#as a teacher it would be a whole additional ordeal

[mandiemon3]

The Best Revenge is Living Well- Chapter 29

After the ordeal with the allegedly cursed suit, the crew held a new respect for their captain. Izzy was not immune to this, finally starting to see beyond the fancy suits and words that the former aristocrat loved so dearly to catch a glimpse of the kindhearted man behind it all. The two spent many hours together, Izzy slowly coaching the captain on how to be a proper pirate, teaching him the skills that any other person would have at least made an effort to learn before ever stepping foot on a ship. On the days when he grew too exasperated, annoyed by Stede’s lack of what he deemed common sense survival instincts, he passed the ropes to his partner, letting them try their own form of teaching. They did their best to help, teaching their eager friend the basics of hand-to-hand combat and knife throwing, and gently correcting the simple knots that Izzy had him working on. On days when even they were too agitated to help, Jim was eager to step up to relieve some pressure, showing the captain move after move that could help him, doing their best to keep it simple.

Before too long, Stede began to get his footing. He still had quite a while to go, but he was becoming quicker on his feet, more likely to choose action in the face of danger than to flail and hide the way he would have initially. As the captain improved, the rest of the crew became fascinated, each drawn to the new skills he began to exhibit. It was only a few days before Roach took the opportunity to ask Mo if they thought they could convince Izzy to give him shooting lessons. Mo had grinned as they looked up from the thick dough they were helping to poke holes in, promising the cook to check with their partner. They added fondly that Izzy had yet to say no to them yet, laughing as Roach ruffled their hair, lightly dusting them with flour in the process.

“So I have a good chance then?” he asked, giving them a wide grin.

Mo chuckled, unable to stop themselves from smiling softly. “I’d say so.” They pretended not to notice the way Roach watched them, a curious expression on his face as they went back to work, unable to wipe away their smile.

Izzy was relieved at the interest the crew showed, finally starting to pick up basic survival skills, but was weary to take on any more pupils. The toll of teaching Stede, in addition to his usual first mate duties and overseeing the repairs done on the ship, was already more than most could handle. Even the dedicated sailor, devoted whole heartedly to his work, was beginning to buckle under the pressure, slowed down by his still healing amputation wound and the damage from his time serving under Blackbeard. He was apprehensive when Mo gently suggested he train only them and Stede, reminding him gently that he had to look after himself in order to be able to help everyone else. They offered to help guide the rest of the crew through lessons, repeating only what they were sure they had learned properly under his guidance.

“We should be able to get everyone up to my level at least,” they said tentatively. “They’d still need help down the line, but it’ll at least get the ball rolling, and take some of the burden off of you.” They chuckled weakly, giving him a small smile. “It’d also make it easier if you didn’t have to go around, fixing things they’ve messed up during the day.”

“You don’t need to do that,” Izzy insisted, his brow set as he frowned, his gaze lowered.

Mo sighed. “Love, let me help you. Please,” they added, giving him a pleading look. They reached out, gently squeezing his arm.

Izzy sighed, looking away. He looked so tired, his shoulders drooping and his eyes hazy, worn down from all of the responsibility weighing on his shoulders. Mo knew that they had to do something, find some way to lessen his load, but the damn man was so stubborn.

“I get it if you don’t think I’d be a good teacher-“ they began.

“It’s not that,” Izzy interrupted gruffly, waving a hand dismissively. “You’d be fine,” he continued, his voice softer as he looked at them. He looked like he could fall over soon, relying on too many mugs of coffee to count to get him through the day. “You certainly know more about fighting than most of them. You just…It’s my responsibility,” he said after a moment’s consideration, his gaze faltering. “I’m first mate. It’s my job to get them all in fighting shape. You don’t…You shouldn’t have to.”

Mo frowned. “You know that’s not how things work around here, Iz,” they said gently, crossing their arms over their chest as they leaned forward, trying to catch his eye. “We’re a team, my love. All of us,” they said, gesturing around them, “but also us. Me and you, together. Baby, you’re tired, and overworked, and I can help.”

Izzy heaved a great sigh, examining them closely as he frowned. “You sure you don’t mind?” he asked uncertainly. His worry showed in the crinkles around his wide eyes, hazy with exhaustion, not wanting to ask more of them than they were capable of.

Mo nodded firmly. “Absolutely. I wouldn’t offer if I wasn’t.”

Izzy jutted his jaw out as he thought, scowling to himself. “Fine,” he said after a moment, clearly not thrilled at accepting help. He heaved another heavy sigh, giving them a concerned look. “But I want you to tell me if it gets to be too much. Can’t have you burning yourself out trying to teach these twats to fight.”

“I promise, Israel.” They stepped closer, pressing a kiss to his cheek and chuckling as he wrapped his arms around them, holding them close. They snaked their arms behind his neck, content to rest against him.

“I mean it,” he continued, looking out over the rolling waves, his chin resting on their head. “Don’t put yourself through more than you can handle, for them or for me.”

Mo hummed noncommittally. Izzy gave an exaggerated sigh, dipping his head to press a kiss to their forehead.

“You’re a stubborn bastard, you know that?” he said, smiling softly to himself.

They hummed again, not bothering to lift their head. “Takes one to know one, my love.”

Training the crew was interesting, to say the least. Mo decided to start with the most basic fighting skills, teaching pairs of two at a time how to strike and block in a fistfight without hurting themselves. Most took to fighting fairly easily, drawing on previous experience, something few were lucky enough to lack. Only Olu, Lucius, and Wee John were truly starting from square one. Olu had always been able to talk his way out of violent situations, his natural charm and nonthreatening demeanor helping him to win over anyone who might do him harm. Lucius, poor young man, had seen his share of violence, and had been the target of it more than once, but was always able to outthink his enemies. John, big softie that he was, had never had to properly fight, they were surprised to learn. His main tactic had always been to stand up, using his immense height and size to intimidate any threats, and, if absolutely necessary, whack anyone he thought might be a threat over the head, able to knock them out cold with one blow.

He shared privately with Mo, pulling them aside as he ducked down to whisper to them, that he never was a good fighter. He fiddled with his hands anxiously as he spoke, giving them a bashful smile when they clapped his back, saying that they could always choose to focus on knife work or some other projectile if it bothered him, but that with his strength, all they’d really need to work on was his balance and defensive skills. Any blow from him would be enough to seriously hurt anyone he felt was a threat, they just needed to fine tune his precision. They promised to keep his insecurities between them, adding with a chuckle that they’d never out someone kind enough to make them a blanket. Wee John laughed, pointing out that not only was he making a blanket for them, but one big enough for two, earning him twice the loyalty.

Slowly, day by day and night by night, the crew began to learn. Those who were not upkeeping the ship or manning the wheel during the day would find themselves with Mo, miming the actions of a fight under their instruction. Once they had all learned the basic footwork needed to evade a blow, and the basics of how to land a punch without breaking their thumb or hurting their wrist, Mo partnered them up and gave them the go ahead to begin letting their blows land. They made sure to emphasize that no one was to use their full weight in a swing, and to avoid each other’s faces as much as could be helped. Roach in particular needed a reminder to hold back, finding it all too easy to slip into the rhythm of the fight and push his friends a bit too far, though he was quick to apologize and help them up if he hurt them more than necessary.

By the end of the week, everyone was showing marked improvements, much to Stede’s excitement. He was thrilled to see his crew throwing themselves into self-improvement with such zeal. Izzy mentioned to Mo more than once how often Stede spoke about the pride he felt for the crew, an emotion he showed on full display, complimenting everyone on how quickly their skills were coming along, and proudly declaring that they’d be the most fearsome crew on all the seven seas if they kept up the good work.

Izzy rolled his eyes as he pulled his partner away from the crew one day, lowering his voice conspiratorially to tell them of the captain’s “ridiculous” idea to name a Pirate of the Week to honor whoever had most improved that week.

Mo grinned, taking Izzy’s hand as they stood together at the bow of the ship.

“I actually think it’s a good idea,” they admitted, facing their partner.

Izzy huffed a small laugh, shaking his head softly. “You would.”

Mo laughed. “And what does that mean, Iz?” they asked, squinting at him suspiciously, unable to hide their grin.

He shrugged. “Positive reinforcement,” he drawled, shifting slightly closer as he looked down at them, his gloved thumb running over the back of their hand. “It’s classic you, darling.” Mo smiled. “Well, there’s a bit more to it than that,” they said, their heart thumping loudly in their chest. How could Izzy still have such an effect on them after so long together, they wondered, secretly hoping it would never change. “Not only is the recognition good for whoever wins every week, but it riles them all up. Plays on their competitiveness to get them to stay focused.” They grinned. “Don’t think I need to tell you how long it usually takes these guys to lose interest in something,” they joked, nudging him gently.

Izzy shook his head, absentmindedly brushing a lock of hair behind their ear. “Usually they’ve moved on before they’ve finished their task,” he replied, a small smile tugging at his lips. He sighed softly. “Just because it’s ridiculous doesn’t mean it won’t work,” he conceded, rolling his eyes halfheartedly as they grinned.

“There you go, my love! I knew you’d come around to us one day!” They stepped forward, giving him a short kiss. He’d warmed up to the idea of showing affection in front of the crew, but they were still cautious, not wanting to push too far and overwhelm him.

Izzy gave a small smile as they pulled back.

“Hard not to, when they mean so much to you,” he said quietly. He cleared his throat gently. “Besides, just because they’re idiots doesn't mean they’re bad fellows.”

Mo chuckled, cupping his face as he smirked. “Don’t know if you’ll ever admit to it, but you like them, and we both know it.” They grinned, their thumb trailed across his cheek, running over the small tattoo under his eye. “What am I going to do with you, Israel?”

Izzy smirked, leaning down to kiss their cheek. “Whatever it is, it should wait until we’re back in our cabin.” He chuckled as Mo blushed, gently tipping their chin up with his thumb and index finger as he leaned down to kiss them. This wasn’t one of the usual kisses he gave them on deck, a chaste peck when they were at risk of being observed. This was a true kiss, the kind that made the world feel like it fell away under their feet, like all that was left and all that was important was Izzy.

Mo was left flustered as he pulled away, grinning down at them, looking very pleased with himself. They floundered for words, trying hard to find their footing and not show how affected they were.

“You…You dick!” they said eventually, their voice hushed as they gently shoved against his chest. “How are you doing to kiss me like that and then leave me here, forced to do actual work now that you’ve put that in my mind?” They chuckled as he laughed, pulling them closer and cupping their cheek to kiss them again. This kiss was soft and sweet, both lovers still chuckling at the others’ antics as they held onto each other.

Izzy rested his forehead against theirs as they separated. “Forgive me yet?” he asked quietly, a small smile flickering across his face.

Mo huffed, earning a small chuckle from their partner. “Yeah,” they said quietly, almost meekly. “Mostly, at least. But,” they warned, their squinted eyes darting up to meet his, “I’ll be getting you back for this.”

Izzy grinned, a mischievous glint in his eye. “That a promise?” he asked, his voice low and rough as he whispered.

They nodded, bringing a hand up to cup his face and smiling as he leaned into it. They leaned forward, pressing a slow kiss to his neck, tangling a hand in his hair as his pulse quickened against their lips.

 “You tease,” he rasped, holding onto the base of their neck as they kissed along his neck. Mo hummed, the vibration against his sensitive skin making him shiver.

“You started it,” they reminded him smugly. They nipped at his neck, chuckling as he hissed, his grip on their shoulders tightening.

“Nice as this is,” he stammered, “this is a bit public, don’t you think?”

Mo pulled back, taking only a moment to enjoy the sight of him, all disheveled from their own doing, before pulling him down to kiss him. They smirked as they pulled away, proudly examining their work. Izzy’s face was dusted with a light pink, his eyes wide and his pupils blown. He breathed heavily as they trailed their fingers over his neck, their thumb gliding over his exposed throat, their touch as light as a feather.

“Do you want me to stop?” they asked quietly, studying his expression. His brow furrowed, his eyes conflicted as he tried to speak.

“Not exactly,” he said, his voice coming out rough. He looked at them hesitantly, as though he was afraid of what he might find. Fear, disgust, and shame were things he had come to expect. Instead, he found a small smile, his partner’s hand moving from his neck to push the hair out of his face.

“We can stop, Israel,” they said softly, their hand moving to his face, their thumb trailing over his cheek as they spoke. “Whatever you want, that’s what we’ll do.” They leaned forward, pressing a sweet kiss to his cheek, resting their head against his shoulder as they pulled back, their arms wrapped behind his neck.

Izzy moved his hands up their back, holding them closer. “Not on deck,” he said, his gravelly voice hushed. “But…maybe tonight.”

Mo raised their head, almost bumping into his nose as they squinted up at him. “Are you saying what I think you’re saying?"

Izzy swallowed thickly. “Yeah. I…I think I am.” He took a deep breath. “I’m ready,” he said, smiling as he leaned down to kiss them once more. He chuckled as they parted. “It’s been long enough, darling. And I…” He cleared his throat, cupping their cheek as he looked at them, a soft smile playing on his lips. “I’m not afraid anymore. Got no reason to be, not with you.” He pressed a kiss to their forehead, chuckling as they giggled.

Mo grinned, tucking their head under his chin, relishing the way he ran his hand up and down their back, one arm slung around their waist to keep them close. They felt their heart could melt, feeling the steady beating of his heart against their ear. Even if it did, they knew they’d be safe. Izzy would protect them, like he always did.

“I’ve also missed seeing you naked,” he added with a sly grin, laughing as his partner gave his chest a scolding slap, barely able to suppress their own chuckle.

“You dirty dog,” they teased, not bothering to lift their head, still pressed against him as he shook with laughter. “You’re as bad as Lucius.”

Izzy scoffed. “No, my love,” he said, his voice laced with humor as he gently tilted their chin to look up at him. “Lucius wouldn’t have stopped if he found himself being seduced on deck.” He smirked, his eyes glinting as they grinned up at him. “I’m a real gentleman in comparison.”

Mo laughed. “Yeah, what a saint you are,” they said sarcastically, rolling their eyes. “You can’t fool me, Israel.” They smirked, lightly tugging the knot of his tie, careful of his ring as they pulled him down, pressing a chaste kiss to his lips. “You forget,” they said quietly, standing on their toes to whisper in his ear, “I know all your dirty little secrets. Been there for most of them, too,” they added, grinning as he blushed. They gave him a quick kiss on his reddened cheek before sinking back onto their heels, chuckling as he straightened his vest, glancing around to make sure no one could see his disheveled state.

“Relax, my love,” Mo soothed, carefully straightening his tie and smoothing his collar. “No one cares if we kiss.” They laughed, his hands coming to rest on their hips as they adjusted his ring so it faced forward, the stone catching the light from the bright sun. “Think everyone would agree you deserve a few minutes off,” they said, smiling up at him. They rested their hands against his chest as they finished, finding themselves captivated by his dark eyes. They could spend the rest of their life looking at him without complaint, doing their best to memorize every curve of his cheek, every wrinkle creasing his handsome face. They hoped they’d have enough time together for them to know the story behind each and every one.

“I don’t care if they see us kissing,” Izzy said calmly, meeting their gaze levelly. “They can be green with envy that they’re missing out on you,” he continued, a smile flickering across his face as his thumb ran over their jaw. “Doesn’t mean they should see me in a state of…frustration,” he said delicately, a sly grin creeping across his face.

Mo chuckled, letting their hands run over his chest to hold onto his broad shoulders. “Ah, well, we’ll see what we can do about relieving some of that frustration,” they said, smirking back up at him.

Izzy grinned, his eyes glinting mischievously. “I trust I’ll be in good hands.”

Mo nodded. “Very good hands.”

As the days passed, the crew slowly improving their fighting skills and Stede continuing his lessons with Izzy, a new sense of camaraderie began to form between those onboard. Izzy no longer stayed off to the side as the crew worked, but moved around them, talking with them and offering direction when needed. He ate with the crew at meal times, sitting with Mo and Frenchie, often joined by Fang and Jim when they weren’t busy with their own business. Everyone had a newfound respect for the first mate, seeming to realize for the first time what a skilled pirate he actually was. It helped that he no longer snapped orders at them, instead taking the time to explain to them why their work was so important and needed doing, even if he grit his teeth as he did it or rolled his eyes exasperatedly. Mo was also able to help curb some of the more irresponsible behavior that might have once gone unchecked, doing their best to encourage their partner’s bonding, though the odd bunch of pirates all began to treat their jobs more seriously now that they didn’t have the safety net of Stede’s inheritance to fall back on if things went awry.

Even Stede began to come around to the man he once despised. Their time spent together endeared the grumpy man to him, and before long the friendly pirate began to find his once brutish humor as rather charming, seeing his brisk efficiency as an asset rather than a damper on his time with Edward. Though he refused to admit it aloud, Izzy could feel himself grow fond of the odd man as well. He couldn’t help but note the differences between his and Edward’s style of captaining, beginning to notice Stede’s strengths. He didn’t command fear, something Izzy had been aware of since he first stepped foot on the Revenge, but for the first time he realized it was because he didn’t need to. The eccentric man earned their loyalty, relying not on threats and fear to inspire loyalty, but on kind words and unwavering support, cementing a bond stronger than fear ever could.

The only person who had some trouble blending into their new dynamic was Edward. Mo had begun to ease up around him, seeing the way he had transformed under their captain’s care. They no longer believed he would lash out in violence if provoked, at least not while Stede was around to judge him for it. They still had to battle their nerves around the tall man, their blood turning to ice whenever they saw him near Izzy. The former captain stayed to the side with Stede most of the time, knowing that most of his sailing companions were weary of him, but he slowly made efforts to reach out.

Fang was the first to forgive him, the two bonding as they spent a day fishing. The large man seemed to have a load off his shoulders as he shared tea with his friends in the galley that night.

“Y’think he meant it?” Frenchie asked, his thumb running over the lip of his mug.

Fang nodded emphatically, careful not to spill his tea from the dainty teacup he favored. “Oh, absolutely. He even asked me about myself,” he said, sounding amazed, his kind eyes wide. “I’ve spent decades sailing with him, never once had he even asked me my name.” He sipped his tea. “He’s done more this week than he has in years.”

Izzy hummed, scowling as he thought, his thumb trailing over Mo’s thigh where they sat beside him. He held a bottle of rum rather than a mug.

“Not saying much,” he said roughly. “Never was all too concerned how we were doing.” His voice was dark, bitter as he spoke about the man he had spent so much of his life following. He took a swig of his rum, grimacing as the alcohol burned his throat. He smiled when he felt Mo’s hand on top of his own, setting the bottle on the table in front of him and wrapping his arm behind their shoulder to pull them closer. Mo was quick to adjust, resting their head on his shoulder.

“So,” Jim asked, looking around at their companions, “where are we on this? He seems better, at least better than before.”

Archie squeezed their arm. “Seems better to me,” she said. “Don’t know if we can really hope for any better, to be honest. I mean, he’s not killing us, or dragging us on raids,” she sat forward in her seat, counting on her fingers. “No one’s been shot for a while, we get steady food, and hey, the company ain’t too bad.” She grinned, flashing Jim a wink, making her partner chuckle.

Frenchie bobbed his head as he nodded. “Reckon we’ll all be alright,” he said. “We’ve got each other, and Captain hasn’t shown any signs of concern. Maybe he can pull the whole thing off, actually save the bitch.”

Izzy and Mo scoffed at the same time, sharing a brief look as they smiled.

“Here’s to hoping,” Mo said, turning back to the group and holding up their mug. Mugs and china clinked together as the pirates toasted, each murmuring their own hopes as they drank.

Slowly, Edward began to weasel his way back into the hearts of the crew. Much of his redemption was owed to Stede, who gently guided his partner and helped him to understand what had gone wrong, and how to make things up to those he’d hurt. The famed pirate became remarkably docile on his probation, his jingly collar alerting others to his presence as he moved around the ship, careful not to surprise anyone. To his credit, he did what he could to make things right with the crew. He let Lucius push him off the ship when he realized how upset the young man was about his time stranded at sea, and admitted to Jim and Archie that he shouldn’t have tried to make them fight each other to the death, though he had yet to properly own up to the damage he had caused.

The man hellbent on self-improvement had even approached Izzy one morning, hesitantly joining him as he redid some knots Black Pete had used to secure the rigging. Edward brought a bottle of rum with him, holding it awkwardly as he watched his former first mate work.

“You always were good at that,” he commented absently. Izzy only grunted, his eyes barely flickering to the man he had once adored. “You were good at a lot of things,” he continued softly. “More than I ever gave you credit for, if I’m being honest.”

“Understatement of the year,” Izzy drawled, moving on to correct another knot, grimacing as he adjusted his stance on his wooden leg.

“Yeah. Yeah, s’pose so.” Edward’s voice was low and sorrowful. He shuffled, his brow furrowing as he frowned down at the deck. “Look, Iz,” he said, taking a deep breath, “I’m sorry. ‘Bout all of it. ‘Specially about your leg. You…you didn’t deserve that.” He faltered, not knowing whether to continue. “I fucked up, and I tried to take you down with me. Shouldn’t have done that.” He cleared his throat, slowly holding out the bottle of rum to Izzy.

“I brought you this,” he said lamely. He stammered, trying to think of something to say, something to undo the irreparable damage he had caused. “I know it’s your favorite. It doesn’t make up for anything, I know, but…I just, I want you to have it.”

Izzy dropped his knots, turning to face him. He frowned as he looked at Edward, his eyebrows knit together as he evaluated the man he had spent so long serving. Never in his life had he expected to be offered a gift, even if in a poor attempt to make amends, from Edward, nor would he have thought he’d see the mix of guilt and apprehension etched onto his face. Even more surprising were the words he spoke. He’d had apologized in the past, but never in a way that didn’t shirk responsibility, blaming others or circumstances outside of his control when someone was hurt. Never before had he meant it so sincerely, no longer dropping a small apology and then brushing past it, already back to matters he cared about. Now he truly seemed to care, wanting his former friend to know that he was sorry.

“Thanks,” Izzy said after a moment of contemplation. He hesitantly took the bottle, watching Edward carefully as he moved, looking for any change he could use to predict his next move.

Edward gave him a small smile. “I hope you like it,” he said, gesturing towards the bottle. “I remember back in the day, when you could go through a whole bottle.” Izzy hummed, looking down at the bottle as he turned it over in his hands. “Probably won’t be doing that anymore,” he said absentmindedly. “Mo gets concerned when I drink too much. Really scared them last time. When we voted,” he clarified, as though Edward could ever forget.

The tall man nodded solemnly. “They really care about you,” he noted. He chuckled when Izzy’s eyes darted up, looking at him suspiciously. “It’s alright,” he insisted, holding his hands up calmingly. “I…I actually think it’s nice,” he admitted, smiling softly. “Bit like me and Stede. You two, you balance each other well. You give each other what you need, and make up where the other lacks.”

Izzy bristled, his lip curling at the insinuation.

Edward’s eyes widened as he realized his mistake. “Shit! Fuck!” he scrambled. “Didn’t mean anything by that, cross my heart. Just that, y’know, you’re different people with different skills. No one person can be perfect.” Izzy grunted again, spinning the bottle in his hands. “Used to think that,” he admitted quietly. He shook his head, rousing himself from his thoughts. “’Scuse me. Gotta get this stashed away before Jim finds it. Bastard’s taken a liking to it too, been burning through my supply.” He gave his former friend a tense nod before turning, walking away towards the door down into the ship. He wondered if the sound of his wooden leg against the deck rang as loudly in Edward’s head as it did his own, turning his gift over in his hands absentmindedly.

With Izzy working so hard to fix up the ship and train Stede in the ways of pirating, and Mo overseeing the general operation of the crew and teaching basics lessons when they could, the two had little time left for each other at the end of the day. Usually, they would walk back to their cabin together, taking their time getting ready for bed and complaining to each other about all the little things that had gone wrong throughout the day. They would laugh about the silly things their respective students had done, and try to figure out which repairs took priority for the next day.

Only when they were in bed were they able to take their minds off work, focusing only on each other. For a precious bit, they were able to just be themselves, Izzy often choosing to read more of the letters Mo had written for him, while his partner did their best to salvage their botched crochet project. On nights when that was too frustrating for them, they’d sketch, or simply rest against Izzy, letting the rhythmic beating of his heart soothe their frustrations.

When it came time for Izzy to take the night shift on deck, Mo was reluctant to let him go. His exhaustion had been improving since they had begun sharing the role of teacher, but his body still ached from his wounds, and he so rarely got the rest he needed. More selfishly, they didn’t want to lose what precious time they had with him. Nevertheless, he was determined that he do his shift, insisting that it wouldn’t be fair if he assigned it to others but never followed through himself. After much discussion and many kisses, he finally convinced his partner to go to bed without him, promising to see them in the morning, bright and early.

A few hours into the night, long after the sun had set, Mo joined Izzy on deck. They peered around as they emerged from the underbelly of the ship, a thin blanket draped over their shoulders as they looked around.

“What’re you doing up?”

They turned to find the owner of the voice, hoarse after a few hours of disuse, smiling softly as their eyes landed on their partner. His eyebrows were knit as he gazed down at them from the quarterdeck, leaning down with his hands placed on the railing, studying them with concern.

“Something wrong?” Izzy asked, pushing himself off the railing and moving towards the steps.

Mo shook their head, chuckling softly. “No, my love,” they said, their voice thick with sleep as they made their way towards the steps, walking up them faster than he could descend. “Nothing’s wrong. Other than me being alone in bed, that is.” Izzy chuckled, wrapping his arms loosely around their waist as they stepped closer.

“Sorry, darling,” he said quietly, looking down at them with soft dark eyes. “Someone has to keep watch. The others have all done their part. Time I do mine, even if I do wish I could be cozied up with you.”

Mo hummed, resting their cheek against his chest and pulling their blanket tighter over their shoulders. “Couldn’t sleep without you,” they mumbled, sighing contently as he ran his hand up their back, gently holding them. “The bed was cold. Felt too much like before, when we were apart. Figured I might as well keep you company up here. Might doze off, but I’d rather be with you anyway.” They lifted their head, smiling sleepily as he pressed a kiss to their forehead.

“You should be in bed,” he said softly, cupping their jaw as his rough thumb glided over the soft skin of their cheek. “I’m not going anywhere. You need rest, Mo.” Mo huffed a short laugh. “You need rest, Iz. And I can’t sleep without you, as inconvenient as it is.” They sighed dramatically. “Curse you, Israel Hands. I could sleep just fine on my own before, as long as I wasn’t in danger. Now I can’t even make it through the night without you. You’ve spoiled me.” They stood up on their toes to kiss him, cutting him off mid chuckle, though he didn’t seem to mind the interruption, his hands moving up to gently hold their face.

“Just let me stay up here with you?” they asked quietly as they sunk back down, looking up at him pleadingly. “Please?”

Izzy hesitated, trying to think of any potential argument he could use in his favor, but sighed heavily when they frowned, their tired eyes wide as they looked up at him. “Fine,” he said lowly, still holding their face as he rested his forehead against theirs. “But you need to sit still at least,” he insisted. “Can’t have you running around, wearing yourself ragged. Can you do that for me, darling?”

Mo nodded, giving him a small smile. “Whatever you say, Mr. Hands. Don’t want to get in trouble with my superior.”

He chuckled. “If that were true, you’d let up with all the teasing,” he pointed out, unable to hide his fondness. His fingers brushed against the hair at the back of their neck, deftly swirling a lock as he smiled.

They couldn’t help but smirk up at him, their heart thumping loudly in their chest. “Where would the fun in that be?” they asked softly. They grinned as Izzy leaned down, capturing them in another sweet kiss. They held his face when he pulled back, reluctant to let their lover go.

“C’mon,” he said softly, tilting his head to the side. “Let’s get you settled, love.”

Mo let him take their hands, guiding them over to where a few crates sat nearby, storing extra rope that the crew had used to practice their knots earlier in the day. He motioned for them to sit, releasing their hands as they did. They patted the spot next to them as he straightened their blanket, covering them more securely with the soft material.

Izzy sighed wearily, giving them a reluctant look as they frowned pleadingly, before sitting next to them, groaning as he lowered himself down. He propped his wooden leg up to rest on another crate, wrapping his arm behind his partner’s back as they leaned against his shoulder, sighing contently.

