#n even then the clothes are just some cheap shit like a logo or some text printed on a basic hoodie or t shirt

[cozy-mp3]

bro this has been on my mind for awhile IM SO READY

So modern!AU with Ellie x Black fem reader where Reader is a well known rockstar, shit like the runaways, the pretty reckless, KISS, all that stuff and Ellie is like their #1 fan and is such a simp for them just absolutely over them. Maybe one day reader is stressed over song writing and ellie helps them relax? (fluffy nsfw lol) i’m not sure if ur comfy writing for switch!reader but i’d like that for reader but if ur more comfy with sub that’s ok!! ILYYY❤️

word count: 4k (ish)

a/n: omg i had so many ideas when i read this tysm for prompting! this definitely got way more plotty than i intended, i hope u don't mind! this is another fic that i started off thinking it would be abt 2k words but it spiralled a bit lol. i tried my best with the switchy dynamics but i still feel like i'm not great at writing them, either way i hope i did ur prompt justice nonny <33

MINORS AND MEN DO NOT INTERACT OR I'LL CRY

you’re going to die in this room, you think. you’re gonna die in this stupid recording studio, on this stupid pleather chair that sticks to your thighs in summer, spinning in circles just to expel some pent up energy, watching your stupid mug of stupid coffee going cold on your stupid desk. you pause your aimless spinning and sigh, planting your feet on the floor so you can wheel back to the desk and run your finger down the side of the mug. it isn’t stupid and you feel a little bad for even thinking it, no matter how frustrated you’re feeling, it was a gift from ellie after your first tour had concluded. 

it’s from one of those online printing companies and is covered in pictures of the two of you she’d taken on tour, a selfie for every city she’d told you. it was cheap, because she was too busy with uni to find a second job and back then music wasn’t paying many bills, the printing has faded a little over the past three years and you’re pretty sure it isn’t supposed to go in the microwave because everytime you put it in there it comes out so hot you have to pick it up with the edge of your shirt covering your fingers. you love it though, she’d handed it to you a couple weeks after you’d come home and the excitement of playing a different crowd every night had been replaced with your part time job at the drugstore and playing to the same groups of regulars at the same few bars downtown.

you run the tips of your fingers over one of the pictures of her smiling face, it’s maybe your favorite picture of her ever, definitely top five at least. she’s wearing a shirt that’s a few sizes too big with crew printed over the front of it in big white letters, she’s smiling so wide her eyes are crinkled up and there’s lipstick marks all over her face from where you’d kissed her. you were into black lipstick back then, so they stand out against her pale skin, you’re more into red at the moment and she doesn’t let you kiss her face when you’re wearing it. apparently, there was a time she’d walked into a lecture with a lipstick stain on her forehead and she hasn’t been able to live it down, dina had told you the story since ellie had been too embarrassed to tell you herself. just when you’re about to start searching for your phone to shoot her a text to tell her you miss her, the door to your studio opens and there she is, as if you’d summoned her or something.

“how’d you know i was about to text you?” you ask, narrowing your eyes at her in suspicion as you take in her appearance. she’s wearing a shirt from last year's tour, your face printed on her left boob, below your band’s logo, she’s put on her batman pajama pants that she’s owned since before you knew her and she’s wearing crocs with tie dye socks. she looks like she’s just rolled out of bed and come over before she could get dressed in more appropriate ‘going outside’ clothes. she looks cute and soft, a little bit ridiculous and all yours.

“my girlfriend senses were tingling,” she tells you as she closes the door behind her, rubbing her hands over her arms to get rid of the chill she’d caught walking the short distance from the car to the door of the building, “you didn’t ask what i had for lunch or dinner and then i sent you three thirst traps while i was at the gym and you didn’t respond to any of them,” she says, waving three fingers in front of your face dramatically, “and then i tried telling you i was studying so you’d say you’re proud of me and i got nothing,” she continues, standing in front of you with her hands on her hips, “so i was laying in bed waiting for my ‘goodnight, baby, i love you so much, you’re the best ever’ text and when i didn’t even get that, i decided that i had to come to your last known location to make sure you weren’t being held hostage or, you’re not, like, mad at me or something, ‘cause i’m pretty sure i haven’t done anything wrong,” she finishes, she’s panting a little from talking so fast and it’s a testament to how much time you’ve spent around her that you understood every word she said.

“you didn’t do anything wrong, els,” you say with a smile, just to see her let go of the tension she was holding in her shoulders, “and i’m sorry i haven’t been checking my phone, i’ve had writers block for the past two weeks and i’ve been trying to work through it but i just can’t,” you sigh, holding your arms out and inviting her into your lap, when you moved into this studio you’d made sure to get a chair large enough to fit you both, not that you’d ever tell her that. 

“that’s rough, baby,” she says, her face is sympathetic as she climbs into your lap, her weight is warm and familiar and she’s kicked her crocs off to hang her socked feet over each arm of the chair, “‘m sorry it’s been hard, label been breathing down your neck again?,” she asks as she wraps her arms around your shoulders and tugs you into a hug.

“yeah,” you mumble into her chest, your cheek pressed right up against your own face on her shirt, it’s well worn and smells like the laundry detergent you use and the spicy perfume you’d gotten her for her last birthday, “they want the album done in three months and we’ve only finished five songs,” you say, a frown pinching your brows together. it’s frustrating, not being able to work at your own pace anymore, to be lectured if songs don’t do as well as they’re supposed to, to be told that you need them but they don’t need you.

“i’m sorry,” she whispers, dropping a kiss on the top of your head. there’s not much else to say, she’s heard you complain about the label before, about how the execs in their suits want you to change in ways you wish you didn’t have to. the contract had seemed like a good idea when you’d signed it, even with the cut they’d be taking you’d be able to support you both until ellie was done with uni, you’d be able to quit your job at the drugstore and spend all your time doing the thing you love the most with your best friends. those things were all still true, you toured the world and spent hours in the studio, you could afford a nice apartment with security and a bathtub so big it could fit you and ellie twice over, you just hadn’t anticipated the deadlines and restrictions, the way you felt trapped but the most free you’d ever felt all at once. 

“your hair smells good,” ellie says above you and your mind comes to an abrupt stop, you prop your chin up on her chest and look up at her face, she’s smiling at you with her sympathetic i love you and i’m sorry and i hate that i can’t fix it smile and you know her well enough to know it was an intentional change of subject. that she’s here and willing to listen if you want to share, but she’s also offering you an out, something to talk about that isn’t stressful and a little bit more painful than you’ve been able to admit to yourself until now, when you’re sat in the place you love most with the person you love most, feeling like you could cry.

“it was wash day a couple days ago, i tried a new shampoo,” you tell her and she smiles a little wider, shifting around to get comfy now the conversation is veering away from anything too serious, “the girl at the beauty store recommended it, it’s so fucking expensive but it works so well,” you sigh with an exaggerated pout, you can’t keep it up as ellie squeezes her arm around your shoulders, leaning down to kiss your nose.

“it’s daylight robbery, baby, i’m sure,” she smiles, not able to keep the amusement out of her tone as she looks down at you, one her her hands shifting to cup your cheek, “you’re cute,” she tells you, using her hand to squish your cheeks together until your lips pucker up.

“i’m not cute, i’m literally in a rock band, i can’t be cute,” you tell her, baring your teeth and furrowing your brows into what might be a scary expression if your cheeks weren’t still squished together in her hand. you know you must look ridiculous because ellie starts laughing, her head thrown back and her shoulders shaking with the force of it, her hand lets your face go to hold on to your shoulder again, squeezing you gently when you laugh along with her.

“sure, sweetheart,” she says once she’s caught her breath again, her eyes bright and happy as she looks down at you, “not cute at all, whatever you say,” she nods with a slightly mocking lilt to her voice, she’s glancing between your eyes and your lips and you lean up to kiss her before she can kiss you, your hands holding tight onto her hips.

she sighs happily against your mouth and shifts one of her hands to the back of your neck, stroking her thumb over your skin, you don’t let her take control when she tries, nipping at her bottom lip and smiling when she groans against you. the kiss lasts a little while longer before you notice her squirming each time your tongue presses past her lips and into her mouth, you shift your hands to her inner thighs, squeezing the soft little layer of fat she has there. she moans into your mouth and you pull away to show her your smile, one of your hands letting go of her hip to gently pinch her red cheek.

“i missed you,” you tell her as she leans down to rest her forehead against yours, her eyes searching yours for a moment before they still, “was looking forward to coming home all day,” you whisper, your own face heating up at the admission, you look down at your lap so you don’t have to look at her, instead watching the way her thighs tense when you squeeze her again.

“missed you too,” ellie says, scooching as far into your lap as the chair will allow, “i know you had a hard day, but we’ll work it out, ok?,” she says with an encouraging smile, squeezing the back of your neck gently and nudging your nose with hers until you meet her eyes again, “i believe in you, and i know you can do it on your own, but you don’t have to,” she tells you, “you have your bandmates and you could call that one producer who worked on your last album and you have me, and i’ll help as much as i can, ok?” she asks and she looks so earnest you feel like you might cry if you open your mouth so you just nod, pressing your face into her neck so you can close your eyes and push back the wave of emotion.

“i love you,” you mumble against her skin, not knowing how to express your feelings in any other way, you know she understands because she knows you like you know her, she knows that you feel warm and grateful and so much better than thirty minutes ago when everything felt so frustrating and hopeless. ellie’s hand is steady and warm and it doesn’t leave you as she slides out of your lap, her thumb brushing over the bump at the top of your spine.

“come sit on the couch,” she says, her other hand tugging one of your wrists gently, “i can’t cuddle you properly on your chair,” she tells you, pressing a brief kiss to your lips once you’re up on your feet, “how long have you been sat down? it’s bad for you to sit all day, you’re gonna get bad knees or something,” she says as she lays down on the couch and tugs you to lay in front of her.

“don’t act like you don’t sit on your ass for hours at a time too,” you huff, gently flicking the end of her nose and smiling at her scrunched up face, “but fyi, i got up a few hours ago to walk up and down the hallway, and a little while before you got here i got up to make coffee,” you tell her, pointing over your shoulder in the general direction of your desk. ellie’s lips quirk up when she notices the mug and she makes a wounded little sound before cupping your cheeks and kissing all over your face until you squeal and push at her shoulders.

“you’re so cute,” she tells you again, her brows furrowed like she can’t quite believe it and her voice a little whiny, “stop saying you’re not cute, you’re the cutest ever,” she says as she tugs you against her chest and squeezes, her legs tangle with yours so she can pull you even closer, until your breath is mingling with hers and your chests are pressed together. you open your mouth to argue with her but she presses her finger to your lips and shushes you, “stop being hard on my girlfriend, she’s super cute, no arguing,” she tells you, yelping and pulling her hand away when you try to nip her finger.

you lean forward and kiss her before she can say you’re trying to maim her or something, it also disguises the way you were starting to squirm from her attention, you know she’d only call you cute again and that’ll only make you squirm more. she sighs happily into your mouth as you cup her jaw and rests one of one of her hands on your hip, squeezing gently. you can feel every movement she makes, when she presses her leg between yours so there isn’t an inch between you, when her breath hitches, when she decides she wants more and uses the hand not attached to your hip to cup your breast. 

“you gotta scooch back a little,” you mumble against her lips, resting your forehead against hers so you can look into her eyes and smiling at her when her hips arch into yours and she whines in protest, “i wanna touch you, baby,” you say with an exaggerated pout, “i can’t touch you the way you want me to if you’re so close i can’t move my arms,” you chuckle, letting her kiss your pout away before she moves backwards, her body squeezed up against the back of the couch so you can get a hand between your bodies. 

the couch is a bit small for the two of you and you have to wiggle around a little to get comfortable again but it’s worth it to be able to tug her shirt up and slide your hand around to grip her ass beneath her pajama pants. you pull her back against you with the hand you have on her, squeezing the soft flesh beneath your palm, she’s more muscle than fat and fits into your hands easily when you grab her.

“why are you wearing fucking jeans,” ellie grumbles as she works the button of your pants open, her fingers fumbling since she can’t see what she’s doing. she fumbles for a second more before she manages to pop the button, her fingers making quick work of the zipper so she can push her hand into your pants and cup you through your panties. she doesn’t do anything more than rest her hand over the shape of you, her mouth attaching to your neck when you whine frustrated.

“i’m wearing jeans because they make my ass look good,” you tell her, using your hand that isn’t down her pants to cup the back of her head, holding her against you, “stop teasing,” you say, tugging her hair until she groans and kisses back up to your mouth, pulling her hand out of your pants so she can use it to tug your jeans down your thighs. you wiggle your legs a little to help her, having to be careful to avoid kicking her in the shin since she refuses to move her legs at all.

“ok, there we go,” she sighs after she’s tugged them low enough that your thighs can spread for her, “i won’t tease now your pants aren’t getting in my way,” she hums, kissing the corner of your mouth as she runs her fingertips over your panties, pressing lightly over your clit. she smiles when you moan and presses harder, rubbing wide circles until you pinch her ass in retaliation, her hips jolting towards you to try and escape your hands.

