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sehunniepotwrites · 4 years

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sakura kiss | n.yt

PART III OF FOR YOU IN FULL BLOOM: THE HANAHAKI COLLECTION

🌸 synopsis—the four times you noticed yuta’s love for flowers and the one time you realized it was not the flowers he was in love with

🌸 genre— would you be so kind? universe ; hanahaki!au, university!au, flower shop!au, angst, romance, slight fluff, mutual pining, strangers to lovers!au 🌸 pairing— art student/florist!yuta x art student!reader (f) 🌸 word count— 9000+

🌸 warnings — cursing; mentions of coughing, vomiting, hospital visits, death (no one dies!!), two idiots in love

🌸 author’s note—so i finished a fic with my favorite trope in time for my birthday today (dec 11th) and i’m posting to celebrate! it all started with this tweet that said yuta used to work at a flower shop and enjoyed drawing the plants during his free time!

this was a fun write and it takes place in the same verse as wybsk, which is linked above! you can read sakura kiss as a stand alone or after wybsk to get a better understanding of two scenes! to those you came from my mark fic, i gave yn a name (kira)!

but here she is! enjoy and be sure to tell me what you think!! i love feedback uwu

Nakamoto Yuta, you noticed, was an unusual fellow. He was your senior in the art department, a fourth-year preparing for his graduation while you were a couple of semesters behind him. Other than his small circle of friends, the foreign exchange student kept to himself, burying his handsome face in his sketchbook. You had classes together before but those were large lectures with over fifty students in the room— this was the first time you shared a small studio lab with him.

Barely interacting with him in the past, you were determined to change that no matter how intimidating Yuta was.

Were you intimidated by his extremely good looks or his unmatched talents in the fine arts? Both. Definitely both. He turned heads without fail and when he smiled, oh my god, you thought he was the sun. Yuta was pretty, beyond pretty even, with his striking face, brown eyes, and perfect body proportions.

To add on top of his perfection, his art style was immaculate. The artist never failed to steal your breath away with a couple of strokes and a swipe of his blessed hand. Anything he touched turned to gold. Never sharing those thoughts with him in the past, you made a firm decision to tell your senior this coming semester.

Yuta sat at the easel next to you, barely two feet away from your station. His sketchbook and drawing utensils were already splayed out on the holder. He was fiddling with his phone to pass the time, his painted nails rapidly hitting his touchscreen. How did Yuta make something so mundane as checking his phone look so ethereal? The inner most thoughts in your head cursed whatever beings lived in the beyond for not endowing you with such looks.

You gulped, gathering up the courage to talk to him. “Hey,” you greeted shyly.

Hey? That was the best you could do?

Yuta turned towards you, gaze shifting away from his phone. “Hey,” he said back with a slight curve of the lip.

“I don’t know if you remember me but we had a couple of classes together last semester,” you forced yourself to say with an awkward smile.

He grinned and his teeth sunk into his bottom lip, almost like he was holding back a laugh. “Yeah, no, of course, I remember you.” Your name slips from his mouth, causing your awkward smile to turn into a genuine one. His tone is kind and his voice is low, sending shivers down your spine.

You tried your best to keep the conversation going, wanting to finally compliment him on his work but your professor entered the room and called for everyone’s attention. He handed out the syllabus to a student upfront and around the papers went, signifying the start of your first class. Yuta shot you an apologetic look, conveying that you could always continue the conversation later.

The overview of the course’s syllabus was always the boring part of the first days. Your eyes glazed over, still not fully awake from rising early, and you tried to shake the sleepiness away. Stealing a glance at Yuta, you almost laughed at how his easel was angled in a way to hide that he wasn’t paying any attention. His syllabus outline was discarded off to the side and Yuta’s hands were moving rapidly, sketching out a large tree in full bloom in a page of his notebook.

It looked like flower petals raining from the branches and a person leaning against the tree trunk, hiding underneath the shade. His sketching speed and quality amazed you— how exactly did he sketch that fast and that beautifully?

You made sure your professor wasn’t looking in your direction before nudging Yuta’s side to grab his attention. He snapped out of his drawing daze and turned to you with widened eyes. A red seeped into his ears and pale cheeks, but you missed it completely, eyes zoned in on his quick draw.

“Hm?”

“That’s really good,” you whispered.

He rubbed the back of his neck at your compliment. “It’s just a quick sketch,” Yuta tried to play it off. He was never one to take compliments so well.

You leaned over to get a closer look. Noticing you almost falling off your stool, Yuta shifted his easel slightly closer to yours. “Is that a cherry blossom tree?”

He nodded, “Yeah, they’ve been on my mind a lot.”

“Do they remind you of home?” you asked. You couldn’t imagine being an exchange student in a foreign country— you would miss home too much.

“Yeah but that’s not really the reason why I’m drawing them,” he replied. His eyes shifted to a look of pain or discomfort as if he was reminded of a scarring memory. You watched him closely to make sure he was okay. He cleared his throat before letting out a couple of concealed coughs, face digging into his shoulder.

“You alright, Nakamoto?” You were too embarrassed to call him by his first name.

“Yeah, I’m good. Just a little cough.” Yuta gave you a smile that didn’t reach his eyes, “And you can just call me Yuta, you know?”

“Right, noted,” the name felt so foreign on your tongue.

“I have cough drops in my bag if you want some,” you offered, already reaching down to grab your backpack. He quickly dismissed you, telling you it wasn’t necessary.

Continuing to watch him sketch, you admired the way Yuta fussed over the smallest details— the lining, the shading, etc. It was nothing more than a simple sketch but if it was gifted to you, it would be framed and hung for the world to see.

He really was an artistic genius.

“Cherry blossoms are my favorite flowers,” you said.

You were too absorbed in his drawing to hear him mutter, “I know.”

“You say something?”

Yuta cleared his throat again with a pained expression. His hand held his neck for a second before shaking his head. “I said, they used to be mine too.”

Huh, you never really picked him as the flower loving type.

—🌸—

This was the third time Nakamoto Yuta had flowers growing in his chest and he hated it.

It was less painful the first two times around, probably because they were nothing more than fleeting crushes. He was in high school then, wholly infatuated with two different students during those years. Yuta followed them around like a lovesick puppy, all smiles and waiting on their hands and feet. He coughed a couple of petals out and it caused some uneasiness, but after being rejected harshly, Yuta pushed himself to move on.

The pain of high school rejection could never compare to the dull ache he was feeling as he looked at you. There you were, the person he secretly admired for the past two semesters, merely two feet away at your own easel.

You looked so in your element, eyebrows knitted and pencil in hand as you sketched away. A sight so captivating, Yuta almost forgot to breathe. Being an artist himself, he wanted to preserve that image on a canvas but he didn’t think his hand could do you justice. No pencil sketch, no painted canvas, no marble or clay sculpture could even compare to you.

This was more than puppy love. More than infatuation. Yuta was sure of it but how was he to let you know? You barely knew each other and a confession out of nowhere wouldn’t be the best way to get acquainted.

Perhaps another time, he thought to himself, before turning back to his sketch.

You would’ve never guessed that Yuta Nakamoto had a thing for flowers but he did.

Then again, you didn’t really know what he had a thing for to begin with— your friendship just started to bloom. It was like a bud barely opening under the sunlight; with each interaction, there was something new you learned about the quiet yet charismatic art major.

You knew he was a Japanese exchange student that majored in art, that was a given. You recently learned he loved cherry blossoms and that watercolor was his favorite art medium yet you still wanted to learn more.

The first time you ran into him outside of class was in the university library. Yuta sat at one of the tables, his space surrounded by books on flowers. There were books on the language, arrangements, and gardening tips. His face was deep into his sketchbook once again, back bent over the desk but his focused eyes darted back and forth between his drawing and his page of reference.

Yuta didn’t even notice as you hovered over him, debating on whether you should say hi. Even with your shadow casting over his body, his deep concentration never faltered.

His page was filled with various plants and flowers, little notes in a messy scrawl right under their pictures. He was currently drawing cherry blossoms, the page he was referring to showcasing the anatomy of the famous flower.

“Cherry blossoms again, Yuta?” you broke the silence.

Your voice startled him, causing his pencil to slip from the artist’s grip. It made an accidental mark and you whispered an apology as he clicked his tongue.

“Don’t worry about it, nothing an eraser can’t fix,” Yuta reassured you as he rid his paper of the unwanted mark. He blew the eraser bits of his page, hand sweeping his surface clean. He offered you the seat next to him and you gladly took it.

“So, why are you always sketching flowers?” you posed as your hand gestured to all the books he had on his person.

“They’re beautiful, don’t you think?” he answered with another question. He gave you a cheeky little grin, his lips widening to show off his beautiful pearly whites.

“Well, yeah.”

“It’s a shame they die so easily,” Yuta said, fingers running over his sketches. “Beautiful but fleeting.”

“But that’s life, isn’t it?”

“I guess it is.”

You hummed at his answer. “You’re really passionate about flowers, aren’t you?”

“Something like that. I actually work at a flower shop nearby, maybe you’ve seen it?” Yuta fiddled with the front pocket of his backpack to pull out a business card. “I like learning about the meanings to help the customers in the shop, amongst other things.”

You took the card from his grip, examining it. For You in Full Bloom was printed largely on the thin piece of cardboard. Staring at the name, you wondered why it sounded so familiar until it hit you.

“Oh, I pass by it everyday while walking to campus! I live two blocks away from the shop.” Your smile grew wider and he smiled back for a second before his face contorted into one that conveyed pain.

Yuta turned away from you to cough into his hand, his free one hastily digging into his pocket. He pulled out a handkerchief and began to cough into that. Shocked by his sudden sick fit, you quickly patted him on the back, hoping it would help him hack out whatever was lodged in his throat.

You saw him peek into the small square of fabric and wince at whatever it caught. He cleared his throat before turning back to you. “Sorry,” Yuta muttered, rubbing the front of his neck to soothe it. Placing a cough drop in his hand, he took it without complaint and popped it in his mouth. The relieved sigh he let out made you feel slightly less worried.

“You’re still sick?” you frowned. “You should really get that checked out, you know?”

He waved you off, “It’s nothing serious, I swear. What were we talking about again?”

“Cherry blossoms?”

“Your favorite flower.”

“And yours,” you added.

He hummed, “And mine.” There was a solemn tone behind his words but before you could press on the subject, he coughed again.

“Did you know that they’re also a symbol of renewal?”

Shaking your head, you urged your classmate to continue.

“Cherry blossoms hold the bittersweet meaning of life and death but they also bring the message of new beginnings.”

—🌸—

Yuta just wished when it came to you and him, the flowers meant the start of something new but no— instead, they just reminded him of the ache in his chest.

They reminded Yuta of how alive he was but also how he was one step closer to his grave.

Yes, you were merely classmates but he felt like he knew you solely from all the stories that were shared by your mutual friends in the art department. Ten and Taeyong sang praises on how thoughtful you were, always helping professors clean their studios after hours. Sicheng brought up how passionate you were about your major— Yuta himself bore witness to this many times during lectures and he wanted to know more about you.

A lot of charm filled your figure and it was enchanting, it really wasn’t that hard for him to fall.

Yuta fell for you much like the blossoms from the cherry trees.

And just like the blossoms, his time was fleeting but you were so completely unaware.

You left the library first, having forgotten that you had office hours with a professor. He watched you leave, eyes fixed onto your back.

Someone once said that you become miserable if you love someone too much. Yuta believed that to be true. There was a pang in his chest, heart racing against his rib cage as a stronger nausea attack hit him.

He gasped for air as his weakened stomach turned with sickness. Something was rising, working its way up his body. Yuta quickly slapped his hand over his lips as he hurled. Instead of bile, cherry blossom petals rained out of his mouth and into his palm.

He chuckled under his breath. Was it sad that he found beauty in his suffering?

Yuta thought himself to be crazy as he quickly shoved away the pain to begin sketching the petals in his hand.

For You in Full Bloom— what a nice name, you thought to yourself as you entered the shop with your friend Sicheng right behind you. The light ringing of the bell attached to the front entrance alerted the people at the counter of your presence. You picked up on harsh whispers before the tall male worker rushed to the back, forcing the young girl to assist you.

“Hi, welcome in!” the girl smiled brightly at you. “How can I help you today?”

Before you could reply, Sicheng stepped forward to answer, “Kira, we’re looking for Yuta— is he here?”

“Oh, Sicheng, hey! I didn’t even see you,” Kira exclaimed. “He’s, uh, not here right now.” Kira shot Sicheng a frustrated look, eyes darting to the back. Your companion sighed, done with his friend’s stupidity. You missed the quiet interaction, being too preoccupied with your surroundings.

“We’ll catch him another time then,” you answered her.

The small and quaint store was filled to the brim with flowers and your hands ghosted against the magnificent displays in the front window. The petals felt soft and the pleasing smells overwhelmed your senses in a good way. There was beauty all around you— there was no wonder why people loved visiting flower shops.

Various watercolor pieces were framed on the wall and you examined every artwork displayed. They were simple paintings of the plants that found a temporary home in the store. Some pieces were the flowers by themselves and others were of the many arrangements offered. They were vibrant, bright, and so incredibly detailed.

“I’ll tell him you stopped by,” she paused to ask for your name. You replied with a smile before turning back to take in the art.

“The paintings are a nice touch,” you commented, finally turning to look at her.

“Oh those? Yuta painted them,” Kira grinned, her body straightening up with pride. “He paints a lot when the shop is slow and my mom, the owner, loves to hang them up.”

“I should’ve known.” You took a closer look and spotted Yuta’s signature at the bottom of every picture.

“He’s very talented, isn’t he?” Kira hummed. Sicheng snorted for some unknown reason and you slapped his shoulder in response. There was nothing funny about Yuta’s skills and he knew that.

“Yeah, his skill is unmatched. I admire him for that.”

“Have you ever told him that?”

“God, no!”

“Why not?” Kira pressed. Sicheng joined in on the pressing and you moaned, an embarrassing heat creeping up your face,

“I don’t know. We talk but I find him to be a little intimidating,” you leaned against Sicheng’s shoulder and looped your arm through his. “I can’t just go up to him and fangirl over his work, can I?”

“But you want to,” he groaned. “And I’m tired of hearing you go on about it. Just tell him.”

A whine left your lips and you pinched your friend’s arm at the comment. He yelped and Kira just watched as the bickering continued.

“Yuta looks intimidating, yeah, but it’s just his resting bitch face, I promise. He’s just a softie,” Kira laughed and Sicheng agreed. “You should definitely tell him. He would love hearing it, especially from you.”

There was this knowing smile on both of their lips and it just seemed like they knew something you didn’t. You tugged on Sicheng’s arm as an attempt to ask him the florist meant by the last bit of her sentence and he tried to shrug you away. You just clung on tighter to your friend with a playful smile with Kira keeping a close eye on you.

You heard a cough come from the back of the store, causing both Sicheng and Kira to look up with concern. The coughing fit grew louder and louder, leaving Kira to excuse herself for a bit.

“If the other florist is sick, they should be at home resting,” you tutted with a frown.

“Some people are stubborn,” Sicheng threw back with a bit of distaste. Picking up on your friend’s bitterness, you wondered why he felt so strongly about it. You waved it off when a small display of sunflowers and red roses together captured your attention. Holding it in your hands, you admired how the two vibrant colors compliment each other.

Kira swung her way around the counter, “You like that bouquet?”

“It would be really pretty to paint,” you say, still spinning it around in awe.

“Yuta put it together himself yesterday, he’s pretty good at arrangements,” the florist beamed.

“What can’t he do?” you scoffed.

“Apparently, open his mouth and say what he needs to say,” Sicheng muttered beside you. Kira elbowed his stomach and he lurched over in pain.

“What was that?”

“Nothing,” Kira laughed nervously. She worked her way to you and gestured towards the flowers, “It’s yours, on the house.”

You rejected the offer right away. “Oh no, I couldn’t,” is what you reply, attempting to shove the arrangement into her hands. With a kind grin, she persisted for you to take it and just asked you to buy from them the next time you visited. “I’m sure Yuta would love it if you took this one off our hands.”

With a promise, you hesitantly accepted the bouquet. Sicheng was snickering in the background and you had to hold yourself back from whacking him with the flowers. Thinking you’d taken too much of the florist’s time, you quickly said your thanks and headed out the door with a coy Sicheng trailing behind you.

—🌸—

“They’re gone,” Kira yelled towards the back of the shop. Yuta made his way back to his spot at the cash register while wiping at his mouth with his uniform sleeve. He quickly pulled out his art supplies from underneath the counter, setting everything up to resume his painting. Taking a seat on the stool, his body was slumped over his makeshift desk as he messed with his pencils.

His coworker rolled her eyes at him as she began to work on a bouquet of blue cornflowers and daisies— good fortune and new beginnings. Her nimble hands hastily worked their magic with ease as if she’s done it a million times before. Yuta observed her, quickly sketching her hands at work.

“You’re ridiculous, I don’t get why you had to hide.”

“I didn’t want her to see me like this,” Yuta said, his pained eyes covered by the long bangs that drooped down over his sketchbook.

“Like what?” Her hands went to her hips. “Sick and hopelessly in love?”

“Yeah, let’s put it that way.”

“There’s a solution to this, you know,” Kira pressed with furrowed brows. “You don’t have to keep suffering.”

This. Hanahaki is what she meant— the disease of unrequited love.

“I’m fine, Kira,” Yuta hissed with a bit more annoyance than he intended to. She flinched at the tone but still pushed on when he coughed again. He felt the discomfort of something being lodged in his throat and his body had the urge to hack it out. Suddenly, he was leaning over the counter with cherry blossom petals littering the cash register.

Yuta practically hacked up a storm, body curling in pain. One hand was clutching his stomach while the other had a death grip on the edge of the counter. The dizziness returned and he felt lightheaded as the retching subsided. A weakness took over his athletic body and Kira rushed to assist him back onto the stool. There was a bottle of soothing eucalyptus oil sitting right on the counter and she scrambled to open it before shoving it under his nose.

“You’re obviously not fine. You need to go to the hospital to get checked,” she said as Yuta took the small bottle from her grip. He dabbed a couple of drops onto his hands and rubbed it on his nose and throat. “Why won’t you accept any help that’s offered to you at the hospital?”

“I’ve gone through this before, Kira. Don’t worry about me.”

“Sometimes you forget I’ve gone through this, too!” she yelled. “I don’t want you to end up on your deathbed like I was at one point.”

Yuta couldn’t argue with that. He was hired back when she was in the hospital recovering from the final stage of the dreaded disease.

“We’re all worried about you here. Mom, Jongin, Mark? And your friends— Sicheng, Ten, and Taeyong? We all hate seeing you like this!” her voice grew louder and louder with each word, causing him to flinch at the shrill tone. Deafening noises plus nausea and headaches never meshed well with him.

“You don’t see how much it hurts seeing someone you care about suffer like this, Yuta. It hurts even more when we can’t do anything to help you go through this.”

Silence filled the room.

“Have you seen Dr. Kim lately?” Dr. Junmyeon Kim was the Hanahaki specialist that Kira recommended. He eased her back into normalcy after her scare.

“I will soon, I promise,” he said through haggard breaths. She guided him through a couple of breathing exercises and it calmed his racing heart down.

Kira sighed. With a quieter tone, she said, “It’s a shame the world made us experience heartbreak this way, isn’t it?”

Yuta smiled sadly at her— it was a shame.

The front door of the shop opened and the bell rang. They both turned to see Kira’s boyfriend Mark walk in with a cute grin. He clumsily hopped over the counter to plant a sweet kiss on her cheek. “Well, at least you got your happy ending,” he muttered too low for his coworker to hear.

Yuta knew there was a chance of having it too, he was just too afraid to speak.

If one were to look at him at that moment, his features hid nothing. Nakamoto Yuta was slowly ripping at the seams with the sakura branches poking their way out of his built figure and although multiple options were given to him, he still felt so unbelievably helpless.

It was the middle of the semester when you caught Yuta wandering the halls of the main art building. A grin found its way to your lips as you saw him with his messenger bag and a tubed container slung over his shoulder. Running to catch up with him, you slipped your arm into his free one. Your classmate yelped at the sudden contact and you let out a loud giggled that echoed in the empty hallway.

You finally felt close enough to initiate contact after sharing supplies with him during one studio session. That being said, it didn’t mean you were comfortable with revealing the feelings you harbored towards him— you wanted to keep that a secret for a little bit longer.

“What are you doing here? I thought you didn’t have classes in here today,” you asked.

“Oh, it’s just you,” Yuta sighed. You felt your heart drop at his words but you played it off with a scrunch of the nose and a teasing tone.

“Were you expecting someone else, Nakamoto?” you nudged his stomach and he avoided it, already predicting your actions. Yuta held back another series of coughs, quick turning away from you to cough into the handkerchief always kept on hand. He looked in pain as he continued to hack into the small piece of cloth and you brought a comforting hand to rub at his back.

“Every time I see you, you’re coughing,” you frowned. “You really need to get yourself checked, it’s been months.”

“No, no, I promise you I’m fine,” he replied with the shake of the head, his dark hair moving along with him. Even when ruffled and out of sorts, he looked good. He attempted to clear his throat by downing some water.

Your lips pursed at his words, not satisfied with his dismissive answer. “If you say so. Promise me you’ll see someone if it gets worse though.”

He agreed but you suspected it was to stop you from nagging. “To answer your question before you went all mom on me, I was here to talk to the department about my senior project.”

“Have you decided on your theme for your exhibit yet?”

Yuta smiled wistfully, “Flowers.”

“Should’ve known— it’s always flowers with you. It’s like you’re in love with them or something.”

He let out a scoff at your words. When you shot him a questioning look, he dismissed the act completely.

Time spent with Yuta always passed so quickly; one moment you were on the top floor of the building and the next, you were already at the bottom of the staircase. Ever the gentleman, he held the front door open for you and you thanked him with a smile. His brown eyes shrunk into little slits and whiskers appeared at the corners as he grinned back with a little chuckle.

How you longed to sketch that image.

A strong breeze blew through, causing a couple of leaves and fallen petals to fly around your figures. You crossed your arms around your front to keep the cold from seeping in and shut your eyes to keep debris out. Peeking at Yuta, you saw him cover his eyes with a calloused hand and he gently pushed you behind him to use his body as a makeshift shield. As soon as the breeze stopped, his grip on your arm loosened but the grip he had on your heart was still as strong as ever.

He whirled around to make sure you were alright and next thing you knew, his hand was lingering above your head. “You have something in your hair, do you want me to take it out?”

Yuta looked down at you with cautious eyes and you just noticed how close you were. Heat radiated off his body and your cheeks as you nod in approval. One dry hand moved to delicately clutch the side of your head as the other plucked a leaf out of your hair.

Your breath hitched as his fingers ran against your skin and tucked a stray piece of hair behind your ear. There was a sudden pounding in your ears that matched the drumming rhythm of your heart.

“There,” he whispered as he let you go. With a smile, Yuta added, “good as new and pretty as a picture.”

“Pretty enough to paint?” you fired back with sarcasm.

“Definitely worthy of being displayed for the world to see,” he winked.

Was he flirting? It seemed like he was.

Maybe, Sicheng was right— Yuta could have feelings for you. But it could also just be wishful thinking.

Were you flirting? Is this how flirting works?

“Speaking of displays,” Yuta started nervously as he walked you to your car. He slowed down his walking pace and you easily matched it, your steps moving in time with his. The main walkway on campus was devoid of people, seeing how it was later in the school day. The path from the art building to the lot you parked in was short and you wished there was some way to extend it so you could spend more time with him.

“Will you, uh, come to my show?” he asked, his hand scratching the back of his head. His hair flopped with the wind and his unsure grin made him look so incredibly endearing. “I know it’s still too early to give you a set date but I’d love to see you there.”

“What? Of course I’ll come!” you said, stopping to slap his arm.

He winced at the contact. “Ow?”

“I would’ve gone even if you didn’t ask me,” you proceeded on the path with a smile. “I have to go and support my friends.”

There was a coughing fit coming from behind you and you whirled around to see Yuta hacking into his handkerchief again. It looked more painful than the last attack he had a few minutes ago. His breathing was shallow and he clutched his chest as the coughs continued.

“Oh my god, Yuta!” You were pretty sure you heard him gag as you rubbed his back. “Okay, I’m taking you to the hospital. You’re clearly not alright.”

He lifted a hand to tell you to stop. “No, no. I’m fine. I just—I gotta go,” was all he said with his hoarse voice before jolting away.

Staring at his strong back as grew smaller and smaller, you almost missed the fallen piece of cloth on the ground. Keyword: almost.

“Wait, Yuta!” you shouted, bending down to pick it up. “You dropped your hanke—” As soon as you lifted the handkerchief, perfectly preserved cherry blossom petals fell out of its hold. They rained towards the ground, decorating the sidewalk with the prettiest shade of pink.

Yuta was long forgotten. You were too lost in your confusion of the flowers.

“Cherry blossoms?” you asked yourself. “They’re not in season yet.”

—🌸—

Yuta heard you calling for him but he refused to turn around. He pushed himself to keep running despite the tight pain in his chest. Pulling out his phone, he sent quick text messages to Sicheng and Kira with his location, asking them to stop by and help him. The disorientation hit faster this time, causing him to tumble into a bench. He gripped the iron lining as he hurled and for the first time, it was so painful that it brought tears to his eyes. His mouth trembled as he let out a cry.

Yuta tasted the bit of blood that poured out of his lips.

Wiping his mouth with the sleeve of his jacket, Yuta ignored how the crimson stained the fabric. A butter chuckle escaped him.

“Pink goes good with red,” he whispered to himself as another stinging pain made its way up his body.

He felt the branches slowly poking his lungs, climbing a path up his chest. It was just as Kira described— it was piercing like a sharp arrow to the heart. The arrow pressed and pressed and pressed until he was exploding with petals, blood, sweat, and tears. It was aimed to kill. He thought arrows to the heart were supposed to fill him with love, not a heart-wrenching pain that tempted him to rip the beating organ out of his chest.

This was all too much to bear.

The full flowers and the scratching of wood tickling his throat.

The lack of oxygen and struggle for air.

He felt it all. He wished he didn’t.

Yuta wished he was one of the people that found their soulmate with that ridiculous red string of fate tied to the end of his pinky. They were blessed with a lifetime of happiness while he was cursed with what felt like an eternity of agony that his weakening body could no longer withstand.

Yuta knew you didn’t love him but he adored you anyway.

This wasn’t a shoujo manga, Yuta knew that. This was real life. No one was going to kiss, kiss, fall in love with the blink of an eye.

Picking petals off of flowers wouldn’t solve his problem. He wished it did, though.

If only it was that easy.

The rest of the semester flew by quickly with midterms and mid-semester projects keeping you at bay. You barely saw Yuta, yet alone the rest of your friends, if not for your classes. All of you shared the same appearance: dark circles, eye bags, sunken cheeks, hunched backs, and glazed over eyes. Your group survived the weeks with a crazy amount of caffeine and not enough food.

With the school year finally over and graduation season starting, that meant one thing for the college of fine arts at your university— exhibitions. The music and dance departments already had their concerts and showcases. Final showings of the theatre department’s newest production just wrapped up yesterday; the only thing left were the senior art exhibits.

Dressed to the nines and not at all like a struggling artist, you paced back and forth at the entrance of the student art gallery with a bouquet of irises in your hand. Sicheng, your emotional support for the day, stood as you walked the same path with annoyance. You couldn’t exactly pinpoint why you felt nervous— it wasn’t even your exhibit, it was Yuta’s.

Ten and Taeyong wrapped up their exhibits the week prior; Yuta’s was the last one.

“Are you done freaking out? Can we go in now?” Sicheng cocked a brow at you with his phone in hand. “The others are already inside.”

Wringing your hands together, you took in a deep breath. “Okay, let’s do this.”

Sicheng rolled his eyes before opening the doors to the gallery. Stepping inside, you were immediately welcomed by paper flowers of all sorts hanging from the ceiling and the quiet chatter of the gallery’s visitors. To the right, you saw a sign displaying the exhibit’s name: Efflorescence. A brief description of the exhibit was placed below it and you took the time to read it before stepping further in.

Snapshots of his life told through the appearance and language of flowers.

Ten and Taeyong, your seniors and close friends, were waiting for you off to the side.

“Sorry for the wait, you guys.”

Sicheng grumbled, “Took her long enough to calm down.”

Ten laughed, “Were you nervous for him? You weren’t like this for our final exhibits.”

“Oh, leave her alone,” Taeyong hushed the other two. Wrapping an arm around you, he pulled you close, “She’s nervous because this is her crush we’re talking about.”

“For heaven’s sake, say that any louder and he’ll hear you!” you screeched. The boys chuckled at your embarrassed state as you went ahead of them, ready to walk your way through the large room. From the corner of your eye, you saw Yuta smiling by the exit, surrounded by people singing praises about his work.

You weren’t in a rush— you wanted to take the time to appreciate every piece before talking to him about why he chose to display each work. Talking to the object of your affection could wait.

The first few paintings were of his childhood and the flowers that accompanied each scene all had similar meanings— innocence, purity, etc. You noticed that most of his paintings were done with watercolor, which made complete sense.

It seemed like he was always prepared to paint something, brush and paint always at the ready. The genius basically carried his foldable watercolor palette and pad everywhere he went, not wanting to miss an opportunity to paint a beautiful picture if he were to pass by one. That was another thing you admire about him— Nakamoto Yuta saw beauty in everything.

Deeper into the gallery, you found more familiar scenes and faces. There was a landscape of the fine arts department, with daffodil petals scattered across the canvas and it was titled New Beginnings. You passed various portraits of your friends, their beauty rivaling that of their birth flowers that shared the same space. Marveling at how realistic his paintings looked, you made a note in your brain to relay that thought to the artist later. He captured the essence of each person perfectly in a painting, breathing life into it, and you honestly couldn’t understand how one could do that.

Spotting Kira’s familiar face admiring a painting up ahead, you quickened your pace to catch up to her. Feeling the light tap you placed on her shoulder, she turned around with a surprised look that turned into a genuine smile upon seeing your face. She released her hold on her companion, a cute boy with doe eyes and bright smile, before giving you a hug.

“You’re here!” she squealed. Taking notice of the flowers in your hand, she winked, “Irises, huh? Nice touch.”

“I stopped by your shop beforehand looking for you and an older guy wrapped them up for me,” you smiled sheepishly. “Should’ve known you would be here and not working.”

