#and then i realized it was probably because my favorite artists set the bar in the damn ground asiufhafu

[prydon]

i love stanning albums with covers that look like they were created on MS paint by a thirteen year old. like genuinely i think these are two of the most incredible collections of music ever created and they look like that 

#personal #idk mike's mic put out a video ranking album covers of pop singers #and the whole time watching it i was like 'idk these all look fine to me' #and then i realized it was probably because my favorite artists set the bar in the damn ground asiufhafu #in imogen's defense it was the early 2000s #and in rks' defense they were in college #but still

[stvolanis]

Pretty Stars

PT .1

PT .2???

PAIRINGS: Elvis Presley x Rival! Rockstar! OC

WARNINGS: EATING DISORDERS, SUICIDAL THOUGHTS, EXPLOITATION, MENTIONS OF ABUSE, inaccurate time lines probably, this is more depressing than my other stories, age gap (OC is 19 and Elvis is 23), foul language, Elvis is an asshole but so is OC, typical rivalry things, enemies to lovers

NSFW WARNINGS: NONE, it will all be in part 2 if this does well :)

Don’t be shy, request something!!

˚ ꒰ა ☆ ໒꒱ ˚

Rosalee Marziel worked her ass off to get where she stood today, and she’d die before she let some stupid boy ruin it for her.

She’d lived in cities since she was a toddler, and growing up in such a hostile place causes you to realize that no one will help you but you. It took her losing her mother, her extended family, and a few boyfriends and flings to realize this. Once she had nothing, and was at rock bottom, of course she’d sign her life away. What more did she have to lose when everything was already lost?

The 1st amendment no longer felt like it applied to Rosalee. She was stripped bare of her former self, and instead embodied a new persona, Rose Marz. Rose Marz was confident, selfless, bold, and had no problems making a statement. She was a music, movie, and fashion icon all the way past France.

Truth was, she’d been groomed since she’d signed her life away when she was only 15. Groomed by the men around her who only wanted the greatest pleasures of life, and naive Rosalee Marziel was their ticket to that. ‘Wear less, and more of this’ they’d tell her as they held up skimpy playboy sets. She was 16. ‘More makeup, she’s aging.” They’d tell her makeup artists. She was 17. By the time she had reached 18, she’d corrected every little flaw they had pointed out. She spent hours covering acne scars, moles, and stretch marks.

She’d powder and cake herself in flawless natural makeup, which wasn’t so natural once you’d watch her apply a ton of it. She formed an eating disorder and lived off of eating Cesar salads with extra grilled chicken, and even then, she’d sometimes feel herself become sick. The smell, taste and feel of food made her vomit in her mouth. So, when she went to ball events, charity event, etc.; she’d stick to a glass of water and give tight lipped smiles when offered a plate of appetizers.

You’d think oranges were her favorite fruit, but she’d only eat them when she’d gain a pound or 2. Her stomach pains sometimes became unbearable, but beauty is pain, or at least that’s what her producers would tell her with money on their tongues. Sometimes she swore instead of feeling spit when they’d speak to her, she felt hard and cold coins. God forbid they found out she’d eaten that day, the comments would strike up.

The ones that formed her eating disorder in the first place. The ones that make her cry herself to sleep and curl into a ball. The ones that made her weep for her dead, junkie of a mother. The ones that made her throw up her insides till her stomach felt like it was trying to eat itself. And the ones that made her wanna not wake up the next day.

Roses first gig was a lousy bar her old manager booked for an hour. It’s one she’ll never forget, I mean, it’s what sparked her love for preforming in every sense of the word. On stage, she didn’t have to be the broken shell of a little girl, especially not when she heard people cheering her name. The rush of adrenaline shot into her veins was addicting and was a high she’d strive to chase any moment she could. In those first moments, she felt like her body was on fire, and the words slipping from her mouth held every ounce of raw emotion she would never normally say.

She had something other rising female preforms didn’t have, and that was a genuine love for music. They didn’t have the same spark in their eyes like she did. They weren’t passionate about the lyrics they wrote or sang. The only reason they were famous was because of their sex appeal.

Climbing the ranks in a male dominated industry wasn’t an easy task by any means, but Rose managed to do it. She sunk her perfectly manicured claws into their backs to rise herself to get to where she was today. Past Carl Perkins, past Johnny Cash, even past Jerry Lee Lewis. She was at the top of her game.

Showered in every luxury she could imagine. Queen worthy jewelry, the latest and hottest cars, 3 mansions and 10+ houses stationed all around America. Her favorite house was stationed all the way in Milan, Italy. She had an endless list of ‘friends’ and men throwing themselves at her feet for even a glance, but she wasn’t naive anymore. She could see right through them with the x-ray vision she swore to herself she had.

Hell, even the Kennedys loved her.

But none of it was ever enough. None of it made the throbbing pains in her head, chest, and stomach stop. It didn’t stop her from taking nearly lethal amounts of pills on her roughest days in hopes that just maybe she’ll find the courage to take a little more.

Rose was never satisfied with the life she had. And when they started throwing her in movies alongside people she didn’t care to know, she nearly lost herself. Rose? An actor? That couldn’t be right. She was a singer. But it’s what her fans wanted, which means it’s what her producers would make her do.

She was sure her fans adored her, and she was grateful that they did, but a small part of her detested them. A small part of her had wished she’d never became famous. If she knew this would be her at only 19 years old, she would’ve ran away from that man with a few papers and a pen all the way to across the globe. But she could never bring herself to hate the people who got her to where she is today.

They are the only reason she’s able to live the way she does, after all. Those little girls who look up to her, dreaming of being in her shoes and, wishing to be like her when they get older and cheering her on from crowds will always be the reason she continues to preform. But how badly she wanted to cradle them and tell them ‘careful what you wish for.’ Because she wishes someone had told her.

Though she was at the top of her game, there was still one large obstacle in the form of a southern man.

Elvis Presley.

No matter how many movies she starred in, or how many songs she made—no matter how many awards she won and was nominated for, he always somehow managed to beat her. Not to mention the constant comparison she was always faced with when I came to him. ‘Elvis does this better’ her manager would start. ‘So you need to do this’. He’d say.

I learned how to dance, and Elvis was the star of a dance musical called ‘Copacabana’ the next day. I mentioned i knew how to draw, and all the sudden Elvis’ art was plastered in museums. The list goes on and on of him trying to out-do her an coming out successful. Naturally, Rose wouldn’t care, but at the end of the day it was her having to hear her entire management team on her ass. One time her producer even phoned in about it.

It was a constant battle between the two and it seemed like an endless cat and mouse game. Not to mention Elvis throwing loads of shade at her when he was in the press a few weeks prior. Since then, anytime she’s been asked about their ongoing rivalry in the press, she’s said the upmost worst things about him. If it was any other A list celebrity, her manager would have her head, but it was the 2 most hottest people in America going head to head like bulls. Obviously it would make both parties become a more popular subject, and the more publicity, the better.

And now they want Elvis and Rose to preform together for a Valentines special? Hah, they must be crazy to think they wouldn’t claw each others throats out. Rose had never dared to protest against anything her producers and managers had planned for her—the last time she did she was beaten. But this—this is the one thing she wouldn’t go down without a fight for. After a good year and give or take a few months of going against each other, why would they now want them to make amends? The damage had already been done.

Rose was fortunate enough of never having to actually meet the man talking the upmost shit about her in person, till now.

As she sat in her dressing room, she could swear her makeup was sweating itself off, resulting in her panicking. Her eye makeup was dark and bold, and her lips were a faded cherry red. The dark mole above the corner of her lip just barely peeking through her pounds of foundation. Her hair was was naturally a brunette, but her main manager thought blonde would be a better look on her. So now she sat with her blonde hair teased and overly large, adorned in pink and red flowers to match the Valentines theme.

Rose felt her confidence begin to dwell as she thought of every possible terrible outcome this show could bring. Her brows furrowing as she applied setting powder aggressively while thinking of beating that stupid man, Elvis Presley, to a pulp if he tainted her imagine in any way, shape, or form.

A knock on her dressing room door brought her out of her thoughts. “Miss Rose, it’s almost time.” An annoying feminine voice said from behind the door. Rose huffed as she got up. “Alright, give me a moment.” She yelled back as she began to dress herself.

They’d chosen a white, tight fitted turtle neck long sleeved shirt for her to wear, paired with a short, light pink dress to go over it and a large white belt fit around her waist to seem more slim. The knee high white leather boots and different shades of pink and red heart earrings pulled the whole look together as she stared at herself in the long mirror in front of her.

She smoothed her hands down her dress as she took in a long breath of air before she finally found the courage to leave her dressing room.

When she stepped out, the narrow backstage hallways parted like the Red Sea at her entrance. Her manager, a short old man with the personality of a donkeys ass, stumbled his way over to her.

“Ah, Rose! There you are, come.” He said urgently as he tightly gripped her upper arm. Rose didn’t get a chance to respond, and instead winced as she was dragged along with him to wherever he was taking her. Their walk wasn’t long as they stopped at a tall man with his back turned to them.

“Mr. Presley.” Her manager coughed out, making his prescene known. Rose fought an eye roll. The man turned around and Rose swore her jaw could’ve dropped right then and there. The pictures and interviews did him no justice, as he was even more good looking in person, much to Roses dismay. Nonetheless, this god of a man was still her biggest rival and the only person stopped her from being deemed ‘queen of rock n roll’ on every cover of The Rolling Stone Magazine

Screw him and his charming smile. She hated his stupidly perfect hair—and she wanted to pull the little strand hanging out on the front out of his head. She wanted to punch him in his perfectly chiseled jaw, and same with his nose. She didn’t like the fact that he easily towered over her, even in heels, so she thought about kicking him in the back of his knees to bring him to the ground where she thought he belonged— below her.

Elvis on the other hand felt his breath get caught in his throat and her nearly dropped the cup of water held in his hand. There she stood, in all her terrorizing glory, was Rose Marz. But Elvis’ eyes couldn’t help but linger on the chubby fingers tightly wrapped around her arm, almost in a painful manner.

How could this little thing be his biggest competition? She was so small. So pretty. So- “fuck you.” So vulgar. That was the first thing she’d ever said to him, and he’d remember it for the rest of his life. He would’ve been offended if it wasn’t for the fact that she was so damn cute with her furrowed brows and pouty red lips.

Her managers face went pale as a ghost. “Aha!! She meant hello!” He nervously laughed as he glared at Rose through the corner of his eye. The small girl let out a huff. “Elvis.” She acknowledged, sizing him up with a quirked brow. He felt a chuckle rumble deep in his chest.

Rose turned her head downward to hide the blush creeping onto her cheeks at his intense gaze, even as he talked to her manager. “That’s quite alright, Mr.Smith. How ya doin, Rose?” He said in that southern draw that made all the girls’ head spin and panties drop. Now Rose understood why, but she would never admit it aloud.

“Terrible since I seen you.” She said with an eye roll. Elvis pursed his lips. “I’m real sorry ‘bout what I said in the press about ya.” He replied with a nervous chuckle. Roses head shot up at that. “Liar!” She called out with a pointer finger.

“Jesus, Rose! Can’t you act civilized for one damn moment?!” Her manager screamed in her face. Rose went beat red in embarrassment, her hands clenched into fists. The old fat man looked at her pointedly. “Excuse my behavior, Mr.Presley.” She said through clenched teeth and false smile.

Elvis pondered for a moment as he took in the situation before him, before coming to a conclusion. “Lemme take ya to dinner to make up for it, Rose.” He said. Something boyish was swirling in his eyes and a certain hope was in his small smile he sent her way. Rose opened her mouth to reject his offer, but it seemed her manager had other plans. “Yes, of course she’ll go!” He answered for her.

Elvis merely glanced down at the obnoxious fat man. “I’d like for her to answer.” He stated with a glare. Rose paused. No one had ever stood up for her like that. No one batted an eye when people would yell at her, grab her, or even beat her to a pulp. She didn’t know what to think—or even how to act.

Her mouth was hung agape as he awaited her answer. “I—uh, sure.” She responded—seemingly in a daze as she gazed up at the taller man. His eyes danced all across her face before stopping at the mole she tried so desperately to hide. “Tomorrow night.” He said before his eyes snapped up to meet hers again.

Rose, absent minded, merely nodded her head.

“You’re on in 5!” Someone shouted over the loud backstage ruckus. That caught Roses attention as she quickly smoothed herself out and took in a deep breath. Elvis reached his hand out towards her. “Shall we?” He asked with a smirk.

Rose rolled her eyes as she slapped his hand away. “Let’s just get this over with.” She replied as she turned quickly away from him.

But Elvis didn’t miss the blush on her cheeks.

˚ ꒰ა ☆ ໒꒱ ˚

this wasn’t proofread

#70s elvis #elvis presley #elvis presley fandom #elvis presley fanfiction #elvis presley x reader #elvis presley x y/n #elvis x oc #elvis x reader #elvis fans #elvis presley fic

[slayerkitty]

Narrative Frameworks in Only Friends

Something I have been tracking as part of the ongoing discussions about Only Friends is the use of the narrative framework for each episode.

So, I’m making this list specifically for tracking purposes, to note which framework was used for which episodes, if they repeat, and what they may be paying homage to. The goal is to update it every week. Due to suggestions, I am also tracking the end credit scenes, as well as any specific visual or audio formats used in the episodes.

Frameworks so far:

1. Voiceovers: gives the audience specific insight into a characters thoughts and feelings; also a great way to provide exposition. It’s more of an audio than visual framework, as we don’t always see the character doing the voice-over because it plays over other scenes.

2. “Talking Heads” (is there a better descriptor for this?): The characters talk directly to the camera, interview/documentary style. We get to see exactly how they feel about a given moment because they are reacting to it at that time. Audio and visual. Homage to Love8009 (per P'Jojo).

3. Social Media (ft The Artist Formerly Known as Twitter, Instagram, and Facebook): Not as insightful as the other two frameworks but does give context and a way for interaction, commentary, and exposition on a given plot. Visual. Probable homage to Together With Me, one of the first spicy BLs starring our kings, MaxTul.

(Side Note: I was re-watching some scenes from Never Let me Go and realized P'Jojo uses yellow text on the screen in it too. So maybe he just likes the yellow text or maybe it means something, idk, idk.)

Episode 1

Framework: Voiceover

Title: What’s Your Role in a Bar?

Narrator: Mew

Visual Moment: Yellow title cards listing everyone’s “roles” as well as the month and days of the week in episode one

End Credit Shot: Mew sitting on the floor in front of his fish tank

Episode 2

Framework: Talking Heads

Title: M.F.M. My Favorite Man

Narrator: Everyone

Visual Moment: The talking heads scenes

End Credit Shot: Ray driving

Episode 3

Framework: Social Media (Twitter and Instagram)

Title: What Am I to You?

Narrator: Nick and Boston

Audible Moment: Nick listening to the TopBoston sex audio

End Credit Shot: Nick listening to TopBoston sex audio

Episode 4

Framework: Voiceover

Title: Emergency Contact

Narrator: Ray

Visual Moment: The flashback of RayMew is in 4:3 ratio; meaning it looks like recorded footage versus a memory, yellow text onscreen indicates flashback

End Credit Shot: Ray driving (repeat from episode 2)

Episode 5:

Framework: Voiceover

Title: The Extra Hour

Narrator: Sand

Visual Moment: Intro and Outro are animated; black and white (made me think of the Take on Me MV by A-ha but I’m open to suggestions on what this might be referring to)

End Credit Shot: Sand driving his motorcycle

Episode 6:

Framework: None

Title: Happy Fucking Birthday

Narrator: None

Audible Moment: Ray listens to the TopBoston sex audio; Mew plays the TopBoston sex audio for Top

Visual Moment: Top draws Mew sleeping/gives Mew a book of drawings he did of Mew 

End Credit Shot: Top in his bathtub alone looking angsty

Episode 7:

Framework: None

Title: After Effect

Narrator: None

Visual Moment: Mew setting the drawing on fire; Boston’s sex tape; the “super zooms”

End Credit Shot: Mew sitting on the floor in front of his fish tank (repeat from episode 1)

Episode 8:

Framework: None

Title: Save Me

Narrator: None

Visual Moment: Facebook party invite/everyone’s reactions to the invite; Everyone’s costumes at the party

End Credit Shot: Boston looking angsty at the hostel

Episode 9:

Framework: None

Title: The Return

Narrator: None

Visual Moment: Boston's photo of Atom; Top recording SandRay kissing, BOEING (I had to, lmao)

End Credit Shot: Top in his bathtub alone looking angsty (repeat from episode 6)

Discussion: Once again, no framework or narrator this week. I speculated along with @twig-tea that this means we have left the fantasy world (we, along with Mew, have lost our “rose-colored glasses”) and all that’s left is reality and consequences.

It’s almost like the show started as a BL (using/subverting the standard tropes, etc) until the midpoint and then veered into a queer drama. Having said that, post episode 9, I think we're firmly back in BL territory. This was the OF "beach" episode. Fences are starting to be mended. There's still honesty and consequences though, so the frameworks aren't back yet.

Spoiler Alert (avoid this next paragraph if you don’t want any spoilers)

P'Jojo posted on The Artist Formerly Known as Twitter some pictures that imply the talking heads framework is coming back, with at least Sand and Ray. Does that mean the characters are trying to escape reality again? That they will be back to lying to themselves?

If anyone can think of anything else to add, please let me know! If you would like to be tagged in this post or any other meta, let me know and I’ll add you.

Tagging the Ephemerality Squad: @lurkingshan, @waitmyturtles, @wen-kexing-apologist, @chickenstrangers, @ranchthoughts, @twig-tea, @clara-maybe-ontheroad, @distant-screaming, @thatgirl4815, @elizabethsebestianhedgehog

Tagging @sandrayy by request

Apologies to anyone I forgot!

#only friends the series #only friends meta #thai bl

[mosylufanfic]

By Any Other Name

Because I’m basically obligated to do a rock star AU at some point, right?

Send me a prompt for Nano!

By Any Other Name

Jyn liked this time of day in the Kyber, the grubby little bar she co-owned with her best friend. Early afternoon was a dip where the hardcore drinkers and the lunch crowd had all cleared out or been cut off, and the after-work crowd wasn't in yet. She used the time to catch up on paperwork and put on her favorite music. 

"You like this song?"

The voice came from the end of the bar, where their one customer of the moment was drinking a draft beer and scribbling on what looked like staff paper. A starving songwriter, she concluded, a dime a dozen in LA. 

"It's all right," she said, because it had only taken her the first shift as a bartender to realize that some guys would take a statement as innocuous as "this is my favorite song right now" and translate it to "please, take my body at your earliest convenience."

"It's just, you're singing along."

Had she been? Damn. Bodhi referred to her singing voice as the unholy love child of a rusty gate and a cat in heat. "Sorry."

He laughed. "No, it's fine." He had a nice smile, wide and bright, with dimples. Cute.

Also a dime a dozen in LA.

She shrugged and hit the buttons on her laptop to save her most current schedule. "It's catchy," she said. "I guess I do sing along when it comes on the radio."

The song ended and another began, with no deejays jabbering in between. And it was the next song on the artist's newest album. 

He raised a brow.

"Fine! The whole album's on my favorite playlist at the moment. It's good. All right? That what you wanted to know?"

He lifted both hands in a peaceable gesture, laughing again. "I’m not trying to interrogate you. That's just my favorite song from the album. The one you were singing along to."

“Yeah? Even though it's not the one that's the big hit or whatever?”

"That one's good too," he acknowledged. "But 'Built on Hope' is just - I like it better."

"Yeah."

He held out a hand. "Joreth."

She shook it briefly. "Liana," she said, giving him the name she went by behind the bar, to deter creepers and scammers. 

"Liana, that's pretty. What is that, a flower?"

"It's a sort of vine," she said - also her usual answer. "A strangling vine. It kills trees."

He laughed. "Killed any trees today?"

"Sadly, no, but the day is young."

At the other end of the bar, Bodhi cleared his throat, loudly. She glanced at him, saw he was doing the bottle count, and figured he'd just had a frog in his throat. 

"He's playing tonight, you know," Joreth said, pointing upward at the speaker. "Cassian Andor."

"Yeah, I heard. I've got to work. Plus tickets are an arm and a leg."

"Surely no more than a hand."

She grinned. "Whatever body part I'd have to give up, it'd be too much. Anyway, those big stadium shows aren't for me. All lights and screaming and shit." She shuddered. "Gives me a migraine."

He tipped his beer toward her. "I'm with you there. He's got another one tomorrow. An acoustic set at a little club."

That was more her speed. But she eyed him suspiciously. "What are you, his manager?"

He laughed again. The way his eyes crinkled was not something you often saw in LA, where wrinkles were the horror of half the town and the bane of the other half. "Something like that," he said. 

Bodhi cleared his throat again, louder. 

"Spit or swallow, Bodes," she called out to him, and turned back to the guy at the bar. "Well, if I'd known, maybe I would have scrounged up whatever favors I needed to go. But it's probably too late now."

“You never know.”

The door opened and a tall skinny man in a suit that cost more than her car came in. 

"ID," Jyn said automatically.

He eyed her. "I assure you I am of age, and anyway, I'm not here to imbibe." He marched up to Joreth. "You," he said balefully.

"Hi, Kay," Joreth said.

"You are late."

"I told you I was going to work on songs today."

"I thought you meant in your hotel room like a reasonable human being, not in some grimy dive bar."

"Hey," Bodhi and Jyn said in concert.

"It's not grimy," Joreth said. "It's very nice. Good beer." He drank the last of it and set his pint glass down.

Bodhi, who was in charge of ordering, looked mollified. Jyn narrowed her eyes at Kay.

Kay ignored her. "Come along."

"Hang on." Joreth swiped a line across the middle of his sheet music, wrote a quick string of notes, and a phrase, and then folded the papers into a leather portfolio and got up. "See you around," he said to Jyn, and left with his - friend? Minder? Captor?

Bodhi sidled up. "Do you remember," he said, "how as your lifelong best friend, I'm contractually obligated to let you know when you're being a human disaster?"

"What was disastrous about that?" Jyn asked, opening up her schedule, then remembering she'd finished it. Although if Shara couldn't get babysitting again - "We were talking about music."

"You were talking about Cassian Andor."

