#but he just sat with 3 easels by a building and painted

[dear-crybunny]

thinking about him a normal amount

[babybatscreationsv2]

Marked ch2

Marvel | Starker

When Tony's soul marks first appeared he was afraid he wouldn't be good enough for his soulmate. When Peter's marks appeared he was afraid of what the blood and bruises meant. Now they're left dealing with consequences of a dangerous lifestyle and a lot of distrust.

As requested by the beautiful and brilliant Aech <3

Warnings and tags below

Warnings/tags: mafia au, soulmates au, referenced violence, bruises

Peter hurried down the crowded sidewalk pushing his way through irritated New Yorkers. Anxious dreams had caused him to sleep through his alarm and now he had no choice but to run across the city to get to Mr. Octavius's studio. He had been Otto's apprentice for almost two years and in that time the man had come to expect his tardiness, but that didn't mean Peter didn't try his best.

He ran in through the door and the smell of acrylic paint hit his nose. He spotted Otto at his easel by the window and grinned.

"Good morning, Mr. Octavius!" Peter called. He dropped his bag beside his desk.

"Good morning, Peter." Otto turned and gave him a smile. Then he looked back at his painting and sighed. "I hate acrylics."

"And yet you continue to try," Peter laughed.

"They won't get the best of me, Peter. I've won awards! I've sold paintings for thousands of dollars!" He waved his hand and a fleck of wet paint flew from his brush onto the wall. He scowled at the little blue dot.

"You'll figure it out."

"It doesn't do anything I want it to," he pouted.

Peter rolled his eyes. He crossed the room to stand behind his mentor. "I think it looks great." Otto had certainly painted a masterful piece. Central Park, but with a somber tone. Deep shadows beneath the trees suggested something sinister under their branches.

"You think everything I make looks great. That's what I like about you, Pete." Otto turned on his stool. His smile fell as he saw Peter's face up close.

Peter blinked. "What is it?"

Otto shook his head. "Those soul marks of yours." Peter groaned and turned away. "When I find out who keeps bruising you up like that-"

"They're not bruising me, Otto-"

"No, but clearly this person is a lot of trouble. They're out there running around with a black eye and now you've got one to match. They're clearly some kind of criminal. What else could they be?"

Peter shrugged. "A champion boxer? I don't know. That's the whole problem."

Otto scoffed. "Not much of a champion with a black eye."

Peter shook his head. "Your paint's drying."

"Don't I know it," Otto grumbled.

Peter walked back to his desk and sat down. He pulled his sketchbook from his bag and a pencil. His hand moved over the paper in messy lines. The pictures in his head were foggy now, but something in his dreams had been so familiar. If he could just get it out before it faded away.

As the clock ticked on, he filled page after page with sketches of a man with dark eyes and a chin strap, but the features were different on every face. Peter sat back and stretched his cramping shoulders. Who was he? He was so familiar.

Otto had walked away from his painting a while ago and was working on a sketch at his desk. Peter looked at the clock. It was a little early for lunch, but he needed to clear his head.

"Hey, Mr. Octavius?" Peter stood and stretched again.

"Yes, Peter?" He didn't look up from his work.

"I'm gonna get us some coffee. You want anything?"

"I'm alright. Thank you, Peter." Otto glanced his way. "And take your time. Stretch your legs. You look like you haven't slept in a week."

"Maybe it's the black eye," he grumbled. He grabbed his wallet and left the building. The street was about as empty as it gets during the day and Peter followed the flow of traffic without paying much attention. The idea that he had a soul mate out there haunted him. He'd never considered himself much of a romantic, but now that the option was there it was consuming him. Not to mention the nightmares. His dreams were full of violence and he often woke with the burn of alcohol in his throat. He was starting to find scars as well. A few little ones on the backs of his hands, a deeper one on his palm, a mark just below his ribs. It was a horrifying thought, but maybe Otto was right. What if his soul mate was someone dangerous?

Something hit Peter's shoulder, startling him out of his thoughts. He drew back with a gasp and an apology already on his lips, but his eyes went up from the coffee stain in a man's crisp navy suit to his face and words escaped him. Those eyes, that face, but most notably the black eye that matched Peter's.

They stared at each other. The other people on the street moved around them.

The man grabbed his hand and turned it over. There was graphite staining his palm. He hadn't even known it was there. Peter yanked his hand back.

"Sorry," he said quickly. He rushed off, pushing through the crowd. The coffee shop was just a few steps away. It wasn't too crowded and the bathroom was gracefully empty.

Peter gripped the sink and stared down into the basin. What was that? Who was that? He should have gotten his name. What if that was...

He looked up into the mirror and touched the stain around his eye. Like a bruise but painless and too pale. Not like that man’s bruise had been. His was real. He looked at the mark on his palm. That man... he had guessed it was there. Maybe he was looking for a different mark. There had to be more than one guy in all of New York with a black eye. Fights happen all the time.

Peter shook himself off and grabbed a fistful of paper towels. He wet them in the sink and dabbed at the coffee on his arm. His skin felt sticky underneath so he took off his shirt and there on his chest was another mark. Pale brown something was spilled across his skin. He scrubbed with the damp paper towel, but it didn't so much as fade.

Peter balled up the towel and tossed it in the trash. It couldn't be. As much as he wondered about his soul mate, he was only curious. He wasn't sure he actually wanted to meet the guy. For starters, he clearly lived some sort of dangerous life, but more importantly what if he didn't like Peter? What if he wasn't enough? He was just an apprentice barely out of college. His income barely covered his third of the rent. He was just Peter.

And that guy... he was gorgeous and clearly wealthy and he probably hated him for spilling his coffee like that.

Peter looked at the mark in the mirror. That wasn't just a soul mark. It was a mark he made. He put that on him. A little thrill went through him at the thought. He could belong to someone and that someone could belong to him. The trouble was, as much as he enjoyed the idea it was terrifying.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Portrait of a Dangerous Man🎨5

Warnings: (series) non-consent sex and rape; slow creep; cucking; (this chapter) threats, implied and mild violence

This is dark!mob!Clark Kent x reader and explicit. 18+ only.  Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Synopsis: Your dream of having your work hung in an art show comes true but your first buyer is not all he seems to be.

Note: So between Friday and Saturday I’ll be doing eight hours a day for @buckyownsmylife​‘s writeathon (like 12-8pm EST) but you can send an ask at any time. I will share a list of what I intend to work on and possible ideas later today if you wanna ask some questions or gab about whatever. After the last few days on tumblr and that nonsense, I think we need a little carelessness.

Thanks to everyone for reading and thanks in advance for all your feedback. :)

I really hope you enjoy. 💋

<3 As usual, I’d appreciate if you let me know what you think with a like or reblog or reply or an ask! Love ya!

You walked and walked until you could no more. You stopped in front of another humongous set of gates and ordered an Uber. You waited in the dark in the shadow of the wall and a car slowed as it approached. You waved as the model and plate matched the app and got in. The driver remarked on the odd pick-up but you just shrugged and dialed.

You’d called your mom several times and she hadn’t picked up. It was almost eleven then so you gave up as her voicemail beeped once again. You dropped your head back against the seat and held your head. Everything was fucked.

You couldn’t believe it. Clark making the offer, Marcus trying to barter with him. It was all so fucked up. Five years. Five years! You never thought Marcus to be that type, shallow and greedy. Sure, he griped about money but you always made due and you thought if you had each other, it would be enough for him. But it wasn’t and he was ready to trade you to a stranger for a check.

You felt nauseous and crossed your arms over your stomach as you hunched over. You felt like crying but you knew you couldn’t. You had to get what you needed and get out. You weren’t going to stick around to argue with either of those assholes. This was the last time you were going to let your hope be crushed.

How much time had you wasted? On both of them.

You got out in front of your building and finalised the tip for the driver. You felt worse that you were going to leave your work in that cretin’s house. That he thought he could just buy you like he did the canvas. It was all just a ploy to get in your pants. And the way he said it, “I’ll fuck her either way.” Like you would fall into his arms agog and smitten.

You rushed up the stairs as your eyes began to well and you sniffled as you unlocked your apartment door. You wanted badly to trash the large monitor sitting above Marcus’ glowing tower. You wanted to shred all his clothes and take a hammer to everything he owned.

You didn’t. You grabbed your laptop from your desk and swept into the bedroom. You pulled your floral duffel from under the bed and loaded it with your laptop, tablet, and a pile of clothes. You tossed the zip-up pouch with your passport and other important documents on top and hauled it over your shoulder. He could keep the rest of it. You didn’t care if it ended up in the dumpster.

You checked the time as you closed the apartment door and headed down the hallway. It was after midnight. You wondered if they noticed you were gone. You didn’t care. You were sending every penny back to Clark, even if you had to dip into your savings; those years of squirreling away in hopes of buying a home with the love of your life.

That was what you thought he was. You just couldn’t understand how he could be so easily won over by overpriced cars and the ridiculously overdone mansion. You came out onto the street and stopped.

Where could you go? There wasn’t a bus out of town until the morning. You could get a hotel room for the night and head to your mom’s then. God, you felt rotten at the thought of showing up at her doorstep, another failure on your shoulders. You swore to her the last time you talked that you were finally getting your feet under you.

Why were you so stupid?

You dried your cheeks with the back of your hand and adjusted the strap of the heavy bag and turned down the sidewalk. There was a Days Inn not far from your place. They might have a vacancy.

You didn’t make it two steps before you heard the car door. You tried to ignore the man as you were eager to be anywhere but out in the city streets after dark. It was too late to react as the passenger door opened and the dark figure blocked your path. The driver came up behind you and you cried out as you were seized from both sides.

“What the fuck are you doing?” you shrieked, “let go of me.”

“Shut up,” the driver said as he covered your mouth and the other man took your bag.

You murmured into his palm and kicked out with your heel, barely missing the passenger with the sharp tip. He opened the back door and threw your bag inside. He turned back and grabbed your legs as you thrashed and both men struggled to angle you in after the duffle.

You pushed your chin above the man’s hand and gasped, “please, what--”

“Shh,” you were finally forced past the door and it slammed behind you, nearly catching your skirt.

You sat up and pulled on the door handle but it didn’t budge. You couldn’t pull up the locks and your fingers just slid down the switches. Even the windows wouldn’t roll down.

“Who are you? What are you doing?” you kicked the door desperately, “please--”

“Hurry up,” the passenger growled, “don’t wanna keep the boss waiting.”

“Hey! I’m talking to you--”

“And you better stop,” the driver pulled out a gun and turned to point it at you, “close those sweet little lips and be a good girl. We got a far way to go, doll.”

You swallowed and pushed yourself back against the vinyl seat. The driver turned forward and shoved the keys in the slot as the other bent around the console and reached to snatch your clutch from you. He wrestled with you for a moment then ripped it away. He took out your phone and waved it triumphantly as the car began to move.

“Please, what--”

“Don’t make me tell you to shut up again,” the driver warned as he focused on the road, “god damn maniac got me out in the middle of the night with this shit.”

“It’ll be a good cut,” the other man said, “can’t complain about a late night if I’m getting paid.”

“The boss? Who--”

“Fuck, you ever know when to shut up?” The passenger turned to glare at you, “you’re really not doing yourself any favours so please.”

He looked forward again and flipped on the radio. He turned the dial so you were deafened by the raucous tones of hair metal. You cradled your ears and huffed as you fell back against the seat. The street lights flashed down on the seat beside you as you passed and you shook your head.

This wasn’t a coincidence. It couldn’t be. But the question still remained; who exactly was Clark Kent?

🎨

You screamed as the man dragged you out of the car. The other came around to grab your other arm as you swiped out with your nails. Your ankles bent under you as you tried to stop yourself on the mosaic stonework. The large mansion loomed over you in the dark, still night. The party was over and all the cars were gone.

You writhed as they forced you through the front door and you tried futilely to shake off the larger men. Your chest hammered with panic and you leaned back as you were dragged up the stairs. You grunted as you wriggled and hissed at how they twisted your arms back and held them firmly.

“Please, please, just let me go--”

“Well, doll, we’ve come this far,” the driver snickered, “you really think you can get out now?”

“I don’t-- who are you? Why are you doing this?”

You were dragged towards the pair of pale doors that stood open as they offered a peek of the studio within. The amber glow of a lamp washed over shadows and limned the lines of the overturned easel as you were taken inside. You whined as the men stopped just past the doors.

Clark sat in the same chair he sat in for your sessions. He smirked as his eyes fell upon you but your own skittered over to Marcus as he sat on the stool by the table of paints. You blinked and batted away tears of disbelief with your lashes. His eye was swollen and his lip split; thick rope held his wrists behind his back and coiled around his torso and legs.

“What--

“Let her go, close the door,” Clark demanded, “I can handle her.”

The moment the hands left your arms, you spun but an arm caught you swiftly around the waist. You were flung back so you sprawled across the floor. You cried out as you met the polished wood and your body rang with pain.

“Hey,” Clark warned and his footsteps neared you as you pushed yourself up on shaky arms, “that doesn’t happen again, got it?”

“Sorry, boss, I was just--”

“Go,” Clark barked as he knelt and took your arm.

The doors slid closed with a harsh snap and you hit Clark’s chest as he tried to pull you up to your feet. You dug your heels into the floor and pushed yourself away from him. You turned and got up on your knees. You climbed to your feet but he was quick to block your path to the doors.

“You left so suddenly,” he crossed his arms, “not even a goodbye?”

“Fuck you. Fuck both of you,” you sneered, “I heard your offer,” you paused and looked around at Marcus, “and I heard you too. I’m not a whore.”

“Sweetheart, I know you’re not,” Clark said patronizingly, “but apparently he doesn’t.”

“Whatever, let me go, I don’t want either of you,” you snarled.

You tried to brush past him and he grabbed your arms and backed you up. “Sweetheart, I don’t have to pay for it. Understand that. And we did settle on a deal but I’m not paying for your services.”

“What-- Why--”

“I’m paying him to watch,” Clark winked, “I want him to see how he fucked up. I want him to see what a real man can do for you.”

“I’m not interested,” you tried to shrug him off but he held firm, “get off of me, Clark. We’re done. I’m sending you your money back and I don’t want to see you again.”

“Where are you gonna go, huh? No job, no prospects, no money?”

“I did alright before you, I can take care of myself--”

“Sweetheart,” he framed your chin with his hand and leaned in, “this is where we make a deal of our own…” his blue eyes clung to yours as he lowered his voice, “you can go along with it and the boy gets to walk off with just a couple bruises or… he doesn’t leave this room on his feet.”

Your eyes rounded and your lip quivered. You sucked in air and steeled yourself.

“I told you, I’m done with both of you,” you hissed.

“Uh huh, but I know you’re not gonna let him die just like that,” he turned his hand and rubbed your cheek, “besides, neither of us are stupid. I saw how you look at me and you know what lies behind those eyes.”

“No, I don’t…” you uttered and looked back at Marcus. He squirmed on the stool helplessly as he stared at you intently, begging you silently as he bit down on the gag. “Why are you doing this?”

“Shhh, sweetheart,” he trailed his finger over your lower lip, “it’s okay. Haven’t I been good to you?”

“I can’t… please, don’t make me do this.”

“Come on, let’s sit down,” he dropped his hand as his other clung to your arm, “we have some things to sort out first.”

He pulled on you and you locked your legs. After a moment, your knees buckled and you let him lead you over to the chair. He sat and drew you onto his lap. You sat stiffly as his hand tickled your lower back and crawled up to pick at the straps of your dress.

“You see everything I have, everything I can do,” he said staunchly, “I can snap his neck as easily as I snap my fingers,” his other hand settled on your knee and squeezed. He nuzzled your shoulder and grazed your skin with his lips, “and even if it came to that, I’d still have you, sweetheart. This isn’t about what I get, I know my prize, this is about you and how you want things to go.”

You shuddered and shakily touched your neck. You hated the way his fingertips sent shivers through you and his lips made your stomach churn. You stopped his hand as it crawled up your leg.

“I… I only wanted to paint,” you said numbly.

“And did you really think that was all I wanted? A painter?” he scoffed and slipped his hand from beneath yours. He felt along the slit of the dress and shoved his hand beneath the fabric.

“I don’t… know…” you squeezed your thighs together as his fingers curled into your flesh.

“You really want to make this difficult? Sweetheart, you can’t even begin to know who I am and what I can do. This is just a taste.”

“Wh-why me?” you stuttered as he forced his hand between your legs and kneaded your flesh.

“Why not?” he replied.

He slapped your thick lightly and urged you off of him. You stood and he reached beneath his jacket as you wobbled on your weak legs and looked at Marcus desperately. He shook his head and let it slump down on his chest.

“Now, Marcus,” Clark revealed a dark pistol, “we talked about this. If you want your money, you don’t get to look away.”

You stared at the barrel as he pointed it at Marcus and lifted a brow. You flinched as your emotions swirled in your stomach and every one of your nerves was set alight.

“Sweetheart, you have one minute to make up your mind,” he pulled back the hammer, “as much as that looks gorgeous on you, I want you in only this.”

He pushed his fingers into his pants pocket and pulled out the diamond necklace. He held it out and the gems twinkled in lowlight. You swallowed and reached to take them from him.

“Who are you?” you asked as you hooked your fingers through the chain.

He chuckled and ran his fingers along his beard, “I’m exactly who you need me to be.”

[binniesthighs]

hello stranger | reader x changbin |

a/n: hehe hello cuties, before i get to the chapter, I just wanted to say thank you so much for all of the support and lovely messages you that you sent to me for the last chapter. as I said, it was one that was super personal to me and for it to be so relatable and emotional for you all makes my heart feel so, so full. these themes are going to continue, so please read the warnings cuties. as always, thank you so very much for reading my stories <3 

Part 6 

Pairing: self insert, female reader x seo changbin, female reader x han jisung 

Genre: strangers to lovers, fluff, smut, angst 

Tags: (of this part) college au, rapper!changbin, rapper!jisung, establishedfwb!jisung, artist!reader, skz side characters, bestfriend!chan, bestfriend!felix, roommate!minho, explicit language, HARD fluff to HARD angst, some sensual-azz fuckin’ (muhaha), unprotected sex (stay safe cuties!), lil bit of breath play, nipple play (f), cumshot, mentions of food, changbin has a cute butt (that’s the tweet) 

CWs: aftereffects of traumatic experiences, mentions of past toxic relationship, self sabotaging tendencies 

Word count: 6.6k (remember when i said i wasn’t gonna write long chapters? wellllll...ooP)  

Chapters 

PART 1 | PART 2 | PART 3 | PART 4 | PART 5 | PART 6 | PART 7

When you were back in high school, before you knew a thing about what love was, your Art teacher had given you an assignment: what do you think that love looks like? At first, all you had really known love to be was the kind that you shared with your friends and your parents, and maybe with your family dog. You had read about love in your favorite books and seen it in your favorite movies, but you had never really considered what it looked like. Obviously, the assignment was all up for you to decide, but there being a million and one things that you considered love to be, to put it to paper with your own hand was something different entirely. 

At first, when you thought of love, you thought of the typical: hearts, hugs, the colors red and pink. But, this was too simple. 

“What are you drawing?” You had sneakily whispered to your classmate. 

She shrugged, and continued scratching away at her sketchbook. You had peeked to see what she was putting together, and for her, she had started to draw what looked like a house on the edge of a lake. The house was in the middle of nowhere and it was surrounded by trees of all different kinds and there was a single bench that sat at the edge of the water. 

You figured, love can be a place, so you started drawing that. 

Your pencil swiped over the paper in strokes big and small, and the lead rubbed off on the side of your pinky as you outlined the corners of your apartment building. 

You thought, I love the people who live here, therefore, this must be love. 

It made sense. People and places could make up love. 

When you turned in your drawing of your apartment building you were surprised to see the variety of other paintings and drawings that the other students had turned in. One student had turned in a whole piece that had been drawn with oil pastel. It was a jumbling of colors: mostly red, as you had expected, but it also held streaks of gold, black and teal. You remember your teacher really liking that one. 

Today, if you would’ve gotten that assignment, it would’ve been completely different. 

It was a sunny afternoon when you sat at your easel with your pencil in hand. Drawing out the mere outline and rough draft, tears welled in your eyes. A long time ago you had promised yourself that if your art didn’t mean anything, what even was it?

The sun filled your room in the golden hour of the day best it could from your frosted glass window. The warmth that the rays held made your whole body swell with a warmth, and it gave your shaking arms the power to keep going. 

You brushed lightly over the rough canvas with your pencil, tracing out the lines as if they were the very memories that you had kept painted in your mind. 

You drew a snowy night, not much unlike the ones that you had been seeing recently. You drew an empty alley, not lit by much light. You drew the way that the oil slicked in potholes mixed with the snow. You planned out the way that the industry of the city lit his back as he stared out into that dark expanse where you knew that darker figures were hiding. You drew him. You drew him on that exact same night that you had fist seen him: a dark outline, who would become full of color. 

╚ ——————————————— ╝

“What’s that?” 

Changbin pointed to your easel with a sheet draped over it. 

“A surprise.” You answered. “I know that I’m not good with surprises, but, are you?” 

“I don’t mind them.” He chuckled. “For me?” 

“Mmhm. Its not ready yet so you’ll have to wait.” 

“I’m fine with waiting.” He sighed out. 

You nuzzled closer into his bare chest, right up to his heartbeat. Both of you were admittedly a bit dewy in your sweaty afterglow, but this was of no concern to you. These past few days, this had been your preferred way to drift off to sleep. Even on the occasional times when the both of you would be too busy to make the time, when you finally could see him, it was everything to you. In his large and muscled arms, there was no place else where you had felt safer. You too wrapped your whole being around him with a feeling so close it must’ve been unreal. If you could hear the muffled little rhythm of his heartbeat, you were sure that he could hear yours. 

“Soon, all this snow is gonna melt, and then I can take you to loads of other places. I’m just getting started.” Changbin’s airy breath tickled your scalp. 

“Really? Taking me to all the usual places?” You mocked. 

“No.” He said seriously. “I want to take you to places I haven’t taken anyone before. My secret places. I...you know...wouldn’t mind if you could draw them for me either.” 

You giggled, “Ever heard of taking a picture?” 

“Hey! It’s not the same.” 

“Fineee. Okay, okay. I’ll draw them for you.” Your fingertips traced down the muscles of his back. “Maybe I should start charging if you’re gonna keep being like this.” 

“You don’t do pro-bono?” He ran along with your joke. 

“If you ask nicely, maybe I’ll consider it.” 

He tsked, “Could you please draw for me?” 

You masked another adoring chuckle. “I do like it when you say please.” 

Everything about the one moment felt so sickly sweet, it was like you must’ve dreamt it up. In between the swaddling of sheets, you tried your best to enjoy the one moment: it was just enough to keep the doubtful whispers away. After all that he had done, said, all the pain that he had kissed away, or compliments he had hushed into your ear, the creeping feeling that you hardly deserved it all would rear it’s head time and again, even when you didn’t expect it to.

The two of you were quiet for a moment as you fell into the serenity of just existing together. After a while, you would narrow your focus best on the way that his breaths would rise and fall and the way this his body heat would melt into yours under the mess of sheets that neither of you bothered to fix. He would use his thumb to rub reassuring little strokes into the back of your neck where he had you. 

Your hand would fall down his arm, all the way down this wrist where his scar lived. Ever since you had noticed it, you couldn’t stop looking at it. Every time that you did, you were given a tangible reminder of everything that he had been, and was, to you. You rose the uneven skin to your lips to gift a little kiss to it. 

Changbin tried his best to hide his giddy smirk at the action. 

“Do you have to leave tonight?” You settled his arm around you once more. 

“No. Not tonight. But, for the next few days I don’t think I’ll be able to. They put me on the matinee shifts at the theater. I fucking hate those. No one comes in at all so it’s like I’m just sitting there.” 

“Wanna sneak me in some time this week? I should have a break.” 

“I would but...I’d prefer to keep that job. As much as I hate it.” 

“We could do something this Thursday? You aren’t busy on Thursdays as much right?” 

“Ahhhh I think so.” Changbin rolled the two of you over, allowing himself to lean over top of you. With a sly smirk he lowered his voice to say, “You know, my ribs really aren’t hurting as much any more.” 

“Oooh? Good to know.” You ruffled his curly strands. 

“I’m trying to say that I can go for another round if you would like to?” He bowed his head to kiss lightly into your neck and the fading love bites that he had put there himself. 

Your eyes wandered to your clock telling you that it was nearly 2 in the morning. If you had better judgement, you would’ve said no. But, these days, judgement wasn’t something that you took too seriously. 