“My brother, Jongin,” Kira said. “And of course, I wouldn't miss Yuta’s exhibit for the world. He’s done a lot for me and my family.” She shared a fond look with the boy next to her and he squeezed her hand in return.

“This is my boyfriend, Mark, by the way,” Kira gestured to the boy next to her.

“Yo, nice to meet you, dude,” Mark extended his arm out towards you and you gladly took in your hands to give it a shake. You laughed at his casual greeting; it was charming.

“Back at you, dude,” you giggled back.

Turning to take a peek at the picture they were admiring, you couldn’t help but break out into a wide grin. It was the two of them with the flower shop as their background. Yuta had painted Kira seated on top on the counter, eyes closed with glee and hands clutching a small bouquet of blue flowers. Mark, on the other hand, leaned towards her with fingers gripping the table top and looking at her with a loving smile.

You could feel the love pouring out of it and it warmed your lonely heart. “Wow,” you whispered.

Kira leaned her head on Mark’s shoulder and he placed a tiny kiss to her temple. “I’m buying it from him once this is all over,” she said.

Knowing each flower played a part in Yuta’s paintings, you tried to distinguish what flowers she clutched in her hand. “They’re cornflowers,” Mark answered the question that lingered in your head.

“Why cornflowers?”

“Oh those things put us through a lot— a little pain sprinkled in with their beauty,” Kira smiled, leaving Mark to chuckle lovingly at her comment. It felt like a secret between the two of them and you were invading in their space. “They were what got us together in the first place.”

Her sentence made you cock a brow. How could flowers be painful? That was awfully cryptic, even a little unsettling but it sounded a little familiar to you; it was on the tip of your tongue.

“Yeah, they’re pretty special,” the boy grinned, gaze still glued to the person wrapped under his arm. “Cornflowers are my favorite.”

“They’re starting to become one of mine, too,” she returned the look.

Mark’s bright brown eyes were shining with the love you wish someone had for you. It was a sweet sight, to see such a young couple in love. A part of you was jealous that they found a love like that so early in their lives while you pined after an artist that was so infatuated with flowers and their meanings.

Wanting to leave them in their moment, you excused yourself with a smile. There were only four paintings left to see.

The first was a design you recognized. It was a more detailed painting of the sketch you had seen Yuta draw on the first day of the semester. A girl was seated on the grass, leaning her back on a trunk of a cherry blossom tree. Her hands were outstretched to the sky, trying to catch the falling petals in her hand. Stealing a glance at the title, Yuta titled the piece, Wishful Thinking.

Moving to the next piece, it was a close up of Yuta’s hands. His palms were pressed together, cupping cherry blossoms in his hand. Petals and full flowers were scattered around the canvas, filling out all the empty spaces. The bright pink stood out against the color of his skin. You admired the amount of detail this piece had— the wrinkles on his skin, the gradient found on the petals. It held your interest, leaving you to wonder what this piece titled Inside meant to him.

Yuta’s self-portrait was showstopping. He borrowed the flower shop’s name, calling this piece For You in Full Bloom. The painting brilliantly depicted him in all white, his eyes closed with pain and hands clutching at his throat. The blossoms were spilling out of his mouth, the petals tainted with a blood red. You could feel the sadness and the suffering emitting from the picture and it pained you to see such a vulnerable depiction of him.

Putting two and two together, you figured it out.

Hanahaki. You had read about the disease before, one of the artists you admired had it. They created art as a way to tell their story. It was their escape from the suffering, a way to ease their pain, and the one course of action they took to be remembered after their death.

The only piece of information you lacked was who made him tolerate such pain.

Skipping the last painting of the exhibit, you made your way through the crowd to find Yuta. He stood at the end with a polite smile, thanking everyone who attended his exhibit. Onlookers were showering him with compliments, leaving you to wait until the small crowd cleared out.

“Why didn’t you tell me you were sick?” you breathed out with a concerned look. You couldn’t even spit out the name of the disease.

His smile widened into a genuine one, eyes gone soft at the sight of you. “You made it.”

Spotting the irises in your hand, he gestured towards the bouquet. “Are those for me?”

Still in shock that the person you were in love with was suffering all this time, you handed them to him without a word.

“Irises mean ‘congratulations,’ nice choice,” he laughed, trying to steer the topic away from his illness.

“Who?” you asked. “Who is it?”

Cocking his head, he answered you with another question. “You didn’t see the last one, did you?”

Shaking your head negatively, Yuta took you by the hand and the feeling made fireworks explode in your chest. Your heart was beating rapidly as he led you a few steps away. Nodding his head towards the last frame, he whispered, “Take a look.”

You felt his hand break out into a sweat and you wondered why this last one made him so nervous. Glancing at the title, you read the words Love Me Now.

Taking a deep breath, you mentally prepared yourself to see the person who had a hold on Yuta’s heart. Unlike him, you thought yourself strong enough to take the heartbreak— after all, you weren’t the one with flowers blooming inside you. Shifting your eyes over, you gasped as soon as you spotted whose face was framed on the wall.

Staring back at you was the most beautiful painting of yourself. It was a you that you had never seen before. He painted you in flourishing pastels to match the happy look on your face. He captured your smile lines, the curve of your eyes, and the scrunch of your nose in such detail; it amazed you beyond belief.

There was movement in your hair, the strands swaying in the wind along with the petals behind you. Your hands held a branch of your favorite flowers, half of them covering part of your face.

Captivated by seeing yourself through someone else’s eyes, you couldn’t tear your gaze away.

“Your smile makes flowers grow in my chest,�� Yuta’s voice came from your side. You turned to see him wear a strained smile. Yuta’s huge eyes that were usually filled with kindness were taken over by something else— pain.

There was pain in his words and you hear the ache in his voice. His tone is hoarse, like his throat is unbelievably dry or irritated.

“I— I don’t know what to say.”

Everything was extremely overwhelming.

He shook his head to tell you that it was okay; he just needed to get the words off his chest. “It’s so beautiful and enchanting and it makes my heart clench and flowers take over my lungs.”

“Cherry blossoms,” you found yourself saying. You couldn’t believe this was happening. There were words you wanted to say but you were struggling to find them.

“Sakura,” he repeated in his native language.

“My favorite flowers.”

“Your favorite flowers.”

“You were never in love with flowers,” you stated, still in a state of shock.

Yuta released this low, almost bitter sounding chuckle that comes from deep within his chest. “Never.”

“Then, you’re in love with—”

“You.”

“—me.”

Just like the artist you admired, Yuta painted his way through his pain of loving you.

Nakamoto Yuta felt like he had been in love with you for the longest time. He had loved you before he could even muster the guts to let you know it, to invite you to this exhibit that displayed art dedicated to you.

He really hoped that you would show so he could take the chance to confess. Sure, you had promised but sometimes, people never intended to keep them. If he didn’t get it off his chest, he would never be able to breathe and Yuta desperately wanted to.

Yuta wanted to fill his lungs with breaths of fresh air and just breathe you in. That was all he longed for.

“Oh,” was all you could breathe out.

“It’s okay that you don’t feel the same,” Yuta tried to comfort you, getting the wrong idea from your lack of words. “I just needed to let you know.”

The sharpening ache that became so familiar to him was building up in his chest again, preparing him for the worst. Yuta swallowed thickly, already feeling the petals working their way to his mouth. His airways began restricting, his breaths growing more haggard by the second. He had so many things to say and he was determined to let it out before the petals escaped. The words spilled out his mouth, his lips running like a motor, “I used to be afraid of being in love and being happy with a person that I loved because it hurts.”

“Yuta—”

He stopped you with a lifted palm.

“Happiness never lasted with me, the flowers always ripped it away,” he explained, his trembling eyes focusing on your portrait and not the real person beside him.

“But then I met you and felt things I have never experienced before. So, I pushed my way through the pain just to be with you because I felt like I reached for the stars and touched the sky when we were together.”

His words brought tears to your eyes. You couldn’t believe someone would sit through the pain just to spend time with you nor thought you were worth it but here Yuta was, proving you wrong.

“There were times I wanted to beg you to love me, just so the hurting and the bleeding—just everything— could stop but I was too much of a coward and it led me to this.”

Here he was, pouring his heart out to you with his images and words, and you couldn’t let out a single noise. You forced yourself to move forward, to slip your hand into his. The sensation of your fingers intertwining with his brought Yuta out of his daze to look at you.

“Yuta,” you said with trembling lips. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t know.”

“It’s not your fault,” he replied with a sullen tone. You squeezed his palm and he gave you a light one in return. “If I don’t get this off my chest now, I’ll never be able to breathe and I really want to.”

“There’s no reason for you to lose your breath over me.” A sniffle escaped you and Yuta turned to see you crying. He bent down to wipe your tears away, his finger swiping against your skin ever so gently.

“Why are you crying?”

“Because you suffered because of me and you didn’t have to,” you shot back with a whimper.

“You couldn’t have known, it’s okay,” he tried to reassure you.

“No, no,” you interrupted him to his confusion. “It’s not that.”

Your voice was so soft under your quivers, he could barely hear you over the loud chattering of the other guests in the room. Yuta guided you just outside his exhibit to a bench and dried your eyes with the sleeve of his sweater.

“What’s wrong?”

Yuta’s question made you laugh through your tears and at all the time wasted. He had been in pain for so long because he was yearning for you just as you were for him. The mutual yet silent pining took you down this route and it could have been avoided if you had just stopped being a coward and spoken up like Sicheng pushed you to.

“There’s nothing wrong,” you said with the dismissing wave. You willed yourself to look him in the eyes and bring a hand to his cheek. “It’s just that I think I’ve been in love with you as long as you have been in love with me.”

Your confession caused him to freeze in his seat. His brown eyes were blown out wide and mouth dropping in shock. Giggling as more tears fell, you quickly slide the hand cupping his cheek down to his jaw to shut his mouth closed. Running a thumb against his lips, you felt his pulse quickening at your touch.

“You’re in love with me?” he asked, voice as gentle as the breeze. There was uncertainty and disbelief behind it. Yuta wanted to hear you say it again.

—🌸—

“I’ve been in love with you for a while now.” Your earnest words were music to his ears.

He felt this comforting rush take over this body and it sent tingles down his spine, traveling all the way to the tips of his fingers and toes. Your confession worked like magic, spelling him with this high that made him soar to the skies.

Yuta thought you were a witch, entrancing him with a love charm so strong that it brought instant relief to his pain. His heart was trying to fight its way out of his chest and the ache of his airways dulled. The muscle was pounding so loudly against his ribcage, he could hear it in his ears, and he swore you could hear it too.

His lips upturned into the biggest grin, he felt like his cheeks were about to burst.

Was this how a requited love felt? If it was, he never wanted to go without it again.

Yuta rushed to pull you in his arms and sighed when you nuzzled your head into his neck. He shivered when he felt them whisper the three words he longed to hear into his skin. His body shook with laughter as he placed a lingering kiss at the crown of your head, reveling at the feeling of you encased in his hold.

You tried to fight your way out of his grip but he only tightened his arms, not wanting to let you go. The action left you giggling into his neck, causing him to squirm until his hold loosened. Your hands trailed their way from his waist up to cup his face and suddenly, his eyes were locked onto yours. Just as you were getting lost in the deep sea of brown, his gaze flickered to your lips before looking back at you. His lips quirked up as you did the same.

He felt your breath hitch as he leaned in to slot his lips against yours and the overwhelming rush returned. It seemed like his heart was racing against time, beating erratically as you kissed him so tenderly. Your lips were so soft and they tasted like the vanilla flavoring of your color, leaving him to chase after you every time you pulled away for a breath.

Yuta fought the strain in his airways as he pursued your lips again and again, loving the way you felt and tasted. He picked up the smell of your cherry blossom shampoo and laughed into the kiss. The feeling of having you was so addicting— your love was his drug and he was forever hooked on you. He would devote himself to nothing else but you.

The sensation of Yuta kissing you and smiling against your lips sent you into overdrive. There were butterflies in your stomach, fireworks going off in your head, tingles down your spine and you loved it all.

In the past, you only noticed Nakamoto Yuta’s undying love and admiration for flowers but this was the first time you finally noticed his love for you and it was nothing short of wonderful.

It was the start of something new.

🌸 author’s note— that’s it! it came out a bit more angst than i intended, definitely lacked the fluff i was expecting but i’m still satisfied with the ending uwu i loved writing my little markie and kira in the fic, i’ve missed them! but yes!! that’s the end of my little bday present to myself! i hope y’all loved it! please leave some feedback; i would love to hear what you thought of it!! i think i literally fell in love with yuta while writing this.

🌸 taglist— @danishmiilk @hyunjins--laugh @littleflowercrown13 @orange-nimon-cross @radiorenjun @ncteaxhoe @chancrispy

#cznnet #neowritingsnet #nct scenarios #nct imagines #nct fanfic #nct angst #nct x reader #nakamoto yuta #yuta #yuta x reader #yuta scenarios #yuta imagines #yuta fanfic #yuta fluff #yuta angst

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tobesobri · 4 years

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Bust | Part One: Chisel (7.8k)

“Disappointed?” She tilted her head, smirking at him. She had no right to think he liked her better than Rose. She, herself, liked Rose better too. So she was sure he had to be at least a little bit sad to see Rose missing.

He smiled and the second she saw those dimples she was reminded of his Instagram all over again.

“A little,” he nodded, pinching his thumb and index finger together in the air and she painfully agreed.

“Well, you get me all by myself tonight.” She didn’t realize how it sounded until it was too late. Until she was cringing at all the sexual insinuations she’d just made for absolutely no reason. She could have said something else that wasn’t laced in an innuendo. But no, of course not. She had to continue her embarrassing streak when it came to Harry.

Instead of being creeped out by her, however, and pulling a confused and slightly terrified face, he laughed. And, on God, his laugh was the most amazing thing she’d ever heard. This wasn’t the first time the sound of his laughter graced her eardrums, but it was the first time he was laughing because of something she said that wasn’t about crooked penises.

“Lucky me.”

In which Y/N is an annoyance in Harry’s sculpting class.

story masterlist | my masterlist

It’s not her forte. Her hands don’t know how to hold onto things. They tremble under pressure. They mess things up no matter how hard she tries.

Not that she had really tried very hard to begin with.

Sculpting was just not something she saw herself doing. Ever. Not with her lack of agility and poor attention to detail. But to appease her whining best friend… she’d do just about anything.

The class was held in a little art studio with large windows for ventilation and tall ceilings to display the mass amounts of student artwork on butcher block shelves. She never thought she’d be back in a classroom type setting after graduating college, but here she was.

Learning, what she proclaimed as, a useless skill.

The studio was smack dab in the middle of an inclined street. Little quaint buildings that sat on an angle because why not pour foundations on a hill and make her weekly walks to the studio a little sweatier than she would have preferred. Even if it was winter in their little beach village town. Sweat still happened. It just happened underneath a scarf and a hand-knitted beanie from the sewing shop next door.

She could not deny, however, that the late afternoon classes every Wednesday and Saturday brought her way more joy than she’d anticipated. She looked forward to meeting up with Rose at the bottom-of-the-hill cafe, sharing the daily special with her before making their way up to the studio. It was calm in the middle and end of her hectic weeks that she most definitely needed.

What she didn’t need, however, what she most certainly did not look forward to, what she could have done without, what took her joy and smashed it against a wall was him.

The instructor.

Harry ‘I have nice hands and a misleading smile’ Styles.

It had only been two weeks into their classes and he had already told her one of her bowls was garbage. That the way she sculpted a face was terrifying. That she couldn’t draw for shit and that made her attempts at sculpting even worse.

So by Saturday of their second week, she didn't care anymore. He was a jerk and she would be the best pain in his ass she knew how to be.

While everyone called him Harry, like he’d asked them to the very first day, she called him Mr. Styles. Just to see the way his eyes rolled back into his head and his nostrils flared. While everyone asked him insightful questions, like what glaze was best to use or what tool sculpted eyes most efficiently, she asked him if she could use the bathroom.

She got a fucking kick out of irritating him. Knowing he went home after their classes just as irritated as she’d been. With clenched fists and a pounding headache.

It helped that he was insanely too attractive to be teaching a bunch of millennials about sculpting in his free time.

“You should really leave him alone, he might kick us out, you know,” Rose said on their first third week walk up Justice Hill. There was no justice in walking uphill, and most fucking certainly not in the humidity-ridden beachside town. She found the street name personally offensive.

“Oh fuck him. If he kicks us out, he’ll have to refund us.” Y/N did not, even for a second, bother to lower her voice as they neared the studio, knowing any one of the other students could hear her if they were to walk by.

“Refund us what? We got the class for free, remember?”

Y/N racked her brain like she’d completely forgotten that little detail before shrugging it off. “Whatever. He won’t kick us out.”

“How do you know for sure?”

Before she could make some stupid remark about how Harry secretly liked her pestering him or about how much he seemed much too impressed by Rose’s progress to ever get rid of them, the devil himself turned the corner in front of them.

He came out from an alleyway that connected the street to a tiny parking lot. And while they were going uphill, he was coming down. He was hard to miss and so were they, but still he attempted to not see them.

“What a prick,” Y/N mumbled under her breath as they got closer to each other. And almost as if he could read her lips, he rolled his eyes so fucking hard she thought maybe they’d finally pop right out of his head this time.

“Shush,” Rose warned as the three of them finally met in the middle, at the door to the studio that was decorated with a bright yellow ‘Open’ sign, children’s drawings, hand-painted hours of operation, and one too many polaroids of past students and their sculpting creations.

They all stood and stared at each other for a moment before he opened the door first, holding it as, to Y/N’s surprise, he let them go in first. And while she was still in shock at the gesture, his body language said it all. Like he was forcing himself to be nice to the dynamic duo, to the bane of his existence. While she was too distracted by Harry and his clay-stained trousers and cable-knit sweater with a cartoon deer embroidered on it, Rose walked into the studio first. Giving Harry a polite smile that he returned almost… genuinely.

And right when Y/N made a move to follow, Harry stepped in front of her. She jolted back as he just about let the door slam her in the face.

Today was going to be fantastic.

* * *

“Right, so,” Harry began, clapping his dry hands together as he took a seat behind his messy table at the front of the studio. “I know some of you haven’t finished your heads yet, but our focus today will still be on the bodies. We’ll have a catch up on Saturday to make up for it.”

Y/N sought out her head on the wall where she’d placed it last week beside Rose’s, realizing for the first time just how ugly it really was. And to think she’d been trying to sculpt Harry’s annoying face. Even more annoying that no matter what she did, he was always a lot more handsome than her hunk of polymer clay.

“... because, like I mentioned, we have special guests today who will be modeling for you.” Harry stood again while two very thin and very conventionally perfect people came out in white robes. Y/N couldn’t help but gag.

“This is Hope and Jordan.” Harry motioned as he introduced them, not getting any further in his instructions before Y/N raised her hand in the back of the class.

Rose attempted to get her to put it down, too, because Harry was clearly in the middle of something, but it didn’t really work out so well. Y/N was a stubborn son of a bitch.

“Yeah?” He pointed at her, sighing while planting his hands on his hips. He knew nothing she had to ask was going to be at all beneficial to the group.

She cleared her throat and just from the smirk on her face, he braced for impact. “Are they going to be modeling nude?”

She made just about everyone blush, except for Harry. He hated how she never took anything seriously. That the art he’d spent years perfecting enough to teach meant nothing to her. It was all just a primary school joke in her eyes.

“Yes, actually,” he answered bluntly and then returned to what he was going to say before Y/N’s interruption. “So I want everyone to get a piece of paper and while they’re modeling, do a rough sketch of what you might want the body of your sculpture to look like. The importance is to get the proportions down so that when you use the clay, you’ll know how much you’ll need for each part. Just like we did for the heads.”

Harry walked around the class once the models were stripped and the sketching began. Rose started immediately, concentration on her face as she flipped between the female model and her piece of sketchbook paper.

All Y/N had was a scratch piece of grey-toned mixed media paper she’d found laying on their table. And absolutely no clue where to even begin.

She stared at Harry instead of the naked models, watching as he helped others around the room, pointing at their sketches and where they could improve. His other hand behind his back that gave her perfect access to stare at his rings. Remembering how he’d taken them off guide their first few sculpting lessons. Remembering how his hands had so gently but so fucking firmly caressed the mound of clay into the exact shapes he wanted like he knew exactly what to do with those things.

“See it’s going just as I expected back here.” When his voice was at her ear, she jumped out of her skin and out of her daydreams. Twisting her head around to him as he stood behind her, she found him staring over her shoulder at her blank piece of paper.

She narrowed her eyes at him once she’d fully processed what he said. “Sorry I’m trying to figure out the best way to scale up that dude’s micro-cock, proportionally, if you don’t mind.”

He just about choked on his own spit, and rightfully so. But when he glanced to her eyes instead of her disappointing blank canvas, with his eyebrows furrowed and his cute little nostrils flared just the way she liked them, it was clear his reaction wasn’t for the reasons she’d intended.

He was quiet. Lips pursed, mind completely empty apart from hearing her say cock over and over again. Echoing against his skull. Making a home for itself in his hippocampus for later purposes. When he was not in a class full of students with their eyes on him, watching him get hard at the fucking way she said cock.

“Leave you to it then,” he cleared his throat and continued on.

“He may not kick us out, but killing you is still an option,” Rose whispered once Harry was a safe distance away from them.

Y/N leaned back in her seat to watch him walk down the rest of their row. His hands behind his back again, eyes wandering over shoulders.

As long as he had those rings on while he choked her out, she was okay with that.

* * *

Everyone had moved on to their bodies. Gathering the clay they needed from the front and using their sketches as guidelines to build around the pre-made wire and aluminum foil armature. Most everyone had some sort of a form being attached to the heads of their sculptures by the time Y/N even got started.

Because she decided on using Harry as reference after all and he would just not stand still.

With the models gone, they were on their own, with help from Harry of course. He played several videos and gave various demonstrations to aide them. It wasn’t supposed to be perfect, but after she gave it her all for about ten minutes, she was ready to give up. Her body looked like a very lumpy, very deformed version of Shrek.

She took a break again, watching Rose sculpt for a while instead. She watched Harry sometimes too as he walked around the class again in gloves this time. Smoothing out features and picking up tools to aid in the process of forming collarbones and wrinkles.

The studio was in its typical state of disarray. Random cups of milky water on every table, pieces of clay smushed into the tile floor, tools and used gloves strewn about with no rhyme or reason. Harry thrived in that kind of environment while Y/N well… she hated it.

She wanted organization and cleanliness. Her nine-to-five called for that kind of thing. But she was slowly getting used to it. To letting go and embracing the mess while she was here. She wasn’t the one that had to clean it all up anyways.

The only time she wasn’t daydreaming was when Harry started up their aisle again, walking in front of their table this time however. He helped a couple others at the end of their row, watched some of them work before eventually landing right in front of Rose’s station.

He cocked his head to the side while he watched her struggle to form an even pair of breasts on her headless lady. And even though Y/N was trying her best to look busy, she just couldn’t help it.

Rose handed her work in progress over to him with a frustrated huff after he offered his assistance. And like… no way was Y/N missing out on Mr. Harry fucking Styles fingering some clay into the perfect set of boobs. No way.

Especially fucking not when he removed his gloves and used those fingers in their bare glory the way she wished he’d use them someplace else. She watched while he slapped some more clay on Rose’s poor flat-chested model and proceeded to smooth it out with his expert fingertips. She watched the clay melt under his touch, watching him dip into their shared cup of water to aid the process. She looked away long enough to admire the concentration on his face, the way he bit down on his lip and furrowed his brows the way she was used to. She watched again while he fixed all of Rose’s mistakes just by gliding his thumbs over the two perfect little lumps on her sculpture that sure as hell hadn’t started out so perfectly.

She had no idea why Harry sculpting a tiny set of breasts on what would eventually become a mermaid got her so hot and bothered but… it did. It did so fucking much, she was almost salivating like a dog by the end of it, thinking about what his hands could do with the real deal. But then he handed it back to Rose with a content smile on his face and burst Y/N’s little bubble.

“Might be better,” he said softly and Rose nodded in agreement. She hadn't noticed before, but when he stood to his full height it was clear he’d been leaning over on their table. Closer to the both of them than he’d ever really been before. And she knew he was tall, taller than Rose, who was five foot seven inches herself. And not just that but his shoulders were broad and his arms were a humble amount of muscular. Almost like he was a sculptor that kneaded clay a hundred hours a week. Maybe that was why she was a soaking wet mess.

He stretched his gloves back onto his hands and glanced Y/N’s direction. Eyes going straight from her disaster of an art piece to her flushed face and back.

“Don’t even know where to start to fix yours up,” he commented while moving slightly to his right until he stood directly in front of Y/N this time.

She looked at her abomination, wondering if it would be her worst idea to push more of his buttons or not. But, she went for it anyways. Her lack of impulse control would definitely come back to bite her in the ass one day.

“It’s the penis. Still haven’t gotten that down yet.”

He nodded, amused rather than his previous reaction to her antics. “Can see that, yeah. He’s got a bit of a crooked willy there.” Harry poked at it with his index finger and she became hyper aware of his closeness this time while he leaned over her tabletop again. Because his hands were right there, almost touching her own. And they were big, bigger than she realized. She could see him perfectly through the transparent gloves, his long fingers with clipped nails at the end that were well taken care of, considering.

She would need to soak herself in holy water for a while after this.

“Oh, is that not what the male anatomy looks like?” She teased, not fully realizing they were getting along for the first time and it was because of dicks. Because she’d put an oddly shaped protrusion on her figure before she’d even done much else with the blob of clay stuck to her form.

“No,” he laughed, shaking his head at her and standing up straight again. “Maybe if you paid attention when the models were out here, you’d know that.”

“Maybe if you hired someone who’s cock I could actually see from all the way back here without a fucking magnifying glass.” She was only slightly aware of how fully immersed she was in the debate over this penis.

But all he heard was cock again. She really needed to stop saying that. Because this time his mind was a little more imaginative while he stared at her lips and thought about the way she might say that on her knees in front of him.

He shook his head clear. She was an insufferable nuisance that he just barely tolerated on a good day. He didn't need her clogging up his brain with her cock talk too.

“Just fix it.” He mumbled.

She huffed when he left her to her own devices, not even bothering to offer his help, but she really shouldn’t expect any less. If he helped her, he would be doing it all for her. And that was hardly the point of taking a class to learn how to sculpt if the hot instructor was just going to do everything for you.

“Is there a reason why you’re arguing with him about penises?” Rose asked, hushing her voice around the apparently taboo word.

“It’s fun. And if I’m going to sit here in this stupid class with you I’m going to have some fun.” Y/N, on the other hand, was not hushed or subtle at all, as she ripped off the phallic piece of clay from her sculpture.

Rose cringed when she glanced past Y/N to find Harry looking right at her. He had been helping someone a few seats down and clearly not far enough away to have missed what Y/N said. All of his features drooped and he looked genuinely upset. Rose wished she could put a filter over Y/N’s mouth to save everyone from her insensitive outbursts. Especially Harry. He always tried so hard and for Y/N to brush everything off and boil it all down to a ‘stupid class’ even broke Rose’s heart a little. So she could only imagine how Harry felt.

After their typical hour and a half was up, once everyone at least had some semblance of a body minus the legs and arms, Harry called the class back to order.

“Alright, that’s time. You can put your armatures back on the shelves, carefully. As always, I’ll be around for a little while after. Have a great rest of your night, I’ll see you all on Saturday.” He finished his spiel, turning away to help clean up before a lightbulb went off in his head and his voice rang through the studio again, “Oh, and make sure you bring your sketches back with you!”

Everyone worked on cleaning up, including Harry. And while Y/N took both her and Rose’s sculptures over to their respective spots on the shelves, Rose walked up to the front of the class without any warning whatsoever.

She tapped Harry’s shoulder and watched while his smile faded just the tiniest bit after he turned to find her. That Rose’s poor face had to be associated with the thunderstorm that was Y/N.

“I just wanted to say sorry… about Y/N.” Both Rose and Harry glanced at the girl in question near the back of the studio, playing with their two sculpted bodies like they were barbie dolls. “I forced her to do this with me so she hasn’t really taken it seriously. But I’m really enjoying the class, you’re a fantastic instructor.”

His smile returned again and if he was being honest with himself, it really did make him feel better to hear her say that. He had some sort of a reasoning for Y/N’s horrible attitude and while he wished it was her apologizing and not Rose, he figured it was good enough.

“Thank you. You’re doing really well so far. I’ll see you on Saturday, yeah?”

She nodded, giving him one last polite smile before trotting back to Y/N and helping her clean up the last bits around their workstation.

“Please do not tell me you were flirting with him.” Y/N gagged, using a ball of clay to gather the little pieces spread across their table like a magnet.

“No, actually, I was apologizing to him for your behavior.”

Y/N snapped her head up, first at Rose and then Harry all the way across the room from them. “You what?”

“He’s just trying to teach and you’ve been a fucking knobhead.”

Y/N gasped in fake offense, which was actually slightly real offense. “Excuse me, he made fun of my bowl the first day, you seem to have forgotten about that.”

“A toddler could have made a better bowl than that, Y/N, and you know it.”

She frowned, grumpily averting her eyes to the table with her arms crossed over her chest like she really was a toddler.

“I’m just saying,” Rose started, a bit calmer this time, “stop pestering him.”

* * *

Y/N thought about everything Rose had said. About how much she wished she could take things seriously and not constantly get on people’s nerves all the time, but she simply did not know how to. Taking the piss out of things and making jokes was how she got through her days.

But she did agree. Harry didn’t deserve her behavior. Maybe he was a bit of a jerk to her to begin with, but insulting his class might’ve been crossing a line.

Because she didn’t actually think it was stupid. She quite enjoyed listening to him. She liked learning something new and following his instructions as he walked them through some of his techniques. She liked being connected to all the people in the little studio, even if only briefly. Complete strangers all shared that one little thing in common and it made her all fuzzy and warm inside each time she met up with Rose at the end of every Wednesday and Saturday.

Hiding behind a bit of humor, however, was a lot more comfortable than admitting she found pleasure in anything as corny as sculpting classes.

