#the thousands of artists must rip their hair out at stuff like this

[aleppothemushroom]

The internet when Pixar's upcoming movie isn't literally a genre-defining, art house, greatest film ever made: CLICHE! CLICHE! PIXAR HAS LOST IT'S MAGIC! RIP PIXAR!

[dreamescapeswriting]

The Night Tour ~ KNJ [Request]

↬↬↬Word Count: 2K

↬↬↬Genre: Fluffy!!! Non!Idol Au, Street artist Reader! Museum worker Namjoon

↬↬↬Pairing: Namjoon x Gender Neutral Reader

Namjoon walked down the streets with his glasses on, he'd heard that the famous unknown street artist was out again and he was dying to get a glimpse of their work again. He'd slipped into a hoodie, jeans and put on his thick-rimmed glasses, he wanted to be ready to see the work that was bound to be amazing just like the rest. He had been walking around the streets for hours trying to find out where the artist would hit but it always changed whenever they did something, the last time it was an abandoned factory floor and Namjoon had just missed the artist. The paint cans were thrown to the side and the paint dripping wet so the artists couldn't have been far. His head spun around when he heard the familiar sound of a spray paint tin hitting the floor, he thought it could have been them but it was just kids spraying on the side of a dumpster. The first time he'd ever seen some of the artist's work was when he was walking home from a night shift at the museum he worked in.

The museum he worked in was four floors high, it was just an art museum where he took night shifts patrolling the corridors to make sure nothing was ever stolen he had hoped the night work would eventually lead onto the day work but it hadn't happened. So he spent most of his night walking around the museum and taking note on everything he saw, learning everything he could on each piece that was there. So much so in fact that he could probably give the guided tours with his eyes closed taking people around there. 

"See you tomorrow Namjoon," The day guard said as Namjoon walked out of the back entrance and into the alleyway of the museum where he was shoved against the wall quickly as someone in a hoodie raced past him, 

"Hey! Watch it!" He yelled out at the person when he was pushed against the wall again by two policemen who were racing after the first one. 

"Sorry, sir!" He shook his head at the officer that had apologised and began his slow walk home towards his apartment in the middle of town but that was when he noticed it, a giant spray-painting across one of the walls of a building in the alleyway. It was beautiful, the painting was telling a huge story about global warming and what it was doing to everyone around them. 

"Whoa." He ran his hand over the paint when he felt how wet it was, whoever the police were chasing must have been the artist that had created this masterpiece. He took a step back to admire it, even more, when he noticed the tag along the side of it, 

'Zee'

He took a photo of it on his phone before searching for the tag online, there had to be someone else who had seen this artwork before and as he walked he dove deeper into the artist. 

"An unknown street artist who goes by the name Zee, are they ruining property or just spreading a message?" He whispered to himself as he walked up to his apartment building and opened the door, he held it open for an elderly lady who thanked him before leaving. He clicked on images scrolling through to thousands of posts from people all sharing what amazing work that artist had done, it was incredible. Whoever Zee was, took things that were happening within the world and painted them onto the side of buildings, tracks and billboards so that people would finally come to their senses. 

"Who are you?" He whispered seeing the same black hoodie that had sprinted past him in the alley, people had caught glimpses of Zee before but never their full face. No one knew who they were or what they looked like. It was clear Zee wanted their identity to be hidden for a reason - mostly because of the cops Namjoon thought but this only intrigued him more as he continued scrolling for hours. Learning everything he could about their art style and being captivated by each masterpiece that could be found.

As he was about to give up on finding Zee when he heard sirens and someone yelled out a string of curse words before dropping something against the stone floor, his head snapped around to see the same black hoodie as before racing towards him only down the opposite side was four policemen. 

"Here!" You frowned hearing someone calling out to you, a guy who stood around 5''11 dressed in a hoodie and blue jeans was grabbing onto your wrist and pushing you against a wall, 

"Get off me!" You screamed wiggling against his grasp when he stood in front of you and titled his head to the side, he ripped down your hood and smirked. 

"Hi Zee," You groaned at him when you heard police rushing down behind him, 

"Excuse me," Namjoon turned to face them and you froze thinking that this was it, it was finally the moment you were about to get caught after all the years of work you'd done. 

"Yes, officer?" His hand linked with yours and automatically your heart began to pound against your chest, looking up at his sharp jawline and taking in his appearance. It was only now you were realising how good looking he was, his hair was blonde and to the side, he had huge glasses on that made his big brown eyes look adorable. 

"Have you seen someone rush by here? They would have been carrying paint with them?" You swallowed the lump in your throat trying to hide your paint covered hands behind Namjoon who pulled you closer and chuckled. 

"Sorry officer, I was a little preoccupied with my partner." The officer nodded before bidding you goodbye and going back towards the alleyway exit.

"You covered for me...Why?" You pulled your hand away from him not wanting to give in to the fact that just because he was incredibly good looking he could touch you like that.

"I find your work to be great Zee, always wanted to meet you." You nodded at him slowly and held out your hand for him to shake, 

"I'm Namjoon." He shook your hand and you felt that same intense spark from before rush through your body, sending shivers up and down your spine as he looked down into your eyes. 

"Y-Y/n." You stuttered out, you'd never told anyone your real name before. Sure fans had met you but you never told them who you were, it took away the allure to your work but with Namjoon it was different. The longer he stared into your eyes the longer you wanted to tell him everything about your life, as if he had some kind of weird superpower that drew you into him.

"What got you into street art?" You laughed softly as he questioned you, heading straight in for the questions but instead of being creeped out by the sudden interest it made you smile and feel warm inside. 

"W-well I-" You didn't know, you just viewed it as art and a way of sending a message, 

"I'd tried as a normal artist for years...Canvas's, photograph and stuff but it just never took off...Street art was a way of vocalising myself and what's happening in the world." Without even realising you were now walking together and towards the work you'd just done, it wasn't finished because the police had shown up, 

"I think your work is amazing." You smiled at him and began walking together towards your car, 

"I feel like I've seen you before." You mumbled as you reached a parking lot, you always parked in the same one next to the museum and he chuckled. 

"You pushed me against a wall a couple of months ago...Completely my fault I'd just walked out of work." You stared over at where he was pointing at the museum, 

"You work there?!" He nodded his head at you frowning as to why you seemed so excited about it,

"I love it there! I used to go all the time as a kid!" You yelled excitedly checking the time to see if you had time to head inside but it was getting close to their closing time, you never had time to go anymore. Between painting and work it had been hard to fit fun stuff into your life,

"Damn it."

"What?" He asked he hated that your smile had faded into a frown, 

"It's closing soon, I just- I wanted to go." You sighed leaning against your car and staring at it, he could already tell you were disappointed in not getting to go. 

"Meet me there tonight? In two hours? I'll sneak you in and we can have a night tour together." You stared at him with wide eyes, was he serious. 

"Like a date?" You whispered looking him in the eyes and biting down on your lip, it had been years since anyone had even come close to asking you out and your heart was thumping against your chest.

"Yeah...Yeah I mean if that's okay." He stuttered out looking at you with a giant smile on his face to match the one that was now painted across yours. 

"A night tour sounds perfect," You leant up taking charge of the situation and kissed his cheek, 

"I'll see you later Namjoon." You whispered before getting into your car and driving away from him while he sat there smiling wildly. 

"This is my favourite," You watched as Namjoon raced over to a painting of a huge garden full of couples. He went into a lengthy talk about what the painting was about and who had painted it, he had done it throughout the whole night and you smiled the whole time just listening in 'awe' as he spoke lovingly about every single thing within the museum,

"You should be giving the tours," You whispered when he returned back to your side, you took his hand in yours as you turned around one of the corners and walked towards some sculptures. You were almost done with everything inside of the museum and it had taken the whole night to get around everything because he would go into length talks. You didn't care though, spending all of this time with him made you feel special.

"What's this?" You asked walking over to a rope and he chuckled just shaking his head, 

"Just a rope," You titled your head to the side and pulled it, it drew open the curtains that were on the skylight right above you and you gasped looking up to see a clear night sky with the stars and moon right in front of you.

"Whoa." You whispered

"Looks like something you would paint." Namjoon chuckled looking up at the sky before down at you, you were busy staring into the sky you hadn't felt his eyes on you.

"W-What?" You stuttered out looking back into his eyes when he cupped your chin between his index finger and his thumb tilting your head up to look at him in the eyes before he began leaning down, your eyes fluttered shut as our lips came into contact with one another. Your arms moved around his neck while his wrapped around your waist, drawing you closer to him and kissing you softly under the starlight night. It felt like something that only ever happened in books and movies, the whole world seemed to brighten up the moment he kissed you and you. 

"Whoa," You whispered pulling apart from him and staring into his eyes, that was when there was small laughter coming from the other side of the room. You both pulled apart to see someone covered in tattoos with long black hair standing there, 

"Jungkook-" Namjoon when to complain but Jungkook held up his hand and shook his head, 

"You enjoy your date, I'll go back downstairs and main the first floor." Jungkook laughed leaving you both there embarrassed that you had just been caught in a makeout session.

"Friend of yours?" You laughed softly pulling back and holding his hand, he nodded. 

"Yeah...He works here on the bottom floor. I'm sorry-"

"Don't be, you can make it up to me later...On another date?" You questioned looking into his eyes and praying that he said yes, 

"I'd love to."

Tagline: 

@writingdreamsnottragedies​ @snowy-meowl​ @jooniesdarlingdimples​ @lynnthevirgo​ @lyoongx​ @mitzwinchester​ @fan-ati--c​ @rjsmochii​ @callingmyangel​ @kneel-begyourpardon​ @taestannie​ @innersooya​ 

[whatarubberchicken]

The Dress

@sinfulpapillon‘s lovely job on my commission gave me the inspiration I needed to finally finish this little piece that’s been floating around in my head.

The Dress

It started off as a joke. Messing around at Nino’s one day (his father had finally allowed him to hang out with his friends for once). He and Nino had been playing video games, while the girls gave each other makeovers in Nino’s bedroom. They’d come out, looking as hot as always, and Alya had laughingly suggested that the boys get a makeover too.

“C’mon, Adrien! You’re a model! You’re supposed to make everything look good!”

And so, laughing, he’d agreed. Laughing, he’d allowed Alya to do his hair and makeup while Marinette picked out his outfit. Laughing, he’d put it on, and let them fuss over the little details. All of them had howled with laughter when he’d strutted across the living room like a catwalk, because he’d be damned if he wasn’t going to OWN this. He even blew the girls a few kisses, (and one very special wink to Nino, who pretended to fan himself).

But he wasn’t laughing when he went back into the bedroom to change. When he finally got a good look at himself in the mirror.

He didn’t recognize himself.

In the mirror was a confident, carefree girl, gazing back at him with light and laughter still in her eyes.

The hair and the eyeliner… he could take. It was hardly the first time a makeup artist had gone to town on him, after all.

But the dress….

It was light and airy. Carefree, but still coy. Shy and sweet and fun—

He tore his eyes away from the mirror, forcing himself to remember how to breathe. Because, right now… he glanced back up at his reflection—right now, he didn’t look like his father’s son. That was no Agreste heir staring back at him. His father would have his head for even suggesting an outfit like this. That person wasn’t someone with duties, or responsibilities, or a thousand things written on a daily schedule that absolutely must be kept—

Adrien gave a short gasp and quickly covered his mouth before a whimper could escape.

Because, oh God, he wanted…. He wanted so desperately to be that person in the mirror.

He quickly took off the dress and changed back into his normal clothing. He didn’t dare look at the mirror again until after he’d washed his face. Twice.

Then, and only then, did he chance another glance. And then he felt both relief, and disappointment. Adrien Agreste was staring back at him in the mirror. Poised, and guarded, and two steps away from losing everything he cared about every freaking day and he knew it—and, damn, if it wasn’t hard keeping up appearances for so freaking long and—

Breathe, Adrien reminded himself, glancing down at the dress now laying haphazardly on his best friend’s bed.

He took another deep breath, trying to get his emotions back under control. Trying to distance himself, in a way, from that one, shining moment—

He shook his head and stood up straight, squaring his shoulders. He was an Agreste. Adrien Agreste. He had duties. Responsibilities. Dressing up had been fun for a few moments, but it could never happen again. He couldn’t allow it.

He spun around to go join his friends in the living room, not daring to look back at the dress.

……

A few days later, he was ready to rip his own hair out (despite all the objections that would cause). He couldn’t stop thinking about The Dress. He couldn’t stop thinking about his reflection in the mirror, and how badly he wanted to be that person again.

A few casual questions had revealed it was Marinette’s dress. But how to get her to let him borrow—NO! Adrien, no!! he scolded himself, shaking his head to clear it. That is not allowed! You have an image to maintain!!

“Adrien, did you not understand the homework??” he heard Miss Bustier call.

“Oh, uh, sorry, Miss Bustier,” he replied, flushing bright red, as he realized he’d shaken his head in the middle of her lecture. “I couldn’t quite hear you.”

He forced himself to pay attention as she repeated herself.

This was getting worse. He couldn’t even concentrate in class.

……

He still had mixed feelings when he approached Marinette the next day. What if she laughed at him?! What if she—God forbid—told other people about his deviant ideas?!?!

WHAT IF IT GOT BACK TO HIS FATHER?!?!?

He froze and very nearly turned around to run out of the school.

But, no. This was Marinette. She was sweet. She was kind. She’d never do anything to hurt him. He had to believe in her!

“Um, Marinette?” he asked shyly. To his surprise, she jumped almost a foot in the air, spun around and turned beet red. Oops. “Sorry,” he said quickly. “I didn’t mean to startle you.”

“Wha--?? Oh, Adrien!! Ha ha! You didn’t—you didn’t startle me!” Marinette stammered, laughing awkwardly and rubbing the back of her neck. “You’re fine! So fine!—I mean, I’m fine!! I mean, what’s up??”

“Well, you know… um,” he cleared his throat nervously. “You know that dress I tried on before?”

“Yeah?”

Keep it cool, Adrien. Keep it harmless. A joke. A prank. Nothing major.

“Well, errr… I was wondering… if I could, maybe… try it on again?” he asked quietly. Marinette blinked at him in surprise and he quickly added, “I just, I thought I could try a few more poses with it, you know? For my modelling career! I’ve never worn anything like that before—and my father will probably never let me—but sometimes the photographers want odd poses, and I thought maybe—”

“Sure,” Marinette said.

Adrien froze, mid-tirade. “Really??” he asked. She wasn’t going to question him? Or ask for explanations??

“Why not?” she shrugged easily. “It’s just hanging there in my room. That shade of green turned out to not be my color at all; makes me look jaundiced. But it really brought out your eyes before! Do you want to go try it on after school?”

“Yes!” The exclamation burst out of him before Adrien could stop it. He coughed a bit to hide his excitement. “I mean, yeah, sure,” he agreed, trying to look casual. “That’ll work.”

“Ok! See you after school!”

Adrien waved goodbye (completely missing the fact that Marinette ran into a pole while she was walking away from him). He was excited. Giddy. He was going to put The Dress on again, right after school—

CRAP! Right after school?!

He dove for his phone and texted Nathalie, worried that he might have a photoshoot he’d forgotten about. To his relief, she assured him that he didn’t.

Then, the next few minutes were spent drowning in guilt as he made up a story about doing a group project with Marinette after school. Nathalie, completely oblivious, agreed easily.

It’s for a good cause, Adrien reminded himself, as he got ready for his next class. Once I get this out of my system, I’ll be fine. I’ll be able to concentrate again. I won’t have to think about The Dress ever again. It’ll be done.

After this, everything goes back to the way it was.

………

After school, Adrien stepped out of the building and felt his stomach drop when Marinette waved to him from where she was talking with Alya.

Oh noooo, he’d forgotten to ask her to keep it all a secret!! What if she told Alya?? What if Alya decided to post pics all over the Ladyblog?!?!

“Hey, Adrien,” Alya called slyly as he drew nearer. Adrien gulped, feeling a trickle of sweat run down the back of his neck. “Marinette says you two have a ‘special project’ you’re gonna work on together... ~Alone.~”

“Al-ya,” Marinette grumbled, pushing her bestie towards Nino. “Stop it! Don’t tease him about it! I’ll send you pics later!”

“Okay!” Alya sang happily, giving them a wink before taking Nino’s hand and practically skipping away. “I’ll see you later, kitty!!”

Adrien stared after them, confused.

“Sorry about that,” Marinette sighed beside him. “She saw us talking together, and I let it slip that you were coming over. So, now she thinks you’re going to be modelling some Chat Noir merchandise that I’ve made.”

Now I’m uncomfortable on a number of levels, he thought wildly, staring at her.

“Don’t worry!” she assured him. “It’s just a scarf and a hat and maybe the jacket—we’ll see if it fits. Then we can say you left immediately afterwards.” She gave him a wink.

Adrien breathed a sigh of relief, and they headed for the bakery.

“So… you have… Chat Noir merchandise?” he couldn’t help asking.

Marinette giggled. “I have a lot of things I make in my spare time. But superhero stuff is the best way to get Alya sidetracked whenever she starts sniffing around, and you looked uncomfortable when you asked me earlier, so I assumed you didn’t want me to tell anyone else about what we’re really doing.”

The ball of tension in Adrien’s stomach uncoiled a bit. Marinette really was perceptive sometimes. “Thanks.”

She promptly tripped on her own feet. “No problem,” she laughed, grinning awkwardly.

……………

They got the pictures with the Chat Noir stuff done first. Both he and Marinette posed with different items, and Adrien could feel himself loosening up as they laughed together about some of their funnier poses. It was still a bit awkward, what with this being his alter-ego and all, but he had to admit, he felt a bit… touched.

Safer.

Marinette truly cared about him. Both in the mask and out of it. So, when she sent the last picture to Alya and brought out The Dress with a big smile on her face, he was relaxed enough to smile back.