"Is this a don't-talk-about-dudes-with-other-dudes thing? Because if bringing up a pop star is a violation, that's awfully damn fragile."

Bodhi threw his hands in the air. "You were talking about Cassian Andor with Cassian Andor!"

"What?"

"And he was into you!"

"His name was Joreth,” she mumbled, still stuck on talking about Cassian Andor with Cassian Andor.

"Sure," Bodhi said. "And yours is Liana."

"But he - " She waved her hand in front of her face. "He had a beard. And a ball cap."

"Right, right, yeah, I forgot. Multi-platinum pop stars are physically incapable of growing facial hair, and putting on a ball cap when they might not want to be recognized."

She goggled into the near distance. "Oh my god, I'm a disaster."

"Well, I tried," Bodhi said.

She shoved him. "By coughing? What happened to sending me a text?"

"Your phone's dead. Again."

She picked it up and found it dark. "Oh, yeah."

He shook his head. "Seriously, there's no helping you."

The bar phone rang and Jyn reached for it. "The Kyber."

"May I speak to Liana?"

"Speaking."

"I represent Cassian Andor. He'd like to invite you to be his special guest at Club Yavin tomorrow night."

Jyn hung up.

"Scammer?" Bodhi said.

The phone rang again. "I assume we got disconnected," the person on other end said disdainfully. Now she could identify the voice of the tall skinny guy. "As I was saying, Cassian Andor would like you to join - "

"Yes, I heard you the first time," she said. "Is this a joke?"

"No joke, I assure you," said the rather bored voice. "Cassian is presently sitting across from me in the limo, making faces and gesturing wildly - "

"Kay!" said a strangled voice. 

"It is very distracting. Are you coming or not? If you leave him in suspense, he might have an aneurysm, and he has to play a show in five hours."

A groan loud enough for the phone to pick it up.

"Let me talk to him," Jyn said. 

"I am capable of giving you all the information you need - "

"Cassian," she snapped. "Now."

A minor scuffle, and then the voice of Joreth - no, Cassian - came over the line. "Hi."

"This how you get your jollies?" she demanded. "By picking up strange women in bars who don't recognize you?"

"It helped," he said. "Liana, I - "

"Jyn," she said. "It's Jyn."

"Jyn," he said. "And I'm Cassian."

"Yeah. Yeah, I figured that out."

"Well, what do you think? I'll send a car so you don't have to fight traffic, and we can get dinner after. Or drinks - or - "

She pursed her lips. "I dunno. It's been a long time since I went and saw a guy play guitar in a club. I might have something else to do."

Bodhi grabbed the phone. "She's coming. You can pick her up here. What time? Great. She'll be ready." He hung up. 

She punched him. "Bodes!"

"That was no time to play it cool, Jyn. You have a date with Cassian Andor, and he's totally into you." He looked thoughtful. "Also, pop star or not, he might be as much of a human disaster as you are."

FINIS

#Cassian Andor #Jyn Erso #rebelcaptain #mosylufanfic lives up to her damn name #NaNo stories #rock star AU #star wars

[tathrin]

I just need you to know your tags on that post about Boba Fett made me realize HOW MUCH of Legends-era Boba Fett I didn't know about and now it is my goal to hunt every book and story down because dear gods he's even more amazing than I realized

Ahhhh omg yes he's the best and worst in all the best ways. Thank you for giving me another excuse to talk about him!

Okay so start with the Twin Engines of Destruction comic by Andy Mangels and John Naedeau, that is THE epitome of Boba Fett. (#he had no face just the helmet that WAS his face #he canonically gives money from successful jobs to orphanages WHAT #when he found out someone was impersonating him AND BOTCHING JOBS he set that fucker up SO GOOD #he literally took the man apart physically spiritually and emotionally and left him paralyzed staring at his own about-to-explode jetpack #and put the antidote to the neurotoxin in front of him said ''you may survive if you have the will to move...like i would'' and WALKED AWAY) Genuinely just...this is it, this is him, this is everything anyone ever needs to know about how to write Boba Fett.

After that I'll recommend moving onto the Boba Fett: Death, Lies, and Treachery comics (consisting of "Bounty on Bar Kooda," "When the Fat Lady Swings," and "Murder Most Foul") by John Wagner and Cam Kennedy (probably my favorite Fett comic artist; their style is wonky yes but it fits so well!). Boba Fett: Agent of Doom is another one drawn by Kennedy that is excellent, although it's written by John Ostrander (who did the best Clone Wars comics btw) instead of Wagner. Also I personally like to headcanon the last one actually being about Ailyn Vel, but that's neither here nor there. Your best bet to find these is probably the Star Wars Legends — Epic Collection: The New Republic vol 7 tpb but Marvel is shit about keeping their SW comics in print, so good luck.

Also definitely worth reading are K.W. Jeter's Bounty Hunter Wars trilogy of novels (#he surgically removed his olfactory pleasure sensors so he wouldn't be affected by space pollen shit  #he'd drop an entire mine on top of himself to get his mark if he had to and then just dig his way back out #he once used the dying body of the closest thing he had to a friend as a laser canon to kill some tin-can hutts  #he had his fucking SKIN DISSOLVED and still sat up to shoot a bitch #he walked onto an exploding star destroyer just to have a conversation AND THEN FLEW IT RIGHT BACK OUT AGAIN) but I will say that the quality of them varies wildly between different sections...but it's one of those "even the bad parts are good, despite being terrible" books, if you know what I mean!

No Disintegrations, Please! is a short-story from the Tales of the New Republic collection, and that's the one that features Fett walking through an Imperial Garrison to get his mark that I was thinking of when I made the post (although it seems that tag didn't save? or I just can't find it again amidst all the unhinged shrieking of the rest of them lol) although he also took on a garrison in one of the comics and in another comic he went through a wrecked Star Destroyer full of murder-droids and TIE patrols so like...not an out-of-the-ordinary endeavor for him lol.

Payback: The Tale of Dengar, also from one of the short-story collections, in this case Tales of the Bounty Hunters, is where Dengar gets Fett to be his best man, although alas the wedding itself is never depicted anywhere, at least not that I've seen. (Although if you'll permit an extremely immodest self-rec, I did write about it once in a fic...) My favorite moment in this story, though, is when Boba Fett pulls a straw out to drink without removing his helmet. Too bad no one apparently ever mentioned that features to Din Djarin; would have made his life considerably easier. And yes, I was the person shouting "use a straw you idiot!" at the screen several times, to the vast amusement of those watching with me.

And of course, Susejo a.k.a. the Sarlacc mentioned in the original post is from A Barve Like That: The Tale of Boba Fett from the short-story collection "Tales From Jabba's Palace."

For new stuff that still feels like classic Fett, Age of Rebellion: Boba Fett by Greg Pak and Bria LaVorgna is really the only thing that comes to mind, but it's quite a lovely little one-shot.

*If you have trouble finding Twin Engines of Destruction let me know. I have the whole thing saved on my computer because I love it so much, although I will say that the digital format/coloring does it no favors.

#NER BOB'IKA! #(i'm sorry but if the base foundation of your boba fett characterization doesn't stem from ''twin engines'' what are you even DOING?) #also i went back through my boba fett tag to find links for this op and i have to thank you #because there is some fucking GOLD in that tag that i did not remember #lmaooooo #boba fett #favorite characters #star wars #star wars eu #twin engines of destruction

[realfinemood]

Template by arcandoria / Icons bundle from gaylockpick

Finally finished the game recently after almost 200 hours playing my angry little barbarian fighter and have so many thoughts to put down before I start the next in my long list of planned Tavs. Because this game has eaten my brain. I'm probably also going to make a post on her different companions relationships later. Brecca has lived in my brain 6+ years from D&D so on the off chance anyone else is interested, have a lot of babbling about this AU version of her!

(Spoilers including the end of the game!)

Backstory: Brecca grew up in her mother's tavern in a halfling village, where most people were happy and carefree and the biggest worries were that you weren't up to date on the latest gossip. As a kid with anger issues and not the greatest social skills, Brecca very much didn't fit in with that. The only talent she had to speak of was fighting, whether just for the hell of it or to protect her only real friend in the village, a budding con artist (who the tiefling kids all remind her of).

When a man came into the village one day with promises to make that skill useful, she left with him, ending up in a barbarian tribe of sorts, where she was taught to fight beyond scrapping and bar fights. She didn't ask many questions about who exactly they were fighting, enjoying finally having something she was good at doing. It wasn't until a raid where the target was her own village that she realized who exactly she'd joined up with, and went into a frenzied rage, killing her party and any of the others she could find.

In d&d she ran after that and spent a few months isolating herself, doing odd jobs occasionally but mostly just developing a massive guilt complex. In bg3, the very first place she ventured into resulted in being abducted and tadpoled. Yay distraction!

Personality: Brecca is trying to figure out how to be a Good Person in the aftermath of stumbling into being a not so great one. In theory, that would be trying to help everyone and keep her rage in check. In reality, it's a lot of attempting the most peaceful solution and then murdering a lot when that inevitably falls through. She's not the smartest and definitely not the best at talking or reading people, made worse by the fact that she knows she's not and therefore doesn't trust her own judgement.

Protecting her friends, protecting children, and murdering the fuck out of anyone enslaving people are the things she's definitely figured out as North on her moral compass. The rest are more a moral "rough notes copied off the people she values."

(It's also why she spends the entirety of act 3 pissed as fuck and determined as hell to help Lae'zel free Orpheus. Does anything she's done matter if the reason she can do it is that someone is chained up and having their power used to protect her?)

She spends a good two acts trying to be a hero like Wyll. In the end she settles for trying to do her best, protecting the people she loves, and letting other people be the self sacrificing hero.

Fighting: Brecca is surrounded by tall people and it's very inconvenient that they can get places faster. She has solved this problem in three ways. 1) Fling self, 2) fling weapon, and finally 3) fling weapon and teleport self with whatever the weapon hits. Bonus points if the weapon is twice her size. Rather appropriately, by the time they fought Cazador she had enough combined movement to get across the whole platform and free Astarion in one turn. And then everything else in the scene also went super great don't worry about it.

Party: Brecca has absolutely no fucking clue how she got appointed leader. Her skill set beyond "get angry and hit things" is occasionally threaten people into submission. Half the time she finds the end of quests before realizing there's a beginning. Two of her three favorite people are the murder hobos and her knowledge of magic and gods is non-existent. Wyll is right there guys. Please make better choices.

Anyways.

Astarion is the permanent party member and was even before she caught feelings.

In act 1, the party shuffled around more, with Gale taking a field trip to the creche and Karlach taking out a goblin camp. But the main group was definitely Astarion, Wyll, and Lae'zel. In act 2, the party was almost exclusively Astarion, Wyll, and Shadowheart. In act 3, Lae'zel reclaimed her spot and Wyll took turns with Shadowheart. If it wasn't clear, even with the multiclassing happening, the party theme is a lot of "Hit things really hard a whole lot before they have a chance to fight back. Also magic I guess, that's what scrolls are for right?"

Ending: Brecca made good on her promise to Lae'zel and freed Orpheus, somehow to the surprise of the Emperor despite being very clear about her plan to do so and how much she did not trust the Emperor and hated what he was doing. However, she absolutely did not spend all that time fighting to not become a mindflayer only to voluntarily become one at the last moment and resigned herself to Lae'zel hating her for letting Orpheus play martyr instead. Lae'zel didn't seem to blame her in the end - while Brecca and Astarion got Orpheus to the brain, Lae'zel took care of killing the Emperor for her (while Shadowheart kept everything else from killing her in the meantime).

Post-adventure, Brecca plans on helping Astarion with their 7000 new spawn children in the Underdark, while trying to find a way to let him walk in the sun again. (That, and shoving Dammon at her new gnome friends so that they can put the pieces they already have together to make Karlach a new heart.) Eventually she might actually make her way back home to her mom and best friend, who, true to voice line, will absolutely never believe any of this.

#oc: brecca #changed the template slightly just cause i don't have nicknames for my ocs #and went with the abilities i use the most cause that's fun #.gaming #baldur's gate 3 #if you saw this before congrats cause tumblr sure was hiding it from me

[once-upon-an-imagine]

Coming Soon...

hello, my loves! so, I took a couple of weeks off because I was on vacation and now I have NO IDEA what to write next 😂 so, I thought I would ask what you loves would like to read! 

this will be a long post so, adding the Keep Reading so you can see each masterlist and the coming up work for each fandom and character! or go to the Masterlists and you can see them there 😊

so, please dm me, stop by my inbox or comment which story you'd like to read next 😁😁😁

Stranger Things

Steve Harrington

You have walked the halls of Hawkins High unseen. If it wasn’t because Eddie Munson and his Hellfire Club had found you, you probably wouldn’t even have any friends. You knew someone like your all-time crush Steve ‘The Hair’ Harrington wouldn’t notice you in a million years. Until you get paired up for a project and he finally learns your name.  

How Will I Know (Chapter 2) 

Faithfully

You know people say that Hawkins is haunted. And you are aware that there are some weird things going on all the time. But you do not know what this has to do with your boyfriend, Steve, spending so much time with his ex-girlfriend, Nancy Wheeler, and you can’t help but to start thinking things with her might not be as over as he told you they were.

With Or Without You

You dive into the Lover’s Lake before anyone can stop you and come back to tell everyone about the Watergate. But then, something pulls you back to the Upside Down and all you can see are bats around you so you feel like this is the end. Until you suddenly see Steve Harrington coming back for you and saving you. (mixing three similar requests)

The Time Of My Life

When you got the job at Family Video, you thought the best part would be to get to watch movies with your friend, Robin. You didn’t expect for it to be the really cute guy that you got to work with.

It Must Have Been Love

When you go to the Upside Down, you start noticing how your boyfriend is acting towards his ex-girlfriend. He doesn’t seem to think that anything is wrong, until he notices a certain metalhead pay you more attention than he is. (kind of mixing two similar requests)

Eddie Munson

[Harrington!Reader] Your senior year was supposed to be the best one in your life. But when Jason broke up with you, and turned the entire school against you by spreading rumors about you, you can count with your hand the people that talk to you. Dustin, Mike, Lucas, Max, Nancy, and Robin. But there might be a new one you can add to the list. One you never thought possible. Eddie Munson.

There Are Worse Things I Could Do (Chapter 3)

That Went Wrong

Eddie Munson with the prompt  “I think that went wrong in every way it could’ve.”

Never Tear Us Apart

It’s been a long time since Billy died. It has been even a longer time since he and you had broken up. You are moving on with Eddie and you have never been happier. So why are you getting headaches, nightmares and seeing things that aren’t there? (Set in S4; this might be a two-part because I’m mixing two similar requests).

Say, Say, Say

You’re new at school and Eddie instantly takes an interest in you when he realizes you know quite a lot about D&D and you want to join The Hellfire Club. (mixing two similar requests)

Don’t You Forget About Me

You have never been in detention. You feel as if this is the worst of your life, until you meet someone there that might make detention just bearable. (mixing two requests)

I Wanna Dance With Somebody

Eddie has always known that one of the main reasons why he fell in love with you is because you are the most opposite to him he can think of. So why is that now one of the things that is making him feel insecure about his relationship with you?

Fame

While driving back home, you notice you recognize the song playing on the radio. It’s not from a movie though, or from one of the famous artists you listen to. No, this is from your favorite artist, a very familiar song you’ve heard endless of times at bars and garage practice.

Opposites Attract 

Argyle

You and Eddie are probably the oddest couple in school. You have never mind, you love all of your differences. But sometimes Eddie feels a little insecure about your relationship and why you would choose to be with someone like him. 

Part Time Lover

(500 Miles)

[Hopper!Reader] After moving to California with your sister and you new family, you think maybe you’ll finally get some peace. But, of course, you are now driving across the country in your boyfriend’s pizza van, on your way back to Hawkins.

You have been in love with your best friend since you can remember, but you’ve never had the courage to tell him, fearing he might not feel the same. However, when you confide in Jonathan, he convinces you to finally take the leap.

A Kind Of Magic

Bullies are something you’ve had to deal with your whole life. You try to ignore it and not let it bother you. But the moment your boyfriend sees how people made fun of you, he immediately intervenes and stands up for you. (Warning: reader gets bullied for having a learning disability)

Robin Buckley

Holding Out For A Hero

You volunteer yourself to find the Watergate before anyone else does. When you resurface and something pulls you back by your leg, Robin doesn’t need to think twice to go after you.

I Think We’re Alone Now

Every time you come into Family Video, you go and talk to Steve. Robin feels heartbroken, thinking you’re just another girl that has a big crush on him. Little does she know, it’s his very cute co-worker you have your eye on.

Steddie (Steve & Eddie) 

Running Up That Hill

Against your boyfriends’ wishes you decide it’s what’s best for everyone if you are the bait for Vecna. You you stay back in the attic with Max and Lucas. Steve and Eddie try to make it back as quickly as they can but it might be too late. (Warning: reader is cursed by Vecna and gets hurt)

Nothing’s Gonna Stop Us Now

Everyone in your group could feel the sexual tension between you, Steve and Eddie. Which is probably why they all ganged up and planned to have the three of you share a bed to see if you would finally admit your feelings.

James Potter

**********************************************

Marauders Era

I’ll Hold My Breath

[Lupin!Reader] During a Quidditch match, your boyfriend notices you start having trouble breathing and calls it off. When he calls your brother from the stands, but he’s unable to help, he takes it upon himself to make it better.

Sirius Black

Just Give Me A Reason (Chapter 5)

[Snape!Reader] Coming back for another year in Hogwarts meant you and your brother were away from your worst tormentor. But when your school tormentor finds out about it, things are about to change and you are not sure if that’s a good thing or a bad thing. (Warning: mentions of abuse)

Dog Days Are Over

Ever since you can remember, dogs have always hated you. They bite you, they make you fall down, they hurt you, and you became terrified of them. So why is this big black dog making you feel incredibly safe and happy, proving to be the exception of y our bad luck.

Lover

[Potter!Reader] Being in a secret relationship with your brother’s best friend was not something you exactly planned. But now, that it’s been months and your brother is starting to get suspicious, you have no idea how to tell him without him wanting to kill Sirius. (Might be related to Style)

Can’t Buy Me Love

Sirius has always notice that you never buy anything when you go to Hogsmeade. He also notices how much you stare at a specific dress in  Gladrags Wizardwear so he decides to get it for you.

Remus Lupin

Too Good At Goodbyes (Chapter 6)

Twelve years ago, Lily and James Potter were brutally murdered. Twelve years ago, Sirius Black was sent to Azkaban for a crime he did not commit. Twelve years ago Remus Lupin left you to take care of a one-year-old Harry on your own. Twelve years ago Severus Snape was the only person who was there for you. And now, Remus is back to teach at Hogwarts with you, as Harry courses his third year, and Sirius Black escaped Azkaban.

Green Green Dress

[Evans!Reader] Your sisters invite your boyfriend and his friends to watch you perform without your knowledge. Remus is really excited to see you sing, until he hears the lyrics of the song you’re performing and he sees the hands of your co-star all over you.

Black Magic

[Black!Reader] You have always had a crush on your brother’s best friend, Remus. But you are certain that he only looks at you as Sirius’ little sister who barely speaks and always gets sick. (Prequel to Bent)

Severus Snape

What Once Was Mine

Albus Dumbledore recruited you two years ago to become the new Potions teacher. And in those two years he also had a secret assignment for you. One that you weren’t sure you would be able to complete successfully. One that, should you fail, it would mean you will lose the love of your life.

**********************************************

Golden Trio Era

Fred Weasley 

Bad Liar (Chapter 4)

Coming back to Hogwarts for your sixth year didn’t start as you expected when you have to witness your ex-boyfriend parade around as one of the champions with his new girlfriend. While you’re in a party that your house threw, you’re fed up with listening to him talking about his new relationship and to have a guy you have no interest in pining over you. So, you do the first thing you could think of. You kiss Fred Weasley.

Right To Be Wrong Series

[Malfoy!Reader] A series of related one-shots in different times looking at the relationship between a Weasley and a Malfoy.

George Weasley

Secret Love Song

[Diggory!Reader] Your brother, Cedric is very protective over you. One day, he happens to notice how George Weasley is too close to you.

Charlie Weasley

Hanging By A Moment (Chapter 7)

Your best friend Percy convinces you to go home with him for the holidays and asks you to pretend to be his girlfriend since he’s not out to his family. You accept, wanting to help your friend and thinking it shouldn’t be hard, right? That is until you meet his very much attractive, older brother, Charlie.

She Is Love

Charlie loves to make you blush and nervous because he knows you have a crush on him and he has a crush on you, but he doesn’t like it when someone else makes you blush or nervous.  

I’m Yours

Even if you’ve been friends with the twins forever, your boyfriend Charlie still feels a little bit jealous of how close you are with his two younger brothers.  

Learn To Fly

You have ran out of excuses to tell your boyfriend and you have no choice but to cave in. And Charlie is determined to show you that flying isn’t all that bad.

Bill Weasley

The Closest Thing

Bill falls in love with his little brothers’ best friend but he is certain that she would not feel the same after seeing him with his werewolf scars.  

Holding Hands

Bill has always been fascinated with the way your hands are so much smaller than his.

Percy Weasley

Come Back

You think you have your crush for Percy under control, until the two of you have to share a bed.  

Theodore Nott

Smile (Chapter 3)

You have always found Theodore Nott to be a very interesting person. And when he asks you to tutor him in Herbology, you realize he is also a very sweet person. There is only one thing that you’re missing and that you’re dying to see. You want to see him smile.

Blaise Zabini

Scared

Blaise realizes his actual feelings for you. He just hopes it’s not too late.

Pansy Parkinson

I Want You To Want Me

You still don't know how to deal with the fact of being in love with your best friend, so your other friends decide to help you.

#stranger things imagine #steve harrington #steve harrington imagine #steve harrington x reader #eddie munson #eddie munson imagine #eddie munson x reader #argyle #argyle imagine #argyle x reader #robin buckley #robin buckley imagine #robin buckley x reader #steddie #steddie imagine #steddie x reader #marauders imagine #james potter #james potter imagine #james potter x reader #sirius black #sirius black imagine #sirius black x reader #remus lupin #remus lupin imagine #remus lupin x reader #severus snape #severus snape imagine #severus snape x reader #harry potter imagine

[liferizpersonalblog]

My Personal Experience with the course LifeRiz

Studying our national hero Jose P. Rizal was not something I expected when entering college. I thought "Ah, this is going to be a boring course" since ever since primary school all the way to senior high school it pretty much covered all intricate details of Rizal's life. From his childhood, his adventures, the languages he spoke, his novels, and more. I assumed I already knew everything about our national hero. However, I was wrong. Learning about Rizal through the course LifeRiz was really interesting it felt like I was Rizal's company all throughout his life just by reading and studying his life.