On Friday night, boredom got the best of her and she took a chance upon searching Harry’s name on Instagram while she took her weekly bath. It had been Rose’s idea, the bath, not stalking her attractive sculpting instructor online. That decision was completely her own. But the baths at the end of stressful weeks had a little influence from her best friend, as did most aspects of her life. Baths were a waste of time, in her opinion, and she preferred the efficiency of showering. But Rose had given her nice smelling soaps and weird fizzy things for bath time and well… she couldn’t let them go to waste.

So, amid her regularly scheduled, once-a-week bath, she scrolled shamelessly through Harry’s feed. Because he did, in fact, have an instagram. And she only knew it was him because every fourth post was a video and in said videos were his hands. And, fuck, they were just as nice on film as they were in person.

He didn’t post much of his face, which she thought was an actual crime, but there was a lot about him and his sculpting. She found out it had been his sister’s birthday recently, who, when she smiled, looked just like him. He’d also just finished a piece he seemed really proud of, a clay head and bust of a pit bull, to which he linked in the caption about a local shelter who rescued the breed specifically and needed donations. Her heart nearly fucking melted.

Harry wasn’t much of an open book, though, unless he let his art do most of the talking. He seemed to enjoy sculpting women the most, which is probably why he’d been so good at de-lumping the breasts on Rose’s mermaid. But all the female sculptures he made weren’t sexual at all. They had meaning behind them. Like every single clay face she clicked on throughout his photos had a story. Like he was uplifting rather than fetishizing.

And not every single one of them was skinny and had perfect features. She was shocked to see at least half of the creations she’d skimmed through were of larger women with imperfect breasts at times and asymmetrical faces. Not sticking to typical European beauty standards as she may have originally assumed he might.

It made glancing down at her very much imperfect body feel a little less like an attack. Because Harry spent his time putting all his love into his little sculptures with diverse body types that she almost felt ashamed for ever hating hers.

Once she was done clicking on just about every single post he’d ever made, she finally found a selfie. Well… not really a selfie. Someone else had clearly taken it of him candidly while he had been working. But there was an awfully cute smile on his face and very familiar dimples poking into his cheeks that make her heart warm up again.

He wasn’t a damn thing like she’d assumed he was from the beginning. She thought his art centered around the ideal, and that maybe he was a little condescending because of it. But his Instagram told a different story about his art. And she wanted to know so much more about him.

She was completely lost in her dreams about him that just the smidge of distraction led to accidentally liking a photo of his from two years prior.

She’d have to move countries. Change her name. Delete everything. Never look back. Y/N? A distant memory.

Before dropping her phone in the tub and really making a complete ass out of herself, she threw it, instead, onto her furry rug in the middle of the bathroom and sunk herself down into the water. Wondering if it would really be so bad if she just drowned a little bit.

Because she desperately wanted to. There was nothing she could do. Not even unliking the picture would help. He’d still see the notification. Still click onto her page and realize who in the fuck had just liked a two-year-old post of his that he, himself, had probably even forgotten about.

She wanted nothing more than to sink her head under the pink-tinted water and never come back up. Her mind would not stop with the visualizations of what his reaction might be. Things he might be thinking. Like is this that fucking bitch from my sculpting class? Or whether or not she might find herself blocked by morning.

God, just make it stop.

But suddenly her phone buzzed and her heart just about stopped beating. It had to be the notification that Harry blocked her. Was that even a thing? Did Instagram notify you if someone blocked you? And why was her phone on silent? Because her Instagram notifications and her text messages made very different sounds. If it was just a text, she’d consider ignoring it. She’d continue marinating in all her shame a little while longer. But it ate her alive not knowing what the buzzing was from.

So, carefully, she pulled herself upright and reached across the floor until she had her phone in her hand. Before she clicked the screen on, though, she closed her eyes and inhaled a deep breath.

But when she opened her eyes and found out why her phone had buzzed, she let that breath out and settled her ass down again. It was Rose.

Hey, I can’t make it tomorrow for class. Felt like absolute shit at work today and had to go home because as it turns out I have the flu.

“Fuck,” Y/N mumbled to herself. She wasn’t sure if she wanted to go alone because facing Harry after she just did what she did was one thing, but doing it all by herself was another. But a part of her did still want to go tomorrow. The part before her horrific accident when she was full on getting a love boner over Harry. She’d wanted to see him again so fucking bad.

Okay. I probably won’t go too then

Y/N physically frowned at the idea of waiting another five days to see Harry again. Her brain really needed to make its fucking mind up about him. Did she want to see him or not?

No! You have to go and tell me what I missed!

Y/N rolled her eyes, but felt relieved. Even after her embarrassing slip up, her desire to see Harry again still prevailed. And she hated it. How was she even supposed to look him in the eye tomorrow, both of them knowing damn well she’d been stalking his Instagram back to two fucking years ago?

* * *

It was beyond weird sitting in their usual cafe on Justice Hill alone, even without the whole Instagram fiasco of the previous night she was trying everything in her power to forget about.

However all the desperate attempts to bury that awful experience were fruitless when she glanced across the room over her latte and found a very familiar set of grumpy-looking eyes already staring at her. But once she did notice him, he immediately looked away, stepping up to the counter to order his own cup of coffee.

She nearly choked on her drink, having to set it down and wipe what had spilled onto her chin off with a napkin she’d already used to sop up another one of her messes.

Of the three weeks now they’d been going to classes and frequenting the cafe just before, she’d never seen Harry. It was like he didn’t have a life outside being an instructor. He just popped up in the studio and she always left before him so she had no idea what he did after class either.

But seeing him here was like seeing a fucking unicorn in real life.

She couldn’t help watching him either, even if she knew she shouldn't. But, in her defense, he was wearing beautiful wine-colored corduroy pants with a tight white t-shirt tucked into them and a beige coat thrown over his arm to match. And for shoes he had on his usual white vans that had gained a few more scuff marks since the last time she’d seen him. His fashion would look terrible on anyone besides him.

He glanced her way again, briefly, when he left the counter with his cup, fighting his legs from walking in her direction but not exactly winning that battle.

And to her surprise, he stood right in front of her, behind the chair where Rose usually sat.

And when she looked up at him, he completely forgot why he had come over. He had no fucking clue what he was doing there. But it was too late now for him to back away and pretend like it never happened.

“Your friend's not coming?” His voice shook, but she didn’t notice with the way he finally took his fucking eyes off of her and gave her a chance to breathe again. He glanced at his watch just to confirm that it was, in fact, only five minutes until class started and it seemed reasonable to assume Rose wasn’t meeting her before then.

She pulled herself together and pretended like his close presence wasn’t intimidating her in the slightest.

He smiled and the second she saw those dimples she was reminded of his Instagram all over again.

“A little,” he nodded, pinching his thumb and index finger together in the air and she painfully agreed.

“Lucky me.”

He left her so fucking speechless, that after he started backing away from her table, reminding her to not be late, she still ended up being late. Because she sat in her chair for what felt like a century repeating his two words over and over again in her head.

Lucky me.

She knew he was only teasing but the way he’d just gone along with her original joke and how his voice sounded when he said it, she could not believe it. She could also not believe how Harry had some kind of massive hold on her that she sat staring at a wall for ten minutes trying to figure out how to operate properly again just to get up out of her chair.

Lucky fucking me.

She could scream.

If she wasn’t in public.

There was an extra pep in her step as she took Justice Hill alone this time, partially because of how giddy Harry had made her and partially because she was late… right after he told her not to be. But how was she supposed to be on time after what he’d just done to her emotions. And to the throbbing mess between her legs, but that's another story entirely.

Everyone was all over the place when she’d finally arrived, though, so it made slipping in the back that much easier. Not that she got past Harry’s watchful eyes, though, but at least she wasn’t interrupting anything while the class readied their workstations for another full night of going ham on their sculptures.

Harry kept his eyes on her mostly the entire time she did the same at her empty little area, watching as she tucked her purse under the desk for safekeeping and threw a couple tools he wasn’t sure he’d ever seen her use onto the table. When she wandered off to the wall of shelves to retrieve her absolutely horrifying work of art, he finally gave her some privacy again. But he couldn’t help the fact that he’d been worried sick when she didn’t show up on time after he’d just seen her at the cafe, thinking something horrible could have happened to her between there and here.

So making sure she was unscathed before he, too, got his area organized was essential.

She sat in her chair and stared at what she had made the past three weeks. They’d started with something simple on the first day, taking a pre-cut slice of clay and free-handing a bowl with a few tips from Harry thrown in here and there. Then they jumped straight in after he showed them a few clips of sculptors working, pausing to explain specific things about creating a head and face. They were given everything they needed to make sculpting a complete figurine of a human body as easy as possible.

And still, she managed to create a combination of Shrek and the abominable snowman.

She huffed, wondering if she asked nicely enough Harry would let her just start all over. But before she could even think to do so, he clapped his hands together and got everyone’s attention for today’s mini-tutorial.

He explained smoothing to them and how there were many different ways of doing it so that your end results weren't littered in fingerprints. He reminded them to use water to smooth out the initial shapes of the clay they wanted and if they were having a really hard time with too much warmth from their fingers to use the gloves.

He ventured a little into detail work of the bust, showing a short clip of another artist forming collar bones with just two tools and her fingers. He explained what tools those were and why they were the most efficient for details and went on some more about other detail tools that were good for different things.

And the entire time she was far too lost in his voice and how his eyes lit up passionately when he rambled to even think about the fact that she wasn’t taking a single note for Rose’s sake.

They’d done a few lessons on details for the face, but they had yet to really get that far, only having put on tentative eyelids, lips and a nose for their heads before he really dove deep into details in what she assumed would be a full class later on.

And when he finally took a break to ask for any questions, she was, of course, the first to raise her hand. He thought about ignoring it, knowing all too well that anytime Y/N raised her hand in the back of his classroom, she was up to no good. But he was too nice to do that to anyone, even her.

So he called on her by nodding his head and she cleared her throat while he grimaced, expecting the worst.

“So, um, for example if we were going to do bigger details like abs on a male figure, what would be the best tool for that?”

He could have sworn he was having a heart attack. He had to blink a few times just to make sure he wasn’t dreaming. She was actually asking him a legitimate question, and a good one at that. He had to repeat what she said in his head first, just to make sure it was real, before he answered, completely unprepared.

“Um… well after you lay out the clay where you want on the body, you can use one of the knives to blend the edges,” he held up an example of one for her, “and then a large ball or oval tool like this,” he held up another, “to smooth everything out. You’d probably want a more blunt pointed end to shape them, though, after you blend the clay in.”

She nodded like she’d been fully absorbing every single word coming out of his mouth and then he watched as she dug around quietly in the tool kit on her desk, in search of the types of tools he’d mentioned.

He could not fucking believe it though. She finally showed a stitch of interest in learning about sculpting. And he had no idea why she decided to right now. Maybe it was because she was without her partner in crime, but either way he was stunned. Absolutely fucking marveled.

After a few more questions and some demonstrations, he let everyone go and continue working on their projects while he circled the room as he normally did. And he found himself glancing at her from time to time, all by herself in the back with a genuine look of concentration on her face as she attempted making her creature a little less loch ness monster and a little more human.

Eventually, after he figured she was giving it enough effort for him to step in and help if she needed, he headed her way. And just as she sensed him walking down her aisle, while she was busy shaving off clay, a piece of it went flying into the air, completely out of control.

He stopped in his tracks after almost being smacked in the face with a chunk of clay and bent over to pick it up before someone squished it into the bottom of their shoes. He leaned over the edge of the table in front of her again, setting the piece of clay down next to her gently while she bit her lips between her teeth and tried to hide her embarrassed red cheeks behind her hands.

“Sorry!” She squealed at him, further digging herself into a hole.

He shook his head, “S’alright. Not the first time that’s happened.”

She laughed at the thought of him actually getting hit in the money maker with a hunk of clay and it eased her worries a little.

“So how are those abs going then?” He asked.

She stared at her sculpture for a moment before she sighed and turned it around to face him. It wasn’t as bad as it had been before, but it was still pretty rough.

“Mind if I…?” He held his hands out and she, without a single hesitation, handed it over to him.

He immediately grabbed the shaving tool she’d been using, and since it still sat next to her where she’d put it down moments ago, his fingers brushed against her hand when he picked it up. Sending every one of her nerves in the general area on a field day to mess with her nether regions again. It’s just… his fucking hands were an art form in and of themselves. His knuckles prominent, stretching soft skin around the bone. His veins protruding every time he made a more delicate move that required precision. Even the ones on his arms underneath the ink when he was a bit more rough with her sculpture sent her over the moon, while he shaved off bits and pieces with firm pressure to define the shape of the body and somehow create a human-like figure from her mess.

Then he started smoothing down the surface with a little water on his fingers and she went batshit. His hands while dry were one thing, but sparkling, wet, slippery fingertips? Lord have mercy.

She watched him spread a chunk of extra clay onto what would be the figure’s chest to build it up a little more with the knowledge of their previous conversations about dicks and abs making it clear she was attempting to make a male figure. She couldn’t help but watch his muscles flex underneath his tight white t-shirt. From far away across the cafe it had caught her attention. And now right here, she was definitely not letting it go unnoticed. It wasn’t too tight that he looked ridiculous, but just the right amount to show off every curve of his biceps and triceps and whatever other -ceps he had hiding underneath the shirt. He was normally in oversized tops so she was taking full advantage while she still had the chance to.

When he handed it back to her, it was like he’d done some kind of magic spell to get it to look so good after what she’d given him to work with. He leaned forward a little more and pointed at the figure’s chest and she was only halfway paying attention to him when he spoke, mostly focusing on how close he was and every single time he accidentally brushed his skin against hers.

“So if you want to make the abs,” he paused to glance over and dig through her pile of tools until he found the one he was looking for. “Use this to kind of sketch out the shape like we did with the faces,” he took the ball tool and rolled it down the middle of the chest, making a short indent to separate where the pectorals might be, “then you can add on the dimension like I was saying earlier.”

She took over the tool when he flipped it around and gave it to her so she could try for herself. And he watched for a short while as she did what he said to do, sketching out tentative abs, but not really knowing exactly what they looked like to come to any sort of realistic end. Her figure started to look like a shirtless Johnny Bravo.

He just giggled and pointed his stupid finger back into her personal space, smoothing down her mistakes until they disappeared, “Have you never seen a six-pack that wasn’t on a cartoon character?”

She racked her brain, trying to say something funny, but once she looked into his eyes, nothing came to mind. “Of course I have. I just don’t know how to make them look realistic.” She couldn’t exactly remember the last time she’d been faced with a naked man’s chest, but she had seen them before.

“Well…” Harry sighed, resting his head on his hand and staring at her sculpture sideways, “he doesn’t have to have abs.”

And then she said it. Something worse than her earlier set of words back at the cafe. She had no clue what was going on with her tonight, but she needed an ass-kicking for it.

“Do you have abs?”

“Me?” His eyes flickered up to hers in shock and it was far too late for her to backtrack, she was here and she had to face what she’d done. Even while he looked at her like she was fucking insane.

“Uh, well. I mean…” She had no fucking clue what she meant. And even if she did, she sure as shit wasn’t telling him.

Then it clicked in his brain. “You’re not using me as reference, are you?”

After a solid three seconds of just staring at him, she laughed. “No, of course not.”

“Hope so after you gave him that wonky penis.”

She sighed once they were through it. Once he’d proved, yet again, that he didn’t make her embarrassing statements feel as bad as they really were. He kind of just... went along with it.

But then she made it even worse.

“So yours isn’t wonky and crooked, then?”

Jesus, fuck Y/N just shut up.

His smile never faded, however, and instead, he leaned close again and whispered, “Maybe one day you’ll be lucky enough to find out.”

#harry styles fanfiction #harry styles imagine #harry styles fanfic #harry styles writing #sculptor!harry

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k-llama-llama · 4 years

Text

Canvas

TXT AU: 6th member

Sara x TXT

Sara and Hyunjin take an important step.

A/N: Please check out my PATREON (patreon.com/kllamallama) for exclusive posts you can’t get anywhere else, as well as lots of other cool benefits!

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Masterlist and other Follow Me links in bio!

Sara undid the latch on the door, opening it wide. “You’re early.” She said in greeting.

Hyunjin held up a bag. “Food was quicker than I expected.”

Sara stepped aside so he could enter, kicking off his shoes in the doorway. “I thought you went to this restaurant all of the time. How did it surprise you?”

“I don’t know. It just did.” He smiled at her, before glancing around the apartment. “Where’s everyone else?”

“Out.” Sara said simply. “Why? Did you bring food for them too? You do have a lot there.”

Hyunjin shook his head with a laugh. “Soobin gave me a lecture about making sure you eat enough, so I just ordered extra of everything.”

Sara rolled her eyes, closing the door behind him. “That guy.” She shook her head. “I just have to put my paints away.”

“Ooh, paints?” Hyunjin set the bags on the kitchen counter. “Can I see?”

Sara stiffened. It wasn’t like she actively tried to keep her paintings secret. The boys had all seen them hundreds of times, and Tori snooped more often than not. But it wasn’t a common occurrence when someone actually wanted to see them.

“Sure.” She said finally. “I’m not done it yet, though.”

“That’s cool. I just wanna see.” Hyunjin put his hands in his pockets.

Sara turned and walked towards her bedroom without another work. The door was still open, so she walked right in, and Hyunjin closed the door behind her. The canvas was set up on her easel, showing the rudimentary color blocking for the painting she was working on.

“It’s not done.” She repeated, busying herself with putting her paints back in their case. She grabbed her brushed, wrapping them in a cloth so that she could wash them later.

“No, it’s awesome though.” Hyunjin leaned close, looking genuinely interested. “It’s the ocean, right? Like…this part is the sky and this is going to be the ocean? That’s why it gets darker as you go down.”

“Ah, kinda.” Sara bit her lip. “This half is the sky, and then in the middle is the ocean’s surface….and then this really dark bit is going to be like the bottom of the ocean.”

“That’s so cool.” Hyunjin exclaimed. “You can totally tell what it is, even with this much detail. I can’t wait to see it when you’re finished.”

Sara smiled. “Well….I’ll make sure to show you then.”

Hyunjin leaned back from the painting, glancing around the room. She had a sheet down on her bed, covered in paint smears. There was a murky glass of water that she’d obviously used to rinse her brushes as she worked, and the paints were scattered everywhere.

From there, his gaze shifted to the walls. She shared the room, but the walls around her bed were covered with tacked up sketches. It was almost comical, especially when you considered how neat and orderly she was with everything else. It wasn’t messy, just a type of organized chaos.

“You really drew all these?” He pointed at one.

“Yeah.” She sighed. “Eventually I’ll paint them. But I leave them up there until the inspiration hits, you know?”

“Sure.” He laughed. “We should go eat, right? Before the others get home and eat all of it?”

“Probably,” Sara laughed, picking up the cloth that held her dirty brushes. “Let’s go.”

She turned to leave, but Hyunjin stopped her with a hand on her elbow. “You have…uh…some paint…”

“What?” Sara reached up to rub her cheek. “Did I get it?”

“No, it’s right…” He reached up, using his thumb to wipe away the little smear of dark blue paint front next to her nose. “There…” He lowered his hand awkwardly.

Since their first date, there had been a kind of unspoken tension between them. They were probably dating, but they didn’t tell people that they were, and other than a lot of dinner dates and conversations, they hadn’t done anything else. There was always the risk that someone could see them, or that they would somehow make things more awkward.

But there was no way anyone could see them now.

“You can kiss me.” Sara said quietly. “I mean…if you want to.”

Hyunjin gave her an awkward smile. “You sure? You wouldn’t rather go out there and eat-“

Sara grabbed his shirt with her right hand and pulled him down to her level, pressing her lips against his. They stayed like that a moment, and then she released her grip and let him pull away.

“Was that too weird?” She asked. “I figured I’d just…you know…take the initiative or whatever.”

“That was…” Hyunjin blinked. “Ummm…yeah, that was….”

Sara winced. “Sorry. Sorry let’s just forget that ever happened. Let’s go eat the food and then we can pretend that this whole thing was a weird dream.”

“No!” He exclaimed. “Um, I mean…that was…really awesome.”

“It was?” Sara smiled. “Oh thank goodness. Tori said I should just go for it but I wasn’t really sure so I-“

“Tori told you?”

“Yeah.” Sara smiled sheepishly. “Well…she kinda just started talking. But it was okay? I didn’t ruin anything?”

“Not at all.” Hyunjin grinned.

Sara sighed in relief. “Okay, good. We should go eat before the food gets cold.”

“Wait! Can we…uh….just try that one more time?” Hyunjin mumbled.

“Right now?” Sara tilted her head. “What about the food?”

“It can wait a minute.” Hyunjin leaned forward. “Just…ah…close your eyes.”

Sara did.

When she felt him kiss her, she leaned in, letting him wrap his arms around her waist. They were both very tentative, but they started moving their lips together, getting the hang of it.

And then their little bliss was shattered by a scream.

They jumped apart, Hyunjin knocking his head on the bed post. Sara fell back onto the mattress, staring in disbelief at Yeonjun’s horrified face.

“You were…you were….” He looked between them in shock.

“You aren’t supposed to be home for another hour!” Sara shouted.

“What? I can’t come into my own house?”

“Not without telling me.”

“Why? Because you’re here making out with your boyfriend.”

“Okay, we were not making out.” Hyunjin cut in.

“You-“ Yeonjun pointed at him with a fury in his eyes. “I will deal with you later.”

“Jun, don’t be an idiot.” Sara tried to reason with him. “We were just…uh… kissing.” She looked down, slightly embarrassed by the admission herself.

“See, she was showing me her paintings and they-“

“I don’t recall her having any paintings on her face!” Yeonjun glared at him. “How could you? In our own home?”

“It my home too.” Sara rolled her eyes, dropping the paintbrushes onto her easel. “Come on, Hyunjin. Let’s go eat in the park.”

She grabbed his hand, dragging him past an outraged Yeonjun and into the living room.

“I don’t think I can just leave.” Hyunjin whispered. “Aren’t I supposed to beg forgiveness or-“

“You’re supposed to grab the food so we can.” Sara told him. “Come on. I’m hungry.”

“Right.” He clearly was torn between keeping his sort-of girlfriend happy, and making piece with her best friend.

He made the right choice.

“We can get drinks at the corner store.” He grabbed the bag of food, heading for his shoes. “Some of this is spicy so we’ll-“

“You’re just going to leave?” Yeonjun came out of the bedroom. “After I had to look at that.”

“So sorry.” Hyunjin said quickly.

“Yeah, we’re leaving.” Sara said at the same time. “There’s pasta in the fridge. Don’t wait up.”

“CHUNG SOO-JI!” Yeonjun shouted. “We are not done talking about this.”

“I say we are.” Sara gave him a smile. “Come on, Hyunjin.”

“Um, okay.” He took her outstretched hand, and followed her into the hallway.

She kicked the door closed behind them.

“Are you going to be in trouble?” He asked worriedly as they hurried down the hall.

Sara scoffed. “Please. I’m going to kick his ass when we get home.”

“Wow. Okay.” He stepped into the elevator with her. “Are you always that aggressive?”

“Just with them.” She squeezed his hand. “Not with you, I promise.”

“Cool cool.”

#txt #txt imagines #txt 6th member #female kpop #female member kpop #female!kpop #requests open #au #kpop #imagines #imagine #kpop au #kpop imagines #kpop imagine #stray kids #stray kids imagines #stray kids au

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whumpingcrow · 3 years

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Pt. 1 "First Impressions" (Elias Intro)

CW: foster care mention, tourettes syndrome, ticcing, drug mention, food mention, conversation about abuse, hospital setting, injury mention, discussion of poisoned food, vomit mention (let me know if i missed anything!)

Elias was nothing special, really, not in his eyes. He was taken from his deadbeat parents when he was 11, he was tossed around from foster homes to group homes and back again for an exhausting seven years, he didn’t finish high school. The most interesting thing about him was his tourettes, but even that was embarrassing and shameful, another reason to be ignored. Truth was, he was swept under the rug and forgotten for his whole life, so no one, including himself, thought he would ever amount to much, or thought he was worthy of nice things. People like him didn’t just get nice things, unless they were very lucky, and Elias had found out time after disappointing time that he was not one of the fortunate ones.

But Tyson sure as hell made him feel like he could be.

It was amusing to Elias how they met, even though Tyson claimed he wished it would’ve been more pleasant. Tyson had yet to learn that Elias repelled pleasantries. Elias had been staying with a few people he knew from high school, before he dropped out, in their cramped apartment, working part time at a diner so he could try and move out and be on his own. He was so tired of sharing small spaces with people. He would walk home from work everyday, because of course he couldn’t afford a car or even a bike. On that particular night, it was dark and raining, and Elias was in a particular rush to get to the apartment and change out of his wet clothes. Which is why he tried to rush across the street where there wasn’t a crosswalk, unaware of the fast car turning the corner until he heard the screech of tires next to him.

The man that got out of the car looked just as scared as Elias felt, rushing towards him in a flurry of apologies. “I am so sorry! Are you ok? Are you hurt?” His voice was shaking, and it made Elias uneasy, he didn’t look like he would scare easily, with his strong build and his mature face.

Elias scowled at him, shaking his head. “You shouldn’t drive so fast on this road, dickbag,” he scolded, “you could’ve fucking killed me!”

The man looked surprised, like he wasn’t expecting someone of Elias’s stature to have such a foul mouth. “I...I know, I’m sorry. I didn’t see you crossing and I...Where are you headed? Let me give you a ride.”

“What?” He squeaked in response. Logically, he knew it was his fault anyway, he wasn’t supposed to cross there, it was dark and rainy and not this stranger's fault, he was just quick to anger and too afraid to admit when he was in the wrong. “GIve me a ride?”

“Please, it’s the very least I can do. I feel awful.”

Elias knew that he shouldn’t get into a stranger's car, that it might be dangerous, that this man's kindness could be some sort of sinister facade. But he seemed so genuine, so concerned. So he slowly nodded, ducking into the passengers side door carefully. It was better than walking home in the rain. “My name’s Elias.” He heard himself saying.

“Elias,” the man repeated, “I’m Tyson.”

That was over a month ago, and the two were much more than strangers who almost had a horrible accident, by now. As Tyson was driving him home, they were talking about surface level things to fill the awkward spaces, and Tyson mentioned his ex-boyfriend, at which Elias mentioned his ex-boyfriend, and when they got to his apartment, Tyson asked for his number. They’d gotten much closer since then, Elias even stayed over at Tyson’s apartment a few days a week.

Tyson was so down to earth, so kind and forgiving and patient. He smoked weed, but he never pressured Elias into it, like other people had in the past. He was a nurse at a behavioral health hospital, he only worked nights, so they typically spent all day together. Elias was so enthralled by him and everything he did, often he would sit with Tyson as he drew sloppy, drug hazed sketches, or talk with him about the way the world worked, or things of that nature. The best part about being with Tyson was that he never felt forgotten or ignored, and he rather enjoyed the new attention. He enjoyed feeling cared about, important.

Sometimes Elias would stay at Tyson’s apartment when Tyson went to work, sleeping in his bed and waiting for him to come home in the morning. Tyson came home and crawled under the covers to catch up on sleep he’d missed at work, and after a while of holding each other while they slept, Elias got up to cook breakfast. He wasn’t a great cook, per say, but he could fry an egg alright, and maybe whip up some french toast on a good day. Today was apparently not one of the better ones, and the burnt food ended up in the trash, leaving him with scrambled eggs in the bottom of the pan. It wasn’t spectacular, but it would have to do.

“Good morning,” he called to Tyson as he came into the kitchen, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. He always looked so nice upon waking up, his hair messy and how the late morning sun hit his beautiful dark skin as he stretched. “I made eggs. Not sure how safe they are to eat, though.”

Tyson offered a weak smile, but didn’t seem too amused at the joke. Elias wondered if he’d done something wrong, Tyson was usually so light-hearted.

“I need to talk to you about something, Eli.” He grumbled. Elias quite liked that nickname, but not when the rest of the sentence sounded so heavy. “Can we sit for a second?”

Once they were at the table, Elias took a deep breath, ready to put his defenses up, ready to be angry instead of hurt. He found himself thinking over the last few days, had he said something wrong? Was he annoying him? Overstaying his welcome at his apartment? “You’re tired of me, aren’t you?” He asked.

“No! Oh God, Eli, no!” He reached forward to take his hand as he spoke, smiling at him. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to freak you out. You’re fine, we’re fine. This is about...well, it’s about my ex.”

Elias relaxed a fraction at the reassurance, so he was fine, Tyson wasn’t sick of him. Then he nodded for him to go on, listening carefully. Tyson didn’t talk about him much, but Elias knew that his name was Allen, that he had a lot of issues that were never really discussed in detail.

“You know how I told you that he had a lot going on? That he was sort of...a mess?” He paused, taking a deep breath to organize his thoughts. “Well, a while ago, he got mixed up with these really bad people, it wasn’t his fault, it should’ve never happened, and he got really hurt.” Tyson sounded nervous, and Elias squeezed his hand gently to comfort him. “Anyway, this guy he was with really hurt him, for a really long time. His name is August. I mean, this guy was a monster, he ruined his life.”

“Why are you telling me all this?” Elias asked. The subject seemed to make both of them uneasy, and he stroked his thumb mindlessly against Tyson’s knuckles.

Tyson took a deep breath then, looking like he didn’t want to answer. “Well...He got hurt again, he’s at the hospital. I guess he didn’t want to call his boyfriend so they called me instead. I have to go pick him up. And I wanted you to come with me, if you’re comfortable with that.”

Elias didn’t know why he agreed to it, really, he just knew that within an hour he was walking down the cold, sterile, hallway of a hospital, hand in hand with an obviously nervous Tyson. He wasn’t really sure what to expect, having heard very few things about Allen in the past. Allen didn’t have his shit together, Tyson had told him, so as much as they had tried to work through things, it just wasn’t possible. From what he gathered, Tyson cared a lot about this guy, even if it wasn’t in that way anymore, and he believed him. Allen had someone else anyway, so he didn’t have anything to worry about. At least he hoped he didn’t.

Elias was shocked at how horrible Allen looked, like he was seconds from keeling over right there on the hospital bed. He was bruised up every few inches from head to toe, a sick pallor to him. Tyson wasn’t lying when he’d said that the person, August, had really hurt him.

Tyson rapped gently against the door frame, causing Allen to squint up at them with a pained look on his face. His black hair fell against his jaw and a few strands over his face, like he couldn’t be bothered to push it away from his eyes. He would be very attractive, if not for the splotchy bruises on his face, Elias thought to himself. His features were striking, all sharp angles and piercing eyes, his full lips parted slightly in fear.