Finally.

They both giggled a little as she shooed him into the changing area. Adrien took a deep, calming breath before he stepped out again. Marinette approached him, still smiling, and fixed a few last-minute draping issues. Then, she gestured behind him towards the mirror.

“It really does look good on you.”

Adrien turned, and this time, he couldn’t contain his squeal of glee when he saw his reflection. There she was! A bit less done-up than last time, but there was the girl he wanted to be!!

He froze as he fully-digested that last thought.

He wanted….

He wanted to be….

He looked away from the mirror, shame washing over him.

“Adrien?” he could hear Marinette ask. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” he said quietly.

“Are you sure?” she asked, sounding uneasy. “Do you want me to do your makeup and hair again?”

“No thanks.”

I…

I can’t.

I can’t be this person I want to be.

No matter how much I might want it.

It’s not allowed. I’m not allowed.

I have duties. Responsibilities. A life. And I might not want it, but it’s the one I’ve got.

No use in pretending.

No use in dreaming.

I’ll never truly be free.

“Adrien? Adrien, why are you crying? You’re beautiful!” Marinette’s voice broke through his thoughts. He felt her hand on his shoulder. Supportive. Caring.

“I just… I just…” He couldn’t stop the hot tears streaming down his face. God, he must look awful right now! And he was getting salt-water on her clothes!! Furiously, he wiped the tears away. “I can’t—I can’t! I want to… but I can’t!!”

“Can’t what?”

Poor Marinette. She sounded so confused. Here he was, having a mental breakdown in her room, and he could even tell her why!! God, get it together, Adrien!

“I CAN’T BE WHO I WANNA BE!!” he cried, before he could stop himself. He regretted the words as soon as they came out of his mouth. “I’m sorry,” he choked out, curling in on himself again. “I shouldn’t have—”

I shouldn’t have said anything. I shouldn’t have come here at all!

I SHOULDN’T EVEN BE HAVING THESE THOUGHTS!!

Most of all, I shouldn’t have burdened you with all this crap!

“I’m sorry,” was all he managed to say.

“Oh, Adrien, don’t be sorry,” Marinette said softly, drawing him into a hug. He froze, shocked at her tenderness. “You’re my friend. Of course I wanna help you!”

His body trembled. He wanted to trust her. He wanted to tell her all about these past few days. How hard it had been, suddenly so focused on how uncomfortable he was in his own skin, suddenly seeing girls in a new light—not just, ‘oh, she looks hot,’ but ‘oh man, I bet I would rock that outfit if I just changed this, this, and this…’

…and wondering what kind of person that made him.

He didn’t even know who he was anymore.

“Please don’t tell my father,” he mumbled.

“I promise,” Marinette giggled. “If I ever have a conversation with your dad, I’m going to talk his ear off about fashion, and fashion alone, until he runs away.”

That won’t take long, Adrien thought wryly.

“Now,” she said gently, touching his arm, “do you wanna talk about it?”

Sooo badly. But….

“I don’t know what to say,” he choked out. “I don’t know—I don’t know anything anymore. I’m so confused….”

“Okay, let’s take this one step at a time,” Marinette said patiently, leading him over to sit on her chaise lounge with her. “You said you couldn’t be who you wanted to be. So…,” she paused for a bit, fishing for the right words. “Do you want to change who you are completely? Or do you just want to wear dresses from time to time?”

“I don’t know,” Adrien whispered. “I don’t know.”

God, his head was spinning a hundred miles an hour. If he wasn’t himself… if he wasn’t Adrien Agreste: model, heir, dutiful son… who was he? Who could he be?

“All right then,” Marinette said, nodding. “Why don’t we take little steps? Just dresses for now. In secret. Or, did you want to go outside in it?”

I would love to go outside in it, Adrien thought, his imagination running wild. I would love to laugh and play with you guys, my friends, while feeling freer than I do as Chat Noir. Even Chat has a reputation he has to maintain. And duties to all of Paris. But, this new girl… who I want to become….

“It doesn’t… seem wrong to you?” he rasped, looking over at Marinette. “That I’m… I’m weird?”

“You’re not weird.”

“I’m a guy,” Adrien deadpanned. “Who wants to dress like a girl.” Marinette studied him silently. And, seeing himself in her eyes, Adrien finally spoke the words he’d been dreading.

“I’m a freak.”

“You’re not a freak,” Marinette said immediately.

“I am a freak!” he insisted. “Normal guys don’t want to dress up like girls!”

“Oh, what, so you’re going to be all macho now? ‘Grr, grr, I’m the man of the house, I demand meat and potatoes and I’m gonna grow my muscles out and be mean to everyone to prove how manly I am!!’” Marinette said, deepening her voice as she gave a very bad impersonation. Adrien chuckled a bit.

“That’s not what I meant and you know it.”

“Different people like different things,” she shrugged in return. “And you and I both know how easily fashion can change. So, you like dresses. So what? It’s not like it’s hurting anybody.”

“My father will probably see it as a personal attack,” Adrien muttered.

“Your father’s self-importance issues aside, is anyone really getting hurt?” Marinette asked, raising an eyebrow. “You’re still gonna be the you inside, right? Just, maybe, a little less closed-off on the outside?”

Adrien nodded weakly. “That’s what I want,” he said breathlessly.

“Well, then, baby steps,” Marinette decided, nodding and standing up. “We’ll start with dresses and work our way up as you feel more comfortable. Do you wanna tell Alya and Nino? Alya can do a killer smokey-eye.” She winked at him.

“Maybe,” he said, still feeling uneasy. “Maybe… later?”

“Sure. We’ll take this at your pace,” she agreed. She started pacing in front of him, already thinking up plans. “When we actually go out for the first time, you’re probably gonna want a wig, so we can be sure nobody notices you…but that’s not until later. Until then, would you like me to play with your hair?” she asked.

Adrien blushed at the thought of her brushing and fixing his hair. It sounded really nice.

“If… if you wouldn’t mind?”

“Oh, Adrien,” she sighed. He looked up to see her already holding a brush and giving him the biggest shit-eating grin ever. “I thought you’d never ask.”

End.

[witchqueenofthemoon]

BODY AND SOUL Part 1 (Duncan Shepherd/Mackenzie Stone Millory AU)

BODY AND SOUL MASTERPOST

Author’s Note:  This is basically a Millory AU/Alternate Universe where Cody’s character Duncan from HOUSE OF CARDS meets a version of Mallory/Billie. I might eventually tie it into some kind of reincarnation arc/parallel AHS universe? Her name is Mackenzie Stone and I’ll illuminate more on who she is in time regarding her HoC character, but for all intents and purposes she is Mallory/Billie and Duncan is Michael/Cody. Part 1 is their fortuitous first night together. There is gonna be a LOT of smut in this fic, it’ll be some light plotty stuff but mostly them fucking on everything and looking super hot and dreaming about ripping each other’s clothes off in rooms full of important people. And a lot of stuff about their clothes. But mostly them touching each other with aching fingers and fucking. Please leave me feedback if you like it! Writing this was a big deal for me; it’s the longest bit of fiction I’ve written in a long time and the project will be the realization of an important goal for me this year.

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I send my soul through time and space. To greet you. You will understand.

--James Elroy Flecker, from To A Poet A Thousand Years Hence, 1910.

Love can be scary; not because of heartbreak or being left, but because it can consume you all at once. It’ll spread in your veins like the poison of a snake; it’s unstoppable and only when it’s too late, you’ll find yourself drowning in it. It’ll intrude your daily life, step by step until you find that love is everywhere you may go or look or even listen to. It’ll haunt you at night; in the morning; every time of the day, there’s no escape. Love will make you fear the person that has sparked this mess inside of you; overwhelming you with waves of emotions which will bring you to your knees. But in all of this, you’ll recognize the sensation of happiness, you’ll love the weakness and inability to control it. At some point you’ll crave it so much, that you’ll face your fear and walk to the other side of it - right into the arms of your loved one. And that’s when you know; love is just a hurricane that demands for you to face your fears.

--s.m.

The other morning I heard a woman on the radio describe her art, enormous conceptual installations that involve manipulations of breath and light. As she was explaining her process, this artist used a phrase I'd never heard before: "thin places." It's a Celtic concept, one that stems from an old proverb that says, "Heaven and earth are only three feet apart, but in the thin places that distance is even smaller." In thin places, the folklore goes, the barrier between the physical world and the spiritual world wears thin and becomes porous. Invisible things, like music or love or dead people or God, might become visible there, or if they don't become visible they become so present and tangible that is doesn't matter. Distinctions between you and not-you, real and unreal, worldly and otherworldly, fall away.

The original thin places were wild landscapes because the idea was born in the heaths of Connemara, a place that's so austere and ancient, so full of twists and hiding places and divots a thousand years old, that it seems somehow likely you might poke a hole through to another reality. But the radio lady said that the delight of thin places was the unpredictability of their location. You can find them someplace with magic written all over it, like Connemara or the Himalayas, but they also pop up in dive bars, bedrooms, hospital rooms. They can appear and disappear.

--Thin Places, Jordan Kisner.

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Duncan let the wine glass hang limply from between the crook of his fingers. Even drinking felt boring among these dull people. He stared off into the night, leaning on the ledge, imagining dropping the glass down onto the head of an unsuspecting suit below as a bored smile played at the edges of his mouth, the cool early-summer air ruffling the halo of his curls. He didn’t know it, but his blue eyes appeared much darker than usual in the glow of the soft, round lights that lined the opulent deck. Roses adorned the balcony; row after row of dark red, richly in bloom, almost obscene in their beauty, defiantly organic, thrown against the careful architecture of a DC penthouse. They were, thus far, the only interesting thing here.

“Fuck,” he muttered, sighing and pulling one long-fingered hand through his hair, absently straightening his already perfectly pressed, perfectly tailored black blazer as the hand fell downward. One more hour and he could leave; he stared at his silver Cartier watch absently; his mother had insisted he make an appearance here for the benefit of several wealthy donors to the Foundation (“just let them stare at you for awhile, you know how people love to do that, reel them in,” she said with a dry smile, and he nodded at her, smiling in return, ever the obedient son), but she hadn’t said he need stay for the whole party, after all. Showing up, killing time for a few hours should do the work she wanted, and he’d already made nice with those in the room he recognized from charity balls and fundraisers and galas past. Now the long, slow clock-watch until 11 PM, when he could make a stylishly early exit.

He was lost in these thoughts of escape and duty, still staring out at the glittering affectation of the capital city, when someone gazing similarly into the night caught the corner of his eye. 

It was the hair first; then her expression. Chestnut-honey waves cascaded down her back; a small band of gold adorned with six-pointed stars nestled into them against her head, giving her a strangely angelic glow in the dim light, the idea of a halo. She was small--she couldn’t be any taller than his shoulders--and that only with strappy, stiletto-heeled black sandals, twisting up her slender, smooth leg above her ankles, tied neatly in double-knots, at that. Double knots, he thought absently, I tie my shoes that way too. He blinked, eyes traveling up, falling on the black velvet babydoll dress she wore, bodice hugging her slender waist and small breasts, hiding the curves of her hips--I wonder what they look like, he wondered again absently, surprising himself with his immediate interest--up further to the incline of her neck and the dip of her clavicle, adorned with a gold circle that had several chunks of quartz crystals shaped into points along her smooth skin. What a beautiful piece, he thought. So unique. He felt an uncharacteristic tremor in his composure; and then he looked at her face. Her features were small and delicate; her lips slim and colored with a dark red that reminded him of the roses she was leaning against, brushed into her cheeks a soft blush that reminded him of evening sunlight on sand. Her eyes were darkly shadowed, long lashes framing wide hazel eyes that glinted with a strange combination of innocence and wisdom that startled him. On her wrist was another slender gold thing, an intricate woven cage of criss-crossing artistry that fell down her arm as she lifted her graceful hand and pushed an escaping wave of hair behind her ear; tiny crystal points hung from her ears. She grasped a small black clutch in her other hand (her nails were unpainted, he noticed, a rarity in DC society) and her face seemed lost, angry, sad, and bored at once, her small mouth pouting in a silent, secret disappointment, her lips parting to release an almost inaudible sigh as she absently touched the crystals around her throat. As his darkened blue eyes watched her, their glowing fascination invisible and unrealized yet to him, she finally seemed to notice she was not alone; her wide eyes traveled over the cascade of city lights, down through the roses, and into his.

He felt as though time stopped for a moment; how long the moment extended he could never be sure later, but it felt like a blink and an eon at once, as though something vast and previously immovable had fallen into its long-sought place. Her eyes were even more mesmerizing now that they were locked on him; he felt an obscure ache in anticipation of the moment she must inevitably look away.

“Hi,” he said quietly, and he couldn’t help but smile; he knew it had a strange effect on some people when he smiled, but it was almost involuntary; looking at her was a hand around his heart that had begun to press insistently, and he felt his cheeks burning; his jacket suddenly seemed too tight and he felt odd, dizzy, almost giddy; looking at her.

“Um, hi.” He saw the cloud fall over her gaze; she recognized him. He silently cursed in his mind, biting the inside of his cheek, a habit he’d acquired from a lifetime of being Annette Shepherd’s son. Maybe this was not going to go as well as he’d already begun to hope. He saw the way her head shifted, her mouth turning down at one corner, her hand coming around the opposite arm, hugging herself in a seemingly absent-minded impulse. Hugging herself away from Duncan Shepherd, notorious, infamous; but maybe also from the cool breeze that blew over them, smelling of roses and woodsmoke.

“I’m Duncan.”

“I know who you are.”

He smiled again at that; “Oh? And what have you heard?”

“Plenty. More than enough to know I shouldn’t be talking to you.”

He unleashed a light laugh at that; something about this petite, gold-adorned creature was absolutely intoxicating, as if she was touching him without any physical contact, whispering in his ear while she was speaking in a normal tone of voice. There was something else going on here; there was some kind of hidden current, he could feel it, like an electrical charge. It extended from the hot core of his belly to the blush of her, the sunset-gold of her. He’d only had one and a half glasses of wine, but he felt suddenly drunk. He longed to know what she smelled like, but she was still too far away. For a moment, he imagined what it would be like to run his hand along the skin of her bare arm; around the incline of her throat. His cheeks burned.

“I promise, I’m not that bad.”

She rolled her eyes at him and he couldn’t help it; he laughed a little again. He could see her steely introduction melt ever-so-slightly this time, her eyelashes fluttering down, the corner of her mouth turning up the tiniest bit, her lips pressing together to stifle her own smile. Her arms relaxed, coming to rest on the edge of the balcony once more.

He chanced to step toward her; she seemed hesitant, but she let him, watching him warily, the wind gently kissing her hair, fluttering the hem of her short dress; it was everything he could not to not look at the smooth skin of her thigh where it ended. He absently hooked a finger around his high, buttoned collar, feeling his throat clench in a second of uncharacteristic nervousness, the wine glass in his other hand mostly forgotten. He watched her eyes travel up and down his tall form; they stopped for a moment on his russet-brown curls, skirted around his intense eyes, flicked to his full lips with an embarrassed interest, to his adams apple and his tailored jacket and down his body, flitting to his tailored slacks (an ever-so-slight pause, almost unnoticeable,  over his crotch) and Prada leather chelsea boots. She inclined her head, shyly, and despite her hesitancy, he could see her interest, her attraction, glowing under her skin like a light.

“I’d love to know your name. I promise, I won’t tell anyone,” he smiled at her again, knowingly acknowledging that they were both out here for a reason while the party raged inside--these people were awful--and his own proclivity to use DC socialites to his and his family’s advantage.

He saw her hesitate again, one small hand coming up to hold a tendril of her long chestnut hair, twisting it between two fingers, smoothing her lips together as though her lipstick weren’t already perfectly applied. He watched her swallow, lost in some silent internal struggle, for a moment.

“Mackenzie,” she said, leaning away from the balcony. He was only a few steps away from her now: he could smell the wave of scent coming off her, as delicate as the intricate gold jewelry she wore: vetiver (a scent he loved and would recognize anywhere, he thought with a thrill) and something else, a delicate flower more complex than the roses, and rarer. Geranium? He thought. How unique. Who is this angel?

“No last name?” He grinned at her, knowingly. “Or one you won’t tell me for a reason?”

“I’m an orphan, they found me on the doorstep of a church,” she replied, grinning back, and he found himself goggling at her loveliness, and the pressing feeling around his heart doubled down to an almost painful ache. “Oh, really?” He laughed again, dizzily, staring into her eyes. “I guess I can pretend I believe that for now. Sometimes it’s nice to play anonymous, I wish I could do it; in a city as tightly-knit as this one is, anonymity has eluded me.”

“I’m sure that happened to you through no fault of your own,” she replied in a biting tone, but he could see her smile, the rosy glow of her cheeks. And he knew that she liked him, or at least, liked the look of him. Duncan knew that he was objectively attractive; he had felt the hungry gazes of men and women alike hundreds of times before, but something about this woman, her eyes, her hair, her gold, her light, was filling him with an intensity of desire that felt like warm water running over the edge of a glass; his nerves felt like they were vibrating, his skin felt flushed, and he knew what he wanted with a sharp clarity; he wanted this girl. Badly. She was the most beautiful, the most luminous, the most intoxicating being he had ever seen.

A small silence stretched between them; he ached to know what she was thinking, for now she stared at him with a boldness she seemed to have sussed from his obvious interest in her; the exposed feeling settling under his skin was intensely foreign to him, and it made him wildly nervous. The fear that she’d disappear at any moment began to press at his temples; he felt unhinged, that he would do anything to get this girl, this angel, into his bed.