“Not fuckin’ fair,” he grumbled quietly, dipping his nose into their hair as they cuddled up to him. “You know I can’t say no when you make that face.”

Mo hummed, holding loosely onto his vest as he ran his hand up and down their back, letting the repetitive motion soothe them. They could already feel themselves drifting off to sleep, their exhaustion washing over them again now that they could relax, knowing Izzy was nearby.

“Good thing I use it sparingly,” they mumbled. Izzy hummed, his warm breath tickling their scalp. “Don’t want to go mad with power.” They yawned, covering their mouth with the back of their hand before settling back in, letting their eyes slip closed. “Thank you, Israel. I love you.”

They were barely awake long enough to hear Izzy said that he loved them too, their mind already drifting away, carried out to sea by the sounds of the gentle lapping of the waves against the side of the ship as he held them.

Mo wasn’t awake when Lucius stumbled onto deck in the morning, groaning loudly as he stretched his back. He was the first to rise, having carefully removed himself from Black Pete’s sleepy embrace to stretch his legs and, more importantly, his bad back. He sighed as he walked over to the railing of the ship, his hands resting on his aching muscles as he moved.

“Will you keep it down?” hissed a voice, making the young man spin in confusion. He gaped when he saw Izzy, sitting on a crate on the quarterdeck, a lightly snoring Mo draped over him.

Lucius had a smirk on his face as he walked up the steps, sitting down on the railing overlooking the deck and crossing his legs as he took in the sight. The bristly first mate wrapped his arms defensively around Mo, as though he feared they would be separated.

“Well, well, well,” Lucius said smugly, his voice hushed so as not to wake his friend. He crossed his arms over his chest as he regarded them with an air of self-satisfaction. “What do we have here? The terrifying Izzy Hands, cuddled up with his partner practically drooling on his lap.”

Izzy rolled his eyes, scoffing lightly. “Piss off, Spriggs,” he said halfheartedly, adjusting the blanket draped over Mo’s shoulders. “They couldn’t sleep. Wasn’t very well going to send them off on their own, tell them to tough it out.” Lucius laughed. “Why not? That’s what you would’ve done for the rest of us.” He looked at the young man like he was stupid. “Because,” he said, his tone conveying the same message, “I love them. Not gonna send them away, not when I can help.” He tightened his grip around them, looking down with concern as they shifted, murmuring in their sleep. He gave a quiet sigh of relief when they settled again, nestling closer to him.

“You two sure are an odd couple,” Lucius noted, watching them closely. He only smiled when Izzy flashed him a weak glare. “Relax, Mr. Grumpy,” he sighed, waving a hand dismissively. “I’m not saying you’re not good together. Just that you bring out, well, interesting sides of each other.” Izzy frowned. “Fuck is that supposed to mean?” he asked, shifting slightly on the crate, still careful not to rouse his partner.

Lucius grinned, picking up on the undercurrent of insecurity in his voice. He chuckled. “Nothing bad, dear old Iz. You just get…I don’t know. Softer, I guess. More vulnerable, around them. You open up more, act more like a man than just Blackbeard’s first mate.” He said the name with vague disdain, rolling his eyes softly as he shifted on the railing. “And they,” he continued, nodding towards the sleeping form pressed against him. “Well, they get fiercer. More protective.” He scoffed, bouncing his foot as he thought. “Not that they’re not usually, but you know, you seem to intensify it.” He frowned as he studied the older pirate in front of him, still frowning defensively. “You do know that, right?” he asked, his voice uncertain.

Izzy hesitated. “Know what, exactly?” he asked after a moment, suddenly finding it hard to meet his gaze.

Lucius smiled faintly, huffing a small laugh. “That they love you,” he said simply, his voice soft with sincerity. “More than anyone else. They’d do anything to keep you safe. They stood up to Spanish Jackie, basically told her the polite version of ‘piss off’ whenever she tried to flirt with them. Told her straight to her face that they were supposed to be with you, and that they were loyal only to you when Stede and the others got caught stealing, if Pete can be believed.” Izzy scoffed. “That’s a big if,” he said, meeting his companion’s gaze. Lucius continued, not acknowledging the dig at his partner. “Not to mention that they were on the verge of lighting the Red Flag on fire just to cause a distraction when Zheng had you in the brig.” He snorted. “Wouldn’t be all that surprised if they sold us all out to the English to save you, if it really came down to it.”

Izzy scowled. “Mo would never,” he said quietly, his voice firm as his defenses raised. “They’re no bootlicker, or traitor.”

Lucius chuckled. “I know,” he said sincerely, smiling at the prickly man. “That’s why it’s such a big deal that they’d do it for you.”

Izzy frowned, running his gloved hand up and down Mo’s arm absentmindedly. Would they? He looked down at his sleeping partner, their form relaxed as they breathed steadily in his arms. They’d already offered to kill Blackbeard for him, to do whatever they had to to keep him safe from Zheng. They’d never be a turncoat, he knew, his thumb running carefully over their cheek, his touch as light as a ghost. Their entire world would have to be on the line for them to even consider it. Maybe, he admitted to himself, sighing softly.

“Well,” Lucius said softly, jolting the man out of his thoughts, “I’ll leave you two be.” He uncrossed his legs and stood, stalling before he walked away. “You treat them well, y’know,” he said softly, his fingers trailing over the rough wood of the railing as he spoke. “I’ll be the first to admit, I had my doubts when you got together. Didn’t want to see them get themselves hurt.” He spun idly on his feet, resting his hands on the railing as Izzy watched him, examining him closely. “But you’ve surprised me,” he admitted, cracking a small smile. “I’m happy to say that you now have my full approval. You’ve earned it.”

Lucius grinned as Izzy processed, unsure of whether to be annoyed by the young man’s unasked for feedback or touched by his kind words.

After a moment, he huffed, his brow still furrowed as he spoke. “Don’t need your approval,” he said, his rough voice quiet. “But…” he trailed off, looking out over the sea as he swallowed. “Thanks.” He grimaced at how hoarse his voice came out, refusing to look at the scribe as he smirked.

“Anytime, Izzy. And hey,” he added, stepping down the stairs to the main deck, “if the time comes and you need an anniversary present, I could always help you out with a sketch.” He winked suggestively, stifling his laugh with his hand as Izzy blushed lightly.

“In your fuckin’ dreams,” he replied, unable to help his own small smirk. Lucius grinned as he walked away, chuckling at the way Izzy returned his teasing. Maybe Mo wasn’t so crazy for liking him after all.

After that, the crew began to volunteer more often to take the night shift. The rumor of how a tired Mo had tracked down Izzy, turning their usually no nonsense first mate into a softie must have spread quickly through the crew, though no one saw fit to bring it up to them directly. Instead, various members of the crew would seek out Izzy on nights he was assigned to the night shift and do their best to convince him to let them cover for him. Archie would tease him, saying there were other things he could be doing that would be much more fun, giving him a sly grin and a firm clasp on the shoulder. She would snicker as he rolled his eyes, wishing away the blush that dusted his ears. Pete would do his best to act casual, telling the older pirate awkwardly that he looked tired, and that he would cover his shift so he could rest. Izzy was suspicious of the offers at first, but slowly found himself starting to accept them on nights when he ached with exhaustion or needed to rest his leg.

Mo couldn’t help but be grateful for their friends’ efforts, and even more that they were smart enough not to speak openly about what they were doing. As much as they loved their partner, Izzy was a proud man, and was still struggling to accept help, even from those he cared for deeply and trusted with his whole heart. Izzy knew that the crew was looking out for him, trying earnestly to give him time to rest and relax, a luxury he hadn’t been afforded for many years, but he let it remain unsaid. He showed his appreciation for them in small ways, letting the misfits slowly worm his way into his heart and no longer fighting to keep them out. Slowly, day by day, he began to enjoy their company, though he still wouldn’t admit it out loud.

On nights that Mo was assigned to watch over the ship, Izzy would join them on deck. They insisted the first few times that he didn’t need to, that they were fine on their own and he needed as much sleep as he could get, but he had insisted.

���You’re not the only one that feels an absence, you know,” he said gruffly one night, leaning against the railing of the ship next to his partner.

The moon danced across the rippling surface of the water as Mo turned to face him. The light from the hanging lanterns reflected off his dark eyes, making them shimmer like fallen stars.

“Let me stay,” he asked simply, his voice low. His beautiful face, worn by his years at sea, was half cast in shadows as he looked at them. “Don’t want to be without you.”

Mo nodded softly, a small smile tugged at their lips as Izzy moved slightly closer so his shoulder brushed theirs. “You’re not going to fall asleep on me, are you?” they asked wryly, glancing at their partner.

Izzy feigned a frown. “’Course not,” he said, unable to keep the humor out of his voice. “That would be entirely unprofessional.”

They laughed, leaning their head to rest on his shoulder.

“Can’t give the crew too much to gossip about,” he continued, taking their hand in his own. “Just now getting them up to shape. God knows what would happen if we got them out of sorts now.”

“So I shouldn’t gush to them about how wonderful you are?” Mo asked teasingly, giving his hand a light squeeze.

Izzy hummed. “Not more than usual,” he said, smiling softly when they look up at him, cradling his cheek in their hand. “Can’t blame you if you need to talk about it a bit, though.” Mo grinned. “I’ll do my best. Can’t promise anything though, not when you’re…this.” He smiled softly, holding the hand that cupped his cheek, leaning into their touch.

“I love you, Israel.”

Izzy chuckled. “I love you too. Wouldn’t be out here if I didn’t.”

Mo huffed a short laugh, cut off as Izzy leaned down, kissing them sweetly.

[wingedscythe]

There was surprising overhaul of sorts at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft & wizardry.

It seemed that the ghosts which were there before the famed Battle of Hogwarts had moved on and had been replaced by many of those who perished then.

Such as the Lupins, with Remus having additional wolfy ghost from his werewolf side and had taken the place of Gryffindor's House Ghost, Tonks assisting at sorting, which made even more impact on first years, and taking the Hufflepuff HG position.

Severus Snape who had taken upon Slytherin's House Ghost position, with a wound on the throat and a glower that scared nearly everyone off had taken to haunting Hedmisstress Office making sure she did not neglect any students again.

There had been a wonder of who would taken up a post of Ravenclaw HG post but the person supprised everyone. One Harrison Potter had died of aftereffects of his rough childhood, treatment at Hogwarts and the whole ordeal with defeating Voldemort after a month of struggling, weakening and writing a will.

During his death he managed to kick Sirius Black, suspended in The Veil of Death and reinstate him as Teddy's co-godfather.

And Harry was adamant in making certain to scare any and all bullies mainly in Ravenclaw, but also in all school. And taking cue from Snape he had very clearly and stubbornly haunted professor Flitwick with stories of Luna, Myrtle, himself.... And the small teacher in the end joins in making it his own mission.

Except the 4 Housegosts also poltergeist gotten kicked out. And in it's place popped none other than half of Terror Twins, Fred Weasley, which made George and the rest family frequent guests of school. As was Sirius with little Teddy.

Which evolved into Visit Your Ghosts Saturday.

Also without special accommodations, every other protector of Hogwarts had appeared to float here and there, chatting, circling, observing etc.

Harry had taken to visiting Sirius and Teddy on occasions, when he manages to breach the rule of ghostly hounting only the place of death.

In truly 'Harry Potter achieving impossible again™' manner he even managed to haunt the Dursleys to the extent, that had them loosing all scraps of normal reputation, a whole story being revealed and Dudley going voluntarily to reeducation center, to recreate himself outside of his parents influence.

Harry was very glad and approved all of this and changing of names from Dudley Dursley to Daniel Johnes, after said cousin gained himself a mentor and later became a helper and mentor himself.

And once a year on Halloween instead of bad luck happenings all ghosts and living had started a feast and collective reminiscing of "departed close ones".

Unknown to these living, all recent ghosts were sworn and agreed to stay only a hundred and Harry's "death age" years, then depart. Because as it happend every one of them didn't intend on sticking between plains of existence longer then absolutely needed.

[copperdaisy]

Finished the storyline for Teal Mask. Not going to talk about spoilers - aside from location mentions maybe - but I'm definitely curious to see how certain things will pan out in Indigo Disk.

Instead, I am going to ramble about random bits of the lore I've been building for Araceli and some of her Pokémon. It has been a bit of a puzzle figuring out Araceli's personality separate from the game storyline, but it has been fun as well. Getting closer to a point where I'm more comfortable translating save file events into fic/lore events.

tl;dr rambling contained below the read-more.

Araceli is Paldean born, but not Paldean raised. Between the ages of six months and fifteen years she and her parents lived abroad, first in Hoenn and then Kanto. Her father is a nature photographer while her mother is a research assistant who works for both Birch and Oak. In the summer following her fifteenth birthday she learns that both of her parents were going on research expeditions. Her father will be going to the Lental Region to help Professor Mirror's team study the Illumina phenomenon. Her mother is going to the Sevii Islands to follow up on rumors of Mythical and Legendary Pokémon there. It is ultimately decided that Araceli will be sent to stay with her maternal aunt in Cabo Poco, given the uncertain timeframes of both expeditions and potential dangers therein. She is decidedly NOT HAPPY about this but fails to come up with a convincing argument to change her parents' minds. Thus she finds herself shipped back to Paldea just a few weeks before the new term starts at Naranja Academy, where she gets dragged into the game's storyline.

Some random information about her:

She initially enrolls in the Arts track at Naranja but switches over to the Sciences track following the events in Area Zero.

She has nightmares about what happened in the Zero Lab; rather than talk about them to anyone, she uses them as fuel to further her ambition to help the Paradox Pokémon in her care. Something good has to come out of the whole ordeal (besides Arven's breakthrough).

She has trouble with test taking and in-class learning. One on one tutoring sessions with her teachers are the main things keeping her academically afloat, in addition to extra credit opportunities.

The events of the DLC will be part of her lore, but there will be a two year gap between the Zero Lab incident and her visit to Kitakami. She will be spending some time in Galar during that two year gap for a semester or two of student exchange.

Chase is the first shiny Araceli sees in the wild, but is not the first one she catches. He calls the ruins above Alfornada home. It is here that he and Araceli cross paths. She stumbles across him while on a field trip and attempts to capture him. He is too high level for her and ends up chasing her off instead. She finds him again a few months later. By that point she is a much better trainer. He, however, has been worn down by territorial disputes and is in rough shape. Distrustful of her at first after she battles and captures him, her efforts to nurse him back to health make him warm up to her. Now he is part of her main team and goes where she does. Anyone who dares touch a single hair on her head will find themselves on the wrong end of a Thunder Fang if he has anything to say about it.

Victory is Araceli's baby and no one can tell him otherwise. Not that there are many who would argue with a Charizard. Hatched from an egg sent to her by her mother, Araceli is the only parent he has ever known. Her work was cut out for her while raising him. He was a cute but bitey little Charmander and an overeager Charmeleon prone to unintentionally setting fires. Patience and dedication built a strong bond between trainer and Pokémon, however. By the time he evolved into a Charizard he was as well behaved as you please - so long as you are Araceli. Victory is a heavy hitting member of her main team and has helped her out of many tight spots in battle. He loves a good fight and thinks nothing of going up against the likes of Titans. He is also quite the fan of napping in sunbeams and pestering his trainer for chin and head scratches.

Quake is not one of her usual battling partners but is much beloved by her nonetheless. Araceli developed great fondness and sympathy for the Great Tusk while observing him in the Asado Desert. Though he was a Titan she found him to be more or less peaceful - so long as he was left alone. Despite getting close enough to him to nearly be trampled on several times he never attacked her. Battling him to get the Herba Mystica was the most difficult Titan battle simply because she felt so bad about provoking him. She captured him primarily so no one else could, fearing what might happen to him otherwise. (It caused a fight between her and Arven at the time, as he did not agree with her actions at all, saying that the Great Tusk was too dangerous. She firmly disagreed.) In the time since capturing him Araceli has put a lot of effort into making him comfortable and safer to interact with. He frequently spends time with Dida and Padma, Araceli's shiny Donphan and Copperajah, as part of their 'herd'.

Kevin is another Pokémon that Araceli rarely battles with but spends a good amount of time gentling. There is little known about Kevin's species - they aren't even mentioned much in literature beyond the name Walking Wake. They have to be some kind of Paradox Pokémon but Araceli has only ever encountered Kevin, and that was while she was in a Raid den, not Area Zero. Does this mean that more Paradox Pokémon have escaped into the wilds beyond the Great Crater? It is a troubling thought. Kevin, at least, seems to be quite fond of her, which is a bit of a problem in and of itself given just how big Kevin is. She's been putting in a lot of work to make Kevin safer to be around, but there is a long way still to go.

[ao3feed-crimeboys]

Your Tears, My Elixir

by starbadger_bapm

By all means it was unfair, but Tommy never had time to waste on crying. Maybe that’s why now, as he soared in the sky away from an unforgiving “home”, instead of crying and mourning his hard-earned life he whooped, screaming and laughing so hard it hurt his throat. He was free. He was getting away, he could start over in a place that accepted him. He tried pushing down the fear of being rejected from yet another world. He tried ignoring that, while Techno hadn’t been anything but nice to him, the others may ostracise him and maybe even try to kill him. After all, this whole “saving” ordeal hadn’t been anything more than a duty for Techno, right? So who knows how the man will act after it is all over?

Would Tommy even have a place to stay, or will he be dumped on a random alleyway and told to figure it out? Would Techno say “I’m sorry, kid,” in his perfectly monotone voice as he got further and further away from Tommy, leaving him more empty than ever?

Words: 9602, Chapters: 1/4, Language: English

Fandoms: Dream SMP, Minecraft (Video Game)

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences

Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence

Categories: Gen

Characters: Technoblade (Video Blogging RPF), TommyInnit (Video Blogging RPF), Wilbur Soot, Phil Watson | Philza, Alexis | Quackity, Jschlatt (Video Blogging RPF), Toby Smith | Tubbo, Ranboo (Video Blogging RPF)

Relationships: Technoblade & TommyInnit (Video Blogging RPF), Wilbur Soot & Technoblade & TommyInnit & Phil Watson, Wilbur Soot & TommyInnit, TommyInnit & Phil Watson (Video Blogging RPF)

Additional Tags: TommyInnit-centric (Video Blogging RPF), Winged TommyInnit (Video Blogging RPF), Winged Phil Watson (Video Blogging RPF), Winged Technoblade (Video Blogging RPF), Winged Wilbur Soot, Phantom Hybrid Wilbur Soot, Enderman Hybrid Ranboo (Video Blogging RPF), Hybrids, TommyInnit Needs a Hug (Video Blogging RPF), Traumatized TommyInnit (Video Blogging RPF), Exiled TommyInnit (Video Blogging RPF), kind of, not really exiled, Hurt/Comfort, Protective Technoblade (Video Blogging RPF), Orphan TommyInnit (Video Blogging RPF), Foster Parent Phil Watson (Video Blogging RPF), Teacher Wilbur Soot, Platonic Cuddling, Brotherly Affection, Family Fluff, Goat Hybrid Toby Smith | Tubbo, Imprinting

[midoriima]

THIS DYNAMIC BUT WITH SHIRATORIZAWA x toned & tall! reader (initially fem!r but it can also be gn! or male!)

general story: we all know they don't need no such thing as "protection" from whatever that may be because they already intimidate people around them. but with you, you see the need to do so. they don't understand why but they're happy you're looking out for them too. until you're out beating everyone's asses if they talk shit about them/plan to do smth to them left and right and eventually tarnishing your reputation and eventually everyone sees you as a delinquent.

ushijima blinks at hearing the whole story from your friend. because you did what? you almost had someone end up at the hospital because they were talking shit about him, saying he wasn't all that, and that maybe they could sabotage him in some way?? he is dumbfounded and could only sigh (tho he did call you a dumbass in his head). your friend frowns cos no way he just sighed like this was an everyday occurence??

well, to be fair, some dunces were trying to bully tendou. it was only right that you kicked them where the sun didn't shine. some guy also yelled smth about how they wouldn't be able to have children if you put more force into that kick but you couldn't care less. tendou winced and is shaken at the whole ordeal while you happily grabbed his hand and offered to buy whatever food/snacks he wanted as an apology for having seen that.

semi was just trying to show you a new song he learned to play on his guitar in the band room. when someone started saying backhanded things to him, he looked uncomfortable and the vibe in the room wasn't good. it went on as subtle insults until the meaning behind them were clear so with a tambourine, you wacked the side of their face, ending with a clinking sound and a thud. unfortunately you didn't kill them but you were left with a panicked semi.

since the coach was out, reon and you decided to mess around instead of kicking his ass to go back to practise. doing stuff ranging from taking weird pics or funny candids of each other to flaunting your muscles to see whose were better and decided to test each other's strength. of course you won (over the course of many rounds). nobody said a thing and really only just praised you until someone snickered at reon but like in a bad way so that's how your fist ended up in their face.

yamagata's a short king okay. of courseee he needs protecting /j. he's not that short + he doesn't necessarily but he does joke around about you being his bodyguard and stuff cos you're significantly taller than him and you're visibly toned. he vibes with basically anyone and with the addition of you, nobody tries to mess with him. you're an intimidating presence so unfortunately you don't get to throw your fists to anybody's faces with him.

shirabu has pride in you. he screams, "go get 'em!!" to you at people he does not like and is entertained at the sight of them having their ass handed back to them, he even laughs and smiles like it's a movie. this isn't limited to anyone, it's literally for everyone who pisses him off and when they show clear discontent when they're with him. of course he does remind you to calm down... sometimes.

kawanishi would look so done with you but is also flustered with you looking out him. he feels so special when you callout people on their bs or when they're clearly making him uncomfortable. but alike shirabu, he does watch the whole thing unfold with a smirk and giggles from time to time when they think they could mess with you.

the first time someone talked down on goshiki, you didn't take more than a second to return that attitude with a little (you mean a lot of) force. he was so stunned and his heart was beating so fast at how attractive you looked doing it but also because he felt panicked and started overthinking that he thought he was going to have to go to juvie for being an "accomplice". you reassured him it was nothing before dashing because teachers were rushing towards the scene, ready to reprimand you two.

[aweecrush]

FOUR MONTHS, or what happens between President Clinton's visit to Derry on November 30th, 1995 and Erin and Orla's isolation tape recorded on March 30th, 1996.

Part 1 here

January 8th, 1996

Of course she’d get sick the very first school day of the year. Of course.

Not that she would have particularly minded in other circumstances: she’s not an eejit, she won't turn away a couple of days of doing nothing and everyone fussing over her when it comes her way. Plus, Granda always makes his special hot chocolate when one of them is sick, and Christ if that isn’t the best thing she ever tasted.

But the thing is, she’s been sick sick, headaches and nausea and sore throat and all, and it’s been days, and she’s - well, sick of it. It doesn’t help that Anna’s been sick as well, which means that not only is no one available to bring special attention to her through the whole ordeal, but Mammy’s unhinged like - for real. So far, her shouts have done nothing to improve Erin’s state.

The worst of it has passed now, but she still feels kind of hazy and needs to sleep every two hours, so she’s not allowed to go back to school just yet. Again, that wouldn’t have particularly broken her heart, but teachers are always out of their minds at the beginning of the new year, full of motivation and good resolutions, and this time around, with the mock exams in addition to that? Clare must be rubbing out on her, because the thought of this, and the idea of having so much to catch up on when she gets back stresses her out.

Plus, she misses the girls. At the exception of Orla, nobody’s been allowed past the door yet.

1996 is off to such a good start.

The day has been mostly quiet: Granda spent an hour criticizing Da’s drive skills, but Anna’s been crying a little less, and Erin has managed a good three hours downstairs with everyone before the headache starts. She’s been alternating between reading her Christmas gift and nodding off ever since.

It’s well into the afternoon when someone knocks at her bedroom door.

“What are you doing here?” is the first thing that comes out of her mouth as James pops his head in, all smiles and wild curls.

She’s so surprised, her stomach does a somersault inside.

“Well, hello to you too, Erin - I see bedrest has done wonders for your manners,” and she chuckles with him as he easily catches the pillow she throws at him.

“How did you get in here? I thought Mammy was watching the door like a prison warden.”

“She did kick us out in less than five words and five seconds both times we tried last week,” he confesses, his face a mix of amusement and sorry about that. “So, I tried a different approach today.”

She raises a curious eyebrow.

“James Maguire, did ye finally find a way to bribe my Ma? Because a lot of people would pay for this secret - the inhabitants of this house very much included.” He laughs, and Erin realizes that she’s missed that sound.

“Not yet, no. But I did mention that you needed your homework if you didn’t want to get behind.”

“But Orla’s been bringing it to me.”

His face twists a little in embarrassment. “Yes, that’s what your mum said.” Then, something like pride twinkles in his eyes. ”So, I told her we really needed to start our homework sessions, because the teachers already gave us so much to do, and you know, exams are coming - real soon, too.”

“Our - what?”

He smirks. “Come on Erin, you remember: the sessions you and I said we’d start this year - you helping me with my English, me with your math?”

Shaking her head at the cheeky attitude that’s starting to radiate through his every pore, Erin tries and fails to contain her smile.“I can’t believe Mammy bought that.”

“Of course she did - I’m an excellent liar.”

“No, you’re not.”

“Yeah, well, a good enough one. Although I did tell her that you weren’t contagious anymore at this point - which is true, I looked it up - so I think that helped, too. Also I think her show had started, so I’m pretty sure she would have agreed to anything to stop me from talking and go back to the TV.”

Dopey grin very much still on, James takes off his jacket, and throws himself next to her on the bed. “Alright - you’ll never guess what Jenny did this morning.”

January 14th, 1996

To her right, Clare’s great uncle’s loud snores rise again, each one even more impressive than the other. Not that she can blame him, really: Christ but that movie is bad. She’s not even sure she gets it. Well, at least she hopes she doesn’t, because otherwise, that means that this man just married his own sister, which really -

“Damn, that movie really is shit, isn’t it?”

She rolls her head to see James’ standing in the doorway, eyes focused on the TV and corridor’s lights shedding pretty shadows on his face. When his eyes meet hers, he chuckles, then gestures towards her TV partner.

“Your new friend seems to be enjoying it, though.” She snorts.

“He was way smarter than me on that one - there’s things I won’t be able to unsee. Ever,” and that earns her another chuckle.

He keeps his eyes on hers a little after, and Erin just looks back at the screen, trying her best to swallow the lump coming back in her throat, and focus on the God awful story instead.

It’s not that easy, but she keeps trying anyway.

After a moment, she feels more than sees him close the distance and sit down next to her on the floor, back against the sofa. He copies her and lets his head fall back on the cushion, and she can feel his thigh pressed up against hers.

It feels better, then. A little less…

Just less.

He doesn’t say anything, not for a long while. It’s only after they watch the fire destroy the whole family mansion in an unexpected and excruciating twist that she eventually speaks.

“It’s okay James - you can go back to the party, you don’t have to sit with me.” She wants him to, though. He’s warm - he’s always so warm. “I’m fine.”

Again, Erin feels more than sees him shrug. “I want to. I mean, for one, I can’t possibly miss the end of this masterpiece,” he points at the TV, and she smiles. There’s a little pause before he finishes, his tone a little different. “Plus, she was really pissing me off too, actually, so please don’t make me go back there.” She chuckles a little, even though it hurts again.

A couple of minutes pass, and Erin tries her best to focus on the images in front of her. This time, he’s the one who breaks the silence. “She was really out of line, you know - Clare’s still telling her off, actually.”

She knows he’s being nice, but she really wishes he’d stop. She can feel her bottom lip shaking again, and she just - she just wants to watch this stupid movie, and forget the whole thing. Forget everything, really - she just wants some quiet.

When she feels the slightest brush of his hand against hers, she doesn’t know if she’s more mad at him for staying and seeing her like that, or relieved that he won’t leave her alone. Not for the first time that night, tears start rolling down her cheeks.

Feck.

“She was wrong, Erin - don’t listen to her.” She snorts, drying her face with the arm that’s not touching his. “She was.” He sounds really mad now. James’ doesn’t get mad, not like this.

Finally turning her head to look back at him, she finds his green, dark eyes already looking at her.

