#and some people will see that same square and go Oh This Is High Art That Only Smart People Like Me Will Understand

[the-boy-branithar]

the thing these intellectual art Understanders never ever understand is that sometimes these emotional and intellectual artists deliberately make art that looks really boring and uninspiring to the average viewer and that feeling bored and uninspired by a piece of art is a valid emotional response to it because the nature of art is that it makes different people feel things and not everyone has the life experiences necessary to want to feel Intellectual and Superior to the lowly general public when they view art. Some people prefer art that is beautiful and interesting. Maybe Klein should have invented a better pigment. If he didn't want people to have a broad variety of responses to his piece, maybe he should have sold his Emotional and Intellectual painting to a private collector who would appreciate it Correctly instead of letting us idiots who Don't Get It look at it.

abstract and modern art haters are sooo snobby like klein literally Created an entirely new pigment and then painted a canvas in a way where the brush strokes wouldn't be visible. the insinuation that people with no skill could reproduce that is so annoying because unless you are skilled at color mixing and painting you definitely couldn’t lmao

[heyybaejjk]

MODERN AO'NUNG HCS — PT. 3

pairing. ao'nung x fem!reader

summary. human aonung hcs

warnings. none

masterlist. pt. 1 pt. 2

Mans definitely is going for an ATAR course and for his HSC ‼️‼️

I feel like the main classes he chose are:

- Music

- Art

- Maths

- English Advanced (only because you prob do it)

- Marine Studies (cmon now fishlips)

- SLR, the only non-ATAR subject because it's more of a chill subject.

Hates math with passion, only chose it because you chose it.

If he isn't in one of your classes then he loves to leave class at least five minutes early to walk to your class and wait for you

Some teachers have caught him walking out, but it's the second term of school, they're already used to him doing this

Term 1: "Miss, what the fuck is that right behind you? Is that a spider?!" Ao'nung screams frantically, pointing behind the female teacher with his eyes widened and mouth gaped.

"What!? What is it!?" The teacher yells as she turns around to the white wall that faces her. An empty, blank wall painted with nothing. Confused, she turns back around and sees a tall figure run out the door.

Term 2: "Miss, there's a big ass fucking spider on your shoulder!" Ao'nung yells, a slender finger pointing to the teacher's shoulder. "Ao'nung, leave already," The teacher rolls her eyes as she was already used to his stupid tricks.

"Oh, okay." 🧍‍♀️

During the break, all people see is 👫

If you do food tech as one of your classes, bro's begging for you to save him some food that you made in class.

"I had theory instead of prac today, I'm sorry, Nung. I didn't make anything today, but I made lunch," you giggle as your boyfriend's heavy weight drops on your back, pulling you into a hug. His long ass arm wrapping around your shoulder. "That teacher of yours is a stank ass liar-"

A cough from the sideline erupts, causing you both to turn your heads. There, stood a mid-thirty-year-old man, tapping his foot aggressively, eyeing your boyfriend down. "What was that, Ao'nung?"

Let's say you got into a fight once...

You ate that shit up.

Having a fine ass man like him, people can't help but stare respectfully

Others.. not so much.

Others really can not take the hint, or even the answer no. Especially, and specifically, a girl in your class named Ray. Yes, the same girl from before. A few months after the incident of Ray texting your man, after multiple times blocking her, it seemed she didn't care after she made a new account. Her non-stop texts weren't harmful at all until she sent a rayraybae: I'm better than her in so many ways, just let me in your room and I can prove it ;) No doubt your man screenshotted it and sent it to you straight away! 🤣👏

The very next day, you rock up to her class and confront her, to which she just laughs in your face. Already prepared to hit, you put your hair into a tight ass fucking bun and tie your hood up, then proceeding to punch her square in the face. Turning into a whole fight where students walk in for class, only to whip out their phones to record.

Let's bffr, it's a high school fight. It either turns into a whole ass fucking brawl or a 1v5 or wtv. (I've seen it at my school personally or on Twitter so 🤞) For the sake of this, let's say no one jumps in.

Along the sideline, you can hear Ao'nung screaming "Yeah! Yeah! Get her ass!"

When you're finally pulled away by Ao'nung you both bolt out of the room and out the gates.

You both aren't big fans of skipping school, but today seemed like an exception.

this is so booty cheeks and so short, I'm so sorry 😭😭♥️♥️♥️ @yourstrulyyyyy

[hannahssimblr]

Chapter Two (Part 2)

We sit in the beer garden of a lively pub near Smithfield square, and the sky is blue and perfect and birds are chirping high in the trees whose branches overhang the muraled walls. Izzy wants to get drinks for everyone, and when she asks me what I want I shrug. “Oh, I don’t really feel like drinking.” I say, not adding in the part about how I’ve been avoiding drinking alcohol at all in front of people I don’t know very well lately. 

“That’s fine.” She says immediately. “I’ll fetch you a club orange or something?”

“Yeah, that’d be nice.” She goes away then and I’m a bit startled. I was expecting her to force me to have something alcoholic, but she didn’t. She didn’t even ask me why I’m abstaining, and I didn’t have to make up some excuse about antibiotics. Nobody else seems to care about it either, and when she brings our drinks to the table on a little round tray, nobody makes any designated driver jokes, they just take their ciders and their beers and have them without even batting an eye at my fizzy drink. 

“So do you like NCAD?” Simon asks me, drawing me out of my own head. I nod. “Yeah, it’s alright. I preferred it in second year where we got to specialise into something more specific. The general nature of first year didn’t do it for me so much.”

“I was the same when I was there, you get lumped in with all the weirdos too.” He laughs, and so does Izzy, and I realise that NCAD being full of oddballs probably is a universal experience, rather than something specific to my year. 

“Was there someone in your year who made their final project using their own period blood?” Izzy wants to know, and I’m taken aback by her question. I wonder where she heard about Marnie’s menstrual cup sculpture.

“Yeah, there was.” 

“Yeah there’s at least one of them every year. They always love doing that.”

“In my year some lad made a film of him wanking himself off and put the stills from it on the walls.” Simon comments. 

“Oh my God.” Says Gabriel with disgust. “What is wrong with this college?”

“It’s just all these fine arts people in one big room together, it’s bound to get weird.” Izzy says. “When I specialised in print it was way more civilised.”

“My girlfriend did ceramics though.” Says Simon. “And there was a girl in hear class who made a cast of-”

“Enough!” Cries Gabriel. “I can’t hear about these depraved people. It was not like this for me, I hate it.”

Petra arrives then and gets herself a pint of cider, she’s carrying a little Mezzotint bag, and Gabriel wants to know what’s in it. 

“One of those ceramic bud vases that came in this morning.” She says. “Evie and I were admiring them.”

“Yeah Simon’s girlfriend did them.” Says Izzy. “A very nepotistic addition to the Mezzotint shop, in my opinion.” Then she punches his arm. “I’m joking, she’s brill.”

We go back to chatting, and I try not to think about how cool and intimidating every one of them is. I felt the same way on my first day in the studio two weeks ago, and it hasn’t faded much as I’ve gotten to know them. Izzy is talking about a gig that’s coming up in a couple of weeks that she’s rehearsing for. She sings with a band sometimes called Earthworm and makes us all promise to come and watch them play. I realise that in the two years I’ve lived in Dublin I’ve never gone to a gig. It feels like a very strange thing, considering how many opportunities there were, but Marnie or Dean were never interested in music, and so I wasn’t either. 

She’s talking about the songs they’re thinking about doing when Simon is distracted by the arrival of his girlfriend. “Oh, here she is.” He says with a grin, and we all look around to see a petite, dark haired girl come into the beer garden with a big pint of blackcurrant in her hand. I do a double take. That’s Michelle Tengu. That’s Jude’s ex. She comes over and settles into the seat next to Simon and he hooks his arm around her neck and pulls her into him to kiss her hair. 

“Hi guys.” She says in droll, northside cadence. “How are ye getting on?” I wait anxiously for her to notice me. Or not notice me, as there is every chance I left so little of an impression on her both times that we met, but she frowns at me with recognition. “Oh, hi.”

“That’s Evie, our intern.” Simon tells her.

“No, I actually know you.” She says. “You’re Jen’s friend, right? We met you a good while ago in a cocktail bar.”

“You did, yeah.” I say, and then hesitate. “How is Jen?”

“Yeah she’s… well, you know, the usual.”

“Oh right.” I don’t ask what she’s up to, because once I start talking about her, I’ll have to think about her, and thinking about Jen will always lead to thinking about Jude, and thinking too much about either her or Jude makes me feel completely sick with guilt. I haven’t spoken to either of them in over a year, and even though once, last year, I saw Jen in the deli queue in Supervalu, but I didn’t go over to say hello to her. I just paced through the aisles of the supermarket pretending to be looking for something until I saw her checking out and leaving. 

“Aw, Jen is the best.” Says Izzy. “We love her, what a sweetheart! I can’t believe you know her. This really is a small town.”

“Yeah it is…” I say, frowning into my Club Orange. For some reason I feel uneasy. Like it’s all about to start getting even smaller. 

Beginning // Prev // Next

[useless-bi-otch]

Cookies'n Cream - Chapter 14

Last chapter / MasterList / art by @aneenasevla

Chapter 14 - She-Wolf in Sheep's Clothing

Tomori had already seen, on several occasions, demonstrations of romantic interest in the Heavy Bakery premises. Girls who gave the guys they liked boxes full of chocolate on Valentine's Day, boys who reciprocated during White Day, little letters with sappy confessions being exchanged, the whole package. It was nothing new for someone who worked with customer service.

She just had never imagined that one day she would be one of those contemplated people, and much less that the interested party would be Ultimate Fight's heavyweight champion in person.

"Tomooori…," Tomoyo sighed, tired, on Tuesday morning, the day after the first visit she had received. "It's that Okubo Naoya guy again," She rolled her eyes as she approached the pantry window. Hiro, from the checkout area, checked the clock on the wall, arching an eyebrow.

“It's about the same time as yesterday. Just like a clock," He commented, to which Tomoyo turned to him, looking unimpressed.

"Have you been checking and memorizing his arrival times?"

"Tomoyo, sweetheart, every self-respecting gossiper has to check if the information he's going to pass on has a leg to stand on. If not, we lose all credibility."

The waitress rolled her eyes again as Kanami and Tomori peered through the pantry window; the former suspicious, the later with her heart a little frantic.

"Did he warn you this time?," The baker asked seriously, to which the sous-chef nodded.

"He did. He said he was just going to drop by to say hi and deliver something, before going to take care of some business," She explains. "Being a professional fighter involves some boring bureaucracies too."

"So the most exciting part of his Tuesday will be chatting with you? Girl, you're really moving up in the world, huh," Hiro jokes, leaning forward in an attempt to see through the bakery's glass doors. "What did he bring this time? A wreath of roses? A Prada bag? A diamond necklace from his private mines back in South Africa?"

"Cut that out, Hiro!," Tomori turns red. "I asked him not to bring anything that was too expensive. And he's not a millionaire or anything, he just earns a lot as a MMA champion..."

"But to be able to buy that box of chocolates you shared with us and act like it's no big deal, it's because he has lots of cash in the bank. Why he still hasn't paid for a hair replacement treatment is a mystery."

"He shaves his head because he prefers it that way. He said so in an interview... oh, stop laughing, you...!," She complained, her voice getting high-pitched, when Hiro opened a smirk. Kanami shakes her head and claps her hands quickly to get their attention.

"Take it easy, you two, we don't want to disturb the customers' meals. Did you say he's to wait in the back or in the square nearby, Tomoyo?"

"I didn't have to. He went to the back on his own," The girl pointed to the front door with her thumb. "And he only brought flowers this time. I didn't pay attention to what kind of flowers, but they were red too."

"Hunf. You'd think there'd be more room for creativity in that dome head, but apparently it's only good for putting a cap on."

"Shut your pie hole, Hiro!"

When her lunch break came, Tomori headed to the alley at the back of the bakery, taking care not to wake up Paikon, who was dozing off while hugging his inseparable broom in front of the locker rooms. She didn't want to have another one of her gifts destroyed. And as Tomoyo said, Okubo was there waiting for her, holding a bouquet of intact flowers in his arms. And it was red carnations this time. Holy crap..."

"Miss Uta!," He greeted her excitedly, waving, almost dropping the bouquet, but catching it in time with a high-pitched exclamation. Tomori couldn't hold back her laughter. She wasn't succeeding anymore, as much as she wanted to, so she wouldn't even keep trying.

"Hi," She approached, waving more measuredly. "Were the flowers spared the fatherly fury of a forty-year-old janitor this time?"

"Yes, and I made sure of it," He announced proudly, displaying the bouquet as he would display a trophy. "I protected them as I've been protecting my belt all these years."

“Then you certainly did a great job.” She approached, reaching out and taking the bouquet from his hands. “Thank you. And carnations? Very original..."

"I know, right! Totally escaping the cliché, always surprising, as the King of Combat always does," He puffed out his chest, all proud of himself. And then he leaned towards her, asking with some anxiety, "So, did I get it right?"

Tomori laughs, lifting her chin with playful superiority.

“Nope. Not even close."

"Oh, c'mon!," He lamented, pouting. "But they're red, smell nice and look like roses..."

"And what does one thing have to do with the other?"

"Isn't that the kind of flower women like?"

"Oooh nooo…," She widened her eyes in mock indignation. "Are you stereotyping women, Mr. Okubo? What a bad thing to do! You're not going to tell me you also think we all like pink, cute little animals like kittens and bunnies, and desserts with enough sugar to cause an insulin spike, right?"

"I already know that the bit about desserts doesn't apply to you, but the rest…," He leaned towards her, frowning and jutting out his lower lip. And then he decreed, “Yeah, you definitely like pink and cute animals."

"Oh, you think so? And how can you say that with all that certainty?," She turned her head to the side, one hand on her hip. He mimicked the gesture, but he did so while smiling.

"It's because cute creatures tend to recognize and get along with each other."

She bit her mouth, blushing a little, again doing that 'tucking a strand of hair behind her ear' gesture he loved. And then she turned his face away with a snort.

“Nice try. Didn't work though.

"Mulish woman…," He grumbled, but she was pleased to see that he didn't seem the least bit irritated. "I wonder if this is some scheme you came up with to keep getting flowers, again and again, with the pretense I still haven't figured out which are your favorites..."

"It's not, but what if it was? Would you stop because of that?," She asked, and would never admit that she was relieved when he replied, his expression determined:

"Hell no. Just seeing that little face of yours getting all red makes the failed attempts worth it."

She only got even redder at that, but she hid it very well by threatening to call Paikon to try more blows with the garbage bags against him.

Later, when they said goodbye and he went to do hos own thing, she returned to the Heavy Bakery with the bouquet in hand and the uneasy feeling that the universe was playing tricks on her. Carnations... my goodness…he couldn't have known that carnations symbolized fascination and love, could he?

She thought about that throughout the entire shift, and when she got back home and put the flowers in a vase, along with the camellias, she found herself admiring them and hoping they would take a while to dry. They really had brightened the atmosphere up...

The next day, Wednesday, Tomori and the rest of the bakery contingent received a rather unexpected visit: Rihito, Himuro and Kaneda, appearing together for the first time since their last visit, that day when they had to kick out inconvenient customers.

"Look, it's the return of the Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse," Hiro commented in a low tone when he saw the three of them entering, the bell on top of the door ringing. "They just forgot to bring Pestilence with them."

"As they should! Hunf...," Kanami crossed her arms, frowning. "If they came here to try to convince us to let that idiot inside the bakery again..."

"I don't think so, Kanny. Himuro and Kaneda didn't try to when they showed up that other Wednesday," Tomori commented. "They must be here just to eat.

"And the blond one, Rihito? You said yourself that he's the type to get what he wants through persistence."

"Yeah... I don't know about him," She admitted, making a face. "But I prefer to give him the benefit of doubt. I told you, he was nice to me that Sunday. We spent some fun hours together."

"And…," Kanami hesitated a bit before asking "He didn't hit on you once?"

"No. He seems to be one of those men who follows a strong masculine code, you know? Friends first, women later," She shrugged. And then she blushed a little. "He even told me that he'd never 'back-stab' his friend..."

"Hunf... I'll believe it when I see it. Oh, welcome," She greeted when the three men approached the counter. "What will you order today?"

She was doing a good job of acting natural, Tomori had to admit. Himuro and Kaneda tried to follow the cue, while Rihito stayed behind, his hands shoved in the pockets of his sweatshirt, looking a little shy. Still, he smiled when he saw Tomori, placing two fingers to his temple and pulling them apart in a discreet greeting. She smiled and waved in response.

"Good afternoon, Miss Kanami, Miss Uta," Kaneda was the first to approach, smiling friendly. "I really liked the BLT, so I think I'll  order it again, coffee included."

"I'll have a turkey sandwich, a chocolate milkshake and a slice of that cheesecake, please. What about you, Rihito?," Himuro looked at the other over his shoulder. "What will you get?"

"Uuh…," Rihito hesitated for a few seconds, looking to the side and scratching the back of his neck before apparently making up his mind. “Himuro spoke well of the katsu sandwich, so I'll have one. I'll also have a soda and a small box of those sissy cookies," He smiles, and Kanami and Hiro roll their eyes, while Himuro and Kaneda look at him disapprovingly. Tomori, on the other hand, allowed herself a chuckle.

"You decided my cookies are no threat to your manhood then? I'll see that as progress."

"More like conformity," Rihito shrugged. "But come on, isn’t there any way to bake some with more manly designs? You like martial arts, don't you? So why not bake some in the shape of boxing gloves or championship belts..."

"They're more complex designs and take longer to make. Not to mention that they don't sell as well as these," She explained while indicating some cookies on the food display. "But  you're free to place a private order with us, if you want."

"You accept private orders then? We'll remember that," Kaneda nodded, and Lihito excitedly imitated him.

"Yes! Okubo will be happy to know that he doesn't have to go into the bakery to order Miss Uta's cookies, he misses them so much he even asked us to bring some-"

"I knew it!," Kanami huffed irritably, slamming her hands on the counter, making everyone close to her jump. "You really came at the behest of that bald gorilla, didn't you?"

Himuro and Kaneda turned their heads towards Rihito, glaring at him irritably, whereupon he flinched, gritting his teeth and grinding through them.

"Oh, shit… me and my big-ass mouth."

"You did, didn't you?" I should've known...!," The baker snarled, and Himuro and Kaneda quickly waved their hands in appeasing gestures.

"We didn't come for that, Miss Kanami! Visiting the bakery was our decision, with nothing to do with the drama in Okubo's life," Kaneda assured, to which Himuro nodded quickly in agreement.

"Yes, it's simply because we like this place's food, we swear!"

"Hunf...," Kanami crossed her arms, frowning. Tomori, on the other hand, leaned a little over the counter, asking with some agitation:

"Mr. Okubo didn't come then? Is it just the three of you today?"

The three men looked at each other uncomfortably and crossed their arms at the same time, as if they had been rehearsing this all morning. Kanami pinched the bridge of her nose with her index finger and thumb, while Hiro chuckled.

"You guys would be a huge success if you formed a barbershop quartet, you know that? Hello my baby, hello my honey, hello my ragtime gal!"

"Haha, we kind of already have a band, but your suggestion is interesting," Kaneda scratched the back of his neck with an embarrassed smile. Himuro just snorted.

"Not for me. The costumes are tacky as hell."

“Not to mention gay as fuck,” Rihito wrinkled his nose. Hiro grinned devilishly, propping his elbows on the counter and his chin in his hands.

"Yeah, it wouldn't happen anyway, especially since they'd have to make you a custom one, big guy. I can only imagine the buttons flying, your sweaty pecs being displayed in the middle of the show..."

"I told you to cut that shit out!," Lihito screeched, widening his eyes and covering his chest with his hands. Himuro and Kaneda laughed, while Tomori, very surprised, asked:

"Wait, you guys have a band? Seriously?"

"We do! You've already-"

"Hey, hey, don't change the subject," Kanami commanded, pointing with her index finger at the three men. "That bald bastard came with you, didn't he? He asked you to try to convince me to let him in, I presume..."

"No, Miss Kanami, he didn't," Kaneda answered quickly, again raising his hands. "He knows he's not welcome here. He's at the square nearby and only asked us to let Miss Uta know he's waiting for her."

"And with more flowers, by the way," Himuro commented, rolling his eyes a little. "He's already become a loyal customer of that flower shop, the saleswoman must jump in joy every time she sees him open his wallet..."

Tomori ignored the last comment, focusing instead on the fact that Okubo had come to see her, for the third consecutive day, and with yet another gift. She wasn't going to deny that she was taking advantage of his determination to win her back so she could be spoiled a bit, and also because watching him struggle brought her a vindictive satisfaction. But that was a bit too much, dammit. He didn't need to spend loads of money like that...

"Hunf. Apparently, opening his wallet is something he does often and without much consideration," Kanami commented, and Rihito, still looking suspiciously at Hiro, shrugged.

"Yeah, he has money and he's pretty open-handed with it. Even more so now, when he found something worth investing in," He looked sideways at Tomori. "Speaking of which, Aunty… and I'm the one asking, he didn't tell me to say anything… can't you cut him some slack? He did a shitty thing, but he's sorry and willing to do anything to fix it," He assured. "Not to mention that... I don't know if you know, but I... uh... what happened was partially my fault-"

"I know. Tomori told us everything," Kanami interrupted him without pretense. "But that doesn't change anything. Did you force him to drink?"

“Uh… no."

"Did you force him to take the car and drive under the influence?"

"No, I even tried to stop him-"

"Did you intend to ruin their date?"

"No!"

"Then that's it. You were pretty damn stupid to suggest something like that, but at the end of the day, the responsibility rests entirely with him. Your friend has to prove that he can be better than he's shown to be, and until then I don't want to hear a single word about it. Is that clear?," She pointed at Rihito, who straightened his shoulders and swallowed hard.

"Y-Yes ma'am."

"Good. So shut up, go sit down and have a good meal! And that goes for both of you too!," She points to Himuro and Kaneda, who straighten their backs with the speed of soldiers fearing reprisal from their general. She nods satisfied, "Your orders will be ready soon. Now if you excuse me...," And she returned to the kitchens, practically marching. They followed her with their eyes, a bit astonished, which made Tomori laugh awkwardly.

"Just like television channels, am I right? You'll get used to it. Anyway...," She leaned over the counter, now almost whispering, "Do you really have a band? Like, the three of you and Mr. Okubo?"

"Uh… yes, we do," Himuro was the one who replied, being the first to recover from the astonishment that was being bossed around by a woman who's smaller than him, "It's been a while since we played, but we've managed to hit the top charts with a few songs three or four years ago..."

"And I'm sure we can do that again, if we resume rehearsals," Rihito says, speaking in the same tone as Tomori, as if he feared that Kanami would come back from the kitchens and threaten him because of the noise. She smiled.

"I had no idea! I've been following Mr. Okubo for years and I've never known he has a band..."

"Hey, hey, just 'cause he's the most famous of us it doesn't mean the band is his," Rihito pouted, puffing his cheeks a little. Kaneda put a finger to his chin.

"Come to think of it, I don't think we've ever set a leader for the band, have we?"

"Do we even need to? It's basic common sense that the vocalist is always the leader," Himuro shrugged, and that sparked a small argument.

"In your dreams, you man-whore! The vocalists are just the face of the band, they don't do half of the heavy lifting!"

"You're just jealous 'cause with a face like that you could never be the 'face of the band'."

"Say that again and I'll tear your mug apart until it no longer can be the face of anything!"

"C'mon, you two, you're disturbing the other customers..."

"You're not the leader of anything either, you lil' fucker!"

"But I didn't say anything! That's what I get for trying to be the only functioning adult in this group..."

Tomori could only laugh, a hand over her mouth, as Hiro shook his head slowly."

"If that's how they act when discussing leadership claims, let's hope that no Yoko Ono  wannabe comes between 'em."

“Leave them alone, Hiro. Anyway, it's really cool that you have a band," She smiled excitedly. ​​"I'd love to hear you play one of these days."

"Oh, but that's what I was going to say before aunty interrupted me," Rihito smiled as if he hadn't threatened and cursed his friends seconds ago. "You've heard us playing before."

"Huh?," She blinked, stunned. "I have? When? I never even saw you guys with musical instruments or anything..."

"Not on live. But you've heard us all the same," Himuro smiled too. "Remember that ride we gave you that Wednesday, when Okubo invited you to the date?"

"I remember," She nodded with a pout. It was still hard to remember that particular day. "We came talking and listening to an album by a band I didn't know. Maximum something, I don't know..."

She fell silent when she saw the amused smiles on their faces. And then her eyes widened as she understood.

"... Oh."

And when it was time for her lunch break, the first thing that came out of her mouth when she arrived at the square and saw Okubo waiting for her on that same bench was not a greeting, but a:

"When were you going to tell me that you and your friends had a band?"

Okubo, holding a bouquet of what she recognized as lotus flowers (holy shit, that had to be a joke), stopped smiling at her question, his free hand halfway up in a wave. He blinked, stunned.

"Huh?"

"Don't 'huh' me. You heard me," She replied flatly, hands on her hips, her lower lip jutting out. "I was in a car with the four of you for almost thirty minutes, listening to your band's album, having no idea that you were the ones who were playing. Was that a prank you guys played on me or what?"

"Uuh…okay, first of all: good afternoon to you too," He finally recovered from his surprise, raising his hand in a sarcastic wave. "Second of all: where did that come from? Did Rihito, Himuro and Kaneda say something or..."

"They talked about that in passing after Hiro made a joke involving a barbershop quartet…"

"Wow, a barbershop quartet? Not a bad idea!," He exclaimed, suddenly excited. "People love that stuff, especially chicks! Would you like that? I can convince the guys to show up like that with me in front of the bakery next time! Hello my baby, hello my-"

"No! Please, don't…," She interrupted him, the thought leaving her kinda horrified, and at the same trying to hold back the urge to laugh, "I can accept the flowers, but this is too much."

"But… aren't you upset that I never said I have a band?," He asked, confused. "I thought that was what you wanted. A promise of improvement through a song. It's kinda corny, but if it's for you, I'll do it."

She felt her face heat up furiously, her traitorous heart beating like a drum." No, you- you don't need to, really. And I'm not upset, I'm just…I'm just feeling like the four of you had fun at my expense that day.”

Okubo let out a fart-like sound through his mouth before turning his face to the side, trying to hide his laughter.

"It- It wasn't that, I swear… it's just that you seemed to be enjoying the songs so much that we didn't want to ruin the magic of it. I planned to tell you on that date-"

And then he fell silent, tensing, his smile dying out. He turned to Tomori apprehensively, whereupon she lowered her head, looking to the side in embarrassment. She then cleared her throat, shifting her weight from one foot to the other.

"Well, I know now. And I'm glad I liked it, because if I hadn't and if I voiced my opinion, it would’ve been pretty awkward."

Okubo ended up laughing, embarrassed, his free hand automatically going to the back of his head.

"Haha, yeah! But we would've take it as constructive criticism, if it was said nicely. Like when you tried our rice balls..."

"Yeah...," She ended up shrugging. She didn't want to deal with that discomfort at the time. "But it doesn't change the fact that I was deceived. You guys probably made fun of me all the way back..."

"Damn… what can I do to fix this?," He asked, leaning towards her. "Arranging a private concert with the guys, made just for you, would be enough?"

"Would you do this for me?," She ended up smiling. "That's very sweet. But I'm not sure playing for a single spectator would be enough motivation to bring back Maximo... Maxima..."

"Maximum The Dogegencho."

"Oh, yes… seriously, what kind of name is that?"

"Hey, it's not that bad! It's better than other suggestions they've given. And anyway, none of them accepted Okubo Naoya and Friends.”

"… Yeah, Maximum The Dogegencho definitely sounds better now."

"Argh, and you still call yourself my fan!"

Tomori couldn't hold back her laughter any longer, and Okubo ended up not resisting either, despite his annoyance. They laughed together, not paying attention to the strange looks they received from the other passers-by in the square, even having a brief coughing fit together. She managed to control herself faster than he did, however. She still needed to show a modicum of dignity. She really didn't want him to think that things would go back to the way they were so easily.

"Anyway…," She managed to mutter after clearing her throat again. "I- I'll think about your offer. But I really didn't know you played...?"

"Bass. Rihito is the lead guitarist, and Kaneda learned to play drums just for the band. Himuro is on guitar and vocals, of course," He rolled his eyes a little. "He's the one with the most refined voice and the most marketable face, so to speak. Fucking pretty boy..."

Tomori chuckled again, one hand over her mouth.

"Yeah, Himuro is really handsome," She conceded, enjoying his sulky, jealous face. And then she added, "But I always liked the musicians better. Their quick fingers seem to be great for all sorts of things..."

She allowed herself a few more seconds of self-indulgent amusement as she stared at his stunned expression, but didn't give him time to process the meaning of her words, pointing and asking, "Anyway, are they for me?"

He blinked dazedly, not understanding. And then he followed the direction of her finger, remembering the bouquet in his arms.

"What- oh yes! And who else would they be for?," He handed her the flowers, trying to regain his composure. "They aren’t red this time, I tried to shake it up a bit…"

"Good choice. Lotuses smell so good!," She brought the bouquet close to her face, closing her eyes and inhaling for a long time. "More people should appreciate them and consider them a good gift..."

"So I got it right?"

"No, but thanks anyway."

