#while drawing this i had one big canvas and grouped the boys into COLD BOYS and HOT BOYS depending on what color i lined them with

[saturniade]

the bachelors should wear some skirts, i think! 🌼

#stardew valley #elliott sdv #sebastian sdv #alex sdv #harvey sdv #shane sdv #sam sdv #doods #yoo my post #while drawing this i had one big canvas and grouped the boys into COLD BOYS and HOT BOYS depending on what color i lined them with #i just think its funny.

[thrillridesz]

all i want for christmas | eric

in part of the deobi secret santa project and dedicated as a gift to @channiewoo​ ✨ ( i hope you like it >< i tried my best! )

➳ pairing: college student!eric x reader ( ft juyeon, kevin, chanhee and sangyeon with jacob mentions! )

➳ genre: fluff, fantasy, time travel!au, time loop!au, christmas!au, university!au, love triangle!au ( ish? )

➳ warnings: n/a (PG13)

➳ word count: 4.6k

➳ inspo: lotus inn by why don’t we

➳ fic playlist: all i want for christmas - big time rush ft miranda cosgrove | lotus inn - why don’t we | christmassy! - the boyz | you belong with me - taylor swift | crush - david archuleta

a/n : this is my christmas secret santa gift to eri @channiewoo​  ^^ also hi, i’m your theb secret santa! thank you for being such a sweet person to talk to throughout this month and honestly you really made my first secret santa here on tumblr pretty memorable! i know we’ve just exchanged a few asks here and there but i genuinely did like talking to you though im not the most frequent secret santa anon out there >< i sincerely hope you can forgive me for that. but anyways, i hope you like your gift!!

+ also unedited for now because i really wanted to post this on christmas day... and tags are still not working but i don’t want to delay this any longer

The Christmas spirit could be felt in all corners of the house that night as the sweet aroma of freshly baked cookies and crackling log fire from the fireplace wafted in the air while party guests swayed to the upbeat  Christmas music playing on the stereo and chatted merrily amongst themselves. Outside, fine white snow was falling and against the black canvas of the night sky, it made the streets seem almost serene and even beautiful. Looking out, one could easily feel the Christmas mood as neighbours held their own christmas parties and family gatherings. Everywhere they looked, they would see beautifully decorated houses adorned with Christmas wreaths and intricate fairy lights. Sometimes, one would even see the occasional snowmans displayed out in the neighbours’ yards, covered in scarves and hats with the ever familiar carrot nose. From a distance a few doors down, one could also hear singing - a telltale sign of the local group of Christmas carolers making their rounds in the neighbourhood like they did every year.

This was what Christmas is all about - enjoying good food with loved ones, receiving amazing gifts, going door to door caroling and feeling at home with the people you appreciate and cherish while the winter snow falls outside. Yet, Eric felt anything but. In fact, his heart was pounding against his chest as he sipped nervously at his mug of hot apple cider. Around him, the party guests were mingling and laughing at the college Christmas party as they shared funny stories from the year they had, feeling particularly merry. Normally, it would have been easy for him to get in the mood but not this time.

“I don’t get what you’re so nervous about.” Kevin said, shaking his head. “Why can’t you just talk to her?”

“I don’t want to make a fool out of myself. What if I mess up?” He replied despondently, his eyes softening as he glanced at you from across the room.

There you were - decked out in a cute Christmas outfit just standing by the fireplace, your hair falling around your face and framing it, looking more beautiful than he had remembered. The smile on your face made his heart flutter ever so slightly and he could feel his face grow warmer despite having a huge mug of apple cider just in front of him. The santa hat you wore added just that little touch of sweetness and adorableness to you and Eric couldn’t help but feel his heart start to pound in his chest. If you weren’t already stunning to him, you were breathtakingly beautiful to him now. Every little smile or shy glance made his heart beat just a little faster and he reached up to clutch softly as his chest.

“It’s better than not trying at all, Eric.” Kevin pointed out, taking a bite out of his gingerbread cookie. “You ought to have a little bit more faith in yourself.”

Eric sighed in resignation. “It’s so much easier talking about it than actually doing it. Everytime I think about doing it, I chicken out. I just can’t seem to stop fearing about possibly screwing it up, Kev.”

Kevin regarded him with a sympathetic look before patting him reassuringly on the shoulder. “I understand. Look man, if you don’t feel ready then you don’t have to force yourself to talk to her.”

“I promised myself that today would be the day.”

“Yeah, I know you did but still, you don’t have to force yourself. Your face is turning pale from the anxiety.” The latter said, concerned.

“It is?” Eric asked, alarmed as he quickly turned to the window beside him, checking out his reflection. He narrowed his eyes as he reached up to ruffle his hair in an attempt to make it look somewhat better though all it did was make it seem more tousled.

Kevin watched him, chuckling softly. Men in love are truly a different breed.

“Hey, Kev! I nearly forgot, do you want to listen to my newly curated Christmas playlist? I’ve been meaning to ask but I couldn’t find you.” Sangyeon suddenly appeared from behind the duo, with a joyous grin on his face. Kevin gave Eric a questioning look which he waved away.

“I’ll be fine.” He smiled.

“Alright… If you need anything, just call me!” Kevin said, casting him a last fleeting glance as he walked away with Sangyeon.

Holding the mug of hot apple cider close to his chest, Eric leaned against the cold glass panel of the window, staring out listlessly despite the steady pounding of his heart. He shot a furtive glance in your direction and quickly looked away, his cheeks reddening. At this rate, it would not be long before he turned as red as Rudolph’s nose.

“Get a grip, Eric. Why are you being such a wimp?” He chided himself. Looking around, Eric couldn’t help but observe his surroundings wistfully.

Everyone was seemingly in their element - snacking on Christmas snacks, dancing and just having fun. By the boombox, he watched as Hyunjae engaged in conversation with a girl who he did not recognise. The way they were laughing and the way she so flirtatiously slapped him on the shoulder, giggling at something Hyunjae said made Eric feel so deeply envious. Even from where he was, the smitten look on her face was undeniable and he wondered why he couldn’t have been more of a ladies’ man like Hyunjae was. Things would have been so much easier for him. Why is it that whenever it came to you he was suddenly the most awkward person to grace the face of this earth? It just didn’t make sense to him.

Sighing, he took another sip of his hot apple cider, feeling the liquid burn at the back of his throat. Suddenly, he frowned, his eyes narrowing. Who was that?

He had one of the most attractive faces Eric had ever seen - with soft, fine dark hair, a strong build and a warm smile that simply lit up the room. There he was, talking to you and you sliding your hand over his shoulder, not in a seductive or flirtatious way but in a friendly way though it was still enough to spark jealousy in Eric’s heart. He watched intently as you leaned in to whisper something in his year, his smile growing wider at your words.

Eric longed to know what the two of you were talking about, his grip on his mug growing tighter and firmer.

“Lost your chance, buddy.”

Swivelling around, Eric nearly spilled his apple cider as he turned to face a pink haired boy with an upturned nose. He didn’t remember seeing him around but there was something odd about him that Eric couldn’t quite put his finger on. Not to mention, that statement really did rub him off the wrong way.

“Excuse me?” His tone was slightly icy as he furrowed his brows together, frowning at the stranger in front of him.

“Didn’t you want to talk to her?” The boy asked, taking a swig of his hot chocolate, seemingly not noticing the confused look Eric was shooting him.

“Do I know you?”

“Oh right! I’m sorry, I should have introduced myself. How rude of me… I’m Chanhee but you can call me New. Everyone does,” he smiled warmly, “you’re Eric?”

Eric narrowed his eyes suspiciously. “Yes? How do you know my name?”

“I just do. I know everyone,” He waved away his question nonchalantly, “I see you have a Christmas sweetheart.”

He tipped his mug in your direction and Eric felt his face grow hotter, annoyance setting in at the same time.

“How is that any of your business?” He snapped, his tone indignant and confrontational.

“I am here to help so watch your tone around me.” New rolled his eyes, looking at him in disdain though there was a twinkle in his eyes as he continued, “I can help you get the girl.”

Eric cast you a sideway glance before turning back to New with a skeptical expression. Whoever this guy was, he was weird, odd. Yet, the proposal he had proposed was a tempting one and despite himself, he felt inclined to listen. Watching you from afar, Eric’s heart sank just a little deeper as the guy you were talking to suddenly reached up to brush your hair away from your face, the both of you looking into each other’s eyes as he did. The irritation and jealousy he felt came back stronger than ever and before he knew it, the words were out of his mouth before he even knew it.

“How can you help?”

At his words, New grinned, drawing a small crystal vial from his pocket. The vial was filled with a mysterious sparkly, glowy pink liquid and smelled distinctively of roasted chestnuts though Eric was almost a thousand percent sure the liquid was not made of any kind of roasted chestnuts in any shape or form. As New popped open the cap, the scent grew even stronger and Eric shot him an alarmed look.

“What is that? A drug?!” Looking around frantically, it felt like nobody was paying the two of them any attention, being too preoccupied with their own conversations. How is nobody noticing this?

“Calm down and don’t get your panties in a twist.” New scoffed, “It’s a time travel potion. Or a time loop potion if you will.”

This guy is actually crazy. Eric almost wanted to laugh out loud at the ridiculousness of it all but barely managed to suppress it.

“Okay…?”

“Yup, I made it myself. Took me like half a year to brew it to perfection but it should work now. I followed each step really closely so there should be no problems.”

“Yeah, sure man. Thanks for wasting my time. If you don’t mind, I’ll be leaving. Thanks for the false hope.” Eric grumbled, taking his leave and not even bothering to consider the chagrined look on New’s face. Mayhaps Christmas is not his time either. He wondered how long this would drag on. When Valentine’s Day rolled around, he chickened out and said ‘next time’. When Halloween rolled around, he chickened out yet again and promised to make a move by Thanksgiving yet when Thanksgiving rolled around, he settled for Christmas. Now…

“Maybe it’s just not meant to be. Maybe I’m just too much of a coward.” He whispered to himself, pushing his way through the crowd of people. As he took yet another sip of his hot apple cider, he couldn’t help but keep his eye on you. The way you were now looping your arms over the guy’s neck and the way he had his large hands on your waist made Eric want to leave the party. If only he had a little bit more faith…

“What time is it anyways?” He murmured to himself, wanting more than anything to leave.

9:04pm. Damn. It wouldn’t be until two hours later for the party to end. Sure, he could always leave early but he would hate to be seen as disrespectful to everyone else especially Jacob, the host of this lovely party.

He stared at the mug of hot apple cider he had in his hand, scrunching up his nose at the taste of it.

Was it just him or did it taste slightly… Off?

Eric gazed at it for a moment before he shook his head. I’m overthinking everything, he thought. However as he stood over the snack table, he felt a sharp pain at the back of his head. It was like having someone slap him at his head before his vision turned blurry. His limbs were beginning to go soft and his mouth dry. What was happening? He blinked rapidly but to no avail. It felt like he was falling in a deep pit…

When he opened his eyes again, everything felt fine. Patting himself lightly on the face, he looked around his surroundings in confusion. Just what was that? Did he imagine all of that? The mug of hot apple cider was still in his hands and the reindeer horns band was still on his head. He was wearing the same clothes and everything had become clear, there were no more blurry visions. The pounding in his head had stopped and it felt like whatever happened earlier was merely a figment of his own imagination.

“Eric…? Eric!”

The voice shook him from his stupor and with a start, he lifted his head to see Kevin regarding him with a questioning look on his face.

“You okay? You zoned out for a minute and I mean, really zoned out.”

“Y-Yeah… Aren’t you supposed to go listen to Sangyeon’s playlist or something?”

Kevin raised an eyebrow.

“What playlist?”

Eric frowned. “Didn’t Sangyeon ask you to listen to his Christmas playlist?”

“Um… No? Even if he has one, he hasn’t asked me yet.”

Eric looked at Kevin with confusion in his eyes. What was going on? Last he remembered, that was exactly what happened. Swivelling around, the confusion got even stronger when he saw you standing all alone at the other corner of the house. Were you not with that guy?

Instantly, he remembered what New had said. “Time travel potion…” He mumbled under his breath, his eyes widening when the realisation dawned upon. No way…

Whipping out his phone, it felt like his heart was about to pound right out of his chest when he saw the time. His throat felt dry and tight as he stared, unable to believe his eyes.

8:46pm.

Eric suddenly recalled the weird taste he had gotten in his cider and instinctively, his hand reached up to cover his mouth. There was no other explanation for this other than the fact that one, that New or was it Kyu guy had not been lying when he spoke of a time travel potion and two, he had slipped him the potion on purpose when he wasn’t looking. He could feel the anger bubble up within him - the nerve of that guy! With pure, unadulterated fury in his eyes, his gaze swept across the room, looking for him. Kevin looked on, thoroughly puzzled.

“...Eric? Are you okay? You’ve got a weird look on your face.” He asked, concerned. “Eric?”

All anger had just dissipated from his being as his sights finally landed on you. There you were, standing all alone at the fireplace with a drink in your hand while your friend danced. The look on your face was one of loneliness and even from a mile away, anyone could tell you looked extremely awkward at having been left alone while she swayed up against Haknyeon, a guy he recognised from his Medieval History module.

From the corner of his eye, he could see the same dark haired guy he had seen approach you ‘earlier’. Following his gaze, Eric could feel his stomach drop as he realised that they were on you. From his body language, it was clear that he was about to make his way over and take his chances with you.

Just then, a voice at the back of his mind whispered softly.

“What are you waiting for?”

Taking a deep breath, Eric squared his shoulders and hurriedly straightened the jacket he was wearing. This is it. This is actually it. He was going to do it. His legs were moving now, one step after another in large strides towards you. The sound of his heart pounding was practically deafening to his ears and he could feel his legs turning into lead, each footstep heavier than the next. Squeezing past the crowd, another voice - this time insistent and panicky - suddenly cried out.

“No, don’t do this! What if you embarrass yourself and make yourself out to be a fool?”

Eric’s face paled. No, this is a mistake. What was he doing?

“Hello?”

Shaking out of his thoughts, Eric almost jumped back in shock at the sight of you just right in front of him. Before he even realised it, he had made his way over. It is now too late to back out. Had he been standing there like an idiot this whole time?

“I-I… Hey!” He squeaked out, his heart almost leaping out of his chest.

“You’re Eric right? Eric Sohn from Professor Kim’s introduction to accounting class?” You asked kindly.

From the corner of his eye, he could see the guy from ‘earlier’ approaching, pushing past the crowd and judging from his demeanour… It seemed like the competition was still in the game.

He needed to pull this off.

“Yeah, I am. Y/n right? It’s a pretty cool party, isn’t it?”

“Mhm! Pretty great so far! My friend is over there dancing but I’m not much of a party dancer so here I am,” you smiled and Eric almost forgot what he was about to say.

“I-”

“Hey, how are you guys enjoying the party?”

Eric looked up and his brows furrowed into an annoyed and anxious ‘v’. The dark haired competition merely grinned back at him though there was a certain glint in his eyes which made Eric clench his jaw tightly. It was the sort of gaze that was long enough to send a goading message - game on.

He smiled and extended a hand towards you, completely ignoring Eric. “I’m Juyeon, roommate of Jacob’s. I saw you from afar and thought I’d come say hi.”

You shook his hand, oblivious to the tension between the two guys. “I’m y/n. It’s nice to meet you.”

Juyeon briefly lifted his gaze to Eric and without anyone’s notice but his, he winked slyly.

“Revolting.” Eric thought angrily.

“I heard they have some really cool peppermint treats at the candy table, wanna come?” Juyeon asked and quickly Eric said, “I heard they have a great log cake at the snack bar though. I’ve heard people raving about it!”

You looked at the both of them, seemingly a little disconcerted. “Uh… I…” Juyeon shot Eric a scathing look which he returned with a smug smile.

“Who doesn’t love a good old log cake?” He asked, to which Juyeon rolled his eyes at.

“I mean… I do love peppermint…” You trailed off and Eric turned to you with wide eyes as big as saucers and Juyeon’s lips lifted into a smug smile.

“Excellent choice! I hear they have so many varieties…” Juyeon chattered on, placing his arm over your shoulder, leaving poor Eric speechless and red faced, watching helplessly as the two of you walked away from him. Turning behind you, you had an apologetic look on your face but said nothing.

“That’s too bad. I was rooting for you, you know?”

Eric swivelled around to find New standing behind him yet again, this time chewing on a piece of toffee. The time on his watch was clear as day as the red, glowing digits stared right back at him - 9:04pm. It had come full circle. He had the chance to turn things around but he had failed. Somehow, the nonchalant look in New’s face irritated him but he tried to remain calm. His gaze drifted down to the bulge in the man’s jacket pocket, tracing the faint outline of the tiny vial that contained the potion from earlier.

“At least we know now that I’m legit, right?” He winked at Eric, smirking as he did though it dropped when he saw the look on the latter’s face.

“Why are you-”

“Please, give me one more chance. Please just let me turn back time this one more time.” He pleaded. Eric was not one to plead but this time, he was feeling particularly desperate.

New looked at him like he had just sprouted an extra head before he burst out laughing.

“How’s that for a turn of the tables, Mr ‘thank you for wasting my time’?” He asked, still giggling. Clearly, he was taking much joy in this new dynamic - something Eric didn’t look too pleased about though he was not about to act on it. After all, it was New’s potion that allowed him this one more chance which he had quite unspectacularly let slip from his grasp.

“Alright, I suppose I could let you try this one more time though I’ll definitely be charging for your next usage.” New sighed, whipping out the vial. “I did want you to succeed after all.”

As Eric gulped down his drink, the familiar feeling of dizziness washed over him yet again, along with the looseness in his limbs and before he knew it, he found himself standing right where he was with you standing where you were previously.

This time, Eric squared his shoulders and ran a hand nervously through his hair. There you were yet again, standing by the fireplace with that drink in your hand.

“No hesitation this time,” he whispered to himself before he made his way over. He barely even paid attention to Juyeon coming in from the side as he struck up a conversation.

“Hey, y/n from professor Kim’s introduction to accounting right?”

You turned to him, looking a little surprised before you smiled warmly at him.

“Yeah! Eric, is it? It’s nice to see you here.”

“How’s things going so far at the party?” He asked, trying to keep the edge out of his voice. His nervousness was getting to him quickly but the thought of messing up yet again reined him back in and his smile stayed on.

You wrinkled your nose as if considering his question before you replied, “Well, it’s going alright so far. I’m not really a party sort of person but I thought I’d make an exception since you know, Jacob’s my friend.”

“I see! I don’t usually mind parties but I do like…” He paused as he saw Juyeon approaching, the gears in his head whirring away and you looked at him curiously.

“Eric…?”

“How about we go get some peppermint? I hear they have a variety here.” He suggested quickly, his eyes darting towards Juyeon’s direction.

You stared at him, looking a little perturbed but then grinned and nodded. “Sure, I love peppermints.”

Before Juyeon could even make his way over, the two of you had walked away, squeezing past the dancing crowd. The bass beat of the music was so resounding throughout the house that it almost seemed as if the walls were vibrating as well. The glitter and lights all around all looked stunning but perhaps a little too stunning as Eric made his way through the crowd with you just right by him. From all sides, people were accidentally bumping into each other and more than once, he almost lost his balance.

As the two of you neared the candy table, Eric realised too late that perhaps pushing past the crowd had been a bad idea and that a smarter way would be to stay out of the dance floor when he felt himself fall forward. Someone’s foot had been there and without looking, he had tripped over and landed with a huge thud on the floor, flat on his belly. His chin collided with the ground and if he had hit it just a little harder, had the impact been just a tad stronger, he might have suffered a serious injury.

Since you were just trailing behind him, his unexpected fall had sent you falling as well. As the both of you crashed against the ground, some members of the crowd audibly gasped as people shuffled out of the way. Though it may have hurt when he fell, Eric’s heart ached much more than the bruise he would no doubt sport on his knees tomorrow. Seeing you sprawled next to him and knowing all of this happened only because of him, he wanted nothing more than to dig a hole right there and then and leap right in.

A few partygoers reached out to help him up and right next to him, Juyeon appeared in front of you, extending a hand with a look of concern. Eric watched as the two of you looked into each other’s eyes and like in a fairytale princess bedtime story, you reached out tentatively to hold onto Juyeon’s hand as his heart fell to the ground with a messy splat.

“Y/n-”

“Are you guys okay?” Juyeon asked though it seemed as if he was only asking you in general.

“Yeah, we’re alright. Thank you.” You said softly, still seemingly a little frazzled.

“Come, let us go get you seated somewhere.”

Eric couldn’t help but simply stand there and look helplessly as the both of you wandered away, his heart feeling like it was about to shatter into pieces. A second chance he was given and he screwed it up and if that wasn’t enough, he was offered yet another shot which went worse than his first. Maybe it just wasn’t meant to be. Maybe no matter how many times he tried, tonight was just not the night. Or perhaps nothing was ever destined to happen between you two. The jolly christmas music was still playing but he no longer was in the Christmassy spirit anymore.

All he wanted for Christmas was you but it seemed that that didn’t seem so possible anymore, if not impossible.

As the partygoers resumed their dancing, all he could do was plop himself down on the nearby couch and do nothing except nurse not just his fallen pride but also his feelings which never had the chance to express themselves before it got completely shut down.

Grabbing a bottle of ginger ale from a nearby pack, he took a swig and felt the ale burn as it ran down his throat. Usually, he would have loved it but tonight, it just left a bitter taste in his mouth. Keeping his head down, Eric exhaled deeply. He ought to just give up completely.

“Hey, Eric.”

At the sound of your voice, his head snapped up and he gazed up at you with wide eyes. There you were, standing before him and looking down at him as he wallowed in his own feelings. How long have you been standing there? Why were you here?

“Y-y/n?”

You gave him a bashful glance as you sat yourself next to him. “Are you okay? Did you get hurt?”

“I… I… “ He simply stared at you, his mouth gaping like a fish and looking absolutely flummoxed. “Didn’t Juyeon-”

“I couldn’t possibly leave you alone.” You hurried to say and when he didn’t reply, you continued. “Do you… Do you mind if I sit here with you?”

It took Eric a second for it to register in his mind what you had just asked of him before he grew flustered just as the joy in him began to spark.

“Do I mind? No! Of course not! You’re welcomed here! Please, sit with me!”

As he chattered on nervously, you couldn’t help but admire the way his eyes would light up whenever he talked and how charming his smile was. He was in the habit of moving his hands around a lot which though some might find annoying, you only found to be endearing. You could feel your heart beating quickly which always happened whenever you were near him, saw him around class or even just at the mere mention of his name.

As you looked into his eyes, you felt yourself clench on tightly to the couch, the excitement in you simply immeasurable. You couldn’t help but smile as you felt the weight of the vial in your pocket. A worthy bargain indeed from the mysterious pink haired boy.

This was all you wanted for Christmas.

#tbznetwork #deobiblr #kpopscape #deobiwritersnet #kpopficsnetwork #kwritersworldnet #tbz #the boyz #eric sohn #tbz imagines #the boyz imagines #tbz scenarios #the boyz scenarios #eric sohn x reader #the boyz oneshots #tbz oneshots #the boyz eric #tbz eric #eric sohn oneshots #eric sohn imagines #eric sohn fluff #eric sohn scenarios #tbz fluff #the boyz fluff #please let the mf tags work

[yoondoze]

make a wish | jjk

jeongguk doesn’t know it, but his wish came true.

pairing: jeon jeongguk x reader

word count: 3.5k

genre: angst, best friend!au

warnings: mentions of sex, language

a/n: uhh been in a jeongguk mood recently, so i’m riding it out through writing angsty drabbles :’) this is lowkey unedited so shh

You’re sick of sharing birthdays with Jeon Jeongguk. 

Yeah, your perfectly timed entrance into this world on the same date was the basis of your friendship, but every year? It made sense when you were kids and had to invite the entire class to your parties since everyone had the same friends. But now you’re sixteen, and things are different. 

While the two of you have always been close friends, what with growing up around the block together and spending the dog days of summer crossing between the sandbox and the pool with one another, you also have put together your own separate friend groups at school. And now that all of them are here together, it’s an awkward intermingling of teenagers that don’t have much in common, other than that they all suddenly forget who they’re here for when they see an attractive person their same age. 

The only good thing about it is that Jeongguk invited his cute guy friends. Not here for you, per se, but the attention is all the same. Especially when it’s coming from Park Jimin. The way he wished you a happy birthday earlier was the most charming thing you’ve ever seen to date.

Jeongguk, bowl cut and all, is having the time of his life. The fact that its his 16th birthday doesn’t matter as much as the fact that it’s his birthday. He doesn’t feel much different like he thought he might. Maybe it is because every cool YA protagonist he ever idolized was saving the world at 16. By now, he’s decided that all the romanticized versions of teenage lives he’s been sold on up to this very moment is a scam. Nonetheless, he’s a simple boy. He’s just enjoying the time bowling with his friends.

 ...Until the moment he lays eyes on you.

The alley is dark, and though it obscures your features, he knows you well enough to see you’re upset. Your friends are barely hanging out with you, seeming to have left you behind for his friends, who coincidentally left him behind for yours. He also knows you compromised for this party. You wanted painting, envisaging a lovely evening with your companions, seated behind easels and letting your creativity flow onto a canvas. You were eight hours older and therefore the one in charge of making the decisions - it was a no-brainer, in your eyes.

But Jeongguk, never one to give in, insisted on bowling. Your parents were forcing a shared party again this year, and with how you eventually accepted that Jeongguk would throw a fit if he had to paint on his birthday, you reluctantly agreed under the obligatory condition that he invited his friend Jimin.

Who he was starting to hate, by the way. You gave more attention to the kid you were crushing on from history instead of the best friend you’d grown up with your entire life. Every time he saw you stare longingly at some stupid boy that was as mature as a cucumber, he wanted to scream that the real pickle was standing right in front of you!

Give him a break. It’s the only analogy his sixteen year old mind can think of. 

The caring boy he is, he walks over to where you sit solemnly by yourself. All you’ve been doing for the past five minutes is tapping your feet to the overplayed pop music flooding the joint and continuously picking at your fingers - an unquestionably fantastic time. He shoves out his hand for you to take, which you willingly do in hopes for a cure for your boredom, and he drags you over to his lane. The way you roll your eyes at his enthusiasm only makes him like you more. That’s because it’s always accompanied by a fond smile, and he loves to see your dimples.

He’d never tell you, though. He’d definitely never tell his mom, because he knows she’d get too eager and tell your mom, and then she’d tell you. His mom has been rooting for the two of you since day one. She always was saying things like, “I’m not letting you date anyone unless it’s Y/N,” or, “I can’t wait until you and Y/N go to prom!” 

At one point he wondered if he actually liked you or if it was the result of his mom’s wishes manifesting into real life after such diligence. He has since then accepted his feelings as his own, but won’t deny how the ideas sometimes made his cheeks flush.

In the time since the party has started, your “friends” have disappeared to the bathroom twice. His friends are over getting snacks without him, but it doesn’t upset him anymore. He didn’t really want their company anyway. It’s just the two of you, how it’s always been, and how he wanted it from the start.

“Watch, watch, okay?” He says, excitement dripping off every syllable. He figures he can maybe lift your mood if his is high enough to share some with you.

“Okay, I’m watching!” you exclaim. Jeongguk swells as he watches your cheeks bounce.