He kissed down deeper, and pulled at your skin just in the way that he knew you liked it. Changbin knew the ins and outs of you perfectly, as well as exactly what to do send you quivering under him. All he had to do was press his body into yours so you could feel his weight, and it made you fold just for him. He followed his kisses up your jaw where he then lead them into your bottom lip and over every angle that your mouth would crave him. He often didn’t mean to do it intentionally, but between your parted mouths, his tongue would sneakily find yours, and he would slowly slide it against yours. 

“Do you want to?” He muttered between kisses. 

Under the covers, his hand cascaded down your side in a way that tickled slightly, but also made you shiver. 

He broke from his kiss to hold your eyes seriously. “We don’t have to.” 

“No, I want to.” You reached up to hold his sleepy and puffy face in your hands. 

Changbin said nothing more, but instead returned to weaving kisses back down your neck. Under your waist, you felt him angle up your hips higher and the heat of his tip teased at your entrance still slick with your arousal from before, and now renewed. He bowed his head down to your chest to pump himself with a few muffled grunts. After, he rose his head to hold your eyes with his own. The muscles on his arms flared where he held himself up, and those adorable little stretch marks in the corners of his arms moved with them. 

“God, you’re so beautiful.” 

You melted under his compliment. No matter who many times he had said it, you still weren’t use to it. 

“So are youuuu.” You said with a dreamy tone. One other thing that you had figured out about him was that returning such comments to him made him a flustered mess. It was utterly adorable for someone as stoic as him at times. 

“Psh.” He scoffed, then lowered his voice once again. “Beautiful how I fill you up sweetheart?” Changbin angled your waist up higher, then spread your thighs, finally pushing them into your body to tighten you. He aligned himself over you, then pushed himself in agonizingly slow. “Beautiful how I can fuck you so deep? How I can m-make you...” 

He had given up on talking, but rather thrust himself further into you with his shaking breaths and little “mmm’s” getting caught on his tongue. 

“B-Bin...fuck, f-feels s-so good--”

He pushed your legs up closer to your body, allowing himself greater access to graze your g-spot. Your busy fingers found their way around his back to claw all the way down. He still relished in taking his time with you, and would never rush fucking you--it was as if he had all the time in the world to unravel you. You returned around him, tightening has he fucked in and out with his own pace. After a while of doing the same, his hand crept around your neck to give you a couple choking squeezes that made you whimper out like a kitten. He would never keep it going for long however, but rather indulged himself in the way that your gasps would remind him of how good it all felt. After, Changbin dipped his thumb into your mouth to run the pad over your tongue. 

The tip of his teeth caught the skin of his lip which he bit into hard. 

“You feel so good baby. F-feels so good on my cock. It’s all for you angel.” 

An unrestrained groan escaped from your mouth as he continued and your orgasm pooled steadily. In and attempt to steady yourself you clawed back into your pillow supporting your head. 

He swiftly changed your position, taking both of his hands to turn you on your stomach. Without a pause he lead his swelling head back into your pussy where he kept on going at his favored slow pace. Your face smushed into the pillow with hips raised in the air. The fluffy fabric muffled your helpless moans. 

“Louder for me princess.” He growled. 

With one hand he arched over to tweak at your nipples with force: twisting and pulling, then he wet his hand with his own saliva to let your skin feel the cold and wet sensation. His other hand he used to reach around and rub circles into your clit. He was gentle at first, but worked your bud harder and faster. Your knees and legs shook the faster he rubbed, and you spilled your loudest and most unapologetic moans into the room that had risen in temperature. 

“Fuck...” He swore. Changbin allowed himself to quicken his pace inside of you. The action alone sent you spinning wildly into your orgasm: a tear of white hot heat that shook your whole body and turned your swollen bud into a sensitive mess under his fingers which did stop, even when when he knew that you had just cum all over them. The harder he pressed, the more wonderfully painful it felt, and you let your tears fall hot from your eyes to the sheet. You attempted to call out his name, but no words that left your mouth made sense. 

He turned your body once more, using brutish hands on your hips as he pulled you overtop of the sheets to fuck you into the bed once more with your sweating back stuck to the comforter. Your body shook with your orgasm still, and you needily brought his lips down to yours to kiss him with your thank you’s as he milked himself out in your tightening walls. 

Changbin was animalistic in the way that he finally let his hips snap over you, at last reaching his orgasm mere seconds after he had pulled out and jerked himself over you. Ribbons of his white cum came spilling out over your gasping chest and stomach and dripped lazily from his pink and flaring tip. He took in shallow inhales as he did, and kept rubbing until the very end and he had nothing more to give. Even as his hand dropped, you took his dick in your own hand to just twist lightly and ride out the last of his orgasm. He softened in your hand with eyes closed in his focus and came down. 

The combination of your lust held in the air for a few silent moments, then he collapsed back down next to you into a blushing and exhausted mess. His pink chest shook, and his soft heather eyes found you. 

“We should...probably take a shower right?” 

“Probably.” You grinned. 

Changbin leaned over to plant even more sugary sweet kisses on top of your lips. He always was one to admire his work, so he chuckled lightly seeing the way that he had properly covered you in his cum. 

“I can help you clean that off.” 

The bed shook and he rose to get you something to clean up. You wished that you could’ve moved to see him saunter around your room without a single piece of clothing on. It was no secret that he had one hell of a cute butt. 

Changbin helped you out of the bed, finding that your legs had started to shake and betray you a bit more harshly than you had intended. He ran the water for you both, inviting you in to take the task of cleaning you to himself. He took the suds in his own hands to brush them all over your body and took careful and gentle attention to the more sensitive parts of your body. He giggled a little at the way that even under the warm water, your nipples would still harden when he ghosted his fingers over them with soap. 

“Don’t look at me like that.” You scolded him. 

He took care of the little bruises on your neck and collarbones, giving them kisses under the clear stream of water as if he was healing them. After he was done, you did the same and cleaned out his hair with your shampoo. He always let out happy little groans when you would massage his scalp. He still had a couple scrapes on his face from a few weeks ago, so you kissed all of them too. 

Changbin’s favorite part was how he could mess up your hair with the towel afterword and make you look as ridiculous as possible. Of course, you would do the same. You would brush your teeth together, and dress somewhat all of the way back again. A while ago he decided keeping clothes at your place was a good idea, but you ended up wearing them more than he did. You blamed it on dirty laundry, but you really did just like the way that they would smell all tangled up in your blankets on your nights alone. 

With bare legs, you would tangle yourselves all up in eachother once more, and not even bother to look at what time it was then. 

As it had become his habit, before the two of you drifted to sleep, Changbin would kiss into your forehead “l love you. You know?” 

╚ ——————————————— ╝

Chocolatey goodness wafted up Felix’s nose, and he let out a happy little squeal. 

“~Thank youuu~” He beamed to the waitress. 

He took a careful sip not to burn his tongue, then turned his head to watch the way that the snow had started to flurry outside of the diner window. Minho flipped the pages of his book and pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose. 

“Whatcha reading?” Felix said with a little tap of his feet under the table. 

Rather than answering, Minho sighed out and closed his book. “Nothing now. If you’re gonna ask questions, then I’ll get distracted, so, nothing now.” 

“Oh. Sorry.” Felix frowned. 

Minho rolled his eyes, suddenly becoming exasperated over his new friend’s dramatic reaction. 

“It was something that I’m assigned to read for one of my classes. It’s about economics or something like that. I’m kind of just skimming; reading because I have to....” He took a sip of his coffee. “Y/n should be reading the same book considering that we are in the same class...but I haven’t even seen you with it yet.” 

You prodded at your plate of half eaten waffles. “About that...” 

“If you think that I’m gonna give you the SparkNotes you are sorely mistaken.” 

You writhed in your seat a bit like an upset toddler. “Come onnnnn, Minho, you know that I don’t have time for that, working at the library and such...”  

“--More like stealing my roommate from me. I hardly see him at our apartment anymore.” Minho made his remark with a type of snark, but knowing him, he was still just as sarcastic. 

“Yeah,” Felix piped up. “The three of us haven’t hung out in a while either!” 

“...Sorry, I’ve just been getting...caught up in things.” 

Minho cleared his throat. “I’m not saying that its a bad thing. It’s just something that I’ve noticed.” 

Felix nodded, “Me too! I’m really happy for you!! So is Chan, don’t get me wrong. We haven’t seen you so happy and like, not serious in such a long time. Really, I’m so so glad that you have someone like him for a boyfriend.” 

Your fork scratched your plate. “--Boyfriend?” 

“Yeah!” Felix beamed. “Isn’t that what he is?” 

Minho too held an expectant gaze. 

“I-I don’t think...we hadn’t really talked about what it is that we’re doing...or are.” 

“So you’re saying that he’s not your boyfriend?” Minho cocked his head in his confusion. “Well, you ask him and he’ll think that it’s a different story.” 

“H-he talks about me?” You sat up straighter. 

“Well, he hasn’t explicitly said anything, but the way that he never shuts the fuck up...” Minho suddenly became much more interested in his coffee. 

“What? You don’t want him to be your boyfriend?” Felix looked just as confused. 

In your hands, you crinkled up the napkin that you had resting on your lap. You hadn’t in fact, ever thought of such. Merely, you had thought that you loved him, and that you enjoyed being around him and that he had made you happy. Was it odd that the thought had never crossed your mind? 

“And he hasn’t said anything about it either?” Felix leaned in. To his side, Minho nudged his arm in the most non-obvious way possible. 

“...No?” 

Your heartbeat quickened in pace. 

“Af...after everything that happened back then? Didn’t you say that he like, confessed or something and you did the same? You’ve only been hanging out with eachother for weeks?” Felix pushed his cocoa away from himself to lay his hands flat on the table. 

“I...don’t think that we should press the issue.” Minho patted down the boy sitting next to him. 

It was the feeling that you had been avoiding for weeks: that kind of uncertainty and fear that you had pushed down so far after the night that it all came together, but you didn’t expect it to manifest like this. In your chest a knot tied itself together tightly and in a way that you couldn’t explain. 

“I...just like what's happening right now between us, I didn’t think that he would want--” 

Felix nudged Minho by the hip, motioning for him to let him out of his side of the booth. Minho rolled his eyes, but did so muttering, “I said we shouldn’t press the issue but here you go...” 

Felix slid over to your side of the booth, nearly shoving you up close to the wall with how near he scooched to you. Carefully, he removed the napkin that you had scrunched up into your palm. 

“Relax okay? You’re doing it again. Just calm down.” While his tone was sweet, you couldn’t help but find some condescending edge--real or not. 

“Doing what? I don’t think that I’m doing anything wrong??” 

Felix let you squeeze his hand tight, as patient as ever. 

“Do you not want him to be your boyfriend?” He repeated. “But he treats you so nicely? There’s nothing to worry about.” 

At first you were angry at yourself, angry at yourself for feeling the hot tears well up in your eyes in public, 

I’m so fucking pathetic. 

Secondly, you were furious at yourself for feeling anything less than the happiness that had made up your whole world for the past few weeks. You had worked so hard just to make something that made sense, and he made sense. Why did it have to be much more complicated than that? 

“Y/n?” Felix bowed his head down with his softening gaze. 

“F-Felix, I don’t want to talk about it.” 

“I’m just trying to understand so I can help you out with this. Clearly there’s something that’s upsetting you about, I don’t know, putting a label on it? If that’s the right word--” 

Minho sucked at his teeth, “He’s too nice to say that you’re self sabotaging again. Listen, you don’t have to have the answers right now, we’re just saying you’re getting in your own way at having something that could be really great.” 

Felix shot daggers in Minho’s direction. 

“I wasn’t gonna say this, but Bin’s been going through shit right now with his family that I’m sure he isn’t telling you about. Someone tipped them off about what he’s been doing and they’re furious. He’s been telling them that no one knows that he’s tied to them when he raps but they aren’t listening. Literally when he goes to see you it’s like, what’s helping him forget all that shit. He cares about you a fuck ton, and I’ve heard about it all. He wants you to be his girlfriend. Believe me. Don’t know why he hasn’t brought it up yet, but...” 

Felix took in a shaky breath, then turned his attention back to you. “Besides all that, I think that you should at least talk to him about this all. I had no idea that you felt this way. I’m sorry for making assumptions. At least, if you and him talk about it, you can figure something out right?” 

You took at the papery and crinkled napkin and dabbed it harshly on your eyes to dry your tears before they had a chance to run further down your face. 

“Why the fuck doesn’t he tell me anything?” Your voice wavered. 

Minho folded his hands on the table. “Knowing him, he probably thinks that it would be burdening to you. Selfless dick. He thinks that putting that shit on you somehow makes him seem like a handful or some shit.” 

“B-but I don’t feel that way?” 

“Then tell him!!” Felix’s volume rose. “When you talk to him, tell him that.” 

“What the fuck is this, a drama?” Minho laughed a little. “These communication skills are god-awful.” 

“Oh fuck off Minho,” Felix rubbed your back to soothe you. “This is real life, and we’re here to help out Y/n.” 

“That’s fuck off Minho-hyung to you.” The older boy stuck out his tongue. 

You wiped your nose against your hand, then Minho threw another napkin from the holder in your direction. 

“I promise that things will get better when you talk to him.” Felix nodded. “Talking always helps.” 

╚ ——————————————— ╝

Thursday afternoon came, and the forecast had called for snow, but none had come. Rather, the atmosphere had turned to be dreary and grey the whole day long, and the temperature dropped so low that some local schools had to cancel classes for the day. Your university had decided to do the same. While you had been thankful and decided to spend the day working on your various projects, you couldn’t bring your hand to the canvas. 

All day long you had spent figuring out what it really was that you wanted to say to Changbin, and you still hadn’t figured it out yet. Even you didn’t know what it was entirely that scared you deeply. But, you knew that somewhere you did. 

Why her? 

You could do better. 

Isn’t she...boring? 

You hugged your legs to yourself as you waited on your couch. The memories seeped into your brain like some kind of poison diffusing its way. 

No, no. You’re wrong. You tried your best to banish them. 

You’re all mine. No one else’s. Don’t you ever forget that. Tell me. Who’s baby are you? 

You squeezed your eyes shut, and dug your nails into the fleshy part of your knees where you held them. 

You don’t own me. You don’t have the fucking power. 

Three knocks clicked at your door, and you knew that it was Changbin. Your chest shook with a type of anxiety that felt like prickling thorns. You rose to open the door. 

“Fuck. It’s so freezing out there.” Was the first thing that he said. “I wouldn’t mind not having to go back out there if you are?” He slung his coat over one of chairs to your two person dining table. As soon as he was undressed, you were overcome with the desire to be as close as possible as you could get to him. It had been your safe place. 

Changbin let out a little surprised noise when you launched your body at him, but he just as quickly held you back firmly. 

“Is everything okay?” 

For a moment you let his rosemary and cedarwood cast aside all the ideas and words that ate away at you. 

“Can we talk?” You mumbled. 

“Yeah, of course. Can we sit down? Get a blanket maybe?” You nodded and let him do the work of going back to your room to get back your knit blanket that he knew you liked best. He threw it over his shoulders them beckoned you to join him in his arms. You snuggled right up into his chest where he had tucked himself into the corner of the couch. “Want to talk about it now?” 

With glistening eyes you tried your best to look up at him. His cheeks were still bitten pink from the cold. 

“Why didn’t you ever tell me about your parents? Or about what’s going on right now?” 

Changbin sighed and bit at his lower lip in his discontent. “Minho said something didn’t he?” 

“You can tell me, you know?” 

Changbin shook his head. “It’s not your problem to worry about, so I don’t want you do.” 

“But you’re my problem to worry about. Don’t you get that?” 

He sighed once more, then rested his head atop of yours. Where he held you around your arms, he rubbed gently.  

“And if...being with me helps you...I’ll come around anytime alright? You don’t just have to come here.” 

He laughed a little. “My place isn’t as private as yours is.” 

You toyed with the fraying fabric of the blanket. “You know that I can be quiet if I need to be. Or if you just want me to sleep over, I can do that too.” 

“I don’t want you going out of your way--” 

“--I don’t mind.” You nuzzled a little deeper. “So, your parents are giving you a hard time?” 

He tsked. “Yeah. It’s just...stupid is all. They care so much about what I do and don’t do when I left so it wouldn’t bother them. They’re trying hand out some kind of threats to me like they have the right to do so....they don’t.” 

“What are you going to do?” 

Changbin helped you up a bit higher up his body so your head could rest on his shoulder. “Nothing. Keep doing what I’ve always been. No one knows except the people I have closest to me. They’re worrying over nothing.” 

You formed a “oh” with your lips. 

“But, it’s nothing to worry about. I promise.” 

Already, you had forgotten what you really had decided to talk to him about. It had slipped from your mind just as quickly as you had let it arise. The two of you grew quiet, and you let yourself become overcome with the feeling and warmth that his body and the blanket gave to you. You wondered if he would’ve gotten mad if you had fallen asleep just then. It didn’t seem like the worst idea.

“As long as we’re talking about things, do you mind if I ask you something?” Changbin asked after planting a small kiss on your forehead. 

“What’s that?” You said with a sleepy and cracking voice. 

“You...don’t have to have the answer right now, but I just thought it would be worth it to ask, since we’ve been doing you know, this, for a few weeks now. You already know how I feel about you, I think that I’ve made it pretty damn clear, but, I was thinking that we could make things exclusive between us? Like, it just becomes me and you?” 

Drip by drip, the drowsiness that had swept over your eyes dissipated. 

“Would you be up for that? I just, it seems a bit odd to me that we haven’t talked about it yet considering...well, I think that it would be easier if we knew what we were so then we could, I don’t know, plan or something like that? It’s kind of a commitment, I know, but I want you to know that I’m willing--” 

“Bin...” You pulled yourself up from his chest. 

“What? Why are you looking at me like that? Did-did I say something wrong?” 

Who’s baby are you? 

“You want me to...be yours?” 

“Well, not exactly, you know what I’ve said before, but, I would like you to be my girlfriend--” 

A sob clogged your throat. Now that he had finally said it, the realizations came flooding over you like the deathly winter chill. 

“Angel, are you scared again? I told you that you don’t have to with me, I swear that I don’t ever want to hurt you or anything like what happ--” 

“--Like happened what? Back when I was so fucking stupid to get myself locked up in something that I thought would be good for me? Why is it that you want me to be your girlfriend, huh? I-is it because I-I fall over for you? I can’t run away from you? Am-am I just a good fuck for you? What is it?” 

“What the fuck? Where is this coming from? Y/n, you know that I love you, I fucking love you like crazy and I don’t think any of those things!! I’m not trying to restrain you our use you or anything like that, I don’t know why the hell you would think that!” 

“B-because you might not now, but what about later down the line...when I get boring or you figure out that I’m not as exciting like I used to be or--” 

“--What?! No! That’s not gonna happen!” Changbin reached out to pull you back into his arms, but you shook him off. 

Salty tears filled the corners of your mouth. “The last time that I-I did something like this, I--” 

“--Well this isn’t last time, this is this time, okay? It’s different! I swear to God that I’m not that fucking asshole. I get that you’re scared, okay, that’s totally understandable, but I’m asking you to trust me alright? Can you trust me?” 

Part of you wanted to trust him. In fact, a much larger part of yourself wanted to trust him so bad, it hurt. But, a smaller part of you, a much smaller part of you still screamed into the abyss that he was the last person in the world that you could trust; and that voice, was much louder. 

“I want you to be my girlfriend, and I want to give you everything that I have. All my fucking time, my attention, hell, just minutes ago you said that I was your problem, can’t you be mine? Is that not allowed? I’m just...I DON’T get you!!!” Changbin growled out the tail end of his sentence and only after he had said it he realized it was much louder than he intended. “Oh God, I’m so sorry, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean...please. I’m not mad at you.” 

Your body had weakened, so when he had reached out for you, you let yourself fall into his arms. 

“Angel, can’t you see that what I’m trying to do is the complete opposite of what you think I am? Yeah I mean, it would be nice to call you my girlfriend, but not because I’m trying to control you or anything, but because...fuck, you make me happier, made me feel like I’m less lonely in this fucking crazy-ass world. I want to be that for you and you only.” 

Poisonous thoughts. Why were they even more alluring than the antidote that you had right in front of your face? 

Your limp body mustered up the strength of push yourself off his chest. Looking into his eyes you felt numb. With all the care that he held for you, you felt as if you didn’t deserve one single ounce of it. 

Why her?  

You figured that in some parallel earth, you would’ve been able to have said yes. In that parallel earth, nothing bad would’ve ever happened, and you wouldn’t have been crouched in that alley with snow melting into your dress. You would’ve lived a normal life without pain and doubt. Maybe you would’ve met him there too, and you would’ve been able to say yes. 

“You...don’t have to have the answer right now, but can you please consider it...for me? I meant everything that I said, but I...I also can’t wait forever.” You heard his voice grow thick. “I know that if...you can’t do it, or iff you don’t know, then I can’t just make it happen. There’s not a lot else that I can do. But at least I want to try.” 

You could do better. 

“I-I think that I need to be alone...right now--tonight.” Two more hot tears fell down your cheeks with a sting like a papercut. 

“Right now?” 

“Yeah, just--there’s things that I need to think about, I don’t..I don’t know. I’m sorry.” 

“No. I understand.” Changbin sniffled. 

Slowly, your two bodies seperated, and the heat from his body faded. You thought to yourself, it wasn’t yours to keep in the first place. 

You lead him quietly to the door where you watched him lace up his shoes and throw on his coat. His eyes had become puffy, as much as you figured you had looked as well. His grey eyes looked tired, just like the dreary day that you had spent all day hiding from. Still, he smiled. 

“Y/n. I know that you think that you’re hard to love. But you’re not. If you take away anything from this, I hope you know that your past doesn’t define you, and that you can have happiness after it all. I want to be that for you. If you’ll let me. Only if you’ll let me.” 

Your clogged nose made a horrible stuffed sound and you nodded. You had listened to his words, but had you heard? 

He sighed with finality, then bent down to kiss at the salty taste on your lips. 

“Call me, okay?” 

You closed the door after him, then collapsed down the door. Your pent up sobs flew out of your chest with loud and ugly sounding sobs. Each one hurt more than the last to get out. You crumbled against the wood door, and didn’t even mind the cool draft from under the crack. Your world became a blur in front of your watery eyes and your hands shook as they took your phone from your pocket. 

Words of self loathing filled your ears as you searched up the name, but it was the only one that you could think of in your blind emptiness. 

If only things could go back to the way that they were. 

╚ ——————————————— ╝

The walk to his apartment was cold, freezing even. You had worn the shoes that you had been scolded for, and the coat that provided you with barely any warmth. You knew the way to his apartment well--it was almost muscle memory by now. Streetlights passed you overhead, and finally the snow that was promised started to drift from the heavens and before you. 

Your hands cracked with the cold when you pushed the button to his intercom, and he buzzed you in without saying a word. You showed yourself up the staircase with empty sounding footsteps echoing against the walls. Your eyes had welled with tears once you reached his floor, but you blinked them away harshly. It was a futile attempt considering that he would see how red your eyes had become. 

His door was cracked with old paint, and the number had been scratched off with age. You knocked one time, no more than that. Somewhere a tiny voice had hoped that he wouldn’t hear the knock at all, and figure that you hadn’t even come up, and that you could quietly slip back away. 

But he didn’t. He must’ve been waiting. 

He too looked to be a mess: his cheeks and eyes had puffed up and he looked as if he hadn’t slept in days. He wore minimal clothing that hung loosely on his frame. 

“--Jisung--” 

Before you could say any more, he had leapt into you, and wrapped his arms around you so tightly that he could’ve rid you of all your breath. 

“Baby, thank you so much for coming. Thank you so much. I’m sorry how I acted at the concert. I just missed you so much....I missed you so much.” 

[thecitythatdoesntsleep]

[Chapter 1] [Chapter 2] [Chapter 3] [Chapter 4] [Chapter 5] [Chapter 6] [Chapter 7] [Chapter 8] [Chapter 9] [Chapter 10] [Chapter 11] [Chapter 12] [Chapter 13] [Chapter 15] [Chapter 16] [Story Masterlist]

(Tags/TCW: threatening, violence, torture, force-feeding, tube feeding, blood, breaking/broken bones, moderate gore, dental/tooth extraction, implied scalping, stabb!ng/impal!ng, painting with blood, gore/blood art, story building, plot-driven, femalevampire!caretaker, malehuman!whumpee, malevampire!whumper, romantic elements)

"I'm sure you already know, your princess in shining armor paid me a visit." Sang seethed in a venomous tone, forcing Lukas' hands through a double knot and cinching it to the legs of the chair he was tied to.

