#(( laid out for green lighting a go ahead and the big thing... the art. ))

[harmo-n-ia]

(( I find it cute and sweet to see how many people headcanon N's birthday to Pi day! That's really creative and sweet, and cute for him to get PIES then too heeheheh.

For Nat I went with a different angle, I made his birthday September 18th. Why? That's when pokemon B&W was released first in Japan! So that's the date I set to Nat's Birthday. He's just a sweet boy though and is happy enough to just be remembered. Though food is always a way to win him over. He's happy to share with anyone who asks and his Pokemon friends too! Best a sweet boy.

My bad end AU Naal, however.... I haven't set his just yet. He lacks the core memory of that time (I mean yeah, he'd have been a babbu) and his thoughts are foggy. He remembers little snippets of early memories and he remembers the chill of cold [which was brought away into the warmth when he was adopted by the Pokemon in the forest] attached to his early memories. So likely some time late fall through winter. Somewhere in there. Not that it entirely matters to him because he's never had his birthday be celebrated. Someone get my sad boy Naal a cake or two. Let him eat cake instead of burning down Unova for once. ;w; ))

[lost-souls-wander]

Hunter x Reader

Chapter 1

It happened very fast, and everything went out of control. One moment humanity was just doing its thing and living in order. The next week however, everything had changed for the worst. All because of some kind of green flue. Don't take me wrong, I was concerned in the beginning, the fear of losing my slightly rhythmic life sure had taken its toll on me, especially after everyone around me started to panic, including my parents.

"HANNA! You cant just leave us! HANNA!-" those were my dads last words to his ex-lover and wife as she had taken the car, and drove off with our supplies and food. Dad was a mess after after what happened. He couldn't properly take care of us anymore, he had lost a lot of sleep in a few weeks time, his behavior also worsened. He was quick to anger, and constantly irritated. So I took it upon myself to learn things on my own as he continued to reign terror on the last of his family. I had snuck out just a few hours before sun rise and grabbed my bike. My fastest form of transport at the moment, and made a quick tour to the library, as usual, but my dad never knew. And it was possibly better this way.It was empty and deserted, I could hear a few inhuman groans here and there but couldn't quite picture what these "zombie" like creatures looked like, our dad was pretty much a helicopter when it came to the outside world when the apocalypse hit and mom left. None was allowed outside the house at all, just him. And he alone went scouting for food and food alone, here and there some materials but never something for us, his children.I could see his state worsening by the day, and considered it top priority to get away as soon as possible with as much knowledge on how to survive as possible. The building of the library was thick with a musty sent of old books and dust, lots of iron too, which I could only guess was blood. I stayed away from the strong scent of iron and focused on getting to the herbology section of the library.In these times mankind forgot that the true power of surviving came from knowledge, no knowledge? No advantage. No advantage? Possibly a gruesome death would follow.My hands brushed the polished wood that kept the books in their place on the shelves, thinking of how many people had touched these books, read through them, and possibly never did something with the knowledge inside. It was a shame really. I wanted to perhaps become member of this society and yet here it was, crumbling away at these un-dead. It saddened me a little, and I was horrified for a while when I heard it. What was I gonna do now? My degree in art and drawing was pretty much useless now. At least I could scavenge for a cabin in the mountains and settle down there, far away from society, where no zombies or humans could reach so I could exist in peace.

I chuckled, a mid-tone raspy chuckle filled my throat and echo'd a little through the empty apocalyptic library as I stopped and continued thinking about what to do and where to go. But first order of business was to get knowledge from the books and find a place to escape to. Grabbing my black old school bag I ripped it open quickly, wanting to fill it with the necessary books and just get out of here, The sounds of the un-dead in the distance was off putting, and I wasn't taking a chance to be caught in the middle of a group of them. I might have not seen them. But I knew damn well that from the clips on TV that those fuckers were fast. And me without my bike? Not so much.

I grabbed the books by pairs, quickly turning them to their back side and skimming through what the book would hold.

Edible herbal plants... Seasonal plants... Look alike's and their dangers... Looked valid enough. It went like this for a few minutes until my bag was full with books about surviving in nature, herbs, and making shelters for the night. Although I doubted it would help against zombie apocalypses it was always good to know how to make something remotely sheltering and how to acquire food from its natural source.

I quickly flung my backpack over my back and quickly took in the noise around me, the hoard had gotten ever so closer, and it started to make me anxious. If I didn't get out of here soon and back home I would be in a LOT of trouble, perhaps more trouble than being chased down the streets by a hoard of zombies. So I speed-walked towards the exit, the broken doors were leaning against the framework that had red and black splotches all over it the doors pretty much being smashed in two pieces by something extraordinary big. A shiver ran down her spine, May did NOT want to know what was big enough to do that.

after leaving the library doors she quickly hid in the bushes, peeking in between the leaves to see there was any danger, the branches poked and prodded at her form, the twigs leaving nasty marks on her clothes and bare skin.

There! in the distance she spotted her bike, old and a bit rusty, but it did the job well, I looked around if there were any zombies walking around and about, the road was clear, and so was the road ahead. It was a bit strange considering I hear an entire group of them just a few minutes ago but that must have been the other side of the building, luckily not the way I needed to go in order to get home.

I got partially up and half crouched/ran towards my bike which was placed against the opposite building in an alleyway, the alleyway was filled with trashcans and bags that had been ripped open by rats and other critters that roamed the streets and needed some food. Not that it was of any use now, it was all rotten and left a horrid stench that made my nose scrunch up in disgust.

