#you can also do this without page numbers and just stacks of blank papers for like sketchbooks and notebooks and stuff

[altruistic-meme]

whatre signatures? :0

!!!! where's the post about "oh good i get to explain this to you" bc that feels relevant

signatures are the collections of pages that you sew together to create a book!!

when you print out the pages, you print them with each paper having 4 pages so that you can fold the papers in half. the signatures are just a collection of those printed out in such a way that when you stack and fold them, the pages are in the right order.

here's some examples! this is one paper printed out, and it has page 2 and page 7 right next time each other

and then this paper is folded between them, with page 3 as the next page, pages 4 and 5 are on the inside, and page 6 is on the back half of it completing the order

signatures are usually multiple papers stacked this way, anywhere from 4-5 up to like 20 or more ??? (which is a lot imo)

and then you sew them together, and that's the book! (a drawn example of what that looks like, more or less!)

[luminous-letters]

Riddle helps you study

Towering stacks of books cluttered the desk, scratch papers and notepads were messily strewn about. You hung your head low, forehead against the desk. How you wish you could just absorb the complex formulas and equations without hassle.

But alas, things don't work that way.

"This is boring, we'll never use this in real life anyway." Ace sighed, agressively shutting close a book on Integral Caculus, its wrinkled, dirty-white pages and peeling leather-bound cover were indicative of its age and wear.

"Sorry, MC. We can't help you with something we don't know yourselves." Deuce almost whimpered, intently staring at the gibberish terms and symbols.

You groaned, banging your head on Heartslabyul's oak table, shaking a few contents of the desk in the process. You looked around, the curved and uniquely made shelves housed a good number if encyclopedias and novels, even some magazines snuck in between.

You tried to tread carefully at your time in Heartslabyul, lest you break one of their patchwork of rules. Albeit outlandish, you tried your best to construe it, to wrap your head around all of those laws. Why not? As they say; When in Rome, do what the Romans do.

"Spade, Trappola. You're on flamingo duty today, no?" A powerful voice called from across the windingly checkered hallways. The clacks of heels rang, inching closer and closer.

A familiar redhead came into view, a mix of crimson and gold gaudily adorned his robes. His oversized cape stretched down to the polished tiled floors, the velvet underside of it pooled below. His scepter gleamed proudly against the bright florescent lights, a symbol of power. His regal attire fit perfectly with the dorm's quirky atmosphere, the Queen of a chaotic kingdom. Long story short, he looked stunning.

"Dorm leader...!" Ace practically jumped out of his seat. Meanwhile, Deuce looked stunned, mouth agape, looking like a deer caught in headlights.

"Hm, if you get going now, you'll only be THREE minutes late." Riddle reminded, his silvery eyes never dropping their steely gaze.

"We should...uh, get going now." Ace stammered, grabbing a dumbfounded Deuce as they set off for flaming duty. "Don't forget to wear pink!" Riddle followed up, earning a squeak. "Y-yes dorm leader!"

"Now, how about you, dear Prefect?" He inquired, glancing at the mess of books and papers. "These books are a mess, you should keep a tidy workplace if you want to achieve good results." He scolded, neatly organizing the papers. His attention flitted to the open book.

"Integral Calculus? Oh, that's right. We had it last year too."

"Well...we have a test on Wednesday, and uh, I'm at a loss." You scratched your head, earning a blank look from him.

"As the dorm leader of Heartslabyul, I make sure that no student of mine fails any of their classes. You included." Riddle adopted a proud stance, chest puffed out as he finished his declaration.

"You seem to have a good number of referencial books, commendable." He chirped, picking a leatherbound from the stack, he flipped open the pages until he stopped to what you assumed to be what he was looking for.

"I could give you the barebones of the topic, we can also make a study guide for those two when they're done." He picked up a pen and started jotting down notes. His elegant penmanship decorated the paper like a bejeweled pendant.

"These are a few exercise problems, you can answer then I trust?" He looked at you expectantly, sighing when you shook your head to say no.

"Well, the principle you'll use can be found here." He pointed, fingers hovering over the page, across the plethora of foreign symbols.

"You'll have to substitute this with this and..." He trailed off, expertly smoothing out any misunderstandings you may have about the lessons, tossing a few quick tricks to get the gist of it.

Minutes of learning seemed to pass by at a flash, you could confidently say you're able to answer them by the time you've finished.

"Now, back to the exercises. Surely, you'll be able to answer then this time around?" He asked, smug. He handed you the worksheet he crafted himself, the once gibberish text now made sense, a little.

"Not bad, now to the next lesson."

"Excuse me, what?" You asked, dumbfounded.

"What we finished just now is merely the most basic of all the topics so far." Riddle snickered, taking out a heap of thick books from the stack.

"Can't we at least take a break?"

"Given our time, we can cover almost a third of all the topics so far. And we can make study guides while we're at it." He went off on a tangent, prancing around as he took more books from the nearby shelf.

"H-hey Riddle...?"

"Oh, did you bring calculators? We're going to need calculators in this next one." He beamed, lost in an academic world of books and arithmetic.

[theoriginalladya]

100 Days of Writing - Day 11

@the-wip-project asked:

How do you create your characters? Do you make a profile of them? Do you know your character before you start writing the story?

Over my years of writing I've found a number of different ways to develop and keep track of my characters as they show themselves. I can't say I have one specific way that works - it's all dependent upon the story, the characters themselves, and their purposes in the story. But there are a few general things I can share. I guess you can say that they fall into a 'profile' for them?

I'm not an artist, so I tend to rely on images I can find online for 'face claims' for characters. If I have a really good idea of what they look like, and most time I do from the beginning, or nearly the beginning, I try to find an image that is as close as possible to represent them. I am a very visual person - I need to see them to be able to write them. So some sort of facial image - a photograph, artwork, etc. - always helps

Many of my notes end up in notebooks - mostly handwritten, though I do use Word and OneNote to help organize different things about my stories, too. I usually go handwritten at first - something as simple as scraps of paper, a stack of post it notes, even an old college notebook that barely has any pages left. If it's a character I know will be a biggie in my story, or my main character, I'll invest in a new/unused notebook for them. Some are fancier than others (depending on my mood and finances at the time), but all contain descriptions of the character, little snippets of dialogue I've thought of for them, notes about their plots, character development exercises so I get a better feel for them, notes about their background/family, ideas for their character development I don't want to forget to put into the story, etc.

I mentioned 'character development exercises' - but that's just a fancy way of saying 'ideas about how they progress from the beginning to the end of the story'. Events in their life. Problems they have. Death, sickness, drama, etc. Interaction with certain characters. Sometimes I start noodling out bits and pieces of their interaction well before I've even got a plot sorted out for them, and I don't want to forget that, so I write it down. Again, in notebooks, or sometimes in Word, because typing happens almost at the speed of thought, right?

So, basically, anything and everything I know about my characters ends up in a 'notebook' or 'document' and 'file' somewhere at some point. It all sounds a lot more organized than it really is, but it helps.

As for knowing a character before I start? Most of the time, I do know them, at least well enough to have a good grasp of how they speak, react in certain situations, etc. That works really well when I get the idea for a character first.

Other times, I start with pretty much a blank page and just write. In these instances, it's the idea of the story that hits me hardest, and I have to start writing it down to see what characters want to get involved. It's more of a challenge, especially for someone like me who is more visual inclined, but it works well enough the few times I've tried it. This is kind of what happened when I started writing my Robyn's Hoode story. I mean, we all know who the major characters are, but it begins with a battle up in Northern England/Southern Scotland involving two minor characters for whom I had a very vague idea - Robin's father, Marian's father - and that's it. By the end of that chapter, I had a much better idea of who they are (even if one doesn't survive).

(example below the cut because this got long)

To the east, lying against one of the outer walls of the castle of Alnwick, Gilbert spotted him. Or, rather, spotted the standard raised above. Several bodies blocked the rest from view, one on bended knee, but all hovered in a semi-circle around what could only be a body. Hugh’s body. Lips tightening into a thin line, Gilbert pressed onward. Refusing to see to it personally would not change the grimness of the outcome, no matter how much he wished it.

Purpose and authority marked every step, and those gathered soon parted, making way for the lord of Loxley. His eyes dropped immediately, and for once in his life, Gilbert cursed himself, wishing he was wrong. Hints of crimson bled through plates of mail on his chest, and dribbled down Hugh's cheek and chin like a burbling babe’s drool. Inevitability and acceptance shone clear in familiar green eyes, and Gilbert knew without a doubt it wasn't meant to be.

Dropping to a knee beside the litter, he reached out a hand, bracing it against Hugh’s shoulder. “You had to go and split our forces,” he murmured with a hint of humor despite the severity of the situation.

Hugh, eyes slowly finding the blue of his friend’s, coughed out a laugh, ignoring the fresh spurt of liquid staining his lips. “You… you know me, my… my lord,” he rasped through labored breaths.

Gilbert’s hand tightened over the armor. “That I do, my friend,” he replied. For years, Gilbert relied on Hugh’s battle savvy tactics when taking to the field. Most times it the outcomes were successful, leaving he and his men relatively unscathed. Hugh was a natural when it came to tactics, and Gilbert could honestly say he had learned quite a bit from him over the years.

“M-my… lord…?”

Hugh’s eyes closed tightly as he struggled to speak. Death was stalking him, and surely wouldn’t be long in arriving. “What is it?”

“Will… Mari…”

Gilbert sighed heavily. Moving his hand from Hugh’s shoulder, he took his friend’s hand in his, squeezing it reassuringly. “Your children will be safe,” he promised without hesitation.

“T-take them?”

Hugh’s eyes opened, finding his, but Gilbert didn't miss the clouds now present. “God and King Henry approving,” he replied, “I will make them my wards. Your lands, your children, your legacy. They will live on. Fear not on that account, my friend.”

Hugh struggled to inhale, what air he could take in rattled alarmingly. His lips moved as he struggled to speak, mostly likely his final words… but nothing save one long, drawn out, exhale of breath escaped.

Gilbert remained as he was for a long, expectant moment, but when Hugh’s chest no longer rose and fell, he understood. “God go with you, my friend,” he murmured, gently settling Hugh’s hand over his chest, the hilt of his sword loosely in his grasp. Rest in peace, my friend, and watch over us who remain.

Pushing himself to his feet, Gilbert searched around the area for Roger. He stood nearby, out of the way of those gathered around Hugh. Nodding to the lad to gain his attention, he walked over to join him. “Help with the arrangements for Sir Hugh's body to be returned to my estates,” he said. Searching the area again, he asked, “Where is my horse?”

“This way, my lord,” Roger replied, guiding him down to the left and in the direction from which they’d come. “My lord…?”

Finding his steed, Gilbert accepted the reins and pulled himself up into the saddle with assistance. Several others, mostly of his retinue of bodyguards headed to assist with Hugh formed up nearby. “I will meet you there, Roger. I have a stop to make on the way home.”

In this instance, the only thing I knew about Gilbert when I started writing was that he is Robert of Loxley's father and that he and Hugh FitzWalter were good friends. Also, that Hugh was one of his knights. For Hugh, I knew even less. Eye color is the only thing that I really got for him - and still have, for that matter, all these years later. However, seeing as Hugh doesn't survive, I felt comfortable enough to at least draft out this chapter.

But, like I said, every story, every character is different. Ideas can be triggered by a picture, a song, a word, a certain piece of food, a scent, a part of a dream - it really doesn't take much with my muses! lol

[floof-reppu]

Seven Minutes in Heaven

Yet another BNHArem server collab

Want to read another one? Click Here!

Fuyumi Todoroki x Fem!Reader

WARNING: SMUT AHEAD

Word Count: 3.9k

A/N: I’m just gonna say this now... I’m setting a new standard. There’s legit no such thing as Fuyumi Todoroki x Reader smut on Tumblr until today. Honestly, I was half surprised and half not surprised. There was BARELY anything on her in the first place. I wish she would get the love she deserves, especially after everything she went through. Anyways, I hope you enjoy this! 

-

And with shaky hands, you slowly started to open the box.

There was quite a bit of volume to it,  but inside was… something you didn’t expect to find in such a ludicrous manner. A lesson planner with the printed name of a local elementary school written on the front peeked out at you, and you lifted it out. You saw there was a keycard with a note attached to the bottom, which read the following:

‘This seems like a very personal yet informal way to extend my greetings, but I’m sure you’ll be surprised at who’s on the other end. The address should be written on the first page, and the keycard should let you inside of the front entrance. The rest of the planner is left blank (for interpretation, of course)! I can’t wait to meet you tonight.’

Well, if that didn’t spell anonymity, you didn’t know what did. Opening up said planner to the first page, the address of the elementary school was written, no name attached to the front. A room number and the instructions of knock once, then twice was towards the bottom of the page, and you couldn’t help but wonder… were you really going to be having a one-night stand in such a public place? Wouldn’t you get caught?

There was only one way to find out.

Oh god, you were really doing it. 

The keycard beeped against the electronic lock on the door, green light flashing to signal that it had worked. It was almost as if the door was ready to open on its own with how little effort it took to pull it open. Holding the note in your hand, you used it to navigate your way through the school building and reached the room with the number etched on a plaque to the side. Knock once, then twice. 

That’s exactly what you did, rapping your knuckles against the wood of the door once, waiting a few seconds, then did it twice more. You could hear the distinct sound of footsteps through the paper thin walls of the classroom, though you dare not speak. 

“You can come in.” The voice was feminine, sophisticated, soft… did you know anyone with such a voice? Sliding the door turned out to be a pain, but once you finally opened it, a pair of intelligent turquoise eyes met yours, blinking once, then twice. It was obvious she was just as nervous as you were, having paced around the room countless times. A pair of red-framed glasses sat atop the bridge of her nose, white hair with flecks of crimson framing her face. 

You knew she looked familiar, but you just couldn’t think of who she was; or rather, who she was related to.

“I’m relieved you didn’t decide to ditch,” The woman let out a sigh of relief before folding her hands in front of her body, “but that’s enough complaining out of me. I know this is supposed to be anonymous, but it doesn’t feel right to… get so intimate with someone without introducing myself. I’m Fuyumi Todoroki, and if you hadn’t guessed by the item, I teach at this elementary school in this classroom specifically.”

Todoroki. That’s it. She is the daughter of Endeavor, elder sister of Shoto- how didn’t you realize that sooner? 

“Yeah, I… figured that much. I’m Y/N.” You responded, hand going up to rub the back of your neck. A few awkward seconds passed before your voice rang yet again.  “I didn’t expect to be matched with such an intelligent, let alone beautiful woman such as yourself, Fuyumi.”

“I could say the same, Y/N.” She giggled, taking a seat on top of one of the desks. “Please take a seat. I insist.”

There wasn’t a reason that you could think of to not comply, so you walked over and sat down in a desk across from her own. The wall clock ticked by seconds as you thought of what to say, what to ask her, such as how exactly were the two of you going to be intimate in such a public place? It was practically sacreligious to commit such an act, inside an elementary school no less. But… you couldn’t shake off the feeling of being sexually attracted to Fuyumi Todoroki, and committing such a sin in her own classroom, no less. It almost felt like it was meant to be. 

“So how are we going to do this?" Looking around the room, you couldn't see a flat, solid space in sight that could be used as a makeshift bed. Fuyumi scrunched her nose momentarily, thinking hard. 

"I have an idea that hopefully you'll like, but it's something that just came to mind. We can move the desks into the middle and make a flat surface elevated from the ground while also removing the chairs from the picture. We can stack them against the wall." She got off of the desk, getting on the other side and pushing it towards the one you happened to be perched on. Getting up and helping made it much easier to get the job done, and soon you had a decently sized makeshift bed. 

It wasn't much, but you would have to make do with what you had at your disposal. The desks were metal, but hopefully they wouldn't be too cold for either of you, since you would both be completely naked on top of them. Fuyumi hummed contently as she looked at the creation the two of you made on a whim. 

"This is the best we can do as far as a flat surface. But anyways…" Her bag was sitting behind the podium, and she went back to grab a few items. You could have sworn you heard the sound of rope against fabric, but it could have also been your imagination; not that you wanted it any other way, of course! But what did it mean? When she came back in view, she held the rope, a blindfold, as well as a vibrator. "I brought a few things with me to hopefully enhance our experience, so I hope you don't mind."

"I… of course I don't mind." Your face flushed, both embarrassed and turned on at the thought of being tied up with a blindfold around your eyes in front of an almost-complete stranger. Fuyumi placed the items on a chair she kept nearby, and before you knew it, you had the small of your back pressed against the desks, a hand trailing up and down your inner thigh. 

"I'm glad you don't mind. I may not look like it, but I'm surprisingly assertive in bed, Y/N." She whispered in your ear, almost like a seductress. You were completely vulnerable to the woman in front of you, your legs wanting to buckle out of anxiety, but you came here for the sole reason to fuck, not to be a pussy and walk away from such an opportunity. 

Before you knew it, she moved her head back and captured your lips in a passionate kiss, one hand caressing your cheek while the other continued to trail circles along your thigh. Her lips were soft for the most part, but a few chunks of dry skin could be felt as a full on make out session began to ensue. Chest pressed against chest, you could feel Fuyumi’s hardened nipples press against your own. You wanted so badly to take off her clothes right then and there, but there was a commanding, demanding aura about her that you couldn't just get around.

Her tongue slipped inside of your mouth without consent, and you almost had to blink twice; she didn’t look like the type of woman who would be so assertive and forward with her romantic advances. If that wasn’t enough to convince you, the hand that was previously caressing your cheek had gone down to grope your breast. You let out a soft moan as she needed your clothed flesh, separating your lips from hers only to breathe. 

“Were you that surprised, Y/N? Or did you just need to catch your breath after that breathtaking experience?” You couldn’t get out a word just yet, so you resorted to nodding vigorously as Fuyumi removed her hands from your body, walking backwards and thinking for a moment. “I want you to get up on the desks and start stripping. One article at a time.” 

There was no way you could just disobey Fuyumi, especially since if you did… you didn’t know what might happen. Hopping up onto the desks behind you, your partner for the night eyed your body up and down, making mental notes of where you might be the most sensitive. Her finger pointed to your shirt, more specifically your chest. 

“Strip. Top to bottom.  Now, please.” 

Hands on the hem of your shirt, you pulled up, revealing your stomach first, then your covered breasts. You discarded it to the side, but you couldn’t help but feel so vulnerable in front of Fuyumi. This wasn’t the first time you would be getting intimate with another person, but there was just something about her that made you feel exposed, embarrassed to even show her your form. Feeling the tension in the room, her expression softened for just a moment. 

“You don’t have to be nervous. Just think of it as a brand new experience. My students always seem to be anxious over one thing or another, but I don’t think that anxiety belongs in the bedroom… or rather, the makeshift bedroom in my classroom. In fact, I think you’re very beautiful, Y/N.” She smiled, eyes closed contently, her hands going back to folding in front of her. “Now then, can we please continue?” “I, um… yeah.” You managed to mumble out a few words as you reached behind your body, unhooking your bra and exposing your breasts to the open air of the room. There wasn’t a completely definite blush on Fuyumi’s face, but you knew that she was attracted to your breasts, eyes never leaving your chest. “Do you still think that-”

“Y/N.” Fuyumi scowled, taking off her glasses and setting them on the podium behind her before walking up to you. “What did we just discuss about letting anxiety control your behavior and emotions? Actually… I don’t think I should let you talk at all.” 

Eyes wide, you looked at Fuyumi. What exactly did she mean? You had not the slightest clue until she went over to the chair with the toys, pulling apart the blindfolds and going back over to you. 

She was going to gag you?!

“Trust me, it’s going to enhance your experience tenfold.” Without a second thought or time to process what was going on, you were pushed up onto the desks with minimum effort on her part, a smile from ear-to-ear plastered on Fuyumi’s face as she climbed over top of you. Gently, she maneuvered the cloth into your mouth and tied it behind your head tight enough for it to stay in place, but loose enough so that you wouldn’t be uncomfortable. Her hands moved down to unbutton your pants, zipping downwards and pulling them off. She discarded them in the same place that you threw your shirt, leaving you in just your panties, already soaked from just how mysteriously turned on you were. “I’m so glad we get to have this experience together, aren’t you?”

You nodded, afraid that if you didn’t that there might be repercussions to your actions. 

Sliding off the desks, she made sure to keep an eye on you as she started to strip herself, letting all of her clothes fall to the ground in a fell swoop. It would take much too long for her to tease you, so instead she decided that was the best course of action. She went over to grab the rope and the blindfold first, pulling you back to her gently and taking your wrists in her hands. The rope was used to bind them together above your head, making sure that you wouldn’t be able to grab anything. The blindfold was put on soon afterwards, covering your eyes so that you couldn’t see.

This was sensory deprivation at its finest. The only thing you could possibly do now is hear out of your ears and smell... something. 

You could hear the desks slide against the floor.

You could feel the bare body of Fuyumi, her breasts pushing against your own. They were soft, warm… but yet you couldn't touch them, causing you to let out a muffled, disappointed grunt. A slap to your ass made you jump in surprise, but you weren’t able to do anything about it. Instead of paying more attention to your obvious frustration, her thumb started rubbing against your clit. The veil of darkness clouding your vision mixed together with the stimulation helped to fuel your desire for more, but it was hard to keep your mouth shut. 

“You’re getting a bit squirmy, Y/N. If you don’t calm down a little, I might just have to bind your legs, too. I don’t want to have to do that.” One of her fingers slipped inside of your entrance, causing your hips to move into her touch. “Be good and I might take off the blindfold so you can watch.”

The prospect of getting to see Fuyumi’s naked body excited you to no end, so you nodded. A second finger dipped into your folds, a moan muffled by the cloth sounding at the back of your throat. Slowly, she started to move them in and out of you, your juices from earlier helping to lubricate your walls and make it easier for her to pleasure you. If anything, you thought that you were going to be the one pleasuring her, but in this instance, you were completely and utterly at her mercy. She had you right where she wanted you. 

Completely.

Already you could feel your core tightening up, wanting so badly to release, to see the look on her face as she watched you crumble. Her pace continued to grow faster as she noticed your walls closing in on fingers. 

“You’re unraveling right before my eyes. You look so lovely like this, Y/N.” Her voice echoed throughout your mind, and right before you were ready to let yourself go… 

...she took her fingers out of you, sticking them in her mouth without you even knowing and leaving you wanting more. An overwhelming urge to try and break the rope binding you filled you, but you knew that wouldn’t help or solve anything. Instead, trying to wait and see what Fuyumi would do was the best option. The vibrator that was previously sitting on the edge of the desks clanged against the metal, and the quiet hum sounded throughout the room. 

“I apologize for that, but I wanted to make sure you were ready enough to take in the vibrator…” She pressed it against your clit, and it took all of your willpower to not cum right on the spot. “I know how much you want to release, but I’m asking you not to. If you cum prematurely, I won’t hesitate to leave.” She forewarned, her free hand trailing up to grab your breast. 

“If you understand, nod.” 

You did as she said, nodding your head while still trying to keep a level head since the vibrator was still against your womanhood. 

“I’m feeling a bit generous, so I’ll take the blindfold off for this part.” Her fingers brushed up into your hair, untying the top piece of cloth and removing it. You… took in the sight of her, or rather as much as you could. She was the perfect image of an average woman, having no defining muscles, yet looking perfectly fit in your eyes. This was the daughter of the top pro hero, being nothing more than a teacher, yet having the body of a goddess. 

You could get used to this.

“You’re staring a little… are you feeling alright? Or perhaps the sight of my naked form caught you off guard?” For once she looked at you inquisitively, brows raised and arm moving back to pull the vibrator away from you. That same expression turned into a grin as soon as she got the memo, your eyes averting from her gaze. “Oh, I see. I’m flattered you like my appearance, Y/N. I might just have to consider this being more than just a one night stand.” 

There was no way she was being serious. After all, you were more than sure there were other men and women interested in a beauty like herself. The comment was brushed off as nothing as she surprised even herself, inserting the tip of the now turned off vibrator inside of you. Dear god, the feeling in and of itself was amazing, even without the vibration. It was an amazing distraction from prior thoughts, as you were now focused on trying to achieve your own bliss. 

The rest of the contraption was inserted soon after, and you found yourself trying to ride it on your own. It was no use, Fuyumi turning on the vibration setting yet again and causing you to shiver. She was teasing you, in turn causing her pleasure as well. What you didn’t expect was for her left hand to tug the gag out of your mouth. 

“Fuyumi, what are you-”

“I think it’s time for you to put your mouth to good use. You have to warm it up somehow, right? I want you to eat me out and suck up every last drop of my juices.” She switched her hand on the vibrator so she could get a leg over your body, sliding back so that her folds were pressed against your lips. “Again, cum before I do and I’ll get up and leave… I can just finish myself off somewhere else.” 

Even without tasting her directly, Fuyumi’s scent was sweet, juices coating your lips almost like lipgloss. Your tongue swirled around her folds, getting a sample of what you were going to be expecting. Sweet, but not too sweet. That was definitely something you could get onto. Lowering all the way onto your face, you started to dive in as below, she was working her magic on you with the vibrator. It definitely made it hard to concentrate, as all you wanted to do was cum and let the tension out of your body. 

Finally, a moan elicted from her, almost as delectable as the juices that practically brought your mouth to life. She didn’t sound husky, but her moan wasn’t of a high pitch, being a perfect medium. This drove you to push your head upwards, tongue darting in and out of her slick entrance and occasionally your mouth would suck and bite on her clit. Your own moans acted like a vibrator themselves, giving Fuyumi more pleasure than she had anticipated from just a mouth alone. 

“T-That’s it, Y/N, keep going. Don’t stop now.” She managed to get out, sliding her hips back and forth to get a new feeling of pleasure. “Keep it up, and I might just cum sooner than I expected.”

This was the final stretch. You had to hurry, or else you would end up releasing prematurely. The only sounds that could be heard in the room now were the sounds of the vibrator pounding into your flesh, the sounds of the desks wobbling, and the moans that spewed out of both you and Fuyumi. There was one particular spot that you ran over with your tongue even if it wasn’t very deep, causing her immense pleasure and her walls to clench. The vibration setting was on max by this point, your walls spasming and copying the same notion. 

“Y/N… cum for me!” 

There was no time to think about whether or not to stop yourself. Your back arched up off the metal of the desks, complete and utter bliss taking over your body as Fuyumi released at the same time. If anyone else was in the school by sheer coincidence, you hoped to god that they couldn’t hear the two of you. Waves of sheer pleasure overwhelmed you, and after it was all said and done, the attractive woman sitting on your face waited for you to, like she said, taste every last drop of her before hopping off of you and removing the vibrator. Your juices flowed out like a stream, and she took a finger to scoop some out and have a taste.

“You’re a mixture of sweet and salty. Not bad.” She went back over to the podium to grab her glasses and put them on, being able to see clearly again. “If I had gone longer without my glasses, I’m sure I would’ve had a massive headache.” 