"Oh, she was really mad but I've gotta say, Lulu, when you pick'em, you pick'em right." The vampire continued to speak to himself, his captive being given no choice but to listen with a thick ball-gag between his lips and a sock behind it.

"You were fun but Mina? Mina will be an absolute riot to break down."

As soon as Lukas was successfully tied, each limb to each leg of the chair, Sang stepped back on his heel to admire him. His skin was already flushing from the tension of the ropes around him and his stomach clenched against the digging rope that held him down.

Even when he struggled, he didn't get far and the chair was too sturdy for him to rock out of balance.

"I'm actually sad the jig is up so soon, I was hoping to really, really befriend her but you've got a problem running your mouth." The vampire gave a huff of disgust and reached for his duffle bag, pulling out a few wooden framed canvases and a small easel.

Lukas watched as the man littered his re-arranged coffee table with paintbrushes and pallets, eyes widening as the contents grew in severity. An exact-o knife was taken out, a scalpel, and a small, cheap-looking serrated blade.

"So you and I, are going to make her a surprise for the auction. One that'll be a real tearjerker."

Before Lukas had time to react, a blade was stabbed deeply into his thigh and twisted in such a way it made him writhe. He left pain against the gag in his mouth and his eyes rolled from the overwhelming sensation that threatened to take his breath away.

The instrument was removed and Sang picked up a paintbrush instead, lining it up with the wound he'd left behind on the male's restrained leg.

"Don't move or I'll have to make it bigger," He warned in a deepened tone as he pressed the brush carefully into the carved-out hole he'd created; soaking the bristles in a rich red.

"She's weak, Mina, I mean." Sang started, pulling the brush out of his body to start to gently work it against a canvas in his hand, as soon as he was seated beside the panting human.

"I don't know what she see's in you unless she's looking in a mirror when she looks at your pathetic, cheeky little face. I bet that's it," The vampire lamented, running dry on the quickly darkening 'paint' and giving a sharp jab into the wound he'd made on Lukas' thigh.

Lukas whined against the gag, body tensing and another push of perfect crimson readying Sang's painting tool once more. His skin dripped with trails and a small puddle had formed where the droplets collected. It hadn't been an artery, thankfully, the man was careful and only scraped up tissue and cells.

"I wish you could see it for yourself, just what I'm going to make her do Lukas." Even in his slew of a one-sided conversation, he was making skilled strokes against the canvas and dipping for more paint at his leisure; back into the wound, he'd made in the first place. "But I'm hoping she'll fight, so I can actually enjoy breaking her down."

Even as tears collected in his eyes and his leg twitched as he rooted the brush around inside it; what ate at him more was the idea that she could face the same treatment.

He deserved this.

She didn't.

Lukas sat still bound to the chair, hours later and his head dipped lower and lower as he went in and out of consciousness. The floor was stained around him with blood and it had long dried down his body in patchy ribbons.

"Hey," A rough smack to his cheek and he barely crested view towards Sang as the vampire grabbed up his head and paid no mind to the wounds he'd left on his skull. Even as the human cried out in such a broken, strained whimper; nothing akin to compassion could be found on the man.

There was a scrunch on his face, brows pinched like there was a vice between them; his breath was shallow on his lips and panting to catch up.

"You're not getting out of it that easy, Lulu." The vampire grabbed his fractured jaw and intentionally crushed it to wake the male with agonizing pain instead. "Open your mouth."

Lukas refused, sealing his lips closed and gritting his teeth to the best of what his damaged skull would allow. It wasn't much, the vampire pried his lips open and tried separating his teeth.

"Oh if you think I'm not prepared, you're sorely mistaken," Sang seethed in irritation, reaching into his nearby bag to reef out two items that shot terror through the human in his grasp. He could already smell it radiating off his skin, how fearful he was.

"You're going to drink enough blood that I can finish my deadline," The vampire took a slender tube from within his belongings and gritted his teeth in annoyance when the human clamped down on the fingers in his mouth.

Lukas writhed as far as he could, flattened, fought what little the man had allowed him as the tube was scraped on his gums. He lost power too quickly, he couldn't hold on as Sang manipulated the bones in his jaw and his pain was cut off with the item in hand. The tube scraped down his throat with a brutal slice and as soon as it was lodged; his head was turned so the rushing acid would meet the floor instead.

Sang had been prepared, allowing the male to vomit until his stomach was emptied and once the tube was cleared; the second item was fixed onto the end. A funnel.

The vampires slit his palm as deep as it would go and squeezed the wound into the basin of the funnel; a hand meeting Lukas' throat to steady him while he gasped and gagged. The plan worked, much to the human's dismay and fresh blood was siphoned into his stomach to be absorbed on contact.

As soon as it was warm and deep in his stomach; Lukas stopped fighting. And Sang was left to witness something that had drawn him to the human in the first place.

The subtle changes took over his body like a wave and left the vampire with a landscape of inspiration as each nuance hit.

Green eyes were consumed with black, skin transformed back to its normal ashen pallidity. It was euphoric to feel the bones set under his fingers, feel such strong resistance around the tube as he pulled it out. He watched Lukas fight to correct himself, how much he naturally wanted to slump within a few lingering moments.

The heat was next, the black-haired man's skin starting to flush and shift under the tack of crusting blood. Sang watched wounds close where he'd left them, the scalp he'd taken off of him re-surface and tuft with hair already. He saw the fall in posture, how his lips slowly parted as seconds grew and drool met his corners.

"You want more now?" Sang purred, fingers carding through his matting strands; gripping for a moment to tilt his head back.

Lukas looked angry still, under the softened lines of his face. Despite how wide his pupils were, how fast his heart rushed against his ribs, he wasn't happy about this dose.

A tongue swiped over his lips to moisten them and hunter-green eyes stared up at the man that had helped ruin his life. The vampire was observing him so intensely, eyes deep and piercing with an electric blue. The corners of his lips curled back and it made him feel like Alice, locking eyes with the Cheshire cat.

"I'll give you more, Lukas if you'll suck up the pieces of your pride and beg me for it. How you used to." Sang informed, watching more defiance spark in the male, now that he'd come back to physical perfection within a few minutes.

"Fuck you," Lukas seethed as the vampire snatched up his chin and promptly halted the healing of his shattered jaw with another grind.

"All you have to do is fucking beg, slut," Sang's voice dropped to a dangerous pitch and he held onto the bones that were rearranging under his fingers. He was enjoying it too much, the look on his face said so the longer he stared his obsession down. "I need to see you lose it, one more time if I'm going to finish these tonight."

Lukas gave a huff through his nose and a roll of his eyes, tears surfacing down his corners from the stings of pain through his face. He couldn't look at him anymore but Sang wasn't satisfied with that, he knew the moment he looked away, what he'd earn.

A fist met the healing fractures and reversed every stitch Sang's blood had tried to reverse. Another and another, all from opposite sides of the last. When the vampire stopped, Lukas' face was unhinged and the lower half rested close to his neck. There were finally new shrieks of pain and terror, as he'd minced the bones finely enough to misalign teeth and leave them stringing on gums.

"Ooof- maybe too hard... You're not very pretty anymore," The vampire laughed, fingers reaching into the mess and pulling a molar from the very back of his mouth. "I might use this too, or I might leave it for Mina as a gift. Give her a little teaser for the real event."

Lukas was trembling now, shaking in the overwhelming shock of pain and the fear of just how far Sang would go this time. He'd been creative, brutal in the past but tonight's example of both was putting dread in the mix of his gut.

All he was left to do was watch as the vampire returned to his canvas and had started with a new one. He reached out with a pallet to catch a string of bloody drool and shoved another brush into the socket he'd left behind on his gumline. A deep twist and Lukas was howling again; blood vomiting over his hand from the human's nausea hitting its peak.

"Ah, you sick little shit you're wasting it," Sang chastised, tending to the thinned material with a spread of red and deeper crimson. "But I brought the funnel for a reason."

Lukas cried out in broken terror now, the radiating sting overwhelming him every time Sang engaged with his distorted mouth. He gagged and sputtered, pulled against his bindings, and sobbed in a gasping breath. It was substantially harder to keep calm and regulate his breathing, even more so when the brush dug into his strained gums.

"Don't worry Lulu, I've only got three more pieces to go. You'll be fine."

"Excuse me," Val announced, flagging down the attention of a passing brunette with a badge. They could only assume she worked there.

"Yes? Can I help you with something?" Andreia questioned, stopping when the tall vampire tracked her down mid-sprint across the gallery.

"I'm looking for Mina, is she around?" They asked, watching the human give a squint to her eyes. It was minimal, but they noticed it. She definitely knew of the name.

"She's not here right now but I'm of the same title so perhaps I could be of some use?" Andreia watched the vampire take a manilla envelope from under their arm and extend it to her, Mina's name written across the front.

"Could you give this to her? Just tell her it's from a friend, she won't know me by name." They offered and kept it extended until cautious hands took it from them. They looked at the woman when she met eyes with them and offered the smallest edge of a smile.

The next words from the vampire, left Andreia speechless, even as they turned away and walked through the front doors. Her mother tongue met her ears and the accent was so refined, there was no way it wasn't native. The sound left a chill down her spine and she was clutching the documents to her chest without realizing her stance.

'Regina are nevoie de ajutorul nostru dacă vrea să omoare dragonul.'

"What could that possibly mean?" Andreia asked, having recapped the event to Mina as soon as she'd made it into the break room.

"Who was this again?" The vampiress questioned and the human slid the package closer to her.

"They said you wouldn't know them by name but they were tall, brown hair, brown eyes. Extremely long hair, couldn't tell what gender they were." She watched the woman pull open the unsealed flap and peek into the contents, brows pinching as she slid them out.

Andreia circled her, looking over her shoulder as she pulled out the papers but she flipped them when she got close. "Ugh Mina, I want to know too, this is too mysterious."

"I don't know what it might be so please, allow me to look over it first by myself and I promise I'll tell you okay? Could you go buy me some time with Blaire?" Mina asked, watching the woman's face fall and shoulders slump in defeat. She pouted even and Mina mimed the expression.

"I can buy you ten minutes, maybe fifteen if I bullshit hard enough," Andi replied and Mina gave her a sweet smile.

"I promise, I'll fill you in."

As soon as Andreia was gone from the break room, she gave a small peek over her shoulder and towards another colleague with their back turned. At last, she flipped the documents back over and started to card her fingers through them as she stared at the first page.

It was an article that had been printed from a web page but the contents started to force tension into her lips and jaw as she read further down.

'The vampire in question was taken to trial on the 31st and faced a live jury of kindred while he gave his testament. The defense held solid grounds and evidence through the trial and after only two hours of discussion, all parties regrouped to find Sayong not guilty of his crimes.'

'This case will go down in history, as the biggest failure of the vampiric counsel. Letting a monster free, into the public will go to prove their leniency isn't suitable in all cases. Immortal or otherwise.'

'At the loss of 13 human lives, 13 families affected and 13 empty caskets; the public is appalled at what has come of this case of public manslaughter.'

Mina's sight was all but there when she peeled back more pages; found more clippings, more news articles. Each seemed older than the last and by the time she was down to parchment paper, she was squinting to read ink that had smudged and faded.

'This beast is different, far different from the ones we've encountered. It moves through the shadows, it can transform into many faces. It hides and it hides well. No one knows its true form but there is hearsay about it being ten thousand years old.'

'Be warned any that encounter it, it is not like a common leech, it can form teeth and claws, it projects the resemblance of kin and enemy. It has tricked many of us into our demise and I fear none of us will make it, but if this letter is found; do not follow the blue-eyed monster. If it has seen you, it may already be too late.'

As she scanned the final page, Mina reached for the envelope and found a bit of weight left in the corner. The papers were dismissed and she poured the contents into her hand; a smooth, shiny coin meeting her palm. In an instant, her lids fluttered and visions painted before her eyes; this time, of a familiar scene.

Neon blurs hazed her sight and she saw Grim’s, the dented back door, and the blurry face of an attendant. Further, a door that had scribbled writing on it was indecipherable because the message wasn’t important. She knew where she was, where this person had been who owned the coin prior.

She saw Lukas and he looked at her, them, so fondly. He crawled with open arms, another scene and he laid against their chest and cried. A hand soothed his head, pet through messy hair, and tamed it backward. Whoever looked at him; did so with love in every movement. They pulled his head up, kissed him; in another flashing instant he was under them, panting in ecstasy. Clinging, wanton, she felt like she should have looked away.

The bleary vision of a gravestone cracked the vision of Lukas’ pleasure, this time the name was visible. Valen Zugravescu. She read it as if she were looking at it head-on. The vision morphed a final time and she watched as someone snipped flowers into a sink, padded across another room and they looked at the coin currently in her hand. As they picked it up, stroked a thumb over it, they looked into the hallway mirror and she saw their reflection.

Brown hair, down to their waist, and dark eyes that looked sullen at their own image. They spoke something and it was distorted but she just barely made it out.

“Save him, before we both lose him.”

When Mina gained control of herself again, she had to quickly upright to keep from face-planting into the table in front of her. Tears pushed through her eyes, blood dripped from her nose and her lids fluttered to gain relief from such a long glimpse into the past. There was no doubt in her mind it was intentional; planted there by this vampire for her to see.

The spasm in her chest was painful and she quickly plucked a napkin from the condiment caddy to hold it up to her nose. Another to wipe the table off in hasty covering and she smeared it off her lips and chin. Hunger panged in her throat and she swallowed a short trail of her own plasma when she tilted her head back a bit.

“Mina, are you alright?”

Before she could orient herself, the break-room door creaked open and both Blaire and Andreia ushered in to originally gain her attention back to work.

“Y-Yeah! Yeah, I’m fine, I’m fine, I just- I think it’s something seasonal. I’ve been letting myself get too cold lately, I don’t feel it like you guys do..” She reasoned, far too abruptly to be normal and Blaire had already approached her to rest a gentle hand to her forehead.

“You feel a little hot to me, actually, you might have a fever, Mina. Are you alright? Have you been resting?” Blaire questioned, brows pinched in concern. She’d been asking a lot of her lately, there was a bit of guilt in her eyes already.

“Yeah you don’t look too good Mina, are you sure you’re okay?” Even Andreia sounded concerned now and the vampiress was squirmy under such intense attention.

“I’m alright, I just haven’t been sleeping the best. I think I’m just worried about the big day and stressing over tiny details. I promise though, I’m fine.” Mina assured, this time putting more effort into doing it with more sincerity.

“Andreia, would you be alright staying two extra hours tonight? I’d like to send Mina home and let her rest.” Blaire questioned and before the vampiress could dispute; Andreia of course jumped to agree.

“Of course, consider it done, Des will be on lunch soon if you want me to call him to come to get you, Mina.” The brunette offered and Mina held her hands up with a shake.

“No no,” She waved, “I’m telling you both I’m alright, I can at least get home on my own.” Mina tried and Blaire looked at her with a furrow on her brows.

“I’ll take you home, Mina, I’m about to take lunch anyways so let me brief Andreia on the project and we’ll go, alright?” The woman insisted and both left the room as quickly as they’d come in.

It seemed like a blur, how quickly Blaire had come back and they’d both gotten into her car. Mina was thinking too much now and the longer they sat in silence, the heavier it wore on her face. A thousand different things ran through her head and it all drew back to what she’d seen through someone else’s eyes.

“You know you can talk to me, Mina. I may be your boss and just some old human, but I have listening ears, especially for you.” The woman spoke gently into the foggy air as Mina had clouded it with how much her mind was swirling, twisting around.

“I don’t think this is the kind of conversation we can have, Blaire. I appreciate the kindness, I do and I wish I knew enough to even be able to tell you. But I don’t.” Mina turned to look at her and she picked up her occasional glance as she continued down the road and deeper into town.

“Sometimes we don’t need answers, we just need to say it out loud.” She encouraged still, easing into a turn that took them closer to Mina’s street but cut the main traffic.

“I’m falling in love with someone I shouldn’t,” Mina breathed in a small, closeted honesty. “And the odds are very very stacked against us, from all sides. It shouldn’t even be happening.”

“But it’s love, right? So it should be happening but it shouldn’t, in the theory of a perfect world, be hard. You’re right but this is life and I’m sure you’ve lived enough of them to know that better than any of us.” Blaire offered a warm smile and glanced over towards the woman who had shrunk in her place; wore defeat like a newly tailored dress.

“I don’t know the situation Mina but I know if you find someone you love, the fight is worth it. I know that much.”

“That’s the thing… I’ve lived too long to be so haphazardly self-destructive. But it’s so intense, it’s like an overwhelming urge that makes me go ‘I have to do this’ ‘This person right here, will be all I’m going to think about.’ and it’s driving me insane.” Mina lamented, adjusting in her seat as the car pulled into her driveway and was changed into parking gear.

“It sounds normal to me if you’ve never been in real love before. Maybe this person is just your match, your soul mate and you just get to know about it.” Blaire had a sparkle in her eyes as if she were encouraging a young lady to agree to a suitor. Instead of making romanticized comments about the fact she was falling in love with what society called a blood-whore.

“Thank you, Blaire. I think I needed to hear that,” Mina lied, giving a small smile and looking at her for a prolonged moment. “Don’t let me keep you from your lunch and I promise, I’ll be there tomorrow.”

“I need you for the event but I’d rather you rest and I get to keep you for the rest of the year, too. Please don’t push yourself Mina and whatever this is, if it’s meant to be, it will work out.”

The two parted ways and Mina gave a wave over her shoulder as she entered her house; immediately slumping in the doorway to hold herself. She peered over her arms at the bundle of documents she’d shoved into her purse and the buzzing of her phone, told her Andreia wanted to know what all of that had been about.

She owed her that much, she thought. Now that she’d be home late and it was all because of some stranger.

Why had they given her all that? Let her see all of that? See Lukas, see them, it made no sense. She tasted it still, the lingering bitterness of blood and the scent of sex that had permeated the room when she’d been in her vision. Someone other than her loved Lukas but for whatever reason, they wanted her to save him.

And then there was evidence, file upon file, of someone who had committed carnage more times than she could count. Each file was more horrendous than the last, a dozen different names but the first three had been the same. It was an overwhelming amount of information to take in, especially all at once, and for such a majority to be so vivid and first handed.

'I'm trying, I'm trying to save him, I'll do whatever it takes.'

-

Taglist:

@whumpy-writings @thecyrulik @wolfeyedwitch @i-msonotcreative

Please excuse me while I discover what keeps shadowing my posts. The tags will be odd for a while and include symbols.

[imagine-always-and-forever]

Flutterings & Tequila - Part 13

A Klaus Mikaelson Imagine

Pairing: Niklaus Mikaelson x Reader

Summary: you’ve decided to go clubbing with your best friend the last summer before college starts to take your mind off of the Mikaelsons who have invaded your life this summer. Specifically, you’re trying to distract yourself from Niklaus Mikaelson and the flutterings he has caused you. Tequila is your friend tonight.

Part Summary: Clue hunting.

Warnings: typical stuff you’d see in the show

Word count: 3,115

Tags:  elle88531,  violentmommabear42, pisicakawritesshitatfour, a-quarter-horse-called-biscuit, hoeofnjadaka, thegingerthatwaited, despressolattes, aomi-nabi, pie46733, (let me know if you want to be tagged or I missed you out on the tag list!)

Authors note: so I’ve been saying I’d get back to this for ages. I know. But truthfully I hit such a brick wall that writer’s block as a concept had to add another tier to it’s existence just for me. Thankfully, for no clear reason whatsoever, it poofed away as some strong desire to write this again came to me after work. So... tada? Also I am sorry but so so many of you asked to be tagged (I’m very flattered!!!) that I think I’m missing a bunch of people. If I missed you send me a message and I’ll add you to the list. Enjoy 😊

Part 1  |   Part 2  | Part 3  | Part 4  | Part 5  |  Part 6  | Part 7  | Part 8  | Part 9  | Part 10  | Part 11 | Part 12

You’re trembling slightly as you walk down your stairs, breath coming out shakily as you try to calm yourself down. You had 24 hours to find out at least something about what the Mikaelsons were doing here. 24 hours and no clue where to start.

  Through the back window you could see Klaus and Elijah making their way out of the guest house. Their expressions were drawn and Klaus had a small black bag clutched in his hand. Your eyes darted to the door to the house. Were you that stupid?

The fact that your feet were already moving you forward gave you a clear yes, but at least you could report back to Josie that you did, despite her belief, have some sort of self-preservation. It was just a really fucked up kind.

  The door to the guest house opened with ease. Of course the Mikaelsons didn’t think to lock it. What was the point? Who would try to get in to their home without their permission and who would live to tell the tale?

  Well, hopefully you.

The painting supplies were still right where you left them. Your eyes swept across the room in front of you, cataloging what you saw. You’d helped Josie redecorate last summer, but it looked like the Mikaelsons took it upon themselves to do some of their own renovations. It was a little bit embarrassing how little of the place you’d payed attention to when you were here with Klaus.

 They’d rearranged half the furniture for gods sake and you hadn’t noticed at all. With a frown on your face, you examined the new layout of the room. You wondered what prompted the rearrangement. The couches being moved about made sense to give Klaus extra space for his easels. But what was the purpose of switching the office area with the dining room?

  The office, which you were truthfully rather proud of last summer, looked like Elijah’s doing. Two bookcases now sandwiched in the desk against what was supposed to be the accent wall of the room. Not a single bit of the pop of color on the wall was visible now. The imposing set up didn’t even look touched. You could feel your eyebrows tense as they tried to furrow further with your deepened confusion. Dust collected across the books on their shelves. You swiped a finger through it. Coated.

It surprised you that Elijah wasn’t as much of a neat freak about his environment as he was abou his appearance. Though, you suspected if he was he’d have spent most of his millennia+ on earth cleaning up after his siblings. You snorted to yourself. Didn’t he already do that?

A blank space on one of the shelves drew your eye. Amongst a sea of books and paperweights, a patch of dustless real estate on an otherwise packed bookcase stared back at you. If those Nancy Drew books you read as a child had taught you anything, that prominent rectangle of empty space meant that something had been moved. And recently.

That, you smiled to yourself, was a lead.

A scan of the desk and the rest of the shelves confirmed that whatever it was hadn’t simply been reorganized. You pulled open the drawers of the heavy oak desk. Pens, paperclips, highlighters, sticky notes, stapler, hole punch, scissors, and more pens. No. Notebooks, empty folders, the coffee maker’s instructional guide. No. Empty space with a single pen cap rolling around. No.

A dead end.

You got down on your knees. The floor was clean. Under the couches, too. The ottoman with the lift up storage option, empty. The side tables small draw with it’s tendency to stick (a single missing screw from Ikea can really screw your building abilities), empty. You moved to the TV console, frustration building.

Nothing. Nothing. Nothing.

You checked the shelves. You were too short to reach the top ones but the Mikaelsons weren’t. You grabbed a chair and stepped up. It was in vain. Careful to put it back as you’d found it, you moved the chair in defeat. You checked the kitchen. Drawers and cupboard were empty. The fruit salad in the fridge seemed to judge you and you sighed. You didn’t expect it to be in the fridge but it was almost eight at night and you’d torn the downstairs of this house a part.

 The Mikaelsons could be back any minute and you’d found nothing. What if there was nothing? Had you wasted hours of your short time frame on trying to find something that didn’t exist?

It dawned on you that Klaus’s little black bag just might have –

A groan escaped your lips. What a colossal waste of time. Time that to you did not have to waste. You closed the fridge, head coming down to lean on the cool stainless steel door in defeat. Maybe there was a clue you could find back in the main house. Josie’s room might have something that you could give Jess.

With a deep breath, you straightened up. No point in giving up until Jess’s voice was ordering you to kill yourself. Josie would expect nothing less from you, and in truth, so do you.

As you walked through the house to the door you passed by one of the many shelves you checked and just like in one of those long rumored witch’s intuition stories, something pulled your eye to it once again. Something pulled your eye directly to an unassuming wooden framed photo that you didn’t register as new. So, something you’d had to have seen a million times by now, surely. But why then did it feel so very important to look at it?

You walked over, cautious of this intense urge in your blood. It was often hard to tell with magical urges if something was for good intent or bad.