My favorite part of the module was learning about his talents. Him becoming a Multi Talented Hero. To be honest, I was unsure before why Rizal was considered a national hero since I kinda thought I could do the same things that he had done and it was easy. But as I progress through this course, I slowly laughed at myself about why I thought of surpassing him because after each module of learning about his life. I was completely nothing near the sort of what he had accomplished. I was like a pebble compared to him. He was an artist, a sculptor, a doctor, an engineer, a novelist, a visionary, he knew arnis, and much much more. I was deeply impressed with the module Multi-Talented Hero. All throughout the times, we had covered Rizal in the past, his exile in Dapitan wasn't really taught in detail. His time in Dapitan was probably one of the most revolutionary things he had done in his time. He really had fully utilized all his skills and talents to further improve the quality of life in Dapitan. He was like a Sun spreading his light wherever he goes, he made the community in Dapitan flourish by providing his extended knowledge to his limited people. He proposed advancements for fishermen, He built a classroom close to his residence teaching philosophy concentrating on a balanced curriculum of theory and practice or skills. This made me realize he was so ahead of his time and more Filipinos should acknowledge and learn every intricate detail about him because truly he is inspirational and should be reflected in every facet of the Filipinos.

In conclusion, my journey of learning about Rizal's life throughout the module was very interesting. Now, whenever I would randomly think of anyone sometimes Rizal would come to my mind unexpectedly, and every time it always reminded me of his legacy and greatness. Labeling him a phenomenal hero is an understatement for me personally, he is beyond that. Rizal for me is what our nation currently lacks today he was revolutionary and way ahead of his time. Sometimes I would like to imagine what would the Philippines have been if he wasn't executed or if he's the president today since the past presidents had set the bar very low for the Filipino people. We are supposed to be grateful to the government but they're just doing the bare minimum whereas compared to Rizal I think he would laugh at our current president today about his incompetence and lack of responsibility. All in all I very much enjoyed my time studying about our national hero and was reminded how great he really is.

[servin-up-surveys]

survey #007

(from last night; tumblr was being an ass and wouldn’t let me post, rip)

What was the last thing you laughed at? Something Girt said, I'm certain. He's a goof. Do you know anyone personally who has committed murder? No. Do you use temper glass phone screen protectors? No. Have you ever cracked your phone screen badly?No. Would you ever take up pole dancing as a hobby? No, not even if I had a body I was comfortable with. It's beautiful, though. What do you do when you start to feel depressed or really down? Most often I'll try to watch something funny or anything that's like a "comfort" thing for me, like a certain let's play or just video in general. Do you do positive affirmations daily? No. Do you enjoy glitter or find it to be a nuisance? Both. Would you ever want to be a politician? Absolutely not. Have you ever seen a wolf in person? At the zoo, yes. They were always WAY in the back though, in the shade. If my memory serves me right, they're actually the nearly extinct red wolves and are therefore immensely rare, which makes me just wanna get a good look at them more. Are you currently doing something else besides this survey? I'm listening to music. What’s the fastest you’ve ever driven? Idk, not too fast. When I did drive, Mom would freak out if I went like two over the speed limit. Do you play games on your phone? Occasionally, but not a whole lot. I do try to get my daily Pokemon GO spawn, though. Only one is set to spawn over my house every day, cries. Would you rather do without sweet or salty snacks? Salty, I think. But both are great, so this question sucks. Do you enjoy buying gifts for others? I absolutely would if I had money TO buy people gifts. Fucking sucks, mine and my boyfriend's anniversary isn't that far away and I already worry I'm not going to be able to get him anything. I would sob, I already couldn't get him shit for his birthday, Christmas. or Valentine's Day. Wow I fucking suck. Is acting something you’d enjoy? Are you convincing? No, I'm way too awkward about it. I've only acted well once in my life, when me, my sister, and two of our friends were volunteering at a haunted hayride-type thing and at one point I did this maniacal laugh from my hiding spot that no one believed was me lmaooo. Have you ever lost control of a car? ASLKJDFHAKWEJFOAWER NO DON'T SAY THAT What’s your thoughts on people having selfies as their phone backgrounds? ... I don't care...? It's not my preference for me, but like??? it's their phone??????????? I didn't realize people HAD opinions on this. What is your phone background of? My lock screen is my favorite piece of work by online artist NukeRooster, which I've been planning for years and years and years to get tatted one day on my upper left arm. It's there because one, #aesthetic, and two, I guess it's sorta motivational for me to see it regularly and work towards being able to afford such a tattoo. My home screen is some simple space art with a 3D red/blue texture. Are the Olympics something you get into? Not at all. What did you get your first award for? Idk, either something for academic excellence like honor roll or just participation stuff for childhood sports. Does it bother you when people use all caps or all lower case letters? All caps (except for reasonable, occasional emphasis), yes. All lower case doesn't bug me at all. Would you or have you ever dyed your hair blue? I never have and probably won't. Could you climb the monkey bars now like you did as a kid? No way in hell. I wasn't even good at those as a kid. Have you ever dyed your eyebrows to match your hair? No. What’s your favorite shower/bath product? Omg my friend/related-by-marriage family Summer got me this little Lush giftbox for Christmas, and while I've only used (and finished) the body wash, it was INCREDIBLE. Quality stuff and the smell was absolutely amazing. Also it had a really great color to it and it made me feel like a big ol' truck in a car wash using the colorful soap. :') When was the last time you looked out of a window? Literally just a second ago. The neighbor across the street got home, and I saw the car appear out of the corner of my eye so just naturally turned to look at the movement. How many stitches have you had in your lifetime? I've had to get stitches at least twice that I remember, but I don't recall exactly how many I needed. Have you suffered from depression? I was diagnosed with it around the 7th grade, and it's never left. I've just gotten better at coping. Do you like rap music? No. Do you have a favorite day of the week? No, they're all very much the same to me. How much money do you regularly spend on groceries? I'm not about to ask my mother that, it's not my business and I feel like shit I can't help with them anyway. Has anyone ever pinched you for not wearing green on St. Patrick’s Day? Ugh, yes. I hate that shit. I have always been extremely sensitive to pinches, like I will actually bruise, doesn't matter how "gentle" you think you're being. Are there any bands you wish would get back together? Oh, I'm certain there are some that I'm just not thinking of right now. OH! Is Linkin Park actually still a... thing without Chester? I honestly don't think I want a singer that isn't him, he was too iconic, but I still miss their music. What are your favorite fast food restaurants? Some are Sonic, Bojangle's, Wendy's, and McDonald's (don't @ me shut up). How about least favorite? Arby's takes the fucking cake, that shit is so gross. I also don't like KFC, and Burger King isn't great. I also boycott Chick-fil-a as a business because they're homophobic + transpobic pieces of absolute garbage. I genuinely want their CEO to burn in hell. What kind of cereal did you have last? I had the chocolate chunk type of Special K for breakfast. Would you rather, on a dare, eat an insect or kiss a stranger? Eat an insect ig. I guess it would depend on like, what bug though. I don't want to do either, but kisses are a very "reserved for only who I love" sort of thing for me personally. What’s the last thing that made you feel sad? Ummm I dunno. Do you like spaghetti sauce or just butter and cheese over noodles? I strongly prefer sauce. What type of novels do you enjoy reading? Ones with a fantasy basis. Would you ever get your nose pierced? Yes, I want it repierced, actually. I'd prefer a stud, but those just have NOT worked for me as far as staying in my nose when I sleep on my damn face, so I'll be getting a hoop this time. so it won't come out and I lose it every morning. What was the last song you listened to? "Morgenstern" by Rammstein. Maybe one day I'll listen to more music than just them again lmaooo What do you think of having religion in schools? Optional course? Fine. But if it in ANY way infiltrates into mandatory curriculum? Fuck that. I'm looking at you, parents that get tilted over schools teaching evolution versus your bedtime stories relating to a pair of all conceivable animals fitting on a fucking ark and repopulating with such diversity. Have you ever accidentally sent a text to a person you were talking about? It's possible? Idr. Is there anything going to get released soon that you’re looking forward to? RE4 REMAKE NEXT MARCH BABYYYYYYY *sobbing emoji* Do you have a fan in the room you’re in? Yes. What’s something you wish you liked but you don’t? Vegetables, lol. Do you use a baby voice when talking to animals? Um, duh. Would you say your parents put too much pressure on you? No. My parents are very understanding of the limiting problems that I deal with. What’s for dinner today? I don't know. Not very worried about it, I'm not hungry whatsoever rn. What game did you play most as a kid? I played the HELL out of the original Spyro The Dragon trilogy PS1 games, especially the second and third. Do you like the scent of gasoline? Omg no, I loathe it. It gives me a headache. What’s something you’ve been made fun of for before? I REALLY do not want to think and linger on this question because of my hypersensitivity to rejection/judgment/this general vibe. What is something you need to work on? God, a lot. This is another I just don't wanna dwell on. What movie or show has scared you the most? The horror movie The Rite bc especially when you're a religious teenager and watch a movie where Satan rapes and impregnates an innocent woman, I mean, that's gonna fuck you up. Do you support the Supreme Court in trying to overturn Roe vs Wade? (banning all abortions in the USA) Nope, I'd like to burn their fucking building to the motherfucking ground. What’s the best gift anyone could give you? Covering the cost of a tattoo, haha. If you’re pale, do you get made fun of for it? Only by family in a very non-hurtful way. Are you white/black/asian/mexican/etc? I'm Caucasian. Did your family move to America from another country? Not my IMMEDIATE family, no. Ancestors, obviously. Ever known anyone who did business with a prostitute? Not that I'm aware of, no. Are your real parents divorced? If your parents are divorced, how old are your step-parents? Do you like your step-parents, or are they assholes? Yes; my mom has never really dated since, but my dad is re-married, and she's... well. Very Christian. She wouldn't even move in with my dad until they were married for religious reasons. She's nice and has always been kind and sweet to me, but being FB friends and knowing how she feels about many serious topics... oh god. Oh yeah, and I'm unsure about her exact age, but I know she's just a couple years younger than Dad. Were you adopted? If so, have you met your biological parents? How about biological siblings or grandparents? N/A [TW: ABUSE] Ever had an abusive parent or other family member? If so, what’s the worst they did? I'm very thankful that I don't. Got any step siblings? If so, how many? Are they annoying or cool? Dad's wife has one son named Michael, but I don't really see him as my "brother" like at all. He is super, super reclusive and even when I'm at the house, you don't see him much. I don't not like him, he's just like this one big walking question mark. Ever walked in on your parents while they were getting busy? If so, how many times and how old were you? LISTEN it's practically impossible for me to imagine my parents doing anything even remotely intimate ever and I'm satisfied with it that way. How many siblings do you have? How old are they, and what are their names? Do they have the same hair color and eye color as you? ... Oh wow, this reminded me today is actually my oldest sister's birthday, haha. Katie is now 30-... something. She is the literal spitting image of Mom, like you put them beside each other and the resemblence is fuckin scary lmao, so their features are the same, and in turn mostly similar to mine, I just have blue eyes while theirs are brown. Bobby is also in his 30s and might have blue eyes? Idk. I actually don't remember what his hair color even is since he's been mostly without hair for a long-ass time. I'm quite sure it's brown? Then Misty is 30-something too, and her hair is black with eyes a color I don't recall. Probably brown. Ashley (28) and Nicole (24) both have brown hair as well, ours all practically identical in color, and they have brown eyes. I don't know how Tiffany looks or how old she is, but older than Misty I know, so in her 30s. Ever had to take care of a baby sibling? If you did, did you feel responsible, or were you just annoyed? No; Nicole and I are too close in age for me to really do that. We were very close as kids though and played all the time together. Do you like children, or do they piss you off? "Piss me off" is a very strong phrase... I don't really like kids, and yet at the same time I do with their purity and innocence and always believing in what is good. They're just toomalleable for me. Like even with my nieces and nephew, I obsess over saying and doing things perfectly because I don't want to bend how they think or see things in a bad way. Children in general are also just fucking exhausting and require an amount of fuel I absolutely never have. Think you’ll ever have kids of your own one day? No. From the bottom of my heart I truly feel like me trying to be a mother would end with me killing myself. There are times I think I might want one or two, but it's just simply not smart. Have you ever had a close friend get knocked up early? II don't think so, no. I know that's a weird answer, but I to this day do not know if my very good friend in HS named Alon was the same girl who did have a baby in middle school. I remember them looking similar, but I just really don't know. I never asked her because it wasn't my business, and if it WAS her, I didn't want to stir up bad memories or anything. Have you yourself ever gotten close to getting pregnant? No. There was this short period where my good friend Anxiety had me freaking out that I MIGHT be because I missed my period that month, even though my dumb ass was a virgin (barely, but w/e). It was such a legitimate fear that even Jason knew, and on god I wish that man had called me insane lmao If you were to get pregnant as a teen, what would happen? Well, I was very pro-life then (I know, it nauseates me too), so ig I'd have a kid running around. Mom would've certainly helped out with raising it, probably a bit too much if I'm honest with y'all. It's questions like these that make me immensely happy I DID abstain from sex as a teenager because I was a fucking stupid and impulsive kid that would have to be in contact with the man associated with my trauma. Maybe I never would have healed. God, all that would be an ugly life. Do you know if anyone in your family ever got knocked up as a teen? I'm *pretty* sure Mom had Katie when she was 19? Maybe... For some reason that sounds right. Do you prefer baby boys or baby girls? Girls, generally.

#survey #surveys #random questions

[tsukishumai]

pairing: Bokuto Kotaro x gn!reader

summary: whoever said being adult was fun obviously never had bills to pay. so when Akaashi offers up a way to earn cash fast, you jump at the opportunity. except, you never thought you’d find yourself modeling in your underwear... least of all with Bokuto Kotaro

wc; 3k+

tags; fluff, humor, college au, mentions of very slight nudity

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* 　　 *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

If anyone else other than Akaashi offered you this position, you would probably punch them right in the face.

Maybe he considers this payback for all the times he’s had to listen to you whine about your problems during your shared shifts at the cafe, or maybe this truly was his own sadistic way of attempting to provide support.

“Okay, so I know a way you can make easy money,” he started, and already those words should have sent alarm bells ringing in your head, but this was Akaashi. You’ve only really known him for a short time, but already you knew he wouldn’t lead you astray.

But really, the electronic shop five blocks from campus told you it would cost 55000 yen to repair your laptop monitor, so you weren’t exactly in a position to be picky. 

You had also been complaining to him for the past forty minutes -- about the broken laptop, the leaking faucet in your apartment, the textbook that cost you more than your groceries for the past month, the two hours of sleep you got last night, and your paychecks that were all but depleted once the bills were paid. He remained tightlipped throughout your whole tirade, so you suppose the least you could do was hear him out. 

“You’re not trying to sell my kidneys, right…” You mumble sarcastically, but you tilt your head to him anyway to show you were listening.

“No, sadly, it’s not quite the season for kidneys yet,” Akaashi delivers in a flat tone, “So you’re just going to have to deal with modeling.”

“Modeling?” Your reaction was harsh and loud, and you flinched away from the piercing glares of cafe regulars trying to study in peace. 

Akaashi smirks as he wipes down the steamer before replying, “Don’t worry, it’s not the kind of modeling you’re thinking.”

Your mouth dropped, and you raised an eyebrow as you crossed your arms, scoffing at Akaashi incredulously. 

“Are you trying to send me to a nudie shoot?!” you whisper in almost-mock offense, but now a part of you was a little worried that your favorite coworker was a secret pervert.

To your utter relief, Akaashi just laughs. “God, no. Well, I guess, kind of?”

At this point, your head was beginning to spin. “What do you mean kind of? Just spit it out already, Akaashi.”

Akaashi finally finishes cleaning off the coffee machine just as you finished replenishing the pastry displays, and in an unusual lull in customers, he’s able to lean against the bar and give you his undivided attention.

“My art professor pays the models for her figure drawing class a pretty decent amount of money, I think,” Akaashi tells you, and your eyes begin to sparkle. “She mentioned a couple of slots being open.”

“Really?” your interest was immediately piqued, “How much money?”

Akaashi shrugs. “Enough to strike at least one problem off your list, probably.”

That was all you needed to hear. Akaashi had given you his professor’s contact information, and you sent her an email the second you had clocked out of your shift. 

Professor Nobuta was a kind woman who emailed you back with such haste, you could feel her desperation matching yours. She was candid during the entirety of your exchange, saying that her usual model had dropped out last minute and there was a spot in her class tomorrow that she needed to fill as soon as possible. Lucky for both of you, you were actually available, and details were exchanged swiftly. 

As you read over the requirements, your eyes roved over two words in a section of the email that made your eyes bulge out of your head. 

Semi Nude. 

You blinked once. Then twice. 

You had already formulated a kind rejection in your mind, ready to type your response when another section caught your eye. You inwardly groaned, dropping your head into your hands. 

She was offering you almost as much as two shifts at the cafe. 

That, alone, was enough to convince you, but the look of relief on Professor Nobuta’s face when you walked through the doors of her classroom was confirmation you made the right decision.

The seats around the classroom were nearly all filled, some students preparing their materials across their desks, and others sitting back and scrolling through their phones. The whirring of the A/C had filled the room with white noise, and you take notice of the two empty stools in the middle of the room.

“Thank you so much for signing up, L/N-san,” Professor Nobuta bowed profusely, and she gestured to a table for you to leave your things. “We’re still waiting on the other model, so take your time, and have a seat on the stool when you’re ready.”

You nodded in acknowledgement, and Professor Nobuta makes her way back to her desk. You briefly wonder if she was going to point you in the direction of a changing room, but realized the redundancy when everyone in the room was meant to stare at your half naked body anyway. 

You begrudgingly peeled off your clothes, folding them neatly before placing them in a pile on the table. Your footsteps made hardly any noise as you walked across the room, desperately trying hard to act nonchalant. 

Just as you took a seat in one of the empty stools, you heard someone pull the door open and loudly clamber inside.

“Ahh, welcome back, Bokuto-san!”

Your eyes widened at the name the professer had just yelled across the room. You brace yourself as you quickly whip your head around, and standing by the door sheepishly rubbing the back of his neck was Bokuto Kotaro. 

Student Athlete, Volleyball Star, Most Wanted Bachelor Bokuto Kotaro smiled brightly as he skipped to the table your items were placed, apologizing profusely for being late. All eyes followed him like moths, and Bokuto was the bright flame. Everyone knew him, and you often saw him walking across the quad, always greeting at least twenty people on the way. 

You could hardly hear what Professor Nobuta was saying to him, and you were now unabashedly staring as Bokuto began to strip out of his clothes. 

Bokuto was built like a marble statue -- hard lines that traveled across his chest and traced his abs must have been painstakingly carved with the utmost care by a masterful artist, and every movement he made created new shapes along his muscled body. You found yourself instantly wishing you had even an ounce of artistic talent, because it was no doubt that Bokuto was every figure artists’ dream. 

All at once, your vision was filled with gold and a sweet smile, and too late did you realize you had just been caught staring. Bokuto’s eyes don’t leave yours as he stands up straight, and struts over to you in nothing but a pair of nude briefs. 

“Alright, everyone, your timed session is about to begin,” Professor Nobuta’s voice had startled you nearly out of your seat, and you turn your head back to face the class, cringing inwardly when you noticed some were smirking at you, “Feel free to request poses from the models, as this will be a graded assignment. We only have an hour and a half, so make the most out of your time.”

You feel your body stiffen as Bokuto takes the empty seat next to you, staying silent when you feel his eyes staring at you. You might have been able to ignore this in another setting, but at the moment, about fifty students were watching him watching you -- eyes flitting up the stage down to their sketchbook as they try to decide where to begin. 

Envy coursed through you as the room began to fill with the sounds of graphite scratching against paper, wishing you could switch positions with literally anybody else in the room. You tried to relax your body against the stool, awkwardly attempting to find a natural position for your arms when you were interrupted by a throat clearing. 

Your head turns to the side, heat rushing to your face when you see Bokuto smiling at you.

“Hi,” he greets, his voice a direct contrast against the silent concentration filling the room, “I’m Bokuto!”

His knees were bent as he settled his feet on the first ring of the stool. He rests an elbow on his thigh so he can place his chin on the palm of his hand, giving you an expectant look as he waits for your response. You try to avoid the way his chest seemed to bulge even more in this position, but the furious sound of sketching says you weren’t the only one to notice.

“Bokuto Kotaro,” you say his name back, and he pulls his lips back into an even wider smile, “I know.”

You bite your lip when a student from the back requested for you to cross your legs, resting your hand against your thighs. You’re not sure if you’re supposed to be talking, but Professor Nobuta didn't seem to be paying either of you any mind. 

He hadn’t said anything to you after that, but the grin remained on his lips as requests begin coming in from students across the class.

They were all fairly simple -- please position your hand like so, could you extend your leg this way, or turn your head that way. The first twenty minutes had been spent doing individual tasks and repositioning, and soon you felt yourself relaxing into your role. Your previous jitters had all but dissolved, and you figured if the rest of the session were to go on like this, then you’d be golden. 

Your eyes shift over to Bokuto, who was leaning back with such easy grace, balancing himself with his foot against the footrest. The way his body created such naturally eloquent lines made it seem as if he was born to be a sculpture, to be admired and gazed at, to invoke inspiration and creation. You weren’t sure anyone in this room was even looking at you anymore, with Bokuto acting as if he was the lighthouse in a storm, beckoning all of you to come home. 

He turns his head a second too quickly, winking when his eyes meet yours, and for the second time in less than an hour, you realize you’ve just been caught checking him out. 

Your dignity was slipping through your fingers like sand, and you clear your throat before turning your attention to a poster on the wall.

From the corner of your eye, you see Professor Nobuta stand from her desk and making her way to a student in the corner. The two whisper among each other, and you watched as the professor consults with other students before nodding her head and turning to the both of you. 