“you said you wouldn’t tease,” you tell her when she gives you a betrayed look, though you pat her butt in apology and pull your hands out of her pants, “i’ll show you how it’s done,” you say, having to hold back a laugh at the way she raises her eyebrows in disbelief. you open your mouth to continue speaking but she tugs your panties aside and brushes her fingers against your bare cunt before you can, any words you were about to speak replaced with a moan.

she smirks, the way she always does when she’s making you feel good and she knows it, you can feel yourself get wetter with each pass of her fingers over your lips until they’re making a slick sound each time she moves. you drop your head to her shoulder and close your eyes for a second, just feeling her hand between your legs and her arm looped around your shoulders to keep you close. 

it takes you a moment to pull yourself together, but when you do you push your hand back down her pants, the front this time. she isn’t wearing underwear and you lift your head from her shoulder to raise your brows at her, she only shrugs and blushes a little, not offering any more of an answer than that. you kiss her warm cheek and then her lips because she’s right there and you can, she moans into your mouth when you brush between her legs, she’s already wet enough to coat your fingers and you can feel the hair she keeps down there is damp with it.

you rub circles over her clit with the pads of your middle and pointer finger, you aren’t kissing anymore though neither of you have pulled away, your lips still brushing together. her eyes squeeze shut as you brush over her entrance and she mirrors the action on you, the pad of her finger pressing into you slightly as you clench around nothing. you whimper and press your lips back against hers as you push a finger inside of her, curling and stroking against her walls, she’s tight and hot and wet and it makes you clench your thighs shut around her hand. 

she chokes on a laugh that turns into a moan at your reaction, resting her forehead against yours as she pushes two of her fingers into you, curling them into your most sensitive spot and only waiting a moment for you to adjust before she begins to move them. her lips brush against yours again but she moans before she can kiss you, her brow furrowed with pleasure as you try to mirror the pace she’s set, though it’s hard to concentrate on how your hand is moving when it feels like she’s working you to an orgasm already. 

“i’m so close, els,” you sigh, you can feel yourself clenching tight around her knuckles, the sounds she’s drawing from between your legs only getting wetter. she nods as if she already knew, her fingers moving faster as you press your thumb to her clit and begin to rub in tandem with your fingers inside of her. her cunt clenches around you tightly and she’s wet enough now that you can feel it run all the way down to your wrist, you smile at her flushed face, moving the small distance to kiss her again though the two of you keep having to pause to moan and whimper.

it doesn’t take long before you’re bucking your hips into her hand and detaching your mouth from hers so you can moan into her shoulder, managing to pant out another warning before you’re cumming around her fingers. your pussy gushes and ellie coos at the blissed out look on your face, she says something about you being cute but you’re too far gone to do anything about it, your brows furrowed and your thighs shaking around her forearm. 

“lemme take care of you,” you whisper when you’ve ridden it out, ellie’s pulled her fingers from you but they're still between your legs, rubbing lightly around your clit and brushing through your folds as you shudder through the aftershocks. your fingers had stilled as you came, your mind too occupied with your pleasure to continue pleasuring her, you kiss her shoulder in apology and begin to move them again. your thumb slides easily over her swollen clit and she grinds her hips down against your hand so your finger presses into her deeper, your palm almost flat against her body.

“‘nother one please, baby” she moans, her nails digging into your shoulder though the fingers brushing over your cunt are still gentle, it isn’t enough stimulation to be uncomfortable so you don’t move to push her away, but you can feel how soaked you are and you hope distantly that you’re not staining the couch. you oblige her request and push a second finger inside of her, she opens up easily with how aroused she is and she groans as you curl both fingers towards your thumb, rubbing against her clit more firmly. 

you can feel as her pussy flutters and her clit throbs, as her thighs tense and her brows draw together before she cums, her release coating your fingers thoroughly. she pants into your neck as you work her through it, shifting your thumb away from her oversensitive clit but leaving your fingers pressed as deep inside as they’ll go, massaging her clenching walls. 

the two of you lay together in silence once she’s finished, her breath coming out shakily against your skin and your chin resting on top of her head. she presses her legs together until you get the message and remove your hand from her pants, her hand still between your legs, brushing over your swollen pussy as she finds her voice again. she likes to do it sometimes, feel the mess she’s made of you, how you wet you’ve gotten for her. 

“did you eat dinner yet?,” she asks, frowning and pulling back so she can see your face when you shake your head, “baby, you gotta take better care of yourself,” she sighs with a pouty bottom lip, you resist the urge to argue that she’s just as bad as you are at remembering to eat when she gets absorbed in a project, instead kissing her pout away and cupping her cheek.

“how about,” you start, the persuasive lilt to your voice so obvious that ellie shakes her head at you, she looks fond now, at least, “let me finish, els,” you tut, kissing her again and brushing your thumb over the apple of her cheek as you pull away, “how about we go home and order food from that mexican place that’s open late before bed, and tomorrow i’ll work from home,” you suggest, “maybe i need a change of scenery,” you sigh, your brows pinching together in thought.

“sounds like a plan, sweetheart,” ellie hums, using the hand that isn’t messy with your cum to smooth out the frown you’re wearing, “we gotta clean off first though, you fucking soaked me,” she chuckles as you groan, embarrassed, and bury your face in her hair.

[roakkaliha]

i think one of finlands many flaws as a country is how we dont have real letterman jackets.

[burnedbyshoto]

peeping tom(mina)

— Mina finds a peephole in her room that looks directly into your room and discovers a sight that slightly rocks her entire life.

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pairing: ashido mina x fem!reader

warning: 18+, smut, voyeur!mina, mutual masturbation, vibrator, dildos, finger fucking, cursing, peephole, lesbianism

word count: 2,815

a/n: sorry its a day late!!!! have some pervy roommate mina rn and some abo shiggy in about a few hours!!!!

kinktober day 11 main kink: voyeurism | kinktober masterlist

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Mina has a dirty secret.

And just thinking about it makes her shy, and she has never been a shy girl.

Since she could fully understand what sex was, she had always been someone who was incredibly sex-positive. Mina was also a full-body worshiper, someone who found everyone’s bodies hot and attractive. It never really surprised anyone when they found this out. She was always the type to point out how that person’s ass looked hot in jeans, or how that shirt made that person’s boobs look full, soft, and luscious. She held back at absolutely nothing, making sure to let everyone know her opinion on how and why she currently found them attractive. 

So the ones she would eventually bring to bed were also unsurprised by the enthusiasm she held when she kissed down their bodies, fingers massaging every piece of skin and muscle as she moaned praises. To Mina, bodies were a temple, and when she was visiting, she was going to make sure you knew how fascinating she thought it to be.

Even now, at twenty-two, she never hated pointing out what she thought to be positive about people’s bodies. It was almost second nature.

“Can you please tell me why your legs look hot as fuck in those sweats?!” Mina practically screamed, dramatically fanning herself when you walked into the kitchen.

It was Saturday night, and Mina found herself in her apartment, blinds are drawn open, blankets were strewn around the living room, and hot homemade food sizzling on the stove. You were her roommate, and you’ve been her roommate for about seven months now. Both of you had met in a college class, being paired up multiple times for a few projects in the year had created an unlikely friendship that resulted in a roommate contract because you were moving to Tokyo after graduation, and hey! So was Mina!

You snorted by the stove, flipping the sweet crepes you had been making for the both of you in the pan. Turning your head to look at Mina, you playfully winked at her, posing your body in faux-seductive ways while you dipped your head back. 

“What can I say, the sweats of a heartbroken ex always look hotter on a champions fat ass.”

Mina laughed loudly, her hands bringing her sweet rosé to her lips, taking a long, deep drink of the alcoholic beverage. “I can’t believe you keep your exes clothes! I burn all of mine,” Mina states as if the two of you hadn’t already had this conversation a thousand times. 

“I don’t think you can talk!” you scoff, spatula in hand, flipping the light sweet into a roll. “You’re the one who goes and buys actual metals for every successive man you fuck! And you have sooo many metals!”

Also, something that had been repeated a million times, and yet never failed to get either one of you two in some laughing flush. 

“I do have so many metals,” Mina sighs, the grin on her face bright and proud while you walk over, crepes in hand. Thanking you for the food, Mina waited for you to settle down next to her before resuming the movie the two of you had decided to watch. “I promise, y/n, if you just look a guy in the eye and tell him you like his shoulders and his thighs, you’ll get him in bed in a blink of an eye.”

You hum, taking a chug of the rosé straight from the bottle, releasing it with a small pop that made Mina’s eyes rest on your swollen, wet lips. 

“Yeah, no. You see, I’m not really interested in that sort of stuff,” you admit, taking a bite from the crepe as the movie slowly becomes background noise.

“You haven’t dated anyone since high school,” Mina more than points out, tugging at the indeed high school logoed sweatpants. “That was like, four years ago, and you don’t sleep around?! What is it? You waiting for the Prince of some unknown country to come and wed you without you realizing he’s a prince? I mean, you can totally do that, especially with that hot bod of yours, but I know all the princes our age, none of them are even remotely hot!”

Mina watched as your eyes dropped to your food, the smile on your face small, maybe a bit... sad?

“It’s not that,” you shrugged, your eyes moving to lock on Mina. “Mina, I’m gay.”

What?

Processing Data…

Processing Data…

Processing Data…

Data Processed. Please Continue.

“WHAT?!”

A shit-eating grin spread on your face, and you nodded, taking another gulp of the rosé and shoving more crepe in your mouth. 

“YOU’RE TELLING ME YOU ALLOWED ME TO HAVE HETEROSEXUAL SEX WITH YOU IN THE APARTMENT AND DIDN’T TELL ME?!” Mina shrieked, suddenly mortified with her actions as her fingers clenched her curly pink hair. “WHAT ABOUT ALL THOSE MEN I TRIED HOOKING YOU UP WITH?! I mean, I know you didn’t fuck any of them, which ended up all fine because I would have cried if Kiri, Denki, or Sero stopped showing up.”

“Mina!” you laughed.

“I can’t believe you allowed me to force men on you; I’m so sorry, sweetie!”

Mina froze when your warm fingers suddenly grabbed onto hers, pulling her cold palms near your chest as your slightly glazed with alcohol eyes took her in.

“Listen, Mina, I’ll say this once, and I’ll repeat this. I didn’t tell you because I don’t care to share my sexuality. Not only that but all those men you introduced me to almost made me wish I was straight! Almost, but they’re a bit too…” Mina watched you trail off, your hammering heart a gentle smooth on her fingers.

“Stupid?” Mina tried, and you laughed as you nodded.

“Yeah, stupid.”

Mina gulped, her head nodding while you finally let go of her hands and sighed.

“Don’t be weird about it, Pinky,” you muse, shoving your shoulder against her. “I won’t hit on ya.”

Mina scoffed, clearly offended, “I think you should, though, my body is hot, and my kisses are just as good.”

It was said in jest, and Mina’s heart fluttered at the way you laughed with her in good spirits. That was normal, right?

Eventually, the contents of the rosé disappeared between the two of you, the movie long done, and the crepes sitting warm and sweet in your stomachs. Mina smiled brightly as she waved at you a simple goodnight as she needed to reorganize her snacks cabinet. Hearing the small click of your room door, Mina slumped against the counter, a weird feeling in her brain at the sudden revelation from you.

It didn’t make you any different in her eyes, she wasn’t a bigot, but there was something different.

Something new.

The cabinet wasn’t fixed up at all, Mina’s attention span forbidding her from reorganizing the cabinet until she turned off the lights and dragged her feet back into her room, conveniently located directly next to yours.

The apartment layout was weird.

Instead of a typical hallway separating the two rooms, it was a single, thin wall.

Now, Mina would categorize herself as many things, but dramatic was never one of them. But the way she had slammed her door in an attempt to clear the muggy storm of her thoughts might have been dramatic of her. Maybe a bit too dramatic. 

A loud tear came from the right side of her room, and Mina gasped loudly as the shelf showcasing her plethora of medals for all her sexual conquests tore the wall as it fell off. Stupid heavy bitch! Racing over to the wall, Mina frantically grabbed at the tearing cheap wallpaper, her eyes wide with worry as she tried to fix the shelf to no avail.

“M-Mina, are you okay?” a gasped breath came from the direct another side of the wall. 

“It’s all good!” Mina laughed loudly, her heart pounding because she was going to confess what was going on the second you asked again, as you usually do. But the only thing that followed was the roaring of her blood and heart as she stared at the wall.

Weird.

Mina didn’t dwell on it for too long, her hands throwing the medals off the shelf and onto the bed as she picked at the wall. Oh no, oh no, oh no.

She grazed the center of the wall and watched in horror as the wall crumbled at the touch, and she bit her tongue to keep from hysterically sobbing as a hole opened up from your room to hers. All things considered, it wasn’t a big hole, no bigger than the diameter of her pinky, but it was still a hole in the wall.