You sat up, but there was still the problem of your wrists being tied together. 

“Uh… you don’t think you could untie me, could you?” Fuyumi’s eyes lit up when she remembered, grabbing the loose ends and releasing you. “Thank you… I almost thought I was going to stay in that forever.”

“Not forever, just until someone else noticed. I’m really sorry about almost forgetting, though! I’m glad you thought to mention that.” She went over to a small desk in the corner, grabbing a box of tissues and cleaning the excess mess that was on not only your womanhood, but the desks as well. “This is just a temporary fix. I can clean the tops of the desks after I rearrange them.”

“You think you’re going to do that alone? I was the one who made most of the mess, at least let me help you.” You got off the desks and put your clothes back on as quickly as you could, Fuyumi following suit. When the two of you were finished getting dressed, she giggled softly, causing you to tilt your head to the side in confusion.

“What’s so funny?”

“Nothing. It’s just… I’m surprised you wouldn’t want to go ahead and leave.” She walked over to the window, looking outside at the night sky.  “This was just supposed to be a one night stand, after all… but what I said earlier was the honest truth. I’d like to get to know you better as a person, not just someone to have sex with, Y/N. I’m sure you have just as beautiful of a personality as a body.”

“Hey, that’s my line!” You retorted in a half-joking manner, smiling. “But… I do agree with you. You’re such an interesting and fun person, and I could tell that from our sexual experience, Fuyumi Todoroki.”

“Am I, really? Did the ‘taking charge’ fiasco get to your head?” Looking back at you, she smiled, the moonlight highlighting her face and making for quite the dreamlike scenario. “I never gave you a proper kiss, did I? I was just letting my instincts take-”

You didn’t think. You just did it. You closed the small gap between the two of you and pulled Fuyumi into a tender, chaste kiss. Arms wrapped around her to pull her closer, she wrapped her own around your neck. It was almost like a fantasy, something that only happened in fairytales.

To you, this was truly the start of something special.

[staywhelmedbatfam]

Sticky Notes (2/4)

~Bruce Wayne/Reader~

Summary: Soulmate AU where you’re given 100 sticky notes that will appear somewhere in your soulmate’s line of sight after you write on them. To keep everyone from immediately finding out who their soulmate is, you can’t write your name until the very last note.

Part One / Part Two (You’re Here) / Part Three / Part Four

***

Maybe if he wasn’t such a great detective, he wouldn’t have noticed it. Seeing as he’s Batman, though, that’s not the case. The sliver of black paper that he saw underneath the keyboard had silver scrawled across it. She had to be his soulmate, but he couldn’t just walk up to her when he’s in the middle of a business meeting and she’s trying to work. Waiting for her to get off of work was an option, but he didn’t want to draw attention in case it was a coincidence. A lot of people share the same favorite color as him. He’d just have to wait until he goes out on patrol to verify that it’s her, but he was already so sure.

Stuffing his hands into the pockets of his pants, he felt something that wasn’t there before in his right pocket. His thumb brushed over the paper and he felt the tacky strip that indicated it was a sticky note. Thankfully, he was seated in a boardroom and no one could see him pull the paper from his pocket underneath the table.

‘I don’t have meetings all day, so I guess my day is going slightly better than yours, but I have to be careful that my boss doesn’t catch me pausing to write back to you.’

Being in the back of the room with everyone focused on the PowerPoint in front of them had its perks. Bruce was able to take out his Sharpie and sticky notes to reply without anyone being the wiser.

‘I didn’t peg you as the rule-breaking type.’

‘I’m not… but I like talking to you and it makes my day go by faster.’ A small smile made its way onto his face before he began writing again.

‘Glad to know I can be of assistance.’ There was no reply that followed immediately like the one he just received. Instead, the woman that he believed to be his soulmate had knocked on the door to the boardroom.

***

When your boss answered your knock, you opened the door and asked to speak with him. He wasn’t too happy that you interrupted his meeting but got up anyway and shut the door behind him. You explained that your daughter’s school had called to tell you she had a high fever and you had to leave work to go pick her up. After the school notified you, you had called your mom and asked her if you could drop (D/N) off so you could return to work.

In the middle of telling your boss that you could return after dropping her off, he stopped you from continuing to speak. “That won’t be necessary because you’re fired.”

“But, sir, I need this job,” you pleaded. This job was your only source of income and now you’d have to rush to find another. Unfortunately, the employment process isn’t as quick as you would like.

“And I need employees I can rely on to be here during work hours,” he shot back before opening the door in one swift motion and closing it again to resume the meeting in privacy.

Tears began welling up in your eyes, but you maintained your posture and looked straight ahead on your walk back to your desk. You never left any personal belongings at work, so all you had to do was grab your purse and leave.

***

Bruce caught a glimpse of the woman again when her boss reentered the room and noticed the upset expression on her face. As she walked past the glass wall of the boardroom, he could just barely see the tears building up. He waited a few moments before excusing himself to the restroom. The restroom, however, was not his destination. Glancing around, he found her waiting for the elevator and she’d stepped inside right as he’d reached her, so he stepped in as well.

Right after the doors closed and they began their descent, he turned his head towards her. “He fired you, didn’t he?”

She looked at him with a startled expression and then gazed off in the opposite direction when she realized that the voice came from Bruce Wayne. In a weak response, she said, “Yes.”

“Do you mind me asking why?”

Before speaking, she hesitated. It wasn’t really any of his business, but she felt compelled to tell him. Maybe that’s simply because the man was the Bruce Wayne or because she wanted at least one person to know that she wasn’t actually in the wrong. So, she gave him the same explanation she gave her boss for needing to leave early. It was quiet between them for a moment.

“Well, one man’s loss is another man’s gain,” he stated, holding out a business card to her with a charming smile on his face. Slowly, she plucked it from his fingers and stared at it with a look of surprise before glancing back at him. “Give me a call tomorrow. Let’s see if we can’t work something out within the next week.”

***

(D/N) was still asleep in her bed around noon. You didn’t try to get her up since she spent the night falling asleep and then waking up a bit later to throw up. At the moment, you were leaning forward in your spot on the couch with your elbows resting on top of your knees. Staring at the business card in your hands, you debated whether or not to call the number listed.

The offer was sudden and, coming from anyone else, you would have dismissed it completely because it seemed too good to be true. However, the fact that Bruce Wayne was the one to offer made you stop to consider. You also couldn’t go too long without some sort of income. Your rent would be due at the end of the month and you needed to get groceries.

A few seconds passed where you continued to stare at the card before grabbing your phone off the coffee table. You quickly dialed the number and bit your lip as it rang. The call was picked up and your heart rate increased.

“Bruce Wayne.”

You froze momentarily. Doesn’t he have a secretary that answers his calls? He couldn’t have possibly given you his personal number, could he? You weren’t prepared to talk to him immediately…

Fumbling for words, you finally came up with a response, “Uh hi, Mr. Wayne. This is (Y/N) (L/N). You spoke to me after I got fired from my job yesterday…”

“Ah, Miss (L/N). How’s your daughter feeling?” Wow, you couldn’t believe that he remembered.

“She’s finally getting some uninterrupted sleep, so she’s okay,” you said, retaining your nerves.

“That’s good.” He then steered the conversation back to business. “Now, I’d like to set up an interview of sorts. How soon are you available to come to Wayne Enterprises?”

***

Nearly two weeks after you’d initially met with Bruce about working for him, you were acting as his temporary secretary. His actual secretary was pregnant and had gone into labor prematurely – by about a month – on the day of your meeting. On the spot, he gave you the position until she returns from maternity leave. When that happens, he told you, he would have a permanent position for you within the company.

The job itself wasn’t all that difficult. You would answer the phone and manage Bruce’s schedule, along with fetching any kind of documents he might need from different departments and some other things. It was only when some of the younger female employees would see you that you were bothered. Most of the time, they wouldn’t say a word to you. Instead, you would receive a glare or sneer. You understood why, though. Bruce Wayne is an attractive man and here you are, a newbie who doesn’t even have a permanent position yet, working closely with him as his secretary. They could get over it because you didn’t want to give this job up. Obviously, you would when his actual secretary returned. As of right now, however, you’re content right where you are.

The best part about the job would have to be how chill Bruce is with you carrying your cell on you at all times in case something was to happen that you needed to get to (D/N) or even bringing her to the office when she didn’t have school and you couldn’t get anyone to watch her.

There had been a day when you had her with you and Bruce’s eldest son came by his office to speak with him. Upon exiting, he caught sight of (D/N) and she was quite drawn to him. He offered to sit in the lounge with her to keep her occupied. Even though you were hesitant, you couldn’t say no to her when she kept begging. They sat at the table where they colored and played a couple of games. At the end of the day, she had a new friend and another reason she wanted to come back to work with you.

Over the past month and a half that you’d been working at Wayne Enterprises, it became rare that you received any sticky notes during the day. Most of them showed up in the morning or evening while you were at home. On a Saturday afternoon, you found another note.

‘After you get this note, I’ll be left with five sticky notes. That’s four more before I can tell you my name. I don’t know whether to be nervous or anxious. To be honest, I’m relatively sure I already know who you are. If I’m correct, I’ve known for close to two months. I hope that doesn’t scare you. I’d tell you how it happened, but the words would probably end up becoming blank space. It would also be something best said in person. I can’t wait to know you as my soulmate.’

How were you supposed to respond to that? It must have been torture for him to be so sure he knew that you were his soul mate, but not be able to confirm it with you. It was painful enough to not even be able to know who it was on the other end of the notes in the beginning.

Getting out the remainder of your sticky note stack, you took your thumb and flicked the small square pages upward. The motion was quick due to the small amount that you had left. Taking a moment, you counted how many there were. Six. Such a small number compared to when you started. Undoubtedly, at the end of the stack, your life would change.

‘I have no idea what to say in reply to that… All you need to know is that I’m looking forward to putting a name and face to your handwriting.’

After you wrote that note, the two of you exchanged two more notes each. That only left you with three. As you sat on the couch, you bit your lip and started bouncing your leg. The two of you were so close to the end of your sticky notes. It took everything in you to not waste the next two just to tell him who you were, but you wanted to relish the time between now and the last note. Once you knew each other’s names, everything would be different.

Not a single note came on Sunday. That just made the suspense even worse and you were too nervous to send the first note. You didn’t receive another one until Monday, a couple of hours after you arrived at work.

‘I hope that I can make you happy after you find out who I am.’

Your eyebrows furrowed and a slight frown appeared on your face as you read the words. Why would he say that? You enjoyed your conversations and you’ve told him this on multiple occasions. Is there something that he couldn’t share with you through the notes that he’s concerned about?

‘I’m already happy just being able to talk to you. Actually, being with you would bring me that much more joy.’

Radio silence ensued from then until right before you were about to leave for the day. You were shutting down your computer and began organizing papers into folders, putting them in a neat pile on your desk, when it appeared.

‘Let’s see if I’m right about who you are. Look up.’ Your head shoots up immediately after reading the note and you notice a pair of eyes staring at you right away. Out of surprise, your own eyes widen as you stare back across the room, through the open doors of an office fit for a CEO, and straight into the eyes of Bruce Wayne.

‘No way… Write your name.’ You felt stupid the way you responded, but you just couldn’t believe it. Proof, you needed proof.

‘As you wish.’ That was all that was on the last sticky note, causing you to furrow your eyebrows.

Looking up again, you were surprised to see Bruce in front of your desk. He held a silver Sharpie in his hand and leaned over to write something on a paper laying on your desk. You watched his face the entire time and eyed the paper after he finished. He had written his name.

Still not believing your eyes, you wrote your name on your final sticky note. It appeared in his other hand. He showed you the note and gave you a believe-me-now look.

“Bruce Wayne is my soulmate,” you whispered.

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[ravenbrenna09]

Safe - Chapter Two

READ IT ON AO3

...

Hello, damn, that was one hell of a night, huh? I'm so glad that I managed to get this chapter done because I have to study alllllll weekend long for my test on Tuesday (and work on my project that is due Thursday).

I hope you guys enjoy this chapter and I hope to see you next time!

Note: Ignore any remaining spelling or grammatical errors. I am far too tired to catch them all of them, so I will likely be editing in the morning and will catch them once I wake up.

So, let’s just pretend that we (and by we, I mean, me) are all not seething with rage directed towards Arthur’s dad. (I’m flying to France tonight to fight him, who is WITH ME!)

...

Robbe.

It was the only thing that Sander could think of as he sat at his desk. He had finally managed to get his art room completely how he had wanted it. After he had managed to unpack the remains of his clothes that had been abandoned the night before by Britt’s insistent calling and (later) a flight to, and from, a pool, Sander had settled down to work on the gift for Arthur (he finally had all the signs for it, not that he blamed Noée, she was a busy woman) and now he could get down to work on how to start it out. Or, at the very least, something in his stack of commissions.

But, as he sat with a blank sheet of paper in front of him, his mind was dry of any inspiration or ideas on what to do. He couldn’t even picture any of it at all, even with the photos of the signs on his phone, sent to him through Eliott.

Because all he could think of was Robbe. 

He was all-consuming like a wildfire that had encompassed Sander’s entire brain. His fingers itched to hold him again, to send out a message telling him to hurry up, because he just wanted to be there to hold him in his arms, kiss him senseless. But, Sander knew that Robbe was in his test (Sander had sent him a good luck text before, free of any flirtatious teasing in an effort to not distract him) and he felt like his brain might explode from being completely, irrevocably consumed with Robbe. 

What was it his high school art teacher used to say?

Don’t hold it in. Just let it all out. Then, you’ll be able to focus. 

Sander picked up his pencil and drew. 

He drew what he wanted, what he needed, the curve of the face forming within a matter of minutes, barely visible on the white paper. It was so easy to draw it, Sander realized, his phone turned down, the memory of Robbe engrained in his mind. The photo from the warehouse, him beneath the waves, on the edge of the pool, in the alley, outside his house, all of it came flooding into Sander’s mind, coursing through his fingertips as he drew. He drew until his hand was cramped and there was a rough sketch on the page. 

Robbe amidst a heart-shaped hole in a wall, the middle of an explosion that was waiting to happen, in his mind, in his heart.

His mind buzzed with recognition, at Robbe’s texts from earlier. 

Chernobyl.

As if summoned by the power of Sander’s thoughts, his phone buzzed against the surface of his desk, causing him to jump in his seat, and he flipped over to the phone to see who had sent him the text message, relishing in the way that his chest glowed. Robbe. 

I’m downstairs, outside the gate. Come let me in. Please 🥺

Without even realizing an hour and a half had passed and now Robbe was here. Sander’s heart thumped expectantly in his chest as he leaped up from his chair, sending him a text to let him know that he was on his way down. Picking up the sketch of Robbe in Chernobyl, he filed it in his blue folder, the one that he kept all of his personal sketches, before moving out of the art room, grabbing his keys, and headed outside. 

The elevator ride down was too slow, but it was worth it to see Robbe there, waiting patiently at the iron gate, shifting from one foot to the other, his thumbs idly playing with his phone. Sander bit down on his lip as he approached, trying to stop the need to throw himself at Robbe. He was dressed in a brown jacket with a hoodie and t-shirt beneath it, all seemingly engulfing his figure, and a pair of jeans that did the same. Today, he wasn’t wearing a beanie which might’ve been a good thing because Sander wouldn’t have been able to hold back. 

He needed to be cautious because he didn’t know if she was around… and the last thing Sander wanted was for Robbe to get hurt for being with him. 

Once Sander opened the gate, Robbe looked up and beamed at him, brilliantly, infectiously, captivatingly, “Hey!” 

“Hey,” Sander spoke, grinning. He extended his hand and Robbe took it, their hands fitting together easily. Sander tugged him inside the courtyard, closing the door before leading him into the apartment building. He could tell that there was a silent question in Robbe’s grip, following him into the apartment and across the lobby to the elevator. Sander ran the pad of his thumb across Robbe’s knuckles, relishing in the feeling of his hand in his, and tugged him into the elevator after everyone who was inside spilled into the lobby. 

Once the doors were closed and they were alone with the number 6 lit up, Sander couldn’t hold himself back any longer, turning towards Robbe, grabbing him by the chin and angling his face up so their lips could slot together, easily and efficiently. Robbe let out a noise of surprise, still clinging to his hand, but the other reached up, clinging to Sander’s bicep, pulling him closer against him, making the kiss deeper. Sander ran his fingers through Robbe’s hair, feeling the gentle pull of the elevator lifting them upward. Once the elevator began to slow, Sander pulled away, resting his hand against Robbe’s chest.

Robbe whined.

“I know, I know,” Sander replied, probably sounding as desperate as Robbe felt. “But, this is our stop.”

Robbe sighed, a grin forming on his features as he looked up at Sander with half-lidded eyes. The elevator stopped, the doors opening, and he gestured towards the door. “Alright. Lead the way.” Sander grinned, pulling Robbe along as he fished his keys from his pocket. Robbe waited patiently as Sander slotted his key into the lock of his apartment, opening the door, stepping inside, and tugging him after him. The living room was still covered in moving boxes, on his couch and coffee table, and Robbe sent him a grin. “I thought you were talking about unpacking.” 

“I got all my clothes unpacked, but I decided to move onto commissions.”

“Oh? How did that go?”

“Not good, I didn’t get any work done,” Sander admitted. Robbe smiled, understanding on his features as he toed off his shoes by the front door, next to Sander’s Docs and the shoes he had just taken off, dropping his backpack beside them and then draping his jacket over it. Sander needed to get the hook from his old apartment back up, and the small table that he used to place his keys, so that way Robbe had a place to put his stuff when he came over. 

When he came over… 

Sander grinned and Robbe turned. 

“What?” 

“Nothing,” Sander remarked, stepping closer to him. Robbe’s eyes flickered down to his lips, his eyes blatantly honest in his want for the bleach-blond, and Sander relished in the thought of having that much of an effect on him. But, then Sander’s eyes caught sight of the flash of gold and he turned Robbe’s head to stare at the single stud in his ear. “Huh… I knew I didn’t imagine that metallic taste.”

Robbe chuckled, shaking his head and wrangling free of his grip. “What did you think that you made it up?” 

“We did have a couple of beers and other assortments of alcohol in our system, did we not?”

Robbe let out a sigh. “True.” He swallowed, stepping towards him. “Is there anything else that you think that you might’ve imagined?”

“Wait, there's one more thing…”

Robbe raised his head, tilting his head up, trying to get them to kiss again, to bring their lips together slow and agonizing like in the elevator, and Sander could feel himself vibrating with want and need to have Robbe, as much of Robbe as the brunet was willing to give him and relish every piece of him that was offered. But, he also couldn’t help the teasing bone in his body, the one that wanted to see Robbe’s exasperated face and I can’t believe you in his expression that seemed to stick with Sander all last night. 

And, so, Sander grabbed Robbe by the shoulders, twisting him around and pushing him towards the kitchen with a quick movement. Without even seeing his eyes, he knew that Robbe’s eyes were rolling back in his skull with his weight shifting against Sander’s hands. “Ah, you wanted the grand tour! Here, I’ll show you around.” 

And, to his credit, Robbe was a trooper. 

He let Sander lightly manhandle him around the apartment taking everything in as Sander tugged him from room-to-room, showing him rooms that were mostly covered in boxes and few items of personal value. When Sander showed him the art room, Robbe stepped inside, his eyes flickering all over the room, taking it all in. The walls of the room were covered with photographs and paintings that he had done over the years, some he had posted online, others that he kept to himself, and Robbe’s eyes darted over the room, taking it all in. 

His eyes lingered on the window, where thick black curtains hung. 

“It can double as a darkroom,” Sander spoke, stepping closer to him. Without thinking, other than the fact that he wanted to, Sander reached up, running a hand through Robbe’s hair, the brown strands flitting between his fingers. He grinned brightly when he spotted Robbe’s eyes fluttering closed, his head tilting back into the palm of his hand. “The one at my other apartment was a little bigger. But, it’ll do just fine.”

Sander dropped his hand to his shoulder, pulling Robbe back against his chest and catching him when they collided together. The brunet let out a surprised breath, half a laugh, as Sander wound his arm around his shoulders, holding him against his chest and guiding him out of the art room, towards the final room in the apartment, and the only one that had been somewhat started in terms of clean up.

Robbe chuckled. “Ah, I see. This was all a ploy to get me in the bedroom.”

“Yes,” Sander whispered, his lips brushing against the folds of Robbe’s ear. He heard Robbe let out a soft noise and gulped, his hand reaching up to place over the hand on his chest. Sander twisted his hand, so their fingers intertwined together, gripping tightly to Robbe’s hand. “As long as I have the bed up, I’m able to sleep and not have to sleep beneath my desk again.” He nipped at Robbe’s ear before pulling back, moving from the bed. Robbe let out a sigh. Sander grinned, moving towards the box that contained his movies. “So, what do you want to do? Watch a movie? I’ve got a little bit of everything and a Netflix account.”

Sander sat on the bed as Robbe let out a groan. Sander glanced up at him as Robbe rocked from one foot to the other. “You’re such a tease.”

The resulting grin covered Sander’s face completely. “If you think that I’m teasing, that means you’re definitely expecting more.”

Robbe rolled his eyes again, obviously as he crossed his arms across his chest, stepping closer to the bed where Sander was sitting. 

As soon as he was close enough, Sander reached out, hooking his fingers into the belt loops of his jeans, pulling him closer. Sander had only intended for Robbe to stand between his legs to look up at him, but Robbe wasn’t having it. He stepped onto the bed, straddling his waist and briefly towering over him. Sander watched him, tilting towards him because he couldn’t help it, his hands settling down on the younger man’s thighs. Robbe settled down on his lap, Sander’s mind swirling briefly with the possibilities. One of his hands dropped to Sander’s hip and the other rested on the nape of his neck.

“And, if I was?” Robbe spoke, a silent challenge. 

Sander grinned up at him. He couldn’t believe that this man existed. Even sitting on Sander’s lap, the swirling lust present in his eyes, Robbe still somehow managed to look so innocent. It was completely unfair for such a man to exist, so irresistible, and Sander couldn’t hold back anymore, as much as he wanted to continue teasing him. 

His tongue darted out to wet his lips, almost involuntarily, Robbe’s eyes followed it with a heavy stare, and he leaned up to press his lips against Robbe’s which the latter responded to immediately. His fingers dug into the strand of Sander’s hair and he leaned over him, pushing him lightly on his shoulder to get him to fall back. Sander brought him closer, slipping his tongue along Robbe’s bottom lip to get his mouth open, and Robbe’s mouth fell open eagerly, his fingers digging further, harder into Sander’s hair. 

And, Sander wanted more. 

But, even though they had been dancing around it all day in their texts, even though they had been on the verge of crossing every physical barrier that they could think of, he didn’t want a strictly physical relationship with Robbe, and he didn’t think that Robbe did either, he wanted to know this man, wanted to know more about him than just the way he kissed, the way that his body responded when Sander tugged on his hair. He wanted to know everything about Robbe that he possibly could and they couldn’t do that if they were all wrapped up like this. 

Sander pushed up on Robbe’s chest lightly, just enough to separate their lips, and Robbe whined, again, and the grin on Sander’s face couldn’t be smothered. “Be patient,” Sander whispered, reaching up to press a featherlight kiss against his lips. Robbe tried to deepen it, probably not realizing he had done it, and Sander lifted Robbe off of him. The boy groaned, spread his legs out over Sander’s lap as the latter sat up, and the artist dragged over the box of movies. “Come on, let’s find a movie.”

Robbe pouted, sitting up and wrapping his arms around Sander’s shoulders, leaning his cheek against his shoulder and let out a sigh, “Fine.” 

...

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[therainroguefanfiction]

🔥 ℝise Ⱥbove I̾t ◈ Chapter 028 [Ten Million Madness]

📑 Table of Contents | ◂Backward

Author’s Note: Okay, so I feel to the need to say something because I’m kinda disappointed. So, I write out each chapter on paper because I write best that way, and then I can type it out on the computer to basically re-write/edit it to add more details to the basic premise for each chapter. Well, I ran out of paper in the original book, so I got another one. The problem is that this new book was from the dollar store, so it’s a bit smaller and the margins aren’t as big on either side of the page.

Three pages, front and back, in the old book averaged out to about 2.5k words or better. However, the same amount in this new book has just barely been scraping 2k. I feel bad, but it’ll be worse if I go mixing up the chapters to make them longer. I’ll continue to try more pages until I can get back to that 2.5k average. Not sure if anyone noticed or cares, but it’s really bugging me so I felt the need to say something lol (> ツ)>/*

⊱ ────── {⋅. 🔥 .⋅} ────── ⊰

Word Count: 2,078

⊱ ────── {⋅. 🔥 .⋅} ────── ⊰

〈“Right now, I’m giving it all my all. Looking for the hidden truth, wake me up, open my eyes. Even the soul inside of me, I’ll burn it up without anything remaining.” B.A.P, “Wake Me Up”〉

⊱ ────── {⋅. 🔥 .⋅} ────── ⊰

I stood off to the side, watching as the other students scrambled around trying to form teams and think of strategies. Several students from class A were surrounding Bakugo, trying to convince him to choose them for his team. I had considered asking to join him, too, but his attitude from after the race seriously put me off.

“Wait, remind me what your quirks are again.” He said, his face blank as he was overwhelmed by them. “And your names.”

I scoffed, covering my mouth. I mean, same, though. I should really start a list of the people I still need to learn the names of. I felt a tug on the leg of my pants, followed by the hair on the back of my neck standing on end.

“Jen, be my partner,” Mineta demanded, his eyes wide as he looked up at me. “I can be the rider and you’ll be the horse. Just imagining those pump boobs between my fingers gets me -”

“Who said you could say my name you prick?!” My eye twitched in anger as I brought my foot back, slamming it into his face and punting him across the field. He landed behind Octo, who he referred to as Shoji, and started whining about how all of the girls had refused to partner with him. I wonder fucking why.

What a fucking freak.

I glanced at Izuku. No one was even looking in his general direction, poor guy. I did say that I would look out for him and protect him… but this is just the sports festival and everyone is gonna be gunning for him. That’s a shit-ton of extra effort for whoever plays the horse. Still… I sighed deeply and started in his direction, pausing when slim fingers gently wrapped around my wrist, almost hesitantly. It was French Fry. Wait, why is he shaking like that? He’s clutching his stomach… must’ve overused his quirk in the last round.

“What’s up?” I asked, turning toward him.

He forced a smile despite the pained expression on his face. “I was hoping… you would like to be my partner.”

I glanced back at Izuku. Ochaco was chatting happily with him and another girl was quickly approaching them. Who knew he was so popular with the ladies? I turned back to the blonde, whose smile had lessened. “What’s your name again?”

“Yuga Aoyama, mademoiselle.”

“Aoyama,” I tested the name on my tongue before smiling at him. “Sure, why not. Let’s be partners.”

