#I like a COUPLE pictures of him and he floods my damn home page

[loverdotpng]

This is very funny

[tojiscumdumpster]

CHAPTER FIVE - READER

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content warnings - vanilla smut.

 I’m sober enough to be grateful that it’s Saturday, but I’m hungover enough to wish I didn’t drink so damn much last night. Four cocktails and eight shots? I’m surprised I’m not a corpse right now. My head is throbbing, and my body still feels too sluggish to get out of bed. 

 What time is it? Eight? Nine? Who knows? What I do know is that I’m going to take it slow today.

 But even though I have the biggest headache right now, I can’t deny that last night was probably the best sleep I’ve had in a while. 

 It felt warm. Safe, like I was being protected and cared for. And I know damn well Mr. Don Julio was not responsible for that. 

 When I get drunk, I can sometimes remember bits and pieces of what happened the night before, in the next morning. I know I was at a bachelorette party. I saw Toji—

 Wait, I saw Toji. We snuck away into the utility closet to make out like two horny college kids and talked. But he said something that hurt my feelings, causing my whole over drinking fiasco.

 Then, some random guy who was hard on the eyes started dancing with me. I can’t remember much after that, but I’m sure he was a creep.

 Realistically, I do need to get up to start my day. I have a couple of errands to run, and I sort of promised Nanami that we would meet for lunch later. Why? I don’t know. Again, I don’t hate him. It’s just… I don’t know. 

 But when I tried to get up from bed, I felt like I was being held down by an arm. Rough yet soft grumbles pass through ears that scatter goosebumps across my core. 

 In a way, they sound therapeutic. Though, I’m still skeptical about who’s in my bed because I don’t remember hooking up with anyone, let alone allowing someone to sleep over. 

 However, the moment I looked up to see those dark, mid-length, raven locks. The distinctive scar on his lip. His soft rose-colored lips, I broke from his embrace and jumped away from him. 

 Did I…

 “Toji?” 

 He barely stirs, but my voice is enough to wake him up. “Hm?” 

 My mouth waters at the sight of him, laying in my bed, wearing only a tank top that bare his biceps, but leaves me with questions because of the scars that accompany his beautiful skin. And his briefs that shows his toned thighs and— fuck . His semi-hard dick print. 

 I should look away, I should. But it’s hard when the man you’ve been fantasizing about for the past week is laying in your bed, looking like that. 

 “A picture will last longer,” he rasps. That deep fucking husky voice that sounds even sexier in the morning. 

 Y/N. Focus. 

 Heat floods under my cheeks as I look away. “What are you doing here?”

 “Last night really fucked you up, didn’t it?” 

 “I… Did we… Did we-”

 “Have sex?” He finishes for me, and I nod. “No. I wouldn’t do that to anyone… Not to you.” His last words were filled with softness that made my heart skip a beat. 

  Why am I so drawn to this man?

 Toji continues, “You’re pretty fucking clingy when you’re drunk, though. I took you home and cleaned you up for bed and I saw-” He stops mid-sentence, causing me to raise my brow in curiosity.

 “You saw what?” He sits up and turns away from me. I notice a light crimson color forming across his face and spreading to his ears. “Toji Fushiguro, are you blushing? What did you see?”

 “Just drop it.”

 “Nope,” I countered, jumping on him to get his attention back to me. I’m now playfully straddling his lap, completely oblivious. 

 It's like my hangover washed over me the second I knew Toji was in my presence. He was my serotonin, and I didn’t even realize. 

 “Aren’t you supposed to be hungover? Where the hell did all this energy come from?” He asks. 

 “Suddenly I’m not hungover anymore because I’m more interested in what you saw-”

 “Naked,” he interjects. “I saw you naked. When I was looking for your oversized tee shirts, you took off your dress while my back was turned and… yeah.”

 “Oh…”

 All the energy I had come to a halt while zeroing in on Toji. Me, still straddling his lap, becomes lost in his expensive emerald-colored hues. They’re so sharp. So pretty. Those soft lines, forming around his eyes that come with age, suits him well. But you wouldn’t even be able to tell he was forty-two because his skin is so smooth.

 His eyelashes are dark and medium length. Brows straight and thin. Lips rosy and slightly plumped. Toji, who claims to be an indecent man, appears like a beautiful catalyst to me. 

 It’s true what he says about us barely knowing each other, even though it doesn’t feel like that because in such little time, my life feels safe with him. 

 “Y/N,” he whispers. He calls for me and when he does, I feel his erection growing against my pussy. 

 “I’m sorry.” I start to pull away, but he holds me in place.

 “It’ll go down. Don’t want you to feel pressured to have sex with me,” he assures.

 “Okay… what if I—” I begin rubbing my sex against his dick. 

 “Y/N.” This time his voice is hoarse when he says my name.

 My pace quickens and the added friction of his briefs acting as a barrier brings me more pleasure than I expected. I lick and kiss all over his neck to hear more of his husky groans. 

 “Tell me if you want me to stop, Toji,” I say barely above a whisper. “Do you want me to?”

 He grabs my hips and rolls me on him faster. “Fuck no.” 

 It’s not sex, but fuck, this feels so good. The material of his briefs has me feeling Toji like he is bare under me. Dry humping might be a virgin thing to do, however, it’s aiding me in a much needed orgasm. 

 I take one of Toji’s hands to hike up my shirt and squeeze my nipples, having me arch my back in pure bliss. He’s just so hard. I’m very tempted to pull him out and ride his dick, but I’m not ready for that yet. 

 Our moans continue to mingle the quicker we chase our release, and I feel myself soaking up his briefs. Embarrassment fills my emotions from how needy I sound, along with my whimpering. Toji forces our lips together to devour all my sounds of pleasure, biting and sucking on my bottom lip that he can’t get enough of. 

 My sudden change of movements from grinding on his cock to bouncing and rolling seems to have an effect on him, just as much as it does to me. 

 “Fuck, you’re going to make me bust in my fucking boxers like I never had pussy before, Y/N,” he admits. “Keep doing that.”

 “Maybe because you never had mine.”

 Something about my words had Toji growling and flipping me over, where he’s now above me. The look in his eyes is almost primal. No. It is primal. Hungry, craving to feast on me until I tap out. 

 Before I protest from his loss touch, his lips are back on me, and he dry fucks me as if he’s actually inside of my pussy. His hips snaps into mine while dragging his mouth across my face and neck. Toji continues to pinch my nipples underneath my shirt and I'm a whining mess. 

 “Toji, I’m about to come,” I cry. 

 “Why do you sound so fucking sweet? How are you going to sound when my cock is actually inside of you?” Too many questions where I’m too horny to form an answer. “You think you could take me, pretty girl?”

 “Yes.”

 He chuckles, showing mockery to my answer. “We’ll see.”

 Why did that laugh, those two words, trigger me to come? It hit me hard, and blurred my vision with the tears that pricked my eyes. Toji’s presence was enough serotonin, but this? Nothing or no one could possibly ruin my day after this. 

 I softly gasp for air and it’s as if he knew to kiss me with such eagerness to breathe all the life back into me. Holding him tightly, I wrap my legs around his waist to take his thrusts and swallow his harsh grunts. 

 “About to fucking come, Y/N,” he growls. 

 “So come.”

 He gives me a few more dry thrusts until the bed creaks and the headboard hits the wall before coming in his briefs. 

 Toji gives me a sloppy kiss, overpowering, and not giving me a chance to keep up with his moments. Coming down from our orgasms together is an experience I never expected to happen so soon, but it felt right to do it now. 

 I’m completely sober to remember this moment with Toji. 

 Our breaths are shallow and his forehead rests on mine. Soon, he slowly rises from me to look at the mess we, well, I made on his briefs.

 They’re drenched. While he pulls apart a string of my wetness connects to him that makes my cheeks warm and causes me to look away. I know I shouldn’t be embarrassed, but I am. 

 “You’re so… fucking wet.” His deep and raspy voice soothes me. I feel his hand grasping my chin to turn my face to him. “Beautiful.”

 “Not into the lovey dovey shit, huh?” I say, repeating the words he said to me last night. 

 He scratches the back of his neck. “Sorry about that. I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings. What you said was right, wanting to scare people away and shit.”

 I don’t want to interrupt his thoughts so I nod my head so he can continue.

 “I’m not good at relationships. Only been in one and, well… you know how that ended.”

 I stand on my knees to level with his eyes. “I’m not asking for a relationship from you. Not now, at least. Let’s just get to know each other.”

 He looks at me to consider my request, eyes wavering across my face. His hand goes to spring the tendril in my face, and I remember to curse myself later for now putting on my bonnet. 

 Toji takes his time to caress my face, line out my jaw, cuff my neck, and trace my collarbone. His touch is delicate yet burns through my skin. If I can feel this all day, I know I would be okay. 

 “Alright.”

 “Alright?” I repeat.

 He nods, giving me a half smile. “Alright.”

 Again, my arms are around his neck, and I pull him into a kiss for a few more minutes before I head out for the day. 

 Having lunch with my ex-fiancé, who is also my boss, is not how I wanted to spend my afternoon, but here I am anyway.

 After I spoke to Nanami this past Monday about potentially having dinner with him last night, it completely slipped my mind that I had a bachelorette party to attend. I’m rushing at five in the evening to grade tests for six different classes because my free period was used for a parent-teacher conference, and here comes Nanami coming in my classroom to see if we can still go to dinner. 

 I was honestly shocked that he had the nerve to ask me that question, like I want to spend my weekend grading papers. Unlike him, I like to enjoy my only two days off without thinking about work. 

 But when it comes to him? I’m sure he expected me to drop everything and accompany him to dinner. 

 Nanami stopped doing that for me, so why would I do that for him? 

 Anyways. 

 Because I wanted to see why he was so eager to talk to me, I decided to allow him to take me out to lunch today so we could talk. To see how things are going. His words, not mine.

 “How was the bachelorette party?” He queries, pulling me from my thoughts. 

 I sip on my sparkling water. “It was fun. Had too many drinks. So, I still feel a bit sluggish.”

 “I see. I know the martinis here are your favorite. Too bad you can’t drink any.”

 “Not unless you want me to puke everywhere.”

 Silence. 

 This is exactly what I was worried about. Is this why Nanami wanted to meet up? To have awkwardness while eating eggs and waffles? The chemistry. The love, at least, the love I had for him, died. A long time ago. This feels trivial. 

 “You brought me to one of the restaurants we used to go to together, you ordered my entire meal because you know me ever so well, and now we’re struggling to make small talk.” I come in hard with my accusations. “What did you want to talk about?”

 “I want us to try to make things work, Y/N.”

 I laugh. “That’s not happening. We tried twice. How many times do you need?”

 “Now? Just one. I know I haven’t been the best in our relationship, but these months without you made me realize there’s more important things in life,” he explains. “Memories. Marriage. Parenthood… I eventually want to build that with you if you allow me.”

 “If I allow you?” I mock. “That’s the thing, Ken. I never was opposed to any of that. You knew how much getting married and becoming a mother meant to me. I didn’t take away from you. You took that away from us.” 

 “I’m sorry.”

 I scoff. “Sorry for what? For staying late at work? For declining me sex? For having me to go to our friends get togethers alone? What exactly are you sorry for?”

 I attack Nanami with all these questions because it honestly fucking amazes me that he invited me to lunch to try to convince me to give another chance. 

 We were together for five years. Engaged for one. Problems began two years prior. I’ve been more than patient with Nanami. I was the only person to actually understand how he feels because I’m a freaking teacher. Work is hard on me, too. 

 But the difference is, I know how to keep it at school. Yeah, maybe I have my days when I have to grade at home. However, when it came to Nanami? I dropped the world for him…

 Why couldn’t he do that for me?

 I’m not going to cry over him in front of him. Not here. Not now, so this lunch needs to be cut short. 

 “I’m sure you’re sorry, Kento. Actually, I know you are,” I tell him. “I can’t act like we didn't share some amazing memories. The love you had for me when you were in our relationship was beautiful. You made me light.”

 “I still lov-”

 “But you also hurt me—badly.” I gather my things to leave him at the table, but before I do. I say one more thing to him. “I don’t think I forgave you yet. If you want to be friends, cool. Give me time for that. But romantically? There’s no chance for that anymore.”

 Nanami’s hand sits in lap, and if I know him like I think I do, they’re probably balled up in fists. I know his anger isn’t directed toward me, but at the reality of our demise. 

 “Okay… I understand. I’ll give you time, Y/N.”

 “Thank you.” I give him a solemn smile. “See you around, Ken. Take care of yourself.”

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discussion question #1 — we see both reader and toji becoming familiar with each other, and trying to figure out why they don't feel like strangers. based on their interactions, who do you think will fall in love first?

[bitsandbobsandstuff]

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.

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.

*****

[aetheternity]

I'll admit it's exciting. (Armin x reader)

Synopsis: Being your professor's dirty little secret. His pet.. Sounded too good to refuse.

Warning: Smut in the later chapters! 18+ only

"Good girl.." Your lip tucked itself beneath your tooth. Spine tingling at the intoxicating scent surrounding you.

You coaxed a breath off your lips as the almost inaudible creak of the desk under your professors weight made you sit up straight. His arms locking you in place.

You looked into his soft blue eyes feeling a tinge of entrapment at the way he had you locked in.

"Do you understand now?" His surprisingly large hands caressed your shoulder.

"Y-yeah." If you could see your own face you'd probably be embarrassed but you were currently helpless to the tiny bits of touch he allowed you.

Your elbows pushed you up just a little bit closer to his chest. His touch disappearing too soon.

"I think you'll be ready for the test in a couple days." And suddenly every bit of him was walking away and back to sit at his desk. "You should still study though. This stuff has been difficult for you."

~~~~

"Y/N."

The tip of your nail stayed fidgeting between your lips.

"Y/N."

Words flew through your brain but it all continued to just be flushed straight out again.

"Y/N!" The book flew from your grasp landing with a clatter that attracted glances from all angles.

"Are you alright Y/N?" Eren asked, concern etched into his deep sapphire eyes.

You let out a harsh exhale. "I was, until Sasha stopped my heart." You held a palm up to your chest, glaring over at Sasha.

Mikasa blinked boredom sunk into her features. Her cheeks forced into the palms of her hands as her elbows stayed firmly planted into the table. "New class?"

You nodded, shutting your binder before promptly flipping it open again.

"You'll be fine." She muttered, staring at you with her own version of concern.

"How can you say that? I had to transfer from a different class a month after the semester already started. You know how much stuff I've already missed! Not to mention I had originally thought this class was gonna be next semester me's problem." With a groan you let your head flop harshly onto the mildly sticky table in front of you.

"I think what Mikasa was trying to suggest was that Mr. Arlert has always been said to be a very gentle and caring professor." Sasha said

"You can always take office hours if you really have a hard time." Eren suggested

"Thanks Eren, but I think you're forgetting that I hate doing anything outside of class that won't immediately get me a passing grade."

Eren just shrugged, moving to stuff his notebooks into his own bag. All of them genuinely looking as though he'd just reused them from high school. Each one with a rip in the first page or the spiral unraveling.

"Welp it's 2:00." Sasha reminded you. And you groaned so loud you could practically feel the stares from other tables touching your soul.

"Maybe I'll fall down the stairs and break my ankle before I get up there." You slung your bag onto your shoulder hanging your head as you walked off.

"I'll have your favorite donuts in my room after you get out!" Sasha called

"You should've started with that!"

You made the walk so much longer by dragging your feet up every stair individually and rubbing a finger to your temple. So much so that it surprised you when you walked into the classroom and no one was in there except..

"Oh hello."

Hot..

So so very hot..

His smile sparkled only futher brightened by his deep blue eyes. His short blond hair parted slightly over his forehead. His blue button up was cuffed up against his forearms revealing a very slender but still fairly muscular set of hands. He probably had a nice chest too.

"You must be Y/N." He chuckled and before you could reassociate he was giving you a whole new list of things to think about as he bent over his desk to retrieve a piece of paper.

"Here's the syllabus. You're starting kinda late so it will be helpful to you to come to office hours. My office hours are at the bottom here." When he reached forward to point his scent caught you by surprise. A sweet almost fruit like smell wafted up your nose. "I hope you'll catch on quickly. Sit wherever you'd like."

His remark barely registered in your mind, your mouth hung open immediately slamming shut as the class quickly began to fill.

Before you could get swept up by the people flooding into the room you made your way to the front plopping down into the seat closest to the window. When you looked up again from where you'd yanked your binder almost haphazardly out of your bag, you caught the quickest wink you'd ever seen in your entire life.

Or maybe it was your imagination.

But the way he leaned a little closer when he approached you wasn't.

"Front row? Good choice."

Regardless of the heart problems he'd recently caused you he was moving on. Quickly silencing the class and starting the lesson.

Hot.

The only thought racing through your head.

Hot. Hot. Hot..

He was pretty! When he turned off the light his eyes didn't dull in the almost blinding way in which they shone. His hair fluttered over his forehead and ears and his shirt seemed to hug his chest tighter every time he reached up to turn off the projector or even just to reach a high spot on the board.

You already knew everything from today was going in one ear and out the other but it was really hard to give a damn when your professor's pants cupped his ass they way they did. His dark shoes clicked across the floor and-

"Do you understand any of it? I know it's your first day."

You blinked up at him hoping your eyes weren't as wide as they felt or that you weren't popping your mouth open and close like a suffocating fish.

He smiled, flipping the paper on the desk around till it faced him. "Can I?" He reached for the tip of your pen and as you let it go your fingers brushed in probably the strongest current of static that had ever touched your body.

"Don't worry ok this is just a practice test I wanna see what you know." He said, leaving a couple marks on the paper. He then pointed to the two empty test questions. "Don't leave anything blank ok."

This time when he walked away you were without a doubt certain he'd winked. When you looked down at your paper again you could see 3 checks on the paper in the light blue ink you were using and a little smiley face in the corner.

Your chest honestly had no right fluttering the way it did over something so trivial.

The class was only an hour and forty minutes but when it was over you felt like you'd only been seated there for ten minutes. When you handed the test paper back he sent you one final wink that made your knees buckle.

"See you next time." He said and you had to forcibly stop yourself from shuttering.

You half speed walked half ran out of there as soon as his classroom door had shut behind you. All the way to Sasha's dorm room.

You slammed it open already knowing Sasha only kept it locked when she wasn't in there. Your chest was heaving and you held onto the door frame for support. Noticing the immediate and visible flinch from Eren and Sasha.

"He's. Hot!!" You gasped for air before walking in and sinking to the floor in front of Sasha. She didn't budge as you fell against her shoulder just wrapped an arm around your shoulders hugging your back. "Oh god he's so hot.." You breathed into Sasha's collarbone.

"Looks like she did learn something." Eren muttered

"No! You don't understand he's like so pretty!"

Mikasa didn't even try to hide the way she rolled her eyes and Eren just sighed.

"Aww you've got a crush on your professor that's adorable." Sasha said, reaching into the box next to her, grabbing your favorite donut she pushed it into your open mouth pulling it back slightly to allow you to chew.

You sobbed a little before sighing and falling back into Sasha's neck. "What the hell am I gonna do?" You sighed

"Focus on passing the class is probably the first step." Eren replied

"Now you're just being silly." You replied, rubbing your fingers into the floor.

Sasha brought the donut back up to your lips smiling as you took another bite. "I wanna see him now! Isn't he the really young professor? Like he's supposedly only twenty five as of recently and got hired less than a year ago."

"Yeah.." You quickly put your password into your phone, turning the screen so Sasha could see.

Mikasa and Eren scooted closer as Sasha took a closer look. "He is pretty." Mikasa was the first to speak.

"Why do you just have his picture pulled up? How're you already being creepy?" Eren questioned

You scoffed, "I just happened to be looking on Instagram during a quick bathroom trip.. and I just so happened to look for him.. it's his fault for making it easy." You snatched the donut from Sasha taking a bigger bite.

"Yeah no I agree with Eren this is cree- AW HE HAS A DOG!" Sasha snatched the phone zooming in on the puppy in his lap.

"Actually it's his family's dog. Her name's Pumpkin and he goes home as often as possible to see her. A small two hour train ride to be exact." You sigh briefly "I've never really liked Terriers as a dog breed but that one's so cute.."

"Is the dog cute or is it the guy holding her?" Mikasa questioned with a little smirk.

"Not helping Mikasa.." Eren interjected "What are you even thinking? No matter if you like professor Arlert or not he has to keep it professional and so do you."

"Eren, look at the puppy." You took your phone from Sasha turning the screen back to face him.

He glanced down at the image then back into your eyes with a raised eyebrow.

"Puppy!"

"Creepy!" He pressed the power button on your phone and you deflated against Sasha's legs letting your phone turn over onto its face.

"I'll never understand why you don't go for a degree in hacking or something the way you always manage to pull up information on people." Mikasa shook her head.

"Probably going to be stuck with more math classes for one and secondly when I become a supervillain I don't need everyone knowing it was apart of my major." You replied, with an exaggerated eye roll.

Sasha shrugged, "If it was your major I'm pretty sure everyone would understand your descent into madness."

"I can't believe you just said that.." Eren groaned, squeezing the bridge of his nose.

"Me or her?" You asked

"Yes!"

