#that fic makes me wanna pick up a pencil and sketch | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

gumnut-logic · 3 years

Text

Mosaic Beach

It has taken me since Thursday morning (it is now Saturday night) to write this goes-nowhere-piece-of-fluff. I had a low level migraine Wednesday night and felt awful Thursday morning, so the first 850 odd words are me visualising being in a better place other than outside my daughter’s school. Then Scott had something to say and promptly ate my fic. But then at least he was thinking about Virgil.

Also, Gordon is evil.

As always, many thanks to @tsarinatorment @scribbles97 and @janetm74 for the read throughs and support. You guys are amazing to me :D

I hope you enjoy this totally lazy fic ::hugs you all::

-o-o-o-

It was a lazy day.

Virgil suspected John, who had been kicked off Five the day before, had Eos routing all but the most dire situations to local authorities whether Scott authorised it or not.

There were days where Virgil wondered if Scott was really in charge, since John had so much ultimate say.

But that thought was for another day. He was tired and it was likely going to be a day off - please let it be a day off - and he was going to find a corner of the Island to sit alone and scribble in his sketchbook.

He ended up on Mosaic Beach, a personal favourite on the edge of the caldera. Gordon had mentioned it the day before regarding the quality of flotsam available after the last storm and Virgil thought he would see what he could find.

It was overshadowed by an ancient pokey tree brilliant in red blossom and the sand here was a mass of black and white swirls as the coral detritus fought the eroded igneous rocks – the reason they had given it its name. Gordon was right - there was all sorts of things tossed up the sand and Virgil spent the first half hour wandering along the strip of sea wrack picking up shells and whatever caught his eye.

One of the shells appeared determined to return to the ocean and it was with a small smile that he picked up the tiny hermit crab and watched it curl up into its shell.

Holding it gently in his palm, he sought the shade of the giant tree and sat down on the sand in its shadow. Here the breeze was gentle, the sand cool and, leaning back against a rock, he set the little crab down on a smooth patch of sand, along with his small hoard of shells and let it scamper across the little landscape that resulted.

Sketchbook out, he spent the next few minutes sketching the crab madly as it moved about. It shifted angle at random and he found himself increasingly switching from real life to a character sketch. A little personality sprouted from the page that reflected the little crab’s determination.

Ever aware of the crab’s needs above his own, he sketched fast, took a few photos and then gathered the little creature in his hands once more. He trotted down to the rock pools at the edge of the beach and found a spot he felt the crab would be happy.

Crouching down, he watched it scamper into the water.

His lips curved into a smile.

Gordon would know what species it was, where it lived and how to best care for it. Virgil was pretty sure he knew what type it was. Mel was pedantic about crabs and had given them a list of ‘these are endangered, tell me if you see them, kill one and I will kill you’. Fortunately or unfortunately, it wasn’t a long list, so Virgil had memorised it. This little guy...he should be happy here.

The crab found some weed and promptly hid under it.

The rockpool drew Virgil’s eye a little longer before he finally stood up and let the breeze cool his face. A sigh at the sun’s warmth and he wandered back to the shadow of the pokey tree and sat down again.

The little crab stared up at him from his sketchbook, spritely and determined.

Kind of like Gordon really, despite the claws.

That prompted a smile at the thought of his fish brother’s reaction to being compared to a crab.

He would squawk, but he would love it.

Virgil returned to sketching the shells and bits of coral he had collected. Rearranging them, repositioning for lighting. He picked one up and stared at the colours created by a little mollusc. He was ever amazed at what Mother Nature was capable of. Simple geometrics and chemical formulae made one of the world’s strongest and most beautiful substances in nacre. Another broken shell showed the rainbow of colour that he knew his paintbrush would never quite be able to capture, much less the pencil and stick of carbon he had with him today. He was left with a little snapshot from his phone...which was never quite the same either...and what his memory could provide.

Perhaps it was nature’s way of ensuring it was always the most beautiful.

He shifted to scribbling down the beachscape after that. It wasn’t the first time he had drawn this beach, but as with all beaches, it was different every day as the tide sculpted it.

His fingers grew more and more lazy, his lines wandering through more emotion than reality as the day drifted on. At some point, he ate the sandwich he had packed, quite happy to not care what time of day it was and refusing to look at his watch.

Eventually the sketchbook was set aside and he let himself just stare out at the ocean lagoon, eyes tracking the movement of the distant waves and the laps of the ripples against the shore.

And nature’s rhythms lulled him to sleep.

-o-o-o-

“Hey, big bro, you might want to drop by Mosaic Beach before the tide comes in.” Gordon waltzed past the desk Scott was sitting at with a smirk on his face.

“What?” Scott’s brain was still stuck in working out what the hell Simmonds meant by the ‘urgent memo’ that had interrupted his afternoon off.

“The snoring is scaring away all the wildlife.” With that Gordon grabbed a book off the shelf on the far side of the room and backtracked out the way he had come in...without another word.

Scott was left staring where his brother had been.

But then Gordon was worth ignoring some times.

He turned back to his display and continued to try and work out why Simmonds had ordered sixty plastic flamingoes and then memo’d him about it in a panic.

It took him a good few minutes more before throwing it back at Simmonds’ supervisor in Japan with a ‘concerned’ note.

What did Tracy Industries need with sixty plastic flamingoes?

He shook his head and forced himself to stand up and not invest any more in any comms from the business. Today was hopefully his day off and he refused to fall into the trap of losing himself in all the things that required attention.

All the things.

He paused mid rise.

But no. No! Vacation day. He forced himself away from the desk and out onto the balcony.

It was a beautiful out here. The afternoon sun was blazing in a brilliant blue sky without a single cloud. The sea was murmuring far below. It was an artist’s dream.

He blinked as certain Gordon utterings connected neurons together.

A frown. “Gordon!”

No answer.

Another frown and he strode back inside, following the recent tracks of his fish brother down to the kitchen.

Scott found him reading at the table, a phone that was most definitely not his in one hand and the book in his other.

There were lots of photos of crabs.

“What are you doing?”

“Confirming the identification of a crab.”

“Why?”

“Virg found one down on Mosaic Beach and I wanna make sure it is what I think it was so I can report it to Mel.”

The dots that had been connecting earlier fused into a solid line with an arrow pointing directly at Gordon. “And where is Virgil?”

“Snoozing on the beach.”

“And why do you have his phone?”

“Because his drawings were excellent, but I needed a colour shot.”

“Gordon!”

His brother didn’t even look up. “What?” But then he blinked and frowned at Scott. “He’s fine. Well above the high tide line.” A glance down at the book again. “There, that’s it. Oooh, Mel is going to be so excited.”

Scott glared at Gordon for a whole second longer before storming over and snatching the phone out of his hands. Without another word, he strode out of the kitchen and took the path that would lead him down to the reported beach.

Younger brothers were hard work.

The little beach wasn’t the closest on the Island. Probably one of the reasons Virgil chose it to get away from pesky younger brothers. Trust Gordon to find him anyway.

He fingered Virgil’s phone in his hand as he walked. The green leather case was embossed with an elaborate dragon design.

Looking at it, all he could really feel was fondness.

He must be tired. Grandma was right. He needed a day off.

Easier said than done. It wasn’t like he could park himself on a beach and fall asleep.

He grunted as he stepped over some rocks to start the climb down to the little cove. The path was thin and wove amongst several pōhutukawa trees – or pokey trees as Alan called them, their dark green leaves adorned with puffs of red blossom. Birds darted between them squawking at each other. That combined with the surf in the distance and the breeze rattling palm trees, it wasn’t the quietest of places.

Nevertheless, he found his brother sprawled against a rock under the largest pokey tree at the edge of the beach, snoring his head off.

Definitely noisy.

Virgil was dressed in an old pair of work shorts and a t-shirt with a hole in it. Both sported spatters of paint and clearly showed how relaxed his brother was trying to be.

Beside him on a rock, carefully placed, no doubt by Gordon, the brat, was a sketchbook and a box of drawing tools. Virgil’s artist backpack lay folded up supporting his head - again likely Gordon.

Virgil snorted and curled up just a little more against the rock.

Gordon was a shit, but he was a kind one. Virgil slept like the dead and would likely need one of those waves off in the distance to wash over him if he was going to wake up before he wanted to.

Staring a moment longer, Scott sighed, gave up and sat down beside his brother. He dropped the phone onto the sketchbook and looked out at the beach.

Virgil continued to snore.

His biggest little brother had always snored. Scott had cornered him and got him tested for a variety of sleep issues, but he was fine. Just loud.

The terrible two used to make a point of pointing it out as much as possible. But that was before the hydrofoil accident.

Gordon didn’t know it, but due to his injuries, he now snored, too.

The ribbing about snoring in the Tracy household had dropped to a minimum since, Gordon the only unknowing ribber.

But Virgil remained the major noise maker and the brothers worshipped the soundproofing in the villa.

Regardless of the racket, Scott did find it strangely quiet out here. Sitting on the sand with nothing to do was oddly relaxing. Of course, he wasn’t really one to do nothing and Virgil’s sketchbook was right there. Gordon had obviously already stuck his nose into it and Scott was pretty sure Virgil wouldn’t mind if he took a peek.

Would he?

Lifting the phone off the book, Scott carefully picked it up and nestled it in his lap...ever, ever so careful. Okay, so he had some respect and not a little fear of damaging Virgil’s artwork.

The pages were thick and stiff and likely designed to support wet media as much as dry. Most of the work in it was pencil, however, maybe some charcoal? The darks were so deep in some that they had to be.

But Scott was no artist and really only had eyes for the content.

The first page found him looking at himself. Virgil had obviously either captured Scott’s likeness on the sly or drawn from a photo or holoprojection. His drawing stared up at him in almost all three dimensions. The expression on his graphite face was thoughtful, almost wistful. He could see his rendered self was thinking or planning and totally distracted...which was likely why he had no clue his brother had captured this shot.

But the artistic strokes were strong and sure, simple in their complexity.

Scott blinked, moved that his brother was so talented and capable.

Though he really shouldn’t be surprised.

Turning the page, he discovered their grandmother.

He had to smile. The concentration on Grandma’s face was almost comical. A bowl and a recipe book sat in front of her and the very tip of her tongue stuck out of the side of her mouth as she frowned at whatever she was reading.

There was a touch of caricature in the drawing, a little exaggeration, but done with love and fondness, not mockingly. His grandmother was beautiful.

Scott swallowed and turned the page to find several detailed scribbles. They looked like pieces of machinery and the pages had notes written down the sides.

It was a spark moment. He knew Virgil well enough for that. One of those times when his thoughts all came together and saw him running naked out of the shower to grab whatever he could find and get it written down.

Several major equipment improvements had occurred exactly this way. It appeared that at some point, this sketchbook had been the nearest note book and had borne the brunt.

He stared at the diagrams, doing his best to work out exactly what they were. Sharp notation, numbers, that had to be the backend of a pod. It clicked. This was part of the pod assembly redesign from the previous year. Virgil had come to him with some major improvements, including a pod body redesign. What followed had been a massive overhaul of all the ‘birds’ assembly systems and a whole new set up, including colour changes according to which Thunderbird housed which pod. Virgil and Brains had been buzzing for weeks.

And it was possible it had all started here on this piece of paper. Now he could see the scribbled down inner workings of the assembly mechanism and the shape on the second page was a worked and reworked pod shell.

He glanced over at his brother who was still snoring peacefully. Virgil was amazing. Scott could not have been prouder of what his little brother had achieved. Yet Virgil never really boasted or bragged or even highlighted what he had done. He was just there. Always there, one step behind him ready to help.

He must be really tired because now he was getting emotional. There had been a few times in the last couple of years where he had come close to losing Virgil. He hadn’t, but there had been nightmares and many a night where he had spent reassuring himself that his biggest brother was still with him.

And yes, he could stand outside his brother’s bedroom door and listen to him snore.

It gave him comfort.

Gordon had caught him once.

That had been a heartbreaking moment.

Because his fish brother hadn’t said a thing, just reached up, squeezed his shoulder, dropped his forehead against Scott’s arm and just stood there for a solid moment. Another gentle squeeze and he left, not even looking up at Scott before he was gone.

It said more than any words.

Scott sighed and turned the page...only to come face to face with Gordon again. Though this time the joy in their fish brother’s eyes was lighting up the page. He was grinning at a shell and there was a speech bubble - ‘Virgil, come and see this!’

Scott had to smile. Gordon was notorious for sharing his beach discoveries. Virgil was usually the target because at least he knew a little bit about their little brother’s fascinations. Scott loved to see Gordon happy, but honestly, he couldn’t tell the difference between one shell or another. He tried. He honestly did, but Virgil had the patience of a saint and was much more engaging.

Scott loved to watch the two of them instead.

And yes, he saw Virgil sneak things into his pockets. Usually shells, but occasionally rocks and bits of coral. Those finds made their way back to Virgil’s studio and there was a whole corner devoted to marine still life.

Which was why it was no surprise when the next three pages of sketchbook turned out to be exactly that. A curly shell, a pile of cockle shells - Scott knew those at least - they were good for fishing. The third page had a plan for a reef painting. It had scribbled notes, much like the pod redesign pages, but this was based around a sketched layout. Scott frowned at it...it was vaguely familiar. He would have to ask Virgil about it when he woke.

The next two pages sported today’s efforts. The same beach he was sitting on emerged from the paper, along with some sketches of a crab. The first few were realistic, but the last one had the little hermit crab with an IR symbol on its side and one of Dad’s old uniform hats perched on top of its shell. It bore a sash that resembled Virgil’s despite the lack of green colour and one of its claws was bigger than the other in a very exo-suit-like way.

That had Scott grinning. This was no doubt the reason why Gordon had run for the crab book. Mel, in her position of Director of the Kermadec Expedition south of them on Raoul Island, was very particular about the endemic crabs on all the islands in the area.

He wondered what she would think of them inducting crabs into IR.

He wondered what she was doing today and if she might be available later for a nice evening together.

That thought was very distracting and had nothing to do with crab identification at all.

Virgil snorted, rolled over off his backpack and face first into the sand.

Scott startled, fully expecting a woken bear of a brother to surface from that.

But Virgil just kept snoring, now snorting sand as well.

He placed the sketchbook down, scrambled around his brother and gently shoved the folded backpack under his head again.

His fingertips brushed sand off Virgil’s face.

And he found himself sitting beside his brother again.

Why was he out here?

Because Gordon was evil and dangled the concept of Virgil drowning in the tide simply to aggravate him enough to do exactly what he did.

Gordon was a shit.

But a good one.

Another sigh and he lay back against the rocks and got comfortable, because, let’s face it, he wasn’t going back up to the villa without Virgil. His brother was safe, sure, but walking off and leaving him to the elements ran against his grain.

And Gordon knew it.

He would throttle, and possibly hug, his fish brother later.

Besides, it was nice out here, taking a moment to just be.

Virgil would approve.

Virgil would fake being asleep just to get him to do it.

Scott’s eyes darted to his now softly snoring brother, a sudden suspicion at the forefront of his thoughts. He would put it past either of Virgil or Gordon’s conniving ways to conspire to get him out here.

Virgil was drooling a wet patch onto his backpack.

Ugh.

Well, maybe not.

Perhaps he was just being paranoid.

Perhaps he just needed to relax.

Relax.

He closed his eyes and folded his hands in his lap. Kayo was good at meditation. So was Gordon. Virgil did some connecting with nature thing that seemed to work for him.

Exhibit A snorted as if in agreement.

He could try.

Out of all the sounds he could hear, only one really held his attention.

That same soft snoring. No waves or wind or birds squawking brought him any kind of comfort.

The sound of his brother breathing evenly beside him, safe and sound, was the most beautiful sound in the world.

What that said about him...well, he didn’t care right now. He was tired and worn out. Maybe Gordon was right. Maybe this is what he needed. He should care, should be annoyed, but the rhythm was lulling and, god, he was so tired.

So goddamned tired.

Virgil kept breathing and Scott followed him into sleep.

-o-o-o-

Hidden in the foliage of the grove of pokey trees behind his two brothers, Gordon just smiled.

-o-o-o-

#thunderbirds are go #thunderbirds #thunderbirds fanfiction #Virgil Tracy #Scott Tracy #Gordon Tracy

49 notes · View notes

cdfreak · 3 years

Note

hey idk if you remember me but i was the 'my friend was addicted to vladimir putin x the reader fic in middle school anon' well i just remembered some other batshit stuff my friends and i did in middle school and i don't know who to tell bc idk if anyone would listen but i figured you wouldn't mind anyway feel free to ignore this if you want but. basically when i was in 7th grade my school decided that as group bonding shit each advisory would make its own flag to represent itself (1/10)

side note: i know not all schools have advisories so i just wanna clarify it was sorta like a prep school version of home room? except we did group bonding stuff together and sometimes ate weird ass snacks n stuff. so anyway we had to make this flag and my advisor was infamously awful bc it was our advisor's first year being a teacher and she didn't know what she was doing. on top of that the kids in the advisory were batshit (me included) we had this one girl who was rich af who always (2/10)

bragged abt how much money her dad made, we had a kid who was sketch and disappeared mid-year and we never found out why (we held a ceremony for him where i played the clarinet in his honor but thats another story), we had one kid who was chill at first but then he started dating a girl who was an ass and we all called him 'traitor' after that, there was me (closeted nonbinary lesbian but still mean and weird af), and of course my friend vladimir putin girl (3/10)

was there too (we were together til the end) and also there was this one girl from a neighboring advisory who was actually pretty chill and she'd come and hide in our advisory bc her advisory didnt like her but she's not important to this story. so the day that the flag-making activity is announced we're supposed to pick the integral parts of our flag and start drawing. we're supposed to have a motto and an animal that represents us. but the day this happens everyone but 2 kids are sick (4/10)

with the flu. i am one of the kids sick, i think it was the boy who disappeared and traitor who were left behind to fend for themselves. literally everyone even remotely artistically talented is gone on the day we start drawing. the next day we work on the flag we are all gone but the 2 kids have already picked our animal (goats) and our motto (fly like a butterfly float like a bee, which they contributed to caillou yes as in the cartoon character). we need to start coloring in the flag (5/10)

but none of us have any colored pencils except the rich girl but she won't share bc she thinks this activity is below her and so we rummage around in the drawers of the classroom and eventually find 2 crayons and they are like a nice teal color and a shit orange-red (think color scheme like if perry the platypus had an evil twin) and so we start coloring and i don't know this is supposed to be a flag yet bc our advisor has fucked off and not told us its a flag contest so us kids who are (6/10)

only just showing up think it's just some weird craft project and we just start fucking doodling. whatever we want. we write caillou on the flag at least 83 times. i draw a giant squid somewhere in the corner. vladimir putin girl writes a swear somewhere by the goat's head and starts to doodle flowers. traitor returns from a neighboring classroom victorious holding a bag of colored pencils and we can now expand our color scheme. we tie-dye the goat's face. by the time our advisor returns (7/10)

with glitter (idk why she brought glitter we never used it) to tell us its a flag its too late; we have created a monster. she confiscates the franken flag so that we can do no more damage and it is never finished. we think that it is done. but it is not done. it cannot be over, not yet. it is months later when we are walking the 7th grade hall after a shit english class that we find out what the flags were for. we leave the english classroom and find that everyone is out in the hallway (8/10)

looking at something, looking up, looking at what? and me and vladimir putin girl follow their gaze in unison and we see like 20 flags of the 7th grade advisories. they are crisp, clean, and uniform. they are laminated and placed in plastic frames. they hang above the lockers. most of them look pretty fucking good - the advisory of my latin teacher went so far as to create a whole freaking crest. they made it look serious and their animal was a WALRUS. and there, among all of the flags (9/10)

sits our fucked-up psychedelic goat. and the boy who disappeared isn't even able to see it when the other kids lose their shit at the amount of times we wrote 'caillou' on one piece of paper before it was confiscated from us. thx again for listening <3 (10/10)

this was such a trip thank u so much anon. your middle school experience fascinates me to no end. i would love to study you

#i saw the last ask before i read like all the other parts and i gotta admit i was expecting a real goat to show up somewhere #asks #anon

18 notes · View notes

livesincerely · 4 years

Text

dress you up, dress you down ch. 2 - the clothes make the man

aka the Tie Fic. Chapter one here.

Also on Ao3

00000

It’s early Monday morning. Davey is working on coaxing Les into his school uniform when there’s a knock on the bedroom window.

“Jack!” Les greets, the untucked tails of his shirt flapping behind him as he rushes over to open it.

“Hey, bud,” Jack says, climbing in from the building’s fire escape with easy grace. “How’s it hangin’?”

“What are you doin’ here?”

“I’m workin’ on some cartoons for Joe today, but I hadta come pick up some stuff from Dave before I head over.”

Les’ expression brightens. “Oh, you mean your new suits and stuff?”

“Got it in one,” Jack confirms, ruffling Les’ hair. “Your brother and Kathy ganged up on me yesterday and made me buy a buncha fancy geddups. They was real serious about it—said it was important for my ‘tential growth as an employee.’”

Jack leans closer, then continues in a conspiratorial whisper, “I think it’s all a waste of dollars, but if it’s important to them I guess it’s important to me.”

“Well it’s real important to David!” Les chirps. “He brought your stuff home but he wouldn’t even let me look at it. He hung it all up in the back of our closet and told me if I touched anything he’d murder me!”

“Well, they did cost a fair chunk of change,” Jack says slowly, blinking several times in rapid succession. “And I’m pretty sure if they got ruined before I hadda chance to wear ‘em out, Kath would kill us all.”

“Go brush your teeth,” Davey tells Les. “Jack needs to get ready.”

“But I wanna see the fancy geddup,” Les whines.

“You can see it when he’s dressed,” Davey says. “Brush your teeth.”

“But—“

“Go!”

Les lets out a huff but finally does as he’s told. Davey turns to Jack.

“The garment bag’s all the way in the back on the left,” Davey informs him, waving a hand towards the closet.

He goes to follow Les out of the room to give Jack some privacy but he only gets as far as grabbing the door handle before Jack’s voice pipes up behind him with, “Wait, where are ya goin’?”

Davey’s brow furrows. “I’m letting you get dressed.”

“But you gotta get dressed too,” Jack says with a frown, gesturing at the pajamas that Davey’s still wearing. “Distribution opens in a hour.”

“Oh, well, I was gonna wait for you to finish,” Davey explains.

“Don’t be stupid,” Jack says, shaking his head. “I don’t wanna make you late. Just go ahead and change, don’t mind me.”

Davey hesitates. “If you’re sure it’s okay...”