“I received a sort of direction from a few students,” she began, beckoning for the both of you to stand, “They were hoping you could do some more intimate poses.” 

You balked, nearly choking on the air in our lungs. “I-intimate?”

Professor Nobuto nodded her head enthusiastically, and you exchanged a look with Bokuto. 

“Whatever you’re comfortable with — an embrace, hand holding, hands on each other’s face — get creative with it!” 

And with that, the professor sits back down on her desk and begins flipping through her phone, and the two of you are left to brace the expectant looks of the art students staring up at you. 

“This your first time?” Bokuto asks you gently, a sort of sympathetic look on his face as his eyes study your stiff posture. 

“Yeah,” you admit, and he coaxes you towards him with an outstretched hand. You hesitantly place your fingers in his palm, and for a moment, he just stood there. It took a minute for the sounds of rapid sketching to register in your brain, and you realize he’s allowing the class to take note of this pose. 

He’s standing directly across from you now, and you can feel his gaze burning trails across your body as he regards you from head to toe. You feel like an ant burning under the beam of a microscope, and you nearly burst into flames when he chuckles. 

“Nice peach,” Bokuto comments, and you nearly recoil back in surprise. The last thing you had expected from Bokuto was a comment like that, but then you notice his eyes flick back down to your underwear. 

The professor’s email hadn’t included too many rules or requirements. She only included the most important details, such as time, place, pay, dress code, and such. Stated in the dress code, you were allowed to wear undergarments of any neutral color. Today, you had chosen a simple pair of black underwear and figured it was the safest choice.

You hadn’t, however, noticed the large cartoon peach that had gracefully adorned the back of it, complete with a cartoon face that winked sparkles. Now that you were forced to stand, and the entire class got a good view for themselves. 

“Thanks,” you deadpan through gritted teeth, “It’s pretty juicy if you asked me.” 

Bokuto fails miserably to hide a smirk, but his eyes sparkled with amusement as he looked down at you. 

A few minutes (or eternity) later, his hand closes around yours, pulling it up to place against his cheek. He pulls you in by the other wrist, wrapping your arm around his waist as he cups the side of your neck. His other arm wraps almost completely around your middle, and he pulls you flush against his chest. 

His body was hard against yours, and you had no doubts he could feel your heart’s hundreds of beats per second. He tilts his head to the side ever so slightly, and you hope he doesn’t notice the sheen of sweat beginning to collect on your upper lip. 

A fire was bound to be started with how quickly everyone around began to move their pencils, and you heart races when Bokuto absentmindedly draws circles on your skin with his thumb. 

He holds you in this embrace for much longer than you anticipated, and the butterflies in your stomach were making you nauseous. His eyes are trained on your face now, the intensity of his stare making you want to shrink back, but you hold your place and return his gaze. 

His eyes narrow and squint, eyebrows wiggling as his face scrunches up in thought. 

“Do I know you?” Bokuto asks, and it was in this moment where you felt your stomach flip flop into the abyss. It was the one question you had hoped he wouldn’t think to ask you. 

Because you did know Bokuto Kotaro, but not in the way everyone else on campus knew him. 

You remember clearly the slow, dreary Wednesday morning when Akaashi Keiji asks you the same thing. 

“Uh, yeah? Of course, you know me, we’re coworkers,” you replied sarcastically, and Akaashi insists it was more than that. 

“You’re hiding something from me,” he simply states, and you inwardly thanked the customer that had walked and interrupted that moment.

But you should have known that Akaashi was not one to let things go, and after being berated the entire shift about how secrets don’t keep friends, you finally confessed.

You were a student at Fukurodani. 

Akaashi didn’t believe you. There was no way, how was that possible? He would have recognized you. But you were the year above him, and had actively avoided school sports. Because as much as you would have liked to watch your school’s Nationally Ranked Volleyball Club play and compete with super hot athletes from across the country, there was one glaring reason why you couldn’t. 

You had confessed to Bokuto Kotaro in your first year. 

And you were soundly, and absolutely rejected. 

He had every right to, of course. You were just his classmate, you didn’t even know each other that well, and he needed to focus all his attention on volleyball. It made sense.You know that now.

But to your young heart, it was world ending, soul crushing even, and it took you two years to get over your ridiculous one-sided crush. 

Now here you were, standing in front of a group of people in nothing but your underwear, with Bokuto staring at you like a fly caught in a trap.

“No, I don’t think so,” you respond, and Bokuto scoffs. 

“You’re a bad liar,” he whispers, and you find yourself grinning. 

“How would you know?” You whisper back, “You just met me.” 

“No, I definitely know you —“ 

“Alright, everyone,” Professor Nobuto announces with a smack on her desk, “That about does it for today’s session. Give some thanks to your models!”

You jump back from Bokuto as the class offers a light round of applause. The two of you bow back, and you rush over to the table as the professor approaches Bokuto. 

You leave the two of them to chat as you hurriedly put your clothes back on, hoisting your bag up on your shoulder, and nearly falling over putting your shoes on.

“Thank you for today,” Professor Nobuto sneaks up from behind, a smile on her face as she hands you a blank white envelope, “I hope I see your name on the sign up sheet again.”

You offer her a grin as you accept the envelope. “Thank you for the opportunity!”

And with that, you rush out of the stuffy room and make a bee line towards the door. 

“Hey, Peaches!” Bokuto’s voice makes you freeze from across the room, and you turn around to see him adorned only his pants. “You never told me your name?” 

With a smirk, you put your hand on the handle, walking out the door as you yelled over your shoulder. 

“I thought you said you knew me!”

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* 　　 *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

“That was a trap, wasn’t it,” you accuse Akaashi as soon as you see him again, walking into your shift at the café just as he was about to clock out. 

His smile was almost evil, punching out as he gathers his jacket. 

“Whatever could you possibly mean, dear coworker,” he replies, and you smack him on the shoulder. 

“You had to have known Bokuto was doing that,” you seethe, glaring at Akaashi, “And you knew about… about… you’re dangerous, Akaashi Keiji.” 

He laughs, waving you off, “You said you needed help, so I offered help.”

“Oh, you conniving little —“ 

“Akaashi, you ready?” A familiar voice cuts you, making your head twist towards the door. 

A set of white and black streaked hair, a devilish grin, bright twinkling eyes — your nightmare in human form walking in. 

His eyes widen as they meet yours from across the room, and he waves a hand in the air as if you could have possibly missed the six foot three volleyball player barely fitting through the door frame.

“Hey, Peaches!” He greets cheerfully, walking and leaning against the counter, “Fancy running into you here.”

“Peaches?” Akaashi asks, and your eyes shoot him a nasty glare. 

“I work here,” you reply, and Bokuto’s eyes widen. 

“Akaashi, why wouldn’t you tell me you have such a cutie for a coworker?!” He demands of his best friend, who simply rolls his eyes and heads out the door. 

“Let’s go, Bokuto-san!”

“Akaashi! Hey, wait,” Bokuto runs one step to the door but stops and turns back, “If I come back tomorrow, you gonna tell me your name then?” 

You laugh. “I don’t work tomorrow.” 

“I’ll ask Akaashi for your schedule then!” He screams as he runs out the door. 

The smile on your face stayed on for the rest of your shift. 

#bokuto #bokuto x reader #bokuto x you #bokuto x y/n #bokuto kotaro x reader #bokuto kotaro x you #bokuto kotaro x y/n #bokuto fluff #bokuto kotaro headcanon #bokuto koutaro scenarios #bokuto imagines #haikyuu!! x reader #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu!! x y/n #haikyuu!! fic

[wevegottogetaway]

El Patrón

I’m so excited to finally be posting this piece. I’ve been working on it for the past few days and it’s been consuming my mind. If you like angst, smut, art student Harry, and great plot twists, this story is for you, so buckle up, cause you’ve got 13700 and then some waiting for you! And on that note, I don’t thing I have many words left in my brain... so, hope you enjoy xx

TW: smut, fool language

After her first day back to classes, Y/n is not surprised to see Harry Styles’ lanky frame standing behind the bar of Bottom’s Up. She hoped that he would bugger off to work some place else but alas, all her summer prayers were unanswered. For yet another semester, she would have to endure bartending by his sides, trying with all her might not to jab a corkscrew at his throat every time he opened his gob. Granted, she could have switched jobs herself, but the pay is too good to turn down and the bar sits literally right around the corner from her place; a match made in heaven if you ask her. Besides, she’s been mastering the art of tuning out the insufferable green-eyed prick for two years now, so what’s one more? Of course, knowing it is likely to be the last - having just kicked off the final year of her psychology major - makes the news easier to stomach. And with any luck, the fool did some sort of soul-searching over the break and came back a changed man.

"Well, well, well. Look who decided to grace us with her delightful presence again. Knew you couldn’t stand to live without me, y/l/n." Harry greets her with a smirk as he looks up from his phone. 

Well, some much for change, but luck has never been on y/n’s side anyway; she knew it was wishful thinking to entertain the idea of a pleasant or even tolerable Harry. "Shut it, Styles. I’m not in the mood for your bullshit," she quips back and goes straight to the employee’s locker room to dispose of her stuff and swap her top for one bearing the bar’s logo. Once done, she takes a brief look in the tattered mirror still hanging by the door to readjust her ponytail, before joining her co-worker behind the counter. The bar is rather quiet for now, clock having not chimes 6pm yet, but y/n expects the place to be soon crawling with students drinking the classes’ return off their mind. 

The next few minutes are spent in unexpected peaceful silence, y/n prepping for the upcoming rush while Harry idly sits by, not lifting a single finger to help her out. Admittedly, he’s completed all his pre-shift duties during the last hour, but y/n doesn’t think it warrants the smug look painted on his face as he watches her battle a jar of olives with an old opener and  a concentrated frown. So peaceful silence was a bit of a stretch, maybe.

Then to make matters worse he decides to taunt her, "I see you’ve grown zero muscle strength over the break. Too busy vegetating on the beach?" 

The surge of anger triggered by the provocation is enough impetus for her to crack the can open, but it doesn’t stop her from turning to face him, "I see you’ve grown zero neuron in that thick head of yours. Too busy making people miserable instead?" she counters with flaring nostrils and a look of disdain hardening her features.

"Ah, still got a feisty mouth on you. ‘Was worried you might turn soft on us." Harry sasses back, but y/n doesn’t bother telling him off this time. No matter how strong her comeback, he’ll just brush it off with that smile of his that irritates her to no end. That’s the thing with Harry, the bastard has the thickest skin of all, he’s downright unattainable. And believe it or not, bad-mouthing doesn’t come naturally to y/n, he just seems to draw it out of her, perhaps as the trigger of some kind of survival instinct. Time and time again she’s tried to come up with a quip that would leave him speechless, tail between his legs, but he always has a wittier reply to throw back at her. For so long they’ve been playing this debilitating game of ping pong and she has yet to claim a point to his countless wins. 

It’d been the case since their first meeting on that dreadful Friday two years ago. Y/n was about to embark on her second year at uni and decided to get a job so she could afford her own place instead of the dreary dorms she’d gotten used to. Bottom’s Up had seemed to be the perfect choice, a 2 minutes walk from the sweet little apartment she’d just visited a few days prior. She’d been excited for her first shift that night, air still warm from the Indian summer sun drawing a plethora of eager students to come enjoy their last day of freedom. Her happy jitters had quickly dissolved once she’d made her way in the staff-only area located behind the bar though. There, she’d walked in on a very frustrated Harry vociferating at a lost-looking colleague, "how many times do you have to fuck up before doing your bloody job, Steve? Stop sitting on your lazy ass, or I swear I’ll-" 

She’d come to this Steve guy’s defense then, furious at the tall curly hair jerk for bullying his way around, "stop it, you asshole. You can’t talk to people like trash, who do you think you are?" Granted, she didn’t know it at the time, but the lost look on Steve's face was in fact pretty standard for the amount of weed in his system; nor did she know that the lad could actually win the Olympics of lazy asses hands down, should such a discipline be appended. It was too late to call off the hostilities though. War had been declared, and aside maybe from that one time he had graciously accepted to cover for her when she’d had a trip to Brighton planned for one of her classes, no truce had ever been reached. Besides, she’s sure it was more so because he was low on cash rather than to fulfill the hidden desire to help her out for once in his life.

Now, as she finishes wiping her work surface with a wet cloth, y/n wishes more than ever to be teleported in a parallel universe where she doesn’t have to work with the bane of her existence, much less see his annoyingly handsome face four times a week. (Also, exams would only be optional in this alternate reality of hers, but that’s another fantasy for another day.) Mainly, she’s just glad she doesn’t see him around campus ever, the art building standing all the way across from the psychology department. At least she’s Harry-free the moment she steps out of the bar; she’d probably have a nervous breakdown if she had to put up with his antics outside of work.

                                                       ***

A month in the new semester, the novelty of it all has finally worn off to make way for routines to settle in. Y/n’s weeks now consist in a well-practiced cycle of sleep, study, eat, work and occasionally go out with her best friend Mia. Her shifts at Bottom’s Up still prove to be challenging because of the company she’s forced to keep but things seem to have calmed down at the bar too. Students are now less inclined to party the week away, mainly indulging during the second half of the week, but more importantly, Harry appears to be less of a smug bastard and more of a sulky sod. For some reason, the lad has been stuck in a sullen mood, constant frown wrinkling his forehead. He has reverted to distant one-word answers as though he is saving a dictionary worth of words for whatever conundrum is going on in his brain. Y/n doesn’t mind though, and almost welcomes the transition if it means less digs taken at her expense.

Now y/n finds herself on her way to the campus library for a much needed paper-writing cramming session (the assignment is due the following day and she barely has two thirds of the work completed). After a quick stop by the coffee shop down the block, she finally strides in the lobby of the library, ready to dive nose first into the riveting matters of cognitive psychology. She’s already so focused mulling over concepts’ definition in her mind, that it takes her a minute to realize something is going on.

It’s nothing major really, no big fire rushing around the premises or fist-fight breaking the crowd into a frenzy. No, just everyone seemingly hushing and gasping, bewildered expressions etched upon their faces as they keep pointing towards the nearby study room. Truthfully, y/n might have been completely oblivious to it, it she weren’t a psychology major; but reading people’s feelings and interactions is kind of her thing, so she does notice the bubbly energy infiltrating the usually quiet space. What could possibly have them so intrigued, she wonders as more students come out of the room with the same looks of wonder.

Her confusion is finally quelled when she steps into the study room in question and her eyes fall on what has everyone so engaged. On the wall to her right, between two sets of shelves brimming with decades-old books, hangs a life size canvas of audacious shapes and bold colors. Not one seems to have been left out, the painting seemingly transporting the viewer in a psychedelic albeit appealing trance. It’s full of contrasts, an embodiment of serenity and boldness at the same time, and y/n can’t stop ogling the masterpiece for the life of her. The amount of passion is so obviously overwhelming, yet she can feel all of the artist’s emotions underneath each of the brushstrokes.  

After another minute of wondrous observation, her thoughts are interrupted by a foreign voice. "El Patrón? I wonder who that could be," the stranger wonders aloud, and her eyes immediately drift off to the bottom right of the painting to catch the small but unmistakable signature: black cursive letter spelling the two words withholding the real artist’s identity. The mystery only adds up to the appeal of the work and y/n already feels a bubbling feeling in the pit of her stomach at the idea of ever finding out what beautiful soul is responsible for such mind-bending work. She hopes this won’t be last she sees of it. 

                                                       ***

It’s Friday night and unfortunately for y/n, she’s stuck at work with her least favorite person in the world. It’s all the more unfortunate that Harry seems to be back to his usual annoying self, his thoughts finally free from whatever trouble had plagued them, and eager to fall back into nuisance mode. Less unfortunate for y/n and much to Harry’s discontent, Mia decided to stop by and keep her company. Though she feels slightly sorry for her having the act as her buffer for the night, y/n figures she’s more than making up for it with every free cocktail she keeps sliding towards her friend. Their conversation is scattered at best since patrons keep interrupting them for a fresh pint of ale, but as the night slowly dies down they manage to talk longer than 20 seconds.

The manager of the bar has long clocked off and gone home, as per usual on Friday nights, leaving both her and Harry the pleasure to indulge in a few drinks of their own. They don’t do it every week and always keep it low-key of course; Mia’s tonight presence mostly accounting for y/n’s partaking while Harry just likes a nice glass of tequila when the week-end comes around and there’s nobody to tell him off about it. One thing they never do though, is drink together, like two friends celebrating yet another week they survived at uni. Come to think of it, the only thing they do share is a job position and their never-ending bickering. Cheers to that, y/n takes another sip of her gin martini in sarcasm. 

She’s brought back to reality by Mia as the tipsy brunette lets out a loud gasp before she inquires in a slightly high-pitched voice, "y/n! totally forgot to tell you, went by the library today and you’ll never guess what was there!" 

"Oh my god, you saw the painting too, didn’t you" y/n answers, excited at the idea of discussing the whole thing with her best friend. Truth be told, the majestic work of art hasn’t left her mind since she’d first seen it a few days before. 

"Yes" Mia squeals in confirmation, "I mean, it’s kinda impossible to miss. I wonder how they got it there without anyone seeing."

Y/n has wondered the same thing and she came to one conclusion, "they probably sneaked in last Sunday after the library closed, it’s the only time the building is empty," Mia humming in agreement. The campus library is opened 24/7 all days except on Sundays, so realistically speaking it is the only window of time that would allow for such an experiment. Whether said experiment required an actual break-in or was conducted in full legality remains a mystery but that is just bygones in y/n’s eyes. She’s much to mesmerized by the work to give a damn about how it got there in the first place. 

"Oi y/l/n! What are you two fawning over this time" Harry chirps in the conversation, uninvited as always, and y/n hates how condescending he just sounded.

"Not that you could ever understand something with substance, if your lack thereof is any indication, but it’s none of your damn business," y/n spats out dismissively but Mia’s Margarita-induced brain seems to have forgotten all about their concerted hatred for piss-taking bartenders.

"Harry, you’re an art major aren’t you? D’you know who’s behind that beautiful painting at the library?" 

Y/n tilts her head back in a sigh at her friend’s behavior before turning to watch the puzzled look on Harry’s face. He seems to silently gauge the both of them; for what, y/n doesn’t know, and then his whole expression switched to a blasé look. He shrugs in disinterest, "who cares? ’s just one more Banksy wannabe who’s trying at it too hard ‘f you ask me." 

Y/n takes it as a personal offense, her admiration for the painting outweighing any instinct she has of avoiding the brazen man taking a sip of his tequila on rocks across from her, "of course you’d say something like that. You’re just jealous you’ll never compete with his talent."

Harry raises a brow at her accusation, "and how would you know since you’ve never seen any of my work?" 

It’s a valid point, but not enough to rebut her. "Doesn’t take a genius to know a shallow mind like yours could never create something as deep and transcending. That would require actual emotions from you Harry and we both know the only emotion you’re capable of spreading is irritation." 

For once she’s confident she’s gonna have the last word, but in true Harry fashion he just gives her a bored look as if to say ‘is that all?’ towel thrown over his shoulder, "right, and here I thought talking to people like trash was a bad thing. You should really take a page out of your own book, y/n, wouldn’t want anyone to think you’re as big of a jerk as I am." Then he turns back to face the room full of customers, and tends to one disheveled looking guy slurring out an order. 

Y/n barely registers the friendly "alright Joe, but ’s the last one," Harry rasps out to the guy, her ears are still ringing from the last words he’d said to her. More specifically, the little truth they held despite how much he deserved the backlash, and y/n absolutely loathes the way her throat seems to be closing in on itself. She’s afraid she’s turning like him, bitter words at the ready and always trying to outdo his own taunting spiels. Before anxiety can settle in her bones though, she swallows back the knot tightening in her airways and goes back to serving customers and conversing with her friend.

                                                        ***

The next time it happens, she expects it even less. A couple weeks have passed since her gruesome interaction with Harry at the bar, and along with her doubts, all thoughts about art have seemed to vanish from her busy mind. She’s had a few tests occupying all her free time and now that they’ve been done and over with, all she can think about is calling Mia up to plan their next night out; she needs a few drinks that she didn’t make for once. 

She’s about to take her phone out of her pocket to send her best friend a text, when she enters the lecture hall of her Monday experimental method and research design class. The déjà-vu feeling that creeps up her spine stops her from completing the action, and y/n frowns at how her fellow students seem to be all entranced in deep conversation, exchanging baffled looks with one another. Even the sleeping kid that sits at the back seems to be more alert than during their last fire evacuation procedure test. 

It’s then y/n turns around to see what is hanging at the front of the room, covering the large board. This time, the colors were carefully handpicked by the artists, flashes of pink and yellow dancing along to a frenzied rhythm of salsa as their union creates powerful jets of oranges across the canvas. It vaguely reminds her of the pendant she wears on a daily basis, rose gold laurels wrapped around a delicate sunflower, an orange topaz incrusted in its center. The painting is of abstract nature much like the last one, but the movements of the brush still bring her mind back to the jewel presently nestled between her collarbones. How odd.

The piece is slightly smaller than the last but no less impressive, catching the attention of even the least artistic eye. The sensibility of the artist is so distinct, intentions clearer and more in touch than most people with their own. For a second, y/n thinks she’s glad the pieces have only been ones of unadulterated happiness and colorful bliss so far, because god knows how heart-wrenching the outcome would be if all this uncorrupted honesty was used to fill canvas with pain.

As the professor enters the room, everybody settles back on their seat, and wait for the chap’s reaction. "Well, that sure is something. It seems we have a bit of a mystery painter on our hands, don’t we; and a talented one at that," y/n’s professor smiles at the class as he pulls a computer out of his satchel and places it at top of the front desk. His words make her look back at the artwork, this time settling on the small signature reading El Patrón on its corner. And it’s all it takes for Y/n’s obsession with the anonymous artist to be back in full force.

                                                       ***

That night she can’t stop raving about the painting as she starts closing the bar after a long and tiresome shift. She’s got a shoulder pressing her phone to her ear, Mia on the line, while she absentmindedly sweeps the floor. Normally the exertion of the job would have her stifling yawns and her bones aching but tonight her voice is perky as ever as she recollects the pinnacle of her day, "you shoulda been there Mia, it was gorgeous. And same as last time, like you’d be minding your business, doing your thing and then boom, it’s there. Damn, this guy is a genius."