His face brightened, blonde locks swaying as he tilted his head. “Thank you!”

I nodded. “I’ll be the horse and I’ll carry you on my back. You focus on grabbing headbands and I’ll do my best to keep people at bay with my fire, okay?”

“Are we going after Midoriya?”

“Nah, that’s way too much trouble.” I scratched my cheek, glancing at the greenette. Both team Todoroki and team Bakugo were glaring at team Midoriya. “Everyone sees the big number, but not the big picture. A lot of teams are gonna be goin’ after him, but the smart teams will use the chaos as a smokescreen to stack up smaller numbers. We’ll be one of those teams.”

He straightened his back, arm loosely clutching his stomach. “I’ll do my best, mademoiselle!”

I grinned, wagging my finger. “My motto has always been to work smart, not hard.”

“I also have an idea, if you’re interested? I promise it’s magnifique.”

I raised a brow curiously, crossing my arms. “Alright, I’m listening. Let’s hear it.”

⊱ ────── {⋅. 🔥 .⋅} ────── ⊰

“Oh, goody, it’s time to get this party started!” Midnight announced, happily.

“Hey, hey, look alive! After fifteen minutes to pick teammates and talk strategy, thirteen cavalry teams are prepared to go head to head!”

“I see some unexpected student combinations,” Aizawa commented.

“Come on, everyone put your hands in the air! It’s time for an arena-bumping U.A. battle royale! Let me hear you scream~!”

I gripped Aoyama’s thighs when he hopped onto my back. “Wrap your legs around my waist, I’m gonna need at least one of my hands free for defense and I don’t want you to fall.”

“Right!” He shifted his weight, crossing his ankles across my stomach. His right arm was tight around my neck, the other resting on my shoulder so it would be free to grab headbands. With my two-hundred and five points and his five, we only came out to a total of two-hundred-ten points, but that’s fine. That number will be much higher when all of this is said and done.

“Let’s get this party started! One final countdown before the game starts! Three… Two… One…”

“Begin!!” Midnight shouted.

I sweatdropped as most of the teams made a beeline straight for Izuku’s team. “Idiots,” His group started to sink into the ground and he pressed a button in his hand, launching his team into the sky. Oi oi, is that shit even allowed? Ah, but Shadow is working so hard to defend, how fucking adorable! Shit, no, stay focused, dumbass. “Let’s set this place on fire, Aoyama!”

He nodded as his arm tightened, his fist clenching around my shirt.

While Invisigirl’s team was focused on Izuku in the sky, I rushed behind them and Aoyama reached out for her band, only to have it snatched by a blonde kid I had never seen before. I huffed, chasing after them. “Get ready to grab, and hold on tight!”

I lifted my left hand, increasing the temperature of my skin. I don’t want to set this kid on fire, I just gotta burn him enough where he releases his grip on the band. Shouldn’t be too difficult considering the fucker is carelessly swinging it around his finger without a care in the world. I focused on the spot behind his team – please oh great and powerful taco god, let this work! Aoyama squeaked in surprise as I teleported, clutching onto me for dear life. Pain shot through my skull but I did my best to ignore it, grabbing the boy’s wrist with my hand. He hissed in pain, the band falling from his fingers.

Aoyama snatched it and I jumped back just as the boy reached out for my face, his hand flaming. Huh, does he have a fire quirk, too? It seems to be hurting him, if that pained face is anything to go by. He held his hand out, fire shooting toward us. I can probably withstand it, those flames are pretty tame, but Aoyama can’t and my job is to protect him at all costs. I swept my hand across the air in front of me, a wall of flame sprouting up between us and clashing with the fire he had thrown at us. I used this opportunity to put distance between us – I’d rather not get caught up in a drawn-out battle over one fucking band, it wasn’t worth it.

Plus, you know, effort. I swear after this stupid sports festival is over, Imma fucking sleep for three months. I’m gonna turn into a fucking bear and hibernate.

Aoyama tied the band around his neck, breathing out. “We’re up to six-hundred, mademoiselle.”

I nodded, “Good job.”

“Wow! Barely two minutes have passed since we started and it’s already a total free for all! Yeah! Watch those headbands! You can even ignore the ten million points and go after the other chart-toppers!”

“Goddamn it, Mic,” I growled out, glaring at the commentator’s box. “Keep your fuckin’ ideas to yourself, you damned cockatiel!”

Izuku took off to the sky again and Bakugo jumped off of his horses, using his explosions to propel him toward them. Dark Shadow blocked him, of course.

“Woaaah! Bakugo has been separated from his horses! Is that even allowed?!”

He started to fall, only to have tape wrap around his waist and pull him back down to his horses, one of which was Flex Tape himself.

“He never touched the ground so technically it’s okay!” Midnight gave a thumbs up.

Seriously, what the fuck even is this game? Sheesh, these guys ain’t messin’ around, they’re actin’ like their lives depend on it. I don’t get paid enough for this shit.

Oh wait, I’m not getting paid at all. What a buzzkill.

“Behind us!”

I jumped to the side just as a green hand swiped by my face. “Rin?”

He grinned, sitting atop a large, hairy guy that ran on all fours. “I told you to call me Hiryuu!” His horse jerked forward and Hiryuu made a grab for the band around Aoyama’s neck. I slapped his hand away and he tried with the other.

“Sorry, Ryuu.” My fingers wrapped around his wrist and I tugged him forward. “Aoyama!”

His chest pressed against the back of my head as he leaned forward. Just as his fingers grazed the band, I noticed something transparent shooting toward us. The air solidified, forming a chain with a hook on the end. Within seconds, the headband was snatched from Ryuu’s head.

I snapped my head to the side, eyes narrowed. It’s that black-haired boy that was with Doc Brown’s love child. He’s one of the horses for that loudmouthed silverette from class B. “Damn it,” I jumped back as Ryuu tried again to grab the band. “Sorry, bro, gotta jet!” I focused on the opposite side of the field – there’s far too many teams in this one area and I need breathing room. With just two of us, it’ll be bad to get surrounded.

I teleported, sweat rolling down my cheek as my head throbbed painfully, making me clench my teeth.

“Are you okay?” Aoyama asked worriedly. “You’re shaking.”

I huffed, leaning over. “I think I… just discovered the… limit of my teleportation… awesome…” Shit, I don’t think I’ll be able to use it anymore, at least not until I recover a shit-ton of stamina.

“Now, who wants to take a look at each team’s place so far?! It’s been seven minutes so let’s get those rankings started on the screen! Hold on here… this is an unexpected turn! Other than Midoriya and Winchester, class 1-A’s not doing so hot! Even Bakugo is losing!”

“What?” My eyes snapped to the screen. “No way… He’s at zero?” A sudden angry aura grabbed my attention and I looked across the field – of course, it was coming from Bakugo. It was directed at that blonde guy with the fire quirk. Bakugo, you better not leave me up here alone, bro. Get those damn points back, you bastard.

“And now, we’ve reached the halfway point of the game! As the cavalry battle enters the second half, it’s anyone’s game! Class 1-B has made an unexpected showing, but who will wear the ten million points in the end?! That’s the real question, sports fans!”

The throbbing in my head started to dull a bit and I squeezed his thighs. “Aoyama, we’re going for the group that stole Ryuu’s headband. That’s one-hundred-twenty-five points, and if we can grab that silver-haired bitch’s seven-hundred-five, we’ll be at fourteen-thirty-five. That’ll put us in second place for now. Let’s see if that plan of yours actually works out for us.”

He swallowed hard. “L-Let’s do it! Apres la pluie le beau temps!”

“No idea what the fuck you just said but let’s hope it’s something helpful. Alright!” I grinned, bending my knees. With fire under my boots, I propelled myself forward, rushing straight toward the unsuspecting silverette and his team.

“Tetsu!” The ravenette noticed us, but not fast enough.

My hand turned red as it shot toward the rider. His arm shot up, blocking the blow as his skin turned to metal. “Well, shit…”

He grinned, showing off sharp teeth like Kiri’s. “Hey, that tickles!”

I matched his grin. “If that body of yours can turn to steel, then that means I don’t have to hold back, right?” My hand erupted in flame and I pushed against him. The flames spread across his metallic skin, sweat appearing on his face from the intense heat. Aoyama’s hand shot forward, fingers clutching the band around the silverette’s neck.

I felt the air around us changing, a chain shooting out from the ravenette. Shit! I slipped my hand up, burning the side of the band around his forehead and it fell into Aoyama’s hand just as large transparent hand shoved us away.

“Our band! He got it!” Aoyama cried.

I cursed as the transparent chain returned to its owner, Aoyama’s band landing in his hand. “Goddamn it.”

⊱ ────── {⋅. 🔥 .⋅} ────── ⊰

▸ Forward

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[gwentoryfics]

Hot for Teacher, Part 1.

REPOSTED FROM MY ORIGINAL BLOG, GWENTORY.

Genre | College Student x College Professor Smut AU

Pairing | Hongseok x Reader x Hyunggu (Kino)

Words | 9.5k

Summary | You never realized how much one drunken night could color the rest of your college experience until you discover that the handsome stranger from your cousin’s wedding is also the new professor at your university.

Warnings | Alcohol and underage drinking. Swearing. Dangerous levels of lust.

Parts | 1 • 2 • 3 • 4 • 5 • 6 •  More Coming Soon AO3 | 1 • 2

Playlist | Spotify • Youtube

Note | Due to excessive references to American music, I’ve decided to set this fic in America instead of South Korea. Names will follow the American standard of (First Name) (Last Name), instead of the Korean (Family Name) (Given Name). I’ve also linked a playlist (above) that includes any referenced songs, artists, or other music that helps set the vibe, so please check it out!

This can’t be happening. This absolutely, cannot be happening to you right now.

You stare at your professor in shock from the safety of the back of the classroom, hoping to all that is holy that he will not look up to find you sitting there. How could he of all people be your professor? How could you possibly be so unlucky?

Your heart races as your mind clouds over with the memory of that night, of the press of his lips and the fervid insistence of his hands as they explored your body. In a night of slightly drunken passion, you had unknowingly slept with the man who was apparently fated to be your professor. You feel like you could cry from embarrassment, and you bury your head in your notebook as he begins roll call.

“Are you okay? You look like you’re going to be sick.” Your friend Shinhye leans over, voice thick with worry.

You nod, not exactly wanting to fill her in on quite possibly the biggest blunder of your life. Maybe you’d share the story of your sexual escapades with her at some point, but sitting in the same room as your partner in crime is not the time or place to do so. “I’m fine. Just having second thoughts about the class.”

“Shinhye Nam?” He calls flatly from the front of the class.

“Here!” She pipes up and then whispers to you, “What? You’ve been looking forward to this class for months!”

“Yeah, but-”

“_____?” The sound of his voice wrapping around the syllables of your name sends a delicious shiver down your spine. You remember that sound, remember exactly the song of your name as it poured from his lungs that night.

“Here,” you respond meekly, lifting your notebook a fraction higher to give you more cover. Does he remember your name? Does he recognize your voice? Does he remember you at all? Surely he hadn’t been drunk enough to completely forget your tryst.

He moves on to the next name without pause, without even sparing a glance your way. Maybe he had forgotten after all. Maybe you’ve been completely wiped from his memory of that night. Or, conversely, maybe he had only forgotten your name, just as you’ve forgotten his. That doesn’t necessarily mean that your night together was insignificant to him.

It should have been insignificant, though. That’s how hookups work. You bite down on your lip and curse yourself for all of the stupid feelings that flood you, curse the way your heart pounds harder just being in the same room as him. It was just one night, and even though it rocked you to your core it was nothing more than a one-and-done rendezvous.

It was maybe a month and a half ago, but your memory of it is much clearer than it should be, especially given the alcohol consumption that colored most of your evening in a rosy haze. Maybe you had worked overtime to engrain every little detail into your memory because you knew you would never want to forget.

Your cousin’s wedding was a gorgeous affair. Lavish floral arrangements adorned the walls and pews, and sanctuary of the church, each bundle of white roses bound together with violet ribbons and lace. Music floated out from grand piano and violin duo, and oh what you would have done to get your hands on that Steinway. Its tone was pure as snow and you bet it played like a dream. And with the reverberating acoustics of the tall church ceiling, its sound was nothing short of angelic.

The priest led the groom in from the side. You had not yet met Hwitaek, but he was handsome and bore a kind, nervous smile. He looked like exactly the kind of guy Jiyoo would fall for, and it made you happy to see the apparent anxious excitement he had for the event.

The music changed and the processional began. The bridesmaids and groomsmen made their way down the aisle two at a time, arm in arm, and you were captivated by the elegant dresses the bridal party wore. The purple of their gowns exactly matched the accents of the flowers in their bouquets, and the bodices were intricately decorated with the finest crystals. The girls absolutely sparkled. But, of course, they could never outshine the bride.

All of the attendants stood as the music changed once more, signaling the entrance of the bride. Jiyoo appeared at the end of the aisle, clinging to her father’s arm as they slowly moved forward. The skirt of her ballgown dress nearly filled the whole aisle, and the sweetheart neckline hid behind a sheer lace boat neck top with cap sleeves. It was so stunningly her. And her bouquet was dripping with crystals, her veil and train similarly doused in glitz. But above all, she looked so, so happy.

She joined Hwitaek, passing off her bouquet and taking his hand, and you realized that he had tears in his eyes. Yes, he was definitely the sweetheart for Jiyoo.

The priest opened the ceremony with a prayer, and you obediently bowed your head, although you were admittedly on the fence about your religious beliefs. Still, you sent out some hopeful well-wishes for the soon-to-be newlyweds, because it couldn’t hurt to put some good energy out into the universe.

The ceremony proceeded, and although beautiful, it certainly lacked entertainment value. Not that weddings are meant to be entertaining, per se, but the more religious ceremonies could really drudge on, in your opinion. This one was certainly no exception. There were plenty of scripture readings and hymns, most of which you knew by heart due to spending your childhood in a very similar church. But right as you were starting to feel boredom blur your focus, you noticed him.

He was a groomsman, two down the line from Hwitaek. His tux looked as though it had been made for him, crisp and clean and sitting just right on his broad shoulders. He could have been a model, or a celebrity even, for all you knew. He was certainly far too gorgeous to just be an ordinary person. His dark hair hung soft on his forehead, his eyes were sharp, his lips were plush. How had it taken you so long to notice him?

For the rest of the ceremony you found yourself to be quite preoccupied, as one would imagine. The borderline salacious thoughts that filtered through your mind almost made you feel uncomfortable to be sitting in the house of God, so you did your best to train your eyes on Jiyoo and Hwitaek instead of the unfortunate, unreal beauty of the groomsman.

Finally, after far too long of a ceremony, the couple shared their first kiss as husband and wife, and the whole party recessed down the aisle. You thought you were in the clear, since The World’s Biggest Distraction was finally leaving, but then the damn boy looked squarely at you as he walked by.

You swear your panties literally (not literally) disintegrated.

Back in the classroom, Shinhye kicks your chair, startling you back to the present. “Girl, snap out of it. Why are you so spacey?”

You sit up a little straighter, dropping your notebook onto the desk and blurting, “Yeah, no, it’s fine.”

Your nonsense earns you a weird look, which you make right back at her before glancing to the front of the room, where The Hottest Professor is staring right at you.

Well, you couldn’t have avoided it forever.

His gaze lingers just long enough for you to know that he recognizes you, that he’s having the same mild freakout as you. So he does remember.

Clearing his throat, he breaks eye contact and casually looks around the room as he introduces himself. “Good morning everyone, and welcome to the first day of classes. I am Professor Yang. It is very nice to meet all of you.” He picks up a stack of papers from his desk and starts passing the packets down each row, working his way to the back of the room. “This is a two-part class. For the first seven weeks we will meet here in the classroom and learn the basics of physics as they pertain to musical instruments. The following eight weeks will be spent in the workshop across the hall, where you will each build your own instrument with my guidance.”

You intentionally keep your eyes glued to the blank page of your notebook, and you curse yourself for having chosen the seat at the beginning of the row. He holds the last of his packets out to you, standing close enough that you can smell the sweet cardamom and bergamot of his cologne. Damn, you love that smell.

“You’ll notice my office hours listed here on the syllabus. My office is right down at the end of the hall. Please feel free to stop in if there are ever any questions or concerns about the course material.”

It feels as though his words are directed specifically at you instead of the entirety of the class, and you can’t help but wonder if you’re only imagining it. You begrudgingly peek up at him and he nods encouragingly, still waiting for you to take the papers. When you finally grab the meager stack, he immediately heads back to the front of the class without so much as a smile. But what else should you expect? He’s probably not happy about this situation either.

The syllabus states his office location and hours as well as a phone number, which you assume is for an office phone. He would be insane to give out his personal phone number, especially being as attractive as he is. Students would certainly take advantage of that, yourself not included. You know better. You want absolutely nothing to do with this man if he’s your teacher.

Professor Hongseok Yang. You groan and slump down in your chair.

What have you done?

The reception was held in the banquet hall of a hotel not too far from the church. It was an elegant setting, with pretty white tables and chairs and more of the same extravagant floral arrangements for centerpieces. The lavender lighting cast a soft glow on the sheer white curtains billowing softly by the open windows, a pleasant summer breeze filling the room with fresh air. The calming color and soothing evening air did nothing to relax your nerves, though, your leg jiggling up and down to release the nervous energy within you.

You anxiously awaited the arrival of the wedding party, sipping at the champagne meant for a toast and convincing yourself that you were getting worked up over nothing. It’s not like anything would happen. You would never in a million years work up the courage necessary to speak to the groomsman. He was way out of your league; you’d just clam up and look like an idiot if you tried to start a conversation. It would definitely be much safer to keep to yourself.

Really, the whole thing was stupid. You were there to support your cousin, not to fawn over some guy. It was absurd for you to be so bothered by your sudden love interest to the point of meticulously planning out the rest of the night in order to avoid being around him. Yet there you were, completely intent on spending the night at your table, having a night of simple conversation and safe, good fun. And eventually you’d get out of your seat to congratulate the happy couple, but that’s it. Your mom would be so proud.

Your cousin had been kind enough to seat you at a table with your other cousins instead of your parents. You wouldn’t have minded sitting with your parents, but if you had the choice you’d much rather be around people your own age. Your parents could be a little uptight (well, more than a little, especially when going to family events), and even if you were going to have a low-key night, you’d have a much better time gossiping with your cousins instead of constantly having to reassure your mother that she looks just as beautiful as your aunts without looking overdone.

All you wanted was a relaxed, stress free night. But when had things ever gone the way you planned?

You had tried not to stare at him. You really had. But some things just can’t be helped. The wedding party made their entrance, and you were drawn to him like a moth to a flame. He glowed when he smiled, burning brighter than the sun, but you were unable to look away and save yourself, completely trapped in the warmth of his light.

You realized that at least a fraction of your attraction to him was likely due to the personality you were projecting onto him - he seemed clever, funny, stubborn - but he might not have been any of those things. Maybe he was bookish, or a sports fanatic. Maybe he loved puppies and children, or cigarettes and motorcycles. You only had one way to find out for sure, but you would certainly not be learning those things about him tonight or any other night.

When the meal was finished and the dancing had begun, you just couldn’t keep your eyes off of him. He and the other groomsmen partied hard, tearing up the dance floor and taking full advantage of the open bar. The particular man that had caught your eye left his jacket at the table, rolling up his sleeves to reveal his veiny forearms - dangerous, as you were far too easily affected by impressive vasculature. He had to be covered in muscles, you just knew it.

Minseo, who had been sitting next to you all night, returned from the bar with a round of beverages for the both of you. “Bless Jiyoo for asking a friend to bartend. He’s not carding and honestly he’s super cute.”

“What I’m hearing is that we need to down these drinks as fast as possible so you can get back up there and talk to him again.” You gratefully accepted the wine glass, immediately pulling it to your lips and taking a deep sip of the dry, fruity beverage.

“Not a bad idea. And next time I’ll get a more complicated drink.” She smiled mischievously, taking a long sip of her own wine, which was already half finished. “What about you? When are you gonna go out there and dance? He’ll never notice you sitting over here.”

Wine dribbled down your chin when you pulled away from your glass too soon, and you sloppily wiped it off with the back of your hand before it could drip onto your dress. “What? Who? What are you talking about?” You blubbered, face growing warm, realizing that she had caught you. Your staring must have been too obvious.

“Come on. The groomsman. You can’t keep your eyes off of him. I’m telling you to go make a move.” She plopped into her seat. “Seriously. Go get it.”

Vehemently shaking your head, you refuse to take her up on any of her ludicrous suggestions. “Are you kidding me? I can’t just walk up to him and… and…”

“No, you’re right, you’re right. We’ll go together.” Minseo downed the rest of her drink and waited for you to do the same.

You continued your head-shaking routine, adding a finger wag for emphasis. “No way. I’m staying right here where it’s safe. The DJ isn’t that great anyway. Do you hear this music? I can’t dance to this.”

Just as soon as you mentioned it, the music cut out, drawing your attention to the DJ’s stand. Shinhye twisted in her seat to look over. “What’s he doing? The song isn’t even over.”

“See? I told you-”

“Alright, single ladies!” The DJ shouted way too loudly into the microphone. “Let’s get all of you out here and toss that bouquet!”

Minseo’s head whipped around like something out of a horror movie. Before she could say a single word, you took to shaking your head once more. “No, no, no. I am not going up there.”

You knew she wouldn’t listen to your futile attempts at refusal. Minseo stood, forcefully grabbing your wrists and yanking you out of your chair. “Come on, it’s for Jiyoo. Just stand there and look involved.”

Begrudgingly, you let her drag you to the center of the room, where you joined at least fifteen other bachelorettes. You tucked yourself amongst them, wishing you could just be invisible. Jiyoo smiled brightly at her flock of targets before turning her back, and when the DJ counted down from three, she flung her beautiful bouquet into the air.

And wouldn’t you know it, the damn thing flew right for you.

It arced high in the air, but it didn’t take a genius to see where it was going to land. You lifted your hands and it fell right into your grasp; you didn’t even have to reach for it. The room was all cheers and applause as you very suddenly became the center of attention, Jiyoo closing in to congratulate you.

“Ahhh, my baby cousin!” She squealed as she wrapped her arms around you in a big hug, her poofy dress swallowing your legs. “You know that means you’re next, right?”

“Next to get married?” You question with a quiet laugh. “That seems unlikely. I don’t know if you’ve noticed how very much single I am.”

“But the flowers have commanded that you’ll fall in love.” Jiyoo winked playfully, and you couldn’t help but smile, even if you didn’t believe in such superstitions.

The wedding photographer snapped a few photos of the two of you, and for a moment you forgot all about the beautiful distraction that was currently seated at the head table. You squeezed your cousin tightly, congratulating her on this big step into womanhood. “I’m so happy for you, Jiyoo! Your new husband is super cute, too.”

“He is, isn’t he.” She smiled wide and then gasped. “You haven’t met him yet, have you?”

“Not yet, actually.”

Nodding her head towards the front of the room, she took your hand sweetly. “That needs to change. You’ll love him.”

“I’m sure I will.” You laughed and eagerly followed her to their table before you could realize who else waited there. And by the time you saw the groomsman seated there, it was already too late.

“Hwitaek!” Jiyoo called as you both approached. “Come here, sweetie.”

Hwitaek, who was mid-conversation with the cause of your demise, patted said instigator on the back and looped around the table to come meet you. You fixated on him to keep your eyes from straying over to the man with the perfect face, and it seemed to work out okay.

“Hwitaek, this is my cousin, _____.” Jiyoo introduced you. “She caught the bouquet!”

“It’s so nice to meet you!” Hwitaek enthusiastically drew you into a hug, and you wondered if the extremely friendly gesture was at all fueled by alcohol. Maybe he was just a friendly guy. “Congratulations on the bouquet catch!”

“Thank you,” you laughed as he released you. “And congratulations to you on the marriage! That’s certainly a bigger deal than the flowers.”

He smiled sweetly, tucking Jiyoo under his arm. “Thank you. I’m a very lucky man. She’s my best friend.”

Jiyoo beamed, and your heart warmed. They were absolutely precious together, the love between them practically tangible. Maybe one day you could find a love like that.

Just then, the DJ came in with some shitty, generic pop song, and Jiyoo perked up. “Oh my gosh, I love this song! Let’s dance!” She started to pull both you and Hwitaek back towards the dance floor, but you returned to your default mode.

“I’m actually really thirsty, so I’m going to get some more to drink. But you two have fun!” It was much easier to slip out of Jiyoo’s grip than it was when Minseo held your wrist, and Jiyoo and Hwitaek carried on just fine without you.

And then you made the mistake of turning directly towards the hot groomsman.

You met his eyes and froze. Everything stopped. Your tongue dried up, nothing more than a hardened sponge in your mouth, and your pulse slowed to a halt. You were dead. Absolutely, unequivocally dead. Taken by the unmatched lethal power of a perfectly executed seductive gaze.

Jesus Christ, you were drowning in lust.

He raised an eyebrow at you, looking amused by the goldfish expression you bore. “Hi.”

Oh, dear Lord, even his voice was beautiful. You needed to get out of there fast. With a nod and awkward sort of salute, you took off, finding solace in the safety of your table. You plopped into your chair and practically inhaled the rest of your wine, dropping the bouquet onto the table and wondering how much longer you would have to suffer through this reception.

It would have been nice to have some relief. To get a moment to compose yourself and let your heart rate return to normal. But Minseo, the everloving bane of your existence, could not let that happen.

You spotted her on the dance floor. She looked over her shoulder back at you, a devilish expression on her face, and you realized that she was definitely up to no good.

Minseo had always been a troublemaker and bad influence over you. She was your closest cousin for sure, and had been a good friend of yours all your life. You loved her to death, but Jesus Christ she really knew how to push your buttons.

Born without a single shy bone in her body, she practically shimmied right up to the groomsmen, targeting the one with the sharp eyes and plush lips and dark, soft hair. The one with his sleeves rolled up, the one that you’re convinced is the most attractive man to ever exist. She zeroed in on him, leaning in far too close as she spoke into his ear. And then she pulled back only to point at you, and suddenly his eyes were locked on yours once more.

And this time, he smiled. Oh Lord in Heaven, he smiled. At you. And your heart went up in flames. Total destruction. There were no survivors.

You ripped your eyes from his, suddenly sweating profusely and somehow out of breath. Your trembling hands lifted the remainder of Minseo’s wine to your mouth and you sucked it all down, realizing that you were far too sober to make it through the night alive. And much to your terror, you set the empty glass onto the table and looked up to see him headed straight for you.

Panicked, you rose to your feet and took off in the opposite direction, hurtling yourself towards the bathroom so you could hide.

Once you burst through the door, you flicked cold water onto the back of your neck, wishing you could douse your whole face in it without messing up your makeup. Instead you just took a few deep breaths, trying to calm yourself because you were clearly overreacting in every sense of the word.