He was the one that first told Michelle to shut it. She’d told him off, of course, but he’d insisted, and Clare had backed him up. It had started calmly enough, though.

Nothing had even started, in fact - not really. It was just another night of studying at her house during which Michelle, inevitably bored, inevitably started telling them about that new fella she was seeing. Of course, it had gotten really graphic, really fast, Orla’s eyebrows furrowing even further with each word as Clare started to look green. At one point, Erin eventually told her to cut it out.

The shift of Michelle’s attention from her story to her personal case hadn’t been a welcomed one.

“I’m serious, Erin - you’ve got to get on with it,” she’d said. “It’s the new year: make that your number one resolution or something, because we’re dangerously approaching tragedy at this point.”

She didn’t know why it didn’t end there like it usually did, but it didn’t: she’d kept going on and all night long, and then again on the bus Friday morning, relentless about the fact that it was damn time Erin got herself a lad, or even a random fella to at least snog, because it was just inacceptable that at her age, she still didn’t have any move - or the slightest experience whatsoever, as she so gently put it.

(Ach, as if she didn’t already know that. As if she wasn’t aware of how pathetic she looked, most likely to all of Derry - as if that wasn’t exactly what had relentlessly run through her mind as she waited for John Paul to show up, all dolled up in that stupid dress.

No boy had even looked at her.)

“For the love of Christ, leave her alone, Michelle!,” James had all but growled this morning as his cousin kept going.

“Yes - and Erin, don’t listen to her. Why are you even teasing her and not us, anyway? I’ve never had a kiss or a date - neither did Orla.”

“Yes, but Orla’s Orla - ”

“Do ye think birds sleep?”

“- and you’re a lesbian, Clare: much more complicated for you. She, however, has no excuse.”

Erin had left the room and headed to the bathroom then, trying to convince herself that Michelle’s words didn’t bug her this much. That they didn’t hit right where it hurt, and that she didn’t feel like shite.

She does.

And now here she is, watching TV with a sleeping seventy year-old man on a Saturday instead of knacking some drinks and enjoying Clare’s family party as they’d planned, feeling like her tears might fall at any moment, the last of Michelle’s jabs delivered an hour ago a little too hurtful to pretend like everything’s okay.

“Hey.”

His voice brings her back to reality, and she looks back at him and the small, gentle smile he has on his face. “Forget it, okay? You’re great, Erin. Any boy would be lucky to have you.”

She scoffs. “Yeah, well, as Michelle so pertinently pointed out, they’re not exactly lining up, are they.”

“You mean in our all girl Catholic school?”

She gives him what’s meant to be a half amused, half reprimanding look at that, but he’s not laughing. Quite the contrary, actually.

“I mean it, Erin. I don’t know when it will happen, if it’ll be here, or in college, but - I do know that you’ll find someone that you actually like soon, someone who actually realizes what he has instead of pricks like David Donnelly and John Paul.”

It’s so strange, seeing him this worked up. But his face softens then, and somehow, it helps the knots in her stomach unfold a little.

He bumps her shoulder a little, and she answers his smile. “And until then, you shouldn’t rush into kissing or dating the first fella who comes around just because my brainless cousin has decided there’s a deadline for stuff like that - believe me.”

“Regretting Katya then?”

As predicted, he groans with a roll of his eyes dramatic enough to put her to shame, and despite the tears still in her eyes, Erin laughs.

“Every chance you get, huh? Well, believe it or not, Katya was actually not my first kiss.” She - Oh.

He grins. “Yeah.” Then, his wee face is back to soft again, and he hesitates a little before meeting her eyes again. When he does, his are laughing, and something else she can’t quite put her finger on. “I’m glad you stopped me that night though. You were right.”

“About the fact that she was mental?”

He shakes his head, amused, and his curls go all bouncy. “No, about the fact that it’s better to wait - do it with someone you care about. I’m glad I did.”

Aye. Well, she’s glad to - Katya really was mental.

Her tummy feels a bit weird, but then James’ getting up and extending his hand to help her do the same.

“Come on: my aunt and uncle aren’t home tonight, let’s go watch a real movie.”

“What about the girls?”

“Well, Orla’s very busy enjoying the chocolate fountain yet again, Michelle is getting drunk and flirting with Clare’s second cousin, and Clare herself is actually talking to her very interested looking neighbor.”

Erin grins. “Really?”

“Oh yeah. Don’t worry, they won’t miss us.”

And so she wraps her fingers around his, and, grabbing their jackets on their way, Erin follows him out.

They’re barely out the door and still laughing at the way a very inebriated Mrs Devlin nearly fell on them when a voice raises behind them on the street.

“James, is that you?”

They both turn to see a girl about their age walk towards them, a box in her hand and her grinning face illuminated by the outside lights of the houses.

She’s pretty - really pretty.

“Oh my God, it is you!”

Erin turns to him just in time to see recognition materialize on his face. “Emily! Right, of course - what the hell are you doing here?”

They talk for a couple of minutes, both surprised at what Erin admits to be a pretty crazy coincidence. When they part, Emily’s nice smile still glowing, James quickly explains a bit more when he knows her from (school, kind of) - and then, inevitably and passionately starts listing their film options for the night.

Aye, but that boy loves his movies.

January 18th, 1996

They get detention again.

Of course, her Ma blows it all out of proportion and makes it into a big thing, when really, it isn’t their fault. Well, not completely, anyway. As a consequence, her and Orla see their chores multiply by two for a month, but at least they don’t get their TV privileges revoked like Michelle and James. Clare’s banned from hanging out with them for two weeks all together.

Other than that, though, things are good. Jenny has a new fringe and it looks awful, which doesn’t waste anything. Even her grades are going up, which she doesn’t see coming - not that fast, anyway. James’ a great teacher though - much, much better than Sister Philips (when he explains it, math actually makes sense, which is really new to her). He’s been helping her with physics, too, and if he wasn’t Ma’s favorite before (he definitely was), that would have done the trick.

“Is the wee English fella not having tea with us tonight?” Granda asks as Erin pulls up her chair and sits.

“He couldn’t make it for tutoring tonight Granda. He’ll be coming tomorrow instead - he asked if that was okay.”

“Of course it is: you know he’s welcome any day, love.”

“Aye, he’s a good kid so he is.” Erin smiles. She likes that they all like him so much.

As she takes the potatoes from Orla, she feels a bit weird about him not being here, too. It really is nice, having him over.

Before she can linger on that thought though, her Da asks about that new song she likes, and Erin starts rambling about it with an excited smile despite the roll of her Ma’s eyes at the other side of the table.

January 24th, 1996

“Is that girl trying to ride James?”

They all turn around in one perfect, swift motion that could not have been more coordinated if they’d tried.

The pub is packed, and they have to kind of twist and raise up on their chairs and bench to see where Michelle just pointed with her beer, but sure enough, leaning against the bar, James’ laughing at something a very close, very pretty girl has apparently just said to him.

Next to Michelle, Orla tilts her head to the side. “Does James have a new friend now?”, and his cousin snickers.

“Given the way she’s pointing her tits at him Orla, I don’t think it’s her friend she wants to be.”

Erin feels like a stone drops in her stomach.

“Who is that?” Clare frowns as they all sit back. “She looks familiar.”

“Isn’t it Cilian’s sister?”

“Do ye think so?"

“Aye, I’m fairly certain it’s her, yeah. Feck it but dicko’s really on a strike these days, isn’t he,” she chuckles, downing another gulp of her beer.

“What do you mean?” The alcohol and heat make Erin’s voice a little shakier than she would have liked, but nobody seems to notice.

“Didn’t I tell you yet? Little Jamesie’s all grown up now: he got a dirty call a couple of days ago.”

He -

“What?”

It’s a good thing the pub’s so loud, or Clare’s high pitched voice would certainly have turned all heads to their tables. Not that it’s unjustified, really.

“Well, it wasn’t actually a call, since we don’t have a phone anymore and all that. And it wasn’t dirty either I suppose - but that girl definitely wants to ride him as well.”

“What happened?”

As soon as she asks the question though, Erin’s not so sure she wants the answer anymore. Michelle’s enthusiasm doesn’t leave her any time to dwell on it though - not on that, or on the way her tummy’s twisting in a sort of a painful way.

God but she had too much to drink.

Much more resistant than her, Michelle takes another sip of her beer, and smirks. “Apparently, it was a girl he knows from England that’s going to live here now I suppose - he bumped into her at your Granny’s party Clare actually. Aye Erin, you left with him that night - you saw her, right?”

Of course. The pretty girl with a nice smile.

“Um - yeah.”

“Well, as you’ve seen, and I’m shocked to even say it really, but - massive, massive ride. Anyway, that girl comes knocking at the door, and she asks for James and starts about how she asked around for his address because how crazy is it that they’re both here now, and she doesn’t have many friends yet, and she’d love to hang out with him.”

“Well, that’s charming: knocking at his door to tell him she doesn’t have anyone else to hang out with so she might as well hang out with him.” Her cheeks feel a little hot now. She’s - mad, she realizes.

But really, is that any way to talk to a fella, let alone a sweet one like him?

Michelle just waves her off, apparently not offended at all on her cousin’s behalf. “Don’t you worry about that Erin, she wants to see him alright. I’m telling you, I watched the whole thing from the kitchen, and all the signs were there: the hair flips, the eyes, the laughing - oh, and yeah, the grabbing of the arm too.”

As she says that, her eyes stare past their heads and behind them and indeed, they turn to see Cilian’s sister's hand on his forearm - and then, running up his shoulder.

“Well, I hope it works out,” Clare pipes up enthusiastically, cheeks bright pink from the alcohol and heat. “James deserves to have someone.”

“He has us.”

“You know what I mean, Erin - a girlfriend. Plus, I think it’s all quite romantic actually - the kind of meetings that make for a really nice story.”

Erin rolls her eyes. “We’re in a sweaty pub, Clare - it’s hardly romantic.”

“No, I meant the other girl - the one from England? I just think it’s lovely, finding each other again like that against all odds, far from home - kind of like destiny.”

Her burp kind of takes all the wonderful out of the picture she’s trying to paint, but it doesn't seem to bother her. “That’s definitely a meet cute. You know, the cute way the boy meets the girl in the movies?”

“Aye but it is yeah. I vote for that girl too then,” Orla chimes in.

“Well, her or that one, in either case, it’s impressive. I’m actually proud of the wee fecker - good for him. Although I am still struggling to understand it, if I’m honest. I mean, has the prick turned into a ride or something? What’s with all the attention all of the sudden?”

Again, they all turn towards the bar, Clare spilling her beer all over Erin’s lap as she tries to sip and analyze their friend from afar, head tilted to the side. “I don’t know…”

In fairness, he has.

He’d always had pretty eyes, and a beautiful smile, and then he got that haircut that made his curls even more enticing. He'd grown into his body, too, his shoulders broader, his frame just a little bit taller. The roundness of the boy has all but completely disappeared from his face now, leaving his jaw sharper, turning him into…well, into a proper lad, really.

He is a ride.

Do they really not see that?

Before any of them can argue one way or the other though, the object of their conversation spots them, eyes confused then dangerous, and they all swing back on their chairs, pretending and falling that they’d not been full-on stalking him.

Well. Most of them.

“Way to go, dicko,” Michelle all but yells, one thumb and one beer up.”Didn’t think you had it in ye!”

January 30th, 1996

It hits her on Orla's birthday.

Well, at the end of Orla’s birthday sleepover, to be precise. She doesn't know how she doesn't see it coming, but - she really doesn't.

It’s a school day, so to celebrate, their Mas at least authorize all of them to stay over at Erin’s with no bedtime (“If I hear anything about one of yous dozing off in school tomorrow, help me Jesus wains, there’ll be tears.”). It's a nice day, really: Orla has the time of her life, running all over school with her birthday girl crown on her head, and when they get home, she zooms in the small fountain of chocolate that Mammy has prepared for the occasion. Dinner is nice as well, all of them squeezed at their small table that Erin realizes is currently hosting all the people that she loves most in this world. Of course, when Michelle asks her why she’s smiling like an idiot, she can’t say - but it’s nice.

There’s the cake, the opening (ripping, really) of the gifts and then, true to their words, all the adults leave them be. In terms of taking full advantage of that special “all on their own, all night” treat though? They could have probably done better.

Much, much better.

When she wakes up, it takes Erin a minute to understand where she is. The TV is still on, the only other light coming from the hall, making it a little difficult to see at first.

It’s barely an embarrassing twelve thirty, and if the long ended credits on the screen are any indication, they’ve been snoring for at least one hour, exhausted by their day of school, the one hour long, surprisingly intense aerobics session the birthday girl insisted they do, and the tons of delicious food that had probably been the final nail in their coffins.

Sometimes, she thinks that maybe those mouths at school aren’t that wrong, when they say their band is far from being the coolest.

It was a fun night, though, and Orla was happy. That’s what matters.

Michelle’s still on Granda’s chair, legs on one side and open mouth on the other in a position that her back will surely regret in the morning. Orla’s spread like a starfish on the carpet, wrapping paper still in one hand. Clare’s on a ball at the other end of the couch, legs folded into herself. Erin’s at the other end, and, initially seated between both of them, James is now completely leaning against her, one arm around her waist and his head on her shoulder.

He looks so peaceful, when he sleeps, that slight concern mixed with doubt he always wears on his face completely gone. Beautiful, really. His lips are slightly parted, and a couple of curls fall on his forehead. Erin feels the sudden urge to brush them away, so she does.

Slowly lifting the hand that’s been resting on his arm not to wake him, she tries to move one with her finger. Smiles sleepily when it immediately drops back where it was. She remembers being so pissed at the restaurant that day, when Katya kept threading her fingers in his curls, her whole body turned towards him. She can’t really blame the girl though: they’re really, really soft.

There’s warmth in her chest, so much so that she feels like her heart is melting a little, and in her stomach, it feels like the thing that’s been twisting more and more lately wakes again. In a nice way, through. A real nice way.

Clare suddenly moves in her sleep, grumbling something she can’t quite make out, effectively sending her foot in James’ back. An annoyed frown creases his features for a second, and then he’s moving even closer to her, his face all but buried in her neck at that point.

He smells good. Comforting, safe, and just - really, really good. Her heart flutters.

And that's when it dawns on her.

Vaguely aware that she’s stopped breathing, Erin looks back at his arm around her. At him. She can feel his breath on her skin now, and it’s just -

James. Seated in the couch that has seen her grow up, the slight snore of her cousin coming from the floor, Erin realizes that she’s...falling for James.

Not falling, really. If the treacherous thing in her chest and her barely functioning mind are any indication, she’s already fallen pretty hard, pretty deep, now on the bottom of the pit looking up.

Oh. Oh.

Well.

Shite.

[disturbedbydesign]

Lie To Me - Chapter 5

Pairing: dark!Professor!Bucky x reader

Chapter 5 Word Count: 4.2K

Summary: After getting a spot in Professor Barnes’s coveted writing workshop, you start to form a close relationship with your handsome new teacher. But Bucky Barnes is not who he appears to be, and once he has you where he wants you, he’s not going to let you go.

Warnings (for complete work): noncon/rape, dubcon, sexual assault, daddy kink (not ddlg), voyeurism (hidden camera), blackmail, manipulation, age gap (reader is 21, Bucky is late 30s), student/teacher dynamic, physical violence, reader has history of physical and sexual abuse by a family member, mentions of domestic violence, mentions of campus rape, body image issues (reader has scars), ableism, smut/explicit sex (oral, vaginal, anal), unprotected sex (wrap it up, kids!), choking, biting, breeding.

A/N: Written for the @writing-in-the-dark-bingo challenge (bingo card at end of chapter). This one got away from me but there’s just something about creepy manipulative Professor Bucky that really does it for me. I apologize in advance for how messy this gets. Also, please heed warnings. This is a dark!fic and you are responsible for your own media consumption. 18+ only, no minors.

If you prefer to read on AO3, you can do so here.

Chapter Five

You should care that you got a B- on your Irish Lit paper but you don’t because your mind is swimming with thoughts of Bucky’s magic fingers and talented tongue. Besides, you’re hard at work on the next assignment for your workshop. Week 4 is all about fact-finding. Your interview with Zara (aka Jane Smith) earned you top marks, and now you have to dig a little deeper into the university’s mental health programs.

You’re good at research. You like research. It’s the whole “talking to strangers” thing that trips you up sometimes, but a few text conversations with Bucky have you feeling a bit more confident. You’re still nervous when you go to meet Maria Hill, the Dean of Students, but Bucky managed to gas you up a little that morning so you’re feeling ok about it.

It’s no secret that people in positions of authority do not appreciate being questioned by those they consider beneath them, but that’s really only because they are afraid—afraid of what might be uncovered, afraid of being held accountable, afraid of actual consequences for things they don’t believe to be their fault. Zara’s story is tragically common, both on your campus and on every other campus: she was assaulted while she was drunk at a frat party freshman year, fell into a serious depression and started self-medicating with booze and drugs, got busted by the school for underage drinking and put on probation, and was forced into mandatory drug and alcohol counseling.

The first of many problems here—and the one that most people don’t know—is that your school’s former head of student health services, Dr. Banner, is not an actual medical doctor. He was in charge of mental health services at the college but completely unqualified to assess a student’s mental health. He was also, inexplicably, the campus gynecologist. Of course, you would never have known this if you hadn’t been by Zara’s side throughout her whole ordeal. The two of you have been inseparable since the day you met at freshman orientation. You were there for her through the whole thing, including when her parents got so frustrated with how the school was handling their daughter’s case that they hired a private investigator.

When they found out about Banner, Zara’s parents took it to Dean Hill, who claimed to be completely unaware. She claimed Banner had faked credentials, blah blah blah, and basically offered to wipe Zara’s record and give her all As for her freshman-year courses (in addition to firing “Doctor” Banner, of course). Zara’s parents also wanted the guy who assaulted her held accountable, but apparently that was a bridge too far for the Dean, so they settled. If there was hush money involved, Zara doesn’t know about it. She would have told you if she did.

But even after the whole Banner fiasco, the school’s current mental health services are abysmal. Nine times out of ten, if a student goes for help, they are diagnosed with a drug and/or alcohol problem, put on probation, and forced into counseling with people who have no business being counselors. Everyone knows this, so no one asks for help. It’s a vicious cycle, and what you would like for the Dean to realize and acknowledge is the well-documented fact that substance abuse is a symptom of mental illness—an unhealthy and dangerous coping mechanism—and the school’s current approach does far more harm than good.

Of course, Dean Hill does not want to hear any of this from you. You don’t touch on Banner, because you promised Zara you wouldn’t (and according to the terms of her agreement with the school, you shouldn’t even know about it). You at least expect some acknowledgment of the fact that your actual medical facts regarding young adults with mental illness using drugs and alcohol to cope are true, because they are, but the Dean is far more interested in covering the school’s collective ass. She gives you nothing, and you leave absolutely furious.

It’s only 3pm but you head to the off-campus bar and shoot Bucky a text on the way.

Well that went terribly. I got nothing from her.

You expect a text back right away but it doesn’t come, so you plant yourself in a back booth, nurse a glass of shitty wine, and lick your wounds. You’re halfway through your second glass when he responds.

Can’t say I’m surprised but I’m proud of you for trying. How about I make you dinner tonight.

Uhhh you don’t know how to cook?

Yes, but I can order food and put it on plates and you can be a good girl and pretend like I cooked it for you.

Something about him calling you a good girl makes you instantly forget the shitty day you’ve just had.

What time?

8:30

Perfect :)

You leave the rest of your wine in the glass and leave a tip for the waitress. You’re halfway back to your dorm when your phone dings in your purse.

Feel free to bring an overnight bag if you wanna have a sleepover...

And you do. You really, really do.

📚

Bucky has a few hours to prepare for your arrival. You hadn’t explicitly confirmed that you’d be staying the night, but he knows that you will. After all, you would have happily let him fuck you stupid on his office couch, and you’d seemed surprised (but not offended) that he didn’t. It’s been a few days since you’ve seen him, and Bucky knows that by now you’re hungry for much more than dinner.

Bucky keeps his place spotless but he tidies up anyway, making extra sure to hide away any evidence that he is not who he appears to be. The cameras are all well hidden—no one who wasn’t specifically looking for them would ever find them —but he makes sure all his notebooks and files and dirty little keepsakes are locked away in his office cabinet. His laptop is password protected and there’s really no reason you’d need to use it, but he decides it’s best to lock that up too. But not before he watches the video of you splayed out on his office couch and dripping for him again.

He’s lost count of the number of times he’s watched it over the past few days. At this point, he has the whole thing committed to memory—every whine and cry and whimper and moan that comes out of you playing on a loop in his head. The only thing he’s missing is the look on your face when you cum, hidden by that goddamn pillow you’re screaming his name into. But tonight he’s going to see what you look like when you come undone. He edges himself at his desk before locking his laptop in the drawer and rubbing one out in the shower.

When he gets out of the bathroom, he sees a missed call from Steve and calls him back.

“Hey, buddy,” Steve says.

“What’s up, Rogers? How’d it go the other night?”

Steve laughs. “Just peachy, but I think you may have a problem.”

“Jesus, what now?”

“I think you need to lay off Sharon. You’re riding her too hard.”

“Isn’t that your job?” Bucky snarks.

“Yeah,” Steve replies, “and I’m doing it well, but she’s spooked, Buck. I don’t know what the fuck you did to her the other night but she’s fucking furious.”

“Oh, nothing. Just made her listen while I played with my new toy.”

Steve laughs. “You really are a sadistic bastard. Well, as much fun as I’m sure that was for you, you gotta ease up on her, man. She’s talking about transferring.”

“Well, we both know that’s not going to happen,” Bucky says, but he can’t help but worry a bit. Sharon is smart and incredibly resourceful. If anyone could find a way out, it’s her.

“Just be careful, Buck, alright?”

“Yeah, ok. I’ll put the kid gloves back on. Thanks for the heads up.”

“So,” Steve inquires, “how’s it going with your latest protégé?”

“Quite well. She’ll be here soon, actually, so I should go.”

“You fuck her yet?”

Bucky smiles. “Tonight.”

After he gets off the phone with Steve, Bucky takes out the steaks and seasons them with salt and pepper before letting them sit on the counter to come to room temperature. He wasn’t entirely lying when he’d said he doesn’t cook, but he knows how to grill up a steak and some veggies. You’ll appreciate him putting in the extra effort for you, and he wants you in an appreciative mood. Cooking for someone means providing for them and caring for them. Food is comfort; it’s even a love language to some. He has a feeling that homecooked meals were few and far between in your childhood, and he wants to make you feel at home with him. Because as far as Bucky is concerned, he is your home now, and he needs to make damn sure you don’t run away.

📚

You’d hoped to pack your bag and sneak away before Zara got back from dinner, but she caught you on your way out the door.

“Uhhh, excuse me ma’am,” she asks, “but where are you going with that bag in that dress and those boots?” The smirk on her face tells you she already knows.

“Please don’t,” you plead. “I have to go.”

“Go where?”

You sigh. “You know where.”

“Holy shit. You’re actually gonna do it. I’m so proud I could cry.”

“Please shut up and let me go, Z. I’m running late already.”

“Well, I wouldn’t want to make you late for your dick appointment.”

“I fucking hate you, you know that?”

“No you don’t,” she says. “You love me. But not as much as you LOOOOOVE him.”

“You’re actually the worst. Goodbye.” You shut the door behind you before she can tease you anymore.

It’s not like you weren’t going to tell her eventually, but for now you wanted to keep your secret. You hadn’t told her about what went down in Bucky’s office even though everything inside you was screaming at you to spill it. She’s your best friend. She tells you everything. It had felt almost like a betrayal, but you know it’s important that your extracurricular activities with Bucky remain a secret. He could get in serious trouble, and you’re not interested in getting a reputation. Besides, there is something incredibly appealing about the whole clandestine affair thing. Maybe you watch too many movies or read too many novels, but the idea of being Bucky’s dirty little secret really turns you on.

You decide to drive over to Bucky’s and park around the block because you don’t want anyone to see you walking across campus with an overnight bag—especially not while you’re wearing your tightest little black dress with the ¾ sleeves and sinfully deep V-neck, paired with the knee-high fuck-me boots you’ve never had the occassion to wear. You’re going for tastefully slutty, and you think you’ve nailed it. If the look on Zara’s face was any indication, Bucky will think so, too. You told yourself that the dress was too tight for underwear—that panty lines aren’t cute—but you know that’s not really why you’re going commando. You want to see the look on Bucky’s gorgeous chiseled face when he reaches under your skirt and finds there’s something missing.

You park your car and see a text from Bucky.

Door’s open. Come on up when you get here.

It’s for the best, because the idea of lingering on Bucky’s stoop waiting for him to come down is an unpleasant one that brings back memories best forgotten. You smile because you think that maybe he knows that and that’s why he’s left the door open for you—so that you don’t have to be scared, so that you feel safe.

When you get upstairs you can’t help the giggle that bursts out of you because Bucky is wearing an apron and chopping vegetables at the kitchen island and it’s maybe the sexiest thing you’ve ever seen in your entire life but also somehow the most adorable.

“Surprise,” he says.

“You’re cooking?”

“I can do maybe three things, and one of them is grilling.”

You look at the counter and there are two large and very expensive looking cuts of meat in a dish. You fucking love steak, but you’re going to love watching this man grill it even more.

“You didn’t have to do this, you know.”

“I wanted to.” He flashes you a little smile that you feel absolutely everywhere, and then you watch his eyes go wide as he takes in every inch of you. “Goddamn, baby.”

You smile, knowing you made the right choice. “Am I overdressed?”

“You’re fucking gorgeous is what you are. Come here.”

You round the island and he grabs you and pulls you into him. He gives you a deep, hungry kiss and fucking growls into your mouth before he pulls away.

“I might not make it to dinner,” he says, his hands travelling from your waist down to your ass and giving it a squeeze.

“But I’m staaaarving,” you whine, and you can feel how much he likes that.

“I’ll try to control myself,” he says, “but you’re incredibly distracting.”

“Sorry,” you lie. “Can I help with anything?”

“Absolutely not,” he says. “Just pour yourself a glass of wine or whatever you want to drink and come out back and watch me fuck up our dinner.”

📚

“Oh my God, Bucky, I can’t eat another bite. That was so good. Thank you.”

He smiles, watching you as you dab the corners of your pretty lips with a napkin. He’d done his best to make conversation over dinner but those boots of yours were making it hard for him to think straight. This was new for him—this out-of-control feeling. Usually he was cool, calm, and collected on the inside, biding his time until his next move, but you make him feel like he’s one step away from going absolutely feral.

But that’s not what tonight is for. Tonight, the task at hand is to make you feel cherished and adored. Tonight is about softness and tenderness. Whatever he may want to do to you—and there’s a lot he wants to do to you—will have to wait. If he plays his cards right, he won’t have to wait long.

“Let me clean up,” you offer. “It’s the least I can do.”

“Absolutely not. Leave it. You want another glass of wine?”

You put your hand over your glass and shake your head. “Better not. I think I embarrassed myself enough last time.”

“You’re a cute drunk,” he says. “A little bratty, and stubborn as hell, but cute.”

“Thanks, I guess?”

“You’re very welcome. Will you excuse me for a minute? Just need to run upstairs for a sec.”

“OK,” you say, but you’ve got an inquisitive look in your eye that tells him you know he’s up to something—which, of course, he is.

Bucky had decided that, even though you would probably find it incredibly cheesy, he was going to go with the whole rose petals and candles in the bedroom vibe. It makes him physically cringe to set the whole thing up, but he knows that you’ll laugh at him while secretly loving that he cared enough to take the time. The mood lighting is good, too, because you’re going to be self-conscious about your body. He’s counting on it, actually, but candlelight makes everything softer and more inviting.

Bucky hears you call his name and meets you at the bottom of the stairs, feigning nerves, but he’s surprised to find that he doesn’t have to try all that hard to fake it. It’s not that he’s actually nervous—he knows that you’ve been sopping wet and desperate for him for the past hour—but he doesn’t fully trust himself with you, at least not once he has you stripped down and begging for it. He has to take you apart slowly, not rip you to pieces.