He seats you behind the machine and hurries to pick up a fourteen-pound ball swirled with blue and purple.

Now that he actually has to do it, Jeongguk’s heart races just a little bit. He just doesn’t want to embarrass himself, that’s all. His skills have improved from practice and the bowling team at school and it would suck if he screwed up. Especially considering that the reason he was so certain about a bowling party was so he’d have the chance to show off to you. But then he thinks it might make you laugh if he embarrasses himself, so his reassurance is that it’ll be a win either way.

He takes a deep breath. He draws back skillfully and with four purposeful steps, his right foot slips behind him and his arm swings fluidly toward his target. The ball hits the waxed floor rolling. The tension in his body is stiff as it heads right toward the pins, and boom! All ten fall in a domino effect, the rough clattering echoing in the alley. A perfect strike. 

His fists pump into the air as his chest fills with pride. He spins on his heels, eyes sparkling as he hopes to find a smile on your face when he gets there -

But you’re not even paying attention. His ecstatic expression falls as quickly as his spirit does. Your head is turned from him, and when he follows your gaze, it lands on none other than fucking Park Jimin. There’s a subtle smile resting on your lips as you focus on his mindless laughter as opposed to Jeongguk’s imposing strike. Jimin is standing at the controls of a claw machine, working the joystick as his friends direct him to grab some stupid inflatable basketball the size of his palm. If it were Jeongguk, he’d go for the plush bear in the machine over and get it for you in one try.

“C’mon guys!” Your mom yells, breaking you from your infatuated stare. “Cake!”

The boys give up on their escapade and the girls magically apparate back from their fifteen minute long bathroom break. Thrilled jeers and whoops sound from everyone now filtering into the party room, somehow more excited about it than the birthday boy and girl themselves.

As you get up from your seat, you meet Jeongguk’s eyes with a quick raise of your brows, oblivious to the fact you just obliterated his heart without saying a single word. Then he’s trailing behind you, brushing his hair from his face with a sigh while everyone gathers around the table and lets you take your place at the head.

Amidst the singing and the cheers from your peers, Jeongguk can’t stop himself from glancing over to you. Right away, he knows the smiles you’re tossing out to your friends are forced. He regrets having this party in the first place. He hates seeing you disappointed and upset. He’ll choose painting any day if it means you won’t be like this.

You, on the other hand, are trying to get a peek of Jimin at every second possible. You can make out his voice among the others while singing. It’s just happy birthday, but his voice is actually really pretty, so you jot it down to reference in your next day dream.

“Make a wish!” 

He thinks hard, imagining everything he could want at this point in his life. The spot for team captain, to ace his next Chemistry test, for a new bike. But wishing for something like that seems silly when he already knows what he really wants. 

A big breath of air - “special for your 16th!” - and the two of you are blowing out the candles. One is all it takes for each of the waving flames to flicker out.

Jeongguk wishes that you’ll like him back.

You wish that Jimin will like you back.

☆☆☆ 

In retrospect, maybe it wasn’t such a great idea to shift your relationship with Jeongguk into something more than platonic friends. At this point, he’d call it friends with benefits. You’d call it getting your heart ripped out every time he dialed your number. Even worse, it was undeniably voluntary.

It was an awkward start. Both of you got drunk one night in his apartment, sitting on the cold tile of the kitchen floor, started asking heavy, slurred questions, and maybe admitted, “yeah, I’d fuck you,” on a whim. And then maybe you did just that.

It was supposed to be a one-time event. A weird moment in your timeline of friendship that you’d agree on forgetting. Something that you both would pretend never happened so things wouldn’t change.

However, Jeongguk’s life had been a roller coaster recently. He moved to the city with the intention of freedom only for things to get more complicated. His career was struggling, his girlfriend broke up with him, his friends barely spoke to him anymore. 

So it was just you and him again, like it had always been. You were the only one who still visited, who still called, who still cared. That’s what friends are for. Help when times are rough and be there when needed. That’s your part of the deal. 

Sex isn’t always included in said deal, but it is this time around. 

It’s not much different. You come over for a regular movie night like you used to, but sometimes it ends up in his bedroom, that’s all. To him, anyway. You’re not sure how he hasn’t caught on yet. He’s so preoccupied that he probably chalks your racing pulse up to being horny, or interprets the emotion in your kisses as neediness. The way you hold onto him or say his name as pleasure.

It’s that endless love you have for him taking its many forms. It’s dropping off extra meals to stick in the fridge and checking in to make sure he isn’t beating himself up to the point where he can’t get out of bed. It’s also letting him fuck you when he needs to feel something. 

He’s just in a rut. He just needs some time to get his life together and figure shit out. And from there it’ll be peaches and cream. When his life is on the upturn, he’ll realize you’re the one who’s always been there and who always will be, and then he’ll fall in love with you too. You’re not scared, you’re just helping your best friend through a tough time. But then he’s panting, rolling off you to take a shower right after.

It stings every time. Even when you think it will be different.

At the end of the day, if it makes him feel better, you’ll endure it a thousand times over. On a bright side that’s not all that bright, for the moments you spend intertwined, you can at least pretend he’s yours. You can imagine it’s just another hot night shared in your apartment as you live out your dreamy domestic couple’s life. It sometimes seems that way with how much you take care of him, but he’d never see it as anything more than platonic.

Jeongguk knows you love him, of course, but he doesn’t know the extent it reaches. He doesn't know that your heart shatters every time he gives you a kiss on the cheek and says he loves you. He doesn’t know that when you say it back, you don’t mean just as friends. He doesn’t know you’d drop everything and run if he asked you to. You didn’t even know it for a while. Because falling in love with Jeongguk is slow and comes day by day without realizing, until suddenly you’re stuck neck deep without an inkling in your mind of trying to escape. It’s a gentle, spellbinding bloom you wouldn’t trade for the world.

From this view on his bed, you can see a glimpse of his figure behind the foggy glass of his upright shower. You tug your t-shirt back on for some modesty as if it still matters, swallowing down the tightening in your throat. If he feels your eyes lingering on him, he doesn’t show it. For whatever reason, watching him wash his face in small circles makes your stomach sink inexplicably.

Jeongguk at the fresh age of twenty-one is a lot different than Jeongguk at sixteen. Gone is the bowl cut, in comes long wavy hair that hangs in front of his face, always seeming to fall perfectly to frame his features. His shoulders broadened along with his horizons. His personality hasn’t changed, but it’s easy to think it has with the dark cloud that seems to follow him wherever he walks nowadays. You never realized how cute his dimples were until they started showing less and less.

You toy with the idea of maybe just confessing tonight. Get it off your chest once and for all. It would save you a lot of heartbreak, but you can already picture yourself sputtering it out for tense silence to fill the air, and for you to walk out and never come back. You can’t decide if it’s really worth risking when he’s the only thing you’ve got. There are a myriad of directions your life could take, but you wouldn’t want a single one without him in it, even if it crushes you.

A deep sigh escapes you. It’s your birthday today - shouldn’t you be enjoying it instead of being so morally torn?

How is it that you had him so close for so many years yet still missed your chance?

The memory of wishing for Jimin’s returned affection as a teenager resurfaces and makes you wince. While he did end up liking you back, it was a mess of a relationship that left you moping back to Jeongguk after just a few months. It should have been obvious back then that it was him all along.

He was always right in front of you, doting on you, leaving his everlasting mark on your life without even meaning to. Charming and humble and telling jokes to make you laugh rather than to make you think he was funny, being kind out of the purity of his character rather than to be rewarded. Apologizing to ants when he had to kill them and then sulking the rest of the night, learning to braid your hair while watching movies, listening to your every rant and ramble with the utmost attention as if it was the only thing that mattered to him.

Then it hits you that it’s not just about you and never was. It’s Jeongguk’s birthday today, too. You wished it to each other when you walked through the door, but that’s not a celebration, and neither is sex. You’re reminded that your job is to be a friend regardless of how you feel because you know he’d do the same, and good friends wouldn’t spend your special day wallowing in their own self-pity.

With renewed vigor, you’re pushing yourself off the bed and padding out to his sorry excuse for a kitchen. There’s barely enough space to move around comfortably and you can’t imagine how he does it on a daily basis. The view beyond the counter-top and out the balcony connected to the living room is beautiful, though. It’s miles upon miles of shining lights and skyscrapers that embrace the velvet dusk of the sky. That’s broke city living, you suppose. You flick on the light, dim but just enough to see. 

His cabinets are an absolute mess. There’s no organization to it at all, no method to the madness. It’s blatant even from the unsteady view on your tippy toes. You catch sight of some peanut butter, bags of chips, packets of ramen, a box of cinnamon frosted pop tarts…

You almost lose your balance as you shift everything around, but the feeling of joy when you see that signature box is indescribable. It’s exactly what you need. 

The blue and white packaging of the Hostess CupCakes has been opened, and considering it was sitting at the back of the top shelf, probably forgotten about. However, you’re sure it’ll be enough for him.

You find the lighter fairly easily, pulling open all the drawers out and rummaging through them. As expected, there’s no organization either. Measuring cups and pens in one, scissors and a single oven mitt in another. It’s the third and final drawer you tug open to find something to possibly substitute what you’re looking for.

Not that you expected him to have birthday candles lying around, but you didn’t think you’d be using an old red crayon in ones place. It’ll make do. It has to, considering that the noise of Jeongguk shutting off the shower is already reverberating off the walls. It won’t be much of a surprise if he walks out here and asks what you’re doing before you can even finish.

With delicate fingers, you press the end of the crayon into the cake just enough for it to stay upright. The lighter takes a couple tries, as does getting the wax to melt down enough to reach the paper, but eventually a small glowing flame takes shape. Flickering orange and everything you need it to be. You can’t put your finger on why your eyes start to tear up when you look at it, but then Jeongguk is calling your name.

“One sec! Just sit down,” you say loudly, ready to shout at him to stay back if you hear a creaky foot step coming your way.

“...Why?”

“Just do it!”

“Alright, alright.” He surrenders, the weariness coating his tongue one that you hope you can wash away within the next few seconds. “I am sitting.”

Hands as stable as an anchor, you slide the cupcake into your palms and walk carefully so as to not put out the dwarfed blaze. You turn your back to push open the door with and glide into the room with an atypical but much appreciated vivacity.

His eyes widen and an open mouthed smile tweaks at his lips as he perches at the edge of the bed. The flame is already halfway down the paper, but he seems impressed with your extempore candle. It’s the only source of light in the room, and his face underneath the gentle glimmer is a sight that you know you’ll lock away forever to look back on with adoration.

“Happy birthday to you, happy birthday to you...” you begin to sing, not bothered with the worry of embarrassment. Your lawless, flimsy tone elicits a bubbly laugh from Jeongguk. Suddenly, the bright Gguk you grew up beside returns, the one you love more than ever.

“Happy birthday dear Jeongguk-”

His voice harmonizes with yours, but he sings your name instead of his. He doesn’t even have to try for it to rattle you to your core. Your name off his tongue is by far the most beautiful thing you’ve ever heard.

“Happy birthday to you.”

You extend your arms out so he can take in the makeshift festivity for all it is. His damp side-swept bangs reflect the pale gleam like black gossamer, and his eyes swimming with sentimentality.

“Make a wish,” you say, suppressing the wild flutter of your heart.

Jeongguk cups his hands under yours, pushing them back until the cupcake is equidistant to the both of you.

He says it firmly, not to be argued with. “No, together.”

You pretend to wipe the sweat from your forehead, thinking of what you might want this year. A job opportunity, to win the lottery, an easier semester at school. You don’t have to ponder for long. How could you, when what you really want has been sitting patiently at the forefront of your mind for almost a year?

Jeongguk sighs. If he could have anything in the world right now, what would it be?

In unison, you suck in a deep breath and close your eyes. You blow with all your might, extinguishing the flame together in one as the room falls dark again.

You wish that Jeongguk will like you back.

Jeongguk just wishes that life will get easier.

#jungkook fanfic #jungkook drabble #jungkook angst #btsguild #jungkook fanfiction #jungkook x reader #jungkook oneshot #jungkook scenario #jungkook x you #jungkook fic #jungkook imagine #bts fanfic #bts angst #bts imagine #bts x reader #yoondoze

[lonelyreputation]

C’est Toi (coffee shop au) • CHAPTER EIGHT, wc: 4.9k

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Tuesday - January 29, 2019 - 07:11

There’s a feeling in the pit of my stomach that won’t go away––it hasn’t gone away since I left my sketchbook at the coffee shop.  I have this feeling of anticipation looming about in my stomach.  But I don’t even know what I’m anticipating. Am I preparing myself for disappointment in case he doesn’t text me? Am I preparing myself for a text?

I hate waiting.  And I hate not knowing what’s to come.

___

I haven't been to Brightside in five days.  I kept to my promise that I would see Shawn later.  

After I rushed back to my flat after the disastrous end of our conversation, I hurriedly knocked on Ella’s door and didn’t stop until she let me in.  I told her I left my sketchbook, she hugged me tight, and told me that I couldn’t go back until he texted me. But then I told her that he called me a customer.

Her smile faltered, but she was back to her enthusiastic self and promised me that he would text.

But five days later, as I laid on my bed, staring up at the ceiling fan, I had yet to receive any text.

I heard a knock on my door and yelled out a non-excited come in, and Ella’s head popped around the door with a sympathetic smile.

“Still nothing?”

With a sigh, I closed my eyes, feeling even more embarrassed than the day I asked for his name, “Nothing.”

I heard a small squeak of the door being opened, and then a soft click of the door when it was shut.  I didn’t need to have my eyes open to know that Ella walked further into my room.  I heard the wheels of my rolling chair slid across the floor and then felt Ella’s hand on my arm.

“Give it a little more time, I’m sure he’s just––”

I snapped my eyes open and turned my head to look at her, “It’s been five days.  If he hasn’t texted me now, he won’t ever text me.”

Ella offered me a sympathetic smile, “At least you can say you tried.”

But that’s the thing, I thought to myself, I didn’t try enough.  How was he even supposed to know that I left my sketchbook there for him to find so that he could text me? It was ludicrous for me to even think that this plan would be somewhat successful.  

“Maybe someone else picked it up?” Her voice was high as she offered a weak excuse for my silent phone.

I let out another deep sigh, “That would be even worse,” I sat up in bed and rubbed the heel of my palm over my right eye, “That would mean all of my drawings are lost and my brother gave me that sketchbook––”

“I’m sure it’s still at Brightside,” Ella tried to sound confident, but we both knew it was a lost cause, “Give it a few more days, if he doesn’t text you, then you can just live your life…You are in London after all.” She winked.

I tried to laugh, but it came out sounding like a whimper.

“Let’s get your mind off it,” She used her feet to push the chair away from the side of my bed and stood up, “A few of us are going to the park to play football.”

I quirked an eyebrow, “You play football?”

Ella nodded slowly, her face looked just as confused as mine, “When I was younger.  I’m not fantastic but I can still try and have fun.”

“I––I’ll come watch,” I swung my feet over the bed as I started walking toward my closet to change out of my jeans, “The rules have always confused me, but I’ve heard enough of my dad and brother yelling at the T.V. that I have some knowledge of it.”  I pulled out an old t-shirt and a pair of athletic shorts, “I didn’t think football was big here in England.”

Ella furrowed her eyebrows together, “Are you daft?  Football is life or death here and––Oh,” She let out a small laugh before smirking, “Excuse me let me translate for you,” she cleared her throat and spoke with an American accent, “A few of us are going to the park to play soccer.”

Oh.

My arms went limp at my sides as I felt my face heat up in embarrassment, “That’s––Of course, soccer––Football––Makes sense, I used to play a bit––”

“Mick,” Ella cut off my rambling with a laugh and a shake of her head, “I’m gonna get changed, knock on my door when you’re done.”

I nodded as I watched her leave my room with an amused smile on her face.  I smacked my hand on my forehead, still reeling in my embarrassment, because of course football is soccer.  I wasn’t home anymore.

Quickly, I swapped the sweater I wore to class earlier for a long sleeved red t-shirt and jumped around as I wiggled out of my skinny jeans.  Once my athletic shorts were up, and had my sneakers double knotted, I grabbed a little canvas bag to place my phone and keys in.  Once I locked my door, I turned left and knocked on the door to the left of my room.

“I’ll be out in just a minute!” Ella shouted from the other side.  True to her word, Ella walked out of the door in under a minute, dressed in a sweatshirt and leggings.  She looked at me up and down before laughing, “Sure you won’t freeze?”

I nodded as I flipped my head forward, gathering my hair up to wrap an elastic band around it, “If we’re running around, I’ll be fine. Plus, my legs get too hot if I’m running and I have leggings on.”

Ella rolled her eyes, “You’re weird.”  And then we were off to the elevator.

As we rode down, Ella informed me that football was being played at Hyde Park.  We made light chatter as we made our way to the tube station, and by we, I mean Ella did most of the talking.  I appreciated her effort in trying to get my mind off my lost sketchbook, but it was still the only thing I concentrated on as we went from Waterloo station, to Green Park, and then got off at our final destination of Hyde Park Corner.

Once we quickly made our way out of the tube station, we waited with a crowd of other people for the lights to change.  And when the walk sign flashed for us, everyone hurriedly made their way across the street, because once the lights changed…London drivers were not shy in accelerating on the gas pedal.

We entered by the Queen Mother’s Gate and started walking along the pathway.

“This park is too big,” Ella grumbled as she typed furiously away on her phone, “Jack said that they found an open space but the whole stupid park is an open space.”

I kept up with her fast pace and turned my head to look at her, “Jack’s here?”

Ella nodded her head, “Said a few friends from his law course wanted to unwind after an impossible paper they had to write,” She looked at me with a smirk, “He specifically asked me to make sure you came along.”

I brought the sleeves of my shirt to cover my hands as I crossed my arms over my chest, “They probably needed another player.”

“Sure,” she bumped her shoulder against mine, “How is it that you’ve been in London for a month and have two boys after you? Meanwhile, I’ve been here for three years and haven’t had any luck.”

“You had the TA.”

“Don’t push it, America,” Ela glared at me.

I let out a sigh, facing forward, as my voice softened in agony, “And I don’t have two boys after me,” I sniffled from the cold air, “Shawn only sees me as a customer.”

Ella’s glare softened as he weakly smiled, “You’re more to him than that.”

I shook my head, “If you were there––”

“I have been there,” Ella interrupted me, “I’ve seen how he sneaks glances at you, how he spends more time talking to you than anyone else…Mick, he likes you too.”

I brushed off her comment, the familiar feeling of disappointment seeping into my heart, “Where’d they say they were?”

Ella glared at me, knowing exactly that I was purposefully changing the topic as she held up a finger, signaling me to wait.  She unlocked her phone, gliding her finger on the screen a few times, before she brought the phone up to her ear, snapping at whoever was on the other end, “Where are you?”

She hummed a few times, before stopping in her tracks, “Well why didn’t you say you were closer to Marble Arch,” Ella huffed as she made a sharp right and started quickly walking across the grass, “We got off at Hyde Park Corner, you twat.” She sneered into her phone, “We’ll be there soon, start without us, it doesn’t matter.”

Not waiting to hear the other person on the end, Ella clicked her phone shut and let out an aggravated breath, “Jack is an idiot.”

“We’ll be there soon,” I tried to reassure her, but I was quieted from the glare she sent my way, “I’ll race you there.”

“We don’t even know where there is!” Ella yelled at me after I had already taken off in a sprint, “Mick!”

I held the canvas bag close to my side, while it was practically empty, I could still feel my keys and phone bounce against my hip.  I slowed down a bit and turned my head over my shoulder, “Think of it as a warm up!”

I was a bit further away from Ella, but I could practically see her rolling her eyes at me as she started to pick up her pace in a slow jog.  While she was right that we didn’t know exactly where they were, we would get there faster by running instead of briskly walking.

Ella caught up to me, and when we finally laid eyes upon a group of boys and girls kicking around a soccer ball, we both glanced at each other before taking off in a sprint.  I said that we ended in a tie, but Ella never liked to lose, so she declared herself the champion.

As if he knew we made it, Jack looked over at us with a wide smile, he excused himself from his friends and jogged over to us.

“Glad you two could make––Ow.” Jack narrowed his eyes at Ella as he rubbed the spot on his arm where she punched him, “I would like to go one day without you hitting or kicking me.”

Ella mirrored his glare, “Why didn’t you tell us to take the tube to Marble Arch!”

“Slipped my mind.”

“Idiot,” Ella mumbled under her breath as she walked past him and to the group of people kicking around the ball.  It looked like she recognized a few people as she struck up a conversation with them.

“Mick,” Jack’s smile faltered a little as he looked down at my legs, “Will you be cold?”

I shook my head and tightened my pony tail, “I’ll be fine.”

He didn’t look convinced as we walked side-by-side back to the group, “I have sweatpants in my bag if you get cold.”

I smiled up at him, trying to ease the concern in his eyes, “Thanks.”

When we got to the circle, Jack introduced me and then we were split up into teams.  As one of the team captains, Jack picked me first to be on his team.  He subsequently left Ella off his team which caused her to sneer a ‘watch your back,’ at him as everyone got into their positions on the little makeshift field.

After an hour had passed of kicking the ball around, Ella trying to slide tackle Jack, and a few goals scored by each team, everyone decided to call it quits.  Everyone talked and laughed as we made our way back over to our bags and Jack, always being prepared, offered water to both Ella and I.

“Are you girls headed back to Stamford?” Jack said as he screwed the lid back on his water bottle.

Ella finished swallowing before nodding, “Yeah we’re–––”

“I think I’m going to call my brother,” I interrupted her.  They both looked at me with tilted heads. “It’s a nice day out,” I looked up at the sky, and while it was still overcast and cold out, the sun was trying to break through, “Figured I’d take a walk in the park and talk to him.”

“In shorts?” Jack asked.  I nodded my head and was about to respond with how I wasn’t feeling that cold from the soccer game, but before I could say anything, he zipped open his backpack and threw a sweatshirt at me, “You’ll freeze if you don’t have another layer on.”

I smiled in appreciation, looking at the well worn King’s College sweatshirt with the University seal on it, “I’ll wash it before giving it back to you.”  Jack waved me off as I slipped the oversized sweatshirt on my body, automatically feeling ten degrees warmer.

“Put the hood up to,” Jack laughed, “Your ears are looking red.”

Rolling my eyes, I pulled the hood up and overdramatically tightened the strings around my neck, which caused me to only see out of a teeny tiny hole, “Better?”

“See you later, Mick.” Both Jack and Ella laughed as they walked toward the exit of the park.

Once I was sure they were a good distance away, I pulled out my phone, opened WhatsApp and checked my messages.

Still no text.

With a sigh, I started walking back toward the Hyde Park Corner tube station, as I clicked my brother’s contact.  Because while I did plan on talking to my brother, I also planned on making a little stop at a coffee shop before I headed back to the residence hall.

“Pip pip cheerio,” I rolled my eyes at the greeting I always got from William.

“People don’t talk like that here.”

William let out a boisterous laugh, “Oh, I know.”  It was silent for a few minutes as I walked through the park, passing a few dogs who weren’t on leashes, “What’s up?”

“Nothing,” I said with a flat tone, “Just wanted to call.”

“How’re things going with that barista?”

I closed my eyes and let out a deep breath, “Not great.”

“Golden girl having a bit of trouble?”

I glared at a tree in front of me, pretending that it was my brother, “What would you do if you liked a girl?”

William let out a sigh, and I heard him say distant hi on the other end of the phone, presumably walking past a few people he knew before continuing on, “Everything you’ve already told me pretty much points to him liking you.”

I was approaching the end of the park and walked out to stop right at the crosswalk, waiting for the light to change, as I switched my phone to the other hand, “So why hasn’t he done anything?”

“You could always ask him out,” William said as if it was the easiest thing, “I know you said things didn’t go over too smoothly when you asked for his name, but maybe he’s waiting for you to make the first move.”

The light changed as I walked with the crowd to cross the street, “Then he’ll be waiting for forever.”

“Mick,” he dragged out the lone vowel in my name, “You had a boyfriend last year, it’s not like you’re inept to talking to boys.”

I stopped at the entrance of the tube station and leaned against the railing, “I know but he’s––Everything is just––I don’t know how to act around him.”

William laughed loudly, “Oh, you got it bad.”

“Shut up,” I let out a single laugh as I scuffed my sneakers on the sidewalk, “I have to go, but I’ll call you soon.”

“I want more updates on this Canadian barista that just so happens to live in London!” William said in a singsong voice that made me laugh, “I still find that weird.”

“I love you, William,” I said with an eye roll.

“Love you too, Golden girl.”

And with that, I ended the call.  I quickly pulled up my tube map direction app and typed in Hyde Park Corner and Temple.  Twenty-one minutes, I sighed, better than nothing.  Making sure I knew what platform I needed to get on, I walked down the stairs, tapped my oyster card and started my journey to Brightside.

I’ve been on the tube for longer than twenty-one minutes, but the anxiety I felt about still not having my sketchbook, and not knowing who I was going to run into at the counter…It felt like the longest ride ever.

When the train car approached Temple, I almost considered staying on until the next stop and not getting off.  I almost didn’t want to go back to Brightside and face even more embarrassment.  I think I’ve had enough embarrassment there to last five lifetimes.

But I wanted my sketchbook back.

I cared about my sketchbook more than I cared about Shawn thinking of me as a customer.  

Walking down the sidewalk, I almost didn’t feel the cold air on my legs because I was too consumed with my anxiety as the familiar door came into view.  Breathe, I said to myself, in through your nose and out through your mouth…

I didn’t think twice before I curled my hand around the handle and yanked the door open.

Shawn was the only person behind the counter, and while I didn’t hear the chime of the bell, I knew he did because his head snapped up.  His eyebrows were furrowed together for a few minutes before a full blown smile took over his features.  I slipped the hood off my head and walked straight up to the counter.

“McLane!” Shawn said with just as much chipper in his voice as the last time I heard him call my name, “It’s been a while.  Was starting to think you found another coffee shop.” He laughed as his hand went to pull a yellow cup from the stack.

I let out a weak laugh, “I––No.  No other coffee shop,” Shawn smiled as I continued talking, “And actually…I’m not here for a coffee.”  

His eyebrows raised in interest as I started my rambling, “I––I think I lost my sketchbook? I take it with me everywhere and I’ve retraced my steps but I can’t seem to find it anywhere––And I––This is the only place I haven’t checked.  It’s black, on the small side, it has some drawings in it–––”

“Slow down,” Shawn laughed a little as he brought both hands in front of him, gesturing for me to slow my words, “What’d you say you lost?”

“My sketchbook,” I said matter of factly, “It’s small––pocket sized almost––and black. It has my name in it––”

I was too preoccupied with naming all the details of my sketchbook that I missed the shimmer of recollection in his eyes.  I also missed how his smile slowly grew wider with every word I rambled.  And even as I continued on rambling, he ducked below the counter, momentarily out of my sight, before he popped right back up with a black book.

My heart stopped.

“Is this it?”

He had my sketchbook.

“I––Yeah––Oh my god,” I released a breath of relief, “That’s it––I can’t––Oh my god.”

But he didn’t text me.

Shawn handed the sketchbook over to me and I snatched it from his hand, cradling it close to my chest, before I quickly opened it to make sure no damage was done to any of the sketches.  I let out another sigh of relief when I saw everything intact.

