#yes I know his hair tips are orange but I didn’t have a orange pencil

[pastellosser]

Some anime boi sketches

#illustrators on tumblr #traditional drawing #doodlies #demon slayer zenitsu #mha kaminari #bnha denki #mha kirishima #i dont watch demon slayer but I really like his design ok #yes I know his hair tips are orange but I didn’t have a orange pencil

[rudystopit]

Hey uh- first time doing these but could I get a //yes I know this is a rare one but stay with me here\\ present mic or Midnight one? I feel like they don’t get as much love <:( Putting that aside I really like your stuff! <3 I hope you have the best of your remaining Day/Night

summary: hizashi texts you about a headache and asks if you have anything for it. he comes to your classroom and you accidentally gave him the wrong pills.

warnings: nsfw, edging, denial, femdom, handjob, post cum torture and overstimulation.

wc: 2k

“this headache is killing me,” hizashi whines. he leans against your arm as you dig through you purse. you find a baggy of pills in one of the pockets. you grab one of the little orange pills and handed it to him. he pops it into his mouth then swallows harshly.

“you’re a life saver y/n,” you shoo him away. he rolls his eyes and walks away. you watch as his blonde hair sways as he walks. you smile to yourself and make your way to your own class.

you sit at your large desk as the students leave for the night. you looked over at the pile of papers you have to grade. you groan and slide the pile closer. you go through and check for the correct answers before figuring out what the total they got right was. you finished off with a percent written at the top.

your phone vibrates in your desk. you slide open the drawer. you look at the name. ashi. you give your phone a curious look. you tap in your passcode as his message glares out from the screen.

you grab your purse with a slam on the desk. you search of the bag. you look at the pills. they look like drug store Ibuprofen. you look closer at the pills.

“shit,” you yell. you had put the rae “in the mood” pills in your bag to give to nemuri, but you completely forgot about it. honestly you have no idea why she wanted them but it’s better if you didn’t think too much about it.

you quickly texted hizashi back that you had accidentally gave him women sex pills instead of ibuprofen, with a little smile face. the little read receipt came up but no answer.

the little read message appeared.

you stared down at your phone. you waited for him to answer. you tried not to laugh at the fact that he could be somewhere in the school all hot and bothered. you think about how he’s probably in the teachers lounge trying not to think about how tight his pants are or even better he’s in a closet trying to... relieve himself.

suddenly your door flys open. hizashi is breathing heavy. his dripping in sweat. he’s not in this normal outfit but instead wearing dark jeans and a black t shirt. his hair styled in a high ponytail. he looks down at the ground while he catches his breath.

“you,” his voice is raspy. his hand falls from the door. he looks up at you. “you... you gave me a horny pill!!” he yells.

“it’s was an accident,” you laugh.

“ARE YOU LAUGHING!!” he yells and walks to your desk.

you lean forward in your seat. letting your low top show off your beautiful chest. he stops at the first row of desks. “yes, it’s really funny,” you smirk at him.

“you take one then,” he crosses his arms.

you place your hands on the desk and slowly stand up. the chair rolling away from you. you drag your index finger cross your desk as you walk around to the front of it. you lean against the front as you cross your arms.

he looks at you. he licks his lips. he takes a step towards you. you just hold out your hand to stop him. he stops dead in his tracks. You look at his quivering form. His blonde hair was relaxed and up in a ponytail. Sweat fell down along his flushed skin. His chest rises and falls as his shirt starts to stick to his chest.

His eyes couldn’t focus on one part of you. His gaze started at your eyes and fell to your lips then it traces your jaw and to your chin. He swallows harshly as his eyes admire your collarbones. His pupils were blown as they flicked down your shirt. He bites his lip as he finished his journey down your body. The tight pencil shirt was the last thing he admired before walking up to you again.

His breathing was labored as his hands wrapped around your waist. His warm breath hitting your face. He looked down at your devilish grin. Your hand slides ever so slowly under his shirt. His stomach tightens at your cold touch. His body is fiery hot as you lightly brush your fingers across his broad chest.

He pulls you closer to him as his fingers graze his sensitive nipples. His eyes slam close and his mouth clamp shut. With your other hand, you cup his face. He leans into your hand. You smile and pinch his nipple in between your fingers. He inhales sharply, trying not to moan. You place a kiss on his cheek. Then you lean into his ear, your breath sending shivers down his back.

You chuckle at his reaction and pull away from him. His grip around you waist tightens and he gives you a pleading look.you push his hands away from your body as you slide from in between him and the desk. he watches you walk away.

you push your chair to the end of the desk and tell him to sit. he quickly does as he’s told and sits down patiently waiting for your next move.

“undo them,” you point at his jeans. he quickly undoes his belt then unbuttons them. the sound of his pants unzipping makes your stomach tighten. you close your eyes and steady your breathing, trying to hide your excitement.

the bulge in his boxers sat in between the top of the jeans. you walked in front of him and stank to your knees. you pull his belt out from the loops. he looks down at you in confusion.

you pull the belt through the clasp and back through creating two loops. you grab his hands and put them into the loops and pulled tight then securing it.

you stood up and peered down at his excited body. his face sweetly and red. his hair stuck his forehead and his hand tied together on his lap.

you put your hands on the armrest of the chair and leaned forward. you smiled at him and he did his best to smile back. you leaned in closer and planted a soft kiss on his lips. he practically melted in seconds and feverishly wanted more when you pulled away.

your hand played with the hem of his boxers. his holds back a moan cause by the friction of the boxers moving. He face is deep red and sweat rolls down his face. His eyes give you a pitiful look as your hand slips into his boxers.

hizashi’s head rolls back against the chair. You swear his lip was about to bleed from him bitting down on it. You stare down at his hot and bothered state. A devilish grin forms on your face as your index finger slides along the underside of his sensitive member. His breathing becomes a small whine as his eyes tighten shut.

“Come on, ashi,” you lean down and whisper into his ear. He shutters at your breath hitting his ear. “I want to hear you pretty little whines.” He slowly shakes his head no. your finger traces his red hot tip. “What? You don’t want to show me how good I make you feel?” You sighed. You slid you hand out of boxers

You walked to the door to leave until Hizashi yelled out, “please y/n,”

You stand next to the door, “please what?” You ask.

“Please, help me, y’n,” he mumbles.

“What was that?” You ask, bringing your hand to your ear, “I don’t I heard you clearly. Can you speak up hun?”

“Y/n, can you please help me fix the problem you started?” He yelled.

You lock the door and walked back to him. “Do you still have a headache?” You ask.

“Huh?” He looks at you.

“Do you still have a headache?”

“No,” he answers with hesitation.

“Then I fixed the problem you came it me for,” you smile and sit on the desk.

“Y/n, please, I need you,” he begs.

You bring your hand to his head and creased his hair. He closes his eyes. You grab a fist full of his hair and pulled him closer to your face. the expression on his face only begged for mercy. You bring your lips to his. His hands reach up to legs. His finger tips grazing the skin underneath your skirt. Your free hand smacking them away.

You got off the desk and let go of hizashi’s blond hair. You sink in-between his knees. You pull out his dick as it’s covered in pre cum, probably has a wet spot on his boxers. You let your hand slide up and down on his bursting cock. You look up at his face as it twists in pleasure at the touch he had been begging for. You pump up and down fast to see his eyes close tighter. He bits his lip harder with each stroke.

You rub his tip around your palm while cupping his tip. You let out a few moans to tease him and to get him even more riled up. His jaw clenches at the sound. You smile and go back to stroking his whole member. His hips slowly rise and fall with your strokes. You quicken your pace and his mouth loosens and drops open. He lets out a high pitch whine.

You quicken to keep him moaning. His hands grip the chair and you bring your hand down then up as you release him from your grip. He pants and whines for more.

You grab his throbbing dick one more time and started at the pace you ended. His stomach clenched up as you hand pleasured him. His face twists with quiet moans. You look up at him to see his mouth wide open and his eyes looking at you down through his lashes. You smile and stroke him one more time with you ending with releasing him once again.

his mouth closes and turn into a scowl. “Please y/n,” hizashi mumbled. You smiled up at him.

“You’re soooo needy. Fine since you asked nicely,” you rolled your eyes and grab his dick once again. You pumped in slower his time. He whines and juts his hips to make you quicken the pace. His body twitches under your touch. You quicken your pace and focused most of your strokes on the tip. The squishing sound of his pre cum between your fingers and his cock fuel his pleasure. A whiny moan escapes his lips as too tease him more you moan along with him.

he bucks his hips against your wrist. You smile devilishly at him and release him once again this time with instant protest.

“Y/N!! PLEASE,” he whines like a child, who’s begging for a toy. His grip on the chair tightens as he glares down at your grin.

“Oh but I just love hearing you moan,” your hand slips up his shirt as you trace his abs. He shivers at your touch. You lean in to kiss his hip to tease the poor man even more, but he stops you. His hand is now pushing against your forehead. “Oh, I didn’t know my needy little boy had guts,” you sneer. “I guess you don’t want my help then,” you start to stand up but his hand grips your wrist.

“Y/n, now!” He yells. You obliged and kneed back down. You take his cock into your hands once again and began pumping it. He rolls his head back and signs. You bring your other hand up. You start pumping him with both hands. A smile forms on his bight red face as you stroke his whole member, not leaving one inch untouched. He begins to moan again and his hips start bucking up.

You remove one of your hands but still stroking him with the other. He bucked up his hip and you would stop moving your hands to let him cum but nothing. So you continued to pump him. His mouth was opened as silent moans were coming out. His eyes stayed shut as you pleasured him. He bucked his hips once again and you stopped for a brief second then continued.

You quicken the pace as hizashi closes his legs. Breathy moans escapes his lips. You stroke his throbbing dick. You moan with him as his hand turn white from gripping the chair. He arcs his back to cum but you press just below his tip blocking him from cumming.

you hold his tip till he comes down from his high then you instantly start jacking him off again. His moans are weak and high pitched. Your hand slides with ease up and down his red cock.

“Y/n I’m cumming, I’m cumming,” he moans out.

You pinch his tip once again. You watch the underside of his dock twitch. He moans over and over again. You look up at him as his eyes lazy watch you. His pupils blown and his face his beat red. You wait till his twitching stops. You look up at him again.

“Ready,” you whisper.

You release his tip and his cum splatter all over his black shirt. You wrap your hands back around his sensitive member and begin stroking it once again.

hizashi moans again and begs you to stop. His breathing his heavy and his body is still twitch from his previous ejaculation. He grips onto the chair and whines. He squirms every time you move your hands.

“Please y/n stop,” you release him.

“First your begging me to touch you then your begging for me to stop,” you stand up and look down at him. “What do you want from me?” You smile and walk to the door. You were ready to go home and sleep.

Once you reach the door, you felt breath going down your neck. His hands grab yours. “I’m still horny. By the time I get home I’ll need you again,”

“I live on the other side of town,” you whisper.

“Then come home with me,”

#fanfic #fanfiction #smut #bnha #bnha smut #mha smut #my hero academia #bnha x reader #fic #fic request #hizashi yamada smut #hizaki #bnha hizashi #my hero academia hizashi #hizashi yamada x you #hizashi smut

[ethanesimp]

THE OAK TREE // ZERO E.T. 

Pairing: Ethan Torchio x GN! Reader

Summary: Everyone at the Oakes Academy is aware of the rivalry that exists between two of the school’s best students, Ethan Torchio and Y/N L/N. What nobody knows is what a brilliant team they are when they’re at risk of their reputations being damaged and a killer’s on the loose.

Word Count: 2.6k

Warnings: Just Ethan and Y/N behaving like children, mentions of killing someone (as a joke), swearing.

Masterlist // Taglist link in bio

TEASER

A/N: This is the first chapter of The Oak Tree! I hope you guys enjoy :) Huge thanks to @night-girl-301​ for proofreading this and cheering me on! I was like... scared as shit to post it so yeah.

Taglist (strike means it won’t let me tag you):  @oro-e-diamanti @gretavanfleetlove @victoriadeangeliswifey @cheese-toastie-11 @selenophiliaxx @superchrystaldrug @petit-poussin @bidet-and-legolas @fallingforyou123 @ethaneskin @soft-boy-ethan @teenyweenynightghost @reputationdamiano @cantaraiilmionome @tabi-toast @queen-of-brokenhearts @geklutst-ei @juststalking @cruz-ata @ohtorchio​ @ethan-torchio-angelo​ @unitermoonshine​ @everythingisdefinitelynotfine​

It was only a few minutes past two-thirty when you managed to open the door that led to the greenhouse. The key, more often than not, would get stuck in the lock, and you’d have to spend a few minutes trying to yank it free, but this time around luck seemed to be on your side.

You placed your large black backpack on the stool that was always by the door before closing the entrance again. Mr. Murphy was still watering the plants, completely oblivious to your presence thanks to the loud music coming from the small stereo he kept near the gardening tools. You tapped his shoulder gently not to startle him; it wouldn’t be the first time you’d come into the place unannounced and you didn’t want to be the reason why he had to walk around with a cast on his arm again. 

He smiled fondly at you and adjusted his large glasses that were starting to slide down his nose. Mr. Murphy was an old man with long white hair and kind blue eyes, he’d been in charge of the greenhouse at the Oakes Academy for almost twenty years and had been the first person to show you kindness after you first arrived at the place years back.

“I thought I told you to take the afternoon free, Y/N,” He shook his head disapprovingly and you could only shrug. You had to work at the greenhouse at least three hours a week to maintain your scholarship per the Academy’s rules and it’d been long since it stopped being a task and instead became your favorite part of each day. 

“We were let out of Philosophy earlier so I thought I’d come by before I go study. Can I help with anything?” The older man sighed but nodded. He adjusted his glasses once again and wiped the dirt from his jeans.

He pointed at the corner where all the pink anthuriums were kept, shielded from direct sunlight, “Please water those, put a bit of fertilizer on the ones that arrived on Wednesday, and if you’ve got time, can you please feed the worms?” 

“Sure thing, anything else?”

“Just those three things. I’ve got to go help unload the groceries so please lock up both doors once you’re done,” He asked with a smile on his face as he buttoned his coat and grabbed his walking cane from where he’d dumped it on the floor right next to him. Back when you’d only known him for a few days, you’d always rushed to his side to pick up his cane and help him, but quickly realized it was a thing that annoyed him because of how independent and stubborn he was. “Oh and, before I forget, the kid’s outside. I don't want to come back and see you two trying to tear each other's heads off."

A laugh escaped past your lips and you shook your head as you tilted your head to the side so you could look through the hole in one of the windows. Just like he’d said, the boy with the long hair was sitting outside by the oak tree reading a book. You looked back at Mr. Murphy and shrugged, "No promises."

"I'm serious. You're smart Y/N, and I'm pretty sure you could easily find something you've got in common. That much hatred isn't good for either of you." Those were Mr. Murphy's last words before he walked out of the room.

You stood by the plants for a few minutes as you played around with the headphones that hung around your neck. You’d already sort of been startled by the topic you’d seen during Philosophy that day and you hoped that being at the greenhouse would serve as a little distraction but Mr. Murphy’s words hadn’t helped much.

You huffed and looked around for the hose to water the pretty anthuriums to get your mind off of everything that had gone down that day.

-

Hours later, you were still unable to shake Mr. Murphy’s words off. It wasn’t the first time he’d insisted on voicing his thoughts against that rivalry you had going on with the person standing between you and your biggest dream coming true. The thing that pissed you off though, was that his words had reminded you of what your best friend, Rory, had told you just the previous night while you did your usual hate rant. According to them, it was a good way to destress yourself.

You scoffed at the thought alone and let your chin rest on your palm as a frown appeared on your forehead. There was not a thing you could name that made you even remotely similar to the person sitting only a few feet away from you at the quiet school library. Ethan Torchio, a.k.a. Your archnemesis, the person you disliked the most in the face of the earth, was biting on the tip of his pencil as he concentrated hard on the thin black book he was holding up. Those dark eyes that shone honey whenever light hit them just right and those long strands of hair that graciously fell down his back accompanied by his signature turtlenecks and pretty smile were enough to make someone’s knees weak, but they only made you gag. 

You were sure he felt your eyes bore holes into the dark depths of his soul because it didn’t take long for him to look over his shoulder and meet your stare. Ethan smirked and his eyebrows shot up as he sent you a wink and a small wave. You knew that expression of his, he was teasing you, riling you up, hell, maybe he was trying to intimidate you. As crazy —and maybe a bit pathetic— as it made you sound, a simple smirk wasn’t just that when it came to him, never had been. Those dark eyes of his communicated his devilish intentions to you while he looked like an innocent child who’d never break a plate to anyone else.

You held his stare and mirrored his expression, which made him chuckle softly. It was nothing more than a silly game you’d play with one another to see who’d get tired of it first. The stare-off didn’t last too long that time around because his attention was stolen by one of his friends, Thomas. You simply shrugged and went back annotating on your copy of the black book. It was nothing more than one of those books written for the sole purpose of boring people to death. You loved reading, but when it came to those school-issued books that took around three pages to describe the sky-blue sofas in the main character’s living room, you couldn’t read more than a few pages before wanting to aggressively chuck it out the window. 

In a desperate attempt to distract yourself from the book that did nothing other than make you feel miserable, you stood up. You walked over to the large window that went from floor to ceiling. To your delight, the curtains were drawn back, which allowed sunlight to illuminate the otherwise dark library with its beautiful hues of orange and yellow. The librarian was a grumpy woman that loved when the curtains covered all the windows and blocked any source of light that wasn’t the soft glow of the lamps placed all over the dark room. You were almost convinced this woman had never felt the warmth of the sun against her pale and ashy skin, sometimes you even thought of her as a vampire that’d burn to death if she dared to stand outside for a few minutes. 

You looked out the window and admired the green gardens that adorned the front yard of the Academy’s largest building. The Oakes Academy was old and had been around since 1057. However, unlike most ancient schools like this one, the school board hadn’t been too interested in renovating the place outside of simply reinforcing the structure enough to fulfill the basic safety guidelines and the installation of optical fiber wires for a better internet connection. Even then, it was still considered to be one of the most prestigious schools to study at, and if it hadn’t been for the generous scholarship you were offered, you wouldn’t have been able to afford it anyway.

“Still plotting that little plan of yours to end the human race?” You bit down on your bottom lip to stop the colorful curse words from spilling as you turned sideways to look at Ethan. He’d decided to wear one of those annoyingly tight black turtlenecks of his and a pair of plaid trousers that made him look taller than he already was.

“Yes, and I’ll start with you first,” You smiled sarcastically at him, “In fact, I’ll swing by your dorm and murder you in your sleep,” You added while you choked the air for dramatic effect.

Ethan laughed and rolled his eyes. He had that spark of hate in his eyes that was always present when he was talking to you. That look alone told you that all that hatred and disgust you felt towards him was returned in the same magnitude. This rivalry of yours that consisted of dirty looks and constant arguments had been going on since eighth grade and it just seemed to get progressively worse as graduation approached. 

Everyone at Oakes knew how much Ethan and you despised each other, it wasn’t a secret. Even the Head Professor had been a witness of plenty of your many petty fights and you didn’t doubt that the people in charge of the Student Welfare department were sick of the many reports you’d filed against each other for breaking the ‘student rules of politeness’. No one remotely important cared much about your reports anyways because they were far from serious and, more often than not, childish.

“How cute. Although I don’t think that’d work too well for you, would it amore? If something were to happen to me they’d know it was you,” He commented. You shrugged and bit your lip in anger at the nickname he knew very well you detested. 

You casually leaned against the window, “Meh, it’d be worth it if I knew I wouldn’t have to see your face again. Now please get away before someone starts getting the sick idea that we’re friends.”

Ethan rolled his eyes but backed up a few steps either way, “God forbid someone would think such a horrific thing," He scoffed and raised his hand only to show you his middle finger when he knew the librarian wasn’t looking.

Before either of you could utter out another word, Damiano, one of Ethan’s closest friends, walked up to where you two were standing, effectively ending the conversation between you.

He waved at you and offered you a kind smile, which you immediately returned. Unlike his best friend, Damiano was a delight to be around. He was one of the kindest and nicest people you had ever met. You were quite close thanks to the fact that he’d been dating Rory for a while and you got used to spending long nights with the two of them doing silly things like playing board games or watching films. You were basically their third wheel, but neither of you minded much, if at all. 

“Hey, what’s up?” Damiano smacked Ethan on the shoulder as he started a conversation with him. You took it as your chance to leave and just awkwardly walked away after mumbling something about having to find Rory. They had told you something about eating dinner together, and while you’d initially refused because you were supposed to finish the book and start on your report, you were tempted to accept their offer and forget about the stupid book for a little bit more.

Just as you were about to leave the library, your phone vibrated inside the pocket of your warm cardigan. You took it out and chuckled when you read Rory’s message about their new phone but groaned when you realized they wanted to see you after curfew. You sighed and left the library as you tried to think of a great excuse to tell your roommate Emilia so she’d cover for you while you snuck out.

Ethan had his eyes focused on your figure as you left the library but turned back to look at Damiano when he spoke up, “If you’d only talk to them Ethan, I-” He sighed and interrupted his best friend, already irritated by the conversation he’d had with you.

“No, I will not talk to them, okay? Not like we can even talk because we start arguing like two toddlers,” Ethan mumbled out the last part and took a deep breath in. Truth be told, no part of him wanted to talk to you. You were annoying, rude, and didn’t seem to have more than one brain cell in his eyes, so why lose his time talking to you? Not like there’d be anything to talk about.

“They’re just so exasperating!” He spoke up and Damiano rolled his eyes as he saw his hate rant start approaching. They were both aware that once he started, he wouldn’t be able to stop, “I just- They try so hard and it’s annoying. Like I swear they’re also a huge hypocrite. I know you don’t see it but I do, I’ve never met anyone mo-”

Before he could end his last sentence, he felt a body slam into his and arms snake around his waist. Ethan huffed at the impact but wrapped his arms around her frame once he noticed it was Adeline Rossi, or Addie as everyone liked to call her. 

She pulled back and looked at both Damiano and Ethan excitedly, “You will never believe this but the craziest thing just happened… Hey, where’s Vic?” She trailed off as she started looking around for her friend.

Ethan chuckled lightly when he saw Thomas quietly approach Addie while she was distracted. They all knew she was the easiest person to scare, so it didn’t take more than a slight push and a soft boo for her green eyes to go wide and for her to jump. She was quick to turn to where Thomas was standing and didn’t think twice before smacking his shoulder with the heavy book she was carrying.

Thomas put his hands up in defeat as he took a step back and rubbed his shoulder, “Okay, okay shit. Stop, that actually hurts,” He whined and Addie only shrugged as Damiano and Ethan watched the whole interaction with amusement. 

“Right, so, ignoring all that,” Addie spoke up once again and shifted her attention back to Ethan, “Since she is nowhere to be seen, could you please help me with some stuff? It’s just this little interview for one class of mine and I’ve already interviewed Damià and Thomas but I need just one more.”

He nodded and said a quick goodbye to his two best friends before following the shorter girl out of the library. However, while he was walking, he felt his phone vibrate inside the pocket of his jeans. He fished it out and frowned as he read the text that had just been sent to him but laughed once he noticed it was only his girlfriend Emilia from her new phone. 

Then he sighed and rolled his eyes once he realized she wanted to see him past curfew again and he knew Will would ask him for money in exchange for not ratting him out. He quickly texted her back and slipped his phone back into his pocket as he followed Addie to her dorm.

Next

GOOGLE DRIVE 

#ethan torchio x reader #ethan torchio fanfiction #ethan torchio x you #ethan torchio x y/n #maneskin x reader #maneskin fanfiction

[fragileizywriting]

New fic is out for this AU!

pairing: Cat!Marinette / Ladybug!Adrien (Lady Noire / Misterbug) word count: 3,247 chapter: 1/1 rating: G summary: “You make me feel safe and wanted.” “You are wanted, little kitty.” “You know what I meant.” “I meant by me. You are wanted by me— and I know you know that— but I want to repeat it anyway. I always want you to be happy here.” AO3 | Start AU Here | Previous Fic in AU

“Kitty?”

“My mom.” It’s all Lady Noire can reply through all of her sniffles. She curls up tighter into a ball on the couch, pinching her eyes shut to the point it hurts, curling up her arms and legs and tail and head so that she becomes a single black smudge on the couch. A stain. Just simply a stain. “My mom. Always my mom. It was my mom again.”

Her head hurts. It’s foggy and full of cotton, so stuffy from everything. She’s grateful for the shade in his room that gets darker and darker as the minutes tick by, casting the space in total darkness, so that way he doesn’t have to see how miserable she is.

It must be horrible to have to live with an east-facing window. Her plants would love it. Her eyes, though, not so much.

She grabs for a decorative couch pillow above her head, swiping it and hiding her face, giving her even a bit of reprieve from the light.

Adrien sits down in front of her on the couch. She hears the noise of his pajama pants crinkling as he sits cross-legged on the rug underneath the coffee table, hears how he drums his fingers on his thighs, and hears how slow and steady his heartbeat is. He’s always so steady. Always so firm and anchoring to her. Even if the world continues in its attempt to rock her boat and tip her over and submerge her. Adrien always holds on for her when she’s too tired and too scared and too lonely to do so. “I’m sorry, kitty.”

“Her idea of comforting me is by telling me to be stronger. Whatever it is.”

He pauses. “Do you… do you want to talk about it?”

“It— it doesn’t matter. What I was upset about in the beginning is gone— I’m more upset at my mom now. Tell me how your day was first.” Because it’s always better to ask first about others than talk about her own problems. She doesn’t want to think about it for so long. If there’s any chance of forgetting about it, even for a little while, she’ll be happy.

And Adrien knows this. He knows this, because he knows her, and knows that her changing the subject is a cry for help. A flag upside down, calling out in distress. She’s sinking. It hurts. She’s injured. It shows. The silence is enough to make her remember the turbulent storms that made her cry in the first place, causing her to coil tighter, causing her to coil smaller, all in an attempt to get rid of the noise in her head.

He puts his hand on her head.

The hand at her scalp is soothing, and still damp from the shower— her lashes flutter when he gets a purr out of her, even if it’s a little watery. “My day was okay.”

“What did you do today?”

“I had school,” he shrugs a bit, jostling the hand that pets the soft parts of her ears. She knows about school. She’d spent the entire day boring a giant hole at the back of his head, chewing on her tongue like it was personally causing her grief, doing her utmost best like she always does to not accidentally tell Adrien that she’s the superhero that vaults through his bedroom window every afternoon. “Nothing, really. No extracurriculars for me today, either.”

She knows that, too.

She’d asked him at school.

He’d managed to stammer out a whole sentence to her today. To Marinette today.

He doesn’t have a problem talking to Lady Noire. But Marinette is an obstacle that he genuinely can’t conquer, no matter how many times she tries.

“I just came home and did homework and went to take a shower and suddenly…”

“And suddenly I’m here crying into your couch. I’m sorry,” she tries to fill in the gaps when he struggles on what to say next. “I’m always showing up with some kind of problem, aren’t I?”

“I don’t mind. You know I don’t. I love taking care of you— you’re my best friend. You know that, right?”

She does. Of course she does. That’s why it hurts so much.

“Some hero of Paris I am, huh?” Oh, she sounds bitter. “Showing up at a civilian’s house crying about personal life?”

“Hey,” he whispers, with something stern in his voice. “Stop that. Don’t talk like that— that’s not nice to yourself. You know you’re allowed to have problems outside of fighting Hawkmoth.”

And that’s it, really. That’s what gets another round of tears to freefall down her cheeks, but they come out sideways because she’s laying on her side— she can’t feel the tears track down on her black hexleather mask, but she knows she’s crying. She knows there are tears sloping across the bridge of her nose and joining with the tear pattern from her other eye, because she can feel how wet the whisps of her baby hairs feel against her ear when the tears finally get there. “I wish I didn’t have this.”

“Oh, kitty— I’m so sorry—”

“My mom just wants what’s best for me,” she feels herself get smaller and smaller, hiccuping hard enough for her to jump. Will she disappear? She wants to. Can she? Will Adrien let her? Probably not. He has a habit of wanting her to be happy, even when she wants to do nothing but disappear forever. “But we get into arguments about what that is all the time.”

“I know.”

“How I should be trying harder in school.”

“Yeah.”

“How I should”—she pauses, trying to think of something, anything, to fill in the gaps—“be trying harder to balance my civilian life and superhero duties.”

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, kitty.”

“How I need to be better. How I need to stop crying. How I need to do everything except what I’m doing now, because it isn’t enough.”

“Kitty…”

“She wants me to succeed, but instead of comforting me, she keeps adding more stress onto my shoulders by telling me how I should be dealing with my problems instead. And it hurts. And it’s painful. And I’m lonely. And I can’t do anything about it.”

“You have something you can do. You can stay right here with me. You can stay right here until it feels better. All of it. Everything.”

“It’s hard being a superhero,” she whispers. What an understatement of a lifetime. What does she choose to talk about first? What does she pick to say? “I don’t know how Mister Bug does it without breaking down.”

“Maybe he does. Maybe he struggles just as much as you do.”

“I don’t know. It’s hard to imagine that. Do you think he’s okay?”

“Well, he’s just a human. Just like you are. He has problems too, doesn’t he?”

“I can’t picture Mister Bug having problems. I should ask him.”

“I don’t think you need to,” Adrien shrugs. “I think he already knows how much you care about him.”

“Then, should I be going to him and telling him what’s wrong? Do you think he’s upset, knowing that I choose to talk to someone else about my problems?”

“I think he’s happy that you have someone you trust,” he whispers, damp fingers tracing the shell of her hexleather ears. She can’t feel it like her normal skin, because it’s a magical suit, but the little triangles at the top of her head twitch as if they’re sensitive to touch. “I think it makes him feel content, knowing that you go to someone you like and talk about your issues instead of bottling them up.”

“Love,” she corrects. “Everyone knows that I love you.”

“Love,” he repeats back to her with a smile. “Right. Yes. I think it makes him feel good, knowing you go to talk to someone you love about your problems.”

“The whole world knows, you know. Even Hawkmoth knows that you’re my best friend. People talk about it on social media all the time. We’re a pair. We’re a duo. We’re a matching set.”

If only people knew just how close the two of them actually are. Selfies taken on the street when either of them finds each other, pretending to act like simply a celebrity finding another celebrity on the streets of Paris, instead of being two best friends.

“We’re a team,” he whispers.

“Team shark.”

“Exactly,” he talks even softer. “We’re a team, little kitty. You and me.”

“Because no jaw is too strong,” she replies.

“No smile is too full of teeth,” oh, there’s a smile in his voice.

“And no mouth is too wide to keep me away from you. Never. No Akuma. No Lady Noire’s mother. No stupid photoshoots that they pencil you in at the last minute. No world-ending apocalypse that Mister Bug and I have to fix every month. Nothing will keep me from you.” They settle into a silence that is only partially filled with her sniffles and the occasional wipe of her mask with the back of her hand. It’s a shame she can’t feel his fingers on her back, following the lines of her spine like she knows he’s doing— but it’s the sacrifice she pays up in order to stay protected from Akuma battles.

“Nothing will keep me from you, either. No nightmares, no Akuma, no fangirls that drive me crazy.”

She listens to the silence, opening her eyes to the darkening room, watching the sky outside his floor-to-ceiling windows start to orange and purple. It’s such a pretty sight, watching those clouds drift lazily by as Paris turns into a sight reminiscent of a dream. No wonder he doesn’t draw the curtains closed. Or maybe he just wants his room accessible to her at all times. “You know, sunshine, my uncle said that if I bottle up too many emotions I might start to break things.”

His eyes look like stars, looking at her in alarm and worry. “Like, you’re going to get violent?”

“No! No. Never. Not really. You know I wouldn’t.”

“Oh. Wait, then I don’t understand what you mean.”

“It wouldn’t be my choice. It would be just like a misfire of my powers.”

“A misfire?”

“It’s kind of like a protection, or a last-resort. When I’m so stressed out that my body just goes into self-preservation, making sure that it’s impossible to take my miraculous ring in case I’m indisposed.”

“Oh. I never knew this.”

“It’s to stop me from getting Akumatized.” As if the explanation makes this any better. “But it’s still not a good thing. Self-preservation is a pretty selfish thing to happen.”

“What”—she watches him lick his lips, as if he’s trying to choose his next words carefully—“what does it look like?”

“How do I explain this— it’s kind of like— uhm. Do you remember that movie we watched?”

“We watch many movies together,” he snorts, scrunching his nose into something silly when she cracks a smile.

“Come on. The one with the wizard.”

“Do you know how little that narrows it down?”

“The one with the demon.”

“Oh boy. Remind me not to join any charades groups with you— we’d lose every round.” The two of them snicker at each other.

“Okay, it’s the one where the woman who falls in love with—” she pauses. “A guy.”

“Wait a minute. What were you going to say?”

“Just some guy.”

He narrows his eyes. “Some guy you really like.”

“He’s okay.”

“What’s his name?”

She twiddles her thumbs. “Howl.”

Recognition sparks in those beautiful emerald green eyes of his. “Oh. Oh. The love of your life, yes. I’m aware.”

“He’s not—”

“Yes he is.”

“I’m not—”

“Don’t bother lying, little kitty. I know why you love rewatching the movie with me, you little gremlin.”

“The music,” she argues, feeling her cheeks heat under her domino mask. “The atmosphere. The flowers—”

“The magician boys,” Adrien grins. “Howl especially. Admit it. You have a thing for blondes.”

“I— I do not. Anyway,” she tries her hardest not to grin back. If only he knew. If only he knew that she’s not thinking of Mister Bug when he says that. “Shut up. Stop looking at me. Stop it.”

“Am I right? Am I?”

“You’re harassing me.”

“It’s not harassment, it’s endearingly interrogating.”

“I’m moving on! I’m moving on from this topic!” She paws at him when his mouth twitches hard, trying to keep his laughter out. “Do you remember when Howl got so upset that his hair changed color?”

“And there was goo coming off the walls?”

“Yeah! Exactly! The room was shifting super weird and goo was dripping everywhere? Something similar happens with the black cat miraculous when they’re super upset.”

“Similar? Or do you actually make goo?”

“Just similar. I’m not a gooer.”

“Are you sure?”

“I promise, I’m goo free.”

“How free of goo are you?”

“Pretty gooless.”

“I don’t want to see you all gooey,” he ducks his head, smiling at her with a quirk of his mouth like he always does when he’s teasing. “I don’t ever want to see that happen. Ever. And it’s not going to happen, because you and I are a team, and team members don’t turn into goopy sludge.”

Does he know how much that means to her? To hear the words out loud that he doesn’t ever want to see her get to the breaking point where her miraculous powers start to drain and create vacuums in the air around her? That he’s willing to do whatever it takes to make sure that she never gets to the stage where she breaks windows and concrete and whatever surface it is she’s standing on— whatever object she’s holding?

Her smile is so watery.

So, so watery.

“What? The concept of a jelly Lady Noire too strange for you?”

“Anything that isn’t my kitty in her normal and natural form is too strange for me,” he shares a smile with her, those beautiful green eyes looking at hers. “But don’t worry. If it ever gets to that point where you’re a gelatin, I’ll love you. Even when you’re gooey.”

“Gross.”

“And oozy.”

“Ew.”

“And goopy.”

“Ugh. Why do I sound so disgusting?”

“I’ll love you even if you’ve turned into a slime.”

“Watch out, Hawkmoth. Slime Noire is here. Even though I don’t actually turn into slime physically, I am emotionally. Try taking my miraculous now.” They share laughter hard enough to hurt in the spaces between her ribs. His laughter soothes an itch that is somewhere next to her heart— it’s a warm and gentle balm. She loves him. She loves him so much.

“I’m glad you’re here,” he tells her when she finally picks up her head from the couch, wiping at her eyes, smiling down at him. He has to crane his head up to look at her from where he is, sitting on the rug, but it doesn’t look like he minds it. “I’m glad you showed up, kitty. It’s lonely without you here.”

“I like coming here.” As if she even has to admit it. As if he doesn’t know. The only reason why she doesn’t stay permanently in this room is because of all the plants she’s populated her room with. And, of course, the whole problem that Adrien doesn’t know her secret identity. Hard to take a shower in a hexleather suit. It’s not like she would be able to move in and be able to use the bathroom. “You make me feel safe and wanted.”

“You are wanted.”

“You know what I meant.”

“I meant by me. You are wanted by me— and I know you know that— but I want to repeat it anyway. I always want you to be happy here.”

“You already make me feel happy. Always.” Oh, she can feel how her cheeks stain harder underneath her hexleather mask. “I know your house is quiet, but— when I’m here with you— it doesn’t feel so overwhelming. Being in my house makes everything so loud. So many cousins asking me to help them. So many aunts and uncles begging me to cover their shifts or go do errands. And my mom—”

Well.

“You don’t have to do any of that here.” He lifts his arms up, offering himself for a hug when she cuts herself off and starts to think about it all over again. She slips off the couch quick enough to startle him, planting a knee at the side of his hip and another between his legs and crushing his broad shoulders into a hug. His fingers find a way through her braid, just like always, massaging a certain spot on her scalp that makes her eyes role and see stars. “You don’t have to do anything. I want you here.”

“You’re just trying to make sure I don’t turn into Goopy Noire.”

“Maybe I like the idea of being able to save the citizens of Paris from a sludge,” he laughs so warmly into her shoulder. “Being a superhero of my own. Who knows. Or maybe I really do care about you, kitty.”

“What a weirdo.” Oh— her voice is cracking.

He doesn’t mention it. “God, I know. Caring about my best friend is so stupid these days.”

“Yeah. Who does that?”

“People who love one another.”

“Wait. Are you admitting you like me?”

“Don’t tell anyone. No one will hire me for modeling gigs if they found out about my secret.”

“You know what? Just because of that, you’ll be the first one to get consumed by my goo.” She dissolves into laughter so hard that the both of them tumble backwards on the rug from how much the both of them shake, grinning at each other like the idiots they are, snickering and poking fun at each other.

“Ew,” Adrien manages to say at some point during their laughter. “That sounds disgusting.”

“It’s the price to pay.”

“What price? What am I paying for?”

“No idea. But it’s the price you’re going to have to pay,” she wheezes out between snorts, peeling away from their hug just enough to make eye contact.

He can’t see her as well as she can see him. It’s dark now, and it’s way too dark for human eyes to see in his room. She can see him in perfect clarity, of course, because her miraculous allows her to see in the dark as if it were still daytime— so she gives herself the luxury of looking at him without him pulling a face or teasing her.

Just a little snippet.

Just a little indulgence.

Just a little moment that is hers that she won’t share with anyone else.

And yet, it’s as if he knows what she’s thinking about anyway, like he can read her face in this much darkness. His thumb rubs circles on her domino mask, wiping away her tears and her worries and her problems with that smile he only gives her. It’s not his Agreste smile. It’s Adrien’s smile. Toothy and stupid and silly and his— he’s not self conscious about himself in front of her. He never is. “You’re important to me, little kitty.”

“You’re important to me too, Charming,” she wiggles her toes in her boots before tackling him into another hug that makes her feel all warm and fuzzy. “I love you.”

“I love you too. Always. Every day. Gooey or not.”

AO3 | Start AU Here | Previous Fic in AU

#sharks and sugar extras #fragileizysasfic #fragileizyadrienette #ladrien #ladrien fanfic #cat!marinette #lady noire #kwami swap

[dilly-oh]

The Office War

    Kakashi had been stealing his pens again, Iruka was certain of it. His particular favorite was sitting right there out in the open on that bastard's desk, the orange one with the ugly troll cap that'd been a present from Naruto, as well as several others he'd bought at his own personal expense because the quality of pens the company provided for employees was a damn joke. Iruka had standards. 

    Those are my fucking pens, douche-bag, Iruka thought as he sat at his desk, seething with righteous fury. Get your own.

    He could see the smarmy asshole's hair poking up out of his cubicle, gray and spikey and in desperate need of brushing. As he watched, his computer chair tipped back and Kakashi came into view, lazy-eyed and tapping one of Iruka's own pens against his weird medical face-mask in thought.

    Just let it go, Iruka told himself before he could get truly riled up. He didn't need another talk with HR after the incident with Genma eating his lunches. That had gotten pretty out of hand - there had almost been a lawsuit involved. It's just a few pens, right? Nothing to start a fight over. It's not a big deal.

    And then Kakashi poked the pen under his mask and started chewing.

    That did it.

    Time to confront the bastard. With passive-aggressive guilt-tripping. 

    Iruka stood up from his cubicle and sauntered over as nonchalantly as possible.

    “Hey, Kakashi. What's up?” he greeted. Kakashi gave a distracted grunt in reply, eyes glued to his computer screen. “Sorry, can I borrow a pen?” Iruka went on, baring his teeth in challenge more than smiling. “Mine seem to be...missing.”

    “Uh-huh, yeah, sure,” Kakashi said, immediately handing him the one from his mouth, covered in teeth-marks and spit. Iruka recoiled in disgust.

    “Maybe...not that one. How about...that one?” He pointed to the orange one on his desk. Kakashi shrugged and handed it over. Iruka's eyes narrowed. Time to go in for the kill. “Wow. This pen is really nice. Where did you get it?”

    “Dunno.” Kakashi shrugged again. “Picked it up somewhere.”

    Okay, screw passive-aggressive. Time for full-on confrontational. 

    “Okay, cut the shit!”  Iruka burst out impatiently. “Those pens are mine! Give them back!” He reached over and quickly snatched them up, hugging them protectively to his chest. “And...” He paused, eyes raking over Kakashi's sloppy work station. “Is that my stapler?”

    “Oh, is it?” Kakashi said innocently. 

    “Yes it is!” Iruka snatched it away as well. “What else of mine do you have?”

    “Just some papers and binders and stuff. Oh, and I borrowed your pencil sharpener last week but it crapped out after sharpening my hundredth pencil-”

    “That was YOU?!”

    “I needed them for a seminar.” 

    “That thing cost like thirty bucks!”

    “I thought you wouldn't mind,” Kakashi said simply. 

    “Normally, no, I wouldn't, but YOU take things and KEEP them. That I mind. Plus you don't even have the common courtesy to ASK first.” Iruka turned away with a huff. “Don't touch my shit again.”

    And with that, he stomped back to his desk, arms full of his reclaimed supplies. 

    That'll teach him. 

---

    Apparently, it did not. 

    The next day, all of Iruka's paperclips were missing. He spotted them on Kakashi's desk, bent into abstract shapes. Mostly dicks. 

    That son of a bitch.

    This called for war. 

---

    After an entire weekend of planning, Iruka was ready. 

    On Monday, he took a screwdriver to Kakashi's computer chair, subtly loosening the screws at the base of the seat so it would break when tipped back at a lazy angle. He heard the crash from the break-room and almost choked on his granola bar laughing.

    On Tuesday, he drained half of Kakashi's pens of ink and rigged the other half to explode, splattering everywhere when used. All of Kakashi's reports that day were sent back and he had to stay an extra hour just to re-sign everything. 

    On Wednesday, he jammed the copy machine. Kakashi, the procrastinating prick, wasn't able to print out the dozen or so information pamphlets he needed five minutes before the important presentation. The meeting was rescheduled for the following day, much to everyone's irritation, most of all Kakashi's, who prided himself on his copying skills. 

    On Thursday, he stole every single staple in the office. Kakashi, who had finally managed to print the copies for the presentation, was forced to tape all of the papers together. The strange looks he got from the others as he passed them out was well worth the effort. 

    On Friday, he sabotaged Kakashi's coffee cup to spring a leak when he took a sip. Iruka heard him curse from across the room and looked up to see a satisfying amount of hot coffee had spilled all over Kakashi's shirt and face mask. Hissing in pain, he stood and stomped to the nearest bathroom. Iruka couldn't resist following the other man inside for a victory gloat. 

    “So...” Iruka said smugly, joining Kakashi at the sink where he was attempting to dab the stain away with wet paper-towels, “had enough?” 

    “Of what?” Kakashi asked distractedly. “Coffee?”

    “ME, you idiot! It was all me!” Iruka exploded. “Your chair, the copy machine, your coffee! All ME! Are you ready to admit defeat yet? Have you been thoroughly chastened?” 

    “Well, I'm mildly annoyed, if that counts,” Kakashi said, quirking an eyebrow. “I can't believe you went to all that trouble. You should put that effort into your work.” 

    “I should put more effort into my work?! You're the one sneaking naps in your cubicle!!” Iruka sputtered furiously, his face burning with rage, then cut off as Kakashi reached up and removed his mask and his face started burning for an entirely different reason. 

    Oh, shit. 

    Kakashi was hot. Kakashi was really hot. Kakashi was hot enough Iruka wanted to go to HR and lodge a complaint – He's too fucking hot. It's not fair. Fire his ass.

    This changes nothing, Iruka told himself as he broke into a sweat. He's still an asshole, he still deserved it all, the stupid son of a-

    “Damn. It's not coming out.” With an annoyed tsk, Kakashi smoothly removed his tie, unbuttoned his shirt, and stripped it off, his shoulders and chest rolling obscenely with the motion. Iruka's mouth went dry.

    ...This may have backfired, he thought, eyes glued to the slope of Kakashi's back as he bent over the sink, scrubbing at the stain. 

    “I...have to go,” Iruka said blankly. 

    “Well you came to the right place,” Kakashi replied, focused on his work. 

    “No. I mean. Leave. I have to leave. Like right now.” Iruka slowly backed up, hit the wall, then slithered along it til he found the door, desperately snatching at the handle, his eyes still riveted by Kakashi's sculpted chest. 

    “You're leaving early?” Kakashi glanced up at him. “Aren't you out of earned time?”

    “Just take it out of my paycheck gotta go bye,” Iruka blurted before finally wrestling the door open and tumbling out into the hallway, shoving past a confused intern as he bolted towards the exit. 

---

    The sight of Kakashi shirtless haunted Iruka all weekend long.

    He considered calling in sick on Monday, but didn't because Kakashi was indeed correct – he had no more sick leave left after Naruto gave him food poisoning for his birthday by being cheap and trying to bake a cake. 

    Also, he wasn't a coward. 

    So, come Monday morning, he marched right back into the office at 8 A.M on the dot, rode the elevator with his head down, pointedly ignoring everyone while also on the lookout for a certain silver-haired individual, and walked straight to his desk.

    Which was covered in a stunning array of brand-new office supplies. Pens, mechanical pencils, highlighters, large and small paperclips, all sitting there still wrapped in plastic with that new-store smell. Iruka almost burst into tears at the sight.

    “Whose dick did you suck to get all those?” Izumo whispered, his voice thick with jealousy.

    “No-one's!” Iruka snapped at him as he sat down, mystified. He tentatively picked up a box of pens, delighted to see they came in a variety of colors. 

    “Do you like them?” Kakashi asked, leaning in over his shoulder. “I was gonna get flowers, but I figured you'd appreciate these more.”

    “Kakashi!” Iruka bolted up out of his chair like he'd been shocked. Which, frankly, he had been. “Wait. You did this?” He gaped at the other man in disbelief, then his stomach dropped like a weight. Oh, God, of course this wasn't real. It was too good to be true. The supplies were probably all fake, rigged to break or explode or-

    “It was the least I could do to apologize.” 

    “...Apologize?” Iruka blinked. “Why?”

    “Some kid came by looking for you on Friday, after you left,” Kakashi went on, scratching at his face mask in an almost nervous gesture. “Seemed real upset about an orange pen missing from your desk. Said it was a present from him. And, well...I connected the dots.” He nodded towards Iruka's desk, where Naruto's gag “Worst Big Brother Ever” mug sat in its place of honor beside his monitor. “I'm sorry. I didn't know that pen meant so much to you.” He dropped his gaze in shame. “I shouldn't have taken it. Or any of your other stuff, for that matter.” 

    “It...it's alright, Kakashi,” Iruka said quietly, looking at him in a whole new light. Perhaps he should reevaluate his opinion of the other man. Sure, he was a lazy, procrastinating jerk sometimes, but he seemed to have a good heart. Maybe he wasn't so bad after all. “And...thank you for the supplies, they're very appreciated, but honestly, there was no need to trouble yourself-”

    “Want me to take my shirt off again?”

    And maybe he was just an asshole.

    Kakashi smirked down at him, and Iruka could imagine how, under the mask, it pulled at the stupid beauty mark on the side of his mouth.

