#pink badger club

[savedatateam]

YESSSSS! He absolutely would be front row screaming all the lyrics.

based on a joke from last night’s @savedatateam aai1 stream, i present: the rise and fall of a miles edgeworth midwest princess. a look behind the scenes:

[radiantrookie]

Outside media canon to Sonic

Excluding tie-in media cause that's obivous

TailsTube

TailsTube 3 acts a prologue to Sonic Frontiers

In TailsTube 5, Amy teases inviting Trip, confirming we're getting a Modern Trip

TailsTube 9 gives us the origin of King Boom Boo

IDW

In TailsTube 5, Amy mentions knowing Mighty and Ray, who she meets in Seasons of Chaos, they're later appear in Amy's New Hobby, they also appear in Amy's 30th Anniversary Special

Seasons of Chaos also features the return of Metal Knuckles, Tails Doll and the real Hooligans along with making the Hard Boiled Heavies rejoin Eggman

Amy's New Hobby features the return of Honey the Cat

Tails's 30th Anniversary Special acts a sequel to both Sonic 3D Blast and Tails Sky Patrol and features the return of Witchcart and the Witchcarters, this is also where Sonic first meets them

Amy's 30th Anniversary Special acts as a sequel to SegaSonic the Hedgehog

The Fang the Hunter miniseries is a prologue to Sonic Superstars and sequel to both Knuckles Chaotix and Sonic the Fighters, explaining the 8th Chaos Emerald, revealing it's actually the Warp Topaz, the series also disbands the Hooligans so that Bean and Bark can be more like their original JP counterparts

The Knuckles 30th Anniversary Special acts as an epilogue to Sonic Superstars

The first Saga acts as an epilogue to Sonic Forces as well explaining why Blaze and the real Metal Sonic weren't present

In TailsTube 1, Sonic receives questions from Tangle and the Spiral Hill Fan Club

The Metal Virus arc features the return of Cream, Cheese, Vanilla Rabbit, Chocola Chao and Gemerl, along with the first canon appearance of Super Silver and first appearance of the Sol Empire and Silver's Future

Team Sonic Racing is stated to take place before Issue 33, which is why Amy has her Pink Cabriolet, despite plotholes regarding Omega and Zavok

Sonic Annual 2022 features the return of Marine the Racoon

Tangle and the Eggnet are mentioned in Sonic Frontiers

In TailsTube 6, Restoration HQ and Jewel are mentioned, Amy also mentions Belle and Motobud but not by name

The Faceship and Eggperial City appear on Eggman's Monitors in The Murder of Sonic the Hedgehog

Barry the Quokka and the Conductor and his wife appear in Winter Jam, Barry later appears in Issue 69

It has been stated that all IDW Comics take place before Frontiers until Sage appears

Sonic Prime

Despite the show's many errors, the show is stated the show takes place after Sonic Advance 3 but not directly after, the existence of Orbot and Cubot mean it also takes place after Sonic Unleashed

TailsTube 7 shows Sonic and Shadow's fight

Sonic Channel

Sticks the Badger from the Sonic Boom is mentioned in Sonic Frontiers, her only Main Canon appearances in the Sonic Channel Comics, Espio's and her own

The Sonic Channel Comics feature the return of Eggman Nega

Otherworld Comedy is stated to take place before Sonic Frontiers, It also shows the return of Infinite, Elise, and introduces Vectorman and Super Eggman

The origin of Shadow's name is brought up in Shadow Generations

Big and Maria reference their Sonic PICT Artwork

[hannahhook7744]

Meet Joyce Penelope Foxworth;

FC: Jordana Beatty.

Fic Title: The Marvelous Misadventures of Hannah Hook. 

Nicknames: Joy, Joyless, Joyful, Joyless Foxworth, Joyful Foxworth, Lost Girl, Joyless Wild Child, Wild Child, The Wild Child Wrangler, The Red Pirate, and The Sour Patch Kid. 

Sexuality: Pansexual.

Pronouns: She/her. 

Birthday: July 6th at 4:00 am. 

Height: 4'11. 

Hair Color: Dark Red. 

Eye Color: Coffee Brown.  

Place Of Birth: Auradon. 

Hobbies: Reading, singing, archery, sailing, swinging, treasure hunting, fishing, playing games, climbing, singing, and yodeling. 

Likes: History, reading, listening to music, animals, animal care, sailing, treasure hunting, fishing, playing games, pizza, climbing, singing, and yodeling. 

Dislikes: Broccoli, the color black, bullies, broccoli pizza, large crowds, clowns, public speaking, badgers, and editing history to the point where it is just false. 

Favorite musicians: Taylor Swift, Lesley Gore, and The Mighty Olympians. 

Physical Quirks/Scars: Freckles, uneven teeth, lanky frame, and pinkish skin. 

Family: Mr. Foxworth (Maternal Grandfather), Mrs. Foxworth (Maternal Grandmother), Penny Foxworth (Maternal Aunt), Jenny Foxworth (Mother), Nibs (Father), and Demurra (Older Full-Blooded Sister). 

Honorary Family: The Lost Boys, The Darlings, and Neverland Crew. 

Friends: Hannah Hook and Amira Bint Aladdin Bin Cassim Al Hamed of Agrabah. 

Pets: Taffy (Bunny), Oliver (Cat), Georgette (Poodle), Fishy (Goldfish), and Hebe (Kitten). 

Love Interest: Avisa Olympian of Atlantic (Crush),

Fuega Madrigal (Future Partner).

Optimistic or Pessimistic: Pessimistic. 

Introvert or Extrovert: Introvert. 

Occupation: Back Up Kid Wrangler, Pirate, Highschool Student, and Vet (future job). 

Extracurriculars: Choir, Archery, and Belle's Book Club. 

Favorite Animal: Cats and Bunnies. 

Favorite Color: Forest Green and Pastel Pink. 

Favorite Book: 'Meet Kit' by Valerie Tripp. 

Favorite Food: Pepperoni Pizza.

Favorite Drink: Sprite. 

Favorite Movie/TV Show: Annie and Powerpuff Girls. 

Background: Once upon a time, Nibs left Neverland in search for something more–growing up and eventually meeting and falling in love with Jenny Foxworth. 

Having a daughter named Demurra and then another named Joyce 'Joy' Penelope Foxworth. 