“The drawings in there are good,” Shawn’s eyes were wide in astonishment, “You have insane talent.”

I picked my head up and squeaked out a pathetic, “What?”

My heart stopped again because he looked through my sketches.  He opened up my sketchbook, and either he didn’t see the if lost note or he saw it and completely ignored it.  But that thought only crossed my mind for a few seconds because the only thought ringing in my head as that he looked at my drawings.  

If there’s one rule to live by, it’s to never look at someone’s sketchbook without their permission.

And sure, the whole point of Operation Sketchbook was for Shawn to look in my sketchbook, but he was only supposed to look at the if lost note.  He wasn’t supposed to actually look at the drawings.  Because––oh my god––I had a sketch of the bird tattoo on his hand in there.

“Niall and I got curious––It was around for a bit and so we just peeked in.  And when we saw how amazing they were…” Shawn’s voice grew distant before looking back at me with amazement in his eyes, “McLane, your drawings are so good.”

Oh my god…Niall saw my sketch of Shawn’s hand.

“I well––They’re nothing special––” lie, “––I just––It’s fun and it’s relaxing––”

As if Shawn sensed my nervousness, he smiled and politely cut off my rambling, “If I had half the talent as you,” he rested his elbows down on the counter, and looked up at me with a small smile, “I would not be working in a coffee shop.”

I looked down for a moment and blushed.  But when I looked back up into Shawn’s eyes, they were twinkling with pride as he was able to get a reaction out of me, “What would you do if you weren’t working here?”

Shawn let out a hum as he scrunched his eyebrows together, looking off into the distance, as he seriously considered his options.

“I think music production is cool,” he hesitantly answered, “I like all the audio engineering stuff, it’s probably what I would’ve studied in uni.”

I nodded my head, not having much of a clue about what he was talking about, but I noticed his eyes shined a little brighter when he brought up the topic.

“Have you thought about learning some stuff on the side?”

Shawn nodded his head, “I have some music software on my laptop and play around with it a bit, but it’s nothing serious,” Shawn shook his head and stood up tall, “I like working here anyway.”

I nodded my head and looked around the shop, it was a bit empty for it being a Tuesday.

“This might be the first time I’ve seen you without books,” Shawn’s voice brought me back to him after staring off into space.

I blinked a few times before tilting my head back slightly in laughter, “I just came from playing soccer with some friends.”

“Football,” Shawn corrected me just like Ella had, “And in shorts?”

His tone sounded just as concerned as Jack’s did when he first noticed my bare legs.  Although, Shawn’s eyes seemed to linger on my legs longer than Jack’s did, before he looked up at me and chuckled, “It’s like five degrees outside.”

“It’s cold out, but I wouldn’t say it’s that cold out,” I rested my elbows on the counter as I continued to talk, “It felt more like the low forty’s.”

“Celsius,” Shawn corrected me with a laugh, “Five degrees celsius.”

Oh.

Shawn laughed again as I leaned on the counter in silence, even more embarrassed than before.  He tried to act sly, but I noticed his hand reach out for a yellow cup.

“I don’t need a coffee,” I told him.

He shook his head, ignoring my words, “What tea do you like?”

“You really don’t––”

“You look like someone who likes English Breakfast,” Shawn ignored my words again as he walked down toward the espresso machine and opened up a box of tea.  He took out a bag, plopped it in the cup, and pressed a button on the espresso machine that let out hot water.

Shawn peaked over into the cup, and once he was satisfied with how much water was in there, he pressed the button again and the water stopped.  He set the cup down on the counter, as he shook his hand mumbling a hot hot, as he walked back over toward the register to grab another yellow cup, along with a coffee sleeve.

He placed the empty cup under the cup of boiling water, “It just needs to brew for five minutes,” I heard him say as I looked at the steam floating out from the cup, “And then you’ll have something to keep you warm.” He gave me a pointed look.

“Thank you,” I smiled in appreciation as I pulled out some money, “How much is the tea?”

Shawn let out a single laugh as he crossed his arms over his chest, “You’re not paying.”

I rolled my eyes and waved the money in front of his face, “Oh, come on––”

“It’s tea.” Shawn shook his head, “It barely cost anything.”

We stood in silence for a few seconds longer, neither of us wanting to back down.  But I knew that even if I put the money in the cash register myself, Shawn would take it out and slip it in my bag.  With a sigh, I stuffed the five note back in my wallet and dropped it in my bag.

“Thank you.”

Shawn nodded his head, “So…What kind of art do you like?”

My smile brightened at the mention of art and I saw Shawn’s eyes widen in admiration, “All of it.  It’s so fun and always so creative––But I do find myself leaning more toward post-impressionism.”

Shawn slowly nodded his head, he looked about just as lost as I probably looked when he was talking about audio engineering.

“Van Gogh,” I gave him one of the most famous artists to come out of that art movement, “That kind of stuff––Landscapes, lots of color, bold brush strokes.”

“Ah,” he said in understanding, “Starry Night? That’s one of his right?”

I chuckled, “That’s him.”

And then an idea struck my mind.  

I had seen advertisements in newspapers and down in the underground about a Van Gogh exhibit opening at the Tate Britain at the end of March.  It was a while away, but if I brought it up to him…Maybe he’d want to go.

I felt like Ella with the amount of scheming going on in my mind.

I coughed into the crook of my elbow, “Yeah––Starry Night is cool––The Tate Britain is actually having an exhibit with his art,” I let out a fake sigh, “I’ve been trying to find someone to go with me but I––No one seems interested.”

Shawn’s eyes widened and he opened his mouth straight away, only for it to shut tight, as his head snapped toward the chime of the bell on top of the door.  Three girls around our age walked forward, talking among themselves about what they were thinking about ordering.

I shouldn’t have found his facial expression funny, considering I really did think this time around he was going to ask to tag along, but the frustration on his face caused my chest to slightly shake with amusement.  He closed his eyes tight, jaw locked, as he rubbed his fingers around his temples.  

He let out the most aggravated sigh I’d ever heard, and I think he wanted me to hear how annoyed he was at the customers who just walked in through the door.

“I’ll be with you ladies in one second,” Shawn briefly turned his head to look at them, acknowledging their presence.

I offered him a close lipped smile, and he just shook his head and rolled his eyes.

“Before you go,” he quickly said, taking the tea bag out of the cup, disposing it in the bin, before he disappeared under the counter.  But he wasn’t gone for long. He popped right back up with oat milk, shaking the container, before opening it up to splash a little milk in it.

He securely placed a black lid on it and pushed it toward me, “I’m glad you didn’t find another coffee shop.”

His words were simple, and to any outsider, him being worried about me finding a different coffee shop to go to would sound pathetic.  But I knew what he meant.  I knew he wasn’t just referring to a coffee shop.

The tea was still very hot, even with two cups and a coffee sleeve, but I still picked it up and smiled at him, “See you tomorrow, Shawn?”

Shawn’s smile was wider than I’d ever seen it before and he nodded his head, “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

When I opened the door, I was met with a gust of cold air that had me ducking my head to shield myself from it stinging my cheeks.  But the tea in my hand from Shawn was doing a much better job at providing me warmth than Jack’s sweatshirt.

I walked quickly back toward the Temple Underground station because I was also just starting to realize that maybe my legs weren’t cold because I couldn’t really feel my legs.

I hopped on the tube, switched stations at Embankment, and braced the cold air again as I walked out of Waterloo Station. I was almost back to my flat.

As I waited at the stoplight for the colors to change, I felt my phone vibrate in my bag.  I switched the tea to my other hand so I could dig the hand closer to the bag around for it.  I pulled it out, and saw that it was a text on WhatsApp from an unrecognizable number.

I scrunched my eyebrows together, and unlocked my phone, curious as to who messaged me.

But when my thumb clicked on the app and I went into the message, I felt my heart skyrocket up to my throat as I let out an audible gasp.  Luckily, my grasp around the tea didn’t falter, but I still felt as if I could drop it at any moment.

Hi, McLane! It’s Shawn from Brightside ☕️ I got your number from your sketchbook…I hope that’s alright with you.

And then the light turned green.

A/N: So……How are we feeling about Jack? Operation sketchbook? It was ~semi-successful!! But successful, nonetheless! Things start to pick up from here soooo……Get ready for some fun! 

Thank you! Thank you for all of your kind words!! They mean the absolute WORLD to me!🥺 I love you all so very much! As always, sending good vibes 💥

See ya next week with Chapter NINE!!! We’re almost getting to my favorite chapter 🤩

C’est Toi Tag List: @mendesficsxbombay, @5-seconds-of-mendes, @pupsandducks, @musicalkeys, @madatmendes, @im-salt-but-not-salty, @shawnmendez, @crossedties @lenamds​

#Shawn Mendes writing #Shawn Menes fanfiction #Shawn Mendes fluff #Shawn Mendes fic #Shawn mendes imagine #Shawn Mendes Writings #Shawn Mendes coffee shop au #Shawn Mendes AU #Shawn Mendes #Shawn Mendes x oc #wonder #Shawn Mendes imagines #Shawn mendes fics #Shawn mendes blurb #Shawn mendes blurbs #Shawn mendes story #ugh don't you just HATE tags #anyhoot #I hope you all enjoyed!!!

[honeyhan-123]

The Artist ~ III

Summary: When Steve meets the reader at an art class he immediately becomes enticed and maybe, just maybe, she can help heal his wounded heart.

Warnings: none (smut in later chapters)

Word Count: 2.6k

AN: I am so sorry it took my a while to come out with the next part of the series but I hope y’all like it. Also Merry Christmas/Happy Holidays to everyone! 

As always a massive thank you to the beautiful @imanuglywombat​ who designed the amazing moodboard. 

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Part One ~ Part Two

Steve had woken up the next morning in a funk. It had started the night before when he had awkwardly walked back to the tower with Bucky. He wanted so badly to say something, to say anything to the other man but everytime he tried, he was just reminded of that night and his heart shuddered in his chest. He had thought they were finally in a good place again but it still hurt. He knew he was being selfish but he couldn’t help it. He had waited so long to finally get Bucky back and to have him so close but not in the way he wanted was torture for Steve.

It was as though the entire tower could feel Steve’s sour mood as hardly anyone bothered him throughout the day. He had spent most of it in the gym, either destroying yet another punching bag or sparing with his teammates as they drifted in and out of the room. The hours that he didn’t spend in the gym were occupied by a small amount of paperwork and mission planning. 

They had recently caught wind of some illegal arm dealing off the coast of Portugal and while it would have normally been left to the authorities, they had reason to suspect they were dealing with alien tech so the team had been brought in. There wasn’t much information circling about it so Steve knew he still had a couple weeks to plan but it still made him slightly ansty being so unprepared.

The hours passed slowly but finally it was six o’clock and Steve felt no guilt as he packed up for the day. There was a slight spring in his step as he left Avengers tower with his sketchbook tucked under his arm and his sour mood from earlier was almost completely forgotten. His legs jiggled as he took the J train out to Brooklyn, equal parts nerves and excitement ransacked their way through his veins. 

To help pass the time as the train rushed through underground tunnels Steve watched those around him. Not like he would on a mission trying to figure out whether or not they were actually civilians but as he imagined an artist would watch them. He tried to figure out how he would draw each and every and every passersby. He tried to memorise the way the old lady’s smile lines deepened as she spoke to who Steve assumed to be her grandson, or the way the little boy looked up to her with complete adoration in his eyes. 

He felt so much more at ease than he had all day as he stepped off the train and began the short walk towards the studio, his mind never once drifting to his brunet best friend. Despite the darkening sky the streets were packed as people bustled around and Steve had to squeeze his way through the throng of people. He smiled as he passed a group of carolers despite it only being late November. The familiar tune of ‘Good King Wenceslas’ floated through his ears and he stooped to donate a hefty sum in their collection tin, earning him a round of ‘thank yous’.  

The studio was only a block away so when he finally dashed up the steps, he could still hear the melodic voices of the group. As he pulled the door open, a warm gush of air washed over him and he couldn’t wait to get inside but he heard someone call out to him that made him pause. 

‘Hey! Hold the door please!’ He turned as you came bustling up the stairs, your face barely visible behind the large canvass you carried. Steve stood back and ushered you in ahead of him and you gave him a small ‘thanks!’ 

Already starting to feel a little too warm in your multiple layers, you set down the canvass just inside the entryway and shrugged out of your heavy winter jacket. ‘It’s bloody cold out there isn’t it? I reckon we’ll get some snow for sure this year.’ Steve nodded his head somewhat absentmindedly, trying to tear his eyes away from you. 

‘I - uh - yeah, I hope so. It used to snow heaps in the city when I was growing up but it’s been a while since we’ve had a proper winter.’ 

‘Oooh that must have been so nice! I’ve always wanted a white Christmas like in all those Hallmark movies but I grew up in Australia so that was never going to happen.’ 

‘You’re from Australia?’ The slight twang of your accent had been one of the first things Steve had noticed about you, but he thought maybe the average person wouldn’t have been able to tell. It definitely sounded like you had been in New York for a while. 

‘Yeah, Melbourne actually. I moved here after university. I have no idea why though. Probably some preconceived notion that to be an artist, you have to struggle in New York for a bit first.’ You laughed as you mocked yourself and Steve smiled, knowing exactly what you meant. ‘What about you? Are you originally from the Big Apple or are you a newbie like me?’ Your eyes locked with his as you asked and Steve felt his smile deepen. 

‘I was born and raised here in Brooklyn actually.’

‘Right of course, you literally said you grew up in the city earlier. Sorry about that.’ Steve shrugged away your apology telling you not to worry about it. The door was pulled open and you tried to move out of the way as a gust of cold air drifted inside following another class member who you smiled in greeting at.

‘We should probably head in, it’s nearly seven.’ Steve said as he checked his watch. ‘Do you need a hand with that?’ He gestured towards the large canvas leaning against the wall.

‘Oh yeah. If you wouldn’t mind? It’s just a bit awkward to carry by myself.’

‘Not at all.’ He easily lifted it into his arms and followed as you led the way down the hallway and into the studio. He had no choice but to follow as you headed towards one of the easels towards the front of the room, where you had sat last week. Even though he didn’t want to be noticed by the rest of the class, Steve couldn’t resist the temptation of sitting down in the empty stool next to yours. 

He watched as you pulled out your oil paint and started setting them on a very used palette and Steve was reminded of last night. He wasn’t sure if he should bring it up, as you hadn’t mentioned yet, but he thought maybe you just hadn’t seen him. After all he and Bucky had been towards the back. 

‘I uh, I saw you last night. At Ronan’s bar for the wine and art night.’ He clarified, determined not to seem creepy. ‘I was going to say hi but you seemed a little busy.’

‘Oh, really? I’m so sorry I didn’t even notice you were there! But how good is it!? $25 for unlimited wine plus some art fun. It’s just a shame they only run it during winter.’ You looked slightly remorseful and Steve couldn’t help but agree.

‘I didn’t realise that. I just found the flier over the weekend and decided to give it a try.’ 

‘Well I’m glad you did. If you don’t mind me asking, why the sudden interest in art?’

‘Oh, well I don’t know really. One of my friends, Nat, found my sketchbook that’s basically been abandoned the last few years and wouldn’t stop nagging me to get back into it. She and Tony are always pushing me to have a life beyond work.’

‘Tony as in Tony Stark?’

It only crossed Steve’s mind as he nodded that perhaps not all of Tony’s employees were on a first name basis with him. He needed to be more careful with the words that came out of his mouth. Eager to shift the conversation away from Tony he quickly divulged even more personal information. ‘I uh, I think it might have something to do with my friend, the one I told you about last time.’

‘Oh?’

‘Yeah, growing up he was practically always my muse and we’ve only recently found each other again - he had to go away for a while. Maybe it’s because he’s back again that I’ve found the inspiration…’ He drifted off, unsure of what he was saying. ‘That probably didn’t make any sense.’

‘No, no, it did. I totally get what you mean. I used to have this dog, his name was Bear and growing up I used to draw him all the time. But when he passed away, I just didn’t feel that spark anymore, you know? It took me a while to find it again but when I did everything just made sense again.’ 

Steve was refrained from replying by the entrance of Madame Maxine to the studio as she quickly called the class to order. 

‘Today we have the wonderful Jerry modelling again. Since it is his second week, he will be modelling nude for us today.’ Her attention drifted back to Jerry who was wearing a dark red silken robe. ‘If you could please derobe Jerry and get settled into position B that would be brilliant.’ Jerry nodded and followed her instructions, setting himself down on the stool in front of the class. Steve had to admire his confidence. He knew that even if it was purely for art he could never model nude for anyone, he struggled enough doing promotional shots when he was fully clothed. 

Steve was too aware of you sitting next to him for the next hour. Everytime you shifted on your stool or bent to mix some more paints he noticed and his eyes followed your movements. As a result his own sketch was barely half complete by the time the hour was up and the small bell rang. He would definitely be voting to keep the position. 

Your painting on the other hand was beautiful. Despite the limited time you had not only managed to capture Jerry as he was, but also his essence. Steve was enraptured and stammered his way through a maze of compliments which you humbly shrugged away. 

‘I just have experience with Jerry, he modelled last winter and he works here part time too.’ 

‘He works here?’

‘Yeah Maxine rents out the studios to aspiring artists if they need a large space. I had this massive project over the summer on three canvases that were each four by five meters and my apartment is a shoebox so it never would have worked if it weren’t for Maxine.’

‘Wow, that sounds impressive.’ Steve could hardly imagine working on as big a canvass as you were currently using, never mind one nearly three times the size. ‘How long did it take you to finish?’

You glanced down, slightly avoiding his eyes. ‘It’s not… well it's not technically finished yet. I’m so close to being done with it but I just…’ You trailed off, unsure how to put it into words. 

‘There’s something missing?’ Steve filled in for you and you nodded eagerly.

‘It’s almost right but everytime I think it’s done I realise just how much I hate it and I have to leave the room to stop myself from painting over it again.’ Although Steve had never done something quite on the same wavelength he could relate to the need for perfection. He had lost count of how many pages he had ripped out of his sketchbook and thrown in the trash only to start all over again. 

‘What’s it of?’

‘It’s a collection, mainly of my favourite places in New York and it’s all about the human footprint… or at least, it’s meant to be.’ 

‘If it’s anything like your painting of Jerry I’m sure it’ll be incredible.’ 

Steve didn’t have to be able to see it to know that your cheeks would be flushing with heat at his compliment. He didn’t understand why you doubted yourself so much, it was clear that you were incredibly talented. ‘Thank you, you’re far too sweet.’ 

Maxine clapped her hands once again calling the attention of everyone. ‘It is now that time where we decide if we would like Jerry to stay as he is or if we would like him in a new position. Raise your hands for the same pose.’ Steve eagerly raised his hand along with you and most of the class.

After a quick headcount Maxine nodded firmly. ‘Well that settles it, Jerry, if you would be so kind as to return to position B.’ Once again the silk robe fell to the floor as Jerry repositioned himself on the stool and Steve promised that he wouldn’t let himself get as distracted by you this time around. 

+

By the end of the second hour Steve had a half decent looking sketch that paled in comparison to yours but he had long since resigned himself to its fate. 

‘Your painting is amazing.’ He told you truthfully and you smiled up at him abashed. 

‘Thank you Steve. That really means a lot.’

‘Well, it’s definitely true.’ Once again, Steve’s heart constricted in his chest as you flashed a sweet, bashful smile his way. He really felt a little ridiculous, being so completely enticed by someone he had only just met but being with you, it just all felt different. 

He watched as you packed up your paints and helped you carry the drying canvas over to the corner of the room where Maxine said you could leave it for the night. 

By the time you were by the coat rack you and Steve were the only students left in the studio, everyone else had filed out fairly quickly. Steve shoved his coat on and quickly plucked your own from the hook, holding it out for you. 

He wondered briefly if he was perhaps overstepped but the smile of gratitude you flashed him put him at ease as you daintily slid your arms into the open holes. ‘Thank you.’

‘Anytime.’ He walked with you out of the building and down into the street. 

‘Well, I’m heading this way.’ You pointed in the opposite direction of the train station and Steve felt a brief flash of chagrin. He wasn’t quite ready to say goodbye just yet and he got the feeling that you felt the same. 

‘I’m the other way. But uhh…’ The invitation to coffee at a cafe just down the street was on the tip of his tongue as his phone rang. ACDC’s Back in Black rang through the cool night air, breaking any tension that had been building up. 

You flashed what looked like a remorseful smile and raised a hand in farewell. ‘I’ll let you get that, but will you be at Ronan’s next week?’

‘Yeah, yes. I will.’ Steve hadn’t really thought about returning to the little bar but if that’s where you were going to be, that’s where he would be too. 

‘Great! I’ll uh, see you there.’ You flashed him that sweet and bashful smile once more before turning on your heel and getting lost in the crowds of New York. 

Steve watched you go for longer than he really should have and by the time he finally fished his phone out of his pocket Tony had nearly been sent to voicemail. 

‘Tony, what’s going on?’

+

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#Steve rogers #Bucky barnes #marvel #mcu #stucky #steve x reader

[a-man-for-hire-and-his-archives]

Ready for lift-off

Espionage thriller Summer of Rockets is the first screen work from acclaimed writer/director Stephen Poliakoff to draw on his own life, set in 1958 at the height of the Cold War. He and executive producer Helen Flint talk to DQ about merging fact and fiction.

As a writer and director for the screen over the past four decades, Stephen Poliakoff has been behind work that has amassed numerous Bafta, Emmy, Golden Globe and Peabody awards. The playwright, who learned his craft in the theatre, counts series and films such as Perfect Strangers, The Lost Prince, Friends & Crocodiles, Gideon’s Daughter, Joe’s Palace and Capturing Mary, as well as recent dramas Dancing on the Edge and Close to the Enemy, among his extensive credits.

Yet for all his fascination with the past – among many examples, Dancing on the Edge trails a black jazz group in 1930s London and Close to the Enemy is set in the aftermath of the Second World War – his latest series is the first to draw on his own family and life experiences.

Written and directed by Poliakoff, Summer of Rockets is a semi-autobiographical drama set during 1958, a year that marked the height of the Cold War as fear and suspicion clashed with the start of the mobile revolution and the Space Race. It was also the last time debutants were presented to the Queen at Buckingham Palace and the year of the Notting Hill riots in West London.

Stephen Poliakoff, writer and director of Summer of Rockets, pictured during filming

Poliakoff says the fact it is partly based on his own life marks Summer of Rockets out as “significantly different” from anything he’s done for the screen before.

“My first real memories are from this time – I was five in 1958 – so I could feel, even as a small child, the apprehension in the air, the feel of nuclear war,” he says. “The Russians were the enemy and yet I was half-Russian, so that made me feel an extraordinary sense isolation as a child. I was also sent to boarding school, as we see in the story, and was the only Jewish boy there. That was why I was drawn to this time.

“There’s a lot of resonance for us now, as Russia again seems to be our enemy and there is also unfortunately, tragically, anti-Semitism in Europe and it’s coming back to the UK. Well, it never goes away. But above all, it was a sense of the absolute epicentre of the Cold War; the fact nobody could be trusted, especially if they were foreigners.”

Another parallel between that period and today, he notes, is the “humiliation” of the Suez Crisis in 1958, which left Britain “a laughing stock” on the world stage. “Things have happened since I’ve written the piece and we’ve become a laughing stock for very different reasons, with people harking back to a sense of our past glories, which also plays a part in the story,” Poliakoff says. “This is not a story about Brexit or a metaphor for it, but nevertheless there are resonances in the piece.”

Toby Stephens (Black Sails) stars as Samuel Petrukhin, a Russian Jewish émigré modelled on Poliakoff’s father Alexander, an inventor and designer of hearing aids, whose clients include former UK prime minister Winston Churchill. The series also focuses on Samuel’s wife, Miriam (Lucy Cohu), and their children, Hannah (Lily Sacofsky) and Sasha (Toby Woolf). In the show, having developed a new paging system for hospitals, Samuel is is approached by the UK’s domestic intelligence agency MI5 to demonstrate his work.

Set in 1958, the series stars Toby Stephens as Samuel, who is based on Poliakoff’s father

However, it’s not his inventions the agency (led by Mark Bonnar’s mysterious Field) is interested in but his fledging friendship with MP Richard Shaw (Linus Roache) and his wife Kathleen (Keeley Hawes), who also introduce him to Lord Arthur Wellington (Timothy Spall). As Samuel’s life becomes intertwined with his mission, he is left to question how far he is willing to let things unravel for his cause and who he can trust.

It was Poliakoff’s discovery that his father had been suspected of bugging Churchill’s hearing aid, a revelation he first heard when a journalist contacted him about newly released government papers in 2007, that sparked the story behind Summer of Rockets,

“It took me a long time to think about writing it because it meant revisiting my youth and a very traumatic time at boarding school,” he says. “I also tend to write slightly away from my immediate family experience because I find it easier to invent like that. But, after quite a considerable while, because the story kept haunting me, I broached it to the BBC.”

His father’s work, he explains, is truthfully reflected in the story by his hearing aids business, the deaf workers he employs in the factory and his invention of the paging system, which he created for St Thomas’ Hospital in London.

“But I always saw that as a jumping-off point for Keeley’s side of the story,” Poliakoff continues. “My father was besotted with everything English; he was a real anglophile. He was a Russian Jew but he wanted to be an English gentleman, so there’s the story of him being involved in this English upper-class family who have their own darkness and trauma hidden away in a magnificent house. They have charm and grace, they entertain people, but this covers a deep unhappiness.

“My father would have loved to have been entertained in such a house, so that was what led me from that jumping-off point for the fictitious side of the story, but it’s based on the sort of things my father loved and was attracted to by English life and aspired to. The story curve shows Samuel learning that he doesn’t want to be the perfect English gentleman.”

Bodyguard and The Durrells star Keeley Hawes plays Samuel’s wife,  Miriam Richard’s wife, Kathleen

Through the first episode, the story is laid bare against the backdrop of rockets being launched and rising anxiety over what might lie ahead, coupled with the symptoms of post-traumatic stress disorder that stem from the still-raw fallout of the Second World War. Samuel’s technological achievements also shine a light on how industry was set to move forward rapidly over the next decade.

“When you have six hours of television drama, it’s a big canvas. The joy of longform is that you can build a complex world and you can delve deeper into character than you can in a two-hour movie,” Poliakoff says. “It’s great to try to be ambitious when you’re given that length of screen time.”

Helen Flint, MD of Little Island Productions and Poliakoff’s long-time producing partner, admits the writer’s outlines need very little development as they are often fully formed, “very detailed and very ambitious” by the time she becomes involved.

“The thing is to identify where and how you’re actually going to make it happen,” she says. “Both of us have been around far too long. Therefore, between us and the heads of department, we can work out how to put this on the screen, which is our craft.”

With all of Poliakoff’s work filmed on location, the first task on Summer of Rockets was to find the house belonging to Richard and Kathleen Shaw, which is a constant presence during all six episodes. They eventually settled on Benington Lordship, a grand setting close to Stevenage, 35 miles north of London, which is notable for the Norman keep adjoining the 17th century house and expansive gardens.

Catastrophe’s Mark Bonnar plays the head of MI5

“The other important thing was when to film it, because getting lucky with sunshine in this country is not a given – so the schedule is everything,” Flint says.

