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scathecraw · 3 years

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BBRae Week 2021 - Day 3: Into The Woods

“Summer camp has been so much fun, Rachel. Teether hasn’t cried once since the day after you dropped us off, and Tommy got first place in the obstacle course. You were right, we should have done a camp last year, too.” Melvin chattered excitedly on the office phone while Rachel listened patiently. “They’ve made a bunch of arts and crafts, and the woods here are so cool. They’re really old, and Gar knows so muchabout all the trees and animals and bugs.”

“And who is this Gar, Melvin? A new friendof yours?” Rachel’s emphasis was obvious, and Melvin’s blush was practically audible.

“NO! He’s a counselor. He’s really nice, but he’s really old. Like, 50 or something. You’ll meet him on parent’s day next week.”

Rachel didn’t remember anyone older than the director, a middle aged woman she had spoken to when getting them enrolled and again during drop-off. She suspected Melvin was fibbing to cover her embarrassment, but she brought it on herself by teasing the preteen. “I’m sure I will. Does this mean that you’re going to drag me out into the forest when I come? I thought it was going to be an afternoon of arts and crafts and then some campfire songs, not a forced march.”

“Duh. Arts and crafts are lame. Gar said that next year he’d show us how to whittle, which sounds better than making lanyards.” There was muffled adolescent shouting, and Melvin covered the receiver and yelled back. “I gotta go. We’re going swimming. I’ll call you on Friday. Love you, bye.” She hung up before anything could be said back, and Rachel was left with dead air while Melvin sprinted after her friends, untied shoelaces flailing behind her.

Arriving at the aforementioned “Parent’s Day”, Rachel wasn’t quite sure what to expect. The camp had at first seemed like a good way to get the three adopted children outside instead of rotting their brains, but the sheer noise of a few dozen milling, clamoring kids and groups of socializing parents made her wonder what she had subjected them, and by extension, herself, to. She was late, which probably didn’t help the situation, but she looked around the chaos in an effort to find her own three chaos engines. Instead, she was spotted.

A wild, dirty missile made a high-volume impact with her legs, nearly toppling her and babblingso fast that even Rachel’s practiced ear couldn’t discern what he was saying. She was wobbling and about to fall over when a firm hand caught her upper back and helped her regain her balance. “Teether, dude! I said you could go get her, not try to body slam her.”

Rachel finally planted her feet, acknowledged Teether with a gentle hand on his head, and looked up. And up. They both froze for an instant, but the tanned, blond man recovered first. His slack jaw snapped into a smile, and he said “Hi. You must be Rachel. I’m Gar, one of the counselors here.”

His hand was still on her back and heat radiated from it like afternoon sun. Her face had never fallen into the silly expression his had, but unconscious thought raced before she could regain her composure. ‘Definitely not fifty,’ she thought. “Hello. Yes, I’m Rachel, Teether’s mother.” She peeled Teether from her leg with practiced ease, and he sprang off of her and ran.

Gar realized that his hand still rested behind her, almost possessively, and retreated to a more respectable distance. He chuckled, nervously. “Heh. Um, Melvin and Tommy are with their friends, still, but we should probably get them. Ms. Waller asked me to show you around – she said you had just moved to the area?” It wasn’t a question, but he phrased it like it was. They began walking back towards the milling crowd of parents, children, and quite possibly enough noise to drown out a jet engine.

“Yes, it’s our first summer here. She mentioned that most of the kids made this an annual activity, but I didn’t think we’d be so strange as to warrant a personal detail.”

“Oh it’s nothing like that, it’s just that there’s not really many other summer camps around, and ‘cause we go from K-12, we get pretty much everyone. A lot of the other parents already know everybody. You’re not strange, just… new.” His eyes never left her, even as they began walking.

Back with the crowds, Melvin and a gaggle of similarly aged girls watch the two of them. One of them nodded decisively and turned to Melvin. “Okay. They’re too cute together. Look at how awkward they’re being.”

Anotherhuffed a little. “They’re just staring at each other. They should be holding hands or something, right?”

Melvin’s eyes narrowed critically. “It’s been like 10 minutes and they aren’t kissing yet. Gar’s probably too much of a nerd to do anything. We need to do something to make sure they know how perfect for each other they are.”

“Like what? They aren’t going to start making out in the middle of the crowd.”

An evil smirk crept across Melvin’s face. “Maybe not in the middle of the crowd, but what if they were all alone in the woods? Then they’d have no excuse not to!”

A look of awe crossed her companions’ faces. “That’s evil. I love it.”

But the smirk fell, half-formed plot evaporating. “But how could we get them out there alone? It can’t be anything serious, or else Rachel will ground me forever, and I bet she won’t even go unless we can trick her into it.”

“Could you just tell her you feel sick?”

“No.” Melvin shook her head slowly. “Then she’d either stay with me or just take me home early.”

One, heretofore silent, chimed in. “I think I know what we can do. But Mel, you’re going to have to make a lanyard.” She giggled at the disgusted look, and said “C’mon, we only have like 15 minutes before they start wondering where we are.”

Across the crowd and a million miles away, Garfield and Rachel were, in fact, being tremendously awkward as they watched the kids run and play. Gar fumbled his words and couldn’t decide to stare at her eyes, the curve of her neck, or decidedly anywhere except her. Rachel was the opposite. She answered in short, monosyllabic whispers and swallowed, trying to ease her desperately dry throat.

“So, uh, you said you just moved here! Do you have a job, er, of course you do, unless you don’t! That’s fine, too! Nothing wrong with… that. Yeah.” He trailed off, before gamely trying again. “So what do you do when you’re not, y’know, coming to summer camps?”

Rachel took a deep breath and centered herself. Gar started. “I’m not, like, annoying you, am I? I’m sorry, I tend to blabber -”

“No. I’m just… a little off-kilter. I’m a curator of antiquities at the museum.”

“That is so cool. Gar’s eyes were like dinner plates. “I love the museum! I always wanted to volunteer there, but I never feel like I have time between summers here and planning classes during the year.”

“Oh, you’re a teacher? Grade school or high school?”

“High school and occasionally some classes at the community college. I figured I was already teaching AP and college bio isn’t much different. I’m sure the kids get tired of me after the sixth year, though, heh.” He rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly, uncomfortably warm even for a summer afternoon.

“I suppose they wouldn’t let you teach so many years if you weren’t good at the job. Not that biology is my area of expertise.” She clarified, hearing his unspoken question. “I studied history and preservation, so a natural history museum is certainly a big change.”

“Wow, I bet. Still, nobody does what they expected to when they were in college. I got a bachelor’s in Environmental Science, but it turns out most of those jobs are just telling corporations what they want to hear.”

Rachel leveled him with a newly assessing gaze. “Believe it or not, so are quite a few jobs in archaeology. It’s what put me off of the field.”

“But hey, teaching led me to Jump and to Lake Titan Camp, so I can’t complain.”

While the two nominal adults conversed, a far more intricate conversation was happening in the craft cabin. Kole, a pink haired co-conspirator of Melvin’s, was creating a half finished lanyard in pink and purple while the rest strategized. “Okay, so I need to throw her off so she’ll agree. The pink and purple color scheme is good – pink for me, purple for her, but I need something to knock her off her game.”

“You could tell her something that surprised her, maybe. But what?”

Realization dawned. “Okay. This is a little mean, maybe, but I was planning on talking to her about it anyway. I know just what to say. Kole, how’s the lanyard coming?”

“I’ve got it to the perfect length. Just long enough that you might ‘Need a little while to finish it, pretty please.’” She held up the dangling lengths of string. “Everything ready? We’re running out of time.”

“Now or never. Let’s go.” Melvin took a deep breath and led them to the doorway.

Garfield and Rachel were deep in conversation. The initial awkwardness had faded, and while there were still sparks flying whenever they made eye contact, it was more a static buzz than the almost painful live wire sensation of their first glances. At some point they had migrated closer to where Teether and Tommy’s two groups had merged into a supercrowd of children all making noise, forcing them to stand closer to one another to be heard. They were in this huddle, all focus on each other except for both of their frequent check-in glances to the children. Rachel had dipped her toe into a hint of vulnerability to test the waters, quietly and without fanfare explaining that she had adopted all three of them from the same orphanage she had found herself aging out of.

Gar reciprocated. “That’s really incredible. I was adopted pretty young by some family friends. I know how complicated that sort of relationship can be, but it’s doing something amazing for all three of them.”

Melvin, seeing their closeness, hesitated, just a bit. She was messing with fate, a little. But she was certain it was for a good cause. And it was now or never, they were already cutting it close to “Shared Activity Time” for her age group. “Umm. Rachel.”

“Yes, Melvin?” Rachel saw that Mel was nervous. Melvin was never nervous.

“I want to finish a project for you, but won’t have time later. So, uh, I need you to find something else to do. During the Activity Time, I mean. I just want to finish making this. Please, M-mom?”

Time stopped for Rachel. She had adopted them six years ago, and there had never been a time when Melvin had consciously called her “Mom”. Forms asking for “Mother’s Name”, sure. Mother’s day celebrations, absolutely. Even a few mostly-asleep, teary pleas, but never, never while Melvin was in control of her faculties.

But while time had stopped for Rachel, it marched onward for everyone else. Melvin held her breath and waited for long, tense seconds, but Rachel didn’t seem to be coming back to her senses, so she hurriedly spat out “Okayloveyouseeyousoon,” and fled back to the safety of her friends.

Gar, too, was frozen. Not to the same degree, nor for the same reasons, but he felt like he had intruded on something intimate that he had no business being a part of. He looked around, helplessly as Rachel gaped. After several seconds of silence, he couldn’t not do something. “Uhh. Rachel? You… okay?” More frozen immobility. He waved a hand in front of her face. “Rae? You there? Do I need to get a doctor?”

She seized his hand. “Did… did she just call me “Mom”? Or did I have a stroke?”

“Yeah, ouch. She did. I’m guessing this was new?”

“I… Yes. She’s never… What… what do I do? Was she angry I didn’t answer? Where did she go?” Rachel began looking around for her.

“Whoa, slow down. She’s with her friends. She wasn’t mad, it seemed like she was nervous, but not scared. And what you do is let her come to you and talk to her like you always do, and just make sure she knows you’re okay with it. As long as you are okay with it, right?”

“Of course. I just thought...” Rachel trailed off.

“Then there’s nothing to worry about! She loves you and just told you how she feels. That’s a good thing. Let’s give her a chance to do whatever she’s doing. The rest of the kids are about to go do an activity, so we have time.”

“I think I need to get away from the crowd for a minute. I can’t believe I’m asking this, but is it alright if we just go for a walk?”

“Of course.” Gar’s grip had at some point shifted to be holding her hand back, and he led her down a dirt path towards a grove of trees. “This path is quiet and not too hard.” Her sudden harsh look had him follow up. “You’re not really wearing the shoes for hiking, Rae.”

“Hmf. And since when did I say you could call me Rae, Garfield?”

He looked stricken. “I am so sorry. I dunno what I was thinking, Ra-chel. Rachel.”

She narrowed an eye. “Rae is… acceptable, as far as diminutives go. Just don’t make a habit of it in public.”

“Cross my heart. Hey, at least being a little mad at me put your mind off of Melvin, right?”

“And now it’s right back. So very helpful,” she deadpanned.

“Easy come, easy go, right?” His smile grew a little. “I don’t wanna pry or anything, but is it really that surprising? She said you were her mom like, a dozen times during camp.”

“I suppose not. It caught me very off-guard, though. Teether and Tommy sort of switch between Rachel and Mom, but Melvin’s never really seemed like she even wanted that sort of, I don’t know, ‘Official’ title for me.”

“Listen, the whole ‘mom’ thing isn’t as scary as you’re making it out to be. You’re already giving her the kind of love a mom is supposed to, and she loves you. She talks about all the time with stars in her eyes. Being adopted doesn’t make her less your daughter. Rita Farr isn’t any less my mom for taking me in when I was eight, and Marie Logan isn’t any more or less important to me just because she’s not around.”

Rachel took a breath and sighed it out. “Thank you. That does make it easier.” They walked in silence for a short time. “Wait, Rita Farr, as in the movie star? As in, the philanthropist and art collector, married to Steve Dayton?”

He blushed a little. “Whoops, probably shouldn’ta dropped that so casually, I guess. Yeah. Steve and Rita adopted me when my parents died. It’s not always easy, but I love ‘em.” He watched her reaction carefully, hoping she wouldn’t suddenly start treating him differently for having such well-known parents.

Rachel schooled her face after having that bombshell dropped on her. “Well, if we ever meet we’ll be able to talk about some historic pieces she has that I wrote papers on.”

A beat passed, then Gar’s loud laugh broke relative silence of the forest. “Aw man, she is gonna love you.”

And just like that, the tension was broken. All the concern, the lack of balance, everything fell away, and the static buzz of easy conversation punctuated by something just a little too close to intimate for an average friendship was back.

They wandered together down the shady paths, miles away and only a few trees distant from the campground. Rachel didn’t notice the distance she had walked on the formerly dreaded forest hike, and Garfield forgot to try quite so hard with his jokes and wise cracks. They walked, hand in hand and only somewhat realizing how close they were to one another, shoulders nearly touching.

The spell was eventually broken, as they always are. They rounded a final bend, seeing in the distance the campground they had left, what, less than an hour ago? And the reality that they had left behind when they entered the sun-shafted canopies woke them up, and they found that really, their hands were quite slick. Had they been clasped together the whole time? And Rachel, especially, was starting to sweat from the heat and the walk. Garfield was suddenly nervous, after all, he never talked this much, not without making a fool of himself.

But even after emerging from that hazy dream, they held on, gently rising out of the fog and into the real world so no sudden movements could disrupt the memory, the closeness that two almost strangers that fit together like complementary puzzle pieces had shared.

It wasn’t even fully dispelled when their hands slipped apart to be wiped on cargo shorts or dark jeans, though the almost hidden flight from behind a few low-branched trees of blonde hair and untied shoelaces and quiet giggle quickly sobered them.

Garfield turned. “Was that -?”

“Melvin. Oh, that little brat, she is too damn smart for her own good. I would put money on her scheming to get us alone.” Rachel fumed and her face tightened into a mask of cold anger. “I can’t believe that she would manipulate me like this! How could she – How could she finally call me -” and the mask broke, shifting from anger to near tears in seconds.

Gar panicked. “Whoa, hold on, no. She’s not that cruel, I know it and so do you. We’re probably missing something. You just said you can’t believe she would do this – she probably didn’t. Rae I promise you, there’s got to be an explanation that makes sense.”

Rachel took a deep breath, followed by another, centering herself. “I am going to get to the bottom of this. Where would she be doing this “project” she made up?”

“The craft cabin. I’ll take you there, but I guarantee you it’s not as bad as it might sound.”

It was like the crowd parted for them without even reacting. No one looked at the worried counselor or at the steely featured parent, but nonetheless they found their path almost unimpeded. Gar held up a hand just outside the door. “Let me get you two some privacy. Please.”