“Bucky, what are you-”

When you enter the bedroom and see the scene he’s set for you, your whole face lights up. You laugh a little, because of course you do, but you apologize.

“Too much?” he asks.

“No. It’s lovely.”

He brings his flesh hand to your cheek and strokes it gently. “You’re lovely,” he says, and then he kisses you softly—just lips, no tongue.

When he moves his hand around to the zipper at the back of your dress, he feels your entire body stiffen and you pull away.

“Bucky, wait. I-”

This is Bucky’s make-or-break moment. He needs to choose his words wisely.

“Please don’t hide from me,” he pleads.

“I don’t want you to see,” you whimper. “They’re so ugly.”

He can see you trying to hold back tears, and he knows that one day you’ll cry for him, but now is not the time for that. He takes a step back from you.

“You’re not the only one with scars.” He takes his shirt off in one smooth motion and watches your eyes as they take in the gnarled tissue where his metal arm meets his flesh. “Look at me, sweetheart. I want you to see me.”

He sees your hand jerk up slightly but you pull it back.

“You can touch me. It’s ok.”

You close the distance between the two of you and reach up to finger the raised red marks running down his chest. Your touch is feather-light and so delicate that it makes Bucky’s whole body hum. He wants to grab you and throw you down and devour every inch of you, but he waits.

“Am I ugly to you?” he asks.

You whisper, “no,” and press your lips to his chest where the deepest scar sits. Bucky shudders when he feels your mouth on him.

“Let me see you, baby.”

You look up at him with your big, sweet eyes and nod before turning your back to him.

He takes your zipper down slowly, and when he’s done you shrug out of your dress and let it fall to the floor. He unhooks your bra and you toss it aside. Bucky can see the tension in your muscles as you stand there, completely exposed. It all fades when he wets his lips and kneels behind you, peppering kisses across your back, and when he drags his tongue across your deepest scar—the one that stretches from your left shoulder all the way down to your right flank, the one that must have hurt the most—you let out a deep, guttural moan.

“So beautiful,” he whispers against your skin, continuing to worship every inch of you with his lips and his tongue and his hands. Bucky is using every single ounce of control he has to remain gentle with you, but it’s hard when you’ve got both hands behind your back, grabbing at his hair and pulling him close to you, making little tiny mewling sounds with his every touch.

“Bucky,” you whisper.

“Tell me what you want, baby.”

“I want you.”

Bucky stands up and turns you around slowly, leaning down to slot his lips against yours. You slowly undo his belt buckle and reach inside, and when you take his cock in your hand, you have him gasping for air with a single touch. He looks into your eyes and sees the fear there.

“What’s wrong?” he asks.

“It’s… uh… it’s big.”

Bucky smiles at you gently. “I won’t hurt you,” he says. “I’ll never hurt you,” he lies. “Lay down.”

You lay on your back on the bed and spread your legs for him, and Bucky takes his time with you, getting you ready with his fingers and his tongue. His cock is so hard it’s actually painful, but he makes you cum twice before he even tries to put it near you. When you come down from your second orgasm, you’re absolutely dripping for him.

“You ready, sweetheart?” he asks.

“Yes,” you whisper. “But go slow, ok?”

“Whatever you need. And if you want me to stop, just tell me and I will,” he says, making a promise he hopes he can keep.

You nod and Bucky gets on his knees in front of you, his hands gentle on your hips as he pulls you closer to him. He knows you’re on the pill, and he’d wear a rubber if you’d asked him to, but you didn’t and he’s not about to offer. He runs his swollen head up and down your entrance, wetting himself just enough to get the tip inside. You cry out and grip the sheets when he enters you and you feel so fucking hot and tight around him that it takes everything in his power not to snap his hips and give you all of him. Instead, he pushes in so painfully slow that he thinks he might pop a vein from all the strength it takes to hold back. But he can’t hurt you, not now that he’s got you exactly where he wants you.

“You ok?” he whispers.

“Yeah,” you say. “Keep going.”

So he does—slow, shallow strokes at first, while he waits for your body to stretch and mold itself to fit him. Then, when you start to moan his name, he goes a little deeper, feels you getting wetter and pulling him in. You let go of the sheets and put your hands on his hips, pulling him closer and letting him know without words that you’re ready to take all of him, and when he bottoms out inside you, you curse and wrap your legs around his ass and hold him there.

Bucky stays still inside you, leaning down to cup your face in his hands and kiss you. “Doing so good, babygirl. You feel so fuckin good.”

“Fuck me,” you whisper. “Please.”

And he does, but not the way he really wants to. He’s moving faster and deeper now, but he’s working at about half strength. You’re not nearly ready for all he has to give you, but you’re certainly enjoying what he’s giving you now. And he’s giving you what he knows you need—softness and safety, whispered praise and body worship, a tender fuck that takes you apart slowly. He’s making love to you, or he would be, if Bucky Barnes was capable of love.

He knows you’re close when you dig your nails into the meat of his ass and arch your back.

“Fuck, Bucky, pleaaaaase,” you whine, and he has to bite his lip to keep from busting right then because you’re absolutely wrecked and writhing beneath him and you’re making that goddamn sound.

“That’s my good girl. Cum for me. That’s it. You can do it.”

You beg him, “Harder.”

“Yeah?” he asks.

“Harder.”

“Don’t wanna hurt you, baby.”

“Do it,” you say, “make it hurt,” and something inside Bucky snaps.

He angles your hips up to get all the way deep and fucks into you with no mercy. He can tell he’s hitting your sweet spot with every brutal thrust, and when he feels your walls start to pulse around him, he is laser-focused on your face, watching you cum and memorizing every single second of it. It’s all being recorded, of course, but he wants to experience every moment of it in the flesh. It’s a long one, and you’re fucking gushing and cursing and screaming the Lord’s name and his name and spewing forth all kinds of pornographic filth he hadn’t known you were capable of.

And then you say it—“Fuck me, Daddy. Fill me up.”—and Bucky absolutely loses it.

He grips your hips with a bruising pressure and cums with a feral growl so loud it burns his throat. When he’s done, he fucks his cum up into you with a few erratic thrusts before pulling out and holding your legs up.

“Push it out, babygirl. Lemme see it.”

You do as he asks and he watches in awe as his spend oozes out of you.

“Such a good girl for me,” he says, kissing up and down your thighs, “now let me get you cleaned up.”

The aftercare is crucial because Bucky knows how totally exposed you are now that the lust has been sated and you’re coming back to yourself. He wets a washcloth and gently wipes you clean as you lay there, still breathing heavy. He tosses it in the corner and snuggles up next to you, his flesh arm draped across your stomach.

“You ok? That got a little…”

“Intense,” you say, and then you look at him. Bucky looks for any glimmer of shame or regret or embarrassment in your eyes but there’s nothing there but a heavy-lidded satisfaction. “Good, though. Really good. Like, I’m not gonna be able to walk tomorrow good.”

Bucky laughs and kisses your forehead. “You can just stay here forever and I’ll wait on you hand and foot. You’ll never have to leave this bed.”

“I like the sound of that.”

Within minutes, you’re asleep in Bucky’s arms. He watches you for a while before his own exhaustion catches up with him. He carefully disentangles himself from you and pulls the blanket up over your body, kissing you on the forehead and whispering, “You’re home now, babygirl. Daddy’s got you.”

Chapter Six >>>

[ao3feed-izuku-midoriya]

Some Place High

Some place high by KittenCrusade

They have six months. Six months to make sure this kid can survive the whole stupid ordeal. Shouta really hoped it would be enough. As it was he planned on inlisting a few of his fellow teachers in the name of saving this kid. Nezu himself was already involved after all. Whats a few more?

Words: 2806, Chapters: 1/?, Language: English

Series: Part 3 of I Spy

Fandoms: 僕のヒーローアカデミア | Boku no Hero Academia | My Hero Academia

Rating: Not Rated

Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence

Characters: Midoriya Izuku, Aizawa Shouta | Eraserhead, Yamada Hizashi | Present Mic

Relationships: Aizawa Shouta | Eraserhead/Yamada Hizashi | Present Mic, Aizawa Shouta | Eraserhead & Midoriya Izuku, Shinsou Hitoshi & Yamada Hizashi | Present Mic

Additional Tags: Hurt/Comfort, Vigilante Midoriya Izuku, Spy Midoriya Izuku, Training, Quirkless Midoriya Izuku, Midoriya Izuku Needs A Hug, Currupt HPSC

Read Here: https://archiveofourown.org/works/40643691

[bruh-haikyuu]

@arcangel-wings REQUESTED: Heya! I’m new to your blog and I really like your writing! Can I request Tenma Udai with an s/o who’s a baker while he’s in hs? So like he’s a delinquent and she’s a sweetheart who’s always giving people the stuff she bakes? Everyone thinks it’s weird but they fit together kinda thing 🥺?

A/N: Thanks for requesting!! This is über cute. Fem!Reader as alluded in the request^^

kilig. | udai tenma

word count: 2155

warnings: manga spoilers!!

(n.) the rush or the inexplicable joy one feels after seeing or experiencing something romantic

“Chocolate is the ingredient for love~!” you say after pouring what seems to be an entire bucketful of chocolate chips into your bowl.

Your friend Saeko has seen just about enough of your nonsensical chatter about baking, your boyfriend and your abundant love for both. Already exhausted from a recent scolding by the vice-principal, she decides that it’s better off to smile and nod rather than try to come up with a snarky remark for your innocent mania.

“T-That’s a lot of chocolate,” she blurts out. When she picks up her spatula from the bowl, the girl grumbles at the sight of a liquidy trail drizzling down the utensil. “Ahh geez, it’s not supposed to be like this, isn’t it? Katagiri-sensei’s going to fail me again...”

You smile and hand her a bowl of flour. “Don’t worry, Saeko-chan. Just add a bit more flour and you’re good to go! You can never go wrong with cookies.”

The halo above your head is nearly visible. Saeko swears she can even hear angels singing to her in the background as you mix away on your fragrant bowl of dough. You don’t even seem real—from your angelic grin down to your overwhelmingly flowery aura. It’s tough enough to imagine that you’d ever talk to her of all people, but to imagine you’d go for a guy who’s just as much of a thug...

Unthinkable! Saeko shakes her head. She’d thought you’d pulled a joke on her the first time you announced that you were dating... him. Udai Tenma, star of the Boys’ Volleyball Club, a red-hot beacon of undomesticated temper.

She’d always known you liked him—though which part of him you liked is somewhat still a mystery to her—and as much as Saeko wanted to protect you from those ruffians, that absolutely infatuated look in your eyes was too much to bear. And eventually, she succumbed to your incessant ambitions of high school romance.

“You’re a saint, dude,” she sighs longingly. “I don’t get how you’re still dating that guy. I’m not really one to say anything about this, but don’t you think Udai’s kind of a jerk with the way he treats you?”

You chuckle, like a sweet grandmother about to tell a nostalgic tale to her grandchildren.

“I suppose you can say that Tenma-kun is a bit shy. He likes to act tough and mighty when he’s around people, but he’s actually just a normal boyfriend with a very sweet tooth and a penchant for manga.”

Saeko scowls. “Normal’s normal, but you have to at least let him know that you have your limits too. I really can’t stand leaving the two of you alone, w-what if Udai breaks your heart, or worse—”

“Tanaka-san. If you have time for chatter back there, then surely, you’re finished with your cookies?” at the sound of the grouchy Home Economics teacher at the front of the class, Saeko quickly returns to her bowl in a sorry attempt to look busy.

Deciding to humor her interest, you lean towards her and whisper lowly. “I’ll be fine, Saeko-chan. He may not look like it, but Tenma-kun’s actually very cute.”

In her mind, it’s much easier to simply handcuff herself to you so that you’re under her watch at all times possible. But your gaze is nothing short of genuine—you really love this guy, and the fact that you’re still with him, assures Saeko even just a tiny bit that he might not be so bad after all... with you at least.

You’re already storming away in your little world of baking. It amuses your best friend whenever you’re off making your personal masterpieces (“‘Masterpiece’ is absolutely right!” she’d say while stuffing her mouth full of your mini tarts). Each and every one of your creations are whipped up with the utmost amount of love and care, and for just the right reasons, everyone’s been pestering you to set up a bakery after high school. Your regular patrons just happen to be the Karasuno Boys’ Volleyball Club—with the addition of the lively Coach Ukai who is rather fond of how much filling you put into your red bean buns.

As regular as regular can be, you’ve found yourself visiting the Volleyball Club clubroom after school every Wednesday to hand out your treats to not only your aloof boyfriend, but also to his friends, his coach and the prostrated manager who direfully needs a pick-me-up. And suddenly, you’re ‘Karasuno’s Cookie Goddess’.

“Ah, you’re making another batch, Y/N?” Saeko perks up when you split your dough in half.

“Yep!” you giggle, essentially a high school student drowning in love. “I want to make something special for Tenma-kun today.”

“... What’s the occasion? Is it his birthday or something?”

You shrug, face absolutely alight. “Nope, I just want to give him a surprise~”

══════ ⋆★⋆ ══════

Tenma isn’t exactly unapproachable. It’s just that people tend to avoid him at all costs. Perhaps you were just bold... or remarkably stupid, but if you hadn’t addressed him that day, life would’ve probably been drabber.

Your parents and your friends (with emphasis towards your overprotective Saeko-chan) had shown their unfiltered concern when the news of your relationship circulated like wildfire. What was the analogy they used, again?

“You’re like a rabid bridge troll and a rabbit! It doesn’t work!”  You could only laugh at their valiant efforts of a correlation... if they were really trying to make one. But after a few more reassuring pushes and awkward family dinners, they’ve come to be more lenient about your little ‘liaison’.

But you never feel like you have to worry when Tenma is around. In fact, when Tenma is around, you feel calm—even when he’s spouting off curses to a taller rival.

There’s a warmth unlike any other when he holds or kisses you. And though you’d have to drive him through hell and waters to say it out loud, you already know that every action he does for you is out of love. Words are material, it’s the action that counts, right?

“Sorry for the intrusion~!” you call out into the open doors of the Boys’ Volleyball Club’s space.

A flash of obnoxious yellow hair flashes before your eyes and suddenly, an imposingly tall  figure appears in front of you out of nowhere. “Cookie Goddess!”

“Good afternoon, Yukimura-kun,” you smile. “Is there only you right now?”

“I’m here too, Y/N-chan,” the lax-faced captain Tokito emerges from the room in the midst of zipping up his jacket. His eyes flicker towards the packages in your hands and a smile cracks on his face. “Ooh, chocolate chip cookies today~”

You quickly raise the fragrant bags of treats into their view, bringing in the remaining swamp of boys from the clubroom. Suddenly, the common hallway is blocked by an influx of starving teenagers who are rampaging on about your existence.

“So good...” Yukimura murmurs dreamily, mouth full of chocolate. “Man, anyone would be lucky to have you as their wife if you were to cook them these everyday.”

A brazen first-year with frosted tips elbow him and sighs. “Too bad you’re taken, huh, Y/N-chan-senpai? If it were me instead of him, I’d always make it a point that ‘Heeey... guess what my girlfriend made for me today~ Isn’t she the best—”

“Oi, brat. Whose girlfriend do you think you’re talking about?”

The gangle of boys freeze up simultaneously at the grouchy voice behind you (aside from Tokito, who’s yawning at the whole ordeal). Whipping around to the dark aura boring holes into your back, you immediately light up at Tenma’s presence.

“Tenma-kun~!” you launch at him with your arms wide open. You’re ready for some sort of swerve from him, so you make sure you protect his bag of cookies with your arm... You’ve learned this counter-attack the hard way, of course.

But what you don’t expect is that your boyfriend makes no move to avoid you at all.

“H-hey! Don’t just lunge at me like that, you idiot! What if you fell down and knocked your head open?” Ah, at least the embarrassed comment is there.

You can only smile at him kindly. From the edge of your eyes, you swear that you can see a light blush dusting his face as your boyfriend gains newfound interest in your shoes.

“Come with me for a while,” he finally grumbles, effectively breaking the silence between the both of you. Grabbing your hand, Tenma leads you down the little aluminium staircase, eliciting small grates from the steps below you and a mass of curious whispers from the group you’d just left behind.

“Hey, Udai-kun~” Tokito calls out, a lilt of roguery in his tone, “Make sure to get back in time for practice, okay? And keep Y/N-chan in one piece, won’t you? We can’t get another Cookie Goddess if you don’t.”

When he turns into a secluded corner away from the prying eyes of his teammates, you can hear him audibly huff and mutter something under his breath. As silence lingers between you, you nearly forget about the reason why you came to visit.

“I made some cookies for you, Tenma-kun,” you say to him, urging the neatly wrapped bundle into his hands. “I hope you like it.”

You can clearly see the hesitation in his eyes when he takes it in his hands. You can probably guess why.

(“Y/N, your skills with a knife are scary, dude,” Saeko grimaced as she watched you trail over the dough with the gleaming blade of your paring knife.

“Aaand... done!” you proudly wiped the sweat off your forehead. It would’ve been more helpful with a cookie cutter around, but you figured that it would’ve been more heartfelt otherwise.

‘Heartfelt’, you pondered on the word for a moment. Would this be too heartfelt for such a rag-tag person like Tenma? It would probably be better to go for something simpler, just like the other days...

Nah. You shook your head as you chucked the tray of heart-shaped cookies into the oven.)

You’re hoping for a shocked response from him, but Tenma only grumbles meekly. You brace yourself for another scolding for acting too chummy with him, or being too affectionate, or—

“You shouldn’t get too close with other guys.”

Wait.

Tenma crosses his arms, the curls of his hair falling gently over his forehead. His pink cheeks darken into a soft maroon. “If they found out you’re giving me this sort of special treatment, they’ll be all over you the next day, asking for it too... I don’t like it.”

The laugh that rises in your throat threatens to burst. What is this, you think. Your stomach hurt from the mere image of this innocent “delinquent” professing his jealousy for you. If he was like this all the time, wouldn’t that be an interesting change... Aah, your boyfriend really is cute, isn’t he?

A giggle escapes you and you watch him jolt in chagrin. “Tenma-kun, you’re so red.”

“I’m not!” he yells rather briskly, then shoots back at you. “You can’t say I’m red when you were all burning up as you were giving me these heart-shaped cookies.”

Touché. “I’m glad you like them, Tenma-kun.”

His gaze visibly softens up as you give him an angelic smile. “Uh, yeah. Thanks.”

At times like this, you really do see the boy who’d shyly confessed to you under the shade of the summer ginko tree. It wasn’t anything of a distant memory, it was just that Tenma’s usual demeanour and your unrelenting tolerance hindered the both of you from being completely outward with one another. Maybe something like this isn’t so bad after all.

“I-I have to go back to practice. You can go home by yourself, right?” your boyfriend clears his throat, urging you to leave.

Though you wished the moment would last a little longer, you know there are other countless shared opportunities with him. “Mm-hm! You do your best in practice, okay?”

He ruffles your hair and chuckles endearingly.

“Atta girl. Now go home before Tokito catches me getting all touchy-feely with you.”

Bidding him goodbye, you sullenly trudge away from your boyfriend (and his friends waving back at you from the balcony). Then the idea strikes you.

Special cookies ought to have a special flair to them, no?

Cupping your hands around your mouth like a megaphone, you shout, loud enough for his teammates to hear. “I love you, Tenma-kun~!”

And the crowd goes wild.

══════ ⋆★⋆ ══════

From: Tenma-kun ♡

Subject: Untitled

(15:58) Now Tokito’s all over me thanks to you, making me do extra diving drills. You better make more of those cookies as compensation, idiot. Be prepared for it.

(15:58) Btw, don’t forget to look both ways when you cross the street on the way home. If you get into an accident, you won’t be able to apologize to me properly.

(15:58) ... Hey.

(16:00) I love you too.

[gale-gentlepenguin]

ML AU: In Another Life: Ladybug

Original post

-Flashbacks to Befana are the same. But then there are a few additional frames of Lila seeing Marinette and adrien act more couple like and it really grinds her gears.

-Like in the original episode. Lila is talking with Gabriel, acting as his spy.

-Lila uses this chance to try and bad mouth Marinette like in canon but insists she is not a good match for adrien, but Gabriel dismisses it.

-Lila decides to put her plan into action just like in canon. Her motive though was to give a reason for Gabriel to make his son end his relationship with Marinette.

-Gabriel tells her the ‘Deal’ is in place for now. But if he can revoke it if she doesnt live up to his expectations.

-The events that led up to Marinette’s bag getting examined are the same. And Miss bustier points out that she didnt miss a question.

-Alya calls out first that it wasnt her.

-Adrien also stands up saying that he studied for the mock examine with Marinette. (He is faster to defend his gf)

-Adrien also had a perfect score on the examine, because Marinette helped him with studying.

-Lila makes her comments and Marinette claims Lila set her up.

-The events that lead to Lila faking her fall down the steps are the same, including getting to the locker.

- The main difference here is that Adrien speaks up.

-”Hold on! I know marinette wouldnt do any of this! Lila, when did you last have your necklace?”

-Lila was not expecting the bold accusation, She makes a quick lie that she had it the other day.

-Adrien smiles.

-”Then there is no way Marinette could have taken the necklace! Marinette was with me at a photoshoot helping me study between breaks. She wouldnt have had the time to take the necklace.”

-Mr.Damocles was about to speak up saying there is still a lot to against Marinette, and the class chimes up to agree that Marinette wouldnt steal it or cheat.

-Chloé even points out that Marinette is too goody goody for shoving people.

-Alix commenting that “Its true, and if she would shove anyone, it would have been Chloé”

-Miss bustier actually does the teacher thing and comments that Marinette is her class rep and this is out of the ordinary for her.

-Lila failed to take into account how well liked Marinette is, and didnt anticipate Adrien would be so adamant about defending her.

-Mr.Damocles decides that this needs further investigation. He says that Marinette should go home for the day while he and the teachers discuss the situation. He apologizes to the Dupain family and will call them when they have worked through everything.

-Its not ideal, but no one is super angry, not enough for hawkmoth to try and pull off Scarlet moth 2.0. Which really disappoints him. Nathalie wasnt akumatized, but still faints from exhaustion.

- Causing Hawkmoth to focus on Nathalie and take her out of the lair.

-Marinette is at home, fuming over this whole thing. She knows Lila set her up. Alya is on the case to investigate it. Though she isnt blaming Lila directly yet, because she wants to find the facts, but she knows Marinette is innocent.

-Mayura still creates Sentibug like in canon.

-Adrien texted Marinette to make sure she was okay, and he tells her he is not letting Lila get away with this.

- He gets an alert just before he confronts lila like in canon about Ladybug fighting Mayura.

-He leaves and finds ‘Ladybug’ hurt.

-Ladybug says the words like she does in canon.

-”But... youre in love with someone else.” Chat noir knew this because its HIM.

-Mayura has sentibug spout a lie but Chat noir backs away. He doesnt buy it like he did in canon.

-Ladybug sees Chat noir backing away. Relieved her partner wasnt tricked

-”Glad to see that you can tell the difference between me and a copy.”

-”It wasnt easy, she didnt seem at all like the sentimonsters we faced before. She’s different.”

- The fight goes about the same as in canon, with the same lucky charm joke.

-They free sentibug. and tragedy occurs just like before.

-The events occur pretty much the same but the dialogue is a bit different.  when she says that “Ladybug doesnt sound the same without chat noir” He comments that they are a great pair.

-”Easy there kitty, you know i am in love with someone else.”

-”I know, and he’s a lucky guy.”

-Lila was getting ready to go do the modelling deal, but Gabriel called her. Telling her, he was disappointed with her plan. He says that she can forget about modelling today. She needs to prove her worth.

-Lila is pissed, and she decides that she was going to add some grease to the wheels and get Marinette expelled. At least then she could get something out of the ordeal.

-A car shows up, Its Adrien. He tells her to get in.

-”You didnt listen to my warning. You went after someone I loved.”

-Lila attempts to insist that she didn’t do anything, but Adrien tells Lila that she’s going to tell another lie to prove Marinette’s innocence. That she would completely clear her of any wrongdoing

-Lila comments why she would do that.

-”Because you know that if it does go the other way, everyone will know who is responsible for Marinette getting kicked out of the school.”

- And Adrien then brings it all home “Because we are friends, arent we?”

-Lila felt a chill go down her spine. Adrien made it clear that he would do everything in his power to bring her down.

-Lila then lies her way to clear marinette of all wrong doing, and the investigation on Marinette is over. She isnt expelled and no permanent record damage.

-Marinette asks Lila why she fixed everything. Lila doesnt have a smug response, she just leaves without a word, swearing to herself that this wasnt over. Not by a long shot.

-Marinette goes to see Adrien who is happy to see her.

-”So I am guessing this was your doing.”

-Adrien smiles, he claims he has no idea what she is talking about.

-She kisses his cheek, and the episode ends.

[ikingsley]

Ina x MC: Another Woman

Ina x MC: Another Woman

Summary: Ina has a secret admirer.

Warnings: Fluff!

Tag: @samanthadalton @domakir @kulaykape @hellyeah90sbaby @dopeyouth @kwaj05 @thedaft1​ @swimmingshoebakerydreamer​

Author’s Notes: A little fic for Valentine’s Day! Thank you to my friend @kwaj05, the “Prompt-Giver” and my personal editor LOL.

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Belvoire’s campus buzzed with anticipation. It was only a few days before Valentine’s Day, but students already made plans to woo their classmates or planned grand gestures for the people they were with. Even the quietest of students absorbed the campus’s lively energy, acting more extroverted than ever. Maybe it was just being overtly friendly or being flirtatious, but everyone felt the effects of the holiday spirit.

Luna was no exception. As an intelligent, witty, attractive young woman, she was often hit on by both male and female classmates. But the stunner only had eyes on one particular woman, a certain stuffy professor. So when people flirted with her, she often nodded politely, or smiled and turned away. The lack of interest she expressed was received by her admirers, who disappointedly backed off.

~

It was the day before Valentine’s Day, and students piled into Professor Kingsley’s ample classroom. They came in pairs, chatting lively with their lovers. 

The class started quite uneventfully. Ina watched as Luna took her seat, flashing a knowing smile as Luna nodded back at her. Then Ina began her lecture, which very suitably was about the power dynamics between couples. Ina knew that some of her students had tuned her out, but every time she looked on at Luna, she was met with a piercing pair of eyes. And this was satisfactory enough to her. Each time, she would smile to herself, motivated to continue lecturing. 

And right before she was going to let the class work on their own, a soft knock at the door was heard.

“Professor Kingsley? I have a package for you,” a voice rang out.

“Hmm,” Ina hummed. She hadn’t been expecting a delivery. Maybe it was a romantic gesture from Luna.

Ina got up and opened the door. Nosey students stretched their necks out to see what was the mysterious package, Luna included. Luna had absolutely no idea what Ina could have gotten. She was more lowkey, a person who wanted to keep her private life, private. She’d celebrate with Ina on their own terms, and found no need to plan huge public gestures.

It was much to Luna’s surprise when the delivery man presented her with a teddy bear, chocolates and a bouquet of red roses. The gift was left anonymous and Ina thought she knew who had given it to her.

What... Luna thought. Red roses? That was her and Ina’s flower to each other. It carried a heavy weight, especially after the sabbatical ordeal.

Luna was uncharacteristically not having it. But a wolf-whistle from several of the frat boys in her class brought her out of her stupor. Is this was jealousy feels like? she thought. But I’m not a jealous person!

“Damn Prof! I see you,” Ford commented.

Luna did a quick glance around the room. Everyone around her was smiling, and to not look like an outlier, Luna put on her best fake smile. Meanwhile, Ina smiled sheepishly at the boys’ wolf-whistle and Ford’s comment. She gave Luna a quick glance, one that lasted merely a quarter of a second. Had she really given Luna a good look, she would have been able to tell something was wrong. But Ina’s quick glimpse at Luna’s faux demeanor made her assume that the sender was in fact her girlfriend. 

Ina smiled to herself and subsequently wrapped up class. Today she was teaching back-to-back classes, and Ina made sure that Luna was well-aware she wouldn’t be able to lag behind to avoid them being caught. Quickly, Ina was left with an empty classroom. Everyone had places to go and people to see. Though she found it odd that Luna hadn’t even acknowledged her on her way out, Ina didn’t think much of it.