Finding London streets that could double for the time period also proved problematic, with the slums of Notting Hill in 1958 far removed from the affluent neighbourhood it is today. Another set piece saw a queue of 1950s cars lined up along The Mall, leading to Buckingham Palace, which was filmed early in the morning to avoid the crowds of tourists usually occupying the area.

“It takes a huge amount of work, more work than anybody would imagine, weeks and weeks, and then huge amounts in post-production just to paint out silly lines and stuff like that,” Flint says of filming in London. “After that, it’s all of the countryside, the driving [scenes] and the minutiae. But because we’ve got a cast that is working all the time, we have to try to jigsaw them all in, which is very complicated at certain points. Once you have those actors, the schedule is dictated by that. Then other problems come to the fore because if they’re not available, you can’t do the locations. London exteriors are the hardest, and then piecing it together is a massive jigsaw.”

In some cases, however, the reality on which some of the series is based was too extreme to be dramatised. Poliakoff decided to tone down scenes where Sasha is at boarding school, as his own experiences at school were too “draconian” to be depicted exactly as he remembered.

Summer of Rockets debuts on BBC2 tomorrow

“When I started writing it, I realised it had to be more interesting and more inventive than the actual thing I experienced, which in reality was relentlessly grim,” he says. “A little bit of that was fine, but I didn’t think an audience would stand for that being repeated in each scene. So, oddly enough, the bit that was closest to reality was the most difficult to write.”

The series sees Poliakoff reunited with Stephens, who starred in his 2001 family reunion drama Perfect Strangers, while this was his first time working with Hawes despite having known her since she was just 19. “She starred in my wife Sandy Welch’s adaptation of Our Mutual Friend 20 years ago,” he recalls of the actor, who has recently starred in Line of Duty, The Durrells and Bodyguard. “I’ve known her for some time and we’ve always wanted to work together. She’s phenomenal in her role, which is a really very juicy role, so I’m thrilled. I think she gives one of her greatest performances.”

Following Summer of Rockets’ launch on UK pubcaster BBC2 tomorrow, all six episodes will be made available on the pubcaster’s VoD platform iPlayer. The drama is distributed internationally by BBC Studios. “‘Bingeable’ is not the prettiest word but, actually, I think my work was born to be binged,” Poliakoff notes. “People over the years have always told me they’ve sat down to watch something like Perfect Strangers, which is only four hours long. They tend to watch the first part and then they’re there four hours later.

“So I very much hope the story has that effect. It does have quite a powerful story that gathers and evolves and changes. It’s great for people to watch it in a linear way or in an immersive way. Either way, I hope people will really get into it.” - Michael Pickard (Drama Quarterly)

#toby stephens #this writer got wrong with kelsey's name #it is kathleen not miriam lol #jeez #summer of rockets #interview

[tryagainmv]

ad nauseam (part two)

part two: two lonely people we were

➷ you had never known the meaning of lovesickness until you had crossed paths with na jaemin.

part one: strangers in the night ❧ part three: up to the moment we said our first hello

warning: cursing, violence.

you’ve been in this town for one day, and you’re already dreading the concept of spending a summer like this.

in a town where everything mirrored the life you had just left, with the exception of the familiar storefronts and neighbourhoods and faces strolling down the sidewalks. you had worked yourself up, your oh-so-big jump, to leap a puddle and land in the corner of the muddy water. you still had the same coast, but different shops. you still had the same red brick buildings lining the main streets, but different names. you still had the same loft apartments over every single business, but with different numbers. you were living in a strange, but parallel universe.

you didn’t know if it was because you had built up your first taste of self-sufficiency, your first taste of the freedom of living away from parents and from the same cracks in the road you had caught your shoe toe in, or if it was because you had unfinished business from the night before, if you can even call that business. it felt more like comfortable anarchy, the wild beat of your heart against the steady beat of the drum fighting the smooth beat of your lips against his.

you didn’t deny that whenever you closed your eyes, you could almost picture yourselves, his arm holding you against him, your heads cradled together, silhouetted against the raging sunset orange fire, blending into one shadow as the orange flicker outlined you. between the crackling of the fire behind you two and the connection of your hearts, you didn’t know what created the sparks that floated in the night sky among the stars. however, you refused to admit that when you had driven past the cliff on your way out, you had spared a glance towards the field where your softly swaying feet had worn another sparse patch into the rocky earth.

you refused to admit that the boy named na jaemin held anything over you but a memory.

but you felt yourself wanting to reverse time and catch him before he slipped away, before he sent you that last glance and molded into the night crowd so seamlessly that made you wonder whether the boy was a human or a figment of your imagination. a guilty conscience trying to hold you back in the place that you had been so relieved to part from.

whoever jaemin was, you refused to admit that the stranger in the night had put another pair of shackles on your rubbed-raw wrists.

but for now, you’d make do in the parallel universe you lived in.

as your feet crossed the threshold from sidewalk to linoleum, you felt the cold push of the frozen air and the sweet wave of ice cream collide with your senses. you inhaled the cream-filled air and walked up to where your new coworker was waiting, his brown hair visible over the cash register as he made eye contact with you and gave you a soft wave, beckoning you to the false countertop which he swung open.

“you came ready in your uniform! i have your apron and name tag in the back, they’re folded just beside the cooler room door,” he said, pointing you down the narrow hallway lined with extra cones and napkin containers. “i’m renjun.”

he pointed to his green and pink name tag, wiggling it and shooting you a toothy smile. he had a small snaggletooth, and you felt yourself smiling back at the soft boy.

“i’ll be y/n, once i get my name tag,” you laughed back, walking past him to grab your apron and name tag and put them on, renjun coming up behind you to tie the top strap of your white cloth covering.

you thanked him and slid the pin of your lacquer name tag onto the thin white cloth, and you presented yourself to a renjun who gave you a thumbs up and another smile. he showed you the ropes quickly, the cleaning of the scoops and how to work the new electronic register. you learned that his dad owned the shop and that him and his older brother ran it now that his father was getting older. his older brother was named kun, and he was the manager that only worked the night shifts while renjun worked the days. it was obvious how much he knew about this shop and the way it had been run for years, that it was both ice cream and blood that flowed through the sweet boy’s veins.

“one more thing,” renjun says, only after he’s decided your scooping is satisfactory.

“yeah, shoot,” you respond, taking a bite of your final cone product so that the ice cream wouldn’t go to waste.

“uh, because of our… location beside the beach, we draw a pretty sketchy crowd around the early afternoons. don’t let them phase you, okay? they’re harmless, mostly.” he rubs the back of his neck and you smile, biting the rest of your sugar cone and throwing the paper shell into the trash below the counter.

“renjun, don’t worry. i’ll be okay,” you smile, giving him a thumbs up as you go to open up the shop.

renjun had told you that it was the newbie’s initiation to flip the paper ‘open’ sign and officially start their first workday at green rose ice cream parlour. you appeased him, despite your complete disinterest in the small rituals that he seemed to value so highly. you didn’t want to make your boss think of you as flippant, as disrespectful or uncooperative, and you didn’t want to make the soft looking boy upset. so you flip the open sign as the clock hits ten and immediately spot a few groups of people make their way towards the cute shop perched a street away from the tourist-filled beach.

you slipped into your place back behind the glass walls and tubs of ice-cream and took your position at the cash register, ready to ring up the first customers of the day while renjun crafted his beautiful cones. you fell into a rhythm for a while, the soft jingle of the radio a backing track as you called out order after order to the boy who whipped the cream into the wafer and passed it to the waiting customer, over and over again.

until the next ring of the door’s bell signified something so much more than another customer you’d have to serve.

they didn’t come to the register or browse the flavours, not even take a peak at the menu. they slid into a table that had remained unoccupied, almost as if they owned it, and burst into a jubilant conversation. they looked so out of place in their dark attire amongst the green tables and pink chairs, yet they blended into the scene as if they had been placed there purposefully by a hand designing a piece of art, so stark of a contrast, so different of people from who you would see in a parlour with twice playing from the loudspeakers. and yet here they were.

you stared at them, black paint splotches on a pastel canvas, until one of them flicked his eyes to you and you averted quickly, staring at the green and pink background of the desktop cash register. you didn’t even notice the single jingle of the bell echo through the shop, the racing of your thoughts creating a maelstrom in your head that blocked out the small sounds.

“uh, hello?” a voice called out, and you could have sworn you had heard that timbre before.

you flicked your eyes up and your mouth gaped. you quickly shut it and took a breath in through your nose. na jaemin, tattoos clear as day against his tanning skin, stood in front of you, gaze hooked on yours and his eyes the width of someone who was shocked yet trying to bury that surprise under a layer of confidence and nonchalance. you scoffed and plastered a thicker version of that on your face, a version of that meant for someone who had screwed you over without even knowing he had done anything, who had caused a snag in your heart that you refused to acknowledge as more of a fondness for a memory.

he’s just a stranger, after all.

you owed nothing to someone who treated your heart like it had strings.

“hi, what can i get for you?” you gritted out, shifting on your feet and starting a new order on the screen.

“a single scoop of pralines and cream on a sugar cone, please?” he asked musingly, drumming his fingers on the top of the glass.

you nodded and hummed, inputting the order and hovering over the ‘complete’ button.

“will that be all for you today?” you responded, not wanting to bring your eyes up to meet his again, not after the first time.

“no, actually. i know it’s not on the menu, but i would like a fresh order of ‘explanation’,” he laughed out, and you leaned back and crossed your arms, bringing your gaze up to his again.

“what do i need to explain to you, na jaemin?” you spat out, huffing. “it’s not like you really were interested in what i had to say about anything.”

“what are you doing here?” he pressed, and you laughed dryly before completing his order and calling it out to renjun, who watched you two interact, enrapt.

“i’m working. now, if you’d go collect your cone down with renjun, that would be swell,” you grumbled, gesturing for him to move along.

he simply looked at you and leaned further over the table, and you caught the roman numerals along his collarbone when his tank top dipped further down.

“i thought you lived a few towns over,” he questioned, more suspicion climbing into his voice than before.

he was cracking.

“yeah, well, a lot of things can change in such little time,” you shot back, tilting your head and nodding towards renjun. “your cone is melting.”

renjun hadn’t even taken the cone out yet.

“y/n, listen, if you’re mad about —“

he used your name.

he knew.

“i’m not mad about anything,” you gritted out. “i’m just swell. go pick up your cone, thanks for coming.”

“y/n!” he hissed out as you turned around, slamming his fist on the top of the glass.

you spun around, and you saw the hurt in his eyes. but you also saw two of the boys from the table behind him slide back in their chairs and climb to their feet. one of them pulled off jaemin’s baseball cap and tossed it to you, and jaemin’s carob locks flopped down in a haphazard pool on the top of his head.

the other boy grabbed his shirt and yanked him forward, leaning in and pushing him closer and closer to the wall.

“leave the girl alone,” the first boy grunted. “or i’ll make you.”

he sneered. the other boy did too.

“she’s obviously not into you and whatever you guys did together, and honestly? looking at you, shrimp? i can’t blame her.” the second boy laughed and placed his hand on the first boy’s shoulder as he held jaemin in an iron grip. “she’s cute, right? the way she stands is so confident, so detached, i’d like to tame her for a night. i’d treat her so good, she’d forget anything you two did toge—“

you absently let out a cry as you watched jaemin’s fist swung up and connected with the first boy’s nose, the crack filling the tense air of the room. you heard renjun drop the cone in his hand, and jaemin didn’t stop. he swung up and hit the second boy, jab after jab until the other two boys from the table were on him too and he was kicking and grabbing collars and snapping noses. you couldn’t bring yourself to do anything but watch as the boy you had kissed two days ago beat the ever-loving shit out of four grown boys. when the first punch was landed on his face, he snapped back and the tables turned. the boys launched themselves on top of him, and he was swallowed by a pile of flying arms and kicking legs and brutal sounds of broken skin breaking skin. you screamed again and slid out under the counter, hearing renjun’s cry of dismay and fright, and you yelled out at the top of your lungs for this to stop, stop, stop.

it only stopped when you put yourself into the fight, pulling one of the boys off of a bloody jaemin who was curled on the ground, who spit out a shot of blood as the other boys backed off slowly. you slid yourself in between jaemin and the retreating boys, and you wiped off the smudge of blood you had gotten on your hands.

you stared at your hands, then up to the four boys with bloody noses and bruised eyes. they all stared back, some with confidence, some with fear and all of them with mirthless contempt.

you imagined you looked the exact same, your hands balled into fists at your sides and your eyes set in a glare.

“get out!” you yelled, and the boys didn’t move.

“get the hell out, you creeps,” renjun shouted, voice enthusiastic with a slight twinge of adrenaline. you didn’t expect that.

that’s when the boys nodded and picked their bloody faces up, running one by one out the door, taking the jingles of the little silver bell with them.

you let out a breath you didn’t know you were holding and dropped your head into your hands, sighing shakily before turning back to jaemin who was pulling himself to his feet.

“uh, y/n, do you — uh, do you want to patch him up in the back break room? i have a lot of first aid stuff, there was an accident with a scooper and someone’s eye a while ago that we don’t talk about,” renjun asked, and you heard the concern in his voice.

you looked back to jaemin, who was on his feet and limping to the table where he rested his body weight on his leaning hand. his eyes were already bloodshot and swelling, and you felt your heart climb in your throat as you catalogued every visible injury on the boy’s body.

he was defending you, your heart called out. he fought the creeps because they talked about you.

he was violent, your mind called out. he was impulsive, but you knew that already. he was just like you.

no matter how many times you tried to repeat it to yourself, you knew. when your heart spiralled, so did your head, and you had always been irresponsible when your feelings and thoughts didn’t sync up. you had always been impulsive, always been someone who had never totally understood your heart and your head. you’d always had one foot in love and the other in logic.

your feet were getting further and further apart.

you nodded to renjun and grabbed onto jaemin, pulling his arm over your shoulder and bringing him back into the break room. renjun followed and opened the first aid cabinet, and you thanked him as he ran back out to the front to go greet customers. you set jaemin down on the foldable chair that sat beside a matching table, and he laughed as you pulled down a kit from the cupboard.

“why are you laughing?” you asked, dragging another chair beside him to rest on as you began to dab a cotton ball with peroxyde on it onto his open cuts.

“i don’t know,” he laughed out, and you huffed as he continued to laugh when you put bandaids and steristrips on his face cuts.

“then stop,” you growled.

he stopped, raising a hand gingerly to tilt your chin up and meet his eyes.

“i really fucked up, didn’t i?” he said, more to himself than you. “i really fucked up when i walked away, i fucked up when i didn’t ask your name. to be honest, i didn’t think i’d see you again, and i was so ready to have my heart broken by you if i had asked. but i didn’t, and that was so smart of me, and i felt so bad that i was weak and told you my name, because now i’m someone to you, and i disappeared and i hurt you. so i really fucked up not asking anything, but i think i’ve fucked myself over so much more now that i know, now that we’re not strangers in the night.”

you didn’t dare break eye contact, and you dropped your hand from where it held the cotton ball on his shoulder back to your lap. you felt the rough skin of his knuckle turn under your chin as he rolled his lips over his teeth and sighed.

“just tell me how i can make it better,” he asked, and he pulled your head a bit closer with the crook of his finger under your head.

you weren’t going to stand down, you weren’t going to admit to anything, you weren’t going to admit a boy who was a stranger in the night became someone who you know. someone who you allowed to know you, someone who you allowed in past your walls and into your head with the reckless, destructive, confused thoughts that filled it. you would not let the boy who disappeared into the fog of pot and cigarettes and god-knows-what to have any say over what you felt, not when he turned his back on you.

one foot in logic.

“can i make it better? can i fix this?” he asked, and you let him.

you let him move closer to you and press his lips to yours, and you let the cotton ball that was pink with his blood drop to the floor. you let his lips find that rhythm again, let him cup your jaw and tilt your head to slot your noses together, and you let him kiss you and map out every corner of your lips. you didn’t stop him, and you didn’t want to, your heart didn’t want to remove your lips from his in fear that he’d turn his back on you again.

one foot in love.

you kept your hands in your lap, you twiddled your thumbs and ran your fingertips over the ridges of your nails, you kept them everywhere but on him. you thought that if you had kept your hands off him, had kept your hands away from the smooth feeling of his skin and away from the ink of his tattoos that you felt you could rub off with the pads of your fingers even though you knew that wasn’t true, you wouldn’t get yourself connected to him. you wouldn’t let a boy with a bloody taste on his tongue leave that on you, that memory, that imprint, if you didn’t let your hands wander or climb the stalk of his neck and trace the bumps of his spine like you had already. if you didn’t let him hold you by the waist and run his fingers where your shirt had ridden up and your soft, warm skin had hit the air, you wouldn’t connect yourself to the boy who had turned his back on you.

things didn’t work that way, not anymore, because it didn’t take one kiss to fall in love with someone. it took two and you had so foolishly stumbled into his trap, his lips and his gaze and his charming voice pulling you into him and refusing to let you go.

you broke it off a few seconds, minutes, hours later and drew back, standing to pick up the soiled cotton ball and walk it over to the trash in the corner of the room.

you had a pit in your stomach, because you knew that if you turned your back on the boy, you might never see him again. you might never feel him again. you might never taste the iron on his lips again. but you turned. you turned your back on the boy who was watching you from the foldable chair and you walked away, walked to the corner instead of throwing the ball. you turned your back. this time, you turned your back.

why did you turn?

when you spun back around, na jaemin had taken a handful of bandages, the cotton balls and hydrogen peroxide, and he was gone, chair empty and the air he had occupied empty. the baseball cap that you had brought in and set on the cabinet ledge was gone too.

you were convinced na jaemin was no more than a shadow who haunted you, a figment of your imagination.

was he just a stranger?

if only you could predict the future, read the cards it held. you’d be so much more worried. you were already sick to your stomach.

a/n: grammarly won’t LEAVE ME ALONE (this is a let down)

#ad nauseam #spence.docx #nct #nct au #nct fic #nct fics #nct fanfic #nct fanfiction #nct fluff #nct angst #nct scenario #nct imagines #nct scenarios #nct imagine #nct dream #nct dream au #nct dream fic #nct dream fics #nct dream writing #nct writing #nct dream fanfic #nct dream fanfiction #nct dream fluff #nct dream angst #nct dream scenario #nct dream imagines #nct dream jaemin #nct dream jaemin au #nct jaemin #nct jaemin au

[warmau]

Highschool!AU Jeno

find college!nct (here) & hs!haechan (here)

favorite subject: art 

least favorite subject: pre-calculus 

voted most likely to: win a noble prize 

jeno is,,,,quite far removed from the detached art student trope that like everyone in his highschool thinks he 100% totally is

secretly, he loves laughter and corny jokes. he likes playing video games with haechan and jisung, betting on basketball games in the gym, and doing what any other highschooler likes to do

unfortunately, probably due to his almost always stoic expression and the sketch book under his arm - people get the wrong idea

and don’t get me wrong, he isn’t bullied for it or anything - people just think he’s unapproachable ,,,,,,,

handsome looks at such a young age, so much artistic talent, it’s hard to approach someone who just seems more mature

“mature my butt, jeno can’t even make fried rice.” haechan snorts once when another classman asks him about jeno

aside from spending countless hours sketching, wrappers from snacks and half empty cans of coffee littering around him, jeno likes sitting in the art room after school is over

the lightening pours in through the big windows and it’s quiet, jeno sometimes listens to music or just enjoys the silence

apparently people made up a rumor that countless people have come to him and tried to confess - but he cooly shrugged off their letters and presents with a cold glare

this rumor of course,,,,isn’t true,,the only person who even knows that he’s in there is the art teacher and jisung who puts his nose in just about anyone’s business

plus if someone did confess to jeno, he’d become a stuttering shy mess - seriously he wished more people knew he was a down to earth guy

he’d even confided this to jaemin, when he and the others visited him in a different town

“why don’t more people want to be my friend?”

jaemin had weakly smiled “are those idiots not enough?” he was referring to haechan who had gotten pen marks all over chenle’s arm and was lying that renjun had done it instead. in the corner, jisung was chatting to mark - puppy eyes to the eldest in the room (probably asking him embarrassing questions about college)

jeno had shook his head, “they’re more than enough - but apparently i come of,,,,”

jaemin smiled and it made jeno’s heart feel a little warmer when he said “you’re not cold jeno. you’re just reserved, you protect yourself. nothing wrong with that.”

but yes, jeno is a real angel!! like he’s always helping the art teacher carry supplies and clean up spilt paint

he isn’t very good at math, but goes to tutoring when he can - the senior who helps him is absolutely in awe of how cutesy jeno can be

with a half-moon smile, little chuckles, and moments of cluelessness which makes them go “you must be popular with the ladies?”

jeno just sinks down in his seat,,,,,,,mumbling that he’s far from it

he likes history too, especially korean history even though most of the class is him kicking jisung under the desk to wake up

his uniform is always neat and he looks well-put together 

someone had made a nickname for him,,,,cold hearted prince from a manhwa ,,,,,,,

haechan had thought that name was a RIOT and did not let jeno live it down - not until it all changed,,,,,,because of you

you had just transferred to the school, you weren’t aware of jeno until you realized your elective class was art

and the, obviously best artist there, was jeno

who on the first day, you couldn’t help but walk by his canvas - you were all supposed to be doing portraits of animals

and the face of an almost perfectly realistic kitten stared back at you on his half-done canvas

you had stared at it for god knows how long till jeno looked over his shoulder

“yes?”

you snapped out of it, almost dropping the paint in your hand

“oh, um i ,,,,,,, i came over to ask if i can use your brush?”

shakily you pointed to the large brush that rested on his easel

jeno blinked, but handed it too you before he could think to ask why

you bowed your head, and rushed away with a thank you trying to save face and not look like a fool

as the bell rang for the next period, you scurried up to the person who had been working beside you

“hey, who is he?”

you asked, one hand on your backpack strap, the person looked over to see you were talking about jeno

they gave you a sad smile

“lee jeno, cold hearted shoujo? no wait, manhwa prince.”

your eyebrows knitted at the sound of the weird nickname

the person just shrugged “he sticks only to his friends and apparently doesn’t even react when people confess so - don’t get your hopes up.”

you nodded, but still from the corner of your eye watched him

he had hung back and was talking to the teacher,,,,,

he didn’t look cold at all

your first month passed rather boringly, you’d made friends and all of them were keen on jeno being next to unapproachable

but you didn’t get it,,,,maybe because you hadn’t grown up around these parts like everyone else

but were you the only one seeing his cute little smiles while talking with the art teachers, the way his laugh sounded light when he hung out with his own group of friends, how he seemed really passionate about drawing

one afternoon you had walked past the art room on your way to make it to the book club you signed up for

when you saw jeno,,,,

he was hunched over a large drawing pad, his bangs falling over his forehead and the light making his figure look like it was outlined by a soft glow

he seemed to be humming to himself, very low and sweet

again you found yourself staring - it was hard not 

you heard someone call out his name somewhere else in the room, and quickly you hurried to hide behind a set of lockers close by

a minute or two passed and jeno walked down the hall, probably to get supplies for the teacher

cautiously, you made your way into the room. the teacher was in the connected office and wouldn’t be able to see you

so while jeno was gone, you were practically alone

you didn’t dare touch the drawing pad, but you did look at what he had been working on

to your surprise, it was a sketch of a vintage car - a mustang maybe? something that looked like it came straight out of the 70s

to your surprise, the details of the drawing were neat and spot-on

it looked like it had been traced from a magazine

“do you need to borrow brushes again?”

you jerked at the sound of the voice, reddening cheeks when you saw jeno standing at the door

you thought for a moment he was mocking you, that you’d look into his eyes and they’d be iced over with something mean

but they weren’t

they were a warm chocolate brown, his mouth was up in a small smile. he was,,,,,joking around with you

“o-oh i just,,,,i just,,,,,”

you didn’t have a quick excuse so you pointed to the sketch of the car “is this yours?”

he laughed “the drawing is, not the car. i wish it was the other way around.”

he came over and pulled out the chair where he had been sitting, he got comfy and picked up his pencil again

you watched in amazement as he easily filled in more details almost effortlessly,,,,,,, “are you a robot?” you mumbled thinking he wouldn’t hear it but he did and he laughed again

you couldn’t believe that the boy in front of you was supposedly ‘cold’ ,,,, he was nothing but cheerful 

“it took a lot of practice, i still have more to go.”

you wanted to say something like i think you’re perfect right now,,,but decided against it,,,,afterall this was your first real conversation with him

you realized only ten minutes after watching him work some more that book club was basically over - jeno was also finishing, packing up his pencils and getting up

“do you take the train?” 

he suddenly asked and you shyly nodded

he called out a goodbye to the teacher and motioned for you to follow him 

“i take it too, want to go together?”

you couldn’t believe it,,,you were walking out of the schools gates with lee jeno

LEE JENO

and he was making easy conversation, with jokes, the handsome features on his face less serious and more relaxed

you were sure no one in school would believe you if you told them - the students who were still there and spotted you two looked shocked beyond belief

“i actually just remembered, i have to stop by the store before i get on the train!” jeno grimaced, smacking his hand against his head as if he’d forgotten something extremely important

“why?”