“...May I get you a drink?” He murmured to her, the aching edge in his voice taking him by surprise. His throat bobbed; he extended the fingers of his right hand slowly, almost unknowingly, towards the smooth skin of her arm. But he did not touch her. The air seemed to hum around them, a frequency of sound that was almost visible; he felt that they were somehow touching each other without touching, feeling each other somehow without any physical contact. The wind blew softly again, filling his senses with her smell, intoxicating and delicate. He wondered what it would feel like to kiss her, gazing at her lips.

She regarded him for another long moment; he could see her hesitation, no doubt kindled by a dozen or more Post articles about his family. But then something in her gaze shifted inexplicably, softened, opened, and she smiled again, dazzling him. A barrier seemed to have been breached; her eyes shimmered, and he felt the heat from them pierce into his heart.  

“You may.”

He’d feverishly gone to the bar (bourbon, she’d said, shaking his heart again with desire), skirting around the attentions of a Senator who tried to speak with him, anxiously watched the bartender crush together the ingredients of two old fashioneds, the fear that she would no longer be leaning against the roses when he returned shaking his confidence with an icy grip, but as he slipped out onto the otherwise-deserted balcony once more, his body flooded with an intoxicating dose of relieved dopamine; there she was still, turning toward him with that glow, stepping against him slightly as she pulled the tumbler from his elegant, large hand with her finespun fingers, and he shivered at the first touch between them, filled with an overwhelming lust for more. He reached out with the other glass and clinked it against hers.

“To the mystery of first meetings,” he said impulsively.

“To familiar strangers,” she replied, and something about her words shook him strangely, coiling around them, loaded and full of hidden meaning. They both drank; Duncan watched her from the rim of his glass, taking a deep gulp of the whiskey to calm his buzzing nerves; she closed her darkly shadowed eyes, sipped, and when they fluttered open again, he noticed the lust that had settled in behind them for the first time.

“I’m sure people tell you this all the time,” she said, her voice soft and hazy in his ears, “but you’re very handsome in person.”

“Some do,” he said, stepping into her space, achingly close, watching her reaction; she did not move away from him, but stood very still, resting the drink against the wide ledge of the balcony, eyes focused on his face. “But rarely is it someone as beautiful as you are.” He set his drink down beside hers, the bourbon humming against his skin; being this close to her felt almost unbearable in its intensity. She tilted her head up, waves falling back, the crystals around her neck glinting in the glow of the fairy lights. Her face came only to the incline of his chest; perfectly level with the space in which his hands hovered for the throe of a moment before he could no longer resist temptation; he moved them so they came to rest against her small face on either side, in the delicate spaces between her chin and her ear with an imploring softness. He looked into her eyes for a moment, questioning; and he saw the lust there again, saw that she desired him too, and that was all he needed; he tilted his face and his lips fell on hers, hungry, starving, immediate.

The eagerness with which she returned his kiss filled the pit of his stomach with a wild ardency; he could taste the whiskey on her lips, smell her richness, the ache of her perfume and the musky scent of her body, and he wanted her with a desperation that felt like madness in the corners of his mind. She opened her mouth more to him; he kissed her more deeply, his tongue brushing against hers, his fingers stretching out to feel the delicate skin of her neck, moving there to caress her, causing a small moan to escape her that drove him absolutely to the edge. She was pressed against him now, her small hands flitting down his chest and stomach, causing warmth to pool in his cock immediately in anticipation and want; he felt he could drink her in forever and still not have enough, he wanted the scent of her all over him, wanted to feel her against him without the barriers of her velvet dress and his silk shirt, her skin on his skin everywhere. The kiss kindled in him a fire that burst into a blaze; the soft insistence of her lips was the first page of the book of her, and he wanted to read all of it; he wanted to devour her until morning tinged the sky.

They broke the kiss breathlessly, both breathing heavily, their faces still achingly close, and his hands were moving down across the skin above her small breasts under their velvet trappings, further down, around their round incline to the top of her waist where he grasped her under her arms, fervently, his fingers pressing into her insistently, holding her there, her warmth and weight and scent hovering around him like a crown encircling his head.

“Come to my apartment with me,” he whispered. She leaned into him, her lips falling on his again, and he shivered into her mouth, his composure fracturing, his red and burning lust falling into her and crashing against her. His strong hands held her there, in that delicate space under her breasts, and her head reached up to meet his full lips, tasting insistently. He felt as though she were weaving a spell into him, tying him to her with an invisible thread, touching a hidden place in his soul that he hadn’t even known was there. “Please.”

He felt her smile into his mouth; felt her small hands reach up to his face, trailing along the stubble that lined his chiseled jaw, pulling him down to her; “...yes”, she whispered into him, and he couldn’t stop himself, he laughed quietly into her again, delighted, full of desirous joy. He pulled away from her reluctantly, only to grasp the tumbler of bourbon and gulp from it again; he needed just a little more courage, just enough to make it back to the penthouse with this vision he feared would disappear in a flash of gold; she looked at him with eyes shining with excitement and perhaps the tiniest tinge of trepidation, grasping and drinking deeply from her own glass, and the edge of that feeling he wanted to erase; he longed to reassure her, hoped wildly that he could soothe her.

He grasped her small hand in his large one, intoxicated by the way they fit against each other, and led her, insistently but carefully, to the side of the balcony that led to a side-door to the stairwell leading to the street; a mutual desire seemed to pass between them to avoid any of the other guests seeing them leave together, and he laced his fingers through hers tightly, helping her down the two flights, stopping briefly as she pushed him against the cement wall, hurriedly kissing him again, capturing his bottom lip in her teeth gently, and he clutched her against him, moaning into her, his hands falling to the small of her back, one sliding against the velvet of her skirt, feeling the rise of her small, round ass through the fabric, igniting new desire in his groin and his head. God, he wanted her. He wanted her so fucking bad. She giggled into him, and the bourbon clashed against him with a short wave; he buried a hand in her golden-tawny hair, marveling at its silky cascade through his fingers.

“Come on,” he insisted, and they were finally at the bottom of the stairs, and he pulled his phone from his back pocket, absently using his free hand to call an Uber Black; the sidewalk outside was miraculously and mercifully almost empty of people besides a woman walking a dog across the street and a few cars passing by, headlights flashing momentarily before they moved on. Mackenzie--god, he loved her name, Mackenzie--leaned into him again, small hands on his belt, filling him with her scent and her closeness and her heat, and he wanted to push her into the wall and kiss her and touch every inch of her until she was breathlessly shaking with the edge of climax.

Their car pulled up with an almost supernatural quickness and quietness; the driver quickly forgotten as they pressed once more into one another in the backseat, Duncan snaking a hand around her neck to pull her against his mouth, her hand flitting over his cock, now painfully confined in his tailored crotch. “Oh god, Mackenzie,” he murmured into her, his other hand falling around the soft rise of her breast, gentle and insistent, “I want you so much.”

“God, shut up, just kiss me,” she laughed. He couldn’t help but laugh again with her; when was the last time he’d laughed like this? Laughed at all? He knew somehow it wasn’t just the bourbon making him light-headed. She had appeared out of nowhere and nothing, absolutely intoxicating, as though she were a being from another world. She was astounding; he was absolutely drunk on her.

They broke apart with loathe urgency as the driver pulled up to Duncan’s Georgetown high rise, and the blur of the next few minutes ran into an accelerated mix of running paint in Duncan’s mind when he looked back on it; they were in the elevator where he could see her tender mouth against him in the full-length mirror that made up one of the walls, her tiny body pressed against him, her hair falling in a glow, and it made his cock throb. The doors fell open and her pulled her fingers into his again, leading her gently down the hall to the tall black door of his penthouse apartment, fumbling with his keycard; her hand wrapped around his, steadying it, her lips pressing into his neck with a tenderness that made him groan, and they fell inside. Thankfully he’d left one lamp on by the slender leather couch; the better to see her by; the better to lead her into his bed. He picked her up--she was light as a feather and as soft as one too--and pressed her against the back of the door that had swung shut behind them, his mouth urgent on hers again; “you know--” she said breathlessly between his lips crashing against hers--”I don’t usually do stuff like this--”

“I’ll take that as a compliment--” he smiled into her, his hands winding up the skin of her thigh, pressing her down to the ground again, pressing ever-so-briefly against the softness between her legs, making her gasp. She dropped her clutch unceremoniously on the spotlessly clean polished wood; reached down to unknot her shoes in a marvelously cute almost absent-minded gesture, a wonderful, frustrated whine escaping from her mouth as she fumbled with them. “Here, let me help,” he murmured, and he knelt before her--his hands fell down the softness of her leg to the knot, and he felt her shudder with desire under his touch. He loved the way he was suddenly looking up at her from here, suddenly beholden to her whim; he wanted to make her feel fucking good, he wanted her to writhe with pleasure. He unknotted the laces of the sandal, freeing her small foot, thumbing the red stripes they had left on her ankles; he couldn’t stop himself, he pressed his lips against the redness, and felt her shiver under his touch again, breathlessly.

He undid her other heel easily; as she stepped out of them, he saw that she was even smaller, reaching only right about level to his chest; he wanted to hold her small frame against him with desperate longing. She reached out, pushing his blazer from his shoulders insistently, their swollen lips coming together again; “god, you taste so good,” he whispered into her, “you’re so beautiful, you’re the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen--”

She shushed him again, her breath humming on his lips, as if she was afraid of his words. “Take me to your room,” she insisted. He nodded, sure that he would do anything she said in that moment, her eyes so intense, dark and wonderful that he felt he could see into her soul through them, and pulled her into his bedroom, its black sheets and spread perfectly pressed and quiet, waiting for them. The side-lamp on his pristine nightstand was dimly lit; its glow cascaded over her, striking him with her loveliness once more; he pressed against her desperately, pulling the headband of stars gently from her head and setting it on the nightstand with reverence next to his exorbitantly expensive watch, kicking his shoes off as he clutched at her, once more filled with a terrible fear that she would disappear, eager beyond all words to be against her.

“Duncan,” she moaned into his mouth, “fuck me.”

He needed no more prompting; he pressed her gently but insistently down onto the immaculate spread, and she opened her legs, sidling their bareness against his clothed thigh; he pressed his lips into the softness of her neck as her fingers found the buttons of his high-collared shirt, undoing them expertly, freeing his torso from the suffocating confines; then they moved to his belt as she moaned under his mouth, his lips grazing the crystals that hugged her throat, pressing into the hollow between her breasts above the velvet of her neckline. She pulled his belt away with a snap; he flipped her over with concentration, and she gasped, the sound of it thrilling him so his cock pressed harder against his pants, painfully.

He carefully pulled the zipper at her back down, his mouth pressing between her shoulder blades now, grasping the cascade of her hair to the side so as not to get it caught; his hands went to undo her necklace’s clasp, but she murmured “no, I want to wear it while we fuck,” and the thought of it thrilled him; it seemed only natural that she’d wear it, it seemed intense beyond a normal object, cut against her like a second skin, a miraculous piece of jewelry that hummed with eroticism. He pulled at her dress; she flipped over with an agile sweetness as he did, slipping out of it, laying on her back so her breasts were now exposed to him, wearing only a pair of silk black underwear now, and he hungrily captured one of her nipples in his lips, sucking hungrily. She moaned again, this time more loudly; who was there to hear them now, indeed, and he groaned happily into her body, intoxicated with it. He leaned up once more to undo the button and zipper of his pants; as he kicked them off, he watched her hazy eyes, bright with lust, lave over the bulge of his erection under his black briefs; “take those off too,” she murmured teasingly, her playful smile driving him to the edge of desire again, and he obediently pulled them down, grinning at her, his cock springing out and causing a bubble of surprise to fall out of her mouth;  “god, you’re fucking big,” she murmured, and pulled his long frame down to her insistently. His mouth was all over her now, moving down her ribs and belly button to where the black silk panties clung to her, wet with her desire now, and with his large hands he pulled them down and threw them to the side. Her sex was glittering with moisture and her pussy was smooth, hair shaved away; he pressed one long finger between her folds to the bundle of nerves he knew was nestled there, and she moaned again, this time long and loud and stretching into a groan of ecstasy.

He pushed her legs apart insistently and pressed a hard lick against her clit; she cried out with an involuntary spasm of pleasure, and he smiled with desire. “God, you taste good,” he moaned, before pressing his mouth flush against her, working his tongue into her with measured circles; but their eyes, his stormy blue with want, hers taking on an ethereal dark-green hue that both shook and amazed him, stared into one another as he did, and he could see the way she was unraveling in his fingers, his mouth filling her up and bringing her dangerously close to the edge. “I don’t want you to come yet,” he whispered, stopping, watching her body clench under him with the lack of his mouth, “I want to fuck you and I want us to come together, god, you’re so beautiful,” and she nodded and whispered “yes,” and hushed him with her mouth, the taste of her mingling in their mouths, her hand finding his painfully erect cock and using the precum that dripped from its head to smooth her hand up and down his shaft, rattling him into a wanton thirst to be inside her.

“Do you want me to?” He asked, gazing into her face, her cheeks flushed with cupidity, her body hot under his hands. He couldn’t believe she was here in his bed; he gazed at the crystals against her neck, against her ears, into her eyes, fluttering as they looked at him, god, she was so lovely, she made his heart quiver; she made him want to die.

“Yes, Duncan--fuck me.”

He moved and he was between her legs--he paused for one deep moment, the head of his painfully hard cock against her cunt, and then he pressed himself into her as his mouth pressed into her bruised lips again, one hand grasping her neck, the other grasping her hip, and they gasped into each other, the intensity of this connection overwhelming them both in a cascade of sensation. He moved, a rhythm building in his hips and his groin, and she cried out--”Duncan, fuck, Duncan, oh fuck, yes, fuck me hard, like that--” and he pulled her against him, their bodies flush against each other, sweat mingling, the scent of their sex and their perfume (his like smoke and cedar wood, hers heady and sweet) crashing together--he moved, pulling her upright onto him so her ass smacked against his knees and the hard length of his cock crashed into her again and again, her clit rubbing against his abdomen, her eyes rolling back in her head, his mouth leaving red welts on her perfect neck, her hair falling back and glittering in the light. She kissed him, grasping his stubble in her small fingers, kissed his forehead as he buried himself inside her, causing small entreating words to fall from his lips like a prayer, like a spell, a mantra; “Mackenzie, Mackenzie, Mackenzie, please, oh god, god--”

He felt his climax rushing forward, a wave that he wasn’t sure he could stop if he tried, and she moaned into him--”Oh god, Duncan, I’m gonna come, keep doing that, just like that--” And as she cried out in wild delight a moment later, her cunt convulsing down onto him, he exploded into her, buried inside her warmth, grasping her against him as though he could never bear to let go; the sweat on his brow mixing into the sweat that pooled at her throat, and his cock shuddered its release deep into her, pulsing and falling into tenderness and still very hard. They stayed that way awhile; panting, spent, holding each other, pressing soft kisses into each other’s flushed skin, his length still inside her, her cunt dripping down onto him, still pulsing.

She laughed, suddenly, gasping, and it thrilled his heart to hear it; “Wow, fuck, fuck.”

“Mackenzie. Fuck.”

“Duncan. Hi.” She laughed again. He nuzzled his face into her neck. She lifted her hips and his cock fell out of her, going limp after his release, a small bit of white cum dribbling out. They both collapsed beside each other, chests still heaving, hands absently entwining with each other. He turned his head to her; his was just a little below her, under the incline of her arm, and she smiled down at him, and her smile was unbearably lovely; he could see the beauty that was hidden from him and the outside world shining from her eyes, still clouded with her climax, and knew in that moment that she was going to be someone special to him; he just knew, like the clashing sound of a giant gong resounding into the universe, like a shooting star that only he could see.

“That was incredible. You’re fucking incredible.”

She shyly pressed a hand against his cheek and he turned his face to kiss her palm; she turned towards him, sidling her legs together with a overwhelmed sigh as her still-sensitive sex pressed against her thighs.

“You’re pretty incredible yourself. And fuck, this penthouse. This is insane. Your cock is just...gorgeous. You’re gorgeous.” She blushed, locks of wavy hair falling over her shoulder against her breasts. Their hands still pressed into each other, feeling each other’s fingers softly, feeling each other’s veins, wrists, the soft pads of each other’s fingerprints. “But I meant what I said. I...I really don’t usually do stuff like this. This is....really unexpected.”

“I know what you mean. Mackenzie, you’re…” His eyes fluttered; he realized with a wave of intensity how tired he was, how much their fucking had exhausted him, body and soul.

“Mackenzie.”

She yawned; he wanted to grasp her to him, cradle her in his arms. He couldn’t understand what was happening; he wanted them to fall asleep together. That’s all he knew, all he could decipher. He wanted her to sleep in his bed until the sunrise kissed it and blessed them.

“Hmm?” Her eyes had fluttered closed, a small smear of eyeshadow, mussed in their passion, streaking away across her temple. He pressed the pad of his thumb there, wiping it away.

“Stay here with me tonight. Please?”

Her eyes fluttered open for just a moment; he was astonished to find he could still see that strange, hidden something still nestled inside them. That secret thing that seemed to be only for him. And then she said “okay”.

He pulled the coverlet over them so it was folded over the sheets; he couldn’t bear to disturb her again as her eyes fell closed once more and her breathing slowed to a soft whisper. He soon fell asleep himself, their hands still clasped together, her small, slender fingers entwined in his large, long ones. And the moon rose over them in the window, and the night fell away. Slowly, as they slept there together, a deep sleep that neither had experienced in a very long time, dawn came.

[smugzayn]

Orange

It ended badly between you and Harry. Now, you’re dating Mr. Responsible, Mr. Posh, and Mr. Stability rolled up into one tidy, public school boyfriend. And maybe you had been too abrupt. And maybe you had left some things unsaid. And maybe you thought back to what could’ve been. 

And maybe there’s no way in hell that Harry’s letting you go.  

In other words, you’re at the club with your new posh boyfriend. Harry shows up and causes problems - in all the ways you maybe wanted.

