to go.”

tag list: @alexpjoyner, @crybabyddl

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4awny · 3 years ago

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Crenny fluff from Chapter 19

Craig stood up from the bed when he heard the door open.

"Sorry, prolly shoulda' knocked, but I-" Kenny stopped in mid-sentence when he saw Craig standing before him in a fitted t-shirt and shorts. "-thought you'd be expecting me." He finished slowly, using his foot to kick the door behind him. There wasn't anything about the raven that should have stood out, but when Kenny took sight of his lean thighs, there was something about him that just made him stare in absolute awe.

"Hey." Craig greeted, rubbing the back of his neck. "Sorry for the mess."

Kenny looked around his surroundings. What mess? He thought when he saw absolutely nothing out of place. He watched as Craig picked up the empty can of Pepsi from the nightstand and throw it into the trash can. "Oh, that mess." He answered out loud and gave a chuckle. "That's your idea of mess?"

"I didn't have time to clean up. I thought you were gonna give me a heads up."

"You should see my room." Kenny muttered and then threw a thumb behind him. "Anyway, guess what? I just walked all the way from Kyle's. We counted the money. This is your half." He pulled the rucksack from his shoulder and extended his arm out.

Craig eyed the bag suspiciously, a little surprised that his friend had just carried a bunch of money on his own, in the cold. "You didn't have to walk all the way here, I would have just picked it up at a more convenient time."

Kenny had his own good reasoning. "You told me to come by. Plus, I feel bad for hitting you." He nodded to the small red mark on Craig's cheek.

"Don't worry about it." Craig shook his head like it was nothing and took the bag from Kenny's grasp. He didn't bother unzipping it to check. Instead, he dumped it to the floor and turned to his nightstand to pull out a folded piece of paper.

"Happy Birthday."

Kenny accepted the folded paper and as he opened it, his eyes lit up. It was a rough pencil drawing of Deadpool with a middle finger in the air and written in comic book font were the words, Happy 18th Birthday, McCormick. He couldn't stop the huge grin from splitting his face and he loved every detail of it, including the creases from where it had been folded multiple times.

"Wow, thank you so much, man. You really didn't have to do this." This feeling of surprise didn't falter and he pulled his eyes away from the gifted artwork to lock them onto Craig's. As if his body moved on its own, he stepped forward and on his tippy toes, he wrapped an arm around the taller male's neck, pulling him into a warm embrace.

The unusual contact came as a bit of a shock to Craig, but as he felt a second arm wrap around the other side of his neck, he found his arms snaking their way around Kenny's waist, pulling him in close.

It was usual behaviour for Kenny to give hugs, but it was not usual behaviour for it to last as long as it did. The way Craig's arm hugged tightly around his body, combined with how their torsos rested so intimately against each other, was a feeling neither of them could have ever comprehended from each other.

When Kenny pulled back, one of his hands fell to comfort against Craig's chest, with the other remaining where it was behind his neck. When Craig saw blue eyes flickering to his parted lips, he froze. He felt this nervous feeling in his chest and he wasn't sure how to recover from it. Their lips were that close to each other, Craig could feel the warm breath emitting from the blond's parted mouth. It looked as though he was waiting for something.

Is he waiting... for me? Craig wondered as he watched Kenny's eyelids lower into a mysterious, hooded gaze. His blue eyes not once leaving his lips. Craig felt this fixation, this temptation, this adoration... All of these sudden feelings swarmed his mind and it was almost like something else was taking over his entire consciousness. He had the sudden urge to pull his arms away and shove Kenny with force. The blond stumbled back, hitting the wall firmly behind him. Stunned by the abrupt push, Kenny's expression turned to panic, assuming he crossed the mark.

But as Craig stepped forward, the blond learnt that this new look in his friend's eyes was not anger. It was indeed, lust.

Kenny's eyes softened when he felt a set of fast hands cup around the sides of jaw, thumbs clenching at his cheeks. He allowed his back to push into the wall behind him and his mind fuzzled into a moment of sheer joy when Craig pressed his lips onto his.

It was a bold move to make for him, but it was leaf he had subconsciously taken from the Book of Kenny, because just for a split second, he felt himself living for the moment.

It felt right.

Kenny's idle arms found a way to move on their own and his fingers wrapped loosely around Craig's wrists. The blond always took pride in knowing how to take control in a relationship, but with Craig, he found himself lost in what to do with himself. It was easy with a woman, because the general consensus was for the male to be domineering and he had no problem with doing that. But it was Craig that appeared to be the dominating and although Kenny was totally down for it, it felt completely new to him.

Craig pulled back to see the blond's eyes flicker open. Their eyes connected for a brief second, before he leaned back in and kissed him again. One of his hands dropped to wrap around the side of his neck and the other hand slipped down to the blond's slender hip, pulling him in close enough for their lower abdomens to bump together.

"Mm, wait~" Kenny murmured into his mouth, but neither of them pulled away. "Craig, hang- hang on just a second."

Mumbling against his lips, Craig grew a little impatient. "What is it?"

"No, nothing. Ah, it's just~" A rough sound of arousal left Kenny's lips and a hand pushed at Craig's chest. "I need to tell you-"

"Spit it out, McCormick." He released the fingers that were clamped onto the blond's waist and dipped them under his flimsy jacket. When his fingers touched the small of Kenny's back, he flinched at how icy the skin was. "Fuck, what's wrong with you, why're you so cold?"

Kenny felt a sense of loss when the hands on his body abandoned their positions. "Hey, you try walking two and a half miles in the blistering winds and see how far it gets you."

"Take this off." Craig pulled on the zip of the blond's second hand jacket and backed away to the wardrobe. He shuffled through the neatly aligned and color coordinated items of clothing and stopped when he came across one of his favourite hoodies. He had to stop wearing it throughout senior year, because it was getting too small for him. Glancing over at his friend's small frame, he figured he may have found its new owner.

Kenny had already shrugged his jacket off and hung it up on the door handle by the time Craig came over with the new item of clothing. "Hm." He hummed in amusement when he saw the small NASA logo on the top left hand side. "I remember seeing you wearing that thing all the time last year."

"I miss wearing it." Craig confessed as the sweater was taken from his grasp. "It'll keep you warm, but you should really buy a coat or something. I don't wanna hear none of that I have no money bullshit, either. I don't care if you're saving it up, you've got more than enough to spend fifty bucks on a decent coat."

The blond slipped the hoodie over his head and straightened out the hem. "Yes, sir." He mocked playfully, shifting around in front of the mirror to check out his new outfit. He slicked his blond strands back and when he was satisfied with his look, he turned to face the man standing behind him. "What do you think?" He asked, extending out his arms.

Craig tilted his head to the side to study his look, but it was more of an excuse to admire his physique. Sure, he was a little malnourished, but it would only take a couple of decent meals to fill him out. But even so, he believed Kenny still looked perfect. He was clumsy, a little rough around the edges and filled with complete optimism, even on the worst of days. There was not one bad bone in the blond's body and Craig thought it was incredibly admirable.

Kenny was a good guy and only now, was he really starting to notice it.

"Looks better on you than it ever did on me." Craig admitted as he folded his arms.

"Well, you're not wrong." The blond agreed with a cheeky smile, before stepping forward. "Dayum. You weren't lying when you said it'll keep me warm, huh?" He fanned a hand in front of his neutral tempered face to pretend to cool down. "Whew, it sure is warm in here. What is that you got on, central heating or something?"

Craig rolled his eyes, but couldn't stop the smirk forming on his lips as he played into Kenny's little game. "If you're that hot, maybe you should take your sweater off."

"What? Oh, this thing?" The blond pulled at the collar. "Ah, what a great idea. I never even thought of that."

Just before he could grab at the hem, Craig's fingers got there first. "Here, let me help you."

Kenny lifted his arms in the air and when his head poked through the hole, their eyes immediately locked on to each other and the gray garment was discarded to the floor next to two pairs of socked feet. Having a floor littered with worn clothing, was always a pet peeve of Craig's. However, that thought didn't even cross his mind and if anything, it looked better on his bedroom floor anyway.

"You were saying?" Craig spoke, the comforting sound of his voice reeling the blond in with each word. "Just now, you were about to tell me something."

"I was?" Balancing on the balls of his feet and leaning in, Kenny's fixation on trying to search for whatever it was in those fair eyes had clouded his mind and he had to wait for Craig's words to catch up on him. He then remembered what he wanted to say. "Oh, I was."

"Tell me."

It wasn't that he didn't want to tell him, he just lost the nerve. Could he really just go ahead and unmask his online persona to Craig right here and now? I have to, right? No, wait. I can't. Not now. Bad time. Later. Promise. He concluded in the shortest argument in the world.

"Craig-" He whispered out, eyes darting between the left and right eye. It felt like he had been waiting for this day for an agonizingly long time. He never believed that this moment was ever going to be possible outside of his lasting daydreams and extensive fantasies. "Do you know how long I've been waiting for this?"

A twitch of confusion from the crease of his brow was a sign that Craig had been completely oblivious to these growing feelings Kenny had for him. Had it really been that long? How long was that long anyway? The thought of Kenny crushing over him while he was none the wiser was a little overwhelming. All of those times the blond would flirt with him and he would brush it off, thinking he was being mocked or played with and this whole time... it was a sign?

Have I really missed all of the signs? The thought passed through his mind as well as the memories of all of his past interactions with Kenny. It was surprising at how many memories came forth in a matter of seconds, but he didn't have the time to organize them and decipher each one, because that was going to take a couple of sleepless nights, at the very least.

"No, I really have no idea." He admitted and a small part of Kenny felt disappointed for not advancing on their friendship sooner. But then again, Craig was a confusing guy and had rejected almost every move Kenny tried to make on him, so maybe it was all to do with the right timing.

Kenny dropped his attention to the floor as his lips cracked into a bashful smile. "Nah, I didn't think you did."

Of course, Craig was insanely curious by this and was determined to know exactly how long Kenny had felt this way, but they had all the time in the world to talk about it and as of right now, he had other things on his mind.

"Alright, enough with the confessions." The taller male declared and smoothed a hand down Kenny's arm, before yanking him in close by the forearm.

Stumbling into an unexpected kiss, a soft sound of surprise escaping the blond's throat. He felt a second hand reach the side of his neck, the same way it did before and he leaned into the touch, like a purring cat.

With his body now warmed up, not only from the luxurious privilege of having quality central heating, but also from heat of Craig's hands, Kenny started to find his confidence again. He withdrew from the kiss only to grab at Craig's collar with both hands and pull his head down to his level to meet his lips. He took the parting of Craig's lips as an invitation and their tongues met in the middle. Light licking turned more ferocious with each breath they shared, silencing their thoughts and submitting to the intense arousal.

Having escaped the fierce cold from the piercing winds outside, Kenny was now facing a desperate escape from the radiating heat burning beneath his skin. He lightly pushed Craig to move back, but as the raven was too invested in his own lustful thoughts, he took the gesture as a form of rough play and gripped the hand he had on the side of Kenny's neck harder with a few of his fingernails digging into the back roots of blond hair.

"Argh." A pained hiss of pleasure escaped Kenny's lips and he could have sworn the guy had just glued razor blades to his fingers, because there was just no way anyone could have a grip that sharp.

Do that again. The words were about to slip from his mouth, but it seemed as though God was finally there to grant him his wish.

Craig's hand abandoned the neck completely after hearing that erotic sound leave Kenny's lips and snaked it into the growing length of blond hair. Still needs a haircut. He argued and made a valid point by tugging a fistful of hair back. Kenny couldn't read his thoughts, but he could feel the firm grip on the back of his head and it made him smirk with pleasure.

"I didn't think you'd be so... rough." Kenny admitted when he pulled away. He felt the firm hold on his head release and the tension was replaced with soft, inquisitive fingers.

"Your hair is soft." Craig noted as a second hand pushed back the falling strands from Kenny's forehead. "Would look better if it was short."

Kenny's attention bounced between the two eyes that were inspecting his mess of blond hair. The features on Craig's face were captivating him in every way possible. From the piercing gray eyes, to the sharp jawline, to the small horizontal scar sitting above his left eyebrow. It was barely noticeable and if he was any further away, he wouldn't have noticed it.

In the midst of wondering what kind of badass hustle Craig could have possibly gotten himself into to receive such a battle scar, he also took the comments about his hair into consideration. Kenny wasn't sentimental when it came to hairstyles and even if Craig preferred it fully shaved, he would have done just that. So with a sudden spark flashing through his mind of ideas, he came to a decision.

"Craig, can I ask- if you don't like something, what do you usually do about it?"

Still playing with Kenny's hair, he took a moment to think about it. "Give me an example, I need context."

"So like. Okay, let's say, you really wanted to go and see a local band. All your buddies are going, everyone's gonna be there, there's gonna be booze, drugs, sex. Y'know, the usual shit, right?"

"Right." Craig hesitated, wondering where the blond was about to take this.

"So one night, your ma's there. She's getting all menstrual with you, telling you, you can't go. You're all like, why the fuck not? My name's Craig Tucker, not Cuck Tucker, you get what I'm saying?" The gap Kenny left was meant for Craig to agree, but Craig didn't agree. He just halted his hand movements and watched his friend tell the story in silence. "So anyway, she starts yelling. Your dad comes home after a fourteen hour shift, he starts yelling. Your sister comes down the stairs, annoyed that her Disney Plus subscription has expired, so now she's yelling. Stripe leaves his bed for the first time that day to find no food in his bowl and guess what? He's now yelling too. Everyone's mad at each other and poor Craig is stuck in the middle. So you're all like, man! Fuck this shit, if I wanna go to a stupid party, I'm gonna go to a stupid party! Your dad turns to you and says if you leave this house, don't bother coming back! So. What do you do?"

Taking in the question, which felt more like another one of Kenny's monologues, Craig tried to express an answer in the best way he could. "Um. Well, first of all, I don't understand what relevance any of that had to do with each other. Why is Stripe getting involved?"

"Because you forgot to feed him, so he's mad?" Kenny's eyes narrowed and his eyebrows drew together, the answer being seemingly obvious to him. "I don't get how you're confused, I'd be mad too if my owner forgot to-" He quickly closed his mouth before letting the irony of what he was about to say leave his lips. "Look. This ain't about me right now. This is about you."

"You focus too much on little details." Craig noted, but it was not to criticize. He enjoyed listening to the minor details Kenny would come up with, even for the sake of a stupid story. It blossomed his creative mind, something Craig could express visually through pen and paper, but not verbally. To create color with words, he thought it was an admirable quality to have.

"Will you just answer the darn question?"

"I don't even know what the question was. Are you asking me to choose between staying home to avoid being... grounded? And miss out on the fun, or go to the party or band or whatever it was and just deal with the consequences afterwards?"

"Yeah." Kenny confirmed with a nod.

"It wouldn't matter if this is a realistic question or a hypothetical one, because you should already know the answer to this pointless question."

"There is a point to this, I swear." The blond assured.

"Okay." Craig sighed and decided to just play along. "Anyone that tells me I can't do something, I tell them to go fuck themselves and go ahead and do it anyway."

The attitude behind the words was amusing enough as it was and it was not an exaggeration. He was a man of his word.

"Interesting." Kenny mused, slipping away from the grasp and backing to the door behind him. "You know what? You, Craig Tucker, can not cut my hair. I will not allow it. There will be consequences if you decide to cut my hair." When Craig did nothing but blink at him, Kenny elaborated further. "Craig. I am refusing to let you cut my hair. Re-fu-sing. I do not consent, for reasons unknown. Get what I'm saying?"

It didn't take much longer for Craig to catch on to the silly game Kenny was playing. He couldn't understand why someone would waste so much breath for a simple question. It did not make sense to him and he should have known better, because he knew more than anyone that Kenny was a talker.

"You want me to give you a haircut?"

The grin on the blond's face dropped in an instant and he scratched a spot at the back of his head. "Yeah, we'll go with that."

Craig's lips broke into a soft smile as he sighed. "You talk too much. Would've been easier if you just asked."

"Yeah, I don't know if you're aware of this, but people usually, you know... play along?" He gestured his hands in a circular motion. "That's kinda how it works. Cartman's the worst for it, sometimes you can't tell if he's joking or being deadly serious."

"Doesn't that show you how different our friendship groups are?"

"Yeah and yours is yawn, boring. I got Kyle and Eric fighting all the time and do you know what that means for me?" He didn't even get time to respond before Kenny answered. "Front row seats, baby."

Craig rolled his eyes and found himself grateful for not having to put up with that much drama within his own squad. But then again, Clyde had already been a handful over the last few months, so maybe they were even with the drama. "Speaking of which, I presume you heard about what happened between Clyde and Cartman the other day?"

Kenny tilted his head, like a curious pup that had just learnt the command word for treat. "Something happened?"

Craig picked up the pair of scissors from the stationary cup that was on his desk and nodded his head to the door. "Come on, I'll tell you about it when I chop this goddamn mop from your head."

.Despite the negative opinions he had on Kenny's hairstyle, it would have been ironic to say that it actually started to grow on him.