Joyce would go on to befriend Hannah Hook and join her crew, becoming one of her closest and most trusted companions. 

~~~~Playlist~~~~

"Choose your fighter" by Ava Max.

"You're on your own kid" by Taylor Swift. 

"Die Young" by Kesha. 

"Artemis" by Lindsey Stirling.

"Hot Mess" by Cobra Starship. 

"No Friends" by Cadmium.

"Strangers like me" by Phil Collins. 

Inspired by @thecaptainsgingersnap and @theinnerworkingsofoc.  This is @casinotrio1965 's oc in my Hananh Hook au.

[jordanaclimo]

NCAA Wisconsin Badgers Tree Christmas Ugly Sweater

Womens running shorts with NCAA Wisconsin Badgers Tree Christmas Ugly Sweater romper shorts plus size denim shorts for women pink leggings bride pajama set sexy dresses for women summer black work pants women club dresses for women party night sexy women’s leggings sexy outfit for women women’s nightgowns & sleepshirts plus size tops for women mens tshirt men’s shirts office chair summer tops for women swim cover up pants.

[yiiiiiiiikes25]

this guy got a bunch of wholesale restarts before i felt like it did what i wanted it to do; here's a deleted scene from a previous draft, in case anyone wants a little more prasanth + professor husbands. below the cut:

The point is—the mantra is—he’s almost fucking there. A grading weekend with no Quidditch or Hogsmeade, then exams, then quiet, real quiet. Draco had peered over his disdainful teacup late in November to inspect Harry after a juddery dueling club meeting, saying nothing, but declined without further discussion every Christmas invitation they could possibly skip. Harry sends away for the poncy bath salts that make Draco smell like a present and sets every fireplace he passes to roaring. He does his dumb little mindfulness exercises when his vision snows or his arms go numb. He’s safe, he’s safe. Almost fucking there, almost fucking there, almost fucking there. 

Except early Sunday morning finds them both up in the Headmaster’s formal conference room. Head of House bollocks: a trustee’s fifth-year hasn’t turned in homework since Halloween, and said trustee declared, over the objections of all the student’s professors and her Mind Healer, that there needed to be a summit of all her educators before break to ensure a smooth spring term. Neville had Floo-rung Harry and Draco’s bedroom directly from his office at half seven to disabuse them of the idea that the chest colds they weren’t yet awake enough to fake could get them out of it.

Ruthie, the fifth-year is Ruthie. Harrington. The meeting could have been a letter: everyone in the room, Ruthie included, knows Mrs. Harrington will get exactly what she wants. Harry won’t teach Ruthie in DADA ‘til next year, actually, but she’s a Gryffindor, and Draco has her in Research Methods, so here they bloody are. Harry’s stomach is audible and no one is touching the pastries. Neville’s doing an admirable Headmaster hum-and-nod for someone who’d called this woman Countess Badger von Barkers VIII an hour ago, though. 

The kid spins her wand on the rosewood at the table’s far end while her mother preaches at length about the careful cultivation of potential, and Draco, who doesn’t touch Harry at work, wafts heat through the knuckle pressed to Harry’s thigh beneath the table until Harry’s abdomen stops clenching with chill. Almost there, almost there. Draco in the bath, Draco long and wet and pink in the bath. Ruthie sleeves her wand and suppresses a sigh; Harry tries to send her some facial solidarity and gets a judgy grimace back. He knows without looking how Draco’s lips are twitching. 

“And you, Harry, we spoke only this June about Ruthie’s aspirations, didn’t we?” 

Fuck. Beside him, Draco’s hackles go up—Harry hears his subvocal Harry, is it? clear as a bell in his cottony head—but he’s already leaning forward like a lamb to slaughter. He’s fucking cold and he wants to go home. Countess Badger picks up speed. “Our lovely chat at the Solstice gala. Harry, perhaps you’re the right door to knock upon, here. I’d never presume to add unduly to your workload, and I do have a background in capacity building at other institutions I’d be thrilled to bring to bear. Can I help you and the school to develop systems and practices that ensure Heads of House sign off on all homework as it’s due, Harry, rather than continuing to allow talented students to slip through the cracks?” 

Neville Nevilles, thank foetal Jesus. “Mrs. Harrington, while Ruthie has of course demonstrated—”

“Professor Harry?”

It’s the door, it’s a high posh voice at the door. Little saviors everywhere. Prasanth Rajendran, one of his first-years, who likes to sit with Harry all through common room hours and doodle without saying a word. Freakishly beautiful penmanship. Harry’s not actually sure he’s ever heard him speak. 

The kid’s too nervous to stop interrupting. “Professor Harry, good morning everyone, you weren’t at breakfast and, and can I tell you something? The owl in Jasper’s shoebox doesn’t smell too great anymore.” 

The entire table swivels wide-eyed to Harry, except for Draco, who swivels narrow-eyed. Nope, any port in a storm, all men for themselves. He gooses his husband’s knee under the table and shoves back, excuses already on his lips. “Forgive me, all, I should—pardon, Prasanth, whose owl? Let’s talk about it in the—” Murder now from every adult, mostly Neville and Draco and Badger; flat boredom from Ruthie. Aces. “Headmaster, please do send notes along with Professor Mal—well.” Harry cuts his losses and steers Prasanth by the shoulder out to the corridor.

clerestory

3k | explicit

He’s safe, is the point, and his body will remember eventually.

pairing: harry/draco in a pile with bambi who wrote soft and goat who wrote so small in times such as these

read on ao3

[doublel27]

For the dear nonny who asked for some of the Tarlos Bodyguard AU this week for WIP Wednesday, and @lilythesilly who always thinks to tag me, I am here with a little bit of fun for you all. (Well, fun for me. You can decide if it's fun for you ;) ) ~*~*~*~

If TK had known it would be the last semi-normal day he would have for a while, he would have done things differently. He’s not sure what exactly he would change. TK just knows that he would have liked the last day of the before to include more than just a walk to get boba and head home. Maybe he wouldn’t have badgered Carlos into letting him walk the distance to his favorite tea shop. Maybe he would have woken up early, insisting they should go to the Smithsonian, knowing the earlier they went, the more likely he would have been allowed to make his way through at least half of one while the Secret Service kept the flow in whatever wing he was in light. Or they could have gone to the botanical gardens and TK could have spent time in a place meant to preserve some of the beauty of the earth for a little while longer. Or he could have brought food by the firehouse to amuse Judd and drive the Secret Service insane. Or a million other options than what was a basic part of his life.

Instead, TK walks down the street, blissfully unaware, boba in hand while Carlos scans the street in the way he always does. It’s a beautiful day and TK is glad he has it off. He’ll work the next few days and then Saturday will hit. They have shortened hours at the gym on Sunday and everyone deserves a break.

“So, what are the odds we can go out this weekend?” TK asks, the invitation for his presence at a new club had skirted across his desk and as he’s making public appearances again, there’d be some perks to it. “There’s this club—”

Carlos shifts his attention so that his head is facing TK. An eyebrow raises above his sunglasses as Carlos asks flatly, “We?”

“Yes. We.”

“Who does we entail?” Carlos tries again, only adding inflection on the word we, before going back to his actual job of scanning the street. 

TK squints at him, because Carlos is being weird. He can’t figure out why though. “Uh, me, my friends and you know, you and the rest of my friendly neighborhood detail.”

TK would joke about not being able to go anywhere without an entourage but it’s not the way he actually wants to live his life. 

Carlos hums noncommittally before saying, “I don’t know. I’ll have to check in with Agent Washington.”

TK sucks hard, pulling up three tapioca balls. He chews on them while he continues walking, considering. Security has been tight for the longest time, even if TK’s allowed outside, Carlos has been edgy since he mentioned the death threats. TK’s still a little upset to find they filter the death threats out of his mail.   

“Things are still weird? You would normally just be upset about it but say yes and grumble about paperwork. It can’t be that much paperwork.”

“Do you know how hard it is to cover you in a nightclub?” Carlos asks, almost absently. He’s looking across the street at one of the brownstones.

“You do such a good job covering me though, Agent Reyes,” TK can’t help but respond.

The comment is pushing things, just a little, and TK knows he shouldn't. Ever since Carlos admited that it's not that TK misread the signals but that Carlos refuses to do anything with the giant pink elephant that sits between them, TK does his best to not lean into it. But sometimes, when the opportunity presents itself, TK has to let a little of the feelings out rather than explode.

He might try to kiss Carlos again.

The snort and brush off TK’s expecting don’t come. Instead Carlos’s voice is harsher than TK’s ever heard it. “Get down!” Carlos tackles him to the ground and something burns TK’s arm. The taro and boba spill as the cup cracks on the pavement. Carlos is on top of TK, one hand cupping the top of TK’s head. He’s entirely enveloped by Carlos and it’s not as hot as any of the dreams TK has been having lately. Probably because this is terrifying. Two thuds reverberate in TK’s ears and Carlos seems to jolt and thud in tandem with them. TK’s brain races through all the possibilities and then his brain alights on what’s happening.

Someone tried to kill him. And Carlos…Carlos took two bullets.

[missbrunettebarbie]

Has anyone tried to sort the characters from The Winx or the Barbie Movies ?

I assume you mean the original Winx Club and I am afraid I don't remember that enough to try and sort it. Buut I did a rewatch of (the more interesting) Barbie movies and with the help of @the-phoenix-heart @starry-sky-stuff @laufire here are the Babries we’ve sorted:

1. Clara (Barbie in the Nutcracker)- Lion Snake. The movie focuses a lot on Clara's dreams and goals. Her Snake is a bit more hidden, but she has the same quiet Snake secondary energy kids that grew up in controlling/abusive households tend to develop. Plus remember when she had to save Eric she straight up lied to the guards?

2. Rapunzel (Barbie as Rapunzel)- Double Bird; the brush is such a Bird sec tool and she has that Bird primary vibe. Not to mention this shows that you can have The (Mad) Scientist sorting with artists too 

3. Odette (Barbie in Swan Lake)-Badger Lion. Her secondary is a bit burned in the begining but she gets better. Badger because of how much she cares about literally everyone, from people to mythical animals.

4. Annelisse (Barbie in the Princess and the Pauper)- Snake Bird. Her People are her mom -for whom she might have developed a bit of a Lion model- and Julian and what other secondary would collect and classify rocks for fun?

5. Erika (Barbie in the Princess and the Pauper)- Snake Lion. She ~bonds with Annelisse which is the only reason why she goes along with Julian’s plan -her only other Person is her cat xD- and I will say Lion secondary because she is clearly Improvisional and so snippy to her employer

6. Elina (Barbie: Fairytopia series) - Double Badger. "For the friends you haven’t met” is such a Badger primary say and the only thing to get Elina out of her trance in the first movie. I hesitated between Lion and Courtier Badger but the last two movies made me choose the latter.

7. Teenage Barbie (Barbie Diaries) - Lion Badger. To quote Phoenix: “ People pleaser with dreams of being popular and a news anchor is a total Lion Badger ”

8. Genevieve (Barbie in the 12 dancing princesses) -Badger Bird. She is the one that is always willing to lend a hand and who keeps her mom's traditions alive. And she always go for logical solutions (dad is sick, call the doctor), makes the plan to defeat Rowena in the end AND when Rowena attacks her she defends herself using the fan skills she learned from the duchess herself :DD. Not to mention that she seems the most capable to rule out of all the sisters so The King sorting fits her well

9. Ro (Barbie as The Island Princess)- Bird Badger. We see her caretake in the very first minutes of the movie with Tika or how she chases away the crocodiles. I chose her primary mostly by elimination, but I think it’s fitting for a girl who has an entire song with lyrics that start with “why” and wears a peacock dress. Symbolism much xDD. Not to mentionBird Badger is The Survivor and Ro sure is one.

10. Mariposa (Barbie: Mariposa) - Lion Bird She's clearly an Intuitive primary abd the way she's carving adventure and visiting far-away places made me settle on Lion. Also it might be me, but the sentence "I don't know what's worse, failing or admiting it to people who believed in me?" sounds veeery Lion primary. She loves reading books, and uses the knowledge she gathers from them to accomplish her goal which is a very Bird secondary MO.

11. Liana (Barbie and the Diamond Castle) - Double Snake. Her Snake secondary is easy to spot: she tricks Slyder with switching the mirrors, she gets her and Alex to play music at the restaurant for a meal. It's obvious Liana is a Loyalist and for the longest time I thought she was a Badger, but a Badger would not have been happy living alone just with Alexa in their small cottage. Also, her very betrayed speech to Melody after Alexa leaves her is so Snake to me xD

12. Eden Starling (Barbie in A Christmas Carol). Snake Lion. Her primary is burned at the start of the movie and yet we can still see how she is loyal to both her dead aunt and her cat. The entire movie is about her unburning and it is cathartic to watch. Lion secondary because she is abrasive at the best of times and at the end she relies on grand gestures to make ammends.

13. Thumbelina (Barbie presents: Thumbelina)- Lion Bird. She's an inventor so the Bird is obvious. Her dedication to save her home, her adventurous spirit, and her confrontational attitude with Mackena all scream Lion primary to me.

14. Corrine (Barbie in The Three Musketeers) - Double Lion. Could the girl who lifted the ban on female Musketeers be anything else but The Revolutionary? Corrine is a dauntless improviser and very stubborn. She starts as a bit of an immature Lion who wants to fight for glory and has to learn to fight for what's right.

15. Merliah (Barbie on a Mermaid Tale)- Lion Snake. Another immaure Glory Hound Lion who learns to embrace her role as princess. I considered Lion secondary, but I am pretty sure her rival/co-protagonist in the second movie-Kylie- is one. And while they are similar, Kylie is much more direct and abrasive which makes me think Merliah is a Snake who loves to live in neutral. She's certanly charming enough to be one.

16. Actress!Barbie (Barbie in a Fashion Fairytale+Fairy Secret)- Badger Snake. She's an Exterior primary that's very affected by what the world thinks. Also note that when she wants to get away she does not go to a completely unknown place like her friends suggest, but to her aunt's fashion house because that's where she feels safe. Her determination to save both the fashion house and then Ken felt almost Lion secondary at times, but I think she's a Snake: she is an actress, the interaction with the crazy director in Fashion Fairytale points to Fluid secondary and The Advisor seems to pretty much sum up her role in the first movie.

17. Blair (Barbie in Princess Charm School)- Snake Badger. Probably the Snakiest Snake primary Barbie as everything she does is for her mom and sister. She's a hard worker as proven by both her job as a waitress than by the way she has to practice to do well in the charm school.

18. Kristyn (Barbie in the Pink Shoes)- Bird Snake. The Artist probably fits this ballerina best. She's an Improviser as the whole movie proves, yet has no Lion bone in her body. Also her glee at getting to play -not just dance the part, actually be- Giselle and Odette points to Snake secondary. Bird primary becauss when she's stuck in the plays her system automatically shifts to integrate the rules of the world she is in, no matter how crazy they are.

19. Lumina (Barbie: Pearl Princess) - Bird Badger. She craves adventure and it's most likely an External primary but has no sense of community the way Badgers do. Badger secondary because of how enthusiastic she was to have a job just because she got to work.

20. Alexa (Babrie and The Secret Door)- Bird Lion. All her daydreaming and escapist fantasies made me think Bird primary. I chose burned Lion secondary because in a lot of ways, Alexa reminded me of well, me.

21. Starlight!Barbie (Barbie: Starlight Adventure)- Badger Lion. She cares about people and animals a lot and well, she is an hoverboarder and a daredevil.

ETA: 22. Annika (Barbie and The Magic of Pegasus) - Lion Snake. Her sneaking out plus her Oedypuss style deception points to Snake secondary. Her rebllious and passionate nature as well as her determination point to Lion primary.

Wow, this was not easy. But also fun :D

[hrina]

Polished

PAIRING: Harry x Reader RATING: M WORD COUNT: 15.6k REQUESTED: nope!

hi everyone 💘 this is the bodyguard AU that i’ve spent all week writing. she’s another long one (i think i have a problem lol) but i worked really hard on it and i’m super proud of how it all turned out. i really hope you like it! if you do, please feel free to leave me some feedback here. 

thank u to the people who acted as my betas for portions/the entirety of this fic: @emotionally-imbruised​, @gucciwoodnymph​, @poppunkdork​ and @atlafan​! i appreciate it so much! 

warning: this fic contains mentions of blood, minor violence, attempted assault, weaponry, and a single use of the f-slur. if any of this makes you uncomfortable, please keep scrolling.

with all of that being said, enjoy! i can’t wait to hear ur thoughts 💖

~*~

     September 18, 2020

“Cheers!”

The tequila burns its way down your throat as you toss the shot back. Your ears are ringing, the sound amplified by the music pulsing through the nightclub. Lights flash from the ceiling, bathing everything in pinks and blues and greens and purples. To your right, Sydney leans forward, smiles toothily, and yells something at the bartender. You think she might be telling him that it’s her birthday, even though that won’t be true for another month—perhaps it’s an attempt to secure an additional round of drinks. Your hips sway unconsciously as you sink your teeth into a slice of lime.

It’s a Friday night.

In the periphery of your vision, you catch the bartender nodding with a permissive smile on his face.

It’s a Friday night, and Sydney is handing you another shot of tequila.

Someone places their hand on the small of your back as they pass. A little zap of electricity races down your spine.

It’s a Friday night, Sydney is handing you another shot of tequila, and you’re drunk. You’re very, very drunk.

The pinch of salt that you lick off your hand stings the edge of your tongue. You don’t reflect on the sensation for too long, though, choosing instead to tip your shot glass back and let the alcohol run its course. The bottom of the glass thuds against the countertop when you slam it down, but the noise is lost amidst the heavy bass pouring through the club. Sydney smiles up at you as she bites into her lime, a green grin. You laugh.

“So!” your friend screams, grimacing at the sour aftertaste lingering on her lips. “Where’s Harry?”

“What?” You squint and lean in, bending down slightly so that you can hear her properly.

She rolls her eyes good-naturedly and repeats the question: “Where’s Harry?”

“Oh!” You smirk, shooting her a mischievous wink. “Managed to shake him off for the night!”

“No shit!” Sydney yells, her jaw dropping. “He let you come?”

You pucker your lips, averting your gaze. “Er…not exactly.”

In response, her eyes widen, and she just laughs. You grin when she slaps your arm gently and grabs your wrist, tugging you away from the bar and into the dancing crowd.

“Who cares?” she says loudly, throwing her hands toward the ceiling and shaking her hips. “He’s got a stick up his ass either way!”

Despite your inebriated state, part of you longs to correct her. He’s actually not that bad, you want to say, because it’s true. In public, Harry is stoic and reserved and always on high alert, but that’s because he has to be. It’s his job. You resent the fact that he intimidates your friends, and that it complicates your outings, but you don’t resent him. He’s been assigned to you for two years now, and there’s never been an incident—you wonder if it’s because he’s good at what he does, or because you don’t really need protection after all.

All this time…perhaps your mother was just overly paranoid. And perhaps she continues to be overly paranoid, even to this day.

You shake those thoughts from your mind; they’ll just give you a headache.

Another hand lands on the small of your back, but this time, the contact isn’t fleeting. Fingers pinch and tug at the material of your shirt, relentless. You’re about to whip around and demand that this badgering stranger unhand you, but then a pair of lips are right at the shell of your ear. Hot air fans down your neck—you shiver.

“Why do you insist on making my job so much harder than it has to be?”

~*~

Harry doesn’t speak a word after ushering you into the car. The whole ride back, you sit with your arms crossed, staring out the window and trying to shake off your dizziness. A deep pout is etched into your lips. Your somber expression doesn’t shift, not even when Harry pulls up to the tall metal entrance of your estate, punching in a code on the keypad and sticking his head out of the driver window to undergo a retinal scan. He settles back into his seat afterward, blinking rapidly and waiting for the front gates to creak open.

“How’d you find me?” you slur as you stumble into your bedroom. It’s the first time you’ve spoken since he dragged you out of the club.

Harry doesn’t answer as you make your way over to your bed; your room is large, rivalling the size of an overpriced studio apartment. The furniture is all carved from the finest mahogany, and a glass chandelier hangs from the ceiling. Tall, full-length windows are framed by satin curtains. On the opposite wall stands the door to your private washroom, and next to it, the entrance to your walk-in closet. It’s lavish, it’s luxurious, but it does nothing to ease the situation at hand.

“What?” you ask, plopping down onto your bed. You lift one foot up, fiddling with the strap around your ankle. “Ignoring me for the night?”

You purse your lips as you struggle to get your heels off. Your head is swimming, and a deep feeling of shame is blossoming in your chest. Groaning loudly, you smack your hands down against the duvet and squeeze your eyes shut.

Footsteps approach, but you pay them no mind. You only open your eyes once you feel a pair of rough—albeit nimble—fingers dance down your shin. Through the slight blur in your vision, you find Harry kneeling before you, his hands working deftly to unclasp the strap on each ankle and gently tug your shoes from your feet. You wiggle your toes, sighing appreciatively.

“Thank you,” you murmur, swallowing heavily.

He only grunts in response.

The two of you sit there in silence—you on your duvet and him on his haunches. He’s looking down at the ground, and you take the moment to study his features—the sharp bridge of his nose, the fluttering of his eyelashes, the twisting of his lips. His black suit fits him well, filled out in all the right places; gold cufflinks glint in the moonlight. He’s attractive, and you’re not blind. But your relationship is strictly professional, no matter how much you like to think that the two of you have grown close enough to be friends.

“Find my iPhone,” Harry mutters suddenly.

“What?”

You recoil. He looks up at you with piercing green eyes, and only then do you realise that he’s answering your initial question.

“Oh,” you say, nodding. “Well…good to know.”

His lips twitch.

You wobble into the washroom, trying your best to rub off the makeup on your face despite your inebriated state. Somewhere beneath the buzz, you know that you didn’t get all of it—and that there’ll probably be dried crusts of mascara beneath your eyes tomorrow—but you can’t bring yourself to care.

“You missed some.”

You jump, your gaze snapping upward. In the reflection of the mirror, Harry is leaning against the doorway. You groan, raking your fingers through your hair.

“Don’t worry about it,” you mumble.

Harry’s brows creep up his forehead, surprise evident on his face. “Aren’t you always telling me that it’s important to take it all off before bed?”

You roll your eyes. “I’m smarter when I’m sober.”

He snorts. “Good one.”

You frown.

He pushes off from the doorway, stepping closer to you and reaching for the pack of discarded makeup wipes. When his eyes meet yours in the mirror, he tilts his head to the side, gesturing to the toilet on your right.

“Sit.”

You pout like a child, plopping down onto the ceramic lid and waiting impatiently. Harry takes his sweet time, slowly pulling a wipe from the package and unfurling it gingerly. You’re momentarily entranced by the way the rings on his fingers sparkle in the light. But then a yawn tears past your lips, and you begin to tap your foot against the bathroom tiles, letting out an annoyed sigh.

“C’mon. I’m tired.”

He shoots you a stern look. It’s enough to shut you up.

You watch him intently as he crouches down in front of you and grabs your chin between his fingers. “Close your eyes,” he murmurs. The deep baritone of his voice sends a shiver down your spine.

His ministrations aren’t as tender as they should be—you make it a point to tell him as much.

“You’re rubbing too harshly,” you whine, squeezing your eyes shut. “Be gentler with it.”

“Quiet,” Harry huffs.

Spurred on by his irritation, you continue: “Are you always this rough? Your poor girlfriend…”

He grits his teeth.