    ...A really, really hot asshole.

    “...Yeah alright.”

(Written for @kakairu-fest Kakairu Month 2021, Day Six Prompt: Office AU)

#kakairu #KakaIru Month 2021 #hatake kakashi #umino iruka #naruto #office au #don't fuck with Iruka's office supplies #he will cut a bitch

[kinglazrus]

Not Your Danny – Ch 4. Who Understands

Previous | First | Next | FFN | AO3

Word count: 3739

The memorial notebook sits open on Jazz's desk. For the twenty minutes, Jazz has sat here with her rule and pencil carefully tracing out a template for the event schedule. The hour of the event, pencilled in as one to two p.m., is broken into fifteen-minute increments which have three bullet points each. The bullet points, along with the fifteen-minute boxes, are colour coded and measured out to perfect, equal distance.

At the top of the page, the words "Memorial Schedule" are written in a loose, flowing script and dark ink. Eraser smudges behind the ink are the only indication of how much time and care Jazz put into making those letters.

Now, the blank schedule stares up at her, waiting only for Jazz to finalize the plans. The memorial itself is still three weeks out, but it is still too soon. Even though they buried Danny a fortnight ago, the memorial feels more final. Jazz doesn't want to say it, but she already knows why she feels this way.

Danny was a halfa. He was her sweet, human brother, but he was the town hero, too. There's a chance, no matter how slim, that he might still be out there as a full ghost. There has to be a chance. It doesn't matter that he died as Phantom. It doesn't matter that Sam and Tucker themselves were there to see his ghost half fizzle out, see the human body it left behind. There has to be a chance.

The funeral was for Danny Fenton, but the memorial is for Danny Phantom, for the whole city to mourn the loss of their hero. For Jazz to acknowledge that her brother, in his entirety, is gone forever.

Suddenly, looking at the notebook makes her feel nauseous. She closes it and shoves it aside. It's late enough now that she could go to bed, but she doesn't feel tired, not physically. After the fiasco at dinner, Jazz wants to shut everything out for a little bit. Pretend she lives in her own bubble where everything is fine.

How could she have forgotten? Seeing Dani's human face certainly took her by surprise, but she was not unprepared for it. Unlike their parents, Jazz didn't have trouble separating Fenton from Phantom. They were the same to her and looking at Dani's ghostly face was already close enough to seeing her little brother. Instead of the face itself, Jazz was stunned to see Dani in human form at all. At the same time, it brought her comfort. Dani and Danny, no matter how similar, are not the same. But having her here, seeing her do the things Danny used to do...

It's so easy. Having Dani fill her little brother's place on the couch when the watch TV. Having her by Jazz's side when they cook. She can't help it. It's almost like having Danny back, so soon after they lost him. And every time Dani doesn't fill that hole, it hurts in a way Jazz never expected.

She rubs her eyes and leans back in her chair. Maybe she should go to sleep after all.

—

"You want us to host... a memorial?" her mother asked. It was obvious Maddie had been crying that day, her eyes red and puffy. Perhaps not too long before Jazz came to talk to her parents.

Jazz herself had been in tears not too long ago when Sam phoned her with the idea. She nodded. "Yes. I know it's only been a few days, but this is Sam's idea and I think it's a good one. Mom, Dad..." she took a deep breath, bracing herself. "I knew. All along, I knew about Danny being Phantom. And it was so important to him. A memorial to Phantom could help you come to terms with not knowing about this side of Danny."

Maddie's hand, flat on the table, curled into a fist. "Jazz, we haven't even... the funeral is tomorrow. I've been on the phone with Alicia all day because she can't make it down in time. Chartering a plane costs too much and there isn't a flight out for weeks. I know this is important, but—"

"I think it's a good idea," Jack said. Stretching forward, he reached across the table and patted Jazz's shoulder. "But I think what you mother means is that we need time to consider it. It's hard adjusting to all this."

"I know. But promise me you really will think about it? It would mean a lot to him." Jazz waited until her father nodded. "Okay. I'll just... yeah. Think about it."

She left the kitchen in silence. That went okay. A shorter conversation than Jazz would have liked, but small steps are still steps. She needed to text Sam later and let her know the verdict, as tentative as it was. For now, she will leave her parents to think, hoping they eventually agree.

Halfway to her bedroom, a noise from Danny's room made her pause. She couldn't be certain, but it sounded like the squeak of his bed springs. Tip-toeing closer, Jazz stared at the crack under his door. A faint white light shone through.

"Danny?" Jazz whispered.

There came another creak.

Jazz's breath stopped, caught in her throat. She crept closer, pressing her hand against the door, and eased it open. In the dark of Danny's room, the figured outline in glowing light leapt from the shadows, impossible to miss. The aura, far brighter than the dim light of hall, nearly blinded Jazz, but its colour was unmistakable.

She pushed the door open. "Danny!"

The figure flinched and threw themselves into the air, twisting around to face Jazz. She slapped her hand against the switch on the wall, flooding the room with orange light. No longer blinded, she found herself now face-to-face with a Phantom. Not Danny, though, but Dani-with-an-I.

She looked horrible, her white hair caked with mud, dirt smeared along half her face. Suit wrinkled and damp.

"Oh, my God, Danielle." Jazz gasped.

"It's true?" Tears welled in Dani's eyes. "It's true? He's gone?"

"I'm so sorry, I didn't even think..."

That was all Dani needed to hear. She spun away and bolted, flying through the wall.

"Dani, wait!" Jazz called after her, but the young halfa was already gone. Jazz threw the window open, leaning out over the alley to a dangerous degree. Searching the sky, she tried to find and trace of Danny's clone, but everything around her was dark. Not a single glimpse of silver light to be seen.

Jazz pulled herself back inside and dropped to the floor, hands pressed over her mouth. She had forgotten, completely, that there was another person out there important to Danny, someone who wouldn't know about his death right away. In the days since Danny's death, Danielle's existence hadn't crossed Jazz's mind. It made her feel rotten. Dani had been important to Danny, but she slipped so easily from Jazz's memory.

However, through the wave of guilt, Jazz could not forget that single moment before she turned on the light. No more than a second, but still the happiest she felt in days, when she saw the aura of a Phantom and believed that her brother had not died after all.

—

The star shirt fits well, better than Dani expected it to. She drapes her hoodie across the back of Danny's desk chair before sliding in front of the mirror. It fits and it looks good. Looking herself up and down, Dani blushes. She has never thought of herself as a self-conscious person but seeing herself in something other than her regular hoodie fills her with warmth. She likes wearing something that doesn't look two times too big for her, showing off more of her form.

Although she has never said it out loud, that is part of the reason why she likes being in her ghost form so much more. The pants, the crop top, she likes them so much better than her human clothes. Until now, they were her only option, since she didn't want to cart around a backpack full of clothes, but now she has a room. She has a place to keep things, her things.

She could actually have things. The temptation to own stuff has always eluded her, but the longer she stays at Fenton Works surrounded by things that are not hers, the more she understands.

Dani rarely stays in one place for so long. Only a week and one day, but it feels so much longer. Looking at herself in the mirror, she's struck by the realization that this is home now. She has a home. Her mind still struggles to wrap around the idea, but the word does not feel so foreign anymore. After Vlad, all she wanted was freedom, and she got it. But while roaming the world was fun and exciting, it was also incredibly lonely.

She had always had Danny, though. Their relationship wasn't perfect, and they never acknowledged how they were related beyond the loose label of cousins, but she had him. And then he was gone without her even realizing.

Dani didn't know what to expect when Jazz extended her the offer of moving into Fenton Works. And, to be honest, she still doesn't know. Things are strange, and still lonely sometimes, but not bad. That has to count for something, right?

She toys with the buttons of the shirt, wondering if she could somehow tie the bottom, wear it shorter than it is. As she considers the style, her hands drop to the waist of her shorts, bright red and loose. They don't go with the shirt very well. Unfortunately for Dani, she has already been through all of Danny's clothes, and she does not like any of his pants, even if there were some smaller, older pairs that might have fit her.

There is a hint of promise, though. Dani has seen how much junk fills the Fenton garage. They are the kind of people who hold on to things until they absolutely do not need it anymore. Judging by Danny's drawers and closet, clothes get the same treatment as any other junk.

Jazz must have a few old pants lying about. A skirt sounds nice. Dani has never worn one of those, but girls always look so pretty in them.

Her door is open when Dani makes the trek down the hall. Jazz herself is slumped over at her desk, arms folded under her head.

Dani walks into the room and pokes Jazz's shoulder. "Did you sleep at your desk last night?"

Jazz wakes with a start, flinching at Dani's touch. She rubs her eyes, then the side of her face. A thick red mark overtakes her cheek where it had been laying on her arm.

"Dani?" Jazz's voice is thick with sleep. She sits up, stretching her arms and arching her back until it pops. Her neck cracks a few times as she roles her head. "What are you doing?"

"Do you have any old clothes?"

Jazz blinks. "It's rude to walk into someone's room without warning them."

"You were asleep, though. Clothes?"

Blinking a few more times, Jazz clears her eyes and looks Dani up and down. Her gaze lingers on the shirt. "That’s..."

"Found it in Danny's closet. I can't believe he actually wore something like this."

Jazz shook her head. "No, he didn't like it. Sam got it for him as a joke, because of the stars. I don't think he ever wore it."

"Really?" A smile breaks out across Dani's face. If Danny didn't wear this shirt, then technically that makes it hers. She owns something now.

"Yeah. Did nothing else of his fit? It's okay if you want to wear it. I think that would feel better than packing it all up," Jazz says. "You don't have any clothes besides the pyjamas Mom bought, right?"

Dani actually forgot that she has those. "I went through his clothes already. Didn't really like them much. Do you have a skirt?"

Jazz's eyes go wide. "A skirt?" For reasons' Dani can't fathom, Jazz says it like it is the strangest thing in a world. Dani wanting a skirt? Preposterous. "Danny never liked skirts."

There it is. "Duh, Danny was a dude."

"I know, but I mean. He wasn't comfortable in that kind of clothing before he transitioned. Your hoodie and cargo shorts aren't so different from what he used to wear, so I thought..." Jazz trails off, but her point is already made.

"Jazz, I'm comfortable being a girl. I like being a girl. Being made from his DNA doesn't make me his clone."

Jazz opens her mouth to correct Dani.

"You know what I meant." Dani wraps her arms around herself, feeling small like she did her first day here. "I don't know why I need to keep saying this, but I'm not Danny, okay?"

Jazz grimaces. "I know, Dani. I'm sorry if I made you feel like you were."

That isn't what Dani meant, but she doesn't press further. "So, about that skirt?"

—

Later that day, when Jazz asks Dani if she wants to watch a show, Dani says no.

—

"What did you do when you weren't in Amity Park?" Jack asks. The question comes out of nowhere, as they always do. In the few days since he took Dani's samples, she has seen him outside the lab far more often. Joining them at mealtimes, coming upstairs in the evening. Sometimes she hears the heavy beats of his approach moments before he pops into the room with a question on his tongue, like now.

Dani holds a moment, her gaze lingering on the models surrounding Danny's desk, before spinning in the chair to face Jack. "I travelled."

Jack, rightfully so, takes her answer as an invitation and comes further into the room. "Oh, yeah?" He sits down on the bed facing her. "Where did you go?"

"All over. I mostly stayed in the United States, at first, but there's so much stuff to see out there. The pyramids were awesome."

Just as Dani found her rhythm with Maddie and Jazz in her first days at Fenton Works, she and Jack seem to be finding what works for them. She likes the time they spend together. His questions feel genuine. Sometimes, he asks her about what being a ghost is like, what abilities she has. His eyes glow with fascination every time she answers. Dani has never seen anyone so engrossed by a single topic before.

But her favourite times are when he asks about her. What does she like? Does she have any hobbies? She gets the feeling that this is how Jack shows interest in people, by asking about themselves, and she returns the favour whenever she can.

"Have you ever been to Egypt?" Nudging the desk, Dani pushes herself back and forth on the chair, turning slowly in place. Her eyes keep catching on the models she had been examining when Jack entered.

Danny had a lot of models, all of them related to space, apparently. Planets, spaceships, little astronaut figures. Much like the posters on his wall, Dani sees no use for them, but Danny obviously liked them. He has two spaceships that look identical. One sits on his desk, safely kept behind a glass box. The other stands tall on the shelf above the desk.

"No." Jack's voice pulls Dani back to the conversation. "Mads wants to go, though. What was your favourite place that you saw?"

Dani has to pause and think about this. The pyramids are high contenders. She went to Japan for a few weeks last year and explored the natural landscape. There was so much beauty there. She has been to a lot of beautiful places, but none of them are her favourite.

"I don't know where it was. It was back when I could barely hold myself together, when I was destabilizing, remember?"

Jack nods. Dani told him that story only yesterday.

"Flying was really hard then, and it made me tired. I got lost a lot between cities if I wasn't following a highway. When I was heading back to Amity Park, I passed out once when flying." Dani hugs her knees. That was one of the scariest moments of her life, second only to melting in Vlad's lab. Before passing out, she could barely see, the sky and the ground blurring together. Her very core ached and, when the darkness started creeping in, she thought she was done fore.

"I woke up in this woman's home. She found me out in the forest and took me in. Didn't care that I was a ghost. I stayed with her for a few days. She actually... she offered to let me stay forever." Dani said no, of course. She had to get to Amity Park, to Danny, to get fixed. "She didn't even know me, but when I told her I didn't have any family beyond a cousin, she just... said I could stay. I left as soon as I could fly again. Haven't been able to find my way back."

Jack's heavy hand settles on her head. He ruffles her hair, the small act of comfort filling her with warmth. "Sorry you didn't get to take that chance, kiddo."

Dani ducks her head and rubs her eyes. There are no tears, but she needs the excuse to look away. There is a weight behind Jack's words, one Dani can feel, but not decipher. She thinks, perhaps, that Jack's words aren't entirely for her.

"So, what were you doing just now?"

Grateful for the distraction, Dani slides the chair over so Jack can see the desk. "Looking at stuff."

Her endeavour of going through of Danny's things has proved harder than she originally thought. It's so easy to get distracted by some small trinket, and she often finds herself wondering what Danny did with it, why he kept it all. Cheap toys from fast food restaurants. Paper airplanes stuck between book pages. A ball of rubber bands bigger than Dani's fist.

At first, she only wanted to look, commit these items to memory. Jazz said it took time before people put away a lost loved one's things, and even though Dani didn't understand, she would respect it. But Jazz's comment about the clothes has been lingering in her mind all day.

Despite Dani's own assurance of her personhood, was there anything she could like only because Danny did? She thought she might find the answer if she pondered long enough, but so far all its done is made her question why people collect things.

She touches the box encasing spaceship.

"That was his favourite."

Dani starts, jerking her hand away from the glass. For a moment, she forgot he was there. His face is turned toward her, but his eyes fixate on a point to her left. Dani doesn't need to turn back around to know what he's looking at.

"What is it?" she asks.

"Space Shuttle Columbia, the first of the Space Shuttle program. At least that's what Danny said it was. I can never tell the difference."

Dani looks from the Columbia to the second model on the shelf, this one smaller and lacking a protective case.

"Are you sure they aren't the same shuttle?" she asks.

Jack chuckles. "Absolutely. Danny never let it go if anyone mixed the two up."

"What's so special about this one?" Dani taps the Columbia's box.

"It was maybe the third model that he got? The first two were pretty cheap. He saved up for them himself. Took a while. I didn't even realize he had them until he mentioned wanting a third. Didn't even realize he liked space so much... I bought this for him a week later and gave it to him after school."

Dani nods along as Jack speaks, although she doesn't see the point yet. Lots of people have expensive things; that doesn't automatically make them special.

"We built it together. I wasn't interested in stars and astronomy, but Danny asked me to help him with it, so I did. I never got why it was his favourite, though. He had better ones, models he saved up for penny by penny. He made that one"—Jack nods to the model on the shelf—"with Sam and Tucker. But sometimes, I think..."

Jack falls silent.

Dani catches his reflection in the glass display case. He has one hand pressed over his eyes, the other fisted at his side. Dani has yet to see either Maddie or Jack cry since coming to Fenton Works, and she thinks that streak is about to end.

"I know we weren't the best parents. There've been times when we've... neglected our duties to focus on ghosts instead. I never thought about it before, but it couldn't have been easy on a couple of young kids. All I ever wanted was for Danny to follow the Fenton family footsteps. But space was his. And sometimes I think he liked this model the best because it was the first time I showed any interest in something he liked."

Jack shudders as he exhales.

Dani resists the urge to go invisible. This heart-to-heart stuff really isn't her thing. Their little question and answer sessions have been fun, but talking about the woman in the forest was already deep enough for Dani. Now things are getting a little too intense.

If Jack does start to cry, she might flee out of sheer awkwardness. He doesn't—thank God—but when he pulls his hand away from his face, he looks old and tired.

Dani racks her brain for something to say. "I think... maybe... he liked it the most because it showed that you loved him, not just because it was about space. Or something."

Jack meets Dani's eye through his reflection and cracks a smile. "I guess if anyone could say what Danny might think, it would be you."

The words cut through her.

"Right," Dani says, her voice empty. "Sure."

Jack nods, as if Dani has revealed some great truth to him, and turns away. His footsteps are louder as he heads for the door, more like his regular self. Dani has no doubt that Jack is leaving this room feeling brighter than before.

All Dani feels is an uncomfortable twist in her gut.

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#phic phight #phic phight 2021 #notyourdanny #phanfic #phicc #dp fanfiction #danny phantom #dani phantom #danielle phantom #danny phantom fanfiction #trans danny fenton #trans danny #nyd chapter four

[starglossie]

HINAYACHI NATION WE RISE!!! [ read here: we make a sunset, you and i ]

Summary: Yachi loves highlighters. They're perfect for when she's taking notes. But her one orange highlighter just doesn't sit right. It's not the right shade of orange. And she can't really place what shade she's looking for until she spots Hinata. And when she does, she thinks:Yes, that's it. That's the perfect shade.

CAN ALSO BE READ DOWN BELOW!

Yachi loved highlighters. 

Especially the pastel kind! They were the right shade of pink and blue and purple and yellow. A soft brightness that sat well on her paper when she dragged the felt tip across a certain word to make it pop. 

She’d always been into color coding her notes. Colors were a great way to organize things. Blue for definitions. Greens for important takeaways. Pinks for material that will definitely be tested on an exam. Colors made sense. 

Every so often she’d start vibing with a certain color. Some days her reading notes were more baby pink than sky blue. Or dewy green compared to lilac purple. Now, she found herself leaning towards her orange highlighter more. Though she quickly discovered, as she highlighted her notes in class and frowned deeply when the shade of orange wasn’t dark enough, that the shade simply wasn’t… right.

“Yachi!” 

Yachi looked up from her notes. Hinata sat in the chair in front of her desk, resting his elbows on her desk. The sun was streaming boldly through the window, illuminating Hinata’s face and making his hair extra prominent in Yachi’s eyes. A fiery mass of orange. So bright you could never miss it. 

That’s the right shade , she thought. Looking down at her orange highlighter that paled in comparison. If she could find a highlighter like Hinata’s hair. She’d be golden. Or, ha, orange . She laughed at her own little joke. Hinata scrunched his face in return. 

“Whatcha laughing at?”

“Oh! Nothing,” she kicked her feet under her desk. A soft, rosey red bloomed on her cheeks. She could never share that joke. She’d combust from the embarrassment alone. “Is everything alright, Hinata?”

“No! We have a test coming up!” Yachi couldn’t but smile despite Hinata’s clear distress. Tests were not Hinata’s strong suit in the slightest. Though he was incredibly determined with his studying-or he tried to be, Yachi would give him kudos where kudos were due.  

“Ah right...” she opened up her planner. It had bright sunflowers on the front and her name engraved in white. She flipped to March’s calendar where, two weeks from now, she had circled in bright pink EXAM TODAY! “I was going to text you about when you’d like to meet and study! I already started compiling a notebook for you…” 

“Really?” Hinata’s eyes widened. They were so bright, Yachi thought they could have been covered with stars. “ Yachi, you’re incredible!” 

Heat rose under her cheeks. She wanted to say this was nothing special. That the word incredible shouldn’t be used for something that, to her, was the natural course of things. Of course she’d make a notebook for him. She’d been doing that for years. And she enjoyed the little rush she got when she placed the tabs just right and when she created the perfect outline that aligned with the way Hinata best broke down information. 

But for Hinata to think she’s incredible, all the same, a pleasant heat pooled under her skin that mirrored the baking warmth you get sitting under the sun at the beach for a few hours. 

“Oh it’s nothing, really,” she said, popping the cap of her highlighter up than clicking it down. “We can review during lunchtime? Or maybe after practice if you’re not too tired?” 

They were third years now. And every time Yachi thought about how two years had passed since she joined the volleyball club, awe and a little bit of sadness washed over her. She never pictured her high school life surrounding the sport and now, she couldn’t imagine what her high school life would have been like if she hadn’t joined. 

She would open her journals sometimes. The ones she kept to write down how her day went, to give gratitude, to scribble down little prayers when they popped into her mind-for good health, for a meteor to not crash into her roof, for her mother’s happiness, to maybe fall in love-and read back over what she wrote. She’d grown so much and to just see that progress was sometimes unbelievable. But in such a good way. Like watching a plant go from a bud to full bloom. 

She felt like she had bloomed, or well-was in the process of blooming. And she had to thank volleyball for that. For bringing her to the people that helped her grow. 

“Hmmm,” Hinata hummed. He rubbed at his nose in thought. “Let’s do it after practice! ‘Cause I can’t eat and study at the same time. I’ll be way too focused on eating. Not so much on studying, haha.” 

Hinata and Yachi had grown close over the years. They’d been in the same class all three years, while Kageyama got placed in class with Yamaguchi and Tsukishima (much to Tsukishima’s unbridled annoyance and Yamaguchi’s unashamed delight). Hinata’s response made Yachi smile. She expected that to be the answer. And opened her planner so she could write down Studying with Hinata!! In her favorite blue gel pen. 

“Yachi you have so many pens and pencils and highlighters. Aren’t you overwhelmed?”

She slid her gel pen back into her pencil pouch purely for gel pens. “Oh! No not at all. I like having so many colors. I find it’s fun to pick and choose which one I want to use for notes.”

“Oh yeah! They’re kind of like, a mood ring, but not really. More like, mood… coloring? Something like that!” he finished with a laugh. And if it were anyone else in the world, Yachi might have felt like they said that just to humor her. But Hinata never said something he didn’t mean. He always spoke purely, from his heart. And that always made Yachi feel comfortable being her whole self. Illuminated in the glow that was Hinata Shouyou. 

I wish I could find an orange highlighter that’s the shade of his hair, she thought. “Mood coloring! Hm yeah, that makes sense! Because sometimes I really want to use a pink highlighter because I’m feeling that particular shade!” she pulled out a soft, rosey pink highlighter. The color of cotton candy and then slipped it back into the pouch. “Or sometimes I’m in a minty green kind of mood!” she pulled out another highlighter for reference. 

Hinata looked at her as if she was pulling out magical wands that sparkled and created starlights at their tips. “These are the coolest colors!” he reached for her hand, their fingers brushed. And as if she were shocked, she gasped. Dropping her highlighter to the table. It clattered softly onto her open notebook. “Ah, I’m sorry Yachi.” Hinata frowned, looking apologetic. 

“N-No!” she was quick to correct. He had to know that he wasn’t at fault. That the electricity generated that shocked her fingers and made her pulse quicken was a newly crafted design that had, like her blooming, steadily grown over the years to this moment. “It was just a little static shock as all! It happens, haha.” she reached for her highlighter. Her cheeks burned. 

In her journals, she had started writing out a name. And sometimes, that name had a few hearts beside it. 

She was terribly infatuated, she realized every time she stared down at the suddenly not so blank page covered in that name with so many hearts . 

Hinata fixed her with that same look he got when he was picking someone apart and wasn’t ashamed for you to realize he was doing so. It only lasted a second. Then, he was smiling again. A slow smile, and he leaned forward, his voice softer. 

“Can you show me where you get those highlighters? Maybe after school before we start studying?” 

Oh goodness is this a date? Her mind conjured with a swiftness. No! Hitoka! Do not jump to such conclusions! He’s your friend-one of your best friends. It’s just a friendly thing. And sure it’s happening on a date of the week but that doesn’t mean- 

“Yes!” she tapped her feet on the ground with excitement, nodding fervently. “Yes that’s perfect!”

“Great! Sounds good then!” 

Hinata jumped up just as his name was called. Kageyama was at the door. Hinata pointed a finger at him. “Kageyama! You came early! I’m ready to kick your ass if you’re ready to get your ass kicked!” 

“Stupid, I’m gonna win. Hi Yachi,” Kageyama waved at Yachi. Yachi beamed, waving in return. ”I’ve been stretching all morning during class. My long jump is going to beat yours hands. No. Legs down.”

Another thing Yachi had gained over the years was the ability to understand the secret language that was Hinata and Kageyama’s dynamic. Honestly, once you understood that they made a competition out of everything, filling in the gaps came easily after that. 

“What’s the competition this time?” Yachi chuckled, putting her planner back into her bag. 

“Kageyama and I are gonna see who has the best long jump!” Hinata explained. “I won last time but Kageyama’s a sore loser so we gotta do it again.” 

“I’m not! My legs weren’t at maximum stretch, that’s all.”

“What are you, Luffy? Are you going to try and find One Piece next?” Hinata asked, running through the classroom to get to Kageyama. Waving by to the students who called out to him as he did. 

The last thing Yachi heard as they left the classroom was Kageyma ask, “The fuck is a One Piece?” 

  /

  After practice, Yachi had a routine.

First, she gathered up all the balls with the help of her volleyball players and put them all away. Then, she took down the nets and rolled them up to be carried into the practice shed. She liked to imagine they were giant pieces of dough she was rolling up for cannolis. Afterwards she liked to clean the gym floors. She didn’t have to, but she wanted to. It was a nice feeling. Getting the giant mop and pushing it through the gym, up and down. She would pretend that she was in Mario Kart and her car was a giant, turbine-powered mop that could zoom lightning fast down the track! 

After she finished mopping, she would go through every single volleyball and squeeze it exactly six times (one for every letter of her name) to check the air pressure. If a volleyball was flat, she’d pump it up until it was all full and no flat. Sometimes, when she thought no one was looking (and she always checked her surroundings three times) she’d try to hit a few balls over the net. Over the years, she’d gotten better! And could not do a solid overhand serve with little to no effort. Her hand always tingled after the ball connected with her palm. But she rather liked the feeling. And she always clutched her palm tightly as if she were holding a fallen star in her hand. To make the sting hold on a little longer. To keep the moment from fading away… 

She threw another volleyball up in the air. Just to feel the tingle again. 

“YACHI, YOU’RE STILL HERE!”  

The ball dropped onto her head, sending a brief bout of pain down her neck and spine. “GAH!” the ball bounced onto the floor two… six… eight times before it rolled all the way to Hinata’s feet. “Ow! Ow! Ah… H-Hinata?” she felt heat swarm her neck and dominated her cheeks. Aw man.. She had hoped no one would have been around! 

Hinata leaned down and picked up the ball. Holding it out with one palm, grinning to himself. He walked over to Yachi and held the ball with two hands. “Sorry, didn’t mean to scare ya! Were you practicing your serve? I can receive some if you want!”

“No! No no I was just… playing around, haha.” Hinata’s receives were really something to witness though. They were beautiful in their own way. How he moved with a sharpened, feral precision to meet the ball wherever it was aimed time and time again without fail. Yachi could never tear her eyes away from Hinata once he stepped on the court. 

He was her favorite player to watch. 

“Ah, another time then. Are you almost done here?”

“Almost! We’re still going to the store, right?” 

“Yeah! To get those highlighters you use! I wanna get like, thirty .” Hinata dropped the volleyball and started dribbling it with his knees. “Um wait. I should check my allowance first. But thirty would be nice.”

“We can do ten to start,” Yachi offered with a smile, watching Hinata play with the ball like it’s a part of him - a piece of his energy. “I already have a pack of mind.” 

She hoped she could find an orange highlighter while they were out too. One that was as bright as Hinata’s hair in the late afternoon sunlight that crept into the gym through the windows. Hinata smiled at her wide and the wind got knocked out of her. Her heart clenched fiercely and when Hinata put the ball away in the ball crate beside Yachi, she inhaled sharply. 

“Yachi, has anyone told you how you’re so... ?” Hinata’s not looking at her. His hands were deep in the ball crate as he put away the remaining volleyballs Yachi hadn’t finished storing yet. “What’s the word? Not just kind-which you are. But you’re so… oh!” he turned his head and it was like daybreak bloomed in that very moment. “Thoughtful. Like, the most thoughtful person I know cause you’re always considering and thinking about others-even for the smallest of things.”

The blood in Yachi roared. Her heart squeezed something terrible. Hinata was going on about how Yachi had so many thoughts about other people he wondered how anyone could ever feel lonely or forgotten when Yachi was there. To consider them and acknowledge them and give them space. He went on about how her brain must be so big because it carried so many thoughts and how her heart must be so large because it cared for people without hesitation. 

“It’s why you’re such a good manager!” Hinata said with a sense of finality to his words. “All these years you’ve been taking care of us and I speak for everyone-even Kageyama but he’s shy so he’ll never admit this-when I say you’re irreplaceable. One of a kin-are you crying?”

Yachi was, in fact, crying. Hot pools of tears that were flowing down her face without stopping. “Ah! I’m crying!” She gasped. No no no. Why was she crying? No, no her tears weren’t hormones going wild. Or from her usual bout of a fifteen minute stress cry followed by a forty five minute power walk that concluded with a ten minute ice cream break after. 

No, her tears were from the praises of sunlight Hinata had basked her in. 

She wiped at her face furiously, sniffling as she did. Hinata was fussing. Waving his arms around wildly. His face was as red and maybe as scorched as hers felt. 

“I’m sorry!!! I didn’t mean to compliment you to tears!”

“No it’s okay!!! I didn’t mean to cry from your compliments!!! They were very nice!”

“Do you need a tissue? I have a pack of two with cats on them that I use for Natsu sometimes!”

“Yes I’d like one of your packs of tissues you use for Natsu sometimes I also like cats!”

“Ok!” Hinata pulled out a pack of tissues, the ones with the cats on them, and handed them to Yachi.

She took the pack and a tissue to wipe at her eyes and blow her nose. She put the pack in one pocket and then the used tissue in the other-that she’d throw out later, of course. A beat of silence passed between them. Yachi glanced up shyly at Hinata. Hinata glanced down shyly at her. 

They both bursted out in laughter. 

“Let’s go to the store!” Hinata said. 

Yachi nodded, “To the store!” 

  /

“So you use post-it notes to take notes…”

“Sometimes! Or I’ll use it for book marks or to tab important sections to go back for review.”

“Huh,” Hinata said, holding up two packs of post-it notes. One had a stack of green, orange, and yellow. Another had a stack of blue, pink and purple. “I’ve always used them to make little paper frogs.” 

Yachi snorted. “Well that’s definitely a good use for it…” they had spent about an hour or so at the stationary store. 

Their game plan was to buy the highlighters so they could use it for their study session. But then Hinata got distracted looking at all the notebooks with designs on the cover. 

“A purple tiger! Wait, that’s Mahou Ranger Blue! WAIT A MINUTE IS THAT A COW?” 

And Yachi, of course, followed along. She pointed out some of her own favorites from the stack. A sunflower cover. A panda cover. And one special notebook that you could design the front yourself that came with a small pack of markers attached. 

Hinata then discovered the wonderful world of stickers and now, in the little basket Yachi had the sound mind to grab once Hinata started pulling object after object from the shelves, was filled with seven sticker packs, two notebooks, and three rolls of washi tape. 

“This place is so cool…” Hinata was awestruck as he dropped the post-it note packs with orange and yellow into the basket. “Do you come here often?”

“Sometimes,” Yachi tapped her fingers on the top of her knees. “When I need to restock. Or when I need to self-care and indulge. Or uh, when I’m bored.”

Hinata nodded several times, “I don’t even know where I’m going to put all those stickers… maybe on Kageyama and have him freak out about where they came from.”

“That would be very chaotic.”

“Hehe, right! Oh yeah, the highlighters. We didn’t get the highlighters!”

“They’re over there,” Yachi pointed at the aisle with a sign saying HIGHLIGHTERS written in bright colors. “There’s a whole section for them.”

“A WHOLE section,” he sounded like a kid in a candy store who was given permission to go wild. “Let’s go!” 

They went through every section of the highlighter aisle. Hinata was enamored by all the colors. “There’s ten shades of purple how is that even possible !” and “Wait this is literally the color of the sky I love this shade of blue!” and “Oh my God why would they make a highlighter that’s turd colored aren’t they ashamed? Don’t their parents love them?”

Yachi laughed so hard her sides hurt. Hinata was enjoyment incarnate. Being with him was fun, always. She never got bored or tired or felt like she had to work hard to fill in a space of silence when she was with Hinata. He made it feel like gaps were easier to fill. Like moments were more memorable. Like conversations just held more weight when Hinata Shouyou was on the other end of the line. 

She kept glancing at Hinata’s hair as he tested every single highlighter he could on the test paper. The bright mound of orange that looked like untamed fire. She wondered how soft it was. If he used any special type of shampoo. If he could tie it into a pony tail now because it had grown much, much longer since they were first years. She wondered if he would let her put it into a ponytail. She wondered if the gaps between her fingers would be wide enough for his hair to slide through as she curled her hands into his hair while they-

“Yachi look!” Hinata was holding up a yellow highlighter. He put it close enough to her face and stuck out his tongue in thought. Eyes narrowed in concentration and zeroed in right on her. Making Yachi stand a little straighter. “Oh yeah… this is the perfect shade.”

“The perfect shade for what?” 

“It matches your hair! This yellow, I mean.” Hinata explained. He took one of the test papers that was blank and ripped it out of the notebook. With a flick of his thumb, he uncapped the marker and drew a thick, bold line of yellow onto the page. “See? It’s just like your hair. Don’t ya think?”

Yachi’s fingers found themselves to the end of her ponytails. Pulling slightly so she could get a better look. She did a double take. Her heart skipped double beats. “Oh… it does. It does!” 

“Hehehe, I’m gonna get it.” he dropped the highlighter in the basket. The only highlighter out of all the ones he tested out. “Ok. Did you find a color yet?”

“You’re only getting… this one?” Yachi’s not sure how to take that. But then, it’s Hinata. He’s simply complicated sometimes. 

“Mhm. That’s the one. I like it the best.” and her mind filled in the blanks that weren’t there. Put in the puzzle pieces to fit so the conclusion was he liked that highlighter the best because it reminded him of her (hair color, her mind provided. Not you specifically. Does the distinction even matter! ). 

“Ah for me… I…” slowly, she kept walking down the aisle. Hinata trailing behind her. Head turning on either side, searching and gazing until-”Oh! That one!” she pointed at an orange highlighter at the top of the shelf. She stood on her tiptoes but her fingers were a few inches short. 

“Here,” Hinata was behind her. His chest to her back. His heat a warm blanket that drowned her in the fantasy of the shelves replaced by a kitchen counter and a cabinet. Their own little apartment instead of the stationary shop. Intimacy and familiarity humming between the small distance between their bodies. And Yachi would turn. Turn around and look up at Hinata and see the curve of his chin. See the slope of his collarbone that would slip into the crook of his shirt collar. And when Hinata would tilt down, and their eyes would meet, and Yachi would swoon because being so close she can drown in his scent. And she’d reach up onto her tip toes to-

“The highlighter,” Hinata’s heat was gone. The highlighter was now in her face while Hinata grinned. “My super reach was able to grab it no problems! Here ya go.”

An orange the color of Hinata’s hair. Where she could use it whenever she felt a yearning in her chest and could reach into her pencil pouch. Pull out the highlighter. And find words in one of her novels that made her heart twinge the same tune and level of longing she felt whenever she overheard Hinata’s laugh or had his smile directed at her. Her Hinata orange. 

She reached out to grab the pencil. Their fingers brushed briefly. A warm spark that went right to her toes. 

“Thank you,” she said, curling her fingers around the highlighter in a silent prayer before dropping it into the basket. “I’ve been looking for a shade like that for a long time. The right kind of orange!” her throat feels dry. Her chest is throbbing something horrible. 

“Oh? Why’s that?”

She thought about the yellow highlighter laying underneath the orange one in her basket. How Hinata said this is perfect - because it’s like your hair. She swallowed past the nerves in her throat. 

“It reminds me of… you. Your hair,” she quickly tacked on. 

Hinata doesn’t move. And that put her on alarm because Hinata was always moving. His stillness was a sign of the unexpected coming. 

And when it came, it stole the last remnants of her heart that was untouched by this feeling, taking control of her body and conquering it in the name of Hinata Shouyou.

His smile was bold and brilliant and bright. Wide as a watermelon. As dazzling as star bright. His face was red. Red to his cheeks and his chin and the tip of his nose-all red and covered in a blush. He laughed, and it was a little off kilter. A little high pitched in the middle but leveled off at the ends. 

“Yeah?” he rubbed at the bottom of his nose. “Heh...hehe…”

“Hehe...hehehe…”

“Hehehehehehe.”

“Heheheehehhee.”

  / 

  Yachi set down a tray of juice and some snacks on the table made after Hinata had pushed aside their revision materials to make space. She laughed, finding Hinata with his cheek smushed against the table. His eyebrows knitted so deeply together they’d probably become a blanket. 

“Hi. Are you tired?” she asked, kneeling on her pillow. 

“When I close my eyes all I see are multiplication signs and equal signs… it’s horrible!”

“Have you tried opening your eyes?”

“It’s no difference cause it’s right on the page!” 

They’d been studying for a good chunk of the evening. Nearly everyday after school they’d come back to Yachi’s place to study. Their exam was at the end of the month. And they had about another week or so to prepare. Yachi, thankfully, had notebooks organized and compiled by subject and tabbed accordingly by the topic of said subject ready to go for revision. Hinata had to play catch up. But Yachi had seen this coming. So she made brief, outlined notes for Hinata that he could use as a foundation to fill in the gaps. 

“Yachi…” Hinata had sniffled, clutching the review materials to his chest. “Yachi I’d die for you.”

“Please don’t!” Yachi waved her hands in front of her face frantically. “My 27th fear is being the cause of someone’s death!” 

The sun sat heavy and rested in the middle of the sky. After doing four rounds of twenty-five minutes on, they now could spend thirty minutes on a break. Something Hinata was incredibly happy about reaching. 

Yachi wiggled her toes in her socks, staring down at the crown of Hinata’s hair. I want to touch it. 

“Is it making sense?” she asked instead. 

“Mmmmm, slowly.” Hinata yawned. “I dunno if I have another twenty-five minutes in me though.”

“We did study a lot,” wiggle wiggle. “We could call it a day after we review that one problem you were struggling with?” she glanced towards her window. “So you can go home before it gets dark.” 

“Ughhhhhh,” Hinata pushed himself up to a sitting position. Raising his arms high above his head. Yachi caught a bit of his stomach peaking out from under his shirt and immediately shot her gaze back to their work. “Ok. That sounds good. Teach away, Yachi!”

So she did. She broke down the problem into walkable steps. And demonstrated the method for doing so. Hinata watched with the same intensity he had when he was watching someone pull off a move before he replicated it with near perfection shortly afterwards. He followed her pen strokes. Her pointing. And when she capped her orange highlighter to make an emphasis on one of the steps, he grinned. 

“Oh hey. Nice highlighter,” he reached behind him and pulled out from his back pocket his yellow highlighter. He tapped his highlighter against Yachi’s. “They look kinda cool together, don’t ya think? Like they compliment each other.”

We do, don’t we ? 

“Yeah,” Yachi replied dreamily. She snapped herself back into focus, though, before her thoughts went ahead of her. “Do you want to try the problem? If you get stuck on a step you can use your highlighter to mark it.”

“Good idea!” Hinata went to work. Face molded in concentration. His shoulders hunched. The hum of Yachi’s fan played in the background to the sound of Hinata scratching his notes down. She reached out for her drink. Hoping the sweetness of the lemonade would cool her thoughts. Of how often they were alone together. How her friends were always asking Hinata-san’s going home with you again, huh? And how many times she’d laugh it off and dimississ it saying We’re just studying! We’re just friends . 

Even when her heart would roar loudly in defiance: You want more. You’ve always wanted more. 

But how could she? 

They were graduating soon. Hinata was definitely heading into a world where their paths wouldn’t collide. Where they wouldn’t sit in adjacent rows. Where their friends weren’t down the hallways. Where they couldn’t grab lunch together and sneak out onto the roof. Hinata would surely go pro. There was no other option. And Yachi was going to college. This moment, in her room, where it’s her and Hinata and the fan buzzing and the drink in her hand with the ice slowly melting and the sun slinking lower and lower into the sky, this moment wasn’t forever. It was a finite piece of a giant vacuum that would swallow her whole at the idea that her days with Hinata were numbered. 

Numbered and disappearing at an alarming rate. 

“Am I right?”

Hinata’s question pulled Yachi from her thoughts. She blinked back the stinging in her eyes to glance down at his work. He had gotten it right. And her heart leapt with joy and pride at the sight. 

“Yup!” she held up her hands for a double high five that Hinata returned with a holler. 

“YEEEEEES!” 

“Just do that for the exam if you see a problem like that and you’ll be golden.”

“I will! You made it super simple to understand and do. If you weren’t such a badass with designs I’d say you could be a really good teacher, Yachi.”

“Ah, it’s nothing-”

“Hey. Don’t do that.”

“Huh?” Yachi stopped, mid tuck of putting a hair behind her ear. Wondering when she should get another trim for her split ends. “Do... Don’t do what?”

“Put yourself down,” Hinata pressed, leaning forward until their noses were almost touching. Yachi yelped and leaned back an inch. “You do that a lot. When I hype you up you hype yourself down. That’s not good.”

She knew she had a nasty habit of doing that. Of regulating herself to Villager B position. She’d been actively trying to not do that. And being in the club helped her cultivate a garden of confidence she could pick from whenever a new one bloomed. But every so often her habit came back. Innocuous and bitter. Never letting go.

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t apologize either,” Hinata said softly, yet there was a firm seriousness to his voice as he did.  

The fan whirred on and on. 

Hinata kept his gaze on Yachi. She felt sweat form in her palms. She watched as his gaze searched hers and then, for a brief second, fell to her mouth. She gasped. Her nails curling in to dig at her palms. Her eyes widening as the dangerous, mischievous idea that maybe he was considering what her mouth tasted like. Currently, she’s mad at herself for not reapplying her vanilla shea butter chapstick when she had thought about it. And currently, she considered how the humidity in her room is making her shirt stick in the most uncomfortable places. On her neck and under her arm and to her stomach. 

Their noses were inches apart. 

If she tilted her head, she could-

Hinata’s phone rang. The theme song of the newest Super Sentai- Mahou Ranger -blared through her room. Hinata and Yachi froze. Until Hinata cursed and got up to turn answer his phone. 

“Terushima!” Hinata said upon answering. “Hello? Can I call you back? I'm in the middle of something? Huh? Wait, what? Bokuto is doing what ? Wait wait! Send pics and I’ll call you later about it! That’s epic-let him know! Ok bye!”

While he was on the phone, Yachi had a moment to ground herself. Had a moment to realize that she was, in fact, very close to having her first kiss. She slowly raised her finger tips to her lips. Ran the pads of her fingers along her bottom lip and pressed down. Wondering what the pressure of another person’s lips-of Hinata’s lips-would have felt like. 

“Yachi, are these the tissues I gave you a few weeks ago? You still have them?”

“Huh? Oh,” she saw the packet of tissues that Hinata was holding up. “Yeah. They’re cute! So I’ve been saving them for special blowing occasions.” saying that out loud was a lot more embarrassing than in her head, oh Lord. 

Hinata, however, found it hilarious. He laughed and placed it back on the table. “You’re right. They’re meant for the most epic of nose blows. That’s why they’re super soft! Absorbs all the snot!”

“Oh that’s gross,” Yachi said between laughter. Her heart was still racing. Her fingers tapped on the table with loose, uncontained excitement. She kept thinking what if, what if, what if . 

Maybe one day, she hoped rather hopelessly, she could see what world lied beyond the what if . 

But for now, she contented herself with watching Hinata sitting across from her. In the small space of her bedroom. Where the moments before their paths would diverge were tucked away in tiny pockets of her heart. 

  /

  “What’s that? Hinata you own a highlighter?”

“I didn’t even know you took notes.”

“Hey! I take notes!” Yachi was not so subtly listening into Hinata’s conversation a few desks away. She had been reworking training schedules for the team to do next week. Conditioning should be bumped down back to two days, and three days for strength work and other drills. She was about to bring out the markers to color code when she heard Hinata’s laughter. 

Her heart skipped a measure. Her fingers twitched. His laugh was, perhaps, one of the best things she’s ever been blessed to experience. Even when it wasn’t directed towards her. 

“When? All your notes are drawings, man.”

“It makes sense to me .” 

“Right, right!” 

“Well listen! Maybe I just needed a cool highlighter to keep me motivated.” 

“Yellow’s the most basic color there is…”

Ah! Man… that should not have made Yachi as bummed as it did. Well, they weren’t wrong, she supposed. Yellow was a basic color. Especially when there were other shades like purple or mint green or sky blue. Yellow… yellow just didn’t-

“This is the best shade of yellow there is.”

And there was something in the way that Hinata said that. So sure, so strong, and with enough passion someone would think he was defending his favorite tv show character. Yachi felt her heart soar. Then immediately felt silly for getting so excited over Hinata being an advocate for something silly like a highlighter. 

She glanced up secretly. Hoping to see what Hinata’s expression was like. Her heart stopped. Her breath hitched. 

Because Hinata was looking at her, too. 

If this were a shoujo manga, and Yachi’s read many of them, this would be the scene where the world disappears and the only thing left are their desks. Their eyes meet and around them is a frame of cherry blossoms and starlight. Of sparkles and an intense, hushed moment that’s meant to translate a moment shared between two people and two people only.

But this is the real world. The moment fleets and passes like a train rushing for its next stop. 

“I like this color,” Hinata said. Looking at her still. His face broke out into a sunny smile that hit Yachi right in the chest. “I like it a lot.” Then he twirled his highlighter around his fingers like a drummer and turned back to his friends. 

“What? Why were you looking at Yachi-san like that?”

“Haha, don’t worry about it!” Hinata turned the conversation onto asking if they’d seen the ending of Black Clover yet. 

There was a loud, pulsing sound. That roared and demanded attention. That swallowed Yachi’s entire body whole. She felt like one, large, heartbeat. Her cheeks were flamed and her fingers were jittery. 

She looked back down at her notes. Staring at the blue marker she was planning to use for color coding. She put it away and brought out the orange highlighter instead. The one she’d bought with Hinata. 

With a slow, measured stroke, she brought the highlighter across the first word on the page. 

CONDITIONING - LED BY HINATA SHOUYOU. 

  /

  Yachi felt like death. 

Madoka, her mother, knelt beside her bedside. “You’re so warm, dear. Are you sure you want me to go to work?” she frowned. “I can stay home.”

While Yachi would want nothing more than her mother to stay. To taste some of her mother’s food. To feel the continued cooling comfort of her palm pressed to her forehead. She couldn’t. Her mom had a project presentation coming up soon that had her working longer hours. Yachi knew how excited her mother was to show off her latest work. If she missed a day something could go wrong… and Yachi would feel even worse if that happened because of her.

“It’s ok, mama.” Yachi wiggled herself out of her blanket enough for her face to show. Her cheeks were red and flushed. Her body felt sluggish but she put on the best smile she could. “I just need to sleep some more. I’ll be ok! You go to work.”

“Are you sure?”

“Super sure,” she reached up to touch her mother’s hand. Gave it a squeeze. 

Her mom still didn’t seem convinced. But after a few moments she sighed and got up from the floor. “Alright,” she adjusted her bag and leaned forward to press a kiss on Yachi’s cheek. “Try eating the porridge I made for you if you can! I put all my love in it.” another kiss. “Text or call if you need anything, Hitoka!”