I got on my bike and quickly started to get home, it was then that I started to feel like I was being watched. I felt it crawling over my skin that there was something or someone watching me, maybe some of the other survivors? or perhaps a zombie? I didn't want to find out and started to bike a little faster.

And then it happened all so fast, an inhuman growl came from my left and I was flung off my bike, panic setting into my very bones as I felt the bike get out of my grip, my face looked upwards as I saw the dark sky with a few light rays from the sun. I felt the cold harsh ground on my back and the air flew from my lungs as I tumbled down the steep hill, the creature flung with me yelping in surprise at it's own actions, we both rolled harshly down the wall of the construction site that was never finished.

I felt whatever air I had in me leave my body as I harshly was flung onto ground and came to a stop on my back, I groaned in agony face twisting in pain. everything hurt, my shoulders were probably bruised beyond belief and my legs felt like they had been ripped off whilst still being attached to me. And don't even get me started on my head, it hurt like a bitch!

I continued to wallow in my own pain for a brief moment until I heard a scream that sounded like it came from the depth's of hell itself, and a squishing like sound like flesh had been impaled on high impact, until all that was left was sound of screams of pure agony.

I didn't want to look at what had happened, I was in so much pain and the adrenaline was so high in my system that I made a run for the hill and grabbed what was left of my bike and just went, the howls of pain in the background growing fainter and fainter as the black concrete enveloped my mind, the scent of iron in the air was even more noticeable than before, and the distant sound of zombies screaming left me in even more panic than before as I skidded to a stop in front of my house, put my bike back in its place and threw myself over the fence to climb in the tree, and get inside of my room.

I did not come down that day for food or anything else.

That night I laid in bed curled up in fear and confusion, what had attacked me? what was it even? was that a zombie?! panic and fear had settled itself deep into my mind, I did not want to go back to the library in fear of coming across whatever that was, but fear soon turned into a guilty sympathetic feeling as I remembered what had happened to it, it had gotten pierced by metal rods and maybe was there, slowly dying, starving to death. If it even was alive that is.

I shut my eyes, letting my dark room filled with plants and comfortable blankets fall from my vision as I let a restless sleep take over me, for the next up coming week I did not sleep well, only thinking about the creature that might still be stuck there. Waiting for whatever was next to come.

[not-all-dead]

"It’s not a surprise when the Chief of Police comes out. There have been betting pools for years, and the announcement is met with mostly indifference. What is a surprise, however, is the interview that comes out alongside the announcement. The interview that is complete with a photoshoot of Lin Beifong in civilian clothes, talking about the challenges of her position. No one can remember the last time the Chief has given an interview, and the photo becomes the talk of the town."

How do you think the interview goes? What would Lin say?

link to (what i believe was) the original post of this! with some amazing art that VERY much helped me write this :DD (by @mgthejerkbender)

i was originally just gonna write a dialogue or notes for this but uh- i got a little carried away so here’s a 3687 word fic of the interview oops

CW: implications of past trauma (mentions of r@pe/s*xual assa*lt, public humiliation, not graphic at all), homophobia, sexism

fic under the cut :)

Lin walked into the room in a soft green turtleneck and dark brown pants that almost looked black without the light. There was sound equipment set up all over the place, with two armchairs in the middle of it all. A desk sat over to the side, a typewriter and paper sitting atop it. Quite a few people were rushing around, making sure that everything was in place for the broadcast. She watched a young woman sit at the desk, prepping the typewriter to transcribe the entire thing.

“Oh good, you’re here,” Lin turned to see a man in his early forties standing with a small journal behind her.

He wore a plain suit with a pale orange tie, his greying hair slicked back neatly. His eyes flitted around the room, checking things briefly for himself before focusing on Lin. He opened the notebook to a page about a quarter of the way through and smiled at Lin, nodding at the chairs behind her.

“Care to sit?” he asked, moving toward the chairs.

She took the seat farthest from where they’d just been standing, shifting to get comfortable while she waited for him to sit and get things rolling. She didn’t want to admit it, but her heart was racing. She hadn’t done anything like this is ages, especially not so casually. The topic of discussion also made her nervous, both because her job was something she rarely spoke of with anyone outside a professional context, and because of the announcement that would come with the interview. She’d encountered plenty of bigoted people in the past, and had no doubt that her officially coming out would only press them to question her position more than usual.

She picked idly at the fuzzballs on her turtleneck until the man sitting beside her cleared his throat. Her head snapped up to look at him, her body tensing briefly before seeing that he was testing the microphones. She sighed and relaxed slightly, speaking into the microphone placed before her when the sound technician prompted her to do so. Once everything seemed to be in place and ready to go, the broadcast started.

“Welcome, listeners, to tonight’s special program. I’m your host, Kaja Posicopolis, here with our esteemed Chief of Police, Lin Beifong. So, Chief, how are you on this fine night?” he started, putting on his radio voice.

“Good, I’m good,” Lin responded, leaning slightly forwards in her seat.

“That’s good to hear. I think I’ll launch right into our questions if you don’t mind, we’ve got a lot to get through tonight,” Lin nodded when he looked over to her, giving him the go ahead.

“Why don’t we start with something positive. What’s your favourite thing about your position as Chief? What about the job brings you the most joy?” he turned to watch her while waiting for her answer.

She looked at the floor for a moment, thinking before speaking.

