#rather than try and do the red text first and then colour black in around it

[theonewhowails]

in my head this is how Divine Inspiration works

[the-merry-otter]

If you’re on mobile, you may have to click on the images for better quality!

Plain text version with image descriptions is under the cut.

Please note that the image descriptions will be reflecting what I am trying to convey with the photo, rather than the total look of the photo itself. For example if I am trying to describe a dress, the hair colour of the person wearing it will be ignored. This is to reduce the total word count of the descriptions, because I have a lot of images to describe. On this note, I have also streamlined the information as much as possible.

[Plain text description:]

First slide: Mariota’s Guide to 14th Century (Medieval) Women’s Clothing

This slideshow is brought to you by @the-merry-otter on tumblr

ALRIGHT LISTEN UP MOTHERS AND FUCKERS. I’m bored, so today we’re going to be talking about medieval clothing. Specifically fourteenth century English clothing because that’s what I’m good at. (Source: trust me bro I’m a reenacter). Also this is all female stuff - sorry masc leaning folks, I’ll get to you someday!

Disclaimer: this is not completely comprehensive or nuanced in the slightest, it’s just a quick overview guide. Do your own research xoxo.

[Image ID: to the left is a picture of a woman in a light blue dress and a pink hood gazing out at a lake. The hood has a skirt that falls over her shoulders, and there is along thin pipe attached to the back of the hood that dangles to her knees. The edges of the hood are decorated with burgundy crochet. The picture is captioned “beautiful, stunning, gorgeous, literal goals.” End ID]

[Image ID: To the right is a picture of a typical renn faire outfit. It has a white poofy underdress, a black corset, and a brown skirt. There is a red cross drawn over the image. It is captioned “very pretty, but definitely not medieval sorry!” End ID]

Second slide: Underwear (ooh la la)

Now with nasty pocketses

[Image ID: a picture of gollum, from lord of the rings, snarling in disgust. There is a line in The Hobbit where he asks Bilbo what he has in his nasty little pocketses, which is what I am referencing. End ID]

So, corsets, stays, and shapewear in general kind of wasn’t a thing yet. So your underwear was a shift, which was awesome because it was also your pajamas. They were usually made of linen, though some might have been made of cotton is you were rich.

[Image ID: A plain white linen garment laid out flat on the floor. It is a dress that hangs to about knee length, with elbow length sleeves. An arrow points to it with text reading “this is a shift”. End ID]

There is evidence for supportive shifts for busy support, like this one from the fourteenth century!

[Image ID: a second shift, worn by a female presenting person. It is laced up the front, and is a lot tighter and more fitted, especially around the bust. It has straps instead of sleeves. End ID]

There’s also this bra like fragment found in Austria, but that is a whole debate so.

[Image ID: A bra-like garment fitted to a mannequin. It seems to be made out of white linen, coloured with time. The left cup is damaged, and overall the garment looks incomplete. End ID]

Then, over the shift, yet under your main dress went your pockets, which tied on at the waist. Your dresses had slits do that you could get at your stuff without flashing everyone lol.

[Image ID: A picture of medieval pockets. They are upside down teardrop shaped, but the point is flat and is part of the waist ties. There are slits in the side up the top to access the inside. They are cream coloured with bright floral embroidery. The caption reads “these bad boys can fit so many cool pebbles.” End ID]

[Image ID: A young female-presenting person wearing medieval clothing. She has her hands in the pocket slits of her dress. They are just below hip height. End ID]

Third slide: your dress, or the cotehardie. (Pronounced coat hardy)

Over the shift you put your dress, sometimes referred to as either a kirtle or cotehardie. 14th century people started actually form-fitting their clothes more than previous centuries. These needed fastenings, which were mostly lacings (spiral lacings specifically), or buttons made of either metal or cloth, used at the front of the dress from neckline to waist, and on the sleeves from elbow to wrist, with exceptions of course.

(Sidenote: fuck sleeves, all my homies hate sleeves)

[Image ID: a woman in a warm yellow dress to the left of the text. The dress is constructed simply, with a single piece of fabric used for the length of the body so there is no waist seam. The skirt is widened by inserting four triangles, one each at the front and back, and one on each side. The front has buttons made of the same fabric as the dress, that go down to the belt at the waist. The sleeves have similar buttons from wrist to elbow, on the outside of the arm. The woman is also wearing a liripipe hood. End ID]

Dresses seemed to be mostly wool, though I often use linen for mine because I live in Australia and it’s hot in summer and I don’t want to die. Most often they weren’t lined (that is what the underwear was for).

[Image ID: in the top left of the slide is a woman wearing a green woollen dress. It is constructed the same as the previous image, except it has spiral lacing on the front instead of buttons. The sleeves are fastened by three small buttons. She is wearing a simple and veil. End ID]

[Image ID: the top right of the slide shows a woman in a teal coloured dress, similar to the one before. This one has metal buttons at the sleeves and down the front. She wears a veil only. End ID]

The neckline of these dresses was usually round or an oval shape, and some manuscripts have it so wide that it falls off the shoulders slightly.

[Image ID: A photo of a medieval manuscript, depicting six medieval ladies in a row holding hands. The neckline of their dresses is wide enough that the tops of their shoulders are visible. The image is captioned “me and the girls on a Friday night”. End ID]

Clothing was a lot more colourful than the movies would have us believe lol.

[Image ID: Three women, each in dresses similar to the ones before. To the left is a forest green, the middle one is bright saffron yellow, and the one to the right is a vibrant tomato red. End ID].

Fourth slide: Dress two; electric boogaloo

[Image ID: Merry and Pippin from lord of the rings. Above them, meme text reads “we’ve had one, yes”, and then continues below with “but what about second dress?”. End ID]

You could also wear an overdress, which was usually of a contrasting colour and had shorter sleeves.

As well as fashion, they would have been used for extra warmth, and so were usually made of wool.

[Image ID: a woman in a maroon coloured dress like the ones on the previous slide. The sleeves stop just above her elbow, revealing a blue dress underneath. End ID].

Common people would have only owned a couple of different outfits, as fabric was super expensive.

[Image ID: various pictures of women with examples of an overdress. They are all constructed the same as the overdress, but with shorter sleeves that reveal a second sleeve of a different colour underneath. End ID]

A common late thirteenth to mid fourteenth century overdress was the ladies surcoat, which had big holes instead of sleeves.

Belts would have been worn underneath the surcoat.

[Image ID: three photos of women wearing surcoats. They are normal dresses, except there is a large D shape cut out of either side, leaving a large hole from the shoulder to below the hip. They have no buttons down the front. One of the surcoats is made of red brocade, and obviously belongs to an upper-class impression. End ID].

Fifth slide: Hair and headwear

Hair was worn braided and pinned up, with a coif (cap) and either a wimple or veil, or both. The wimple and/or veil were usually pinned to the coif, or secured on a band of fabric around the head.

Veils would be either oval, or a D shape. Wimples were rectangular. A wimple goes under the chin and a veil goes over your head.

[Image ID: a close up of a woman wearing a wimple. It is made of a light fabric, likely silk. The wimple wraps under her chin and is secured at the back of her head. A narrow band of fabric or possibly leather circles her brow, which would have been used to secure the wimple. End ID.]

[Image ID: A picture of YouTuber Morgan Donner wearing a wimple and veil. The wimple wraps under her chin, and the veil is placed on top of her head, draping down past her shoulders. It does not cover her face. Loops of hair are visible either side of her face. End ID]

All the headwear would be made of linen, thin wool, or silk, depending on class. The veils could also be made really fancy by ruffling the front edge or by attaching pearls.

[Image ID: a woman in a wimple and half-circle veil. The edge of the veil that frames her face is elaborately ruffled. The edge of a coif is visible under the veil. End ID]

I ride the bus in my medieval gear a lot because of events, and way too many people think I’m Amish because of my veil. It’s honestly just funny at this point. I should keep a tally.

[Image ID: a woman wearing a St Birgitta’s coif, pinning a wimple at the back of her head. The coif is a simple white linen cap that encloses the head, with a line of lace down the centre of the head. It is secured with a loop of linen around the head. End ID].

[Image ID: a picture of someone with plaits that have been pinned around the head like a crown. It is captioned “you could also pin your hair up like this”. End ID]

Working women might have just wrapped their head in a scarf instead, fuck this fancy shit right?

[Image ID: a woman in a headscarf that has been twisted and then looped around the front of her head. It is captioned #girlboss. End ID].

Fake braids were a thing! Blonde hair in particular was very fashionable, and bleaching or fake braids were sometimes used to achieve that.

[Image ID: two fake braids made of a coarse fibre. They are blonde in colour, and are looped like a hairstyle seen on many of the reenactors. They have white ribbons attached to the top end to help secure them to the head. End ID]

Sixth slide: Cloaks and hoods

These would have actually been two seperate garments! Integrated hoods on cloaks didn’t actually become a thing until the … seventeenth century or so? (Citation needed).

Cloaks were a lot simpler than the typical cloak we think of nowadays. Often they were just a rectangle of wool, or by the fourteenth century, sometimes a half circle.

They were almost always wool as far as I know, and were generally fastened by a cloak pin or buttons.

[Image ID: a metal cloak pin. It is a circle with a small opening at one point. A long pin is attached via a loop, allowing it to slide along the pin. It can fit through the opening in the circle. To use one, you would gather the fabric on the pin, and then slot the circle over the pin and then turn it, so the fabric is trapped between circle and pin. This is much easier to demonstrate than describe. The picture is captioned “these bad boys are the real MVP’s though”. End ID].

[Image ID: a diagram showing the construction of the bocksten man cloak. It is a half circle pieced together by laying strips of fabric together. In the centre of the flat side, a half circle is cut out for the neck. End ID]

[Image ID: a reconstruction of the bocksten man cloak. It is orange wool, and lined with an off-white linen. It is fastened on the right shoulder by three fabric buttons. It would fall to just above the wearers knees. End ID].

Women’s hoods could be short and open, or with a longer skirt and closed with buttons. Liripipe (pronounced leery-pipe) hoods were named for the tube of fabric that dangled off the back of your hood, varying in length. As well as a fashion statement, it could also be wrapped around the neck like a scarf if it got cold.

Hoods were nearly always wool I’m pretty sure, though they were often lined with linen, silk, or cotton.

[General description: a short liripipe hood would be open, with the bottom only reaching your shoulders. They were made from a single piece of fabric that would wrap over your head, with the seam down the centre back of your head. It was flared at the bottom by inserting triangular gores. At the front edge near your face there would be a strip jutting out that went from one side of your chin, over your head, and down to the other side. This would usually be folded back, revealing the lining colour. The bottom of the hood could either just reach the base of your neck, or reach down to just past your shoulders. The former would usually be open at the front, with fastenings optional. The latter option with the longer skirt was almost always able to be fastened up the front with fabric buttons. The liripipe itself was a thin flat tube of fabric fastened at the centre top back of the hood. End ID]

Fun fact, 90% of why I decided to reenact the fourteenth century specifically was because of liripipe hoods.

Seventh slide: Feet (not in a weird way)

Hose were used to keep your legs warm. For women they were usually knee height, and fastened just underneath it with a garter or tie.

[Image ID: a single light yellow hose, belted beneath the knee with a leather garter. The seam is down the centre back of the leg going all the way to your toes, and then around the top of the foot in front of where it connects to your leg. End ID]

Hose usually would have been made from wool, and were cut on the diagonal (bias) of the fabric to get the maximum stretch possible from the fabric. They still were looser than modern tights are though!

Knitted socks were also a thing I’m pretty sure, but I don’t know enough about them. Sorry!

Shoes were simple, usually referred to as turnshoes because of how they were made. Fun fact: the lack of foot support means that turnshoes are similar to going barefoot in terms of how you walk. Some reenactors love it, some hate it, and some are indifferent lol.

[Image ID: a pair of turnshoes made of dark leather. They have a strap that would fasten around the front of the ankle, similar to some modern shoes. The toes are pointed, and it is captioned “pointy toes were fashionable, especially for men”. End ID].

Because shoes were really hard to waterproof, (ask me how I know), and didn’t have solid soles, wooden pattens (pronounced pat-tens) were worn to keep you off the ground while outside.

[Image ID: a person wearing a pair of wooden pattens over their shoes, standing on a drenched cobblestone street. They are wooden platforms with an archway on the bottom, and are attached to the foot with leather straps around the toe, ankle, and around the back of the heel, similar to modern sandals. The image is captioned “ye old crocs”. End ID].

[Image ID: a woman’s leg with the skirts drawn back, revealing the bright yellow hose underneath. It is fastened below the knee with a strip of fabric. She wears a turnshoe with a buckled strap. End ID]

Eighth slide: Accessories

These are a few other items that might have made up a working woman’s outfit.

Aprons would definitely have been used while working. One were just a large rectangle of cloth tucked into the belt, some were smocked to draw in the fabric. They generally stopped at the waist.

[Image ID: a woman in a red dress, with a very light brown apron. It is smocked at the top, and is attached around the waist with a string. End ID].

Pretty broaches and other jewellery existed! There was cheaper stuff made of pewter for the lower classes.

[Image ID: five gold brooches, studded with different jewels and pearls. End ID].

They had a funny sense of humour as well… and they weren’t all prudes.

[Image ID: a pewter broach of a cat carrying a dick and balls in its mouth. It is captioned “you can actually buy these. I know a website.” End ID].

Eating knives were worn on the belt, though it is debated whether women would have carried one. I do because I’m a modern fourteenth century woman.

[Image ID: a small knife with a wooden handle, laying on top of a leather sheath that has been dyed red. End ID]

Belts are a curiously debated topic. Some people reckon that women would have definitely worn them, others say they they weren’t used by women much at all. As far as I know there are depictions of both, so choose what you’d prefer. They are great for hanging stuff on I gotta say.

[Image ID: a coiled up brown leather belt. The buckle and tip are a gold metal, and it has decorative flower studs along its length in the same metal. End ID]

Pretty little purses would have probably been worn. I don’t know enough about them to say anything else though.

[Image ID: two different pictures of reenactors wearing purses. One is brocade and the other a red fabric. They are in the shape of an upright triangle, and both have five tassels hanging from the bottom edge. They hang off the belt with long drawstrings. Unrelated to the purses, one of the women is wearing a gorgeous orange liripipe hood, that is embroidered and dagged on the bottom skirt edge. End ID]

Ninth slide: Fancy Shmancy

There is a lot I haven’t covered, especially in the realm of the upper classes. Here is some of what has been missed. (Buckle up because this section is very image heavy. I will be as concise as possible).

Heraldic dresses! If you are interested, go check out Morgan Donners video on YouTube.

[Image ID: a picture of Morgan Donner in her heraldic dress. One half of the dress is red, and the other is green, except for where it has been cut out by white with an ermine pattern on it. Her hair is unbound and uncovered, except by a small flower crown. It is captioned “Morgan bestie do your hair properly :(“. End ID]

[Image ID: a drawing of two women in heraldic dresses. The first has a blue right half with a yellow printed design. The top left of the dress is yellow with a blue fish, and the bottom left is red with a white fish. Her train is held by the second lady, who’s dress is blue on the right, and white with green birds on the left. End ID].

Fancy headpieces for rich bitches only.

[Image ID: a reenactor doing a high class impression. Her hair is bound up in Pearl studded hair nets on either side of her head like modern earmuffs, with a spiked coronet around her brow. She has a sheer silk wimple on. End ID]

Fancy dagged edged on hoods, sleeves, dresses, etc.

[Dagging description: where the edge has been cut away to make decorative dangly bits. One hood has red leaves around the bottom edge for example, and another just has a pretty geometric pattern. End description].

Brocade gowns! So pretty!

[Image ID: several different pictures of high class ladies wearing brocade gowns of different colours. These are similar to the wool dresses we were looking at earlier, but with longer trains, and often long draping sleeves. There is even a brocade surcoat. End ID]

Fancy sleeves!

[Image ID: examples of different long sleeves. On some, the sleeve is normal until the elbow, and then it falls away to a long strip of fabric that dangles to the ground. Not mentioned on the slide itself is tippets, which was a band of (usually white) fabric just above your elbow, with a thin strip of the same fabric that draped down to the floor. End ID].

Dresses that were two different colours.

[Image ID: examples of dresses that are exactly like the earlier wool dresses, except they are literally half one colour and half another. The manuscript example is a blue and red overdress with fancy sleeves, and the reenactor example is a yellow and green underdress with a red hood. End ID]

And of course, some of the funky fun fabric choices.

[Image ID: a manuscript depiction of a woman carrying a dead bird. Her hood is red and white striped horizontally, and her dress is dark and light blue striped, also horizontally. End ID].

[Image ID: a manuscript depicting a woman talking to a second lady in a chair. The dress on the first has horizontal stripes of white, red, yellow, and blue, repeated, and the second has horizontal stripes of white, pink, and light blue. Interestingly enough the latter colours are very similar to the transgender flag which would make a very cool dress project. Hmm. End ID].

Tenth (and final) slide: In summery

(Small red text below title reads “I hope you have enjoyed” with a drawn smiling face).

Dis you notice all the “usually” “commonly” and “often’s” in there? That’s because I cannot possibly illustrate everything that we know of the time in only ten slides, nor do I know everything, so I have just tried to show what seems to be the most depicted.

Note: I probably even got some stuff wrong by the way.

If you’re interested in this stuff, I really recommend doing your own research now! Hopefully I have given you a good overview of what a fourteenth century womens outfit might have looked like, so now you can go fourth and know what you’re looking for.

If you have any questions about costuming, reenactment, or anything else, feel free to contact me!! I respond on Timblr decently fast ☺️

[Image ID: a reenactor sitting on a log, staring into the distance with a slight smile. She is wearing a grey-blue dress, belted at the waist with a small purse dangling from it. She has a dark blue cape and a light blue hood, that has fallen back to show a ruffled white veil. There is a pewter broach on her hood. A leather turnshoe peeks out from beneath the hem of her dress. End ID]

A list of helpful YouTubers:

Elin Abrahamsson

Morgan Donner

Opus Elenae

Miss Joss (her instagram is more active).

Now go hydrate!!

[Image ID: a woman in fourteenth century garb drinking from a jug. End ID]

[streaminn]

The streamer Enid au

---

Wednesday Addams sighted in San Francisco!

After the recent hit on her latest book: Viper de la Muerte: Lunal Curse, Wednesday Addams mentioned going off the grid for personal reasons. A hiatus from our so studious author? More likely than you think!

But what people definitely didn't think would happen is to see her out in and about in the streets of San Francisco. No one has been able to reach out as to why specifically she is in such a sunny place but the tall figure she was with might just give a hint! Several witnesses have mentioned them being rather close and isn't that so shocking from the usually touch averse writer of gore?

Read more at…

–

"Wednesday is here!?" squealed a streamer. She seemed a lot sparkly today, her bangs falling to frame the side of her face and her scars stretched as she smiled brightly at the camera.

This is Enid or Endespair if you want to go by channel name. She is a small twitch streamer who regularly posts her videos on YouTube and is known for her rather upbeat personality. The contrast of such a sunny person is why most would take a peak on how she would react whenever she'd play this year, month or day's horror game.

Safe to say, she reacted like most would do. Very loudly. Atleast at first, until slowly but surely you'd see her screams tamper from a shrill shriek to the barely contained jump. It has her chat becoming nefarious little shits and doing the best they can with horrible timed sound alerts and donations with text to speech.

She also is a werewolf and in a world where most are normies, a lot of people were rather intrigued and some monsterfuckers took solace by lurking in chat.

The mods had to ban a few people when the streamer bared her teeth at a character once or twice. For an outcast, Twitter murmurs that she's rather good at controlling her instincts.

Anyways, talking about Enid's background aside, the reason why she's squealing and clapping her hands like a seal today is for one reason alone.

Wednesday Addams, the ever so revered thriller and horror author. One who is very well known for her graphic depictions of gore in her books. It was a shock to some newcomers when the ever so jumpy Endespair genuinely loves and adores such literature but it definitely painted a confusing picture.

However, it isn't just the books that Enid loves but the author too.

Yeah, chat can put two and two together. Enid was simply a masochistic dog who liked things that scare her. All jokingly said of course, her fans know better than to push boundaries. But the contrast of such a colourful person enjoying all things dark and macabre is the opposites attract trope that most would fall for.

"Do you think I could try to bump into her?" Enid gasps before her brows furrowed. "Wait no that feels kinda creepy, seeking her out like that is weird as hell don't do that guys."

"so true, just go about your daily day and maybe luck will grant you a wish"

"I ROLLL UP IN A NEW BUGATTI"

"woo her with your cute beanies and sweaters!"

"imagine walking around with flowers, she likes black dahlias right?"

"this some gay shit right here"

Enid turned a little red at the support of her making a move towards the author, her cheeks blooming as she pushed up her glasses. "Now guys, it'd be weird if I just came up and besides!" she picked at her nails, a pretty colour of black turning to white, the sparkles of beads shining in the light. "She's here for vacation so let's not be bothersome."

"Tru Tru but who's stopping admiring!?!"

"pull some main character moment and bump into her at the grocery store"

"she's very pretty"

"one day streamer, one day"

The blond sighs, her hands cradling her chin as she pouts. "if only I could see her! Hopefully she's fine with a little hug or maybe a hand shake-" her hands flew about, a cheap attempt to explain. "For someone who only dresses in shades of black and white, she makes it work so well.." a dreamy sigh escapes Enid as she sinks into her arm.

"why's the stream tagged for RE when she's just simpin?"

"games extracting give her a sec"

"bc it's funneh"

"god I can't wait to see how she reacts to the daughters"

"streamer got a type and we will exploit it"

It's the ding of her pc that reminds her that she has a game to play and with a rather dramatic sigh, she straightened up in her seat to stare down at the newly extracted game.

Her brows furrowed as she grinned at the camera.

"Simping time over chat, let's get over my fear of flesh eating zombies over before dinner!" she cheered, clicking onto the new shortcut on her pc. The Pic of a half man and half wolf making her smile as she enters into Resident evil: Village

In an hour or two, the horrified stare of Endespair has people clipping as she watched Ethan get his hand cut and sipped on. The scene made her brows furrowed and her nose scrunched as a look of disgust came over her face.

"Oh God- that's disgusting," the horror in her tone is obvious but the blush splattering across her skin made others think that something was running through her head.

Enid ends the stream with a slump against her seat, a whole eight hours spent on the game as she finishes the Dimitrescu castle. It shouldn't have taken so long but she got distracted, lost and very confused so many times she considered quitting once or twice by the fifth hour.

Chat was as unhelpful as always but some donors took pity and helped her out. Luckily, after hours of mind numbing game play, she got through it.

As Ethan stumbles into the church and she saves, for some reason the sight of a typewriter brings a rather beautiful smile on her face as she leant on a hand. Chat chitters at the bared teeth, cheering and spamming.

“YOOOO ANOTHER CLIP FOR THE MONSTERFUCKERS”

“Those teef are BIG”

“With the headphones youd think she’s a normal”

“Lowkey forgot shes a werewolf until this, im so thankful for the reminder”

It makes Enid blink as she notices the rather fast speed chat. She rolls her eyes and gives a tight lipped smile this time, shoulders shaking at the influx of sad and pleading emojis.

So once the beating of her heart finally slowed, she couldn't help the sigh of relief as she sunk deeper into her comfy ass chair. But, such peace didn't last and her ears burned when she vividly remembered black gothic clothes on women.

When Enid managed to catch her breath and sit up, she pointed at the cam with way too bright cheeks.

"You guys know how I react to people in black!" she pulled her glasses off, rubbing at her eyes as she waved the frames around. "I should've known when you all clamoured for RE:8 instead of the fourth remake, yall are so luck-"

There's a ring of a phone and almost immediately, she perks up, nearly throwing her headphones off her hair as she stands to get her phone.

The stream ends suddenly after that.

–

Raven in love? Wednesday Addams seen with an unidentified man in San Francisco!

To think the ever so elusive Wednesday Addams would be out with a person today! We are just as shocked as you readers.

Our sources have seen the oldest Addams seemingly pressed next to this unidentified man in a park far from any noticeable place. Perhaps… Star crossed lovers? From the photos, the two would be friendly if this was any other person but to the Wednesday Addams, this is a completely different stance!

Read more in…

—

[wormdolls]

Nail-Biter

I found an old story in my Google Docs from last year that I actually enjoyed re-reading. I might rewrite it one day but as of right now I'm not doing anything with it, so I figured I might as well post it here. I hope y'all enjoy!

I used to bite my nails.

Usually when I say this, people start to reassure me that they do so as well, and that it’s not anything to be ashamed of. What they don’t realise is this: when I say I used to bite them, what I really mean is I used to chew them down into pink stubs, tearing right into the quick, and nibble at the skin around them too. Frankly it’s incredible I didn’t get an infection from that old habit, but my fingers were always red and sore, with a tendency to bleed. But I kept biting. Whenever I was nervous, or agitated, or even just a little absentminded, my teeth would find my fingers and bite them until I physically couldn’t anymore. Then I would feel stupid and insecure for having such a shameful habit.

I used to joke about it, too. Whenever my more fashionable friends commented on their own nail polish, I would feel the need to bring up those little warped gravestones on my fingertips, as if by drawing attention to them they would become less of a burning point of inadequacy for me. I’d go even further and say I took pride in that rather ruinous part of my personality.

One day things changed—or more accurately, I forced the change upon myself. I went out and bought myself a tiny little bottle of black nail polish. That set me on a vague path to recovery, forcing me to consider whether it was worth wasting nail polish just for that momentary relief. It wasn’t an overnight change by any means, and I definitely chewed off more coats than I care to admit (and accidentally consumed more polish than can possibly be good for someone) but it gave my poor hands a chance to heal and made my nails much easier to look at in the process.