Why were you so terrified? He was just a guy, albeit a drop dead gorgeous one. That kind of beauty was frankly quite intimidating, though, and you just knew you’d look like an idiot if you had to say a single word to him.

You considered a plethora of escape routes, including begging your parents to drive you home early and climbing out of the small frosted-glass window right there in the corner of the bathroom. But were you really that much of a chicken? Were you really going to let one attractive guy scare you off?

Then you remembered the way he smiled, remembered the way you trembled at the sight of him. He intrigued you, piqued your interest. You were curious what he might be like as a person, a kisser, a lover. You nursed your lower lip between teeth, absolutely giddy at the thought of getting him alone. Sex with him would be incredible, no doubt about it.

Since when were you so shameless, imagining all sorts of lewd scenarios centering around a complete stranger, though gorgeous he may be? You didn’t do hookups. You didn’t do one night stands. Sleeping around was not your thing. But with him… you felt inclined to completely abandon your sense of morality. He sparked something within you that you hadn’t felt, well, probably ever.

That was likely why you were terrified enough to run and hide the second he turned his attention your way - because you had the vague feeling that you would let him do anything he wanted to you, and it’s both thrilling and frightening to know someone could have that kind of power. Especially when you don’t even know the man. Sure, you have a history of being unable to function properly around attractive males in your usual sober circumstances. But this was definitely more than just a fear of looking a fool. It was you avoiding the dangerous call of forbidden pleasures and the path to losing your morality. But most of all, it was the distress over the unsettling feeling that you might actually be okay with stepping out of your comfort zone if it meant you could experience him.

You just weren’t sure how to deal with any of that.

As class wraps up, you pack up your things and wonder if you should say something to him. Should you acknowledge what happened between you? Or would it be best to just ignore it, pretend like it never happened? Maybe you should just let him take the lead on this one.

Before you can really decide one way or the other, Shinhye starts making a scene. “You know, ______, maybe you’re right to be second guessing this class. I’m not sure an eight AM is good for you. Did you pay attention at all?”

“It’s not a big deal, Shinhye, honest.” You speak quietly but harshly, your words carrying more bite than you intend. You glance up at Professor Yang, who is also gathering his things. If he’s eavesdropping on the conversation, he certainly gives no sign of it.

“Really? I’ve never seen you so distracted. Maybe bring a coffee next week. He said he’ll allow drinks in the classroom.”

You sling your backpack over your shoulder, muttering under your breath. “Come on, let’s get going.”

“Alright, now she’s awake!” Shinhye grabs her bag and leads the way.

As you follow her to the door, you peek over at Professor Yang again. He’s busying himself with unplugging his laptop from the projector, and he doesn’t even spare a glance your way as you exit the room. You hate the way your chest tightens, almost as if you’re disappointed.

You catch up to Shinhye and follow her to the dining hall to grab some brunch. Class was scheduled until noon but he dismissed early, stating that the four hour classes were only really necessary during the workshop half of the semester and you’ll likely be free to go around eleven until then.

You don’t exactly feel hungry, though, your stomach too full of nerves to desire any food. So you sit at the table with only a coffee, per Shinhye’s recommendation. You probably do need it, honestly.

“How old do you think Professor Yang is? He looks awfully young to be teaching at a university.” Shinhye tears into her omelette.

Well, he’s friends with Hwitaek, who you believe to be in his mid-twenties, so maybe he’s around there too? But you can’t bring any of that up without divulging exactly what had occurred between the two of you. “He does look pretty young.”

“He said he studied and worked as a luthier for the last ten years… I feel like he has to be in his late twenties at least, but he certainly doesn’t look it. Or maybe he just started his apprenticeship pretty young. I wonder if there’s an age requirement for that sort of thing?”

“A luthier?” You question, not familiar with the term.

Shinhye cocks her head. “Yeah, ______. A luthier. Professor Yang talked all about it. You really weren’t paying attention, were you?”

“I guess not.” You chew your bottom lip. Your head really was somewhere else all morning.

Thankfully Shinhye fills you in without dragging you too much. “A luthier is someone who makes string instruments. Professor Yang explained all about how he did this luthier apprenticeship and how he specializes in making guitars when he’s not teaching.”

“That’s actually really cool,” you murmur. You imagine what he must look like playing guitar, or working with tools in the workshop, and you can’t help but feel impressed just picturing about it. A thought occurs to you, and you accidentally verbalize, “Oh that makes so much sense!”

“What does?”

You clamp your mouth shut. You can’t tell Shinhye that you understand now why his hands felt so rough when they slid under your dress, how you know exactly where each callous resides on his fingers. Somehow you manage to rescue yourself with, “It makes sense that he’s teaching something like this, you know, because obviously someone who has so much experience should be the one to teach the class. It’s just obvious. So like, it makes sense.”

Shinhye shakes her head slowly. “I just don’t get you.”

Maybe you’ll tell her one day. But it just seems unnecessary, especially because it’s bad news that you’ve ever been involved with a professor. The fewer people that know, the better.

After camping out in the restroom of the hotel for an appropriate amount of time, you finally gathered your wits about you and headed out into the wild once more. You had reasoned with yourself, finally coming to the conclusion that you were a grown(ish) woman who did not need to hide from boys. Instead, you would handle yourself like a true grown(ish) woman and boost your morale with a little (albeit illegal) liquid courage.

You headed straight for the bar, posting up there and chugging a glass of wine before immediately ordering another. Ah, to be a lady.

As you accepted your second glass, a voice next to you asked for a bourbon. You were thankful you did not have any wine in your mouth as you looked up to find none other than the most beautiful man in the world standing next to you - you definitely would have spit it out all over him. He smiled warmly at you, and if it didn’t feel like your knees were about to give out, you definitely would have sprinted back to the restroom, grown(ish) woman morale be damned.

He must have sensed your self-consciousness because he said with a laugh, “Please don’t run away from me again. I promise I don’t bite.”

You immediately squashed the thought of oh I wish you would, refusing to let that little gem slip past your lips. Instead you just took a long drink, completely unsure of what to say.

He wasn’t dissuaded by your silence, though, and you weren’t positive if that was a good thing or a bad thing. Leaning against the counter, he turned his body to face you, calm confidence pouring out from him in waves. “Your cousin said you wanted to dance with me, but that you might need some convincing. I’m not so persistent that I won’t take no for an answer, so if you say no I’ll leave you alone. But I thought I should at least try for a yes.”

The way his lips formed his words absolutely hypnotized you. How could a person be so stunning?

“I thought if nothing else, I might be able to at least have a conversation with you. I didn’t expect it to be quite so challenging, though. Usually it’s easy to get girls to talk to me.”

You snapped out of your dazed state with a laugh, your jaw dropping at his bold assertion. “That’s incredibly cocky of you to say, don’t you think?”

He shrugged casually. “It got you to talk, didn’t it?”

You took another sip, eyebrow raised. Touché.

“So what’s it going to take to get you to dance with me?” He smiled that beautiful, breathtaking smile of his, and it intoxicated you. Or maybe it was just the wine finally kicking in. Either way, you were hopeless. Looking away from you briefly, he accepted the short glass of amber liquid the bartender handed him, and you admired the strong line of his jaw and neck as he nodded his thanks.

Holding tightly onto your glass, you ripped your gaze from him before he could turn back to you and mulled over his inquiry. If you drank any more wine, it would probably be fairly easy for him to get you to dance, but you knew better than to spill those beans. So you respond to his question with a much safer answer: “Maybe a different DJ.”

He laughed warmly, and the sound of it turned your world upside down. “Yeah, he’s not great. Any wedding DJ that’s got ‘Y.M.C.A.’ on their playlist should not be a wedding DJ.”

You lifted your glass in agreement, intrigued. “I’ll drink to that. If you’re going to play something from the seventies, at least make it good. Give me some Marvin Gaye, or Donna Summer. Maybe a little Rufus with Chaka Khan for extra brownie points.”

His eyes tracked over your face as he clinked his glass against yours. “Some Earth, Wind and Fire, perhaps?”

Sucking air through your teeth, you squinted disapprovingly. “They can get a little campy.”

“Excuse you, ‘Boogie Wonderland’ is a classic.”

“About as classic as ‘Y.M.C.A.’” You snarked back at him, surprised by how at ease you were beginning to feel. The wine had definitely kicked in. Your brain felt warm and fuzzy, your limbs pleasantly tingly. “You know what’s cool?”

“Hm?” The glass in his hand met his lips and somewhere in the back of your mind you registered a touch of jealousy. Over a damn glass. What the literal shit.

You shook your head as quickly and minutely as possible to clear your thoughts and get back on track with what you wanted to say. “Um… Ah, wedding bands. Why don’t people hire bands anymore? Get some live music going. That’s awesome. That’s what’s good.”

“You’re really passionate about music, aren’t you?” Soft endearment coated his voice like honey, his sweet eyes scanning your face and making your heart flutter.

You nodded, shyness creeping up on you once again. He was miles out of your league, and it was honestly unreal that he’d even give you the time of day. Yet there he was, talking to you like you actually had a chance. Well… maybe you actually did.

An effortlessly sexy grin tugged at his lips. “So I know there’s not a wedding band tonight, and we’ve already established that this DJ kind of sucks… but is there any chance I could get you to dance with me despite all of that?”

And there it was - your chance. He could have very easily dropped the idea of dancing altogether after chatting with you and forming a more educated opinion of you. But the conversation must have gone okay because he still wanted to dance. And there he was, smiling all pretty and waiting for a response and you knew that you didn’t exactly have a choice when he looked at you that way.

“Let me finish this first.” Your voice sounded a lot more steady and confident than you expected, which left you pleasantly surprised with yourself.

“That’s fair.” He nodded and took a sip of his drink, finally looking away and giving you a chance to breathe. Changing the subject, he asked, “You here for the bride or groom? My guess is bride, since I haven’t seen you before.”

“Bride. She’s my cousin. And I’m guessing you’re with the groom, for obvious reasons.” You gestured to his tux, the symbol of his relationship to the groom.

“Perceptive,” he teased. “Yeah, he’s a long time friend of mine.”

With a big gulp of wine, you nodded. Almost done. You were really doing this. “They seem like a good pair. I hadn’t met Hwitaek until today - maybe thirty minutes ago, actually. But he seems like a good guy and she’s definitely happy.”

“Ah, right, I think I saw you meeting him.”

You froze up, remembering the awkward staring contest that followed your introduction to Hwitaek. With an uncomfortable chuckle, you spit out, “Right, I think you did.”

Now there was something more mischievous in his grin, and you knew he brought that up on purpose to see how you’d react. Pleased, he took another drink, and you were bewitched by the way his adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed. “I see them together a lot, and they’re a perfect match. Hwitaek is very good to Jiyoo, don’t worry. And she’s great, she fits right in with the whole lot of us.”

“That’s good to hear.” You were relieved that he didn’t linger on the subject - your life wasn’t over yet. So you smiled, finally on your last sip. You throw it back, and the warm buzz at the corners of your mind gave you the confidence you needed to place your empty glass on the bar counter and face him. “What’s your name?”

“Hongseok. Yours?” He smirked, effectively chipping away at your newfound courage, and finished off his own drink.

“_____.”

“_____,” he repeated your name, testing it out on his tongue, and it sounded absolutely wonderful. You needed to hear it once more, and you made it your personal goal to make him say it again before the end of the night. He held out his arm for you to take, stirring up the tipsy butterflies in your stomach. “Shall we?”

With a shaky inhale, you hooked your hand in the crook of his elbow, noting the way his bicep bulged. You were signing your life away for the night and you had absolutely no idea what you were getting yourself into.

Hongseok.

Professor Hongseok Yang.

You throw yourself back onto your bed, tossing your Physics of Musical Instruments syllabus to the floor. It’s been two days and you still haven’t come to terms with the pickle you’re in. The secret is eating you alive from the inside out, and you’re dying to talk about it.

Briefly, you even consider emailing Hong- no, Professor Yang, but you know you can’t just send incriminating emails over the school’s server. That would be about as bad of an idea as sleeping with your professor in the first place.

You’re trying not to chastise yourself too much about it. At the time, you had no idea he taught at your university. If you had, you definitely would have refused to visit his hotel room. You wouldn’t have even danced with him. You know how to behave responsibly, but you let yourself live a bit more freely that night and now you’re paying the price.

Maybe you needed to tell Shinhye after all. You just needed someone to know what you were dealing with, because it felt too burdensome for you to hold on your own. If just one person could know and understand-

Minseo.

Jumping to your feet, you scramble out to the living room and tear up your desk in search of your cell phone. When you finally found the device, you immediately video call your beloved cousin.

She answers after a few rings. “What’s up, boo?”

You almost start crying, already feeling relieved just by having her on the line. “Minseoooo! Are you alone right now?”

“Yeah, I’m at my apartment. You okay?” She frowns, peering closely at her screen.

You push your hair back with a sigh. How do you say this? “I’ve made a mistake. A terrible, terrible mistake.”

“What is it?”

“Remember the groomsman from Jiyoo’s wedding?”

As soon as you mention him, her eyes grow wide. She covers her mouth, but not enough to muffle her words. “Oh my God, don’t tell me you’re pregnant.”

“What? No!” You shake your head emphatically. “No, I swear I’m not pregnant.”

“Oh thank God, because that would be just the worst.”

She’s right, though; that would be the actual worst case scenario. Your current situation might be bad, but at least there’s no fetus involved. With that bit of perspective, you proceed a bit more calmly. “So… it turns out that the groomsman teaches at my university. And I’m taking his class.”

Minseo stares at her phone for a moment, and then suddenly bursts into laughter. “You’ve got to be kidding me. For real?”

“For real.”

More laughter. “What are the odds of that? Jesus. You finally get laid for the first time since high school and it’s with your fucking teacher…”

Her lighthearted response actually makes you feel better, and you let yourself laugh about it too. “It’s crazy, right?”

“Insane!” Her black cat poked her head into the frame, and Minseo scratched her between her ears. “So wait, what happened? How did class go? Has he said anything about it?”

“He didn’t say a word, and neither did I. He basically ignored me all through class. And I think it’s a good thing? But also I kind of want to just talk about it? Because I feel like it’s going to be incredibly awkward if we have to go through the whole semester without even addressing it.”

“You should say something to him, then. Just tell him that you’re not going to say anything about what happened, and tell him that you want him to treat you normally. I mean, that’s what you want, right?”

You nod. “Right. I should probably do that, as uncomfortable as it may be.”

Minseo tilts her head, looking at you endearingly. “You can handle it. You’re a strong little lady. You just have to believe it.”

Finally, a relieved exhale leaves you. “Minseo, I feel so much better now that you know. I haven’t told anyone here about what happened and it was killing me.”

“I’m glad I could help. You should probably keep it a secret at school, though. Word can really spread fast across a campus.” Her cat meows quietly in agreement.

“Good plan. This stays between you and me.” You hold up your little finger as if to make a pinky promise, and she follows suit.

“Our little secret.”

The first days of the rest of your classes all pale in comparison to that eventful Tuesday morning. Physics of Musical Instruments is your only class in the science building, so thankfully you don’t have to worry about accidentally passing him every other day of the week. That should also be your most difficult class this semester, with a required writing class and second levels of aural skills and music theory making up the rest of your schedule. Add in your weekly piano lessons and R&B Ensemble practices, and you’ve got a lot on your hands. But you’re generally looking forward to your sophomore year, regardless of the whole mess with Professor Yang.

And it really doesn’t need to be a mess, anyway. You’ll have your chat with him, you can both move on, and it’ll all be moot in the end. At least, that’s what you tell yourself as you head into the weekend, knowing full well you’ll have to face him again in a matter of days and it won’t be easy.

Saturday afternoon is the music department’s convocation for the start of the semester. You take a seat in the auditorium of the music building, the ensemble on stage providing the entertainment as students file in. It’s the pride of the otherwise average music department, the upperclassman Jazz Ensemble, which you hope you’ll be accepted into next school year. If you do well with your own ensemble this year, you could definitely stand a chance. Besides, the current keyboardist will be graduating at the end of the school year, so there will definitely be an open spot waiting for you.

A familiar looking boy approaches you, all cheekbones and bright eyes. “Hi, can I sit there?” He gestures to the seat next to you, and you nod, standing to let him squeeze past you. When you’re both seated, he says, “I think I saw you in theory and aural skills, right?”

That’s why he looks so familiar! “Oh, yes! I remember you. Hi.” You greet him warmly, glad to have a fellow classmate to keep you company.

“I’m Kino.” He extends his hand to you. “Sophomore, studying voice and dance.”

“______, piano.” You shake his hand, and he smiles sweetly. “Also a sophomore.”

“Nice to meet you, officially.” Kino drops his backpack onto the floor between his legs and looks up at the stage. “Wow, Jazz Ensemble never disappoints.”

“You’ve got that right. You should have heard the Thelonious Monk tune they played before this one. They killed it.”

“I can believe that.” He looks over at you. Does he ever stop smiling? “Are you in any ensembles this semester?”

“Yeah, R&B.”

“No way! Me, too!” He laughs, and the sound of it is warm and pure. “I hardly convinced them to let me join, though. Being a double major keeps me really busy, but I was desperate to get into an ensemble this year.”

You laugh too, enjoying the way he makes you feel at ease. “I guess we’ll be seeing a lot of each other, then.”

“Sounds like it.”

The auditorium doors close as the last of the students scramble into seats, and you clap as the ensemble finishes their last song, a Miles Davis classic. One day it’ll be you on that stage. One day you’ll get to really make your mark.

The meeting itself isn’t really anything special. It’s mostly just to welcome everyone to a new school year and explain the basic requirements of a music major. Each semester you must attend no less than five student performances, but that’s nothing intimidating to you. You love going to student performances, so you’ll likely have all five knocked out before you reach the second half of the semester.

Toward the end of the meeting, the head of the department announces that he would like to introduce the new staff for the year. Three new professors file out from the wing, and you bite down on your lip to prevent your jaw from dropping, shocked to see Professor Yang among them. Why is he here? He’s in the science department, not music.

He is the first to step up to the microphone to introduce his class, and your heart just about jumps out of your chest at the sound of his voice. “Hello everyone, I’m Professor Yang. Although I’m not technically a part of the music department, I have a feeling you may all find an interest in my course, Physics of Musical Instruments. It will help fulfill half of your required science credits while still allowing you to explore music. In my course you will not only learn the science of scales, tonality, and sound waves, but you will also be given the opportunity to build your own instrument. I’m very grateful to be able to share my knowledge of instruments and sound with you. My class for this semester filled up very quickly, so please keep an eye out for it when you’re preparing your schedules for next semester. Thank you, and I look forward to seeing you in class.”

He is so professional, and you’re taken aback by how different he is in a professional setting. At the wedding he was so carefree, although he certainly carried the same amount of confidence. Regardless, your pulse is getting out of control the longer you watch him, and you’re so thankful for the cloak of darkness in the auditorium.

Kino leans over toward you, whispering lowly, “That class sounds awesome!”

You just nod, fixated on Professor Yang. He’s dressed a bit more casually today, wearing a pair of snug fitting jeans with his partially unbuttoned button-down, a v-neck shirt peeking out from the space where the button-down separates at his collar bone. His sleeves are rolled up, just like they were at the wedding. It would feel so good to rip off those clothes, to hear the buttons of his shirt break off and fall to the floor as you strip him. The thought sends searing heat through you, and you nonchalantly cross your legs. Yes, this semester is definitely going to be a tough one for you.

Kino takes off as soon as the assembly ends, blurting that he has to get to his dance department’s convocation. And as you eventually make your way out of the auditorium, you’re thankful that you’re on your own.

Professor Yang is in the lobby, chatting with another faculty member as students filter past. And for absolutely no reason at all, he happens to look in your direction just as you notice him. He looks at you long and hard with a completely unreadable expression, and you gaze back, trying to keep your face similarly neutral. Trying not to let him see how badly affected you are just to be in the same room as him. Trying to pretend that you don’t wish you could get him naked again, feel his body on yours again.

You may never know if you are successful in controlling your features. You pull your eyes from him long before you can pick up on any clues and bolt for the door, simultaneously relieved and saddened to know he will not follow you.

Hongseok led you to the dance floor and pulled you around to face him. The DJ was still doing a terrible job, but with his hand on your waist and alcohol buzzing through your veins, you managed to find it within you to dance. You swayed your hips, bopping to the beat, your hands eventually coming to rest on his broad shoulders.

His hands grew more and more adventurous in their placement with each song that passed. You didn’t mind one bit, enjoying the way he casually explored your back, thighs, and neck. Your own hands slid down over his muscled chest and abdomen, which you could clearly feel even through his layers of clothing. If only you could touch his skin…

You were completely taken by him, heart pounding pleasantly in your chest as warmth spread throughout your body. Why had you been so afraid before? Everything had turned out to be nothing short of wonderful. Even if it stopped at dancing and went no further (which was exactly what you expected to happen), you still could leave knowing you had a great time with an incredibly hot guy that you could fantasize about later to your heart’s content.

You still couldn’t believe that he would even give you the time of day, yet there he was, dancing far too close for your feeble heart to handle - not that you were complaining. His features were even more striking up close; you could easily memorize the straight line of his nose, the exact shape of his lips, the curve of his chin. You didn’t know what you had done in a previous life to deserve his attention, but you were endlessly thankful.

As elated as you were to be there with him, though, you couldn’t help but wonder how he really felt, what exactly he thought about you. After all, it’s not like he had just walked up to you of his own accord. Surely it was all your cousin’s doing and no true luck of your own. “Hongseok?”

“_____?”

You nearly shiver at the sound of your name. “Are you only dancing with me because my cousin asked you to?”

He narrowed his eyes at you, as if trying to decipher the true meaning behind your questioning. “Yes and no.”

“Okay?”

The DJ played a slower song next, and Hongseok took the opportunity to pull you up against him, wrapping his arm around your waist and taking your hand in his. His fingers were rough and calloused, but gentle as they wrapped around your hand. “You didn’t really seem too eager to talk to me after you met Hwitaek, so I wasn’t going to bother you.”

You swallowed hard, mouth suddenly dry from nerves. You had almost ruined this for yourself, and you had no idea.

He continued his explanation. “So technically yes, it was your cousin’s idea that convinced me to say something to you. But if I hadn’t wanted to dance with you, I would have told her no. I wouldn’t have even asked you if I wasn’t interested.”

Thoughts manifested into words before you could stop them, and you cursed your intoxicated tongue. “Interested… in me? Like, you think I’m cute, or something?”

“You could say that.” His laugh brought a smile to your face. “What about you? Do you think I’m cute, or something?”

You should have cut yourself off after the second glass of wine. You didn’t drink often, and you didn’t have much of a tolerance, as made evident by the shameless, bold compliment that spilled from your lips. “Cute? You’re beautiful and I am very attracted to you.”

You only caught a hint of his charming smile before he pulled you in even tighter and lowered his mouth until it brushed the cusp of your ear. Gravelly undertones lined the edges of his voice as he murmured, “I don’t want to cause a scene - this is a family affair, after all - so I’m going to have to let you do your own thing for the rest of the night. But I want you to know that I am incredibly attracted to you, and I need you to find your way upstairs to room 417 after we send off the happy couple. Can you do that for me?”

You nodded without hesitation, speechless at his incredibly forward instructions, your alcohol-dulled mind still able to piece together the implications of his invitation. Damn all of your fears and concerns; Hongseok was a dream and you’d never forgive yourself if you passed on the chance that had been afforded you. Come hell or high water, you would get to room 417. How could you say no? Surely your sober self would thank your tipsy self for it later.

“Great.” His low, sensual voice filled you, his breath tickling your ear as he straightened up and released you. With a wink, he disappeared into the throng of partygoers, and you nibbled at your bottom lip as you wobbled towards your table. You needed to collapse into your chair, unable to hold yourself up after the assault of his charms.

Before you could reach the table, though, you spotted Minseo, and steered yourself in her direction instead. You grabbed onto her arm, ripping her from the rest of your cousins.

“Please don’t kill me, I swear I was only trying to do you a favor.” She misinterpreted your excitement as aggression, flinching when you leaned in.

“No, I love you, you’re the best, I’m sorry I ever doubted you. I think I’m gonna get laid tonight.” You giggled to yourself, feeling warm and airy. “He told me to go up to his room later.”

“There you go, girl!” She whacked your arm playfully, looking you up and down. “Go get it and then give me all the details tomorrow because honestly he’s gorgeous and I just have to know what’s going on under those clothes.”

“Ohmygod me tooooo…” you drawled. You were losing your mind just thinking about it. “Oh, um, hey, can you cover for me? I’m gonna tell my parents I’m spending the night at your place.”

She nodded, and then her face lit up. “Better idea! Let’s get our own room upstairs. Then you can come to our room after.”

You blinked owlishly. “Right.”

Minseo caught onto your hesitation. “Unless you plan on actually staying the night?”

“...No? Because… sleeping over… would that be weird?”

“Probably. I’m guessing he’ll just want to hook up and be done with it. So we should go see if there are any rooms available. Yeah?”

Minseo had a good point; it could get weird if you tried to overstay your welcome, so having another room to retreat to would be the best course of action. You came to the wedding with your parents, so you wouldn’t be able to get yourself home if you stayed at the hotel longer than everyone else. And you wouldn’t expect Minseo to leave her apartment and drive all the way back to pick you up after... You nodded and squeezed her hand. “Okay, that’s a good plan. Did I tell you you’re the best?”

“You might have mentioned it.” She started leading you by the hand towards the lobby. “Let’s go get that room and then head back to the bar before you chicken out.”

Post Script | Thank you for reading! Part 2 will be posted Friday at 8pm.

Update | Read Part 2 here!

All Rights Reserved © gwentory. No translations, reposting, and/or modifying of the material is allowed without my direct permission.

THIS FIC IS REPOSTED FROM MY ORIGINAL BLOG, GWENTORY. All future content (including HFT Part 4 and onward) will only be posted on GWENTORYFICS. Thank you!

[pawsnread]

Untamed Fest Day 8: AU

Summary: With a month left of their freshman year of college, Wei Ying tries to steal a moment with Lan Zhan.

Part of the larger A Long and Happy Life modern!AU verse created by @antiquecompass Also posted on AO3.

“Lan Zhan…I’m bored.”

Ignoring the long limbed man sprawled out atop his bunk, Lan Zhan continued to tap away at his laptop. He had a ten page paper on the history of the qin during the Tang dynasty to complete for a music history course, as well as a draft to start on the importance of understanding Maslov’s hierarchy correlated to applying pedagogical standards in elementary education. He didn’t have time for his boyfriend’s antics at the moment with only a month left of the spring semester of his freshman year.

“Lan Zhan,” Wei Ying called again. He flipped over onto his stomach, brushing the hair out of his eyes before giving the other man an intent stare. “Lan Zhan!”