~

“Baby, I’m home!” Ina called out.

Night had fallen quickly. Ina had a faculty meeting that seemed to last hours. Dean Steinhelm had droned on again, and many of the professors fought to stay awake. Despite a relatively boring meeting, Ina had noticed that Professor Alvarez was looking at her every so often. As the newest addition to the sociology department, Professor Alvarez had worked closely with Ina. Ina once was the new teacher in Belvoire’s human science school, and she knew how isolating the experience could be. Ina took Alvarez under her wing, like a sort of mentor, despite their age difference of only a few years.

Ina walked into the office, and put down her work bags. She then strolled into the bedroom, where she found Luna sprawled on the bed doing homework. Ina stood leaning in the doorway, drinking Luna up. 

“Are you gonna greet me or just stand in the doorway like a brooding loner?” Luna said, without looking up from her laptop.

“I do not brood,” Ina said, finally shuffling towards the bed.

“You so do,” Luna replied coldly.

Brr! Ina thought. Luna’s tone was slightly reprimanding, leaving Ina concerned. She seemed fine during class...“Lu, are you okay?”

“Hmm. Yeah, I’m fine. I’m just tired,” Luna sighed. 

The hours that passed between the class and now had calmed Luna down. Sometimes it would cross her mind and she’d feel a sense of jealousy wash over her. Luna hadn’t considered herself a jealous person, but with Ina it was different. There was just something about her. But then Luna realized that she was being unreasonably jealous. Ina was by far the most popular professor, and one of those stupid frat boys probably sent her that gift. And then she’d laugh because she knew the frat boys would never have a chance with Ina. This vigorous cycle repeated itself, but eventually she’d felt relieved. Ina was hers.

Ina crawled into bed, wrapping Luna in her arms. “Hey, thanks for the gift today in class,” Ina whispered into Luna’s ear.

And again, Luna felt jealousy course through her, “Ina, that wasn’t-”

“The mysterious aspect of it was quite hot. But it was also swee-” Ina said letting out a hot breath. 

“Ina! That wasn’t me!” Luna exclaimed.

“Oh. So...who was that then?” Ina asked quizzically. 

“I have absolutely no idea.”

“Does my secret admirer bother you?”

“Not really. I know you’re mine and I’m yours.” Luna’s jealousy fluctuated often, but she didn’t want Ina to feel bad about the present. Ina had no control over who found her attractive. I mean, come on. Ina was just drop dead gorgeous.

“I’m glad. A couple of my relationships...have deteriorated because of jealousy. I don’t need that extra drama in my life,” Ina said. 

Now Luna really didn’t want to bring up her varying jealousy. She turned away from Ina, and Ina fell asleep holding Luna.

~

Hours passed by. It was almost four in the morning, and Luna was still wide-awake. She tried so hard to not feel jealous - that was so unlike her - but something wasn’t sitting right with this whole secret admirer thing. Ina shifted in her sleep, pulling away from Luna. 

“Ina?” Luna asked.

“Sorry, did I wake you?” Ina turned to Luna.

“No, I’ve been up.”

“Why?” Ina shifted to check the time “Jesus Lu, it’s almost four!”

“I...” Luna began.

“What is it?”

“I know you didn’t want me to be jealous and normally I’m not but I don’t know, something feels off. I know it’s not your fault, but the red roses are our thing and I-”

Luna’s rambling was cut off by a forehead kiss. 

“It’s okay. I know I’d feel jealous,” Ina admitted. “It’s cute that you’re a little jealous. But I’m yours. And yours only.”

Luna sighed in relief. 

“Is this why you’ve been acting weird?” Ina asked.

“I guess. Sometimes I feel jealous, but other times I know that it’s always been us. Not anyone else. My feelings have changed every couple moments.”

Ina gave her another forehead kiss. 

“It’s only you,” Ina smiled while Luna leaned in for a kiss. The jealousy she felt dissipated. Their relationship had only been strengthened by the secret admirer. The two broke out into raucous laughter. It was a weird situation, but they had gotten through another hurdle together.

“Who do you think sent it? ‘Cause I think we need to have a little chat,” Luna said, cracking her knuckles in a fake overprotective nature.

Ina laughed, but racked her brain.

“Do you think it was a frat boy?” Luna hummed.

Ina shook her head. “Gifts from those students tend to be more...flamboyant and never anonymous.” Ina recalled getting serenaded by the football team on various occasions.

Finally, Ina gasped. “Oh my god...it’s Professor Alvarez!”

“The new professor of sociology?!” Luna laughed.

“Yes! Just because I was being nice to her doesn’t mean I was hitting on her!” Ina followed. “Wait...she’s married...to a man. Hold on! She mentioned she was going to send me a gift for helping her adjust to Belvoire. That’s why she was looking at me in the faculty meeting. She wanted to see if I figured out it was her! The cheap ass! I guess that’s what was on sale because of Valentine’s Day.”

“What’s your definition of nice to her? Because being nice to a friend is different than being nice to your girlfriend.” Luna whispered in Ina’s ear, her hot breath hitching Ina’s own breath. 

“Come here so I can show you what nice is,” Ina said, straddling Luna’s hips.

~

Luna woke up to the smell of something pleasant. That can’t be Ina, she thought. She threw on a satin robe and walked to the kitchen. Her jaw dropped.

“Ina! You didn’t burn your apartment down?” Luna snickered.

Ina rolled her eyes, but didn’t turn around. “I have to focus!” she said, pointing at the iPad next to her. It was playing a very detailed video about cooking eggs and bacon. “Go back to bed.”

“Aww, breakfast in bed?” Luna smiled.

“Mhm,” Ina hummed back. “Now go before I actually burn my place down.”

“Simp,” Luna said under her breath, turning to return to the bedroom.

“I heard that!” Ina laughed.

Ina came with two plates of bacon and eggs in her hands. 

“I know you felt off after yesterday, but Happy Valentine’s Day, my love,” Ina said. “I’m yours, and yours only. Also, I didn’t want to buy anything because Valentine’s Day is the epitome of a capitalism-”

She was cut off by Luna reaching up and kissing her forehead.

“Babe, I’ve heard this rant before. You’re such a nerd, but I love you,” she said pointing at her lips. “Happy Valentine’s Day.”

Ina put the plates down, kissing Luna with everything in her. 

[haloud]

things we could burn in one go (eminence) - chapter 11

also on ao3

Rating: Mature Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Relationships: Isabel Evans & Max Evans & Michael Guerin, Michael Guerin/Alex Manes, Forrest Long/Alex Manes Additional Tags: post-s2, Canon Compliant, Angst, Canon-Typical Violence, Hurt/Comfort, Starts Forlex Ends Malex, Other Characters May Appear, Tags Subject to Update, Mutual Pining, Breaking Up, Getting Together

Chapter Summary: Jones lets Michael in on a secret.

Excerpt:

He took a step back, but the symbols he’d touched continued to glow, burning into the surface of the pod. They pulsed, gold and fiery, for several seconds, before dimming, the colors of the pod pausing, like it was holding its breath.

Then it flickered; Michael yelled in shock as the symbols lifted from the surface, shimmering and gold and shaping themselves into a familiar-unfamiliar form.

A young woman, hair pulled back severely, wearing a stark-white uniform—at least, it looked like a uniform, almost like scrubs—looked down at Michael. The corners of her mouth turned down, a line formed between her brows that Michael saw most days in the mirror, but her eyes gleamed with some other, indefinable emotion.

Michael couldn’t breathe.

 Thursday, 8:30 am

Wiping his hand across his forehead, Michael squinted down into the guts of the Acura that was his latest patient. An easy fix, the job should have been done half an hour ago, but Michael’s mind wandered mercilessly, pulling his eyes to empty space, turning his thoughts to white noise worse than the static on Sanders’s busted radio blaring out oldies from the office. With a final jerk of his wrench, he declared the Acura done and dropped the hood, pacing over to his water and taking a swig. The water did little to cool him off; he paced back to the next car of the day, popped it open, and immediately slammed it shut again with a frustrated sigh.

Fuck, he’d barely been here an hour; he had a backlog a dozen deep or more; what the fuck was wrong with him?

No breeze disturbed the air or lifted the heat, already heavy on the skin even in the early morning. On a normal day, Michael worked methodically in the peace, savoring the solitude, time slipping away under the satisfaction of skill applied and challenge met. No matter how much Sanders griped, Michael always got the job done and the customer satisfied, keeping the lights on, no matter how old and dusty they might be. But today, Michael couldn’t reach that meditative place; his skin crawled in the silence, and his teeth grit at every sound.

Walk. He needed to—walk, exercise off some of this nervous energy. He’d been cooped up after Jones, too long, his feet restless, buzzing all in his veins. It was too early for him to take a break without catching shit from Sanders, but he’d live; Michael would work late, maybe, after the strategy meeting, however long it took, to make up for it. Right now, he couldn’t stay, penned in by the junkyard fence, rattling around in it like a caged dog.

A mile in, Michael realized he had a direction. The buzzing inside him tuned to a frequency, and he followed it, a call sense-familiar, a call like the one that bound him to Max and Isobel and them to their pods, a full-body variation on the sensation of touching alien tech.

Shading his eyes, Michael pulled out his phone and dialed Isobel—nothing. No signal. Of course. With no way to know if this call resonated in Max and Isobel too, he couldn’t do anything but continue on into the desert, following a familiar heading. On foot, it might take hours. It might mean everyone coming to meet him and him not being there, everyone panicking, Alex, panicking. Could he really do that to them again? Reckless, irresponsible, selfish—but none of those thoughts penetrated past the ineffable signal, and Michael walked, to the source of it, the origin.

The cave, at least, dewed cool and refreshing, sheltered from the sun and sand. Michael’s lungs thanked it too, a sanctuary from the hot late morning filling them every step of his trek. Once inside, it was only a short distance to the pod chamber, where Michael stopped.

What the fuck? Like coming out of a trance, Michael whirled around to see the way he came, no memory of it but the body-memory of aching feet.

Nothing there. The pods shimmered on. They had no answers; they weren’t even asking him why he was there, though he asked them. Silence.

Michael crossed the cave and stood in the center of the triad. First, he touched the pod that held Isobel for their new life and held her against death, running his fingers along the cool, frictionless surface. Next, he caressed Max’s pod, and finally, he stood in front of his own, if he could call it a possession, and slid his hands into his pockets.

“Well, I’m here,” he said aloud. “What, did you need something? Spit it out.” He snorted.

“Michael?”

He flinched at the sudden noise, but turned on his heel as his mind caught up with his instinct.

“Max!” he called back. “Dude, what the fuck are we doing out here? Have you talked to Isobel—”

The entrance to the pod cave was short, barely a crevice in the rock that held this chamber, unlike the deeper mines and systems that dotted these hills. Sound traveled fast from the entrance, and so did feet.

It wasn’t Max.

“Michael,” Jones said solemnly, with a shake of his head and a cluck of his tongue. “It disappoints me to have to call you out like this. I thought, after the conviction you showed last time, that you’d return for another lesson.”

“Jones,” Michael replied, taking a step back.

“We could have walked here together; I have plenty of stories to tell to pass the time.”

“Why did we have to walk here at all?” Michael demanded.

“You may have experienced the joys of traversal, but it isn’t something to be done lightly. It takes a great deal of energy and mental focus and fortitude—”

“I’m not talking about walking,” Michael snapped, “I’m talking about here. Why am I here? Why are you here?”

“Well, call me curious,” Jones replied pleasantly, folding his hands behind his back as he began to circle the trio of pods. “I had such a small sample of the woman’s handiwork to study during my confinement, I had to see her stasis pods for myself. The craftsmanship is truly remarkable. Truly remarkable.”

He gave Max’s pod a condescending pat. Michael clenched his fists.

“Most pods have a tendency to decay or have a decaying effect on their inhabitants.” Jones continued his circuit of the pods, passing Isobel’s. Michael stepped to the side so they circled each other, unwilling to let him too close. “But the timed release on these specimens taught them to ration their energy, and here they are, close to a century after crash-landing. Remarkable.”

“Are you telling me my mother built our pods herself?”

“Built, engineered, programmed, grew…” Jones waved a hand. “All of the above. Don’t be so limited in your thinking; you know better than that.”

“You don’t know me.”

“Don’t I? I thought we were getting to know each other quite well. How has Max been lately?”

“Shut up,” Michael snarled.

Jones chuckled. “That’s no way to speak. I didn’t come just to monologue; I came to give you a gift.”

He stopped beside Michael’s pod, and Michael stopped when he did. The entrance to the cave was at Michael’s back; he should cut and run from this vantage and let Jones do whatever he wanted with the pods—but in the middle of the desert, where was he supposed to go? His phone still had no signal, and there was nothing for miles. It would be child’s play for Jones to catch him. Or Jones would wait until Michael was home, until he thought he was safe, and crawl inside his mind to pull him out again. Was anywhere safe? Could Michael be trusted now, or was Jones inside him, somewhere beneath his skin, a trigger buried beneath Michael’s jumbled memories of that day waiting to be tripped?

“When I first came to make my observations, something clever caught my eye.”

Laying a hand on the surface of the pod, Jones’s eyes gleamed as a symbol drew itself beneath his touch, the familiar three-pronged alien sigil.

“It was on the door to your cave,” Michael said. “We’ve seen it our whole lives. You know what it means?”

“Of course. But that can wait. Come closer.”

Michael stalked a few feet, still keeping a wide berth. As he approached, one side of the symbol burned brighter, a circle with a bold, askew cross within. Jones touched a few more symbols in sequence as they rose to the surface.

“If you had persevered through your ordeal instead of running straight to Max, you would be able to read this,” Jones said idly.

“That’s a funny way of saying ‘gee, Michael, sorry for the attempted murder.’”

“Apologize?” Jones still didn’t look at him, face impassive, barely a flicker of irritation passing across it. If Michael didn’t know Max so well, he would know nothing about this man at all. “What good is an apology? I told you before—pain is an excellent teacher. Of course, there are those who disagree.”

He took a step back, but the symbols he’d touched continued to glow, burning into the surface of the pod. They pulsed, gold and fiery, for several seconds, before dimming, the colors of the pod pausing, like it was holding its breath.

Then it flickered; Michael yelled in shock as the symbols lifted from the surface, shimmering and gold and shaping themselves into a familiar-unfamiliar form.

A young woman, hair pulled back severely, wearing a stark-white uniform—at least, it looked like a uniform, almost like scrubs—looked down at Michael. The corners of her mouth turned down, a line formed between her brows that Michael saw most days in the mirror, but her eyes gleamed with some other, indefinable emotion.

Michael couldn’t breathe.

“I hope you never hear this, darling,” Nora said. Or—she didn’t speak, but Michael heard her all the same.

She said, “I hope the journey goes smoothly and we land softly in a new life, and my attempts to find some kind of goodbye can just be deleted like a bad dream. But I’ve been having a lot of bad dreams, baby, and I can’t let this go without a contingency.” She huffed a short sigh. “So here I am.

“You’re sleeping in your room right now. You know its your last night in your little bed, but I’m not sure it’s sunk in exactly what that means. Is it wrong that I’m glad for it? I don’t want you to be afraid. I never want that.

“But if you’re seeing this, it means I’ve likely already failed on that front, so what is there to say except I’m sorry? I’m so sorry, baby, if you’re seeing this. I love you so, so much, and I’m so sorry. I don’t know how to tell you how much I love you without holding you in my arms—these words, these feelings, they aren’t enough. Nothing I say could be enough. But baby, just know that you are the only thing in my heart. Your brilliant mind, your big heart, you are so wonderful, and having you in my life has been my life’s greatest blessing. No matter what, I know you’re out there—even if the worst comes to pass, even if you’re out there alone, even if you come to hate me for abandoning you, any word with you in it is worth saving, no matter what else has been destroyed.

“I love you, I love you, I love you, my son. I’ll love you even more tomorrow, for every day we’re together and every day we’re apart. Goodbye, and goodnight.”

Nora’s form reduced to gold once more, sinking back into the pod, and the silence that followed sucked everything in with it, sucked the air straight from Michael’s lungs. The whole world blurred behind his eyes, his left hand clawing over his chest, over his racing heart, his mouth working to find the words, words his mother hadn’t even known in the much more primal language of thought and emotion sown softly directly into his mind.

He'd felt, all these things, all those emotions she spoke of, hand to hand, through the grime and glass, condensed into one split-second, the atom before the bomb. The love, she’d poured it into him, a vessel too cracked and flawed to hold it. Would having words put to it help him understand? Lyrics to the harmony and melody?

“Touching,” Jones murmured.

“Shut the fuck up,” Michael said, voice cracked to pieces.

“What? I mean it. A mother’s love. No force like it in the world, wouldn’t you say?”

Jones began to circle again, approaching Michael.

“That love brought you here across the stars. Would you like to thank her? Or condemn her? She left you the burdens you bear, after all.”

“It’s not her fault the military locked her up and tortured her!” Michael shouted, a boom to his voice that shook the cave around them, shedding dust like the old days, when Michael’s rage moved furniture and shook art from the walls and moved minds to thoughts of hellfire.

“You really don’t hold a grudge? Not even in the slightest?”

“Why do you care? You hated her, right? Because she got one over on you, she got Max away from you. And she outsmarted you again here on Earth.”

At that, Jones sighed. He took a step closer, and this time Michael stood his ground, his mother-made pod at his back. Jones’s eyes shone glassy in the low, shifting light.

“Thank you, Michael, for that eloquent declaration of your loyalties. I’m disappointed in you, but it does uncomplicate things.”

He flicked his hand and Michael flew across the cave, head slamming sickly into the wall, like Michael had flung Jones when he fled from him the last time. As the world swam and a hot trickle wound down the back of Michael’s neck, Jones approached leisurely.

“See, for a sec, I thought the soft approach was working on you, Michael. I thought my charm was still good, even after all these years. You want to learn. You want the knowledge, the understanding. You want to stand in the light of the truth. Don’t you?”

Michael spat, and Jones ground him a few feet up the wall, his back scraping stone inch by jagged inch.

“So loyal. So dedicated. There is so damn much of that woman in you, no matter what kind of taint this rat-hole planet has left you with, human.”

The word oozed off his tongue like a slur.

A sneer on his face, Jones continued, “I hope it gives you solace while it can. I know it has a certain soothing effect on my own guilty conscience.”

“You’re fucking insane!” Michael gasped out. He flung his mind at every loose object around him, but nothing budged, his powers weak and fickle and inadequate.

In rage, they’d never failed him. But beneath his placid face, in Jones was something stronger than Michael, stronger than rage. But not stronger than Michael’s mother; not stronger than Nora Truman; not stronger than her by any other name she may have claimed in languages Michael would never speak.

Jones wasn’t stronger than her. So Michael would find a way. She sacrificed too much for him to give up now.

“Even on this life-forsaken psych-dumb wasteland planet, you have to understand that there are crimes and there are punishments,” Jones seethed. His composure was cracking, the man they’d first met in that cave pushing through the veneer he’d constructed over the months he’d been among them. He didn’t wait for Michael to respond, ranting on, “She stole from me. Ran from me, a fucking pirate! She stole my healer! My people! My heir. She had no right! And, not content in her flagrant audacity, she put me in a fucking hole in the ground! There are crimes and punishments. But she is beyond me now.”

Michael’s back lifted from the wall and slammed down again. He groaned as his vision went gray and his stomach heaved.

“She got what was coming to her. A fitting enough end, destroyed by the world she thought would hide her. But how can I be satisfied without a little vengeance of my own? Now that I’ve seen her message, my path at last is clear. You’ll do.”

The invisible iron bars pinning Michael six feet in the air disappeared, and he slumped to the hard-packed floor, air sawing through his chest, ribs screaming with every wheeze.

“Wouldn’t she be proud to see you now,” Jones murmured, and everything went dark.

When Michael came to, the world swam dim and gold into view, and squinting and wincing it took him a full minute to absorb his surroundings. He was slumped on the ground beneath the ladder of his workshop. Every bone and muscle ached; every breath seared inside him and ached its way back out.

“Michael! There you are. For a moment I was afraid in my excitement you’d gotten a little ahead of me,” Jones cried jubilant from across the room.

Staggering to his knees, Michael groaned, “Don’t fucking touch—how do you even—know this—”

“Either I plucked it out of your ripe mind when you offered it to me or I know someone who knows you,” Jones said. Something clanked as he tossed it. “Believe whichever, it doesn’t matter to me.”

He flung the tarp from Michael’s worktable, baring the console skeleton before his greedy eyes.

“This—” He laughed. “You truly are a marvel, you stupid boy. What I wouldn’t give for time and space to study you. Mold you. It’s almost a pity.”

“If Max is what you want, he’ll never forgive you if you kill me,” Michael slurred.

“Max is a piece of the puzzle. One piece,” Jones said. “And there have to be three. Or hasn’t anyone told you?”

Jones whirled away and went back to rifling through Michael’s papers, muttering to himself. Inching a little more upright, Michael craned his neck to look at the opening to the bunker, thrown wide, sunlight streaming down. He blinked in the sunlight piercing his pounding head, frantically trying to calculate the time. How close were they to crossing paths with everyone? Had Michael’s stupid wandering called the fox right in? Alex, Isobel, Max, Maria—

“I know, I know, no time to waste,” Jones said. “As entertaining as your little drawings are. We have things to be getting on with.”

With one hand, he seized the console, and with the other, he seized Michael, seized each of his organs in brutal turn, Michael sputtering and choking, writhing for relief that wouldn’t come, a beetle crushed beneath a boot.

“Let’s go somewhere we won’t be interrupted.”

[a-very-fond-farewell]

wenzhou modern!au where ZZS (38) is paid to lay-off people while WKX (36) is quickly rising to senior member in his firm as a Merges & Acquisitions Attorney:

ZZS started working young but after fifteen years of destroying people’s lives he is ready to quit. WKX is too driven to stop but starts seeing the effects that his job has on actual human beings;

ZZS is considering his life choices and wonders if he could become a teacher of sorts instead as he helps his friend Jing Beiyuan’s son with his homework sometimes. 10-years-old ZCL is one of the kid’s only friends and lives in foster care, he visits sometimes;

ZZS is not equipped to become a teacher and he would have to quit his job and take some classes (which smells of privilege, sure, but this is the best retirement I envision for someone who likes to learn and is re-learning how to be happy again), on top of that his chronic pain is getting harder for him to handle without proper rest. he knows he should stop drinking as well, but doesn’t know how to;

WKX’s firm was the reason why ZCL’s parents lost their business and couldn’t afford to raise him, ZCL’s older brother is close to come of age but he is nowhere near able to provide for him or take him out of foster care;

WKX adopted GX even if she was 15 bc he wanted to give her a chance instead of letting her grow out of the system like he did;

WKX has lots of hobbies but doesn’t have the time to enjoy any of them. he’s trying to forget he has every dating app known to date installed on his phone. he uses most of his money for GX and her future, he’s been so poor as a child that he only likes to save as much money as possible, but he is not above fancy clothes;

ZZS and WKX meet at a school reunion in their childhood hometown, both having been too busy to participate much in the past and coincidentally managed to never meet for more than 30 years given their many moves and uprootings;

ZZS and WKX at the reunion dinner don’t really know what to talk about, but ZZS asks WKX if it’s true he has a daughter and WKX describes in detail how he managed to get GX only two years back after wrestling with the system for a while. ZZS uses this chance to ask him more about adoption and stuff. it’s not an excuse and he is genuinely interested in the topic bc of ZCL, but this also means they meet more often to talk about it;

additional stuff:

we want the puppy back;

it is indeed imperative that ZZS grows his hair as the first sign of not giving a fuck about his job anymore;

the overwhelming, terrifying ordeal of being known;

GX failing every possible class;

Aunt Luo and Jing Beiyuan matchmaking regardless of their partners’ opinions on the matter (we love a wlw/mlm solidarity);

I need me a cottage in the mountains for scientific reasons AND the kids to have realistic bickering (tantrums, sabotaging, jealousy, the whole package) while the adults flirt and tentatively make themselves known to each other;

LOTS of resting (smut is good too, but we need these big oafs to get a vacation first);

not much angst, but lots of hurt/comfort and TAKE THE KIDS AND LEAVE THIS HELL OF A CITY kind of relaxing deal;

this is a “fast falling in love” vs “slow burn” 80k at least and I have no energy, nor time to come up with something for it so... yeah.

if you write something similar, hit me up and I’ll advertise the shit out of that for you.

[angelisverba]

i’ll hold you so you don’t fall again

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

pairing: interiordesing!y/n and eroticawriter!harry

word count: 21k+

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

Y/n wasn’t one to brag.

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

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

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

Because it definitely was one.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You know, like with a brush and paint can. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

    “Okay, how do you want me?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And then, 

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

.

.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Y/N!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Oh! Um…” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Affection. Love. Companionship. 

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

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

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

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

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

.

.

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

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

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

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

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

“Let’s go.” 

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

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

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

She couldn’t say no. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Biting into her toast, she opened the book. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Don’t call me that,” she mumbled. 

“What do you wish I call you then?”

“Dani.” 

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

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

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

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

strands then massaging down her neck and shoulders.

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

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

“No,” she said quietly.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

    And when it died out,

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

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

.

.

“... you know what I mean?”

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

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

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

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

Y/n truly wished she didn’t know. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

God.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Not falling. 

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

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

Right. In front. Of her face. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

    Timidly, she responds, “Okay.”

    “Up you get, then.” Harry pointed to the chair, and y/n raises her leg to hike up, this time with Harry’s hands placed on her hips, steadying her. 

    A tiny dash on the wall where her nail slid off marks where she was at when she nearly fell off the metal chair, and this is where she places the ruler. She left off at 7 feet, the ruler at her hip. Resuming the same positions, she starts to wobble again, and Harry's hands tight, holding her straight. 

    She guesses he hears her gasp when she feels herself wobble because he says “I’ve gotcha.” 

    Y/n moved the ruler up one, two, and three more times, and then her arm can’t stretch anymore and pinches one eye closed to cry and guess how many more feet are left. She guessed four… ish. On a whim, she tries to push the ruler up once more, and her shirt rides up on the left side of her hips. Warm sequential breaths hit her skin, and a shiver drops down her spine when she realizes what’s happened. 

    Harry, ever the gentleman, doesn’t waste a second, and slides his pointer and middle finger over her skin, his warm fingers splaying over goosebumps to pinch her shirt and pull it down for her. 

    “All done,” she squeaks. “Coming back down.” 

    Harry released her, but offers her a hand and she takes it, holding on to his as she comes down, his palms warm and rings cool; a nice contrast. 

    “Thank you so much for h-”

    “Y/n?” 

    Booth Harry and y/n tun to the doorway that leads to the main room, where Karime stands with a checkbook in her hands. Y/n turns back to look at Harry. The curls behind his ears, the blonde hairs on his top lip. He turns to look at her, and gives her a closed lip smile. She smiles back and twiddles her fingers, mouthing a bye bye.

    Karime walks away when she sees that y/n is following her, and takes them both back to their position on the counter. 

   “Here’s the check. Two thousand dollars. Deposit it into your account, and use it for gas, furniture, anything that has to do with Aromareads you can pull from this.” She opens the book and tears out the slip of paper. “I will need receipts. And your name?” 

   Karime glances up at y/n, only to see that she’s busy looking back through the door frame at Harry. The manager is slightly irked at the fact that the person she’s hiring to reshape her business isn’t paying attention, but following her line of gaze, Karimer can’t blame her. Harry, a usual in her store, is a very very handsome man. Towering, with broad back and a neck Karime would love to bite into if she wasn’t gay. He sat at his laptop, thighs spread and eyes hard and stern, pondering with a pout. Karime is sure that what caught my/n’s attention is the way Harry’s thighs and crotch looked at that very moment, enticing, strong, sensual. 

    Clearing her throat, “Y/n. I need a full name to address the check.”

    Y/n’s neck snaps towards Karime, her hair getting caught on her lips at her velocity. “Uh- yes, sorry it’ll be Y/n Y/l/n.” 

    Karime repeated her name, and asked for her to spell it, which she did while stuttering mildy. 

    “Here you go.” Clicking her pen against the marble countertop, Karime handed the check to y/n. “Listen, by no means do I wanna pressure you, but if you could get this down before the holidays are in full force, I would love that.” 