"Aargh!," He grabbed his head dramatically. "Damn, this is so hard! How am I supposed to get it right if you don't give me a single clue?," He questioned, frustrated. And then he snorted when she laughed again. "Forget it. I won't give up that easily. I'll still have the privilege of seeing your face getting all red when I finally get it right. Mark my words."

"I'll always be here, waiting, until that day comes," She assured before she could control her own tongue. Well, it was true anyway. She wanted to make his life difficult, but not based on lies. And if it meant more gifts like that...

They talked some more, until hunger kicked in and she had to return to the bakery to eat. She didn't look back after saying goodbye, hugging the bouquet, afraid he would see the intense redness of her face.

It couldn't possibly be on purpose. The saleswoman was definitely suggesting flowers based on the information he was giving; maybe he's saying he's trying to win someone back or something. She refused to believe that he knew that lotus flowers symbolized the longing for a loved one. The possibility that he knew about it was too much for her to bear.

And that went on for the rest of the week. On Thursday, Okubo appeared in the square with a bouquet of white anemones (sincerity). And on the present day, Friday, he arrived at the back of the bakery with a bouquet of forget-me-nots (true love). By that time, Tomori was already wanting to scream.

“Let me guess… I didn't get it right, did I?," He deduces, sounding almost resigned, when she accepts the flowers and looks at them with a neutral expression. She sighs and tries to smile.

"No. But honestly, at this point it doesn't even matter anymore. I like flowers, period. I'm happy when I get them..."

"Of course it matters! I've decided that I'm gonna try to get to know you better, and if I don't even know what your favorite flowers are, how can I achieve that?," He asks rhetorically, his face darkening in his determination, and Tomori almost melts with the heat that rose in her neck.

“For the love of God, please, stop!”, she almost begs, but prefers to keep that plea in her thoughts. How could she continue to be angry and take advantage of him when he was being so adorable? It was so fucking unfair to her!

"I know, but this is getting a little too much, y'know?," She gestures to the flowers in her arms, embarrassed. "Not that I don't like receiving them, but my house is getting full of flowers, Mr. Okubo. Soon I'll become a plant mom capable of making Hiro jealous!"

“Uuh…” He blinks, that burst of energy seeming to dissipate. He lowers his arms, suddenly uncertain. "I… sorry, I didn't know the flowers were being a nuisance."

"They aren't. I told you I like them. But...," How would she be able to explain that his adorable determination and all the flowers with hidden meanings he had been giving her were breaking more and more of her will to remain angry and resentful? "I don't want you spending tons of money just to get closer to me. Seriously, I'm just a cook at a small bakery in one of Tokyo's many commercial areas. I don't think I'm worth all that..."

"Sure you are!," He raises his voice, indignant, making her jump a little. He notices her astonished look and more than quickly quiets down, embarrassed. "I mean… I don't mind, really. It may not seem like it, but I'm enjoying this game we came up with. And I won't deny it, it's kind of an excuse for me to keep showing up here too," He sighs. "Without that, what other excuse do I have to come see you without getting death glares and veiled threats in return?"

"You don't need excuses. Just show up and that's it," She gestures uncertainly. "You're already getting death glares and threats one way or another, so it doesn't matter."

"So…," He frowns a little. "You don't want me to bring gifts anymore? If not, that's fine. It's just... how am I going to try to get closer without it?"

"I don’t need gifts anymore to agree to spend time with you," She guarantees. "Just you showing up like that, with all that disposition…"

"Is that really enough?"

Tomori hesitates at this. And after thinking for a few seconds, she sighs again.

"Look, if you really want to do that… remember how I told you once that Saturday is my personal grocery shopping day?"

"Yes. We even bumped into you at the market one of those Saturdays," He comments, a bit confused. "Why?"

"Well, the end of the month is coming, and so is my pay. I'll be able to fill my pantry up," She explains, smiling with a certain apprehension "And since I don’t have a car and my cart will be more full than usual..."

He blinks, flustered. And then his eyes widen when he finally understands.

"Uh… You want my help with grocery shopping? For real?"

"If you don't want to, that's fine. I can manage on my own."

"No, I can help! But…," He pauses for two seconds, seeming to choose his next words carefully. "Don't you prefer Miss Kanami's company? She understands more about these things than I do, and maybe you'll feel more comfortable too."

Tomori concedes with a nod. He wasn't wrong in thinking that grocery shopping with Kanami would be faster, more fruitful and they'd be less likely to overspend. But still...

"Indeed. But it's not Kanny, one of my best friends, who I need to get to know better, in a casual environment full of witnesses," She says, half joking, half serious. "And I think this would be a good opportunity. A good time together, away from the bakery. That way you feel less watched, and then I'll have the opportunity to see how you act when there are few known eyes around. And also being sober in the meantime."

Okubo blinks again, astonished. He opens and closes his mouth a few times before wetting his lips with his tongue. His gray eyes now seemed to glow with hope.

"Wait, so- so this is a-"

"No, it's not a date."

"... Oh," And he deflates again, lowering his head. Tomori almost feels sorry for him. Almost. She chuckles.

"Try to see this as a casual walk between people who are getting to know each other. Life is made up of mundane things like that, happening at random, you know? And it can be fun too, as it was that Saturday."

"Yeah. Fun...," He pouts, sounding disbelieving. And then he smiles, seeming to recover some of his bravado as he leans towards her. "Well, I'll take it. If this isn't a date, but a favor from a friend, does that mean I can ask for something in return? If not, things will be very unfair for me, you know."

“You're getting cooking and cost-effective lessons… and okay, I can make you a box of cookies as a thank you too,” She snorts when he raises an eyebrow. “Sounds good enough?"

"It sure does. So we're settled, Miss Uta," He announces, rubbing his hands, "Can I pick you up at the bakery after your shift?"

"No need to. We can meet at the supermarket, the same one where we met that Saturday. I want to see you there at half past six, seven o'clock at the most," She warns. "Markets close earlier on weekends."

"I swear on my belt that I won't be late this time," He raises a hand, as if making an oath before a jury. "I'll love spending time with you."

“I wouldn't say that with all that certainty. Rihito, Himuro and Kaneda won't be there to distract you, and monthly grocery shopping can be pretty tedious..."

"But I'll be with you, won't I? As I have been all these days," He smiles more. "And absolutely none of them have been boring."

Tomori takes a deep breath, her face heating up again. She had to get out of there, and quickly, before the urge to kiss him got bigger than the urge to follow in Kanami's footsteps and punch him.

"If- If you say so… it's all settled then," She repeats his words, nodding solemnly. "I'll see you tomorrow, at the Kinokuniya Market door."

"Great. Good afternoon to you, Miss Uta," He again makes that gentlemanly gesture of taking his cap off to her. Tomori bites her lip to keep from laughing.

"Likewise. And thanks for the flowers," She touches the bluish petals of the forget-me-nots gently, "Even though you failed every attempt, I'm still very happy."

"I've failed every attempt so far," He raises an index finger, his eyes full of promises. "I won't give up. You'll see."

She doesn't try to talk him out of it, having already learned it would be a waste of time. They say goodbye, and as she returns to the bakery through the back door, she can't stop admiring the bouquet. All those failed attempts and their veiled symbology were embarrassing... but she would be lying if she said that they didn't make her days happier, and her house, much more colorful and fragrant.

* * *

Fortunately, Kinokuniya Market was not usually crowded on a late Saturday afternoon, so Okubo had no trouble finding a parking spot. He gets out of the car, locking it and admiring his surroundings, his hands in his pants pockets.

He remembered the last time he was there like it was yesterday. Rihito, Himuro, Kaneda and himself ,wandering around looking for the best ingredients to make rice balls, his jealous contemplations about Tomori's fan loyalty, his ridiculous despair at seeing her, the fun time they spent together while she helped them with their shopping... shit, it felt like a lifetime ago. Things had changed a lot since then. He had changed. And the way he saw her too.

He walks across the parking lot, looking for Tomori. When he doesn't see her at first, he pulls his phone out of his pocket (that piece of crap was even more cracked, it would soon be unusable) moves a finger to send her a message. But the device itself did not give him a chance.

"Dame da neeee! Dame yo, Dame na no yoooo..."

He jumps, ears burning a little when some people who are also crossing the parking lot towards the market give him strange looks. He presses the end call button at the same time he hears a laugh, high and melodious, approaching from behind him.

"I swear, this is the most effective detector ever created by men."

He turns quickly, being immediately overcome by a mixture of annoyance and joy when he sees her approaching in the parking lot, smiling mischievously, showing her phone with an air of mockery that made her hideously adorable. Okubo immediately straightens his back and sticks out his chest, trying to put on some dignity.

"Yeah, and the loudest. I swear, I would switch ringtones if it weren't for the emotional attachment I have with it," He gives a short bow. "Good night, Miss Uta! Are you…wow…,” is all he manages to say, his eyes widening a little. She crosses her arms and places one leg in front of the other, pouting sheepishly.

"What? This? It's no big deal, it's just old, baggy clothes that I'm using while the newer ones are in the laundry..."

“If that's the case, I hope your newer clothes need trips to the laundry more often,” he can't help but think, like the pervert he was. But who could blame him? She was wearing a short-sleeved shirt and a miniskirt, for god's sake! It was nothing outrageous, but he had gotten used to seeing her wearing pants or skirts that reached her knees when he visited her at the bakery. Now he had a good glimpse of her legs. And damn, what legs...!

"No! That's enough! Stop it, you worthless pervert! You decided that you were going to try to be better than that for her, so you better start now!”, his conscience ordered him, and Okubo did his best to keep his expression neutral and not let on the turmoil his head had turned into.

"Yeah…," He nods slowly. "Okay, but still… damn, you look beautiful wearing anything.

“…Okay, forget it. Start from the next few seconds on, you idiot.”

He stays there, cursing himself in his thoughts, and that's why it takes him a while to notice how Tomori had shrunk, seeming to get even smaller in front of him. She puts a hand on her chest, over her clothes, her face very flushed.

"Ugh, I called you to help me with my montly grocery shopping! Not to whip me mercilessly with that silver tongue!," She hisses through her teeth, and then puffs out her cheeks. "Control yourself, sir!"

"Sorry! I'll keep quiet, I swear," He promises, forming an X over his lips with his fingers, trying not to let his incorrigible mind overthink the double meaning of her words. "I don't want to piss off the teacher, not when I'm finally going to have the opportunity to be her only student."

Tomori blinks. And then she laughs, looking a little out of breath, shaking her head.

"Was having to share my attentions that upsetting?"

"When I need to share your attentions with a little smartass who hides he can cook only to get compliments, a GoGo Boy wannabe who isn't satisfied until he's banged half the district, and a human dog who lives in a perpetual state of heat? Without a doubt."

This makes her laugh even louder; she even snores, throwing her head back a little. And seeing her happy like that made Okubo forget his perverted conjectures pretty quickly. Her smile had his undivided attention now.

“Damn, she’s so cute!”

"Oh… ooh, my god…," She gasps after controlling herself, one hand on her stomach. "If someone hears you saying these things, they'll never guess you're talking about your friends."

"My best friends. And I probably wouldn't be on good terms with them again if it weren't for you,” he says without batting an eye, and this time, she manages to blush just a little.

"Yeah… I'm happy about that," She comments as they walk side by side towards the market. "I don't want to be the cause of a fight between friends who are so close and loyal to each other."

"Yeah, there's a reason why we say that Rihito is an anthropomorphized dog.

"Hahaha, not just him. Himuro and Kaneda also care about you. They were very worried when they showed up at the bakery, that Wednesday, trying to contact you and Rihito and not succeeding," She tells him, without looking at him. "It was one of the reasons that convinced me to listen to you, you know? Your friends didn't try to justify your actions or pressure me. They are decent people…”

She didn't complete the sentence, but there was no need. Okubo stares at her with surprise and a little fascination.

"Really? Not even Rihito?

"No, not even him," She shakes her head. "Look, I'm not gonna lie, I used to think he was an idiot-"

"Keep thinking that, because you’re not wrong.”

"Oh c'mon, that's mean, hahaha!," She laughs again "No, I'm- I'm serious. I thought he was the kind of idiot that just gets on your nerves. Not the cute, funny type that just needs a few nudges in the right direction to get it going. I'm glad I was wrong. He's a nice guy. Himuro and Kaneda too."

"And… And so am I?," he asks hopefully, giving a little, shy smile. Tomori looks at him sideways as if sizing him up.

“That's what I've been trying to figure out all this week. Now let's go inside, the weather is starting to turn bad," She looks up as he follows her. And indeed, dark, heavy clouds were fast approaching the horizon, blotting out the light of the setting sun. Another summer storm, by the looks of it. And that made Okubo realize something, his eyes widening a little.

"Hey, wait a minute…," He starts, staring at her a bit stunned. "Did you know it was going to rain today?"

“Well, the weather forecast for the weekend gave rain showers in the late afternoon almost for granted,” She shrugs, and it seems like a very deliberate gesture. He blinks.

"And since you don't have a car or a license..."

She looks at him over her shoulder, fluttering her eyelashes. And then she giggles coquettishly, quickening her pace to walk in front of him, humming softly as she checks the contents of her purse.

Okubo wanted more than anything to be indignant, to be offended at having been clearly manipulated. But he couldn't, like the idiot he was. He was still flabbergasted, processing the fact that he had been made a helper and personal  by this woman without her having to devise a far-fetched plan to outsmart him. She only had to sweeten it with the right words and he were already wrapped around her little finger.

“Who knew such a cute and sweet girl could be so calculating when she want to...”

He wonders if this was some kind of punishment for his deplorable actions. Or if she was wanting to test his commitment. But he didn't feel constrained, and the prospect of spending hours beside her, doing something as mundane as grocery shopping, didn't fill him with annoyance. On the contrary. He ends up laughing with himself.

“Heh. Whatever your plan was, it backfired, lady.”

"Wow. Aren't you a little smartpants?," He comments sarcastically as he accompanies her "You got a ride and a helper just for the price of a rather unwanted company."

“It's not unwanted, but yes, that was the plan. I'm such a genius that sometimes even I can't stand myself," She jokes, sticking her tongue out at him over her shoulder. "And like you're not happy about being able to spend some time with me."

“That's my line. Doing something as mundane as grocery shopping, alongside Ultimate Fight's heavyweight champion, is no small feat," He smiles with a certain smugness. "Just don't get mad at me if the paparazzi photograph us together and get the wrong idea, please."

“Considering all the missed opportunities they've already had, I wouldn't worry about it right now,” she comments casually as the automatic doors open before them, the cool, market-scented air welcoming them, “And martial arts, as a niche, aren't as popular as the music, film or soap opera industry. You don't see reporters chasing fighters up and down to the point where they have to go undercover or something."

"Are you calling me a sub-celebrity? Damn, that's mean...," He pouted. Tomori didn't seem to be moved too much, smiling at his trickery.

"I'm just saying that it's not as broad an entertainment niche as the others I mentioned. But it certainly still has its fervent supporters. It's just that we need to try a little harder to find quality merchandising and be lucky to get autographs..."

"Which was your case," He nods, watching her while she chooses a shopping cart. "First with Sekibayashi and then with me…"

"I know, right! And every single of then showed up at my workplace, can you believe it? May the gods bless Kanny...," She sighs, a little flushed with happiness. "Now there's only one more autograph left for the trinity of my idols to be complete!"

That makes Okubo pause. He presses his mouth into a line of discomfort, before forcing a smile onto his face and asking, "Oh yeah? And who is the third one? If I may ask..."

"Gaolang Wongsawat!," She exclaims excitedly, looking at him over her shoulder, her brown eyes starting to shine "The undisputed world boxing heavyweight champion! Not even Carlos Medel himself managed something like that, and he was above Gaolang in the PFP rankings, but since PFP is more about measuring skills between fighters who aren't in the same weight categories, I don't think it makes any difference..."

She continued to rattle on, excited as she had been every other time she'd talked about her passion for martial arts, and Okubo would've loved to hear her another time. But now, all he could pay attention to was that bubbling, unpleasant feeling in the pit of his stomach, resembling heartburn.

Shit, there was that ridiculous jealousy again. He didn't have the right to feel that way anymore, considering what he'd done… fuck, he never had the right, period. But he couldn't help it, not now that he knew he needed to share the position of Tomori's idol with Gaolang Fucking Wongsawat. With Sekibayashi, who played the role of grandfather to whoever asked or needed it, he didn't have to worry. But with Gaolang and his well-groomed-looking hair, his dark, shiny skin, his quick, deadly fists that even he, with his boxing experience, couldn't match...

“Ugh, that sounded so gay! But seriously, how could I compete with Gaolang?”

He scratches his scalp with a tired huff. Honestly, compete for what? It was just ridiculous that he was rivaling Gaolang in a dispute that only existed in his demented head. And besides, he still needed to win Tomori back first to even think about competing for anything, and those stupid fits of jealousy weren't going to help...

"... but the PFP rankings don't change anything for me 'cause I also consider records and feats, not just technique!," Tomori kept talking, oblivious to his tormented thoughts. "Gaolang is the undisputed heavyweight champion even though he is one of the 'light' heavyweights, you were the first Japanese in Ultimate Fight's history to become a heavyweight champion too and... oh, sorry, I started babbling!," She blushes even more when she sees his distracted expression. "I always do that when I get carried away and I end up talking over everyone else…"

"What...? Oh no, Miss Uta, I don't mind!, "Okubo hastens to say, waving his hands "I was just thinking to myself. I didn't know you had so many idols in so many different categories."

"Well, I don't follow only pro-wrestling and MMA, y'know," She plays with a lock of her hair. "I also love sumo, judo, jiu-jitsu, karate and, of course, boxing. I even had my lucha libre phase and asked my parents for my own mask, hehe.

"Hahaha, dammit!," He ends up laughing, both of them turning a corridor and entering the cleaning products aisle. "I'd love to see that one of these days. You, dressed as a luchadora..."

"I dressed up as La Luchadora for Halloween last year, can you believe it? One of my favorite WWE villains," She confesses with a giggle. "But hey, in my case these things can only exist as a fantasy anyway."

"That's something I've been wanting to ask…," Okubo arches an eyebrow, curiosity getting the better of him "You love martial arts so much that it surprises me… you never thought of learning a martial art before?"

"Huh?," Tomori blinks, taken by surprise, and her astonishment only instigates him even more.

"I mean, you are a martial arts lover in general, right? You never thought about specializing in any style? I've seen women your size become champions of their own categories in the women's divisions, and many of them didn't have half of your dedication," He says. "Why not put that into practice? At least for self-defense reasons, I don't know..."

Tomori just stares at him, not seeming to know how to respond. She then looks to the side, apparently very interested in the selection of detergent brands being displayed on the shelves, her expression hesitant.

"Well, I-"

"Ooooh, I can't believe it! Just when we were speaking of the devil!"

They are startled by the scream, both turning towards the end of the corridor. All Okubo saw was a trio of young women approaching, walking a bit unsteadily, almost dragging each other to the ground as they walked arm in arm. It just made them laugh louder, and he briefly wondered how sober they were. He didn't have time to delve into these conjectures, however, because the one in the middle raised a hand aloft, and he recognized her as the owner of the voice they had heard.

"Tomoh! What a surprise to see you away from that bakery for a change!"

"Uh- Karin, Yuzuriha, Yuki!," Tomori returns the wave after blinking a few times, surprised, but still opening a big smile. "What a surprise, indeed! Since when do you come to the market, and all together?"

"Just life coincidences, hun! We met after work and, since we were too lazy to go to an pub to put up with annoying guys asking for our numbers and trying to get us drunk, we decided to come and buy some fruit to make our own drinks," The tallest one, who wore glasses and had dyed red hair, explains with a smile.

"I have some sake and a bottle of gin at home. With life as busy as it is, when are we going to have an opportunity like that again?," The shortest and most chubby of the trio raises two fingers in a V for Victory. "We're going to drink our butts off!"

"And you came at the best time. Come with us, Tomori!," The one in the middle invites her, and despite the slight annoyance that they were interrupted, Okubo couldn’t help but notice how she had prominent hips. "We’ll stop by your house to get your karaoke machine, and then we'll get the party started! What do you say?"

"Ahaha, I'd love to go all out with you guys, like in college," Tomori laughs softly. "But today I can't, sorry. I'm doing my monthly shopping. And anyway, I'm accompanied."

She looks over her shoulder at Okubo, a little embarrassed, seeming to apologize with her gaze. And for the first time, the three women seemed to notice him; he wasn't the type to go unnoticed, considering his size, and that made him question their sobriety even more. The three of them blink, flustered for a few seconds. And then their eyes widen, their mouths painted in assorted shades of lipstick opening in an O of astonishment.

“…Holy shit, Tomoh,” is all the redhead manages to stammer, and Tomori lets out a high-pitched, embarrassed laugh.

"Yeah, I know. Girls, this is Okubo Naoya," She introduces him, a little flushed. "But I think you already know that. Mr. Okubo, these are Sato Karin, Aikawa Yuzuriha and Fujioka Yuki," She points first to the redhead, then to the chubby one and, lastly, to the one with the big hips. "They're old friends from college."

"Ahaha, nice to meet you, ladies!," Okubo waves with his right hand, his left hand automatically going to the back of his head. "Sorry to have disturbed your plans to drag Miss Uta to a girls' night out. Better luck next time, I guess."

None of the three respond, still staring at him with an astonishment he wasn't used to seeing on the faces of women who stared at him. They then turn to Tomori, their heads moving in comically perfect synchronicity, and she flinches in discomfort.

"Oh you… you finally did it," The redhead, Karin, finally seems to get her voice back. "It took years, but she did it. you little minx...!"

"Karin...!," Tomori hisses through clenched teeth, red with anger and mortification, but her friends didn't notice, or didn't seem to care. They turn back to Okubo, and he stares suspiciously as they flash huge coquettish smiles.

"Nice to meet you, Mr. Okubo!," The chubby one, Yuzuriha, greets in an affected tone. "We are old friends of Tomori, as she said."

"Old enough for us to know her specific tastes very well," The curvy one, Yuki, confesses, resting a hand on the side of her face. "We saw that photo she posted on Instagram, when she met you and yout friends here, in this very market."

"And isn't it a huge coincidence that you guys bumped into each other here again? Seriously, what are the chances?," Karin puts her hands on her hips, turning her head to one side. And then she smiles almost curtly. "Only this time I'm thinking it's not a coincidence. Am I right or wrong?"

Okubo looks at Tomori, unsure of how to respond. And he watches her jaw move in discomfort, her fingers flexing a little. He then decides to take the lead for her, not wanting her to feel so cornered.

“You're right, miss. Miss Uta needed a hand with the monthly groceries. It was our arrangement."

That seemed to be all these women wanted to hear. They turn to Tomori like birds of prey weighing their chances of catching a bunny in a low flyby. And she, on the other hand, was staring at them, her eyes burning with what appeared to be a very poorly controlled rage. At that point, Okubo felt like he was out of place.

His thought about coming up with any excuse to take Tomori away from that trio. He finally had a chance to be alone with her in an environment without so many watchful eyes and those girls were getting in the way, dammit! He clears his throat, trying to draw attention back to himself.

"So... did you bring a shopping list, Miss Uta?," He asks. "If so, we can start with the first items. The good thing is, if there's something on the top shelves, it'll be pretty easy for me to reach, hahaha."

"I know, right! I guess this fact wasn't any coincidence either," Yuki puts an arm around Tomori's tense shoulders, deliberately pinning her there "Tall guys have always been your weakness, right, Tomoh?"

"Tall and muscular," Yuzuriha completes, seeming to be enjoying her friend's discomfort as well. "The type of man who would have no difficulty carrying several heavy bags to the trunk of a car..."

"It’s called 'combining business with pleasure', girls," Karin’s teeth sparkle as she smiles wider. "And Tomolfie is an expert in that department when it comes to these types..."

"Yeah, you guys can shut up now," Tomori warns in a growl. "We haven't seen each other for almost a year and the first thing you do when that happens is tease me?"

The three of them laugh like hyenas, Yuki jokingly shaking her by her shoulders. Okubo didn't know if this was typical bickering common among longtime friends or if he needed to save Tomori from what appeared to be an attempt at bullying. But there was one word in particular that kept repeating itself, over and over, in his head.

'Tomolfie'? Was that some kind of nickname or...

"Calm down, we're just messing with you," Karin waves a hand in a placating gesture. "It's just that we're very impressed with this feat of yours," She looks Okubo up and down. "And with your courage, even with all the warnings that we gave you..."

"Oh, Karin, but in this case we don't need to worry," Yuki puts the fingers of her right hand over her mouth. "I mean, she's clearly already taking advantage of the situation."

"I know, right! Scheming weasel," Yuzuhira laughs. "Even more than she used to be. I don't judge, I'm just stunned by the size of the specimen..."

“Seriously, can you guys stop?", Tomori complains, frowning as she takes Yuki's arm away from her shoulders. "Have some decency and stop talking nonsense in front of my friend."

Okubo widened his eyes, a little disbelieved but still happy to be placed in the friend category. But again, he didn't have a chance to show his satisfaction when the trio of women burst out laughing again.

"Friend? Okubo Naoya is your friend?!," Karin slaps her own leg. "That's what you said to convince him to do you favors? You're so cunning it scares me!"

"I mean, we have a lot to learn from this woman," Yuki points to Tomori, ignoring how she had turned even redder. "Using that pretty face and that innocent girl act to wrap a grown man around her little finger is kind of an art, when it's done by her, haha!"

"And don't you know her gyaru friend? She certainly learned these trickes from that Panther...," Karin points.

"Boy, if this one here is a master, that one is a PHD," Yuki pouted while holding back her laughter. "I'm sure that with Sekihyo, if big guy here falls into her clutches, there won't be any pieces left…"

"Hey, hey! That's enough, okay? First of all: don't bring Akane into this," Tomori warns them, and Okubo, who was getting more and more perplexed with that conversation, widens his eyes again when seeing her face darkening." "Second of all: stop being such snakes. I'm not that kind of person-"

"The kind of person who doesn't take advantage of an interested guy's goodwill? Please," Yuzuriha rolls her eyes before turning to Okubo," Open your eyes with that she-wolf in sheep's clothing, Mr. Okubo. She has an angelic face, but that's about it, hahaha!"

Okubo can't think of anything to reply, the absurdity of that exchange taking his words away for the moment. That and his inability (or refusal) to believe those words.

She-Wolf in sheep's clothing? That tiny, sweet, adorable creature? It wasn't possible, was it? It was probably just some inside joke between old college friends that he wasn't aware of...

“But she manipulated you into getting a free ride to the market, didn't she? And she didn't seem the least bit regretful when you confronted her..."

He makes an embarrassed face. Yeah, that was undeniable, but it also didn't mean he was enjoying watching her be cornered in that gratuitous way while being accused of these things. He takes a step forward, brow furrowed. He had to say something, even though he didn't quite know what.

"Hey, hey, it wasn't like that-"

"No need to try to defend her, Mr. Okuko! We know her very well," Karin interrupts him without much consideration, reaching out a hand to squeeze Tomori's cheek. "Way more than she wants to admit-"

And it was Karin's turn to be interrupted, her words trailing off to a pained gasp as Tomori snatched her hand away with a snapping slap. Her eyes were on fire, her face livid, her features hard as stone.

"Ow! Tomoh, that hurts!" The redhead complains with a whimper, grabbing her own hand and pouting. The other two take a step back, startled.

"What the hell, Tomori! Are you really gonna freak out just like that, in a public place?"

"And who the fuck is to blame, huh?," She replies in a snarl, taking a step forward, her teeth grinding and her eyes burning. "You say you know me, and yet you're still there, teasing me. Have you forgotten our school days? The things I did? Do you want me to fuck you up in the parking lot?! 'Cause I'll fucking do it! I'll break my foot off in your motherfucking asses!"

"Jezz, Tomori! What's all this for?," Yuzuriha winces a little, pouting. "And in front of your 'friend', no less. What will he think of you?"

"Man, she's still one hell of a pot-stirrer...," Yuki crosses her arms, arching an eyebrow. And it's only then that Tomori seems to remember that she wasn't alone. She gasps, her eyes widening, the white-hot anger giving way to a horrified expression. She looks from Okubo to her friends nervously, clasping her hands over her chest.

"Oh, damn… I'm sorry, girls, I… sorry, Mr. Okubo…!," She babbles, pleading. "What a shame, letting myself be affected by silly teasing like that...!"

She kept chattering, trying to justify herself, while Karin, Yuzuriha and Yuki smirked, seeming to recover relatively quickly from the scare she gave them. Apparently, that was a side of Tomori they were very familiar with. A foul-mouthed, aggressive, hot-tempered side... a side that Okubo didn't know until now.

... Or maybe he knew. He stares at the still jabbering girl in amazement as he remembers the way she had stood up to and mocked the idiots who caused trouble in the bakery. He remembers the way she had faced them head-on later, armed only with the shards of a glass bottle. How she'd confronted himself, ranting and cursing, not letting go of the humiliation he'd put her through that Saturday. And now there she was, threatening three other women her size with an ass-beating without hesitation.

It was bizarre. It was unreal. And it was the most fascinating and exciting thing he'd seen in a long, long time. He can feel the heat rise up his neck as his heart races.

“Cute, determined and fierce. Combo fucking breaker, everyone!”

"Calm down, Tomolfie, we're already acquainted with that temper of yours," Karin guarantees, still laughing. "It's your family-sized helper back there who isn't."

"Yeah! I bet you hadn't planned on putting on such a show when you convinced him to play your butler for the day, huh," Yuzuriha pats her embarrassed friend on the shoulder. "Be careful, it's going to be hard for him to bent over to you next time…"

"And who said I was bent over?"