Jack rolls his eyes. “Dave, you’ve seen the Lodging House—it ain’t exactly private quarters. If it don’t bother you it don’t bother me.”

Well, actually, it bothers Davey quite a lot, though probably not for the reasons Jack thinks. But he’s not sure how to excuse himself without seeming suspicious so he swallows down his reservations and steps more fully back into the room.

Jack unearths the garment bag and works the clasps open. Davey catches a glimpse of soft cottons and sturdy wools and feels his cheeks getting warm—just the thought of what’s to come is enough to send his heart racing. He takes a steadying breath, then throws open the trunk at the foot of his bed and starts looking through it for a clean set of clothes.

His only plan is to get changed as quickly and quietly as possible. So naturally Jack choses this moment to strike up a conversation.

“So how’d your meetin’ go?” Jack asks. Davey instinctively turns towards the sound of his voice and is treated to the long expanse of Jack’s bare back as he wriggles out of his shirt.

“...What?” Davey says. His voice sounds distant to his own ears.

“Your meetin’?” Jack repeats. He lets his shirt fall to the floor at his feet, his hands dropping down to start undoing his belt buckle. “Didn’t you and Albie have a thing last week? Down by the water?”

It takes Davey a moment to shake off his stupor. Flushed and flustered, he quickly whirls back around but it feels like the sight’s been seared into the space behind his eyes. Good god.

“Oh, right, of course,” Davey stammers out, keeping his gaze fixed carefully on the wall in front of him as he fumbles through unbuttoning his pajama top. “Yeah, it went well. Better than I thought it would, anyway. We still need to figure a few things out but we’re off to a good start.”

“And Brooklyn didn’t give you no trouble?” Jack questions. “Spottie was nice and hospitable?”

“It was fine Jack,” Davey says, and the familiar banter is working wonders on calming his frazzled nerves. “Spot and Hotshot stopped by and checked in with us, just to make sure we were being honest and keeping to the agreement and all that, but they mostly left us alone.” Davey folds up his pajamas and leaves them in a neat stack on his bed, slips on a clean pair of underwear, then steps into his selling pants and fastens them up. “Honestly, I think they were... not happy, exactly, but proud? Honored? It’s a respect thing, right?”

“Well, ya only get asked to be neutral territory if everyone else trusts ya to play fair,” Jack explains. “So, yeah, it’s a sign of respect. But Brooklyn’s always been real particular ‘bout who’s all allowed to cross the bridge, so they don’t usually do it—I still can’t believe Spot agreed to play host for ya.”

“It helps that I can get through a conversation with him without picking a fight,” Davey comments lightly as he works his arms into his shirt sleeves. “Unlike certain others I could name.”

“I still say he started it,” Jack responds, and Davey doesn’t have to look at him to know he’s pouting.

“Uh huh,” Davey says. “Sure he did.”

“Hey, now,” Jack says, grabbing at the hem of Davey’s shirt and tugging him around to face him. In the time since Davey’s last looked he’s put on his pants and suspenders, his shirt done up but only partially tucked in. He should be easier to deal with now that he’s covered up, but the disheveled, partially dressed look is somehow just as enticing as the bare skin. It’s honestly not fair. “You’re supposed to be on my side.”

“I’m always on your side,” Davey says, perhaps a little too sincerely, feeling a touch lightheaded. “But that doesn’t mean I won’t call you out. And you definitely started it last time.”

“He’s been mackin’ on Racetrack!” Jack says, and he’s adorably grumpy about it. “I can’t just let that go!”

“They’re dating, Jack,” Davey reminds him for the thousandth time. “Obviously they’re gonna be holding hands and kissing and whatever else—you might as well get used to it. And regardless,” Davey pokes Jack in the chest, a gentle scolding, “you shouldn’t be letting your personal feelings about Spot affect your dealings with Brooklyn. You’re supposed to be professional, mister Union President.”

“It’s Racetrack,” Jack insists. “It’s my god-given right to give his boyfriend,” Jack makes a face as he says the word because he’s ridiculous, “a hard time. It ain’t my fault Spottie’s got such a short fuse.”

“And that’s why you’re not allowed to handle business with Brooklyn anymore,” Davey says, and he’s trying for disapproving but he can feel the start of a smile pulling at the corner of his mouth.

“Worth it,” Jack says, utterly unapologetic. Davey just shakes his head. Jack’s bad enough now when it’s just Racer—he can only imagine how overprotective Jack’ll be if Crutchie decides he’s interested in dating too.

Davey finishes buttoning his shirt, then leans down and starts digging around in his trunk for a pair of socks and a set of suspenders.

“Hey, but back to your meetin’,” Jack starts after a moment, picking up the previous conversation where they left off. “You know who you really needta talk to? There’s a kid over in Flushing—I don’t think you’ve met him yet, name’s Paulie—but he’s got crazy connections with somma the dock workers. One time he managed ta—”

Jack stops mid word, a sudden, sharp inhale interrupted by a series of coughs.

“You alright?” Davey calls over his shoulder, still searching.

“Uh, yeah,” Jack says, an odd note in his voice. “Just, uh, swallowed wrong, but I’m fine.”

“Oh, okay,” Davey says, absently. He straightens up, then frowns when he realizes he’s grabbed a pair of Les’ socks instead of his own. He throws them aside, then bends back over his trunk, rifling even more vigorously through the assortment of clothes.

Jack mutters something under his breath, too quietly for Davey to make out the words.

“What was that?” Davey asks, finally coming up with the right items.

“Nothin’,” Jack says, head ducked low as he buttons up his vest. It’s a little hard to tell, but it looks like he’s gone a bit pink in the face. “I just⁠— it was nothin’.”

Davey watches him for a moment longer, brow furrowed. But when Jack doesn’t say anything else, he goes back to his task, pulling on his socks and carefully tucking his shirt into his pants.

“How’s that?” he asks Jack, turning slowly in place. “Did I miss any spots?”

“Lookin’ good Dave,” Jack says with a smile. “Here, hold still,” he continues, patting at Davey’s hip with one hand and picking up the end of his suspenders with the other. “I’ll fix you up.”

“Oh, thanks,” Davey says tentatively.

Jack steps in close, his knuckles brushing against the small of Davey’s back as he clips his suspenders into place. Davey swallows heavily around a suddenly dry throat, trying his hardest not to think about how he can feel Jack’s body heat like a tangible weight along his spine, how there’s the barest whisper of Jack’s breath tickling at the nape of his neck.

He hopes Jack can’t hear the hitch in his voice as he asks, “So what are you working on today?”

“Hmm? Oh, nothin’ much,” Jack says. “Just some line work, and maybe sketching out some ideas for the Friday edition.”

“Is your, uh, desk mate still stealing your drafting pencils?” Davey asks.

“He sure is, the prick,” Jack answers. “Which is so damn annoying⁠—it ain’t like they don’t give us plenty.” His hands slide up over Davey’s waist: “Turn around for me.”

Davey obediently turns. “Maybe you should call him out,” he offers.

“Maybe I should stab him in the neck with his stupid compass,” Jack says with a snort. He follows the line of Davey’s suspender straps up over his shoulders and down to the front of his pants, clipping the other pair of buckles into place. “There, you’re all set.”

“Great,” Davey says, his eyes flitting across Jack’s face. He’s very handsome. He’s very close. “Thanks.”

“No problem,” Jack says, his voice a little husky. His fingers are still curled around the straps of Davey’s suspenders. “Happy to help.”

“Right,” Davey breathes out.

“Right,” Jack echoes.

They stare at each other.

“I should, uh, grab my vest,” Davey says, clearing his throat. His pulse is pounding in his ears.

“Yeah, of course,” Jack says as he shuffles back a couple of steps, running a hand through his hair. “Of course. I’ll just⁠, I’ll finish doing… over here.”

Davey spends a long while shaking the wrinkles out of his vest, then pulls it on with clumsy limbs. He smooths his hands nervously down the front of it, then pretends to pick away a few pieces of lint, just to give himself another minute to calm his fluttering heart. Oh god, oh god, oh god.

For a brief moment there’s no noise except the rustling of fabric and the sounds of the city drifting in from the open window. Then Jack calls, his voice tinged with a hint of alarm, “Uh… Dave? Help.”

Davey glances over. Jack’s made an attempt at putting on his tie and it’s ended in absolute disaster, the collar of his shirt crumpled beneath a too tight and incredibly tangled knot.

“What on earth did you do?” Davey asks, his lingering embarrassment burnt away by sheer bafflement.

“I thought I had it handled!” Jack says. He tries to pick the knot loose, but only manages to make things worse. “Christ, these things are death traps.”

“Stop, or you’re gonna strangle yourself,” Davey says, smacking Jack’s hands out of the way. “Just let me⁠—”

Davey reaches up, undoing the mess of a knot with deft fingers, then expertly re-ties the strip of red silk into a perfect four-in-hand.

“There,” Davey says, carefully tucking the tails under Jack’s suit vest, then folding the sides of his shirt collar back down into place. “How’s that?”

“‘S good,” Jack says.

“Not too tight?” Davey checks just to be sure, noting the raspiness of Jack’s voice. He adjusts the knot one more time, then presses a neat little dimple right in the center of it. “I can do it again if it doesn’t feel right⁠—”

“No, it’s great, Dave,” Jack says lowly, and his hand closes around Davey’s own so that their hands are clasped together over Jack’s sternum. Startled, Davey’s eyes dart up to meet Jack’s and their gazes catch and linger⁠ again with that same soft, simmering intensity from earlier. “It’s perfect.”

“Good,” Davey says hoarsely⁠, held captive by Jack’s stare. He almost can’t breathe around the pressure building somewhere deep in his chest; Jack somehow feels even closer than he had before, all dark eyed and broad shouldered and just far too much for Davey to handle. “Good, that’s…” Davey swallows, licks his lips, and tries to think of something to say that isn’t absolutely asinine. “I’m glad.”

An expression flickers across Jack’s face, too quickly for Davey to identify. Then his hand curls more firmly around Davey’s, and Davey can feel the warmth of his skin, the callouses on his palms. Jack takes a breath, opens his mouth to speak⁠—

“David!” Les shouts as he bursts back into the bedroom. Davey jolts away from Jack like he’s been burned, his hands dropping back to his sides. Jack’s mouth clicks shut⁠⁠—whatever he might’ve been about to say is lost. “Davey, stop hogging Jack! You already saw the fancy geddup, I wanna see too⁠⁠—”

He skids to a sudden halt, his eyes going wide. “Wow, Jack, you look swell! Like a real, pr’fessional artist.”

“Hey, I’m already an artist,” Jack counters playfully, though there’s a hint of tightness around his mouth. “All this stuff is just window dressing, ya hear?”

“Yeah, but now you look all serious and business-y and confident,” Les stresses. “Like you actually know what you’re doing.”

Jack laughs. “That’s just the clothes talkin’, bud,” he says. “Believe me, I ain’t gotta clue what I’m doin’ most the time. ‘S what I keep Davey around for⁠, to make sure at least somebody knows what the hell is going on.”

“Well, I think you look nice,” Les declares, like that’s the final word on the matter. He looks at Davey and says, “Mama says we gotta leave soon or we’ll be late.”

“Okay, I’ll be right there,” Davey answers. Les nods, then skips away to put on his shoes and hat.

“I guess I should head on out,” Jack says, wandering towards the still-open window. “I’ll see you in a few hours⁠—”

“Jack Kelly, you are not going down the fire escape in your brand new suit,” Davey says, exasperated. “You can walk out the front door with us like a normal human being.”

“Oh, but where’s the fun in that?” Jack says with a grin, but he slides the window shut and dutifully comes back over. Once he’s close enough, Davey elbows him in the ribs. “Ow, what was that for⁠—?”

“Stop talking down on yourself,” Davey huffs. “You don’t give yourself enough credit⁠.”

“Or maybe I give myself exactly enough credit,” Jack counters.

“Oh, please,” Davey says, rolling his eyes. “I know you’ve got a functioning brain in that head of yours⁠, you don’t need me to be successful⁠—you’ll get by on your own merits.”

“My own merits, huh?” Jack says with a rueful smile. “You make it sound so easy, Dave.”

“I know it’s not easy,” Davey says. “But I also know that if you really wanted something, you’d figure out a way to get it.”

“But, see, there’s a lotta things I want,” Jack says, and he’s gone a bit quiet in his contemplation. “Probably too many things. I ain’t figured out how to get hardly any of ‘em, and especially not the most important things.”

“But you will,” Davey says. “I’m sure you will.”

Jack stares at him, and for a split-second Davey can see the raw yearning in his eyes for... whatever his latest dream is. Davey hopes he finds it, even as his heart lurches at the thought of some new, Santa Fe-esque fantasy stealing Jack away, maybe permanently this time.

“God, I hope so,” Jack breathes.

00000

Chapter three here

Tag List: @yahfancyclamwiththepurlinside

#newsies #javid #jack kelly #davey jacobs #*final cut #*the writing desk #*editor's note #the tie fic #tease series #it's all about the flustered desperate YEARNING babes

49 notes · View notes

pixiegrl · 3 years

Text

You Are My Horizon

Jack comes to visit Rian at work. Rian's hopelessly in love.

Alright lets take it from the top:

Bet you never saw ATL fic coming from me? Well, here it is. Once again, this is part of a larger fic I'm writing. I'm blaming Rian's v-day thirst trap and Jack just being, you know, Jack for writing this. The only important thing to know going into this is that Rian and Jack are dating, Jack is trans, and that Rian works at a tattoo parlor owned by Ashton and Calum. The tattoo parlor is across from the flower show Luke (also trans) and Michael (non-binary) own.

Second: big thanks to @tigerteeff for whom I write all trans content. Thanks for listening to me yell about Trans Jack he is a special boy and I love him. Thanks to @lifewasradical @cakelftv @blackbutterfliescal and @staticsounds for listening to me yell about this fic (and the flower shop/tattoo parlor verse) and telling me how emo in a good way this is. I love you all dearly.

on ao3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29500365

Rian’s sketching out the tattoo he’s designing when Jack comes into the back area of the parlor. He sighs dramatically, dropping himself into Rian’s lap and straddling him.

“Babe,” Jack whines.

“Hello to you too. Who’s watching Cam?”

“The puppy can be left alone for like an hour. I’ve been home all day. I missed you.”

“You saw me this morning.”

“That was hours ago. It’s like almost 5:00pm. I missed you,” Jack says, dropping his head down, resting it under Rian’s chin. Rian sighs, putting his pencil down and running his hands under Jack’s shirt. Jack sighs, pressing a kiss to Rian’s neck, easing into the touch. Rian likes Jack, all long legs and lean muscle, the contrast he is to Rian himself. He’s dyed his hair recently, a soft shade of blonde that contrasts with the dark hair of his beard. Rian remembers how excited Jack was about the beard when he started growing it, crowing that getting the hysterectomy finally helped him grow the hair that being on T didn’t. Jack’s painfully handsome these days, angled cheekbones and jaw framed by his beard, comfortable in his own skin. Jack has a soft smile on his face, as he pulls back, kissing Rian on the lips softly.

They trade soft kisses for a few moments before Jack pulls back, grinning mischievously.

“No,” Rian says.

“You don’t even know what I was going to ask.”

“You may not suck my dick at my place of work.”

“Why not?”

“I’m not sanitizing the whole workstation.”

Jack sighs dramatically, flopping onto Rian, “But you have to do that anyway.”

“And I’m not letting you get this place dirty. Or risking someone walking in on us Jack, these are my co-workers.”

“Spoil sport,” Jack says. Rian huffs a laugh, letting Jack steal his snapback and put it on. He snuggles into Rian’s side, watching him sketch out the flowers.

“What’s this one?”

“Tattoo for a client. She wants a whole bouquet for flowers for her family.”

“Isn’t that Sierra’s thing? The flowers?”

“She wants it in watercolor.”

“So your speciality.”

“My speciality,” Rian says. Jack hums, getting a hand underneath Rian’s shirt, tracing his abs lightly as he keeps watching Rian. He has to be uncomfortable, at the angle he’s at but Jack makes no move to change his position.

“Why don’t you head home? I have to finish this sketch up and it’s not going to be very interesting for you,” Rian says, after Jack shifts for the fifth time in ten minutes.

“I don’t want to head home though. Wanna go with you.”

“You drove your car here Jack. You’d be going home without me anyway.”

“I don’t want to go home and wait around for you though. I want to wait here, with you. I want to spend time with you,” Jack says, pouting lightly. Rian sighs, heart soft. He ducks his head down pressing a kiss to Jack’s temple. Jack laughs, scrunching his nose up. He rests his head on Rian’s shoulder, watching as Rian works on the sketch around Jack’s long limbs.

“You know, I didn’t see myself being 32,” Jack says, just barely above a whisper. Rian stops what he’s doing, turning his attention to the boyfriend in his lap.

“What do you mean?”

“I don’t know. At 15 I didn’t see myself making it to 20. I was a depressed teen, self-harming because I hated the way I looked and that I couldn’t understand what was going on. I thought I’d kill myself before 20 trying to figure it out. Then, I was 20 and I couldn’t see myself at 25. I finally had the words to understand what I was feeling and who I was, but then you’re going through therapists and doctors, people are giving you papers and reports and explanations and telling you how much money it all is to just be yourself. I thought I’d die under the stress of it all, the constant feeling of just having to fight to be myself,” Jack says, shrugging.

He picks at the edge of Rian’s shirt, pulling at a loose thread there, head resting on Rian’s shoulder, nose touching his neck. Rian puts his pencil down, stroking his hand over Jack’s back, letting Jack nuzzle into him. They sit there for a few moments in silence before Rian finally works up the courage to ask Jack his question.

“What about at 25?” Rian asks, soft, squeezing Jack’s hip lightly.

“I got the right therapist. I went on T. They finally approved things and I had the money for my top surgery. There was light at the end of the tunnel. And then I met you.”

“Me?”

“Yeah. I love who I am, don’t get me wrong. I love being trans and I love being myself and I’m happy with myself. It took me so long to get there, but I love myself. But it’s hard, when you’re two months out of top surgery, when your voice still cracks, when you’re worried about how everyone else will see you, to picture someone loving you the way you love yourself. Especially when they look like you,” Jack says. He tilts his head up, looking at Rian, eyes a little wet. Rian laughs, breathless, at the idea of it all.

He remembers meeting Jack with the sort of clarity that only comes with the certainty of knowing that this is your person, with the knowledge to capture this moment, so you can tell your family, your friends, write it into your wedding vows, tell it to your children. Alex had invited him to the back to school brunch he hosted with Lisa every year before school started. Rian had grumbled about it, considering he’s not a teacher what does it matter, but Alex has insisted that as his oldest friend Rian should come (he found out later Alex had intentionally done it to try and set him and Jack up, but Rian can’t really be mad about it). He’d found Jack, with his grown out emo fringe and home dyed red hair, standing by the music, trying to hijack it to play Blink-182 and complaining that Alex never let him have his way. Rian had found himself hopelessly enamored, listening to Jack rant about music and the merits of not teaching Romeo and Juliet to bored teens when Shakespeare has better plays. Rian had been so caught up in what Jack was saying, he hadn’t even noticed brunch had ended until Alex kicked them both out. Brunch had led to late lunch, led to dinner, led to Rian taking Jack for ice cream just so he didn’t have to leave, giving Jack his number and waiting for a phone call. Rian doesn’t think there’s ever been a time he wasn’t enamored by Jack, hopelessly in love with him from the moment Jack had demanded to see Rian’s Blink-182 tattoo.

“What do you mean someone who ‘look like me’?”

“Handsome, masculine, rugged. You’re a tattoo artist and you work out and you’re like the kind of guy I wanted to be when I was a teen except I’m not. I’m me and there’s nothing wrong with me, but like compared to you. I’m the dorky English teacher. I’m all tall and lanky and stuff.”

“I love dorky English teacher Jack.”

“I know you do. You look at me with such love and adoration it hurts sometimes. The first time you told me you loved me I went home and cried,” Jack says. He’s sitting up now, arms draped over Rian’s shoulders, tears in his eyes. Rian, reaches up, brushing them away.

“You did what?” Rian asks, quiet.

“I cried. I cried because you were everything teenage Jack dreamed of and couldn’t have. You loved me and loved me and you didn’t care that my voice cracked or about the scars or about anything else that made me feel self-conscious at the time because it was new and fresh. The first time you called me your boyfriend I didn’t know what to do. I felt so special and loved. You just loved me and it felt so real. And I was 25 and for the first time, I could picture myself at 30, at 40, at 50 because I could picture my life, I could picture sharing my life with you. And now I’m 32 and I want to tell teenage Jack that it’s worth it, all the waiting is worth it because you’re here. You’re here and I love you so much Ri,” Jack says. He’s crying now, eyes red, nose red. Rian pulls him into a hug, realizes he’s crying too.

“Well, I love you. You’re a hurricane and I never expected to fall in love the way I did with you, but god did I. I was so worried that first day if I let you go home, if I let you leave, you’d forget all about me. Except you kept calling me and texting me and then you practically moved into my house and I didn’t want to let you go. We have a home, a life, a dog. It’s everything I pictured when I was 17 and realized I liked guys too.”

“Guess we’re just stuck together,” Jack says, sniffling. Rian laughs, a little wet, pulling Jack into a hug.

“Guess we are.”

“Think Ash will let you leave early? I wanna go home now and I don’t wanna wait for you.”

“Yeah. I don’t have any more appointments and I can take the sketches home.”

“Good. I think we deserve some pizza and white claws,” Jack says, solemnly. He’s smiling though and Rian’s hopelessly in love with him.

It isn’t till the drive home, which Rian barely managed to get to because Jack kept kissing him against his car, refusing to just let Rian get in the car and drive home so they could have dinner and cuddle, that Rian wonders what’s stopping him from making this permanent. They live together, they have a dog, Jack’s all but told Rian he sees them as forever and Rian feels the same way. What’s stopping Rian from just proposing?

He takes the thought with him for the next week, searching for rings on his off time, trying to get other people’s opinions on what Jack might like until Rian finally decides on a simple black band for the ring. He ends up in the flower shop the next week, deciding that Jack deserves nice flowers for a proposal.

Luke is at the counter, fixing up a floral arrangement when Rian comes in. He looks up, surprised, blushing a little. Rian’s not dumb, he knows Luke has a crush on him. He also knows Luke has a crush on Jack and a major crush on Ashton, so he’s pretty sure Luke is just falling for anyone he thinks is cute until Ashton finally kisses him.

“Rian, hi! What brings you in? More flowers for the shop?”

“Flowers for Jack. I want to propose and I thought the sweetest man deserved some flowers to go with it.”