“I don’t have a girlfriend,” he deadpans. You whimper when he drags the wipe unforgivingly over the delicate skin of your eyelids. “But if I did,” he adds, “she’d like it rough.”

Your shoulders stiffen once his words sink in. He says nothing else, choosing instead to crumple the wipe up into a ball and toss it in the garbage. You follow his movements with wide eyes, staring up at him as he stands.

“Brush your teeth,” he tells you, rubbing his fingers over his jawline. “Your breath stinks.”

And then he’s gone.

After a haphazard attempt at brushing your teeth, you shuffle back into your bedroom. Harry is still there, but he’s holding two pieces of fabric for you to take. You recognize them as the baggy t-shirt and the shorts that you usually wear to bed.

“Thank you,” you say, laying the material out on your mattress. Your lips part with another loud yawn as you unzip your skirt, letting it fall from your hips and pool around your ankles. When you cast a glance toward Harry, you find him facing away from you, his fingers laced behind his back.

Always a gentleman.

You tug on the soft, cotton shorts—the hem falls a few inches below your bottom. You reach behind your back, trying to thumb open the clasps of your shirt, but quickly grow frustrated as the seconds draw out.

“Harry,” you sigh, shaking your head.

“Yes?” He doesn’t turn around.

“Can you help me with this?”

Gingerly, he peers at you over his shoulder. Once he takes note of the fact that you’re dressed, he steps closer to you. You toss a thumb backward, gesturing to the column of buttons stacked along your spine.

Again, Harry manages the task easily. You stiffen as he parts the fabric of your shirt, your eyelids growing heavy with each new inch of skin exposed. Though he’s not standing nearly as close as you would like, you can still feel faint puffs of air floating across the nape of your neck. The room is silent; you’re afraid that he can hear your heart battering against the confines of your chest.

Do his hands linger a touch longer than necessary, or is it just your imagination?

“Thank you,” you say for what feels like the hundredth time tonight.

You pull your shirt off, leaving yourself in just a lacy black bra. Harry’s sharp intake of breath is audible, and then he’s whipping back around.

“Jesus Christ,” he mutters, shaking his head. “Give a guy a warning next time, yeah?”

“Next time?” you parrot, emboldened by the alcohol in your system. “Am I going to be stripping for you on a daily basis?”

He grunts. “That’s not what I meant, and you know it.”

You smile to yourself, unclipping your bra and shrugging on the baggy t-shirt he’d given you. “I know.” You clear your throat. “You can turn around now. I’m decent.”

Harry glances over at you as you climb into bed, pulling the covers back and nuzzling your face into your pillow. He bites his bottom lip, crossing his arms over his chest and watching as you settle in for the night. Once your shuffling has ceased, he squares his shoulders, his gaze flitting toward the door.

“Well, if that’s everything—,” he starts, taking a step back.

“Wait!” you say, shooting up into a sitting position.

He freezes, his eyes going wide. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” you reply. You shrug, picking at a loose thread on your duvet and avoiding his eyes. “Would you—I was just wondering if maybe—you could stay?”

“Stay,” Harry echoes. You nod, still refusing to look at him. He sighs, and the pet name that he seems to have reserved exclusively for you falls past his lips.

“Love…you’re drunk.”

“Exactly,” you shoot back. “I’m drunk and I just…it feels like I’m floating, and I need something to keep me grounded. And—” you groan, “I know that doesn’t make any sense, but could you please stay? Just��just until I fall asleep. Then you’re free to go, or whatever.”

Harry’s eyes are wide by the time you’re through with your little speech. His expression leaves you feeling even more embarrassed than before. You’re about to roll your eyes and grumble out a never mind, I’m being stupid, just leave, but then he’s approaching your bed cautiously, like you’re a deer that he doesn’t want to startle.

“Just until you fall asleep,” he confirms, drumming his fingers over his bicep.

You nod, expecting him to settle into the armchair a few feet away.

He doesn’t though; you watch attentively as he lowers himself down to sit at the edge of your mattress. His posture is stiff, back straight—he uncrosses his arms, but then locks his fingers together and places them securely in his lap. You hold back a laugh.

“You can relax, you know,” you say, rolling onto your side so that you can fix him with earnest eyes. “I won’t bite.” You pause. “Unless you’re into that kind of stuff.”

“I’ll leave,” Harry threatens without missing a beat.

You giggle, smothering your cheek into your pillow. “Fine, fine, I’m sorry.”

The ghost of a smile dances across his lips. Your eyes fall from his face to his lap; without thinking, you reach out, wrapping your fingers around his wrist and tugging his hands apart.

“It’s already chipping,” you say, a hint of admonishment seeping into your voice. “You should’ve let me put on the protective coat, dummy.”

“It’s fine,” Harry says, flexing his fingers in your grasp. “You’re just gonna redo them on Wednesday, anyway.”

“Still,” you murmur, thumbing over the purple varnish on his nails. You scrape your knuckles against his, letting out a quiet sigh. “What colour do you want next? Are we sticking with lavender again?”

“Nah.” He shakes his head. “Let’s try something new.”

“I went shopping yesterday with Sydney and bought mint green,” you tell him through a yawn. “What do you think of that?”

“’S nice,” he replies, though it sounds like he’s far away.

You peer up at him through your lashes, only to find that he’s staring at you intently. Under normal circumstances, you would offer up a quip about how he can’t seem to keep his eyes off of you. But you’re tired, and you’re warm, and his hand is now stroking over yours, and you don’t want to ruin the moment.

Maybe he’ll stay the night, is your last thought before you drift off to sleep.

When you awaken the next morning with a pounding headache and a dry mouth, Harry’s gone. The only proof left of the night before is a tablet of ibuprofen and a glass of clear liquid sitting on your nightstand. The ceiling wavers above you; you might still be a little drunk.

You sit up, popping the pill into your mouth and knocking it back with a large swig of water. There’s a dull ache in your chest but you ignore it, opting instead to pull the covers back up over your head.

He didn’t stay. You try not to feel too disappointed as the realisation sinks in.

     September 23, 2020

Harry is waiting for you once you get out of class.

Usually, you fall into step with him, ready with a teasing remark about how he must not have anything better to do with his time. He knows that the two of you probably look like quite the pair—you, with your bag and your coffee and your cheeky smirk, and him, resigned and rigid and expressionless. He would give anything to claw his way out of this situation, to smile along with you and laugh at your jokes and tuck your hair behind your ear. But he needs this job, and your mother loves him like a son, and he doesn’t want to do anything to screw that up.

Today, however, you leave class with a new friend. Harry’s entire body tenses when he notes just how closely the man is walking next to you. He follows the two of you from a safe distance, trying his best to be inconspicuous. You laugh at something that your companion says, and his jaw clenches—he pretends not to know why.

It feels like eons have passed before you and the man finally part ways. Harry doesn’t waste any time.

“Hey,” you say without even turning to look at him. When he glances down at you, he finds a shadowy smirk on your face.

“Hi,” he replies, clearing his throat. “Good class?”

“Mhm.” You nod.

“That’s good.”

He blows out a breath, pushing through a door and holding it open for you to follow. You thank him softly, releasing a happy sigh as the warm sunlight hits your face. Harry’s gaze is drawn to the serenity of your features, but he looks away quickly. He’s not really in the mood to endure your taunts. Not today.

“So,” he starts as the two of you amble down the sidewalk, “you made a new friend?”

“Yeah,” you say, shouldering the strap of your messenger bag. “His name is Kevin. He’s nice.”

“He’s funny, too, I’m guessing.” The slightest tinge of bitterness seeps into his words. He hopes that you won’t notice, but of course, you’re as perceptive as ever.

You glance over at him, lifting an eyebrow quizzically. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you were jealous.”

Harry keeps his eyes trained in front of him, where he can see a black car inching into view on the road ahead. Your chauffeur rolls down the window, lifting one hand in greeting. Harry waves back, his expression betraying nothing.

“It’s a good thing you know better, then, isn’t it?”

You laugh at his comeback, but the noise isn’t as cheerful as usual. If anything, it sounds a bit forced.

“Yeah,” you say. Harry opens the car door for you, and you climb into the backseat. “I guess it is.”

~*~

“Your hand is shaking.”

“It’s not my hand, it’s yours.”

“You’re smudging it.”

“Because you keep moving!”

You sigh, sitting back against the headboard of your bed and squeezing your eyes shut. You don’t need to see Harry to know that he’s fighting a smirk. The discography of your newest celebrity obsession is playing on your phone. Harry has told you multiple times that he hates this song—and that’s exactly why you have it on repeat.

“Can we please listen to something else?” he asks, shifting carefully on your bed.

You crack one eye open. “Can you stay still long enough for me to finish doing your nails?”

“Fine.”

“Fine.”

You scoot closer to him, reaching for your phone and shuffling the songs in your library. Harry exhales in relief when a new, slower melody begins to trickle from the device. You toss it away, holding out your hand and looking at him expectantly. He lifts his chin, placing his fingers onto one of your crossed legs.

The sensation of his hand on your knee shouldn’t leave you breathless, but it does. You feel like his palm is burning a hole through your sweatpants. It’s been like this for as long as you can remember—painting his nails every Wednesday night, listening to music and enjoying each other’s company. Some evenings, conversation is scarce; others, it’s like you haven’t spoken in months. It doesn’t make a difference to you—you just like knowing that he’s there.

“How’d the call with your mum go?” Harry says. He makes a move to rest his chin against his fist before realising that the action will inevitably disrupt the polish on his other hand. You notice, smiling softly at the awkward moment.

“It went well,” you hum. Harry likes the way you purse your lips in concentration. “She’d landed in Amsterdam a couple hours prior. Called me when she got to the hotel.”

“That’s good.” He blows out a breath. “How long is she staying for?”

“A few months.”

“I see.”

You peer up at him, your eyes swimming with curiosity. “Do you know why she’s there?”

He shakes his head.

“Are you lying to me?”

“Love,” he starts, frowning gently, “you know she doesn’t—I’m not—she doesn’t keep me in her circle.”

“I know,” you say, somewhat mournfully. “I just thought—maybe she would’ve told you.”

A dejected crease forms on your forehead. Harry longs to lean forward and smooth it out with his lips. He hates when you get like this, but on the other hand, he can’t blame you. Surely, it must be difficult to be kept in the dark, especially for so long. It’s been years, and you’re still not exactly sure of what your mother has gotten herself into.

And despite your frequent questions about her trips, you’re not exactly sure if you want to know.

Silence ensues, and the two of you wordlessly agree to drop the topic—at least for tonight. You finish painting the nail on Harry’s middle finger, bending down and blowing cool air on the wet varnish in hopes of speeding up the drying process.

“Careful,” he warns when your hair tumbles over your shoulder. Without thinking, he reaches out, trying his best to gather the strands in one hand so that they don’t fall onto the freshly-painted nails splayed out over your knee.

You squawk in surprise, sitting back up and circling your fingers around his wrist. “What’d you do that for?” you say, admonishment evident in your tone. “You’re gonna screw these ones up!”

“I was just—!” he tries, but you shush him, scrutinising the semi-dry polish on his other hand. After a long moment, you sigh in relief, returning it and narrowing your eyes at him.

“You’re lucky,” you tell him, snorting quietly. “I would’ve killed you.”

“Like you could take me,” he mutters under his breath.

“What was that?” You cock an eyebrow.

“Nothing.”

You smirk, peering down at the mint green covering three out of his five nails. Absentmindedly, you run your fingers over the hills of his knuckles, softly tweaking his pinky at the end of your journey.

“We’ve come a long way since the black, haven’t we?” you ask, a teasing lilt in your voice. “That was so boring.”

“It was.” Harry nods.

It’s comical, really—a big man like him, sitting cross-legged on your bed. A man covered in an intimidating black suit, hunched over and watching with wide eyes as you meticulously paint shiny varnish onto each one of his nails.

A year ago, you would have been reminding him of this at every available opportunity.

Now, though…now, you’re just enjoying the closeness of it all.

“Er,” Harry clears his throat, and you peer up at him through your lashes.

“What’s up?” you ask.

“I—,” he looks away. “I just wanted to apologise for earlier today.”

“Earlier today…,” you trail off, frowning in confusion. “What happened earlier today?”

“When I—when you—never mind.” He shakes his head.

You smile. “I’m totally fucking with you,” you tell him, snickering quietly. You shrug. “And it’s okay. I forgive you.”

Harry’s brow furrows. “You’re the worst,” he grumbles, his lips curling down into a scowl.

You laugh, reaching forward and shoving his shoulder gently. “You love it.” Your own shoulders shake as you look back down, dipping the dried nail brush into its accompanying pot of green polish.

“Plus,” you add, trying to keep your voice light. “You’ve got nothing to worry about. Unfortunately, you’re the only man in my life.”

Harry lifts one eyebrow, unimpressed. “Should I be insulted?”

You resume painting his nails, giggling at his sardonic tone. “You should be flattered.”

     October 10, 2020

You’re walking back to the car when it happens.

It’s a beautiful day—the sun is shining brightly, and there’s not a cloud in the sky. You and Harry pass by a woman walking her dog, but not before you bend down, transferring all of your shopping bags into one hand (a feat, Harry thinks) and cooing at the furry little creature.

“She’s adorable,” you tell the owner, peering up at her with shining eyes. “What’s her name?”

“Blossom,” the woman replies, smiling.

“Blossom,” you repeat, turning your gaze back to the fluffy white dog. “Oh, you’re beautiful, aren’t you? I just want to eat you up.”

The owner laughs nervously—Harry doesn’t blame her. You’re harmless, but he’s right behind you. He’s sure that he looks intimidating, lingering in a black suit with his arms crossed over his chest. He makes no move to engage with the woman or her dog, even though the little boy in him yearns to run his fingers through Blossom’s soft white fur. Instead, he stands there, waiting patiently as you bid the lady goodbye and blow one last kiss in her pet’s general direction.

The two of you continue walking; the car is only about fifty feet away.

“That was one of the cutest dogs I’ve ever seen,” you say once you’re out of earshot. You glance back over your shoulder, sighing longingly. “Do you think she’d put her up for sale if I asked?”

Despite himself, Harry smirks.

“Contrary to popular belief,” he begins, uncrossing his arms. “You can’t buy everything you see.”

“I bought you, didn’t I?”

“I’m not for sale. And even if I was, technically it would’ve been your mother who bought me.”

“Okay, well then, we bought…your services.”

“Jesus.” He shakes his head, chuckling a bit. “You make it sound like I’m a prostitute or something.”

You laugh.

Harry loves your laugh. He loves the sound, loves the tone, loves the pitch. He loves the way your features crinkle up with joy as the noise slips from your mouth. Every time he hears your giggle, his gaze is drawn to your face, like an inborn reflex.

He’s grateful for that. He sends out a prayer of thanks to whatever mighty powers that may be, because when he looks at you, he sees everything. He sees your smile, the apples of your cheeks, your full, fluttering lashes.

And he sees the shaky red dot positioned squarely between your eyes.

“Get down!”

You squawk in surprise when he tackles you to the ground.

“Harry—!” you start, but then a telltale whizz! rockets past your ear.

You scream.

Your shoulder makes contact with the cement of the sidewalk, and a flare of pain blazes up your arm. Harry’s on top of you in an instant, his hands on either side of your head and his green eyes wild with panic. You’ve never seen him look so scared.

You know what’s happening, but you can’t seem to move. Your pretty pastel shopping bags are lying around you in a heap. Some are still on your arm, digging into your wrist and cutting off circulation. Harry appears to realise this as well, because he climbs to his knees and yanks your hands free.

“Go!” he shouts, but his voice is muffled by the ringing in your ears.

The two of you stagger to your feet. You take in your surroundings, your lips parted in shock. “My—my bags…”

“Forget the bags!” he yells. He grips your biceps callously, spinning you around and shoving you in the direction of the car. “Fucking run!”

~*~

“Harry…”

“Harry.”

“Harry!”

“What?” he roars, whipping around.

You stumble backward, nearly bumping into the wall behind you. You’re standing in the front foyer of your estate, your face littered with tears and your hands perpetually shaky. Harry locks the door and then wrenches closed the curtains on the windows flanking the entrance. The abrupt action causes him to wince.

“You’re hurt,” you state, though your voice is weak. “Harry, your arm…”

“’S just a graze,” he mutters, turning on his heel and storming past you.

You follow him as he makes his way toward the tall, winding staircase in the middle of the room. The steps span every level of your house, from the top floor to the basement. Harry pauses on the first stair of the flight leading downward, his hand on the bannister and his back to you.

“Go to your room,” he orders lowly, refusing to look at you. “And stay there.”

“Go to my room?” you repeat incredulously, your eyes bulging out of your head. “Who the fuck do you think you are?”

Harry doesn’t reply; instead, he blocks you out, descending the stairs into the basement without another word. You let out an angry yell, furiously fisting the material of your cashmere sweater. A few long moments elapse before you grit your teeth, and then your feet are smacking heatedly against each step as you rush after him.

You’re quiet once you reach the bottom of the flight, looking both ways for any clue as to where he could’ve gone. You purse your lips when you see him turn the corner, his left hand clutching his right bicep and a deep scowl etched into his face. Silently, you follow.

He ducks into a room at the end of the hall, pushing the door closed. However, it doesn’t click into place, leaving a small crack for you to peek through once you reach the threshold. You place one hand over your mouth to stifle your breathing, watching with wide eyes as Harry yanks his suit jacket from his torso.

His white button up is crisp and pristine—save for the right sleeve, which is soaked through with blood. You nearly gag.

Harry stalks through another doorway—a quick glimpse inside reveals it to be a bathroom. You push open your door ever-so-slightly, taking in the scene in front of you.

His bedroom. Of course.

You’ve never actually been inside his room. You’ve always known he lived somewhere in the house—a safe haven to frequent after midnight—but you’d never been bold enough to seek it out. You’re surprised to find that his room is quite similar to yours. It’s smaller in size, but the layout is the same (excluding your full-length windows and luxurious chandelier). The walls are painted a deep shade of burgundy, and the bed is made up of black satin sheets. He also has a walk-in closet and an adjoining washroom, just like you.

Bolstered by your discovery, you slip inside, nudging the door closed. Something on his dresser glints, catching your eye—you turn toward it.

It’s a picture frame. Upon closer inspection, you notice that it bears a photo of Harry. He’s young, but not that much younger than you are, now—maybe nineteen or twenty. He’s got his arms wrapped around two women, holding them against his sides; one is older, her face slightly weathered with age, whereas the other is youthful and alert, sporting bright eyes and smooth cheeks.

With a jolt, you realise that Harry and both of these women all look eerily similar—and that they all share the same smile.

The sound of running water jerks you out of your daze. Your head snaps up in the direction of the washroom; the door has been left ajar.

Harry is standing in front of the sink, soaking a washcloth underneath the faucet. His hair is dishevelled, and his button-up has been ripped open, exposing his chest and abdomen. A silver pendant—a dog tag—hangs from his neck. You’re shocked to discover all of the tattoos littering his skin—you’ve only ever been privy to the cross inked into the dip of his thumb.

Your eyes trail up his body, landing once again on the bloody sleeve covering his arm. The sight of it is enough, giving you the courage you need to speak up.

“Just a graze, huh?”

Harry’s eyes flicker up to meet yours in the mirror. A small part of you is upset that you didn’t manage to catch him by surprise. Are you really that predictable?

“Thought I told you to go to your room.”

You place your hands on your hips, scowling deeply. “And I thought you were twenty-six, not fifty. Who are you, my father?”

“No,” Harry says, and you hate the coolness with which he addresses you. He wraps the wet washcloth around his fingers, squeezing excess water from the fabric. “But I am your bodyguard.”

“You’re also hurt,” you retaliate, taking a step toward him.

Harry moves to the side, trying to put some distance between your bodies, but you’re not deterred. You back him up until his leg knocks against the edge of the bathtub, lifting one eyebrow challengingly because he has nowhere to go. His nostrils flare in irritation—you don’t think he’s ready to give up.

“You have two options,” you tell him, set on holding your ground. “You can either stop being such a proud prick and let me help you, or we can stay like this, and you can bleed out onto the bathroom floor.”

A long stretch of silence ensues. Harry stares at you with hard eyes, but you refuse to let your foundation crumble. Just when you think he’s going to force his way out of the situation, he sighs in defeat, his shoulders slumping dejectedly. You hold out your hand, and he dumps the washcloth into your waiting palm.

“Come here,” you say, backing up.

You hop onto the counter, spreading your legs and beckoning him closer.

He hesitates. You roll your eyes.

“Get over yourself,” you snap, shaking your head. “You’re not that dreamy.”

It’s unmistakably a lie, and you both know it, but neither of you say anything. Harry settles into the gap between your knees, keeping his arms securely at his sides. You peer up at him nervously, setting the washcloth down onto the counter and reaching forward to lightly grasp the collar of his shirt.

“This might hurt a bit,” you whisper, tugging the material away from his shoulders. He hisses when the fabric passes over his wound, scraping unpleasantly against the raw skin. You purse your lips, murmuring gentle apologies.

His left arm is covered in tattoos. You want to stop what you’re doing, trail your fingers over each design, and marvel at every little detail. But you can’t—you have bigger things to worry about at the moment, and not even your priorities are that screwed up.

Harry swears under his breath when you press the washcloth to his bicep. The material is warm and wet, and you use it to soak up the blood that’s been smeared down to his elbow. Once you’ve cleaned the area around his wound, you lean in to get a better look at what you’re dealing with.

The skin is pink and irritated, and there’s a deep groove running across the width of his arm. He’s lucky—he’s so, so lucky—but even as you stare, blood begins to pool all over again. You quickly press the washcloth back against the laceration.

“Fuck!” he chokes, reaching out and gripping the edge of the counter with white knuckles. “A little warning would’ve been nice.”

“Sorry.” You shift, trying to catch his eyes. “Do you have any disinfectant? And bandages?”

He nods, bending down and pulling open one of the cupboards below the sink.

“Let me—,” you start, but he cuts you off quickly.

“Still got one good arm, don’t I?” he grumbles.

You chew on the inside of your cheek, unsure of how to reply.

The disinfectant stings like a bitch—you tell him as much before spritzing it onto his wound. He lets loose a string of colourful curse words, and despite the tension hanging in the air, you smile. The bandages are next; you rip off a long strip, winding it around his bicep and tying it into a tight knot at the end.

“You need to keep pressure on it,” you murmur, though you don’t know who you’re addressing. “That should stop the bleeding, eventually.”

“Eventually,” he echoes. You stare fixedly at his collarbones and nod.

A beat of silence passes between you.

“I’m sorry,” you finally mumble, looking down at your lap.

He grunts. “For what?”

“For this,” you say, shaking your head and gesturing between your bodies. “You—you got shot, Harry.”

“Graze,” he reminds you, but the correction only makes you feel worse.

“It doesn’t matter!” you say, looking up at him earnestly. “You could’ve died.”

“But I didn’t,” he says. He’s staring at the mirror behind your head, refusing to meet your gaze. “And if it weren’t for me, you would have died.”