The four women immediately turn to Okubo in surprise when he finally chimes in. He tries to open an amused, confident smile, while leaning a little towards Tomori and resting a hand on her shoulder, making her eyes widen.

"Mr. Okubo...?"

"You can say that she is cunning or whatever, but the truth is that I am not far behind," He affirms. "I agreed to help her very willingly, not only because it costs nothing to do favors for friends, but also because I wasn't going to pass up the opportunity to have her company, you know? Can you say I was bent if I let that happen? I'm not stupid..."

He wasn't going to lie, he was very pleased as he watched the stunned expressions on their faces. But more than that, he was satisfied with Tomori's bulging brown eyes fixed on his, with her slightly gaping mouth, with the blush that certainly had nothing to do with anger anymore.

He didn't tell any lies (well, except for the ‘not being bent over’ part, but none of them needed to know that). But dammit, if his silver tongue could save her some embarrassment and even get him some brownie points, why avoid using it?"

"Oooh…okay, then…?," Karin manages to recover faster than the others, exchanging amazed and excited looks with her friends. "If you say so... sorry if we were inconvenient, but teasing this girl is really funny, hahaha!

"Yes! Don't make that face, Tomoh, you know we love you," Yuki holds Tomori's face between her hands, managing to squeeze her cheeks this time around, to which she huffs irritably.

"You jerks...!"

"Girl, chill out, we'll stop teasing you. We like to gossip, but what kind of friends would we be if we tried to mess with each other's schemes, huh? Good luck, hun!

"Yuki, you...!," Tomori growls again, opening and closing her fingers as if he wants to throttle the other. That got more of those hyena laughs.

"Yes, yes, good luck, love… hey guys, I'm hungry, let's buy some ramen too?," Karin asks. "Tomoh is doing her montly shopping, so we better go out and get drunk by ourselves. Come by the house if you feel like it, girls, so you can take your hands away from the pots and pans for a little bit..."

"And you think she will leave this monument here behind anythime soon?," Yuki laughs, and she walks away. "I doubt it."

"True, we still need to buy some fruit," Yuzuriha nods. "Let's go before I see all the prices and start crying. Girl, everything is so expensive..."

"See you later, Tomoh, Mr. Okubo!," Yuki nods, and Karin bows slightly along with Yuzuriha. The latter gives Okubo one last up and down look, and it's so predatory that he wondered where these creatures were when he was still chasing skirts.

"See ya...," He nods back, more for lack of a better response than anything else. Damn, that lustful look he had seen so many times on the faces of the women surrounding Himuro, which filled Rihito and him with so much envy... finally receiving something like that didn't bring him the smug satisfaction he had always imagined. The truth was, he was even a little indignant.

“Just when I'm totally focused on gaining the attention of a specific person... I'm like the Joker, thinking my life was a tragedy, but it's actually a comedy..."

The thought makes him chuckle despite his irritation. And then he remembers that Tomori was still there, beside him, and that she still looked upset. At least it didn't seem she was upset at him, which was a welcome change.

"Uh… sorry about that, Miss Uta," He says, scratching the back of his head. "I couldn't think of anything else to say that would make them shut up…"

"No… I'm the one who has to apologize," She murmurs, not even managing to lift her head to look him in the eye. "For having acted like that, for having lost my temper in the middle of the market… and for the things that my friends said."

"Oh, that? Relax, I didn't take it seriously," He guarantees, making a disinterested gesture with his right hand. "My friends and I do this to each other all the time. What's a friendship without a healthy dose of psychological torture and threats to one's physical integrity?," He jokes. "I only intervened because I didn't like to see you cornered like that. And also because you seemed to be serious about beating the shit outta them, and what other excuse would I have for accompanying you to the market if we got kicked out of it? Haha."

He hoped to make her laugh with that, but all he managed to get out of her was an even more embarrassed grimace. The laugh ends up dying in his mouth too.

"Sorry, it was just a joke-"

“I know, it's- it's okay. Just... let's just get everything on the list and get this over with, shall we?," She asks, turning around and marching down the corridor, and Okubo had no choice but to go after her.

The shopping itself, the part of the day he had been looking forward to the most, ended up passing in a blur. Tomori moved through the aisles and shelves like a compact hurricane, grabbing whatever she needed without checking brands or comparing prices. She barely let him reach the items that were on the highest shelves in her haste. It seemed that she wanted to get it over with as quickly as possible, and that caused him a mixture of sadness and annoyance. Holy shit, couldn't her friends have picked a worse time to show up?! Their inconvenience had made Tomori irritable and it ruined their evening!

... Or maybe she was just too embarrassed that he saw that other side of her? May she didn't know how to act now that she was “exposed”? Hell, he didn't know and had no idea how to deal with that kind of thing! He just wanted to come up with some excuse so that his hours with her weren't cut in half.

When they finished getting the purchases through the cashier and were heading towards the automatic doors, their arms full of plastic bags (Okubo's, in this case), they could see that they hadn't been so fast. The rain was already falling outside, torrential, forcing several people to run to get to their cars, even with umbrellas in hand. Tomori lets out a pained groan, throwing her head back.

"Damn, right now? The bags will get soaked!"

"No problem, Miss Uta, I'll leave the bags here and you can wait for me while I go get the car," Okubo offers. "I'll just need to borrow your umbrella. Although I don't even know if it will be big enough to protect my lollipop head, hahaha..."

Another attempt to make her laugh that didn't quite work. She shakes her head, running her fingers through her hair in a frustrated huff.

"But then you're the one who gets wet, and then I'll feel guilty! I've taken advantage of your goodwill enough these past few days..."

"Are you still worried about that? I already said that your friends' teasing didn't bother me!," He assures, now feeling a little frustrated. "Or is this because of that outburst of yours just now?"

He hadn't meant to blurt it out so abruptly, but he couldn't stop himself; his friends were right when they said he's a chatterbox. She tenses her shoulders, her knuckles going pale as they tighten around the straps of the bags she's carrying. She holds them in one hand while digging through her purse with the other.

"I don't wanna talk about that. Let's just go get your car, please," And she opens her umbrella, starting to walk towards the parking lot, which was busy while other customers also wanted to get out of the rain as soon as possible. Okubo follows her, quickening his pace while trying not to drop any bags in the process.

"Miss Uta, wait! C'mon, don't be like that...!," He calls, panting a little, the bags disturbing his field of vision. "It's much easier for you to wait with your purchases at the market doors."

"I want to get out of here now! A little bit of rain won't make me melt..."

"But you can still catch a cold! I- watch out!," He exclaims suddenly, alarmed, as the powerful headlights of a car driving too fast for his liking wash over them. Without thinking, he grabs Tomori by the arm and pulls her back, preventing the lousy driver of a red Subaru from running her over. But it wasn't fast enough to avoid all the icy water that spilled, resulting from the clumsy maneuver the driver had to do to avoid overturning. Tomori let out a scream as she was drenched, and she'd have fallen as she took clumsy steps back if Okubo hadn't caught her.

"Holy crap...! Are you crazy, pal?!," He yells at the car as soon as he sees the window on the passenger side go down automatically. "Why run like that inside a parking lot? You almost run over us!"

"Nobody told you to walk in front of me in a sluggish pace, you big gorilla!," The driver snorts in response, making a move to close the window again. "I have places to go, I can’t wait for two nerds to-"

"And you still want to blame us? Are you fucking kidding me?!"

Both Okubo and the man behind the wheel are startled by Tomori's scream, loud enough to drown out the roar of the engine and the sound of the rain. She advances to the car, pointing at it, soaked and furious.

"Look what you did to me and my purchases! If anything here has gone bad because of the water, you'll fucking pay me!"

"H-Hey, Miss Uta, calm down," Okubo hastens to say, approaching with outstretched hands. "I'm sure nothing has been damaged, everything's protected inside the plastic trays..."

"Is this your girlfriend or something? I'm sorry for you, bro," The driver grumbles. "Just tell that crazy chick to look for someone her size when she wants to get in trouble."

"Just get outta here before I kick your fucking mirror off! Get lost, dammit!," She screams again, lifting a leg, and the driver, now alarmed, accelerates the car again, pulling away quickly. Okubo stares at her, stunned, wanting to say something about what just happened. But the concern at seeing her soaking wet got the better of him.

"Okay, he already left, see? Damn, you're all soaked...," He says while taking off the jacket he was wearing, offering it to her. "Here, you can wear it until we get to your... house...?"

His voice fades as his gaze travels over her body, now even more evident because the clothes are soaked, clinging to her curves. But what caught his attention at the moment wasn't her waist, hips or chest that rose and fell with her heavy breathing. He watches as she lowers her leg slowly, the hem of her skirt having lifted when she threatened the driver's rearview mirror.

And there, coloring the side of her left thigh, was a tattoo. And not a small one, as far as Okubo's eyes could register. It was large and colorful, taking a considerable part of her thigh, and yet there seemed to be more than the hem of the skirt concealed. But he still managed to recognize a profusion of flowers, in varying shades of orange, red, pink, lilac and white; a bouquet permanently etched there, into her skin. Daisies, gerberas, and other species he didn't recognize, but which were huddled and elongated in a shape that somewhat resembled a corn knob.

Okubo didn't know what else he'd been hoping to find out about her that day, but a tattoo, let alone that size, was definitely not on his list. He could only stare like a fool, eyes huge with astonishment, and long enough for Tomori to notice.

'What…,' She blinks, dazed, before following the direction of his eyes. She looks at her leg. And then she goes back to being very red.

"Oh- Oooh, shit...!," She screeches, grabbing the hem of her soaked skirt and trying to force it down, trying to hide the tattoo. "You weren't supposed to see it, no...! Ugh, what a shame...!"

"Huh? N-No, no need to be ashamed!," He exclaims, recovering from his daze and waving his hands, the groceries inside the bags rattling. "It's not a big deal for me, honestly!"

"Why not? People often get nervous when they see it! They think I'm involved with the Yakuza or whatever...," She stammers before hiding her face in her hands, shoulders shrugged. "I'm sorry, Mr. Okubo, I don't even know what you must be thinking about me right now! Screaming, cursing, picking fights with others and on top of that sporting a tattoo like a delinquent! I feel so hypocritical right now..."

"Please, don't!," He raises his voice to be heard above her whining. And without thinking, he extends a hand, touching her right shoulder, which she shrinks even more. "Believe me when I say that this doesn't make me think any less of you in. No, not even the tattoo," He assures her when she looks up at him uncertainly. "You shouldn't even worry about it, Miss Uta. This- this is you, isn't it? You don't owe explanations about the person you are to anyone, let alone to me."

She swallows slowly, the raindrops running down her face looking a lot like tears. She bites her bottom lip hard, hugging the bags to her chest.

"But- But I feel like I do... because I criticized and rejected you that Saturday for doing some of the things I'm doing now."

Okubo can't think of anything to reply. He sighs and again offers her his jacket.

"Look, a parking lot full of lousy drivers is not the best place to talk. Even more so with you like this, all soaked."

Tomori blinks, a little dazedly, before reaching up and taking the offered jacket.

"… Do you still want to talk to me? Do you want my company? Even after all you've seen and heard..."

It was hard for him to believe, but it seemed that the roles they had been playing all these days had been reversed. He can't help but laugh at the absurdity of the situation.

"It's going to take a lot more than a few choice words and a tattoo for me to not want your company anymore. You won't get rid of me that easily, lady."

"Oh…," She holds the jacket with both hands, hugging it as she did with the bags, looking to the side in embarrassment. "That would’ve been kinda creepy, if not for the context of the situation."

"Sorry! I didn't mean to-"

"It was a joke, chill out!," She interrupts him when he screeches in alarm. "It's my way of dealing with this urge to throw myself in front of one of those moving cars, haha...," She puts his jacket on as she talks, and as expected, the garment was huge and baggy on her, like a dress with a zipper down the front. Damn it, how could she look adorable in anything she wore?!

"Uh… don't joke about these things, please," He asks, trying to keep his mind from going astray by taking his eyes off her body. "I want you in one piece until we get to your house. And after that too. Who am I going to deliver half of the flower shop's stock to if you're not here?"

She ends up laughing, though. It was a relief to finally get a laugh out of her.

"Ahaha, o- okay. Take me home, please. I need the assistance of the Okubo Cavalry, now more than ever."

He nods, smiling, as he guides her to the SUV, getting all wet without his jacket but not caring one bit.

* * *

The rain had eased considerably when Okubo pulled up in front of Tomori's house; a fine, soft drizzle, the kind that makes you feel peaceful and relaxed while under the covers. But the silence inside the car was awkward rather than placid.

He turns the key in the ignition, turning off the engine and turning to her with a half smile "There you go, ma'am. The cavalry apologizes for the wet seats and hopes the courtesy jacket was enough to make up for it."

"The wet seats were partly my fault, so I wouldn't have the right to complain," She comments lowly, staring at her own legs, while bringing the huge jacket closer to her body. "But thanks for the jacket. It's warm...," And she closed his eyes, taking a slow deep breath, and Okubo found himself praying that the jacket didn't stink or anything.

"You can have it for the day if you want," He offers, and Tomori immediately pulls her nose away from his jacket, shaking her head in surprise.

"No, you don't have to! It's your jacket, and anyway, I have one at home..."

“But I bet you can't curl up inside it like a caterpillar in a cocoon,” It was a statement, not a question. And it was accompanied by a smile. "Come on, give me one more excuse so I can keep showing up at the bakery to see you..."

"Ugh, you're so cruel," She whimpers, sinking into the passenger seat. "Taking advantage of my embarrassment and my feelings of being indebted like that..."

“We're even, in that case,” he replies simply. And he regrets it the next second when he sees her curling up on the seat, her expression saddened. "Not that I'm complaining. I kind of deserved it, honestly..."

"… Yeah, I won't deny that," She concedes with a sigh. "But that doesn't change the fact that it wasn't nice of me. I was so disappointed when the pedestal I had put you on broke... and now you must feel the same way about me."

“Yeah, I do,” he admits. There was no point in lying to her. They are both silent for nearly a full minute, watching the drizzle hit the windshield. And then he finally says, “But you know what?"

"What...?"

"I prefer it that way."

"Huh?," She stares at him, stunned. "What do you mean? Don't tell me you liked the short-tempered, foul-mouthed, tattooed delinquent Tomori who threatens to beat others and destroy private property..."

"Nah-ah! That's for me to decide," He reminds her, raising an index finger. "And if I liked it or not, that's not the point. What matters is that, good or bad, it's still you. Right?"

"Well... yeah, but that's not exactly my nicer side..."

"It doesn't matter. The truth, Miss Uta, is that I was happy," He admits, laughing softly when she looks at him, perplexed. "Come on, don't make that face. Didn't we talk about it that day, when I apologized for the shitty thing I did and you agreed to let me try to get closer? You said you wanted to get to know me better, to see if you liked the real Okubo Naoya. I tried to be as truthful to myself as I could. And now, even if unintentionally, you've done the same."

"I..."

“You showed me a side of you I didn't know existed. And now I feel like I know you a little better. I like that. It was what I wanted most."

Her eyes were widened, enraptured, as if seeing him for the first time. She hadn't looked at him like that since that disastrous Saturday, and Okubo couldn't be happier to see that expression on her face again.

Tomori swallows hard, biting her lower lip. The jacket shifts around her shoulders, and he can imagine her hugging herself. She closes her eyes.

“I… I'm glad for that. But I don't want you to think that the other Tomori you saw in the beginning doesn't really exist. That I was faking it..."

"But I don't think that!," He assures quickly, leaning towards her in the driver's seat. "Nobody would fake that happiness and cuteness so well. And for what?"

"I don't know, you might've had that impression because of what the girls insinuated! They made it seem like I'm the most calculating and cunning bitch this side of Tokyo...," She snorts with irritation. "I have a past, but it's nothing worthy of a signed biography or anything like that."

"Still, I'd like to know it," he says without thinking, his tongue as usual ignoring the brakes his brain had set. He holds his breath a little, fearing he'd crossed a line. But when she doesn't scold him or look uncomfortable, he decides to continue, not wanting to miss the opportunity. "I want to know everything you want to tell me. About that genius of yours, the memories of your school days... even about the tattoo, if it's not too personal. And in return, I get to tell you more about myself!"

She laughs, leaning her side against the car door, twirling a lock of her hair around her index finger. "The- The truth is, it's not even the wildest story I have. We'd need hours for me to be able to tell you everything, and it can't happen with my one hour lunch breaks on weekdays..."

"Then let's try to have another date!," He says without a beat, the words coming out of his mouth before he could register them. "Then we'll have all the hours we want!"

She immediately straightens her posture on theseat, amazed and tense, going back to hugging herself.

"What- are you serious? You're asking me out again?," She asks, and Okubo had to admit, it hurt a little to see her reacting to his invitation with perplexity and distrust, instead of excitement. "​​It hasn't even been a month since that other disastrous date!"

"Yeah, I know! I'm kinda putting the cart before the horse here," He admits, anxiously, wringing his fingers. "If you don't want to, if you think it's still too soo, just say so. I won't insist. But after today, after everything I've seen and heard, I feel like we're finally going somewhere, you know? I feel like we're not at that stage of trying to impress each other anymore, with that anxiety and insecurity that made me screw up that time... I feel like I don't need to pretend to be something I'm not anymore, when I'm with you," He notes, a bit amazed. "And that's why, I feel that this time I can do things the right way."

Tomori stares at him with a frown. And then she looks away, watching the rain fall around them outside the car.

"How can you be sure of that?"

"That's the thing, I'm not. It's more of a gut feeling, so to speak," He scratches the back of his neck. "I'll just have to trust it. And so do you."

"... I already trusted it once," She says, almost in a whisper, while taking off her seat belt and opening the car door. "Can you help me with the groceries? Just getting them to the door is enough."

Okubo can only nod, his stomach dropping, cold and writhing. He also gets out of the car, saying nothing, cursing himself in his thoughts. Fucking hell, you never heard that fools rush in, you son of a bitch?! There you go, screwing up your chances again, all because you can't keep your mouth shut!

They pull the groceries out of the trunk, taking three trips to unload them on the porch outside her door. They don't exchange a word in the meantime, and that silence only made him more unhappy. Even after all these weeks, after all his effort, she still didn't trust him. She still hasn't forgiven him. Apparently, the wound left by his actions was too deep and too infected...

When all the bags were lined up under the porch, he decided he had tortured himself enough by standing there. He holds out his hand when Tomori moves to hand the jacket back to him, head down.

"There you go. It was nice spending those hours with you, Miss Uta. Can I see you again next week?"

She doesn't answer right away, still busying herself with taking off the jacket that looked like a dress on her. She still looked thoughtful, her brow furrowed. And when Okubo thinks it best to interpret that silence as a “no”, she finally opens her mouth.

"On next Saturday.”

"... Huh?"

"Next Saturday, other than tomorrow," She specifies, raising her eyes, which were intense, to him. "At the same time we agreed last time. I choose the meeting point. And you're paying the bill. If you're late, if you show up drunk, or if you do anything that makes me think I'm going to be humiliated again, I'm leaving. And there will be no third chances. Did you understand?"

He stares at her, stunned, his brain working slowly as he tries to process what he's just heard. And then his eyes widen, his face heating up as his heart loses its rhythm and goes into a frenzy inside his chest. Holy crap!

"You- You're serious, Uta-san? You'll go out with me again?!"

"You can't call what we had last time 'going out', can you?," She shrugs, turning red. "But yes, I will. This is the second chance you wanted. Please don't make me regret it..."

"You won't! I swear on my belt, on my entire career, on my fucking soul!," He puts his hands together as if in prayer, almost crying with happiness, and is even more elated to see her biting her bottom lip hard, clearly trying hard not to smile.

"Don't go overboard, come on. As I said, everything will be on my terms, so wait for instructions," She commands, playfully, and then makes a short bow. "Thanks for today, Mr. Okubo. It was fun, despite the setbacks."

"Yes, it was! And I swear that next Saturday will be even more so," He makes a move to take off his cap to make that chivalrous gesture again, but a small wind blows it out of his hands and takes it to the sidewalk, making him scream as he runs to catch it. He hears her laugh out loud, and when he looks up, his face red, he sees her waving from the doorway.

"I hope so! I'll trust you, just this once."

If it was physically possible, his heart would probably already have come out of his chest in a bloody scene worthy of a Mortal Kombat fatality, beating hard as it was. They say goodbye, waving to each other, and soon, Okubo was starting the SUV, turning the stereo on full blast to sing at the top of his lungs and express that anxious joy that filled him.

Holy fuck, he did it! She gave him a second chance! It was more than he deserved, and now that he finally had it, he wouldn't let it go even under threat of death! He just needed to proceed with great caution now, to remember his mistakes so as not to repeat them and take care to control that damn anxiety and think of a good gift for her. Something she would love...

The tattoo on her leg comes to mind, and he tries to remember its details. Daisies, gerberas, and another flower he didn't recognize, but damn, isn't that what Google was for? He smiles like an idiot as he drives through the streets of Tokyo. Perhaps he had discovered another thing about her after all.

NEXT CHAPTER

[jacobtheloofah]

oopsie i wrote way more of a rant/ramble about modern art than i anticipated i would here we go

anyway yeah i really am torn between two worlds with this movement of people criticizing modern art for often being excessively simple to the point of them saying "i could do that" and also seemingly lacking any immediately obvious substance, cuz i think there's two perspectives where either this point is 100% valid and a critique of the rich or it's pretty dumb and just lacks any desire for artistic perspective or a deeper understanding of the piece

on the one hand you've got cases like this where reading into the context of the piece and the substances it's made of it becomes so clear that yeah its a simple piece but my god does it hold deeper meaning. the other example in this vein that comes to mind is "untitled" aka "portrait of ross in la" by felix gonzalez-torres

y'all here on tumblr may very well know this piece but if you don't it is physically what you see, a pile of pieces of candy in the corner. people are allowed to take a piece of candy from the pile, but the pile is maintained by mass in order to match the average weight of an adult man. it's named after the artist's parter, ross, who died of complications from aids in the 90's, unfortunately only a few years before the artist himself also died in the same vein. if you were just walking through a museum looking for pieces that are so visually accessible that you deem them unworthy of artistic merit because you yourself "could do that" then yeah this would fit the description, but understanding the context as well as the factor of the interactivity implying the "taking away" of the figure's weight and personhood, as if they were being consumed by aids, then it's a whole different thing.

nested in this is the idea that all the "stupidly simple" modern art is an invention of the last 50 years or so and "true art" has lost its way, which uh no? no its not. no it hasn't. check it out:

that is "black square," a piece which many people would be like "oh yeah which nepo baby made that" well here is the artist:

kazimir malevich, born during the days of the russian empire. this piece above was made in 1915, cuz during that time art was going through an early phase of people exploring absurdism, minimalism, and impressionism. this was around a similar time in europe where "futurism" was a big artistic movement (which was characterized in part by intensity and violence which ended up inspiring a lot of early fascists oopsie daisy) which had futurist theater productions where nobody was on stage and a gun was fired off stage across the playing space, and that was the whole play. so yeah this kind of stuff is not as "new" as we would consider and while i don't have the background or knowhow to speak to what each and every piece that's like this stands for, its worth looking deeper and considering for a second what is going on behind these seemingly simple pieces.

on the other hand...there is certainly a classist perspective to modern art and museums and all that stuff, cuz for many many many many years the idea of "high art" and "high class" things being associated with those who have education, intellect, more proper behavior and means, and of course more money has led to this whole attitude surrounding art of "oh you just don't get it" or the fetishization of modern art despite the comparative lack of substance to the art. is there a guarantee that every piece of minimalist art in a museum is substantive and coming from a real meaningful background? no, of course not. some rich artist could've paid his way into his piece being in the museum. and of course there's examples of rich idiots paying their way into the fine art space without even making the art themselves

that's jeff koons. he makes those metal balloon animal art pieces as well as many other campy/kitsch art pieces. he's rich and pays for a studio of assistants (as well as having some automated factors in the system) to make the art he designs. he sucks and his art sucks, fuck him. he's like the elon musk of modern art.

so what the fuck is my point with all this

well if you ask me, at the end of the day art is a conversation between the artist and the audience. the artist puts some intent or thought into the piece, and the audience approaches the art with a certain intent and gets a certain thought out of it. if an artist has a specific intent and thought making a very minimalist piece and you walk up to it with the intent of seeing some bullshit art and the thought that comes to mind is "yep, that's bullshit" then guess what? you just engaged with art!! you did it! mission complete! you don't have to appreciate art for the art to serve its purpose in the grand scheme, but of course enjoying art is half the battle.

if you want my advice on how to engage with any form of art, i'd say figure out your intent first. do you wanna see art that makes you think and ask questions? do you wanna see art that allows you to appreciate the craft that went into it? do you wanna see art that is traditionally aesthetically pleasing? do you just wanna spend some time in a museum for the hell of it? these are all valid ways of engaging with art in their own respects, and there's guaranteed to be art in most museums that can serve all these purposes. but then when it comes to this "i could do that" idea, well you already played the role of the audience, why not try out being the artist? go get some canvases and paint, or some drawing pads and some pencils and pens. make some art. replicate the bullshit art you saw and criticized. do you feel anything? do you have any ideas of what you would do instead? try that. if you do feel something with the original replication, explore that. find what intrigues you and pursue it. come to understand the craft, how someone can make a massive flat canvas with one uniform color so consistent, how you have to paint that to create that effect. splatter some paint on a canvas and see how you create layers of colors that you can distinguish and not end up with something muddied and unclear. understand how you create form and perspective in drawing, try it for yourself and see where it takes you.

if you think "i could do that," then do it. give it a shot. maybe you'll feel something.

(also if you have a legit art history background then please forgive me if i fucked any of this up i have a theater degree im just spitballing here okay bye)

i do not think you could do that actually, tiktok user

[frostbite-the-bat]

CRAZY FUCKING DREAM TONIGHT OKAY

So it went back and forth a lot, but the topic of the world "ending" and being in danger was a common topic amongst all of them, all for the same reason

It started with me playing as Monk, I think

I was going to go ascend, except the area where subterranean was, was like a GIANT GIANT mountain, that if drilled into had this weird green jelly-like substance past where the rock was

It was very square ish and the rest of it was ice and you could hear it crack and snap as it melted - it was possibly bigger than an iterator. Supermassive

There was no rain but horrible clouds surrounded the whole sky

Asi went through the area it kind of kept switching where I was but I remember traveling across an area with Scavengers who were on my neck, despite me playing as Monk so they SHOULD have been more friendly

I think I get a Slugpup in the area??? And 8 go lower to ascend.

In one of the parts where it showed me digging into the mountain, there was a narrator and it showed a little baby elephant (cartoony) digging into it. It was sad and crying, and it was implied to be looking for it's parents who were dead. Where it was figging wasn't the green jelly substance, but regular rock.

The dream switched through a few Slugcats I think - but then it shifted to my family. I don't remember much, except that we had some Pokémon decorations in the bathroom. The world-end scenario continued and there was moments where the sky was completely dark because of the clouds, and moments where light shined through and the clouds calmed down. It was all pretty colors, mostly pinks, oranges, and purples when the weather cleared up lightly

I remember seeing my mom in the window pointing these weather patterns out, while holding binoculars

I look down from the window at my neighbors who notice me, so I open the window fully and peek out. I hear them talk with mom and joke lightly despite the bad situation. Then, I see a squirrel at the neighbors yard. I point at it going "LOOK LOOK!! THE! THE!! SQUIRREL!! "

And they all notice it late and think nothing of it. Then it runs out and charges towards our house and my window. It jumped onto my shoulder and then my room, and I freak out because I didn't want it to bite me. It goes thru my room and I start showing it Rain World plushies. It seems VERY interested

Once I have shown enough, it grows cuddlier - and I eventually pull up my phone to show more RW art (and scrolling past High Roller stuff and literally going 'ignore that')

It became super cuddly and hyper and I got a narrator saying I made it be a Rain World superfan. I was still worried it may bite and I wanted to return it to nature. O try telling mom but she was taking a bath in the bath tub.

Then?? Okay this part is really gross and weird but I feel an odd pressure and then I suddenly seriously shit out a singular fucking peanut. I don't touch it but I do go WHAT THE HELL HAPPENED??? And I go ah! Nut! Squirrel come get the PEANUT I SHAT OUT

And then the dream shifts again - before it went to the main deal of everything, I was on my room where I had Squirrel Troubles earlier, on my phone, checking Discord.

I saw someone there and I check their profile. It was apparently whoever drew some of the old art and comics for TTCC. They have some characters on their banner. All of them unrecognizable except Pacesetter and that one guy from Smile For Me - I do not know his name as I haven't played the game but there's people I follow who draw fanart thst I sometimes see so that mightve manifested it. They were wearing a dress which they normally don't do I don't think

I also check this person's username and it's something among the lines of 'isloustickyed' after Sticky Lou - and I think of One Of My Friends who really like him. I was like OH SHE'S GONNA FLIP - DOES HE KNOW??

And then suddenly, after this mid-section, it shifts to the next part of the dream. I hopped on Roblox and THINGS HAPPENED...!