“ive gotta get some stuff for my halloween costume, jisung wants us to do the scooby doo gang,,,,,”

your eyes widen “,,,,who are you supposed to be?” 

jeno gives you a slightly sad look “haechan is going to be fred, jisung wanted velma, chenle daphine, renjun said shaggy before i could so -”

you put your hand over your mouth,,,,,,,, “you’re going as scooby???”

jeno made a pouting face, so cute it almost made your stomach turn, but you were too busy trying not to burst out into laughter

the cold prince of your high school,,,,,,,,,,dressed up as sooby-doo,,,,,,,,

jeno tried to tell you it wasn’t THAT funny,,,,but you couldn’t lie - it was

before you even knew it, you had silently agreed you were coming along and once you walked through the doors of one of those pop-up costume shops you pointed to the set of brown dog ears that hung on display

“i think you’ve met your match,,,,,”

jeno cringed, but took the ears off the shelf and put them on

“woof!” he exclaimed, then hid his face in his hands as you stifled a giggle

“it’s ok,,,it’s very cute!!” you tried to cheer up jeno but it was beyond hard to keep from laughing

you two spent a good hour in there, picking out silly costumes, trying on fake vampire teeth and wigs, just having a good time in each others company

and at some point, with you shifting through funny looking outfits on one of the racks, jeno noticed for the first time that he was getting along with someone so easily

someone that was outside of his immediate friend group

and you looked,,,,,adorable,,,,,your uniform slightly messy from all the costumes you’d tried on, your backpack had a swinging charm from of it that jeno hadn’t noticed before, and your small smile - the one you had just for yourself

jeno was sure his heart had made an extra loud thud in his chest,,,

“maybe you should convince jisung that you guys can go like,,,,pac men,,,,,or,,,,,,vampires?”

you said suddenly and jeno snapped into reality with a faint smile “ah,,,maybe”

you noticed the change of tone and check your time “it’s getting late, we should get to the train.”

jeno agreed and you two left the store, the guy at the entrance shot you a glare - probably angry about you two spending a good hour in there with nothing to show for it

but you and jeno just giggled to one and other

the train was even more crowded with people coming home from work, so you and jeno found yourselves closer than before 

practically smushed against the pole you were holding onto,,,,,you each gave each other nervous glances and then chuckled

“do you want to go into art?”

you asked curiously, to try and ease the embarrassment of standing so close

“maybe,,,,,what about you?”

you told jeno of some of you dreams, noting how diligently he listened

again - you didn’t know how people thought he was detached, unapproachable ,,,, it just didn’t make sense

so you asked,,,, “why is your nickname cold manhwa prince?”

jeno blushed at the nickname, but also rolled his eyes “did jisung tell you that? ,,,, i don’t even know myself. i think im just,,,,”

he thought back to jaemin’s words “reserved?”

you made an oh sound and nodded, thinking about it till you heard that your stop would be the next

“well,,,i had fun with you today. i don’t think you’re cold at all,,,,” you said, the last part a little bit quietly

jeno felt that loud thump in his chest again

you were so close so he could hear you, but he could also smell the scent of your hair, feel your elbow against his

“i had fun too,,” he added and the door signaled that they were opening

you pushed past the crowd and heard faintly that jeno said goodbye

when you were out on the platform, you couldn’t see him through the sea of people but you waved anyway

the warm feeling of his arm pressed against yours followed you the whole way home

the next day in school you had art again, and unlike usual you set up your spot near jeno

he seemed both shocked and happy that you did,,, the rest of the class just exchanged whispers and wide eyes

but you didn’t care, you and jeno talked easily

he made a comment about how he’s never had someone in art class to chat with and you just gave him a silly thumbs up “im that person then!”

over the course of the week, you and jeno grew closer and you’d even had lunch with him and his friends

jisung had looped an arm around you and went “jeno has never made a friend on his own - you are a REAL gem”

haechan had chewed his food slowly and leaned over to jeno “a friend? or is it something more?”

jeno bit back his tongue and the table turned to face him,,,,you almost dropped your chopsticks

sensing the tension, renjun coughed “pass me your leftover rice chenle you ate too much already.”

but even with the distraction,,,the thought crossed your mind,,,,what did you think of jeno? and what did he think of you?

the night of halloween,,,,you found out

because instead of going to a party being thrown at some students house with his friends, jeno had asked to meet you in the city

you were waiting outside of the train when someone tapped your shoulder and you turned to see jeno,,,,

but instead of his uniform he was wearing a cheap gold crown and a cape of red velvet

“im the cold hearted manhwa prince” he said with a straight face and then burst into laughter

you joined him only to stop and point to the fake horns on your head “a demon,,,,,,,,,the pre-calculs demon if you would” you joked, knowing jeno hated that subject

he made a fake gagging noise and you asked finally why you were here

“i want to go to the party, i want you to come to.”

you blinked,,,,you’d love to go by why hadn’t he just asked over text

jeno seemed to stutter a moment and then added “i want you to come,,,,,as my date,,,,if that’s ok?”

you felt the world freeze for a second,,,,date,,,jeno’s,,,date?

but before you could think of what to say your head was nodding - because of course,,,,,of course you liked jeno,,,

how could you not like him? not after seeing him in that art room, a glow like an angels halo around him

not after laughing with him in the halloween store

not after watching the boy everyone said you couldn’t even be friends with open himself up in front of you

your hand felt nothing but perfect when it held onto jeno’s

and at the party you were greeted with other students staring at you two in awe while haechan slid down the handle of the stairway, messy blood painted over his collar and fake fangs crooked in his mouth, “i called it! i knew they’d fall in love! congratulations to your first day~~ a halloween anniversary!!” he laughed and vanished into the crowd

the rest of jeno’s friends reacted more or less without surprise, renjun said he knew jeno was in love. he was smiling more.

dating jeno,,,,was like opening a new chapter in a book because there is so much more to him than what you see

the love of art, the cute laughter, the serious work ethic, the easily flushed red embarrassment,,,,all of that was just the icing on the cake

the actual jeno was even a little clumsy, a complete nerd who housed one piece figures over his desk, could play guitar and had the voice of an angel

better yet, you found out about his chocolate sweet tooth and highscore on literally every mobile game you ever knew off

“i didn’t know i was dating a gamer,,,” you joked seeing him beat yet another level of some game on his phone

he stuck his tongue out and asked if you were going to finish your chocolate shake

you laughed and held the straw out for him “here you go, cold manhwa prince”

he scrunched up his nose “not you too,,,,jisung never lets me live already,,,,,”

your first official date after the halloween party ,,,, which btw you would have kissed at if chenle hadn’t walked in on you two,, was sitting in the library bookshelves afterschool watching ‘howls moving castle’ on a borrowed laptop

you had been shocked that jeno never watched it seeing as he liked animated movies, but then you’d leaned against his shoulder and woke up to your head in his lap while jeno sketched some doodles on his notebook

you’d sat up, completely embarrassed but jeno just showed you the little doodle

it was of you snoozing, a big air bubble coming out of your nose

you playfully pouted and he’d ruffled your hair - it was nice,,,,it was warm

sometimes you watch jeno sketch,,,,you might do it between studying or listening to music,,,,,but seeing him at work is so relaxing

he looks serious - but not cold,,,,,,,just hardworking and admirable

jeno has sketched you,,,,but you don’t know because he’s too shy to show you

(of course haechan knows about this and pesters jeno about possibly gifting them to you one day,,,,,but jeno keeps saying he has no idea what haechan is talking about)

but also you know when to let jeno have space,,,you don’t hover and you let him be alone with just paint and paper,,,,jeno is so thankful for that

you guys both are kind of new to dating ,,, so when jisung asks to see your couple shirts or rings or phonecases you just stare at him

and he orders you to to go down to the shopping distract and pick something out that matches

you end up getting charms of jeno’s favorite anime character,,,,,it’s corny but,,,,,,,jisung accepts it

but texts jeno like ‘get them an actual present next time!’

sometimes you and him meet up to go to the museum and jeno tells you which artists he’s grown to like,,,,sometimes - like most highschoolers - you end up spending more time in the gift shop than the museum

you start saving up to buy jeno some fancy brushes which when you gift him makes him a stuttering mess and he apologizes for the price and you’re like no no it’s ok

you learn he likes cats,,,even with an allergy,,,,,so you guys just coo at them from petshop windows

jeno wants to kiss you one night,,,as you’re taking the subway home and it’s just you two in the corner seats

but you get up too fast and he misses, falling first into the seat were you were just sitting

“are you ok??” you asked, hurrying toward the door. he waves it off and then spends the rest of the ride telling himself he’s got to get it together

when he does kiss you ,,,,, for the first time,,,, it’s because you’re both are trying to take a cute couple photo for jeno’s instagram

it’s near the big christmas tree they have up at the mall

and as he has his hand out with the camera, you try to focus on it and smile but then right before you know it - he leans in

and with his free hand cupping your cheek he kisses you,,,,

the sound of the camera click breaks you out of your dream like state and when you pull back you touch your lips

“did,,,,,did you just?”

he grins sheepishly and looks at the camera preview,,,,,, “it’s blurry should we do it agai-”

you beat him to it, putting both hands on his face and kissing him agai

he tastes a little minty,,,,,it’s nice and you feel like you could kiss him forever

jeno feels the same way about you 

the amount of times you’ve had talk jeno out of wanting to get a pokemon tattooed on him later in life is: too many

when jeno throws away a sketch he did in frustration, you always get really sad - sometimes you pick them up and you have some hanging on your wall

which jeno tells you you don’t have to do,,,he’ll give you some of his better ones but you say that these are just as good

when jeno calls jaemin to tell him about you,,,,he can almost hear jaemin smiling on the other line

“see, you’re not cold. you’re just reserved, but it sounds like you let th right person in.”

jeno lets you wear his sweaters 100% and then he grins to himself when the sleeves are too long on you

people in school still can’t believe it’s true, not until you and jeno are walking hand in hand out the gate and even though he tried to hide it

his kiss on your forehead basically made everyone in your grade swoon

you guys don’t do a lot of pda,,,,,,but jisung still makes faces when you drop by jeno’s class to give him a snack or just tlak

and jisung is like “ugh,,,i can feel the love and it’s crawling all over my uniform!!” ,,,,, you and jeno ignore him and chenle just goes “its cuz you’re jealous bro”

jeno once tells you his favorite season is winter, when you ask why he lists off a couple of basic things: the pretty snow, the holiday cheer, the sweaters

but then he looks at you and smiles mysteriously, you ask what it is

“i think i might change my favorite season to fall though,,,,” 

“why?”

“because that’s when i met you.” 

#im like.....actually proud of this one just a little bit!!!! #jeno scenarios #jeno imagines #nct dream scenarios #nct dream imagines #nct scenarios #nct imagines #jeno au #nct dream au #highschool!au #lee jeno #nct dream #sfw

[madminniefics]

still life

it all started in the stairwell. an art school au ft. skipped classes, wet paint, and finding art in the everyday.

The air whistled through the leaves on the branches above Mirella Santos’ head as she laid under the largest tree on campus. With eyes closed and a hand on the sliver of tan skin peeking from between her tiny pink crop top and even tinier black shorts, she listened to the sound of birds chirping and leaves rustling. It was her routine: wake up, drink a glass of coffee spiked with rum, and lay under her tree for an hour before painting. It was reinvigorating and it gave her time to relax while her type-A roommate, Billie Thomas, shuffled papers or switched outfits six times or paced back and forth or whatever else she did before she went to her business classes.

Rey leaned up on her elbows, pressed the home button on her phone, and smiled. It was nine: time to go back to her apartment and work on her newest landscape painting, which was just of the view outside her window. She had ten canvasses stacked in one corner of her room with matching landscapes in different color schemes. Everything from neon to greyscale as she searched for her signature style.

Tossing her tan backpack over her shoulder, Rey walked away, raking a hand through her black hair to dislodge the dry pieces of grass that she knew were stuck in her strands. She took slow, small steps towards her shared apartment ducking through classmates heading in the opposite direction towards campus. She caught a glance of herself in the window of her favorite boutique and smiled. Getting out of that tiny town in Pennsylvania had been the best thing that ever happened to her. Rey had never been as happy as she was since moving to Oxford. Even if her family called at all hours of the night.

Rey’s phone buzzed in her back pocket as she walked up the stairs to her apartment. With keys in hand, she swiped across the screen with the other before placing the phone up to her ear.

“Hi Mami,” she said, smiling as Mami’s voice rang through the speaker. They didn’t talk much due to the time difference and Mami’s busy schedule at the hardware store. That week alone she’d closed, opened, closed, and was opening again that morning. “You getting ready for work?”

“Yeah,” Mami sighed. The sound came in far away, as if Mami had put her on speaker. “I have to go in early today because the fucking alarm went off and you know i’m the only manager they can call.”

Rey could feel Mami roll her eyes from across the Atlantic. Four managers and yet Mami was still the one who ended up with most of the responsibilities on her shoulders. It was unfair but Mami would do anything to help Rey make ends meet. She listened to Mami go off about how shitty her fellow managers were as she walked onto the tiny landing just as one of her new neighbors' guests did, causing her to fall back against the wall and drop her phone as his shoulder clipped hers.

“I’m so sorry,” He huffed as he scrambled to keep his laptop from falling on the floor. Rey swiped her phone off the tile and let out a relieved breath when she saw the screen was intact. She could hear Mami asking what was wrong but couldn’t take her eyes away from the man in front of her. His eyes were the same color as her favorite green tea. She thought of the paint she had upstairs and whether she could replicate his eye color for the pastel landscape she was creating.

“It’s fine.” She smiled, pocketing her phone as she waited for him to move so she could start her day.

“I’m Harry,” He stood on the step below her. She couldn’t help but notice that he was still taller than her. But then again, at just over five feet, everyone seemed to be taller than Rey. Even her baby cousin Edgardo had passed her and he was barely thirteen.

“Nice to meet you, I'm Rey,”

He reached his hand out for her to shake. Rey hid the shiver that raced up her back at the feel of his ice-cold hand in hers. She clasped her hands together in front of her but still felt his hand around hers.

"See you around, Rey," Harry smirked and sent her a mock-salute as he walked down the stairs and out the door. Rey swallowed hard as she watched him leave before reaching into her pocket and placing her phone back up to her ear.

"Mami?" Rey waited for Mami to make a noise before continuing. "Perdon, es que..."

Her voice trailed off as she wracked her brain trying to formulate an excuse for what just happened. If she so much as mentioned a man she knew Mami would go off. Whether she would encourage it or tell Rey to focus on school all depended on Mami's mood. And Rey didn't feel like hearing it either way.

"Tenias alguien en tu apartamento?" Mami said casually. Rey knew better than to take the bait. She could almost see Mami smirking as the gears worked in her mind. She knew damn well Rey had been talking to a man.

"No, I bumped into someone on the stairs again,"

Rey stuck the key in the door as Mami sighed. Pushing the door open, Rey would bet a million dollars that Mami was about to tell her she needed to be careful. It wasn't the first time they'd had the conversation and it wouldn't be the last. Rey had always been clumsy. She'd always blamed it on her inability to focus on more than one thing at a time.

"Tienes que tener cuidado,"

"Si, Mami, yo se,"

"I'm just saying. If you break something Mami can't fly over to take care of you," Mami laughed but her voice was tinged with sadness. Rey frowned at her easel. She hadn't seen her mom in almost a year. Before moving away to university, she saw Mami everyday. She'd drive Rey to and from school whenever she could. On weekends they would go shopping together. When Rey had braces in tenth grade Mami would keep her out of school all day whenever she had orthodontic appointments. They would go to her appointment in the morning and in the afternoon they would see a movie.

They were more like sisters than mother and daughter.

"I'll let you go, baby, so you can work on homework or something. I'll call you tomorrow, it's my day off, finally," Mami laughed, this time more up beat, and Rey smiled. They said their goodbyes quickly before one of them cried. When Rey first left for school, they cried everytime they spoke on the phone. Now? Every once in a while.

Rey fought a yawn as she walked into her room to get her box of paints. Time to work on her eleventh landscape of the month.

•

Ever since running into Harry in the stairwell, Rey could do little other than think of his eyes. Instead of the landscapes that she'd painted almost obsessively for months, she'd taken to painting eyes. Everything she'd painted in the past month was colored in an assortment of greens as she tried, in vain, to recreate the not-quite-mint green color that haunted her every waking moment.

She had to see him again.

Yes. Yes! That was it. Harry was her muse and, without him, she would never be able to release herself from this funk. All she had to do was find him. That would be easy enough.

Right?

•

Turned out that knocking on her neighbors doors' on the weekend of a big midterm—yet another pro to being a visual arts major and not something deathly boring like English or math—was not something her neighbors were particularly into. Most were engaged in their study groups, wearing pajamas that were so dirty they looked like they could stand up by themselves, and sharing flash cards or quizzing each other. Things Billie would do with her fellow business majors. The types that, with no hesitation or provocation, would happily "explain" to Rey why visual arts is a "trash" major and that in "give or take six months after graduation you'll be working for us."

Rey couldn't handle business major ego. They truly believed they were the greatest thing to grace the Earth since...since...since Selena. And, bitch, nobody could touch Selena, Rey's idol, the reason she was following her passion. Even as it took her across an ocean to a country where she was alone.

Snatching the canvas from the easel, she threw the still wet work against the wall. The tear ducts were all wrong. The eyelashes? Even more so. Things that had worked before were suddenly no longer working and Rey didn't know what to do.

Her support system was an ocean away. They were busy with their lives 3,516 miles away from her. She promised them she was going to create a life from scratch in England. That they didn't have to worry about her because she was outgoing, friendly, and brave.

It was easy to say those things with the comfort of your family surrounding you, encouraging you, urging you to follow your dreams so they could live through you.

Didn't you know Titi Milta always wanted to live in England? She’s too old to do so herself, but she would love a postcard or two. Maybe even a letter! She would love a letter. Send Titi letters, Reysita.

Your Abuela Mirella, your namesake, loved to draw. She drew whenever she had a free moment between raising seven kids in a shack in the mountains of Puerto Rico and taking care of your Abuelo Josue when he deigned to show his face after running off with another woman in town until she kicked him out, learning what Abuela Mirella already knew: he was a piece of shit. But he was a piece of shit with a pension, and her children wouldn't starve just because she fell out of love with her husband. Drawing was the only thing that Abuela truly enjoyed doing. Estas cargando un gran legado, Reysita. Do it because Abuela couldn't.

But, perhaps what hurt Rey the most, were the reasons why her own Mami encouraged her.

No quiero que termines como yo, mis ojitos de oro. I want you to be someone. I want you to achieve more than I did. Be more than the girl who became pregnant at seventeen after a five minute, unremarkable, hook up in the back of a car with the captain of the baseball team. The girl who was forced to marry that boy because of the pregnancy. You know all the shit I go through at work, Rey. I don't want that for you. If you want to study in some other country, if that's what will make you happy, I promise I will make it happen.

And Mami never broke her promises.

Rey slumped to the floor in front of the easel. But what if that was too much pressure? What if she didn't want to write letters or draw because it was some legacy passed down from her favorite Abuela or do better because her Mami didn't want her to hate her life?

Scrubbing her face, Rey groaned and plopped on her side in the fetal position. She'd been in university for three years. For three years she'd been keeping up pretenses with her family.

Yes, Titi Milta, I have enough to eat.

Yes, Papi, I'll call you if I need anything.

No, Tio Padrino, you don't need to take time from your busy schedule to visit. Save the money for my prima Adriana's quinceañera. She had big hopes and you'd need that money to fulfill them.

Yes, Mami, I'm happy.

When would Rey do something for herself? Because it made her happy, not because her family expected her to do it so they could live through stories she told during Christmastime.

Pushing herself up with one shaky hand, Rey wiped her brow where beads of sweat had accumulated during her anxiety attack. She was breathing hard and unsure of what to do next. On any other day, she would call Mami. No matter that it was the middle of the night and Mami had closed the store the day before and it was her first day off in two weeks. Rey knew that Mami would answer.

And that's why she didn't call.

She scrambled up instead and retrieved the thrown canvas. Setting it back up on the easel, Rey tilted her head and squinted at the lonely eye. Closing her own, she conjured up Harry's face in her mind and smiled as she picked up a piece of kohl. With eyes closed, she drew what she saw behind them.

When she opened them thirty minutes later, she smiled. She'd actually created something she wouldn't be ashamed to display.

A black and white portrait of Harry, as seen through Rey's perspective.

On the canvas he was all bright, blinding smile and enchanting eyes that, somehow, you knew were heart-stoppingly green in person.

•

The next time she saw Harry it was in her beloved art supply store. The one on the outskirts of campus, where first years and students taking art classes for elective credits rarely ventured, that Rey had discovered her third week on campus when she got lost trying to find her psychology class.

(A required class, otherwise Rey would not be caught dead in a class where you might be made to take a test on a scantron sheet.)

Harry was standing in between the marker and paint aisles as if he couldn't decide which medium to use. A man after Rey's own heart. She'd convinced herself to stop looking for him because, as Mami always said, when you stop looking for something that's when it shows up.

Except.

Except she ducked into the canvas aisle to avoid him. Instead of facing the object of her daydreams, and one really weird dream about talking tootsie rolls, she ran away. The canvasses blurred together in front of her eyes as she took deep breaths. Closing her eyes tight, she breathed through her mouth as she hoped that Harry wouldn't walk down her aisle.

After she heard the ding of the front door three times, she decided it was safe to move to another aisle. Her walk was bouncy, her ponytail swung behind her, as she repeated her mission in her head: paint, and lots of it, in shades of green and peach.

•

Another day, another failed canvas.

This one, at least, had somewhat resembled Harry. It was the coloring that was all wrong. He'd come out looking like a vampire and that just would not do. Where were his rosy cheeks and matching lips? The minty green of his eyes? His skin bronzed from his holiday to the south of Spain (thanks, Billie, for that info)? It was all missing and those were the details that brought a piece, and a person, to life.

Instead of throwing the canvas across the room like she'd wanted, she turned on her reggaeton spotify playlist. Songs that she'd grown up listening to, songs that she remembered Papi rapping along to while they waited for the light to change, songs that Mami had taught her to dance to. The raunchy, not safe for work songs of her childhood that spoke casually and explicitly about sex, drugs, and other illicit things with women moaning in the background all while keeping up a perfect rhyme.

Rey had always wondered if those women were paid well.

The songs, with their strong bass beats, boomed from the speakers attached to Rey's laptop as she stood and began to dance along to the music. It began with her hips. She'd learned at a young age—some would say too young—how to mimic the beat of a song in the swing of her hips. The song began slow, giving Rey a chance to get into the rhythm, before dropping the beat thirty seconds into the song. She shook her hips and tilted her head back, hair dangling past her mid back, with a grin on her face.

When was the last time she'd felt that carefree?

Murmuring the lyrics under her breath, it was all too loud for her to hear the front door open or Billie announcing herself and her guest. It wasn't until a few minutes later, near the end of the song, when Rey turned around and opened her eyes that she realized she had an audience.

And not just any audience. The eyes she'd been trying to perfect for a month, the eyes that were doodled on every scrap of paper and most of the canvasses lining the perimeter of the room, were suddenly right in front of her. There, in her living room, stood her Harry. The man that she swore she would never see again after the failed encounter at the art supply store.

Rey cleared her throat and simultaneously pulled her grey tank top up and the hem of her soft, blue, sleep shorts down. Her cheeks burned as if she'd accidentally fallen asleep on the beach. Billie had one hand over her mouth, like she was trying her hardest not to laugh, while Harry was looking down at his feet. His cheeks matched Rey's.

She scrambled over to her laptop to turn off the music. Without it, the silence echoed in the quiet room until Harry cleared his throat.

"Nice to see you again," He smiled and scratched the back of his neck.

Rocking on the balls of her feet, Rey bit her lips and nodded. Billie looked between the two with furrowed brows.

"I'm missing something," She said. "Why are y'all being weird?"

You could always count on good, old, Southern Billie to be as blunt as possible in any and every situation. If you wanted someone to be subtle, you didn't want Billie. Nothing about the girl was subtle. Not the corkscrew curls in her afro, not her neon colored clothes, and especially not her personality. Billie was trying to keep her 4.0 gpa. She didn't have time to beat around the bush. Rey closed her eyes tight and squeezed the bridge of her nose. Harry laughed. Rey wished she could bottle up the deep hum that was his laugh so she could open it and use it whenever she needed inspiration.

Billie looked from Harry to Rey before shaking her head and walking into the kitchen. When she walked back in, with a glass of water and bag of chips in hand, Rey and Harry were still looking at each other awkwardly. Billie set her snack down on the battered coffee table before clapping her hands together.

"Ready to study finance?"

Harry's eyes dimmed as he nodded and sat beside Billie on the couch. Rey deflated. Finance? So he was a business major?

"I'm done for the day so take your time," Rey smiled and sneakily grabbed at the canvas on the easel. As if it wasn't already awkward, Harry didn't need to spend however long while he studied with his own face staring at him.

"It's only noon," Billie squinted her blue eyes at Rey. "Didn't you say you had a huge project due soon?"

Rey's eyes widened and she almost dropped the canvas in her hand. Shit. The massive, half-of-her-overall-grade project for her photography class that she'd forgotten about was due in two days. She somehow needed to find a subject for her portraits, take pictures, and edit them all in two days.

Slumping down into the bean bag chair on the opposite side of the room, Rey hugged the canvas to her chest. She could feel the wet paint sticking to the front of her already paint splattered pink tee shirt. When she looked up, Billie was looking at her with something nearing pity in her eyes. She knew how much this meant to Rey. Billie was also the first in her family to go to university. She knew, better than anyone, the pressure that Rey was under.

Billie set her notebook on the coffee table and scooted to the edge of the couch. Harry was looking at Rey with a small smile on his face. As if he didn't notice that, at that moment, Rey was going through all the reasons why she would fail out that semester.

"Harry's test isn't for another week. Do you mind if I help Rey with her crisis today instead?" Billie turned slightly towards Harry with a hesitant look on her face.

Harry shook his head. "Let's help Rey. Finance can wait."

Rey perked up at the sound of her name passing his lips. The canvas slipped from her arms as they loosened and slipped to the floor face up. Billie looked down and her eyes widened. Launching herself from the couch, she snatched the canvas from the floor and leaned it against the wall, facing inwards so that Harry wouldn't see. A true friend.

"Ok, so what do you need help with?” He asked.Rey cleared her throat. “I need a model and at least twenty good, useable portraits.”

"Harry can you model? My hair's not done." Billie said with a straight face. Her hair was, in fact, done and looking amazing that morning but nobody would dare argue with Billie. She was a future business lawyer. She had the whole 'I'm-Lying-But-I-Dare-You-To-Say-Otherwise' face down. It was better to stay on Billie's good side.

Without hesitation, Harry agreed. Rey grinned and ran into her room to change into a pair of light wash skinny jeans, a white tank top, and pink cropped bomber jacket. After running a brush through her hair, she grabbed the camera bag from it's place on the floor next to her nightstand and walked out the room.

•

They spent the majority of the afternoon walking from one side of campus to the other trying to find the perfect lighting. Billie kept checking the time on her watch and on her phone, as if the time would be radically different from one medium to the other. Rey was kneeling a few feet away from Harry, camera pointed upwards, as he looked up at a tree stoically when Billie cleared her throat.

"This has been super fun," Billie snorted. "But I have marketing in like twenty minutes. Toodles!"

Harry moved from the position he was in to stretch his neck. Rey bit her lip and looked back through the pictures they’d taken. She needed to submit twenty of her best photos. She’d taken nearly one hundred, so she was sure that she had enough. But she didn’t want the afternoon to end. Billie felt more like a babysitter than a friend that afternoon, in the way that she’d rushed Rey and gave her “pep talks” (which were just Billie reminding Rey that she had no time to be “lollygagging around”). Having some time alone with Harry was exactly what Rey needed.

“Have fun in class!” Rey called as Billie walked off. Turning to face Harry, she bit her lip. “Do you think you could spare another hour?”

He grinned and she felt her world spin. That feeling you get in your stomach when there’s turbulence on an airplane? That’s how Rey felt whenever Harry smiled. It was unsafe but she loved it.

His eyes were especially bright that day. Maybe it was the sun that seemed to come out just for Rey or maybe he was happier that day or maybe…maybe that’s what he looked like and she just didn’t remember. It was plausible. She barely remembered what he looked like that day in the stairwell when they met. She liked to think he just walked around with bright eyes and smile every day. She liked to think of him as happy.

“I’m all yours, Rey,”

If only.

•

By the time the pair finished, it was dark. The streets were full of students getting out of night classes, going to and from dinner, and enjoying the mild temperatures. In a few weeks it would be cold and nobody, not even Rey, would want to lay outside. It was a shame, though, because campus looked beautiful in the winter.

Rey held onto the strap of her camera bag tightly as the crowd jostled her. Harry placed his hands on Rey’s shoulders. She could feel the goosebumps erupt on her arms beneath her jacket. Swallowing hard, she looked up to find him already looking at her with a smirk on his face. He winked and looked forward, guiding her through the crowd so that nobody else would try to take her shoulder with them.

“You don’t have to walk me home,” Rey said when they walked past the crowd. “I’m sure you’ve got other things to do.”

“I really don’t,” He laughed and shook his head as he fell into step beside Rey. He looked down at her and the wide smile on his face caused his dimples to form. She stuffed her free hand in her pocket to keep from reaching up and poking the one closest to her. “Besides, I had fun today.”