Months went by and my nails were now at a decent length for the first time in my life. It may sound trivial to some, but I felt good flaunting my progress, and they looked even better. I had even graduated to various other colours. It feels ironic that on the morning that changed I was painting them black once again. I was just finishing my pinkie finger when my phone rang, almost scaring me into smudging them. I answered knowing full well it would be my mum—nobody else would call when a single text would suffice. Sure enough, I heard the sour notes of her voice greet me. She sounded upset, and since I was unclear on whether I was the cause, I decided to treat her as one treats a landmine.

“Hi, mum.” My voice rose a few notes and I winced, blowing absently on my nails to dry them. “Is something up?”

“I’m just wondering,” I flinched at the accusatory tone—so I was the cause after all, though I’d be lying if I said I knew what I’d actually done, “Why exactly have you been lying to me.”

“Lying about what?” I said, but my mouth was dry and my chest was starting to fill with fear. I began to raise my hand to my mouth.

“Lying about your boyfriend. Or do you not remember? Come clean, Alice, I know you’ve not really been seeing him.”

“No mum,” I mumbled through my fingers, “I told you I stopped.”

I heard her irritable sigh through the phone and felt my ribs tighten. Mum always had liked my boyfriend much better than I had, enough that when we broke up she refused to listen to my reasons and instead insisted we still see each other. I may have told her, aeons ago, that Maybe We’d Try It Out Again, but I certainly hadn’t told her I was seeing him nowadays. She continued to sink her talons of disappointment into my brain with her next words.

“I don’t know why you didn’t stay with him. He was the best you’re ever going to get.” These words made my sore eyes overflow, and I started to sniffle. I don’t remember the rest of that dismal conversation. In all honesty I was just trying to get off the phone as fast as I could, but what I do remember is that when I did put the phone down, I realised that my hand was now free of polish and that my fingertips looked red and wet with spit. I almost howled in outrage—it was just like that woman to take my one good accomplishment and turn it against me.

In the next few weeks, I tried everything to set myself back to rights, but it was all for nought. As my mother’s words played on repeat in my head, my mood sank lower and lower, and my nails seemed to get shorter and shorter. My fingertips started bleeding again. I stopped wanting to show them off.

It all culminated in one particular night. It was raining outside and instead of being out with friends, I was just staring at the wall of my bedroom and biting relentlessly on what remained of my fingers. I could feel the warmth of blood trickling down my hand as I tore into my flesh but I couldn’t stop. My face was numb. Everything was numb, all sensation centred on my hands, as I ripped into them like a starved animal. My breathing sounded weird. My eyes were tearing up. The sensations intensified and I started to pant, sweat dripping down my face. And then…I wrapped my hands around the first bottle of nail polish I could find, and stared at it hatefully. If I hadn’t started painting my nails, I wouldn’t have had the fragile illusion of recovery, and I wouldn’t be stuck in this rut now, feeling so weak and helpless and…and…

Crash.

I don’t allow myself to be around my nail polish anymore. I scrubbed for weeks, but the neon green is never coming out of that wallpaper. I don’t really care anymore though. My fingers are worse than ever and I’m pretty sure one of them is swelling up, but I don’t care about that either.

I just can’t stop biting my nails.

[mikeartblogyear3]

Week 12

The continuation of the work which I might call “How do I release you?” 

It’s being pieced together slowly, and is completely afraid of colour at the moment.... I never know what to do with such vibrant things, they seem to already be so formed and finding a way to access it and move it around is really challenging. 

The dots and lines are trying to play their own way, but I do like the areas that harmonies with the background the most. There’s a strange push and pull to creating a landscape that looks one way, but is also something else. I didn’t want anything to be settled and ready to change at any moment. 

Maybe that’s what I wanted to showcase... that state of change. Being someone that knows how to live in that space of things constantly moving. It’s definitely someone that I want to build towards 

∆∆∆∆∆∆∆∆∆∆∆∆∆∆∆∆∆∆∆

Research:  

I was given this recently from a friend and found it could be apt in some ways to somehow tie into my research. 

I’m finding it very similar to other various philosophical texts on witchcraft.  

This section in particular... the unifying and accepting of the inner and outer states is very much the nature of witchcraft - externalising and pairing external objects and recipes with emotions and finding some semblance of connection. 

I read The Bell Jar by Sylvia Plath last year and this reminds me of that novel, but with The Bell Jar I feel that I highlighted the inner entirely and was questing to find that external link but was never able to. 

Artist Research: 

∆∆∆∆∆∆∆∆∆∆∆∆∆∆∆∆∆∆∆��∆∆∆∆∆∆∆

Semester overview: 

I want to spend some time in this space just going over the work I did this semester and attempt to see it with a bit more clarity.... 

I started my falling into a minimal space with Fallen Aurora. I wanted to focus my attention on a simple landscape setting and attach as much of myself to that space. I kept the structure of building and the terrain as simple as possible, and instead focused my attention on the flow of gradient. Narratively I kept the scene relatively minimal as well, a depiction of a person watching an aurora fallen to earth. I enjoy creating scenes that asks questions rather than answers... I prefer to live in that state of exploration and want my work to hopefully elicit that reaction in the viewer. 

This minimal scene continued with “Will I die before I figure it out” ... another graphite scene that depicts a figure lost in a maze and has now accepted their surroundings as their new home. I wanted the structure again to be minimal and the figure to be almost a shadow. This piece was intended to be placed in the middle of a much much larger circle, but I ended up making an irreversible mistake in the spray painting room and destroyed it completely. It was to appear as a focal point, as if looking at it through a telescope, somewhat voyeuristically. 

My practice became excited with narrative/ creating a short story in a surrealist way and how I could go about doing that. It was a really confusing and experimental project and I still haven’t defined it to one thing. Initially I wanted to draw three pieces that linked in some way that I hadn’t decided on during the initial sketching. As I continued with it it kept speaking to me - are they sisters or is it the same character that’s changing. Behind the creature in the first image is a home, and I feel like it reflects my struggle to see myself outside of the family dynamic and then the journey of individual structuring, the sword in the head being a masculine battle energy - piercing the inner sanctum of the character. The last image is afloat and looking more serene, perhaps contemplative or now more content with having fought for personal understanding. the three spaces on the bottom reflect images found in the top three- the rock being found in the third picture up above, the string from the red, and the third in black I never found. A lot of this project is still a question in my head, but I found that keeping the initial space of containing the story in a triple sketch meant I could relax more to viewing how it wanted to grow. 

I didn’t know how to access the previous piece anymore. I felt like there were too many parts that didn’t know how to connect to one another and I could sense a slipping pattern in me, so I jumped out of it and creating something more illogical and automatic. This is definitely in line with my love for surrealism... I just wanted to focus on creating a space to play in. I quickly did a layer of spray paint, but then focused most of my time applying lines and dots to the scene. The minimalisation I’ve been building on felt a bit empowered here. I felt less pressure in constructive a visual when I only had to think of applying one dot and line at a time and not the image as a whole. I didn’t know what was being made and I went along with that unknown element. The pairing of positive action gave me a feeling of desire to expand... away from logic I could just enjoy. 

This piece showcases what I wish to delve deeper into with the continuation of my practice. Art is my way to finally be reactive, to not heavily judge a decision, to live without being plagued by heavy thoughts. I want to celebrate life and be in it and not spend all of my time contemplating it. 

Lastly I wanted to end the semester with the hope of illuminating my main desire for my practice. To develop a space where I can feel and be connected to. I can’t find that anywhere else, so I need to appreciate and respect it. I wanted to express the basic space of lines and dots again as they seem like the beginnings of a much more detailed piece. I wasn’t concerning myself with creating it to look in one way, but allowed the unformed to be much apart of the scene as the formed. A shifting landscape is what I desired to capture, one that is ever changing but vibrate and alive. 

Also, side note: experimenting in colour felt so uncomfortable and weirdly difficult to navigate, but it just meant that I had to fight harder to move out of that. 

Conclusion: 

I got stuck a lot this semester with my practice. I didn’t know how to attach and keep myself collected on it, and that has affected my ability to explore. Through it though I have developed an understanding that I prefer - questioning and analysing after the piece has revealed itself, as opposed to killing it with overthinking even before it has stepped out of my head. I want to strengthen this process more and feel confident that it’ll be enough for the viewer/audience. I still retain my graphite drawings as I need them whenever I’m feeling uncertain. I fall into their flow and allow myself rest in that space. Ultimately though I do want to just get better at making in an automatic way and build the ability to externalise more confidently. The minimalising has given me a small room to think about all of this. 

[semper-legens]

7. Black Spartacus: The Epic Life of Toussaint Louverture, by Sudhir Hazareesingh

Owned: No, library Page count: 370 My summary: A biography of Toussaint Louverture, one of the central figures of the Haitian revolution in the late 1700s. My rating: 4/5 My commentary:

Time for something completely different - a hefty nonfiction book about Toussaint Louverture, key figure in the Haitian revolution and hero in Haiti to this day. Though I knew the bare bones of the Haitian revolution, I didn't know all that much about the specifics, hence why this book was immediately so interesting to me when I saw it on the shelves. Toussaint Louverture seems like such an interesting person. The Haitian revolution was one of the few successful revolutions of enslaved peoples in the Caribbean (though not for lack of trying) and Toussaint Louverture is widely credited with its success. This book is more about him than about the revolution as a whole, but I still found it to be really interesting.

A couple of nitpicks first, though. Obviously Louverture spoke and wrote in French and Kreyol primarily, so any key quotes of his are translated into English in this English text. Except only some of them are. Others are left in French or Kreyol, and the translation is contained in a footnote at the back of the book, which is annoying when the text just carries on assuming you know what the quote means, forcing you to flip through a couple hundred pages to find the answer. Another thing is that, for at least half of the book, the author doesn't expound on any of Louverture's flaws. Now, like I say, I know not much about the subject matter, but inherently I tend to distrust any biographical work that is giving a wholly negative or wholly positive account of any person without any of the other view to balance it out. Later in the book a more balanced view of Louverture is given, but at first it was hard not to distrust this book's view just because literally everything Louverture was described as doing was an amazing work of genius. Guy probably had some off-days! Like I said, I can't exactly give the most nuanced criticism of this particular aspect, but it is often a red flag in biographical nonfiction for me.

All that said, this was still an engaging read. Louverture's life is legitimately fascinating, and reading about the struggles he went through before, during, and after the Haitian revolution was interesting. I knew that conditions on Haiti were absolutely abhorrent, but seeing the abuse that black people faced even from abolitionists post-revolution was certainly an eye-opener, as well as the harshly drawn lines between white people, black people, and people of colour. (This using the old definition of mixed race people, rather than the more modern usage of the phrase.) Louverture seems to have been a voice for peace in these times, offering amnesty to some white people while not trusting those who had proven themselves untrustworthy, and attempting to see the path against slaughter and towards justice. Admirable enough, especially for a man in his position who had faced all of the trials he had come up against. This was an interesting, if long read, and I'm glad I finally got around to it!

Next up, Death Cast is calling…

[chiruba]

JJK BOYS' BEING SCARED TO CONFESS !

an. thank u for 100 + followers!! <3 holy fuck inumaki’s was hard to write bc of the letter LOL also heres to hopin my tags actu work for this post

ft. gojo, inumaki x gn!reader

wc. 1.2k

genre. fluff, angst if u squint in gojo's

► MASTERLIST ► TAGLIST ►

GOJO SATORU ►

— OK so usually i wouldn't imagine him as being scared to confess

— but,

— if he really likes you, i think his hidden insecurities will start comin out

— yes, gojo is the strongest sorcerer

— but even the strongest sorcerer can't save everyone

— he knows you'll be targeted if you're openly with him

— so gojo represses his feelings as best as he can

— which for some reason involves him -

— flirting with you one day

— and then completely ignoring your existence the next

— eventually you just get tired of it

"satoru!" you yell, surprising yourself from the sheer volume of your voice. it's clear he knew you were coming, but you still see the way his shoulders tense when you call his name. gojo at least has the decency to stop, and you're unsure if it's because he doesn't want to risk making you angrier, or if this is one of the days' he'll actually talk to you. you huff in anger before gripping his wrist to spin him around, and you can tell he's avoiding your eyes despite the black blindfold around his eyes.

"well?" you ask, tone cold and straightforward. gojo decides to take a glance at you, and sees you standing there with crossed arms, looking at him like a disappointed parent. "are you going to stop giving me the cold shoulder and tell me what's going on? i'm not in the mood to play some childish game, gojo." the use of his family name coming from you makes his heart ache, and he panics at the thought of you being genuinely angry and upset at him rather than mildly annoyed.

"i'm not playing some game," he says, and you feel yourself straighten up at the seriousness in his voice. your eyebrows furrow together in concern as you try to think of your last few interactions with gojo. he hadn't been acting this way with anyone else but you (you know because you'd asked nanami, and nanami knew all), and if this wasn't some game he was playing, had you done something to make him upset? the thought makes you feel guilty, remembering how you'd scolded him like a child just moments earlier. was it the joke about his forehead? surely he'd know you hadn't meant it, no matter how true it was-

"i love you-"

"your forehead isn't that small-"

...what?

you blinked at him once, then twice, then thrice, and then a fourth just to make sure you really weren't dreaming right now. your best friend of years, with his cocky attitude, cute dumb jokes and flirty remarks that made your face heat and heart race was in love with you? gojo lifted his blindfold suddenly, cocking an eyebrow up at you.

"hey! what about my forehead?-"

"i like you, too." you breathed out, voice shaky with either excitement or nervousness, you couldn't choose. gojo stared at you with those ocean coloured eyes of his, and then broke out into a grin.

"hmm?" you braced yourself, already knowing gojo's incessable adorable teasing was coming, "i don't exactly think i said like, did i?"

INUMAKI TOGE ►

— i def see inumaki being more scared to confess

— 1. because he can't think of a proper way to tell you his feelings

— a text just doesn't feel personal enough or embed his true feelings

— which leaves inumaki in a dilemma

— obviously, panda is quick to catch onto inumaki's feelings

— when he learns about inumaki's dilemma, he just bursts out laughing

— panda offers him the very simple solution - write a damn letter

— inumaki was so caught up in his feelings he literally just did not Think of it.

— spends hours writing the letter and tearing up it several times while also rehearsing how and where he would give it to you

— until the moment actually came, and all inumaki could do was shove the letter into your hands, yell tuna mayo, and run away.

— … yeah

your early sunday mornings had started consisting of heading down to the field every tokyo jujutsu school student used as early as your first week as a first-year, causing you to quickly develop a routine - get changed into your gym clothes, head down to the field earlier on to relax before maki kicked your ass, and then rush back to the dorms for a shower. except this time, you were pleasantly surprised to see that halfway through your routine, you were met with the familiar cute face of a fellow student, cursed speech user inumaki toge.

"inumaki?" you say, giving him a smile before slowing down your own steps to allow him time to catch up, watching as he sped to you. "you're up early for once," you teased, knowing how grumpy he can get without his allocated sleeping time. once inumaki catches up to you, you continue walking on, fully expecting inumaki to just continue alongside you. only for him to catch you off guard completely, gently spinning you around to face him once more.

seeing inumaki up close, you quickly take notice of the flush of red on his cheeks, popping out from under his collar, along with the sudden dark eye circles. inumaki's breathing is muffled, but loud enough for you to hear he's panting, the rapid rising and falling of his chest confirming it. you furrow your eyebrows in concern, also noting the way inumaki had practically sprinted to you moments before for no reason, along with the absence of his usual cheery - "kelp!"- greeting.

"inumaki?" you say once more, your tone both obviously worried and confused, "are you feeling okay?-" you have to practically plant your feet into the ground to stop from stumbling back when inumaki shoves something into your hand suddenly, only realising its a slip of paper when you feel it crinkle in your palm after an experimental squeeze. you look back at inumaki for even just a hint of an explanation, and instead all you get is -

"tuna mayo!" he yells, and then takes off running. you're left in a daze as you watch inumaki's figure become more and more distant, and only when you can no longer see him do you remember the paper currently crinkled up in your hands. the first thing you notice are the little onigiris drawn on the top of the paper, an inumaki staple as you'd like to call it. this time, the onigiris have blush streaks on their 'cheeks' as they hold hands, a single heart bouncing off their heads.

to you,

toge here! obviously i know it's not february anymore, as you (probably? lolol dumbas) know, but panda i'm tired of letting my chances slip past me.

there are so many things i want to say to you every day, but now that i'm here i don't even know where to start, so i'm just going to say it properly. i like you like a shitton. i wish i could say this to you properly, if i had the confidence if i could, i would scream my love for you to the world. i may not be your first date, kiss or love, but i want to be your last, just as i hope you'll be mine.

there are thousands of other things i want to say to you, but i'll save it until i get your reply. please don't feel pressured to accept me, no matter what, you'll always have a special place in my heart, my first love.

from hopefully yours,

toge inumaki. 🍙

ill give u a kiss goodnight if u reblog <3 

©  2021 sinrinyoku — please do not repost, translate, modify or plagiarize my work! i will beat the shit out of u (maybe)

[nxrthmizu]

kill em’ with kindness

fandom | miraculous ladybug 

genre | lila salt, so much salt 

summary | marinette takes the high road to a better life. 

w.c | 8.1k 

author’s note | had this idea for a few days after i wrote victory tastes bitter, which really blew up on ao3 (thanks for all the support <3). always wondered what it would be like if marinette just. played nice. so here she is, being an absolute badass. 

author’s note.2 | okay so since i did not write this in one sitting, i get that the story probably doesn’t flow as properly as it should. will edit if i ever find the will to do it. 

Marinette was done. They wanted her to be a model student? Fine. They wanted her to stop being mean? Fine. They wanted her to be friends with Lila? Fine.

Luckily for Hawkmoth, no akuma plagued the sky of the previous night, or she would rain hell on him. There was no more tolerance left inside her to spare, and she certainly wouldn’t go out of her way to make some for the manipulative pest problem Paris has had for way too long.

She looked up into the mirror, having exchanged her pigtails for a low ponytail, strands curled to frame her face. Bluebell eyes glistened with a fire that burned brighter than hope— Hope that her ‘friends’ would see sense. Hope that Adrien would be there for her. Hope that the good guy would always get the happy ending. No more being patient, no more being passive, no more putting up with things she didn’t have to.

If Lila Rossi wanted a battle, then fine, a battle she would get. Marinette was lowering her white flag, replacing it with a battle emblem that scorched red, redder than blood and redder than the anger her friends would feel when she was finished. No more peace negotiations. Rossi wanted a fight, Rossi wanted a challenge. Who was Marinette to deny her from what she wanted?

They didn’t know what was coming for them.

The power of makeup was truly one that reigned apex among the world. A few touches of her makeup brush was all it took to erase her dark eyes from existence, give her skin a more radiant glow (She promised that she’d take time to give it a natural glow after she was done being nice), and ease a cherry-pink blush onto her cheeks, making her freckles stand out more in contrast. Marinette Dupain-Cheng meant business, and when she meant business—

“Good morning, Marinette! You look great today!” The head of the student council, a sensible, down-to-Earth blonde by the name of Noelle smiled, speeding up slightly to catch the bluenette on the steps of Francois Dupont. “Love the new look.”

Ah yes. The new look— A royal blue blazer, detailed with golden embroidery of cherry blossoms bursting at the sleeves and the collar, accompanied by a classy-looking silk blouse tapered with a soft, black felt. The pleated black skirt (Made from heavy cloth so that it wouldn’t flap about in the wind) was lined with a beautiful scarlet at all the edges to complete the look. Knee-high black socks trailed all the way into the slight heels that Marinette had added flower adornments on, just so she could tap a little of her own touch on it.

“Thank you,” Responded the bluenette with a smile.

“Woah! Someone looks like they got a good night of rest.” Madeline, the president of the Art Club teased, flocking to the other side of the girl. “That mascara looks sharp enough to kill, girl!”

Sharp enough to kill?

Oh, that wouldn’t be necessary, Marinette mused to herself, sending out thanks to those who had complimented her on her way to class. Nothing sharp was going to be required for the liar’s downfall— No, no. That would just be too messy, and she wouldn’t even think of staining her new outfit. Of course, the ensemble was crafted from her own hands, as stated by the classic MDC that graced the inside of her blazer, the collar of her blouse, and one of the pleats of her skirt. Besides… Lila wasn’t worth getting her hands dirty.

She was going to do things the right way.

The kind way.

“Good morning, everyone.” She greeted, walking into the classroom, garnering their attention with her punctuality. Every set of eyes in the room were attracted to her, like iron fillings to magnets. Some of the gazes were malicious, hateful; Some were doubtful, wary; One was pleading, as if spelling out ‘Please keep taking the high road!’— And then there was Chloe, who was entirely uninterested.

Good, Lila was already present.

“I’d just like to take a minute of your time. Won’t be too long, I promise.” She took a deep breath, ignoring the imploring gaze that dug at her side, courtesy of a blonde that sat in the front row (And no, it wasn’t Chloe she was referring to). “I’d just like to say…”

The class watched with bated breath.

“I’m sorry.”

Alya blinked. So did everyone else in the room. Stunned faces greeted Marinette’s apologetic one, including Lila’s— She didn’t even have to fake her reaction. What on Earth was Marinette trying to pull off? What kind of stunt was this?

“I realise that I’ve not really been the best version of me lately,” She admitted sorrowfully. I haven’t been the best version of me because I was being boycotted and isolated, “It wasn’t fair to put you all through this,” It wasn’t fair that you idiots had to lose all your reputations because of the words of one liar, “And people got hurt as a consequence,” Me. I was the one who got hurt. “I realise that things haven’t been all smooth-sailing in our class lately, so I’d like to apologise to everyone.” I’d like to apologise for not being able to save you from a liar who only sees her own personal gain.

A practiced breath escaped Marinette’s throat as she waited for her cue— The school bell— And set her bag on the teacher’s desk. Good, everything was unfolding right on time. Not quite far away, there was a distinct clack-clack-clack of someone’s heels— An auburn teacher, perhaps? Marinette reached into her backpack and drew out a package she had meticulously wrapped in brown paper and tied in golden ribbon. Sitting passively on top of the package was a small note, decorated in hand-drawn flowers and a hummingbird in the corner.

“Here,” Marinette strode up the steps of the class, stopping right in front of her former seat— Now Lila’s— Internally taking pleasure in the first time she’d seen the Italian’s true expression. “For you, as a token of my apology. I understand if you don’t want to forgive me,” Marinette swallowed painfully, biting her lip, as if she was trying not to cry, “But I just want to make things right.”

Lila blinked.

What the hell was happening?

The silence was broken by a quiet sob, one that did not originate from Marinette. Instead, Mlle. Caline Bustier stood in the doorway of the class, clutching her books and notes for the day’s lesson, wiping away a tear that dropped from her eye. “Oh, Marinette,” The teacher sobbed, “I’m so proud of you.”

“That’s so sweet of you, Marinette.” Rose sniffed, wiping away a few tears of her own that had started dripping during the bluenette’s speech. Juleka patted her girlfriend’s back, trying to calm the emotional blonde before she cried out a tsunami on top of her textbooks, giving Marinette a thumbs up to show her approval.

Alya beamed, seemingly proud of her former best friend, who had (In her opinion) finally started to see sense. “I’m so proud of you, girl!”

(Adrien was too shocked to form any words.)

“Could you… Open it?” Marinette asked hopefully, ignoring the teacher for the favour of the liar who ruined her life. “I… Just want to know if you like it.”

The Italian could do nothing more than grit her teeth when Alya urged her to open it. What kind of trick was Mari-Brat up to? Never mind— She’d just spin it into something stupid and the class would take to it like starved animals. With no other choice, she tore apart the brown paper, discarding the golden ribbon on her desk. The class gasped, oohs and aahs echoing all around as the package unfolded to reveal a pretty, beige-coloured cardigan, hand-stitched with murals of foxes, jumping livelily among berry bushes.

Stitched into the inside of the cardigan in pastel blue were the words ‘Lila Rossi’, done in an exquisite cursive that could no doubt only come from Marinette’s hand.

“I made it for you myself,” Marinette sniffed humbly. “I know you’re a really great model and you’ve probably seen clothes that are much better than this one, but I poured all my feelings into it. I spent every night of last week working on it, and—” She hiccuped rather loudly, instantly covering her mouth with her hand in embarrassment. “I just hope you like it.”

“I…” Lila was at a loss for words. She had an itinerary full of the lies and stories she would spin that day (“Marinette texted me mean things last night,” she would weep tearfully to Alya, sniffing and wiping away tears on Alya’s shirt sleeve, “I just want to be friends but she just keeps… Attacking me!”) but no matter. A smirk danced along the Italian’s lips. “Did you design this yourself?” 

Judging by the smirk that Marinette could practically hear in the other girl’s tone, the liar already had a trick up her sleeve. If Marinette had to guess... 

Something along the lines of she stole this design from [random designer], who just coincidentally had the time to be Lila’s friend. Or maybe the friend of Lila’s grandmother. Whichever didn’t matter much, because Marinette was prepared. 

Marinette crossed the room in mere seconds, returning back to Lila’s seat with a sketchbook that she’d pulled from her bag. “Here!” She chirped, flipping open the page with an exercised movement, not even having to shuffle through the pages to find the correct sketch. “I brought the original sketch, just in case you wanted to see it so you could get a professional to redo it for you.” 

Lila opened and closed her mouth like a gaping fish out of water. Beside her, Alya’s eyes sparkled, envy still glowing in her eyes at the sight of the intricate foxes, coloured in hazel, gold, and orange threads. 

“Thank you, Marinette.” Lila gritted through her teeth, basically seething at the thought of having to thank the girl in front of her, who was smiling like an innocent sunshine child. 

The bluenette then turned her attention to her homeroom teacher. “Sorry for interrupting and taking up class time, Mlle. Bustier.” 