Her mom left for work shortly after. Yachi pulled the blanket back over her head. Oh, she hated being sick. It was such an unpleasant time. Not only was she unable to do work, but her body felt blegh all over. Her nose would keep running. Her eyes never stopped watering. And when she coughed she could feel her whole lungs shake like old rafters in an attic. 

She also hated being sick because she couldn’t see Hinata…

The other managers and a few of the players had sent her get well text messages once they found out she was out sick today. And memes, a lot of memes. She felt good, to be considered. It was nice when people remembered you in your absence. When you not being there meant just as much as you being there. That they even considered reaching out at all had made her all gooey! 

And then Hinata had texted her. And her heart exploded. 

  Hinata: YACHI WHY AREN’T YOU HERE!!

Yachi: I’m sick lol! But it’s just a cold tho!!! I should be better by tomorrow so no worries!!!! 

Hinata: OH NOOOOOOO Hinata: YOU BETTER FEEL BETTER SOON OR ELSE!!!

Hinata: I’m beating up your antibodies as we SPEAK!

Hinata: Wait Tsukishima just told me if I did that you’d die so I’m actually beating up your VIRUS 

  Hinata never failed to make her laugh. Even when it ended with a slight cough that made her more tired afterwards. 

She slept most of the day away. Getting up once to eat her mom’s porridge. It was yummy, because her mom made it. She checked in with her fellow managers. Seeing how practice went. They both told her it went fine, and that her main focus should be rest. 

  Miyuchan: [PICTURE OF HINATA MID JUMP] Hinata-senpai’s in good form today hehehe… Sorachan: [VIDEO OF HINATA TURNING TO THE CAMERA, WAVING] when i said your name he turned and waved!! Said it was just for you :) 

  Yachi’s entire face exploded with heat afterwards. She chucked her phone and ducked under the covers like a caterpillar. “Waaaaaaah! WAAAAAAAH! He looked so good today and I missed it!!! MUCUS DRY UP! COUGH GO AWAY!!!” 

She kicked her feet up and down and buried her head into the pillow. Ah, she really had it bad. When did it ever get this way, though? When had she even started to like him? When had that happened?

Maybe it was gradual. A steady rising. That just built up and up over time until she finally couldn’t ignore it anymore. Maybe it was the natural progression of things. When Hinata was so warm and open and understanding. When his sunlight was so attractive and welcoming that stepping to bask in its glow just wasn’t that weird of a thing to do. 

But now she thought about what wedding colors she’d have her bridesmaids wear at their wedding and what to do if Godzilla attacked that day and they had to get married within his stomach after being eaten and that was the thought that sent her back to sleep. 

When she woke up, the sun had set. 

She rose slowly, rubbing the sleep from her eyes. “Ah, I slept for too long…”

“Morning, sleepyhead.”

“Morning Hinata…” . . . “HINATA?”

Hinata sat by her bed with the chair she usually had placed at her desk. He was all grins and laughter. “Haha, hey! Yeah, it’s me. I wanted to come see ya.”

“You… did?” 

“Yup! Your mom let me in. She wanted to let you know that she went OVERDRIVE with work today and finished enough so she could come back and see if you needed anything! We bumped into each other at the convenience store when I was getting you..” he reached into his bag and pulled out a pack of Fugashi. Her absolute favorite. 

She was going to cry. She’d blame it on the cold. 

“Hinata you didn’t have to get me anything! Just you here is uh,” she wanted to say that nothing was sweeter than time with Hinata. And nothing was more delicious than Hinata, in general. But instead settled with, “it’s good. It’s a pleasant surprise. Everyone really!” she quickly added. “I’ve gotten so many texts today from the team and our friends… feeling cared by you all made me feel a million times better!” 

Hinata still placed the bag of snacks on her bed beside her. And scooted the chair until he was right by her. He fixed her with a serious glance that made her want to fidget. But then he just broke out into his usual smile. 

“Well duh. Of course we’d check in on you! You’re important to us after all.”

“Hehe… yeah,” she rubbed at her cheek. “It’s nice to be reminded of that, I guess. You know?”

“Yeah, I get it.” he nodded several times for emphasis and then jumped as if he was struck by lightning. “Oh yeah! I almost forgot.” he reached into his bag again and pulled out a notebook. “I took notes! For you. Well, for me too but these are the ones I did for you specifically.”

She took the notebook from his hands. Flipping through the pages to find scrawled onto the paper notes. Organized and then explained why they were organized the way they were with doodles and boxes and arrows. It was all very Hinata. Yachi felt like she was getting a sneak peek into the inner workings of his brain. Which was cute. But what really made the notes was on the last page. Where he had written in big letters: KEY - IMPORTANT INFORMATION HIGHLIGHTED WITH YACHI YELLOW! 

This was the moment where she fell. 

If like was the diving board, love was the pool. And she fell into its waters. Got consumed by its waves. 

She liked him. Maybe even loved him. Infinitely so. The heat of her fever chilled in comparison to the overwhelming warmth and adoration she had for him in this moment. 

She pressed the notebook to her chest. Feeling the corners of her eyes sting. “These are the best notes I’ve ever received… thank you.” Yachi kept her eyes on Hinata. Who looked so pleased and elated and ecstatic-his entire face glowing from the praise. “And thank you for coming to see me.” 

“Of course, Yachi!” he reached out to grab her hand. Gave it a squeeze. And then ruffled her hair before he got up. “If you have any questions about the notes, gimmie a text! And I’ll see you in class tomorrow, ok? You better come! Or else I’m bringing you there myself!” 

“Yeah! Tomorrow,” she grinned. So hard her cheeks hurt. 

Later that night, after Hinata had left. Her mom came to find her later. Madoka sat at the end of Yachi’s bed. While Yachi sat propped against her headboard. Fingers running through every word Hinata had written for our. Making sure to linger extra long on the highlighted phrases. So much so her index finger had highlighter smudges on it. 

“I think he likes you,” her mom had said after a few moments. 

Yachi whipped up her head, “Did he say something? Did he! Mama you can’t say that and then not explain!”

Her mother laughed, “You didn’t give me a chance to! No, Hitoka. He didn’t say anything directly. But I know attraction when I see it.” she lowered her eyes, a sly expression on her face as she regarded Yachi. “Something tells me it’s not so one-sided on his part…” 

Yachi papped her cheeks, rubbing in small circles. “Ah… is it noticeable?”

“A bit,” she leaned forward to kiss Yachi on the forehead. “I approve, by the way. If he ever wants to come over for dinner let him know he’s more than welcomed! Also! Did you guys kiss? I hope you didn’t since you could pass your cold to him but if you did -”

“MAAAAMAAAAAA!” 

“Just teasing!” 

  /

  It was one thing to know you liked someone.

It was another thing altogether to act upon it. 

Yachi had definitely grown in her courage stat over her high school career. She didn’t hesitate to strike up a conversation. She didn’t question, as much and as aggressively, her place in the world. She raised her voice and led proudly during every practice session with her managers. She even looked forward to volunteering in class. 

But love? Romance? She had zero stats in that section at all.

Most of her knowledge came from otome games and shoujo mangas. And the occasional evening drama she and her mama would watch when her mama had a day off. 

Real life experience? Zero. 

How did people even confess to their crushes?

“I could write him a note,” she thought, sipping on her strawberry milk in class during lunch. “Or um… write him a song? I can’t sing well though. Maybe I should get someone else to sing it? But what if he thinks the person who’s singing the song to him is crushing on him and he falls in love with them and then they get engaged right in front of me I would have to simply pass awa-”

“What are you talking about, Yachi? It sounds stressful?”

“Hinata!” Of course he’d appear as she rambled herself into oblivion. So embarrassing. “Oh, nothing. I was just getting in my head a bit.”

“Well I hope you can get out of your head soon enough cause look!” Hinata held up his test score papers. They weren’t the best but they weren’t failures. He actually hit much higher than his usual exam results. With scores ranging well within the 60s and 70s. “I passed! Our study sessions worked!”

“Oh that’s so great Hinata! I knew you could do it! I’m so proud.”

“Hehehehehe, it’s all thanks to your wonderful teaching! Hey, as thanks. We’re gonna go out after school ok? Since we don’t have practice we can like, go get something to eat.” 

Like a date? Her brain supplied traitorously. “Something to eat sounds good. But you really don’t have to treat me. It was no trouble at all tutoring you.”

“I want to do this,” Hinata pressed. Firm and resolute. Once Hinata got set with an idea, it was hard to change his mind. Stubbornness was imprinted within his DNA-Yachi was sure of it. 

“Ok,” she agreed, nodding. Smiling, she added, “We can meet by the gym?”

“The gyms perfect! It’s a-” before he could finish Kageyama’s voice called out from the doorway. 

“Hinata! Melon bread is on sale today. Last one to the cafeteria sucks!” and then he booked it. 

“YOU DIRTY CHEATER, KAGEYAMA!” Hinata hollered. The classmates around them laughed. Yachi wondered what Hinata was going to say after that. But before she could ask Hinata turned to her, slapping his hands on her desk.

“The gym!” he pressed, looking her right in the eye. 

She nodded, “The gym. Go! Melon bread!” she stuck out her orange highlighter. Hinata blinked down at it for a second, then grinned. He reached into his back pocket and pulled out his yellow highlighter. He tapped his against hers. 

“I’M COMING FOR YOU MELON BREAD!” Hinata roared before he tore out of the classroom like a hurricane on a mission. 

Yachi stared at her highlighter like it was a rare jewel. She clutched it to her chest, where her heart was beating madly. 

“Thank you so much for existing,” she whispered. 

The rest of the day went by in a blur. 

Yachi barely remembered what occurred in her lessons. But that wasn’t really important. What mattered was after school. It was rare that they didn’t have practice. But Ukai-sensei wanted to give the team a good rest after their last practice match with Nekoma.

“You guys aren’t even allowed to think about a volleyball,” Ukai-sensei had warned. “If I find out you’re even touching one? Laps! Laps for days!” 

Yachi was surprised Hinata wasn’t attempting to sneak off with Kageyama somewhere far, far away to go practice out of sight from their coach. But she’s incredibly happy he isn’t. 

“Yachi!” 

Yachi’s heart skipped a beat as Hinata stopped by her with his bike. She hopped off the steps to meet him. “Hinata! Hi! Nice bike!”

“Thanks! Wait check this out,” he rang the bell several times. It’s chime declared to anyone who could hear it. “It’s the Mahou Ranger theme song. I learned it last week with Terushima!” 

“It’s fine! Um,” she stared at the bike, looking left and right to find another seat. “Are we going on that together?”

“Yeah! Is that cool?”

Was that cool? She’s read shoujo manga after shoujo manga depicting this very scene and they still hadn’t prepared her for this moment. She swallowed thickly. 

“Yup! It’s cool. I won’t fall, right?” she attempted a laugh at the end. Something light to make her heart settle and her palms sweat less. (Do her armpits smell? Would he even notice if they did? No no, her armpits were fine ). 

Hinata grinned lopsidedly, “If you hold on tight you won’t even wobble.”

Oh Yachi’s gonna hurl. 

Once Yachi’s on the bike, and her arms are secured around Hinata’s middle, it’s a whole other experience. A thousand manga panels couldn’t capture the feeling of having her chest pressed to his back. Having her cheek against his shoulder. Seeing and meeting Hinata’s eyes everytime he glanced back to see if she was ok. 

“I’m a safe driver!”

“I think we broke the sound barrier a bit!”

“Yeah but safely !” 

She’s laughed more on the bike ride than she had all day. And she may have held on a little tighter. Squeezed and took advantage of the closeness a little more than she should. But she wanted to indulge in a little greediness. Take a bit more than what she usually would have. In case this moment was the last. In case she’d never get to feel him like this again. 

They ate first. At a ramen shop downtown. The noodles were soft and the soup was so warm! Yachi slurped up her entire bowl. Messily and all. They talked about everything. School and their current, favorite TV shows. They exchanged music recommendations and talked about the future. 

“I think I want to go abroad,” Hinata mentioned as they sat by the riverbank after dinner. 

The back of Yachi’s neck went cold. “Oh yeah?” she tried not to think about how abroad meant far away and not near here. Because these were his dreams, not hers. And above all Yachi wanted to support Hinata and his journey with every fibre of her being. No matter where that took him. Even if she couldn’t support him by his side. “That’s amazing! Do you have a place in mind?”

“A few!” Hinata hummed. “I’m still weighing the options. I wanna go somewhere warm though. With a nice beach… I’d love to play some beach volleyball!”

“I’d worry about the sand in my toes,” Yachi laughed. “I get sand everywhere when I go to the beach. It’s really unpleasant.”

The sun was beginning to set. Sitting heavy and content upon the horizon. A mix of oranges and yellows and quiet pinks and rueful purples. Yachi focused her eyes on the river. And made her brain think about how far it reached. How the river would probably go to the ocean. And how the ocean, despite being divided into seven parts, was really all connected at the end. And maybe, that could be them. Divided, but connected. 

“Ah yeah?” Hinata said. “Well, the sand would definitely need some getting used to. If you visit a lot though, you’d get used to all the sand, wouldn’t you think?” 

If you visit a lot . She had to know what that meant. Because the hope that rose in her chest and took root in her heart and was threatening to dominate her being was too much. Too great. And too burdensome to end in a deflation of a what if, or a failed expectation. 

“You’d want me to come see you?”

“Yeah of course,” Hinata was staring at the bank too. And then he turned to look at her. And she met him in return. As she always would. “I like you. So I wanna see you. Even when we graduate.”

“I mean of course we’d see each other after we graduate! I dunno if I could visit all the time because of college but maybe long breaks or something could work.” She’d completely blown by his first admission. Her brain was already trying to envision summer and fall and winter breaks and a trip. She had to balance finding an internship too. So maybe she could coordinate something with whatever company she ended up interning at. Hopefully they’d be lenient. She’s never traveled abroad either. So maybe she could call up Kiyoko-senpai or-

“Yachi get out of your head.” 

Suddenly, Hinata was in her space. Eyes intense and lips pulled into a frown. Yachi’s instincts told her to move away but her heart told her to remain rooted. 

“Hi,” she said quietly.

Hinata searched her face for countless seconds, “Yachi. Did you hear what I said? The first thing?”

“Yeah of course.” she responded. Then giggles. “Oh, that sounds like I’m responding to you but no I mean I’m just repeating.”

“No, after that. Think,” Hinata was so so close. And with the sunset coating him like a blanket, making his orange hair stand out even more, and his orange, golden eyes glow, she wondered if he’d keep his hair that long. Or if he’d cut it. And she wondered if she could touch it before they graduated. And she wondered if her mother was right, and he did like her. And she-

Oh. 

“You like me.” it hit her like a freight train. Her entire body was covered in a dawning blush. The electricity and tingling of the realization went right down to her toes. 

Hinata broke out into a brilliant smile. “Yes!” he laughed, head thrown back. The sound bounced all over the little world they were building of just her and Hinata. Only two. “Oh my God. I was worried you didn’t like me at first and that was your way of rejecting me. WAIT!” He whipped his head back, eyes wide with panic. “Do you like me? I mean, it’s okay if you don’t I’ll survive but if you did and I missed that you should say it again or if you haven’t said-”

“I like you,” Yachi blurted out. Because once the words had a reason to be alive. Had a reason to be born. Could be freed from the prisons of her mind and delivered safely with her heart to his hands-she had to say it. Here on the riverbank where the wet grass would surely leave stains on her skirt. But she didn’t care. Because she had to say it. 

“I like you so much,” Yachi continued. Flowing like the river below them. “So much it hurts. So much I really, really want to kiss you.”

Hinata took her lips in the softest kiss. One that made her sigh and her eyelashes flutter. One that made her feel so seen and heard and alive and broken apart and undone and melting all at once. 

It was her first kiss. And it made her want several more afterwards. 

Once they broke apart, Hinata pressed his forehead to hers. Yachi curled her fingers around the back of his neck. Allowed herself the blessing of playing with his hair at the nape of his neck. Biting her lip, she glanced up at him through her eyelashes. He was smiling at her. His cheeks flushed red-probably burning as much as hers were at the moment. He laughed, and pressed a kiss to the tip of her nose. 

“Me too,” he whispered against her skin. “I like you so much I'm gonna explode, haha.”

  /

   “Can I say something? It’s kinda cheesy,” Hinata started as they biked home. 

“Mhm,” Yachi hummed, nuzzled against his shoulder. 

“I think of you every time I use that highlighter. The yellow one. It’s the only highlighter I’ve ever owned. And it’s probably gonna stay the only highlighter I ever have. Is that weird?” he looked back sheepishly and chuckled. 

Yachi laughed, shaking her head. “No not at all. I got that orange highlighter because it reminded me of you, after all. Or well, your hair specifically. But you, by extension.”

“What do you like more. Me, or my hair?”

“Hmm… that’s a tough question… Can you get back to me on that?”

“No! Yachi! You have to answer right now! Wait,” he stopped the bike by a lamppost. Hopping off, he held out his hands for her to take like she was getting off a carriage. She flushed, giggling, and hopped off with his hands in hers. “I forgot something.”

“Did you leave something behind at the riverbank?” she hoped not. They could go back and look for whatever he’d lost, but it was dark now. And any luck would be wasted right now. She’d try though, if that’s what- 

“Oh, no! No that’s fine. I just. I realized I didn’t-AHHHH!” he shook his head several times like he was scaring away the ghosts in the attic. “Yachi Hitoka! Will you be my girlfriend please?” he yelled for as loud as the neighborhood could hear. “I know I’ll be leaving and we’ll be far apart for a while but I like you a lot! I like you so much! I’ll call you every night! I’ll wish you good morning and good night! I’ll send you pictures of my sandy feet! I want to share everything about this new world I’m going into and I hope you want to do the same! So please consider me as your boyfriend, thank you!” 

Hinata Shouyou was a bag of surprises. When she thought she had him figured out, Hinata just threw Yachi for a loop. 

But that’s what made her drawn to him. That’s what made her like him. 

“Yes!” she yelled, just as loud. Surely the neighbors would wake up but she didn’t care. “Hinata Shouyou I want to be your girlfriend! I want you to be my boyfriend and show me your sandy feet and I’ll show you my not sandy feet! I want to call you all the time! I want to support you on your journey even when we’re oceans apart! I want to continue being with you for as long as I can! I like you! I accept! Be my boyfriend, please!”

Hinata cupped her face and leaned in for another kiss.

Under the flickering lamp post on a late, spring evening where their final days were drawing in. 

But their first moments, together, were only beginning.

#hinayachi #yachihina #hinata shouyou #yachi hitoka #haikyuu #my fics

[angelisverba]

i’ll hold you so you don’t fall again

in which y/n is just really creative and harry writes erotica under a pseudonym.

pairing: interiordesing!y/n and eroticawriter!harry

word count: 21k+

note: i’m so freaking sorry this took so long. thank you for being patient with me, and i hope its what you expected :) also the formatting is all wonky i have no idea why.

Y/n wasn’t one to brag.

She knew what it felt like to sit and nod while someone else talked about their accomplishment. The itchy pull of heart strings; the yearning of wanting success, too. 

But, she also knew how awkward it was to go back and forth declining compliments. 

Which is why she never bragged about her newfound success. Or did the whole ‘oh you’re too sweet’ ordeal. She said thank you, and moved on. 

Because it definitely was one.

 A sudden change of no recognition to suddenly everyone wants her.

She had her friend, Lucy, to thank. Lucy had just opened up a coffee shop. One of those cute artsy ones on a street in West Hollywood somewhere, with money she had saved up over the years. It just so happened that her best friend was a talented painter, designer, and dabbled in all kinds of crafts. Y/n was known for always maintaining a tiny business of whatever it was she could come up with, and when her friend asked for help to decorate and set up shop, she jumped at the opportunity to go big. 

The store was a loft-y type space. A blank, grey walls and metal; an industrial room. The first time Y/n looked at it, her mind  flooded with ideas. Mirrors, art, frames, flowers, and anything that could be put up. Different themes and approaches to light up the room. But, before doing anything, she had a nice long talk with Lucy, about what she wanted to see. Had her set up a pinterest board with items for the shop. Color schemes, movies, plants, etc. From that, y/n took hold of the project, asking for Lucy’s opinion here and there, but taking most choices to her own judgement. 

The end result… well, it was the reason why Lucy was full all the damn time. Y/n had turned the lofty space into an Instagram hippie galore. Lucy’s mood board consisted of a weird mix of Madonna, pearls, and David Bowie. So, all over there were some of the most famous pop-culture posters. Streams of pearls. Mason jars lined with pearls. Velvet curtains with golden tassels; the stringy ones that tickled when you rub them all over your palm. There were light bulbs and fairy lights hanging in the wooden beams from the ceiling, that were turned on everyday 30 minutes after sunset, like the headlights on cars. Additional records were set to look through and buy in a corner, and opposite that a jukebox with records that both y/n, Lucy, and Lucy’s boyfriend, Mike, had picked. The labels were written in y/n’s writing, a mix between curly-cue and messy doctors cursive; clean enough to read, messy enough to enjoy. 

No plants. Or succulents, at least, but y/n had bought 5 dozens of roses from downtown. She’d hung them up to dry, left some where they were, and others she put in empty glass cola bottles that were in the center of each of the 10 booths. On the single, middle tables, y/n had placed leather table cloths. No flowers. 

And the menus? Oh gosh, the menus. They were y/n’s pride and joy. 

She’d closed herself in an entire day, to create the finishing look. With a copy of drinks (labeled like ‘Madonna’ and then the actual coffee order that star would’ve wanted)  and the small variety of sandwiches (& other finger foods) y/n drew portraits on blackboards, used different fonts, painting mediums, and at a certain point even incorporated glitter, to create these magnificent hand drawn chalk menus. 

Then the outside of the shop. This is what got her word out. 

A journalist of some sort had happened to stumble upon Coffee for Rockstars the day that y/n was painting the windows. 

You know, like with a brush and paint can. 

She’d blocked off her workspace with chairs and caution tape, jammed her newly bought airpods in, and pressed play to her music. 

The mural- Lucy labeled it, but to y/n it really wasn’t all that much, consisted of a the planet Saturn, with David Bowie, Elton John, Prince, Stevie Nicks, Freddie Mercury, and The Beatles prancing along the rings (all picked by Lucy). The window was a 5-or-so feet taller than her, so she had to use one of the chairs to reach the top half of the planet. 

While she painted Elton’s fluffy feather suit on, the journalist had approached her, his waist pushing through the tape y/n had put up. 

“Excuse me?” he called out to her, hands positioned on one of those Canon Rebel whatever they were called everyone seemed to be carrying around these days. 

And Wild Night by Van Morrison may have been playing a little too loud because y/n didn’t hear him the first time, and he had to call out again, leaning forward slightly to catch her attention.  

“Excuse me?” The guy says a little louder. This time, she sees him, and turns while removing her headphones, getting paint on her forehead and hair. 

“Oh!” she said, startled. “How can I help you?” Her cheeks flame a bit when he gives her a boyish smile, lips twirling up to the corner of his eyes. He’s cute, she thinks, floppy hair that’s sunbleached at the tips from the sun, and freckles in the bridge of his roman nose. 

“Yes, actually. My names’ James. I was wondering if I could take your picture for an article I’m doing. I work with the LA times, in the local business section, and there's a piece on West Hollywood’s hottest places. This one’s trending.” He lifts his camera in a ‘here it is!’ gesture. 

“Me?” she asked in disbelief. Her eyebrows raised high above their usually places, and her eyes nearly popped out of their sockets. “Shouldn’t you be photographing inside? You know, like the people?” 

“You worked on this place didn’t you? That’s what Lucy told me. You’re a big part of what makes this place hot ‘n trendy. Plus, this live painting action will look wonderful…” he trailed off, his glance drifting to the window and to the picture she was painting. “It’s really good. Deserves some recognition.” 

“Uhm…” Y/n looks around. There’s people on the opposite street staring at her, some that linger as they walk by. She catches a window roll down as the car goes by. 

She’s always been small. In size, in popularity. She’s never been in demand. If she said yes, there's a possibility that that would change. A small part of her wanted that… she could finally start her business, like she’s always wanted to...

    “Okay, how do you want me?”

    He laughed, and told her to just continue with what she was doing. So, she did. She added more paint to her glass palette, and unprofessionally used her bare thigh to rid the brush of the excess paint. Momentarily, the brush found its way to the bite of her teeth, so the girl could put her earphones back in and get back into the right headspace to work. 

The journalist, chuckled as he watched her, amused by her tactics, how she leaned back to look at the bigger picture. He was done in a matter of minutes, taking pictures of everything she’d set up in her closed off area. The tarp she’s laid on the floor.  The cans of paint; red, blue, yellow, green, white, and black. An uneaten sandwich and a glass bottle filled with pink liquid (lemonade and a bit of vodka, y/n’s choice of drink when she was painting, claiming it got her ‘creative juices flowing’). 

He has to get her attention again the same way, because she’d managed to lose herself in what she was doing. 

“You’re all done?” she asked him, once again plucking the earphone out with a yank. 

“Yep, got more than enough.” James said, placing  a black cap on the lens of his camera. “Can I ask you a few questions?”     Y/n smirked a bit, thinking back to her school days when smartass teachers would respond with ‘i don’t know, can you?’ and she nearly did as well. 

She didn’t though. She just said, “Go right ahead.” 

“Well, first thing’s first,” he reached into his front pocket, and pulled out his phone. Who keeps their phone in their front pocket, she thought. “Name, age, and what you did for Rockstar’s cafe?” 

“My name is y/n, I’m 21, and I was interior and, as you can see, exterior, designer as well for Rockstar Cafe.” She’s shifting awkwardly side to side, tugging at the ends of her large,  orange Garfield shirt nervously. Flashes of her jean cut-offs peeked where her shirt lifted. 

“Tell me a little bit about the process of creating the entire ‘astro-70’s’ vibe you got going on here are the shop.” James doesn’t look up at her, because he’s furiously typing away at his phone, noting down what y/n says. 

    “Well, that was really Lucy’s doing. She provided me with pictures of things she wanted, kinda like… uhm.. that aura? I guess you could say that she wanted the place to have. I worked side by side with her, to make this happen. This was her vision, I just helped it....” she struggled for a moment, to put her thoughts into words, “come to life.” 

He looked up at her then, a small smile on  his lips. “What’s your favorite thing about it so far?” 

“I’d say, the way the menu is set up. An artist’s name, and the drink they’d get. Lucy did her reasearch, and found out like, I guess you could say, their ‘regulars’. So, what’s on the menus are what the artist actually would like.” Subconsciously, she points to the inside of the shop, referring to the menus. 

“Last question, have you ever done anything like this before?” 

Y/n stammered for a moment, then said, “No. I haven't.” She taps the tips of her shoes together, all paint splattered and scuffed. “Nothing at this level of big. I’ve always kinda, worked on crafts. In highschool I had a small business, where’d I’d sell personalized things.  I think that’s why Lucy trusted me so much. Because I have a history of reaching to the stars when it comes to paper and pencil.” 

“That was great. Thank you so much, y/n. It was interesting to hear about you, and the cafe.” James places his phone back in his front pocket, and hooks his thumbs onto the straps of his camera as if they were suspenders. “Is there a website or business card you’d like me to reference in the article, after your name and all that?”  

“I don’t have anything like that actually. Just that I worked with Lucy, I guess you could say.” She puckers her lips at the end, shaking her head slightly. 

“Okay, well then. I’ll leave you to it. It’s coming along amazing.” James nods politely. “Have a great rest of your day, y/n.” Then walks away. 

“Bye, James.” She twiddles her fingers at him her way of saying goodbye. It doesn’t take her long to get sucked back into her work. In fact, as soon as she puts the earphones back in, she’s gone off the face of the earth, and doesn't notice when a green-eyed stranger stops to stare at her, right by the tree that she’d wrapped the caution tape around. The man pinched his lip as he watched, eyebrows furrowed with the same concentration y/n had for her work.

Except that he was watching her. The way her wrist flicked, how she tilted her face to look at what she was doing. How she stood like a flamingo, with her ankle pressed against her calf. The way she blew the wisps of hair off her mouth. 

He watched her intently, wondering who she was and how did she get there and what her name was.

And then, 

Brushing those thoughts out of his mind, he walked into the shop and didn’t look back. 

.

.

“Y/N!!” Lucy yelled from the counter. 

Y/n, covered head to toe in sparkly purple fabric, rushed out with a bit of hummus on toast in her mouth still. 

It was Halloween, and Lucy had demanded they both dress up as part of the uniform at Rockstar that day. Y/n, had decided she would go as Selena Quintanilla, and had crafted herself a halter top-style romper with purple cloth she had bought at the fashion district earlier that week. She’s woken up early too, and gone to her mom’s house so she could do her hair, and make up (given she’d lived at the same time Selena had). 

Lucy, ever the creative one, teased her blonde hair, spray painted it with a cheap can of green hair dye from the dollar store, and bought a pinstripe tux. TA-da! Beetlejuice, beetlejuice, beetlejuice. 

“Y/n!” Lucy was hissing now, impatient and demanding. It was a busy day at Rockstar. Social media influencers had come out for photo-ops and the like. Also, Lucy had a deal going of buy one get another iced coffee half off, and a free cassette with the $20+ purchase. 

“I’m coming, Luce! I’m coming, Jesus Christ,” y/n finished off chewing, tugged on the halter top to make sure nothing would pop out of place and washed her hands in the sink to help Lucy at the register. 

After she finished, she took place along side the three baristas, Kelsey, Tilly, and Kim. Kelsey was a broke college student, Tilly an Asian girl who doubled as a pole dancer on certain nights (she wore a mask to make sure her identity stayed secret), and Kim was a 30- year old who lives in his parents house. Bit of a creep if you asked y/n. 

“Y/n, you wanna take order 48 or 50?” Asked Tilly while rinsing a measuring cup. 

“I’ll take 50 and start on 52.” Y/n responded, tying the apron straps behind her neck. She didn’t tell Tilly that she picked order 50 because she hated making espressos, and order 48 consisted of three espressos. Order 50 was only four iced coffees. 

After she finished decorating Lucy’s coffee shop a month ago, Lucy didn’t offere y/n a job, but she was always around to help, and Lucy paid her for it. After class, y/n would stop by the shop, and that would lead to her working as a barista. Which she didn’t mind, the money helped and it gave her something to go. Otherwise, she’d be at home with her nose stuck in a regency novel and a buzzing feeling of want in her crotch at the cue of poetically beautiful yet smutty words. 

“Order number 50!” She called out. She set the plastic cup on the pick-up counter and plucked a stray from the jars to place alongside the drink. Seconds later, the drink was picked up by a tall and tanned man with green eyes; nails painted black; rings adorning each finger; soft, pink lips and a scruffy jaw. Curly strands of brown hair peeked out of a green beanie. 

He smiled at y/n. The way you smile at the cashier in the market. Polite. A bit disconnected in the eyes. He said, “Good morning, Selena. May I have a cup holder please?” 

In a British accent made heavier by the morning gruffness in his voice. Scratchy, deep, manly. And incredibly sexy. 

Of course, y/n took a moment to take in and drink the image presented before her, but after she felt her cheeks heat up like the fire underneath a witches feet, she cleared her throat and responded with, “You recognized who I was! Kudos to you, sir!” with a grin on her red lips. The man chuckled, and took the carton cup holder y/n gave him. 

“Have a great rest of your day,” was the last thing he said before he walked away. Y/n stared after him, watching the way his thighs filled in the fitting yellow pants he where, and how his biceps looked deliciously muscular; bulging in a white tee. 

“Y/N!”

“Sorry, Lucy!” Y/n skipped back to her post in front of the screen,and began reading off orders for Tilly, and Kim to make, and picked one for herself. Two iced coffees, one heated croissant. She was in the middle of measuring the milk when Lucy called her name again. 

“Lucy, I’m doing it, okay?” Y/n responded, frazzled. 

Lucy sucked on her teeth. “Y/n, come over here.” When y/n looked up, she saw that not only was Lucy looking at her, but a tall skinny blond with a sharp cut bob and a long white silk dress. 

Confused, y/n dumped the milk into the mixing cup and handed the order over to Kelsy for her to finish. “Yes?”

“This is Karime, and she wants you to help her decorate her store.” Lucy held a palm out towards the woman. “Karime, this is y/n.” 

“It’s so nice to finally meet you!” Karime said, and y/n had to restrain from cringing at her nasally, high-pitched voice. “I love what you’ve done with this place! My store could use some re-camping, and when I saw the article I just had to come and see if I could hire you.” Karime makes gestures with her manicured hands, and titles her head in ways that makes her hair shake like sheets in the wind.

“Oh! Um…” 

“Why don’t you go ahead and talk with Karime, we’re all covered back here.” said Lucy, an extra-pleased tone in her voice; the voice she used with customers to keep them happy, y/n had recognized. Oh so now you don’t want me to work? y/n thought to herself, but gave the same smile the green-eyed stranger had given her, and walked out through the waist high swinging door to meet with Karime.  

“So, I wanted to know if it was possible to hire you on a month to month basis. Ou could come in the first week of every month, decorate, redecorate, while I suggest and give you a picture of what I want, like you did for Lucy.” Karime had a bamboo handle purse, and they clacked together every time she moved her hands in ‘here’ or ‘there’ gestures.  

They’re both standing at the start of the record shelves, and Y/n is awkwardly shifting her weight from foot to foot and fiddling with her hands. She’s sweating, too. This was huge. Big. Is this what networking was? Getting the word out? Expanding? If she said yes, it’s possible that it’d create a cycle. Someone else would come in, asking for help, to hire, to contract. It was a rush. She was giddy, excited. But most of all, nervous. One, because she’s a bit clumsy in the social aspect, and Two, because she had a standard to meet. 

Despite all this, she said, “Of course, when do I start?” 

Then, Karime had given y/n the address of her shop (a weird mix of aromatherapy, kale smoothies with books), and they decided on a day to meet up (the second day of every month starting November, two days from that day). 

Karime left after that. She hadn’t bought anything. Lucy congratulated y/n, squealed over it even, and Lucy never squeals. Kim looked over at them when he heard Lucy, and tried to ask what all the fuss was about. Lucy demanded he go back to work, and y/n ignored him. 

When closing time came, the girls did the bare minimum, and rushed out to pregame at Mike’s apartment. Like crazy teenagers, Lucy and y/n shared three bottles of a Stella Rosa bottle that had been on sale at the grocery store at the corner of Mike’s apartment complex. Inside, Mike was 2 beers in, and claimed he wouldn’t drink anymore since he was the DD. 

“You guys go on and drink yourselves black.” he said, sitting on the couch with a water in his hand and Lucy in his lap.  Mike, a slender punk rock kid who proved his mom wrong in the fact that his like for the color black is ‘not a phase’ is the sweetest guy y/n had ever met. He wasn’t afraid to show his love for Lucy, always doting on her, and if she asked, would rip out his heart and give it to her. 

Y/n was jealous. She yearned for a relationship like theirs, and no matter how long she waited, how hard she tried, Prince Charming never showed. Instead, she was stuck with watching Mike and Lucy rub into her face what she wanted so badly. 

Affection. Love. Companionship. 

Cheers to that, y/n thought. Her bottle of Mango and whatever the heck the flavor was called, was nearly done and she could still walk in a straight line. The wine was juice in her hands. Child’s play. Water. It had no effect on her. Not until she was three bottles in. It took an entire bottle of Smirnoff vodka shots to get her going once. Only then could she completely let go. 

“A lonely soul drowns in Stella Rosa, Mike.” Lucy, her hair sticking up like Einstein from the re-teasing she’d done in the bathroom. “There it stands, taking the shape of Selena. Poor, poor, Selena.” Lucy giggled. A teasing jab that made y/n pout, and y/n heart to clench because she knew Lucy was right. A lonely soul she was. 

“That’s not very nice of you, Lucy.” Y/n pointed at her friend, bottle in her hand. “First you yell at me at work, now you make fun of my love life?” Shes joking, too, but there's a bit of truth to her words. Meaning, Intention. 

“Drink up, lonely soul, and prepare for the battle that lies ahead: the making intercourse with an attendee of the club.”

“Blah,blah, and screw you.” grumbled y/n, finally, finishing the bottle with a final drink. 

.

.

Not that y/n had anything against it, but fuck the club. She hated it. She only ever went because Lucy or Mike or whoever else begged her to go with them and promised something in return. (Lucy promised she wouldn’t ask her for help the following day). She hated the lights, how load it was, and how much she was being touched. Sweaty men and women alike, rubbing up on her in places where she didn’t want to be, it was too hot, and her toes always got stepped on. 

“The usual for you, y/n?” Mike was yelling. His mouth was at her ear, but even then, only some of what he was saying made it into her ears. She simply nodded, and lifted up to fingers. Two gin and tonics. One part water, three parts gin. 

Lucy and y/n had managed to snatch a tiny booth when they walked in, and this was the place y/n was planning to spend most of her night. Not out on the blue-lit dance floor, not standing at the bar. Sitting at the dark booth, glumly sipping at her two gin-n-tonics. 

“You are not gonna sit here sippin’ glumly at your drinks, got that?” Luccy pulled at the lapels of her suit, popping her collar so the tips touched her jaw. 

“Lucy, please.” Y/n’s bangs were deflated and her lipstick was smudged, at her friends comment, she sunk into her seat and pulled her head around.  

“Let’s go.” 

Lucy tugged her onto the dancefloor just as some song by Cardi B or Nicki Minaj (y/n couldn't tell anymore) blared through the speakers, and the bass beat thrummed in her chest. They stayed for a few minutes, and in those few minutes, y/n’s toes grew numb with how much they’d been stepped on, and her hair was beginning to stick at the back of her neck. Lucy’s black and white makeup was gleaming with her sweat, and her hair dropped with condensation. 

It looked a bit funny really. Selene and Beetlejuice together on the dance floor. An odd pairing, but a parenting nonetheless. Lucy led her back to where Mike was when she got tired of dancing, and like an obedient puppy, y/n trailed behind her. When Lucy ordered y/n to chug her drink, she did it.

She couldn’t say not. Not to Lucy. Not to Karime. Not to James.

She couldn’t say no. 

And because she couldn’t say no, y/n woke up the next morning and couldn't remember a thing. She had a Katy Perry Last Friday Night moment. Sadly, there was no really hot guy next to her on her bed, and thankfully, she hasn’t wearing headgear. 

What woke her, was the pain behind her eyelids that started when the light hit her. With a groan, she hid in the crease of her elbow while she scraped her thoughts together. Y/n was still in her Selena get up. She itched, smelled, and had a headache that hurt like...well, it hurts so much that she didn’t even know what to compare it to. She felt on her nightstand, and there it was. Bless his heart. 

Mike had left her a glass of something cold, and two pills. She didn’t know for sure because she didn’t have the energy to peek and see, but the class was probably pedialyte. The hangover cure. The pills were Tylenol. They had to be, because he knew ibuprofen doesn’t do shit for her. 

“Fuck, fuck,fuck,” y/n mumbled. Her tongue felt like sandpaper against the dry roof of her mouth, and when she swallowed, there was a dangerous taste of gin to her spit. Pressing her fingertips to her aching temples, she curses Lucy for making her go out last night, and Mike for letting y/n chug alcohol. 

    Unfortunately, she makes the stupid mistake of rising quickly from her potition on the bed to ‘get it over with’ and not even a full second goes by when she feels her stomach contents worming up her throat. She had to clamp her lips together and rush to the bathroom with her blanket wrapped around her ankles so she doesn’t barf all over her floor. 

    She doesn’t make it in time, and she spilled her gut on the toilet seat, before she’s made it so that her head is positioned right over the toilet bowl. She heaves and heaves until her chest hurts from the muscle contractions and her throat burns from the amount of acidity her bile holds. Tears drop from the corner of her eyes to where her thumbs grasp the seat because it fucking hurts and she’s gotten throw up in her hair. 

    The pain in her chest seems to have gone deeper, and wrapped its sharp talons into her heart. Her tears become purposeful; there’s a reason behind them not. She wishes there was someone there to hold her hair. To rub her back and tell her it was all going to be okay. To bring her the glass of pedialyte of her bedside table and coax her to drink it because she’d forgotten it. 

 Wiping her mouth with the back of her hand, y/n gets up and flushes the toilet, wiping down the toilet seat with paper from the roll. The blanket, still curled around her ankles, she picks up and hoists it over her shoulders. She gurgles water from the sink before heading out, avoiding making eye-contact with the horrendous image in her mirror. 

Pedialyte goes down like the gin did last night, and she throws in the pills when she drinks, simultaneously pulling the strings so her blings flip downwards and cut off the light coming in from the outside. Quickly, she strips from the itchy Selena ensemble, and slips on a red t-shirt with the Kool-Aid man’s face on it over her head. Y/n has learned that its worse to go to bed and not eat, so she doesn't get back into bed, even though she really wants to and instead throws the blanket on top of her scattered pillows, and turns to make breakfast in her impossibly tiny kitchen. 

She lives in a little lofty space in the downtown area. The cheapest of all her options, and the best kept compared to the rest. The windows were blackened around the edges, and her air conditioner didn’t work, but hey, at least she had a roof over her head that she didn’t have to share with her parents. And she liked the window wall, too, and how the windows propped open on hinges. The way her brick walls looked during golden hour. It was very pretty. Relaxing. 

Slowly but surely, she’s built herself a little home that she feels comfortable in. In her tiny little space, her favorite thing was her radio. An absolute steal at the thrift store: a really old radio with big knobs and the red line that moved left and right when you tried to pick a station. She went to it now, and turned it on at a soft volume. The song that always feels like it's about a one winged dove by Fleetwood Mac came on, and she hums it softly while she turns on the stove. It click, click, clicks on when the gas catches flames, and she pours oil into a pan to crack an egg over it. The white edges sizzle, and bits of oil jump up and splash onto her skin. It happens so much it doesnt hurt her; she doesn't even flinch.  When the egg begins to turn golden, she turns down the knob, and goes back to her fridge in search of an avocado. Call her a trend follower, but she’d be damned if egg and avocado didn’t hit the spot. Plus, she makes an ace toast. 

Surprisingly, the smell of egg (her dad likes to say eggs smell like ass) doesn’t upset her stomach, no. Actually, her stomach grumbled when she smelled it, and the ache that had begun to spread across the lower region of her abdomen made her hurry to cut open the avocado, and pop in a slice of sourdough bread into the toaster. She fore-went mayo that time, instead just wanted to get something into her burning stomach because she was so hungry. Her eyes blearily while she does all this. 

By the time she’d spread her avocado and egg of the long slices of bread, the radio was playing Girls Just Wanna Have Fun By Cindy Lauper and y/n is doing a little happy dance on her way to her wicker table by the window, next to the bookshelf resting against her wall. Before she sat down, she reached for a novel on the shelf, and set it alongside her plate on the table. 

Biting into her toast, she opened the book. 

    Dani’s cheeks blushed a wine-pink color. She looked away.

“You confuse me so,” she mumbled just loud enough for him to hear. 

“How?” He grazed her jaw with gentle fingers, enough to turn her so she’s looking at him.

“You say that what we have, this spectacle we put on, is simple only to convince the people you will be a good king, but them you look at me… like that.”

“Like what? Like I want to kiss you?” he whispered, smiling faintly. “Because I do.” 

She seemed not to know what to say, and resolutely, she turned so she sat facing forward between his spread thighs, back to him. 

He realized then, that her shyness had caught up with her. He wrapped his arms around her waist and set his chin on her shoulder. 

“I’m no expert in etiquette, Your Highness, but I’m sure this is high;y improper.” She sait, stiffly and primly while he cuddled her.

“Proper? They call me Rafe the Rake. I’d say, my little peach, that we passed proper a long time ago.” 

“Don’t call me that,” she mumbled. 

“What do you wish I call you then?”

“Dani.” 

He chuckled at her response. “It’s a hellions name. It suits you well, all right. You can call me Rafe, if you like.”

“I do not wish to call you Rafe.” “No?”

“It’s a scoundrel’s name. I wish to call you Rafael. Like the angel.” 

“An optimist, aren’t you?” Rafael began combing his fingers through her hair, sifting through the silking

strands then massaging down her neck and shoulders.

She sank back into his chest with a sigh. “That feels wonderful.” 

“I should probably warn you,” he leans forward so that his lips are pressed against the shell of her ear. “I’m rather gifted with my hands.” She tensed again when he leaned down and nibbled on the skin of her neck, but Rafael left her melt in his arms when he continued his sensual massage on her shoulders. “Are you uneasy with this?” He paused to take her hands into his own, feeling as if he were young again with the first girl he had taken a liking towards.

“No,” she said quietly.

“Good.” With fingers still threaded through hers, he drew her hands back, and pinned her arms ever so gently behind her for a moment, gazing down her neckline at her creamy chest. Her breasts her small, but awfully perky and firm. He wondered if he could fit the entirety of one in his mouth. He bet that she’d like it if he did. 

Y/n paused for a moment, and clenched her thighs together. A buzzing feeling was starting to form on her clit, and she felt the space where her thighs touch grow warm. The Kool-aid man’s eye popped with hoe erect her nipples were. She was aroused. And she knew that the feeling would only grow more intense the longer she read, which she planned on doing. So, she picked up her plate, placed it in the sink, and took her and her book into her dark room. 

    Her novel, Our Sign of the Times by Lemus Knox was tatted and bent this way and that from all the times she’s cracked the pages open for a steamy read. A painting of a bodacious woman and handsome prince posing in front of a castle adorned the front cover (one of the main reasons why she bought it). The was was strong, with raven hair and a strong jaw that portured strongly as he kissed the brunette woman in a lilly gown that he held in his arms. The castle was cottage like, with ivy covered walls and stone hedges; complete with a moat and bridge wrapping around the area. The author, Lemus Knox, painted the image himself, as he say so in the acknowledgements. No one knows who he is, how old he is, where he lives, or anything else about him really. A pseudonym, he says. A way to keep his life private life and still do what he loves to do: write.Y/n stumbled upon his book two years ago, in the best sellers section at Barnes and Nobles, and has been slowly falling in love with him and his characters ever since.

    When she settled back into her blankets, y/n opened her book, and placed a single hand on her tummy, over the Kool-aid man’s mouth.

    “It’s getting dark,” she said rather breathlessly, “don’t you think it’s time we head back?”

    “I like being on the water at night. You can’t see. You can only hear the wares and you have to feel,” he teasingly brushed his fingers over the tops of her breasts, “your way back to shore. Feel your way through the dark.” He whispered into her ear,one of his hands splaying on her stomach and pushing back up, up, up to her breasts. “A man has to know exactly what he’s doing.” 

    She arched against him with a soft catch in her breath as he finally cupped her small breast in his large hands; her generous nipples turned hard underneath his circling thumbs. 

    “Rafael,” she moaned breathlessly, arms wrapped against his neck as she pushed her swollen mounds against his roaming hands. “We can’t. We’re not married yet.”

    “Oh, my sweet love.” Rafael’s hands slid back down against her belly and began stroking her thighs. “I don’t plan on deflowering you yet. I simply wish to learn what it is you like.”

    “But… I do not know what I like.” Her words were gasps of dreamy pleasure. 

    “Then I guess we’ll have to find out, won’t we?” 

    Knowingly, y/n’s hand began to follow the same path that Rafael’s had. Thumbs circling against swollen nipples, fingertips teasing the insides of her thighs.

    Her head was cushioned against his chest, and she turned her fact to him, seeking his mouth in innocent yearning. He lowered his head, and parted her lips with long strokes of his tongue into her sweet mouth, savoring the way she tasted. She reached up, and caressed his cheek as they kissed in slow, soulful agony. 

While she ran her fingers through his unbound hair, Rafael deftly inched her skirts upward over her exquisite legs. His heart pounded as she let his hands roam under the gathered layers of silk gown and muslin petticoat. He groaned into her lips when his fingers came to the edge of her white stockings, and found tenderly warm skin. His groin flooded with heat and his body turned rock hard in an instant. Unwilling to push her beyond what she was currently willing to give him, Rafael fought to keep his needs in check. 

Having been with many of the calculating damsels of the court, he knew that Dani was unlike them. She was soft, fragile, small, so precious in his arms. And while she may think herself independent, Rafael wanted nothing more than to hold her close and protect her, as much as he wanted to give her glimpses of what was in store for the night of their wedding. 

Under her dress, he took his time exploring, kneading, caressing her belly, her hips, all the while devouring her mouth. Behind closed eyelids, he smiled to himself when she began to writhe and twist in his hold, virginal madness getting the best of her. 