“That’s exactly my point!” you cry. You wrap your fingers around his forearm, hoping that the contact is enough to make him understand. “Who says my life is more valuable than yours? Some stupid fucking paycheque? Or—?”

Harry cuts you off before you can say anything else, squishing your cheeks together with his left hand. You make a surprised sound in the back of your throat, your brows knitting together at the suddenness of the action. You’re sure that you must look extremely unappealing, with a puckered mouth and inquisitive eyes, but he just gazes at you solemnly, licking his lips before speaking.

“I would take a bullet for you, no questions asked.” He stresses every syllable, like he doesn’t want to risk any potential misinterpretation of his words. “And not just because it’s my job.”

For the first time since he’s known you, he witnesses you speechless. Your squished lips part, but no words come out. Harry sighs, releasing your cheeks and stepping back from in between your legs. You watch as he approaches the bathroom door, pulling it wide open and making his request clear.

“You should get some rest,” he mutters, and once again, he refuses to meet your eyes. “It’s been a long day.”

     October 12, 2020

Harry pokes his head through your bedroom door just as you end the call with your mother. You groan, tossing your phone onto your mattress and flinging yourself into the mountain of pillows piled against the headboard. When you catch sight of him in the periphery of your vision, you greet him with a glare.

“You told her?”

He shrugs, stepping into your room and clasping his hands behind his back. “It’s my job.”

“No,” you say, mildly annoyed. “Your job is to make sure that I don’t get killed. Not to go running to my mother at the first sign of danger.”

Harry bristles. “She’s my boss. And you’re her daughter—she deserves to know.”

You groan, shutting your laptop and rolling over onto your stomach. Your sheets are soft; you wish that you could sink into the fabrics and let them swallow you up until you wink out of existence.

“What did she say?” Harry asks, snapping you out of your reverie.

“She wanted to come home,” you mumble, shaking your head. “I told her to stay where she was.”

“Why?”

“Because I’m fine!” you tell him, exasperation leaking into your words. “And I know that I’ll never hear the end of it if she has to cut her trip short because of me. God forbid she act like a parent for once in her life.”

“She’s trying her best.”

You laugh hollowly, turning onto your back and staring up at the ceiling. “That’s a lie, and we both know it.”

Harry doesn’t respond.

You peer over at him with raised brows, like you’re truly noticing his presence for the first time. “I’m surprised you’re still on duty. Does she not care about the fact that you’re injured?”

Again, he doesn’t respond. His silence, however, reveals everything.

“You didn’t tell her, did you?”

“I didn’t think it was relevant.”

“Bullshit,” you bark out, pushing yourself up into a sitting position. “So, what?” you ask, your lips curling down into a scowl. “You get to decide what’s ‘relevant’?”

“I’m here to protect you,” Harry states firmly, fixing you with stern eyes. “And I can’t do that from the sidelines.”

You scoff but say nothing else. A hush washes over the two of you, hanging heavy in the air. You pick at a loose thread on your duvet, your brows tucked tightly together.

Harry is the first one to break.

“Have you told your friends?”

You shake your head.

“Why not?”

“They don’t need to know.” You shrug. “Sydney’s rented out a booth for her birthday on Saturday, so I’m just going to go and pretend like nothing ever—”

“Hold on,” he cuts you off, wrinkles creasing into the skin of his forehead. “You—you’re joking, right?”

“Why would I joke about Sydney’s birthday?”

“No, I mean—,” he grunts, pinching the bridge of his nose with two fingers. You stare at him, utterly bewildered. He stands up to his full height, and the exasperation warping his features fades; apathy takes its place. “I’m sorry, but you’re not going.”

“What?” you shriek. Your unbothered appearance quickly disintegrates into a heated grimace. “What do you mean, I’m not going?”

“You’re not going,” he repeats, and you hate the calm—almost tranquil—expression on his face. “That’s final.”

“Okay,” you start, scrambling to your feet and holding up your hands. “Let’s pause for a second, yeah? I know we fuck around and laugh about my daddy issues sometimes, but…you do know that you’re not actually my father, right?”

“This isn’t about your daddy issues,” Harry declares, though his tone is void of any and all emotion. “It’s about your safety.”

“And what about my sanity?” you fire back. You tug the sleeves of your crewneck over your clenched fists, desperately searching for something to keep you from falling apart. “Are you saying that I’m basically trapped in my own goddamn house?”

“You’re being dramatic.” The mask that he’s wearing seems to have been carved from stone.

“Well, you’re being a dick.”

“I can live with that.”

“Harry!” You stomp your foot—like a fucking child—as your eyes dampen with tears. Your initial sense of shock washes away, replaced by a helplessness that you haven’t felt in a long time.

The next question that leaves your lips is pathetically frail.

“Why are you doing this?”

He finally meets your gaze, and for the first time since he’d walked in, it feels like he’s looking at you rather than through you. His back straightens, shoulders squaring like he’s preparing for divine combat. You approach him carefully, a stray tear streaking down your face. Before you can wipe it away on the material of your sleeve, Harry is reaching out with his uninjured arm, cupping your cheek and catching the droplet with his thumb.

“Less than forty-eight hours ago, an attempt was made on your life,” he murmurs, staring at you with earnest green eyes. “And you’re already so willing to risk it again?”

You sniffle, lifting your chin in defiance and batting his hand away. Harry’s expression falls, and his gaze grows cold once more. You wrap your arms around your torso, glaring at him angrily. Your subsequent command drips with venom.

“Get out.”

He doesn’t put up a fight.

     October 14, 2020

It’s nearly one in the morning when someone knocks on your bedroom door. At first, you don’t hear it, too preoccupied with the song pouring from your headphones into your ears. But then it’s there again, a bit firmer this time, and you pause your music, calling out a gentle, “Come in!”

You don’t know who you’re expecting to see. Maybe it’s one of the housekeepers, doing some late-night laundry and bringing you fresh towels for the next day. Maybe your personal chef has been baking cookies again—a common coping mechanism for when she can’t sleep. Your mouth waters at the thought.

All of your hopes are dashed, however, when the door creaks open.

The first thing you notice is that Harry’s not wearing his usual attire. You don’t know why you’re surprised—it’s past midnight, and he’s technically off-duty. It’s still shocking, though, seeing him sporting a plain t-shirt and a pair of black sweatpants instead of the crisp, dark suit to which you’ve grown so accustomed. Your eyes drop to his hands—at least he’s still wearing his rings.

“Hi,” Harry utters lowly.

You turn back to your laptop, not saying a word.

He sighs, dragging a palm down the side of his face. Fresh bandages peek out from beneath the sleeve of his t-shirt. For some reason, the sight startles you, and you remember that this is the man who had quite literally taken a bullet for you.

You suppose that it’s time to remove your head from your ass.

You shut your computer, pushing it to the side before tossing your legs over the edge of the bed. Harry watches you cautiously as you approach him, still as a statue. Swallowing heavily, you reach out, pushing the sleeve of his shirt up and brushing your fingers over his wounded bicep.

“How is it?” you ask, your voice no higher than a whisper.

He relents, shoulders deflating as he exhales. “’S better. Still sore, but it’s healing.”

“Can I see?”

He nods.

You’re surprised at how easily he lets you take the lead. You push the door closed with one hand, lifting your chin in the direction of your bed. He obeys your silent request and pads over to your mattress, easing down onto the duvet with his sock-clad feet still flat against the floor. You join him a moment later, settling in on his right side and crossing your legs to get comfortable.

His arms are limp, but his posture is straight. He stares at the door as you tug on the knot of his bandages, watching as they loosen around his bicep. Slowly, you unwind the gauze, subconsciously holding in a breath and awaiting what lies beneath.

The graze has started to heal. The skin around it is a lighter shade of pink, and the wound itself has begun to mend. You’re relieved to see that there’s no blood dotting his skin. Out of the corner of your eye, Harry’s throat bobs with a heavy swallow.

“It looks good,” you murmur, unsure of whether you’re talking to him or to yourself.

He just nods again, remaining motionless as you wrap the gauze back around his arm. You redo the knot at the end, and then you have to physically restrain yourself from leaning forward and smoothing your lips over the concealed wound.

Instead, your hands fall to his wrist. Harry stiffens, but then relaxes when you lift his fingers up to your face. Your brows furrow as you study the chipped green varnish on his nails. He’s been choosing the same colour for weeks, now—you’re glad that he seems to like it.

“Do you want me to?” you ask softly, peering up at him through your lashes. You’ve never been in his company so late at night (whilst sober, at least) but you suppose that there’s a first time for everything.

“Yeah,” Harry mutters, fidgeting with the material of his sweatpants. “Please.”

You shoot him the tiniest smile imaginable, and then you stand, making your way into the washroom to retrieve the worn, well-loved nail kit hidden under the sink.

~*~

“Do you want to keep the green?”

He shakes his head. “No, let’s try something else.”

“Okay.” You nod, dumping the contents of the bag onto your mattress. Little, colourful glass bottles clink together as they roll out onto your duvet. You look up at Harry with a raised eyebrow, gesturing luridly to the selection laid out in front of him. “Take your pick.”

His gaze sweeps over each shade before he shrugs—you don’t miss the slight wince of pain that passes over his lips. “I can’t decide,” he says simply, and when he looks back up at you, he’s almost shy. “You choose.”

“You’re giving me a lot of power, you know,” you say wryly. A soft chuckle slips from his mouth. After a brief moment of deliberation, you settle on pastel yellow, holding up the bottle so that he can see it clearly. “This might be pretty.”

“Pretty,” he echoes, staring straight into your eyes. His gaze knocks the air from your lungs and leaves you wondering if he’s talking about the colour, or about…something else.

You give the tiny bottle a good shake, catching sight of your phone laying off to the side. Without thinking, you snatch it up from the duvet, unlocking it and tapping onto your music app.

You hand the device over to Harry. When he shoots you a confused look, you just say, “If I’m picking the shade, you can pick the songs. Seems fair to me.”

He smiles.

You screw open the cap of the nail polish, studying the consistency of the liquid inside. “I might need to apply two coats to make it opaque enough,” you mumble, mostly to yourself.

Harry just hums in agreement as he scrolls through your music library.

He eventually seems to settle on a decision, because just then, a soft, monotone note wafts out from your phone’s speaker. You recognize the tune right away.

“Girl Crush?” you ask, the corners of your lips kinking up into a nostalgic smile. “I would’ve never guessed.”

He returns your tender expression, tilting his head to the side sheepishly. “It’s a nice song.”

“It is,” you concur. A sharp spark passes between your fingers when you reach for his hand, but neither of you comment on it. “Okay,” you say, shooting him a faux-menacing look. “Don’t move.”

The two of you sit in silence for the next ten minutes. You’re meticulous as you paint the varnish onto each one of Harry’s nails, your tongue caught between your teeth and your brow furrowed in concentration. You can feel him staring at you—he’s practically burning a hole through your head—but you say nothing, mostly because a small part of you is enjoying the attention.

“What were you doing before I showed up?” Harry asks quietly, breaking the silence.

“Working on a presentation for my seminar class,” you hum, dipping the nail brush back into its bottle. “It’s due Friday.”

“Are you nearly finished with it?”

You shake your head. “Not even close.”

“Love,” he starts, and you think you hear a hint of admonishment creeping into his tone. “Why’re you wasting your time giving me a bloody manicure?”

“Don’t worry about it.” You wave away his qualms with an absentminded flick of your hand. “I’ll get it done; I promise.” You pause for a moment, puckering your lips before you add, “Plus, I like doing your nails. It’s therapeutic.”

“Therapeutic,” he repeats. It’s obvious that he doesn’t believe you.

“Yeah,” you nod, blowing cool air over his fingers. “It’s nice—this. Us.”

He doesn’t reply.

You start on his other hand, careful with your ministrations. The memory of his closing wound is still fresh in your mind, and you don’t want to risk any sudden movements that might open it back up. You work noiselessly for the next few minutes.

“It’s weird seeing you dressed like this,” you murmur suddenly. The words slip out before you have the time to register them.

Harry chuckles faintly. “I’m usually on-duty, aren’t I?” When you nod, he continues: “Plus, we’ve never done this so late at night.”

“We can,” you say, perhaps a little too quickly. Your ears grow hot with embarrassment, and you’re suddenly extremely grateful for the fact that you have an excuse to not look at him. You stare hard at the rings on his fingers, swallowing heavily. “I mean…if you want. I’m sure it’s more comfortable sitting in sweatpants instead of slacks.”

“Don’t you have an early class on Thursdays, though?” Harry cocks an eyebrow, his question ripe with subtle mockery.

You chew on your bottom lip and refrain from telling him that you’ll happily show up to class with bags under your eyes if it means spending more of your time like this—with him. “Oh. Right.”

He laughs softly, and silence falls over the two of you once more. Just when you think that your conversation has tapered off for the night, he addresses the elephant in the room that you’ve both been trying your hardest to ignore.

“I’m sorry about the other day.”

You freeze, nearly smearing a glob of yellow onto the cuticle of his pinky. When you offer up nothing in response, Harry persists.

“I’m sorry I made you cry,” he mutters, lowering his head in shame. “I hated seeing you like that.”

You look up at him with wide, shining eyes. You’ve never witnessed him so full of remorse—the sight makes your heart ache.

“It’s okay,” you tell him, discarding the nail brush back into the pot of bright varnish. “I—you were probably right, anyway. It’s too dangerous.”

“No.” He purses his lips. “I think I was just being selfish. I was…trying to protect my ego.”

“What do you mean?” you ask softly.

His fingers flex when you stroke over the rough skin of his knuckles. He sighs.

“It’s my job to keep you safe,” he says. The words are slightly strained. “And I nearly failed.”

“But you didn’t,” you say, leaning forward.

“But I almost did!” he counters. You recoil, stunned by the emotion in his voice. He clears his throat and covers your hands with his. You can’t even be bothered to worry about the fact that his nails might ruin.

“When you told me that you were going out again, and so soon…,” Harry trails off, shaking his head. “I panicked, and I tried to take control. I’m sorry.”

You squeeze his wrists comfortingly and nod. “It’s alright,” you say thickly. “I forgive you.”

He blows out a relieved sigh, straightening up and blinking rapidly. Just like that, all evidence of his personal sentiments is gone. He can turn his feelings on and off so quickly—you suppose that it’s necessary in his line of work. Still, though…you don’t know whether to be annoyed or impressed.

“You should go to Sydney’s birthday,” he states matter-of-factly.

A small smile forms on your face. “I—are you serious?”

“Yeah.” He bobs his head in approval. “But I’m coming, too, obviously. Need to make sure you stay out of trouble.”

Your modest smile grows into a bright grin. Somewhere beneath your vibrant excitement, you realise that both of your hands are still tucked tightly between his.

“Escorted to a party by my hot, British bodyguard,” you tease. “I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

     October 17, 2020

The club is packed. You can barely move, squished between perspiring bodies and gyrating hips. You can’t even see the bar because of how many people are crowding the counter, waiting to order their drinks. It’s dark, and hot, and the air smells of sweat and desire—typical.

Under normal circumstances, you would’ve never come out on a Saturday night. The pros simply do not outweigh the cons.

Thankfully, though, these aren’t normal circumstances.

The booth that Sydney has rented is a beacon of hope, a little island of peace in the surrounding sea of chaos. You’re right next to the birthday girl, laughing at how captivated she is by the song booming through the building. She wraps one arm around you, tilting her head up and accepting another swig of vodka straight from the bottle.

The rest of your friends are scattered. Some are with you, lounging in the booth and drunkenly screaming lyrics up at the ceiling. Others are out on the dance floor, blending into the crowd and twirling around without a care in the world.

Sydney is plastered; you’re not too far behind.

A quick glimpse at your phone tells you that it’s a few minutes past one in the morning. It also makes you realise just how badly you need to pee.

There’s a man standing near the bar—he’s been eyeing you unsubtly all night. From what you can tell, he’s cute. A baby blue button-up hugs his shoulders nicely, and his blonde, shaggy hair is swept sideways on his forehead. He’s tall and handsome, and you don’t think you’d mind kissing him. As you inch your way toward the edge of the booth, a large part of you wonders why you haven’t already made a move.

You trip over your own two feet as you stand, and you’re sure that you would have broken your fall with your face if it weren’t for the strong pair of arms that catch you mid-tumble.

And oh. It comes rushing back to you, wrapped up in stark clarity.

That’s why.

Harry’s pained grunt reverberates lowly in your ear. With a loud gasp, you realise that your fingers are digging loosely into his injured bicep.

“I’m so sorry!” you yell over the music as he helps you back onto your feet. “Are you okay?”

He just nods, shaking off his discomfort and clenching his jaw.

He hasn’t moved from the edge of the booth all night. He’s been standing there for hours, untouched by the turbulent current of drunk socialites. You suppose that it’s because he appears to be just another member of security, watching the crowd and ensuring that everyone is staying safe.

“Where are you going?” Harry shouts. His question is barely audible, swept away by the basslines vibrating through your body.

“Bathroom!” you yell back.

“Do you want me to come with you?”

A laugh bubbles up in your throat. You pat his shoulder gently and shake your head. “I think I’m perfectly capable of taking a piss by myself! Thank you, though!”

He frowns, looking like he wants to argue. When he sees the expectant, mocking expression on your face, however, he clamps his mouth shut.

You shoot him an appreciative smile, tossing your thumb over your shoulder and barking out a quick promise of, “I’ll be right back!”

You’re pleased to discover that the washrooms of the club are split up into private cubicles rather than simply aggregated in one big space. The walls of the corridor are lined with doors and littered with a few drunken stragglers. You pass a man and a woman who are locked in a blazing kiss, and a hot pang of longing claws its way down your sternum, settling uncomfortably in the pit of your stomach.

The last cubicle on your right is vacant. Breathing out a quick prayer of thanks, you duck inside. There’s an empty shot glass standing on the edge of the sink, but other than that, the room is in good condition. You tug your underwear down as you position yourself above the toilet, clutching the hem of your dress close to your chest and doing what you came to do.

Two minutes and one flush later, you’re screwing open the faucet, sighing happily as cool water runs over your wrists. To your right, a dispenser containing lavender-scented soap is nailed into the wall. You wash your hands quickly before wringing them out and wiping the excess wetness against your thighs.

When you open the washroom door, you freeze in your tracks. A man—that same man who’s been making eyes at you all night—is standing in the threshold.

He’s even taller in person. And now that you’re closer to him (and shrouded in better lighting) you can see that his hair isn’t blonde like you’d originally thought, but light brown. His eyes are a stark shade of cobalt blue, attentive enough to indicate that he might be one of the only sober people in the entire building.

“Hi.” His voice is as smooth as velvet.

“Hi,” you reply, offering up a small, wary smile. He’s cute, but who the fuck tries to pick a woman up as she exits the bathroom?

“My name’s Lukas,” he says, holding out his hand. You take it gingerly, quietly introducing yourself in return. He smiles at the mention of your name. “Nice to meet you.”

“You too.” You stand on your tiptoes, peering over his shoulder and chewing on your bottom lip. “Sorry, my friends are waiting—”

“That’s a pretty dress,”  Lukas tells you, placing his hands on either side of the doorway. Somewhere beneath the buzz of alcohol in your system, you’re aware that he’s successfully blocked your only way out. He takes a step toward you, and you match it with a step back, nearly tripping over a shallow crack in one of the tiles on the floor.

“Thanks,” you say, your lips curling into a dim scowl, “but I really should be going.”

“Or we could hang out in here,” he suggests, shrugging innocently (in the back of your mind, you know that his thoughts must be the furthest thing from innocent.) “Just the two of us.”

“No, thanks.” You shake your head vehemently. Your palm finds a place on the wall, and you use the leverage to keep yourself steady. Your eyes rake down his body as he inches toward you, searching for any potential weak points.

Elbow to the nose? Knee to the groin?

Just then, a gruff utterance of your name is heard from out in the hall. You nearly sob in relief.

“Harry!”

Less than a moment later, a large, sweaty hand slaps down over your mouth. You squeal, frightened tears rushing to your eyes as Lukas heaves you up against the wall. He digs his fingers into the column of your throat, keeping you pinned with one hand while the other reaches for the door, aiming to slam it shut.

Before it can close all the way, a strong, ringed hand appears out of nowhere, shoving the barrier back open. Hinges creak as the doorknob crashes into the side of the wall, nearly putting a hole through the plaster.

Harry’s nostrils flare as he absorbs the scene laid out in front of him. Only a second passes before he’s stalking inside the cubicle, his mossy eyes alight with one palpable emotion: rage.

“Get the fuck off of her!” he bellows.

His palms make contact with Lukas’ shoulders, and he uses the brunt of his weight to shove him away from you. The other man goes tumbling into the opposite wall, almost stumbling over the porcelain bowl of the toilet.

“The fuck is your problem?” Lukas snaps, rubbing the back of his head as he regains his bearings.

Harry pulls you out of harm’s way, putting himself between you and your aggressor. You watch the scene unfold from behind him, anxiously fumbling with the hem of your dress.

“Don’t—,” Harry points at Lukas threateningly. His voice has returned to its normal, low octave, but you can still hear the fury simmering beneath his words, “—ever fucking touch her again.”

Lukas pushes himself off of the wall, cracking his knuckles and angling his head to the side. His blue irises glimmer maliciously as he looks over at you.

“Is this your boyfriend, sweetheart?” he asks. The words are nothing but a wicked taunt. He sizes Harry up, assessing his figure.

You watch his eyes widen when they land on the pale yellow polish decorating your bodyguard’s nails, and then—much to your horrified surprise—he laughs.

“Oh, my mistake.” He shakes his head, a spiteful smile splitting across his face. “He’s just a fuckin’ faggot.”

Harry doesn’t react to the insult—but you do. Before you can even register your actions, you’re slipping out from behind him, lifting your arm high into the air and delivering a sharp, backhanded blow to Lukas’ right cheek.

Your knuckles sting at the contact, but the pain is overshadowed by the smug sense of vindication that settles in your chest. Anger warps your features, turning you into someone unrecognizable.

“How dare—?”

The rest of your sentence dissolves into an alarmed shriek when Lukas seizes your wrist. He snarls.

“Know your place, bitch!”

You brace yourself for his retaliation, but the strike never comes. In the blink of an eye, Harry has Lukas’ arm pinned behind his back. Blue eyes well up with agony, and a pained shout slips from his lips. You recoil, startled by the sudden shift of power.

Harry leans down, his mouth just above Lukas’ ear. He glances up at you briefly before looking back down at the cowering man before him. In that moment, your gazes meet for only a millisecond, but the contact somehow puts you at ease.

“Apologise to the lady,” Harry mutters, pulling Lukas’ arm even tighter across his back. “Or I break it.”

Lukas whimpers, glaring up at you with angry eyes.

“I’m sorry,” he spits out, though there’s no sincerity behind the phrase.