“Fine. Do it.” Terse and unhappy, Rachel’s displeasure was apparent in her voice, and it made Garfield wince.

He opened the door to see five preteen girls, huddled and tittering. At least until they saw him and his serious frown. Then their eyes went wide, and they looked to Melvin in a panic. “Out, girls. Clear the room. Not you, Melvin.” He stopped her when she tried to take shelter in the middle of the pack. He turned to follow them, and glanced back almost pityingly, then shook his head and exited.

The girls all ducked their heads when they saw Rachel just outside the cabin and hurried off, racing to be the first around the corner and away from the ticking time bomb.

Garfield simply nodded, and left her to it. Rachel entered the cabin and saw Melvin almost trembling, and it broke her heart. She had worked up a head of steam on the walk and the wait, but seeing her precious daughter actually afraid stopped any real anger and left only a bitter emptiness.

Rachel wasn’t quite sure what to do with her hands. She settled on a vague, open armed shrug gesture. “Why, Mel? Was it just a prank? Just a way to manipulate me?”

Tears brimmed in Melvin’s eyes. “No, I just wanted to give you guys a chance to talk alone. I’m sorry I lied, I really did try on the lanyard, but I’m just bad at them so I had Kole do it. I’m sorry, I am.”

“What? What lanyard? Melvin, I don’t care if you had a friend help with a lanyard! I just can’t believe that you would call me your mom, just to trick me into talking to someone. I can’t tell you how badly that hurts me. I… I love you too much for that.”

“What!No, nononono, Mom, I promise that wasn’t a trick. I promise. I was gonna talk to you about it, but I just – I thought that if I – I thought that maybe if I just did it you’d just let me and maybe you’d talk to him and then it everything would be perfect. I promise. I love you, Mom. I do. And I was just trying to maybe make you not spend all your time watching me and talk to him. He’s really cool, and I could tell you like him, and he’s completely in love with you, and you’re perfect for each other. I was just trying to help you be happy!” She sobbed, breathless.

Rachel froze, then instinctively wrapped her daughter in her arms and let her cry. “Mel, you don’t need to worry about me. I am happy, I promise. I don’t need you to try to trick me into being happy. Hey, it’s okay. I’m not going to say I’m not mad, but I get it. You don’t have to trick me into talking to, what did you call him, “really old, like 50 years old” guys? If we talk, we talk. That’s how adults work.”

“No, it’s not! I’ve never seen you go on a date, and you just ignore people when they try to talk to you. I know it was dumb, but I had to try something ‘cause otherwise you’d just give him that serious face until he ran away, and he’s perfect for you if you’d just give him a chance!”

“Mel. Mel, okay. I promise. I will give him a chance. But you don’t need to be worried about me. I don’t need a twelve year old playing matchmaker. You should be doing kid things, not bad romcom plots.”

“*SNRK*. They’re not bad. They’re sweet. And you like them, otherwise you wouldn’t have so many of them.” She wiped her nose with the back of her hand and glowered.

Rachel internally cursed Kori. “If you say so. Now let’s sit here for a minute, then we can go wash your face and you can go hand out with your friends. And I will have a talk with Garfield, and you will not stick your nose into my dating life. Understand?”

“Yes, mom.”

It still startled Rachel to hear that coming from Melvin, but it also warmed her heart. She hadn’t even known she wanted it until it happened, but it was like a spoken guarantee that she really was doing things right, and her little family really was working.

They sat together and Melvin showed her the lanyard that she had made via Kole. Rachel put it on the silver chain she wore around her neck and let it rest beside her heart promising mostly to herself that it would be kept safe at home. Then, when Mel had calmed down, they headed to the bathroom where Mel cleaned the tear tracks from her dirt-smudged face and rinsed her red rimmed eyes. Rachel gave her a final kiss on the forehead, and sent her off.

Gar found her standing there, staring off into space against the wall of the concrete shack. He leaned against it and slid down to sit around the corner and next to her. “So.”

“So,” she said back.

“Not saying it just to confuse you?” He glanced at her, gauging her reaction.

“No. But she wasn’t against confusing me.”

His eyebrow cocked. “Not mad?”

“Still mad. Still going to be grounded, probably. But she did it out of love.”

“Y’know, I don’t want to say I told you so, but...”

“But you totally want to say ‘I told you so,’” she finished for him.

“Yep. So what now?”

“Now, I guess I do what I was going to do before we had all this to deal with,” she said, the soul of nonchalance.

“What’s that?” he said, and when she didn’t respond, he stood up and looked around the corner. “Rae?”

“This.” with only his head around the corner, she turned and kissed him, gentle and sweet, and far too short for either of them. “I’d like to go out sometime. I want to take you to a behind the scenes at the museum, and I’ll let you choose the restaurant.”

His head spun and his eyes were out of focus. His thoughts were like molasses and he could barely get out the word “Okay.” before she was gone, a little bounce in her step.

AO3 FF.net

#bbraeweek21 #bbrae #fic

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ihopethisendswell · 3 years

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The part where you get basic info on my Pokémon oc's so you don't get confused when I post about them.

This is gonna be a long post. I have like 8 total. 16 if your counting the secondary protags (my version of May and Lucas for example,which I won't be going over in detail cause I'm not insane). Might want to check my timeline 9 it's pinned or just check bulbapedia if your confused about the ages. If you have any questions feel free to ask. I hope you enjoy :)

Name :Jin Amachi

Gender: " I am nonbinary. I they/ them pronouns, but I'm alright with he/ him as well.

Age:

12( when started journey in Hoenn( Emerald)

22 by SM/USUSM

26 by SWSH

Basic info: With all things said and done, Jin is grateful for their journey. They learned a lot, even if they had to stop two extreme environmentalist along the way. They know the two meant well, but it's just too bizarre for it to happen. Though the two seem to be in a better place now. They're happy for them. They're father and them talk more now. It's still awkward, but better. They know he's trying his best, and they will do the same. It's much better than back then. But no need to worry about the past.

If anything, they're more worried about the others.

Kenji Elm

Gender: " I'm getting sudden dejavu. But I'm a boy! The best boy! Don't call me a girl, I will cry. And because I'm not one! So don't. Anyway have you heard of-" * starts to ramble*

Age:

10 when journey started in Johto( HGSS)

17 by SM

21 by SWSH

Basic Info: Kenji Elm is not the biological son of Professor Elm. He was adopted at a young age, and he doesn't know who is birth parents. Not that he cares. He's more than happy with the family he got( though he wonders when they'll throw him away like his parents did). Energetic and always willing for an adventure, Kenji is generally on the move!( He's so sorry if he's being annoying please don't leave please)

He has a vast amount of interests, but his two favorites are painting and battling. Battling is obvious, he's the champion of the Indigo League, but he always had an artistic eye. But his favorite pastime is hanging out with his friends! When he gets the time of course. He's sometimes wonder how he was able to hold the title of champion for so long though haha ( his win was a fluke he knows it he knows it) .But yeah! That's Kenji! Always there with a smile! Our little golden boy! 😁

Name: Danica Yamamoto

Gender: "I'm a girl. She/her pronouns. They/ them is cool too. Don't mind Kenji, he talks a lot." *Offended Kenji noises in the background*

Age:

11 when journey started in Sinnoh( Platinum)

18 by SM)

22 by SWSH

Basic Info: Giratina and Arcues are quite alike, the more she thinks about it. Though, the rest if Sinnoh, quite possibly the whole world would disagree with her. Giratina is " the lord of darkness". It's followers have a history of not being....the best. Giratina resides alone in the Distortion World, paying for it's past sins. Clearly, Giratina and Arcues are nothing alike.

Hm? Oh. Right. Pardon.

Danica grew up in Twinleaf town, with her best friend Barry. Those two are almost polar opposites. Barry is always moving, going fast, and doesn't wait for no one( except Danica and Emmet). Danica can go fast, possibly faster than Barry, but likes to take things slow. Both can be quite chaotic.Barry has a bit of a temper, Danica's chill. Both are cases where you should run when they are angry. Like. Very angry. The two bounces of each other well,and hang out regularly with Emmet, even with their busy professions ( Danica as champion, Barry as Frontier Brain and Emmet as a professor). Danica loves baking, and would often be making poffins and other baked treats for her, her pokemon and others ! She's also a bit of a nerd, so you'll also find her in a library or two. Her pokemon are her babies, and she hopes to have plenty of battles with them in the future!

.....

But really. They are quite alike. Both are beings of great power. Both have a following, even if one is less seen. Both are feared. They are feared greatly. Do they fear each other? Did Arcues banish Giratina in fear of the world or in fear of losing control? Did Giratina learn it's lesson after eons of being in the Distortion World? She could never tell. It doesn't really open up much, only going back to said Distortion World on its own Accord( it felt wrong to be it's "owner"). Though it do comes back, surprisingly. Maybe because she asked it to. To make sure Cyrus doesn't die in there. He still won't come out. She doesn't understand why. It's been years. Has he learned his lesson? Giratina seems to be fond of him. Affectionate. Cyrus never objects to this. So he must right? Right?

Ah, getting off topic. They're quite alike, being feared by the masses. Even if Arcues is mostly beloved. It's a god. It has such power. They're both feared. They themselves must fear as well . It must get lonely....... She thinks she gets Cyrus now.

Name: Alexis " Alex" Jones

Gender: " Um, hi? I'm just a dude. Use he/ him pronouns.....yeah"

Age:

14 when journey started in Unova( BW)

18 by SM

22 by SWSH

Basic info: It's so funny, the more he thinks about. He was so excited, despite his worries. He was going on a journey. A gym challenge. Pathway to champion. He was going to do that! With his sister and his friends! On his birthday! It was perfect! It should have been perfect! But everything just went wrong.

The bodies, the blood, the pressure to " be a hero"( intentional or not), it was all too much. Too much. Then- then he was a coward. He fled it all. Even after saving the day. It was stupid. So stupid. And the people in his life had a right to be angry. Why wouldn't they? He deserved it, really. But now things are better(?). He has a daycare to co-run, he's gradually learning his way as a pokemon medic, and he still has his pokemon( the ones that were lucky enough to survive). He's so grateful for them. He doesn't battle, though. No, he's never doing that ever again. He's caused enough harm( he hates how he stares at trainers battling). He's no good anyway( he hates how bored his team looks half the time) . He doesn't understand why people insist that he is( he hates that he has this itch, this desire). He doesn't understand why they look so disappointed when he says he doesn't battle anymore( he hates that he misses the rush, the strategy, the freedom of it all). He's fine with what he got. He's no hero.

.....Why is his aunt calling him?

Name: Evangeline " Eva" Ortiz

Gender: " Hiya! I'm a lovely lady! I use she/her pronouns, please and thank you!"

Age:

14 when journey started ( B2W2)

16 by SM

20 by SwSh

Basic Info: Eva! Eva my Beloved. Eva's fun, y'know? Always moving, helping, laughing, smiling. Life of the party! She rivals Kenji with that winning smile. Not to mention that she's a great battler! It's almost like she was born for this. Maybe she is! Who knows. But what she do know is that she's Unova's Champ and she gotta defend her title! And protect her region! Though she probably would have done that without the title anyway haha! Hmm what else? Oh! She loves technology! For some reason that surprises a lot of people that don't really know her, but she does! She's a bit of a tinkerer if she do say so herself. She likes it when people compliment on her skills it makes her more confident in them. Even Col-

No.

....

Ahem.

Anyway she's pretty talented. But that comes from a lot of hard work! And luck. But lots of hard work.( And also luck). Aaaah, that should that's it? Well, she does tend to be distant, b-but she's busy, yeah? Don't worry about it. Oh! One more thing. It's not really a big deal, just a random fact.

She hates the cold.

Name Jude Bellrose

Gender: "...... Why do you care ?" ( E: Jude don't be rude! Al: No no, she has a point.) *Ooc: Jude is genderfluid. Right now, in this post, she's using she/ her pronouns, but she also uses he/him and they/them*

Age:

18 when journey started in Kalos( XY)

20 by SM

24 by SwSh

Basic info: Death has a way of teaching you things. Jude learned a lot from it. She learns to not take it for granted, both death itself and the one that is dead.She learns to be humble. She learns to be kind.

Jude was, and still is, prickly. She's not rude my any means, unless she is, but she's just hard to become friends with. She used to have this philosophy of trainer and pokemon; they should be no emotional bonds. They're not here for that. They're here to win. And she did. Until she didn't. Her first pokemon died. It devastated her. Her pokemon, surprisingly, comforted her. And then another one died, and her pokemon comforted her again. Star, her Staraptor, was strong. So strong, and yet it died, and she cried and get pokemon cried with her. She never felt so loved. Not saying that her mother doesn't love her, the opposite really, it's just things have been....complicated. Couple that with strangers turn( begrudgingly) friends, and Jude's heart turned all warm inside. Not that she'll ever admit that outloud.

Jude is a kind person, despite her prickly nature. She loves the world around her, loves her friends, loves her pokemon. She respects death, despite the pain she causes her. The world itself of beautiful as it is, which it's such a shame that a capitalist fool a certain someone couldn't see that way( poor Sycamore).

Jude is a good trainer, despite her loss. She knows this. She'll prove it too the moon and back. If only a certain someone thought the same for himself.

Aster Mahina

Gender: "...." "Mizzz Aster is a girl! She uses she/her pronouns! Zzt."

Age:

11 in SM, where her journey started

15 by SwSh

Basic Bio: Aster doesn't hate Kanto. She doesn't. She was born there and lived there for 11 years. She just doesn't want to back. But she has to, cause she's " the first champion of Alola and as champion" yada yada yada. Like. She gets it. Being Alola's first and currently only champion, you gotta make an impression. She gets that. She still doesn't want to go. Even when she's been there, like, 4 times now. There are some good things in Kanto though. Lillie is there. And seeing Lillie physically is always a plus. She also gets to see Uncle Red, Uncle Green, and Aunt Blue. Kenji, while not living in Kanto, is champion of the Indigo League, and it's always fun with Kenji( she loves his art). But. Like. She still doesn't want to go.

But she also likes being Champion. That means she's strong. And since she's strong she can protect her mom. But she can't protect her mom when she's all the way in Kanto! What if he comes back? What if goes to Alola when she's away? She knows that her mom is strong, she knows that but still!

No. No it's okay. Her mom is strong. Lillie is strong. Gladion is strong . Hau is strong. Guzma is strong. They're all strong. She's strong.

She is strong.

Name: Naomi Einar

Gender: "I-I'm a girl! She/her pronouns please!"

Age:

15 in SWSH, which is the start of her gym challenge in Galar!

Basic Info: Hop is pretty convincing, she realizes. Or maybe she's very weak willed. " Let's do the gym challenge together!" He said. He had that look in his eye. She couldn't say no. Or she could, but that would make him upset, and that's the last thing she wants.