Despite the crack in the wall, Mina swore or prayed that it wasn’t as bad as it seemed. Pressing to the hole, she peered in and froze immediately. 

There weren’t many things in the world that made Mina freeze, but this was one of them. Her eye pressed to the wall saw that you were on the bed. Your sweats dropped around your ankles, shirt bunched above your breasts so that your fingers twisted and pulled at your nipples. The other hand held a vibrator to your clit.

Your face was scrunched up, the low hum of the vibrator suddenly piercing through the small crack in the wall, alerting Mina of a straight fire that erupted between her thighs as she watched you fuck yourself. The arch of your back when you come off the mattress makes her thighs rub together, and how your lips part in what she knows to be the most delicious moan, she’s ever managed to hear.

Mina isn’t sure when you stop masturbating that night, or even more importantly: when her panties became as fucking wet as they are.

She manages to put the shelf back onto the wall, her face absolutely red as she turns off the lights, ashamed to even go to the bathroom despite the discomfort of the slick between her folds. She dreams of having your mouth between her legs that night.

It doesn’t stop there, Mina’s ashamed to admit. 

As a matter of fact, she’s probably obsessed. 

She definitely didn’t keep her ear to the wall, desperately waiting to hear the low hum of the vibrator through the wall. She definitely didn’t pull the still broken shelf from the wall to peer through that crack to watch as you fucked yourself. She definitely does not, and she means, does not rub her fingers against her clit as she watches you.

But what was she currently doing when she heard the all too familiar consistent humming of one of your plenty of vibrators? She was stumbling off her bed, throwing the shelf off the wall, and using the crack in the wall to stare into your room. Except as she now unashamedly moved her fingers into her swats, fingertips grazing her already humming clit, she froze at the new sight she saw.

Typically, when you masturbated, you would lay along your bed. Your body laid out flat from the side for Mina to see. She never actually saw the slick of your cunt, or the way your pretty cunt would look like as you fucked yourself against a dildo. But today? Oh god, today was different.

You were propped up against the wall, your legs pressed open for Mina to see in all your glory. Your slicked, pretty pussy revealed for her eyes, and your head leaning against the wall as she watched. 

Mina moaned as her fingers began to rub her clit, the already fluttering, simmering sensation radiating from her bundle of nerves too tight, too demanding to ignore. She circled her clit as your fingers dipped into your core, and she bit her lower lip at the refined look of elation that wiped over your face. 

Your fingers moved in and out of your cunt, and Mina was hooked on the very exact angle your fingers were going in. Her mind wandering as she imagined that it was her in there with you. That it was her holding her fingers to your cunt, and not just fantasizes that drove her insane. Mina gasped as suddenly the dormant warmth in her legs sparked into a growing fire that made her legs shake and had her resting her forehead upon the wall.

Her eyes struggled to open when your feet kicked up off the mattress, toes curled to the balls of your feet as you keened loudly. A whimper left her lips at the way you moaned, the soft, beautiful sounds making Mina sink an impatient hand in her core.

She fucked herself, her eyes fluttering, lips gasping for air as she pressing her warm fingers against her even warmer walls. Mina gasped your name, her eyes trying to focus on that wall, and was absolutely frozen at the sight she saw next. 

You were holding a double ended dildo to your cunt, fucking your sopping wet cunt that Mina swore she could hear from her room. The vibrator was still on your clit, and Mina snapped her hips further, stronger into her scissoring fingers. It felt like you were teasing her with the toy as if you knew she was watching in and were teasing and testing her limits. Mina could feel herself shoving that dildo as far up her cunt as she could get it, her hands holding on to your beautiful thighs and bringing you in so that your slick cunts could grind against each other, fuck each other properly. If her brain wasn’t so muddled, she wouldn’t be thinking you were looking at her right now through the peephole, and she wouldn’t be thinking about the million different ways she’d fuck you given the opportunity. She wondered if you had a strap. Would you wear it if her fantasies were to ever come true? Would she? 

Mina couldn’t dwell on the secrets she wished to know because suddenly, you let out one of the loudest, most lewd moans Mina had ever heard emitted from your swollen lips. The slick of her heat and the wet of her essence easily letting her fingers glide about her clenching walls with practiced, well-known ease. You gasped, your eyes fluttering to the back of your head as your hand holding the dildo became more frantic, sloppier, before stopping altogether, and although you had reached an orgasm — Mina swore she saw god. 

Your orgasmic euphoric face was unlike anything Mina had ever seen.

The flustered, quiet pleasure reeking from every small line in your face, the way your mouth dropped just enough so that your pink tongue was on full display, the way you fought between biting down on your lip or letting yourself moan in your high. But it was the way your eyes crossed that sent Mina’s forehead slamming against her fist on the wall, muting the way Mina felt her walls clench wildly and tightly around her curled, lithe fingers.

She breathed in her descent, her cheeks burning with the same and bliss she always felt after orgasming. It wasn’t fair she came so soon watching you fuck yourself, especially as she knew she typically took so long in bed with men to make cum.

“Do you want to try it out?” your voice slipped into the room, and Mina froze, her blood suddenly turning ice cold. Her eyes snapped back to the dirty peephole to see that you were, in fact, staring into the hole, hand sliding the dildo into your cunt still, still willing and ready to go more round. “It gets a little lonely putting on a show for you night after night, Mina, and for you to never come and collect your prize.”

Mina swallowed, her eyes blinking owlishly at the way you shifted forward, turning so that your ass was in the air, knees, and chest on the mattress.

You knew.

“Come and collect your prize, please.”

“Y-Yes!”

Mina learned two things that night.

One: she especially and equally enjoyed having listless amounts of body worship mantra on her skin. The feeling of wet lips and hot breathes with things she was so used to giving made her cum around your pretty little fingers much more than she’d ever thought possible.

Two: you had known after the first night that she had caught you masturbating. Apparently, Mina was much louder than she thought herself to be, and when whining your name — she doesn’t remember even speaking — you had known and did all you could to finally getting your impulsive roommate to fuck you.

Oh, and I guess there is one more thing too!

Three: Mina had the absolute hots for you and was going to take you out for a proper date, tomorrow.

[kiwi-bitchez]

Can you do a frat Tom story, where he’s a cocky player and y/n hates him? One day, they get stuck at the campus laundromat together, so they start talking and Tom is actually funny and nice. Y/N lets her guard down and they start kissing. And then Tom takes advantage of the moment and his cocky side turns back on and he starts dominating. He takes her to the back and makes her get on her knees to blow him and he makes her gag for him and he's boasting and dirty talking.

Rinse and Spin

OOF This suggestion is HOT. Thank you!!! Honestly this had me sweating. I tried my best! Requests/suggestions are always open!

Summary: basically above, you and tom get stuck in the laundry room together and some smutty fun ensues. College!AU, Frat!Tom, Lowkey enemies to lovers

Warnings: Smut, mentions of alcohol, mostly smut, it’s all smut. 

College was an exciting new chapter for you. Last year when you started school you were bright eyed and bushy tailed for all the new possibilities and independence that college brings. Living on your own, studying at your own pace, meeting new people, it all excited you. 

However after a few semesters had gone by the excitement slowly wore off and you fell into a regular routine. You didn’t dislike school by any stretch, but you have always been keen on seeing things as they truly are.

One of the aspects of college that had really excited you was the idea that everyone would shed their immaturity from high school and grow up quickly. You hoped to meet people who took school seriously and didn’t have that unattractive immaturity that so many high school boys had.

This was all a fantasy in your head of course. There were still many people who disrespected professors, slept through all their classes, and acted like sixteen year olds who had been finally let loose from their parents. You assumed the freedom and expectations of college would cause everyone to grow up, but a girl can only dream.

The worst was Tom Holland. You had been partnered with him last semester for a group project and he lives up to all your expectations of a typical asshole frat boy.

He never bothered to learn your name, just calling you “babe” or “love” in that cocky way that probably worked on some girls, but not you. You ended up doing most of the project yourself because the idea of meeting up with him outside class seemed unbearable. 

After that it was like you couldn’t stop running into him. At parties, in class, at the coffee shop, he was like an irritating bug that you couldn’t seem to squash.

He was the type of guy who loved being the center of attention. It came as no shock to you that he was the president of some stupid frat on campus, the one that threw the biggest parties. In your eyes frat boys had nothing filling their heads other than cheap beer and objectifying women. You tried your best to stay away from them, but did get dragged to the occasional party. 

You had luckily found a group of friends that lived up to your expectations of mature college students, they were funny and smart and you were lucky to have them. The area you weren’t so lucky with was dating. You had a few hookups at parties but nothing worth writing home about, and most of the boys you met either bored you or fell into the asshole frat boy category.

You look around your small dorm room and decide to straighten some things up. You had finished all your assignments and your friends didn’t get out of class for a few hours, so this seemed like the perfect time to do some laundry.

You toss your dirty clothes into your hamper and head down to the communal laundry room in the basement. You didn’t bother changing out of your pajamas, some loose shorts and a t-shirt sans bra, you figured you’d be back in your room soon enough. 

The door was open a crack, so you slip in and put down your heavy hamper next to an open washing machine. You notice someone sitting across the room out of the corner of your eye, it wasn’t unusual for students to wait for their laundry to finish. 

However, the creeping feeling in your stomach, the way the hair on the back of your neck stood up on end gave away quickly who the figure was. Ugh, Tom. He had headphones on and seemed to be minding his business, so you hoped you could get your laundry in and leave before he noticed you and said some snarky remark.

That was the thing about Tom, you were one of the only girls who didn’t buy into his smooth accent and pretty face. You would call him out for his bullshit and tell him he’s a creep whenever he made a pass at you. You could tell he liked it though, the back and forth of you telling the other how much you despised them, he liked that you could dish it back.

You manage to get your clothes into the washer, but quickly realize that you left your laundry card upstairs. You dig around your wallet for some quarters, coming up with just the right amount. Jamming them into the busted machine you quickly lose hope of them working, realizing you’d have to go back up for your card. 

“Need some help there sweetheart?” Tom asks from across the room.

Your hope of going unnoticed was shattered. Taking in a deep breath you roll your eyes and turn around to face him.

“No thanks sweetheart, machine won’t take my quarters,” you quickly turn back around, hoping that would be the end of the interaction. 

You start to gather your things to head back upstairs when you notice that he’s left his spot and is walking up behind you.

“Here just use mine,” he holds his card out.

“No thanks Holland, not taking any favors from you.”

“Really, it’s no biggie,” he taps the card against the sensor in the machine and pays the $1.25 for your load, “it’s the least I can do after you got me that A on the bio project last semester.” 

You were surprised that he even remembered that. You hold out your handful of quarters to pay him back.

“I don’t want your coins,” he chuckles.

“Well you certainly aren’t getting anything else from me,” you head towards the door, not knowing what to make of that interaction.

You needed the laundry card to swipe the door open, and it had been open a crack when you had come in.

“Hey,” you turn back around, “mind lending me that again so I can open the door?”

He runs up beside you and presses the card against the sensor, getting a little closer to you than you would have liked. The monitor turned red and starts blinking, indicating the card wasn’t working.

He tries again, “Strange, worked just a second ago.”

“Stop fucking with me Tom,” you grab the card from his hand, but it doesn’t work when you try either.

“Why do you always doubt me,” he takes the card back and examines it, “it’s not like I want to be stuck in here with you either.”

“Did you have the card near your phone?” you ask.

He realizes he had put the card back into the wrong pocket after paying for your laundry. The cheap cards are sensitive to technology and can get messed up if they get too close to a phone. 

He takes his phone out of his pocket, “oh my god, of course you’re the type of person who doesn’t put a case on their phone,” you roll your eyes again at him. 

“Guess you’re just gonna have to wait here with me until someone else can buzz us out.” 

“Damn I better start screaming for help then.”

He lets out a chuckle and returns to his seat on top of one of the dryers. You might as well take a seat too, it may be awhile before someone comes to release you from this hell. You hop up onto one of the dryers across the room from him, desperately wishing you had your phone or anything to distract you. 

“Cute shirt,” he comments.

“Shut up,” you realize he was probably commenting on how you weren’t wearing a bra. 

“No, I mean it,” he sounded a little hurt, “that band is really cool.” Referencing the band logo on your tee.

You give him an inquisitive look, trying to read his motives.

“Last summer I worked security at a small concert venue downtown, got into a lot of cool shows for free.” 

You would usually take this as him bragging, but he actually seemed interested in talking to you. He told you about some of the shows he worked at and you told him about the music festival you had gone to. 

After talking like civilized humans for a while he decides to ask, “Why do you hate me so much?” 

“Hmm?” You look up from the hem of your shirt that you had been fiddling with.

“It just seems like you hate me and you don’t even know me.”

“I think I know you well enough to know that we don’t get along.” 

“That’s not true at all, you don’t know the first thing about me!” He got up from his spot and moved closer to you.