Wordlessly, you lift your chin, spinning on your heel and making your way toward the door. Behind you, a surprised yelp slices through the air, followed quickly by a violent thud. When you peer back over your shoulder, Harry is brushing his palms off on the lapels of his suit, and Lukas is kneeling over the toilet, his chest heaving.

“Harry,” you say, calling him over. You hope that neither of the men can hear the slight quiver in your voice.

Harry approaches you, and you reach out for him. He offers you his uninjured arm; you link your elbow through the gap between his bicep and his torso.

You expect it to end there, but then Lukas mutters something unfamiliar under his breath. The words are nearly indiscernible, but you know for a fact that they’re definitely not English. Harry must hear them too, because he freezes in his tracks.

“Harry,” you say, tugging gently at his sleeve. “Harry, what’s wrong?”

“Say goodbye to your friends,” he replies bluntly, dodging your question. “We’re leaving. Right now.”

~*~

The journey back home is painfully quiet.

Harry says nothing until the car drags through the metal gates of your property and peels up the roundabout leading to your front door. Once your chauffeur cuts the engine, Harry turns to him, shaking his hand firmly and thanking him for the ride. You bid the man goodnight, catching his kind smile in the rear-view mirror.

He seems nice. You should probably learn his name.

But that can wait.

The effects of the alcohol in your system seem to have worn off. You attribute your sobriety to the fact that you were cornered and nearly attacked in a public bathroom not too long ago. You’re still a bit wobbly on your feet—not to mention the loud, persistent ringing in your ears—but your mind is clear. That’s all that matters.

Harry leads you inside, cupping his palm beneath your bent elbow and keeping you steady. Part of you longs for him to slide his hand closer and trail his fingers down your back until they’re tickling the base of your spine. But that would be unprofessional, you remind yourself, so you keep your mouth shut.

Walking into your room fails to bring you the familiar sense of comfort that it usually does. You swallow heavily, kicking off your heels (these ones aren’t embellished with any straps or buckles, thank God) and making your way over to your bed. As you approach your mattress, your fingers find their way to your back, grasping for the zipper of your dress that’s settled just above your shoulder blades.

You grit your teeth in frustration, stopping suddenly and casting a glance behind you. Harry is waiting at your door, standing rigidly with his hands clasped tightly in front of him.

“Can you…?” Your question is hushed and incomplete, and you don’t wait for his reaction before turning back around. The sound of his low footsteps reaches your ears; your skin prickles in anticipation.

His fingers are gentle as they tug your zipper down. He’s close—closer than usual. You can feel his warm, laboured breaths puffing out against the nape of your neck.

Harry pauses when he drags the zipper past the middle of your back, exposing the clasp of your bra. His hands abandon your body, leaving you confused. Before you can question him, however, he’s fiddling with the little hooks on the undergarment. A moment later, the cups holding your cleavage in place loosen and slip lower on your chest. A soft, dazed gasp tumbles from your lips.

Harry then resumes his previous actions, unzipping your dress the rest of the way and stepping back once he’s finished. You face him, clutching the sagging fabric against your sternum to keep it from sliding down your torso.

“Thank you,” you murmur. Suddenly, the floor is a lot more interesting than the man standing before you.

Harry just grunts in response.

You hesitate, sinking your teeth into your bottom lip. There’s a palpable tension hanging in the air; you feel like it might suffocate you if you don’t voice the question dancing on the tip of your tongue.

“What was it?” you ask quietly, refusing to take your eyes off of the ground. “In the washroom, before we left—what did he say? It wasn’t English—”

“French,” Harry cuts in. You pause, clamping your mouth shut and waiting for him to continue, but he doesn’t add anything else.

“What did he say?” you repeat. Beneath the loose, shapeless material of your dress, your heart is beating a mile a minute.

“Nothing,” Harry utters after a long moment of silence. “At least, nothing that you need to worry abo—”

“You’re lying,” you seethe, and the abrupt wave of irritation that washes over you is enough to make your head snap up. Your gaze burns into his face, lips curled down into a vivid scowl.

“Harry—,” you say, reaching out with one hand and shoving helplessly at his chest. He doesn’t budge, of course—the realisation only makes you angrier. “Stop lying to me.”

He clenches his jaw, and strong, slender fingers circle around your wrist before you can pull away. You squawk in surprise, your brows knitting together at the suddenness of the contact. Harry’s green eyes blaze with an emotion that you can’t quite recognize, but even then, it still leaves you utterly breathless.

You watch, stupefied, as he slides his palm beneath yours, lifting your hand to his lips and pressing a soft, barely-there kiss to the hills of your knuckles. Your jaw slackens, but—for the first time in your life—you have no witty comeback, no sharp retort.

“Une putain gâtée, tout comme sa mère.”

The words are a low murmur. His mouth brushes against your skin as he speaks. You’re enthralled by his French accent, but the sour expression on his face tells you that he must’ve just said something rotten.

“A spoiled whore,” Harry translates—he looks almost ashamed, “just like her mother.”

Your hand slips from his grasp.

     October 18, 2020

You’ve been in your room all day.

Harry hasn’t moved from his station outside, standing in front of your door with his arms folded over his chest. It’s been hours, and he hasn’t heard a peep from you. As much as he hates to admit it, he’s bored. You’re usually right next to him, talking his ear off and being your bossy, teasing self. He misses all of your little quips, not to mention the devilish smiles that you give him when you take a shot at pushing his buttons.

Now though, the silence is getting to him. He considers pulling his phone out and indulging in a trivial little game to pass the time, but then ultimately decides against it. The sun has fallen from the sky, and the moon has risen in its place—his shift is nearly over.

His cellphone chimes from inside his pocket. He fishes around for the device, eventually tugging it from the depths of his trousers. When he taps onto the screen, he finds a text from Lana, your personal chef.

Her dinner is ready. Do you want me to bring it up?

Harry purses his lips before typing his reply.

No, I’ll come down. Thank you.

A single smiling emoticon is her response.

After retrieving your plate from the kitchen and bidding Lana goodnight, Harry makes his way back upstairs. He stalls in front of your door for a few seconds before shaking off his uncertainties. His fist raps three times against the wood, and he waits expectantly for your answering call.

His shoulders deflate in relief when he hears a faint, yet familiar, “Come in.”

The room is dark, illuminated only by a small lamp on your nightstand. You’re lying on your bed, spine against the mattress and eyes trained on the ceiling. Your hair is fanned out against your pillow, and you haven’t changed out of your sleepwear (though it’s late now, Harry supposes, so there’s really no need). Cotton shorts sit low on your hips, but thankfully, your t-shirt is covering everything that needs to be concealed. When you turn your head toward the door, Harry notices that your eyes are rimmed with red.

You’ve been crying. The realisation makes his chest ache.

“Hi,” he says quietly, approaching your bed with cautious footsteps.

“Hi,” you croak. You sit up and clear your throat.

He holds out your plate. “Dinner is served.”

“It’s almost midnight.”

“That’s true.” He tilts his head from side to side, acknowledging your words. “But you haven’t eaten all day.”

“You don’t know that for sure,” you mumble, though you take the dish from him with eager hands, confirming his hypothesis. “Mac n’ cheese?” you ask, peering up at him with wide eyes.

He nods. “Compliments of the chef. She said it was your ‘comfort food’, or something like that.”

You pick up the spoon resting on the side of your plate, dipping it into the pasta and scooping up a large bite. Flavour explodes across your tongue, and you hum in appreciation at the taste. “Lana’s the best.”

Harry doesn’t respond. When you look over in his direction, you find him standing awkwardly at the side of your bed, like he’s not quite sure where to go.

“Do you want to sit?” you ask through a mouthful of food. His lips twitch at the warbled quality of your voice.

“No, I—,” he starts, shaking his head. “I can leave you alone.”

You swallow heavily, running your tongue along the roof of your mouth. “Stay,” you tell him, averting your gaze. The softness of your tone makes him pause, but you just shrug. “I don’t really want to be alone right now.”

~*~

You finish the entire plate of macaroni in a matter of minutes. Harry doesn’t think he’s ever seen you scarf down food that quickly. You offered him a bite, but he turned it down, claiming that you needed it more than he did.

He was right, of course. But you would rather die than tell him as much.

You set the dish down onto your nightstand, snatching up the reusable water bottle on the corner of the little table. Harry watches, amused, as you take a large gulp of the contents inside. Once you’ve swallowed, you chance a glance over at where he’s sitting on the edge of your mattress. There’s a small smile playing on his lips.

“What?” you ask wryly.

He chuckles lightly. “Nothing.”

You smirk but decide to drop the subject.

Harry shifts, rubbing his palms over his thighs nervously. “How are you feeling?”

You look away—you knew that he would try to breach the topic of last night, but the question is still a punch to the gut.

You shrug wordlessly. He clucks his tongue.

“That’s not an answer, love.”

Your shoulders slump in defeat. A loose thread on your duvet catches your eye, and you twine it around your index finger. Another long moment of silence passes before you finally speak.

“I’m just…confused.”

“Confused?” Harry’s eyebrows knit together.

You nod.

“How so?”

A rushed, humourless laugh falls from your lips. “You’re joking, right?”

When Harry shakes his head, you sigh.

“All my life,” you say, a lump forming in your throat, “I’ve been kept in the dark. Do you know how embarrassing it is, as a little kid, to not have an answer when your friends ask what your parents do for a living?” You wrap your arms around your torso, hugging yourself tightly.

“I even used to joke about it at school,” you scoff, rolling your eyes. “‘Yeah, guys, my mom’s secretly a drug dealer!’”

Harry doesn’t say anything. You take his reticence as a sign to continue.

“But then, as I got older, I realised that maybe I wasn’t that far off. She might not be in a fucking drug ring, but she’s still doing something illegal. There’s no way that we could afford to live like this, otherwise.” You gesture toward the glossy chandelier hanging from your ceiling.

“And then you came into the picture,” you say, rubbing tiredly at your eyes. “And that’s when I really started to panic. But I didn’t want to show anyone how I was feeling, obviously—so I kind of just kept it all bottled up.”

“Until now,” Harry murmurs, his expression unreadable.

You nod. “Until now.”

The material of your t-shirt is twisted up in your fists. You exhale heavily, releasing the fabric and smoothing it out with your palms. Several long seconds of tranquility ensue, until—

“Arms.”

Your gaze snaps over to Harry. “What?”

“Arms,” he repeats gruffly, staring directly at you. “She’s not dealing drugs. She’s dealing arms.”

You sit back against the headboard as his words sink in. Silence hangs in the air, growing thicker by the moment. Your mouth opens as you try to make sense of this newly-revealed information, but your lips only form around dying sounds and nonexistent sentences. Eventually, you settle for a simple, “Huh.”

And despite the trepidation of the situation, Harry laughs.

The sound brings a small smile to your face. It quickly slips away, however, when you remember something else.

“Last night, the guy at the club…,” you trail off, chewing on the inside of your cheek. “I don’t think what he said was just an expression.”

Harry’s eyes are solemn. “Neither do I.”

“He told me his name was Lukas,” you say, straightening up. “Has my mother ever mentioned him before?”

He shakes his head.

“I don’t know anything else,” he replies. Deep down, you recognize that he’s telling the truth. “She only shares things with me when it’s absolutely necessary. My job—first and foremost—is to protect you. I’m sorry.”  

“It’s okay,” you say quickly, shifting closer to him. Harry stiffens briefly when you place your hand on his arm, but then relaxes again. The fabric of his suit is soft, pressed to perfection. “I—thank you for being honest with me. I feel better now that I know.”

He nods.

“And thank you for yesterday,” you add, swallowing heavily. “For keeping me safe.”

“Next time, I’m accompanying you to the bathroom,” he mutters. “End of discussion.”

You laugh. A tiny, barely-there smile creeps onto his lips. Your eyes fall to the yellow polish on his nails, and you hesitate.

“Harry,” you say. Anxiety unfurls in your stomach. “Can I ask you something?”

“’Course.” His voice is a low rumble. “What is it?”

“Last week,” you mumble, fidgeting with your fingers, “after you got shot—or grazed, whatever you want to call it—”

He freezes. You have a strong feeling that he knows where you’re going with this.

“You said—”

“I know what I said.”

I would take a bullet for you, no questions asked.

Your mouth goes dry. Harry won’t look you in the eye, but you refuse to let him shy away. You squeeze his forearm softly, hoping that the contact will prompt him to meet your gaze.

It does. When he peers up at you, the green of his irises sets off a series of echoes in your head.

And not just because it’s my job.

And not just because it’s my job.

And not just because it’s my job.

“Why did you?” you whisper, leaning toward him.

He blinks, embarrassed.

“You know why,” he grumbles, staring fixedly at your duvet. A loose strand of hair flops onto his temple as he shakes his head. “Don’t make me say it.”

Something shatters inside of you. Impulsively, you lurch forward, pressing a quick, chaste kiss to the corner of his lips.

Harry’s face snaps toward you as you sit back. You’re greeted by wide eyes, foreign and unrecognizable, and seemingly unable to make out who you are. The small mountain of hope that had been growing in your chest crumbles into nothing, scattering like dust in the wind.

You clench your jaw, trying to keep yourself composed. He’s looking at you like you’re a stranger.

“Sorry,” you sputter. Panic washes over you, and your eyes prick with the telltale sign of tears. “Sorry, sorry, sorry, sorry—”

Just as it had last week, Harry’s hand finds your face, squishing your cheeks together and cutting off your apologies. You gaze up at him as he leans in; he’s shaking his head ever-so-slightly.

“Why would you do that?” he asks, and it almost sounds like he’s berating you. “Why would you—?”

“I’m sorry,” you eek out. Water beads along your bottom lashes.

“I’ve been trying so hard,” he carries on, smoothly disregarding your regrets. “Trying to keep myself from—”

He breaks off, gritting his teeth and staring directly into your eyes. His next words are stern, finite.

“It doesn’t fucking matter anymore.”

His fingers release your cheeks and migrate to the back of your neck. He uses the leverage to pull you in so that you can meet him halfway, and then he’s kissing you. It takes a moment for everything to register in your brain, but soon thereafter, you’re melting into him and kissing him right back.

You grip the lapels of his suit between tight fists, tugging him closer as you pour every ounce of yourself into his embrace. Harry’s lips work fervently against your own; the palm on the back of your neck slips lower, settling at the base of your spine. His other hand comes up, splitting apart so that his thumb and middle finger find themselves on each side of your jaw. The grip is bruising, unforgiving—you whimper in delight.

“This is—,” Harry can barely get the words out. “—unprofessional.”

“It is,” you murmur, nodding fiercely.

“We shouldn’t,” he says.

“We shouldn’t,” you agree breathlessly.

But neither of you stop.

Harry lays you down on your bed, climbing on top of you whilst still doing his best to keep your lips attached. Your hands slip beneath his suit jacket, fingertips digging into his back over the white button-up covering his torso.

“You’re wearing too much,” you whine once the two of you break apart for air.

He chuckles, pushing himself up onto his knees. You watch, awestruck, as he fiddles with the buttons lining his abdomen, undoing each one swiftly before yanking the jacket from his shoulders. A shadow of pain passes over his features.

“Careful,” you say softly, referring to his injured arm.

He doesn’t reply. Instead, he brings himself back down to where you are, wasting no time and dipping his tongue into your mouth.

“Mm,” he hums, smacking his lips together. “Mac n’ cheese.”

You giggle. “Guess you got a taste, after all.”

He nods, smirking. “In all honesty, though,” he murmurs, his lips smearing against the lower-half of your cheek, “I’d much rather get a taste of something else.”

He punctuates the innuendo with a gentle bite to your jaw, and you moan.

It doesn’t take long for his hand to travel south. Harry gives you a questioning look when his fingers reach the elastic waistband of your shorts.

“Can I?”

You nod.

He curses when the digits slip beneath the fabric, because you’re not wearing anything underneath. His palm scrapes over the triangle of trimmed hair at the apex of your thighs, and he nearly starts salivating right then and there. You whine impatiently, bucking your hips up to spur him along.

He chuckles, pressing a gentle kiss to the side of your neck. “Gagging for it, aren’t you?”

A strangled squeak echoes in the back of your throat, but you say nothing.

“Answer me,” Harry growls, nipping softly at your earlobe. “Tell me you want it.”

“I want it!” you choke out. You wrap your fingers around his forearm, guiding his hand lower so that he can feel just how wet you are. “Please—I want it.”

“So polite,” he murmurs, sponging his lips up to your temple. Your eyelids flutter shut when he begins to rub languid circles into your clit. “Where are those manners usually hiding, hm?”

“Harry—,” you sigh, feeling your face grow hot. You’ll never admit it, but his taunts stoke the fire building in the pit of your stomach. He laughs darkly, sliding his middle finger down your slit and prodding coyly at your entrance.

“You’re soaked, and I’ve barely done anything,” he mutters. His thumb stays positioned squarely on your clit as he lowers his head, pecking your lips delicately. “Want me inside?”

You nod, but he only tuts in disapproval.

“Words, love.”

“Yes!” you whine, pouting deeply. “I—I want you inside.”

He smiles.

You squirm when he slips his finger into you, adjusting to the intrusion. Harry probes around curiously, stroking along your walls until he brushes against a spot that has you crying out in thrilled surprise and squeezing your eyes shut. The patronizing laugh that falls from his mouth is hot and heavy against your warm cheeks.

“That’s it, yeah?” he asks. “That’s the spot?”

You breathe out a weak whimper of confirmation, and he snickers. When he peers up at you and finds your eyes closed, a small frown tugs at the edges of his lips.

“Look at me, love,” he orders, adding another finger into your heat. “I wanna see you.”

You shake your head and turn away, face hot with humiliation. It’s good, though—it’s so, so good.

“Look at me,” Harry repeats, “and I’ll let you cum.”

It’s an offer that you can’t refuse.

Slowly, your eyelids flutter open. He grins at you, pride sweeping over his features. You keep your gaze trained on him, even when he speeds up the movements on your clit, his thumb rubbing quick shapes against the sensitive nub. Your back arches, toes curling into the duvet as your orgasm approaches. Harry kisses your lips, humming happily at the contact.

“Cum,” he commands quietly. “Cum for me, and then I’ll ruin this cute little cunt.”

The filthy promise has you falling apart.

He holds you tightly as your high washes over you, absorbing all of your little moans and cooing words of encouragement into your mouth. You shake, staring up at the ceiling and watching as the chandelier above you splits into doubles. The glass crystals twinkle alluringly in the dim light of your room.

“So pretty,” Harry whispers. He pecks the clammy skin of your cheek, and you sigh.

“That was…,” you trail off, unable to find the right words.

“Good?” he supplies, pulling his hand out of your shorts.

You bark out a weak, incredulous laugh. “Way better than ‘good’. I don’t think I can feel my—”

Your confession falters when you turn to the side, just in time to witness Harry slide two of his fingers past his lips. He groans desperately at the tang that spreads over his tongue.

“Sweet,” he murmurs, almost like he’s in a trance. He nuzzles his nose against yours, dropping his hand onto the bed next to your head. “You’ll let me have a proper taste next time, yeah?”

Without a second thought, you nod rapidly. “Yeah.”

Harry grunts in surprise when you push him off of you. His back lands against your mattress with a dull thud, and he chuckles faintly when you sling your leg over his waist, straddling him.

“What’re you doing?” he asks playfully as you begin to unbutton his white shirt. You pepper kisses down his chest, worshipping each new inch of skin that becomes exposed. His hands subconsciously find their way into your hair, gathering the bulk of it into a makeshift ponytail. Your clit positively throbs, ignited by the dominant undertones of the action.

“You got me off,” you say. Though the accompanying shrug of your shoulders is nonchalant, your heart is thundering beneath your ribcage. “Seems only fair, don’t you think?”

You undo his belt and flick open the button of his black trousers. Harry groans as you palm him over his slacks, sinking into the plush pillows cradling his head.

“Right,” he breathes. “Only fair.”

His cock twitches when you dip your hand into his boxers, and God, he thinks to himself as he shudders, he loves you.

~*~

You awaken in the middle of the night to sounds of restless shuffling. Your room is dark, engulfed in black. Blinking the sleep from your vision, you push yourself up, peering around and waiting for your eyes to grow accustomed to the obscurity of your surroundings.

The spot next to you on your mattress is still a bit warm, covered with wrinkled sheets. When you finally zero in on the source of the noise, you find Harry sitting in the armchair a few feet away from your bed. He’s slouching, his head supported only by a closed fist. His white shirt is draped over his shoulders, completely unbuttoned. Gray boxers sit low on his hips, revealing a pair of ferns inked into the skin just above his pelvis.

Not even five hours ago, you trailed your tongue along those very same tattoos.

“Harry?” you say groggily, and he freezes. “What—what are you doing?”

His eyes are bright, despite the encompassing darkness.

“I—,” he hesitates. “It’s alright. Go back to sleep.”

“Not unless you join me,” you retort. You slide your legs over the edge of the mattress so that you can face him properly. “What’s going on?”

He shrugs, avoiding your gaze. “We kind of just passed out, and…I wasn’t sure if you were comfortable with me, like, sleeping in your bed. I didn’t wanna cross any lines.”

You balk.

“Harry…,” you start, fixing him with a drowsy yet bewildered look. “You’ve literally had your fingers inside of me, and now you’re worried about crossing a line?”

A quiet chuckle of accountability falls from his lips; the sound makes you smile. You reach out with one hand, wiggling your fingers at him and tilting your head toward the rumpled pillows waiting for you.

“Come back to bed.” Your request is soft.

The storm in his eyes dissipates, and he obeys.

You sigh as you settle back underneath the duvet, snuggling into his side and tossing a leg over his thighs. Harry wraps his good arm around you, craning his neck and pressing a tender kiss to your hair. Your fingers creep up his chest, toying with the dog tag resting between his pectorals.

“Is this going to change things between us?” you ask in a small voice.

A long moment of silence ensues.

At last, Harry replies:

“I don’t know.”

You were expecting that kind of answer, but it still stings. A big part of you wants him to say no, things won’t change. He’ll still have you, and you’ll still have him, and the two of you will still bicker back and forth like children fighting over a candy bar. He’ll still roll his eyes at your antics whilst nevertheless being willing to take a bullet for you. You’ll still tease him relentlessly to mask the way your heart races whenever he’s around (which, unfortunately, is all the time).

But the logical side of your brain knows that those fantasies are just fabrications of flimsy, wishful thinking. The two of you have crossed a line—just like he said—and you can’t go back.

As though he can sense your inner turmoil, Harry squeezes you closer into his side. “I was looking online…,” he begins, and you peer up at him with curious eyes.

He meets your gaze—his chin creases adorably—and continues. “And I saw these cool photos of someone’s nails; they painted little cherries on them.”

“That sounds cute,” you mumble.

“It was.” He nods. “And I was thinking that maybe, on Wednesday…would you want to try something like that?”

Warmth spiderwebs through your chest.

The two of you have crossed a line, and you can’t go back.

But you can move forward. And perhaps better things are waiting on the horizons up ahead.

“It might not turn out like the pictures,” you warn lightly. “I’ve never really done nail art before.”

“That’s alright,” Harry says, brushing your hair out of your face. “I just thought it’d be fun to give it a go.”