    “Oh, don’t worry. It won’t take me that long.” 

    .

    .

    And it definitely didn’t. 

    On Monday, y/n spent the entire day (and part of her night) driving to most of the places Karime had sent her through a text. She spent a few minutes googling the places and looking through the pictures that came up and cursing every time it would redirect her to yelp- because really who has yelp? The antique stores were all spread out in the Los Angeles area.

    There was one in Long Beach. The pictures showed a really big warehouse with chair lying on top of each other and tables littered with little statues and the likes. Here she bought baskets. Tons of them. Gus (the owner) has dedicated an entire isle to them. When he saw y/n’s cart, the laughed then asked her “Why dolly, whadda ya need all them baskets for?” And when she told him it was for business, he offered her coupons and package deals. 

    “Tell ya what,” he scratched the scruff on his chin, the only hair he had because he was bald, “You buy all these baskets,” he pointed to her cart, “I’ll give you a twenty pa’cent discount on ya purchase, and if ya want, you can pick anathin’ ya want from over there because no one wants tuh buy them.” Then he pointed to a pile of books that lay haphazardly next to a stove and a turquoise refrigerator. She paid one hundred and fifty.

    She walked out with wicker baskets, one being a picnic basket she snatched for herself, lined nicely with red patterned cloth and a lid for it to close, and that same picnic basket full of regency novels from the 90’s.

    There was another in Laguna. A beachside thrift shop, where she paid for (very overpriced) frames of painted lighthouses and beach landscapes for that ‘beach’ factor Karime wanted. By this time, she drove back towards Hollywood to drop the items back at Aromareads because her car was getting full. She didn’t go inside, just unloaded the tings in the back and Karime took them inside. If she had, she would’ve seen Harry.

    Y/n then took to the shops in the downtown area. One being, a swapmeet type place where you walked through and looked at all the furniture. They set up different sections for different themes. Victorian, regal, animal skin themed, and a hall full of mirrors. Y/n bought a large 8x8 mirror for five hundred dollars. It would be delivered the following day.

    One of the sections was retro-themed, and she snapped a picture of a hip-height lava lamp and sent it to Lucy. Lucy then proceded to beg y/n through to text to please buy that I fucking need it. Will pay u back. So she bought it; $100 that she knew would be no big deal for Lucy given all the business she had. 

    Her final stop, were the flowers and plants district. There, she placed a large order for 30 succulents, and an assortment of nearly 100 leafy plants to fill the baskets with. She blew $1,000 there. 

    By the end of the day, she’d wasted nearly all of Karime’s check; a measly two hundred remaining after she refilled her car with gas (give or take some). Y/n met with Karime at around 6, in the back parking lot again, and left everything she’d bought. 

    “Oh! And the mirror should be delivered tomorrow before closing time.” 

    Karime was wearing a caramel turtle neck and black slacks tucked into latex ankle boots, her hair pinned back and tied into a spiky ponytail. Her ears were adorned with pearl earrings, and her fingers were jammed into golden rings. Y/n felt embarrassed in her measly purple jumper and paint splattered mom jeans.  Her accessories consisted of a fanny pack full of nails and a hammer at her waist.

    “Good, good. Well, I’ll see you tomorrow-” Karime was already turning back and returning into the shop when Y/n said:

    “Actually I was hoping I could start now.” Her words lifted into a question at the end, half suggesting half stating. 

    Karime’s face morphed into one of confusion and surprise, but in the end she agreed, and told y/n to do as she pleased.

Upon first entering, y/n is disoriented. 

    She walks into a frenzy of… nothing. It’s like an industrial kitchen, but completely empty. Occupied only by the things she had brought in. She remembers that she walked into the back and not the front, and it made sense because Karime doesn’t offer anything that would require use of the kitchen. Everything she has is done at the bar by the barista outside. 

    Karime leaves y/n in the back, where she asses her items. The baskets. The frames. And well, that’s really all there is. It would be more with all the plants coming in. She realizes that she doesn’t really have much to work with and there really isn’t much to do than hang picture frames, and there’s only five of them. 

    Nonetheless, she goes outside with the first frame in hand. A soft blue painting of a lighthouse on an island with light from a hole in a cloudy sky shining on the building. When she picked this one up, she knew exactly where it would go. By the wall next to the sliding door that lead to the patio. She sauntered over to the spot then, dodging a woman on her boyfriend on her way there. It was packed, and rightfully (it was a tuesday).

    She reached the spot, and lifted the picture on the wall, lifting and tilting so it would fit naturally. Eventually, she found the sweet spot, and reached for the hammer she had stuck into her belt loop and the box of nails she’d placed into the fanny pack on her waist. 

    Without hesitation, she put the first nail on the wall, and started banging. Three taps in, and she hung the wire on the nail, balancing it so it looked the way she envisioned it. After she was done, y/n stepped back to admire her handiwork, and tilted her head to the side the way one does when their looking at a picture that’s upside down. 

    Perfect. 

    She walked around the shop then, with the purpose of noticing empty spots on the walls, anything that could be filled up with artistry. The simple tables? No they had to stay that way. Placing something on the tables would clutter them and tarnish the ‘relax’ mode people came in for. The window that faced the street? Yes. Y/n planned on lining them with hanging droopy plants on the edges, not obscuring but not leaving a clear view either. She’d have to buy shelves to place baskets on the walls. Hooks to hang them. This she would do with what was left from the check.

     Yet… something was missing. The alternative-ness she knew should be there. Something ‘hippie’ and ‘aesthetic’, off the minimalist side of things. 

    Looking into a corner where the walls met, a light bulb went off. She knew exactly what was missing. Letters. Y/n had seen an image on Pinterest not even less than a month ago. A picture of a string of letters. Or rather, a message. It said something along the lines of  ‘You are my light’ or something edgy like that. Each word had been hand cut and strung onto a piece of- she didn’t know, string? Tweed? A wire?- and hung in a corner of a room where walls met. It knocked off every box on the checklist. Minimalist. Crafty. Aesthetic. And cheap, considering how low the money was.

She knew she’d have to brainstorm phrases and pass them by Karime, but she’d worry about that later.

    .

    .

    It was Friday. One day after the plants had been delivered, and y/n was set to work full force. Sure, she’d have to work amongst customers, but no matter. It would get done. 

    She started in the back. With the plants. 

    Y/n had bought a plastic-type lining at the Home Depot to place soil in the baskets. She lined then all first, securing the material with tape around the edges. After, came the transfer and placement. She decided this would be a better method, and if there were extras she could have Karime sell them. This way, she wouldn’t overcrowd the place and stop when she saw an adequate fill of green. 

    The first, a circular basket with no handle the color of a waffle cone. Because it was one that would go on a shelf, she placed one of the droopiest plants in it, a green stream of vines and shrubby leaves.

    Last night, y/n had given Karime the benefit of the doubt, and allowed her to place shelves where she’d liked them So, before she opened at 7, Karime had decorated her store with wooden slabs for y/n to decorate. Taking the first plant, she walked out. 

   As expected, Aromareads was bustling with energy.     Women with mojitos in their hands, burnt out college kids hooked up to masks, older men and women laughing like tinkling bells. 

   She’s walking towards the first row of shelves she sees on the wall across from her, besides the sliding doors, basket held gingerly with both hands, when she hears:

   “Y/n!” 

   Looking to her left, she sees a sleepy, just-rolled-out-of-bed looking Harry. He’s wearing a black hoodie with the words ‘Treat people with kindness’ in a gradient rainbow color, and… and grey sweatpants. Grey. Sweatpants. 

   Grey sweatpants. 

   Y/n tries not to visibly swallow him whole as he walks towards her with an innocent smile on his face because god if she isn’t all hot and bothered right now. Her eyes seem to be magnetically attracted to his crotch, trying but failing to grasp and image of what may be lying underneath. 

“H-hey, Harry,” she smiles at him meekly, her voice cracking when she speaks. She cleared her throat and said again, “hey, Harry. S’nice to see you.” 

   “Nice to see you too.” He bows his head towards her, and endearing mannerism that has y/n’s heart pooling down to her ribcage. “I see you’ve brought out the green guns today.” A teasing grin on his extra red and shiny lips. Perhaps it was chapstick. It was rather windy outside.

   “You see correctly.” She giggles at his joke, at the same time, rolling her eyes at how cheesy he was being. “Today’s the day it all comes together.” 

“I’m excited to see how it all turns out. Don’t go falling on any chairs today alright?” He wags his finger at her, mocking a mother shunning her child.

“I’ll try not to. But if I do-” she said, coquettishly. 

“I’ll catch you.” 

“You better.” Laughing at him, she repeats his actions and lifts her finger up to point at him. 

   With a final laugh and a shake of his head, Harry walks away and into the working room. 

   Y/n watches him walk off, and walks off her own way as well, resting the basket against her hip as she went. When she reached the wall with shelves arranged in a checkered pattern, she placed the basket on top of the wooden plank, and tufted leaves so they look naturally messily placed. Unintentionally intentional; they way one teases their hair so it looks nice. 

   She went back to her work station: the now full kitchen, and repeated the process. Picked a basket, filled it with a plant, and took it outside. She left the hooks for last, wanting to leave of being in the way of people until she had too. Almost effortlessly, y/n filled Karime’s space with greenery. Cacti on shelves, large leaves and vines on walls, frames of beach paintings on nails. Once, she pricked her finger because her it had accidentally slipped inside the glass globe in which the succulent was in. 

    When the time finally came to walk into the room Harry was in, the outside was looking rather… forest-y. She liked the way it looked; a calm type of chaos. One that showed relaxation and no care for anything. Which was the point of the entire place. Come in. Relax. Breathe in from diffusers to get that extra push to decompress.

   Harry sat in his usual spot, directly in spot of the doorway, in one of the middle tables. Hunched over his computer with fingers flying over his keyboard. He had earphones in this time, white buds tucked right into his ears, stray strands of hair looping and covering them. His lips were placed in a puckered pout, the scrunched pink skin twitching from left to right.

    Humming to herself, y/n forces herself to walk past him, forces herself to not turn back and glance at Harry even if she can feel his gaze burning into her back. She makes it seem like the hook and plant in her hand are the most interesting things in the world. Turning it over in her fingers, and even going as far as to lift the basket (this on with a handle and curved bowl bottom) to her nose and smell it. 

    “Need a hand with that?” Harry says from behind her. She feels his presence from behind her, standing close enough that she can feel when he reaches to her front and takes the basket from her hands.  Y/n’s heart starts beating as fast as a hummingbird's wings. Closing her eyes to get a hold of herself, all she sees is green. Green, the color of his eyes.

   “Yes, please.” Her voice is small, shy.

    Harry, feeling bold, nudged the tip of his nose on the hair behind her ear. Enough to make her notice, but not enough to make her completely sure that it was there. “Where do you want it?” He says, breath hot on the shell of her ears. Her eyes widen, and her body goes on full alert. She’s suddenly aware of the closeness of his hips on hers, the brushing of the fabric on her the back of her hand.

    “Up…” Y/n steps forward, towards the wall. She places her finger on the smooth surface, and traces it over to where she wants it, doing loopty-loops to her desired spot. “...here.”

  He places the nail on the wall, hits it with the hammer that y/n gives him and hooks the basket as well. He turns to her when he’s done.

  “Got any more?” He asks, placing a hand on his hip.

  “Yeah, in the back. Wanna come help me?” Y/n points with a thumb to the doorway, half of her body turning as well.   

    “Lead the way.” 

    So they leave together to the backroom, y/n holding open the golden curtain for Harry to walk through. He looks around endearingly, his neck stretching and eyes darting from place to place as he takes in his surroundings. Y/n is stuck at the expression on her face, her heart strings pulling when her ears listen to the soft giggle that escapes his lips.

So they leave together to the backroom, y/n holding open the golden curtain for Harry to walk through. He looks around endearingly, his neck stretching and eyes darting from place to place as he takes in his surroundings. Y/n is stuck at the expression on her face, her heart strings pulling when her ears listen to the soft giggle that escapes his lips.

    “S’very nice back here.” 

    “Wanna grab a few baskets? Place ‘em in the lounge?” 

    “Sure thing.” Harry wraps his hand around the handle of three baskets at the same time, and with the other, he grabs the still-packaged hooks and wait for y/n by the doorway. She hurried to grab two succulents, and met Harry at the doorway. They had an awkward moment of deciding who’s going first. A huffle of backwards and forwards until eventually, Harry held his palm out to allow her to go through while biting his lip. Y/n ducked her head and felt the tips of her ears go warm. 

    “So, I tried Elton John yesterday.” He said, trailing behind y/n into the lounge like a little puppy. If he had a tail, it’d be wagging. 

    “Oh? How was it?” She replied, juggling the two glass casings in her hand, and then pricking herself again. She flinches, but doesn’t make any noises. 

    “Think I might have a new favorite,” he said, bashfully ducking his own head and peeking at her through his hair. Her heart fluttered, and if it could, she was sure it would bust out with the dreamy sighs she suppressed.

    “It’s that serious?” She asked. 

    “It’s that serious.” They reach the lounge, and y/n sets the succulents she carries in her hands down on a table.  “Have you had it yet?” Her stretches her hands out to Harry, signaling for him to give her his items. 

    “No, not yet. Should probably give it a try if its changed your mind. Can you pass me a hook?”  Harry gives her all four packages he holds in his one hand. When she wraps her hand around them, her finger brushes against the chubby part of his hand. 

    “Here you go- I only drank it ‘coz like, I’m on this diet thing and needed a drink with oat milk in it. Elton’s was the first one I saw. Woke me right up, too.” 

    “Diet you say?” y/n took the hammer and walked over to her desired stop, a few feet away from the one Harry had put in. 

    “Some altered version of keto. Had a really bad bug, had me feeling icky and ‘just decided it was the best.” He takes place next to her, watching as she positioned the nail and hit it a few times with the hammer. He held out a basket on his finger when she was done. She was a whirlwind, he thought. Busy little bee, never stopping. Harry nearly feels bad because she’s so full of energy, bouncing back from the table to the wall and arranging plants before he could even blink. “S’not fair. Not letting me do any work.” A pout appears on his lips, eyes teasing.

    “You just stand there and look pretty. I’ve-” she points to herself, finger at her chin. “Got this.” 

    Harry grumbles something that she doesn’t catch with his chin tucked into his neck. 

“What was that?’ she hums. 

    “‘Said, can’t exactly be pretty ‘coz you took that job too.” 

    Y/n’s hands still. Immediately, she feels her chest grow red roses blooming on her cheeks. She’s not exactly… embarrassed, per say. No. The familiar feeling of ants running wildly in her lower stomach began to burn, her ribcage tickling as butterflies try to creep out with beating wings. Pretty. He had called her pretty. 

    “Uhm, thank you?” 

    “You’re very welcome, darling.” His tone of voice is smug. And when she looks over at him with eyebrows raised, he’s biting his lip and his looking at her through his eyelashes like he had before, but there was no childish play in it this time. 

    “Say,” she picks up a succulent. “What’s it with you?” 

“Don’t know what you’re talking about.” He shrugs.

“Lovin’ all up on me.”  She puts the succulent back down.

“S’nothing wrong with lovin’ all up on a pretty girl.”

There it is again. Pretty girl. Y/n is on fire her entire face pink, color concentrated on her cheeks and nose as if she had taken a walk in the brisk wind. 

“Stop it,” she said. 

Harry’s face turns concerned, brows kissing and lines appearing on his forehead. “Am I making you uncomfortable?” All work is forgotten, and instead they stand facing each other. 

“No! No, no,” Y/n’s eyes widen and her hands waving back and forth to eradicate the thought of her being disturbed by him. “S’just,” she sighs. “Not used to it, is all.”

Upon hearing this, Harry’s face breaks into a smile. “Well then,” he starts. “Better get used to it.” 

“Oh, you.” She playfully slaps his shoulder and picks up the succulent again, this time actually going to put it on a shelf adjacent to the window; a little alcove Karime has placed in a weird spot.

“When do you get a break?” 

“I think I get to take it whenever I want, why?”     “Wanna head down to Rockstar? Craving a Madonna right about now.”

“Never pegged you as a Madonna guy,” (the Madonna was a sweet caramel iced coffee with whipped cream and chocolate chips; not actually what Madonna would drink, and the beverage itself being one of the few inaccurate ones). “Let me finish with this, and I’ll let Karime know.”

So she did, much faster with Harry’s help. He handed her nails, hooks, and the plants she asked for. He asked if he could leave his stuff in the back, and he followed her back there once again, ticking his bag into an empty cupboard next to y/n’s things. On her way out, she said a quick goodbye to Karime who she was sure didn’t even hear what she said. 

Harry and her walked the short block side by side, with him playfully knocking his shoulder into hers and smiling like a mushy schoolboy when she pushed him back. They made small talk about drinks and the weather, shoulders hunched up and chins tucked in because it was a little cold.   Y/n’s frayed highschool sweater wasn’t doing much to keep her warm, and she had half the wind to pull her hood up the way Harry had his. 

Looking over at his, his nose was going a bit raw. Pink and the skin around it a little pale. By the time he noticed she was looking at him, they’d reached Rockstar, and he was opening the door for her. Murmuring a small thank you she walked through, and stepped to the side to wait for him to step inn as well, given he’d held the door open for the few people that had been walking behind him as well. From inside, she could see him nodding and smiling at everyone who stepped in. 

“You wanna grab a table and I’ll get the drinks?” she says to him when he appears next to her with hands in his hoodie pocket; she’s craning her neck to meet his eyes.

    “Sure. I’ll be in the records?” He takes one hand out to point over to where the records are.

    “Okay.” Y/n nods and head to the counter, where Lucy is busy taking someone’s order. She only see y/n when she walks behind the person and makes a silly face at her. Lucy laughs, but continues taking the order, and y/n pushes through the doors to put on an apron and make her and Harry’s drink. 

“Well if it isn’t y/n!” Says Kim.

“Y/n! Girly its been forever,” Kelsey bumps her hip when y/n get to work alongside her at the steaming machine.  

“Yes, yes, I know. Missed my favorite baristas.” she giggles, bumping her hip a little harder and making Kelsey gasp in faint shock. “Where’s Tilly?”

“Called in sick. Poor think could barely speak.” replied Kelsey. Y/n hummed a response, and made her drink first, a hot chocolate, and set it to the side to allow it to cool down meanwhile she made Harry’s. When Kelsey noticed her reaching for another measuring cup after just making her own she says,

“Two drinks?”

“Got a friend waiting for me in the records.” Y/n explained, pumping an extra pump of caramel into the cup. She puts in less ice too, and extra chocolate chips and whipped cream. 

    “The records…” Kelsey craned her neck out of where customers pick of their drinks to peek tp the records section. “Wait, wait, the one in the hood?”     “Yep,” said y/n, unbothered as she capped Harry’s drink.

    “Y/n!” Kelsey hissed, “He’s hot!” 

    “Yes, Kelsey, I am aware.” Y/n rolls her eyes and picked up both drinks, turning on her heels to walk out but nearly bumps into Kim, who stood not even an inch away from her. She backs up instantly.

    “So are you and he a thing?” He asked, leaning in closer to y/n’s face,his breath smelling on the ramen he always ate during his lunch break. 

    Y/n, uncomfortable by his closeness, tried walking around him but he stepped to the side. “It’s none of your business Kim.”

    “You never accept my dates, but you’ll accept his?” Kim’s tone is angry, and when he takes a step towards her, Kelsey steps in front of her.

    “Kim, leave her alone.” Kelsey says, turning back to y/n and nodding her head in the direction y/n was heading. When she pushes past the swinging doors, she catches a bits of what Kelsey says to him in a harsh whisper, “just wait until Lucy hears about this.” 

    “Haarryy,” Y/n says in a sing-song voice, dodging people as she makes her way to the records. Harry’s standing with  a record in his hand, legs spread apart and leaning back a bit with  his other hand tucked into his opposite armpit. “Here’s your John.” 

    Harry takes the plastic cup from her, giggling as he looks at her. 

    “What’s so funny?” she asks, genuinely confused.

    “Still wearing your apron,” Harry wraps his lips around the straw, tongue poking out to lap at it and take it into his mouth as y/n tries really hard not to stare.

    Looking down at herself, y/n shrugs, and leaves it on, taking a seat on the nearest loveseat and wrapping her now empty hand around the warm cup. 

    “What did you get?” He asked her. 

    “Willy wonka.” She brings the cup to her lips, tilting it up slowly and her mouth waters when she catches the scent of the foaming chocolate. Harry takes a seat next to her, his thigh touching her jean-clad one. He sits with them spread, leaning back in an eased position, and y/n eyes jump down to the bunched grey fabric at his crotch. And… well, there’s a larger than normal bulge through the fabric, drawstrings bending over the imprint, and y/n chokes on her drink. Some of it sputters out onto her apron. 

    “Still hot?” She nods. “ Gotta be careful, love. Who picked the names?”

    Y/n looks over at him, head tilting to the side with eyes squinting. “Picked what?”

    The cloudy skylight streamed in softly, casting a soft grey glow on Harry’s side profile. “The names for the drinks. Who picked them?” He holds his drink in one hand, straw near his face so all he had to do was maneuver his wrist to the plastic tube was in his mouth. 

    “Lucy did. Well, for most of them. I picked Andre 3000, Madonna, Willy Wonka and made the drinks myself. They’re not accurate though.” She sipped from her drink. “The rest of them are.” 

    “How much of this decor did you do? Like, concepts and stuff.” Harry takes out the tucked hand to wave around, and then tucks it back in. 

    “Concepts? Hmm…” she trails off for a moment. “All of them. I don’t want to say that I made this place myself, because I wouldn’t have done it without Lucy’s guidelines, but I went out, bought the furniture. Everything you see me doing at Karime's, I did here… ‘cept Karime’s is just plants and this,” she waves around her in a gesture and leaves it at that.

    “Do you decorate apartments?” He asked.

    “W-what?” Y/n, in the middle of a sip, and very surprised at his question, stuttered at his 

    “‘Coz mine’s looking kinda bland right now, was thinking maybe you could help me put some life into it.” 

    “Harry, I-”

    “Kinda like the Rockstar vibes, but like, a little less on the trendy side? I dunn-” Harry isn’t looking at her, his eyes wandering and landing on everything but her. 

    “Harry.” she said a little more sternly, putting a stop to his little rant. He looked at her then, his expression  unreadable. “I’m not sure you want me to help you decorate your home.”

    “Why not? You’d be helping me is all, and I love the way you’ve made Aromatherapy and Rockstar look.” He licks his lips, moving his head to the side and bringing the straw into his mouth with his tongue (that y/n stare at for longer than necessary).

    “But it’s your home.”

    “I am aware. Help me make it more me.” He shifts his body towards her then, his knee bending so he chest is to her. “Please?” He makes the face Puss in Boots made in that one movie, y/n couldn’t remember then because Harry looked much cuter than that dumb cat did.

    Y/n tosses this idea around in her head. Helping Harry decorate his home. She was scared, not only because Harry was cute, but because home was a personal and private space to be calm and safe. What if she screwed it all up and then Harry was uncomfortable in his own home? What is she did such a shit job that, that- well such a bad job that a horrible result came out of it again. This thing with Harry, a budding friendship? She barely knew the guy, just that he had an affinity for showering her with compliments and he made her turn more red than that really bad sunburn she got in the 10th grade after she refused to put on sunblock on a trip to a pool resort. What her point was, is that decorating someone’s home- a place where the heart is pure- is a really big job. 

    “Of course, this would be after you’re done with Karime’s place. Don’t wanna stress you out or anything like that.” A nike shoe, white and crisp looking like it had come straight out of the box, pressed into his thigh when he wrapped a hand around his ankle and pulled his bent leg in tighter.  “Whadda ya say?”

After hemming and hawing a few times, y/n finally says, “Okay. But you’re gonna have to be one million times more specific okay?” She elbows him, his position causing her elbow to poke at his pec instead of his bicep, and y/n elbows into hard muscle. 

    “Heyyy, can’t go hurting the girls now,” He rubs over where he poked her, and pouts childishly, even going as far as sticking his tongue out at her. “Do you need to head back? I don’t wanna get you into any trouble, y/n.”     The use of her name makes her heart skip a beat. “Yes, we should probably get going.” She moves to get up, and accidentally places her hand on Harry’s thigh. Before she would say sorry for touching him, he says,

    “Alway using me to hold yourself, huh? Sneaky thing, I see what you’re doin.” 

    “You offered! Said it yourself, I’ll hold you so you don’t fall again,” she deepened her voice, and faked a british lilt as best she could. 

    “I do not sound like that,” He whined. 

    He got up right after her, grabbing her hand to ‘pull’ himself back up, but he was really just holding it. His hand was cooler than hers (because he’d used the hand that had been holding his iced coffee) and enormous around hers. If he tried, he could close his finger tips and they’d be overlapping. When he was fully stood up, he reached around her neck, and lifted the black strap over her head, transfering the cloth over to the hand that held his cup, and then reaching again, this time around her waist to undo the knot. His front, not even a full step away from hers, and y/n got a whiff of detergent and something else she could only describe as ‘clean man’. If she were a shark, this would’ve been the moment her eyes turned black and rolled to the back of her head. 

    “There you go, no longer look like a little barista.” He hung the apron over he shoulder, and walked alongside her to the exit. Y/n split from him for a short second to return the apron, but then resumed her place next to him and they walked out together. She was hyper alert the entire way, taking notice of when their hands brushed, or when he pressed his bicep against hers. They walked a little stumbly, walking against each other almost. Had it been Lucy, she would’ve already yelled at y/n, and y/n would’ve walked near the sidewalk to avoid bumping into her again. But Harry?

Harry takes it like a champ. Giggling and pressing back against her, and he even placed her on the inside of the sidewalk when she walked to the side closest to the passing cars. 

    “So, tell me.” He starts, tossing his empty cup at a recycling bin as they waited for the light. “What kind of premeditated preparations should I take to be- as you said- extra specific?”

    Y/n still nurtures her cup in her hands, the coffee lid resting on her bottom lip. “Moodboards. Magazine scraps. Room inspiration on pinterest. Make a list of things you like. Anything really.  Anything that you like and would like to see in your apartment. Also, you need a budget.” 

    “Don’t worry ‘bout a budget. I’ll work on everything else. You want it done by a certain day?” He asked, gallantly placing a hand on the small of her back as they crossed the street.

    “Preferably within the next week or two. I’m pretty much done with Karime.” She straightens up when she feels Harry’s hand on her, a warm feeling spreading from where he pressed, unlike the nastiness Kim made her feel. 

    They’re three shops down when he said, “Gotta give me your number so I can send you everything then. You can keep me updated and I’ll keep you updated.” They pass by a tree whose branch is just low enough to graze Harry’s head, and it hooks onto the hood on his head, effectively pulling it back as he walks through. His hair looks incredibly soft. Wispy strands the color of the drink in her hands, billowing up and around his face, a ringlet falling in front of his right eye. 

    He licks his lips, using his fingers to push his hair back and raise the hoodie over his hair again. HE looks over at her as he does, waiting for her response. 

    “Oh, oh, yes. Sure thing. Got your phone on you?” Harry jams his hand into his pocket and pulls out his phone, the latest model, sleek and looking incredibly small in his hands. He placed it into her outstretched palm, unlocked but not on the contact app. Y/n has to swipe through shamefully, scared he’s gonna think that she’s snooping. She puts her number under ‘y/n :)’. 

    “Thanks, love.” He took the phone from her, his fingers sliding against the back of her hand. He hisses when he does so, saying, “Y/n your hands are so cold,” and then proceeds to take her hand and squeeze it between his own two. 

    She giggles sweetly, “Aye! Trynna hold my hand now?” she teased. 

    “No, trying to hold your hand would be this,” He grabs her hand with one, and lets it wall between them. They walk into AromaReads like that, with him holding her hand and the both of them laughing like they’d heard the funniest thing in the world. 

    Karime, standing at the counter and welcoming everyone as they come in, catches y/n’s eye and she smiles at herself knowingly. Y/n shakes her head while still laughing with Harry, and they both head to the back. Harry to get his stuff, and y/n to continue her job. Just when he’s walking between the isle and cabinets, his phone dings and he takes it out, his jaw dropping and palm slapping his forehead. 