The Chat Room Scandal - Chapter 19

Feel free to read the entire fic on AO3!

https://archiveofourown.org/works/31878976/chapters/82834027

#crenny #sp crenny #Craig x Kenny #Kenny x Craig

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yikesharringrove · 4 years ago

Note

hello !! may i request billy trying to "woo" steve but hes oblivious to it ? and it gets to a point where nacy is Tired of billy looking like That when steve plays offs his advances and she just decides to help him out with a relucent jonathan ? robin is there too but she isn't gonna say anything bc she loves a good show. thank you !!!

Ao3

Jonathan was sitting on the counter, Nancy leaning on his legs when Billy walked in.

He smiled sheepishly at them, heading towards where Steve was behind the counter, chatting as he rewound tapes. He ducked over into the horror section, re-emerging quickly, obviously knew what he was comin’ in for.

“Oh, Exorcist. I haven’t seen this one. Steve was all smiles as he stood up to help Billy.

“It’s pretty good. Lots a’ gore, and stuff.” Billy side eyed Jon and Nancy, leaning a little further over the counter. “We could watch it together, if you wanted.”

Billy had gotten a nice studio apartment in downtown Hawkins with the government cash out he had gotten from the whole Starcourt ordeal. Steve had helped him move in, hadn’t been back since.

“Sorry, man. Don’t really like horror movies.”

Nancy noted how dejected Billy looked when Steve looked down to punch in the amount on the register. Billy left with a small wave and Nancy reached over to whack Steve in the arm.

“What the hell was that for?” He was pouting at her, rubbing his arm.

“You’re an idiot, Steve Harrington.”

“What’d I do this time?”

“Billy just asked you out!” Steve’s eyes were wide.

“No?”

“Yes.”

“No, he just invited me over. He does that a lot. usually he rents movies I don’t think I would like, though.”

“He wants you to come over and get scared so he can protect you, or whatever.”

“N-no.”

“Yes. He wants to sit on the couch, and put his arm over you, and he wants you to hide your face in his chest when you’re scared literally all guys use that move.” She considered Jonathan for a moment. “Current company excluded.”

“I still don’t think he was asking me out.”

“Billy!” Nancy just so happened to be loitering near his apartment building as Billy was returning from his weekend job at the garage near family video. Billy started when she called his name.

“Uh, hey Nancy.” He was fidgeting with the buttons on his coveralls.

“Look, Steve is sweet, but he’s the most oblivious person on the planet.” Billy tightened his jaw, a shadow of his rough self, his rough pre-Starcourt self.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” He tried to push past her, but she just followed him up the stairs.

“I know you were trying to ask him out yesterday.”

“Wasn’t tryna do shit.”

“I don’t care that you’re into him. I want to help you.” She rolled her eyes.

“Help me?” He raised one eyebrow as they crossed into his little apartment, appraising her. “Help me do what?” She turned to him, grinning wide.

“I’m going to help you get him.”

“He likes movies with a lot of adventure. A steady rise and fall of events. So, Indiana Jones, or Conan, or James Bond, all of those. And he loves westerns. He made me watch so many fucking westerns.”

“Sounds like he just likes hot guys.” Nancy rolled her eyes.

“He likes Barbarella, too. He doesn’t have much in the way of an attention span, so things need to be constantly happening. He took me to see Gremlins three times when it came to the Hawk.”

“Okay, so action adventure. Easy enough.”

“Well, he’s also got a big soft spot for sappy romances. And I’m talking the real sappy ones, not like Sixteen Candles, I mean Gone with the Wind, and Breakfast at Tiffany’s, and Cleopatra. He’s a big mushball, and he loves love.” Billy kinda felt like he should be taking notes at this point. “He has all these Italian films from the forties, and he says that’s what he grew up watching, and they’re all very romantic. He loves watching those, because then he’ll translate the whole time, and I think that makes him feel romantic, it’s a whole thing.”

“Wait, he speaks Italian?”

“His mother was born in Italy somewhere. It’s his first language.”

“Shit, I didn’t know that.”

“He’s quite proud of it. He was raised by his grandmother, his nonna, and still knows all of her recipes.”

“That’s cute.” Billy thought for a second. “So, I should invite him over for a movie he’d like, and if I conveniently had all the ingredients for some complicated Italian dish, just like, around, he could be into that?”

Nancy stared at him.

“Wow. You’re just as mushy as he is.”

“Don’t hate.”

“You need to help me.”

“Nance, I just don’t feel like we should get-”

“Of course we should get in the middle of this! Our friends have a chance to be happy, together.” Jonathan huffed.

“Nancy, be honest with me. Are you just trying to do this because you genuinely want Billy and Steve to be happy, or because you still feel guilty about everything that happened with Steve?” Her mouth dropped open.

“I, I don’t-no.” She shook her head. “Of course not.” Jonathan raised an eyebrow at her. “No, Jon. I want them to be happy.”

“Okay, but I still don’t think we should interfere.”

“Of course we should. You saw them the other day, they cannot do this themselves. I’ve already talked to Billy.”

“You already-Nancy.” He gave her a look.

“What? I’m helping.” He rolled his eyes.

“Nancy’s making me talk to you.” Jonathan kept his voice monotone.

“Um, about what?” Steve was reshelving tapes, Jonathan following behind him with the box full.

“About Billy.”

“What about Billy?”

“She wants to help you two get together.” Steve laughed.

“I know she means well, but he does not like me like that.”

“She seems to think he does. Apparently, she’s already talked to Billy. They’ve got a whole plan.”

“A plan? What do you mean?”

“She told him all of your favorite movies and they’re idea is that you’ll go to his place and you’ll cook dinner together and watch a movie.”

Steve’s eyes were big when he looked up at Jonathan.

“Wait he, there’s actually a plan?” He was picking at the peeling sticker on a Cinderella tape. “What are we gonna cook?”

“I don’t know. Billy said he’s just gonna get a bunch of vague Italian shit, his words, and he’s hoping you’ll take over from there.” Steve smiled to himself.

“Um, you think you could get him a list? So he doesn’t just have to buy stuff.” Jonathan furrowed his brows.

“Wait so, you’re good with this?”

“I mean, it’s kinda, it’s kinda sweet.”

“So, her plan worked?”

“Well, I still gotta go on the date.” Steve returned to shelving tapes.

“But, you’re going?”

“Yeah. If he asks.”

“Get me a grocery list. And believe me, he’ll ask.”

Steve had picked one of his favorite recipes, giving Jonathan a list to casually slip to Billy.

He had been waiting all week for Billy to come back, rent some movie he loves, and ask him over.

But it had been days since he had spoken with Jonathan.

And he was losing hope.

“What’s up, Mopey?” Robin was fake pouting at him.

“Billy hasn’t been in in a while. Is all.” Steve shrugged, tried to act all casual.

Robin rolled her eyes.

“Missing your boyfriend?”

“Shut up.” His face was red as he mumbled. “Nancy and Jonathan kinda, they kinda made a plan, and I think he’s just, I think Billy’s not actually gonna go through with it.” She sighed.

“Look, I told Nancy I was not gonna get mixed up in this, but, he likes you, Dingus. He’s not backing out, he’s not blowing you off. Take a breath.”

“I’m just, I care about him, you know? He’s been through a lot. I don’t wanna fuck it up.” Steve was scuffing his foot against the ground, watching it intently. “I always fuck it up.”

“Hey, it’s just one date. And maybe there’ll be a next, and a next, but for now, take the date. Have a good night.”

Jonathan was back on the counter, watching Billy psych himself up outside.

He was hoping from foot to foot, obviously practicing everything he was gonna say.

Steve was being very good at not making eye contact with everyone.

The bell above the door made a loud sound as Billy shoved it open.

He stared at his feet as he hid himself in one of the aisles.

Steve gave Nancy a panicked look.

“Breathe,” She hissed at him. He took a few deep breaths in and out of his mouth, his eyebrows scrunched together.

A few minutes later, just as Steve had calmed himself down, Billy came back out of the aisle, a few different tapes in his hands.

He set the tapes down, giving Steve a nice smile, a real smile.

“Hey, Bill.” Steve wasn’t even looking at the tapes.

“Hi, Pretty Boy.” Steve flushed. “What’re you up to tonight?”

It was painful, watching the two of them dance around one another. Billy didn’t know Steve was in on the plan, didn’t know Steve was fucking vibrating and the speed of sound for Billy to ask him out.

“Um, nothing much. Just gonna go home.”

Nancy slapped Jonathan’s leg, pulling him into one of the aisles, spying on the two from around the shelf. Robin stayed sitting behind Steve, snapping her gum.

“You could come over, if you want. Watch one a’ these.” Steve finally looked down at the tapes, brightening up right away.

“I love Barbarella.”

“That’s ‘cause you’re a human.” Steve laughed as he punched in the amount. There were beginning to fall into a rhythm, Steve picking up the next tape.

“Oh shit.” He was holding the Sound of Music tape like it was made of gold. “I used to really love this movie.”

“We can watch it, if you want. I’ve never seen it.” Steve looked at him like he had an extra head.

“You’ve never seen it? Billy, what the fuck? We’re so watching this tonight.” He picked up the last tape.

“That one I got for me.”

“I uh, I didn’t even know this movie existed.” He was staring wearily at the mutant on the front, tracing the font spelling out Forbidden World.

“Oh Pretty Boy, you’d hate it.” Steve laughed. He took Billy’s neat bills, practiced hands made quick change.

Their hands brushed as Steve passed over the coins.

“You want me to bring anything? Tonight?”

“Just yourself.”

“Nothing for dinner?”

“I mean, I got some stuff. If you wanna, like, make something.” Billy was fidgeting with the tapes.

“Yeah, I, uh, I really like cooking. We could, like, cook together.”

“I’d like that.” Steve gave Billy one of his sunshiniest smiles. Made Billy melt a little. “What time you get off?”

“Five.”

“Be over as soon as you can, then.”

“Okay. Yeah, I’ll be there.”

“It’s a date then, Stevie.” Steve was grinning like he had won the fucking lottery. Billy gave him a stupid little two finger salute, nearly ramming into the glass door on this way out.

Steve waited until Billy was safely out of view of the storefront windows before he lost his shit.

He was wiggling around like the happiest little worm, Nancy coming out of hiding to give him a hug.

Robin snapped her gum at him when he tried to get near her, so he hugged Nancy again.

“Hey, thank you guys. For, for everything.” Jonathan clapped him on the back.

“No problem, man. Just do us all a favor, and get laid.”

#I almost never write post season 3 that isnt a #they burned it out of Billy au #cause I lowkey fucking hate most of that season lol #yikes writes #steve harrington #billy hargrove #steve harrington x billy hargrove #billy hargrove x steve harrington #harringrove #harringrove fic #harringrove ficlet #harringrove drabble

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marksinn · 4 years ago

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Passion Project: Inspiration

I don’t think I’m starting at the beginning with this post. Keep your eyes peeled for later posts that explain what I’m doing and why.

After a month of thinking about, sketching and painting designs, I have finally done something. Essentially, recently watching two films has pushed me into action, and a part of me is ashamed to admit it. There isn’t a word count or any typesetting to curtail my thoughts here, so strap in.

When I created this brief I figured I’d draw a million wee skateboards, colour a few of them in, then fling my favourites into Adobe illustrator and make them look good. From there I would take the 5 best up to the skatepark and ask some of the patrons there which designs stood out to them. Next, I would adapt the three front-runners and create sweet PhotoShop mockups that would show what my designs would look like as skateboards. If I had the time, inclination or money by the end of the project, I would have the design laid onto a real skateboard (I’ve been looking to buy a new one for some time) and then be proud of myself.

So I’ve drawn some wee skateboards. Then I started upscaling the designs onto the floorboards of my loft:

This was an exercise to let me see how small things need to be adapted to be blown up. Skateboards can have any level of detail that you like on them, I hadn’t considered this until I was trying to draw a semi-perfect triangle for the traffic cone, or until I was using chalk to recreate four cubes. It’s also been fun to work with different media on chipboard - I have learned that most kinds of pencil, paint, chalk and charcoal do not like being used on chipboard. Decorating paint, however, has no such issues. Thanks, Dulux!

And so, with a few of these under my belt, I decided to try some digital designs. So I jumped into Illustrator and totally ignored my sketchbook, coming up with three designs that were all inspired by the day I had just had. The top design, I’ll focus on last, for reasons that will become apparent (unless you follow me on Instagram, where you’ll already know that it’s an absolute hit, with over 19 likes already!). I was told by a guy at the skatepark that he likes decks with very basic designs, just a colour or two, nothing overly detailed. Another skater told me that he often likes the basic wood background with one small emblem or sticker just beside the wheels.

The duo-tone design felt nice, I’m usually one for over-complicating things. I definitely have an attitude of “If there’s more in it, there’s a greater chance someone will find something they like”. The first colour choice put my girlfriend in the mind of a hand-bag she had seen photographed in the arms of Carrie Fisher - it was designed to look like a Prozac pill. So I changed the colours up, and added the separating black lines and textures to give it some subtle character. I then went full meta with the Minimal design. And, if I’m being honest, I’m incredibly happy with how it looks like a wee character. Expect to see that making a comeback in the very near future. But the top design is what really got me going.

I’ve recently been watching...

...Spider-Man: Into the Spider-Verse, and have been loving Miles Morales’ multiple hobbies of graffiti, mixing beats and saving his neighbourhood from a variety of dangers.

I then went to the cinema to see In The Heights, telling the tale of the Latin community during a blackout in North Manhattan. I found myself wrapped up in the romance, tribulations and music of the cast, and was felt oddly proud of Lin Manuel Miranda - who wrote this as a stage-musical while he was in college, had a modicum of success with it, then went on to create Hamilton, one of the most important musicals of our time. With the success of that particular show taking the entire world by storm, he was given the opportunity to make his old, relatively only semi-popular play into a blockbuster film. You can’t help but be inspired by someone like that.

I often find towards the end of a film I’m inspired by the characters’ journeys: be that from zero to hero, from lonely to loved or from rags to riches. Then I walk out and carry on with my normal life doing normal things. And as the hero of the story’s dreams all came true in the closing minutes (sorry for the spoiler, but it’s a musical, they rarely end in despair), a thought floated across my mind:

I’m utterly sick of being inspired

Now, to my credit, I did figure out in the car home that ‘tired’ would be a far more fitting and rhythmic word to use in this sentence, but this was a mentality that I found resonated really strongly with me. I’m very good at being inspired, I think most people are. We hear stories of people starting their own business, achieving some sporting brilliance or overcoming a personal hurdle and we say “Wow, isn’t that inspiring?” or

“It really inspires you to go out and make a difference!” or

“They are such an inspirational speaker!”

Then we go off about our day, not acting on the inspiration, and, for the most part, remaining uninspired. So I decided to act.

I did some very quick research (/acquiring of images of graffiti) in order to get the right shapes and textures to create a spray paint effect in Illustrator. I did some very quick research (/confirming the colours) of South American flags, taking the blue and red used in flags of the home nations of Miles Morales from Spider-Man and Usnavi from In The Heights. And I created the top design.

YES! I had been inspired and I had drawn a wee picture to show that - I had acted on my inspirations!

Then I looked to my left and spotted three, blank skate decks that I had bought on a whim from Re:Ply (a wonderful wee company who do a great deal of charity work supplying boards to people who need them, selling boards to people who can afford them, and for a very reasonable fee, providing unusable decks to people who want to use them for artistic purposes). I realised I hadn’t acted on my inspiration, I had just drawn a few pictures of skateboards with the eventual aim of PhotoShopping them onto other pictures of skateboards.

So I took myself...

... into the city centre with a shoddily prepared speech: “I’m looking for some cheap, small cans of spray paint. I’ve no idea what I’m doing, or if I’ll be good at it, so don’t want to invest too much into this.” Hiding behind this self-deprecating shield I barged into multiple art-, pound- and model-shops and pleaded with the staff to help a young idiot out. Amazingly, a very kind shop assistant pointed me in the direction of Fat Buddha, a clothes shop I’d always ignored as it seemed a bit to “...” for me. I don’t know what it seemed, but I knew it wasn't my kind of shop. Happy to prove me wrong, the guys in there were super helpful and they helped me buy my first cans of spray paint.

Now I’d spent money...

... and as a skinflint, that meant I had to get use out of my purchases. I had tricked myself into being inspired. Inspiration led me to the drawing, inspiration had led me to buy decks and the paint, now inspiration had to make me spray paint.

I’ll stop yammering on now. Essentially, I had planned on creating some analogue designs then digitising them (I’m guessing I should do a post on my brief, yeah? Might just upload the PDF to save me talking more), but then I found that I was doing the complete opposite. Genuinely accidentally. I had played with a few typefaces from various websites to get fonts that represented the ideas I wanted. The top one was semi-stolen (I can’t use the word ‘inspired’ any more in this post) from the end credits of In The Heights. The larger font is something of a nod to inspirational quotes you see on Facebook or on glittery frames in B&M.

I printed those out and cut them into stencils (very impressed that my digital boards have been drawn to a workable scale, thanks Maths). And after putting down a tack-layer (GRAFFITI JARGON (I think)) I sprayed the whole lot in blue.

Next, I tried to get a little fancy. Using cardboard blockers to create straight lines I added stars* (borrowed from the Puerto Rican flag) and made the bottom stripes vaguely reminiscent of America’s Old Glory.