  The photo was in black and white. A little girl sat on a dock, one tooth missing right in the front. A man in an ornate three piece suit that had to predate the Georgian era stood by her, looking out of place but pleased with himself. Beside him was a boy that looked around your age. He was scowling in the photo. In his had he held something tightly, as if he would die if it were ever lost to him. Your eyes scanned the photo back and forth, that feeling still present. What was it? What were you supposed to see?

  The background of the photo was just water. A lake most likely. There were no lakes here. Where were they? Who were they? You leaned in to get a closer look. The photo quality was bad and it wasn’t until you looked hard that you realized it wasn’t a photo at all. A painting. A small, incredibly detailed painting.

  Klaus?

But no. How? You knew this painting wasn’t unfamiliar to you. You also knew that some how you had never noticed it. How could you go so long seeing something so often, convinced it was just a photo of something unimportant?

Almost like magic. Why would anybody spell this little painting with an unnotable spell? More specifically, why did Josie (because it had to be her) cast this spell when you were the only other person than her to see it? You didn’t have guests usually. It was why you had been so surprised when she had announced the renovation of the guest house last summer.

  The moment the skin on your fingers touched the painting’s surface, a vision clear as an actual photo slammed into your mind’s eye. Blinded by the image, nothing existed but it and you were enraptured what you saw.

  It was the exact image that had been painted, but the details were sharp. You could see the threads of the man’s suit. The pours of the little girl. The splintered wood of the old dock. Everything of the moment preserved perfectly in a snapshot.

  There was no sound. You felt nothing from the scene. This was not a vision of the past that let you experience the moment with those in it. You could see the wind sweeping through the girl’s locks but you couldn’t feel a thing. This was the scene of the painter through the painter’s very eyes.

But who’s eyes? And who were these people?

You looked focused on their faces. The little girl’s slightly downturned nose and her rounded jaw clicked in your mind as your eyes rested on her’s. Josie. A young Josie. This made sense. This was a memory Josie had that she wanted to keep private. But why? And why keep the painting if she wanted it secret? The man beside her was probably her father, right? 

As your eyes shifted to his features and they sharpened into view for you, Josie’s body blurred away. No, you realized. That was not Josie’s father. Though you had never met the man or seen his photo before, you knew this was not him. Because this was Elijah Mikaelson.

  At least it made sense now how they knew Josie. Old friends indeed. But what on earth was Elijah doing standing on a dock on some lake with a Josie when she was a child and a boy? As your eyes darted to the boy, the change of the image didn’t surprise you. Josie and Elijah blurred and he came into focus.

  Despite not having known him for as long or studying his face too much, it was clear by his eyes that you were staring at a teenage Jess.

You gasped and were ripped from the image.

  Around you, the guest house came back into view. In your hands, clutched tightly, was the photo. Your heart rate was up and you didn’t know when you had started to breath so quickly or so hard. You blinked your dry eyes. Josie, Jess, and Elijah?

  The sound of wheels pulling up on the gravel drive had your head shooting up. They were back. You didn’t have time to get to the house and though beautiful, Josie’s flower filled garden didn’t actually give you much cover to hide. Without a second thought, you dashed up the stairs.

  The bathroom door was open and from downstairs, it was easy to see. Too obvious someone was here. The bedroom beside it was locked and you didn’t have time to find the spare key somewhere on top of the door. The closet next to it was too small with the vacuum in it. It wouldn’t do. You spun around, unsure how close the Mikaelsons were and if they were listening. 

The other bedrooms had their doors open. Shit. Too suspicious. One door, directly across from the stairs remained. Could you even make it before they opened the door?

You didn’t have a choice. The handle to the room jiggled and the door clicked open. You slipped inside and went to close it as gently as possible when the front door opened. You froze. The door was still a jar. They’d notice if for sure.

“Well that was fun,” Kol sighed and you heard him flop onto the couch.

  “It wasn’t supposed to be fun,” Rebekah huffed and her heels clicked on the floor as she made her way through the house.

  “Drink?” Elijah asked nobody in particular.

“I’m going to bed,” Rebekah said with a short tone and you almost squeaked in fear as you realized she was starting up the stairs.

  “Don’t be so dramatic, sister!” Kol called after her.

  “You’re a reckless idiot without a scrap of self-control,” she seethed back.

“It’s not like he actually liked you,” Kol scoffed.

Something expensive sounding shattered followed by Kol’s laugh.

  “May I remind you that this is not our home?” Elijah’s calm voice of reason came.

  You waited with baited breath for something to happen next. If Kol could get one more quip in to make Rebekah break something else you could use the distraction to close the door properly.  

“What happened?” Klaus said, evidently just entering the house.

  “I’m going to bed,” Rebekah stated and you closed your eyes as a curse tried to come out of your lips.

  “Sister,” Klaus stopped her and his voice was much closer now. He was on the stairs with her, you guessed. “You cannot get angry every time one of your many suitors gets eaten by our brother. You know how he is,” he explained in a hushed voice with a taunt.

Something smashed against the wall again.

“KOL,” Elijah reprimanded.

  A thud sounded against the wall and you reached for the door, ready to close it if another opportunity struck.

  “Enough property damage,” Klaus told his brother.

  “It was her fault anyway. You know it,” Kol argued.

“I was getting him to trust me,” Rebekah’s voice was further away. She must have joined her brothers down stairs again.

“And that involved opening your legs for him, did it?”

You knew it was coming so as Rebekah jumped to attack her brother, you ceased the moment to shut the door. The soft click would be lost to them as they tried to pull their sister and brother apart.

  The room you were in hadn’t been touched since the renovation. You walked over to the window to see if there was any feasible way down.

  “Deal with it,” Klaus’s voice came from just outside the door. 

You whipped around, eyes wide, as you realized they solved the little dispute far faster than you thought they would. You dropped to the ground as you heard Elijah reply to his brother. The door clicked open as you lifted the duvet and scooted yourself as quietly as possible under the bed.

  Luckily, Klaus’s instructions invoked a lot of opinions from his siblings. He stood in the doorway and barked out orders at them. Something else was thrown. As you spelled your breath silent, you spared a thought for all the things you’d have to replace by the time the Mikaelsons moved out.

Klaus shut the door with a harsh thud and switched on the light by the bed. You squeezed your eyes shut at the sheer bad luck you had that this of all the rooms was his.

  Klaus moved around the room, silent except for his steady breathing. Something was placed delicately on a surface in his room. Then, he moved to the window and you heard it slide open. He breathed deeply. The rustling sound of fabric peaked your interest. Something landed on the bed. The unmistakable sound of a zip had a flush come to your face. Oh no.

  Another thing was thrown on the bed. You imagined Klaus’s shirt and jeans piled on his sheets. This was bad. He was going to bed. You were going to be stuck down here for the night.

Klaus opened his door. Huh? And then he left. Wait what?

Cautiously, you lifted the duvet and peeked out. Nothing. You scooted to the other side of the double bed, wincing as the underneath spring of the bed caught your hair and it pulled. The other side confirmed that he had definitely left and shut the door behind him.

  Apparently the plus side of hiding under the bed of a paranoid hybrid with even his siblings at times out to get him was that he kept his room strictly closed off to everyone else.

  You scooted out from under the bed. The window, now open, was your best bet. Who was to say if the path to the door was empty or if you could open the front door without alerting anyone. A well timed cushioning spell would make the rose bush you’d land on hurt a little less. The thorns would still be a bitch though.

  A sudden realization hit you that you forgot the painting at some point in your scooting. You rushed back to the bed and had to scoot back under a bit to reach it. As your hand touched it, you were once again rushed into the snapshot of the scene.

This time you knew you weren’t the painter. You looked down to your right at the top of Josie’s head. To your left was Jess. This was Elijah’s view. Which meant, if you looked straight ahead you’d most likely see –

It wasn’t Klaus.

  You frowned. You were sure it would be Klaus. But you didn’t recognize the man painting on the tiny canvas in front of him with a concentrated look on his face. He had brown thinning hair and a sullen face with cupid bow lips and a nose people would pay good money for. He was an odd man that was handsome and not. You wondered who he was and tried to get the image to focus in further to find some distinguishing feature of some sort.

You were once again ripped back into reality as you registered the sound of footsteps outside the door. The window would have to wait and you dived back down and rolled under the bed, hitting you head as you did so. You bit your lip in pain as the door opened.

Klaus was back.

  You couldn’t say if he was gone long or not as you had no idea how much time you had been lost to that vision. It didn’t seem long, but then again they never did.

  Klaus sighed. The distinct sound of a towel rubbing against hair was the only sound in the room for a while as you put together that he just came from a shower. So, he was probably naked. You bit your lip for a different reason. You listened as Klaus toweled himself dry. He pulled a drawer open and assumingly put on some kind of clothing. You hopped it was at least a pair of underwear.

The bed dipped as Klaus sat. The lamp was clicked off. Shuffling from above. The bed dipped in different places as Klaus got comfortable. As luck was not your fan, he settled directly above you. You didn’t dare scoot one way or another. He’d surely hear it.

So you were spending the night here then. Great.

Klaus fidgeted above you again, having the gal to not find a comfortable position for the night. You stared at the springs and mattress centimeters from your face in annoyance. To be fair, this could have been the comfiest floor in the world and you still wouldn’t be sleeping tonight. Not with Klaus above you and the rest of the Mikaelsons scattered about the house. No hope of escape until morning.

  A sharp inhale cut through your self pity. Another one. Was he…?

[horansqueen]

Stuck With You - Chapter 17

Chapter 17: Can’t Fight This Feeling

🡪chapter 1  🡪chapter 2  🡪chapter 3  🡪chapter 4  🡪chapter 5  🡪chapter 6   🡪chapter 7  🡪chapter 8  🡪chapter 9  🡪chapter 10  🡪chapter 11 🡪chapter 12 🡪chapter 13 🡪chapter 14 🡪chapter 15 🡪chapter 16

College Enemies To Lovers AU

characters // masterlist // instagrams // mood board

I can't fight this feeling any longer And yet I'm still afraid to let it flow

I tell myself that I can't hold out forever I said there is no reason for my fear

And even as I wander, I'm keeping you in sight You're a candle in the window on a cold, dark winter's night And I'm getting closer than I ever thought I might

My life has been such a whirlwind since I saw you I've been running 'round in circles in my mind And it always seems that I'm following you, girl 'Cause you take me to the places that alone I'd never find

click here to be on the update list 

NIALL

                                           I took a nap and when I finally woke up, my eyes fluttered open and I stared at the ceiling for a few minutes. The things I told Devon kept playing in my head. It was so intense I was pretty sure I had actually dreamed about it. The expression on her face when I said I'd keep on having sex with Mandy was one of the most hurtful things I had ever seen and I regretted it, especially because I was not even sure I wanted to keep this friends with benefits thing with Mandy anyway. It was getting harder and harder to sleep with her because no matter what I did, I always ended up thinking about Devon, and it made me wonder if maybe I should just use my hand for a few days instead. I had no idea how I'd tell Mandy but I'd definitely find a way, or just avoid her.

I turned my head to the left but frowned when I noticed Devon was not in her bed anymore. I sat up slowly and rubbed my eyes before getting up and walking to her bed. I bent down slightly, placing my fingers on her pillow for a few seconds before sighing. I knew exactly where she was, but I was not sure she wanted to see me there. I held my breath, wondering If I should really follow my feelings and after a while, I pushed the idea away and grabbed my keys, my wallet and my phone. I ended up ordering some food on a small restaurant near campus and when I got out, I ate while walking back to my car.

I let my thoughts wander for a while and finally grabbed my phone again, sending a text message and starting my car again. After 10 minutes, I parked and grabbed my phone again. Lewis had just answered a thumb up and I sighed before getting out of my car and walking inside his building. The elevator was not empty but the whole ride, I stared at the spot where I was sitting the night before, with Devon straddling me. I let out a low groan when I remember our kisses and the way my hand had slipped under her shirt, but was brought back to reality when the doors opened again.

I knew I shouldn't remember every little detail so vividly because of how intoxicated I was, but It was all clear in my mind, from the way she whimpered to how she felt when she was grinding on me. I wanted to remember it, especially if I was going to use my hand for a while.

The door opened and I chuckled when my eyes met Lewis'. "You looked so fucked." I laughed as he flipped me off and let me in.

"Why did you ask me if the way was clear?" he just asked, ignoring my comment.

"I'm not in the mood to have a chat with Mandy." I just admitted, pushing my hands deep in my pockets and raising my nose up slightly. "I need a break."

I heard Lewis laughed and turned to look at him, raising my eyebrows. "You plan on having sex with Devon instead?"

"No."

"Did you two do dirty things in my bed last night?" he wondered quickly.

"What? No!"

"I wouldn't mind!" he  laughed again, walking to the kitchen as I followed him. "Beer?"

"No thanks." I shook my head. "Look, I'm here to ask you if you're looking for a roommate."

Lewis turned around, a water bottle in hands, and quickly threw it at me. I took my hands off my pockets just in time to catch it and he smiled more, taking a sip from his and leaning against the counter.

"Why are you really 'ere, Horan?"

"I just told you."

Lewis sighed and pushed himself away from the counter before moving closer and staring at me.

"You really want her to move with me, or you actually crossed your fingers earlier wishing I'd say no?" I didn't answer and he shook his head. "Anyone who's got two eyes have noticed how you two look at each other you know. I'm not really sure why you haven't shagged her yet. Or asked her on a date."

I couldn't tell him that there was no way I was falling in love again. I couldn't tell him I knew that I could love this girl so much it would literally destroy me when she'd break my heart. I couldn't tell him that a love that lasts doesn't exist and that for that reason, I didn't feel the need to try it again. What would it give me to admit all that shit to him anyway?

I opened my water bottle and took a sip from it before shrugging. "Because I'm not interested."

"You can say that all you want and try to convince yourself, but you ain't convincing me." Lewis laughed, shaking his head again. "I do need a roommate. Tell her she can move whenever she's ready."

I choked on my water and moved my body forward, bending down slightly as I started coughing and tried to find my breath back.

"R-Really?" my voice was so low I cleared my throat, trying to show indifference.

"Yea, really." Lewis repeated, letting a smirk curl his lips. "Unless you want to admit right now that you'd rather have her stay in your room with you."

"Where is she going to sleep?"

"Do you have a problem with us sharing a room?" This time, I couldn't stop my head from snapping up at his words, making him laugh again. "Relax! I'm joking! I can move my stuff from the room next to mine, there's barely anything in it anyway, and I don't use it. Of course, it's smaller than my room, but there's ll be enough room for both of you when you come visit her."

"Funny."

"You know you're a twat, right?" he asked, amused. "You're in love with her and I swear mate, if you don't make a move, you'll regret it."

"Love is fake." I pointed out casually, shrugging a shoulder, before adding something quickly so he wouldn't argue. "Okay so I'll tell her it's alright. How much will it cost her?"

"Tell her to call me, we'll sort it out."

I sat in my car, my hands gripping the wheels tight and my eyes shut tight. I was not sure of what exactly I had done, or if it was a good idea. All I knew was that my whole body was throbbing because I was just realizing that Devon was going to move out of our room and probably never come back. I wouldn't have a reason to see her, or more, I wouldn't have an excuse to see her. I wouldn't hear her snore or watch her sleep anymore. I wouldn't be able to glance at her when she was studying, or listen to her singing in the shower.

I hit the wheel a few times, accidentally pressing the honk once, and let out a few curse words. Why did I even tell her I'd talk to Lewis? And why did I actually do it? I shut my eyes tight, trying to get rid of the knot in my stomach and breathing in and out deeply in hope it would get my heartbeats back to a normal pace.

I drove back and parked but instead to get back in the room, I walked to the art department and found her painting alone in a room. She was surrounded by other people's works but she was focusing on what she was doing, moving her brush a bit roughly on the canvas, and I stared at her. I felt guilty for doing that, as if I was spying on her while she was literally throwing her feelings out but I couldn't stop myself.

My heart twisted when she pushed her hair away from her face with the back of her hand before blowing up to push a lock away from her eyes. It reminded me that it would fall on her cheek every time she was sleeping and I leaned against the door frame. I don't know how long I stayed but from time to time, she would move slightly, allowing me to see part of her art being created and it made something stir inside me. She was so secretive, I wish she'd show me more parts of herself but at the same time, I was well aware of all the feelings it could make me feel and I didn't want that.

Suddenly, she threw her brush away and my eyes got bigger as I got out of my thoughts. It hit the wall in a light noise and fell on the floor, coloring it with dark blue, almost indigo color. She let herself fall on the stool a bit further and put her hands in her face, letting out a short sob. In a last moment of rage, she threw her foot in front of her, hitting the easel and making her painting fall on the floor. I saw her get up and I knew exactly what she was about to do. Without thinking, I started running to her as my heart jumped up in my chest.

"Devie no!"

Just in time, I grabbed her waist from behind, pulling her up and taking a few steps back. She started struggling but I held her tighter against me and after a few seconds, she stopped and I put her down as she let out an other sob.

"Hey, hey!" I whispered, grabbing her shoulder to turn her around. "Are you okay?"

"I-I just... It was crap!"

"Devie, hey, look at me." I cupped her face, holding it in place as I bent down, making sure our eyes were at the same level. "You may think that now but if you destroy it, you'll regret it, I swear you will."

Her eyes fluttered and she swallowed hard before her lips parted slightly.

"You know I'm right." I added in a whisper.

It took a while but she finally nodded and I did the same, breathing out a low "Okay" before letting her go. She closed her eyes and I walked past her, putting the easel back up and grabbing her painting.

"I don't know why you hate it." I admitted, raising my eyebrows as my gaze roamed on her painting.

After about a minute, she turned around and walked to me, standing right next to me and tilting her head as she looked with difficulty at her art.

"What do you see?" she finally asked, not sending me a glance.

"A light, in the top right corner." I let out after licking my lips. "And how that light can't reach the rest of the painting. Something is blocking it from shining... this. This darkness."

I pointed the darkest part of her painting and she sighed loud, pressing her lips together. I turned my head slightly to study her and she just closed her eyes and shook her head.

"This is so bad." she pointed out, mostly talking to herself, as she turned around to leave.

I grabbed her wrist quickly but gently to stop her and when she turned around, her eyes met mine again. I could feel her soft skin brushing in the palm on my hand and it reminded me of what had happened in the elevator. Why the fuck couldn't I get rid of all these images? Of all these damn feelings?

"If you won't let me throw away this horrible piece of painting, can you at least let me go take a shower?"

The thought of her in the shower flashed in my head and I blinked a few times, letting go of her wrist. My arm fell on my side and when she turned around again to leave, I took a step closer.

"Wait, Devie."

She stopped but kept her back facing me. I could see drops of paint in her hair, on her jaw, and down her neck, and all I could think about was leaving a kiss on every fucking spot. This girl was fucking me up so bad. I got even closer and sighed, making her turn around as she placed her hair behind her ear.

"What?"

We were so close I could kiss her. I could kiss her again and feel everything I had felt the night before. I could kiss her and go write an other song. I could kiss her and remember why it gets me so addicted.

"I talked to Lewis." I finally said with a sigh, pushing my hands in my pockets again. "He said you can move in with him whenever you're ready."

Her facial expression changed into a sad one and her lips parted, making me want to kiss her even more. If I kissed her, maybe she wouldn't leave... maybe if I asked her to stay, she actually would.

"Oh. alright." she nodded slowly. "Can you send me his number?"

I nodded and licked my lips, looking down at my feet before looking up in her eyes. "Are you sure you want to leave?" I asked, knowing I should just let her go. "I mean, it’s your room too. Where are you going to sleep you don't even have a mattress.. or a job. How will you pay him?"

"I have a few saved and, I had a job interview a few days ago." she admitted with a shrug. "It's probably better I leave."

I let my eyes travel on her face, knowing it would probably be easier for me if she was far, but still feeling like shit. It was a constant fight between my heart and my head and it was tiring. The days we were not both sleeping in our room, I still thought about her. I imagined her with Louis or a very few times, I thought of her on top of me. Most of the time, though, I would play in my head the few interactions we had had together, wondering if I should have said more, or less. Now that I thought about that, it made me realize that perhaps, not having her in the room was not going to tone down all the things she made me feel.

"Do you mean that? Because it's your room, too." I repeated in a soft voice. "You can stay."

I was surprised by how resigned she seemed but she finally nodded and sent me a sad smile. "Yea, I'm sure. I think it'll be good. I need a change. Perhaps this is just what I need."

Something inside me seemed to break at the thought that I was what was wrong in her life and that being away from me was the change she needed. I sent her a small smile and grabbed my phone in my pocket, sending her quickly Lewis' number. She blinked a few times when she received it and took her phone, quickly typing something on it.

"Thanks, Niall."

It only took a few seconds for Lewis to answer and when I saw her jaw drop, I frowned a bit.

"What's wrong?"

"Well, seems like you're going to be stuck with me again, I'm sorry." she sighed before looking up and raising her eyebrows. "This is too expensive for me."

I felt torn inside, not really sure if I should feel relieved or annoyed, and when our eyes met again, I could see how disappointed she was. She wanted out, she made it clear. Who was I to beg her to stay, or be glad she was not leaving? And what for exactly? To push her away again whenever I'd have the chance? Because I knew I would, it was the whole plan, and hurting her was something that seemed to hurt me, too.

"Not too sad?" I asked, raising my eyebrows, ready to decipher her expression instead to listen to her words.

"Honestly? Yea, I am. I don't have many friends here and Lewis seems cool. Plus you and I, in the same room... let's just say it's intense."

I couldn't disagree with her and my lips curled on the left. "Yea, quite a bit I'd say." I admitted with a chuckle. "But hey, I'm sure we can make this work."

She shook her head slightly and chuckled nervously. "I'm not so sure about that."

We remained silent for a while until she raised her eyebrows and smiled more. "Okay, I really need a shower. I'll see you in our room."

I took one of my hands from my pockets to wave slightly at her and watched her leave until she was out of sight. I stayed alone, in the painting room, standing up motionless for a while before turning around and going back to her painting. I glanced at the brush near the wall and decided to go get it and clean the floor before sitting in front of her art. It was so self-centered of me to think that, but I ended up wondering if maybe, I was what stopped the light from shining down on her. Maybe I was the darkness in her painting when I desperately wanted to be the light. But how could I be the light when I was myself invaded with darkness and bad thoughts? How could I help her let the light shine when I was still bitter and closed off? Because I knew I was, I just thought it was how I was supposed to be to make sure I wouldn't feel for someone and get hurt. Could I have been wrong? I shook my head and sighed before rolling my eyes. Of course, I was not wrong, but it was a lot harder than I thought it would be.

I couldn't stop thinking about her words, and about how sad she seemed to be stuck with me in this fucking room. I couldn't blame her. I made her life a living hell since she got here, and on purpose too.

"Fuck it." I whispered to myself, grabbing my phone again and dialing Lewis' number. "Hey, mate, we need to talk."

---

Requests

[thephantomofthe-internet]

Read into Me Chapter 11: Love Story

Steve Harrington x Reader

CATCH UP ON THE SERIES HERE

Words: 4,771

Warnings: fire, injury-all end of season three things!

Author’s Note: Happy belated Strangers Things 3 Day! I wanted to get this up yesterday, but I didn’t have it in me to work. This is the end of the series, I hope you enjoyed reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it! It was a fun little ride!

Series Tag: @divinity-deos @thecaptainsgingersnap @wolfish-willow @scoopsohboi @herre-gud-nej @clockworkballerina @maddie1504 @i-am-trash-so-much-its-scary @jisungiesluv @wildcvltre @stanleyyelnatsiii @n3wtscaseofniffler5 @peterparxour @linkispink1995 @a-big-ball-of-idk @used-avocado @mochminnie @sledgy14 @the-creative-lie @yall-wildin-like-siriusly @ggclarissa @voidnarnia @anonymousonion33 @awkwardnesshabitat @darkcrystal-wolf @hannahrisacher

Paris was a lonely city. You’d arrived alone, having not seen Steve since prom and still desperate to see him one more time. You’d selfishly kept his sweatshirt, wanting a piece of him to take with you to a different country. Your mother hadn’t picked you up from the airport, having sent a car instead. She didn’t seem much interested in speaking to you after months apart; she was much more interested in redecorating her new condo and talking about her fiancé. You met him, a French fop named Jean-Pierre at least fifteen years her junior. He was nice enough, although a bit fruity for your liking. His interests were more on the modeling jobs your mother was getting him. She had no time for you, which was fine since your lessons at the salon began immediately.