“Oh, Allen.” Tyson breathed, his voice disdainful, upset at the state he was in. Recognition finally fell across his face, as if he couldn’t see who it was before he spoke.

“Tyson,” he whimpered, “you ca-came.” Relief coated his words, like he was expecting Tyson to say he didn’t want to come help him. Elias knew Tyson, knew the selfless way he cared for people, and if that’s what Allen was expecting, it was completely unrealistic.

“Of course.” Tyson reached to the side and flipped on one of the lights, which made Allen flinch horribly and squeeze his eyes shut for a moment. Elias was watching on with a pitiful interest, he had never seen someone so hurt, so scared. This August guy must’ve really done a number on him.

Elias followed close behind Tyson as he went to pull up a chair next to the bed, and Allen stared at him apprehensively. As if just remembering he was there, Tyson reached for his hand again as they sat down. “I forgot to introduce you, this is my boyfriend, Elias.” He shot him a fond look, and Elias smiled brightly back. He liked the sound of that, “his boyfriend”.

“Nice to finally meet you,” he spoke softly, trying not to startle him, “I’ve heard quite a bit about you. All good things.”

Allen nodded, dropping his head to look at the blanket and picking at a loose thread there. “Nice t-to meet you, too,” he stammered. “Ty, you didn’t uh...tell Leo, right? That I was here?”

“No,” Tyson assured him. “Did you want me to?” He sounded so comforting, so kind, just like he always did.

“No, I do-don’t think I’m ready to see him.”

They fell into a heavy silence after that, no one knowing what the right thing to say was. Eventually, Allen began to ask questions about their relationship, trying to get them to talk about themselves so he didn’t feel the attention on him. It worked for a while, up until Tyson had to excuse himself to the bathroom, and then Allen looked even more frightened as he realized he would be alone with Elias, a perfect stranger.

Elias ran through ways in his head of how to make Allen know that he meant no harm, that he wasn’t going to hurt him. Before he could think about it, he blurted, “I hope you don’t still like him.” He felt bad as soon as he said it, Allen was sitting in a hospital bed, covered in aches and pains, the last thing he needed was for Elias to interrogate him in his insecurity. He was surprised when Allen let out a soft chuckle, shaking his head.

“Who, Tyson?” He replied. Elias nodded half-heartedly. “No, I haven’t for awhile. D-don’t worry.”

Elias relaxed, leaning forward in his chair. “Ok, cause I really like him.” He bit his lip, a thoughtful look on his face. “He really cares about you. Maybe not in that way, but he really does. And that’s ok, cause you look like you could use someone who cares about you.”

Allen’s face softened, and he seemed to deflate from his afraid, panicked demeanor, at least a little. “I could. Th-thank you.”

Just then, Tyson walked in, smiling softly at the two of them. “Are you talking about me?” He teased, ruffling Elias’s blond hair as he walked past him to sit down.

“Us? Oh no, we were talking about football.” Elias joked. Tyson laughed, but Allen couldn’t even smile. He seemed glad for the company, but he didn’t look like he was used to being talked to, included in conversation.

“So, if you’re not staying with Leo right now, do you have somewhere to stay?” Tyson asked. Allen didn’t answer, didn’t even look up. He seemed like he was checked out, his thoughts somewhere else, very far from the safety of the hospital room. “Allen?”

Allen flinched at his own name, then looked up at him. “Sorry...what?”

“I said do you have a place to stay?”

Allen looked thoughtful, staring back at the wall. “Oh. Uh...I hadn’t thought about it, really. I g-guess once I start talking to Leo again...if he’ll even want to talk to me again…”

“Maybe you could stay with us,” he interrupted, already seeing where the anxious thought was headed, “Would that be ok, Eli?”

Elias nodded eagerly. He didn’t even realize that they were “us” at that point, as far as living together. It was nice to hear him phrase it that way. And he could tell from looking at Allen that he really needed a safe place to stay, and Tyson could definitely provide that.

Allen thanked them, then went quiet again. After a few moments, he sighed heavily, like simply existing was extremely taxing on his well being. “I always feel so l-lost without him.” He admitted. “I know I shouldn’t, b-but I just feel like I’m doing everything wrong and just d-don’t know.”

Elias assumed he was talking about August, and he felt bad. He couldn’t imagine how shitty it must feel to miss someone who had caused so much pain, damaged him so badly. Elias had been hurt and betrayed by people who were supposed to take care of him plenty of times, but he’d never missed them after, only looking back with resentment and anger.

“Yeah,” Tyson breathed. “I know it’s really rough on you. He really messed up your view of good and bad. But you’re doing great, someone will tell you if something isn’t ok, you’re not gonna be in trouble or anything.”

It was amazing, how Tyson could talk someone out of their panic so easily, how he seemed to know just what to say to assure them. Allen merely shrugged, clearly not as amazed as Elias was. “Leo probably hates me. I’m so afraid to call him.”

“We’ll figure that out when we get back. I’m sure he doesn’t, he’s probably just worried sick. You’ve got a tendency to do that to him.” He smiled softly at him, trying to get him to relax. It didn’t work.

Allen only had to be in the hospital for about an hour and a half after that, and then Tyson drove him and Elias back to his apartment. Elias glanced back at him every now and then, frowning when he saw he had pulled his hood over his eyes and was covering his ears with his hands. He turned the music down, thinking that maybe it was too loud, but Allen stayed tucked away into his little shell the rest of the ride back.

Finally, he was sitting at the kitchen table with his hands folded in front of him obediently as Tyson cooked them lunch. Elias came and sat with him at one point, smiling at him. “I really like your hair,” he said, “really suits your face.” He hoped that if he was nice enough, Allen would stop being so afraid and get comfortable. It was sad to see him looking so worried.

“Thank you.” Allen replied, almost mechanically.

Tyson joined them minutes later, setting a plate in front of Allen, who began staring at it trivially.

“What, you don’t like it?” Tyson teased. Even though he knew he was trying to ask it in a joking way so he wouldn’t freak Allen out, Elias could tell he was genuinely concerned. He hoped Allen knew that too.

Allen only frowned up at him, like he was too afraid to speak. He was so god damn quiet, Elias gathered. He didn’t know how, because Elias had been through his fair share of hard times and they all made him loud and pissed off. He couldn’t think of a single time that someone had treated him like garbage and he decided he would be quiet. He couldn’t tell if that signified that what happened to Allen was more dreadful than he could guess, or if they just handled things differently. He hopped, for Allen’s sake, that it was the ladder.

“N-no..I just uh...just…” he trailed off, picking up his fork with shaking hands. He looked like he was going to be sick, staring at the food. Elias tasted it, out of curiosity, but it was just fine.

“You just what?” Tyson prompted.

Allen had tears in his eyes as he stabbed through the food, staring at it in fear, like it was going to hurt him itself. For a moment, he looked like he was going to try to eat it, but then he dropped the fork to the plate with a clink and covered his face. “I’m s-sorry,” he choked out, “I really am.”

“Hey, it’s ok. Why don't you tell me what’s going on? We’ll figure it out.”

“J-just...last time someone gave me f-food, it was August, and he put something in it th-that made me sick for days... I just can’t stop thinking about that.”

Tyson and Elias exchanged a disgusted frown, not wanting to believe that someone would do that. “What a dick,” Elias remarked, “seriously, who the fuck does that?”

Allen shook his head, wiping at his tears furiously. “No, he only did it because I was doing something wrong. I d-deserved it.”

“Don’t say that. You did nothing wrong, Allen.”

He nodded at that, shutting himself up. Elias suddenly wasn’t hungry. None of them were.

“I think I need to call Leo,” Allen suddenly said, standing from the table. He grabbed his phone, then went outside.

Elias stood up and began helping Tyson clean up the untouched food from the table. He wondered if what he said upset Allen, that’s why he suddenly wanted to leave. It was true though, August was a dick for it, and there was nothing Allen could have done to warrant that kind of treatment. “Did I upset him?” Elias asked Tyson, a worried look on his face. “I didn’t mean to-”

“No, love, it’s not your fault. He’s just fragile right now.” He sighed heavily as he set the plates into the sink, looking rather overwhelmed. “I know this is a lot to handle, thank you for being so cool about it.”

Before he could respond, Allen came back in, tears streaming down his face. “Leo’s coming to g-get me,” he murmured, leaning against the wall as if it was too hard to stand upright on his own, “thank you f-for everything.”

Tyson nodded at him, a look of relief slipping onto his face. “Oh, that’s good. How did talking to him go?”

Allen shrugged uselessly, not wanting to go into depth. He seemed exhausted, and no one could blame him, with what he’d been through. Tyson offered to walk him outside to meet Leo, and Elias sat inside by himself while he waited. He thought about how strange of a circumstance it was, usually when people met their partners ex, things were tense and awkward, but meeting Allen wasn’t like how he’d expect, he wasn’t jealous or insecure, he mainly just felt bad for the guy.

When Tyson came back inside, it was like they were both too afraid to talk about what happened, so they just turned on a movie instead, leaning against each other and pretending there was nothing to talk about.

#elias x tyson #whump #whumpblr #whump community #whumpay2021 #whump drabble #whump writing #original story #whump oc #whump character #whump intro #whump blog #whumpee #whump scenario #my boys! i love them #allen all scared in the hospital is just

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imagineclaireandjamie · 4 years

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Shielded. Chapter Four

Happy Sunday all, back to the usually scheduling this week. I hope you enjoy the next week of lockdown with Jamie and Claire <3 Mod MBD.

Anonymous said to imagineclaireandjamie:

It does not matter what you bear, but how you bear it. [Seneca]

CHAPTER FOUR: WEEK TWO - Home and Away.

As Monday rolled around again, the weekend having passed by in a blur, Claire sat at the breakfast table with a fresh cup of coffee in her hands. Having ventured down during the day on both Saturday and Sunday, she had hoped to bump into Jamie and pass on her thanks to his generosity but he had been out before sunrise each day and she had been asleep before he’d returned home.

Resolute, however, she chose to spend her day downstairs and hopefully get something on for dinner before he came back so she could at least start the week off right.

Fate, however, wasn’t on her side. By 10pm, with the lasagne tucked away, wrapped in foil, in the fridge, she covered her mouth with a yawn and pulled herself up the stairs to bed.

The crash and smashing of a glass bought her out of her sleep as the clock beside her bed clicked over to 3am. Pulling herself from beneath the sheets, she crept downstairs, eager not to scare him as she approached the kitchen.

“Couldn’t sleep?” She asked, knowing full well he had only just returned home.

He was stood by the sink, cold lasagna on the countertop and his mucky boots still on his feet. With the fork held to his mouth, he smiled as he took another bite of the pasta, chewed and then shook his head. “I havena ever been the best sleeper but it’s lambing season, aye? One of them got into bother and I couldna leave her until I knew she was safe.”

“And she made it?”

“Aye. I was luckier tonight than I was at the weekend.”

“Oh, dear...that doesn’t sound good.”

“It’s the job, I’m afraid. If I didna lose at least a handful a year I’d be shocked.”

It was the first real (and longest) conversation they’d had since she’d arrived and she was suddenly grateful for the company. He was calm, grounded and relaxed in the way a lot of city dwellers weren’t. She could tell in the slump of his shoulders that it didn’t matter how long and awkward his day was, how messy or how little sleep he had gotten the night before, he was still weightless almost, free of the constraint modern living brought to most.

“I wanted to say thank you,” she broke in, remembering the reason she’d half-blindly stumbled down in the middle of the night, “you’ve been so amazing - to get me materials for a garden, that’s...above and beyond the call of duty.”

“Ach,” shaking his head, he finished the last of his supper, balled the tin foil up and placed it in the bin, “dinna fash yersel’ about that. It’s no’ a problem.”

He was embarrassed, she could tell. Abashed, his accent had become incredibly thick and almost impossible to understand. But it was quiet enough here that there was no background noise to blot out his sentence and luckily she didn’t have to ask him to repeat himself.

“Well, nonetheless,” ignoring the slight reddening of his cheeks she continued, “I am very grateful to you. For everything.”

With nothing more to say between them, she waved, smiled and backed off, feeling strangely pleased with herself for breaking the silence between them. Hopefully, she thought as she climbed the stairs back to her room, there would be some evenings in the future when they could eat together and she could show her appreciation by making him something warm and fresh.

-- --

By mid-week, she had yet to see Jamie again. His work was intense, and yet, despite that, he had still managed to begin construction of her tiny garden.

In her haste she had forgotten that she wasn’t allowed outside the house and, as she’d watched the greenhouse foundations being laid, she had become almost inconsolable about the fact that she probably wouldn’t get the chance to tend to any of the produce grown in it.

She knew, however, that safety was more important than new hobbies and she chose, instead, to make detailed lists of the daily needs of each of the seeds and plants Jamie had procured for her.

She started with the tomatoes and grapes, which needed to be contained within the glass walls in order to collect enough light and heat to survive. She noted water levels, soil PH and balance and daily rituals which would need to be abided by in order for the best crop to be formed. It filled most of her days and when the sun went down, she’d swap her notepad for the computer as she researched all the differences she might see in her fruit and veg determined all by the way they were treated as they grew.

Though she had never been an artist, she started to search for youtube videos on how botanical art could be created. Having no coloured pencil crayons or watercolours, she stuck to pencil sketches and began to leave more post-it’s, this time with future predictions on what the garden might produce for the household.

Once again Jamie enjoyed coming home. There had only been a few days lapse in her communications but when he didn’t see her for days, it was the one thing he could rely on to buoy his spirits.

They were different, in so many ways, but on a subconscious level, he pondered to himself at night as he held the drawing of some rare cabbage in his hands, Jamie felt as if they had very many similar quirks. He’d been pleased that his idea to leave her be for as long as she needed had been a success and was grateful she felt at home enough to reform her life around his. Her asking for the garden made him realise how easy it might be for someone else to fit into his own life without causing him much grief.

It was only a small thing, but to him it had made a huge difference. Having lived alone for so long, he had almost forgotten how malleable people could be. Though, he thought as he rifled around in the fridge for more pre-made meals, he had probably just gotten lucky with Claire.

The thought also occurred to him that she had been inadvertently raised more suited to this life than her old one, but he didn’t know enough about her to advance on the notion.

It wasn’t until late on Thursday when they came face to face together. After another heavy day and late night, Jamie finally toe-ed off his work boots at nearly midnight and made his way, quietly, through to the kitchen.

He had not expected to nearly bump straight into Claire has she dished up what looked like a very tasty stir fry.

“I thought you might be sick of reheating pasta dishes, so I thought I’d try and wait for you this time.”

“Ye didna have to, it’s very late.” He scratched the back of his neck bashfully, even she couldn;t find the truth in his words and she smiled as she placed a fresh bottle of soy sauce in the centre of the table. “But this does smell delicious.”

“It’s taken me a few attempts to hone it, but I’ve been practicing most evenings this week to try and get it perfect, flavour as well as how long I need to cook the veg for.”

“What’s the meat?” He asked, watching as his stomach rumbled audibly.”

“I used the duck, I hope you don’t mind. I used chicken earlier in the week but I couldn’t seem to get it as tender as I wanted it and a few forums online suggested that duck might be a better substitute if I wanted meat with a bit more moisture.”

“Perfect. Use any meat you want from the freeze, for anything. Honestly, I forget most of the time what I’ve got in there.”

Placing several bowls filled with various meats, vegetables and sides, she went back to the sink to wash the remaining stickiness of her hands before beckoning him to start without her. “I had hoped you weren’t saving anything for a special occasion.”

“Ach, I think the virus has put pay to anything like that for a while,” he began, filling his plate with noodles, duck and beansprouts, “my sister - she lives in Canada now - had planned a summer visit, but we’re no’ sure of anything at the moment.”

“Is she the one in the photo,” Claire enquired, taking a mouthful of her own concoction and swallowing back the relief when it tasted nice - a mixture of sweet and savory that wasn’t as overpowering or as dry as it had been earlier on in the day when she’d made the first of the final tests. “The one with brown hair?”

“Aye, she is. Her partner, Ian, got a job out there a few years ago and they emigrated. We talk as often as we can on Skype and FaceTime but it’s become sporadic recently wi’ my erratic work hours. She’s a nurse, ya see, and works odd shift patterns too. But we try and keep in touch at least once a month.”

“Do you miss her?”

“I didna really think about it, we were close....until we werena. Then they moved away and I fell into a new routine.”

He had begun to speak without thinking, filling up the silence with answers to her questions as they ate in between conversation. He had, though, had the forethought to stop before giving too much away. The thought hurt his heart and he had to inhale between a bite of his dinner to gather himself back up. He knew, given time, that he would be alright with sharing his past (as he hoped she would be with hers) but tonight wasn’t the night for revelations.

Sensing his reluctance to continue, she moved on, understanding that she herself wasn’t in a place to open up about her own family life.

“I can imagine Skype is about the only way most are communicating at the moment.” Sighing, she started to collect the empty dishes and load the dishwasher. “I’m quite grateful, actually, that I don’t have anyone to keep in touch with. It’s all...quite scary.”

It was the first time Jamie had consciously thought about the pandemic, being cut off from the outside world had its benefits and he felt relieved that he could separate himself from the constant barrage of news that he supposed others would be exposed to. He realised that both he and Claire were unique now, part of a smaller section of society where being remote was almost a blessing rather than a curse.

“If you ever need to talk, lass,” standing, he helped to clean up the remaining mess from dinner, his hand almost brushing against hers as he wiped the countertop down, breaking only to hover for a second before returning to his job, “ye know where I am. Please dinna think you have nobody...if yer concerned, aye?”

“Thank you Jamie.” Pulling her fleece cardigan across her chest she walked slowly to the kitchen door, pausing for a second in the doorway just to make sure she’d left nothing out to go cold and mouldy overnight. “The same to you. I’m a good listener, I promise, if you ever need to talk, or if you need any help.”

She’d been thinking about his life on the farm for a few days now, watching the rolling hills out of her window, seeing the sheep and cattle on the horizon and -very occasionally- seeing the silhouette of him roaming his land. There was little she could do from indoors, she knew, but there had been chores around the house that she could potentially complete. Putting herself to task, she had learned new basic kitchen skills but only this morning she’d noticed the beginnings of a hole on the seam of his trousers as they dried on the rail in the courtyard and she thought it might be something she could tend to...should he be alright with it.

Leaving with the quiet settling calmly between them, she noted the relaxing of the muscles in his face as he smiled and nodded as she turned and carried herself to bed.

Resting against the faux-marble worktop, Jamie closed his eyes as he waited for the soft slam of her bedroom door before he followed her up. She just might, he thought to himself as he undressed himself, taking a towel from his radiator and making his way to the shower, be better equipped for this life than I am.

#anonymous #ask #shielded #Jamie X Claire #;mod mbd

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artificialqueens · 4 years

Text

Galactica, Chapter 35 (Group Fic) - TheDane/Veronica

A/N: Click here if you’re looking for previous chapters (or here if you’d rather read on AO3). 💫

Last Chapter: Violet’s promotion became official, and Bianca set her sights on a certain blonde.

This Chapter: Violet begins her new job, and things are not exactly what she expected.

***

Even though everything was technically all the same, Violet felt like she had walked into a completely different building.

She had greeted Roxy with a smile, the receptionist at her desk when Violet had walked in at 9:30 for her visit with HR, people actually present unlike when Violet usually came in at the crack of dawn. Trixie had insisted that she take a slow morning, almost forbidding her to come in with the rest of the floor, and Violet guessed that it made sense since it was her first day.

Violet walked out of the elevator, her heels clacking on the floor, her stomach filled with butterflies.

Her morning had been a lot more messy than she preferred. She had changed her clothes a million times, unsure what to wear, until she had finally settled on a simple long sleeved top and a full skirt. It was completely Fame approved, but Violet felt comfortable in it, none of it too flashy or attention grabbing. Violet knew how to use a sewing machine in heels, but she still had a pair of flats in her bag, just in case someone truly cared about the company's safety guidelines.

She paused in front of the door, smoothing down her skirt, one, two, three times, before grabbing the handle and opening the door to the first day of the rest of her life.

“Violet!” Trixie smiled brightly, standing up from where he had been leaning over Gia’s shoulder, who was somehow still miraculously working at the company - even after her screw up in the Fall. “Welcome! I’m so happy you’re here.”

“Oh,” Violet stopped. She couldn’t remember ever being greeted with so much enthusiasm when coming into work, but it was nice, very nice. “I’m happy to be here?”

“Yes you are,” Trixie grinned, walking over to her, the man wearing a somewhat ridiculous white t-shirt with a pink and blue band logo Violet didn’t recognise. “We’re going to have so much fun, but first, Everyone!”

Trixie clapped his hands, catching the attention of the entire department who all turned to them.

“This is Violet Chachki, you all already know her as Fame’s assistant,” Trixie smiled, wrapping an arm around her shoulder. “Say hi.”

“Hello,” Violet said, lifting her hand in greeting. She wasn’t sure what to do with herself, the whole thing horribly embarrassing, everyone looking at her. Violet wasn’t unused to attention, but she disliked it heavily when it was focused on her person, and not on something she had created.

She attempted a smile, doing her very best not to let anyone know how awkward she felt.

“She is going to be working with us now here in the best department of Galactica!” Trixie released her, earning a laugh from everyone. “I want you all to make her feel welcome and settled since we all know what it was like to be new,” he finished with a lot of them looking on with slight smiles and waves.

“You got it coach!”

Violet turned to look at the source of the voice, an incredibly tall bald man with a gigantic smile and a raspy voice the one who had called out. Violet recognized Bob, who was the design department's project manager, though she didn’t think she had ever seen him in Fame’s office.

“Let me show you around.” Trixie looped their arms together, dragging Violet with him before she had the chance to put down her bag, or even take off her jacket.

The design floor was a myriad of various fabrics in countless colors and prints with a multitude of textures to choose from.

Dress forms, in an assortment of sizes, lined the walls under large glass windows that brought in natural light and a beautiful view, of the east side, of Central Park.

The floor had neat rows of long work tables each with their own computers, drawing sections, sewing machines, hanging dress form and a rolling stool.

“Aaaaaaaand this, is your desk!” Trixie smiled brightly, throwing an arm out as he showed Violet her place.

“What…” Violet looked at the big collage that was put right in the middle. “Is that?”

“Right?” Trixie grinned, clearly very proud of himself “I made it for you.”

“Oh…” Violet bit her lip, unease welling up in her body. The gesture was kind, but it was strange to see so many pictures of herself, most of all because she had no idea when most of them had actually been taken. “Thank you.” She was sure she could stuff it in her drawer later, the paper looking sturdy enough to be shoved down there.

“Don’t mention it,” Trixie gave her a halfarm hug, holding her against his side for a minute. “Now, next on the agenda- Jovan, pay attention.”

“Sure thing coach.”

Violet watched as Jovan turned around, the man sitting backwards on his chair, one of his long limbs pulled up in what looked like an extremely uncomfortable position.

“Hello.” Jovan smiled, a gigantic white toothed grin on his face. He was bald, the top of his head somehow not smooth like Bob’s, but instead sort of wrinkly.

“Jovan will be your desk mate.”

Violet had wondered who she’d be seated next to, and while she had never actually spoken to Jovan, he wasn’t her worst option.

“Hello,” Violet held out her hand, “I’m Violet.”

“Please,” Jovan snorted, grabbing her hand in a surprisingly hard grip. “I already know who you are.”

“Jovan is one of our contemporary designers.”

Violet nodded, hiding a smile. It was clear as day that Jovan was in contemporary, his shirt a multicolored almost neon asymmetrical tunic.

“One of the best,” Jovan squeezed her hand, letting it go, “contemporary designers. Don’t touch my stuff, and I promise that you and I will get along great.”

“Jovan-” Trixie started scolding, but Violet cut in.

“I’ll keep my hands to myself.” Violet put her bag on the table. She had never seen Trixie scold anyone, but judging by the furrow of his brow, Jovan was toeing the line.

“What’s on the agenda, coach?” Jovan had somehow managed to cross his legs around the chair, a pencil dangling from his mouth.

“Oh,” Trixie smiled, and Violet reached inside her bag, grabbing her notebook. “Violet has the morning off.”

“Wha-” Violet paused, unsure if she had heard Trixie correctly. “Excuse me, what did you say?” It was only Monday, but Violet knew that design had their weekly department wide meetings every Thursday, and if she was being honest, she had expected to be thrown directly into the work, the Christmas collection just around the corner.

“The morning off.” Trixie grinned. “Decorate your desk, say hi to everyone, get all your little knick knacks in order and later we’ll have cake to celebrate your first day.”

***

Jovan groaned slightly. He was supposed to be working on the holiday collection but he just couldn’t seem to find an interesting angle.

Jovan didn’t like making gowns, and though he had managed once or twice to sneak in a pants suit or something mildly interesting, Raja and Fame had a clear almost inarguable preference towards high classic glamor when it came to the holidays.

He flipped back and forth between his sketches, pencil in his mouth, erasing a line here of adding one there. After a bit, he sensed a disturbance in the energy, his attention shifted slightly across the table to his new deskmate.

Violet was sitting at her desk, tapping her nails on the wood, her lip between her teeth as she was looking out on the department. She was practically radiating nervous energy, her desk already all neatly set up.

Jovan noticed a leather bound planner, a collection of pens and pencils in an empty Dior box, a thick stack of sketching paper, as well as a well stocked sewing kit, a golden pair of scissors sticking out.

She seemed to be in worse shape than he was, clearly not used to being given idle creative time, and Jovan smiled slightly, deciding to take pity on her.

“Hey, Violet.” Jovan pushed his chair out, scooting over to her table. “I’m working on this dress,” Jovan put his sketches down on Violet’s desk, “and I can’t figure out the hem length. Will you check it out?”

“Oh, um, sure…” Violet leaned over the desk table, pushing a bit of her hair behind her ear. Jovan hadn’t noticed the bracelet or her rings before, the golden jewelry clearly well worn, but also well taken care of. “What’s the problem?”

“See, I’m trying it three different ways, but they all feel wrong...” Jovan tapped his sketches, already enjoying how seriously Violet considered the question, examining each sketch closely and looking at them back and forth a few times before attempting an answer.

“I like the length on the second one, but the shoulders on the third one might balance it out more,” she finally said, and he smiled.

“Yeah, good call, thanks!” Jovan stretched, yawning slightly. He was already feeling much better, but Violet still looked lost.

“I need caffeine.” Jovan stood up. “You wanna come for some espresso or a latte or something?”

“Oh.” Violet looked genuinely surprised at his request, sneaking a quick glaze at Trixie’s closed office door before she made up her mind. “Um, alright…” Violet reached for her coat, but Jovan stopped her.

“No,” Jovan smiled. “I just mean the espresso machine we have in the break room.” Jovan pointed over his shoulder, Violet following his fingers, her brow furrowing. “You did know that we have a break room down here, right?”

Jovan had heard the rumor that Fame only drank Starbucks, though he hadn’t imagined that her assistants shared the luxury, but Violet shook her head, the woman both looking mystified and curious, and Jovan realised that he had never actually seen her in any of the Galactica break rooms ever.

“Come on,” Jovan grabbed her elbow, giving it a squeeze. “I’ll show you.”

***

“Stop, omigod, I can’t breathe,” Maxwell wheezed, clutching Bob’s shoulder and practically choking with laughter at his boyfriend’s story.

“No, but listen. Then Acid turned to him and-”

Maxwell reached up and covered Bob’s mouth with his hand, having just spotted Jovan strolling towards the break room with Violet in tow.

“Incoming mole,” he warned, giving a nod with his head.

Maxwell had been working at Galactica for his entire career - over ten years now. He’d seen many assistants come and go from Miss Fame’s office.

Most of the time, they moved on to other jobs in the industry, working for buyers or as stylists. Occasionally, they were promoted within the company. Shangela had started off as Fame’s assistant years ago, and so had Laganja in marketing. But this was the first time anyone had been sent to design. Granted, Violet was one of the more competent and longer-lasting assistants, but still.

He was suspicious.

Bob seemed perfectly ready to welcome Violet to the family with open arms. Maxwell, on the other hand, was more cautious, and the last thing he wanted was for Violet to walk in on some debaucherous story about drag queens.

“Look professional!” he hissed, before removing his hand.

“First of all, I’m always professional. And second, would you relax?” Bob smirked, leaning against the table, his favorite mug in hand. “She seems perfectly nice.”

“Oh please,” Maxwell huffed, “You just want upstairs gossip.”

For as long as Bob has been at the company--nearly as long as Maxwell, he’d been utterly fascinated with senior management. Their weird quirks and tempestuous moods, all the tabloid nonsense.

“Uh!” Bob gasped, holding a hand to his chest. “I resent that!”

“Well, resent it or not, it’s true,” Maxwell quipped.

“You name one time when I’ve been the source of gossip around here,” Bob said, a hand on his hip, in full queen mode.

“That’s...what...all the time!” Maxwell sputtered, caught off guard by that ridiculous defense. Bob was a notorious gossip. He was the only person Maxwell knew who still talked on the phone with multiple people every day, for fun. It was half the reason why they’d never moved in together, Maxwell unable to imagine living with Bob’s need to talk on the phone for hours in the evening. Maxwell enjoyed people too, sometimes, but after work, he more often than not wanted some peace and solitude.

“So you can’t name one specific time? Interesting.” Bob’s brown eyes glittered with amusement, always the happiest when he was in teasing mode.

“You’re impossible!” Maxwell turned to Jovan, who was now busy with the espresso machine. “Bob says he’s not a gossip.”

“Ha!” Jovan snorted. “Violet, what do you want?”

“An americano is more than fine.” Violet smiled, and Maxwell realised that he wasn’t sure if he had ever seen that expression on the former assistants face before.

He had never spoken with her before, Ivy always the assistant who came along to the design meetings, but he had seen her follow Fame down the halls, and he still remembered how bad he had felt for her during Fame’s temperature meltdown at their September show.

“Violet, Violet, Violet,” Bob put a hand down, turning his body towards her. “Do not listen to them.” Bob pouting at both Maxwell and Jovan. “I’m not a gossip. I’m a very trustworthy confidante, so if you have anything you need to share about, you know, upstairs...I’m all ears.” Bob grinned.

“Ah!” Maxwell cried triumphantly, “Case in fucking point you fucking gossip!”