“I don’t even like rum.” You stir the drink with the dainty, pointless straw it came with and watch your boyfriend from the bar. He’s the type that knows everyone, whether he knows them or not. From what you can tell, that’s how the posh boys are. Always chummy, opening pathways for future networking opportunities, you assume, until their bravado gets stepped on. Then they are all biting compliments, grumbles followed by snickers, and name-dropping of schools, or estates, or connections.

Every once in a while he remembers you. Happens to look over some stranger’s shoulder to make eye contact with you at the bar and will bring the rando over to see you. It makes you feel like a decoration. He will say something like “Isn’t she lovely?” or “Give a twirl, babe,” and you do and it makes you feel like an utter tit.

“Did you tell him that?” Your friend Lily sips her vodka sour beside you. “That you hate rum?”

“He just handed it to me.” You shake your head, staring sadly at the glass, “Whatever. It’s not really a big deal, is it?”

You want her to say yes - that it is a big deal and you ought to tell him to piss off. Instead, she shrugs her shoulders.

“You know he’s just so sure of himself,” you consider, not sure if it’s for Lily’s or your own benefit, as you scrutinize him from afar. He’s much different than your last boyfriend. Mostly because he’s here. As in, present. He’s not jetting away to New York, or touring Asia, or filming in France. He’s not some international artist-actor type, he’s securely in business. As vague as that is, it’s all you know. He walks out the door in a three-piece suit every morning, with a briefcase in hand, and he’s home by six every night - you’re satisfied with that. Or, at least, there is some satisfaction to be found in that.

“He bought me this necklace last night.” You turn so Lily can admire the dazzling jewels, “Lovely, innit?”

Even to your own ears, you sound bored of it. Lily nods her head dutifully anyway.

“Also, this dress-”

“You hate orange.”

“I don’t hate orange. I just -”

“Bollocks. You broke up with the last one over that orange sofa he bought.”

You roll your eyes and try to ignore the pang of the memory. You’ve tried to explain it to Lily a thousand times. It wasn’t that Harry had bought that damned orange sofa. It was that he had it shipped to the flat you shared in London from some charity shop in Los Angeles after being away for four weeks.  It was the fact that you had just bought a new sofa two weeks before that. One he never touched or even saw because he had spent approximately three nights at the flat in the last two months. It was the big bed, and the endless facetiming, and the pit in your stomach every time you made plans not knowing if you would have to cancel to fly out to New York, or Sydney, or Hamburg because of a sudden twelve-hour window had opened unexpectedly in Harry’s schedule.

It’s too hard to love someone twelve hours at a time.

“Speaking of the devil - ”

Your eyes snap over to Lily and you follow her gaze. Sure enough, there he is - Harry. His ripped jeans, barely buttoned shirt, and unkempt hair (shorter than last time you saw him) all stand out against the blazer and neatly styled and trimmed hair of your public school boyfriend and his mates. This charity event is more stiff and formal than any of the venues you ever frequented with Harry (aside from maybe the Brits).  

“What the bloody hell is he doing here?”

You watch as your boyfriend’s well-manicured nails harshly grip Harry’s chipped black nails in a handshake. Harry’s casual and easy demeanour unchanged even as your boyfriend’s chest puffs open and his spine stiffens noticeably.

“Do they know each other?” Lily asks, her gaze stuck on the two men in awe. “It’s like watching two worlds collide -”

“Bit dramatic -”

“They’re bloody opposites. Mate, you really know how to go on the rebound.”

“Piss off. Oh, shit -”

You turn around abruptly, sloshing your drink down your dress in the process, as you see Harry’s head poke over your boyfriend’s shoulder as he turns to point you out.

You pad at the wet splotches running down your right hip and thigh with a cloth from the bar. “Shit, shit, shit-”

“Oh, god. They’re coming over,” Lily elbows you roughly in the shoulder and you dab more furiously as you run a hand through your hair to fluff it up.

A hand snakes around the back of your waist and fingertips press forcefully into your hip to twist you around until you’re tightly nestled into your boyfriend’s side.

“Hello, dove.”

You open your mouth to respond and then brace yourself as his lips come suddenly, and somewhat harshly, down onto yours. The angles awkward, there’s a bit of hair stuck to your lip, and you hate to smudge your good lipstick in some showy, neck-aching snog. You flush as your boyfriend, who chides you on holding your knife ‘peasant-like’, sneaks a hand up your waist to lightly brush the swell of your breast in the midst of the crowded event. Your ears automatically burn with warmth.

Thankfully, after a second too long, someone clears their throat pointedly, Harry you think, and you take the opportunity to gently push on his chest.

“Ah, right - my apologies, Harold,” he doesn’t let go of your chin, ever since his lips came crashing down on yours, and he very purposefully uses his thumb to clean up an imaginary streak of lipstick while glancing over at Harry. It’s embarrassing - such a ridiculously transparent display of possession. “This is my girlfriend. Darling, Harold here says he knows you.”

You take the opportunity to grab his hand from its hold on your chin and squeeze it tightly in your own. You buy yourself some time by propping up on your tiptoes to peck your boyfriend's lips - the showy stuff is only ridiculous when your boyfriend does it.

His eyes flash in satisfaction as if he’s just proven something.

“Does he now? Harry, you say?”

It’s the first time you’re really forced to look over at Harry and - fuck - he looks amazing. He’s trimmed his hair up and his fringe is messily crafted atop his head. He has a bit of colour, too, like he’s just spent the last week on some island and for all you know he has. And then there’s that - his lips split into an easy smile as your eyes meet. The kind that dimples his cheeks and just reveals a peak of white teeth beyond his remarkable pink lips.

“You look like you’ve been somewhere warm,” you note casually, but Harry’s eyes flash with recognition at the quip, “Do I know you from business in Cape Town? Maybe Portugal? Los Angeles, perhaps?”

It hadn’t ended well - your relationship with Harry. After you had navigated that orange sofa to the living room, you left. Like packed up your bags, boxed up your belongings, crated your dog and left. It was a day later, on an unscheduled trip back to London, that Harry had shown up at your sister’s flat. You had screamed and thrown things, and he had yelled and slammed his hand into walls. He was never there for you and you knew exactly what you were getting into when you had started dating him. He was a selfish ass and you had impossible expectations and were far too stubborn for your own good. He had sworn that you were throwing something good away and you promised him that you wouldn’t look back. It wasn’t until he had stormed away in a heat of anger and you had slammed the door on his retreating back that you sunk to the floor and cried.

And then you hadn’t responded to any of his calls, or texts, or - for Christ sakes - e-mails and now he’s here. Standing in front of you at some charity function where he looks out of place and you sure as hell feel that same. Either way, he’s right - you’re too stubborn and damn if you’ll stop that now.

“Where’s it been,” you prompt when he just glares at you hotly. “Where is it that I know you from, then?”

“Brisbane, actually,” he remarks, the forced smile tightening on your face as his deepens at your feisty introduction. “Was just telling y’boyfriend here that it’s lovely this time of year. I seem t’remember y’quite likin’ -”

“Lovely, I’m sure you must be right,” you interrupt quickly with your over clipped and well-pronounced syllables that sound right at home next to your boyfriend but Harry must certainly realise as artificial. Again, thank god you’re stubborn.

Harry thankfully shuts up but not before flashing you a knowing smile and sipping on his drink cheekily.

You throw back the rest of yours as well. Fuck all.

It’s later that night, when the young crowd has taken over the venue and there’s less dry talk about the weather, and the quality of the Pinot Noir, that you feel your mobile vibrate incessantly in your clutch.

“Oi! There’s one of my mates now, dove. I’ll be right back.” Your boyfriend thankfully leaves your side. You had tired of him tangling his hands in your hair and pulling to get easier access to your mouth every time he felt you were losing interest in his rousing tales of school days at Woldingham and his gap year. Partying on beautiful beaches with entitled public schools kids didn’t hold much allure in your mind.

“Can have a chat, can’t he? Goes on and one about himself.” Lily holds your second unwanted and unrequested glass of rum for you as you dig into your clutch. “Better get that down before you have to hear about another fox hunting trip with ‘mother’s family.”

“Be nice, Lily.”

“He’s a prat.”

“He’s my boyfriend,” you argue mindlessly as you read your mobile screen. “And he treats me quite well - shit!”

Lily leans over when you gasp. 

“What the fuck,” her hands wrap around yours so she can more easily read the screen.

“Harry’s texted you fourteen times.”

“That’s because he’s sent one letter at a time - stop ignoring me.”

“Well, he’s got a point.”

You glance over at Lily, the fluorescent mobile glare glowing on her face in the darkness of the venue, to see an amused smirk. She raises her eyebrows and sips cheekily on her drink.

“I am not ignoring him.” You punch the same message into your phone. “I just don’t have anything to say.” You type the last sentence and hit send. You gulp down the rum just to numb your frustration. “Why would he even think that? I don’t care that he’s here. Why is he here anyway? Shouldn’t he be in California, or Sydney, or Bali? Now, he has time to attend mundane charity events in London? Besides, if he has something to say,” you glance around the room, finally spotting Harry in a booth across the way, clearly waiting for you to spot him. He raises up his glass to you in acknowledgment and you turn on your heel to show him your back, “then he can come and say it to my face. Preferably, he can sod off for all I care.”

Lily rubs your arm consolingly. “Whatever you say. I’m off to the loo.” She slams her empty glass down on the bar and stumbles away as you take a seat.

You wave down the bartender and flip open your makeup mirror to reapply your lippy. The drink list is long and fancy - there are no vulgar mixed drinks or cheeky lagers to be ordered; you are so out of your element.

Your phone buzzes again - It’s Harry. Well, I’ve got quite a bit to say. Especially to that prat.

You impolitely set your elbows on the bar, order a vodka soda, and furiously punch back a response. Who I date is none of your business anymore. Your finger aches with the force of the send. You weren’t even that interested in my dating life when that person was you.

You stare impatiently at the three grey dots. It’s been nearly four months since you walked out on Harry - you’ve moved on, haven’t you? He should too.

You’ve always been my business

You huff, a humourless smirk twisting your lips, and throw your head back slightly to glance over your shoulder and check that your boyfriend is still occupied. The last thing you want is him to wander over and nose into your business. You’re sure it would enrage his ego and by the end of the night someone would be expecting a call from “father’s lawyers” in the morning. Unsurprisingly, even more blazer-wearing lads seem to have joined his company.

Why don’t you go back to the States, or France, or wherever you pissed away our relationship at and while you’re there - 

You startle as a hand suddenly comes down on your shoulder. 

“Don’t say something y’going to regret.” Harry sits smoothly in the seat beside you, taking the drink the bartender slides in front of you, and swiveling until his knees are poking lightly into your thigh. “On the other hand, hearing anything from y’would be a change.”

You ignore him and instead stuff your phone into your bag, and flag down the bartender to order another drink; something strong and unforgiving. A shiver of irritation runs through you as you hear him laugh at your annoyance.

“It’s not funny,” you bite, turning to glare at him.

He looks over your shoulder and nods his chin at your boyfriend. “You’re right, s’really not,” he says dryly, and then tips back your drink and swallows it whole. He slams it down on the bar with enough force that several people turn to stare. “He’s a fuckin’ dick.”

You push at his knees to try and spin him away from you, it doesn’t work.

“We can’t sit like this,” You try again to turn him away from the too intimate position. “And you can’t talk about him like that -”

“I absolutely can -“

“He’s my boyfriend -“

“I don’t care.”

The bartender interrupts with the timely delivery of your drink and you gladly take a sip.

“That dress reminds me of that orange sofa y’threw out,” you choke on your drink as Harry watches you intensely. “Remember that sofa?” He’s goading you now and you hate that it’s working. “How I came home and you were just gone? Just an empty flat and two sofas.” You ignore him to dap at your lipstick. “Y’remember how I came over to y’sister’s to talk? How I texted ya? How I called ya? And y’ignored me.”

“There wasn’t anything to say,” you comb your hair down with your fingers.

“I never even got an explanation.”

“It’s hard to explain something to someone that was never there.”

“S’not fair. I came home for you,” his knees push into your thigh lightly.

You know it’s not fair, but what does he want you to say. You two just aren’t meant to be together - you aren’t. He deserves someone who’s willing to drop it all to be with him and you deserve some stability and presence. It wouldn’t work out. What more is there to say?

You sigh, “Harry, I don’t know what you want to hear from me.” You sip your drink and wiggle from the stool to stand up. “We were simply done -

You startle as his curled fist slams on the countertop in front of you. Now there are at least a dozen people watching you with interest. You hope one of them isn’t your boyfriend. 

“We weren’t done.” His fingers curl around your wrist as he draws you to him; his legs splitting so your thighs can wedge inside the space. It’s the first time you’ve looked at him without an ounce of humour or mischief in his eyes. Instead, he looks angry, even hurt. “I wasn’t done. We weren’t done.”

You press your hand to his chest to maintain your distance.

“Harry, we can’t do this now. Not here.” You peer over your shoulder to see your boyfriend’s head twisted your way. He shoves his glass into the hand of one of his mates and takes a heavy step in your direction. “Shit. He’s coming over now and he’ll be angry. Let’s do this some other -”

“I don’t trust y’with that promise.”

“Just text me.” 

You try to pull away as you glance at your boyfriend parting the crowd. 

“I need this, please. For me.”

You turn back around and find that Harry’s eyes have never left you, they’re still painted with the same hurt expression as before.

It feels like time stops for a minute. There’s the people crowded in all around you, and the dim, yellow lights of the bar, and the low rumble of noise all around you. You hesitate, but it’s an easy decision to make, and Lily helps you out as she suddenly stumbles into your boyfriend’s side - knocking him off track and giving you the clarity to tug Harry up from his seat. 

“Okay,” you mumble, watching as his deep green eyes sparkle with something that seems so familiar but that you can’t quite place anymore. His teeth just barely bite the inside of his pink bottom lip. “Let’s go somewhere we can be alone.”

Harry’s lip twitches slightly and you hear your boyfriend shout your name as Harry whisks you from the room quickly.  

[part 2]        [masterlist]

[chngmic]

A drop of ink may make a million think

Day 5 of Tododeku Week: Dorm Life.

Midoriya didn’t really consider himself an actual author, per say, but an enthusiast of words, yet his description fit the ideal one: quiet and slightly intimidated by people, always having a notebook in hand, good at putting words and knitting weaves of sentences that form into the quilt of a book. His friend Uraraka even told him that she would be surprised if he wasn’t an author as she tuned her violin during class one day. So, Midoriya guessed he was a writer, and he was fine with that.

UA School for the Arts was a private school for the artistically gifted, and Midoriya happened to fall into this category. Only the best of the dancers, actors, singers, instrumentalists, artists, broadway aspires, and authors get in. Midoriya was terrified auditioning his pieces that he had written during middle school, where Bakugo ripped them apart and told him that he’d never achieve what he wanted to be. They took a look at those pieces, wrapped up and pulled together with Midoriya’s own heart strings, and let him in.

Midoriya didn’t regret auditioning, but he was having a tiny crisis, and that crisis was his roommate, Todoroki Shouto. Not that Todoroki was bad - he was a great roommate, always making sure he cleaned up his mess, didn’t bring anyone in the room during the hours Midoriya did mind, and didn’t really have any annoying habits like most roommates do. The only problem with Todoroki was more of a Midoriya problem and not a Todoroki problem.

He was so pretty.

Midoriya could write sonnets and psalms about how gorgeous and amazing Todoroki is, but he has had a writer’s block for a few days now. His mentor, Toshinori, who has also had hitting bestsellers under the pseudonym “All Might”, told him that writer’s block didn’t exist. “You just need to start,” he exclaimed to the young writer, leaning back in his office chair, “and just let the words flow.”

Easier said than done, Toshinori.

He had been MIA from his friends for almost three days, cooped up in his room, trying to get something down, at least. Paper balls littered every corner of his side of the room (he always made sure none ever got on Todoroki’s side) and the boy was starting to lose it a little. One night he took twenty minutes trying to decide if running into traffic would give him a near death experience and give him a topic to write about.

Luckily, he decided risking his life for a thousand word prompt was not a good idea.

Midoriya must have dozed off, because all of a sudden someone was shaking his shoulder.

“Midoriya, you really should go to bed,” a voice said, and the writer shot up with a snort, blinking blearily at the figure and relaxing when he realized it was Todoroki. He forgot that on Friday nights Todoroki had a private instrumental tutor and didn’t get off until late. His roommate was a vocal music major, which meant he sang, and he sang well. Midoriya has almost fainted from the heavenly voice that’s shown itself in the shower, or soft muttering under his breath.

Todoroki Shouto could sing like a dream, but it was up for grabs whether he actually enjoyed singing. The young boy and Midoriya have grown close as roommates and friends, and he has told Midoriya that he comes from a line of talented singers; his dad, Todoroki Enji, was one of the most talented singers in the West. Midoriya couldn’t deny that as he actually heard one of his songs on the radio coming home from work one day (he really only listened to classical and video game soundtracks, he didn’t really listen to top 40 hits all too often). He wanted Shouto to follow in his footsteps to keep the legacy going - “The fact that an author like All Might has more searches than Todoroki Enji really pisses him off,” Todoroki told Midoriya one day as they ate lunch together, “so in pure spite I look up All Might at least twelve times a day. Don’t regret it though, because he’s written some of my favorite stories.”- so of course he would have some extra training.

“‘M fine,” Midoriya mumbled, pulling off a piece of paper that was stuck to his cheek. “I was just seeing if anything struck.”

“Nothing is going to strike at 3 am,” Todoroki chided, cleaning up his balled up papers and multiple coffee and ramen cups. Midoriya had the decency to blush, and scratched the back of his neck.

“Now, what you’re going to do is go take a shower, put on some pjs, and go to bed,” the singer instructed, pulling Midoriya out of the chair. “I’ll put your notebook back and stuff.”