“I guess I just don’t want to bother getting to know some egotistical frat boy who thinks every girl wants his dick, you’re just like the rest of them. Even worse, you’re their freaking leader! What do you want me to know about you huh? How much beer you can chug? How many girls you’ve fucked? I’m not interested.” 

“Wow, harsh,” he was actually a little hurt by your comment, but kept the smug grin plastered on his face.

“See, you’re not even listening to me. You just smile and nod until a girl opens her legs for you, so move on cuz I’m not buying it.”

“Oh, you think you’re so high and mighty because you stay cooped up in your dorm room studying like the perfect fucking princess you are,” his tone was mocking, “some of us manage to have fun and get good grades, you’re not special, doll, you’re just a buzzkill. I bet you’ve never even been to one of our frat parties.”

“I’ve been to a few,” you mumble defensively.

“So what, maybe it’s all kegs and tits some of the time, but we also do a lot of really cool stuff too.”

“Oh yeah, like what?” your voice dripping with sarcasm. 

“We do a lot of charity type shit around campus, hosting events and stuff.”

“Charity type shit,” you mocked him. 

“Last semester we did this event where we set up these big tables and just handed out free dildos and condoms and lube,” he started explaining.

“Wow, so charitable, your frat gives out free sex toys to get girls attention, sorry I ever questioned you Mother Theresa.”

“Hey, let me finish,” he puts up his hands, “we were petitioning against campus gun laws. We were trying to make a statement about how some sex toys are against campus rules but there are no gun laws.”

“Oh,” you felt really stupid, “that actually is pretty cool.”

“See, you always are so judgy, if you just listened to me for three seconds then maybe you wouldn’t hate me so much. You just jump to conclusions about people before even talking to them.” 

“I guess,” you turn to him, now sitting next to you on the dryer, “Sorry.”

“See, I like cool music and dildos too, we aren’t so different you and I,” you still wanted to wipe the grin off his face. 

“You don’t know that about me,” you say flatly. 

“Okay well I do know that you are into that one band,” he gestures to your t shirt, “and you are really good at bio… and you do your laundry at weird times of the day…”

You turn to him and lower your eyes, giving him an exasperated look. 

“And I know that you like coconut milk in your coffee, and you always get those chocolate pastry things…”

Your eyes widen a little, realizing how closely he must have paid attention to you to pick up on those things. You let your guard down for a second, giving him the benefit of the doubt for once. 

“And I know that you look really good in just your pajamas,” he nudges your side, “and I know that… you have really pretty eyes…”

His eyes meet yours, and you suddenly felt so vulnerable. 

“Shut up,” you whisper.

“I’m just telling you things that I know to be facts,” he whispers too, his face was very close to yours, and strangely you didn’t mind. 

Your mind went a little fuzzy as you stared into his coffee colored eyes, no longer trying to read him and just appreciating their color. A magnetic pull drew your face to his, almost like something you couldn’t have stopped even if you had wanted to. Before you could even realize it, your lips were firmly planted on his, hands frantically coming up to the sides of his face. 

Tom would be completely lying if he said he knew this would happen. He hadn’t been trying to win you over, smooth talk you like he did to other girls. The two of you had just been having a normal conversation. 

He was taken aback because rarely was he the one being kissed, usually he was the initiator. It only took seconds before he kissed you back, lips moving in synchronicity with yours. Your tongues connected harshly and angrily. He couldn’t tell if you liked him or still hated him, but by the way you felt in his mouth he didn’t care.

Your eyes flutter open, mind finally processing your actions. You harshly pull back, hands quickly moving away from his face and grabbing down onto the edge of the dryer. Your eyes grew wide and a look that could be mistaken for terror flashed across your face.

“Um- I…,” your tongue felt dry and heavy in your mouth, like you were suddenly having an allergic reaction to what you had just done.

You couldn’t come up with anything to say, and before you could his lips were on yours again. He pulled you in by the back of your neck, tongue moving over yours quickly resuming where you had left off.

Neither one of you could reason why this was happening, but it felt too right to care. You let yourself get lost in the kiss, ignoring how crazy and stupid and strange you felt. Suddenly you were leaning back, letting him pin you down against the cold metal beneath you. His hands gripped your sides with purpose and certainty, something you hadn’t ever felt from someone.

His teeth lightly graze your lower lip, pulling it slightly from your mouth. You let out an unexpected whimper, it was quiet and quick but you were sure he had heard. He did. It drove him fucking crazy.

He felt your body writhe underneath him, back arching slightly as his hands slid up your sides. Quickly realizing that the top of a washing machine was not the best place for this, he lifts you up, moving you so you were now straddling his lap.

A small gasp escaped you, surprised at how his strong arms swooped you up so easily. You let your whole body weight sink down onto his lap, pressing your chest tightly against his. Now it was his turn to let out a groan that wouldn’t go unnoticed.

He somehow slides off the machine and stands up, keeping you wrapped up against his torso. He moved with purpose across the small room, slipping into the small back room where no one could see you.

You were lost in the movement of the kiss when you feel your back firmly press against the wall, his body leaning into yours, the kiss getting hotter and wetter. You involuntarily roll your hips towards him, searching for some friction.

“Tell me you want me,” he groans into your mouth.

The way he looked at you like a hungry animal made your breath catch in your throat. His mouth moved to your neck and he buried his head there, kissing and sucking at your soft skin. The haze in your mind cleared for a second of clarity and you spoke with more conviction,

“I refuse to be one of your sexual conquests, Holland,” you continued to roll your hips against his, “You don’t get to tell everyone you fucked some nerdy girl in the laundromat.”

“Our secret,” he moves back to your lips, “but I need to hear you say it.”

“I want you,” your voice shrunk to a whisper.

One of his hands comes up to your chin, angling your head so he has full access to your neck. His tongue works against your pulse point as his hands come down to your things. Your shorts were a thin material, and he could easily feel you through them.

He squeezes your upper thighs, slowly moving up to your hips, pulling you into him.

“Tell me what you want,” your eyes roll back as his hands creep towards your dripping center, “tell me where to touch you.”

“Please,” you felt pathetic, but you press your hips further, trying to make contact with his hand, “I need you to touch me.”

His fingers dance under the hem of your shorts, moving up to your damp underwear.

“Is this all for me?” he says, almost mockingly, “I did this to you?”

You could only moan into his mouth as his fingers slipped into your underwear and moved against your wet folds. You tried to grind into his hand, but his grip on your hip kept you firmly planted against the wall.

“You act like you hate me, but you’ve been dripping for me this whole time haven’t you?”

He slipped a finger into you, curling it perfectly against your inner walls. He could feel you squeeze against him, your arousal starting to cover his whole hand. You couldn’t answer his question, rhetorical in nature, only gasp into his parted lips as he added a second finger.

 He lowers his head to nip at your chest through your thin t-shirt, teeth grazing your nipple through the fabric. You manage to slip out of it, still pressed against the wall, legs shaky under you.

His mouth comes down to attack your chest with bites and hickeys as he continues pumping his two long fingers into you, thumb moving tight circles on your clit. You were slightly embarrassed at how quickly you felt your climax nearing. You had always thought of him as a cocky player, but at least this boy knew exactly what he was doing.

You moan out his name with a slew of profanities, eyes closing tightly. His lips move up to your ear, speaking directly to you as you start to shake under him,

“What is it?” his tone was arrogant and knowing.

“Fuck, I’m gonna come soon,” you squeak out.

“I’m going to make you come,” his hand suddenly moving faster and harder.

“Mmmhh, yes Tommy, you’re making me feel so fucking good.”

“I want you to come on my fingers, and then I want you to get on your knees and suck my cock with those pretty lips of yours.”

Your moans were getting higher pitched, his words only intensifying how good he was making you feel.

“I bet you’d like that huh. You wanna feel my cock in your mouth?”

You bite your lip and nod, feeling yourself tip over the edge with a cry of his name. His thumb moved quickly against your clit, fingers plunging a little deeper as he felt you contract around him.

You collapse forward, grabbing onto his shoulder, biting down on his skin to silence your own screams. You catch a glance at his face, that stupid cocky smirk still plastered onto him. In this moment you couldn’t bother to care, you could only focus on staying standing as waves of pleasure crashed over you.

When your eyes finally came back into focus, he was pulling his fingers from you and slipping them into his mouth. His thumb brushes across your jaw, migrating to press into your lower lip. You let your mouth slip down onto his digit, your tongue pressing against his thumb.

“Look at you,” he pulls his finger back, dragging your lower lip with it, “so fucking good for me.”

You give him a wide eyed look and start making work of his belt. His cock is hard and firmly pressed against the inside of his jeans. You palm him through the thick material for a second while dealing with the button and zipper.

You sink to your knees, fulfilling his request from earlier.

“Wait, here,” he grabs a towel off of a nearby machine and places it on the ground in front of him, “for your knees, the ground is really hard.”

It made you laugh how he had been so cocky one second and thoughtful the next.

“Thank you,” you say softly as you pump the shaft of his dick, looking up at him with big eyes while bringing your tongue out to lick a stripe up the underside.

His shirt was off now too and you couldn’t help but notice how beautiful his body was. You had always recognized that Tom was conventionally very attractive, but suddenly he was fucking hot to you.

You swirl your tongue around his tip and watch as his head tips back, causing him to let out a groan. You take his hand and move it to your hair, giving him permission to hold it.

He twists your hair into a makeshift ponytail, brushing the stray pieces back from your face. He grips tightly, pulling a little. You give him a moan and a nod, letting him know it was okay to pull harder.

He moves your head back and forth to meet your movements, hips moving slightly in the process. You gag a little as he hits the back of your throat, but continue bobbing your head, letting him slide down your throat a little every so often.

“Fuck, you look so good on your knees for me, gagging on my cock,” he tightens his grip on your hair, “taking me so well.”

The sight of you on your knees for him, lips wrapped perfectly around his shaft sent shivers down his spine. He watched attentively as his cock slid in and out of your mouth, your saliva leaving a wet trail around his length. What killed him was when you would look up at him through your eyelashes, big doe eyes begging him to fuck your face. 

You dare to move south, taking one of his balls in your mouth as you continue jerking him off. You moan into him as he pulls your hair, vibrations adding to his pleasure. 

“Fuck y/n, you’re fucking dirty aren’t you?” He was a little surprised at how aggressive you were taking him, shoving his cock deeper and deeper down your throat. 

“I bet you’ve thought about this before, being a good girl on your knees for me, taking what I give you.”

Your eyes flutter shut as you flatten your tongue against his shaft, letting his hips do the work. You surely had never thought about him in this way before, that he was wrong about, but you surely would be thinking about sucking his dick all the time from now on.  

You feel his cock twitch in your mouth, swelling a little at the feeling of your tongue. You knew he was close by his grip on your hair and his hip movements. You take him deep down your throat, sucking and lapping up his shaft. 

“I’m gonna come y/n,” he warns you, although you already knew.

You continue to suck vigorously, swallowing his come and continuing to suck on him until his legs are shaking a little under your grasp. He lets go of your hair, which messily falls down around you. You release his dick from your mouth with a pop, admiring your work as it was red and twitching. 

Tom slumps down against the wall and sits on the floor, meeting you at eye level. You look at him for a second, unable to read his reaction. You knew he liked it by the noises he had been making, but he sat across from you running his hands through his hair. 

“What the fuck was all that.”

“I don’t know! You tell me!” you say defensively, “You seemed to like it.”

“Well yeah, you seemed to like it too,” he retorts, “actually, you seem to like it much more than most girls like sucking cock in my experience.”

“What can I say, you have a pretty dick.”

“Only pretty cuz it fits in your mouth so well.”

What were you doing? Was this flirting? You stand up and shake yourself off, walking over to where your clothes had been discarded. You start to slip your underwear back on. 

“What do you think you’re doing?” Tom jokes, also getting up from the floor. 

“Someone could walk in, plus I have to switch my laundry, gonna need your card again by the way.”

“This is some kind of fucked up trade off if you ask me,” he jokes. 

“Still hate me?” He quips, always cocky.

“Jury’s still out,” you start to move your clothes into the dryer, “I’m gonna need to see more of what you have to offer before I decide.” 

“Well, the dryer takes about an hour and I was hoping to make you come a few more times. Wanna see that pretty look on your face again.” 

You sit up on top of the dryer and raised an eyebrow at him.

“Let’s see what you’ve got.” 

[alyssamski1320]

Breaking the Ice

Platonic Prinxiety (just your traditional “enemies to best friends” trope)

Warnings: None

Word count :1737 words

Summary: Figure skater/hockey player AU; Roman is a star hockey player and Virgil is a talented figure skater. They have always had this turmoil between them, but can that all change?

A/N: Ok so I had to write a creative writing piece for my first english paper. I saw this as a challenge to write my first fanfic. It is also kind of super descriptive because my professor said to keep the dialogue to a minimum, so I am sorry about that. I accept constructive criticism, so please dm me or comment anything if you want to!