Luke looks at Rian in awe, lips parted in an “o.”

“You’re going to propose?” Luke whispers. Rian furrows his brow, confused at Luke’s surprise, until he remembers that Luke’s trans too. Luke’s trans and he’s probably having the same reaction Jack did the first time he and Rian went to pride and Jack saw other people like them together, the idea that they weren’t alone. It softens Rian’s heart even more. He gets the older brother affection Jack has for Luke and Michael, the need to care for them. It’s hard not to when Luke’s staring at him, all wide blue eyes and open wonder.

“Yeah. Figured my boyfriend of seven years deserves to be my husband forever. Have some roses for it?” Rian says. Luke beams, hurrying around the counter, pulling out red roses to make a bouquet, bouncing with excitement. It’s infectious, making Rian even more excited to propose to Jack, seeing how excited Luke is, smiling the whole time. Ashton let him out of work early too, so he could be home to make dinner with Jack when he gets back from school.

Rian’s anxious the whole drive home, flowers in the passenger seat, tapping his hands nervously on the steering wheel. What if he’s overthinking this whole thing? What if he’s fucking up the best thing in his life by proposing? What if all the nice words Jack said don’t mean marriage, they just mean staying together? What if Rian’s about to make the stupidest decision of his life?

Jack’s car is already in the driveway when Rian gets back. He wasn’t expecting Jack to beat him home. It makes the pit in his stomach open wider, makes him even more anxious. He drops his keys five times before he finally manages to get them into the lock and open the door.

“Ri?” Jack calls when Rian’s through the door. Camden comes sprinting through the house, barking excitedly at Rian until he picks him up, holding him in one arm while trying to keep the roses out of the way.

“Yeah. You’re home early.”

“Took the rest of my shit home. Why the fuck should I grade bad essays on The Odyssey at my desk when I can grade them on our couch while you yell at Jeopardy.”

“I don’t yell at Jeopardy,” Rian says, offended.

“Yes you do babe,” Jack says. Rian drops his bag by the front of the kitchen, placing the flowers on the counter and Cam on the floor. Jack’s back is turned to him, watching the chicken quesadillas he’s making in the pan intensely. Rian sneaks up behind him, wrapping his arms around Jack’s waist and running his hands over Jack’s hip bones, resting his chin on Jack’s shoulder. Jack sighs, leaning back into the touch.

“Hi,” Rian says softly, pressing a kiss to his bare shoulder.

“Hi,” Jack says, turning his head to get a kiss from Rian. He glances over Rian’s shoulder, perking up when he notices the flowers on the counter.

“You bought flowers?”

“I did.”

“For your other lover?” Jack teases, abandoning the pan to turn around in Rian’s arms, kiss him softly. Rian smiles, tugging Jack closer, kissing his lips, his neck. Jack laughs, squirming in his arms.

“You can’t kiss me like that while I’m cooking. We’ll start a fire,” Jack says. Rian rolls his eyes, letting Jack play with his hair.

“I missed you,” Rian says softly. Jack snorts.

“It was only 8 hours babe,” he teases.

“You didn’t text me today. I’m used to you texting me.”

“The teens were being wild today. I don’t remember this much drama when I was their age,” Jack says. Rian rolls his eyes, pulls Jack in for a hug.

Jack eventually wiggles from Rian’s hold, turning back to the stove. Camden’s flopped down next to them, sighing heavily. Rian swallows, hand in his pocket fingering the ring box.

“Hey Jack?”

“Yeah?”

“Will you marry me?” Rian asks, sinking to one knee, pulling the box out.

“Very funny Ri,” Jack says, turning to face him. Whatever else he was going to say dies as he takes in the sight of Rian on the floor.

“Will you marry me?”

“Holy shit,” Jack breathes out.

“I’m not the English teacher, but I have a whole speech planned. You know, the moment I met you, I knew. I saw you standing in the corner of Alex’s living room, yelling at him to pick better music and I knew. I wanted to commit everything to memory because that was the memory I wanted to tell everyone at our wedding. I’ve known since the minute you demanded to see my tattoo in front of everyone and practically stripped me shirtless that I wanted to marry you. You’re it for me Jack. When I was 17 and scared shitless at the idea that I liked men, I didn’t know what to do. I never felt confident or comfortable enough to come out, to be myself, to picture myself with someone like you. And then I met you and it’s all I could picture. You made me comfortable with myself, happy with myself. Your endless love and support and just being reminds me everyday how lucky I am to know you, to have met you, to have you love me. You’ve never given a shit about my depression or the way I am or my anxiety. You just remind me of brighter days, of the idea that I’m allowed to have this, to have your love. I can’t picture my life without you, without loving you. I want forever. So, will you marry me?” Rian asks.

“Yes, what the fuck yes! Of course I’ll fucking...come here!” Jack shouts, dragging Rian up to him. He pulls Rian in for a kiss, bumped noses and teeth because they’re too excited to kiss properly. Jack leans back, tears running down his cheeks, smiling widely.

“I was worried for a minute,” Rian jokes, pulling the ring from the box and sliding it onto Jack’s finger. Jack holds his hand out admiring it.

“Like I would say no. Maybe all the coffee has fired your brain cells,” Jack teases. He turns to Rian, kissing him again, softer this time.

“You never know.”

“Hell would freeze over before I said no to marrying you. You’re the love of my life,” he says, quietly. Rian smiles, pressing another kiss to his lips.

“Hey, is something burning?” Rian asks after a few moments, when he realizes he smells smoke.

“Oh shit!” Jack yells, turning frantically to fix the burning quesadillas, fanning the smoke to stop it from setting off the smoke detector. Rian laughs, helpless in the face of Jack’s panic, Camden’s distressed barking. It’s perfect, it’s everything Rian’s ever wanted in life. It’s everything he’s wanted since he met Jack at Alex’s brunch. It’s the life he’s always wanted.

#all time low #dawkat #rian dawson #jack barakat #whom the fuck am i writing atl fic #we'll return to our 5sos bullshit momentarily #for now you can all have #trans jack barakat #soft boyfriends in love #camden the puppy #a proposal who's surprised not me #curating trans 5sos and atl fic is my thing now #i blame rian's thirst trap and the way jack looks for this fic #i fell down a rabbit hole who am ii #my writing #self harm mention #body image mention

9 notes · View notes

ohblackdiamond · 4 years

Text

little t&a (gene/paul, nc-17) (part 27 of 29)

part 1 part 2 part 3 part 4 part 5 part 6 part 7 part 8 part 9 part 10 part 11 part 12 part 13 part 14 part 15 part 16 part 17 part 18 part 19 part 20 part 21 part 22 part 23 part 24 part 25 part 26 part 27 part 28 part 29

Four weeks before KISS gets back on tour, Gene discovers that Paul’s been cursed by a groupie. For the sake of KISS’ finances, Paul’s comfort levels, and Gene’s libido, this crisis must be resolved. Sexswap fic. In this chapter: Gene and Paul draw each other, and Gene makes his confession. The sky is falling and we’re getting pretty near the end.

It felt like a shorter lunch than it really was. Paul ate all of his soup, but only half his sandwich, while Gene dove into both with as much relish as usual. In fact, he ate two sandwiches and Paul’s leftovers.

“I hope you didn’t want to do it right after we ate,” Gene said awkwardly. Paul was looking at the plates and silverware, debating cleaning things up. In the end, he just wiped off the counter and stuck all the dishes in the sink.

“Nah. Give it awhile.” He shrugged. “The only trouble is, we’ve pretty much exhausted all our entertainment options at my place.”

Gene smiled.

“Paul, are you really telling me all you have over here is a T.V., an album collection, and some self-help books?”

“I’ve also got sketchpads. And painting supplies.”

“You still paint?”

Paul shrugged again.

“It’s not great. I don’t have time to really…”

“Let me see.”

Gene was actually a pretty fair artist. He never drew cartoons of his bandmates like Paul was prone to, in a bad mood, but he liked to sketch out comic book characters. He’d never taken any classes that Paul knew of, but he was talented. Talented enough that Paul was a little wary of showing him any of his efforts.

It occurred to him how stupid that was. He was about to fuck this guy—had spent the last four nights in bed with him, even—but somehow showing him some acrylic paintings was making him nervous. Somehow what passed for his body of work was more vulnerable than his actual body.

“Yeah, okay.”

“Cool.”

“C’mon, they’re in the guest bedroom. I’m surprised you didn’t find them earlier.” He’d had aspirations of having his own studio, or at least using one of the rooms for that express purpose, before the reality of nine or ten months on the road at a time hit him. He didn’t even paint enough while he was at home to justify that kind of expense.

Gene followed him over to the guest bedroom. Paul leaned over, dress hiking up as he yanked some cardboard and canvases out from under the bed.

“Here we go.” Instead of holding the pieces up for Gene’s inspection, he just set them out on the bed. He hung back a bit, heart thumping, not quite daring to want to watch Gene look at his work. Actually showing it to Gene felt a little like hearing his own voice on the answering machine, or the echo from a microphone, all the flaws bouncing back at him, magnified a dozen times.

The pieces didn’t have too much meaning behind them, nothing really far out or deep he was trying to convey. Bright streaks of color, some of it in splatters, but most of it in strokes, with no consistent pattern. Purples and pinks tended to dominate. There were points where he’d tried to layer on the colors, fooled around with it, only he’d half-forgotten the proper technique to do it the way he wanted. Most of the art didn’t really have a focal point, except for an odd one-off where he’d tried to paint a sunset while it was still in the air. That one was on a piece of cardboard torn off a refrigerator box. It had maybe a found art, rustic quality to it or something. And the color scheme wasn’t too bad, either, the red sun spilling over a hasty backdrop of orange and pink clouds and trees instead of his neighbors’ houses.

“I like this one a lot.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. Superman couldn’t fly with that sun.” Gene picked up the piece of cardboard carefully—too carefully, a piece of paper that had been beneath it starting to flutter towards the floor. Paul snatched it before it got there.

“What’s that one?”

“Oh, it’s only a sketch,” Paul tried to dismiss, but Gene seemed curious enough for him to hold it up for Gene to see. Part of him wanted to hide it back under the bed like a child, for all that it wasn’t particularly incriminating. Just a sketch of his own face. The hair was probably the most accurate part, hopelessly unruly; he didn’t quite think he’d gotten his own nose right, or eyes, but…

“In the makeup.” Gene’s finger touched the edge of the star on his eye.

“Well, sure. It kept me from having to shade much.”

“You look depressed there.” Gene still running his finger down the sketched-out lines of his face made Paul feel stupidly warm, like he was touching him by proxy.

“I don’t look good?”

“I didn’t say that.” A pause. Paul could always recognize when Gene was about to start a critique with him. He’d hesitate, which was kind of funny, because he never did it with anyone else, just plowed through with whatever comment he had. Paul would usually get offended anyway, but he was trying not to, at least for today. “Hey, would you do me a favor?”

Not a critique at all. Paul was vaguely surprised.

“What’re you wanting?”

“Let me try my hand at it.”

“Gene, I’m not letting you go over my drawing—”

“No, no. Let me borrow one of your sketchpads.”

“You wanna draw me right now? What for?” Paul could feel himself tense up slightly as he reached over, gathering up the paintings and stuffing them back under the bed. Despite himself, he was yanking out another pad of drawing paper from there as well. “If you wanted your album photo, all you had to do was check the newspaper.”

“I don’t want your photo. Just you.”

Paul handed the sketchpad over. There was an odd sting somewhere in his heart.

“You can’t want what you’ve already got,” he said quietly. He didn’t wait for Gene to respond, clearing his throat hastily. “I make a terrible art model.”

Gene’s expression, a little unreadable earlier, quirked a little.

“I’ll let you draw me, too.”

“I feel like you’re hard to draw.” But he’d gotten another piece of cardboard to bear down on after tearing off a page of the drawing paper for himself. Then Paul was gathering the rest of the supplies—pencils and gummy erasers—from where they lay in a coffee mug on the nightstand. It wasn’t exactly the most put-together setup. He just wasn’t around enough for any extra effort to be worth it. The guest bedroom’s only real use was as another place to stash his tour and art stuff. He could count the number of times anyone had slept there on one hand. “You don’t… really have one feature that really stands out—”

Gene stuck out his tongue.

“Oh, God, I’m not drawing that. Just your face. C’mon, sit down.” Paul gestured towards the bed, scooting up on it himself, sitting cross-legged on the pillows, dress bunched up. The cardboard and piece of paper were resting on his thighs, one of the pencils in his hand. He gave Gene the mug and sketchpad, scrutinizing Gene’s face. “Let me try first, okay?”

“Go for it.”

He’d never really studied Gene’s face before. That sounded a little stupid, given everything. Gene still wasn’t exactly attractive, though he looked a lot better now than he had when they’d first met. That hadn’t been the draw. It still wasn’t the draw.

Paul didn’t ask Gene to try for any particular expression as he started in, drawing the circle, the center line, mapping out the sections of his face in the half-remembered way he’d learned back in school and trying to adjust from there, only to, as usual, abandon the mapping about two minutes in. Gene’s eyes weren’t quite as dark as his, and his nose was bigger—you can’t hide the hook, Totie had said, back on their stint on the Mike Douglas show, and Paul remembered snickering with everyone else about it backstage. She’d had his number. Gene had struck up a friendship with her after that, excited to get to know another Jewish entertainer. Paul privately hoped he hadn’t banged her in the process.

He was distracting himself. It was hard to do the expression lines around Gene’s mouth without making him look forty-eight instead of nearly twenty-eight, so Paul abandoned all but a light insinuation before skipping over to his hair. He thought he could get that right, at least. Gene’s hair was somewhat coarse, and tended to frizz even worse than Paul’s own did, and it wasn’t as thick. All of the teasing and backcombing and tight ponytails had done a number on it. Paul pursed his lips, trying to approximate the texture with his pencil, and the sheen with his eraser.

“How’s it coming?” Gene asked, after about fifteen minutes. He’d been pretty patient, not shifting around much, even stopping himself the few times he tried to scratch his face.

“I think I did a damn good job on your eyebrows.” Paul turned the sketch around with a slight groan. “Everything else is a little…”

“You made me look really sad.”

Gene wasn’t wrong. Paul hadn’t quite figured out what to do with Gene’s lips when he’d drawn them, so he’d had them sink down a bit. The eyebrows really were pretty good, to his own estimation, and the hair was okay, and he’d at least started with the proper face shape, but—he hadn’t really caught Gene properly. Whatever his essence was, it hadn’t transferred onto the page.

“Frowns are easier to draw. Smiles, you have to get just right, and get the light in the eyes…” Paul shook his head. “Not a lot of room for error, right? And if you mess up, your drawing ends up looking like Norman Bates.”

Gene laughed, shaking his head.

“But you’ve got me looking like myself. It isn’t just the eyebrows. The chin and the mouth are right--”

“But it’s not great, either. I’ll try again later on.” Paul set the drawing down. “You can do me if you want.”

“Interesting choice of words.”

“Oh, shut up.” Paul shifted, suddenly antsy. He’d only ever seen Gene draw his own fanzines and doodle on napkins. He knew Gene wasn’t going to take this as a serious art study, but… but on the same token, letting Gene draw him felt--revealing. Almost too revealing. He wasn’t as bothered by the face Gene was going to draw as what it signified. He wasn’t sure if he wanted to know what Gene saw when he looked at him. What stood out to him.

If he drew a pair of tits, Paul grimly promised himself he’d keep denying Gene at least until tomorrow.

“Tilt your chin up a bit,” Gene said, and Paul did so. His fingers worried unconsciously at the straps of his dress. Paul waited for more instructions, but they didn’t come. Just the scritch of the pencil against the sketch paper, and the occasional fuzzy sound of the eraser rubbing back and forth on the page. Gene kept such direct eye contact on his face that Paul was getting a bit intimidated.

“You took art in school, right?”

“Only a couple of terms. I liked it, but I wanted to get in all the electives I could.”

“Even weight training?” Paul scooted to the side.

“Your art school had weight training?”

“God, yeah. We even had a football team.”

“You’ve got to be kidding me.”

“I never said we won anything.” Paul paused. “Do you want me to pose?”

“No. You’re fine like you are.”

“Should I smile?”

Gene looked like he was considering it for a second, and then he shook his head.

“Just relax.”

Paul tried to, but he kept fidgeting. Not getting any direction was making him nervous. He wasn’t gutsy enough to try to look alluring without the makeup as a shield. Gene had stopped talking as he’d gotten more into the drawing, only responding to Paul’s attempts at conversation with a few “yeahs” and “uh-huh”s. He was taking longer than Paul had, too. But he seemed pleased with himself far before he signed the bottom and held it out for Paul to see.

“Here you go.”

Paul was a little stunned.

He was nearly right there on the page. Big dark eyes greeted him. Full lips, slightly parted, revealing a little of his front teeth. High cheekbones. Gene’s portrait of him was more thorough and detailed than Paul’s attempt, stopping at the shoulders, where the dress straps drooped. More attractive than Paul knew he actually was; Gene had, oddly, been kinder about Paul’s nose and jaw than was accurate, but all the same-- he’d captured something of Paul on the page. Some facet. Tenseness or intensity or both. The sketch was clearly of a chick, sure, but-- it was him.

“Gene, this… shit, this is really good.” Part of what impressed him was the self-assured pressure and definition of most of the lines. Paul’s own tended to fade out, like he was mentally erasing them after committing them to the page, but Gene went into it with a much heavier hand overall. The contrast was interesting. “And I thought all you could draw was Batman. You’ve been holding out on me for years.”

Gene shrugged.

“I had someone cute in front of me. That makes all the difference.” He paused, moving to sit beside him, pointing at the sketch. “You’ve got pretty eyes.”

“Since just lately?”

“No. Since always.” Gene seemed to hesitate. “Paul, in a way, you don’t really look all that dif--”

“Peter told me they made me look like a beagle,” Paul stumbled out before Gene could finish. He wasn’t sure why he interrupted that way. Gene snorted, reaching over and draping an arm behind Paul’s shoulders. Paul let him.

“Maybe more like a moppet. You remember those posters.”

“Yeah. Julia had them in her room when we were kids.” But he wasn’t displeased at the comparison, somehow, reaching to put the sketches and supplies on the crowded nightstand, before leaning back against Gene’s arm and shoulder. He could feel Gene start to tense, so Paul turned his head, impulsively, pressing a kiss against his cheek. “One of them was a harlequin or something, I don’t remember.”

“Paul.”

“What?”

“You didn’t let me finish. You don’t look all that different.”

“Come off it.” Paul could feel something cold and odd trickle up his spine, something he was almost afraid of. “I’ve had tits for a week and a half, don’t try to kid me.”

“I’ve been kidding myself.”

“Gene, what’re you talking about--”

“You’re the same as you always were. You’re beautiful.”

Paul sat there stunned. The icy feeling up his spine seemed to melt and dissolve in an instant. He didn’t want it to. He wanted to hold onto it. Use it as something to protect him, something to chase away any hurt, any vulnerability. His face was going florid, and all of a sudden, he couldn’t look directly at Gene, staring instead at the hem of his dress.

“I don’t want to make a promise I can’t keep. But I think… I think there might still be something there after we break the curse.” Gene’s hand found one of the shoulder straps on his dress, fixing it back up, though his gaze was still firm on Paul’s face. Completely unwavering. Paul’s heartbeat felt like it could smash straight through diamonds. “I know that’s not enough for--”

“It’s enough.”

“Paul, look--”

“It’s enough.” Paul was surprised at the slow strength starting to rise from his voice with every word, like a newborn foal wobbling to its feet. “Even before all this happened. Any time I’ve ever gotten to have with you is enough.”

“Don’t say that.”

“It’s true.” He was able to look at Gene now, right in the face. The warmth he’d tried to avoid was blazing inside him. It felt funny, somehow, to feel so sure, so certain, in the face of a maybe, that things would still be all right, one way or another. It felt like the bulk of the burden, the fear, was really, truly beginning to dissolve. “Gene, I…”

He couldn’t say it. Gene was waiting on it, face so near his own he could feel his breath. He kissed him instead, reaching his arms around him half-blindly, clenching tight. Paul was panting as soon as Gene broke the kiss, pressing another and another against his cheek and chin and throat, climbing into his lap as though he belonged there, and maybe, for just a little while, he did.

Gene was so warm, so unbelievably warm. Paul could swear he could feel Gene’s own pounding heartbeat against his. His breaths were coming only a little bit better than Paul’s were, his dark eyes dilated. Gene’s mouth was back on his before Paul could think clearly, needy and wanting, and it was all Paul could do to pull back and manage one last request.

“Hey. Before we-- do you think you could take me back to o-- my bedroom?”

Gene had him gathered up in his arms in seconds. Paul held tight, pressing his face against Gene’s shirt for all of the minute it took to cross from one room to the next, taking in his scent as he finally dared to hope.

#kiss the band #kiss fanfiction #paul stanley #gene simmons #gene simmons x paul stanley

11 notes · View notes

hadestownmodern · 4 years

Note

can we meet one of the other orphydice babies?

Hi! This is a little plotless fic with our girl Aria, the second-born -Danielle

--------

Orpheus finds her sitting alone, tucked up against the little bench seat by the window with a book in her lap. Aria is content there, far away from the sound of little Melody’s raucous voice and Eurydice’s cheering. She’d been working hard all week on a speech, Melody, writing it in her own perfectionistic rounded letters, talking about what she’d do if she were student council president. She’s built with passion in her eyes, determination that matches her mother’s quick wit and commanding personality. Aria is much softer than her sister, whose voice echoes throughout the apartment as she rehearses.

She is a tiny thing, had been since she was a baby. Where Melody had gotten the beautiful, kissable rolls and chubby cheeks, Aria had been feather-light, a squeaky little peanut of a baby. Now five years old, she carries herself with a similarly tiny frame, dressed in a simple cotton dress with thin, long hair the color of Orpheus’s. Where Melody is a copy of her mother, Aria resembles Orpheus. There is a balance between the two, outspoken Melody and shy, sweet Aria. She finds solace in the peace, in moments where she can sit alone with her thoughts. He’s noticed it, her love of the seat by the window, where she can sit and practice her reading.

Orpheus stands in watch, in the little hallway that leads to their bedrooms. Aria’s thin hair falls slightly in her face with the bend of her head, her little lips pursed in concentration. She’s focused on the book in her hand, a sketch book she had chosen to save her allowance for. She’d taken on extra chores, swept the floor after dinner and put away the dishes, kept her side of the room she and Melody shared absolutely spotless. On a normal day, she was a big help. When she’d learned that she could save her money, she put the focus on earning this prize.