I peeled the lettering off, and I’d done it. I may have to explain the overtly-negative inspirational quote to people, but to me it’s a clear sign that there’s no point in just being inspired, and that’s all I wanted.

A weight I didn’t know I was carrying was lifted from my shoulders. The plan was to possibly end up with a self-designed skateboard. And now I have one.

*Yes, I know they’re crosses.

#pp_hncgd1 #allhandsondecks #skateboard

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full-of-roman-angst-trash · 4 years ago

Text

Please, Don’t Ever Leave Me

This is a happy birthday fanfic for @layschips12. Sorry that’s it’s late, I hope you like it.

Pairings: Analogical, Background Roceit, Background Queerplatonic Intruality

Warnings: Depression, Anxiety, Bullying, Self Deprecation, Minor Panic Attack, Cursing, The Rest is Fluff.

This fanfic includes: Nb!Logan, Trans!Roman, Neopronouns!Janus (Ve/ver)

Word Count: 2,535

Virgil and Logan have known one another since they were 2. They met since their parents were friends with one another; they quickly became friends. They practically grew up together.

They were always there for one another. Virgil always helped Logan when they were stressed out, overwhelmed, having trouble with their emotions, forgetting to care for themselve, or struggling to be productive. He was there for Logan when in they’re last year of middle school, Logan was diagnosed with Major Depression.

Logan also tried their best to be there for Virgil. They stood up for him when others tried to pick on him. They helped him when he was having family issue. They helped Virgil when he had to go to crowded places or when he was scared/panicking. They were there for Virgil when he was diagnosed with Social Anxiety in their first year of high school.

Of course, when they couldn’t be there for one another they had their other friends to check on them.

They met Roman in 4th grade. Logan and Virgil where walking down the hall when they saw a group of 5-7 kids gather around a specific spot. At first they didn’t think anything of it, but when they got closer and heard someone crying; they quickly stopped walking. They turned to see that these kids were all making fun of a younger looking girl on the floor.

This small girl was a black haired Asian kid with dark brown eyes. Light freckles were peppered all along her warm ivory skin. She was relatively short and despite her skinny structure, you can tell she did some sort of exercise.

The second they realized that this group of kids were bullying this younger kid, they quickly intervened. However, they didn’t became friends with her until a couple week later, when the three of them were put in a group project together. A few years later they found out that Roman, was actually a transboy.

They met Remus at a sleepover in Roman’s house shortly after. However, for the longest time the two of them weren’t really close to Remus since despite being twins, Roman and Remus didn’t go to the same school. Due to Remus’ poor behavior he was put in a special school for difficult kids. They became a lot closer in college since Virgil and him ended up going to the same school.

Patton joined their little group in 6th grade when he transferred to their school half way through the school year. Patton was a tall, chubby, mexican kid with curly brown hair and hazel eyes. He was a huge social butterfly so he tried making friends with everyone. At first, Virgil didn’t like Patton one bit. But that changed when Patton helped him through an anxiety attack.

Finally, there was Janus who joined the group when ve started dating Roman. The two began to date in their junior year of High school. At first, ve didn’t really get along with the others but ve eventually got close to them.

~~~~~~~

Virgil began to have a crush on Logan in middle school. He loved how they were always so smart, kind, passionate, and understanding. He knew that no matter how much they were struggling, Logan would always be there for him. Sadly though, due to his Anxiety, he was afraid to act on these feelings. He didn’t want to lose his friendship with them, so he ignored them.

Of course, it wasn’t easy though. Apparently his little crush was very obvious since the others constantly teased him about it. They also claimed that Loan liked him back but he was hesitant to believe them.

So despite how much they pushed him to do it, Virgil refused to confess. But that only encouraged the others to try a different strategy.

Instead of trying to convince Virgil to confess, they would convince Logan. Thankfully for the group, after a few weeks of bothering them, they caved.

Roman, the self proclaimed love expert help set up the date. He had chosen a Saturday fall evening for Logan to confess on, since he claimed that it was the perfect weather and scenery. He told Logan the plan they had to follow for the day and send them off.

Logan walked to Virgil’s college dorm and knocked on the door. They were wearing a black suit with a blue shirt underneath and a blue tie.

Remus opens the door and smirks, “Virgin, your lover is here,” he calls out.

“Yeah, yeah, I know. No one else who visits us knocks!” Virgil walks to the door and blushes when he sees Logan.

Logan blushes as well. Virgil was wearing a a dark purple suit with a black shirt underneath and a black tie with a spider web design on it.

“Are you guys going to leave or are you just going to continue eye fucking one another?” Remus loudly cuts through their moment.

They both turn bright red and Virgil punches Remus in the arm, “Shut it! We’re going!”

Remus laughs as Virgil walks out of the dorm, taking Logan’s hand.

“I’ll be back later.”

“Okay Emo!” Remus waves before closing the door.

The date was going amazing. They started by going to watch a scary movie that had recently came out since Virgil wanted to watch it for a while now. Once the movie was over they took a walk in the park before eating at Virgil’s favorite restaurant. They ate some food and by the time they left it was dark outside.

“Today’s been amazing Lo. Thanks for taking me out.”

They nod, “Of course Virge. Before we go home can we go to one last place?”

“Sure,” Virgil smiles more, “Where do you wanna go?”

“I’m sorry but I’m going to have to retain that information from you. I want it to be a surprise. Also it’s want to not wanna.”

Virgil laughs, “Alright, alright. Lead the way then.”

“Close your eyes.” They say with a soft smile

Virgil chuckles, “Alright then,” He closes his eyes

They begin to lead him to the last destination of their date. The place where they will confess.

“We’re here.” They say softly as they come to a stop.

Virgil slowly opens his eyes and he lets out a gasps. They were on top of a hill. On the hill were tons of beautiful flowers. What was the most breathtaking though, was the view of the night sky. You could see thousands of stars and the beautiful full moon.

Logan had to admit that Roman’s decision to take Virgil here was adequate and ingenious.

“Wow.” Virgil mumbles, dazed from the beauty in front of him.

Logan chuckles softly, “Do you like it? It’s beautiful, right?

He nods, “Yeah, I love it. Thanks for bringing me here Lo.”

Logan smiles softly, “Of course,” They take a deep breath, “I, actually brought you here so that I can tell you something.”

A sudden wave of anxiety hits Virgil. Endless worst case scenarios and toxic thoughts fill his head. Before he knows it, he’s hyperventilating and shaking. Tears blur his visions and he can’t even look at Logan.

Logan frowns softly and gently cups his lover’s cheek.

“Virgil, can you hear me?”

A small nods accompanied by heavy breathing and sobs is the answer they get but it was more then enough for them.

“Alright good. It’s okay, everything’s okay. Just focus on me, clear you head and breath. I’ve got you.”

They spoke in a soft calming voice, one that made Virgil’s head clear up a bit almost immediately. Logan holds him close, whispering sweet nothings in his ear and running him through a breathing exercise.

Eventually they manage to calm him down.

“S-sorry.... I didn’t mean to interrupt you like that...” Virgil mumbles quietly and ashamedly.

Logan shakes their head, “It’s okay Vee. You don’t have to apologize.”

“Okay,” Virgil caves quickly, “Well, what were you gonna say?”‘

Logan takes a deep breath before gently letting go of Virgil. They stand in font of him and holds his hands.

“Virgil, we’ve been friends for 17 years now and I cherish our friendship so much. However, I can’t help but be unsatisfied with our current relationship statues.”

A blush dusts Virgil’s cheeks, “What do you mean?”

They take a deep breath before continuing, “I have romantic feelings towards you Virgil. I have for a while and I was wondering if you would accept me as your romantic partner.”

For a second, Virgil can feel his stomach fill with butterflies and his heart pound out of his chest. He stays quiet for a few seconds, trying to make sure that what he just heard was real.

Once his brain fully comprehends the situation he threw himself into Logan’s arms and started crying.

“Yes! YES YES YES YES YES! A million times yes!”

Logan held him close and laughed, blushing and tearing up a bit, making a mental note to thank Roman tomorrow.

~~~~~~~

Logan and Virgil stayed together for the rest of college. They eventually moved in together when they were both 23 and they were happy. Yes, they had their arguments here and there but it never got too serious. They had a nice healthy relationship. They continued talking to their group of friends and life was well.

Virgil is now 27 and Logan is 28. He woke up in the morning to find that his significant other wasn’t there. He was a bit shocked but just assumed that they went off to work earlier like they did sometimes. He got up and started off his day.

He got a knock on his door at 12:00 which surprised him since he didn’t remember inviting anyone over. He gets up and walks to the door, opening it to see Remus and Patton.

“Oh, hey guys. What are you two doing here?” He asks, pleasantly surprised.

“We’re here to hang out with you emo!!” Remus announces loudly.

Patton laughs softly, “Yup!! Sorry for the suddenness but I got a day off work and Rem wanted to come visit you!”

Patton and Remus have been in a gueerplatonic relationship for a while now. They moved in together right next door to Roman and Janus, mostly cause the twins wanted to stay close to one another.

“It’s alright, but can I ask why?”

Remus lets himself in, dragging Patton in with him, “Cause we want to Virgin!”

“I hate that nickname,’ Virgil mumbles as he closes the door.

The day was going amazing. The three of them played some games, baked cookies, made lunch, watch some dramas, and even painted each others nails. It was 7 p.m when Remus received a message. He checked his pohne and then smiled brightly.

“Hey, Mr.Sunshine,” Remus called to Virgil.

“What?” Virgil turns to him.

“Let’s go out somewhere real quick.”

Virgil checks the time, “But it’s pretty late and besides I have to call Logan, he should have been home by now”

“Kiddo, come on! It’ll be quick! Besides, I’m pretty sure Logan is fine, he’s probably just decided to work a bit overtime.”

He thinks for a bit before giving in, “Fine. Who’s car are we taking?”

“Mine!” Remus says, taking out his keys, “Let’s go!”

They walk out of the house and get into Remus’ car.

The whole car ride Remus and Patton avoid any questions Virgil has, which infuriates the clueless kid.

They park in a parking lot near a hill that Virgil immediately recognized.

“Why are we here?” He asks cautious.

Remus stops the car and gets out, “Please just follow us. Everything will be explained soon.”

Patton also gets out and holds out a hand for Virgil. He hesitantly takes it and lets himself be taken out of the car and led to the hill.

When they make it to the top they stop walking.

“Hey, kiddo, we’re gonna go get something real quick, can you stay here?”

Virgil starts to fidget with his sleeve getting more and more anxious by the second.

“S-sure...” He mutters out weakly.

They both smile at him softly and reassuringly before walking off in the direction of the car.

To try and stay calm, Virgil looks at the starts, taking shaky deep breaths and continuing to fidget.

Minutes that feel like hours pass before suddenly, footsteps start approaching Virgil from behind. He immediately tuns around, alarmed. But to his surprise, he it’s Logan. They're wearing a nice suit, one that looks like Janus’ mom made. After all, such an intricate Victorian design can only come from the best designer in town.

As soon as Virgil recognizes Logan he calms down, blushing at how wonderful they look.

“Hey, love. You scared me,” Virgil says with a soft smile.

They return the smile, “Sorry, dearest. I actually have a question for you.”

“Oh? What is it?” Virgil suddenly feels anxious all over again. Afraid that they want to break up with him.

They take a deep breath and take out a small box from their pocket before getting down on one knee.

“You're the sun in my shine, The spark in my plug, The heart to my beat, The day to my night, The twinkle in my eye, The hot to my spicy, The yin to my yang, The soul to my mate.Need I say more? Now all I want to hear from you, Is to say, "I do."

“Virgil, will you marry me?”

Virgil can’t believe his eyes or ears. It this real? It has to be. He’s crying. He can feel the wind through his hair and the ground below his feet. He can see the stars light up the sky and the moon shine down on them. He could hear the quite clamor of the animals around them.

He nods, “YES!”

Now they’re both crying. Logan puts the ring on Virgil before standing up. They share a warm hug and a perfect kiss.

They stand there in each other's arms.

“Please, don’t ever leave me,” Virgil mumbles into Logan’s chest.

“I won’t. I promise,” Logan whispers softly, kissing his lover’s head gently.

Suddenly a loud cheer comes from a tree near them.

“IT WORKED! CONGRATS YOU TWO!” Roman rushed out from behind the tree, smiling brightly.

Logan gently lets go of Virgil and turns to their friend, “I THOUGHT WE AGREED THAT YOU WOULD WAIT BACK IN THE HOUSE!”

The other sighs, “I know! But I couldn’t help myself!” He whines.

Janus suddenly comes out as well and grabs vis’ husbands hand.

“Sorry about him. I tried to hold him back but he somehow managed to escape my grip,” Ver explains, trying to tug Roman back to where they were before.

VIrgil sighs fondly, “It’s alright Jan. Anyway, are the others here too?”

Roman nods excitedly, “Yup! Rem! Pat! You two can come out!”

The two of them do so

“Hey, congrats Kiddos! I’m happy for you guys!” Patton says cheerfully.

The two of them blush and thank him.

“Welp! Let’s go home! We have a party to start!” The twins say at the same time.

And with that, they start making their way to Roman’s and Janus’ house.

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96harmony96 · 4 years ago

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Chapter 4 part 2

I threw myself into clubbing like it was going out of style. Cary and I bounced all over downtown clubs from Tribeca to the East Village, wasting stupid money on cover charges and having a fabulous time. I danced until my feet felt like they were going to fall off, but I toughed it out until Cary complained about his heeled boots first.

We’d just stumbled out of a techno-pop club with a plan to buy me flip-flops at a nearby Walgreens when we ran across a hawker promoting a lounge a few blocks away.

“Great place to get off your feet for a while,” he said, without the usual flashy smile or exaggerated hype most of the hawkers employed. His clothes—black jeans and turtleneck—were more upscale, which intrigued me. And he didn’t have fliers or postcards. What he handed me was a business card made from papyrus paper and printed with a gilded font that caught the light of the electric signage around us. I made a mental note to hang on to it as a great piece of print advertising.

A stream of quickly moving pedestrians flowed around us. Cary squinted down at the lettering, having a few more drinks in him than I had. “Looks swank.”

“Show them that card,” the hawker urged. “You’ll skip the cover.”

“Sweet.” Cary linked arms with me and dragged me along. “Let’s go. You might find a quality guy in a swanky joint.”

My feet were seriously killing me by the time we found the place, but I quit bitching when I saw the charming entrance. The line to get in was long, extending down the street and around the corner. Amy Winehouse’s soulful voice drifted out of the open door, as did well-dressed customers who exited with big smiles.

True to the hawker’s word, the business card was a magic key that granted us immediate and free entrance. A gorgeous hostess led us upstairs to a quieter VIP bar that overlooked the stage and dance floor below. We were shown to a small seating area by the balcony and settled at a table hugged by two half-moon velvet sofas. shepropped a beverage menu in the center and said, “Your drinks are on the house. Enjoy your evening.”

“Wow.” Cary whistled. “We scored.”

“I think that hawker recognized you from an ad.”

“Wouldn’t that rock?” He grinned. “God, it’s a great night. Hanging out with my best girl and crushing on a new hunk in my life.”

“Oh?”

“I think I’ve decided to see where things go with Trey.”

That made me happy. It felt like I’d been waiting forever for him to find someone who’d treat him right. “Has he asked you out yet?”

“No, but I don’t think it’s because he doesn’t want to.” He shrugged and smoothed his artfully ripped T-shirt. Paired with black leather pants and spiked wristlets, he looked sexy and wild. “I just think he’s trying to figure out the situation with you first. He wigged when I told him I lived with a woman and that I’d moved across the country to be with you. He’s worried I might be bi-curious and secretly hung up on you. That’s why I wanted you two to meet today, so he could see how you and I are together.”

“I’m sorry, Cary. I’ll try to put him at ease about it.”

“It’s not your fault. Don’t worry about it. It’ll work out if it’s supposed to.”

His assurances didn’t make me feel better. I tried to think if there was a way I could help.

Two guys stopped by our table. “Okay if we join you?” the taller one asked.

I glanced at Cary, and then back at the guys. They looked like brothers and they were very attractive. Both were smiling and confident, their stances loose and easy.

I was about to say, Sure, when a warm hand settled on my bare shoulder and squeezed firmly. “This one’s taken.”

Across from me, Cary gaped as Lauren Jauregui rounded the sofa and extended her hand to him. “Taylor. Lauren Jauregui.”

“Cary Taylor.” He shook Lauren’s hand with a wide smile. “But you knew that. Nice to meet you. I’ve heard a lot about you.”

I could’ve killed him. I seriously thought about it.

“Good to know.” Lauren settled on the seat beside me, her arm draped behind me so that her fingertips could brush casually and possessively up and down my arm. “Maybe there’s hope for me yet.”

Twisting at the waist, I faced her and whispered fiercely, “What are you doing?”

she shot me a hard glance. “Whatever it takes.”

“I’m going to dance.” Cary stood with a mischievous grin. “Be back in a bit.”

Ignoring my pleading glance, my best friend blew me a kiss and the guys followed him. I watched them all go, my heart racing. After another minute, ignoring Lauren became ridiculous, as well as impossible.