I was playing a Roblox recreation of Star Stable Online, and I remember riding around on a horse testing the controls. It was in the woods with only a few old broken-down buildings around we were investigating with the main characters. I remember taking note of the graphics being faithful to the original, but notably less quality and more low-poly

There was a more woody area near a field and one of the main characters went there when she wasn't supposed to - we headed her calling for help. I saw her just standing there through the trees so I try getting to her but suddenly the dream shifts again. (No longer being implied Roblox, by the way)

I am in the woods, still, except way deeper, and it becomes extremely more vivid. There was a big lake, with 2 small waterfalls going through the whole length, splashing water around. It went up the hill in a smaller waterfall upstream. I was there with the Crystal Gems, trying to solve things and put a stop to the weird weather and the giant ice rock cracking and melting, causing horrible rains

For some reason me riding a horse turned ME into a horse - though I was only shapeshifted as gems do. I don't recall seeing Amethyst much, but she was there. No Steven at all so I took his role while being myself. Think of a Swap AU where Steven is replaced by me, who is implied to be a full gem and not half human

The lake has this hill circled around it, with paths that go up. Past that are the woods, towering over us. I see Pearl looking upset and bothered at the top, so I follow her and ask what's up.

I then turn around and see the incredible fucking view. I can't describe how pretty it was, because the dream was just that detailed. I look down and see the whole lake, all it's waterfalls, and I see Garnet and Amethyst trying to do things below us around the lake. As I observe it, Pearl looks up and so do I.

There's massive clouds swirling around us, which was bad and urgent. They are grey in some further parts, but just white and misty in other parts. It starts to look like the sky is literally going lower, "swallowing" the trees in the clouds. As incredible as it was, it was bad, so I turn to Pearl and we agree to take action.

I start running and, since I was a horse, I say "PEARL HOP ON WE GOTTA GET DOWN FAST"

But she RUNS PAST ME and SHAPESHIFTS INTO A HORSE HERSELF?? I gasp and then me and Amethyst go "WOOOOHOOOO" because Pearl doesn't shapeshift. Amethyst wasn't even near me but I heard her from below.

Pearl goes WAY FASTER THAN ME. And she knocks into a tree that shows like... Cardboard falling down, like dominoes, spawning in in a line to other trees, connecting them. I thought to myself 'Do these have switches to hit or something?'

And I went back up a little bit - when I suddenly notice a commotion down below. Garnet unused and I see Ruby stomping around. I thought that the stress of the situation has gotten to Garnet somehow, causing her to unstabilise and split apart

Pearl was already running ahead to get things done, and I am in my normal form again. I see rocks stumbling down towards Ruby and I run down quickly.

I pick her up (a bit easily for how scrawny I am, but it IS a dream and Ruby is shorter than me) , to her surprise, and jump to the side so the rocks don't hit us. She looks at me with the iconic star eyes, being shocked and thankful that I saved her during her anger/fear fit when she didn't notice the danger coming towards her (Which she would've known about if she was fused)

She thanks me and I let her down and we try to focus on the situation at hand again - but I then hear Sapphire. She's wearing a different outfit as she walks towards me - I REALLY want to draw her in it. It was a blue dress with like... A lack half shirt half dress on the other side?

She looks worried and sad and I told her that Ruby was fine. The two run towards each other and I turn around as they fuse - privacy I guess???

Once we are all regrouped we stand around and try to come up with a plan. We then all hear the loud cracks of the ice. It was booming and loud, like thunder, with a distinct crackle and a distant sound of the ice falling apart and hitting the ground.

So we all agree to go there, towards the sounds, to locate the mountain of ice. (Which I suddenly then knew was blocky shaped, moving forward slowly, falling apart, AND causing these giant rains. The ROCK mountain wasn't as relevant anymore, but it was still an important part that comes up again in a moment)

Then, another dream shift as it skips to us being there... As slugcats? The dream is now in Rain World POV - y'know as the game just looks. I'm back in one of the dark areas where I was as Monk, except with 3 other Slugcats that were supposed to be Pearl Amethyst, and Garnet. They sadly didn't look like how they do normally - they were just regular Slugcats with different colors and the fur mod. Though, what I assume was Garnet - WAS larger than the rest.

There also were two Slugpups with us.

The area looked like a mix of the Depths, Subterranean and Shaded Citadel. It was lit up by slime mold and various colored pearls littered the floor.

When we spawned in, EVERYONE had two Spearmaster spears in their hand. I noted how... Suspicious it is. I had difficulty wording it, but I basically tried saying it's suspicious we all spawned in with two weapons ready at hand... In an area I was as Monk earlier in the dream.

I note the Slugpups dropping one spear, picking up a pearl and trying to swallow it for later, and my control shifting to them for a moment before I didn't have control of anyone exactly and the camera just followed us.

Then I woke up, because I don't remember anything. I layed there remembering the dream, especially the shot of me looking down at the lake with Pearl and then glancing up at the clouds. How detailed and MASSIVE it was. I really felt the weight of the situation all while being in awe at the beauty of things

I'm so mad because while this dream had a bit of Toontown in it - it mixed Rain World AND Steven Universe. Those are my other current fixations but COME ON... Lemme TOONTOWN... But I guess me hanging out with the gems as like a Steven Replacement has been a rare theme in my dreams for years, and anytime I play Rain World and fixate more on it my dreams are 99% just Rain World.

I liked the bit of showing the squirrel my Rain World art and scrolling past High Roller - since it was kind of what I did when my nephews visited and I showed them my art and skipped my HR self-ship stuff and they fought me to see it while teasing me 😭

Anyways WOW. This is the type of dream that sticks with me for life

[a-god-in-ruins-rises]

idk if you remember but in a previous ask you mentioned much "denser", more efficient cities and city building, what does that entail? its a meme that certain people are chill with "living" packed like sardines with no diverse or meaningful animal or plant life around them, you didn't seem like that type so i'm curious now as to how you would build a city having a quality of life that would be superior to a low budget chinese zoo

oh i remember. this is one of the things i'm most passionate about and it's a pretty big part of the change i'd want to bring to usher in my "ideal" society.

but yeah, you raise a valid concern. i see those memes too. and that's very far from my vision.

my vision is the opposite; sustainable, walkable, environmentally friendly cities full of greenery, community, and meaning.

i wanted cities with more mixed use zoning. i want cities to have a mix of single-family hopes, high- and low-rise and courtyard apartments and condos, multiplexes, townhomes, cottage courts, live-work homes, etc. and i think there should be low-traffic small businesses (corner stores, cafes, restaurants, bars, art studios, workshops, boutiques, bakers, bookstores, etc) interspersed throughout. there should also be parks, greenways, green belts, and even just more trees and flower along streets, etc. more urban gardens. wildlife corridors where appropriate. more beautiful, ornamental architecture. efficient public transportation, bike-friendly, and strategic pedestrianization. energy efficient and environmentally-friendly (or as close to friendly as possible) smart cities, etc.

imagine: you wake up in your single family home in some metropolis but it feels like a suburb. your neighbors are other single family homes and townhomes and multiplexes. you live in a low-traffic street. there is a park across the street where your kids can safely play. you realize you need to get some milk so you walk to the corner store that's literally on the corner, a two minute walk away. across the street is a cafe and you see a couple of your neighbors there. you stop and chat with them for a while, developing some sense of community with your neighbors. the people who work at the cafe are also your neighbors and their kids (wouldn't it have been nice to have your first job at the neighborhood cafe that you're well-acquainted with?). then when you're almost home you remember you need to get stuff for dinner. you're about to open your garage and get in your car when you remember you can get your groceries delivered to your door by drone.

but what the hell you wanna go downtown and have some fun. but you don't really feel like driving. well, good thing there's a bus stop that's like a 5 minute walk away. you, your wife, and your kid get on the bus and it takes you downtown in 20 minutes (it's always on time). you remember the old days of sitting in traffic for an hour to travel the same distance. you walk around and visit some museum and a botanical garden and then you go to the movies. the streets are pedestrianized -- you're at the historical part of town, the main street has been closed to traffic, the street is like a constant festival with people dining and playing music and doing street magic and stuff. the streets are lined with flowers and trees so it's nice and shady. there's a town square, ornately decorated, a fountain in the center, a park adjacent, etc. there's some event happening there -- maybe a concert or a political rally or art fair or farmers market -- you check it out.

then you take the bus home in 20 minutes again. your kids asks to go play at your neighbor's house (the one you were chatting with at the cafe earlier -- your kid and their kid are best friends) and you say yes. then you and your wife relax by walking down the street to your neighborhood bar and you shoot the shit with your other neighbors and maybe some friends who are visiting from the other side of town or something. then late at night you and your wife and your friends drunkenly stumble home (no fear of driving drunk).

basically, people lament the loss of community in modern cities but this sort of city would rekindle a sense of community. plus it's be safer, cleaner, more convenient, more sustainable, more fulfilling, etc.

[birdstooth]

“Is something wrong?” You jump up quickly, walking towards him, “Hal, is Loretta okay? The cows?”

DUDE I fucking scrolled back up to read the warnings when I saw this looool

Don’t DO THAT😵‍💫😵‍💫

“Rumor has it there’s a newcomer in town,”

Lol ok Adele

“Apparently he’s from here, but he got all these big ideas from up north. He’s into…I ought not to be talking about drug use with you.”

This shit is always so funny to me, like when people are like “oh I shouldn’t talk about [taboo subject] that so and so is into” and you’re like ok but how do u know about [taboo subject] then??🤔

“Yeah, the devil’s grass,” you cackle starting to walk away from him, “The preacher said it’s a real problem.”

Ya it’s a real problem for his bootleg moonshine business I bet 🙄

Also, I never really got the whole “reefer madness thing”. I can kind of see it with other drugs/alcohol bc that shit can make u rowdy, but weed just makes u calmer? (Unless the problem is that calmer also means potentially more unproductive?)

There are people who get paranoid but then they prob won’t take it again after the first thing, unlike the tendency to continue binge drinking after a hangover lol.

Anyway hilarious how ppl were like devils grass this, reefer that…meanwhile the whole country is being sprayed with DDT lmao 😂

The same one who has to know that Popcorn is making moonshine behind the church.

Who is Popcorn and what is their zodiac sign tho

“God saves all sinners.”

This sounds like the promotion tagline for a violent art house film

I’m disappointed that Hal is regurgitating this church stuff bc it’s not giving scorpio energy😔. Scorpios don’t have the natural temperament for the forgiveness/“turn the other cheek”, it’s very unnatural. He needs to be deprogrammed tbh. Someone call Leah Remini.

Aren’t there some about you and drinking and your DUI? Had my dad judged you as harshly as everyone else, would you have a job?

Not sure why I immediately googled “can u get a dui on a horse”, but the answer is… maybe.

Also, just looked up the laws for this and depending on his blood alcohol concentration or if it was his 2nd or 3rd DUI - that’s a straight up felony, yo😳

Brain: eh, not worth it. If u are looking to mark off the “convicted felon” square on your bingo card, u might as well try to get something u can brag about at your high school reunion

Me: what

Brain: yeah, like if you’re going to be a felon, at least be a cool felon… like bank robbers and stuff. Very badass, very Bonnie and Clyde

Me: yeah… I guess bank robbery is kind of the last socially acceptable crime to romanticize, even today (see: overrated Ben Affleck film “The Town”🙊)

Anyway, so is Hal like “the DUI guy” in town? Bc I feel like in small towns everyone has a thing they’re known for, like “the bookworm” or “the crotchety old man” or “the woman who communes with spirits” or “the bad harmonica player” or “the good harmonica player” kind of thing.

“I heard he likes younger girls, too,”

No shit Sherlock, he’s a man 🙄 the Pope is Catholic, etc.

“By the way, I left your mail on the table. I’ll walk you home if you need me to.”

Lmao she should have been like “yeah… I’d actually prefer to get a ride” 😆

But ok now I’m thinking about what u said re: no reliable public transportation in some small towns - so if he can’t drive he has to walk everywhere??? So if she said yea, he would have to like walk from the farm to the store, and then walk back to the farm, and then walk to wherever his house is???

😵‍💫

My brain: are u thinking what I’m thinking

Me: are u thinking that the song “500 miles” by the Proclaimers is less of a “I’d do anything for you” song and more of an “I can’t legally drive but I still want to hang out” song?

Brain: and they’re Irish too right? So it kind of makes sense

Me: ok that’s a rude stereotype…and I think they are actually Scottish

“I’ll be just fine, but thank you for the offer.”

Me when I used to work retail during the holiday rush and angry customers would tell me to [REDACTED]🤬🤬🤬

All of them in this small town get one glimpse of Cole coming back and suddenly he’s treated like he has leprosy.

Silver lining: I mean… good to know they can abide by quarantine rules if necessary 😅

And Bill, you’re sure he’s the biggest culprit of all. He saw you and Cole together, and that man just didn’t know how to let things go.

If Bill is a Scorpio… 😫😫😫

Why don’t you and I go ride through the mountains,

Lmao I’d be like oh is that where u dug the shallow grave I’m going to be dumped in after u murder me??? Huh??? 💀

“No need to change. We can go to the next town over, grab a bite to eat.”

NEVER GO TO A SECOND LOCATION. ALWAYS MEET IN PUBLIC SPACES. DONT GET IN THE CAR. ⚠️⚠️⚠️

“Thank you for not lying to me,”

Am I oversensitive, or is this kind of like an underhanded way of saying to someone that u thought they were going to lie lmao

But come on, let’s get going. And don’t growl at me when I deny you something, understand?

He doesn’t even say this shit to Loretta 😭 I hate it when ppl boss me around, like go play Civ VI if you want to be in control of the world sheesh😒

I’m giving you a kindness by breaking you in,”

Ok dude, the only things that need to be broken in are like, idk horses? And doc martens

He seriously was the most handsome man you had ever seen.

Idk, give it a couple decades and Alexander Hamilton will prob be that guy

Look at this old $10 bill

Compare to the newer 2006 bill:

This man got a glow up right???

the jaw is more square and defined

his slight double chin is gone, and now he has a slight dimple

he has fewer wrinkles, smoother skin

Is that some light CONTOURING I see along the cheekbones and around the temple area??

“You’re going to make your grandpa proud when you create your own apple tree. You could call it the peachy sweets,”

Dude is no Don Draper that’s for sure 🙄 even Pete Campbell could come up with something better than that and he thought they would market cigarettes to Americans with a deathwish lol

You stare horrified as the swinging bridge comes into view.

Omg it’s one of those like Indiana Jones bridges 😬

Cole lets you rest against him, as he drives off to a secluded clearing in the woods.

My brain: *cough*dumpsite for the bodies *cough*

“Yes, I’ve got pot, but I was thinking edibles for you.”

I’m going to respectfully disagree here. I feel like edibles are harder to correctly dose and u feel like nothing for 30-45 min and then it hits u like a train. Plus they stay in your system for a loooot longer so if u don’t like it you’re stuck like that for a few hours lol.

I mean only fuck with edibles haha but mainly bc I don’t like the pot smell and also it helps me zonk out.

But idk if she’s actually smoked before like sure have a bite of a pot brownie 🤷‍♀️

“That sweet little bean is your clit,”

Wait so she never had a sex-ed class or anything??

“Like that, but so much better. That feeling you felt? Your orgasm, it’s higher. Everything can be stimulated.

Idk, something about him mansplaining sex is weird to me it just makes me uncomfortable lol bc now she like relies on him for information lol 😖

I do need to smoke. You want to try, or you want me to get you a gummy?”

Lmao is he a walking dispensary? He just carries that shit around with him? Like even if it’s in his truck, I wouldn’t leave weed gummies in a hot ass vehicle unless he’s trying to make them less potent or something 😫

He comes back, the joint already between his lips, as he lights it up.

Sativa? Indica? Hybrid? What are we working with here

“I said you can hump your pillow.”

….Have u seen the movie “Secretary” with Maggie Gyllenhaal? This is totally the part where her boss gets off on controlling her and is like “ok for dinner u can have exactly 3 peas, 1 scoop of mashed potatoes and unlimited ice cream” lol

Letting your abused cunt brush up against his belt buckle

Me: totally hygienic. People probably polish and sanitize the hardware on their belts regularly. No problems here 🫠🫠🫠

Omg this chapter was very spicy I feel like I became an emotionally stronger and more resilient person after reading this. 🙃

(Idk if this is weird but one reason why I like reading fics is to become less uncomfortable with the idea of physical intimacy lol. I have no problem plunging my hands guts deep in some lab specimen but I’ll get major heebie jeebies if two people hold hands skin to skin no gloves… like do u know how many creases and nooks and crannies there are on your palm and in btwn your fingers 😬 But I also enjoy stuff with descriptive imagery and character nuance bc it’s like having a little life raft to cling to in the scary smutty waters lol. If I get overwhelmed I can just focus on the plot for a sec or a non-sexual character interaction, or the implications of someone’s zodiac sign 😅)

Stained Like Georgia Clay, Part 4

Summary:  Cole takes you out to the middle of nowhere

Pairings:  Cole Turner X Reader

Rating:  explicit

Warnings:  explicit language, explicit sexual content, teasing, a bit of thigh riding (If you squint), ab riding, mutual fingering, squirting, 18+ ONLY

Word Count:  5K

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*dividers created by @firefly-graphics​

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[be-gay-do-heists]

hardison/parker || masc day for parker, potentially while on date with hardison

i think it ended up a little more the dysphoria route with this one but i hope this at least touches on what u were looking for!! had a spark of an idea and had to write it :V

---

If it was just the dress, maybe Parker could stand it.

Hardison had won choosing date night this time around, and he had suggested a new restaurant that recently opened up on the other side of town. A nicer restaurant. Which meant fancier clothes and Hardison had said the dress code recommended dresses so. The dress. It had been fine, leaving the brewpub in it to go meet Hardison at the restaurant. It was comfy enough, the fabric had a nice texture, and it was the same kind of green that you could see if you looked sideways at a professionally cut emerald, which was one of their favorite colors.

It was only upon arriving at the restaurant that they realized they really, really, really did not want to be wearing it.

And if it was just the dress, maybe it would be fine. But they were out in public, and Parker had come to understand over the years that if people in public thought they had your gender clocked, you had to act, walk, and talk a certain way if you didn’t want weird stares, unwelcome attention. A performance that they didn’t particularly have the energy for if there wasn’t a con and the promise of a payout at the end of it. The first “miss” they got from the hostess made them twitch, but they made sure to keep their mask up as they saw Hardison, already at the table, who smiled sunnily as they approached and stood to help with their chair. He was wearing his purple suit, the deep plum colored one that reminded them of a bottle full of red wine.

“Wow. You look amazing, I can’t believe you’ve been hiding that dress for so long,” he said as they both sat down. “It’s not one of Sophie’s?” There was a trace of playfulness in his voice.

“No, it’s mine, I didn’t steal it,” Parker replied, latching onto his good mood for stability. They fidgeted, hyperaware of their bare shoulders and the cut of the dress around their torso. “Well, not from her anyways.”

Hardison snorted in that fond way of his. “Hey, it’s not stealing if it looks that good on you. That’s just proper re-appropriation. Anyways, you’re gonna love this place, the whole idea is normal fancy food, boring boring et cetera, but! They change the colors around so it messes with your senses and makes you experience it differently, you get me? I’m talking like green steaks, purple mashed potatoes. Cool, right?”

“Yeah, sounds great,” Parker agreed absently, discreetly hunching a little and hoping Hardison wouldn’t notice. They fiddled with the utensils on the table, which had little chameleons etched on them. That was fun. This was supposed to be fun, they reminded themselves.

“Hey, you ok?” Hardison asked, brows furrowed.

A waiter came up before he could say more. “Welcome, folks, pleasure to have you with us this evening. Can I start you with drinks?” After Hardison, concern still showing in his face ordered a fruity-sounding cocktail, the waiter turned to Parker. “And for the lady?”

They couldn’t help their flinch, knowing that Hardison saw it, and pulled out their most flawless grifting voice to respond. They deflated a little again once the waiter left.

“Shit. I shouldn’t have said dress. I should have specified that you could have worn anything you wanted, who even cares about restaurant dress codes,” the hacker said, rubbing his hands over his face. Parker had to give it to him, sometimes his brain worked faster than his computers, and he was always twice as perceptive. “Is it a they night? A he night?”

Parker shrugged a little apologetically. “I’m not sure. It’s just really, really not a she night.”

“I’m really sorry Parker, I should have checked in before we came,” Hardison sighed, and having him in the loop did actually make Parker feel a little better. “Do you wanna get out of here? I don’t want you to be uncomfortable for any longer than you have to.”

Parker immediately felt bad again. “No, you won date night, you were so excited about this place.”

“Man, don’t even sweat it,” Hardison reassured them, waving a hand. “We can come back some other time when we’re actually feeling it. Or if it’s never the date vibes, I can ask Sophie if she wants to try it sometime. You know she gets a kick out of dressing up and I’m sure she would call this place ‘an exercise in creative expression and reaction’ or something.” He smiled at Parker’s bark of laughter following his terrible impression of Sophie, which made a couple other patrons startle in their seats.

“I don’t really want to be in this dress anymore,” Parker admitted. “Maybe we could go back to the brewpub and do something there?”

“Hey, if I ever refuse a quiet night in, know that I’ve been replaced with a clone or maybe a mind-eating fungus,” Hardison beamed at them, and flagged down the waiter to pay for their drinks with a tip that made the man’s jaw drop, letting Parker lead the way out.

On the ride home, Hardison gave Parker his suit jacket, pretending he was too hot even though it was damp and cold out. It was far too big for the thief and they thought it was kind of ridiculous how it came down to almost their knees, but the broad shoulders on it made them feel good. And the wine color purple was fantastic, even though they thought it looked far better on Hardison. They said as much, and took a silent satisfaction in the way Hardison ducked his chin to hide his face.

Entering back into the safety of the brewpub and the upstairs apartment took a weight off Parker, and they sighed, kicking off their shoes and slipping off Hardison’s jacket to cast onto the back of the couch. Hardison picked up to carefully keep it from creasing with a “heaven help me” kind of look. “You got everything you wanna wear here? Need anything of mine?”

“Mostly, but…” Parker thought aloud. “Could I borrow one of your shirts? The soft ones?”

Hardison nodded fondly. “Sure thing, lemme grab one.” While he was in the bedroom, Parker stripped off their dress like it was burning them, shaking the feeling of it away once it was off. They spotted their good jeans on the chair by the hallway that Hardison liked to call “Parker’s wardrobe,” where all the clothes they had left while over lived, and rushed to put them on. They were comfy and boxy and had a button-up fly. More buttons felt good.

“Incoming,” Hardison’s voice called, and he entered with his eyes covered, tossing a shirt in their direction. Parker jumped to catch it, and quietly approved of his selection, a wooly flannel type. They wiggled it on, tucking it in slightly, and exhaled in relief on how delightfully big it was, draping off the prominent muscles in their shoulders, leaving enough room on their torso so that the fabric wouldn’t cling to them. They rolled up the sleeves to expose their strong forearms, looked down at their broad hands. Yeah, this was much better, they thought, tying up their hair high.

“I’ve still got those canvases from last time, and the same paints, if you wanna do that. Ooh, I just got some good charcoal too if you’d rather sketch,” Hardison was saying, sifting through his art supplies. Parker bounded over and pressed up against his side. He jumped slightly but turned to look at them. “Feeling better?”

“Lots,” Parker hummed.

The hacker took in their outfit change. “And looking damn handsome too. Real suave, James Dean kinda look.” When Parker wryly grinned and crossed their arms, squaring their shoulders and standing tall, he mimed a swoon (Parker could see the slight, genuine flush that rose to his face). “So what do you wanna do tonight?”

“Dunno, it’s still your date night,” Parker replied, putting a little more husk in their voice and enjoying the way they could see Hardison’s thoughts stutter slightly.

He recovered quickly. “Well, all I want is a nice night in with my fella, whatever we do is gonna be more than alright with me.”

Parker felt another glow of joy at the endearment, and moved to wrap their arms tightly around him, one hand coming up to grip the back of the hacker’s neck. “Thanks Hardison. I really mean it.”

Hardison softened a little against their firm embrace. “Of course, I never want you to be uncomfortable. I love you.”

“I know,” Parker responded, and smiled mischievously into Hardison’s shoulder as he sputtered.

“Oh no you did not—“

[messwriting]

THE SMUT PILE SECRET SANTA

Golden Eyes

Demon!Kuroo Tetsurou x Female Reader  

Rating: E for explicit | Don’t read this if under eighteen.

Note: HOE HOE HOE INDEED! HAHAHAHA 

This is my secret santa gift for my dear elf Alisha -- @rivendell101​! I do hope you enjoy, I just tried to channel all of Kuroo’s wicked energy into this and sprinkled it with our beloved monsterfucking. Sorry for all the questions, I just wanted to surprise you but also include only things you’d like. ;-; Hope you enjoy and MERRY SMUTMAS <3

Big thanks and lots of kisses to my dear Tay @deathcab4daddy who read this, betaed, and said it wasn't the train wreck I thought it was 😂🥺😘💕

Warnings: This is loosely inspired by the manhwa DEAR DOOR, by Pluto, from which the art above is also from (Satan is fucking hot)! Monsterfucking - Demon. Use of tongue and tail in a very uh naughty way. Magic makes you horny at some point (tho i don’t think is dub-con?), but just to be sure Magic Manipulation. Assplay with tongue and finger penetration. Denials, oh so many denials. Sprinkle of spanking. Soft pain play. Overstim. Oral sex. Rough sex. CHOKING. BITING. MARKING. Demon uhhhh lure? aijaisajisj He’s seducing you with his devilish powers. CORRUPTION. RELIGIOUS BLASPHEMY (sorry jesus).

Word count: ~7.4k. I can’t write anything short, why?!

“So… you’re a demon?” You ask, weirdly not completely panicking over the fact that this brick wall of a man showed up out of nowhere in the middle of your living room as if this were just another Sunday night. The stranger smiles your way with a lopsided grin and the shivers that run through your body seem to support his affirmation.

“Did the horns give it away?” The dark-haired demon asks, with a smile that could make him the single male model of some sin’s propaganda. Your eyes flick to his tail, long and thick, moving calmly in waves behind him, and come up to the unbelievably wide black wings sprouting from his back and threatening to blow a hole in your ceiling. 

“Sure,” You say while your eyes come back to his face, taking a second look at the long, twisted black horns sprouting from his high forehead and mixing with his thick raven hair. “Let’s say it’s the horns.”

He snickers but his golden stare is very much sharp on you. Even before it pinned you in place you had found that your legs had begrudgingly refused to move in front of the massive presence in your living room. 

“You’re an interesting little thing, aren’t you?” He muses out loud, his arms crossing in front of his body while one hand cradles his own face while he looks down at you. The gold irises glint in the dark like a beacon, the small crystal-like black pupil like that of a wild animal. “Normally people would have been screaming by now. Or passing out. Maybe running.” He doesn’t move from where he stands, but his sentient tail floats over to you, lightly caressing the side of your face as a child stroking their pet; it moves under your chin, over your jaw and cheekbone, pats your hair back, and comes to circle your throat. 

It doesn’t squeeze -- but the threat is pretty much clear.

“I don’t think my legs can move.” You tell him in a breathless voice, panic eating away at the corners of your sanity the more you stare at the insanity in front of you. A monstrosity of man with a tail and wings to crown it swaying in your living room as if it’s all okay, as if this is real life. You shudder in place, a whole-body wave of dread that moves along your body and makes you tremble as all the hair on your being stands in place. He grins down at you, wicked and pretty, a cheshire air of mischief in the way his golden irises glint in the dark background of his eyes and mingle with the dim lit room to go with the roll of white pearls of sharp-looking teeth in his mouth.

“Am I dreaming?” Your thoughts escape from your lips in a breath as his tail grounds you to reality, burning hot and heavy around your neck. It contrasts awkwardly with the image in front of you, which your brain keeps trying to deny as true, but the weight of his tail pulls you from the edge of disbelief and pins you in place, your limbs turning cold as you feel unable to move. “Or am I going insane, somehow?”

“Do you think your brain is failing you, little one?”

“Well, seems like the logical reason why there’s a winged man in my living room. With horns and-- a tail.” Your voice stops and you gulp right before your eyes snap once again to his devilish black and golden eyes. “Wait. Are you a demon? Is… a demon in my living room?” The more you speak the least sense it makes. The thing in front of you seems to be very amused by the twinges of panic and disbelief coloring your voice and expression. “Why?”

He smirks and his wings do a fluttering thing before they curve inside his back, two massive black things even when they’re closed. “Must be your lucky day.”

You snort even through your scared haze. “Not exactly what one thinks when considering demons.”

“Ah, bad rep.” Kuroo says and he floats as if he’s sitting on a chair, his legs crossing as he supports an elbow on his thigh and his face on his hand. It’s both parts unnerving and enthralling, and you’re struck with the fact of how big he is once again. “God’s marketing team is hella good. We get the rep for everything going on now-- the crops died? Oh, the devil. Psycho kid? Demoniac. Fucked up government? Send from hell. Sex? Devilish.” He sighs, his pretty lips jutting in a pout as his beautiful face falls into a tired mask. “It’s tiresome to be the poster-boys to all things wicked.”

“Well, seems like you do the part just fine.” You hide yourself through some small sarcasm, as you grumble the remark.

“Hah.” His sharp teeth flash in the dark at the barked laugh, a gasped sound as if he truly found your remark funny. “We get used to it,” He nods your way and then shrugs, a never-leaving smirk on his lips. “And I like the style.”

“Sure,” you say, despite the clear unconvinced tone of your voice as your eyebrows shut up slowly, eating the distance from your hairline until you blink and tiptoe around your next words, “not to be rude, Mr. Demon--”

“Call me Kuroo.” He cuts you off charmingly, as one would in flirting; a playful arch in his brows as his smile spreads just that bit more over his face. You just now realize the appeasing traces of it, the sharp angle of his jaw, the high of his square cheekbones, and the elegant line of his nose; then your eyes fly over the protruding circles of his horns, and your eyes go round almost involuntarily. 