She’d been working in her sketchbook constantly since she’d gotten it, Orpheus surprising her with a very large set of colored pencils she kept tucked safe under her bed. She became very serious when it came to her art, hiding her book and claiming that things “just weren’t done yet.” Yet she toiled away, page after page, sitting on the bench that had quickly become her escape.

“Whatcha working on, peanut?” Aria looks up at his voice, smiles softly before covering the work in her book with her tiny hands.

“s’a surprise, daddy. It’s not done yet!”

“And when it’s done, will I be able to see it?” Aria hums in response, tucking her feet underneath her. She turns her book over, props it against the window so that he can’t see her work. She sits in a pile of pencils, a scattering of color sorted into little groups that seem to have some sort of private code. It’s all the information he’ll get from his quiet girl, the soft humming. She pushes the pencils back, shifts in her seat to lift her arms to him. He scoops her up into his arms easily, the only trial being the new height of her tall, twiggish frame. Her big, grassy eyes close as she rests her head on his shoulder, content.

The next morning, he wakes to bustling in the kitchen and the emptiness of the bed. He smiles softly to himself as he rubs his eyes, stretches his hands over his head. He can hear the voice Eurydice reserves for their babies, the soft crooning as kitchen utensils hit against each other. Melody’s voice is right beside hers, very modulated, always matter of fact. The baby babbles along with them, as though she is a part of their morning musings as well. He finds himself lost in this moment, longing to get up and join his family while finding peace in listening to the bustling, reveling in the fact that this is his normal. Three kids later there are still days where disbelief washes over him, where he watches Eurydice pack lunches, or feed their babies, or sit with them piled up on her lap and wonders how he got so lucky. Family is all he’d ever wanted; the opportunity to have this limitless love, the kind that expands his heart and brings forth waves of raw emotion.

This wave hits him when he hears the shuffling of tiny feet, the creaking of the bed as Aria snuggles herself into his chest. She clutches something close to her, keeps it between them as Orpheus hugs her close. Then, she pulls away.

“I made this for you, daddy.” Aria sits up next to him, crosses her legs and holds a piece of thick white paper out to him.

“For me?” Orpheus sits up too, brushes his hair from his face before taking the paper gratefully. Turning it over, his eyes immediately fill themselves with tears.

The picture is simple, yet seemingly advanced for her age. There’s an impossibly tall figure, stretching from one end of the paper to the other. His head is big, with two circular eyes and eyebrows drawn in happy arches. His nose is a perfect triangle, a soft pink, above a smile that stretches from cheek to cheek. His body is a rectangle, capped off with a red bandana where his neck would be. She’d even drawn him hair, shaded in different light browns in an attempt to capture the exact color. Beside him, much smaller, is another figure. This one has thin, straight hair and an identical smile, legs and arms pronounced in their length just as his had been. The two figures hold hands, stand under a very carefully crafted rainbow with perfectly symmetrical lines of color. In her beginning-level penmanship, she’d written on the bottom of the paper in large, wobbly letters.

DaddyAriaLoveYou

Orpheus puts the paper aside, reaches out his arms and pulls his middle daughter into his lap, squeezing her. He kisses her cheeks, her hair, as she giggles softly.

“I love it, peanut. I can see how hard you worked on it, you did such a good job. You should be so proud of yourself.”

“I’m proud of you, daddy.” He laughs, accepting the compliment. The words of pride come from her silvery voice as those of love, using a word she’d heard so many times before in her own translation. Orpheus leans back against the bedframe, cradles Aria in his arms as he’d done so many times before. Aria-his sweet, soft soul-hugs him tight, snuggles against him until Melody bursts through the door.

“Wake up! You’re sleeping so long! Mama made breakfast and I don’t wanna wait for you to be awake anymore.”

Before either can answer Melody launches herself onto the bed, laying on the other side of Orpheus and grabbing Aria’s hand. There, she dives into the story of the morning; waking up before Eurydice, sitting in the living room and waiting, then helping with the baby while breakfast was being made. The events of the morning are in striking detail, concise and to the point, and as Eurydice makes her way to the doorway Orpheus teases

“It’s just like I was there-this is why she got picked as class president, because she remembers everything.”

Eurydice looks at the scene before her-the covers of their bed upturned and rumpled, their older girls content against him. There’s still laundry folded neatly and stacked next to the dresser. Melody’s hair is wild and untamed, bob-cut needing a brush. They’re all still in their pajamas although the sun has been up for some time; there is no need to rush on these days, where they can all be together. There are little things-chores to keep the house running smoothly-but even meticulous Eurydice and her carbon copy of an oldest child let the housework stay on pause for this. And even with the promise of a warm breakfast, of fresh coffee, Eurydice finds herself crawling into bed with them, baby Lyra content against her chest. It’s a bit of a squeeze, five bodies in their little queen sized bed, but the tangling of their limbs and the piling of bodies is a usual, welcome occurrence. The rest of the day can wait.

18 notes · View notes

ivybucky · 5 years

Text

soft (s.r)

prompt: it was cold and rainy. it was near perfect. the company of a blond super soldier would make things a whole damn lot better.

A/N: this is literally just to satisfy the mood i’m feeling right now with this weather. i’ve noticed literally all of my steve fics start with s and i dont know how to stop

Current Masterlist

author: abby

words: 1473

pairing: steve rogers x reader

song: in the arms of love - andy williams

“Hey FRIDAY,” you’re muffled call from under your covers sounded to the AI. “What’s my schedule like today?”

“You’re meeting with Captain Rogers has been cancelled and training with Sergeant Barnes is pushed back until he returns from his mission tomorrow. You have a day off, Agent Y/L/N.” You silently thanked whatever gods were out there that you didn’t have to get up at that moment.

“Perfect. Now, what’s the weather going to be like today?”

“Thunderstorms started last night and are going to continue well into tomorrow morning. It’s also going to be pretty cold today.”

“So I have nothing to do today AND it’s raining? FRIDAY, open the blinds, and lock my door. I don’t want anyone barging in today.”

“Would you like me notify you when someone is approaching your door?”

After agreeing to that, you continued what you were doing. Relaxing. Rainy days were your favorite, but with your line of work, you hardly ever got to enjoy them. But now a day off presented itself.

For a few minutes, you just continued to lie in your bed, allowing your body to sink further into your blankets with every deep breath. Your thoughts started wonder and you couldn’t help but think about the blond super soldier who made your day.

Steve and you had been best friends for a while and recently, you felt your feelings start to change. You acted a bit more shy around him than you did before. He’d been distancing himself and you had begun to see your best friend less and less. And now, while you were glad you had the day off, you felt a little sad your meeting with him had been canceled. That’s when you had a thought.

“FRIDAY? Did Steve say why the meeting was cancelled?” You pondered.

“He mentioned to Mr. Stark that he was gonna give you the day off because it was raining.”

You smiled. Steve purposefully knew you’d want to sleep in and relax for once. You grabbed your phone to text him.

“Can we hang out today? I feel like I haven’t seen in forever.”

“I thought you’d want the day to yourself since it’s raining.”

“For you I can make an exception,” you grinned as you pressed send on your message, letting yourself flirt a little more than you usually would.

“I’ll be up in a bit.”

You moved out of your bed to put on a record, some smooth old jazz to match with the mood you were feeling today. Feeling the temperature of the room drop due to the weather outside, you put on a sweatshirt you stole from Steve a while back and some fuzzy socks with some soft pajama shorts. You grabbed your sketchbook off your desk and placed it on the brown leather chair placed next to the wall-sized window you had in your room.

“FRIDAY, let Steve in when he comes.” you called, as you headed into your bathroom to brush your teeth and fix the mop of a bun you had after a night’s sleep.

Steve knocked and entered the room, taking in the soft mood of the scene before him. The lights were off but the grey light from the day outside was enough to brighten the room. That and the smile you gave when you saw him.

“Hi Stevie,” you sweetly greeted from your sink drying your face after washing it. You looked down at his hands full with a sketchbook and two mugs. “What’s this?” you questioned.

Steve blushed a little before handing you on of the mugs. “Well, I know it’s pretty cold out and peppermint tea is your favorite.” His hand went to the back of his neck, rubbing it nervously. You sighed, taking in the smell of the tea and the warmth in your hands. You looked back up at Steve’s slightly pink face before grinning widely. You cupped his cheek and stood on your toes to give his cheek a peck.

“Thanks Stevie, that’s awfully sweet of you,” you practically sang. His face split into a wide grin matching yours. You pointed to his sketchbook before motioning to the two chairs. “Do you wanna do sketch prompts? I’m in the mood to draw today.”

Steve moved to the paired chair a couple feet away from you and smiled. “I hoped we could do that.” he hummed, setting down his matching mug on the table in between you.

You plopped down on the soft worn chair and threw your legs over the side, pulling the sketch book into your lap. You reached your hand into a jar that sat on the table in between you, filled with small folded up pieces of paper with sketch ideas on them. After rustling around the papers a little you pulled one out and read it. Your face reddened slightly knowing the topic was seated right in front of you.

“Uh,” you stumbled. “It says draw something you love.”

Steve’s cheeks reddened once again, coughing to distract his thoughts. “Hmm, okay.”

Both of your pencils started dancing across the page as began outlining your drawings. You thought back to Steve and took a deep breath knowing that this might be the only time you had enough courage to tell him, even if it was a little indirect.

You started to sketch a raindrop, slightly smeared across a window, but on a larger scale, much like one of the ones clinging to the window next to you. As your gaze wondered, you noticed a small reflection of Steve across from you in a drop. It was distorted, but it was him. You smiled, inspiration streaking through your mind to your fingers as the mirrored the droplet in front of you.

As the both of you drew, conversation was here and there, talking about the other Avengers, upcoming holidays, and passing inside jokes. Some of the silence was filled with the both of you humming along with Andy Williams and Fred Astaire, occasionally looking up to admire the other.

As you finished the details on his face, Steve cleared his throat. You looked up at him, smiling. “I think I’m done,” he said almost shyly.

“Me too,” you sighed shakily, holding the sketch to your heart, before passing it to him face down. He did the same to you, with almost the same amount of hesitation. You both grinned at each other nervously, before you started counting down.

“One,” you breathed.

“Two.”

“Three,” and you both turned the sketchbooks around. You gasped slightly at the image before you, shaky hand coming up to your lips in shock.

It was you. Steve had drawn you. From the folds of his sweatshirt, your sock covered calves dangling over the chair, to your furrowed concentrated brow and the loose hairs on the back of your neck and the ones framing your face. You didn’t know you had been biting your lips as you drew. You didn’t know you had been so damn concentrated on your drawing of him to not notice him constantly looking at you. Your face flushed red realizing you’d been caught up in the fact that Steve drew you, that you were something he loved, that you hadn’t seen his reaction. Because you drew him.

Looking up, Steve’s eyes were already on you, his plump lips parted in shock, with the same red you’ve seen multiple times now dusting his cheeks. Your eyes started watering, unable to turn away now, too full with emotion.

“Steve,” you whispered. He quickly stood up, letting the sketchbook fall into the chair he once was. The sketchbook your lap fell to the ground shifting to face him. He stepped forward resting his hands on the back of your chair, leaning over you and caging you in, before pressing his lips firmly into yours.

One of your hands cupped his cheek, while the other fell to the back of his neck, running your fingers through the short soft hair. Your lips moved against each other with so much emotion in them, relief and happiness that you both finally knew how the other felt. His soft lips stole the air from your lungs, but you didn’t care. He could take as much as he wanted. But eventually, you both had to come up for air.

Out of breath, Steve rested his forehead against yours, grinning widely. You matched it, looking up into his eyes, a breath away from you. He pressed his lips to your forehead, sighing.

“Thank god,” he chuckled. “It was getting hard trying to stay away from you.” You giggled as he picked you up and sat down in your chair, letting you rest against his chest. You hand cupped his cheek again, bringing his face to yours, noses bumping.

“I’m never letting you go, now.”

Add yourself to the taglist

Forever Tags: @srgntbarnes, @i-like-tubs, @shamvictoria11, @blaackpanthr, @avengers-do-it-better, @fab-notfat, @with-a-hint-of-pesto-aiolii, @captainrogerss, @sebbies, @seabassbarness, @hdthdthdt, @katzuhira, @ailynalonso15, @nostalgicbex, @conspiracy-teen, @fireismysaftey, @wonderless-screwup, @winchester-gospels-67, @whiyen-has-a-crush, @saltwater-in-the-afternoon, @wooshytooshy, @jjamesbbarness, @i-put-the-bi-in-bifrost, @nanners-the-great, @marvelsundies, @property-of-loki-x, @imagines-4-you-blog, @wizards-magic-and-witches, @alexindahouse , @theglowstickofdestiny, @sobbingforseb, @memory-of-a-goldfish ,@aletheladyinred , @timelordy-fangirl2, @girlwhoisfearless @alexiamiky2003 @thisismysecrethappyplace @silverkitten547 @real-kate-bishop-aka-hawkeye

Steve Tags: @cotidi3morimur, @fruiterias, @goldenkillmonger

64 notes · View notes

shhh-no-ones-home · 4 years

Text

ambiguous chris motionless x reader

+++++++++ Okay so I had a dream similar to this and was like 'yes, must write.' then I realized that y'all probably wouldn't like the actual dream cause it turned into some weird form of the Halloween movies with my family rather than the band and it was just super weird, trust me. So I wrote the first half with some changes lol.

then I was listening to miw on shuffle and thought this song worked perfectly for this weird dream I just had and I've never written an miw fic to an miw song so if it's odd listen to something else? 🤷

ngl she unedited, ill probably re-edit in a week or two, ope

Song: brand new numb by motionless in white

tag list: @thisplace-ishaunted @ryansitkowskiswifey @alilpunkrock @theoneandonlykymberlee @svintsandghosts @cynic-spirit +++++++++

I sat at the table on the bus and doodled. It had been a slow night and everyone was out partying still. So I sat alone. Then I heard the door click.

"Hello."

I called out like I normally did, not turning around to see who had actually come in the door.

"Hi."

Chris said a little out of breath. I just kept sketching. I looked up at him briefly to see him open the fridge but returned my attention to my drawing.

"Back so soon?"

I asked, Shading in one of my doodles. He hummed back a yes before sitting right next to me. Really close too. I looked up at him before looking across me at the empty booth. He could have sat over there but no he chose to practically sit on me he was so close.

"Can I help you?"

I asked, trying to scoot a little closer to the wall. He just took another drink.

"Nope."

I scrunched my brows together, shook my head, and went back to doodling.

"That's cute."

He said. I looked up at him admiring my half worked bullshit and shrugged.

"Thanks."

He leaned forward on the table and stared at my paper. After a few minutes it started to get to me.

"Okay, what is your deal?"

I tossed my pencil to the table and sat back, crossing my arms over my chest and looking at him. He just shrugged.

"Do I have to have a deal? I'm just enjoying your company."

I sent him a look.

"Well that's a first. I thought you hated me."

He laughed a little bit.

"Why would I hate you?"

"Really? You want me to go through all the times we've been at each other's throats on little shit? How we avoid each other all the time?"

He shook his head.

"Okay fine, those things may be true but I don't hate you. If anything I admire you."

I loosened my arms a little bit, confusion written all over my face.

"You admire me?"

He nodded.

"Of course I do. You're a super strong leader and you get shit done. I guess it just seems like I hate you cause I'm jealous. I wanna be like that but half the time no one listens cause I'm just another one of the guys. And like we share ideas and stuff but it's never the same."

He pouted a little bit and I just laughed in disbelief.

"You're jealous of me? Holy shit."

He looked back at me, brow raised.

"Is that really that hard to believe?"

I leaned forward into the table like he had done.

"All this time I just thought it was cause I was pushy and spoke my mind and don't take shit from anyone."

He nodded.

"That's exactly what it is, but I don't hate you for it, I admire you for it. Do you know what I would give to be like that? To not let things bother me? To speak my mind with out thinking of the consequences? To push back and take what's mine?"

I held my hands up in defense.

"Okay okay, I get it. But the thing is half the time I don't even realize I'm doing it. I've gotten so used to it I don't even notice. It's just who I am now."

He nodded in understanding.

"Do you think you could teach me?"

I raised a brow.

"You willing to let me be around you that often? Cause it takes time."

He thought for a second and side nodded.

"I think so, yeah."

I smiled at him.

"Then sure, if love to help you unlearn being a push over."

He sent me a testing look.

"Okay we both know I'm not a push over. I know what I want, when I want it, and how I want it. I just need a little help on the execution, and making people see things my way."

I laughed a little bit.

"You know this is gonna make us a very dangerous team right? Someone as up front as you and someone as pig headed as me? The teams gonna be ready to kill us both by the time tour is over."

He shrugged.

"Not necessarily, no one said we had to stop being fun."

I laughed at him.

"I guess you're right."

I shook my head and looked back to my drawing, picking up my pencil.

"Was there anything else you wanted to get out of the way while you are sitting oh so close to me or...?"

I looked up at him and he had a huge smile plastered on his face.

"Actually yeah but you gotta say yes or no first."

"So I have to answer the question before I even know what it is?"

He nodded.

"Just tell me, yes or no."

I sighed and shook my head.

"Fine, I'll go with yes."

His eyes lit up.

"Great!"

Before I knew what was happening I was kissing him back like my life depended on it. His one hand was placed firmly against my back, not that I could back any further away or anything. Our lips moved together until I couldn't breathe anymore. I pushed him away and we both panted.

"What was that?"

I asked between breaths. He just smiled at me.

"Well the question was would it be alright if I kissed you? And with the way you were kissing me back if day you chose right."

He winked at me and I shook my head.

"What if I would've said no?"

He just shrugged.

"Guess I would've left."

I laughed and wrapped my arms around his neck.

"Guess it's a good thing you didn't."

I pulled him to me and kissed him again, deeper this time. As we moved against each other I felt him slide his hand down my thigh, bringing my legs into his lap and leaning into me. I held him to me as we made out. That is until Ryan walked onto the bus.

"You dog!"

He laughed, causing us to pull away from each other.

"Please don't tell anyone."

I said quickly, turning to ryan. He just smirked at me.

"No promises."

We both looked at each other panicked until I noticed Chris's makeup smeared all over his face and started laughing. Chris and Ryan just exchanged glances.

"What's so funny?"

I wiped my mouth with my arm and just shook my head at the long smear of black along it now. I just shook my head.

"Nothing, let's just say there would be evidence if anyone else came on."

He cocked an eyebrow before I pull d him to me and kissed him gently.

"Maybe you should go take the rest of your makeup off."

His eyes went wide before he rolled his eyes at himself.

"Shit, I forgot."

As he stood up he pointed at Ryan.

"Not a word to anybody."

Ryan just held his hands up in defense.

"Not a word."

#wattpad #miw #one shots #imagines #chris motionless #chris cerulli #x reader #199

51 notes · View notes

wavesmp3 · 4 years

Text

let’s make a trade: the sun for the stars; platonic jihoon x reader artist!jihoon, nude model!reader (so warning: mentions of nudity) wc. 2.1k

a/n: this fic is just a complete mess of a piece, absolutely no plot and was meant to be part text fic, just mainly a lot of random dialogue that came to me at 2 am tbh, also basically an ‘i’ll give you the sun’ fanfic because i love jandy nelson’s writing a/n 2: really read at your own risk, this isn’t even a fic this is like a half-baked outline at best

—

Jihoon thinks there’s something profoundly odd with nude art. What’s the purpose of nude drawings and painting and sculptures anyways? He knows of course what he’s been told the purpose is, in fact the instructor is rattling on about the purpose of nude drawings right now. It’s to capture the emotion, the stress, the lines, and the contours that would normally be hidden behind layers and layers of polyester and cotton clothes. It’s to capture beauty; take the fascination humans have with each other and mark them down forever. It’s to showcase the skill of the artist. Of course, today, with the nude model in the center of the classroom, the exercise is meant to bring out the latter purpose. But jihoon thinks there’s something more to drawing someone nude. There’s a vulnerability in it. It’s a vulnerable place for you, the model to be in. Because it’s more than just being naked. It’s subjecting yourself to be picked apart, piece by piece. It’s letting yourself be seen by a million different lenses. It’s letting the artists convey the little things, like the way you sit, or the way your bones come together, or how you have that one vein in your neck and forehead that sticks out a little more than the others. It’s putting on display the birthmark in between your collarbone and shoulder, the tattoo under the curve of your hip and the other one on your wrist. Jihoon knows he’s supposed to draw you as you’re seen, work from the inside out, bone blood then skin. But then why is it that he takes his pencil and sketches your vulnerability. (Portrait: The Naked Model Wearing Vulnerability As Clothes).

—

“Smoking kills,” Jihoon scowls exiting from the art building a little earlier than normal, “you know that right?”

You squint up at him. Sitting on the doorstep of the classroom and taking an extra long drag. Just in spite.

“Yeah,” you mumble, driving the cigarette straight to the earth's core, “I know.” You stomp your foot against the bud, and the entire world shakes a little when you do. You stand up and look at Jihoon. You look angry. You didn’t hold this emotion in between your brows before. Maybe it’s new. Or maybe you’re just good at hiding it. Jihoon isn’t good at that. He wears his emotions on his sleeve and in his knees.

You exhale, rolling your eyes. “Is class over then?” You ask pointing towards the closed double doors.

He shakes his head. “No, I got kicked out.”

“For what?” You chuckle, but it comes out like a scoff.

Jihoon shrugs. “Not completing the assignment.”

You suck in your bottom lip. “Let’s see it then.” He blinks at you. You nod towards the sketch book he has tucked under his arm. Jihoon mutters a silent ‘oh’ before opening the book and flipping to the page where he drew you. You take it from him wordlessly.

He supposes he should be scared by this. But he isn’t. It feels more like returning a favor. Because now he’s the one in a vulnerable position. But you take a long time to look at the drawing. You take years to dissect each line and shading. You burn over every inch of paper until the entire book is bursting into flames in your hands. He lets you take your time. You look up at him, something indescribable in your eyes. Something like fear or awe or wonder. You look at him like you would running into an ex-friend. Jihoon feels more than just vulnerable now. He feels like you’ve ripped behind his skin straight to the muscle and bones. (Portrait: A Bundle Of Muscles In The Outline of Person). He feels naked. He wants to feel no more.

“So—“

You shush him immediately. Accidentally silencing the entire world. And after another lifetime of you staring at the one page, the one singular drawing, you’re finally done.

“It’s really good.” You breathe. Jihoon senses a but. “But it isn’t me.”

He says it plainly. “It’s a version of you to me.” (Portrait: The Way You See Yourself Looking In A Mirror; The Way He Sees You Looking Out). “Don’t most models leave after the modeling?”