You lean up, slotting your lips against his. Harry cups your cheek, keeping you close. When the two of you finally break apart, you smile, running your thumb lovingly over the edge of his jaw.

“Remind me to pick up the tools tomorrow after class.”

~*~

READ PART 2 ON PATREON

[tobiosmilktea]

can i request headcannons for tsukishima, kuroo, iwa, and oikawa on their best friend telling them that they like someone so the boys get all sad (or whatever reaction you see fit) but it turns out that their bff was talking about them the whole time + like a confession. thank you in advance 💞

hidden feelings with tsukishima, kuroo, iwaizumi, and oikawa

a/n: sorry for the wait! this was really fun to write, hope you all like it :)) also scenarios are going to take a little longer to publish, but i’ll make sure to get them out asap !

— t. kei

you honestly said it out of the blue

you didn’t think of it much, it was more like a little hint since surely tsukishima was smart enough to figure it out right?

wrong.

you both were in the middle of a study session break and the entire time you could barely focus when the guy you were entirely whipped for was sitting right in front of you

the workspace was small too as both of your materials could barely fit on the table, his face was barely a foot away from yours the entire time

like hOW THE HELL IS HE NOT FLUSTERED RN

it’s been like this for ages though, ever since you two had met the beginning of your first year at karasuno

you immediately fell in love with his humor with how his quite teasing charm was always your favorite type of banter

and you could tell that he had some sort of soft spot for you ever since you could fire back the same spit fire of jokes and teasing just as he did for you

you just hoped that all that teasing (which was literally dRENCHED in flirtations and suggestive humor) that you hoped that a smartass like tsukishima kei would finally get it

but it’s been months and none of it had worked, so you opted for a different approach

you haven’t exactly seen tsukishima jealous and you genuinely wanted to see his reaction that one of his closest friends had taken a liking for someone else

“can i ask you something?” you would start. it was something nonchalant and open ended so of course tsukishima couldn’t really say no

“hm,” he hums as he sipped on his juice box

you cleared your throat, “so there’s this guy i like...”

then a scoff leaves his lips and interrupts you

you give him a look to which his eyes immediately softened as he shook his head, “sorry, keep going.”

“aNYWAY, i’ve liked this guy for a while now and i’ve been hinting that i like him for a while now, but i’m starting to think that he might be too dense to even see.”

tsukishima’s expression was unreadable as he drank the very last of his juice box’s contents before crushing it in his hand, chucking to the other side of the room and into his trash bin

“i think that guy's an idiot.” he concludes, clearing his throat.

“really?” you said, it was almost enticing.

“yeah, honestly i think you shouldn’t be wasting your time on that guy...”

a small pout melted upon your lips as tsukishima’s golden eyes met yours

“why would you think that?”

“cause i think you should pay attention to me instead.” he said out of the blue

“hUH?”

homie really caught you off guard

like you were genuinely confused to whether or not he misspoke or if this was another one of his playful banter

“yeah right,” you muttered, picking up your pencil and continued to jot down notes in attempt to leave the subject behind

“i’m serious.” he deadpanned

your gaze flickered back up to him as you pursed your lips, biting them as you felt your heart beat pound harder against your ribs. your chest was already constricted from the thought of embarrassing yourself for even bringing it up

“who is this guy anyway?” tsukishima continues and it honestly sounded like a genuine threat.

you roll your eyes and scoff, “i was talking about you idiot!”

a small smirk appeared on his lips as if it was the most knowing and condescending look ever, “good, that’s what i thought.”

“hUH?” x2

once again your eyes were wide and confused

“there’s a reason why yamaguchi always leave us alone together.”

— k. tetsurou

it was 2am with you and kuroo being suPER delirious

as it was the start of the weekend, kuroo thought it was a good idea to hangout at your place after vb practice along with kenma

you two were literally the golden trio at nekoma, so it was a given

kenma had left hours ago around 9pm to go home, but honestly there is a good chance he’s still awake and just wanted to leave with the amount of tension between you and kuroo

not to mention he wanted to play games on his computer

kenma literally couldn't stand that awkward air between you and the vb team captain as your usual hangouts didn’t even feel normal anymore

as if you both were stepping on fragile eggshells after what happened earlier during the school day at lunch

it seems like all your advances in terms of trying to flirt with him was always flying over his head

even kenma, who sometimes didn’t pay attention to the conversation as he was too busy playing on his PSP, knew that you would often try and ask kuroo out

even if they were slightly sly and sometimes sounded like normal friendly hangouts, there were so many opportunities to turn it into sometimes, but kuroo was far too cloudy-minded to even spare that thought

but if kenma was being honest, the awkward tension between you and kuroo primarily started cause of him

he was the one who proposed the plan that you should try and make kuroo jealous. if he did have a negative reaction to you saying you liked someone else, then he liked you back. but if he didn’t, then no harm done!

honestly, it sounded like a plan and you deadass said it in the middle of lunch

you three were out in the courtyard eating your bentos when you suddenly said, “so there’s this guy i really like...”

and it immediately got kuroo’s attention

“who?” he immediately asked.

you feigned a smirk to appear on your lips as you simply shrugged to stay in the act, “just someone.” you swatted the thought away, “anyway, i’m just asking on how i should confess to them—”

“it’s yaku isn’t it?” kuroo suddenly concluded

“what? no—”

“then wHO?”

“someone who’s too stupid to see i have feelings for him!” you suddenly spew out.

kuroo’s eyes peered suspiciously at you, nodding as he turned away. “i see how it is, (y/n). i’d honestly like to meet this guy.”

“trust me, you already know.”

and perhaps that wasn’t the best thing to say as kuroo immediately started badgering you with annoying questions once again

throughout the entire day you had been rejecting to answer which basically leads to right now

you and kuroo alone at 2am in your room, sitting in awkward tension as kuroo literally refuses to leave unless you tell him who you liked

“at least give me their initials, (y/n)” the vb captain begged

“noPE!”

“please?” he continued to asked, “i’ll literally buy you all your favorite snacks, just tell me who!”

you roll your eyes, preparing to say no again, but the thought suddenly hits you

why was he so determined to know who you liked if he in fact, doesn’t have feelings for you?

“why do you care so much about who i like?” you suddenly asked 

“c-cause i’m your best friend and i care about you!”

you peered your eyes at him, “kenma is also my best friend and cares about me, and yet you don’t hear him pestering me about my love life.”

you swore you saw the tiniest bit of pink blush on kuroo’s cheeks that perhaps his ears were tinted as well

he looked absolutely beautiful under the moonlight

a sigh left his lips, “because i want to be the only boy in your life.” (besides kenma, but he didn’t mention it cause it was just you and him)

you couldn’t help but feel a smile melt upon your visage, “then i guess it’s a good thing that you’re the one i like.”

— i. hajime

you and iwaizumi were staying after school as you two were on clean up duty

the hallways were pretty empty besides a few handfuls of students also cleaning classrooms or at club activities

it was just the usual, but you surely weren’t acting normal that even iwaizumi noticed

he’s one of your closest friends ever since middle school and you liked to believe that he considered you two best friends, but he usually minded his own business when it came to you

perhaps that’s what made you act so different around him

you weren’t the same (y/n) that would walk with him to and from school, the one who would eat every lunch with him and oikawa, the one who he wouldn’t have to worry about so much since oikawa was primarily his source of stress

but recently, that seemed to have transferred onto you ever since iwaizumi had been too preoccupied with oikawa and volleyball, that you making your feelings for him extremely obvious wasn’t enough

you two have been cleaning for about thirty minutes in (almost complete) silence

really, the only sound coming from the room was the clattering and squeaking of moving chairs and desks around to mop

iwaizumi wasn’t usually the one to get so fed up, especially with you

but this time was different

“so are you going to tell me what’s wrong or are you going to be childish and act like oikawa by giving me the silent treatment?” he starts and you immediately felt your body freeze, but immediately caught yourself and continued to clean

you hear him sigh defeated to which caused your body to turn towards him, “did i do something wrong?”

there was obvious hurt lacing his voice, that he perhaps jeopardized one of his closest friendships over something he didn’t know anything about

you were aware of this and immediately approached him, “you didn’t do anything wrong...” you hesitate as you didn’t know how to follow it up with, “i’m just being moody that’s all”

honestly, not your best excuse but it was workable

“then tell me what’s wrong, (y/n). i’m your best friend that’s what i’m supposed to do.”

and there it was. that look and attitude that made you fall in love with him in the first place

as if a huge wave just crashed upon you, your heartbeat intensified the moment you noticed how close you were to him

you gulped down your rising nerves, almost panicking as the words miraculously left your mouth. “i don’t think the guy i like likes me back.”

it was safe to say, that that definitely wasn’t what iwaizumi was expecting

if anything he was surprised and almost obligated as your best friend to comfort you in that moment, but he couldn’t help but feel almost betrayed

he knew he had no right to as he was nothing more than just a friend to you. so he swallowed his pride and nods with a faux smile on his lips

“it’s okay, (y/n). there’s so many other guys out there.”

then it came down like a sudden downpour, “but i only want you.”

“w-what?” it left his lips almost like a whisper as his eyes widened into saucers

“i’m talking about you, idiot.” you gently hit his hard chest, “but you obviously don’t like me back as you blatantly overlook what i say whenever i flirt with you."

“(y/n), i—”

you continued muttering in a hurried and embarrassed spiel that you didn’t even notice him trying to talk, “it’s okay, i’m ready for rejection, i just don’t want this to ruin our friendship—”

“it won’t because i literally like you too (y/n).” he finally cut in to say, taking you aback

“oh.” you say, still in shock, “cool.”

— o. tooru

you were in quite the predicament

rather than giving oikawa the silent treatment, he was giving it to you instead

basically, what happened was that perhaps you got a bit fed up with how popular oikawa was with girls and how they would often times flock him in packs sporadically throughout the day

and as if the world was out to get you, the packs of girls would always seem to come over whenever it was just you and oikawa alone

surely, from the three years you and oikawa had been friends, you’d assume that you’d get used to it

but you haven’t.

in the first two years of hs, you were pretty lenient and understanding and you truly didn’t mind it but now in your last and final year, you were tired of it

surely it didn’t help when that annoyance was fueled by your pent up feelings for oikawa in the past three years

the only reason why you hesitated to even say anything about your feelings was that you never really had the chance. with so many pretty people in and outside of aoba johsai, oikawa can be guaranteed a significant other within a snap

you felt easily replaceable, not to mention you definitely weren’t his first priority

he was too busy trying to get to nationals and to beat shiratorizawa that a relationship was the last thing on his mind

so here you two were, cleaning up the equipment in the gym in complete silence as volleyball practice had just finished as you were one of the managers

it had been like this for the past three days, being forced to physically interact, yet still not speaking to each other

like right now, you and oikawa were folding up the net neatly to eventually it got shorter and shorter that you and him had met closely in the middle

oikawa seemed to have paused the moment your hand made contact with his to make the final fold and that was when he completely broke

“ugh, i can’t take it anymore!” he exclaimed, shocking you slightly as you took the folded net from him. “i don’t get it (y/n), why can’t you just tell me who you like? i promise i’ll keep it secret!”

“be quiet,” you mutter as you turn your back towards him, “if you keep acting like this, i won’t tell you.”

he groaned once more, his feet dragging on the ground as he stumbled towards you. you froze under his touch the moment his rested his head on your shoulder.

“i just want to know cause i don’t want you to look at other guys.”

god, he was so fucking adorable

you hated to say it, but you gave into him and his charisma and how his easy words could have you complying

“fine,” you sigh, turning to face him. your breath hitched in your throat when you realize how close he was, “he’s on the volleyball team, he’s a third year—”

oikawa cut you off, “it’s iwaizumi isn’t it? i knew it! honestly, no offense to iwa, but i think i would make a better boyfriend, don’t you think?”

you couldn’t help but chuckle with a smile on your face, “you think so?”

“i know so.”

“well, fortunately for you, you’re the guy i really like.” you confessed, watching his expression brighten.

“so you made me go through three days of silent treatment just to finally date you?”

you shrug, asking, “was it worth it?” before being engulfed completely into a hug

“yes.”

a/n: this hasn’t been proofread if you couldn’t tell 👀

[httpsaiki]

Just Tell Me Already (Oikawa Tooru x Reader)

Firstly I want to apologize if he’s OOC. Truthfully, I’ve only seen season one and part of season two. I was kinda nervous to write this, but the idea came to me and I knew I had to do it before the visualization left my mind. Not gonna lie this is super self-indulgent. Also, can you tell I had no idea what to title this? The reader is female! 

WC: 1093

In which the reader and Oikawa are walking home, and he’s determined to find out who her crush is.

—————————————————–

“Y/N c’mon! Tell me who it is!” You and Oikawa were walking home after his volleyball practice. It wasn’t unusual for you to stay after school to cheer your best friend on and generally help the team out. You knew Oikawa was appreciative of it, just as the rest of the club was.

Unfortunately, the nosey setter had recently found out about your little crush. He wasn’t willing to let up on asking you until he finds out who you like. You assumed it was because he wants to play matchmaker, but you were far from prepared to tell him that your crush was actually him. There was no way he would return your feelings. For the most part, you were fine with that, though. With someone like Oikawa, it was very easy to just admire him from afar, even if you were actually pretty close to the guy.

“Please!” He yelled out at you again. Realizing you hadn’t answered him, you turned your head towards him and said a simple, “No.”

Oikawa looked towards you and pouted. It was adorable, but you’d never tell him that.

“You know that face doesn’t work on me, Oikawa.”

He let out a small, short sigh before stopping his pouting. After his badgering, he left you alone for a bit. The two of you walked towards your homes in silence.  It was getting rather dark out, but that didn’t make either of you hurry. You passed a small park and Oikawa grabbed your arm to pull you towards it, sitting you down on one of the benches.

“Describe him for me then?” Oikawa asked you, giving you the best puppy dog eyes he could muster. If you were honest with yourself, your heart melted at the sight.

You sighed. No getting out of this one, is there?

“I’ll describe him if you stop making that face.” You said as you shot him a small glare. You were scared if he continued looking at you like that, you’d be unable to hide your feelings.

“Ouch!” He let out, recoiling jokingly, but immediately stopped with his puppy dog eyes. “Now tell me all about him, Y/N~” Oikawa teased you.

“Fine,” You huffed. You had a plan, of course. You’d just be as inconspicuously-vague as possible. You looked away from him, as if in thought, and started explaining.

“Well, he has dark, rather short, hair,” Oikawa's eyes lit up as you actually started talking about your crush. They immediately dimmed, as he realized your plans. “He also has dark eyes. He’s quite tall, slim. Oh, he’s on a sports team! He’s also really funny, and sweet… when he wants to be. When he doesn’t he can be quite mean.”

Once Oikawa realized that was all he’d get, his hand immediately came to his chin and he went deep into thought, thinking up people he knew you spent a lot of time with that fit that appearance. He concluded it must be his other best friend, Iwaizumi, mainly due to the last part. Iwaizumi fit that, along with everything else you listed.

“I know who it is!” Oikawa put up his usual, cheery demeanour, but you could tell something isn't right. He seemed sad. “Iwa-chan!” he exclaimed, “Wow~! Iwa-chan has a girl interested in him!”

But the smile that spread across his face was certainly not genuine. Oikawa seemed let down, almost as if he was hoping you would say someone else. No, that couldn't be it.

You knew your best friend well enough to know when his grin didn’t meet his eyes.

“Oikawa?” You asked softly, “Is something wrong?”

“What? No. Of course not.” He seems blunt with his words, even if he was trying to hide it. “I’m happy for you and Iwa-chan! You guys will be good together.”

“Oikawa.” You stated this time, firmly. “I don’t like Iwaizumi. Well - not like that.”

“You don’t? Then who do you like Y/N? You’ve gotta tell me!”

You sighed as you stood up. You really hadn’t been planning on doing this. Ever. But the look in Oikawa's eyes when he concluded you liked Iwaizumi gave you hope that maybe, just maybe, you had a chance with him.

“I’m really sorry about this…” You said quietly, as Oikawa stared at you in confusion.

“About what?” He asked. You’d think with how many confessions this guy gets he’d know the routine by now. Apparently not.

You looked at the ground, not being able to face him anymore. “I like you, Oikawa.”

You heard him gasp dramatically. You felt tears welled up in your eyes. All you could think about was he was going to make fun of you now, maybe he’d never talk to you again.

“I know you get confessed to all the time so that probably doesn’t mean much…” You trailed off, “I’ll go home now.”

You turned to leave, still not having looked at him.

“Wait!” You heard him call out from behind you, “Don’t you dare leave, you idiot!”

He ran up to you, turning you around and quickly pulling you in. Before you knew it, he was kissing you. Oikawa Tooru was kissing you.

“I like you, too.” He confessed to you after he’d pulled away. Though he never got far, as he kept you close in a tight hug. He was shaking a bit, and you could tell he was scared you’d leave if he loosened his grip even a little.

You held him back just as tightly, laying your head down on his shoulder.

“Listen,” you heard him whisper to you, “Don’t you assume even for a second that something like that, coming from you, would mean nothing. Even if I hadn’t liked you back - and I can’t imagine a world where that’s the case - it still would’ve meant so much. ‘Cause you mean so much.”

You’d never heard him so genuine with his words. Something about the way he spoke to you, how soft and reassuring it was, told you he was serious about everything he just said. Despite him being incredibly cheesy, he really meant it.

He pulled back from the hug for a bit, seemingly unwillingly. “Shall we get you home?” he asked, “I’ve got to make sure my girlfriend gets home safe!” He grabbed your hand as he said that.

You blushed a little, he seemed so happy saying that word. His massive, teasing grin finally met his eyes. You just had to tease him back.

“Okay, boyfriend.”

He laughed, but his cheeks were a little pink, too.

[petri808]

1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14 | 15 | 16 | 17 | 18 | 19 | 20 | 21 | 22 | 23 | 24 | 25 | 26 | 27 | 28 | 29 | 30 | 31 | 32 | 33-Epilogue

As the star witnesses in Touka Shiromajyo’s murder trial, both Natsu and Lucy weren’t allowed to sit through the trial. It was fine with them, considering just the idea of testifying was becoming more than Lucy could handle. She’d made a lot of progress with Natsu and the therapists help, but facing the woman who tried to kill her... in the flesh? Knowing Touka, she’ll be staring them down from the defense table with some stupid smug grin. It made Lucy’s skin crawl just thinking about it. Frankly, it wasn’t fair that they were having to go through this in the first place because the prosecutor offered Touka a deal. If she was remorseful and plead guilty to attempted murder and stalking, they would recommend only an in-house psychiatric treatment at a hospital versus jail time. But she’d refused the deal. As far as Touka was concerned this was all Natsu and Lucy’s fault for driving her to commit the act.

The defense really had very little they could do to argue against the facts of the case. Gajeel and his team did an excellent job tracing all the events of stalking from the beginning, so their best chances were to show Touka was completely mentally unstable, suffering from a disorder that made her incapable of knowing right from wrong or gain sympathy by attacking Natsu and Lucy’s roles. It wouldn’t get her off completely, but it might mitigate or shave time off her sentence.

The prosecution began by carefully laying out the timeline of events. In a stalking case that spanned years, this would be crucial as they moved through all the evidence to show when and the possible why’s that would establish Touka’s motives for kidnapping Lucy. It showed the buildup, the prosecutor pointed out, like an old coal train that slowly moved forward inch by inch, picking up momentum until it had reached its top speed, and unless someone pulled the breaks, there was no stopping it now. In order to provide a visual for the jury, they created a long board with all the points plotted out to use during the duration of their case. They kept it facing the jurors the entire time, a strategy to keep them focused on it.

In keeping with the strategy, witnesses and evidence were also presented in chronological order starting with Natsu, Gray, and a few other former students of Meguro Nihon. Both Natsu and Gray both testified that they didn’t remember or even interacted with Touka. The others were there as former club mates of the woman who testified they remembered her making comments about Natsu back then, but they also testified that they never saw or heard of him interacting with Touka.

“So, is it your testimony miss Fumiko that as far as you remember, there was never any interactions between the two?”

“Yes. Back then Touka and I were good friends, well at least I thought we were. I know she had a crush on him,” the woman blushed, “so did I, but Natsu was out of our league. Neither of us ever tried to approach him.”

“Thank you, miss Fumiko.”

The defense attorney then stood up to cross-examine the woman. “Miss Fumiko. How do you know that Ms. Shiromajyo never tried to talk to Mr. Dragneel? Isn’t it possible that she may have done so when you weren’t around?”

“Maybe... but I’m pretty sure Touka would have said something, if not before, after of what the outcome was. And I never saw her distraught about him.”

“Judge,” the defense objected. “Move to strike miss Fumiko’s testimony. It’s impossible for her to know the operation of another’s mind.”

“Objection!” The prosecutor fired back! “Miss Fumiko is just stating an observation.”

“Sustained,” the judge sided with the prosecution.

Undeterred the defense attorney pressed on. “Alright then, miss Fumiko. Did you ever observe Ms. Shiromajyo behave in any manner that concerned you?”

“I don’t understand...”

“Did Ms. Shiromajyo do anything that appeared as if she was obsessed with Mr. Dragneel?”

“No.”

“No further questions.”

The prosecutor stood back up. “Redirect your honor, I’d like to clarify what this witness understood ‘obsessed’ to mean.”

“Go ahead,” the judge granted.

“Miss Fumiko, how often would Ms. Shiromajyo talk about Mr. Dragneel?”

“Oh, daily! She kept a journal and would write things in it about what he did, what he wore, clippings from the school newspaper if he was in it, stuff like that. Sometimes we’d both talk about it, especially when he did something really cool.”

“I see. So, you actually saw the contents of the journal?”

“Yes. I remember it had a pink cover, and there were doodles and hearts with their names in it.”

“Daily chronicles, could that have been seen as obsessive miss Fumiko?”

“Objection!” The defense attorney decried.

But before the judge could respond, the prosecutor waived his hand with a smirk. “That’s okay. I’m done with this witness.”

“You’re free to leave Miss Fumiko,” the judge instructed the witness.