Virgil Sanders opened the front door to be greeted by the brisk morning air. The start of a new season was ready to be tackled with no limitations holding him back. He was five foot nine with a raggedy purple fringe and deep brown eyes with black eyeliner smudged underneath. The teen hurried down the driveway with autumn leaves crunching beneath every step his black Converse took. He excitedly threw his purple backpack, covered in pins and patches, into the back seat of his black Jeep Wrangler.  After rolling his windows down and plugging in his phone to play some Mayday Parade, Virgil sped off to the rink for practice.

Immediately upon opening the metal double doors, Virgil was hit softly by a rush of cool air. Walking into the warm room of the rink to be greeted by familiar smiles and friendly faces was already making his day. He eagerly unzipped his bag and pulled out his pitch black skates with a new set of sharp purple Paramount blades attached. In the background, conversations between the other skaters could be heard, but he wasn’t paying attention enough to decipher them. The loud music playing in his single earbud was enough to take him away from the world, even if it were only for a moment. All he wanted was to hear his deep edges rip into the freshly cut ice as he shifted his weight from the inside and outside of his blade. Before that, Virgil would appreciate the smooth glide that he could flawlessly hold on the bright, pristine ice prior to the hockey teams that would soon come to dig and chop it up. He had nothing against the local hockey teams, but the disrespect they showed towards the rink staff, figure skaters, and even the ice itself was maddening. The holes they left were almost the sizes of baseballs, the ridges they cut so deep that simply gliding over them could no longer be an option, and the constant mouth guards left along the boards, still dripping soggily with warm saliva. The thought of the latter making him shudder with complete disgust.

Even with the cool chill radiating from the ice’s surface, Virgil was still fairly warm. Being a figure skater, you become almost immune to the cold and learn to never forget a jacket. The boy had forgotten only once and now arrives prepared wearing his trademark hoodie every practice, his favorite article of clothing in his closet. It was a black zip-up hoodie covered in purple and black plaid patches. The patches were scattered among the hoodie, lazily stitched on with white thread and on the front was his club’s logo, a storm cloud, embroidered with purple thread.

Eventually, the teen stopped by the boards to take a break, but that was when he felt eyes on him. He knew he wasn’t the only skater on that session, but the piercing stare he could feel, even with his back turned, was too much to let go. Virgil whipped around, stumbling over his skates as an old friend startled him. He didn’t even know if he could call Roman a friend because Roman Prince wasn’t a figure skater, he played center forward for the Sudro City Knights. The teen stood tall at six foot one and had neatly groomed mocha locks, his light brown eyes staring down the anxious boy. The cheap, damaged practice jersey he was wearing reeked of pure body odor from the weeks of wear without wash. After the couple seconds, which seemed like forever for poor Virgil, the taller boy leaned in close with a smug look plastered on his face.

“Hiya Dr Doom and Gloom.” Roman teased, leaning his stick up against the glass and sitting back onto the benches. “What is the purple ballerina going to dance to this year?  Hopefully another song from Beetlejuice the Musical! I do enjoy you looking even more edgy than usual.”

Virgil rolled his eyes, clearly not amused. “Oh, what a laugh Princey. Ya know, I would love to really see you try what I do.” The purple clad boy stated, folding his arms and leaning his chest against the boards. “I don’t even think you’re coordinated enough to do a two foot spin.” The stunned and anger-filled look that washed over Roman’s features gave him the exact answer he needed.

“Alright, that’s it mister Jack Smellington!” Roman rapidly stood up, grabbing his stick and towering over the smaller teen. “Meet me back here after hours and we’ll really see who the best is!”

“I’ll be back don’t you worry. As long as you don’t pull a Tonya Harding on me, I’ll be glad to show you how to really skate!” Virgil grabbed his now empty water bottle from the boards and skated away, shooting the star player a shit-eating grin. By the time he got off the ice and closed the heavy door behind him, the scratches of the rest of the team could be heard as they jumped the boards for practice. He quickly unlaced his skates, swiping the snow off of his blades and wiping off the excess water droplets with his old, black rag.

The skates were packed away as he walked out of those same metal double doors and climbed into his car. Before pulling away, Virgil checked his phone to see an unusual text: I’ll pick you up for our little match up later. You’re on my way to the rink, so be ready by 7 or I’m leaving without you. Shocked by the text, he closed his phone, rolling his windows down again and proceeding to play the rest of his Mayday Parade playlist on his drive home.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

As Virgil was waiting for Roman to pull up, he pulled out his phone to play Vindicated by Dashboard Confessional while he scrolled through Tumblr. Right when he opened the app, the hockey player in his beat-up silver Chevy Cruze, blasting Brave New Girl by Britney Spears, rolled up into his driveway. Roman screamed before Virgil could even close his front door, “Get in loser, we’re going to the rink!”

          Virgil threw his backpack into the back seat and hesitantly hopped into the car. Although Roman played hockey, his car was fairly clean and his front seat had a very distinct smell compared to the back, where their skates were lazily thrown. The front of the car had a small hint of vanilla while the back seat had a scent of exactly what you can imagine, pure body odor from his balled-up practice jersey. The short drive to the rink felt like ages passed as the boy silently watched the scenery unfold outside of his window, laying his face in the palm of his hand. Upon stopping at a red light, he was startled out of his awkward, yet serene state he was in from a light nudge at his ribs. He looked over to find Roman kindly smiling at him, which was very unusual between the two.

          “Are you okay, Hot Topic? You’ve been pretty quiet the whole ride.” Virgil was stunned by the sudden change in Roman’s attitude. He was just insulting him early that same day. “I know we fight and all, but the least you can do is keep me a little company.” The smaller teen almost frowned, feeling a little bad for his actions. Maybe he genuinely wanted to change?

          He forced a small smile onto his normally brooding face, although the other could not see this with his attention on the road. “Yea I’m ok, don’t worry about it.”

          Upon arrival, they both grabbed their bags and walked into the rink, smiling at each other. Roman was wearing a white hoodie with a knight on it, his mascot, and black Adidas sweatpants with three white stripes straight down the sides. Virgil matched Roman, except he was wearing his traditional black and purple patchwork zip-up.  They stepped onto the ice and without a word Virgil set himself to work. He started at one end, gliding and connecting with the ice. With every bracket, twizzle, and step he took throughout his footwork, he let the ice take control. Each edge was deep, delicately ripping into the ice and sending him closer to the opposing side. Right before reaching the boards, he pushed into an outside mohawk, gaining speed as every crossover sounded through the rink. Roman was still standing at the door, astonished by the normally quiet and anxious boy. Lastly, Virgil was set, gliding on his back outside edge, and leaped into an axel, landing the one and a half revolution jump in a solid landing position. The teen flawlessly turned forward and slid into a sharp hockey stop, hitting Roman with a spray of cool snow. “So, can you top that Dr Do-The-Most?” Virgil looked up at him with a playful gleam in his eyes despite the antagonizing smirk that plagued his features. The taller teen was still in shock, but he eventually snapped out of it and smiled at the other.

“Now I see why you always made comments about out skating me. You truly are amazing Virgil!” The smirk never left the other’s face, the satisfaction from the statement only making it grow.

“You could always quit hockey. I know you may not want to and this is a bit of a stretch, but at least take this into consideration” Roman’s attention was gripped by the bold statement the smaller boy just made. “You’re pretty strong and you already know the basics of skating. You would make a great pair skater with some practice.” Virgil’s anxiety peaked and the other could tell. Now, he was not opposed to skating with Virgil, but hockey was his life. After a minute or two of silence, the taller teen lightly gripped the anxious boy’s shoulder, forcing his eyes off of the ice and into Roman’s. A steady gaze connected the two alone on the ice.

“Would you be my partner if I quit hockey?” Virgil was in complete shock, leading him to just rapidly nod his head and immediately wrap his arms around Roman, closing the gap between them. Their shared warmth made the cool air seem almost nonexistent.

He took back his statement from earlier about the taller boy. After years of fighting through high school, Virgil Sanders realized he definitely could call Roman Prince a friend.

[spellbound-banshee]

See You In 5 (Part 3) - Elliot Alderson

Summary: You and Elliot have been hanging out for a while now, but what happens when you need a little help from him?

Warnings: none really, just fluff

Pairing: Elliot Alderson x Reader

A/N: there’s quite a big time skip but just pretend you and Elliot have had lots of small talk together, i’ll explain below

Finally. Elliot thinks as he clocks out for work, quickly picking up his bag and giving one last friendly wave goodbye. Lunch wasn’t super often between you two, now that you were “needed” more by the boss your lunch breaks were cut shorter and shorter. But yesterday, yesterday was different.

--

“Hey.” The exclamation took him by surprise. It seemed stressed, like it just needed to get away for a while; his consciousness felt the same.

He turned to meet your eyes, being as though you hadn’t spoken in a bit he was surprised by your sudden greeting. “Hey.”

“Wanna get out of here?” With two quick glances to the side, he barely hesitated before grabbing his jacket and hopping towards the elevators. It was the same as before, you making most of the conversation and he gave you his jacket as you were walking. But something was off. Today you seemed just a bit quieter than normal, and he noticed.

You absentmindedly played with the ring of your water cup, the ice gradually melting and transferring as a wet ring around it. Your face was aimed at the floor, blinking methodically as your eyes seemed to count the dust mites on the ground. “Hey,” Elliot leaned forward, growing concerned, “what are you thinking about?”

You looked up at his soft voice, typically he didn’t talk too much if you were together, but this was a surprise. “I...” You weren’t sure what to say, there was so much on your mind yet so little to say. “I just really hate this boss, man.” The words you spoke were casual, but Elliot felt a hidden meaning behind them. 

-

Elliot shook off the memory, he needed to get home quickly so he could contact Darlene about the next phase of their plan. He knew she’d be waiting for his call or response, his phone had been off all day. Swiftly, he put on his hoodie and pulled up the hood, feeling a little foolish wearing it over a work shirt but it was freezing outside and he didn’t want to be recognizable to the potential co-worker on the street.

He walked by the E-Corp logo and the little circle in the middle of the outside workplace, noticing how his shoes sunk into the imperfections in the metal. There was a bench right next to the circle, he would always graze his fingers across the chipped wood. It felt like he was making his mark and one day, he would burn this monopoly to the ground. And they’d still be looking for the fingerprints.

As he approached the usually empty bench, he noticed there was a body lying across it. Normally he would brush it off and touch it anyway, but there was something unusual about this body. Not the fact that it was lying straight across the bench, but the fact that the high heeled shoes hung off the end of it, legs exposed even though it was below freezing. Wait.

“(Y/n)?” He asked, his voice raising a bit higher in panic. Sure enough, your head popped up, and even though the circle was dimly lit and the sky was black, he could see your face. Your eyes widened at the sight of him, you expected everybody had gone home already so you wouldn’t have to see anyone you knew.

“Elliot?” Your voice paralleled his surprise, and you tried to laugh off the initial embarrassment. “Hi...” Your voice trailed off, not really knowing how to cover up the fact that you were literally sleeping on a bench in your work clothes. 

“What are you doing here?” He came off more crass than he intended - almost as if you were sleeping on his turf - but you’d already messed with his head enough to make him fall out of his planned path.

“Well uh...” You decided coming up with an excuse was stupid - you were a shit liar - and Elliot was pretty smart from what you’d deduced so it wouldn’t work on multiple levels. “E-Coin messed up everyone’s shit so the public transportation is unavailable until the brown-outs stop. My apartment is quite a long way so I decided I should... stay... on this bench.” It was downright embarrassing, but then again, where else would you go? You had no friends in the city and your place was too far to walk. You’d just spray yourself with some perfume in the morning and pretend like nothing happened.

Elliot was at a loss for words, someone as beautiful as you didn’t have a partner’s place to stay? Or friends you could call? “That sucks.” Was all he could say, but the bluntness of the phrase made you chuckle.

“Yeah, I guess it does.” You nodded your head before shrugging and laying your purse down to use as a pillow. You’d accepted your fate, there was little else you could do about it.“Well, I don’t want to keep you, I’m sure it’s a long walk to your apartment and it’s cold so I’ll see you-”

“No.” Elliot interrupted your thoughts, and you tiled your head in mild annoyance at him - you swore you’d never understand how his mind worked. “No, um... just... you could come stay with me... if you want.”

“Oh Elliot, that’s so nice, but I wouldn’t want to-”

“You wouldn’t.” Elliot seemed to read your mind, his hands still deep in his hoodie pockets. “I insist, it’s the least I could do.” He pressed, his voice still low as he anticipated your reaction - you didn’t know him super well, only the surfac-y stuff, and now he was asking you to stay at his apartment. You might get murdered, but at least it was warm - you’re assuming.

“Are you sure?” You asked for the last time, and he nodded his head. “Okay, thank you. Lead the way, El.”

-

He shut the door softly behind you as you walked into his small apartment. The walk there was freezing and it felt good to have some indoor air warm your body. “I don’t have people over... very often.” He said as he brushed past you to clean a couple of things off of his coffee table. You just smiled at his thought process and began to look around the apartment, your high-heeled shoes clicking across the hardwood floor. The sound was deafening, the silence and tension in the room was so thick you could almost see it - it strangled you like a weighted blanket.