“It’s not a problem, Marinette,” Mlle. Bustier wiped at her eyes, slightly embarrassed now that the whole class was watching her cry at the sight of her ‘model student’ correcting her wrongs. “E— Excuse me.” She mumbled, clearing her throat. “Let’s pick off from where we stopped yesterday. Open your textbooks to page 63, please.” 

──────── ⋆⋅❉⋅⋆ ────────

The rest of the day went along smoothly. Marinette sat at the back of class, as usual, sighing in boredom as class was derailed off course, whisked off by another one of Lila’s tall tales. Honestly, they were already weeks off schedule— How the hell were they expected to sit for the final exam, at this rate? 

She huffed quietly to herself, watching Bustier trying (and failing) to act like she wasn’t interested in Lila’s story. The woman— An actual adult— Fell for Lila’s usual tricks like a fool, taking in every single word in drunken thirst. Did Mlle. Bustier really have nothing better to do than get absorbed in a teenage girl’s wild fantasies (in a way it was like that). At that thought, Marinette sat up straighter in her chair, an idea going off like a lightbulb above her brain. 

Was it...? 

After further thought, Marinette settled back into her chair, humming thoughtfully as she drummed her fingers against her table quietly. Yes... Yes, perhaps. 

Perhaps it was possible. 

The rest of the lesson passed in wasted time as the class took a major detour to go on a warped journey through Lila’s lies, and before Bustier knew it, the lunch bell had rung. Students chattered animatedly as everyone got up, Mlle. Bustier’s announcement of ‘please go home and study this chapter by yourselves, everyone’ was pathetically drowned out by the rest of the noise. 

Marinette collected her things quickly, needing her exit from the classroom to go off without a hitch, exactly the way she planned it. “I’ve got to go back to my parents’ bakery for lunch,” She said shyly, shrinking into herself as her classmates turned to look at her. “I... Was thinking of bringing some macarons back later. Before I go, though... Lila, is there anything you’re allergic to?” 

“What?” The girl being asked snapped back as a reply, the words leaving her mouth too fast for her to register. Before she knew it, the whole class was staring at her, mouths agape. “I... I mean.” Clearing her throat, the liar plastered on a sweet smile. “What was it, Marinette?” 

“I wanted to bring some macarons back for everyone.” Shyly, the bluenette repeated her plans. “And... Since I’ve been in class with everyone else here for a while, I know their allergies, but not yours. Is there anything you’re allergic to that could be in baked goods?” 

The Italian cursed under her breath— Mari-Brat really wasn’t letting up. The bluenette had made sure to cover any ground that the Italian could use and turn back against her. “As far as I’m concerned, I’m not allergic to anything.” 

Brightening visibly, Marinette nodded, shooting the Italian a smile. “I know things between us aren’t going to get better immediately, but I promise to do my best in fixing things! See you guys after lunch.” 

──────── ⋆⋅❉⋅⋆ ────────

Lila was getting really, really fed up. For the whole morning, she wasn’t able to come up with any reason to blame Marinette. If things kept going at the rate that they were, the class would be fully convinced that the bluenette was a changed woman, and that couldn’t happen. There was, in the end, a downside to having such a gullible bunch of classmates— Sure, they swayed easily to her side, but that meant that they swayed back to Marinette’s just as easily. 

Hissing under her breath, Lila looked up to catch Alya and Nino’s concerned looks. 

No. 

She was Lila Rossi. She was resourceful. She had Gabriel Agreste behind her back. She was powerful. She was not going to let Mari-Brat halt her plans in their tracks ever again. 

“I’m going to go use the bathroom real quick,” She said, excusing herself from the lunch table. Perfect! Now all she had to do was come back in tears, saying that Marinette confronted and mocked her in the bathroom, and the class would be all hers, once again. 

Little did she know that Dupain-Cheng was one teensy step ahead. 

As soon as Lila rounded the corner of the cafeteria, Marinette appeared, having just had a lovely chat with Rose (And Juleka, although it was Rose who did most of the talking). The two were at the front steps of Francois Dupont, having a lovely couple moment that Marinette hated to interrupt— But she needed to have at least a word with them. 

“Rose, Juleka!” Marinette greeted, box of macarons held carefully in her arms, as if it were a box of important jewelry instead of just a box of pastries. “Oh— Rose, is that a new watch? I’ve never seen you wear it before!” 

“Yep, it is!” Rose beamed, delighted that someone (Besides Juleka) had finally noticed it. “Isn’t it pretty?” Indeed it was. The watch in question was a pretty, intricate-looking thing done in rose-gold metal, with a pastel pink leather strap holding it down. The background of the watch face was a white background with a thin film of rose-gold metal, cut to resemble a wall of precious rose vines. 

“It is!” Agreeing wholeheartedly, Marinette offered her classmate a smile. “Oh by the way, what time is it?” 

Rose peered at the watchface, returning the answer with an equally-bright smile. “11.47.” 

“Thank you.” Marinette thanked, continuing her way through the school until she reached the cafeteria. Just before she fell into line of sight, though, she hid behind a wall, peering over the corner until she spotted the table she was looking for. 

Perfect— Lila just walked away. Marinette thanked the gods for all the luck that she was having— Okay, maybe she thanked one god in particular more than the others. Gently, she patted the secret pocket that was sewn into the lining of her blazer— Tikki, who had magic powers, managed to create a miniature ‘room’ inside the secret pocket, with the pocket itself acting as a portal of sorts to the room. After a few seconds, she felt the pocket tap back, managing a small smile of gratitude for her kwami’s constant love and support. 

“Hey, Alya, Nino.” Marinette greeted shyly, box of macarons propped up against her hip. “Where’s... Lila?” She hesitated slightly with her question, acting as if it was a little out-of-place to ask about the Italian girl. 

“She went to the bathroom.” Nino provided, mouth still full of unchewed food. This gifted him with a smack from his girlfriend (“Don’t talk with your mouth full!” she scolded,). 

“Oh, I see.” I definitely see. I know what she’s going to try and pull later— I have to time this properly. Timing is everything. 

Marinette continued to make small talk with the two, whom she had not talked to for a very long time. Much to her surprise, they were very warm and accepting, quite unlike the people who slung slurs and accused her baselessly a few days ago. One morning made all the difference to people who believed anything, she supposed. 

All of a sudden, something in her chest buzzed, as if it were a fire alarm, vibrating in warning— She had to go. “It was nice talking to you guys again.” She admitted, having briefly dipped into a pool of what their friendship used to be like. “But I have to go. I promised Kagami I’d meet her for a few minutes before lunch ended.”

Alya’s eyebrows jumped up comically in surprise. “I didn’t know you still talked to her. I thought you two were… Love rivals.”

“So what if we were love rivals?” Marinette shrugged with a simple smile. “Adrien is… As much as it’s odd to admit, he’s just a boy. Neither of us let him get in between us. He’s just a boy, and it’d be stupid for us to not get along just because we like the same boy. It doesn’t bother Kagami that we used to like the same boy, so why should I let it bother me? Besides,” Marinette tilted her head slightly. “It’d be stupid to give up a great friendship just because of a boy.”

With her last words still hanging in the air, Marinette turned tail and left, walking faster than usual. She had little time left— As she neared the wall that would shield her from the view of the cafeteria, she sped up her footsteps, practically half-sprinting just so she could get out of sight before Lila Rossi returned, looking like someone just killed a puppy in front of her very eyes.

“Oh my god, what’s wrong?” Alya jumped to her feet instantly, reaching out to comfort her best friend, who was moments away from having tears stream down her cheeks.

“I… I thought she’d changed.” Lila sniffled, biting her lip to appear as if she was desperately trying not to cry.

Alya frowned. “Who?”

“Marinette.” Lila stated as if it were obvious, faltering for a moment— Why had Alya bothered to ask? Shouldn’t it come pretty obvious? The liar dismissed the thoughts and continued in her performance. “She threatened me in the bathroom. She… She confronted me and mocked me, saying… Saying that all of you… All of you are idiots for believing that she’s changed. She… She said everything was an act to turn you all against me.”

Nino’s jaw dropped so far that it touched the floor. “Uh… Dudette, are you sure it was Marinette?”

“Yes!” Lila spun to look at him so fast that it was a wonder she didn’t break her neck. “Are… Are you doubting me? Oh my god, it’s working. She’s turning you guys against me. I just want to have friends, I don’t get why she hates me so—”

“You’re… Absolutely sure it was Marinette? You saw her face?” Alya repeated her boyfriend’s words, emphasising each and everyone of them as she looked Lila in the eyes.

“Alya, not you too.” Lila sniffled, tears basically dropping out of her eyes like big, fat droplets of salt water. “It was her— I saw her blazer, it had MDC stitched onto it.”

An uncomfortable silence settled in between the girl and her boyfriend, neither quite knowing what to say. “Oh. I… I see.” Alya said at last, turning back to her food. “Well… Lunch is almost over. Let’s… Let’s get back to class.”

“Marinette just threatened me in the bathroom!” Lila puffed up, clearly upset now. “She mocked me! She called you guys stupid for believing her act!”

“Dudette.” Nino shattered the ice-cold silence at their lunch table, swallowing heavily. “Marinette was with us the whole time you were in the bathroom.”

──────── ⋆⋅❉⋅⋆ ────────

The tension inside the room was so thick that Adrien could cut it with his bare hands. God, what had happened? The day had started off so well— Marinette agreed to be friends with Lila, god bless the girl— But as it turned out, one hurdle folded over only to be towered over by a taller one. 

“Alya—” Lila began tearfully, her pitiful look attracting the sympathy of those who still didn’t know what was going on. 

“You claimed that Marinette threatened you in the bathroom.” Alya interrupted. “While she was with us the whole time in the cafeteria.” 

Faltering, the Italian struggled to find a way to squeeze herself out of the tight spot. “M— Maybe it was someone else.” Reluctantly, she backed out one trap into another one. 

“You said that you were sure! You said that she was wearing a blazer with MDC stitched on it. Marinette was wearing that blazer during lunch!” The reporter shot back, Nino at her side, trying to extinguish the conflicted fire blazing inside Alya’s heart. 

The seeds of doubt had been sewn, and Lila was going to have a tough time weeding them out. “I... I’m sorry!” She burst out into tears, sobbing pitifully in front of the class, most of which were already in attendance. “My lying disease is acting up again. I... I can’t help it. I didn’t mean to hurt anyone!” 

“Uh... Is this a bad time to ask if anyone wants macarons?” Marinette cleared her throat awkwardly, standing at the front of the room. Her royal blue blazer had been shed, and it now hung over her arm, properly folded into half. Earlier, she had asked Rose for the time to make sure that she had a witness in case Lila tried to pull another act— But as it seemed, the Italian was determined to dig her own grave and all the work had been done. 

The students of Mlle. Bustier’s class shared looks. 

“I’ll... I’ll have one.” Mylene cleared her throat, hoping that it would diffuse the situation. 

“Me too.” Kim followed, not missing the way Marinette flinched slightly at his words. Most of the words he had said to her of late had not been nice at all— But he justified that with the fact that she was being a bully to Lila, like Chloe had been to Marinette herself. 

“Great!” Marinette cleared her throat awkwardly, slapping on a strained smile. She passed the box to the front row, where Sabrina and Chloe were, gesturing for them to pass the box along until everyone got their fill. 

Internally, Lila seethed, anger burning like a wildfire that tore down every lush sign of life in her path. The girl had never felt that livid in her entire life— Who did Dupain-Cheng think she was, having a change of heart out of nowhere, pretending to play along with those oh-so-innocent eyes of hers? 

“I... I think I know why my disease acted up again,” Lila sniffled, loud enough to gather attention again. Unsure glances passed around like an object that no one wanted, carried from hand to hand forcefully as no one wanted to hold onto it for too long. “It... It must’ve been because of... Of the cardigan that Marinette made me! You must’ve known that...” The Italian squinted at the cardigan on her desk, “... Cotton triggers my lying disease!” 

The bluenette, still passing around macarons, stopped in her tracks. Inside her mind, Marinette was shaking her head, an amused smile on her cheeks. She had to give Lila credit for that one— She would’ve never anticipated that lie from her nemesis. “That’s terrible!” She sucked in a breath, putting on a dismayed look. “I’m really sorry, Lila! I know it seems like I did this on purpose, but I promise I didn’t! To make it up to you, I’ll make you another one.” 

Is she serious right now? Lila scoffed mentally. How long does she plan to keep this going? No matter— She’ll eventually drain herself out and I won’t even have to meddle in this matter. 

Marinette sniffled, collecting the cardigan pitifully from Lila’s desk. “But to prevent future incidents, Lila, I just want you to know that this isn’t made of cotton... It’s made from the highest-quality of star silk, which is incredibly difficult to produce and is rather expensive. It’s such a pity... I thought that only the best of materials would be deserving to be used to make an apology present... I guess you can’t wear it. I’ll just make another copy of the cardigan with some normal-range silk.” Sighing, the bluenette pretended to mull in sadness for a few seconds before an idea struck her. “Alya! You aren’t allergic to star silk, right?” 

The flow of conversation redirected suddenly, with the reporter snapping to attention and nodding eagerly as she realised what was about to happen. 

“Then... Since I’ve spent so long on this, I don’t want it to go to waste... Why don’t you have it, instead?” Offered Marinette with a sweet, shy smile on her face. 

Lila, still caught up in shock by the reveal of the material— Was then slammed with a wall of flaming anger as Alya squealed, coddling the soft, fluffy material that made the cardigan the exquisite product it was. 

“Marinette’s right,” Adrien chipped in with his own two cents, “Father can rarely get his hands on that material— It costs a fortune, and if hand-made... It takes forever.” 

“Oh, I wove the silk by myself,” Marinette added shyly after Adrien’s contribution, “So I apologise if it’s not up to the quality of industry-level star silk.” 

The reporter gushed, still cooing and running her hands over the gorgeous threads of fabric that made up the cloud-like base of the cardigan, eyes sparkling and the details of the embroidery. 

Marinette smiled, returning to her seat without a fuss. The rest of the class continued to pass the pastries around, the perfect description of ‘ignorance is bliss’ as they pretended as if they couldn’t see the way Lila was shaking in anger. Alya, on the other hand, could see nothing but the garment in her hands, her ‘best friend’ having become invisible for the time being. 

Just as well that it turned out this way, Marinette hummed, twirling her pen in hand, Let that be my departing gift to Rena Rouge. 

──────── ⋆⋅❉⋅⋆ ────────

Tomorrow arrived like clockwork, never late and always on time. The crowd of students clamouring by the front of Francois Dupont hushed to silence as they parted for two dark-haired women, both of which were giving off waves of confidence. Simple conversation flowed between the two, who were perfect examples of elegance and grace, their traditional-inspired attire complementing the royal-like aura they had. 

“This dress is really lovely, Marinette,” Kagami smiled gently, admiring the way the fabric flowed around her. The designer had gifted her friend with a maroon-coloured hanfu-inspired dress, complete with hand-sewn embroidery of a golden dragon curled around Kagami’s waist and neck. The dress was completed with a pleated skirt that went all the way to the heels. At first, the fencer was reluctant about the skirt due to the limited maneuverability, but then Marinette revealed that the skirt was very simple to take off as it was just tied around the waist. 

“You look gorgeous in it. It suits you.” Marinette replied, dressed in a similar looking dress. Her hanfu-inspired dress was light pink in colour, with silver threads depicting cranes flying about freely. The pleated skirt was grey in colour, lined with a soft circle of white. 

Kagami blushed slightly. “Thank you.” Briefly, the Japanese girl wondered why on Earth Marinette would go and embroider a dragon onto her dress— Was it purely a coincidence, or...? 

“I’m really glad you decided to transfer here,” Marinette smiled softly, her dark blue bangs framing her face as the rest of it was gathered into a braid that Kagami had helped weave. “It’s going to be nice! I’ll get to see you a lot more often.” 

“We’re in different classes, though.” Frowning, Kagami wondered if she should request a change of homeroom. 

“For now.” The designer winked playfully. “Oh, I have to get to class. See you during lunch?” 

Without waiting for a reply, the blue-eyed girl moved away gracefully, leaving Kagami in confusion. 

──────── ⋆⋅❉⋅⋆ ────────

“Good morning,” Marinette greeted gracefully, sweeping into the classroom with her bag over her shoulder and a package in her hands. This package was clearly not as exquisitely-wrapped as the one from the day before, as it was just brown paper and some rough string. 

Alya brightened at the sight of her friend, shrinking away slightly whenever Lila tried to say anything. Sure, the reporter did shake off the initial reaction and respond to whatever her ‘best friend’ said, but the damage had been done. 

“Here’s your new cardigan. It’s made from the same material as your shirt,” Marinette smiled warmly, placing the package on Lila’s table. “It’s a little different from the one I brought yesterday, but I still poured in all my emotions when I made it, so I hope you’ll accept it.” 

Through a gritted smile, the Italian thanked the designer, clenching her fists under the table. That was the second time in two days she had to thank Mari-brat! She swore that if she had to do it again a third time, she was going to slap someone. 

“Oh, Marinette!” Alya called out excitedly, wearing the cardigan that was originally supposed to be Lila’s. “This cardigan is so soft! It’s really amazing to wear! As expected of you, girl!” 

The bluenette stared back at the reporter, wavering for a bit. She had a feeling that Alya wanted something from her... 

“So... I was wondering...” The reporter’s expression turned sheepish, with Marinette’s internal thought-train going ah, there it comes— “Could you remove this and put my name instead?” Alya picked up the corner of the cardigan, pointing to the inside of the garment, where ‘Lila Rossi’ was embroidered on. 

“Ah...” Marinette didn’t even have to fake her nervousness. We already agreed on this, She told herself, No more doing free stuff for people. No more. “Sorry, Alya. My parents need a lot of help in the bakery recently,.. You know how it is! Family always comes first. I’ve already taken out a lot of time to make the cardigan for Lila... And I promised Kagami I’d go out with her this weekend. I’m afraid I don’t have time...” 

There was no missing the way Alya’s face fell instantly. “Couldn’t you put off Kagami for me? Aren’t we best friends?” 

“I thought Lila was your best friend,” Feigning an expression of innocence, Marinette tilted her head slightly. “You shouldn’t go around saying things like that, Alya. You might hurt Lila’s feelings. Besides, a promise is a promise. I wouldn’t want to hurt Kagami’s feelings either. Not to mention— I gave you that cardigan for free. That was two weeks’ worth of hard work. I’m afraid I don’t have the ability to take time out to alter it for free either. If you really want to get it done, you could ask an external tailor to do it for you. I know a few who can do really good embroidery.” 

Alya faltered. “But... We used to be best friends...” 

Snorting mentally, Marinette continued to hold her calm composure. “Like I said, you really shouldn’t say that, Alya. Lila might get upset and we don’t want to hurt her feelings— Right, Adrien?” 

The blonde jumped when the conversation turned to him out of nowhere. All of a sudden, every eye in the classroom was fixed on him. “R— Right, of course.” He said, forcing out each word. 

Satisfied, Marinette nodded, still wearing her ever-so-kind smile. “Exactly.” 

──────── ⋆⋅❉⋅⋆ ────────

“Hey, why don’t we all go out and have a picnic outside during lunch?” Alya suggested loudly, jumping up as soon as the lunch bell rang. “Marinette, you can come along too!” Something inside the reporter’s chest was stirring, and with the events of the past few days, Alya felt like she just had to quench that unsettling feeling— And the first step to that was to mend things with Marinette, even though it was the bluenette’s fault for always having been biased to Lila. Alya smiled, proud of herself. She would be the bigger person, she would forgive Marinette, she would integrate the designer back into the class again. 

“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” Marinette replied just as quickly, “We don’t know what Lila might be allergic to— She could easily trigger a reaction if we go out, especially since it’s spring.” 

A collective choir of groans rounded the class. 

“Well, I’m going to go back to the hotel to have a first-class meal,” Chloe turned her nose up at her classmates. “... Dupain-Cheng, would you like to come?” 

Shock painted the faces of the whole classroom. Did Chloe just... Ask Marinette something... Politely? 

“I’d love to take that offer, Chloe.” Responded the bluenette, graceful and flawless as ever. “Perhaps tomorrow?” 

“Suit yourself. They’re serving lobster today.” Chloe huffed. “If you’re really that busy, then fine. We can discuss...” The Mayor’s daughter trailed off as she blushed. 

The bluenette giggled knowingly. “You’d like to commission a dress from me, right?” 

“... No.” 

“...” 

“... Maybe.” 

“Alright.” Marinette nodded. “Then maybe it’ll be more convenient if I head over to the hotel after school. I’ll need to take your measurements and we can discuss the prices after.” 

“Whatever.” Chloe waved her away haughtily, a poor effort to cover up her embarrassment. “Sabrina. Let’s go.” 

“Chloe?” Alya guffawed. “Why are you commissioning something from Marinette?” 

Rolling her eyes as if Alya had just asked the stupidest question ever, Chloe answered plainly. “Because she’s one of the up-and-rising designers in the industry? Have you seen what Dupain-Cheng is wearing today? Celebrities are already fighting for spots in her commission list. Even my mother and Gabriel Agreste acknowledge her talent. I’m not dumb, Cesaire. I can recognise a future fashion queen when I see one.” 

Wow, Marinette breathed, looking at the stunned faces around the room, Chloe sure knows how to create an impression. 

“W— Well.” Stuttered the reporter after Chloe made her big exit. “Then... What about going to the bakery for lunch?” 

“Didn’t Lila say she saw a rat in the bakery the last time she visited it?” Marinette pointed out. “The health officer checked the surveillance and the claim was dismissed, of course, because my parents make sure the bakery is as hygienic as possible— But I’m sure Lila is traumatised from that incident. I wouldn’t want to force her to come along to the bakery— And we wouldn’t want to leave her out either, right?” 

This elicited another round of groans. 

Oh, I am enjoying myself way too much, Marinette chuckled mentally. 

“Then— Then...” Alya struggled visibly before she was put out of her misery. 

“It’s fine, Alya.” The designer reassured her. “I wouldn’t want to bother Lila. I’m sure she’s still upset at me. You guys go ahead. I have to go back to the bakery to help my parents out. See you guys after!” 

──────── ⋆⋅❉⋅⋆ ────────

Slam! 

Lila fumed, hand still pressed on her locker door. What. The. Hell. Was Mari-brat trying to do? She didn’t miss the way some of her classmates sent her unsatisfactory looks after that pre-lunch stunt that Marinette had pulled. 

And what was the thing about high-and-mighty Chloe commissioning from Marinette? 

Sure, Lila would admit that the cardigan that the designer made was indeed gorgeous, and the fabric was smooth and velvety, a quality unlike any of the clothing that Lila had ever had the privilege to touch— But surely a lowly brat like Dupain-Cheng couldn’t be that popular... Right? 

Dammit, hissed the Italian girl, Maybe I should’ve tried being friends with Mari-brat instead of Cesaire. 

──────── ⋆⋅❉⋅⋆ ────────

“Is that... Marinette and Kagami?” Nino gaped, prompting Alya to turn around. It was true— Walking up the steps of Francois Dupont together were the two blue-haired girls, a gentle smile dancing on Kagami’s lips as Marinette talked animatedly, her hands waving around quickly to further elaborate her point. 

Students lounging around the entrance for lunch couldn’t tear their eyes off the two and their matching dresses. Sure, the two girls had walked into school the same way that morning— But now that the afternoon sun was high up in the sky, the golden and silver embroidery was glinting luminously, revealing the true caliber of Marinette’s craft. 

“But... They’re rivals.” Stuttered Alya. She just couldn’t understand... Weren’t they supposed to hate each other? 

“They both like Adrien but they can still get along,” Nino remarked thoughtfully, taking a bite from his sandwich. “So Marinette wasn’t lying about going to meet Kagami yesterday.” 

Alya was silent. 

“Alya? What’s wrong?” Worried, Nino put a hand around his girlfriend’s shoulder, care and concern shining through his honest eyes. 

“If... If Marinette doesn’t get jealous or biased over someone who also likes Adrien...” Alya started quietly, eyes still fixed on the two girls, “Then why was she so against Lila?” 

──────── ⋆⋅❉⋅⋆ ────────

“Mlle. Bustier?” The teacher looked up at the voice of her favourite student. Fondly, she smiled. Marinette had finally seen the light and changed her ways, becoming the helpful, generous, kind Marinette that served as a great example for her peers. “May I make an announcement before class ends?” 

“Of course, dear.” Mlle. Bustier gave permission instantly— Marinette was taking up the reins of leadership again! The teacher couldn’t help but do a happy dance internally. 

“I have an announcement to make, so if everyone could listen, I’d be really thankful.” Marinette started, her clear blue eyes meeting those of her classmates. 

She took a deep breath. This is it. I’ve done what I needed to do, now it’s time to finish the job. 

“These past two days... Have been great,” Marinette started wistfully. “I really missed hanging around everyone, just like we did before,” Before you all turned your backs on me and stabbed me when I wasn’t looking, “But I can’t deny— And neither can you— That the things that have happened... They had a really deep impact. And I’ve realised that I can’t just ignore that damage that has been done.” The damage that has been done to me. “So, for the better of everyone— I’ve decided that I... Will transfer classes.” 

It was as if an explosion had gone off in Mlle. Bustier’s classroom. 

“Girl! You can’t do that!” Alya exclaimed in dismay, “We can fix things! Everything has been going well these few days, haven’t they?” 

“Dudette! Honestly, we forgive you.” Nino sighed, “Things just aren’t the same if you’re not here anymore.” 

Adrien didn’t say a word, but the imploring gaze he wore said enough. Please don’t leave me here alone. We promised we’d fight together, right? As long as both of us know... 

Marinette held her hand up to silence them, and the classroom, just as swiftly, became the deadly silence that followed post-disaster. “I understand. But once again, this is for the better,” — Of my mental health, “I’ve talked to Mlle. Mendeliev, and she’s agreed to take me in. I believe that once the changes have taken place, we can all grow more freely without restrictions.” 