If she's being honest with herself, she's scared. She doesn't like big crowds, the attention. They'll be so many eyes on her. So many. A-and then there's Lee and her cousin, Alexis. Hop has made her sit down and watch almost every single match Leon has had. He's an amazing trainer. A-and her mum would tell her stories about Alexis. He was a hero! He stopped an evil team and everything! She can't live up to that! She never even battled before, why would Hop-

No. It's okay. It's okay. She- she'll just quite after failing the first gym. She can handle the embarrassment. And then she'll cheer Hop on when he wins against his brother. Yep. She'll do just that. Okay. Okay.

.....

Everyday, Slumbering Weald seem to intrigue her more and more. It's almost like it's calling her. Da?

No. It- it'sprobably nothing.

#pokemon oc #long post #just the basic info :)#the title is totally not misleading in anyway shape or form #:)#trust me!

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bitsandbobsandstuff · 5 years

Text

The (not naked) pin-up calendar

Summary: When you ask for a favor, Bucky (very) grudgingly agrees. What can you do to thank him? Return the favor, of course.

Characters: Bucky x Reader; a plethora of Avengers Warnings: Hardcore fluff. Soldiers wrestling like immature children. Steve being weirded out by nut sacks. Harry Potter references. A hint of naughty times at the end.

A/N: This is silly and fun and what can I say, writing sassy Bucky makes me happy. This is for @beckzorz 1k Writing Challenge (go follow this incredibly talented, beautiful lady), and my prompt was ‘Pin-up calendar’. Thanks a million for hosting Becca, I love you 3000! ♥️

Want to find all my stories? Search #bitsmasterlist or try the link in my bio!

*****

Overnight, the list gets tacked on the corkboard in the kitchen.

Bucky’s rummaging through the pantry, searching for his breakfast Doritos and a jar of salsa to dunk them in, when he glimpses his name from a distance. Snatching up a butter knife, he wanders over to the wall. When he sees the list header, he whirls around in a flurry of tangled hair and irrational grumpiness.

“What the hell is this?”

Bucky complaining first thing in the morning is par for the course, so both Sam and Steve, strolling in to search for breakfast, ignore him. Sam veers toward the sugary cereal cabinet, Steve heads for the oversize Ironman container housing granola, and Bucky stomps his foot like a toddler.

“Don’t get your panties in a twist,” Steve says seconds later, through an overflowing mouthful of flaxseed and yogurt. “You already agreed. You’re not backing out.”

Bucky spins around and reads the flyer again.

---

“Avengers Calendar Shoot”

See below for your name and photo call timing.

Monday: Carol (10am), Wanda (2pm), Scott (6pm)

Tuesday: Rhodey (10am), Sam (2pm), Steve (6pm)

Wednesday: Tony (10am), Bruce (2pm), Natasha (6pm)

Thursday: Thor (10am), Clint (2pm), Bucky (6pm)

---

Stomping his foot again, Bucky stabs the flyer with the aforementioned butter knife.

“Someone better be yankin’ my dick right now,” he warns. “I definitely didn’t agree to bare my wrinkly nut sack for the whole fucking world to see.”

Sam dry heaves over his Lucky Charms.

Steve’s now filling his Black Widow coffee mug and rolling his eyes.

“What is it with you always trying to be naked? It’s not a naked thing, it’s a charity thing. Innocent children who don’t know what an asshole you are will see this, so you better be wearing clothes,” Steve gives his mug an annoying slurp. “Besides - you already agreed. No takebacks.”

“Steve,” Bucky crisply pivots, launching metaphorical murder darts from his eyes. “We’ve talked about this. Don’t tell me how to live my life.”

“Well it was your girl who convinced everyone to do it, so good luck telling her you’re a liar.” Instead of responding, Bucky holds up a Dorito in front of Steve and peers around the silhouette. Draws a few angles in his head. “What?” Steve asks brusquely.

“Nothing,” Bucky mutters. The chip cracks between his teeth with a puff of toxic orange. “Just makin’ an observation.”

“Just wear your scary leather bondage uniform with your scary mask and stand there all scary. You don’t even need to smile,” Sam says. Spooning cereal in with one hand, his other is attempting to worm its way into Bucky’s bag of chips. Cradling the Doritos under his arm, Bucky twists away, blocking the attack.

“Good way to lose a finger. Don’t touch my things.”

Sam swallows his cereal, ignores the lethal look in Bucky’s eyes, and tries again.

Steve joins in.

And so, when you roll into the kitchen a few minutes later, here’s what you find: three Avengers, three veteran soldiers, wrestling over a bag of Doritos. Bucky has Sam in a headlock, Sam is kicking Bucky’s shins and hitting him with a milky spoon, and for some reason, Steve is dancing around trying to tickle them both.

Clearing your throat, the trio freezes.

You smile.

“Gentlemen.”

Flailing arms and legs instantly break apart. Sam and Steve have the good grace to look chastened, both stammering embarrassed apologies. Bucky simply shoves a fistful of Doritos in his mouth and smiles triumphantly. Striding over to you, he wraps an arm around your shoulders.

“Babe, take my side here. You don’t want the whole world to see my nut sack, right?”

“Stop saying nut sack,” Steve hisses. “Nuts are gross.”

“Maybe your nuts are gross Steve,” Sam pipes up, rubbing his shirt with a wet rag, trying to clear away Bucky’s orange powder fingerprints, “but my nuts are awesome.” After a few harsh scrubs, he sees the futility and throws the rag in Bucky’s face. Stalking from the kitchen, he shouts something about laundry wheels and Oxyclean.

When you pluck the bag of Doritos from Bucky’s grubby hands, he releases them easily and grins at your exasperation. Sidling close, he rubs up against you like a needy kitten, so you hug him tight, dipping your fingers down to squeeze his butt.

“Please do it Bucky, I already told them you would. Wear anything you want, you don’t even have to smile,” you murmur in his ear, knowing precisely which buttons to push. “And besides, I bet I’m not the only one who wants to see those pretty blue eyes. Right?”

Bucky purses his lips. Wrinkles his nose. Grumbles under his breath.

And because you’re looking at him all wide-eyed and soft, he gives in.

Like he always does.

“Fine,” he huffs. “Fine. I’ll do it for you.”

“So much drama,” Steve mumbles through his granola. Bucky lunges for him, but Steve drops his bowl in the sink and skirts past, rushing for the door. Looking back, he throws Bucky a challenging smirk, before smacking into the doorframe. There’s a brief ricochet and then he’s scurrying down the hall, laughing as he goes.

“Idiot,” Bucky mutters.

Folding your fingers behind his neck, you turn his face back to you and kiss his stubbly cheek. “Thank you. Reason number one billion and two why I love you.”

At the brush of your lips, Bucky promptly grabs the back of your thighs and hoists you in the air. Spinning around, he shuffles over to the counter and drops you on top. Settling between your legs, hands flat on the counter boxing you in, his mouth finds the open space above your shirt collar and he proceeds to kiss every square inch.

“The things I do for you,” he breathes, sucking his favorite spot along your neck. It makes you shiver, that thing he does with his tongue. “You realize now I gotta go on a diet.”

“What? No, you don’t. You look perfect.”

Disappointingly, he stops that whole talented tongue thing and leans back. Grinding your heels into his butt, you kick him, urging him to stay put. Instead, he sighs in that tragic, pay attention to me way that only Bucky Barnes can do.

“Obviously I’m perfect, so are you by the way, but the camera adds five pounds. I have to preemptively lose it.” Crinkling up his now empty bag of Doritos, he throws it at the trash can and misses by a mile. He gives you a hangdog, pathetic sort of look. “This sucks.”

Bucky Barnes, ladies and gentlemen. The most dramatic human being on the planet.

“Don’t be ridiculous, you don’t need to diet. You could weigh a thousand pounds and it wouldn’t matter, you don’t - “

“Maybe not, like, a thousand pounds,” Bucky interrupts. “That’d make sex super hard. And not good hard. Just awkward hard. You know? Like when Hagrid’s mom and dad had sex. Which I still don’t understand how that’s supposed to work and I’ve done a shitload of research on it, been on all kinds of forums and talked to some experts - there’s a guy at SHIELD who specializes in interplanetary species relationships, I don’t know if you knew that - but anyway it just makes no sense because she would have killed that little guy if he tried to bang her, and I’m sorry, that’s the tea and I’ll fucking fight anyone who disagrees.”

Pausing for breath, he looks so earnest you almost hate to stop him.

“Buck, maybe we try one day where you don’t reference Harry Potter? I know you’re a fan, but - “

“I drew some diagrams,” he continues. “Boning diagrams. But like, I still can’t get it to work.”

Staring into space, he lets his marvelous tactical brain run every scenario of sexual acrobatics required to establish the feasibility of human-giant sex.

This could go on forever. Once Bucky gets knee-deep in fan forum theories, hours will lapse before he swims up for air. Many a morning has found him still in his boxers, laptop on his knees while he smashes the keyboard, arguing with virtual enemies about the physical features of Hogwarts house founders or the complex nuances of international Wizarding trade law.

The truth is - Bucky Barnes is a god damn nerd.

Clapping your hands, you drag him back to real life.

“Focus please. You’re good to do this then? Without the diet?”

“I really really hate it,” he replies, matter of fact, “but I really really love you, so if you want me to, I guess I’m in. But I’m still losing five pounds.”

“You’re my favorite, you know that?” Slipping your hands up under his shirt, you massage the tight muscles alone his spine and he hums happily. Flashing a lazy grin, he boops your nose.

“You know what? I think you should do it too. Be so great to have a sexy poster of you for those long nights when I’m gone and can’t sleep,” he waggles his eyebrows suggestively. “If you know what I mean.”

“I’m going to pretend I don’t know what you mean.”

“Whatever. Like you don’t have a folder full of dick pics with my name on it,” he laughs.

“I wish you’d stop sending me those,” you say sternly. “You know this is my work phone.”

“So? You always need fresh material for your diddle box. Keeps the romance alive,” he says. Reaching up behind you, he tugs open the snack cabinet and rummages for a new bag of Doritos. The airtight blurp of a new jar of salsa follows.

“I’m sure I’ll regret this, but - what exactly is a diddle box?”

Massive Winter Soldier eye roll.

“All the pictures and videos and sexy shit you use to masturbate. Clearly.”

“Why do I ask you questions,” you sigh.

“I’m starting my diet tomorrow,” he answers instead, before dunking a fresh Dorito in the salsa.

*****

The next two weeks are spent with Bucky mostly eating raw vegetables and baked chicken breast and loudly commenting on the sorrows of dieting to everyone he encounters.

“You’re being ridiculous Bucky. No one told you to lose weight.”

“No,” he says glumly, crunching a celery stick with a martyred expression. “I need to be hot. Beauty is pain.”

“You are a pain.”

He sighs dramatically. Stares wistfully into the distance. Snaps a carrot in half.

“The things I do for you.”

“Jesus.”

*****

AVENGERS CALENDAR SHOOT THIS WEEK!

Remember to be on time, or we will choose the worst picture of you and print that.

We’re assholes that way.

Thanks,

Management

*****

MONDAY

(SEPTEMBER: Danvers, Carol; Captain Marvel)

Carol throws her bomber jacket over her red, blue, and gold uniform, and adds a sleek pair of vintage Ray Bans. Climbing into the cockpit of her fighter jet, she turns herself all glowy and golden, the color bouncing merrily off the control panel. Tipping her face down to the camera, she flashes the Shaka sign and gives the photographer a huge smile.

(FEBRUARY: Maximoff, Wanda; Scarlett Witch)

Wanda goes all out on all things red. Clad in a long red dress and long coat, surrounded by hundreds of red flowers - tulips and roses and carnations - she curls her fingers and everything around her begins to glow with a warm red light. When she smiles at the camera, her head tilts shyly.

(OCTOBER: Lang, Scott; Antman)

Is Scott actually in the picture or did someone spill coffee? The photographer sees a white sheet and a black spec, and scratches his head in confusion. Antman is kinda weird.

*****

TUESDAY

(NOVEMBER: Rhodes, James; War Machine)

Rhodey shows up dressed head to toe in gunmetal colored armor. When he snaps the faceplate down, the photographer timidly asks if maybe he wants to show his face. Rhodey flips the faceplate back up, reminds the photographer how badass this armor is, and says nope. He’s all good, thanks.

(APRIL: Wilson, Sam; Falcon)

Sam has spent the last few nights practicing his Zoolander pout in the bathroom mirror. He decides to wear a tight black t-shirt and comfortable jeans, with his wings spread wide, Redwing hovering beside him. At the last minute, his sultry pout melts into an animated belly laugh and they decide to use that one instead.

(JULY: Rogers, Steven; Captain America)

Steve goes back to his roots. Wearing a too small shirt and holey old jeans, he gazes pensively at the easel in front of him, glossy blond hair combed in a perfect wave. Fingers dusty with charcoal, he points to the picture he’s drawing and insists they capture it in the photo as well. They later realize he was drawing a picture of his own ass. That month gets labeled “Steve Rogers and America’s Ass”.

*****

WEDNESDAY

(MAY: Stark, Tony; Ironman)

Tony wears the bottom half of his suit and his favorite Black Sabbath t-shirt. Posing in his lab, he floats a few feet off the ground, crossing his arms and giving that trademark smirk. Scattered around him are random bits of technology and a few arc reactors, with Dum-E and a steaming platter of cheeseburgers in the background.

(JUNE: Banner, Bruce; Incredible Hulk)

Bruce looks a bit rumpled. The publicity shy scientist in him detests these things, but he’s a good sport for a good cause. Surrounded by microscopes and beakers of dazzling green liquids, he allows the teeniest quirk of his lips. Hands tucked in his pockets, messy curls fall over his forehead, and Bruce just feels happy to be included.

(JANUARY: Romanoff, Natasha; Black Widow)

Natasha asks for her photo in black and white. Dressed in shadows and tulle, she is nothing more than a dark figure against a white backdrop. On her feet, are a pair of ballet slippers, their satin ribbons looped and laced around her ankles. When she arches slowly up on pointe, her arms curve gracefully over her head and there’s an ethereal stillness about the image. Natasha is amazing.

*****

THURSDAY

(DECEMBER: Odinson, Thor; Thor)

Thor wears an enthusiastic smile when he arrives - and not much else. Dressed in a cherry red speedo, black boots, and his swirling red cape, he stands with one fist on his hip and Mjolnir held lovingly in the other. When the photographer asks about his outfit, Thor proudly describes something called “fan art” he saw online of himself wearing this outfit, mentioning how many “re-blogs” it had. He thinks he might wear this outfit more often, if that’s what the Midgardians want.

(AUGUST: Barton, Clint; Hawkeye)

Clint has a cup of coffee in one hand, a pot of coffee in the other. He wears purple sweatpants and a grey tank top and he yawns every five seconds. When asked what pose he’d like to use, he pretends his hearing-aids are broken. He lays down for a nap and the photographer goes with that.