“Shut up,” came the curt reply. Typing in the last reference, Lan Zhan gave the paper a quick scan before closing out and opening another blank document. “Don’t you have a balance sheet to review?”

“Already done.” Wei Ying waved a stapled stack of papers at him, the margins scrawled in his messy handwriting and calculations. “You know I’m good with numbers. And, before you say anything, I already finished the psychology paper. Freud had some issues.” Dropping the papers back into his messenger bag, Wei Ying stood and stretched before moving to stand behind his boyfriend’s chair. “Seriously, though, you are working yourself way too hard.”

“Hn.” Lan Zhan tried to ignore Wei Ying as he began outlining his draft, fingers moving rapidly over the keys and eyes fixed on the screen behind his glasses. He kept working even as a body leaned against his back, pushing him almost face first into his laptop. “Get off, you’re heavy.”

“No.” Without warning, Wei Ying reached forward and closed the laptop with a snap; his other hand pulled off Lan Zhan’s glasses, laying them down with a clatter. 

“Wei Ying.” His voice held a warning note as he cut his grinning boyfriend a glare, but Lan Zhan didn’t resist as Wei Ying swung his chair around before settling on his lap.

“Will you try and relax? You just finished a paper that isn’t due for two weeks.”

“I have another one to write.”

Wei Ying rolled his eyes before wrapping his arms around Lan Zhan’s shoulders. “Not due until the end of the semester. You are such an overachiever.” He leaned in for a kiss, pleased when Lan Zhan responded in kind.

“If I fail,” Lan Zhan murmured against his lips when they separated, “it’s going to be entirely your fault.”

Wei Ying snorted as he leaned his head on Lan Zhan’s shoulder. “Please, you’re not going to come close to failing, Mr. Valedictorian of his class.” One finger absentmindedly traced the abstract pattern of his boyfriend’s shirt. Wei Ying’s voice softened at his next words. “Besides, I want to spend as much time with you in the next month as I can. I won’t get to see you during the summer, not like when we were kids.”

“Wei Ying…” He didn’t really know how to respond so instead Lan Zhan remained quiet and held him tightly.

They had met as kids, bunking together at the Lan Clan’s Cloud Recesses summer camp. From the time they were seven until they were fifteen, they have spent every summer together; it was the only time they had with each other with the Lans residing in the Berkshires and Wei Ying and the Jiangs in Boston. It had taken nearly a decade before they realized their feelings and began dating - well, it took Wei Ying nearly a decade, but there were also the strict constraints Lan QiRen put on any relationship his nephews had. Even now as freshmen at Harvard, Wei Ying and Lan Zhan weren’t allowed to be dorm roommates even if they were dating. Since they were both tackling multiple majors, they didn’t get to see each other as much as they liked. There was also the upcoming summer internships they both had acquired that would continue to keep them apart. 

As such, Wei Ying was determined to make every moment of the next month count. He didn’t care if they didn’t do anything but sit and read side-by-side; he just wanted to spend as much time with Lan Zhan as he could.

“Well?”

Wei Ying blinked in confusion. Without moving his head, he cast his eyes upward, looking at Lan Zhan through his lashes. “Well what?” The sigh Lan Zhan issued whistled across his face and rustled the ends of his hair.

“I had thought you had some idea of what you wanted us to do together when you forced me to stop working on my paper.”

In truth, Wei Ying had no ulterior motives, but he was good at thinking on the fly. His eyes cut to a corner of Lan Zhan’s dorm room, lingering for a moment. He knew Lan Zhan would know what he meant even if he didn’t speak. Wei Ying dropped another kiss to his lips before getting up; he retrieved a black soft padded case almost as long as his forearm from his bag. As he fit together the two halves of the black bamboo dizi Yanli had gifted him at his last birthday, Lan Zhan carried over an oblong object wrapped in white. While Wei Ying checked the delicate membrane of his flute, Lan Zhan unwrapped the guqin he had brought from home to continue his practice while at college. He spent some time checking the strings, ensuring they had remained tuned while in storage.

After sharing a knowing look, the two began to play. It was a song Lan Zhan had begun composing when he was eight, had continued piecing together until he was seventeen and presented it to Wei Ying. It was their song, telling their story. No matter how many times they played it, neither grew tired of the tune. The notes they played blended harmoniously, filling the dorm room and filtering out into the hallway even through the closed door. Various students paused in whatever it was they were doing to listen, wondering at the music. When it ended, Wei Ying reached for Lan Zhan’s hand. Their fingers intertwined, grips tight as they shared another kiss. 

They may only have a month left but it wasn’t the end all. Wei Ying knew that Lan Zhan loved him, knew that their feelings for each other were stronger than whatever life could throw at them. They had already gone through half their lives apart. No matter what, they always found ways to see each other even when life conspired against them. They just had to remember to play their song and everything would fall into place.

[theimaginesyouneveraskedfor]

Wandering Eyes

This is my Secret Santa gift for @officialtolkiensecretsanta’s Tolkien Secret Santa. The giftee is the fabulous @joyfullynervouscreator. Let me know if what you think; I hope I gave you something you like because I wasn’t quite sure what to write.

It had been a long day of hunting and you had been so unfortunate as to hget caught ib the rain on your return. The three Durins and Dwalin trod through the mud alongside you on the steep path back to the dark Mountain; the grey sky growling above you as thunder rolled in the distance. You knew you should have stayed in and sipped your tea instead of surrendering to the royal princes who had insisted your skill would be needed in the day’s sport.

You clutched your bow as it threatened to slip from your soaked hands and barely kept yourself on your feet as the slick ground shifted below you. Kili and Fili caught your elbows as you dug in your heels and you felt a hand on your backside and you nearly squeaked as it quickly rescinded.

“My apologies,” You looked back to find Thorin cringing as he spoke, “I was only trying to help.”

“Not at all,” You chuckled at the king; as of late, his usual regal demeanour had disassembled and he seemed nearly afraid to be near you, “Thank you for trying.”

You turned your attention ahead of you. Fili led you through the dark archway as Kili walked closely behind. You could not wait to be dry again as your damp clothes hung heavily from your frame, the fur of your cloak rough against your chin. You had warned them that it was no day for hunting and yet they had dragged you along into their foolishness; all but Thorin who had merely furrowed his brow at your presence.

As you reached the throne room and stopped among the wide bridges to plan your next move, Fili and Kili began to chatter and Dwalin yawned while the king glared at his throne. You pushed away the wet hair from your forehead as you tried to think of how to excuse yourself so that you could retire to your bed and avoid your duties in favour of a cup of tea.

“Fili, Kili,” Thorin’s deep voice rung through the cavernous chamber, “You best take the rabbits down to the kitchen...though Bombur would surely have preferred a buck or boar.”

“Hmm, yes, Uncle,” Fili grimaced as he took the bunch of hares bound by thick rope, “But you know, we aren’t servants, we’re princes.”

“Not for much longer if you keep up that lip,” Thorin warned as he turned to Dwalin, dismissing his nephews without another word their way, “Dwalin, I suppose you would like to go find your brother, wherever he may be.”

“Better,” Dwalin frowned as he wiped the moisture from his bald head, “I don’t think I even told him we were leaving. He’s sure to have my head on a spike.”

“Go on, then,” Thorin grumbled as he nodded tiredly at his old friend, “Besides, I’ve got some business to tend to with [Y/N].”

“Business?” You echoed and frowned, knowing exactly what he was referring to, “Which would be?”

“You know,” He turned his narrowed eyes upon you and you sensed Dwalin as he began to back away, “You cannot keep avoiding it.”

“I swear, I haven’t been,” You said as you leaned your bow on your shoulder, “If anything, you have been. Every time I try to--”

“Enough,” He ordered and you looked to his intense blue eyes again only to find them darting back to your face, “You best get me that ledger. Now.”

“Now, but…” You raised a brow with incredulity, “It is late and I am soaked to the bone.”

“There is a fire in my solar and I am no better off than yourself,” He returned and his gaze seemed to waver on your face as if he were fighting to keep himself focused, “I would rather it done this night than to hunt you down tomorrow.”

“Ugh, this is not fair,” You grumbled but bit your tongue as he gave another look of warning, “Of course, my king. I shall meet you in your solar shortly with the ledger.”

You supressed your anger as you turned on your heel and made to walk away from him, grimacing to the empty air as you thought of the blank columns left in the book. You paused after your first few steps and turned back to the king as an idea came to mind.

“Should I also fetch the inventory?” You asked as you looked to him and his eyes widened as they met your eyes frantically and he seemed surprised to have you facing him.

“Uh...yes,” He cleared his throat, “Bring that as well...I will meet you there.”

He looked down to his hands before slowly turning away and you could see him shaking his head as he walked down the wide stone bridgeway. You paused before you kicked yourself back into action as you considered what had just happened. You could not be entirely sure but it seemed as if he had been rather intent on your backside as you were leaving. Perhaps, he merely felt guilty about his earlier misstep and yet, that did not excuse him. On the other hand, it could be entirely in your head and he may not have been staring at all.

You tucked the heavy books under your arm as you rushed down the dim corridors, the fabric of your clothing growing colder by the minute. It did not seem that they had dried at all and you had been so concerned with time that you had not even removed your cloak. You knew how Thorin hated waiting and he had already seemed frustrated as it was. You stopped before the thick stone door of his solar and knocked, your knuckles still raw from the chill of the rain.

“Come in,” Thorin’s deep voice was almost entirely muffled by the stone.

You pushed inside with your free arm only to find the books slipping to the floor as you entered. You cursed as you knelt down to pick them up, only to find the second lifted before you could reach it. You straightened as Thorin held out the inventory and you took it from him with a nod of thanks before following him to his desk. He saw behind it, his tunic still soaked and heavy over his shoulders as his dark hair shone with moisture.

You set the books carefully on your side of the desk as you untied the collar of your tunic and pulled it away from your body as it clung to your wool tunic. You turned and slung it across the back of the chair before looking back to Thorin and sitting in the stone chair. As you did, you found Thorin’s eyes focused on the fabric of your tunic and you looked down to find that the wet wool limned your curves quite closely. You pulled it away from your skin and returned your gaze to Thorin who was already watching you, another guilty glimmer in his eyes.

“So, I, um, haven’t finished the ledgers entirely,” You began, trying to tear your mind away from his straying eyes, “I was going to do them today, I swear, but you know...hunting.”

“Mmm,” His voice showed his disappointment as he leaned forward, “Were they not suppose to be completed a week past?”

“Well…” You looked out the corner of your eyes evasively, “I tried, I told you, but…”

“But nothing,” He stood and rounded the desk as you opened the ledger to a page of empty columns, “Now, since you have wasted your time, you will make up for it now. I will sit with you until you get it done.”

“Hmmp,” You grumbled as you brought your hair over your shoulder and twisted out the remainder of the excess water, “Fine...though you cannot expect me to balance this all on my own.”

“And has Balin not offered his help?” His hand rested above your shoulder on the back of the chair.

“Balin cannot see clearly enough to add the sums,” You argued as you looked up at him and he examined you a moment before turning and crossing back to his chair, “It will be done.”

You pulled the chair closer to his desk as you took up the quill he pushed towards you and you opened the inventory above the ledger. You wondered if Thorin would even have the patience to sit there for so many hours. Many times you had tried to finish the damned balances and several times you had found yourself fast asleep across the pages.

You bent your head over the paper though you could barely see the figures for the heat of Thorin’s eyes upon you. You may have been a little lax in your work but it was no reason for him to watch you so intently. With him in the same room, you had no choice but to concentrate and do the much-loathed numbers. You began scribbling, your finger trailing from the pages of one book to the other. It was not so bad once you were in the midst of it though there was a king bearing down on you.

Finally, you felt his eyes leave you and you glanced up quickly as he rose and he pointed to the ledger with another sharp look. You did not need words to know to return your attention to the columns and you half-listened as he rounded the desk once more, this time passing your chair. You continued to write down figures as you heard him adding kindling to the hearth and you were thankful as the recollection of your wet clothes sent another chill through you.

“Well,” You said, as you sat back and set your pencil in the open spine of the ledger, “I think I have finished.”

“At last,” He neared you, though you were still too anxious to look back, “I haven’t an eye for numbers but I will give you the benefit of the doubt.”

“Thank Mahal,” You stood as he remained beside the chair and you closed the books, stacking one atop the other before turning back to him, “Does that mean I can go dry off now?”

“Mmm, if you wish,” His eyes drifted away from your face once more and this time he did nothing to correct himself, “Or you could stay and do so here?”

“Here?” You echoed as you tried to ignore how his tunic still clung damply to his chest, “I...Perhaps, if you could look me in the eyes, I would consider.”

“I can see you shivering,” He commented as he briefly met your gaze before letting his stare wander once more, “And much more.”

“Thorin,” You reproached as you looked down to your tunic, once more taut to your chest, “Did you have me do the numbers just so you could gawk at me so?”

“No, I had you come hunting so I could,” He grinned for the first time that day and the glimmer in his eyes was devilish, “Though having you do the numbers was an extension of that.”

“You’re--you’re not serious?” You were almost incredulous at his words and yet you could not say they did not excite you. The Mountain was frigid as of late and entirely dull.

“Very,” He breathed as he stepped nearer, “Tell me you haven’t felt it before...this tension between us.”

“Is that why you’ve been avoiding me so?” You asked without moving, though he was getting ever closer.

“Well, I thought it highly inappropriate to be picturing one of my counselors naked in the presence of my others,” He intoned as he stopped before you, “I am not one to have thoughts without acting upon them, you see?”

“Oh…” You could not help but tilt your head as your eyes drifted to the ceiling in thought and your cheeks coloured.

“I am afraid that earlier was such a case,” He mused as his voice brought your eyes back to his, “When I...touched you. It was not entirely in your interest,” You stared back speechlessly as he reached down and touched the hem of your tunic, “But, in your best interest, I think it would be wise for you to strip yourself of these wet clothes.”

“I suppose...you’re right,” You chewed your lip as you set your hand on his, stilling it before he could pull your tunic any higher up your stomach. He released the wool and his fingers traced the bared flesh of your stomach, tickling you. “But I don’t know that this fire is stoked enough to warm me up.”

His cheeks twitched and a smirk curled his lips. He purred as he took your meaning, his arm snaking around you as he pulled you closer. You were flush against him and you were certain he could feel every inch of your through the layers of damp fabric between you. “Don’t you worry about the fire,” He leaned down as he spoke in your ear, his lips brushing your cheek, eliciting a telling tremble within you, “I can warm you up just fine.”

[buckychristwrites]

Just A Touch | Part 1 | b.b.

Pairing: Bucky x Reader

Summary: Your powers? Controlling any feeling a human can have, from emotions to pain, with a simple brush of your fingertips. Your mission? The traumatized soldier with sad stricken eyes and scream filled nightmares.

Word Count: 1.9k

Warnings: None

A/N: So this is very loosely inspired by the book Carve The Mark by Veronica Roth. Let me know what you think! :)

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8 |

Masterlist

“How did you find me?”

What started out as an uneventful and normal day took a turn with just an unexpected knock on your front door, which you thought nothing of until you threw it open to find The Tony Stark on the other side, smiling radiantly at you, the Avengers quin-jet in the background behind him. This might have seemed less weird if you weren’t living in a small town in Ohio, a far distance from New York and not a place you could see Tony casually spending time in. And when you also considered the fact that prior to this moment, you had never been within 100 feet of Tony Stark, let alone have met him, your first instinct was to slam the door in his face. You had no intention of reopening the door as you started to walk away, but you stopped dead when you heard him yell your real name from the other side of the door. A name you had been running from for the last almost ten years. The name that made you reluctantly open the door and let the man inside.

It took 20 minutes of him telling you that he needed you to come with him without ever alluding to why he needed you in particular to get you to agree to go with him to New York City. But that didn’t matter. As you sat in the reclining chair of the Avengers quin-jet, your mind was blank and your whole body was numb. You knew exactly why you were there.

Which brings you to this moment, an hour later in Avengers Tower, sitting in the conference room where you and Mr. Stark were joined by Captain America himself. While Steve was leaning back in the chair in front of you, Tony was sitting on the conference table itself, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees. Next to him was an open folder, a file filled with every single fact about you, the old you, from the moment you were born and ending abruptly about a decade ago, and resting on top was a picture of you. The crinkles and faded colors showed that the picture had aged worse than you, as you looked exactly the same.

“After HYDRA fell, we raided their files to find victims of experimentation,” Tony said, sitting up straight and crossing his arms. “All of them seemed to be dead, which wasn’t much of a surprise. But then we got an alert from facial recognition.” He looked right at you, his head tilted to the side slightly. “And that’s when we found you.” Your head fell back against the wall, and you stared up at the ceiling. You had done everything in your absolute power to make sure no one found you. Even the good guys. You didn’t want anything to do with this life anymore.

“So what do you want from me?” You asked, failing to hide the hostility in your voice. Tony threw his hands up, as if the answer was the most obvious thing in the world.

“We want you to join the team,” He said. Eyebrows furrowing together, you eyed him suspiciously.

“Why?” You asked. Steve and Tony exchanged a look, and Steve opened his mouth to speak, but was interrupted.

“We know what you’ve done,” Tony said simply, picking through your file before pulling out a short stack of papers. Your body went cold as he skimmed through them, flipping the pages dramatically. “A human torture machine? Making people feel excruciating pain at will with just a simple touch.” He glanced up at you over the paper, and you looked away from him. It was suddenly very warm in the room, and you wondered how you were going to get home. Tony put the papers down on the table, the movement bringing you back to reality. “Sensing and controlling emotions. Is that all you can do?” You cocked your head to the side.

“Is this a trick question?” You asked. “Because I feel like you have everything listed right there. No, I can’t do anything else. I can sense and control the things that humans feel. Emotions, pain. Sensing emotions I can do from a distance but to actually change them, I have to be touching them.” They nodded.

“How did HYDRA do this to you?” Steve asked. It was the first time he had really talked during this meeting, and you had actually wondered for a bit why he was there. You shrugged.

“Years of experimenting on me,” You said, nonchalantly. “I think the emotions part was an accident, because they were more concerned with the pain thing. At first I could only make a little pain, like getting your finger pricked or something. But after a few months of more shots and experiments and procedures…” You stopped, swallowing hard. Everything was coming back to you now. You closed your eyes for a second before continuing. “I can now make it feel like your being struck by a thousand lightning bolts, whenever I want.”

The two men exchanged looks again before looking back at you. Tony hopped off the table.

“We’d be lucky to have you, but we won’t force you,” He said in a rushed voice as he walked slowly towards the door. “Fossil here will answer any questions you have and, if you decide to join, will fill you in on your first… mission.” The pause before his last word made you uncomfortable. What exactly was it they wanted you to do?

Steve sighed, sitting forward in his seat. His eyes were warm and kind, making you want to trust him. But it was hard when you were practically kidnapped and brought here by the team that they now want you to be apart of.

“So I have a mission,” You stated. “Is that a normal thing? Assigning missions to people before they’re even part of the team?” Steve chuckled.

“Not at all,” He said. “But it’s really not what you think it is. And it only becomes your mission if you decide to join the team.” You purse your lips as you take this in. A thousand questions ran through your mind, and you weren’t really sure where to start.

“What happens if I say no?” You asked.

“Then we take you home and you live your life.”

You took another half minute before you spoke again.

“And what happens if I say yes?”

Steve laughed again. You hated how obvious it was that you were considering this.

“We’d move you into the tower,” He began to explain. “You’d become apart of everything. The missions. The briefings. Everything. You’d get a suit if you want one. Tony can add really anything you want to enhance your powers.” He shrugged.

You looked up at the ceiling, thinking of the final notice bills that were back at your apartment. The dead end job you slaved through every day, making just barely enough to get by. Your life had been spent hiding, always looking over your shoulder and running when anything went slightly wrong. It would be nice to feel safe for once.

“So, let’s say I am saying yes,” You stated, trying to sound as nonchalant as possible. Steve raised an eyebrow. “What’s my mission, Captain?” He laughed again, a little harder this time, grabbing your file while shaking his head.

“Right, the mission,” He said as he flipped through the pages, stopping at one and pulling it out. “It’s going to sound simple, but it’s going to be a lot harder than it looks.” A flood of discomfort filled his face as he held up what turned out to be a photograph, revealing a picture of you and a familiar face from your past, standing side by side in the HYDRA compound.

“I need you to tell me everything you remember of your history with the Winter Soldier.”

_________________________________________

Knock.

Just knock.

You had been repeating this mantra to yourself for what must have been 10 minutes at this point, and it got you nowhere. Every time you rose your hand, you would hold it up for a while and then drop it down again. Why was this so hard?

It had now been about 5 hours since you had agreed to join the team. Tony had already sent out a team to move your belongings from your run down apartment to the Tower. You had since been introduced to all of the other members of the team.

All except one.

You had been exploring the whole Tower to avoid this. You now knew where everyone’s rooms were (including your own), which hallways lead to where, all of the escape routes and how many windows were in the entire upper penthouse. But you knew it was time to finally bulk up and face him once you caught yourself counting the number of doorknobs. Now that was just excessive.

Just as you thought you had worked up the nerve, the door flung open, and out came James Buchanan Barnes, in black jeans and a hoodie, long hair flowing down to his shoulders. He jumped back when he saw you, his face filled with fear and anger as he took a fighting stance. You raised your hands and took a step back.

“I am so sorry,” You gasped. Part of you was very afraid, but the other part was very embarrassed that you had been found standing outside of his door.

“Who the fuck are you?” He demanded. His demeanor didn’t let up, which made you slightly more afraid.

Your voice was almost a whisper when you told him your name. “I’m a new member of the team, fresh meat,” You said, trying to lighten things. He lowered his hands slowly. It was obvious that he was debating whether to believe you or not, and you hoped it would come out in your favor. You knew what he was capable of. But from the look on his face, he didn’t appear to know that. He looked you up and down, before finally sighing.

“Bucky,” He said, raising his hand out to shake yours. You grasped his hand firmly while in a daze. Of all of the changes that had been thrown at you in the last six hours, this was the one effecting you the most. You never thought you would see him again.

“It’s nice to uh, meet you,” You said awkwardly as you dropped your hand back down to your side. He nodded, appearing to agree.

“So um, what brings you to the team?” He asked. You pressed your lips in a fine line. This is the part where things get a bit hard.

“That’s actually the reason I’m here,” You said slowly without making eye contact. “They brought me on because they have a mission for me.” He eyed you suspiciously, turning his head slightly.

“What’s the mission?” He asked, his voice lowering. You closed your eyes. Part of you wished he had just killed you a moment ago.

“That’s an interesting question, and they haven’t given me all of the details yet,” You began, anxiously playing with your fingers. You paused, finally looking at him in time to see his eyebrows raise at you impatiently. There was no escaping it, he was going to hate it no matter what. You sighed. “But it appears that the mission is you.”

[klcrisistine]

Second Person

A short story experimentally written in second person point of view (though most of the story is still written in first person)

Ah, another quiet sunday inside. You sit on the couch, you stare blankly in the distance, you try to type something, anything, on your keyboard but your mind is blank when you attempt to concentrate on filling the empty document in front of you. Your mind wanders. It flies towards subjects you hate: work, unanswered questions, crucial decisions that need to be made. You can’t seem to relax. The page on the word processor on your laptop screen remains empty. You keep looking at the clock.

2:42 PM. Maybe you ought to go to the mailroom and check if the electric bill has arrived. It would be nice to walk, even if the way from your miniscule one-bedroom condo unit to the mailboxes consists of only a brief walk and an elevator ride. Without thinking, you rise, put on a face mask, and head out. Taking a walk seemed to be a better idea than continuing to stare at a white screen and going nowhere.

You get off the elevator at the tenth floor and walk down the hallway past a dark, tightly locked gym toward the mailroom. Shelves of around a thousand small glass cabinets labeled with numbers line the room. You turn right and search for your unit number: 3115. The room is, of course, deserted.

After a couple of minutes, you open one compartment door, grab all of its contents, and make your way back to your own unit. At the top of the small stack of envelopes is one bearing the electric billing company logo. You move the envelope to the bottom of the stack. You find the internet bill. You move it again. Then, something strange catches your eye.

The very last envelope is pink, decorated with white polka dots and a waving Hello Kitty. The address on the envelope is that of your parent’s home, the house you lived in from birth until your college years. 

And the sender is you.

You stop walking. How can this be? Is someone playing a practical joke on you? Did your mother find the letter in your old house while cleaning up and decided to send it to you? You don’t think your mother or father would do such a thing. If they did find the letter and wanted you to have it, they could just hand it to you personally. You meet your parents for lunch every other Sunday, don’t you?

You return to your tiny condo unit and place the bills on the dining table. Then, you flop down onto the couch and stare at the odd letter in your hands. The flap of the envelope is held in place by a cartoony apple sticker.

Without hesitation, you tear the envelope open. Several sheets of paper folded together live inside. You unfold them. Each one is also painted pink but in a shade lighter than that on the envelope.

Your eyes widen in amazement. It’s your old penmanship, the way you wrote when you were in fifth or sixth grade. No doubt about it. Fat and neat. Easily discernible but still obviously a child’s writing. 

You read the first line.

Dear Future Me,

You swallow. When did you ever write a letter to your future self? Did a grade school English teacher, or perhaps the guidance counsellor, assign you a task to write to your future self? You don’t recall any such thing. But then again, maybe your head is so full of new practical information, new worries, new to-do list items that need to be crossed off that there is no longer room for memories of your elementary school projects.

You read on.

Dear Future Me,

Wouldn’t it be a lot more useful if you were the one to send me a letter? You could tell me what I should and shouldn’t do. I bet you’re a lot smarter than I am. Maybe you know how to make at least a few good friends in class or how to pass at least the first round of the Science High School exams. If you could write me letters, would you be kind enough to do so? For our own sake? Maybe we could live a better life.

But anyway, I understand that you can’t. A teacher once told me that there are some things only children can do. I guess this is one of them. Also, time travel probably isn’t possible yet. Or is it?

Anyway, how are you? Are you happy? What college course did you take and what are you doing now? I know you can’t reply. But it’s still fun to wonder about such things. Wherever you are, whatever you are doing, I hope you are well.

You stop reading and look up. Your eyes collect water. You blink and let some teardrops fall. There are only a few. You have already cried a good deal last night.

The question of whether you are doing well or not is a difficult one. Your parents, your aunts and uncles, seem to be happy that you make a decent amount of money. Despite being so early in your career, you can support yourself and live independently. The company you work for isn’t bad. You get good benefits. The working conditions are good. Plus, you have a flexible schedule. You have friends. You have a steady relationship with a guy who treats you well and does seem to really love you. Why can’t you simply say you are doing well? Why do you always cry when you are alone?

You realize you are asking yourself the same questions you always ask. A futile exercise. You decide to read on.