As she comes back around the counter, Harry makes sure she notices the roll of his eyes. He’s been wiping and tidying the bar space after making sure everything is stocked up for the next day, all the while listening to her drone about El Patrón and his stroke of genius, praise after praise falling from her lips. She completely brushes off the patronizing gesture and that’s perhaps what irritates him the most. She’s barely acknowledging him or his stunts with all her attention placed on the mystery painter and well, Harry quite likes riling her up. Doesn’t do it out of spite, but merely because he likes the way it ignites a fire in her that he’s seldom seen in people. But now, all her fire is directed elsewhere and he doesn’t know what to think of it.

                                                         ***

Over the next month, the rumors around El Patrón spread like wildfire as more and more of his works are found scattered around campus. Much to y/n’s delight, she always seems to fall upon them as though they’ve been placed specifically on her path. It didn’t start as obvious though; the first following pieces hung in common areas around campus such as the lunch hall or the student center but as time went by they tended to follow her whereabouts somehow. Y/n knows she’s probably fabulating but when she’d stumble across two absolutely stunning pieces in the lobby of her gym and at the entrance of the psychology building, she couldn’t help but feel deeply attached to them. And the possibility that this mystery artist might have the same attachment to her, only fuels her obsession further, sending her reeling with all but one nerve-wracking question: who is this guy?

And it’s not like she’s the only one pondering over their identity either. Hell, the genius has literally everyone on campus under their spell, trying to uncover the enigma of the year. Everyone seems to be determined to find clues, easter eggs hidden within the paintings that could lead them closer to the truth. El Patrón has effectively turned the whole uni into a large-scale game of Cluedo, people speculating left and right and swapping theories about who it can or cannot be, what year they are probably in, or whether they have an accomplice. Nobody has ever executed such a tour de force in the history of campus, and it has everyone one edge, y/n included, desperate to be in the loop.

The fact that each painting is more beautiful than the last and always seems to connect with her in personal ways doesn’t help her daydreaming either. Take the one she found at the gym for example, for a few second she’d sworn she was looking at a familiar piece of the English South Coast, dark hues of blue fighting dots of white, reminiscent of the way foam always seems to top even the most raging waves as they crash along shores. She’d only had to close her eyes to feel the wind blowing her hair in a thousand directions and the sand engulfing her feet, making its way between her toes and every crevice of her skin. She was still in the middle of her gym when she reopened them though, her sport bag straddling her shoulder as she kept gaping at the painting in adoration.

Her suspicious keeps nagging at her head, the desire to unveil the identity of her beloved artist getting stronger by the day. The feeling is almost unbearable when she spots yet another work of his across from Bottom’s Up. The coincidences keep piling up and the more she mulls it over, the more she’s convinced this mystery guy is talking to her. Damn, is it possible to have a crush on someone because of their work? After months of this cryptic scavenger hunt, she’d dying to know if all her theories are right and the fact that she has no way to find out, is positively killer her.

That’s why when she stumbles across a flyer for a midterm exhibition gala hosted by the art department as she waits in line at her favorite coffee shop, she doesn’t think twice before jotting down all the info. In a week time, most of the uni’s art students would be gathered up in one place to present their term’s work. The chances are too high for y/n to pass up the opportunity, her guts telling her he’ll be there. It makes sense doesn’t it? Surely, this El Patrón ought to be an art student if not a teacher. How else would they have access to all the campus amenities most of the paintings were found in? 

As she goes to pick up her coffee from the counter, y/n walks with a newfound spring in her steps; she really can’t wait for this gala to happen.

                                                       ***

Y/n stands at the entrance of the art building, a black floor-length long-sleeves open-back dress hugging her curves in all the right places. Her heart speeds up at the nervous jitters crawling underneath her skin, and the million question swarming her frantic mind. What if he actually doesn’t know her and doesn’t give a damn about her thoughts on his work? What if it’s actually a woman and she’s been hiding a man’s pen-name to consolidate her deceit? Is she about to make the biggest fool out of herself by coming to this exhibition? She doesn’t know anyone here, nor has she ever been to this kind of event before but she’s decided this guessing game has run its course. Maybe this all thing has nothing to do with her and that’s okay. All she really wants is to have a chance to tell this exquisite mind how remarkable their work is; the rest be damned.

Y/n slowly makes her way inside, and after a quick stop at the coat room to dispose of the unnecessary garment, she is finally greeted by a room full of dressed-up people roaming  and chatting around, champagne flutes in hands. How cliche, she thinks with humor, before picking up a glass of the bubbly beverage. It’ll help sooth the nerves, she reasons as she starts walking around the place to observe each of the displays. Despite not having had a glimpse of her number-one painter yet, she finds herself having a good time. Most of the work offered to her is engaging in one way or another; some pieces quite provocative is their depiction, others straight out pushing the limits of 2D, with structures coming out of the canvas as though they were about to grip at the viewer. 

Turning at a corner, she comes across his art before she sees him, having almost forgotten art was supposedly his thing too, and she realizes she actually knew someone here apart from the mysterious painter. She takes a brief look at his tall frame, the baby blue suit over his crisp white shirt fitting him perfectly. A black tie is completing the look, and it makes y/n waver for a second. She’s never seen him dressed in anything other than jeans and the bar’s t-shirt every employee is supposed to wear on call. Granted, even that he can make work better than anyone else she can think of, but that suit is something else altogether. 

Her eyes shifts back to his work, not wanting to waste too much time on his appearance; she is here on a mission after all. She can’t deny his painting is good as much as she wants too. It’s made of a perfectly executed optic illusion that has her pause for longer than she intended to. The colors are picked wisely only adding to the entrancing design, tempting the viewer to reach out to the painting to convince themselves that this is fact a pretty subterfuge and no reality; the frontier between both worlds much too hard to distinguish. Just like for the rest of the exhibition, a single plaque hangs underneath the canvas, introducing the title of the piece above the name of its artist: Fine Line by Harry Styles. Damn, the bastard had to be talented…

"Is it as depthless as you thought it would be?" A hoarse voice interrupts her inner thoughts. She knows it’s his at the first word and already she regrets ever thinking positive things about him.

"Funny, I would have shared a compliment but you just had to go and open your stupid mouth," she bites back as she fully turns around to face him. She can feel is eyes shamelessly scanning her body, sending her nerves on overdrive. She wants this exchange to be as curt as possible, she’s got important matters to tend to.

"Here for you mysterious bloke, I presume?" he inquires in a taunting voice.

"What’s it to you, anyway?" y/n dodges the question with another, hoping it’ll steer the conversation toward its end.

She’s answered by rosy pouting lips, a hand on his heart in faux vexation, "ouch, was just hopin’ you’d come to see me, and now you’ve just crushed my dreams, love."

The pet-name is not lost on her and Y/n has had enough. In own gulp she downs the rest of her champagne and forces the glass to his chest for him to hold as she makes her way past him, "just leave me alone and go be a pain in someone else’s ass, Harry." She doesn’t wait to see if he’s following her as she marches across the room in long and purposeful strides. 

Something in the corner of her eyes catches her attention right then. Halting abruptly, almost making someone walk right into her, she turns her head to the side and that’s when she finally sees it. A whole part of the wall has been dedicated to his work, a shrine of his most outstanding pieces randomly hung against the white surface. Y/n recognizes each and every one of them, but then her eyes take in the extra work added for the exhibition: next to each of the pieces are displayed a bunch of photos capturing the students’ expressions as they first discovered the paintings. Dozens of faces lighting up in amazement, widening eyes and finger pointing at the unexpected intrusions; some show confusion and puzzlement while others simply behold laughter and animated conversation.

In the center of the wall, a video is projected. It’s a compilation of those same moments but this time captured on tape. The sound was removed, but as y/n takes in the faces of her fellow students she can almost hear the sound of their laughters; she’d been there for most of it after all. She thinks the idea is amazing, El Patrón has managed to make the viewer a permanent part of the art. The paintings are marvelous of course, full of emotions and passion, but the mysterious artist has gone one step further by also displaying how those emotions had reflected back on the audience. It is an ode to art, to the power of sharing, and proves art is limitless; not owned by museums, not bound between walls and certainly not restricted for trained-eyes only. Because art isn’t all about beauty, it speaks for the need for sharing that human have but often forget, and this is a perfect reminder of it.

The next tape playing has her eyes doubling over the video, a small gasp escaping her lips as she takes in her own figure. It was taken the day she found the painting at the gym and unlike all the other videos she’s alone. No group of students by her side elbowing her in disbelief, or sharing a puzzle look with her. Just her doe eyes gleaming at the painting, lips slightly parted in pure wonder, as she studies every inch of the canvas. And the feeling that this might mean just as much to him as it does to her comes back crashing on her. She’s not paranoid; this artist his using her as some kind of inspiration, she’s sure of it. Random cannot be this accurate, it would defy any laws of statistics. 

After the slideshow finally moves on to the next video, y/n looks around in the hopes of finding the man that has wormed his way into her heart. She’s imagined it a thousand times over during the past week. A young man would be discretely standing on the side, watching the evening pan out and waiting for her to find his work. Then they would make eye contact and he’d make his way over to greet her and share more of his beautiful mind with her. That’s the happily ever after she’s hoped for since that first painting in the library, but alas everyone around her seems to be engrossed in conversation about this and that. 

"I thought he would be there too," the unexpected voice makes her jump. She recognizes the student from that first day, she’d also be intrigued by the mysterious man.

"I know, all of his work is here, he has to somewhere around," y/n tries to convince herself. She hasn’t given up yet, she won’t let herself unless she goes home tonight empty-handed. Only after that will she stop searching, she promises herself. If he doesn’t show up tonight, then that’s because he doesn’t want to be found.

The girl next to her has the same disappointed tone when she explains, "you’d think so, but I’ve been asking everyone around and nobody has a clue still."

Before y/n can come up with her own rationalizations, someone starts speaking in a microphone, asking for everyone’s attention. It’s a man in his early fifties making a speech about the whole reason behind the exhibition so y/n pegs him as the head of the art department. "Thank you all for coming tonight, it is always a pleasure to see so many of you supporting our young talents. As you may know, tonight’s exhibition signs off our students’ final work for the semester, and will also see one of them receive a one-time collaboration with a renown art gallery in the city. Now, before the judges finish deliberating, let me tell you a bit about the topic of this exhibition which, by the way, serves as the main criteria for this contest. Our artists were asked to work around audience engagement and crowd reaction. The task was to produce art that would prompt an active response from the viewer and go beyond a passive experience. I hope this info helps this event take all its sense, I’ll let you all meander for a couple more minutes before we announce the winner. Thank you for your presence." 

Since she has a couple more of minutes, y/n decides to take advantage of the fresh insight she was just given about the artwork and goes around the exhibition one more time. The whole thing does take on a new meaning, now that she knows what was going one in the students’ mind as they first got their assignment. But what has her in awe really, is El Patrón’s coup de maître in all of this, because unlike any other applicant here tonight, he’s had the strongest reactions from the public for months now and had even documented it. So really, in a way he’s already won, no bias to blame. The amount of work and planning behind such a tour de force surely has exceeded everyone’s expectations and secured the number-one position for the still-to-be-revealed artist. In the pocket, as they say.

"Alright everyone, without further ado we are going to announce the lucky talent selected by the judges tonight," the head of department speaks up again. "On behalf of the whole department, I would like to salute each and every one of the students that presented their work tonight. Skills are certainly not scarce among you all, and as always it gives me great pleasure to see you all grow into yourselves alongside your craft. As you know, there can only be one of you coming up to this stage tonight and I must say, this semester has proved to be full of surprises. Never in my 26 years working here have I ever seen something of the sort, so ladies, gentleman, I have no idea who is about to join me now, but please give a warm round of applause for El Patrón!" 

The room explodes in loud cheers as people clap their hands in honor of the mysterious artist. Y/n probably the loudest amongst them all, is still craning her neck in every possible directions trying to catch sight of anyone moving towards the stage. The standing ovation quickly fades into silence as everyone realizes nobody is coming to claim their prize. The usual hushing following any of El Patrón’s stunts is once again spreading across the room to match people’s incredulity at the situation. It was one thing to keep their identity a secret, as it was clearly a crucial condition for the plan to work, but now that it is all over and done, prize ready for the taking, it doesn’t make much sense.

"Mister El Patrón? I think you more than deserve to drop your mask and receive your prize," the host reiterates in hopes that the much awaited artist comes out of his lair, but he’s met with the same result. Perhaps he’s not here after all, or perhaps y/n was right to think he might not want to be found, but regardless a strong feeling of disappointment takes over a body. He won’t be coming, she knows. No matter how many times the host calls for him, he won’t be coming. 

She lets out a long sign in frustration then, she really thought tonight was the tonight. But now that the evening is coming to its end, tears pearl at the corner of her eyes and she just wants to go home and forget all about El Patrón. Aren’t artists supposed to be dark and twisted anyway? Maybe she just dodges a bullet, she tries to make herself feel better, but no amount of sarcasm can save her from the painful pinch at her heart. As she comes to term with the fact she won’t get any more answers by staying (and possible ever), she decides it’s her cue to go. 

On her way to the exit, her eyes fall upon Harry’s slightly hunched figure. He seems deep in his thoughts, eyes fixed towards the floor though he’s not looking at anything in particular. For some unknown reason, y/n is not irked by his presence like she usually is. He’s just lost a great career opportunity so his preoccupied disposition is understandable. Feeling as though she needs to end the night on a different note - whether positive is yet to be determined - she approaches him slowly as not to startle him. "Your painting is really good. I’m sorry you didn’t win, but you should still be proud," she softly tells him to cheer him up. At least, one of them might get to go home in higher spirits. 

He looks up at her then, curls bouncing on top of his head, as he aligns his two glistening emeralds to her own gems. He seems quite surprised to hear her voice, probably rightfully so since he can count on one hand (scratch that, one finger) the number of times she’s actively sought him out for conversation. She can tell he’s debating whether to say something or not, as they keep their eyes locked. It’s probably the longest and only civil exchange they’ve ever had, and somehow it manages to soothe some of her sorrows. 

Y/n likes this reflective side of him, she realizes. Not that she wishes him any torments (at least not tonight) but his quietness makes him look vulnerable in that beautifully human way for once. That’s twice he’s proven her wrong about the assumptions she had on him, tonight: first his talent, now his character; she doesn’t know what to make of it. Silently, she accepts the timid smile and light nod he offers her in gratitude, before making her way to out at last.

                                                       ***

Two days after the night of the exhibition, y/n still has a hard time to let her grievance go. Her mood has yet to upgrade from crappy at best, and the fact that all the artwork has been removed from their previous spots is not helping much. Of course she knew they had been put down for the big night, but her heart still missed a beat when she went to the gym only to find the walls of the lobby bare of any craft that would liven up their otherwise dull and colorless structure. Just like her state of mind, she’d joked. And y/n is not one to throw pity parties, especially to herself; but then again, she’d never fallen under the charms of a faceless virtuoso because his art brought to life parts of her that she’d believed otherwise dormant, only to be metaphorically stood up at the end of the process. So really, what does she know anymore?

Now that she’s back at work, she revels in the constant effort she has to provide. The ever-growing list of task to complete gives her mind reprieve and focus, but she still hasn’t budged from her unusually distant and withdrawn self. Even harry’s own standoffishness hasn’t caught her attention; a week ago, his awkward demeanor would have flashed red flags all over her radar. An unfiltered narcissistic prick he could be, but y/n has never known him to be anything even resembling reserve; apart maybe from that one fate-less night not even 72 hours ago when she found him on the outskirts of the attention even though she knew full well that he is more of center kind of guy.

As they’re about to start closing, the awkwardness becomes more palpable by the second. They’ve skirted around it during the whole shift, the steady solicitation of customers enough to ignore the growing tension; but as the last of the patrons finally make their way out of the bar, an eery silence settles in their wake, making them both want to crawl out of their skin. Even the heavy-served drinks they’ve indulged in, despite the absence of their respective motives, hasn’t help assuage the strain between them. Instead, they start their usual routine in overrated silence, y/n in charge of the floor while he tends to the bar. Then before long, Harry bursts the uncomfortable bubble they’ve locked themselves in, voice void of its usual teasing tone, "so, what’s got you so grumpy?" he inquires.

"Please don’t start, Harry. I really can’t be bothered tonight," y/n sighs in response, failing to recognize the note of concern in his question and thinking she wouldn’t survive another bickering session. It hasn’t been the lad’s intention though, so her false accusation has his thick skin itching against his will. To be honest, Harry’s never taken much offense from any of their past squabbles no matter how hard she’d come at him, but this one he can’t brush off. Not when for once, he’s trying to be decent, dropping the attitude he knows rubs her the wrong way and she responds by telling him to get lost.

"Fuck sake, I wasn’t tryin’ to start anythin’" he berates her for lashing out unjustifiably, "you need to take a chill pill." The hostile reaction as her pausing mid-swipe in the middle of the room. He was always so unbothered by everything she said, she hasn’t expected him to be so hard on the defensive (or even know what a defensive is in the first place). 

Still, she doesn’t appreciate the same chastising tactic he’s used on her countless times, especially because given his serious temper, she knows he means it for real now. "Oh I’m sorry Harry, I didn’t know what sympathy actually sounds like coming from your mouth," she quips back in sarcasm. 

The response makes him livid, "you tell me I’m a jerk every chance you got, but you sure know how to be a bitch, y/n" he spats before finishing wiping the counter. As his hand reaches the end of the surface, he finds his half-empty glass of tequila, most of the ice completely melted through the amber liquor by now. He takes one long sip in a vain attempt to calm his nerves but the alcohol merely tingles the back of his palate and warms its way down his stomach. His mind is still burden with frustrations he doesn’t know how to alleviate; the end of term, the exhibition, his career’s future, and y/n’s stubborn nature all wreaking havoc in his tired brain.

"Shut the fuck up, Harry. I didn’t ask for your attention," y/n retorts, trying not to expose how bruised her heart is. While he’d mocked her plenty during the past two years, he’d never resorted to calling her names, unlike her; so the insult does more damage than she’s willing to admit, even coming from Harry. And to think she’d thought of him as a half decent being not three days ago…

"Right, I forgot only anonymous bastards are worthy enough of your attention," he replies before checking the shelves behind the bar to make sure they’re stocked enough for the next shift. "And even when they turn out to be cowards, you still choose them over the people that are actually around you. You need to open your eyes and wake up, it’s pathetic."

Y/n has almost finished cleaning her area but at this point, she’s ready to call it quits and run as fast as she can, away from him. "Go fuck yourself, you don’t know anything you’re talking about," she manages to croak past her swelling throat and quivering lips. The man in front of her is breaking her heart even though he’s never had it in his calloused hands, and y/n doesn’t know why. 

"Fuck this, ’m done," he quite literally throws in the towel, leaving it in a bowl on the counter before making his way back to his drink. In a swift movement, he grabs the bottle of tequila to pour himself a new one. "You keep blindly mopin’ about your precious painter, I don’t care, you’re probably right anyway," he says before chugging the bitter spirit in one go and slamming the bottle of tequila down on the counter in a loud bang that has y/n jump in fear. "I don’t anything about bloody anything," is all Harry says as he locks eyes with hers, before making his out of the bar, not bothering to put the bottle back to its rightful place.

Y/n is still trembling from the exchange, and it takes her a hot minute before she can finish what she was doing. As she resumes wiping the floor with shaky hands, she tries to even her breath out. Why had he been so hurtful? What could have possibly impelled him to utter such malicious words? The questions are still reeling in her mind as she twists water out of the mop  for the last time. Once the floor is spotless and all the tables are no longer sticky with spilled alcohol, chairs stacked up onto them upside-down, she makes her way back behind the bar, checking that Harry didn’t leave any of his duties unattended before his theatrical exit. She spots the bottle of tequila sitting lonely on the counter but just as she goes to reach for it, she freezes. 

It’s a cold shower pouring over her body all at once then, dots finally connected as her eyes read over the label of the fat bottle she’s seen him take out of the stack countless times before. Everything that happened for the last few months falls into place and suddenly there is no mystery left to be solved. ‘You’re probably right, I don’t know anything about bloody anything’ Harry’s final words keep playing on a maddening loop in her head. 

Y/n takes in the small bee design printed under what is unmistakably the last piece of the puzzle she’s been craving to complete: one word that has her stomach churning in a myriad of emotions she can’t possibly untangle. Anger, relief, surprise, fear, curiosity, warmth and more, are all rushing through her in one colossal wave, because printed on that bottle in black capital letters is the brand of Harry’s favorite drink: Patrón.

                                                       ***

The next day, y/n navigates through her classes purely on autopilot mode. She doesn’t quite remember picking the floral blouse nor the light-shade pair of jeans she’s wearing, and barely recalls the brief conversation she had with an old lady during her bus commute to campus. One thing she sure as hell hasn’t paid one iota of attention to, is the behavioral psychology class she’s just got out of. Two hours she spent pacing up and down every twist and turn of her mind only to come out more lost than she’d started. Add to that the fact she’s running on 4 hours of sleep, she’s quite simply a recipe for disaster. Fortunately for y/n, she isn’t due at work tonight, having called sick this morning, because sleep-deprivation aside, she still has no idea how she’s supposed to face Harry.

The revelation of the night prior is still something she has trouble wrapping her mind around, as it goes against every constructed opinion she’s made about her life. Harry is Patrón, she’s pretty sure. Harry, the allegedly conceited asshole she’s been bickering with since their first minute spent together, is the mind-blowing painter that had taken residence in y/n’s heart since the first time she set eyes on his art. The two characters have yet to fully merge into one in her mind, despite the fact it makes perfect sense to her. 

The Brighton painting, the one inspiring her necklace, it was all true. And with that revelation comes two intimidating truths y/n is kind of scared to delve into: one, all this time she’s been right to think she is the muse behind this all scheme; two, if Harry is the mystery painter, that makes her Harry’s muse more specifically. And that’s the part of the equation she struggles the most with, because up until last night she was pretty positive that the twat despised her (the night in itself being prime evidence of that) but now she doesn’t know what to think.