You and thirty-five other young hopefuls spend your days locked in a studio with abundant resources and endless models and objects to sketch. And you hated it. You hated the long, rambling lectures from the artists who came to the salon to preach the values of the school and the importance of French art. They alternated between speaking in French and English without explaining themselves as they switched tongues. Your French language skills were nonexistent, so the lectures were exhausting and endless. The only time they ever seemed to help was when they brought you all to the Louvre to examining the long dead French men who’d made the museum possible. There, you could at least sketch out the greats and enjoy the beauty of the art. Inside the studio, you felt as though your head was going to explode. The lectures spoke too loudly and loomed over you without warning or word, you weren’t allowed your headset or Walkman in the studio to combat them, and the smell of various paints and clays made your stomach churn. The girl who’d taken up the easel next to you, a little German named Lisle, had taken to making clay pots and sculptures and the sound of her pottery wheel mixed with her incessant humming made you want to commit manslaughter. It didn’t help that the smell of the brown clay invaded your sinuses and made you sneeze violently. You dreaded the salon. But you dreaded being at home more.

Your mother had hired you a French tutor, utterly horrified by the fact that you hadn’t been practising. You tried to tell her that, despite her assumptions, Hawkins High had stopped offering a French elective two years before you started there.

“You cannot live in Paris without speaking French! It won’t do!” she moaned. Jean-Pierre was already on the phone, speaking fast into the receiver. You didn’t see what the big deal was. Everywhere you went, people spoke enough English to communicate with you fine. It didn’t occur to you till after dinner that if you were to study in the country, you’d need the language to understand your lessons.

So you got a French teacher, a short tempered older man who insisted on being called Monsieur Bérnard. His greying whiskers moved sharply as he spoke and he often spit on you as he taught proper pronunciation and conjugation. He ranted and raved all afternoon, disgusted by your apparent lack of an ear for languages and your doodling on the edges of notebook paper instead of working. You’d go from sensory overload in the salon to being bullied by a Freud-looking asshole each day with no room for a break or a breath.

You lived for weekends. Rest was very well thought of in the city so the hell spawn tutor didn’t work and the salon locked its doors. You were allowed to wander the city at your leisure, your mother glad to have you out of the apartment. You’d spend most of your days sat at a café near the Eifel Tower, a prime spot to tourists. Every day, you’d bring your sketchpad and try to draw out the profiles of those you passed you by. You spent two weekends working on a sketch of people sunbathing on the lawn in front of the tower. But it seemed you left all your talent in Hawkins. You’d spent so long drawing familiar faces back home, now that you were away from your nest, you found yourself without the skill to capture the faces around you. It occurred to you that you knew the faces of Hawkins far too well. They were engrained in your mind, your hand working like a stamp to put them on the page. France was full of strangers. You didn’t know how to understand them like you understood Hawkins. France wasn’t home. You couldn’t work out in a world of strangers.

You couldn’t work in the salon either. It was too much. Everyone was constantly showboating and trying out-do one another. You couldn’t work with people spying over your shoulder. You felt judged and insecure about what you could do. You didn’t want to be watched as you tried to make art. It didn’t help that you had no idea what to make. The closest thing you’d gotten done is that sketch of the Eifel Tower and that wasn’t something you couldn’t buy on the streets around the monument. You’d tried all the things that you couldn’t in your bedroom-paint splatter art, pottery, carving, paint pulling, mosaics. You never finished anything. The drive to push through wasn’t there.

When the loneliness and fear became too much to bear, you held Steve’s sweatshirt and cried. It still smelt like him; Irish Springs soap and Fabregè Organics shampoo and hairspray and a bit like sweat. It was nice though. You missed him. You tried to write him letters, but you knew that they wouldn’t get home before you did. You’d made up your mind that whatever the answer was, you were going home. Whether that meant deferring a semester or missing the first week of school you would go back to Hawkins. Still, you’d written over a dozen letters, all crumpled in your waste bin.

You waited until the last minute to finish something for submission. You’d tried to sketch your mother, to find who you knew in the fancy woman in front of you. With her bleached blowout and designer clothes, thirty pounds lighter and yellow gold jewellery glinting in the midday sun. She looked like the epitome of elegance, straight out of a magazine. The woman you remembered had greying roots and love handles, her only jewellery the wedding rings your father had given her. Europe had changed her into someone who you didn’t know and who didn’t seem to want to introduce herself to you. Nothing you drew seemed to capture the middle between who she was and who she is now. You realized in her profile that you weren’t a part of her life anymore, that she didn’t want you there. You were as strange to her as she was to you. You passed each other like ghosts in the hall, almost recognizable but hauntingly foreign.

The day before your final piece for submission was due; you got a letter from Steve. It only had one sentence.

“I should have asked you to stay.”

It was all you needed to hear to be inspired. You made your final project a tribute to him, mixing memories with unfinished letters building into his face. You used plain black ink to sketch his profile on the surface of the mess, building him into your loneliness. You only had your memory to recreate his face and your own letters to fill the canvas. Still, it was the only thing you’d done the whole time you were in the country that you were actually proud of. You didn’t finish it until the sun rose and you handed it off to be judged without a second thought, bleary eyed and exhausted.

You were on a plane home by the wee hours of July 4th.

Hawkins was a depressing place. After graduation, Steve found himself listless and at the hands of his father. He was a failure, a disgrace of a son. He was unready to start into the family business. His grades were pathetic. He had to get a job. Of course, with no job experience and late to the game, no decent place wanted him. The new mall only offered him one place of employment, Scoops Ahoy. And the uniform was embarrassing. Stupid sailor shirts and matching shorts, fucking knee socks and a corny paper hat. He looked like a certified geek. And his co-worker was a freak. Robin fucking Buckley did nothing but bug him all shift. It didn’t help that he had no friends without you, even Dustin had left for some nerdy science camp after the school year ended.

He was alone and lonely.

He tried to write you a half dozen times. But nothing seemed to make sense, nothing was worth telling you. What was he supposed to tell you? That he had become an even bigger loser overnight? He felt so utterly pathetic. He just wanted things to go back to the way things were. But what did that even looked like anymore? It wasn’t a life with Nancy, she’d dumped his ass, and it wasn’t a life with you, you’d left him for a different continent. He didn’t have a clue where he was going anymore. So he did what any lonely, practically friendless teenager did-he worked his ass off. Eight hours every day in the mall with smart ass Robin Buckley, waiting for the ground to suck him up. And sure, he tried to hit on the girls his age that came around. It was a good distraction from his broken heart. He’d made up his mind that he was ready to move on and try to date again. That he needed a girlfriend. That he needed to be cool again.

And then, Dustin came back and Hawkins started acting up again. He thought it was over. Those damn dogs were gone, the thing was closed, the kid was safe and acting like a kid. Everything had gone back to as close to normal as he’d seen it in awhile. But Dustin just had to find a secret code and Buckley just had to decode it and Lucas’s bitchy little sister just had to be small enough to fit into the vents and find a secret Russian elevator. And they just had to get stuck in it.

He couldn’t keep that damn kid from seeking out trouble. And yeah, it was kind of fun in a scared shitless kind of way, but it wasn’t worth getting drugged and beaten up and nearly dying for. And it certainly wasn’t worth getting tricked into thinking that he had feelings for fucking Robin. He could murder that kid for getting it in his head that he liked that girl. Robin was cool; he wouldn’t pretend that she wasn’t a decent friend to have at the end of the world. But he didn’t need the embarrassment of trying to ask out a lesbian. At least the reason for her rejecting him wasn’t that he was unattractive or lame, just that she didn’t dig dudes. He was cool with that. And at least he got to punch out a communist. If he could tell his father that without going to prison or being murdered by a Russian goon, he’d be proud. Fuck that, he was proud. He won a fight! He beat up a Russian spy! More than one, he beat some up while drugged out; at least he thought he did. He couldn’t remember much, other than watching Back to the Future with Robin. That movie was too confusing. And then he stole a car, he saved Nancy’s life, he set up that weird tower thing for Dustin-there was too much going on to even recognize how crazy he sounded. How crazy all of this sounded.

And then, the mall was on fire.

Your flight landed on the fourth of July at about ten fifteen in the evening. It took about forty-five minutes to get from the Indianapolis International Airport back to Hawkins. You were buzzing. Seven words had given you all the hope you needed to push you back to the states. Every fibre of your being was alive with energy, with excitement. You couldn’t wait for your grandfather to park the car, you jumped out as soon as you were settled in the driveway.

“Don’t you want to go upstairs and unpack?” your grandmother called after you as you booked it down the driveway.

You turned back “No, I’ll be back later!” you called. Steve’s car wasn’t in the driveway but you figured if anyone was home they’d know where he was. You bounded up the stairs, ringing the doorbell twice.

Mrs. Harrington came to the door in her bathrobe. “Oh, hello there…” she trailed off, obviously unable to remember your name.

“Y/N, hi it’s nice to see you, do you know where Steve is?” you asked, bouncing from your heels to your toes.

Mrs. Harrington narrowed her eyes “He’s at his job I assume. At the mall.” She said slowly.

“What mall?” you demanded. Mrs. Harrington’s eyes blew wide open and you realized that you were probably coming off like an insane person. “Sorry, I’ve been out of the country for about a month.”

“It’s where the Hawkins Laboratories were, off East Wood Road.” She pointed out the door towards the roads. You knew instantly that the fastest way to get there was through the woods. You ran through the backyards of your neighbours and into the woods. You didn’t like the Hawkins forests. They were dark and dim and poorly maintained. The county hadn’t been out to cut down potentially problematic trees on the few hiking paths in the woods.  Burs caught your socks and twigs scratched your legs as you hopped logs to try to get there faster. They’d carved a road through the woods, you’d found it halfway to the mall, deserted and blocked off. You could see the bright orange flames from a mile away.

Your heart stopped dead in your chest. Steve was in there. You could cry.

Instead, you hopped the blockade, running down the road despite the calls of passing fire trucks and police. You didn’t care if they tried to arrest you, although you doubted that they could. It would be a waste of time to bother with you during an emergency.

The parking lot was filled with emergency vehicles. Massive streams of water were attacking the building. Luckily, it seemed the mall was closed, judging by the few people who were milling around not in uniforms. You sprinted into the crowd, looking around frantically.

Steve had been ushered into the back of an ambulance and draped in a bright orange emergency blanket. It wasn’t that cold but he felt as though he was freezing. The EMTs had checked his vitals and disinfected the wounds on his face and knees. As for the remaining drugs in his system, he chose not to mention them. He knew that the high would wear off eventually. Robin was sat next to him, equally bandaged up and silent, save an uncontrollable shiver. Wordlessly, Steve took the blanket off his shoulders and placed it over hers. He wasn’t that cold. Moreover, he just felt numb. He’d had this happen so many times; his face beat in, an otherworldly thing trying to destroy his life and hurt his family, a major building destroyed-it all felt familiar. It made him sick to his stomach to know that it was familiar. If he had anything left in his stomach he would’ve thrown up.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw something running towards him. At first, he tensed. He didn’t know what it was and it could probably kill him. His heart stopped and then raced wildly. He held out an arm to protect Robin and squeezed his eyes shut.

“Steve!” you cried. He was in an ambulance. He was hurt. He was alive. You felt as if you could cry. In the span of fifteen minutes he’d gone from working to escaping a fiery building to missing in a fire to simply hurt. And hurt was just fine, you could handle hurt.

“Oh my god Steve, are you okay? Are you alright? I love you so much…”You grabbed his face, examining the bruises. You pulled him tightly to your chest, trying not to cry or freak out. You knew it wouldn’t help.

“I love you too…” he breathed into your ear, pulling you close to him. He recognized you by the smell of your hair, the feeling of your arms around him. He could cry. He didn’t believe you were real. But when you pulled away and his hand came to your face. You were real. And you were here. And he was safe. He was safe and alive. Feelings of relief rushed through his body. He wanted to cry, but the shock was too overwhelming for a tear to even drop.

“What’re you doing here?” he asked, his voice barely above a whisper and hoarser than he’d ever felt it. “I thought you were still in Paris.”

“I came home early,” you chuckled, pressing a kiss to his jaw bone. “I didn’t get in.” That was the nicer version, the judges laughed at your final piece, they called it pedestrian. You should’ve been more upset, your mother was furious, but you couldn’t have cared less. You were free to go home. You could’ve thanked them for rejecting you.

Steve pulled away, looking you squarely in the eye. He wouldn’t have you give up on school to hang out with him in bum fuck Indiana. But you were telling the truth, it was written plainly all over your face. “Those bastards…” Steve murmured. You laughed, your eyes watery and throat thick. You were overwhelmed. You expected to come home and just see him in his element. You expected him to not necessarily want to see you. You didn’t expect a fire or Steve being injured or Steve to even be there at all. You pulled Steve back into your arms, you didn’t want to let go.

“I missed you so much…” you whispered. Steve’s arms came around your hips, pulling you in between his legs. He needed you here, to keep you in place for awhile.

“I missed you too…” he said, pressing a gentle kiss to the top of your head. “Did you get my letter?”

You looked up “Yeah I did…” you said “I wish I had written you, I tried so many times but I couldn’t find the words and-” Steve kissed you hard, stealing the words from his throat. He didn’t care if you didn’t write him back; this was the best thing he could’ve gotten from you. A letter wouldn’t do it justice.

You were lit up by his kiss. This is what you needed. No words could do the feelings he expressed in his kiss justice. You felt alive. You felt at home. Steve tried to pull away, but you pulled him back by his shirt, kissing him as if your life depended on it. Maybe it did. You couldn’t be sure anymore.

A loud clearing of one’s throat interrupted you and you pulled away to see Robin waving awkwardly. “Oh hey Buckley…” you muttered awkwardly. “How’s Samantha?”

“No clue, she never called me back.” The younger girl shrugged nonchalantly, hopping down from the ambulance deck. “I’ll catch ya later, Harrington.”

You turned your attention back to Steve, looking down at the material still in your fists. He looked ridiculous. “What the fuck are you wearing?” you asked with a laugh. Steve’s hands settled on your lower back, holding you in between his knees as if you’d run off if he didn’t.

“Oh this? This has been my whole summer.” He groaned “I’ve been captaining a boat on an ocean of flavours.” You couldn’t help but cackle, you had no idea what he was talking about but he seemed so serious.  

“And by that you mean?” you lifted the fake red neckerchief attached to his shirt, running the material between your thumb and forefinger.

“Ice cream store in the mall,” he pointed to the embroidered Scoops Ahoy logo on his breast.

“You’re kidding…” you shook your head as if to shake the idea out of your mind. Steve’s fingers trailed the raggedy edge of your sweatshirt. Well, his sweatshirt, his last name and basketball jersey number were embossed on the back; he could feel the textured design on your lower back.

“I like my sweater,” he chuckled, reaching up to adjust the length of the drawstrings on the hood. You looked away, a bit embarrassed.

“I didn’t mean to keep it I just…missed you,” You replied “You can have it back.”

“Nah, it suits you,” he smirked “Besides, I want my girl in my stuff, it’s cute.”

“Your girl?” you grinned giddily, elbowing him in the ribs. “Since when am I your girl?” You liked the idea of being Steve’s girl. It had a nice ring to it.

Steve smirked, squeezing your hips in his hands. “Oh come on baby, you’ve been my girl for awhile…”

“Oh really? Well, I wouldn’t know since you’ve never asked me…”

You heard a loud yell and turned to see a set of paramedics carrying a stretcher towards you and Steve. They were sprinting and bringing a badly burnt and unconscious Billy Hargrove towards the ambulance you sat on. You quickly moved out of the way. Steve grabbed your hand, allowing you to tug him from the ambulance’s deck.

You only got a brief look at the teenager, but it made your stomach churn violently. You felt ill. You felt Steve squeeze your hand. You turned to look at him and saw how hollow his eyes were. You wrapped your arm around his middle. “I’m so glad you’re okay,” you said, trying to stifle a yawn. You were exhausted from your flight and your run here and the trauma that had smacked you across the face.

Steve noticed anyway “Did you just get here?” he asked, lifting your chin.

“My flight landed at ten, I came to see you as soon as I could.”

“You should’ve gone home to rest, I wouldn’t have been mad at you.” You looked absolutely exhausted. He couldn’t imagine what he looked like.

“I missed you too much to not see you. And what if you had gotten hurt, if you hadn’t made it out then I would’ve never forgiven myself…”

Steve wrapped his arms tightly around you, shielding you from the scene, as more mangled people were brought out. The beast must’ve fallen apart once the brain was destroyed. It looked as though a bomb had gone off. Steve squeezed his eyes shut. He wanted to leave, but he knew that the FBI would be called and he’d have to talk to them again. He wanted you to go home, but that didn’t seem like an option now.  Selfishly, he liked having you there, it was comforting to have you in his arms, squeezing him under his ribs and keeping him calm.

“I’m not gonna get hurt, I’m okay…we’re okay…” You nodded roughly against his chest. You felt as if you were burning up and freezing at the same time. You saw blinks of red flashing lights and sirens as one of the ambulances sped past. You were so thankful that he wasn’t on that ambulance.

“Yeah, I know, I’m not gonna let you out of my sight ever again.” Steve lifted up your chin, raising an eyebrow at you. “What? Last time I did you nearly died and for what? A shit job in the mall?”

“Well, not just for a job, I was helping Robin and a couple kids who were with us,” That wasn’t the whole story. Steve knew he’d have to tell you eventually about everything, but for now he was more than comfortable ignoring the looming problem beneath their feet.

“What a hero…” you giggled, pressing a kiss to his cheek. Something had been bothering Steve for awhile now and he determined now was the best time to tackle the subject. He turned away from you, folding his hands in his lap.

“Did you mean it when you said that you loved me?” he asked quietly. Truthfully, he wasn’t certain that you meant it. Or if he had even heard you correctly. After Nancy, he wasn’t sure if anyone actually loved him back. He’d given so much of his heart away only to have it tossed to the floor and tread upon like it was nothing more than a cigarette butt. He wasn’t sure if he could trust that you meant it.

You let out a small sigh through your nose, crossing your arms over your chest. You were a bit embarrassed. You were half hoping that he would forget about it. Your response brought all of Steve’s hopes crashing down. “Yeah, yeah I do,” you admitted, rubbing your arms, having suddenly gone cold. “I will admit, I hadn’t planned on saying that this early, feels a bit middle school to say that you love someone before they’re even your boyfriend.”

Steve turned to look at you once again, a bit surprised. Your face had gone red, adorably red, but still very red and your gaze had turned down to the asphalt at your feet. He reached out and took your hand, interlacing your fingers with his. “Good,” he said with a smile. You turned up to look at him; brow furrowed “I thought I had like imagined it.”

“Oh…no you’re good.” You said slowly. He looked like a little puppy dog, his whole face was radiating sunshine; it was almost hard to look at. It was harder to not match his energy, to get drunk off it. Then again, no one was stopping you from just enjoying the moment. You let out a small breath, not so much heavy with sadness or regret, but simply exhaustion. You let your head rest on his shoulder, smiling softly despite the scene in front of you. If it weren’t for the smouldering building and the emergency vehicles surrounding the pair of you, it would almost be romantic. The fact that you were even trying to find romance in the scene felt a bit silly, but maybe that was what this was supposed to feel like. Finding love in a burning building was a bit dramatic, it certainly not what you’d expected for your life, but you determined that no matter what you’d keep Steve safe. You had no idea what was going on at this scene, you had no idea what happened. But no matter how scared you were, you knew that Steve must’ve been even more scared. You knew that you couldn’t protect him, the same way that he couldn’t protect you, but maybe together you could keep each other safe for awhile.

“I love you too, you know,” Steve said quietly, his gaze trailed on the smoke of grey smoke coming up off the extinguished fire. The front of the mall had crumbled and the giant neon ‘Star-Court Mall’ sign shattered on the pavement. You hadn’t seen the mall before the fire, you didn’t know what it was supposed to look like, but a cavernous jagged mouth probably wasn’t the design goal. Still, you turned your attention to the side of Steve’s face. He couldn’t face you, the tips of his ears bright red underneath his flat, sweaty hair.

You swallowed hard “I know,” you say softly. Steve turned to look at you, examining your face with a nervous expression. You smiled and nodded reassuringly “I know.” Steve smiled and laced his fingers with yours. He squeezed your hand tightly in his and you squeezed his back, the feeling of his hand squeezing yours the only feeling left in your body beyond the giddy buzz. You didn’t know how any of this worked, you didn’t know if you were doing this right, if there was a right way to do it. The buzz under your skin was two parts anxiety and one part excitement. But you didn’t pull away. You were glued to his side.

“You know, I think that was one of the first normal conversations we’ve ever had,” Steve mused.

You scoffed loudly rolling your eyes “That was not normal.

Steve shook his head with a small laugh “Yeah, I know…”

[ad1thi]

just friends (?) P3

part 1 | part 2 | part 3 | part 4 

- just out of curiosity, how does everyone feel about a kofi goal dedicated to a companion piece from tony’s perspective??

//

There’s moments in Steve’s life - where time feels like it's come to a standstill. Where nobody moves, nobody even breathes - they’re just suspended. 

This moment, when he looks up to see Tony staring back at him, this is one of those moments. The entire coffee shop dulls around him, faint background noise compared to the pounding of his heart - and all Steve can see is Tony. 

He wants to move, to get out of his seat and walk over to Tony, to talk to him, to touch him, to explain - but he’s stuck to his seat; immobile under the sheer weight of Tony’s gaze. 

He’s imagined this moment for months, it's not beneath him to admit that he frequents this coffee shop with this very scenario in mind; but now that it's actually happening - Steve has no idea what to do. 

There’s small mercy in the fact that Tony seems to be the same - stuck, unmoving, that is of course until the old gentleman standing behind him in line prods him none too gently with his walking stick and complains that Tony’s holding up the line. 

Tony shifts his gaze to look at the man standing behind him, and it's like the spell is lifted, and the world starts spinning ‘round again. He desperately wants to look up at Tony again, but instead he keeps his eyes strictly on his sketchbook. Steve isn’t an idiot, he knows that Tony didn’t mean to come to the coffee shop that he frequents, that this is nothing more than a chance encounter, and so Steve won’t do Tony the disservice of looking back up and forcing Tony to acknowledge his presence. 

He’d reconciled himself to the idea that he might never see Tony again, so even just getting to see Tony from across a coffee shop is more than he could’ve hoped for. It was going to happen eventually, he reasons, pencil idly spinning in his hand, we were going to run into each other eventually. After everything, the least that Steve can do is give Tony the option to gracefully make an exit.

“Is this seat taken?” says a voice near him and Steve opens his mouth to say no, because he doesn’t want company right now but the words get stuck in his mouth - because Tony is hovering near the empty chair.

“Steve?” Tony says again, furrowing his brows, “Are you waiting on someone?” 

“No!” Steve half-yells, suddenly terrified that Tony will walk away. Tony raises an eyebrow and he clears his throat, “I mean no, not it's not taken.”

“So I can sit down I presume?” Tony asks teasingly, and Steve replies “Anytime.” He means it to come out flippant, to match the tone that Tony is obviously trying to set, but from the way Tony’s face twists - it must come out as honest instead.

Still, Tony doesn’t call him out on it, just smoothly settles in the chair opposite him. Steve’s heart is beating so hard that he can hear it roaring inside him, but then Tony flashes him a soft smile - and it's like everything inside him settles. 

--

Things get better after that. 

Steve had assumed that the meeting at the coffee shop was a fluke, hoarding the stilted bits of small talk close to his chest like a dragon hoards gold - but Tony shows up at the coffee shop every Wednesday morning like clockwork; grabbing a coffee and settling down in front of Steve for light conversation while he sips his drink. 

They fall into a tentative friendship. It isn’t as easy or as smooth as what they used to have, but Steve can recognise that it's far more than he thought he would have a month ago - and when it comes to Tony, he’ll take what he can get.

That, at least is familiar. 

They talk about everything they’ve missed in each other’s lives over the last six months - from Steve’s degree (he graduated last month and is sending out portfolios to galleries), to SI (Tony just got back from a two week event in Tokyo) and everything in between.

Once, Steve tried to bring up Bucky, but Tony held up his hand and said in a pained tone, “Don’t. I’m not ready for that, not yet.”

Steve had nodded, “Until you are ready, just please know how terribly sorry I am,” and that had been the end of it. 

It isn’t good, there’s periods of silence, and times when Steve can see Tony pulling away from him, building up walls so that he doesn't get hurt again, so that Steve doesn’t hurt him again - but then Steve will say something and Tony will smile, wide and unabashed - and it’s worth it. 