He seemed to analyze your body movements and facial expressions as you took in the sights around you. Analytical, there was something less surfac-y you could think about. His apartment had minimal decoration, he had a couple of (what you assumed to be) family photos up, a small kitchen-ish area, a couch with a small tv and his bedroom with a huge monitor set up by the window. “I like your place.” You finally said, causing him to let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding.

You were temped to go into the “bedroom” area and further analyze the family photos, but you weren’t sure if that was inappropriate. From a distance, they looked happy, and you wondered why he never walked about them.

After he felt satisfied with the way he’d straightened up and brushed off the couch, he gestured for you to sit. Smiling warmly, you sat on the couch and found yourself sinking into it - you adjusted yourself with a small giggle and flailing arms.

“You... must be super uncomfortable.” He broke the silence with his soft voice and you tiled your head in confusion. Without another word he began to take long strides to his bedroom, then to his closet. He pulled out a pair of seemingly old sweatpants from a box and a t-shirt - stuff he wears to bed during the winter. The heater was fucked up so it wasn’t as warm as he’d like it, but he figured you were freezing after being out on that bench for god knows how long.

You smiled out of gratitude as he handed you the clothing. “Bathroom is,” he pointed behind him, “that way.” Again, you smiled and hoisted yourself up from the couch, awkwardly sauntering into the bathroom, your feet throbbing from the skinny heels.

-

“Do you uh... do you need anything else?” Elliot asked as he handed you a glass of water. You’d just walked out of the bathroom in his clothes and were a bit surprised by the sudden glass in your face but you gladly took it. You noticed he stripped off his hoodie but hadn’t changed out of his slacks yet, leaving him in his work shirt.

“I think you’ve done enough.” You said with a small chuckle, but continued so he wouldn’t take it the wrong way. “You’re too sweet, Elliot. This means a lot to me.” You plopped back down on the couch and took a deep breath, inhaling the scent of the dusty couch and dim apartment. The couch smelled faintly of weed and cheap cologne, you imagined Elliot smelled something like that.

“You cool sleeping on the couch?” 

“Yeah, of course!” You confirmed, placing your water down on the table after a few big gulps and feeling yourself becoming tired. “I really can’t thank you enough, I owe you one, El.”

You noticed he smiled a bit when you said that. “El?”

“Yeah, it’s... shorter.” Once again, you were met with that coy smile and a brief nod to confirm that he liked it. 

“Shit,” he whispered suddenly, “you need...” He quickly turned around and grabbed one of the un-used pillows off his bed and dragged a blanket out of his closet. Subtly, he sniffed the sheets just to make sure he wasn’t giving you dirty stuff, and you had to stifle a giggle to make him feel better.

You smiled warmly, “thank you.” He handed you the items and you got yourself comfy - it wasn’t the best couch to sleep on but you were eternally grateful that you’d be sleeping on a squeaky couch and not a wooden bench. You placed the pillow under your neck and wrapped yourself in the cover, it wasn’t itchy but it wasn’t particularly soft either.

There was a moment or two of awkward silence, you didn’t want to thank him again as you felt like 3 or 4 times was enough. You tucked yourself under the blanket and smiled, nuzzling into the cushions. 

“Uh... goodnight...” He shifted uncomfortably, obviously not used to company in his house - let alone someone who liked him and didn’t try to break in. He also didn’t think either of you were in a place to be “friends” and talk until 3 in the morning.

“Yeah... goodnight.” You weren’t sure what to say back, so you just nuzzled back into the couch and pretended like you were tired enough to fall asleep right there. “Wake me up in the morning, yeah?”

“Yeah, yeah.” He nodded, wringing his hands together before turning on his heel and heading to his bed. He took one last look at you before stepping behind a wall in attempt to shield his half-nakedness - he didn’t want to sleep in his hoodie but he also didn’t want to make you feel uncomfortable.

After he got changed, he settled into bed and stared up at the ceiling, attempting to calm his breathing. He counted the number of times he heard you shift on the couch, wondering if you were asleep or restless. He counted the number of times he forced himself to stay still in his attempt for rest, not wanting to wake you if you were a light sleeper. 

He also counted the number of times he asked himself why he cared.

-

A/N: if you like my work, consider supporting me on my ko-fi! have a great day lovelies!

TAGLIST:  @breakawayfromeveryday​ @anincurablefangirl

[bitsandbobsandstuff]

A love that never leaves (2)

Summary: Sometimes when you go looking for the past, you find things you never expected. When an accident brings him face to face with something he never knew he lost, Bucky Barnes begins to understand an age old truth – it’s so easy, sometimes, to love the things that destroy us.

Characters: Bucky Barnes x Reader Warnings: Bad language. Sad Bucky.

A/N: The plot thickens. Bucky recovers from a shit situation and learns more about the person who found him. Remembering is really hard and memories do not cooperate.

I’m planning to post a chapter a week, on either Saturday or Sunday. I tried to tag everyone who reached out, but if I missed you, it was unintentional, so please send me a DM or ASK, it’s easier for me to track. Otherwise you can find the new updates each weekend!

MASTERLIST ALTNL MASTERLIST

PREVIOUS CHAPTER

Previously...

The figure halts. A gloved hand reaches to pull back the hood of the white coat and a woman’s face appears. Even through the howling wind, Bucky hears her question clearly and he doesn’t understand why the two syllables feel like a knife ripping through skin and bone and thick sinew, straight to his heart.

“Soldier?”

She speaks hesitantly, her voice tinged with a peculiar hint of hope. Bucky wants to ruminate further, but his fingers are rubbing the slippery edges of his gunshot wounds and the snow around him is greedy, lusting for the hot blood he spills.

He wants to answer. He tries to answer, he really does.

Instead, he falls face first into the soft snow.

*****

MISSION REPORT

CONTACT MADE BUT RESPONDENT ELIMINATED. BASE DID NOT REVEAL INFORMATION REQUIRED TO PROCEED TO NEXT RENDEZVOUS POINT. HOLD AND WAIT.

WITHOUT ADDITIONAL SUPPORT MISSION FAILURE IS IMMINENT. REQUESTING BACK UP FOR – 

For what? The words evaporate. Smoke in the wind. The pencil clatters to the floor and rolls away and his notebook follows. He goes to his knees in front of the brick wall and he slams his fist against it again and again, until his knuckles are shredded. 

He screams.

****

Bucky’s entire body is on fire.

Burning hot, scorching him from the inside out. This can’t be right, he’s done. He’s supposed to be done with this shit, what are they doing now? Bleary eyes open and he tries to speak. To tell them no, to leave him alone, to please just fucking stop. Heat races through his veins, suffocating him and he feels rivers of sweat coursing down his face, down his chest, down his arms. 

Above him, floats a blurry face, both intensely familiar and completely foreign. She wipes a cold cloth over his face and Bucky sighs in relief. 

Darkness comes again.

*****

We’ll meet again…don’t know where…don’t know when…but I know we’ll meet again, some sunny day…

The melody flows like water inside his head and Bucky follows it slowly, swimming languidly into consciousness. When he breaks the surface, his brain comes to life, but his eyes stay closed.

It’s a trait he perfected over the years, waking up without anyone realizing. Back then, he’d quickly discovered if you’re flat on your back and don’t know where you are, your safest bet is certainly not to show them you’re awake. Once they know, you lose your advantage.

That’s usually when the pain starts.

Instead, he starts his internal assessment. Ears straining for any hint of sound, he waits, listening for anything. The intake of breath, a quiet sniffle, the whisper of fabric, a footfall. Anything. The silence stretches and he’s finally forced to conclude – either his captor is just that good, or he’s alone. 

Cracking an eye, he draws a soundless breath, taking stock of his surroundings.

This is – interesting.  

The room he’s in is dim, suffused with swaths of muted daylight streaming in through the massive window in front of the bed. His eyes track the expanse of clear glass, stretching from the floor, extending up the vaulted ceiling and ending in a wide skylight. A small fireplace is tucked into the corner, a basket of logs piled next to the dark slate tiles, and the soothing pop and crackle of wood lulls him toward a sense of false security. 

Snow still falls outside, but it’s no longer the wailing blizzard; instead, fat, wet flakes drift quietly by, piling onto the tall evergreens hugging the window. 

Feeling the silky sheen of satin against his skin, he peeks under the sheets to find himself nearly naked, wearing nothing more than a crisp white bandage and skin-tight boxers. 

“What the sweet fuck is this shit?” he mutters, dropping the sheets and struggling to sit up. The bed is wide and covered in all shades of blue – a dusty blue duvet, sky blue sheets, a midnight blue quilt – and suddenly it all mixes into a watery blur when his vision goes sideways. Pain rips through him and he flops back, whining softly. Pressing gently against the bandage, the pain flares so fast, he digs his heels into the bed, spine arching unconsciously. He can feel it, actually feel it, the tugging sensation of his skin knitting itself back together. Sweat instantly pours down his face.

“Don’t scream,” he hisses through gritted teeth, “don’t scream you fuckin’ baby, don’t.”

Clamping his lips together, he swallows the sounds he’d desperately love to howl, focusing on counting the snowflakes drifting past the window. He loses count of the deep, calming breaths he takes and long minutes later, the worst appears to pass. For now. Bucky’s rigid muscles begin to relax.

He appreciates the whole healing fast thing, he really does, but the process is just fucking unpleasant.

Swinging his legs over the bed, toes curling into a plush rug, he wobbles to his feet. Looking around, he searches for his clothes, but he comes up empty handed. He doesn’t actually mind the lack of clothing, it’s more the lack of pockets for weapons that irritate him.

But a good solider can make a weapon from anything, so he snatches a log from the basket next to the fireplace, rotates his arm until the plates shift smoothly, and creeps from the bedroom.  

Tiptoeing down the steps to the first level, he stops short. 

The small town he’d infiltrated was derelict, gritty, downtrodden.

The home he finds himself inhabiting is the polar opposite.

Wooden steps lead down into a cosy stone and log cabin. The small kitchen has an island with a couple hand-hewn stools and an oak butcher block in the middle, burnished copper pots hanging from a rack above. The floor is a deep russet red, the wide-planked floorboards containing a myriad of knots and whorls. Above him, thick beams stretch the expanse of the room, with dark iron lighting fixtures casting a rosy glow through the room. In the centre wall of the living room, flanked with tall vertical windows, stands a fireplace, the uneven shapes of grey river rock fitting together seamlessly. From the tall windows, he has a clear view of a foggy mountain range. Another fire crackles and pops merrily in the calm silence. 

A cracked white pitcher filled with pine boughs gives off a sharp, clean scent and Bucky finds himself struggling to remain overly vigilant, because it’s beautiful. It’s a home. 

Beauty means nothing though. A lesson he learned the hard way through the years.

Slinking into the kitchen, he rummages through the silverware, turning up three finely sharpened knives. Two, he tucks into the elastic band of his boxers, feeling instant relief at the feel of the blades hugging his hip. The third, a large butcher knife, he flips around and holds outward, ready to swing.

Switching into stealth mode, he goes to work.

Rifling through kitchen cupboards and drawers. Lifting throw pillows and blankets from the sofa. Scanning rows of books arranged in alphabetical order. Searching a small linen closet. Ears perked for the sound of footsteps outside.

And yeah, he finds a few things.

A few weird things.

It starts in the small closet. Buried under a pile of quilts, he finds a heavy metal box. Pulling a bobby pin from the perpetual tangle of colorful hair-ties he keeps around his wrist, it takes a few tries before he has the lock picked. Lifting the lid reveals a perfectly folded pile of worn t-shirts. Shaking each out, he scans the logos – emblazoned across each one is a different city from Bon Jovi’s 1986 Slippery When Wet European tour. 

They’re just old t-shirts, the kinds you find people hawking at concert venues or in the bargain bin at a thrift store. Nothing special or expensive. Yet here they are, folded into neat squares and tucked into a box that could probably withstand an explosion. 

His confusion spirals, but Bucky fights a small smile. It seems odd, but hey, he really likes Bon Jovi too. Maybe he would do the same.

Re-folding the tissue thin cloth, he locks the box and stuffs it back in place.

Trying the bookcase next, he pulls books out, feeling behind them. Knuckles rap at random, tap, tap, tap, until he hears an unexpected thunk. The hollow sound gives it away and with a shove, he shifts the back panel and finds another small locked box. Holding it under his arm, he fiddles with the bobby pin again and the lid cracks. Two items appear.

A crushed red velvet jewelry bag.

A handful of cheap vintage postcards in a clear plastic bag.

Crouching to the floor, he shakes the contents of the jewelry bag free. A handful of silvery-blue pebbles clatter out and in the middle of the pile, a necklace. Bucky holds the worn chain up to the light. Spinning slowly on the end is a round disc, a little dingy and rubbed smooth, but he can see the outline. 