“Okay…” It breaches your lips along with a puff of breath. You blink a few times before continuing, still doubting your own eyes as they thread over the massive monster in front of you. You wonder if he’d look better if he’s bent to your height, but then again that wouldn’t do much about those broad shoulders, engulfing your wall where he stands. “Not to be rude, Mr. Kuroo, but…” you steady yourself with a deep breath before continuing, your hand flying to press against your eyes before you can reopen then and see the exact same thing from before -- a demon in your house. “What the fuck you’re doing here, exactly?” 

He smiles, pleased with your cussing, apparently. Then his eyes turn focused, predatory,  and they’re locked on you.

“I’ve come to offer a deal, little one.”

“A deal?” You parrot, lost in the pull of those golden eyes.

“Yes,” Kuroo smirks, lips splitting unnaturally over sharp canines. He keeps floating in his position, face supported on a big, clawed, hand. “And a quite good one, too.” 

“You… You’re at my home, to offer me a deal, right after the small rant on Devil’s bad marketing.” You list the things, doubt thick in your voice.

Kuroo smiles, but it looks wrong. “Yes, dear.” 

“Okay,” You risk, though it comes out as a question. Kuroo seems pleased, though. “Go ahead, I guess?”

“I need something from you.”

“Oh shit, is this the soul thing?” Your eyes widened again, hands coming to stand protectively in front of you even as you doubt you could do much to fend him off if he wanted to do you harm. “I’ve seen Supernatural, I’m not selling my fucking soul okay?!”

“Chill, kitten, I don’t really mind your soul.” He’s rather nonchalant, golden eyes completing a circle along his eyeballs before they fall once again on you while Kuroo comes out from his floating position to pace calmly over to you. Then, his sharp teeth split his face wickedly in two, an alluring characteristic in the way his lips form an overconfident grin as he bends over you in your place on the couch. “It’s your body I’m interested in.”

“My… body?” 

“Have you ever heard of hell portals?” His face engulfs your line of vision as his tail angles your head back to look up at him, a clawed finger gliding over your jawline at that.

“No? Should I? Who do you think I am to know about hell doors?” It happens again, your thoughts slipping through your lips at the same rate as you think them, the sarcastic tone of your mind also dripping out much as if that had been your intention all along. 

He seems rather happy at that, too.You wonder if he’s prying the truth from you somehow. “Well, you’re one.”

“What?” You ask, stupidly, as his face gets further from you and he straightens back into his full height.

“A door, to hell.” Kuroo finishes, cheerfully. It looks, once again, wrong on his face, as if it's more of a threat than a joke. 

 The seconds pass by as falling rocks over metal, loud and rattling, a restless moment in which you keep staring at the monster --demon-- face and even as his horns stay in place and his curved wings twitch, it stills feels wholly detached from reality; an insane, out of this plane moment in which you doubt your whole being - your eyes and your ears and your brain and your skin, where the weight and warmth of his tail still surrounds your neck.

“Now I know I’m losing my mind.” You murmur to yourself as you can’t make peace between reality and, well, this reality. 

“Ah, you humans are such disbelievers. I’m here in front of you, saying you’re a portal, and you still doubt your own eyes as if they’re the origin of your offense.” Kuroo mocks you, crossing his arms in front of his body and for a second your eyes linger on the blackness of his clawed hands, the weird way they’re shaped as if something is enveloping them, elongating claws on the point of his fingers with the color of a moonless night. Still, the acidic tone in his voice makes you perk up with infuriating annoyance, and it seeps from you at the same rate as it fills you. 

“Well, sorry if it’s hard for me to believe I’m a fucking hell portal.” You sass him, fiery eyes closing on gold. It’s even more annoying that he smiles through your taunt. “Ten minutes ago I didn’t even believed in hell.”

“You can keep doubting if you want. Aren’t you doing so even when you see me here? All I need is passage and then you’ll be free to doubt once again,” his eyes glow brighter as he closes in on yours in a way that has you swaying in place, a vexatious air around him that’s unmistakable; but then again he is a demon, so maybe that’s just the norm. “That is… if you want.”

A shiver runs down your spine at the promise in his voice, and your own trembles when you ask, “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“That this can be a one-time thing -- or not.” 

You blink, a bit lost. 

“What’s this, exactly?” Your brain pulses in pain at the quantity of information it has to make sense and still try to understand. It’s too much and soon you’re pressing your hands on your face in frustration, “Dude, you’re not making sense.”

“It’s easy.” Kuroo says and suddenly you’re yanked up by thin air, floating in front of his fingers at his will as he twirls your body in the air as if you’re some sick kind of roulette. “Inside you, there’s a portal. I’ll activate it, and go to hell. In exchange, I’ll give you something.” As he speaks, clawed hands slowly and maliciously thread over the valley of your breasts and then down your middle, his golden eyes like a lighthouse to your wandering attention. “Something I know you desire, but you may not even know so. May not even accept yourself.” As his fingers approach the appex of your sex, you’re rounded in the air abruptly and set right on your feet in front of him, safe and sound and dizzy, feeling like prey to those eyes. “It may be this single time, or, if you accept my deal, it can be more.”

You breathe some big gulps of air before speaking in a wavering voice, “Something I wish? And you won’t tell me what that would be?”

“Essentially, you know. You just may be in… denial.” His eyes flash that golden glint once again, twirling molten pools of liquid sun on his face. Their constant, slow motion never-ending circles seeping inside your consciousness, making your mind blank, slowly flowing into a haze in which you feel lost but safe; warmth flowing from it over you as if you’re being dipped in melted honey, weighted down but comfortable, as moving against warm waves in a tropic beach. 

It tips from your mouth as you’re swimming in the molten pools of gold, pulled out from your body as the warm breath from your lungs, heated and pliant. “Okay.”

The spell crashes as his grin spreads through his face, the self-satisfied smirk of a cat who got its prey. Just as you’re burning in embarrassment and ready to cancel whatever that was you just said yes to, a sudden wave of warmth spreads from your face to your feet, your hair undulating at the force it hits you, and travelling so quickly you can feel the way your toes curve while a buzz crosses them, a pleasant but foreign thrill settling in your bones. You send him a nasty glare. 

“The fuck have you done to me?”

“Me? Nothing, kitten.” Kuroo tells you but everything from his expression, to his stance and the fucking satisfied smirk he sports tell you it’s a lie. Your glare turns worse. His lips are curved up in a telling manner but he concedes with a tilt of his head.  “I just lowered your inhibitions, relax.”

“Why would you do that?” The questions zap from your mouth just as you think it, and in a fleeting thought you wonder if that isn’t exactly what he meant. 

“I told you, I’m going to give you what you want.” Kuroo says as he stops in front of you, a sexy, powerful sway in the way he moves and towers over you that you can’t help but appreciate. “But I need you to accept your darker wishes,” It’s a murmur, raspy in his deep voice, and you breathe the words in as the indecent, luscious feeling swell inside your being and seems to find it’s home in your chest-- and drip from your sex. “And then embrace me.”

“I don’t want you.” You tell him, but it comes breathless, weak, and as Kuroo’s golden eyes pierce yours, you can feel as he pinpoints your lie. 

“Then let’s change that, shall we?” 

He wastes no time in maneuvering you into his arms, pulling you through thin air until his feral hands close around your middle and neck. Kuroo tilts your head back while grazing a single clawed finger over your pulse-point and up to your jawline, and then his breathing comes loud and misty against your bared skin. 

“Wait--” You plead as your breath comes in long puffs and when you wet your lips before continuing, a freakishly long, wet and hot tongue comes to lick a big stripe of your skin and you yelp loudly, “-- the fuck!” 

Kuroo, on the other hand, literally hums approvingly and brings his nose to glide over your skin, soft breathing as his hands pull you closer into his massive chest. You realize now, at the proximity,  just how big and broad he is, somehow between terrifying and uncanningly acceptable. 

His body runs hot, the temperature difference between yours quite clear when your skin feels so heated by his touch, clothes you found nice now feeling constricting the more of you that touches him. 

The planes of his chest are hard and toned, lean muscle and strength as he moves you up without effort, your feet dangling way above the ground and still no hint of struggle as he supports your weight. As you get closer, those yellow irises centered in black globes seem to pry inside your mind, big and all encompassing; it makes something coil in your chest, much like panic but tame as agitation.

“Wait--” You breathe out and look down, shocked at the distance you found yourself from the ground. Something crawls from your chest as a distressed groan, “I--” 

Kuroo tilts your head back and -- not without sending you a smirk -- delves down to close your lips together.

Whatever you were expecting, it wasn’t this -- you’re swept away by the kiss, amazed at how well your mouths work together, how perfectly plush and soft his thin lips feel on yours, how pleasing the motions of his tongue are against yours, how tasteful his movements are, and before long, you’re breaking the kiss but because you need to breathe, to pull some air inside yourself to battle the haze settling in your mind.  

It does nothing to aid you though.

Your body feels achingly flushed, avid, weirdly pliant and it is with mild surprise that you feel yourself drooling inside your panties. Something tells you to be indignant, to kick him, to bite and claw, but instead you’re sighing the weakest of noises, spiralling back to his expert lips, falling deeper inside the slow seduction that this demon offers.

Kuroo moves you calmly, his big, searing hot hands threading across your body and working goosebumps in it’s trail even as all he does is touch you over your clothes. Your hands, previously abandoned by the side of your body start to move up his body, spreading your small palms over his chest, and instead of pushing him off, you’re pulling him closer, opening your mouth wider, your legs hiking over his side as if you’re begging for the moment he’ll pick you up.

“Hmm, what a nice little thing you are.” Kuroo murmurs over your lips, taking in the wrecked expression you sport with just a kiss. “So honest, too.” His claws glide over your thigh, hiked on his side. It doesn’t hurt, but the feeling of something sharp sliding against your skin makes your heart rate pick up and your panties grow wetter.

“You’ll like this too, kitten, don’t worry.” His syrupy voice enchants you as he hooks a razor-sharp claw on the side of your shorts, threads up slowly and precise until the ripping sound breaks through your haze. When you look down, your hooded eyes turn wide, taking in the fact he just ripped your shorts and how easily they slide to the ground once they’re free from your hiked leg. The panties stay, but they’re not exactly much. 

“Hey!” You turn to look up at him, puffed cheeks in indignation, and one of his hands yanks your head back, angling your body in a arch as his other hand glides over your thigh to your lower belly, sharp thumb swiftly climbing up your body and with such, ripping your comfy t-shirt. The feeling of something scratching along your middle and the valley of your breasts make your breathing catch up on your lungs, too afraid it will press enough to hurt if you move. You never knew a menace could be this seductive.

Still, the anticipation coils inside you, pours from between your legs as your skin feels too small to hold all the feelings cursing to you, your breasts heavy and your lips falling open in a breath that Kuroo drinks from your lips, attentive and dedicated as his tongue comes out and slides over your lips.

His eyes glint in the dark, sharp and focused. 

“You know what? I think I’ll like you.”

 The air feels cold on your heated skin, especially when he holds you so close. Small trembles pass through your frame as you melt inside his kiss, falling deeper inside the pleasure he offers you and Kuroo barely started. Your nipples perk up without attention and when his rough palm rolls over them, their new-found sensitivity makes it impossible for you to not let out a sound. It’s something meek and surprised, but Kuroo seems proud of it and decided to pull more out of you. 

Magically, you’re yanked up, floating until your middle is at the height of his neck. 

“Hey! What are you doing?” Your head is millimeters from hitting the ceiling, your hands touching it as a way to protect yourself, you throw a nasty glare down at his face just for him to make a half-circle in the air and your upper body be launched behind. 

“No!” You’re laying on thin air -- your heart beating so fast your blood pulses in your head as you look over your shoulder and notices just how impossible is the situation going on, where you’re levitating a few meters from the ground. 

If he stops now, would you go down crashing? Would you die from such a fall? Questions swirl in your mind enough for you to forget whats going on - the way a sharp claw swiftly cuts the side of your panties - until something wet, firm and long prods on your dripping folds.

“What--” Your first action is to hitch your neck up so you can confirm that it is what you think it is, and, granted, Kuroo is slowly prying you open, his huge tongue threading on your most sensitive parts. As he laps a long stripe down your pussy, he looks up at you in flashing gold, seeming extremely pleased. 

Kuroo winks at you, depraved.

Your blood is rushing through your veins at such a haste that you feel dizzy, and your whole body is fervent as something very loud breaks through your lips as Kuroo’s tongue moves and presses on your slit, circles your clit, and moves in serpentine movements along your puffy cunt. 

You didn’t realize before how the texture of his tongue was a bit rugged but now you’re suffering the full extent of its benefits as he eats you out sloppily, enough that you’re dripping down on the carpet as his monstrously long and dexterous tongue plays with your cunt as if that’s his sole mission on earth. Kuroo hums against your clit, makes your whole body tremble with it, and at some point, he manages to press his tongue flat against your clit and still reach enough that it dips softly inside your entrance, slowly and deliciously prying the inner ring of your sex open, then broader.

You can’t help the noises falling from your lips and when one of his rough, clawed hands close around your breast, the pressure inside you peaks and you’re panicking at how close you are to your first orgasm, from his tongue alone, at an impossible long and sentient… demon tongue. 

But he retreats just as your mouth falls open, your throat constricted by the scream that instead becomes an indignated gasp. “Fuck--! I was--”

“Hmmm, I know.” Kuroo answers you, his hands coming to hold your thighs open as you tremble from the effort. His thumb pulls your cunt lips apart and his golden eyes glint, fierce and pleased at the same time. “Aren’t you an interesting plaything? Skyrocketing into pleasure head first when I was just getting a taste.” He licks his lips, his canines making an appearance as his ridiculous long tongue cleans his face and chin where your juices have leaked to. 

His grin should be illegal. “Delicious, by the way. But I’m not ready to end this so fast.”

“End this… fast?” You ask, still having difficulty in thinking straight when you’re floating up in the air with your legs spread open in front of his face, his thumbs spreading you open as if you’re his meal and he likes to play before eating.

“Maybe we should go somewhere more comfortable.” Kuroo muses out loud and before you can blink you’re falling, screaming in your surprise until you bounce on the comfortable cushion of your bed. The air is knocked out of you in a oof, but Kuroo just looks down at you happily, his smile still looking mischievous as if that’s his whole personality trait.

You know what, maybe it is.

“Warn a girl.” You tell him, and he winks your way, just as he pulls your naked body to the edge of the bed.

“Consider yourself warned: i’m about to eat you up.”

His massive hands engulf you and arch your body into his eager mouth, where his tongue lavish at your sex in a way that has you feeling as if they everywhere and at the same time. The muscle is thick and long, firm as it presses from your entrance to your clit, as it rounds your sensitive spot and slithers down through your pussy lips, slurping it with his lips as his wicked tongue never stops its prodding.

One of his hands circles your body, closes around your breast and tweeks your hard nipple between his thumb and forefinger, painfully, deliciously, something obscene curling inside you at the way the feelings mix, the pain and the bliss and it doesn’t help that Kuroo moves his mouth to the sensitive and fragile skin of your inner thighs and build a whole trail of bite marks and throbbing hickeys. 

Something firm, large and hot slither up your body, circling a breast but finding it’s home at a circle around your neck -- his tail -- and the more vocal you become, the more it seems to close around your throat, your heart beating on your fingertips as they claw at anything of Kuroo’s you can reach, hazy and breathless at the way he discloses your wicked desires so plainly, the way his every move seems to discover layer after thick layer of temptations that you have hidden so deep with partners before.

“Such a pretty little thing you are,” Kuroo coos to you when he presses a thick finger past the tight ring of your cunt. “So honest and eager,” It moves, prods, another one joins and soon they’re scissoring against your walls, opening your tender flesh so he can sink himself in further. 

The mere thought has you moaning out loud -- unbelievable and yet, you feel how your arousal drips from your cunt to your thighs.

 “Ahhhh~” Kuroo exhales as his tongue laps a long stripe of your juices. “So pure.” He says against your pussy lips, kissing them and then letting his long tongue slide further until it prods between the cheeks of your ass, immediately falling into circular motions on the furl of muscle. You yelp but midway it becomes an embarrassing moan. “This just makes me wanna ruin you more.”

It’s too much -- he has to know it’s too much, and as Kuroo curves his fingers just right inside your sloppy cunt and his tongue breaches just the tiniest bit the resistance of your ass, your eyes are falling open in huge plates, a long moan of his name on your tongue as you’re so close to cumming you can practically taste the high already.

“No, not now.” Kuroo chastises you as he retreats his tongue and fingers from you, the arch of your body ready to snap curling in a tremble of a denied release.

“Too soon, kitten. I want to savor this.” His tone comes out between pleased and patronizing, and it makes your cunt clench, empty. 

You heave, unfocused eyes blinking the wicked golden away. “What--” A deep breath. “What do you want from me?”

“Wrong question, kitten.” Kuroo tells you just as his massive frame bends over you, the wicked eyes seducing you in once again -- not that they ever stopped. “Now that I got a taste,” He murmurs practically against your lips, and you lick where his breath hits, captivated, “I want all of you.”

 He lets you fall on the bed once again and maneuvers your body without difficulty until your ass is high in the air and your thighs are spread, his tail lighter around your throat, fondly slithering on your jaw. His knee presses on the mattress until it squeaks and his hands massage from your thighs to your ass, prying it open and kneading it with hard, powerful hands.

“Beautiful.” He praises you and you swear your pussy throbs and flutters hard enough to make a gushing noise. By the way Kuroo snickers, it may be true. 

His tongue is the first thing you feel right after his laboured breathing on your cunt. It pries you open, thick muscle sliding inside you, big and wet and dexterous and you’re moaning against the mattress in seconds. 

Kuroo seems pleased even though all he does is hum, his large hands press on your back and the other opens your cheeks wide for his assault. Something hot prods your asshole, and you’re surprised at how careful his fingers can be while maneuvering the wetness left by his tongue there. They move slowly but surely as he presses and retreats, opening you from two fronts and still seemingly not enough.

He decides to change, his tongue coming out of your sex and then sliding to your ass as his thumbs open your lips for him to watch as he dips two big fingers inside your cunt. The stretch, the massive pleasure of being assaulted by both ends make you clench and cream around his digits, once again climbing up the familiar euphoric road. 

This time, however, Kuroo stops you differently.

His hard, heavy hand falls on your ass cheeks forcefully in what must be his intention of being light. You yelp loudly and groan, somehow caught between winding down and flying right over the edge. 

“Oh, hoho~” Sounds from his voice and he descends his hand once again on your ass, heavy and startling. It sounds so loud and so lewd in the empty room, your whole being burns in place, trembling from the effort of holding yourself in all fours and the pure elation growing inside you, spreading from your fingertips to the depraved center of your being. 

As the sting settles in your senses, it winds down your orgasm but makes a renewed wave drip from your cunt and down your thigh. You’re surprised at how it excites you, the pain, but fuck it still stings. His hand falls on your ass a couple more times but then his hot palms knead the stinging flesh, an exquisite feeling spreading over you as it throbs and burns and you melt.

“Ugh! Fuck!” You groan, biting the mattress, unable to tell him to stop and too embarrassed to tell him to keep going.

“You really are a nice plaything, aren’t you?” Kuroo asks but it seems as if it's more for himself, his digits collecting your wetness as he dips once again inside your cunt, spreading his fingers apart and sliding a third inside just as his thumb circles your clit lightly and you howl, sensitive and wanton, too eager into tasting bliss.

This time, at least you’re half-conscious he’s not letting you cum. Kuroo stops, leaving you clenching for something, anything and gives you nothing. His immoral smirk seems to sound in the air, much as the way his tail leaves your throat to circle your hair and yank you back, stuffing your open mouth with the fingers that were just inside you. You lap obediently at them and he groans in your ear, teeth nibbling at your skin. It’s almost as if he’s tempted.

“We’re almost ready, kitten.” He tells you with a hoarse voice, all sin and flames, “Hold on.”

“Ready?” You question poorly with a mouth stuffed of fingers, but he understands and nods your way, his tongue licking the spit that starts dripping from the corner of your mouth at how broad his fingers open it. 

You don’t see if Kuroo undress or if he just magically gets naked behind you, the startling thing being the incredible feeling of his hot skin on yours, the dazzling feeling of his hard planes of muscle on your back, the sublime sight of his skin marked by faint scars; When you feel the scalding, throbbing thick member at the side of your thigh, however, you have to look back. 

“Oh my God,” You murmur at the sight of his cock. It’s proportional to his form, but that just means it’s ridiculously big, a veiny, swollen thing that seems looming as it stands close to you, and it clicks in your slow mind just what he meant by almost ready.

“Nope, I’m on the other team here.” Kuroo grins at you as he turns you with your back on the bed, spreads you on the cushion until your thighs hurt from the effort. His tail sways behind him as if to paint a scene, and you realize his wings are nowhere to be seen now, “Though I do think it’s some kind of poetic justice to have you screaming and blaspheming jesus while I fuck you silly.”

The higher part of your cheekbones alights with flames at the implication and you gasp back the words you planned on speaking when Kuroo’s hand pivots your lower back up to his mouth and closes his efforts on your neglected clit as his freak thick tongue enters you in one go.

You cannot explain the sensation of such a soft muscle invading your walls, or the way in which it seems to focus so expertly on your weak spots, but you’re too wound up not to fall head first into rapture. 

When he stops this time, you actually curse him, in the most wrecked sound that has ever left your lips.

“Ughhhhhhh--Fuck you!”

The bastard laughs, debauched, then deposits a kiss over your pussy as his golden eyes fix on you. “Now you’re ready.”

Kuroo adjusts until you’re both at the bed, pulling you up on his powerful thighs until his cock bounces over your navel and reaches way too high for you to actually be calm. But then he retreats his hips, bent over you so his lips can steal the air from your lungs just as his large hand palms at your breasts and his tail slither by your side. 

“Try not to cum too fast, kitten.”

“Easier said than done,” you grumble back against his lips and let yourself fall into the ruthless ecstasy of being spread open on his cock. His lips thread on the side of your jaw, under your neck, biting and sucking on your skin as his hands divide themselves between holding you up and pawing at every bit of you they can reach.

Everything feels so good, as if he knows your inner thoughts by hint alone -- your toes curl at each newfound area that receives his onslaught, you’re contorting at how good his mouth feels on your pulsepoint as he slowly starts to sink his cock inside you. It’s a weird feeling, to feel so full and yet still so eager, but you’re welcoming him at each torturous inch he manages to squeeze inside your tight walls. Your body trembles from the effort, Kuroo’s tongue slides from your neck to your nipple as his hand climbs up and settles around your throat, his fingers enveloping your neck.

Your heart picks up enough that you feel it beating on your ears as you search for his eyes and finally you’re pinned in place under the sharp gold and their twisted intent. 

“Scream for god if you want me to stop.” Is the warning he gives you before his fingers start constricting around your neck, your airways blocked as your chest starts to heave. And in between the small twinge of anxiousness and alarm, you realize just how much that entices you, how much it makes you burn and crave. Somehow you feel corrupted, falling into desires that threaten to peel you apart and leave you exposed.

Kuroo’s cock keeps slowly stretching your insides and his tongue twirls your nipple, your lungs burning for air and your eyes rolling inside your skull as you skyrocket into blissful free-fall. 

“Oh, hell yes.” You listen but don’t register as your body seems to be crushed under the massive pressure of your climax, burning and bright, sound ringing in your head that you come to find out it’s from your hoarse moan, your breathing laboured as Kuroo allows you to suck in air during your peak.

It dawns on you as you’re coming back to your body that theres a twinge of soft pain indicating Kuroo has bottomed out, his muscular thighs pressing flush against yours, the feeling incredible but fuck so much right now. 

As Kuroo nestles himself entirely inside of you, you feel as if your focus shifts, the task to not concentrate all of your attention on the massive hot cock spliting you in two is difficult. Your body feels tight, and not just from your fluttering walls that are constricting around him.

Kuroo sends you a big smile above your head, twinkling eyes in the dark. “Now, hold on.”

You do your best to do so, your arms latching onto him with all the strength you can muster as his hips retreat and then slam back inside you. You’re jolted at each push and pull, the sensual motions so depraved as the noises echo in the room, and you’re dragged into the ferocious pleasure that threatens to overwhelm you, and despite the fact you’ve cum just few moments before, as his tail slides between your bodies and circles and pats at your clit, you’re screaming and, quite unbelievably, cumming again.

“Now we’re very ready.” Kuroo says in a grunt above you, shameless grin as his eyes do their golden thing once again. He lets you stop trembling, peppering small kisses along your collarbone until you’re breathing normally again, but something tells you you’re just being fooled. 

“What?” You tiredly question, the feeling of dread confirming your suspicion.

“We have the whole night ahead of us, little one.” Kuroo nudges at the side of your face, bites softly at the junction of your jaw. “Or we could have more. All you need to do is say yes and i’ll mark you nice and easy here--” His teeth softly nibble on your pulsepoint, “and you’ll be mine.”

“Oh, god.” 

“Haha, wrong again.” His eyes pierce yours, swirling gold as molten honey dripping over your body and weighting your mind down. “Go ahead, tell me what you want.”

It tips out, softly and raw, and you have to close your eyes to hide your emotion. “To belong.”

“Oh, my little thing.” Kuroo softly murmurs on your ear, “Belong to me, then.”

You’re swaying despite lying down, something big and heavy coiling inside your chest as you blink, “I don’t want to belong to someone who isn’t mine.”

It’s a big truth to leave out -- the need for companionship, but a mutual one, a lasting one, a trusting one. You don’t want to be alone, but you also don’t want to have someone who doesn’t belong to you, too. 

Kuroo just smiles, golden eyes on yours, melting you from the fierceness alone. “Exactly,” he speaks against your lips, the taste of his breath on your tongue and you eagerly gulp it down, wickedly licking at his lips. “But i’ll be yours, too.”

In your hazed state, that’s all you need to hear, so you just shyly nod -- and Kuroo growls, angles your head to the side, and sears a marking bite on your neck -- deep, and painful. You mewl, body arching into his touch, and his tongue laps at the fresh wound, making it nice and numb.

“Now, let’s go to the main course.” Kuroo gives you no rest, retreating his hips and slamming back inside. “Don’t forget to breathe!” He teases between your moans. 

Once the fucking starts, it’s a frantic mess, and it goes on forever until the mere feeling of Kuroo’s cock leaving your heat is enough to make you whimper at the loss. The feeling of him inside your walls, a thing that mingles with your being, seares your memory until you cannot remember the feeling of not being split open on his thick cock. As you melt away from the overstimulation of having no rest while Kuroo contently and incessantly keeps pistoning inside you, your painful pleasure mixes until you’re climbing into something that feels weirdly uncanny, your mind -- or is it your body? -- twirls inside itself as if there’s something more than just sweet release ready to burst out. 

Kuroo has made you both teeter on the edge of pleasure and fall into it so many times you can’t differentiate the feelings that come now, this sensation of something being pulled out of you like the many orgasms he caused.

“Hmmm… Yes, my time is coming.” Kuroo groans, his hips movements turning sloppy, apparently displeased with his fucking being cut short while you very much suck a thankful breath at being able to rest. Kuroo’s teeth descend on your neck once again, his hot tongue over the pulsating mark of his bite and you feel him shudder and groan your name as he finally - finally - peaks, the feeling of hot spurts spreading inside you. 

As he cums, Kuroo brings a finger to rub over your abused clit softly and between your oversensitivity and the fact he angles his fat cockhead to softly pound over your sweet spot as he sails his own climax, there’s very little you can do but be ripped apart in bliss, once again, by him. This time is weird. Even as pleasure keeps swirling inside you and building up with the eerie sensation, you can do very little but hold on and wait until the waves crash and pass and you can blissfully surrender into the darkness of exhaustion. 

However, the freakish sensation twirling inside yourself builds and builds until you’re light-headed from the feeling and you just then realize how you’re shining, and how Kuroo has disappeared.

You don’t even have it in yourself to panic. Your body feels heavy and used, spent in the best way possible, but still completely unused to such a frantic session as every muscle in your being throbs, and your eyelids weigh the world as they fall closed and you’re engulfed by darkness.

-

[bonus scene]

 When you wake up in the morning, you are engulfed in a nice blanket, dressed in some mismatched set of pajamas, feeling as if you just had the best sleep of your life - and a weird vivid dream to go with it. You’re blinking up to your ceiling, stretching on your bed and satisfied with how the knots break in small noises as you sit up, when you feel just how sore you are, how your body is heavy despite satisfied, how your thighs burn and your sex throbs. 

Everything crashes up on your mind way too fast, and you’re suddenly torn between passing out and bolting up, but as you try to get up your body falters and a big, hard, hot hand plants itself over your middle and pulls you right back at the bed. 

Of course, you scream.

“Shh, kitten, there’s people trying to sleep here, y’know?”

“What--How--What are you doing here?” You shriek, looking at what is definitely the demon you thought you dreamed, but in a way more humanized version if the absence of his horns, claws and massive wings are anything to go by. The golden eyes are sharp as ever, but no black background to them, and you can infer by that much that his sinful tail probably isn't around too.

The grin he sends your way gives you war flashbacks that make your skin prickle with goosebumps. 