In the corner, Mlle. Bustier was tearing up and dabbing at her eyes with her sleeve. 

“Mlle. Bustier,” Marinette turned to her teacher, no malice in her eyes. “I’ll be under Mlle. Mendeliev’s care now.” 

“Marinette...” The teacher sobbed quietly, with Chloe shooting her a look of disgust from the front row. 

“It’s not going to be easy for any of us,” Marinette turned back to the class, “But with time, I’m sure we will all prosper. Especially since you will now be under the care of our one and only Lila Rossi.” 

Adrien looked like someone had just killed a puppy in front of him. 

“Since I am the current class president, I thought I’d pass on the duties onto the most capable person in our class.” Marinette explained warmly, never moving her gaze away from the bewildered Lila. “Lila has the most connections in our class out of all of us, and she’s met so many CEOs and entrepreneurs that she must know a lot about organising and planning. I’m sure you can do it, Lila, but...” She paused. “You can handle it, right?” 

“Y— Yeah. Of course.” Lila stuttered. 

“You promised the class that you’d get BTS to perform for the year-end fundraiser since you were supposed to be in an arranged marriage with their youngest member, Jungkook.” Marinette continued, God I am enjoying myself too much honestly, but I ain’t going to stop now, “And you said you could convince your godfather, Bruce Wayne, to allow the class to go to Wayne Enterprises for this year’s class trip.” 

“She said she could convince Tony Hawk to give me an internship, too!” Alix chipped in. 

“And that she’d bring me along the next time Prince Ali asks for her help for a charity cause!” Rose smiled. 

“She said she’d introduce me to the CEO of Graham Films!” Nino’s eyes shone at the idea. 

The class continued to talk all over one another until Marinette silenced them once more. “Now, now. Let’s not overwhelm Lila. We wouldn’t want her to be overworked or to feel like the expectations are set too high, right?” 

The class agreed, nodding along. 

Marinette made eye contact with Lila, offering her a sweet smile as she did so. Lila, on the other hand, had no taste for such politeness. Instead, she straight-out glared at the former class president. 

This is your problem now. 

──────── ⋆⋅❉⋅⋆ ────────

“Marinette! I was hoping to catch you before you went home,” Alya panted, having been able to find the bluenette in the locker room before the designer slipped out of her reach. “You... You’re really serious about leaving?” 

“Yeah.” Smiled Marinette, organising her textbooks into her bag, dusting down her skirt. Noticing Alya’s crestfallen expression, she took the initiative to continue the conversation. “Is there anything else, Alya?” 

“Did you... Did you really hate Lila because she liked Adrien, too?” The reporter asked somewhat timidly. 

Marinette giggled. Normally, when the girl giggled, you could hear a gentle tinkling of wind chimes— But at that moment, Alya heard the freezing winds on Mount Everest instead. “Don’t be silly, Alya. All this over a boy? Besides, I’m over him.” 

“Then...” Alya swallowed difficulty. “Lila... Really was lying this whole time?” 

The gaze that swept across the reporter was stone cold, and it made Alya feel as if she was dangling over a valley of jagged rocks. “What do you think, Alya?” Even so, the bluenette maintained a sweet smile. 

“She was. She was lying the whole time.” Alya suddenly felt as if she had a shortness of air. “This whole time—” 

“Oh, good for you. You finally learned how to see further than one feet in front of you.” Marinette hummed. “I’m proud of you, really. But I’m afraid that I don’t have the time to listen to you slowly come to conclusions after I’ve tried making you see sense for the past half a year. I tried to stop you from ruining your futures, but I guess determination was always one of your good traits.” 

Alya slipped to the floor, having lost the feeling in her legs. She placed one hand against the lockers for support as she shook, weakly looking up at the girl who she was once so proud to call her ‘best friend’. 

“Marinette?” Kagami’s voice rang through the room, indicating that the girl was waiting at the doorway. “You said you were heading to Bourgeois’s hotel after school— Would you like a ride?” 

“That’d be nice, Kagami. A moment.” The designer looked down at her friend and smiled, albeit a little sadly this time— And then she lowered her voice. 

“Determination was always one of your good traits.” 

──────── ⋆⋅❉⋅⋆ ────────

“Marinette,” Adrien perked up at the sight of the bluenette leaving the school doors— Side by side with Kagami, who looked ready to draw a sword and start a duel then and there. 

“This’ll just take a minute, ‘Gami.” Marinette reassured, gently patting her friend’s arm. “Why don’t you get in the car first? It looks like it’s going to rain.” 

Reluctantly, Kagami nodded. “Alright.” Warily, the fencer stepped down the stairs and into the car— But even as she sat in the vehicle, she watched over her fellow bluenette like a hawk, ready to jump out and challenge the blonde if the situation called for it. 

Adrien rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly, not quite knowing what to say. Luckily for him, the designer decided to start the conversation. 

“I just wanted to say thank you.” Marinette smiled softly. A few months ago, when she looked at Adrien, she would see the kind, generous, pure-hearted boy with the finest golden hair and the brightest green eyes. Now? All she saw was a spineless, sheltered, passive child that was afraid of confrontations. 

“For what?” Adrien looked at Marinette, and no longer did he see the cute, pigtail-adorning girl that would blush fiercely everytime he tried to talk to her. Instead, he saw a beautiful, young woman, a rock that had pulled through all the odds to become a vibrant, iridescent diamond. 

Marinette was glowing with confidence, her presence diffusing into the air around her and triggering eyes to look up every time she walked by. There was something about the way she held herself that just made the woman demand awe and respect from those that crossed her path. The old ‘Clumsinette’ had been shed like an old snake skin to reveal a treasure, a better version of the bluenette that had always been waiting for her time to come. 

Bluebell eyes met green ones just as rain began to patter down onto the streets of Paris. Marinette glanced up slightly, not at all bothered as she smoothly retrieved an umbrella from her bag, holding it out for the blonde to take. A flush of deja vu burst through Adrien’s veins and through his skin as he took it with a mumbled thanks, eyes blown wide as Marinette let loose her hair from her ponytail, pulling her blazer over her head to avoid getting her head wet. 

Adrien could only gape as Marinette uttered familiar words back to him, a knowing smile dancing across her lips as she ran off into the rain as if an invisible weight had been lifted off her shoulders. The bluenette looked lighter, brighter, ready to take flight and soar towards the success that her crops of hard work had finally started to bear. Before the blonde model knew it, Marinette Dupain-Cheng had slipped out of his grip, already spreading her multi-coloured wings to land among the stars. 

“Thank you for telling me to take the high road.”  

──────── ⋆⋅❉⋅⋆ ────────

this was both satisfying and tiring to write... 

[leossmoonn]

Real Artwork [Spencer Reid]

masterlist 

pairing - spencer reid x fem!reader 

type -  fluff

note / request - “first date fluff w spencer”. ok so i got this idea from @randomlimelightxxx​ (tsym btw). this museum is fictional bc there are no museums close to quantico or in quantico so lol bear with me pls. and this is pretty short, but sweet so enjoy!

summary - spencer takes you to the museum for your first date, but the painting aren’t the thing he’s really admiring 

warnings / includes - nothing really, just a little cussing and kissing lol

————

*gif isn’t mine*

You twiddled with your fingers, looking out the cab window. You couldn’t sit still for the life of you. You were beyond nervous. You were going on a date for the first time in a few months. Not only that, but you were going on a date with Doctor Spencer Reid. The Doctor Spencer Reid. The doctor that you had always stared at during the holiday parties you had been invited to that Penelope set up. The doctor that you were too shy to say hi to, even though you were all talk. 

You were surprised, to say the least, when Penelope said he had agreed to go on a date with you. Well, more like he basically timidly asked Penelope if you were single and when she said yes, he was jumping for joy and already planning your guys’s date. But you humbled yourself with the word ‘agree’. 

You couldn’t understand why he would want to go on a date with you. It’s not that you thought low of yourself - you thought quite the opposite, actually. It’s just that you two had never had an actual conversation before. The most you’ve said to each other were ‘hi’ and ‘thank you’ when he held the door open for you once. 

Nonetheless, you were very excited and ecstatic - again, to say the least - to go on this date. 

“Alright, this is your stop,” the driver interrupted your thoughts. 

You snapped your head to her, giving her a smile. “Thank you. Have a night night.” You said, opening the car door. 

“You, too, honey,” she smiled. You gave her one last goodbye smile before shutting the car door. 

You walked onto the sidewalk, standing still and staring at the museum in front of you. For your first date, Spencer had chosen it since he asked you out first. Technically Penelope had asked you, but you didn’t mind very much. You knew that he was a shy, reserved person. He had chosen the Quantico Art Museum as the location. Honestly, you were thankful he had chosen this place. You had never been there, but you always wanted to go. And now you were able to with Spencer. Plus, any date location/idea you would’ve had probably wouldn’t have been fun or interesting, anyways.

You made your way up the steps of the entrance, adjusting your purse and the straps your tank top. For you date, you had opted out for jeans and a shirt rather than a dress since you would be walking and standing the majority of the time. You had a silk, black tank top that was tucked into your jeans loosely. You wore two-inched shoes that you knew wouldn’t give you a hard time with all the standing, but still made you look dressed up. Your coat was light-weight and more like a cardigan, but it was insulated and had better pockets than a cardigan. You hoped Spencer would like your date attire.

You pulled out your phone, seeing if you had gotten any texts from Spencer to let you know that he was here. Luckily for you, he was. He had texted you that he was in the lobby with your tickets a few minutes ago. He had given you a description of his date attire, just in case you had trouble finding him. You knew that you wouldn’t have trouble with that, though. He would be the most handsome, best dressed man in the room. 

As you went to approach the door, your hands starting to get clammy. You wiped them on your coat several times before opening the door. You stepped into the museum, smiling at the few people that were exiting. Your eyes darted around the lobby as you went through the second set of doors. As you stepped inside, your eyes landing on Spencer immediately. 

And man, was he gorgeous. 

His hair was fluffy and curly around his face. He had a little bit of scruff on his face, but it shadowed his jawline well. He was wearing a plan white button-up with black slacks and a grey tie. He had his signature watch on his right wrist, and big, excited smile on face to tie his whole appearance together. You were right, he definitely was the most handsome man in the room.

Spencer’s gaze fell on you just a few moments after you found him. And let me tell you, he was stunned. No words could describe your beauty and how you made him feel. Before he saw you, he was on edge and doubts were running through his mind. But once he saw you, he relaxed immediately. His heart was still racing a mile a minute, for sure, but he felt relieved that you came and so very lucky, too.  

You smiled at you noticed his stare, biting your cheek from smiling too hard. You began to walk up to him, the muffled sound of your heels on the floor echoing with each step. As you got closer, your heart hammered in your chest. You couldn’t believe this was actually happening.  

You stopped in front of him, deciding to break the silence. 

“Hi.” You spoke. A shy, but also excited smile lighting up your features. 

His smile got impossibly bigger at the sight of yours. “Hey.” 

You two stared at each other for a few moments, admiring each other’s appearances. Spencer was the one to break the silence with a compliment. 

“You look beautiful… stunning.. um, amazing.” 

The heat rose to your neck and your gaze on him faltered. You began to find the floor a lot more interesting. “Thank you. You look handsome. Like um, really handsome.”

“Thank you,” he smiled. “Are you uh, ready?” 

You looked back up and nodded in reply. 

“Great. Uh, let’s check in. Have you ever been here before?” He asked, getting out the tickets from his pocket. 

“No, but I’ve always wanted to go,” you answered. 

“This place is so cool. It's one of my favourite museums, besides the science museum,” he chuckled. 

You smiled at his little laugh. “Well, I’m glad I got to go here with you.”

The tips of his ears turned pink and he looked down shyly. You two walked up to the front desk. Spencer handed the man your tickets. The man scanned them, handing the tickets and two red-coloured paper bracelets. 

“Put these on so our staff know you’ve been checked in. Do you two need a map of the museum?” The man asked. 

Spencer looked to you for the answer. You glanced at him, then back at the man. 

“No, thank you. He’s been here a bunch of times, he can be the tour guide,” you answered, nudging Spencer slightly. 

The man and Spencer smiled at your reply. 

“Alright, sounds good. You two enjoy your visit,” the man said. 

You and Spencer said your ‘thank you’s’, walking away from the desk. You two stopped next to a pillar, putting on your bracelets. 

“Thank you for buying my ticket, by the way,” you said. 

“No problem. I uh, I heard that if a guy asks the girl on the first date, then he should pay,” he explained sheepishly. 

You grinned, “Ah. Well, very true.”

He smiled back at you for a few moments, admiring your features once more. You two began walking again, going to the first exhibit that housed contemporary paintings. You admired a painting of what looked like to be a crowd of people dancing when Spencer spoke. 

“This artist died when he was only 37.”

Your brows raised and you looked to him. “What happened?”

“Car accident,” he explained. “Wow,” you frowned. “How unfortunate.” “Yeah. He painted this when he was only 16.”

“Talented guy,” you remarked, looking back at the painting. 

Spencer nodded in agreement, looking back at the painting, but sneaking glances at you every other second. 

You two moved on to different sections, making conversation to get to know each other. Spencer listened to you as you talked about your childhood. As he listened, he tried to keep his staring to a normal amount, but he couldn’t. Something about you was so addicting to look at. He didn’t know if it was the way you talked with your hands, the way your lips would spread into a smile when describing a happy memory, the way your eyes would light up, too. You were just so enticing.   

You noticed his stares and tried to fight off the butterflies that were swarming in your stomach. No guy had ever paid this much attention to you before. Especially not a guy like Spencer. There were times where his stare was just burning into your side, and it caused you to stutter on your words a little. 

“S-So, um,” you spoke, trying to gather your train of thought. 

Spencer just kept staring, honestly completely oblivious to how he was making you feel. 

“So um, that’s me,” you finished off with a chuckle. Spencer smiled, “Very interesting stuff.”

“No,” you shook your head, lowering your head. “No, I’m serious. I mean, i’ve never heard of someone breaking that many bones in such a short span of time,” he teased. 

You let out a hearty laugh, nodding your head and looking back up. “Yeah, well, I was a routy kid.”

Spencer smiled at your response, turning his head back to the paintings. You let out a little breath of relief. It’s not that you didn't like him staring at you. No, you loved it, actually. It was just so unexpected and you at times you wondered if there was something on your face. You pushed your doubts away, knowing that if that was true, surely Spencer would have said something. 

You decided to make a little move of your own, though. You two went up to the second floor, stepping in the elevator. You two were the only ones in there and after Spencer pressed the number two button, you moved your hand so it touched his. 

Spencer froze once he felt your hand on his. You noticed his reaction, but didn’t pull away. Instead, you slipped your hand into his, intertwining your fingers together. You scooted closer to him so your shoulders were touching. You were looking down at the floor as Spencer was looked at you, surprise written all over his face. It hadn’t expected to be touched tonight. Especially not by you. He didn’t mind it, though, not at all. 

He felt himself relax into into your touch, leaning against your arm slightly. A big smile spread across his face as you lifted your head, looking at him. You noticed his smile and mirrored it. You two didn’t say anything, the looks in your eyes already speaking the words for yourselves.  

The elevator door opened and you two stepped out hand-in-hand. Content smiles rested on both of your faces as you went to the next exhibit. The rest of the night you two kept close like this. You were either holding hands or touching arms. You even rested your head on his shoulder once while admiring a painting of two lovers kissing and surrounded by nature. 

It was at this moment where Spencer couldn’t keep his eyes off of you. Not like he could before, but he literally couldn’t. His eyes were glued to you. You looked so cute with your cheek against his shoulder, your eyes bright and wide as you looked over the painting. Your body was warm and made him feel safe and secure in the big museum, something he rarely felt in his daily life. Not to mention, you looked great next to him. You two fit perfectly together. 

“Such a pretty piece of artwork,” you mumbled. 

Spencer nodded, still looking down at you. “Yeah. It’s beautiful.”

You looked up at, surprised to see him staring at you. Your eyes widened once you realised that he wasn’t talking about the painting, but that he was talking about you. You hoped, at least. You decided to ask him to confirm your beliefs. 

“W-What?” You squeaked. 

Spencer smiled at you, looking deep into your eyes. “I said… You’re beautiful.”

Your knees buckled and you began to fall, but Spencer was quick too catch you. His hands went around your waist and your heart started racing impossibly faster. You also caught yourself on his shoulders, your hands gripping his shirt as he pulled you back on your feet. Your gaze fell on his lips and you licked your own, imagining how it would be to kiss him. Your eyes trailed back up to his eyes, your whole body now getting warm in embarrassment. 

“Sorry. I can be pretty clumsy,” you chuckled. 

“It’s alright. Me, too,” he gave you a soft smile. 

You nodded, your eyes finding their way back to his lips. Spencer noticed and started to lean in. He had been wanting to kiss you all night and he found that now would be the prefect chance.  

You noticed him leaning in and you did the same, meeting him halfway. You pressed your lips to him gently. You kissed him, quietly moaning at the feeling. Spencer’s hands gripped your waist and your hands made their way to the back of his neck, entangling your fingers in his curl, soft hair. Kissing him felt so damn good.   

You were the first to pull away, opening your eyes and looking at his. A smile crept on your face as the realisation of what you had just done entered your mind.

“You’re a lot more forward than I thought,” you remarked. 

“Sometimes people can surprise you,” he grinned. You chuckled in agreement with his comment. “Is that why you’ve been staring at me this whole time?”

“Y-You noticed that?” Spencer asked, suddenly growing shy. 

“Well, it wasn’t very subtle,” you giggled. 

Spencer smiled softly at your laugh. “Yeah, I have been staring at you the whole night.”

“Any reason?” You hummed, running your hands through his locks. 

“Because…” his voice trailed off. He had a reason he just didn’t want it to seem corny. “Well, because you’re the real artwork here.”

You giggled at his answer, feeling your heart flutter 

“What? Was that cheesy?” He asked.  

“A little?” You nodded. “But cute, nonetheless. Thank you.”

“Well, it’s true,” he shrugged. 

You smiled brightly and leaned up to place a sweet kiss to his lips. “Well, wanna keep on admiring me while I admire the paintings, and possibly you?”

Spencer laughed, nodding his head. “I’d love to.”

————

bye bc this sucks lol

Like and Reblog!

taglist form

@itsmyblogandillreblogifiwantto​ @andreasworlsboring101​ @calm-and-doctor​

@kaitieskidmore1​ 

[atzsslut]

requested by @let-this-be-a-lesson from this, and this list.

chosen prompt(s) : 

#1 - “Is that my sweater?”

#11 - “If you were my boyfriend/girlfriend/partner, I’d probably never stop staring at you.”

pairing : bang chan x fem ! reader

genre : fluff 

warnings : long time best friends, very obvious crushing, kind of more than friends (unidentified relationship) to lovers, implied slow burn 

word count : 2.4k words

You promised to meet Chan almost an hour ago. 

The adrenaline coursed through your body as you ran out of the bathroom after a shower, which was relatively dangerous but you didn’t care, sprinting back to your room to get into some decent clothing. 

As you looked at yourself in the mirror, you almost punched it from the frustration. But you didn’t, of course, as if you didn’t have enough bad luck already.  

Are you that stupid to have fallen asleep on the couch? You thought to yourself. You were much too thankful that you already washed your hair in the morning, so it looked good enough now. 

As you dropped your towel, you swore that you’ve never grabbed such a mismatched set of underwear and bra before, but it didn’t matter. You’d opt yourself to become quicksilver if it was for Chan. 

Your hands let themselves skim through until your phone lit up on top of your cupboard and showed three notifications from the man himself. You froze in your spot reading the following messages. 

chan: okay :( if u insist [5:02 PM]

chan: but since u seem tired [5:03 PM]

chan: i’ll pick u up since i’m only 10 mins away [5:03 PM]

Your mind went back to when you had woken up to three missed calls from Chan, various texts asking if you were alright since you never missed a ‘hangout’. At least, that’s what you two always called your frequent meets. 

Your first instinct was to call him back, your voice rather nasally from the blocked nose you always got after sleeping. His kind voice kept replaying in your head;

“Chan, I’m so so sorry-”

“Oh, did you just wake up?”

“I.. yes. Yes I did. I’m so sorry, I fell asleep because I ran a million errands up until 3pm.”

“Hey, no. It’s okay. It’s not your fault. Do you want to move our hangout to some other day? I think I’m quite free this week.”

“No, no. I need to see you, honestly. My stress has piled up and it’ll be great to see you. You always cheer me up.”

“I try my best, Y/N. I’ll wait for you as long as you’d like. Go get ready!”

“Will do, Mr. Bang. Thank you so so much!”

The last thing you heard after the call ended was his farewell that was mixed in with his infectious laugh, and that was when you ran towards the shower to get the thin layer of sweat that always came after a nap in the living room.

Your fingers quickly typed away a ‘did god send u down to me as my angel or smthn THANK U BANG CHAN’ before going back to rushing to pick out a nicer outfit. 

Because of him willing to pick you up, you had an extra ten minutes to get ready but your mind was still blank from the adrenaline rush. You had picked yourself out a cream-coloured pleated skirt, but you had no idea what to pair it with until you saw a familiar black sweater pushed to the back of the drawer. 

You weren’t too sure why it was familiar to you, but it was nice enough for you to use with the skirt. For a reason you couldn’t pinpoint, it hugged your body well enough, but the area where you could see the stitch of the shoulders were clearly too broad for you, falling around the middle of your upper arms. 

Strange, you thought, I don’t remember buying this but it’s so comfortable. 

And just like he said, Chan was there in ten minutes, voice heard through your apartment intercom, asking you to come downstairs. Although you tried to ignore it, you were excited just from hearing his voice through that old system speaker. 

Taking the elevator down to the lobby, you smiled seeing the boy standing around, clearly waiting for you to come down, as he kept shifting his feet. 

It was music to his ears as well when he heard you call out his name. Although he would never admit it, or so he thinks, he swore that he heard a hymn whenever ‘Chan’ spilled from your lips. But he shook that away when he reached in for a side hug. 

“Hey you.” he said, “You look awfully fresh for someone who just woke up.”

“I work my magic.” you boasted, not wanting to admit the fuss you made for him. Since Chan was a bit taller than you, not by too much (which you teased him about, but he only let it be because it was you), you held onto him as well by slinging your arm around his waist. 

And as you both walked to the parking lot at the front, stuck together like two pieces of paper with a hefty amount of glue in the middle, that was when Chan stopped right in front of his car. 

You looked at him with concern, thinking that he’d probably left something inside, “Did you forget something?”  

He paused, looking at you with the face he’d make whenever Felix did something strange. That wasn’t new, but you felt flustered when he let you go and stood in front of you, arms crossed, eyes checking out your whole body. 

You looked at him strange, not understanding what he was doing. Your hand only clutched your bag strap harder, not understanding the situation. But before you could say anything, he cut you off. 

“Is that my sweater?”

And the realization hit you. 

A few months ago, Chan had gone to your place to spend some time with you after not getting to meet you for three weeks. But of course, the two of you did not look at the weather forecast when a rainstorm dawned over the whole of Seoul. 

You insisted that Chan should not be driving in this weather in fear of a accident, but he did have to get his car to the indoor parking lot incase it began to hail. However, once he had gotten back, the umbrella you had given him was soaked and so was he, the two of you getting into a hysterical laughing fit at the state he was in. 

In all seriousness, you did quickly get him out of the clothes he was wearing and washed them, shyly looking away when he directly began to take his shirt off in the living room until you yelled “Chan! I have a bathroom!”

However, as the night passed, after he slept in the same bed as you, finding his arm around your waist in the morning to which he quickly pulled away in surprise— he left with only his jeans and socks that had been dry cleaned. 

“Oh shit, this is your sweater!” you swore, the event having replayed itself in your forgetful mind, “I’ll clean it after this and give it back to you.”

“Oh, no. You look better in it than I do.” he complimented. 

In between your reminiscing, he had clicked the car key, making the vehicle make the familiar unlocking sound and flashing lights. Running over to your side, he opened the door for you. 

“M’lady.” he offered, 

“M’Chan.” you joked, only to laugh for a bit then go in with a murmured, “Sorry that was cheesy.” 

“It was!” he admitted, yelling so you could hear him through the car glass since you closed the door already. He did his little jog over to the drivers seat and went it rather smoothly, not that you were impressed by that. 

“So, arcade?” he asked, smiling when you nodded and tapped excitedly on his dashboard. 

Once again, in ten minutes, the two of you had reached the destination, quickly running out as if the both of you were six, and not in your early 20s. 

As you ran into building, fluorescent hitting your eyes with a familiar nostalgia coming alongside them, much too familiar from the high school days of you and Chan going to another arcade that was already closed down now. 

“So, what do you want to do first?” you asked, as if you didn’t guess the answer already. 

Chan looked forward, scanning the place more and finally seeing a row of big,  bulky, metal boxes that couldn’t be missed. He pointed at them, rather cutely to add, smiling down at you. 

You gave him an excited grin back, happy that you guessed right in your head. You walked ahead, pleased to hear him tread behind you at a faster pace to catch up with you.

Drawing back the curtain, the two of you went inside and swiped the arcade card that you had because of several trips that were forced by your auntie with your little cousins. Luckily, there was still money inside. 

The recognizable ‘twinkling’ sound of the photo booth rang in both your ears, opting you to choose the frame decor, etc. 

And as the screen showed both your faces, a robotic voice was heard through the same speakers at the sides of the booth, stating ‘please move more towards the centre, thank you’ 

But if anyone were to look inside, you and Chan were already considerably close, especially since the bench space wasn’t wide at all. But you side-eyed the boy, scooting closer to him as he did the same to you. 