Bucky wasn’t exactly a good little Catholic growing up, and yeah, religion wasn’t the sort of personal expression Hydra encouraged for the Soldier. His knowledge of saints was spotty as a kid and is extensively worse now, but he recognizes the medal – he knows Steve had one, wore it during the war and was wearing it when his plane went down. He donated it to the Smithsonian when he returned. Most of the military seemed to have one back then and Bucky assumes he had one as well, although he has no clue.

On the little medal, is the image of Saint Michael. The patron saint of Soldiers.

Fingering the medal pensively, he tries to summon a memory, any memory. He figures he must have something in there that could build off this particular war-related trinket.

But no. Just like always.

Setting it gently aside, he opens the clear bag instead. Pulling out the postcards, he lines them carefully up in front of him, internally translating the languages.

Covered with palm trees, an exuberant statement in French: Welcome to sunny Nice!

A colorful boulevard linked with green trees in Spanish stating: The Beauty of Barcelona 

A laughing cartoon caricature of a man holding skis in Swiss German: Enjoy your Winter in Zurich

The solemn announcement in Italian, written over an image of the Coliseum: Hello from Rome: The Eternal City

Orange and red leaves, covering a giant beer stein in German: Oktoberfest in Munich!

And the dogged mantra of the stoic English, tall white letters against a soft pink backdrop: Keep Calm and Carry On

But the one that piques his interest the most, is last in the pile. A hand-painted postcard, the paint chipped and faded through time, of the Brooklyn Bridge at night. The title above in carefully printed letters reads: Brooklyn, New York – Thank God It’s Not Jersey. Bucky feels his heart stutter at the words, because he’s pretty god damn sure he and Steve used to throw out that same phrase. 

On the back of the Brooklyn postcard, he finds the inked shapes of two hearts tangled together.

Bucky stares hard at the image, so simple but vibrating with some unknown meaning. Flipping through all the other cards, he finds them blank, nothing more than a pretty collection. Bewildered and careening toward frustrated anger, he gathers them together and slips them into the bag. He bangs the box shut and hides it away again.

He finds three more locked boxes in his search, each containing innocuous items. One with a thin, moth-eaten baby blanket. One with a random assortment of old Life magazines.

After stowing away the final box, housing an envelope with three sepia toned photos of a tall man and a small girl, he spends another ten minutes searching for clues. Finally, he’s convinced the room has shared all its secrets - until he notices the crease in the rug below the coffee table.

Shoving the table aside, Bucky flips up the rug. In the middle of the floor, he finds a plank of wood slightly thinner than the others, with a small chink in the edge. Crouching down, he runs his thumb around it and nudges it up, finding a hidden space below.

There he finds one more box. His beleaguered bobby pin gives a final brave attempt and with a quiet snick, the lock pops open. 

Inside are three dusty books. Peeling gold letters line the spine of each, showing a single word, followed by three different numbers. 

Journal, 1967 Journal, 1968 Journal, 1969 

From the pages of 1969, a ticket stub flutters to the floor.

*****

Under the fall of lacy snowflakes, she walks. Circling the small cabin for hours, her toes are damn near frozen, but she finds herself unwilling to go back inside. He has to be waking soon and the thought of facing him makes her chest ache. Instead, she walks the narrow path along the bank of the rushing stream bordering her home and argues with herself.

Go inside. Ask him. Talk to him. See if he remembers. Tell him the truth! He deserves to know. Maybe he doesn’t want to hear it. Maybe he’ll just kill you and be done. Probably not though, you’re not that lucky.

Hysterical laughter bubbles up and she digs the puffy gloved heels of her palms into her eyes. She really needs to get out more. This constant talking to herself thing will get her institutionalized someday.

But she literally has no one else to talk to. And that right there, has always been the problem. 

Brushing the snow from a giant boulder, she gingerly sits. Bending forward, she drops her head to her knees and wraps her arms around her legs, trying desperately not to give in to the panic attack threatening to drive its anxious fingers into her brain. Memories begin to swirl and even after all this time, the sound of his voice rises so easily to the surface, a sweet, drawling Brooklyn twang that turns her stomach to knots.

“Je vais avoir de la chance ce soir. Il y a de belles femmes en France qui ne m'aiment pas?”

“Can I walk you home?”

“Wait for me darlin’, okay? Will you? I’ll come back for you. I promise I will.”

“You’re what I want. You’re what I’m always gonna want.”

“You and me, this kind of love, it lasts forever, okay? It’s never gonna leave.”

“Dammit. Shit shit shit,” she chants to herself. Thick and heavy, the memories press down until she buckles under the burden of remembering. Tears begin to fall, hot trails down her face and she wipes them away, her hands shaking. 

She stays on the frozen rock, letting time pass while the cold seeps through her clothes. The air is so icy, it makes her lungs seize.

*****

The butcher knife lays beside him, within easy reach. Bucky sits cross-legged on the floor, flicking through the pages at random. He pauses now and then, digging deeper, losing himself in the faded ink of another’s life.

19 May, 1967

America is strange. I arrived in Los Angeles with no goal, just rented a car and drove. First to the coast and saw the ocean. It was different than the first time Papa took me – I’ve never seen anything so blue. I tried not to think about it, but it was in my head. It’s always there. Blue everywhere. The water, the sky, his eyes. I can never leave it behind.

The songs on the radio here, they’re different too. It feels like the heart of this country is screaming and I see why. Vietnam is different. This war, it’s unexplainable maybe, but there’s a frustrated weariness in the words. 

But then again, is it really that different? No matter the fight, Soldiers still give their lives and leave their sweethearts crying in the streets. They promise to come home, that ridiculously naive optimism of youth, and instead they die in a battle they never wanted to join. It’s the universal truth of every fight, since the beginning of time. The tears should be enough to stop this all from happening, but no. War keeps coming, one after another, and soldiers answer the call.

I still remember what he said that night. It’s stayed with me more than anything else. They’ll run out of soldiers eventually, he said, like he was nothing more than a cheap commodity. He was so tired by the end. I should have helped him.

11 April, 1968

Last week I was walking by the book stalls down at the Seine and saw a bargain bin of English language books. I found a book of poetry and I swear to god, that damn thing fell open on this:

He was my North, my South, my East and West, My working week and my Sunday rest, My noon, my midnight, my talk, my song; I thought that love would last forever: I was wrong.

The stars are not wanted now; put out every one, Pack up the moon and dismantle the sun, Pour away the ocean and sweep up the wood; For nothing now can ever come to any good. W.H. Auden

I don’t think I could find a better articulation of my mood. Either Fate has something against me, or I’m just that unlucky. I bought it. I couldn’t help myself.

21 July, 1969

Sometimes, I think miracles do still exist in this world.

Down at an old hotel, the entire town was crowded in the dining room. They had a TV balanced up on a shelf so everyone could see and they caught the BBC1 broadcast. The entire room was dead silent. It was overwhelming, I can still hardly imagine it. A man walking on the moon!

The whole time I kept thinking how much he would have loved this. How he would have laughed. How he probably would have tried to sign up to be a spaceman! The more I remembered, the more I thought about that night by the river, after we first met. All those stars in the sky. Decades later and I still wonder about it – how it’s possible to be so in love with someone – but then again, how could anyone fail to love him? He was so warm, so full of life and excitement and dreams. God. We had so many dreams, so many plans for the future. We were so naïve, thinking the world might owe us a little happiness. What a joke.

And now here I am. Alone with nothing but memories – just like always. That life we wanted, it’s as far away as the moon. Unreachable and impossible.

1 January, 1970 We never He was I thought A Soldier with a metal arm?

The journal ends there. 

Bucky looks at the ticket stub that fell from the delicate pages and the words bring forth a wavering reel of images, brand new and unfamiliar.

Moulin Rouge New Year’s Eve Ball Admittance: 1 Individual 31 December, 1969

The black lacquer of a piano. Silver sparkles reflecting from crystal chandeliers. The scent of fizzy champagne and the tang of blood and a dark apartment overlooking the twinkling lights of Paris.

Disoriented, Bucky sets the book down. What the hell is this? Who is she? She must be Hydra, she has to be. How else would she know the Soldier? Why did she take him, what does she want? Why does she have journals from so long ago, what do they mean?

It’s the eternal tragedy of his god damn life – always questions, never answers. He looks around the warm, peaceful little cabin and scrubs his hands down his face. He needs to plot his next move, but the bullet wounds throb with fresh, fiery pain and he’s suddenly and overwhelmingly exhausted.

So, he remains seated, surrounded by pages upon pages from someone else’s life.

Blinking back frustrated tears as he stares at the books, he knows without a doubt, that these three years of writing hold more memories than he could conjure in the lifetime he’s lived.

Distantly, he hears the slow crunch of boots on snow. Rousing himself from the miserable train of thought, he scrambles to his feet, turning to face the front door when footsteps hit the porch steps and begin to climb.

Bucky wipes the tears from his eyes. And he lifts his knife.

*****

Pacing back and forth across the small porch, she stops in front of the door and reaches for the handle.

And draws away again. Curses and keeps pacing. Tries again, pulls back.

“Open the door, you god damn coward,” she whispers harshly.

Squaring her shoulders, she turns the knob and pushes it open before she can lose her nerve. Stepping inside, the room is silent, just as she left it. Orange flames flicker in the fireplace, the smell of smoky wood and pine needles hangs in the air. She shuts the door quietly, shakes out her coat and hangs it on the rack. Taps the snow from her boots and unwinds her scarf. Rubbing her temples, she takes a deep breath and starts for the stairs, determined to face him.

She takes three steps, before the wind is knocked clean from her lungs.

The heavy body hits her from behind, one arm curling around her chest, the other pressing her butcher knife against her throat. The voice in her ear is so gut wrenchingly familiar, she nearly faints. 

“Leaving a strange man alone in your bed with access to knives – not your best move.”

When he was lying unconscious wrapped in her quilts, she thought he seemed smaller than she remembered. Now, the breadth of his body against her back makes her realize just how wrong that assessment was. 

“Yes. I should have hidden the knives,” she tries to speak. “Something to remember next time.”

“Tell me who the fuck you are.”

She should be terrified right now. The most prolific assassin of the 20th century has a razor-sharp blade sitting at her throat and a metal arm digging into her chest. With the slightest move, he could crush her lungs or slit her throat. He wouldn’t even have to try. 

She should be terrified, but she’s not. Because the years, the decades, have been nothing more than an empty echo without him, and now he’s here. Against all odds, he is here with her. Relaxing in his arms, she leans back and closes her eyes.

Bucky stiffens abruptly at the movement. 

Her hand floats up and reaches for the wrist flexing at her throat. She feels his grip tighten further, but for some reason, he allows her curious touch. Fingers trembling, they find the thin ridge, running down the long white scar curving from his right thumb across the back of his hand. 

It’s nothing more than a gentle caress, but – 

Like a hammer to his skull, his head splits head open. With a frightened snarl, he shoves her away and she stumbles forward, catching herself against the sofa. Slowly, she turns to face him fully. 

Dark hair frames his face in sweaty tangles and his blue eyes are wild. 

“What the fucking hell was that?” he hisses. The knife is held outward and he scratches at the scar, trying to scrub away her touch.

“I’m sorry,” she says, rubbing her throat. “I wasn’t – I’m sorry.”

“How the hell did I get here?” Bucky barks. “Last thing I remember, I was gut shot and bleeding out in a god damn blizzard.”

“I found you. Brought you here.”

“Yeah, obviously. Except I’m fuckin’ heavy and no offense, but you don’t look much like a super soldier. So, I’ll ask again - how the hell did I get here? Who else is working with you?”

“No one, it’s just me. And I’m not working. You – I don’t know, you just followed me. When you collapsed in the snow, I rolled you over and shouted your name, and your eyes just – they opened and you got to your feet.”

Bucky glares at her. “Convenient, that you knew my name. And how to wake me up.”

Jaw clenching, she glares back now. “I didn’t know how to wake you up. You were bleeding everywhere, but you stood there like you were waiting for something.”

Biting the inside of his cheek, he grimaces. He thinks he knows what’s coming.

“Say I believe you. Then what?”

“You asked for instructions, so I told you to get in my truck and I brought you here. I’m sorry, I didn’t know – I wasn’t sure what to do. When we got here, you wouldn’t go upstairs. You just laid down on the dining table and – ”

She pauses, but he sighs resignedly. “Keep going.”

“Both bullets, they were still – inside. I had to dig them out. I got bandages and tried to stitch up the wound. You were awake, I thought you were awake, the entire time. You were telling me what to do. Kept asking if – you kept asking if I was new.”

Bucky feels his face heat in embarrassment. Shifting uncomfortably, he grudgingly explains. “That was a secondary protocol. Something happens to the Asset, it’s programmed – I mean I was programmed - to help fix the problem.” 

The cabin is quiet for a drawn-out moment. 

“Oh,” she finally says. Her voice sounds small. 

“So? You’re former Hydra then?”