~~~~

Thursday came too soon. Or maybe you should say, finally Thursday is here! You jumped back and forth between the two but by the time you slid into the honestly uncomfortable classroom seat and placed your bag between your legs you knew exactly what you felt.

"Professor!" A female's voice caught your attention and you turned slightly to see a short brown haired girl running into the classroom.

"You were right about what I was missing! Once I applied what we talked about in office hours it became so simple."

"That's what I like to hear Petra." He winked as he flipped through a stack of papers on his desk.

Wait, had he always done that to all the students or had you just not noticed last time? You felt your shoulders hunch but they were instantly picking back up again as he slid a piece of paper onto your desk.

"You did pretty well on that practice test. Seems like you'll be up to speed in no time." He smiled, a deep warm smile that made your stomach squeeze.

Your lips curled upwards and you quickly moved to hide it behind your paper as he walked away.

"You too huh?"

You felt your skin practically vibrate but you hoped and prayed it wasn't too noticeable.

"Wh-what?" You glanced over at the girl Petra who sat only one desk away from you. Her features flat and her eyes dark in the middle an almost scary contrast from earlier.

"You're into him too?" She muttered

Was it that obvious? Stupid question. How could you be so obvious?

"I don't think you'll win out." She continued and before you could question it, she pointed to the back row.

It seemed almost like a tussle as Mr. Arlert was being held hostage by another young female holding his hand. He smiled mildly awkwardly as he spoke with her, nodding his head to everything her and the other girls surrounding her said. The first girl running a thumb over the back of his hand.

You felt your skin prickle and you exhaled loudly. "So.. I'm guessing you too.."

Petra blinked at you then quickly shifted around in her seat. Mr. Arlert quickly approached the front of the room clapping to get the classes attention. And with that the lesson was beginning.

You noticed from the clap at the beginning of class to the last word uttered that not one word in Mr. Arlert's lesson had actually registered in your mind. Your thoughts too full of Petra's words, her blank almost villainous expression as she'd talked.

And that girl's hand. That annoying girl in the back row. You peeked your head back there looking at the now empty chair. In fact the entire classroom was empty and had been for at least 15 minutes since you continued to struggle with stuffing your binder back into your apparently shrunken bag.

"Need help?"

You bit your lip and looked away as he came closer. You weren't really standing up straight but you immediately noticed the way he towered over you. His fingers so delicate in the way they brushed over yours sliding the irritating object into the confines of your bag.

"Thank you.." You whispered

He chuckled, "No problem, happy to help."

His eyes didn't leave yours for an almost uncomfortable amount of time so you shifted your feet backing away a little. He seemed to notice and placed a hand on the back of his neck, backing up himself.

Oh no. Now he was getting uncomfortable.

He made his way back over to his desk but not before you'd slipped in something to ease the tension. "Sorry for over staying my welcome.."

He let out a soft chuckle. "You're not bothering me plus there are no classes in here for two hours after mine on Thursday. You can stay as long as you'd like."

"O-oh." You face palmed internally at your stupid reply. "So.." You began again. "Do you mind if I asked you how you're such a young professor.."

His eyes flickered up from the work he'd been filling out. "Well, I skipped a couple grades and I was in college by 15. I'm actually still in college now but I was an assistant teacher at 18 for about three years for a high school a couple blocks from here before I became a full fledged teacher and then I worked at the same school as a teacher for three more years before I finally left and started teaching here."

It should've been obvious from the start that he'd worked tireless hours of school to get here at such a young age. Not to mention probably having worked just as hard in the gym. He'd only leaned back a little bit in his chair but it was enough for you to have a perfect mental image.

Your eyes flicked up to his much softer more.. Arlert like smile? Maybe? It just felt like the kind of smile he'd give a friend and less like the smile he used in the classroom. Not that that one felt fake, just.. different.

"Do you.. I mean.. have you always had girls?.." His eyebrows scrunched as you spoke. You pointed to the back of the classroom. "You're young I mean, do girls always touch you like that?"

He blinked up at the ceiling then back down to you. Your breath hitched as he pulled himself up from the desk walking closer to you.

"As soon as they find out I'm not that much older than them? Yeah."

You probably should've stopped but your brain was suddenly working independently. "Does it?.. Do you like that kind of attention?"

He sat down on the desk crossing his arms over his chest and his leg over his knee. He spoke his head. "Not normally no."

"Normally?"

He stood again but this time he stopped directly in front of you. Sharp blue eyes cold and yet warm and vibrant. The desk creaked under your weight as you leaned back into it. His hands at your sides, his breath tickling your upper lip.

His thumb came up to graze your cheek but was quickly removed and planted back on the desk. "Can I kiss you?"

You nodded way too eagerly and-

So so so much softer than you'd even thought imaginable. His nose rubbed against yours and he was pulling away. Too soon.

You grabbed the back of his neck, yanking him back to you. Immediately delighted by the warm touch of his pretty pink lips.

He pulled back and you yanked him forward. Over and over again with soft peppered kisses. And then one slightly longer one where he was comfortably mushing his lips against yours.

[tefilovesreading]

It’s a match! Part. 2

Pairing: Charlie Gillespie x Fem!Reader

Word count: 2k

Warnings: None, language but that’s it.

A/N: LET ME KNOW IF YOU WANNA BE TAGGED. 

Edited by: @theamazingtomholland​ 

MASTERLIST // PART 1 // PART 3

“What do you mean he sent you a good morning text?” Jo asked, almost choking on her toast.

“He asked for my number last night,” Y/N explained, her hands shaking while she tried to unlock her phone, “and when I woke up, I had a text from him saying good morning and wishing me a good day.”

“Damn the boy is a keeper,” her friend whistled and winked at her after she read the message.

“He told me he wanted to FaceTime.”

She sat on the stool next to where her best friend was sitting and rested her chin on her hand. The butterflies in her stomach felt more like hundreds of bees buzzing fiercely in there. 

“And you?” Jo questioned with an intrigued look on her face, “do you wanna do it?”

“I think so,” Y/N answered, biting the inside of her cheek, “he’s really cute, and I had fun texting last night.”

“Well that’s a new one,” the ginger girl joked. All their friends knew how much Y/N hated texting, leaving messages on read for days, or taking absolutely forever to respond. She always felt weird texting, not knowing very well how to keep the conversation going over text.

“Tell him you have thirty minutes, and then you have to go do something else,” Y/N furrowed her eyebrows in confusion and Jo rolled her eyes, “that way if you don’t feel comfortable you have an easy exit.”

“And what if I’m enjoying it?” Jo looked at her as if she was trying to explain how the water cycle worked to a kid, “Jo I’m being serious!”

“In that case, my love, you hang up and call him again after you tell me everything.”

“Who said I was gonna tell you anything, uh?” Y/N smirked and blew her a kiss after her friend gave her an offended look.

“Whatever, Y/N,” Jo flipped her off, “just tell him your professor was sick or something like that.”

“You’re a lifesaver, did I tell you that?” Y/N kissed her friend’s cheek and then jumped off, “I’m gonna go take a shower, see you later.”

“See you later, babe,” Jo said, “don’t forget to eat!”

“I won’t!” Y/N yelled, on her way to the bathroom they shared.

Y/N: Good morning! Hope you have a great day too

She smiled satisfied at her reply and hit the send button.

Y/N couldn’t remember the last time she felt so giddy about a guy, it was exciting, to say the least. Charlie seemed like an easygoing person and really easy to talk to. Sure she was nervous talking to him, but who wouldn’t? The guy was super cute and so nice to her, she already knew she’d be crushing hard.

Thirty minutes later, she was on her way to class with time to go to her favorite coffee shop and have a quick breakfast.

Charlie: Didn’t think you’d answer me so early hahaha Y/N: I have a class in like 20 minutes, wouldn’t have woken up this early if i didn’t have class lol Charlie: So you’re not a morning person Y/N: Oh no, absolutely not!!

She smiled at the boy in the cashier and laughed softly when he asked her if she was ordering the same thing she always did.

“Oh, can you add a brownie please?” Y/N asked politely, while she looked for her card on her bag. After paying for her food, she went to one of the tables in the back.

Charlie: Noted! I swear i try to not wake up early but i can’t Y/N: I bet you’re the kind of friend that wakes everyone up with a lot of noise  Charlie: How did ya know that hahahaha Y/N: I was just guessing, but you do seem like a loud person Charlie: I am, i won’t try to deny it Charlie: What about you??  Y/N: Mmm Y/N: It depends Y/N: But my laugh is extra loud, so I can’t say I’m a quiet girl

“Vanilla latte!” Y/N put away her phone and stood up to get her order.

“Thanks, Dylan,” she thanked the boy and grabbed a few napkins before making her way back to her table. 

Charlie: I bet your laugh is really cute

Her cheeks were burning after that message, and it took her a couple of minutes to tame the butterflies in her stomach before she was able to type a response. Because as much as she wanted to laugh it off and change the topic, she knew he was flirting with her and if she didn’t flirt back, their conversation was basically dead.

Y/N: Guess you’ll have to find out yourself ;).

That was a nice reply, right? She screenshotted their chat and sent it to Jo. If anyone knew how to flirt while texting, it was her best friend.

Y/N: How does it look? Is it too much?? Too little?? Y/N: H E L P

Jo’s response was quick as always. One of the many reasons she loved her.

Jo: Girl it’s fine Jo: Stop worrying about it Jo: It’s mysterious and a good way to tell him you wanna FaceTime Y/N: Ok ok thank you love ya Jo: Love you more  

Checking the hour on her phone, Y/N finished her bagel and gathered her stuff. She waved Dylan goodbye and left the coffee shop. She spent more time than she expected to in there and if she didn’t hurry she’d be late for class. 

It was times like this one that made her regret not knowing how to drive because even if all her classmates liked the Lyft program they had for free, she still felt unsafe getting in the car without a friend.

Back in the day, when she was still dating Lance, he’d made sure to call her and talk to her during the whole ride to wherever Y/N needed to go just to make her feel safe. After all, he was never a bad boyfriend, their paths just went in different ways and they both wanted different things in life.

Charlie: Yeah i guess Charlie: What if i call you later when you’re done with your classes??Charlie: No pressure

She could feel the blood rushing to her cheeks for the second time in less than an hour and had to bite her lip to stop herself from smiling. 

Y/N: Sure, i’ll let you know once i’m done Y/N: But i have to say bye for now Y/N: Gotta pay attention haha Charlie: Get that degree! Charlie: Talk to you later!

Focusing on whatever her professor was saying was a hard task, she just wanted to pull her phone out and text Charlie, see what he was up to and get home as soon as possible, so they could FaceTime.

Sitting on the edge of her seat, she couldn’t help but bounce her leg to relieve the eagerness rushing through her veins. She still had fifteen minutes left, and then she’d be sprinting out of the classroom and going back to her apartment.

“Dude, do you gotta use the bathroom or what?” Sadie, the girl she always sat with during class, whispered through gritted teeth.

“Sorry,” she apologized, crossing her legs to stop herself from bouncing her leg. Although the new position didn’t stop her from moving her foot. 

“What’s up with you?” Sadie snorted once she realized Y/N couldn’t sit still.

“Nothing,” she replied quickly, scribbling on her notebook the pages she needed to read for the next class, “I just wanna go home.”

“But you have never been this eager to leave this class,” the girl commented without looking at her, too focused on taking notes, “you love this class.”

“I don’t know,” Y/N let out a sigh and checked the hour on her watch, “I just don’t feel like sitting here right now.”

Her classmate didn’t make another comment about her eagerness to leave the classroom, she just nodded her head as if she was telling her she understood.

“I think that’s all for today, guys,” the professor mentioned, leaning on the desk, “have a good day, and don’t forget to read the articles I mentioned.”

Y/N hurried to gather her things and waved Sadie goodbye before walking as fast as she could to the door. She needed to leave before the halls flooded with students. Y/N considered taking the stairs instead of the elevator but knowing how clumsy she could be, she opted for the latter. Falling down the stairs wasn’t on her plans.

Twenty minutes and a mile later, she dropped her keys on the bowl next to the door of her apartment and kicked off her shoes. She checked her out in the full-length mirror Jo had in their living room and shrugged. Charlie knew she was a college student, and it wouldn’t be weird to see her wearing a hoodie with her college’s logo, also, she was comfy and didn’t want to change into something else. 

She fixed her hair and made sure she didn’t have smudged mascara under her eyes and then made herself comfortable on the couch.

Y/N: Just made it home

Y/N: That was one hell of a long class haha

She bit her nails, the nervousness kicking in while she waited for a response from Charlie. Maybe he was busy now that she wasn’t. God if their schedules didn’t let them at least FaceTime, she felt like she’d start crying and delete the app. It wasn’t like she was talking to other guys though.

Charlie: Finally!! Charlie: Wanna FaceTime?? Or are you tired?

“Fuck no,” she whispered to herself before she started writing her reply.

Y/N: Nah! Let's FaceTime

Her heart started pounding on her chest when the video call entered and the phone started vibrating in her hand.  

“Shit, shit, shit,” she cursed before putting a smile on her face and answering the call. “Hey!”

Holy shit. His pictures didn’t make him justice. 

“How you doin’?” Charlie said and her cheeks blushed.

“It’s that a Friends reference?” she asked trying to hide her smile.

“I swear I don’t mean it in that way,” he laughed, and the way his eyes crinkled when he smiled made her heart flutter. “But seriously, how was your day?”

“It was good even though I hate waking up early,” the way Charlie was looking at her with so much attention, even if it was through a screen it  made her feel so confident, “I had breakfast at this little coffee shop near my apartment and then went to class.”

“But that sounds like a nice morning,” Charlie mentioned, his sweet smile never leaving his face.

“What were you up to anyway?”

“Not much actually,” he shrugged and the gesture made him look young, “I went for a run, then I had to film some tapes for a few auditions, and now I’m chilling.”

“You’re an actor,” Y/N pointed out, not even surprised about the new information he just revealed. It was Los Angeles after all.

“I am,” he smiled, and she swore she could see a pink tint on his cheeks, “I started back in Canada when I was about fourteen or fifteen.”

“Any chances I’ve watched it?” Charlie scrunched his nose and shook his head.

“Maybe, if you are into foreign films,” Y/N tilted her head confused at his answer, “It’s in French.”

“You learned how to speak in French for the movie?” Y/N furrowed her eyebrows together when Charlie started laughing.

“I grew up speaking French and English,” he explained with a soft smile, “I’m French Canadian.”

“That makes a lot more sense now,” she laughed off her embarrassment, “I’m gonna blame the fact that I woke up early today. I’m not this dumb, I swear.”

“Don’t worry,” he said and the smile faded just enough for her to notice his intense stare, “I thought it was cute.”

She bit her lip at his words and tried to look away from the screen, but Charlie’s eye contact felt as if he was looking right into her soul and she couldn’t break that connection even if she wanted to. And she definitely didn’t want to do that.

tagged: @chevyimpala00067​ @samanthawilliamspring​ @searchingunderthestars @luke-patt @moneybagmgk @angisbr @happinessinthedarkesttimes @knitsessed @cordeliascrown @crybabyddl @phantompogues @the-romanian-is-bae @doaspeggy-says

[creativeashproductions]

Hiking Buddy // Charlie Gillespie

Summary: Once upon a time you could joke that quaratine bordom was the cause of the mass amount of 2020 pregnancies. Well you could until you found yourself in the same boat...or shall we say crib?? Go on the journey as Y/N reveals the pregnancy to Charlie and later their friends.

Warnings: Swearing, talk of vomiting, pregnancy, and fluff.

Words: 2.5k

Requested: Yes. Anon

A/N: Someone asked for dad!Charlie and I couldn’t resist.

Please ask to be tagged in my inbox because I can’t promise you will be through commenting on the posts!

I take requests as well!

Masterlist

Pulled from deep in your chest was a groan at the dizziness rushing from the bedroom into the bathroom. The tile floor cool to the touch as your body was flush on the bathroom floor recovering from the bout of sickness. The fortunate thing about the pandemic was that you had no obligations taking you out of the home. Sitting up, you sat back against the white porcelain tub grimacing at the bitter aftertaste of your date with the toilet.

Slowly you found your grounding enough to shakily stand on two feet to brush your teeth to get rid of the nasty aftertaste. Your eyes found the pale expression of your reflection fading as nausea faded as well.

“This is tainting naps for me.” You muttered under your breath, washing your hands before proceeding to splash your face.