Midoriya groaned, rubbing his eyes. “I’m fine, Todoroki, you don’t need to worry-”

“Yet here I am, worrying my ass off for my friend and roommate who hasn’t stepped foot outside except for classes and ramen trips,” Todoroki interrupted him, smacking his cheek lightly. “So go shower, and then you’re going to bed. You’re listening to me whether you like it or not.”

The writer sighed, and nodded, stretching his upper body. “Okay, okay, I know a lost fight when I see one. I’ll go shower. Are you sure you’re fine with cleaning up my mess?”

“If it’ll get your ass in the shower, then I’d do it ten times over,” Todoroki said, raising his eyebrows. Midoriya hung his head and grabbed his towel, shuffling to their bathroom. Once he heard the shower running, Todoroki started cleaning up the papers, throwing them in a garbage bag. He wasn’t really paying attention to the words on the paper - what Midoriya writes wasn’t his business - but when he saw his name he grew curious. Todoroki unwrapped the balled up draft, seeing the words For Todoroki written in the top margin. Cocking his head, he started to read.

For Todoroki

You’re an entirely new solar system.

Comet eyes and a galaxy heart,

And a mind entirely full of nebulae.

I can hear the stars in your voice,

See the black holes in your tears,

And bathe in the moon in your skin.

Yet, like the planets,

You are far away.

So I will just stand here,

Looking through Cupid’s telescope,

And hope that you see me too.

Todoroki blinked at the poem, feeling a blush rushing to his cheeks. Did Midoriya really feel that way about him? Due to the shaky and slightly slanted writing, he could tell Midoriya was drunk off of sleep deprivation when he wrote that. Yet, drunk words are sober thoughts, as Jirou told him one time over a glass of champagne and a big crush on her now girlfriend. He had no reason to doubt that Midoriya liked him - the poem proved enough - but Todoroki was unsure of what to do. He couldn’t just confront Midoriya about it, because that would mean he invaded Midoriya’s privacy and that was rude and uncalled for. He wanted to tell the writer that the feelings weren’t unrequited, that he liked him back.

Todoroki didn’t immediately fall for the shy and thoughtful demeanor, but he only realized he fell when he had hit the ground full force. It just came upon him as they were eating lunch together, and Midoriya was discussing the newest text that they were studying in English, and the rambling made Todoroki want to just kiss him to see what would happen.

Safe to say after that he realized his feelings and kept them in check. What Midoriya and him had going was good, and he didn’t want to ruin it with dumb feelings. This poem, this beautiful, heartfelt, and amazing poem that was so Midoriya that he wrote said that maybe the other was feeling the same way.

As he mused over this, Todoroki heard the shower stop, and he stuffed the poem in his pocket, and went to get Midoriya’s bed ready. It looked like it hadn’t been slept in in a couple days, which made him roll his eyes. Typical Midoriya.

“Okay, I showered, like you asked,” Midoriya said with a teasing grin, in pjs and hair slightly damp - the curse of curly hair. “Are you going to tuck me in, too?”

Todoroki snorted, and nodded. “Actually, yes I am. I’m also staying up until you fall asleep, so if you value my sleep time, you best be getting to sleep.” Midoriya sighed again and crawled into bed, pulling the covers to his chin.

“Are you going to watch me while I sleep? That doesn’t actually help you sleep better. I read that online somewhere,” he said, blinking up at Todoroki. The singer sighed, and started running his hands through the unruly forest of curls.

“I’m not watching you while you sleep, I’m watching you until you go to sleep,” Todoroki said. “Now close your eyes. I’m going to sing a song my mom used to sing to me when I was younger.”

Midoriya immediately complied, closing his eyes and leaning into Todoroki’s touch. Taking a deep breath, Todoroki started to sing.

“Close your eyes, lay your head down,

Now it's time to sleep.

May you find great adventure,

As you lie and dream.

If you're scared of the darkness,

I will calm your fear.

There's a light in the hallway,

So you know I'm here.”

As he softly sang, he could see Midoriya’s eyes close, and by the time he finished the song, Midoriya’s breath had evened out, and he was fast asleep, a small smile on his face. Todoroki smiled gently at the picture, and leaned down to kiss Midoriya’s forehead. The skin was soft and warm, and he felt his heart skip a beat.

“Just so you know,” he whispered to the sleeping boy’s forehead, “I see you. I see you in the stars beside me, holding my hand, and making sure I burn just as brightly. There isn’t just one solar system, and each one is unique. I hope we both can explore the ones in ourselves someday.”

If anyone saw the piece of crumpled up paper that was pinned beside Todoroki’s pillow, no one said anything.

[magpiewords]

Code Name: Confession

Universe: 616

Title: Truth In Your Eyes

Rating: G

Word Count: 2566

A/N: Based on my loose knowledge of the comics. I may have taken some liberties with the intention of the art, but I really love the concept of “Steve doesn’t know Tony Stark = Iron Man” so I ran with secret identities.

“I can’t do the equation unless I have all the variables, that’s what you said.” Steve threw Tony’s own words in his face.

“It was just a debrief, Rogers, he misses them all the time.”

Tony had been sitting in the living room when Steve had stormed in. Yesterday’s battle had been anything but smooth. Natasha had her arm in a cast, Bruce was requesting a two-week sabbatical to who knows where in India, and Thor was so emotionally entangled with their villain that he had personally taken the spoils of their fight back to Asgard. If Tony was being honest, he actually didn’t hate Loki that much – the guy could actually be fun when he wasn’t be a megalomaniac – but he really hated magic.

“Stark, he was injured. I understand that he has a job to do, but he should have gone to medical. He may be your bodyguard but he’s also his own person.”

“I needed him.”

“You can’t actually be that heartless, can you?”

Tony let out a bitter laugh, but didn’t look up from the tablet in his lap. “Is that a challenge?”

Steve sighed and took a seat in the armchair to Mr. Stark’s left. “I don’t need to know everything about him, I don’t even need his name. But I deserve to know who I’m fighting with, need to know if he has anything we have to work around.”

“Like Barton and the snake thing?”

“Yes like Barton and the snake thing. If I had known he would – how did Iron Man phrase it, pull an Indiana Jones? – I wouldn’t have let Shield send him on that mission alone. The point is,” Steve leaned forward. His voice was so earnest, Tony actually glanced away from his screen to meet his eyes. “I would like to meet Iron Man outside of a mission. Call me old fashion, but I’d like to look into the eyes of my teammates when the world is crashing down around us.”

Tony knew it wasn’t Steve’s fault. The solider was made of curiosity and stubbornness. Great qualities for truth and justice, but not so great when trying to keep a secret. The rest of the world was already in a frenzy over who Iron Man was, especially after theories of an automated suit were dispelled after one of the early battle of the newly formed Avengers just half a year ago. The armor had taken a pretty nasty beating from whatever the hell those space whale nightmares had been, and one of the gauntlets had been ripped clean off to expose not wires and gears, but very human flesh and bone. Steve’s reaction was probably worse than any of the crazed press. Now every time Iron Man went down, he wanted the helmet off, wanted to “know if you’re okay in there, Shellhead.”

Every time the Captain asked, Iron Man’s excuse got a little less coherent. “Yeah Cap, I’m okay, Mr. Stark has to repair the armor.” “Yes Cap, I’m okay, gotta report back to my day job.” “Tis but a scratch, but my paint job’ll really need work.” Iron Man figured if his one liners weren’t as polished, it was surely because of his injury, and not the way the arc reactor spit out a few extra gigawatts at the nickname Steve had given him.

“Look into his eyes.” Tony broke their shared gaze, typing something quickly on his StarkPad. “Didn’t know you were a poet on top of being an artist, Rogers.”

“Mr. Stark, at least let him join us for movie night or something. You don’t own him.”

The tablet screen clicked off and Tony stood. “If I’m so heartless, maybe I do.”

“That’s not what I meant –“

“Iron Man’s identity is above your pay grad, Spangles.” The elevator doors opened long before Tony had crossed the room, but the closed behind him the moment he stepped in. Steve could almost mouth the words along with the billionaire – this conversation ended the same way every time.

None of the Avengers saw their wealthy patron or the armored teammate for several days until Shield called in for a mission. Something about an abandoned college building and a magical energy signature. Steve probably should have read the report more carefully, but any planning was hard to focus on seeing who was being sent on the mission with him.

It made sense, they didn’t actually need the whole team for what seemed like a recon mission, but Steve was almost never alone on missions with Iron Man. Maybe Shield didn’t want the two lead Avengers out of the tower at the same time unless the fight was big enough, but Steve was pretty sure Mr. Stark had his way into the servers and changed mission assignments. The both knew what would happen if Steve had free time with Iron Man.

“This building is really incredible.” Steve started as they started on the thirteenth floor. “You know, when I came up from the ice, Mr. Stark told me all about New York’s improved school system. Are all NYU buildings like this?”

“What makes you think I’m from New York?”

“You’re not?”

“I’m afraid that answer is above your pay grade.” Even with the mechanical suit’s voice filter, Steve could hear the smile hidden behind the mask.

“He doesn’t make you say that, does he?”

Iron Man’s laughter was strange, robotic yet so so human. “He might program the suit, but he doesn’t program me.”

“It is your decision though, right?” Steve pushed, “To keep your identity a secret from us?”

“Keeping my identity a secret is for the best.” Iron Man opened one of the classroom doors, doing a scan and shutting it. “This room’s secure.”

“You didn’t answer my question.”

“We’re on a mission, Cap. You’re the one always telling me to cut the chatter.” His tone was light, but the words ended the discussion the same way as always. If they were on a mission, Iron Man didn’t reveal any personal details.

“What if you joined us outside of a mission? Maybe for movie night?”

“Is Captain America asking me out? Must be my lucky day.” Iron Man stopped, turning to look at Steve. “A blush looks good on you, Stevie.”

The glowing blue ‘eyes’ of the suit weren’t really eyes to make proper contact with, but Steve kept his vision on the floor just in case. “Is that a yes?”

“Well I’ll have to ask my heartless boss and see what he thinks.”

Steve grinned, daring to look up. Even if he never saw underneath the Iron Man armor, he knew who Iron Man was. It’d be strange, but the team would make room for the metal suit on the couch. Before his mind could wonder further down imagining movie night together, the building shook. “What was that?”

“Epicenter is coming from a floor above us.” The teasing tone was gone, replaced with the cold steel Iron Man brought to battle. He engaged the suit’s thrusters, speeding to the stairwell as Captain American ran to follow. The armor HUD gave a layout of the building, which Iron Man pinged to the holo-shield bracer on Steve’s arm, tracking the power surge to a bathroom.

“You see anything?” Cap asked, activating the bracer, shield at the ready.

“Negative. But Shield told us the incident seemed magic related and Mr. Stark can’t seem to figure out scanners to pick up on that stuff.” The thrusters deactivated, landing with a thud yet keeping the tile floor intact. “So much for my boss being a genius. I hate magic.”

Steve laughed even as he scoped out the small room. “That is one thing I know about you.”

“That’s one thing you know about everyone. Come on, any sensible person hates magic. That doesn’t count.”

“Don’t worry, I wont tell Mr. Stark.” The shaking had stopped and the room seemed secure, but the mirror on the wall caught Steve’s attention.

The reflected image appeared normal at first, Iron Man gleaming in the florescent lights as Captain America stood behind him. Then, the surface of the glass seemed to ripple. The lights in the bathroom flickered. Steve had taken his cowl off somewhere around the fourth floor, pleasantly surprised to think that this might be one recon mission that wouldn’t turn into a fight. Now he wished he kept it on, watching as blonde hair turned gray and wrinkles bloomed around his face.

“Iron Man, are you seeing this?”

“See what – oh.” He turned, finally looking in the mirror. “Cap, it’s not real, I can see you and –” The sound of servos straining echoed in small room. “What the hell? Mirror mirror on the wall, I already know I’m the fairest of all?”

“I got that reference.” Steve chuckled, but his voice was all wrong. He lifted a hand to his face, feeling that the aged texture of his skin to prove it wasn’t just a reflective illusion. It was as though time had it’s hooks in him and was finally dragging him through the years he missed under the ice.

“Fuck, okay I can’t move but you can.” The servos continued to whine, and under the frantic tone of Iron Man’s voice, Steve could practically hear the gears whirling in his mind. “Look at me! Steve, don’t look in the mirror, look at me!”

The servos stopped moving. The sudden silence was deafening for a second, before a hissing noise filled the room.

“Okay, maybe don’t look at me.”

Steve turned his head anyway, the bones protesting as they aged. The armor was melting off, solid metal turning to liquid mesh of silver and gold components. Brown eyes were the first thing to come through.

“Steve please.” Iron Man’s voice wasn’t modulated anymore. “I know I’m sort of sending mixed signals here, but please don’t look. You want to know who I am but –“

“Okay.”

“What?”

“Iron Man, I know who you are.”

“You do?” The voice squeaked. Steve almost thought he could place it, but he’d need to hear the armored Avenger say something not in a panic.

“You’re my friend. And if you need this secret, I wont take it from you.”

Iron Man seemed to visibly relax, shoulders sagging as the metal pooled off him to reveal a glowing blue light in his chest. The arc reactor was in him? Steve just thought it powered the suit. He had a thousand more questions, but forced himself to turn his back to the cursed mirror.

“I need to apologize to your boss.” Steve said, the non sequitur making Iron Man tense up again.

“Why?”

“He suggested Alien for movie night last month and this would be a lot stranger if he didn’t.”

The last of the armor fell off of him and the person behind Iron Man collapsed to the floor, twisting to see the source of a strange clicking sound that had grown louder behind them. “Oh, yeah that’s a pretty good comparison.” He sounded shell shocked – still too abnormal for Steve to properly compare with. Even if he could compare, his brain was a little distracted by the metal reptilian that had grown in front of them. It growled, voice modulated with the pieces of the armor, still clicking as the waxy metal forged teeth where an elongated mouth was being built.

“I’m calling the team.”

“No!” Iron Man shouted and Steve had to fight the urge to turn around, just to finally have a face.

“I know you don’t want anyone to see you, but this really isn’t the time!” The creature roared behind them, newly solidified exo-armor scraping agains the floor. “Aged and no armor? We can’t fight this thing.”

“Yes, we can.” There was the cock of a gun and a round of bullets were fired into the creature. It reeled back, it’s shriek more terrible than the echo of the close range gunshots. Holes cut through the thin parts of the exo-skeleton, still dripping before they had solidified. So Iron Man was a great shot without the armor. Did he always carry an extra weapon under the suit? For every answer Steve got about Iron Man’s identity, he found ten more questions. But there was no time to ponder them, the liquid metal filled the cracks, healing the creature.

“Well, you can. I built a back up armor in your holo-shield bracer. It’s not perfect, but if you fight with it, it’ll buy me enough time to kill this thing.”

“Hold on, if you build the armor, why do you always run back to Mr. Stark after a fight?”

“Did I say build? I meant, uh, help build – watched? Whatever, I don’t have time to lie to you right now.”

“You’ve been lying to me?”

“Not the time, Rogers!” Iron Man snapped as the creature swiped a still forming claw at them. “Hit the two side buttons on the bracer, open the panel and press the blue button. You don’t need to be an engineer to know how it works.”

Steve clicked the buttons as the creature roared again. Plates of metal rolled out of the bracer, covering his body. Despite the ache in his bones, Steve felt strong. The holo-shield followed his arm as he bashed down into the creature’s skull. It roared as the metal dented, taking another swipe at the Captain. The American armor was knocked down, but Steve hardly felt the fall.

“And don’t turn around!”

“Not the time to worry about your secrets, Shellhead.” Cap threw back as he activated the boot thrusters, flying about the creature.

“No, the mirror. That’s how the creature took my armor and your serum. If you look again it’ll – Well it’s magic I don’t really know what it’ll do. Just keep distracting it.”

Every hit Steve managed to land, the creature healed. The holo-shield flickered, a warning about power levels flickered over the HUD. “How much longer, Iron Man?”

“Well I’m more of a rocket science guys, so this chemistry is sort of new for me.”

“You know chemistry?”

A soap dispenser flew past the corner of Steve’s vision, glass shattering on the creature and a dark orange liquid spilling over it. It howled, metal fizzing and melting. It lacked the wax like grace from when it had fallen from Iron Man, now it fell like twisted stained glass from a burned church.

“I do now.”

The last of the metal fizzled against the tile, burning through that and falling down another floor. The emergency armor gave one last warning before retracting from Steve. His hand seemed sturdy once again, and his face felt free of wrinkles. Before he could celebrate, another crash of glass came from behind him and he turned around before he could think twice. “Iron Man, are you okay?”

The short man held a broken off piece faucet, with the shattered remains of the mirror scattered about his feet. He turned, familiar brown eyes meeting Steve’s own blue ones. It was his first time seeing Iron Man’s face, and yet they’d done this a thousand time before. None other than Tony Stark was looking back at him. He looked nothing like the ‘Mr. Stark’ Steve had grown used to, dressed in ripped jeans and a faded t-shirt instead of a suit and tie. But the eyes, the eyes were unmistakable. “Yeah Steve, I’m okay. Surprise?”

Steve chuckled. “Not really. Only Mr. Stark calls me Rogers. Iron Man usually calls me Cap.”

Tony gave a small smile. Now that was a face Steve had never seen before. He could get used to that smile. “How about we meet in the middle and I call you Steve?”

[heoltrouble]

Reunited

               "Are you at it, again?“ Eunha scowled behind you while you quickly shut your MacBook so she couldn’t have access to invade your secret.

               Geez, this sneaky head! 

               You cursed her inwardly, feeling embarrassed for caught stalking your ex-boyfriend.