Do you still remember who I am? I am turning twelve years old this year. I can’t believe I’m only a year away from being a teenager and a high schooler. I spend most of my time reading books and studying in the library. I don’t have any close friends in class. But I am one of the smartest in my grade, according to my classmates. In the yearbook, they nicknamed me a walking encyclopedia even though none of them have ever heard me quote information from any book. I am quiet and timid so I wouldn’t just blurt out random facts to my classmates unless I need to. No one really knows me well enough. I wish at least one person would try to get to know me.

You’re probably wondering why I decided to write to you. What could someone like me, someone whose memories are only a fraction of yours, possibly say to you? Is it possible for me to know something you don’t already know? Well, the answers to these questions are in the questions themselves. With all the new memories you have collected and crammed into your brain, you have probably forgotten many valuable ones. I think it is my responsibility to remind you of those memories.

There’s one in particular I want you to remember.

Why do I think you don’t remember this? Because everyone who had heard this story denied it. And I’m starting to doubt what I saw, what I heard. Everyone else’s arguments are so convincing. The only one who believed me wholeheartedly was my younger sister. But my parents say she would grow up soon enough.

I knew, of course, that I too would also grow up. Eventually, I would deny the truthfulness of the stories I deeply treasured. And once I have denied them, they would be forgotten.

And so I wrote this letter.

I wrote this letter to remind you of a series of important incidents, the very first one occurring in the library. It was late in the afternoon, after classes had been dismissed. As usual, the school bus driver was late to pick me up.

The light filtering through the glass door was soft and orange. It was nearly sunset. I stood past the drawers containing card catalogues, past the glass windows behind which the librarians sat waiting for young bookworms to borrow books, and past a maze of tall wooden shelves and shiny, wooden desks surrounded by matching wooden chairs. I stood in the back of the library, browsing a shelf, not unlike the rest that accompanied it. Above me hung a white rectangular sign: The General Fiction section.

I had just finished reading Little Women. A beautiful story of four sisters and their own experience of life and womanhood in New England in the late 19th century. There was still time before my ride home would arrive so I decided to pick up a new book.

Though there were countless books on the shelf right in front of me, it wasn’t difficult to choose one. One particular book just seemed to stand out. It was large and thick, with a leather cover that seemed to be darker than black and an intricate abstract gold pattern on its spine. The book didn’t seem to have a title. In my little hands, it was extremely heavy.

I sat down and with a sigh of relief, laid the weighty book down on the nearest desk. I excitedly opened it. The very first page was empty. Probably like the others that made up the book, it was yellowish and smelled like an old dusty house whose windows and doors hadn’t been unlocked in decades. I started to turn one page after another, searching for the title page. But after at least ten pages, I still couldn’t find any trace of writing. 

Why would a book like this be in the general fiction section? No, why would it be in the library at all? It was probably meant to be somebody’s journal. I thought, picking up the pace as I continued to turn page after page. After about ten more pages, I was sure that my efforts would lead me nowhere. For some reason though, I refused to stop. I rested my chin against the back of one hand and continued to turn the pages with the other.

And then, I suddenly stopped. Finally, I had landed on a page that was not blank! The page was in fact the complete opposite of blank. Text filled the page from top to bottom, leaving no room for headers or page numbers. My newfound excitement had barely reached its peak when disappointment started to kick in.  On the page, I couldn’t read a single word. Everything had been written in a miniscule font. And the letters were crammed tightly together and faded. But I wasn’t about to be stopped. I had finally found something. I refused to give up. 

Glaring at the ineligible writing, I moved my chair forward. It wasn’t enough. I bent over. It still wasn’t enough. I flexed my neck and drew myself even closer to the book so that the tip of my nose was merely an inch away from the opened page. Finally, I was able to make out a fragment of the first line:

One day, in the middle of a clearing,

I paused to blink. It was a struggle to read on.

in a deep forest of tangled trees and bushes,

And the rest of the line was impossible to understand.

I heaved a sigh and decided to stretch my already strained neck. As I leaned away from the book towards the backrest, I fell to the floor. My buttocks hit the ground and I squinted in pain. 

What just happened? 

I looked up, searching for the chair that was supposed to be supporting my weight. But my surroundings were suddenly different. There were no longer desks or tall shelves filled with books. The ground on which I sat wasn’t the wooden plank floor I knew so well. Instead, it was bare sandy soil. And the static hum and cold air coming from the air conditioners had been replaced by the calls and chirps of birds I was not familiar with.

All kinds of tall trees surrounded me, some bore fruits -- mangos, bananas, coconuts, orange flowers. Others simply bore leaves of various shapes and colors: from mud brown and spade-like leaves to lengthy clusters of tiny bright green leaves hanging around thin stems. However they looked, the trees seemed to be eyeing me with great curiosity. They too must have been asking the same question I was...what was I doing here? Above me, the sky was cloudless and tinted soft orange and pale blue. The sun seemed to be getting ready to hit the hay.

Pshhhhh...

All of a sudden, a rustle made me jump. I turned my head toward the sound. There was definitely movement behind some tall strands of grass growing near the bottom of a tree trunk. Someone was there. I saw traces of black hair and white clothing. But one blink was all it took for me to lose sight of whatever it was that lurked behind the trees. I wondered if I had imagined it.

My heart was beating very fast. My breathing was also quick and heavy. I wasn’t supposed to be here. What happened to the library? What if the school bus driver had already arrived and was looking for me? How could I get home? How would my parents even know where I was if I didn’t have any means to contact them? I didn’t even have a cellular phone! Sitting on the ground, in the midst of an alien universe, I couldn’t help but cry. I felt helpless. I didn’t know what to do.

But maybe...I was dreaming. What was happening at the moment couldn’t possibly be real. There was no logical explanation for it. But still...everything looked, felt, and smelled too real. I could feel the grainy soil in my hands. I could grasp them and let them go. Some of them could cling to my hands, some could enter my nails. I could smell the mangoes in the trees, some traces of animal waste. I could pinch myself and feel pain. And most importantly, I could think clearly. I could wonder if I was dreaming or not. I had never done such a thing before while dreaming.

I cried again. My sobs were much louder now. I couldn’t help it. I was only twelve years old. My parents or teachers never taught me what to do if I got lost. And I never did get lost. Because my parents never let me wander anywhere unsupervised. They always made sure I was safe. If they weren’t home, a babysitter took care of me. When I wasn’t at home, I was at school. My teachers, the security guard at the gate, and my school bus driver always made sure I was right where I was supposed to be.

Now, all of a sudden, I was alone.

Or so I thought. Once again, there was a rustling and then, footsteps. I held my breath. Someone stood in the distance. I wiped my eyes with the back of my hand to get a better look. It was...a boy. A boy about my age. A boy with short, black hair with wispy bangs, and sun-kissed skin. He was wearing a plain white shirt, pale brown knee-length shorts and flip-flops. I stared at him, continuing to sob. He cleared his throat.

“A-are you o-okay?” he softly stammered.

I didn’t know what to say. I couldn’t speak anyway. I was still sobbing uncontrollably.

“Are you lost?” His voice cracked.

The question of whether to trust him or not to know I was indeed lost didn’t cross my mind. I felt desperate. I simply nodded. In the city, my mother always reminded me that it was dangerous to admit  to strangers that one was lost. It was safer to lie.

“It’s okay,” he said, inching closer toward me. His eyes were averted and his movements were slow and timid. He seemed to be very ill-at-ease. “I-I’ll do my best to help you find your way home. Do you live near here?”

“I don’t think so,” I very softly replied through sobs. The boy was about two feet in front of me now. I could see his long-lashed, dark brown eyes and bony, triangle-shaped face. For some reason, I didn’t feel afraid of him. I was more afraid of not being able to return home. “I’ve never been here before. I don’t know where I am.” I explained.

“How did you get here?” the boy asked.

I began to cry louder again, making the boy panic. He held his palms up and muttered, “It’s okay, it’s okay.”

“I don’t know how I got here.”

“Y-you don’t remember?”

I thought for a moment. “I think I do remember. But I don’t understand it.”

“I see...” the boy said, tilting his head. He seemed to be lost in thought for a moment. “Can you tell me?”

“You might not believe me,” I hesitated, wringing my hands.

“You have to tell me,” he said gently. “I can’t help you if I don’t know where you came from.”

I nodded. “I was in a library. I was reading a big book. I looked very closely at it because the words weren’t clear. When I leaned back, I was here.” I felt my ears turn hot. My story sounded more absurd now that I had said it to a stranger.

But the boy’s eyes widened as I said my piece. Whether he was shocked or had made a connection I didn’t know. All he said was, “Wait here.” before he ran back toward a spot near the edge of the clearing and disappeared behind a tree. I waited for his return with bated breath.

After about a minute, he re-emerged from behind the trees with a book. Not just any book. But the book I had last opened at the library, the book I had last seen before I had found myself in a strange new universe.

“I guess this must be yours,” the boy said, handing the book to me.

I gazed at it silently, thinking. Perhaps I can repeat what I did at the library. I could look for another non-empty page and stare at the faded words with great concentration, averting my eyes from anything else around me. Perhaps that was my way home...there was nothing else I could think of trying to undo what I had done.

“I found the book on my way here. I was going to take it because I thought nobody owned it. Sorry.” the boy suddenly explained. “I should have known it belonged to you.”

“It’s okay. Thanks for returning it. I’m not sure but as crazy as it may sound, I think it could be my way home,” I replied, feeling very uncertain. “Were you the one hiding behind the trees a little while ago?” I asked out of curiosity.

“Yeah, sorry about that,” the boy apologized again. “I usually come here by myself. I was actually surprised to find someone else here.”

“So why did you run away?”

“I’m not really comfortable around strangers,” the boy uneasily chuckled, scratching his head. “Especially if they’re...” he stopped abruptly, his face turning multiple shades of pink.

“They’re..?”

“Nevermind,” the boy said, shaking his head, probably hoping he could shake the heat off his face.

“Okay,” I said, disappointed he wouldn’t tell me anything else. “Do you live near here? Why do you always come here alone?”

The boy scratched his chin and looked up. He looked as though he were debating whether he should answer my questions or not.

“It’s okay if you don’t want to tell me,” I interjected.

“It’s fine,” he smiled for the first time since we had begun speaking to each other. Something about it gripped my heart and made it skip a beat. I caught myself gaping at him and immediately fixed my eyes on the strange book in my hands.

“I...” he tried to begin his answer and failed. “Nobody likes having me around. And people don’t treat me very well so...I come here when I’m feeling sad or angry.”

“I see.” I suddenly felt like a jerk for nosing around in the boy’s personal business. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have asked.”

“No need to be sorry,” the boy said, smiling again. “Anybody would probably be curious. I am a pretty strange boy.”

“I don’t understand why people don’t like you though,” I said.

He stared at me with wide eyes.

“I m-mean -- you’re very nice,” I stuttered. “You’re trying to help me right now even though you don’t feel comfortable around strangers and--

“Thanks,” he replied. “I mean it. Nobody’s said that to me before. People are mostly scared of me.”

“Why are they scared of you?”

The boy averted his eyes once more, keeping quiet. The silence was heavy and unbreakable. Why was I so comfortably asking the stranger in front of me so many questions.

"I'm sorry," I burst out.

The boy tilted his head again. "You apologize a lot," he commented.

I raised my eyebrows. "Really? I didn’t notice. But anyway, I think I really do owe you an apology. I ask too many questions, sorry."

“Don’t worry about it. You’re curious,” he said. “I get it.”

I bit my lip and looked down. Somehow, I didn’t seem convinced I had done nothing wrong.

“Can I sit here?” the boy asked after another few moments of soundlessness. I nodded. He awkwardly sat on the ground. Beside me.

“I’m also curious about you,” he said. “I mean, for starters, your clothes are strange.” I looked down at my clothes. I was wearing my school uniform. A white blouse with a tiny blue ribbon just below the collar and buttons down the front and a matching blue knee-length skirt. I was also wearing white, ankle-length socks and black shoes, spattered with dirt and soil. If I ever return home, my mother would blow a gasket.

“It’s my school uniform,” I explained.

“Yeah, it looks like a school uniform,” the boy agreed. “But there’s only one school nearby and the girls’ uniform there doesn’t look at all like what you’re wearing. Nobody lives near here either. My house is the nearest one and even that is at least two kilometers away.”

“Wow, and yet you said you come here a lot,” I said, amazed.

“Yeah,” the boy laughed a little. “I like walking around by myself and exploring.”

“I like exploring too,” I said, smiling. “But I do it by reading. My mother never lets me go out on my own. My school is really strict as well.”

“I’m not very good at reading. There aren’t a lot of books at my school,” the boy sadly said.

“What? How is that possible?”

“My school doesn’t have a lot of money. Books are shared by students.”

“That’s too bad...what grade are you?” I asked, rapidly changing the subject.

“Six,” he briefly said.

“Me too,” I excitedly declared. “So you’re going to high school soon too!”

“I don’t think I am, actually,” the boy replied. “I don’t think we have the money to pay the tuition.”

“Sorry,” I automatically said.

The boy laughed. “You’re saying sorry again. It’s not your fault. And anyway, I don’t think I want to go back to school. I’m not smart. And the other kids are always mean. I don’t have a lot of friends.”

“Me neither,” I said enthusiastically as though I were proud to be the class loner. But I was just relieved and oddly thrilled to find someone who was like me. Feeling so different from everyone else was a lonely life. “To tell you the truth, I don’t think I have any friends at all. I’m too shy. I can’t fit in with everyone else.”

“Actually, I don’t have any friends at all either,” the boy admitted, blushing. “I just didn’t want to say it because I didn’t want to look stupid.”

I suddenly burst out laughing. The boy’s mannerisms, the flows of his thought, and courses of action seemed too funnily familiar. They were practically mine. 

The boy laughed along as well. “I don’t know why we’re laughing,” he interjected between sniggers.

“It’s just really funny how similar you are to me,” I replied. The boy abruptly stopped laughing. Darkness seemed to play in his eyes.

“Is there something wrong?” I asked.

He shook his head, smiling weakly. The setting sun was now barely visible behind the trees.

“I think I should be getting home,” I suddenly said. “Or trying to get home,” I added, realizing I wasn’t yet sure of how to get home.

“Oh yeah, we almost forgot,” the boy said, slapping his forehead with one palm. “What are you planning to do?”

“Try to use the book, I guess,” I replied, shurgging. “It’s how I got here, as far as I remember.” I gazed at my muddy shoes, feeling my face burn. I felt embarrassed to admit I actually believed a book could take me home. But it was the only way I could think of.

“Would it be okay for me to watch you try and get home using the book?” The boy asked, his eyes twinkling in curiosity and wonder.

“Sure,” I agreed, grinning. “You ask for permission a lot.” The boy frowned.

I took a deep and courageous breath and opened the book once more. Desperate to get home, I became fully focused on turning one page after another. I was determined to find the page that wasn’t blank. My heart sank every time I landed on a new empty page.

“I can’t seem to find it,” I swallowed. I was growing more and more frantic. I was certain I should have reached the page I had been looking for by now.

“What are you looking for again?” the boy asked.

“Any page that isn’t empty,” I replied, oddly out of breath. It was as though I had been running through the forest. “I don’t think it’s here anymore,” I said, my voice shrinking in fear. I was on the brink of tears.

“There!” the boy exclaimed, pointing at the book on the ground. I looked back at the book and saw what the boy had seen: a yellowish page tightly packed with small typewritten words. I heaved a sigh of relief, a little too early. You don’t know if this is going to work yet, I silently said to myself. For some reason though, gazing at the page before me, I knew my plan was definitely going to work.

I turned toward the boy once more. “Thank you for all your help,” I said. “It’s too bad I won’t be able to talk to you again.”

The boy’s eyes momentarily widened in shock. He was blushing. “T-thank you.”

“For what?”

“I’m not really sure,” he admitted, averting his eyes once again.

I smiled and nodded. Without another word, I fixed my eyes on the book and buried my head in it. The first few words instantly became clear.

Sitting on a desk in an old but tidy elementary school library.

I looked up and once more, there I sat. In an ordinary desk in my favorite place in school. As I had thought, repeating what I had initially done was all it took to find my way home. I looked at the mysterious book lying on the desk in front of me, closed and innocent-looking. It was hard to believe that the very same book had just magically and literally transported me to a different world, a world that was very different from my own. I couldn’t help but tremble slightly in fear as the book looked back at me, urging me to open it once again. Without dilly dallying for another second, I returned the book to its proper place on the shelf and exited the library as quickly as I could. Outside, the sun had just set. And the sky was more light ink blue than orange.

You move your eyes away from the letter for a brief moment. You just finished reading three pages of a child’s writing, the writing of a younger version of you. You don’t remember living through any experience described in the letter: a very good reason to believe that it is only just a tall tale, the product of a twelve-year-old’s wild imagination. Strangely though, the contents of the letter thus far seemed to have made you feel a wave of nostalgia, as though you were indeed looking back at an old and beautiful memory, as though you were re-experiencing several golden moments with a dear old friend...

But it couldn’t possibly be true...right? You read on.

The incident in the library frightened me very much. Thoughts of being suddenly removed from my little universe and placed in unfamiliar territory kept me up most nights and urged me to avoid the library for a couple of days. Instead of visiting the library, I opted to do my homework in advance during break times so I could be free to do whatever I wished once I’d arrived home later in the day: play computer games or watch the primetime shows on Nickelodeon.

But thoughts of my brief journey to the woods weren’t only fearful ones. There were thoughts that made me smile. Thoughts that made me long to return there.

I thought about the boy I had met. It was the first time I had met someone who seemed to understand my feelings. It was also the first time in a very long time I had come close to making a friend. I always wished I could meet him again. Talk with him for hours and learn more about his life. I didn’t even get to ask him his name.

One night, I dreamt about the boy and the forest. When I had arrived in the clearing in the middle of the forest, the boy was sitting on the ground, intently gazing in my direction as though he had been waiting for me to appear.

“Hi,” he shyly greeted me.

“Hello.”

That afternoon, the sun was high in the sky. Not a single cloud obstructed its warm glow. The boy and I talked for hours. I learned that his father was a farmer, his mother a cook at a small carinderia, and that he was their second child. He had six other siblings. I learned that he was rather fond of music and that, aside from venturing out into the wild on his own, he often listened to the radio. He would sing along to all kinds of tunes on the radio: from Sundo by Imago to Smile by Lily Allen. His listening would only be interrupted when his father would return home from work and decide he wanted to listen to the news.

“Listening to those weird songs will make you dumber than you already are.” the boy’s father would always tell him as he switched to one of the AM stations. He did his very best not to argue with his father.

Neither the boy’s father nor his mother made it to college. His father’s family was too poor to send him to any college while his mother was disowned by her own parents.

“Disowned?” I repeated in disbelief.

The boy nodded. Apparently, his mother had become pregnant with his older sister at a very young age of sixteen. It was a major scandal. For months, it was the only topic of discussion amongst the housewives who lived in the neighborhood. His mother’s parents were absolutely furious. They were committed believers of the Catholic faith and considered the loss of virginity before marriage to be unforgivable. They had scolded and slapped their poor daughter, kicked her out of her own home, and forced her to fend for herself and the child growing in her womb many years too early. Meanwhile, his father had ran away from home in anger after his parents had refused to take in his pregnant girlfriend. And since then, the couple had been on their own.

“That’s rough,” I said.

“It is,” the boy said. “But I think I would never be able to fully imagine how hard it’s been for them.”

“Well, we’re still kids. I think there are a lot of things we still can’t understand.”

The boy shook his head. “It’s not that. I’m just always angry at them and I think I refuse to try and sympathize with them.”

“Why are you angry?”

“Because of the way they treat me. Sometimes, I feel like they don’t really love me, like they would rather have never had a child in the first place,” he sadly admitted to me.

“What do you mean?”

The boy opened his mouth to say something but he stopped midway and stared at me with large, astonished eyes and gasped.

“I think something’s happening to you...”

“What?” I looked down at my hands. They were starting to look less real, almost transparent. They seemed to be fading away. As were the rest of me.

“I’ll talk to you soon,” the boy said, his voice now echoey and distant.

I was not able to give the boy a reply; for before I knew it, I was back in my bed. Back in the darkness. For not a single raysingle of ray of light illuminated the room from beyond the light brown curtains over the window.

The next day, I decided to return to the library. I didn’t know whether the dream I had the night before was real or not. I was lost in a sea of questions. What was happening to me? Why did I keep running into the boy? Why did there seem to be an invisible force pulling me towards him? I needed to know.

And so after school, I had, as usual, left my bag at a secured waiting area by one of the many school gates and set off towards the library, my heart beating faster and faster as I grew closer toward my destination. When I reached the shelf, the book was in the exact spot where I had last left it. I quickly pulled it out of its place and laid it on the nearest table before I could lose heart. Gazing blankly into the depths of the book before me, I took a deep breath and exhaled.

And I began to turn the pages once more.

Not long after, I found the page I had been looking for. And I read the only legible passage at the top of the page, the very same one I had read before, clutching the book in my hands as though my life had depended on it. In a way, it did. It was, after all, my only way home.

After barely a second, my surroundings had changed. As I had expected, the elementary school library I knew so well had disappeared. But the ground, the trees, the little bushes were also nowhere to be found. In fact, I couldn’t see a thing. My surroundings seemed to be darker than black. I felt paralyzed. I did not want to reach out to feel my surroundings. I didn’t want to cry for help. I was convinced that some evil creature was lurking in the darkness and I feared that I would disturb it and put myself in graver danger. A wave of great panic rose within me. It seemed to be draining all the life and color out of me. It was hard to breathe. My chest felt constricted and heavy.

Was I still stepping on solid ground? It was so dark I felt like I was floating in the middle of a vast nothingness. I stomped one foot on the ground. It wasn’t hard like hardened cement. It was firm but soft like soil. Next, I strained my ears and checked for sounds. I heard the distinct sound of crickets, the call of an owl, and leaves rustling in a cold breeze. Perhaps, I was still in the middle of the forest. But it was nighttime. I turned my head left and right, looked down and then up...

I had stopped moving. I had stopped thinking. The panic within me died in an instant. Above me was a sight so marvelous and breathtaking that for a moment nothing seemed to matter. The sky was cloudless, tinged with night blue and purple, and very abundantly dotted with the gleaming stars of various sizes. I had never seen anything like it. In the city, I had never seen such stars during the very few times I was allowed outside at night. Water began to collect in my eyes as I continued to stare above in awe.

“You’re here!” a voice cried in disbelief. In an instant, the great sight above had disappeared. Suddenly, it was no longer dark. The old forest scene had once again laid itself before me. It didn’t look like it was nighttime yet. From the intensity of the sun and the incredibly hot air, it was easy to tell that it was mid-afternoon.

“H-how much did you see?” the voice stammered behind me. I turned and saw the boy, wringing his hands uneasily, averting his eyes as though he had done something very wrong.

“Stars,” I replied, still a little bit dazed. “At first, it was really dark. But then, I looked up...and I saw the most beautiful thing I had ever seen in my life.”

The boy gaped at me, clearly in shock.

“Did you see the stars? Why did they suddenly disappear?” I asked excitedly. “I want to see them again!”

“You actually liked what you saw?” the boy asked, seeming unable to believe what he had just heard.

“They were amazing!”

The boy blushed.

“I didn’t get enough time to look at it,” I said, disappointed. The boy looked up at the sunlit sky, looking as though he were thinking very deeply about something. “Is something wrong?” I asked.

He closed his eyes tightly. And in a second, the darkness cloaked the forest and everything in it like a gigantic robe. In the sky, clusters of the brightest, most picturesque stars had returned. For some reason, they looked more brilliant than before. Gold and silver streaks brightened the sky even more.

“Do you see why people are afraid of me now?” the boy’s voice asked in the darkness.

“What?” I said, perplexed by his odd question. “Not really. Am I supposed to--”

“This darkness is my fault!” he cried, his voice cracking. “I’ve had this odd ability ever since I was born. My parents, my classmates, they all think I’m cursed.” 

I didn’t know what to say.

The boy went on. “I can make it so dark so that everyone around me is paralyzed, so that everyone around me trembles in fear. I am an awful person.” 

The boy seemed to be holding back tears.

“I can do it at will. But when I am angry or extremely upset, I tend to make it dark even though I don’t want to. And it happens a lot.

“I come here because it’s far enough from everyone else. Here, I can’t hurt anyone and no one can hurt me. And it’s the only place where the darkness isn’t so bad...because of the stars.”

I looked at the sky once more. The sight was incredible as ever.

“You think I’m awful now don’t you?” The boy said, frowning slightly. My eyes had adjusted to the darkness and I could see the boy as the stars lit his face up.

“I think what you can do is amazing,” I said truthfully, beaming at him.

The boy and I sat beside each other on the warm soil, talking for hours, underneath the most beautiful stars I had ever seen in my life. He pointed towards the stars he loved to gaze at: gleaming, silver specks. Some were bright and large, some small and mysterious.

He also traced the several shapes and forms that the stars made in the sky with his finger. He traced a kite, a lone flower bud on a stem stripped of its petals, and a man in mid-run. It took some time for me to turn one particular cluster of stars into a deformed crab.

“You’ve got a great imagination,” I remarked, chuckling.

The boy also pointed toward his favorite star: a star that seemed to be much farther away from the rest. It blinked at slow yet regular intervals. Sometimes, it looked brighter, sometimes dimmer.

“That’s the star I always make wishes on,” he said.

“It’s beautiful,” I said, grinning. “What do you usually wish for?”

The boy bit the corner of his lip. He seemed to be debating whether or not he should answer my question.

“Do you think my wishes would still come true if I told you?” he asked.

I shrugged. “Maybe, to be safe, you shouldn’t tell me.” I felt disappointed but I understood his sentiments.

“I could tell you what already came true.”

“Oh, yeah!”

The boy began to say something but he cut himself off before he could say anything comprehensible. Once again, his face turned red.

“Why did you stop? You were already about to tell me!”

“It’s embarrassing!”

“It’s not!”

“You don’t know that for sure!”

“You’re right,” I sighed, giving up. To me, arguments were exhausting. “I did say before that you don’t have to tell me.”

There was a pause.

“I--” the boy stammered. “I-I..wished I could meet you again. There! Are you happy now?” He said most of his words so quickly, it sounded as though he were chewing on them.

“Really?” I asked, pleasantly surprised.

“Don’t make me say it again.”

“I actually decided to come back because I dreamt that I talked to you,” I confessed.

“I did too,” the boy said softly. “I talked about my family--”

“That’s what happened in my dream too!”

“Maybe we had the same dream,” the boy said as though it were the only logical explanation to a great coincidence.

“Do you think it’s really possible?”

The boy grinned. “If I can make any place dark and you can teleport between two places very far from each other, then I think it’s possible.”

“Good point.”

The boy fixed his gaze on the stars in the distant sky once more. “I wish I could come close to those stars, you know, get the chance to explore them.”

“You could do that if you become an astronaut!”