“Rafael, Rafael,” her voice grew drunk with urgent need. 

When he stroked her at her ore, he was more than pleased to find she was soaked with silky wetness, throbbing under his fingertips with pure female invitation. 

“Dani,” he mumbled against her earlobe, as her took her skirts with his empty hands and raised them higher and higher. “Would you like to watch?”

“NO! I couldn’t.” Her chest heaved. “Don’t make me.”

“Watch me touch you.” he murmured as his fingertips began to circle. “There’s nothing to be ashamed  of, my darling. I only want to fulfill your desires. Watch me pleasure you. Look at how beautiful you are , your sweet body. My wild, virgin love.” 

“Oh , Rafael!” she turned and kissed him ardently. A burning moisture inexplicably rose behind his eyelids, and quickly fled as their kiss ended. 

    He kissed the curve of her neck, moved by his shy uncertainty as she lowered her heat to watch as he touched her, panting slightly. She was so ready, he thought in pure agony as his hardness chafed against her back through their clothes. It would have been easy to take her then and there, on the warm glossy planks of the deck, but her repeatedly shoved that temptation aside, vowing to prove his respect for her by making their wedding night her first time.

        Y/n, too, was panting as she continued to read, her vision growing blurry with pleasure and need. 

    His thumb deftly teased her jeweled center, while his middle finger gently stroked inside her tight, fluid heat ,and as he kissed her ear and the back of her neck.

    Y/n threw the book aside, letting her own hands take the pace it needed to to bring her to her high. HEr slender fingers deftly pumped in and out of her slick hole, the hand that was holding her book now rubbing fast circles against her swollen button.  Wet mewls left her swollen lips, and her chest arched to meet hands that weren't there. The feeling of clenching in her abdomen and a squirming need something increased. 

    She left herself clenching on nothing, pinching her pert nipples with damp fingers as she rubbed faster and harder circles onto her mound. 

    “Fuck, fuck fuck,” she gasped under her breath, a long groan escaping her as she felt it instenifsy; anticipation of water nearly spilling. It hit her like a splash of cold water, her head thrown back against her pillows with her mouth open; a scream and no sound. Her body felt electrifies, her veins fueled by fire. 

    And when it died out,

    She fell back like a ragdoll, limp and tired onto her sheets. Y/n was all droopy eyelids and noodle limbs after her orgasm. 

    She fell back asleep with sticking fingers on top of her red Kool-Aid man t-shirt.

.

.

“... you know what I mean?”

“So… you don’t want a beach theme?” y/n asked. Karime, dressed in another silk dress, but this time in floral red pattern, was having a very hard time identifying the theme she wanted for her Aromatherapy cafe/library. 

“No, but I just want like, beach-y vibes. Airy? Ooopen. Yes, open.” 

“So plants,” Y/n jotted bulleted notes into her planner, in a blank section under ‘Karime’. “White and green color scheme. Open, clear room.” 

The two are standing at Karime’s shop, three streets away from Rockstar; an alarmingly vast space with plain walls and counters. Y/n has a lot of blank canvas to work with, and much to improvise because Karime wasn’t being exact with her vision. She hadn’t even set up a moodboard like she said she was because ‘an LA girl has a wild life you know, hun?’ 

Y/n truly wished she didn’t know. 

“Okay now, what’s your budget?”  she asked, her tone businesslike but full of warmth and interest. 

“Um, how much do you think you’ll need?” Karime wasn’t looking at her, no, she was picking at her cuticles, and pushing them back with her thumbs; her nails had grown and blank space separated the polish from her skin. Karime was across y/n, behind the quick-serve counter where smokey machines and masks where all lined up; one for each stool. 

“Plants are expensive. If you want big and already grown plants, they’re expensive- ranging from $20 to, I don't know… maybe $80?” Y/n taps her pen on her chin. “Furniture, and other wall decor I can craft and thrift, so that right there is maybe $200? $400 tops.” 

“Okay.” Karime said, shrugging her shoulders with a crescent moon smile on her pink lips, “I’ll write you a check for $3,000 to start. I don’t want anything from second-hand like Goodwill or anything like that. I’ll give you addresses to pre-selected antique stores and the likes. Now, you mentioned something about measurements?”

“Yes! Thanks for reminding me,” she’d forgotten all about that, and it truly is a key process in the decor department. “Do you happen to have a measuring tape?”

“Actually, yes. There’s one in the back, I’ll go get it.” Karime pushed herself off the granite table top, and turned on her heel to walk through a golden confetti curtain, leaving y/n seated at the counter.  

For a moment. She fiddled with the tubes coming from the humidifying machine in front of her, an opaque purple bowl with two tubes sticking out from opposite sides that connect to facemasks that cover your mouth. They’re cool to the touch, but warm when her fingers linger. A humming sound emits from the machine when she accidentally presses the start button, and she pushes it again in a panicked state to make it stop. She decides it’s best if she stops messing around with expensive machinery, and instead turns to looking at the small amount of people that are in the shop.  

There’s no one really up and about at 10 in the morning on a Sunday. The few that were, came with laptops to do work in the library section of the shop, with coffees on their tables, or some kind of breakfast, which had to be from somewhere else because Karime didn’t have a menu for food. Just drinks.

One of these really risers, a man who hunched over a sticker covered Mac, looked strangely familiar. Y/n was staring at his choice of clothing (a worn down Brittney Spears shirt with jeans and rolled at the ankles and pristine white vans) when he turned to look at her. It was then, looking onto his dazzling green eyes and watching his taffy pink lips curl into a smile and a hand coming up in a small wave, did y/n recognize that it was the stranger that recognized her Halloween costume a few days ago.  

Cheeks heating with clear embarrassment, y/n raised her own hand and timidly twiddles her fingers. She mouthed hello and tried to keep from cringing when he raised a finger to rub under his nose to hide the way his lips twitch upwards. His nose scrunches and wiggles, and his eyes wrinkle at the corner, a cheeky gleam in his look.

“Y/n!” Karime, reappearing, held a ruler in her hand. A ruler. “This is the best we’ve got, babe.” 

Her head snaps from the familiar stranger to Karime, who smiled as if she’d just solved all their problems when she’d really just created more because measuring with a ruler? Seriously. Y/n curses at herself for forgetting to bring her own measuring tape. 

She has no other option than to nod, smile, and take the ruler, and start taking measurements.  

Like the hand-over-hand motions of steering a car, y/n has to place the ruler, mark where it ends with her nail, and repeat the process again and again. 

The walls, the patio, window space, countertops, tables, and the one she’s dreading to do: the dimensions of the room the stranger is sitting in. Karime’s place was split in two and a half. A small outdoor patio, the man space with tables and machines, and the library lounging space. The library lounge space, a doorway cut into a small cozy room to the left when you walk in. 

    She’d yet to go in there and measure the walls and bookshelves, putting in on to last in hopes that he’d leave because measuring with a ruler is really embarrassing and it’s possible that she’d be shuffling around him. 

God.

    Getting a grip, she pulled her shoulders back and walked into the room, counting how many steps it took to walk through the door frame. She felt like fingers trapped in a Chinese finger trap, constricted. 

Walking into the room, the stranger didn’t look up, instead he looked even more immersed in his work than ever. Eyebrows furrowed and fingers tapping away on his keyboard. He was even leaning into his computer screen, like he couldn’t get whatever it was he needed to type onto the screen fast enough. 

Sure enough, staring at him, lost in whatever it was he was typing, y/n stumbled on her own two feet, and an absurd noise escapes her lips when she tried to catch herself. 

She doesn’t turn to see if he’s looked at her (he did, with a grin that showed off his bunny-like teeth) and instead hangs her head and makes her way to the opposite wall. Great way to be inconspicuous, she thought to herself. 

The wall opposite the stranger, was tall, like the others were. And even though she was sure that it was most likely the same dimensions, she wasn’t going to take any chances. Pulling up a chair so she could stand on it once her arm couldn't reach anymore; huffing because Karime had those really heavy metal chairs that screeched if you didn’t pick them off the floor. Seven feet later, y/n had to step up on the chair, wobbling on her legs while she hiked up, pressing harder on the wooden ruler to make sure it’s place didn’t move.  

Her nail pins into the wall, at the end of the ruler, before using her other hand to move up the start of the ruler where her nail left off. When the ruler reached her hip, y/n stumbled leaned forward and effectively knocked out her balance so she was left flailing, falling, fa- 

Not falling. 

No, not falling, because two hands grip her hips, and pull her back on the chair to make sure she doesn't fall flat on her face. Her eyes are pinched un closed anticipation, waiting for the smashing of knees against the cold, hard floors but it never comes. 

“Gotcha!” says a deep british voice. A warm gust of minty wind flutters in y/n’s nose, and when she opens her eyes. Glittering green eyes, wispy strands of hair, and petal pink lips.

Right. In front. Of her face. 

“Selena, you’ve really got to be more careful,” he says, chuckling as his speaks so his words are broken with sounds of laughter. He’s even lifting her up from her leaned position off of the chair, and settling her down on the floor, biceps tightening and a humming noise coming from his throat as he does so. 

She’s flabbergasted. Doesn’t know what to say because she doesn’t think she’d ever been picked up before. Its ridiculous really, seconds away from eating shit on hard ass surface and all she can think about is how she was picked up. But jeez, who could blame her, the man was hot. 

    All sharp jawline, clavicles peeking out of his shirt, and the column of his throat such a nice pretty color. Quite handsome, really. 

    “Shit,” y/n finally manages to get out, her eyes wide, shoulders tense, and instinctively, her fingers are digging into his shoulders (though she’s not aware of it yet).  

    “You alright?” The man says, when he notices the way she’s gone rigid. He doesn’t say anything about the way her fingers are gripping at him.

    “Uhm, yes. I am now. Thank you…” Y/n’s voice comes out in breathy spurts, and her forehead glistens like she’s just run to catch the bus. That’s when she noticed where her fingers were placed; the way the white cloth dipped in from the amount of pressure she was exerting onto his skin. Cheeks turning a darker pink, she cleared her throat and avoided looking at him when she removed her hands. 

    “Harry” He mumbled. “My name’s Harry. Yours? Not quite sure if it’s Selena or not…”  

    “HA!” A loud exclamation, a bit too loud that it was awkward. “No. Not Selena. Y/n.” She looked into his eyes them, raising her chin the last inch to move from Brittney Spears face to his eyes. Eyes the color of light streaming through a tree leaves in a forest on a spring forest. Y/n sucks in a breath.

    “Well, wonderful to meet you, y/n.” He leans towards her, a ringed finger pointing jeeringly at the stick still in her hands. “I gotta say, measuring with a ruler?” 

    “Very efficient. As you can see,” She shakes the hand the ruler is in, and then uses the ruler to point at the seemingly innocent metal chair “You should try it sometime.”

    “Only if you catch me.” Harry grabs his own wrists behind his back, his shoulders hunching forwards and head shaking side to side a bit as his speaks. 

    It takes a moment for her to drink in what he’s said, to fully react with a scoff and a smile. “Catch you? I’ll hold you up on my shoulder’s myself.” 

“Then we’ll both end up sprawled on the floor, all roughed up and bruised.”

They both laugh at their jokes, and Harry even goes as far as to clap his jean clad knee. When it gets quiet, their laughs dying down, Harry speaks again.

“Saw you in the paper. Helped decorate Rockstar didn’t you?” 

Y/n’s jaw drops. Her lips opening and closing like a fish eating crumbs at the water’s surface. “The paper? What paper?” This was news to her. She was aware that the article James would write would be like, online or something. But a physical paper. That’s a little bigger. And him having remembered. Having identified her. 

“The local paper. WeHoVille.” He quirked an eyebrow at her, one side of his lips pulling up in a confused manner. “Was picking up a sleepy time tea and honey at the Wholefoods, and you painting was a feature next to the counter. Didn’t show your face, but I walked past that day and remembered.” 

    “The paper… wow. I didn’t know. But yes,”Y/n twirls the ruler on in circles with her fingers, putting all her weight on one hip so on of her feet could tap loosely on the floor. “I decorated Rockstar.” After a beat, “What’d you think about it?”

    “The place is amazin’!” A strand of Harry’s hair flops down to the space between his eyebrows and eyelashes, tickling his skin. He had to brush his fingers through his hair to comb it back.  “Love the feel of it. Gotta stop myself from going in everyday or might blow all my money on Stevie’s usual.”

    “That’s my favorite too! Next time you’re there, give me a wave down and I’ll have you covered.” Y/n’s offers had Harry’s eyebrows raised in seconds. “Least I could do, given you saved me from a concussion and all that.” She tried to explain, words coming out in a flurry from her mouth. 

He chuckles at her flustered stare, the same repressed smirk that he’d given her when he caught her staring. “I’ll definitely keep that in mind.” Silence and then, “What do you plan on doing with the place?” 

“Turn it into a greenhouse,” y/n said bluntly. The two were still standing next to the wall y/n was measuring, and Harry leaned one of his shoulders against it, moving his hands from behind his back to his front, wrapping one around the other one’s wrist.

    “That’ll be nice. Even more uh, how do you say, therapeutic? I guess more relaxing than the place already is. Karime said plants?” He asked. It didn’t quite settle with y/n that he knew Karime on a first name basis, that he was interested in knowing she picked plants, and she wanted so badly to say: Karime doesn’t know what she wants, but instead pushes that feeling away and goes with,

    “Well, she gave me a scope to work with. A color scheme. A gist. Certain decorations she wanted to see. So on and so on. Plants is just what I took from it. And it goes with her place because it has to deal with aromatherapy and all that. What do you think?”

    “I think you’ve hit it right on. Can’t wait to see what it’ll look like.” He raps a knuckle on the wall. “Did you still need wall measurements? I’ll hold you so you don’t fall again.” 

    Timidly, she responds, “Okay.”

    “Up you get, then.” Harry pointed to the chair, and y/n raises her leg to hike up, this time with Harry’s hands placed on her hips, steadying her. 

    A tiny dash on the wall where her nail slid off marks where she was at when she nearly fell off the metal chair, and this is where she places the ruler. She left off at 7 feet, the ruler at her hip. Resuming the same positions, she starts to wobble again, and Harry's hands tight, holding her straight. 

    She guesses he hears her gasp when she feels herself wobble because he says “I’ve gotcha.” 

    Y/n moved the ruler up one, two, and three more times, and then her arm can’t stretch anymore and pinches one eye closed to cry and guess how many more feet are left. She guessed four… ish. On a whim, she tries to push the ruler up once more, and her shirt rides up on the left side of her hips. Warm sequential breaths hit her skin, and a shiver drops down her spine when she realizes what’s happened. 

    Harry, ever the gentleman, doesn’t waste a second, and slides his pointer and middle finger over her skin, his warm fingers splaying over goosebumps to pinch her shirt and pull it down for her. 

    “All done,” she squeaks. “Coming back down.” 

    Harry released her, but offers her a hand and she takes it, holding on to his as she comes down, his palms warm and rings cool; a nice contrast. 

    “Thank you so much for h-”

    “Y/n?” 

    Booth Harry and y/n tun to the doorway that leads to the main room, where Karime stands with a checkbook in her hands. Y/n turns back to look at Harry. The curls behind his ears, the blonde hairs on his top lip. He turns to look at her, and gives her a closed lip smile. She smiles back and twiddles her fingers, mouthing a bye bye.

    Karime walks away when she sees that y/n is following her, and takes them both back to their position on the counter. 

   “Here’s the check. Two thousand dollars. Deposit it into your account, and use it for gas, furniture, anything that has to do with Aromareads you can pull from this.” She opens the book and tears out the slip of paper. “I will need receipts. And your name?” 

   Karime glances up at y/n, only to see that she’s busy looking back through the door frame at Harry. The manager is slightly irked at the fact that the person she’s hiring to reshape her business isn’t paying attention, but following her line of gaze, Karimer can’t blame her. Harry, a usual in her store, is a very very handsome man. Towering, with broad back and a neck Karime would love to bite into if she wasn’t gay. He sat at his laptop, thighs spread and eyes hard and stern, pondering with a pout. Karime is sure that what caught my/n’s attention is the way Harry’s thighs and crotch looked at that very moment, enticing, strong, sensual. 

    Clearing her throat, “Y/n. I need a full name to address the check.”

    Y/n’s neck snaps towards Karime, her hair getting caught on her lips at her velocity. “Uh- yes, sorry it’ll be Y/n Y/l/n.” 

    Karime repeated her name, and asked for her to spell it, which she did while stuttering mildy. 

    “Here you go.” Clicking her pen against the marble countertop, Karime handed the check to y/n. “Listen, by no means do I wanna pressure you, but if you could get this down before the holidays are in full force, I would love that.” 

    “Oh, don’t worry. It won’t take me that long.” 

    .

    .

    And it definitely didn’t. 

    On Monday, y/n spent the entire day (and part of her night) driving to most of the places Karime had sent her through a text. She spent a few minutes googling the places and looking through the pictures that came up and cursing every time it would redirect her to yelp- because really who has yelp? The antique stores were all spread out in the Los Angeles area.

    There was one in Long Beach. The pictures showed a really big warehouse with chair lying on top of each other and tables littered with little statues and the likes. Here she bought baskets. Tons of them. Gus (the owner) has dedicated an entire isle to them. When he saw y/n’s cart, the laughed then asked her “Why dolly, whadda ya need all them baskets for?” And when she told him it was for business, he offered her coupons and package deals. 

    “Tell ya what,” he scratched the scruff on his chin, the only hair he had because he was bald, “You buy all these baskets,” he pointed to her cart, “I’ll give you a twenty pa’cent discount on ya purchase, and if ya want, you can pick anathin’ ya want from over there because no one wants tuh buy them.” Then he pointed to a pile of books that lay haphazardly next to a stove and a turquoise refrigerator. She paid one hundred and fifty.

    She walked out with wicker baskets, one being a picnic basket she snatched for herself, lined nicely with red patterned cloth and a lid for it to close, and that same picnic basket full of regency novels from the 90’s.

    There was another in Laguna. A beachside thrift shop, where she paid for (very overpriced) frames of painted lighthouses and beach landscapes for that ‘beach’ factor Karime wanted. By this time, she drove back towards Hollywood to drop the items back at Aromareads because her car was getting full. She didn’t go inside, just unloaded the tings in the back and Karime took them inside. If she had, she would’ve seen Harry.

    Y/n then took to the shops in the downtown area. One being, a swapmeet type place where you walked through and looked at all the furniture. They set up different sections for different themes. Victorian, regal, animal skin themed, and a hall full of mirrors. Y/n bought a large 8x8 mirror for five hundred dollars. It would be delivered the following day.

    One of the sections was retro-themed, and she snapped a picture of a hip-height lava lamp and sent it to Lucy. Lucy then proceded to beg y/n through to text to please buy that I fucking need it. Will pay u back. So she bought it; $100 that she knew would be no big deal for Lucy given all the business she had. 

    Her final stop, were the flowers and plants district. There, she placed a large order for 30 succulents, and an assortment of nearly 100 leafy plants to fill the baskets with. She blew $1,000 there. 

    By the end of the day, she’d wasted nearly all of Karime’s check; a measly two hundred remaining after she refilled her car with gas (give or take some). Y/n met with Karime at around 6, in the back parking lot again, and left everything she’d bought. 

    “Oh! And the mirror should be delivered tomorrow before closing time.” 

    Karime was wearing a caramel turtle neck and black slacks tucked into latex ankle boots, her hair pinned back and tied into a spiky ponytail. Her ears were adorned with pearl earrings, and her fingers were jammed into golden rings. Y/n felt embarrassed in her measly purple jumper and paint splattered mom jeans.  Her accessories consisted of a fanny pack full of nails and a hammer at her waist.

    “Good, good. Well, I’ll see you tomorrow-” Karime was already turning back and returning into the shop when Y/n said:

    “Actually I was hoping I could start now.” Her words lifted into a question at the end, half suggesting half stating. 

    Karime’s face morphed into one of confusion and surprise, but in the end she agreed, and told y/n to do as she pleased.

Upon first entering, y/n is disoriented. 

    She walks into a frenzy of… nothing. It’s like an industrial kitchen, but completely empty. Occupied only by the things she had brought in. She remembers that she walked into the back and not the front, and it made sense because Karime doesn’t offer anything that would require use of the kitchen. Everything she has is done at the bar by the barista outside. 

    Karime leaves y/n in the back, where she asses her items. The baskets. The frames. And well, that’s really all there is. It would be more with all the plants coming in. She realizes that she doesn’t really have much to work with and there really isn’t much to do than hang picture frames, and there’s only five of them. 

    Nonetheless, she goes outside with the first frame in hand. A soft blue painting of a lighthouse on an island with light from a hole in a cloudy sky shining on the building. When she picked this one up, she knew exactly where it would go. By the wall next to the sliding door that lead to the patio. She sauntered over to the spot then, dodging a woman on her boyfriend on her way there. It was packed, and rightfully (it was a tuesday).

    She reached the spot, and lifted the picture on the wall, lifting and tilting so it would fit naturally. Eventually, she found the sweet spot, and reached for the hammer she had stuck into her belt loop and the box of nails she’d placed into the fanny pack on her waist. 

    Without hesitation, she put the first nail on the wall, and started banging. Three taps in, and she hung the wire on the nail, balancing it so it looked the way she envisioned it. After she was done, y/n stepped back to admire her handiwork, and tilted her head to the side the way one does when their looking at a picture that’s upside down. 

    Perfect. 

    She walked around the shop then, with the purpose of noticing empty spots on the walls, anything that could be filled up with artistry. The simple tables? No they had to stay that way. Placing something on the tables would clutter them and tarnish the ‘relax’ mode people came in for. The window that faced the street? Yes. Y/n planned on lining them with hanging droopy plants on the edges, not obscuring but not leaving a clear view either. She’d have to buy shelves to place baskets on the walls. Hooks to hang them. This she would do with what was left from the check.

     Yet… something was missing. The alternative-ness she knew should be there. Something ‘hippie’ and ‘aesthetic’, off the minimalist side of things. 

    Looking into a corner where the walls met, a light bulb went off. She knew exactly what was missing. Letters. Y/n had seen an image on Pinterest not even less than a month ago. A picture of a string of letters. Or rather, a message. It said something along the lines of  ‘You are my light’ or something edgy like that. Each word had been hand cut and strung onto a piece of- she didn’t know, string? Tweed? A wire?- and hung in a corner of a room where walls met. It knocked off every box on the checklist. Minimalist. Crafty. Aesthetic. And cheap, considering how low the money was.

She knew she’d have to brainstorm phrases and pass them by Karime, but she’d worry about that later.

    .

    .

    It was Friday. One day after the plants had been delivered, and y/n was set to work full force. Sure, she’d have to work amongst customers, but no matter. It would get done. 

    She started in the back. With the plants. 

    Y/n had bought a plastic-type lining at the Home Depot to place soil in the baskets. She lined then all first, securing the material with tape around the edges. After, came the transfer and placement. She decided this would be a better method, and if there were extras she could have Karime sell them. This way, she wouldn’t overcrowd the place and stop when she saw an adequate fill of green. 

    The first, a circular basket with no handle the color of a waffle cone. Because it was one that would go on a shelf, she placed one of the droopiest plants in it, a green stream of vines and shrubby leaves.

    Last night, y/n had given Karime the benefit of the doubt, and allowed her to place shelves where she’d liked them So, before she opened at 7, Karime had decorated her store with wooden slabs for y/n to decorate. Taking the first plant, she walked out. 

   As expected, Aromareads was bustling with energy.     Women with mojitos in their hands, burnt out college kids hooked up to masks, older men and women laughing like tinkling bells. 

   She’s walking towards the first row of shelves she sees on the wall across from her, besides the sliding doors, basket held gingerly with both hands, when she hears:

   “Y/n!” 

   Looking to her left, she sees a sleepy, just-rolled-out-of-bed looking Harry. He’s wearing a black hoodie with the words ‘Treat people with kindness’ in a gradient rainbow color, and… and grey sweatpants. Grey. Sweatpants. 

   Grey sweatpants. 

   Y/n tries not to visibly swallow him whole as he walks towards her with an innocent smile on his face because god if she isn’t all hot and bothered right now. Her eyes seem to be magnetically attracted to his crotch, trying but failing to grasp and image of what may be lying underneath. 

“H-hey, Harry,” she smiles at him meekly, her voice cracking when she speaks. She cleared her throat and said again, “hey, Harry. S’nice to see you.” 

   “Nice to see you too.” He bows his head towards her, and endearing mannerism that has y/n’s heart pooling down to her ribcage. “I see you’ve brought out the green guns today.” A teasing grin on his extra red and shiny lips. Perhaps it was chapstick. It was rather windy outside.

   “You see correctly.” She giggles at his joke, at the same time, rolling her eyes at how cheesy he was being. “Today’s the day it all comes together.” 

“I’m excited to see how it all turns out. Don’t go falling on any chairs today alright?” He wags his finger at her, mocking a mother shunning her child.

“I’ll try not to. But if I do-” she said, coquettishly. 

“I’ll catch you.” 

“You better.” Laughing at him, she repeats his actions and lifts her finger up to point at him. 

   With a final laugh and a shake of his head, Harry walks away and into the working room. 

   Y/n watches him walk off, and walks off her own way as well, resting the basket against her hip as she went. When she reached the wall with shelves arranged in a checkered pattern, she placed the basket on top of the wooden plank, and tufted leaves so they look naturally messily placed. Unintentionally intentional; they way one teases their hair so it looks nice. 

   She went back to her work station: the now full kitchen, and repeated the process. Picked a basket, filled it with a plant, and took it outside. She left the hooks for last, wanting to leave of being in the way of people until she had too. Almost effortlessly, y/n filled Karime’s space with greenery. Cacti on shelves, large leaves and vines on walls, frames of beach paintings on nails. Once, she pricked her finger because her it had accidentally slipped inside the glass globe in which the succulent was in. 

    When the time finally came to walk into the room Harry was in, the outside was looking rather… forest-y. She liked the way it looked; a calm type of chaos. One that showed relaxation and no care for anything. Which was the point of the entire place. Come in. Relax. Breathe in from diffusers to get that extra push to decompress.

   Harry sat in his usual spot, directly in spot of the doorway, in one of the middle tables. Hunched over his computer with fingers flying over his keyboard. He had earphones in this time, white buds tucked right into his ears, stray strands of hair looping and covering them. His lips were placed in a puckered pout, the scrunched pink skin twitching from left to right.

    Humming to herself, y/n forces herself to walk past him, forces herself to not turn back and glance at Harry even if she can feel his gaze burning into her back. She makes it seem like the hook and plant in her hand are the most interesting things in the world. Turning it over in her fingers, and even going as far as to lift the basket (this on with a handle and curved bowl bottom) to her nose and smell it. 

    “Need a hand with that?” Harry says from behind her. She feels his presence from behind her, standing close enough that she can feel when he reaches to her front and takes the basket from her hands.  Y/n’s heart starts beating as fast as a hummingbird's wings. Closing her eyes to get a hold of herself, all she sees is green. Green, the color of his eyes.

   “Yes, please.” Her voice is small, shy.

    Harry, feeling bold, nudged the tip of his nose on the hair behind her ear. Enough to make her notice, but not enough to make her completely sure that it was there. “Where do you want it?” He says, breath hot on the shell of her ears. Her eyes widen, and her body goes on full alert. She’s suddenly aware of the closeness of his hips on hers, the brushing of the fabric on her the back of her hand.

    “Up…” Y/n steps forward, towards the wall. She places her finger on the smooth surface, and traces it over to where she wants it, doing loopty-loops to her desired spot. “...here.”

  He places the nail on the wall, hits it with the hammer that y/n gives him and hooks the basket as well. He turns to her when he’s done.

  “Got any more?” He asks, placing a hand on his hip.

  “Yeah, in the back. Wanna come help me?” Y/n points with a thumb to the doorway, half of her body turning as well.   

    “Lead the way.” 

    So they leave together to the backroom, y/n holding open the golden curtain for Harry to walk through. He looks around endearingly, his neck stretching and eyes darting from place to place as he takes in his surroundings. Y/n is stuck at the expression on her face, her heart strings pulling when her ears listen to the soft giggle that escapes his lips.

So they leave together to the backroom, y/n holding open the golden curtain for Harry to walk through. He looks around endearingly, his neck stretching and eyes darting from place to place as he takes in his surroundings. Y/n is stuck at the expression on her face, her heart strings pulling when her ears listen to the soft giggle that escapes his lips.

    “S’very nice back here.” 

    “Wanna grab a few baskets? Place ‘em in the lounge?” 

    “Sure thing.” Harry wraps his hand around the handle of three baskets at the same time, and with the other, he grabs the still-packaged hooks and wait for y/n by the doorway. She hurried to grab two succulents, and met Harry at the doorway. They had an awkward moment of deciding who’s going first. A huffle of backwards and forwards until eventually, Harry held his palm out to allow her to go through while biting his lip. Y/n ducked her head and felt the tips of her ears go warm. 

    “So, I tried Elton John yesterday.” He said, trailing behind y/n into the lounge like a little puppy. If he had a tail, it’d be wagging. 

    “Oh? How was it?” She replied, juggling the two glass casings in her hand, and then pricking herself again. She flinches, but doesn’t make any noises. 

    “Think I might have a new favorite,” he said, bashfully ducking his own head and peeking at her through his hair. Her heart fluttered, and if it could, she was sure it would bust out with the dreamy sighs she suppressed.

    “It’s that serious?” She asked. 

    “It’s that serious.” They reach the lounge, and y/n sets the succulents she carries in her hands down on a table.  “Have you had it yet?” Her stretches her hands out to Harry, signaling for him to give her his items. 

    “No, not yet. Should probably give it a try if its changed your mind. Can you pass me a hook?”  Harry gives her all four packages he holds in his one hand. When she wraps her hand around them, her finger brushes against the chubby part of his hand. 

    “Here you go- I only drank it ‘coz like, I’m on this diet thing and needed a drink with oat milk in it. Elton’s was the first one I saw. Woke me right up, too.” 

    “Diet you say?” y/n took the hammer and walked over to her desired stop, a few feet away from the one Harry had put in. 

    “Some altered version of keto. Had a really bad bug, had me feeling icky and ‘just decided it was the best.” He takes place next to her, watching as she positioned the nail and hit it a few times with the hammer. He held out a basket on his finger when she was done. She was a whirlwind, he thought. Busy little bee, never stopping. Harry nearly feels bad because she’s so full of energy, bouncing back from the table to the wall and arranging plants before he could even blink. “S’not fair. Not letting me do any work.” A pout appears on his lips, eyes teasing.

    “You just stand there and look pretty. I’ve-” she points to herself, finger at her chin. “Got this.” 

    Harry grumbles something that she doesn’t catch with his chin tucked into his neck. 

“What was that?’ she hums. 

    “‘Said, can’t exactly be pretty ‘coz you took that job too.” 

    Y/n’s hands still. Immediately, she feels her chest grow red roses blooming on her cheeks. She’s not exactly… embarrassed, per say. No. The familiar feeling of ants running wildly in her lower stomach began to burn, her ribcage tickling as butterflies try to creep out with beating wings. Pretty. He had called her pretty. 

    “Uhm, thank you?” 

    “You’re very welcome, darling.” His tone of voice is smug. And when she looks over at him with eyebrows raised, he’s biting his lip and his looking at her through his eyelashes like he had before, but there was no childish play in it this time. 

    “Say,” she picks up a succulent. “What’s it with you?” 

“Don’t know what you’re talking about.” He shrugs.

“Lovin’ all up on me.”  She puts the succulent back down.

“S’nothing wrong with lovin’ all up on a pretty girl.”

There it is again. Pretty girl. Y/n is on fire her entire face pink, color concentrated on her cheeks and nose as if she had taken a walk in the brisk wind. 

“Stop it,” she said. 

Harry’s face turns concerned, brows kissing and lines appearing on his forehead. “Am I making you uncomfortable?” All work is forgotten, and instead they stand facing each other. 

“No! No, no,” Y/n’s eyes widen and her hands waving back and forth to eradicate the thought of her being disturbed by him. “S’just,” she sighs. “Not used to it, is all.”

Upon hearing this, Harry’s face breaks into a smile. “Well then,” he starts. “Better get used to it.” 

“Oh, you.” She playfully slaps his shoulder and picks up the succulent again, this time actually going to put it on a shelf adjacent to the window; a little alcove Karime has placed in a weird spot.

“When do you get a break?” 

“I think I get to take it whenever I want, why?”     “Wanna head down to Rockstar? Craving a Madonna right about now.”

“Never pegged you as a Madonna guy,” (the Madonna was a sweet caramel iced coffee with whipped cream and chocolate chips; not actually what Madonna would drink, and the beverage itself being one of the few inaccurate ones). “Let me finish with this, and I’ll let Karime know.”

So she did, much faster with Harry’s help. He handed her nails, hooks, and the plants she asked for. He asked if he could leave his stuff in the back, and he followed her back there once again, ticking his bag into an empty cupboard next to y/n’s things. On her way out, she said a quick goodbye to Karime who she was sure didn’t even hear what she said. 

Harry and her walked the short block side by side, with him playfully knocking his shoulder into hers and smiling like a mushy schoolboy when she pushed him back. They made small talk about drinks and the weather, shoulders hunched up and chins tucked in because it was a little cold.   Y/n’s frayed highschool sweater wasn’t doing much to keep her warm, and she had half the wind to pull her hood up the way Harry had his. 

Looking over at his, his nose was going a bit raw. Pink and the skin around it a little pale. By the time he noticed she was looking at him, they’d reached Rockstar, and he was opening the door for her. Murmuring a small thank you she walked through, and stepped to the side to wait for him to step inn as well, given he’d held the door open for the few people that had been walking behind him as well. From inside, she could see him nodding and smiling at everyone who stepped in. 

“You wanna grab a table and I’ll get the drinks?” she says to him when he appears next to her with hands in his hoodie pocket; she’s craning her neck to meet his eyes.

    “Sure. I’ll be in the records?” He takes one hand out to point over to where the records are.

    “Okay.” Y/n nods and head to the counter, where Lucy is busy taking someone’s order. She only see y/n when she walks behind the person and makes a silly face at her. Lucy laughs, but continues taking the order, and y/n pushes through the doors to put on an apron and make her and Harry’s drink. 

“Well if it isn’t y/n!” Says Kim.

“Y/n! Girly its been forever,” Kelsey bumps her hip when y/n get to work alongside her at the steaming machine.  

“Yes, yes, I know. Missed my favorite baristas.” she giggles, bumping her hip a little harder and making Kelsey gasp in faint shock. “Where’s Tilly?”

“Called in sick. Poor think could barely speak.” replied Kelsey. Y/n hummed a response, and made her drink first, a hot chocolate, and set it to the side to allow it to cool down meanwhile she made Harry’s. When Kelsey noticed her reaching for another measuring cup after just making her own she says,

“Two drinks?”

“Got a friend waiting for me in the records.” Y/n explained, pumping an extra pump of caramel into the cup. She puts in less ice too, and extra chocolate chips and whipped cream. 

    “The records…” Kelsey craned her neck out of where customers pick of their drinks to peek tp the records section. “Wait, wait, the one in the hood?”     “Yep,” said y/n, unbothered as she capped Harry’s drink.

    “Y/n!” Kelsey hissed, “He’s hot!” 

    “Yes, Kelsey, I am aware.” Y/n rolls her eyes and picked up both drinks, turning on her heels to walk out but nearly bumps into Kim, who stood not even an inch away from her. She backs up instantly.

    “So are you and he a thing?” He asked, leaning in closer to y/n’s face,his breath smelling on the ramen he always ate during his lunch break. 

    Y/n, uncomfortable by his closeness, tried walking around him but he stepped to the side. “It’s none of your business Kim.”

    “You never accept my dates, but you’ll accept his?” Kim’s tone is angry, and when he takes a step towards her, Kelsey steps in front of her.

    “Kim, leave her alone.” Kelsey says, turning back to y/n and nodding her head in the direction y/n was heading. When she pushes past the swinging doors, she catches a bits of what Kelsey says to him in a harsh whisper, “just wait until Lucy hears about this.” 

    “Haarryy,” Y/n says in a sing-song voice, dodging people as she makes her way to the records. Harry’s standing with  a record in his hand, legs spread apart and leaning back a bit with  his other hand tucked into his opposite armpit. “Here’s your John.” 

    Harry takes the plastic cup from her, giggling as he looks at her. 

    “What’s so funny?” she asks, genuinely confused.

    “Still wearing your apron,” Harry wraps his lips around the straw, tongue poking out to lap at it and take it into his mouth as y/n tries really hard not to stare.

    Looking down at herself, y/n shrugs, and leaves it on, taking a seat on the nearest loveseat and wrapping her now empty hand around the warm cup. 

    “What did you get?” He asked her. 

    “Willy wonka.” She brings the cup to her lips, tilting it up slowly and her mouth waters when she catches the scent of the foaming chocolate. Harry takes a seat next to her, his thigh touching her jean-clad one. He sits with them spread, leaning back in an eased position, and y/n eyes jump down to the bunched grey fabric at his crotch. And… well, there’s a larger than normal bulge through the fabric, drawstrings bending over the imprint, and y/n chokes on her drink. Some of it sputters out onto her apron. 

    “Still hot?” She nods. “ Gotta be careful, love. Who picked the names?”

    Y/n looks over at him, head tilting to the side with eyes squinting. “Picked what?”

    The cloudy skylight streamed in softly, casting a soft grey glow on Harry’s side profile. “The names for the drinks. Who picked them?” He holds his drink in one hand, straw near his face so all he had to do was maneuver his wrist to the plastic tube was in his mouth. 

    “Lucy did. Well, for most of them. I picked Andre 3000, Madonna, Willy Wonka and made the drinks myself. They’re not accurate though.” She sipped from her drink. “The rest of them are.” 

    “How much of this decor did you do? Like, concepts and stuff.” Harry takes out the tucked hand to wave around, and then tucks it back in. 

    “Concepts? Hmm…” she trails off for a moment. “All of them. I don’t want to say that I made this place myself, because I wouldn’t have done it without Lucy’s guidelines, but I went out, bought the furniture. Everything you see me doing at Karime's, I did here… ‘cept Karime’s is just plants and this,” she waves around her in a gesture and leaves it at that.

    “Do you decorate apartments?” He asked.

    “W-what?” Y/n, in the middle of a sip, and very surprised at his question, stuttered at his 

    “‘Coz mine’s looking kinda bland right now, was thinking maybe you could help me put some life into it.” 

    “Harry, I-”

    “Kinda like the Rockstar vibes, but like, a little less on the trendy side? I dunn-” Harry isn’t looking at her, his eyes wandering and landing on everything but her. 

    “Harry.” she said a little more sternly, putting a stop to his little rant. He looked at her then, his expression  unreadable. “I’m not sure you want me to help you decorate your home.”

    “Why not? You’d be helping me is all, and I love the way you’ve made Aromatherapy and Rockstar look.” He licks his lips, moving his head to the side and bringing the straw into his mouth with his tongue (that y/n stare at for longer than necessary).

    “But it’s your home.”

    “I am aware. Help me make it more me.” He shifts his body towards her then, his knee bending so he chest is to her. “Please?” He makes the face Puss in Boots made in that one movie, y/n couldn’t remember then because Harry looked much cuter than that dumb cat did.

    Y/n tosses this idea around in her head. Helping Harry decorate his home. She was scared, not only because Harry was cute, but because home was a personal and private space to be calm and safe. What if she screwed it all up and then Harry was uncomfortable in his own home? What is she did such a shit job that, that- well such a bad job that a horrible result came out of it again. This thing with Harry, a budding friendship? She barely knew the guy, just that he had an affinity for showering her with compliments and he made her turn more red than that really bad sunburn she got in the 10th grade after she refused to put on sunblock on a trip to a pool resort. What her point was, is that decorating someone’s home- a place where the heart is pure- is a really big job. 

    “Of course, this would be after you’re done with Karime’s place. Don’t wanna stress you out or anything like that.” A nike shoe, white and crisp looking like it had come straight out of the box, pressed into his thigh when he wrapped a hand around his ankle and pulled his bent leg in tighter.  “Whadda ya say?”

After hemming and hawing a few times, y/n finally says, “Okay. But you’re gonna have to be one million times more specific okay?” She elbows him, his position causing her elbow to poke at his pec instead of his bicep, and y/n elbows into hard muscle. 

    “Heyyy, can’t go hurting the girls now,” He rubs over where he poked her, and pouts childishly, even going as far as sticking his tongue out at her. “Do you need to head back? I don’t wanna get you into any trouble, y/n.”     The use of her name makes her heart skip a beat. “Yes, we should probably get going.” She moves to get up, and accidentally places her hand on Harry’s thigh. Before she would say sorry for touching him, he says,

    “Alway using me to hold yourself, huh? Sneaky thing, I see what you’re doin.” 

    “You offered! Said it yourself, I’ll hold you so you don’t fall again,” she deepened her voice, and faked a british lilt as best she could. 

    “I do not sound like that,” He whined. 

    He got up right after her, grabbing her hand to ‘pull’ himself back up, but he was really just holding it. His hand was cooler than hers (because he’d used the hand that had been holding his iced coffee) and enormous around hers. If he tried, he could close his finger tips and they’d be overlapping. When he was fully stood up, he reached around her neck, and lifted the black strap over her head, transfering the cloth over to the hand that held his cup, and then reaching again, this time around her waist to undo the knot. His front, not even a full step away from hers, and y/n got a whiff of detergent and something else she could only describe as ‘clean man’. If she were a shark, this would’ve been the moment her eyes turned black and rolled to the back of her head. 

    “There you go, no longer look like a little barista.” He hung the apron over he shoulder, and walked alongside her to the exit. Y/n split from him for a short second to return the apron, but then resumed her place next to him and they walked out together. She was hyper alert the entire way, taking notice of when their hands brushed, or when he pressed his bicep against hers. They walked a little stumbly, walking against each other almost. Had it been Lucy, she would’ve already yelled at y/n, and y/n would’ve walked near the sidewalk to avoid bumping into her again. But Harry?

Harry takes it like a champ. Giggling and pressing back against her, and he even placed her on the inside of the sidewalk when she walked to the side closest to the passing cars. 

    “So, tell me.” He starts, tossing his empty cup at a recycling bin as they waited for the light. “What kind of premeditated preparations should I take to be- as you said- extra specific?”

    Y/n still nurtures her cup in her hands, the coffee lid resting on her bottom lip. “Moodboards. Magazine scraps. Room inspiration on pinterest. Make a list of things you like. Anything really.  Anything that you like and would like to see in your apartment. Also, you need a budget.” 

    “Don’t worry ‘bout a budget. I’ll work on everything else. You want it done by a certain day?” He asked, gallantly placing a hand on the small of her back as they crossed the street.

    “Preferably within the next week or two. I’m pretty much done with Karime.” She straightens up when she feels Harry’s hand on her, a warm feeling spreading from where he pressed, unlike the nastiness Kim made her feel. 

    They’re three shops down when he said, “Gotta give me your number so I can send you everything then. You can keep me updated and I’ll keep you updated.” They pass by a tree whose branch is just low enough to graze Harry’s head, and it hooks onto the hood on his head, effectively pulling it back as he walks through. His hair looks incredibly soft. Wispy strands the color of the drink in her hands, billowing up and around his face, a ringlet falling in front of his right eye. 

    He licks his lips, using his fingers to push his hair back and raise the hoodie over his hair again. HE looks over at her as he does, waiting for her response. 

    “Oh, oh, yes. Sure thing. Got your phone on you?” Harry jams his hand into his pocket and pulls out his phone, the latest model, sleek and looking incredibly small in his hands. He placed it into her outstretched palm, unlocked but not on the contact app. Y/n has to swipe through shamefully, scared he’s gonna think that she’s snooping. She puts her number under ‘y/n :)’. 

    “Thanks, love.” He took the phone from her, his fingers sliding against the back of her hand. He hisses when he does so, saying, “Y/n your hands are so cold,” and then proceeds to take her hand and squeeze it between his own two. 

    She giggles sweetly, “Aye! Trynna hold my hand now?” she teased. 

    “No, trying to hold your hand would be this,” He grabs her hand with one, and lets it wall between them. They walk into AromaReads like that, with him holding her hand and the both of them laughing like they’d heard the funniest thing in the world. 

    Karime, standing at the counter and welcoming everyone as they come in, catches y/n’s eye and she smiles at herself knowingly. Y/n shakes her head while still laughing with Harry, and they both head to the back. Harry to get his stuff, and y/n to continue her job. Just when he’s walking between the isle and cabinets, his phone dings and he takes it out, his jaw dropping and palm slapping his forehead. 

    “SHIT! I completely forgot. I have a lunch meeting with my friend today. Fuck,” Y/n, this being the first time she hears swear words coming out of his mouth, rases her eybrow at him and chuckles. “I’m so sorry. I wanted to keep helping you, but-”

    She raises her hand, silencing him. “You do what you have to do. This is my job anyway. Just don’t forget to text me.” Basket handles fill her hands, wicker patterns pressing into her pals, and she tucks one of the last two frames under her hand too. 

    “I won’t. In fact, I’ll do that right now.” He types into the phone that’s still in his hand, and a few seconds later Y/n’s back pocket buzzes and chimes. She doesn’t pull it out to check. “Now you can text me if I forget.” He says finally, swinging his satchel over his shoulder.

“Bye, sweetheart!” He called out, turning back over to smile at her. Y/n’s  lips pulled up at the corners, gazing at him with a certain look in her eye as he walked out. 

    “Sweetheart, huh?” Karime stepped into her direct line of vision, snapping y/n out of the daydream in her head where she’s the housewife and Harry her husband leaving to work, calling out bye, sweetheart! as he walked out the door. 

    Karime’s looking at her with a smirk and a single pointy eyebrow raise. 

    God, what had she gotten herself into?

    .

    .

    Y/n had saved Harry under “H.”

   And received a text from him that same night.

    She’d been in her bathtub with cucumbers on her eyes when she heard her phone chime. Chin pointed upwards and wrists perched on the edges of her porcelain basin, she lay unbothered and unmotivated to even move. Arms aching and the soles of her feet tired from walking from place to place and lifting she did at Karime’s earlier that day. Tealight candles were the only source of light in the tiny bathroom, a soft yellow glow cascading on the skin of her neck.  The valley of her breast peaked out everytime she took a breath, her mind drifting off into thoughts of green eyes and warm hands, all she’d been able to think about that day.

    She planned on staying there 30 more minutes, but her phone dinged again. After she thought it was the two minute thing the phone does after receiving a message, but when it dinged again, she huffed from her nose and removed the soggy cucumber sliced off of her eyes. Should’ve turned off my phone, she thought to herself, grabbing the towel she left on the toilet seat across from the tub, and wrapping it around her torso. The phone screen a blaring white light in contrast to the dimness of the candles. 

    Y/n, eyes cloudy with sleep and limbs saggy with fatigue, is very much surprised to see that next to the app icon on the display screen, is ‘H.’ Hey eyes pop out of her head at the realization, and her heart shakes up the fatigue to beat up a storm for the boy she’d been thinking about all day since he’d left her. 

Standing in her bathroom, on bare tiles with water still dripping on her, it hit her full force. She liked Harry. Liked the way his cheek squished against his shoulder when he shrugged. They way he looked at her through his eyelashes, and they way he made sure that she was walking on the inside of the street. Liked how he smiled at her and said her name. She was obsessed with him. 

So i think i know what i wanna go for

Was thinking maybe italy in the 70’s 

What do you think :D ??

    And attached were varying pictures of vast rooms with big windows during golden hour and white flowy curtains with art pieces on the wall. It was minimal Even more minimal that what Karime asked for. This is what he wanted help with? Not to mention, the pictures he sent were of rooms far bigger than she’d ever seen for an LA apartment. Hell, those rooms might as well have been in Italy, one of the windows had a view of a pretty pink sunset and orange tree branches littering the way. 

    However, she couldn’t argue that they were very pretty rooms. Sweet and plain, easy for the eye to absorb and just the place you’d be able to melt on the floor with a book. 

    Or the kind in which you have slow, hazy afternoon sex, but who was she to say what harry would use his rooms for right?