Your social media had been flooded with many people in your personal life and celebrities announcing pregnancies. You and Charlie often made teasing remarks about if people were so bored. Guess you couldn’t joke about it anymore.

Your hand splayed across the bare skin under the band shirt hanging loose on your form with a small smile. It had been a hectic year getting married to Charlie while filming the first season of Julie and the Phantoms. The plan had been to wait a few years to enjoy your careers and marriage before children. Get more established in the film industry as a woman was necessary, but you couldn’t get mad. This child would be a gift.

“I’d appreciate if I don’t have gross cravings okay? I have to put up with your dad’s questionable food combinations. I may throw up looking at it.” You muttered smiling at the smooth skin you couldn’t wait to grow into a bump.

At the beginning of the pandemic, you, along with Charlie, had flown back to Canada. Living outside of city limits, Charlie was able to still hike and meet up with family in a safe condition. You grew more as a couple as well.

Turning the light off in the bathroom, you made your way to slip your faux fur lined grey and burgundy moccasins—the mid-afternoon sun shining through the windows of the bedroom giving a picturesque view of the forest. Charlie was more than likely in the home gym you had thrown together once arriving at the home.

“I have an idea a little one.” You spoke to the little life you carried inside your womb. After the positive pregnancy and your confirmation with the OB/GYN, you had ordered a few items.

First, it was baby-sized pair of hiking boots to go with a forest green, that matched Charlie’s eyes, onesie with black lettering. The lettering saying ‘And so the Adventure Begins’. The background had with trees and mountains. As nature enthusiasts, you thought it would be perfect.

The box had arrived early this morning when Charlie had been in the shower giving you time to hide it. Now you just had to mention you wanted to go hiking with him.

“Hey, sweetheart,” Charlie spoke, kissing your forehead as he walked into the home. His first instinct to grab a snack after his workout, “How was your nap?”

“Energized me. Hey, are you too tired to go on a short hike?” You questioned filling a glass with water to hand to him. His smile was thanks enough as he tugged you to sit in his lap.

“We haven’t gone on one in quite a while. What brought it on?” Charlie asked, wrapping his arms around to finish his protein bar. His chin coming to rest of your shoulder familiarly; you relaxed into his chest.

“It’s a nice day. We’ve been cooped up in the house for a while. Just wanna get out.” You replied heart doing a flutter when his arms wrapped around your midsection.

“Let me get a few things,” Charlie spoke gently, pushing you up to the job to the spare bedroom. The closet kept the supplies you used for hikes, like the first aid kit that he started bringing after you cut your knee once.

As he collected the items, you quickly changed into clothing acceptable for the hike and shoving the things into the backpack. Slipping it on, you met your husband at the front door lacing up your boots. Charlie lifted the house keys in his hands before he tugged you outside, excited for the escape. His hand never leaving yours, you found the well-used trail you had explored countless times.

“Are you feeling better?” Charlie asked, swinging your hands together, refusing to release his grip. His eyes glancing over to catch your expression.

“I think I was overtired.” You replied, keeping your eyes on the trail looking for the rock you wanted to use.

Charlie’s phone was pulled out to make a short video.

“Get yourself a partner that suggests a hike before you.” Charlie slowed to press a kiss to your flushed cheek, “No but seriously. I’m incredibly lucky to have someone like my wife here.”

“Oh, shush.” You snickered as he intentionally pulled you to a stop to press kisses all over your face. His grin and his love would melt the hearts of his followers. Charlie returned the phone to his pocket as he hummed the melody to Unsaid Emily.

“Be right back.” Charlie spoke, squeezing your hand as he jogged to the forest, “I drank too much coffee this morning!”

You couldn’t help the laugh at his blunt words and his typical caffeine intake, but it gave you the perfect opportunity. Using the limited time, you were quick to place the onesie on the rock with the baby hiking boots near the shoulder. You had forgone on asking for a sonogram picture so you could share that moment with Charlie.

“I always forget to pee before we leave the house. Good thing we live near nature.” Charlie spoke jogging closer to where you were hiding the items behind you.

“Do you think green or mine?” You asked, bringing an expression of confusion on your husband’s face. He stepped closer halting when you stepped to the side, “I think yours. I love your eyes.”

Charlie was frozen entirely at the surprise you had planted in his short absence. He didn’t even notice he had moved until the soft cotton of the onesie brushed his fingertips. With his attention solely on the boots, he hadn’t seen you had a stepped up a camera to catch his reaction.

“Are those…?”

“They won’t need the boots in our arms, but I thought we could match.” You continued shifting with the camera to catch his wonder-filled gaze. His expression melted your heart as he gently caressed the side of the boot from his crouched position.

“We’re-“

“-getting a new hiking buddy.” You finished beaming as Charlie lunged you swing you in his arms, “Okay Char. I’d prefer not throwing up again.”

Charlie stumbled back glancing around the area, “I love how you surprised me, but what if you had fallen? I can’t have my loves hurt.”

 “Charlie. We’re on an easy trail, not Everest. I’m fine.” You deadpanned watching his cheeks flush at your response, “But I would like to get home. I’m so hungry.”

September 2020

Emma Roberts, Sasha Pieterse, Bindi Irwin, High School Music alumni Ashley Tisdale, and Hilary Duff were only a handful of celebrities welcoming babies. If hiding your marriage with Charlie was hard during filming, hiding the pregnancy was harder with your friends. Especially hitting seven months with a big bump concealed with camera angles.

You wanted to keep the news under wraps, so the media focused on the show, not your pregnancy at an early age. Of course, your friends were suspicious of Charlie’s posts and stories, not showing their favourite Gillespie. Carolynn knew just by the fullness of your face barely noticeable to the others.

“Oof.” You breathed wincing at the sharp kick to your ribs from Sprout. Charlie’s concerned gaze glancing over from his interview.

Swiftly rubbing the area, the kick happened your fingers returned to flip the page of the pregnancy book. You had grown used to the concern Charlie carried, he always had his phone fully charged on his hikes. Hikes you hadn’t taken since you surprised him with the little boots; it had been a disagreement, but you got where he was coming from.

“I’m fine, Charles.” You spoke, forcing him to turn his attention back to the closing interview. Once he turned the camera off, he rushed over to crouch in front of the couch, placing his hands on your stretched belly.

“Thought we had a deal Sprout.” He cooed caressing the band shirt covering your stretched skin, “Don’t hurt your mama.”

Your face twisted as the baby shifted, while you were enthralled by the fact you were carrying a child it felt like an alien. It was weird feeling something move inside and kick your damn inside like a fucking soccer ball.

“I can’t wait for the baby to be out.” You groaned, hiding the smile as Charlie’s lips pressed against your belly. You couldn’t wait to see him interact with his child.

“I say we name him Luke.” Charlie teased shifting you ahead so he could slide behind you in the usual position. His fingers immediately massaging your stiff shoulders and neck.

“I like Alex better. He’s the best Phantom.” You retorted reaching up to hold his hands, “Sensitive and his sarcasm? Immaculate.”

“We can table the options at a later time.” Charlie quickly replied chuckling as you moved position once more to rest against his chest. His fingers finding their way into your silky hair, pregnancy hormones had sped up hair growth.

“Hey-“ Your words fractured as your phone buzzed with a FaceTime request from Jeremy. Charlie quickly answered with a snicker as your response was cut off.

Jeremy’s eyes narrowed at the sight of you two on your couch, “My wife and I had drinks with our family. Carolynn slipped and told me something interesting.”

You and your husband froze as Carolynn sheepishly joined her husband in their white bedroom with a quick apology. Guess the cat was out of the bag.

“You guys are having a kid?” Jeremy asked, taking in the two actors he had quickly become good friends with during filming. His mind recalling a moment at his wedding when you guys had disappeared for a good twenty minutes.

March 2020

The Shada wedding had been gorgeous and like a dream to see someone you saw as a brother find his other half. Your hand was kept tight in your husband’s sitting among Owen, Tori and Kenny himself. Owen had snuck himself and Tori wine while Kenny turned his eye to the underage drinking.

“Wanna take a walk?” Charlie murmured in your ear as Jeremy and Carolynn made their way around their guests. His hot breath sending a chill down your spine as his left hand came to rest on your thigh.

The romantic atmosphere with the wine you had had during dinner lowered your inhibitions that you and Charlie snuck to the less used bathroom. You two quickly gave evidence that wedding hookups were very real. You managed to sneak back into the reception where dancing was taking place; a perfect story to why you and Charlie were a little dishevelled.

“Hey!” Owen called seeing you two join him on the floor. The wine had blinded his view of the very obvious couple, Owen knew from catching you two what a quickie appearance looked like.

“I think you’ve had enough to drink Bud.” Charlie spoke to the teenager as Jeremy made his way over to his friends, “Congrats Jer!”

“Thanks, man! When will we get the Gillespie wedding we didn’t get?” Jeremy called over the music beaming when his new wife plastered herself to Jeremy.

“Maybe in the next year.” You retorted twirling in Charlie’s arms thanks to the dance lessons of boot camp.

“Oh my god. Little Gillespie was conceived at our wedding.” Jeremy spoke, leaning back to his wife, “You’d be due in November, right?”

Your cheeks burned as Jeremy and Carolynn put the pieces together swiftly, “Well can we keep this a secret until October? I don’t want to take attention away from the show.”

“You should tell the others.” Jeremy suggested squeezing his wife’s hand, “They might think Charlie kidnapped a baby otherwise.”

Agreeing to announce to your friends Charlie had set up a video hangout with Owen, Mads, Savannah, Jeremy and even Kenny. It was in the later evening with the hiking boots out of shot and your shirt and belly below the camera view.

“Hey, guys!” Charlie greeted his friends as everyone entered the video, “Insane how many fan edits there are!”

“So cool!” Mads beamed addressing Kenny, “Thanks for giving me the chance to be involved in the coolest project.”

“You did all the work.” Kenny waved it off, taking in the cast of one of his favourite projects to date. You all meshed together so perfectly even if your character was only recurring like Sav.

“Hey, Kenny can we get your opinion on something?” You asked, gaining everyone’s attention and excitement after only using texting with the group. Morning sickness and fatigue had depleted your desire to be physically seen.

Kenny nodded, leading you to grab the baby hiking boots, “Do you think these are adequate enough to run from the witches?”

It was utterly silent as Charlie raised the little plaque he had ordered. The plaque included the Hocus Pocus witches in front of a cream moon, faces featureless other than eyebrows and lips. The corner had a cobweb with a little spider and just under it said ‘Winnie, I smell…a child’ with the pregnancy test snug in the cut out. Your favourite was the ‘it’s just a bunch of hocus pocus’ under the test.

“No way!” Owen screamed as all hell broke loose with the others. Charlie beamed at the sheer excitement on their faces.

“You’re having a baby?” Kenny murmured with a smile at the touching announcement and acting being involved.

“Charlie suggested the Hocus Pocus theme because we may have kept it to ourselves and our family?” Your voice went up a few octaves as the truth broke free.

“You haven’t had the kid, right?” Mads questioned peering in the background behind you finding nothing.

“Hopefully we have our hiking buddy in November on the due date. I don’t want to overdue, this kid weighs a ton.” You moaned snuggling into Charlie’s side, “We defin-“

“Jer’s wedding.” Owen interrupted with narrowed eyes, “You disappeared and came back with-“

“-O there is a child present.” Sav joked getting Mads to scoff at her, but everyone made a face as they recalled your disappearing act.

“Oh, your house must be filled with gross food combos. I hope the baby gets Y/N’s looks and taste buds.” Mads called hanging up before Charlie could retort at her. His eyes rolled, but the smile told another story, but slowly each of their friends said their goodbyes.

“At least Owen won’t go spilling the news to anyone.” You snorted playing your hand on Charlie’s large one splayed across your tummy.

You had a lot to thank Kenny for too. Without being cast by him, you wouldn’t have met your friends which in turn would mean you wouldn’t have been at Jer’s wedding. That would have been tragic since his marriage is the sole reason you had a child due in two months.

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[mm2305]

All That Matters

Characters/pairings :  Ethan Ramsey & Olivia Valentine

Words/Genre :   2.8 K / Angst , Romance

Warnings : mentions of death,injuries

Summary : Olivia gets seriously injured. How does Ethan react?

A/N : Hello again! This fic was written per @groovypalacehorselover​ ‘s request. This is the first time I’m attempting to write angst , so I hope this comes out good enough. A big THANK YOU to @romewritingshop​ for her help in editing this. Moodboard inspired by @potionsprefect 's ones.

Disclaimer : all characters and pictures belong to the rightful owners

My Masterlist

Enjoy!

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

Ethan was frantically rushing through the hospital corridors. Dread and anxiety flooded his mind that he could barely breathe. There was no way he would allow it to stall him. Pushing himself to go as fast as he could to get to the farthest wing of the hospital, he slammed the double doors ahead open.A group of interns were nattering amongst themselves,oblivious to the frantic attending approaching them. A thundering voice broke them out of their trance. 

"OUT OF MY WAY!", he boomed at them, as he was approaching closer. 

The interns, startled by him, broke apart allowing him to pass through them. What made them wonder though, was the clear, unadulterated emotion in his eyes. He looked as though his world was slowly crumbling around him. And they weren't wrong. 

2 Hours Earlier

Olivia was finishing up her rounds for the day. In a few hours she’d be home, snuggled with her favorite throw blanket, watching a movie on Netflix while Ethan would complain incessantly  about her taste in movies. She had to visit her last patient, a sweet seven year old boy named Nathan. 

His diagnosis was a difficult case to solve and this made young Nathan restless. His mom came to stay with him in the evening  but she had to go to work early in the morning. The poor boy was often bored out of his mind, taking adventurous strolls through the hospital, without telling anyone. There were several instances  that she and a few nurses had to track him down, but still Nathan continued doing that. She couldn’t really blame the poor kid. Today was just one of those days. 

Olivia walked to the nurses' desk, to ask about Nathan. 

"Hello Sarah, did you happen to see Nathan? I think he snuck  out of his room again." 

"Dr Valentine! No, I haven't. Maybe you should ask Mary. She might have an idea where Nathan is.", The nurse replied with a soft smile. 

"Okay, thank you!"

She left the reception in search of Mary. Before long, she found her in one of the halls. 

"Hi Mary, I was wondering if you've seen Nathan?", She inquired politely. 

"Dr Valentine! I was just looking for you. I think I saw the kid heading towards the halls leading to the new wing." 

"The new wing? Isn't that under construction?", Olivia asked, an audible tremor in her voice. 

"Yes?" 

"Oh God! Come on! We need to find him now!", she said, a feeling of worry and dread filling her. The new wing Bloom designed was essentially a plan to enlarge the facilities available for research. From what she heard, it wasn't safe to roam around the place without any safety gear. It was too dangerous to go there, especially for a young boy like Nathan, but she won’t let him fall to harm. 

After a few minutes of darting around and asking everyone they encountered, Mary and Olivia got the same response. They saw a kid among these halls at some point. By the time they reached the site, Olivia and Mary began calling for him. 

"Nathan? Are you here?" 

"Nathan? Nathan come here, it's me, Dr Olivia" 

No answer. Either he wasn't here or he just couldn't hear them clearly. The two women began to slow down their pacing steps as they carefully tread through the congested building site, all while calling for the young boy. 

"Dr Oliv?", They heard a small shaky voice calling. 

Olivia knew it was him and rushed towards the direction of the voice. Mary, hot on her heels, noticed him first. 

"He's there!", She exclaimed, running to his side and checking over him for any injuries. 

Olivia began walking towards them, relieved that Nathan was okay,when she heard a cracking noise. She quickly realized that the wall, they were close to, was about to collapse! With a sudden burst of adrenaline, she rushed towards them and pushed them away from the wall. She smiled softly at them before she heard a bigger *crack* and everything went black. 

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

MEANWHILE

Ethan was sitting at his computer, in his office, looking through files and updating the information onto his computer. Truth be told though, he was too distracted by a certain resident to concentrate on his current task. 

Him and Olivia have been together for a little more than three months and he was happier than he had been in a long time. She really had the power to turn the worst of days better with just a smile. 

She started coming to his house after work, in fact it’s almost like she had permanent residence in his heart and place. She spent most of the time there with him, just being together. Cooking, watching tv, playing ridiculous board games she always won. It was all very domestic and Ethan always felt his heart swell with love for her, at how at ease she felt being with him, in the place he now considered a home. 

Glancing at the clock, he realised their shifts would end soon but he was too impatient. With a soft sigh, he turned off his computer and walked out of his office ,towards the front desk. 

"Good afternoon, have you seen Dr. Valentine?", he asked a nurse he knew she frequently talked to. 

"Dr. Ramsey! Yes, she was here a little while ago, she was looking for her young patient, Nathan. He has a habit of sneaking out of his room, you see - Wait a minute please!", she paused to answer the phone. 

"Bloom Edenbrook Hospital how can I help you? Mary? What?! I’m sending the team right away!" 

The woman, Sarah, turned to Ethan with a flurry of panic coursing in her eyes. 

"Dr Ramsey, it was the nurse who was with Dr Valentine. They found the boy at the construction site! When they reached for him… a nearby wall collapsed on them!" 

"What!? Oh my… No no no… Wh-What else did she tell you? Tell me!", he demanded, his eyes glossed with panic, the usual pink hue of his face drained as he turned as white as a sheet, his breathing in short stuttered gasps. 

"Olivia ... was hit worst." Sarah whispered on the verge of tears. 

"Page Mirani, Delarosa and the best nurses this damn hospital has! Understood! I'm going there now!"

Before she had a chance to reply, he was already off in search of his Olivia. 

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

PRESENT TIME

Ethan continued running through the maze of corridors, his eyes full of unshed tears. 

"Not her, please not her! Don't take her from me! Please!", Ethan wasn't by any means a religious man, but the fear of losing the woman he loved made him pray to whoever could hear his agonized thoughts. The one person on this earth for whom he would give anything for, was again in grave danger. Memories from the last time she was at the brink of death flooded his mind, knocking the breath out of his lungs. How fragile she looked and to know he couldn't do anything to save her, other than watch her become progressively weaker and her radiant smile, the one that could lighten up a whole room, fade away. "No, don't do this right now Ethan. Focus on her. Only her.", he thought, nodding to himself while pushing the last hurdle of doors open. His eyes quickly scanned the room, trying to locate her. 

He finally saw her. 

She was lying on the floor pieces of rubble around her. She was unconscious, her eyes closed, her golden hair around her face.  As he rushed to her side, whilst avoiding the scattered materials, he saw a small patch of blood on the side of her head. 

He knelt beside her, being careful not to move her, in fear of causing more damage to her body. He took her small, still warm, hand in his and softly began to stroke her cheek and hair. 

"Darling? Olivia? It's me, Ethan. Please Olivia, can you hear me?", his voice wavered at the sight of her blood on his fingers from stroking her hair and a few tears were finally breaking through. 