Tony has always been worth it. 

--

He knows that he has to bring it up with Bucky, but that doesn’t mean that Steve’s looking forward to it. Or that it’s going to be an easy conversation. 

Hence why Steve is currently cooking for the first time in almost two weeks, and he’s pulling out all the stops. He’s just about to put the lasagna in the oven when there’s a knock at the door, and he cranes his neck back to yell “It’s open!!”

A couple of seconds later, Bucky shows up in his line of sight, and whistles lowly when he sees the mess in the kitchen. “Aw shucks Stevie you didn’t need to do all this for little ol’ me, what’s the occasion?” he says in an exaggerated tone, and Steve rolls his eyes. 

“Can’t a fella cook his best pal a lasagna without getting the second degree?” he tries for a joking tone, but from the way Bucky’s eyebrows arch - it obviously falls flat. 

“A fella can,” Bucky starts cautiously, “but somehow I don’t think that’s what's going on here.” So much for weaselling out of this, Steve thinks, patting his hands against his apron and turning to Bucky. 

“I have to tell you something, but I don’t think you’re going to like it very much,” Steve stuffs his fists in the pockets of his jeans, “just - just wait until I’m done before you say anything?”

“Stevie, you didn’t kill someone did you?” Bucky chuckles nervously, “because I have to be upfront with you, these shoes aren’t made for mud and I don’t have a shovel on me.” 

“No it's not that don’t be a punk,” Steve licks his lips, heart beating erratically against his chest, “I’m uhh - I’ve been seeing Tony for the past couple of months.”

Bucky goes unnaturally still and Steve rushes to explain, “Not in the way you’re thinking of! I’m not like stepping out with him or nothing, he’s just - you know the coffee shop round the corner from SI? I go there sometimes when I’m stuck for inspiration or need a change in scenery and for the past couple of weeks, Tony’s been showing up too. It’s honestly nothing, he just hangs around long enough to get through a coffee and then he’s off but I wanted you to know.”

Steve rubs the back of his head and says firmly, “I fucked up with both of you once and I’m not about to do it again. There’s nothing going on I swear on my Ma, but I am seeing him again.”

Bucky stays quiet for what feels like an eternity, before he says in a very quiet tone, “Do you still love him?”

“I think I might love him until I die,” Steve says back, equally soft, and Bucky nods once. He pulls out a chair and sits down. Steve opens his mouth to say something, but the oven pings; and he’s forced to grab oven mitts and pull out the lasagna before it burns. 

When he sets the carousel down on the table, Bucky starts up conversation like everything’s normal, like Steve didn’t just admit to being in love with his ex-fiance - and while Steve isn’t naive enough to think that that’s the end of it, the knot that’s been building in his stomach ever since Tony sat down across him in the coffee shop a month ago slowly loosens. 

-- 

“So,” Sam says, apropos of nothing, “Are you gonna tell him?”. Steve jerks in surprise, almost dropping the tub of paint in his hand onto the easel he’s been staring out for the last 10 minutes. He turns to face Sam with a glare, hoping it conveys all of his complex emotions, but Sam just stares back, unrepentant.

“Well?” Sam asks again when Steve isn’t forthcoming, “Are you?”. Sam’s gaze shifts to the canvas that Steve was previously staring at, and Steve doesn’t need to look behind him to know that the half done face of Tony Stark is going to be staring back at him. 

“No,” Steve says mulishly, “I’m not. I just got Tony and Bucky back in my life again, I’m not going to fuck that up a second time.” 

“Because keeping this,” his hands gesture vaguely at the canvas, “keeping this from him is exactly what fucked things up the first time. But no, I can see your point about how doing the exact same thing is a good idea. What’s that quote from Einstein? Something about how a fool does the same thing over and over and expects a new outcome?” 

“Fuck off,” Steve says, throwing a rag that Sam expertly dodges, but its half hearted. He knows that Sam’s right, but he’s just reached a good place with Tony, and he knows in his bones that telling Tony about his feelings will just fuck that up again. He can’t do it, he won’t do it. He won’t live through losing Tony a second time. 

“Steve I’m serious, what’s your game plan here? Are you just going to pine uselessly for the rest of your life? He’s going to move on from Bucky eventually you know, what happens then? Are you just going to watch him fall for other people all over again? I don’t get your angle here.”

“There is no angle!” Steve says loudly, before clearing his throat and bringing his voice back to normal, “There is no angle, there is no game plan there’s just - keeping Tony in my life.” He looks up at Sam with wide eyes, “I can’t go through that again Sam, and if that means just keeping him part-time, then that’s enough for me.”

There must be something in Steve’s voice, because he knows that Sam came here with the intent of fighting him but he just deflates, padding over to pull Steve in for a hug. He rests his chin against the top of Steve’s head, running his fingers through his hair, and Steve lets himself lean against Sam’s chest. 

“I won’t push it anymore,” Sam murmurs after a fashion, “but I think you should tell him Rogers. His answer might surprise you.”

That’s what I’m afraid of, Steve thinks to himself, but says nothing - just hums in reply. 

tbc

taglist: @honeybearrhodey, @rogers-stark45, @tried-our-best, @kirouskasa, @fincaffeinaddict, @endlesslove1084, @imaginestevetony, @illegalchandler, @poughkeepsies, @scarletluvscas, @thewondersoflebanon, @kylizzles, @medio-melon, @moon6shadow-main , @benjamin-solos, @dauntlessdiva, @capnstarkey, @geraderlopoly, @xarawnsamaax,  @angelmydear, @theavengays, @imposter-human, @tonystarkisanangel, @littlemissstark , @allthingsmarvel100 ,  @endrega23 , @riotfalling ,  @spiderrpcrker, @rxmanoff , @firebrands , @omg-just-peachy, @iam93percentstardust​, @dreamsofg0ld, @thxngam, @krzyktty101, @velvetjane, @rebel13lion39, @superhusbands-superfan

[cloudywriter]

vanilla pudding cups - 3

~~~

A/N: so sorry it has been a little bit, i just have been so busy with school. also sorry about the minimal feysand interaction in this chapter too but i’m trying to build the relationship ya know? anyway, enjoy! also leave comments too, i love feedback!

masterlist + AO3

~~~

Feyre hadn’t talked to Rhysand since they had met a couple of days ago, but his eyes seem to have taken up a permanent residence in her mind. That much was evident by the sheer number of various shades of blue and even violet colored pencils that were surrounding her on the beanbag in the corner of her room. She could never get the combination of colors to look quite right though, she itched to go and make him sit down for her just so she could study the colors that make up his eyes. 

Luckily, the sane part of her mind that kept reminding her just how creepy swatching the colors of a stranger’s eyes was held her back from doing such a thing. But no matter how much she reprimanded herself in her mind, her infatuation with him didn’t cease. There was just such a depth to him that reeled her in. 

Okay, maybe it also had to do with the fact he was absolutely beautiful. He was the kind of guy she could see in the grocery store who’s too gorgeous to approach but would definitely mourn the thought of probably never seeing again in her life once she left.

She had hoped to attempt to talk to him, to get a better feel for him, but had yet to find the right time. Alis had refused to tell her much about him, only saying that his cancer had relapsed and that was why he was here in the ward. Her heart fell when Alis told her that. Feyre knew that pain and wanted him to know she understood, that he wasn’t alone. But it was also the fact that she knew his pain that kept her from reaching out. He needed time to process without her bothering him, he needed his space to breathe and come to terms with it so Feyre made sure to maintain her distance for the time being. Maybe he’d even come to her.

She smiled at the thought. 

---

Rhys woke up to the fluff of a pillow hitting him in the face repeatedly, he opened his eyes immediately, a little dazed, a little panicked; standing over him was just his ass of a friend, Cassian.

Cassian peered down at him with his signature shit-eating grin, his hair pulled back in a messy bun of sorts.

“Wakey, wakey, sleeping beauty,” he basically sang.

“It’s like fucking 6am, what are you doing?” Rhys rolled his eyes.

“We are getting your sorry ass out of bed and down to Rita’s for some breakfast,’’ he responded.

“At 6am?”

“Gotta get it while it’s hot,” Cassian claimed as he turned around and started picking through clothes in Rhysand’s bags that he had yet to put away. “Mor, Az, and Amren are down waiting in the car. The nurse lady only let one of us come get you because it’s technically not visiting hours.”

“Right and it seemed appropriate to send the loudest one they could?”

“Don’t act like you’d rather wake up to anything besides my face,” Cass batted his eyelashes for emphasis. 

For some odd reason Feyre’s face flashed through his mind. 

He would be lying if he said he hadn’t at least thought about her, the image of her atop that ladder radiating ethereal beauty never entirely left his head. He was even a little disappointed when that streak of charcoal dissipated.

Cassian throwing a pair of dark jeans and a black t-shirt interrupted his mini pining session. “Come on, get dressed. I’ll be in the hall.”

Rhysand huffed as he departed from his warm cocoon.

---

Rhys, Mor, Cassian, Azriel, and Amren sat outside on the trails with their takeout breakfast tacos from Rita’s wrappers scattered around them on the benches. 

“Okay, seriously, why did you make us wake up at 5:30am for Rita’s breakfast just for us to get takeout?” Amren questioned Cassian.

“Just eat your taco. I asked them to put extra children’s tears in it just for you, little one.”

“Call me little one again and I’ll nail your balls to that tree, you brute.”

The way Cassian cautiously crossed his legs escaped no one’s notice. 

The group had mostly returned to their normal dynamic, Cass being loud and making jokes, Mor giggling, offering her own sarcastic retorts, Rhys mostly laughing, watching, and adding to the conversation at times. Azriel continued his usual observing, letting out small smiles occasionally while Amren went back and forth between scowling and telling off Cassian. 

At the moment, Mor and Cassian were arguing over who got to eat the last taco, “Mor I am literally three of you put together.”

“And? A girl’s gotta eat.”

Cassian and Mor continued their pointless bickering, each swiping the taco out of the other’s hand and chasing each other around the benches. Rhys’s stomach hurt from laughing at their antics. He was feeling good again.

He found himself looking back up at the hospital towering over the little park, maybe to ground himself, it served as a reminder that this isn’t his whole reality anymore. He is still sick and one day Mor and Cassian will be running after each other without him around to watch. 

Mor’s breathless giggles and Cassian’s obnoxious shouting faded into the background as he began to get sucked back into that blackhole that had started growing again when he heard his most recent prognosis. It wasn’t an unfamiliar blackhole, he knew it well, but it had become so miniscule as his life returned to what it should be. But even in space it’s hard to make blackholes truly disappear. 

That’s when Rhys noticed her. A flash of golden-brown hair reflecting the fresh morning sun’s rays. She was sitting on a light wooden stool in front of an easel, her position pivoted at an angle to face out the window. He could make out the back of a white canvas sitting on the easel and a paint palette balanced in one of her hands. At such a distance he couldn’t make out her face fully, but he just knew it was her in his heart. He could almost imagine her face, her nose scrunched up in concentration as it was in those brief moments he saw her focused on hanging up sketches. 

Maybe she even had a paint stain on her cheek. 

Once again, she brought him back as he began to sink. 

Rhys wasn’t even sure how long he just stared at her, observing her in her own little world, wholly focused on the painting in front of her. She would swipe her brush around and then pull back, studying what she had done before going back in. He might’ve been content just watching her for hours.

“WHAT THE FUCK, CASS!”

Rhys’s attention was drawn behind him to Cassian frantically shoving a whole taco in his mouth while Mor fumed behind the bench parallel to Cass. 

“You’re such an ass, Cass. You’re an asshat, that's what you are. Asshat Cass.”

Amren raised her brows at that. “Asshat Cass does have a nice ring to it,” she observed, picking at her nails feigning disinterest. Mor just huffed and crossed her arms, but never broke the skank eye she gave Cass who only smirked in return. 

“Oh, I’ll get you for that one, Mor,” Cass grumbled, his mouth full of taco.

Rhys allowed himself one more glance at the girl in the window. This time though, he could’ve sworn she was looking back. 

“How about Mor the bore? Snory Mory?” He suggested. 

Rhys gave a little smile just in case, perhaps, she was actually staring right back. 

“Wait, I know, Mor the whore!” Cassian exclaimed with a dramatic hand gesture. 