“What’s that?”

“An explorer of space, a scientist.”

“You really think I can be one?”

“Sure! You just need to really study hard.”

The boy pouted. “I’m not good at studying. It might be impossible for me...”

“No way! You said so yourself. Anything is possible.”

The boy just raised an eyebrow. He didn’t seem convinced.

“I have an idea!” I said, bursting with excitement. “I can bring you books on astronomy when I come visit you again and then we can study them together!”

“Astro-what?”

“Astronomy. It’s what you need to study in order to be an astronaut.”

“Hmm...”

“It's worth a shot, right? What have you got to lose?”

“Alright, let’s do it.”

Since then, I visited the boy at least twice a week. We read through a colorful picture book on introductory astronomy. And when we were tired of studying, we talked about anything and everything underneath the marvelous-looking stars that only he could make visible. I described to him my teachers and told him my impressions of them. I particularly remember taking my time in describing Mrs. Santillan and how she, with her long straight black hair and sharp tongue, had always intimidated me. He talked about his father’s weird habits: complaining about the little income he gets from farming and then using up his earnings on alcohol.

On every visit, we covered a variety of topics: from parents to school life to different ways we amuse ourselves. My times with the boy were so full of life, so full of joy, that everything else in my life seemed dull: dinners with my family, history classes. I always just dreamed about the next time I could meet him again, the stories I would tell him, the new heavenly body I learned to name by reading. 

But then, there came a day when things were different.

On one cloudy afternoon, I found the boy standing in the woods with the astronomy book I had recently lent him.

“Take it,” he said to me.

“Are you finished with it?” I said, surprised. I had lent the book to him only two days ago.

“I don’t want it anymore,” the boy replied curtly.

“You didn’t like it?”

“That’s not it!” The boy was suddenly angry. “I can’t be an astronaut! It’s impossible.”

“We already talked about this,” I said, standing my ground. “You can do it. It may get difficult but you can--”

“I don’t even know if I can go to high school!”

“What--”

“We don’t have the money. My dad says that if I want to go to high school, I’d have to get some sort of scholarship. Don’t you get it? I’m not smart enough!”

“M-maybe...maybe you can--”

“Stop! It’s useless. Take it back!” He furiously threw the book on the ground. “Don’t ever come back, okay? You clearly don’t understand anything!”

“Fine!” I yelled back. “I’m sorry for trying to help you--”

“Just leave!” the boy cried out as he ran farther and farther away from me, never looking back.

“I will!” I screamed angrily at the wind. 

Once again, I was alone.

I didn’t dare visit the library after that. I left the strange book on its shelf and tried to clear my head of all thoughts of the boy, his problems, and astronomy. Several nights I found myself crying silently into my pillow as the rest of my family were sound asleep. I hated the boy. I hated ever meeting him. I hated all the anger and pain that were slowly crushing my heart into bits and pieces.

I started skipping lunch. I gave my packed lunch to whomever in my class would take it and ran to one of the stalls in the girls��� bathroom right next to my classroom. Inside, I tried to read books. When my concentration failed me, which occurred quite often, I cried my eyes out and waited for the bell to ring. I lost weight, people noticed. Everyone complimented me. Everyone asked me what my secret was. I merely feigned a small laugh and left that as my reply.

One night I dreamt about the boy. He was leaning against the trunk of one tree. His arms were wrapped around his legs which were folded and pulled against his body. His face was buried in his knees and he was sobbing very hard. The afternoon sun was once again high in the sky, cruelly hot and intensely bright orange.

I walked toward the boy slowly, carefully. I was afraid that he might just push me away like he did before. But I kept moving forward. I was sick of replaying my last meeting with the boy, sick of fighting a pointless battle with him endlessly inside my head.

The boy looked up once I was right in front of him.

“You came back,” he sobbed.

“Not intentionally,” I replied honestly.

The boy held his breath. He seemed to be trying to stop himself from crying any more tears. He wiped his eyes and cheeks with his shirt. But it was no use. The tears just kept coming like hard rain in the middle of a storm. 

Without thinking, I knelt on the ground and wrapped my arms around him. I held him tight. Neither he nor I spoke a word. But I understood and accepted his tears and I knew he felt my words through the grip of my arms and my firm decision to stay with him. In the midst of a darkness that can’t be seen.

“I wished to s-see you a-again,” the boy confessed through tears. “I w-wanted to explain.”

I said nothing in reply. I let the silence let the boy know I was ready to listen to what he had to say.

“They l-laughed at me,” he stuttered. “I c-can’t be an a-astronaut. I wasn’t b-born lucky. I w-was jealous s-so I got angry.”

“Jealous?” I repeated, wondering who he was jealous of.

“O-of you.”

I held the boy tighter in my arms. Tears began to collect in my eyes as well.

“Y-you have b-books. You h-have a l-library.” He paused for a moment to breathe. He was crying so hard that it was difficult to inhale and exhale. “Y-you have a f-future.”

Now, I was crying with him. We wailed and created our own little waterfall of tears in the middle of the forest, beneath the sunlit sky. But somehow we knew that no matter how hard we cried no one would be able to hear us.

“It’s h-happening again,” the boy said.

At first I didn’t know what he was talking about. But I saw my arms through the haze of tears. And once again, they were beginning to lose clarity. I could see the back of the boy’s gray t-shirt through them. I tried to clutch the boy tighter. But it was no use. I was slowly disappearing. I was being pulled away. This wasn’t where I truly belonged.

“D-don’t forget me, p-please,” the boy seemed to be begging. “I-if you can, c-come back...f-for me.”

I didn’t get the chance to reply. Once more, I was back in my bed, my face wet with tears. I continued to sob into my pillows. Everyone else was sound asleep.

The next day, I finally decided to return to the library. But the book was nowhere to be found. I checked every other shelf in the room. The books in the hands of other library visitors. The books on the carts. I even mustered up the courage to ask for the librarian’s assistance in searching for the book. But she claimed to have never seen it and insisted that all library books had titles on them.

Once again, I was devastated. I cried nightly for weeks. I had lost all connection to the only friend I had had that year. And I could do nothing more for him, no matter how hard I tried.

I always came back to the library though. I came back to check the shelf I had initially found the book in and I came back to read the books the boy would have loved to read. I read books on astronomy, classic tales like Sherlock Holmes, and books on fantasy and adventure like The Hardy Boys, Island of the Blue Dolphins, and Bridge to Terabithia. I sometimes imagined I was reading to the boy in the forest, laughing with him, and listening to his silly and sometimes infuriating stories about his father.

Unfortunately, this is where this story ends. I never met the boy ever again. As I said before, I am afraid I might forget him, forget the stars whose beauty only he could accentuate.

So I wrote you this letter.

The boy is probably still out there. If you can, keep my promise. Please come back for him.

Your younger self

There are no more words left to read. But there is still one last sheet of paper you haven't looked at. On the paper is a colorless picture, drawn in a Japanese anime style. It is the sketch of a girl wearing a blouse with a ribbon and a skirt, hair tied in a simple ponytail, and a boy in a plain t-shirt and shorts, sitting side by side against a tree, laughing.

The picture draws the tears out of your eyes and sends them sliding down your cheeks onto the paper you hold in your hands. A portion of the drawing is smudged with your teardrop. You silently fold the sheets of paper and gaze at them with what seems to be a new pair of eyes. And you return to your computer, more determined to fill the blank page before you than ever before.

[molluskwritesfic]

An Enigma of Broken Wings:  Chapter Six

Reeling from the Time War, the Doctor finds comfort in a mysterious creature that no one has ever seen. Things get more complicated when he discovers that this kindred spirit is a member of one of the most feared species in the universe. 

Chapter One, Previous Chapter, Chapter Six, Next Chapter

Chapter Six

Actom’s house, which was the remodeled version of what had once been the children’s home, was well cushioned and homely, despite its extensive size. Most of the bedrooms and dormitories had been converted into a small library. That’s what Actom was, a librarian.

On their way in, the Doctor had pestered the old man about his life. Much to the Doctor’s pleasure, he’d married Hawee, and they’d had a daughter (as male Glocnappenspaians could give birth). Their daughter had died several years before, leaving them as the sole guardians of their young granddaughter.

“Grandad!” A waist high bundle of pink came careening around the corner into the kitchen, where Actom, the Doctor, and Rose were stacking boxes of books on the broad kitchen table. 

“Hey, starstuff!” Actom beamed, old wrinkled face scrunching up comically. The little girl flung herself at her grandfather and latched onto his legs, standing on his feet so as to be as close to him as humanly possible. “Mina, say hello my friends, the Doctor and Rose.”

Mina glanced up at them shyly, offered a little smile, and then buried her legs back into his legs.

“Hello, Mina,” The Doctor grinned while Rose gave a small wave. “It’s very, very nice to meet you.”

“Why don’t you go back and play, eh? Oh, and tell Gramps to come to the kitchen, will you?”

Mina scurried off, happy to be away from the strangers. A few minutes later, Hawee shuffled in. Obviously, he was very old, with a stiffness in his hips and knees that made it difficult for him to move. 

Hawee’s eyes narrowed. “Tom, who’s this?”

Hawee wasn’t nearly as easy to convince as Actom had been. Even after the Doctor had related their shared experiences from long ago, down to how Hawee had guided him to the tunnels, the old man still remained skeptical. With the his mate’s assurances and Rose testifying that the Doctor could, in fact, change his face, Hawee eventually gave in, even though it was very plain that he was still doubtful.

“So, I take it you’re here on account of the murders?” Hawee asked from his place seated at the heavy wooden table.

“Not really, no,” the Doctor admitted. “We were just traveling, landed here by accident. Happy accident, though. It’s lovely seeing you two, really.” He hesitated. “Though I’ll look into it though, now that I’m here. Love a mystery, me.”

Hawee glared down his crooked nose at the Time Lord. “Hardly something to look forward to.”

The Doctor coughed awkwardly. “Ah... well… anyway. What do you know about what’s been going on?”

“He knows a good bit,” Actom interjected. “He used to work for the Investigator Corps, still has connections, and all that.”

“Thank you, Actom,” Hawee snipped, not at all happy at having personal information shared without his permission. He turned back to the Doctor. “Though, he’s right, I suppose. The boys at the station have been keeping me updated. I was chief inspector there for an odd twenty five years.”

“Brilliant. Start from the beginning.” The Doctor yanked out one of the old wooden chairs, spun it around in front of him and plopped down, his chin resting on the backrest. 

~0~0~0~

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.

~0~0~0~

Twelve victims. Eight disappearances. Four snapped necks.

The first victim had been a worker at the mining compound, a week after they broke ground. Around dusk, other workers heard him cry out for help, but the time they got there, he was nowhere to be seen. 

The second was operating one of the excavators. No one knew anything was wrong until the giant yellow machine had begun idling freely down the mountain side, nearly crushing workers and destroying fences. It’s destructive course had been abruptly halted by another massive machine whose driver had been unable to move out of the way in time. They then found the driver of the runaway machine slumped across the controls, head twisted around so it faced backward on his shoulders.

Numbers three, four, and five were also at the excavation site. Three vanished into thin air. Four’s corpse was found facedown in the mud the next morning. Five was dead in an office, all the locks broken from the outside by something powerful enough that it had been able to twist the door’s steel frame in order to get at the person inside. 

Before six, the investigators had only been picking apart the site, and had closed it down to interrogate everyone that worked there. Then, a woman was found dead at the center of town, blank eyes reflecting the night sky.

Since then, six more people had gone missing. People nearby would hear calls for help, but they always vanished without the slightest trace. They had all vanished at night, so the town had enacted a curfew at dusk, through it did nothing to soothe the citizens’ fears.

Because how could you protect yourself from a killer that left no trace?

~0~0~0~

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.

~0~0~0~

“The locals are going mental, talking about a ghost coming out to avenge the holy site, or something to that extent,” Foreman Darrew sniffed airly, twirling a smoking cigar, clouding the air with blue smoke.

Foreman Darrew was in a bad mood, and, from his perspective at least, it was justified. The strange tall man that claimed to come from the State was back, and he was currently perched in Darrew’s cushioned chair, muddy feet resting on his desk. He was accompanied by the same blonde that had been been with him as before. Actom wasn’t with them, thankfully.

“Really? Ghosts?” Rose asked, eyes bright and curious.

“Of course not!” Darrew snapped, more rudely than intended. He composed himself quickly. “It’s a cover story, trying to cover up the work of a fanatic.”

“I wouldn’t be so sure, Foreman,” the Doctor said with a disapproving quirk of an eyebrow.

“Don’t be ridiculous. There is nothing living in the site!” Darrew snapped, temper flaring once more.

“Except there is. Or was. There was something in the tunnels that had been there for longer than anyone can remember.”

“Really, Doctor,” the Foreman scoffed, scowling as a glob of mud dripped off one of the Doctor’s shoes and onto a thin stack of papers. “Surely you don’t believe in ghosts?”

“Not ghosts, no,” the Doctor mused, squinting at the ceiling. “But there was something down there. An ancient creature. Very very old and very very dangerous. And now, Foreman Darrew, you’ve flushed it out.” He stood quickly and began to pace, scratching his head. “If I could just work out what it is, then we’d stand a chance at finding it.”

“You want to find it?” Darrew shook his head in disapproval. 

“Course we want to find it!” Rose quipped with a wolfish grin. “Why else would we be asking?”

“Why do you people do anything? I’ve given up asking.” Darrew sighed and reclaimed his desk, producing a kerchief and making a futile attempt at cleaning the mud away. It only smeared. “Are you done here, Doctor? Or is there anything else you need that would prolong your presence here, annoying me?”

The Doctor stopped pacing and leaned back against the desk, trapping a paper that Darrew was trying to move, keeping it pinned to the desk. “Don’t know. What I need is more information.  What it looks like, what it’s doing with the people that are disappearing… or anything, really.”

“Would it help,” Darrew said moodily, still trying to free the paper, “if I assigned some workers to move your stupid bloody books away from here?”

The Doctor beamed. “Yes! It would, actually. Lots of information about the tunnels in those books. I didn’t find anything last time, but I wasn’t exactly thorough, either.”

“Why not?” Rose asked amusedly. “That doesn't sound like you. Leaving a mystery unsolved.”

The Doctor shrugged. “Wasn’t at my best.”

“Cos you normally would’ve charged into those tunnels first thing.”

The Doctor stiffened. He hid it by turning back to Darrew. “Movers, yeah? Quick as you like. I want to have some idea of what we’re up against before dark.”

“Why by then?” Darrew asked, though he really didn’t care about the answer. 

“Because that’s when we go looking for it, of course.”

~0~0~0~

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.

~0~0~0~

 Both Actom and Hawee were thrilled when the big seven wheeled cargo truck came rolling up their driveway bearing all the books they had been begging the mining company for over the last few weeks.They were even more thrilled when a handful of workers unloaded the thing for them, sparing their old bones of the labor. Within ten minutes, the front book room was crowded with boxes, all laid out and ready to be sorted through.

“I don’t know how you did it, Doctor,” Actom praised, shaking the Time Lord’s hand heartily. “I’ve been pestering that puffed up swine for ages. So how come you manage it in an hour?”

The Doctor winked. “Just my charm and good looks, I suppose.”

Actom snorted. “Well, whatever it was, we are truly in your debt.”

“I’ll hold you to that.”

“Oh, do you have something in mind?”

“The books. I need help sorting through them for any information about the creature.”

“Consider it done.”

And Actom and Hawee did as they promised. Hours later, the four were seated in various positions around the room, all buried by piles and piles of books. By the time the sun had begun to sink to the edge of the horizon, they all were extremely frustrated. 

The Doctor sighed and rubbed his eyes, which were watering from the sheer number of times he had sneezed over the course of the afternoon. Whatever allergens where wafting off the musty pages, he was allergic to. The Time Lord closed his book, stood, and stretched.

Rose saw that as an excuse to do the same. Within a second, she was on her feet and at the Doctor’s side, gazing up at him expectantly. “We’re going, yeah? You said that we’d look for it at dark.”

The Doctor managed to look disapproving even though he was just as eager to get out of the house and do something as his young companion was. “Probably not a good idea. We’ve still got no idea what we’re up against.”

Rose gave him a cheeky smile, her tongue poking out between her teeth. 

The corners of the Doctor’s mouth quirked up as well. Obviously they were going anyway. “Well, can’t exactly let it continue wandering about, harassing the neighborhood, can we?”

Hawee shook his head in disapproval. “You treat this whole affair like a joke, Doctor. It’s going to get you… or the both of you, killed.”

Rose looped her arm through the Doctor’s, still grinning. “Don’t worry, we do this all the time.”

“Luck runs out.” The old man studied Rose through tired eyes. “You’re just a bit younger than my daughter was the last time I saw her. All fire and recklessness. It makes you think that you’re untouchable. That’s what got her killed. And as a parent, let me tell you, you’re not.” 

Rose opened her mouth to respond, but Hawee shook his head to silence her. 

“At least take an Investigator with you. I’ve called the station, they’re sending someone here to escort you two. At least it’s something, but I doubt it’s enough.”

“We’ll wait for them,” the Doctor promised, giving Rose’s arm a reassuring squeeze. The blonde girl had gone pale, perhaps thinking of Jackie. 

~0~0~0~

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[carafinn]

Crash Landers

pairing: kageyama tobio/ tsukishima kei  prompt: tsukkikage + pacific rim AU (SASO ‘17) summary:  In which Tsukishima Kei, J-tech mechanic extraordinaire, tries to stop an infuriatingly stubborn Kageyama Tobio from piloting his Jaeger solo. Pacific Rim AU.

also on ao3.

“I’m not doing this,” Kageyama snaps, making a beeline for the exit, only to be manually dragged back onto the bed.

“Pilot induction program,” Tsukishima announces, and Kageyama splutters. (It is not one of his prouder moments.) “Now sit down and listen.”

“I’ve been piloting for four years,” Kageyama retorts, feeling personally attacked in spite of himself.

“Which is why this is long overdue,” Tsukishima says, coolly. “Now, pay attention to point number one on the screen. Did you know that, even after controlling for confounding variables, the odds ratio of mortality associated with piloting solo is-"

It’s 5 AM on a Thursday morning when Kageyama is awakened by a series of furious tapping on his door, followed by the sound of something crashing, and - "Listen up, you crazy lunatic," announces the tall, blonde-haired stranger looming at his doorway, impervious as to 1. Kageyama's withering glare, 2. the fact that it is 5 AM in the morning, 3. the fact that Kageyama is wearing nothing but boxers, and 4. any concept of basic human decency and personal space. "I heard the higher ups cleared your request to pilot my jaeger alone." Kageyama barely has the time to interject with the half-choked sound of an enraged animal before the stranger continues on, in his infuriatingly obnoxious tone, "While I don't particularly care about whether your brain turns into soup, I'll have you know that Delta Lux was built to withstand five point three billion volts of electrical energy, three hundred and twenty-two tonnes of Kaiju waste, but not sheer human idiocy." It takes a while for Kageyama's brain to process the crazy asshole's soliloquy and the accompanying insult, in no small part because the speech, while impassioned in content, was delivered via a quiet, deadpan monotone. "Who are - why is - fucking 5 AM," is all that Kageyama manages. He winces. "Tsukishima kei, because I built Delta Lux, and a good morning to you too," the stranger says, each syllable slow and deliberate and positively oozing vitriol, before breaking into a particularly sadistic grin. When he leaves the room the door slams behind him. Kageyama spends the rest of the morning in a particularly livid mood, but promptly writes off the incident from his mind by noon. The Tsukishima guy’s probably another crazy weirdo, which is no anomaly because Shatterdome's teeming with them; living in a confined environment, and the incredible pressure of being on constant alert, will do that to anyone, even those in possession of any reasonable degree of coping skills. Not that Kageyama’s being a hypocrite about it; if someone calls him bonkers - well, he's never pretended to be anything else. (He really should've known better than to just write the incident off, though; crazy lunatics are nothing if not perversely obstinate. That’s how he’d gotten the clearance from the higher ups to do solo piloting to begin with, by refusing to step foot into a jaeger so long as it meant working with anyone else.) (That, and the fact that Kageyama Tobio is the most promising pilot Shatterdome’s seen in five years, and also because the one person he used to be drift compatible with is now gloriously and irrevocably dead. Not that Kageyama blames himself for it, or anything. No, these things happen to the best of them. Every night Kageyama sits in his room, smokes cigarettes after cigarettes, and his hands shake but his eyes do not water.) The next day, this time at 3 AM in the morning, Kageyama is awakened yet again by the door being flung open unceremoniously. This time without even knocking. Just how low can this Tsukishima guy sink? Kageyama starts to splutter indignantly (”but I installed a lock last night!”), to which Tsukishima just looks at him pityingly with a glance that clearly states “a contraption of that calibre wouldn’t be able to stop a cognitively challenged three-year-old toddler, to say nothing of the accomplished technician that I am.” Before Kageyama has the time to grab the nearest alarm clock and smash it into Tsukishima’s damn face, however, his finds his senses assaulted by a powerpoint slide being projected onto the wall, titled, Why You Should Not Pilot Solo. Upon closer inspection, Tsukishima seems to be holding a projector in his hands. It takes Kageyama a few moments to suspend his disbelief because, firstly, do these things still exist? “I’m not doing this,” Kageyama snaps, making a beeline for the exit, only to be manually dragged back onto the bed.

“Pilot induction program,” Tsukishima announces, and Kageyama splutters. (It is not one of his prouder moments.) “Now sit down and listen.” “I’ve been piloting for four years,” Kageyama retorts, feeling personally attacked in spite of himself. “Which is why this is long overdue,” Tsukishima says, coolly. “Now, pay attention to point number one on the screen. Did you know that, even after controlling for confounding variables, the odds ratio of mortality associated with piloting solo is - ” “What is wrong with you!” “I’d leave all questions until the Q&A section after the presentation,” Tsukishima informs him loftily. “Unless you’re interrupting because you can’t understand the technical terms, in which case I still do not care. Moving on -” This cannot be happening. Fifty five minutes and seventy convoluted slides later, Tsukishima turns off the projector, switches the lights back on, and throws Kageyama a long, withering glance that somehow manages to convey the very specific message of “if Delta Lux gets destroyed because you died while piloting it, it will be entirely your fault, and I will spit on your grave”. (By now, Kageyama is starting to suspect that Tsukishima’s entire repertoire of expressions can be divided cleanly to either ‘intensely dispassionate’ or ‘oddly specific derisiveness’, with nothing in between.) Tsukishima then stalks out of the room without a single word. So much for the Q&A section. Because Kageyama is one more sleep deprived night from being driven well past the point of irreversible insanity, he feels approximately zero remorse in storming into the J-tech headquarters the following day and demanding for directions to Tsukishima’s desk from the first person he sees. “Tsukishima’s office is on the right, two aisles down,” says the stricken looking boy at the front desk. So the asshole’s bigshot enough to get an office to himself. Whatever, Kageyama doesn’t care. Anyway, the lesser the audience when he beats the guy into a pulp, the better. He storms down the aisle purposefully and flings the door open. “Stop breaking into my room every morning, you sick lunatic,” Kageyama begins, brimming with indignant rage, only to realise that he is speaking to an empty room. Or rather, an uninhabited room. To call the place empty would be a far stretch of the imagination; for someone whose entire persona exudes stick-up-his-ass, Tsukishima’s office is surprisingly messy. There are random jaeger models littered on the floor, volumes and volumes of papers weighted down by an equally alarming number of books, and post-it notes covering almost every inch of wall space possible. The only desk in the room has been delegated to a sad corner, although Kageyama cannot reliably tell if it is indeed a desk or a block of wood that has been scribbled on and covered by a stack of blueprints that probably weighed more than it. Kageyama is about to leave the room when he catches sight of a photo pinned onto the wall, and his heart stops cold. It’s Kindaichi. Or rather, it’s a piece of paper with Kindaichi’s mugshot stuck onto it, along with a photo of the jaeger he’d been piloting when he died. Underneath it are paragraphs after paragraphs of furious scribbles: ejection pod JAMMED: backup energy for future models???? alt energ sources? discuss w Y ^date engine model -> DO NOT SACRIFICE STABILITY FOR PROPULSION/SPEED recalculate/redesign - KIV discuss next meeting ??funding?? KIV - change contractors?? SM wing material carbon fiber - durability?? SM contact - LM That’s when Kageyama realises that the entire wall has been covered with these papers: photos of jaeger pilots who’d died in the line of duty, complete with painstakingly tedious analyses of every possible flaw pertaining to the jaegers they’d flown, and methods for improvement. Jaegers that Tsukishima had helped to build. Pages after pages of them, tacked on with a dizzying amount of post-its and increasingly desperate scribbles. Whatever goes through Tsukishima’s mind when he looks up from his work and sees these reminders on his walls, day after day? When Tsukishima stormed into his room the other day, said things like, “Delta Lux was built to withstand five point three billion volts of electrical energy”, it wasn’t because he was trying to show off. It’s a startling realisation, Kageyama thinks, not least because this is a very different side to the impervious man who’d rattled off statistics and numbers in that oddly detached tone, just hours ago, as if he were reciting a sales pitch to a blank wall. It’s a startling realisation, to realise that anyone cares for you at all.

Driven by two-parts curiosity and one-part something he can’t quite name, Kageyama Tobio slips into the HR office later that day, and discovers a few things about Tsukishima Kei: 1. Tsukishima Kei is the youngest jaeger engineer to ever join Shatterdome, but he has spearheaded more than six major projects in an equal number of years. 2. Tsukishima Kei specialises in making jaegers that feature heavily in defense, especially against Kaiju Blue. Delta Lux, his newest creation, has an additional novel function of detoxifying Kaiju waste. 3. Before he became a technician, Tsukishima Kei had trained to become a pilot for a year. 4. Tsukishima Kei’s brother, Akiteru, used to be a jaeger pilot. He died in battle six years ago. When Kageyama drops by Tsukishima’s office in the evening, he finds Tsukishima glaring pointedly at a life sized blueprint of what looks like a design of the jaeger’s driver seat, with a sort of single minded ferocity that would likely induce a secondhand headache in Kageyama if he stared for ten more seconds. “I - I went back to Ops,” Kageyama blurts out, and is promptly awarded with the rare (and oddly satisfying) sight of Tsukishima startling before he whips his head around and stares. “Told them I changed my mind. They’re gonna start finding drift compatible partners for me starting tomorrow.” Tsukishima looks at him for a long, unnerving moment, his face impassive. “Good for you,” he finally says, as if this isn’t the intended outcome he’d spent two days tormenting Kageyama for. He turns back and continues to glare determinedly at the blueprint without another word. Kageyama almost goes up to shake him and maybe yell really loudly, or something, but decides to exercise extreme self-restraint and keep his mouth shut instead. There’s a few more seconds of radio silence, and then - “You know, if you could adjust the - the design of the seat to allow it to withstand the pressure during acceleration and deceleration, it would help a lot. Not so much for the impact when we launch but more like - when we exchange blows with the Kaiju and the impact sends us crashing into things, especially in cities or mountainous terrains - ” Tsukishima turns to stare at Kageyama again, but this time his gaze has sharpened with renewed interest. “Anyway, I’m just gonna - get going now,” Kageyama continues, hastily, as he inches towards the door. “Just don’t come barging into my room again tonight -” “No,” Tsukishima says just as Kageyama is almost out the door, causing him to almost reel back in surprise. “Tell me more.” Kageyama blinks. "You mean tell you more about the design?"