You felt his arm squish against yours, feeling flustered at the sudden contact. 

“Can..uh..” he trailed, “Can I put my arm around you? I.. I think it’ll make the pictures look less awkward, don’t you think?”

“Y-yeah!” you responded a bit too enthusiastically. Clearing your throat, you gave him the gentle smile that he could never hate, “Yeah. Go ahead, Chan.”

He did as he asked. Unlike the playful hug that you two had shared in your apartment lobby, this one felt more intimate, especially when you saw the screen reflecting the two of you. 

You could feel his rings dig against his cotton sweater on your body, assuming now that it was yours, comfortable enough for you to feel secure— at home. Nevertheless, you always felt that Chan was your home. 

Your eyes fixated on the screen as you moved forward to press the red button that would soon make you both take simultaneous pictures together. 

We look good together, you thought to yourself, Wait what? Shut up. 

But why did this feel different? You two had taken hundreds of photos together, varied with ridiculous, attractive, and unnecessary ones. But you swallowed that wondering lump in your throat, quickly dismissing it as you posed with Chan for each one, your vision rather blurry for a reason you couldn’t pinpoint. 

And as the twelve clicks ended, Chan stood up first. You were quite upset about the absence of his embrace, but didn’t mind it when he smiled at you like he always did,

“Let’s see the pictures.” he held his hand out for you to take, which you graciously did, feeling the pit of your stomach drop as you, as per usual, questioned what your relationship with him was at this point. 

The two pairs of feet, albeit the both of you were wearing matching shoes on accident, met their way towards the printing area. Looking at the screen which read 99% complete, Chan heard the sound of the photo paper hit the stopper that avoided the prints from falling on the ground. 

He bent down and took it, showing it to you. Naturally, your arms went around his left bicep, hugging it to look closer. Chan sucked in his breath, knowing that if he was in a cartoon right now, his brown head of hair would be sticking up in all places as a silhouette of his heart pumped dramatically out of his chest. 

It was ironic, as most of your friends would say; it was ironic how you two hugged often but got shy whenever your hands would simpy graze, it was ironic how you two were so affectionate yet were so resistant, and it was very ironic that your ‘hangouts’ weren’t dates at this point. 

He watched as you pointed at his face from top to bottom, questioning, 

“You’re not even facing the camera in most of these! Stop looking at me and look at the lens next time. Do you want to retake these?”

Your question wasn’t too hard, but you didn’t understand why Chan looked at you with such solemn eyes, his eyebrows knitted together as if he was frustrated. But the look was soon replaced with one that held adoration, but that only increased your confusion. 

“I mean.. we don’t have to retake these, Chan. What do you want to do?” 

“If you were my girlfriend, I’d probably never stop staring at you.”

He didn’t know why he said that. Not a bone in his body was willing to let that out but his mind decided to play a little game of “thinking out loud”. The impulsivity of the statement made the two of your freeze in front of the photo booth.

But there was something that the both of you knew, something that neither of you wanted to admit. You had been friends for too long, had been too close for too long, but what was different now?

Why, after more than ten years of being best friends, was now the best time for you two to be together? 

But something resided within you, and in Chan as well. This was to atone for all the pain you two had experienced without one another. You and Chan always wondered why you’ve always loved, but never been in love truly. All this time, the person that was it from the start was right in front of your faces, but pent up denial never allowed it to happen. 

Until now. 

Somewhere, somehow, this was the universe’s way of telling you that today was that day. You woke up late, wore his sweater, and Chan had slipped up with his thoughts aloud. It made sense. 

So, you took a small step forward. 

It felt as if the gravity between your feet and floor was much heavier than before, especially watching Chan’s jaw clench out of nervousness, but you knew it was just you mustering up a ton of courage to finally ask, 

“Who’s stopping you from asking?” 

[alloftheimaginesblog]

Life Without Colour {PART TWO}

Soulmate AU: Your vision is in black and white until you meet your soulmate. You and your boyfriend, Steve Rogers, aren’t each others soulmates but you love each other. He introduces you to his friends, the Avengers, and a very odd thing happens.

Characters: Steve Rogers x Plus Size Female Reader, Bucky Barnes x Plus Size Female Reader

PART ONE

PART TWO

PART THREE

PART FOUR

PART FIVE

PART SIX

taglist: @domainoflostsouls​  forgetthisbull  handon-h-art  yourspecialcrush  giulsgotmusic

As morning crept in through the blinds, you opened your eyes. It had been a horrendous night. You’d slept for a couple of hours, if that, all in and every time you woke up, you felt like crying. You opened your eyes to see wonderous colour, everything was so colourful and it shocked you but my god, you wished that your vision was still black and white. If your vision had been black and white everything would’ve been fine and you would be happy. You would’ve given up anything to have black and white vision back. Black and white vision wasn’t so bad, I mean, it always felt like you were trapped inside a 50s sitcom but that was pretty cool! Though now with colour you could easily see what your clothes looked like...

Steve was still sound asleep beside you. His alarm would go off in an hour or so. Carefully, you got out of bed trying not to wake him as you went to wander through Steve’s apartment. You were grateful that Steve’s décor was darker and more muted colours; dark blues and browns (and you knew what colours they all were because during the night, you’d found some YouTube Kids videos telling you all the different types of colour. You liked red and you really liked yellow). You spend a while walking around the apartment and looking out the window, watching the sun come up. Your stomach flips and you feel sick as you see a photo of Steve and Bucky; the same photo that you’d seen so many times before except now it’s in colour and you can see Bucky’s dark eyes and Steve’s bright eyes. Taking a breath, trying to push the nausea away, you wish it had been Steve’s eyes that you saw. You wish Steve’s bright blue eyes had been the first ones you saw in colour.

Your mind refuses to stop picturing Bucky and that first moment of seeing colour crashing over you like a wave. The guilt hits you like a train as you stare at the photo. How could you love Steve Rogers and yet have Bucky Barnes be your soulmate? You needed help; you needed some form of guidance, someone to talk to that wasn’t Bucky Barnes. 

Steve finds you sitting on the couch, staring at the photo of the pair, fifteen minutes later. He pads over to you, realising that you’re in a daydream of sorts, “Sweetheart?” He says softly sitting on the couch beside you.

You tore your eyes from the picture and stared at him, once again the colour of his eyes surprising you. Quickly, you set the photo down and pull him onto the couch, “Steve, I have to tell you something.”

Steve brushes your hair out of your face, frowning in concern. He could tell something was eating away at you, he noticed it last night at the party. He’d hoped it had just been the migraine but now, seeing the fear in your eyes, he wondered if it was something else entirely. He asks if you’re okay, asks what’s wrong and you open your mouth and then shut it. You need to tell him. A relationship shouldn’t have secrets or lies and you had always been honest with Steve. Steve valued honesty and truth among all else, he valued loyalty and yet, here you were, keeping the biggest secret of your life from him.

He repeats the question, “What’s going on?”

You shake your head and plaster a smile on your face, “I was just thinking that I’d go see Nat today,” you told him, “She was telling me about her and Bruce yesterday but never got to hear much of the story before my migraine kicked in.” It wasn’t a lie, you were waiting to hear more of Nat and Bruce’s story but that wasn’t the only reason you wanted to go and see her. You wanted Nat’s opinion on everything; you wanted her to tell you what you were supposed to do.

Steve nodded his head slowly, “Are you okay, (y/n)? You’ve not seemed quite right since last night at the party.” No, I’m not right at all, Steve! My soulmate is your best friend! How do I tell you that? How am I meant to tell you that without destroying you?

“Yeah, everything’s fine, love,” you smile at him, “The migraine’s away but I barely slept.” He looks at you with that stare, the one where he’s trying to figure out if you’re telling him the truth, “Honestly, Steve, I’m okay. I’m absolutely exhausted but I’ll have a cup of coffee and go see Nat and I’ll be fine. Must’ve been the champagne last night, I only had one glass but you know I’m not a big drinker and you know Stark buys the expensive stuff.”

Steve relents with a sigh, he’s unsure but you seem to be talking a little more, “Okay, just remember that I’m here for you if you need me...” He stands up, stretching and you smile as you look at him. He is one fine specimen. He notices you admiring his muscles, “You think these are impressive?” He chuckles, “You should’ve seen me before the serum.”

You laugh, a real genuine laugh, and for a few seconds, you forget about everything. Things were just so real and easy with Steve, “I would’ve loved to have met you back then you know.”

Steve scoffs, “Yeah right. You’re way out of my league right now never mind back then.”

“I’m serious,” you say as you follow him into the kitchen, “Steve, you’re the best person I’ve ever met. I would love you in every lifetime and every size or shape. Skinny, pre serum Steve would’ve been just as perfect. The serum changed the way you look but it never changed the way you act or the way you think. That’s all you and what do I always tell you?”

Steve smiles as he makes the coffee, “You love the way I think.” He looks up at you and you smile at him. Everything was always easy with Steve; it always had been, even on that very first day.

The rain poured down, splashing onto the sidewalk. You pulled your jacket tighter around you as you tried to back further into the wall. You’d been waiting outside a café for over thirty minutes waiting for your date to show up. So far, nothing. You’d text and left a voicemail asking if he was on his way but no answer. You huffed as you shook your head, “Bloody men.”

You go to turn and walk away, knowing that you’d been stood up and didn’t want to hang around for nothing, when you almost bump into something or rather someone, “Sorry, I was going to ask if you wanted my umbrella.” He asked with a smile, “But you started cursing out men and honestly, it’s a little intimidating.”

You looked up at him and smiled, well he wasn’t your soulmate but that was okay, you didn’t need colour to know that he was ridiculously good looking,  “Sorry, I, uh, I got stood up so I’ve been standing in the rain for nearly forty minutes. I even went to the effort of putting on a whole new outfit and curling my hair!”

The man sighs, “I’m sorry to hear that, how about I buy you a cup of coffee?” He holds his hands up when you look at him concerned, “I just wanna be nice, that’s all. If you hate me, you never have to see me again.”

You find yourself laughing and shrugging, “Oh, what the hell- sure... I’m (y/n).”

“Steve, Steve Rogers.”

It hits you then. Of course, “You’re Captain America!”

Steve nods, “I hope that’s not an issue?”

You shake your head, “Not at all but... why does someone like you want to go on a date with someone like me? I mean you look like that and I look like...” you look down at your soaked outfit, “a drowned rat.”

His laugh is lovely, you realise as it comes booming out of him, “Someone like me? I look like this now but before the war, I was a scrawny five foot four kid with too many health issues to count and someone like you? You mean someone beautiful with a gorgeous smile?” He opens the café door, “Shall we?”

A cup of coffee with Captain America, you muse in your head as you sit at the table in the small café waiting for him to bring you back your drinks, your mom would have a field day with this one. You shrug your jacket off and hang it over the back of the chair, thankful that your jacket had kept the rain from soaking you straight to the bone.

Steve appeared a minute later, two coffees and two muffins, “I wasn’t sure if you wanted something to eat so I got us muffins.”

“Thanks,” you smile, happily taking a bite out of it. Steve sits down and you suddenly feel rather awkward as he smiles at you. You’re not soulmates. Your vision is still black and white so... what was the point?

Steve seems to read your mind, “We’re not soulmates... It’s okay.” You breathe a sigh of relief and Steve can see you visibly relax.

“Yours is still black and white?”

He shakes his head, taking a sip of the coffee, “No, I... I met my soulmate a long time ago.”

“Oh?” you pause and he can see your eyebrows furrow in confusion.

“It was during the war we met,” he goes onto explain, “Things couldn’t really go anywhere since I woke up in the twenty first century... She died a couple of years ago.”

Well, shit. “Oh god, Steve, I’m so sorry. That’s... That’s horrible.”

Steve smiles, appreciating your genuine sympathy, “It’s okay,” he shrugs, “besides, I like to think I can make my own destiny; that there’s more than one person in the world that could be a match for me.”

A smile spreads onto your face. He was like a breath of fresh air, the way he spoke about things with such hope... it was inspiring. No wonder he was Captain America; everything America should have been, “I like the way your mind works.” And it’s true. You’d never met anyone who was so hopeful. Everyone you met followed the rules and stuck by them but Steve, despite his past and despite his definite trauma, he remained hopeful for a better future.

He asks about you and your situation, “Still black and white,” you tell him, “I have to send pictures of my outfits to my sister who met her soulmate years ago just to see if the colours go well together.” He laughs, “I’m in no rush to find my soulmate, if I ever find them. I don’t believe too much in it either.”

The pair of you look across the table at one another and smile and it’s an unspoken agreement of ‘are we going to do this?’. Steve takes a sip of coffee, hiding a bashful smile from behind the mug, “You know, I’m real glad your date stood you up.”

His kiss on your temple as he slides your mug of coffee over to you breaks you out of your trance, “Penny for your thoughts?”

“I’m real glad my date stood me up,” you murmur with a smile.

A slow grin spreads on his face, “Yeah, me too...”

Once you’ve eaten breakfast, gotten dressed and ready for the day ahead, you text Nat and ask her if you can come over. She responds right away telling you to come by whenever. You get ready to leave and say bye to Steve, who’s using a laptop looking up something else that Sam told him about.

“I’ll be home soon,” you say, kissing his hair, “Text me if you’re wanting me to pick up anything while I’m out.”

“I love you,” Steve calls as you’re pulling on your sneakers.

A pang of guilt hits you and you take a deep breath, “I love you too, Steve.”

You leave.

The drive to Natasha’s apartment is a short one and it helps that you’re breaking most of the traffic laws to get there. You need to tell someone. Honestly, at this rate, you’ll be having stomach ulcers with the stress. Maybe you were overreacting, maybe this wasn’t such a big deal... Maybe you would tell Nat and she would roll her eyes and tell you that it would be fine, to tell Steve and don’t talk to Bucky again. You hoped that it could be that easy but really... would it be?

Natasha immediately knew something was wrong, “Have you slept?” She asked, noting the dark circles under your eyes and your stressed appearance.

“Couple of hours.”

“What’s going on?”

“Coffee and then we’ll talk.” Nat nods and goes to the kitchen so prepare the coffee. Her apartment is bare but stylish. It’s not very personable but she wasn’t very personable so it makes sense. Nat always told you that she was ready to up and leave if she needed to. You follow her into the kitchen to see her lifting down two blue mugs, “Actually, can I get that red mug that’s on the top shelf?”

Nat nods and reaches up. Then she realises what you just said, “No fucking way.” You sigh, sitting at the kitchen island as she stares at you, throwing question after question at you, “You can see colour? When? How? Who?!”

“Coffee first, please.”

Natasha Romanoff has never moved faster in her life as she makes that cup of coffee and has it sitting in front of you within thirty seconds. She demands to know everything, “When?!”

“Last night at Stark’s party.”

Natasha snaps her fingers, “I knew something wasn’t right! You left so early and didn’t even say goodbye, by the way. Tony said you had a migraine but I thought something was off.”

You nodded, “Yeah, the colour was overwhelming and it gave me a migraine. It’s still pretty overwhelming, to be honest.”

Natasha leaned forwards, elbows propped onto the kitchen counter, “Is it...”

You shake your head, looking at your hands, “No... It’s not Steve.”

She curses under her breath, “Damn... I’m sorry, I can’t imagine how difficult that is but... doesn’t mean everything’s doomed. Who is it?”

All of a sudden, you can’t say anything; all you can do is stare at the coffee. Natasha begins to list of names, “Stark? Thor? Galactica man? Fury? Parker-”

“Nat, he’s seventeen!”

She holds up her hands, “Wanda? Strange? Sam? Maria Hill? Oh my god, is it me?” You roll your eyes at her and then she says it, “Bucky?” Your bottom lip trembles and Natasha’s jaw drops, “Bucky?! Bucky Barnes?” A nod is all you can muster, “Holy shit! I knew the universe is fucked but I didn’t realise it’s this fucked!”

“You said it doesn’t mean everything’s doomed, tell me it’s not doomed, Nat.”

“What did Steve say?! Holy shit, I can’t believe that. No wonder you didn’t sleep.” She sees your eyes lower, “You have told him, haven’t you?”

“I tried,” you whisper, “I tried, Nat. I-I couldn’t.” She sighs heavily, “It’s bad, isn’t it? It’s real bad.”

She nods, “Yeah, it’s gonna be bad.” The two of you are silent as you sip at the coffee, trying to figure out what the next move is. It feels good to talk about it with someone; feels much better to share the load with someone who isn’t Bucky.

“I don’t know how to tell him,” you say eventually, voice cracking with emotion, “I mean, how do you tell your boyfriend that his best friend is your soulmate?” Nat doesn’t have the answers and you know she doesn’t. She can’t tell you what to do. Bucky couldn’t tell you what to do either. You have to figure it out by yourself.

“Tell me everything.”

So you tell her everything. You tell her about seeing him, about going to get air, about Bucky finding you and having a secret conversation with him, about the migraine and about going home with Steve, “The worst part of it is... Bucky’s eyes were the first pair I saw in colour. How many times have I said to you even if Steve wasn’t my soulmate, how many times have I said I wanted his eyes to be the first ones I look into with colour vision? I feel like I’ve betrayed him.”

Nat’s hand reached out, clasping yours from across the table, “This isn’t your fault. I know that if you had your way, you would’ve seen colour with Steve from that very first glance. If not Steve, you would’ve picked me, obviously.” You laugh slightly, “Steve will understand that you didn’t want or mean for this to happen. His soulmate is someone else as well.”

“But his is dead. My soulmate is another Super Soldier who has a freaking metal arm and used to be an assassin!”

“Don’t knock assassins,” she scolds with a smile, “I’ve seen the way you and Steve are together and I know that you’re the real deal, soulmate or not. You know that too. Your talk with Bucky seems like you two are pretty okay with nothing happening between the pair of you and that’s a good first step.”

“What do I do?”

She squeezed your hand and gave you a small smile, “You know what to do.”

You let out a long breath and nodded slightly, “I have to tell Steve.”

Natasha smiled. She was one of your closest friends, she seemed to understand you pretty well. She understood your anguish and your pain and she would always listen to your problems. Steve was close with Nat for the exact same reasons. She helped and she listened. Natasha had welcomed you practically with open arms (except she hated hugs) when Steve introduced you to her. Straightaway she knew that you two were made for each other, even if the universe didn’t think it. She made a comment that stuck with you to this day,  ‘You both make each other a better person. You share the load and take turns of carrying the burdens. It’s not common that happens.’

To distract you, she updated you on her and Bruce Banner saying that he’d finally asked her out and their date was tonight, “I’m sorry. I know the last thing you want to deal with is my relationship problems,” you apologised as she told you.

“Don’t be silly, I’d rather help you than worry about what I’m meant to say on this date! I’ve not been on a date in years!”

“You’ll be fine,” you laughed, draining the last of your coffee, “You know that the pair of you are soulmates just... no work talk.”

Natasha looked like a deer caught in the headlights, “No work talk? What am I meant to talk about?!”

“I don’t know... the weather?”

The redhead rolled her eyes, “I’m not taking advice from someone who’s dating their soulmate’s best friend.”

“Low blow,” you said laughing. She did always know how to lighten the mood, “You’ll be fine, Nat.” As if on cue, you get a text, “It’s Steve... asking when I’m coming home. Can’t put it off any longer.” Standing, Nat tells you that she’s proud of you.

“It won’t be easy but... it’s the right thing to do.”

In the car ride over, you had rehearsed what you’d say to Steve. You would tell him everything that happened, you’d tell him about Bucky, about the conversation you had with him, about the real reason why you had a migraine and you’d apologise for not telling him as soon as it happened. You were scared but fear isn’t a real excuse to not do the right thing. You hoped that he wouldn’t hate you. You hoped that he would forgive you for not saying something sooner.

As you open Steve’s apartment door, you hear laughter... You frown as you close the door behind you, “Steve?” You call out.

“(y/n), you’re home,” Steve replies, “We’re in here.”

“Who’s we?” You ask, kicking off your shoes and peering around the corner,  “Oh.” You don’t look at the figure sitting next to Steve. You can’t. You’ll lose your composure and everything will be a mess again.

Steve grinned, “Bucky thought he’d stop by, isn’t that great?”

You force a smile, “Amazing! I’m going to go make myself some lunch.” Quickly, you rush into the kitchen, trying to slow your heartrate. What the fuck is he doing here?!

That’s when someone clear their throat from behind you, “I brought the coffee mugs we used back...” Bucky Barnes was the last person you wanted to see right now and now, here he was, standing in your kitchen trying to make conversation with you?! Universe, you and I need to have a good long chat.

“Why are you here?” Your voice is harsher than it should be but you’re annoyed. You’d agreed to only see each other when necessary not randomly! You thought that you’d be able to tell Steve yourself without unwelcome guests such as Bucky.

“Steve said you were out and I thought I’d be okay to see him for a few hours!” Bucky’s just as annoyed apparently not wanting to see you much more than you wanted to see him. He’s annoyed that you’re annoyed. You turn to him, glaring into those blue eyes, “Look, I know you hate me for fucking things up but... I needed to see you.”

“Why?!” You’re whisper shouting at each other and you were so glad that Steve didn’t have super hearing.

“Because I- I can’t stop thinking about you!” He hisses, arms flailing as his eyes bore into your soul, “I never slept because I couldn’t get you out of my head!”

You’re breathing hard as you look at him. He couldn’t sleep because he was too busy thinking of you? “You couldn���t sleep either?” Bucky cocks his head in confusion, “Every time I closed my eyes, all I saw were yours.” You explained and you give a bitter laugh, “Forgive me for being annoyed but I wanted the first colour I saw to be Steve’s eyes, not yours so yeah, I’m a little pissed.”

Bucky rolls his eyes, “Oh, I’m sorry, princess,” he scoffs, “If I had it my way, I wouldn’t have picked you to be my soulmate. Plenty more people better.” The comment stings. You don’t know Bucky at all, all you know is what Steve told you of him but so far, he had made a terrible impression. Though to be fair, you’d said similar things to him so... Immediately, he groans and realises how big of a dick he looks, “I’m sorry. I- I didn’t mean it like that. It’s just- It’s-”

“Complicated. I know... I’m sorry that I’ve been a bit of a bitch. I never thought that this would happen. I’m stressed and I feel like I’m going to get a stomach ulcer from the stress.”

Bucky nods, “I’m sorry too... I’m sorry for showing up here too. Steve said you’d be out but I was hoping to see you again. I couldn’t sleep last night because I couldn’t stop thinking about what would’ve happened if I’d met you first.”

“Bucky...” Your voice is a warning. A warning to not break over that threshold because once you break it, there’s absolutely no fixing it. It’s a warning that nothing will happen between the two of you. 

He realises and quickly straightens, “I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay. Just... Just don’t go there,” you say with a nod as you turn around and open the fridge. You pull out some leftovers from your dinner the night before and go to the microwave to reheat it. The pair of you are quiet; the only noise to be heard is the hum of the microwave, “We should tell him,” you say eventually.

Bucky sighs. He too felt terrible for lying to Steve but he thought that hiding it was the easier thing to do, “Are you sure that’s what you want to do?”

You nod as the microwave beeps, “We have to tell Steve.”

“Tell me what?” Steve asks, walking into the kitchen and placing some dirty dishes on the counter, “What’s going on? You okay?” Your eyes fleet between Steve who remains happy yet confused and Bucky who won’t stop staring at you with the deep stare. 

Oh, fuck.

[darlingyanderes]

He bothered you - Yandere!Todoroki Shouto x fem!reader

@thirsthourdemon, this is the final day of @yandere-sins‘ Yantober prompt list!! It took me a while, but I managed to finish it :) I have to say I really enjoyed doing this prompt list!! It was really fun coming up with ideas for the prompts so I’d like to thank @yandere-sins​ again for writing such an awesome list :D I’m looking forward to doing another Yantober again :) I tried to make this one extra long, so I hope you enjoy what I wrote for prompt 31: love 

Warnings: graphic murder, torture, Todoroki being clueless, spilled pickles :(

Word count: 1651

It was almost a dream come true for (Y/N): not only did she attend the same university as her high school sweetheart, they were also sharing the same house.

Yes, house.

The moment they realised they were going to the same university, Todoroki had insisted they bought a house to live in together. (Y/N) immediately refused; she didn’t have that kind of money and she’d feel terribly guilty if Todoroki bought the house for them. However, that didn’t stop Todoroki from surprising her one day with keys to their new shared home.

It was a rather big house, too; something that was perfect for a young married couple planning to start a family. (Y/N) almost couldn’t stop blushing when Todoroki mentioned that they’d be living in this house for years to come.

While (Y/N) adored the house and was so grateful that Todoroki somehow managed to buy it for them, there was one thing she absolutely despised.

The basement.

It was a great place to store foods and miscellaneous objects, but the cruddy stairs were incredibly steep and it’s almost pitch black inside since there were no windows in the basement. To make it worse, the light switch was at the very end of the stairs.

(Y/N) was terrified of the dark and she certainly didn’t care about somehow missing a step and breaking her neck on the basement floor. Therefore, Todoroki was the one that always went down the basement to place of retrieve items there.

But one day when (Y/N) was attempting to write a report that was due that night, she realised she had made a fatal mistake. She needed her textbook, but she left the damn thing in a box when they had moved here. There was no mistake that that box was in the basement.

(Y/N) thought about waiting it out until Todoroki came home, but that wouldn’t be so smart: Todoroki said he’d be home later than usual, meaning that she’d probably have only 1 hour left to finish the report once the textbook was retrieved. She had no choice but to go get it herself.

With unsteady feet, she took a deep breath before slowly pushing the basement door open. The dark staircase welcomed her, almost pulling her in. (Y/N) couldn’t even see her hand in front of her; the darkness was simply too much.

She fumbled around with her phone in her hands and managed to turn the flashlight on. With the light as her guide, she carefully made her way down the steep stairs, clutching the railing so tightly her knuckles turned white.