It’s like there are two versions of Harry battling in her brain, splitting her heart in halves; the one that made her miserable at work for years and made her cry last night, and the one she’d gotten a glimpse of at the night of the exhibition. The one that hid a fully blossomed bouquet of emotions behind teasing banter to protect a diamond-rough talent that had the power to touch just about anyone’s sensibility. The one that had her wrapped around his finger in awe with that beautiful mind of his. The question is, can she or will she see this Harry the next time she’s facing him or will all their bad-blood history come crashing down on her instead? Y/n doesn’t think she’s ever fit more the definition of having mixed feelings about something.

On her way home, she makes sure she doesn’t fall asleep against the bus window, despite yawning every thirty-seconds. It feels like the trip is taking forever, she almost lets out a cry of relief when the automated voice finally announces her upcoming stop. Once she’s thanked the driver and stepped out of the bus, she’s met with a gust of brisk air, instantly blowing her hair all over her face. She draws the lapels of her coat tighter around her shivering body and starts making her way towards her apartment building. 

It doesn’t take her long to complete the walking distance to her place and tread her way up the stairs, but the sight greeting her in the hallway of her floor almost sends her down on her ass. Because right across from her door, is Harry hanging yet another one of his chefs-d’oeuvre. He’s dressed casually in his usual jeans and t-shirt ensemble, with a thick grey hoodie covering his broad upper-half in a feeble attempt to combat to cold weather raging outside. As he reaches in the back pocket of his jeans to retrieve a sharpie - no doubt to apply his trademark signature - the movements of her feet on the laminated floor catch his attention. Spinning around in a jolt of surprise, he realizes too late that he’s been caught red-handed. There was no going back this time, but he doesn’t necessarily see it as a bad thing.

There is a short moment where they are both just standing in front of each other a few feet apart, as their eyes bounce back in silent conversation, before y/n softly breaths out, "so it is you." The weight of her words has him swallow in nervousness, "of course it’s me," he replies in a gentle tone. A smile pulls at his lips when he realizes she’s not running for the hills or bursting out in a furious rant. 

"I just…how? why? I mean, you gotta help me understand Harry, cause I’m pretty fucking lost over here," she blurts out with wide doe-eyes begging him for answers. Her obvious jitters earn her a soft chuckle., and for a hot minute all he can bring himself to do is study her snuggled figure and the way she keeps fiddling with her keys. It’s so endearing to him, if they were at his place, he would have offered to make some tea. The thought has him hesitantly looking at the door across from them, "can we maybe talk inside?" he inquires, beckoning his head towards her place. "I know I haven’t given you much reasons to let me in, but I promise I’ll explain everythin’," he feels the need to convince her, " after that, you can kick me out if you still want."

The last bit has her smile timidly, "yeah, let’s go inside. I wanna hear what you have to say," y/n admits as she steps to the door and unlocks it. She’s intrigued by how gentle and well-mannered the man following her to the living room seems to be, light years away from the rowdy lad she’s come to know. 

For a second, y/n is worries about the state she’s left the apartment before she rushed to classes this morning, but her apprehensions quickly go away once she takes in the sight of her rather tidied living space. A velvety throw blanket is covering the couch in a makeshift comforter from the way she spent the night on the couch, and apart from a few class notes scattered across the coffee table, everything seems to be where it’s supposed to be. 

They both discard their top layers on the armchair adjacent to the couch, Harry slipping his hoodie off above his head in one swift gesture, while y/n simply lets the sleeves of her coat slide down her arms. He brushes his hair back into submission with one swoop of his hand, before sitting down on the couch and directing his attention back at her. She decides to leave some distance between them, taking the other end of the sofa and the move desperately makes him wonder what thoughts are running through her head. The only way to uncover them  however, is if he starts talking first; and so he does.

"So uhm," he starts clumsily, clearing his throat, "remember the first day we met, you walked in on me telling some stoner guy off," he watches closely as y/n nods. "It was our first ever conversation and we fought through the whole thing. I was pretty pissed when it happened, not gonna lie, but once I got home and slept it off, I thought it was really cool how you’d stand up for that random guy." The admission has her eyebrows raising but he keeps going, "and okay maybe, just maybe, I found it a lil hot, the way you tried to put me back in my place." 

He stops to make sure he hasn’t offended her, "tried to?" she challenges instead, Harry laughing at her objection. 

"Right, maybe you did. My poin’ is, no-one really calls me out on my bullshit, so it was kinda refreshing that you did. But then the next day, you were still mad at me, an’ we bickered that time too. It felt like you’d already made up your mind about me. So in a way, all I had left was doin’ this thing where I push your buttons and rile you up. Know it doesn’t make sense, but it was the only way you’d interact with me so I kept doin’ it, because being jerk-Harry was better than having nothin’." 

He pauses for a minute and waits as y/n swallows all the information. All this time he’s been teasing her just to have some sort of connection, no matter how perverse, while she thought he just hated her guts. When she shares this thought with him, he shakes his head with a smile, "never hated you. If I ‘ad, I wouldn’t have bothered talking t’you."

Suddenly, her chest feels lighter, as though all this months of anguish had evaporated from her mind, now that she knew their rocky relationship was the result of miscommunication, "sound logic, Styles," she replies in good humor. Then she remembers the El Patrón’s fiasco so she urges him to go on.

"My final. Right. Well as you know, we were given the assignment at the beginning of the semester, and I came up with the idea of creating this alter ego that would plant his work around campus. I thought by taking people’s by surprise I was guaranteed strong genuine reactions. People are always more opened when they don’t expect it. Like if I had just brought my paintings on the night of the exhibition, the same people wouldn’t have reacted that way, probably because they’d know they’d be observed so they would have adjusted their behavior accordingly." They both know he’s getting slightly off trail, but watching y/n so enthralled with his words makes it hard for him to stop. Fact is, for month she’s dreamed of meeting and picking at the brain of this mysterious painter, and now that he’s sitting on her couch, walking her through his thought process, she finally feels like she is. 

"Anyway," he resumes the storytelling, "I started with that painting in the library and it worked so perfectly, I knew if I followed the plan I would have somethin’ really good. But then you just had to go on an’ rave about the paintings without knowing they were mine, and it was killin’ me inside. Because I knew if there was a real chance I could change your mind about me, I’d do anythin’. But no matter how much I wanted to, I couldn’t tell you. Couldn’t jeopardize my final… so I tried to tell you through the art. I started painting stuff that made me think of you and placed the pieces in locations I knew you’d pass through. It was the only way I could tell you."

Harry’s confession had Y/n’s heart beating so hard in her chest, she can almost feel it thumping through her ears. Her next question is on the edge of her lips, but she takes her time tracing each of Harry’s graceful features until his eyes catch hers, "tell me what, Harry?" she asks barely above a whisper. 

His response comes in three bashful steps: first his lips curve into a shy grin that has him look down with rosy cheeks; then his hand inches its way along the soft fabric of the couch to gently hold her fingers, thumb grazing over her knuckles; and as he looks up from their joined hands to connect their gaze once more, he finally spells it, loud and clear, "tell you that I like you, y/n." 

The sentiment sends her own emotions reeling in a tornado of passion. This is it, this is what she’s been half-knowingly wishing for, and now that she knows the truth in full, she’s ready to embrace it. Her eyes twinkle in bliss, a growing smile illuminating her face as she squeezes his hand in a silent invitation to slide closer to her. Harry is much happy to oblige, and once he’s sitting directly next to her, knees grazing her own, he cups her face with one of his bear-paw hands. A few strands of hair are caught in the cuddling gesture, but none of them care. Harry just keeps smiling at her, waiting for her next move, and his beam grows two sizes wide when she mirrors his affection. "I like this side of you," she whispers fondly, as her thumb draws slow circles across the skin of his cheeks.

Harry closes his eyes at her words, "this is the real me, I promise," he reassures in an almost pleading tone, vulnerability seeping through. And y/n feels like she’s lying down on cloud nine really, because dropping his fortress of pretentiousness is all she’s ever want from him. With a hushed ‘okay’, she finally brings her mouth to taste the rose-tinted flesh of his. It starts off chaste and slow, lips dovetailed in perfect symbioses like they are made to cohabit, but quickly the kiss heats up to a full on make out session. "Show me, then", y/n mutters out when they part for a breather.

Harry slowly nods his head, before helping her straddle his lap and y/n immediately brings both her hands to his neck once she settles her hips against his. The friction already had them deeply inhale, trying not to work themselves up too fast, but Harry doesn’t think he’ll have much self-control when it comes to y/n. Already he can feel his cock fattening up inside his brief, the tingling sensation making him roll his hips up into hers. Their lips are back in a sensual duel, tongues tentatively taking their turn to lick their way inside the other’s mouth. Every now and then, he teases her bottom lip with a graze of his teeth, and the move as her tugging the root of his hair at the back of his head every single time without a fail.

He loves discovering all the quirks and tells of her body, thinks he could spend hours on hand learning every single one of her curves and memorizing each of her special spots. The smell of her fragrance infiltrates his nostrils as he dips his head to her neck to plant open-month kisses along her skin. Head angled towards the ceiling to make room for his ministrations, y/n can’t do much but let her hands scout any expanse of skin accessible to her. She starts at his shoulder, squeezing the flesh to feel out the strong muscle laying underneath, before making her way down his tone arms, then to his hands currently holding onto to her waist. She gives them an affectionate pinch at the same time she presses down onto him with a deep moan, and Harry retaliates with a buck of his own. 

As he starts kissing down the exposed skin of her cleavage, y/n finally drops her head to place a tender kiss to his hairline. One of her hand is back at his neck, holding him firmly to her chest as he licks at the valley of her breasts down her sternum. The other worms its way underneath his shirt from the neckline, nails grazing down his back in soft enough pressure not to leave any marks.

Harry’s descent is obstructed by the soft material of her blouse, so he takes the garment off of her in one swoop, and places his hands back on her newly exposed body, rubbing up and own the skin. As his mouth goes back to the supple flesh of her breasts, y/n increases the pace of her hips grinding on his cock. The sensations seem to be not enough and too much at the same time for her; the heavy material still covering their most sensitive parts in the way of her pleasure, while Harry’s work has her going into overdrive under his velveteen mouth and calloused fingers. She starts kissing her way up from his shoulder to the edge of his jaw, and Harry revels in the sound of her moans tickling his ear. 

Done with the excess of fabric between them two, y/n grips at the top of his shirt and pulls it upwards, leaving him shirtless. "Fuck, I didn’t know you have so many tattoos," she babbles against his lips, while her hands smooth over the ink. 

"Plenty you don’t know about me, love," Harry chirps as he bask in the praise and the feeling of her skin of his. 

He then circles one arm around her waist to bring them chest to chest, and the contact has y/n once again intensify the friction between their crotches. "Wanna find out," she murmurs against his neck while she grinds on his clothed member, "Harry, please take me to bed."

He jolts at the quick bite she delivers to his neck, the impish gesture her way of saying ‘now’ but before she can make her way out of his lap to bring him to her room, he presses her back down with both hands on her waist. "Nuh uh, y’not goin’ anywhere. Want you to come once, b’fore I take you to bed, pet," he says, smoothing his hands over her ass to guide her rocking motions. The term of endearment sounds so innocent yet dirty all at once, it sends a chill down her spine. Nobody had called her that before.

"Can’t," she shakes her head, "can’t feel you through the jeans."  

"Alright then, stand up," he calmly asserts and she doesn’t hesitate to comply, standing in between his spread legs, in her flimsy bra and jeans. "Take ‘em off then, ’s what you want no?" he sends her a tantalizing look and bites at his lips as he watches her peel the pants off her legs. He can’t help the light squeeze he gives himself through his own jeans, as y/n stands in front of him awaiting his next instructions. "Come sit on my thigh now, think should be enough to make this pretty pussy tingle in all the right places, no?" 

Y/n’s insides are already twisting in a knot as she settles back on his lap and lets the rough material of his jeans against the softness of her cotton panties spread a prickling sensation through her pelvis area. Quickly, she resumes undulating her hips, gripping back at Harry’s neck to pull him in a languid kiss, pleasure vibrating against their lips. It is not long before her pace picks up, and her eyes shut at the intensity of her bliss. "That’s it, pet. Already makin’ a mess of me. You’re doin’ so well," he coaxes her with his words. 

As promised, y/n feels the lips of her sensitivity start to throb at her impending release, the sensation making her clamp her thighs tighter around his meaty limb. As her knee now presses against his bulge, Harry cries his sudden pleasure out in her mouth, and that’s all it takes for her to let her orgasm consume her. She unravels on top of him, one of her hands shooting to cup at her pussy in an attempt to quell the overwhelming throb. Harry draws soothing caresses down her back as he look at the sticky mess she’s left in her panties, damp patch matching the one tainting the material of his jeans. "All ruined, just as they should be," he smirks at the sight before giving her a sweet kiss. 

Flushed skin and blown pupils, she slowly regains her breath, "take off your pants and take me to bed now?" she requests.

"You’re quite demanding for someone who’s just gotten off," he keeps taunting her. After all, winding her up has always been one of his favorite thing to do, and dare he say in the past two years, he’s gotten quite good at pushing her buttons. Now he’s got new ones to figure out and play with, the thoughts has him pulsing in his jeans. 

Y/n doesn’t relent in her advances, she’s never been one to bow at his mockery, "thought you like how bossy I could be. Something about the way I put you in your place, if my memory serves right." 

"Anytime, anywhere, you’re the boss of me, love. But this," he cups at her cunt, adding pressure on her clit, "this is mine to have. Understood?" 

Y/n’s about to combust from all the desire firing up every one of her nerve-endings. His words might be the strongest aphrodisiac she’s ever experienced, she can’t wait to see what more tricks in has up his sleeves. "Now get up and show me the way to your room, pet," he softly commands before leaving a peck on her cheek. 

They both get up from the couch, and y/n guides them both down the hallway to her room, her hand wrapped in his tightly. Once they’re standing by the bed, Harry is surprised to face a patient y/n, biting her lips and awaiting his next directive. He doesn’t think he’s ever been more turned on in his life, "undress me, love" he murmurs against her skin after kissing her forehead. 

His jeans are quickly discarded but before his boxer briefs follow suit, y/n can’t help but tease him in reprisal, "looks like I’m not the only one who made a mess in their panties." 

He lets out a boisterous laugh while she smears open mouth kisses along his stretching jaw, "mmm, I’d rather make a mess somewhere else," his innuendo causing her to gasp while he works the strap of her bra.  Once she’s gotten rid of his last piece of clothing, his cock springs up, free of it’s confines, dollop of pre-come already pearling at his tip, and sticking to the skin of his stomach. 

With a gentle grip at her hair, he has y/n’s head tilted backward, to let his mouth make its way towards her already pebbled nipples. Since she can’t look down, y/n blindly reaches out to wrap her hand around Harry’s thick shaft and starts massaging him in languid strokes. "Your hand feels so fuckin’ good around me, pet, I wanna fuck you so badly," he hisses around her nipple, before kissing his way back up to her lips. 

He starts backing her towards the bed in small steps, but she brings a hand to his chest at the feeling of the edge of the mattress brushing against the back of her knee, "wait, wait, wanna taste you first," she insists and Harry doesn’t think he could ever say no to that face, no matter how much he wants to just sink home inside of her in this moment. 

"Fuck, you’re killin’ me, love," he pinches at her waist and lays his forehead against hers, "you want my cock in your pretty mouth, before I drive it home in your cunt, is that it?" She nods, eyes turning into two lustful fireballs. "Okay, love, but y’ can’t keep it on your tongue fo’ too long, cause I really need to fuck you, alright?"

Y/n hastens to lower herself when he bids her "right then, on your knees and open wide fo’ me," and her brows furrow in confusion as she watches him stray from her spot. Picking up a plush cushion from her bed, he places it on the ground for her to knee upon, "there love, want you to be comfortable," he runs his fingers through her hair, and her heart grows three sizes bigger at how tender he can be in amidst his filthy ways. 

Sensually, y/n brings her lips around the crown of his cock, her tongue teasing its way across the salty skin. Once she’s licked up all the previous mess, she starts working her way down his cock, hand stroking at the base. After bopping up and down a few time, she removes her month from his swelling cock, and lets a string of spit fall down onto its head and make its way to his balls. "S’right, pet. Get me wet," Harry rasps in appreciation. Now that she’s got him properly slicked, she goes back to pumping his hardening cock and takes him into her warm inviting mouth, determined to have him all the way inside. She feels her throat expands to accommodate his thickness, and the pressure makes Harry tighten his hold in her hair, "fuck, that’s it, love. Take me good." 

Muscles already tensing up in preparation for his climax, when y/n’s hand finds his full and swollen balls to roll them together like dice, he is quick to calm her zeal, "Christ pet, you gotta stop before I can’t help myself," but his tone hardens when she defies his demand, "come on now, s’enough." 

Once she pulls off, the sight of her flushed face and puffy lips induces an animalistic groan to come out from his chest, as he thumbs through the wetness coating her chin. Taking the hand resting on his hip to guide her up, he captures her lips in a searing kiss, the taste of his arousal blending in their mouths. 

His hands come down to knead at the flash of her ass, before he scoops her up and on the bed with a quick flex of his biceps. "Harry, please," she whines in impatience, hands gripping at his sides to pull him down against her. His rock hard cock slides against her clothed pussy, pins and needles cruising along their skin and only fueling their eagerness. 

"Need me in your belly, pet?" Harry keeps working her up, as he slides her soiled panties down her legs, "need me to fuck you so good, you forget I was ever a jerk?" 

She’s putty in his hold, legs wrapping around his waist to feel the pressure of his member on her bare lips , "yes, yes, I wan’ it," she pleads.

Harry would love to tease her further, have her writhing and proper begging underneath him, but at this point it would be self-torture to even consider. Instead he pumps at his shaft to give himself some relief, their sex so close his knuckles graze at her clit every time his fist comes at the top. "You ready?" Harry utters softly while spreading and skimming her cleft with the head of his cock. It has y/n gripping at his hair, a series of delirious ‘yes’ tumbling form her mouth, so he doesn’t wait a second more to push his tip past her threshold and begins his descent in her warmth. "Fuck, t’feels so good. So wet, and tight, and warm," he thinks out loud once he’s stuffer her full, balls pressing against her ass.

Y/n whimpers against his lips, urging him to start moving to quell the building pressure coiling in her belly. A slow roll of his hips finally gives her reprieve causing her to moan in gratitude. She’s already so close, it baffles her how this man could have her coming apart at the seams without doing much. His thrusts starts gaining zeal then, betraying his own yearning to take the final leap. "So tight, love. Can feel you squeezin’ me, are you close already? Is my girl gonna cum fo’ me again?" he grunts in her ear while he pounds into her dripping cunt. Y/n doesn’t offer a response, too caught up in a daze of bliss, but her clenching muscles is all the answer he needs to start nudging his thumb at her clit. A several flicks across the sensitive bud later, her orgasm is pulsing through every bone and fiber of her body, walls hugging Harry’s cock so tight, it has to pause his hammering. 

Waiting for her to catch her breath, he peppers delicate kisses along her cheek, "was that good, love? Think you can give me another, uhm?" he asks when she’s regained some of her senses. The pressure at his groin is growing more and more the longer his cock remains unmoving entombed within her vice, and the luscious agony must be written all over his face, "yes, Harry, wanna be good for you" y/n cups his jaw tenderly. 

He nods at her approval, "good girl," delivers a sweet earnest kiss to her pouty lips as he pulls out and spins her around to lay on her stomach. His hand brushes the hair off her skin so he can sew a string of kisses at her shoulder blades and neck. Painfully red, his cock is propped between her buttcheeks, "can I take you like that?" he punctuates his inquiry by rolling his hips backward, tip lingering at her soaked entrance. Y/n clutches the sheets firmly, as she murmurs a faint ‘please’, back arching at the thrills consuming her mind. 

Harry plunges in her wet core in one smooth swing, hand digging at her hip to keep her steady as the other one interlaces with hers to lay on the mattress above her head. Unforgiving lunges have y/n cinch around him, face buried in the sheets and muffling salacious wails of pleasure, and he doesn’t think he’ll be able to steer from his end for much longer. He slows his cadence to steady and firm strokes, slipping a hand around her waist to polish her swell. 

A million tremors spark off the onset of Y/n’s climax as she shudders in a firework of ecstasy. Harry  doesn’t relent until he’s worked her through completion and can no longer stop the coil in his loins from snapping. His release fills her in several spurts of wet warmth before he flops down next to her, positively fucked out.

They both lay unmoving in comfortable bliss for a few minutes, before y/n plops her head on his chest and an arm around his torso, her leg sneaking in between his. "Well, here goes two years of sexual tension," Harry says jokingly, fingers drawing abstracts design on the skin of her back. It might just be his favorite canvas to paint on from now, he muses before chastising himself at the onslaught of filthy thoughts tagging along. A playful slap on his abdomen takes his mind out of the gutter, "don’t ruin the moment," y/n says in fake admonition before placing a tender kiss on the spot she just abused. 

"M’sorry, love. M’just really chuffed to be in your bed finally," the last word reminding her that while she’s struggled to come to term with her feelings for him, ransacking her mind for a possible change of heart, he’d only seen her in but one light. The revelation still has her floored and giddy, "can I ask you something?" she asks as there was still one question pacing back and forth the pathways of her mind. Harry hums in acquiescence, "anythin’ love, by brain is yours."  

She feels his hand cradling her skull followed by a small peck to her forehead, and she smiles at the gesture, "why did you stay away that night at the exhibition when you got the prize? Why not coming forward?" It’s been bugging her brain since it happened. Although she didn’t have much insight on anything at the time, most of the pieces of the puzzle fell in place after the big reveal; but this, she still can’t make sense of.

Harry lets out a long breath, organizing his thoughts, "two reasons," he starts off tiredly. "One, I kinda like having this secret business going on, and like, as long as nobody knows, I am in control of how and when it happens, you know? And the moment I let go of that, I can’t go back." He searches her face for any hint of confusion but she’s just patiently listening. "Two, when we bumped into each other at the gala, I got convinced you’d never see me differently regardless of how good a painter I was; and that had become a big part of who El Patrón was." 