“Upstairs?” Violet looked genuinely confused for a moment.

“You know,” Bob pointed at the ceiling, “Upstairs.”

“Ah.”

Maxwell made a face at Bob, clearing his throat slightly.

Why did he have to reveal everything right away? They didn’t know how trustworthy this girl was yet, and so they should really assume zero percent. It was the only safe and logical conclusion.

“Sorry, assistant code,” said Violet with an apologetic shrug. “My lips are sealed”

“Wow. Okay, I see how it is,” Bob said, and Maxwell rolled his eyes.

“Honestly Bob, what if she’d come down here and started reporting all kinds of rumors? Wouldn’t that make you concerned?” he asked, reaching up to tug on on Bob’s ear.

“Concerned…. Entertained… Potato, potahto.” Bob grinned, taking another sip from his mug.

“Goddammit,” Jovan said, struggling with the machine. “Cracks, can you help me? This fucking thing, we need a new one-”

“Sure.” Maxwell stepped over to the machine to assist. He remembered when Trixie first got it for them, almost six years ago, how everyone had just gone crazy over it. But lately it was acting up, and the designers were not pleased when they needed to wait an extra 30 seconds for coffee. The company should really take care of it before there was some kind of mutiny. He made a mental note to talk to Trixie later.

“So, Violet,” Bob continued, “How’s it going? Is our boy Jovan being cool, or is he in one of his moods?”

“Fuck off,” Jovan cut in, sitting down heavily. “I’m fucking delightful.”

Maxwell chuckled to himself over that, Jovan’s stormy moods something everyone in the department knew intimately.

“He’s been very kind,” Violet said, her hand gripping the edge of her skirt.

“Yeah, yeah.” Bob smiled, rolling his eyes. “Look, Violet, let me give you some advice,” Bob turned to Jovan. “You’ve gotta pay attention to that big vein in his forehead, and when it starts popping out...run.”

“Oh.”

“Eat a dick, Bob.”

“Yours?” Bob looked down, leering at Max’s brown khakis, a grin on his face, “Or like, any dick?” Bob teased, wiggling his brows. “Either way, I’m down.”

Maxwell rolled his eyes, giving Bob a Look intended to say ‘not in mixed company,’ gesturing towards Violet, the poor girl probably scandalized by this kind of talk, judging from her ramrod straight posture and demurely folded hands.

He turned to Jovan for backup, only to find him sitting at one of the tables, big wrinkly head in his hands. Maxwell tapped him on the shoulder, hoping to help him avoid an existential crisis before eleven am.

“How’s the Hanukkah dress?” Maxwell asked, which is what he’d been jokingly calling the blue cocktail number that poor Jovan was working on. Jovan rolled his eyes.

“Killing me. Violet had a good idea though, so I guess I’ll try that.”

“Are you gonna embroider a menorah on the front?” Maxwell teased.

“No, I was thinking that the skirt would just be a giant dreidel.”

Maxwell laughed at that, though truth be told, you could never be too sure with Jovan. He might just do it.

“Did Coach assign you anything yet, Violet?” Bob asked.

“No..” Violet tilted her head. “Is there a reason you call him that?”

“Oh. Yeah. So, Trixie’s the only straight guy around here-”

“Straight identified,” Maxwell corrected, and Violet snorted, quickly covering her mouth with her hand.

“Yeah, so, we like to give him shit. We call him Coach. You know...” Bob made his hand into a fist and punched Violet very lightly on the shoulder, deepening his voice. “Coach!”

“He’s the only straight guy, and of course he’s the one in charge of the department,” Jovan added pointedly.

“Well, yes, there’s also that,” Bob chuckled. “Anyway, have you gotten an assignment for the holiday collection? I’ve seen some pictures of your student stuff,” Trixie had dropped by with Violet’s portfolio, shoving it to Bob who had loved flipping through it. “I assumed you’d be doing gowns most of the time.”

“No-” Violet opened her mouth, but then seemed to rethink it, and close it again. “Not yet.”

“So...Chachki,” Maxwell said, handing her coffee over. “Are you Jewish?”

“No,” Violet said simply, and Bob burst out laughing.

“She said nope,” he giggled, popping the p.

“Well, where are you from? What’s your deal? Tell us everything,” Maxwell continued, undeterred by Bob’s laughter.

“Oh. Um… There’s not much to tell. I graduated from Parsons a few years ago. I’m originally from Atlanta-”

“Hey! Me too!” Bob exclaimed. “I’m from Clayton County. Where’d you go to high school?”

“-But I’ve been in New York since I was 13.”

“Oh, gotcha.”

“I got a job working for Miss Fame, and...that’s about it.” Violet looked around, her lip between her teeth.

“Wow. Fascinating,”

“Sorry, I’m not very interesting.”

“No no,” Maxwell said. “You should write a memoir.”

“Omigod, she’s like twelve years old, leave her alone,” Bob said. “In case you haven’t noticed, Violet, these guys are a mess and you should ignore 98% of everything they say.”

Bob put his arm around Maxwell, squeezing him affectionately even as the insults rolled off his tongue.

“And what about you?” Maxwell asked.

“Me?” Bob asked. “Oh, fully same.”

***

“What,” Violet was staring at the table, a brown concoction staring right back at her, “on earth is this?”

“You never seen one before?” Alexis smiled, getting in next to her, “They call it a cronut, girl. Everyone in the city is obsessed with them,” she grabbed one, “and they’re delicious.”

Violet had spent lunch with Alexis, Gia and April, the three women slipping back and forth between English and Spanish, their conversation practically impossible to follow, but Violet hadn’t minded.

It had been incredibly nice to just sit with someone for lunch without constantly checking her phone, Violet unsure if she had ever actually had an uninterrupted lunch break at Galactica before.

“Huh.” Violet bit her lip, still not too sure about the offered treat. “Are we already-”

“Hey, Violet-” Violet turned her head to see Blu slip in next to her, a big smile on the Irish woman's beautiful face. Her ginger hair was pushed back with a hairband, her grey eyes attentive and kind. “Are you coming to the happy hour?”

“Happy hour?”

“Mmh,” Blu nodded, “a couple of us always go round the corner for a pint on Mondays at 5:30. You know, for bonding and stuff.”

“Huh.” Violet bit her lip. She had seen Blu and Gia working that morning, but it seemed strange to her that they were expecting to be let go at 5:30, the whole thing even stranger since both Blu and Gia were actively enjoying the pastries.

“So, you coming?”

“Oh, no,” Violet did her best to smile, to look genuinely apologetic. “I can’t.”

Sutan had texted her about whether or not she wanted to come over after work, and Violet couldn’t wait to cuddle up on the couch, tucked safe and sound under Sutan’s arm. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay.” Blu smiled, though Violet wasn’t sure it actually was based on the look in her eyes, “You can come next time-”

“Violet!” Blu was cut off as Trixie came over, “Blu! Are you enjoying the cronuts?”

“Yes boss,” Blu held up her cronut, over half of it gone. “It’s delicious.”

“Have you had any, Violet?”

“No, not yet.”

“Here.” Trixie grabbed a plate, quickly scooping one up for her. “It’s pumpkin chai this month!”

“Thanks.” Violet took it, unsure what to do. It wasn’t that she hated all desserts, wasn’t that she hated all sweets, but what she did hate was trying new things when she was feeling nervous, and even though everyone had been beyond kind to her so far, she couldn’t help the unsettling feeling in her stomach that something wasn’t right.

“I can’t wait to see your finished blouse,” Trixie was smiling, his hand on Blu’s arm. “I’m counting on you.”

“Mmh,” Blu nodded, pride in her eyes, and Trixie gave her one last squeeze, clearly intending to walk on and make sure everyone was having a good time.

“Trixie-” Violet took a step forward, her now boss turning around to look at her.

“Yes sweetheart?”

“I was wondering, if I could-” Violet wanted to throw herself out the window, the entire thing so terribly awkward, the fact that she was daring to even consider questioning her boss’ process, “it’s about the holiday collection-”

“Oh, that silly thing?” Trixie laughed, “Don’t worry about it.”

“But,” Violet took another step forward, “I’d like to, like to worry, that is-”

“You’ll watch the design meeting on Thursday, see how things are done around here.” Trixie smiled. “Ease into it, take it slow.”

“But I have an idea for-” Violet didn’t know if she was allowed, but she had already picked up a few of the unfavored fabric swatches, a white silk and some crushed red velvet so to Fame’s taste that she knew she had to give it a try.

“If you really want to speed things up, you can spend tomorrow shadowing April.”

“Really?” It wasn’t what Violet truly wanted, but anything, literally anything, would be better than another day of ‘taking it slow’.

“It’ll be perfect for you,” Trixie smiled, “I promise.”

Trixie then took a bite of the cronut in his hand, his eyes going wide. He turned from Violet to call out, “Kimberly! Kim, did you try these pumpkin chai cronuts?! Oh my god...”

As her boss wandered off to wax poetic about his pastry, Violet dug her fingers into her palm. Wasn’t this department supposed to be the lifeblood of the company? Why was everyone so chill?

Violet tried to be positive, tried to believe that Trixie was only doing what he thought best for her, but she couldn’t help wondering if she was still working for Galactica, the feeling of utterly uselessness washing over her for the first time since she had started at the company.

***

“Are you feeling chopsticks or fork?”

“Fork please.”

“Of course.” Violet smiled as Sutan began to dig through his cutlery drawer, soft jazz playing from the radio in the window. She had gotten somewhat used to seeing him without his suits in Paris, early morning Sutan walking around in pajama pants and t-shirts for as long as he could, but there was something special about seeing him in casual chinos and the sweaters he seemed to favor now that it was getting colder outside.

They were in his kitchen, Violet sitting at the table. When she had come over, Sutan had been setting up in the dining room, but she had asked him if they could please sit in the kitchen instead, the room so much cosier and lived in than the dining room.

Violet had been looking forward to her first day in design since she started at Galactica, but now that she had gotten there, it felt like a hollow victory.

She was sure tomorrow would be better, that it’d be more meaningful, but for now, she just wanted to spend time with the man she really genuinely liked.

“Here you go.” Sutan handed her the fork. “You know,” Sutan smirked, crossing his arms, “You should really learn how to use chopsticks.”

“I know how to use chopsticks,” Violet looked up at Sutan, putting her fork down. “I just prefer not to.”

“Sure lovely eyes.” Sutan grinned, grabbing the back of her chair, leaning down to kiss her, when the doorbell rang.

“Ah,” Sutan gave her a quick peck, his lips tasting faintly like peppermint with an undercurrent of cigarettes, his eyes sparkling.

“That must be the food.” Sutan stood up, reaching into his pocket for a wad of cash Violet hadn’t even noticed. “Do you mind finishing setting the table?”

“Of course not.” Violet stood herself as Sutan walked out, and she quickly crossed the room, opening the cabinet she knew housed Sutan’s plates.

The request hadn’t been anything out of the ordinary, Violet helping more often than not, but as she actually looked at the kitchen table, she realized what she had accidentally said yes to.

Sutan’s laptop was sitting in the middle, but besides that, the table was covered in work stuff, Sutan’s laptop, headshots, what Violet could only assume was contracts, folders and modeling portfolios spread all over.

She couldn’t see any kind of system, and if she had been at work she wouldn’t have dared to move a single thing, but Sutan had asked her to take care of it, and take care of it she would.

Violet knew Sutan had an office, but she had never actually seen him use it, or heard him mention it. Violet felt weird moving Sutan’s work things, but as she quickly piled it all on one end of the table, she recognized that this was probably why she liked the kitchen so much.

It was obviously the place in the apartment Sutan used the most, and the one she instinctively felt was more Sutan than Raja; everywhere else, even Sutan’s own bedroom, so obviously designed and furnished by his twin.

It was a strange thought that Raja had so much influence on Sutan’s life, but it wasn’t something she was ever going to bring up, their relationship none of her business.

Violet was just a moment in time for Sutan, so who was she to make any sort of suggestion about anything.

“Ah, great.” She was just setting the plates, when Sutan returned with more takeout bags than Violet had ever expected. “You’re almost done.”

“Are we expecting company?”

“Company?” Sutan looked confused for a moment, and Violet nodded her head towards the food in his arms, which caused him to laugh. “Please. This is just for us.” Sutan put the bags down, opening up the first one. “I figured it was worth celebrating your first day.”

“Huh.” Violet sat down on her chair once again, watching as Sutan produced one white cardboard carton after another. “How much did you get?”

“Oh you know, just a little bit of everything. I have dumplings, wontons and egg rolls, chow mein, orange chicken, beef and broccoli, black pepper scallops, garlic eggplant. I wasn’t sure what you’d like.”

Violet didn’t want to tell Sutan that she only had a very limited idea of what she genuinely liked beyond orange chicken and white rice, a childhood of bland suburban chain restaurants and her years in New York on a tight budget never leaving her much room for indulgence.

“Interesting.” Violet bit her lip, but Sutan grinned, continuing the unpacking. “Have you ever heard of cronuts?”

“What?” Sutan paused, a carton in hand. He turned to her, an eyebrow raised. “Lovely eyes. I may be older than you, but I don’t live under a rock?”

“Hmm.” Violet had no idea that cronuts were apparently so well known, but she wasn’t going to show Sutan that. “We had them at work today.”

“Did you like them?”

“Not really.” Violet took the carton of rice Sutan handed her. “They take a lot of breaks, at work, I mean.”

“Sounds like a nice place.” Sutan smiled, sitting down.

VIolet nodded, opening her rice as Sutan started talking about his day. It was always nice to be around him, Sutan often chatting away in his low baritone, filling out the silence so Violet never felt obligated to speak if she didn’t want to.

“Oh-” Sutan paused, a piece of broccoli in his chopsticks. “That reminds me. What are you wearing on Friday?”

“Friday?” Violet quickly ran through her week in her head, and she was fairly certain that she had nothing on the agenda for friday.

“Yes? For Bianca’s birthday.”

“Bianca’s birthday? Bianca Del Rio?”

“Mmh.” Sutan popped the broccoli in his mouth, quickly chewing it. “It’s her 40th, and I figured it’d be nice if we coordinated.”

“Oh.” Violet bit her lip. Surprised that Sutan was dumping it on her like this, since she knew for a fact that he hadn’t mentioned it until this very moment. “And the birthday is this Friday?”

Violet tried to hide her anxiety, her heart speeding up in her chest. She didn’t have any idea what the dress code was and what to wear or where the party was being held.

“I can invite someone else?”

“What?” Violet’s head snapped up at the words. Sutan looked completely relaxed, like he hadn’t just dropped a gigantic bomb, like this wasn’t strange at all, like it was normal for him to have so many girls lined up that he could find someone with no problem at all.

“If you don’t want to go-”

“No, no.” Violet closed her hand, digging her fingers into her palm under the table. “It’s fine. It’s fine. I’ll figure something out.”

#rpdr fanfiction #thedane #veronica #galactica #vitan #bob x cracker #violet chachki #trixie mattel #yvie oddly #bob the drag queen #miz cracker #blu hydrangea #raja gemini #lesbian au #m/f au #fashion au

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ohemgeeitscoley · 4 years

Text

Ben Solo is the recently assigned editor for Rey Johnson’s book about star-crossed lovers in space when the world is turned upside down and stay home orders are issued. Ben and Rey begin working together over Zoom and their relationship grows.

Or, an and they were zoomates fic.

Based on this Tumblr post.

The one I have been waiting for (Part One of Two)

Fandom: Star Wars

Pairing: Rey/Ben Solo (Reylo)

Note: This was going to be a really, really short one shot. It turned into a 12k two-shot. Whoops. This is pure fluff.

As always, the biggest thank you to @andyouweremine for being the world’s best beta and friend. Seriously, thank you for all of your cheerleading and input and for convincing me that one more scene never hurt anyone. You’re the absolute best.

Read below or on AO3.

From: Leia Organa-Solo <[email protected]> To: Benjamin Solo <[email protected]> Subject: Quarantine assignments

Ben,

Unfortunately with everything going on right now, I've decided that we are going to close the office and have everyone work from home. I know you were looking forward to the big welcome lunch I had planned. Hopefully we will be able to reschedule in a few weeks once the risk of spreading COVID-19 lessens.

In the meantime, I am going to assign you to Rey Johnson. She is working on a new novel with a goal of having the first draft submitted by May 30. I'm attaching her contact information and what she has sent over so far. Please coordinate with Rey to schedule an introduction meeting.

Warm regards,

Mom

Leia Organa-Solo CEO Rebel Publishing, LLC

From: Benjamin Solo <[email protected]> To: Leia Organa-Solo <[email protected]> Subject: RE: Quarantine assignments

Leia:

I am deeply saddened that the welcome lunch you coordinated over my many, many vocal objections to has been cancelled. I suppose we will have to plan another inner-office get together wherein I can find a way to embarrass and let you down. I'm greatly looking forward to the opportunity.

On that note, was it really necessary to use my full name in my email address? Was Ben already taken? I am fairly certain as my mother you are aware that you are the only person who ever calls me Benjamin. Would it be possible to have IT change this before tomorrow?

I think closing the office is the right decision. Social distancing is quite important now more than ever. I'm assuming this means that Saturday dinners will also be postponed?

I'll look over what you sent and reach out to Ms. Johnson. I'm looking forward to working with her.

Sincerely,

Ben Solo Editor Rebel Publishing, LLC

From: Leia Organa-Solo <[email protected]> To: Benjamin Solo <[email protected]> Subject: RE: Quarantine assignments

Benjamin:

I distinctly remember writing Benjamin down on your birth certificate. I'm unaware of any name change order being in your personnel file. The email stays.

The lunch has not been cancelled, it has been postponed. Despite your assertions, you will not embarrass or let me down in any get together. However, I make no such promises. Seeing as how I'll be trapped at home with your father for the foreseeable future, maybe I'll finally have time to find some of those old pictures of you. I've been meaning to redecorate my office.

It does appear that Saturday dinners will need to be postponed. However, I am working with Chewie and Luke to see if we can perhaps get them set up to attend virtual dinners. I'll keep you updated.

Warm regards,

Mom

Leia Organa-Solo CEO Rebel Publishing, LLC

-----

Ben sighed, pushing his hands under his glasses as he rubbed at the corners of his eyes. It wasn’t that he necessarily thought that agreeing to go work at his mom’s publishing company was going to be the easiest of transitions, but he also hadn’t been prepared for his name to be on the list of things they would argue about.

It only made sense, then, that it was one of the first things.

He considered sending another email, pushing the issue. But he knew better than to think it was an argument he was going to win. And, honestly, he was hopeful that if he didn’t respond maybe she’d never again think about coordinating, or asking him to coordinate, a virtual Saturday dinner.

Instead, Ben opened the contact card his mom had sent for Rey, and got to work.

From: Benjamin Solo <[email protected]> To: Rey Johnson <[email protected]> Subject: Introduction Meeting

Good evening Ms. Johnson:

I’m the assigned editor for your next book. Leia has already provided your initial pitch, character sketches, and outline. However, I usually prefer to talk with an author prior to reading these materials. I have found in the past that going into these conversations without any preconceived ideas based on the initial workups leads to a more organic understanding of the material. As such, I’d love to have the chance to talk with you about your book prior to looking over the material.

Given the increased concerns of spreading the virus, Leia has closed the office and has asked that we conduct all of our work from home. Please let me know what your availability is tomorrow or the next day so that I can coordinate the conference. I am just transitioning to Rebel Publishing, so my calendar is currently fairly open.

Of course, if you’d rather me read through the materials and start the process that way, just let me know.

I look forward to working with you.

Sincerely,

Ben Solo Editor Rebel Publishing, LLC

From: Rey Johnson <[email protected]> To: Benjamin Solo <[email protected]> Subject: RE: Introduction Meeting

Mr. Solo,

Leia let me know today that we would be working together. I’m really looking forward to hearing your thoughts. I’d love the opportunity to talk with you prior to you reviewing the materials that have been previously sent. This is a different approach than my previous editors have taken, but I am intrigued by your theory.

With that said, given the recent orders to stay home, my schedule is very flexible. I usually try to block out specific times to focus on writing so that I can turn off notifications and limit distractions. With the times I had previously blocked out for tomorrow, I could make an 11:00 am work? If that doesn’t work, just let me know what does and I’m sure I’ll be able to make that work.

I look forward to meeting with you.

Sincerely,

Rey Johnson

-----

Rey was the first one in the Zoom meeting the next morning. She fidgeted with her web camera, adjusting the angle until the image on the screen blocked out most of her messy apartment. She spent a few minutes pushing things out of the way before sitting back down and waiting for Ben to appear.

She glanced down at the clock on her computer screen, sighing at the time. The meeting wasn’t supposed to start for another five minutes. Being early had never been one of her defining characteristics, but she also hadn’t had any real human interaction in days.

The day the stay home order had been issued by the Governor, Rey had planned on meeting up with Poe and Finn for drinks. They had been on her for days to avoid slipping into a writer isolation. Poe had a lot of experience in knowing just how easily Rey could spiral when she was writing, hiding away from the world for days at a time. It had always just been easier for Rey to stay in when she was writing. Easier to stay focused on what kept her paid and fed and a roof over her head.

She didn’t have to worry about getting too distracted and forgetting where she left off or what she had planned for another scene if she just stayed home. Poe liked to remind her that she was ridiculous and that going out also was what provided her with actual inspiration to write.

There was a balance, she was sure. She just hadn’t achieved it yet. Then the stay home issue was ordered and Rey found herself wishing that she had listened to Poe sooner.

Not that was going to tell him that.

The computer dinged when Ben joined the meeting room. The image was fuzzy at first, Rey could really only make out that he had dark hair and rather broad shoulders. In fact, he looked rather… large, his body taking up most of the space that she could see. The image cleared and Rey took in the rest of his features, the sharp nose and pouty lips.

He was definitely attractive. Which was not what she needed to be thinking about at the moment.

“Good morning, Mr. Solo,” Rey said, smiling politely as she held her hand up in a tiny, awkward wave.

“I would say Mr. Solo is my father,” he responded, shaking his head slightly. “But he also hates being called that.”

“Right, so, Benjamin then?”

“No, no, no, no,” Ben grimaced, as if the word personally offended him. “Ben. Just Ben.”

“Okay, just Ben,” Rey laughed softly. “It’s nice to meet you.”

“It’s nice to meet you too, Ms. John-”

“Rey,” she interrupted him with a grin.

“Well, Rey, tell me about your book.”

Rey took a deep breath before, running her teeth over her bottom lip before she began. She started by attempting to introduce the main characters, Kira and Kylo, and their backstories, but she was easily distracted with certain points of plot that felt so imperative to interrupt and explain.

By the time she finished, she wasn't really sure what information she had shared or left out. But she was fairly positive that she had failed to hit all of the main plot points.

Rey waited for Ben to say something. She knew that he had told her that he found it beneficial to hear about the story in an organic way, but the longer the silence stretched, the more she wished she had spent more time preparing last night to explain to him the story and the characters in at least a logical way.

“So they are connected?” He finally asked. “What was the word you used?”

“A dyad,” Rey answered. “Soulmates, really.”

“Star-crossed lovers fighting on opposite sides of a galactic war," Ben paused, jotting something down on a piece of paper next to his computer. "Doomed from the start?"

"Hardly," Rey snorted. "It won't be easy, but I fully plan on a happily ever after ending for them."

"Really?" Ben seemed surprised. "That's unusual for star-crossed couples."

"Your words," Rey reminded him, "I said they were soulmates."

"That you did," Ben conceded. "I just assumed since they are fighting for different things that one would fall."

"But they aren't."

"What?"

"Fighting for different things," Rey clarified. "It seems that way, at first. But really, they are both fighting for a place in the world. For a family. For a balance that they are being told can't exist."

"It sounds like quite a world," Ben noted. "I'm excited to see you build it."

"Yeah," Rey looked away from the screen, staring at the knick knacks that filled up the shelf across from her. "It's a little scary actually, creating a world this complex."

"That's what I'm here for."

"Right," Rey smiled at him. "Well, I'm glad I have you."

Rey thought that maybe Ben was blushing, even though logically she knew that it was more likely just a shadow or reflection from his computer. Either way, she liked the way it made him look.

"So, same time next week?" Ben asked. "I'll go over everything Leia sent me. Now that I know what I'm getting into, I think my notes will be a lot better."

"Yeah, same time next week," Rey glanced down at the notes on her desk. "Should I send you things throughout the week as I'm working? Or save it for next week?"

"For now I say save it for next week. I have a lot of material to get started with."

"Sounds good."

"It was nice meeting you, Rey." Ben held one hand up in an awkward wave.

"Yeah, you too, Ben."

-----

From: Rey Johnson <[email protected]> To: Benjamin Solo <[email protected]> Subject: Earlier meeting?

Hi Ben:

I know that we have a meeting scheduled in four days, but I was just wondering if you might be available earlier than that? I’m having a bit of difficulty with the corner I think I’ve written myself into, and I am hoping that a fresh pair of eyes might help me find my way out. I understand if you want to keep the meeting as scheduled, I know you haven’t had a lot of time to go through the materials that had already been submitted, but I’d really appreciate any insight.

I hope you are staying inside and staying healthy!

-Rey.

------

Rey groaned, rereading the email she had sent Ben. It wasn’t necessarily a bad email, it was actually lightyears better than the first draft she had written at 2 am. Which went something like ‘Hi Ben, as it turns out despite my years of believing otherwise, I need human interaction and your face is the only face I’ve seen in a week and I’m slowly losing my mind. I sang to my plants. I’ve never written this much in my life, I’ve started reading the dialogue out loud because I’m no longer sure what human conversations sound like. So, if it wouldn’t be too much trouble, could we move up our meeting? I’m a little worried I’m becoming an insane person. I swear I’m not normally this weird. Quarantine life.’

She, thankfully, pressed the delete button instead of the send button. The other three drafts were slightly more professional, but all with the same undertone of her being slightly desperate for any conversation that didn’t involve her voicing both sides. She had tried facetiming Poe, but he and Finn had been keeping each other plenty busy. Which really, she should have expected.

Logically she knew that she could reach out to either one of them anyways, or Rose, or any of her other friends and just tell them that she was potentially on the verge of a self-isolation mental breakdown and they would be there for her.

But that was a showing of vulnerability that despite years of therapy Rey wasn’t comfortable with demonstrating. And so she emailed Ben instead.

It wasn’t like it was a complete lie. She had written more than usual and she was at a point in the story that she would appreciate some feedback at this point.

Kira and Kylo were at a turning point in the story. Their connection had been steadily growing stronger and more frequent, forcing them to face each other. Now was the time for them to come together and join each other or for them to pull away and keep fighting against each other.

It wasn't a terrible idea for her to get some feedback and opinions before moving forward full speed. Her reaching out to Ben for an earlier meeting had nothing to do with her ever increasing thoughts about how he was rather attractive and his smile was rather enticing and that she wanted to see it again.

At least, she was fairly confident that wasn’t the main reason.

She glanced at the sent email one last time before closing out of her email tab. Only fifteen minutes had passed since she sent the email and she already felt regret settling over her nerves.

It was going to be a long day waiting for him to reply.

-----

In hindsight, Ben probably should have found it strange that he had not received a single company email in over 24 hours. Especially since Leia had a habit of sending him personal messages to his work email. Despite him reminding her numerous times that she had his personal email, and his cell phone, and, really, at least four other ways of contacting him.

A part of him knew that Leia did it because she genuinely enjoyed reminding herself that he came back to her company, that he came home. He also knew her well enough to know that the larger reason was because she also genuinely enjoyed annoying him. And Leia had to know that he would find knowing that her personal assistant had access to all of her emails about whether or not he was interested in attending a virtual dinner, if he had enough food in his apartment or if he would like her to make an instacart order for him, and that Han had been cleaning out the garage to make more room for his ‘quarantine projects’ and found boxes of his old toys and baby blankets and she was just wondering if he perhaps wanted her to bring the belongings home so that he could come get them, you know, for the future.

So, he should have known that something wasn’t working, but he had been distracted going through Rey’s materials, making notes of his questions and of his proposed edits. She was a fantastic writer. The world she had built was fresh and lively, jumping off of the pages in clear images and descriptions. She had provided extremely detailed character sketches for most of the characters, but he hadn’t found that he had to read through them or refer to them to understand any of the characters or to analyze any of the choices the characters had made simply because she wrote them so well.

It was very impressive.

He had finished going through the materials that Leia had sent him in two days. He was working his way through them again, going slower and providing more detailed notes and able to ask more pointed questions given the knowledge of where the story was heading. Still, he found himself wishing that he had told Rey to send over more work.

He noticed his phone light up on the corner of his couch. He picked it up, glancing at the message icon showing that he had four messages from his mother and… 48 unread emails.

Mom: Servers are back up at the office.

Mom: Sorry for the onslaught of emails you are probably going to start getting in five minutes.

Mom: I didn’t realize at first that they weren’t going through.

Mom: It’s possible 75% of them could have been text messages.

Ben: The server was down at the office?

Mom: You didn’t notice that you have received no emails in the last day?

Ben: I guess not.

Mom: That’s an unusual thing for you to not notice.

Mom: What have you been doing?

Ben: Going through the materials you sent over for Rey’s book.

Mom: Ah.

Mom: That makes sense then.

Ben sighed, closing the messaging app to start going through the emails from his mother.

They were exactly what he had expected them to be. A few emails from HR and IT that were sent company wide about how to submit hours when working from home, a reminder to sign up for direct deposit if you hadn’t already, and a few guided walkthroughs on common computer and technology issues. His mother’s emails focused more on whether or not he had all of the ingredients for the Risotto she wanted to make for dinner on Saturday. Followed by an email with the receipt. And another email that went to him, Luke, and Chewie, wondering why it was too much to ask them all to make the same meal as her so that the virtual dinner felt like an actual dinner and not a happenstance of people meeting at the same time.

He almost missed the email from Rey.

-----

From: Benjamin Solo <[email protected]> To: Rey Johnson <[email protected]> Subject: RE: Earlier meeting?

Dear Rey,

I’m truly sorry for my delay in responding to your email. I was just informed that the server at the office went down, which affected our email host and I am just now getting this message.

I would love to go over this with you sooner than we had planned. I have already reviewed the materials you had previously sent, so I believe I will be of much more use in hopefully helping you figure out where you want to go next. I do find it hard to believe that you’ve written yourself into a corner, you seem to have a great grasp on the characters and the story you want to tell.