My gaze slid over her. shewore dress slacks in graphite gray and a black V-neck sweater, the overall effect being one of careless sophistication. I loved the look on her and was attracted to the softness it gave her, even though I knew it was only an illusion. she was a hard woman in a lot of ways.

I took a deep breath, feeling like I needed to make an effort to socialize with her. After all, wasn’t that my big complaint? That she wanted to skip past the getting-to-know-you stage and jump straight into bed?

“You look…” I paused. Fantastic. Wonderful. Amazing. So damn sexy…In the end, I went with the lame, “I like the way you look.”

Her brow arched. “Ah, something you like about me. Is that a general like of the overall package? Or just the clothes? Only the sweater? Or maybe it’s the pants?”

The edge to her tone rubbed me the wrong way. “And if I say it’s just the sweater?”

“I’ll buy a dozen and wear them every damn day.”

“That would be a shame.”

“You don’t like the sweater?” she was pissy, her words coming clipped and fast.

My hands flexed restlessly in my lap. “I love the sweater, but I also like the suits.”

she stared at me a minute, and then nodded. “How was your date with B.O.B.?”

Oh hell. I looked away. It was a lot easier talking about masturbation over the phone. Doing it while squirming under that piercing green stare was mortifying. “I don’t kiss and tell.”

she brushed the backs of her fingers over my cheek and murmured, “You’re blushing.”

I heard the amusement in her voice and swiftly changed topics. “Do you come here often?”

Shit. Where did that clichéd line come from?

Her hand dropped to my lap and caught one of mine, her fingers curling into my palm. “When necessary.”

A quick stab of jealousy made me stiffen. I glared at her, even though I was mad at myself for caring either way. “What does that mean? When you’re on the prowl?”

Lauren’s mouth curved into a genuine smile that hit me hard. “When expensive decisions need to be made. I own this club, Camila.”

Of course shedid. Jeez.

A pretty waitress set two pinkish-colored iced drinks in square tumblers on the table. she looked at Lauren and gave her a flirtatious smile. “Here you go, Miss. Jauregui. Two Stoli Elites and cranberry. Can I get you anything else?”

“That’ll be all for now. Thanks.”

I could totally see that she wanted to get on the pre approved list and I bristled at that; then I was distracted by what we’d been served. It was my beverage of choice when clubbing and what I’d been drinking all night. My nerves tingled. I watched her take a drink, swirl it around in her mouth like a fine wine, and then swallow it. The working of her throat made me hot, but that was nothing compared to what the intensity of her stare did to me.

“Not bad,” she murmured. “Tell me if we made it right.”

she kissed me. she moved on fast, but I saw it coming and didn’t turn away. Her mouth was cold and flavored with alcohol-laced cranberry. Delicious. All the chaotic emotion and energy that had been writhing around inside me abruptly became too much to contain. I shoved a hand in her glorious hair and clenched it tight, holding her still as I sucked on her tongue. Her groan was the most erotic sound I’d ever heard, making the flesh between my legs tighten viciously.

Shocked by the fury of my reaction, I wrenched away, gasping.

Lauren followed, nuzzling the side of my face, her lips brushing over my ear. she was breathing hard, too, and the sound of the ice in her tumbler clinking against the glass skittered across my inflamed senses.

“I need to be inside you, Camila,” she whispered roughly. “I’m aching for you.”

My gaze fell to my drink on the table, my thoughts swirling around in my head, a clusterfuck of impressions and recollections and confusion. “How did you know?”

Her tongue traced the shell of my ear and I shivered. It felt like every cell in my body was straining toward her. Resisting her took an impossible amount of energy, draining me and making me feel tired.

“Know what?” she asked.

“What I like to drink? What Cary’s name is?”

she inhaled deeply, and then pulled away. Setting her drink down, she shifted on the sofa and drew a knee up onto the cushion between us so that she faced me directly. Her arm once again draped over the sofa back, her fingertips drawing circles on the curve of my shoulder. “You visited another of my clubs earlier. Your credit card popped and your drinks were recorded. And Cary Taylor is listed on the rental agreement for your apartment.”

The room spun. No way…My cell phone. My credit card. My fucking apartment. I couldn’t breathe. Between my mother and Lauren, I felt claustrophobic.

“Camila. Jesus. You’re white as a ghost.” sheshoved a glass into my hand. “Drink.”

It was the Stoli and cranberry. I pounded it, draining the tumbler. My stomach churned for a moment, then settled. “You own the building I live in?” I gasped.

“Oddly enough, yes.” she moved to sit on the table, facing me, her legs on either side of mine. she took my glass and set it aside; then warmed my chilled hands with her.

“Are you crazy, Lauren?”

Her mouth thinned. “Is that a serious question?”

“Yes. Yes, it is. My mom stalks me, too, and she sees a shrink. Do you have a shrink?”

“Not presently, but you’re driving me crazy enough to make that a possibility.”

“So this behavior isn’t normal for you?” My heart was pounding. I could hear the blood rushing past my eardrums. “Or is it?”

she shoved a hand through her hair, restoring order to the strands I’d mussed when we’d kissed. “I accessed information you voluntarily made available to me.”

“Not to you! Not for what you used it for! That has to violate some kind of privacy law.” I stared at her, more confused than ever. “Why would you do that?”

shehad the grace to look disgruntled at least. “So I can figure you out, damn it.”

“Why don’t you just ask me, Lauren? Is that so fucking hard for people to do nowadays?”

“It is with you.” she grabbed her drink off the table and tossed back most of it. “I can’t get you alone for more than a few minutes at a time.”

“Because the only thing you want to talk about is what you have to do to get laid!”

“Christ, Camila,” she hissed, squeezing my hand. “Keep your voice down!”

I studied her, taking in every line and plane of her face. Unfortunately, cataloging the details didn’t lessen my awe even a tiny bit. I was beginning to suspect I’d never get over being dazzled by his looks.

And I wasn’t alone; I’d seen how other women reacted around her. And she was crazy rich, which made even old, bald, and paunchy guys attractive. It was no wonder she was used to snapping her fingers and scoring an orgasm.

Her gaze darted over my face. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

“I’m thinking.”

“About what?” Her jaw tightened. “And I’m warning you, if you say anything about orifices, preapprovals, or seminal emissions, I won’t be held accountable for my actions.”

That almost made me smile. “I want to understand a few things, because I think it’s possible I’m not giving you enough credit.”

“I’d like to understand a few things myself,” she muttered.

“I’m guessing the ‘I want to fuck you’ approach has a high success rate for you.”

Lauren’s face smoothed into unreadable impassivity. “I’m not touching that one, Camila.”

“Okay. You want to figure out what it’s going to take to get me into bed. Is that why you’re here in this club right now? Because of me? And don’t say what you think I want to hear.”

Her gaze was clear and steady. “I’m here for you, yes. I arranged it.”

Suddenly the threads the street hawker had been wearing made sense. We’d been hustled by someone on Cross Industries payroll. “Did you figure that getting me here would get you laid?”

Her mouth twitched with suppressed amusement. “There’s always the hope, but I expected it would take more work than a chance meeting over drinks.”

“You’re right. So why do it? Why not wait until Monday lunch?”

“Because you’re out trolling. I can’t do anything about B.O.B., but I can stop you from picking up some asshole in a bar. You want to score, Camila, I’m right here.”

“I’m not trolling. I’m burning off tension after a stressful day.”

“You’re not the only one.” she fingered one of my silver chandelier earrings. “So you drink and dance when you’re tense. I work on the problem that’s making me tense in the first place.”

Her voice had softened, and it stirred an alarming yearning. “Is that what I am? A problem?”

“Absolutely.” But there was a hint of a smile around her lips.

I knew that was a lot of the appeal for her. Lauren Jauregui wouldn’t be where she was, at such a young age, if she took “no” gracefully. “What’s your definition of dating?”

A frown marred the space between her brows. “Lengthy social time spent with a woman during which we’re not actively fucking.”

“Don’t you enjoy the company of women?”

The frown turned into a scowl. “Sure, as long as there aren’t any exaggerated expectations or excessive demands on my time. I’ve found the best way to steer clear of those is to have mutually exclusive sexual relationships and friendships.”

There were those pesky “exaggerated expectations” again. Clearly, those were a sticking point with her. “So, you do have female friends?”

“Of course.” Her legs tightened around mine, capturing me. “Where are you going with this?”

“You segregate sex from the rest of your life. You separate it from friendship, work…everything.”

“I’ve got good reasons for doing that.”

“I’m sure you do. Okay, here are my thoughts.” It was difficult concentrating when I was so close to Lauren. “I told you I don’t want to date and I don’t. My job is priority number one and my personal life—as a single woman—is a close second. I don’t want to sacrifice any of that time on a relationship and there’s really not enough left over to squeeze in anything steady.”

“I’m right there with you.”

“But I like sex.”

“Good. Have it with me.” Her smile was an erotic invitation.

I shoved her shoulder. “I need a personal connection with the men I sleep with. It doesn’t have to be intense or deep, but sex needs to be more than an emotionless transaction for me.”

“Why?”

I could tell she wasn't being flippant. As bizarre as this conversation must be for her, Lauren was taking it seriously. “Call it one of my quirks, and I’m not saying that lightly. It pisses me off to feel used for sex. I feel devalued.”

“Can’t you look at it as you using me for sex?”

“Not with you.” she was too forceful, too demanding.

A sizzling, predatory glimmer sparked in her eyes as I bared my weakness for her.

“Besides,” I went on quickly, “that’s semantics. I need an equal exchange in my sexual relationships. Or to have the upper hand.”

“Okay.”

“Okay? You said that really quickly considering I’m telling you I need to combine two things you work so hard to avoid putting together.”

“I’m not comfortable with it and I don’t claim to understand, but I’m hearing you—it’s an issue. Tell me how to get around it.”

My breath left me in a rush. I hadn’t expected that. shewas a woman who wanted no complications with her sex and I was a woman who found sex complicated, but shewasn’t giving up. Yet.

“We need to be friendly, Lauren. Not best buds or confidants, but two people who know more about each other than their anatomy. To me, that means we have to spend time together when we’re not actively fucking. And I’m afraid we’ll have to spend time not actively fucking in places where we’re forced to restrain ourselves.”

“Isn’t that what we’re doing now?”

“Yes. And see, that’s what I mean. I wasn’t giving you credit for that. You should’ve done it in a less creepy manner”—I covered her lips with my fingers when she tried to cut me off—“but I admit you did try to set up a time to talk and I wasn’t helpful.”

she snipped my fingers with her teeth, making me yelp and yank my hand away.

“Hey. What was that for?”

she lifted my abused hand to her mouth and kissed the hurt, her tongue darting out to soothe. And incite.

In self-defense, I tugged my hand back to my lap. I still wasn’t completely confident that we’d worked things out. “Just so you know there are no exaggerated expectations—when you and I spend time together not actively fucking, I won’t think it’s a date. All right?”

“That covers it.” Lauren smiled and my decision to be with her solidified for me. Her smile was like lightning in the darkness, blinding and beautiful and mysterious, and I wanted her so badly it was physically painful.

Her hands slid down to cup the backs of my thighs. Squeezing gently, she tugged me just a little bit closer. The hem of my short black halter dress slipped almost indecently high and her gaze was riveted to the flesh he’d exposed. Her tongue wet his lips in an action so carnal and suggestive I could almost feel the caress on my skin.

Duffy began begging for mercy, her voice drifting up from the dance floor below. An unwelcome ache developed in my chest and I rubbed at it.

I’d already had enough, but I heard myself saying, “I need another drink.

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noreasonjustbored · 5 years ago

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If You Love Me, Let Me Sleep

Hello peoples!

If you didn’t already know, last week’s episode of HD had me feeling a little upset in the Chenry department. (See previous post with rant about that) Looking through my asks last night, I was inspired by an ask from @riebellion. So thank you for requesting this dialogue prompt forever ago, I’m just getting around to doing it. 😆

Prompt #13: “Dude. It’s three in the morning.”

Tag List:

@mychenrymadness @up-the-tube @heyimtavia @adorkable-blackgirl @henryhearts

—————————

The rhythmic buzzing of her phone against the nightstand is what eventually wakes Charlotte up. Bleary eyed and disoriented she felt around for the device. When she finally disconnected it from the charger and peered at the screen through squinted eyes, she realized that she wasn’t awakened by random notifications from apps. Henry had been calling her repeatedly.

Immediately more alert than before, she sits up against her headboard and clears her throat. Hitting the Call Back button she reaches over to the nightstand again and grabs the bottle of water she leaves there every night. She takes a large swig as the phone dials. The line is mid ring when she hears it get picked up.

“Hello?” Henry’s gravely tone all but whispers.

Swallowing quickly, Char answers, “Hey Hen is everything okay? I see you called me like 5 times but I was sleeping. Does Ray need us for something?”

“No, Ray doesn’t need anything. I was uh...hoping that we could talk.”

“Talk? Dude. It’s three in the morning” Charlotte responds incredulously after glancing at her alarm clock flashing 3:07 in bright red font.

“I know, I know. It’s just that I couldn’t sleep and I really need to talk to you.”

“Can’t this wait until the morning?” Charlotte groans.

“Well as you so elequently informed me. It is the morning.”

“Ha ha. Real cute.”

“Look, please just humor me.”

“OK fine. What’d you wanna talk about?”

“Actually... can we talk in person?”

“Are you serious right now?!” Char whispered shouts.

“I know but I’m kinda...already outside.”

“What?” she asks while throwing the covers over her legs and making her way to the window. Pulling back the curtain, she sees a lanky figure that gives her a stilted wave from their spot below the window.

“What are you doing at my house?”

“I told you that I need to talk to you. Can you please just come down?” he asks. She can see him running his hand through his hair from here.

“Fine” Charlotte huffs. “Give me one second” she says as she backs away and hangs up her pear phone.

Looking around her room she locates her fluffy bunny slippers and slips them on. Then she grabs the first warm article of clothing she sees, a hoodie thrown over her desk chair.

Slipping it over her head, she quickly makes her way down the stairs of her home, careful not to make too much noise. She opens the door and sees that Henry has made his way to the swing on her front porch. He is looking down at the hands in his lap. His thumbs are twirling anxious circles around each other.

Closing the door behind her gently, Charlotte walks over and takes a seat on the opposite end of the swing. Folding one leg beneath her, she turns to face her friend inquisitively. She doesn’t say anything, she figures that he would start since he was the one that interrupted her slumber after all. As she observes his posture, she can feel the nervous energy radiating from him in waves. She places a gentle hand on his knee, hoping to coax him into speech.

He whips his head up at the touch and takes a quick breath in at the sight before him. Taking in every detail, the first thing he makes note of is her hair. She has it up in a style she once told him was called a pineapple, with a satin scarf tied around the front to protect her edges. He sees her eyes, semi-glazed over from the lack of sleep. He notices the oversized blue hoodie that she is wearing, sleeves so long that they cover her hands. She has the bottom situated over her knees.

That’s my jacket.

Henry stares for a few more seconds, because even just woken up she is beautiful. He gulps and then says the first thing that pops into his mind.

“It looks good on you.”

Giving him a puzzled gaze, Charlotte asks in a sarcastic tone “What looks good on me? Exhaustion?”

Instead of answering verbally, he gestures to her torso.

She glances down at herself and sees that she was wearing Henry’s sweatshirt. She hadn’t even realized it was his in her haste to meet him outside.

“Is this what you woke me up in the middle of the night for?”

He shakes his head then clears his throat. “No. Sorry, I was just distracted by you in my clothes.”

“Why? Did you need this back?” she wonders while starting to pull it up, exposing her toned midriff as her undershirt rides up with the hoodie. He could also now see the small black shorts she was wearing, that were hidden when the garment was on correctly.

“No!” Henry said a touch too loudly while pulling her wrists down to keep her from taking it all the way off. “Keep it. It looks better on you anyway.”

“Okaaayyyy. You’re being really weird Hen” Charlotte states while adjusting the hoodie over her knees once more. “Why are you here?”

Inhaling a deep breath, Henry took the plunge. “Mick Jagger. Are you really dating that guy?”

“That’s definitely not his name. You know his name Henry, you’ve said it.”

“Whatever.”

“Does it matter?”

“It’s just that we didn’t even know that you knew him. Then all of a sudden he’s here. And you’re going on a date? What’s that about?” he asks nervously.

“Well as we discovered earlier, I’ve told you guys several times about Jack. It’s not my fault that you didn’t listen to me.”

“True, it’s just...I feel like we should’ve known that you had a boyfriend.”

“Who said he was my boyfriend?”

“You did, didn’t you?”

“I don’t recall using that particular word.”

“Right. Well does he- does he know about us?”

“Us?”

“Yeah, does he know about...” Henry pauses. “Dream-gate?” he finishes in an exaggerated whisper.

“Dream-gate?” she chuckles. “I thought we decided that those dreams didn’t mean anything.”

“I mean yes- We did. But like, we still- And it was- If I was your-”

“Henry, what is this really about?” Charlotte interrupts his rambling.

“It’s just- what if I want the dreams to mean something?”

Taken aback by his bluntness, Charlotte loses her train of thought. “What do you want them to mean?” she inquires quietly.

Henry slides closer to her. “I don’t know. That we like each other? I mean, I know that I like you.”

She takes some time to truly process his words. “I like you too.”