“I think I’d have to say getting to help people. Ever since I was young I’ve wanted to protect others as much as possible, and being Chief makes that a lot easier and a lot more… legal,” he joined her when she chuckled lightly, but her smile only lasted a moment.

“Of course, I’m not perfect, and there are always times when things go wrong. I can’t say that those times don’t affect me, but I try to think of the people we as a force have helped over the years and that keeps me going,” she took a deep breath and looked to Kaja as he glanced at his notepad.

“That leads right into my next question; how do you do it? Not even your infamous mother was Chief for as long as you’ve been, and her time was already impressive. You’ve given so much to Republic City already, why, and how, do you keep giving?” there was a look of wonder and admiration on his face when he finished the question.

“I grew up in Republic City. It always has been, and will be, my home. And who doesn’t want to protect their home? I think that as long as I live here, I’ll be working to do anything in my power to help the city. I hate watching neighborhoods suffer… actually, I’m working on a plan with President Moon at the moment with the hopes of helping out the poorer parts of the city, providing homes for the homeless, all that good stuff. I just want to see Republic City thriving, and I want to help it get to that point. As I said before, it’s my home; everyone here is part of a community, a family, if you will, and that means everything to me,” Lin leaned back, resting against the cushion behind her, setting her right foot on her left knee.

“That’s a beautiful sentiment, thank you. I love the idea of the city being one big family, and that project sounds like it’ll be very good for the future of Republic City,” Kaja turned his gaze back to his notes, stopping the conversation briefly.

“The next question I have here is less uppity; what has your biggest struggle been with regards to your job?”

“That’s a hard one,” she paused. “I’ve had many struggles with work over my years as Chief, but I think of everything that’s happened… being a woman, and a queer one at that, has definetly taken it’s toll. Other things have been more directly challenging, but that’s been present since day one.”

“Would you care to elaborate on that?” he prompted leaning slightly towards her.

She inhaled and held her breath for a split second before sighing lightly.

“Sure, why not,” she gave a small smile to Kaja before starting.

“When I was much younger, just starting out in the force, I could already see the inherent bias against women that so many male officers held. My mother wasn’t immune to their verbal attacks, though she would give them a good… sparring match, lets say, if they ever so much as laid a finger on her. After a few times, that generally stopped happening, but people would still talk. The number of disgusting, awful things I heard coming from some of those men…” she huffed and shifted in her seat, putting one elbow on her armrest and resting her head on her hand.

“Anyway, I started to pay attention to every little thing. I noticed how many male politicians talked down to my mother, and not because of her blindness. Even a few of the men on our own council at the time would treat her as less-than for no apparent reason.

“I saw it happening in my own life and career, too. How my male counterparts got the promotion before I was even considered, despite performing just as well as them, if not better. How I was never asked for input on supposedly collective decisions or plans, and if I was or tried to interject, I was almost always dismissed. It seemed like any man of higher or equal rank to me thought I was some… assistant to bring him coffee and reports and not do any actual work.

“Seeing that attitude so often pissed me off. I made it my mission to prove myself beyond what was necessary. I wanted to show them that I could do anything they could just as well, sometimes even better. My work paid off eventually and I began to climb the ranks, not letting myself rest for a second. And I wanted to help people as well, of course, but it started out more as wanting to teach those bastards a lesson,” she moved again, uncrossing her legs and leaning forward on her elbows.

“Once I became Chief, a lot of people seemed determined to put me down. Practically every man, be he politician or merchant on the street, told me something insinuating that I was handed the position just because my mother was Chief before me. Every time I wanted to yell at them, to show them records of how hard I’d worked to get there, how much harder I’d had to work than most of my colleagues. With the politicians and other major figureheads, how much harder I’d had to work than they probably had.

“It was frustrating, but I got used to it. It was a constant that came with working a so-called, and I’m not making this up, it’s been said directly to my face before, ‘Man’s job’,” she stopped for a moment and looked over at Kaja, who was staring at her in disbelief.

She couldn’t help but let out a small laugh at his expression before looking back down and continuing.

“There was also the issue of my queerness,” she shook her head and took a deep breath, sitting back as she continued.

“I started working as a proper officer when I was about eighteen. Within my first year working, I was-,” she closed her eyes and clenched her teeth for a second.

“I had an encounter with a man, an older officer who was overseeing the training group I was a part of. He tried to initiate certain… activities with me, none of which I wanted to partake in. I did manage to get rid of him and filed a report against him, but it wasn’t the last time it happened.

“I was a pretty regular customer at a few of the underground bars for people like me at the time. I did my best to hide my face when I left, but there were always times I was careless, or somebody saw me in the seconds I let my guard down. Usually it was no big deal, but occasionally it was someone from work. Once, it was that man.

“He found me at work the next day and asked me about it. Yelled at me, really. He tried to make it seem like that’s why I’d denied him, and the names he called me weren’t pretty to say the least. He started to physically attack me, throwing punch after punch and not giving me the slightest chance to fight back.

“After that day, I stopped going to those bars altogether. The first time I went back to one was actually just a few years ago. I started dating Tenzin a few years later, and though people weren’t so outwardly expressive of their opinions on my relationships, the disapproval was still present.

“By the time Tenzin and I split up, I think some people still suspected my queerness, but it wasn’t a widely adopted theory. I had my fair share of men approach me, some with better intentions than others, and turned down most of them. Some of them didn’t react all that well, and I ended up filing several more reports. I don’t think any of them actually got charged, though.