I’d hate for any future requests to be severely delayed due to technological issues beyond our control. My cell phone number is 917-555-3298.

I am available whenever. I suppose that��s the upside to a quarantine.

I look forward to receiving the materials and discussing them with you.

Ben

Benjamin Solo Editor Rebel Publishing, LLC

-----

Ben: I think it’s abusing your power as owner of a company to go through and change your employee’s email signatures without consent.

Mom: I have no idea what you are talking about.

Mom: Benjamin

------

929-555-4593: Hi Ben. This is Rey. I just got your email and figured I’d send you a message so you have my number. I sent over what I’ve been working on. I’m also free whenever. So, just tell me when and I’ll be there.

Rey Johnson: Thanks again for agreeing to meet up with me earlier than planned. I appreciate it.

-------

Rey threw on a blazer over the red tank top she had been wearing for the last two days when she got the Zoom invite from Ben. She glanced at her reflection in the mirror to the side of her desk, double checking to make sure she didn’t have dried mascara on her cheeks and that her hair looked moderately presentable.

She clicked on the link in the email and---

Ben wore glasses. Ben wore glasses and Rey was not at all prepared for how he looked wearing them. Really, it didn’t seem quite fair that something as innocuous as glasses managed to make him go skyrocketing up from ‘fairly attractive’ to ‘how inappropriate would it be to initiate sexting with her new editor that she had maybe spent a grand total of twenty minutes communicating with’ in her mind.

Rey really, really needed the stay home order lifted. Clearly, she was worse off than she thought.

“Hey,” Ben greeted her. “How are you surviving the stay home order?”

“Oh great. Some might even say I’ve been thriving,” Rey rolled her eyes, shaking her head as she laughed. “At least I’ve been able to get a lot of writing done.”

“I would say,” Ben ran his hand through his hair, and Rey could hear him clicking open something on his computer. “I’m not going to lie, I’ve only skimmed through everything you sent over today. So, depending on what has you stuck, I’m not positive this will be a very productive meeting.”

“The part I think I’m stuck at?” Rey opened the word document on her computer, her eyes narrowing in confusion. “You mean it isn’t obvious?”

“I guess, no?” Ben responded, and Rey can tell from the way he’s focusing on his computer screen that he must be going through the document again. “I just assumed you were stuck on what to do after Kira took Kylo’s hand? But that didn’t make much sense either because you have such a clear plan for the story.”

“Kira doesn’t take Kylo’s hand.”

Ben glanced up to the camera, his mouth slightly open. “What?”

“Kira doesn’t take Kylo’s hand,” Rey repeated, lifting her shoulders in a small shrug. “At least not yet.”

“What do you mean she doesn’t take his hand yet?” Ben asked, and Rey has to bite down on her lip to keep herself from laughing at how insulted he sounded. “You’ve spent the last eight chapters building their relationship for her to take his hand.”

“That doesn’t mean that this is the right moment,” Rey pointed out. “I’m not sure it’s the right moment.”

“Okay,” Ben leaned back in his chair, lifting his hands to rest behind his head. “I guess I’m going to need you to explain to me what you think the right moment will be then.”

“That might take awhile,” Rey admitted. “I don’t know that I even know the answer to that.”

“That’s okay,” Ben said with an encouraging smile. “I have plenty of time.”

-----

They ended up talking for over two hours. By the end of the call, Rey at least had a better idea of the different paths she could take Kira and Kylo down. Even if she still didn't know which one she would choose.

But they also talked about other things besides the book and Rey's struggles with where the characters should go. Rey discovered that Ben was also sheltering in place by himself. She was pretty amused when Ben didn’t immediately end the video call when she started discussing the finer points of being ordered to stay in, like what Netflix show he was binge watching and whether or not he had enough toilet paper to last.

She was oddly unsurprised when he refused to discuss his toilet paper situation with her and when he said that he didn’t watch a lot of TV and wasn’t planning on binge watching anything. Rey gave him a week before he caved on that.

It was nice.

Rey’s mood had significantly improved half way through the conversation. She had forgotten just how wonderful it was to talk to someone else. It also didn’t hurt that Ben Solo wasn’t exactly hard to look at for two hours. It wasn't even the obvious physical features that Rey found herself thinking about hours later, although she was certainly going to be thinking about them for a while. But Ben had a certain way of moving and mannerisms that only added to them.

Getting to know someone over a video call was interesting. Rey kept waiting for the normal wave of must look away to hit her like it would if they had been face to face. Staring at someone the entire time you were together wasn't normal.

If they had been in person, Rey would have felt uncomfortable with the amount of time she had spent just staring at him. Noticing the way his hands dwarfed the size of his coffee cup and the way he talked with his hands when he was particularly passionate about whatever he was saying.

She particularly liked how his face was open when she said something he disagreed with, the way he would narrow his eyes and shake his head, but waited until she was done to raise his counterpoints. There was something about the way that he was just himself that was refreshing.

He listened intently, scribbling down notes when she talked about the story. Even when she started mentioning shows that he should watch, if he were to get really desperate, and he pretended to be uninterested, Rey was fairly positive she saw him write them down as well.

They set up another meeting in two days, and Rey was determined to have at least made a decision on whether or not Kira was going to take Kylo’s hand by then. She had to admit that Ben had made a convincing argument as to why it was the right moment for the characters to move forward together.

Rey sat down at her writing desk, opening up the current version of her project, and began writing.

#reylo #reylo fanfic #reylo fanfiction #reylo fic #reylo au #and they were zoommates #my fic

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sometimesiwriteangst · 5 years

Text

Pain Is...

Knowing that most of you know how much I openly project onto Dee, I should probably preface this one with “I am okay and I am safe”-

Also I am never ever writing a bad ending again.

I’m also not sure what to tag this as, so...implied character death??

Remus has never been very good identifying emotions.

When Logan tells him he loves him, he knows something twists in his stomach. He identifies fear, and something warm, and some streak of hurt and nausea. Some strange mix that urges him to snap at the man and tell him he wants nothing to do with love.

Logan steps back, embarrassed, bashful, apologising. And maybe that’s what makes Remus try again. Again and again until the fear ebbs away into anxiety. Until he feels okay with identifying a feeling of happiness.

Happiness, Dee would tell him, is the feel of acrylic on your fingers when you give up on using a paintbrush.

But that was Dee. Dee lied like he needed it to live, and sometimes to get the truth from him, you had to get out a set of children’s art supplies and see what he did with it. The results were sometimes messy, sometimes chaotic, but always beautiful.

Logan is not like Dee. Logan isn’t creative, and doesn’t turn to paints when in need of self-expression. He just says what he feels, and usually that’s enough. If it’s not, then Remus is sure to have arms tight around his waist, head buried in his shoulder, soft murmurs about feelings that Remus can never quite understand.

“I love you too, dork,” he murmurs, and he means it.

Other emotions Remus has never been good at identifying include anger. The amount of times he’d had to run to Dee because he was feeling something, and hadn’t twigged that his brother dumping cold water over him whilst he slept might had made him a little cross.

Anger, Dee would say, is breaking your third pencil trying to make an initial sketch.

Remus had seen Dee angry. Curses and hissed truths and double meanings that Remus never understood.

The most impressive display of Dee’s anger came when the pair had bumped into Virgil. Remus could never identify how Virgil made him feel, exactly. But words had been said, and then Virgil had snapped at Remus, and then Dee was hissing and spitting and snarling.

“Virgil,” Dee said after that, “is when Richard fucking Prince puts screenshots of other peoples photographs in a gallery, and gets considered an artist, whilst fan-artists are looked down upon and removed from online spaces.”

Remus didn’t claim to know who Richard Prince was, and he didn’t share Dee’s feelings on Virgil, but it was still an incident he held up as “this is what anger looks like”.

Logan did not get angry. Or, at least, not like Dee did. Logan wasn’t prone to choice words and low snarls. He was quiet, pursing his lips and eyeing the ground as if the floor itself had personally offended him and his mother.

“Chin up, nerd,” Remus grins and pulls Logan in for a tight hug, “let’s bake, that will make you feel better!”

It doesn’t, but Logan appreciates the effort Remus puts in. Logan appreciates the way Remus tries to help, and casually suggests they should meet with Roman and Dee again.

Logan realises what he’s said far too late.

Remus drops the plate, and is crying before it hits the ground.

Sadness, Dee would say, is watercolours bleeding into one another, watery and too pastel to stain the page any adequate colour.

Remus would say otherwise.

Logan is quick to pull Remus in close, to hold him tightly and whisper words of reassurance and love until Remus has finished crying. Remus doesn’t know if this is sadness, but there’s a hole and a dull ache and darkened memories.

Sadness, to Dee, was pallid watercolour and smudged charcoal. Sadness, to Dee, was flaking paint and leaking ink.

Remus thinks sadness is the dull ache, and grief the sharp pain that comes later.

Pain, Dee would once have said, is canvas ripping and the page splitting.

Pain, Dee later said, is Virgil’s eyes and nails and love.

Remus, however, would disagree.

“Dee, if you get back with Virgil, he’s going to kill you,” he told Dee once.

Remus preferred music to art, but he remembered Dee saying once that some oil paintings in museums had so many layers that the bottom-most layers were still wet. If you sliced through, you’d see them weep and cry.

Dee was a lot like those paintings.

Yes, Remus would disagree.

Pain, Remus would say, is telling your best friend they’re going to die, and have them not listen.

“I’ll be better this time,” Dee told him, “Virgil won’t hurt me if I listen to him.”

Pain, Remus would say, is being right.

#abuse #abusive virgil #intrulogical #remus sanders #logan sanders #major character death #implied #deceit sanders #implied murder #no happy ending #i mean #you can try find one #or add one #but

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lumosinlove · 5 years

Text

Solntse

part xi

Remus lets out a breath and pushes the hair off his forehead as he stares at the zipped suitcase in front of him.

“You brought way too many clothes.”

Sirius looks up from where he’s arranging their passports and wrapping his phone and computer chargers neatly around each other. He smiles, dimple appearing in his cheek, “Only because we not wear any.”

Remus’ laugh is punched out of him as he lugs Sirius’ suitcase off the bed, then lifts his own decently heavier one. “Okay, then you bought me too many clothes.”

“Remus, Remus.” Sirius’ hands are warm when they push under Remus’ shirt to pull him in by his hips. For once, and only because Sirius is sitting on the bed and Remus is standing, Remus is the one to have to lean down for a kiss, “You agree for lifetime of presents when you say you love me, you know this.”

“I agreed to a lifetime of you.” Remus corrects, before taking Sirius’ face between his palms and kissing him hard, “You know this.” He smiles at Sirius’ struck and pleased expression, “You just insist on the present part.”

A slow smile crosses Sirius’ face, and he ducks to kiss Remus back, “Love you.”

Remus ducks a little more, chasing Sirius’ mouth, “Yeah?”

His hand creeps down Remus’ back, curving over his butt and pulling Remus against him, “I’m show you how much when we home.” He pushes his nose against Remus’ neck, “When we home.”

Remus sighs, closing his eyes, “I can’t wait.” He’s almost tempted to just leave his apartment as is, call to terminate the lease and never look back. But…no matter how horrible it was, his old life deserves more of a goodbye than that. James deserves more than that, and Lily. Remus gathers Sirius closer to him, “New York’s going to be pretty cold compared to what we’ve been getting used to.”

Sirius makes an exaggerated noise of interest, “I’m take you coat shopping?”

Remus groans.

“Can be early Christmas present.” Sirius sing-songs, and Remus—blinks.

“Oh my god.” He pulls back, hands on Sirius’ shoulder, “I—you’re right, it is almost Christmas.”

Sirius presses a kiss to the center of Remus’ chest over his t-shirt and gets up to go to the phone, intent on calling down to the front desk to take their bags. He holds the receiver between his shoulder and ear and scrunches his nose as it rings, “New Year better.”

Remus tilts his head, “You don’t get gifts on New Year’s.”

“In Russia, do—“ He catches the phone from where it almost slipped, “Yes, hello, room 178, need bags to lobby, please.”

“New Year’s is different in Russia?”

Sirius slings his workbag over his shoulder and then comes to sit next to Remus on the bed again, pulling Remus’ legs across his lap and rubbing gently at his ankle. “Later, yes. December. Thirty First. Different way to…celebrate?”

“Celebrate.” Remus confirms.

“Celebrate.” Then Sirius grins, tongue poking out a little, “Better food, too.”

Remus leans back against the pillows, thinking. “Oh. Well. We’ll be all moved in by then, right?”

This. This was what Remus could do for Sirius.

Sirius nods, thumb digging delicately into the arch of Remus’ foot, the other sneaking beneath the hem of Remus’ shorts to rub along his thigh. “Yes, all together. But first we get your things.”

Remus sighs just as the door buzzes, signaling that the bellboy is here for their bags. “I think you’re overestimating how many things I have. By a lot.”

Sirius raises an eyebrow and presses a quick kiss to Remus’ temple before he rises to get the door. “You want just fly to New York? Think we should say bye to London. Not just whisk you away, Remus.”

Remus sighs. He’d be pretty okay with that. Shoving his feet into his shoes, he shakes his head. “No…No, I do want you to meet James. And Lily.”

Sirius beams at him, but then the bellboy is loading their suitcases and there’s the rush of getting to the airport and through security and customs. The plane, though. The plane is just as nice as Remus remembers. Offers of fresh fruit, and all.

And he gets to snuggle up to Sirius in the window seat this time, watching some dumb action movie. Because he loves him. They love each other.

“I’m think he die in end.” Sirius whispers. His hair is ruffled from the his headphones, one pushed away from his ear so they can talk and hear the movie at the same time, “Yes?”

“I don’t know. I haven’t seen a movie in forever. Well, James dragged me to see something. It had wizards in it, I don’t really remember.”

Sirius shrugs, “Movies hard to follow sometimes. Talk fast. Like this, don’t need to understand, just see what blow up.” He sends Remus a sort of sheepish look, “Know should have English better by now, but…”

Remus shakes his head hurriedly, “I love the way you speak.”

Sirius wrinkles his nose, closing one eye in embarrassment, “Worst at meetings, sometimes. People try hide smile with hand or—or cough, but I see, you know? I’m—I’m most smart in room! Just can’t always say.”

Remus smiles at that. He has to kiss him. “I know you are. And everyone can tell once they see your designs.” Remus bites his lip, “I…I would want to see some. Sometime. If you want.”

Sirius straightens up so fast the blanket they’ve been sharing falls off of his chest, “Yes? You want, really?” And before Remus can answer he’s throwing his headphones off and scrambling for his bag. Remus has caught glimpses of his black sketchbook a few times, but never when he wasn’t half asleep on the beach.

Sirius sits with his body facing Remus, one knee propped a little awkwardly against the wide seat back. Remus laughs a little at how eager he looks and pulls his own headphones off, pausing the movie and pushing the screen back.

“Here,” he says, and turns Sirius until he can stretch his legs out again and presses right along his side, head on his shoulder, “Okay, go.”

Sirius strokes his hand over the hardcover, “Okay, Remus. Not laugh?”

“Of course I’m not going to laugh, love, oh my god.” Remus places his hand over Sirius’ and squeezes, “Show me.”

Sirius settles back into his seat a little more and lets out a breath before he flips the cover open. And if Remus was expecting anything—blue penciled perfectly neat drawings, mostly—it wasn’t this.

The first page is dotted with countless studies of what look like various types of shells and leaves. Some of them have cute cartoonish creatures peaking out of them, some have inky notes jotted with arrows pointing to various parts. Remus loves Sirius’ handwriting instantly. It’s slanted and messy, and Remus can’t read anything but the cyrillic letters are gorgeous.

He’s reaching out to trace his finger over the colored pencil and pen before he really realizes it. “Sirius.”

“Is nice, yes? Do while in Jamaica. Work on house for writer there. See,” Sirius flips the page, and suddenly everything is beautiful green trees and close up studies of pine needles and burs. “Sketches very important. Want to know nature because—well, pretty.” Sirius turns and strokes the same thumb that had been brushing over one of the pine needles over Remus’ lip and smiles, “Pretty.” Remus rolls his eyes and Sirius turns back to his sketchbook with a laugh, “But also can see things that make building better for earth and atmosphere. Like here, nature have entire cooling system that use no energy! Is perfect for us, why we not use? No one need freezing air conditioning. So, I think, how we use? And…”

Sirius flips the page again. The building is beautiful. Remus hasn’t ever even spent that much time noticing buildings and he knows its beautiful. Sirius’ drawing is neat and the cyrillic lettering, light so as not to draw attention away from the work, scrawls along all of the margins. Remus can see hints of the pines in the broad roofing and ledges and it’s—a little stunning.

“Sirius.” He says again. “It’s gorgeous.” He takes the book from Sirius’ hands so he can flip the pages for himself, lingering and going back when he wants, “They’re all gorgeous—“ He stops.

“Oh.” Sirius sounds a little flustered, and Remus doesn’t have to look at him to know the high of his cheeks are pink, “Forget that…there. Maybe skip some pages—“

“No, no.” Remus strokes his fingers over the drawing. And the next one. And the next one. Of him. Sleeping, and smiling and a sort of self portrait of Sirius, but with Remus’ lips pressed to his cheek. His profile and studies of his eyes and mouth cover the next, maybe ten pages of the book. And they’re dated. Remus flips all the way back to the first one. It’s done in blue pencil. He’s looking down, his mouth is turned down. It’s from the first night they met. And they continue chronologically until they get to one of Remus in their bed back at the beach resort, eyes crinkled up in a laugh and gazing past the viewer of the portrait, as if Sirius was there holding a camera. But he’s not, it’s a drawing and it’s incredible.

“I’m wearing your necklace here.”

Remus can see Sirius nod silently from the corner of his vision.

Remus looks up at him, feeling a little breathless, “I’ve never worn your necklace.”

“Maybe…” The corner of Sirius’ mouth lifts up, “Maybe little wish for me.”

Remus stares at him, smile slow to grow over his face, before he reaches forward and tugs the chain out from beneath Sirius’ shirt. “Yeah?”

Sirius closes his hand over Remus’, the ring warm between them and his eyes trying very hard and failing to look scolding. “Can’t here, Remus. Not good for nice lady to come back with food and I’m on knees, yes?”

Remus groans, “Why do you just say things like that every time we’re on a plane?”

Sirius leans in, pressing his nose beneath Remus’ jaw, “Because it get you.”

Remus laughs, leaning into the touch. He isn’t wrong.

They spend most of the plane ride looking through Sirius’ sketchbook then finish the movie. Well, Remus finishes the movie while Sirius falls asleep on his shoulder, nose pressed to his skin. Remus is only half paying attention to whatever revelation the tight suited hero was having on screen. He looks out the window at the slowly darkening sky, fingers rubbing gently at Sirius’ neck, and finally makes himself think about what’s about to happen.

He’s going to leave London. He’s going to live in New York. With Sirius. He’s going to go to university. He’ll get a job, of course. Try to do something for Sirius, no matter how many times Sirius insists that it isn’t like that, it isn’t an exchange. Remus knows that. That doesn’t mean he doesn’t want to give Sirius the world. It’s around then that he remembers the plane has wifi.

After checking that Sirius is still sleeping and making sure to keep the light from his phone out of his eyes, Remus quietly types Russian New Year’s into Google.

London smells rainy and cool when they get out of the cab on Remus’ street. Sirius leans down to tell the cabbie to stay put for a moment while they get whatever Remus needs, and Remus takes the few moments to ready himself. His building looks even more shabby than he remembers it, but maybe that’s just the effect of staying where they were staying. Of being anywhere with Sirius, really.

“Ready, Remushya?”

Remus nods. “Are we taking everything back to the hotel?”

Sirius nods, “Hotel. Until ready to go.” He wraps a warm palm around Remus’ and squeezes, “Stay as long as need to.”

Remus nods. He’ll call James from the room. He’ll arrange something, he’ll—

“Hey.”

Remus bites his lip into a smile. Sirius’ voice is so familiar now, he can’t believe he lived so long not knowing it, not knowing he needed to know it.

Sirius leans down and presses a lingering kiss to his cheek, “Is me. Is us, okay?”

Remus lets out a long breath and nods, “Okay.”

Remus opens the door and keeps his head down as they walk up the stairwell. Sirius’ hand is still warm in his own when they get to his flat door, still tight and reassuring as he puts the key in the lock. It goes a little lax when Remus pushes the door open and steps them inside.

Remus thinks he should probably be saying something. He’s sure Sirius is expecting him to say something. His mind draws a complete blank though, and instead he releases Sirius’ hand and marches further into the room. He picks up his messenger bag from where he’d left it on the bed.

“There’s really nothing I need. I really brought most of my clothes. I’ll get my jacket, that’s good—“

“Remus.”

Remus almost winces at the soft tone of Sirius’ voice, and looks up to find Sirius standing by the window. His hands are raised, tracing idly over what’s left of the tarp and duck tape. It’s only then that Remus notices the dark patches on the wood floor—where snow and water must have seeped in. Sirius trails to the kitchen with the dribbling sink. The bathroom and the yellowed shower. He opens the bare cupboards and the empty dresser drawers. Remus feels small.

“It—yeah, it look worse than it was. Really, I—”

“Remus.”

Remus raises his eyes back to Sirius’. They’re wide and gray, heavy-lidded beneath his concerned brow. He stoops a little to touch Remus’ bed and the thin sheets. And, maybe it’s seeing Sirius here. Maybe its the contrast of seeing Sirius, amazing, generous, gorgeous Sirius, next to all of this. But Remus can’t find it in himself to lie anymore.

“I—“ He swallows, his voice cracks, “I hate it here.” Sirius’ eyes fly back to his and Remus can’t find anything else to do other than shake his head, “I hate it. I hate it.”

“We leave.” Sirius says, walking around the bed to take the bag Remus’ is holding, “Tell me what you need, and we leave.”

Remus laughs a little, shaking his head, “I need you.” He motions around the room, “Look at this place, it’s…” There’s no sign a human being even lives here, currently, except maybe the shampoo in the shower and the kettle on the stove. “It’s nothing.”

Sirius’ eyes go big and sad. “Remushya. Come, come here.” And then he’s wrapped in Sirius’ arms.

“I’m fine.”

“Remus.” Sirius’ voice is harder this time, but he holds him tighter, too. His lips are pressed right to Remus’ ear. “Be truth. Is me, is okay. Is not fine, but is okay. Not your fault.”

Remus blinks hard, pressing his nose into the cotton of Sirius’ sweatshirt, “I know.” He lets out a long sigh and pushes up onto his toes so he can loop his arms around Sirius’ neck. “I know.”

“Thank you for—you know, for show me. Trust.”

Remus breathes Sirius in. “Thank you for giving me a home.”

Sirius hums a melancholy note and holds Remus tighter. “You give me home, Remus. You know—what people say here? Or, well, I’m hear in America but, maybe same.”

“Hm?”

“Home is where the heart is.”

And Remus has to laugh a little because Sirius says it exactly like some cheesy movie would. He laughs, but he has to kiss Sirius for it, too, because he’s right.

Sirius laughs with him, smiling against his lips, “Is true. I’m not do anything but love, give kisses. Is easy.”

Remus bites his lip into his grin, cupping his palm around the back of of Sirius’ neck to pull him down until they can press their foreheads together, “Ridiculous.”

“Never going to say that word.” Sirius pouts. Then he’s turning his head to the side a little, his phone lighting up their faces in the dim, rainy space, “I’m find in Russian.”

Remus snorts, but keeps himself busy kissing the warm length of Sirius’ neck while he searches, occasionally helping with English spelling.

“смешной!” Sirius yells—a little loudly—triumphantly. “I’m understand, oh my god.” Then he’s pulling Remus closer, fingers digging into Remus’ ribs until a loud laugh is surprised out of him. “Mean, Remus.”

“It’s not mean—stop—“ But there’s no way his words hold any weight whatsoever, he’s laughing too hard. Finally, he’s somehow able to wrestle Sirius back on the bed and they both groan a little at how hard it is. Remus scrunches his nose in apology, “Sorry.”

Sirius laughs, “We go home now. You need leave key with someone?”

Remus puts his weight on one elbow so he can dig the key out of his pocket. He throws it blindly over his shoulder and it lands—somewhere in the room. “We go home now.”

If, that is, home is the hotel room. For now. And it feels just a little bit like home. At least, it’s familiar. And the bed is practically heaven.

Sirius flops down on his back, tired from all the travel, while Remus hovers over their bags, staring at nothing in particular. He feels…a little weightless. And like everything is too good to be true. He just gave up his apartment, and his brain is telling him he’s homeless and should start looking for a back up plan…but there’s Sirius, right there on the bed, smiling at him sleepily.

“Hate planes most. We nap now?”

Remus lets out a long breath and then pulls his shirt over his head, “We nap now.”

Sirius throws his hand out, “Wait, I’m do, I’m do.”

Remus laughs and walks to the edge of the bed. Sirius pushes himself up on his elbows until he can sit up, feet dangling off the bed while Remus stands between his knees. He looks up at him, eyes dark and smiling as he undoes Remus’ belt while Remus combs his fingers through his hair.

“Where’d that snapback go?” Remus says.

Sirius laughs, “You like.” His fingers are on the button of Remus’ pants and he pushes them down until Remus can step out of them. “Come on.” He wraps his arms around Remus’ hips, tilting them backwards onto the bed, “Come here.”

“Hey, hold on.” Remus balances himself on Sirius’ hips and pushes his shirt up his torso, making him lift his shoulders to get it over his head. “I can’t be the only one in my boxers.”

“You want me naked, no problem.”

Remus shakes his head, grinning and pressing his palms to either side of Sirius’ face, thumbs stroking over his dimples, “How do you smile like that?”

“What? I’m just smile.” Sirius feigns innocence, but his eyes say he knows exactly what he’s doing.

“You’re like—“ Remus leans down to kiss him while he pops the button on Sirius’ jeans, pressing his hand inside to cup Sirius through his underwear. Remus feels a little smug when Sirius’ breath hitches. “You know exactly what you’re like.” Remus shoves Sirius’ jeans down around his thighs until their low enough that he can press their slowly hardening cocks together without the scratch of denim. Sirius’ eyes slip closed and Remus leans in close, mouthing at Sirius’ jaw and dropping his voice low. “You’re so good.”

Sirius lets out a shaky breath and runs his hands up Remus’ sides. He cranes his head up to brush their noses together, their lips, before he opens his eyes. They’re dark. “Maybe not nap.”

Remus gives him half a smile, the majority of his brain more focused on on the way Sirius is pushing his huge palms against his arse, “Maybe not.”

After that its a brief scuffle of who can kick what remains of their clothing off first. There’s some rolling but eventually Sirius wins out, pinning Remus to the bed.

“Russia best.”

Remus presses his heels to the back of Sirius’ thighs, “Kiss me, then.”

Sirius does. It had been days since their confessions, but when Sirius mumbles a soft ‘I love you’ against Remus’ lips—every time he said it at all—Remus feels the overwhelming shocked waves of joy all over again.

“Sirius…” Remus tucks his hands around his shoulders, holding him closer.

“Я знаю.” Sirius says against his skin, “Я тоже не могу поверить, что ты моя.”

Remus closes his eyes and smiles, letting his head fall back onto the pillows as Sirius kisses his neck, as his fingers find the dips along his ribs and he pushes their hips together in slow grinds.

“счастливый.” Sirius tilts Remus’ mouth back to his with a hand at the back of his head, “твоя улыбка намного лучше моей.”

“What?” Remus breathes.

Sirius nips at his bottom lip, “Learn Russian, find out.” He darts away for the condom and lube on the bedside table before Remus can really roll his eyes. But looking at Sirius click open the lube and place the condom next to him reminds Remus of how much he wants to not need that condom.

“Um. Do you have a doctor in New York?”

Sirius freezes, “What? You okay? Remus, we not have—“

“No, no.” Remus laughs a little, pushes himself up on his elbows so Sirius will lean down and give him a kiss, “No, I was just thinking about…” He glances at the condom, then back at Sirius in time to watch his eyes widen.

“Yes. Yes, have doctor.” Then Sirius gives an excited little, well, what can only be described as a wiggle between Remus’ thighs at the thought, “We go each o—together?”

Remus lets out a breath and nods, “Yeah, I don’t want to go alone.”

Sirius’ eyes are bright and happy, which is why Remus gasps in surprise when he wraps a firm hand around Remus’ dick and says, “Let you feel all of me. Be close.”

“Fuck.” Is all Remus can manage, because the image alone has his chest burning with want.

Sirius’ hand disappears for a moment, but when its back its slick but still warm—which means Sirius took the time to make it that way, which, for some reason, Remus’ brain thinks is cute. It has to be how turned on he is.

“Want that, карамель? Want me fuck you—голый? Not know.”

“Yes.” Remus doesn’t need him to say it, “Yes…”

Sirius leans over him again, and his fingers trail down over Remus’ entrance, “Say for me?”

Remus wrinkles his nose, “In Russian?”

Sirius laughs, “You think you can?”

“Absolutely not.” Remus slides a little down the pillows so he’s flatter on his back. He plats his feet on the bed and pushes against Sirius’ fingers, trying to coax him along.

Sirius pulls his bottom lip into his mouth at the feeling of Remus trying to push him inside, “We try something simple. Something you know now. Something…it means same thing for us. Fuck is same as…Я люблю тебя.”

Remus stares up at him, chest feeling all too full in the best way.

Sirius smiles down at him softly, strong body bracketing Remus in. He leans down to brush a barely there kiss over Remus’ lips, “You know it.”

And Remus does. Of course he does. I love you. He reaches up, trails his knuckles down Sirius’ cheek. I love you, I love you.

Sirius leans in, “You say,” his fingers circle slowly at Remus’ entrance, tantalizingly, a barely there pressure, “and I’m give you.”

“Ya…” Remus winces and Sirius snickers. “Ya ly—Fuck, I can’t. I don’t even know how your mouth does that.” It’s so hot, he doesn’t add. “I—fuck.”

Sirius pushed one finger in while Remus was talking, thick and long to the knuckle, and immediately crooked it up. Remus’ body jolts.

“Sirius.” Remus doesn’t care that it comes out almost a whine.

“Я люблю тебя.” Sirius says again, finger stilling, “Say for me, baby.”

“I love you.” Remus says, “I love you, I love—mfg—please.” Sirius’ middle finger is pressing in with his pointer.