Henry’s whole face lights up at her declaration. “Really?”

“Really.”

“What about Jack?”

“Who? Oh! Jack. We aren’t together.”

Henry’s face read pure bewilderment. “But what about your date? You fed each other bread earlier.”

“Not real. I just said that to see if it bothered you.”

“Huh. No wonder you guys didn’t have any chemistry” he mumbles under his breath.

“And then when you guys burned down my kitchen-”

Henry winces.

“-and we had to relocate to the ManCave, it was the perfect opportunity to gauge your reaction. I convinced Jack to pretend with me in order to make you jealous.”

“Wow, ok. Because I was confused about you guys supposedly dating this whole time.”

“Yeah, no. Jack’s just a good friend. I do usually cook for him when he visits me though. But it’s only friendly.”

“That makes sense.”

“You know, I prepared Jack for the possibility that you would act snotty towards him. Drop food in his lap, spill his drink on his shirt, that kind of thing.”

“Classic” Henry grins.

“But you didn’t even flinch while you were serving us. I thought I was being delusional about your feelings for me since you didn’t do any of that. You didn’t even seem to care.”

Henry grabs her hands gently. “Of course I cared. I was giving him the stank eye every time you turned your back.”

Charlotte laughs, “For real?”

“Heck yeah. But I couldn’t ruin your date Char. I just wanted you to be happy. Even if it wasn’t with me.”

“Whoa. When did you get so mature?”

“I am a grown man Char.”

Charlotte places a hand on her hip and gives him “the look”.

After a few moments they break into a fit of giggles. Calming first from their laughing fit, Henry stares at Charlotte with a small smile on his face.

“What?” Char asks when she’s composed herself.

“Can I kiss you?”

“Yes.”

#Chenry #Henry Danger #Charlotte Page #Henry Hart #Charlotte Bolton #Kid Danger #Nickelodeon #Henlotte #Riele Downs #Jace Norman

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writeyouin · 5 years ago

Note

Could you do something where Minimus sees his fem human s/o dressed up in a Halloween costume and she wants him to join in since the rest of the crew (thanks to Swerve and Rodimus) are all participating in a huge Halloween party, complete in costumes? Sorry if I did this wrong. Let me know if I went about doing this the wrong way if I did do it wrong.

Minimus Ambus / Ultra Magnus X Reader – Costumes

A/N – Man, this is done now so only like three or four to go? The others will hopefully be done tonight, but this week I’ve just started my depression meds and boy, they’re a real kick in the head. So anywho, powering through hopefully.

Warnings – None.

Rating – T

Loud pounding at the door. Why did it always have to be loud pounding? Why were you never awoken by a sweet chorus of angels, or a serenade of doves? Nope, whenever someone wanted something from you, which was often as the only human on the ship, it always began with an urgent wakeup-call.

“(Y/N)!” Rodimus hollered. “(Y/N), you’ve gotta get up.”

You groaned into your pillow, not bothering to even check the time; everything from your befuddled mind to the time-adjusting lights told you it was far too early for any sane person to be awake.

“(Y/N),” Rodimus crowed again. “Come on, get up.”

“Minimus,” You mumbled, reaching out for your partner, but missing. “Minimus, he’s your ‘sponsability before seven.”

Rodimus pounded on the door again and you looked around groggily, sighing when you realised Minimus had left you in the night again; occasionally, you wished he would spend the entire night with you, though that wasn’t likely to happen anytime soon.

Half-jumping, half-falling, you got off the berth, making your way to the door which Rodimus was still banging on. His voice was now joined by Swerve’s worried one, asking if this was the right time to be bothering you.

You opened the door, grunting unappreciatively. Swerve blushed at the sight of you in your night clothes, having never got over his infatuation with humans. It was fairly common knowledge that he had a huge crush on you, though he tried exceptionally hard not to show it, especially since you had started dating Minimus.

“Uh (Y/N),” Swerve breathed. “Nice to see you here- I mean, not here, you live here, so obviously we would see you, especially since we came looking for you. Did we wake you up? Sorry, I know we did. I tried to tell Rodimus that this was a bad idea. I said, ‘Rodimus, 1AM is too early,’ but he said-”

Rodimus clamped his servo over Swerve’s mouth, ending his babbling and patting the mini-bot’s head sympathetically. “Take it easy buddy, you’re going to blow a gasket like that. (Y/N), you silly bird that I can’t remember the name of.”

“Goose,” Swerve mumbled against Rodimus’ servo.

“Right, goose, that was it. Anyway, you didn’t tell me about Halloween now, did you?” He waited for the obvious no that was to be your reply. Instead you yawned and rubbed some sleep out of your eye, entirely devoid of the energy required to carry out a conversation.

Continuing his spiel as if you had spoken, Rodimus shook his head disappointedly, “No, you did not. I mean, you mentioned it in passing and I had to hear from Swerve here about those epic costumes.”

“Rodimus,” You glowered. “If you’ve come here to ask about a costume contest at ONE IN THE MORNING, I swear I will tear out your vocaliser and feed it to scraplets.

“Wow. That’s just rude considering I’m only trying to make you feel at home with YOUR holiday.”

“I’m going to choke you with your own neck cables.”

Swerve swallowed anxiously and you shot him a soothing smile, “Don’t worry Swerve, you’re safe for trying to stop this lunatic.”

Swerve muffled a polite ‘Thanks’.

Rodimus finally let him go to reach into one of his sub-spaces for a datapad. “Look, just sign this form from Ultra Magnus so we can host the contest. He said we have to get your permission so it’s not, ‘cultural misappropriation’ or whatever.”

You held out your hand bemusedly, any anger dissipating as a solution to get rid of the pair presented itself; you would sign your soul away if it meant getting more sleep. Rodimus handed the datapad over eagerly, his engines revving loudly, giving you a headache. You glared at the form on the datapad, then at Rodimus.

“Rodimus,” You sighed. “This is just a memo that says ‘I can do what I want.’”

Rodimus blinked in surprise, then spoke behind his servo to Swerve, “I thought you said that passed as an Earth contract.”

Swerve shook his helm, “No, I said that in this show, Parks and Recreation, there’s this guy Ron who- It’s pretty funny, he’s the guy that-”

“UGH!” Rodimus leaned back dramatically, “You mean I actually have to do my job and write a lame report? BORING!”

“Rodimus,” You scowled, clutching your aching head. “If you shut up and leave, I will personally write up and sign a consent form for you to take part in Halloween.”

Rodimus shot finger guns at you, “You’re aces kid, see ya.”

And just like that, he was gone, wheeling his way down the hall in his alt-mode. Swerve stood awkwardly on his own, fumbling with his servos, clearly unsure of the social etiquette of what to do next.

“Uhm,” He said almost shyly.

Taking pity on him, you managed a sympathetic smile, “Yes?”

“I- I really like couples costumes, so if you uh- if Magnus won’t wear one with you- I um- Maybe you and I could go together? I mean, not as a couple, but as partners, or something?”

“I’ll think about it.”

“Really? That’s great. I’ll uh- I’ll catch you later.”

Swerve hastily transformed and drove away, finally leaving you to get the sleep you desperately needed.

You knocked on the door to Minimus’ office, knowing how much he valued his privacy. Never once since you had met him had you ever just walked into his office; it was one of the many things he loved about you.

“Come in,” He said, his voice deeper than usual which told you he was in the Magnus armour.

You smiled, entering the room, “I have a report for you.”

Ultra Magnus’ lips twitched at the corners and if it was anyone else, you would have wondered why they were frowning; as it was with Ultra Magnus, you practically melted because that was his equivalent of spinning you around in elation.

“You should save that for the berth,” You joked, handing him the datapad.

Shortly after he glanced at the report, he gaped opened-mouthed at you. You had used the ‘Book Antiqua’ font, which was the most seductive of all the fonts. Ultra Magnus could barely read it without getting giddy, his cooling fans switching on with a low buzz.

“I-” He cleared his vocaliser, sitting ram-rod straight in an attempt of maintaining some professionalism. “Thank you, I shall see to it that Rodimus is allowed to perform his Halloween preparations immediately.”

“So, you’ll sign it off?” You asked, needing Ultra Magnus’ signature as well as your own to carry out any event on the ship.

He nodded, scrolling to the bottom, hardly able to keep a straight face with that piquant font daring him to flirt with you. Later, he would have to respond in kind by giving you the kind of report you liked, with the enticing pictures attached between the terms and conditions. Signing it hastily, he put it aside so as to calm himself by not looking at it.

“Wow Magnus, you aren’t yourself whenever you see that font, you know.”

Magnus frowned at you, surprised by your words, “I do not understand.”

“Apparently, you get so flustered-”

Ultra Magnus blushed, waiting for some kind of invitation that he wasn’t prepared for.

“-That you didn’t read all of the terms and conditions.”

He gasped, picking up the datapad again, this time ignoring the ever so alluring font to read everything that was written. Finally, he reached the point you were referring to, whimpering a small, “No.”

“Yes,” You nodded.

“(Y/N), how could you?”

“I’m sorry Magnus, it had to be this way. You would have never agreed to it if I’d just asked, and well… it is a part of my planet’s culture and traditions.”

Ultra Magnus read and reread the stipulation again: Should this be signed by both (Y/N) (L/N) & Ultra Magnus / Minimus Ambus, then the pair shall be entered into the costume contest, in costumes of (Y/N)’s design.

Sighing once more, Ultra Magnus put the datapad down once again. He pinched the bridge of his nose, “Just tell me one thing (Y/N). Why?”

You thought of all the holidays and events you missed out on because of Ultra Magnus. Usually, you didn’t mind, knowing how uncomfortable they made him, but the recent memory of wanting him to spend the night with you was too fresh to ignore. You grinned, “Because, Halloween is the one time of year that I have to get at least one trick in, but don’t worry, I’m sure you’ll never fall for that ever again.”

Ultra Magnus scowled. You were right; he would never fall for such a trick again.

“Okay,” You said from your position in Ultra Magnus’ servo, admiring the Halloween paint job on the armour. You looked at the stage from behind the curtain that had been put up. Riptide was there, dressed as a Rodimus Star, and you had to give him points for creativity if nothing else.

You beamed jovially, “You ready?”

Ultra Magnus was frowning beneath the new face-plate, but he nodded anyway. You had to really admire his handy-work. When you made him agree to this, you didn’t think he would put his best effort in but he did, and now with you dressed in a pilot cap and jacket as Hogarth Hughes and him painted the silver Iron Giant, you were having the bests time of your life.

“I am totally ready,” Swerve practically sang from Ultra Magnus’ side, shaking on the spot with anticipation.

Ultra Magnus glanced distastefully down at Swerve, wondering again why he was there. As it was, you couldn’t stop thinking about Swerve’s desperate need to fit in, and though it wouldn’t help with his crush on you, you had decided to invite him to join you and Ultra Magnus in the contest. With you as Hogarth and Ultra Magnus as the giant, Swerve was left with three choices to complete the ensemble; he could either go as Kent ‘I work for the government’ Mansley, Dean McCoppin, or Annie Hughes, Hogarth’s mother.

In Swerve’s words, he didn’t want to be a villain, so Kent was out, nor did he just want to be spray painted black which removed Dean from the equation. That was how you ended up with Swerve in a pink 60’s diner outfit (that Ten had sewed) and a brown wig, which you presumed was also created by Ten.

Finally, it was Riptide’s turn to leave the stage and go to the back of the mess hall which had been repurposed into a party room, complete with bubbling cauldrons and smoking coffins; you were sure you had seen Chromedome and Rewind canoodling in one of those coffins, closing the door behind themselves shortly thereafter.

“Right,” Rodimus in his alt-mode as Lightning McQueen called; he was the sole judge since most everybody else wanted to be in or avoid the contest completely. “And next to try and top MY ACTUAL FACE ON RIPTIDE, we have (Y/N), Swerve and- WHAT! YOU’RE YANKING MY CHAIN. ULTRA MAGNUS.”

Ultra Magnus used the servo that wasn’t carrying you to cup his helm with a heavy sigh as Rodimus burst into a fit of hysterics. He wanted to ask you if he really had to do this, but even if you let him go, he would feel unlawfully guilty; breaking a contract was no small matter. Besides, he knew he never gave you enough time. You could be with somebody else who was what you needed, yet you chose him anyway, loving both Ultra Magnus and his smaller form, Minimus Ambus. Should you stumble on an unpleasant part of his past, you wouldn’t press him too hard to tell you, rather waiting for him to come to you with the stories of how the events of his life had unfolded. For your kindness, patience and unconditional love, Ultra Magnus knew he would suffer a thousand of these infernal contests.

As such, he stepped forward carrying you and closely followed by Swerve. Seeing your trio did not stop Rodimus’ laughter. Instead, he transformed to his bot mode so he could hold his side as he fell about laughing. “The Iron Giant,” he squeaked, almost tearing up. “It’s so cute, I thought- HA! I thought- it could’ve been like Law & Order- HA HA HA. OR JUDGE, JURY, EXECUTIONER WITH THE THREE OF YOU!”

He slapped his side and it was another twenty minutes till he stopped laughing and finally scored the three of you. Finally, by the last costume, Nautica as an incarnation of Doctor Who, the contest drew to an end. Although Rodimus was greatly amused by Ultra Magnus in a costume, your trio came second; evidently, Rodimus’ ego could not be defeated and Riptide the Rodimus Star won, earning an actual Rodimus Star for it.

“Alright,” You smiled after the awards. “You held up your end of the bargain, now you can be free if you want Magnus. I know you hate these social gatherings.”

Ultra Magnus swallowed anxiously. He did desperately want to get out of there and he was appreciative that you understood that, yet he couldn’t let it go unsaid that the contest hadn’t been completely horrible as he had first expected.

“(Y/N), my darling,” He said, whispering it so only you would hear, afraid of too much PDA.

“Darling?” You smiled. “My, what’s got into you? You haven’t got a fever?”

Ultra Magnus knew you were teasing, though he hoped it wasn’t a real criticism buried beneath. “I- Tonight was not- I um- Do you enjoy this tradition of dressing up?”

“I do. It’s the one night you can be someone else and it’s kind of just one night to be silly on Earth, I guess.”

“Then- We shall do this again next year.”

“What?”

Looking around to make sure nobody was watching, Ultra Magnus retracted his face plate and kissed your cheek, quickly sliding his face plated back afterwards. “I want you to feel cherished while you are with me, (Y/N). I love you and… You should not have to miss out on enjoyable moments for me. Let us do this again?”

Frankly gobsmacked, you simply nodded and Ultra Magnus pressed his helm against yours. You didn’t know it yet, but this would be the first night since you moved in with him that he would stay till you woke up; what had started out as a silly costume contest, had become a precious reminder for Ultra Magnus to get every precious moment he could with you.

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lvehui · 5 years ago

Text

this isn't what i meant by family bonding - jeongcheol ft. chan

genre: fluff and slight angst but really it's just panic

word count: 1.8k

DKFJDSJFKSJFSD AHHHHHHHHHH

ok i should've been more detailed and through but no. but anyways!! enjoy hahaha

in which seungcheol, jeonghan, and their baby chan go to ikea to do some family bonding. and of course, things go wrong.

Seungcheol loves his family, he really does, but sometimes... just sometimes, he contemplates every choice he's made ever made during his twenty-four years of being alive; especially the one that led to being in Ikea at eleven in the morning, barely awake as he pushes a large metal cart through the household emporium. But Seungcheol manages to refrain from dozing off, mainly because his toddler son, Chan, keeps slapping his face with his tiny baby hands.

That and the fact that he knows Jeonghan will throw a fit if he doesn't participate in their 'family bonding.'

So he listens to Jeonghan's endless, out loud debate with himself about what chairs they should get for their dining room. Seungcheol would be concerned about his husband's behavior if he didn't know him--- but he does know him, so he's gotten used to Jeonghan's nit-picky, overthinking personality.

(And his tendency to do too much.)

"Okay, okay, okay," Jeonghan says as if he's starting a powerpoint presentation to pitch an idea. "Which one says, 'financially stable, but mentally unstable'?" Before Seungcheol knows it, his husband is already dragging a random chair next to the one in front of him. One chair is dark brown while the other chair is light brown. Other than that they look highly similar. "Nordviken or Lerhamn?"

Seungcheol looks at each one, trying to form an opinion that doesn't exist. Finally, he replies, "Um, the one that sounds less German."

"It's Swedish!" Jeonghan overdramatically exclaims, obviously appalled by his husband's lack of knowledge about the cultural origins of the company. "How can you even say that?"

Seungcheol doesn't answer Jeonghan's question and instead replies with, "...I love you?"

"I love you too," Jeonghan says, fondness in his voice, before he adding, "But go choke."

Chan giggles and lightly smacks Seungcheol's right cheek again, legs kicking in the front of the cart. In a giddy tone, he repeats, "Yeah, appa, go choke!"

Jeonghan shoots Seungcheol a glare as if it was his fault for their son saying that, and turns to the boy sitting in the seat in the cart. Instantaneously, he switches to his angelic, paternal side, going all heart-eyes when he sees Chan.

"Channie, don't say that to appa, okay? I'm the only one who can say that," Jeonghan tells his son, who is carefully listening to him, lips cutely pressing together.