“I entertained short romances with some men, some women too. Nothing stuck, not really anyway. I kept every relationship very quiet, including those with men, just for the sake of privacy. When I was with women, it was also to avoid getting hate-crimed, but I really did prefer to keep at least some things private.

“In the context of work, there were also challenges. That first superior to try getting at me like that must’ve talked, telling anyone who would listen about my excursions to the underground bars. People looked at me oddly in just about any shared workspace there was, though a few times I made friends because of it. Those were always good times, even if few and far between.

“Some people just gave a judgemental stare or vaguely rude comment every so often, but a few others took it further. Much further,” she looked up to the ceiling as she recalled another story.

“I had a supervisor when I was probably about, oh, twenty seven or so. He was a few ranks below my mother, and I one below him. He decided that one day it would be absolutely hysterical to cover my desk in obscene printed images of women I didn’t recognize, along with toys of a certain nature. I was mortified when I came in and saw the spectacle. The worst part was that almost everyone working in that part of the building at the time laughed with him, and those who didn’t weren’t exactly helpful.

“I didn’t come back to work for a week after that. It was awful, his stupid prank making me so shamed of who I was, who I loved. I know now that my loving both women and men isn’t a bad thing, and is simply part of me. It was harder to accept that, to accept myself, when I saw people like him in positions of power over me.

“I kept working though, and there was never an incident quite like that one again. A few others were more directly hateful than most, but it was easier to deal with. As with people treating me as less because of my gender, I got used to it,” she turned to Kaja, a hint of guilt on her face after talking for so long.

He shook his head, disbelief still spread across his face. His eyes flitted back and forth between floor tiles as he searched for the right words to respond.

“That sounds awful. I’m so sorry you had to deal with people like that,” he looked back up at Lin.

“So am I,” she scoffed, her fingers picking at her turtleneck again.

There was a small silence before Kaja looked back down at his notepad and then at the clock on the wall.

“We’ve got enough time for one last question, so is there anything you’d like to tell young women and queer people living in the city?” His expression was almost hopeful now, desperate to end off on a lighter note.

Lin smiled in amusement at him before looking down at her hands, fiddling her thumbs in her lap. After a moment, she looked back up at him and started speaking again.

“Absolutely,” she began, her gaze drifting around the room and landing on each individual at least once.

“To all the women working your asses off in the workforce: stand up for yourself. Don’t let any man devalue you because of your gender. Be the best you can be and wipe the smiles clean off their faces as you do it. Start your own businesses, get that promotion, set goals for yourself and fly past them. You can do just about anything you put your mind to, despite what many men might say,” her voice was strong, almost commanding as she began her final statement.

“And to all the young queer people out there; you are so, so strong. Keep loving each other, keep being yourselves. I know how awful people can be, but their opinions do not define you. You are perfect exactly as you are, and nothing can change that. It might seem like it’ll never be true, but I believe we will live in a time when acceptance is the norm. I believe that that time, with hard work and patience with those who need teaching, will be here soon.”

“Perfect. Thank you so much for your time, Chief,” Kaja said, looking at the clock again.

“Thank you for having me,” Lin replied, closing her eyes and taking a deep breath.

“And with that, folks, we wrap up today’s special broadcast. I’ll be back in the studio tomorrow resuming our usual radio program. Until then, I’m Kaja Posicopolis, and this is eighty six point four, your favourite music station,” Kaja finished, staying silent for a few seconds until a man from across the room nodded at him.

He rolled his head around and got up from his chair, setting his notepad down behind him.

“How are you now?” he asked Lin as he stretched his arms out and cracked his back.

Lin scoffed and stood, going through a couple of her own stretches. She straightened her shirt and tucked a few stray hairs back before responding.

“I feel like I just stood naked in front of the entire city,” she said, unable to hold back a small smile when Kaja laughed.

“Well, we’re about to expose you even more. You ready for the photo shoot?” he grabbed his notebook and pen and closed them, watching Lin for an answer.

“As ready as I’ll ever be,” Lin sighed before following him out of the room.

They walked down several long hallways, eventually coming to a large open room. The walls and floor were a pale grey cement, and there were expensive looking lights set up all over the place. A dark green upholstered bench sat to one side of the room, a tall light shining down on it. A few people saw them coming in and rushed around, turning off almost every other light. One of them knocked on a door that was on the other end of the room, calling for someone inside.

“This seems a bit excessive,” Lin muttered, her eyes wandering the room.

“Only the best for you, Chief,” a man said from somewhere in the shadows.

Lin glanced behind her only to see Kaja talking to someone near the door. When she turned back to where the voice had come from, she had to bite back a laugh. She tried not to, but couldn’t help smiling at the absolute glow that radiated from the man in front of her.

“You like my outfit?” he asked with a grin, twirling around for her.

He had on bright red fit-and-flare pants with a stripe of gold sequins down their side; a matching red low-cut tank top; a purple feather-covered knee-length jacket; gold sparkly platform shoes that made him tower over Lin more than he already would have; and a top hat that belonged with a businessman’s black tie attire.

“It’s incredible,” Lin chuckled, crossing her arms casually over her chest.

“You look sharp yourself today, Chief,” he said with a grin, taking a few steps towards her.

Before she could object, he pulled her into a tight hug. His arms squashed her face against his lower chest, making Lin painfully aware of the extent of their height difference. She laughed and patted his arm, thankfully getting him to release her.

“I’m assuming you’re the photographer, then?” she asked, grinning up at him.