She blanches at the comment. “What? No! I was never with them.”

“Really,” Bucky says sarcastically. “You just happened upon me and knew my name and brought me to a cabin in the middle of nowhere for no reason? That was all just luck?”

“Stop being a jerk. I said I don’t work for them,” she snaps, anger seeping into her voice. “I’d slit my own throat first.”

Bucky goes quiet, considering the statement. His loses some of the hostility when he replies, but his tone is still suspicious. “But we know each other. You know him. Or – me. The Soldier.”

“Yes. I know the – Soldier.”

“Well, I don’t remember you,” Bucky says harshly, and he watches her face fall. He feels a pang of remorse at her disappointment and almost points out that she’s not unique, he never remembers. But he holds his tongue.

Eyes dropped to the floor, her shoulders sag. “I didn’t expect you would.”

An awkward silence fills the room. Bucky feels that strange ache in his chest once again, a desire to smooth the unhappiness from her face, and an apology tumbles from his lips. 

“I’m sorry I don’t remember. Trust me, it’s definitely not you.”

“No. Please don’t apologize,” she says quickly, looking up. She shakes her head like she wants to say something more; instead, she swallows the words and offers an olive branch. “Do you want to know? I mean - do you want me to tell you?” 

Bucky considers the offer. Before him stands a lovely woman. One who knew the Soldier, who met the worst incarnation of himself, but without the security of Hydra to help her. He comes to a swift, depressing conclusion.

Chances are, he did something shitty to her.

Does he want to know then? Does he really need another gruesome memory clogging up his brain? 

Sure. Because Bucky never knows when to quit.

“Yes,” he says firmly. “Tell me. I want to hear it.” 

“Okay, I can do that,” she says softly. She motions him to sit on the couch, but Bucky hesitates.

“Can I, uh, have some pants first?” He asks stiffly. “This is sort of awkward.”

The surprise on her face makes Bucky think for one fleeting moment that she might laugh. But then she nods and disappears through a small room off the kitchen. When she returns, she’s holding a neatly folded stack of fresh laundry and he recognizes the contents of his backpack. 

“Here,” she sets it cautiously on the dining table. “I’m sorry I went through your bag, I didn’t have any men’s clothing, so…anyway, I washed it all.” 

Bucky snatches his ragged Captain America t-shirt and black sweats from the top of the pile, shimmying into them. Pulling a rainbow colored band off his wrist, he ties his hair back and drops to the couch. 

She takes the armchair across from him, as far away as she can get in the small living room, and tucks her hands under her legs. Bucky knows he’s unlikely to enjoy whatever she has to say, but he folds his fingers together and waits. She stares down at her feet, appearing to gather her courage before meeting his grim stare head on.

Her voice is steady, as she starts to speak.

“Paris was cold that December and it snowed early. It was New Year’s Eve in 1969.”

*****

Next Chapter

*****

Tags are open right now, if you want one, please send me a DM or ASK.

[everlarkficexchange]

Prompt 49: Love in a Mosh Pit

Written by: @sunflowerslyf

Prompt 49: Injured in a mosh pit at a concert because Johanna. Peeta can ask her for her phone number as part of exchanging insurance information and she can think he hit his head harder than she originally thought but he’s just trying to flirt. [submitted by @katnissdoesnotfollowback]

A/N: First of all, I’d like to thank @ra3lynn3 for her uh-mazing betaing skills and for putting up with my three drafts😉 thanks also to @katnissdoesnotfollowback for sending the prompt (i love your works hehe)

I hope I did justice to the prompt (I did my best, I promise) and I hope you all like it😘

Rated T for some coarse language

This is definitely not Katniss’ scene.

She is slowly engulfed in the crowd of metal-heads, lost in a sea of black tees with band logos printed on them. Katniss sees men sporting long hair dos that make them look like women. Others have spiky and dyed hair. There are girls wearing skirts and shorts that barely count as clothing. She notices people with piercings and tattoos painted all over their bodies too.

There is an unbelievable maze of bodies as they make their way nearer to the stage; a ghostly melody playing. The quick strumming of electric guitars can be heard creating dark, brutal guitar riffs. The aggressive noises from the crowd increasing.

“Everybody get their fists in the air!” The lead vocalist shouts into the mic.

The crowd follows obediently raising their arms over their heads, their hands in fists. The vocalist (whatever his name is) starts swiveling his head making Katniss dizzy just from watching.

“Why the hell am I here?” Katniss asks herself out loud.

“Because you need to live a little, Brainless.” Johanna answers back.

“I am living. Just not like this. I mean, I have a decent job that pays enough to cover Prim’s med school needs, and a nice apartment. I’m also able to hunt every now and then and practice my archery from those lessons I’m teaching.”

“You call that living?” Jo snorts. “I’d rather die than live a boring life like that.” She says, dragging out the vowels in boring.

Katniss rolls her eyes. “Well forgive me for being more decent and simple with my life.”

“Plus, your apartment is only cheap because I’m paying for it too. I’m your roommate, if you forgot.” Jo points out.

“Whatever.” Katniss mutters.

The vocalist then shouts into his mic, “Let’s get a mosh pit going in here!”

Johanna laughs. “Come on, we have to be part of that.” She says as she grabs Katniss’ arm, dragging her toward the chaos happening near the front of the stage.

“What? No. Fucking. Way.” Katniss tugs her arm back, but Jo only holds her tighter.

“Can’t do anything about it, brainless. You’re already here, better make the most of it.”

Damn you, Jo, Katniss thinks. She knows that Katniss hates talking to people she doesn’t know or simply talking to people. She prefers staying home and eating Chinese food to going out and having to socialize.

“Fine.” she relents as Johanna drags her to the mess that is the mosh pit, and Katniss prepares for the worst to come.

Katniss can hear the drummer on stage start to pound on his drums; the tension growing with the people around. She thinks these people look like predators aiming for their prey before they brutally attack them.

“Three… two… one…”

Looking around, Katniss actually fears what these people are capable of doing in the open wall pit that is about to happen. The majority of men and women are built with muscles which makes them look bigger. Katniss looks like a frail little girl compared to them.

“GO!”

It was an open pit where people can freely strike, barge, hurl, and slam. Johanna lets go of Katniss’ arm as they enter the moshing pit. There are people watching from the sides who are keeping quite a distance so as to not get involved in the chaos.

“Release your frustrations here. Whether it’s from the breakup with Darius, not getting any sex lately, or just anything.”

“What do you even know about my sex life, huh?” Katniss asks.

“Again brainless, I’m your roommate. I know when you bring a guy home.”

Jo catches a skateboard that was thrown her way and propels it towards Katniss, startling her. It lands in front of her feet and makes a scraping sound.

“What the fuck Jo?” She yells just as someone slams straight into her and she plummets to the floor.

Johanna barks out a laugh. The man who slammed into her helps hoist her back onto her feet. Once she’s back up again, the man runs off (probably for more pushing). Someone from behind elbows her back, but this time she’s more prepared for it and she doesn’t fall to the floor.

“Have fun, Kat!” Johanna shouts over the loud metal music and runs off for her own enjoyment.

“Dammit Jo, don’t leave me here!” She shouts back, picking up the skateboard that had landed in front her.

Katniss makes her way through the throng of people to find Johanna. Using her hunting skills, she manages to dodge some of the people pushing and thrashing around. Finally after pushing and dodging several people, she finds Johanna’s face in the swarm of people around her.

Holding up the board in her hand, she aims for Johanna. Then she throws the skateboard. Her aim was pretty good, since she has been hunting since she was a kid. But then, Jo disappears out of Katniss’ sight.

It all happens in slow motion.

The skateboard slices through the air as sharply as it was thrown toward Katniss. Her eyes follow the skateboard as it descends. Panic rises in Katniss as the skateboard starts to go beyond the area of the moshing pit and heads toward the group of people watching around the edges.

It meets its end as it smacks on top of an unsuspecting man’s head. Above all the noise, Katniss hears a grunt coming from the man she hit. The skateboard lands on the cement ground with a thump, and the man lands on the ground beside it. Her eyes widen in shock.

Shit, what have I done? Katniss thinks. She scurries off to the man who’s now clutching his head in his hands.

—

“Hey Peet, I’m gonna dive in there for a bit. Wanna join?” Finnick asks.

“Uh, go ahead without me. You know it’s not my thing to join in moshing.” Peeta replies.

“Sure man. Don’t get mad at me later if I start calling you chicken.” Finnick chuckles and he leaves Peeta to himself while he joins in the current moshing.

Peeta is one of the people who decides to watch the moshing instead of joining in. He doesn’t really like this environment, he prefers the bustling and polluted city to the chaos these metal music concerts bring. There are people being lifted by others and still others are going as far as punching, pushing, and screaming.

So much screaming.

Even the vocalist of the band on stage is screaming and it’s hurting Peeta’s ears. He wants to get out of this place as soon as he can, but he can’t leave Finnick here. He rode with Peeta here and Peeta can’t ditch his best friend like that just because he doesn’t like the environment the man lives for.

Peeta watches as a man pulls another man into a headlock. At first, it looks like they’ve hated each other since the beginning of time, but after releasing the man who is head-locked, they both laugh it off like nothing happened; finding new people to target. It’s funny to watch since those guys are like the epitome of him and his brothers when they were younger, always wrestling over petty things.

He was so busy watching the moshers that he didn’t see a black and gold colored skateboard heading his way. It all happened so fast. All he could hear was the loud, screaming music. That’s when the sharp pain suddenly registers on his head. He grunts, finding himself on the ground unexpectedly. Sitting up, his hand immediately finds the source of his pain, rubbing the quickly swelling spot for comfort.

After a few moments, some people who aren’t part of the moshing start to crowd around him, creating a commotion. He continues to clutch his head with his right hand when suddenly there’s a woman in front of him.

Not just any woman. A drop-dead, beautiful–no, gorgeous woman.

He’s trying to figure out if this woman is real, or if he’s hallucinating from the hit from whatever that object was that just hit his head really hard. The woman kneels down beside him and gently removes his hand from over his head. She starts to caress his head and he forgets all about the pain.

Peeta only focuses on her hands, and, oh god, her face. Those aluminum gray eyes reel him in and allow him no escape. Those puckered lips that look so kissable. His eyes drift lower to the dark tank top she’s wearing that shows just the right amount of cleavage. Peeta licks his lips.

“I’m so so sorry. Are you okay?” There’s a panicked look in her eyes. Peeta feels flattered that the woman decided to check to see if he is okay despite the fact that people are more or less allowed to freely hurt each other here.

For a moment, he is at a loss for words and all he can think about are those eyes that look so worried but show no mercy in making him get lost in them. Damn, she was so beautiful.

“You have nice eyebrows.”

‘You have nice eyebrows?’ Way to go Peeta! He tells himself.

Her eyebrows scrunch together in confusion. “Oh, um, thank you? I need to know if you’re okay though.”

He sits up and tells her, “Yeah, I’m fine.” He grins at her, but it comes out more like a grimace. Damn, that pain won’t go away. “Good as a rock.” He cringes. Why did he just say that?

“Okay then. Do you need help standing up?”

She extends her arm out to him, but instead of taking it he says, “Actually, I need your phone number.”

Wow, Peeta, very subtle, he internally rolls his eyes.

Her eyes narrow and she replies, “What for?”

He scrambles his head for an answer to her question without looking looking like a creep. At least people are minding their own business now instead of crowding around him and watching. He says the first thing that comes to mind,

“We need it for–um, you know, exchanging insurance information and such.”

Her eyebrows shoot up as she breathes out. “Okay, I need to bring you to a doctor.”

She extends her hand out again and this time he takes it, afraid of saying more nonsense to this beauty in front of him. She helps him back onto his feet and he brushes invisible dust off of his pants. They make their way to the exit of the concert grounds, or more appropriately, the riot grounds.

“Thanks for your help. I’m sorry for looking like a complete fool and saying nonsense stuff.” He chuckles nervously.

She beams at him. A smile that makes him weak in the knees.

“It’s no problem. I’m sorry again for throwing that skateboard at you. I didn’t mean for it to hit you, but apparently it did. Are you sure you don’t want to get your head checked?”

“No, no it’s okay. I’ll just sleep this off and it’ll be fine. Can I ask something?”

“Of course.” she replies.

“I just want to ask if you want to grab a coffee or something?” He asks.

“We should probably exchange names first.” She laughs and Peeta decides that from now on, it’s his favorite sound.

“Right, where are my manners? I’m Peeta, Peeta Mellark.” He extends his hand as he flashes her a broad smile.

“Katniss Everdeen. It’s very nice meeting you, Peeta.” She takes his hand and he squeezes it in return.

He swears he can feel an electric shock shoot up his arm the moment his hand touches hers.

“About that coffee…” He raises his eyebrow, trailing off expectantly.

“Sure, I would love to.” Her grin widens.

His heart does a somersault in his chest. At that moment he knows he’s a goner for a woman named Katniss Everdeen.

-

part two anyone?😏