    Disclaimer: if this is the look you’re going for

    Like

    This exact look? You’re gonna have 2 have a really big apartment   

        Not even a full minute goes by until the grey delivered letters turns into ‘Read at 10:15pm’ and the grey typing bubble appears at the bottom of her screen. Her palms begin to sweat and her breath hitches. She doesn’t realize she’s been holding in her breath until she releases it after his message comes through. 

        are you doing anything this weekend? 

        Y/n is confused, brows furrowed as she reads his message. Why does he want to know?

    No. why? she responded.

    so you can come and take measurements of my apartments. that way i know how to tweak what i want

  and I have a measuring tape don’t worry

Y/n rolled her eyes and giggled at her phone screen, turning and resting her bum on the edge of her sink. 

    Saturday? 

        Seconds later,

see you Saturday

sweet dreams. H.x

The idiot. Of course he’d sign off a text message. Scoffing, y/n let the towel drop to the floor, and reached into the tub to unclog the drain. As soon as she felt the pop of water flowing down the pipes, she took out her arm and walked out. 

.

.

On Wednesday, y/n laid in bed until 12. When she got up, it was only to brush her teeth, pee, and eat ramen with rice and egg like the asian lady in the liquor store had taught her to make. When she finished, she went back to bed. Maybe she masturbated to get herself to fall asleep again.

Maybe.

.

.

On Thursday, she went took Our Sign Of The Times and took it out to read in her car on signal hill. She finished it. 

She cried. 

When she went home, she started another one. Rogue Lover. This one with a really pretty purple flower on the front, and the first page when you open it is a raven haired man with shoulder length hair who’s propped up next to a busty redhead. Her nipple is in his mouth, and her head is thrown back in pleasure. Y/n fell a little more in love with 

Lemus Knox upon finding the dedication was a note rather than a name. 

It said:

Whoever reads this, I’ll be waiting for you where the stars and clouds meet. My heart is yours. Lemus.

.

.

Friday. 

She helped Lucy at Rockstar. A bald man with a blue beard came in asking for her. He has a boutique in Long Beach. Doesn’t want to come off overbearing. Will he help her? 

She said yes.They were set to meet next week. 

Also, Harry texted her asking if they were still on for tomorrow and come ready to eat because I made Italian food for a few friends I had over and there’s leftovers. 

.

.

Saturday. 

Y/n woke up with an appetite for Italian food. She didn’t have to be at Harry’s house until 12-ish. They hadn’t really clarified. And with it being 8 am and all that, y/n decided to take some time to shower and prep herself all nice and delicate. She spent 15 minutes lathering herself in her tub, letting her skin absorb berry scented bubbles that made her mouth water, and if she didn’t know any better she’d scoop up the bubbles and eat them.When her skin shriveled, she stood and drained the water, letting the stream from the overhead wash her off, and stepped out onto her heart shaped mat, the kind with little stubs that felt really nice against the bottom of her feet.

A little while back, she’d bought a lemon face scrub from a really expensive skincare place that had a sale, and meanwhile she put on her clothes, she put some on her cheekbones and forehead to sit for 15 minutes.  It required extra care when slipping her floral dress over her head. Once she managed to poke her head through, and the material rested all bunched up on her neck, the rest was a breeze. With a careful yank, the light material cascaded down her body, dropping just below her bum. Checking herself in her mirror, she smiled at the way she looked when she swayed her hips side to side. Cheeky flashes of her bum glint at her teasingly. Humming contently, she took off to wash off her face in the restroom. She was eager to find out how Harry liked the way she looked; her dress a low neckline, and she wasn’t wearing a bra because it was one of those dress in which the fabric bunched at the breasts to create a makeshift cup. The patter was a nice pink that looked nice against her skin, dainty little bows at the sleeves and in between her breasts accentuating her features.

Y/n opted for nothing other than a dark shade of lipstick, and let her hair flow down her back. As she was putting on her shoes, a pair of those recycled shoes that sent some of the proceeds to charity, she noticed that much of what she was doing felt like what she would have done if she were getting ready for a date. 

And… and Harry had food waiting for her at his place (apartment? Loft? She didn’t know specifically). Was this a date? She definitely wouldn't mind if it was.

She finished, and grabbed nothing other than her keys and shoulder bag, hesitating at her door whether she should grab the measuring tape, but deciding against it after remembering that Harry, quite teasingly, had said he had one at his house. 

In her car, she scrolled up her and Harry’s text to find the one which contained his address, tapped on it when she found it, and set in on the small mount on the headboard of her cart. Huffing, she set off to Harry’s house.

It didn’t take her long to get there, about ten minutes, and she parked in front of a much nicer version of her own apartment complex, but in Beverly hills.  A beige building that have the similar structure of a hotel, with turquoise patios and green roofing. Palm trees making a walkway to the entrance, which guarded by a security guard who asked who she was there to see.  

“I’m here to see Harry…” she falters, realizing she doesn’t know his name. 

The security, an old man with a limp and scrutinizing eyes, looked her up and down and said, “Ya one of dem girls das always botherin’ him ain’tcha? I suggest you turn back and go home. Mr. Styles won’t see you.” 

Y/n, with her jaw dropped, stood stunned in the middle of the pathway, not sure what to respond. Surely, he was confused. And whichever “girls that came around bothering Mr. Styles” she wasn’t one of them. 

“Go on and git,” he said, crossing his arms and standing possessively in front of a keypad. 

She hurried to reach into her bag for her phone, walking back to her car while she punched Harry’s “call” because she didn’t want to stand while an agitated security man watched her. 

He picks up the phone, and doesn’t even give her a chance to talk before he says, “is Felix giving you a hard time?” His voice gravelly and knowing. 

“The security guard? He said that you won’t see me.” She whines into the receiver. 

“Ah yes, the strict old man. Gimme a second.” He hangs up on her, leaving y/n clutching the strap of her bag so hard her knuckles turn white. 

“Ms. Y/n?!” Felix calls from behind her. She turns around, surprised to see that his face was completely transformed with a smile. His front tooth is gold and he’s missing a molar. “You can go on ahead, dolly. Mr. Styles just called and said you was a nice ‘un.”  He said, punching a thumb into the keypad behind him. “Sorry, bout that Miss. Enjoy the rest ‘ur dey!” He touches the tips of his fore and middle finger to his gleaming forehead and salutes her as she passes him, giggling and blushing. 

“Thank you, Felix. You too.” 

She walks through, and is greeted with a fine lobby. It really does look like a hotel lobby. Carpeted floors, a receptionist, and a door leading to a pool just outside the elevator. Before she can even wonder where to go, she hears her name being called by a familiar voice, 

“Y/n, over here!” Harry calls out, standing in front of open doors to the elevator to her right. He’s wearing a burgundy turtleneck and black slacks that are cuffed at the ankles. Yellow tortoise shell glasses and his hair is parted down the middle making him look like MiloThatch. A lavender towelette is in the grasp of his right hand, and he’s waving it at her like soldier girlfriends saying goodbye on the platforms. 

Stunned at his etherealness, y/n felt the roof of her mouth go dry. Staring at the way he filled out his clothing, she walked to him hypnotized, transfixed by his appearance. His chiseled features, boyish grin. She gravitated towards him. Enchanted.

“H-hi, Harry.” she said dreamily. Harry’s eyes raked her up and down when she came to a stop in front of him. 

“Why, hello. You look exceptionally lovely right now, darling.” He rasped, looking down at her sternly, all traces of a sweet smile gone and replaced by something a little more serious. A little more sinister.  His light green eyes turning a darker shade, y/n’s lips parting and knees weakening. 

She musters the words to say, “so do you,” and Harry’s lips turn up at the corners. 

“Shall we head up. Pasta and salad is waiting for you.” He turns away from her and presses the circular button that goes red when he pushes it. 

“How was-”

“So, you-” 

They both say at the same time, laughing and stopping to let the other speak and Harry says, “You go first.” 

“I see you’ve a few fans that bother you, and Mr. Felix has taken to guarding them off,” y/n commented. Her eyebrow quirked at him. 

Harry laughs, a single loud ha! “Felix just takes his job very seriously. That’s all.” 

“Doesn’t change the fact that you have women-” the elevator rings and the doors open, “lined up on your doorstep.” Harry steps in first, and uses his hand to stop the elevator doors from closing in on y/n. 

She steps through, and they both stand side by side in the metal encasing. Glancing up, she sees the ceiling is covered in mirror panels. 

“Well,” Harry shifts his body so his front is facing her, and takes a step, shoulders taking turns on tilting forward with every slow, torturous step he takes. “Does it,” Y/n takes a step back, breath hitching in her chest, “ bother,” her back collides with the cool wall, the floors on the meter above the doors keep going, 5, 6, “ you?” 

He’s a needle away from her nose, his mouth ghosting over her own and his chest rising up and down slowly while hers is an erratic mess. She’s breathing out of her mouth, her eyes shifting between his own two that are fixed and straight on hers. 7, 8,  Harry’s hand comes to rest on the right side of her face, caging her between the elevator wall and his bicep, his palm cupped her jaw and running a thumb tenderly over her cheekbone. 

“I-I,” she stutters. 

“Cat got your tongue, petal?” His breath smells like mint and coffee. The tips of the curls that hang in front of his eyes tickle y/n’s forehead and down the side of her temple and eventually her cheek when he leans in to put his lips at her ear. “Look so pretty right now, y'know?” HIs british drawl is heavy because his tone of voice is low. 

8, 9, “Harry,” she gasped, involuntarily tilting her head to the side when he noses at the back of her ear. “What are you doing?” 

The elevator comes to a stop at 10, and Harry retracts, leaving her a red, heated mess  and slightly panting. He takes the few steps to stand in front of the elevator doors, and clasps his hands behind his back. “Nothing. Nothing at all. Don’t know what you’re talking about.” He smiled at her sweetly, his demeanor innocent as if we weren't just going to ravish her in an elevator like Robet Patterson for that one Dior commercial.

The doors open to a long hallway that turns sharply at the end to the right, a door where it would’ve turned on the left side. The right wall is a window that looks out onto the middle of the building, where y/n could see the pool that had been behind door. The flooring is a green colored tile, the same as the roofing, and the walls are a flattering soft yellow bordering on white.

Harry’s shoes, expensive looking-black heeled boots that have a rainbow pattern on the, making clacking noises against the floor with every step he takes. Y/n can’t help but feel awkward while walking alongside him, but  Harry, humming along to the tune of Maneater, by Hall and Oates, doesn’t seem to share her opinions. At the end of the hall, he makes a sharp turn to left, and she bumps into him. Mumbling a sorry she steps back to allow him to open the door. 

It’s not locked, and with a quick turn of the brass knob, the door opens and the smell of tomato and basil hits them both in the face. 

Y/n’s stomach grumbles, and she places her hand over her bell and looks over at Harry with wide eyes, embarrassed. 

“I take it you’re hungry?” He steps through, holding the door open for her.

“...yes…” she mumbled, stepping through. 

“Just in time then because I…” Whatever Harry says is drowned out. Y/n is amazed. Harry doesn’t have an apartment. He has a goddamn penthouse suite. His living room wall is a window, his kitchen open and blending in with the rest of the space. There are no walls, just turns where the building walls connect. Tall and wide walls painted with angles of shadows and lights that stream in. No furniture other than a long, wooden dinner table and three white chairs, and his bed. A mattress and a white comforter messily strewn over pillows. Before the walls turn to the streetside view, Y/n catches glimpses of cedar wood bookshelves arranged in the middle of the room; just like in a library. 

“Y/n?”  Harry appears in her line of peripheral vision, a knowing look on his face.

“Sorry, sorry. What was it?” 

“Said, do you want spaghetti and meatballs or fettuccine?”

“Mmm,” She scrunches her face like she’s thinking real hard, “fettuccine.” Then she adds, “please.” 

“You got it.” He said, walking away while playing with the collar of his turtleneck. Y/n follows after him, to the kitchen isle and utilities placed in a little alcove underneath the stairs that lead upstairs. To what, y/n didn’t know. 

Then she sees the pots and pans that are still steaming, the cutting boards with chopped lettuce and other vegetables and realizes that-

“Hey! You said you had takeout,”

“I did.” He picks up the knife next to the tomato, and continues chopping the lettuce.  “But I left it out, and it went bad. I promised you Italian so I made it myself instead. Much better than Olive Garden, anyways.” He shrugs, looking up at her and pointing with the knife to a chair across from him. “Sit.”

“NO!” She said, exasperated. “Let me chop something, too.”

“Darling, this is finished. I’ve got it. Sit, the fettuccine is almost finished. Just,” he twists his neck to look behind him, at the clock above the stove, a cat with a swinging tail. “Five more minutes.” 

Y/n slides the bag she carried off her shoulder and hooks it in the back of the chair he had told her to sit on, which she still wasn’t.

“Harry, that’s not fair.” she stomped her foot, a flat slapping noise of her sole against his wooden floors.

“Oh sit, or I won’t give you any food.” He tuts his tongue at her, shaking his knife and turning to turn down one of the knobs on the stove.

Pouting like a child, y/n sits down with a plop and a screech of the chair sliding against the floor.

She sat and watched Harry as he took plates out of his cupboards and placed food on them. The only noises being the quiet bubbling of pasta sauce, the tapping of his heels, clinks of plates against each other, and y/n’s grumbling stomach. Her face was still puckered in a pout because Harry hadn’t let her help him, but it slowly eased off as she focused more and more on the way he looked in his fitting black pants. The way the fabric was tighter on his ass, how his thighs flexed with each stride. Suddenly, y/n got the urge to bite into them, and she felt herself blush at her own thoughts, especially when Harry turned to her with a sweet smile of his lips.

He placed a plate in front of her, complete with salad and garlic knots. 

“Would you like some wine? Got this really nice one the other day and I haven’t opened it yet. Figured since we’re having Italian, it fits.” Harry was holding a dark wine bottle in his hand, that he had just pulled out of his silver fridge. 

“Harry, I would love some, but-” Y/n tried to explain that she felt bad because she came here for take out and had cooked her a meal.

“NO buts. Have some.” And instantly, there was a cup of red wine next to her plate.

Even though he had a table for eating, he placed his own plate next to her, and sat down to eat. Y/n looked at him, deflated and with a pained look on her face, while he forked spaghetti into his mouth and raised his glass for a drink. 

He froze when he saw she was looking at him. Looking her up and down, he said, “Moppet, eat your food. We have work to do.” 

Y/n rubbed her palm down her face, her lips pulled down. With a groan, she picked up her fork, sulking, and twirled it in her pasta.

She didn’t know what she was expecting, but definitely not the mini piece of heaven that was in her mouth. Harry had managed to create the perfect blend of cheese and cream that glazed her tongue like silk. It was so good, she moaned, her fingers pressing against her mouth and head tilted back. 

“S’good,? Harry questioned, wiping his mouth with a napkin to hide his laugh.

“Very,” she said, shoving more of the pasta into her mouth.

“Good.”

They eat quietly, Harry snickering at her whenever inhumane noises of pleasure left her mouth.Y/n practically cleaned her plate with the garlic knots. She only remembered about the glass of wine when Harry set his down empty, lips stained, and eyes droopy if she looked at him hard enough. After she’d cleaned her plate, she reached for the thin stem of the g;ass and drank it like it was grape juice, only slightly wincing after it had gone down, the tart acidity washing down the sweeter tones of cream. 

“Slow down, Moppet. Don’t want you to get a tummy ache.” Harry said, patting her hand tenderly and pushing himself off the seat to place her plate in the sink. At this, y/n jumped from her chair and took the plates from Harry. 

“You cooked, not I wash the dishes.” She stuck her tongue out at him, the tip red from the wine.

“But-” Harry protested.

“No buts. Go,” she bumped her hip against his, and walked the last few steps to the sink, picking up the sponge and turning on the water. She washed the dishes, and like always, got the front of her dress wet, water splattering onto her chest. Sucking on her teeth, y/n used the towel hanging on the handle of the oven to pat off the water. Harry watched this from where he leaned against the isle across from the stove; a new glass of wine half empty.

Returning to the table, she grabbed her now full- no thanks to Harry- glass of wine and sipped from it. It settled nicely in her stomach, warming down the path it took to settle.

Clasping her hands, she said, “Okay, Harry. Let’s talk decor.”

Harry untucked his hand from underneath his armpit, and smacked his lips together, “Follow me.”

He started walking out to the living room area, and into the bookshelves y/n had seen. Up close, they were actually taller than her, just about Harry’s height. He walked past them, and stopped again at a corner where one building face meets the other. Here, he had pictures upon pictures laid out on the floor. He even had scraps of fabric.

Y/n stared, and nodded approvingly. “You did your research. Good job.” Looking closer, she saw what the images were. Albums (David Bowie, Stevie Nicks, Fleetwood Mac, The Eagles, The Beatles, Prince). Pop culture pieces (Andy Narwhal, Pulp Fiction, Sixteen Candles). Fabric patterns, colors, and a lot of velvet. About half of the pictures were shots of other room like the pictures he’d shown her. 

To her left, Harry tapped onto his phone, and seconds later, that song he’d been humming in the hallway, Maneater, played with clarity on speakers hidden from the eye. When he was satisfied with his queue choices, he knee and sat next to his big circle of inspiration, legs splayed out in front of him looking infinitely long.  Y/n noticed he had taken off his boots, and his feet, knobby and lanky, had toes painted blue and pink. He had black markings on his big toe, but she couldn’t see what it was.

“Look, sit sit, I was thinking…” Harry began, patting the area next to him and grabbing a few of the papers he had spewed on the floor. Y/n, inexplicably endeared, sat with her legs crossed to the side next to him, feeling her butt press onto the cold floor, and listened to him go on and on about his vision. 

Hours passed with them just talking about images, why Fleetwood Mac would go better than Prince (because Fleetwood Mac is more of an afternoon in the meadows, and Prince is a night going down the highway in Malibu) and fabric choices for the windows (i’m sorry Harry, y/n had argued, but unless you can find a near translucent velvet its not gonna work. If you want the summer in italy during the 70’s look, you need transparent curtains).

They sat long enough that the way the light filtered in at an angle according to the sun, changed completely (it was at a harsh slant with the morning light, now its at a soft bend with golden light). When the light made Harry’s face look a golden pink, he fell back onto the wooden floors with a groan and said,

“How do you do this, y/n?” He blew hair out of his lips to move the few strands that had fallen in front of his eyes.

“Dunno, its just second natur- heeyy,”

A midst the mess, she guesses they missed it. Underneath a picture of a fruit bowl and flowers, was a picture of a naked woman, with birds eye view from the bot of her head, so you could see the tips of her breasts with they way she arched her back, and the head of hair in between her thighs. Her mouth was open in a silent scream of pleasure, eyes closed and a hand fisting her own hair like she was doing to the man in between her thighs.

Her cheeks burn upon her discovery, and she feels a familiar buzz in the place where the woman in the picture had a tongue pressed against her. 

When he heard her little gasp, Harry shot straight up and when he saw the image in her hands he said, “Ah, I see you’ve finally found it. Was wonderin’ when it would come out.” Reaching across her, his chest smushed againt her shoulder, he plucks it from her hands and look at it, smirking.

“You didn’t tell me we’d be doing x-rated work.” 

She says it teasingly.

But maybe it was the way she was looking at him then. She couldn’t help it. The roots of his hair looked blonde in the light, and his eyes were clear, almost see through as light passed them. His lips looked particularly tasty, having been tinted red from the wine, glinting from his own spit, and swollen from how he’d plucked at them while he was thinking about her suggestions. The juncture of his throat was partly hidden, but she could still see every time he swallowed, hos his adam’s apple bobbed up and down. And… and it wasn’t her fault that black pants looked good on him either. The material stretching taught over his muscles, flexing with every, single movement he made, no matter how small.  

So, maybe she had been looking at his provocatively, and her comment had… fueled Harry. Tuned him in on what had been on her mind.

He lifts himself with one arm from his indian-style position on the floor, up to his knees, and crawls to her. Eyes looking with hers, y/n’s chest starts to heave, her breaths growing bated; shorter; faster. 

“Do you want to do x-rated work?” He said, his voice dangerously low. His rings clink against the wooden planks, and brush against her thighs when he comes close, hands bracketing her hips, his nose nudging hers.

She’s gupping, like a little guppy fish, her lips opening and close, but nothing comes out of them.

Harry’s nose moves to her cheek, pushing back her hair. “It’s okay, pet. I can ask you again. Do you want,” his lips are at her ear for the second time that day, except that she thinks maybe they’ll actually gets somewhere this time. All she has to do is say,

“Yes.” Her voice is small, an airy squeak when Harry presses a kiss to the back of her ear. Her hands, sitting dumbly on her lap, move tentatively to his chest, searching from something to hold onto. She clenches the soft fabric in her hands just as Harry starts to lean back, his palm falling into her naval, and pushing her back, back, back, until she has to stretch her legs out to lay comfortable on her back, staring up at him with bleary eyes, glossed over.

“Yes? Course you do, pet.” He moves his knees to straddle her hips, leaning down close so he’s almost talking into her mouth, and one of his hands smooths down the shape of her waist. Y/n feels herself grow wet when Harry dips his thumb into her belly button, and she’s whining because she hasn’t done anything with anybody in so long and she wants him to do something.

But, if he’s not gonna do anything, that she might as well. She stretched her neck the last of the way, flattening her lips against Harry’s. The relief is instant, she quells her desire of being closer to him, and Harry responds almost immediately, swiping his tongue on her bottom lip and licking into her when she lets him. Harry groans, because she still tastes like wine and a sweetness he can only credit to her. His kiss becomes urgent, smashing his against her soft, malleable mouth.

Y/n whimpers, hips jutting upwards when Harry takes her lower lip between his teeth, and bites down on it,hard enough to where the pain was pleasure. Although her mind is swimming, she knows that the bulge she feels through the flimsy cloth of her dress is Harry’s cock. Elated and driven mad by her need, she arches up into him, needing any friction she could.

Harry pulls away from her, their lips separating with a wet noise, and tuts his tongue at her. “Ah, ah, ah. You’re not getting my cock tonight, y/n. Not yet.”

She mewls, her eyebrows dipping and red, puffy lips pouting, “Harry, don’t be a tease. S’not fair.” She doesn’t care is she sounds pathetic, the space between her thighs aches, and she’d like him to very much sate it “Do something, please.”

He coos at her, pressing wet kisses along her neck, his hand sneaking past her waist, to the start of her dress, and slipping underneath it. “Whining like a little puppy, aren’t you?” His hand glides of her thigh, the shill of his rings sending a violent shiver up her spine. His nail scratches a path near the place where she’s most warm. Most needy, and she moans when he feels how close he is to touching her, the splotch on her panties expanding every time he spoke. “You’re alright puppy, I’ll take care of you.”

Y/n’s breath hitches when his finger hooks onto the strap of her underwear, snapping the material twice with a chuckle at the cries he elicited from her. 

“Harry, harry, harry,” she’s half mad with need, her eyes squeezed shut with anticipation, and when Harry sees the desperation in her slack mouth, his own features go soft, and he takes out his hand from underneath her dress to cup her cheek. 

“Puppy,” he said, and when she didn’t open her eyes, he said again, “Puppy, look at me.” his thumb rubs over her cheek, ignoring the imploring whines that leave her lips, and instead leaning down and kissing her to shut her up. “It’s okay, its okay. Do you want me to keep going?”

“Yes!” She shouted, eyes going wide, amazed that he’d even ask that. “Do something.” She ruts up again, the head of Harry’s cock nudging against her hood. Harry groans, noticing how fucking hard he is. He’s leaked through his pants, a darker splotch where his head it.

“Fuck, baby,” he said, more to himself than to her.

His hand makes the same trail it had before, flipping up her dress this time to see her clothed center. Her panties make him want to cum on the spot. Baby pink cotton with a bow on the center of the band. Biting his lip, he uses a knee to spread her thighs, and then he sees just how much she needs him. 

“Oh puppy. We’ve made a mess of your panties haven’t we?” He looks at her with amusement, “Guess they have to go, don’t they?” 

Y/n hums desperately, her hips writhing up to meet his fingers. Pressing a last kiss to her lips, Harry scoots back so his knees are by her feet, and he and slip off the material all the way off. Suddenly aware of how bare she is, he clasps her thighs sht, obscuring Harry’s view of her pussy. 

“C’mon now, honey. Don’t be shy,” with a strong hand, he pries her knees apart and lays himself down in front of her, his breath hot on her swollen clit. From that angle, he can see how much she glistens, and how her juices spill out of her every time she clenched her hole around nothing. “Look at you, just begging to be stuffed.”

With a single finger, he slides up and down her slit, collecting her wetness, and then slipping into her. 

Y/n bleats, his intrusion stirring her heat up more; she wanted more. Wanted to be filled than more with just his finger, but was scared to say. Instead she said, “another,”

Harry slid his middle finger inside her, scissoring his fingers and leaning down to lick a stripe on her clit. Y/n arched her back, and moaned loudly, her eyes squeezing shut and hands touching at the area around her, looking for something to hold on to and settling to clenching at her own dress.

He hears the sound of her hands colliding with the floor, and looks up to see her knuckles going white with hoe hands she was fondling her dress.

“Y’can pull my hair, puppy.” he said against her slit, the vibrations of his words sending prickled of pleasure to the building orgasm she feels in the pit of her stomach. The second her muddled brain comprehends what Harry said, her fingers jam themselves into her his hair, just as he suckles on her. Y/n’s eyes roll to the back of her head, and her gasps come out in staccatos.

Harry’s fingers are still pumping in an out of her, twisting every time he pushed them back into her. He’s looking for the spongy spot inside of her, when he hears her say something incoherently.

“What was that?” he asked her,his fingers stilling inside her.

“Said, what about you?”

Her voice is faint and weak, her voice and comment sending pin-pricks of satisfaction to his throbbing member. His heart clenches at her considerations, so touched by the fact that she’s so lost in her own heat but she’s still worried about him.

“This isn’t about me. It’s about you. Y’gonna cum for me, puppy?” He feels the pad of his middle finger slide against something that has a different texture that the rest of her, and when her breathing hitches and she lets out a long moan, he knows hes found what he’s looking for. Y/n’s pussy clenches around, her fingers tighten in his hair, so hard it makes Harry yelp. “Clenching m’fingers, puppy, I know you’re there.” 

Y/n feels the familiar slow burn of her orgasm twisting in the pit of her stomach, her entire body hyper aware of Harry and what he was doing to her. How he pressed a hand on her navel to keep her from lifting her hips, the harsh sucking of her clit, and then finally the flick of his pointer finger curling inside her.  The build-up unravels, and her mouth opens up in a silent scream like the women in the picture, her body going taught, and then falling limp when the wave calms.

“That’s it, love. All better now isn’t it?” Harry slowly takes his fingers out of her, reveling in the way she’s still squeezing around him. She’s sensitive and jerking from her orgasm when He lick his fingers clean, kissing his path up her body. Her thighs, her exposed navel, her clothed valley of her breasts, her collarbones, and up her throat, behind her ear where he’s taken a liking to kissing.

“Jesus, Harry. Where’d you learn to talk like that?” She titters sleepily.

“S’my job, puppy.” He nibbles at her earlobe and down her jawline.

Alarmed, y/n’s eyes pop open, and she sits up, pushing Harry’s chest and holding him at arms length. “What do you mean, it’s your job?” She’s scared she’s just been used or something along those lines.

“I mean it’s my job. Learned a few skills from writing erotica, pet.” He responses calmly, diving back in to continue his assault on the skin of her jaw. His voice warped against her, he adds, “write under a pseudonym. Lemus Knox.” 

Lemus Knox. 

Harry was Lemus Knox. Harry was Lemus fucking Knox.

“You’re…” she’s still. Almost like that fight or flight instinct. 

Harry stills when he realizes she has. He knows, simply by the tone of her voice that she knows who he is. Who Lemus Knox is.He withdraws to look at her, grinning fro  ear to ear.

“You know who I am?” he said slowly.

“Harry, I’d even go as far as saying I’m in love with Lemus,” she blurts, reddening as soon as the words leave her mouth, but Harry just smiles fondly at her.

“That’s okay, puppy. Lemus and I aren’t the same person. You have a right to love him,” he nuzzles into her neck, kissing down her shoulder, “Just as long as you save some love for me.”

And lying there, completely stunned ant with Harry’s hard cock pressing into her hip, y/n bursts out laughing. She laughs because she’s happy. Because she likes Harry. Because she loves Lemus Knox.

She laughs because for the first time in a long time, someone is laughing along with her, kissing her, holding her.

She laughs because she can’t wait to see where Harry will lead her.

#harry styles #harry styles writing #harry styles au #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles blurbs #harry styles smut #harry styles angst #harry styles blurb #harry styles fluff #harry styles imagine #harry styles blog #harry styles oneshot #harry styles fic #harry edward styles #one direction fanfiction #fanfiction #writing #hazza styles #hazza blurbs #daddy harry

[love-and-monsters]

Armon the Aqrabaumelu

Hey guys! Before I get into this, I’m just letting you know I won’t be posting writing for the next two weeks because it’s grad school final time and I have so much work. In the meantime, if you want to give me some prompts, I’m all ears!

M aqrabaumelu X F reader, 2,895 words

You’ve been hired to paint a portrait for a local rich family. What do you make of your irritated (and a little irritating) subject?

Fortune Falls was a small town, but it was surprisingly bustling. Perhaps it was the variety of species that kept it that way. Perhaps it was just the sort of people who came to a place like Fortune Falls, excited young people who were trying to start up new lives and careers. At least half of the shops in town had opened in the last couple of years and were run by young residents.

You weren’t one of the excited newcomers, although you could have easily been mistaken for one. Your family was one of the first to move to Fortune Falls, which meant you had some roots here, and had managed to snag an apartment toward the town center for relatively cheap. Your family was friends with the building owner, and you were handy enough to earn your low rent.

It also meant that your career as a struggling artist was at least somewhat feasible. Your family had connections with the other families in town, especially the well-off ones. The sort of families with the disposable income who could commission artists for portraits.

That was your newest job. A commission for one of the older money families, a portrait of their second-oldest son, since he had come of age. Portraits were, in your humble opinion, exceedingly boring. Trying to paint a face staring off into the distance while subtly tweaking their worst features to suit their vain attitudes wasn’t interesting. You were much more partial to landscapes and nature scenery. Much more beautiful. But you still had expenses and if painting rich people managed to pay them, so be it. You would.

The Aristota house was technically just outside of town, on an enormous plot of land. You gathered your supplies into the passenger’s seat of your ancient car and hobbled up their long, winding driveway.

It was a pretty mansion, you thought. But it was also just a little bit too rich for your taste. The chandeliers, the velvet carpets, the deep reds and golds and creams. It was all just a little too much, like they were more interested in showing off their money than creating a house that was nice to live in.

Fortunately, you knew the family well enough for them to dispense with the overly stuffy pleasantries. “Good to see you again,” Mrs. Aristota said when you entered the sunroom. She was settled on a long, red couch, deep orange carapace glinting in the sunlight. “You’ve met Armon before?”

You looked toward the person she was gesturing at. He looked quite similar to her- a rounded, but sharp-cheeked face, thick lashes, rich, black hair, and long, delicately fingered hands. Like the rest of his family, he was, from the waist down, an enormous scorpion. His carapace was a deep shade of orange and his tail was lifted, curling behind him with its stinging tip brandished outward. You knew enough about aqrabaumelu body language to read the discomfort in his posture.

“We’ve met before,” you said. It had admittedly been years ago, when you were both teenagers, and neither of you had wanted to be around each other. “Hello.”

He dipped his head to you, then went back to staring out the window. He was wearing a black coat with little gold stitches around the hems. His long nails worked at the hem, tearing the stitches out a little at a time.

“You have the specifications for the portrait?” Mrs. Aristota asked. She rose from her couch and skittered over you, looking critically at your supplies.

“Same as the last one I did, I assume,” you said.

“This one will be a little smaller,” she said. “But roughly similar, yes. Armon will give you any more details he desires.” She walked over to him and lifted his chin in her hand. “And smile, won’t you?”

With that, she turned and headed out of the room. You finished placing your canvas on the easel and organized your paints before looking at your subject.

He’d mostly turned his back on you, staring out the windows of the sunroom into the garden. You cleared your throat. No response. You cleared it again, louder this time. His gaze flicked to you, expression unchanging.

“Are you ready to begin?” you asked. “Pick a position you think you can comfortably hold for a bit. I’ll take pictures, but I like sketching in person. It helps me with proportions.”

Armon let out a long, heavy sigh and crept across the room until he was standing in front of you. He stared flatly ahead, tail still hooked and lifted in its defensive posture. His expression was flatly neutral, almost bored. You frowned at him. “Uh. You sure that’s the position you want to go for?”

His dark eyes slid to you for a moment. Then they returned to their staring-blankly-ahead position. You shrugged. “Whatever.” You could make some touch-ups to make the position a little more interesting, more stately instead of bored. After snapping a few photos, you sat down and got to work.

A silence fell over the room. You could hear your pencil scratching against the canvas, the soft noise of your breath. Every now and then, Armon would shift a little and the hard plates of his carapace scraped quietly together. After thirty minutes, you paused, flexing your wrist.

“Wanna move around a bit?” you asked. Armon shifted his head toward you.

“I thought that would be disallowed.” His voice was both deep and quiet.

“Nah. You can shift around a little bit. Just go back to the position when you’re done. I can tweak a little bit to fix any problems. And I need a break too.” You stood up, rolling your wrist and stretching your legs. “Want to take a look at what I have so far?”

He scuttled over to you and peered at the canvas. You saw his eyes move, roving over the image, then he leaned back. There was no change in his face. “What, nothing?” you said. “I thought it was pretty good. Anything you like, don’t like, want more of?”

Armon sighed, shifting his weight. “I don’t know. I’m not an artist.”

“Well, if I think it’s a bad idea, I just won’t do it. I’m just asking your opinion. It’s your portrait.”

Armon laughed. It was a bitter, cold laugh. “This is not me,” he said, pointing at the painting.

You frowned, feeling a flicker of insult. It wasn’t your best work ever, but it didn’t look that bad. It looked like him! “In what way?” you asked, keeping your tone neutral. You’d never had any of them, but you’d heard about clients who wouldn’t let their painters stop until the image looked like a god come to earth. If he was trying that angle, you weren’t sure how long you could bite your tongue for.

Armon looked at you for a moment, then sighed out his nose and waved a hand. “It doesn’t matter.” He walked back over to his position and held it again. This time, he looked even more stiff and uncomfortable. His tail tip twitched like he was threatening to strike.

You looked consideringly at the painting. Even with your careful alterations, he still looked a little stiff. His tail was arched over his back in a way that seemed unnatural, and his expression was severe. You couldn’t give an accurate depiction of his smile because you’d never seen him give one. His brother had been all grins and self-importance. Armon seemed to be sulking.

“I need a break.” You tossed down your pencil. Armon gave you a look.

“Weren’t we just taking a break?” he asked. You stretched, groaning as your joints popped. Armon blinked at you as your arm twisted around. “Humans aren’t supposed to bend that way,” he said. His expression was vaguely queasy.

“I’m double jointed,” you said. “And I need to walk around for a bit. Stretch my legs, you know? And my fingers, otherwise my hands will cramp.” You tilted your head, staring around the room with feigned interest. “Mind showing me around the place?”

Armon clicked his many legs against the ground. “Something you’re particularly interested in seeing?” he asked with little enthusiasm.

“Whatever you’re interested in is fine by me,” you said charitably. Perhaps you could get another emotion out of him that wasn’t sullen disappointment.

There was a moment of consideration, then Armon opened the glass door to the outside. Without checking to see if you were following, he stepped outside and into the sunshine.

You followed him to a small stand of trees around a pond. He settled by it, back pointed at you. “This is nice,” you said, looking around. Your fingers were itching for your supplies. It would be a lovely scene. In fact, Armon’s form seemed to fit well with it. His unfocused, serene gaze, the curl of his lowered tail, the sweep of his black hair over his brow. He seemed much more relaxed than he had in the house.

“I have an idea,” you said. Armon’s gaze became guarded as he looked up at you. “We can continue the painting out here.”

Armon gave you a bewildered look. “What?”

“It’s a nice day. And the sunroom’s really hot. We can keep going out here. Much nicer.” Armon frowned. His many legs shifted, sharp tips digging into the dirt. “Something wrong with that idea?”

“I thought Mother wanted it done in the sunroom.” His voice was stiff and his tail was starting to bristle again. You put on your easiest smile and clapped him on the shoulder. He started at the touch.

“I’ll tell her I thought it looked nicer out here. I’m sure she’ll be fine with it.” You turned and started to head back inside. After a moment, you heard the quiet scuttling of Armon following you.

He watched as you gathered your supplies up. It took some skill to juggle them. You carefully slid the easel under your arm and tried to gather as many paints as you could into your arms. Armon stared at you for a moment, then picked up your paint box from the floor. He held it still while you carefully dumped your paints into it. “Thanks,” you said.

“Just helps speed things up,” he mumbled. Before you could say anything else, he headed out the door ahead of you.

You followed him back to the small stand of trees and set your supplies up again. When you looked up, you clapped a hand over your mouth, barely preventing a giggle.

There were several birds around Armon. Three of them were crows, and one was a blue jay, which was perched happily on his tail, apparently unconcerned by the venom. A chipmunk was eying him from a short distance away, and a squirrel was sitting by one of his hands without concern. Armon seemed to consider this as relatively unimpressive. His expression was just as neutral as it had been before. But his tail, you noticed, was relaxed.

“Uh,” you said gently, “so how long have you been a Disney princess?”

His tail jerked reflexively and the animals scattered. “Oh,” you said, watching in disappointment. “That would have made a cool painting. Can you make them come back?”

“I don’t make them do anything,” Armon said. “They just know me.” He looked around, his gaze softening. “I come out here a lot. It’s nice. Better than inside the house.”

There was something peaceful in his gaze. Almost without thinking, you reached out and started sketching.

“No wonder you seem comfortable out here,” you said. You kept your tone low, trying to encourage his mood. One of the birds hopped cautiously closer. Armon stretched out a hand toward it.

“Mm. The animals are nice.” The bird, a crow, closed the distance between them. Armon let out a low whistle and it hopped onto his hand. “There are stray cats out here too, sometimes. I feed them. Can’t have them in the house, though. Father doesn’t like furry pets.”

“Allergic?”

“No. He just doesn’t like the fur.” Armon stroked a finger over the bird’s head. It let out a croaking note. His lips twitched.

For the first time, you saw the tiniest of smiles appear on his face. You sketched it into place. One of his cheeks dimpled. It was rather adorable.

He stayed still and silent for several moment, stroking absently over the bird’s head. You hurried to get the scene out onto paper. It was a much more relaxed picture than the one you’d been trying to paint inside.

“You seem to have a strong connection with them,” you said after a few minutes. “Can you speak to them?”

Armon looked at you. For a moment, you were pretty sure he wasn’t going to answer, then he shrugged. “Not like we’re speaking. They’re not that intelligent. But I’ve spent enough time with them that I understand their mannerisms.” He glanced at you. “People, not so much.”

“I feel that,” you said. “I’m better with paint than people.”

Armon turned his gaze back to the bird. “You’ve been doing well to me.”

“Yeah, that’s lots of practice. I’m not very naturally good at it.” Armon snorted and his tail lashed.

“I was never any good at it. Nothing like my brother.”

You gave an absent nod. “He’s a charmer, isn’t he?”

Armon closed his eyes. “He’s much better than I am.” There was a pause as he swallowed. The bird fluttered back to the ground and pecked at the soil. “I think my parents have quite given up on me.” He said it with a bit of a laugh, but his expression was twisting in a way that almost made him look like he was going to cry.

You lowered your pencil. “Given up?”

“You need to be good with people to be good at business. I’m awful with them. I’m just too unapproachable. They keep me around, add me to the collection of family portraits, but I am not what they want in a son.”

“Fuck your family,” you said. Armon blinked at you. “Your family’s too up their own ass. No offense. Why don’t you just leave? You’re old enough, aren’t you?”

“Well, yes,” Armon said. “But I don’t really know how. I’ve never been on my own before.”

“You’ve got a lot of money. You’ve got some time. Why don’t you just figure out what you want to do? Not saying it’s going to be easy. It’ll be a lot different than what you’re used to, but it’ll be better. I mean, being an artist isn’t easy. But it’s more enjoyable than doing something easy that makes me miserable.”

The grass rustled as Armon made his way over to you. He sat down, looking at the drawing over your shoulder. There was a moment of silence, then Armon let out a low, shaky sigh.

“That’s me,” he said, reaching over to tap the painting. He traced the slight smile that twitched at his lips, the softness that gathered around his eyes. “That one is me.” He leaned into your side, letting his head rest on your shoulder. “Thank you.”

You didn’t get much more painting done that day. Armon showed you around the grounds a little bit before dropping you off at the front gate. “I’ll show you the painting when it’s done,” you said.

Armon smiled again. It was small, and it looked poorly practiced, but it was something. “I’ll look forward to it.”

It was a couple of weeks before you returned to the house. You met with Armon’s mother before going to the sun room, where Armon was waiting. He looked up as you entered.

“Here,” you said, holding it out toward him. He took it delicately, as if he was afraid his claws would tear the canvas. He stared at it for a long time, just taking in the artwork.

“It’s beautiful,” he said. “It’s better than I thought it was going to be.” He gave a weak smile. “All those portraits in the halls are so stuffy. So formal. They’re never something I really wanted to be a part of. This one is much nicer.”

You shrugged. “You can keep that one, if you want. I’m not getting paid for it.”

Armon’s head snapped up. “Why not?”

“Didn’t meet the specifications your mother was looking for, apparently. She said it was too… um… casual, I think.”

Armon looked down at the painting. “I’m sorry. I should have-”

“Don’t sweat it. It wasn’t your idea, remember? I pushed you into it.” You shrugged. “Your mom’s giving me a second chance, though. I would have to do it right this time.” You perched on the side of a lounge, looking steadily at Armon. “Are you going to be okay with that?”

Armon gave a small smile. “I don’t think I’d mind sitting for another portrait,” he said. “As long as you’re the one doing it.”

“Hey, I’m not exactly mad about it either,” you said. Armon made to hand you back the painting, but you pushed it back toward him. “I did say you could keep that, right? It’s a gift.”

Armon looked down at it with a faint smile. “Thank you,” he said. You memorized that smile. It was going into his portrait no matter what.

#exophilia #aqrabaumelu #fortune falls #monster boyfriend #monster lover #OCxOC #MxF

[enbeemagical]

The Snake and the Star cover art coloring process!

You still remember my process post about my TSATS cover art sketching from yesterday, right? Okay, good. Time for the colored version then!!

Tagging everyone who liked/reblogged the sketch process! @lehuka123 @the-phantom-author @oliveofthenight​ @destinyrainevans​ @aaravos-is-hot​ @myamoonseeker​ @sunstone-citrine​ @otakumultimuse-hiddlewhore​ @mozart-the-meerkitten​ @kaguya-inuyasha @king-bito​ @perlelas​ thank you all so much for the support!!! *sparkles*

After I copied the art out, I did a little coloring right then, then put it aside and... basically didn’t touch it for about a week. Here’s what I did at first:

I might not have taken a picture at this point if I hadn’t wanted to show @alls-fair-in-pride-and-prejudice how much Aaravos looked like a Frost Giant. See, last time I colored Aaravos, for a TAATM drawing for Hope, I started with gray as his base skin color. This time, I’d looked at more pictures of him, and realized that his face and hands were a lot darker than his torso. And his skin tone in the TAATM art didn’t look quite right to me, so I wanted to try something different.

So here, I started by lightly shading a purplish blue all over his face, and black on his torso and arms. I also added a bit of my darkest red to his ears, because O////O he’s looking at Loki after all~

Next, I think I put on gray on his face, then purple all over. I forgot to color his hands at first, then ended up coloring them almost the same way as his face. His arms are only partially colored because where the color ends is where I decided his sleeves start. (yes, I forgot to put in clothing details before I copied it.)

I got back to coloring only the day before posting Chapter Two, actually. I did a couple more layers on Aaravos’s face, torso, and arms, then pulled out my pink and brown pencils for Loki.

Gray, pink (extra on his cheeks o//.//o), and two shades of brown blended well for his skin tone and shading, and I just went with black for his hair instead of trying to combine browns.

Clothing next!! I checked a few pictures of both of them before deciding on Loki’s specific outfit. Pretty basic, green long sleeved shirt under gold-edged black vest. Aaravos, of course, is wearing his pretty black-and-gold robe. I did a couple quick graphite pencil lines to figure out exactly where I wanted the lines for sleeves and patterns and whatnot to go, then erased those and started coloring.

I also started shading Aaravos’s hair in gray and lavender, and added a bit more pink to Loki’s face. o////o blushy boi

For Aaravos’s robe, I started shading gray at the bottom of the sleeve, then went to black around his shoulder. I darkened the black as I went down, then added purple all over. Loki’s vest is just black, but his shirt is two shades of green blended.

Oh, and I also went over everything multiple times over the course of the coloring with either my blending pencil or a basic white pencil (which works almost as well, really). I think I used the blender on their faces and the white on their clothes.

The absolute hardest part of this drawing? This step. Specifically, Loki’s helmet.

I shaded Aaravos’s horns first. Lightly gray near the ends, darkening to black at the bases, then I went over that with lavender and purple. Pretty easy, actually, and smoothing them out with white pencil was even fun.

But that helmet...

Okay, so, tips for shading gold? A nice light brown works very well. I used an orange, a goldish-brown, a light brown, and a little black here. The black may have been a mistake.

My best reference picture was actually Loki’s helmet from the other side. Still, I’m pretty good at mentally flipping images (I think), and I managed. I left a white space for a glint of light, and did my best to darken the helmet in the right places.

Then I realized I hadn’t colored their eyes yet. So I did that-- orange, goldish-brown, and brown for Aaravos; two shades of green for Loki. Also black, for both of them.

Then I started on the background.

Before doing anything with the background, I consulted two people very important to this process. First, I asked Hope which side should be purple and which green, and what color the snake’s eyes should be. Then, I asked my sister whether it should be darker at the top or the bottom. Those questions answered, I began coloring.

First it was lots of gray. I started with barely noticeable color near the bottom, getting darker and darker until I was shading with black near the top. Then I pulled out lavender and light green and thoroughly covered the gray and black.

Oh, also blending. I did some more blending.

Then shading again! I got out my dark purple and my dark (slightly bluish) green, and started from the top.

Oooh, but there’s something missing~~

I had to take a moment to think about what I wanted for the little snake and star. I wanted them to contrast with the background, the same way the dots do in the original yin-yang symbol. And I didn’t want them to be just flat color, no, there was too much else I could do with them!

First, Aaravos’s star. Very lightly, I drew a lavender line around where I wanted the border to be, where I wanted the purple to shade into white. Then I colored that in, shading darker as I got closer to the middle. I did the same with dark purple, and added a tiny bit of black. Before I blended it, I went to work on Loki’s snake.

I started with light green there, covering it diagonally both ways before shading the edges in dark green. The eyes are (my purpliest) blue, which Hope suggested as a reference to the “are Loki’s eyes green or blue” debate (I’d not previously heard of this. poor sweet mind-controlled stabby bean!).

Blending!! I got out that white pencil and blended blended blended until that snake and that star were as smooth and soft-looking as I could get them, to contrast with the totally un-smoothed background.

It looks done, right? But it’s not.

I wanted to go over the lines in black pencil, to help everything pop, and to keep each part distinct from the rest. Aaravos’s horn blends into his star in the above picture, and I like my art to have a little more clarity than that.

Plus, I needed something to make Aaravos’s freckles, and do the little light glints in their eyes. I’d planned to use my white gel pen, but it hates me and wouldn’t work well enough. Since I’m staying at my grandparents, and they just might have such a thing lying around, I asked my grandfather if there was a white pen or marker I could use.

I went to town with this.

It wasn’t enough to stop at the freckles and eyes. Nah. I was having too much fun. So everything got shiny!! See the white on their sleeves? Loki’s helmet?The swirlies on Aaravos’s horns? The stars on his arms? WHEEE!! I LOVE white markers!!!!! Need to get myself a couple. 

Plus, my new signature for art I’ll post on Tumblr, written with one of my new charcoal pencils. I use several different online names, and I’ll sign my art with whichever is most appropriate. ^_^ I don’t care if it’s cliche or childish, I like doing little hearts over the i’s.