Her eyes fluttered as a soft little gasp left her lips. 

"E-Ethan?", she whispered, her voice hoarse and barely audible. 

"Yes, Love it's me."

"I… it hurts.. I can't…", she croaked but it was too difficult for her to breathe properly, the dust hovering in the air wasn'tmaking this any easier. Ethan noticed this and pushed her head slightly back, to allow her to breathe better. 

"Shh darling I know… I'm here love, I'm not going anywhere...Please sweetheart don't give up on me… please…I can't lose you", Ethan whispered, stroking her cheek softly, trying to be strong for her. 

Olivia fell unconscious once again, her chest taking short ragged breaths. He pried his eyes away from her to look around the room. A woman was in the corner with a crying child in her arms, trying to comfort him. 

" Hi… Are you okay? Did you get hurt?" he asked them as he approached them. 

"Nothing too bad. Might just be a sprained wrist and a couple of scratches. Nathan’s fine too, just shocked. Dr. Valentine…. she … she got the worst of it.", she replied with tears in her eyes. 

Ethan didn't have a chance to reply as the team arrived. They immediately got down to work, not even hesitating to lose a minute, paying Ethan no attention. 

"Get her on the gurney carefully! One mistake and you're fired!" Zaid commanded, with a fiery stern voice at the team of nurses. 

"Zaid, she's got a cut on the side of her head and she's bleeding. I don't see anything too serious but we should order a scan. Shortness of breath indicates one or two fractured ribs and her left ulna and radius might be broken, given the swelling.", Ines said with evident concern and fear thick in her voice. 

"Let's get some scans and see exactly what's going on", Zaid replied, trying to be as calm as possible, in this case. Olivia was his colleague,but more importantly she was his friend and he wouldn't allow anything to happen to her. Not on his watch. 

"I'm coming with you!", Ethan interrupted their conversation. 

"You're not in the right state of mind to help her now!" 

"Zaid’s right about this. She needs you to be calm and focused when she wakes up.", Ines told him resting a comforting hand on his shoulder. 

Ethan had no choice but to reluctantly agree. 

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

Several hours later, Ethan was pacing anxiously in front of the room Olivia was checked into. The night doctors were there checking on her. As soon as they heard what happened, her friends joined Ethan in the waiting room, to hear news about her condition. Sienna when she saw her best friend in that state, immediately broke down, Aurora and Elijah trying to comfort her. Bryce, Rafael and Jackie, were mostly silent, their minds running through endless scenarios of what could happen to the most courageous woman they knew. 

She had a broken hand, three broken ribs; one of which was pressing too close to her lung; causing her difficulty in breathing smoothly. This required a minor surgery, which was conducted by Harper herself. She wouldn't let anyone else touch the woman she had come to consider a friend. Her head injury, thankfully, wasn't too bad, but there was a possibility of a mild concussion. The whole hospital was there to help Olivia in whatever way she needed. From nurses to interns to anyone she had always been kind to. 

Now, Ethan was waiting outside of her room alone, because her friends left a few minutes ago. She wouldn't wake up for a few hours and they made sure she would be completely okay before they left. Besides, they knew that Ethan wouldn't leave her side. That is, once he got to finally see her. 

Thirty agonizing minutes later, he was finally allowed to go into her room. His eyes glided across  her small form on the hospital bed. The side of her head was wrapped in white gauze, because of the injury there. Her left arm was in a cast and placed on a pillow to make her more comfortable. She was hooked to an IV, her body seeming too delicate on the hospital bed. Her face was in a serene slumber, her body was still under the influence of the drugs she was given during and after her surgery. 

Ethan took her soft hand in his, kissing her knuckles and looking tearfully at her. 

"My love… You scared me so so much… When that nurse told me you were hurt… I thought I was going to lose you. Again.", He started talking to her, even though she couldn't hear him, he was baring his heart to her. Letting the tears he was holding on to fall. 

"Finding you there, lying unconscious… was unbearable. Knowing that you may be gone forever, never being able to touch you, or see your beautiful smile, hear your awful jokes again… I’ve never believed in a higher power, but if there is a being that saved you, then I am grateful. Because, without you, none of this matters. You're my whole world Oliv. And this world means nothing to me if you’re not here darling", he finished , laying a soft kiss on her lips. 

He stayed with her for a few hours, having no intention of leaving her, but Naveen forced him to go get a coffee and something to eat. Of course, Naveen promised he would stay there with her while Ethan was away. 

On his way back to her room, he encountered Leland Bloom. "Great, just who I wanted to see", Ethan thought, resisting the urge to roll his eyes. 

"Ah Dr. Ramsey. I was just coming to find you. How is Dr. Valentine?", he asked with a facade of interest. 

"She’s in her room resting. Still unconscious though, because of the anesthesia from her surgery. Now if you'll excuse me", Ethan curtly replied, walking past Leland, anxious to return to her room. 

"I was hoping to come with you, actually. I wanted to ask you, will she make a full recovery?"

"Not that it's any of your business, but yes, in a couple months she will probably be alright.", Ethan gritted his teeth, retraining his seething anger at how intrusive this man could be. 

"Probably? You're not certain? If her recovery takes so long, then she will be left behind in the hospital's advances. Pity… she was actually going to be one of the key assets to the progression of the hospital's success.", Leland said, not having noticed or probably caring about Ethan's expression. 

Ethan couldn't believe what he was hearing. The way he spoke of Olivia. His Olivia. A human being, as though she was nothing but a tool to be used. He clenched his fists, blood coursing through his veins, ears ringing, face and neck flushed red with anger, trying to resist the immense urge to punch him square in his arrogant face. 

"How DARE you talk that way about a human being who was seriously hurt? She could have been fucking killed and all you have to say is that she would be an asset to the success of the hospital? What kind of person are you, really? Do you see anything beyond your own selfish, moronic advancements?", Ethan turned to him abruptly, almost roaring, all the pent up emotions escaping him in this outburst towards this man. 

Leland was stunned at his outburst, mouth gaping open for a second before he recollected himself. The two of them had become the center of attention as the nurses and doctors were forming a small circle, staring at the two men. 

"I would best advise you against speaking to me like that Dr. Ramsey. I'm the one who is in charge here and I expect you to treat me with respect. Now, I understand you are under pressure right now since your partner was hurt, so I'm willing to look past this little tantrum. See you soon, Dr Ramsey." he replied, walking away from Ethan, who was stalking his way down the corridor to Olivia’s room, unbothered by Bloom’s words. 

The only person in this world whose words mattered, laid in a hospital bed right now, and he vowed he would not spend any more precious time away from her. Because despite what life throws at them, all that matters is that his Rookie ... his Olivia ... his true love will be alright. They will be alright. Together.

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

Thank you for reading !!!

[taeyohonic]

stolen dances | chap. V

summary: sometimes supporting the person you love is the hardest challenge you’ll ever face.

pairing: jeon jungkook x fem!reader

rating: m

warning: one/two swear words

additional tags: f2l, ceo!jungkook, bestfriend!jungkook, shrink!yoongi, my best friend’s wedding meets 27 dresses (if the boss/secretary couple had happened), angst-y

words: 1500

links: prev. | next

note: lower case letters intended

chapter summary: a muffin never tasted so bittersweet

can you believe it’s been three years? i miss you army

you can’t help the bittersweet memories flooding your mind at jungkook’s tweet. it’s been such a long time since bangtan stood in front of their fans – performing their music to the people who adored them with all their hearts.

you, yourself, were part of this crowd, more times than your bank account wishes to remember. their stage presence was so enticing, so alluring, you could not not fall in love with them.

jungkook shared some pictures in his tweet, old photos of jin and him demolishing a plate of deep-dish pizza in chicago, of jimin and taehyung posing in front of their pop up store in seoul, and one with all four of them bowing to the crowd in tokyo dome.

there is a smile on your face – not because you think about their shared journey, but because your best friend chose photos of events that you attended. sure, you hadn’t known them back then. but it can’t be a coincident that you have similar pictures – granted from another perspective – on your own camera roll. it makes you miss him.

“what’s going on?”, yoongi asks as he slides your coffee across the table. your starbucks is full of people, but namjoon, yoongi’s dear friend, works here. so, there is always a spot cleared for you. you don’t mind the special treatment as you sip your white mocca.

“just thinking”, you mumble, warmed by the caffeine.

“that can’t be good”, he says and sips his iced americano. he looks as tired as you feel. yoongi is recording his second mixtape right now. so, after he finishes his work talking to people about their problems, he starts rewriting, taping, recording, mixing and editing. no wonder he looks like death.

“i have you know that i’m actually thinking 67 percent of the day.”

“that can’t be good as well, ______. please use your brain more often – it might evolve with training.”

you gap at his audacity. “you do know i’m not paying you to talk me down, right?”

yoongi’s eyes smile while his lips are still half asleep. “you’re not paying me right now, _____. we are just friends meeting up for coffee before we have to… be a part of the working class.”

“i still can’t believe i get to see beautiful, brilliant, boisterous butterflies”, you say. your friend answers with an unattractive snort as his hands move into his thick, bleached hair.

“and i can’t believe you’re getting paid to watch bonkers, brackish, boring butterflies.”

you look away as you see his biceps flex. when did get this muscular? it takes a second for you to register his insult. maybe you need another coffee before leaving.

“i do have to care about my class as well, yoongi. it’s not all sunshine and butterflies. it’s also children’s snot and education.” still, you’re not making eye contact. if this was a therapy session, he’d ask for you to look at him, to ask why you’re feeling uncomfortable. but here, you are… just his friend.

“your work is important, _____, i know”, yoongi answers honestly. he knows how much you love these animals and children. and it is a big deal that seoul’s butterfly exhibition opens up just for your excursion. it makes him happy to see you this excited.

“and because i know that, i’ll remind you that you had to leave three minutes ago.” what? your eyes rush to your watch, only to widen in surprise.

“damn it, namjoon”, you mutter. your barista friend did take a long time with your order.

“don’t blame joon, _____. we were the ones who missed the train”, your friend reminds you as you put on your jacket in a rush.

“less correcting me, more helping me, yoongi”, you shush at him and make a motion to your heavy bag right next to his chair. “come on.”

yoongi doesn’t know why he agreed to help you carry all the lunch packs to school, he really doesn’t. nevertheless, he gets up and slings the heavy bag onto his shoulder and grabs his half-finished drink.

“let’s go – teacher of the year.”

**

the exhibition is amazing. you feel true bliss walking around the nature themed rooms, all home to one of the most rare, beautiful creatures. the kids hang on their tour guide’s lips as she tells them interesting facts about butterflies.

your phone is a constant companion – the camera roll now filled with funny pictures for the moms and dads to enjoy at the next parent-teacher conference. there are even a few photos of just you with a pink butterfly resting on your shoulder. jisoo, your coworker, is an amateur instagrammer, so the results of her taking your pictures are… really flattering.

now, the kids enjoy their break before you guys leave to drive back to school.

“really, you amaze me, ___”, your coworker says as she sits next to you on the bench – eyes trained on your students chasing around the butterflies.

“why?”, you ask, your attention monopolized by the two boys in a heated exchange over their shared butterfly net.

“getting the exhibition to open up just for our class? after hours? without additional fees?”

you flinch at her words as your heartbeat quickens. “wha- what? jisoo? i-“, you start to stutter, “i thought… you organized that.”

there is a fruit basket waiting on her desk with a thank you note for all her planning. now jisoo, too, looks uncomfortable.

“i didn’t”, she says.

**

it takes you a long time before you reach out. the whole train ride was spent with a pro and contra list on your ipad. then, while you were making yourself a two-person bowl of ramen, you crafted more than one email, only to delete every attempt. you haven’t talked to jungkook for more than five days. that’s the longest period the two of you ever went without seeing each other.

there is still a tightness in your chest when you think about his insult that night on the terrace. at first, you weren’t sure if jungkook realized that he hurt you – admittedly you aren’t the best with communicating your feelings. but your cold responses to his texts the next day must have been enough of a red flag for him to act.

then came the gifts: a triple chocolate muffin, still warm, delivered to your home before you had to leave on monday.

on tuesday, there was a singed copy of the unreleased album from one of your favorite kpop groups.

the next day, there was a poem collection where he scribbled in some commentary. you nearly teared up at that because this used to be your ritual when you first got to know each other: lending books with marked and commented pages for the other to enjoy.

on thursday he was strangely silent – only a single daisy decorated your briefcase.

but now, on friday, he went out of his way to get your class into this exhibition. you don’t even want to think about what that must have cost him.

there is an uneasiness in your fingertips as you dial his number. for one fleeting moment you want to call your therapist instead. but you can’t… because you may have left your whole “cold-shoulder-to-jungkook”-move out of the last session. and you really can’t take yoongi’s probing right now.

he answers after seven rings, breathlessly happy.

“______”

you smile and it’s not uncomfortable.

“jungkook… you didn’t have to”, you greet him and can’t help the endearment in your voice. he picks up on that and chuckles.

“of course, i didn’t… i wanted to.”

“thank you”, you answer, “it was really the highlight of my week.”

you can hear his cockiness at your words. “better than stray kids’ new album?”

“better than your thoughts on contemporary poems”, you counter teasingly. then, there is a beat of silence.

“______”, jungkook begins, “i… i really didn’t want you to think i’m not … or that i wouldn’t… do anything for you. you mean so much to me… it’s a shame i have to prove it to you… it should be… obvious.”

you suck in air as if your life depends on it. his words warm your heart and his awkwardness makes you smile.

“i get that i wasn’t the best of friends… but i’ll improve – trust me!”, jungkook vows with fire in his voice. “the winter collection has been kicking my ass… my family has been nagging about christmas… and the wedding…”

there is a beat of silence you do not dare to interrupt. this is his moment, not your responsibility.

jungkook collects himself fast and continues. “i know how much you’ve done for this wedding, for me… for us… and i want to be more involved… i’ll be by your side for all of next week’s appointments. ms yang already cleared my schedule.”

jungkook wants… to be by your side when you talk to the dj? the cake decorator? when you finalize the seating chart? dear lord.

“let’s spend some quality time together, ____. just you and me… and the wedding.”

you cannot find the right responds as you gap silently into your phone. after a moment, another voice is heard through the speaker.

“ask her if she liked the muffin i baked her.” his fiancée’s words punch you in the gut without ill-intent.

___

hi guys! I hope you are doing well! i had to take my first covid test this week – it was negative but that’s an experience for itself, right? i hope you are healthy and you enjoyed this chapter. i’d really love to hear your thoughts! next up: junkook and the reader tackling some of the wedding preparation… love, dana

taglist: @livewittykid​  @thequeen-kat​ @kagami-s-void​ @goldenclosethobi​ @youwannabelostandnotbefound​ @jinsalpaca​ @bishuthot​ @laabellaavitaa21​ @baekstans​  @jalexad​

[hermannsthumb]

Could you do #40 cancelled holiday party? Thank you!

40. i just found out that a friend of a friend of a friend isn’t hosting their annual holiday party this year, so now how am i going to have my annual run in with you?

from winter writing prompts here

happy xmas eve, if you celebrate it!

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

Newt doesn’t really have many friends, and certainly not enough to warrant a flood of party invitations come December, but for the past few years he’s been able to rely pretty consistently on at least one. Back when the band was still together, his drummer had a pretty cool girlfriend who would sometimes let them tag along as the entertainment for parties around town, and her brother (who was almost as cool as her) ended up liking the way they sounded so much he invited them back to his own parties a couple times. Then he dated Newt’s guitarist, and then he broke up with Newt’s guitarist, and then he dated Newt, and then he broke up with Newt, and it sort of fell apart from there (and so did the band), but the breakup was actually pretty amicable, and he’s never failed to extend the invitation to Newt for his annual holiday bash as a courtesy. And Newt’s never failed to make an appearance. What’s there not to like, you know? It’s free booze, free food, and the chance to not feel like a total loser loner for once. Plus…well. Another reason.

But this year isn’t looking too good for Newt.

“Sick?” Newt says. “What do you mean he’s sick?”

“I mean,” Newt’s ex-drummer says, irritably, “he’s sick. Caught the flu or something. I don’t know, Jackie just wanted me to call and tell you, she didn’t give me any details.”

“Couldn’t he have called me himself?” Newt says.

“No,” Newt’s ex-drummer says, “I told you, he has the flu, he’s totally out of it, man. Party’s off this year. Hey, did you get our Christmas card?”

“What? Oh. Yeah,” Newt sighs. He tacked it up on his fridge: the two women with their arms around each other, one pink-haired, one blue-haired, holding up their cat in the middle like it was their son or something. Clever. Quirky. Newt just makes a generic Tweet mid-December wishing everyone a happy holiday season and calls it a success—less effort. “Yeah, it was cute. It’s definitely cancelled? He can’t just, I don’t know, take some Advil or something and—”

“Newt,” she says.

“Yeah, okay, fine,” Newt says. “Tell Jackie to tell him to—get well soon? Soon enough for New Year’s, maybe? Because it would be great if—”

She hangs up on him. Newt probably deserved it.

He stalks Jackie’s brother’s Facebook for a bit after the phone call to make sure he’s not just lying about the flu to get out of inviting Newt to the holiday bash he’s definitely having. It becomes clear pretty quick it’s pretty legit—he’s made exactly one post in the last few days, and it’s a selfie of him looking absolutely horrid in his bed, advising everyone to not be like him and get their flu shots. Not lying, then. Damn it. There’s not even going to be anything for Newt to crash.

“Damn it,” Newt groans, and slams his laptop shut.

In all honesty, Newt’s not pissed about missing the party itself. He’s pissed about missing the party guests. How else is he going to have his annual spat at the snack table with his mortal enemy, Dr. Bitchy, British, Badly-Dressed Gottlieb?

Mortal enemy is too strong. Rival, maybe? Though certainly not a friendly one. He’s fond of Dr. Gottlieb, really, in some insane, backwards kinda way, like he’s a specimen Newt would love nothing more than to cram under a microscope and study up close. What makes him tick? What makes him scowl like that, yell at Newt—more or less a stranger—like that, attend the same party year after year like that only to stand in the darkest corner like a vampire and avoid every single other person? The first time they met was at the party three years ago, when Dr. Gottlieb loudly accused Newt of deliberately snagging the last cucumber finger sandwich because he somehow knew Dr. Gottlieb was eyeing it up, too, and only did it to annoy him, and it’s only gone downhill from there. Or maybe uphill. He fascinates Newt.

He’s also insanely attractive to Newt. Bitchy, British, Badly-Dressed, but, my God, what a set of cheekbones, what a set of eyes, what a big ‘ole mouth that Newt can only assume would be awesome for kissing. And only a few inches of height on Newt, too; he wouldn’t even need to stretch up that far to test out his hypothesis.