He nodded enthusiastically and spun on his heel, walking back into the darkness. She heard a couple of small crashes and a string of profanities before he came back, a large camera and it’s stand filling his arms.

“Uh- where am I going?” he asked Lin, glancing at her out of the corner of his eye.

She let out a small laugh and stepped towards him, placing her hand on his arm. She guided him towards the bench setup, stopping them near where the light stood.

“Thank you, thank you!” he exclaimed, setting down the camera’s stand first and then fastening the camera to it.

“Of course,” Lin breathed, suddenly nervous to have her photo taken.

The photographer immediately noticed her mood change and put his hands on her shoulders.

“Don’t worry, I’ll make you look,” he closed his eyes and blew a chef's kiss to the side.

Lin nodded and took a deep breath, filling her lungs as much as she could before letting it all out. The photographer made a few adjustments to the camera stand, making sure it would stay while he got her in position, and then led her to the bench. He sat her down in the middle of it and walked back to his camera, dragging the stand loudly over so he was more to her right.

“Don’t be so stiff,” he called, looking at her through the viewfinder and flapping his hand in the air.

“Just- pretend I’m not here, you’re just sitting at home listening to the radio.”

He stepped back from the camera and watched Lin as she settled her head on her left fist with her right elbow on her knee. The photographer gave her a big thumbs up, calling “Much better!” and going back to looking through his camera.

He shifted it a few times before taking any photos, wanting to get it right in as few shots as possible considering the price and rarity of film in stores. Lin looked at the camera for the first few, looking away because of her boredom growing steadily. When he seemed satisfied with the shots, he took the camera off the stand and walked over to the bench.

“Room for another?” he asked, not letting Lin answer before settling himself beside her.

The images printed slowly, one at a time. After each was out, he placed them in the shadow under the bench to protect them from overexposure. Once the last one printed, he reached down and grabbed the first. It had settled well, the colours coming out nice and bright.

“It’s perfect,” Lin gasped, staring in wonder at the photo that managed to make her alright with how she looked out-of-uniform.

The photographer grinned at her, holding the photo up.

“I agree,” he said proudly, forgetting his other photos and standing.

Lin watched as he brought the photo to Kaja, engaging the shorter man in a quick and lively discussion before handing off the photo and walking back. He grinned ear to ear at her, and she sighed before relenting and giving a small smile back.

“Nervous, Chief?” he asked, standing before her with his hands shoved into the pockets of his jacket.

Lin chuckled and shook her head.

“I just haven’t done something like this in ages… or ever, really,” she said, her hands moving to grip the edge of the bench.

“Hey,” the photographer moved to place a hand on her shoulder, prompting her to look up at him.

“You’re doing great, Chief, trust me,” Lin let out a breath and really smiled at him this time.

“Thank you,” she said quietly, meaning it with every ounce of her being.

[tsukishumai]

Date Night w/ Atsumu, Osamu, Suna

Warnings: Drinking, Smoking (weed)

A/N: repost bc I checked and my posts weren’t showing up in the tags 😭 sorry if you’ve seen it already.

Pls enjoy (ㆁᴗㆁ✿)

Atsumu

“Where are we going?” “It’s a surprise!”

Whenever Atsumu said those words, it meant one of two things: he’s put a lot of thought and effort into this and you’re about to have the best night of your life... or he’s done nothing, is winging it and kinda hoping for the best.

It’s been about a 50/50 success rate so you really don’t know why you’re gonna get.

“Tsumu, I swear to god, if this is like that one time by the beach...” “shut yer trap! We’re almost there!”

He opened the door to a small, studio like space, waving his hand and motioning for you to enter. You rolled your eyes at his theatrics but let out a tiny gasp once you were able to take in your surroundings.

Canvases perched up on easel stands lined the room, chairs set up in front with a little table next to the easel topped with paint supplies and wine glasses.

You turned to him excitedly. “Paint and wine night!?”

“Paint and wine!” Atsumu exclaimed, “Ya been complaining bout how ya miss doing art, so I thought we could do it together. I would’ve liked a private class, but they only did group sessions.”

“This is perfect,” you said, taking a seat and inspecting the supplies. Atsumu couldn’t help but puff out his chest in pride.

The room soon filled out with the other guests, the instructor coming in a few minutes after everyone’s arrived.

Atsumu chose a red wine, you chose a white. You were only supposed to be served by the glass but he insisted on a bottle each, and you weren’t the only one that has a hard time saying no to him.

“Babe,” he slurred halfway through the night, “is mine supposed to look like that?”

“Tsumu, we’re supposed to be painting an ocean... where did you get that red paint?” “I dunno, I just found it.”

The instructor tried to ignore the both of you giggling like idiots, but they had to step in when Atsumu started flinging paint at you with his brush.

“Miya-san, please stop chugging the wine.”

You chuckled at Atsumu grumbling next to you, trying to steady your hand while adding in your final details.

“Aaaand done!” Atsumu beat you to it. You take a second to glance at his canvas.

“Atsumu... what the hell is th-“ “it’s called abstract art, okay?! Ya normies wouldn’t get it!”

Where the hell did he learn ‘normies’ from?

You laughed at his canvas the entire way home, much to Atsumu’s chagrin.

Still, you hung it up on the wall by your bed, just so it could be the last thing you saw every night before you drifted off to sleep.

Osamu

“Where’d you hear about this?” Osamu asked reluctantly.

“I saw a post about in on Insta! My friends went last weekend, and they said it was amazing!” “I didn’t know you had friends?” “You know what, Samu...”