(MARCH: Barnes, James “Bucky”; Winter Soldier)

Bucky leaves his leather bondage gear, his excessive collection of knives and guns, and his murder scowl at home. Instead, he arrives in black jeans and boots, a dark blue t-shirt stretched across his broad shoulders, his tousled hair brushing the collar of his jean jacket. Perched casually on the seat of his restored Harley, he looks carefree and sweet, offering that signature smile that always sets hearts aflutter.

*****

When the final photo is taken, Bucky ambles over to where you stand with the photographer, reviewing proofs. Snuggling up beside you, he moves in for a kiss and stops in surprise.

“What’s with the lipstick?” he asks, bemused. “That’s new.”

You seem momentarily flustered by the question, stuttering something about losing your chapstick and trying new things. Bucky shrugs and dives in anyway. It makes no difference to him. Painted red or completely bare, your lips are always his favorite flavor.

*****

“They’re here!”

The box of calendars lands with a thump on the kitchen counter.

“Excellent. Are we hot?” Steve asks, his mouth full of cheesy pizza.

“I’m always hot,” Sam answers, ripping into the box. “Yesterday I saw a Buzzfeed post about how hot I am, and it said 11/10 recommend.” Yanking out the pile of calendars, he throws one to Steve. “That means more than 100% would recommend. I’m beloved.”

“Yeah, well, I’m a national treasure,” Steve argues. Reaching for a calendar, he flicks impatiently until he finds himself.

Leaving the team to laugh and bicker and poke fun of each other, you grab your bag (and another small package), heading off to search for your favorite assassin slash model.

His door is cracked when you reach it, low music in the background. Knocking lightly, you push it open.

“Hey Buck. Are you busy?”

Surrounded a chaos of metal, Bucky sits cross-legged on his bedroom floor. A tin of gun oil lays open beside him, a shredded old t-shirt in hand, while he cleans and reassembles his guns. This particular task has taken him literally all day, because Bucky Barnes has yet to meet a gun he doesn’t need.

(Seriously. He needs them. All of them. Stop questioning him, Steve.)

At your voice, an adorable smile scrunches up his face. Bouncing to his feet, he leaps gracefully from the middle of the mess and scoops you up, twirling in a circle and stealing your breath with a warm kiss.

“Hey sweetheart, what’re you doin’ here?”

“Something arrived. Thought you might like to see.”

Handing over the calendar, Bucky wipes his hands on his jeans. A nervous energy makes his fingers fumble when he riffles through the pages.

He stops abruptly at March.

“Huh,” he says, observing his portrait from every angle. Turns it sideways, upside down, pinches his lip. Squints a little. Finally, he nods. “Yeah. Okay, yeah. I look pretty great. I think? Right? I don’t know, what do you think?”

It’s funny.

Sometimes, you hold your breath when you watch at him. There are these little things. The bright excitement in his eyes maybe, or the way he scratches his jaw when he gets nervous, or the absentminded way he tucks his hair behind his ear.

It does things to your heart.

“Yeah,” you say, mesmerized by those little things, “you really do.”

Bucky looks up. Sees your face and breaks into a wide grin. He loves when you look at him like this, like he’s the only thing that matters. Like he’s your whole world. Like you love him.

It does things to his heart.

Snapping the calendar shut, he flings it on his bed. Blue eyes rake you up and down and he pokes his lip out in an exaggerated pout.

“Still think you should’ve done it too,” he says. “Bet you would’a looked so hot.”

At his comment, you reach into your bag and pull something free. Silently, you hand over a second square, this one wrapped in black paper, a silver bow taped along the edge.

“What’s this?” he asks curiously.

Shrugging, your expression stays neutral.

“Open it and see.”

Like a kid on Christmas morning, he rips the paper away.

He freezes.

Blinking rapidly, he looks up. Silver fingers delicately trace the shiny picture and he swallows hard.

“Honey, is this - did you do this for me?” he asks softly. Flipping gently through each page of this special, one-of-a-kind calendar, he shakes his head in slow disbelief.

Because there you are.

Posing in March, holding his favorite confetti cupcakes adorned with birthday candles in front of your naked breasts.

Posing in July, dressed in a vintage red, white, and blue USO uniform, white boots on your feet and crackling sparklers in your hands.

Posing again in October, wearing a slutty pumpkin dress with cut-outs revealing slivers of your sweet, sexy assets.

Each picture is incredible. Full of vivid colors and your sunny smile. No air-brushing, no fake poses, just you. Indescribable and undeniably beautiful, bursting with love.

All for him.

Bucky rubs his chest absently, feeling his heart thumping with every turn of the page. And then he reaches the last month, and there’s a strangled squeak. He stares intently at the page. Looks up at you. Back to the page. Back up at you. Closes his eyes briefly.

This is it, this is his favorite, his absolute fucking favorite thing of all time, the image instantly wiping all other thoughts from his proverbial spank bank.

There.

You.

Are.

Damn.

Tacked above you is a sprig of mistletoe, a concession to the holiday theme. But it’s the outfit that does it. Black combat boots, lacy red lingerie, deep red lipstick, and an empty thigh holster. You’re pointing one of his favorite guns at the camera and giving a sly wink.

Mind-blowingly, devastatingly, breathtakingly gorgeous.

Bucky awkwardly adjusts the rising situation in his pants, raising lust-blown eyes to yours. Licking your lips, you give him a hesitant smile.

“Do you - um, do you like them?”

It makes you panic when he says nothing. He simply stares. But then he sets the calendar carefully, reverently, aside. Slipping a hand behind your neck, he hustles you backward until you bump the door, slamming it shut. His warm mouth slants over yours, that talented tongue returning to sweep over your lips. The kiss is hot and frantic, tinged with an edge of wild excitement. When he finally breaks away, his voice is low, dark gravel in your ear.

“Listen. I’m gonna need you to get all those outfits and put on every,” he kisses your throat, “single,” he trails his lips up to your jawline, “one,” and now he’s panting in your ear, “and then I wanna take pictures of me taking everything off, before I fuck you so damn good. How’s that sound?”

Sliding a hand between his legs, your answer makes him tremble.

“Sounds like a deal.”

*****

#bucky x reader #bucky barnes x reader #beccas1kwritingchallenge #bucky fic #bucky barnes fic #bitsmasterlist #bucky barnes

5K notes · View notes

epochofbelief · 4 years

Text

“I don’t know the answer!”

A Rowaelin Oneshot

My other fanfic links:

What to Expect When You’re (Not) Expecting

Breath Control (Completed)

To whom it may concern: I expect Chapter Six of WTEWY(N)E to come out by this Friday night! For now, here’s a self-prompted Rowaelin oneshot I had some fun with and hastily wrote:)

Aelin slumped into the last remaining seat at the table in the center of the coffeeshop. Her study group (Lysandra, Aedion, Elide, Lorcan, and Rowan) had already been there for thirty minutes.

“Nice of you to show up,” Lysandra rolled her eyes but gratefully accepted the fresh coffee Aelin had ordered for her. “But at least I got a free coffee out of it.”

“I’m sorry I’m late,” Aelin sighed, setting her backpack down on the floor and unzipping it. “I got so caught up studying for the AP Gov test that I totally forgot about AP Bio.”

It was late April, and the AP Tests started in just a week. Aelin and her group (known as the Smart Ones at Terrasen High) had been studying for two weeks already. This was to mark their second to last AP Bio study session before the big exam. They had bets on who would score the highest already; Aelin, of course, was a shoo-in for a five, along with Elide and Aedion. Lysandra, Rowan, and Lorcan would probably receive fours. Everybody had placed money on it. That was something their group liked to do. It was a nice way to make a little extra money, and motivation to score well on exams.

Rowan adjusted his glasses on the bridge of his nose and pursed his lips at his best friend. “A text saying you were coming would have been appreciated.”

Aelin smacked his arm, trying to forget about the fact that she hadn’t texted him because of how she’d been feeling about him lately.

Namely, she’d been feeling like she was tired of being his best friend and wanted something more.

“I was in such a rush I didn’t want to waste a moment!” She sputtered.

Rowan looked at her. “Come to think of it, I’ve barely heard from you the past few weeks.”

She shrugged. “I’ve been busy studying. Or, trying to study.”

Aelin glanced at Elide from the corner of her eye and Elide raised her brows. Only Elide knew that Aelin had been questioning her feelings about Rowan for some time now. Elide had been the one encouraging Aelin to come clean, especially because they were all off to college next year.

Aelin shook her head slightly at Elide, who huffed out a breath and turned her attention back to her practice book. Luckily, Rowan seemed unwilling to pursue the subject and also turned back to his studies. Aelin was left to review her notes in peace, sipping her coffee as the noise and music of the coffee shop hummed in the background.

Unfortunately it was peaceful for about three minutes before she became aware of how close she was sitting to Rowan. So close she could feel the heat of his arm next to hers on the table. So close it was as if she could feel and hear every time he drew a breath. Her eyes slipped over the paragraphs in her book, retaining nothing. She kept trying to focus, reading the same page over and over again before giving up. Rowan sitting next to her, apparently indifferent to her presence, had consumed her brain. She had to get out of there, clear her head. Convince herself to focus on school and forget her best friend of ten years who would never, ever return her feelings.

So after twenty minutes of frustrated anti-studying, she slammed her book closed. “I don’t know the answers to any of these! Forget this, I’m going to fail. I’m taking a walk. If I don’t come back, I died trying to puzzle out the difference between glycerol and glycogen. Make Aedion pay my part in the bet, or something. Wouldn’t want any of you to lose out even if I’m dead.”

Aedion said, “Hey!” at her words, but other than that no one blinked an eye at her outburst. Aelin was prone to these little fits, often claiming she would fail the test and then scoring better than any of them. But usually, she didn’t do it in a public place and it wasn’t this severe. So a few moments later, Rowan slipped out into the dusky evening to find his best friend and hopefully calm her down.

He found Aelin around the corner of the building, sitting on the steps of the side entrance that had been boarded up years ago. The space between the coffee shop and dry cleaning business had become nothing but a dark, but clean, alleyway.

“Hey,” he said.

“Hi,” she responded softly, scuffing her feet along the rough concrete and keeping her eyes trained on her shoes.

“What was that back there? You know you’ll ace that test.” He came to a stop directly in front of her. His arms folded over his chest.

Aelin glanced up at him before returning her gaze firmly to her beat up Converse. Damn him and his muscular arms. Did he have to have those on display right now? She was trying to come to grips with the fact that her best friend (who also happened to be very attractive) felt nothing for her. Which was hard to do when he kept flashing his muscles at her and generally being the hot nerd that he was.

“I know I’ll ace it.”

“Then why’d you storm out? You shouldn’t be out here in this alley alone.”

“I can handle myself,” she said sharply.

He sighed. “I know you can. But I hate the idea of you being alone all by yourself out here. You know you can talk to me.” He hesitated and Aelin desperately wanted to ask him what he was thinking at that moment. “But, speaking of, you haven’t been talking to me much recently. What’s up with that?”

Was this the time to do it? Elide had insisted she tell him, told her the risk was worth it and they were close enough that the friendship would survive even if he didn’t feel the same. However, Elide also insisted that she thought Rowan did feel the same about Aelin.

“I’ve just. . . been doing some thinking lately,” she began slowly, not daring to glance at Rowan as he took a seat next to her on the stoop. Too close, he was way too close. His arm brushed against hers as she pondered what to say next. She was Aelin Galathynius for crying out loud. The smartest girl in school. And telling him was the smart thing to do, right? Get it over with so she could move on and focus on other things instead of wondering day and night whether he may return her affections.

“You’ve been doing some thinking? Wow, you never do that,” Rowan said sarcastically and Aelin chuckled despite herself.

“Thinking about other things,” she pressed, arms now wrapped tightly around her knees.

“Other things? Things other than AP scores and college and graduation?”

“Mmhm...” Rip the bandaid off, Galathynius. Do it.

But Rowan spoke up before she could force herself to say the words.

“It wouldn’t have anything to do with me, would it?”

Aelin slowly turned her head to meet his bright green eyes. The smirk he wore across the lower half of his face said he knew it all. And more than anything, that pissed her off. She jumped up, hopped down the three stairs and stalked a few steps down the alley.

“As a matter of fact, no, it doesn’t, you old buzzard! So mind your own damn business.” She turned her back on him, prepared to walk away. He’d smirked at her. He knew she liked him and all he’d done was think it funny! Aelin felt as though her head would explode, she was so angry. And underneath the anger lay. . . sadness. He must not feel the same if he was laughing. Why wasn’t he kissing her if he didn’t feel the same?

“Aelin.” His voice cracked through the slowly darkening alley, hitting her in the back and preventing her from going a step farther. Damn him.

“What do you want, you insufferable bastard?” But her words were weak, and her voice shook on the word ‘insufferable.’ She wrapped her arms tighter around herself for protection, and yet she couldn’t make herself take one more step away from her best friend.

Then arms--really muscular arms--wrapped around her from behind and she found her back flush against Rowan’s chest, his cheek coming to rest on her head. “Why won’t you tell me what you’ve been thinking about.”

“Because you know already.” She turned in his arms, one hand coming to rest in the center of his chest. Craning her neck to see him properly, the look in his eyes told her everything she needed to know. Told her everything she’d thought only moments ago about him being indifferent was wrong. Scarcely daring to breathe, she slowly rose up on her toes and brushed the lightest kiss against his lips, maintaining eye contact with him the whole time.

She lowered herself back down, her hand still on his chest, his arms still locked around her. For a moment, neither of them moved.

Then Rowan’s lips crashed into hers and their stillness became a chaotic and yet organized dance between their two bodies as they moved on each other. Aelin’s hands dragged up his arms, finally feeling those muscles she’d admired for months now. Years, even. His hands made their way down over her hips and then up, up, up until his fingers tangled in her hair. They couldn’t possibly get any closer than this and yet when Rowan pressed her up against the wall of the alleyway she dragged him with her so there was no space between them.

His tongue swept into her mouth in firm caresses, and she opened entirely for him. Only for Rowan would she have done this so quickly, so trustingly. It was as though time had stopped, and he kissed his way down her neck, her collarbone, and back up again until their lips met in a final clash, both of them desperate for more and yet weighed down by the mutual knowledge that they should join their friends before their friends came looking for them.

Aelin was the first to pull back, letting her head rest against the brick wall of the alleyway. Rowan grinned down at her. “You have no idea how long I’ve wanted to do that,” he said roughly, playing with a strand of her hair.

“Why didn’t you just tell me, then, buzzard?” Aelin said hotly.

“Well why didn’t you tell me?”

She glared at him. “Call it a draw?”

He nodded and pressed a final kiss--sweet, soft, this time--to her lips before pushing off the wall and taking her hand with his. “Let’s go study and then afterward. . .” He trailed off and Aelin’s toes curled. “We have some catching up to do, since you’ve been ghosting me for the past month.”

“Sounds perfect,” Aelin responded, leaning into his side as they walked back into the coffee shop.