"No, I meant tell me more about your horoscope," Tsukishima snaps. Jerk.

Kageyama scowls. “I mean, it’s like when you’re turning and the jaeger goes ZNNNG and then you’re like BAAAM and - ” “Are those even human words?” Tsukishima interjects, looking two parts aghast and one small, tiny part almost amused. Kageyama is beginning to realise that Tsukishima is, in fact, capable of conveying expressions other than complete apathy and/ or derision. “I’m trying to be realistic,” Kageyama retorts, sounding a lot more annoyed than he actually is. “What, do you need me to do it in a powerpoint?” It earns him an unexpected smirk from Tsukishima. He's wildcard, this Tsukishima guy. “You know, that would be great.” It’s going to be another long night, but this time Kageyama thinks that he doesn’t actually mind. (Sometimes Kageyama catches Tsukishima staring at the rows of photos on the wall, an unreadable expression crossing his face; and then Tsukishima will notice Kageyama staring, and hastily look away. Kageyama doesn't say anything, doesn't have anything to say, but the knowledge settles, quietly, like a deep layer of dust on his heart.) It takes them five months to find Kageyama a drift compatible partner. Hinata Shouyou’s a wild, inconsistent thing, runs on too much pure instinct and too little restraint; drifting with him is like wielding a razor thin blade without a hilt. Kageyama, on the other hand, has precision down to a fine art. It is a recipe for an unthinkably disastrous outcome, and they really shouldn’t work out but they do. Above and beyond all else, however, Hinata is malleable. Kageyama has witnessed pilots bending and breaking under the sheer pressure of the battlefield, even during simulations and before stepping into an actual jaeger; Hinata might bend, but no matter how despairing the circumstance he will always remain forgeable. In their field there are few qualities more important than resilience. “We’re gonna be kept off duty for a while,” Kageyama tells Tsukishima the night after his first successful drift with Hinata. They’re lounging in Tsukishima’s office (when did this become routine?), although it’s not so much lounging as it is perched precariously amongst haphazard islands of blueprints and engine models. “Hinata’s gonna need six months’ worth of intensive training, and then we’re gonna pilot Delta Lux.” Tsukishima snorts, and doesn’t look up from the stack of notebooks he’s scribbling furiously into. “He can wait that long?” “He’s busy being ecstatic over the fact that he’s found someone drift compatible,” Kageyama acknowledges begrudgingly, and Tsukishima lets out something between an amused snort and a dismissive tch before diverting his complete attention to his notebook. Kageyama’s not jealous of a few pieces of paper, don’t be ridiculous. “What about you? Are you glad?” Kageyama asks, not sure as to why he’s asking, but does so anyway out of sheer curiosity. “That I found someone drift compatible, I mean.” This time Tsukishima doesn’t turn to face him, but the hand holding onto the pencil hovers, momentarily, in mid-air. “Don’t ask ridiculous questions,” is the reply. “You were gonna have to find a co-pilot eventually.” A pause, then: “We’ve finalised the pilot seat design based on what you told me the last time. If I harass the team frequently enough, they’ll be able to make the changes by the time you pilot the jaeger.” And even though it is not quite the answer he is looking for, Kageyama smiles anyway.

Kageyama doesn't know how, much less why, he ends up spending most of his free time lounging in Tsukishima's office, but it happens anyway. Sometimes they discuss jaeger designs; other times they engage in something that almost approximates small talk. Mostly, though, they go about their own work in a comfortable silence. If Tsukishima was initially resistant against the idea - "stop hovering around, you're distracting me" - his resistance against Kageyama's presence dwindles considerably as the days go by. Kageyama even makes friends with Tsukishima's colleague, Yamaguchi, whom Tsukishima is surprisingly tolerant (and perhaps, shockingly, even fond) of; sometimes even Hinata joins in the fray, and Tsukishima will throw a half-hearted hissy fit about how disruptive everyone is being, he's going to kick everyone out of the damn office, but for the most part no one takes his threats seriously. (One day, too tired caught up in training for his daily round of hovering around Tsukishima's office, Kageyama returns to his dorm room way past midnight and crashes into his bed. When he wakes up there's a large carton of milk on his dressing table, and a familiar neon green post-it note, the blue ink smudged from coming into contact with condensation: collected this from breakfast drink BEFORE 11AM or it WILL SPOIL. Kageyama laughs in spite of himself, takes a long swig, goes back to bed, closes his eyes, sleeps.) Kageyama will, much later, learn to look back at these days as one would an Indian summer: fondly, and wistfully. Always with nostalgia. As it turns out, they end up piloting Delta Lux two full months ahead of schedule, before Hinata can complete his training program. The Kaiju’s been attacking more frequently and with greater intensity, smashing through entire cities like they were made of paper mache; the general consensus was that nobody could wait that long. Right before he sets off, Kageyama stops by Tsukishima's office. Partly out of habit. "I'm leaving now," he tells Tsukishima, who's perched atop a mountainous pile of blueprints, fiddling with an engine model and a particularly nasty looking screwdriver. On the surface Tsukishima looks like he's going about doing his work as per normal; yet every so often the mask will slip, and his gaze will fall, inevitably, on those photos pinned onto his wall. "Just thought I should tell you." "See you," Tsukishima says, simply, and it is testament to how far they've come that Kageyama picks up a bestseller between those two words. Kageyama turns to leave the room, but stops abruptly in his steps. "You'll take them off when I come back, won't you?" Kageyama asks. "Those notes and photos of the ex-pilots on your wall." And Tsukishima Kei, being the fucking wildcard that he is, breaks into a smile (a smile smile, not a smirk or a sneer), says, "it's a deal." Addendum: As promised, the photos and notes and post-its are removed five days later; the wall is empty for approximately two days, until hinata decides to decorate it liberally with photos of the four of them.

[everlarkbirthdaygifts]

Happy Birthday joanofshark13!

We wish @joanofshark13 a very Happy Birthday! In order to celebrate your birthday, @ally147writes has written you a special Everlark story! We hope you like it :)

A New Dream

AN: Inspired by my own recent studying for exams, though mine didn’t have as happy an ending! Also, I’m Australian, so these are modelled after my own high school exams — didn’t have enough time to enlist a helpful American, unfortunately. Happy Birthday to the prompter!

Rated G, but not for lack of trying…

As he steps through the automatic doors of Panem Senior High’s library, Peeta lets out a relieved sigh.

Silence. Blessed, beautiful silence.

It took him a solid, stupid week to realise he wasn’t going to get any study done at home. Between his brother’s bizarre pubescent relapse of getting his old band back together (“We’re gonna make it this time, you’ll see!”), his mother’s snarky, passive-aggressive asides every time she walks past his room, and the never-ending beeping of his father’s baking equipment, the environment there is not conducive to any sort of study.

He drops his bag at an empty desk in the far corner, under a skylight letting in bright shafts of cold morning sunlight. It’s quieter than he thought it would be, given that their exams are starting next week. It’s only him and two other people he recognises from his year group, heads down over their own books with steaming cups of coffee sitting at their sides. It’s just gone nine-thirty, though; they won’t be alone for long.

After an hour of note-taking for his chemistry exam, a soft thump from across the table draws him out. Perched in front of him is a familiar backpack, tattered army green with paperclips where the zipper pulls should be, textbook corners peeking out of the small rips around the edges. At the very top, in faded black marker, the initials K. E glare at him.

His heartbeat kicks up at the sight of it, like he’s some hopeless, tragic version of Pavlov’s dog.

Peeta steals sneaky, covert glances left and right for the bag’s owner, but she’s nowhere to be seen. Only the pinch-faced librarian shuffles between the stacks and her returns desk, muttering under her breath about things Peeta can only guess at.

He tries to get back to his work, but it’s hopeless. Instead, he draws in the margins of his work: a long Rapunzel-like braid, twisting down the length of the paper like a vine.

Like magic, when he looks up from his notebook again, she’s sitting before him, rifling through her bag for a textbook and a pencil-case that looks handmade.

She matches him in weariness and an intense, obvious desire for the next two weeks to be over with, but Katniss Everdeen is still the most beautiful girl he’s ever seen, the girl he’s been in love with since he first realised what love was, what love could be.

But whether he has the right to those feelings, Peeta has never been sure; he’s never spoken to her before. She’s never spoken to him before, either. The closest they’ve ever gotten to trading words happened a few years ago, when she was partnered with him for a dissection in science class — all the times she’d come into the bakery and mutter under her breath for a cheese bun don’t count in his mind. Where he couldn’t bring himself to make the first incision on the poor frog, she stepped right on in, taking the scalpel from his hands and slicing the creature from throat to belly. He’d wanted to say something, anything, but what are you supposed to say to the girl who disembowels your frog while you look away and try to hold your vomit in? Because Peeta sure as hell didn’t know.

But even before then, and after, they’d traded glances for years. Sometimes, he thinks he catches her watching him while he’s watching her, but that makes no sense. God, he’s wasted so much time over the years just waiting, figuring he’d have countless opportunities to catch Katniss and tell her everything, have all his dreams answered, one way or another.

But now? Now they’re two of maybe fifteen people in the library, and even though there’s still free desks, she’s chosen to share a table with him. Who knows where they’ll be after the next two weeks are over, or if they’ll even see each other again? All of it, all the fears, all the anxiety, all the possible regrets that already threaten to haunt him for the rest of his life, come forth in one, whispered word:

“Hey.”

She freezes, glances up at him over the top of her textbook. Her silver-grey eyes survey him, like she’s mining his mind for his deepest secrets. He’s almost written her off, gone back to his work, when he hears her raspy, mumbled reply:

“Hey.”

Peeta swallows; he never planned for her to say anything back. Already his throat feels dry; he’s never felt so much pressure to carry on a conversation before.

“It’s… uh… it’s insane, isn’t it?” he stutters. “All this… you know, study.”

Well done. God, someone needs to smack him out.

She shrugs and takes a gulp from the bottle beside her. It smells sweet, like vanilla and roses. Some kind of tea, maybe.

“I guess, yeah.”

He shifts, turns another page in his notebook even though the one he’s working on is still half blank. “You… um… you couldn’t study at home, either?” God, he’s never had so much trouble speaking before! Words are so easy for him, natural and comfortable, but this… it’s not painful so much as it’s… difficult.

She scrawls something else in her notebook before setting down her pen. “I like it here.”

“Yeah. I mean… I do, too.” He clears his throat a little too loudly, and the librarian hisses at him to quiet from behind her desk; Katniss shoots the woman a dirty glare when her back is turned, and Peeta can’t help but grin, like she meant the defence for him.

“So, um… are you nervous at all?” It’s a dumb question; they’re all nervous.

She traces her index finger in a circle over the cover of her textbook. A maths one, with tiny drawings scribbled all over the spine, along the edges of the closed pages and all over the cover until none of the natural colours are visible anymore.

“For some more than others.”

He shakes his head. “You’ll do fine.”

“So will you.” She smiles, just a tiny hint of the thing, but he swears his heart stops.

She picks up her pen and cracks her books back open, punches numbers into the calculator sitting beside her elbow. He’s been dismissed, but the few sentences he coaxed from her are more than he could have ever expected. Grinning, Peeta gets back to his own work, the practice equations coming together in his mind with far more clarity than they had earlier.

A gentle, languid sort of humming draws him out again around lunchtime. His stomach is a writhing, groaning pit of want for the snacks he has stashed in his bag, but he ignores it for as long as he can to just listen for a while longer.

She has a stunning singing voice; he’s known that for over a decade. When she was five, she sang The Valley Song in front of the entire school in a high, sweet pitch that made even the birds outside fall silent. He never heard her sing again after that. He wonders sometimes how much of Katniss died along with her father.

The humming isn’t equal to her voice, but it’s close, with the same heart and soul funnelled into every note, even if she doesn’t seem aware that she’s doing it at all. He doesn’t recognise the tune, but it’s beautiful, soft and haunting. In a way, he falls for her all over again just listening to it. He wants to hear her singing always.

“What did you just say?”

His gaze snaps up to meet hers, his stomach sinking to somewhere around his knees with each passing second. She’s staring at him, her eyes unreadable. Did he speak just now? Did he say all of that out loud?

Horror runs through him like a storm, crashing and violent without pattern or reason. He shoots to his feet, knocking against the underside of the desk. Katniss looks up at him, her brows furrowed.

“Peeta?”

“I’ll, uh… I’ll be …” He jerks his thumb over his shoulder to the stacks behind him. “I need… I need to go.”

“Peeta, wait!”

He almost kicks his chair over in his haste. He doesn’t look back, but he can feel the burn of Katniss’ gaze following him away, matching the heat flaring up his cheeks.

He stops in the foreign language section, presses his forehead against the cool steel of the shelves. He could better understand the books here than what just happened with Katniss. He never knew how people could blurt out their deepest secrets without being aware of it. It always seemed stupid, beneath him somehow; he’s been living with his feelings for Katniss for thirteen years now, and not once has anything so moronic happened.

Peeta closes his eyes and plots a course back to the desk that doesn’t involve Katniss seeing him, or him seeing her — maybe he could crawl back along the floor or something?

He jumps as a small set of hands land on his shoulders. They twist him around, push him back against the shelves with more strength than he expects.

His eyes fly open and meet with a pair of smoky grey ones, set with a flinty glint of something like determination.

But he still can’t quite believe it. “Katniss?”

She shushes him and leans in, presses her lips to his in a whisper of a kiss so light he feels nothing at all and everything at once.

As quick as it happened, it ends. Her hands slip from his shoulders and hang limp at her sides. The foot of space between them might as well be miles for the echoing cold he feels.

It was a wisp of a kiss, no more than a second, but Peeta’s gasping, reeling for breath like he’s run a marathon.

“Katniss,” he whispers. “Wha… why?”

The smooth olive skin of her cheeks flush a bright shade of pink. “I just… I wasn’t sure if I’d ever see you again, after all this,” she admits, her teeth nibbling down on her lush bottom lip. It’s all Peeta can do not to swoop in and take over the work for her. “I didn’t want to… after what you just said… I had to…”

“You had to what?” he presses her when she trails off. His hands snake up her arms and settle on her shoulders, keeping her in place as her gaze darts around them, seeking out the nearest exit.

“I had to know what it was like, just once.”

“Just once, huh?”

He moves his hands up to cradle her cheeks, cuts off her words before she can speak them and kisses her again. He can’t not kiss her again. Her confession winds through him like alcohol, warming and drugging him through, narrowing his world to nothing but the girl in front of him. Her lips are the softest things he’s ever felt, parting just slightly beneath his to let him in to learn her: how she tastes, how she feels, how she sounds when he lets the tip of his tongue run the sensitive length of her lower lip, how she shivers in his hold and lets out a rattling gasp when he takes that lip between his own and suckles.

When he pulls away, just the barest inch, it’s not because he wants to. He reels for air as she stares at him with trepidation and wonder, a disbelief he knows is matched in his own gaze.

“You like me, too,” he whispers, his eyes closed, his forehead pressed against hers. “Real or not real?”

He can feel her tremble beneath his hold, but she nods, a quick, small thing, but there.

“Real, but what can happen, really? After exams are over, we’ll both work, then go off to different colleges. We’re kidding ourselves if we think anything can happen, aren’t we?” But she looks like she’s begging him, hoping to be proven wrong.

He laughs, and she scowls. He can’t help it; when he left the house this morning for the library, he never, not once in his wildest dreams, pictured his day going anything like this.

He grips her hands and pulls her close, kissing her again until they’re both breathless.

“Katniss, after these exams are over, you and I are going to have a good, long talk about why these kisses cannot possibly be the only ones we ever share.”

[iamwhelmed]

For Whom the Bell Tolls: Chapter 7

Also on AO3 and Fanfiction.net!

Summary: When monsters start to invade Mayview, the morality of the connection between a medium and their spirit comes into question. Is killing a spirit any different from taking the life of another human? Relationships between club members become strained, and if Max thought the club was coming apart before, it certainly is now.

Saturday

Suzy wasn’t one to leave the clubroom unless absolutely necessary, meaning, barring classes and interviews, she was the journalism club’s gatekeeper and defender, the proverbial judge and jury. That was why Dimitri had to wait to act until the weekend, when even Suzy wasn’t hanging back-- not for lack of trying, actually; she’d been kicked out of the school by an on-duty school deputy more than the school would probably admit. Next time meant suspension, and suspension for Suzy meant no weekly paper, not that anybody read it in the first place.

Dimitri ducked around the corner leading into the hallway, leaning forward to see where the lingering school deputy would head. He was an old man, not quite the age of the school nurse, but certainly getting there. He scratched at his bald head, unintentionally inching his working hat as far back as it could go without tipping off.

“Eh, coulda sworn I’d heard somethin’.”

He readjusted the hat and turned to walk to the other end of the hall-- away from the clubroom.

Dimitri turned the corner and padded over to the door, an ever-watchful eye following the officer down the hall as far as he could see him. He set one hand on the knob and turned it, sliding the door open one centimeter at a time. The lock on the door to their clubroom had broken somewhere in their sixth grade year and, courtesy of their inattentive club leader, was still yet to be fixed. It drove Suzy up the wall, and was also why she put her chore money up to pay for the lock on the filing cabinet-- Dimitri’s current obstacle.

He slid the door shut behind him.

“Let’s see if I still remember how to do this…”

He reached into his pocket, pulling out the bobby pin he’d stashed away before he left the house. Suzy had taught him the ins and outs of lock picking at some point when he first joined, and though he’d paid attention, it wasn’t like he went out and actively rummaged through people’s things the way she expected him and Collin to. He would have looked for the key, but he knew Suzy too well-- if she hadn’t taken it home with her, she’d hidden it somewhere even he would never think to search. Picking the lock was the simplest solution-- quickest, mostly painless, and effective.

He inched the bobby pin into the slot and went to work unlatching the chain.

Sorry about this, Suzy, but you started keeping secrets first.

There was a small snap, and the lock fell loose in his hands. Perfect. “Now to find out what you two were hiding from me.”

The top drawer was usually empty, save for a few sticky notes with information Suzy was still convinced was relevant, like phone numbers and names with vague summaries below about why they should be covered. Some dulled pencils could usually be found rolling around in there, alongside some clippings from more legitimate newspapers, like The Mayview Times.

Sitting atop all of that were the papers he’d seen Suzy lock away. Dimitri ignored the CONFIDENTIAL stamp on the front and stripped the first page off the stack.

He read the first few sentences, then had to repeat them to himself again to be sure that’s what he was actually seeing. Then again, and again. He read them until each word sank in, and the harsh reality of Suzy’s latest scoop washed over him like an ice bath, like a tsunami of water so freezing it left him numb and paralyzed, standing there, holding reality in shaking hands.

The bathroom smelled like aftershave. The living room smelled like aftershave. Heck, the whole flipping house smelled like an Abercrombie and Fitch model came in and took a bath in a tub full of cologne! Max was practically gagging, and he knew even Zoe had to smell it from her room, and her door had been closed all day!

“I’m leaving to finally get all this extra hair trimmed off!” His dad paused at the stairs, raising a hand to fluff the ends of his hair. “Should I keep it a little longer, or go a little shorter?”

Max lingered by the dip in their family room floor, contemplating whether to sit on the couch or stand around until his dad left so he could get back to his bedroom quicker. He wasn’t in the mood to watch TV, but his bedroom was even closer to the bathroom than the living room, and if the smell of “Blue Thunder” got any stronger, he was sure he’d asphyxiate. Max shrugged. “I wouldn’t cut off too much. Can’t have her thinking you’re a well put-together business man, can you?” He was trying to get laughs, and usually that was something his dad might have chuckled at, but a quick glance in Dad’s direction and he knew where his father’s mind was.

He was staring past Max, down the hallway where Zoe’s room was. Her door was locked and she hadn’t answered anyone all day.

“She’ll come around.” His dad was focused on him again, looking startled; he’d probably interrupted a train of thought. Max turned away, looking to the floor, nearly hoping Pj would come fading in at any second and he could escape the awkward conversation-- or at least push it to a later date, but Pj was somewhere else, wandering in the house in a room that Max wasn’t in. Figured. The one time Max wanted him to pop out of nowhere and scare the pants off of him and he wasn’t around to. “She’s your kid, right? She’ll get used to the idea eventually.” That was the least mushy way he could figure to word it.

His dad crossed the room just to steal his cap and ruffle his hair. Max winced, but the familiar sensation of a smile was crawling across his lips. “I’ll be home by eleven o’clock tonight, son. Be good!” He ducked out of the room before Max could even raise a hand to wave.

Meditation, though rewarding, was a trial all on its own. Instead of blank thoughts, Ed found his mind wandering to places that were dangerous, places that made him lose all concentration.

The way her hair hit his face on her way by.

The way she didn’t acknowledge him-- no look, no word, no wave-- like he didn’t even exist.

He toppled over. One of the other students cracked open an eye. He waved an apology and got back up on the slab of wood to begin again.

It was over. He’d lost her. Before he even had a chance to fix things, to fix himself, she was gone. He hadn’t even tried to speak to her when he came home last night; he couldn’t handle a repeat, couldn’t handle her ignoring him again because if it happened twice it was real and he wasn’t just imagining it. But he knew. She was replacing him, setting Max on the pedestal where he once stood, knocking his statue off and watching his bust shatter into thousands of jagged pieces. And why would she try to clean it all up? She’d only stab herself, and he wasn’t worth the effort.

They weren’t worth the effort.

He nearly fell off again, leaning too much weight on the front of his legs, but caught himself at the last second, straightening up.

He was almost jealous of Max, but the truth kept logic saddled on his mind; Max was the better friend for her. He wasn’t some baby that ran away when she needed him, or some lazy coward who spent all his time messing around with video games instead of training to better himself as a man.

He fell backwards instead of forwards this time, bumping his head on the floor before the rest of him even hit the ground. Grunting, he got back up and tried again.

He was stupid! So, so, stupid!

And now she was gone, and all he could do was watch Max take his place, watch him be the better man… and it was already killing him.

Things would be better for her when he left. She could forget him entirely, and maybe he’d find a new best friend, too, though he already knew none would quite compare. She’d follow him around forever in his wimpy little heart, and it just hurt that he wouldn’t be in hers.

He fell over again, and this time, something hard knocked him upside the head. “Ow!” A pair of slippers padded over to stand in front of him. “Hey, who did that?” His eyes trailed up the length of his foot before hitting the robe, and from there on, Ed already knew who he was looking at. He set his chin on the mat and gave his master his most pathetic pout.

Master Hashimoto frowned and looked from Ed to the thin wood he expected every student to balance on when meditating-- something Ed still clearly wasn’t the best at. “I am impressed you keep getting back up, child, but I am less impressed that you must keep trying. Why can you not concentrate?”

“Just...” Ed rubbed the back of his head where, what he was now sure was, Master Hashimoto’s staff had left a small bruise. “I’m just tired is all.” He forced himself to sit back up, moving to set his butt on the small plank of wood, thick and wide enough to stand on, hard to balance on-- apparently. He presumed correct posture, crossing his legs and closing his eyes.

Hashimoto sighed, and was gone without so much as a drift in the air.

The clock hit 11:00 only seconds before Max heard his dad coming up the stairs. The first few steps were long between, like he’d been taking two steps at a time, and then the sounds of shoes against wood came faster, and he was coming up to the top in seconds. “Max! My son!”

He was sitting up from his place on the couch slowly, inching the bucket of popcorn off his lap (it’d been the only thing strong enough to cover up the smells of “Blue Thunder”). One hand reached over tentatively to pause the horror movie he’d been watching, heart beating a mile per minute.

It went horrible. It went terrible? She said she never wants to see me again?

His father opened his arms wide, then swung around on his heel with the widest grin he’d had in five years plastered on his face. Unlike the others, not that he hadn’t been genuinely ecstatic to move back to his hometown, it was real and it reached his eyes and Max could feel it radiating sunshine in the dead of night from across the living room. “It went great! She was amazing!”

Max’s hand froze before one finger ever set on the remote.

“... Oh?”

“She’s got her own collection of Star Wars lightsabers-- even one of the real models used in the first movie! How awesome is that?”

Max chuckled and raised one butter-covered hand to the back of his neck, wincing even when he tried to smile. “That’s-- that’s great, dad.”

His father started jumping up and down like a little kid, balled hands up to his chest, wide and toothy smile inching larger by the second. “And she was so beautiful! Blue hair, blue eyes! I could have sworn I was dating a mermaid!”

“Cool…”

“And you made the right call! She apparently” and here he reached a hand to twirl some strand of hair around his finger “loooves the men with some volume.”

He was starting to feel sick. Every bit of his stomach that might have been peckish, every part that might have once wanted some of that popcorn-- it was all disgusting. His insides churned, and he very nearly clapped a hand to his mouth to hold back the pound of vomit inching up his throat. It stung, and so did his eyes. The woman in the movie being brutally murdered, via axe-wielding serial killer, shrieked and wept, and Max chewed on the inside of his bottom lip.

He swallowed it all down. “Glad to hear it, Dad.”

“It’s all because of you, mine loinfruit!”

He didn’t even have the energy to correct him, because it was a stupid joke and he didn’t much feel like joking at all; in fact he wanted to throw a fit. He wanted to pick up his popcorn and throw it into his dad’s face, because his mom’s picture was sitting right there on the end table and how could he even think about another woman when her face was right there, right freaking there! It was wrong! It was demeaning! It was cruel and how could he say something like that about another woman?

Max slid off the couch and mumbled some excuse about being tired and not knowing how late it was, but the hour would be carved into his mind for a good while. He didn’t even bother to shut the TV off; he was sure his dad would take it over when he went to his room.

He shut the door softly when he wanted to slam it, then rested against the wood and slid down until his rear hit the floor. He heard his dad start the movie over-- he was in the clear.

Max rested his head against the door, then brought it up and slammed it back down four times, maybe five, trying to get the stinging in his eyes to go away. He wasn’t some teary-eyed brat, he couldn’t just cry over something so stupid!

He couldn’t cry because his dad was happy…

He choked on air.

… even if it was with another woman.

He didn’t want his dad to move on. He didn’t want some stranger coming in, trying to be his mom, trying to play a part that never should have been open to begin with! He knew she made him happy, but that didn’t mean she should! He tucked his knees to his chest and set his head against them, fingers clawing at the carpet on either side.

How am I supposed to even tell him?