    “SHIT! I completely forgot. I have a lunch meeting with my friend today. Fuck,” Y/n, this being the first time she hears swear words coming out of his mouth, rases her eybrow at him and chuckles. “I’m so sorry. I wanted to keep helping you, but-”

    She raises her hand, silencing him. “You do what you have to do. This is my job anyway. Just don’t forget to text me.” Basket handles fill her hands, wicker patterns pressing into her pals, and she tucks one of the last two frames under her hand too. 

    “I won’t. In fact, I’ll do that right now.” He types into the phone that’s still in his hand, and a few seconds later Y/n’s back pocket buzzes and chimes. She doesn’t pull it out to check. “Now you can text me if I forget.” He says finally, swinging his satchel over his shoulder.

“Bye, sweetheart!” He called out, turning back over to smile at her. Y/n’s  lips pulled up at the corners, gazing at him with a certain look in her eye as he walked out. 

    “Sweetheart, huh?” Karime stepped into her direct line of vision, snapping y/n out of the daydream in her head where she’s the housewife and Harry her husband leaving to work, calling out bye, sweetheart! as he walked out the door. 

    Karime’s looking at her with a smirk and a single pointy eyebrow raise. 

    God, what had she gotten herself into?

    .

    .

    Y/n had saved Harry under “H.”

   And received a text from him that same night.

    She’d been in her bathtub with cucumbers on her eyes when she heard her phone chime. Chin pointed upwards and wrists perched on the edges of her porcelain basin, she lay unbothered and unmotivated to even move. Arms aching and the soles of her feet tired from walking from place to place and lifting she did at Karime’s earlier that day. Tealight candles were the only source of light in the tiny bathroom, a soft yellow glow cascading on the skin of her neck.  The valley of her breast peaked out everytime she took a breath, her mind drifting off into thoughts of green eyes and warm hands, all she’d been able to think about that day.

    She planned on staying there 30 more minutes, but her phone dinged again. After she thought it was the two minute thing the phone does after receiving a message, but when it dinged again, she huffed from her nose and removed the soggy cucumber sliced off of her eyes. Should’ve turned off my phone, she thought to herself, grabbing the towel she left on the toilet seat across from the tub, and wrapping it around her torso. The phone screen a blaring white light in contrast to the dimness of the candles. 

    Y/n, eyes cloudy with sleep and limbs saggy with fatigue, is very much surprised to see that next to the app icon on the display screen, is ‘H.’ Hey eyes pop out of her head at the realization, and her heart shakes up the fatigue to beat up a storm for the boy she’d been thinking about all day since he’d left her. 

Standing in her bathroom, on bare tiles with water still dripping on her, it hit her full force. She liked Harry. Liked the way his cheek squished against his shoulder when he shrugged. They way he looked at her through his eyelashes, and they way he made sure that she was walking on the inside of the street. Liked how he smiled at her and said her name. She was obsessed with him. 

So i think i know what i wanna go for

Was thinking maybe italy in the 70’s 

What do you think :D ??

    And attached were varying pictures of vast rooms with big windows during golden hour and white flowy curtains with art pieces on the wall. It was minimal Even more minimal that what Karime asked for. This is what he wanted help with? Not to mention, the pictures he sent were of rooms far bigger than she’d ever seen for an LA apartment. Hell, those rooms might as well have been in Italy, one of the windows had a view of a pretty pink sunset and orange tree branches littering the way. 

    However, she couldn’t argue that they were very pretty rooms. Sweet and plain, easy for the eye to absorb and just the place you’d be able to melt on the floor with a book. 

    Or the kind in which you have slow, hazy afternoon sex, but who was she to say what harry would use his rooms for right?

    Disclaimer: if this is the look you’re going for

    Like

    This exact look? You’re gonna have 2 have a really big apartment   

        Not even a full minute goes by until the grey delivered letters turns into ‘Read at 10:15pm’ and the grey typing bubble appears at the bottom of her screen. Her palms begin to sweat and her breath hitches. She doesn’t realize she’s been holding in her breath until she releases it after his message comes through. 

        are you doing anything this weekend? 

        Y/n is confused, brows furrowed as she reads his message. Why does he want to know?

    No. why? she responded.

    so you can come and take measurements of my apartments. that way i know how to tweak what i want

  and I have a measuring tape don’t worry

Y/n rolled her eyes and giggled at her phone screen, turning and resting her bum on the edge of her sink. 

    Saturday? 

        Seconds later,

see you Saturday

sweet dreams. H.x

The idiot. Of course he’d sign off a text message. Scoffing, y/n let the towel drop to the floor, and reached into the tub to unclog the drain. As soon as she felt the pop of water flowing down the pipes, she took out her arm and walked out. 

.

.

On Wednesday, y/n laid in bed until 12. When she got up, it was only to brush her teeth, pee, and eat ramen with rice and egg like the asian lady in the liquor store had taught her to make. When she finished, she went back to bed. Maybe she masturbated to get herself to fall asleep again.

Maybe.

.

.

On Thursday, she went took Our Sign Of The Times and took it out to read in her car on signal hill. She finished it. 

She cried. 

When she went home, she started another one. Rogue Lover. This one with a really pretty purple flower on the front, and the first page when you open it is a raven haired man with shoulder length hair who’s propped up next to a busty redhead. Her nipple is in his mouth, and her head is thrown back in pleasure. Y/n fell a little more in love with 

Lemus Knox upon finding the dedication was a note rather than a name. 

It said:

Whoever reads this, I’ll be waiting for you where the stars and clouds meet. My heart is yours. Lemus.

.

.

Friday. 

She helped Lucy at Rockstar. A bald man with a blue beard came in asking for her. He has a boutique in Long Beach. Doesn’t want to come off overbearing. Will he help her? 

She said yes.They were set to meet next week. 

Also, Harry texted her asking if they were still on for tomorrow and come ready to eat because I made Italian food for a few friends I had over and there’s leftovers. 

.

.

Saturday. 

Y/n woke up with an appetite for Italian food. She didn’t have to be at Harry’s house until 12-ish. They hadn’t really clarified. And with it being 8 am and all that, y/n decided to take some time to shower and prep herself all nice and delicate. She spent 15 minutes lathering herself in her tub, letting her skin absorb berry scented bubbles that made her mouth water, and if she didn’t know any better she’d scoop up the bubbles and eat them.When her skin shriveled, she stood and drained the water, letting the stream from the overhead wash her off, and stepped out onto her heart shaped mat, the kind with little stubs that felt really nice against the bottom of her feet.

A little while back, she’d bought a lemon face scrub from a really expensive skincare place that had a sale, and meanwhile she put on her clothes, she put some on her cheekbones and forehead to sit for 15 minutes.  It required extra care when slipping her floral dress over her head. Once she managed to poke her head through, and the material rested all bunched up on her neck, the rest was a breeze. With a careful yank, the light material cascaded down her body, dropping just below her bum. Checking herself in her mirror, she smiled at the way she looked when she swayed her hips side to side. Cheeky flashes of her bum glint at her teasingly. Humming contently, she took off to wash off her face in the restroom. She was eager to find out how Harry liked the way she looked; her dress a low neckline, and she wasn’t wearing a bra because it was one of those dress in which the fabric bunched at the breasts to create a makeshift cup. The patter was a nice pink that looked nice against her skin, dainty little bows at the sleeves and in between her breasts accentuating her features.

Y/n opted for nothing other than a dark shade of lipstick, and let her hair flow down her back. As she was putting on her shoes, a pair of those recycled shoes that sent some of the proceeds to charity, she noticed that much of what she was doing felt like what she would have done if she were getting ready for a date. 

And… and Harry had food waiting for her at his place (apartment? Loft? She didn’t know specifically). Was this a date? She definitely wouldn't mind if it was.

She finished, and grabbed nothing other than her keys and shoulder bag, hesitating at her door whether she should grab the measuring tape, but deciding against it after remembering that Harry, quite teasingly, had said he had one at his house. 

In her car, she scrolled up her and Harry’s text to find the one which contained his address, tapped on it when she found it, and set in on the small mount on the headboard of her cart. Huffing, she set off to Harry’s house.

It didn’t take her long to get there, about ten minutes, and she parked in front of a much nicer version of her own apartment complex, but in Beverly hills.  A beige building that have the similar structure of a hotel, with turquoise patios and green roofing. Palm trees making a walkway to the entrance, which guarded by a security guard who asked who she was there to see.  

“I’m here to see Harry…” she falters, realizing she doesn’t know his name. 

The security, an old man with a limp and scrutinizing eyes, looked her up and down and said, “Ya one of dem girls das always botherin’ him ain’tcha? I suggest you turn back and go home. Mr. Styles won’t see you.” 

Y/n, with her jaw dropped, stood stunned in the middle of the pathway, not sure what to respond. Surely, he was confused. And whichever “girls that came around bothering Mr. Styles” she wasn’t one of them. 

“Go on and git,” he said, crossing his arms and standing possessively in front of a keypad. 

She hurried to reach into her bag for her phone, walking back to her car while she punched Harry’s “call” because she didn’t want to stand while an agitated security man watched her. 

He picks up the phone, and doesn’t even give her a chance to talk before he says, “is Felix giving you a hard time?” His voice gravelly and knowing. 

“The security guard? He said that you won’t see me.” She whines into the receiver. 

“Ah yes, the strict old man. Gimme a second.” He hangs up on her, leaving y/n clutching the strap of her bag so hard her knuckles turn white. 

“Ms. Y/n?!” Felix calls from behind her. She turns around, surprised to see that his face was completely transformed with a smile. His front tooth is gold and he’s missing a molar. “You can go on ahead, dolly. Mr. Styles just called and said you was a nice ‘un.”  He said, punching a thumb into the keypad behind him. “Sorry, bout that Miss. Enjoy the rest ‘ur dey!” He touches the tips of his fore and middle finger to his gleaming forehead and salutes her as she passes him, giggling and blushing. 

“Thank you, Felix. You too.” 

She walks through, and is greeted with a fine lobby. It really does look like a hotel lobby. Carpeted floors, a receptionist, and a door leading to a pool just outside the elevator. Before she can even wonder where to go, she hears her name being called by a familiar voice, 

“Y/n, over here!” Harry calls out, standing in front of open doors to the elevator to her right. He’s wearing a burgundy turtleneck and black slacks that are cuffed at the ankles. Yellow tortoise shell glasses and his hair is parted down the middle making him look like MiloThatch. A lavender towelette is in the grasp of his right hand, and he’s waving it at her like soldier girlfriends saying goodbye on the platforms. 

Stunned at his etherealness, y/n felt the roof of her mouth go dry. Staring at the way he filled out his clothing, she walked to him hypnotized, transfixed by his appearance. His chiseled features, boyish grin. She gravitated towards him. Enchanted.

“H-hi, Harry.” she said dreamily. Harry’s eyes raked her up and down when she came to a stop in front of him. 

“Why, hello. You look exceptionally lovely right now, darling.” He rasped, looking down at her sternly, all traces of a sweet smile gone and replaced by something a little more serious. A little more sinister.  His light green eyes turning a darker shade, y/n’s lips parting and knees weakening. 

She musters the words to say, “so do you,” and Harry’s lips turn up at the corners. 

“Shall we head up. Pasta and salad is waiting for you.” He turns away from her and presses the circular button that goes red when he pushes it. 

“How was-”

“So, you-” 

They both say at the same time, laughing and stopping to let the other speak and Harry says, “You go first.” 

“I see you’ve a few fans that bother you, and Mr. Felix has taken to guarding them off,” y/n commented. Her eyebrow quirked at him. 

Harry laughs, a single loud ha! “Felix just takes his job very seriously. That’s all.” 

“Doesn’t change the fact that you have women-” the elevator rings and the doors open, “lined up on your doorstep.” Harry steps in first, and uses his hand to stop the elevator doors from closing in on y/n. 

She steps through, and they both stand side by side in the metal encasing. Glancing up, she sees the ceiling is covered in mirror panels. 

“Well,” Harry shifts his body so his front is facing her, and takes a step, shoulders taking turns on tilting forward with every slow, torturous step he takes. “Does it,” Y/n takes a step back, breath hitching in her chest, “ bother,” her back collides with the cool wall, the floors on the meter above the doors keep going, 5, 6, “ you?” 

He’s a needle away from her nose, his mouth ghosting over her own and his chest rising up and down slowly while hers is an erratic mess. She’s breathing out of her mouth, her eyes shifting between his own two that are fixed and straight on hers. 7, 8,  Harry’s hand comes to rest on the right side of her face, caging her between the elevator wall and his bicep, his palm cupped her jaw and running a thumb tenderly over her cheekbone. 

“I-I,” she stutters. 

“Cat got your tongue, petal?” His breath smells like mint and coffee. The tips of the curls that hang in front of his eyes tickle y/n’s forehead and down the side of her temple and eventually her cheek when he leans in to put his lips at her ear. “Look so pretty right now, y'know?” HIs british drawl is heavy because his tone of voice is low. 

8, 9, “Harry,” she gasped, involuntarily tilting her head to the side when he noses at the back of her ear. “What are you doing?” 

The elevator comes to a stop at 10, and Harry retracts, leaving her a red, heated mess  and slightly panting. He takes the few steps to stand in front of the elevator doors, and clasps his hands behind his back. “Nothing. Nothing at all. Don’t know what you’re talking about.” He smiled at her sweetly, his demeanor innocent as if we weren't just going to ravish her in an elevator like Robet Patterson for that one Dior commercial.

The doors open to a long hallway that turns sharply at the end to the right, a door where it would’ve turned on the left side. The right wall is a window that looks out onto the middle of the building, where y/n could see the pool that had been behind door. The flooring is a green colored tile, the same as the roofing, and the walls are a flattering soft yellow bordering on white.

Harry’s shoes, expensive looking-black heeled boots that have a rainbow pattern on the, making clacking noises against the floor with every step he takes. Y/n can’t help but feel awkward while walking alongside him, but  Harry, humming along to the tune of Maneater, by Hall and Oates, doesn’t seem to share her opinions. At the end of the hall, he makes a sharp turn to left, and she bumps into him. Mumbling a sorry she steps back to allow him to open the door. 

It’s not locked, and with a quick turn of the brass knob, the door opens and the smell of tomato and basil hits them both in the face. 

Y/n’s stomach grumbles, and she places her hand over her bell and looks over at Harry with wide eyes, embarrassed. 

“I take it you’re hungry?” He steps through, holding the door open for her.

“...yes…” she mumbled, stepping through. 

“Just in time then because I…” Whatever Harry says is drowned out. Y/n is amazed. Harry doesn’t have an apartment. He has a goddamn penthouse suite. His living room wall is a window, his kitchen open and blending in with the rest of the space. There are no walls, just turns where the building walls connect. Tall and wide walls painted with angles of shadows and lights that stream in. No furniture other than a long, wooden dinner table and three white chairs, and his bed. A mattress and a white comforter messily strewn over pillows. Before the walls turn to the streetside view, Y/n catches glimpses of cedar wood bookshelves arranged in the middle of the room; just like in a library. 

“Y/n?”  Harry appears in her line of peripheral vision, a knowing look on his face.

“Sorry, sorry. What was it?” 

“Said, do you want spaghetti and meatballs or fettuccine?”

“Mmm,” She scrunches her face like she’s thinking real hard, “fettuccine.” Then she adds, “please.” 

“You got it.” He said, walking away while playing with the collar of his turtleneck. Y/n follows after him, to the kitchen isle and utilities placed in a little alcove underneath the stairs that lead upstairs. To what, y/n didn’t know. 

Then she sees the pots and pans that are still steaming, the cutting boards with chopped lettuce and other vegetables and realizes that-

“Hey! You said you had takeout,”

“I did.” He picks up the knife next to the tomato, and continues chopping the lettuce.  “But I left it out, and it went bad. I promised you Italian so I made it myself instead. Much better than Olive Garden, anyways.” He shrugs, looking up at her and pointing with the knife to a chair across from him. “Sit.”

“NO!” She said, exasperated. “Let me chop something, too.”

“Darling, this is finished. I’ve got it. Sit, the fettuccine is almost finished. Just,” he twists his neck to look behind him, at the clock above the stove, a cat with a swinging tail. “Five more minutes.” 

Y/n slides the bag she carried off her shoulder and hooks it in the back of the chair he had told her to sit on, which she still wasn’t.

“Harry, that’s not fair.” she stomped her foot, a flat slapping noise of her sole against his wooden floors.

“Oh sit, or I won’t give you any food.” He tuts his tongue at her, shaking his knife and turning to turn down one of the knobs on the stove.

Pouting like a child, y/n sits down with a plop and a screech of the chair sliding against the floor.

She sat and watched Harry as he took plates out of his cupboards and placed food on them. The only noises being the quiet bubbling of pasta sauce, the tapping of his heels, clinks of plates against each other, and y/n’s grumbling stomach. Her face was still puckered in a pout because Harry hadn’t let her help him, but it slowly eased off as she focused more and more on the way he looked in his fitting black pants. The way the fabric was tighter on his ass, how his thighs flexed with each stride. Suddenly, y/n got the urge to bite into them, and she felt herself blush at her own thoughts, especially when Harry turned to her with a sweet smile of his lips.

He placed a plate in front of her, complete with salad and garlic knots. 

“Would you like some wine? Got this really nice one the other day and I haven’t opened it yet. Figured since we’re having Italian, it fits.” Harry was holding a dark wine bottle in his hand, that he had just pulled out of his silver fridge. 

“Harry, I would love some, but-” Y/n tried to explain that she felt bad because she came here for take out and had cooked her a meal.

“NO buts. Have some.” And instantly, there was a cup of red wine next to her plate.

Even though he had a table for eating, he placed his own plate next to her, and sat down to eat. Y/n looked at him, deflated and with a pained look on her face, while he forked spaghetti into his mouth and raised his glass for a drink. 

He froze when he saw she was looking at him. Looking her up and down, he said, “Moppet, eat your food. We have work to do.” 

Y/n rubbed her palm down her face, her lips pulled down. With a groan, she picked up her fork, sulking, and twirled it in her pasta.

She didn’t know what she was expecting, but definitely not the mini piece of heaven that was in her mouth. Harry had managed to create the perfect blend of cheese and cream that glazed her tongue like silk. It was so good, she moaned, her fingers pressing against her mouth and head tilted back. 

“S’good,? Harry questioned, wiping his mouth with a napkin to hide his laugh.

“Very,” she said, shoving more of the pasta into her mouth.

“Good.”

They eat quietly, Harry snickering at her whenever inhumane noises of pleasure left her mouth.Y/n practically cleaned her plate with the garlic knots. She only remembered about the glass of wine when Harry set his down empty, lips stained, and eyes droopy if she looked at him hard enough. After she’d cleaned her plate, she reached for the thin stem of the g;ass and drank it like it was grape juice, only slightly wincing after it had gone down, the tart acidity washing down the sweeter tones of cream. 

“Slow down, Moppet. Don’t want you to get a tummy ache.” Harry said, patting her hand tenderly and pushing himself off the seat to place her plate in the sink. At this, y/n jumped from her chair and took the plates from Harry. 

“You cooked, not I wash the dishes.” She stuck her tongue out at him, the tip red from the wine.

“But-” Harry protested.

“No buts. Go,” she bumped her hip against his, and walked the last few steps to the sink, picking up the sponge and turning on the water. She washed the dishes, and like always, got the front of her dress wet, water splattering onto her chest. Sucking on her teeth, y/n used the towel hanging on the handle of the oven to pat off the water. Harry watched this from where he leaned against the isle across from the stove; a new glass of wine half empty.

Returning to the table, she grabbed her now full- no thanks to Harry- glass of wine and sipped from it. It settled nicely in her stomach, warming down the path it took to settle.

Clasping her hands, she said, “Okay, Harry. Let’s talk decor.”

Harry untucked his hand from underneath his armpit, and smacked his lips together, “Follow me.”

He started walking out to the living room area, and into the bookshelves y/n had seen. Up close, they were actually taller than her, just about Harry’s height. He walked past them, and stopped again at a corner where one building face meets the other. Here, he had pictures upon pictures laid out on the floor. He even had scraps of fabric.

Y/n stared, and nodded approvingly. “You did your research. Good job.” Looking closer, she saw what the images were. Albums (David Bowie, Stevie Nicks, Fleetwood Mac, The Eagles, The Beatles, Prince). Pop culture pieces (Andy Narwhal, Pulp Fiction, Sixteen Candles). Fabric patterns, colors, and a lot of velvet. About half of the pictures were shots of other room like the pictures he’d shown her. 

To her left, Harry tapped onto his phone, and seconds later, that song he’d been humming in the hallway, Maneater, played with clarity on speakers hidden from the eye. When he was satisfied with his queue choices, he knee and sat next to his big circle of inspiration, legs splayed out in front of him looking infinitely long.  Y/n noticed he had taken off his boots, and his feet, knobby and lanky, had toes painted blue and pink. He had black markings on his big toe, but she couldn’t see what it was.

“Look, sit sit, I was thinking…” Harry began, patting the area next to him and grabbing a few of the papers he had spewed on the floor. Y/n, inexplicably endeared, sat with her legs crossed to the side next to him, feeling her butt press onto the cold floor, and listened to him go on and on about his vision. 

Hours passed with them just talking about images, why Fleetwood Mac would go better than Prince (because Fleetwood Mac is more of an afternoon in the meadows, and Prince is a night going down the highway in Malibu) and fabric choices for the windows (i’m sorry Harry, y/n had argued, but unless you can find a near translucent velvet its not gonna work. If you want the summer in italy during the 70’s look, you need transparent curtains).

They sat long enough that the way the light filtered in at an angle according to the sun, changed completely (it was at a harsh slant with the morning light, now its at a soft bend with golden light). When the light made Harry’s face look a golden pink, he fell back onto the wooden floors with a groan and said,

“How do you do this, y/n?” He blew hair out of his lips to move the few strands that had fallen in front of his eyes.

“Dunno, its just second natur- heeyy,”

A midst the mess, she guesses they missed it. Underneath a picture of a fruit bowl and flowers, was a picture of a naked woman, with birds eye view from the bot of her head, so you could see the tips of her breasts with they way she arched her back, and the head of hair in between her thighs. Her mouth was open in a silent scream of pleasure, eyes closed and a hand fisting her own hair like she was doing to the man in between her thighs.

Her cheeks burn upon her discovery, and she feels a familiar buzz in the place where the woman in the picture had a tongue pressed against her. 

When he heard her little gasp, Harry shot straight up and when he saw the image in her hands he said, “Ah, I see you’ve finally found it. Was wonderin’ when it would come out.” Reaching across her, his chest smushed againt her shoulder, he plucks it from her hands and look at it, smirking.

“You didn’t tell me we’d be doing x-rated work.” 

She says it teasingly.

But maybe it was the way she was looking at him then. She couldn’t help it. The roots of his hair looked blonde in the light, and his eyes were clear, almost see through as light passed them. His lips looked particularly tasty, having been tinted red from the wine, glinting from his own spit, and swollen from how he’d plucked at them while he was thinking about her suggestions. The juncture of his throat was partly hidden, but she could still see every time he swallowed, hos his adam’s apple bobbed up and down. And… and it wasn’t her fault that black pants looked good on him either. The material stretching taught over his muscles, flexing with every, single movement he made, no matter how small.  

So, maybe she had been looking at his provocatively, and her comment had… fueled Harry. Tuned him in on what had been on her mind.

He lifts himself with one arm from his indian-style position on the floor, up to his knees, and crawls to her. Eyes looking with hers, y/n’s chest starts to heave, her breaths growing bated; shorter; faster. 

“Do you want to do x-rated work?” He said, his voice dangerously low. His rings clink against the wooden planks, and brush against her thighs when he comes close, hands bracketing her hips, his nose nudging hers.

She’s gupping, like a little guppy fish, her lips opening and close, but nothing comes out of them.

Harry’s nose moves to her cheek, pushing back her hair. “It’s okay, pet. I can ask you again. Do you want,” his lips are at her ear for the second time that day, except that she thinks maybe they’ll actually gets somewhere this time. All she has to do is say,

“Yes.” Her voice is small, an airy squeak when Harry presses a kiss to the back of her ear. Her hands, sitting dumbly on her lap, move tentatively to his chest, searching from something to hold onto. She clenches the soft fabric in her hands just as Harry starts to lean back, his palm falling into her naval, and pushing her back, back, back, until she has to stretch her legs out to lay comfortable on her back, staring up at him with bleary eyes, glossed over.

“Yes? Course you do, pet.” He moves his knees to straddle her hips, leaning down close so he’s almost talking into her mouth, and one of his hands smooths down the shape of her waist. Y/n feels herself grow wet when Harry dips his thumb into her belly button, and she’s whining because she hasn’t done anything with anybody in so long and she wants him to do something.

But, if he’s not gonna do anything, that she might as well. She stretched her neck the last of the way, flattening her lips against Harry’s. The relief is instant, she quells her desire of being closer to him, and Harry responds almost immediately, swiping his tongue on her bottom lip and licking into her when she lets him. Harry groans, because she still tastes like wine and a sweetness he can only credit to her. His kiss becomes urgent, smashing his against her soft, malleable mouth.

Y/n whimpers, hips jutting upwards when Harry takes her lower lip between his teeth, and bites down on it,hard enough to where the pain was pleasure. Although her mind is swimming, she knows that the bulge she feels through the flimsy cloth of her dress is Harry’s cock. Elated and driven mad by her need, she arches up into him, needing any friction she could.

Harry pulls away from her, their lips separating with a wet noise, and tuts his tongue at her. “Ah, ah, ah. You’re not getting my cock tonight, y/n. Not yet.”

She mewls, her eyebrows dipping and red, puffy lips pouting, “Harry, don’t be a tease. S’not fair.” She doesn’t care is she sounds pathetic, the space between her thighs aches, and she’d like him to very much sate it “Do something, please.”

He coos at her, pressing wet kisses along her neck, his hand sneaking past her waist, to the start of her dress, and slipping underneath it. “Whining like a little puppy, aren’t you?” His hand glides of her thigh, the shill of his rings sending a violent shiver up her spine. His nail scratches a path near the place where she’s most warm. Most needy, and she moans when he feels how close he is to touching her, the splotch on her panties expanding every time he spoke. “You’re alright puppy, I’ll take care of you.”

Y/n’s breath hitches when his finger hooks onto the strap of her underwear, snapping the material twice with a chuckle at the cries he elicited from her. 

“Harry, harry, harry,” she’s half mad with need, her eyes squeezed shut with anticipation, and when Harry sees the desperation in her slack mouth, his own features go soft, and he takes out his hand from underneath her dress to cup her cheek. 

“Puppy,” he said, and when she didn’t open her eyes, he said again, “Puppy, look at me.” his thumb rubs over her cheek, ignoring the imploring whines that leave her lips, and instead leaning down and kissing her to shut her up. “It’s okay, its okay. Do you want me to keep going?”

“Yes!” She shouted, eyes going wide, amazed that he’d even ask that. “Do something.” She ruts up again, the head of Harry’s cock nudging against her hood. Harry groans, noticing how fucking hard he is. He’s leaked through his pants, a darker splotch where his head it.

“Fuck, baby,” he said, more to himself than to her.

His hand makes the same trail it had before, flipping up her dress this time to see her clothed center. Her panties make him want to cum on the spot. Baby pink cotton with a bow on the center of the band. Biting his lip, he uses a knee to spread her thighs, and then he sees just how much she needs him. 

“Oh puppy. We’ve made a mess of your panties haven’t we?” He looks at her with amusement, “Guess they have to go, don’t they?” 

Y/n hums desperately, her hips writhing up to meet his fingers. Pressing a last kiss to her lips, Harry scoots back so his knees are by her feet, and he and slip off the material all the way off. Suddenly aware of how bare she is, he clasps her thighs sht, obscuring Harry’s view of her pussy. 

“C’mon now, honey. Don’t be shy,” with a strong hand, he pries her knees apart and lays himself down in front of her, his breath hot on her swollen clit. From that angle, he can see how much she glistens, and how her juices spill out of her every time she clenched her hole around nothing. “Look at you, just begging to be stuffed.”