               Stalking Kwon Hyuk.                Yes, it’s the famous R&B singer which known as his popular name; Dean. Your ex-boyfriend who made you stuck in forever couldn’t move on phase, the passionate Hyuk. 

               "What?” you turned your head to face her, giving your innocent look as if stalking your ex was completely normal behavior. Well, it was normal and understandable when you had broken up with him one month ago, but the fact was you had been doing this for three years, three years five months three weeks two days in exact number. 

               "You will only hurt yourself.“ Eunha said, but her voice sounded sad. She was the one who knew how hard you tried to let him go, but until now you never did.

               "I know, can’t help.” You shrugged then looked out at the window, sighing. 

               You can’t stop thinking about him.                 Never.

               You tried to not having an urge peeking his life, it usually work in a month or two but you would find yourself back to stalk him again. Checking the latest news about him, the girl whom he date and stuffs. You knew it’s not right and wasn’t a good effect for your mental’s health but you couldn’t stop yourself. His presence was like tattoo which deeply engraved on your life, it was never simple to let him go. 

               Curiosity can kills T-Rex and you didn’t want to die because of your curiosity even though you’re not that ancient legend animal, infamous Tyrano Saurus. You were always curious about his life, or like what Eunha called; stupid obsession. 

               It wasn’t like you didn’t want to stop it, you tried. Multiple times, you blocked him on twitter, telegram, kakaotalk, even in instagram, but in the end you always back to your instagram account and peeked his life through your another account. 

               It’s like wanting your wound to be healed but you keep scratching it, it never make the wound any better, it make it worse and you just didn’t care. 

               Added this on the the list; nothing help when wherever you are, his songs and his name always can be heard. He’s on the top of his career, having his second mini album released, bunch of featuring with other talented artists, countless commercials, and lastly being one of judge on Show Me The Money 6, hell was increasing his appearance everywhere. 

              Then what do you have to do except accept the reality that you never could run away from him? It’s suck, and that’s how life can be. Take it or leave it.

              Living as radio announcer made you listen and read everything about him, whether you like it or not. But it’s your job that we’re talking about, be professional was the best decision. And no one knows you’re his ex-girlfriend, well you also didn’t want others to know. His fans could be so brutal and aggressive if they knew the incompatible girl who dated their oppa, jealous fangirl could be so scary and dangerous.

              You shook your head, shuddering at the thought about what they could do to you. Threat, murder, bully, kidnapping or violence.. Anything could happen. 

              “Y/n, have you read the script for the interview next week?” Your senior’s voice made you jump out from your seat. 

              “Uh?” You looked at her, completely bewildered.

              “You are not listening to me, aren’t you?” She put her hand on her hips, ready to scold you. 

              You gave her apologetic smile, “sorry, what did you just say?”

              “You’ll be the host for our interview with Dean, have you read the script?“ 

              Crap. You forgot. No, not completely forgot. You did read it but you were planning to switch your interview session with Eunha, because you didn’t want to interview this artist.

              "Sorry, sunbae..” you mumbled, thinking what kind of excuse you would say to avoid this interview.

              “Have you read it or not?”

              “I have, I did..” you nodded. 

              Shit, you were really bad at lying. 

              “Good, then you must be ready. He will have this interview next week, talking about his new single and we’ll have little bit personal question.”

               "…“ 

               "Y/n?!” She called you because you didn’t give response.

               "Yes?“ 

               "Why are you looking so uninterested? It’s Dean, all the girls love him. You should be happy because there’s a lot of girl want to be in your position." 

               And here you did your best to not rolling your eyes at her. 

               "Maybe they could take this opportunity?” You shrugged, not wanting the conversation going further. Or else, you would spilled the truth, rambling about how you cope with the sadness and regret for breaking up with him. 

               "No way, I don’t want them going crazy while interviewing him. It will make him uncomfortable.“ She reasoned. 

               "But Eunha said she wants to do it.” You lied, you haven’t asked her yet and you were one thousands percent sure Eunha won’t do it either. You just needed to save your own life and sacrifice her.

               "Nope, I need her for another project. You’re the best, You aren’t affected by him, it will help to smoothing the interview.“ 

               Smoothing the interview but ruining my life?                 Yeah, thanks.                But your life already ruined by the time you chose to break up with him.                Once again, thanks for reminding me. 

               You couldn’t hel but scoff. 

               Thirty minutes before on air, you kept fidgeting your fingers; absolutely nervous. It’s been so long time since the last time you met him, it will be the awkward radio interview on your history. 

               Minutes passed and you heard someone opened the recording room. 

               "Hi.” He greeted casually.

               You wanted to say hi but all you could do was only nodding. He was standing across you with his million smile, looking so attractive without even trying.

               His washed ripped jeans gave you glimpse on his right knee and his black sweater wasn’t helping to calm your nerve. His body screamed muscle everywhere, sure he had been hit on gym more often for the past years.

               Cutting the awkwardness, you acted professionally, asking him few questions based on the script, helping him to promote his album and made sure the listeners wouldn’t miss to watch SMTM6. Dean himself on the other said looking really calm and reserved, he went very well answering the questions. He even brought your favorite Starbucks hot chocolate which made you can’t say no. 

               Who’s crazy to say no to hot chocolate, though? 

               Finally. It was on your last section, you had one last question left on your script and then asked him to sing his song in acoustic version.

               "Dean-ssi, recently you did a lot of featuring with other artists, among of them is there your favorite?“ You asked, still managed to look him at his eyes even though you wanted to end this interview quickly.

               "Ummm..” He tilted his head slightly as he thinking the answer, looking so freaking adorable and hot at the same time when he ran his fingers on his hair.

               How could he manage that thing?                 Damn for his gorgeousness- 

               "Every featuring has its own unforgettable moment..“ he said, snatching you back to reality and stopping you to ogling at him, "It’s hard to pick one when the fact I adore all of them. The only I can do is getting better in each collaboration, they’re all very precious moments for me and my musicality.”

                Ha! The cliche answer, of course he won’t say who’s his favorite. It will only make the others feel bad. 

                “I see..” you agreed, “but I do like your collab with Loco, his rap and your voice goes well on that song.” You stopped talking when you realized you just make your own honest opinion, it wasn’t written on the script. 

                Darn- 

                Dean couldn’t hide his smirk, his eyebrows looked like they mocking you. Your opinion was like feeding his ego and it wasn’t your intention though.

                “Really?” He nibbled his lower lips, teasing you, “you listened my song?” His eyes were twinkling in amusement. 

                “Yeah.. It’s a good song.” You admitted, next time you should stick on the script instead of improvising by your own. You and your mouth needed to talk after this, it needs to stop speaking your heart loudly.

                But the song was really caught your attention, you were completely honest about your opinion. You liked the song, and you have it on your phone. 

                “You didn’t say it only for making me feel better because I’m the guest, did you?” He asked again.

                Why did you feel he was the interviewer and you were the guest? 

                “Of course not.” You defended, sometimes being nice to the guest needed, that’s why the interviewer would say they listened or watched the guest’s work, call it ethics code but you’ll need it in any occasion. 

                “Do you have it on your phone?” He dared you, gaining chuckles from his manager, your producer and few his fans which lately you knew they’re all your co-workers. They’re Dean lovers while you were Dean’s lover. You was his lover, a long time ago. But unfortunately for you, he’s still your lover.

                You aren’t going to let this topic down, are you?

                You gave him that look but he only smiled in victory.

                “I do.” You couldn’t stop yourself to not glare at him. 

                “Can I check it?” He really loved to test your limits.

                You sighed inwardly but at the end you gave your phone to him, showing your iTunes playlist. The entire Korea was listening you and Dean, you won’t let them down and gaining hatred comments for lying to their oppa. 

                He gently brushed his fingers on yours when he took your phone, you freeze for a second when you realized he did that on purpose. Dean’s seemed not caring at all, he played innocent as if nothing then he casually pressed the play button, placing your phone near the microphone to let the world knew that you’re not lying. 

                He played his newest song, Love featuring Syd. 

                “You really have it.” He sang proudly. 

                “Of course, didn’t I tell you earlier?” You suppressed your urge to not rolling your eyes and scoffing at him, well his manager was there and his bunch of lovers were there too! Literally everyone on his side.

                You noticed he was typing something on your phone very quick and skilled before he gave your phone back. He reached out your phone back to you in polite manner, then you took it from him real quick, more like snatching.

                You looked at it in disbelief when you noticed what he wrote earlier, just when you looked at him, he already staring at you with his deep eyes while you looking at him with your mouth hanging open, wondering what on earth he just did. 

                He opened note application on your phone and there’s his words typed on it;

                I miss you, please come back.

[justawriterofthings]

Just Lay Off The Twizzlers

Summary:  The reader is a con artist who bumps into David.  They head to a farmers market, take a few fresh veggies, and have the first decent meal either of them have had in a long time.  

Word Count: 2,854

Warnings: mention of mental illness, thievery, mention of drug use, swearing

Author’s Note:  Another requested David fic!  Sorry for the mistakes and thanks for reading.  :)

Thieves take.  They don’t give back.  They don’t borrow.  They take and they leave the damage behind them.  That’s what you’ve been telling yourself the past fifteen years anyway. Sure you had more of a moral compass now, but your philosophy stayed the same.  It had been how you survived, it was all you knew.  You got pretty good at picking pockets, swiping watches right off people’s wrists, and you had become one of the best con artists in the city. You were known among the other thieves for the risk you took with high end targets and your ability to talk yourself out of anything.  But you hit a dry spell, and had been working a job for months with nothing to show for it yet.  The resources you saved up had been depleted quicker than you anticipated and you were now squatting in an empty apartment complex, stealing food.  It was like you had taken a ten year leap backwards. But, the job you had been working reaped a reward so high you would be set for life if you pulled it off, and locked away for life if you didn’t.    

You shuffled your feet a little quicker today, there was flyer you found for a farmers market and it was about time you find something to eat since it has been since yesterday since you ate.  That and your target’s wife was there today and if you didn’t make it you would have to wait another two weeks to see her.  In a rush, you hadn’t been watching where you were going when you rand into someone head first.  “Sorry, sorry.  My bad.” You apologized, looking up to see a rather disheveled man with a Twizzler sticking out of his mouth.  

His hair was a mess and his eyes looked wild.  He ripped a piece off of his candy with his teeth and looked you over.  “It’s okay.”  He said with a smile.   After looking him over you could tell he was a little less than alright.  Manic even.

“Care to walk with me?” You asked, holding out your hand to introduce yourself.  “Y/N.” You said when he took it, though you could see he was hesitant.  

“David.”  He finally said, the smile from before was back. “Where are we going?”  He asked, finishing his Twizzler.  

“Farmers market to grab some lunch.  When was the last time you had something green?”  You asked, your pace slowing so he could keep up.  He had to think about his answer which told you it had been awhile. “Well we’ll grab a few things and we’ll find a place where I can whip you up something that isn’t full of artificial sugar.”  You motioned to the new piece of candy he pulled out of his jacket pocket.  

“We’ll find a place you can cook?  Don’t you have a place?”  He asked, a little skeptical seeing how you were dressed in cleaner clothes than he was.

“Not at the moment.” You lied, keeping your answer as vague as you could so you could get to know him a little better and he wasn’t buying it.  He let out a hum of agreement, obviously not believing you and walked with you without another word from him.  

You had been in his presence long enough to see he was a junkie.  Though you didn’t have to be a rocket scientist to see that since they had a distinct look around here from what you saw. Once the farmers market was in sight you stopped him and pulled him to the side of the street.  You pulled a comb out of your pocket and started to brush back his matted hair.  “What the hell are you doing?”  He asked, though he didn’t make any move to stop you.  

“You have to look like you fit in a little bit.  I’ve been to one of these run by this group before.  They’re more of the yuppie type.”  You explained, then motioned to your clothes.  “Picked these up this morning.”  You smiled proudly at the lift you had done.  

“You’re a thief.”  He came to the realization with a wicked smile on his face.  

“I prefer confidence person.”  You flashed him the same smile.  

“Con artist. Cool.  So how do you plan on getting us lunch?”  He asked, going along with you now, seemingly more comfortable than he had been ten minutes ago.  

“With this.  And you.”  You pulled out one of the reusable bags you’d seen used at these things before.

“Where are you even keeping all of this stuff?”  He asked, more impressed at the amount of items you had been carrying.  

“Deep pockets.”  You shrugged.  “That and I only carry what I need.”  You continued, finishing up with his hair then licking your thumb and wiping off the smudge on his cheek.  

“Thanks mom.”  He mocked your action.  

“What, you can’t look like a fucking hoodlum.  Believable but not too believable.”  Your voice cropped to a whisper.  “Just, can you follow my lead?”  You asked, fixing his jacket.  He nodded, unsure where this was headed but obviously eager to see.  “Good.  Okay, come on.”  You ushered him through the tents.  

David received a few stares but the two of you shrugged them off.  “So why are we here again?  Couldn’t we have gone to you know, a supermarket or something?”  David asked as you eyed a particular table.  

You shook your head no. “See that woman?  The one with the ten thousand dollar look of the day?” You nodded your head towards the woman who looked as out of place as David had.  

“Yeah, so?”  He didn’t see where you had been going with this.  

“She’s the wife of some Wall Street big shot I’ve been staking out for months.  She comes here as her bi weekly charitable action to clear her conscience.  This, this is charity to her.”  You motioned around you.  A little agitated.  

“So we’re going to what? Rob her?”  He hushed his voice so only you could hear.  

“Today that’s all you’re doing.  But I’ve been working this family for more than just a handful of fresh produce.” You whispered as you headed over to her table.  

“Annette, I thought that was you.  How are you doing sweetheart?  I see you brought that brother you’re always going on about.”  The woman wearing more than anyone’s reasonable salary greeted you.

“Deb you look as fabulous as always.”  You smiled at her, fake smile with a glimpse of teeth.  

She touched the bottom of her stiff hair.  “Oh darling, thank you for noticing.  Gregory bought me this last week.”  She motioned to the pearls that lay perfectly across her neck, dipping slightly into her cleavage.  

“It’s gorgeous, Deb.” Your tone was dripping with cheerfulness and you could feel David looking at you.  “We just came to pick up a few things for brunch tomorrow. Wouldn’t want to waste your time talking about such personal affairs.”  You handed David the reusable bag, looking at Deb the entire time. “Peter, please hold this while I find some things suitable for grandmother.”  You said when he hadn’t taken the bag yet.  

“Sure, sis.”  He sounded unsure of himself so you looked over to him with a reassuring smile.  “Just not Brussels sprouts; you know how she feels about those.”  He said, with more confidence.  You winked at him as a way to say good work.  

“Ah this is your brother Peter?”  Deb asked you again, looking to be preoccupied with David so that’s when you took your chance to shove a few items in your pockets in between sticking them in the bag David was holding.  “How has army life been treating you, Peter?”  Deb asked David.  “Looks like you have been through hell and back.  It must be good to be home.  Did you just get in?”  Deb started to ask David numerous questions about lies you had told her.  

“Uh, my bus just got in this morning.  Haven’t had a chance to go home and clean up yet.  Grandmother will be furious I haven’t stopped to see her yet, but she’ll understand.”  David started babbling, keeping Deb’s focus on him while you filled your pockets.  He seemed a bit uncomfortable and you noticed his forehead scrunch in pain slightly, but other than that he was a natural.    

“Oh shoot.  Deb, I must have left my wallet in my purse.” You patted down your jacket, feigning looking for your wallet.  

She looked to you with some sympathy.  “I do it all the time love, I’ll see you in two weeks.  Pay me then.  What did you get?”  She looked in the bag David was holding. A the trust she held for you was a good sign and you took note of it.  “Three tomatoes and a head of lettuce?  Is that enough for brunch?”  She looked back at you with a puzzled expression.  

“It’s for the salad. Grandmother will want her fill of lox before tomatoes.”  You defend the small bag.  

“There’s hardly twenty dollars of food here.  Just this once, I’ll give you a pass.  As long as you promise to bring Peter next time I see you.”  She looked to David with lustful eyes.  

“Oh I couldn’t trouble you like that.  I insist on paying.”  You lied.

“Nonsense.  Just bring Peter along next time and we’ll call it even.” She smiled to you and you smiled back, matching the fakeness.  

“Deb you are a saint.” You waved goodbye and pulled David with you.  

“Is that really all you got?”  He asked, skeptical of your skills.  

“Hell no.  My pockets feel like they’re going to rip open. Hurry up.”  Your pace quickened once the two of you were out of the tents. You rounded the corner into an ally and started to pull out your haul and put it in the bag, filling it almost completely.  

“You weren’t kidding about the deep pockets.”  He looked at the bag with wide eyes.  “So why is she the only one you take from?”  He asked, carrying the bag for you down the deserted alley.  

“She can afford the loss. The other vendors can’t.  I may be a thief but I have some morals.”  You laughed.  “Plus her husband is taking millions from anyone and everyone who even thinks about walking in his path.”  You explained as you led him to an empty apartment complex under construction. The two of you walked up to the entrance to the only finished building.  “Home sweet home.”  You opened your arms and motioned to the one complete building among the other four that were halfway done.  “This one has electric and water hooked up already.  It’s where I’ve been crashing until I get some money pouring in.”  You said to David as the two of you headed up to the third floor.  

“You lied earlier.” He paused, a little hurt.  But when you hadn’t responded he kept talking. “So you live here?  Aren’t you afraid of getting caught?”  He looked around at how nice the place actually was.

“It isn’t going on the market for another three months and by then I should be long gone.”  You picked the lock and opened the door to the fully furnished apartment.  

“Wow.”  He looked around, taken away by how nice and normal it looked.  

“Yeah, this is the one they’re going to use as a show room.  Riskier to crash here, but it has all the comforts.”  You took the bag from him and placed it on the counter and headed to wash your hands to start cooking.  As you cooked, he watched.  Conversation was minimal but it didn’t bother you. Being with another person for once was nice.  But just as you had been finishing up the almost-but-not-quite-Ratatouille dish, David started to act odd.  “Hey, you okay?”  You asked him when you noticed that pain washed over his features.  