"Okay," Chan says, in tiny font voice.

Jeonghan fixes Chan's baby hairs. His four-year-old son sways side to side, his heavy lil' head making him unbalanced, but adorable nonetheless.

"Whose baby are you?" Jeonghan asks Chan, who happily responds, "Appa's!"

This makes Jeonghan squish Chan's soft cheeks more than he already is, a little blush forming upon them. "That's right! You're my baby," Jeonghan says, acting like he hasn't heard his son say this before. He nuzzles their noses together and gives Chan three pecks on the same cheek. "Jeonghannie's baby!"

Seungcheol sighs, but a small smile graces his face. Then, he jokingly remarks, "Hey, you make it sound like you're a single parent."

Jeonghan whips around to acknowledge his husband and gives him a little huff, "I might be if you don't help me pick out some go---" Chan looks at him. "---gosh darn furniture. We can't keep eating and sleeping on the floor forever."

"What? We can't?" Seungcheol responds, cheekily. "I was totally into this camping indoors thing we had going on." A random stuffed animal prop is thrown at Seungcheol's face by Jeonghan, which he barely dodges. "I'm just kidding, I'm just kidding," he laughs, before reassuring his husband, "We're going to get the chairs, the bed, and everything else, and then we'll have our dream home and live happily ever after. The end."

His effort at soothing Jeonghan works, or at least, for the most part. "Speaking of beds, honey, it would splendid if you could browse for some while I look at these chairs again."

Seungcheol grins confidently, ready to take on the task. "Alright, no problem. You'll be saying, 'Wow this bed is so nice, I might f---" Chan slaps at his head. "---frick you in it.'" Seungcheol repeats in a small coo, "Frick."

Chan giggles and tries to bite Seungcheol's finger, failing to his utter disappointment. Jeonghan tsks, then begins to take the cart from Seungcheol's hands. "Well, appa, me and Channie will be over here---"

"I'll take Chan," Seungcheol tells Jeonghan. "You're always smothering him and we barely get to hang out. Plus you'll probably be too distracted by him to find the best chair ever, you know?" Seungcheol unbuckles Chan and takes the small boy into his arms. Chan pinches Seungcheol's cheek with his fingers. "So just leave him to me, we'll be fine, and I'll call you when we're done!"

Before Jeonghan can even attempt to argue, Seungcheol gives him a kiss on the cheek, and Chan does the same.

He can't say no to that, can he?

---

Seungcheol doesn't know what happened. One minute, he and Chan were looking at beds, jumping on them, and feeling how utterly soft they were when they laid down against them. The next minute, he was sleeping with Chan on his chest, on one of the king-sized showroom beds, only to be awoken by a concerned employee who awkwardly informs him, "Sir, these beds are only for display..."

Bashfully, Seungcheol apologizes and pulls himself together, away from the heaven he called a mattress. Whew, I must've been tired, the man thought, I really dozed off in the middle of a store.

"Channie, we gotta go, baby," Seungcheol mumbles, rubbing his eyes. Then he yawns. "Appa is going to be wondering why we haven't called him yet." Jeonghan was probably going to gripe about how they were going to miss all of the Swedish meatballs in the cafeteria and Chan would never have the full Ikea experience. Oh, the woe.

"Sir, who are you talking to?" the same employee says, still standing there, creeping the shit out of Seungcheol, who is now confused. "Are you talking to me? Because my name is Mingyu---"

"What?" Seungcheol asks, wondering if he isn't registering this conversation properly. "I'm talking to my son?"

The employee--- Mingyu--- scrunches his eyebrows and double-checks the space around Seungcheol, who is doing the same thing. "Son?"

Seungcheol's eyes go wide with realization when he sees that there's no little boy on the bed, under the bed, or within the bedsheets. (Yes, he really checked.) Quickly, his line of sight shifts from showroom to showroom, none showing signs of a little three-year-old boy.

"My son," Seungcheol says, agape. He can't form sentences because he's too shocked and can't fathom anything right now. "Who isn't here."

Apprehension blooms in Mingyu as he finds himself caught in a very unlucky and serious situation, but tries to calm the storm before it starts. "Sir, I'll call security and have someone announce that there is a missing child---"

Seungcheol shakes his head back and forth, and so do his hands. "No, no, no, please don't announce it. My husband will hear and he will have my ass---"

"Hear what?" a familiar voice asks, "And have your ass? For what reason?"

Jeonghan, who had been finding his way to the bed section, tilts his head with curiosity. Its a shame really, because his face is so soft right now, and Seungcheol doesn't want to be the one to ruin that innocent expression. And he certainly doesn't want to be the bearer of bad news, but of course, he can't avoid the question. And he also can't lie for shit.

So he looks up, down, left, right, and then all around before mumuring, "...Channie... I can't find him."

Jeonghan laughs, not getting it. "Were you guys playing hide and seek or something?" Seungcheol avoids eye contact with his husband, ashamed of himself, but also scared. "Is he around here?"

Seungcheol opens his mouth, then closes it, and then: "Uhm... not really?"

"What do you mean, 'not really?'"

"Not really... as in... not really, I just uh, fell asleep on one of these beds, which are, um, well, really comfortable and soft enough to make you wanna sleep in it if you're... you know, sleepy, haha, and um, well, when I woke up he was kinda gone..?"

Jeonghan stares at him. There's no emotion on his face, but Seungcheol knows to take a couple of steps back. "Kinda gone?"

"Totally gone," Mingyu adds, earning a smack from Seungcheol, a stranger.

"TOTALLY GONE?!" Jeonghan explodes, causing both Seungcheol and Mingyu to wince. "I left you with our son, OUR son, for like what? Thirty minutes? You couldn't watch him for thirty minutes?"

Seungcheol grabs at his husband's shoulders and tries to calm him down, but is panicking himself. "Hannie, Hannie, I'm sorry, this is my fault---"

"IT IS YOUR FAULT, YOU ASSHOLE---"

"Calling me an asshole won't fix anything---"

"It won't! But it will make me feel a lot better!"

"You guys, please--- OW, WHY ARE YOU HITTING ME?!"

"YOU'RE IN THE WAY---"

Jeonghan is about to snap when they all hear, "Appa?"

The sound of a familiar tiny voice makes them both turn around, slowly. And when they do, it's their son, all of him, in one piece, even his chubby cheeks and choppy hair (still flicking upwards). With him is another adult, holding his hand, sharp eyes looking from side to side at the mess in front of him. "So, I found... this young man wandering around the downstairs cafeteria."

Chan cheerfully holds up a meatball in his barefist, getting smooshed. With some food in his mouth he says, "Woo Woo got me food!"

Mingyu snickers, "Woo Woo?"

Wonwoo--- it says that on his chest--- refrains from flipping his fellow employee off and instead looks to the parents. "I've been asking everyone if they knew who this boy was, and then I got the message from Mingyu that a boy was missing... and then... well, you guys were obviously upset, so I put two and two together."

Chan lets go of Wonwoo's hand and runs into Seungcheol's arms. Seungcheol easily lifts him into the air and then kisses his face all over, not even noticing the tears of relief and happiness running down his cheeks. "You little rascal... I'm sorry."

Jeonghan joins to the reunion, also crying, but harder. A smile is on his face, though, while he leans into the other two loves of his life. "Stupid... this isn't what I meant by family bonding... Ugh."

All of these tears confuse Chan, who frowns and, with his free hand, wipes at them off their faces. "What's wrong, appa?"

"Nothing," Jeonghan answers, as Seungcheol's head leans against his. "We just love you so much, it hurts!"

Chan kisses both of their cheeks, and a warm feeling covers all of them like a blanket, right in the middle of Ikea.

#lee chan #jeonghan #cheollie #seventeen #jeongcheol

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mathysphere · 6 years ago

Note

Hey I love your work and I wanna follow more embroidery and cross stitch blogs like yours? Any recs

You bet your butt I have recs! Lots and lots and lots, both here on Tumblr and also on Instagram. I’ve put the list behind a cut as I definitely got carried away and wrote more of a directory/novel–

First of all: if you like the pride flag planets, then you absolutely have to follow @sp8cebit! She makes beautiful pixel art galaxies, and has a stunning pride flag series of her own– and a Redbubble, too, so you can get them as shirts or books or phone cases or all sorts of other cool things. It may not be cross-stitch, but it’s very adjacent.

Also shout out to @scrixels, another brilliant pixel artist who’s been making daily pieces for 500+ days. Check out their massive Octobit piece, this adorable hummingbird, and the Svalbard Global Seed Vault.

Now for cross-stitch blogs:

On Tumblr (this isn’t everyone, not by a long shot! but a good starting list):

@ringcat: tiny, adorable pieces, LOTS of puns, especially food- & coffee-related (this bee!). Lots of good, cute sciencey stitches (Pi-neapple is my favorite). Inspiringly prolific, she’s always making something cool.

@theworldinstitches: really good colors! Does mostly seasonal and geometric pieces, always with a focus on style and color. Great photos too! Check out these sweaters, they look so warm, and also this lil’ cookie guy

@lpanne: has made millions of tiny, intricate fandom people, especially superheroes, animated characters, and wlw (check out her series!), but also several massive Great British Bake Off samplers and a really cool set of stitches from The Martian. Just a really cool and varied bunch of personal projects.

@parvumautomaton: the world’s best Star Wars cross-stitch (for real! look at all of them!), with plenty of birds, animals, and Avatar characters too. This one of Kitty Pryde blows my mind, the 3D effect is too good

@shitpostsampler: the meme the myth the LEGEND. Tumblr text posts turned into an incredible variety of stylish patterns; Batman is a fave, and I’m stitching their ‘No Offense’ piece right now. Patterns are pay-what-you-want on their Gumroad.

@tomkatsumi: innovator and certifiably clever dude, everything he makes has some sort of twist: the codes in his Henrietta Lacks tribute (I’m at 9/10 now, still haven’t got the Roman numerals), a hidden message on a dollar bill, and the entire premise of his Solar Calendar– it takes 164 years if you stick to the schedule. Also very active on Instagram.

@thestitchetywitch: a mixture of quality reblogs and quality original pieces, she posts really frequently and is a great place to discover something new. She’s made a lovely set of pride flag pendants, this beautiful Luna Moth, and a really funny stabby quote

@the-insane-cross-stitcher: Mesothelioma meme! They share a lot of other people’s stitches too, and have really good taste. Good nerd vibes, and also wholesome, supportive vibes.

@ribbonforest: another great place to find new stitching blogs! She reblogs all sorts of pieces: classic, modern, big, small, nerdy, homey… I’m always discovering new artists from the her posts.

@spazinstitches: reblogs all sorts of good cross stitch content: tutorials, WIPs, memes, and all-around cool stuff. The medal in her sidebar says she has one of the top 50 cross-stitch blogs, and you know what? I agree.

On Instagram:

Lord Libidan: video games & pop culture pieces, with a very impressive gallery to look through. Lots of ‘wow factor’– everything’s very big, very small, or very clever, and his Ecruteak model is somehow all three at once. He’s also got a cool space vibe going– check out the Saturn 5 rocket and the USS Voyager.

Stitchrovia: a professional graphic designer, and WOW does it show! Her pieces are always elegantly arranged with perfect colors and typography. I can would and will die for these little bees, and also these foods

Fuzzy Fox Designs: everything is cute and soft and huggable, with big, soulful bambi eyes. Animals, vegetables, cacti and planets– all adorable. Her cute rooms series is endlessly charming AND features a lil’ dodecahedron

Electric naan: currently stitching the Windows 3.1 program manager screen… what more can I say? When it’s right, it’s right.

Zoe Gilbertson: Art, capital-A. Very chill, soothing, and abstract works stitched on spray-painted canvas. Very ‘if Josef Albers lived above a yarn shop and also got into vaporwave’. This one’s my favorite.

Ulla-Stina Wikander: also capital-A, her specialty is household items covered in cross-stitch– like a wrench, a toaster, a cassette player. So far it’s all variations on the same theme, but I’m really, really hoping she’ll extend the concept and someday go full dada.

Dirty Cuss Stitch: funny/clever/cheeky pop culture quotes in great fonts with great colors and great borders, and also great frames. She loves variegated floss more than anyone else on this earth, and knows exactly how to make it look its best: see figs. A, B, and C.

Cloudsfactory: tiny fandom blob people are their bread-and-butter, but it’s their historical patterns that really shine: check out little Grace Hopper, or Rene Magritte, or Andy Warhol and his tiny, tiny soup cans.

Satsuma Street: famous cities and seasonal pieces with a strong sense of color and a storybook style. If you love purple and teal it’s a do-not-miss! Her whole aesthetic centers on vibrancy and strong shapes– very ‘Mary Blair does stained glass windows’, but cross-stitch. I love her Alpine Mountains and her Springtime Rabbit.

Owlforest Embroidery: a Russian cross-stitch blog that posts a lot of folklore pieces. Baba Yaga is just about the only one I recognize, but the style is beautiful. Check out these fairytale houses, and this giant turnip.

The Frosted Pumpkin Stitchery: the duo who inspired me to get into cross stitching 🧡. They’re…. just the best. They make cute themed scenes (Fairytales, National Parks, Fiber Arts) and seasonal sayings (winter and autumn and summer), and their details are always just right. Everything has a concept, a solid color scheme, tons of fun details, a beautiful cover photo, and, most of all, their patterns are designed not only to look good but also to be fun to stitch– no giant blocks of color, just piles and piles of fun little flourishes. I love their work– my dream in life is to see them come out with a math-themed piece.

And a final shout-out to Mr. Xstitch, who showcases modern cross-stitch and embroidery pieces from all sorts of artists. His Instagram is a great place to discover new people to follow, and I’m very partial to his ongoing magazine, too (I am also biased! Some of my own pieces are in it 😊).

Sorry this got so long! Once I started I couldn’t stop thinking of people to list. :) I hope you find some blogs you like! Also, I’m definitely forgetting some people, and also I’m always finding new people to follow, so if you’re reading this, feel free to reply with more recs!

#cross stitch #embroidery #ask #chit chat #long post #whew!#sorry this is so so so long #I started it a couple days ago but kept thinking of people to add!#also I tried to check and get correct info/pronouns/etc for everyone #so if you see a mistake please let me know!#anonymous

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tvehyungs-gf · 6 years ago

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not in that way 2;

☍ Genre: Angst, if u squint theres some fluff :D ☍ Pairings: Taehyung x Reader (oc: female) ☍ Requested: yes! ☍ Word Count: 3.83K ➝ ask box ➝ bts writings masterlist ➝ bts masterlist ➝ w.i.p.s ➝ based off of the song ‘not in that way’ by sam smith. ➝ part 1 + part 3

Hoseok looked at you for a bit longer before he looked away, watching other guests walk around. “You know you don’t have to lie to yourself... And you don’t have to pretend that you’re okay.” He looked back at you with concern in his eyes.

Kim Taehyung, a name that used to have so much meaning to you, now, meant nothing. A man with vibrant blue hair, now turned brown, with a tall nose that had a beautiful dot detailed at the tip of it. A resplendent man with an appealing soul who had a gorgeous diamond ring adorned around his ring finger. A giant rock that shined so bright, even through your laptop screen, made your heart feel empty. She stood there beside him with the same ring fit snug around her finger.

That should’ve been you, you thought. But you were only dreaming.

Only in movies is where dreams come true.

You sat there in the dim light with shaking hands. Seoul never felt so quiet inside of your apartment. The usually busy streets seemed as if it was empty, but maybe that’s because you weren’t focused on the noises around you. Even with an opened window. The cool breeze flowed throughout the room made goosebumps rise on your skin.

In front of you sat a beige colored envelope that had your name written in cursive with your address right beneath. It eyed you devilishly making you look away from the envelope to take a deep breath.

After the confession, months had passed and you were in a dilemma. Were you still in love with him? After being rejected, you were distraught and hopeless but that didn’t stop your heart from racing when you hear his name. It didn’t help that he was basically everywhere - his name in every article and his face plastered throughout Seoul.

Even the others have wondered if you were still in love with him but they rather asked you if there was someone new. The answer was no every time.

But that didn’t matter anymore because the time has come - it was now or never. You were finally going to know your true feelings. The answer that everyone has been thinking is finally getting answered: were you still in love with the man you once called your best friend?

Taking in another deep breath, you reached for the envelope and opened the heart-shaped seal. Inside was a white card and for some odd reason, you started to feel nauseous. Pulling out the card, you were greeted with beautiful designs. You held the card tightly in your hands as your thumb caressed the embroidery detailing of the border. In the middle of the card was a pink rose. It was engraved into the card, making smooth indentions.

On top of the rose was their name written in gold, big & in cursive: Kim Taehyung & Yoon Miyoung.

Beneath their name, in the same color, but in regular small font: We like to invite you to...

Opening the card, a laugh erupted out of your mouth. And you laughed and laughed to the point tears pricked your eyes. The laughter turned into sobs, and soon enough, you found yourself crying foolishly.

“Oh, Kim Taehyung!” You hiccuped. “You’re such an idiot.”

Through glossy eyes, you took one last glance at the card.