No one even noticed Rhys’s utterly distracted state, entrapped by the angel in the window. 

~~~

mini taglist: @awkward-avocado-s & @booksofthemoon

[awkwardplant]

Sci-fi/Misc Short Story: Diorama

Weary travellers entered a building to escape from the zombies that had been chasing them. Night-time drew closer and only a little bit of sunlight filtered through the large dusty windows at either side of the room. Despite the dust, everything here looked pristine, unsurprising as it didn't seem the materials here were much use to survivalists.

"Is that an easel?" Johnny the Veterinarian wandered over to the contraption, lifting away a greyed cloth covering it, revealing a canvas with a few marks of brown oil pastels.

A younger member of the team who refered to himself as the Tailor (everyone else called him Ed, or the Cosplay Guy, or That Teenager) dove into some drawers and boxes. "Please tell me there's a non electrical sewing machine, or fabrics, ooh I'll even take sequins at this point! Anything I don't have to make from scratch."

"Don't think this type of place will have those kinda things, Ed. Looks like a kindergarten's arts and crafts room." said Johnny. "Might have glitter though."

Paul the Farmer rolled his eyes at his group. "No point lookin round 'ere, let's settle down, find somethin soft, and kip for the night." He shrugged off his backpack which carried the all the bare essentials it could hold, and popped his spine with a groan. "Food chain these days is all outta whack I tell ye."

At the entrance, Melissa the Engineer boarded up the door with some convenient planks of wood, nails, and a hammer she carried everywhere. "Oughta keep them out. Phew. Bit cold in here isn't it?"

Melissa's daughter, Isla the six year old, stood in the middle of the art studio, eyes filled with wonder at all the creations. Clay sculptures of graceful torsos, pencil drawings of still lifes that looked more or less exactly like the sketches, completed oil paintings of landscapes hung on the wall next to colorful, abstract ones.

Isla spied a light still on behind a door to another room left slightly ajar. "I see a light, do you think someone lives here?"

All the adults tensed and raised their weapons, eyes peering in the direction Isla curiously tiptoed towards. Paul hissed at her to slow down, firmly grabbing her shoulder and pulling her back behind him as he stared ahead. The air was silent aside from the floorboard's weak groans that sounded like a sigh of relief at the return of humans gracing its surface.

Johnny tapped lightly on the door which opened without any creaks or spooky noises, and revealed a warm orange glow of a desk lamp. The desk was cluttered with tiny objects you would expect to see at much bigger sizes such as doors and furniture. Several drawers of multiple sizes surrounded and sat on the desk filled to the brim with paints, glue, craft knives and other materials. A single mug rested on a green cutting board with some stale coffee inside.

Isla squeaked in delight as she darted across the room. "Mommy! There's dollhouses here!"

Melissa strode towards her daughter, blinking in surprise when seeing there was in fact what appeared to be multiple dollhouses meticulously displayed in glass cases on many shelves.

"Some strange looking dollhouses," Ed said. "Why would a kid want to play with a dollhouse that looks like a swamp?" He tilted his head, narrowing his eyes at the minature shack on stilts that sat atop fake greenery and resin water.

Paul chuckled. "And this ane's even got tiny critters from my farm! Now tell me that isnae just the spittin image of my wee goat." He tapped the glass of a mini farm with toy animals placed in the field.

"I think, uh..." Johnny clicked his fingers, brow furrowing. "I swear I remember... Ah well, I don't know the proper name of them but I've seen train sets that have these kind of things, do you know what I mean?"

"Yeah!" Melissa chirped. "This is how they used to make movie sets isn't it? Because back then they didn't have CGI to make places they couldn't afford to go to when filming."

"And humanity has reverted back to that time period." sighed Ed, who greatly missed his Friday night Star Wars rewatches with his friends. "Maybe even further back than that. Losing the internet was like losing the Library of Alexandria."

All of them wandered around the shelves to look at all the miniature sets. Mountains formed purely by plastic foam, a landscape of a picnic inside an open altoid tin, a greenhouse cluttered with plants no bigger than a pinkie finger. Some miniatures sat on the floor, the ones that were massive compared to the other sets yet still very tiny versions of medieval castles and gothic architecture.

Melissa stopped in front of a small library room that had holes in the ceiling with trees growing beneath them, books and furniture meticulously littered everywhere. Flashbacks to her days studying in her hometown's library filled her mind.

"This is what they thought the apocalypse would look like." she said, with tears welling up in her eyes. "They thought- they- they made art of stuff like this because they imagined it would look beautiful. How could they romanticise such disaster?"

Johnny walked up next to her, crouching down to see inside the library. "Hauntingly beautiful, maybe. I do remember certain types of people were fascinated with the idea of nature reclaiming the lands that humans built on."

"And that idea was dumb," said Paul. "Because now the deer are overpopulated and they destroyed the forests, and who knows what other animals are causing chaos without conservationists."

"There are pros and cons to everything that happens." Johnny replied. "But yes, it doesn't help that the handful of humans that are left don't know how to handle this... resurgence of nature."

Isla looked around, peering back through the door to the main room of the art studio. "This library dollhouse looks just like real life doesn't it? It's like we're little dolls too."

Melissa smiled sadly, stroking her daughter's hair. "It does put things in perspective." She hoped things would settle down enough for her to be able to teach Isla things she had learned in school at her age.

"The Earth is the size of a pinprick compared to the sun and we're all just ants in the grand scheme of things." Ed said, and one could guess he was trying to imagine how small he was compared to the Starkiller base.

Paul snorted. "But bigger than regular old ants and smart enough to put together nicknacks that make ladies cry." He nudged Melissa teasingly.

Eventually, the group finally realized that the lamp was connected to a solar powered generator with a back up of energy reserved and they attempted to recharge their walkie talkies. After a few near-electrocutions, they finally connected to a radio station broadcasting a rather laid back distress signal.

"This is DJ Smooth calling out to anyone, God, just anyone out there, from the abandoned military base in Alconbury. Been out here for uh, 3 months now, there's not been any zombie sightings for a while and I have been sooo bored. Come find me and we can hang out, maybe fight over my remaining supplies so I can remember how to feel something that isn't dissociation. Stay tuned after this music break for the co-ordinates to my location, and my heart. See ya soon cuties. Over."

Later that night everyone created some makeshift beds out of the cloths that had covered some artworks and easels, which Ed would repurpose at some point during their travels to make some new socks. They all lay on their backs in the dark, close to each other to conserve warmth. If there were any zombies outside they didn't hear them, only the rush of wind and rain pattering on the windows.

"Mommy," Isla whispered. "I liked the song that the man on the radio played."

"Yeah sweetie, I liked it too. It was... something from the 90's? I think? Probably not age appropriate but you didn't understand it so it's fine, I guess. Something funny to look back on one day."

Isla rolled over onto her stomach to look at her mom. "When we go back to Paul's farm I want to play the guitar we found."

"We can't go... Tell you what Isla, we'll go see the music man from the radio, and he'll help us cure the zombies, and then we can get everyone an instrument and all make music together."

"Yes! That's a good idea!"

"And we can do plays in theatres and make movies again." Ed added shyly.

"Movies that don't involve zombies and will make us forget this shitshow ever happened." Johnny sighed, unable to close his eyes and dreading the nightmares.

Paul growled and hushed the others, but then he said "Doesnae matter if zombies are out for us and we've got no artsy stuff, we can still sing."

They all sang Country Roads quietly (Isla could only sing the chorus yet sang with such sincerity), with gentle echoes of their melody bouncing off the walls of the art studio until they fell asleep.

The next day they left to find the military base and made up new songs along the way, with renewed and desperate hope that they might find a cure for the zombies someday soon.

The end.

[pangzi]

Otome gay [Nielan] - Chapter 3

word count: 2416  other chapters:  INTRO - Chapter 1 - Chapter 2 - Chapter 3 - Chapter 4 - Chapter 5 - Chapter 6 - Chapter 7 - Chapter 8 - Chapter 9 [AO3]

The meeting with Xichen had only fueled Mingjue’s obsession with the game. He might not have played the game after returning home on Monday, but on Tuesday he was back on it. He played the game all week, but didn’t get any further. He kept getting the neutral ending. At one point he thought he was going to get the negative one, but then once again got the neutral ending. He was getting quite desperate, to be honest. And he was also slightly embarrassed by the amount of time he spent playing this game. Only taking breaks to eat, do the necessary exercises for his foot and work out as much as he could without putting too much pressure on his leg. 

With any other character, he probably would’ve given up a long time ago. But, as Huaisang had said, this was a special character. Maybe it also had something to do with how he thought of Xichen’s every time this character smiled, and it made him feel a certain way. But Mingjue wasn’t ready to admit that to himself, he had only met the man once for god’s sake! 

It was Thursday evening now and Mingjue has had enough! He had tried absolutely everything! He couldn't handle one more glimpse of the annoying dancer boy nor could he handle Xichen telling him he’s an amazing friend once again. Mingjue was done trying to figure it out himself! He grabbed his phone and called his brother. 

“Dage! To what do I owe this pleasure?” Huaisang chirped as soon as he picked up the phone.

“Huaisang”, Mingjue said sternly, “Why can’t I date Xichen?” 

Huaisang was quiet for a moment. “Ehh, because you haven’t asked him out?”

“Ask him out? I haven’t gotten the option to ask hi-” Oh… He wasn’t talking about the game. “I meant in the game, you brat!”

Huaisang needed a moment to catch his breath after that, he couldn’t help but laugh at that. “I’m sorry, I had no idea you meant the game”, he giggled, taking a few deep breaths before calming down and answering his brother’s question. “I can’t believe you still haven’t figured it out, dage!” 

“Just tell him!” Mingjue heard Wuxian say in the background, but Huaisang only shushed him. 

“No, he’ll figure it out! Xichen’s character is just a very special one, remember that!” 

Mingjue grunted in reply. He should’ve known he’d get nothing from this, his brother just loved to torture him! 

“Now that I’ve got you on the phone anyway, I have a favour to ask, dage!” 

Mingjue sighed, he knew that tone. He could almost hear his brother pout through the phone. “What is it?” 

“You know that art class I follow, right? Well, the model they hired for this week’s classes kind of quit and now I have to find another model-” 

“Why do you have to find someone new?” Mingjue asked. “Isn’t that your teacher’s job?”

“Because it was his fault!” Wuxian yelled from the background.

“It wasn’t!” Huaisang snapped back. “It was your brother’s fault!” 

“Because you were flirting with him!” 

“I was not! I just told him he was handsome, he started flirting with me. I would’ve kindly told him off had Jiang Cheng not immediately swooped in!” 

Mingjue had no idea what was going on and he didn’t feel like figuring it out to be honest… 

“Anyway,” Huaisang went on, “The classes are focused on drawing the male body and muscles right now, and who is more muscular and manly than my brother?”

“You want me to model?” Mingjue wasn’t prudish about showing his body, but standing half naked in front of a group of strangers for a few hours was something else. 

“Please, dage! For me? It’s only for an hour,” Huaisang whined, “It’s such a good art class, I wouldn’t want to disappoint the teacher, he’s amazing and always so kind!” 

Mingjue sighed, he really needed to get immune to that tone. “All right, all right, but only this once. Let me know when and where and I’ll see if I can be there” 

“You’re the best! I’ll text you the details!” Huaisang said before quickly saying goodbye and ending the phone call so his brother couldn’t change his mind. Only a few minutes later Mingjue received a message with the details. It was tomorrow, a few hours after his last doctor’s appointment for his foot, which meant he could drive there, which was good as Mingjue wasn’t sure he could survive another two hours on public transport to get to Huaisang’s university.

Mingjue put the details in his calendar app and then looked at his computer again. No matter how much he wanted to finish this damn game, he had to take a break. He saved and put his computer away, deciding to take a short walk to clear his mind.

The walk did not clear his mind though. His thoughts kept wandering off to the game, to Xichen. He felt so silly. It was just a game, succeeding in the game wouldn’t help him see Xichen again, and even less with actually getting a date with the man. He’d probably laugh at him, if he ever found out. He’d probably think Mingjue is weird or something. There he goes again, assuming he’ll see Xichen again and that Xichen would want to date him. Huaisang had told him about Xichen and Wangji a bit during lunch, everything Mingjue had heard about them only made it more obvious to Mingjue that Lan Xichen was way out of his league, but still, a man can dream right? 

After his walk he decided to go to bed early and finally started reading that book that had been laying on his nightstand for weeks now. When his doctor put him on sick leave for a few weeks, Mingjue had planned on reading this book, and multiple others that had been collecting dust since he bought them. However, Monday he’d go back to work and he hadn’t even touched the book because of the stupid otome game. 

It was almost weird, walking out of the doctor’s office without a cast. His leg looked ridiculously skinny next to the other and felt incredibly weak. With the right exercise it’d be back to normal in no time, but still it was weird, very weird. 

With still a few hours to go before he had to be at the art class, he took his time getting home. He grabbed lunch at his favourite place and then even popped by the gym to see if the place hadn’t burnt down in his absence. Zonghui didn’t allow him to stay long, though, immediately sending him home to enjoy his last few days of freedom after catching up for a bit. 

That he had a hard time finding the room the art class was in wasn’t even surprising to Mingjue. He had found the building easily, but the room numbers were so illogical it took him awhile to find the right place. 

The door to the room was open but he still knocked softly before walking in. There were only a few people in the room who barely even looked up as he walked in. He stood near the door awkwardly for a while, looking around for someone who could be the teacher. He was just about to ask someone when he heard his name. 

“Nie Mingjue, what are you doing in my class?” Mingjue’s heart stopped. He knew that voice. 

“Xichen”, Mingjue stammered. “Your class?” He looked at Xichen, who was putting away some paint brushes one by one. He looked even more beautiful than he remembered. 

Xichen nodded with a smile. “I guess Huaisang didn’t mention I’m his art teacher?” Mingjue shook his head. “What brings you here?” 

Xichen was the teacher. Mingjue was going to lose it, he wasn’t going to sit naked in front of Lan Xichen for an hour just like that? Not that he was opposed to Xichen seeing him naked, he’d rather that happened in a more private situation, maybe after some dates… He wanted to leave right now, maybe yell at his little brother a little bit for not telling him Xichen would be there. But no, he promised Huaisang he’d do this, and not doing this would mean letting both Huaisang and Xichen down. This still meant spending time with Xichen, he hadn’t even expected to ever see the man again and yet, here he was, Mingjue shouldn’t let that go to waste. Maybe afterwards he could even ask Xichen out to dinner, or at least ask for his number.

“Huaisang said he was tasked to find a new model for the class”, Mingjue responded, trying to sound confident. Xichen dropped the last paintbrush as Mingjue said that. He kneeled down to pick it up, staying down a little too long before straightening up again with a soft smile. 

“You?” He asked. Mingjue nodded. “All right. You can undress in there” His voice sounded a bit shaky, and Mingjue wasn’t quite sure what to make of that. He made his way towards the room Xichen was pointing at. He opened the door but didn’t go inside. 

“Xichen?” He asked, turning around, which seemed to startle the teacher who once again lost his grip on some art supplies. “How naked do you need me?” 

Xichen turned around, ears beet red. Some students stifled a laugh at their antics. “Fully naked would be best but if you’re not comfortable with that you can keep your underwear on of course!” Mingjue swallowed thickly, nodded and went into the room to get undressed.

He stood in his underwear for a while, debating whether or not to take it off too. Eventually he decided he wasn’t quite comfortable being naked in front of a group of university students. He didn’t even realise how long he’d been in there until there was a soft knock on the door.

“Mingjue?” Xichen asked, “Is everything all right?” 

Mingjue just opened the door in response, which seemed to catch Xichen off guard. He flinched a bit before stepping back. Mingjue just smiled at him awkwardly, waiting for instructions. Xichen just stared at him for a bit before clearing his throat. 

“If you would just sit on the chair in the middle of the room, please”, he told Mingjue, voice a bit unsteady, “Try not to move too much, but if you’re uncomfortable of course you can move!” Then he turned around to face his students, telling them what to do and quickly going over what they had discussed last class. His tone was completely different from before, after which Xichen sat down behind an easel himself, right in front of Mingjue, who shifted a bit uncomfortable under the teacher’s gaze. Xichen right in front of him helped him a bit, too, though. He had something to focus on now, looking at him helped Mingjue completely ignore all the students coming up for a closer look. He had some time to really take in Xichen now and man, he was even more beautiful than Mingjue already thought he was. 

Both Mingjue and Xichen seemed to be awoken from a trance when a student loudly asked for his teacher’s help. Xichen laughed apologetically as he put his pencil to the side and got up to see what his student wanted to ask him. 

“What’s up with mr. Lan today?” Mingjue heard one of the students closest to him ask the person next to them. “He’s never drawn with us, ever, nor have I ever seen him this absent minded and I’ve been in his class for years now.” Their friend didn’t have the chance to reply, as Xichen had made his way towards them, inspecting their drawing and telling them how to improve it. Next, he makes his way up to Mingjue. 

“You’re doing wonderful, Mingjue”, he said, “I don’t think we’ve ever had a model as wonderful as you, I must be sure to thank Huaisang”

Mingjue couldn’t help but blush at those words. “I’m sure that’s not true”, he replied. 

Xichen shook his head with a smile. “I was raised to never tell a lie” This was how he would die, Mingjue was sure of it, this man was going to make his heart stop for real some day. 

The class was over before Mingjue even knew it. In all his looking at Xichen and thinking about Xichen, he had completely forgotten to come up with a way to ask Xichen’s number. As he got dressed he kept thinking of different ways to ask him without being too aggressive about it. 

When he came out of the dressing room, he decided to just wing it and see what would happen. Though, when he saw Xichen, all words and thoughts seem to leave him once again. He was back behind his easel, brow furrowed in concentration as he drew. Mingjue was whipped and he realised that that scared him. Never had he felt this way this fast about someone, and he didn’t know what to do about it. 

Xichen smiled at him as he saw him, putting the drawing he was working on away in a binder. Mingjue smiled back, checking one last time he wasn’t forgetting anything before making his way towards Xichen.

“Thank you for doing this”, Xichen said. 

“There are few things I wouldn’t do for my brother”, Mingjue said, “It was my pleasure” This was his chance, come on Mingjue you can do it!

“The pleasure was completely mine”, Xichen blurted out, slapping his hand in front of his mouth as soon as he said it. “I mean- What I meant to say was that I had hoped to see you again after our first encounter, so it was a nice surprise to have you walk into my classroom”

Xichen had wanted to see him again too. Mingjue’s brain needed a moment to process that information, so he just stared at the man in front of him in silence for a bit before putting himself together, becoming the confident man everyone saw him as. 

“As that feeling is mutual, maybe we could see each other again some time?” 

Xichen stared at him blankly before bursting into a beaming smile that made Mingjue’s heart beat so hard it might fly out of his chest. “I would love that”, Xichen replied. Mingjue couldn’t believe his luck as they added each other on Wechat before saying goodbye.

[caelpictor]

QHAVPPFAQ

Quarantine Halloween: A Virtual Paint Party

FREQUENTLY ASKED QUESTIONS

Who are you?

Kyle Marcus Bryant, aka @caelpictor. He/him/his/pronoun-flexible, Black, queer, 26 (and a half), Taurus, INFP, ADHD af. I’m an artist (with a degree in it, as of 2018!), a nerd, and a lover of Halloween!

What is this event?

Quarantine Halloween: A Virtual Paint Party is an art class conducted via video call in which I teach you step-by-step how to paint a Halloween masterpiece! #distancelearning

When is this taking place?

There are two classes scheduled: Friday October 30, 2020, and Saturday October 31, 2020 (AKA Halloween) from 7-9 PM EST.

Where?

It’s all happening on Zoom! Technology is amazing!

Why?

Like many of us, I lost my job to the pandemic. I am now safely quarantined away in VA with family, staring down my student loan debt, bored out of my mind, and looking for a fun way to connect with others while also offering my talents in exchange for your cold. hard. cash!

How much does it cost?

The $10 instructor fee covers one participant for one night. If you want to take both classes, make sure to get two tickets! And if two or more people will be joining the class from one location, please make sure everyone in the group is covered! Thanks 🙂

Is there a difference between the two classes?

Nope! They will be the same. I’m just offering two different dates for your convenience! Aren’t I nice?

How do I sign up?

Simply send in your payment and the best way to contact you, and let me know which day you’ll be participating (Fri 30 or Sat 31). Once I receive your payment, I’ll add you to my little list, confirm with you that you’re on it, and I’ll send you the Zoom link/meeting ID and password on the day of the event.

Where do I send my payment?

Venmo: @KyleBryant

PayPal: KyleMB13

CashApp: $KyleMarcusBryant

None of these are case-sensitive. If there’s one you prefer that’s not listed, let me know, and we’ll see what we can do!

Which is your preferred payment method?

Venmo, but any of the ones listed above are great!

Do you accept tips/donations?

Yes 🙂 always :)))

What’s the vibe?

Very casual. Drinking, Halloween costumes, and conversation are all highly encouraged! (But never forced)! I will be in costume, probably sipping wine or a cocktail and jamming out to music while I teach. It’s quite liberating, being able to drink on the job.

What’s the etiquette?

We try to stay on mute while the teacher is teaching, but otherwise, go wild. ***And please ALWAYS feel free to jump off mute if you have questions or comments!

Who can join?

Literally everyone! Spread the word! Bring your friends! The more the merrier!

I have no artistic skills! Can I join?

I said EVERYONE, didn’t I? That’s exactly what I’m here for! Just think of me as your personal Bob Ross; I may not be able to hold your hand in person, but I will break every brushstroke down for you as simply as possible, and you’ll be surprised at how well you do. Again, if you ever have questions or need my advice, feel free to chime in at any time! And remember to focus on the experience of the painting, not the product!

General advice for first-time painters?

Work in big, general shapes first, then focus on smaller details later. I also usually start with the background and build the foreground on top of that. Also, relax, experiment, and have fun with it! There are no rules!

How long is the event?

Two hours, but please allow a little extra time for people to settle in at the beginning, finish up at the end, etc.. I promise it’ll breeze right by, but don’t feel pressured to be there for the whole event. If you miss the beginning, I’m great at catching people up, and if you duck out early, I won’t mind!

What image are you teaching us to paint?

Coming soon!

What materials do I need?

Here’s a breakdown:

Essentials:

1. Acrylic paints (a nice set of 5-12 colors is plenty)

2. Palette (for holding/mixing paint; a paper plate works just as well)

3. Brushes (at least one small brush for details, and one large brush for covering large areas; preferably one medium-sized brush as well)

4. Canvas (either a stretched canvas or a flat canvas panel, any size!)

5. Water cup (a vessel to hold brushes; I’m using an old plastic gelato container)

6. Easel (to hold the painting upright and steady; not strictly necessary, as you can use a desk or table or your lap instead if you’d like)

7. Paper towels or old rag (for cleanup and drying brushes)

Other:

1. Workspace (away from things you don’t want paint on; lay down tarp or newspaper to protect walls, floors, and other surfaces if necessary)

2. Paint clothes, smock, apron, etc. (wear something you don’t mind getting paint on!)

3. Trash can, running water, acetone, etc. (for cleanup)

Bonus:

1. Hair dryer (to help paint dry faster)

2. Pencils, pens, markers, pastels, etc. (for sketching, signing your name, etc)

3. Glitter, collage materials, sponges, stamps, stencils, etc. (just for fun!)

4. Your favorite drink (for inspiration 😉)

Where can I get them?

I’ve bought literally everything on this list from Target and Michael’s (except the easel, which I bought online). I would mask up and check your local department store or arts and crafts store (Walmart, Blick, Plaza, Hobby Lobby, Jerry’s, JoAnne’s, etc.), or if you prefer to order it all online, you can do so easily from those same retailers or… 😬 Amazon. (Protip: If you’re lost on the internet, but would like to avoid buying from Amazon, you can use its search engine as a jumping-off point and go directly to the retailers they have listed 😜) Pretty much everything else is just household items.

What will it cost me?

If you’re not worried about the quality—and you shouldn’t be! I’ve found the cheaper stuff works just as well!—you can buy the essentials (paints, palettes, brushes, and canvases) for ~$20. These items are also often sold in bulk, or in sets with each other!

What colors are we using?

My current plan for the palette is black, white, yellow, purple, orange, and green, the sp00kiest of colors! If you just want to get those six, feel free. However, I always recommend having the primary colors: red, yellow, and blue, plus black and white; that way you can mix any color you want!

What size canvas should I buy?

That is entirely up to you! 8 x 10” and 16 x 20” are pretty popular sizes, though.

Are there any extra precautions I should take?

Acrylic paint comes off skin, hair, nails, and smooth non-porous surfaces fairly easily, but it does stain clothing and carpet, and is very stubborn once dried. I would recommend being careful to prevent spills in the first place, but if it does get on something precious, rinse immediately and completely with water. If already dry, try acetone or a similar cleanser to break down the plastic particles in the paint.

How do I clean up afterward?

My method: Scrub brushes along the bottom of your water cup to get all the paint off them, then rinse under running water until water runs clear. Either let the paint water sit in the cup until the paint particles have settled to the bottom, or pour it through a filter (coffee filter, cloth, etc, because acrylic paint is made of a micro-plastic that can be harmful to the environment and your plumbing in large amounts!) Leave everything else alone until it’s completely dry, and then peel or scratch dried paint off your palette if desired. Scrub your paint-covered hands and other body parts until clean, preferably with something exfoliating.

Is the paint non-toxic?

I mean, I wouldn’t drink it on purpose, but yeah, paint left on the skin or ingested (in small amounts) is harmless.

How can I contact you?

You can comment right here on this post, DM me on any of my social media, or email me! I promise to get back to you ASAP!

Social Media: @caelpictor (everywhere)

Email: KyleMB13@Gmail.com

I will update this post as questions are asked between now and the event, so please let me know if there’s a question I didn’t answer here for you!

Thanks for reading, and I’m excited to see you all there!!!

[gumnut-logic]

Flannel (Bit 15b)

Bit 1 | Bit 2 | Bit 3 | Bit 4 | Bit 5 | Bit 5a | Bit 6 | Bit 7 | Bit 8 | Bit 9 | Bit 10 | Bit 11 | Bit 12 | Bit 13 | Bit 14 | Bit 15a | Bit 15b

I give up. I am not in control. The Terrible Two have taken over and driven me off a cliff.

Having said that, I have to say thank you to @tsarinatorment for giving them the keys to the car. She gave me some great help with some plotwork and got me pointed towards that cliff.

-o-o-o-

Virgil turned back stared at him. “Why?”

“Closure.”

Virgil blinked and appeared lost for words.

“Virg, I know this is hard.” He took a chance and placed a hand on his brother’s arm. The tension there was as taut as one of the man’s piano strings. “But Scott needs it.”

“Then take him.” Virgil turned away.

Alan turned that touch into a grip on Virgil’s bicep. “No, we need you.”

“Why?” And there was a touch of a wail in the question. “Why should I go back there? Back where Mom...”

Alan could see the images haunting his brother’s mind. “For that exact reason. That and I don’t want to have to turn to a Scott who is missing his Virgil in one of the most painful places on this planet. We need to do this together and for each other.”

Virgil’s eyes closed, his frown folding into an expression of grief. “All of us. You want to know what happened. You want me to show you-“

Alan tightened his grip just a touch more. “No, I just want you to be there for Scott. He needs to see, to heal. And so do you.”

Virgil yanked himself out of Alan’s grasp and turned away. A paint covered hand rubbed at his face.

Blue smeared across his brother’s cheek.

Alan waited, giving Virgil time to compose himself. Alan clung to his professionalism. If he thought too hard about what Virgil was doing right now, he would be in his brother’s arms seeking reassurance.

This wasn’t about Alan. This was about Virgil, Scott and John.

The thought of John had him wondering how Gordon was going with their space brother. Their middle brother was likely to be one of two extremes, easy or blindingly obstinate.

Gordon had a plan.

But John was smart and one hell of a challenge on any average day. These last few days had been anything but average.

Virgil straightened with a sigh. “I’ll speak to Scott.”

“You’ll come?”

Those eyes were red as he turned to face Alan. Something broke just that little bit more inside.

“I’ll come. We’re flying Two. I’ll show you where and how.” Virgil cleared his throat as his voice failed him.

“Thank you, Virgil.” He meant it ever so much.

Those eyes flicked up at him under their brows, but Virgil did nothing but nod once. His artist brother then stared at the paintbrush still in his hand before turning to the canvas on his easel.

Alan took it as a dismissal. Which was probably fate because it was at that moment the alarm sounded and they both ended up deployed, Alan to that space freighter and Virgil out to a building collapse on the other side of the planet.

Gordon went with Virgil and they were gone most of the day. Fortunately, Alan was able to save the freighter families relatively fast and made it home with enough time to speak to Scott.

So that was two brothers primed and ready. One more to go.

Along with Virgil, Gordon didn’t make it back until very late and the moment they walked into the room, Alan knew it hadn’t been a successful mission. Gordon was wilting as he walked. Virgil...

Virgil was pale and haggard.

God, please let there be no families involved.

There were families involved.

Virgil’s voice was parched as he reported the death of a mother, daughter, son and two other unrelated men. Two of them died immediately, the rest...

“We weren’t fast enough. The building was poorly constructed and its foundations unstable. We took too long attempting a safe retrieval.” Virgil was professional but ever so sad. He did not need this on top of what he was already working through.

Alan sat on his couch respectfully silent.

Debrief ended quietly and the brothers dispersed.

Alan did not fail to note Virgil disappearing into his studio again.

A sigh and he followed Gordon to his room. His brother didn’t acknowledge him, but his door was left open as he strode through and Alan darted in behind.

The wall full of aquariums burbled at him as Gordon threw himself on the couch in the middle of his living room.

“Well, that sucked.”

“You okay?” Alan hated to see his cheerful fish brother down. It was uncharacteristic and just wrong.

Gordon sighed. “I’ll live.”

“How’s Virgil.”

“Robo-man is performing perfectly.”

“Damn.”

“Yeah.” Another sigh. “How’s Scott?”

“Quiet. I think I convinced him to come with us. Dependent on Virgil.”

“And Virgil looks like death warmed up right now.”

“Virgil looked like that before you left. He’s just a shade darker now.” Alan rubbed his hands over his face. “Have you had a chance to speak to John?”

“Nope. But I have no intentions of speaking to John.”

“Huh?”

“I have the keys to our genius brother in the form of one very young and impressionable AI.”

Alan stared at him. “What did you do?”

Gordon just smiled.

-o-o-o-

Next

[wilwywaylan]

The Artist above and the Revolutionnary below

Fandom : Les Misérables

Modern!AU, Enjolras x Grantaire, 

Grantaire wants nothing more than enjoy the breeze and paint, but it seems that someone wants to practice the guitar. Very Badly.