She smiled and nodded. “Thanks again for helping. Not sure what I would’ve done if you hadn’t been there.”

“You would’ve had to do a series of selfies or rope Billie into agreeing to model,”

They laughed at just how absurd those suggestions were. Billie? Model? She would never. Rey was certain of that. Shit, she’d asked her many, many times over the past three years and the answer had always been an overwhelming ’NO.’ Eventually Rey stopped asking. She valued her friendship with Billie more than the pictures she knew she would be able to get. When Billie’s afro hit the light? Perfection.

But, Harry had been a good alternative.

Rey stuck her key into the door as Harry waited behind her. She opened the door, took a step inside, and turned to smile at Harry.

“Thanks, again, for today.”

“No problem,” He shrugged. “Anytime you need a model, let me know. I loved it.”

Rey’s eyes sparkled in the low light as she grinned. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

“Is there any way I can see the finished product?”

“Of course! Here,” Rey handed him her cell phone after unlocking it. “Put your number in and I’ll text you when I finish editing so you can see them.”

“Perfect,” He tapped the screen quickly before calling himself. He handed the phone back. “Now I can send you my horrible iPhone pictures.”

Rey laughed. “I can’t wait to see them.”

“You say that now,” He laughed before backing up. “See you tomorrow.”

“See ya,” Rey waved as she closed the door and walked up to her apartment where Billie would, no doubt, be waiting for her in the living room to continue their latest binge watch.

•

No, that wasn’t right. The lighting was all off. The layer made Harry’s skin glow but darkened his eyes. Rey rubbed her eyes and deleted the layer. She’d been working on the pictures since that morning—forgoing her usual morning under the tree to get a head start on her project—and it was now nearing ten at night and she was still at it. At least she could see the finish line, now, as she worked on the last picture. The rest were stacked neatly in a folder, printed and ready to go. It was just this last one, Rey’s favorite, that was giving her trouble.

Her phone buzzed on the table in the computer lab. Without looking, she knew it was Harry. He’d been texting her all day beginning with a picture of his yogurt, blueberry, and granola smoothie bowl that morning. Rey still couldn’t figure out why they called it a smoothie if it was really just a parfait, right? She’d sent that thought to Harry, who’d apparently enjoyed a nice laugh, according to all the cry-laughing emoji’s he’d sent back.

Tearing her eyes from the computer screen, she snorted at the message on her phone screen. It was a selfie. Harry’s chin was resting on his fist, his eyes closed tight, with a pouty frown on his face. The text that accompanied it read, ‘when Rey refuses to let you see her pictures even tho you’re the star.’ She shook her head with a grin on her face before snapping her own selfie—a picture of her and the computer, with a tired look on her face that she didn’t have to try too hard on—and replying with a ‘when Rey is a perfectionist and spends all day sitting in a computer chair.’

Barely two seconds passed before her phone buzzed. Harry’s face—courtesy of one of the selfies he’d sent that morning, with his eyes crossed and a smile on his lips—showed up on her screen. She swiped to answer and held the phone between her ear and her shoulder.

“Are you in the lab still?” His voice was strained like he was walking up a hill and couldn’t catch his breath.

“Yeah…”

“Peachy. Byee.” He hung up, leaving Rey staring at her phone screen with an incredulous look on her face. Shaking her head, she placed her phone back on the table before leaning back in her chair to look at the portrait on the screen. Harry was laying in the grass beneath Rey’s favorite tree. His eyes were closed and he had a huge smile on his face, all teeth, that showed off his dimples to full effect. His skin was golden and glowing, his hair windswept, and his clothes perfect for the occasion. You’d be hard pressed to find an occasion on campus where black skinny jeans and a white tee shirt were unacceptable.

Plus, if you looked close enough, you could see Harry’s nipples straining against the threadbare fabric of his shirt. Those were the details that Rey lived for.

Exactly twenty minutes later, as Rey added a layer that accentuated the pink of Harry’s lips, the door swung open hitting the wall behind it and making Rey jump from her seat. Hand on her heart, she turned with a pencil in hand, held in a defensive position as if she was really about to stab someone with it. Rey wasn’t about that life. Unlike Mami, who had once pressed a knife against a stalkers’ throat when he tried to follow her home from work one night. Rey wished she was that badass.

“I come baring food.” Harry grinned and lifted a white plastic bag as if he hadn’t scared Rey half to death.

“Knock next time, bud,” Rey laughed and stood to stretch.

“But then I would’ve missed that cute jump thing you did,” He winked and set the food on an empty table before grabbing Rey by the hand and walking her over. He sat her in one of the chairs before pushing it in towards the table and sitting in the seat across from her. “I made a little something.”

“You didn’t have to do this,” Rey said. Her mouth watered as Harry brought two Tupperware bins from the bag. One was filled with white rice and the other with homemade sesame chicken and broccoli. Rey’s stomach rumbled.

“Have you eaten?”

Harry took two plates and two forks from the bag and placed one of each in front of Rey. She shook her head, hoping he wouldn’t notice, but he crossed his arms and raised a brow.

“Really.” He blinked, unamused. “How can you art at the highest level without eating?”

Rey laughed. “You can’t. That’s why I’ve been working on this one picture for almost four hours.”

She nodded her head towards the computer screen and Harry cut his eyes towards the screen for a moment before giving it a second glance. His mouth opened, jaw dropping slightly, before looking at Rey with raised eyebrows.

“That’s amazing.”

She scrunched her nose. “You think so? I can’t get the eyes right.”

“No, it’s perfect,” He said, breathless. “I don’t think I’ve ever looked that good in real life.”

“You looked that good yesterday,” Rey giggled. “How else would I have gotten the picture?”

He joined in her laughter. The melodic sound was sweeter than any other Rey had ever heard. If she were only allowed to listen to one sound for the rest of her life, she would choose his laugh. Every time.

“You could have drawn it,” He winked and she knew that he knew. That he’d seen the canvas the day before, somehow, before she and Billie had gotten a chance to hide it.

Rey looked away and cringed. “About that…”

“It’s flattering,” He shrugged one shoulder. “Draw me like one of your French girls and all that.”

She couldn’t keep her laugh from bubbling out. She was glad that she hadn’t taken that moment to sip from the bottle of water that he’d brought her. Could you imagine? Accidentally spitting water on Harry because he knew that she had at least one canvas with his face drawn on it. That would have been the most embarrassing moment of her life. And she lived through her parents chaperoning senior prom.

“Best movie reference ever.” She said through laughter.

“I aim to please,” He winked before tucking into his portion of rice and chicken. They ate in silence for a while, trading glances when the other thought they weren’t looking, and blushing whenever their eyes met. Rey had a permanent smile on her face. By the time they finished eating, she was itching to get back to work on the last portrait. "Can I stay until you finish or do you want me to go so you can focus?"

"No, stay! I'm almost done," She pointed at the bulging folder with the stack of other pictures. "You can look at the other pictures while I finish if you want."

Harry sat in the chair next to Rey and snatched the folder from the desk before leaning back and opening the folder. As she put a few finishing touches on the last picture—which, honestly, looked better than it had before she ate—Harry carefully looked through the fragile prints. Every so often he'd stop and stare at one or gasp when he shuffled to the next one. It made Rey's heart burst.

She clicked print and leaned back in her chair. Exhaling, she turned her head to smile at Harry. He was looking at her incredulously.

"This is amazing," He lifted the folder in the air, careful not to bend the pictures. "You're so good at this."

"Thank you," Rey said softly. She looked away and debated whether she should say what she wanted to or keep it to herself. Before she could overthink it, she looked back at Harry. "This isn't even my preferred medium. I'm more of a canvas and paint kinda gal."

"I'd like to see you work your magic with a paintbrush,"

Rey blushed. "If you're lucky."

"Oh, I hope to be very lucky," He murmured. Leaning into Rey, he smirked as his eyes shifted between her eyes and lips. She licked her lips and all of his attention focused there. "Can I kiss you?"

"Yes," Rey breathed shakily as Harry leaned closer and closer until their lips barely touched. His were soft, unlike other boys' lips she'd kissed during her time in university, and she was glad for it. Nothing was worse than kissing chapped lips.

He grazed her bottom lip with his teeth and she leaned into him. The feel of his lips on hers was unlike any other. There was a deeper connection there, something bubbling just under the surface, that Rey was eager to discover. She placed her hands on his shoulders and scooted as close as the chair allowed.

Harry sensed that she wanted to be closer and scooped her up into his lap. She maneuvered her legs to straddle his lap as he placed his hands on either side of her face. The kiss had gone from innocent, soft, unsure to rough, primal, passionate. Hands roamed from cheeks to waist to hips to the curves of their backs. Harry held Rey's ass in one hand and her neck in the other. Rey moved closer as if there were any empty space between them.

The only sound in the room were their loud, labored breathing. Harry's lips moved down Rey's jaw to her neck. She squealed when he licked just beneath her ear. She was ticklish.

The doorknob jiggled but the couple couldn't hear it through the haze of lust. Someone cleared their throat and knocked on the door loudly until Harry leaned back from Rey. There was a student worker in the doorway. He didn't look as if he'd just walked in on two people making out.

"Lab's closing," The student worker said in a bored tone before closing the door behind them.

Rey placed her forehead on Harry's as they laughed before gathering up their things and heading home.

•

Rey and Harry walk down the street hand-in-hand as the sun set behind the buildings between them and Harry’s apartment. A month had passed since their first pseudo-date in the computer lab and they’d been inseparable ever since. Sleepovers at each others’ apartments, making out all night, skipping classes to lay tangled in bed talking about everything under the sun. Billie gave them a lecture about responsibility whenever she caught them laying in a makeshift tent in the living room watching movies and sharing sweet, sugary, Reeses’ flavored kisses.

“Billie has people over this weekend,” She murmured.

“Say no more,” He pressed a kiss to her temple as they cut through an alley towards Harry’s apartment. One that he didn’t have to share with any roommates, thanks to his very rich parents. That was the one topic that Rey and Harry hadn’t touched on: her family. She knew that, as soon as he found out that she was struggling, he would try to help her. He would start leaving money around her room or in her backpack or things like that and Rey wasn’t the type of person to accept charity easily. She didn’t want to feel like someone was pitying her.

Especially not if that someone was Harry. He was her boyfriend, not her sugar daddy.

His apartment was bigger than the one she shared with Billie. It was better for creating pillow forts, better for making dinner, and better for painting thanks to the large bay windows in the living room. The appliances were all stainless steel, the cabinets were dark (real) wood, and the countertops were marble. The bathroom matched the kitchen. It also had a rain showered and a bidet, which reminded Rey of her Tia Madrina Norma’s house back in Puerto Rico. The bedroom looked like every minimalistic bedroom picture online. White sheets, white duvet, one picture above the bed (Rey would change that real quick), a leafy, green plant towering in the corner, two silver nightstands, and a matching desk. The warmest room was the living room. A grey couch, dark blue pillows, cream throw blanket, dark wood coffee table sitting atop a dark blue shag carpet, the same silver nightstands from Harry’s room acted as side tables in the living room. Plus, there was a giant tv/video game/sound system on one wall.

Basically it was Rey’s dream apartment, minus the lack of art.

“Pick a movie,” Harry called as he walked into the kitchen.

Rey unzipped her boots and placed them by the front door before taking off her leather jacket and hanging it up on a hook next to the door. Harry’s apartment looked like a Real Adult’s house and it made Rey laugh whenever she thought about it. The first time he brought her over he’d told her that his mom decorated it. It showed. Tucking back into the couch, she tucked the throw blanket around her lap and turned Netflix on.

Their tastes in movies and tv were similar so Rey felt no hesitance in searching for a Nicholas Sparks movie. By the time Harry plopped next to Rey she had the movie on the tv ready for her to press play. He placed a bowl of popcorn in her lap and ripped open a bag of M&M’s before tossing them in with the popcorn.

They’d gone on their fourth date earlier that night. He bought tickets for a local theater performance and then they’d had dinner at a fancy Italian restaurant. All of it felt more like two kids playing house than anything else. But maybe that’s what life was. Everyone just going through, pretending like they knew what they were doing, when in reality nobody knew what was next. What Rey wouldn’t give for a roadmap.

Rey blinked to focus her eyes back on the movie. Twenty minutes had passed, somehow, as she’d thought about the state of her life. Harry placed an arm around her shoulders and she leaned into his body. It was strong next to her own and she suddenly felt grounded. More alive than she’d felt in months, since her last visit home.

He turned his head suddenly and caught her staring. A cute blush colored his cheeks as he smiled sweetly. She kneeled on the couch and placed a hand behind his head. With the barest amount of pressure from her fingers, he leaned forward and captured her lips with his. Rey leaned back on the couch slowly all the while making sure their lips were connected. He licked her bottom lip and she opened her mouth, her tongue stroking his.

She pressed down on his ass and he laid down on her with most of his weight being supported by one of his arms holding onto the side of the couch. The feel of his hard dick against her thigh made her bite his bottom lip. He grunted against her lips and trailed his other hand over her stomach. That’s when she broke the kiss. Not because she wanted to, but because she was ticklish and he touched one of her weak points.

Harry’s eyes were molten when she looked back up at him. They were darker than she’d ever seen them; nearing the color of the ocean on a stormy day. He flexed his hand and wrapped it around her hip before dragging her body against his. She ground her hips up against his and wrapped her arms around his neck. She felt like she was sixteen again dry humping with her crush in a dark corner of the gym during the Homecoming dance.

“Is this okay?” He murmured against her lips. His hands were on the buttons of her blouse. Rey nodded scared to speak just in case a moan would escape. God. All they were doing was dry humping and she was already gone.

His long fingers grazed her skin as he slowly unbuttoned her shirt. She squirmed beneath him wishing he would just hurry up and take her clothes off. There was no need to take three minutes to take someone’s shirt off like, no.

As soon as her shirt was unbuttoned, she sat up and reached her hands underneath Harry’s white tee-shirt to whip it up over his body and toss to the side. Biting her lip, she grazed her fingers down his torso. Leaning closer, she reached her tongue out to lick the planes of his stomach. He shuddered and unbuttoned his jeans so fast. While he stood to remove them, Rey did the same. Within moments they were tangled on the couch again hands and lips roaming.

“Oh,” She groaned, feeling him lick his way from her neck up to her ear. She gripped onto his side before pushing him away. “Condom.”

Without so much as a reply, Harry hopped off the couch and ran back into his room. When he walked back into the living room, in all his naked splendor, he had a fist full of condoms and a cocky smile on his face.

“Are we doing a sex marathon?” Rey nodded at his hand and laughed.

“That’s up to you,” He winked, opened one of the packages, and rolled the condom over his hard dick. Rey’s mouth watered but there would be time for blowjobs later.

Harry laid on top of Rey and they continued their make out session. Before long, it was all biting and licking and touching. When he placed his fingers against her clit for the first time, Rey gasped. She’d been so distracted by his tongue licking around her nipples that she hadn’t thought to pay attention to what his hands were doing.

Reaching out to return the favor, Rey pumped his dick in her hand and felt as his body shuddered. He reached down and moved her hand away from his dick to position it in front of her entrance. Neither of them could wait any longer.

The first feeling of his dick against her pussy was like nothing she’d ever felt. With her past boyfriends, sex had just been something for their benefit. With Harry, he already had her careening towards orgasm and they’d barely gotten started. He held onto her hips as he slid slowly inside her. Rey’s head tipped back as Harry’s dick filled her up perfectly.

It was when he licked his fingers and rubbed them against her clit that she lost it. Completely. Lost. It. She moaned without a care or thought to Harry’s neighbors—a lovely older lady next door and a family of four upstairs. The only thing Rey cared about was the way his fingers felt against her skin.

He pulled out slightly before pushing back in a little rougher. With each thrust he began going faster and faster. It drove Rey wild. She pulled on his neck because she needed to feel his lips on hers. The combination of the kisses, his fingers on her clit, and his dick inside her took her over the edge. She screamed out loud before Harry could cover her mouth with his to stifle the noise. Moments later, his head tilted back and he grunted as he came.

“Let me take a nap before round two,” Rey said through a yawn. Harry giggled as Rey pressed her back to his front. He held her close to his body and pressed a kiss to her shoulder. Rey couldn’t believe Harry was still half-hard, poking against the back of her thigh. She tingled between her legs and, without thinking, turned in his arms and stole a kiss. Harry’s hands reached down to her ass and brought her as close as possible to his body. His dick twitched against her pussy as Harry kissed down the column of her neck.

They did, in fact, use all of those condoms that night.

•

If Billie thought Harry and Rey were inseparable before, after that day? Well, they may as well have been conjoined twins. Harry waited outside of Rey’s classes with her favorite coffee. Rey sat outside Harry’s lectures as she completed the homework that didn’t require extensive supplies. And that was on days where they even went to class.

At the moment, Rey was taking advantage of Harry sleeping in her bed to continue her final project for her visual arts class. It was, unsurprisingly, a portrait of Harry. She was barely beginning the work, she’d just finished drawing it on the canvas, but she already knew it would be her favorite of the Harry Series, as the man himself had taken to calling them. Rey smiled. She couldn’t have asked for someone better to enter her life. He understood her completely and encouraged her. It’s what she needed.

She sat with a canvas atop a tarp on the floor. After opening the paints, she took her time mixing the greens to the perfect color. She knew that green by heart, now. She decided to start with the base color of the eyes and work her way out.

By the time Harry woke, she’d been working for nearly thirty minutes. The base of his face was complete but she’d stopped since she couldn’t decide if she wanted him to be clothed or naked. Should she share the intimate knowledge she had of his tattoos with the world (ok, it was just her class but) or should she keep it to herself? He yawned drawing her from her thoughts.

“That’s one good looking dude.” He laughed.

Rey joined in on his laughter before looking from the canvas to Harry.

"Wanna help?" She smirked as she dragged her eyes over the exposed skin of his torso that peeked out from under the thin blanket on her bed. Just knowing that he was naked underneath made her mouth water. Knowing how perfectly her lips fit around his dick…the thought seemed to go straight from her mind to between her legs.

He stood, in all his naked glory, and his dick ended up nearly in Rey’s face. Biting her lip, she sat up on her knees and licked up the underside.

“Fuck,” The word was ripped from his throat as he almost fell backwards onto the mattress. She pressed a hand to his thigh, squeezing it to feel the muscle beneath, and sucked the tip of his dick before sitting back on her feet. He looked down, dazed, before leaning the canvas against the wall. When he came back, he grabbed Rey’s hand and led her to lay on the tarp. The leftover paint was cold against her skin but she didn’t care.

All she knew was she needed him, now.

•

When Rey woke that cold, foggy morning in November it was to Harry sliding a finger up and down her spine. Goosebumps erupted on her arms as she registered the feeling. The clock read eleven thirty nine am. She’d missed an art history lecture and Harry missed a finance lecture. But both knew the powerpoint information was already on the class’ website. She stretched and nuzzled towards Harry’s shoulder. The freezing tip of her nose pressed against the warm skin of Harry’s shoulder made him shiver.

“Morning, beautiful,” Harry whispered. He pressed a kiss to the top of Rey’s head. She wondered how she’d gotten so lucky. Everything about the past few months since they started dating felt like a dream. With Harry by her side Rey no longer struggled to paint. In fact, she was knocking out between three and five large canvas paintings a week, depending on how busy she and Harry were in their extracurricular activities.

“Morning,” She said. Rey lifted her head to press a kiss to Harry’s chin. He ducked his head down to graze her lips with his. Before long Rey was straddling his hips with her hands in his hair. He brushed his lips across her cheek, on her jaw, and down her neck making her giggle. The sound disappeared as soon as he pressed an open mouthed kiss to the spot directly below her ear. She leaned her head back in pleasure as he sucked on her neck. He enjoyed giving hickeys and she enjoyed receiving them.

A moan burst from her throat as one of Harry’s hands snuck back to grip her ass while he nibbled on her ear. That was Rey’s new routine. Wake up beside Harry, have sex, and then paint. Sometimes she’d even make it to her afternoon classes. She placed her hands on the back of his neck and tangled her fingers in his hair. It was silky and she couldn’t get enough of running her hands through it.

Harry set a foot on the bed and rolled so that he was on top of Rey. She bit her lip and looked at him with a smirk. Before she could register what was going on, he was pressing kisses down her body. Her breath left her body in an abnormal rhythm as she arched her back and moaned. Harry got to her thighs and paused. She leaned up on her elbows after registering the loss of contact.

He was looking at her pussy like it was the last morsel of food on Earth and he was starving. Like it held all the answers in the universe. Like it was the only thing keeping Harry afloat. Rey watched as he lowered his head to blow on her clit. The air on her slick skin made her shiver with anticipation. He pressed a hand to her lower stomach, knowing that she was more than just a little ticklish, before lowering his mouth to press a kiss just above where she wanted it most.

A whine sounded from Rey’s throat and Harry chuckled. His laugh sounded rough, gravelly, and it only made her want him more. She huffed and crossed her arms over her chest.

“You’re taking too lon…” Rey’s voice trailed off as Harry pressed his mouth to her clit. Her arms gave out a moment later and she plopped back down into the pillows. “Oh, God.”

Harry laughed against her sensitive skin, the vibrations giving another dimension to the sensation, and Rey gasped. She felt like she was wound too tight, like all she needed was for Harry to stick a finger inside her, to fill her so she could come undone.

As if he could read her mind, he thrust one finger, and then a second, inside her as he sucked harder on her clit. Squealing, Rey squirmed beneath the hand that was holding her against the bed. If it wasn’t there she may have twisted and turned until she fell off the bed. The sensation was too strong and she couldn’t handle it for much longer.

“Fuck me,” She whispered. Grabbing Harry’s shoulder, she tried to pull him up her body but he resisted. He pumped his fingers inside her faster and faster and sucked on her clit until she screamed. Her orgasm came as a full body reaction. Toes curled, head thrown back against the pillows, eyes screwed shut, hand covering her mouth to muffle the moans, back arched.

When she opened her eyes again a few moments later, stars floated on the ceiling as she struggled to catch her breath.

Harry’s arrogant smirk was the first thing she saw when she ripped her eyes away from the ceiling. She glared.

“Don’t be like that,” He caressed down her cheek. She could smell herself on his hand. Reaching a hand up, she gripped the back of his neck and brought his face to hers. The kiss was rough. Rey bit Harry’s bottom lip and dragged it with her as she leaned back. He retaliated by licking in her mouth, making sure she could taste herself on his tongue, before sucking on her bottom lip. When she had enough of the teasing, she reached back and handed him a condom from the nightstand. After quickly rolling it on, he tossed the package somewhere behind him.

They looked at the apex of her thighs, the space Harry kneeled between, his dick just inches from the place they both desperately wanted it to be. Rey licked her lips and reached a hand up to her chest. Tweaking one of her nipples, she moaned to urge Harry on. He placed his hands on her hips and dragged the tip of his dick up and down her folds. The warmth encouraging him to enter.

Tired of the games, Rey placed a hand on Harry’s ass and squeezed. His hips jerked forward unintentionally and Rey gasped as he slowly entered her. So that’s how he wanted to play. He wanted slow, Rey could do slow.

Reaching a hand up to his face, she smiled and pressed a kiss to his temple. Once he was fully sheathed inside her, he laid his head on her shoulder and took a long, shuddering breath before moving his hips again. Slowly, a rhythm slower than they’d ever attempted during sex before, and it hit Rey as she stared into Harry’s beautiful, bright green eyes.

This was love.

When people spoke about making love, this is what they meant. Feeling like you could spend all day, all night—the rest of your life, even—stuck in this embrace. Knowing that the person you were sharing that moment with could be the person you would share the rest of your life with. Realizing that everyone that had come before Harry had just been practice for this. Trial and error that led her to the love of her life.

A tortured gasp wrenched itself from deep in Rey’s throat. Harry leaned forward to press his lips to hers in the softest kiss they’d shared. His breath was erratic against her lips. She ran a hand through his hair, pulling at the shorter pieces at the bottom, and pressed a kiss to his chin. Harry growled and started thrusting faster.

“Yes,” The word passed Rey’s lips without her even realizing it. She grit her teeth and reached a hand out to grip the sheets. Harry hitched one of her legs over his hip to reach deeper within her. The noise Rey made next couldn’t be described. It was a moan, but it was also a scream. It was a growl, but it was also a whine. It was something altogether new that neither had ever heard before.

The sound of skin meeting skin echoed throughout Harry’s apartment.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” Harry chanted as he tried to angle Rey’s hips in the perfect way. He was close. She could see the glint in his eye and feel his dick twitching inside her. She wanted them to come together. A symbolic gesture of their love.

She wasn’t ready, but she would be. Reaching a hand down to her clit, she quickly brought herself to the edge. When Harry noticed what she was doing, he replaced her hand with his. His steady rhythm turned erratic as his hips and hand struggled to continue while he held off his orgasm until he heard her first gasp. Her head shook from side to side as the feeling took over her entire body. It was like a wave crashing. The beginning, as the wave grew tall, was the build up: the tingling, kisses in unexpected places, and soft moans. The wave racing towards the shoreline was the middle: erratic, loud, impatient. And the end, when the wave finally crashed against your feet, was the best part: the back arching, screaming, tingles that gave way to pulsing sensations deep in Rey’s core. It was those sensations that finally brought Harry over the edge, too, as he came with a roar before his elbow gave out and he fell half on Rey’s body, half on the bed.

They stared in each others’ eyes for a long time. Rey debated whether it was the right time to confess her feelings. Should she tell Harry that she loved him after only four months? Was she in love with him? It could have been a heat of the moment feeling. Was it love or did he just give good dick?

But then he smiled and she knew. She loved him.

•

They stayed in bed all day talking. They’d covered favorite superheroes, movies, childhood cartoons, and books before falling into a comfortable silence. Rey had a leg hiked over Harry’s torso while he kept one arm around her back the other on his stomach, lazily running his fingers up and down her arm.

“Tell me about your family,” He whispered.

Rey hid her face in his chest and shook her head. He leaned back to look in her eyes.

“I want to know everything about you,”

She took a moment to consider what to do. She thought about what they’d just shared, the knowledge that she loved him already, and knew that telling him about her baggage was the least she could do. Even if she knew she wouldn’t be able to hide bitterness that came when she spoke about her family.

“My family isn’t…like yours,” Rey sighed and sat up. The blanket slid down her torso exposing her bare breasts. She ran a hand through her hair before turning slightly to face Harry. “We don’t vacation in the south of Spain or buy three hundred dollar jeans or go out for dinner every day. We struggle. We’ve struggled as far as I can remember.”

Harry placed a hand on Rey’s knee but stayed silent. She was glad. For so long she’d ignored the realities of her family and the situation they have been in for decades—centuries, even—and it felt cathartic to just let it all out. To talk to someone who wasn’t family or Billie, who was technically family at this point, because they would just tell Rey that things would get better. Don’t worry, Rey, once you’re a big time artist we’ll be fine. Don’t worry, amor, we’re hard workers and we’ll make it.

But what if they didn’t? What if, despite how hard they worked, it didn’t get better? Nothing was promised. And that whole ‘pick-yourself-up-by-your-bootstraps’ mentality was bullshit. Mami had worked three jobs until getting a full time position when Rey was ten and they were still poor. So fuck your bootstraps.