For the first three days of the trial, witness and evidence covered the time leading up to the Main event. Lisanna and Bixlow testified about their experience with Touka, along with two other college students who had a class with Natsu and had been approached by the woman. The manager and an employee of the movie theater testified about the assault incident in their establishment. The person Touka had tried to pay to kill Lisanna testified about that event. The doctor that performed the plastic surgeries was brought in to cover all the work she’d had done to transform herself, and other witnesses were brought in to testify about behaviors they’d witnessed showing her growing obsession. As the lead investigator, Gajeel testified about the police evidence, the methods they used to obtain what, how, etc. The defense attorney did his best to undermine Gajeel’s credibility due to his personal relationship to Lucy’s best friend. But the burly detective had been ready for it and proved to be undeniably unshakable in that regard. Nothing the man did through the investigation could be deemed biased.

Finally on day four, it was Lucy’s turn to testify. As they waited her turn in a soundproof side room, Natsu did his best to keep her calm. “Remember the affirmations,” he held her hands in his, staring up as he kneeled in front of her. “If you need a moment to breathe or you need a moment to calm down, signal the prosecutor.”

Lucy nodded. “Okay.”

“I’ll be sitting in the gallery with Levy during your testimony because the judge is allowing it. Just look at me, keep your eyes on me the whole time. Don’t look at Touka.”

“Natsu— I-I can’t do this...”

“Yes, you can, you can do this. Just remember what we talked about. She can’t hurt you anymore, so don’t give her any more power to.”

Tears pooled in Lucy’s eyes. “I’m scared, Natsu.”

He leaned up, cradled her face in his palms, and kissed Lucy’s forehead. “It’s okay to be scared, but you’re stronger then you know. We survived because you’re strong, Luce, remember that.”

“O-Okay.”

A woman from the prosecutor’s office walked Lucy to the stand while Natsu and Levy went and sat in the gallery. It was a win for them that the judges allowed there to be a psychiatrist present as well during her testimony, just in case a panic attack was triggered. The defense of course had fought the motion, citing the inflammatory appearance to the jury, but the judge overruled them. Lucy did her best not to look in the direction of the defense and kept her eyes glued on Natsu as a grounding point.

It wasn’t always easy. Her body was visibly shaking the entire time along with tears trickling down her face through the hardest portions. They’d warned Lucy that her time on the stand could take at least two days, more if the defense’s cross-examinations stretched out. She prayed they wouldn’t. Lucy knew they would try to trip her up but hoped they wouldn’t push it too far because as the victim, badgering would actually be counter effective for the defense. That first day the prosecutor took her through the beginning, how she’d met Natsu, when Touka entered the picture, the day at the cafe. Having to bare her life like this to the public was humiliating even if some of it wasn’t a big deal. Like meeting Natsu, their whole story about meeting on the train, was it really relevant? According to the prosecution, it was meant to establish that Natsu was a single male when they met, and not as the defense asserted, in a relationship with Touka.

Lucy took the jurors through the weeks and months, how at first Touka seemed harmless, including the conversations she’d had with the woman as she tried to convince Lucy not to date Natsu. She was forced to explain what caused her to reject Touka’s beliefs in deciding to date Natsu, how hearing about the woman through the eyes of others like Gray changed her mind. Next, they covered the escalating behaviors, being followed and approached by Touka everywhere they went. Lucy spoke of her growing fears, and the creepy feeling of being watched along with corroborating dated photo evidence from her phone of pictures she’d taken of Touka during some of the following incidents. By the end of the first day of testimony, they managed to reach the movie theater incident without many objections by the defense attorney. Lucy didn’t know if that meant he planned to leave her alone or was simply waiting to reserve his cross for later. The unknown left her even more anxious and that night, Lucy struggled to get a decent night’s sleep.

“I hate her even more,” Lucy snapped. “Why couldn’t she just take the damn deal so we could all move on?!”

Natsu pulled his girlfriend close. “I don’t think we’ll ever know the answer to that. All we can do, is our best to move forward.”

“I know...” Lucy sighed.

“Look on the bright side.”

“There’s a bright side?!”

Natsu chuckled. Lucy might be angry at the moment, but it was better she was letting it out instead of holding her emotions in. “You did really great on the stand today.” He kissed her lips. “I’m very proud of you Luce.”

That made Lucy blush, and her anger fade a little. “Thanks. But the hardest part will be tomorrow.”

“And you’ll do fine tomorrow too, just do what you did today. Stick to the truth, ignore the defense side, and just stare at your handsome boyfriend.”

“Pfft,” Lucy snorted a laugh, but he was right, and his humor was a pleasant medicine to take in. “You’re such a weirdo. But thank you. I don’t think I could do this without you.”

“Forever, right?” Natsu kissed her again. “Imma stick by you no matter what.” He smiled and cuddled her against him, “now go to sleep.”

And she did try her best to get enough sleep. Lucy even took extra melatonin to assist, but she still ended up waking up in a cold sweat from a nightmare. Even though the prosecutor had gone over her testimony more than once in preparation, the idea of reliving the kidnapping left a sinking feeling in her stomach when faced against the defendant. Whereas day one she’d done well to avoid it, Lucy made the mistake of looking at Touka as soon as she’d sat down on the witness stand. Strangely, instead of fear, seeing the smug look on the woman’s face made her angry instead. So, Lucy steeled back her resolve to get this whole damn nightmare over with.

[nsfwsportsanimebabes]

Opposites Do Attract

Description:  “a scenario where tsukki is in love with a person who is completely opposite of him and she is cute and shy and all”

Requested: Yep Yep! This was a fun one to write. I adore Tsukishima. So whatever it is I am writing for him, I am going to enjoy doing so 110,000% Absolutely rambled on and ended up writing wayyy more than I anticipated.   Hope you all enjoy! ~Admin Crow  💚

        ___________________________________________________

It started off rocky. Let’s be honest, Tsukishima Kei isn’t the nicest person up front. He’s blunt, he can be a total asshole sometimes, saying what’s on his mind without a care in the world who it affects. 

So when you first met it wasn’t all ‘rainbows and butterflies and perfection.’ No, it was you accidentally bumping into him, causing his brand new headphones to fall to the floor with a crash and Tsukki going off thinking it was Hinata who had ran into him. His words of anger flying out of his mouth faster than they ever had, but were immediately cut off when he saw you standing there, tears in your eyes and the apology dead on your lips. He didn’t even get the chance to apologize before you had turned and ran off, fighting off tears at the harsh words he had directed at you for an accident. 

Despite that first interaction, it definitely led down a different path than expected. Both of you finding wanting to find ways to apologize to the other. Tsukki grumbling at the idea of having to apologize, I mean it wasn’t HIS fault you weren’t looking where you were going. Nor was it your fault that Hinata had been buzzing around him constantly that he assumed it was the little orange haired tangerine. But the idea of apologizing in general had been difficult for him to accept. 

You on the other hand, were worried you had broken his headphones and just waited for him to unleash his anger again, demanding you buy him a new pair. So to hopefully prevent that from happening, you decided to purchase a gift card for him that he could use on his music however he wanted. 

The next day you had snuck it into his locker with a sticky note attached to it saying sorry with a cute little chibi drawing apologizing. You tried not to be super obvious about it all day, peeking looks at him during class to see if he seemed different after getting your gift. 

When Tsukki did find your gift he was honestly surprised. You had no reason to buy him a gift, but because you had bought him one, he definitely had to say something to you now. So at lunch, he swallowed his pride and saught you out. 

You weren’t difficult to find. Not when your closest friend happened to be Yachi, which oddly made sense to Tsukki considering you and Yachi seemed to have similar interests and personalities. 

“You didn’t have to buy me a gift. My headphones are fine.”

The sound of Tsukki’s voice coming out of nowhere had startled both you and Yachi. Yachi immediately relaxed and said hello to him, while his gaze remained fixed on you. 

Blushing you anxiously played with a strand of hair and quietly responded “I felt bad about knocking them onto the ground and wanted to make up for it somehow..I hope the gift will make up for it!” 

The sincerity in your voice and the cute way your face turned light pink with a blush caused Tsukki to share the feeling, a blush rising to his face in response. “L-like I said, you didn’t have to buy it for me...but it will go to good use so thanks.” he responded quickly, before darting off to the other side of the cafeteria where he could process what just happened. Not wanting to stick around to be confronted by Yachi asking out loud why he had run off like he did.

After that interaction Tsukki couldn’t get you out of his head. Had you always been that cute? He didn’t really pay that much attention to others in his class, and up until then, you were included in that. And when Yachi started inviting you to hang out with her more and more, including inviting her to volleyball practices, Tsukki’s thoughts seemed to almost revolve around Volleyball, sometimes school, but mostly you. 

It became obvious to some of the upperclassmen that Tsukki had developed a crush on the cute, shy first year that had started coming to practices almost daily. And it was even clearer to them that you had a crush back. But if they didn’t do something to help out, it was obvious that the two of you would remain oblivious to each other’s feelings. So a few weeks into this oblivious pining between you two, they decided to take action. 

It was the end of practice on a Saturday morning. You had plans with Yachi and Hinata to go to the mall after practice. So you were in your f/c t-shirt dress and a cute pair of shoes. Your hair done in a way that complimented your look. You had even put on a tiny bit of make up that made you look even cuter when you blushed. Tsukki had clearly noticed your outfit and it was obvious that he was distracted. And because of that, Sugawara Koushi had decided enough was enough. 

When the boys where in the locker room after cleaning up from practice, Suga nudged Daichi before throwing an arm over the tall first year, bringing him down slightly to his own height. Suga grinned at the first year “So Tsukishima, tell us, what do you think of F/N-chan’s outfit today? She looked super cute in that dress right? And how she did her hair?” 

Tsukki fought the urge to blush and groan at the same time. On the one hand, it was pretty obvious he thought you looked adorable. On the other, there was no way Suga was asking out of the kindness of his heart. Tsukki adjusted his glasses to hide the blush fighting to rise before clearing his throat “I mean it’s not like we haven’t seen her in street clothes before. So what makes what she is wearing today any different?” There. That was a neutral enough remark that it should be accepted. 

Of course, Suga was only setting the trap with his comment. No way was he walking away today without Tsukki at least attempting to talk to you about his obvious feelings. “Well I think you should tell her that you think she looks cute.”

Sputtering Tsukki gave his senpai an incredulous look, obviously caught off guard at the jab at his growing feelings for the girl. “No way. Whatever you are trying to get at it’s not going to work. Besides, we are total opposites so it would never work anyway.” 

Tsukki thought with shutting it down by bringing up that comment, he would be left alone by his pushy vice captain. But no, that comment only drew a devilish grin from the silver haired setter before he turned to the other first years. “Hey Hinata, you are hanging out with F/N today right? Make sure to tell her that  Koushi Senpai thinks she looks super adorable today okay?” 

Tsukki’s eyebrow twitched at the response Hinata gave, but mostly at the thought that Hinata would be the one telling F/N that Sugawara thought she looked cute. Koushi senpai? Since when were they on first name basis...?

To top it all off, Daichi’s laugh from behind Tsukki caught his attention and drew him out of his quickly rising questions. Causing him to turn and look at the captain. “You know Tsukishima. In some cases, opposites do attract, so I think you should take that chance to talk to her. I bet she would really enjoy it.” he added with a wink before opening the clubroom door, breaking the silence of the secret conversations going on in the club locker room. 

Tsukki let out a sigh. Not because he was annoyed. But because they were right. And he knew they wouldn’t stop badgering him until he talked to you. Which to be honest, sounded more and more like a good idea the longer he thought about it.  

Grabbing his bag, Tsukki tossed it over his shoulder while telling Yamaguchi not to wait for him today. He had an adorable, shy, and extremely cute girl to go find and attempt to talk to. Who knows? Daichi and Suga could be right. Opposites could attract, but he wouldn’t know if he didn’t try now would he?

[pinkhairedlily]

Chapter 3 - Student Council President Sakura

SCPS AO3 | PREVIOUS CHAPTER

“Good morning, Sensei.”

Long trails of pink hair fell just inches above Kakashi’s face. He opened his eyes from a short morning nap and found Sakura shielding him from the summer sun. The book he was reading was on his stomach, turned down and split on the page he stopped.

“Good morning, Sakura. You let your hair down.”

She grinned at him and took a few steps back as he stood up. “I didn’t have time to dry my hair. I didn’t want to be late on my first day of class.”

“You had time to wake me up though.”

Internal panic coursed through Sakura which intensified more when he yawned and smirked, obviously teasing her, but it emphasized the small mole above his chin – something she was always fascinated about. “It’s bad impression when freshmen students find their teacher littering on campus grounds, Sensei.” I’m so proud of my quick wit. She happily sauntered away from the speechless, heads-over-heels, oblivious student trap.

Kakashi walked with her until the main entrance of the building, easily avoiding Sakura’s inquisitions of his summer break shenanigans and pinning the lack of it on the endless teacher trainings and seminars. Just before he left her to go the faculty room, he took a rubber band from his wrist and gave it to her. “In case you’ll get conscious and want to tie your hair. Have a good day, Sakura.”

She wasn’t conscious at all; she let it down for him, the hair tie in her skirt’s pocket – her pink strands freed at will to demand for his undivided attention, but she opened her palm to receive his offer all the same. She sighed after his fading figure in the gathering crowd.

New class lists were pasted on the bulletin board, and she scanned for names. Two particular people caught her attention. Ironically, they also appeared within her field of sight.

“Oh, Sakura. Good morning!” Naruto’s loud voice was ringing even though he just entered the building. If she would describe him, he was the embodiment of sunshine. He just had that positive energy around him which she liked. Walking close behind him was Sasuke, the stoic genius of their batch, and the opposite of Naruto. “How was your summer, Sakura?”

“Hmm, nothing much.” She glanced ever so quickly at Sasuke and saw him pay no mind. She liked that about him because while he was so unlike his loud, chatty friend, his energy was warm and kind, just hiding behind a tall wall of vulnerability. “I heard you joined the baseball team. Congratulations!”

Naruto shyly scratched his head. “I’m still a rookie though. I’ve got ways to go.”

That wasn’t entirely true. Sakura heard through the vine that he got mad agility skills, and that every sports team wanted him to try out. So much has changed in a year.

“Come on, we’re gonna be late.” Sasuke said.

“I haven’t seen which class I’m in yet!”

He grabbed the blonde by the collar and led the way. “We’re classmates.”

“Yeah, we’re classmates.” Sakura fell in step with Sasuke, Naruto frozen in shock. What an odd trio they must have been.

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

Their seating arrangement was pasted on the board when they came in. Sasuke got the seat beside the window – a good position for daydreams and afternoon naps. Sakura was placed beside him with a nice center view of the room, and Naruto was in front of her.

“Hey, Sakura. I need to tell you something, but it’s quite embarrassing. You see, I tend to fall asleep in the middle of class and since I’m in front of you…..erm….uhhh.”

“What he meant to say is he drools,” Sasuke interrupted. This apparently irked Naruto who full on glared at him.

“Well, yes, I drool. I have short attention span and classes make me so sleepy, but I hope that won’t disturb you. Just please look over my head.”

“How can she when there’s a porcupine sitting on it?”

Sakura chuckled at their weird, friendly banter. “Yeah sure, whatever you say Naruto. I don’t get easily distracted anyway.” She forgot to ask earlier if Kakashi will still be teaching Math for second years or which section his homeroom will be. As if her thoughts conjured him, he walked in their room, his silver hair glinting against the sunlight, and his eyes wandering in search for a face. Hushed gushes of admiration spread through the students, awed by the silent imposition of his presence. Then, his eyes fell on her.

He bridged the gap between them in easy, wide strides. “Ms. Haruno, the student council is looking for you.”

“They really sent you on an errand, Sensei?” No one dared to look beyond their interactions. She was easy-going, casual without being disrespectful, the model cheerful student, and the teachers’ pet. Teasing him with her half-truths hanging in between words was not difficult to cover up.

“Of course, I’m the council’s adviser.” And of course, she was thankful for his obliviousness.

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

“What do you think could it be? Did Sakura get into a scuffle?” Naruto asked after Sakura left with Kakashi. “No, that’s not really possible.”

Sasuke shrugged. He just wanted the day, or rather, the term to end quickly. He purposely avoided visiting the café, going in the mornings rather than late nights, partly because he didn’t want to run into her and partly because he was scared. He was just safely keeping his distance.

Sakura returned just before the next class started with an exuberant expression. The next teacher basically confirmed the news. “Congrats, Ms. Haruno Sakura. Thanks for stepping up to be the next student council president.” The position was left vacant after the initial appointee decided to focus on preparations and review to move abroad for college. The council, with faculty approval, recommended her to take the rein.

Hmm. They trust her abilities to this extent, huh. Sasuke looked outside, uninterested with the unfolding event and the break of congratulations around her. He saw her reflection on the window, smiling widely at her classmates, but her hands told another story, her fingers just solely focused on the rubber tie around her wrist.

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

Naruto had to stay behind for baseball practice which Sasuke was thankful for, but his feet didn’t want to go back home so he hid in their spot, napped for a while, and waited for Naruto’s message. When the blonde finally finished, Sasuke went to the field to fetch him.

“Sasuke, they’ll be joining us for dinner!” Naruto said.

“Sure, invite another team more.” Just his luck, Sasuke hated company, but like all other instances, he kept being dragged within his friend’s orbit. The team waved at him silently, knowing for a fact now that he didn’t respond to anyone other than Naruto.

“Really?” Naruto’s eyes perked up then a moment later realized that Sasuke was being sarcastic. He wrapped an arm around his shoulder and led the way to their usual ramen house.

“Get your hands off me, you vermin.”

“Awww they told me this was probably your love language – friendly banter.”

“Naruto, that didn’t come from us. We don’t want to get killed!” his teammates collectively chimed behind him. “Sorry Sasuke.”

Sasuke released a heavy sigh, quickly glaring at the players, but also letting the remarks slide. At least, this was a better option than being early at home and alone. After dinner, Naruto badgered him for desserts.

“I think I need a sugar rush. All the sugar left my body during practice. I envy Team Captain Haru.”

“The one with the undercut? His hair looked boring.”

“He has a steady supply of sweetness in his life. His girlfriend, Hinata, always visited during summer break. Quiet but supportive of our practice games. She cheers for him on the side and brings us snacks. I want a girlfriend too.”

“That’s normal, considering you’re a hormonal teenager.”

“Aren’t you the same?”

“Nope, I’m just a teenager.” His feet unconsciously led him to the café where Sakura worked. Ah, shit. “Hey, let’s go to another place.”

“This looks okay, grumpy! Besides, my feet hurt. Please have mercy on your dear friend.”

“You’re not my friend.”

“That’s a part of your love language too. Ehe. Come on now.”

Despite internally wishing she wasn’t present this evening, he found himself face to face again with Sakura. She had the usual disguise, but her makeup was on the heavier side – cat-shaped eyeliner just made her eyes stood up more. When she saw them, the first thing she did was look at him, conveying a questioning look, possibly on whether Naruto knew who she was. Sasuke subtly shook his head once.

Ever the simple-minded, Naruto’s focus was on the sweets. “I’ll have strawberry milkshake and a slice of red velvet cheesecake please!” It was going so well until he saw her face. Leaning in to Sasuke, he whispered. “She kinda looks familiar, don’t you think?”

“Your order, Sir?” Unfazed, Sakura continued doing her job. Her eyes looked towards the last plate of cream puffs.

“One slice of tomato cake and a matcha latte.”

“What?” Sakura and Naruto said at the same time.

“Even the lady agrees that that dessert sound unappetizing!” Naruto stuck out his tongue for a more theatrical effect. “Get a brownie or a cream puff.”

“I’m treating you so let me eat my tomatoes in peace.” Sasuke held out his card to Sakura who was still weirded out by his selection. Did he really give off a strong impression of his cream puffs inclination?

“I feel like we have a vibe going on.” Naruto leaned towards the counter, seemingly flirting with Sakura-in-disguise. “Maybe it’s because you have the same eye color?”

Before he could embarrass himself any further and prematurely confess his yet half-hearted feelings, Sasuke dragged Naruto away from the counter and on the farthest table of the café. “You made her uncomfortable. Stop it.”

“She looked like Sakura! But of course, our student council president looks more ethereal. I bet she’s so busy with school and club activities, she won’t have time for this.”

He spent an hour or so listening to Naruto talk about his baseball practice, the expired ramen he accidentally cooked last night, and the difficulty of their classes. It somehow ended on a note, much more like an imposition from Naruto, that Sasuke will give him supplementary lessons in this café and with his allowance.

They were about to leave when Sakura beckoned them over. She had two paper bags in her hands, and Sasuke noticed the absence of cream puffs. Someone must have ordered it already.

“Here’s a treat on the house – one for each of you. We’re giving freebies if you order within this timeframe. Come again!”

“This is so great! Thank you!” Naruto beamed at her but remembered something. “Hey, I’m sorry if I felt like a creep earlier. It wasn’t my intention.”

“Uh, that’s all right. I get that a lot.” She beamed back at him.

“You have the same beautiful eye color with our classmate. She’s cheerful, assertive, and has this positive energy around her. We hope we could be friends with her. Thanks for this again!”

Sasuke was too late to stop Naruto’s ramble, but he guessed it turned out fine. She just continued smiling like a good ole polite employee. “Get going, Naruto. I want to rest.” The two of them stepped out on the street with the fresh evening breeze.

“I feel like I still creeped her out.”

“Maybe you did.” Sasuke smirked at the tortured expression on Naruto’s face.

When he came home, he opened the paper bag to place the contents inside the fridge. It didn’t occur to him to ask why that promo wasn’t offered to him when he came last time, but nonetheless, he was a bit glad that he had something to munch on aside from processed food. His thoughts halted when he saw the cream puffs inside. His hands fetched his phone and he quickly dialed Naruto’s number.

“Grumpy, you missed me already?”

“What did she give you?”

“Who? Oh? You mean the café lady? Brownies! Do you think I can share these with Sakura tomorrow?”

Sasuke hang up on him without answering his question. He just kept on staring at the cream puffs on his kitchen counter.

Yeah, I better keep my distance.

AO3 LINK | NEXT CHAPTER | CHAPTER 4

[thatlassinquarantine]

Worldbuilding: Take 2 - Alfea

Author’s Note: God help me. This thing took me in total like four hours, my back hurts and I drank two big cups of black tea. Anyway the outline of this thing isn’t mine, it’s based of this https://springhole.net/writing/magical-school-development-questions.htm .

So Alfea, the most prestigious educational institution, or as we simple mortals like to call it a school, for Fairies.