“Well, yesterday was quite nice.” He tells you and you can feel your whole face burn from his tone alone. “So I decided that hell can wait a bit more while I have more fun with you.” His eyes flash with a weird energy, and Kuroo brings his fingers to glide over his bite mark at your neck. The throbbing mark you had forgotten about until now. “After all, you’re mine now.”

“Oh, fuck.”

You’re doomed.

[narraboths]

you know that catco employees are already groaning whenever Kara walks into the office with a new hairstyle or a new outfit bc they know they're going have to put up with their boss staring like she's never seen a woman before

Kara Danvers is, objectively speaking, an incredibly worthy object of one’s workplace crush.

Most of CatCo’s employees will readily admit that they’ve all been there: Kara Danvers is lovely and kind, she has the nicest laugh, she’s practically sunshine personified. She remembers people’s birthdays, brings them coffee unasked, and attempts to temper Cat Grant’s wrath whenever it threatens to strike. Even when she gets bumped to junior reporter, she’s still the same charming goofball, only she now rushes in and out of the building chasing stories  with a vengeance instead of lattes. Who could ever resist a crush on her?

Most of CatCo’s employees, however, will also hasten to point out that they could at least keep their infatuation to a reasonable level.

When Lena Luthor first walks into the CatCo bullpen, heading towards Kara without sparing a look for anyone else, the bullpen falls so deadly silent for a second, the clicking of her Louboutins is the only sound that can be heard. Then they all go back to acting totally, extremely normal, as if the most notorious new citizen of National City (a billionaire tech genius at that) isn’t flirting up a storm with a cub reporter right before their very eyes. They only snicker about the gala invitation in a very restrained way, with the appropriate amount of concern and jealousy, Luthor sure knows what connections she needs, Danvers better look out and You’d be trying to make that connection too if you were in her position.

Then the visits become a regular occurrence. 

Lena Luthor, CEO of a Fortune 500 company and a staple of 30 under 30 lists, shows up every week, and patiently waits around till Kara, who earnestly says golly and has to be reminded that exclusive is spelled without a ‘k’, stumbles across her. She beams at Kara’s rambling, laughs delightedly at her bad puns, calls her darling in a tone of voice that makes eavesdroppers blush, and bites her lip like she knows exactly what it is that she’d like to devour, and it’s certainly not the vegan bar that she’s dragging Kara away to for lunch. (CatCo refuses to publish the paparazzi shots that surface every third day of the week, but other outlets are not so squeamish.) And Kara meets her every step of the way, face lighting up whenever she sees Lena (even on TV, some note), hugging her tightly with every hello and goodbye even longer than necessary. She gushes about Lena’s projects and meets Lena’s own compliments to her writing with bashful smiles and fidgeting hands. Properly and utterly enamored.

The office settles into the new status quo, young love and all, though it seems to be incredibly slow-burning, with the entirety of CatCo (and likely half of L-Corp) getting front-row tickets to its process. Snapper mumbles about professional boundaries. People start a betting pool, and stare at Kara with a bit more hopeless yearning when she storms past them to greet Lena with a wide smile.

But then, there’s something else that changes with their courtship: Kara starts to get dapper.

She’s already looked unreasonably dashing in thin cardigans and pastel button-ups before, drawing dreamy sighs from the interns she’d stroll past. Now, it’s starting to verge on it’s a public menace to look that hot. The shirts get tighter, more crisp, and with it, her biceps and powerful shoulders considerably more accentuated. Well-tailored jackets start to make an appearance in her wardrobe, along with slim ties (their quirky patterns a testament to Kara’s nature), and elegantly knit jumpers come winter. And Kara starts to stand a little taller, too, shoulders squared and chin held high, her steps ever so slightly wider and more confident every time she has to chase after Snapper in one of their daily bouts.

The effect of it in the office is most profound. A rolled-up shirtsleeve and a hint of tensing muscles, and Jen at the art department almost scraps a magazine cover in her stupor. An unbuttoned collar and loosened tie at a late night editorial meeting, and Mackenzie nearly pours her coffee into her lap. 

And the very cause of this upheaval is certainly not immune to Kara’s newfound charms, either. There’s already been plenty of physical affection between the pair, as most of the office and a whole wealth of pap photos would attest, but now, it’s bordering on handsiness. Lena takes any opportunity to squeeze Kara’s arm, run a hand over her shoulder, or rest a hand on her forearm as they talk, and the bullpen grows green with jealousy.

When Cat Grant departs for the White House and L-Corp swoops in for the acquisition, the mood turns explosive.

Any illusions about the lovebirds keeping things more strictly professional with the change of management are shattered when Kara strides into the boss’ office with a gift-wrapped planner, all giddy, only to be greeted with their usual hug. Someone lets out a groan.

It only gets expectably worse.

It’s no fault of Lena Luthor’s overall management style – she’s a decent boss, a shockingly good one, even, if one considers the family name and all its implications, and infinitely milder than Miss Grant had been. But there’s only so many times one can witness their chief blushing in the middle of a meeting, or get lost in impure thought staring through the glass walls of the boardroom, out into the bullpen where the office heartthrob is currently stretching, providing an ample view of her entire upper body musculature. There’s only so many times they can watch Lena lean against Kara’s desk and reach down to gently smooth out her shirt’s collar or fiddle with the lapels of her jacket as they talk. At some point, Lena helping Kara tie the bespoke silk tie that she’s recently gifted her after a trip to Italy, batting away her “Lena, you really shouldn’t have” with “Nonsense, darling” and then stopping to fiddle with the damn thing, staring up at Kara with that unmistakably smitten expression becomes just another Tuesday morning at CatCo.

To say that there is a sigh of relief once news of CatCo once again changing hands start to spread is no understatement.

Andrea Rojas seems like a hardass and people start to feel a sense of comfort. She’s a businesswoman through and through, one whose ideas about running the place might be battled, but one who certainly won’t be head over heels for a pair of pretty blue eyes and jacked arms.

Antsiness and relief thus both settle over the first office-wide meeting Ms Rojas calls, preparing to address the entire staff. The first couple of sentences are delivered smoothly, with none of the longing looks cast into the crowd towards a certain blonde that they’ve had to get used to before, and people are starting to feel safe.

Then, getting to the meat of her speech, Andrea Rojas takes a breath and turns towards where the cream of CatCo’s crop is gathered, with Kara Danvers standing at the very front, arms crossed, navy suit hugging her imposing figure tightly, forehead crinkled in annoyed concentration.

Andrea Rojas looks, then looks again, and skids to a halt, lips parting as she takes in the view. Twelve seconds go by, an agonizing eternity, before she’d continue her speech, her gaze returning to Kara again and again.

“If you have any questions about the future of CatCo, I’d be happy to hear them now,” she finishes. “Or in my office, if you’d prefer to sound your concerns in private.”

She looks around, almost haughty before she’d turn her gaze to Kara again, biting her lip as they lock eyes, and someone in the back finally decides to give voice to what they’re all feeling:

"Oh, for fuck’s sake!”

[jonnnysuh]

How To Write Good // Vernon

A/N: It all started with watching Vernon’s English tutor series and now we’re here omg. This is my first series so please give it some love <3 kind of unedited so lmk if there’s any mistakes! PART ONE | PART TWO | PART THREE

PAIRING: Vernon x You

GENRE: enemies to ???, fluff, student!vernon, tutor!vernon

WARNINGS: swearing

WORD COUNT: 2.7K

SUMMARY: There’s the crisp air of campus, the rush of something new, and a four year degree ahead of you. Your college experience doesn’t go off as smoothly as you’d hoped when you fall asleep on course selection day and are stuck with left over electives. Struggling to get through your creative writing class, you have no idea how you’re going to get through this semester. Fate steps in when the stranger you fought in the library might just be your only chance at passing. This is all just part of the college experience… right?

Orange leaves began surrounding the burnt red brick pathway, and the small green hills of the campus quad.  Fall was fast approaching, without much warning.  The bright summer sky, now often clouds of gray. The wind brushed past you, causing your hair to fly up. Your legs brushed together quickly as you tried to make your way through campus to get to your Writing in the Arts class. You swore to yourself that you wouldn't sleep through course selection but sometimes sleep was an actual priority to you...and it so happened to be on that day.  Not your first choice, but definitely miles ahead of  Economic History on the list of leftover electives.

You flipped over your wrist to take a look at the time on your brown pleather watch. 8:12.

Professor Hampton was an older woman, who always kept her sandy brown hair in a slick tight low bun. She had enforced a rule that the doors to the lecture hall would shut 15 minutes past the hour. If you didn’t make it then you’d have to get notes from a classmate. Maybe it’d be fine if you had a friend in the class that was actually punctual, but you had often sat alone in the same spot in the far left corner of the class room.  Time was definitely never on your side as you reckoned you only had 3 minutes left until your trip downtown was rendered useless. 

You swung the thick metal door open, and began pumping your legs forward, not stopping until you reached the top of the stairs. To your luck, the lecture hall was on the exact end of the hallway. As you took longer strides, your gray backpack bounced behind you. Finally arriving at the end of the long hallway, you came face to face with Professor Hampton, who had a scowl so thick you’d think it was drawn on with a felt tip permanent marker. Without an ounce of forgiveness, that old lady secured the door shut, eyes keen on your betrayed face just a few centimetres from hers.

With the little pride you still had, you contained the urge  to bang on the door repeatedly and say "OPEN UP."

If you hadn't had time to get ready that day, or missed your bus, dammit this would've been the boiling point that would've driven you to  kick the wall. Your saving grace was that there was a cute guy typing away on his laptop in this hallway and you'd be damned if you were about to look a fool.

It was that moment, you knew that if you were going to pass this class without sacrificing a wink of sleep, you were going to have to make a friend that was good at writing notes. And quick.

—

The next day, you navigated your way through the twists and turns of the library, never having had been there a day in your life. You swear you’d gone in a circle at this point. You promised your best friend, Taylor that you’d secure a spot for your impromptu study date. Although you both had good intentions, you knew it was more than likely going to become a gossip session that involved sometimes looking at class material.

Among the rows and rows of occupied tables, you finally found an empty table, situated next to the window that overlooked the architecture and art buildings. You settled in the chair, slipping your laptop out of your tote bag , and typing mindlessly to look busy while you waited for your friend. With a look around the room, you wondered if people actually studied at the library or if they were just faking it like you.

You were so immersed in your game of Tetris you almost didn’t hear the voice that said , “Hey, I think you’re at the wrong table.”

You paused your game and surveyed the empty wooden table you were sitting at.  You blinked slowly at the brown haired man.  “I was here first.”

“That might be true but I booked it out for the hour.” The stranger stood with a slight slouch, sporting a backwards snapback and a deep green hoodie. He didn't look like the type to hang out around the library- but then again, neither did you. You swear you had seen him before, but you couldn't place where.

Did I go to high school with him?  you thought.

What if he was ugly and had a glow up and that’s why I don’t recognize him?

You took a closer look at him.

Nah. I don’t think he’s ever been ugly in his life.

“Look. My name's right here." He leaned forward, showing you his screen.

[TABLE 9] 3:00pm - Vernon C.

You pushed the phone away, unimpressed. "But you showed up late."

"It was only 6 minutes." Vernon scoffed, as if his tardiness would automatically forfeit him from his table.

"Well, have you ever heard of finder's keepers?"

Vernon nodded, his voice pointed. "But have you ever heard of fair and square?"

You tried your best to conceal the fact that you were somewhat amused by his elementary-level comeback.

"Could you look into your great, big heart to share?” You pouted tauntingly.

"Oh, yeah, because you need a table to play Tetris." He responded sarcastically but it was as if he had crept into your mind. You dreaded the idea of being on your feet trying to find another place for your game.

Your best friend rolled in between you two innocently, confused at the interaction at hand. It was like a kid walking in on their mom and dad fighting for the first time… except dad is a Tetris-hating stranger you just met 3 minutes ago.

“Sorry I’m late, Y/N.”  Taylor interjected, trying her best to mend the atmosphere with a grin.  Vernon's posture went notably straight as he exhaled, returning a sweet close-lipped smile. You couldn't help but notice the way he looked at your friend- you squinted at the shadow of the difference between this Vernon and the one that basically told you to fuck off only moments prior.

Without a doubt, you knew he was suffering from the "Taylor Effect".

Taylor was your textbook girl next door; equipped with a warm demeanour, and a confidence that was endearing rather than cocky.  You could tell that Vernon was trying his best not to stare so obviously, but he was failing miserably.

Because everyone gravitated towards her, many found it odd that she chose to keep you as company. Sometimes you thought she stuck around only because your personalities were so starkly different and would emphasize how great she was, but time and time again she proved she was notable on her own accord.

"Did I interrupt something?"

You and the man shared a look.

Vernon had a feeling that if he let you speak first, that you might ruin his chances with Taylor, and there was absolutely NO shot that he was going to tell her what had just happened. You were quick to take advantage of the situation.

“Vernon just wanted to take the tab-“

He shook his head, "No, no, no I was just leaving."

You raised your eyebrow, smugly.

“I'll see you later,” He bid.  Your eyes widened as he went closer to you, clasping his hand around yours and pulling you forwards into an almost embrace. He dapped you up. Vernon dapped you up. What? Did he think you were bros now?

Ya, right. You thought. This is my first and last time in this library. You will never see me or my Tetris again.

And with that, he swung his backpack over his shoulder  coolly and headed down the long carpeted aisle in the other direction.

Only a few moments later did he return to go through the north exit. “Wrong way.” He mumbled, charting past both of you.

—

“So you don’t know anyone in that class?” Taylor said in disbelief as you two sat at the table you had only marginally won.

“No, I missed the first two weeks so by the time I actually went to class  they already had their groups.”  you responded, blowing air out of your mouth in frustration.

School had only just begun and Taylor had swept up a bunch of friends, including you, in just this one semester.

You, on the other hand, were awkward, but not in the forgivable way. You never knew the right thing to say, and your sarcasm drew a fine line between a joke and the truth. You felt like you always had to bite your tongue to hold a decent conversation with someone. In turn, this scared a lot of people away, and resulted in a small but good group of friends that understood you.

For some reason though, you did well with confrontation. That was the only time you could force yourself to not care about what someone else thought about you. Other than that, your communication skills were almost useless.

“So go up to those kids and say hi.” Taylor responded.

You knew your best friend was being well meaning, but sometimes she felt like she oversimplified your problems because she saw it through her own lens. Of course it would be easy for Taylor to do so, but for you it would be a different story. Your stomach turned at even the mere thought of introducing yourself to the group of strangers that always sat all the way in the front of the lecture hall.

“I’ll just figure it out. I don't know how to just talk to people."

“What about that guy that I just saw you with? What was that about?”

You cleared your throat, fixing your attention to your laptop screen. Getting work done suddenly seemed more interesting.

“No, no, no look at me.” Taylor dragged your laptop away.

You begrudgingly looked at your friend. “What about him?”

“Who was that? He was kind of cute.” She cupped her cheek with her hand and sat closer, clearly interested. It was rare to see you with anyone other than your usual friend group so Taylor was invested in your endeavours outside of it.

You knew that if you told Taylor about your weird argument with a stranger, that she’d explain that you were unfriendly, that you needed to be nicer, etc. etc. You didn’t need a lecture today.

“Just some dude who finished using the table.”

Taylor chuckled, “What kind of guy says bye like that to a person he just met?”

Her guess was as good as yours.

—

ONE WEEK LATER

Determination is setting 25 morning alarms, pre-picking your clothes and opting for an on-the-go breakfast in order to just make it on time for class. You took your final strides towards the class slowly, knowing you finally had time on your side. Would it be crazy to call waking up at 6am a victory? Doesn’t matter, you were just so happy, you could answer Professor Hampton’s questions… that is, if you listened.

At the bottom of the lecture hall, sat the aforementioned groups, while the top were lonesome stragglers looking at their phones in an effort to look less lonely. You knew they were probably just reviewing their settings; turning their wifi on and off.

Professor Hampton cleared her throat into the microphone at the front of the class, prompting you to pick up the pace to your regular spot at the far left corner.

No way.

Your speed slowed down again, as you craned your head to get a better look at a brown-haired boy sitting by himself.

Despite the numerous empty seats to choose from, your caffeine rush assisted you in making the possibly dumb decision of sitting exactly right next to him. He seemed unbothered, though as he didn’t look up to question it.

Professor Hampton played her slides, while you pulled out your laptop out of your tote bag.

“Hey.” You whispered.

The man’s light brown eyes flickered towards you.

“You’re in this class?” Vernon whisper-exclaimed.

It registered in your brain that this might’ve been a mistake.

You nodded.

Vernon kept his focus on the front of the class, his pencil swivelled  away on his lined paper. You had never seen anyone actually take real-life notes before. You scanned his paper, pleasantly surprised at the organization.

“Why did you dap me up last week?”

“I honestly don’t know what I was doing.” He admitted.

Boys do dumb things around pretty girls. You'd seen it happen so many times with Taylor.

“She’s cute isn’t she?”

“Who?” Vernon was quick to play dumb, but he clearly knew. 

You were fascinated by how he was writing and listening to you at the same time.

“Taylor—my friend.”

Vernon squinted his eyes, either to think or because he couldn’t see the projection clearly. It made you wonder why he sat in the back of the class if that was the case.

“Yeah, she is.”

Bingo.

You silently relished in your impromptu decision to sit next to a stranger.

“What would you say if I got you a date with her?”

Vernon put his pencil down. “You strike me as the kind of person who wouldn’t do that out of the kindness of your heart.”

You snorted. “You’re right.”

Vernon let out a deep sigh, pushing his hoodie sleeve up his arms. He relaxed back in his seat and stared at you as he waited for your proposal.

“What is it?” His deep voice was littered with impatience but it was clear he was at least curious.

You weren’t  prepared to gain his full attention. Your mind went several ways as you collected your thoughts to be as concise as possible.

“I’m struggling in this class, okay? I can’t always make it on time, and creative writing? Not really something I’m interested in.”

“Then why’d you take the class?”

“Why does anyone do anything here? For the credit.” You responded as if the answer was obvious.

Vernon’s raised eyebrows was enough to tell you that he was actually passionate about this subject— which was perfect for you if you wanted to pass the class.

“How do I come into this, though?” His patience running thin from your incredibly interesting backstory.

“If you tutor me up until midterms and I pass, I’ll get you a date with Taylor.”

He shook his head “What if you fail?”

“Then you can take that as a reflection of your teaching skills,” Vernon rolled his eyes. Okay maybe that was a bad joke. “but on the plus side you’ve gained a new friendddddd.”

Professor Hampton gave you two a dirty look on her way back from shutting the lecture hall’s door. Vernon picked up his pencil to look busy and you tapped on your trackpad to turn the screen on.

“And what if I say no?” Vernon said between his teeth, catching the professor glare right at him with her scowl turned up to one hundred.

“Then I’ll shit talk about you to Taylor so you never have a chance.” You threatened. Your mom always urged you to use your brain, and boy, were you using it.

“You want me to teach you how to be creative?”

You shrugged. “I mean, how hard can it be?”

Vernon looked down at his notes contemplating his choices. He was silent for so long that you actually started typing notes.

“Y/N” Vernon whispered. You seemed to be fully immersed in the lesson now. Your eyes absorbing the information... Maybe writing was kind of fascinating.

“Y/N” He tried again, snapping you out of a trance.

“My bad.” you apologized. “I didn’t know the interesting part of the story was called the climax like ew—”

“I can only tutor you on Thursdays between 6 and 8 in the library. Bring your laptop and be prepared to learn.”

You knew you didn’t have class at those hours, so it should’ve been fine, but you also dreaded staying after school longer than you had to.

“What about 4-6?” You pleaded.

Vernon looked offended at your counter offer. “No. 6-8”

“4:30…?” You tried once again.

Vernon snorted at your no-quit attitude. “You wanna pass or not?”

You stuck out your hand defeatedly and Vernon shook on it before either of you could change your mind. Vernon was your new tutor.

Maybe Taylor was right. All you had to do was go up to someone and say “hi.”

And blackmail them. And use your friend as bait.

Making friends was easy.

[boymeetsweevil]

Call me maybe

Grouping: Reader x Namjoon

Word Count: ~6.59k

Warnings/Themes: Club meet-cute AU, 1% angst +99% suggestive fluff, (legal!) alcohol consumption, language, flirting anxiety(?)

Summary: It all started with a stupid drinking game...

A/N: this is the One Direction wattpad-style fanfic that's been haunting me for so long. beware of that and the fact that this is unedited hahaha...

“You know the rules, girls. Whoever wins this round of rock-paper-scissors is It.”

You and your three friends, warm and bubbly from 2 rounds of shots at this point in the evening, assume your battle stances and stick your hands into the center of your table. Four hands make a square over the scattered layer of empty decorative shot glasses from the bar in the club.

There’s an air of electric excitement that comes with this game, lovingly nicknamed Hunter-Gathering. Whoever is It gets a target and has to pursue that target in hopes of bringing ‘home’ free drinks for everyone the rest of the night. But no matter how attractive the target is, you can't ever bring them home.

“Wait, wait!” Lia chimes in. “I can’t be It this time. I did it twice already and my ass still hurts from the last time.”

Dani nods seriously. “Fair enough. That means the odds are upped for the rest of you.”

“So, we’re just gonna ignore that ass thing,” another friend, Alexa, looks around the table with confused eyes.

“Do you actually want me to give you the details?” Lia smiles slowly at her from across the table.

Alexa’s face brightens with her own smile, worry evaporated. “You know what? I don’t! Never mind.”

The game begins and somehow you find yourself the lone rock amongst two pairs of scissors. Alexa and Dani laugh with relief because they don’t have to put in any work tonight. You roll your eyes to the heavens and silently question your karma.

“Are you ready to pick your target?”

“I don’t really have a choice, do I?”

“Nope!” Dani grins.

She steps forward and grabs a clean face mask out of her clutch bag and wraps it around your eyes, careful not to muss your makeup or hair. Three pairs of hands rest on your shoulders and you let them spin you lightly around a few times. Not enough to get you dizzy but just enough to make sure you don’t know what direction you’re facing anymore.

“Alright,” Dani’s voice sounds out over the music of the club. “Take your pick!”

You stick your hand out blindly and someone unties the makeshift blindfold. Everyone follows the line your hand makes all the way to a tall figure standing by the side of the bar.

He’s probably the most handsome man any of you have seen in a while. There's an intimidating aura emanating from him. You figure it's the understated all-black outfit complete with the heinously expensive watch he's wearing and the sheer height of him as he towers over people near him at the bar.

“Oh my god,” Dani whispers as you all take in the stranger’s face.

“We can finally get top shelf vodka,” Alexa pretends to wipe a tear from the corner of her eye.

“Not bad,” Lia hums in appreciation.

“Okay, why is everyone acting like I bagged him already?” Your voice grows high with nerves. “I'm pretty sure I have, like, a 2% chance of interesting him."

“What are you so worried about?” Dani crosses her arms at you. “Just do whatever you did to get those history nerds to help you out that one time."

"This is not the same thing. Those guys parted their hair 90/10 unironically and thought Diva Cups are for when you don't want to hold your pee when you stand in line for roller coasters."

"You're kidding," Lia gasps. You wish you were.

"Well, just pretend he's one of them anyway." Dani suggests, "Every guy is the same."

You can't argue with that logic.

“I mean, I can try flirting with him, but he’s probably so used to people throwing themselves at him. I don’t think anything I do would, like, make a dent, you know?”

“Babe, no. No—listen to me, okay?” Alexa takes you by the shoulders and forces you around so you can see how serious she is.

“Tonight is the last free night of vacation. After tonight, we have less than a day to get over our hangovers, pack up the Airbnb, and then catch our 6am flight back home to start the spring term. Our last night of freedom lies in your hands.”

“But, what if—”

“No ‘but’s. Do you see yourself? Do you see your skin in this fresh white two piece? Have you seen how your tits look in this off the shoulder top? That poor man doesn’t stand a chance!”

Lia murmurs her agreement in the background and Dani mentions something about fearing for the guy's soul. You think about the freakishly good pictures you all took in the stylish club bathroom when you first arrived.

“I see your point.”

You turn back toward the bar to review your target. He sips from a dark green bottle as he looks around at the people on the dance floor between your table and the bar. As he continues to scan the room, he locks eyes with you. You hold his gaze even though your instincts are screaming at you to duck for cover. Surprisingly, he gives a small smile and raises his bottle in salute.

"See, you got the hardest part down already. Just fake the rest until you make it."

You chance a look back in his direction only to catch him staring in the direction of the table. When he catches your gaze again, he whips his head away, cheeks tinging pink under the soft yellow lighting at the bar.

Alexa cackles and starts detailing all the drinks she wants made with the top shelf vodka. Lia and Dani discuss leaving early to go back and clean up the apartment so it’s clean in case you break the rules and bring this guy back for the night.

“Uh, aren’t you guys moving a little fast?”

“Aren’t you moving a little slow,” Alexa counters.

“Hold on, Lex.” Dani turns to you. “You know you don’t actually have to do this if you don’t want to, right? Hunter-Gathering is just a game, there's no pressure.”

For all their poking and teasing, you're reminded right then and there that your friends would never put you in a situation where they thought you were actually at any risk. The weight you felt on your shoulders lightens somewhat.

“No, no, I definitely still want to play, I just don’t want you guys to get your hopes up.”

“I believe in you.”

Lia bumps shoulders with you quietly. She’s not the most affectionate, so you know she really means it.

“I’ll do my best.”

You let them tweak you a little bit, fixing stray hairs and wiping away smeared lip gloss and hiking up your skirt, giving you their drink orders, before you grab your purse and phone and push in your stool.

When you finally make it to the bar, he’s in the same spot as you first found him in. He spots you once you get close enough and naturally makes room for you. You set your bag on the bar countertop before hopping up on the empty stool immediately in front of him. The movement causes your skirt to ride up even more and you’re glad you only let Lia hike it up one inch instead of three.

Dani's advice about treating this guy like any other scrub from school reverbs in the back of your head right as the nerves start to set in. With the guys in your art history class, your grade was on the line. There was no room for hesitation when you could barely draw a stick figure, much less write an essay analyzing what an old painting style could tell you about the dairy economy in a certain town like some of your classmates were doing. It was because you were desperate that you were suddenly able to transform into a femme fatale. It also helped that these guys quivered at any interaction with an adult woman.

Tonight's drinks are on the line, you tell yourself. As best you can, you try to trick yourself into entering the same mindset you were in when you would lay on the charm extra thick for the art history guys.

You let the corner of your mouth lift up in a coy smile while you survey the bar. The bartender is moving back and forth quickly to handle the high demand. A second later the girl next to you leaves her spot with a tray of 8 bright pink drinks, practically glowing in the dark. You wonder briefly if you should try to get a round of those for the table.

“—one of those before?”

His voice is deep and pleasant. When you give him a look over your shoulder, you have to suppress a gasp. Up close he's even more handsome. You really have your work cut out for you.

“What?"

"That neon pink drink," he nods back in the direction of the girl who'd taken the cotton candy pink drinks with her. "I was wondering if you'd tried them before."

“No, I haven’t,” you smile, letting your lips part slowly. His eyes dart from your painted eyes to the colored stretch of your mouth and then quickly back up. “Have you?”

“No. But I like to try new things.”

You purse your lips as if in thought, something you've seen other girls do while flirting with guys at school. “You must be pretty unpredictable, then.”

“Huh? Well, I wouldn’t say that.” He stammers a bit and nearly drops his beer bottle trying and failing to put it down. All the intimidation you felt coming from him earlier seems to have disappeared.

“I was just kidding.”

Like it has a mind of its own, your hand reaches out to rest on his arm reassuringly while you continue to laugh at him. His features clear up then and a relieved smile blooms on his face, bringing out an adorable dimple with it.

“You’re teasing me,” he realizes with a good natured huff and steps into your touch.

“You seem kinda fun to tease.” You let your hand linger a little longer before finally pulling it back.

“It’s kinda fun. You're pretty good at it.”

Oddly enough, this isn't as difficult for you as you thought it was going to be. In fact, you find yourself naturally tilting your head and fixing him with an intrigued look from under your lashes. He takes the opportunity to look you over as well, a small smile on his lips.

The personal attention does make you a little nervous despite the fact that it’s positive. So you dig in your purse to avoid looking directly at him for too long and to give your hands something to do. You brush up against a tube of lip gloss, pull it out, and reapply some to your lips.

You look back at him when you realize he’s grown quiet, only to find him following the movements of the gloss brush tracing the curve of your lips, cheeks dusted pink and eyes half-closed like he's in some sort of trance.

Experimentally you press your lips together and then purse them to make sure the gloss is distributed evenly. The man doesn't blink once. Suddenly, all his expensive apparel and large stature aren’t so intimidating.

"Is there something on my face," you smirk.

He slow blinks down at your mouth twice before realizing you're speaking again. His eyes grow wide and he raises a ringed hand to rub at the back of his neck. The movement rustles the hair covering his ears, revealing their pink tips. Cute.

"Just looking."

You laugh a little at him again. He marvels at the way the club lighting dances around in your glossy smile.

"So, how come I've never seen you here before?"

"Well...it's the first time me and my friends have come here."

"I see." He pivots to face you and leans his closest elbow on the counter of the bar. "Are you guys new to the area?"

"You could say that, yeah."

He raises an eyebrow when you don’t elaborate. Without looking away, he raises his hand to signal to the bartender that he wants another drink. When the bartender runs right over, you realize this guy actually might be a big deal. Silently you pull your card out of your wallet as the bartender makes their way over. You figure you’ll have to spend some money before you can really ask someone like him to buy drinks for your table.