“My mom works nearly sixty hours a week. She goes two weeks without a day off, sometimes more, just so that I can be here.” Rey took a deep, shuddering breath. Her voice broke and chin wobbled as she fought the tears. “This isn’t just the beginning of the rest of my life. It’s the beginning of the rest of my families’ lives.”

“I can’t imagine the pressure you’re under.”

She sniffled and turned to face him head on, her legs crossed and hands in her lap, she never thought she’d be comfortable sitting naked with someone. But there Harry was. And not only was she comfortable with him, he knew exactly what to say to comfort her. Like he’d been built especially for her.

Looking down at her lap, she smiled. Harry sat up and mimicked her position.

“I wouldn’t trade them for the world, though. Despite the pressure, and the expectations, I wouldn’t be who I am without them.”

He leaned forward, placed a hand behind her neck, and pressed a kiss to her forehead. She closed her eyes and exhaled. With it left all of the tension from her body.

“Tell me more about them. What is your mum like?”

“Mami is a loose cannon. Sometimes she’ll say things that are kind of…off the wall but she’s the most loyal person I know. She’s so friendly, too. She can walk into an elevator and walk out two minutes later with three new friends.” Rey grinned. “She’s my best friend.”

From there, the pair spent hours talking about Rey’s family members. She told Harry about Titi Milta’s glass eye, playing dominos with her Tio Luis, and all about the food that her family came together to make during the holidays. Rey nuzzled Harry’s shoulder while he ran a hand over her hair before laying it on the small of her back.

“You should visit for Christmas,” Rey yawned. “I can get you drunk off coquito and we can watch my cousins light fireworks and…”

Harry looked down at Rey when she didn’t continue speaking only to find that she’d fallen asleep. Silly girl. She was always falling asleep on him. He pressed a long kiss to her temple before looking down at her.

“I love you, Rey,” He whispered.

#1dff #one direction fanfiction #harry styles fanfction #this is like 90% smut but #i love it lmao it was so much fun to write #something something art school au

[writeonharry]

Rival - Painter!Harry AU Part 1

Here it is. Feedback and thoughts would make me so very happy. I loved writing this and I hope you love these characters as I do. Happy reading. Part 2 coming soon. x

the harry I imagine.

You woke to the sun coming through the windows, not the usual blare of your alarm, having forgotten to draw the blinds before you went bed. You had spent the night fighting sleep, trying to finish the painting you had been given as extra credit; not that you needed it. Once your brush hit the canvas it was hard to stop even if you were on the brink of starvation or needed to sleep so bad your head hurt.

Last night went a lot like that; you had eaten lunch earlier in the day and planned on making a healthy dinner. But you never had the chance. Once you had gotten home from classes at three you had prepared to begin painting; which took a bit of time in itself. You painted until the early hours of the morning as crashed when you sat on your bed for a break.

You stretched, arching your back, your hands going above your head. You silenced your alarm before slipping out of your warm sheets and headed towards the painting, which was turned away from you, angled towards the window.

You had been given the task of using colours to trick the mind and to have something hidden amongst the colour. At first glance, your painting just looked like you had closed your eyes and stroked the brush over the canvas. But upon further study, the outline of a woman became evident, her curves accentuated by darker colours.

Although you could see areas you could tweak, you had no choice but to settle considering it was to be handed in today. Giving it one last glance, you got ready for the day.

When you got campus, you felt more eyes burning into you, more than usual. You always attracted attention, being the supposed ‘star student’, the student everyone expected to have their art in the most famous of galleries one day. That’s always been your goal.

You put the stares down to the large canvas tucked under your arm which was covered by a sheet; maybe they were trying to get a glance. With this thought, you continued moving, climbing stairs until you reached the main art classroom.

When you entered the room, you saw two figures standing at a desk at the front of the room, one being your favourite teacher, Mrs. Dean, although you were close enough to call her by her first name, Erin. You didn’t recognize the boy standing taller than her and you didn’t get the time to study him before they both turned to you and tore your eyes away from him.

“Oh, morning, Y/N. I won’t be a minute, dear.” You answered with a smile and subtly watched as they continued to discuss something. You went about uncovering your painting and setting it on an empty easel, using to one as close to the mystery boy as possible.

“So, do I need t’ bring anything to the master class with me?” His question made you look up towards them, Erin’s face reflecting worry. You always did the master classes with her. They were classes for younger kids that happened once a month to teach them basic skills of painters. You hoped he didn’t think he would be taking your place, not over your dead body.

“Um..Erin, I thought I was helping with the master classes from now on.” You had an eyebrow quirked at her and had moved closer, resting a hand on a desk. You kept your gaze on your teacher, but you could feel the boys stare on you. You didn’t let his gaze intimidate you, keeping your head up and voice strong.

“Well, I-I thought that since Harry was just starting here, he could come along and see what it’s all about. Harry’s very talented.” Harry. He had a name. You flicked your eyes to him; he was standing with a small smile, one you didn’t return. You looked him up and down before looking away. “He’ll be joining our class tomorrow; maybe you guys could do something together.”

Ha! So not only has she taken away a job from you for who knows how long, but know she wants you to work with your replacement. Yeah, fat chance. As much as you tried to stop it, you were sure a grimace took over your expression.

“That’d be fun. Your very good.” The answer came from him and when you looked up at him you followed his gaze to your painting which he had a perfect view of. You felt tempted to cover it again, to protect your work from his eyes.

“Thanks.” It was all you could muster, feeling such disdain towards him. Jealously reared its ugly head, no matter how hard you tried to beat it back down. You had always been chosen for these things, it didn’t matter how ‘talented’ other students were. You were always one to keep humble about your talent, but at this moment you wanted to rub in his face that it was your paintings that adorned half the wall space in the classroom.

His smile had dimmed and a flicker of something appeared in his eyes; surprise, embarrassment, anger? You didn’t care enough to dwell on it. He recovered his expression back to a polite smile, but it didn’t reach his eyes this time. You felt bad for a second, but just a second, and then reminders for your hostility came back to you.

Harry turned to Mrs. Dean and held out his hand for her to shake; you took in the rings scattered over both hands and the beginning of a tattoo was revealed as his sleeve rose. When you looked up from their adjoined, he was already looking at you, a look of wonder on his face. You don’t blame him. One minute your cold and, quite frankly, rude and the next your checking out his tattoo’s.

“Thanks for the chat, Erin. T’was nice meeting you, m’excited to join your class. I’ll see you later for that class.” All he gave you was a quick nod and a tight-lipped smile, then he was gone. He just called her Erin. That’s something only you did. Was he trying to piss you off? Because it was working and as much as it annoyed you, you had to admit he was getting under your skin.

“So, let’s see that painting then.” Erin said, a big grin on her face, as if the past ten minutes hadn’t happened.

At lunch, you sat at a bench, alone, watching Harry surrounded by several guys and girls. You stabbed at your food a little harder than necessary, the anger you felt needing a means of escape. He hasn’t even been here a day and already he’s got a herd of followers. Quite pathetic.

It wasn’t long before your friends joined you, apologizing for being late. You were glad you had something to distract you from the boy sitting across the room. You were sure he had made eye contact a few times, but it was hard to tell with the distance.

“Y/N, you heard about the new boy?” It was Willow who spoke, sitting across from you on the bench. You were probably the closest with her out of the group; she wasn’t afraid to push your buttons, like right now for instance, and she could take it when you did it right back.

“Yes, Willow, I have. I had the great pleasure of meeting him as well.” Sarcasm dripped from every word you spoke through clenched teeth. The smug grin that graced her face proved she knew of your resentment towards him and why you felt that way.

“Uh..hey, Y/N, isn’t it?” You had been to absorbed with sketching and listening to the light conversation of your friends that you hadn’t even noticed Harry’s absence from the rowdy group at the table opposite yours.

You looked up at him, quite shocked that he had actually made an effort to talk to you after how cold you were towards him this morning. You saw the turning of your friend’s heads in the corner of your eye and their conversation had trailed off. Great, you have an audience.

“Yeah,” You cleared your throat before continuing. “that’s me. What do you want?” He looked surprised, once again, at your blunt question. You took a brief glance at Willow to see her glaring at you, obviously not approving of you ‘playing hard to get’, as she said. Nope, you just didn’t need distraction’s right now.

“Was just wantin’ to say hello…so, hello.” He offered a weak smile and you guessed your rudeness had put him off saying what he actually intended. You couldn’t find it in yourself to be nice to him, no matter how much you hated how ill-mannered you were being; you usually prided yourself in being kind and humble.

“Why don’t you have a seat, Harry?” Your head snapped to the end of the table were Beth had posed her question; an emotion, an unfamiliar one, had stabbed at something inside of you. How did she know his name?

Your squinted eyes and snarl like expression went fortunately unnoticed by everyone, everyone except Harry of course. When you looked back up at him, waiting for his answer, you were met with a nice set of eyes and a knowing smirk. You flushed and turned your attention back to your sketchbook, pretending to not be bothered with his answer when in reality, your ears were on alert for a response.

“I would, but I’ve got some things to prepare for tomorrow. First day an’ all.” His british accent was heavier than you recalled, or maybe it was the fact you were focusing so hard on his voice. You only looked up once the girls a had bid their farewell and you heard his retreating footsteps.

You may have cast your eyes up to soon, because instead of being met with his back, his eyes were fixed straight on you as he strolled backwards away from your table. You swear the fucker winked at you.

It seemed for the rest of the day you couldn’t get away from Harry. Whether you saw him in passing while you were moving to your next class or people would constantly bring him up as if you had any knowledge on him at all. This misfortune continued right into the next day and into your favourite class when Mrs. Dean thought best to seat Harry next to you.

The classroom had tall desks that seated two with a wide space between each table for room to fit easels and the equipment needed to carry out an art project. Mrs. Dean took it upon herself to re arrange the seating plan to swap the sweet, quiet girl who usually accompanied the seat next to yours, for an intrusive boy who would surely get on your nerves.

“…and I know you’ll get on really well. Don’t make me regret my decision though.” And then Erin retreated to the front of the room. Why was she speaking as if you had asked to be sat together? As if you were in high school begging for a chance to sit next to your friend. More so the complete opposite.

You didn’t so much as glance over at Harry for half the lesson when your once favourite teacher was explaining today’s task. You could feel his gaze burning your cheek every once in a while, it overwhelmed you with a feeling of discomfort.

You were constantly fixing yourself in his presence; flattening your hair, straightening out your clothes, wiping your nose to be sure it was clear. You were too intimidated to cough when you needed to. While he just sat there, stretched over the chair that just fitted his large build.

“You wanna swap? Maybe give each other some advice or summat.” His voice startled you being so absorbed in the task at hand. You almost snorted; advice? From him? Mmm..no thanks.

“Think m’good, thanks.” Then you went back to working, hoping that would be the end of the conversation, but you couldn’t be so lucky. You felt him move his chair closer to yours and felt his warmth as he rested his arms on the table to lean down closer to you.

“M’kay. But I’d really like t’see yeh work one day, if yeh’d be willing to show me it.” What? You’re not sure if he was that unaware that he wasn’t taking the hint, or if he was just ignoring it and winding you up.

Without looking at him you sat up a little and pointed to the various paintings scattered across the room that, if you were close enough, would be seen with your signature. He was silent for a moment; maybe taking in your paintings or surprised you had shut him down again.

You weren’t stupid; it was obvious he was trying to spark some kind of friendship between the two of you. But it simply wouldn’t work out, not with the ill feelings you have towards him and his success.

“I mean like…properly, yeh know? Like, outside of school, maybe.” You stared at him, at the small curve of his smile and stray hairs escaping from his headscarf thingy. When would he give up? You didn’t know how much longer you could resist him, regrettably.

“Um…sure, whatever.” You know you didn’t mean it but you had to get him to shut up before he persuaded you. You turned your full attention back to your work but you couldn’t convince your hand to continue the strokes over the page, all inspiration gone.

You dropped your pencil and sagged in your chair with a sigh. There was no way you would be able to get work done with this boy in the same room, never mind sitting right next to you. You closed your eyes and rubbed your temples, trying to will the creativity out of you.

“Need some help, love? Can help yeh brainstorm.” You head snapped to him. Seriously?

“What I need is you to leave me alone and never call me love again.” The sound of the class getting dismissed saved you from hearing his response. You gathered your things and got the hell out of there.

A couple weeks passed, sitting in uncomfortable silences with Harry in class. The guilt that came with your blunt remarks to him in the past vacated as a heavy weight on your chest. You had only had one civil interaction, if you could call it one at all; your pencil had snapped, a result of pressing too hard on your paper as you analyzed the conversations with Harry in your head. He passed one over, a fancy looking one at that, but didn’t say a word.

You were quite happy for this to continue, frankly you didn’t have the energy to make small talk with him. Nights were spent fighting drooping eyelids and finishing one last painting; but it was never just one more.

But your very persistent art teacher was set on getting you to work together. She had explained numerous time, “…you guys have such unique styles, imagine them together…”. So naturally, it would make sense she disrupted the flow.

“Y/N, Harry.” She waited for your attention at the front of the room before continuing. “I need you both to go down to the store room and grab what’s on this list.” You stared, caught Harry glance at you, but you didn’t make a move.

“Anytime now would be nice.” Her eyes drilled into you, telling you not to argue. What was up with this woman? You quickly pushed yourself up and grabbed the keys and the list of supplies from her. You didn’t give Harry a glance before walking out.

You felt him trailing behind you, the thought that he could check you out without you knowing made you uncomfortable. You picked up speed wanting to back the trip without having to interact much with Harry.

“Hope yeh know where we’re going, I haven’ a clue.” You rolled your eyes, thankful suddenly that he couldn’t see your face. You remained mute because obviously, you knew were you were going. You got sent down here on a regular basis, alone.

“I’ve a question, been on my mind fo’ some time now.” Here we go. You were so close to making it to the supply room with no confrontations but he just had to ruin it.

“What’s that then?” You let out a sigh with your words, maybe he could catch on and keep his mouth closed. He heard his footsteps pick up, jogging slightly so he was next to you. You couldn’t explain how confined you felt when he stood so close, even with the width of the hallway you were in.

“Well, are yeh going for something like the brooding artist type look? Those are the vibes ‘m getting from yeh.” Your steps faltered for a second but you picked them up again quick enough that hopefully he hadn’t noticed.

“No that’s just the mood you put me in, you make me miserable.” You snapped back at him. Who does he think he is?

You got to the store room before he could answer and pushed your way through the door, not bothering to hold it open for him. The room was big and wide, rammed with rows of shelves and boxes. Each department of the school had its own section; music, literature, art among others.

You weaved through the shelves knowing exactly where the art supplies where located, hoping to lose Harry in the process. You grabbed a basket and studied the list before finding the things listed.

You felt Harrys presence as you were bent down to reach for something and quickly straightened back up again, keeping your back to him. You continued finding products with no interference from Harry but of course the last thing you needed before you could get yourself out of there had to be on the highest shelf, out of your reach. You stretched as far as you could to reach the brushes, your t-shirt riding up slightly, but had no luck.

“You must hate me.” You felt his breath close, too close, your hand still reaching up for the brushes. A whiff of his scent hit you as he reached up and grabbed the thing you needed. Asshole. You were quite capable.

You flattened your feet and turned around to see him standing there, his hands busy fiddling with the jar of brushes. You avoided his gaze and watched his hands instead, noticing for the first time the rings that adorned them and the cross tattoo on his left.

“I don’t hate you.” Your voice was hoarse, your mouth had dried at his accusation and you had to clear your throat for the words to be clear. “Don’t particularly like you…but I don’t hate you.”

You meant the last as a joke, well not really because it was true, but you weren’t out to hurt his feelings so you tried to keep it light. However, he had taken it as anything but a laugh, his head snapping up, a sour expression on his face.

“Why? Barely had one conversation with yeh, not one, because every time I try, yeh blow me off. From the second you laid eyes on me, you’ve looked at me as if ‘ve just insulted yeh. Yet ‘ve been nothing but friendly and respectful and patient with yeh.” He listed the three things with his fingers, tucking the brushes under his arm.

“Well, don’t worry. Won’t bother anymore.” With that he turned and stalked out the door, leaving you to carry the rest of the stuff to the classroom. You let out a breath, not realizing you had been holding it the whole time.

You blinked back tears and turned your back to the door in fear he might come back and see you in such a state, but you found that unlikely. You held a finger under both eyes, willing the tears to stay inside, fluffed your hair, took a deep breath, grabbing the basket and followed in Harrys path.

The basket was heavy and with the large easel you were carrying under your arm you couldn’t exactly switch arms. You stopped for a few minutes, dropping the basket and stretching the arm. Before you could reposition it and continue, a hand shot out and grabbed the handle, a hand decorated with the same rings you were admiring five minutes ago.

“I got it, love.” You looked up at him with shock, so much that you weren’t aware when he gently took the easel and continued walking, showing no struggle to balance the two heavy things. When he didn’t hear your following footsteps, he looked back and felt warm at your dazed state.

He did effect you. He wasn’t the only one.

“Yeh coming?” He barely contained his grin when you shook your head as if to snap yourself out of it and stumbled to catch up with him. He had to turn and stay ahead so you didn’t catch his blush.

You stayed a step behind him on the walk back, once again finding your eyes drawn to his hands. You also took the time to admire the tattoos laced up his arms. Where there more underneath his clothes? You wouldn’t mind finding out.

Wait, what? Let’s erase that thought. You most definitely did not want to see under his clothes. Never. Your thoughts were interrupted by his voice, thank god.

 “M’ really sorry, y/n.” You looked up at him with wonder, noticing he had fallen in step with you. “I had no right to talk to yeh like that. Got a bit hot-headed, won’t happen again.”

He held your gaze for a couple seconds before he looked away, but you saw the upturn on the corners of his mouth.

“You don’t have to apologise. M’ sorry too, for how I’ve been treat-” A door swung open ahead and Mrs. Dean stepped out. She lit up when she saw the both of you and rushed over to take the basket from Harry.

“Didn’t half take your time.” She smiled and winked at you before heading back into class. You stood there in shock; was she implying what you thought she was? Harry let out a loud belly laugh and you blushed as you remembered he was still there.

You looked up at him, face still heated and noticed yet another feature; a dimple. You had never noticed it before, probably due to the fact he never smiled in your presence. He caught you staring and suddenly, your walls went back up.

You grabbed the easel from him and didn’t wait for him to say anything before you took off inside the classroom, closing the door behind you.

#harry styles imagines #harry styles #harry styles fanfic #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles one shots #harry styles writing #my writing #mine #one direction #one direction imagines #one direction fanfiction #one direction writing #fanfic #writing #art students #painter!harry au

[im-still-writing-out-of-time]

Dear Theo- Part 6

Part SIX of Dear Theo, my collaborative effort with @drabbles-of-a-cosmonaut. Get your tissues, y’all. You might need them.

Tw: mentions of death

Part One Part Two Part Three Part Four Part Five

Masterlist

Theo loved his new school. There were new memories to make. The administration was sure that Philip was allowed to go with him anywhere. They had all their classes together, and they were never apart. And Theo wouldn’t have it any other way.

As the school year progressed, Theo had told Philip to go make new friends. “I don’t need anyone but you, Theo.” Philip insisted. “Philip, please,” Theodore furrowed his eyebrows in frustration at Philip’s refusal to cooperate with him. “Just do it for me?”

He couldn’t deny that it hurt to be pushing Pip away like this, but he was concerned that his best friend didn’t really have any other friends. Theo was the same way, but he dismissed the case- he and Pip seemed to be polar opposites. Theo was scrawny, quiet, and kept to himself; Philip had a big personality, and it was kind of unnerving that he didn’t hang out with anyone else. Of course, it scared Theo to be letting go of Philip like this, but he knew that his best friend wouldn’t abandon him… right?

Theo watched as Philip mingled with the other boys, often finding himself in the art room. He had taken up drawing as a way to pass his time, and he didn’t mind the practice that he was getting during his time alone.

But it was weird, not having Philip by his side. It was like he was navigating his way through a dream he kept having; everything about his school routine was familiar, but everything just seemed a little off. They still spent a lot of time together outside of school, but Theo didn’t like the gaping hole that it left in his chest. Even more so, Theo felt like he was alone. Sure, he and Philip still hung out, but it just didn’t feel the same. He knew he was being selfish, but he couldn’t help that he missed his best friend.

His face was buried in an easel in the art room. He had found that he had a natural knack for painting, and he loved it. He painted a girl. She was short, with brown eyes and long curly hair. She was smiling. She loved her life.

The door opened and Theo grabbed his drying canvas and ran it to the back room, placing it on his growing stack of paintings already under a desk in the small closet.

“Theo?” Philip’s distinct, familiar voice rang out through the room as he walked in. He seemed slightly out of breath. “There you are. I looked everywhere else and couldn’t find you. Are you okay?” he pushed his curls away from his face, trying to hide any of the worry that might still be visible in his expression with an unusually terse smile. It was slight, but Theo noticed. When he couldn’t find Theo, his mind had reverted back to that day in eighth grade, and he had panicked; the relief that washed over him when he realized Theo was unharmed was indescribable.

“Yeah, I’m okay. Why?”

Philip wrapped his arms around Theo, his chin resting on Theo’s head. “I’ve missed you all week. Those guys? They tried to bring me into their little group, but it never felt right. I couldn’t figure it out until I realized it’s because I didn’t have you. I didn’t have my best friend to have meaningful conversations with. All they wanted to talk about was girls; all I wanted to think about was my best friend.”

Theo felt himself tear up at Pip’s words, hugging him back tightly. “I missed you too, Pip,” He murmured, hiding his face in Philip’s shoulder. “I missed you so much.”

Philip chuckled softly, pulling away from the hug for a moment. “Hey, what’re you crying for?” He asked with a hint of a smile. He cupped Theo’s chin, using his other hand to wipe away the other’s tears.

“Nothing, I just- I’m really… I’m glad you’re back.” Theo looked up at Philip, feeling a blush creeping up his face. It was in brief moments like this, when Philip did something so simple as touch him and speak softly, that Theo wanted nothing more than to kiss him.

He leaned in slightly just as Philip pulled back. “You wanna go play some dodgeball with the guys?”

“Uh, no thanks Pip. I’m good. You go.”

Philip shook his head. “Nope, I’m here to be with my best friend and do what he wants. So what does he want?”

Theo glanced over to where his paintings were. “Um… I dunno, I kinda just want to stay here, actually. It’s fine, you can go ahead, really.” He offered a pathetic smile that didn’t seem to fool Philip.

“Can I draw with you?”

Theo blushed. “Uh yeah. Sure. I’m gonna paint you though. So be warned.”

“Ooh,” Philip exclaimed, bouncing up and down. “Make me really sexy. Like, super jacked, with muscles and abs and everything.”

Theo giggled, grabbing a clean canvas from the cupboard. “How ‘bout I don’t and you can just imagine yourself like that, hmm?”

Philip feigned offense. “How could you, crushing my ego like that?” He sniffled, before grinning and laughing. He found some paper and a pencil, sitting down.

After a few moments of staring at the blank paper, he looked over at Theo. “I dunno what to draw.”

“Draw something you love.”

Philip smiled and looked down at his paper. “Yeah. Yeah I’ll do that.”

Something seemed to click in the art room. As the two sat quietly, each occupied in his own thoughts, it felt like before; they didn’t have to talk, they could just be comfortable in their silence. It was as if nothing had changed; it brought a smile to Philip’s face. He had missed this. Freshman year wasn’t starting out too bad.

Theo walked in his house. He had been in school for two months and he was actually enjoying it. He tossed his book bag in an empty chair and looked around. He walked through different rooms, looking for everyone, anyone. Even his mother was gone.

He pulled the phone off its hook on the wall and called his dad. The phone rang, and Aaron picked up just before the phone sent him to voicemail. “Daddy! Where are you guys?”

“We’re at the hospital buddy. Your mom’s finally leaving us. It’s her time.” His voice was shaking but they all knew this was coming. “Do you want to be here with us?”

Theo broke down. Just because they knew it was coming didn’t make it hurt any less. He sank to the floor. “I want my momma!” He sobbed. “I don’t want her to go daddy. I want my momma.”

“Uncle Alex is going to bring you to the hospital okay? He’ll be there any minute.”

Theo wiped at the tears streaming down his face with his sleeve. “Okay, daddy. I’ll be ready.” He looked out the window and saw a car in the driveway. “He’s here.”

“I’ll see you soon, okay buddy?”

“Okay daddy. See you soon.” He turned off the phone, hanging it back up on the jack. He grabbed a light jacket and walked out the door, jumping into Alexander’s car. It was just Alexander and Theo couldn’t help but feel disappointed.

“Hi Uncle Alex,” he whispered, tears trailing down his cheeks.

“Hey buddy. How’re ya holding up?”

Theo’s bottom lip quivered. “I want my momma.”

Alexander placed his hand on top of Theo’s. His grip felt a lot like Philip’s and Theo found it comforting. “I know buddy. We all do. But she’s not gonna make it this time Theo. The cancer has gone too far this time. She’s in a coma and they’re already revived her once. And that was only because she wanted you to be able to say goodbye to her.”

They pulled into the hospital and Theo stayed in his seat while Alexander jumped out. Alexander looked at this young boy in his car, the little boy that grew up with his son, and saw a young man. He walked around the car and opened Theo’s door, holding him as he cried. “I want my momma back,” he sobbed.

Alexander pulled him into his chest, his hand holding the back of Theo’s head close to him. “I know Theo. I wish there was something we could do to help her.” He helped Theo out of the car and they walked into the hospital, completely bypassing reception. “She’s in this room.” They rounded a corner and Theo saw his dad, bent over the bed, holding his mother’s lifeless hand.

Theo ran in the room and grabbed his mother’s other hand. “Momma, you can’t leave me. There’s so much I want you to know, so much I want to tell you. Please, momma.”

Theo’s pathetic pleas fell on deaf ears. His entire world seemed to have collapsed; he clung to his mother’s hand as he bowed his head, not bothering to try and stop the tears that just kept coming.

“Momma..” He let out a broken whimper, burying his face in the hospital blanket. Alexander looked on from the doorway, face painted with grief. He crossed the room to Aaron, setting a hand on his friend’s shoulder- he had no words, the action being his only way to convey sympathy.

Theo felt his heart seizing up in his chest. He needed to leave, he couldn’t stand it anymore, the room felt suffocating. He rose to his feet, choking back a sob as he bolted from the hospital room, down the winding hallway. He didn’t hear Aaron or Alexander calling after him; all he wanted was to bury himself in Philip’s arms and disappear for a while.

The fall air was bitingly cold on his tear-stained face as he ran outside. He had a vague idea of where he was at, so mindlessly he let his legs take him where he thought he needed to go. He didn’t think, he couldn’t banish the impossible weight bearing down on his shoulders.

He turned a corner, his sneakers pounding against the pavement. His heart felt like it would rip out of his chest but he didn’t slow down until he pushed through the front door of the Hamilton’s house. “Where’s Pip? I need Pip,” he cried to Eliza.

“He’s in his room baby, come here.” She opened her arms and Theo ran into them. “I’m so, so sorry Theo.”

“I want my momma,” Theo whispered against her ear. His growth spurt had brought him to her height and, though it wasn’t overly tall, it was tall for him.

“I know baby.” Her hands pulled him close, and she kissed his cheek. “Philip’s in his room.”

He shook his head. “Just hold me please. I guess I need a mommy more than I need Pip right now.”

“I’ll always be here for you Theo. We all are.”