The Wedding of Kim Taehyung & Yoon Miyoung Please join us on July 18th, 2019 1 o’clock The Shilla Seoul 249 Dongho-ro, Jangchung-dong, Jung-gu, Seoul, South Korea

Involuntarily, tears were rushing down your cheeks again. Your heart pained with misery. How could he have the audacity to invite you to this? Even though it was months ago where you confessed your true feelings to him, it was basically an unspoken rule that you shouldn’t invite those to special things like these after they had been rejected by you. It physically hurts because, well, you should know, since you lived to tell the day.

Throwing the card back on the table carelessly, you pulled your knees up to your chest and cried into them. The room around you turned foul, staining you with melancholia.

You still loved him.

Your sobs filled the room effortlessly. With painful cries and a heart full of anguish, you didn’t hear Hoseok come in.

The luxurious hotel stood before you. With jaw-dropping exterior design, you instantly felt out of place. The building was immeasurable. It was many stories high with large windows and a configuration between modern and traditional. The sun shined brightly towards the sparkling hotel making you squint your eyes just slightly.

Suddenly in your peripheral vision, a tall suited man with brown hair came into view and instantly made a smile erupt on your face. “Hobi!”

“Hey Y/N!” Hoseok engulfed you into a hug that so was tight that it almost made you drop the box you were holding. It was white with a rose gold ribbon wrapped around it along with a big rose gold bow on top. “Oops, sorry!” He pulled away with a sheepish grin.

You laughed waving him off. “Haha, you’re good! But how are you? How’s the comeback and everything?”

“Ah, it’s good!” He gave you a thumbs up. “I’m surprised we all found time to squeeze this huge event in, though.” You laughed shrugging your shoulders. “But, how are you? How are things? I feel as if I haven’t seen you in a while...” He lied.

“I’m good.” You nodded, a smile playing on your lips. “Doing better. I’m just working, and you know, living life.”

Hoseok raised a brow slightly, suspicious of you, before standing beside you. “I mean, that’s good to hear! I’m actually surprised you made it. I kind of wasn’t expecting you to come, if I’m being totally honest.”

The two of you walked inside the double doors and again, you were amazed. If the outside of the hotel was luxurious, you didn’t even know where to explain how the inside looked. It was beyond luxurious, it was just something that no words could explain. It was just breathtaking.

“I thought about not coming for the longest time, but then, I found this gift,” You lifted up the box. “And I decided that I was going to go. But anyways,” You changed the topic. “I’m in awe, this place is seriously beautiful.”

Hobi glanced at you for second but decided not to question you. “Mhm yeah, this place is insane. A lot of other celebrities has had their wedding here.”

You nodded in agreement and surprise. Silence broke out between the two of you as he led you through the hotel and towards the actual wedding banquet. The silence that you were emitting as you both walked made Hoseok feel uneasy. A worried feeling bubbled inside of him, but, he had a gut feeling he already knew why.

When you both reached the banquet, Hoseok stopped abruptly in front of you. “You okay?” He asked perturbed. His heart ached for you.

You nodded with a perched brow. “Uh, yeah? Why wouldn’t I be?”

He frowned. “You know why.” He placed a caring hand on your shoulder. It hurts him to see someone special to him hurt like this. And it hurts him even more with the fact that Taehyung, someone who he considers a brother, was the reason why you were hurting. “I saw you...” He said, a weight lifted off his shoulders. “I didn’t mean to come in, but when I heard you were crying, I realized that you didn’t hear me come in.” He sighed.

“I wanted to check if you had gotten the invite already but when I heard you crying, I knew.”

You bit your bottom lip, looking at this nose rather than his sad eyes. “I’m over that now.”

“Still.” He squeezed your shoulder. “I was going to go in and comfort you but I decided it was better not to. So I left.”

You nodded slowly. “Did you tell Taehyung?” You looked at him as he shook his head furiously.

“Oh God no. I wouldn’t. Plus, I have no place in your guys business anyway. And I’m no messenger.”

You let out a small breath relieved. “Thanks for not telling him.”

His dimples deepened as he smiled slightly, “Of course.” His hand fell to his sides before sliding into his pockets. “But I can’t help but worry about you Y/N. You’re one of my good friends.” He told you. “You know, you don’t have to go… You can still walk away.”

“Hobi, I’m fine.” You told him again. Sighing, you gave him a comforting smile. “I promise. I’ve moved on from what happened and it looks like he has too.” Taking his hand off your shoulder, you gave it a small squeeze. “I still consider us friends and I guess it’s only right for me to show my respects. Besides, I’ve already walked away.”

“But…”

You laughed. “It’s fine.” You smiled brightly and pulled him alongside you. “Plus, I’m already here. I’m surprised there’s no paps or anything! He did a good job hiding this whole thing for privacy.”

Hoseok sighed. He knew you weren’t doing fine because the way you sat there in your dining room table, crying into your knees, said otherwise. “He paid a lot of money to keep it as private as possible. He didn’t want any fans or paps to ruin this... special moment in his life. So he hired a lot of security.”

Special moment.

You fought a frown from forming on your lips.

“Right, I bet he sure did.” You nodded. “Uh, anyway, where do I put the gift?” You lifted up the box.

Hobi looked at it before taking it from your hands. “I’ll show you where everything is.”

“Wow.” Your eyes grew wide as the both of you walked inside. Right as you entered through the glass doors, you were greeted with a long table covered with a beige colored lace table cover. On top of the table was an open book where the guests can sign their name and write a message for the soon-to-be-married couple. Red roses were scattered throughout the top, making everything fit together nicely.

Beside the table was a large portrait of Taehyung and Miyoung in their suit and gown with bright smiles adorned on their faces as they looked at one another. “They seriously went all out.”

Hoseok hummed as he walked past the table to the left side of the room where there was a table for gifts and cards. “Hey!” He turned around. “You’re not going to write that it’s from you?” He pointed to the gift. You shook your head.

“No, there’s no need. He’s going to know it’s from me when he opens it.” You told him.

“Oh, okay. So this gift is specifically for Taehyung only?”

You nodded, “More or less. I also have a card for both of them.” You pulled out the card from your bag and handed it to him.

He took it from you and didn’t question you any further. “Wow! I’m not sure if there’s even any room for any more gifts!” He laughed.

You laughed slightly, “Well, they’re a couple loved by many.” You watched Hoseok place the card on top of the other cards that the other guests have given. He then gave the box to one of the organizers by the table before turning around.

“Are you one of them?”

Your brow raised. “I-” You sighed. “Yeah, I’m happy for them.”

“I don’t have to do a lot of things but I still find myself doing them anyway. I can’t help it because at the end of the day, I was once his best friend and I guess I can’t find it in myself to despise him and hate him... Even if he did hurt me.” You shrugged. “I want to be there for him this one last time.”

“But was he there for you when you needed him the most?!” He raised his voice, causing the other guests to turn to look at him in surprise. He sighed and gripped your forearm, his voice lowered. “I don’t care if he didn’t reciprocate the same feelings for you, it was the fact that he let you walk away.”

You looked away from his piercing eyes.

“He’s supposed to be your best friend, he shoul-“

“No.” You shook your head. “That’s selfish of him to ask me to stay even after I told him I loved him. It’s just going to hurt us both more.”

“But if he loved you, even as just a friend, he wouldn’t have let you go like that. At least, not without a proper goodbye.”

“Well,” You pulled your arm away and turned around to look at the picture of the couple. “This is his chance at his last goodbye.”

Hoseok frowned. “What are you instigating? Are you leaving him?”

“I already did, Hobi. But no, this time, I’m leaving everything.”

His heart dropped. “What do you mean?”

“Nothing.” You laughed, shaking your head. “Never mind, ignore me. I’m just being dramatic.” You smiled. “Where do I sit?”

Hoseok eyed you before guiding you further into the banquet.

The ceremony was over and it was time for the reception. After catching up with your old friends and Taehyung’s family, you decided to explore the hotel. Suddenly, your phone rang and the name you least expected popped up: Kim Taehyung.

“Hello?” You answered.

You haven’t heard his voice in months. “Y/N.” His stern voice broke through the other line. “Where are you?”

His voice seemed deeper than it usually did and it sounded more forbidding. You instantly froze in the middle of the hallway. “I’m walking around the hotel... Why?”

“Come to my suite. Now. I’m in the presidential suite, room number 718. Doors briefly opened.”

Before you could reply, he had already hung up. You stood there for a second staring at the black screen as your heart raced. Did he open your present? Quickly, you rushed to the elevator.

Moments later, you found yourself standing in front of him. Your lips in a straight line as he looked stared at you. Taehyung sat at the edge of the queen sized bed with the box on his lap. “What is this? What does this mean?”

“It’s your wedding present.”

“This isn’t a fucking present, Y/N. This is depression in a box, I-” He ranted angrily, wrinkles formed in between his brows as he frowned. “I don’t even have words. I don’t know what to say.”

You frowned back. “What do you mean? Aren’t you happy?”

“How the hell am I supposed to be happy?!” He stood up quickly, making the box fall to the floor as the contents spilled out but he didn’t care. A dead rose laid lifelessly on the floor along with the thick black scrapbook that held so many memories.

“It’s my official goodbye.”

He walked towards you, calmer now. “I don’t want you to say goodbye.” He looked over at the gifts on the floor. “I don’t want these. I don’t want to end our friendship.”

"Taehyung,” You began. “We haven’t talked since I confessed. Doesn’t that say a lot on where we stand? Don’t you understand that we can never be friends like we used to be ever again?”

He shook his head. “No, because I will fight for you this time.”

“You’re married now.” You pointed out. “There’s no time for you to fight for me.”

“That’s not true.” His large hands took in your small ones. “Our friendship cannot be over because of that.”

You looked at him seriously. “You’re such an idiot.” You sighed, looking down at your hands. “I can’t be friends with you when I still love you.”

“Even after all this time, you still love me?” His eyes grew wide.

“I don’t know.” You said truthfully. “A part of me wants to say no, but honestly?” You looked at his eyes, looking for something - for anything, as long as it’s any form of hope. “I don’t think I can ever stop loving you.”

He pulled you closer. “I’m sorry.” Your head resting against his shoulder, your tears staining his tux.

“Don’t say you’re sorry.” You whispered. “Just don’t say anything.”

Silence. You were met with silence and it stayed like that for so long. With you in his arms and his head looking straight, he stood there. Emotions filing through him quickly that it almost made him pass out.

That’s when you felt the tears on your shoulders. His salty tears sliding down to your arms. “I’m sorry that it had to be this way.”

“Me too.”

You pulled away and wiped your tears. “I should go. You should be down there celebrating, not crying.” You reached up to wipe his stained cheeks. “You need to be with Miyoung, okay? She’s probably looking for you right now. Treat her well, Taehyung. Take care of her well, okay?”

Taehyung nodded, “Okay.”

You looked to the door then back at him. “Goodbye, Taehyung.” You started walking to the door but he held your arm back, preventing you from walking any further. You turned around.

“I don’t want this to be a goodbye.” He said quietly, eyes trained to the floor. “I don’t want to let go.”

You looked at him, your hands at your sides now. “You want a lot of things, Taehyung.”

“Then can you grant me one wish before you go?”

Perplexed, you nodded. “S-Sure.”

“This isn’t a goodbye.” He looked at you, piercing eyes burning hope through yours. “This is a see you later. When the times right, I hope, no, we will meet again. In better circumstances.”

Your smile quivered as he walked closer to you. “Then, I’ll see you when the times right.”

“Promise me.”

“I promise.” You spoke softly.

His eyes watered again as his hands slid to the sides of your face. He leaned forward and placed a chaste peck to your cheek. “I’ll see you later, Y/N.”

He took a step back, wiping his tears. You nodded, “I’ll see you later.”

With one last look, you left the room for good.

Minutes after you left, Taehyung sat down on the floor with the gifts in front of him. Immediately, he picked up the dead rose that was crumbling and crunchy. He couldn’t believe it. After all these years, you still kept the rose he picked for you when you both were walking past a flower shop a long time ago.

“Oh my god, Tae, what are you doing now?” You laughed.

He turned around with a cheesy smile. “Becoming your very own flower boy, babe.” He picked up a single rose from the pot and sniffed it. “It smells almost as good as you.”

You rolled your eyes. “You’re so cheesy.”

Taehyung laughed shrugging. “And you’re a beautiful blooming flower, my love, but too bad, I’m buying you a rose and you have to deal with my cheesiness.”

“What?” You perched your brow confused as you watched him buy the rose. “You didn’t have to buy me a rose, you dork. You know, you only buy roses for someone whose special to you. Like a special lady.”

“Yeah,” He nodded. “I know.”

“Then...?”

He sighed. “You’re such an idiot. You! You dummy. You’re my special lady.”

“You’re so gross Tae. What’s gotten into you? You’re going to make me gag.” You punched his arm making him grab his new sore spot in pain. He was so dramatic.

“Ow, I take that back, I want my rose back. Gimmie!” He reached for the rose but you shook your head and stuck out your tongue.

“Too late, no backsies. It’s mine now.”

Tae fake frowned before you both broke out into waves of laughter.

His pointer finger slid to the welted petals making the petal falling off instantly. “I’m sorry.” He whispered, realizing where he made his mistake. He dropped the rose back down to the floor. “Fuck, I’m such an idiot.” He really did make it hard for you to not fall in love with him.

Looking at the scrapbook next, he hesitantly reached for it. Opening it, he was greeted with pictures upon pictures that were glued inside the book with dates written beneath them. Memories playing inside his mind as he looked through every picture. Whether they were candid pictures or selfies, he managed to break into smiles through every single one as he read the notes and captions you both broke for each picture. He felt happy looking at them - until he reached the last page, dated in 2015.

On the last page, there was a polaroid. It was a selfie of you in his hold, with his arms wrapped around you. Your right arm was out in front of both you to take the picture. His head was on top of yours, his boxy smile in display. His brown hair with green tips covered his entire forehead and eyebrows. You were smiling so bright, so happy at that moment. Beneath the picture was Taehyung’s handwriting. Neatly written, he wrote:

December 3rd, 2015.

We just went to the fair and Y/N couldn’t stop eating the cotton candy >:( It’s not fair but she looks cute with chubby cheeks ! Anyways, here’s a photo of us that Y/N took. She looks so comfy in my arms. :D This picture is a reminder that she will always be in my arms forever. Remember this picture forever and never forget my next words, okay?

I’ll never leave you, I promise,

- Love, Kim Taehyung.

I broke my promise. A salty tear dropped onto the page, conveniently smudging the words ‘I promise’. He sat there, staring at the blurring words. He felt weird but importantly, he felt regret.

Before he could even gather his thoughts, a shrill voice broke him out of his stance.

“Baby, where are you?” Miyoung called out from the hallway.

Taehyung sniffled as he quickly closed the scrapbook and tossed everything back into the gift box. In a swift manner, he wiped his eyes and face and closed the lid to the box just in time as Miyoung walked in. “Baby, are you alright? Were you crying?”

“No, no. I was,” He threw his hands up in the air trying to make up some excuse. “Just reading this article in the news and it made me tear up and you know, it’s also hot in here and this tux is making me all sweaty...”

Miyoung looked confused but didn’t care to ask any more questions. “You should touch up before coming back down then. We’re going to open some more presents after we take some pictures!”

Taehyung nodded, “Yeah! I’ll meet you down there, okay?”

“Okay, sounds good. Love you, babe.”

“I love you too!” Taehyung watched Miyoung leave the room before he heaved out a big sigh. He sat down on the bed and looked down at the box. “I do, right?”

A/N: I LOVE ANGST.

#bts angst #bts imagines #bts scenarios #bts fluff #bts #taehyung angst #taehyung imagines #taehyung scenarios #taehyung fluff #kpop angst #kpop imagines #kpop scenarios #kpop fluff #v angst #v imagines #v scenarios #v fluff #tvehyungs-gf

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unfolded73 · 5 years ago

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How Do We Get Back (3/16) - schitt’s creek ff

Summary: In a literal alternate universe where the Roses escaped financial ruin, David and Patrick struggle with loneliness and a sense that something isn’t right. A chance meeting in New York and a terrible tragedy drive them to question whether the timeline they are on is the right one.

Rating will be explicit in later chapters. This chapter 3.8k words. (ao3)

Notes: As previously warned, this fic includes adultery. But as someone messaged me to ask, there are no kids involved.

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2

________________________________

Chapter 3

The first thing David saw when he got out of his Uber in midtown was a big red sandwich board on the sidewalk that said ‘99¢ PIZZA!’.

“Ew.” He shuddered and turned around, seeing the bar he was looking for a couple of doors down. The Distillery, it said in an understated serif font. Doubting that any distilling actually took place there, he took a breath to steel himself and went inside. He opened his Tinder app and quickly sent a message: I’m here.

The hostess took in his Neil Barrett shirt with black lightning bolts adorning the shoulders, and her haughty expression shifted into a smile. “Hi, can I help you?”

“Yeah, I’m supposed to meet someone, but…” He looked down at his phone again. “I don’t think he’s here yet.”

“Well, you’re welcome to wait at the bar.” She pointed it out, her wrist jangling with bracelets. On a Tuesday, even this tourist-hell adjacent bar wasn’t completely packed, but there were only two empty seats that he could see. With a fluttering hand wave to indicate he’d do as the hostess suggested, David made his way over, taking the stool between a group of bros in business suits and a lone tourist.