"What'll it be,” the bartender asks.

"Two of those pink drinks please," he says and before you can place any order the bartender zooms away.

While the bartender starts preparing the drinks, you turn toward him.

"Who said I wanted the pink drink?"

He grins down at you, a dimple now popping up in each cheek. "Who said it's for you?"

"I'm pretty sure it's for me."

"And what makes you so sure?" He takes a step closer to you.

"Just a hunch," you hum before crossing your legs.

The white fabric of your skirt hikes up your thighs again with the movement. You smooth your palms over the soft material.

"Nice skirt."

"Yeah? You like it?"

"I like it," he admits quietly.

"And the top?" You gesture toward the pair of straps on the matching tube top, manicured nails gliding over your décolletage. He wets his lips.

"The top too."

He reaches out one large hand to one of the straps that have fallen over your shoulder. The drag of his fingers against your bare arm as he fixes it makes you shiver. You lament the loss of contact when pulls his hand back.

The bartender arrives with your drinks then, startling the both of you out of the little staring competition that had spontaneously started. The pink drink seems to glow from within, topped with whipped cream and full of little round ice cubes made from some sort of darker rose syrup floating in the liquid like lava in a lava lamp. The color barely prepares you for the thick sweetness that floods your mouth on the first sip.

"Oh, that's kinda..."

He huffs a laugh around his own first swallow and nods in agreement.

"Not what you wanted?"

"It's just really sweet. You like it?”

He shrugs. “It’s alright. But—"

The way he cuts himself off has you confused for a moment before he's reaching towards you cautiously. You're not too sure what's going on until you feel the pad of his thumb swipe over the corner of your lips carrying away some of the whipped topping from the drink. Your eyes widen when instead of wiping the cream on one of the cocktail napkins available on the counter he brings his thumb to his own lips. In a fraction of a second the cream is gone, but you're left feeling a rush of fluttering warmth on the side of your mouth and in the center of your chest.

"You think your friends would like these?” He slides his drink to the side so he can lean on his elbow and turn to you again. Now's your chance.

“Um, I don’t think this is really their style.”

“What is their style?”

You rattle off their drinks of choice, making sure to mention their favorite brands with a sigh. Of course, whenever you play this game, the brands can change depending on the budget of whoever’s buying. This time, you make sure to name drop as much as possible, per Alexa's request.

“Sounds like your friends really know what they like.”

“Yeah, they have really…unique tastes.” You falter a little under his amused stare. “But we don’t always drink that way. I mean, not every bar even carries all those to begin with.”

“That’s true.” He nods. “This bar has every single of them, though. Pretty lucky, huh?”

“Yep,” you chirp. You’re not sure if you’re in trouble or not because he’s still smiling. He seems to be onto the game, but doesn’t seem bothered by it.

“Well, it would be a shame not to welcome you all to the city. Get whatever you want. My treat.”

“Are you sure?”

You place your hand on his arm again and squeeze for good measure. You don’t miss the way his large bicep flexes under your touch. After a beat, he brings his hand up to grasp yours and holds it while signaling to the bartender again. You give him a blindingly bright smile and he strokes his thumb over your knuckles.

He asks the bartender to ‘take care’ of your table tonight on him, and you realize then that you’ve won the game. The victory isn't nearly as sweet as the pink drinks from earlier. The rules prohibit you from bringing him home or going over to his place. And even if it wasn't prohibited, your vacation is basically over.

“Where are you and your friends from?

You take his hand between yours and play with some of the rings on his fingers. They’re beautiful together in an eclectic way and you wonder if someone chose them for him.

“It’s a kind of small city, not like this one. It’s really just our university and then a few surrounding towns.”

“What made you guys move here then?"

"Oh, Right." You feel guilty. "Me and my friends are just here for vacation."

He blinks at you but takes the news in stride. "Well, if you want—I know the city pretty well since I have a place here—maybe I can give you a tour of the town later this week."

"I'd love that, I really would. But we're actually leaving tomorrow."

"For real?” His eyes grow wide and he looks down at your linked hands before looking over your face. You're shocked to see his features fall.

"Yeah, it sucks."

“Damn,” he smiles bittersweet at the floor. “I wish we’d bumped into each other sooner.”

“I absolutely agree," the sound of Alexa's voice rings loud in your ear.

“Uh, hello. Did you need me for something?" Your voice is high and tight as you fix her with an accusatory stare. You're not 100% positive, but it seemed like you and he were having a moment.

"No, babe, I just wanted to come over and show you my beautiful drink. I wanted to come show my gratitude to you both for making sure we have a good last night. The girls will appreciate that. Thank you, kind sir."

“Name’s Namjoon. And no need to thank me,” he smiles at the exchange between you two and sticks out his hand. Alexa daintily lays her hand in his and he lets out an incredulous laugh before playing along and raising it to his lips.

"What a gentleman," she coos before pinching lightly at the skin of your exposed back. It's a clear message just for you, telling you that there's about to be a change in plans. "What were you guys discussing?"

"I was actually about to offer up our booth. There's more than enough room for your table if you wanted to move. Me and my team—friends definitely wouldn't mind the company."

“You don’t have to do that!” You pipe up, suddenly shy. But it's quickly dashed away as Alexa pulls out her phone and opens up the groupchat.

"Let me just ask our friends if they’d like that."

You already know the answer, so you sigh quietly and gather up your card, phone, and purse. You can’t say you won’t miss the privacy from when it was just you and Namjoon, but you’re glad to be with your friends again as well.

The move from your little table to the VIP booth is lightning fast. By the time you get your own drink, Lia and Dani are already clutching their things and vibrating with excitement near the ropes leading to the VIP booth. A few of Namjoon’s friends are chatting with them from the other side of the ropes.

Once your group trickles in, you don't miss how they all arrange themselves in the booth so you're forced to sit on the end next to Namjoon with barely any space. The only options are to let one of your legs hang off the edge of the booth the whole time or sit practically half in his lap. Alexa winks at you over the first sip of her next very expensive drink.

Namjoon's friends are occupied by your friends re-telling some of the more exciting parts of the beginning of your vacation. Some story about how 'someone' lost their top while trying to jet ski. You send a weak glare to Lia as she tries to get them to guess just whose top it was. That's what you get for experimenting with spaghetti strings, you suppose.

"Do you guys like to dance," one of his friends says after a while of vibing to the music once the chatter cools down. Hoseok, you think his name was.

"Yes, definitely." Dani remarks while re-applying lip gloss. "You know who's a great dancer?"

"Who?" Hoseok looks around excitedly.

"She's gonna say me," you groan. "Which is not even true but let’s just all move down there already, no more 20 questions."

"Just one more," she pouts. "Namjoon, do you like to dance?"

He looks down at you once he's also out the booth, that little amused smile back on his lips.

"Well, it's not really part of my day job, but I don't mind it too much."

"What's your day job," you blurt out.

"I'm a...musician."

"A musician!" Alexa rushes over to you to link arms. "Did you hear that? Namjoon’s a musician."

"I don't recognize you," Lia says and Hoseok and another one of his friends burst into quiet laughter behind her.

"You definitely won't find Joon’s pics anywhere, that's for sure," one of his friends says. The rest of them dissolve into another fit of giggles.

The club lights hide the muted pink tinge his cheeks take on, and Namjoon leads the way to the dance-floor with a chagrined roll of his eyes.

"You think he's really a musician?” You whisper to Alexa and Lia. Dani is somewhere up ahead, already dancing.

"Maybe technically. Going off the way his friends keep laughing, he's probably, like, a failed SoundCloud rapper or something."

"No failed SoundCloud rapper wears Gucci like that," Lia motions with her chin to some piece of Namjoon’s outfit.

"That's true," you hum.

"Rich parents," Alexa says simply.

You and Lia consider it and then nod.

As you settle on the dance floor, you feel the rest of your nerves drift away. Lia comes over to take a selfie with you, and the two of you flirt with the camera until she's satisfied with the photos you've taken. She grabs your hand and makes a show of spinning you around and you figure that this is how the night will go before you stumble out around 2 or 3am and drunk pack for the flight home the next morning. You let her lead you back, further into the crowd before you bump into someone.

Namjoon's large hand comes to stabilize you at your waist and Lia acts like nothing happened before dancing away, phone light illuminating her sneaky smile.

"You good?" Namjoon's voice is soft in your ear.

"Y-yeah."

"You wanna dance, or should I let you go?"

Your friends shamelessly all look at the way he curves himself around you, all with their thumbs up in encouragement. You're reminded of the way you did the same a few nights prior when Dani was getting hit on by some cute guy at a different club.

At that time it felt fun hyping her up and watching her make a move, seeing how enamored this random guy was with your friend. Of course he is, you thought at the time, she's amazing. And you remember that this is probably what's driving them tonight as well with you and Namjoon.

You chance a look at him and realize that he's come to rest his cheek lightly near your temple, a soft look in his gaze as he awaits your answer.

"Sure, let's dance."

Namjoon was telling the truth when he said he wasn't all that into dancing. But he put in enough work to be able to follow you and meet you halfway while you were grinding on him to the music.

Even when you shyly stepped away after the first few dances to return to your squealing friends, you loosened up over time with more music and drinks and found yourself naturally ending up on him again. The first few songs turned into more and more and soon you were face-to-face, with his thigh wedged between yours and a heavy palm on your lower back guiding you to the beat.

You're not sure when you decided to abandon your friends and his, but at some point you did return to the booth under the guise of checking your phones. And you did check your phone first. But soon he was crowding you toward the wall by the booth and leaving you with no air of your own.

"You're really leaving tomorrow," he sighed into a bruise he was trying to leave near the hollow of your throat. "Or did you just say that because I was some creep at a bar."

"I never thought you were a creep."

He looks down at you with disbelief before getting distracted by your kiss-swollen lips.

"I mean it. I'm just a little shy sometimes."

"What do you have to be shy about when you look like this, huh?"

"Stop," you laugh lightly and look away from him.

He'd made a comment earlier about how much he liked the pristine white two piece you wore, but you'd been inching his hand up your skirt then. Now, one of his thumbs rubs an idle pattern just below the curve of your breast.

"No, but seriously. Are you actually leaving tomorrow?"

"Yeah. The new term starts for us all in a few days."

"So, leave in a few days," Namjoon whines.

"That's not enough time to get ready for the term."

"But I'll be so alone without you."

He gives you an exaggerated pout that splits into a real smile when you snort at his stupid expression. He pulls you to him just a smidgen tighter then.

"Does this usually work with other girls?"

"I don't know. Never tried it with other girls," he frowns a little at you.

"Sure."

"You know me and the team almost went to Club BigHit last Saturday?"

"Oh, really? That's kinda funny." You try to imagine what might have happened if he'd come to the same club you went to earlier.

"Yeah," Namjoon's voice grows quiet. "If I hadn't gotten sick then we would have met last week."

"Yeah, maybe."

"You sure you can't miss a few days of the term?"

"Yes, I'm sure." You let out an exasperated laugh. "You can't really be this upset that an actual stranger is just passing through your life."

"No, I know. I just—," he lets his head fall forward until he's touching his forehead to yours. "It was like something clicked when I saw you. I feel like I need more time with you."

"Oh," your voice comes out a little breathier than you expected.

The same look that had flashed across his face when you first came up to him finally gets to rest on his features. You want to let him down gently because you really can't play catch up during the first week of school.

"Tell you what. I can't miss the beginning of the term but if you make a song with my name in it and it gets...say, 50,000 listens, I'll buy a ticket that same day and come meet you. Wherever you are."

He pins you with a look then, inquisitive and dark. His eyes scan your open expression for something, before whatever he finds passes the test. He stands up tall.

"And it just needs to have 50,000 listens?"

In your mind you were thinking it would be too lofty for a failed SoundCloud rapper, but something in his tone sounds like he's rising to the challenge and it makes you nervous. You spent a lot on this vacation, you can't afford to actually fly out so soon if he somehow managed to get the listens and call your bluff. Besides, targets are off limits.

"Um, actually make that 150,000. And it has to have my area code in it too." You rattle off the three digits to him and he quickly types your conditions into the notes app on his phone.

"Is that it?"

"That's it, I guess."

"Deal."

Namjoon pockets his phone and leans back into your space. Any worries you had clawing to the forefront of your mind vanish when he presses soft lips to yours once more.

A month passes.

You don't end up having a one-night-stand with Namjoon because it wouldn't be fair to your friends when they'd clicked with a target but didn't take them home. That and because Dani got sick on the dance floor from mixing strawberry daiquiri with one too many pink drinks. But you do pass on your full number after he very nearly begs you to give it to him while packing into a cab.

And then he never used it.

It's not that you were expecting much, but when a month passes with not so much as word from him, you figure he forgot about you and your little bet.

Then 2 months pass.

Even though you know that you only spent a fraction of a day with him, you can't help thinking about Namjoon. Namjoon and his pretty eyes and pretty words that made you think there was some sort of connection there. You realize after the first two weeks back that you don't have his number but by the time 2 months pass, you realize that was definitely on purpose.

4 months pass.

You're over it, swamped with end of term work like finals and grading and putting in hours at work. But every time your friends suggest a little fun and hooking you up with someone, every time someone asked for your number at a coffee shop, you said no. Because you're over it and you're busy and not at all disappointed for how hard you fell for the lies some failed SoundCloud rapper fed you on a vacation one time.

19 weeks pass.

You're all in Lia's apartment, basking in the first few days of the end of classes even if it means finals are a few days later. Alexa is playing her favorite playlist on the speakers and you're taking a break to get some coffee going in the small kitchenette.

While the coffee machine starts up you wander back to the main room. Alexa is leaning over to turn the music up, one of her favorite songs just now coming up.

"Who's this again," Dani pipes up from her spot on the couch. "It's that one guy's collab with the Bulletproof Girlscouts, right?"

"Yep," Alexa checks the song title before sighing. "This song is so old now."

"True, but it's my favorite one on the whole album."

"I guess it really has been two years since his last album, huh." Dani muses and then goes back to her practice problem set.

You try not to laugh at how cute Alexa looks sulking because her favorite artist hasn't put out any music in so long.

"Why don't you just play his new stuff," Lia says.

"He's on indefinite hiatus. This is as new as it gets."

Lia picks up her own phone, showing it to the group.

"He released a new single this morning."

"What!"

Alexa scrambles from her seat to grab her headphones and jam them into her phone. You all know how she gets about her music and let her have a moment to soak up the new song while you get up to check on the coffee.

It takes a few minutes to get cups out and put everything together since everyone has different tastes, so you're in the middle of pouring creamer when you hear a chorus of screams.

"Why are we screaming?"

You rush into the main room again only to be bombarded with music from the speaker, this time turned up as high as it can go. What must be the new song comes through the speaker, the bass vibrating on the ground as the speaker pumps.

"Okay, yes, new song. It's good but I don't get—"

"Just listen to the fucking bridge," Dani's voice comes out incredibly shrill as she cuts you off.

The beat surges for the bridge and suddenly the lyrics turn into the artist growling about some girl he met at the club with the prettiest little white outfit he'd ever seen. Saying something that sounds oddly like your name, although you figure that can't be right. But then the next verse has your name in it too, and the next one, and the next one.

Your feet take you to where Alexa's phone is plugged in and you pick up the phone to look at the song. It's indeed a song by her favorite artist, a prolific and mysterious rapper who's never shown his face and who'd been on hiatus from making music. The song title is simple, a small string of numbers that look suspiciously like your area code.

When you let out a tiny gasp, your friends let out more excited shrieks. You ignore them in favor of thumbing through the music app to the artist's page where the new single lies at the top of his discography. To the right of all his songs are the stream counts. Most of his older songs have a few dozen million or so. This brand new one sits at a modest 4 million, but the numbers trickle up as the app updates them in real time.

"What the hell?"

"I know!" Alexa cries, tears shining in her eyes. "I can't believe we sat in a VIP booth with him and I didn't even recognize his stupid voice!"

"What are you gonna do," Dani smiles widely at your stunned face. "Are you gonna call him?"

"I don't have his number," you say simply. Your voice comes out monotone with shock.

"You didn't get his number?" Alexa starts crying for real.

"People are blowing my phone up about this," Lia says once the song ends and begins again on a loop. "You might want to turn off your phone. It's just a matter of time until people start snooping around."

"Right."

You grab your phone from your pocket. On instinct you scan through your socials one last time before turning it off. There's a startling number of texts, calls, emails, and notifications on your social media apps. Curiosity gets the best of you and you open up one of them only to find your name trending as the top hashtag. Clicking on it brings up a bunch of tweets both from fans raving about the new song and wondering who the muse is, to random accounts with identical names in the handle all claiming to be said muse.

"Oh my god, he tweeted!" Dani shoves her phone into your hands.

As of right now [2:38pm] we're at 5.76 million streams. That's more than 150,000...

"What does that mean," she asks you.

"It means...he wants me to fly out to see him. Today."

"Oh my god."

Alexa screams again and at this point you've lost count of how many that is. Lia gets out of her chair and tucks her chin over your shoulder to read the post herself.

"You need to go," Alexa shouts. "I'll help you pack, let's go."

"What about finals?"

"Are you—are you actually thinking of not going because of finals?"

"I mean—"

"If you want me die, just say that," she does something with her mouth that looks like a manic smile.

"What Lex means to say is that this is a once in a lifetime opportunity and I'm sure even the profs would understand."

You're not sure what to say. First of all, you still don't have his number. Second of all, you're not sure how to fight through all the other accounts claiming to be you to let him know you saw the song. Third, you don't even know where to fly to. Fourth—

A Twitter notification chimes from your phone and a deadly hush falls over everyone. You go to your DM inbox with shaking fingers only to find a message request from an unknown sender. When you open the request, it's from Namjoon's agency.

Good afternoon,

You are being contacted today because one of our artists wishes to meet you. If you consent to the meeting, please review the flight information and tentative itinerary below and respond with your address and contact information. Please also note that the travel plans are for today [MM/DD/YYYY], so your response at your earliest convenience would be much appreciated. If you would like to go but cannot make it today—

"Do you think they'll send a car or should I book her a ride to the airport now?" Dani turns to Alexa.

"They'll probably send one to make sure the schedule is followed."

"That's true but what about—"

Lia taps you on the shoulder, startling you out of your stupor.

"There's a convenience store two doors down. Whatever you buy we can put in one of my suitcases and you can just take that. There's probably not enough time to go all the way back to your place."

"I—yeah, okay."

7 hours later finds Alexa, Dani and Lia finished with studying for the night. The entertainment channel is playing on the TV and the three of them have their heads bent over their phones and laptops, refreshing all the major gossip sites for updates.

"Maybe she's not even there yet," Dani sighs when the page she just refreshed shows no new posts.

"Yeah, I mean we still don't even know where she is," Lia says while putting her laptop to sleep. "What if they made her sign an NDA?"

"Even if they did, she'd probably still tell us once she got there. She's probably just busy killing time on the plane."

"She's sleeping!" Alexa screams a second later.

"Huh? How do you know that?"

"Check his instagram," is all she says before frantically typing a message to you about souvenirs.

Lia looks over at Dani's phone as she pulls up Namjoon's page. The rest of the layout is bare given his up until recent hiatus and the fact that he never posted any type of selfie. The video uploaded a mere 20 seconds ago undoes all the previous minimalism of the entire account.

The post isn't even of Namjoon. It's a black and white 5 second video of the top half of your naked back and shoulders, the rest of your body covered by the sheets. One of your arms is raised to cover your head with a pillow. The only sign of Namjoon is the arm that reaches out from the bottom of the frame, making it clear that he took the video himself. His hand reaches out to trace a heart over the skin of your shoulder blade. The caption reads:

Thanks for keeping your promise

[goldtracing]

How would you change the costumes in this official art for historical accuracy?

Oh dear Eli, once I found that photo touching, now I can only cringe at it because if how inaccurate it is. Nearly everything about it doesn’t sit right with me, so here we go with a:

Fashion Make-over – America & England

So, first off, I set the time at around 1680, since this is clearly before the American Revolution and Alfred is a wee one. With that settled, let’s begin.

England:

Head: First off, he shouldn’t be displaying his hair so freely. The rise of syphilis and lice both lead to baldness in their own way. As such, Arthur would be wearing one of those overly elaborate and pompous wigs, the ones with the mop of silvery curls that reached down past the shoulders. He is clean-shaven in the picture, that is correct.

Neck: No bow-tie. Please no bow-tie. Instead, a cravat that would have been as plain as possible while still being high quality. No lace, since that was seen as effeminate by the English at that half of the 17th century.

Torso: Here, the suit jacket is a few centuries too early. What he would have worn instead, would have been a knee-length coat, most likely red, with some light brocade and an excess of buttons, probably brass to match the red. The coat wouldn’t have been worn indoors, except if it would have been winter or a particular chilly autumn. Underneath, the waist coat would have been the same colour as the coat and would have reached down just past the hips. It would have either been sleeveless or with long-sleeves. The sleeves of the silk shirt would have peaked out at the cuffs and have been ruffled.

Hands: Because I see England as pretentious and highly willing to flaunt social status, he would have worn rings. Signet rings out of gold as was common by higher class people.

Legs: No long trousers! Instead, brown breeches that were close-fitting and ended just below the knee to show off his manly calves. That would have been included with knee-high white stockings. And instead of the loafers seen here, he would have worn heeled black leather shoes, with large and square silver buckles.

America:

Head: As a kid, he would have been saved from wearing a wig and would have instead grown his hair out so that he could tie it to a que with a ribbon. Or he would have worn his hair short since he was still a child.Also, excessive displays of emotion were discouraged in children in Puritan America. So no flouncy Alfred; instead a sombre, maybe even shy one.

Neck: Again, no ribbon. Instead, one of those low white ruffs at the very most. Most likely nothing, accept if Arthur wanted Alfed in his Sunday best.

Torso: No vests. Such knitted vests only became popular much, much later. Furthermore, arrow-pointed shirt collars only came into fashion, especially with how Alfred wears in the art piece, hundreds of years later. Instead, a plain white, collarless linen shirt would be worn, with long, rather loose sleeve. Puritan children had to work, with play-time being the exception rather than the norm. Unless, of course, Arthur would have requested Alfred be dressed in his Sunday best, which would have been a smaller version of the typical Puritan clothing we see in various artworks.

Legs: The same as by Arthur. No long trousers! Breeches ending below the knees with knee-high, woollen stockings with black leather, buckled shoes.

[kyberphilosopher]

Dᴏꜱᴄᴇɴᴅᴏ Dɪꜱᴄɪᴍᴜꜱ

The reader tries to paint the Colossal Titan from memory, and Bertholdt seems to know more than most people. 

Requested: no.

Word Count: 2092

Docendo Discimus is a Latin proverb meaning "by teaching, we learn." It is perhaps derived from Seneca the Younger, who says in his Letters to Lucilius: Homines dum docent discunt., meaning "Men learn when they teach”.

.✫*ﾟ･ﾟ｡.★.*｡･ﾟ✫*.

The human body is home to somewhere between six hundred and eight hundred muscles. There are two hundred and six bones, seventy-eight organs, one hundred thousand miles of veins, and roughly ten pints of blood. Every individual cell has a purpose, important and needed for the body to continue to function. 

Assuming the anatomy of a titan was the same to that of the average person’s, the Colossal Titan should be easier to render than this. You’d sketched the face of muscle and teeth over a hundred times by this point, and each one of them seemed to draw further away from realism than you liked. 

Sure, it was arguable that the Colossal just didn’t have the same anatomy in his face as the average human. But then there should’ve been more factors in his face that shouldn’t have worked. 

For example, the monster didn’t possess a muscle called the orbicularis. You could remember that specifically from the time you and your fellow cadets had gotten a bit too close for comfort. But based on the lack of orbicularis, he shouldn’t have been able to blink. And yet, he had. There was also a strange muscle in his temporal region with horizontal fibers, that couldn’t have simply been his temporal. It doesn't seem to have any particular function, either. 

God damn it. It’s appearance should’ve been the one thing about this bastard to make sense, but instead it had confused you just as much as the rest of it. Never mind how smart you were. If you couldn’t solve this simple turned complex mystery, why hold out hope for studying anatomy when the world would return to normalcy?

In your frustration, you slam the paintbrush back into your cup of water. A stain of red clouds erupts in the liquid at once, angry from how direct the solid hits the surface. In front of you, the canvas shines with the new layer of red paint. Beside it is a coat of salmon, also fresh and lined with the titan’s muscles. 

“So stupid,” you hiss, half to yourself. You grab your cadet corps jacket, shrugging it on swiftly before crossing your arms and stepping back. 

It was supposed to be a gift for Eren. He knew you were something of a painter and had once jokingly asked you to make a dart board for him. The moment you conceived this idea, you knew it had to be a stroke of genius. But you wanted to get it right, and for that, the artist and realist inside of you seemed to be punished for it.

Was it something with the eyes? No, it was definitely the anatomy of the titan overall. “For fucks sake,” you wave off finally, turning on your heel to walk away for a while. But when you turn around, you’re face to chest with one so broad you nearly stumble back. 

The figure tenses up immediately. You tilt your head up to see who it is, recognizing the nervous, kaleidoscope eyes of your comrade. Bertholdt, you’re sure his name is. You haven’t talked too many times, but you’ve seen him in your circle of friends. There’s a memory in your brain of asking your bunkmate, Annie, about why Bertholdt would hang around someone so upstanding and obnoxious as Reiner, but you can’t recall her specific answer. 

“O-oh, Y/N!” Bertholdt nearly wheezes. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to stand so close.”

“It’s fine,” you mutter, rubbing the side of your head as you step away. “What are you doing here?”

Yes, what was he doing here? A little closeted off room by the girl barracks? And aside from that, how does someone as tall as he even sneak his way inside? It’s suspicious, to say the least. 

“I was just-” Bertholdt stares down at you, sweat already beginning to form on his face. Oh, goddess. How is he to get out of this one? If Reiner was with him, he could just lie his way out of it. But now, looking down at your apathetic, borderline tired, frustrated face, he knows he’s never had much luck with girls. Especially not pretty girls like you. 

His gaze shifts to behind you. There, on a perfectly square parchment of thick paper, is a rough sketch of a long face without any skin. It seems to be all muscle, labeled and detailed. Half the sheet is colored in with pinks, browns, and scarlets, with the other half marked with insane little scribbled patterns that remind him of words. 

You’re still waiting for an answer. He sees your steady, patient eyes and your balled fists by your hips, and Bertholdt wonders if you already know. “I saw you bring in those cans of paint, and I guess I got curious.”

“Oh,” you reply flatly. “Yeah. That.”

“It’s um...” Compliment her. Compliment her painting. “It’s a nice painting. What’s it supposed to be of?”

“The Colossal Titan,” you tell him as you rub the back of your neck. Then you turn on your side so you can view your art, immediately narrowing your eyes in disgust at it. “It’s not my best.”

Bertholdt’s words come out a bit louder than he intended. “Actually, I think it’s really, really great, Y/N!”

You turn back to meet Bertholdt’s nervous, almost quivering eyes. You certainly wouldn’t call yourself an expert on the male gender, but this tall bastard was exactly the stereotype of someone who wasn’t an expert on the female gender. It was almost funny. No, it was almost ironic. 

“I just mean that... it’s really good. It’s easy to see that you have heaps of talent,” the brunette reiterates, seemingly calmer this time.

What a nice thing to say to someone. 

“That’s not really my point though,” you borderline sigh. “The point is that no matter what I seem to do to him, it doesn’t seem realistic does it?”

“What do you mean by that?” Bertholdt questions, his eyebrows furrowing. That’s right, he wouldn’t be able to squint without his orbicularis. Something your art model was currently lacking. 

Do you even bother to explain it to him? It’s not like either of you are close, or like he’d exactly understand what you were saying to him anyway. But where was the harm, really?

You walk back towards the parchment, with Bertholdt just a few steps behind. 

“See this area?” you ask, gesturing to the Colossal Titan’s eye area. “There's a muscle here that’s supposed to let people close their eyes. But the colossal titan doesn’t have that.”

“W-why is that?”

You shrug. “Damned if I know. But doesn’t it look wrong on him?”

Bertholdt observes the painting. He sees all the details, all the time you’ve put into it. While you are right about the image and the titan’s strange features, it’s now that Bertholdt realizes just how intelligent you really are. Unlike other people, you actually knew things. If he were an enemy, he might be starting to feel threatened right about now. Ironic indeed. 

“Yeah, I guess you’re right,” the boy says shyly. “Why does it have to be perfect, though?”

Good question. 

“No real reason,” you tell him, trying to hide the hint of smile. “I guess it’s just how it is. Eren is the one who asked for this.”

“O-oh... you mean like a...”

Your eyes flit back to Bertholdt. “Like a what?”

Bertholdt can feel the sullen wave of anxiety wash over him. He hadn’t meant to let the stray thoughts fall from his lips, but now he can’t take it back. Now what does he say? “I just mean, is it a gift or something like that?”

“Sure.”

Were you and Eren...?

“I might be able to help you with it,” Bertholdt stutters, again, louder than he’d intended. He’s lucky at least one of you is level headed during this interaction. 

“How so? Do you paint?” 

“No, but I think I might know some things about the Colossal that you don’t,” Bertholdt offers. His right arm reaches behind to rub at his sweaty neck. In that instant, you can see that the boy has an almost identical structure to that of your subject. You’d have to note that the tall boy would make a brilliant model for something like this.

“Like what?” you question. “Could you give me some feedback on my piece then?”

Shit. Shit. Shit. You were going to find out. 