“I’m waiting for my boyfriend.” You hand him back the sketchbook. “Well, see you around I guess.” You turn back towards the double doors of the art building. And right before you’re swallowed whole by the red brick and air conditioning, you lift up your hand in a silent goodbye without looking back. And you do it in an almost cocky manner as if you know he’s watching you go. In your defense, he is.

—

The next time he sees you is in the same class later that week. Apparently, nude sketching is a week long lesson. Your pose is a little different this time. Hands covering certain parts, head turned away. Today, the instructor wants them to focus on conveying emotion through the body alone, no face. He does as he’s told. He draws you as you are, as others would see. He draws something that won’t get him kicked out of class. And on the next page, he draws you the way he wants. Something more abstract. Focusing on the strain in your neck and arch in your back. He highlights the insecurities you’ve dropped by your feet and creates a shadow around the confidence you wear around your head.

—

[unknown number, 17:12]: hey it’s the nude model [unknown number, 17:12]: lol that’s probably not a normal greeting [unknown number, 17:13]: but anyways, this might be weird but I was kinda wondering if i could see what you drew in class today, you didn’t get kicked out so im curious. [unknown number, 17:15]: oh alos i got your number from mingyu lol hope thats not creepy [unknown number, 17:15]: *also

[jihoon, 22:37]: oh mingyu is your bf, yeah i’ve heard about you [jihoon, 22:38]: i can’t say it’s not creepy but here [jihoon, 22:40]: image.0315

[you, 23:04]: only good things i hope, also i can see why you didn’t get kicked out this time it’s nice [you, 23:04]: but [you, 23:04]: from what i can tell, it doesn’t really seem like your style

[jihoon, 23:54]: image.0316

[you, 23:57]: yeah that’s more like it

—

The third time he sees you is at the end of the semester party. In truth, Jihoon is partly avoiding you. You text him a lot. He’d be lying if he said it wasn’t getting mildly annoying.

He’s talking to Jeonghan and Soonyoung when a tipsy you and an even tipsier Mingyu make your way over to the couch and fall into the cushions. And something about the way you look at each other as if you’re kissing with your eyes. Something about the way you whisper something in his ear and he laughs. Something about the way he whispers something back, taking your hand in his and playing absentmindedly with your fingers. Makes Jihoon think that the two of you are so caught up with each other. Too focused on swallowing each other whole. That the walls could fall and the sky could come bursting into the room and neither of you would bat an eye.

(Portrait: You And Mingyu Tearing Down The Walls And The Clouds)

Jihoon’s taking out his sketchbook and a pencil before he realizes it himself.

—

“Hey let’s play a game,” you say while you and Jihoon are waiting for the movie to start playing in the movie theater. “where we each claim pieces of the universe for ourselves.”

(Portrait: You And Jihoon Each Holding Half The Universe In Your Palms)

“Sure.” Jihoon waits a moment, thinking which part of the universe he’d like to claim first. “I call the stars.”

“Fuck,” you whisper into the popcorn, “I want the stars.”

“You snooze you loose.”

“It’s my game.”

“Okay and?”

You roll your eyes dramatically. “Anyways I call the sun.”

Jihoon: “Moon.”

You: “Earth.”

He takes a sip of his cola. “And everything in it?”

“No just the planet.”

“Okay… I call the other planets.”

“That’s a lot at once but I’ll let it slide as long as I get to have Pluto.”

Jihoon shakes his head in a laugh. “Plutos barely a planet but yeah, go crazy.”

“Bet. And next…” you tap on your chin in thought, “next I want the asteroid belt.”

“I want the Hubble Telescope.”

You squint at him. “You’re weird.”

“Says the one who just called the asteroid belt.”

You press a finger to your lips. “The movies about to start.”

—

[you, 9:23]: btw I call all bodies of water [jihoon, 9:32]: that is such a catch all [you, 9:33]: hey you can have rain [jihoon, 9:33]: bruh [jihoon, 9:33]: fine i’ll take rain but i call mountains too [you, 9:34]: i want flowers [jihoon, 9:34]: i want trees and beyonce [you, 9:35]: no way you can’t call ppl [jihoon, 9:35]: so you can call ALL bodies of water but i can’t call beyonce [you, 9:35]: my game my rules [jihoon, 9:36]: it was worth a try [you, 9:38]: oh i got a good one [you, 9:39]: i call music [jihoon, 9:40]: N O [you, 9:40]: we can stop here for today [jihoon, 9:41]: this game is so biased [jihoon, 9:41]: I WANT MUSICCC!!!!!! [you, 9:41]: whine about it more and i’ll call art too [jihoon, 941]: icallarticallarticallart [you, 9:41]: ur welcome [jihoon, 9:42]: u suck

—

“Hey,” you greet coming into jihoon’s apartment, with a frantic text about needing to escape for a bit. Luckily, you explain so jihoon doesn’t have to ask. “We broke up. Mingyu and I.”

“Oh.”

You shake your head. “It’s fine though. Really.” (Portrait: You and a Lie Detector Flashing Red)

Jihoon opens and closes his mouth trying to figure out the best way to comfort you without coddling you. He settles for, “Do you wanna talk about it?”

You inhale sharply. “No. Not really.” You sit on his couch and turn on the tv. After a moment, jihoon joins you.

And it’s 20 minutes into whatever program you’ve chosen to watch that Jihoon finally knows what to say. “Hey,” he whispers, you turn your head towards him, “you wanted the stars right?” you raise a single eyebrow. “Take them.”

“Really?” you say suspicious.

“Yeah,” he nods, then with a smile adds, “but it’s gonna cost you.” you roll your eyes knowingly. “I want the sun.”

You purse your lips in thought. Then after a minute, agree. And so a trade is made: the sun for the stars.

—

[a/n: undeveloped bit of dialogue that would have gone somewhere] Reader: Are we about to kiss Jihoon: What ew no Reader: Ew? I mean I agree but ew? That’s harsh Jihoon: don’t make it personal Reader: Okay you know I have a bf right Jihoon: Oh my god I’m not into you Reader: Not even a little bit Jihoon: No Reader: Not even like last two people on earth into me Jihoon: No Reader: Ouch Jihoon: You’re the one who asked Reader: Still hurts to hear

—

[a/n: for context before this reader was supposed to give jihoon music] “Do you know how to play?” you ask, fingers ghosting the keys of the piano in jihoon’s apartment.

“Of course. Why would I have one if I didn't?”

You shrug. “Play me something.”

He sits down on the bench and plays a tune he memorized years ago. One that starts happy and shifts key into something almost unrecognizable. Not sad, not angry, but a fireball of emotions. Or at least, that’s how Jihoon’s old teacher described the piece.

“Hey, jihoon,” you say as he holds out on the last note of the song.

“Yeah”

“I’m glad I gave you music.”

“Oh,” he says, voice turning mischievous, “me too.” He starts playing a new song.

“Is that-” you sit up slightly “Is that the Wii theme music?” Jihoon hums along. “I take it back.”

—

#unfinished wip #mine #wip.svt

4 notes · View notes

doubledeaky · 5 years

Note

im back to sending you a million requests because those last two were SO FUCKING GOOD (from @deakyfordays) ok so can i get a gwil fic where hes like 'oh u can draw, let me see ur stuff' and basically u draw some like ~nude~ things that are classy but also gets him horny af and hes like oh shit let's fuck???

sorry this took me like a week, but ok I’m an artist and this made me super happy, thank you for supplying me with that good stuff @deakyfordays

okay so you and Gwil are supposed to be hanging out at your apartment, a Friday night tradition between you two, but Gwil knocked out half way through the movie you were both watching and instead of waking him up from a nap you knew he needed you decided to retire to the comfy chair by the window and work on a few of your incomplete sketches

Gwil was aware of your knack for art but wasn’t exactly informed to the extent at which you drew. Most of your pieces were anatomy studies and the occasional full blown piece, a nude model/figure at its center. The human body happened to be your muse and there was no shame in that. Gwil had never seen your art, and you had no intentions of showing him said art.

You were idly working on a self portrait, a very nude self portrait, when Gwil began to stir and grumble from your couch. You grinned, but continued to drag your red drafting pencil across the sketchbook in your hands. You were so entranced in the motion of your hand that you didn’t notice Gwil get up and settle himself behind you until he spoke.

“That’s really good.” He mumbled, his voice thick and raspy with sleep.

“Shit!” You squealed, your entire body jumping a few inches from the comfy day chair. You instinctively shut your sketchbook and tossed it to the side, your cheeks burning in embarrassment. Gwil raised a questioning brow and reached for your sketchbook.

“Can I see?” He said, reaching his long arm over you to grab at it but was stopped when you snatched it out of his grasp.

“Um, no.” You mumbled, his face fell and guilt wretched in your gut. “Sorry, I don’t really show people my stuff.” He seemed dumbfounded and his light laugh surprised you.

“C’mon, Y/N. I wanna see. I promise I’ll be nice.” He pleaded, widening his bright blue eyes to seal the deal. You playfully rolled your eyes, the grip on your sketchbook tightening before you relaxed your muscles.

“Fine, but I get to flip the pages.” You warned, pointing a stern finger in his direction. He held his hands up in defeat before joining you on the couch, planting himself just centimeters away from your side. Your breath hitched momentarily before you cleared your throat and hesitantly opened the leather-bound book.

“This is an anatomy study I did a few months ago.” You explained, tracing your finger over the sloped lines of the drawn figure. His eyes were concentrated, scanning precisely over each line and area of shading. They also held another emotion, seemingly one of admiration and it made your heart flutter.

You turned the page, the drawing a portrait of your good friend. His eyes widened, “Wow, this one is incredible.” He mumbled, thumbing the end of the page to draw it closer, careful not to bend or tear the image. Your grin widened and the pace of your already frantic heart quickened.

“Thank you.” You smiled, absentmindedly flipping the page to an image you weren’t intending to show him, the nude portrait of yourself that you had been working on just minutes before.

“Oh, shit.” You mumbled, flipping over a few pages and hoping he hadn’t noticed. But, he did.

“Woah, woah, wait. What was that one?” He asked, trying to flip back to the drawing. He looked at you with raised brows and your face somehow grew exponentially warmer.

“It was nothing. It was the one I was working on earlier. “ You explained, trying to keep your voice calm and level. He smirked, gripping the end of the sketchbook in his hand. Your throat grew dry and you struggled to swallow the growing lump there.

“Can I see?” He crooned, obnoxiously batting his long lashes as he did. You pursed your lips and considered the idea for a moment. The drawing was essentially one of your nudes and you’d be showing this nude to your best friend. You concluded there would be no harm in it, as long as you didn’t tell him who the figure was. You reluctantly flipped back to the designated page and held it out to him. He took the book in his hands and studied the figure with squinted eyes. Your stomach churned and the pressure in your chest tightened as he continued to scan the drawing.

“Who is this?” He suddenly said and you tensed, your heart stopping in your chest. The figure was unfinished and had no face yet, so only you truly knew who it was. You twiddled your thumbs and tried to not fumble over your next sentence.

“Um, no one in particular.” You mumbled, not meeting his eyes.

“Oh, please. The detail is incredible. You’re telling me this is all from memory?” He questioned, arching his brow and sending a sly smirk your way. You shifted uncomfortably, picking at the sleeves of your sweater and still not meeting his gaze.

“Um, yeah.”

“Y/N..”

“Fine, fine. If you must know. It’s a self portrait.”

“A…self portrait? This is you?” He seemed stunned, and his tone made it hard to determine if he surprised or disgusted.

“Yeah, it is. Is there a problem?” You asked, tone growing defensive and hands just seconds from snatching the sketchbook from his hands and vowing to never draw around the man again.

“No, no. There’s no problem. It’s just…”

“What?” You were growing impossibly nervous, your gut clenching uncomfortably.

“It’s really beautiful. I’m… almost speechless.” He laughed, his speech airy and hushed. Your eyes widened slightly and for a fleeting moment, you saw him shift slightly in his seat.

“R-really?” You mentally chastised yourself for making a complete fool of yourself if front of the man you had a huge crush on. The man who was essentially studying a nude photo of yourself in front of you.

“Yeah, I mean. Wow, it’s incredible. Beautiful and talented.” He mumbled, handing you the book and immediately placing a throw pillow in his lap when you grabbed it from him. You were stunned, did he just compliment you or the drawing?

“Well, thank you. It means a lot.” You stuttered, giving him an appreciative grin. He nodded, watching your form intently as you put away your sketchbook and rejoined him on the couch.

“Bet it’s even more beautiful in person.” He mumbled, probably intending for the words to go unheard but you caught them, every word. He noticed this, the way your body froze as you reached for the remote indicative of that. His heart dropped and he had to restrain himself from running through your window.

“Sorry, that was..”

“Do you mean that?”

His blue eyes widened, your reaction completely unexpected. You looked up at him expectantly and the way you eyed him sent he to his lower stomach. A sudden confidence bloomed in his chest and he shifted to face you fully.

“Every word.” He whispered, bringing a hand up to cup your heated face. Your breath hitched and despite yourself, you leaned into his touch.

“You are art.” He was so close, you felt the words fan over your lips and your eyes fluttered shut in anticipation. He softly pressed his lips to your and a relived sigh escaped your nostrils. You immediately melted into his touch, bringing your hands up to card through his soft brown hair. He whimpered against your lips, his own hands now gripping your hips tightly. He pulled away, his breaths coming out in heavy pants.

“I’ve wanted you for so long. I’ve wanted to kiss you for so long. Wanted to see that beautiful body.” He breathed, pulling your body closer, nearly into his open lap.

“Nothing’s stopping you.” You breathed out, taking it upon yourself to climb into his lap and lace your arms behind his head. He gives you a somewhat shy but appreciative grin, and reattaches his lips to yours. He tastes exactly how you’d imagined he would. Sweet, minty from that gum he always chews, and a flavor that’s unidentifiable but him nevertheless.

His hands are leaving a fire in their wake. Everywhere he touches set ablaze and you whimper into the heated kiss. His fingers dip below the hem of your sweater and you wordlessly pull it over your head. Gwil’s blue eyes darken and his hand immediately begin working the clasp of your bra, eyes never leaving yours.

You let him take it off, you’d let him do anything at this point. He eyes you hungrily, bringing his lips to mouth at your chest softly, the touch pulling soft whimpers and moans from your lips.

“Even better than the drawing.” He says, words muffled against your skin and you laugh lightly. His lips then surround your left nipple, nipping at it gently and you have to bite down on your lip to cage desperate moans. The pressure in your lower tummy is unbearable now and your body involuntarily brushes against his clothes lap. His actions falters and he lets out a heavy, pained sigh.

“Fuck, do that again.” He commands before continuing his assault on the delicate skin of your chest and breasts. You anchor your hands on his shoulders for leverage and begin to softly grind your hips against his lap, his cock hardening underneath you. Your head falls into his shoulder, the friction he’s providing satisfying the ache you’ve suffered with since the day you’d met him. He can hear your soft whimpers and moans right next to his ear and he shifts his hips uncomfortably with each sound, his jeans now unbearably tight. He sits back for a second and removes his shirt, and you gaze at him appreciatively for a moment before he brings his lips to yours.

“Can I take these off, love?” He breathes, his prying fingers referring to your shorts. You nod wordlessly, and lift your hips to make the job easier for him. He removes both your shorts and underwear in one motion and you nearly faint when your pussy makes direct contact with his Jean clad lap. His hand settles on your hips and he gestured for you to continue your motions, his grip guiding you against him. You breathing is heavy, coming out in pants, whimpers, and the occasional moan of his name. He’s loving every moment, watching your shaking form behind hooded eyes. The way you draw your lip between your teeth occasionally, how your eyes close every time he presses your body harder against him.

“Fuck, Gwil.” You whine, feeling the tightness in your belly grow. You stop suddenly and bring your hand to his zipper, desperately fumbling with it. He laughs and removes his jeans without issue, giving you a soft peck before drawing you closer, breasts flush against his strong chest.

“You look so pretty like this.” He whispers, brushing fallen hair from your face. You smile, bringing your lips to his in a searing kiss. You toy with the waistband of his boxers, silently begging him to remove them. He complies, sliding them off of his long lower half slowly. Now, nothing seperates you and him and it’s almost overwhelming.

“Do you have a condom?” You whimper, his lips working at the skin on your neck. He nods, leaning over to fish one out of his wallet and immediately returning to you. You grab it from him, quickly removing it and sliding it over his length.

“Eager, aren’t we?” He teases and you narrow your eyes, playfully sticking your tongue out as you settle above him. He grips the base of his cock and run the head through your folds, both of you breathing out heavy moans at the sensation. He catches your gaze and you smile lazily, pressing your lips to his as he slips in. You moan against his mouth as he buries himself to the hilt within you, groaning loudly as he bottoms out.

“Fuck, you’re tight.” He groans, his head lolling back onto the arm of the couch. You're too overwhelmed to speak, only lucid enough to grip his strong shoulders and moan.

“Can I move, love?” He asks after a moment and you nod, eyes still shut tight.

He thrusts up into you and you fall limp into his chest as he settles on a steady pace, the head of his cock brushing against that certain spot and bringing you close to your edge faster than you had anticipated.

“Feels so good, Gwil.” You gasp, clinging onto him, his own hands gripping your hips and ass tightly.

“You feel so amazing, sweetheart. So tight for me.” He groans, his thrusts picking up speed. You cry out, burying your head into his neck, the stubble scratching your cheek.

“Im close, Gwil.” You whimper, walls clenching around him almost involuntarily. His grip on your hips tightens.

“Yeah, gonna cum? Cum for me, angel.” He growls, thrusting up into you with an almost brutal strength. Your orgasm suddenly rips through you, the sensation sending shockwaves throughout your entire body. Your walls clench around him violently and the way his thrusts falter indicate he’s right behind.

Fuck, sweetheart. Gonna make me cum.” He groans before stilling inside of your and releasing into the condom with a broken moan. Your mouth falls open but no sound escapes, and your body falls limply into his strong chest, the aftershocks of your orgasm still rocking you. Gwil holds you, his hands running softly up and down your back, his lips pressing soft kisses onto your temple.

“Did so well for me, sweetheart.” He praises, smoothing down your hair, pressing kisses to your sweaty forehead. Your eyes are hooded and lazy but you manage to give him a sweet smile.

“There’s my girl.” He coos, giving you a smilier smile. He then gingerly lifts your hips and pulls out, quickly tying off and discarding the condom after. He returns to you, pulling you against his chest, his hands resting comfortably against the small of your back.

“My girl.” He whispers into your hair. You hear him, but it's distant, sleep washing over you quickly. He watches as you drift off peacefully, smiling widely because he knows he’s got the most beautiful work of art in the known world.

this isn't great and it didn't really proofread it, but Im happy I finished it. now back to homework -macy:)

#gwilym lee #gwilym lee x reader #gwilym lee x you #gwilym x reader #bohemian rhapsody #bohemian rhapsody smut #borhap #borhap smut #queen #queen smut #gwilym lee smut #smut #request #blurb #doubledeakywrites

228 notes · View notes

bangtanbetchfics · 5 years

Text

Eros (m) | kim taehyung capsule

genre: fluff rating: mature pairing: artist!taehyung x female reader word count: 1.6k suggested listening: sweet luv - lovelyz | bloom (true light) - gwsn | 20cm - txt | playlist warnings: nudity summary: taehyung encounters an issue in pursuit of his art degree, and you're able to be of assistance. notes: i had so much fun writing for artist!tae. have at it! :) *** collaboration info: come join us as we explore europe with BTS through fanfiction. our members chose an european location and a bts member/combo to adventure with, inspired by the group’s most recent extended time off. our fics range from fluff to smut, exploring our fantasies and ideations of what it would be like to travel with the boys. we invite you to go on this journey with us! fellow collaborators: smuttymess | som-siren | chaosbulldog navigation: jinkook on vacation (aperitivo) | masterlist

“Are you ready for this, Taehyungie?”

Taehyung lets you comb your fingers through his warm brown locks. He gives you a smile as you put his newsboy cap back on. You lean on his shoulder, looking out the small window of the airplane at the clouds that float by.

“As ready as I’ll ever be.” He sighs out. “I’m so nervous if I’m being honest.”

“Why? You’re brilliant, Tae,” You pick up your head to look up at him, and he’s looking down through his long lashes at his tangled fingers. “And no one can take that away from you.”

“The best artists in Rome got into the same Master’s program as I did.” You shrug, and you take one of his hands in yours.

“That means you’re the best then, right? You’re all the way from Korea.” He lets out a little chuckle and squeezes your hand in relief.

“I’m so glad you’re here. If only for a few days to see me off.” He rests his head on yours and focuses his attention out of the window as well.

You weren’t a couple, but the two of you were always like this.

Close, but not too close. Love for each other, but not too much. Hugs and cuddles here and there, but not too many.

Your friendship always toed the line --- and you couldn’t help but wonder if Taehyung knew about your true feelings for him --- but you didn’t want to mess up the long friendship between the two of you.

***

As you reach baggage claim, Taehyung spots a woman with a puppy and heads over to her —- pulling you right behind him.

The woman smiles as he pets the dog and moves its paws in the air. You cover your mouth and laugh.

“She seems to like your boyfriend a lot.” The woman looks at you, and you shake your head.

“Excuse me? Oh! He’s not my boyfriend.” A surge of heat rises to your cheeks as the woman raises her eyebrows. She seems to think otherwise.

Taehyung was a beautiful human when he was like this: carefree and unrestrained. His eyes always lit up at anything smaller than him, and you always relished in seeing him smile. Taehyung endeared everyone in his path — even you — a lonely university student before you met him. He brought you into his eclectic circle of friends, and your life was never the same after that.

“Tae, we have to go — our bags are here.” You whisper as you tug at Taehyung’s wool coat to get away from the woman, before she insinuates anything else.

Taehyung pays you no mind until you tug again. His eyes widen like saucers and then a pout takes over his face, but it makes you giggle.

“What? What’s so funny?” Taehyung asks, tagging along after you.

“Nothing.” You laugh as you pull him along.

***

“I’m so screwed.”

As you look up from your book, you pull your glasses off and look at Taehyung as he hangs his coat.

“What’s up Tae?” Taehyung lets out a deep sigh. He throws his backpack to the floor and sinks his head in his hands as he sits down next to you. He smooths his hands from his eyes to his chin.

“My professor wants me to deliver sketches and studies of the female form. By tomorrow.”

“Okay, so? What’s the big deal?” He turns his head to look at you. “It’s the study of the female form, so the model has to be nude when I draw them. This is college , so of course they’re not providing the model to students.”