“Я люблю тебя, Remushya.” He leans back, just for a second, to add lube to his relentless hand, “Say now, or have to say while I’m fuck. Is harder then.”

“Ya lyubl—“ Remus cuts himself off with a gasp as Sirius adds a third finger, “That’s not fair.”

Sirius kisses him hard, but Remus can still feel the grin within it, “Go. Say. Here,” He pulls back just enough so they can look eye to eye. He’s still smiling, eyes flicking back and forth between Remus’, “I’m watch. I’m not do anything.”

Remus huffs out a laugh because he can still feel Sirius’ fingers slowly moving, prepping him. But it isn’t as overwhelming, it just feels good. Remus is sure that’s going to change the second he gets the words out.

He tangles his fingers in Sirius’ hair, just for something to hold on to, “Sirushya.” Sirius fingers still for a fraction of a second, his eyes flickering down to Remus’ lips, then back to his eyes, like he can’t decide where to look. Remus licks his lips and watches Sirius’ eyes draw to them. He curls his palm around the back of his neck, and they’re back on his own. “Ya lyublyu tebya.”

Sirius’ eyes darken, Remus can fucking see his pupils expand and it’s incredible. He feels goosebumps all along his neck and his mouth falls open when Sirius gives his fingers a sudden, perfect twist.

“Ya lyublyu tebya.” Remus gasps again and watches the way Sirius’ eyes close, the way his brow knits and his lips part. Remus has to lean up and lick into it, kissing and maybe biting a little because Sirius wants this. They both want this. “Say it back, say it back to me.”

“Я люблю тебя.” Sirius says, and Remus feels his stomach tighten at how scratchy his voice sounds. Then Sirius makes a low sound in his throat and is letting himself fall forward more. Remus isn’t sure what he’s doing, he’s worried for a second that he’s going to stop, when Sirius leans to the side, supporting himself with one arm so he can grab for the condom with the other, tearing into it with his teeth.

“Um. Fuck.” Remus blinks. That—yeah. That’s good.

Sirius raises an eyebrow at him and Remus just shakes his head, silently concentrating on keeping control of his dick where it’s wedged up against Sirius’ stomach. Sirius looks down to roll the condom on, giving Remus a lovely view of his thick, dark eyelashes. Remus can’t help it. He reaches out and ever so softly runs his the pad of his thumb along them.

Sirius flinches a little in surprise but smiles, “What? My eye, Remus. Can’t pet eye.”

Remus laughs, smiling even as he moans when the hot, blunt head of Sirius’ cock nudges against his hole. “I—I know. You’re just—I like them. Your eyelashes. Now, c’mon, you promised me something.”

Sirius cocks his head, “What? Oh, this?”

And he promptly slides home in one go.

And it’s brilliant. Remus feels his back arch into it of its own accord and his nails dig into Sirius’ shoulders, “Oh god.”

“I’m tell you—“ Sirius’ voice sounds strained but happy, “I’m give you everything.”

But he isn’t moving. Not like usual, at least. Instead, he just nestles his head against Remus neck, and pushes against him in these small, slow circles that are practically ripping Remus apart at the seams.

“Sirius…” Remus can feel Sirius’ panting breath and the bruising kisses he’s pressing against his neck. He can feel his eyelashes against his skin and Remus has a sudden thought. “Sirius.”

“Mm. Feel good, baby.”

“Do you know what a butterfly kiss is?”

Sirius pulls his head back up, brow furrowed. His hips still while he thinks and—Remus can’t decide how he feels about that. He sort of likes just the…weight. The connection. He settles further into the mattress and decides to enjoy it.

“I’m know yoga pose.” Sirius blinks a few more times and then his eyes widen and he looks at Remus, “You…You want kiss…” His eyes flick downward, “Down there?”

It’s Remus’ turn to look confused. He tries to picture the butterfly pose. He knows its one where you spread your legs and—oh. “No. Well. I mean—not—not now. If you—never mind. A butterfly kiss is just…”

He cups his hand against Sirius’ jaw, keeping him still, and surveys his cheek. He decides to go for the soft high of it, steering clear of stubble. He leans forward, tilts his head and…

Sirius lets out a little breath, along with a soft whisper of, “Butterfly kiss.”

Butterfly sounds beautiful in his mouth.

“Like…” Remus waits for Sirius to find the word, “like крыло.” He runs a hand over Remus’ wing-bone on his back, fingers warm.

“Wing. Yeah, like that.”

Sirius smiles at him, blinding and huge, “I’m—love.” Remus smiles and goes to kiss him when, “Hey, no, I’m do you now.”

Remus does his best to bite back how big he wants to smile and tilts his face up while at the same time using his heels to press Sirius into him. They both groan and Sirius’ butterfly kiss quickly turns into a hickey against his collarbone.

“I’m do later.” Sirius mumbles, licking over the soft intend of teeth he just made on the column of Remus’ neck, “Is for baby I love you. This big I love you, it come first.”

“Fuck, I—“ Remus is fairly sure his chest is going to explode this time, “Fuck, come here. Kiss me, come here.”

Sirius drapes himself over Remus, keeping their chests close as he pushes closer. His thumb strokes just below Remus’ ear from where he’s holding Remus’ neck to kiss him soundly. Remus doesn’t think he’ll ever get used to the way Sirius kisses. There’s probably too much tongue and it’s a little sloppy, but he does it in a way that lets Remus know there’s nothing else he’s thinking about, and nothing else he’d rather be doing.

“I’m think about…” Sirius’ presses another long kiss to Remus’ mouth, “how it feel when we don’t—need anymore.” He pulls out, hot and slow, only to grind it in and—yeah, Remus can picture it too. Sirius’ breath punches out of his lungs, like the thought is too much, “I’m die to be most close, Remus. Killing me, is so much. You don’t know.”

And Remus is pretty sure he does, but hearing how much it would effect Sirius is pretty great, too. Remus curves his hips up to meet Sirius’ thrusts, “You’re imagining it? When it’ll be just us.”

Sirius’ eyes squeeze shut and he drops to his forearms. His knees slip against the sheets a little and he groans lowly, one hand reaching out to grasp the headboard, “Remus, fuck.” Sirius leans down and kisses him hard. Remus melts into it.

“Ya lyublyu tebya.” Remus says, “Fuck, Sirius—“

Sirius is hot above him and inside him, his entire body pressed along Remus’. He whispers his own ‘I love you’ back, and then it’s all Russian until he stills. Remus can feel the muscles in his back shaking. Maybe it’s that, maybe it’s a little combination of everything that sends Remus over the edge right after him.

Sirius lets his weight fall down on top of Remus with a long sigh. And Remus loves that, loves how Sirius never rolls away from him after sex. Not even in the very beginning, when Sirius was just a client and Remus had expected him to scoot to the other side of the bed, like most men did. He hadn’t expected a heavy weight against his side and his head being guided onto a shoulder. He certainly hadn’t expected to like it.

“Thirsty.” Sirius says, voice right in his ear from where he’s resting on Remus’ chest. “So good.”

Remus snorts. This is probably what he loves most about their sex. It’s…comfortable. Not in any bland way, it’s hot and it can be slow, or fast, and Sirius drives him insane with everything he does. But an underlying current of sweetness never falls away. They can laugh while they kiss, and that means more to Remus than almost anything.

“Here,” He taps Sirius’ hip, then his butt, “I’ll get us some water.”

Sirius obligingly rolls to the side, pressing a sloppy kiss to Remus’ cheek, “Best.”

Remus runs a quick hand through Sirius’ hair before getting up. He finds what he thinks are his boxers on the floor—and then realizes that they are most certainly not given the slight looseness around the thighs—and pads into the living room where the bar and mini fridge are. He grabs two bottles of water and, after glancing at the M&Ms for a moment, takes those, too.

“I hope you don’t mind,” he says as he walks back into the bedroom, “I took the M&M’s—“

The bed is empty, but the sink is running in the bathroom and, through the partially closed door, Remus can just see one of Sirius’ calves and ankle. Remus shrugs, and is about to flop down on the bed when he notices something placed right in the center among the messy sheets. It’s—well, it looks like it’s a dark sock—one of Sirius’ socks—with a messily wrapped piece of string around it. Not string, the elastic from the flight tags stretched in a criss-cross way that only just looks like a regular present wrapping.

“Not have nice box.” Remus looks back at Sirius over his shoulder when he wraps his arms around Remus’ waist from behind, “But…want you to have.”

Remus looks back at the little bundle, “And here I thought you were letting me do something for you, when really you were getting me out of the room to do something for me.”

Sirius smiles, “Go, open.”

Remus pushes the water bottles into his hands and goes to kneel on the bed. They sit, feet touching, while Remus holds the gift. “Is this your sock?” He has to hear Sirius’ say it.

“Not have box! I already say.” He starts laughing as he says the words when Remus does, and leans forward to kiss him, “Open.”

Remus shakes his head, still smiling, as he pulls away the airport elastic and unrolls the sock. He can feel something heavy at the toe of it and shakes it down the length of the fabric until—

A key falls into his hand.

He feels the bed shift as Sirius fidgets a little, and Remus looks up at him. “Is this what I think it is?”

Sirius smiles softly, nodding, and cups the back of Remus’ hand holding the key with his palm, his thumb rubbing along the inside of Remus’ wrist. “Is like…I want to give now because—you know, all the other nights we here, in hotel, you have to leave. And I’m have to give you money, and then you go.” He curls Remus’ fingers around the key, then his own hands around Remus’, eyes sure and sweet, “Not have to go anymore, Remus.”

When Remus hugs him, practically throwing himself into Sirius’ lap, Sirius kisses his neck and whispers, “Oh, one more present.”

Remus’ smiles as Sirius’ eyelashes brush against his skin.

(A/N: Finally! Woo! Hope you guys like :) Also, obviously, this is not the last chapter.)

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you-get-to-exhale-now-cyrus · 6 years

Text

She

Summary: Buffy reminisces about her relationship with Andi, the events of their past, and the fate of their future. Inspired buy the song She by Dodie Clark

Word Count: 1836

also this is for @bandi-mack since it was her idea ilyy <3

Am I allowed to look at her like that?

Could it be wrong, when she’s just so nice to look at?

Buffy stared at her phone screen. She had Andi’s Instagram pulled up, and just like all normal people do, she was scrolling through and analyzing all the pictures. So it was a typical Saturday night. She’d begun to sketch one in her notebook. Granted, it wasn’t great, but she worked hard on it.

She smells like lemongrass and sleep,

She tastes like apple juice and peach,

She gravitated towards the warmer colors, as colored pencils in reds, pinks, peaches, and yellows rolled on her bed. Tapping her phone again, she zoomed in on one section of her face, concentrating on trying to get Andi’s eyes just right. They were mesmerizing, even in photos; her chestnut eyes, soft and welcoming, and could read right through you. It was a quality Buffy had always admired, even if it bugged her when she tried to repressed any of her own feelings.

You would find her, in a polaroid picture,

And she, means everything to me, oh,

She glanced over at her nightstand, where there was a small picture frame that she and Andi had made years ago, when Andi was just getting into crafting. It was, admittedly, a little messy, but Buffy loved it nonetheless. Inside was a photo from when they were both little, probably in elementary school, where they both tried to do their makeup.

“We’re fashion queens!” Andi exclaimed, scampering into her mom’s room to grab her polaroid camera.

Buffy followed after the trail of giggles, grinning from ear to ear, with a smudged line of red lipstick staining her face.

“Strike a pose!” Andi shrieked, reaching out the camera as far as she could and snapping the photo. Both girls felt like they were nearly blinded by the flash, covering their eyes with their hands as the photo printed out.

“You can keep it,” Andi said, handing it to Buffy, “my mama always said that sharing is caring,”

It was still one of Buffy’s fondest memories to date.

I’d never tell,

No, I’d never say a word,

Grabbing a peachy pencil, she started to shade in Andi’s face, treading lightly at first, before deepening the color by her cheeks. Andi always blushed this particular shade of pink when she was embarrassed or when someone made her laugh. Buffy wanted to make sure she got it right, so she blended a few more colors into the mix of peaches and pinks.

And oh, it aches,

But it feels oddly good to hurt,

She remembered the day that Andi went redder than she’d ever seen her before. Naturally, her group of friends were at the Spoon, when Jonah walked in. And it was like a switch went off, because Andi just didn’t seem like herself anymore. It was like she’d forgotten how to speak and how to act. Buffy remained quiet, choosing to play with the napkin in front of her rather than intervene.

“Do you wanna come play mini golf?” he asked, a smile brighter than the sun gracing his face.

“Oh, yeah, totally! Buffy do you wanna come?” Andi had asked.

“Oh, I-I meant, just you and me. If that’s okay,” Jonah mumbled, looking to her with hopeful eyes. Andi’s cheeks went red hot turning to Buffy for approval, supposedly.

Buffy gave a small nod, squeezing her best friend’s hand quickly before she scooted out of the booth, and let them both walk out. Pinching her lips together, she gave Cyrus a small smile before they continued their conversation.

And she smells like lemongrass and sleep,

She tastes like apple juice and peach,

Buffy tapped on her phone again, zooming out a little on the photo in order to have a better idea of how the colors blended. Andi’s hair was swooped down onto her forehead, a few locks of it behind her ears. Grabbing the black colored pencil, she thought back to the day when Andi had decided to cut her hair by herself: short. It was a disaster, evidently, but Buffy had come over and helped her calm down about it.

“It looks good, Andi! It’s a new you,” she exclaimed, pushing a few of her bangs aside.

“I look like a boy,” Andi sniffed, turning to look at herself in the mirror, “this was a mistake,”

Buffy fished through one of Andi’s many drawers, before finally finding a blue headband with a bow that Andi had made a few years back. “Here,” she offered, slipping it onto the girl’s head, “better?”

Andi shifted the headband a little, turning to look at herself at different angles. “A little,” she admitted, turning to face Buffy, “thanks. You’re the best,”

She leaned forward to hug the other girl, and Buffy couldn’t help but feel a magnetic pull towards Andi.

Oh you would find her, in a polaroid picture,

And she, means everything to me,

Oh, oh, oh,

She paused, setting her pencil down and grabbing her eraser to try and soften the edges. She wanted nothing more right now than to call Andi, to hear her voice on the other line. To know that things were okay, that things were going to be okay. But she knew she couldn’t.

And I’ll be okay, admiring from afar,

‘Cause even when she’s next to me,

We could not be more far apart,

Buffy opened her phone again, scrolling up to the more recent photos of Andi; one with Libby, a few with Jonah, a bunch with her and Cyrus, and one with her and Buffy. The last one. They were at the library, and Buffy could recall the day like it was just yesterday.

“Shh, are you insane?” Andi giggled, running through the shelves of romance novels, “they’re gonna kill us!”

“Not if they don’t find us,” Buffy chuckled, grabbing Andi’s hand and dragging her along, and ending up by all the CDs and records. They hid under a display of them, both trying to contain their laughter.

“Do you think Cyrus and Jonah will find us here?” Andi whispered, pressing her body against Buffy’s.

Buffy swallowed, breathing in so softly, as though not wanting to scare off Andi like a deer. “I don’t think so,” she mumbled, pulling out her phone, “selfie?”

“Always,” Andi replied, leaning her head in a little closer and smiling as Buffy took the photo, “send that to me,”

She did, and Andi quickly posted it on Instagram, with the caption ‘best friends hide better’.

Needless to say, Cyrus and Jonah found them rather quickly after that.

And she tastes like birthday cake and storytime and fall,

But to her, I taste of nothing at all,

Buffy quickly turned off her phone, shutting her eyes tightly. No. She had been down this road far too many times, lingered on that moment far too long for her liking. But no matter how much she tried to push it from her memories, it seemed to creep up to the front. Grabbing a few more pencils to finish Andi’s shirt, her memories came flooding back.

“I think the lights add a nice touch, don’t you?” Andi asked, leaning back in the beanbag in AndiShack.

Buffy nodded, not even paying attention to the lights. Her eyes didn’t leave the girl in front of her, almost mesmerized by her beauty. Buffy knew that she’d fallen, hard, and there was no way that she was going to be able to get back up.

“Hey Andi?” Buffy whispered, earning the girl’s attention.

“Yeah?”

Buffy hesitated, reaching her hand up and tugging on a strand of her hair. Boldly, she leaned forward and planted a kiss on Andi’s lips. It was quick and childish, but the fire that tore through her body was not ignorable. Immediately, she slapped a hand over her mouth, fingers trembling. Why did she do that? What was the matter with her?

“I-I’m sorry,” she squeaked out, before she started sprinting out of the small shack, not stopping until she could see her house in the distance. Her lungs were aching, her breathing sharp and laborious. She couldn’t see much as she walked into her house, the tears blurring her vision. Her feet stung, her arms felt numb, yet her lips were still on fire.

She wanted to text Andi that this was all some mistake. That she wasn’t thinking about what she was doing. That she regretted it.

But the truth was, those were all lies. She’d wanted to kiss Andi for a long time, but she never did. She didn’t regret the kiss, but she did regret how it had happened.

And she smells like lemongrass and sleep,

She tastes like apple juice and peach,

You would find her, in a polaroid picture,

And she, means everything to me,

Buffy swiped at the the tears that started to fall, cursing herself under her breath. She’d finished the sketch and quickly pushed it aside, not wanting to ruin it. It was a disgrace of a drawing, if you asked her; she really didn’t do Andi’s beauty justice.

Yes, she means everything to me,

Buffy tentatively reached for her phone, clicking on Andi’s story. It was a snapshot of her in her room, listening to music. Sad music, Buffy concluded after a little bit of squinting. She couldn’t help but think back to what Andi had said about sad music.

“Because who wants to listen to happy music when they’re sad?” she pouted, crossing her arms.

“Doesn’t listening to sad music when you’re sad, just make you more sad?” Buffy pointed out.

Andi shook her head. “No, that’s what happy music does. It reminds you of how not happy you are. Sad music gets you. It understands that things are hard, and that it’s okay to feel like that,” she explained.

And suddenly Buffy had a new outlook on sad music.

Swiping up, she hesitated on replying, her fingers lingering on the keyboard. She’d texted Andi for over two weeks, not daily, but still; there was never a reply.

bdriscoll: are you okay?

Buffy turned her attention back to her sketchbook. Taking a pen, she jotted down the date in the corner, and shut the journal with a gentle click. Her stomach grumbled, signaling her to get out of her room and to stop wallowing. Her phone buzzed, and at that moment, it felt like the world stopped spinning, and it was moving too fast all at once. She felt dizzy with anticipation, unlocking her phone with a shaky swipe.

andiman: ...not really.

bdriscoll: do you wanna talk about it?

andiman: no that’s okay

bdriscoll: if it’s about what happened, i’m sorry

andiman: it’s okay, don’t worry about it

bdriscoll: you’re my best friend andi, i want you to be happy

andiman: thanks. i think i just need some time

bdriscoll: i get that. i’m here whenever you’re ready

andiman: thanks buffy

bdriscoll: no problem

read at 3:26 PM

She means everything to me

#andi mack #bandi #bandi fic #bandi fanfic #my fics #buffy driscoll #andiman #pandi mack

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amicweald · 6 years

Photo

Poems for strangers - Luke Hemmings

The tranquillity flowing around your head followed the lines you’d draw on your notebook smoothly, composing the silhouette of a posing man. Your stained hand would leave accidental charcoal spots as you slid the pencil over his body, shading the figure imperfectly offering a perfect purpose to it. I broke down your mountains, but never you I didn’t walk 13 thousand miles, but I would have walk 100 And to climb a mountain might have been fun, but your curves will always be my favourites The ghost of the melody danced between your ears as if a guitar was chasing after the words. A bass was added, trembling with your heart and then, came the drums as footsteps coming closer. As stomps grew closer, you felt a gentle tap on your shoulder. The lyrics fell down your back fading as you opened your eyes up to the new voice entering your headspace. “Hey!” he smiled stepping back, fearing the answer “Hi, uhm…I’m Luke.” The blonde haired boy stretched out his hand towards you and you friendly took it shaking it “Hi, there” you smiled confused, you not very used to random people introducing themselves. You were resting on the immensity of red cinema chairs, that the small venue, where you worked, had. Alone and happily enjoying your lunchtime sketching and humming bodies and lyrics, away from the burning hell that summer had to fill the streets with. “Ahm, you know, actually” he began, pushing the cushioned seat down to sit next to you “I’m part of this band, 5 Seconds of Summer, and I don’t know if you know us but we’re playing here at-” “I know.” you interrupted him unintentionally, making him stop with his arm up still point at the stage, where the band would play that night. “What? Wait, you listen to us?” his smile grew bigger as the guilt in your chest increased just as fast. You scratch the back of your neck, avoiding his blue eyes “Well, no… I just happen to work here” you smiled hoping he wouldn’t eat you out of anger “I know every artist who comes up in this stage, It’s kind of what I do” you laugh uncomfortably. He was so pretty, maybe if you’d have lied he would’ve kept smiling. Idiot. “Oh, you work here…” he sank a little into his chair and before he could speak you continue to try to make him feel better “I work here as a summer job, yeah. Sometimes I help with lights or sound, scenarios, but the thing that I’m known for is the calendar, I basically remind everyone of what’s happening” you laughed, and he smiled back sympathetically “I don’t really have time to listen to music outside these stages” He laughed loudly, as a sense of relief rushed through your body “Well, that’s a bummer, there’s a lot of amazing artists and albums out there nowadays” “I bet, but trust me, the only music I get to hear throughout the year is the same old boring ones my teachers insists on making me dance to.” your hands joined on your knees, tugging your notebook closer to you. He was such a taller presence next to you. You felt his strong cologne hugging your body making it impossible to forget, his pierced smile made momentarily your heart race and you felt your face grow warmer when you notice his dimples. “You dance in class? I don’t remember that being a thing back when I was your age” he joked. “I’m majoring in dancing, dumb head.” he hummed at you with a smile “‘Back when you were my age’ was like a week ago. You’re like what? 19?” “Close. I’m 20” his hand grabbed his chin, joking a seductive look “Guess I still keep my looks, huh?” you laugh hiding your face behind your hands “And you? How old are you?” “A strong 18 and a half years old, sir” you announced proudly. “So, does this 18 and a half ballerina have a name?” “I didn’t introduce my self, did I?” your cheeks burnt pink just as your bottom lip did, while Luke shook his head amused in the background “I’m Y/n, sorry” “You really don’t look like a dancer, Y/n” he bit his bottom lip next to his black piercing. Something tickled inside your belly before you replied “What’s that supposed to mean? I don’t have the ballet girl body?” His dimples deepened watching you smile “No, no. You’re perfectly fine. I just thought of you more like a musician.” You’re perfectly fine. “A musician?” you laughed. “That was actually the reason why I came to talk to you.” you watch his lips carefully following his hand movements as the voice that was meant to haunt your memory spoke “Me and my band are doing some gigs here and there but we’re trying to build a new album and we’re just looking for inspiration and different points of view of the world, you know. I was going to ask you if you write poems or even music.” the chant of his voice almost distracted you from the question, the one you blushed at, trying not to give away that in your hands were the pages that you filled with melodies, verses and doodles. “Well, I guess sometimes I do.” “Do ever shared them with anyone?” “Rarely, only when I think it’s decent enough” “What do you think of writing a poem or show me one of yours and I’ll arrange a song with it?” his blue eyes pierced your shiny ones to reach your soul, it was hard to deny such offer, but most importantly to deny such a man. “Really? Like you guys would sing and play it?” “Yeah, of course. That’s like the whole point of this album” his smile came up again. His black painted nails drummed against the armrest of the chair, his forearm led up to his bicep hugged tightly by the sleeve of his shirt. His collarbones poked out off out of the shirt’s collar and you felt yourself lost in burning cheeks again. He was beautiful. “That would be awesome” you smiled for the 100th time to him “I actually keep the poems I wrote in here” you looked down at the book in your hand, leading his eyes to it. Looking at it you felt embarrassed by the messiness of notebook: it was stained in its sides, had papers of different sizes folded in it and it was ridiculously fat “I need to get a new one”. “And you write 'sometimes’ you say?” he looked surprised at the notebook, resisting the temptation of open it immediately and read the creativity of the girl in front of him. “Well sometimes in a day, I guess.” you shyly replied. “I knew you wrote poems, you just have that vibe.” he laughed. You opened up the notebook you’ve never shown to anyone. All the thoughts that fill your mind orderer into rhyming sentences were overflowing that book. “I strangely trust you, Luke” you slowly search through the pages, looking for a poem that you were mildly proud of until you reached one about yourself and your journey as to accept you as you were. You apprehensively look at his royal eyes and something weird felt down your body. A sense of safeness excessed from his iris and his endearing smile felt like you were being held warmly behind your back. You hand him over the poem and you breathe deeply while he blandly mouthed your handwriting. After a minute he breath out the last words, startling you a bit “’I am worth it, I’ve always been’…” he took a moment to sink in your words and you sank in your chair out of embarressement “You know, it’s not that well written and maybe has a poor concept, I-” “This is beautiful, Y/n” he looked back into the mirrors and flowers doodle around the poem, completely aroused. You didn’t notice but your heart was pounding against your chest and didn’t know how to make it stop. You were out of words to say, you were not expecting a compliment, it also didn’t help the pulsation of your heart. You looked down at your now empty and vulnerable hands and the only thing you could think of came out in a whisper “It’s really personal.” Some long seconds went by until his sight left the poem noticing you and your flustered mess again. “Hey” his hand touched gently your shoulder unfocusing your thoughts “I’m a writer too, ok? You don’t need to be scared or embarrassed of what you feel. I do this all the time.” he pointed “It feels like I’m giving all of me to art but sometimes you just need it. You just need to get it out, for someone to listen. This is truly…” he didn’t finish and instead squeeze your arm looking at your soft smile. His eyes burnt your skin and you hid yourself behind your hands, leaning onto the armrest separating you both “I’m such a derp” you said. You heard him chuckled above you. But apart from the melody of his giggle playing in your brain, it was his arms around you that made you freeze in your place. His hands were hugging your back making your skin tickle and burn at the touch through your sweatshirt, your heart skipped a beat and you could hear it relaxing and slowing down again from the euphoric moment. Before he let go your arms travelled to his waist resting on his arms and almost magically, both of you pulled tighter in the hug at the same time, as a puff of his perfume filled your lungs. Here you were hugging a complete stranger, a stranger that had just read something you wouldn’t give to anyone and a stranger who made you feel better than any of your previous boyfriends did. His hand dived into your hair, brushed through it and as he slowly pulled off placed his hand on your cheek. Your head slid off his neck, but he didn’t push away. “Thank you for letting me read that poem. It’s beautifully written.” he whispered. You were inches apart, your noses almost touched and you could smell the mint toothpaste in his breath. Your eyes were stuck on his comforting voice and pink lips, just as his were on yours. But reality hit Luke softly and he looked down at the opened book on the armrest, as he leaned back your hand placed his biceps fell but he gently caught it holding it around his fingertips. You felt drugged, everything besides from you two was blurry, something stronger than anything you’ve remembered pushed you to him and you couldn’t see any disadvantages in that. With his other hand, he closed the notebook and it seemed like his voice hadn’t gotten deeper and sore, but still gentle "Will I see you tonight?” he asked rubbing his thumbs on your palm, the butterflies were ranging inside. “I wouldn’t miss it.” you looked up to him, forcing him to look back. Suddenly everything was crystal blue, but everything you could focus on was the trembling ocean that the blue would escape to show. His eyebrows furrowed as if he was in pain, as if he didn’t want to feel this way, as if he didn’t want to be this vulnerable again. He led your hand close to his mouth placing a long kiss on it, shivers electrocuted your whole arm. He let your hand fall on your notebook and stood up. You wanted to say something, something that would make him stay, but you couldn’t find a poem to ask and you couldn’t find a melody to sing. “Until then, beautiful.” he left with a smile, which only made you retribute it with another. As he walked out of the room, you looked back to the hand he just kissed. Your heart deeply pounded in your chest, the butterflies fond their way out and they were humming around your head, the lights on the stage seemed brighter and your body lighter. Did I just fell in love with a stranger? But he was no stranger, in your heart, you’ve known him for years.