When she finally felt the basement floor beneath her feet, she let out a sigh of relief. It didn’t take long for her to find the light switch, either; soon, the small basement area was filled with light. (Y/N) looked around in wonder. She had only been here before they had moved all the stuff down here and she was surprised to see how nice and organised the basement was. There were two shelves of food against the wall with a small tower of boxes next to it.

It didn’t take very long for (Y/N) to find the right box and her textbook. She pressed it against her chest, grateful that she’d at least be getting an okay grade now. She took another glance around the basement. She felt a bit proud, to be honest, that she finally managed to overcome the scary stairs and the pitch black darkness. She couldn’t wait to tell Todoroki about this.

Excited, she turned around to run back upstairs, but her foot got stuck on something; (Y/N) fell against one of the shelves, which then crashed to the ground, bringing the other shelf with it too.

(Y/N) groaned loudly and sat up straight again, looking at the mess she’d made. Cans of food had rolled all over, packages of flour had spilled their contents, and to make it worse, the pickles had shattered over the floor.

Maybe she shouldn’t tell Todoroki about her basement adventure, after all.

She carefully got up and dusted the flour off her clothes. She was about to pick up one of the shelves when she saw something strange.

There was a door behind the shelf.

Her curiosity got the better of her. She decided cleaning up and working on school could wait for a bit; she had to find out what was on the other side of this door.

Hesitantly, she turned the doorknob and pushed the door open.

There was another small square room. One wall was filled with things like saws, metal pipes, and knives. They were all rusty and stained red. The floor was stained with a similar colour, some patches fresher than others. In the very middle of the room was a man tied up in a chair, his head hanging down limply. His back was facing her, so she couldn’t tell if he was unconscious or dead.

Her hand instinctively covered her mouth, as she could only stare at the figure in the chair. Her body had started trembling, her breath leaving her in shaky bursts. She was broken from her spell when she saw that his chest was moving up and down; he was still breathing.

(Y/N) mentally slapped herself and quickly ran up to him. The man looks as if he had been beaten an inch within his life; dried blood made his clothing stick to his body and covered his body in dirty crusts.

She started pulling at the ropes, trying to get him free, while she asked in a panicked tone: “Hey, are you okay? Can you hear me? I’m here to help you!”

He didn’t respond.

(Y/N) lifted his face and wanted to speak again, but she froze. She knew him.

He was the guy that she’d been talking to a while ago. They were starting to become good friends, but suddenly he didn’t respond to her texts anymore. She hadn’t seen him around on campus after that, but she had figured it was just because he was busy or something. She couldn’t have been more wrong.

Then, (Y/N) felt a hand grab her arm. She shrieked at the sudden touch and quickly dropped the man’s head. When she turned around, she saw it was Todoroki. Instantly, she grabbed him by the shoulders and said: “Todoroki, this man, we have to help him.”

Todoroki simply put his hands over hers and guided her away from the chair. With a calm look, he told her: “It’s okay, he deserves this.”

(Y/N) frowned and looked at the man from over Todoroki’s shoulder. “What are you talking about? Look at him, he’s hurt! He needs help.”

“No.”

His grip on her hands got tighter. “That man, he bothered you, remember? He deserves this.” His hand reached out to cup her face. “Are you okay, though? I was kind of worried when I saw the mess back there.”

(Y/N) pulled herself out of his hold and took a few steps back. “What’s wrong with you? He’s my friend, he didn’t bother me at all.”

Todoroki looked surprised, but then annoyed. “Friend? Friend? I saw the way he looked at you. That wasn’t friendly at all. He was just about undressing you with his eyes. I’m doing you a favour. Why aren’t you happy?”

(Y/N) couldn’t answer. It clicked in her head that he was the reason this man was sitting here in the chair, barely clinging on to life. Yet he was so calm about it, as if this was similar to a mouse being caught in a trap. This was the first time she had seen this monstrous side of him. It disgusted her.

She looked at the man in the chair, still unconscious, and then back at Todoroki. She could only imagine what he must’ve done to hurt him like that. How could he be so cruel, to hurt people like that? Or, more importantly, were there others he had hurt, too?

Suddenly, she felt terrified of him. What more has he done? Has he killed people? How many did he kill?

She slowly stepped backwards, away from Todoroki. Confusion was written all over his face. “(Y/N), what’s wrong? Please don’t be like this, I did this for us.”

He set one step forward with his arms opened, as if he was going to hug her. However, that only made (Y/N) speed up. Within a few seconds, her back had slammed against the wall behind her. She tearfully looked at him with a trembling lip.

The sight made his heart ache. “Why are you running away? Don’t you love me?”

When (Y/N) didn’t respond, he let his arms drop to his sides. He then looked at the man in the chair. “Oh. I know what the problem is.”

(Y/N) could see the anger in his eyes as he quickly grabbed a crowbar that was leaning against the side of one of the walls. He lifted it high in the air before smashing the man’s head in with as much strength as possible. It took only one hit for the metal item to burst through his skull and reveal his brain, but that didn’t stop Todoroki.

Again and again he lifted the crowbar and hit his head, making sickening squelching noises every time. By the time he was done, he was covered in blood and sweat. The man’s head had been smashed so much, it was almost like there was no head to begin with.

Todoroki dropped the stained crowbar to the ground, still panting from his effort. He turned to look at (Y/N), who had slid down to ground, her knees against her chest and her hands firmly pressed against her mouth. She couldn’t stop looking at the man. She was horrified.

After stepping in front of her to block her view, he smiled gently at her. “Is this better?”

[tsarisfanfiction]

Libel (Part 2)

Fandom: Thunderbirds Rating: Teen Genre: Hurt/Comfort/Family Characters: John, Scott, Grandma, Tracy Family

Day 6 “touch and go” for @whumptober-archive and for the prompt bruises my muses decided to add on to my day 3 chapter, so have a rather displeased John.  I’m not expecting this one to go any further, but then again I wasn’t expecting to add onto it at all, so who knows what’ll happen the rest of this month.

<<< Part 1

Grandma was waiting for them when they got home, the smell of something heavenly and clearly take-out wafting through the front door as it opened, and John felt a flash of guilt for forgetting to warn her about Scott’s physical condition when her mouth parted slightly in clear shock.

Scott’s weight had increased against him slowly but steadily as they’d finished the trek home, until his head was resting against John’s and his arm hung awkwardly around his shoulder. His eyes were rimmed with an angry red, and salted tear tracks cut down across the blossoming bruises.  One eye, in addition to the tell-tale sign of crying, was swelling shut with a purple-black mark blooming around it, but while that was the worst mark on his face, there was barely any untouched skin. The exposed arms were also littered with colour, including vibrant handprints that told a story all of their own.

John was certain that Scott’s t-shirt was concealing more.

“What happened?” Grandma demanded after a moment, swooping in and gingerly cupping Scott’s face in her hands.  His brother’s messenger bag dropped to the floor, and John let his own do the same without ever relinquishing his grip around Scott’s waist.  Scott was clearly feeling the emotional damage more than the physical, but that didn’t mean that the physical didn’t promise pain in his brother’s future.

The weight against him increased again as Scott sagged at the question.  John couldn’t see his face very well from his angle, but considering how wrecked his big brother was about the whole thing – and understandably so, in John’s furious opinion – he couldn’t envisage him repeating the tale again.

“Bullies,” he said shortly, enough to give an answer without tormenting Scott further by retelling the whole thing in his earshot.  At some point the rest of the family needed to know that Scott and Christie were no longer together – preferably before one of them made an innocent comment – but he wasn’t going to dredge that up in Scott’s vicinity.

In his pocket, Scott’s phone hadn’t stopped vibrating with incoming messages.  If they were all along the same vein as the ones John had seen initially, he was very glad he’d decided to, for all intents and purposes, confiscate his big brother’s phone.  He’d probably need to change his number before it was safe to give it back.

“Terrible children,” Grandma muttered beneath her breath, before slowly stepping back and letting her hands reluctantly part with Scott’s face.  “Your dinner’s in the kitchen and your brothers are upstairs in bed.”  Had they stayed out that late?  “Alan’s sharing with Virgil and Gordon tonight so you two don’t need to worry about him.”  That was a relief – John loved Alan, and neither he nor Scott minded sharing a bedroom with the youngest, but tonight the last thing Scott needed was Alan’s innocent blue eyes forcing him to struggle to hold himself together.

Dinner sounded – and smelled – inviting.  Grandma had taken his warning text seriously and gone straight for Scott’s favourites, from the smell of it.  It was definitely a pleasant surprise in John’s book, and he hoped that Scott was up for trying to stomach at least some of the comfort food.  If nothing else, the apple pie, whose cinnamon-tinted scent was wafting through invitingly, should entice his brother in.

Scott hadn’t said a word since choking out what had to be an extremely brief summary of events, and his silence continued as he kicked off his sneakers – still not separating from John for a single moment.

It was familiar behaviour;going to a brother for comfort when the world went mad was a common tactic, but the brother they all went to was Scott.  He was never the one seeking comfort – that is, until now, and John couldn’t blame him in the slightest, so he stayed close and kept one arm around his brother without saying anything, hoping that it would help Scott as much as Scott’s presence always helped him.

“Get some food in your stomachs,” Grandma instructed.  “Scott, have you taken any painkillers?”

Hair rustled in John’s ear as Scott shook his head.  He still didn’t say a word and John rubbed his back gently.

“I’ll get you some,” she said, ushering them through the kitchen door.  “Once you’ve eaten, Scott, I want you to take a hot bath.”  She didn’t wait for a response before disappearing, leaving John to guide his brother over to the table, where Scott’s favourite burger waited.

To his relief, Scott didn’t need any convincing to eat, although the way he mechanically took each bite told John that he wasn’t really tasting it.  The apple pie went down a little better – while Scott still didn’t speak, or smile, his mouthfuls seemed to be a little more organic, and irregularly frequent.  John ate his own in equal silence, aware of the still-vibrating phone in his pocket but refusing to check the messages while Scott was next to him.

Grandma reappeared with Tylenol and a cold compress as Scott sipped at the soda, both of which were gratefully received, even if Scott’s reaction remained unusually muted.  Still, he finished his meal, accepted the painkillers without a fuss, and let Grandma press the compress gently over his swollen-shut eye, which was as much as John could ask, given the situation.

All the while, Scott stayed in physical contact with him, leaning in and seemingly trusting John to hold him up so he didn’t fall to the floor.  It felt rather like a metaphor, so when Grandma eased the compress back again several minutes later and nudged Scott towards the bathroom where she promised a nice, warm bath was waiting for him he didn’t hesitate to escort him.

The door clicked shut behind them and Scott sank onto the tiled floor, wrapping his arms around his knees. John settled down beside him and put his arm around him again, letting his brother lean in to the touch.  Silence continued to reign.

Outside the room, he could hear the running feet of several brothers – probably all of them – and the subsequent scolding for running in the house, followed by a reminder that they should be in bed and that they’d see their eldest brothers in the morning. John would be very surprised if no black or blond heads poked into his and Scott’s room during the night.  Dad was moving around, apparently finally appearing from his office for food, and John heard the outraged outburst as Grandma no doubt told him about Scott.

At least John could be confident that Scott wouldn’t be allowed into school tomorrow – with both Grandma and Dad on the warpath, his brother would be kept safely at home, likely not doing any work at all, although he might poke at some of his preferred subjects.

Speaking of his brother, Scott was showing no signs of getting in the water.  John nudged him gently.  “It’s going to get cold,” he prompted.  “Do you want me to leave?”

His brother groaned lightly, but straightened enough to yank at his top.  John shifted out of the way as the fabric came off over messy brown hair, and did his best not to let his reaction show on his face.

As suspected, Scott’s torso was awful.  Bruises littered the skin, the fabric doing almost nothing to protect it from the blows it had taken, leaving it a rainbow of red hues.  One in particular caught John’s attention – a large, darker area that sprawled across one side as though it’d been hit multiple times in quick succession. It took him a moment to yank his eyes away, shifting his entire body until Scott was out of view, and not turning back until water splashed and then stilled again.

Only his brother’s head and shoulders were visible over the edge of the bath, complete with one arm hanging over the side, fingertips just brushing the cool tiles of the floor. The heat of the water was rapidly adding even more pink to Scott’s skin, as though it needed it when there were enough broken blood vessels below his brother’s skin to change the hue all by themselves.  Even with the painkillers Grandma had bestowed, John knew Scott was in for a sleepless night.

Then again, the heartbreak probably hurt more than everything else put together.

“Do you want me to leave?” he asked again, already gathering his legs underneath himself in preparation.

“No,” Scott rasped, the first word he’d spoken since returning home.  His voice sounded scraped raw and weak, and John obediently settled back down again.  “Please.”

John was going to destroy everyone who had a hand in reducing his big brother to this.  There would be no mercy, and a large number of them were obligingly making his life much easier by blowing up Scott’s phone with messages his brother would never see hide nor hair of.

“Okay,” he agreed, settling his back against the toilet and shifting around until it was halfway comfortable. From that angle, Scott couldn’t see anything that might be on a phone screen, so while his big brother soaked in an attempt to ease the bruising, John got to work.

First was a message to Grandma from his own phone, giving her the basic rundown of events.  She didn’t reply, but she did leave him on read, so he knew she had seen it.

There was no doubt in John’s mind that she would do everything in her considerable influence and power to make sure Scott didn’t have to go in to school again, or at least until it all blew over.  His big brother was in good hands.

Still, John was not about to let things lie himself, either.  Scott’s phone was a veritable goldmine of information, and while there was little John could do without his laptop, he could at least take note of the names sending threats and begin to scheme how he was going to get revenge.

No one hurt his brother and got away with it.

Quiet sobs that started up after a while, muffled in a way that sounded like Scott had a hand or arm over his mouth.  John reached out for the dangling arm and tangled his fingers lightly with Scott’s even as he scoured his way through the social media of Christie’s two brothers, looking for the most damaging place to hit them back.  If he played it right, he could ruin their football aspirations with a neat black mark on their record.

Oh, he understood why they’d reacted the way they had – if he’d gone to Scott and said someone had hurt him, there was no way Scott wouldn’t have launched himself straight into the situation entirely on his side.  That didn’t mean John was going to spare them from retribution; he wasn’t that benevolent.

Christie herself he left for the moment.  If he was going to hurt everyone who had hurt Scott, he was going to destroy the girl behind it all in the first place, and that would require his full attention. It would be most efficient to eliminate everyone else involved first.

From the state of Scott’s phone, it was a long list of targets, but John was nothing if not thorough as he sifted through the hateful messages.

Some of them were truly vile, and there were threats in there that made John feel sick just thinking about them.  He set those aside to show Grandma; some things needed an adult’s intervention to handle effectively, and he was certain that some of the threats were jail-worthy if acted upon.

Scott had barely moved since getting into the bath, and John wondered if he was falling asleep in the pleasant warmth.  Part of him hoped so; it was much better than wallowing in negative thoughts, especially ones he didn’t deserve.  He squeezed his brother’s fingers lightly and was rewarded with a twitch in return.

His brother still didn’t talk.  Not when he stopped crying again, wiping away tears with a wet arm.  Not when Grandma lightly knocked on the door to suggest that they get ready for bed.  Not when he got out of the bath, either, skin pruned and wrinkly, and John averted his gaze so he didn’t see anything he didn’t want to as Scott slowly dried off.

Dad was waiting when they left the bathroom, Scott wrapped up snugly in his favourite pyjamas, and wordlessly folded Scott into a big, warm hug which his big brother sank into bonelessly.  John took the chance to slip away, finding Grandma downstairs and slipping her Scott’s phone.

She took one look at the first message on the screen and her face turned to granite.

“Neither of you are going to school tomorrow,” she told him.  John hadn’t expected to be included in that, but it was clear there was no arguing.  It worked in his favour anyway; vengeance would be easier to enact using his laptop without the prying eyes of hovering classmates.  “And whatever you’re planning, John, don’t get caught.”

She followed him back up the stairs.  Dad and Scott had migrated into their bedroom and John took the chance to get into his own pyjamas – although sleep wasn’t on his agenda just yet – before going to join them.

A door creeping open as he passed caught his attention and he paused to see three pairs of worried eyes peering out.

“Is Scott okay?”  Alan was the one that spoke, not yet aware of the nuances of the indoor voice, but making a good go at whispering regardless.  John could see the question reflected in two pairs of brown eyes as well and sighed, shoulders slumping.

“He broke up with Christie,” he explained, keeping his own voice low enough that there was no way the brother in question would be able to hear from down the hall.  It was Virgil’s eyes he met, knowing that he was the only one old enough to comprehend what his next words would mean.  “It was a bad breakup.”  Sure enough, chestnut brown eyes widened.

“But is he okay?” Gordon asked, frowning, and John swallowed, not wanting to lie, but not wanting them to worry, either.

He settled on shrugging.  “He will be.”  I hope.

They surged forwards, apparently taking that as an invitation to go see him, and John had to plant himself firmly in the doorway to stop them. There was no way Scott would want them to see him in his current state.

“Tomorrow,” he said, somewhat sharply.  “He needs space right now.”

They grumbled malcontentedly, but he stood firm, pulling upon his rarely used big brother clout to get them to obey until the door closed again.

In all likelihood, they’d be sneaking in later, but hopefully Scott would be less visibly distraught by then.

John padded into his bedroom and headed straight for his bed.  Dad was sitting with Scott on his brother’s bed, arms firmly around him and one hand running through his hair as he sobbed. From the way he was slumped, and the weakness of the sobs, Scott was on the cusp of sleep.  John wasn’t naïve enough to think that he’d sleep all through the night, not with all those bruises, but he’d gladly support any sleep Scott could get.

For his part, he pulled up his phone and continued scrolling through the names of Scott’s year mates.  Most of them had left a message on his phone.

“Don’t stay up too late,” Dad cautioned suddenly and he jumped, checking the time to see it was much later than he’d realised.  Scott was neatly tucked into bed, the vision of a perfect slumber ruined by the tear tracks down his face.

“I won’t,” he shrugged, an acknowledgement but not a promise.  “Night, Dad.”

“Goodnight, John.”  He was pulled into a brief hug, kiss pressed against his brow, before Dad slipped out of the room, leaving him with his sleeping brother.

Armed with his laptop, phone, and the simmering fury kept at a boil by the sight of his battered brother, John got to work.

[ikindamissbeingphysical]

5 Times Musa wore Riven’s clothes

Read here or on ao3 here: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29376804

1.

The Alfea Games is a bullshit annual tradition. It's an exam masquerading as a tournament, just a way for the teachers and high rankers of the Kingdom to see who they want to pluck out of the Academy and take for their army, or task force, or some other random position Riven could really not care less about.

Still, he's competitive, and if there's one thing he likes doing, it's beating Sky.

He slashes, a dagger in each fist, at the Burned One projection and it falls to its knees shrieking.

The stands are full of students cheering, and Riven gets a rush at their applause.

"Show off." Sky pants from beside him, as Riven's tally flicks up to 7, and Sky's stays stubbornly at 4.

"Jealous, much?" Riven grins; relieved when the half-time bell chimes because his legs are sore, and the late afternoon sun still burns as it begins to dip out of the sky. He and the other Specialists head over to the shade and he rifles through his rucksack for some water as Sky goes to kiss Bloom, who's leaning over the rail; red tresses swaying in the breeze.

"You were amazing!" Bloom gushes, and Sky beams at her, and Riven mimes throwing up.

Someone laughs.

He turns to see Musa, headphones around her neck, hair in pigtails, and-and-

In his jacket.

She's wearing his jacket. His leather jacket. It's draped over her shoulders. Her bare shoulders, because she's wearing some strapless, form-fitting purple dress, and Riven's coat, she's wearing Riven's-

"You okay, man?" Sky asks, and Riven realises they're all looking at him, and he's still looking at Musa, and her big, brown eyes are lit up a sort of hazel in the red setting sun.

He nods, waving them off, and chugs more of his water, trying to temper his heartbeat.

"Are you sure you're okay?" Musa asks, more quietly, her irises flaring purple. Her eyebrows stitch together worriedly. "You're like- really anxious. It's just a game."

"Stay out of my head." He hisses furiously, petrified that she might be able to see, might be able to tell-

She leans away from him, scowling. "Fine. Whatever."

He's grateful when the bell rings again, but his winning streak is gone. As the flood-lights turn on and the sun disappears, he misses target after target. He keeps getting pinned by fucking rookies and everyone else's tally continues to jump up as his dies on a plateau.

He can see her, in his peripheral, wearing his jacket and she probably doesn't even know it's his. She probably doesn't know how she looks in that leather swamping her frame, the collar resting at her neck, where the skin looks so soft that-

"Fuck, dude," Sky curses, hauling Riven off his ass. "Pull yourself together."

"She's wearing my jacket." He snaps, and Sky looks at him blankly for a moment, before he groans.

"Dude, I know you're like, against sharing, but she was freezing and it was just lying there. I'd have given her mine, but Bloom had already-"

"It's fine, just-" Riven tries to shake it off, "I'm focused."

He can't help a final glance over his shoulder, to see Musa leaning sleepily against the railings, headphones now secured over her ears, resting her chin on her arms. On his jacket sleeves. She's lit by the silver floodlights, and her eyes are half-closed, and he wonders what she's listening to. He wonders-

The Burned One knocks him to the ground, and the buzzer blares.

2.

The next day, traces of her perfume linger on his jacket, swirling around him the way she does, always, in his thoughts.

It's sweet, like honey and vanilla, like home-spun sugar and toffee.

He'd found his jacket right on the bench where he'd left it after the game: the stands empty, the game over. It had been folded neatly and left just beside his things and he'd slid it on and tried not to replay their interaction in his head.

Today's a new day.

As part of Sky's new scheme to become the best boyfriend in the history of boyfriends, they've been sitting with the Winx Suite most lunch times. It's not exactly Riven's idea of a good time. He feels some horrid mix of guilt and irritation whenever he looks at Terra, and Aisha glowers at him like his very proximity will end in her getting a suspension. He spends most of the time arguing with Stella, and trying (failing) not to look at Musa while Sky and Bloom stray the line between PDA and go get a room.

When he gets to the cafeteria and heads for the table, he's surprised, and maybe a little thrilled, to see that it's just Musa at the table.

She stands up as soon as she seems him.

"Good, the others just left. They wanted to have lunch out by the lake. Bloom has apparently ‘found a place’. C'mon, we can catch up."

He has no option but to follow her, and sure enough, half-way across the field is the whole merry-fucking-gang. Riven doesn't know how to feel. Sky could've texted, if his brain was capable of fathoming anything other than Bloom when she was nearby. Were they even going to invite him? Was he going to get to the cafeteria to see an empty table? They probably wouldn't have missed him anyway, he thinks bitterly.

And yet- Musa was there. Waiting.

He looks at her thoughtfully, and her eyes flash purple when she catches him. She winces. "It wasn't like that." She says, "they were caught up in the idea of going there. They weren't purposely trying to leave you behind."

Jesus Christ, can't she just-

"I'm sorry," she barrels on, as they fall into the same steps, almost caught up to the others. "I'm trying to respect your privacy and everything, I'm working on it- my control isn't great at the moment."

"You should work on that." He mutters.

Her shoulders slump dejectedly. "I know."

Well, fuck, he didn't mean to- he swallows hard. "I'm tanking my field training." He says, trying to ignore her look of surprise at this freely-offered information. "Great at everything else, but camouflage? The element of surprise? I'm struggling. It's hard. I also fucking hate it, so there's that."

She huffs out a small laugh. "I bet you just like the thrill of attacking someone face to face. None of that 'sneaking up on you' bullshit."

He grins before he can check himself, and she catches it, and smiles too.

"There you are!" Bloom calls excitedly, "c'mon, we're gonna use Stella's ring."

Riven hates to give Bloom props for anything- and it isn't because he doesn't like her, or anything like that- he's just reluctant to acknowledge anybody's good traits since they all seem so loathe to see any in him- but the lake is nice.

Large and leafy green, surrounded by trees and over-hung by the clear blue sky. There's a sunbeaten deck strutting proudly into the middle, and Aisha strips out of her clothes to reveal a swim suit, and in three great strides, dives in like a dolphin.

The rest of them stare after her in awe.

"Are you always wearing that under your clothes?" Riven asks, toeing off his shoes, watching as Aisha tumble turns and glides through the water like a dolphin. She smiles at him from the water, and he's surprised by the look of it on her face. For the first time, she looks relaxed. Stress-free. Content.

Bloom and Stella change into their swim suits, as he and Sky just strip down to their boxers. Bloom wolf-whistles, and Sky blushes.

Riven puffs his chest out, winking at Stella who scoffs at him. He turns to find Musa. She's shrugged off her coat and shoes, and is rifling through her bag in confusion. She's too pre-occupied to notice his abs. Riven tries not to take offence.

"I can't find my- oh shit." Musa groans, thumping her head. "I left it back in the fire circle."

"Oh! Don't worry, Musa," Terra says brightly, as she sits, fully-dressed, on the mossy bank, with a stack of books beside her. "You can sit this one out with me!"

Musa turns to her with a smile (that to Riven, looks fucking forced) just as Bloom and Sky jump in. They scream, splashing Stella who cannon-balls in after them. Riven watches Musa's face, can see the hidden longing in her eyes.

A part of him wants to tease her, entice her in by saying how much he wouldn't mind if they decided to go skinny-dipping instead, but he knows it ultimately wouldn't work. Instead, he reaches for his discarded black tee, and tosses it to her.

"Should be long enough to preserve your modesty," he says, going for casual and heading for the dock. "Considering you're such a short-arse."

Musa sticks her tongue out at him, but she eagerly turns to get changed and Riven plunges into the lake to resist the urge to watch.