Since Newt has Facebook open, he does another search for Dr. Gottlieb—Dr. Hermann Gottlieb, technically, though he’s furious whenever Newt tries to call him anything other than his full title. If Newt was normal, he’d just shoot the guy a friend request or something. A simple message. He just stalks his page instead, which makes him feel the sting of the cancelled party even more keenly: Dr. Gottlieb doesn’t post, like, any pictures of himself, but the ones he’s been tagged in by his company and someone who appears to be his brother make it very clear very fast that he kinda just got even hotter over the year. He’s started wearing his oversized glasses on a librarian chain, and his haircut—which had always been a severe sort of undercut—has grown out up top to be adorably poofy. Tragic.

He shoots his ex-drummer a text later. Can you ask Jackie to ask about that Gottlieb guy that’s there every year? Like, what’s his deal?

The reply comes later, while Newt is reheating some leftover Chinese takeout for dinner. they’re friends w gottlieb’s younger bro. mostly invite him to be nice.

“Figures,” Newt mutters.

Well, if there won’t be a party at which to have their annual run-in, Newt is simply going to have to orchestrate a run-in himself. The first step is finding out where Gottlieb works.

Newt picks a miserable day to set his plan into action. A snowstorm swept through the city a few days prior, and before the sidewalks were even finished dethawing, a sleet storm followed and turned them into eighty-percent sheets of ice. And then more snow comes. Newt slips and slides all the way to the cafe across from Gottlieb’s humble little robotics research facility, cursing himself for not having invested in proper winter boots yet. Docs are practical and cool, but they could be warmer, and Newt’s are so old the treads are basically nonexistent. He orders himself the most expensive coffee on the menu as a reward for his troubles and claims a chair near the large shop window in front, underneath a hanging fern. He would simply wait and watch for Gottlieb to walk out. The man had to walk out eventually. Lunch break, or coffee break, or even just clocking out for the day. He had to.

“Would you like to see our sandwich menu, sir?” a waitress asks Newt. “We have a new—"

“Nah, no thanks,” Newt says. He doesn’t tear his eyes away from the window. “You don’t have to call me sir, by the way. It makes me feel old. Does a Dr. Gottlieb ever come here?”

The waitress snorts involuntarily; she flushes a second later. “Sorry,” she says. “It’s just that—yes, Dr. Gottlieb comes in a lot, and he’s kind of…”

“Awful?” Newt grins.

“Particular,” the waitress says. “He has us remake his coffee if it’s not perfect enough for him. And we have to write out the whole thing, Dr. Gottlieb, on his cup, every time. He tips really well, though, so we don’t really mind.”

“Has he come in today yet?” Newt says.

She opens her mouth as if to answer the question, but then furrows her eyebrows. “Why do you want to know, anyway? Are you guys friends?”

“Not really,” Newt says. Deciding it’s not worth the effort to explain the complex homoeroticism of his dynamic with Gottlieb, and to random waitress who probably doesn’t give a shit at that, he amends “I mean, yes. Good friends. I’ll see that sandwich menu, actually.”

Newt has a nice breakfast of avocado and egg on a bagel, and pretends to do work on his laptop for a few hours, but—to his disappointment—Dr. Gottlieb doesn’t come in for a coffee. Newt doesn’t catch sight of any familiar dark-haired, scowling men walking in or out of the institute, either. Gottlieb must have off today. Maybe it’s for the best, anyway; Newt’s not totally sure what he would’ve done if he ran into the guy on the street, or how he would have even explained why he’s there to Gottlieb if he did. He was just sort of operating under the assumption he’d figure it out in the heat of the moment. He calls it quits around three in the afternoon, not wanting to walk home in the dark after sunset. “Happy holidays,” he tells the baristas gloomily, and steps out into the snow with one last cardboard cup of coffee.

He mulls it all over in his head as he avoids ice patches and passersby on the way home. Should he ask for Dr. Gottlieb’s number? Is it weird to ask your ex, or even his sister, for the number of a guy you’re sorta-interested in? Newt supposes it’s weird to invite your ex to a holiday party in the first place, but he really wasn’t lying about it being amicable. Maybe he wouldn’t care. He could always just send that fucking Facebook friend request. Or he could just wait until next year. It’s just a year.

He’s so distracted that he doesn’t notice the patch of ice directly in front of his apartment until he’s already stepping on it, and his stomach flips in a way that lets Newt knows he’s just fucked up; his worn-out boot loses traction, his arms pinwheel, his coffee goes flying, and he lands—

In someone’s arms?

Well, even that’s not totally right. He lands mostly in someone’s arms, but he hears a little oof, an exclamation of surprise, and then they both topple over and into a snowbank. The coffee lands somewhere next to Newt’s head. “Bugger,” a familiar voice groans.

Newt sits up. Dr. Gottlieb is laying on his back next to him, wrapped in a green parka and about three scarves. To Newt’s relief, he doesn’t look angry. More embarrassed than anything else. “Apologies,” he says. “You were heavier than I’d anticipated. Or perhaps I was not as strong as I anticipated.”

“I appreciate it anyway, dude,” Newt says.

He gets to his feet, locates Gottlieb’s cane from where it’s somehow landed on the other side of the sidewalk, then tugs Gottlieb to his feet as well. Gottlieb makes a face as he rights himself. “You ought to watch yourself, and be more careful,” he says. “You could break your neck next time.”

“Worried about me?” Newt says. He dusts some snow off Gottlieb’s shoulders. “What are you doing outside my apartment, dude?”

“Er,” Gottlieb says.

He goes a strange shade of pink, and clears his throat. “I fancied…a walk. In the snow. Fresh air. And I just happened to be—er—” He clears his throat again. “I happened to discover you lived here, and my walk happened to take me by. I wasn’t looking for you, if that’s what you’re implying. Or waiting for you. I have better things to do with myself.”

“Really?” Newt says. “’Cause I was looking for you.”

“Oh,” Gottlieb says.

He really is cute right now, with his red-tipped ears, his dumb coat, his dumb scarves, the snow sticking to his back and his poofy hair. Sticking to his long eyelashes. It’s the first time Newt’s ever seen the guy not, like, at least mildly annoyed at him; it’s doing something funny to his heart. “Hey, you wanna come in for a coffee or something?” he says. “Mine kinda spilled, and I could go for another.”

“I couldn’t possibly,” Gottlieb says.

Newt grins. “Come on, I know you want to. It’s cold as shit out and you’ve clearly been out here for a while. We can order a pizza or something, too.”

“Well,” Gottlieb says, and he ducks his head as he finally smiles back. It’s worth the wait, because my God, is it cute, all broad and crooked. Newt has the feeling not too many people get to witness it. “Perhaps for a bit. I was hoping to discuss your latest article with you, you know, and was very put out when I learned I wouldn’t be seeing you at the party this year.”

“Oh?” Newt says. He holds out his hand, and Gottlieb startles visibly a moment before taking it. Newt can feel how cold Gottlieb is even through his thick red mitten—he could use a little warming up. Newt can light a fire in the fireplace he rarely uses…maybe break out some wine…it’ll be nice and romantic… “Did you like it?”

“Not in the slightest,” Gottlieb says cheerily.

“Just what I was hoping,” Newt says. “After you, Doctor.”

[vivilove-jonsa]

Young at Heart at Oldstones

Since we have some lovely Jonsa-themed WIP Wednesday headers for Modern and Canon fic both, I’m going to share a couple of different things that have been sitting in my big Maybe file collecting dust.  (You can find the Modern AU Headers here)

I don’t see much fic of Jon having a relationship with his grandmother so that was partly what sparked the idea for this one.  Someday, I’ll get enough of it done to start posting on ao3 but here’s a good little bit of it.  

****

“I don’t know about this, Mom.  We’ve not spent much time together since I was a kid.  What do I even say to her?” Jon asked as he had the phone cradled between his ear and shoulder, searching for a clean shirt.

“Just talk. She’ll be happy you came to see her.”

“Yeah but it’s going to be awkward after about five minutes.”

“You can handle a little awkward, can’t you? You’re not a kid anymore.”

She was right. He wasn’t. He was twenty-three and a graduate student at Riverlands University. He could give an hour or two of free time to his grandmother and not whine about it being a sacrifice. “I’m going…once I find a clean shirt.”

Lyanna laughed through the phone, making him smile to hear it. “I know it’s thirty minutes away but it’ll mean so much to her, Jon. I call her here and there but you know it’s…well, it’s awkward with us.”

He knew that. How could it not be awkward? Considering the circumstances of his conception and birth and the strained relations that had arisen between more than just his mother and father, he felt his mother was quite thoughtful for even bothering to call his paternal grandmother.

Speaking of which…

“You know, she has three kids who could visit her.”

“Yeah, she does and none of them visit. Your Aunt Dany is young…”

“Barely younger than me!”

“But she’s always been her father’s daughter at heart and she still blames your grandmother for the divorce.”

“Oh, yeah because Aerys is such a gem,” he said sarcastically.

“Families are complicated, Jon.”

“Tell me about it.”

“Anyway, Viserys can’t visit.” No, his sociopath of an uncle wouldn’t be visiting his mother.  Hard to do when you’re behind bars.  “And your father…”

“Is a self-absorbed asshole who found a retirement community for his mother four hours away from where he lives.” He heard his mother’s sigh and felt guilty for dredging up hurtful things. “Sorry.”

“It’s alright. You’re not wrong. She’s so excited you’re coming, Jon. I hope you can enjoy the visit, knowing that at least.”

“Yeah, I’m sure it’ll be okay. Love you.”

“I love you, too, sweetheart.”

** 

Oldstones Retirement Community was not a nursing home although he’d thought of it as one. He’d pictured some old depressing building resembling a hospital with blank eggshell white walls, dingy tiled floors and musty-smelling, hospital-style rooms.

Therefore, Jon was pleasantly surprised to see it was indeed a community, a neighborhood for the elderly with rows and rows of neat individual bungalows with their own little postage stamp yards spread out in an arch around a larger one level ‘community center.’

However, in order to get a pass to enter the gated section where those bungalows were, you had to check in at the center first.

Parking out front, he walked inside the center to get his bearings, the whoosh of the automatic doors giving him a blast of air conditioning on the exceptionally warm autumn day.

He caught sight of a young woman in navy blue scrubs holding the arm of an elderly man as they walked along. Thinking she might be an employee of the center, he approached.

“Hi. I was wondering if…”

His words and his train of thought were effectively stopped in their tracks when she turned towards him with forget-me-not blue eyes and waves of auburn hair.

“Oh, hello,” she replied, a musical lilt to her voice as she looked at him expectantly.

Damn, she was beautiful. She was around his age, maybe a couple of years younger. Could she already be a nurse? Or just an assistant here? 

There was a pattern to her scrubs, cartoon characters he recognized from childhood including Wiley Wolfe. It was cute. She was stunning.

The old guy beside her cleared his throat irritably and Jon realized he was just standing there staring at her and her scrubs.  It’s not like he didn’t know how to talk to women but he felt his mouth going dry while he was drowning in those eyes of hers.

Her expectant smile began to morph into one of concern as the silence stretched on. Say something! Use your words, you idiot!

So unfortunately, Jon blurted out the first words that came to mind. “I’m here to see Gamma.” 

Those were not the words I had in mind.

The beauty’s lips twitched and Jon felt heat flooding his face. Of course, he’d fall back to what he’d called Rhaella when he’d been two (not that he’d ever stopped calling her that when it was just him and her.)

“I mean, I was looking for my grandmother.”

“Oh, well…do you know which bungalow she’s in or…”

“Reception’s over there, kid,” the old man interrupted curtly. “My granddaughter doesn’t have your gamma hiding under her top either.”

“Grandpa!”

Jon’s red face was getting redder but now.  Hers was, too.  “I wasn’t looking!” Well, his eyes had lingered on her top for a minute there. “I was just…I like the wolf bit,” he said, nodding towards her chest. “Wiley was always my favorite.”

The wolf bit?!  ‘Wiley was always my favorite?’  Gods, you are such a dumbass, he thought, rolling his eyes at himself.

The old guy with his shaggy grey beard shot through with hints of red continued to glare at him.  He had a cane and Jon wondered if he was about to use it on him.  At least, she was smiling.

“I’m sorry for assuming. I just saw the scrubs and thought…”

“No, it’s okay. I’m a nursing student, thus the scrubs.  I just came by to see my grandfather today after my classes were done.”

“Checking up on me for your mother, you mean.”

“You know I want to see you anyway, Grandpa.”

She was still smiling but there was an edge of hurt feelings in her voice, too. Jon didn’t like the idea of anyone hurting her feelings although he didn’t even know her name. Yet.

The old man took the hint though and grasped her hand. “I know, darling. Sorry. They’ll help you out at reception, kid.”

“Yeah, okay. Thanks.”

“Who’re you seeing anyway?”

“Rhaella Targaryen.”

“Rhaella?” he said, his bushy eyebrows raised. “Well, that’s swell. I’m her neighbor, Hoster Tully.”

He held out his hand so Jon shook it.  “Jon Snow.” He looked hopefully towards Hoster’s granddaughter, unable to hide his grin.

“I’m Sansa Stark,” she said, shaking Jon’s hand as well, her cheeks still flushed a lovely shade of pink.  “And I’m glad you have such good taste in cartoons.”

“Yeah, thanks,” he said, grinning wider.  “It’s nice to meet you both.”  Especially you.

“Have a nice time with your gamma, Jon,” Hoster chuckled. Never living down that introduction then.  “The sweet shop’s open. You wanna ice cream, darling?”  

Jon smiled, thinking his grandmother would likely ask him the same question.

Sansa cocked an eyebrow at him and put a hand on her hip. “Do I want an ice cream or is it you who wants one, Grandpa?” she asked, clearly amused. 

“I’m sure you’ll be reminding me of the doctor saying to watch my sweets, huh?”

“Maybe.”

“I've been a good boy, I swear.  I also remember when you couldn’t say no to mint chocolate chip,” he added in a slightly pleading tone.

“I still struggle to say no to it,” she laughed. “Maybe they have a no-sugar alternative." 

"Blech.  Help me out here, Jon."

"I, uh..."  He looked between them both, Mr. Tully with pleading puppy dog eyes and Sansa with her hand still on her hip.  "I mean, one little scoop’s not so bad and I'll bet they have a variety of options with, um...different sizes and calories, sugar-free and...you know I've never been here before in my life, right?"

They both started laughing and he was mesmerized by the tinkling sound of Sansa's as her eyes sparkled.  

"Well, maybe we'll check out the varieties available, Grandpa," Sansa relented, giving Jon a wink.  Hot damn!  "It was nice to meet you, Jon. I hope you enjoy your visit.”

“Thanks. It was nice to meet you, too,” he replied as they continued down the hallway.

Sansa’s a pretty name. Where do you go to school? Riverlands?  Please, say Riverlands. They've got a nursing program there...I think.  Do you come here often? Can I buy you both an ice cream? Can I have your number? Do you have a boyfriend?  I really do like the wolf bit.  

Naturally, he’d think of a dozen things to say as she was walking away, not that he could say most of those things when they'd just met.

With a sigh, he headed towards the reception desk as Sansa and her grandfather disappeared from his view.

“Can I help you?” a woman wearing pink scrubs, a friendly smile and a name tag that said ‘Yaya’ on it asked.

“Yes, I’m here to see my gamma.” He groaned inwardly as her smile widened. “I mean, my grandmother. I want to visit Rhaella Targaryen.”

“Oh, Rhaella! What’s your name, honey?”

“Jon Snow.”

“Okay, Jon Snow, let’s take a look.” She opened a ledger to nearly the back page, her finger tracing downwards. “Do you have an ID on you, Jon?”

“Yeah.”

He grimaced as he pulled out his wallet. It was possible they asked this of all visitors but he had to wonder if his grandfather and uncle didn’t make this necessary for his grandmother. There was still an Order of Protection in place for his grandfather and Viserys wouldn’t be welcome lots of places, particularly around a potentially physically vulnerable population. Well, I’ll bet Old Hoster with his cane can take care of himself alright.    

Yaya looked it over and then smiled, passing him a slip of paper with a word written on it.

“Hippie?”

“Yeah, that’s the gate’s passcode.  Just use the alpha-numeric keypad to enter it and you can pull your vehicle through.”

“Okay but hippie?”

“The residents vote on it once a month.  They tend to go with something that gives them a chuckle.”

“What was last month’s?”

“Prunes.”

“No shit?”  Yaya’s eyes widened before she threw her head back and laughed.  Jon hadn’t meant to curse in front of a stranger but when he thought about the meaning there…  “Sorry,” he said, failing to stifle his answering laughter.

After they’d settled down again, Yaya asked, “Does she know you’re coming?”

“Yeah, she does.”

“Great. I know she’ll be happy to see you. She doesn’t get…” Yaya trailed off, a soft melancholy settling in her warm brown eyes.

“Many visitors, I know,” he said, shifting guiltily. He���d moved here six weeks ago. He could’ve come sooner. “I…maybe that’ll change.”

“I hope so, Jon. Have a nice visit.”

[rantingwriter]

Scarred (Hawks x Reader)

Trigger warning: There is a brief scene of mild torture(?) due to a villain attack and some mentions of blood. Please proceed with caution. 

Synopsis: You get attacked by the Hero Killer stain and in the aftermath a feathered friend comes to your aid.

Heroes always look so glamorous. You save the day, everyone loves you, and you get paid. Simple, right? That’s what the media loved to show the public, civilians and aspiring heroes alike. When in reality…it’s never that simple…People lose their lives, children are left alone, and lives are ruined nearly every day. Not just by villains, but reckless heroes and nature just giving us a vibe check. When you officially became a sidekick, you made it your mission to not just save a person in the moment. You vowed to ensure they would be able to move on. Now, you are standing in front of the first safe house for people who survived disaster.

“[Hero name], How do you feel now that your big project is officially complete?!” A reporter calls out to you as you marvel at the new building.

“Who said I was done?” You flash a big smile; you can’t hide the glee you feel that your dreams are getting put into motion. The media clamors over themselves to get a picture or statement and while the attention is nice, you don’t want to take away from the reason you did this. “I plan to open so many more of these shelters for those who are forced to rebuild their lives after a disaster. I wanted a safe place for men, women, and children to go and find comfort until their lives can get back on track.”

“What if people abuse the system?!” You snap your head to face the reporter who asked such a question. Others pause in their actions as they wait to hear your answer. “What’s to stop people from just staying in the shelter forever?”

“My shelter is not just for housing, it offers therapy, guidance, and even provides opportunity for those who struggle to find work. People need time to heal and I intend to provide them the tools to do so.” This shuts the man down and everyone is pushing forward to try and get more information. “If you wish to learn more, the website is up and there is always a link available on the page of my agency.”