“That’s it?” You ask as you laugh, closing your book.

“What Italian babe wouldn’t want to get naked for you?”

“Am I supposed to say: hey —- wanna get naked and model for me, random stranger?” You bowl over in laughter and Taehyung’s face gets dark. His meanest faces were still cute, and you laugh again at his expression.

Despite Taehyung’s modelesque looks, he had absolutely no game. Women and men were always throwing themselves at Taehyung, but he never had any idea on how to respond to the attention.

“You think that’s funny? It’s literally due tomorrow.” A hand comes up over your mouth as you stop mid-laugh, and Taehyung crosses his arms. He takes the pencil from his ear and drums it on his temple.

The room is silent for a few moments as the two of you think long and hard about a solution.

“I’m a woman, right? I can do it.” Taehyung shakes his head quickly. “Absolutely not. Hell no.”

“Am I not worthy to be your muse, Taehyungie?” Tae looks down at the floor and kicks an imaginary piece of dust around.

“That’s not it at all.” You look at him, taking his hand.

“Then what is it?” Taehyung looks back at you, and then quickly back to the ground.

“Uh, N-Nothing.” Your hand warms on his and he pulls away to rub his hands together.

“Then let me help you.” You move your body closer to Taehyung’s and he gets up. He paces around the room for a few moments before he puts his elbows over his forehead.

“I don’t think I have a choice, do I?” He sighs, looking over to you.

“I guess you’re my model now.” Taehyung leans over the couch and hangs his head.

“Just say thank you next time.” You deliver a punch to his arm and he rubs the spot, smiling to himself.

***

“Are you ready, Tae?” You yell through the bathroom door.

“Ready!”

Your hair is freshly done, and a cream silk robe drapes over your naked body underneath. You twist up a stick of red lipstick and then apply it, as you look in the mirror one more time before you let out a deep breath.

You step out into the main room, and Taehyung motions for you to sit in a pearly white chaise lounge in the middle of the room.

He doesn’t look at you at first, but as you sit down, his eyes grow wide and he stares at you for a moment.

You swallow your nerves and tuck your hair behind your ear.

You don’t think Taehyung’s ever seen you this done up, as he can’t seem to take his eyes from you.

“Is there something I should be doing?” You say as you gain the strength to clear your throat. You then drum up the courage to meet your eyes with his.

Taehyung visibly gulps before he speaks.

“Pose however you’d like, and then slip the robe off a little bit,” You nod and drape yourself over the chaise, your head hanging back over the arm of the chair. You pull the robe down to your shoulders, exposing your breasts --- but just covering your legs.

It was always on your mind at how it would be the first time Taehyung saw you naked, but you never would've pictured this scenario.

“How’s that?”

“Here let me help you.” Taehyung clutches the arms of his chair and then stands up to wipe his palms on his trousers. He moves over to you, and untucks your hair from your ear -- his fingers trembling.

“More like this.” His deep voice reverberates in your ear as he leans over you, and it causes your heart to race.

That voice of his always did something to you, but today it was especially poignant.

“You have to look in my direction.” He looks into your eyes to adjust your head for a second before he releases your chin.

The two of you look at each other, but you lower your eyes from his intense gaze.

It’s in that moment you realize Taehyung absolutely does have feelings for you.

Your eyes follow his walk as he heads back to his seat.

***

Taehyung pulls his sketchbook and charcoal from the table, and the sound of the pencil scratching the paper starts to fill the room. You watch Taehyung’s eyes flick up and down to you as he works.

“Beautiful.” Taehyung whispers to himself as he sketches the curves of your form.

The electric exchange between your eyes continues on, and you can feel each of Taehyung’s gazes growing more intense.

It almost seems as if they’re pooling with desire, but you look down quickly to shake your head.

Can’t be.

“You’re not supposed to move.” Taehyung chuckles. “Let’s take a break.”

Taehyung moves to sit near you on the chaise, and shows you the page he’s been working on.

“Oh my god, Tae!” Taehyung looks at you with concern in his eyes. “Is it terrible?”

“No, it’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.” You take the book from him and trace your fingers over the drawing in the air. Your eyes pool with tears a bit as you look down at yourself on the page.

Your fingers clutch the edges of the sketchbook, and you take a firm breath out.

“There’s something I’ve been meaning to tell you, Tae.”

Taehyung takes your chin in his soft fingers, and turns your face to face his.

“I told you that you have to look at me.” Your breath hitches in your throat as you look into his eyes.

Taehyung tilts his head and places a velvety kiss on your lips.

“I know .” He pulls back to look at you. You gasp out and look at him, and he gives you a warm smile.

“You’re my muse. Always have been. I love you.” Taehyung pushes the hair out of your face, and brushes his thumbs over your cheeks.

You look up at his glossy, vulnerable eyes and he presses his lips into yours again.

“Love you too, Tae.”

After a moment, you kiss him back and wrap your arms around his neck.

notes: hope you enjoyed this pure fluff! :) fellow collaborators: smuttymess | som-siren | chaosbulldog navigation: jinkook on vacation (aperitivo) | masterlist

#genre: smut #ksmutclub #btssmutclub #kim taehyung smut #smut #kim taehyung #kim taehyung x reader #taehyung x reader #bts #bts fanfic #bts fanfiction #bts smut

22 notes · View notes

chromecutie · 5 years

Text

Not A Ghost - part 23

A/N - Multi-part fic. Colossus x OC where OC has come home after being wrongfully imprisoned in the Icebox. Warnings for whole fic - references and flashbacks to harsh prison environment, including various types of abuse. Takes place shortly after events in Deadpool 2. Whole thing will end up on my AO3 eventually.

Taglist: @emma-frxst @ra-ra-rasputiin @holamor @empressme-bitch @marvel-is-perfection @hazilyimagine @marvelhead17 @rovvboat @angstybadboytrash @whitewitchdown @master-sass-blast @mori-fandom @mooleche @dandyqueen @emberbent @leo-writer . Wanna be added or removed? Holla at me.

-------------------------------------

Song after song skipped by as Rhonda kept hitting “next” on her phone. Her legs draped over the arm of the chair, feet bouncing and swaying. She picked another playlist to scroll through, but nothing sounded good there either. Piotr leaned against the table beside her, one arm casually braced on the table while the other rested on his leg.

Rhonda had told him how she’d sort of had a fight with Ellie, and then had a worse sort-of-fight with Xavier himself. She was agitated, couldn’t sit still, and even in the chair she fidgeted and sloppily tapped through her playlists.

“I understand you care about Ellie - all of us - and you worry about us,” Piotr nodded, “but Xavier is right. You can’t try to get Ellie pulled out.” He made a little chuffing sound and shook his head, “She’s so much like you. Can you imagine if someone had tried to pull you out when you were her age?”

Rhonda slumped and rubbed her forehead with her fingers. “But if someone I loved came up to me with a bunch of scars and said to think twice, you don’t think I would have listened?” She set her phone down.

Piotr took a breath and sat on the corner of the bed. His long arms could still reach to touch her shoulder gently and brush her green hair away from her neck. “I think you would have believed,” he said slowly, “that person had run into terrible luck, and that it was rare, and the chances of it happening to you were slim to none.”

She leaned back in her chair and brought one foot up onto the table. In the soft lamp light, her eyes were almost black. “Is that what you think?” she asked flatly. “That it couldn’t happen to you?”

“What I think,” he kept his tone neutral, “and what could happen doesn’t change my decision to be a part of X-Men. I promised to serve, despite the risks, so that we can make the world safer for mutants.” He withdrew his hand, but still leaned toward her from his seat on the bed.

“And when will it be enough, Piotr?” she threw her hands up. “When will you have risked enough that it’s okay to quit?”

He leveled a serious, earnest gaze on her. “When what happened to you cannot happen to anyone else.”

Rhonda sighed, her eyes drooped. “That won’t be in our fucking lifetime and you know it.”

“Sladkaya,” he said softly as he stood and rested his hands on her shoulders, “It will take that much longer if people who can help choose not to. And you know it.” Piotr rubbed his thumbs over his wife’s neck, massaging the knots. He kissed her head. “I am sorry. I don’t like seeing you upset, but I see no other way right now. Eventually, I will have to go back out there. Can you live with that?”

Rhonda melted under his touch, tired and drained, “If the DMC get you…”

His thumbs slid in circles, "I know you would stop at nothing to bring me home again." He chuckled, "I pity anyone stupid enough to get in your way. But," Piotr rhythmically patted her shoulders, "That's all for another day. Not tonight."

"Not tonight," Rhonda agreed with a sigh.

Rhonda slept miserably that night. She had vivid, confusing dreams and couldn't seem to stay asleep. She couldn't lay still, and tried huddling closer to Piotr. A few scant hours of sleep finally came to her when she threw the covers off and let herself get cold.

"Sladkayaaa…" The smell of coffee slowly filled her senses, along with his voice, every bit as warm and comforting as a cup of coffee.

Rhonda groaned, “Mm...Piotr?” Forcing her eyes open, she squinted against the glare.

“No, it’s Scott,” he tried to imitate an American accent, then gave it up with a little laugh. “I wanted to let you sleep, but it’s after ten now. How are you feeling, my love?”

Rubbing her eyes, she slowly sat up, “Like I should’ve taken a sedative last night. I forgot.” As he armored down and she took in his bright smile and the way it was framed by his dark, thick beard, she couldn’t resist smiling herself. “What?”

He handed her the cup of coffee in his hands, and she sipped, relishing the hazelnut cream he’d added for her. “A package got delivered,” he explained, “and I meant to wait until anniversary, but I’m too excited.” His bright blue eyes sparked the closest thing he had to mischief.

“Babe, I think you’ve said that for almost every single present you’ve ever gotten me,” Rhonda snickered into her cup.

“That’s not my fault,” he shrugged, “You have the best face when you are surprised, and I want to see it as often as possible!” Piotr held out a white box, tiny in his massive palm.

Rhonda glanced from the box to his face, where the late morning sun coming in from the window caught the little smattering of silver-grey hairs in his beard. She loved seeing him smile like this, eager, happy. Cross-legged, she nestled the coffee cup in her lap and took the little white box. She looked at her husband again, smiled, and bit her lip. The box was light, and when she lifted the lid she gasped.

One wide and hefty band and a narrower, more delicate band shone against the white interior. “New rings?” tears sprang to Rhonda’s eyes, quickly obscuring her vision as she laughed with pure joy.

Piotr chuckled and thumbed away her tears, “See? I love surprising you.” He gently took the box from her and slipped the smaller band onto her finger. It didn’t go on smoothly like any precious metal, instead slightly gripping her skin.

“What is this?” Rhonda sniffled and wiped away more tears so she could look at it. The ring looked like burnished bronze - dark golden brown with a little bit of a green shimmer.

“They’re silicone,” Piotr squeezed the band meant for him and showed how flexible it was. “They’re for people who work with their hands all the time, and they stretch.” He let her slip the ring onto his finger, and he armored up. Rhonda instinctively held up a hand to guard her eyes, but the band stayed in place.

Her mouth fell open. “No way! How many replacement bands did we go through for you because you’d armor up and they’d pop right off?” She made a sound like a small explosion, splaying her fingers wide.

Working his fingers over his new ring and admiring the feel of it, Piotr rolled his eyes, “It was only two, Sladkaya.”

She grumbled sheepishly, “When the metal pieces are flying at your face, it feels like more than two.”

Piotr leaned closer to his wife until their lips were only inches apart. “It won’t happen with these,” he could still feel her grinning as he kissed her. She had just barely slipped her tongue into his mouth when she pulled back suddenly.

“Sorry,” she covered her mouth, “My breath must be rank.”

“Drink more coffee,” he winked.

Rhonda picked up her cup again to resume drinking and stared at her new ring. “[I love you so much, Piotr. Thank you.]”

He touched a knuckle to her chin and returned, “[Anything for you, my love.]” Piotr pulled back and collected the packaging to put in the recycling. “I will still get you a proper ring, with a gemstone,” he added, “These are supposed to be for when we’re working, gardening, things like that.” He patted her thigh so firmly it was almost a slap. “Now. Are you going get ready for the day, or keep snoozing?”

Rhonda was squeezing her hair dry with a towel when she emerged from the bathroom, and saw her husband sitting on the floor with his sketchbook. “What’s that?” she came to look over his shoulder.

He glanced up, then back at his work, and said, “Hello, naked wife.” His pencil scritched away, his fingers moving delicately over the fine-toothed page. “That room where you dance - I thought we could finish repairing it. You spend enough time in there.” Rhonda knelt next to him to see what he was drawing. “How would you feel about offering a class for the children? You used to love tutoring, maybe teaching would be good for you.”

Rhonda hesitated, honestly considering it. “I dunno...I could try. I dunno who’d actually want to learn from me but...are these floor plans?”

“Yes!” he cheerfully showed her the three variations he was sketching. He illustrated full mirrors on either this wall or that wall, opaque shutters over the windows that could be retracted to let in natural light, rigs for this type of lighting or that type of lighting, shelving over here for supplies and sound equipment. “If you go in there today, we could get a feel for what you would like in a proper dance studio.”

“We could!” she slipped her arms around his neck from the side and kissed his cheek.

They shared a laugh as he circled her waist with one arm, nuzzling into her neck and damp hair. “Do you think you would want to perform again?” he asked. “You have always been a thrill to watch.”

“Maybe,” she scoffed, then added with a growing smile, “Yeah, probably. Ask me again in a few months.” Her dark eyes were soft. She looked at her right hand against his massive steel arm. Fortunately, she was past hating how her hand looked with a missing finger; she was used to it. Fresh out of the shower and still naked, her inked Xs were stark against her husband’s body. If Rhonda looked at the marks that filled her arm and spread over her back and side too long, her thoughts filled with desperate wishes that she could peel that skin off and get different skin.

She camouflaged her sigh to sound hopeful rather than depressed. “Hey...do you think...Do you think you could paint my arm again? Like that zhostovo you did a while back?”

Piotr gave a long look over her arm, tracing the length of it with one warm hand. “It did look good on you, didn’t it?” Taking her hand and kissing her knuckles, then her palm, he said, “Of course. Get dressed and I’ll meet you in the kitchen. The lighting is better in there.” He gave her ass a firm, playful pat and she got up with an equally playful yelp.

The brush was every bit as cold and wet as she remembered as Piotr made petal after petal with each stroke, careful but decisive. Rhonda’s arm was ticklish, and had to try harder than last time to keep still. Piotr’s phone rang, but when he saw it was Deadpool, he let it go to voicemail.

“You know he’s gonna keep calling you,” Rhonda warned.

Piotr frowned with disregard. “He can call. I don’t have to answer every time. The last ten times he called, it was to complain about arguments he gets into with Cable.” He glanced up to wink at his wife, “I’ve told him to try cracking fewer nasty jokes.”

“Ha! I bet he took that one to heart.” She rolled her eyes and watched the brush flick and swirl and flick. It was hypnotic, soothing, even if it was also ticklish. The flowers were even softer than last time, their contrast against the solid black background he painted was even more stark. “This is so beautiful, honey. Thank you.”

He smiled without looking up, focused on the fine details he was adding now. “[As if I would ever refuse the chance to make you smile.]”

Sure enough, Wade called again. And again. Piotr declined the calls and set his phone on do-not-disturb mode. Rhonda asked, “Are you sure you don’t need to get that?”

Piotr’s cheeks puffed as he blew a long breath. “It’s fine. When I talk to him again, he will give me some grief about it, but he will have figured it out. Whatever it is.”

“If you’re sure,” Rhonda shrugged. Holding out her arm to admire the finished painting covering it, her face was radiant. “You know I’ve never been that into tattoos, but I could rock this, huh?”

As he packed up his acrylics and set about washing his brushes in the sink, he replied, “I have to say, I have not seen many tattoos based on Russian folk art. But if anyone could pull it off, it’s you, Sladkaya.”

She got that telltale mischievous glint in her eye, and gave a cursory look down the hall from the kitchen. No one was coming. Rhonda got up from the kitchen table and crossed over to where her husband stood at the sink. “You know what else I can pull off…” she leaned close and whispered something to him in Russian that made him snap straight and look around as if anyone else was around to hear and understand it.

“Sladkaya, you know better than to--”

“I’ll race you to the bedroom.”

“Nyet,” he hustled to get his paint kit in order and carried it with one arm, while he quickly rounded the kitchen island to heft Rhonda almost to his shoulder with the other. In a brisk walk back to their room upstairs, Piotr grumbled in Russian all manner of things he would like to do.

In the privacy of their room, they leaned closer, sharing their breath. Rhonda’s deft fingers made quick work of his belt buckle and unzipped his pants--

The window shattered as a chunk of concrete flew through it. A shout came from outside, “Colossus! You shiny fuck! Stop ghosting me!”

Piotr and Rhonda shared a withering look and said in unison, “Wade.” Piotr gently squeezed her arm as he stood, zipping his pants back up, “Whatever it is, I will tell him not today.”

Avoiding the broken glass as best he could, some of the pieces crunched under his boots anyway. “Wade,” he called from the balcony, “I didn’t answer for a reason--”

“The Juggernaut’s been spotted near a truck stop!” Wade yelled. “Maybe he’s looking for a cheap hooker or some heroin, but I bet he’s after something bigger.”

Piotr clenched his jaw for a moment, then said, “Make your point, Wade.” Rhonda crept closer to her husband, avoiding the broken glass.

“My point,” Wade shouted with exasperation, “Is that we intercepted some messages between the Brotherhood that they’ve got some mutagenic juice they wanna pass out. You’d know if you answered any of my calls instead of blowing me off for your Misses! Anyhoo! A whole truckload of flu shots is passing through where my JuggCam shows your buddy hiding out. Wanna bet they’re gonna add the mutagen to the flu shots? It’s just the thing all the anti-vax mommy blogs have been waiting for. They’re gonna be all smug about it, well NOT ON MY WATCH!”

Piotr thought a moment, then answered, “Juggernaut isn’t smart enough for a plan like that.”

“Mystique is,” Cable’s voice rose. “We think she’ll have a team take over the truck while Juggernaut causes a diversion.”

“I can handle Mystique and whatever other dumb saps she has with her, but not if Juggernaut rips me in half again.” Wade made an exaggerated groan, “You haven’t been out with me in months! Don’t make me say it…”

Piotr and Rhonda could just barely hear Cable grumble, “Jesus…”

“Say what, Wade?” Piotr shook his head.

“I need you! Come on, please? Let Nine-Volt play with her other silver bullet and come give Jugg-Jugg payback for putting a dent in your head!”

Rhonda hissed, “He what?”

Piotr ground his teeth. Duty called, but with awful timing. He just couldn’t take chances with the Juggernaut out on the loose. He heard his wife sigh. He looked back at her, dreading having to tell her he was going out for this one, and was astounded to find she was putting on her shoes.

“Rhonda, what are you--”

Her brows were soft, slightly raised, but her mouth was set in a hard line. “You can’t sit this one out, and I can’t stay at home worrying about you. I’m coming with you.”

“Sladkaya, no,” he tried to stride to the door and beat her to it, but she had her hand on the door knob before he was in arm’s reach. “Wade is right. He hit me hard enough to knock out a tooth, and also tore Wade in half. You know how dangerous the Juggernaut is. What do you think he will do to you?”

“I’m staying out of the fighting,” she said firmly. “But I’m going with you.”

Piotr knew that tone and how it brooked no argument all too well. He sighed. “And what if Juggernaut finds you?”

With grim confidence, Rhonda said, “I’ll talk to him.” Her husband was frozen, rooted to the spot, so she added, "You don't have time to argue. Let's go."

#not a ghost #piotr rasputin x oc #colossus x oc #colossus #xmen #deadpool fanfic #piotr Rasputin #angst #fluff #longfic #multipart fic

12 notes · View notes

mirkwoodshewolf · 5 years

Text

My brave soldier muse; Eugene Sledge x reader

*Author’s note*

Wow okay so this is something COMPLETELY different than what I usually write. But after reading and actually watching The Pacific a couple months back with my dad, I’ve decided to take a crack at writing for our baby boy Joey Mazzello’s character; Eugene Sledge. Now before I get started I want to start off by saying I do NOT MEAN TO ROMANTICIZE PTSD or other mental illnesses. I know that gets people riled up and I hope I don’t offend anyone with this piece of fanfiction.

I also DO NOT own the pic that I’ve included in the fic, I’m just using it as a visual purpose for the story instead of having you guys try and look it up by watching the opening credits of The Pacific on youtube.

__________________________________________________

*1942*

The world was at war. The Nazi’s were planning on world domination but my people of America didn’t want to get involved because we had just started getting back up on our feet due to the Great Depression that lasted over 10 years. But it wasn’t until Pearl Harbor when the Japs bombed it without warning, or even reason.

From then on, every able bodied young man or previous vets from the first world war wanted to sign up and serve. Including my best friend Sidney Phillips and best friend turned boyfriend Eugene Sledge. The three of us have been best friends since the school yard, when a bunch of bullies were picking on me because I was drawing instead of playing during recess.

From then on, the three of us have been thick as thieves, always sticking together till the very end. It was shortly after our junior year of high school that Eugene and I started dating, in fact you may think he finally worked up the courage to ask me out well you’d be wrong.

I mean he tried, he really did but in the end I ended up asking him out. So he took me out to dinner and after—I kissed him, I knew we were made for each other. Of course Sidney had a field day and would constantly tease us any chance he got, especially towards Gene.

Sidney had already been deployed and been on the field on the Marines for a few months now, and Eugene tried to enlist but due to his heart murmur, he wasn’t qualified to go.

I was in my art studio currently working on a new painting that I had in mind. I had my canvas out and was doing the picture in charcoal when I heard the door open and slam shut. I stepped aside and saw Gene storming in and he placed himself right there on my cushioned couch where I would have my models usually sit.

“Still there?”

“I don’t want to talk about it.” He muttered. I sighed solemnly and set my charcoal pencil down and grabbed some wipes and cleaned my hands up a bit before sitting down next to Gene. If I’m being truthful, I’m glad the murmur is still there.

I know it sounds selfish of me but I’ve already lost my big brother James Barnes to the war with the Japs, my mama could barely stand and was depressed for weeks till one day she just died of a broken heart. Of course my daddy barely escaped the first World war with only a missing arm but it was during the Depression that finally killed him, without money coming in he couldn’t pay to afford a doctor to come and help him with his arm which had soon gotten infected and he passed away due to the infections of his missing arm and no antibiotics to keep him healthy.

Eugene and Sidney are all I have of family now, and I’m already fearing of losing another brother, I can’t lose the love of my life to this war.