They approached the table where their friends still sat, studying away. Everyone looked up at them as they returned, and Aelin watched as each set of eyes dropped to their clasped hands, then their mussed hair and faces Aelin knew were probably still a little pink. But instead of saying anything, Lysandra turned to Aedion and said, “Pay up.”

“Dammit!” Aedion exclaimed, scrounging into his pockets for cash. “I thought they’d make it until this summer.”

Aelin’s mouth popped open and Rowan dropped her hand. “You’ve been betting on us?”

“It’s group tradition,” Elide said, even as she snatched Lorcan’s wallet and retrieved a twenty dollar bill from its pockets. “I win,” she said, sticking her tongue out at Lorcan. As Aelin and Rowan took their seats, Rowan fuming and Aelin fighting back an amused smile, Elide turned to her friend.

“It was about damn time,” she told Aelin.

And Aelin glanced at Rowan, retrieving his hand once more. “That it was,” she said. “That it was.”

#throne of glass #aelin #rowan #rowaelin #rowaelin oneshot #lysandra #aedion #elide #lorcan #elide lochan #sarah j maas #tog #throne of glass fanfiction #throne of glass modern au #fanfiction #aelin galathynius #rowan whitethorn

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mysterioh · 5 years

Text

The Ignorant Beauty and The Beast of New York - Ch. 11

PAIRING: MOB!STEVE ROGERS X READER

Synopsis: Y/N is an exhausted bio major. Steve is danger with a capital DANGER. She thinks he’s a sarcastic prick with an impressive knowledge in art history. He thinks she’s cute even if she’s only running on one brain cell. All he wants is a single date, but she’s adamant upon denying.

Masterlist

A/N: just a short filler chap.

Like Peanut Butter and Jelly

"So you're a mobster now?" Quentin interrogated like a cop. A very judgemental and somewhat betrayed cop.

You look up from your book. "No, where did you get something stupid like that from?"

"You just said you're friends with that jerk!" He spat for the whole library to hear.

"Would you stop shouting we're in a library," you hissed.

"He's a fucking criminal," Quentin jeered.

"Listen he isn't so bad," you explained. You weren't defending him. You were just being honest. "He's kinda nice. He beat the crap out of this guy for me."

"Now you're making him kill for you?" He asked incredulously, "God, what's wrong with you?"

You rolled your eyes in aggravation. "I'm not doing anything like that!" You snapped. "He just so happened to be at work and helped me."

"Uh-huh, yeah," the brunette scoffed, crossing his arms over his chest and slumping in his chair. "Ever thought he might've put that guy there to do that to you?"

"What are you talking about?" you squinted at him, leaning towards him and against the table, slightly peeved by his attitude.

"What if it was all planned?" Quentin suggested. "What if he did it so he could make you like him?"

You shook your head in denial. "He wouldn't do something like that. He's not that kinda guy." Okay, why am I sticking up for this guy?

"Oh and you know a lot about him for some reason," he taunted whilst shaking his hands back and forth.

You grumbled audibly, slamming your book shut. "If you're gonna be an asshole Quentin, I'll just leave."

His hands drop and so do his shoulders. The curve of his lips runs crooked and you can tell he feels sorry. It wasn't so hard to read him. He knew you inside and out, and you knew him outside and in.

"Sorry, I'm not trying to be," he sighed regretfully. "I'm just worried about you. This guy's bad news, Y/N," he warned.

"He's in the damn mob. Hell, he is the mob. He runs the entire New York crime syndicate for crying out loud!" He shakes his arms animatedly. "Extortion, racketeering, drugs, all the worst things you could possibly imagine probably has something to do with him," he drops his arms and you could see he's doesn't like any of this. "I just don't want you to get stuck in that kinda life."

You blush a tiny bit and sit back in your seat. You twirled a piece of hair around your finger, trying to avoid his eyes by looking at your book. "But he's never really talked to me about the mob stuff. Sometimes I think he doesn't even remember he's in the mob."

"That could be for now. You don't know the future. What if he does a total 180 when he's got you in real deep?" He asked.

"It's not like that." You replied. "We're just friends."

"Just friends?"

"Just friends," you stated firmly. "Besides weren't you the one who told me to make friends? To get out of my comfort zone?"

"Yeah, but I didn't tell you to get all smoochy-smoochy with a criminal," he counters.

"It was nothing like that!" you defended yourself. "You're such a jerk!" You crossed your arms and looked away with a pout.

He chuckled, finding your reaction really cute. "You sure there's nothing I can do to change your mind?" He asked one last time.

"No, there isn't," you shake your head, defiantly.

"You crushing on this guy or something?" He dropped.

A burning hue of red darkens your cheeks and your face tells more than words could ever say.

"Oh my god, you are!" He groaned loudly, almost teasingly, slightly obnoxious. He slapped his forehead with his hand and wove his fingers into his hair. He shook his head in disappointment. "Where did I go wrong?"

"S-shut up!" You stammered.

"She's in love with a mobster," he repeated to himself as if he didn't believe it the first time.

"Shut your face before I do it for you." You leaned over the table, pushing it slightly towards him in an attempt to intimidate him.

He points at you while laughing. "Look at you!" He roared, loud enough to earn them a few glares from everyone else. "You're blushing like crazy!"

"N-no I'm not!" You refuted, cheeks burning brighter than ever. Why did you even tell him in the first place? Oh right, he's your best friend. Your very stupid friend who laughed at the dumbest things. You kicked him from underneath the table. He winces in pain but doesn't dare stop laughing.

"Ow, you tryna kill me, mob woman?" He asked between fits of laughter.

"I hate you."

"Mrs. Y/N Rogers," he hums while thinking, "has a nice ring to it."

A vein in your forehead snaps and the next thing Quentin knows, he's kissing a really heavy textbook, and wondering what his post-mortem was going to look like.

Quentin Beck. Male. 22. A whole idiot.

Cause of death: Bludgeoned to death with a Campbell Biology textbook. (She thick as fuck).

"So I take it things went well?" Bucky asked with a smirk, sitting across Steve in his office.

"Better than well." Steve beamed. "Amazing. Fantastic. Superb. Had the best damn time of life," he exclaimed.

Sam rolled his eyes. "All she did was kiss you on the cheek," he deadpanned.

"It's a step in the right direction," he stated positively. No bad vibes in his neighborhood. "This is monumental. We're really going somewhere. I could see it in her eyes. They were sparkling. I mean they always do but like more than usual."

"Y'think she even wants anything to do with the mob?" Sam asked.

"I don't know, but I sure as hell won't stop now," he countered.

The days following his lovely talk with you by the bus stop only consisted of daydreams and giggles, scene by scene replays of his favorite parts. The way your eyes shined under a starless sky. The feel of your lips on his skin. The feel of your lips on his skin.

Though it was short and quick, you kissed him. That had to mean something right? Something really good? There's a lot he still needs to know about you. But from what he did know, he knew you wouldn't just kiss any guy. You're a tough shell to crack and it might take time for him to chisel through the stony layers surrounding your heart, but he was getting somewhere.

Steve wasn't complaining. He was excited and determined. If this is what it felt like with just a meager kiss, then how would it feel to hold your hand? To share those cozy moments you said you liked so much? To be the only one you'd share your warmest smiles and most passionate kisses with?

The thought of that alone had Steve riled up like a shaken soda can. Fizzling inside and ready to burst the minute someone popped him open. God, if only you knew what you did to him.

"She's a bit of a firecracker. I think she'd make a nice addition to the family." Sam smirked, knowing full well he was striking a chord in the man's heart.

Steve lets out a breathy chuckle. Shaking his head lightly, he thinks about it just for a second. "Yeah, she's great."

"Now to more serious matters," Bucky interjected, reminding them why they were in the first place. He pushes a file in front of him. Steve opens it to find a picture of a man along with some papers. "Guy by the name of Rumlow wants to talk to you."

Steve raised a brow while looking through. "Who's he?"

"They call him Bullseye. He never misses a shot. He's also a bigtime narcotics man," Sam replied, "Gotta big field all the way in Morocco."

"Says he wants to expand the business," Bucky continued. "He's working with the Lucchese family, Helped him buy a warehouse and fronts to get set up."

"We've already got guys like him," Steve dropped the folder back onto the desk.

"Yeah, but this guy's different." Bucky pointed out. "This stuff that he's got is top of the market. And if we don't get in on this action it's gonna be a major loss." He stated. "Maybe not now or tomorrow but in the next ten years. I mean who knows?"

Steve frowns slightly while scratching the side of his neck. "I don't know. I don't trust him," he said doubtfully."Sam?"

Sam shrugs. "It's all on you big man."

Steve huffs. "Fine, I wanna meeting with this guy," he gets up and pulls his jacket off his chair. "Sometime tomorrow. And before that, I want every piece of information you can get on him on my desk in the morning. Send Clint and Scott."

Steve put his coat on and slipped his phone in his pocket.

Bucky raised a brow. "Where ya going?"

"Out," he replied curtly, heading for the door. He opens the door and they already know where he's going. Steve pops his head back in. "Oh and tell 'em to take the kid with 'em. I don't pay him to sit around all day," he reminded them. "Teach the kid some ropes and make sure he doesn't get shot in the head for saying something stupid, alright?"

"He's a pain in the ass," Bucky deadpanned.

"Never said he wasn't," Steve retorted. "But I don't need his auntie on my bad side. So do me a favor and deal with it," he stated firmly.

"Easy for you to say," Sam jabbed. "You're not the one who's stuck listening to him yapping about Star Wars or some crap. Kid's a nerd," he grumbles.

Steve chuckles while leaving. "Leave him alone. He's a good kid," he contended. "Anyways, I'm off."

"Why are you here?" You deadpanned.

"You don't seem very happy to see me," Steve said, sitting on one of the barstools lining the granite counter with a mischievous grin splayed on his face.

"That's because I'm not," you said flatly, wiping down the counter.

"Ouch, that hurt me right here," he winced while clutching his heart.

"That was my intention," you remarked, unable to stop the smile creeping onto your face.

Steve notices it. He obviously did. Nothing ever went past those pretty blue eyes. He leans over the counter with his arms crossed on top.

"Doesn't seem like it," he teases.

You click your tongue and push his face out of yours. He chuckles and you couldn't help but let go of a chuckle or two.

"You're an idiot, Rogers," you remarked.

Steve props the side of his face with his hand, watching the way you move around the place, frolicking from one spot to another. He watched you like you had the stars in your hands and hung them up in the sky. Even in a dull all-black uniform and hair twisted in a loose bun with a few strands running rampant, there's a glow to you that has him warm on the inside. Your face was bare, only marked with an acne scar here and there and dark circles underneath your eyes due to a lack of sleep and yet, he thinks you're the prettiest thing in the world.

"What?" You asked puzzled and slightly embarrassed.

"Nothing," he smiled, a tint of pink spreading on his cheeks.

"Don't you have anything to do?" You asked. "Or is the mob all talk and no work?"

"I finished early," Steve replied with a chuckle. "So I thought I'd meet my favorite waitress."

"Oh, I'm so honored," you replied sarcastically earning a roll of the eyes from him. You leaned over the counter in front of him with a smirk. "And what have I done to earn a visit from the high and mighty kingpin?"

"Stole my heart," he murmurs.

"What?" You asked standing straight. I didn't hear that. Let's pretend I didn't hear that.

"N-nothing," he quickly replied.

You shake it off as a trick of the mind. "Well if you're here we might as well do something," you dug your hand into your pocket.

"Good idea!" He exclaimed.

"Here," you slammed a stack of cards with a rubber band twisted a few times around.

He furrowed his brows. "What the heck is this?"

"My flashcards. You're gonna help me study," you stated calmly.

Steve groans. "I thought we'd do something more heartfelt to get to know each other more."

"There's the door if you wanna leave," you deadpanned.

"Fine," Steve huffs. "Gimme that." He snatches the cards from you.

Slipping off the rubber band, he flips through the cards and picks a random one.

"Alright," he reads the flashcard. First, he squints then opens them wide in confusion. "I don't understand what this says. It's not even in English."

"Lemme see that," you took it from him.

"It says deoxyribonucleic acid."

"What the fuck is that?" He questioned, his nose scrunched in disgust.

"Its DNA, stupid head," you retorted, slightly annoyed.

"Then why didn't you just write that?"

"Cause I wanna practice spelling it, moron, and cut the sass before I end up kicking your ass to next Tuesday."

Steve smiled, feeling a streak of mischief. "Damn, sweetheart, you sound so pretty when you talk like that. Keep going." He cooed.

Your cheeks burn read. "D-don't say things like that! You're such a weirdo!" You stammered with an angry pout.

"Oh, my heart!" He exclaimed while clutching his chest. "You're making me see stars!”

"Shut up, you idiot!"

"Why don't you make me with those pretty lips of yours?" Unable to say anything you yank on his ear hard and he yelps. "Ouch, that hurts!"

"Fucking good!" You shouted still pulling on him.

Wanda watched from the small window of the kitchen with a smile. "They make a good match, don’t they?" She asked May. May chuckles while watching you pour out your rage on the poor mob man.

"Like peanut butter and jelly."

A/N: School starts next week for me so updates will get slow.

TAG LIST: @ashwarren32 @rootcrop @siriusement @savedbystark @little-dark-empress @great-goddess-of-sin @boxofteenageideas @imsonick @scuzmunkie @achishisha @calwitch @chuckennuggets1213 @captainchrisstan @thirstybunz @voltage-my2dlove

#steve rogers x reader #steve rogers imagine #mob!steve #steve rogers #mobster!steve rogers #mobster steve rogers x reader #mob!steve rogers x reader #mob!steve rogers x you #steve rogers fluff #steve rogers x y/n

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urwelcomeforthis · 4 years

Text

“What do we do?” Kara asked as she and Nia stood staring at the cylindrical container laying on the grass next to the side walk.

“Um. Call Alex maybe? She might know.” Nia poked her toe out but rethought the trajectory of her foot and pulled back.

“She’s going to make fun of us.”

“Probably.”

Kara pulled out her phone anyway and hit Alex’s contact. It rang for a moment before her harried grad student sister picked up.

“What’s up? I’ve got five minutes before class.”

“Nia and I found a brain.” Kara hurried out, already nervous at the reaction she was going to get. Alex sounded stressed.

“I’m sorry what the fuck did you say?”

“Nia and I were walking to the dining hall and we are near the bio building and there’s a brain. In a jar. On the grass.” Kara knelt down to look closer at the brain, her stomach slightly recoiling.

“A brain.” A pause. “And you need me why?” Papers shuffled in the background and Kara sighed.

“We don’t know what to do and you were my first call. Since you’re trying to be in the CIA or whatever.”

“I’m not sure this is in the purview of the CIA. And I want to be an analyst, not sure how many brains in jars I’ll run into sitting behind a computer.”

“Aleeeeeex.” Kara whined, watching nervously as people eyed her and Nia as they walked past.