“You heard them, no more questions!” One of your side kicks suddenly appears and helps pave a way through the crowd. You leave the ceremony and rush back to the agency to get the work day officially started. A couple of your hero friends requested your assistance in the ongoing investigation on the recent attacks supposedly done by the Hero Killer Stain. You get in touch with them and agree on a meeting place, leaving the confines of your agency with a swift goodbye to your sidekicks. You take in a deep breath and appreciate the nice weather as you run to meet with the others. Your quirk isn’t very useful in a fight, but you’ve lost count of the amount of people you’ve been able to save and protect in disasters and big fights. This is a big reason why you often jump at the chance to pair up with other heroes who are more fighting types. 

As you continue to hurry towards your destination, you notice some civilians check over their shoulders in a very obvious manner, before scurrying into an alleyway a couple blocks ahead of you. You slow your steps as you approach the entrance and listen closely to confirm your budding suspicions. “You got the goods?”

“Of course I’ve got them, don’t flash that shit around here! We are still in the open!” You peer around the corner and count out the amount of shady dealers involved.

“6? I’m grossly outnumbered…the others should be at the rendezvous now. If I’m quick, I can grab them and come back to put a stop to this.” You take a slight detour to avoid their line of sight and go down a different alleyway. You round a corner and feel a sharp pain hit you shoulder. You don’t have time to react as a second impact sends you to the ground.

“Heroes like you make me positively sick,” your body freezes completely as a growling voice speaks near your ear. “You claim to care about those around you and even open up shelters for the aftermath of villains…yet you turn tail and run when given an opportunity to prevent a crime.” You can’t move, it’s like you’ve been paralyzed completely. “I wasn’t planning to kill today, but I think I’ll make an exception for trash like you.” You feel the need throw up with the amount of fear in your body. The knife in your shoulder gets yanked out and immediately dragged slowly down your back just left of your spine. You can’t even find it in you to scream from all the pain. Your uniform quickly soaks in the blood and turns the material dark. It’s a sick miracle that you’re still conscious. He starts to cut wildly and at random all along your back and limbs, you try to move even an inch, but you are truly paralyzed. You start to disassociate from the situation, try to calm yourself and think of a means to escape this. You are immediately brought back when he jams the blade into your side. You finally find your voice as you cry out loudly in pain, he quickly covers your mouth to prevent any more screams. “Damn that wasn’t deep enough, let’s try that again.” He grabs a fresh blade from his arsenal when a familiar figure drop kicks the killer off of you. It’s the heroes you were trying to meet with. They must have heard that last scream. Two of them fight the Hero killer away as a third party looms over you, feathers fluttering around you.

“Don’t worry kid, I got you,” Hawks effortlessly lifts you off the cold ground. The blood loss catches up to you and your consciousness fades to black.

When you wake, you can tell you are in a hospital. You feel like shit and it’s as if your body is on fire. You are also nauseous, though you doubt there is anything in your stomach to lose at the moment. You can hear some rustling and what feels like a gloved hand taking yours. You try to will your eyes back open, but you end up going back into the void for a bit longer. You aren’t sure how long you are left floating in that endless sea of black, but when you do finally wake fully it’s just as dark outside. At least now, you feel a little less like death. 

You try to move your fingers, your right hand is feeling a bit numb and your left is in something. You feel incredibly stiff and in all honestly it's hard to move. You manage to get your head up and find someone holding your left hand. It’s hard to tell who until you blink away the blurriness and find it’s Stain. You feel panic overcome your heavy body and try your hardest to move, it’s hopeless. Right as his knife flashes before your eyes, you wake up and start fighting against the doctors trying to help you. “Please calm down, you are not in danger!” Your quirk nearly activates when you finally realize Stain is not there. You relax a little and your heart monitor stops freaking out, they check your vitals and inform you that Recovery Girl paid a visit to repay you for all your nonmedical visits to her office during school to bring flowers to brighten up the room. 

They release you from the hospital the next day with some bandages still wrapped around your arms and underneath your shirt. You are in civilian clothes now and poor hair was butchered from the frenzy in the alley and the doctors trying to operate. You don’t really have a hair stylist and the only person you know who is decent with shorter hair is Best Jeanist. You call him up and he happily accepts the challenge to fix your hair. You don’t know if everyone knows about the attack, or if they managed to put Stain away. You feel a surge of fear jolt through you and the hairs on the back of your neck raise at the mere thought of his name. You flag a cab and reach the agency of Best Jeanist in no time. He meets you at the door and is quick to get started on fixing the gross state of your locks.

“Did they do anything for you while you were comatose?” He looks disgusted as he starts clipping away some tangles that are too far gone.

“I’ve been wondering the same thing…” You watch in the mirror as he cuts your hair to the shortest length it’s ever been.

“When I heard the Hero Killer attacked you, I honestly couldn’t believe it. You have always embodied the essence of a hero, why would he target you?” You tell him the events prior to the attack, “that doesn’t make you any less of a hero. You recognized your weak points and made the best decision in the moment.” You feel a slight pain in your stomach at the word weak.

“Yeah…” He finishes up his handy work and lets you loose. “How much do I owe you?”

“Nothing, you’ve been through a lot. Go home and get some rest and we’ll call it even.” He smiles with his eyes and you thank him for his help. You go to your apartment and text your hero friends that you are out of the hospital and would be taking it easy for the time being. They all send some form of support and words of comfort as you go to shower. Before you enter the shower, you inspect the damage on your back in the mirror. Thanks to recovery girl, your back doesn’t resemble that of an old cutting board. There is one long scar from where he dragged his knife down the length of your back, one from where his knife entered your shoulder and one on your side from where he attempted to complete a finishing blow. As you wash you body and feel the scarred tissue, you feel sick. Your mind floods with the memories of the attack, the residual fear is enough to make your body tremble. You nearly drop to your knees when you hear a strange thud come from the other room. The residual fear morphs into sheer terror. Did the hero killer find you? You leave the water running and exit the shower quietly. You wrap your towel tightly around your figure and grab something hefty to throw at the possible intruder. As you open your bathroom door, you can hear someone rummaging through something. You squeeze the object in your hand, run out of the bathroom, and chuck it at the intruder.

“Ah!” You watch as a bunch of feathers explode out and knock the object away. “Uh…hi?”

“Hawks?!” The feathers part to reveal the winged hero holding some of your leftover chicken. “When…What?!”

He chuckles sheepishly, “Sorry about that kid, I wanted to check on you and since you were in the shower and I was hungry…” You sigh, mostly in relief, and shake your head. “Nice towel.” You are reminded of your current ‘attire’ and run back to the bathroom to finish your shower. You get dressed in your pajamas and return to the kitchen drying your hair out. “Feel better?”

“I guess,” You snagged a piece of the leftovers he pulled out and sat on a barstool. Hawks has been friends with you for a couple of years, you’ve worked together a few times in the past, but this is the first time he has been over to your apartment. “How did you find-”

“How did I find this place? I saw you walking home from work once while on patrol.” He shrugs as if it was a common occurrence. “Don’t worry, I know you value your privacy. No one knows I’m here.”

“You sure?” You nibble the chicken slowly; your appetite was lacking despite being out for a few days.

“Positive, why?”

“Just checking.” You put the food down and stare at it.

“Kid-” You gave him a look reminding him you didn’t like being called that. “you need to eat more than that.”

“I’m not hungry.”

He clearly doesn’t believe you, but he doesn’t push it. He instead drops an overnight bag on the floor and goes to look for your spare bedding for the couch. “Hope you don’t mind, but I need a place to crash for a few days while my house gets fumigated. Guess some bugs hitched a ride in my wings and while I was out for a long assignment they took over. I would’ve asked, but you were kind of unconscious and everyone else already turned me down.”

“I don’t mind, just pick up after yourself and keep your feathers out of my stuff.” You put the chicken away and go into your room to get some sleep, but you find it impossible to relax. You keep seeing the hero killer silhouette in your window, watching…waiting…you give up after an hour, grab a notebook, and just try to work up a plan when you get back to work. If you get back to work. 

After another hour, your door opens to reveal your new temporary roommate in sweatpants and no shirt. “Hey, what are you doing awake?” He saunters in and plops onto the edge of the bed.

“Couldn’t sleep, got a lot on my mind.”

“Still having nightmares?” You raise a brow at him, silently asking him to explain. “In the hospital you were mumbling in your sleep.”

“You visited me in the hospital?”

“Yeah, a lot of people came by. We were worried about you.” That was comforting, “you didn’t answer my question.”

You sigh and fidget with your pen, “yeah, I’ve been having nightmares…it’s like I can see him watching me…waiting for me to let my guard down and finish the job…” You feel your body tremble. You can still see the malice in his eyes as if he was in front of you. A soft, feathery touch brushes your arm as the winged hero moves closer to you. He removes your book from your grasp, tosses it onto your bed side table and wraps one arm around your shoulders, pulling you to him. “I hate feeling so weak,” repressed tears fall as the man holds you close.

“It’s okay to feel scared, no one expects you to bounce back immediately.”

“Bullshit, we both know people expect us to be unshakable and charge into everything head on.” He scoffs, “am I wrong?”

“Just because people expect you to be brave doesn’t make your fear any less real.” He shifts to wrap his other arm loosely around your waist. He half pulls you into his lap as you start to calm down. “It’s okay to lean on people.”

“I lean on people all the time…if anything I should be working harder to stand on my own.”

“You do realize part of your appeal is how well you support other heroes,” he pulls his phone up and shows article after article talking about how adaptable you are and how great it is to see such teamwork nowadays. “You don’t have to stand alone; I think we forget that there is strength in numbers.”

You find some solace in what he said, “I didn’t say I wanted to stand alone…” You can feel the vibration in his chest as he chuckles.

“I know, but you know what I mean.” He rests his cheek on the top of your head. “I’m trying to not so subtly tell you to lean on me from time to time.”

You feel your cheeks grow warm, “I…I suppose I could do that.” He flops over and shifts the two of you so he is a big spoon and you are a little spoon.

“Get some rest hummingbird, I won’t let that bastard near you.”

“Hummingbird?”

“I’ve been wanting to use that one since you hum while you work, but I enjoyed the look you made when I called you kid.” You lightly elbow him and chuckle. “Seriously though, get some rest…we both need it.” You let your eyes slide shut and it was surprisingly comforting to have his arms around you. Maybe you’ll invite him to be your permanent roommate. 

[justaniche]

Never Have I Ever...been blatantly asked to have sex

So here it is, the first chapter of my NHIE rewrite posted on tumblr thank you @cupcakesandtv for letting me know that I actually could post this. I will start working on chapter 2 and will post it as soon as I can!

---

Paxton Hall-Yoshida: resident heartthrob, varsity swim team captain, and all-around nice and pretty chill guy. That’s what his fellow students at Sherman Oaks High think when they see him at least, but I mean come on, he’s definitely double-take worthy and that’s Paxton’s image, unbothered, athletic, and generally unproblematic. That's the issue with images, though, they solemnly capture the full picture.

“You’ve got to be kidding me” the exasperated groan heavy in Paxton’s voice, “they’re really gonna make me retake history?” The question was more for himself than, his best friend, Trent but a response came nonetheless.

“What?” The paper Paxton’s schedule was printed on was snatched out of his hands and Trent swiftly skimmed the page as the dots connected in his head, “Oh, the class from last year, I’m sorry bro that sucks.” He said as he casually handed the page back.

It’s the first day of the new school year at Sherman Oaks High School and the students are settling back into the swing of things. As per usual at this school, the student schedules are emailed to them weeks before school actually starts, but Paxton decided to not look at his until he got to school and that was coming back, rather quickly, to bite him in the ass. He and Trent were huddled at his locker catching up on the last 48 hours since they’ve spoken before heading to their, now apparently separate, classes.

These boys have never been the most studious; you could possibly call Trent willfully oblivious, the former often just letting everything fall as they may, insisting, to the dismay of Paxton, that things would be ‘fine’. With the buzz of anxiety that came with knowing he had to retake a class that was now full of people younger than him fading, Paxton was finally alert enough to realize that the formerly noisy hallways had fallen damn near silent.

“Shit dude, we’re late,” Paxton rolled his eyes. Trent laughed, grabbing his bag and shutting Paxton’s locker.

“Have fun with the youngins” Trent was already walking away with a wink before Paxton could retort back. Well, there goes the plan of attempting to sneak in relatively unseen. Taking a deep breath Paxton shifted into his more commonly known school persona, cool, calm, and drool-worthy while he made his way to class. As Paxton approached the door and heard the teacher beginning his lecture, he didn’t leave time for contemplating his regrettable circumstances. Paxton stepped through the door and made his way to the first seat in sight which was, being on par with the way the day was going, in the front row. Paxton had just gotten settled in his seat and faced the teacher when “Damn” sounded behind him. Paxton, along with the rest of the class, turned to directly behind him to face the girl residing in the seat. No one had time to comment as the teacher added to her remark and tacked it onto his lesson.

“-genocide is not 100. And systemic racism is not litty. As we travel through all of humanity’s most horrific atrocities, I want you to feel shooketh. Thank you. Trust'' as if the intro could not get worse, the teacher dabbed and then proceeded to stumble into the trash can placed beside his desk. Paxton slouched into his seat with a sharp breath intake and a slight cringe, he knew it was going to be a very long year.

~~~

With class finally over, students emptied the room and Paxton followed but stopped smoothly in the middle of the hallway; dropping his bag to tie his shoe and then continued to class.

~~~

The day droned by, only being briefly punctuated with excitement from Trent and persistent stares. When the bell rang signaling the end of the school day athletes and club kids alike made their way to their respective areas. Paxton found his way to the school pool for a much-needed outlet for his energy. Swimming, for Paxton, was like breathing. It came naturally and was a reprieve from everyday stresses. People stared yes, but it was not because of his objective attractiveness and more so because of his fluidity inside the water. In the water, Paxton moved one with it. It seemed as though the water acted as his guide instead of pushing against him. This coupled with the fact that the pool was where Paxton had felt the most comfortable and the most accepted. Yes, he was competing when he swam but it was never a chore; honestly, Paxton would spend all day, every day in the water if he could.

Practice ended, to much of the swimmers’ dismay, and soon after they were emptying the school into the night air, “Later man '' Paxton called to one of his teammates before bounding down the steps. He cut right to his car and reveled in the thought of finally getting home and back into the bed he’d been daydreaming about from the moment he left it, when a voice, calling his name from behind, stopped him in his tracks.

He pivoted on his toes to face, the girl from his history class? Confusion flooded his body as the girl, now introduced as Devi Vishwakumar, began to ramble and Paxton’s face contorted as his puzzlement started to show. Devi could see that Paxton was not connecting who she was to anyone he’d seen and sighed slightly before begrudgingly admitting,

“I was also paralyzed last year?”

Realization fell onto Paxton’s face but it was gone as soon as it appeared. Devi didn’t miss a beat before continuing,

“Oh, okay, great. You are familiar with that.” She took a breath, “So here’s the thing. I’m into you.” She scanned Paxton’s face for any indication that her words affected him, she did not find one and seemingly panicked because she recommenced, stating “Like, I could name every class you’ve had for the last two years.”

Paxton’s face smoothed, two beats passed, and he only blinked. Devi spat out, “But I won’t do that. And I know you’d never be my boyfriend, because you’re you and I’m me,” Paxton rocked on his feet. “-but I was wondering if you would ever consider…” she swallowed and stuttered through her embarrassment “h--having sex with me?”

Several moments of tense silence followed and Devi broke, the words tumbling from her mouth like a busted pipe. “Oh, my God. I’m such an idiot. I’m so sorry. I can’t believe I just did that.” She was turned around, fleeing, at this point potentially to go hide in her room, never to come out again when Paxton spoke up.

“Yeah. Okay.”

“What?” Devi could not believe her ears

“Just sex, right?” Paxton asked

“Just sex,” Devi confirmed

“I’m down, but I can’t tonight” Paxton had a date, with his bed, and also a movie with Rebecca not that he’d ever tell Devi that.

“Wow, okay!” The shock in Devi’s voice couldn’t be hidden if she tried, and she did not even attempt to. “Twist. This is surprising. Looking forward to it. Will circle back about it.” The shock melded into something akin to excitement and that bled from her every word. She stuck out her hand, Paxton looked down at it before hesitantly taking it into his own, she gave him one enthusiastic shake. Her smile was blinding, and Paxton stopped his own upturning lips at the strangeness of the entire interaction. He turned and walked away without looking back. When Paxton made it to the school lot it was practically empty, save for a few other cars, none of which were near his own. He climbed into his truck and tossed his bag into the passenger side, at last, letting himself think about what just happened. His mind replayed the scene in his head and he gave a little laugh, this would not be the first time someone wanted to have sex with him but it was the first that someone had been as bare with it plus the first time someone let their reaction show at his answer. He shook his head because it was not a big deal but when he pulled out of the parking lot and set off on the road home, Paxton could not shake the feeling that was telling that this was going to be interesting.

[talltales]

                             —SHE SAID, “I GUESS I'LL TAKE THIS PAIN, INSTEAD OF YOUR NAME.”            TONIGHT, I WISH I WAS YOUR BOY (RUN AWAY FROM ME, RUN AWAY FROM ME)                                                            request by @yugyxom!!

“roll up the window, please.” his veiled command is emphasized with the tightening of his grip on the steering wheel and the thinning of his lips into a stern line, “the water is getting in.”

she doesn’t quite feel it, soaking slowly into the thin fabric of her t-shirt. the stormy skies prove a worthwhile distraction, rolling over open fields in the distance. the occasional flash of thunder floods the road in cold light; leaves afterimages on the backs of her eyelids—“i need the air.”

“i’ll turn up the a/c.” ever-practical, yugyeom reaches for the dial in the center console before she stops him with a hand, curling it over his until he retreats with a heavy sigh, “you’re going to catch cold.”

she sinks into her seat and shifts to rest sandaled feel on the dashboard.

“i need the air.”

he shakes his head, flexing his fingers tellingly over the wheel. his frustration is a physical thing—he vibrates with it, free hand fidgeting with the window controls. she knows he won’t roll hers up, won’t lock them or do anything that she doesn’t want him to do.

because yugyeom can be kind. in some ways more than others.

“if that’s what you want,” he mutters, gaze flicking from the half-open window to the winding roads leading into the city and an empty apartment with emptier silences occupying every corner.

she busies herself with flipping through the pages of a vacation brochure stuffed into the center console. staring at bright blue pages filled with smiling couples walking along the beach—‘need a get away? find happiness here. make your reservation today!’

she tastes coal.

next page.

“what do you care about what i want?” she wonders aloud, drawing her thumb along the edge of a picturesque view of a cloudless sunset over sparkling waves.

he barely bats an eyelash, though she reads the tension settling in his shoulders with a single look, “stop sniping at me. i won’t fight you.”

her fingers dance over the gaudy, flowing text at the back of the brochure, advertising the name of some beach on the other side of the country. she considers the merit of booking the nearest bus there; seeing if finding happiness is as a simple as walking on a pretty beach.