It’s the first time she hears his alter ego’s name from his mouth and with how flowingly natural it sounded coming out of his lips, y/n suspects that it’d been a conscious decision on his part. She recalls their interaction that night, the way they fell in their usual ways of ping-ponging vindictive words until one of them has enough and leaves the premises (usually y/n). A lump starts forming in her throat at the recollection of all the other fights they’ve had and how they’d all been pointless wastes of time and energy, now that she knows she is meant to be in his arms. She wishes things could have been different but the warmth of his body around her overweighs her regrets. They’re here now, looking bright toward the future, and it’s all that matters.

"I’ll keep your secret if you want, be the Lilly to your Hannah Montana," she tells him lightly before they both laugh at the silly reference. 

Happiness and glee has Harry tightening his hold around her shoulder, "nah, I don’t wanna play double-agents anymore. I wanna be the guy who gets the girl." He dips his head to catch her lips between his own, reveling in their newfound intimacy. Turning her face against his chest, Y/n impresses her bashful smile on his swallow-tattooed skin, before she lays a trail of pecks tickling the area underneath his armpits, "well, you got me now."

➪ Masterlist

#harry styles one shot #harry styles fic #harry styles imagine #Harry fic #enemies to lovers #angst #so much angst #smut #I didn't think I could be this filthy lol #uni au #artstudent!harry #art #harry fanfic #harry styles writing #reader insert #harry styles au

[soranihimawari]

We’d look cute together

Lately, with the help of some prompt posts, I’ve been writing a bit more in the drabble/drafts department. This story is focusing on the young adult lives of designer!yn & (blind date?) Bokuto. Please enjoy this non-edited short.

It was a typical Saturday night at your neighborhood dive bar. You were accompanying a girl friend of yours on a blind date. Apparently, she and her date clearly hit it off, you on the other hand, along with his friend were a bit mismatched. Probably because said friend was a professional volleyball player and the other was an editor in the publishing firm not too far from your apartment. You were really low maintenance versus the boisterous man who exudes confidence both on and off the court orders you a second glass of whiskey sours.

“So, what do you do yn?” You learned the editor’s name is Akaashi Keiji and his best friend, Bokuto Kotaro was eager to hear your answer. You have a coy smile on your face when you explain your job at an upcoming fashion house.

“My sketches and designs were chosen for fashion week,” you mentally brush dirt of your shoulder.

“Really?! That’s awesome!” The athlete seated across from you smiles. Your friend almost spits out her drink.

“Holy shit,” she says. “And when were you gonna tell me? That’s amazing. Congrats.”

You trace the rim of the glass before the server comes back with another one of your drinks. The food order isn’t too far behind as you discuss more about the plans and the models you might potentially ask to wear your designs. Your friend is a make-up artist specifically hired for fashion weeks, so this worked out in your favor asking her.

On the way back home once the check was picked up by the boys, you watch your friend walk ahead with her date. Bokuto sticks his hands in his pants pockets when you walk in rhythm next to him. He fills the silence of the night with more about himself and family life. You find out he has two older sisters, his accolades in high school, and currently when you pass a sports store, you see his face plastered on the MSBY Black Jackals team poster on the windows. You bound your way up to the poster and stop right before a familiar man’s photo with his arms crossed; amber eyes wide with a prideful smile (his stats were printed next to his ‘rookie debut’ season year)

“Holy shit,” you said as you gaped. Your friend knew you followed certain sports when the seasons begin, so when you were set up on the double blind date, you weren’t expecting to be sent out with a rookie outside hitter. Your eyes glance between the poster on the store window then back at your date, who seemed a bit embarrassed by your realization. Nonetheless, the look on his amber eyes made you want to encourage him you like him for real. Playing volleyball professionally was just a bonus.

“You said you were a professional player, but I didn’t know you played for the Jackals. They’re one of my favorite teams…” You mumbled the last part, not to further embarrass him even if it was a praising anecdote.

You’re pointing at Bokuto and turning to face him. He sheepishly places a hand behind his neck apologizing profusely mentioning he understands if his fame was a major turn-off and he hopes you two can be friends instead if romance was not what you felt for him. He continues to ramble on and he was both suprisingly handsome and cute in your eyes. Maybe going on this blind date wasn’t such a bad call on your part, so to calm him, you step forward and raise both your hands to cup his cheeks. His blush crosses his face s he quiets down. You sort of chuckle together when you’re caught becoming lost in the seas of molten golden pools that colored his irises.

“Are you kidding me?!”You asked in shock.

You had to stifle a laugh a little bit noticing how his hair visibly deflated out of embarrassment, so you caresses his clean-shaven cheekbones before dropping your hands back to your side. “I’d be an idiot to turn down a second chance at a date with you…”

You fiddle with the ends of your jacket you brought with you to dinner. You’re patting around your pockets searching for something.

“Wait, you’re for real?” It’s an innocent question as Bokuto raises a shaky hand. The ‘first love jitters’ is what his sisters called it knowing how head over heels their brother becomes in the presence of pretty potential partners (or lovers).

The realization hits Bokuto like a truck. His blind date actually wants to go out with him again? It was enough to make a wobbly smile stretch across his face and he too, enjoys watching hold reflection in the silver highlights of your eyes; he figures one day he’ll love them even more when you watch a game live with his spare jersey drowning your curvaceous features (or just coming back from an away game wearing his number from high school, but he was getting ahead of himself).

“Mmhm,” you press on, feeling a bit confident (his must have rubbed off on you during dessert). “And I’m not saying this because we’re stopped in front of a sports store with your team poster on it.”

You cock your head to the back, reminding him where you’re standing and what you’re in front of.

“Oh?” Bokuto takes a step forward, hand in his pants pocket. He towers over you a bit, but there isn’t any malicious intent here. “Then why do you want to go out with me again angel?”

You cross your arms over your chest and you have this adorable pensive “thinking” face. You’re trying to not hyper fixate on the nickname and your thoughts snap you out the sex scene in your imagination with him when you formulate a proper answer.

“It must be because I think we’d look cute together and I’ll prove it to you.”

Yep, you were definitely more bold when you expectantly hold your hand out palm side up waiting for him to hand you his phone. It is unlocked when you open the camera app and you ask him to stand still while your back is pressed against his chest.

“Smile,” your voice is gentle enough and it makes non-existence butterfly wings flutter in his chest. You take the photo with a toothy grin and hand it back to him. “See?”

A few seconds later after reviewing the first photo, you hear your date mumble a ‘cute’ compliment. You winked at the camera before you pressed the shutter and he has (what would be later dubbed puppy-loved eyes) a softened stare at you. It was like you were captivating every inch of his heart in three seconds.

You let him take another one with you, this time though, you feel him place his chin on the exposed side of your neck, his breath tickles your earlobe prior to pressing the shutter. You feel his left arm snake around your waist to hold you there for a brief moment, and it trained all of your willpower to not turn into a puddle when you feel his lips trace an gentle line on your pulse point. However, you whine when the warmth he provides is lost, but he reminds you there’s another chance at continuing after dinner next time.

“Bokuto Kotaro, did you just insinuate you’re going to kiss me breathless?”

He scratches his cheek a little, like when he was caught doing or thinking something he shouldn’t. You shake your head, smiling, telling him he didn’t have to answer your question, “because I’d bet dessert you would.”

“You’re such a tease,” he mumbled to himself watching as you confidently walked ahead on thd pavement. A few seconds later, you hear him falling in line with you when he approaches your side.

When you arrive home that night, you reassure Bokuto that you would never date anyone for their money or their fame. You also explain to him a little bit about your family dynamic (raising your siblings when your parents were away on international business) and how you discovered fashion as your creative outlet when in middle school the sewing and drama club had a difficult time coming up with costume ideas for the spring festival.

“Well, this is me,” you say. Your navy door with the brass numbers and formal knocker is the last one you’d walk through that evening.

“Thank you for dinner, Bokuto Koutaro,” you begin, fishing out your keys.

“Thanks for coming on this date with your friend,” he grins when he speaks around you and it honestly is a good feeling. “Good night, yn.”

You bite your lower lip a bit when he turns on his heels to walk toward the elevators down the hall. Your voice calls out to him while he is still within ear shot:

“I’ll meet you at Onigiri Miya on third and vine Tuesday night at eight. Don’t be late Bo!”

The man in the button down and navy slacks turns to face you still looking like a dream in wide-leg pants and pin-striped blouse.

“It’s a date!”

++++

Bonus:

Two months later, during an interview post game, Bokuto spots you on the first floor animatedly talking to Hinata. Many of the media crew circulates you both as you let Hinata explain how he was able to find the right timing to break through during the last rally. A few reporters ask what your relationship was to the newest member of the Jackals and before Hinata or you could explain, Bokuto joins you both, kissing your temple.

“Thanks for coming to see me play babe,” he says.

“Congrats on the win Kou,” you said, a gleaming smile that reaches your eyes is the next photo to be captured right before your loving boyfriend picks you up to twirl you around. This causes you both to laugh when he puts your feet back on the ground. He makes a promise to meet you after he cleans up, pressing a few more innocent kisses on your forehead. You nod and while Hinata is busy speaking with other members of the media, you notice the rest of the Jackals wrapping up the last bit of interviews courtside.

The cameras flash even more and you pray for the PR-team to have patience for this man. Honestly, since you two have insisted on keeping your relationship as private as you can, you were dubbed by the Jackals fan base as Storm Shadow because only a few breadcrumbs were seen and hints Bokuto was taken was scattered throughout the team’s Instagram page when your design haus sponsored their formal attire photo shoot for December. The caption under Bokuto’s individual shot was priceless: “I love it when I model my honey’s suits.” There is another photo posted no less than five minutes later and your back is to the camera and Bokuto’s golden eyes filled with nothing but compassion peer over your shoulder as he hugs you closer; the photo also garners national attention calling you the luckiest person right now.

#🌻— flying around collecting pollen—queue #sora after hours #haikyuu x reader #sora scribbles #hq bokuto #bokuto x reader

[slayerkitty]

Narrative Frameworks in Only Friends

Something I have been tracking as part of the ongoing discussions about Only Friends is the use of the narrative framework for each episode.

So, I’m making this list specifically for tracking purposes, to note which framework was used for which episodes, if they repeat, and what they may be paying homage to. The goal is to update it every week. Due to suggestions, I am also tracking the end credit scenes, as well as any specific visual or audio formats used in the episodes.

Frameworks so far:

1. Voiceovers: gives the audience specific insight into a characters thoughts and feelings; also a great way to provide exposition. It’s more of an audio than visual framework, as we don’t always see the character doing the voice-over because it plays over other scenes.

2. “Talking Heads” (is there a better descriptor for this?): The characters talk directly to the camera, interview/documentary style. We get to see exactly how they feel about a given moment because they are reacting to it at that time. Audio and visual. Homage to Love8009 (per P'Jojo).

3. Social Media (ft The Artist Formerly Known as Twitter, Instagram, and Facebook): Not as insightful as the other two frameworks but does give context and a way for interaction, commentary, and exposition on a given plot. Visual. Probable homage to Together With Me, one of the first spicy BLs starring our kings, MaxTul.

(Side Note: I was re-watching some scenes from Never Let me Go and realized P'Jojo uses yellow text on the screen in it too. So maybe he just likes the yellow text or maybe it means something, idk, idk.)

Discussion: It appears the frameworks are dead. Long live the frameworks. We barely knew ye.

Honestly, part of me is glad they dropped them all together. One episode without them, maybe two, before bringing them back would still work. Bringing them back now does not work. The show has moved beyond them at this point. As sad as it is that we didn't get anymore of them, I'm still glad for what we did get.

I am willing to be we'll get some kind of framework next week because it's the finale and will feel like a book end to the premiere. Potentially, I could see the voice over coming back. But if we don't , we don't.

Episode 1

Framework: Voiceover

Title: What’s Your Role in a Bar?

Narrator: Mew

Visual Moment: Yellow title cards listing everyone’s “roles” as well as the month and days of the week

End Credit Shot: Mew sitting on the floor in front of his fish tank

Episode 2

Framework: Talking Heads

Title: M.F.M. My Favorite Man

Narrator: Everyone

Visual Moment: The talking heads scenes

End Credit Shot: Ray driving

Episode 3

Framework: Social Media (Twitter and Instagram)

Title: What Am I to You?

Narrator: Nick and Boston

Audible Moment: Nick listening to the TopBoston sex audio

End Credit Shot: Nick listening to TopBoston sex audio

Episode 4

Framework: Voiceover

Title: Emergency Contact

Narrator: Ray

Visual Moment: The flashback of RayMew is in 4:3 ratio; meaning it looks like recorded footage versus a memory, yellow text onscreen indicates flashback

End Credit Shot: Ray driving (repeat from episode 2)

Episode 5:

Framework: Voiceover

Title: The Extra Hour

Narrator: Sand

Visual Moment: Intro and Outro are animated; black and white (made me think of the Take on Me MV by A-ha but I’m open to suggestions on what this might be referring to)

End Credit Shot: Sand driving his motorcycle

Episode 6:

Framework: None

Title: Happy Fucking Birthday

Narrator: None

Audible Moment: Ray listens to the TopBoston sex audio; Mew plays the TopBoston sex audio for Top

Visual Moment: Top draws Mew sleeping/gives Mew a book of drawings he did of Mew 

End Credit Shot: Top in his bathtub alone looking angsty

Episode 7:

Framework: None

Title: After Effect

Narrator: None

Visual Moment: Mew setting the drawing on fire; Boston’s sex tape; the “super zooms”

End Credit Shot: Mew sitting on the floor in front of his fish tank (repeat from episode 1)

Episode 8:

Framework: None

Title: Save Me

Narrator: None

Visual Moment: Facebook party invite/everyone’s reactions to the invite; Everyone’s costumes at the party

End Credit Shot: Boston looking angsty at the hostel

Episode 9:

Framework: None

Title: The Return

Narrator: None

Visual Moment: Boston’s photo of Atom; Top recording SandRay kissing, BOEING (I had to, lmao)

End Credit Shot: Top in his bathtub alone looking angsty (repeat from episode 6)

Episode 10:

Framework: None

Title: Redemption

Narrator: None

Visual Moment: The “I will never leave you”/“I will never love you” neon sign; Boston’s photos of Atom; Nick’s photo as Boston’s lock screen (I’m fine!); Boeing’s Instagram

End Credit Shot: Ray driving (repeat from episode 2 and episode 4)

Episode 11:

Framework: None

Title: Move On Move In

Narrator: None

Visual Moment: Boston taking pics of Nick/Atom

End Credit Shot: Sand driving his motorcycle (repeat from episode 5)

If anyone can think of anything else to add, please let me know! If you would like to be tagged in this post or any other meta, let me know and I’ll add you.

Tagging the Ephemerality Squad: @lurkingshan, @waitmyturtles, @wen-kexing-apologist, @chickenstrangers, @ranchthoughts, @twig-tea, @clara-maybe-ontheroad, @distant-screaming, @thatgirl4815, @elizabethsebestianhedgehog

Tagging @sandrayy by request

Apologies to anyone I forgot!

#only friends the series #only friends meta #thai bl #ephemerality squad #only more episode left #what will we do without this show to meta #lol

[honestlywtfisgoingon]

A Match Set

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Pairing: Benny Watts x Reader

Summary: After meeting one night in New York, you and Benny Watts are drawn to each other. As you go through different experiences with one another, you grow closer until it finally gets to be too much for Benny.

Word Count: 1890

Warnings: none

Notes: aye this is my first fic because there is a serious lack of benny watts fics and i had to change that for myself. this will probably be multiple chapters that can be read separately.

It was your first art gallery, and you were both anxious and overjoyed to see people surveying your work. You had put so many hours into each piece and all kinds of people had poured in to look. It was a well known gallery, but the variety still surprised you. You looked around and saw some interesting characters, but your interest was piqued when your eyes fell upon a particular cowboy.

He was inspecting one of your favorite paintings which had chess pieces as the subject. The pieces merely served as part of a metaphor in your art, as the game and all its complexities had never really been your thing. As you looked closer at the man you realized that, not only had his outfit sparked your interest, but he seemed familiar too. Out of curiosity, you walked over and stood next to him.

“What are your thoughts?” You asked, motioning towards the painting.

His initial expression showed surprise that you were talking to him, but he recovered quickly, saying, “It’s good. I think the artist has talent.” You felt a bit of pride hearing that. You opened your mouth to say thanks, but you decided not to reveal yourself. You wanted him to give his honest opinion without fear of offending you.

“So do you like chess?” He nodded to the painting. Hearing this you made the connection as to why you remembered seeing him before. Your father owned a little bookshop back home and you were looking into chess for the same painting you were discussing right now. You had seen this cowboy on the back of one of those books, but you hadn’t given it another thought, never actually expecting to meet him. You decided not to reveal this information either and continued with the conversation.

“I can play a modest game. You?”

“I can play a modest game.” He had a small smile as he shrugged.

“Your first lie.” You said smirking back.

He looked confused but curious, so you explained about your research, your fathers bookshop, the whole story. He puffed up a bit after hearing that, looking impressed that you knew who he was.

“What’s your name?” He asked, still curious.

“Y/n” you replied.

“Nice name. I’m Benny, but you already seem to know who I am. On the other hand I don’t know anything about you.” He reached out his hand to shake yours.

“You walk in here with a black trench coat but you make me out to be the mysterious one,” you smirked as you took his hand. He chuckled a bit, and after your introduction, you asked why he was here.

“My friend knows the artist actually. She told us we had to see her work before going out.” You hummed as you thought about what to say, but he interjected.

“I don’t usually do this, and I’m not sure why I’m doing this now, but maybe you’d consider coffee with me. I won’t tell anymore lies” he joked.

You laughed a little, mildly shocked. “you’re not sure why? That’s flattering” you teased.

“Not what I meant-“ but before you could come to a conclusion on his sudden offer, you heard an excited french accent.

“Y/n! Im so proud! You finally got to show off all that talent!” Your friend Cleo ran up to you and wrapped her arms around you. You hadn’t seen her since you lived in France for a few months and you had missed her. You left for France after you realized you weren’t really needed at home, so you dedicated yourself to trying to soak up some culture. She looked gorgeous like you remembered, fitting for a model. You continued your reunion embrace for a moment before she waved her arms to the men and woman behind her. She introduced the friends she had brought to your show as Arthur, Hilton, and Annette, who all smiled at you. Cleo paused to turn to the cowboy saying, “I see you’ve already met Benny.”

“Yeah we met,” he said, “but I didn’t know this was your work. I would’ve told you how impressed I am.” Your cheeks turned a light pink at the praise.

“Look at Benny, impressed with someone besides himself for once.”Cleo poked fun and the group let out a laugh.

“Hey I’m not a narcissist or anything, don’t listen to Cleo,” Benny made excuses to you, only mildly offended.

“Sure you aren’t. I have nothing against narcissists,” you jokingly assured him. This answer didn’t comfort the man who had essentially just asked you on a date.

You and Cleo continued to catch up and you talked more with her friends as well. Benny just stood next to you, and you caught him glancing at you once or twice, but you just ignored it. Eventually you agreed to go out for drinks with the group, walking with them to a bar a couple blocks down called Hal’s.

You all squeezed into a booth while Arthur went off to get drinks. You sat on the outside, watching the people out on the floor next to you giggling and dancing. Having a couple of drinks beforehand must’ve contributed to the large amount of people out there, you thought. Arthur eventually announced his return by laying a tray of drinks in the middle of the table.

You were all conversing and sipping on your drinks when Annette decided she wanted to dance. Cleo agreed enthusiastically, but the rest of us refused. She suggested we all take shots to make it easier, but once again we tried to turn her down. she pleaded, “come on guys, it’s a Saturday night, and you can’t possible lose something from it. Have a little bit of fun with me!”

We relented, having a feeling that she wasn’t going to give up any time soon. She gave a little clap and handed out the shots. You knocked yours back with everyone else and grimaced at the bitter taste. Shaking it off, you slid out of the booth so the others could get out. You moved back into your spot after they all made their way to the throng of people. You decided you would join them later, but you liked to observe first. You looked over and the only two left were you and Benny. You slid over to him, not wanting to sit awkwardly on the other end like he wasn’t there.

“I bet you five bucks that lady is bored out of her mind.” He pointed to a blonde on a date across the bar, “Either she’s an alcoholic or she’s trying to tune out baldie.” You looked at the woman and saw she was surrounded by empty glasses while the man in front of her seemed like he was boasting endlessly. You both started making observations about the various people in the bar. Most of them were snarky comments that you whispered into each other’s ears, giggling, but you also created imaginary lives for them, guessing who they were and how they got here. After sharing a couple laughs, you sighed and reached a comfortable lull before Benny brought up what you knew was coming.

“So have you thought about my earlier question?” He eyed you seriously all of a sudden, but you didn’t feel any pressure. He seemed the type of confident where he thought you would say yes, but he could recover if you said no.

You weighed in your impression of him. He was cute, with fluffy hair and nice eyes that were a kind of chocolate color. He was funny and you he seemed intelligent (I mean he had to be, he played competitive chess). Albeit his trench coat and hat were a bit eccentric, but that wasn’t a bad thing, in fact you found it attractive.

“So have you?” He asked again, leaning his head in.

“Oh uh” you hadn’t realized while you were thinking that you had zoned out looking at him. Clearing your throat you said, “I’m free for coffee.” You stopped, “But you have to wear the hat.”

“Wouldn’t leave home without it” he winked.

Suddenly you were shoved against him as your tipsy friends barreled back into the booth.

“We should probably join them” you said as you moved off him, pushing one of the leftover drinks towards him. He nodded and you both drank some more just to get on the same level as your friends.

“You two haven’t even danced! I saw you whispering. Too busy flirting?” Annette smiled as she slurred a few of her words. You just looked down, cheeks pink, leaving Benny to respond.

“How were you watching us when you were dancing with that guy, the one who looks like he’s only ever kissed his mother.”

“No, I’m sure he’s kissed other people! I mean he did seem young but...” Annette looked over to the guy she dragged to dance with her earlier. He stood sheepishly in the corner, looking like he hadn’t outgrown his baby fat yet, and was definitely not a city type. “He’s just shy!” She defended, but me and Benny just looked at each other, falling into giggles. You figured out that night that Annette was one of those drunks who got a little childish, but she was sweet.

You would’ve been content to keep hanging out with Benny, if it hadn’t been for Cleo who grabbed your hand and pulled you out to the dance floor. You looked back at Benny, but gave in and allowed her to twirl you into the crowd. You were having a good time with Cleo, Hilton and Arthur dancing on either side of her. You were soon out of breath, but didn’t mind, enjoying it all.