“Ok. Ok alright, why don’t you text that girl you were half in love with who stood you up last semester? Lisa? She was in the bio department right?”

Kara felt her cheeks darken. “How do you remember that? And I wasn’t in love with her I just liked her a lot. She was smart.”

“You literally never shut up about her. Text her and tell her. Maybe she can help since it’s after 7 and there’s no one at the school but nerds like her.”

“This is gonna suck.”

Alex laughed over the line. “Yeah well, you could have just left it and you and Nia would be half way through all you can eat cafeteria pizza. Listen I’ve got to go. Try that or just leave it Kara.”

The phone went dead in Kara’s hand as she heaved a dramatically deep sigh.

“She told you to text Laura didn’t see?” Nia asked as she squatted gingerly next to Kara.

“Yup.” Kara popped the p.

“You gonna do it?”

“Well we don’t have much choice do we?”

And so Kara pulled out her phone and pulled up a number she hadn’t deleted despite not using it in over 4 months.

Hey Lena. I don’t know if you remember me, I’m Kara? We met on Tinder last semester. Anyways I remembered you were in Bio here and... well this is weird but I’m outside the building and there’s a brain in a jar. It seems official - it has a label and everything. I don’t know what to do with it and thought you might know.

“That’s like an entire book you nerd.” Nia snorted as she looked over Kara’s shoulder.

Kara hugged the phone closer to her body, making sure she hit send. “Yeah well, it’s a weird situation and it deserves some explanation.”

She felt her phone buzz against her chest from where she held it.

Oh. Well ok, I can come out and see if it’s one of ours. That is so weird. If you don’t mind waiting for me I’ll be out in like five minutes.

“Oh my god she’s coming.” Nia squealed. “How funny that she stood you up for that dinner and this is going to be how you meet.”

“Yeah it’s hilarious.” Kara mumbled as her fingers flew across the screen.

Ok cool. I’m the blonde in the baseball cap standing by the you know. Brain.

Lena sent back a thumbs up and Kara felt her heart rate increase as she took in her appearance.

Today had been a lazy Saturday in the dorms and she was no where near prepared to meet the prettiest girl she had ever seen on a dating app before. Her grey sweats were old and threadbare and her black tank top had tons of fuzzies left over from her favorite blanket.

She began to frantically pick them off much to Nia’s amusement and was still doing so when the sound of heels clicking across the pavement caught her attention.

“Holy shit.” Nia whispered under her breathe and Kara looked up to finally see Lena Luthor in the flesh.

Holy shit indeed. She thought as the woman in the lab coat clicked closer to them.

Kara knew she was only 20 years old but she looked so put together in her professional attire, her high sleek ponytail swishing with every step.

Kara could feel a frog blocking her entire throat and immediately crossed her arms to hide her braless chest from view.

“Hi, are you Kara?” Lena asked as she walked up her eyes darting between Kara and the jar on the ground.

“Yep! Uh I mean yes. Hey. I’m Kara. You must be Lena.” Kara smiled and held a hand out, grateful when Lena took it in her own.

“And I’m Nia. And that’s a brain in a jar.” Nia helpfully pointed out after a few seconds of Kara and Lena staring at each other, jolting them out of the trance they were in.

“Right.” Lena knelt down and inspected the jar. “Well it’s one of ours. I wonder how it made its way out of the lab.”

“Maybe it just wanted to take in the great weather we’re having.” Kara joked.

Lena smiled, and to her left Kara pretended not to notice Nia roll her eyes.

“Yes well. Even so it’s time for it to go back home.” Lena pocketed the jar and stood back up, pulling a piece of paper from her coat. “And if you can forgive my absentmindedness and cowardice - this is the address to my favorite coffee shop. Tomorrow at 7? I promise to be there this time.”

Kara took the number, her fingers brushing against Lena’s own. “I’ll be there.”

Lena flashed a megawatt smile. “Great. I’ll see you then.”

#and they told the story at their wedding #i dreamed about a brain in a jar last night and wrote this because these little snippets are all i can do i guess #supercorp #supergirl #kara danvers #lena luthor

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smashskate · 4 years

Text

Jackie Jett - For @thesimsters-stories‘s Love Island

“Well damn! I’m Jackie, and I can control the weather!”

Name: Jackie Jett

Age: 26

Location: Del Sol Valley

Occupation: Weather Reporter

Traits: Non-Committal, Ambitious, Outgoing

Aspiration: World-Famous Celebrity

Skills:

Charisma: 8

Wisdom: 6

Dancing: 4

Acting: 4

Bio:

Introducing Jacqueline “Jackie” Jett, the semi-famous Weather Reporter on the Del Sol Valley Network, Channel 7. With hair about as big as her ego, Jackie is known for being loud, proud, and... another word that ends in -oud. Give us a bit to think of one, and we’ll get back to you.

Jackie grew up in the suburbs of Del Sol Valley, with her parents and two older brothers. She excelled in school, graduating Valedictorian of her class and getting accepted into Foxbury Institute’s Specialized Biology program. It’s safe to say that years of success definitely boosted her opinion of herself, which was struck down a few notches when the job market tightened up as soon as she graduated. Jobs in her field were hard to come by, and Jackie was feeling down on her luck. One day while shopping with her bffs, she was approached by a man who she assumed to be a model scout. It turned out to be Victor Price, one of the producers at DSVN, who offered her a spot as their new weather reporter. With the show’s viewer count draining as online news becomes the new craze, Jackie’s appearance is possibly the only thing holding the studio together at this point, and she knows it.

While Jackie does have some brains on her, her most admirable trait are her wits. She’s real cunning, and knows how to play the game to come out on top. Unlike some of the other applicants, long-term romance isn’t really Jackie’s thing. She’s much more inclined to one night stands and hookups, and anyone who lasts longer gets their number deleted from her phone. Jackie claims to love this lifestyle, much to her cuffed friend’s dismay. While they think she’s crazy for not wanting to get boo’d up, she thinks the idea of being tied down is absolutely sickening. So why would she apply for a show like Love Island, where the only goal is to find true (or true in terms of reality television) love? (Reason number 1 will shock you!)

Questions:

Briefly describe yourself and your life.

“If you insist, LOL! Alright, my name’s Jackie Jett and I’m 26 years old. If I look familiar, it’s probably because you’ve seen me on DSVN, during the 8am time slot, 9 on weekends. Shameless plug, I’m the hottest weather girl in the hottest city in the west! Sure, the job’s a bore at times and I really only got hired for my looks and not my now-useless biology degree, but it pays well and I get a lot of time off to do the things I actually enjoy! I’m not actually as dumb as I come off to our viewers. I’m college educated! Although, it doesn’t really matter much at the moment, so I figured why not have fun where I am now? Also yes, I’m a natural redhead. Anyone that tells you different is a disgusting liar.”

Any Hobbies?

“My hobbies pretty much only consist of me going out and getting drunk. But it’s not that bad! I’ve always been a party girl, since high school even. There’s nothing more fun than going to a nightclub and letting your inhibitions run wild for a few hours! And if I can witness some celeb drama happen live before I hear about it at the studio the next morning, that's always a plus.”

How long have you been single?

“Well, that depends on what you define a relationship as, doesn't it? If you’re talking about any kind of romance, than I’m technically never single. I’m just never with the same person! If you define it as a romantic, long term relationship, then not since freshman year of college. And I’d like to keep it that way, thank you very much. I love to have my options open.”

Why did your last relationship end?

“Again, if we’re talking longer term, he wanted to get more serious and I realized that it just wasn’t what I was looking for. I was 19 and I still wanted to experience so much before getting cuffed. He really didn't take it well, so kinda safe to say I dodged a bullet on that one.”

What are you looking for in a relationship?

“If I had to be in one? I would want the other person to know and respect that I’m not going to be tied down for the rest of time. The whole “open relationship” thing is a standard I like to set with my long term hookups, and I would like that to apply here as well. Also, they should be hot. I’ve been with every type of guy you can think of, but I’ve got standards. I like em sexy, who can blame me? I promise, if I get on the show I’ll try to restrain myself. Keyword try. Also generally don't be a dick. Just because I’ve been with a lot of men doesn't mean I’m less deserving of respect. Any guy that thinks differently goes out the door, sorry not sorry. Oh, did you know that I have Demi Lovato’s phone number? We’re, like, basically besties.”

What are you not looking for in a relationship?

“By this point in the interview I think it’s pretty obvious the one thing I’m super not looking for, LOL! But other than that, I’m open to a lot! Just depends on who’s asking.” *winks* “I’m really not territorial, but if any of the women try to shame me for my lifestyle, I’m not afraid to get my claws out. Women are supposed to support women, I’m not tolerating any bullshit.”

Something else we should know about you?

“Okay, I guess this is where I come clean. Well, to the producers at least. So, basically, for the last few months, our shows ratings and viewership have been dropping. Our analytics team looked into it, and we’re pretty sure it’s because of that Simstagram News update. Instead of watching the actual news, people are going there because it’s quicker and easier to get info. So one day, Victor comes up to me and is all like “I’ve got an idea and I need your help”, which is already fishy because that’s basically code for “I need to use your looks to get the show traction”. So I go into his office and he brings up the Love Island Application. And, like, at first I’m hesitant because I work in showbiz, right? I know how reality tv stars get perceived by the public. But then I realized that if the studio tanks, I’ll no longer have a job, which like, major bummer. So I say yes!

In the end, I’m here to stir up drama and look cute on camera, all as bait for people to come and watch live news. Of course, I get the added benefit of a longer segment on the show, and a boost in Simstagram followers! So it’s really a win-win! Honestly, I probably would have applied anyway, if I had seen the casting call before Victor showed it to me. A bunch of hot guys, hookups, and more drama than a Kardashian-Jenner Simstagram comment section? That’s basically my dream life! And hey, who knows? Maybe I’ll finally get a tan!”

Some fun facts:

Please, make more That 70′s Show references when you meet her. She’s never heard them before. You’re so original, oh my gosh.

She’s allergic to shrimp. Makes for a downer at fancy parties.

She doesn’t tan, just burns. Curse her Irish heritage.

She played volleyball in college. She was pretty good at it, but almost broke her nose, which cause her to quit out of fear of getting a nose job.

She’s definitely a B list celebrity. No, don’t look it up. The internet is full of misinformation. You can’t trust anything.

She watched Mr.Robot and now has tape over her webcam. Sincerest apologies to her FBI agent. He/She’s missing a lot.

She’s a secret drama nerd. She can’t sing for the life of her, but she did the occasional play when she was younger.

Although her brothers know she can make her own decisions, they’re still super protective. They’re like 6ft+ guard dogs that Jackie sicks on any man that harms her.

She's got a tattoo of a ladybug. She won't tell you where, you’ll just have to find out for yourself ;)

Despite her complaining, her and Victor are pretty close. They have that sibling type bond. Only if one sibling was able to fire the other.

#ts4 #the sims 4 #ts4 love island #ts4 love island entry #s4 #sims 4 #thesimsters-stories #oh I loved making this one #I think I have a thing for redheads lol

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1dffexchange · 6 years

Photo

Warm Blood

To: Eriza @booksncoffee

From: Natasha @wokeuptired

Summary: This is ridiculous, and Carver knows it.

She doesn’t even know his name, and he’s all she can think about. One kiss at an office Christmas party—an office where she doesn’t even work most of the time—and she can’t get him off her mind.

It doesn’t help that she’s spending a week working in said office, sitting at a neat freak’s desk and trying not to leave fingerprints behind while looking over her shoulder every five minutes to see if he—Mistletoe Boy—is at the coffee pot.

She’s beginning to think she dreamed him up.

ONE.

Carver Cantrell is not somebody who makes stupid decisions.

That is the first thing she would want you to know about her: this is not her modus operandus. She is not the kind of girl who buys a plane ticket and jets off to Paris on a whim. She doesn’t purchase expensive articles of clothing without stalking them online for a few weeks first. The wildest evening she has is when she orders something different from the Chinese place on the corner. Nobody would ever call her a wild child.

And she certainly doesn’t kiss boys she’s never met under the mistletoe at the office holiday party just because she feels like it.

Except she just did.

“Wow.”

Carver pulls back, unsure of which of them said that, her or the guy she’s just been locking lips with. Her heart is beating so loud she can hear it in her ears, and she can feel her blood hot in her cheeks. His eyes are bright blue, so blue she can feel them in her toes.

Which is a feeling she’s never felt before. Crazy, because Carver thought, right before this second, that she’d felt them all.

Her emotions have tended towards the severe ever since she was a kid. Imagine six year-old Carver, throwing a fit at the supermarket because her favorite cereal was out of stock, and her helpless mother, standing three feet away with her hands up so that other shoppers wouldn’t assume she was the cause of the tantrum. Skip to middle school, when Carver didn’t eat for two days after she and her best friend—the same Jess whom she roomed with in college, walked beside at graduation, and is currently accompanying to this party—had a fight. Just last month, she watched a Hallmark movie where a woman reunited with her teenage love after twenty-five years, and she sobbed for an hour.

Anger, sadness, happiness—Carver has always felt them all in extremes. She’s learned over the years to take deep breaths until the emotions calm down so she can figure out which ones to listen to before she acts, but they’re still there, nonetheless.

Like two minutes ago, when she turned a corner on her way to the restroom and walked right into the sturdy chest of the guy who currently has his arms wrapped around her. He sparked something in her right away, and the inches they’ve just put between them have done nothing to dampen that flame.

“Sorry,” he says. He tucks a strand of hair behind her ear, his fingertips warm. “I probably shouldn’t have done that.”

This is where she should say something like, “Fuck that, do it again!” but her mind draws a blank. Her brain is too busy considering his accent, which is decidedly not California surfer boy like every boy she’s dated since she moved here a year ago, to come up with something witty to fire back at him.

“Hey, Car—”

She looks over my shoulder to see Jess coming around the corner. She has a plate in her hand piled high with Carver’s weakness: angel food cake, the literal food of angels.

“I found this,” she says, holding it out. “And you. And, you’re busy, apparently—who’s this?”

Carver follows her gaze back to the boy in question, who’s pushing a hand through his hair and grinning. His hair looks like it’s straight out of a shampoo commercial. She should’ve touched it during their kiss. What a missed opportunity.

“Sorry, I—I was actually on my way out,” he says. His eyes return to her as he brushes a fingertip across her cheek before stepping back. “It was nice to meet you.”

“You too,” she manages before he turns away and disappears around the corner.

Jess grabs her elbow. “What was that? Who was that?”

Carver lets her tug her back into the party. “I have no idea.”

Five minutes later, Carver’s shoveling angel food cake into her mouth and recounting the last hour as Jess rambles on with the office manager, Kayla. Michael Buble’s Christmas album plays in the background, stockings hang on the wall, and a small Christmas tree sits in the corner, but nothing can disguise the fact that this is an office. A well-designed office, but an office nonetheless.