I’ve started work on another piece of TSATS art, a snapshot of a scene because I wanted to try my hand at Lady Loki..... (let me know if I should post the sketch or wait until I’ve finished coloring!)

#the snake and the star #cover art #full color! #alls-fair-in-pride-and-prejudice #loki #aaravos #romance novel cover XD #my art #my art process #my coloring process #i'd love to know what you think!! #yin-yang symbol #in purple and green #look idk what took over my hands #but those stick figures turned into THIS #i'm feeling pretty proud of myself actually! #the snake and the star art #drake draws

[recurring-polynya]

For the AU request, whichever one(s) you prefer (for RenRuki of course):

the X-Men universe

the Mafia/criminal underworld

the circus

as FBI agents (the X-Files world perhaps)

So, I got this ask, and I immediately wanted to go for X-Files, because I was hugely into X-Files when I was a tween/teen, and I think that my actual first published work of fanfic on the internet might actually be X-Files. (I didn’t even post it myself, I was like 12 and I didn’t have the internet at home, but a friend of mine posted it on Usenet for me, I have no idea whatever became of it). Anyway, I was going back and forth in my head who I wanted to be Mulder and who I wanted to be Scully, and then I got this ask:

@ulkoilla​ said:

I though the 10 would be full in about 1 microsecond so I didn’t even try :D This is maybe not AU enough for the purpose but I'd love to see your take on Bleach world where the shinigami work among humans as if they were in gigai -> they'll have to balance the supernatural, perhaps violent elements of their life with the modern day laws and such (like in Supernatural). Renji and Rukia have ofc gotten in trouble with the non-supernatural law (meet: Detective!Aizen?) and are on the run…

It suddenly occurred to me, What If: X-Files World, but Renruki are the cryptids. And it suddenly popped into my head exactly who I wanted to be Mulder. Anyway, I am sorry missrambler, if I messed it all up, I hope you like it anyway.

Also, I somehow thought that I would save myself some trouble by combining two prompts, but then it ended up… really long. (Forty! Eight! Hundred! Words! Go to Talks-Too-Much-Jail, Polynya!!)

PS: This takes place in D.C. because it’s X-Files and also because I am familiar with D.C. and I never get to write about places I know about. A half-smoke is a local delicacy that’s halfway between a hot dog and an Italian sausage. They are delicious.

Read on ao3 or ff.net

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Ichigo Kurosaki had known that an office with a view of the Smithsonian might be too much to ask, but he had not expected to take have to take two separate elevators down to sub-basement C, and walk past a storage room, two broom closets and a weird old vending machine full of brands of snacks he swore he hadn’t seen since he was a child.

Maybe Agent Inoue has a huge lab, he told himself. Maybe it needs to be 50 meters below ground because she collides large hadrons down here or so that her work can’t be picked up by spy satellites.

He had to turn sideways to get past a rack of wire shelves full of banker’s boxes, but there, on the other side was a door sporting a handwritten cardboard nameplate reading “Special Agent Orihime Inoue.”

“Come in!” a voice called inside, just as he raised his hand to knock on the door.

Ichigo blinked twice, and then went in.

The office was cluttered, mostly with more cardboard boxes, but books were also stacked precariously on top of boxes on top of books. The walls were plastered with maps and graphs and photographs of hazy blurs in front of staircases. There was a large poster showing a UFO, with the words “I WANT TO BELIEVE” in block caps below it.

A woman with long chestnut hair twisted up into a bun and held in place with three pencils was hunched over a metal box full of diodes and transistors and other things you would buy at Radio Shack. Or rather, that other people would buy at a Radio Shack. Ichigo had never set foot in a Radio Shack in his life.

“Er, good morning,” Ichigo said, as the woman looked up and blinked at him owlishly. “Agent Inoue? I’m Ichigo Kurosaki. I’ve been assigned to work with you.”

“To spy on me, you mean,” Agent Inoue corrected, cheerfully shaking his hand with great vigor.

Ichigo bristled. Yes, he had been directed to ‘provide additional documentation on Agent Inoue’s activities,’ but that hardly counted as spying. She was known to be somewhat scatterbrained, and having an organized person around would probably be a great benefit to her. “If you have any doubts about my qualifications or motivations--”

“Oh, don’t take it personally!” Inoue replied, slotting a lid onto her electronics project, and attacking it vigorously with a jeweler’s screwdriver. “Just because you’re a spy doesn’t mean you aren’t a nice person. Also, I read your file, you have a very interesting background! Degree in literature with a focus on folk legends. Teaching at the academy for the last few years while working on your book.” She took a momentary break from her screwing to fix him with her big, soft brown eyes. “Tell me, Agent Kurosaki, what do you think happens after you die?”

Ichigo froze. “I would be buried? Maybe there would be a funeral first?”

Inoue started laughing so hard that Ichigo was sure he caught a tiny, adorable snort. “Sorry, sorry! I wasn’t clear!” She sniffed, and wiped a tear from her eye. “Do you believe in continued existence after the death of the body? An afterlife, religion-based or otherwise? The existence of ectoplasm, cold spots, spirit photographs, EVP?”

“Are you talking about… ghosts?” Ichigo asked hesitantly.

“Yes!” Orihime replied with a nod. “Ghosts.”

“We-elll…” Ichigo drew out. “I believe that people believe they observe certain phenomena, as part of the cycle of grief and--”

“Just say ‘no’ if you don’t,” Inoue interrupted him.

“Er, no. I don’t.”

“That’s okay. Are you good at carrying heavy things?”

“Am I... I guess?”

“Perfect!” She shoved the box into his arms, and Ichigo’s knees almost buckled under the weight. “Let’s walk and talk, I want to go get a reading over near Franklin Square before 9 am. We’re gonna pass a really good half-smoke cart on the way, do you like half-smokes?”

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“Take a look at this,” Inoue said, her cheek half stuffed with sausage, jabbing a finger at the LED read-out of her mysterious box.

It was rather hard for Ichigo to see, because he was holding the box and the readout was on the other side, but he did his best to crane his neck around. “What am I looking at? The squiggles? I’m sorry, it looks like nothing to me.”

“Exactly right!” Inoue announced, waving her half smoke in the air. “Not a sniff of spiritual residue!”

Ichigo pressed his lips together. “Um… is that good?”

“It is interesting,” Inoue corrected. “Five days ago, a sixty-four year old woman had a heart attack while sitting in that bus shelter.” On every day since, I have been able to record EMF fluctuations, and on Sunday, I was able to get a voice recording that sounded like a woman reciting a grocery list. But this morning, nothing! Nada!”

“Well, uh, ghosts gotta move on eventually, right? Otherwise, just about everywhere would be haunted, right?” It’s not that Ichigo had suddenly started believing ghosts or anything, but there was something about Agent Inoue that just made you want to go along with her and see where all this panned out.

Inoue shot him a finger gun. “Or, they get moved along.” She shoved a folded paper map at him. “You can put that thing down.”

Ichigo eased the Spirit Detect-O 9000, or whatever it was called, to the grass and accepted her map. It was a street map of DC, meant for tourists, emphasizing all the local transit routes and popular attractions. There was also a great loop marked on it in orange highlighter, zig-zagging back and forth through the city. There was a little ‘x’ marked on Franklin Park, with “Tuesday, early morning” written in a bubbly hand.

“What is this?” Ichigo frowned. It didn’t seem to match up with any of the metro or bus lines. It didn’t even match with the sidewalks, it appeared to cut straight through large buildings like the convention center.

“As far as I can tell,” Inoue said, her brown eyes very solemn, “that is the patrol route of our local grim reaper.”

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“So I actually got interested in grim reapers,” Inoue explained, once they were back in the office, “while I was investigating violent ghost phenomena.” She was eating a bag of corn chips that she had gotten from that ancient vending machine by punching it and then shoving her own arm up the chute. (She’d gotten Ichigo a bag, too, but he was too afraid to eat them.)

Ichigo was sitting at a cluttered table that Inoue had told him “could be his desk.” Half of it was taken up by a large aquarium full of rocks and a water bowl, but no life forms that Ichigo could detect. The other half was covered with back issues of “Ghost Hunter Technology” magazine. “You mean like poltergeists?” he asked.

“Not exactly. Poltergeists are noisy, but they aren’t usually able to kill their targets.”

“Kill? Ghosts can’t kill people, aside from, like scaring them to death,” Ichigo scoffed. “I mean, folklorically speaking. As we established earlier, I am not a ghost-believer.”

Inoue tipped her head to the side. “They do, actually, it just tends to get blamed on something else.”

“By ghost-non-believers.”

“By everyone, really, and that’s what’s so strange.” Inoue pulled a fat binder from a stack of seemingly identical ones, and tossed it open in front of Ichigo. “Edison, New Jersey, 2014. An elderly woman dies ‘of a broken heart’ a week after her husband dies of cancer. Coincidentally, a telephone pole falls on her house the same night and rips a hole in her house.” She turned a page. “Norfolk, Virginia, 2017. A young woman dies in what the police rule as a suicide, despite the fact that she made a 911 call 48 hours previous, expressing fear of her ex-boyfriend. Three days later, the boyfriend is dead of mysterious causes. Coincidentally, his apartment complex suffered significant damages from ‘a wild cougar.’”

Ichigo squinted at the pictures. The walls of the building were scored with what did appear to be scratch marks. “Hell of a cougar.”

“Exactly! And I’ve got dozens of these historic cases. But about four months ago, I was able to investigate one myself-- a young man named Joe Wallace. He lives here in the city, over near Dupont Circle. Wallace had cut off his toxic dad years ago, and refused to visit him in the hospital as he was dying. Four days after his father’s death, a truck crashes into his house in the middle of the night and then drives away before the police can arrive.”

“And he died.”

“No!” Inoue held up one finger. “Scratches and bruises, but he doesn’t die!”

“Okay, great. So what does he remember?”

“He remembers a truck crashing into his house.”

Ichigo scratched his chin. “I am confused.”

“Look at this!” Inoue stabbed a finger at the pictures. “These are claw marks, not vehicular wreckage! There’s damage on the second story window! Wallace had scratches and defensive wounds, as if he had been fending off an animal! And look here, at the damage to the walls of the bedroom!”

“What am I looking at?” Ichigo asked, squinting at a photograph that looked like it had been blown up past the point of recognition.

“There were cuts and slashes in the walls and bedding as though someone had been fighting with a sword.”

“Like a Medieval Times sword? Was the guy a Medieval Times enthusiast?”

“More consistent with a katana. Do you like Medieval Times?”

“No one likes Medieval Times.”

“I like Medieval Times. You’ve probably never even been. But back to the ghost! Why would Wallace remember a truck crashing into his house, when nothing about the scene is consistent with that story?”

“He was...lying?”

“His memories were replaced.”

“His memories were replaced,” Ichigo echoed.

“Yes.”

“By… aliens?”

Orihime heaved a deep sigh. “By a grim reaper.”

“A grim reaper with a samurai sword.”

“How on earth did you come to this conclusion?”

Inoue raised one eyebrow. “Because when I placed him under hypnosis, Wallace didn’t remember anything about a truck. He did remember a monster with batwings and a mask made of bone and his dead father’s voice who tried to kill him, except that he was saved by a tall man dressed in black. The man had bright red hair and fought the monster with a sword that was also a whip and then he wiped Wallace’s memories.”

Ichigo stared at her. “You can hypnotize people?”

Inoue gave him a long-suffering face. Ichigo had the sudden flash that he was going to be seeing that face a lot in the days to come. “Yes, I am a certified hypnotist.” Inoue’s phone suddenly started playing “Tubular Bells”. “Oops, that’s an alarm. Come on, we have a meeting with some important people. Do you like diners?”

  👻     👻     👻

Agent Inoue apparently did not care for public transit, but she walked very quickly. Ichigo was concentrating so hard on keeping up with her that he nearly collided with her back when she stopped very suddenly.

“You don’t mind if we make a quick stop, do we?” Inoue asked.

“You said the meeting was with important people.”

“Oh, don’t worry about them!” Inoue pursed her lips. “You see that bodega right there?”

They were in a part of downtown that was mostly mid-to-upscale restaurants and government buildings and FedExes. But sure enough, there was a dingy little bodega nestled between a Mexican-Indian fusion place and an Au Bon Pain, the windows stuffed with t-shirts from the last administration and a variety of cell phone chargers. The overhead sign read “Urahara Shop.”

“Y...eah…” Ichigo replied.

“That place is a hotbed of supernatural activity.”

“Is it?” Ichigo asked.

“I am almost positive that it is a supply point and meeting place for grim reapers, monster slayers, cryptids, alien hunters, and lycanthropes, but the owner is on to me.”

“I see,” Ichigo said levelly.

“Can you go in and pretend to be a customer? They have lots of good candy you can look through. Inoue dug in her purse and came up with a fiver. “Here. Buy a scratch ticket or something.”

“I’m not buying a scratch ticket, they’re a scam.”

“If the big guy is working the counter, he’ll glare at you until you buy something, so be prepared.”

As Ichigo pushed open the door, he realized he’d never actually agreed to any of this. Agent Inoue’s secret hypnosis powers, once again. Whatever. It was a bodega, there were a thousand of them in DC. They all had the same Nats t-shirts and coffee mugs with pictures of the Washington Monument on them. Ichigo pretended to be interested in a rack of comics. He tended to prefer indy comics over the big publishers himself, but even so, he didn’t recognize any of the books. Maybe they were by local authors.

Up at the front of the shop, a tiny, dark-haired woman was giving whatfor to the man behind the counter, a tall fellow with pale, straw-colored hair sticking out in tufts from under the saddest hat Ichigo had ever seen, a shapeless, battered bucket, striped green and white.

“Well, I can sell you a new battery for your phone, Miss Kuchiki, maybe that would help.”

“Not if it only lasts as long as the last one you sold me! I really need to get in touch with my partner, except that even if I could get my phone working again, his battery is probably dead because everything you sell is the same crap!”

“Ah, that’s too bad! You know, I think Mr. Abarai was in here a few days ago… I wasn’t in at the time, but Jinta said he came in, asking about…”

The man trailed off, and Ichigo glanced up to see the shopkeeper looking directly at him.

“...metrocards. But as you know, we don’t sell metrocards anymore.”

The woman made an aggravated noise. “You’re so useless! If I write him a damned note, will you give it to him if he comes in?”

“Oh, of course! Anything for you, Miss Kuchiki!”

The conversation trailed off as the woman hunched over the counter to angrily scratch out a note.

Ichigo stuffed the comic he was flipping through back on its rack. He skipped the enormous display of bedazzled flip-flops and started perusing the surprisingly extensive selection of gum.

“Here!” the woman finished and shoved her note at the shopkeeper. “You’re the worst, you know that?”

“Have a wonderful day!” the shopkeeper tootled, giving her a little finger wave.

Ichigo felt bad for the woman. “Er, excuse me?” he said as she passed.

She turned to scowl at him. For such a tiny person, she seemed to contain a remarkable amount of rage.

“Do you need to call someone? You can use my phone, if you’d like.” He held it out like an offering.

The woman blinked at him for a moment.

“I didn’t mean to be nosy! You were just kind of loud and you sounded worried about your, um, partner.”

“I’m not worried about him, I just need to find him.” Her face softened. “Thanks, Mister, but I can’t reach him on a regular phone. Don’t worry, I’ll track him down eventually.” She turned to leave, then stopped to jab an accusatory finger at Ichigo. “And that’s professional partner, not… you know! Whatever!” She stomped out.

What a strange, tiny person.

Ichigo selected a gum and walked up to the counter.

“Oooh, dragonberry lime, good choice!” the man trilled. “Anything else I can get you? Bottled water? Fanny pack? Spare phone battery?”

“I’ll pass,” Ichigo replied dryly.

“I imagine it’s against FBI policy to let a stranger use your cell phone,” the shopkeeper said sweetly.

Ichigo’s brows furrowed. “This is my personal phone. And how did you…?”

The man gave a chortling laugh that sent shivers down Ichigo’s spine. “Because headquarters is three blocks away and only an FBI agent would wear a suit that square.”

Ichigo took his change and his gum and shoved them both in his pocket. “Yeah, well, your hat sucks.”

The man laughed harder. “Doesn’t it, though?”

Once he was outside again, Ichigo handed Inoue the gum and her change. “The owner of that place is a creep.”

“The guy in the green and white hat?”

“Yeah.”

“That’s Urahara. You’re right, he’s the owner. Were there any other customers?”

“Just the short lady. You must have seen her come out. She was ripping Urahara a new one for some dodgy cell phone battery he sold her. I think she must have been NSA or something. She said she was trying to get ahold of her partner, but she needed a special phone.” As he said it, Ichigo realized it would be pretty odd for an NSA agent to be buying cell phone batteries from some shady bodega.

“No one came out,” Inoue replied.

“She definitely did! I heard the bell over the door ring.”

Inoue regarded Ichigo very seriously. “Agent Kurosaki. I was standing here the whole time. You were the only person who went in or out.” She looked at the gum. “Ooh! Dragonfruit lime! Do you want some?”

  👻     👻     👻

They were late to the meeting.

Two men were waiting for them in the back corner booth. One of them had pinched, pointy features and piercing blue eyes behind wire-rimmed glasses. His chin-length haircut was pretty dramatic, but not as dramatic as his pure white trench coat. A cup of black coffee sat on the faded Formica table in front of him, but it didn’t look like it had been touched.

His companion was an enormous, good-looking Latino who was shoveling pancakes into his face.

“Inoue,” the dramatic guy said. “Who’s this?”

“This is my new partner, Kurosaki,” Inoue replied. “Kurosaki, this is Uryuu Ishida,” she indicated the white trenchcoat guy, “and Chad,” Mr. Pancakes.

“Also known as the ‘Lone Archers,’” Ishida specified. “We are apolitical actors who are interested in revealing the truths that are regularly hidden from the general populace by secret forces that conspire within the machinery of the American government.”

“You can just call me Chad,” said Chad.

“Good morning!” the waitress said. “Can I get you folks anything?”

“Oh, yes! I’m getting mozzarella sticks! Do you like mozzarella sticks, Kurosaki? They’re so good here!”

“So’re the pancakes,” added Chad.

“I’ll just have a coffee,” Ichigo announced. He glanced at Ishida’s cup. “Black.”

“Double mozzarella sticks, please!” Inoue chorused. “And a cherry coke!” She leaned over to Ichigo and spoke out of the side of her mouth. “I’ll give you a mozzarella stick.”

“Do you want some pancake?” Chad offered to Ishida. “I never think to offer.”

Ishida waved him off with a hand. “Agent Inoue. At great personal peril, I was able to obtain a sample of the item we discussed.” He slid a small paper packet across the table. “There are two tablets inside, but one should be sufficient for your purposes.” Ishida leaned forward, his mouth set in a firm line. “I was cautioned very strongly against using this, unless one had a firm plan for handling the… consequences.”

“I understand,” Inoue replied, stuffing the envelope into her purse.

Ichigo wanted to ask more questions, but the conversation shifted very quickly to some USGS floodplain maps that Ishida wanted Inoue to obtain for him that were apparently not available from the public webportals, allegedly because of filesize. Ichigo could practically hear the air quotes around the word “filesize.”

“We’re going to look for Jersey Devils next weekend,” Chad explained, sounding pretty excited about it.

“There’s only one, Chad,” Ishida corrected. “It’s just ‘Jersey Devil.’”

“There could be more than one,” Chad shrugged.

Thirty minutes later, they departed. Inoue had an order of mozzarella sticks in her purse. Ichigo had an armload of backissues of the Lone Archers’ ‘zine, which was, conveniently enough, titled The Lone Archer. There was no doubt in his mind that at least Ishida was completely off his rocker. The jury was still out on Chad… he struck Ichigo as the sort of guy who just went along with Ishida’s nonsense because he was a good friend and also liked taking camping trips and doing layout for ‘zines.

“So what was that thing they gave you?” Ichigo pestered. The idea of that little paper packet had been burning a hole in his brain the entire time.

“You busy tonight?” Inoue asked, raising an eyebrow slyly. “Between 10 and 11?”

“What are we doing?” Ichigo asked cautiously, wondering if he would be able to charge his time.

“We’re going to try and attract an angry ghost.”

  👻     👻     👻

“Are you… sure this is… a good idea?” Ichigo asked for the sixteenth time, as Inoue focused the thermal camera on him.

They were in an old, abandoned lot that had formerly served as a Metro service facility. It was pretty spooky all on its own, filled with train cars too dilapidated for salvage.

It was 10:25pm. Inoue had set up no less than 17 different pieces of ghost detection equipment. Ichigo was questioning his life choices.

“You told me you don’t believe in ghosts. If ghosts don’t exist, then what could possibly go wrong?” Inoue posed.

“Well… that’s true,” Ichigo granted. “And, for the record, I still do not believe in ghosts. But in the Pascal’s wager sense of things, I am considering the ramifications of what happens if there are ghosts that exist, regardless of my belief in them.”

“And?” Inoue asked.

“Well, you said that these ghosts have hurt and killed people before. It seems like trying to attract one without having any method of, um, fighting it, seems kind of… irresponsible?”

“Ah, but you see, I’ve specifically picked this time and location to coincide with the grim reaper patrol routes I’ve been mapping out. Our friendly neighborhood psychopomp ought to show up just on schedule to fight the angry ghost for us. We’re doing them a favor, as I see it.”

“How so?” Ichigo exclaimed.

“It’s not like we’re creating an angry ghost out of nowhere. We’re just attracting an existing one to our location. We’re saving the grim reaper the trouble of having to hunt it down.”

Ichigo pinched the bridge of his nose. Why was it so difficult to argue with Inoue? Possibly because she was so incredibly earnest in all her beliefs, and all her arguments were in completely good faith, it’s just that her logic came from some other dimension. This woman has solved multiple, high-profile murders, including several that were ice cold, Ichigo reminded himself. So she’s quirky. I am sure I can learn a lot from her.

“Okay, everything is in place!” Inoue announced, placing her hand on her hips. “Go hide behind that pile of moldy seats!”

Inoue took Ichigo’s place at the center of her recording equipment. “Agent Orihime Inoue speaking,” she said, for posterity. “It is 10:28pm. I am crushing one tablet of a substance called ‘Hollow Bait.’” She crunched the little white tablet, which looked an awful lot like an Alka-Seltzer, between her fingers, and then made a flying leap for the rotting pile of damp, orange upholstery that Ichigo was crouched behind.

“So, just out of curiosity,” Ichigo started. “How long would we have to wait, theoretically, with nothing happening, before we would declare this a bust?”

Inoue pursed her lips thoughtfully. “Usually, I would give it about two hours, but if you’ve got somewhere to be, I don’t mind if you leave early. It is nice to have company for a change.”

“No, I don’t have anywhere else to be,” Ichigo replied. “I mean… sleeping, I guess.”

Inoue gave a charming little laugh. “I don’t sleep very well. And hunting for ghosts is more interesting than most of the stuff on Hulu.”

The way that she said it gave Ichigo the distinct impression that Inoue was, well, lonely. But that didn’t seem correct. She was weird, sure, but she was also friendly and talkative, and, er, well, she was extremely cute. Surely she had tons of friends.

“How’d you get into ghost hunting, anyway?” he tried to be conversational.

“Hmm,” Inoue hummed noncommittally. “Let’s just say there was an incident in my teen years, where my memories don’t match up to the property damage.”

Oh. Ichigo wondered if he should apologize, when suddenly, a cold chill ran down his spine and a sound like a roar echoed in his ears, except he didn’t actually hear anything. “Did you hear that?” he gasped.

“It’s the EMF detector,” Inoue nodded, scrambling for the reader and Ichigo realized he could hear a faint beeping.

“No, not the beeping, it was like a… a… scream…”

“You heard a scream?”

“I didn’t exactly…” Ichigo trailed off as he heard two more, coming from different directions. “There’s more than one. Monster screams. Not human screams.”

Inoue stared at him, eyes wide. “I don’t hear anything. Have you ever been tested for latent psychic ability?”

There was a sudden change in the air pressure, and a fetid, rotting smell, even worse than the Metro seats. Ichigo grabbed Inoue by the shoulders and rolled out of the way, just as the pile of junk they had been crouched behind compacted like it had been through a car crusher. Or smashed by a giant foot.

“Whoa!” Inoue exclaimed, trying to push Ichigo off of her so she could see what was going on.

Ichigo blinked through the night. He couldn’t see anything, but there was an area of space that looked thick and hazy, like it wasn’t refracting the harsh glow of the sodium street lights quite correctly.

“We have to get out of here,” Ichigo gasped.

“Can you see it?” Inoue asked, her eyes wide and excited.

“Not-- not really,” Ichigo replied, pulling at her arm. The air blurred, and Ichigo had the sense the thing was jumping at them. He could tell it was fast, but he couldn’t see it, he didn’t know what to--

“Howl, Zabimaru!”

It was both there and not quite there, a liquid blade made of glass and starlight, that snapped through the air at the invisible thing. The monster bellowed, and whipped around, charging at a dark figure standing atop one of the old Metro cars.

“Pick on someone your own size, ugly!” the man bellowed, and as Ichigo squinted, he realized that their savior was dressed all in black. He was tall, and his hair was pulled back in a spiky ponytail. It was bright red. He was also wearing sunglasses, even though it was the middle of the night. They were pushed up on top of his head, to be fair, but Ichigo had a feeling this detail would stick with him.

“You can see that guy, right?” Ichigo asked Inoue desperately. “The guy who’s fighting the ghost? The guy that looks just like the guy in your report?”

“There’s a guy?” Inoue asked. “No. Where is he? Can you usually see ghosts?”

“I don’t even believe in ghosts!”

“Well, maybe you don’t believe in them because you can see them and you don’t want to, did you ever think of that?”

“I don’t think now is the time to interrogate my personal traumas!”

Suddenly, there was another drop in pressure, and Ichigo had the sense of heavy breathing and sharp teeth. “Inoue. I think there’s another one.”

“Well, can you get the guy to come fight this one, too?”

“He seems busy,” Ichigo squeaked.

Something black flashed by his vision, and there was a loud crack and a sound of something screeching in pain. A second dark-clad person had arrived, landing softly on sandaled feet. There was the same unreality to her, a sense that she wasn’t entirely there, as well as a certain familiarity that Ichigo couldn’t place. Her sword was bright in the darkness, like moonlight reflecting on snow.

“Oi, there you are, you big dummy!” she shouted at the first man and Ichigo realized with a jolt that it was the angry woman from the bodega. “I’ve been looking for you for four days!”

“I had a problem with my gigai and maybe you should check your texts once in a while!” the tall guy shouted back. Ichigo refused to think of him as a grim reaper. A grim reaper would not wear sunglasses.

“My phone died!”

“Can we-- ow! -- discuss this later? I’m glad you’re okay, I missed you. Why are there so many Hollows in this train yard?”

“You’re such a sap! And the Hollows are here because some stupid humans got ahold of some Hollow bait.” The woman turned, and glared at Ichigo. Her eyes burned with blue flame, like the burner of a gas stove.

That would have been the last thing Ichigo remembered, if he had actually remembered it, or any of the things that came before it.

  👻     👻     👻

Ichigo was sitting at his desk.

Inoue was sitting at her desk.

The sun was streaming in the window. The clock on Ichigo’s phone read 7:12am.

Inoue frowned. She examined a coffee cup on her desk. She took a hesitant sip, and then made a face. “Why are we here?” she wondered softly.

“I hate to pull an all-nighter,” Ichigo said, stretching, “but it sure does feel good to be caught up on paperwork!”

Inoue regarded him. “Kurosaki,” she said, “how long have you worked here?”

Ichigo frowned. “Well, I guess this is my second day.”

“Right. So… how much paperwork did you have to catch up on?”

Ichigo blinked. He very distinctively recalled working through the night-- his hand cramping, the incredibly spicy Thai food they’d ordered, Inoue’s seemingly infinite Boy Bands of the 90’s playlist. “I… was helping you, I guess?” Come to think of it, why was he filling out paperwork by hand, anyway? His laptop sat next to him, the lid closed. It wasn’t even plugged in.

Inoue’s fist slammed down onto her desk. “Gosh darnit! They wiped my memories again!!”

#wacky au requests #my writing #in my youth i shipped mulder and scully so hard #and now it's like...girl #you could do so much better #it is not possible to do better than gillian anderson

[pluto-art]

Syncytium - Chapter 5

Title: Polarization Words: 11,170 (including author’s comments) Rating: T

Fan Fiction: https://www.fanfiction.net/s/13712482/5/Syncytium

Just as always, I highly recommend the FF.net version, as it includes all accentuated words. This has been my favorite chapter to write so far. Consider it a New Year’s Eve gift. Enjoy. :)

October 1st, 1993 - 7:10 PM

The wall to the cloaked laboratory slid open with a soft hiss as Brian T. Globetrotter quickly shuffled out of his private workshop and headed for the elevator. His ears perked a little as a distant sound caught his ear. It sounded like shuffling. Was that coming from the... trash cans? A yearning desire to investigate had to be cut short, however, as a small ding signaled the arrival of his ride. Not like he could wait another minute anyway. He stepped past the steel doors and poked intrusively at Floor One's button, doing his best not to break out in a desperate dance as his pained expression was shut to the basement.

In a back corner of the basement, a trash can wiggled about unsteadily... then went still. A second later and it jumped about again, rocking back and forth, as if someone were tickling its insides mercilessly. Then, with an echoing pop that reverberated off the walls, from its stomach burst forth a tall white mouse, his hair disheveled and his glasses askew as he shook himself, breathed out a welcome sigh of relief, and hopped out of the can before replacing its lid.

"Sorry, Mr. Trash Can. Zort! Thanks for all the help, though!" Pinky apologized, smiling as he refitted the can with its metallic "hat" and patted it kindly.

Even though no one could hear him, he took care to tip-toe as covertly as he could past where the secret laboratory lay, beyond the elevator, and up... up... up the stairs, only exiting onto the first floor landing once he heard the familiar ding of the elevator below, signaling Globetrotter's return to the basement. He smiled and blew out yet another grateful sigh. That was a close one. He'd almost gotten caught!

Down below, Globetrotter stepped out of the elevator, adjusting his pants a touch and facepalming. That one had been painful... He reminded himself that his next doctor appointment was the following Tuesday, and privately hoped that they'd have a better solution - stronger pills or something. This was getting ridiculous.

Pinky hadn't noticed that, in his haste to hide from Globetrotter's prying eyes, he'd dropped his #2 pencil on the ground at the lab's entrance. But Globetrotter noticed. He picked up the orange object and turned it about with bandaged fingers, a crease or two forming upon his thick brow. This wasn't his. #2 pencil? He'd never be that cheap. Someone had been here...

/\/\/\/\/\/\

October 4th, 1993 - 4:14 PM

It was official: The Halloween party was happening at the end of the month - October 30th, a Saturday. Somehow, after four years of the school going without any employees-only holiday gatherings, Pinky had gotten it passed; or, rather, the principal had passed it. Even with him being one for the theatrics, many still couldn't understand why he had no aversion what-so-ever to such an event, especially considering that it was said principal whom had banned employees-only parties in the first place due to an unfortunate incident. Some were convinced that he had an ulterior motive, though what that might be no one could even begin to guess. And so a mystery it remained, although a good number of teachers were unabashedly excited for the party regardless. A few stragglers, such as Mr. Ages and Globetrotter, refused to attend, finding it a waste of time. Completely. Others, however, such as Mrs. Brisby, Dr. Dawson, and Bernard and Bianca had already picked out their costumes. Mr. Ages and Globetrotter rolled their eyes at this. It was generally agreed upon that the party was to be held at Flaversham's house, as he was one of the most handsomely paid and, as a result, owned the largest establishment. He was also incredibly humble about it and often welcomed visitors. The only rule for this autumn gathering was that no children were allowed, and so Olivia would have to room with Mrs. Brisby and her children for the night. Flaversham was agreeable to this. Olivia was not.

Pinky came across her that afternoon, sulking by his door at 4:14 PM. She had been noticeably absent to class, and as the lanky, spectacled mouse approached the young girl, he frowned at her in concern.

She didn't look at him as he knelt down to her level. The floor was, apparently, much more interesting.

"Olivia?" Pinky began, tilting his head a little, the better to look into those stubborn, glossy eyes. "Class wasn't the same without you."

She sniffed, the tears began to fall, yet still she said nothing.

"Olivia...?" he inquired again, reaching out a soft paw and delicately tucking a finger underneath her chin, the better, of course, to tilt her head towards him. He smiled at her, a kindly, encouraging smile. "I'm here."

And the dam burst.

She threw herself into his arms, sobbing vehemently, as only a child can when they've been denied something incredibly important to them. Pinky hugged her right back, patting her back gently.

"Naaaaarf," her teacher cooed in his unusual way, rubbing her head. "Ohhhhh. Tell me all about it, hm?"

"M-My daddy... says I can't go to the Halloween party!" Olivia managed to choke out. "We always do everything together... when I'm not at school! B-But he said that... I can't go because... this is a party only for the adults." At this, she had to pause, for another torrential downpour threatened to burst, making her breath hitch. She was shaking so much that she'd shook her little tam-o-shanter right off her head. "I promise I'll be good! I won't even drink the alkaseltzer!"

She said this all so seriously, and anyone else might have stifled a snort at such an overly-dramatic display, as well as her incorrect pronunciation of "alcohol", but Pinky was not like other adults. He took Olivia's woes as gravely as if he'd just been delivered the news himself. After all, if he was uninvited to one of the coolest parties of the year, especially one he was to be the host of, he'd be pretty bummed out, too.

"Oh, Olivia...," he whimpered along with her, pulling the young girl back from his shoulder so as to address her properly, and felt his heart practically break at the sight of her crimson eyes. "I'm sure your dad would normally love to have you stay! After all, it's not a real party without Olivia." And he winked at her. That turned her frown upside down, if only for half a second. "I'd be really sad to not be invited to a party, too, ya' know."

"R-Really...?" the distraught little student hiccuped, wiping her eyes.

"Of course! But... you know something else?"

"What?"

"I'll bet some of the other kids are sad that they won't get to go to the party with their parents either. Like... Timothy and Cynthia. They can't go either, can they?"

Olivia shook her head.

"And you're the oldest, right?"

Yes.

"You know what that means, don't you?"

No.

"That means that you're in charge of making your own party!"

"You mean... we can have our own private party without the adults?"

"As long as Mrs. Brisby says it's okay. I'll put in a good word for you," Pinky promised. "Oh, and just between us...," and at this, he leaned in towards Olivia, cupping a hand to his mouth. Olivia extended an ear in interest. "I'm rather jealous I won't be able to attend yours. I'm sure it'll be way cooler."

At this, Olivia beamed.

"It'll be the best party you'll have never been to!"

And she picked up her hat from off the floor and slapped it down resolutely upon her furry little head, the redness of her eyes the only trace that she'd ever been crying at all. She spread her arms wide before hugging Pinky tight around the middle, nuzzling into his chest... and letting a few stray tears leak out in the process.

"Thank you, Mr. Pinky...," she whispered under her breath, and Pinky couldn't help but smile as he embraced her in return.

"You're welcome, Miss Olivia," he replied right back, booping her nose and waving after her as she ran off and around a corner.

Olivia's chipper exit was replaced by a much stiffer entrance in the form of Globetrotter, who stared after Olivia in judgement as he straightened a small stack of papers clutched in his grasp. This didn't phase Pinky in the least.

"Good afternoon, Mr. Brain!" he greeted him cheerfully, and for once, possibly the very first time for Pinky, Globetrotter actually smiled at him. Well, perhaps it was more of a smirk than a genuine grin, but Pinky accepted it either way. It was nice to see.

"Evening, my quixotic colleague," Globetrotter responded, his tone and inflection considerably more chipper than usual. "I take it you're excited for the festivities?"

"Ohhh, yes! Are you coming?" Pinky asked, as he stepped into his classroom. Globetrotter followed him to the door.

"I don't participate in such frivolities," said Globetrotter, hands tucked neatly behind his back and expression monotonous as he watched Pinky grab a tall ladder from the back of the classroom and position it underneath a dead light bulb. "You'll just have to survive without my presence."

Pinky tut tut tutted sadly as he picked out a fresh bulb from one of the desk drawers and made for the ladder.

"Not even for the punch, Brain?"

"It's Brian. Mr. Globetrotter, preferably. And, no, not even for what I'm sure will be... a delectable punch."

"Mmm. Shame," Pinky shrugged, as he popped the bulb in his mouth, clumsily climbed up the ladder, and carefully set down his bulb as he fixed to take out the old one. "I was rather looking forward to having you."

"You were?" Globetrotter asked, surprised. No one ever wanted him anywhere.

"Of course! Poit!" responded the other, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. "You were one of the first ones to welcome me when I came to the school, and you did so very well in my class!"

"That was... just a fluke," Globetrotter responded rather bashfully, averting his gaze a little.

"You're also the only other person who's still around at night when I go home late. It... makes me feel a little less lonely."

Globetrotter cocked an eyebrow at him curiously. He simply couldn't make heads or tails of this creature. Not only did he care about him for the stupidest, most meaningless reasons he could possibly concoct, he also saw him as an... equal. The very thought sent shivers up Globetrotter's spine. Never in his life would he put himself on the same pedestal as this nincompoop, not if he was paid to do it. Ronald Pinkus was beneath him in every way. And yet... there was something, dare he say it, wholesome about how he flat out refused to acknowledge any flaws in Brian what-so-ever, for flaws he had and plenty of them. This he knew, yet hated to admit. But he'd never met anyone who genuinely looked past them; who not only wasn't afraid to approach him, but sometimes purposely sought him out. It was... odd. Touching, but... odd.

He coughed uncomfortably.

"Yes, well... Maybe you should simply... retire earlier. There's more associates around before six o'clock."

"B-But I can't retire, Brain!" Pinky voiced worriedly, screwing in the new bulb, which popped a stale yellow as he wound it into place. "I just got here!"

"I meant rest. Perhaps you should go home earlier in the day, you... undeveloped fetus."

The insult flew right over Pinky's head to land somewhere in an empty corner, where no one else's ears could possibly pick it up. If anything, Pinky beamed at Globetrotter's response.

"Ohhhhhh! Well, that's different then, isn't it? But, oh, wait... No. No no, I couldn't possibly do that either. What about the students?"

"The students?"

"Yes, Brain! Don't your students ask to talk with you about their problems after class?" asked Pinky matter-of-factly, as he promptly descended the ladder, folded it up, and moved it back to its resting place. He hummed a very repetitive little tune as he did all this. Hm hm, hm hm, hm hmmmm. It was monotonous, yet curiously catchy, in a way.

"Noooooooo... Not usually. Sometimes they'll ask a question about a theory or mathematical equation, of course, but that's to be expected," he said, perhaps a bit haughtily as he checked over his fingernails. "I am not privy to the personal issues and well-being of my pupils. They keep to their business and I keep to mine. This is a school, not a therapist's office."

"It's not?"

Brain stared at him, giving him the most deadpan glare he could possibly muster.

"You are, without a doubt, the daftest individual I've ever met."

"Thank you, Brain," Pinky smiled, and he said it genuinely.

With a shake of the head, Brain stepped back out into the hallway, Pinky following.

"If you'll excuse me, I must return to my state of business," said he, and he began to walk away from room 210.

"Oh! Ummm... Brain?" Pinky asked, remaining by his door as he waved an eager hand towards his colleague.

Brain turned to look back at him, one eyebrow raised and hands once more tucked behind his back.

"Will you be eating dinner here at the school tonight?" he asked.

Globetrotter stared at him for a moment, nonplussed.

"Most likely. Why?"

"Would you like to join me in the cafeteria? I have something for yoouuuuu!"

Globetrotter considered this. Normally, his answer would be a firm and stalwart "NO", but perhaps it would work to his benefit. Being closer to Pinky would enable him to carry out his plan much faster and easier. The lanky teacher was such an unsuspecting ignoramus that he could probably finish the job Scott free, even in a public area. Heheh. Finish the job. Oh, it sounded so devious...

"Ccccertainly. Why not?" Globetrotter replied, smirking. "After all, you... have shown yourself to be a successful member of this institution. I suppose it's only fit to honor that with the occasional get-together."

"Oh, wonderful! Six o'clock then?" Pinky grinned, radiant as a firefly as he clapped his hands together rather childishly and bounced up and down on the balls of his feet.

"Yes. Six o'clock. Don't be late," Globetrotter warned, as he turned around to continue in his trek down the hall. He'd barely gotten another foot away from the excited Pinky, however, when he was called back once more.

"Oh! Brain?"

He looked back, a rather miffed expression pulling at his face. If that nitwit mispronounced his name one more time...

"Thank you," said Pinky in a soft voice as he hid his hands behind his back rather bashfully.

"Don't mention it," Globetrotter responded dryly. "It's just a lunch."

"No no. I mean... for the compliment. You really think I'm a success...?"

He said it so sincerely that Globetrotter almost felt sorry for him. Almost...

"Sure," lied his tongue. "You've certainly proved to be of... some worth."

In truth, it was only a partial fabrication. He had shown himself to be successful, if you considered babysitting a bunch of toddlers lucrative. In Globetrotter's eyes, the bumbling professor, if he was even laudable enough to be called that, was only popular from a superficial standpoint - he was likable, he was approachable, he was, as the girls disgustingly called him, "hot", and he was easy-going with children. In short, he was a celebrity, not a teacher. Whatever credentials he did obtain were worthless to someone of Globetrotter's stature; anyone who charmed their way into so highly prestigious of an establishment didn't deserve to hold a position there in the first place. He was enough of a threat to consider ousting due to his fame as a personality, but from an educational angle he posed no competition; at least, not in Globetrotter's eyes. And so he threw him a bone, more as a cover-up than anything, but he didn't expect him to take it so... consolingly. It made him a little uncomfortable.

"Thank you," Pinky said again, beaming. "You've... been the only one to tell me that. Well, at least here anyway. Eheh. Poit..."

Globetrotter frowned at the verbal tick. Few questioned it, aside from the occasional student who ventured to ask what "zort" or "narf" meant. Globetrotter simply took it as a medical condition and left it at that. He'd rather assume as such than entertain the thought that that sorry excuse of a teacher actually enjoyed spewing such nonsense, but, then again, he wouldn't be surprised.

He also frowned at the admittance, somewhat in surprise. Had none of the other teachers thrown him a kind word? Surely they must have. He knew they had, in fact, for he'd overheard their compliments, both in Pinky's presence and not. Most liked him, and those who didn't simply felt sorry for him. At least they'd had some sense to not outright call him a success, because he certainly was not that when it came to earning a place as a professional in the university.

"Just keep doing what you're doing and I'm sure you'll be fine," he spat, perhaps a little too harshly. Pinky noticed not. "You've undoubtedly shown yourself to be popular."

"Oh, not as popular as you, Brain! I'm sure you're still one of the best teachers in the whole school!"

At this, Globetrotter smiled.

"To that I flagrantly concur, my good fellow. To that, I flagrantly concur," grinned the science professor, and he said it so deviously that, if he'd uttered it to any other teacher, they would have flogged him where he stood.

/\/\/\/\/\/\

4:47 PM

Globetrotter clicked on the little green banker's desk lamp that sat on his table. It cast a dim, yellow glow across the mahogany surface, illuminating papers, calculators, a coffee mug, and a gel pen - an expensive one. Rolling in the combination to the lock on his briefcase, he pushed in on the lock buttons, to which the case satisfyingly clicked open. Out of it he pulled: a pair of gloves, some odd-looking tools, a computer chip, a bottle of Aspirin, and a very small, round device that appeared to be magnetic in construction. Indeed, from an outsider's perspective, it looked to be nothing more than one of those tiny black magnets that one stuck to their fridge to pin up such things as receipts and shopping lists. Quite unassuming.

The middle-aged mouse laid out the chip, magnet, and tools, pulled on his gloves with a sharp snap, and got to work. For twenty minutes he tinkered with the device. It was delicate work, requiring much precision, but he reveled in it. Occasionally, his ponderings wandered to, of all things, Ronald Pinkus - how quixotic he was; how precariously he'd climbed up that rickety ladder. Shame he didn't break his neck, Globetrotter thought. Would have made my job much easier...

At 5:10 PM, he stood up from his chair, learned towards his desk lamp, and, with the little magnet pinched between his fingers, held it up to the lamp.

Snap.

It attached to the lamp's outer surface as if it was made to rest there. Globetrotter smirked. Pulling off the magnet, he opened up a side drawer and tested it out on a steel tape dispenser. It worked there, too. The magnet hugged it tightly. Globetrotter pulled it off, nodded satisfactorily, and pocketed it. Of course, this was only half of the test. It would only prove itself after applied.

"Oh, you beautiful little Polarizer," he mumbled fondly, actually kissing the device as he held it securely between his fingers. "Make me proud!"

/\/\/\/\/\/\

6:05 PM

He was late. Of course he was late.

Globetrotter tapped his fingers on a cafeteria table impatiently, checking his watch every now and then, even though there was a clock literally right above him, attached to a pole near the entrance of the meeting area. If there was anything that boiled his bottles more than almost anything else, it was tardiness. There was no excuse for irresponsibility.

The cafeteria was completely devoid of life, save for a few straggling servers behind the counter, the janitors, Jak and Gus, and Globetrotter himself. One thing rather noteworthy, if not a tad bit odd, about Acme School of Arts and Sciences was that all classes generally ended at 5:00 PM. The founder of the university had been strict about the doors closing early so as both school personnel and students had ample time to spend in the evenings with their family and friends, as well as have extra time to commit to homework. It was a rule that was still upheld to this day. Some professors, of course, still stayed past "curfew", mostly to attend to extra duties and grading during the quiet evenings, and even then none of them, save for Globetrotter, and now Pinky, ever lingered past 6:00 PM. The one exception was the theater kids - their rehearsals sometimes went until 7:00 or even 8:00 PM. It was the only reason the cafeteria stayed open until 7:00, and even then it was rare to find anyone at a table this late.

Globetrotter welcomed the silence, of course. It was a time for pondering; a time for planning. But he had no patience for late-comers.

He had half a mind to just get up and leave right then and there when in swooped the Trozologist, waving as he headed in a rush towards his cafe buddy.

"Phew! So sorry I'm late, Brain!" he sighed, flopping down into a chair, a bit too close for Globetrotter's liking. He scooted to the side a few paces. "Mrs. Brisby and I got to talking about cooking and, well, the time just ran away with me! Ha-ha! Zort!"

"Yes... I'm sure it did," Globetrotter groaned, not at all amused. "Are you going to refresh yourself?" he asked. He was already on his third cup of coffee and about to get primed for a fourth.

Pinky looked around at this, concerned, before focusing his attention back on Globetrotter.

"Um... In public, Brain?"

Globetrotter's response was a deep, planted facepalm. What an absolute boob.

"The drinks, you ignoramus. The drinks! Are you doing to get a drink?!"

"Pfff. Well, why didn't you say so, Brain?" Pinky chuckled, rolling his eyes and standing right back up again. "Oh! I almost forgot. This is for you."

And he set down in front of Globetrotter a very pretty, very lovingly wrapped little present that, somehow, he hadn't noticed before. He stared at it rather worriedly, as if it might explode.

"Well, go ahead, silly!" Pinky encouraged him, nudging him forward with a nod of the head.

"Th-Thank you," Globetrotter said, not quite sure how to respond. He unwrapped it with delicate fingers, loosening first the decorative red bow tied about the box, then carefully undoing the rose-patterned ivory paper underneath. Inside was a dark green box with a lid on it. He slipped off the lid, peered inside, and pulled out...

"For you!" Pinky exclaimed happily. "Do you like it?"

It was a black coffee mug, with the words 'Best Teacher Ever!' written in white upon the front. It was quite a nice mug, despite the ridiculous phrase - snug in his hands and smooth to the touch. He was equal parts flattered that Pinky had recognized his fondness for coffee and embarrassed that it was that apparent.

"Thank you...," he answered awkwardly. He'd probably have to blot out the text later. Being associated with anything that generic churned his stomach. But he did like the mug. "I... needed a new one."

"Now you can use it with your new coffee maker!"

"You bought that for me...?"

"Of course! Who else would I buy it for?" blurted out Pinky, rolling his eyes. "I mean, everyone can use it, but... I ordered it for you really."