______

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the-amour-scientia-series · 6 years

Photo

Stark-white, Cathy noted, glancing over the unfinished paint job of the Premingers' old picket fence. The former pale yellow was still peeking out from under the the few hasty coats, like a lookout being caught before detention. It made their white-and gray mini-manor look like a hospital lab complex. Even the small front lawn was trimmed and dotted with new patches of grass. It was still early afternoon. Mr and Mrs Preminger were both on separate work trips, but Desiree's senior semester wasn't starting until a few weeks from now, and Andrea was busy helping her with her art thesis. But when she rapped on the door upon reaching the final step, she was surprised that it hadn't been either sister. Eric mirrored her shock, his new glasses sliding slightly off his nose. There was the mark of the frame on his temple, as he fell asleep on a table. The crumple on the sleeves of his pastel button-down confirmed it. For a moment he just stood there blinking, as if he just stepped out of the closet and into the morning. Cathy regarded his half-combed ebony hair, no long enough to sweep past his ears and brows. Like curtains coming to a close after a show. She resisted the urge to touch it. Eric never left home with ungelled hair. Over the weeks of her coming over to the Premingers', Eric had always been strangely asleep. Whether in the morning, or lunchtime, or even when she took a chance one 2 am. Andrea would find him crashed on the couch, or a kitchen stool, even after he'd just finished his coffee, minutes before Cathy would arrive. And Cathy would stay nonetheless, watching him dream of things she would never know of. Was he having nightmares too? Regaining composure, he cleared his throat. "Cathy. It's great to see you." "Great to see you too, Eric," she smiled, and without realizing it she had reached out a free hand and touched his arm. It felt desperate, needy, as if he might collapse again at the mere sight of her. It was meant to be a handshake, after all. Catherine Imogen and Deric Preminger always meant business. Eric gave a confused start, but didn't resist. "Just making sure you're really awake," she joked, trying to lighten the mood. "Were you expecting me?" He still hadn't moved. "I was . . . reading a book. I was getting sleepy but your knocking startled me . . . " Cathy's heart lept, and her hand eased off his elbow. Had it worked? "Care to come inside? I think there's still some pesto bread from lunch. I could toast us a few." "Don't---" she quickly ran through decisions in her head. Stay, and she would have to risk answering his questions. Leave, and she might not see him awake again for months. He noticed her delay, and added, "Des and Dea are on a shopping trip til tomorrow. I was hoping we could . . . talk." Of course, the questions. Eric may have slept for months, but he was still the Eric she knew. Charming enough to satisfy his inquisitive curiosity, yet too headstrong to realize his vulnerabilities. She pushed towards him the novel she was holding the whole time, fingertips slightly brushing as he took it and regarded the cover with a strange look on his face. "I actually just came by to give you this," she finally said, folding her hands behind her back and playing with a lock of long hair. "It's a good fantasy-romance. But it's still realism anyway." He leafed through the pages, thumbing a few occasionally. The long-ish black locks stubbornly made him look like a different person. "Have you been the one returning books to me these past weeks?" She sighed. Leave it to Eric to piece everything together. "What have your sisters been telling you?" "An old friend was returning the books she borrowed from me since she was starting to pack for college. But given the amount of fantasy-mystery hybrids I've been getting, I figured there was something going on." "I thought you liked fantasy-mystery hybrids." He crossed his arms. "I'm not so sure. I've been reading them for a connection, and so far there's been none." "None at all?" Cathy felt her smile fade. "Barely anything to keep me keeping volumes of it on my shelf, that is. Listen, if you don't wanna stay inside, at least have a snack while I change. Let's go for a walk." With five simple words, Eric was already alive and inviting. Cathy had spent so much time seeing him curled up so vulnerably, free from the regrets and consequences of the waking world. She wondered if she had preferred he stay that way, rather than his energy, his enthusiasm, set the unpredictabilities of her formerly routinary days. "You're not gonna read the book yet?" she asked, testing the waters. "I can still do it later. Besides, the house is getting stuffy." ========= Eric immediately led her to the kitchen, as if it were the only place she could remain in the house. But Eric's sisters had taken her to the family room, library, and even in Eric's room where he would sometimes sleep through morning and noon. She'd kept vigil over his sleep, stroking his soft hair and wishing for the calm that had stolen him away. That was all she could ask for comfort. Their kitchen was all polished metal-gray and white tile, but the Premingers rarely made their own meals. Andrea was still learning, but she was learning fast. The garlic pesto bread was as good as gourmet. Cathy was on her second roll when she heard the bedsprings give a sudden loud creak. Panic rising into her chest, she shoved the rest of it into her mouth and ran up to his room, crossing the dining hall where Desiree's eccentric paintings hung. She could feel the stuffiness rising from the canvases, an odd sickly heated scent. But Cathy shoved it away as she reached the top of the stairs, breathlessly, where she could see the half-open door, her former rival passed out. He had managed to get into socks and cargo shorts. But the buttons on his polo hadn't been buttoned, and his half-fetal position told her he was doing that just then. He even still had his glasses on. She deliberately avoided creeping. No, she let her heavy footfalls shake the trophies on his shelves, and dropped herself by his knees when he didn't even stir. He was breathing quietly, a hint of frown on his thick brows. And he was warm, so warm. She straightened out his legs and leaned towards his face, shaking his shoulders and calling out his name. He was murmuring and groaning, but didn't wake up. Disappointed, Cathy crumpled to a heap on his arm. His blue shirt-sleeved polo was crisply-clean, but slight perspiration had built up on his skin and formed a scented atmosphere on him, chasing the nausea out his open door. Cathy looked up at him, startled. "Mmmm...hmm..." he was murmuring indulgently. Did he enjoy this...escape? Cathy's nights had been filled with visions: strong ones that left her in cold sweat as she forgot about it in the morning. For the rest of the day, she would be walking on eggshells. Eric's sisters had confirmed his melancholic distance over the past weeks, but whether it was also because of nightmares, she never knew. But he was sleeping like a babe, oblivious to the past the shared and the consequences they had to deal with. It wasn't fair. Cathy cupped his cheek and ran her thumb under his eyes; weeks of oversleeping had erased nearly all his dark shadows. She carefully removed his glasses and set them on the bedside table. Then she saw it. A small stack of portrait sketches, all done in messy but scary-accurate black ink. She recognized every one of them. How did Eric get his hands on these police evidence? Eric shifted position until his arm fell on top of her waist. Cathy dropped the papers in surprise. His breath was warm on her neck, despite the collared cotton shirt she wore all the time. He was embracing her --- in bed, for goodness' sake. Hot and embarrassed, she made to got up. But as if sensing her intention, Eric gave a sudden jerk. He clutched her, burying into her skin. She gasped. She could feel the strangeness of everything, as if she was wearing a new uniform for the first time. Her skin was receiving signals from everywhere: the crumpling of their clothes, the shoulder under her cheek, the coarseness of his legs. Why the hell did she choose to wear shorts today? She felt herself falling off the side of the bed and thought that the noise would wake him up. But she caught sight of the fallen sketches on the floor, and Lorelei half-turned to her with her usual pensive, yet sad expression. She was the one who wanted this. Lorelei had been so madly in love with Eric that she bet on her life just to keep Cathy and him from rivaling. A wave of nausea hit again, this time carrying with it the metallic scent of blood. Cathy turned and buried her face into his chest, where his scent and sweat were so strong thoughts of the past flew from her. Was this how he forgot? Almost in reply, he gave a slight nuzzle on the nose. Yes, it was. Cathy looked at him in awe, imagining how his big brown eyes would open to find her here, exhausted and escaping, just as he did. And when that happens, he'll be a new person, and so would she. ========== (Photo by Matheus Vinicius on Unsplash)

#work in progress #wip #amwriting #writer #writers #writers on tumblr #my writing #mysterious #mystery #lovehate #romance #chemistry

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hogwarts--imagines · 7 years

Text

Safety Pin

GIF NOT MINE

PICTURE BELOW IS MINE!

Bucky x Shy Reader

Warnings: Swearing, Fluff, No?

Request: Nope! This was my idea and it’s another one to write from my own mind instead of just requests. The reader is based off of myself with certain things. The reason why I did this is because the way I wanted this to go has a lot to do with my issues. As and explanation, I have hearing issues, I lost 80% of my hearing when I a child, my eardrum was replaced and I got 75% back and probably more. The issue now, I still struggle with hearing but it’s better and my speech tends to sound weird when I pronounce words or I stutter, so I tend to not talk to people because it’s a flaw of mine and it’s embarrassing.

Inspired by this song Safety Pin - 5SOS

Part 2

I was like Penelope Garcia from Criminal Minds, except I didn’t have that bubbly personality and I didn’t dress with a bunch of colors. I was an experienced computer wiz, my software was created by me and I used it a lot to help the Avengers.

I joined them a year ago when I hacked into the SHIELDS system and saw they were headed into a danger zone. I sent a warning to all of their ear pieces, I used my AI to speak to them, muting FRIDAY.

Tony was determined to find me and he did eventually and they brought me in and I haven’t left since.

I had a hard time talking to them, I didn’t do well with talking to people in person, I had no confidence within myself. The reason was I had a hard time talking, I pronounced words weird or I would stutter. This was a defect I had when I lost half of my hearing at a young age. I gained it back through the years after having new eardrums, but the speech problems never left.

Clint figured this out and taught me more than basic sign language. The rest of the team knew sign language so it made talking easier. This broke the barrier of talking verbally with them, when I did, I spoke slowly in person, but over the comms it was easier.

---

The day that the Winter Soldier was brought to the building, was probably the weirdest day for me. I was finally comfortable with talking to everyone. I could talk normal and if I messed up they would wait for me to repeat what I said and to finish. But when it came to him it was a whole other story.

I was sitting on the bar stool in the kitchen, from there I could see into the living room, from the balcony I could see the Quinjet land on the platform. I watched everyone walk in, I didn’t recognize the man that was with them.

I had a hobby that included drawing. I drew everything that was special to me or had a meaning to someone else in the Tower. Nobody saw my drawings but me. I was drawing Steve’s shield when I saw them land. Once they made their way into the living room and into the kitchen, I slammed my sketch book. I looked at Steve and Tony giving them a small smile.

“Y/n” Steve spoke up “This is Bucky Barnes, also known as the Winter Soldier”

I looked at him ready to say hello, but I couldn’t. One look was all it took. One look and I knew I was in trouble. I opened my mouth to say something but nothing came out. Eventually I mumbled something and lowered my head gathering my things and hurried out of the room to my room.

Bucky POV

“Did I do something wrong?” I asked Steve. Watching Y/n leave.

“She’s shy around new people” Tony spoke up. “You probably intimidated her”

“She has a speech problem too, caused from her hearing loss when she was a child. She was finally getting comfortable talking to us verbally.” Steve looked upset. “She’ll come around”

Something about her drew me in. Her y/h/c hair was pulled back into a messy bun, she wore a sweater and leggings, and fuzzy socks. The book or whatever it was was held close to her as she walked out of the room. I wanted to know her. I just met her and I wanted to know her more.

I learned that the book she carried around with her was a sketch book.

“Wonder what she draws” I said to Sam who was the one who told me about it. We were drinking a cup of coffee in the kitchen.

“She won’t show us” He shrugged “it’s something she wants to keep to herself. I tried to sneak a look and it ended with me on the ground in a head lock.”

“Yeah right” I snorted loudly, causing y/n to snap her head up in our direction. She was on the couch drawing, we spoke quietly so she wouldn’t hear us. She turned her focus back to her drawing.

“It’s true,” Natasha walked into the room “I taught her that move”

“I would pay to see it” I chuckled, not taking my eyes off of y/n.

“Why are you so curious about her?” Nat asked looking at her as well.

“I want to know everyone, get a long, but she’s so shy that I don’t want to pry and scare her.” I looked at Nat “And I’m learning about her from you guys and I just want to be able to have another person to talk to I guess.”

“Sounds to me, you are smitten by her” Sam placed a hand on my shoulder.

“Am not” I argued, placing my cup in the sink and walking out of the room to go to the gym. If getting to know her was going to be a challenge, I was going to complete it. Even if it took all I had.

Reader POV

I tried my best to avoid Bucky, I didn’t hate him, I was just scared to talk to him. I would make a fool of myself. What if he would think I was weird and make fun of me? This didn’t stop him from trying.

I would be the first one up usually, but I learned that he was almost always up. I would sneak out onto the balcony every morning drinking a cup of coffee, watching the sun rise. I felt the most at peace with my mind. I could stay like this forever. My peaceful moment was interrupted when Bucky joined me.

I was praying he wouldn’t talk to me. Thankfully he didn’t. He sat down in the chair next to me. Watching the sun with me. We sat in silence for a while.

“Why are you up so early?” He asked breaking the silence. When I didn’t respond he continued talking. “I usually don’t sleep much”

I looked at him, I wanted to say something but I couldn’t form the words. He could tell. Instead of pushing it we stayed silent allowing me to relax.

Since then, he would do small things to be nice, he figured out that I loved coffee so much that he would pour me a cup whenever he made himself one. I would give a small smile and he knew that he was making progress.

Eventually I would be able to speak to him.

Bucky POV

It was 4 in the morning when I jerked myself awake, covered with sweat from the dreams that haunted me. My past. I wandered out of my room to go to the kitchen. I was going to make some coffee to stay awake. When I walked into the kitchen I was not expecting the sight before me.

Y/n was usually sleeping, she wasn’t up until 6 when she would sneak out on the balcony. But when I walked in, there she was, cleaning the pots and pans that were left in the sink.

I remembered Sam promising to do them after we ate dinner, but that clearly didn’t happen. She had her earbuds in and was dancing a bit while she washed them. I was taken back by this. I cleared my throat loudly so she would know I was in the room. She must’ve had her music on low since the sound I made caused her to jump.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you” I tried to not smile at the incident. “I didn’t want you to freak out if I just walked past you or something.”

She nodded before turning back to the pan washing it slowly. I started the coffee, grabbing two mugs. once it was done I poured coffee into the mugs, sliding her towards her.

“Do you want to finish making yours like you normally do or should I?” I asked her.

She just shrugged and nodded her head a bit. “You can” She barely whispered. I almost didn’t hear her.

“Okay” I smiled, I finally heard her voice, it was hushed, but it was something other than a grunt. I heard her voice a few times but only she was talking to Nat or Clint or when she didn’t know I was in the room. This time it was directed towards me.

I made her cup as she finished the last pan. Drying off her hands she grabbed her mug and sat on the bar stool. I watched as she took a sip, I waited for her approval. She smiled at me and took another sip. She wanted to say something but struggled to do so.

“You’re welcome” I smiled sitting next to her drinking my coffee.

This was going to be a while.

Reader POV (again sorry)

I was sitting on the balcony drawing in my new sketch book. I had to be careful with who was around now when I would draw. My sketch book was soon filled with portraits of Bucky. It started when I decided to draw something about him that seemed so special to him or had some form of significance to him. His metal arm.

This opened the gateway of more drawings. It was soon filled with portraits, symbols, things that reminded me of him or moments we shared together like the sunset with him sitting next to me.

I was so lost in my drawing I didn’t hear Steve walk out. He cleared his throat behind me and I closed my book.

“Yes?” I asked standing up. I set my book down.

“We’re going to watch a movie if you want to join. Your favorite. The Lion King” Steve smiled

“I-I can’t turn down the L-lion King” I stuttered out, cheeks getting red, Steve didn’t mind as he held out his hand and guided me inside. Forgetting about the sketch book.

Bucky POV

After the movie, y/n fell asleep on the couch and Steve put her in her bed. She surprisingly wasn’t up at her usual time.

Deciding she probably slept in today I sat on the balcony by myself. I noticed a black leather book sitting on the table. It didn’t look familiar. I opened the book to see it was a sketch book. I flipped to the next page and gasped at the drawing.

The drawing wasn’t perfect, but it took my breath away once I realized whose it was. The details of the image was amazing. drawing my metal arm probably wasn’t easy but it was amazing.

I flipped to the next page curiously, only to find the next one was a very detailed drawing of me. Head to toe, she had every detail spot on. My tactical gear, arm, gun, look, everything. She drew me as the Winter Soldier.

The next few pages were just me, smiling, starring off into space, everything. Then there was two coffee mugs. I smiled at this, she drew something that was the first contact we had. The first time she accepted anything from me.

The next page was a sunset. Us sitting on the balcony. Another was us sitting on the bar stools, probably when I caught her dancing.

I turned the page to see something that I wasn’t expecting at all. I was holding her. Or what I assumed to be her. My metal arm held the back of her head and my other arm was around her waist holding her close to me. I was burying my face into her hair and her face was buried into my chest. Was she trying to say something?

I closed the book and stood up. I had to return this to her. I left my cup on the balcony and made my way to her room. I knocked on the door and she answered by yanking it open. She had a look of worry on her face as she greeted me.

“Can I come in?” I asked softly. I held up her sketch book and her eyes widened. She yanked me by my shirt pulling me into her room. She forced the book out of my hand and held my in an awkward head lock.

“Explain” She forced the words out.

“I will if you just let go” I could easily break out of this, but wanted her to feel like she was in control.

“Now” She tightened her grip.

“Alright” I decided to break free and she put up a fight and I eventually pinned her to her wall. “Relax and listen.” I looked her in the eyes. I could tell she was mad, and confused.

“F-fine” She stuttered, looking down as her cheeks heated up. I let go of her backing up to sit on her bed.

“I was sitting on the balcony, I was expecting to see you but you didn’t show up so I thought you were sleeping still. Anyway, I saw a leather book and it didn’t look familiar, so I opened it and saw the pages.” I explained. “I realized it was yours and wanted to return it to you.”

Her eyes widened more when she heard me saw I opened it.

“You’re an amazing artist” I tried to ease the tension that was building up. “I could give you a few recommendations on my elbow in the first one”

She blushed even more.

“Can you explain this?” I asked snatching the book turning it to her last work. Us.

She grew redder.

“I- Uhmmmm” She was struggling. She sat down beside me avoiding me eyes.

“Take your time” I waited patiently.

“O-okay, here goes.” She took a deep breath and spoke quickly. “I draw things that remind me of people important, like my team mates. I wanted to draw something about you”

I listened carefully.

“E-eventually I c-couldn’t find me to stop d-drawing. You” She started stuttering again, face going red with embarrassment. “The l-last one, I w-wanted to draw b-because I” She stopped herself.

“You what?” I knew what she was trying to say by now. I wanted to hear it.

“I like you” She fought to get the words out.

“Is that why you have a hard time talking to me?” I was now standing up looking down on her small form.

“Yes” was all she could say. I looked into her eyes, studying them as they looked back into mine. I leaned down into her face slowly crashing my lips onto hers. I pulled back waiting for her approval.

Once she gave it was a small nod, I continued to kiss her slowly. She eventually was laid on her back as I deepened the kiss. She allowed me to take the lead and gave me permission to explore the inside of her mouth. Our lips moved in sync. My metal arm slipped under her shirt. She gasped at the touch. I pulled back quickly afraid I hurt her or took it too far.

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have done that.” I backed away from her. I was so afraid to look at her. Scared to see the look on her face.

I left her room before she could muster up the right words. I didn’t want to hurt her.

“Bucky” She whispered.

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rosegardentwilight · 6 years

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Satisfied Chapter 5: Fundamental Truths

Satisfied Summary: Fate must hate her or her so-called good luck had run out. What other explanation was there to the course of events that would collide with her life that would bring her to Adrien Agreste’s Wedding? Rated: T Pairing(s): Marichat, Adrienette, and Adrien/oc Word count: 3k ish for Chapter 5 Also read on: fanfiction, AO3

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A.n.- Don’t know if anyone is still reading it on here but I figured I would post anyway. Sorry it has taken so long. Everything is kinda crazy at the moment. This chapter is dedicated to whimsolute for being the best temp beta I could ask for.

Chapter 5: Fundamental Truths

Why was she so nervous?

Marinette’s fingers traced the edges of her cup. It wasn’t like this was a date. Adrien hadn’t even waited a week before reaching out about getting coffee. But she couldn’t ignore the way his face lit up when he asked, and despite the butterflies fluttering in her stomach and her chest tightening, she managed to agree.

She had arrived early and scoped out the perfect seat next to the window. If words failed either of them, they could people watch until one of them made an excuse to leave.

The bell above the door chimed, drawing her focus from her mindless sketches in her notebook and her stomach turned at just the sight of the model. He ventured towards the counter and started ordering his coffee, she assumed that he hadn’t seen her. Not that she minded, it gave her more time to collect her thoughts.

Adrien was either oblivious to the flirting of the barista, or he didn't care. When he turned around, he had two coffees in hand and she couldn't help but smile at his thoughtfulness. It only took seconds before his eyes landed on her and he hurried in her direction.

"Marinette, I'm glad you came." His tone slowed to a stop when his eyes landed on the cup that was already sitting in front of her.

"Me too," she managed to reply. The third cup of coffee was placed to the side as he took his seat.

The silence sat between them until Adrien and Marinette’s voices collided in the air in an apology. Adrien's eyebrow rose, as his face contorted to one of confusion. He quickly motioned for her to continue. His eagerness gave her reason to pause, but if she didn’t get this off her chest now, it might haunt her for the next couple weeks.

"I shouldn't have left the club that night,” Marinette confessed, “I know we haven't really seen each other; I think I was just afraid that things changed between us, which is stupid, but when I didn't hear from you once college started, I just naturally assumed..." Marinette finally allowed her voice to fade out from her rambling, slightly embarrassed. She wasn't planning on admitting any of that to Adrien, but now it was too late to take any of it back. Her back slid down a little in her seat, wishing nothing more than to blend in with the floor.

"No, Marinette. I'm the one who has to apologize. There were so many times that I reached for my phone to text you, but everything I wrote was super lame,” He released a small chuckle to himself only for it to fade, and his eyes darkened, and his gaze landed on the table. “Then school got harder, and Dad got more demanding with my model schedule, and time got away from me. It doesn't excuse my behavior, but I'm hoping to make it up to you. Just like old times."

"We did make a good team, didn't we?" Once she had gotten over her stuttering communication issue, she couldn't remember a time where they didn't hang out constantly.

Adrien grew a mischievous grin showcasing his perfect model smile. "Remember when we pulled that prank on Wayhem?"

She didn't know if it was the question or the way he was looking at her, but suddenly her nerves began to die down and allowed her to respond. It hadn’t gone unnoticed by Marinette that their hands were slowly inching across the table over the course of the last hour. She didn’t know when it started, they were just volleying stories of the glory days back and forth. Maybe it was just her body’s way of reacting to her suppressed feelings.

“You were always the charmer in high school,” Marinette mused. This time it was Adrien’s turn to laugh.

“I was the weird boy that always dreamed of getting out of his house, so he could have friends,” Adrien stated. Was he serious? Did he not know how many girls doodled his last name in their notebook?

“Adrien, you had all the girls drooling over you.” A small silence fell between them as his green eyes focused on his coffee.

“Even you?”

“I did.” She took a sip to keep her composure.

“Did?” Adrien’s eyebrows knitted together, pulling his hand back to his side of the table.

“It was just a silly school girl crush.” He let out a polite laugh, but she knew him better than that, all the life in his eyes had died in an instant. She eyed him silently, urging him to share his mind.

“I just wish I would have known. I had the biggest crush on you for most of high school.”

“What?” Marinette thanked her luck that she wasn’t drinking her beverage at that moment, otherwise it would have been sprayed all over the table. “W-what about Ladybug?”

It was no secret among the school of how he felt towards the red-clad superheroine. In fact, Marinette had even considered stopping by Adrien’s room as her alter ego plenty of times in high school, but she always seemed to lose her nerve. It was a gamble to bring up Ladybug, but her curiosity was too great.

“When I was younger, I thought she was my soulmate- my other half- but then things changed. Ladybug will always have a piece of my heart but...” he stopped himself fighting his own blush, “I slowly started to realize that you have always been there for me. You’re creative and gorgeous. I tried to tell you so many times.”

The news hit her like a wall of bricks. Adrien liked her? Her mind tried to comb through the memories to find any hints but came up empty.

“Guess we have rotten timing.” As much as she tried to use her upbeat tone it came out flat.

“Marinette-” Adrien was interrupted by his phone ringing. His eyes jumped down to see his father’s name flashing on the screen. “I have to get this.” Marinette watched as he started to pace- whatever his father was telling him was causing him to stress. After all the years that passed, she still could study his mannerism and facial expressions for a lifetime.

She was deep in concentration about his confession when she looked up and Adrien was standing at his chair, which caused her to jump.

“I hate to do this, but I need to go,” Adrien said.

“Oh.” It was hard to keep the disappointment from her voice, but she still offered her best smile.

“I’m really don’t want to go.” His hands gripped the chair tighter and his eyes fell to the floor.

“Your father needs you. I understand completely.”

“Rain check?” Her mouth grew dry, so she nodded in response. He grabbed his things and hurried out the door.

* There was a new-found confidence running through her veins after her cafe meet-up with Adrien. She could take on the world right now, or at least be able to tell Amelie how she really felt about the blonde. The consequences would be messy, but at least she wouldn't feel whatever it was that she felt when she saw the two of them together.

She never kept secrets from her roommate, besides the one where she was Ladybug- that was better off untold. Not that she didn't want to expose Amelie to that part of her, but she had never shown a real interest. Every time Marinette had brought Ladybug, Chat Noir, or the Akuma attack to the forefront of their conversation, it would always get derailed. This time she hoped that her lucky charm bracelet would give her the extra boost that she needed.

Adrien had no idea how much those beads would come to mean to her. They were always on her when it came to big decisions, and she had a mini panic attack when she had lost the bracelet for a week during her high school years.

High School.

Adrien's words echoed in her mind and everything started to blur once more. How could she not notice that he had a crush on her? Weren't they supposed to be too obvious that you couldn't miss it? There were so many instances where he had looked at her as if he knew.

“Mar-Mar, is that you? Where did you go?” Amelie called out as Marinette stepped into the apartment. She hadn’t expected the red head girl to be there, she had to come up with an answer quick.

“I went to get some coffee with an old friend.” It was a partial truth, she just omitted who the friend was.

“Oh?” Amelie’s eyes lit up as she took a break from blowing her nails dry. “Is he cute?”

‘More than you can imagine.’ Her mind retorted dryly.

“Amelie, I have to tell you something.” Her lack of answer was lost when her roommate released an excited shriek.

“Guess who finally agreed to escape for a weekend to my parent’s summer home.” Marinette’s heart sunk inside her chest, all the confidence in her was gone. Now she knew she was imagining things this morning, they were only friends, she had to keep reminding herself of that.

“Adrien was the best mistake that’s ever happened, and that includes ordering that wrong material for the dress I made for my midterm project.” The word caught the Marinette’s interest.

“Mistake?” She parroted. Adrien Agreste had been referred to as many things, but a mistake was not one of them.

“I have a confession to make.” She didn’t waste a second taking the seat next to Amelie. “The night we met him at the club, I thought you were lying…about having feelings for Adrien.”

Instantly, Marinette felt her whole body tighten. Maybe she had gone on a little excessively when they first met, but she had never mentioned a name. The fact that she pieced together Adrien was the guy from her story in a matter of seconds left other questions unanswered.

“Then why…”

“Did I ask him out?” Amelie finished for her with a small smile. “I thought that if I put you in a position where you would want to speak out, it would force you to address your feelings. But you didn’t, and I’ll admit that I read you wrong. Then the more that I spent time with him, I realized how much I liked him. He’s so down to earth, funny, and when I look into those eyes I feel so …” Amelie trailed off dreamily much like a younger Marinette did when she was 14.

Marinette on the other hand was trying not to become sick. Her roommate had only pursued him to push her towards him? She could have spoken up and Amelie would have stepped back and then Adrien and her could have been together?

“But what did you want to tell me?” Amelie asked. There was only a list of things that Marinette could not tell her roommate at the moment. The top two were that she had went to get coffee that morning with Adrien and that she was sure that she was still in love with him.

She was trapped. "I-I" Her mind raced for something, anything to say but she just kept drawing a blank. At this point, she would be content bringing up something as mundane as the weather. A weird look from Amelie was better than whatever she was feeling right now.

Suddenly there was a loud boom that shook the apartment. Within seconds an automated message started playing on their television that Paris was under attack. It stated that everyone needed to remain calm and get to a safe spot until Ladybug, Chat Noir, and Rena Rouge could take down the akuma. Marinette jumped out of her seat and raced to the window. There was a small billow of smoke that clouded the air right by the bridge next to the Eiffel Tower. Marinette's heart rate sped up, she needed to go. Paris was in danger, and she would have people counting on her. She couldn't let them down. The conversation would just have to take place at a different point in time if she ever regained the courage to bring up the subject again.

"You know what I realized, I have an appointment with Mrs. Saint Clare. I had questions about the final project before it's due next week." Marinette was proud that she had come up with a plethora of excuses when she needed to transform, she credited all the years of time to think.

"You're going out there now, while Paris is under attack? Stay here Mari till the police handle everything. Mrs. Saint Clare will understand." It was touching to see how much she cared, but Chat Noir and Rena Rouge would be waiting for her already.

"I'll be fine; it sounded like it was on the other end of town. Besides, any minute Chat Noir, Rena Rouge, and Ladybug will be jumping in to fight whatever is out there. I'm sure this whole thing will be over by the time I reach school." She didn't wait for any more objections and bustled out the door. Tikki flew out of her hiding spot from her pocket.

"That could have gone better." Marinette's eyes narrowed, choosing to ignore her Kwami's words. There was a more important task at hand, none of which related to telling her roommate that she was in love with her boyfriend.

"Tikki, spots on." “Ladybug, wait up.” Marinette released a sigh allowing her best friend to catch up with her. When she had given Alya the Fox miraculous in the first place, she thought it was a good idea in the moment. But when Rena Rouge had returned, this time because of Master Fu, it had changed everything.

The first couple months were hard, she felt guilty. She knew Rena Rouge’s identity and there was no getting around it, she even almost yelled Alya’s name a couple times. So, she did the only thing that made sense at the time, she told Alya who she was. Meanwhile, in the back of her mind, she knew (even though he didn’t bring it up) that Chat was patiently waiting for when his Lady deemed it the right time. Alya had kept her secret faithfully for the last three years, and Marinette had to admit it brought them closer than they already were.

“We don’t have much time before we turn back.” It was a weak excuse at best, but all she wanted to do was go back to her room, so the only thing she had to think about was designs and fabric.

“Forget the Miraculouses. I spotted that something was wrong from when you arrived. Talk to me.” Sometimes it was scary how Alya could read her. She looked around to check if her Kitty had followed them. He would just use the information to tease her further.

“Did you know about Adrien’s crush on me back in high school?” Her best friend’s eyes widen, giving Marinette the answer she wanted.

“I’m going to hurt that boy the next time I see him.”

“Don’t.” The last thing she needed was Alya to go into her protective mode, it would only draw more attention to her feelings. “It’s...ok.” The lie slipped from her lips so easily. Something seemed to click on Alya’s mind probing more questions.

“When did he tell you this?” She rested her hand on her hip at the shift of information.

“We got coffee this morning.” Marinette tried to reply as casually as possible. If she was able to convince her that it was not a big deal, then maybe they would drop the subject. Alya instead crossed her arms over her chest.

“And what does his girlfriend think about that?”

“Ecstatic. They’re going away for a weekend to her parent’s summer home,” she mumbled bitterly. She chose not to tell her about the rest of her conversation with the redhead, Alya already disliked the girl for obvious reasons.

“This is a terrible idea.”

"I know, isn't it too early in their relationship for a weekend trip?" Her contribution earned a glare.

"That wasn't what I was talking about. As much as I hate to say it, you either need to stand up and tell Amelie how you feel, or you need to stay away from Adrien. This is going to hurt you in the end if you don't." Stay away from Adrien, the thought caused goosebumps to form underneath her suit.

"But he's my"- Marinette only managed to get a few words out before Alya cut her off.

"Can you look me in the eyes and tell me that you don't have any feelings for him?" Marinette's shoulder slouched in defeat, even if she attempted to deny the fact, it wouldn't be convincing enough. Alya reached out and rested her hand on her friend's shoulder. "He's still your statue to your compass, Marinette. Until something changes, I would attempt to move on." The moment was broken by their Miraculouses beeping again.

"Thanks, Alya." There wasn't much else she could say, and as much as she hated to admit it, her best friend was right.

When it came to decision making regarding the blonde there was hardly much thought process behind it. She glanced up at an old billboard for the "Spring Edition Adrien cologne" and sighed. How one boy could make her so confused was beyond her. But for the sake of Alya and Amelie's happiness, she would attempt to move on.

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