“no. you’ll just keep breaking my heart because you can’t make up your mind.” yugyeom looks at her instead of the road, and she’s sorely tempted to redirect his attention with a firm hand, “keep your eyes on the road.”

the air turns stale after that, heavy in a way that makes her reach for her collar and pull. she rolls the window down another inch, listens to him sigh.

“let me have my damn window open.”

and he obliges, bristling, because yugyeom only denies her the important things.

traffic slows as they enter the city. she appraises the queue of cars ahead and swears she hears him breathe a curse into the quiet. the glaring of the next cars brake lights are transfixing in the same way those pleasant blue pictures were.

they’re an escape from the tension she feels in her bones, that she knows is mirrored in the careful slide of his hand over the gear shift. he steadies the wheel with his knee and she bites back another reprimand.

after drifting through one block, she hears the dull, mechanical sound of another window rolling down. the crisp scent of summer thunderstorms flows in, and with it, the light shower of cool drops sliding down the polished interior.

it’s a welcome change.

“why’d you do that?” she asks, threading her hands together over her stomach. as soon as they stop again, yugyeom turns his attention to her and she sees it—the glint of his eyes in the meager light offered by passing headlights.

she’d forgotten what it felt like, to feel that focus on her.

instead of answering, he shifts. the hand that had gripped the gear shift moves to her headrest, pressing firmly into the cushion until an indentation forms beneath his thumb, “what do you want from me?”

she keeps her gaze level on him, her voice gentle and lined with steel.

“you can’t live your entire life half, half out. either you’re with me or you aren’t.” the last is said in a whisper, lost beneath the hum of engines and rolling of distant thunder.

i won’t be your dirty secret.

she watches his jaw clench, the peek of his tongue pressing against his teeth before his lips part fully, “you should’ve left me a long time ago.”

“is that what you want?”

she angles herself to face him, sweeping her legs beneath her as the space allows. she feels her shirt sticking to her skin at the small of her back, across her shoulders.

“it’s not that simple,” but his eyes are still on her, fixed firmly as if willing her to understand.

“so simplify it.”

an irritated honk from the car behind them snaps him back. he pulls forward again, before taking the first turn onto an empty side street, headed home.

��i don’t know how.”

she bites her lip to stifle the frustrated sound that threatens to escape. what comes out instead is a shaky sigh that emerges from somewhere deeper than her lungs.

                             SHE SAID, "THEY SHOULD TAKE THIS PAIN                              AND GIVE IT A NAME"

[spaceskam]

What a fabulous list! How about #4 for Boy Meets World (loooooooved this show as a kid!)

BMW 4. Character A has a rule of only dating people for two weeks before breaking up with them until they find a bag and decide they are in love with the owner.

"You are… so good at that.”

“You’re not bad either.”

Alex pushed off the couch and quickly started getting dressed. Michael stayed laid out on the couch and it had Alex so thankful he hadn't brought him to his place. As hot as he was, time was up.

"Where are you going? Stay," Michael said, flashing that charming smile and making grabby hands. Alex looked away and buttoned up his jeans.

"Look, you're cool," Alex said, "Super hot 'n all, but I don't know if we're a good match."

Michael shifted on the couch. "You barely know me, Alex. We've only been fucking around for two weeks. Why don't we go on like an actual date? You know, have a conversation before we dive into each other's pants."

"Kinda late on that front, don't you think?" Alex asked, sparing him one last glance as he pulled his shirt over his head. Michael did not look amused.

"So that's it?" he asked. Alex licked his lips and pushed away the thoughts of how he was good in bed and could make him laugh and could cook annoyingly well. Alex Manes did not do relationships and he wasn't about to start just because someone was good at what they did. 

"Sorry."

-

"Oh, god damn it, Alex! I liked that one!"

"Then you date him."

Alex smiled at Maria's middle finger that was unceremoniously shoved in his face. Liz just giggled on the other side of him.

"You know how Alex is. He thinks he's too cool for romance," she said. He scoffed.

"I don't think I'm too cool for romance. I think I'm young and hot and college is the time for exploring your sexuality. And I want to explore all avenues before I settle."

"Okay, exploring is one thing. Banging everything that is down to fuck is something else entirely," Maria teased as they found an empty booth in the back of the student union. They all slipped in only to find a backpack tucked in the corner. 

"I'm just expressing myself and I always have safe sex, so leave me alone. Whose bag is this?" Alex rambled, gesturing towards it with his head as he reached to dig his veggie burger out of the bag Liz had placed on the table since it was her day to buy lunch.

"Don't change the subject," Maria pressed, "Michael was good for you. Nice, smart, and he likes you even when you're a dick."

Alex rolled his eyes and cracked a smile. "Look, he's just not worth settling down for."

"How do you know? I know him better than you do and you were the one sleeping with him," Liz chimed in.

"Oh, not you too!" Alex groaned, still smiling, "Nah, but for real, did you see someone get up from this table?" 

The girls sighed, "No."

Alex took a bite of his burger before pulling the bag onto his lap and unzipping it. 

"What are you doing?" Liz asked.

"Seeing if there's a name anywhere."

"Dude, don't go through it, just bring it to lost and found."

"And walk all the way to campus police? Who do I look like?" he asked. They both rolled their eyes but didn't prod any further so it felt like they were going to let him continue.

He pulled out a thick, labeled binder and tried to flip through it. All the notes were meticulous and impressive to the point he raised his eyebrows, but there wasn't a name. It was just pages upon pages of math and other smart shit. There was even a tab for a coding class which was wild because he thought he knew everyone who was going into coding. Since that provided no answers, he dropped it back in the bag and dug some more.

He found a pack of bandaids, a tiny notebook full of doodles, a broken up protein bar that happened to be Alex's favorite, and a pair of bulky headphones that were attached to an iPod Touch. 

"Oh, Alex, c'mon, let's just bring it to lost and found," Maria sighed the second she spotted his giddy smile.

"It's for research!"

"It’s probably illegal!”

“Shush,” Alex said, swatting them away as he unlocked the iPod that didn’t have a password, “Who even has an iPod touch anymore?”

“Someone whose things you shouldn’t be going through,” Liz said, giving a sweet smile when he glared at her.

Annoyingly enough, the owner didn’t have any pictures of themselves or even any friends on it. The background picture and the lock screen were both just a Jedi sitting on the Iron Throne that was so dorky that it was almost endearing. When he began going through the gallery, Alex was faced with really old memes mixed in with fucking math memes. It wasn’t until he got to one that was mocking a syntax error, though, that he found himself grinning to the point he had to smack his hand over his mouth.

“Oh no,” Alex breathed, his eyes widening. Liz pressed into his side to peer over his shoulder.

“What? What is it?” she wondered.

“His memes,” Alex whispered, heart thudding in his chest, “They’re funny.”

“Oh no.”

“I think I’m in love.”

Maria, ever the pessimist, rolled her eyes. “You can’t be in love with someone you don’t know.”

“Look, Maria, you don’t get it,” he insisted, “Whoever owns this bag not only has good taste in protein bars, fantastic notes, and is a coding whiz, but he has funny memes. We’re basically meant to be.”

“How do you know it’s a guy?” Liz asked, “Could be a girl.”

“Why are you trying to break my heart? I just fell in love and you’re already trying to take him from me,” Alex accused. Both girls laughed and shook their heads at him. It came perfectly in time to Alex opening his iTunes app to see a flood of late-90s/early-2000s pop-punk that caused him to gasp. “Guys, he has Sum 41, Sublime, Blink, Green Day, The Offspring, Paramore, shall I go on?”

“Yes.”

“No,” Maria corrected, giving a shocked laugh towards Liz.

“Oh my God, he listens to fredo disco, I’m sold, I’m genuinely in love. You said I wouldn’t settle down, well, this person has gotten me to settle,” Alex sighed wistfully. Liz and Maria seemed to both think he was simply being dramatic, but he was serious. If anyone was worth his time and effort, it was the owner of this bag. Who else would he find that was this perfect? “I’m serious!”

“That’s completely superficial. They could be a horrible person,” Maria said. Alex groaned, going back to the home page of the iPod looking at the apps. He had sudoku. Further inspection showed that his high score on expert was 8 minutes. What a fucking dreamboat.

“Well, we’ll see. We’ll find out who this belongs to and we’ll see who’s right and you can apologize at my wedding,” Alex decided. 

“Okay, fine,” Maria laughed, “We’ll see.”

-

Before Alex very reluctantly turned the bag into lost and found, he put a piece of paper in it that requested the owner to call him.

Parting with the bag was painful at best, but he didn’t know how else he could figure out the owner unless he turned it in. Besides, if he randomly did run into the owner while still in possession of it, it would be very difficult to explain that he didn’t steal their bag.

That night, Alex dreamed of who the owner could possibly be. He liked to think that he was hot and smart and good in bed. If Michael Guerin sometimes replaced his fantasy then no one needed to know. It was simply who was fresh on his mind. The fact was that in two days tops, Alex would get a call and he would find the love of his life. Simple as that.

Except the call never came.

“It’s been three days! He had to have seen it by now,” Alex grumbled, pouting helplessly as he walked between Liz and Maria.

“I guess it just wasn’t meant to be,” Maria said, squeezing him in a side-hug even though she was smiling.

“Which is so unfair,” Alex groaned, dragging his feet even more.

“Maybe he’s in one of your coding classes and has your number already and is scared to call you,” Liz offered. Alex furrowed his eyebrows.

“Why would they be scared to call me?”

“Maybe they’re straight. Or a girl. Or not looking for a relationship,” Maria chimed in. Alex pouted.

“I can’t believe I’m already gonna die alone.”

“Such a drama queen.”

As pathetic as he felt, Alex made his way to class and decided to check out every person there. He had taken a picture on his phone of the bag which turned out to be genius since he could easily compare it to everyone in there. Sadly (or maybe not since none of them were his type), the owner wasn’t there.

His last, ridiculous decision was to wait outside the classroom until the next class to see if anyone in that class had the bag. He sat there like a creep, staring a little too intently at each bag that passed. He couldn’t figure out just why he was so fucking desperate. Well, yes he could. There was something about that stupid bag that just felt like it was meant to be. He wanted that damn happy ever after.

How was he supposed to know that he already knew the owner?

Alex felt his stomach drop to the floor as he saw the bag on the back of a very familiar curly head. He ducked behind a stack of books before Michael noticed him waiting and let himself panic for a couple of seconds. Of course. Of fucking course. 

“Code red,” Alex hissed into his phone after calling Maria and Liz in a group call, “Code motherfucking red.”

“What?” Liz asked excitedly.

“I found the owner of the bag,” Alex said, pausing for dramatic effect, “It’s Michael.”

“Ha!” Maria said, “I knew it!”

“You did not!”

“Well, I knew he was good for you. Apparently, you think he’s good for you too, you just were too busy trying not to get to know him that you didn’t notice,” Maria pointed out. Alex let out an annoyed whine, stomping his foot on the ground.

“Well, what do I do now? He probably hates me for being a massive dick.”

“Hate to say I told you so, but…” 

“Could you at least wait until I’m not in the worst situation of my life?”

“Is it really the worst?”

The voice that said that addition was much deeper than both Liz and Maria’s voices and caused Alex to jump, dropping his phone and fumbling to catch it. It was a very, very embarrassing thing that was only made more embarrassing whenever he turned to see Michael standing there.

“Call you, huh?” he asked. Alex slowly lifted the phone back to his ear.

“I’ll call you back,” he said, quickly ending the call as he looked to Michael. He’d never felt so uncomfortable before. But then again he’d never really liked someone before. He’d spent days accidentally fantasizing about Michael while trying to fantasize about backpack guy and two weeks before that sleeping with Michael who had made him laugh like no one else even though he really tried to not get to know him. And now he really, really wanted to get to know him.

“So…” Michael trailed off, pushing up onto his toes.

“You didn’t tell me you were dorky on top of being hot,” Alex said instead of anything clever. Michael snorted.

“Dude, I tried. I tried to get to know you. I liked you a lot and wanted to date you. You pushed me away. And suddenly you find my bag and, instead of giving it to me, you write your number down, stick it to my iPod, and give my bag to lost and found. You might just be the king of mixed signals,” Michael said. It took a lot of Alex not to scream. He was a dumbass.

“I didn’t know it was your bag.”

“You saw it multiple times, Alex. Did you really not pay any attention to me at all?” Michael asked. Alex sighed and pressed the heel of his hand between his eyes.

“You know that MTV show from back in the day called Room Raiders where they would go through people’s rooms and decide who they wanted to date based on that instead of, like, looks or personality. Like, you get an inside view of who they are by the way they keep their space, you know?” Alex explained. Michael didn’t answer, so he continued. “Basically, I got that with your bag. I was being a dick to you because I thought that was easiest, but when I went through your stuff, I‒”

“You went through my stuff?”

“I realized I really want to get to know you,” Alex said a little bit louder. Michael glared at him.

“You’re a real dick.”

“I know.”

“And mean.”

“Yeah.”

“And you totally don’t deserve to go out with me or even talk to me again.”

“Fair.”

“But,” Michael sighed, “I guess I could take you paying for a meal as payment for you going through my shit.”

Alex snapped his head up. “Wait, really?”

“Yeah,” Michaels said, smiling, “Maybe you’ll learn a thing or two.” Alex tried not to be too obvious about how giddy that made him.

“Yeah, maybe. So… Tonight, maybe?” Alex said, trying to sound smooth like he did the first time he asked Michael out. Michael just snorted and turned to walk into class.

“Call me.”

No matter how mocking his voice was, Alex still felt like he won the goddamn lottery.

[alias-b]

A/N: Just for the anon who requested a blurb of some Hopper/OC where Jim takes care of a diabetic gal when she goes into hypoglycemia. Frankly, I don’t have the details of this fic ironed out. A LOT is up in the air bc I’m changing everything I had written so let’s just pretend my OC, Lucy, is filling in for Flo bc she has some family thing to tend to for a couple months. This is a taste of them I guess? Fluff and pining? Pancreases suck. Billy/Camille is still my focus! But, this drabble was fun! Also, the first time Jim/Lucy is seeing the light of day. Thanks, anon! XOXO

Signals

   Jim hated her dress.

  Too bold for the morning especially when he was nursing a headache at daylight. Candy apple red like something from the Fourth of July Fair. Dash of citrus orange. Mouths watered for a bite. Tacky print that was vaguely tropical and sketched onto fabric. Loud against all the khakis and blues dancing around her.

  Lucy enjoyed vibrant garments for someone who said very little. Some would say shy until you got her talking. Took months of careful banter to get her joking with the boys. But, the clothes fooled you.

   They made for good conversation when El visited the station once. Not like there was a dress code for the secretary, she was always put together. Colorful and saccharine through all four seasons.

  Today, the fans blew her skirts and perfume all about. Filled the station air with her. Jim readied to drop a file on her desk and caught lashes fluttering up to see his eyes. Hair blown out perfectly against a little desk fan for a look that was pure Hollywood. She stood out under dull lighting, skin bronzed and glittering brown eyes you could sink in.

  And how he resisted.

  “Something for me, Chief?” It wasn’t until a manicured hand tugged at the papers that he realized he’d been hovering there like an idiot for a good minute. “I’ll file it. Still waiting on Callahan’s report.” She tucked her hair, oblivious, and stood to turn to the row of cabinets. Bending over to organize it properly away in the correct place.

  Everything was just so. Neat. Straight as an arrow. Often she stilled to put items in their correct places. Straightening pens an inch apart exactly or adjusting supplies upright. Like she was forcing a messy world to make sense.

  “You finish the-?”

  “Just typed it.” A flick of her wrist plucked a paper up from the typewriter, offering it. Mauve painted lips spread to smile. One that dazzled his boys. “Next one won’t be long.” Jim exhaled out his nose. Took it.

  “Thanks.”

  He hated her dress.

  Hottest week of summer and the air conditioning goes out, meaning battle stations. Every ceiling and desk fan on full blast. Few of the guys brought standing ones from home.

  Papers threatened to fly all over were it not for Lucy smacking anything she could down as a weight. Staplers, pictures, apples. Shiny like her damn dress. Nothing was out of place on her watch.

  “You ever see the movie Seven Year Itch, Chief?” One of his officers had said later at the moment Lucy gasped to stop files from tossing upon Callahan’s desk.

  A whoosh of air threatened the delicate balance. She planted his nameplate down at the same time hands slapped a swell of forms from flying away. Her skirt had flown up tender thighs to expose the garters holding nude stockings briefly.

  Gulp.

  “Would you quit acting like an animal?” Jim whacked the officer’s legs off his desk. “Mrs. Gillespie called again, all yours.” His guy huffed and plucked a hat up to go.

  “You saved my day, Lucy.” Callahan’s nervous laugh caught.

  “You owe me.” Lucy tapped the papers together and offered them. Jim poured himself another full coffee. She stood up and crossed through the sea of desks back to reception. Eyes followed the splash of color. “Handyman should be here in an hour. Unless one of you boys wants to impress me?” Two officers actually shot up to go downstairs hoping to fix the damn AC.

  “Shouldn’t make bets like that, they’ll kill the rest of the power.” Jim had one elbow up on a file cabinet, sipping.

  “Does that mean an early day for us?” She busied away to sort the in and out stacks upon her desk.

  “Afraid those rules don’t apply to us.” Jim shifted when her perfume swept him at the fans beckoning. Beautiful by Estee Lauder. Only knew because he bumped into her buying it at Starcourt a few weeks ago. Ran away after some small talk. “Don’t like it here?”

  “Like it plenty.” Brown eyes made a slow journey to see him over her shoulder. “Never a dull moment.” Jim’s lips quirked at that. A ways behind him, Powell was fiddling with the radio to let music pour over the rustling sounds of fans against pages. Lucy reached for her own mug and Jim caught a bead of sweat trail down the back of her neck.

  “Any left in the pot?” She said.

  “Davis snagged the rest.”

  “Fresh pot it is, then.” Lucy blinked up at him looking flushed.

  No pink in her cheeks despite the heat.

  Jim crossed away to Powell’s desk when she instead began another batch of coffee. Picked up the pot and felt a dull electric sensation pulse through fingers. Gave it a quick wash and waltzed back in. Lucy set it in place and stared momentarily as if the next step was forgotten.

  That same prickling flooded the length of her spine. Heat itched over her scalp as boys chattered behind her. Jim leaned against a short counter and chuckled at something she didn’t catch. Fingers flexed. Picked up a spoon to fill the paper filter. The prickling became heavier. She inhaled deep, leaned into the fan next to her. Swayed a little upon heels. Waves rolling along a distant shore.

  A hand came up to rub her neckline. Felt for the thudding pulse there. Shifting dark, styled locks of hair away.

  Jim’s eyes lifted at the movement of her skirts. The following stillness that took her over. Lucy wasn’t as loud as she dressed, but she was always moving. Even at her desk. Shifting about. Twirling hair. Clicking nails. Fussing with file after file. Rearranging anything and everything.