To this, Globetrotter could only stare disbelievingly. He swallowed thickly. What... was with this mouse?! Buying him a mug. Saying he made him less lonely at night. Ordering a coffee maker just so he could enjoy his days a bit more? No one was this nice. Surely, there was some ulterior motive.

"What's the catch...?" he asked, looking serious. There was always a catch. Always.

"Catch, Brain?" inquired Pinky, cocking his head in confusion. "Um... I haven't caught anything lately, Brain. Unless you count this fish," he said, and he pulled out of his pocket an actual, live minnow in a small jar filled with water. "Hellooooo, Jerry!" said Pinky... to the fish. "I caught him in the lake this morning! Still need to buy him a tank, though. Don't I, Jerry?"

Globetrotter simply stared at him, nonplussed, his mouth hanging open a little.

"Go on! Back you go!" said Pinky, tucking the little minnow back into his pocket and smiling at Globetrotter happily as if he hadn't just pulled a live fish out of his coat. "Oh! That's right. Drinks! Aren't you going to get yours, Brain?"

And off he trotted, heading in the direction of the cafeteria to grab, as usual, an odd assortment of foods and a drink. Globetrotter nervously looked behind him at Pinky, as if he might set fire to something... or pull a bazooka out of his pants... or... something. At this point, he didn't know what to expect from this mouse, and he wasn't sure he wanted to. Perhaps he was biting off more than he could chew...

But no. He shook his head at the thought. Pinkus was simply an idiot. A kind... thoughtful... very sweet idiot... But an idiot nonetheless. And no amount of good deeds was going to stop him in his plot. Nevertheless, he supposed it wouldn't hurt to at least try out the mug. He highly doubted it was bugged.

One mug of coffee, and a tray of assorted foods... plus a cup of Sprite, later, and Pinkus and Globetrotter were back at the table, the former laden down with treats, the latter content with his single, fourth serving of Italian Roast. Pinky helped himself eagerly to a sprinkle doughnut, offering Globetrotter a bite as he chewed happily.

"No, thank you. Bad for my... thighs," Globetrotter uttered lamely.

Pinky shrugged and finished off the tasty confection before diving into another. Globetrotter blew on his coffee before taking a tentative sip. It was good. Rich, flavorful, with a bite at its closure. And his lips conformed nicely about the mug. Yes, he liked this mug. Not that he'd ever say that out loud or anything.

For once, Pinky wasn't talking; so preoccupied with a sugar doughnut was he. Normally, Globetrotter would have welcomed this silence, but he'd gotten so used to Pinky always being a chatterbox whenever he was around him (which, admittedly, wasn't terribly often) that he felt... a little uncomfortable not making conversation, strangely.

"So, um...," he began, in a lame attempt to deaden the silence. "What is your opinion on asymptotic analysis?"

"Hm?" Pinky inquired, eyes wide and cheeks bulging with a mouthful of doughnut as he smiled puffily at Globetrotter.

Too complicated. He's not going to understand that, you moron. Globetrotter floundered. He wasn't good at this. Small talk was not one of his strong points.

"Um... chaos theory?"

Pinky swallowed.

"Ohhh! You mean like in Jurassic Park?"

"What?"

"Well, that's what Ian Malcolm always talked about. Chaos theory! Although, personally, I liked Ellie Sattler more. Laura Dern is such a good actress and I loved her in Rambling Rose! She was actually Spielberg's first choice for the role in Jurassic Park, did you know?"

He said all this as he grabbed a bottle of ketchup and mustard each and squirted their contents all over a hotdog he'd set in a bun. At the word "such" he'd given a very feminine wave of the hand that Globetrotter highly disapproved of.

"I did not know," Globetrotter replied, taking a dainty sip of his coffee.

"She also auditioned for the role of Clarice in Silence of the Lambs, but I really do think Jodie Foster was a more appropriate selection. She's quite versatile. I heard she's looking to get back into the directing field soon..."

And on and on he went, sometimes speaking between bites, other times continuing on with a mouthful of food, his thick mumbles so incomprehensible that Globetrotter could only catch a "George Lucas" here and a "Princess Bride" there. It was downright humorous to him that this mouse, who knew so little about the subjects upon which this school was founded, was incredibly versed in filmography. Then again, he supposed it was only appropriate, considering the flamboyant showman that he was. And this was a school of sciences and arts, after all. But then, why hadn't he majored in theater? Trozology, whatever it was, seemed a waste of time.

"You seem to know a lot about cinema," Globetrotter voiced, finally able to find a break in the conversation after a solid ten minutes. The entire time, he'd covertly tried to roam about Pinky's attire with a sharp gaze, looking for anything magnetic he could possibly attach his device to. He eventually settled on Pinky's name tag. Of course. They all sported one, and they were made of metal. If he could somehow stick it on the back...

"Oh, I love the arts!" Pinky responded, clasping his hands together and batting his eyes dreamily. "All the movie magic and the passion and the creativity...!"

"Pinky, might I... see your badge for a moment? Only there's a nasty blemish on it. I... certainly wouldn't want you to walk around with a dirty tag."

"Why, thank you, Brain. How thoughtful of you."

And he unpinned his badge from his coat and handed it to Globetrotter. It was as simple as that.

"So, if you're so into the arts then why didn't you become an actor... or something?" Globetrotter stalled, as his right hand poked about in his jacket pocket to ensure that the magnet was still there. It was. He plucked it out, hiding it in his right hand as he pretended to rub at a spot on the badge with the end of his coat, surreptitiously planting the little magnet on the back of the badge as he did so. Piece of cake.

"Oh, I was going to, Brain! Narf! But I found something else I love much more...," he said, resting a cheek on his left hand as he gazed off into space, a toothy grin curled about his visage.

"Trozology?"

"Mmhm."

"What is Trozology?"

"You don't know, Brain? It's the study o-"

But at that moment, the cafeteria doors burst open to reveal a very angry set indeed: Dex, followed close behind by Maisy, Marvell, Gadget, Tillie, and one other boy rat whom Pinky didn't recognize. Dex and Maisy were shouting at the top of their lungs, oblivious to the few stragglers lingering about the room.

"-never messed with your business before! I know it's important to you. Why do you think I gave you your space?!" Dex yelled at his sister, a plethora of expressive hand gestures complementing his outburst.

"You never 'gave me my space', Dex. You're always hanging out after my classes; checking in on me when I'm trying to relax. How is that 'giving me my space'?!"

"Oh, man. Um. Lemme think. Maybe it's because... I care about you?!"

"Maisy, come on. He's taken a lot of hits for you," Gadget said, stepping forward.

"Oh, like, grade hits? Detention? You'd know a lot about hits, wouldn't you, Dex?"

"Girl, come on. Maisy's right," Marvell uttered, also stepping up. "You're laying it on too hard."

"YOU WANNA TAKE HER SIDE?! THEN FINE! I know you care more about her and Dex than me!"

"I didn't say that!" Marvell countered, looking hurt.

"This is about Mom, isn't it?! You don't know ANYTHING about taking hits!" Maisy practically screamed at Dex, advancing towards him with the ferocity of a tyrannosaurus, causing him to back up with every step she took.

None of them had yet seen Globetrotter and Pinky off to the side, and the janitors stayed as silent as the mice they were from a shaded corner. Pinky looked on the verge of standing up to intervene, but Globetrotter, surprisingly, put out a hand to stop him.

"It's not about Mom! It's... about everything!" Dex choked out. "And don't tell me that I don't know anything about taking hits, Maisy! You don't know the half of it..."

"The hell do you mean about that?" Maisy softened up, but only for a moment. She turned swiftly 'round to glare at her friends. "THE HELL DOES HE MEAN?!"

All of them shuffled about awkwardly, looking embarrassed. Gadget rubbed at her arm, and Marvell bit her lip suspiciously, gaze firmly planted to the floor. But the boy rat looked the most broken of all, and it was him that Maisy targeted.

"What does he mean, Red?"

Red directed his eyes downward, his ears appropriately turning the color of his namesake.

"What does he mean?!"

"I... I promised I wouldn't say, Mais!" he sputtered out, a paw coming up to rub at a sore spot on the back of his head.

"Dex?!" Maisy spat, rounding back on her brother.

"You attend this school just as much as me. You should be smart enough to figure it out," Dex replied, and with that he walked off towards an exit on the opposite end of the cafeteria, purposely ignoring his sister's pleas.

"Tell me what you mean, Dex!"

No response.

"DEX! Tell me what you mean!"

It was as she started crying that Pinky finally made his presence known... via slipping off his chair. It clattered down with its owner, the noise echoing loudly off the walls and pulling every eye in the vicinity towards him. Globetrotter jumped and glared at Pinky.

"O-Oh! Ummm...," Pinky stammered, standing up in a flash and ringing the end of his coat in his hands awkwardly.

Maisy's cheeks turned bright pink. She full out burst into tears as she turned tail and ran back into the hallway, her friends casting one last embarrassed look at the teachers before sprinting off after her, occasionally calling her name.

Pinky swallowed thickly. Globetrotter sighed, long and exhausted, through his nose.

"Why did you stop me, Brain?" Pinky queried, dusting off his coat and propping his chair back up.

"Because sometimes people just need to talk, Pinky," Globetrotter said, slapping the now tampered with badge back on the table for Pinky to take, which he did, pining it on his jacket, none the wiser.

"I don't think that was talking, Brain. That was more like... screaming."

"Well, people need to scream sometimes, too," Globetrotter nipped, draining the last bits of coffee from his mug and heading towards the sink to wash it out. Pinky followed him, demolished tray of food and empty soda cup in hand.

"Have you screamed sometimes, Brain...?" Pinky asked delicately as he tossed his trash and replaced the tray.

Globetrotter didn't answer right away. He looked thoughtful as he washed out his cup.

"Sometimes...," he finally responded, shaking the mug to rid it of the last few droplets of water.

"Were you hurting then, too?"

Another pause. Globetrotter stepped over to a paper towel dispenser, ripping off a piece to dry his cup with.

"Yes."

Globetrotter looked curiously over at Pinky, whose ears had drooped so low that he looked more like a lop rabbit than a mouse. He actually made to step forward, but Globetrotter, already smelling some form of physical affection, backed up, a hand raised in protest.

"Save your pity."

"I'm sorry, Brain. Poit..," Pinky whispered, and he truly was.

"It's fine," replied Globetrotter.

There was an awkward pause, in which neither of them spoke for a solid ten seconds, Globetrotter running a finger along the ring of his new mug, Pinky shuffling his feet uncomfortably.

"I... really should be going. Thank you for the mug. It's... good," Globetrotter ended lamely.

"You're welcome," Pinky said, the smallest of smiles crawling up his face. "Thank you, too."

"For what?"

"Sitting with me."

Globetrotter blinked. It was as if heaven itself was shining a spotlight on him, throwing every opportunity at him to find compassion for this mouse and feel guilty for what he'd done. Well, they'll have to try harder than that, Globetrotter thought. He wasn't going to relent that easily. And, in the most monotonous tone he could muster, he responded with a simple:

"Mmhm."

But the smile stayed. It took a lot, it seemed, to completely break Pinky.

/\/\/\/\/\/\

October 7th, 1993 - 4:02 PM

One of the first things Globetrotter noticed about his brilliant Polarizer, once it had been planted on Pinky, was that... it didn't work. At least, it didn't work on children. Said device had one purpose and one purpose only: redirection. From it a frequency was emitted that affected anyone within five feet of Pinky telepathically. They would be suddenly and inexplicably hit with a desire to preoccupy themselves with some other activity and, as such, never engage in interaction with Pinky for more than a few seconds. As long as he wore the name tag, he couldn't be touched. Poof. His newfound popularity would come to a screeching halt, no one would converse with him ever again, and he'd have no choice but to leave the school, friendless and jobless, leaving Globetrotter back on top as the most notable individual in the school. Or, at least, that's what it was supposed to do.

But it didn't. As usual, Olivia, Timothy, and Cynthia, along with Teresa and one or two others, were at Pinky's classroom at four o'clock sharp the next day, Evinrude arriving twenty minutes later (for the snacks only, of course). The day after that there was an actual line of kids standing outside the door fifteen minutes early, waiting to get in, and the day after that the line was even longer. Globetrotter could only assume that there was some fault in the hardware. But he'd tested it out on himself an hour before he'd met up with Pinky and it had worked just fine then. What was the problem? Perhaps it simply just didn't work on kids, for some reason. But that couldn't be right... Teresa was one of the college students in the school and it didn't work on her either, nor on any teacher that approached Pinky. Strange. He'd have to get the device back and tinker with it some more, he supposed. Not that that would be much of a problem. Considering how easily he'd obtained it last time, snatching it back, he figured, would be a breeze. He decided to simply wait for the right opportunity and nab it back.

Whereas Globetrotter's experiment had failed, Olivia's had gone above and beyond; in fact, it had practically skyrocketed. She now had a total of 271 signatures on her petition, an overwhelming success, in the eyes of her and Pinky. Pinky said that they had enough to approach the principal with. There was just one little problem: to ask the principal to pass their petition, that meant they had to, well, talk to the principal, something no one ever wanted to do. There was only one person in the entire school who wasn't afraid of him, that person being Globetrotter, and even he avoided the angry little maniac as much as possible. Pinky wasn't entirely averse to approaching the headmaster, mainly because he'd simply never met the guy, although there was still a lingering feeling of trepidation due to how unfavorable people talked about him. But he wasn't going to let that stop him. Olivia's petition needed to be signed off on, and he was going to do everything in his power to see that it did!

And so, that afternoon, directly after class, the hallways of Acme School of Arts and Sciences found Pinky marching down the hallway, Olivia's hand in his, as he and his student headed for the principal's office.

They stopped outside the door. Was it just their imagination, or did it feel a bit colder down this part of the hallway? It was a rather darker portion of the school - not as many offices and classes were down here, some of the lights had blown out and hadn't yet been fixed, and the office was situated right in the center of a long strip of hallway, making it the furthest away from the windows. The place simply had a... foreboding atmosphere about it.

Olivia nuzzled closer to Pinky. He smiled and squeezed her hand comfortingly.

"Put on your helmet, Olivia."

"Like on our imaginary trip into the caves?" Olivia whispered, wide-eyed.

"Mmhm."

Resolute, Olivia let go of Pinky's hand and situated her tam-o-shanter more snuggly atop her head.

"Okay. Let's go fight the dragon," said she.

Pinky knocked on the door - once, twice, three times...

"Come in..," came a voice from the other side. It sounded pleasant enough, but there was something a little... off about it; a sprinkle of deviance behind the honey-suckle tone.

Pinky opened the door.

The inside of this room was, if possible, even darker than the hallway. Like Globetrotter, the headmaster owned a green banker's desk lamp, albeit two instead of one, each on opposite sides of a dark black table, and it served as the only lighting in the entire vicinity. Besides a plethora of books encased in rich wooden shelving behind him, a couple of comfortable chairs spread about, a trash can, a blackboard, and a television in a far corner opposite the principal, the room was surprisingly plain. The most interesting thing about it was a standing globe of the world, one of those expensive ones that twirled around and had little red lights on it that clicked on to highlight various hot spots on the map as you spun it. Olivia liked those. She had an overwhelming desire to spin it, but was too scared to ask, especially seeing as the globe was literally right next to the principal's desk. The further away she could be from him, the better.

"Come in, my children, come in! Oh, do come closer to the desk. You expect an old hamster such as myself to see you properly from that far away?" the principal beckoned. He sat in a very tall, very black chair behind the ebony desk. Unlike the uniform layout of the room, he appeared quite relaxed. A little too relaxed, perhaps. He was reclining, bare feet up on the desk, and decked out in a comfortable-looking brown suit and pants set, complete with checkered tie. He looked as if he ruled the world, and the smirk on his face as he smoked from a thick, piping cigar only cemented this.

Pinky didn't think he looked that old - fifty, maybe? Around the same age as Brain. But he also didn't want to be disrespectful, and so he moved tepidly forward, his steps more of a shuffle than a walk, Olivia sliding along a couple paces behind him. Now that she was actually in the room, she didn't feel quite so brave.

"I hear you've arranged something of a party," the golden hamster addressed Pinky. "I must say, I'm quite intrigued. We haven't had an employees-only gathering in four years! I'm impressed you managed to pull it off."

"Th-Thank you, Headmaster," Pinky mumbled.

"Please. Call me Snowball," the hamster said gentlemanly, holding up a hand. "No need for formalities. And who might you be?" he asked Olivia, leaning over a little, the better to see her.

"O-O-Olivia, Sir."

"Olivia. You know, the name 'Olivia' comes from the word 'olive'. The olive tree is a symbol of peace and fertility, something we all hope to breed in this school. Fertile minds; obedient pupils. Wouldn't you agree?"

"Y-Yes, Sir," Olivia agreed, although, privately, she didn't understand what he was getting at at all.

"Please, Mr. Snowball, we've come to you with a request," Pinky interrupted, holding up the petition.

"Oh?" Snowball answered, cocking an eyebrow as he took a long, steady swig from the cigar and blew out an impressive ring. Olivia watched it float around the room, intrigued despite herself. It collided upon the chalkboard and disintegrated in a soft huff.

"It's a petition for a new baseball stadium," Pinky continued, holding out the paper for Snowball to take, which he did, looking it over without much interest. "We got two hundred and seventy-one signatures! I... hope that's enough?"

Only now did Pinky realize that he was twisting his tail in his paws something terrible, leaving little creases in it. He stopped immediately. Olivia had been biting at her fingernails. She also stopped as soon as she saw Pinky do so.

"So... you want me... to sign off on this?" Snowball asked, tossing a rather deadpan look in Pinky's direction.

Pinky gulped.

"Is that... all right? A lot of your students would love to have this back on the grounds! You'd be able to develop a team to compete with the other schools. We could win trophies and good sports reputation!"

"And it would be a P.E. class to add to your curriculum," Olivia added. Pinky smiled at her, impressed.

"Yes! Absolutely!"

"Hmph. You think people would go for this drivel? Two hundred signatures from a pool of three thousand is hardly enough to turn heads," he retorted, setting the petition down on the desk and pushing it towards them so hard that Pinky was thankful he was able to catch it before it clattered to the floor. "I must say, I'm not very impressed."

"B-But, it would do wonders for the school!" Pinky pleaded. "And Miss Olivia here worked so hard to get all the signatures. Didn't you, Olivia?"

"Yes, I did," she admitted, suddenly a bit bolder. Fight the dragon. Fight the dragon. "And you shouldn't be so retorshical. All the other schools have sports teams!"

Pinky gave her a side glance. Too far. Too far...

Olivia licked her lips, in-taking a deep breath for her next burn.

"I think you're scared."

And she put her hands on her hips, the better to complete the effect.

Pinky bit his lip. Olivia...

Snowball frowned. Slipping his feet off the table, he leaned fully forward over his desk, his face mere feet from Olivia's, and growled into her face: "I'm scared of nothing."

Olivia had closed one eye at this, the better to block out the dragon's harsh stare... and rancid breath. He even smoked like a dragon. But she stayed resolute.

"Then prove it!"

"Um... M-Mr. Snowball, if I may...?" Pinky barged in, desperate to fan the flames. It was bad enough she'd poked the dragon's eye in his own cave. They didn't need the fire, too. "Perhaps there's something... we could do for you in return? As a trade?"

That settled Snowball a little. He sat back in his chair, slightly amused.

"Hmph. What could you possibly offer to me?"

"Well, um... A special spot in the party, perhaps? Or a gift...? N-Narf..."

"No...," Snowball replied, waving it off and taking another smoke from his cigar.

"A... ticket to Disneyland?" Olivia offered helpfully.

"Pass."

"A... um... coupon for the world's biggest che-"

"Wait... Wait," Snowball said, cutting Pinky off. "The party, you said... Who's coming to the party?"

"Oh, um, everyone!" Pinky smiled nervously.

"Almost everyone...," Olivia mumbled under her breath, crossing her arms indignantly, but Pinky gave her a look that very clearly told her to shush or else.

"Will Globetrotter be there?"

"You mean Brain?" Pinky asked. "Oh... No, I don't think so. I invited him, but he... said he wouldn't make it."

"Brain? You call him Brain? Ha-ha!" Snowball laughed, actually clutching his chest as he reeled back in his chair. "Ha-ha! Ohhh, that's rich. I'll bet he just loves that."

Poor Pinky and Olivia didn't know what to say. They tried to laugh along, but it only came out sounding unbearably awkward, and so they stopped.

"My good fellow, you've convinced me. I'll sign your insipid little petition."

"Really?!" Pinky and Olivia bother spurted out at once, hardly daring to believe their ears.

"On one condition: Get dear 'Brain' to come to the party. It's been an age since I've seen him, you see, and I'd love to... catch up on things, as it were. Do that, and your stadium is as good as built."

Pinky and Olivia looked at one another. Convincing the most stubborn individual in the school to attend Pinky's party when he clearly wasn't interested wasn't going to be easy, but they'd come this far. Surely, they could try again... and again, if they had to? Wasn't the school worth that? Weren't the students worth it?

"Do we have a deal?" Snowball pressed them, a nasty smirk upon his sour face.

Olivia nodded at Pinky. Pinky nodded back. He looked Snowball straight in the eye.

"Deal," said Pinky.

"Deal," said Olivia.

And they shook hands with him, Snowball squeezing down a little too tightly.

"We have a bargain. I look forward to seeing him at the party. Hm hm. Brain. Ha! Oh, how positively affluent."

And they left him as such, cigar in hand, laughing his head off like an absolute maniac.

/\/\/\/\/\/\

7:24 PM

Dr. Brian T. Globetrotter snapped shut his weighted briefcase. He exited his classroom, shut the door, and locked it, as he always did. Another night; another opportunity to work in the lab. While he hadn't managed to get his magnet back, he'd certainly attended to other projects that required his attention. There was one he'd been quite eager to finish for some weeks. Tonight was the night.

Professor Ronald Pinkus opened his classroom door, but did not exit. Students first. A young boy mole stepped out of the classroom, his face still a little wet, but a smile tickling his face. He shuffled out into the hallway, Pinky and Olivia following him.

"Thank you, Mr. Pinkus," the diminutive mole said gratefully. "I wish my mom would listen to me like you do."

"Think nothing of it. Come by whenever you need to talk, okay?"

"Thank you, Sir." And, shyly, he stepped up and hugged him round the middle. "Please don't ever leave."

"I won't if I can help it, Toby," promised Pinky. "Promise."

"Come on, Toby! We're late!" Olivia kindly signaled. At the end of the hallway, Mrs. Judson stood waiting for them.

With a last squeeze, Toby parted and waved good-bye, keeping his eyes on Pinky until he turned the corner and was lost from sight. Pinky continued waving, even after his student had disappeared. He smiled warmly and sighed, deeply and satisfactorily. Closing his classroom door, he walked down the hallway... and stopped as he heard the familiar ding of the elevator. He turned in the direction of the noise, blinking. This was the fourth time he'd caught Brain staying up late to do... whatever it was he did behind that wall in the basement. He'd been too nervous to follow him the last couple of times, seeing as he'd almost been caught initially, but... perhaps it couldn't hurt to take another peek?

Two minutes later saw a pair of loosely-tied sneakers tip-toeing down the stairwell, heading covertly in the direction of the basement. He stuck his nose around the corner. No sign of him. Already, Globetrotter had gained access into the secret lab, oblivious to the intruder whom had followed him to his private dungeon. Carefully, he stepped towards the wall where he knew a hidden panel rested. Had he been a bit more observant, he might have noticed something following him this time - a camera, set high up in a far corner of the hall, small enough to not draw too much attention to itself, yet following his every move all the same.

Pinky pressed an ear up to the wall, listening intently. He didn't even bother with the panel this time; he knew it wouldn't open for him. Sure enough, he heard clinking and clanking and the occasional typing of what sounded like computer keys echoing through the room beyond, barely audible, but still within his range of hearing.

"Naughty naughty, Brain," Pinky whispered to himself. "What are you doing back there...?"

Suddenly, the noises stopped. No clinking. No clanking. No typing of keys. Pinky froze. He pressed his ear ever harder to the door. Last time this happened, he'd been able to pick up the tell-tale sign of footsteps heading for the door, but this time he heard nothing. Perhaps Brain had sat down to read a book? He almost stopped breathing, listening as hard as he possibly could...

HISSSS!

Without any warning, the door slid open, Pinky giving way as he fell to the ground, one half of his body inside the lab, the other half still laying out in the basement hallway.

"AH-HA! So it was you!" Globetrotter exclaimed, his anger unmistakable as he grabbed Pinky by the shirt collar and, with surprising strength, tossed him full on into the room, the door sliding shut behind him.

Pinky shuffled up onto his feet in haste and backed up towards the opposite wall, slamming into a metallic shelving unit full of jars, beakers, and other unusual things he couldn't put a name to. Globetrotter was advancing towards him, looking positively livid as he brandished what looked to be an X-Acto knife at him. Forget Snowball. He could handle that. This was terrifying.

"Completely innocent. HA! I knew you were up to something as soon as I saw that pencil outside my door last week. What are you after? What concoction of mine have you been looking to pilfer?!"

"I-I..! N-Nothing, Brain! I didn't even know about this place until last week! Honest!"

"HA! A likely tale. For all I know, you could have known about this lab since you got here; perhaps even applied because of your knowledge of this facility. Are you a spy? A NASA scientist? Who are you working for?!"

By this point, he was full on in Pinky's personal bubble, a hand practically choking Pinky by the tie as he brandished the X-Acto knife under his chin threateningly. Poor Pinky was near tears.

"I'm not a spy! Honest, Brain! Really I'm not! Please don't turn me into mince meat!" he begged, holding his hands up to shield his face as best he could, a near impossibility, seeing as Globetrotter was so invasive. Nevertheless, the rabid teacher loosened his grip a little.

"You swear you didn't know about this place until recently...?"

"Mmhm!" Pinky nodded fervently, his face full on wet, eyes shut tight as he tried, and failed, to keep the tears at bay.

"Hmph..." Brain conceded, grip loosening further. Well... fine. But don't touch anything! Understand?"

Another fervent nod, eyes still closed, and Globetrotter released him. Pinky clutched at his neck, gasping for breath as he rubbed at the spot where the tie had pulled on him. He rubbed at his eyes, the better to wipe away his pitiful tears.

"Wh-What is this place...?" he choked out, still catching his breath.

"My laboratory," Globetrotter replied stiffly, hopping into his computer chair and proceeding to continue in his voracious typing. "Don't touch anything."

Pinky nodded, even though Globetrotter couldn't see him. Don't touch anything. Already, he wanted very much to tickle the top of a very brown, very fuzzy-looking object sitting on a shelf near the entrance, but he honored Globetrotter's request. He didn't say he couldn't look at anything, however, and so Pinky looked, eyes wide in astonishment as he meandered about the strange facility.

It wasn't a terribly large area, but what he'd managed to fit inside of it was impressive. There were shelves of bottles, papers, strange electrical appliances, various scientific and artistic tools, rows and rows of books, and two computers, one of which Globetrotter was currently working at. A ghostly green glow hung from a double row of long lights recessed into the ceiling above, the emerald hue occasionally peppered with a soft, yellow light from a table lamp here or there. Even in this room Brain had to have his mahogany, it seemed, that being reserved for the bookshelf. But the most intriguing item in the room, by far, was a large, bubbling... something. It looked somewhat like a giant beaker, albeit a bit more bulbous, and with long tubes branching off here or there, like the stretched arms of a huge, metallic octopus. Inside bubbled some greenish concoction. Pinky wondered what it was, and tapped at the glass curiously.

"I said don't touch anything," Globetrotter warned without turning his head.

"Oh. Sorry...," Pinky apologized, taking a step back. "What is it?"

"It's for my latest plan."

"W-What plan is that, Brain?"

Brain sighed, pushed himself away from the desk, and stood up out of his rolling chair to stare at Pinky.

"If I tell you, you must solemnly swear not to spread a word about this to anyone," he breathed threateningly. If Pinky really was as big of an idiot as he appeared, he'd actually keep his mouth shut and not tell the authorities. Strangely, he was probably the only individual in the entire school whom he could trust to keep quiet. Knowing someone this daft had its perks, he supposed.

Pinky nodded and raised a hand, as if taking an oath.

"I promise, Brain!"

"Hmph. Fine. I'm planning... to take over the world!"

He said this in a flourish, hands raised in ecstasy. Pinky wouldn't have been surprised if lightning had shot out of nowhere at such a forward gesture. He'd never seen Brain this passionate before.

"The... whole world, Brain?" Pinky gasped, incredulous.

"Of course," the scientist replied, tucking his hands behind his back. "This Earth has been in a state of turmoil for years. With my genius intellect and general prowess, I'd be able to make it a better place - create a richer, more fulfilling existence for people to live in."

"Ohhhhhh! You mean like charity work! Right, Brain? Better places for people to live and all that? Good food; warm homes; happy little children playing in the yard with their puppies!" Pinky voiced, hands clasped together against his cheek as he grinned widely at the thought. "Oh! And better school systems! And no more people getting hurt. And plenty of money for everyone!"

"Why, yes, Pinky, that's... exactly what I'm talking about. With... the occasional adjustment here or there, of course."

"Like what?"

"Oh, you know... A specific rule set for people to abide by. Recognizing me as their leader. World peace. That sort of thing..."

"Sooooo... sponsorship then?"

"Um. Sure... If... that's what you want to see it as."

"Well, I think that's just wonderful, Brain!"

"Y-You do...?"

"Well, of course!" Pinky continued, prancing about the room now, not at all shy about toying with a test tube or a Newton's cradle. For once, Brain didn't stop him. "We all could use a better place to live in! Peace and love for everyone! That's what I teach every day, Brain."

"Do you?"

"Of course. If I'd known about this place earlier I would have supported you a long time ago! Although, I don't know why you have to hide it all down here. Don't you want everyone to know what good you're planning on doing for the Earth?" Pinky asked, shrugging confusedly.

"U-Uhm... Well, it has to be a secret. If anyone knew about this, they'd... probably try to stop me," Globetrotter fumbled, rubbing at the back of his neck.

"Why?"

"Well, you know... Taking over the world. It's... not exactly a normal thing to put on one's "to-do" list."

"Well, it should be!" Pinky retorted, hands on his hips. "If everyone was as kind as you the world would be a better place!"

Just then, Pinky gasped, struck with a sudden idea.

"What?" Brain asked, a touch worried.

"Brain! What if we keep it a secret until allllll of your plans are ready, and then we surprise everyone with a big, save-the-world party!"

"Ummm... S-Sure! That's... kind of what I had in mind, actually."

"Egad! It's brilliant! I'll handle all the party preparations when the time comes, don't worry. I'll get balloons and decorations and... OH! Cake! We have to have cake, Brain! But will two hundred cakes be enough to feed everyone?"

"Pinky...?" Brain asked tentatively. "You... promise you won't tell anyone about this, right?"

"Of course not, Brain," Pinky said matter-of-factly, waving a hand. "I mean, you did almost kill me back there, but now I see that you just didn't want to spoil the surprise!"

"So... no blabbing?"

"My lips are sealed, Brain," he promised, making a "zipping" motion across his mouth with his thumb and forefinger. "But only if you'll let me help!"

He meant it in jest, partially. Even if Brain said no, he still would honor his request to keep the secret a secret, but Brain took it literally. He sighed, facepalming. Positives and negatives, he supposed.

"All right. Fine. But just... stay out of the way as best you can, all right?"

"Promise!" Pinky swore, beaming. "Um... do you mind if I hang around here for a little while?"

Brain narrowed his eyes at him. Just because they were now technically partners in crime didn't mean that he wanted Pinky hanging around any longer than he needed to. Then again, it wasn't as if letting him stay a bit longer would hurt anything.

"Just as long as you keep your paws off my lab."

"Yippee!" Pinky exclaimed, jumping once up into the air before reengaging in deep exploration of the room.

Brain sighed, turned back around, and planted his caboose firmly back in the computer chair. Every now and then he'd pause in his typing to stare curiously at Pinky as he looked at everything in the lab, trying his darndest not to lift a finger as Globetrotter had asked. Brain rolled his eyes, finally consenting.

"Fine. You can touch the books. But be careful with them," he warned.

"Oh, thank you, Brain! I won't rip a page!"

"You'd better not...," Brain mumbled under his breath.

Pinky sifted through the books, eventually finding one he liked and sitting down cross-legged on the floor, such as a child might during reading time. Brain shook his head at this. A past conversation came to mind...

"You're also the only other person who's still around at night when I go home late. It... makes me feel a little less lonely."

He stared at Pinky once more, head cocked to the side questioningly, before turning back to his work. The lanky newcomer was, undoubtedly, an annoyance. He was oxymoronic, incredibly daft, and a thorn in Brain's side. Things hadn't been quite the same at the school since he'd arrived. He was a pest that eventually needed to be eradicated. And yet, as Brain sat there, listening to the soft turning of the pages behind him, with the occasional 'ooo' or 'ahhh' complimenting a particularly good part of the book, he had to admit that the presence of someone else in the room, someone kind and nonjudgmental and supportive, made him feel a little less lonely, too.

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

Author's Notes:

- My dad used to own (and probably still does) one of those big briefcases with the locking mechanisms on them. I always enjoyed watching him fiddle with the combination and pop open the case. Of course, now-a-days, briefcases are pretty much a thing of the past, but I still think about that big ol' thing and its locks sometimes.

- The line "... in public, Brain?" is a reference to a very similar quote from one of the original Pinky and the Brain episodes, in which Brain asks Pinky to do something simple and Pinky, misunderstanding, replies with: "Brain? In public?"

- Marvell is an original OC created by Black Geeky Girl, whom you can find on Twitter and Tumblr.

- The line "positively affluent" is a reference to a PatB-themed story of the same name on AO3 that also features Snowball. Please look it up and read it. It's awesome.

- The ending is, admittedly, a bit rushed, and I struggled with the subtext of the laboratory scene. I'm not certain how apparent it is or not, but, if you don't get what I'm going for, all the better I suppose, as you'll be just as surprised as Pinky in a future chapter.

- This is my favorite chapter so far. I had a blast composing this.

#fan fiction #pinky and the brain

[cordria]

Moon

“Don’t step into the moon,” was the cryptic message left by her predecessor, scrawled on the paperwork.

“Great help,” Sally Effords muttered as she stepped out of her car and looked up at the building her temp agency had contracted her out to. She stopped. “Oh, shit, no.”

The whole street was residential - including this… house? - but it stood out like a sore thumb in the morning sunshine. Gadgets and things-she-had-no-name-for stuck out everywhere from the two story brick home. Some strange sort of craft perched on top, and a huge sign hung into the street. Code violations obvious everywhere. 

Too bad she wasn’t working for the city anymore. She’d gotten paid by the violation. She’d have made two month’s rent on his place.

She glanced down at the paperwork, pointlessly rechecking the address. “Hate my job sometimes,” she whispered before hiking up her skirt and walking up the front steps of this monstrosity. “Secretarial work my ass.” She knocked. Perhaps nobody would answer the door and she could go back and find something else.

For the longest time, nobody did answer. 

She raised her hand to try knocking again when the door was wrenched open. An impressively large man was standing there, his bulk covered in some sort of bright orange overalls, a weird glowing headset over his eyes, and a thick head of gray hair. He filled the doorway, and was a half-step too close for comfort. “What?”

“Ballast sent me to fill your secretary job?” Sally asked, raising her chin and refusing to take even the smallest step backwards. She’d been employed by weirdos before, and this job offered a stellar bonus for making it through a week. “Sally Effords.” She held out her hand.

The man pushed back the headset. Handsome pale blue eyes were framed by an honest, open face and a pleasant smile. “A new one! MADS WE GOT A NEW ONE!” he shouted.

Sally set her jaw at the bone-rattling shout. “Yes,” she said, uncertain what else to say. She’d certainly been expecting a handshake, or a welcome, or something beyond a shout that woke up the entire neighborhood. 

A woman appeared in the small space left by the man’s bulk. She was in blue coveralls, gray peppering her red hair, with a pleased smile that was very like the man’s. “Excellent, Jack, but you could welcome her inside instead of making her stand in the street.”

A little knot in Sally’s stomach relaxed slightly. At least one of her new employers was normal-ish. She set the lady a smile. “Sally Effords,” she introduced herself, holding out a hand.

The woman didn’t shake her hand either. “Come on in,” the woman said. “I’m Maddie. Maddie Fenton. This is my husband, Jack.”

Sally let her hand fall to her side with a mental shrug. Perhaps it was a cultural thing. She stepped inside, trying to survey her surroundings without looking nosy. It was a living room, kitchen visible through a doorway, stairs that led up to a second floor. “Ballast said you were in need of a secretary.”

“Yes,” Maddie said. “Our business is in the basement, and I’m afraid the three of us are just lousy at paperwork. DANNY!” Her voice went from pleasant to a shout in a heartbeat. Sally had to fight down a flinch.

“What?” came a new voice from right next to her.

Sally did flinch this time. She was quite observant, had looked around, and there were only the two people nearby seconds ago. She glanced to her left, spotting a twenty-something man leaning against a wall. He had black hair that was longer than the typical male, a lean build, and normal clothing. How had she not seen him there? 

“She clean?” Jack asked.

“Obviously,” the younger man - Danny? - drawled. “She got in the house without setting off everything.” He smiled at her, blue eyes almost glowing. “Danny,” he said, holding out his hand for a handshake. “Are you enjoying meeting my parents?”

Sally shook his hand. “Quite.”

“It’s a pretty average FentonWorks greeting,” Danny said. “They don’t stand much on normal behavior.”

Maddie laughed. “We’re plenty normal, Danny.”

“Plenty,” Danny agreed, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “Why don’t you show Sally the lab?”

“Yes,” Jack piped in, heading through the living room and towards the kitchen. Maddie was a few steps behind, talking about some sort of project they had going on.

Sally lingered near the door, wondering if she was expected to remove her shoes. She turned to ask Danny, but the man was gone. She spun in a little circle, convinced she hadn’t heard him head up the stairs or through the door, and knowing he hadn’t followed his parents. “Creepy,” she whispered, and kept her shoes on. 

Through the normal - if a bit outdated - living room was a kitchen that was similarly outdated, and quite a bit more beat up. Cabinet doors weren’t closed properly. Several drawers had long scratches. The table looked like it had been fixed several times by someone who didn’t quite know what they were doing.

She heard her new employers talking through an orange door. Sally walked over and found stairs leading down into a basement. “Okay,” she whispered, hesitating. She wasn’t quite sure she wanted to head downstairs in this odd home. But she squared her shoulders and set her feet on the stairs.

The basement was lit with bright fluorescent lights. Shelving units lined most of the walls, and tables were scattered everywhere. Some sort of freaky closet was along the back wall, with round doors and hazard lights around it. Electronic bits and bobs were everywhere, wires and things scattered across the tables and shelves, and a general sense of haphazardness everywhere. 

“This is your desk,” Maddie said, pointing to the table closest to the stairs. Unlike the other tables, this one was covered in papers. A phone and computer was barely visible behind the stacks. “Jack and I work over there,” she gestured with a hand towards the other tables, “and Danny over there.” She pointed towards a spot on the other side of the stairs, a smaller table that was noticeably cleaner than everywhere else. 

Sally blinked, spotting the younger man already sitting in a chair. He gave her a little wave. How had he gotten down here so fast? Was there a back way down?

“So, yes,” Maddie said, walking over to the paper-covered table and studying it with her hands on her hips. “I suppose the first thing you’ll need to do is organize it. The last one left in a bit of a hurry...” She dug through the piles, pulling out a random piece of paper and holding it out.

Sally took it, glancing down at it. A basic listing of secretarial duties with almost no detail. ‘Answer the phone’ was on there, but nothing about the standard greeting for the business or where to route calls that came through or how to take memos. Her mouth twisted. Businesses like this set up temps for failure. 

She now understood the nice bonus for making it through a week. This place was a kooky disaster. ��Sounds like a plan,” she said, aiming for a brisk and business-like tone and giving the woman a smile.

Maddie smiled back, that same open and honest expression she’d had before. “Jack and I will be over there. Yell if you need us.”

Sally nodded. ‘Yell’ was likely not an overstatement. Then she turned to the table, studying it. Organization was one of her talents - it’s why she loved the library jobs. She cracked her knuckles, wishing she had chosen something a bit more practical than a pencil skirt and heels to wear today. She’d know better for tomorrow. First things first, figure out what she was organizing.

Halfway through cleaning off the table, sorting the papers into a dozen stacks on the floor and debating whether or not ‘by date’ or ‘alphabetical’ would be a more logical sorting system, she glanced over at her new employers. The two elder Fentons were busy tinkering one something-or-other. The younger Fenton was doing something on his computer.

So far, the people were kooky and the house was weird and full of odd hazards she would have to start making a list of, but the job seemed relatively standard. Why had they run through two dozen temps in just three months?

Her mouth twisted into a frown as she picked up another bit of paper. Perhaps she should have done a little more research on this business before she arrived. The paperwork had made it seem like a scientific company that did research and development for the government. 

“How’s it going?”

Sally flinched, glancing over her shoulder. The young man was standing next to her, studying the piles she was making. She hadn’t heard him walk over - he was an impressively quiet walker wearing those thick boots on the hard floor. “This is quite a stack of papers,” she said.

Danny laughed and crouched down, picking up one of the stacks and flicking through it. “My parents collect a few things. Paperwork seems to be one of them.” He set the papers down where he’d found them, then picked up a different stack with a blanch. “Is this really a whole stack of warning letters from the city?”

“Yes.” Sally watched the disbelief settle onto the man’s face. “Didn’t you know you were getting them?”

“Not really,” Danny muttered, setting them down and moving on to a new pile. “It’ll be really nice to have this organized and in some sort of working order. My parents waste a ton of money each year because of this,” he gestured towards the mess. 

“Can’t get a stable secretary?”

“Can’t convince my dad we need one.” Danny shot her a smile. “My mom’s on board. She hates answering the phone and doing paperwork. My dad still thinks he’s handling it just fine.”

Sally had to fight to keep the expression on her face bland - this mess certainly wasn’t just fine, but she wasn’t going to offer negatives against her boss on the first day. “I enjoy organizing, so this works for me,” she said.

Danny chuckled. “That good.” Then an odd expression settled on his face. “Do you have any idea what we do here?”

“Not particularly. It’s a private R&D company for the government, according to the paperwork.”

His head tipped to the side. “You live in Amity Park and you’ve never heard of FentonWorks?”

Feeling like it was some sort of trick question, Sally hesitated. But the smile on his face was polite and nice, and so she answered honestly. “No.”

He nodded slowly, the smile growing. “Excellent.” 

“Why do you ask?”

“You’re the first person we’ve hired that’s… actually done work.”

Sally blinked up at him. “What?”

“Well, there were a couple that pretended. And there was the one that, I think, was actually going to work but she wouldn’t step foot in the lab. But the rest? Nah. They just straight-up were trying to steal stuff.”

Sally glanced around. Wires. Gadgets. “Why?”

Danny shrugged, then pointed at the piece of paper in her hand. “Like that. Next-generation, million-dollar patent.”

She glanced down at the paper she’d picked up. It was the third or forth such piece of paper she’d found. Sure enough, it was a patent. “Million-dollar?” she repeated, trying to not sound doubtful.

“There’s people that would pay you a hundred thousand bucks if you’d just slip that into your bag and bring it home.” Danny’s eyes glittered, like he was holding back laughter. “I’m surprised none of them stopped you on the way here and offered.”

“Are you actually being serious, or tugging my leg?”

“Nah, honestly.” A shoulder went up and down. “My parents don’t give one little rip about it. They used to, but they’ve made so much from their government contracts that they’ve stopped paying attention.”

Sally thought about the broken, out of style house she’d walked through to get here, still skeptical about the man’s claims. 

“Yeah, all they care about is this lab,” Danny said, seemingly following her train of thought. “The upstairs is simply a place they sleep, and sometimes eat.”

“Oh.” Sally set down the patent - perhaps a little more carefully than before - and studied the piles of paper. If the young man was being honest, this paperwork was worth tens of millions of dollars. Still thinking about all that money, she absently asked, “Do you think they’d like it organized alphabetical or by date?”

Danny broke out laughing, a genuinely happy sound that made the other two Fentons pause and look over. “I don’t think they have any idea what either of those are. Organization is an alien concept for them. You decide.”

“I can do that. I might need some containers for all this, otherwise it’ll just get messy again.”

He stood up and grabbed the phone, turned the receiver over, and pulled off something taped to the bottom. It was a credit card. He held it out to her. “Maybe take a long lunch break. Stop at the store and get what you think is best.”

“Uh…” Sally stared at him. She’d worked here for a few hours, and he was handing her a credit card already? The credit card was a shiny silver, with ‘FentonWorks’ listed on it. “How much-”

“It’s got a quarter million dollar credit limit,” the man said with a grin. “Spend what you want. Don’t go nuts, but get something that’ll last. Avoid the dollar stores. It goes back under the phone when you’re done. Unless you have a better plan so it doesn’t get lost.” With that, he walked away, stopping next to the strange, lighted closet. “I’ll be back in a bit,” he told his parents. “Gonna go grab a friend.”

“Yup,” Jack said, waving a hand. “I’ll save some lunch for you.”

He glanced at her, smiled, and pushed a button. The doors of the closet opened on their own - but it was no closet behind the doors. It was a mass of swirling gas that seemed to glow like the full moon on a dark night.

“Don’t step into the moon?” she whispered, remembering the odd comment scrawled on her paperwork. “What is that?” And assuming his story was true, what had her predecessor tried to steal from inside the closet?

The young man took a large step backwards and vanished into the mist. The doors of the closet slowly closed behind him. 

Sally waited, watching, wondering what in the world was with the doors and the weird moon-shine gas behind it. When nothing happened, she shook her head and went back to sorting through the paperwork. Alphabetical she decided, nodding to herself. She glanced at the credit card, wondering if this whole thing was some sort of joke. She’d try it out at lunch, just to see.

She was mentally planning through what she’d get - she had a bit of a knack for design, after all - when the closet doors swooshed open again. She looked up into the shine, and two somethings stepped out of the moon. One resolved itself into Danny Fenton. Then other…

Papers fluttered from her nerveless fingers, as she suddenly put together the name FentonWorks and the local news she’d read about over the last decade. “Oh my,” she whispered. “Oh... shit.”

#dannymay2020 #quick writing #this started and was going to go somewhere else #i'm not entirely sure how it ended up here #but it maybe works #moon-tangential at the least

[wide-eyedscottishlass]

Scarlett and the Professor

[continued from]

moodboard by @strangelock221b​

author’s note : Reader may recall the many references to Scarlett’s preternatural connection to the Sea. This chapter reveals that her Professor has a true, supernatural connection of his own.

His study door was open, but Scarlett lightly knocked upon it anyway, as much from good manners as from believing that such behavior was still very much within the expected parameters of their relationship. “Come on in, m’dear,” was his distracted sounding reply.

Hennessy was seated in the same wingback chair as from the evening before, reading glasses perched on his nose, a red, felt tip pen in hand as he marked up the quiz sheet he held in the other. A stack of papers sat on the side table next to his chair. He glanced up at her over his glasses, then squinted and pursed his lips. “Darling, didn’t you bring a change of clothing? Or do you plan to swan about in my dressing gown all day?”

Yet again, Scarlett felt her cheeks burn with embarrassment. “Well, yes, Sir, I…I did. But I thought you meant for me to see you first.”

“Oh, right,” he nodded, quirking a quick smile, “Not that you don’t look lovely in it, of course.” Scarlett was thinking how casually handsome he looked, his thick, dark hair still wet from his shower and meticulously slicked back, with him wearing a navy blue, athletic fit polo which accented his broad shoulders and firm pecs—reminding her of how thrilled she’d been to pamper them with moist, hungry kisses during their many hours of play the night before. A pair of grey Adidas track pants and well-worn leather boat shoes completed his relaxed look.

“Thank you.” Scarlett fidgeted with her sash, without a clue of what to say next—though Hennessy soon solved that for her, casting her an indulgent smirk. 

“I’ll be tied up here for a bit longer, so feel free to keep yourself occupied. You are welcome to explore any of the rooms on the first floor, and the grounds if you so wish.” His eyes seemed to drill into hers with his next instruction, “However, I must insist that you refrain from entering any room on the second floor other than my bedroom suite.” His gaze raked her from head to toes in a way that made her feel he was numbering her every physical attribute once again—numbering and weighing, as though calculating her worth, before he added quietly, “For there are some things you’re still too delightfully innocent to learn, m’dear.”