“Can I tell you something? I haven’t told anyone else, but….”

“You can always tell me anything Theo, you know that.

Theo took a deep breath, suddenly a bit light headed. He hesitated, frowning, trying to find the right words.

“I don’t… I’m not really sure yet, but I’ve felt… different? For a long time now…” He started nervously.

Eliza listened intently, patiently waiting for him to finish.

“I think I’m transgender.” Theo just dropped it, figuring the way to tell her would be better if he just said it. “Like, you know?’ He stumbled a bit over his words.

“Oh, baby,” Eliza said, pulling Theo into another tight hug. “Is that all? I was so worried you were going to tell me that you had done something terrible.” She offered a small smile. Theo looked up at her.

“W-wait, you… like, know what I’m talking about?”

“Well, I don’t know extensively, but I think I understand the concept,” Eliza said, brushing a stray tear from Theo’s face. “Do you want me to call you by another name, or are you not ready yet? It’s okay if you’re not totally comfortable yet,” She smiled. It was obvious that she was a little confused, but the out-pouring of love and acceptance that was coming from her was enough to make up for it.

Theo looked down. “I… I don’t think I’m ready for everyone else to know yet, but I think… I think I want to take my mother’s name.” She whispered, unsure of how to handle the situation now that Eliza knew.

“Theodosia?” Eliza said, her eyes brimming with tears. “You’re such a beautiful young woman,” She cupped Theo’s face, kissing her forehead. “We can go shopping soon, get you some new clothes.”

Theo looked at Eliza, tears in her eyes. “That feels so much better than Theodore.” She threw her arms around Eliza, her head resting on Eliza’s shoulder. “Can you still use just Theo and male pronouns in front of Pip? I’m not ready for him to know yet,” she whispered.

“Of course baby girl. I won’t tell anyone until you’re ready for them to know. I promise,” she said, smiling and holding out her pinky.

Theo laughed, eyes rimmed red from crying, nose all snotty and gross, and wrapped her pinky with Eliza’s. “Thank you.”

“Of course, Theo. I love you.” She kissed Theo’s forehead. “Go on up and bother Philip.”

“I love you too. And… Aunt ‘Liza?”

“What baby?”

“You’ve always been just like another mom to me,” she said, running up the stairs, leaving Eliza in the kitchen, heart singing.

“That’s all I could ever ask for,” Eliza whispered, smiling, before she turned back to finish washing dishes.

Part Seven

#dear theo #dear theodosia #philip hamilton #theo burr #theodore burr #theodosia burr #philip hamilton x theodore burr #philip x theodore #philip x theodosia #philip hamilton x theodosia burr #hamilton #hamilton writer #hamilton writers #hamilton au #tw: death

[chwrpg]

Good goin' stranger!

A NOTE FROM ADMIN R: This acceptance has been waiting for a while, for that I apologize. But welcome to CHW, Aurora !!! Thank you so much for taking on, Sloane/Stella from Desperately Seeking Susan. This application was truly incredible and I’m beyond excited to see you take on this complex character. Thank you so much for this application !!!

OOC NAME/ALIAS, PREFERRED PRONOUNS, AGE & TIMEZONE:

aurora, she/her, 25, pst.

DESIRED CHARACTER:

sloane/stella tran.

HOW ACTIVE WILL YOU BE?

8.

SECONDARY CHOICE:

n/a.

DESCRIBE THE CHARACTER:

Sloane was dealt a shitty hand from the start but she plays the best game she can with the cards she was given. As a girl she dreamed of a loving family and ballet classes and a pony. She got bounced around from place to place instead. She was neglected and taken advantage of until she realized she could finesse her way through life. Sloane can walk into any room and become a shadow leaving with your wallet, car keys, or heart. Her relationships (romantic and otherwise) are fleeting and meaningless — she’s a fantasy. She’ll let you project onto her until it’s time to move on. When her back’s against the wall she’s a user and a liar and a master manipulator. She’s scamming today before today scams her. It’s a lonely existence, but she does what she has to survive. The little girl who dreamed of family still lives inside of her — she doesn’t need anyone and she doesn’t have anyone but she might still want someone to see her — and she’s fighting her way to the surface. Her world has been flipped on its head as of late where she has to face the father that abandoned her while being the daughter he kept. Personality wise. Sloane is attractive, charming, a chameleon, easy to get along with, vengeful, an escapist, she runs from her problems, guarded, transient.

SAMPLE WRITING:

It was an eventful childhood growing up in the foster care system. She was born to an average mother and had never met her father (she heard whispers that he’d skipped town upon hearing the news of her arrival) who was deemed unfit to parent. She wasn’t too sure about that one. The life she had before the system came in waves sometimes though. She was four the day two police officers and a woman with a kind face arrived at her door. The manager of the motel she’d been living in with her mother had reported a small child wandering around the parking lot by herself every night without supervision. He didn’t know the last time he’d seen her mother and neither did she. “Hello, Sloane.” The woman with the kind face and slicked back bun kneeled for her. She wore brown leather shoes and a navy blue skirt and spoke to Sloane in a calm voice. “I’m Sheila. I see you like to draw.” The social worker made her comfortable while the investigation happened. The motel room was all but trashed and her mom was nowhere to be found. She was given twenty minutes to pack up her entire life — it seemed cruel. She didn’t have many toys, or much of anything, really, but she collected what she did have and the picture of her father. Sloane’s mother showed up to court once before she stopped coming all together.

Her first foster home had locks on all the doors and a grumpy old lady who sat in the front room watching court shows and yelled if the kids spoke above a whisper. Sloane sat by the door the way dogs waited, hoping and wishing someone would rescue her, the kind faced woman, or her mom (who had never been much of a protector), until she didn’t anymore. After awhile she forgot what her mother look liked. All she could remember was red rimmed eyes and dark hair and emptiness. Breakfast was served at 6 a.m sharp and if you weren’t awake you didn’t get to eat the cold porridge sat out for you. Chores were mandatory, split between the seven children who lived there — Bobby, who was the oldest, a boy from Kansas with shaggy hair and a lisp, was in charge of punishment if they misbehaved — Sloane got punished twice before she learned how to properly wash a dish. They were to be in bed by 6 o’clock and attend church every Sunday. Sloane turned five, and then six, but in her seventh year the old woman died sitting in her chair. She’d never known anyone who died, and she felt wrong for being happy about it.

She was placed with another family soon after, Ted and Nancy Barber, an odd couple with no children and a house big enough for several. A silver lining presented itself when she and one of the girls from her old house were paired together. Margaret, who was a year older, acted as if they were sisters, and Sloane returned the favor by being nice. They shared a bed covered in plastic sheets and walked to school hand in hand, telling each other secrets and playing school girl games. She started to notice that when Margaret got good grades she was rewarded with dessert and new clothes so Sloane begin to do the same. In the summer, Margaret got adopted by a family in Wisconsin with a dog and never wrote like she promised, but Sloane didn’t have time to care, the slot for favorite foster kid opened up and she took it. Nancy was nice enough and kept her neat, but Ted….Ted took to her like picasso to a canvas. He took Sloane on solo fishing trips and made her sit on his lap while he baited the line. He spent his days off buying her things and creating secret hideaways, they shared secrets and laughter. Sloane had never had a father before and took his behavior as law. One night, without Margret to keep her company, Sloane was kept awake by their arguing, it was the worst argument to date. Ted’s shouting was hushed, but Nancy’s was slurred yet somehow clear as day: “I want that little bitch gone!”

Sloane lost count of how many foster homes and group homes she lived in before she was eighteen. The caseworkers changed with the families but somehow remained the same. They took her to McDonald’s or some other cheap eatery like they were doing her a favor and flipped through the pages of her miserable life until they landed on the big red sign that said flight risk. And shortly after she was placed her with a family they believed could handle her. She became the queen of pretend and a model kid. At the Cooper’s she mastered the art of stealing food. She learned lock-picking and lying and manipulation. She learned to drive and ripped off every person she came in contact with. She kissed boys who had girlfriends and befriended people to get closer to what they had. It wasn’t all bad though. She took violin lessons for the five months she lived with a single woman who’d gotten her tubes tied just for her husband to marry and impregnate his mistress. She taught her about music and art, took her to gallery’s and fancy resturants and even tried to teach her a new language before letting her day drink and max out her credit cards. Between foster homes she drifted through towns and crashed on couches until the police caught up with her, and they usually did, it wasn’t hard to spot a wayward teen, but she wasn’t going to quit running, not until she found what she’d been looking for.

She was a long way from foster care, just shy of twenty-one, when a whim, an inkling of a clue (the worn photograph of her father), and the gull to find out for herself, led her to Rosewood. She found a cheap walk-up and slept all day to hang out all night — the night crowds were far nicer than the snooty day crowds. She let a stray cat live with her and named him binx. “We’re the same, me and you, I don’t have a family either,” she told him while they watched old movies and fell asleep on the couch together. She made fast friends with her neighbor and the old war vet who ran the store at the corner, but it was a few weeks before she finally took her neighbor up on her offer to go to Damon Winston’s club. Her money was drying up, and she needed a to replenish it, besides, her quest to find her father had hit a dead end and she was running on fumes.

“You shouldn’t be drinking alone.” Sloane pretended to be surprised by the stranger’s presence. It was an interaction that happened by chance, he saw a pretty girl and he went for it, that’s what he believed and Sloane was happy to play along. But he’d been her target the entire night. She spotted his car out front — a Benz — and sought him out in the dark club, positioned herself in his line of sight, laughed at an unfunny joke to grab his attention and took to the dance floor like a jaguar. Since her last trip she’d learned Damon’s club was a breeding ground for marks.

“Then don’t make me.” Sloane patted the bar stool with a succulent smile and he made himself at home. They talked about the club, or he bragged about knowing the owner, and didn’t let her get a word in edgewise, but she stayed attentive and interested with her wide eyes and an expressive smile. He bought her drink after drink without asking what she liked, she could feel his slime from her seat, he was the kind of guy who deserved all the bad luck he got. “If I didn’t know any better i’d think you were trying to get me drunk,” she chuckled and swept hair out of her face, playing dumb. He was too focused on her hand on his thigh to notice she’d been swapping their shot glasses back and forth the entire time; she was sober as a nun and he was drunk as a fish. He leaned in to kiss her and she brushed him off by laughing into his shoulder, slim arms wrapped around his waist and filled his mind with sinister thoughts — their embrace was short lived, but her slender fingers dipped into his back-pocket before it ended and fished out his monogrammed wallet. “I need to use the rest room,” she lied with ease. He all but begged her to stay and when she promised to return he lets her wrist go.

Sloane slipped into the thick of the crowd and looked down at the wallet in her hands. “Asshole,” she murmured, looking at his i.d before tossing it into a plant. Benjamin was a stupid name for an even stupider man. She counted out five large bills and pocketed a Starbucks gift card. Sloane was so busy assessing her earnings that she didn’t notice a tipsy blonde headed in her direction, dancing along to the music.

“Hands off!” She yelled at what she thought was the owner of the wallet, but instead found the blonde, smiling at her like she knew her or something.

“You’re drunker than I thought,” the blonde giggled now and Sloane’s face contorted. Her expression was weary but her voice was stern, “You’re the drunk one.” She looked around, hiding her nerves well, but wanting to get lost sooner than later, before Benjamin could discover what she’d done and seek revenge. “Let go of me.” She twisted out of the girl’s grip, ready to admonish her, but she was interrupted by another voice entirely.

“There you are!” When Sloane turned to see who the voice belonged to, she froze in her tracks, a total deer in headlights. In time travel you were supposed to avoid yourself at all cost or risk ruining reality as you know it, but Sloane felt as if she’d stumbled into a ripple in the space time continuum and faced herself, like she’d seen a ghost — except she wasn’t in a scifi movie, or the twilight zone, and she was very much alive. She stared at this mirrored version of herself and the mirror stared back, just as shocked as she was, confusion dancing across their eerily identical features, even their eyebrows threaded in the same fashion. She’d come to Rosewood to find her father, but she’d found a sister instead. Wait, she had a twin sister?

“I think I need some air.”

ANYTHING ELSE?

1985.

#accepted #submission

[nofomoartworld]

Hyperallergic: Beer with a Painter: Suzanne Joelson and Gary Stephan

Suzanne Joelson “Crackrakecrate” (2016) paint, vinyl graphics on wood panel, 50 x50 inches (all images courtesy the artists)

Gary Stephan and Suzanne Joelson live and work together in a building in TriBeCa. Within the building they each maintain individual floors, so my suggestion of a “couple” interview was a bit of a radical experiment. We had to decide how and where to stage our visit. Luckily they were game, ready with Captain’s Daughter IPA, and an array of cheese and snacks.

Their zones are distinct: Stephan doesn’t keep anything extra around — leaving only some minimal, modernist furniture, a vintage rowing machine for exercise, and a fantastic rotating easel. Joelson’s area is full of color, with layered collections of fabrics, textiles, and clippings in full use. Stephan says he’s lucky that he can borrow supplies from Joelson when he needs them; he refuses to buy anything in advance. They use examples from domestic life to illustrate their aesthetics: Joelson apparently doesn’t like closing closet doors — it denotes a system of closed deductions. More than anything, I’m struck by their open, inquisitive nature with each other.

This rigorous but open questioning permeates both of their practices. Joelson asks what happens when two unexpected elements or techniques bump up against one another: collaged, industrial fabrics  and the painterly, handmade gesture. Stephan refers to a formalist vocabulary, but turns any lingering obsession with the “framing edge” upside-down. There’s a curiosity in their work about different permutations of “meeting in the middle,” which is, in fact, echoed by the terms of our three-person conversation.

Stephan was born in Brooklyn in 1942, studied at Pratt Institute, and received his MFA from the San Francisco Art Institute in 1967. He has had solo shows in New York at Susan Inglett Gallery, Bykert Gallery, Mary Boone Gallery, Hirschl and Adler, and Marlborough Gallery; in Los Angeles at Margo Leavin Gallery and Daniel Weinberg Gallery. He is currently represented by Kienzle Art Foundation in Berlin, where he will be the subject of a solo exhibition in the fall.

Joelson was born in 1952 in Paterson, New Jersey. She received her BA from Bennington College in 1973. She has exhibited at galleries including Nature Morte in New Delhi, Fernando Alcolea in Barcelona, and White Columns in New York. She was the subject of a solo exhibition, Slipping Systems, in the fall of 2016 at Studio 10, Brooklyn, New York.

*   *   *

Jennifer Samet: Suzanne, can you tell me about any childhood memories you have of making art?

Suzanne Joelson: My mother was a painter. When I was twelve I helped her paint scenery for a local theater group and got to keep the paint. When friends came over we painted the walls of my bedroom with stripes and dots in clashing colors right over the patterned wallpaper. My parents were fine with this and I continued to alter the room until I left for college. All these years later I am back to combining paint and print.

Suzanne Joelson  “First Back” (2012) interior of wood panel/hollow core door, 40 x 30 inches

I did not have many toys but I remember breaking, cutting, and reassembling the ones I had. Doll houses got major overhauls. At some point my mother hid the nicer dolls either to protect them or avoid cramping my style.

In high school I had a geometry teacher who did not like me. But I was oddly good at geometry. I just got it and did not need the class so she let me spend the time in the art room.

I went to the Noguchi Museum recently and thought that it was a bit like the art that I grew up seeing. It is beautiful and essentialist, and yet it’s not enough.  There’s always a sense of Noguchi being a little too good.

JS: Gary, where did you grow up? Were you into drawing as a kid?

GS: When I was a kid living in Levittown, on Long Island, like a lot of guys, I loved drawing planes and cars. I remember that in the fifth grade, I was very enamored of this other kid’s drawings. His planes looked so much better than mine, but I couldn’t figure out why. I befriended him and finally said, “Bill, let’s be candid, your planes are much better than mine. Why?” He said, “Rivets. I draw all the rivets.” I realized that was it. He had all these little dots, so it felt like it had been built like a real plane.

We would go to Mass in Levittown Hall, where local artists put their work up on the walls. The work was full of the tropes of late 1940s art: caulk balls dipped in white paint, held together with sticks, on a ground of sandpaper. It was slightly Miró-ish, or like Picabia drawings — quasi-mechanical things. I did not understand what they were but I was attracted to the physicality of them, and the curious form-making. So the plane drawings and my interest in that work run along next to each other.

Gary Stephan “Untitled” (2008) acrylic on canvas, 32 x 32 inches

I had flunked 7th, 8th, and 9th grade. Eventually I got an art teacher who saw me drawing cars all the time and said, “You know, there’s a name for that. It’s called industrial design.” I decided that was it, and that I would go to Pratt for it. But then I fell in with the painters and, before graduating, I went out to the West Coast. I went to the San Francisco Art Institute for my Masters.  Eventually, the two forces came together. A lot of my approach to painting is still with that clear, coherent, “What’s the project?” mindset of a designer.

JS: Gary, I wanted to ask you about your Catholic background, because you have said Catholic imagery, like the cruciform shape, has infiltrated your painting.

Gary Stephan: Although I’m now an atheist, I still have some of the Catholic furniture. Every once in awhile, its forms appear, or ideas about above and below: the spiritual plane and the bodily plane. I don’t resist it, but I don’t embrace it. I just let it roll into the mix and then it rolls out again.

When I was in first grade at Catholic school, I read a story called “The Prince’s Dessert,” which was the beginning of my fascination with paradox. The prince asks for a dessert that’s hot and cold at the same time. The punch line was that it was a hot fudge sundae.

I was disappointed with the outcome of the story — because a sundae is alternately hot and cold. It isn’t simultaneously hot and cold. As a boy I felt tricked by the answer. Anyway, these kinds of polarities have interested me since childhood.

As a Catholic, I never thought of the concept of shades of gray in ethical, moral, or emotional questions. That idea did not occur to me until I was well into my second year of college. It was uncomfortable for me, because it didn’t come to me naturally. I was constructed by my parents and by my church to be fundamentally binary. I know the world is not like that. It is fascinating how disappointing that is.

JS: Did the two of you meet originally through art? Suzanne, you were working for Robert Rauschenberg, right?

SJ: I worked for Merce Cunningham as the liaison between Rauschenberg and Jasper Johns, and Merce. I was hanging out in that period with Ross Bleckner, Julian Schnabel, and David Salle. Gary had an opening at Mary Boone, and I went to the opening with Julian. Gary and I talked for about an hour. I was completely smitten and thought I’d made a big impression. But I wasn’t even invited to the after party.

Then, two weeks later, Gary came to a Cunningham event at the Joyce Theater.  I was with Ross, and after we took him to Studio 54, I took Gary home. He didn’t even remember me.

GS: It took a while for it to click, but once it clicked it was crazy great. We’ve been together for an amazing amount of time — 38 years. I’m incredibly lucky.

JS: Suzanne, do you think your use of recycled fabrics and materials from the street is related to the experience of doing costume and set design?

Suzanne Joelson “Broken Cocoa” (2016) paint,vinyl graphics on wood panel, 24 x 54 inches

SJ: I hadn’t thought about it but one of my favorite tasks working for Cunningham was recreating Rauschenberg’s set for “Winterbranch” (1964). At some point in the nocturnal piece Rauschenberg would drag what we called “the monster” across stage. It was usually a rolling ladder with an array of battery-operated lights and things he would find on the street. I loved doing it, even though I wasn’t as good at it as Rauschenberg was. He always had a more unlikely thought.

There is something about working with preexisting materials, adapting things outside one’s control. After Hurricane Sandy, I carried my wet paintings up six flights of stairs in the dark, with two assistants. The paintings were on hollow-core doors and water was sloshing around in them. When I ripped off the backs, a roughly applied cardboard substructure was revealed. Its diamond pattern was almost like African Kuba cloth but by different means. We arranged the paintings around the loft to dry with all the backs ripped off, and took photographs of the arrangements.

The effect of that experience was an idea of being very transitory about the work: being less caught up in the craft of it, less concerned about permanence. For a long time, I was a “pure” painter. At some point I started bringing the world back into the paintings. I don’t believe in zero-degree formalism.

JS: I am curious what you think about this, Gary: the idea of pure painting and formalism.

Gary Stephan “The Future Of Reading 5” (2016) acrylic on canvas, 20 x 20 inches

GS: My elevator pitch for my work is that I am using the tools of formalism to build the house of surrealism. I see formalism as a set of appearances designed to create something that’s visually dependable. The contribution of Surrealism is that it problematizes the reading of the world. If you take the appearance of formalism, but bang the cues into each other in such a way that the picture space wobbles or flickers, or doesn’t work properly — you are making a surreal proposition about formalism.

When I came to New York, the big division was between the sharp guys who made serious, formal objects, and the crazy aunt in the attic — of surrealism. Richard Serra would say, “The problem with Donald Judd’s work is that it is surreal.” He was referring to the concealed surfaces – things you can never know. Anytime you conceal, you’re essentially making a surreal object. That’s why Serra’s sculptures are solid steel. Anything that existed outside our vision would become secretive, mysterious, and romantic. The work has to be in plain sight and experiential.

But I could not just blow off de Chirico and Magritte. The contribution of de Chirico is that, for almost the first time in history, aside from Caspar David Friedrich, concealment is content. It is subject matter.

In my work, I try to have enough dependable information that there is a way to compare it to the missing part. The purpose is to re-engage viewers so that instead of them passively taking in the work at the level of style, you offer them the opportunity to engage the problematics of the picture space. In engaging them, they become co-constructors.

SJ: There’s also a lesson in that: that nothing is reliable. Your paintings seem like an inoculation for our collective anxiety about the contradictions of the world. You practice not being able to depend on a predictable space.

GS: Absolutely. It gets to the Russian idea of defamiliarization and the Brechtian idea of alienation. What they want to do is get the viewer into the pain of responsibility in a difficult world at the level of play. You are making art, so it should be fun, but it is also dealing with essentially difficult questions.

It has to do with the citizen’s relationship to the world. For example, I think one of the reasons Trump is appealing to people is that he is saying, “Only I can solve this problem.” It is essentially a paternalistic model. The academic model of painting was essentially paternalistic. It says, “We’ve got all the cards; we know what art looks like; we’re in charge; you’re in good hands.” It’s very Trumpian. What happens with the Impressionists is they say, “Who knows how this works? Get involved, maybe you don’t like it, maybe you don’t trust it. You can co-construct this if you’re so inclined.”

JS: Suzanne, can you tell me about how you deconstruct order and sequences? I know you utilize the Fibonacci cycle in constructing your paintings and multi-panel pieces.

SJ: I tend to start with an order, which I resist. But sometimes it is the other way around and I tug the visual cacophony toward a system. I utilize the Fibonacci cycle, but contaminate it with a degree of lived life.

Suzanne Joelson “Massaging Kale” (2016) paint, vinyl graphics on wood panel, 48 x 84 inches

My cousin who lives in Paris visited recently and we had a sort of French night out in Soho. On our way from Lucky Strike to dessert at Balthazar, we passed the biggest mass of rats I have ever seen in New York. On a shop-filled block we crossed the street to get out of their way. In the context of that evening it was the most exciting part.

GS: Wow. There’s a unique take — “Dessert was great, but the rats were even better.”

SJ: I’ve had lots of great desserts but how often have I seen that many persistent rats? They were undeterred by gentrification. I think about the fact that now, psychologically, so much is colored by what is happening with the Trump presidency. I constantly contend with the question of how much news and information I can digest.

GS: I’ve thought for a long time that if I paid really close attention to politics and then didn’t say to myself, “How can I consciously translate this into a work of art,” but let it leach into the groundwater of my brain, it would show up on some level. I think it does. The conversation I’ve been having with friends is basically, “What can be the relationship of abstraction to politics?”

Gary Stephan “Untitled” (2009) acrylic on muslin, 60 x 42 inches

JS: So this has to do with an idea about incorporating experience and contaminating “pure painting” with daily experience?

SJ: The interest in the Fibonacci sequence and spiraling goes back to the way I have thought about experience, which is as a coil. You go on a route and arrive at a shard of light, and recognize where you are. Then you keep going, and get back to that part again. But you are not going in circles, you are constantly staging a step up…or down.

In Proust’s Remembrance of Things Past, the narrator describes traveling from Balbec in a stagecoach. The coach is going up the hill and away. As it turns along the switchback, he can see back toward the town he has just left. He keeps looking back toward it, but from a little farther, as he is heading toward the future. Then, on the switchback, yet again, he looks back on where he just was, but now he is turned even more. That becomes a metaphor for how memory works.

Thomas Nozkowski came to my studio once when I was working on something that was overly coordinated and he said, “Jump cut.” That was all he needed to say. Now it is my mantra.

GS: It is related to the mosque you loved so much in Turkey, I’ve also always thought that a lot of Suzanne’s work had to do with translation.

SJ: Yes, the interior of the Rüstem Pasha Mosque in Istanbul is beautiful and perfect. There are four doors outside, and the door farthest from the entrance is completely broken up. The original tiles were found and put back on, but not in the original order. I love that kind of patching. It is similar to the Winchester Cathedral in England, where one rose window on the north transom was broken into smithereens and reassembled out of broken bits.

I consider different materials and methods of application in terms of translation. The model is conversation. For example, this format of today’s conversation is unusual for all of us. We can’t anticipate each other’s questions or responses, or the gap between what is said and what is felt or experienced, and how it will read on the page or screen. These change in the context of the situation. I am interested in how the familiar becomes strange, and the structure becomes fallible. A new thought emerges or an old thought can be re-imagined.

JS: Gary, you have described having “two masters”: the object and the painting. Can you explain what that means?

GS: That phrase, “serving two masters,” came from a chapter heading in an old fundamentalist Christian primer that I found. In terms of painting, at one end of the spectrum, you have the master of the concrete object — someone like Robert Ryman. At the other end of the spectrum, you have somebody like Frederick Church — the illusion of a space that can be entered. With Church, you want to experience Niagara Falls uncontaminated by the resistance of the object. With Ryman, you want the clarity of the object without any of the froufrou of the picture space.

Everybody conducts his or her practice along that continuum. That is what is meant by the serving two masters. Anytime you show fealty to one, you’ve weakened your fealty to the other. I was once given a hard time in print for “being compromised”: for the work vacillating between its allegiance to objects, and its allegiance to picture space. That vacillation was seen as a failure of nerve. I think times have changed enough that now it is considered a good way to look at things.

JS: You work on paintings from all directions and sides, and use a rotating easel to turn them around. Is that related to these ideas of concealment and moving between the object and the image?

Gary Stephan “Untitled” (2017), acrylic on Canvas, 30 x 30 inches

GS: The circular easel allows me to mess with expectations about gravity and the punch line. Sometimes I give way to the more obvious expectation, because I don’t see any reason to be obscure. Sometimes, it is too easy, so I turn them backwards, so to speak. Then they are slower. When you finally get to the punch line, it is more of a surprise.

JS: You think of the paintings as having punch lines?  What does that mean?

GS: I definitely do. It is a term I got from Tom Nozkowski years ago. He would say, “Well, the gag of this painting is…” Some people see them right away, and some people never see them. I’ve had any number of people think they’re simply delightful, flat designs, and I think, “Okay.” I’ve gotten over the artist as educator part of my life.

SJ: Whereas Rothko hoped that people would fall to their knees and start to cry in front of his paintings, you want to hear people chuckling.

GS: Yes. I want them mildly chortling under their breath.

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