Written for @shitpostingfromthebarricade‘s Same-Prompt Fic Challenge

Béta by the amazing @kujaku-myoo

Also on AO3 !

-

Working with the windows open had always been one of Grantaire's greatest life pleasures. Sadly for him, winter existed, and regularly put a damper on his plans by being cold, snowing, raining or wind-blowing, or a combination of those elements. But finally, finally, he was free of the clutches of a season that shouldn't have existed in the first place. Spring had taken its time, but it had finally arrived, bringing with it the delicious, warm weather that Grantaire adored. So as soon as he got up to sit at his easel (around 3 PM), he opened the windows and let the soft breeze caress his face. It was gentle, carrying with it the smell of the wisteria flowers on the balcony on the first floor and the chirping of the starlings starting to nest in the trees.

And something else that certainly wasn't the smell of wisteria or the starlings chirping. It sounded a bit like a guitar, if the strings had been plucked by someone with forks glued to their fingers. Maybe a bird was trying to get the strings to use them in its nest. Or that guitar knew a secret and someone was trying to get it to confess. Or something had fallen into the opening and the poor thing was desperately trying to get out of there by grabbing the strings. To say that Grantaire didn't really appreciate the thing that was resonating under his window and couldn't really be called music would have been the understatement of the year. And still... If someone closed his eyes, put his hands on his ears, and felt very, very generous, it could almost be mistaken as a melody, that, with a bit of concentration (and leniency), had a passing resemblance to... Wonderwall ?

Grantaire smiled. Talk about a cliché that someone sitting on their balcony during a warm day of spring would learn to play Wonderwall, if that was what they were doing. He went to his window, leaning out as much as he could to try and see the person playing. But the large windows of his flat, if they were perfect to give him some much-needed light, were a bit too set back to allow him to look at the player. By leaning on the ledge in a very dangerous fashion, he could barely see a pair of shoes, the cuffs of some jeans, and the headstock of the guitar, and nothing more. Not even a finger. Just a pair of old, battered, red Converse, pants rolled up at least twice, and a run-of-the-mill guitar.

To say that Grantaire's curiosity was piqued would be the understatement of the year. Okay, maybe it was due to his weird hours (that he decided on himself), but he wasn't very familiar with his neighbours. He knew the old Mrs. Magloire, he sometimes went grocery shopping for her, and she liked to pinch his cheek and call him a cute boy. Grantaire always refrained to ask her if she needed her glasses checked, and accepted the compliment with a smile. There was Mr Garrel, who put his awful music way too loud just when Grantaire wanted to sleep, and was always glaring at him like he was guilty of.. something. And of course, Eponine, who was living in the studio at the end of the hallway. Half of the time anyway. Other half, she was here, sprawled on his couch and criticizing everything he was doing. All in good fun, of course. He should ask her next time she'd drop by with a bottle of cheap wine and one of her awful DVD. She wasn't that better acquainted with the tenants of their building, but she held some sweet blackmail material. Maybe she'd know something about the mysterious guitar player.

Who was still butchering Wonderwall. Of course they had to choose a favorite of Grantaire’s for that. They couldn't decide on some Taylor Swift or something. Grantaire could have closed the windows of course, but it was such a pretty day.... And from his point of view, he had been patient enough. Now it was time to do what he knew best : give unsolicited comments. So he leaned on the windowsill as far as he could (he could still only see the shoes, bobbing with the non-existent rhythm) and yelled :

- I've played a lot of guitar in my youth, but I didn't know you could make that kind of noise. That's impressive, in a way.

The playing stopped. The feet moved, and for a second, Grantaire thought that the player would bend  over the railing to look at him and insult him or something, but no. After a few seconds, probably spent weighing some options, the music resumed. Okay, no amelioration on this front. And he couldn't just let it go, he had work to do, and he couldn't concentrate with that noise. So he tried again :

- No, seriously. You should relax your fingers. And your shoulders too.

The music stopped again. And this time, he got an answer.

- How can you say that ?

Oh, so the person on the balcony sounded like a boy. Probably around Grantaire's age. Interesting. But they were probably waiting for an answer.

- Because I know. That's a basic mistake.

A small silence. The other (man ? boy ?) was probably mulling over his words. Or think about sending him packing, with his unsolicited advice. But no, after a few seconds, Grantaire got an answer.

- You play the guitar ?

- I did.

The man seemed to dwell on the past tense for a second, then the playing resumed. It was still disjointed, but sounded a little less like someone had stepped on a small creature. Still kinda disrupting, but way less. Grantaire sat back in front of his easel, and was pleased to see that his inspiration had come back. He went back to his painting, humming along the broken melody. From time to time, he threw an advice over the ledge, about fingers on the fret or to use the fifth cord more, but the mysterious man didn't answer anymore.

~*~

When Grantaire opened his window the next day, he was welcomed by the same clumsy playing. This modern troubadour wasn't very talented, but he sure was determined. That was a quality one could admire, even Grantaire who was careful not to be too engaged about anything. Sure, he could have chosen another song, because as much as one could like a song, there was a thing as too much Wonderwall. Two more days of this, and Grantaire could never hear that song again. And still, he didn't ask the mysterious man to stop, nicely or otherwise. He mixed his colors, spread them on his palette, and set himself to work. Soon, he was lost in his little world.

He was trying to stretch his neck a little without dropping his green on his lap, when a voice rang from downstairs.

- My fingers hurt, it whined.

It took Grantaire two seconds to realize that it was the mysterious man talking, and he was talking to him. He laid on the windowsill again and glanced down at the red Converse.

- It's normal.

- Normal ? came the scandalized answer.

- Yeah. You have to build some callus to play.

- But how ?

- By playing.

The man seemed to mull over it.

- Isn't there another way ?

- Sadly, no.

Another silence.

- Oh. Well. Thank you.

And the mysterious player went back to his guitar. Grantaire waited for another remark thrown his way, but as nothing else came, he went back to his painting. But he kept his windows open. One never knew…

~*~

It dawned on Grantaire the next day, as he was lugging his grocery shopping through the hall, that he didn't know the name of his mysterious neighbour. He didn't know the name of almost anyone in the building, but it had never bothered him until now. Taking advantage of a break before tackling the five stories with several pounds of fruits and a giant bottle of liquid soap, he took a look at the letterboxes. A helpful hand had written the flat numbers under the names, and it only took him three minutes of mental gymnastics to find the right one. If he had expected a first name, he was disappointed. Not even an initial, just a name, stern and direct. Enjolras. Grantaire let the name roll on his tongue like a fine wine. Enjolras. Ange.... Enjôler.... so many pretty words contained in that name. Surely, such a pretty name could only belong to a pretty face.

Grantaire tried to picture it as he started climbing the stairs. Maybe... maybe he would be dorky, at least a little. Someone who tried to learn guitar without any method could only be a dork. He'd probably wear glasses. And a nice buttoned-up shirt, with a pen in the pocket. He was trying to decide on a haircut (neatly parted in the center, or "hasn't seen a comb in three days" ?) when he was almost knocked back down the stairs, sending him on his ass, his oranges bouncing all around him, happily rolling down the stairs to their freedom. He started swearing, rubbing at his sore parts, but his voice caught in his throat when he looked up.

The person who had knocked him down had caught the railing to keep their balance and was standing above him, blocking part of the light. With his hair in wild curls surrounding his head like a golden halo, eyes as blue as the sky, and a face, a face... a face that Grantaire would have liked to paint, carve in marble or in fine china, with high cheekbones and a nose.... a piece of art, really. It lasted only a second before the man found his balance again, almost stepping on Grantaire's foot. He muttered an apology, gathered two oranges that he hastily deposited on Grantaire's legs, then jumped over him and skipped the rest of the stairs, scattering the other fruits in his haste to get out.

Grantaire simply sat on the floor, trying to process what had happened in the last thirty seconds. Did he really get knocked down by a vengeful angel stepped down from his pedestal in a flurry of righteous fury ? Did he suddenly get high in the fumes of his.... canvas bag in the five seconds it took him to go from the letterboxes to the stairs ? Did it really happen ? Granted, he just had to look at his groceries still lying all around him to know that, yes, it did happen, he didn't just imagine it. Besides, why would he imagine such a fine man living in a building like... well, like this ? He carefully side-stepped all the answers such a question could elect, gathered all his groceries and carried them to his flat, still carefully not thinking about what had just happened, nor his trembling hands, nor the look of beautiful blue eyes or the bounce of golden hair.

Once every orange had found its rightful place, Grantaire decided to go knock on Eponine's door. Maybe she could help. Or just listen to him as he sprawled on her couch and babbled about beautiful boys and boys playing guitars and whatnot. She would probably make fun of him, but that was how it went between them. He had done the same when she had come to him about Pontmercy, and she had been merciless during his last three crushes. And that's exactly what he needed, some kind of reality check.

He waited almost five minutes on the doormat before she deigned open the door.

- I hope you have a good reason to come here, she said.

- Are you busy, perchance ?

- Do you know what hour it is ?

Grantaire gave her his best impression of a goldfish.

- It's "Top Chef" time. You know what that means.

- It means that I'm very flattered that you interrupted your delicacy time for me ? Grantaire tried with his best smile.

- It's the commercial break. You have one minute left.

- But I come to you bearer of lamentations about boys and what could be the start of a crush. And a bottle of vodka, he added, brandishing his treasure.

She considered him, then the bottle. Finally, she moved aside to let him in. He grabbed two glasses in the kitchen and went to sit with her, almost falling over the shoes scattered here and there. He handed her a glass and kept his in his hand, swishing the liquid around as he waited for the episode to end, his thoughts still spiraling wildly in his mind.

When the credits rolled, Eponine turned to him.

- Better ? she asked?

Grantaire shook his head.

- Drink.

He obeyed. The alcohol burned down his throat, without easing his inner turmoil in the least.

- Better ? she asked again.

Shook again.

- Tell me anyway.

But what to tell ? That an angel was living in their building ? That there was a boy playing the guitar and Grantaire found it very cute, the way he was going at it ? That this boy seemed nice, but Grantaire could only cling to a nice voice and a pair of red converse ? All this and even more, it seems, because when he finally stopped rambling, the TV, now on mute, was halfway through a stupid game show.

Eponine poured him a second glass of vodka.

Eponine poured him a third glass of vodka.

- So, she mused, admiring her own glass. What you're telling me is that you just developed two crushes.

- I didn't develop any crushes on anyone, Grantaire defended himself, but he had to admit he hadn't really made a case for himself.

- If those are not crushes, then I'm the Pope. And do not try any of your "hello your Holiness" jokes. Thanks.

Grantaire made a face.

- I don't really have crushes. The one with the guitar, I don't even know what he looks like.

- So what ? Do you need it ?

- It helps. Not about what you think, get your mind out of the gutter, woman. (Eponine just raised one eyebrow). But for me, he's just an awful song, a nice voice and a pair of shoes. Not really husband material.

- But there's the other one. The angel, she reminded him.

- Oh... yes. He's... oh he's gorgeous. You should have seen him. It was like... getting a small glimpse of what Heaven could be. Do you understand ? An angel looked at me. I may never be the same again. I had the proof, after all these years, that there is a Heaven. And if there's a Heaven, there's a Hell too, and it's a terrifying idea, because it instills in me a fear of whatever is awaiting for me when I'll leave this sinful Earth. Whether I end up in Hell, where I'll be subjected to endless torments, or in Heaven, surrounded by creatures of such beauty. Whatever I'm doing, I'll be damned.

Eponine looked at him above the rim of her glass.

- All this in just a face ?

- Had you been there, you wouldn't talk about "just a face". "Just a face" is for the ones we meet in the street, the mere mortals like us. His is not "just a face", it's a masterpiece, it's a piece of marble molded by the hand of an artist, it's the Sun having taken a human form.

- The Sun ? really ?

- The Sun, and since I've dared lay my eyes upon his form, I am forever burned. Never again will I be able to see, I've been blinded by his radiance !

- Okay but what do you want me to do ? Buy you a pair of sunglasses ? Be your guiding dog ? And be careful of your answer.

- Do you know of a young, beautiful god living under our roof ?

Eponine mulled over it for a few seconds.

- I do not know of any blonde in the building, young and pretty or not.

- Alas ! My only option is to let myself waste away, forever separated from my love, sadly gazing at the sun in the hope of him stepping down one of its rays, straight to my atelier and heart !

This time, Eponine whacked him around the head with a cushion.

- Can you be even more dramatic ?

- I can, but you certainly wouldn't like it.

They watched the images move soundlessly on the screen for a few moments.

- I can try to find some information, Eponine finally offered. I'll see what I can gather.

- You're a true friend, and you know it.

- You owe me at least a pair of Louboutin for that.

- I'll buy you the most amazing bottle of champagne I can find.

- Deal.

~*~

Grantaire was starting to be very familiar with the way his brain worked. He had been directly exposed to a god among mortals, it was only a matter of time before it became too much for him and he started trying to alleviate the shivers running under his skin, the heart beating in an odd way, the agitation, in the only way he knew (beside screaming it on the rooftops). But this time, the disease seemed to progress really, really fast. Just the next day, he sat at his easel, grabbed a paintbrush, dipped it in paint... and nothing happened. His hand didn't move, not an inch, and the tip of the brush hovered above the painting without putting any paint on the canvas. No matter how hard he tried, no matter how he tried to set himself to work, he just couldn't move. That painting was due next week, or he would fail his exam, and he just couldn't do it.

After five minutes, he had to face the facts : he wasn't going to get any work done today, not until he got a bit of that obsession out first. He carefully put his painting aside, picked up his sketchbook, his pencil. He barely put the tip on the paper, that it started to, tracing ample lines on the white surface. Grantaire just let his hand move, seemingly on its own accord, let his mind wander as a lone figure slowly emerged. A man, standing alone, an arm raised, long hair cascading around him, a long sheet draped around his frame. Nothing fancy, it was the poster child for a study on how to draw folds. He would never show something so classical to his teachers, but for something he intended to hide somewhere he'd never look again (his sock drawer seemed like a very good place), it was pretty good. He couldn't yet exactly express the radiance, the warmth, the feeling he had gotten looking into those beautiful eyes, but that was only the first of a long series. He knew it. There was no hope in fighting it. He was done ; better enjoy the ride as he could until it finally faded away, and went with the other on a shelf far away in his mind.

~*~

But the ride lasted. Every day, when he got up and sat at his easel, the beautiful face appeared under his pencil. From the front, from the side, in close-ups or full-length, dressed in full XIXe century outfits, formal jackets or tight pants, studies of his eyes, his hair, .... The drawings were piling up in a drawer, or rather drawers since the first had been filled very, very fast. But he couldn't stop himself. He needed to. His hand itched to trace this beautiful face once again, form the delicate lashes, the curve of his eye or the bow of his mouth. And so he did, again and again.

But of course, it didn't help. No matter how many times he drew the man, his face didn't leave his mind. When he was cooking, when he was cleaning, sorting his socks, watching trash TV, ... Always, the scene replayed in a corner of his mind. Had he known these five seconds would play an endless loop for his sole benefit... he wouldn't have changed a thing, to enjoy that delicious torment once again, the delicious burn, the delicious feeling of yearning that kept him awake at night, tossing and turning for hours.

Okay, maybe he would have changed one thing ; in the hundreds of times he had replayed the scene in his mind, he hadn't once stood there to gape at the vision ; always, he caught the angel in a way or another, swept him off his feet, or fell down at his, or at least found something smart to do. A conversation would engage, he would get the perfect stranger's name, seduce him in a few well-chosen sentences, enthrall him with his wit, a conversation would follow....

But always too soon, he would be reminded that no, he didn't get the perfect stranger's name, or even his attention past the bare minimum you allowed to someone you bumped into in the stairs. He had gone his merry way, getting out of Grantaire's life at the same time, never to be heard of again. Each time the thought came to disturb his daydream, Grantaire did his best to push it out of his mind, but if he could ignore the truth, he couldn't as well push the sudden jolt of pain out of his chest, no matter how hard he tried. He buried it under work, drawing the stranger's face and, he was a bit ashamed, drinking a bit more than usual, but it was only a brief respite.

But still, through this ordeal, there was one thing that was able to pull his mind from that never-ending daydreaming state. Every day, rain or sun, as he opened his windows, he had been welcomed by the clumsy guitar playing from the mysterious boy. Enjolras, if that was his name, was very conscious with his practice, and to Grantaire's delight (and relief), he had started to get better. Still not very good, but at least it wasn't grating anymore.

They had exchanged a few words here and there, mainly Grantaire throwing advice out the window, and the boy answering, sometimes in jest. He had a clear voice, and some wit that wasn't unpleasant. He hadn't really struck a conversation with Grantaire yet, but he seemed to appreciate his presence none-the-less. At least that's what Grantaire wanted to think. Maybe the playing softening when they talked was just wishful thinking, but that wasn't forbidden, now, wasn't it ?

It was during one of these afternoons, when he finally managed to get back to work after adding yet another sketch to his growing collection, that he decided to try and get a more consistent conversation with Enjolras, or whatever his name was. He laid on the windowsill as usual ; the red shoes were still bobbing in something that could be a rhythm. Good.

- Hey, he called.

There was a horribly discordant note, and the playing stopped. Enjolras muttered something that probably wasn't very polite.

- What ? he answered.

- You've been working very hard at that song, and this is very impressive, but I was wondering... Is there a reason you want so much to learn it ? A favourite of yours, perhaps ?

No answer.

- Is it for an occasion, maybe ? he added.

- Yes.

- You want to serenade someone, maybe ? Because that may be an interesting choice for a serenade.

- No !

The voice was indignant, and Grantaire couldn't help but snicker, silently, of course.

- So ? Why the urge ?

- There'll be a protest soon, the boy answered after a few moments. We're protesting the closing of the community center downtown. THere's no real reason except that they don't want to waste money on poor people because they think they aren't cultured enough to understand, enjoy or benefit from arts programs. Those....

Grantaire rolled his eyes as hard as he could. Good, another bleeding-heart, well-meaning boy with stars in his eyes and a will to change the world. An idealist who hadn't yet seen that the world was full of assholes and injustice. But still, Grantaire couldn't think too badly of him. Without those programs, he'd never had discovered the fine arts, and he'd never chosen to study them. He  couldn't really blame him to want to maintain them against all odds and assholes who didn't think about anything but their wallets and how to make them fatter. It was admirable, in a way. The world hadn't yet managed to bring him down. Maybe he hadn't yet met that many assholes. Or he was just too tough for them. Either way, good for him. But Grantaire couldn't really say so, not if he wanted to keep that fragile relationship going.

- That's really cool, he said instead.

- You think so ?

The giddiness in the boy's voice made Grantaire's smile.

- Yeah, it's good. Someone has to fight the good fight.

It was silly, and Grantaire was starting to fear that the boy would hear that he wasn't that convinced. But luckily, it wasn't enough to damper his spirits. Or maybe the distance played in his favor.

- So, Grantaire asked, you want to play at the protest ?

- We're all doing something... artistic, to show how important it is, and how uplifting and inspiring arts really are.

- And you picked the guitar.

- Yes.

- And you can't play.

- No. But I'm going to learn it anyway.

- I bet you will.

The playing resumed, and Grantaire went  back to his painting, smiling, the guitar playing that started to sound like Wonderwall accompanying him in his work.

[jj-lynn21]

How A Girl Must Live Ch 2

Ch 2: Popular 

  ch 1: A place for singles, Ch 3 Opening Up  ch 4: Dating Ch 5:Family Ch 6 Violence begets Violence Ch 7 Love Birds

Notes: This chapter is inspired by the Nada Surf song, Popular. In the song they quote an actual book for girls called The Teenage Guide to Popularity. It was a Manuel that came out in 1951. It became a book in 1960. The Teenage Guide to Popularity.

Thanks for reading so far paulweirdley, loomiz, ch4sing-oceans , goblincxnt , waywardtigersandwich , super-pink-a-palouza , ameliachastain, thestonerosas, rouge-coquelicot, nerdicesbro, @lizziejorgie​, 

Three alarm clocks ring loudly in unison at 4 in the morning. Samantha pulls her pillow over her head as the rest scatter to get beautiful for whomever  will meet them at the door to escort them to breakfast. There chatter about “the one” is annoying her as she tries to sleep another hour at least.  

“Wake up silly goose,” Missy grabs the pillow off her face. “You do not want to face your likely future husband without your face on.”

“My face is naturally fine,” Samantha mumbles sleepily. “I can throw on some lipstick and put my hair up in a twist.”

Her roommates flitted around tossing dresses and undergarments everywhere as they giggle and talk of possibilities. As things pile up on Samantha, she huffed loudly and throws it all on the floor getting up to go to one of two bathrooms connected to the room. She knocks.  

“I’ll be a few minutes,” Flora chirped sweetly as she worked on her no makeup, makeup look.  

Samantha stomped to the other side of the room grabbing a random dress from the pile hoping it might be one of hers or at least fit halfway descent. She flew into an open restroom as soon as she saw one of the girls come out. As she was pouting her lips to apply some stain a knock was heard at the door.  

Her roommates cackled loudly as she straightened the dress she put on and did a little twist.

“It’s for you Samantha.” The girls’ voices rang with surprise.

Samantha made her entrance with a bored look on her face. All the girls watched her float across the room just as she had been taught. “I suppose I am ready.” She looked at her escort. It was one of the boys that was playing cards with Willard the night before.

“I’m Mr. Jonas.” The boy smiled. “It is nice to see you Miss. Samantha.”

“Thank you, Mr. Jonas.” She held his arm. “I would rather keep my late nice adventure between us if that is alright with you?”

“Of course, Miss Samantha.” He saw her to her seat for breakfast. ‘May I call on you for a walk after breakfast?”

“That would be fine, Mr. Jonas.” She smiled politely knowing she really was not allowed to say no. It was just a walk. She was planning to take one to explore the place anyway before her art class.  

The boys sat down to a full plate of bacon, sausage, two pieces of buttered toast and a fruit salad with cherries, oranges, peaches, and pears. The girls could choose between bacon or sausage with dry toast and the same fruit bowl but one cherry, half, and orange, half a peach and half a pear.  

“Eat slowly young ladies,” Mrs. Sally chided as she walked around the girls’ tables.

Mr. Jones walked around the boys’ tables darkly. “Chew with your mouths closed gentlemen. Never shovel your food into your mouths like a bunch of Heathens.”

“Being attractive is the most important thing there is.” Mrs. Sally lectured as they all ate. “If you want to catch the biggest fish in your pond, you must be as attractive as possible. Make sure to keep your hair spotless and clean. Wash it at least every two weeks. “

“That goes for you boys also.” Mr. Jones agreed. “Grooming is important if you want to be noticed by gentler ones who will make your house a home.”

“Here we support a one-week limit on going steady.” Mrs. Sally continued. “I think it will keep people more able to get to know more people.”

“Yes, there are many beautiful girls here.” Mr. Jones winks at the girls. Most of them giggle. “Give as many as you can a chance.”

“Complementing goes a long way boys and girls.” Mrs. Sally goes to stand in the center.  

“Good point sweetheart.” Her husband joins her kissing her cheek. She blushes. “Boys if you would like to make lunch or dinner plans to have with one of the girls talk to me soon. Have a fun today. You are dismissed. I want to see Miss Samantha, Mr. Jonas, Mr. Goodland, and Mr. Stokes in my office before you go about your day.”

Samamtha’s eyes shot open with surprise as she stood.  

Mr. Jonas walked over to her. “Don’t worry doll.” He whispered in her ear. “You were never there. I keep secrets.” He winked and escorted her to the office.

As everyone walked in Mr. Russel stood from a chair in the corner. He nodded expressionless. When Samantha looked his way, he looked away towards the boys.

“Mr. Goodland has brought to my attention an incident that happened last night that all of you witnessed.” Mr. Jones started. “Did you have a violent outburst against Mr. Goodland, Mr. Russel?”

Mr. Russel cleared his throat. “I don’t know why the female is here, but I did reprimand Mr. Goodland for his disrespectful statements about the gentler sex. I don’t want to scare the young lady with what Mr. Goodland said.”

“Are you kidding me?” Mr. Goodland whined. “She witnessed the whole damn thing.”

“Language Mr. Goodland.” Mr. Jones warned. “Do any of you other boys remember Miss Samantha there when she should have been in bed.”

“I just knew I wanted to get to know her better after seeing her at dinner last night.” Mr. Jonas remarked. “I’m hoping to still get that walk after this Miss. Samantha.” He nodded to her with a smile.  

“Mr. Stokes?” Mr. Jones lifted an eyebrow to the young pudgy boy.  

Mr. Stokes swallowed hard darting his eyes to everyone in the room. “It was just us boys and Mr. Russel learnin’ some life lessons, Sir.”

“Learning not learnin’.” Mr. Jones correct. “You are dismissed Miss Samantha. You may stick around right outside the door. I will not keep you waiting for your first date long.”

“Thank you, Mr. Jones.” Samantha curtsied before rushing out of the room. She could hear the men and boys speaking as she stood there waiting. She stayed because she was told to and because she was curious if her being there would come up again.  

“I can’t believe you believe them over me.” Mr. Goodland yelled. “My Father will hear about this and he can destroy you.”

“Enough, Mr. Goodland.” Mr. Jones cut him off. “I am in charge here. Mr. Russel this is your second warning not to get too rough with guests. But please, tell me what happened that you couldn’t say in front of the girl.”  

“I was discussing with the boys how important it is to treat your girl with kindness.” Mr. Russel glared at the boy. “That little fuck thinks it is perfectly fine to hit women to keep them in line. It is something he learned. It is something he should unlearn while he is here. Don’t you agree, Mr. Jones?”

“Agreed.” Mr. Jones glared at the boy also. “I don’t care what goes on in your home young man. That is between your Mother and Father. Here we treat them as the delegate flowers they are. Still, Mr. Russel, The boys bruised head shows you over did it a little. You come to me next time instead of dealing with it yourself. You hear me?”

“Yes, yes Sir.” Mr. Russel  answered promptly like he was back in the military.

“Good, I think we are done here.” He smiles and pats Mr. Jonas on the back. “Have a nice date young man. Shall I expect the two of you need a dinner table to yourself?”

Mr. Jonas enthusiastically beamed. “That would be great Mr. Jones.”

Mr. Jones nodded. Mr. Goodland stormed off. Mr. Russel moseyed out next. Samantha looked up at him as he was leaving. He put his finger to his lips in a shushing gesture. She smiled and nodded.  

When Mr. Johnas came out, he jetted his cricked arm out. “Let us go for that walk doll. We still have time before your art class. You can tell me about what you will be painting. I hope it is not dogs playing poker.” He chuckled.

She giggled. “I don’t think I could if I wanted to. Maybe, I will paint the lake.”  

“Sounds lovely, Miss Samantha.” He escorted her outside. “I made dinner plans for us tonight.”  

“That sounds lovely, Mr. Jonas.” She smiled kindly. She did not really feel any attraction towards the boy but he did stick up for her so she figured a walk and dinner was the least she could do. 

“We shall walk down around the lake, so you get a full view of your subject.” He smiles as he escorts her to the shores of the small misshapen lake.  

The lake is inhibited by a family of ducks paddling around. Two babies follow their Mother. She is gently quacking for them to keep up with her.  

“May I ask what classes you will be taking today, Mr. Jonas.” She smiles politely hoping she did not overstep her bounds.

“I have an etiquette class.” He stops the two of them walking to look over the lake. “Just a refresher course. I will go to Columbia University in the fall to major in finance, so I am taking a finance class here also. Money is so interesting...”  

As he continues to speak about his love for money Mr. Russel catches her eye. Instead of the suit that is mostly warn by all men at the resort he has a button up with on. Still in his dress pants but his sleeves are rolled up to show off his biceps as he carries tables, chairs, easels, and a few suitcases full of supplies to set up the painting area for her class.  

The sun is hot. Sweat beaded up glistening off his forehead. As he wiped the perspiration, he noticed Samantha and smiled nodding kindly. An unfamiliar heat rose in her cheeks. She looked away. Mr. Jonas noticed she was suddenly flushed.  

“Oh my, let me get you a drink my dear.” He ushered her back towards the main building. “I didn’t realize you were so sensitive to the sun. I have an aunt that always has a parasol when going out since she too has a sun sensitivity.”

As they are leaving the lake front, Mr. Russel hears a Lady’s voice call to him.  

“Mr. Russel can you move everything a few more feet from the lake.” It is Miss Tracie with two glasses of lemonade in her hands.

“Of course, Miss Tracie.” He starts to move things.  

“My word, come get a drink before you finish, Mr. Russel.” She holds out a lemonade as she sits in a chair under a shady tree. “I can’t have you falling over with dehydration.”  

He takes the drink and sits across from her. “I’ve learned to be like a camel in the army, Miss Tracie.” His lips puckered as he took a sip of lemonade.  

“Well, thank you for your service.” She finished her lemonade, put the empty cup down and started putting paints out.  

He just nodded finishing his lemonade. He knew when he brought up being in the war most people got uncomfortable. It made him uncomfortable to think about the terror he saw there also. After moving, some tables and chairs that were too close to the lake, he politely said his farewells. “Would you like me to take the empty glasses to the kitchen?”

“That would be kind of you, Mr. Russel.” She smiled kindly. “Thank you for all your help.”

“You are welcome Miss Tracie.” The girls were being escorted to the art tables. Mr. Russel glanced at Samantha as Mr. Jonas escorted her.

“I will be fine, Mr. Jonas.” She assured him not looking in Mr. Russel’s direction this time. “I just needed some water. I feel fine. I will see you at dinner. Have an enjoyable finance class.” She said it but could not imagine getting any joy from such a class.  

“Alright dear.” He went on his way.  

She ignored the other girls tweeting about their first dates. Hers did not feel like a date. She wanted to be polite because he was polite, but she hoped he would talk about more than finance at dinner. She did not trust any of the girls enough to tell them her thoughts. The way her roommates were talking, especially Pamala, they had already met the loves of their lives. That is until painting class ended, and Mr. Goodland stepped up.

“Good afternoon, Mr. Goodland.” Miss Pamela said twirling her red hair flirtatiously.  

He nodded with an overconfident grin but turned away, “Miss Samantha, I hope you will let me escort you to you next class. Would that be modeling with Miss Rita?”

Miss Pamela huffed loudly mumbling, “someone’s become Miss popular.”

Samantha corrected him nervously, “I will be going to the library next.”

“Shall we then?” He offered her his arm expecting her to be a good girl and not say no.