With a single finger, he slides up and down her slit, collecting her wetness, and then slipping into her. 

Y/n bleats, his intrusion stirring her heat up more; she wanted more. Wanted to be filled than more with just his finger, but was scared to say. Instead she said, “another,”

Harry slid his middle finger inside her, scissoring his fingers and leaning down to lick a stripe on her clit. Y/n arched her back, and moaned loudly, her eyes squeezing shut and hands touching at the area around her, looking for something to hold on to and settling to clenching at her own dress.

He hears the sound of her hands colliding with the floor, and looks up to see her knuckles going white with hoe hands she was fondling her dress.

“Y’can pull my hair, puppy.” he said against her slit, the vibrations of his words sending prickled of pleasure to the building orgasm she feels in the pit of her stomach. The second her muddled brain comprehends what Harry said, her fingers jam themselves into her his hair, just as he suckles on her. Y/n’s eyes roll to the back of her head, and her gasps come out in staccatos.

Harry’s fingers are still pumping in an out of her, twisting every time he pushed them back into her. He’s looking for the spongy spot inside of her, when he hears her say something incoherently.

“What was that?” he asked her,his fingers stilling inside her.

“Said, what about you?”

Her voice is faint and weak, her voice and comment sending pin-pricks of satisfaction to his throbbing member. His heart clenches at her considerations, so touched by the fact that she’s so lost in her own heat but she’s still worried about him.

“This isn’t about me. It’s about you. Y’gonna cum for me, puppy?” He feels the pad of his middle finger slide against something that has a different texture that the rest of her, and when her breathing hitches and she lets out a long moan, he knows hes found what he’s looking for. Y/n’s pussy clenches around, her fingers tighten in his hair, so hard it makes Harry yelp. “Clenching m’fingers, puppy, I know you’re there.” 

Y/n feels the familiar slow burn of her orgasm twisting in the pit of her stomach, her entire body hyper aware of Harry and what he was doing to her. How he pressed a hand on her navel to keep her from lifting her hips, the harsh sucking of her clit, and then finally the flick of his pointer finger curling inside her.  The build-up unravels, and her mouth opens up in a silent scream like the women in the picture, her body going taught, and then falling limp when the wave calms.

“That’s it, love. All better now isn’t it?” Harry slowly takes his fingers out of her, reveling in the way she’s still squeezing around him. She’s sensitive and jerking from her orgasm when He lick his fingers clean, kissing his path up her body. Her thighs, her exposed navel, her clothed valley of her breasts, her collarbones, and up her throat, behind her ear where he’s taken a liking to kissing.

“Jesus, Harry. Where’d you learn to talk like that?” She titters sleepily.

“S’my job, puppy.” He nibbles at her earlobe and down her jawline.

Alarmed, y/n’s eyes pop open, and she sits up, pushing Harry’s chest and holding him at arms length. “What do you mean, it’s your job?” She’s scared she’s just been used or something along those lines.

“I mean it’s my job. Learned a few skills from writing erotica, pet.” He responses calmly, diving back in to continue his assault on the skin of her jaw. His voice warped against her, he adds, “write under a pseudonym. Lemus Knox.” 

Lemus Knox. 

Harry was Lemus Knox. Harry was Lemus fucking Knox.

“You’re…” she’s still. Almost like that fight or flight instinct. 

Harry stills when he realizes she has. He knows, simply by the tone of her voice that she knows who he is. Who Lemus Knox is.He withdraws to look at her, grinning fro  ear to ear.

“You know who I am?” he said slowly.

“Harry, I’d even go as far as saying I’m in love with Lemus,” she blurts, reddening as soon as the words leave her mouth, but Harry just smiles fondly at her.

“That’s okay, puppy. Lemus and I aren’t the same person. You have a right to love him,” he nuzzles into her neck, kissing down her shoulder, “Just as long as you save some love for me.”

And lying there, completely stunned ant with Harry’s hard cock pressing into her hip, y/n bursts out laughing. She laughs because she’s happy. Because she likes Harry. Because she loves Lemus Knox.

She laughs because for the first time in a long time, someone is laughing along with her, kissing her, holding her.

She laughs because she can’t wait to see where Harry will lead her.

[sadpotatoondrugs]

Time For a Change [Ch.1]

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Many would scoff at the idea of Marinette Dupain-Cheng waking up on time, early even, and making it to school before anybody else. They would laugh, dismissing it with a quick “Yeah, right.”

Marinette herself was surprised at first, but turns out when you don’t spend your days working on gifts and favors for your friends, you have a lot more time for yourself and to get a good night’s sleep. Finally being able to follow a proper schedule she mentally had and getting to bed at an appropriate time was a beautiful experience.

She finally understood what was always keeping her on her feet all the time. It wasn’t the fact that she was Ladybug. An akuma happened barely once or twice a week. It was the fact that she had always wanted to please her friends. She recalled how they often came to her asking for a small favor, that favor later developing into a full-day project. And of course, she has always wanted her friends to know she cared for them, so she put everything she had into the work for them, she put every bit of love into it, which led to her often being too caught up in her work to remember she had two homework assignments for the upcoming day, or that it was already 2 AM and she had to get up in five hours for school.

She never received payment, of course. They were her friends, after all!

Today, she would fix that mistake. For a few days back, Alya approached her for the first time in months with a smile.

“Hey, Marinette? Could you make a dozen of chocolate cupcakes and a dozen of vanilla cupcakes for me?”

Marinette wanted so badly to scoff at Alya that day. Of course the girl would harass her every day, but once she needed something, she would come to Marinette acting like they were buddies again.

“Sure”

She didn’t half-ass them, no, she couldn’t. As much as she would’ve liked to put flour, eggs, sugar and many more ingredients into a box and hand it over, labelling them as Do-It-Yourself Cupcakes, she couldn’t bring herself to do it. So, she did the next thing that came to mind.

Instead of making complicated cupcakes, decorating them with care and styling them according to her classmates prefferables and likes, she did basic Vanilla and Chocolate cupcakes with appropriate frosting her bakery normally served, not even bothering to put sprinkles. In fact, all the sprinkles and extra decorations she always made were an addition made by her. Now, she made the cupcakes how she would to any other customer; according to the bakery’s recipe.

She grabbed the box of cupcakes from the big refrigerator where they stored cakes and such. She kissed her parents’ cheeks as a goodbye and made her way to school. She waited for Alya to come into the class to hand her the boxes. She was the fourth person to enter and Marinette immediately made her way towards her, putting the boxes on the girl’s desk.

Seeing Alya’s face once she opened the boxes and saw the plain-looking cupcakes, Marinette did everything she could to not laugh in her face. The girl immediately started blowing a fuse, yelling at Marinette for making the wrong order. Said girl remained calm throughout the whole commotion.

“I didn’t compromise your order. In fact, this is the time I actually followed the proper template for making these cupcakes.” Alya rolled her eyes.

“Every time I wanted cupcakes before, they were always so pretty, I didn’t order this!”

“Yes, you did.”

“Oh my god, is this about Lila again? You purposefully wanted to ruin our picnic, didn’t you?”

Marinette blinked twice before answering.

“You never specified for what purpose I am making those cupcakes, therefore I couldn’t possibly ruin them out of some jealousy, as you claim.” Marinette’s corner of her lips twitched upwards for a second when Alya realized she just spilled the beans that the class was going to have a picnic without her.

That, or just because she realized Marinette was right.

She didn’t care which was the reason.

The class was half full by then, they all stared at the duo exchanging the goods that were meant for their little picnic. Noticing the state of the cupcakes and Alya’s expression, they came to her aid.

“That is so uncool, Marinette…”

“Yeah! Normally, these would be decorated like a pro! You didn’t even try!”

“This is low, Marinette. Even for you.”

The old Marinette would’ve flinched at their accusations, started defending herself while being at the brink of tears. The old Marinette would apologize immediately and promise them to bake another four dozens of cupcakes.

But not this Marinette.

This Marinette was done.

“As I said before, I was simply following the bakery’s basic instructions to Vanilla Cupcakes and Chocolate cupcakes. Google it.”

The looks on their faces were priceless. They didn’t have anything to say back, they were left speechless. The angry expressions on their faces didn’t disappear, though. And they had no idea what Marinette was going to do next. They weren’t prepared for what she was going to say next, and that fact made Marinette smirk mentally.

“Now, onto the most important part-” She turned back to Alya and handed her a small paper, “That will be 42 Euros, Alya.” The face Alya made- no, no, no, that wasn’t it. The faces everyone made was a priceless sight to see.

“WHAT?!” Alya yelled, taking the paper from her hands. It was actually a receipt, stating the bakery’s price for a dozen of standard-sized vanilla cupcakes with vanilla frosting and a dozen of standard-sized chocolate cupcakes with chocolate frosting. Printed boldly at the bottom of the paper, the price of 42.08 Euros. Alya looked up at Marinette with her eyes furrowed and Marinette could swear that she saw a vein about to pop on her forehead. “Are you kidding me?!”

“As I am not wearing a red nose and face paint, you can assume that I am serious.”

The class once again erupted in an uproar of insults aimed at Marinette’s pettiness. Comments about being jealous about them spending time with Lila rather that with Marinette, at which Marinette rolled her eyes. Did they not hear that she had no idea about their dumb picnic until today? They really were thick-skulled.

“You never charged for them before! Just because Lila is going to be there, you suddenly change your mind?! That is so spiteful!”

“In fact, I don’t care what you plan to do with those cupcakes, nor do I care who is it for.” She stared into the brunette’s eyes without any emotion, clearly meaning each and every word. Alya was taken aback by that. “I may have let you of free before, sure, but that was when I let you walk all over me. When I let you use me to get free stuff.” Marinette felt slight guilt saying that. Not because of Alya or the other classmates, but because she remembered once again how much money all those orders she did for free must have cost her parents. At least now she could do things the right way. Before Alya or anybody else had a chance to resume the game of Who Can Yell The Loudest, she grabbed her phone from her purse. “Now, I could listen to you having a childish rant about not wanting to pay for what you ordered, or I could easily just call the police and let them handle the situation. Or you could just pay like you should and end this whole ordeal.” She smiled at them. “I would highly recommend just paying me now, I really don’t want to bother the officers with something as ridiculous as this.”

The class was in utter silence, nobody could believe what they were hearing. Was Marinette really willing to call the police over something like so…small?

“This is ridiculous… You never charged before, you can’t charge me now!” Alya exclaimed, breaking the silence in the class. Marinette sighed, clearly disappointed by the chosen answer.

“Very well then, I didn’t really expect it to have to come to this. Oh well..” She proceeded to unlock her phone and go into dial. Alya’s eyes, as well as the eyes of everybody else, immediately widened.

“Wait! I’ll pay for the stupid cupcakes.” Smiling, she put her phone away.

“I’m glad we were able to settle this like adults, Miss Césaire.” Alya was dumbfounded. She couldn’t believe who Marinette turned out to be. She couldn’t believe how petty she was. She silently thanked Lila for revealing the horrible person Marinette really was.

After Alya handed Marinette the money, which she had to borrow from the other classmates, Marinette finally left to get to her seat. Profanities and glares were thrown her way, labelling her as the ultimate baddie. Marinette saw Adrien out of the corner of her eyes, looking at her disapprovingly, like she had disappointed him somehow. From that day on, the class will hopefully no longer ask for any favors.

If Marinette’s memories were labelled in colors like in the movie Inside Out, this memory would surely come out as a yellow one. She couldn’t help but laugh at her classmates’ denseness. Paying for the things you buy was a lesson every little kid knew. If there was one word she would call them that moment, it would be entitled.

The alarm rang, signalling the beginning of the first class. Marinette composed her thoughts and focused on the teacher as she explained the topic of the lesson.

Soon, it was lunchtime. Marinette had long stopped paying for the school lunch and instead went home every day to eat.

“Hello maman.” She kissed her mother’s cheek upon arrival. Setting her school bag aside, she went to her mom and helped her with cooking lunch.

She ate her lunch silently with her mom, her father being out delivering one of their orders.

“So, how was school, Sweetie?” Her mother suddenly spoke up, which startled Marinette a little bit. Her mother never asked about her school lately; Marinette told her it was pointless, seeing as it was pretty much the same everyday.

When she was expelled, her parents didn’t know what to think. They were confused when Marinette opened her locker and found the stolen amulet. They knew their daughter would never do anything like that, but then, what was going on?

Later that day, when they got back home, they sat Marinette down and asked for her side of the story. They reassured her that she can tell them anything that has been going on, that they know that she would never do any of those things. She told them everything that day, everything from when she came into the school until her expulsion. They hugged her and comforted her as she cried in their arms.

Ever since that day, they no longer believed the school higher-ups. Lila had the audacity to come into their bakery one day, full of tears, stating that Marinette had been bullying her because of her relationship with Adrien Agreste. They were both angry as soon as the teen opened her mouth, immediately understanding why Marinette had been so infuriated with the girl. Not wanting the girl to bring any trouble to their daughter, they acted like they couldn’t believe their ears and sent her home to ‘calm down’. They told Marinette about the encounter right after she left.

“Umm… Usual, I guess. I had a fight with Alya, actually.” At that, her mother raised an eyebrow. “Remember those cupcakes I made? Vanilla and Chocolate?” Her mother paused, recalling the previous day where Marinette baked two dozens of cupcakes.

“The ones you made yesterday? Yeah… Did she do something to them?” Marinette shook her head.

“She was the one who ordered them, actually. And you know how I made cupcakes in the past for them?” Her mother smiled sadly at the girl.

“How could I not, you spent almost three hours just making sure they were perfect and decorating them.”

“Well, they never asked that I make exactly what I did, I always did that to show them how much they mean to me.” Her mother reached out and stroked her daughter’s hand. “Alya just said she wanted Vanilla and Chocolate cupcakes, so I just made the them by the bakery’s template. She wasn’t so happy about that.”

“Was she expecting more...?”

“She started yelling at me. Saying that she ordered something else, that I messed up the order on purpose. I didn’t, of course.” Taking a bite out of her food, she brought her fork up and made a proud pose. “But being the responsible teen that I am, I handled the situation calmly and told her that it was exactly what she ordered.” Her mother chuckled at her daughter’s playful dramatization even though she was explaining an uncomfortable experience. “I didn’t want to continue the conversation longer and the class was starting soon so I had to move on to another part.” Sabine couldn’t help but notice a flash of guilt in Marinette’s eyes, which made her worried. “I… Am sorry that I never made them pay for their orders, maman.” Her mother grabbed her hand and squeezed it reassuringly.

“Don’t blame yourself, Marinette. You have a good heart. You just wanted to please your friends. It’s okay. We understand.” Marinette smiled gently at her mother and continued with her story. Sabine couldn’t help but notice a glint in Marinette’s eyes.

“Well, I fixed that mistake today.”

“You made Alya pay for it?”

“Yup. You should’ve seen their faces. They didn’t expect me to want money for it.” Marinette chuckled slightly. “Everybody immediately protested. Saying that I never charged them before. It seemed to me like they refused to back down until I said they didn’t have to pay.” Sabine looked shocked at that. She knew that her classmates’ view of her daughter changed with Lila’s lies but… They couldn’t possibly become this entitled. Her daughter didn’t deserve people like that in her life.

“And… Did she pay you in the end?”

“Well… I told her that she can either pay me or explain it to the police…” She scratched her neck when she said that. Sabine’s motherly instincts rang inside her head to assure her daughter in her decisions.

“You handled that well, Marinette. If somebody doesn’t want to pay for your services, calling the authorities is never not appropriate. That is important to know when you enter the world of business.” Marinette smiled at her mother gratefully, thanking her for her support. She knew she was talking about the future, that her mother believed she would someday have her own business in fashion.

“In the end, she paid me, so it’s all good.” She finished her story, just like she finished her food. The timing was perfect. She stood up to wash the dishes since her mother finished eating a while before her.

“Anything else happening at school recently?”

“Nothing I can think of.” Her mother nodded, though she couldn’t see that.

“Well then, It’s time to bring out the good news, I guess.” In curiosity, Marinette turned around with a mug in her hand, continuing to wash it carefully so she didn’t get any water on the ground. “We received a mail today. From École des Beaux-Arts.” Before she even finished the name, Marinette already dropped the mug, staring at her mother in shock.

“Does that mean…” Her beloved mother only smiled at her in response, walking around her and reaching for something in one of the drawers. She brought up an envelope, showing the stamp on it before proceeding to give it to her. Marinette took it with slightly trembling hands. This was, after all, a letter that would decide Marinette’s future from then on.

Ever since Marinette got falsely accused and expelled from her school, her parents had been searching for a school she could attend. Even after Marinette got back, her parents refused to let her stay in such corrupted school.

She slowly opened it, her mother waiting patiently for the girl to read the announcement.

  Mademoiselle Marinette Dupain-Cheng,

The school has received Your letter regarding the possibility of your transfer.

I have to inform you that transferring to a school this late into the year often proves to be difficult, both academically, should the student be accepted and faced with the abrupt change in educational progress, and formally, for the requirements are much more strict due to the obvious lack of other students willing to apply at given time. If your decision remains the same after being aware of these conditions, the requirements for your transfer are given below:

An essay* reaching the minimum of 2500 words on why should we accept your transfer;

Portfolio showcasing some of your finest work – how much you choose to present is up to you, but the more material we have, the better.

Most importantly, sending the documentation from your previous school; Your school record, grades & competitions you were a part of, Attendance. These are the three pillars of importance you need to look out for to be accepted.

And at last, an interview; One of our school counselors will reach out to you shortly after we receive all of the above.

Should you be accepted, bear in mind that you will be required to take placement tests due to the difference in the academic pursue of your current school and École des Beaux-Arts.

As for your question about our scholarship system; We provide scholarships to students with exceptional talent and academical position. We do not provide a list of requirements, for talent cannot be forced, but recognized.

 Further information will be provided after your future in our school is decided.

 Sincerely,

The vice-principal of École des Beaux-Arts,

Adeline Bisset

  Marinette stared wide-eyed at the letter, her expression unchanging. Until she laughed and hugged her mother. Releasing her mother from the hug, she started summarizing what she read but her mother stopped her.

“We received a letter of our own, seemed quite weird at first since not many schools inform the minors and usually consults everything through the parents. They treat their students as equals, it seems.” With each information gained about the school, Marinette was getting more and more excited to have a chance to study there.

She squeaked and hugged her mother again. Sabine, startled by the sudden tackle, fell to the ground with Marinette still holding her in a tight hug.

It was at that exact moment that Tom chose to walk in, back from the delivery.

[masterlist]

[maxbegone]

AND WE ARE BACK! 

Part two of the Schitt’s Creek Community Fic Rec is here! This time, we focused on celebrating our favorite AU’s! Once again, this is dedicated with love to the the authors of this community! Every participant chose one AU (which was a little hard to do for some) to share and why they enjoyed it.

Thank you to everyone who submitted!

@bestwisheswarmestregards​ // @brighter-than-sunshine​ // @danieljradcliffe​ // @devilstelephone​ // @fishyspots​ // @imargaery​ // @justwaiting23​ // @patrickbrewsky​ // @rockinhamburger​ // @roguebabyinyourstore​ // @rosebuddsmotel​ // @stuck-on-your-heart​ // @the-13th-wheel​ // @thedidipickles​ // @thisbuildinghasfeelings​ // @yourbuttervoicedbeau​

And a very special thank you to anyone who has ever written anything in this community! 

Everything is posted below the cut, and you can check out part one here! 

**As always, if I missed an author’s tumblr handle, please let me know! 

@bestwisheswarmestregards​

Odd Man Rush by @samwhambam​

It’s David and Patrick and Hockey! Three of my favorite things! Also the ending is one of my favorite endings. It’s so sweet! It’s part of the series score and all of the stories are so cute but this one is my favorite!

@brighter-than-sunshine​

Thanks For Choosing Bagged! by dinnfameron

I love this one because the dialogue is so adorable, and true to David and Patrick! I can totally see the characters getting involved in something like this, like a different version of a rom-com.

@danieljradcliffe​

Going Down by concannonfodder

This is one of the best stories of NYC!David and recently out Patrick while they're both trying to find themselves. It's beautifully written and my favourite part is that each chapter switches between David and Patrick's POV. It does a great job of highlighting the aspects of their personalities that we know and love but shows them to us in a new light.

@devilstelephone​

sustineo by @rockinhamburger​

The contemporary art discussions between Patrick and David are interesting and important to the story. Patrick still cares for and emotionally connects with David In a world that is so different than Schitt’s Creek. I liked that Sebastian Raine was the evil force without being included as a character.

@fishyspots​

Welcome to Cabaret by @vivianblakesunrisebay​

It's lovely from start to finish! In this 'verse, Christmas World didn't pull out, so David didn't get the lease for the general store. Instead, he gets roped into helping Moira with Cabaret, and meets Patrick (kind of) through that. I love the way this author writes. The dialogue is in-character, and the plot is wonderful and pulls out moments from canon and reimagines them in some truly inspired ways. I'm such a fan of all of this author's works; this was the first one I read, and it remains my favorite.

@imargaery​

David.; or, a Tale of Misapplied Sense by Siria

A Jane Austen D&P AU and it is BRILLIANT. If you're an Austen fan, you will be able to immediately pick up on how well this author adapted Austen's style, wit, character descriptions, and ability to whack you over the head with romance when you're not even ready for it yet. Siria is a very experienced fanfic writer, but writes for many fandoms, so I think that's maybe why it doesn't have that many hits? I'm so glad I clicked on it. I want to wrap myself up in this story. I want to make a podfic out of it. I want to put it on a t-shirt and wear it every day. Also, it's in a regency AU where homophobia isn't a thing, so you don't even have to worry about that. I want to tell you more, but that would spoil it. Just read the damn thing and thank me later.

@justwaiting23​

You Were the Ocean, I Was Just a Stone by @al-ex-an-d-er-hamiltons​ 

The image of a curly haired fisherman Patrick is enough but this whole fic is such a sweet concept. Their interactions in this are so reminiscent of the show but also so different because they already know each other vaguely, and I come back to this fic over and over just because it's the perfect mix of angsty miscommunication and fluff.

@maxbegone​

Known and Be Known by ahurston

As someone who tends to lean toward canon/canon-divergent stories, this was a refreshing take on an AU. Beautifully written and wonderfully raw, ahurston conveyed the vulnerabilities between both David and Patrick so wonderfully. “The mortifying ordeal of being known,” personified in fanfiction format. With humor and some wonderfully hot scenes peppered throughout, this fic was just brilliant from start to finish. I love when authors explore Patrick's insecurities and vulnerabilities - they aren't written about as often as David's are. I implore you to read this, if you're able.

@patrickbrewsky​

Bound by Symmetry by barelypink

They say write what you know. I instead read what I know. David is the accidentally fantastic teacher we all wished we'd had in high school, and some of us wish/hope we are or might be one day. This fic is a great exploration of combining everything David knows he is (creative, bright, v.knowledgeable about art) and all the things he thinks he's not (empathetic, a role model, great with kids, selfless, kind, & big hearted) The selling point quote: "And it feels good, David realizes, to have a job that means something, a purpose beyond himself. A place where he feels like he belongs, just like his students." (David Rose proves he is both a good and nice person).

@rockinhamburger​

Blackbird, Fly by distractivate 

This is a post-apocalyptic story about love, connection, and hope, with a central theme of growth from destruction. I could not put this one down; I read it feverishly in one sitting, desperate to soak up every word. I love this fic because it is what I like to think of as an exemplar for transformative works (one of ao3’s top values). I love the way the fic stretches toward the light in the dark. It makes me think: about the quintessential elements of these characters, what remains the same despite changed circumstance, and what inevitably shifts when these characters we know and love are faced with a situation far outside their experience or comfort. This story likely hits differently in 2020, when post-apocalyptic narratives feel much less distant than they might have just a year ago. And yet, all the more reason to read an incredible work about hope and resilience and transformation.

@roguebabyinyourstore​

Fifteen Hundred Miles by MoreHuman

Where do I even begin with this fic? I was at first skeptical about what reason David Rose would have to willingly subject himself to a trek through the wilderness out of his own volition. Well I’m so glad I ignored that admittedly stupid part of me because this is one of the mostly beautifully crafted stories I have ever read. Patrick and David are individually on their own journeys of self-discovery, but the way they help each other find what they sought... It’s breathtaking. Their feelings for each other bloom so organically over their time together that despite the circumstances laid out before them, the miles that they stumble and walk and run bring them miles closer to each other. Closer to the love that they both didn’t know they needed. The characters come alive and are identical to their canon selves. The dialogue and banter are spot on David and Patrick. The writing itself is superb. The tropes are incredible, the pining and *oh no there’s only one tent.* The slow burn is tantalizing but in a way that feels true to a genuine love story. The way the setting somehow breathes in tune with the characters, the way they leave messages behind in the trail register—conveying more than they can utter aloud— and the way their families communicate with them throughout their time on the trail through letters. All of the elements of this story ground it in universal truth, in feelings that are not only relatable, believable but demand to be felt. I can wax poetic until I am blue in the face, but really... Read this story. And then reread it a million times.

@rosebuddsmotel​

I Carry These Heart-Shapes Only to You by @ladyflowdi​ and @ships-to-sail​

There are over 180,000 words in this WWII AU, but not one of those words is wasted. It is gorgeous in its prose, and incredibly romantic without romanticizing the very real pain and tragedies of the era in which it exists. It's not an easy read by any means, but it's the kind of cathartic emotional journey that is more than worth it in the end.

@stuck-on-your-heart​ 

kiss from a rose by mihaly ( @davidroseshusband​ )

What can I say about this very special fic that would do it justice? In this story, Alexis stars in a Bachelorette-style dating show and it’s every bit as brilliant as it sounds. On top of the incredible characterization, there are little surprises at every turn, there’s pining, and of course, there’s love. Secret love, even. This fic is truly addicting – I promise you won’t be able to stop once you start reading, and it will leave you feeling so satisfied (and if you’re like me, a little misty)!!!

@the-13th-wheel​

Hold Me Like You’ll Never Let Me Go by @mooodlighting​

It is a wonderful short AU where Patrick and David where they meet at an airport after they get snowed in. It is cute, there is longing and pining that just make it a wonderful read!

@thedidipickles​

Beneath the Winter Snow by Distractivate

The writing is so utterly gorgeous all the way throughout that I frequently needed to take breaks to breathe. The author *perfectly* builds an Olympic world that I can totally see my favorite characters inhabiting, and the resolution is gorgeous. All of Distractivate's AUs are amazing, but this one still stands out.

@thisbuildinghasfeelings​

How Do We Get Back by @unfolded73​

This one deals with a literal alternate universe, which is the first thing I loved about it because I had never read a fic quite like it before. It's a beautifully written 60,000+ word masterpiece that definitely makes me feel ALL the feelings. In addition, it is absolutely riveting. I could not stop reading until I got to the end.

@yourbuttervoicedbeau​

Make It To Me by figmentof ( @rosesdavid )

Epistolatory fic is SO hard to pull off and the author does such an incredible job with the way the characters shine through even though we only see them interact via text message. This fic is my comfort food and I reread it regularly <3

Anonymous Recs:

Just Breathe by olivebranchesandredwine

I love this one because it's got Patrick as a yoga teacher (hot!) and shows David being proactive about anxiety and it's just such a lovely story.

Shall I Stay? by alladaydream ( @maybewecandreamalittle​​ )

This is so worth the 100k wordcount. 18-year-old David and Patrick sweetly leaning into first love, a lot of angst and pining in the middle that allow them both to heal and grow, and a heartfelt reconciliation. Plus, two bonus cherries on top with artist!David and a beautiful epilogue in which they (spoiler) live happily ever after. The tone and pacing of this fic is so good, and I always go back to it when I want to read something comforting.

Your Heart is Keeping Time with Me by @yourbuttervoicedbeau​

I haven't seen 50 First Dates, but this fic is better than the movie could ever be. The author's writing is so beautiful and her David who has amnesia and her Patrick who wants to help him are just PERFECT. I want more and more and more of this.

Once again, thank you to everyone who participated and thank you to every single person who has written something in this community! It would be wonderful to do a part three, but for now, enjoy some alternate universe fics!