“Do you wanna head for the lake?” I asked him. He turned to look at me and I took his hand and soon I led him out the backway and the two of us headed just down the hill from my house where the lake stood.

Our family home was like a little place of heaven. Wild flowers as far as the eye can see, all varying in different breeds and colors, a small little lake that circled just at the bottom of the hill, and when the sun would hit it, it made the lake shimmer and shine like a beautiful diamond ring.

Sometimes I would come here to sketch and get away from everything of the real world, my own little patch of heaven. Eugene would come here too when he needed to de-stress or get away from it all from the insecurities of his mind. And lately because of his failure to enlist and seeing himself as a failure, he needed this more than I did.

We both lay down on our usual spot and I lay my head right across his lap. His hands gently stroked and played with my hair as the two of us stared up at each other.

“I know you feel happy about me not being able to enlist.” He stated bluntly. I sighed heavily and said to him.

“Gene…..”

“Don’t lie to me. I can see it in your eyes. I know you to damn well (y/n).” I sadly looked at him and said.

“But it’s not what you’re thinking. You know how devastating it was for me to lose my brother. And then I had to take care of my mama and in the end she died of a broken heart from losing a child, not even caring that she left her youngest one behind. And with Sidney now away fighting the Japs I fear that he too will die. Gene I—I can’t lose anyone else in my life, I just can’t I…..” tears started falling down the corner of my eyes.

“Hey, hey I’m sorry, I’m sorry sweet girl, come here.” He pulled me up and embraced me. My head resting against his shoulder as I softly wept. “I’m sorry doll, I’m so sorry. But you do realize that Sidney is about as stubborn as wild hog, he ain’t gonna let no Jap get the best of him, he’s too stubborn for his own good. Always has been.” That at least got me to choke out a laugh. “There’s my happy girl, with that million dollar smile that I love so much.” He said as he separated from me and wiped away my tears with his thumbs.

He softly kissed the corner of my mouth and I said to him.

“I’m sorry Genie I just….I just don’t know what I would do without you in my life. You’re my soulmate, the one I want to spend my life with till we’re both old and grey, sitting on the porch swing back at the house. My muse.” His thumb kept stroking my cheek and wiping away any tears that fell down my face.

“And I’m honored to be your muse. If I could draw half as good as you, you’d most definitely would be my muse as well. But know this my sweet girl, when I do pass and this murmur goes away; know that I will always be there for you. I’m making you a solemn promise right now that I will fight my way back home to you. Because I’m not just wanting to join because of my country, I want to enlist because I want to protect you. If the Japs managed to bomb Hawaii what’s to stop them from coming here in Alabama? I couldn’t live with myself if I came here to see this place burned to the ground and you lying dead burning. And I couldn’t do anything to stop it.”

“Oh Eugene….” I said as I captured his lips softly with mine. I wrapped my arms around his neck, my hands gently combing through his auburn hair while feeling his arms bringing me tighter and closer to him as our kiss deepened. When air became a burden, we separated but kept our foreheads together and our noses brushing against one another every second.

“I love you (y/n), more than a frog loves the bayou, more than a gator needs water to live, and more than birds need to fly. You are my dove, and I want you to always be safe.”

“And I you Eugene Sledge.” We kissed each other again and just remained together in each other’s arms kissing back and forth between each other listening to the birds chirping and the crickets playing their symphonic orchestra.

Weeks passed and I was down by the lake doing a sketch of Eugene in Marine uniform when I could hear footsteps behind me coming down towards me. I knew instantly who it was and I had a feeling that I knew what he had to say.

“It’s gone.” He stated. My heart shattered and I shut my eyes trying to hold in the tears. “I’m planning on leaving for boot camp tomorrow morning, will you come with me to the station to see me off?” I turned towards him and said trying to be happy for him after our talk weeks back.

“I wouldn’t miss it for the world. Plus it’d seem unfair if I went to see my best friend off and not my own boyfriend.” He softly smiled and chuckled lightly before coming and sitting down beside me.

“Promise me you’ll look after Deacon for me?”

“Of course, he’s practically our son after all.” I said. I leaned against his shoulder and sighed softly trying to keep my tears at bay. “Can you promise me something Eugene?”

“Anything.” I turned towards him and picked up my picture that I had been working on and folded it up before holding it out to him,

“Take this picture and be sure to bring it back to me. If you do, I promise to make more of them. But if you don’t, then I give up painting forever.”

“What? (Y/n) you can’t give up painting because of me, it’s been your dream—”

“And my dream wouldn’t be complete without you in it.” I interrupted him. We stared into each other’s eyes as I said, “You are the reason I keep getting inspired Genie, and I want to one day share my fame of being an artist with you by my side and introduce you to everyone as the man whose inspired my paintings. My muse. Most girls would give a ring that symbolizes their heart but I’m giving you something far more precious to me. A work of art that I’ve been working on since the but crack of dawn this morning. But don’t you dare look at it till you get on that train.”

“Why can’t I have a peek of it now?” he asked.

“Because I may not have the strength to let you go if you see it. And I know how fighting in this war means to you. My brave soldier boy.” I stroked his cheek and he leaned against my palm and kissed it.

“You have my word. I will not look at it until I get on the train. I promise to always keep it close to my heart. And when I come back, I shall return it to you.”

“That’s my brave boy.” I said as I leaned forward and kissed him. His arms wrapping around my waist pulling me closer to him.

The next morning right before sunrise, I stood at the train station standing in front of Eugene who was officially dressed in full Marine uniform.

“You got everything you need?” I asked him.

“Yeah.”

“You have my picture on you?”

“Right where I said I’d always keep it.” He said as he patted the left side of his chest.

“Good, now you remember your promise to me?”

“I remember my dove.” I smiled and nodded but could feel my throat tightening up. “Oh (y/n),” I sniffled and felt him hug me and I tried my best not to cry on his uniform and he whispered, “Please don’t cry, I don’t want the last thing I see before I leave to be my best girl weeping her eyes out.”

“I’m sorry Gene I—I promised myself I wouldn’t cry. I’ve even been practicing but I guess it was for nothing.” I choked out.

“Aww doll, shhh, shhh. It’ll be okay. I promise I’ll be back before you can even have the chance to miss me.”

“Not possible.” He softly laughed and looked down at me and cupped my face in his hands. I placed my hands on top of his and guided his left hand towards my lips and kissed each of his finger tips and he said.

“Let me see that smile one last time.” I looked right up at him and did my best to smile for him. “Aww there it is. Keep that smile on that beautiful face for a while longer, long enough for me to forever remember it.” He said as he wiped away any stray tears.

The train whistle blew and the conductor was calling for last minute boarding’s.

“I have to go.” He whispered to me. “I love you so much (y/n) (l/n)”

“And I love you Eugene Sledge. Please stay safe out there, and never forget about me.”

“Doll it’s impossible for me to ever forget about you. Keep painting while I’m away, can you promise me that?”

“I’ll try.”

“That’s my best girl.”

“Promise to write to me?”

“Whenever I can my dove.” We kissed each other one final time and Eugene picked up his bags and boarded the train. I shakily exhaled as I wiped away the tears from my eyes as I soon saw Eugene open his window and wave to me. I waved back smiling and blew him a kiss just as the train was starting to depart.

The last I ever saw of Eugene was him waving goodbye to me, telling me that he loved me till the end of our days.

*Eugene’s POV*

As the train left the station and I could no longer see (y/n), I sat back down on my seat and closed the window up. After a few seconds I then reached into my breast pocket of my uniform and took out the folded piece of paper that would have her drawing that she had made me take.

Like I swore to her, I never did look at it overnight while I was packing my bags. Otherwise I knew she’d have my head if she found out. I unfolded the paper slowly until it was finally unfolded and there on the page was a picture of me.

It was a charcoal drawing of me in full combat gear, the helmet I was sure to wear once I would go out onto the battlefield, probably using either her brother’s or even her father’s helmet as a reference picture. The picture looked like it could be a future shot of what I may look like in my times at war.

My girl was always clever when it came to her art. She always made it realistic, never once giving someone an inappropriate emotion based on the scenario at hand. It was then I finally took notice of a note at the bottom corner of the page. It read as followed;

My brave soldier,

Please come back to me my Muse, my soldier, my love.

-Yours forever

(Y/n) (l/n)

Her name signed in her beautiful penmanship whenever she would sign her drawings and sketches.

I sighed and quietly said her name as I folded the picture up and kissed it before placing it back in my breast pocket and pressed it over my heart.

I promise my love, I’ll fight my way back to you. Remember me. I will come back for you my darling artist.

*My POV. July 21st, 1943*

It had been over a year since Eugene left and life hadn’t been as easy as you would think it would be. I tried to get on with my life working and trying to sell my paintings but with rejection letters coming in left and right, and the workload at the restaurant piling up, I sure wish Gene was still here.

The only upside is when I would visit his parents and make sure our baby boy Deacon was still a happy, healthy dog. Today I had asked to take Deacon for the weekend just to give Dr. and Mrs. Sledge a bit of a break, and since knowing me ever since I was a little girl, they gladly accepted for me taking Deacon, Mrs. Sledge knowing that I needed something of Eugene’s to keep calm by.

As we arrived back at my house after going for our walk in the park, I checked the mail same as every other day. More bills and mortgage payments on the house, but then I came across a letter that was addressed to me and right in the corner it read.

EUGENE SLEDGE.

“Oh Deacy, daddy’s wrote back to us. You wanna hear what he wrote? Huh? You wanna hear what he wrote?” Deacy barked happily and I giggled and led him inside as I said, “Come on let’s go inside and read it.” He barked and raced on inside the house and I followed behind him.

Deacon hoped up onto the couch and I sat down beside him and took my letter opener and slide it through the envelope. Deacon came up onto my lap sniffing the paper so I had to push him back and say.

“Hold on boy let me get it out first of all,” finally I managed to get the letter out and I had seen that it had been written about 4 weeks ago according to the date in the corner. It read as followed;

My dearest, (y/n)

Your words and letters are about the only thing that help bring me comfort in this God forsaken island. It’s always either hot or raining like it does back home during the wet seasons.

I’m so glad that Deacon is doing fine and I can’t thank you enough for taking care of our boy. Please give him my love and tell him that I miss him. But every night when I can, I pull out the picture you gave me before I left and it feels like you’re right there beside me. And it’s shocking how now I’m beginning to look more and more like the picture.

War is brutal and it really changes people. And I’m really glad that you aren’t here to see it, I couldn’t bear it if m best girl changed forever.

In fact funny story, one day when I was looking at the picture, my war partner Snafu (real asshole by the way) he saw me looking at the picture thought I was looking at some porn mag or somethin, so he snatched it away from me and soon he and the other guys in my unit were hassling me. They didn’t believe that my girlfriend the artist ‘captured my ugly mug correctly’ according to them. Telling me that she must either be ‘blind or I had to bribe you to draw me like that’.

I miss you my dove, I miss you so much. Every night I dream about you and our quiet little paradise right in your backyard. Please if you can in the next let that you send, will you include a picture of yourself. Not a photograph but a hand drawn sketch of yourself. I want to see you in art form, draw yourself as beautiful as you make your drawings. (Not to say that you aren’t beautiful in real life because you are, it’s just I’ve never once seen you sketch yourself, and I would like to have a portrait of the beautiful artist that I found myself lucky to call my girl).

I look forward to hearing your response my darling. I love you forever more and I’m always thinking of you.

Yours forever,

Eugene

I laughed and cried as I read his letter. I wiped away the tears and Deacy softly whimpered as he raised his nose up to my cheek and licked my tears away. I laughed sadly as I stroked Deacon’s head and I told him.

“Thanks Deacy, and I know. I miss your daddy too.” I then went over to my desk and took out a sheet of paper and a pen and I began writing my response to him.

My darling Eugene,

Even though this letter arrived four weeks after you wrote this, I am still glad to have received another one at all. It still gives me hope that you are still alive and kicking Jap ass out there. I’m so sorry the weather’s unbearable to you but we’ve survived worse, right?

And I always give your love to our baby boy, he really does miss his daddy so much. Sometimes when I bring him over to my place, he just lays there by the door with his head between his paws just waiting for his daddy to come home.

I on the other hand could be better. I’ve been trying to sell my paintings but each time I’ve gotten rejection letter after rejection letter, I really wish you were here right now. You’ve always known what to say to help boost my confidence up and make me keep striving until one day I get that acceptance letter.

And them boys just be joshin you. My brother’s unit was the same way when he first joined but they eventually became not only brothers in arms but brothers for life. Every now and then the ones who have been honorably discharged come and check up on me just to see how I’ve been holding up. You’re handsome and you always will be handsome.

I’ll try to include a sketch of myself but you know I how feel about it. I never thought I was sketch worthy but for you, I’ll try to come up with something. Maybe then it’ll get your Marine buddies of yours to quite picking on the fact you’re lying about a girl.

I love you Eugene, you’re the light of my life. Keep that promise you made me and come home to me safe and in one piece. Your parents, Deacy and I love and miss you so much.

Your beautiful dove,

(Y/n)

I sighed solemnly and that’s when I noticed my mother’s old camera sitting a few feet away from the entrance to the studio. The wheels and gears began turning in my head as I sat up and grabbed it and tried to see if I could get it to work since it hadn’t been used ever since James died 2 years ago.

When I finally managed to get a good test picture out, I placed the camera a few feet away from the studio couch and angled it to the exact spot I wanted it in. I set the timer and quickly went over to the couch.

“Deacon come here boy.” I whistled and he soon hopped up and set half of his body up on my lap while his lower body came around behind me. I looked up at the camera stroking Deacon’s head so that it would make him stay while the camera soon flashed and took the picture. As I stood up, Deacon hopped off and I went to grab the picture and let it get developed properly.

Once the picture was ready, I took out a sheet of plane paper and a basic pencil and studied the picture and did my best to copy the exact picture into drawing format.

Of course due to my insecurities of drawing myself, my trash bin was filled all the way to the top of failed sketches. Also my job kept me pretty busy so I had to hold off on the sketch for what felt like forever.

Until finally about a month later, I managed to get semi-correct with my portion shown in the picture. Deacon of course looked good as per usual, he’s always been my favorite thing to sketch besides Gene. Whether he was running, chasing the ducks by the river, swimming or lying right under the sun, Deacon was worthy of sketching.

I hoped that Gene didn’t think I was bailing out on him for this late response so I added a quick note to the picture apologizing for taking so damn long. I also went ahead and placed the photo in with the letter and drawing just so he’d understand why it took me so long.

I didn’t hear anything back from Gene until the following year.

1944 was a cruel year. Not only for the war and the lives we were losing but I was depressed because one day Deacon could barely walk anymore. I went to pick him up for the weekend but he barely even noticed I was there. I had asked Mrs. Sledge what was wrong and she too didn’t know. She told me Deacon wouldn’t eat, drink, and he barely got up from his little dog bed.

So we took him to the vets office and it turned out that he had a tumor in his stomach and that there was nothing that they could do about it. So we had no choice but to put Deacon to sleep.

To show him that he wouldn’t be alone, I stayed with him as the vet gave him the injection and my last words to him as I stroked his head gently.

“You’ve been a good boy Deacon. And even though daddy couldn’t be here to say goodbye, just know that he loved you soo much. You’re a good boy Deacy, mama loves you so much and she always will.”

From that day I barely picked up another pencil, hell I barely even went into my studio anymore because of that. Not only that but without Deacon, I began to have nightmares of one day answering the door and like a repeat of what happened with James, the office of the Marines telling me that Eugene had be KIA.

The only upside was when Sidney came back and made a surprise visit. I almost couldn’t believe it, at first I thought I was dreaming but I soon realized that it wasn’t a dream at all. Sidney Phillips had returned home to me, my best friend since childhood had survived the war and returned home.

He told me how he and Eugene actually reunited with each other on the island of Pavuvu several months back. He told me all about the islands he went to, and of course Sidney Phillips can’t go one conversation without bringing up all the exotic women he got to meet whether in Australia, the nurses on base camp, even British girls.

“I swear Phillips you can never go one day without bringing a beautiful girl into a conversation.”

“Ahh c’mon (y/n) you know that no matter how many girls I meet, you’re always gonna be my number 1.”

“Yeah right.” I teased.

“I swear as a Marine you will always be my number 1 best girl, even once I find me a lady of my own you will still be my number 1. You’ve always been like a little sister to me (n/n) and nothing’s ever gonna change that.” I smiled softly at him and he opened his arms and I fell into his embrace and hugged him back. “And Eugene was faithful to you, wouldn’t even look at another woman.”

I slapped him in the back of the head making him cry out in mock agony and I told him.

“You always have to get a rile out of me don’t yah?”

“Well you two are just so adorable that it’s practically my sworn duty to tease you both to no end. I’ve been wanting you both to get together since our start of junior high. Oh speaking of which, I have something for you,” he reached into his pocket and pulled out an envelope. “Eugene wanted me to give this to you once my licenses expired. He also told me to tell you that he’s sorry that this letter couldn’t be delivered sooner and he explains it more in mushy gooey lovey-dovey detail that you both talk about in your letters.”

“I swear Sid if you read this letter I’m gonna beat your ass from Mobile straight to New Orleans.”

“I promise I didn’t read a single thing, I just know that’s how you both talk. Goof Lord I still remember all the love letters Gene used to make me pass to you in class back in high school. What a nightmare.” I shoved him playfully and opened up the letter and I immediately recognized Eugene’s penmanship.

My darling girl,

It pains my heart to hear from your last letter of what you’ve been going through. And those stuck-up, high horsed business men don’t know true talent when they see it. Your work is a gift from God, I would give up every bone in my body if I could draw half as good as you.

It hurts to not be there to hold you in my arms, to tell you that everything will be okay, to kiss away your tears of heartbreak. But never doubt your skills, I still believe that one day someone’s gonna come and beg to you on their hands and knees for just a simple sketch of your work.

I’m sorry to have to tell you this but this will unfortunately be my last letter for a while. They’re sending my squad out to Okinawa and we can’t risk letters getting intercepted, I asked Sid here to give this to you personally so that it would immediately get to you and that you wouldn’t have to wait for months on end for this one.

If only I could control it, I would say screw it I’ve got a girl worried sick about me, let me write to her I would but unfortunately I can’t. But, I keep your self-portrait right next to mine over my heart. And of course once Snafu and the other guys saw both the photograph and the drawing of you and Deacon, they did what all Marine men do from not seeing a woman for months even years on end.

But don’t worry I set them straight and told them that if they made one single crude comment about you, then my boot would be shoved straight up their asses. And I thought your drawing was beautiful, it’s just how I remember you my beautiful tulip.

I will always love you and you are always on my mind. I hope you realize that and that I dream of you every night, holding you once again in my arms. Because I still have a promise to keep, and you know that once I make a promise, it never gets broken.

All the best love my best girl. Stay strong my best girl.

All the love,

Eugene

P.S. keep and eye out for Sid, ever since joining the Marines he’s gotten an even bigger head than usual, make sure he stays out of trouble back home.

“So be honest, did he mention me at all?” I heard Sid asked. Suddenly I fell to my knees and felt my throat choke up. “(Y/n)? What is it what’s going on?” Tears formed in my eyes and I openly wept.

“I can’t…..I can’t do this anymore!”

“Hey, hey, hey c’mere sweetheart, c’mere” I felt Sidney wrap his arms around me and I wept into his chest. The only thing to come out of his mouth were words of comfort as he held me tighter and rocked me from side to side.

“I miss him Sid, I—I miss him so goddamn much!”

“So do I baby girl, so do I.” he whispered as his hand rested on top of my head and I continued to cry and sniffle into his chest.

“What if this is the last letter I ever get from him? What if he—I…..I know I’ll lose him. Just like I dream every night. I’m gonna lose him just like everyone else in my life.” I sobbed out.

“Hey now, you look at me (y/n) (l/n).” He separated from me and gripped my shoulder tightly. I winced at the strong grip he was giving me and at seeing my face wince that at least got him to loosen up his grip as he said, “I’m sorry, but what kind of bullshit was that that I just heard out of your mouth? Eugene was too damn stubborn to give up when he had that heart murmur as he tried to enlist. He’s too damn stubborn to let his unit get him down when they would tease him about your gooey relationship, and he’s too stubborn to love anyone else but you. You strive him to be better. He will come back to you (y/n). Even if I have to perform some freaky voodoo magic just to bring him back from the dead to do so.”

“Do—do you really think so?”

“I know so sweetie bell. Gene loves you too much to let you be alone. After all that you’ve been through, he won’t kick the bucket just yet. Not unless you’re there by his side and you both are old and gray with 12 mini yous named after me by his bedside.”

“12?” I choked out laughing as I stared up at him.

“Not enough, okay how about 24 then.”

“God Sid Gene was sure right about one thing, your big head has gotten even worse.”

“I deny that. I should have him take that back, so when he does return you give him this from me to him.” He then wrapped an arm around me and proceeded to give me a hard yet playful noogie.

“Gah Sid stop it!!” I laughed out as I tried to free myself from his grip but he kept a tight hold of me.

*Aug. 15th, 1945 3rd Person POV*

It finally happened. The Japanese surrendered to the Allied powers and it was on this day that WW2 had finally come to an end. After America had suffered 4 long, agonizing years since the bombing of Pearl Harbor the military men from each branch were free to go home and return to their families that they had to leave behind.

Eugene Sledge rode on the train bound from East coast to west coast taking all the military men and woman back to their hometowns. As he buttered up his biscuit one of his friends, Romus Burgin asked him.

“What about you Sledgehammer, got any plans back at Mobile?”

“No job, no plans, but the first thing I’m gonna do is see my girl again.”

“Ahh right, the artist. Think she could paint me like one of those French boys?” teased Snafu as he leaned up against the wall.

“Please your ugly mug would break her canvas before she could even start.” Teased Eugene which made the three of them laugh.

“Think she’s gonna come greet you back in Mobile?”

“That is if she hasn’t gotten her big break yet.” Answered Eugene as he popped a piece of his biscuit into his mouth.

The next day, Eugene finally arrived back in his hometown of Mobile, Alabama. He had woken up to see that Snafu and the rest of his unit had left, leaving him the only one in his booth. He gathered his sack and exit the train and walked along till finally he saw his best friend, Sidney Phillips parked along the station standing in front of his car.

Eugene smiled as he walked up to his best friend and tossed him his sack as he said.

“You wanna take this for me or what?” Sidney laughed as he caught the sack and patted his best friend’s shoulder and said.

“Good to see you Eugene.” Gene walked over to the passenger side of the car while Sidney tossed his friend’s sack into the backseat and got into the driver’s seat and soon pulled out of the station and headed on down the road.