  The rustling and radio became one sound. A shrill bellow like a gust of static. Lucy spooned coffee grounds. Once. Twice. A clatter caught Jim’s full attention. The silver spoon hitting the tile with powdery grounds scattering the toes of her shoes.

  “Lucy?” He began, setting his mug aside when the few officers in turned as well.

  “S-Sorry...” The word slurred longer. She bent down, only got halfway before her hand came up to a pounding temple. Like something struck her. Lucy shot up so fast, she barely caught herself wavering back. A drunken sort of movement. Both arms gave a tremor.

  “Lucy!” Jim sprang forward this time. A big arm curled around her spine, brought her shaking body into his frame. One elbow instinctively pushed at his chest. Fingers came up to tug her collar in a confused motion.

  “Spilled.” She said with little awareness, eyes hooded.

  “I’ll call-”

  “Grab a soda from the fridge.” Jim snapped the order before Powell could get the phone. “Now!”

  “But-”

  “She’s a diabetic, she needs sugar. Do it.” The harder command made him move quick.

  “Lemme go.” Syllables weaved together awkwardly. Lucy felt around herself. Smacked up at Jim holding her upright. Her head twitched with every rattle of bones. Limbs stopped listening. Synapses sent messages all directions that were ignored. Flesh could have melted off bone and muscle. “Lemme go!” Sweaty and irritable, she blindly pushed at Jim who only brought her tightly against the hard lines of his chest.

  “Chief.” Powell clicked the can with Callahan hovering to help aimlessly.

  “Lucy, drink this.” Jim almost had the can shoved out of his grip. Crisp soda splashed the floor.

  “Got it...I got...it.” She skidded. Dug her heels into the tile. “Cookie. M-My purse. Ngh, lemme go!” She’d drop if he released her.

  “Soda is better, drink it.” Jim forced the can to her lips while she whipped around. Arms curled to her chest until her body was near convulsing. Fizzy soda slipped between her lips, dripping to stain the dress. An ugly force pushed at her body. Lucy slowed, fingers curled around Jim’s wrist as she choked and drank some. Coughed and flopped up until it bubbled out her nose. “There, you go. Give it a second.” Jim was delicate, the way he helped her back into a stuffed chair with her legs all jelly.

  “Towel.” Callahan came next. “Should we call someone for her?”

  “Ngh...” The word didn’t come so Lucy shook her head fiercely. Childlike. Hand still wrapped around Jim’s wrist when he gave her another long gulp. Coke sloshed down into her stomach. Lipstick smeared so he traded the can for a towel to blot her mouth. Brown eyes fluttered open again, heavy. She felt Jim’s pulse and took a deeper breath. “Fine. Don’t call. Ju...Don’t.”

  “Give her some air.” Jim got his guys to back off. “Luce, are you with me here?” She swayed out and narrowed on him. Let him pat her forehead with the towel. A thumb wiped just under the swell of her bottom lip. Fixed the color that smeared there. Jim’s eyes locked on her, mouth parting. A lazy smile crept upon her expression. Jim’s arm was still firm around the curve of her limp body.

  “No one’s ever called me, Luce,” she rasped instead, “if you can believe it.” A scoff caused his own lips to lift. Blue eyes flickering.

  “No one’s ever gone into hypoglycemia in my station.” He’s countered.

  “Usually wait till I clock out.” She gripped at him and stole the towel to look at her dress, splotched in dark spots. “Aw, shit.” The word puffed so soft, he barely heard it. Never heard her curse. Lucy seemed to realize it. “Sorry.”

  “No, I...” Jim felt her fingers slip from him. Stared down at his hand before he offered her the Coke. Lucy pressed her lips at him but took it without argument for another drink. The towel rubbed against the wet spots, almost pathetically. He picked up on her growing discomfort. “I can drive you home or something. You want to change.”

  Lucy was still scrubbing herself with an annoyed look, slowing to glance up with pink cheeks. Every officer who was staring snapped away from them.

  She frowned.

  Anything to get away from those eyes peering as if she were helpless.

  “Fine.” The sour note struck Jim so he didn’t immediately pull her up. Let Lucy push herself to stumble into him. “I’m fine.” Jim’s hand neared her back, but didn’t make contact. Just carefully ushered her to reception to grab her purse. Still lightheaded, she slowed again and sighed. Took his offered arm. They got to his car and the sun blared. AC blasted when he started up to go.

  “Where’s home?”

  A beat.

  “Left up there.” Came the quieter reply. “I live on Elm.”

  “Sure you’re-”

  “Listen,” she cut in, “that doesn’t happen… I mean, it does, but not that bad like it did. Haven’t had an episode like that in a few months actually.” Fingers fussed to get her hair back into place.

  “Well,” Jim swallowed and tried to be lighter, “good thing you’re in a station full of Hawkins’ most observant police officers.”

   His sincere way of making her feel not helpless scorched.

  “Oh, are those their titles? All the napping and poker games between calls instead of finishing reports I have to beat out of them.” A brow raised, purse clutched close to her chest.

  “Wouldn’t fit on the badge.”

  “Ah.” Lucy turned her head to look outside with a smile. Hesitated. “Thanks, Jim. For, uh...”

  “Don’t mention it.” He gripped the wheel to turn.

  “The slapping at you and anger is, uh, part of it.” She offered mutely. “Get confused in the shuffle and...it’s scary. I never want to feel that damn helpless. Stupid fits. All because one organ is broken and that organ dictates the rest of them. Feed it insulin, too much kills. Feed it sugar to balance, too much kills. Big joke if you ask me, can’t make up its mind.” Lucy didn’t chuckle that time. Didn’t smile.

  “We’ll keep the fridge stocked. Soda. Juice. Whatever you like to balance.” He said. Turning to see her eyes lift. “You don’t have to go hiding in that ratty bathroom to test yourself or take shots, you know. Desk is fine. Not like the boys will get queasy.”

  “Bunch of tough guys.” She licked her lips, pulling a mirror down to wipe smeared eye makeup away. “Won’t happen again... This is me up here.” She pointed to a house.

  “Don’t promise that, just take care of yourself and we’ll pay attention to whatever signals you put out.” He parked.

  “Oh,” Lucy faced him with searing eyes again, “where you not before, Jim?” A hum vibrated her throat. Shy and still going in for the kill. Jim’s breath caught and she looked truly amused, batting those insufferable, dewy eyes before getting out.

  “Lucy.” Jim stilled. A long, luxurious beat between them. A warm bubble bath to sink into. Neither succumbed long enough.

  “Yes, Jim?”

  Nerves plucked.

  “Sorry, about the dress.”

  “I didn’t like it that much.” She smiled fuller at him, too soft about it.

  The door shut.

[di-in-al]

Californian Gold (Part 2)

Part 1

Pairing: Billy x Reader

Warnings: Swearing, bullying (if you squint)

Notes: Here’s Part 2 as promised! It’s mostly a filler chapter, but lots of you and Billy. The tag-list is open! So feel free to ask. Anyway, I hope you enjoy!

_______

Billy sang along with each word that blasted through the radio in his car. His car was extremely clean seeing that it belonged to a teenage boy. His leather seats were flawless with no burns or tears in them, and everything else was shining. Except for his glove compartment that was wide open and full of cassettes. Your hand grabbed the first one that stuck out. The words DEF LEPPARD were on the front with bright colors and pictures.

“You a car person?” His voice went from singing to suddenly questioning you. His eyes didn’t leave the road in front of you, instead his hand questioned you more than his face did. You really didn’t know how to answer that question. You weren’t voluntarily a car person, your dad making you learn the way a car worked for instances like these.

“Yeah, I guess.” He took the short response to keep quiet, or just go back to his obnoxious singing rather.

Eventually, you pulled up next to your car. It had stopped smoking for the most part and it now sat idly like it usually does. You silently gave it a scowl and cursed it for putting you in this position. Billy went on about something as you pulled your hood back up. Now that the engine had time to cool off, you could see the radiator reservoir was bone dry.

“Here Doll, you fill it up. I’ll look underneath for the leak.” Before you had the chance to protest, he ripped his jacket off, tossing it on the hood of his car. He had a white wife beater on underneath that was halfway tucked into his jeans. He quickly slid under the car and you couldn’t help but watch. His long legs were the only thing you could see, but damn that was nice too.

“Go ahead and pour. I’ll watch and see where the leak is.” You got to it, only to stop when you heard him start sputtering.

“Stop! Stop, stop, stop.” He cried, crawling out quickly and you could help the laugh that escaped your throat. His face was covered in black liquid, and it transferred to his arm as he wiped it away from his eyes. You couldn’t help but try and hold back the laughs from coming out, but you failed. Terribly.

His irritated eyes watched your lips and then proceeded to wipe his hand across your face with a mischievous grin. With that, you stopped. He watched as your mouth suddenly turned sour, and any remnant of happiness left your face.

Billy watched as you cowered back into your shell. You wiped the dirt from your face and proceeded to your car. Your turned your engine over, successfully turning it on and hearing it roar to life.

You couldn’t help but feel somewhat disappointed that this ended your eventful evening, but at the same time, your mind wandered to your Dad. He was probably worried sick. Your peripheral caught Billy wiping off the oil angrily and grabbing his jacket.

“Look Billy, thank you so much for helping me. I really appreciate it. I do. I’ll see you around, yeah?” Your hopeful eyes went back to his. It was then, you could see his friendly demeanor change to his typical asshole self. His eyes hardened and his plump lips turned up into a sour expression.

“Yeah, no problem.” With that, he threw his jacket back on, and ripped his keys out from his pocket. After he sped off down the long road, you let out a long sigh. He did seem like a semi-decent guy. They thing that made you stop and think was, why would he treat you like that and playboy all of the other girls. He wouldn’t.

You tried to not read into it too hard and continue on your mission to get home to your dad. You hopped in the cabin of your car and took off towards home.

The faint sounds of the tv going was the first thing you heard after walking through the dark doorway. Until there was a click and the feeling of cold metal against your temple. You froze, dropping the grocery bags that were in your hands.

“Daddy?” Your voice came out as a broken whisper, and your eyes traveled to his large form next to you. His eyes softened from the hardness that consumed them. You’ve seen that look in his eyes many times before. Ever since he started staying in the house more and more, he became worse when it came to his flashbacks and being over protective of you.

“Y/N/N?” He dropped his elongated arm and ran his empty hand over your shoulder. “Where have you been? Are you alright?” His raspy voice came out a mile a minute and you reached down to pick up the now busted milk carton and frozen pizzas.

“Yeah Daddy, the car broke down. A buddy from school helped me. Radiator hose has a leak.” Your voice was now calm, and how it usually is. Not the terrified rendition that was heard a few moments ago. The mood that filled the room calmed down along with the casual talk and he uncocked the gun and went to put it away. His hand traveled along with the counter towards his room.

The new house has thrown him off.

He walked back into the kitchen slowly, and opened his eyes towards you. His cloudy eyes reminded you of just how vulnerable he actually is. He was lucky enough to come home from the war with his life, his sight however, was left in Vietnam.

“Now tell me about this hose.” His calming voice was directed towards you, and you flicked the light switch, letting light flood into the room. Boxes still lay around, neither of you bothering to unpack anything yet.

“I dunno, I was driving and smoke just started coming out from the hood. I’ll go see if there’s a car part store around here.” He nodded, turning away from you and facing the tv.

“You still want some pizza?” His gray colored curls shook along with his head and you chuckled. “Me neither.”

You shoved the frozen frisbees into the freezer and went to clean up the milk.

“You still have that .38 I gave you? You need to keep that by your bed and take it with you in your car. We don’t know this town yet and I don’t want anything happening to you.” His voice carried through the two different rooms and you sighed. You totally forgot about that thing. It had to be in a box in your room somewhere.

“Yeah, it’s in my nightstand.” You lied, not feeling bad about it. You weren’t too fond of the thing, but you kept it to make your dad feel better. You’d never need it and you knew that, but it was your dad that always thought of the worst scenarios.

“Good. I’m going to go sit down. You going to bed?” You threw the milk covered paper towels in the trash can, and turned towards him.

“Yeah I think so. Got school early tomorrow.” After saying your good nights, you walked up to your room.

You worried about your dad. He suddenly wanted to move to Hawkins, and coming from him, it was a weird move. He never wanted to leave the house in Florida, let alone move all the way up here. You lived your entire life there and so this move was hard for you.

You walked through your doorway, and walked around the room, careful not to run into any stacks of boxes. You ran your hand across the wall, feeling for the light switch. You flicked it up, light coming from the old ceiling fan hanging from the ceiling. It looked exactly how you left it this morning.

Except for the man standing by your window.

A scream formed in your throat, until you recognized the three stories of hair that frantically was moving back and forth. Steve’s eyes were huge, his index finger held up to his lips to tell you to be quiet.

“What the fuck are you doing in my room?!” You squeaked, his voice catching in his throat. You both stood, staring at each other and he was looking around frantically for an answer. “Well?!”

“I-I just wanted to make sure you were okay! That whole phone call thing freaked me out. What happened?” His brown eyes went back and forth between yours, and you watched as he goofily tried to explain his presence.

“My car broke down and Billy showed up when I called you. We fixed it, I’m fine. That still doesn’t explain why you came through my window?” The wind blew your sheer curtains around from where he left the window open.

“Well, I sure as hell didn’t want to come through the front door. Your dad is scary. Like Hopper scary.” You didn’t know what the hell that meant, but you went with it.

“Okay well, I’m good. You could’ve just asked me at school tomorrow, but thanks for checking on me.” After you finished speaking, he just nodded. He proceeded to stand there awkwardly  and you chuckled.

“You should go home, we have school in the morning, yeah?” He smiled and nodded.

“Yeah. Sorry for scaring you. I’m sure you’re sorry for scaring me so we’re even. See you tomorrow?” He began climbing out of the window, and you pushed some hair behind your ear.

“Course, night Steve.” Right before he jumped off into the pile of bushes under the window he  nodded.

“Night Y/N.” He took off to the next house and walked in the front door. You closed your window, being sure to lock it. Never had to do that in Florida.

The drive to school was awful, but you made it. Barely. Billy’s car was already parked in the same spot as yesterday. You decided to park next to him, seeing as your class was right through the door in front of this parking lot.

You saw Steve and Nancy sitting in his car, talking. You threw your Walkman on, and headed inside hoping to sit in your first period class and read some more of Dracula.

You got a couple pages in before class started and you felt pretty good this morning. A huge contrast to yesterday.

“I came through the door today.” Steve’s voice came from above you, and you nodded with a laugh. His tall frame sat down in the desk next to you and you both waited for the teacher to come in. You were totally immersed in your book and the music coming from your Walkman to hear your name being called. It wasn’t until your Walkman got ripped from your head that your attention was averted to the person standing next to you.

Billy stood there with nothing but a leather jacket on his torso. His smug smile made you nauseous.

“What?” Your voice came out a bit harsher than you meant to, but you were almost happy that it did. He looked around to the majority of the people watching, and chuckled.

“Never took you as the bookworm type.” He ripped the book from your hands and your anger immediately went through the roof. You held your hand out calmly, but slightly shaking.

“Give it back to me. Now.” His lips turned into an elongated oval, and he raised his eyebrows in surprise.

“Oh yeah?” No one noticed the teacher walk in, and he just sat there and watched the situation unfold. He had an itch to make an example out of someone this early.

“Give it back to me, Asshole. Or I shove that book so far up your-“

“Whoa, whoa, whoa! Hargrove! Y/L/N! Detention after school!” His loud booming voice rang through the classroom and that’s when everyone corrected themselves and faced the board, getting their materials out and acting like they were completely innocent.

“Excuse me? He took my stuff!” Your eyes bore into Mr. O’Connell’s and he raised his eyebrows in question.

“Does that matter? You were spitting profanity like nothing and Hargrove was bullying. You both deserve it. Now, either get your stuff out and learn, or get out of my classroom.” He was pointing at his door by this point and all you could do was let out a huff.

Billy put your book back on the desk softly and gave you a wink.

That’s when the war started.

After your final class of the day, you headed outside for a cigarette and to put your stuff in your car. You watched as a group of boys hopped on their bikes and took off towards the woods. Mr. O’Connell saw you and watched as you smoked your cigarette.

“Y/L/N! Detention! Now!” The groan that escaped from your throat was loud and you killed the light of the cig under your boot. You headed back inside only to be fretted with Steve’s face.

“Sorry Y/N. I’ll see you later.” He walked out, joining Nancy and walking to his car. You’d also have to explain to Joyce why you were late on your first day.

You headed into the classroom where detention was held, seeing a couple people already in there. You flipped down in the only isolated desk left, and stared at the paint chipping off of the white wall.

“Well hey there.” You didn't even bother to turn around and entertain him. “Y/N?” He began playing with the sleeve of your jean jacket and you ripped it from his grasp.

“Fuck off Billy.” The malice in your voice was thick, and you thought it might’ve worked until he started running his finger along the back of your neck.

“Hargrove, I will break every finger to put on me. Try me.” You whipped around and slapped his hand away. Y/E/C eyes stared at his baby blue ones, noticing the mischievous look they were giving off. “Seriously, leave me the hell alone.”

“But you’re so fun to mess with. C’mon Y/N, I’m just playing with you. It’s supposed to be fun.”

You thought that if he was any closer, he might’ve been able feel the heat radiating off of you. The anger began bubbling in your veins and you gave a bitter chuckle.

“No, it’s not fun. You’re just choosing to be an asshat. Leave me alone, or I will kick your ass. I mean it Hargrove, you will be sorry.”

With that, you stood, ignoring the cries of Mr. O’Connell’s protests and flew out of the classroom. You made a beeline for your car and lit another cigarette on the way. The cool air was a huge contrast from your skin. You hopped in, shoving a Scorpions cassette in your radio and took off towards Melvald’s.

This is why you hated people.

When you arrived, Joyce was happily restocking a shelf and humming to herself.

You walked in, the chime above you catching the attention of Joyce.

“Y/N! I’m so glad you’re here.” She wiped away her bangs from her brow and gave a big smile.

“You ready to get started?”

For the next couple hours, she walked you through the many steps of working there. Apparently she’d been working here a little over ten years, and knew all of the ins and outs of the small business. The phone began to ring, and she excused herself. You really think you’ll like it here, it’s quiet and no people.

She came back in a hurry, her face had a worried expression plastered on it.

“I’m sorry to leave you here by yourself, but I really need to head home. My youngest son..isn’t feeling well.” You immediately began wagging your hand at her and shaking your head.

“It’s not a problem. Really.” With that, she grabbed her purse and headed out. Her tires squealed as they ripped out of the parking spot and she took off.

You looked around and sighed at the lack of presence. You reached down and grabbed your book, immersing yourself in that to keep occupied until close.

__________

@speedmetalqueen @asheseiler @ietss