He’d been browsing Tinder for a lack of anything better to do that afternoon, and after swiping left on half a dozen guys who listed Crossfit among their interests, and as many women who listed ‘influencer’ among their jobs, David had matched with a guy who appeared to be a nice balance of bookish and handsome. Andrew’s tortoise-shell framed glasses and his flirtatious smirk raised David’s hopes that he might get a decent conversation out of this hookup. The fact that Andrew suggested they meet in midtown had almost been enough for David to call the whole thing off, but then he’d looked at the smirk again and agreed.

The bartender approached David. “Get you a drink?”

David looked up from his phone. “I’d love a French 75 if you have Hendrick’s.”

The bartender nodded. “Can I get you another one?” he said to the man beside David, pointing to his almost empty beer glass.

“Sure, thanks.”

David saw that Alexis had posted a selfie with Stavros in a New York club the night before. He hadn’t even known she was in town.

“Gotta say, I don’t really know what to do with my eyes when there’s no TV behind the bar,” the tourist next to him said suddenly.

David looked up, frustrated that someone was trying to make small talk with him, and blinked a couple of times. “That’s what your phone is for.”

The man talking to him smiled sheepishly. “My battery is terrible so I try not to use it too much.”

“Okay.” David opened his Tinder app but without read receipts, he couldn’t tell if his date had seen his message or not. He glanced around the bar, looking for a man who looked like Andrew’s picture, but he still didn’t seem to have arrived.

“I’m Patrick,” the guy next to him said, holding out his hand for David to shake.

David looked at his hand for just a beat too long before tentatively taking it. “David Rose.”

While he was far from famous, David’s name did inspire a spark of recognition in certain circles. Patrick showed no such recognition. His handshake was firm, skin dry and fingertips calloused. David extracted his hand quickly just as the bartender delivered their drinks.

“What do you do, David?” Patrick asked.

“What’s it like, being from a town small enough to strike up conversations with strangers in bars?” David said, trying to shut the conversation down with a dollop of cruelty.

Patrick didn’t take the hint or if he did, the hint only served to amuse him. He just grinned back at David. “It’s pretty nice, actually. What’s it like living in New York?”

David finally looked the guy up and down. Mid-range denim jeans, wash-and-wear cotton weave light blue shirt, too-short haircut that emphasized the roundness of his face. Cute, with big brown eyes that in the right context could be devastating — the eyes were definitely his best feature.

“In answer to your first question, I’m a gallerist.”

Patrick nodded as if he was considering that. “Hmm, okay. What’s a gallerist?”

David squinted at him, his glass at his lips. “Pretty sure it’s right there in the name. Or do you need me to explain what an art gallery is?”

Laughing and flushing with embarrassment, Patrick held up a hand. “Okay, I deserve that. I guess I’m asking what exactly is involved in being a gallerist?”

“Why?” David asked, his whole body recoiling at the questions from this earnest stranger.

Patrick shrugged. “Just making conversation.”

“I cultivate an aesthetic that centers around outsider art, mostly.”

“And what does that mean?” Patrick asked in an overly patient manner that made David feel like he was being made fun of.

Huffing out an impatient breath, David continued, “I arrange to display artists’ work in my space, I cultivate relationships with buyers, host cocktail receptions for special exhibitions, that sort of thing.” His rings flashed in the dim light of the bar as he used his hands to enunciate each point.

“Sounds like interesting work,” Patrick said, his eyes never leaving David’s. It was unnerving, and a little sexy.

“Let me guess, Patrick. You’re in town on business,” David said, already looking back at his phone to show how disinterested he was in the answer. Trying to get the upper hand again.

Patrick chuckled. “Guilty. I’m attending a tax seminar in Hoboken, and I took the ferry over. This is my first time in New York.”

David’s head whipped up at that. “Well, that’s adorable. Why are you at this bar, though? Shouldn’t you be… going to the top of the Empire State building or something?”

“That’s a bit cliche, isn’t it?”

“Everything about you screams tourist, you may as well lean into the stereotype,” David responded.

“Everything about me screams tourist?”

David rolled his eyes. “Yes. Your whole…” He gestured to encompass all of Patrick. “... vibe.”

Patrick looked down at himself and then back up. “Is that what you’re doing with that shirt and the rings and that drink and with checking Tinder every two minutes? Leaning into the stereotype?”

David gaped at him. He’d been trying to insult this guy a little bit, just enough so that the conversation could be over. He hadn’t expected Patrick to be able to match him.

“Wow, okay.”

Patrick suddenly looked regretful and a little scared. “Sorry, I didn’t mean that in a… homophobic way. I’m not used to talking to people so much more sophisticated than me.”

Sniffing, David looked back at his phone. “No, I imagine not. Oh, fuck.”

“What?”

David turned us phone over on the bar and drank half his drink in one gulp. “My date is flaking on me. And after he made me come up to midtown.”

“Is that bad?” Patrick asked. “Not the flaking part — that’s obviously bad — I meant the midtown part.”

“Not if you’re a tourist trying to get your poster on camera for the Today Show.”

“Ah.” Patrick’s lips twitched. “That would be during the… day though.”

“You know what I mean.”

“Only barely.”

David drummed his fingers on the bar. “You’re from Canada,” he said.

“Come on, I only said ‘sorry’ once.” Patrick said with a grin.

“Your accent is unmistakable,” David said, and then indicated himself. “I have dual citizenship. I was born here, but my parents are Canadian. They still have a place outside of Toronto.”

“Oh, yeah? Where did you spend your childhood?”

David rolled his eyes. “Everywhere. My parents are Moira and Johnny Rose.” When Patrick looked at him blankly, he continued. “My mother’s an actress. My father founded Rose Video.”

That made Patrick’s face light up. “I worked at a Rose Video in high school!”

“How fun for you.” David finished his drink and pulled out his wallet. “Well, I guess it’s time for me to make my escape.”

“Oh.” Patrick’s face betrayed his disappointment, which was interesting. “Who am I going to talk to now?”

David looked over his shoulder at the men in suits who’d been getting louder and drunker. “Those guys?” he said, cocking his thumb at them.

Patrick made a disgusted face. “Yeah, I’ll pass.”

It occurred to David for the first time to check Patrick’s left hand. A simple wedding band sat unassumingly on his ring finger. Not that wedding rings said anything about a person’s sexual preferences anymore (if they ever had), but it did say something about this Patrick’s motivations. Either he was just alone and bored in New York and looking for someone to chat with, as it appeared on the surface, or he was looking to cheat on his wife or husband with someone he wouldn’t have to see ever again. David had been on the receiving end of that kind of attention from more than a few wives and husbands over the years. It never felt great, in the end.

On the other hand, those brown eyes were a little bit devastating. And under his cheap Oxford shirt, Patrick’s arms did look nice and strong.

“I guess I could have one more drink,” David heard himself saying.

~*~

“I’m sorry, but that is the most boring fucking job I have ever heard of. If you say it again, I will literally fall asleep at this bar,” David said, tipping the last of his third drink into his mouth.

Patrick grinned widely. “Business manager at an electrical supply company,” he whispered close to David’s ear.

David masked a shudder by theatrically letting his forehead hit the polished surface of the bar, trying not to get distracted by how sexy Patrick’s voice could apparently be, even when he was talking about his dull job.

Patrick laughed and picked up another slider from the plate they were sharing.

“I mean, I know it’s not as glamorous as being a gallerist—”

“You’re right, it isn’t. It isn’t glamorous at all,” David said, debating if he should order one more drink. If he did, he’d cross the line from pleasantly buzzed over into drunk, and that was probably a bad idea for a number of reasons.

“I mean, I’m not the… what was it? ‘Rembrandt of Wall Street’?” Patrick said, referring to something they’d overheard one of the finance bros say before they’d cleared out to go hit another bar. They’d barely suppressed their giggles at the time, and now David allowed himself a full-out laugh, Patrick laughing right along with him. David leaned over in Patrick’s direction in his mirth, losing his balance slightly and catching himself with a hand on Patrick’s denim-clad thigh.

He let his hand stay there just long enough that it still plausibly fell within the realm of an accident, but he took careful note of a tiny catch in Patrick’s breath, and the way he licked his lips as David righted himself. Interesting, he thought.

Patrick had had only had two and a half beers over the last few hours (counting the one he’d almost finished when David arrived), so at least David knew he was in full possession of his faculties. Not that it mattered; why was he worried about whether Patrick was drunk?

Because you want to fuck him, his inner voice supplied. Which was depressing because this very funny, surprisingly attractive button of a man was definitely married, likely to a woman, and nothing good was going to come from going down that road. Best case scenario, Patrick would reject him immediately, being the upstanding person that he was. Worst case scenario, something would happen between them and David would end up getting his heart stepped on.

Patrick was looking at his phone. “Wow, I had no idea what time it was. You don’t have any idea how late the ferries run, do you?”

“Do I look like I ever go to New Jersey?” David asked, taking a bite of the last slider.

Laughing, Patrick flagged down the bartender and asked him the same question.

“You’ve already missed the last one,” the bartender told him. “Separate checks?”

“Shit,” Patrick said at the same time David said, “I’ll take the check.”

“What? No, you don’t have to do that,” Patrick said.

“Please, you saved me from a shameful retreat when my date bailed. It’s the least I can do.”

“I guess I can take a cab back to Hoboken?”

“A cab through the Lincoln Tunnel will cost you at least seventy-five dollars,” the bartender said to Patrick as he handed the little black folder to David.

“Oh,” Patrick said, and David could tell that was a lot of money to him. He gave himself a mental pat on the back for picking up the check.

“I could call you an Uber,” David offered.

“You’re already paying for the drinks and the food, David; I can’t ask you to do that.”

He started to say that the money meant nothing to him, but then he had an idea. “Well, then you can crash at my place and catch the ferry in the morning,” he said as he stuck a credit card in the little pocket and set it on the edge of the bar, trying to seem nonchalant.

He wasn’t looking at Patrick but he could feel his surprise. “Oh… I don’t… I can’t…”

“That’s not a pick-up line, I literally just mean you can crash there. I’m not trying to—”

“No, I know,” Patrick said quickly. David finally looked at him and his eyes were very wide. “It’s just too much of an imposition for someone I just met. And what if I’m an axe murderer?”

David tried to suppress a smile, his lips twisting. “Well, are you an axe murderer?”

“Are you?”

The bartender put the check in front of David, and he quickly filled out the tip line and scratched out his illegible signature. “Yes, but I’m taking a sabbatical from the murdering.”

“What a coincidence, me too,” Patrick said.

“Then it’s settled,” David said, pulling on his leather jacket. “Come on.”

He didn’t really expect that to work but when he headed for the exit, Patrick pulled on his own (much more weather-appropriate) winter coat and joined him.

An Uber appeared like magic a mere minute after he summoned one, and David held the door open for Patrick, letting him get into the car first. Patrick sat silently as they crawled down 9th Avenue, looking out of the window at the storefronts.

“Is there traffic like this at any time of the day or night?” Patrick finally asked.

“It clears out eventually,” David said, watching Patrick. He was fidgeting with his hands, playing with his wedding ring, and David felt a stab of guilt. Yes, there was a level on which this was innocent, but there was another, more true level on which it wasn’t, on which the touch on Patrick’s thigh had been calculated, and the invitation to his apartment a tactic. Still, he could back out and let the innocent explanation for inviting Patrick back to his place become the true one. It wasn’t too late to be honorable for once in his life.

They finally arrived, and David tried to look a little more graceful than he usually did shoving on the sticky vestibule door of his building. He mostly succeeded.

“I can find you an unused toothbrush,” he said as he led Patrick up the stairs. “And if you want to shower tonight or in the morning, I can get you a towel.”

“Thanks again, David. This is incredibly generous.”

David unlocked the door to his apartment and opened it, gesturing for Patrick to go in. “Please, I have a spare bedroom, it’s really no trouble.” After taking Patrick’s coat and carefully hanging it up in the hall closet, David moved deeper into the apartment, flipping on lights as he went. “Do you want a glass of water?”

“Uhh… yeah. Thanks.” Patrick walked over to the living room windows. “This is a really nice apartment.”

David filled a water glass from the pitcher in the fridge and carried it back out to Patrick, standing at Patrick’s side and following his gaze out the window. “It’s not as nice as the apartment I used to have, but it’s fine.”

“What happened to the apartment you used to have?”

David raised his shoulders in a sort of shrug. “Turns out my father’s business manager was embezzling from him a few years ago. He was caught, but he hadn’t been paying taxes for a while so we had to pay…” He suddenly couldn’t think of the word.

“Penalties?”

“Right, penalties. So we had to sell off some stuff, including that apartment. Also, as you can imagine, the video business isn’t what it used to be,” he said with a smirk.

“Yeah. So do you not have a Netflix account out of, like, solidarity?”

David laughed. “No, I have a Netflix account. Why, did you want to watch something?”

Patrick shook his head and set his water down on a glass end table. “I should probably get some sleep. I’ll need to be up pretty early in order to make it back to the seminar for the morning session.” He continued to stand rooted on the spot, though, making no move away from David’s side.

“Did you need to charge your cell phone?” David asked. “You mentioned earlier—”

“Oh. Yeah, thanks.” Patrick pulled it out of his pocket and handed it over. David made a face at his cheap Nokia phone with the chipped edges, but he opened a drawer under his coffee table and pulled out a tangle of different chargers, some of which had been left behind by people he’d dated. He quickly found a suitable one and plugged in Patrick’s phone.

“Okay, well, spare bedroom is right over there,” David said, returning to Patrick’s side and indicating the door next to the one that led to his own room. The atmosphere between them felt heavy, and David knew he should move away from Patrick, go get him a towel or something to defuse things, but he couldn’t bring himself to do so.

Then Patrick made a tiny move of his head, infinitesimal really, in David’s direction, and that was all David could take. He met him more than halfway, mouth on Patrick’s and hand coming up to cup the back of his head. The kiss was relatively chaste, but there was no question that Patrick was on board for it, his lips nipping at David’s bottom one, one of his hands clutching at David’s bicep. David felt a bit like a dam was breaking on the desire that had been building between them all night, and he let himself enjoy the few blissful seconds of that kiss.

“And when I said I wasn’t trying to pick you up,” David whispered when they parted, “that didn’t mean I was averse to picking you up.”

Patrick’s still held onto his arm, but his facial expression was pained. “David, I’m married.”

“Yeah, I noticed the ring.”

“To a… to a woman. I’ve never done that before with a guy. So…”

“Oh.” David did take a step back then. So that’s what this was. A small-town closet case who’d gotten married under false pretenses. Not exactly what he’d hoped he was signing up for. “Is it a religious thing? Are you one of those guys who’s been scarred by conversion therapy?”

Patrick shook his head quickly. “No, nothing like that. I really thought…” He ran his hands over his face. “Holy shit, how could I not know that that’s what kissing someone is supposed to feel like?”

David couldn’t help preening a little bit at that. “I don’t think I’ve ever been a sexual revelation to someone before.”

With an uneasy chuckle, Patrick let himself drop onto the sofa. “What am I doing? Why did I come here?” he murmured, almost to himself.

David sat down on the sofa too, leaving a space between them. “Look, it can end right here. You go sleep in the guest room and I’ll go sleep in my room, and…” He threw up his hands. “And in the morning you won’t even have to see me, because I’m not really a morning person, so…” He trailed off into an uncomfortable silence.

Patrick was fidgeting with his hands again, twisting his wedding ring. “My intention wasn’t to… treat you like an experiment, and that must be what this seems like. As if I set out this evening to go to a bar in a big city and meet an anonymous man so that I could test drive a… another sexual orientation.”

David gave him a sheepish shrug. It didn’t not seem like that.

“I started talking to you for the exact reason you said: I’m from a small town where you make conversation with the guy sitting next to you at the bar. But David, I…” He looked up finally then, and fuck, those brown eyes were exactly as devastating as David had feared they could be. “Thinking about it now, I was attracted to you from the moment you shook my hand, and I honestly don’t know if it’s just you or men in general, but if it is men in general that would certainly explain a lot of things about my—”

David put a hand over Patrick’s to stop his manic motion, and it simultaneously stopped his mouth from moving, the tumult of words drying up as rapidly as they had started. It was a relief. Patrick’s openness was turning David inside out; he wasn’t used to being around people who said exactly what they were thinking, who didn’t play games, whose every word wasn’t calculated to manipulate.

“It’s okay. Whatever you’re feeling is okay. And whatever you want to do is okay,” David said, and then winced. He was definitely going to regret this, but he couldn’t help himself. The idea of helping this man discover a new side of himself was too tempting to resist. “I can be… if you need to test things out and see the way you feel with a man, then I can be that. For you.”

Patrick’s eyes widened, then dropped to David’s lips. “Why would you do that?”

“Umm, because you’re hot?” David said flippantly, trying to lighten things up. “And because it seems like you need a push in the queer direction,” he added with a gentle laugh.

A quick smile flashed across Patrick’s face before his face turned serious again, his eyes still trained on David’s mouth. And then he leaned in.

Chapter 4

#schitt's creek #schitts creek #david x patrick #david x patrick ff #schitt's creek ff #hdwgb fic #my fic

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