The water is warm and licks at his skin as the sun beats down onto his shoulders. It's deep and he can't quite graze the bottom, and he's suddenly, a little stupidly, grateful for knowing Sky. Grateful that he gets to be here. He floats on his back, staring up at the sky and letting himself just bask in the moment. As the water laps in his ears, he can hear the others laughing, Aisha swimming, Stella screaming, and the sun warms red spots onto his eye lids, marvellous colours in the dark- so he opens them.

Just in time to see Musa standing on the dock.

Suddenly, all his attention is on her. Her long, tan legs on display, his tee, his t-shirt, tickling down past her hips, and she jumps.

Okay. Turns out it's not a leather jacket thing. Anything that's his looks good on her. He could look good on her.

He watches for her when she re-surfaces, as she joins in splashing Stella, and he waits, waits, waits, until- victory.

She swims over to him. A little way away from the group, to where he's treading water alone. The t-shirt clings to her and he wants to touch her and-

"Hey," she says, with wet hair and water droplets on her eyelashes. "Thanks for the tee."

He shrugs. "I'd rather you'd jumped in without anything on."

She hits him, but finally, finally, he gets her eyes on him. They linger, as the water rivets roll down the breadth of his shoulders, his chest, down to- her eyes flicker away, cheeks red.

"Don't be shy," he purrs, "I'm hot. It's not a sin to look. You're hot too. Dancer’s body. Bet you're flexible."

"Wouldn't you like to know?" She murmurs, before her eyes flash purple. He tries not to let it irritate him. He hates the violation of his privacy, but he knows she can't control it- but she turns away from him, and he follows her gaze to Terra, sitting balefully alone. "If I do what I'm gonna do," she whispers, and his heart trips up a little, at her whispering to him over the water, pulling him in closer. A secret just for the two of them. "Promise you won't tell anyone."

Riven grins. "I'm great with secrets."

Musa takes a breath, before she stares at Terra, face tense with concentration, eyes shimmering purple.

Riven turns to look at Terra expectantly. "You're mind-controlling her?"

"No." Musa mutters, still focused, "I'm just trying to increase her confidence, trying to-"

Terra looks up suddenly, and Musa hurriedly grabs Riven's arm to move behind him.

"The water does look good!" Terra calls, "is it warm?"

"Oh, it's lovely, Terra!" Musa hollers back, "you should come in!"

"Yes! Join us!" Bloom sings, from her position perched on Sky's shoulders.

Terra wavers. Riven can feel Musa's hand curled around his arm, her body against his back. "I don't have my costume!" She yells.

"You're wearing like five layers," Stella calls, "you can spare one."

Terra chews on her bottom lip, and Riven turns his head to whisper: "can't you boost it anymore?"

"I'm trying." Musa insists quietly, "I can't manufacture it. I can only enhance what's already there."

"Terra," Riven yells, startling her, "if you come in, I'll let you dunk me."

Sky bursts out laughing, and Terra giggles.

"Well, I can't resist that!" She says, getting to her feet. Riven turns away, looking down at Musa who's beaming up at him.

"Wow." She says, pressing her lips together to hide the glee in her tone. "That was very sweet."

"Fuck off." Riven mutters, but his eyes are on the collar of his wet tee as it clings to her skin. "I only did it because that was bloody painful to watch. By the way, is there anything else you can do with your powers that I should watch out for?"

Musa tips her head contemplatively. "Actually, yes." She lifts her hands and cups his face. He startles a little, at her fingertips against his jaw, before he sees her eyes purple and shimmer, and then suddenly, a weird emotion clouds into his head. It's familiar yet foreign, it's-

gratitude?

"It's meant to be gratitude." Musa says, when her eyes are back to normal and she's panting a little, "I'm not great at-"

"I got it." He reassures her, “I felt it."

She smiles, pleased, pushing away from him to swim further to the centre of the lake.

He watches her go, mind reeling. More powerful than he thought, though he's not sure why he's surprised. He can still feel her hands on his face. He wants to swim after her, but Terra and Sky corner him, eager to see him dunked.

3.

It marks a turning point for the group as a whole.

The afternoon at the lake has softened grudges, strengthened bonds, and Terra talks to him more over lunch. Aisha doesn't bore him so much, not now he can see her for more than a stuck-up rule-follower. He and Stella get along as well as they usually do, but their barbs seem less sharp than before. Bloom has always been pretty accepting, and Musa-

Well, she's Musa.

She's making him lose all sense of normalcy, of sanity, because that's the only reason he'd agree to this fucking slumber party.

"No, I think it was better over there." Sky says, changing his mind for the fourth time, as Riven struggles under the weight of the mattress. The entire floor is covered with pillows and cushions and Sky needs to make up his mind before Riven kills him. "No, no, you were right- put it back."

"Jesus," Riven groans, setting it down and spotting the stack of Disney Princess movies. "We're two guys about to sleep with five girls, and you're suggesting we watch Pocahontas?"

"They won the coin toss," Sky shrugs, "besides, I always liked the little hummingbird."

The girls arrive after Laurie, the RI for the floor, has done her final rounds. They shuffle into the room on tiptoes, and Riven closes it behind them, meeting Musa's eyes. Her hair's down and loose around her shoulders, and he's never seen it like that before. In her soft looking, cotton pyjamas, some rainbow sweater, she's more enticing than usual so he busies himself with the popcorn as Sky sets out the rest of the snacks.

"This is a nice set-up, guys," Bloom grins, getting comfy right in the middle. Sky joins her, and soon, the lights are off- bar Stella's glowing little ball- and everyone's shuffling into place.

Bloom and Sky are cosied up to one another, and Aisha and Terra are tucked neatly into one corner. Stella fancies herself above the ground, and lies on Sky's bed, half her attention on her phone.

Musa settles in the other corner, leaning against a mountain of cushions, and Riven debates for about half a second before he joins her.

"Hi," she whispers, sounding pleased, "wanna hear a sad story?"

Their thighs are touching. Her fleece pants are warm against his bare leg, and the cushions are ridiculously comfortable, and she looks so different with her hair down, her face almost obscured from him. "Sure," he whispers back.

She points are her bare feet. "I forgot my socks."

He snorts. "If that's your idea of a sad story-" he breaks off into a hiss when she cruelly presses her toes onto his shin. "Jesus, they're fucking ice." He complains, and she laughs, tossing a kernel of popcorn into the air and catching it perfectly between her teeth.

He reaches over her, feels her entire body stiffen and does his best to ignore it, opening one of his drawers and pulling out a pair of mis-matched socks.

She takes them gleefully, leaning down to pull them on. Her shirt rides up and he catches a glimpse of her lower back, and when she sits up- she catches him. Their eyes dart away from each other, and the first hour of Pocahontas is a stiff, awkward affair. The darkness seems to electrify the space between them and Riven's too afraid to move. Musa seems to be feeling the same way, but then Terra starts singing along with the song, and the the air relaxes a little.

Then, somehow, in Little Mermaid 2, Riven's oddly invested in Melody and her pull to the sea, when Musa sighs, sinking back further into the cushions, resting her body weight on Riven, looking completely content.

"You comfortable?" He teases, and she smiles lazily up at him, wiggling her toes in his socks.

"Very comfortable." She says, and he isn't thinking when he says:

"You're insufferably cute, you know that?"

He regrets it immediately, but it's slipped out, and Musa barely seems to notice his panic. She just yawns, and then she- she- rests her head on his shoulder, and her hair fans down over him, and tickles his arm.

He feels, suddenly, the rather vicious urge to protect her. He's on high-alert, for some reason, for any intruder, because she's here, half-asleep, resting against him. So trusting. So vulnerable, and-

The DVD menu chimes on repeat, and when Riven looks up he realises that everyone else is asleep, and Stella's orb of light has vanished into darkness, and that it's well past midnight.

Slowly, gently, he rests his cheek on Musa's head, feels the way they're tucked in together, and he closes his eyes.

4.

He's not sure how it happened.

How they can go one minute from a group of friends binging Disney movies, to out here, in the woods, watching Bloom's fucking fire wings and surrounded on all sides by Burned Ones. Real ones. Not projections.

The girls are all glowing, eyes burning, and there's splashes of water, tangling ivy, shooting flames, blinding light and Musa: shouting locations as she tracks them.

"Try to project lethargy!" Aisha screams, clutching one arm, as Sky slashes a Burned One along the chest.

Riven jams two sharp jabs into the torso of another, and growls over his shoulder. "She's already fucking tracking them, Aisha! Why don't you just water-board them some more?"

Musa doesn't mediate their bickering, just whirls and points and says "Another three over there, I can sense them. They want Bloom!"

Sky and Terra immediately run over to Bloom, who has fire burning along her shoulders, and it's so arresting a sight that Riven doesn't even notice when the Burned One crumbles into ash beneath him.

He doesn't notice when another hisses just to his left. He can't get his blade out in time, and it has one deformed hand around his throat, claws pricking into his skin when Musa's suddenly shoving him away, taking his place, and he just has time to notice, to scream- when she lunges forward, and stabs the monster in the chest. It howls, and she yells out in unison, her voice shaking with agony, a sound that'll haunt him.

The Burned One crumples, and Musa with it.

"Musa!" Stella cries, racing over, trying to get closer, but Riven blocks her, taking Musa's chin in his hands, tilting her face up. There are tears stained along her cheeks, and her eyes are still rimmed purple.

"I felt it," she gasps, clutching Riven's arms, still shaking, "I felt it die, I felt it-"

"It's okay." Stella insists, voice shaky, rubbing Musa's back. "You did amazing, you did so great."

Musa clenches her eyes shut. "I've gotta- I can feel more of them."

"Take a minute." Riven pleads, trying to catch his breath, feeling blood move sluggishly down his own neck. "Take a minute, you just fucking saved my life, you're allowed a goddamn minute."

His entire being seems to light up at the small, strained smile she gives him. Stella sees the smile too, so she shoots Riven a look that says keep going, moron.

He doesn't need her prompting. "And what a sexy knife move. Where'd you get that blade?"

This earns more of a laugh from her. Relieved and a little hysterical sounding, but a laugh nonetheless. She holds the blade up, and its blue handle glints in the moonlight. "Stole it from you." She says, and he wants to tell her it isn't the only thing she's stolen from him. She has everything he is in the palm of her hand, and she saved his life. She hands the dagger back to him, and he shakes his head.

"Keep it. You look hot with a knife in your hand."

Musa laughs again, still a little choked up, and the two of them help her to her feet. He doesn't want to let go for her, but she sniffles, nodding, so Riven just sticks close by the rest of the night.

They defeat the burned ones with minimal injuries. Aisha's leg is broken, and Terra's bandaged it as best she can, as they limp back to the school. Dowling and Silva meet them half way, overflowing with worry and gratitude, and at their insistence, Riven collapses into a bed in the infirmary as they tend to his neck.

They put Musa in the bed beside him, and he sees claw marks on her ribs, and it's a good thing the Burned Ones are dead, because it's the only thing stopping him from marching right out into that forest to have their heads.

5.

He's on his way back from the drinks table, two glasses in his hands, when he notices that Musa isn't there anymore.

Terra points to the back door. "She needed to step out. Mind fairy thing."

Riven nods, setting down the drinks and heading for the exit.

It's a warm summer night, and the air is humid, and Musa's standing out on the grass, gazing up at the stars.

She must feel his mental presence, because she turns and smiles.

He heads over to her, and she steps easily into the circle of his arms, and he holds her tightly.

Here they are. At the Alfea Ball, dating. Their three month anniversary is coming up soon, and Riven has something in mind. He's excited to see her reaction. But right now, he just basks in having her in his arms. She's a vision, in a lace-sleeved, indigo dress, her hair up the way he likes, and heels that mean she doesn't need to tiptoe to kiss him.

"Sorry," she murmurs, "got a little loud in there."

"I don't mind," he reassures, dropping a kiss onto her head. He feels her shiver, so he shrugs out of his tux jacket and drapes it over her shoulders. As pulls it around her, she looks up at him, soft and smiling, and his throat goes a little dry. "What?"

"Nothing," she shrugs, "you just look very dapper in your tux. I'm feeling it." Her hands slide up onto the plane of his chest, and he grins, nipping at her nose.

"Shall we get out of here, then?"

She hums in agreement, but tangles her fingers into his hair to pull him down for a kiss. As usual, the heat flares down to his stomach, and he pulls her tighter to his body.

"We should get out of here," he insists, kissing at her jaw, "or we'll definitely get suspended."

Musa laughs, and she leads the way back to the dorms.

Once there, he whispers, low and greedy into her ear, to take off everything but his jacket.

"Is this some sort of kink?" She asks delightedly, once his tux suit is the only thing on her gorgeous body, and she's straddling him, thighs spread over his, her fingers dragging through his hair.

"I don't know," he admits, even though he knows it's only a thing for him when she's involved. "I think I just look really good on you."

She bites his neck and scratches his down his back, and it hurts and he loves it, and she looks down at the marks like a satisfied kitten with tiger claws. "I look good on you too." She whispers, and he kisses her again.

And again.

And again.

[penguintransporter]

Every You, Every Me (a Leon Goretzka story) chapter II

I know it’s been a while, but I re-wrote this part maybe seven, eight times, only to settle on something completely different. Hope you like it, and I apologise if it is a bit too long (you know me). Tell me what you think about it, every heart, message, and reblog means much more than you can imagine. It needs some editing, but I will get around to do it sometime later. 

Part I

Sofie rested her hands on her waist, overlooking the mountain of clothes piled on her bed — different shapes, colours, patterns and prints, interlacing and weaving in an incomprehensible bundle on top of her comforter. She didn’t know where to start, and for a moment, she wished she could wipe it away with a snap of her fingers, and be over with it.

She was tired after having a sleepless night, and she was hungry, but she had been putting it off for too long, and she knew it had to be done. 

Shaking her head a bit, Sofie picked up a pair of black, over-the-knee boots from the top of the pile — the soft leather feeling smooth against the skin of her fingertips. She remembered the day when she bought them, matching them with a strappy top and a mid-calf, satin skirt — cashing out the last cents of her scholarship money in the outfit, hoping to catch his eye.  

The confidence she felt when she made her way through the crowd in the outfit she couldn’t afford and with her makeup and hair immaculately done, trying to fit in with the people he invited to his birthday party — it all felt ridiculous and a bit childish in retrospective. The glances they shared across the room, the smile on his face when he opened the present she got him, the random touch of his fingertips against her bare back when he guided her to the bar, and the clearest of them all, the bitter taste in her mouth when he left with Yvonne — the girl he ended up dating for the next six months. 

As she watched his figure walk out with his strong arm around the pretty blonde in luxurious dress, Sofie knew that the best thing would be to just give up, as any sane person in her place would, but she just couldn’t bring herself to listen to her brain. Instead, she booked a hairdresser the next morning, dyeing her hair in lighter colour and waited for him to notice it, feeding on the crumbs of his attention and sticking to it like a moth to the flame. 

Yet, she was blind, diving deep into the pit of unrequited love, shedding the layers of her real self along the way, not thinking about consequences or the future.

Sofie breathed out a sigh before lifting up a dress from her bed — short and covered in sequins, and she couldn’t help but narrow her eyes at the mere thought of owning it, let alone wearing it. There was nothing wrong with the dress itself, but the cut, length and style of it, it was all, but something she felt comfortable wearing. Folding it gingerly, she glanced back at the clothes in front of her — realisation of how much she had changed herself for Leon hitting her like a train. 

Sofie knew better than that.

Sofie was about to throw the dress behind her, in the same pile with her overpriced boots when her phone buzzed loudly on her dresser, startling her. Dropping it back on the pile, Sofie made her way towards the device that was hidden among one too many notebooks and course books resting on the IKEA piece before picking it up and smiling at the name written across the screen. 

“You actually did it!” Elle screamed from the other side of the line causing the other girl to twist her lips and move her phone away from her ear for a second. If there was one distinctive separating the two of them, it was the different levels of their loudness at any given moment. “Turn the fucking camera on, and let me see it!” her best friend demanded — her voice still too loud for Sofie’s or anyone's comfort. 

“Language,” Sofie laughed, fumbling with her phone, “you are not on the pitch, Ellenore.” Sofie finally turned on the front camera, pulling a face at Elle as her friend squealed with happiness upon seeing her hair, or rather lack of it. “I guess you like it then,” Sofie muttered, patting the top of her head, feeling slightly embarrassed with the attention she was getting. 

“I love it,” Elle breathed out. “I was worried at first when you texted, but you have one sexy head, Sofie. How does it feel? Naked?”

“Light and cold,” Sofie responded with a shake of her head, “almost had a heart attack when I woke up yesterday morning and saw myself in the mirror.”

Elle laughed softly, adjusting her large bag across her shoulders as she walked along the small street that led to her apartment block - the red jacket with the Bayern Munich logo zipped all the way to her chin. 

“What’s the mess about?” Elle changed the topic, making Sofie turn her head away to look at the clothes and shoes strewn across her bed. 

“I’ve been—” Sofie paused to make herself some space before sitting down at the foot of her bed, “decluttering. Or something like that.”

Elle’s face dropped for a second, but she quickly masked it with a supporting grin that Sofie more than appreciated. If anyone knew about the heartbreak and the identity crisis that Sofie was going through, it was Elle. 

“Are you getting rid of everything?” Elle asked. “Will you sell it or give away?”

“I don’t know what to do with it yet, but I know that it has to go,” Sofie admitted. She felt the tears glaze her vision, but she quickly gave Elle a small smile, trying to stop herself from being too pathetic. “I’ve made such a mess out of my life, Elle,” she paused, giving herself a moment to bite back her tears, “I could have travelled half of the world with the money I spent on frills and sequins, and I hate frills and sequins.”

“I think you are being too hard on yourself, Sofie,” Elle said as Sofie stretched her legs in front of her, “and travelling half of the world is more expensive than you think. Unless you are someone who is comfortable wearing the same harem pants and baja hoodie for more than two and showering once a week,” she added with an innocent smile, and Sofie couldn’t help but smile back at her.

“I am just disappointed that I let myself go this far,” Sofie admitted, focusing on the slippers on her feet - soft material worn out and discoloured. “Plenty fish in the sea, and I was pulling on the biggest catch. How silly of me.”

Elle was quiet as Sofie got up, making her way out of the room and towards the kitchen, closing the doors behind her. One thing was keeping herself busy with it, and completely different to stare at it and do nothing.

“Did you talk to him? Or Serge? They are back from Trentino, or at least that’s what I’ve heard from the girls at the training.” Elle stopped to unlock her apartment doors. 

Despite seeing that Elle was concentrating on twisting the locks, Sofie nodded, pouring some of the juice from the container into her glass. “I had a missed call from Leon on Tuesday,” she took a small sip of her drink, relishing the coolness trickling down her throat, “and I called back. I know I shouldn’t have,” Sofie whispered, rubbing at her eye with her free hand, placing her glass at the edge of the sink, “but he didn’t mention anything about coming back early. Then again, I didn’t ask either, maybe I should have. And why am I being so pathetic, it's not like we had something going on? It was me running after him...”

“Sofie,” Elle sighed quietly — her voice careful, “I know it’s not easy to deal with the heartbreak, and you shouldn’t keep it inside. I am here, you know that?”

Sofie nodded, trying to ignore the feeling of emptiness in her stomach despite the juice. “Yeah,” she answered slowly, “but, I hav—” Sofie stopped, running her hand across the top of her head, finding comfort in the simple action of touching it. “How was your training session?” she asked, changing the subject clumsily as the doorbell rang out throughout her apartment. Sofie’s stomach grumbled at the mere thought of eating lunch soon.

“Did you order food?” Elle smirked, “sushi? Noodles?”

“Indian actually,” Sofie replied, walking towards the doors through the small hallway before unlocking the massive doors, only to stop in her tracks — the smile she had prepared for the delivery person faltering as quickly as it appeared.

**

“You know, Serge,” Sofie grinned as she twirled the last remaining of her already cold tea in her cup, “staring at me won’t make it grow back any faster,” she spoke, downing the leftovers of her drink while grinning at her friend over the lip of her mug. He only laughed in response, and Sofie rolled her eyes playfully before glancing briefly at Leon.

Ever since Sofie welcomed them in her apartment, Leon had been acting strange, quietly sitting at the edge of her couch — leg bouncing as he glanced at his phone every few seconds. He wasn’t as talkative as Serge most of the time, but having him say only few words was not a common thing. Sofie felt that there was something on his mind, and that he was going through something, but she didn't know how to approach him without being too noisy.

“I wasn’t staring at all,” Serge replied, still grinning, “and if I did, it’s because it looks really good.”

“Do girls drop their panties for you all the time, Gnabry?” Sofie asked, sarcastically. “Your charm is amazing.”

“I am being honest here,” Serge clarified, trying to contain his laughter, “it does look good. Right?” he admitted, looking towards Leon, but his friend ignored him — eyes still trained on the shiny device. Serge smiled in disbelief, glancing at Sofie with a goofy face before leaning closer to his friend and teammate, nudging him with his knee, “Leon? I am talking to you. Are you even here?”

“Hmm? What?” Leon suddenly asked, looking up from his phone, startled at the sound and motion coming from his left. “Did you say something?”

“Sofie’s new haircut. It looks good, no?” Serge repeated, much slower, stretching out every syllable for the confused German. 

“Yeah,” Leon started, giving Sofie a long stare which made her heartbeat accelerate, “yeah, it does,” he repeated somewhat quieter, glancing at his phone again for a millisecond. “Can I make some fresh coffee, Sofie? I feel like some coffee?” he asked suddenly— eyes never leaving hers, and for some reason Sofie felt scrutinized under his gaze.  

Sofie was a bit confused with the urgency in his voice, but nodded quickly, watching him get up and straighten his dark jeans in a hurry and putting his phone in the back pocket. He gave her a small smile in response before moving around the coffee table and walking out of the room, not looking back when Serge commented something that Sofie didn’t catch. There was a strange feeling inside of her stomach as she watched him walk out, before she leaned forward in her seat, giving Serge a quizzical look on which he only shrugged with his shoulders. 

“I’ll go and check,” she whispered, getting up as well, and quickly following Leon into the kitchen. 

He was resting his large hands against the counter, watching Sofie’s cheap coffee machine drip the liquid in the large container. In the small space of her kitchen, crammed with the table, uncomfortable chairs, and way too many plants and random knick-knacks, Leon’s physique was overwhelming. Sofie stood in the doorway, quietly observing him, and nervously bringing her hands together, unwilling to speak out and ruin his peace. 

“You’ve been really quiet,” she finally said, moving away from the doorway and stepping inside the room and beside him. She wasn’t the shortest girl out there, but he was still towering over her, especially now that she was only wearing her slippers. 

Leon briefly glanced at her — his eyes moving from her eyes to her hair, and down to her lips for a split of a second before looking back at the coffee machine again, making her heart soar. Up close, she could see the fine smile lines around his eyes and lips. He was beautiful.

“I didn’t sleep well,” he answered quietly, rubbing at the stubble along his chin, “didn’t help that Serge chatted my ear off on our flight back to Munich either. He sat with Hummels, but he shooed him over to my seat,” he added, giving her a small, one-sided grin.

Sofie smiled as well, turning around and leaning against the sink — the aluminium chilling her back through her worn-out tee. “He’s got enough energy for the entire squad, no?” 

“Indeed he does.”

There was a moment of silence between the two of them, and the only sound was the coffee machine loudly filtering the bitter liquid in the scratched pot. Sofie took a deep breath as she stared in front of herself, focusing on the rotting banana in her fruit basket on the dining table, and before she could stop herself, the words that she was supposed to suppress and keep inside, left her mouth. 

“If you want, you can stay and take a nap on the sofa as usual,” she suggested, and almost instantly regretted it. She had created a list of unwritten rules that were supposed to help her get over Leon, and offering him couch to nap on was not one of them.

“Thanks, but I think I will head out whenever Serge makes a move,” Leon quickly answered, and Sofie felt a pinch at her heart. “You seem busy too.”

“As you wish,” she nodded, moving away from the sink as she watched him pour himself a large cup of coffee, dropping a cube of brown sugar in it before taking a small sip. “You sure you’re okay, Leon?” she asked again. 

“Yeah, all is fine, don’t worry,” he smiled, giving her another long stare, and under his gaze she yet felt naked and exposed. “Shall we go out for dinner tomorrow evening? Would be nice to catch up. It’s been a while,” Leon asked as she was about to walk out of her kitchen and back to where Serge was sitting, but stopped in her tracks upon hearing Leon’s voice behind her.

Sofie took a hesitant breath — her heart starting to beat faster in her chest, but she still managed to smile when she turned around, giving him a small nod. “Sure. Sounds like a plan.”

Wrong answer, Sofie.

Wrong answer. 

tags: 

@footballerimaginess, @littlebitofbluelittlebitofcoffee, @jordanspetkovics, @disneydaddyevans​

If there is someone I forgot to tag, please let me know. 

[la-fille-en-aiguilles]

Señorita

Billy Russo x Female Reader

Warnings: S.M.U.T., language.

Synopsis: You finally get out of the city to spend a week in a beachside paradise - you’re entitled to a little getaway, you think, with your birthday coming up. When a handsome stranger hits on you at the bar, along with your birthday, some other things might come as well.   A/N: This was random? Came out of nowhere. Enjoy & let me know what you think x

Gif not mine

Timid waves crushed softly against the shoreline, white sand turning concrete gray at their touch. The warm breeze carried around a song you thought you recognised, but couldn’t remember from where. The beach-side bar basked in a gentle blush glow, so typical for the evenings here at Mallorca… You’d only arrived a couple of days ago, but already you couldn’t picture yourself anywhere else - just sitting here, at the bar by the turquoise sea, sipping on your Pina Colada in the shadow of the palm-branched roof. The wind brushed through your salt-stained hair from the entire day spent rolling around on the beach; mindful sun caressing your thighs, peaking from behind the slit in your deep emerald dress.