“Bathroom?”  He asked through gritted teeth.  It was the same pain you saw at the farmers market but it was amplified now.  

“Down the hall, last door on the left.”  You said, worried for him.  He didn’t say another word, just got up and rushed down the hall.  You wanted to check on him but you weren’t sure how to go about doing that to the man you had just met.

David was gone for maybe a half an hour before you heard him come out.  He was slow moving down the hall and when he came in and sat down at the counter facing you.  You saw the beads of sweat that covered his forehead.  “You alright?”  You asked, handing him the only kitchen towel you had.  He looked at it and then you with a quizzical expression.  You motioned towards his head.  He took it and wiped away the sweat.  

“Thanks.”  His voice was groggy and he seemed distant.  

“I may have something for the pain.  Hold on.” You said, heading past him to the couch and retrieving a bottle of aspirin from another coat you had. “Here.”  You handed him the bottle then got him a glass of water.  He nodded his head in thanks and downed a few pills, then took some long gulps from the glass you handed him.  “Care to talk about it?”  You asked, not wanting to pry but you wanted to help.  

“Nothing you can help with.” His voice clipped with annoyance when he spoke.  

You shrunk back slightly before fixing him a plate.  “Eat, you shouldn’t take those on an empty stomach.  And Twizzlers don’t count as food.”  You smiled, trying to ease the tension between the two of you. He gave you a tight smile at your comment and looked at the plate with hungry eyes. “It’s Ratatouille, well it’s some of the ingredients of Ratatouille, with a side salad of lettuce and left over raw veggies.”  You gave him the explanation of the plate in front of him as he shoveled the food into his mouth.  

“I’m schizophrenic.” He said between bites.  “I hear voices, have hallucinations.”  

You were a little shocked he opened up to you so quickly, but you felt a sense of connectivity between him and yourself now.  “That’s no reason to live off of Twizzlers, David.”  You smiled, getting a laugh of out him.  

“You aren’t going to kick me out?”  He seemed a little surprised.  

“Why on earth would I kick you out?”  You asked, upset he would think such a thing.  “We just stole like fifty dollars worth of produce together.  As far as I’m concerned I’d say that’s a real bonding experience.  Plus you haven’t done anything to warrant getting kicked out of the apartment I’m squatting in.”  You laughed, fixing yourself a plate and taking a bite.  “If you want I could use your help getting to Greg the Wall Street big shot.  If you’re up to anyway.”  You offered him a job.  “I’ll give you a cut if we don’t get caught.  Plus I could teach you a few things about being a con artist.”  You smiled, taking another bite.  Watching him think over your offer you saw a small grin appear on his features.  “Cool! You can crash here too if you want. If you don’t have anywhere else to go.” You offered but he shook his head.

“My friend will be wondering where I am.”  He said with the last bite of food in his mouth.  

“Well they can stay here too.”  You offered but he shook his head no.  

“No, Lenny can’t come here.” He sounded afraid so you didn’t press it.  

“Well.  Okay, but the offer still stands.”  You gave him a genuinely warm smile.

The two of you talked some more, he wasn’t as talkative as you had been and seemed more interested in listening to your voice.  He seemed like he was still in pain, and he was more detached from you than he had been all day, but you could see he was trying to be present.  You thought it was a combination of needing a fix and his mental illness he opened up to you about.

When it finally started to get dark he stood up and headed to the door.  “I should really get going.  Lenny will be wondering where I am.”  He sounded more worried than anything.  

“I’m sure Lenny will understand.”  You reassured him, not really knowing what else to say.  

“Thanks, Y/N.”  He opened the door to leave.  

“I’ll see you around, David. Try to lay off the Twizzlers?” You didn’t offer for him to stay again, knowing he would only say no.  So you let him go.  Knowing you would see him soon and most likely with the Lenny person he spoke of. Since you had offered him a cut of your profit from the job you were working, you were sure to see the both of them. David was still a junkie and he would need cash or valuables sooner rather than later.  You locked the door behind him and went to bed.  Worried for how things would play out.    

[tessalivesandbreathesbooks]

Love at Last

Love as Last is an AU set in the human world where you're going to find characters from both, ACOTAR and ToG. You'll learn the life and struggles of the characters as the story progresses.

Chapter 10 (AO3)

Aelin's POV

When Aelin entered her sister's apartment she came to halt, completely taken aback by what she was seeing. The living room was a mess, the table and chairs broken along with a small library whose books were all over the floor, their spines broken and their pages ripped. The TV was crashed, its screen broken into tiny crystals that were all over the room and the sofa had been cut, probably to verify there wasn't anything of importance inside of it.

Aelin took into the details as rage started to build inside of her. They had broken into her sister's apartment. They had murdered her in cold blood and then they had come to make sure there were no loose ends, to make sure her death wouldn't cause them any more trouble. To make sure her death became a tragedy, an average suicide of some misunderstood girl ... and not an assassination.

I will make them pay, she promised. I will make them pay for everything they have done. For every death they had caused, for every drop of pain they had generated, for every tear that had been shed ... they will pay, with blood and darkness.

She heard Rowan cursing as he stepped in behind her and took into the details of the scene as well. Aelin didn't even blink in acknowledgement as she rushed towards her sister's bedroom to find the exact same scenario repeating itself.

There was nothing left. They had left nothing for them to find.

Or so they thought.

Aelin knelt, searching. She knew her sister would never leave her most treasured things out in the open. If anyone is going to rob me, she had once told her, they should at least work for it. Nehemia had to have hidden her belongings somewhere around here, in a completely unexpected place, a compartment nobody would ever think of looking. But she had to find it. She had to -

"Aelin."

Aelin's back was turned to Rowan. She didn't even bother to look at him as she kept looking, as she kept fighting her way through the mess around her. "What?"

"What are you doing?"

Aelin huffed, exasperated. "What do you think I'm doing? I'm looking for ... for her stuff. It must be somewhere."

"What stuff?"

"I ... I don't know. Not yet. But ..." Aelin sighed as she picked and threw another of her sister's dresses out of the way. "Just give me time, okay? I will find it. Just -"

"Aelin."

"It will be just a -"

"Aelin." Rowan's voice was stern. "Aelin, look at me."

Aelin slowly moved her head towards him. He was standing by the door with his arms crossed, his eyes no longer bright, but obscure as a new kind of ache made its way to his heart. In them there was sadness and hopelessness, there was exhaustion and frustration and she knew with absolute clarity that her eyes showed the exact same things.

They stared at each other as they let everything sink in: they had been too late. It didn't matter what those monsters had come for, they had destroyed everything in the process. Whatever her sister might have hidden had to have been found or destroyed already. There was nothing left to do. There was nothing they could do.

Aelin shook her head as she sat down on the floor. A few moments later, she heard Rowan moving to sit right in front of her. There might have been tears in her eyes as he lifted her face to his. He stared at her, his eyes shimmering as he whispered, "it's not your fault, Aelin."

Aelin's face remained impassive as her tears fell down her cheeks. "Then whose fault is it?"

"Nobody's."

"That's bullshit and you know it."

"Aelin, stop. Not everything has to be your fault. You're not to blame for every single thing that has happened in these past years."

She clenched her fists. "But it is my fault. I should have been faster. I should have tried harder. Maybe if I had, we wouldn't be in this situation. Maybe -"

"We don't know what might have happened if you had intervened. You might have solved the problem or you might have died trying, who knows? But now it's not the time to think about the what ifs, it's time to act and stop mourning. Didn't you just said that a few minutes ago?"

Aelin grimaced. "Yes, but -"

"Is it what you said or not?"

Aelin glared at him, her fiery golden eyes sparkling with annoyance. She sighed as she drew back from him. "Yes, I said that."

"Good. And now that that's settled ... do you think we still have the possibility of finding something in here or not?"

Aelin raked her fingers through her hair and bit her lip. She stayed quiet for a while before saying, "I don't know. Maybe. Nehemia liked to hide her things in case anyone ever tried to rob her, but what they'd done ... it is too much."

Rowan looked around the room. "What did she like to do?"

Aelin arched her brow. "Why do you care?"

"Because it might lead to something. You have told me that your sister was a genius. If she knew they were coming for her, she might have changed her hiding spot, she might have ... I don't know, left her things in another place. But if that's the case it's quite possible that she also decided to leave something to make sure someone found them. And by someone I mean, you."

Aelin's mouth dried as she understood what he meant. "And do you think it's possible that message has survived this ... mess?"

Rowan shrugged. "Maybe. We can't be sure, but ... it's worth the shot."

Aelin took a deep breath in. She was quiet for a few seconds before lifting her gaze to Rowan's and muttering, "she was an artist. She loved painting and creating to the point that anything her hand touched turned into art. Her drawings were vibrant and magical, something from another world. They ... they spoke to you." Aelin's chest constricted as she remembered, as she remembered what her sister was like, as she remembered what it felt to be with her.

"Do you think she might have left a message in one of her drawings?"

"It's a possibility."

Rowan nodded. "Anything else?"

Aelin shook her head. "I don't know. She read a lot too, but I think that was more for me than for her."

Rowan arched his brow. "What do you mean?"

"She didn't like reading. At least, not much. When we were little she wouldn't touch a book, it was so irritating." She laughed a little, but it sounded pained, heartbroken. "One day I decided to bring her to my room to read with me and we spent the entire afternoon reading and drinking hot chocolate. It was amazing. From there on she did read, but always with me. We always find a moment to read together, to share our mutual love for books I guess."

Rowan's lips tugged a little at the corners as she continued. "One day I made her read Pride & Prejudice by Jane Austen and she fell in love with it. She must have read it a thousand times, she was truly obsessed with that book. She -"

Aelin stopped mid-sentence as a thought came to her. She lifted her gaze to meet Rowan's whose eyes were flashing with understanding and determination.

The book. Not any book, but Pride and Prejuice.

If her sister had hidden something, the clue would be in that book because that book represented them. Their love for one another. The fact that, even though they were different, they were indeed one and the same.

She stood up and quickly rushed towards the living room where she knew her sister kept her books. She felt Rowan trailing right behind her and she muttered, "you take care of the left side and I take care of the right side, okay?"

Rowan nodded and both of them started to make their way around the mess that was the living room. It had been left in pieces, so different from what it used to be. Aelin kept looking at the titles of the books splattered around, but she couldn't find the book. Most of them were so broken they were hard to identify and that sent terror down her spine. What if it was gone? What if they had found it and had got rid of it? She was starting to get desperate, anxious when suddenly -

"Here."

Aelin turned her head to Rowan, whose face was gleaming with contentment. And then she saw it. It looked exactly the way she remembered, although perhaps a little bit more damaged. The front and back page were ripped, but the rest looked mostly intact if not old. Something cracked in her chest at the sight of it.

"Give it to me. Let me see it."

Something on Rowan's eyes swelled as he got up and gave her the book. She grabbed, almost afraid, as if it were going to disappear right in front of her. She felt a tear sliding down her cheek, but she smiled. Relieved. Happy. "I can't believe we found it."

She couldn't see Rowan, but something in the way he stood told her he was happy too, for her, even though he'd never tell he out loud. He whispered, "you should open it. Let's see if all this was worth it."

And she did. She opened it with extreme care. Most of the pages were jagged, but it looked better than most of the books around them. She started to turn the pages, searching again for any words, any drawings ... anything that might mean that her sister had left her a message in here. She kept turning pages, her anxiety increasing each minute that passed, before she felt something odd in one of them.

"Rowan, look." She grabbed the page with delicacy. The page itself look normal, unless you bothered to look closer and noticed its slightly increased weight and abnormal touch. If you noticed that, it was easy to realise the obvious: someone had joined two of the pages.

Rowan nodded and grabbed the book. With a delicacy and skill that left her amazed he managed to get between the both pages to separate them. He made his way through it slowly, but with resolve. When he was done, both of them stared at the pages with absolute admiration.

She had been serious when she had told Rowan her sister's drawings spoke to one's soul. Nehemia had drawn her own eyes, a brown so rich and intense it left her speechless. It was as if she were staring at her, as if somehow she had managed to capture her own essence in her drawing.

And below, with tenderness and care, Nehemia had written: It is only with the eye that one can see rightly.

Aelin stared at it, along with Rowan whose frown had deepened while he took into the gorgeous drawing. He asked, "do you know what that means?"

Aelin laughed softly, surprised to see those words once again. "I think she's referring to something our Mother once said. We had been complaining about some exams we had that week and I remembered I started screaming in frustration because I got to a point where I couldn't understand anything that was in front of me while Nehemia cried hopelessly. When our Mother came in and saw the scene unravelling she quietly went to her room and came back with a little necklace. The Eye of Elena, she called it. She sat both of us down on the couch and said: Girls, crying and screaming are no way of solving problems. But you could try with this. And she gave us the necklace. I remember I just stood there, frowning and wondering if she had gone mad. I asked to her: And how can a necklace help me pass a subject? And then she answered: Because it is only with the eye, with this eye, that one can see rightly. It holds all the answers. Don't ever forget."

Rowan shook his head, a bewildered smile on his face. "And did you pass?"

Aelin blushed. "I didn't use it because I don't believe in such things, but Nehemia did. And I did fail while she passed, but I'm pretty sure it had nothing to do with the necklace."

Rowan shook his head, clearly amused. "Well, this is something at least. Do you know where is the necklace? Do you have it?"

At that, Aelin grimaced. "Well ... ehhhh ... maybe."

Rowan looked at her sideways. "What do you mean, maybe?"

"I might have given it to my ex-boyfriend ... when we were dating, obviously. He was a police agent and I wanted him to be safe, I guess and since it was supposed to solve all your answers and troublesome situations ..."

Rowan stayed quiet for a few seconds before saying. "You can ask it back. It's not such a big deal."

Aelin shook her head. "You don't understand. We broke up three weeks ago or so."

"Oh."

Aelin sighed as she raked her fingers through her hair. Rowan took into her expression and muttered. "We can wait, if it still feels awkward to talk to him. We can -"

"No, no. I can't do that. It's not like I can run away from him forever. It's just ... his last words to me were rather harsh and ... they still stung. Seeing him hurts."

Rowan looked at her, his eyes warm and open for once. He quietly asked, "what did he say?"

If it had been anyone else, she wouldn't have told them. But this was Rowan, her friend, her partner in crime ... and maybe that's why she told him, detail by detail, word by word, what had happened that night.

She just looked at her when she was done and while his face betrayed nothing, she could swear she saw murder in his eyes. Finally, he whispered, "he was probably hurt too. And angry. He probably didn't mean to say what he said."

"I didn't know I was hurting him so much. I didn't know ... I didn't know my own misery was affecting him like that. If I had known I would have tried to change. Maybe this whole situation was my fault."

"Maybe it was, partly, but it wasn't wholly yours." She frowned at that and he kept on. "Look ... some relationships can't stand the course of time. It's just the way it is. Even if you love your partner with your whole heart, sometimes it's not enough. And then ... you can fall out of love too. You can stop loving your partner and then ... there's usually no coming back, no matter how hard you try." Rowan closed his eyes. "Sometimes it's better to let them go, to set them free because ... deep down, within your heart, you know it's the right thing to do. They will likely be angry because they don't understand what you're doing. They don't understand that, in spite of everything, the only thing you want is their happiness. You want to see them happy with the right person, a person you know it's not you, even if they cannot see it. Ending a relationship isn't always a bad thing, but something that needs to happen in order to find a better thing, a better life ... and someone else who fills your heart again."

Aelin just stared at him and softly muttered. "It looks you know a lot about this."

Rowan looked at her and sighed. "There were several times I considered breaking up with Lyria, but I never did. I felt like I owed her because I had wrecked her life in so many ways ... but sometimes I still wonder if I should have. She deserved the best life could give her and now that she's gone ... maybe she deserved more than me. She deserved someone devoted to her ... and I wasn't that person."

Aelin shook her head. "Rowan -"

"No, Aelin. I should have and now I will regret it forever. Lyria deserved more. She always did and I was too selfish to ever see it."

They stayed quiet, letting the silence reign in the room. Aelin stared at Rowan as she drank into the details of him. On the outside, he looked as hard as a rock and as cold as an iceberg, but on the inside ... there were so many demons hunting his heart, his mind. Probably as many as she had. They had spent so much time trapped in the darkness that they had difficulty finding again the light, but perhaps they could do it ... if they had one another.

"Together."

"What?"

"We will come back from out losses. We are going to heal, Rowan. You and I ... and we'll do it together. We'll find our way back, together."

Rowan's face was unreadable as he looked at her. It was difficult to read him, she had realised, and so she waited. Each minute that passed felt like an eternity before he finally conceded. "Together, then."

Aelin smile pleased. She grabbed his hand and squeezed it lightly. "You know, when you loosen up you're not so bad. I like this Rowan better than the other one."

Rowan shook his head, but there was a small smile on his face. So she kept on, her grin turning devilish as she said, "I wish we had some wine and glasses to toast to our new weird friendship."

Rowan arched his brow, clearly amused. "Who said we're friends?"

Aelin just laughed. "I don't care what you say, Rowan. You're stuck with me from now on."

When Rowan's stare met her own she felt a warmth spread within her chest that made her feel lighter than she had ever felt. And she knew that, whatever this thing was between, it was about to change both of their lives.

Rowan started to shake his head. "Okay, friend. Let's go find that necklace."

Aelin smiled, no longer afraid. "Lead the way."

[medusanaut]

Comic Artist and Publisher A.U.

@myurlisnotoriginalenough came up with a wonderful idea of a comic book artist Freddy and publisher Larry A.U. I asked to if I could write it and I got approval and had a smashing time pitching a few ideas around with them. 