When you arrived at your destination, you couldn’t help but smile at the wide-eyed expression on your boyfriends face.

Hyogo was hosting a food festival, encouraging up and coming chefs to rent out booths and test out any and all unique recipes they could think off.

Booths on either side lined the road, crowds of people holding plates of food that Osamu didn’t even know existed.

“Which one should we try first?” You asked, but Osamu was already walking up to stand claiming to sell “Sushi Burritos”

“We have to do this strategically,” Osamu said, looking at the paper pamphlet he received from one of the information stands, “We should only get one thing from each stand so we have room for dessert. It looks like all the dessert stands are on this end, so we’ll just do one big circle.”

You nodded and gave him a salute, happy to be dragged around by the hand.

You’d never seen Osamu so animated, eyes darting from one booth to the next, ears practically steaming.

Your favorite was watching him take his first bite out of whatever creation you bought from the stall in front of you, his eyes would flutter close and the satisfied hum slipping from his mouth always brings your lips up to a smile.

“Let’s try this one next,” he said, leading you up to an onigiri stand.

The worker handed you a plate with three perfectly formed onigiri, your mouth watering at the scent wafting into your nostrils.

You took a bite... and another one... but your brows knitted together together after each chew

“Something wrong?” Osamu asked

You shook your head. “No, nothings wrong... it’s just, ever since I’ve had your onigiri, nothing else can really compare”

Osamu desperately hide the blush that was quickly spreading across his cheeks. “Oh really?”

“Yeah! You know, Samu, if you opened up an Onigiri shop, I bet it would be the best one in the country.”

Osamu laughed, slinging an arm around your shoulder as he lead you to the next destination.

“You think so?” “I KNOW so.”

Osamu shook his head. “I couldn’t pull something off like that.”

You stopped in your tracks, tugging on his hand and forcing him to face you. “Osamu, I think you could do absolutely anything you set your mind to,” your tone was serious for a second before shooting him a wide grin, “and you would do it better than anyone!”

Osamu smiled, watching you run off to the next booth, thinking that if he had you by his side, then he could probably rule the world.

Suna

Suna has never ever striked you as the “hiking” type

So when he said he wanted to take you to a spot he used to frequent in high school, you were surprised, but oddly excited.

“How’d you find this place?” “You know... exploring.”

He took you to a park that was a 20 minute train ride from his apartment. The park was situated at the base of a mountain, and further back behind a canopy of trees was the beginning of a trail that you wouldn’t see if you didn’t know it was there.

Suna walked ahead, extending his hand behind him for you to take. He laced your fingers together, trudging along the path side by side.

The trail wasn’t really much of a hike as it is a walk. The terrain was relatively flat most of the way, green leaves bordering each side of the path.

Suddenly, Suna stopped, pulling you over to the side and moving aside branches and leaves.

“Rin? What are you doing?” You asked curiously, but he just said, “Trust me.”

Past the foliage was another trail, one that looks like it wasn’t meant to exist in the first place, formed only by repeating footprints that climbed up the slope.

Suna held out his hand for you to take, looking like he had every intention of climbing up the side of this muddy hill.

“Uhhhh, Rin, I don’t think we’re supposed to -“ “I said trust me, didn’t I?”

You grumbled at him, throwing snide remarks and thanking god that you wore an old pair of sneakers today.

It took about 10 minutes of climbing until you reached the top, walking past a couple of trees to reach a clearing.

In the middle of the clearing was a tree stump, different logs of various sizes encircling the stump. You rolled your eyes, knowing exactly what it was you were looking at.

“You brought me to your old high school smoking spot?” “Hell yeah, I did.”

Suna walked ahead of you, sitting down on one of the logs and digging through the backpack he was wearing.

He stood up, and laid down a small blanket on the log, sitting back down and patting the spot next to him. You chuckled, taking a seat next to him.

“If you wanted to get high, we could have just done it at the apartment?” You said, but Suna just shrugged. “It’s nice to have a change of scenery once in a while.”

He dug out his bag, zipping it open and setting his grinder, blunt wraps, and weed on the tree stump.

You’ve always liked watching Suna prepare your blunts. He’s let you try doing it once or twice, but you could never get it to roll as tightly as he does.

You hear the telltale click of a lighter, Suna dragging the flame across the seam of the wrap before bringing one end to his lips, and lighting the other.

Once it was lit, he took a few deep drags before passing it over to you. You brought the blunt to your lips, taking in a deep breath, holding it until you felt your lungs burn, and letting out a big puff of smoke.

“Whoa there,” Suna commented, and you laughed in between fits of coughing.

“It’s been a tough week.” “Yeah? Tell me about it.”

The two of you sat there, you weren’t sure how long, exchanging stories about your week, making each other laugh with corny jokes you read online, showing each other tik toks and just enjoying each other’s company.

The blunt was finished long ago, and you notice Suna’s shoulders were much less tense, his facial features finally easing into a calm expression.

“Practice has been tough, huh?” You asked, and he let out a big sigh.

“Yeah... but it’s alright. S’long as we still get to do stuff like this, I’ll survive.”

You tilted your head as he stood up. “Where you going?”

“Let’s go, it’s getting cold and I got the munchies.”

“I am way too high to climb down that slope right now.”

And that’s how you got Suna Rintarou to give you a piggy back ride down the side of a muddy hill.

A/N: also sorry for the shittt format I’m on mobile :(

[artiewiles]

You Just Think You Love Me (3/7) Fact: Pidgeons can smell

“Agent Sterling! How can I help you?"