Tonight was relatively calm, you thought, twirling the straw in your cocktail absentmindedly. Ever since the English rugby team packed up their balls and other attributes and set out to sea, the place became peaceful.

You were glad. The entire point of this trip was to get out of the busy city for a while, enjoy the calm. If you wanted a testosterone-filled party for your birthday, you would have stayed in New York - Karen would throw a rave that would make Coachella look like a kindergarten gathering.

But that is exactly what drove you out of America and into this seaside paradise. If there was one thing you had trouble doing, it was working a crowd of people you barely saw in your everyday life, who only came for booze and dancing. Karen said she understood, and that the party would have been a small yet tasteful affair… you still fled.

Here’s to hoping that Karen wasn’t pissed at you for bailing, you silently prayed, throwing the straw on the bar and taking a gulp directly from the glass. Judging from the text Karen sent you earlier today, saying something about getting together for a celebratory meal when you got back to the city, you figured she wasn’t mad. She did say something about introducing her to a friend of Frank’s again, and having thrown the Karen plan for the party out of the window, you had to budge.

It’d been so long it had become a running joke between you two - Karen wanting to introduce you to that “handsome hunk”, with whom Frank had served. She was especially lyrical about his manners, his big heart and his beautiful smile.

If you didn’t know better, you’d think Karen was head over heels for the guy.

Every time Karen made plans for a Sunday brunch or Saturday night drinks at Castle’s place with the sole purpose of introducing you to the Hunk, you always found an excuse to ditch. Sometimes it was an urgency at work, sometimes it was about something funny you ate the night before… You must have been dodging these “introductory date” attempts for at least five months now - and it all looked like after this get-away vacation, you’d have to face the music.

Well, it was worth it. A week of doing nothing, reading sappy novels and drinking high-end cocktails, that was what you craved for, and if you had to pretend to be interested in some nonsense a guy was trying to charm you with for a couple of hours, it was a small price to pay. With that thought, you finished off your Pina Colada and motioned for the sunburnt brown bartender to get you another one.

“Hola señorita.”

The voice was unexpected. Low, with an agreeable trace of huskiness and with a hint of power.

“Disculpe, ¿este asiento está ocupado?”

Slightly frowning, you turned your head to the right.  

Ever since the English rugby team settled in one of the villas, the women in the hotel found themselves outnumbered. It just so happened - what a coincidence - that you turned out to be their neighbour, your villa closest to theirs. Everytime you’d walk out of your temporary home to hit the bar or the beach, you’d spot at least three young men hanging outside of their quarters, their faces illuminating the minute they saw you. You’d give them a cursory smile back - you weren’t that cruel - but everytime one of them tried to approach you, you shot him down - often with a look, rarely with a verbal warning. Ever since they left, you was relishing the feeling of tranquillity - until he decided to burst your happy little bubble.

The first thing you noticed about him is that he wasn’t Spanish, despite the lack of accent. He had beautiful dark, almost black eyes, the colour of a freshly brewed espresso, that myriad of black and chocolate tones swirling in a whirlpool of tender curiosity. They held your depreciating stare well. The sun obviously loved him - those razor-sharp cheekbones glowed bronze as he tilted his head to the side a little bit. The wind caressed his dark hair, playing with the longer strands at the top.

Something about him was so familiar. Maybe you’d seen him on the beach before? You did stay at the same hotel after all…

Not in a slightest bit confused at your lack of answer, the man smiled.

His smile held a sort of a gentle surprise in it, like a summer day in a middle of October.

It was absolutely breathtaking.

“Je suis désolée,” you finally uttered, forcing your eyes to focus on his eyes again instead of his lips. “Je ne parle pas espagnol”.

His smile grew wider, much to your surprise. Instead of getting red in the face, stammering out some random apology as you expected him to, he nodded and motioned to the chair next to you with one hand, sliding the other one across the surface of the bar.

Despite your better judgement and against your utter dislike of aimless flirting, you found herself shrugging as you accepted her second drink from the bartender.

“A whiskey on the rocks, please.”

Ah-ha. He’s from New York.

You sipped on your cocktail directly from the glass, ignoring the brand-new straw the bartender supplied you with in order to hide your smirk. As the man held two aristocratic, impossibly long fingers in the air, making his order, you took the time to study him.

He was tall, much taller than you. The plain white t-shirt that he wore betrayed the solid stomach muscles hidden under the cotton - the short sleeves strained as he gripped the back of the chair and slowly lowered himself onto it.

“Thank you,” he finally said to the bartender with a nod, gripping his glass with those downright pornographic fingers. Slightly pursuing his lips, the man turned his full attention back to you. When you arched an eyebrow at his antics, he flashed you a mischievous yet understanding look. “Ça tombe bien. Je me sens plus à l’aise en parlant français”.

That cheeky bastard.

Your first reaction was that of a sincere surprise. You were pretty sure that for a second there, your eyebrows almost reached your hairline. Upon catching the satisfied glint in these already all too familiar eyes, you wanted to feel irritated at the nerve of him, at the fact that he just happened to beat you at your own game. But you didn’t.

Biting hard on your bottom lip in order not to laugh, you took your glass and sipped, hard.

“While I’d love to know how many more languages the lady speaks, I would much rather learn her name”, he dropped nonchalantly, whirling his whiskey gently, the ice cubes cluttering against the glass.

The first comeback that crossed your mind was so filthy you couldn’t possibly go with it. The second one, however, was efficient and succinct.

“Diana, here’s a lady’s name.”

With a low chuckle, he let his head drop down for a moment. When he raised his eyes to face you again, your chest felt a little too tight and a little too fragile under his poignant stare - that of amusement, want and a clean cut awe.

His eyes had told you that this was more than a drifting attraction, that he was interested in so much more than your name…

You saw it, and for some nonsensical reason, chose to believe it.

“I don’t care about names,” there was such a determination to your voice that it surprised you. It didn’t startle him, though - he caught your every word as his eyes travelled from your fluttering eyelashes to the soft curve of your lips. “When there are so many more interesting things to talk about. Don’t you agree?”

As you turned away from him and took another sip of your drink, you heard him chuckle yet again, and saw him press a hesitant finger against his lips.

This was obviously new to him. This small treacherous gesture led you to believe that maybe he wasn’t one to pick women at bars, that, just like you, he felt that thrill of surrendering to the strange sort of attraction encircling you both.

“In fact, enough talking. Let’s focus on doing.”

What was it so special about him that made you decide? It’s not like there’s been no men before him, very much willing to break through your iron-clad facade, wanting you to take a leap of faith. Some of them had the potential to make you feel good, you were aware of that. Still, you didn’t want them.

What made him so different? A certain familiarity of his voice, his features, maybe? Or maybe you should just slow down, cut down on the alcohol, drink a glass of water and go back to your villa, alone.

The way his eyes skimmed your naked shoulders, a barely there sigh leaving his half-open lips sealed the deal.

You didn’t want to slow down.

Not with him.

“Here’s to doing then”, his Adam apple bobbed as he gulped down, his eyes darkening. He raised his glass towards you - a figurative shake of hands on the deal they just made.

“Here’s to doing”, you agreed, clinking your glass to his.

His villa was located at the outskirts of the hotel beach, backed by the rocks. It was a ten-minute walk from the bar, feet in the warm sand, the star-sprangled night sky over your heads.

Despite the silence surrounding you, save for the occasional gust of breeze carrying on the sound of music from the bar you just left, you didn’t feel awkward. A soft smile ghosted over your lips as you felt his careful touch at the small of your back - those fingers sliding down to the base of your spine, feather-like. He strode forward, adapting his pace so you could keep up - you weren’t even sure he was aware of that, the change in him so spontaneous, as if it were a force of habit. Like this wasn’t the first time you walked side by side.

You would blame it on the booze, but you drank a total of two cocktails.

He only had one whiskey before they took off.

The villa he chose to stay in was slightly more spacious than yours, and provided a lot more privacy - this told you a lot about the man you were about to sleep with. He was most certainly well off, for starters. He also came here to get his share of peace and quiet, much like yourself.

Guiding you through the doors, he turned the lights on behind you, his other hand never leaving your back.

The best way to describe the interior would be neat or crisp, with a large, perfectly made bed in the center of the space, surrounded by a bar, a hanging chair, a shuttered armoire, and a desk, that could be used both as a kitchen table and a bureau. It smelled faintly of vanilla and musk, with a sea-salt aftertaste.

“Make yourself at home”, he murmured into your ear, still standing behind you, his hand gripping your hip hard for a fleeting second. When the realization of his touch had settled in, and you were finally able to react, he was already at the bar, serving himself a whiskey.

“Would you like something to drink?”

He busied himself with the bottle for a moment; then he produced another glass from behind the bar, waiting on your answer. When you didn’t speak, he turned to face you again.

You did as you were told - kicking off your shoes, you stepped onto the soft wool rug. With your back to him, you slowly made your way to his bed. One you reached it, you couldn’t resist trailing your fingertips along its surface - the sheets were creamy and silk, smooth to the touch.

You stopped short of the head of the bed, throwing a look over your shoulder. He caught your gaze, frozen in place, wetting his bottom lip with the tip of his tongue.  

“Why don’t you choose for me?” you offered, slowly lowering yourself on the bed, crossing your legs. “What do you usually serve them?”

The way his eyes narrowed at you ever so slightly almost made you smile. It looked like you’d struck a nerve.

Good.

“I wouldn’t know how to answer that question”, he said, his voice levelled, his stare unblinking. “I’ve never had an urge like that before”.

Well, fuck.

How many more times this man was going to run counter to your expectations?

And on top of everything, damn, he was good. A quick-thinker or a natural good-talker? Would you remain clear-headed for long enough to find out?

“What else would you like to know?” his voice grew huskier as he pushed the glass away from himself. He left it at the bar as he started your way, his pupils blown to hell.

“That all I’ve been thinking about ever since I saw you at the bar is how soft your breasts would feel pressed against my chest? That I’ve been hard ever since you opened that sassy mouth of yours? Or that I would have jerked off to the memory of you for weeks if you hadn’t come here with me?”

God.

The tightness that had long since made home in your chest moved lower, lower, lower, until it sank into the pit of your stomach. At his words, involuntary, your thighs clenched together, restless energy buzzing in between your legs, your toes curling.

“Stand up”.

When your eyes focused back on your surroundings, you saw him standing a couple of steps away, his strong jaw clenching as he gazed at you, his arms folded on his chest. Breath catching in your throat, you pushed off the bed. Feeling dizzy all of the sudden, you squeezed your eyes shut.

“Don’t close your eyes. Look at me, beautiful.”

Again, you did as you were told - you met his gaze head-on, and almost instantly regretted it. He was staring down at you with those black bottomless eyes, raw emotion flowing through him, filling the air around them, charging it to the brim. His hands fell down his sides now - so tense, the veins budged on his forearms.

It’s like he was pacing himself, keeping himself from touching you.

“Take off your dress,” he requested after a moment, watching you like a hawk.

Slowly, squeezing your thighs harder, harder still, you brought your hands to the spaghetti straps on your shoulders, before pushing them off completely.

The dress landed in a heap on the floor, leaving you in nothing but lacy panties - almost utterly naked under his stare.

You heard the softest groan escape his mouth as his hand snaked across his thighs and up to that bulge in his pants. When he squeezed his hand around it, his abdominal muscles flexing as he exhaled, you felt the moisture spread down your inner thighs.

With your heart pounding in your throat, you made a step towards him with your hand stretched out. Almost immediately you heard a low strangled noise, and saw the nah shining bright in his dark eyes.

“Not yet, beautiful,” he growled, taking his t-shirt off in one elegant motion. He then undid the belt on his pants, his eyes savouring every inch of your naked skin. “Play with your tits for me. With both hands.”

Your own touch burned as you carefully squeezed your nipples with your fingers. Throwing your head back, you moaned loud, unwillingly pushing your hips forward.

“That’s it, beautiful, just like that.”

His words seemed to lift some sort of barrier, as you started to tug and pull harder at the nipples, alternating the movements with firm grasps around the swell of your breasts.

You were going to come.

You were going to come and he hadn’t even touched you yet.

“Now slide one of those hands down those panties. Rub that pretty pussy. Tell me how wet you are”.

You made peace with the fact that he was a talker - but now he had surely sat out to break her. His voice washed all over your body, sending goosebumps down your spine as you slid one of your hands under the underwear.

“I’m so fucking wet”, you gasped, staring at him. “Fucking dripping”.

His moan made your thighs tremble, your fingers slowly circling around your clit. Before you let your eyes roll to the back of your head, you saw him with one of his hands hidden in his pants, slowly jerking himself off, with slow, aborted motions.

“That’s it, caress that pussy for me. But go slow - tease it”.

You nearly growled at that. You knew you were close - there was a bundle of sensation, like a ball of electricity, building inside of you - two quick flicks of your index finger, and you’d be done for.  

“Jesus, please”, you stuttered out before you could realize you were actually begging. “I’m so fucking close, please…”

You rubbed slowly over the nerves, your fingers wet and slippery. Panting, you realized his name would have come in handy just now - if he had some sort of a praise kink, you could maybe easily get the release you yearned for.

“You are so beautiful, fucking yourself like that. Wish those were my hands. Or my mouth”.

Something flared at the very end of your clit, softly spreading all over her pussy. You moaned loud and unapologetic, your fingers moving faster as you tried to chase that sensation. You needed to grasp it, to ride it out, you fucking needed it!…

“Put a finger inside, beautiful”.

You didn’t need to be told twice. Pumping fast and hard, you could feel your knees bending, your flesh begging for release.

“Come for me. Now.”

As if by command, the orgasm finally hit you - everywhere at once. It made your entire body shake as you screamed out, pussy clenching around your fingers. You barely registered you were falling down on your knees, when strong hands caught you at your hipbones, pushing you upright.

He was on you before you could come down from your high. His mouth hot and bruising against yours, you moaned, instinctively jumping onto him and wrapping your legs around his feverish body.

His scent assaulted you - a clean, musky scent made your inside muscles clench, so you wiggled against him, wanting more.

He was so painfully hard against your core, you whimpered, pushing your hips against his, needing more friction, like an addict craving for a dose.

Sensing your need, feeling you, he grabbed your ass with his large hands and stepped onto the bed, setting you down on that same wooden headboard of the bed you’d almost stroke with your fingers.

Pushing your legs apart, he settled in between them. Before you knew it, his tongue lapped at your wetness, sliding up the length of your slit. Whimpering and moaning, you arched your back, burying your fingers in his hair, tugging hard. That made him growl, adding a slight vibration as he sucked on the bundle of nerves. He slammed his fingers - those fucking fingers - into you, and it took exactly two pumps for your second orgasm to roll over you. With your eyes squeezed shut, you moaned into the ceiling with everything you had.

Helping you slide down onto the bed with his hands guiding your hips, he gave you a piercing stare. The one that made you whimper, even though your eye-side was still fuzzy at the edges.

He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, before he distanced himself from you - to take off his pants.

“I’m going to fuck you now - I’ll be gentle next time, right now… Right now I just need to bury myself in that pretty pussy of yours”.

“Fuck”, you moaned, propping yourself on the elbows, closing your eyes as you threw your head back. You didn’t know if you could handle more, but Jesus, did you want it. His cock stretching you wide.

You would not have been able to tell where he took a condom from - you didn’t even have time to contemplate on it. All you registered was a slight discomfort in between your legs before his huge cock pushed inside of you, inch by glorious inch. The stretch was almost too much, and you coughed out half a breath, half a moan as you tried to adjust to his size. Whatever sound you were about to let out next, as he slid out of you and pushed back in, to the hilt this time, it got lost in between your lips, as he captured your mouth in a bruising kiss.

Your nails scratched on his ripped back as he fucked into you shallowly, your teeth biting into the skin on his neck. As if not getting enough of you, he grabbed one of your thighs, flexing it, so he could thrust deeper.

The change of the angle had you swearing under your breath, and his mouth was there to silence you again, his teeth biting down on your bottom lip.

The third orgasm snuck up on you out of nowhere - there was no gradual built, no buzzing feeling in your lower stomach - it crashed on you like a bucket full of ice, having you arching your back, clenching around his cock so fiercely, it snatched an orgasm out of him, as well.

“Fuuuuuck”, he breathed out, his hips slamming sloppily into yours. “So fucking good, fucking…”

Before he could continue, you rolled forward and put your mouth on him, swallowing his words. With his palm cupping your cheek, he deepened the kiss as his cock drained itself into the latex.

The kiss grew soft, your noses touching ever so slightly as you both slowed down, a mess of tangled limbs. Smearing his wet mouth against your nipples, he pushed up from you, sliding his cock out.

“I’d take that drink now if you don’t mind”, you told him, a lazy smile illuminating your features.

A low chuckle he let out echoed in your lower stomach.

“Sure, beautiful. How does a whiskey sound?” he offered, standing up in all his naked glory.

You hummed in approval as you leaned higher against the headboard. Biting your lip, you checked out his ass unashamedly, as he made his way to the bar, throwing the used condom into the garbage bin.

“I know there are some things that we’ve agreed on, but I’d much appreciate calling you by your name instead of beautiful when going down on you next time. What do you say?”

You heard whiskey splash against the walls of your soon-to-be glass. Your inner muscles clenched at the sight of him, naked, serving you a drink.

“It’s Y/N”, you said with a small smile.

“Billy”, he responded, making his way to you. As you reached out to take your glass of whiskey from him, he pulled his hands backwards, using your position to land his lips on yours in a stinging kiss instead. You responded hungrily, grabbing his head with both of your hands.

The night was still young, after all.

“Okay, so would you rather spent your life partying with rich assholes you barely know, still seeing your family and friends, or get stuck on a desert island with no opportunity to see anyone at all?”

You turned your head ever so slightly, feeling his muscles clench as Billy huffed out a breath.

You both laid naked on his bed, him propped against the headboard, you - with your head settled comfortably on his stomach. A half empty bottle of whiskey was getting warm against your bare thigh, both of your glasses laying empty next to it.

You had lost count of the times you came with his name a word of ecstasy on your lips. You were surely going to sport some hickeys on your neck tomorrow, but you didn’t care.

You had never felt so at ease with a man before. Granted, no man had ever managed to make you come three times in a row, but that wasn’t the point. Billy made you question your “no dating” rule, and not just because he fucked like his life depended on it. He just got you - whether it was your discomfort in big crowds, fear of subway, weird addiction to macarons or love-hate relationship with Paris. You just clicked - it was hard to believe you met mere hours ago.

Or maybe the fact that you only just met was the reason why you clicked. It certainly wouldn’t be the same in the long run. The rose-goggles period only lasted so long. When routine kicked in, it tended to crash everything in its wake.

“That’s a tough one”, he said, biting on the inside of his cheeks. “If I could invite people on my desert island, I’d definitely go with the second option.”

“Well, you can’t”, you smirked at him, and then stared back into the ceiling. “It’s either being constantly surrounded, or seeing no one at all”.

He hummed, considering the options.

“I can’t imagine being alone 24/7, even though you might have guessed already, I love being alone sometimes”, his fingers slowly caressed the soft skin under your breasts, as he voiced his thoughts out loud. “It’s funny how your mind works though”, you could hear a smile in his tone now. “With you, it’s either all or nothing.”

You thought for a moment, interlacing your fingers with his. Then you shrugged:

“Sometimes, I just want to get away, you know? See no one, speak to no one… I sometimes push people away, thinking it would do me good. But it doesn’t always have that desirable effect.”

When you stole a glance at Billy again, you saw him nod.

“I know what you mean”, he spoke quietly. “And I’m glad you didn’t push me away tonight”.

“Oh, I tried,” you assured him with a smirk. “You’re hard to shake off”, you let go of his fingers and pushed yourself up on your hands, so that your eyes were on the same level.

Billy chuckled, his lips stretching in that warm and wonderful smile.

“Keep looking at me like that, and I’ll be hard. Again. Point blank.”

You laughed quietly, dropping your gaze, your eyes traveling down his stomach and to that massive cock between his legs.

He was getting hard again alright.  

“What time is it?” you suddenly remembered, snapping your gaze around, searching for a clock.

“Quarter to four, why would you ask?” he told you, after checking his wristwatch.

You closed her eyes.

“It’s my birthday”, you said before you blinked at him in surprise.

In between all that dirty sex and orgasms, you lost track of time and completely forgot. Were you coming when the clock struck midnight? The thought made you giggle.

“Really?” Billy stared at you in disbelief before his dark cocoa eyes softened, and his voice dropped an octave. “Come here”.

Warmth spread all over your body at his words, your core the center of the growing tingling sensation. Billy used his hot hands to pull you closer, help you settle in his lap, your legs on each side of his hips. With his left hand he reached for the bedside table, pulling out yet another condom out.

“Would you like to put it on?” He whispered against the skin behind your ear, making your pussy tense. Not trusting your voice, you nodded, taking the foil packet from his hand. Tearing it up with your teeth, you slid the latex onto his throbbing cock, pumping him a couple of times for a good mesure. The noises Billy made were downright pornographic. You licked your lips.

With both of your hands on his naked shoulders, you slowly lowered yourself all the way down onto him, the sensation making you both moan this time.

“Just like that, beautiful”, he whispered softly in your ear, thrusting up into you.

You rode him slowly, arching your back, leveraging yourself on his shoulders. The position was so damn intense, and not only because that way Billy could thrust deeper, up to his balls. There was a strange sort of intimacy as he gripped your hips, helping you bounce slowly on his rock-hard cock - his cocoa eyes held a sort of intensity as he fucked into you. It made your heart ache.

“I fucking can’t get enough of you”, he confessed hoarsely. “Of that tight, wet, perfect pussy. Of your beautiful, smart mouth. All of you. Every fucking inch of you.”

His revelation combined with his soft, yet methodic thrusts was what toppled you over the edge. You came hard, your body protesting against all those orgasms Billy’s cock had already wrestled out of it. Speaking of him, he wasn’t too far behind either, gripping your hips and holding you down as he came.

His lips seemed to hold some kind of a promise as he kissed you gently.

“Happy Birthday, beautiful”, he whispered against your lips, his hot and ragged breath fanning over your skin.

You managed a tired smile, surging up to kiss him again, relishing the feeling of him inside of you still….

Surprisingly, New York welcomed you back with cloudless sky. It was still as busy as you remembered it, but something had changed. People seemed friendlier, streets - sunnier, summer - hotter. You caught yourself enjoying the city again now that you had come back well-rested from your week-long vacation.

Well-rested might have been a wrong word for it. More like satisfied. And taken care of.

After that night, you spent the two remaining days of her getaway at Billy’s villa - no strings attached. You two barely left the place. Never had you enjoyed a man’s company this much. You cooked together, swam together, made love together… Until it was over and done, and you had to go back to the real life again, tiptoeing on your way out so he wouldn’t wake up.

You stopped cold for a moment, a plat of appetisers freezing in your hands.

Did you just think made love? Well that was a slip of epic proportions…

“Daydreaming about your boy-toy again?” Karen teased her with a smirk, walking into the kitchen. “He must have been quite something”.

Oh that, he was. You couldn’t help but sigh as you put the plate on the table.

How many people Karen was expecting for the dinner exactly? It looked like Frank and her had cooked enough for the entire goddamn naval infantry.

“It’s been a week,” you said, shaking your head as if trying to make the thoughts about him fall out. “I guess I need some time to turn that page”.

“Who said that page needs turning?” Karen reasoned, putting two bottles of champagne on the table. “Didn’t you say he was from New York? You could keep on seeing each other?”

You didn’t even take a moment to think it over.

“Nah,” you shook your head, tugging at your silk top. “We didn’t talk much about our respective jobs, but he made it obvious he travels a lot, so…”

Catching Karen’s sceptic stare, you threw both of your hands into the air, waving them.

“I’ll see him when I’ll see him, and if I don’t…” you shrugged. “Guess it wasn’t meant to be then”.

You turned to face Karen again only to find out that her expression hadn’t changed.

“Uh huh,” the noise she made was her other way of saying bullshit. “Well, you do what you gotta do, but please play nice with Russo. I swear he is a perfect guy for you”.

You let out a chuckle.

“You know, I heard it so many times I’m actually starting to believe it”, you said.

As if on cue, you heard men’s voices in the corridor.

“So how was your getaway, then?” Frank asked casually, stepping first into the kitchen. “Wow, that looks amazing, ladies,” he commented on the table, winking at Karen.

Page blushed in response, making you roll your eyes.

You was about to make a side comment to your best friend, when your mind suddenly went blank upon hearing the stranger’s voice.

“It was great, perfect actually…”

A designer-shoes-clad foot appeared in the room.

“I just feel like I left a part of me there, I’m going to need some time to rea…”

…djust, your mind supplied as you stared at Billy, her Billy, standing across the room from you - fully dressed this time.

“Oh my God,” you barely whispered, your eyes big in your face, your chest feeling like it was going to collapse on itself.

Billy’s lips slowly parted in the widest smile you’d ever seen - he just stood there, like a man on whom the greatest happiness had been bestowed, and it rendered him speechless.

Karen looked at them both in confusion, until…

Until realisation dawned on her, and she chortled, squeezing her eyes shut and covering her mouth.

“What’s… What’s going on?” Frank frowned, looking back and forth between Billy and you. “You guys know each other?”

“Hell yeah,” Billy finally spoke, his eyes never quitting yours as he closed the distance between you in four decisive strides.

Before you could even speak, he gripped your cheeks and dropped his lips on yours, as hot and burning as the sun back in Mallorca.

You moaned like you didn’t have a care in the world, pushing onto your toes, throwing your arms around his shoulders.

“I missed you, beautiful”, Billy uttered between the kisses, his forehead pressed to yours. “You ain’t getting away so easily this time”.

You let out a soft laugh, inhaling his scent, and moved to kiss his lips again.