Bertholdt pretends to be in deep thought for a minute, knitting his dark eyebrows together. His green, blue eyes sweep over the picture, watching the slick settle. “Well, you’re right about the muscle around the eye. I’d take that out, but maybe place the shadow of it?”

“The shadow?”

“The outline. And maybe make his eyes more glossy than this. Titan’s have a second set of eyelids.”

You don’t have time to question him further. Bertholdt continues the onslaught of information. 

“I think you should also make some of these areas here a bit lighter,” he says, pointing to the side of the Colossal’s face. “From the steam and the high body temperature, it would get a bit smoky.”

“Yeah,” you begin slowly, watching the shine in Bertholdt’s previously nervous eyes. “I hadn’t considered that.”

The lanky male in front of you lets his lips curl into a sheepish smile, closing his eyes as his fingers thread themselves between his hair. “I doubt most people do, so you’re not really in the wrong.”

“How do you know so much?” you ask. “You’ve been quiet with everyone up until now. Do the higher ups even know all this?”

“I mean, they’d have to right? I guess I just took a lot of notes in class.”

You hadn’t remembered your professor mentioning most of these things during your Titan Studies period. But maybe it wasn’t really worth questioning him over. Maybe Bertholdt was just more observant than you had ever really considered. It wouldn’t have been the first time. 

Your eyes are fixated on him. Bertholdt was kind of cute, actually. His eyes are both big and slim, with pale green orbs. His skin was always a bit illuminated with a nervous sweat, and he was incredibly mild mannered. But maybe that was actually a good thing compared to all the boys in camp who seemed to lack any conception of manners. Pouty, chapped lips, a gentle smile, messy dark hair. He seems like someone reliable. Kind. Trustworthy.

“Yeah,” you say again, breaking eye contact. “So, are there any other suggestions you have for me?”

Bertholdt is still for a moment, thinking it over. “No, other than don’t think so hard about it, probably.”

“You two sort of have a similar face,” you say, staring at the muscled beast you’d attempted to replicate. “Maybe you should pose for me sometime.”

Bertholdt tenses. 

“I’m only joking,” you assure. Bertholdt’s broad shoulders fall as he relaxes, and a soft exhale leaves from between his lips. “But I would like it if you’d let me model after you.”

“Me?” Bertholdt stutters, shocked. “You mean you’d want to really paint me?”

“‘Course,” you say, nonchalant as always. “You’ve got one of those faces.”

Bertholdt smiles naturally. Soft, but noticeable. You return it after a few seconds, feeling your previous frustration and anger at the piece begin to wander away. 

“I should get back to work,” you say as you turn around. Bertholdt watches you unclip the parchment from your sturdy easel, place it on the stone floor, and grab another paper from a pile. 

“Y-you’re starting again?”

“Of course,” you say. Your dominant hand laces around a piece of charcoal, preparing to drag it across the page. In one swift and scratchy motion, an onyx line appears at the top of the paper. 

Bertholdt’s cheeks dust pink from behind you. He’s about to offer if you want him to pose for you so you can memorize what’s underneath his shy skin, but he stays quiet. Instead, Bertholdt is happy that he even got to speak to you in the first place. He wanders out of the room with butterflies in his stomach, and guilt in his heart. 

And you, with your eyes narrow, basing the monster that ruined your life off the boy who had just helped you. 

.✫*ﾟ･ﾟ｡.★.*｡･ﾟ✫*.

I didn’t proof read this. I feel like I’ve just been cranking stuff out lately. someone remind me to go back and edit thank you

[iguessilovebakugou]

Stranger ||  Bakugou x Reader ||  { Anon Request }  ||  Stalking

TW:  Cursing ||  Stalking || Threats of violence  ||  Implied desire for Non-Con (not from Bakugou tho) Word Count:  5.5K

It started after the Sport Festival.  

A DM that had been sent to your private social media account - a friend from your old school named Honoka. You hadn’t spoken to her since starting UA - and the moment you saw the notification, you felt guilty that this was how she had to reach out to you.  She had been so proud of you when you got accepted, she almost started crying, hugging you tightly and telling you as much.  She asked you to keep in contact in High School.  You had promised her you would.

You had been so busy, it was hard keeping promises.

Honoka: Hey!  I saw you on the TV - you were amazing!  I can’t believe they wouldn’t let you pass onto the finals.  Good thing though - you would have gone against that asshole.

Honoka:  Not that you couldn’t have handled it!

It should have tipped you off that one of the quieter kids of school would have used such language, but it didn’t.  It had been a few months since starting high school and people have changed faster.  You didn’t think much about it aside from replying before your train pulled into the station.  You might miss your stop and be late to school.  

You were always punctual and refused to have something as stupid as that go against your record.  

You waited until you were off the train, standing on the steps before sending a quick message. 

Thanks!  It was really terrifying.  But I lost fair and square.  Besides, I wasn’t the only one who didn’t make it to the finals.  So I guess it’s okay. :) 

You decided not to humor her comment about Bakugou.  While it drew a hot, angry tie around your neck, part of you understood.  Honoka wasn’t alone in thinking he was...less than pleasant.  It had been a point of contention, something that bothered you both that day and since.  People were just wrong about him.  She didn’t know him like Class 1-A did.  A few short clips from some televised sports festival didn’t do him nearly the justice he was deserved.

You didn’t have enough time to put your phone back in your jacket pocket when it buzzed again. 

Honoka: Still.

Honoka: You were so strong.  We all think they should have made an exception for you.

Honoka: We should meet up sometime.  Gtg! Text me after school to set up a time!

You wanted to question it but you didn’t.  

You really should have questioned it.  

King Explosion Murder was a perfectly good name.

Miss Midnight just doesn’t understand art.

The conversation had been going on for a hour.  It was the longest that you and Bakugou had texted.  You had moved from a group text to your own private thread.  He didn’t text you like normal boys did - no pictures, no emojis, no stupid memes he had found.  It was...conversation, one that hadn’t been as hard to keep going as you thought.  you tried to distract yourself with school work while he replied, but found it hard not to keep your attention on your screen as the text bubble flashed.  

Bakugou:  It was better than “Deku”.

Well Deku was less violent

Bakugou:  AND IT WAS STILL BETTER

Bakugou:  THAN FUCKING DEKU’S

Honoka: You still up?

You stopped.  Honoka?  Why on earth was she texting you...oh shit.  You groaned, rubbing your eyes and kicking yourself for forgetting to text her back like she had asked.  You had been so wrapped up texting Bakugou since getting home that it just completely slipped your mind.  Though, to be fair, most things slipped your mind around him.

You opened your chat with her, trying to figure out how to apologize without seeming like too much of an asshole.

Hey, yeah, sorry.

I started talking to one of my classmates and totally forgot.  

My bad, dood. 

Once again, she replied quickly. 

Honoka: Who were you talking to?

There was a small part of you that wanted to ask her why it was her business, but you bit your tongue.  She probably didn’t mean anything by it and some residual bitterness from her comment this morning was probably lingering.  You took a deep breath. 

Bakugou.  

We workshopped hero names today.  His got shot down by our teacher.  

It was so sad. 🤣🤣🤣

Honoka:  Why are you talking to him?

It wasn’t a question, not really.  It was a statement.  Like you talking to Bakugou was taboo, you could practically hear her grasping her pearls.  You shouldn’t have had to explain to her why you were talking anyone, let alone him, and it bothered you that she felt she was owed that right. That she even dare ask the question. Your brow furrowed as you sat up in bed.  

What do you mean?

Honoka:  Why are you talking to him?  He seems like an dick

Honoka:  And isn’t good for you. 

Honoka:  You need to focus on being the best hero you can be.

Honoka:  He seems like he would only drag you down. 

Rage filled your stomach.  Your hands were shaking as you tried to figure out what the fuck was going on.  She had never acted this way before...right?  She had always been so nice and meek and unassuming and... 

You were confused, finding yourself chewing on your lip as you tried to make sense of what the hell you were seeing.

He’s my friend.  I really like him.

Look, he’s not as mean as he appears on TV.  He’s actually a really good guy.  And he’s really smart and he’s going to be a better hero than even me some day.

So I would appreciate it if you didn’t talk about him like that.

The chat bubble popped up.  Then disappeared.  Then popped up.  And disappeared again.

It’s funny - you had never felt so threatened by someone not answering.  But as the bubble flashed for a final time, something told you that you had fucked up. 

Honoka was always quiet, yes, but she was also amazingly sweet.  She cried when you were little kids at the ending scene in All Dog’s Go to Heaven, always scrounged up change to donate to someone on the street looking for food, and volunteered every weekend to help with the younger students struggling in studies.  She hadn’t been born with a mean bone in her body.  

But by the end of the week, you were certain the person messaging you wasn’t the same Honoka you knew.  She had changed - and not for the better.  Not in the slightest.  She was growing more insistent that you talk to her - every night.  And if you didn’t?  

The calls were incessant.  One after the other until you finally had to shut your ringer off.  And the voicemails - she never spoke.  Just let it sit for a moment before hanging up.  And you were grateful for it - you didn’t want to talk to her.  Every chance she got, she showered you with praise and adoration while slinging hate at all your friends in 1-A.  But no one got it like Bakugou did.

Honoka:  Stop talking to him.

It’s not any of your damn business who I’m talking to.

Honoka:  If you don’t stop talking to him, I’ll tell him what a whore you were in Middle School.

The water of your bath was scalding, but that didn’t stop you from shaking.  Why was she doing this to you?  Why was she so adamant about making your life miserable?  This wasn’t Honoka - not even in the slightest.  

I’m blocking you.  Leave me alone.

Don’t talk to me anymore.

No matter what, he was pure evil to Honoka.  He was disgusting, arrogant, rude, a monster, a villain hiding in sheep's clothing and would do nothing but drag you down.  He would hurt you, she said.  

Honoka:  Go ahead.  I’ll just make other accounts.

She was as good as her word.  At least that hadn’t changed.

Your classmates were starting to take notice.  After the first few accounts were blocked, she started using a calling app to randomly call you - only to hang up the moment you answered.  Sometimes it was once a night, supplemented with texts about what a no good, lying whore you were.  About how you were just some slut who’s opening you legs for the first guy who gave you any attention. 

Honoka:  Fucking skank.

Honoka:  You’re so fucking worthless.  

Honoka:  You fucking him?  Is that it?  Is that why you want to defend him so bad?

Honoka:  He’s probably fucking every other girl in your class.

Other times, the calls were every hour on the hour.  It had gotten so bad, that you started sleeping in later and later.

You raced through the empty halls, trying to will time to back up.  You had slept in, missing your first train.  When you got on the second one, you fell back asleep until the stop after yours.  The only thing you could do was get off and just run to school as fast as you could.  Class had started 20 minutes ago.  This had never happened before - in your whole life.  You were always meticulous about getting to class early.

You were a good student.  A good person.  You were.  

“Well, look who decided to join us.”  Mr. Aizawa didn’t even bother to hide the annoyance in his voice.  It made it all the more terrible

You wanted to cry.  You felt the eyes of everyone in your class fall on you.  It made your skin squirm, your stomach flip.  You wanted to turn around and just...run home.  To crawl into your bed and... 

You bowed low, your head almost hitting the floor.  “I’m so sorry I’m late, sir!  It won’t happen again!”

“Be sure that it doesn’t.”  His glare hardened.  “We’ll talk after class about your punishment.”

Punishment.  Shit.  You couldn’t speak, resigning to solemnly nodding as you making the walk of shame to your seat, collapsing down.  You had to take a minute, to steady your breath.  To try and collect yourself.  At least at school, you had an excuse not to answer her texts.  To ignore her and pretend like she wasn’t out there being fucking crazy.  School was safe.  School was free from it all.

Almost by habit, you turned and looked over at Bakugou.  A small part of you was praying that he was looking at you.  That his glare would ground you in a way only it knew how.  But when your eyes met...the only thing you felt was misery.  

You fucking him?  Is that it?  

Your heart raced, panic flooded your nerves, and all you wanted to do was run.  Get away from everyone and just...just go to sleep.  You just wanted to sleep.  But Honoka wasn’t allowing that.  You couldn’t stop thinking about half of the things she said while the other half had been resting heavily in your stomach, making you sick.  She was stealing everything from you.

You’re a fucking slut opening her legs for the first guy who gives you attention.  And of course it had to be that fucking dog.

No...no you couldn’t look at him for too long, afraid that he would know.  Terrorized as you were, you couldn’t run the risk of him finding out.  Because...what if she messaged him first?  What if she told him all of her lies and...what if he believed her?

No.  No, that couldn’t happen.

You pulled away from his stare, folding in on yourself.  Just get out your books.  Focus on class and get out your books.  Your phone dinged and your blood ran cold.  You dreaded even looking at it, but as you tugged out your notebook,  the piece of plastic fell, resting against the back of your bag.  It was as if some higher power was damning you to be always aware of the vitriol Honoka was spewing in your direction.  The lock screen shone bright: 21 missed texts, 44 missed calls.  But the most recent message sent horror down your spine.

Honoka:  Naughty girl, sleeping in late for school.  

You slipped out of the lunch room and made your way down the hall.  You were going to put an end to this - once and for all.  You didn’t know what game Honoka was playing at, but whatever it was, you were fucking done.  She was starting to seep into every facet of your life and it was ending now.  Right then, in that hallway.  

When you got a safe distance away from the double doors, to ensure no one could hear you when you started screaming, you searched through your contacts for her number.  When you finally found it however...

God, just looking at her name made you sick.  The fact her contact picture was of you and her, eating ice cream at a beach, grinning and giving the camera a peace sign, posing as only 12 year old girls knew how, it drove a knife into your chest, twisting it even deeper the longer you stared at it.  She was making your life a living hell.  It wasn’t right, it didn’t make any fucking sense.  Why was she doing this to you?  Did you do something to her?  Were you cruel in your last interaction?  Did you make a joke that went so poorly that she decided the only way to get back at you was to ruin your entire life?  To push you so close to the edge that...

She going out of her way to make your life a living hell and for what?  

Well, no better time like the present to find out.

Your thumb slammed down on the dial button.  Each ring was like nails on chalk board.

Her voice was even worse.

She said your name so surprised, before crying it out in joy.  “Oh my god, it’s been so long!”

Well...that...wasn’t...true?

“What the fuck is wrong with you?”

Honoka went silent on the other end of the phone.  “Uh...are you okay?”

“You’ve been harassing me since the festival and you’re just going to act like-”

“Wait...what?”

“The thousands of texts!?  The millions of calls!?”

She didn’t answer.  You couldn’t help the grin that spread over your face.  You fucking got her.  You caught her in her bullshit lie and she didn’t have anything to say for it.  You hated to admit it, but part of you was excited to hear how she was going to explain it way.  How she was going to break down and finally you could tell her off and it was going to stop and you could get a good night’s sleep and maybe your mom could make your favorite curry and you would be able to eat it and not throw it up later and -

“I haven’t been texting you.”

Well...you couldn’t have said you were expecting that.  You stopped, staring at your feet.  “I...what?”

“I...haven’t been calling you.  Or texting you.”  She said, her voice - that ever familiar voice - filled with worry.

...of course she would be worried.  She was always so fucking nice. 

“Yes you have!!”  You shouted, gritting your teeth.

She said your name, so softly and so calmly, “No.  I haven’t.  I promise you, I haven’t.  Are you okay?  Is everything alright?”

The phone vibrated in your fingers and the screen lit up once more.  Another unknown number was calling you.  You didn’t hesitate and for the first time since this all began you answered the her-him-they-it. 

“What!?”  You screamed, pressing the phone to your ear.  You strained to hear, to try and find out who was doing this to you.  “What do you want!?  Why are you doing this to me!?  Leave me alone!!!”

...click!

The dial tone felt like a death sentence.

The hallway shrunk and expanded, growing larger and darker - like the mouth of the beast, it was going to swallow you whole.  You pressed your phone to your forehead, slumped to the floor and realized...you were crying.  No, not just crying.  You were sobbing, each one wracking your body and shaking your bones.  Shit...shit, shit, shit.  You just wanted to go back to the way things were.  You wanted it to stop, wanted whoever was doing this to leave you alone and - 

Your phone buzzed again.  Another message.  

Another sob rocked your body, but you found the strength to turn it back into view.

UNKNOWN NUMBER ::  [ MULTIMEDIA MESSAGE ]

Your fingers trembled so hard you almost dropped the phone.  You didn’t want to look at whatever it was.  Whoever was doing to you was fucking sick, was deranged and psychotic and out of their mind and...you had to do something about it.  Maybe you could tell a teacher?  But what could they do about it?  Up security?  Just for you?  No, it was entirely out of the question.  You couldn’t go to the police - since who ever this was hadn’t physically done anything to harm you.  

You were on your own.

You opened the message.

It was your house.  The sun was setting.  Then another.  This one was early in the morning.  Then another.  And another.  Another another another another another another another another another different angles, different times of day...but all focused on one spot. 

Your bedroom.  Sometimes it was empty, but other times you were in shot.  Sometimes working on homework, sometimes sitting with your cat on the window sill, other times pulling your shirt above your head, reaching behind your back for your bra and...

UNKOWN NUMBER :  Stop ignoring me.

Your phone clattered to the floor as you gripped your hair, trying to steady your breathing.  In two three fours, Out two three fours.  In two three fours, Out two three-

“Hey.”

The scream was involuntary, as was backing against the lockers so hard that you slammed your head against them.  Bakugou recoiled, staring at you, his eyes wide with surprise.  It didn’t last long, quickly overtaken by gritted teeth and snarls.  “The hell is your-”

He must have noticed the tears, the absolute panic on your face.  The silence fell over the two of you, the echo of your scream now long gone.  You wished you were.  You couldn’t look at him, couldn’t face the shame of what was happening.  How could you explain it. 

“You alright?”  

You pulled your legs up to you chest, hugging them tightly.  “No,” You replied.

Bakugou was never one for consolations.  So you were almost surprised when all he made his way over to where you were sitting and sat down beside you.  You flinched, only a little, but it didn’t seem to bother him none.  He shoved his hands in his pockets, but didn’t say a word, his bright red eyes focused out the window across from you.  You...were grateful.  For the first time in almost two weeks, you didn’t feel entirely vulnerable.  Like everything was crumbling down around you.  And in this small moment of peace, you felt horribly exhausted.  Your mind ached, your body was sore, your eyes were so red and...and...

You rested against his shoulder and he didn’t make a move to stop you.  It was like Bakugou was putting himself between you and...whoever was stalking you.  

Stalking you.  You had a stalker.  

You sniffled, wiping the tears from your eyes.  “I’m sorry.”  You offered.

“For what?”  He barked.

“For crying.”

He didn’t answer for a moment, “Tch.  Yeah, well...maybe suck it the hell up.  Whatever it is, it’s not a big deal.”

Not a big...you turned to look at him, eyes narrowing.  “Not a big deal...?”  

He looked at you, a bored and disgruntled expression on his face.  “Yeah.”

“It’s kind of a big fucking deal.”

“Oh yeah?  Well then what the hell is it?”

“Whoa, it’s that kid who just won the Sports Festival!”

“Oh, wow!  He’s so much scarier in person!”

“Do you think he would be mad if I asked for an autograph?”

“Yeah! Look at his mug - he’s obviously pissed off about something!”

Bakugou had stayed late, even through your detention, to walk you home.  It was nearly dark now as you walked side by side down your street.  The sun was struggling to peak over the row of houses and a purple ink had settled over the top of the sky.  

It was taking everything in you not to apologize...again.  He didn’t need to be dragged into your mess.  But...shit, it wasn’t like you weren’t ecstatic that he offered to walk you home back in the hallway.  He was a terrifying presence, unstoppable.  As he stalked down the road towards your house, a scowl on his face as his eyes peered around every corner, it hit you that you felt safer now than you had the past few weeks.  

“Hey.”  You picked up the pace, making sure to stay close.  “Thank you again.  I just-”

“Ugh, stop thanking me!”  He glared at you.

“I’m just-”  You sighed and gripped your bag straps.  “I...I don’t see the point of you walking me home.  Not...that I don’t appreciate it, I just...won’t that make him mad?”

Bakugou scoffed.  “That’s the point, you idiot.”

Sometimes, you thought you almost understood him.  But then he blew up Rome and screamed at you to start over tomorrow morning.  You stared at him in confusion though ultimately decided you didn’t have the energy to argue.  You were just...thankful that he was here.

“This is me.”  Your house was a small thing, nestled on the corner and surrounded by a garden that was meticulously maintained by your mom while you were at school and your father was at work.  Sometimes the pictures had her in the shot, busy at work.  Your lips thinned as you stared up at the second story window,  Your white curtains lay still and your cat stared down at you, like she knew something was wrong.  Like she knew...that things were amiss. 

Well...Bakugou came all this way and the guy didn’t have the guts to show himself.  As you had figured, you had completely wasted his time.  It wasn’t like he was going to move in just to be your watchful protector.  You didn’t want to think that maybe he was just patiently waiting until you were alone but...

“Do you want to come in for something to drink.  It’s the least I could...”  

Bakugou wasn’t looking at you.  His attention was focused entirely over your shoulder.  You blinked, taken aback by the cold, dead glare on his face.  The way his eyes seemed to burn with...rage?  Unbridled anger?  Nothing seemed to do whatever it was justice.  “You’ve been following us since the train station!”  He yelled out.  “Why don’t you stop being a fucking coward and come out of hiding!!”

…someone...had been following you?

You could see the reflection of someone in his eyes.  With a shaking breath, you turned to look at who he was talking to.

You weren’t sure what you expected.  But throughout the day, you had come up with an image in your mind of what your stalker had looked like.  He would be the perfect embodiment of the horror you had suffered though, that was for certain.  A Cheshire grin, wild unkempt hair, vacant, glossy eyes, maybe a knife or something - anything to solidify himself as the monster who had been making your life miserable.  But...he wasn’t.  As you got a good look at him, you realized that he looked relatively...normal.  And for some reason, that thought alone made you sick.  

He was about your age - maybe a bit older - in a school uniform you didn’t recognize.  His hair was dark, pulled back and pushed behind his ears.  His chin was dusted with facial hair and his eyes were darting between you and Bakugou.  He had been standing by the cross walk and tried to pretend to be shocked that Bakugou was even addressing him. 

“Excuse me?”

“Don’t pull that bull with me.”  Bakugou stepped around you, making his way towards him. “I saw you get off the train with us.  You made every turn we did.  Always stayed one step behind where you thought we couldn’t see you.”

The kid only got a word out before Bakugou gripped him by his shirt and slammed him up against the wall of the neighboring house.  “Please!” The kid yelled.  “I don’t know what you’re talking about!”

“Bakugou!”  Your legs finally remembered they could move.  You bolted over to where he was standing, looking between the two of them.  “Bakugou maybe it isn’t him!  Maybe he-”

“Show us your phone then if you don’t have anything to hide!”  He lifted him up and slammed him back against the bricks.

“I don’t have to show you anything, you fucking lunatic!”

You don’t think you had ever seen him on this street.  You don’t think you had seen him ever but-

“HEY!”  The boy tried to stop Bakugou from reaching into his pocket.  But it was no use.

You caught it was ease, “Try the day of the sports festival for the password.”  Was all he said.

This was fucking insane.  What if this kid wasn’t the stalker?  What if he was just some random guy who was meeting a friend.  You looked back and forth between the two of them - Bakugou, hair wild and death in his eyes, and this guy who looked down at him with fear and...

...oh...

You swiped up, entering the date as instructed.

It unlocked.

And you were met with a pretty lain layout.  Some photo editing apps, Youtube, a few games, and...

Texting and Calling apps.  Your blood ran cold as you opened the first one up.  Texts apon texts, all to the same unlisted number.  Your unlisted number.  You went to the photo gallery and there they were.  The pictures of your house.  Some of them were zoomed in and cropped to only show you.  You wanted to be sick.  You wanted to-

“I can explain!”  

“What the fuck,” You breathed, scrolling through the pictures.  Not just of your house, but of you - walking home from school, of hanging out with your friends, of you shopping.  And that’s when you saw the edited versions.

Fuck.  Oh Shit Fuck. 

“I was only trying to help you!!”  He cried, scratching at Bakugou’s wrist, making his skin bleed.  “I only want what’s best for us!”

“I think I’m going to be sick.”  You covered your mouth, trying to think of what to do next.  Should you call the police?  Your parents!?  What do you do now?

His eyes fell on Bakugou, practically snarling.  “I knew he would do something like this!!  I knew he would try to make me look like some psycho, but I’m not.  I know how he would treat you!  He’s a rabid fucking dog, a mongrel!  I couldn’t let him treat you the same way!  I couldn’t!  I’m just trying to protect you!  But you wouldn’t fucking listen!!  So I thought if maybe you and I could talk you would understand!  You would see what I’m-”

“ARGH!”

Your body tensed as the smell of burnt stone and ash filled the air.  You looked up and half expected his head to be blown clean off.  But it was still attached, only now he looked terrified as he stared down at Bakugou.  You followed his gaze, saw the look of pure, unadulterated rage.  His hand had connected to the wall beside the man’s head, smoke dancing up and around them.  And he was shaking.  Oh, god, how hard Bakugou was shaking.

He spoke low, deep in his chest.  “Listen close, you freak.  You’re going to leave her alone from this point forward - you got that?  If I find out you’re even thinking about her, I’ll kill you myself!!”

The world fell silent.  No one said a word until.  Your stalker was crying now, shaking as he nodded, quickly, mumbling apology after apology.  You couldn’t find the words to say, but your heart.  God, your heart was beating so hard in your chest as you stared at Bakugou.  He...he was...

Oh.

The window in the house behind you slid open.  An older man leaned out the window, his wife nervously peering over his shoulder.  The looked to the source of the commotion before standing up straight, fumbling as the smoke continued to rise from the spot Bakugou...well...destroyed.  “Hey!!  If you don’t get off my property, I’m calling the cops!”

...the police.  

...

The police.

Oh god, you had his phone.  You could prove he had been stalking you!!!  You perked up, smiling for the first time in weeks, “Yes!  Yes, please, call the police!”

The man stared at you, confusion on his face. “....what?”

The weight of the situation only grew heavier when the police searched the contents of the guy’s backpack. 

Rope.  A knife.  Some cloth.  A box of condoms.  And a jar of a clear, sickly sweet smelling liquid.  You heard one of the officers say what it was, though you were sure you weren’t supposed to hear.  But you did, and so did your parents.  Your mom nearly broke down for the third time that evening as your father swore under his breath.  

Homemade chloroform.

His name was Eito Moto - a second year at another High School near your home.  You would find out later that the stalking had started long before the Sports Festival - ever since he started working at the coffee shop you and your mom would go to every Sunday for breakfast.  Your neighbors, the ones who actually called the police, had seen him hanging around sometimes but didn’t think much off it.  

They thought he had just been a fan.  

They decided not to press charges against Bakugou for putting a hole in their fence.  “Given the circumstances,”  The man said, “I think I would have done the same thing.”

You had to go to the police station to file a report and request a restraining order.  It took well into the morning hours, where you mainly spent your time talking to different police officers, retelling the same story, going over evidence, assuring them you didn’t know this guy so you had no clue why he thought you two had been dating for months.  

They sent Bakugou home, your parents offering him their thanks and promises they would find a better, proper way to think him for essentially saving your life.  

By the time you fell into a crumpled heap on your bed, it was 2 in the morning.  It had been so long since you felt...okay.  Your stalker was in police custody for now, you could at least rest easy tonight.  You gripped your pillows, tugging them up and over your head to block out what meager light filtered in through the hallway.  No more late night calls.  No more insistent texts telling you what a no good whore you were.  You were okay.  

Everything was going to be okay. 

Bzzzz.

...oh no.  Oh no.  Oh no.

You peeked out from under your pillow, trying to calm your racing heart.  It couldn’t be him, you thought.  He was in jail, so they wouldn’t let him call you - right?  They wouldn’t let him do that, even if they did give him one call.  With shaking fingers, you reached out and plucked your phone from your end table.

Bakugou is calling!

Oh....oh thank god.

You couldn’t press accept fast enough.  You sighed, resting back against your pillows.  “Hey.”

“Is that bastard in jail?”

A laugh, a good honest laugh.  “Yeah.  Yeah, he’s in jail.  Dad and mom are gonna to talk to a lawyer tomorrow about our options.”

“Did you get a restraining order?”

You nodded.  “Yeah.  That’s what took so long and why we have to go to court.  They gave me an emergency one so...”  You blew out a puff of air, watching as a lock of your hair jumped up and fell back into place.  “At least there’s that.”

“You should have talked to me about this sooner.”  It was softer than you anticipated, less of a bite than he normally had.

You knew you should have.  You should have told someone but...it felt so...pointless?  Like it wouldn’t have mattered.  But, you had to give credit where credit was due.  “I wish I would have.”

He didn’t respond.  You had expected he would have started yelling at you, about hiding it from everyone.  Chastised you for being so stupid and letting it go on for as long as it had.  But no, he stayed quiet.  You could imagine him laying in bed, staring up at his ceiling, and wondered what he was thinking about.  What he wanted to say.  

You rolled over onto your side.  “Hey, Bakugou?”

“What.”

“Thank you.”

There was a long pause before he let out a soft noise.

“Don’t be stupid.  I was only doing what I had to do.”

Stalkers are fucking scary, yah know.  I had to listen to some voicemails left by stalkers to get the vibe down right - and I still don’t think Eito sounded perfect but hey.  At least one blessing in that:  I’ve never been stalked.