Jess has worked for West & Up for a year, and Carver’s going on month three. West & Up is one of those newer companies that’s popped up as interior design has become accessible to anybody with internet access. It’s part online home goods retailer (think Wayfair but a bit less fashionable), part interior design firm. Jess does web design, and Carver crunch numbers.

They both work in the Century City office, where a bunch of nerds in glasses occupy cubicles in a decidedly less fashionable building right next to the freeway. Carver had never been to the Santa Monica office before tonight, and she’s definitely been missing out, because not only can you smell the ocean from the balcony, cute boys also work here.

One cute boy in particular.

Carver has never felt such an instant connection with someone before, and she can already tell it’s going to consume me. This is how her mind works: it can only focus on one thing at a time, and that one thing nearly always becomes an obsession. That’s why she’s so good at math. Her OCD keeps her doing problems over and over again until she’s sure they’re perfect. And her OCD will no doubt have her going over that kiss incessantly.

“Carver, it’s going to be so great to have you here in January,” Kayla says. “I’m so happy you said yes.”

Carver swallows a bite of angel food cake and fakes a smile. Truth be told, she’s not looking forward to her temporary reassignment to the Santa Monica office. She hates changes to her routine, and she hates things that aren’t her choice. Kayla says she agreed, but when her supervisor presented it to her, it didn’t really seem like saying no was an option.

“I’m really excited to see how things work around here,” she says, which is about the best answer she can manage without the unrelenting guilt she always feels when she lies. She doesn’t tell Kayla she doesn’t understand why she can’t continue her internal audit of the company from her own cubicle.

She has a slight suspicion that she’s going to arrive for her first day in January and be instructed to count the pens in the copy room.

TWO.

Kayla Warner is not the kind of person who takes no for an answer.

This is typically something that works in Niall’s favor, because Kayla is the office manager and when she’s on your side, she gets shit done. Niall befriended her on his first day at West & Up, and ever since, she’s been going to war for him. She got him the best cubicle (aka the one furthest from the break room), always makes sure he leaves promptly at five, even if she has to drag him out herself, and never fails to order his favorite brand of pens. Usually Kayla Warner is his hero.

But now that she’s decided to be his matchmaker, he’s moving her decidedly into the “villain” column. Once Kayla has an idea in her head, there’s absolutely no talking her out of it. Which doesn’t mean Niall isn’t going to try.

THIS IS A BAD IDEA.

Niall watches as three little dots appear on his phone, showing that Kayla is responding to his all-caps message. He never should’ve told her about Mistletoe Girl in the first place, but Kayla could tell that something was up when he suddenly appeared way more interested in Kayla’s incessant stream of office gossip than he used to be. Kayla practically sniffed it on him.

“You kissed somebody at the Christmas party, didn’t you?” she demanded, the question mark only there out of politeness. Kayla’s like a bloodhound when it comes to secrets, especially secrets related to the affairs of the heart.

Not that Niall’s heart is involved here. He really doesn’t want it to be, because it shouldn’t be, not after one kiss. Even if it was the most perfect kiss he’s ever experienced in all his years of kissing–barely a decade, so he wouldn’t exactly call himself an expert, but he knows a good kiss when he sees it.

Kayla’s still typing, so Niall navigates away from the text message thread and opens Instagram. He’d scoured the employee profiles a zillion times over the past few weeks searching for Mistletoe Girl, looking at all the Carters and Carolyns and Carlas that work for the company, and he couldn’t find her. But now, thanks to Kayla, he knows her name, her actual name, so he can stalk her on social media.

Carver Cantrell. Her profile is private, so Niall can’t see much beyond her bio and her profile picture (her smiling face pressed up against a puppy’s much smaller one), but it’s gratifying to know that she’s real. It’s a relief to know that he didn’t imagine the whole thing. And it’s nice to know that she loves dogs. Loving dogs is a good sign.

Niall doesn’t blame himself for questioning his sanity. It was like something out of a romance film, wasn’t it? Kayla’s obsessed with those things, “Love Actually” and “27 Dresses” and all that. It’s not every day that you’re on the way back from the bathroom at the dreaded office Christmas party when a cute girl crashes into you right under the mistletoe. And it’s certainly not every day that a kiss with a stranger makes you reexamine the way you look at the world.

Kayla’s reply rolls in, distracting Niall from reading Carver’s bio for the hundredth time.

THIS IS A GREAT IDEA

YOU CAN LEAVE HER CHOCOLATE AND FLIRTY NOTES ON YOUR DESK

I’M A FUCKING GENIUS

The messages arrive one after the other in rapid succession. Kayla texts like she talks: without breathing. It overwhelmed Niall when they first met, the speed at which Kayla thinks and talks and moves, but he’s slightly less intimidated by her now. Slightly.

Sighing, Niall clicks through to the text thread and hits the call button. It only rings once before Kayla picks up.

“You’re not going to be able to talk me out of this,” she says. Something clangs in the background; she’s probably making cookies again.

“It’s a terrible idea in every way,” Niall says. He stands from the couch and goes into the kitchen. Speaking with Kayla always makes him feel like he’s not doing enough. Like he ought to be doing at least 6 things simultaneously while talking to her. “You know I hate people in my workspace. It’s like you’re making us move in together, and we’ve barely even spoken.”

Kayla laughs. “Exactly. This is a great trial run. I’m pretty sure she’s just as much of a neat freak as you are, but if she’s not, you’ll be able to tell, and then you can abort the mission.”

“I want to abort the mission already.” Niall opens the fridge and starts unloading it of containers full of leftovers that should’ve been thrown out weeks ago. “You’re the one who’s not letting me.”

“That’s because I am your best friend and I care about your well-being.”

“But—”

“I’m not hearing it, Niall Horan,” Kayla says. “Now stop pretending to clean your kitchen, hang up the phone, and figure out a plan for tomorrow, will you? I can’t do everything for you.”

“Are you sure you can’t?” Niall asks. “Because you’ve done the rest of this for me. So I think you could just—”

“Don’t be facetious, Niall, it doesn’t suit you,” Kayla says before hanging up.

Sometimes Kayla reminds Niall of his mother, and since she’s far away across the Atlantic Ocean, he doesn’t really mind that.

Except right now. Right now, it’s driving him crazy.

THREE.

On Monday, January 7th, Carver parks her car in the lot outside West & Up’s Santa Monica office. She’s ten minutes early, and she fully intends to use all ten of those minutes to have a panic attack in her car.

There’s a post-it on her dashboard that, at her therapist’s suggestion, reads, “EVERYTHING WILL BE FINE,” and she repeats that aloud to herself a few times, but it doesn’t help. She makes a list in her mind of all the things that could go wrong. Maybe her cubicle neighbor will smell like baloney sandwiches. Maybe she will embarrass herself in front of the CEO. Or, maybe, worst of all, she might run into Mistletoe Boy.

She’s done her best over the past couple of weeks to forget about him, but she hasn’t gotten very far. And Jess’s constant mentioning of the kiss hasn’t helped things. She’s scoured the employee profiles on the company website for the guy with the soft lips and the foreign accent that Carver kissed at the Christmas party, and she’s come up empty.

“He must be one of the ones with no photo,” Jess has insisted multiple times.

“Or maybe he doesn’t work at West & Up anymore,” Carver told Jess last night as she was waxing on about how her chances of running into him again were about to increase exponentially. “Or maybe he never did, and he was crashing the party and that’s why he ducked away so fast. Or maybe he’s engaged to one of the girls from HR, or—”

“Or maybe you’re looking for excuses,” Jess said, jabbing an elbow into Carver’s side. They were watching “Set It Up” on Netflix for the zillionth time, and Jess had paused in speaking all the lines along with the actors to remind Carver that she may have watched her chance at one true love walk out the door a few weeks back. “Do not hide in your cubicle for the next week, okay? You need to, like, make yourself visible.”

“How do you suppose I do that?”

“Go to the coffee machine, like, all the time. Introduce yourself to everyone you can.” Jess turned to Carver, her eyes wide, her tone serious. “And, for the love of God, make a fucking move if you see him again.”

Carver tries not to think about that right now, as she squints into the sunlight and curse herself, again, for leaving the house without her sunglasses this morning, as that’s basically a death sentence in Los Angeles.

She reads her post-it again: “EVERYTHING WILL BE FINE.”

Then she takes a deep breath and opens the car door.

Kayla practically pounces on her when the elevator doors open on the third floor. She checks Carver in and shows her where the restroom is and babbles the entire time about how great her New Year’s was and how she hopes Carver’s was great too and did she watch the ball drop this year?

“You can use Horan’s desk,” she says, leading Carver through the office. It’s an open plan, desks everywhere, most of them totally cluttered. Paper everywhere, knicknacks, dusty computer screens. But the desk Kayla guides Carver to is wiped clean. “He’s one of our architects. He’s on site all week.”

“You’re sure he won’t mind?” Carver runs her eyes over the spotless desktop. There’s a pothos plant in a terra cotta pot next to a black mug holding six identical black pens, and that’s it. The only bit of personalization she can spot is a dinosaur sticker on the corner of the computer monitor. Horan, whoever he is, clearly values cleanliness over, well, pretty much everything else.

It actually reminds Carver a little bit of her workspace, but at least she’s got more than one plant.

“Oh, yeah,” Kayla says. “He won’t care. He might come by in the evenings, though, so you should be out of here by five if you can, and don’t leave anything lying around. He’s a bit of a neat freak.”

“Right.” Carver pushes the keyboard out of the way and puts her laptop on the desk. “I’ll be out of here by five.”

“You know where I am if you need anything. See you at lunch!” Kayla calls as she disappears around the corner

Carver opens her laptop and clicks through her email to the spreadsheets the company wants her to look through. Luckily she hasn’t been asked to count any pencils yet, but the day is still young.

By lunch time, her fingers hurt and her eyes are dry. Kayla takes her to a salad place across the street, and Carver forces myself to choke down kale topped with assorted vegetables. When she was younger, she believed that she’d magically develop a taste for salad once she reached her twenties, since it’s what twenty-something professionals always ate for lunch on tv shows, but it hasn’t happened yet.

Then she returns to Horan’s immaculate cubicle, puts her earbuds in, and zones into the work. She used to think that she’d have to hate her job in her twenties, just as she’d have to love salads, but the truth is, she loves it. She loves columns of numbers and when there’s a knot in the data she has to untangle. She loves losing herself in it, because in the numbers there is always an answer.

In life, there often aren’t answers, and she’s not a fan of ambiguity.

Before she leaves, she can’t resist opening the top drawer to see if that’s where the owner of this desk hides his mess. But, no, it’s just as organized as the surface. Plastic bins hold pens, paperclips, pencils, and post-its, all in separate sections. There isn’t a thing out of place. She wonders if he uses dinner plates with dividers, too.

Carver snags a bright pink post-it out of the drawer and scrawls a quick note on it before sticking it to the monitor.

Thanks for letting me use your desk. I tried not to leave too many fingerprints. Sorry for snooping through your drawer, but I wanted to find your organizational weakness. Apparently you don’t have any. Congratulations. - Carver

FOUR.

Niall chickened out.

After all that berating last night and a pep talk via text from Kayla this morning, he chickened out. He didn’t leave anything at his desk for Carver, and, to top it off, he hasn’t been able to stop thinking about it.

Every day at the Wilson project is a busy day, and today was no exception. This morning, two of the guys ripped out the old range and found faulty wiring, which is a remodel nightmare second only to flooding. That should’ve been enough to distract Niall, but it wasn’t. He pulled out a pen to make some notes and wondered what kind of pens Carver likes. He looked at granite samples with the Wilsons and wondered if Carver would think the black countertop would darken the room.

And then he thought about how fucked up it was that he was thinking about what Carver would think, considering he doesn’t even know her. Fucked up and creepy.

But here he is anyway, driving to the office in 5 o’clock traffic to see if Carver’s left any mark on his cuble. A very small, slightly creepy part of him is hoping he’ll be able to catch a trace of her perfume lingering in the air. He doesn’t have the vocabulary to describe scents, but he smelled it on her the night they kissed, and he knows he’ll recognize it instantly if he smells it again.

Kayla’s already left, which means he doesn’t have to face an interrogation when he passes her desk. The entire office is pretty much cleared out, which is how he likes it. Honestly,if he could work from home, he would. Other people are exhausting.

Which is part of the reason he’s afraid, he thinks, of meeting Carver. He’s idealized her so much in his head, but what if when he meets her, really meets her, she’s boring? Or annoying or just plain exhausting? What if spending time with her makes him wish he were spending time alone? The disappointment could crush him.

Which is why it’s easier to pretend he doesn’t care.

As he rounds the corner towards his cubicle, his heartbeat quickens, which is a total betrayal of his attempts to be nonchalant about this whole thing. He takes a deep breath, but it doesn’t help. Then his desk comes to view.

Nothing appears to be amiss. His chair is tucked in just the way he likes it, all of his black pens are still in their black mug, and his dinosaur sticker hasn’t moved. But—

Wait, what is that?

Niall grabs the post-it off the monitor and brings it up to his face. Is this Carver’s handwriting? It’s much neater than he’d expected based on the way her hair was slightly askew at the party. One’s general upkeep, he’s noticed, tends to belay their handwriting, and their handwriting reflects their level of organizational mastery.

Niall’s own hair is always flawless.

He reads the note to himself a couple of times, smiling at the mention of fingerprints. Apparently Carver has a sense of humor. And she might like post-its just as much as he does.

Hmm. Niall takes a seat at his desk, opens the drawer for another post-it, and grabs a pen. Time to come up with something clever to say in response.

FIVE.

In the morning, there’s a new post-it note on the monitor. Carver grins when she first sees it, because she’s always loved the idea of penpals, letters exchanged between strangers. She’s never had one herself, but novels always made it seem like you could tell your friend who lived worlds away things you couldn’t tell your BFF who lived next door.

Carver doesn’t have any such expectations of Niall Horan, of course, but it still makes her a bit giddy to see that he’s written her back.

But that feeling disappears as soon as she reads the note.

Thanks for your note, and thanks for keeping my desk clean. I don’t know what you’ve heard about me, but I don’t really mind fingerprints. As long as there aren’t too many. And you keep them off the computer screen. You have neat handwriting, though, so I think I can live with you using my desk for the week. - Niall

Carver turns the post-it face-down on the desk. Maybe she was slightly rude in my post-it, but his message is ruder. “I can live with you using my desk for a week”—who talks to a stranger like that? It might be sarcasm, but he should know better than to be sarcastic in a note. There’s no room for nuance in a post-it note, they’re much too small.

What Carver wants to say in response is also much too long for a post-it note, so she yanks open the top drawer in search of notepaper. Her desk back in her cubicle hosts a variety of cute notepads and post-its, but all she can find in Niall’s desk is a small yellow legal pad. Despite its unattractiveness, it’ll have to do.

She does decorate the corner with a giant flower, though, courtesy of one of Niall’s five identical black pens.