She nodded solemnly, her mouth gone dry at the implications. “I’ll leave you to this, then,” she offered, and then turned to leave, reaching the door before he called her back.

“Scarlett, there was a question you asked earlier which I never got to answer…wasn’t there?”

“Yes,” she blinked in surprise.

Hennessy nodded forbearingly, “In light of the…advance…in our relationship, I can offer you several options.” He whet his lips, then continued, “I don’t especially care for ‘Sir’, but if it’s a kink you enjoy, I’ll allow it. ‘Professor’ is fine as well, and you may also address me as ‘Hennessy’—many of my lovers do. But don’t even think of using my given name…” He chuckled. “It’s the single least sexy name in the world, and I only tolerate it from my mother.”

“Alright,” she replied softly, though he appeared to have something more to add.

“And as you are quite soft and…” he paused and inhaled deeply, as though he had caught a trace of her musk on the air, “…mmmmm…deliciously romantic, my sweet little lamb, a few terms of endearment are not uncalled for, as long as you don’t use them excessively…”

“Uh-huh,” she smiled, feeling exactly that sort of softness for him now.

“...and I do find I’m rather fond of that Scottish thing you’ve called me...”

“My...my jo,” she nearly whispered.

“Yes! My jo---I like that,” he exclaimed, “Quite more than I ever would have expected.” Hennessy flashed her wink and a toothy grin. “It’s back to work for me now, my jo---but I’ll come find you when I’m done.”

He turned his attention back to his task, so that Scarlett finally departed, certain that he would find her exactly as promised when the time came around.

          _________________________________________________

She decided to forgo the exploration for the time being, knowing that she needed a good washing up instead---and rather wishing that later Hennessy might give her a tour of the place himself. Back in his bedroom, she picked up her discarded items and fully opened the French doors, drinking in the warmth of the sunshine and the gorgeous view of the sea from his balcony. I should sketch this some time, she mused, though in truth she wasn’t sure if this might turn out to be her only opportunity.

Scarlett’s change of clothes was simple and modest when compared to how she’d outfitted herself for their evening tryst. Still, she laid what she had out on the bottom of the bed; a gauzy, white peasant blouse, stonewashed denim clam diggers, and a white lace bra with matching knickers. Casual and comfortable, for she had actually expected she would be wearing them as she headed home with the morning light, or even sooner. While never having imagined the several ways that Hennessy would have her through the night.

Mmmmm. Hennessy. And the things he had already taught her. Nothing in her sheltered world had prepared her for the brazen craving that she felt at just the thought of him and the divine sins he had tutored her in. She was craving him even now, like an addict for a fix.

But it wasn’t just the physical leading her to feel this way. There was his astonishing duality. He could be brutally honest, caustic, selfish, and even cruel---yet he had been so gentle with her at the moments she had needed it the most, and he was brilliant, funny, and surprisingly kind when the spirit moved him. As when he had finally gotten around to taking her maidenhead, and in the aftermath. No matter what might transpire between them going forward, at least part of her heart would be forever his, from that alone.

Oh, Hennessy was supremely confident and self-possessed, but beneath the facade he showed the world, Scarlett sensed bitter self-contempt and secrets that he had resolved to hide even from himself. Deep and painful secrets, surely related to the mysterious scars he bore. Her unerring intuition and gentle empathy---gifts come down through the ages to her, courtesy of her ancient Selkie blood---made her ache to know why. And to provide some consolation, were he ever to allow her into his heart.

She closed her eyes and with the freshness of recent memory she pictured the sight of him looking out his balcony doors to the sea, marveling again at sheer physical beauty of his form, and then shivering as she had last evening as she recalled seeing those brutish marks for the first time. Certain that would be imprinted on her heart forever as well. The urge to capture that moment had her moving to grab her sketchbook and pencils from her bag even before she even made the conscious decision. It might be foolhardy, she told herself, and surely he would not be pleased---if her were to know. But Scarlett felt the strong need to do so nevertheless.

She took a seat on the tufted ottoman, and as was the way when she was deeply inspired, she set to work with ease, lightly penciling in an outline of Hennessy and then sketching the details of the French doors, balcony, and the night sky with the round, fat moon framed by storm clouds, and its watery reflection on the distant waves. Next she lovingly attended to his details; his stillness as he stood enrapt, the restrained tension in the straightness of his posture, the sculpted beauty of his broad shoulders and long, lean back. Once she was satisfied that the image held true as it could to her vision, she filled in the ladder of scars---blinking back a tear or two as she wondered again how such a travesty had come to be.

Pleased with her work, Scarlett tucked her supplies away, then rose and headed to the loo, intent on treating herself to a hot, soothing bath. Muscle aches from the vigor of the night’s workout had begun to announce themselves, and Hennessy’s tub was the irresistible remedy.

                  __________________________________________

While the tub filled, Scarlett had taken the time to pin up her hair, and then had rolled up one of the plush towels as a cushion for the back of her head once she leaned back against the far end. Hennessy’s bathtub was longer and deeper than any she’d ever used before---no surprise as it was just another element of a lifestyle dedicated to hedonism.

A small, shelved wire rack hung off the lip of the tub, holding body wash, shampoo, a loofa and a sea sponge. And no surprise once more, as Scarlett noted that in addition to body wash that echoed Hennessy’s sea-themed cologne, there were  a couple of smaller bottles in decidedly feminine scents---reminding her that she wasn’t the first, nor would she be the last, houseguest to enjoy the benefits of his inner sanctum. After sliding into the water, she wet the sponge and squeezed  a generous amount of jasmine and orange blossom body wash onto it, creating a luxurious foam when she scrubbed her neck, shoulders, upper chest and arms. Next, she washed her legs all the way down to her insteps and toes, and then set the sponge aside and nestled back against the tub, closing her eyes and breathing slowly and deeply, letting the hot water work its magic.

Scarlett wasn’t  sure how much time had passed before she opened her eyes, although the water remained comfortably warm. She has sensed that she was no longer alone, yet still felt surprised when she discovered Hennessy casually watching her only a step or two from the tub. “Ohhhh,” she inhaled, then rushed to add, “I hope this is alright.” Although he had already seen her every detail, somehow she felt vulnerable with only the slowly dissolving suds between her bare skin and his avid gaze.

“Of course it is, my sweet,” he assured her gregariously, “In fact, it’s...hmmm...simply perfect.” 

The warmth of the water couldn’t keep her skin from from prickling with goosebumps of anticipation, for she knew from his look as well as his tone what he meant by ‘perfect’. “Done with those papers then, Professor?” she asked innocently.

He t’sk’d as he crouched beside the tub, shaking his head, “Not quite, no. But you see, I suddenly found myself rather distracted...” Hennessy reached to cup her jaw in his palm and ran his thumb along her bottom lip; instinctively she lowered her lashes and kissed it. “Now that’s my bonnie lass,” he drawled, slipping his thumb between her lips, “My wet and slippery water nymph...”

“Might...might you care to join me,” she asked after giving it a gentle suck, eager to move over to  give him room.

He wore an air of mystery, amusement, inevitability. “I probably will---eventually. But there’s something I’d like to show you first.” He withdrew his hand and added, “A special treat because you’ve been such a good, good girl.”

Scarlett’s heart had begun to race a bit, as she wondered what sort of act could make him sound and look almost diabolical---although whatever it was, she couldn’t deny her curiosity, or her need to please him by obeying.”

“I know you didn’t mean to interrupt me, Scarlett, for there are things you’ve yet to learn about my nature. Now seems the ideal opportunity for that.” His knowing smile was both beautiful and wicked. “The fact is, darlin’, I could feel the water running as you drew the bath. It called to me like a veritable invitation,” he growled, lust shamelessly stamped upon his patrician features.

Though mystified by his statement, her cheeks burned with unrepentant desire to learn what lesson her was offering now. Scarlett watched him hold up his forefinger and then dip it up to the second knuckle in the bathwater. Immediately, ripples of concentric circles moved outward from it, as they would for a stone cast into a body of water. Hennessy’s eyes then captured hers as he barely stirred the water, and he was grinning as he waited for her response to what came next.

Scarlett gasped at the sudden sensation as a current of water strikingly warmer than the bath washed across her submerged torso. He mouth dropped open, “Oh...oh myyyy...”

Hennessy simply nodded, though his pupils had grown large enough to leave visible only a thin crescent of his sea blue irises.

The warmer water seemed to coalesce around her breasts until it felt like it was cupping them while slowly pulsing around them. Like the flex of strong, warm hands. Like his hands. And when tendrils of heated water began to stroke her nipples, drawing them to hard peaks, Scarlett gasped at the divine sensation, then exhaled a long, molten moan. “How? How is this possible,” she whispered, laying her head back against the rolled towel. 

Hennessy laid his other forefinger across his lush lips, swift to command her, “Ssssssshhhhhh...don’t question it, love...just trust in me as you have all along.”

“I will...I do...” she nodded, gasping again when thick, heated tendrils kissed both of her insteps, then slowly began to twine up her legs. The water continued to caress her breasts, deliciously teasing her nipples so that it nearly felt she was being suckled. A small part of her brain warned that there was devilry in what her lover was doing---but need and desire overrode those cares, for Scarlett knew full well what was coming next.

Those tendrils had wrapped around her thighs, pulsing against her skin while their ends insinuated themselves between them. As much as she expected it, her eyes still flew open at the impossibility of them brushing up and down the length of her slit, while seeking her tender, secret flesh and then spreading her open and spoiling her with pleasure as strongly and as surely as though they were Hennessy’s talented fingers themselves. She groaned as she undulated beneath them, knowing what he intended for her.

Indeed, one of the columns of water thickened and became more dense as the other continued to stroke her clit, and then began to seek entry. Scarlett needed to see him, her lover and teacher, this mysterious creature who had captured her soul and now appeared to possess power over the element of water itself. The look of concentration on his face was mesmerizing, and when the thick, hot shaft of water finally slid inside her, he looked absolutely victorious.

The water was smooth and hot and driving so deeply into her that she keened again and again, and it wasn’t long until she was gripping white-knuckled onto the lip of the tub with both hands as she bucked her hips into his glorious onslaught. Hennessy had begun to moan quietly and when she managed to look at him again, a fine sheen of sweat stood upon his brow and above his lips. “Yessssss,” he hissed, “You’re my wicked little angel, aren’t you, love...made...made just for me...” He was panting hard, as though with effort to bring her to climax, “...a gift...a gift of the Sea...”

In that moment, that was exactly what Scarlett wanted to be; Hennessy’s in every way imaginable, belonging to him shamelessly. “Oh pleeeeeeeease...finish me, my jo,” she cried out, beyond all thought of sin, craving only what this spectacular devil willed for her, “Make...me...cum...cum for you...” Whatever spell he was working reached its peak, and Scarlett came hard in a glorious frenzy, until her body went limp and she nearly slid beneath the surface. As Hennessy grabbed her to keep her afloat, the heated tendrils dissolved, dispersing their warmth into the surrounding water and leaving behind only their effects upon her---waves and waves of diminishing after throes, eventually making her shake from the power of her release.

When her body finally relaxed, Scarlett opened her eyes to find him watching her closely again and looking incredibly pleased with himself. “I dare say you’re squeaky clean now, my sweet,” he observed, “And that was delicious, don’t you agree?”

She nodded slowly as words failed her for several breaths, while her rational mind insisted that she had to be dreaming everything that had happened since she’d initially laid her head back and closed her eyes. “No, you’re not dreaming, my jo,” he assured her. That expression coming from him was like a surprising, gentle caress. One that could only leave her covetous for more of the same. “I swear to you that what just happened is very, very real.”

Scarlett barely found her voice enough to ask, “But...how? How could that be?”

Hennessy pursed his fulsome lips and raised a single brow, “Explanations can wait for later.” A greedy expression now colored his dear, handsome face as he rose to stand---a look that echoed the way his loose track pants now tented across his erection. “But right now,” he told her while he pulled off his shirt and let drop his pants where he stood, “I’m going to claim what is rightfully mine.”

And though she had just been fully satisfied, Scarlett felt her nipples tighten in anticipation as he stepped into the water, while the gorgeous ache to have him fill her again...to have him take her mercilessly...had the muscles all throughout her pelvis reawaken with that sinfully luscious need.

tagging: @strangelock221b​ @ben-c-group-therapy​ @ben-locked​ @letterstosherlock​ @splunge4me2art​ @ravencatart​ @doctor-stephenstrange​ @aeterna-auroral-avenger​ @humanbornarchangel​ @frowerssx-world​ @tsukuyomi011​ @emilyinnj4real​ 

#my writing #Scarlett and the Professor #romance #lust #smut #Scarlett Campbell. #OFC #OMC #not my OMC and used with permission #Scarlett's Professor #Professor Hennessy #Hennessy

[neerasrealm]

Oh no your story is to good now I want a pt 3 laughing jack x reader (;_;) Is it ok to ask for more? If not, why not a Slen x LJ secreat relationship? since I saw you made a post about it

I’m glad you liked the story so much! Unfortunately at the time I couldn’t think of anything for a part 3, but I COULD think of plenty of stuff for a secret relationship au so...here you go. consider this a part one of a series that I’ll work on when y’all give me the time

also a couple things I wanna clarify; one, this takes place in the late 1800s - early 1900s, and two, LJ is a fallen angel in this story, but in my regular hcs he’s a regular angel- just- didn’t want people to think that shfgsha.

Slender awoke feeling groggy and stiff. His head ached and there was a rotten taste in his mouth. He groaned gently and blinked in the morning light streaming in through the window. He slowly looked around. He was in an unfamiliar room, with pastel orange walls that were covered in sheets of paper that had crude pencil and crayon drawings all over them. There were toys scattered around haphazardly along with balloons and paper garlands. The room looked...childish. But the furniture was ornate, and fit the room like it had always been there.

However, Slender’s attention wasn’t on the room for long, because he quickly realised he wasn’t alone in the unfamiliar bed. His arms were wrapped around someone big and soft. Their body was thick, and their arms were wound tightly around his own thin, frail body. Slender couldn’t see their face, but it was definitely pressed into his chest. He couldn’t see much of them below wispy black hair, but it was certainly enough for Slender to tell two things. One, they were a stranger, and two, however he had gotten here had involved something removing his suit jacket and unbuttoning his shirt, followed by the two of them curled up together in bed, hugging each other tight.

Panic set into Slender quicker than you could say ‘’good morning’’. As Slender lay there trying not to hyperventilate his mind raced and scrambled to remember anything leading up to him getting here. The night before- what had happened? He remembered yesterday clearly enough. His father had spent the whole day pestering him about his future wedding, which meant Slender hadn’t a single moment to rest and relax. So after dinner, he snuck out and down to earth. He soon found himself in France, and later, a bar. And that’s when things got blurry.

Oh his family was going to be so angry-! He was supposed to be the responsible one! He never broke any rules, he didn’t just- get drunk! He didn’t run off in the night and end up shirtless in beds with people he didn’t know! He was enga- well technically he wasn’t, the marriage wasn’t properly arranged yet, but still! This wasn’t him! Oh he was going to be in so much trouble…

As he was trying to figure out how to get out of this situation without having a panic attack, the person on top of him shifted. He froze, his blood running cold. ‘’Please don’t wake up please don’t wake up please do-’’

‘’Mmmnnghh…’’ the person shifted, their arms uncurling from around him. One of their hands instead lay atop Slender’s bare- er- breast, and leaned against it for support as they sat up. Slender’s face flushed an extremely dark grey. The person shook their head, messy black hair falling around their face, obscuring it. Slender could see them better now. Their sleeves were striped black and white, and they wore a short grey shirt. One of their shoulders had a feathered shoulder pad on it. The second one for their other shoulder was probably on the bedroom floor somewhere, along with Slender’s jacket. ‘’Ungh.’’ they grunted. Slender stayed still as he could just waiting for the moment the other person realised their situation. It was definitely far worse for them than it was for him. Slender only had to worry about his family being angry at him. This person had to wake up in bed with a faceless monster. ‘’H-hah?’’ yep. They had definitely realised. That noise of confusion was all the confirmation Slender needed.

They slowly looked up, their eyes trailing up Slender’s thin, white body. Their head raised and stared at Slender in shock and confusion. Their face was white, just like him- but they had a face- and a pretty one at that. They had thin, black brows, and lips that were covered in smudged black lipstick. Their nose was- shaped- like a cone and it was striped just like their sleeves. Black and white. But their eyes...oh gods their eyes. They were big and round, and the colour of ice. Their eyes were bright and innocent looking in their haze of confusion. Slender blushed harder. Great, he was in bed with someone attractive.

"...w-who th' fock are ye?" The very attractive stranger asked. Slender's brows raised in surprise. Their voice was deep and gravelly, and they had the thickest accent he had ever heard. 

"I-" Slender's brain was completely fried. Whether it was from panic, the hangover or total fear induced by this attractive stranger with an intimidating voice, he wasn't sure. "My- My name is Slender." He finally stammered out. "I-I'm so sorry about all of this I don't usually-" he was cut off by the other person shifting and instead sitting on top of Slender, effectively straddling him. Oh. Oh he didn't like this position at all.

"I'm Jack," the attractive stranger grunted, rubbing at his head with a bandaged black hand. "Ow'd we ge' 'ere…?"

"I um- I'm not sure…" Slender murmured. Jack...he remembered that name. "We- met at a bar last night, I think I recall you sitting next to me. I- don't remember much besides that I'm afraid…" Slender looked Jack over now that he could see him better. His hands were bony and black, wrapped in bandages. His torso was also wrapped up for some odd, unknown reason. He wore a short grey shirt that really only covered his chest, suspenders that were striped various shades of black, white and grey, and shorts. Shorts! His pants were still on thank the gods! "Is er- is this...your room…?"

"Yeh, yeh tis." Jack nodded as he squinted at the window. He reached over and pulled the curtains shut, muttering something about how it was too early to be awake. He looked back at Slender. "So we me' a' a pub?"

"Yes." Slender nodded. He paused before asking the next question. "Why...why aren't you um- f-freaking out?" He tilted his head. "You do realize I'm...not human…?"

"Tha' wuz g'nna be me next quest'on." Jack looked up at him. "Ye're bluddy 'orrifyin' bu' I didn' wanna say anyfin'. Tha'd be rude."

Oh. How polite. Slender coughed, clearing his throat. "I- well it's a little...difficult, to explain, but erm-" he hesitated. "I'm a- well I'm a fae- well partially, I'm fae on one side and then my father is of angelic nature so-"

"Ye're an angel?!" Jack cut in. Slender recoiled in surprise and gave a meek nod. Jack grinned. "I am too! Fockin' 'ell, after Jill I though' I wouldn' find another 'ne, bu' 'ere ye are!" He looked thrilled now, seemingly forgetting all the negatives of the situation.

"...no you aren't." Slender looked Jack over. Looking at him now, it was easy to see he wasn't actually human. His proportions were too off for that. He certainly had the makings of an angel, the eyes of one and the friendly tone of voice, but there was too much throwing it off. His black and white colour scheme, his bony black hands that were tipped with claws, and his teeth...looking at them now, they were sharp. Dangerous. "I think it's more accurate to say you're a fal-"

"I'm no' fallen!" Jack interrupted him. His friendly demeanor was gone now, replaced with an angry glare. "Sure I've lost me colours an' I'm no' th' 'oliest bloke around, bu' yes're 'ardly perfect yerselves, now are ya?" He snapped. Slender recoiled defensively. "I'm an angel. Always wuz an' always will be."

"Okay, okay." Slender replied quickly. He didn't want to get on Jack's bad side. Fallen angels were known for three things. Their lack of colours, their cunning intelligence, and their anger. Thinking about it now…could it be that Jack had known he was an angel last night…? Had he sensed it and targeted him?

"Well er-" Jack broke him out of his thoughts. He had seemingly calmed down a bit. Slender looked at him. "Can I offer ye breakfas'?"

"I- well I don't think I should, I should really...get home…" Slender glanced aside. Home...god his family was going to kill him.

"Ah c'mon, i's still early!" Jack reached down and grabbed Slender's hand. "c'mon, ye're in Paris! Nobody does breakfas' like th' french!" 

Before Slender could protest, Jack hopped off the bed and tugged his new faceless friend up off of it. He grinned. His free arm stretched out, grabbing Slender's jacket from where it had been dropped on the floor. Slender watched the clown's arm in fascination. It could extend and curl as if he had no bones at all. 

"Ere ye go!" Jack handed Slender his jacket, then grabbed his own missing clothes from the floor. "Th' bathroom's across th' 'all. I recommen' cleanin' yerself up." He added before shrugging on his shoulder pad and cheerfully striding out of the room with his shoes under his arm. 

Slender sighed and fixed his clothes, buttoning up his shirt and slipping on his jacket. He left the room and found himself in a cherry red hall. The walls were again decorated with well- anything. Mostly paintings. He opened the door across from him and found it led to a bright blue bathroom. Jack was certainly fond of his colourful walls. It was a cramped room, decorated with a nautical theme. Toward the back of the room was a bath with a shower head. Slender squinted for a moment. The bath had an absurd amount of children's toys in it, and on the shelf in the corner he could see a bottle of...fabric softener. No soap just fabric softener. Did Jack wash himself with fabric softener???

This entire place was messy and unkempt. Did Jack ever clean? At least it meant one thing. Jack most certainly wasn't Slender's type, and this whole thing wouldn't go further than one drunken night and a hungover breakfast. He turned his attention from the decor, to the mirror.

Oh. Oh lord. His face and what he could see of his neck was covered in smudged black lipstick. The same smudged black lipstick that had been on Jack earlier. His face flushed such a dark colour it was practically black. 

"There y'are! I almos' bluddy fell asleep 'ere!" Jack exclaimed as Slender, now lipstick-free, walked into the pink living room. Slender frowned, looking Jack over.

"You're...wearing the same clothes?"

"Yeh." Jack looked down at himself. "Somefink wrong wiv em?"

"Well I thought you'd- I don't know, change? Don't they smell bad?"

Jack shrugged. "They smell like me, an' I don' swea' so…" he looked aside. "I changed me shoes though!" He stuck out his leg to show Slender the long black boots he was wearing. They had pointed toes, raised heels and showed off how slim and long Jack's legs were. Slender blushed. 

"...I see."

Jack stood up off the couch and looked at Slender, swinging his arms and smiling. "Ya ready?"

Slender sighed. ‘’I suppose…’’

While Jack had his back turned, Slender shifted into his human form, then followed after him. Jack paused, looking him over once he realised Slender had changed. His human form was tall, and extremely pale, with blonde, nearly white hair. He looked up at Jack with small, brown eyes. Jack blinked.

‘’...Slen?’’

‘’Yes?’’

‘’...ye changed.’’

Slender looked unamused. ‘’It’s called blending in. We’re among humans?’’

‘’Oh. Righ’.’’ Jack looked at him, then closed the door to his apartment, not bothering to lock it. He walked past Slender and down the stairs. ‘’Ye comin’?’’

Slender followed after him, frowning. ‘’What about your disguise?’’

‘’Don’t ‘ave one.’’ 

‘’You don’t?’’

‘’Nah. I can’t do any ‘f tha’ shapeshiftin’ stuff,’’ he shrugged. ‘’I jus’ tell every’ne I’m a mime an’ they believe me.’’

Slender nodded slowly. Huh. That was...surprisingly smart. The two of them stepped out of the building and Slender looked around. The area around them was run down, dirty, a slum. Slender looked around. ‘’You live here…?’’

‘’Yep.’’ Jack walked along, not a worry in the world. ‘’Livin’ is cheap over ‘ere.’’

‘’You left your front door open- in an area like this?’’ Slender tilted his head. Jack shrugged.

‘’If some’ne needs somewhere warm ta stay they can jus’ slip in, an’ i’s no’ like I ‘ave anyfink worth stealin’. Nofink I can’t jus’ replace a’ least.’’

‘’That’s…’’ Slender blinked. ‘’That’s...really kind…’’ 

Jack smiled a bit and glanced at him. ‘’Eh, I’s th’ least I can do.’’ he murmured. ‘’Lo’a folks are ou’ on their own, ‘ungry an’ cold. If I can give ‘em somewhere safe ta stay fer a li’le bi’, I’m ‘appy ta do i’.’’

As they walked, Slender listened with interest as Jack shared his stories of guests he’d had in his small apartment and friends he’d made from just calmly talking with those that often went ignored. It was fascinating to Slender, how Jack seemed to just emit an air of relaxation and cheer. How someone could just- start a conversation with a stranger, how he could consider so many people his friends and how he just gave them all he had merely because he felt it was more important they had it than him. There was something about Jack that Slender just...couldn’t explain. Something drew him in and made him feel...different, from how he felt at home. Being with Jack was unlike anything else he knew.

‘’Ere we are, china pla’e!’’ Jack exclaimed, running ahead of Slender. He hopped into the air and landed on the base of a streetlamp, hanging onto it with one hand as he leaned off of it. He laughed as Slender ran to catch up to him. He stood up and turned around, looking behind him. ‘’See tha’?’’

Slender looked up. In front of them was a busier, more built up street, bordering a massive canal. Up in the distance, Slender could see the Eiffel Tower, looming over everything. Jack turned and grinned down at him.

‘’I know th’ bes’ bluddy place by th’ river, ye’re g’nna love i’.’’ he hopped back down onto the ground and started walking again. "C'mon!"

Slender followed Jack to a small bakery on a street corner. Though it looked small, and not that wealthy, the smell coming from it was heavenly. He paused for a moment, admiring how quaint the little place was, before following Jack inside.

"Bonjour madame! Comment ça va?" Jack greeted the owner in a very bad french accent. She did not look pleased to see him.

"Bonjour Jack. Petit dejeuner?" She asked tiredly. Jack nodded.

"Oui, merci." Jack turned and smiled at Slender. "I come 'ere all th' time. Real good place."

"Mmm," Slender looked around. "Your french is terrible."

"Oi!" Jack glared down at him. "Rude!"

"I'm just saying."

"Well- I'd like ta see you do be'er! Ye 'aven't spoken a lick 'f french since ye woke up!"

Slender gave him an unamused look, then turned to the owner. "Madame," she turned to look at him.  "Je voudrais dire que c'est un endroit charmant et que votre nourriture sent délicieuse."

The owner blinked in surprise, then smiled. "Merci monseuir!" She chirped. "Puis-je vous offrir quelque chose?"

"Non, non. Jack est paie pour moi." Slender shook his head. He looked up at Jack and smiled smugly. "How was that?"

"...Oh fock off ye cheeky codger."

Slender snorted, then broke into a fit of laughter. He had no idea why that was so funny to him, but when he heard Jack chuckling along beside him, it made him grin even wider.

"Monsieur, ton petit dejeuner." The two of them were interrupted by the owner putting a small white box and two coffees onto the counter. Jack grinned and took them, handing the owner some francs before turning and walking toward the door.

"C'mon, Slen."

Slender smiled and followed after Jack. He tilted his head. "Aren't angels supposed to be good at languages?" He asked with a sly smile.

"I am good a' languages! I's jus' speakin' em tha's 'ard." Jack replied defensively.

"Ah. So that's why your english is so bad too."

"Oi!" Jack turned and glared at him. "I'm a born and bred englishmun, excuse you!"

Slender laughed. "Sorry, sorry." He murmured. The two of them crossed the street and walked along the canal. Jack led him to a bench and the two of them sat down. The morning sun was warm. Bright and welcoming. Jack set the box between the two of them and sipped his coffee. Slender looked out at the large river in front of them. "Wow…" he murmured. "...it's beautiful."

"It is, innit?" Jack smiled. "I luv ea'in' 'ere. I's so peaceful." He opened the box and revealed it was full of pastries. Croissants, pain au chocolats, madalines, eclairs and more. Slender stared in surprise. The smell coming from the small box was heavenly. His stomach growled. 

"Go on, ea' up. Ye're a stick." Jack said through a mouthful of croissant. Slender smiled a bit and daintily grabbed a pain au chocolat, taking a small bite. The taste was heavenly and sweet. He hummed happily. Jack watched him and smiled, pleased. "Been a while since I a'e wiv some'ne." He murmured. He looked back at the river. "Much less some'ne I'm after sleepin' wiv."

Slender coughed loudly, choking on his breakfast. Jack reached over and lightly smacked his back. Slender coughed and looked over at Jack, blushing a dark red. Jack tilted his head.

"Ye okay…?"

"Y-Yes just-" Slender glanced away. "I...almost forgot about how we met."

Jack laughed. "Almost?! I can't remember a single fing from last night!" He exclaimed. "Well- act'ally…" he paused for a second. "I do remember one fing."

"Hm?" Slender looked at him.

"Ye're a bluddy good kisser."

Slender made a feeble squeaking noise and quickly looked away. Jack laughed quietly at how hard he was blushing. The hand that had been patting Slender's back reached over and squeezed his shoulder. ‘’Eh, relax china pla’e…’’ Jack tilted his head and cocked a brow, smiling.

‘’Don’t get the wrong idea,’’ Slender muttered. ‘’I’m- not available.’’

Jack retracted his hand and looked at Slender in surprise. ‘’Ye- ye’re da’in’ some’ne?’’

‘’Well- no not- not exactly.’’ Slender fidgeted nervously. ‘’I’m- supposed to get married soon. My parents want me to. They’re going to...arrange it. I’m not technically engaged yet.’’

‘’Ohhh….’’ Jack nodded in understanding. ‘’So- ye are available.’’

Slender looked at Jack, blinking in surprise. Did- did he really just- Slender looked away quickly to hide his blush. ‘’Technically yes b-but-’’ he gulped. ‘’This- this is a once off! We hardly know each other.’’

‘’Then…’ow abou’ we ge’ ta know each o’her.’’ Jack scooted closer and rested his hand on Slender’s. He gave him a friendly smile. ‘’No kissin’, no da’in’, jus’ us bein’ buds.’’

Slender paused. ‘’...buds?’’

Jack nodded. ‘’Yeh! Me an’ you. Pals.’’

Slender paused for a moment. Jack’s smile widened. His eyes were big, kind, welcoming. They were innocent, friendly. Like all he wanted from Slender was just his company. He glanced away before he could get sucked into them. 

‘’Well I...suppose a quick walk to the Eiffel Tower after breakfast wouldn’t hurt.’’

#ask #anon #slenjack #creepypasta #creepypasta fanfic #creepypasta fanfiction #slenderman #laughing jack #writing #anonymous

[kinda-iconic]

The One Date You Should Never Forget

This fanfic was written for Day 11 of the Choices May Challenge.

Day 11 prompt: Birthday

Author’s Note: I’ve had this one in the works for a while, though never thought that I would be posting it here, for I didn’t think it was particularly good; but it fits my prompt, so after a bit of editing, I decided I was going to post it anyway!

Summary: It’s Amy’s birthday... but has everybody remembered?

Pairing: Adrian Raines x MC (Amy)

Tagging (if interested): @bloodboundismylife​ @adrianadmirer​ @bbchoices​ @adriansbliss​ @god-save-the-keen​ @choicesfannatalie​ @shelley-parah​ @senator-adrian-raines-wifey​ @lexilooloolovessenatorraines​ @bellaraines​ @clansayeed​

Word Count: 3′400+ (Sorry in advance!)

Amy glances at the monitor, her eyes instinctively drawing to the bottom right corner as she tries to read the time; her shift is coming to an end, but as the minutes tick by, the young mortal can’t help but reflect on the events of the past 24 hours, or rather the lack of. She tries to refocus her attention on the pile of contracts that lay discarded on the desk in front of her, absent-mindedly skimming through its contents before retrieving an orange highlighter from the pencil pot; her eyes drift back to the beginning of the paragraph, re-reading each sentence as if trying to scan the paper for a particular collection of words, but soon finds herself unable to concentrate.

‘You look as bored as I am.’

She turns to the source of voice, a warm smile enveloping her lips as she notices him for the first time; Adrian stands in the doorway, leaning against the lintel as he drinks her in, tilting his head as if to get a better picture; his arms are crossed, the sleeves of his shirt rolled up to the folds of his elbows.

‘I thought that I was the only one who is allowed to mope.’

She giggles, her smile widening as he takes a step towards her.

‘I can’t remember that being in my contract…’

‘Oh it is there alright,’ he wraps his arms around her shoulders, pressing a gentle kiss to her temple, ‘somewhere underneath the clause about how it would be inconsiderate of you to look this beautiful during work hours…’

‘I must have missed that,’ she responds with giddiness, leaning into his touch as he nuzzles his face into the crook of her neck, ‘I guess that must be directly under the paragraph that states that I am permitted to date my Boss.’

He chuckles softly, shaking his head in amusement.

‘Then I suggest you read over it again… just to see if there is anything else that you have missed.’ He flashes her a cheeky smile, ‘if I’ve learnt anything during my time as a CEO, it’s that you always read between the lines – and the small print.’

She quirks a brow.

‘Oh really?’

‘Yes,’ he nods in agreement, squeezing her gently, ‘small print can be sneaky.’

‘Like you aren’t yourself,’ she looks up at him with a soft smile, reaching up to touch his cheek, ‘you went straight to flirting… and I didn’t even get a hello.’

He tilts his head slightly, pouting in jest at her words.

‘Well I suppose, being the gentleman that I am,’ he kisses her cheek, ‘that I should remedy that.’ He turns away from her, linking his hands behind his back. She watches him in confusion, a nervous laugh escaping her. When she speaks, her words are soft and gentle, the intonation in her voice rising as she queries his actions.

‘What on earth are you doing?’

‘Starting this interaction again,’ his cheeky grin returns, accompanied by a wink, ‘as promised…’

He ponders back over to her, leaning in to kiss the top of her head; he opens his mouth to speak, but a bashful laugh escapes him.

‘Is this the part where I wish you a good evening?’

She shakes her head in disbelief, her lips curling into a bemused smile.

‘You really are unbelievable…’

‘Oh we knew that already,’ he runs a gentle hand through her hair, letting it rest on her shoulder as he gazes down at the papers in front of her, ‘so, what have you been up to in the past couple of hours?’

She follows his gaze back to the pile, her brows furrowed.

‘Annotating contracts,’ she places the document down, a defeated sigh escaping her, ‘though I don’t seem to be making any headway. This is the tenth one, but I just feel like I haven’t made enough progress tonight.’

‘That makes two of us,’ he hesitates for a moment before continuing, ‘but I’m afraid that it is something we must do, and not a job that we can put off for much longer.’

‘I know; I guess I just wish that there weren’t so many contracts to go through.’

‘There’s usually not this many, I must admit…’ he chuckles softly, retrieving one of the papers from her pile; he holds it at arm’s length, skimming over the details before looking back at her, ‘though I am rather excited to see what may come from our new business partnership.’

‘As am I,’ she taps the paper with the edge of her pen, ‘though just looking at all of these makes my head hurt.’

‘Are you feeling alright?’

‘Yeah,’ she glances down at her hands, nervously adjusting the hem of her skirt as it has begins to ascend slowly up her thigh, ‘I was…I was actually wondering if you wanted to go out for dinner tonight? We’ve been at this for hours and I think we could both do with some time away from the office.’

‘I want nothing more than to spend the evening with you,’ he runs a gentle hand through her hair, ‘but right now it’s...’

‘You don’t want to go tonight.’

‘It’s just… it’s not a good time,’ he sighs defeatedly, resting a comforting hand on her shoulder, ‘when all of this is over, and I have confirmation that the trail is going ahead, then you and I will go somewhere; there’ll be no business calls…no deadlines,’ he inclines his head towards her, capturing her lips in a soft kiss. After a blissful moment, Adrian pulls away, his once sorrowful smile replaced with one of contempt. ‘I know it’s not ideal, but if any of that is to happen, then I need to buckle down; you know I can’t mix business with pleasure at the moment-’

‘It’s fine,’ she bites her lip, her cheeks reddening in her embarrassment, ‘we can just go another night.’

He responds with a curt nod, his gaze softening as he quickly notices her disappointment.

‘Thank you for being so understanding,’ he takes her hand, turning it over in his before pressing a tender kiss to her palm, ‘I honestly have no idea what I would do without you.’

She flashes him a sad smile before glancing back at the paperwork, now left begotten on her desk.

‘You would probably get a lot more done than what you are now,’ she tips her head subtly in the direction of the documents, ‘you might have managed to read over a couple more in the time that you’ve spent talking to me.’

‘Mmm that’s true,’ he kisses her hand once more, his lips ghosting her skin as they travel from the pad of her thumb to the inside of her wrist, ‘you seem to be quite the distraction.’

She collects the pile of completed contracts before pushing them against his chest, her voice taking an almost urgent tone.

‘Well, this distraction believes that it’s about time you go back to work, so that she too can continue doing the task that she has been set.’

‘Indeed,’ he sighs in feigned defeat, ‘these contracts won’t read themselves.’

He heads back in the direction of his office, but it is not long before he turns with suddenness, quirking a brow as he studies her questionable demeanor.

‘Was there a particular reason as to why you wanted to go tonight?’ He folds his arms across his chest, regarding her with a mixture of adoration and intrigue, ‘did they update the menu at one of the restaurants?’

She shakes her head, smiling faintly up at him before focusing her attention back on her work.

‘I just fancied a little break, that’s all.’

‘Okay,’ he tips his head in acknowledgment, though he is able to sense the slight irritability in her voice, ‘well make sure that you do take that break, alright? Even if it’s just to sit at your desk and create those little origami frogs that you used to make.’

She nods in haste, her smile appearing a little more genuine.

‘I will.’

He looks at her for a moment before retreating into his office, gently shutting the door behind him. Once she is sure that he has gone, Amy collects the paperwork from her desk, tapping the ends to align the documents, forming a neat pile in her hands. She opens the desk drawer in the hopes of finding room to store the papers, but a small card catches her attention; she reaches down for it, but stops abruptly as her ears pick up on the sound of movement in Adrian’s office. As the sounds begin to dissipate, she finds herself staring down at the card, decorated by images of flowers and cake. She gazes at it momentarily before tucking it away, letting out a despondent sigh as she watches it disappear from her line of sight.

‘Happy Birthday to me, I guess.’

Less than an hour later, Amy finds herself perched on the edge of Adrian’s desk, her legs dangling over the edge as she watches him read over her work, his brow furrowed in concentration.

‘Well?’

He looks up at her, his focused expression dissipating into one of contempt; he smiles, placing the document on his desk.

‘It is really good,’ he lets out a sigh of relief, ‘you did some incredible work; the attention to detail is exquisite,’ he raises a brow, ‘and the colour coordination is a nice touch.’

‘I thought you might like it,’ she runs her hand along her thigh, ‘I like to keep myself organised… and what better way to do so than having a system that, though can be occasionally flawed, has withstood the test of time and continues to impress the Boss.’

He chuckles softly, resting a gentle hand on her back, his fingertips slowly inching under the material of her jumper.

‘You could just make me a cup of coffee and I’d still be impressed by you.’

He shuffles closer, his hand travelling up her back; she gasps at the touch, playfully hitting his arm as she removes herself from beside him.

‘You do realise that your actions are not particularly professional right now, don’t you?’

He shrugs, his eyes glistening with mischief.

‘What you and I do behind closed doors is not exactly considered to be the business of my other employees, Amy…’

‘But we are still in your office!’

‘Yes,’ he smiles brazenly, his fingertips finding the curve of her waist; he pulls her closer, her knees mere inches from his chest, ‘but if my observations are correct, the door is closed.’

She quirks a brow.

‘But is it locked?’

He thinks for a moment, his mind lost in thought; after a minute, he sighs in defeat, removing his hand from underneath her clothing.

‘No, it isn’t.’

‘So… anyone could walk in if you think about it.’

He reaches up to caress her cheek, taking hold of her jaw as he moves closer, inclining his head towards hers; she subconsciously leans into his touch, meeting him halfway before connecting her lips to his. After a few seconds he pulls away, a satisfied smile tugging at the corner of his mouth as it lingers mere inches from her own.

‘Is that what you think? Or what you are hoping for…’

She smirks, capturing his lips once more; the kiss starts off as soft, but it is not long before Adrian deepens it, his fingers clasping onto her hair as he instinctively pulls her closer, moving her legs so that they are on either side of his hips.

‘Mmm…’ she sighs in contempt, ‘maybe a little bit of both.’

He rests his forehead against hers, a hearty laugh escaping him.  

‘One of these days, you are going to get me into trouble,’ he kisses the tip of her nose, ‘you know that, right?’

‘I count on it…Boss.’

The pair begin to get comfortable, but before long, the door to his office flies open, causing Adrian and Amy to break their focus; Lily enters the room, accompanied by a rather puzzled Kamilah. She takes a couple of steps forward before stopping, noticing the intimacy of the couple’s embrace. Her eyes widen at the sight, her mouth slightly agape in surprise.

‘Ah, well I see that this might not be the best time…’

Adrian clears his throat in annoyance, narrowing his brow as he glares at their unexpected visitors.

‘You know it is polite to knock, Lily.’

‘I know, but…’Lily shifts her attention between the pair, who stare back at her, the shock of the intrusion causing Amy’s cheeks to redden; she pulls away from Adrian, removing herself from his grasp, ‘I wanted to surprise Amy, and I thought that… well, knocking wouldn’t have the same affect.’

Adrian frowns in befuddlement.

‘Surprise her?’

She swiftly makes her way out of the room, returning only moments later with an abundance of parcels, wrapped delicately in brown paper. In her other hand, a lone balloon tied around her fingers, the helium taking it higher than originally anticipated.

‘HAPPY BIRTHDAY, AMY!’

Adrian remains silent, focusing his attention on the young vampire as he regards her in shock and disbelief. He turns to look at Amy, his eyes widening as the realization of the date dawns, ‘it’s...it’s your birthday?’  

She nods bashfully, bowing her head as if trying to avert his gaze; she begins to play with the hem of her skirt, her eyes trained on the threading. Adrian takes a step towards her, placing a gentle hand on the curve of her waist. 

‘Why didn’t you tell me?’ He reaches up to caress her cheek, running his thumb across her bottom lip, ‘it is nearly over…’

‘You were busy,’ she whispers softly, ‘there was too much to do here; it wasn’t important.’

‘Amy…’

‘Wait a minute…’ Lily chimes in, holding up her hands as if they are helping her to process what is happening before her; she looks between the pair, her voice tinged with shock and befuddlement, ‘are you telling me that Adrian FORGOT your Birthday? And you didn’t think to remind him?’

Amy shakes her head, nervously tugging at the sleeves of her jumper.

‘We had a lot to do today, and I didn’t want to bother him.’

‘You didn’t want to tell your boyfriend that it was your birthday… because he was busy?’

Lily looks at the faces around the room, her brows narrowing in confusion as she focuses her gaze on Adrian; he shuffles uncomfortably on his feet.

‘I honestly can’t believe what I’m hearing.’

‘Don’t try to make him feel any worse than he already does,’ Kamilah interjects, regarding Lily with an icy glare, ‘when you’re a CEO of a billion-dollar company, it’s easy to forget things…’

‘Like your own girlfriend’s birthday?’

Adrian lowers his gaze to the floor, the upset of forgetting evident in his expression; he runs a dejected hand through his hair, his palm resting at the nape of his neck. He exhales slowly, training his eyes on Amy as he focuses his attention on her once more.

‘The new dress that arrived this morning…the invitation to dinner…’ she nods; he lets out a defeated sigh, his voice lowering to a soft whisper, ‘Amy I… I’m so sorry.’

She remains silent for a moment before responding, shrugging halfheartedly.

‘It doesn’t matter,’ her previous excitable smile has disappeared, replaced with a nonchalant frown, ‘it isn’t important.’

She turns her attention back to Lily, her bashful demeanor soon dissipating into one of intrigue and giddiness.

‘Can we just focus on something else? Like maybe how beautifully wrapped these gifts are?’

‘Amy, I…’ he takes another step forward, his hand instinctively reaching for the small of her back, ‘I…I really am sorry.’

‘It really isn’t worth worrying about, Adrian,’ she tucks a strand of hair behind her ear, biting her bottom lip, ‘it’s just a day…’

‘But it’s the day you were BORN!’ Lily exclaims, her fingers loosening around the ribbon of the balloon as it floats up to the ceiling, ‘the day you were given to us.’

A bashful smile blesses Amy’s lips as she lowers her gaze to the floor, her cheeks a shade of crimson. ‘Given?’ She hesitates for a moment, a slight chuckle escaping her as she tries to conceal her embarrassment, ‘you’re making me sound like an object that you’ve gained over the years.’

‘Not an object,’ Lily skips over to her, energetically pushing a delicately wrapped parcel into her arms, ‘more like a gift.’

Amy begins to untie the ribbon, its golden threading shimmering in the light as she removes it from the package, fixing it into a bow around her wrist. She looks up at Lily, her words etched into her mind like a nostalgic pop song.

‘That’s so cheesy and you know it.’

‘Oh it is,’ Lily giggles, gesturing to the gift laid out before her, ‘but you know how poetically inclined I can be…’

Amy shakes her head, a soft giggle escaping her. 

‘You’re a goofball!’ 

‘Tell me something I didn’t know,’ she chuckles in excitement, gesturing to the present, ‘now come on, Ames; I’ve been waiting to give you this for ages! I even had to ask Kamilah to stash it away so that I didn’t cave in and move your Birthday forward a few days...’

Amy looks over at him, quirking a brow.

‘That insufferable, huh?’ 

‘She wouldn’t stop talking about it until I agreed,’ Kamilah runs her hand through her hair, cupping the nape of her neck, ‘and I didn’t want to find out what she had planned had I said no.’

‘I-’

‘I apologise for interrupting,’ Adrian takes another step forward, wrapping his arm around Amy’s waist, ‘but would it be possible for me to talk to Amy in private?’

Lily chuckles, clearly oblivious to his meaning.

‘Of course you can! We’re not exactly stopping you.’

He pinches the bridge of his nose in frustration.

‘I meant alone… in my office.’

Lily thinks on his words for a moment, clearly befuddled, but it isn’t long before the realization hits.

‘Oh!’ She gestures to the door, ‘you want us…to…’

‘Please.’

Kamilah places a gentle hand on Lily’s arm, carefully leading her out of the room. Adrian waits until they are out of earshot before closing the door behind them, swiftly turning his attention back to Amy.

‘Why didn’t you tell me it was your birthday?’

‘Because you… you were so busy, and-’

‘That’s not an excuse!’ He runs an agitated hand across his face, his gaze softening as he looks at her, his eyes laden with guilt, ‘I love you, I… I should have remembered.’

‘We all forget things from time to time…’

‘But not your birthday, Amy,’ he shakes his head in disbelief, a humorless laugh escaping him, ‘I would have planned something special; a candle-lit dinner…a trip to that cocktail bar that you’ve always wanted to visit…’ he bows his head, ‘instead I dragged you to my office and handed you dozens of contacts to annotate!’

‘It hasn’t been that bad…’

‘Hasn’t it?’ He looks up at her with suddenness, ‘I forced you to work, I… I told you that I was too busy to accompany you to dinner.’ He sighs, glancing at the present that lay discarded on his desk, ‘were you ever going to tell me? That I had forgotten…’

She shakes her head.

‘I pretty much knew that it had slipped your mind when you didn’t mention it this morning.’

‘And was I the only one? That forgot…’

She responds with a curt not. He exhales sharply, running a disappointed hand through his hair.

‘I am so sorry, Amy,’ he reaches up to caress her cheek, running his thumb across her bottom lip, ‘I will do everything in my power to make it up to you.’

‘You really don’t have to, Adrian. I told you it doesn’t matter.’

‘It does to me,’ he retorts, a rashness to his voice, ‘you mean the world to me, Amy; I cherish you with everything that I am, and I mean it when I say that I will make it up to you.’

She smiles sadly up at him, her fingers tugging at the lapels of his waistcoat; he wraps his arms around her, holding her close to his chest. 

‘Is that a promise?’

‘Yes,’ he rests his forehead against hers, leaning in to kiss the bridge of her nose, ‘it most certainly is.’

#choices: stories you play #playchoices #choices fanfic #choices bb #bloodbound #adrian raines #adrian x mc #choicesmaychallenge #day 11 #prompt #birthday