You had moved to the city a couple months ago, but hadn’t had time to make friends, focusing on your work and setting up your apartment. You missed having company, people who were fun and interesting.

You continued to move to the beat of the song until you bumped into someone. You looked back to see Benny smiling next to you. You smiled back and let him in to the little circle you and your friends had created. You felt a little warm, not from the dancing, but from being close to him.

After fifteen minutes you were all tired and made your way to the booth to gather all your things up and pay the bill. You walked out of the bar and into the chilly night air, grateful for the residual body heat that came from all the dancing. You hugged Cleo and your new friends goodbye as took turns getting into taxis and headed towards their homes. Hilton offered to wave you down a taxi too, but you declined, explaining that your home wasn’t a far walk. He shrugged and gave you another hug before climbing into the yellow car. Once again it was just you and Benny.

“Just the two of us again huh?” He spoke, and he definitely didn’t sound turned off by the idea.

“Fate I guess.”

“Sure” he said casually.

“Do you not believe in fate?” You asked. You weren’t a firm believer in the idea but something in his tone made you curious.

“I’ve had this debate before I think. I’m not sure, but I’d like to figure it out. How about you?” He said. You imagined him having a lot of debates. You had just met him, but he seemed to fall into the intellectual category. They always kept things interesting, and frequently offered new perspectives.

“I mean everything’s gotta mean something, there has to be a purpose. I just don’t know if we make our own purpose or if we’re given a purpose; fate.” You mused, not meaning to get existential. He didn’t seem to mind.

“You seem like the type to want to figure things out too.” He said ‘too’. So you and him both liked to do that. You added that to the growing list of things you liked about him.

“I guess I am.” He had a pleased look on his face and you just shrugged as you started to say goodbye.

“Wait” he grabbed your arm, “I heard you say you didn’t live far, I could walk you.” Before you could protest he told you, “it wouldn’t be a big deal, I heard you tell Hilton where you lived, we’re in the same direction.”

You agreed, finding yourself wanting to talk to him more. He offered you his arm casually and you laughed to yourself a little at the gesture, taking it anyway. You walked down the sidewalk, talking and laughing. You felt comfortable as you felt like you leveled with him. It seemed like too short of a walk as you suddenly found yourself at the door of your apartment building.

“Guess this is goodnight.” Benny said as you both stood on the sidewalk.

“What about coffee?” You asked.

“Glad you remembered. I’ll pick you up at twelve tomorrow, we can make it lunch. I’ll pick you up.” He said it decidedly, like it was just a fact. Something you noticed he did often.

“Ok then. Lunch. Tomorrow. Am I forgetting anything?” You said as you stepped halfway into the doorway.

“If you are we can figure that out later. I’ll see you.” He waved with a slight smile.

You waved back and smiled in return, watching him walk away before closing the door. You sped up to your apartment, letting yourself finally feel the excitement and anticipation of going out. You stripped off your clothing as soon as you got in and flopped on your bed, feeling sort of giddy. You felt like you and Benny were connected, though you had barely met him. As you laid down you smiled to yourself, looking forward to tomorrow.

#benny watts #benny watts x reader #the queen’s gambit #beth harmon #benny watts fanfiction #fan fiction

[bellemorte180]

Prompt: Beach @klarosummerbingo

The waves rolled in, crashing into the shore line and the sight caused Caroline to smile. The breeze was intoxicating and she felt a sense of warmth come over her. The beach had always been one of her favorite places. When her mother was able to pull herself away from the station desk to remember she had a daughter, Caroline would spend at least one week out of the years playing along the shore.

Since becoming an adult and being able to support herself, Caroline has made a yearly trip to the beach. While the salty breeze, warm sand and beautiful waves were something she loved dearly, she always knew that part of her draw to the ocean shores was because of the words inked onto the flesh of her wrist.

What can I say? The waves are beautiful.

While Caroline could not admit that she knew for certain that she would meet her soulmate at a beach, or at all, she couldn't help but be hopeful. Most did not meet the person who would be their other half. The theory that had been tossed around was due to the choices one made that led them down the paths that would connect the two souls but it was extremely rare. Caroline had never met a single pair of soulmates, but that did not stop Caroline from wishing that she was the exception.

So, she sat down on the sand and watched the waves roll in and out as the sun set on the horizon. She took a deep breath of the salt air and closed her eyes, just letting the warm sun beat down onto her. At twenty-eight, Caroline was far more happier sitting on the shore, alone, than she had ever been in Mystic Falls.

Perhaps I should make the move permanently. She thought to herself, wondering if she would be able to make such a transition work. She turned her head and looked across the shoreline to see a young man also sitting only a few feet away from her, staring off into the horizon with a sketch pad in hand. Caroline watched as his hands worked furiously against the paper, taking in the sight before him. She smiled, enjoying that she was not the only one who felt at peace at the beach. He looked up from his sketch, almost as though he could sense her watching him and gave her a warm, dimpled smile, causing Caroline’s heart to flutter.

“Klaus! Come on! Drinks are on me at the bar and you’re out here playing the starving artist!” A loud booming voice interrupted her solitude and she turned to see a tall lanky man stroll down the beach towards the artist. She took in their similarities and came to the conclusion they were related and gave the annoyed look on the artist’s, Klaus, face she could assume that they were siblings, for it was the same expression her friend Elena wore when dealing with her brother Jeremy.

“What can I say? The waves are beautiful.”

And then she felt it, the burning sensation of salt and rubbing against her skin where the words were inked on her skin. Her eyes flashed down to her wrist and towards the man on the beach again. She watched in a dazed stupor as he pulled himself from the sand and pushed the particles off his pants, clearly going to leave with the man who called him. Her wrist burned again, pushing her forwards and refusing to allow this moment to slip through her fingers.

“Wait.” She called but neither stopped. “Klaus, wait! Please!” Klaus froze, his back going rigid and Caroline could see how tight his shoulder blades were. Caroline pulled herself from the sand and all but ran to him, her feet sinking into the perfect white sand as she made her way towards him. He did not turn around at first, but slowly he did, and Caroline had never seen someone look so perfect. “Hi.”

“Hello….”

“I’m Caroline and I know this probably sounds insane but you’re my soulmate.” She held out her wrists, and the words that he had just spoken. Klaus reached  out, taking her wrist into his hand and tracing the words on them. Caroline could feel a spark surge through her, a pleasant feeling that she could not explain. It tingles and pulsed, a warmth consumed her that she could not explain. “I was never expecting to actually meet you. I mean soulmates are rare but here you are.”

“Here I am.” Klaus whispered, his fingers tracing up her arm and the side of her neck. He cupped her face, tracing her cheek bone with his thumb. Caroline sucked in a breath, taking in his blue eyes, that both seemed overwhelmingly happy and incredibly sad. “I’m Klaus, and to be honest, I never thought I would meet you either. I wondered, of course. I was curious as to who you would be and what you would be like.” He sucked in a breath, pulling his hand away from her but Caroline reached out, gripping it tightly. “You are far more beautiful than I could have ever imagined.”

“What do we do now?”

“I don’t know.”

“I’m renting a beach house, just down the way for a couple of weeks. I live in Mystic Falls, Virginia, so not too far from here but maybe we can grab dinner? Get to know one another? How long are you here for? Or do you live here?”

“I-well, it’s complicated.”

“Wait!” A voice sounded from beside them and both  Klaus and Caroline were pulled from their trance, turning to look at the man who had been with Klaus. His brown eyes were wide and a smile on his lips. “She is your soulmate? Like you’re 100% sure? You do not have a single doubt in your mind?”

“Kol. Stop.” The man, Kol, began to press on but Klaus cut him off. “Yes. She is my soulmate. I can feel it.” Klaus smiled, dimples creasing in his cheeks and Caroline felt her heart flutter a thousand beats a second. The world felt right, felt as though the stars had aligned and the sun was finally rising in the dead of night. Caroline had never realized how empty she had felt before, but having Klaus stand before her, she knew that she was meant to spend her life with him. “And she is perfect.”

“Oh thank god.” Kol muttered, running his fingers through his brown hair. “Okay, so does this mean the wedding is off? Because I already like her better than Aurora. I mean, Aurora is hot and all but she is insane. WHY you thought it was a good idea to agree to marry her, I will never understand.”

Caroline felt like a cold bucket of water was poured over her. Sher looked between both Kol and Klaus, trying to understand what was being said. Klaus’s shoulders slumped and an almost terrified look came over his face. She did not fully understand what it was about but Klaus gripped her hand tighter.

“Kol…”

“Look, I’m just saying that you’re going to need an escape plan. Once Aurora finds out that you met your soulmate and are ditching her, she is going to lose it, and it will not be pretty.” Kol told him and Caroline could not fully understand exactly what he was saying. She looked at Klaus and his expression was concerned but he would not let go of her hand. “I mean, you are ending it with Aurora right? You’re not marrying her? Right?”

“Obviously.” He snapped, narrowing his eyes at Kol. “I’m not going through with it. Not now. I don’t think I could if I wanted to. I just need to figure out how to tell her.”

“You could just not show up tomorrow.”

“Kol.”

“Wait..hold on. Whose getting married?” Caroline asked, terrified of the answer even though she already knew it. She wasn’t angry nor could she blame him, for he had not expected to meet her, just like she hadn’t expected to meet him, but a fiance did complicate matters and she did not know if her heart could handle the sight of her soulmate marrying someone else.

“Me. I’m getting...or I was….going to be getting married tomorrow.”

Review at A03

#klaroline #klarosummerbingo #beach

[hutchhitched]

Walk Back

Written by: @hutchhitched​

Prompt 143: The girl of my dreams asked me if I needed a ride home from campus so I obviously let her drive me home then walked back to campus a couple of hours later to get my car. [submitted by anonymous]

Ratings/Warnings: G

A/N: I’m continuing to post the nine @everlarkficexchange prompts I took and then sat on throughout the early months of the pandemic. This is the sixth of the nine. Thanks for your patience, and I hope you enjoy. Huge thanks to @javistg for understanding the delays. Only three more to go!

 Peeta Mellark knows he’s got it good compared to a lot of people. He really does, but that doesn’t stop him from wallowing in pity every once in a while. He’s in college, the first in his family, on a hefty scholarship; his grades are good; he has a lot of friends and a good work study job that actually does give him some time to study. Those are all good things. They really are, and he doesn’t dispute it, but…

 He’s also had a rough home life with a mom who’s never satisfied with anything he does and a father who loves him but can’t stand up to his wife long enough to protect his three sons from her emotional abuse. He’s a first-generation college student who’s excelling in courses for his major but isn’t doing so great in all his other general education courses. He has to work a lot more than he should for someone with his course load. Worst of all, though, he’s madly in love with a woman who likely doesn’t know his name. Well, that’s probably not true, but still. She’s certainly not crazy about him the way he is mad for her.

 There’s just no way Katniss Everdeen, fellow Panem University student and the smartest girl in his biology lab, would ever give him the time of day. Not when she already has a boyfriend, Mr. Tall, Dark, and Rugged, who’s about to graduate with a promising career. That’s unlike Peeta, an art major. He’ll never amount to anything, or so his mother likes to remind him every time he’s stupid enough to visit his family.

 Besides, Katniss is beautiful and sassy and shy and so many other wonderful things. She has no idea the effect she has on him or any other male within a mile radius, including their biology professor who’s proclaimed her the most brilliant student he’s had in his twenty-two years of teaching. Peeta spends the better part of their class together watching her from across the room, which is probably why his lab partner hates him and his grade in that class absolutely sucks.

 So, while Peeta knows he’s got some things going for him, it’s not surprising that he finds himself a little down in the dumps occasionally—especially on days when his crush shows up at his workplace. It’s even worse when his co-worker knows about his hopeless infatuation and has no shame. Johanna Mason may be his least favorite person on days like that. Today happens to be one of those days. He’s cursing his life when Jo comes up behind him and leans down to whisper in his ear.

 “Oooooooooh ooooooh. Katniss is pretty, isn’t she? Look at her over there. So serious. What do you think she’s getting ready to check out, and is there any way to make it sexual when gets over here?”

 “Shut up, Jo,” Peeta hisses as his cheeks flush, and he curls into himself, trying to hide behind the circulation desk so Katniss won’t see him.

 The last thing he wants is for the girl he’s been crushing on for months to hear his co-worker tease him about his hopeless attraction. The problem is that he told Johanna in a fit of self-loathing, and she coached him through it, built him up so his ego was a little higher than the floor and prepared him some for what to say to a girl when he likes her. While it was very kind of Jo to offer, Peeta isn’t that hopeless. He’d had a number of girlfriends in high school, but none of them compare to Katniss Everdeen. She is a goddess.

“What time’s your shift done today, hot buns?”

 “Don’t call me that! What is wrong with you?” he hisses. “Why are you so terrible?”

 “Terrible? I’m trying to get you laid, buddy. It’s certainly never going to happen if I leave you to your own devices, although I’m sure you’re taking care of yourself plenty. You’re a guy, after all.”

 Peeta’s face floods with heat, and he wants to slide onto the floor and hide behind the counter. She’s not wrong—he is a healthy, twenty-one-year-old man who hasn’t dated in a while—but Peeta doesn’t want his co-worker to know that. She’ll probably tell the whole world if he confirms what she suspects. Or say something to Katniss, which would be horrifying.

 “Why do you want to know?” he asks, suspicious.

 “Knowledge is power, my friend. Knowledge is power.”

 Still not convinced, he welcomes a patron and scans the student ID he’s handed. “Exactly ten minutes,” he mutters as he types in the bar codes of the pile of library books in front of him before sliding them across the counter. It’s almost midterm, so everyone’s trying to finish projects and bibliographies for research papers before they leave for spring break. The library’s been slammed for days.

 “She’s on her way over here,” Johanna nudges him.

 He whips his head up, and his eyes widen as he realizes Jo’s right. Katniss pages through a book as she strides toward the circulation desk. Johanna turns to busy herself with a pile of returned books, and he squeezes his legs together under the desk. If he can just stop his hands from shaking, things will be great.

 “Hi, Peeta,” she says with a guarded smile as she hands him her student ID. “How’s it going?”

 “K-katniss! Hi!” His voice squeaks, and he cringes internally. He sounds like an idiot. “It’s good. I’m good. How are you?”

 “Fine. I’m fine.” She hands him her student ID, and he glances down at the book she set on the counter.

 “History of Sculpture? That’s…”

 She laughs wryly and nods. “Yeah, I know. I’m not sure how I managed to get myself into it, but I signed up for an art appreciation class. I have zero artistic ability, so it’s painful.”

 “Oh,” he says. “That’s…yeah.”

 Johanna snorts behind him, and he tosses her a warning look. He should have known better. The woman doesn’t have a tactful bone in her body. Instead, she comes to stand behind Peeta and surveys Katniss.

 “You know, Peeta here is an art major,” Jo announces with her hand on his shoulder. “I bet he could help you with your art appreciation class. He’s great at that kind of stuff.”

 “Are you really?” Katniss asks, her eyes widening in pleased surprise. “I didn’t know that.”

 “I am,” he confirms. “I’m more of a painter than anything else, but I know quite a bit about all the different media. It’s kind of in the curriculum for my major.”

 She looks impressed, but she shakes her head as she picks up her book and tucks her ID into her pocket. “I couldn’t ask you to help, but that’s cool. I thought you were a biology major like me.”

 Johanna smacks him on the back, and he glares at her before wiping his expression clean and flashing a closed mouth grin at Katniss. When nobody says anything, Katniss turns to go.

 “Nonsense!” Jo cries. “Peeta’d be happy to help. I’m sure there’s something you could do for him to repay his generosity.”

 He swears under his breath and elbows Jo in the gut.

 “Oh, I don’t think there’s anything I have that Peeta wants—”

 “A ride home?” Jo interrupts. “Peeta’s car’s in the shop. He asked me for a ride, but his shift is over now, and I’ve got another two hours before I can leave. Poor guy. He’d really appreciate the lift.”

 Relief colors her face, and she nods. “I’d be happy to do that. My car’s on the street. I snagged one of those metered ones that are always full. Must be my lucky day.”

 “Oh, I’d say it certainly is,” Jo says, a wide self-satisfied smile plastered on her face. She practically shoves him out of his chair and adds, “Peeta, why don’t you go clock out. I’ll finish this up for you.”

 “I can—”

 “No, you can’t. You’re too close to hours. Besides, you wouldn’t want to keep Katniss waiting, now would you?”

 “You really are the devil, aren’t you?” he hisses as he grabs his stuff. “My car’s in the parking garage, not the shop. What the hell are you doing?”

 “Getting you some time alone with the girl of your dreams,” she explains with a withering look. “Now, let her give you a ride home so you can schmooze her.”

 Still disgruntled, he shuffles to the door and meets Katniss on the steps. She shifts uncomfortably, tugging on her braid and hunching her shoulders. He wonders if she’s trying to hide or if she’s cold in the chill of the early spring day.

 “I really appreciate this,” he says.

 She nods and leads him to her car. “No problem. It’s the least I can do.”

 “You don’t have to do anything at all.”

 She’s silent as she starts her car. Hesitating, she glances over at him and asks, “Does that mean you don’t want to tutor me? I understand if you don’t. It’s asking a lot for someone you barely know, especially since I can’t really afford to pay you.”

 “Except in rides.”

 “Well, yeah. I can do that.” She smiles at him tremulously and shifts the car into gear. Glancing over her shoulder, she signals and pulls out of the parking spot and onto the street.

 “You could help me in bio,” he blurts and his cheeks heat.

 “Really?”

 He cringes and shrugs. “Yeah. I can’t seem to get the hang of it. I think I’m one of those people that understands it in theory but not in practicality. I’m doing fine in the lecture, but lab is really confusing.” He doesn’t add that most of that is her fault, but not really, because he can’t stop mooning over her.

 “I can do that.”

 He glances at the pleased curve of her lips and wonders how he can make it happen again. The joy of seeing her happy sinks into his bones and gives him life. It’s ridiculous, but it’s true. He has no reason to think he should except common human decency matched with his overwhelming crush. He feels like a middle school boy who’s just figured out that girls and boys have different parts.

 Katniss stops at the intersection and glances over at him. Bashful, she admits, “I don’t know where I’m going.”

 Peeta’s eyebrows furrow and he motions out the windshield. “South?”

 “No,” she answers with a nervous laugh. “I mean, I don’t know where you live.”

 He’s an idiot. Of course she doesn’t know where he lives. “Sorry! Sorry. Turn left here. I wasn’t thinking.”

 “If you want…”

 “If I want?” he prods.

 “Well, maybe, if you don’t mind, that is.” She clears her throat and then words burst from her in a torrent. “I know a coffee shop that no one else really goes to. It’s quiet and the coffee’s good. They know me there, and I have a table they kind of save just for me. If you wanted to go over some of this sculpture stuff today, that’d be a good place.”

 “Oh. Okay,” he answers, fighting to keep his face clear of the glee he feels. Katniss Everdeen just asked him to go out with her. Well, she asked him to go somewhere with her, but that was more than he’d dreamed would happen any time he imagined actually speaking to her. Not only is he going to sit at the same table with her in a public place, but he’s at her mercy with transportation. She’s got him captive, and he approves.

 “Maybe I can take a look over your lab notes with you, too. You know, if you want.”

 Oh, he wants. That’s never been in question. He absolutely wants when it comes to Katniss Everdeen.

 “That’d be great. Really great.”

 The place itself is an independent coffee shop in an older area of town called The Seam. The properties tend to be more run-down than those closer to campus, but the café is cozy and humble and has great choices in both coffee and tea. He chooses a black peppermint he’s loved since his father made it for him when he was sick. His father had also snuck cookies to Peeta despite the disapproval of his mom. He adds sugar before taking a sip that transports him back to childhood. He breathes in as he swallows and blows out a heavy sigh.

 Amused, Katniss asks, “That good?”

 Nodding, he inhales the aroma and smiles softly. “Yeah. It’s that good. Thanks for bringing me here.”

 Pleased, Katniss drops her head and shuffles in her bag for the book on sculpture and her class  notes. They work together for over an hour before reviewing information from their biology lab. He finds she’s a good tutor, knowledgeable and skilled at breaking down the concepts into sizable chunks that seemed overwhelming previously. When he compliments her on it, she waves him off but returns the sentiment.

 “I already feel like I appreciate art more.”

 “Glad I could help.”

 “That doesn’t mean you’re off the hook, though,” she teases. “I’ll still need you after break’s over, but I think I can pass the final now, anyway.”

 He shivers at her claiming she’ll need him. It’s closer to genuine interest than anything he’s ever gotten from her, and it gives him a small thrill of hope.

 Reluctantly, she packs up her bag and sighs. “I really need to get home, but this was fun.”

 “Yeah, I should be getting back, too. Got a lot to do before bed.”

 They’re quiet as they slide into the car. Contemplative, Peeta almost forgets to provide instructions so Katniss knows where to take him. As he guides her through unfamiliar streets that turn into those he sees every day, he sends silent thanks to Johanna for her brashness and refusal to let things go. He only hopes he doesn’t have a ticket on his car when he retrieves it—hopefully before it’s towed.

 “This is it,” he says with a wave at his front door. None of his roommates are home, which means he’s stuck until they return. He doesn’t want to say goodbye, but she’s antsy, unsure what to do with her hands or where to look. “Thanks again for the ride. Come find me at the library after break, and we’ll do a repeat of tonight.”

 “Sounds great,” she says warmly. “Hope you get your car back soon.”

 “Yeah, me too,” he grumbles.

 He watches her leave, lifting his hand in farewell until her car turns the corner and heads back the way she came. Fishing his cell out of his pocket, he sends his roommates a group text asking when they’ll be home and if one of them can give him a ride back to campus. As each of them gives a reason for their absence, he realizes he’s on his own. He does stow his bag inside and grab a drink before heading back outside. Squaring his shoulders, he shoves his hands in his jacket pockets and begins the walk back.

 It takes an hour, and he does have a parking ticket. Still, Peeta has no regrets. The afternoon with Katniss was the best of the year with the promise of more to come. She’s worth the inconvenience. 

#everlarkficexchange #springtime edition 2020 #prompt 143 #everlark #everlark fanfiction #peeta mellark #katniss everdeen #walk back