Dear Niall,

Thanks for your note. I appreciate that you can live with me using your desk for a week, although I’d like you to know that I’d gladly vacate for another workspace if given the chance, since you seem like an asshole. Is that your weakness? You don’t know how to be nice to strangers on post-it notes? Good luck with that. I hope you enjoy being alone.

Note written—or at least started; Carver thinks she might have more to say later—she shoves it under Niall’s keyboard and opens her laptop. She’ll leave it there for the day, keeping it in the back of her mind, and right before she leaves, she’ll decided whether or not to leave it.

No impulsive decisions, even in anger.

Except maybe she should be impulsive. Maybe she should stand up for herself, even though there may be negative consequences, like an even ruder reply tomorrow, or a chastising by Kayla or even a meeting with HR for inter-office harassment.

Carver goes back and forth about it all morning. She spends a bit of mental energy regretting leaving a note at all yesterday, and then a bit more energy wishing she’d asked Kayla more questions about the owner of the desk. Like, is he a nutcase? Is he obsessed with fingerprints? Because he catalogues them? Because he’s a crazy, stalking, murdering, psychopath?

By lunch time, Carver feels like she’s bursting at the seams. Kayla shows up for lunch, and Carver practically leaps out of her seat. They barely make it out of the building before Carver brings it up.

“Hey, so this Horan guy? What’s he like?”

Kayla looks over her shoulder as she pushes out the front door of the building and into the sunlight. “Why do you ask?”

Carver wrinkles her nose at Kayla’s smile. “He left me a super rude note.”

The smile drops instantly. “What?”

Carver squints into the sunlight and stops to fish her sunglasses out of her purse. “Yeah,” she says to Kayla. “I left him a note last night, thanking him for letting me use his desk and whatnot, and I come in this morning to a note that’s like, don’t leave too many fingerprints and I won’t kill you.”

“What? There’s no way Niall wrote that,” Kayla says.

Carver follows her into the same salad place as yesterday. “I mean, I may’ve exaggerated a little. But that was the gist of it.”

The conversation pauses as Carver orders her food—the same salad as yesterday—but Kayla brings it up again as soon as the two of them are seated. The restaurant isn’t exactly quiet, but Kayla is not the kind of person, Carver’s beginning to realize, who lets a loud space hinder her conversation.

“Niall is not an asshole, I promise,” Kayla says. She extracts a metal straw out of her bag and sticks it in her drink. “He’s just not that good at people.”

“What?”

Kayla shrugs. “Listen, I’ve been friends with him for three years. He doesn’t always make the best first impression. Like, he tries, but it’s hard for him.”

What? Carver thinks the question this time instead of voicing it. She understands being socially awkward, but the best thing about written correspondence is that you can revise it a thousand times before sending it off (or, as it were, leaving it taped to a monitor).

“Like, okay,” Kayla continues. “He probably thought he was being funny. But he’s such a dingbat he doesn’t realize that sarcasm doesn’t translate when it’s written down, or he thought he was making a joke and he didn’t realize that he’s not funny. Like, he’s really not funny.”

Carver tries to think of something to say in response, but she finds herself coming up empty. Kayla’s trying to apologize for Niall, but Carver’s realizing that she really doesn’t want to hear it. Luckily her salad arrives, saving her. She shoves a forkful of lettuce into her mouth and chews as Kayla rambles on.

Finally, Kayla pauses, so Carver asks what she really wants to know. “So, do you think I should write back?”

Kayla’s fork hovers in the air on its way to her mouth. “Do you want to write back?”

Carver blinks. “I don’t know what I want to do.”

“Well, I’m a firm believer that you should do whatever feels right to you,” Kayla says, setting her fork down. “So maybe what you need to do is figure out what it is you want to do.”

Carver nods, repeating that over and over in her head until it starts to make sense.

At least, the words make sense. She still has no idea whether or not she should leave the note.

SIX.

“I wrote her a note.”

“Yeah, I know, you idiot,” Kayla says sharply. “What the fuck were you thinking?”

Niall nearly drops his phone. That would be especially bad considering he’s currently squatting over a puddle of water in the middle of the Wilson construction site. He’s downgrading it from kitchen to construction site, since every 10 minutes a new problem arises that requires something else to be ripped out or torn up. The drywall is gone, revealing rotting studs, and when they pulled up the tile this morning, they found mold in the floorboards.

This house isn’t even old. Niall doesn’t understand it.

But he has to deal with it nonetheless.

“What are you talking about?” he asks.

“She asked me about you,” Kayla says. She’s whispering, like maybe she’s sitting at her desk right now and doesn’t want to be overheard. “Hold on, let me go outside.”

Niall stands up and turns his back on the other guys staring hopelessly into the puddle. He walks into the Wilsons’ backyard, which borders a strip of land known for being a mountain lion hotspot. When he first moved to LA, Niall was fascinated with them, with P-22 and his brave freeway crossings (both the 405 and the 101) and his adventures around Griffith Park. Experts say that P-22 will probably never leave Griffith Park’s 8 square miles, which is only half a victory. He’ll be safe because he’s the only male mountain lion living there, but he’ll never mate. His line will end with him.

Niall isn’t nearly as pessimistic about his own future, but he does have a few things in common with P-22. In a city surrounded by people, sometimes he feels like he’s living on an island. Anyone who wants to get to him will have to cross treacherous territory.

“Okay, I’m back,” Kayla says in Niall’s ear. “Now tell me what the fuck you were thinking, please.”

“I still don’t know what you’re talking about,” Niall says.

“Your note! You were a total asshole. At lunch today Carver was like, who is this guy and what the heck is his problem? And she’s totally right. What the heck is your problem?”

Right now Niall’s problem is that Kayla doesn’t seem to be planning on letting him get a word in. “Well—”

“Stop talking. I’ll tell you what’s wrong with you. You don’t know how to be nice to people because you are afraid of making authentic connections because then someone might get close enough to see that you’re as perfect as you pretend to be.”

“Hey—”

“It’s not your turn, idiot. You need to fix this now, because you haven’t completely ruined your chances, but you’re close, I can tell you that. I tried to tell Carver that you’re just bad at first impressions, but she wasn’t hearing it. Like, she literally zoned out and stopped listening to me.”

Niall feels like doing that right now. He also feels like jumping headfirst into the Wilsons’ pool, or throwing his phone in so the water can drown out Kayla’s voice. Or maybe he should leave his phone here and walk off into the forest and make a new home with P-22. The mountain lion won’t judge him. It might attack him, but it certainly won’t do so while calling him an idiot.

No, Niall can do that himself. He definitely feels stupid right now. He thought he was being witty and maybe even flirty, but clearly none of that came across. Instead he made himself look like an asshole, and he’s probably completely ruined his chances with Carver, who—he can admit this to himself, even if he hasn’t said it out loud—might be the one girl who could save him from a P-22 fate.

“So figure out a plan, Niall, because Carver is probably sitting at your desk right now writing a note to you about how much of a dickhead you’re being, and your deserve it!” Final words voiced, Kayla hangs up.

Niall sighs, allows himself a moment of self-pity, and opens the notes app on his phone to make a list.

Before end of work day:

- Call plumber

- Figure out how to explain further delay to Wilsons

- Call Wilsons, explain, apologize

- File report with office

By tomorrow AM:

- Fix Carver problem

- Refill gas tank

- Sleep?

It’s shaping up to be a busy afternoon.

SEVEN.

Carver wakes up the next morning feeling perfectly normal, and then she remembers what she decided. Before she left the office, she pulled her note out from underneath Niall’s keyboard, signed her name to it with a flourish, and taped it to his monitor.

She sits up in bed, overcome with a wave of nausea. Assuming Niall went to the office last night, which he most likely did because he seems like the kind of person who follows his routines religiously, without exception, there is going to be a note waiting for her, and it’s probably not going to be a nice one.

But when she gets to Niall’s desk, there’s nothing there. Her note is gone, but there isn’t a new one.

Fuck. There are so many things this could mean. Maybe he read her note and was so annoyed by it that he decided she wasn’t worth responding to. Maybe he laughed and crumbled it up into a ball and tossed it over his shoulder as he walked through the parking lot to his car. Or maybe a janitor threw it away and he never even saw it.

Carver pushes it out of her mind, though, because she has work to do. There are numbers to be crunched and data to be sorted and there is plenty to distract her anxious mind.

But she can’t get the note out of her head. How did he react to her note? Why didn’t he respond? Is she a terrible person for leaving it in the first place?

Just before 11 AM, Kayla pops her head over the edge of the cubicle, a mug of coffee in her hands. “Morning,” she says. “Can you do me a favor?”

Carver minimizes my spreadsheet and grins. “Of course. I need a break anyway.” That isn’t an overstatement. With all the circles her brain has been going in, Carver wonders how she managed to get anything done this morning.

“Great.” Kayla holds out a manila envelope. “Can you take an early lunch and drop this off for Horan at the Wilson house?”

Drop this off for Horan. Oh, shit.

“Of course,” Carver says, but meanwhile her brain is having a heart attack. She hates spur of the moment plans, she hates going to places she’s never been before, and mostly she hates that she might be about to confront Niall in a place she’s never been before, where she can’t control anything.

She can’t say any of that out loud, though, so she takes the envelope from Kayla and puts the address Kayla gives her into Google maps on her phone. She blasts the “Mamma Mia” soundtrack on the drive, but it doesn’t help calm her nerves.

Even though the house isn’t geographically that far away, it takes nearly half an hour to get there, which must be why Kayla told Carver she wouldn’t expect her back before two. Los Angeles traffic is no exaggeration.

She parks her car at the end of a long driveway and pushes her sunglasses onto her head. She remembered them this morning, but she doesn’t think they’re going to save her from whatever is going to happen at the top of the drive.

The house is the first thing that shocks her. It’s beautiful, and that’s not a term she typically uses to describe architecture. She may work for West & Co., but she’s a math geek. She’s a human computer. She doesn’t have a natural taste for beautiful construction, but this she recognizes. It’s two stories and massive but not obviously so, because the facade has varying heights and it doesn’t look like an imposing box. She can tell, though, that the people who live here are loaded. There are mediterranean stones and slightly tinted window panes and she can just bet that the back of the house is entirely glass to give the residents the best possible view of the hills behind.

She walks through a beautifully manicured front yard to find that the front door is open, so she goes inside without knocking. The front hall is two stories high, and a living room with mid-century modern furniture is on the right. It looks like it belongs in an Architectural Digest celebrity home tour on youtube. There is no clutter anywhere, like maybe no one lives in this house and it’s actually just used for filming and photoshoots.

Carver follows the sound of hammers through to the kitchen at the back of the house. There are floor to ceiling windows, just like she expected, and even though the kitchen is entirely deconstructed—it looks like custom cabinets are currently being installed—she can already tell it’s going to be beautiful.

“Hey, Horan!”

Shit. Carver follows the direction of the shout and steps further into the kitchen, and that’s when she sees him.

He’s outside, so they’re separated by a massive kitchen and a sliding glass door, but it’s definitely him.

It’s Mistletoe Boy.

It can’t be, though, right? He can’t be Niall. Niall can’t be him. They can’t be the same person.

But then somebody shouts, “Horan!” again and Mistletoe Boy turns and, oh shit, he’s coming this way, and Carver definitely cannot deal with this right now. She backtracks out of the house and grabs a construction worker who’s just coming in.

“Can you give this to Horan?” she asks, holding out the envelope. The guy wrinkles his brow, but he shrugs and takes the envelope. “Thanks,” Carver says, and then she practically runs to her car.

Carver starts the engine as she’s buckling her seatbelt (even though her mother taught her never to do that), and she drives out of the neighborhood with her heart attempting to beat its way out of her chest. She pulls into the first parking lot she sees, shuts off her car, and leans her head on the dashboard.

Of all the things to happen today, it had to be this. She had to find out that Mistletoe Boy and desk asshole Niall Horan are the same person, and that had to happen at his construction sight and it had to be a total surprise, and now she’s sitting in her car in a parking lot outside of a Whole Foods and this is fucking Beverly Hills or something (Carver really doesn’t know where the fuck she is right now) and she’s probably going to get arrested for having a panic attack in her car.

Deep breaths, Carver, her voice of reason tells her, and she leans her head back and tries to listen. Her dashboard post-it tells her that “EVERYTHING WILL BE FINE” but that doesn’t seem realistic right now.

Nonetheless, Carver says it out loud.

“Everything will be fine,” she tells the steering wheel.

“Everything will be fine,” she tells her bitten-down fingernails.

“Everything will be fine,” she tells her purse, haphazardly thrown on the floor on the passenger’s side as she rushed away from the Wilson house.

“Everything will be fine,” she tells herself.

Then someone knocks on her window, causing her to shriek.

Everything is not going to be fine.

EIGHT.

Carver looks up, eyes wide, and Niall regrets this immediately. When he saw Carver rushing to her car looking as though she’d seen a ghost, he knew instantly that she saw him, realized who he was, and panicked. His brain told him that if he let her go now, he might never see her again.

So he followed her out. He jumped in his truck and trailed her car out of the Wilsons’ fancy neighborhood and into the parking lot of a Whole Foods. Whole Foods is a store that he generally tries to avoid because the prices are ridiculous and all of the Prius drivers in the parking lot give him dirty looks when he parks his truck, but none of that matters right now.

What does matter is Carver, and she looks like she would rather cry than talk to him.

Too bad, because for the first time in a long time, Niall doesn’t want to walk away from this problem.

He meets Carver’s eyes and waves. She grimaces, so he tries to smile. Carver closes her eyes, takes a visible deep breath, and reaches for the door handle.

“Shit.” Niall takes a step back, out of her way, and tries not to panic. He didn’t really think this part through. What the hell is he going to say to this girl? This girl of his dreams? The girl who is now standing in front of him, leaning against her closed car door, looking up at him like he’s already broken her heart.

Damn, what a mess. Niall hates messes.

“Hi,” he says.

“Hi,” Carver says. She looks exactly as he remembered her: green eyes, blond wavy hair, oversize glasses. Just as cute as she was before Christmas.

He said hi, then she said hi, so it’s his turn again. Unfortunately, his mind is blank.

This was much easier in December, when they were standing in the dark under the mistletoe and Niall didn’t yet know that the kiss they were about to share would haunt him for several weeks following.

“Sorry about the note I left you,” Carver says, saving his ass. “I shouldn’t have written any of that.”

Niall shakes his head. “No, I deserved it. I’m a terrible note writer.”

Carver bites her lip; she’s either holding back a smile or a frown. “You could definitely use some practice.” It’s definitely a smile.

Niall smiles back. “Will you let me try again tomorrow?”

Carver nods.

NINE.

Dear Carver,

This is what I should’ve written in the first note: I knew that you were using my desk, and by that I mean that I remember you from the Christmas party. I’m glad that you’re using my desk, but what I’d like better is if you’d go out on a date with me. I think you’re kind and funny and sweet, and I want to learn more about you.

Best,

Niall

TEN.

Dear Niall,

Yes.

- Carver

#1dff #exchanges

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