Lance smiled with his smile number two. "I'm looking for Walter. Do you know where he is, Martin?"

"Walter is in lab four. He's working on something dangerous."

He looked around the shared lab, where something exploded or ignited every now and then. "Of course, I understand. Thanks, Martin!"

"You’re welcome, Mr. Sterling ..."

But Lance was leaving already. Armed with a practiced number one smile, he walked through the corridors, his face completely calm. He’s going to do it today. He’s asking Walter on a date today. Maybe he'll turn him down. It does not matter. Nothing will change. They will stay friends. Everything will be fine. Everything will be alright. Everything will be fine.

(links to ao3 and wattpad)

He knocked on the lab door and entered the decontamination room when invited. He closed his eyes and let himself be sprayed with this and blown dry with that. When the green light came on, he continued. Along the way, he waved at the guy in the control room, who was in charge of the whole process. Then, he finally entered the lab looking as confident and normal as possible.

"Hi, Lance, what brings you here? It's great that you came!” Walter welcomed him and then followed with? "I have tested the new gadget I told you about. The one that helps you to get the bad guys on your side. You know, to make them trust you and after that to love you, to entrust their secrets, maybe even to persuade them to change careers. Wait…” He studied Lance carefully. "What's going on?"

He looked at him confused. "What, what should be going on?"

"You look ... pale. Is something wrong?"

"No." He shook his head quickly and exchanged the smile for a smaller and perhaps more plausible one. "I'm just a little tired, that's all. Tell me, what are your plans for tonight?"

"You really don't look well. What about my calming pillow, does it work? And wait, you didn’t have the canteen bread, did you? I'm sure it's not gluten-free, and you still have an upset digestive system because of the transformations."

"I'm fine. And the cushion works well, really. I sleep much better now.“ Lance waved his hand and tried not to pay any attention to his pounding heart. He should get himself together, for god sake!

"Okay. So, this one is done. Do you want to see it?"

He looked at Walter, who almost vibrated with enthusiasm. Was it just his imagination, or did his eyes shine? He smiled at him. "Yeah, I'd love to."

"Okay." He clapped and took a gray marble from a bowl. Although, when Lance looked at it properly, it seemed to bend slightly under the fingertips. "This is a mixture of gases and fragrant essences that directly affect the frontal lobe. And it works even when you have a cold. So we will not repeat Alaska again.“

Lance laughed softly. "That’s good. But we managed to slip out smoothly."

Walter pointed the ball at him. "You got out smoothly. I slid, and I still have bruises on my ass. I can’t believe it worked out. It was the weirdest fourth of July in my life.“

He raised an eyebrow. "Team Weird?"

Walter nodded with a smile. "Team Weird."

Is it just him, or do they look into each other’s eyes longer, than friends would?

It must have been longer than friends would look into each other’s eyes.

It was longer than friends would look unto each other’s eyes.

He made himself look at the gray ball.

Walter cleared his throat. "Um… yeah, so… Sure. Frontal lobe. Yeah. This," he pointed at the marble again, “will burst, and the air will release the scent. It's not very conspicuous, but it should be strong enough. I still plan on making it into a perfume that you can always wear. Just need to figure out how to give you immunity. It is a combination of our good old lavender with vanilla and sandalwood. Perfect for discovering any secrets and making best friends.”

He handed him the ball and put on a respirator. "Whenever you're ready, burst it."

He measured him suspiciously. "Why are you taking it?"

"Because I've been breathing it for a month, and when I overdose, I cuddle."

That wouldn't be so bad. He made himself look at the tiny ball in his hand. He took a deep breath.

"Wait!" Walter stopped him.

"What?"

He put on Lance an electrode cap and looked at his watch. "Go ahead."

Lance squeezed the ball between his fingers. It burst but nothing happened.

He frowned and looked at Walter.

"You have to wait. Breath in," he said muffled.

Lance listened. He smelled a faint scent. Smiled. It smelled nice. It reminded him of something…

"It works!" Walter cheered, watching Lance's brainwaves. "According to this, you are calmer and happier, aren't you?"

"Yeah," Lance smiled and took another deep breath. He felt calmer. He was fine. "Walter?"

"Yeah, Lance?"

"When we're done here, would you go on a date with me? Or in the evening? A film, dinner, or a walk through the art gallery sculpture park?”

Walter paled. "Oh no…"

The pleasant feeling was gone. Maybe he just didn't like the choices… “You don't want to go to the park? They still have summer opening hours, and you've said several times that you'd like to look at the statues. Or we can go to that cinema. We will find some with Korean movies… "

Walter was typing something furiously on his watch. "Not that."

Lance fell silent. He took off his cap and laid it on the table. Just calm down, nothing changes. "Okay, then no. It was just an idea.” He turned and smiled again. "Forget it."

"This is bad. This is very bad.“

Why doesn't he feel anything? Shouldn't it be sadder? He can't be in shock because of this.

"Hey, calm down." Lance wanted to put his hand on his shoulder, but then he changed his mind. "No need to make a fuss about it. Forget it. I have a meeting with the boss and then I have some other plans, so I'll see you tomorrow."

"Lance, wait!"

He changed his mind! "Yeah?"

"You have to stay here. This is science! I screwed it up! I'm so sorry, I don't know how, but I screwed up."

He shook his head and swallowed down the disappointment. "It’s cool. Don't think about it anymore. See you tomorrow."