I hope you enjoy... there is a mention of NSFW stuff... so beware... it’s not that bad though. Nothing graphic really. 

Freddy pinned the piece of paper to the wall of his kitchenette and stepped away from it, “Come on, fucker, show me what I’m fuckin’ up”, he said to himself as he tilted his head and looked at the cartoon of his publisher on the wall. This would be the tenth and final installment of his comic book Heist if he could just finish figuring out this fucker’s face.

It wasn’t as if he hadn’t drawn Larry’s face before. If anyone came into his apartment, they could easily see that he was, in fact, infatuated with drawing this man, and maybe even infatuated with the man himself. Freddy loved the subtle wrinkles that he put in Larry’s face and he felt huge amounts of pride with getting Larry’s bone structure right. He was in love with his comic book character Mr. White, and possibly even in love with the man that he was based on, and he wasn’t the only one. Thousands of people had fallen in love with the charms of the criminal known as Mr. White, his allure was a key feature of the comic, and yet Freddy was the one who was really in love with him. Freddy had even put himself into the comic as a character who only went by Mr. Orange. There had been hints throughout the series that Mr. Orange and Mr. White were closer than normal partners in crime.

Freddy sighed and grabbed a packet of comic pages for the ninth installment and grabbed his jacket to head out to a diner to meet with Larry to discuss the publishing of the new installment.

He grabbed his walkman and slipped on his headphones and then headed out of his apartment, slamming the door behind him and locking it shut.

Freddy had the money to move into a very nice house. He was, as some people would say, rolling in money, but he came from modest means and at the end of the day he preferred to live modestly. He donated large sums of money to his old employer, the LAPD, and other organizations, but he still had a lot. He was saving up but he didn’t quite know what for. He didn’t update the technology in his house every five seconds like some people in the business did, but he had a comfortable lifestyle, that was certain. After coming from a family who had nothing, a mother who died from causes that could have been prevented if they had had the money, Freddy promised himself at the age of fourteen that he was going to live comfortably. Even people in his building didn’t know what he did or that he was, as some people would tell him, rather successful at doing what he loved.

As he walked to the diner across the street, Freddy had a slight spring in his step. He clutched the envelope his comic pages were in close to his chest and smiled to himself as the voice of Billy Joel flooded his brain. Larry had told him to check Billy Joel out, and from the first song he heard, he was hooked and now he had even bought a cassette of his songs so that he could listen all the time.

He opened the door to the tiny diner across the street from his apartment, cool air hitting him in the face as he entered as the heat in L.A. had been incredible the past week.

Freddy took off his headphones and sat at a booth near the window, he placed the packet of papers on the table. He pulled a small notepad from his pocket and started jotting down notes about what he wanted to include in the new issue.

It was only a brief while until he heard Larry say, “oh, no I don’t need a table, I’m with him”. Larry then pointed to Freddy and the waitress nodded and he started strolling over to the table.

Freddy picked up his head when Larry got closer to the table and said, “hey, Freddy!”

Freddy nearly choked on his own saliva when he saw the beautiful man. He was older than Freddy by at least twenty years, his hair was starting to gray, and his face was a little wrinkled, but he was built like a god. His biceps were perfect, his neck muscles were well-defined, and he aroused Freddy to the nth degree.

“Hey, Larry!” Freddy said with a smile as he got up from the booth and extended his hand.

Larry shook it with a smile, “You know that we’ve known each other long enough to not have to shake hands at every meeting-” he noticed that Freddy’s hands were red and that he was wringing his hands out, “I mean it’s alright if you want to, but you don’t have to be so formal with me. Sure, I’m your publisher, but you are also a friend.” He put his hand on Freddy’s shoulder and squeezed it.

Freddy nodded and a blush spread across his face, “I’m sorry,”

“Nothin’ to be sorry for, kiddo. Now, let’s see that new installment. Oh, and I have good news.” Larry said as he sat down across from Freddy’s spot of the table.

Freddy sat down, “What’s up?”

“You’ve been named the best comic book artist by several comic organizations. In their reviews they’re saying that they want more of that, and I quote, ‘sexy Mr. White’. Also-” Larry put his briefcase on the table and brought out a few magazine and newspaper clippings and then a huge stack of letters, “Here you go.”

Freddy blushed and accepted the letters, “they’re all for me?”

“Freddy, this is the thousandth time I’ve delivered letters and yes they are all for you. Kiddo, you’re famous, and for all the right reasons. People love your work, I love your work. You’re really talented, Freddy.”

Freddy’s face was bright red and his eyes were rather wide, “I don’t know how people like my work-”

“Because it’s good, Freddy.”

The waitress approached their table, brown ponytail bouncing with her strides towards their table, her name tag stated that her name was ‘Peggy’.

Larry smiled at the girl and greeted her, “Hello.”

“Hello.” She responded, she then gasped as she saw Freddy, “No way! You’re Freddy Newandyke! You write the Heist comics! Oh my god, I love them! I’m so excited for the next installment.” She leaned in close, “I love Mr. White, he’s so fucking sexy.” Freddy gulped audibly as she stood back up and then continued, “OH MY GOD! And you must be the guy that Mr. White is based off of! Oh my god! He does you so much justice!” She collected herself, “Sorry, I’m just a huge fan!” She pulled out her small notepad, “so what would you guys like to drink?”

“Coffee, black, please.” Larry said as he closed his briefcase and rested it next to him on the booth. “Freddy? You getting anything?”

Freddy blinked rapidly, “Sorry, lost my train of thought for a second. Hot chocolate, please.”

The waitress nodded and they sat there in silence for a good three minutes. All the while the only thoughts that were streaming through Freddy’s mind was, ‘oh fuck. Oh fuck! He knows now! Jesus christ, Freddy, this is why you don’t base your characters off real people! Now he’s gonna shut down your publishing gig. You’re fucked, Freddy, and not in the good way. You’re royally fucked. You really fucked up this time. Just apologize and leave.’ Freddy was about to get up but Larry had the packet of his work and was opening it, he pulled the stack of paper from the envelope and a drawing slid out, one that wasn’t supposed to be in there. A drawing of Mr. Orange being pressed against the wall by Mr. White, their faces a mere centimeters apart, Mr. Orange’s pants around his ankles, shirt unbuttoned at the top, and tie undone.

Freddy’s face turned red and he gulped, he was trying to find out absolutely any way to get out of this predicament- and he couldn’t find any way to get out of it.

Larry was the one who broke the silence, “so, uh- this Mr. White guy is actually me?”

Freddy shook his head, “No, he’s Mr. White.”

“But he looks like me enough for a complete stranger to pick up on it.”

“Just because I based the way he looks off you doesn’t mean that he is you. You’re not gay.” Freddy said as he tried to get the paper’s back from Larry.

“You don’t know that. You hardly know my personal life. Hell, you don’t even know if I’m married.” He inhaled, “and yes, yes I am for your information.”

Freddy looked at Larry and tilted his head, “You’re what?” Freddy asked, “I’m not following.”

“I’m gay.”

Freddy’s jaw dropped a little bit, he quickly noticed, and then he closed his mouth, “you are?”

Larry chuckled, “you would have known if you had asked. I’m not that shy about it.”

“So you like men?” Freddy inquired as he ripped up his napkin into small pieces.

Larry laughed, “I mean traditionally that’s what gay means if applied to a man.”

Freddy laughed, “I guess that’s true.”

“I’m guessing that you’re married.” He laughed, “all these years and I’ve never asked.”

Freddy shook his head and twisted the ring on his finger, “No.”

“Why the ring then?” Larry inquired. He had always been attracted to Freddy. From the first day that Freddy entered his office to discuss his first comic book, Murder of the Saints, Larry had been completely infatuated with him. Larry had never been crushing so hard on someone, not even when he was a teenager and being attracted to the men in his mother’s magazines, but Freddy was different.

The waitress dropped off their drinks and she apparently realized that this wasn’t a good moment for her to ask for their orders, so she left.

“It... uh... it was my mom’s. She died. It was one of her few possessions.” Freddy spun it around his finger, a nervous habit, “I lost it for a while and then I found it again and started wearing it again.... But it only fits on my ring finger. But no, I’m not married. I just wear it as a shield.”

“For?”

Freddy chuckled, “women. They see a married guy and they won’t flirt for the most part.”

“So, you’re just a forever single type of guy.” Larry said with a nod. He was definitely disappointed, but he didn’t want a guy who was not interested.

Freddy, on the other hand, didn’t want to say what he really meant, he had never said it aloud and he was a little intimidated to say it, “I’m gay.” He blurted as his hand shook and he brought it up to cover his mouth, “sorry, I’ve just never said it out loud before.”

Larry nodded, “there’s a first for everything.”

Freddy nodded in response, “my comics are my outlet. I do a lot of art that no one sees. I’ve written and drawn stuff under aliases.... Some rather popular stuff too.”

Larry smiled and wrapped his hands around the hot cup of coffee that the waitress had brought him, “it’s good that you have an outlet. Mine was working out. Call it trying to defeat stereotypes.”

Freddy nodded, “I know what you mean.”

“So, you’re interested in my physical characteristics-” Larry started, “I mean you’ve drawn me more than once.”

Freddy sputtered out a quick, “I find you very attractive and kind and wonderful.” He then sealed his mouth and maintained a look of serious shock across his face.

Larry chuckled, “alright.”

“You’re not angry?” Freddy asked as he controlled his shaking hands by holding his cup of hot chocolate. Larry shook his head, “I don’t suppose that you’re single? Shit. I’m sorry. That came out of left field. You’re just really really attractive and you couldn’t be single there’s no way.”

“There’s a way, and yes, just so you know, I am single.” Larry said as he closed his briefcase and put it next to him on the booth.

Freddy had taken a sip of his hot chocolate and nearly spat it out, “Wow. Okay. Shit. I’m just makin’ a fool outta myself,”

Larry took a sip of his coffee, “it’s endearin’.”

The waitress came back and asked what they wanted, Larry ordered an omelet and Freddy ordered pancakes with extra whipped cream and extra syrup. Larry smiled at the request, he loved that Freddy was so wonderfully unashamed about his likes.

“You should come over sometime and see my other works... I self published some stuff a year or so ago. Stuff that wouldn’t fly with the your publishing firm.”

Larry laughed and brought his coffee up to his lips, “I would like that. I really like your work Freddy. It’s wonderful.”

Freddy shook his head, “not really.”

“Kiddo, I’ve never seen anyone ever be able to draw like you. I’ve been in this industry since I left college and I’ve never seen so much talent in one person. Why do you think I keep recommending you to artists and then why do you think they do repeat business with you?” He lifted Freddy’s face with the tips of his fingers, “Because you are amazing at what you do. Thousands of people agree with me too.” Larry took his hand away, “You’re a really great artist.”

Freddy blushed, “So, what do you do in your free time, you know when you aren’t coordinating with the rest of the publishing company?”

“I’m quite the homebody. I tend to like to go get a drink at the bar down the street from me and then go back home and read. What about you?”

Freddy laughed, “I have to be productive, so I draw for the most part. I’ll put the television on and just draw all day or storyboard. That’s probably why my turn over time is rather fast. I don’t sleep much, and a lot of my stuff is still packed from when I moved into my apartment two years ago. I just never get around to anything other than drawing really.”

Larry shook his head, “Kid, you gotta get outta the house, even if that means delaying the release time. That shit’s not healthy.”

Their food was delivered and then they started eating, briefly chatting about the type of cover that Freddy wanted for the new installment and when they wrapped up breakfast, Larry picked up his briefcase, but Freddy stopped him, “Do you want to come by my place and see the art? I mean if you don’t have work to do. I don’t want to impose myself on you.”

“I would love to.”

And that’s how Larry ended up at Freddy’s apartment.

Freddy wiggled his key into the keyhole and then managed to unlock the door to his apartment, “I’m sorry that it’s a mess. Like I said before, I haven’t really finished unpacking from the move.” He opened the door slowly and Larry’s jaw nearly dropped as he saw comic posters plastering the wall and different pieces of Freddy’s art hanging. He entered the apartment and he put his briefcase on the floor near the door and Freddy led him into the kitchen.

The kitchen table was covered with empty donut packages and empty beers with hundreds of art pieces scattered around the table, “Sorry, I tend to work hard in one sitting, hence the mess.” He let out a weak chuckle.

Larry went over to the sketch that Freddy had tacked to the wall, “this is me.”

Freddy looked at Larry shyly, “I told you that I draw you a lot. There’s something off with it and I can’t tell what it is. Normally hanging it on the wall and looking at it would-” The lightbulb in his head went off, “I got it. I got it!” He nearly tripped over the chairs to his kitchen table as he grabbed a pencil and then dashed to the wall and began making edits to the drawing, sticking his tongue out of the side of his mouth a little bit in total concentration. “Got it!” He untacked the drawing from the wall and put it on the table, “I gotta ink that tonight.”

Larry chuckled and ruffled Freddy’s hair, “glad that I could help.”

Freddy bit his lower lip, “Do you want to see the rest of my work? I mean the stuff that you haven’t seen before.”

“I don’t see why not.” Larry responded with a laugh.

Freddy smiled, “I’ll be right back.” He then went running off to what Larry assumed was his bedroom.

Larry took a good look around when Freddy was gone. It was a rather decently sized apartment if it wasn’t for the boxes that were piled everywhere. He was definitely going to offer to help the younger man unpack. Freddy was living like a college student, beers everywhere, packaged food, there didn’t seem to be any fruit or vegetables anywhere in sight, and the pieces of his art were scattered everywhere. This art wasn’t the type of stuff that should ever be just left around, it should be preserved it was all so beautiful. He could see the little experiments that Freddy was running with color and lining pieces. Larry wasn’t lying when he said that Freddy was the best artist he had ever seen.

“I’m back.” Freddy said as he came in with stacks of paper.

He was a little wobbly and for a moment Larry thought he was going to trip on a box on the floor but then Freddy put his work on the table and then smiled as Larry sat down at the table. He then cleared the table of the garbage and put it into his garbage can and the glass into the recycling bin. Larry sighed, at least the kid took out his garbage and recycling.

Larry began flipping through the pieces, some of them were extremely raunchy and from what he could see, Freddy had published several erotic pieces, both straight and gay.

“Wow, Freddy, these are amazing.”

“Thanks. Those are the ones that I obviously published under an alias. They are rather popular in the erotica comic book field. I’ve won a few awards for them. I plan to start another series that’s linked to those soon.” Freddy grabbed a donut from one of the non-empty packages on the table.

“Your stomach is like a bottomless pit,” Larry joked. They had previously laughed over just how much food Freddy could eat, and how he never gained weight, he remained at his healthy weight. He was just a skinny green bean of a man.

Freddy laughed, “I’m always hungry.”

Larry flipped through the drawings of men tied into beautiful positions with rope and men in leather and women dressed in high heels. It wasn’t solely men on men drawings, it was also women on women, and women on men, “these are gorgeous. These are true pieces of art. I want to hang them in my apartment. They’re wonderful.”

“Maybe I could do one for you.” Freddy said as he gently placed his hand over Larry’s

Larry smiled, “I would really like that.” He flipped through the pages, “They really are wonderful, Freddy.”

“Larry?” Freddy’s voice was soft and barely audible.

Larry looked at Freddy and noticed he was almost vibrating with nerves, “Yeah, kiddo? You okay?”

Freddy bit his lower lip and then in the softest voice possible he said, “c-c-can I kiss you?”

Larry smiled and placed his hands on the side of Freddy’s face, “yes.”

Freddy and Larry’s lips touched briefly, but then Freddy got shy and pulled back, “I’m sorry. I’m just inexperienced and a little nervous.”

Larry nodded, “why don’t we just get some beers and talk then?”

Freddy smiled, “that sounds good.” He got up from the table and then went to the fridge. He retrieved two beers from his extremely large collection in his fridge. “Don’t worry. I don’t over drink. I just don’t like going to the store, or even going out of the house when I don’t want to.” Freddy brought the beers over and handed one to Larry. He sat down across from Larry once more.

Larry pulled out his keys from his pocket and used the bottle opener on the chain to uncap the beer, “that’s what I was guessing.” He chuckled and continued flipping through the pages of artwork, “So,  you really  like to draw.”

“Yeah, why else would I pursue a career in it when it’s hard for it to be a viable option if I didn’t love to do it. So, do you like comic books? Did you grow up with them?”

Larry shook his head, “I love art. I don’t tend to read comics unless they have great art. I couldn’t afford them growing up, so I joined the business because I wanted to make comic book artist’s successful for their art, give them their dreams, yah know?”

Freddy smiled and wrapped his hands around his beer, “That’s really nice. Thank you for taking the risk with me.”

“It wasn’t a risk though, Freddy. I knew that your art was fantastic and that other people would love it. I wouldn’t call it a risk, I knew that you were going to be successful, that you were going to be one of the lucky ones, and that I was lucky for you finding me to publish them.” Larry flipped through the pages, “I got lucky, really really lucky.”

Freddy shook his head, “I’m the lucky one” he crossed his arms on the table and then rested his head on top of his arms and smiled at Larry.

Larry ruffled his hair and continued flipping through the pages of art.

About an hour and a half later, after flipping through hundreds of art pieces and Freddy talking about several pieces and how he sometimes got models and showing pictures that he worked from, Larry heard Freddy stomach grumble.

“Kid, you hungry again?”

Freddy nodded and bit his lower lip, “yeah.”

Larry ruffled Freddy’s hair and smiled, “Let’s go get a taco.”

Hope you enjoyed this! Love the idea it was fantastic!!! I love it when people have ideas and are cool with me writing them it makes me so happy! I love to please you guys. If you ever have ideas or prompts or anything you want me to write, just ask and I’ll see what I can do :))))... Anywaysssssssssss yeah. Freddy’s a potato and I love him. AND go check out @myurlisnotoriginalenough !