It’s students are, as I said before, Fairies (no Sprites here). They come from all over the Realms. The atendence begins around 17-18 years of age and ends when the Fairy achieves her Enchantix around her 20-21 years.

It’s students are mostly human but sometimes there is also someone from the native-native inhabitants of the planets. However thanks to the fact that sometimes some ‘aliens’ have advantages in some regards, some adjustments need to be made in order to achieve the correct results. For example, Dryads have easier time controling nature especially plants, therefore exams from Draíocht Nádúrtha (Nature Magic) need to be more difficult for Dryads.

Students are selected based on power. The school council is going to decide based on some small trials, if the participating Fairy is worthy to study in Alfea. They will accept the strongest 90. While doing that, they also decide who is going to be in WIngs together.

The school is capable of hosting up to a 270 students at a time.

Most students here continue their education that they started before on some other school, depending on where they’re from. After they reach their ‘final’ form, they can continue studying on their own with a menthor, try to get into another school or start working, or anything else that a student of Earth highschool would do after graduation.

The students live inside the school on the first floor. Rooms house one to two students each. The Wings live in the same dormitories. Bathrooms are included and anything else they for day to day life (such as a small kitchen, that is suplied by the school). The school library is also present near the rooms, next to the staircase leading onto the ground floor. It has its own research system, though not that many students dare to use it, because it is known to get rather volatile when asked about certain topics, reacting with hurling books towards whoever the unfortunate student or staff member is.

The schools crest is a geometric golden camomile on golden field, surrounded by a golden circle. The reasoning behind this is that it grows all around Alfea and it is used in many potions, especially in healing potions.

The school has no mascot.

The students get up when the sun comes out (7:00) and go to classes hour later. There is a pause at 10:00, when the students and staff have breakfast and than continue with classes. There is a five minute pause between each. They end when the sun is highest at the sky (13:00) and the students go for lunch. After hour of doing what ever, there are seminaries, that last anywhere from hour to two hours.

The school is a castle built in a style that resembles a modern renaissance style. Its walls are in a pale shade of pink and its roofs are cobalt. It’s built around the courtyard.

The school lies on the south shore of Lake Roccaluce, surrounded by the Gloomy Wood Forest, which is in this part made mostly of pines and some oaks. The ground is filled with grass, shamrock and camomile. Quite a lot of animals enjoy company of Fairies, namely red deer, hares, hedgehogs and loads of different birds, that are native to Ireland here on Earth with the occasional badger or fox. For the ‘mythical’ creatures there can be found unicorns or, the less welcomed, kelpie, that normally live in the north deeper part of the lake.

The closest city to Alfea is Magix, the capital of the same-named Magix. It was built 50 years ago, before Bloom comes into play. It is neutral ground and it’s used for solwing conflicts between the Realms. Even though most of its people didn’t live here for long, they are quite friendly.

The school has a fairly (pun intended) good reputation, known for its students who achieved great deeds through their life.

A lot of people in Realms are born magicless, but they think of Alfea just as highly as those who are born with magic.

Alfea has a lot of rival Fairy schools all around the Realms. The most well known is Solarian Fairy academy Beta, that has been competing with Alfea ever since its establishment 500 years ago. They are ran in similiar fashion, however Beta begins accepting their students a year earlier. However exculding schools for Fairies, the most well known rivalry is with the Cloud Tower - school for Witches and Warlocks.

The subjects in Alfea can be put in two groups - magical and nonmagical. For subjects where magic is applied we have: potionology (potion making / partially chemistry), metamorphosis (low ranking shapeshifting of other subjects), flying lessons (teaching students how to fly), magic defense (teaching students how to use magic shields), magical offense (how to use magic to deal damage) and applied convergence (teaching students how to combine their magic with other members of their Wing). For subjects that don’t use magic we have: magiphilosophy (morality of magic, etc.), history of magic (that), magic in nature (how does magic effect ‘natural’ world) and good manners. Than there are the seminaries, but they depend on the teachers.

The type of magic that taught at Alfea, and Fairy schools in general, is ‘light’ magic, that feeds of positive energy. It’s variations depend on the Fairy who wields it. Teachers need to readjust their teaching, when it comes to such students.

Surprisingly enough, most accidents happen during flight classes when students run out of time during their transformations and fall down. This has been prevented many times thanks to parachutes that students are required to put on before their transformation.

Studies on this school are determined by Trans Realmal Department of Magical Education (TRDME). Small things can be changed by the Headmistress.

Anyone qualified for the job of teacher of magic, can try to apply for job at Alfea. The teachers are chosen by the school council, just like the students. Unlike the students however, teacher can be either male or female.

Just like the students, teachers can be from any Realm and unlike the students, magic is not required. It’s a plus, but it is not required.

Political view differes from teacher to teacher. Especially if they’re from different planets. And students too. Most of the time it’s: respect the law and don’t get anywhere near Strigas (Witches and Warlocks)

There are holidays very similiar to Wheel of the Year. There is Autumn Equinox (21. 9. - 24. 9.), Day of the Rose (9. 10.), Day of Those who Left (2. 11.), Yule (21. 12. - 1. 1.), Spring Equinox (19. 3. - 22. 3.) and Day of the Oak (20. 6.). And the Big Break of course (1. 7. - 31. 8.). On Equinoxes, Yule and Big Break students get to go home and on the Days classes are cancelled, so the students can either go home or stay at their dorms.

The school is protected by many magics, notably its protective shield (radius 500 metres) won’t let any nonmagical creature in, unless the Headmisterss allowed it. This does not affect animals, who come in and leave as they please. Headmistress can enforce any other protective magics if she desires.

School provides all the supplies its students will need, including any books, potion materials or anything else.

Any magic without teacher insight is prohibited. Even if the risk of harm is not grand everytime, the rule still applies.

Alfea used to have dresscode in the old days, however the latest Headmistress, miss Isabella Faragonda, because she consider it ‘old’ and that the students ‘should have as much freedom in their clothes as in their magic, as long as the Head of Discipline says it is alright’. Needed to say some students believe she should’ve kept the dresscode, just for that reason alone.

Students can assemble in any free time of day and do whatever they want unless it violates code of school. Which also means they can go to Magix, to the Gloomy Wood Forest or to the Lake. Or anywhere else for that matter, just make sure to get back before sunset. Sport activities are allowed as well on the field behind the school, courtyard or small beach next to the Lake.

Students are given breakfast, lunch and dinner by the school in the school canteen. If they want to eat anything between the breaks they can, however it is food that they made in their small dorm kitchens. The food from the canteen is made in school kitchens by professional magic chef Sfoglia. From what students and staff say the food is apparently delicious.

Students can create clubs. As said before when students are chosed by the school council, they also put them into Wings - teams of Fairies, that help one another during battles. They can make drama clubs or history clubs or tutoring clubs or whatever clubs.

Injuries are handled with extreme care in school infirmary led by nurse Ofelia. However if something worse happens there is always the Hospital of Magix.

If student breaks the code of the school (the law in Magix), they can be expelled. A student can appeal and go to the Court of Magix, and try to get their scolarship.

The school was founded almost 750 years before Bloom comes to the picture. It was founded by well respected Guardian Fairy of Solaria, Dianthe Messia Apelles. It was founded for the need to properly train young Fairies in order to protect their Realms from threats. And also because there is School for Strigas right across the Lake.

Miss Faragonda has been part of Company of Light, group of great warriors and Fae (and one Witch), who fought in the War for the Flame. She has managed to defeat large portion of the cavalry of Voluky, large insect like creatures, created by fairy Mandragora, on her own

Many of Guardian Fairies have studied on this school. Not only them but also Magical Healers, Researchers or Fighters. All of them are considered pride of the school and an idle for every Fairy who goes through Alfeas gate.

There are secret tunnels bellow the school, that begin with hole in the wall of a well in Alfeas courtyard, which go under the Lake and connect to cave near the Cloud Tower and go directly to Red Fountain, army school with numerous specialization for the students to choose. They were built during the War in order to make sure that the students and staff can quickly move to safety, if they were attacked.

The school building has been damaged during the first wave of attack during the battle for Alfea and comple of times after that, but it was nothing too big. Overall the school looks quite the same, just like when it was constructed. The entire castle has been built at once. Some changes were made to the interior of classes and canteen and dorms and rooms are changed almost everytime a new student moves in. Curently there are plans to expand the greenhouse and basement parts of the school. And there has been added a bus stop, with a bus that leaves to Magix every single hour, from 9: 00 to 16: 00.

There aren’t many legends connected to the school. However there were few legends about ghosts and monsters in the night roaming the halls. That thing is partially truth, because during the War extremly agressive minotaur were send to guard the halls while the students slept. They were prohibited from leaving their rooms because there was a high risk of the creatures attacking them. However they had since been removed, though the rumors are still around.

There are no unsolved mysteries present in Alfea.

As said before the dresscode was changed only recently, but other changed rules include: keeping pets (as long as it isn’t dangerous to people around it), ability to go to Magix and bunch of other minor things that aren’t really important.

[labyrinthof-fan-fiction]

(When Your Heart’s on Fire) Smoke Gets in Your Eyes

Geraskier 50s AU

Summary: Geralt just wanted a calm night at the club, a drink in one hand, a cigar in the other. Then that crooner, Jaskier, took the stage. Post WWII, Geralt is still adjusting to life as a civilian.

Companion One Shot of Jaskier seeing Geralt for the first time here.

Warnings: PTSD mentions, Alcohol Consumption

A/N: I warned you all that this was going to happen, we’re going to be thriving off this Vera Lynn playlist for a long time. Also I’ve made Roach into a cat for this, why not? Inspiration: Vic Damone’s (When Your Heart’s on Fire) Smoke Gets in Your Eyes. His version was recorded in 1956, but the song has existed since 1933. Look his voice is to die for and exactly how I’d imagine crooner Jaskier would sound. Because I love Joey, but crooner Jaskier would be a hell of a baritone with a beautiful falsetto.

Disclaimer: I don’t own The Witcher. I don’t own ‘Smoke Gets in Your Eyes’

Word Count: 2,340

Geralt had a long day, hell a long week. Adjusting to civilian life after the war had taken its toll on him. Going back to his job in the factory had not been as easy as he had planned. Shell shock was what they had called it when they found him curled in a ball in the bathroom after a machine had let out a violent blast. His shaking hands wrapped around his head, eyes searching for the shrapnel that never came.

After that incident he had been taken off the floor and placed in an office. He despised the office. They even had the audacity to require him to come to work in a shirt and tie everyday. “It’s what an office man wears.” They had said. “You can always go somewhere else.”

He wasn’t about to tell them he had never wanted to be an office man, that their absurd notion of moving him to a desk job was an act of service to him for his own act of service, was an insult. Because in the end, he needed a job. He didn’t have a wife or child to care for, but he had a cat, and the cat had to eat. Roach, his mangy tom cat, provided him with companionship, in turn Geralt provided him with a meal.

He was constantly badgered by his coworkers about his bachelor status. “How haven’t you found a little lady to settle down with?” One would say.

“A man like you would have no trouble getting some little thing to fall in love with you.” Another would chime in.

“You’ll grow tired of the bachelor status soon enough.” His boss would say, “Nothing like comin’ home to a house with a woman to take care of you.”

“You better tie down that dark haired beauty you always bring to functions.” Another would chime in.

He would nod his head and mumble something about just not having found the right girl yet. But he knew, he would never find the right girl, because he wasn’t looking for a girl. And that was a fact that he would not share around the water cooler. That alone would send him out the door, and he was not going to test his luck. Being home with his cat was depressing, he knew this because his best friend, Yennefer, constantly reminded him of this fact.

He was thankful for her, whenever he needed a date for a company function, she would be there. A beautiful woman to hang off his arm, then go their separate ways when the night came to an end. She was determined to forge her own way into the world, without a husband. A revolutionary idea, if you asked Geralt. And he was always ready to step in if she required a man to stand beside her. Most men would feel used and sour if they were a face to help a woman further herself, but Geralt felt honored she trusted him. Occasionally he felt guilty that she needed him at all. She was the person who turned him on to the club and since that he spent each night there.

The club was comfortable, tucked away in a back area of the city. Far away from the traditional areas, a small nook in the middle of chaos. To most people, it would have seemed a normal club with a bar and tables scattered about the walls, a small dance floor in the middle, a stage front and center. But Geralt knew that the women at the bar, chatting and smiling were not just good friends, and when they left, they weren’t going to go separate ways. The men at the table in a dark corner were not conducting an under the table business deal. But Geralt had one reason for being in the club every night, and he was on stage.

Jaskier, was his name, it took Geralt three weeks to get the courage to approach him. A slight blush crept up his neck when he remembered the night he finally introduced himself to the singer. After far too much alcohol, of course.

Geralt was frustrated from work, one of the younger men announced his engagement. Now this should not have bothered him, it usually didn’t. Engagements and weddings were so common that there was a constant supply of cigars passed in the office. No the boy’s engagement didn’t put him off. His boss did.

The men all sat down, with glasses of scotch and cigars toasting to the happy couple. This was fine, a normal occurrence. His boss started poking at him. “All these young men settling down, what about you Geralt?”

“Maybe sometime.” Geralt answered emptily. There wasn’t going to be a sometime, not for him.

And this is the sulky attitude he took to the club that night. Jaskier was on stage, singing his set of tunes. His baritone voice floating above the smoke, piercing through Geralt’s clouded mind. His voice grounded Geralt, brought him out of his attitude, and redirected his attention to the man on stage. He was in a deep blue suit, cream shirt, and a pink bowtie. Not Geralt’s style, but it was Jaskier’s. “Hmmmmm.” Geralt mumbled as he listened to Jaskier’s voice float around the room for an hour as he nursed a drink, then another, and then he couldn’t remember how many. The crowd began to clap and cheer as Jaskier wrapped up his set for the day. Geralt joined them, letting out a wolf whistle.

The man onstage bowed and leapt lightly off the edge of the stage and headed to the bar. He easily made his way through the patrons and placed his forearms on the bar. “Sidecar, Andy.” He said to the bartender who nodded and began to mix the drink.

Jaskier’s hazel eyes turned to Geralt, a few stools away. His eyes slowly scanned the larger man up and down until they made their way back up to Geralt’s eyes. A flicker of something burned in the singer’s eyes, but Geralt could not place it before the man turned away to accept his drink from the bartender.

Geralt sighed. They had been doing this same dance for a while now. But tonight, Geralt was putting an end to it. He slammed the last of the glass of whiskey in his hand and stood. His head spinning slightly. He closed his eyes and counted to ten before moving into the bar stool next to the other man.

“Nice set.” He said gruffly, panic setting in. He had never approached a man before. Sure he had wanted to, but he hadn’t.

Jaskier took a sip of his drink. Silence wrapping around the two men as Jaskier sized Geralt up. “I’m glad you liked it.”

“You always put on a great show.” Geralt managed to spit out. In his mind he was being suave, in reality. He was a goddamn mess.

“I try.” Jaskier said, taking another sip. Geralt trying to come up with something to keep the conversation from dying. “Have a bite with me?”

Geralt’s eyes widened and he nodded. The singer chuckled and nodded to the bartender. Jaskier stood and put a hand on the larger man’s forearm. “Let’s go to a table.”

Geralt followed the other man blindly to the table where they fell into a conversation. Well, Jaskier spoke and Geralt listened. Geralt wouldn’t be able to tell you what they said, what they shared, the mix of alcohol and excitement erased everything but the fact that he spent time with the singer.

After that night, the two fell into a pattern. Geralt would sit at the bar through Jaskier’s sets for the night. When he was finished they would get food and sit at a table, talking until closing. Some days they would talk about nonsense, others they would talk about their families, their pasts. They had both served in the War, Jaskier and been further from the front than Geralt. They both no longer had ties to their families. Geralt would tell him of Roach’s most recent adventures and catches. He would talk about his job.

Jaskier would listen to every word Geralt would say, and Geralt loved him for it. Geralt shook his head slightly. He loved him. He loved Jaskier. He’s in love with Jaskier. This had not been an easy conclusion for him to come to. It took him almost a month to process. Yennefer had laughed at him when he bore his soul to her.

“Took you long enough.” She said, taking a sip of the milkshake in front of her. She always insisted they meet in. For ‘appearences sake’ she said. Geralt had a feeling that she didn’t come there for just the burgers, but he wasn’t one to pull information from her.

And so he found himself leaving work to head to the club. The club Jaskier was singing in. The club that he was going to tell the singer that he loved him in. His heart beat in his chest as he made his way downtown. He pulled at the tie around his neck until it was loose enough for him to breathe.

He entered the club, giving a quick greeting to the doorman, who gave a slight tilt to his head as Geralt rushed past him. Geralt glanced around the room. His normal spot at the bar was filled by a woman he recognized, Yennefer. She looked up at him, her eyes twinkling as she raised her glass to him. He glanced around, the only seat he could see was at the table by the stage. He sighed and made his way there, the bartender brought his usual drink to him. The band was warming up onstage, Jaskier was no where to be seen. Odd, Geralt thought, Jaskier regularly would be front and center for sound checks.

The lights in the room dimmed. And Jaskier made his way onto the stage. Geralt felt his heartbeat speed up. Jaskier made his way to the mic, wearing the same suit he had when they first met. Even with that damn pink bowtie.

“Good evening everyone.” Jaskier said into the mic. “Tonight, we are going to start out with a song for a special someone.” A few whistles broke out from the crowd. Jaskier winked in Geralt’s direction and nodded to the piano player who began a flourish of notes, fast paced arpeggios rang out from the baby grand. Jaskier put one hand on the mic and took a deep breath.

“They asked me how I knew

My true love was true

I of course replied

Something here inside, cannot be denied”

Jaskier placed a hand over his heart. Geralt’s eyes did not leave Jaskier’s. Did this mean what he thought it did? He nervously pulled at the collar of his shirt, suddenly it felt too tight. They must have fixed the heating in the club this week.

“They said "someday you'll find all who love are blind"

When your heart's on fire,

You must realize, smoke gets in your eyes”

He winked into the crowd, causing one of the cigar smokers to blow a large puff of smoke towards the stage.

“So I chaffed them and I gaily laughed

To think they could doubt my love”

He raised an eyebrow at Geralt.

“Yet today my love has flown away,

I am without my love,”

He glanced into the crowd, a forlorn gaze, before his trademark smile broke out across his face.

“Now laughing friends deride”

Jakier gave a slight tilt to his head, causing Geralt to look back to the bar where Yennefer sat.  A Cheshire grin splitting her face. She raised her glass and took a sip.

“Tears I cannot hide

So I smile and say

When a lovely flame dies, smoke gets in your eyes

Smoke gets in your eyes"

Jaskier smiled he finished holding out the final note, Stephen, the pianist, brought the tune to a close with a tremolo on the final chord. The crowd erupted into cheers, several people standing, but Geralt remained in his seat. Jaskier’s eyes stayed locked with his, Jaskier finally broke their contact by turning to the crowd.

“Now, let’s get this started.” The band erupted into a fast tune, carrying couples to the dance floor. Geralt stayed in his seat, nursing his drink. He knew, without a doubt that he loved that man up on stage. The set came to a close and Jaskier leapt from the stage to stand in front of Geralt.

“I love you.” Geralt said, not giving the other man the chance to say anything.

“Oh thank God. I was hoping I didn’t just sing you a love song and you didn’t have feelings for me.” Jaskier said, Geralt paused for a moment. “I love you too.”

Jaskier held his hand out to Geralt, who looked at it, confused. “Hmmm?”

“Dance with me.” Jaskier said, and Geralt would not deny him. He would never be able to deny Jaskier anything.

They made their way to the middle of the dance floor, Stephen played a lilting slow introduction on the piano, the band following him. Jaskier placed one hand on the back of Geralt’s neck, the other guiding Geralt’s hands to his waist. Once he had Geralt situated he brought the other hand up to wrap his arms around the taller man’s neck, causing Geralt to look down at the man in his arms. Geralt’s mind blanked and he found himself leaning down to the other man, Jaskier closed the distance between them, locking his lips onto Geralt’s.

Geralt tightened his hold on Jaskier, deepening the kiss. Jaskier pulled away for air, pressing his forehead to Geralt’s. They remained silent, wrapped in each other’s arms as the band played on. For the moment all that mattered was the man in their arms and the love they felt. The reality of the world was a problem for another time, for all who love are blind.

[georgiacottrillart]

‘Hercules at the feet of Omphale’ - Gustave Boulanger

Gustave Boulanger discreetly subverted gender through his painting off ‘Hercules at the feet of Ompahle’, by looking at gender dominance and gender role reversal. The painting depicts a scene from Greek mythology. Hercules is forced to live as a slave to the Queen of Lydia, Omphale, after inadvertently killing Iphitus. Omphale claims Hercules’ club and lion skin and she wears them as a sign of her dominance, Hercules is in turn made to wear female clothing and undertake feminine tasks such as sewing. 

Boulanger interestingly uses a badger brush which was associated female artists and their work. In the 19th century, mediums and techniques were gendered and using a badger brush was seen as feminine. Due to this, male artists were ridiculed for adopting this process in their work as it was considered ‘un-manly’. However, Boulanger uses the brush to challenge the perception of the time and what society then classed to be ‘Feminine’. Although he also used the technique to heighten the femininity of Hercules, the same way he does with dressing him in pink clothing.

Boulanger reverses the roles of gender in his painting by accentuating the role reversal, he represented Omphale centred in the painting (which is often given to male figures), were as Hercules was slumped and had taken on the feminine positioning. Boulanger goes against traditional views on how men and women are presented in art, by placing them in these positioning. 

Boulanger used the story of Hercules and Omphale to depict the questions of out-dated ideas of gender roles through art.