As they drove, Eugene asked.

“You talked to (y/n) lately?”

“Check in whenever I can. But you know her, sometimes she’s as stubborn as an ox. Which makes her perfect for you because you’re pretty much the same way.” Eugene sarcastically laughed at Sidney who snickered and then Eugene said.

“What was she doing last you checked on her?” Sidney sighed heavily and said.

“To be honest Gene, I don’t know. I mean this last year has been pretty rough on her but I won’t say any more than that. That’s something for you and her to discuss in your own time. I made a vow to not spill any beans of her secrets.” Eugene nodded in understandment, meanwhile feeling his heart clench at the fact that his girl was suffering, from what he had no idea but he knew he was gonna try to make everything right again.

Finally after driving for about an hour and a half, they reached their destination; (Y/n)’s house. Sidney had parked a few yards away from the front door as a way of surprising (y/n) much like he did when he had returned from war.

“Go and get your girl Eugene.”

“Keep it running for us will yah?” Eugene said. Sidney nodded then Eugene opened the passenger side door and got out of Sidney’s car.

*Eugene’s POV*

I now stood on grounds that I haven’t stepped foot on for what felt like a lifetime ago. I walked up the gravel road until I reached her front yard. Thankfully I didn’t have to go in because right there sleeping on the front porch swing was my beautiful girl.

As quietly as I could, I walked up the three front steps of her porch and stood over her. She certainly has changed since the last time I saw her; her hair now appeared to be shoulder length as she would usually keep her hair up in a messy bun whenever she would sleep, she certainly has grown as her face now looked more mature than that child-like face I’ve always came to love so much.

But she was still as beautiful as the day I left for the Marines.

She had one hand tucked underneath her head while the other was placed on top of one of her many sketchbooks. I slowly reached out and stroked away a strand of her hair and caressed her soft cheek. The first time touching something this soft in what felt like eternity.

She practically looked like Snow White sleeping in her glass coffin, and with the sun bouncing off her giving her that halo look, it was like looking at an angel.

I smiled down at her then I slowly leaned forward and I almost hated to do this but I had to, I hadn’t kissed my girl in forever and if I didn’t do it now, then I’d really go crazy. I gently pressed my lips to hers and god it really did feel like I was home now. Her soft, plump yet slightly chapped lips from all the times she’s licked her lips or bit then whenever she was fully concentrating on a piece she’d be working on, felt like heaven on mine.

After the first soft kiss, I kissed her again and this time I felt her sleepily kiss me back. I smiled into the kiss before I backed away from her, her long eyelashes fluttering like butterfly wings as she started to stir and wake up.

*My POV*

I was having the first perfect dream in months. Eugene had come back alive and unharmed and the two of us were down in our little heaven at the lake and that’s when he leaned forward and kissed me.

But the strangest thing happened. Unlike this kiss, it felt almost too real. Like I was actually being kissed physically. As Eugene separated from me, he told me as he faded into darkness.

“Wake up Snow White, wake up.” Soon my dream disappeared into darkness. I softly moaned and stirred awake and that’s when I saw someone in Marine uniform kneeling right beside me. At first I thought it was some sick pervert taking advantage of a sleeping girl on her front porch, but the face soon cleared up and kneeling before me was Eugene Sledge.

My Eugene.

“I guess the saying is true, if you kiss a princess with true love’s kiss, she’ll wake up.”

“Eugene” I muttered softly. I hesitantly reached up to cup his face, fearing that this was still a dream. My heart hammering away like a sledgehammer. He softly smiled at me before taking my hand and placing it over his heart. Even through the uniform, I could still feel his heartbeat. I choked out. “I’ve only dreamed of this about a million times and every time I end up waking up and crying hysterically because you always end up gone in the end. I can’t handle it again if this is a dream. Please, please to God in heaven let this be real.”

“It is my beautiful dove, I’ve come back to you. You don’t need to cry hysterically for me anymore.” He said as he cupped my face with both of his hands, his thumbs stroking the top of my cheeks. His touch sent shivers up my spine as his eyes bored into mine. I lowered my head and wept out.

“Oh yes I do!” Eugene then pressed his lips against mine and I wrapped my arms around his shoulders as we both kissed each other.

His chapped lips clamped onto mine with the most gentlest yet urgent pressure as I felt his strong arms now wrap around my back bringing me down to his lap cradling me while still keeping his lips on mine. I felt his arms go under my knees as he picked me up bridal style and spun me around softly.

Even though our lips separated from each other, our noses didn’t as they kept grazing against each other and we both stared into each other’s eyes. His brown eyes staring deeply into my (e/c) eyes. Both of us filled with tears of joy.

He set me down on my feet but kept a strong grip around my back as we both smiled at each other lovingly. I placed my hand on his cheek and he nuzzled into my palm kissing it while the back of his hand brushed against my cheek, his thumb wiping away any tears that came streaming down like a river.

“Every day for 4 years…..I—I hoped and dreamed that you’d come back to me, but this past year I began to fear that you weren’t I….I tried so hard but I just couldn’t……”

“Shhh, shh, shshsh hey. I’m here now, I’m right here. This is real (y/n), I kept my promise to you. I came back for you. And I’m never leaving your side again.” He said as he brought me closer to him and embraced me tightly. I hugged him back with just as much strength as I could as I wept into his shoulder.

“Hold me.” I wept out.

“Ohh forever and always.” He said.

“Tighter!” I cried out and soon I felt Eugene’s arms wrap around me tighter bringing me closer to him. He kissed my temple, the crown of my forehead, the top of my head, anywhere he could reach assuring me that he was here.

“Although I broke my promise about the picture, I lost it in the last recon mission I went on before the Japs surrendered.”

“I don’t give a damn about the picture,” I looked up at him and cupped his face in my hand, “All I care about is you. You’ve come back to me in one piece, just like you promised.”

“And I never break my promises to my best girl.” He said with that loving smile on his face as he leaned against my palm and kissed it once more. He then brought me in for another kiss and held me in his arms once more.

The day went on and I went with Gene to go see his parents, his ma was about as emotional as I was to see her baby boy back home alive, and his pa had never been more proud of his son in all his years.

That night we all had a welcome home feast at the Sledge manor, Eugene, his parents, myself, his brother Ed and his wife Martha. Everyone was full of smiles and laughs as Edward told us war stories and even gifted Mary with the German Nazi flag that he himself took down during one of his missions.

I noticed Eugene hiding in the corner so I walked up towards him and took his hand in mine as I told him.

“You got no war stories to tell?”

“What’s there to tell? I fought and killed Japs in the worst possible way, seen things no human being should ever see, and there should be men that deserve to be home with their families, not still on those islands rotting away like trash.” I stroked the back of his hand comfortingly and I said.

“I’m not saying tell the stories of what you’ve done. Tell me more about them boys in your unit. The way you talked about them in some of your letters to me, they seemed like you all have become true brothers. Much like James’ unit did. C’mon Gene at least tell me what they were like.” I dragged him out of the darkness and the two of us sat together on the couch and he told me everything about every man he had ever known while serving out there.

He told me about the friend’s he’s made, what he learned from them and told me of how they’d always poke fun at each other but to them it was all out of love, the Marine way anyways.

When it was time for bed, Mrs. Sledge offered me a guest bedroom to sleep in that was right next door to Gene’s bedroom as well as some night dresses for me to wear. But I woke up hearing the sounds of Eugene screaming and crying. I raced out of my room to see Mrs. Sledge looking from the master bedroom worried while Dr. Sledge sat on a chair looking solemn with sorrow and regret.

“What’s wrong with him?”

“He’s dealing with the past trauma of what the war has done to him. He may not have any physical scars but the mental ones will remain forever.” I went over to Eugene’s door but before I could open it, his father told me, “I would force him awake. It will make him lash out at you, and I know Eugene would be even more devastated if he found out he had hurt you.”

“I love him Dr. Sledge, please at least let me try to get a hold of him.” He turned to his wife who looked at him with sad eyes before he sighed solemnly to me and he said.

“Very well (y/n), but don’t touch him or move him at all. That’s usually what causes Veterans like Eugene to lash out.” I thanked him and went inside Eugene’s room.

Even from the darkness and the light of the moon, I could see Eugene thrashing around, sweat glistened on his face and tears staining his cheeks. His knuckles burning white from the grip he had on his sheets as he kept crying and screaming in his sleep.

I slowly walked up to Eugene and grabbed a chair from his desk and sat beside him. I tried to remember the lullaby my old nanny Harriet used to sing to me and my brother as well as my father when he was going through this. I thought and thought about how the words went since she sang it in her native language of Swahili until finally it came to me.

Imba wimbo

Wa upepo

Wakati unajiwa na

Imba wimbo wa upepo

Wakati ndoto tamu

Lala mpaka usiku uisheni

Upepo wa usiku

Wimbo wanko na

Wimbo wangu inaendelea milele

As I sang the song, Eugene began to calm down within the first few lyrics of the song until he settled down completely and his eyes soon opened up and looked up at me. I smiled down at him and stroked the hair out of his face and I said to him.

“It’s okay Genie, you’re not there anymore. You’re in Mobile once again, far from that god awful place. You’re with your family, Sidney, and me. You’re back home with your dove.”

“My dove?”

“That’s right Eugene, your beautiful dove is here.” I said as I took his hand and placed it over my heart. He looked up at me before breaking down into sobs.

“I’m sorry…..I’m so sorry.”

“You’ve got nothing to apologize for Eugene Sledge, you hear me boy? Not a damn thing to apologize for.” I said as I embraced him, laying his head over my heart as I continued to sob. I rubbed his back and stroked my fingers through his hair as I kissed the top of his head and hummed the song once more, hopefully to put him to sleep.

Once I felt him relax and I looked down to see that he had in fact fallen asleep once more, I stayed with Eugene the entire night and never once left his side.

Days passed by and now it was the time for the ball. Every military man was decked out in uniform in honor of celebrating the victory against the Axis powers. I of course had to arrive late because of an interview I had for a new job.

Ever since getting let go from the restaurant, I was jobless and frantically searching for a new job since I practically gave up drawing after Deacon died. Music was playing from the orchestra, the manor was crowded with people both inside and out all dressed to the full T in either tuxes, dresses or Military uniforms.

I walked around hoping to see either Sid or Gene in this crowd when I heard a voice call my name.

“(Y/n)!” I turned around and saw Mary.

“Mary.” She raced up to me and we both hugged each other and kissed each other’s cheeks.

“How did the interview go?”

“Horrible. The guy was a creep I think I should give up the job search.”

“Well you know my brother owns a law firm, I could help get you a job there as his new secretary.”

“No, no Mary I can’t ask that of you.”

“(Y/n) at least consider it. I mean I did ask you last minute to be my Maid of Honor after my first one had to step down because of the sudden premature birth of her baby.”

“I’ll think about it, but you know how I feel about working behind desks.”

“I know honey, you lookin for Eugene?” I nodded and she said, “Well Sidney went out back to find him since he had snuck out. Been gone for god knows how long, come with me and we can bring those two Marines of ours back in here and dance the night away.” She took my arm and guided me towards the backyard.

We soon found the boys outside at the bottom of the stairs that led to the garden. Mary smirked and strutted towards the boys and cried out.

“Sidney Phillips!”

“Yeah!” he cried out as he turned around.

“Will you get back in here and dance with the woman who loves you?”

“I’m coming boss lady!” Sid proclaimed as he stood up. He then turned to Gene and said to him, “why don’t you come on in? And we can find the woman you love and dance with her.”

“She’s already present and accounted for Phillips.” I said as I now stood by Mary. Gene laughed but declined the invite and soon Sidney and Mary went back on inside arm to arm while I walked down and stood by Eugene.

“Have I told you, you look beautiful in (f/c)?” He said to me. I looked down at the (f/c) dress that I had chosen for tonight’s ball….well more like Mary dragged me out to the mall and bought it for me.

It was a floor length velvet dress and I had on the same color velvet gloves that went up to my elbows. Mary had helped me earlier that morning for my interview by curling my hair into gentle waves and helped me with my makeup and I just kept that with the dress I would eventually wear for the ball tonight.

“Mary picked out the dress, I had nothing to do with it. I almost didn’t even wanna come till she told me you were coming. Just without the uniform on.”

“I don’t feel the need to see why I should. I did what I did because I had to. I did what I was ordered to do, I don’t see why I need to brag about all the horrors I’ve done wearing the uniform that I did those things in.”

“And I don’t blame you, besides uniform or not I know what the love of my life did to serve his country. And I’m always gonna be proud of him for it, no matter what.” He smiled softly at me and took my hand in his and placed a kiss on the back of my hand.

“How did the interview go today?”

“Horrible, the guy kept looking at my breasts than anything else. He barely listened to a word I said at all, so I just walked right out of there in the middle of the interview. Spent hours in the shower trying to get the interview off of my, that’s why I’m so late.”

“And it’s a good thing you did. Now do you mind telling me where his address is so that I can beat his ass in for eyein my girl.” I laughed softly and said to him.

“If I knew I would tell you, how did registering for Alabama Poly-Tech go?” I could tell from the expression on his face that it didn’t go too well. “So I guess we’re both in the same boat of terrible days then, huh?”

“They asked whether I did any accounting or journalism while in the Corp.” I scoffed and shook my head.

“I’m sorry Gene.” I wrapped my hands around his arm and leaned up against his shoulder, hoping that would give him some comfort.

“Do you think you can paint me something once we get to your place?” I sighed heavily and looked up at him and said.

“I don’t know Gene……”

“Please? I’ve missed seeing my girl work in her prime element. The way you’d move your pencil when sketching out the bases, the way you’d stroke your brush against the canvas.”

“I haven’t really done anything artistic since Deacon died, and the nightmares of you ending up dead only kept giving me negative influences when it came to my art. After I did one drawing of you dead on the battlefield I immediately burned that picture in the fireplace and swore I wouldn’t paint or draw again until this war was over. Even now I think I’ve lost all inspiration and creativity to even pick up a pencil to even sketch a flower.” I looked down at my feet shamefully as tears formed in my eyes.

I felt Eugene’s fingers softly cup my chin as he raised it up and I was now staring into his hazelnut brown eyes.

“Then let me be your inspiration. You always called me your muse didn’t you? And now that I’m back, I can stand by you and help you figure out what to paint or draw. We’re not thinking of trying to impress others, we’re doing it for the hell of it. To get back the artistic girl I fell in love with the day I first met her in art class back in the 2nd grade.” I smiled at him and said to him.

“I love you Eugene Sledge.”

“And I love you, (y/n) (l/n).” He leaned his forehead against mine and we stayed in that position for awhile until Eugene secretly took my hands and wrapped my left one around his shoulder and I felt his right hand go to my waist as he softly swayed.

“I thought Eugene Sledge didn’t dance?” I teased him.

“You missed the second part; Eugene Sledge don’t dance unless he wants to. And when it comes to his most favorite artist who is also the light of his life, he’ll gladly dance until the end of time.” I smiled and leaned my head on his shoulder and felt him kiss my temple while the two of us kept swaying from side to side.

We soon ditched the party and now we were back at my place. For the first time in over a year, I stood before my art studio. A dark aurora surrounded it like a dark storm cloud over the horizon.

“It’s okay doll, we’ll go in together.” Eugene said as he took my hand in his and gave it a tight squeeze. He did not once force me inside the studio or drag me into it, he waited right there behind me and allowed me to lead him inside. We stood there for lord knows how long until finally I got the courage to step inside the studio.

We sat down at the couch and Eugene handed me a sketch book and pencil. He then brought me close, having me sit on his lap with his arms wrapped around my waist as his head leaned against mine. I opened the sketchbook up and I asked him.

“What would you like?”

“Whatever you feel like drawing. I know I’ll love it either way.” He kissed my temple gingerly and moved his head onto my shoulder. “Take your time darlin, there’s no hurry.” I shakily inhaled through my nose and exhaled through my mouth and pressed the pencil point onto the paper and just paused there.

I thought and thought about what I wanted to draw. I started doing random scribbles at either the top or corners of the page until finally like the flick of a switch, something came to me.

I began drawing out the basic shape of what I wanted. I tried to work out the highlights and shadowing of the drawing. There were multiple mistakes so I had to go through and erase them to the point I almost had no more eraser. That was until Gene handed me one of my 2 inch erasers.

After what felt like forever and multiple mistakes and smudges later, I came to the verdict of a semi-decent picture.

It was of Eugene lying on his back, holding a tiny flower towards the sun.

“It’s silly but it was the first thing that came to my mind…..”

“It’s beautiful, just like you.” I looked up at him and whispered to him gratefully.

“Thank you.” He turned to look at me and simply kissed my temple and leaned his head against mine as he whispered in my ear.

“Draw another one, this time of you my darling dove.” I turned the page and decided to draw a picture of me sitting by the lake, my feet in the water with ripples forming.

The rest of the night was spent me drawing and painting of pictures of either me, Eugene or the two of us together. Until finally we fell asleep right there on the couch cuddled up together holding onto each other.

A few days later, I was currently with Eugene out along his front yard. The two of us sitting underneath the grand tree that grew in their front yard. A small blanket spread out underneath us, my head was resting over Eugene’s chest, his heartbeat echoing through my ear softly beating out my name. While his arms were wrapped around me, his left hand stroking my head while his right kept a protective yet gentle grip along my waist.

“Honestly Eugene, you look like a gangster with those glasses on.” His mother’s voice spoke up as she came towards us with two glasses of iced tea. It’s true Gene was wearing circular brownish sunglasses over his eyes but I told her.

“I think it makes him look handsome, really brings out his hair a bit more.”

“Thank you darling showing some appreciation.” I giggled as his mother softly shook her head at us and handed us our tea glasses which I thanked her for.

“Your brother’s coming for supper this evening. Evidently he’s been named some kind of supervisor at the bank.” She said to us as she now stood in front of us.

“Better get our money out of that bank.” Eugene bluntly said. I playfully hit his chest and muttered.

“Behave yourself.” Now not that I don’t appreciate Mrs. Sledge, I mean she’s been good to me all these years, especially for the last 10 when my family was going through death, depression and financial troubles. She became a second mother to me especially after my mama died, but I knew there had to be a reason why she was still out here talking to us.

And my suspicions were proven correct once she said.

“I’m sure Edward could arrange a starting position for you. As well as an assistant desk job for you (y/n) at the bank.”

“We’re never gonna work at any bank mother.” Eugene said.

“Well….you need to make a plan for the future. The both of you.”

“Our plan is to do nothing for a while, we both talked about it the other night and agreed together that this is what we want to do.”

It’s true. One night while cuddling in bed together, Eugene and I started talking about where we should both go from here. I still wasn’t up-to-par of my drawings that I would normally send in to various companies or museums, and plus no one was hiring so I was practically jobless. While Eugene failed to meet any requirements college requires all because the Marine Corp thought that education was worthless when the real thing you need to know is how to survive.

But of course civilized people don’t know that, nor do they see that to be a good check off your college career, so Gene and I made an agreement to just not do anything for a while.

Just remain together and catch up on the 4 years lost with each other.

“How long is a while Eugene?”

“Leave them alone Mary Frank.” Eugene’s father spoke up. His mother soon walked away from us and whispered to her husband. Patronizing us calling Eugene a boy and me a girl but his father told her.

“Mary Frank you have no idea. What men like him have been through. And (y/n) had to suffer not only the death of her brother and mother, but her father suffered much worse. In a way she’s experiencing what our son has been through just in her own way. Now go on let them be.” With that Mrs. Sledge walked back into the house while Dr. Sledge stayed out for a moment longer before heading back inside.

Eugene kissed my forehead once more before reaching up for his tea glass and taking a sip of it. He turned to me and held it to me. I raised my head and he placed his glass at my lips and I took a sip of his tea before he set it back down and I lay my head back over his heart while his fingers stroked through my hair.

Later that day, Eugene and I made a hike to a field that was about a half mile away from his place. All around you could see tall grass and beautiful wild flowers that varied from pink to yellow specifically in that order, some logs and boulders, rising hills and sometimes birds would come down and sit upon the logs before taking off flying again.

Eugene held up a small yellow flower between his fingers raising it up in front of the sun and that’s when I found myself chuckling.

“What’s so funny?”

“You ever hear the expression ‘life intimates art?’”

“I think you might’ve mentioned it once or twice.”

“Well you remember the first picture I drew in over a year, the night we left the ball?” He then began to piece it together and I laughed softly as he smiled and turned towards me and brushed the flower against my nose making me smile at him and he smiled back.

“Now there’s that smile I’ve been dying to see the second I got home. My happy girl is finally back.”

“All because of you Genie. Had you—then I don’t know where I’d be.”

“Let’s not think about that right now,” he picked up my left hand and very gingerly with his thumb, caressed my left ring finger as he said, “Let’s focus on the now. No more ‘what ifs’ whatever comes our way, we face them together, no matter what.”

“Together forever—”

“Forever more.” I looked down and the next thing I saw, he had tied the yellow flower around my ring finger. I looked back up at Eugene and his eyes held such strength in them after witnessing such horror for as long as he did, but there was also a gentleness to his brown eyes, a warm, affectionate gaze as he stared back at me.

I leaned forward and kissed him and he kissed me back cupping my face gently in his hands. Soon the two of us spent the rest of the day until sunset walking through the fields hand in hand, my flower engagement ring still wrapped around my wedding finger until the day in one year time, it would be replaced with a real wedding ring.

In the years to come, Eugene would receive his Ph.D. in Biology then spend a career teaching at the University of Montevallo, Alabama, while in 1954 had gotten a call from the Washington D.C. art’s institution and they signed a deal with me for their Marine art exhibit that allowed either former Marines or spouses of Marines to write or paint what war has been like for them.

I’ve sold over hundreds of my drawings and paintings to the exhibit and I also teach at the same University as Eugene as the Art’s professor for realism and 3D drawing.

Managing to convince him decades later after finding his notes from the war, I told Eugene to get it published as a book and in 1981 his memoir With the Old Breed at Peleliu and Okinawa was published. Together Eugene and I had 2 sons and three grandchildren before he passed away in 2001.

Two months later after his death, I died surrounded by our sons and grandchildren and in heaven I was greeted by Eugene and we spent the rest of eternity together in heaven along every other comrade in arms that Eugene had come to know, and I was reunited with my brother and my parents.

#joe mazzello #joe mazzello imagines #eugene sledge #joe mazzello x reader #the pacific #the pacific fanfiction #the pacific imagine #the pacific imagines #eugene sledge imagine #eugene sledge imagines #eugene sledge x reader #hbo the pacific #joe mazzello imagine

224 notes · View notes