"No, you don't understand! The scent was too strong! I didn’t plan it.” He shrank. "Are you mad?"

He sighed and rubbed the spot where the cap had pressed him a little. "No, I'm not angry. And you didn't screw it up. I feel good."

"Exactly. You feel too well. And it's my fault! I didn't mean to, but I promise I'll fix it! "

"Walter, calm down and tell me exactly what happened. Breathe.“

Walter sat down on a barstool and took several breaths. Then he began to explain: "The scent is to make the enemy your best friend. But I didn't expect what he would do to a best friend.” He looked at Lance and widened his big blue eyes. "I think I did create by mistake… you can call it a love potion."

Lance burst out laughing. "A love potion? What are you talking about?"

"You…" he pointed at Lance, searching for the words.

"I," he pointed at himself with his thumb, "am not under the influence of any love potion."

"But you invited me to dinner."

He gritted his teeth and nodded. "Exactly."

"Because you're under the influence of a love potion!" Walter insisted. "But don't worry, this should go away soon."

"No, I invited you because I love you, and it did not go away in months!" Well, the cat was out of the bag.

"You think you like me because of the smell. That is all. There is nothing more.“

He opened his mouth to argue. Closed it with a click. If Walter needs to believe it… Now he gets it. Walter is not interested in Lance. It gives Lance a chance to back off while both of them save their faces. It saves their friendship. He nodded. "All right. If you’re right… I'll take time off and go home. I'll try to sleep it off. If you came up with something or figure out how to speed the process up, let me know.“

"Okay," Walter nodded with relief. "Take care of yourself, alright?"

Lance smiled and ruffled his hair. As he always does. He can still do that, can't he? "Sure thing."

He went through the decontamination room, then the whole agency. Responded to the greetings of others out of reflex. The smile number three plastered on his face. He turned into a pigeon and flew away. How much rum and whiskey does he still have at home?

Probably not enough.

[angelisverba]

i’ll hold you so you don’t fall again

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

pairing: interiordesing!y/n and eroticawriter!harry

word count: 21k+

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

Y/n wasn’t one to brag.

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

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

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

Because it definitely was one.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You know, like with a brush and paint can. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

    “Okay, how do you want me?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And then, 

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

.

.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Y/N!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Oh! Um…” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Affection. Love. Companionship. 

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

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

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

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

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

.

.

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

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

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

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

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

“Let’s go.” 

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

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

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

She couldn’t say no. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Biting into her toast, she opened the book. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Don’t call me that,” she mumbled. 

“What do you wish I call you then?”

“Dani.” 

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

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

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

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

strands then massaging down her neck and shoulders.

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

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

“No,” she said quietly.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

    And when it died out,

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

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

.

.

“... you know what I mean?”

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

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

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

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

Y/n truly wished she didn’t know. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

God.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Not falling. 

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

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

Right. In front. Of her face. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

    Timidly, she responds, “Okay.”

    “Up you get, then.” Harry pointed to the chair, and y/n raises her leg to hike up, this time with Harry’s hands placed on her hips, steadying her. 

    A tiny dash on the wall where her nail slid off marks where she was at when she nearly fell off the metal chair, and this is where she places the ruler. She left off at 7 feet, the ruler at her hip. Resuming the same positions, she starts to wobble again, and Harry's hands tight, holding her straight. 

    She guesses he hears her gasp when she feels herself wobble because he says “I’ve gotcha.” 

    Y/n moved the ruler up one, two, and three more times, and then her arm can’t stretch anymore and pinches one eye closed to cry and guess how many more feet are left. She guessed four… ish. On a whim, she tries to push the ruler up once more, and her shirt rides up on the left side of her hips. Warm sequential breaths hit her skin, and a shiver drops down her spine when she realizes what’s happened. 

    Harry, ever the gentleman, doesn’t waste a second, and slides his pointer and middle finger over her skin, his warm fingers splaying over goosebumps to pinch her shirt and pull it down for her. 

    “All done,” she squeaks. “Coming back down.” 

    Harry released her, but offers her a hand and she takes it, holding on to his as she comes down, his palms warm and rings cool; a nice contrast. 

    “Thank you so much for h-”

    “Y/n?” 

    Booth Harry and y/n tun to the doorway that leads to the main room, where Karime stands with a checkbook in her hands. Y/n turns back to look at Harry. The curls behind his ears, the blonde hairs on his top lip. He turns to look at her, and gives her a closed lip smile. She smiles back and twiddles her fingers, mouthing a bye bye.

    Karime walks away when she sees that y/n is following her, and takes them both back to their position on the counter. 

   “Here’s the check. Two thousand dollars. Deposit it into your account, and use it for gas, furniture, anything that has to do with Aromareads you can pull from this.” She opens the book and tears out the slip of paper. “I will need receipts. And your name?” 

   Karime glances up at y/n, only to see that she’s busy looking back through the door frame at Harry. The manager is slightly irked at the fact that the person she’s hiring to reshape her business isn’t paying attention, but following her line of gaze, Karimer can’t blame her. Harry, a usual in her store, is a very very handsome man. Towering, with broad back and a neck Karime would love to bite into if she wasn’t gay. He sat at his laptop, thighs spread and eyes hard and stern, pondering with a pout. Karime is sure that what caught my/n’s attention is the way Harry’s thighs and crotch looked at that very moment, enticing, strong, sensual. 

    Clearing her throat, “Y/n. I need a full name to address the check.”

    Y/n’s neck snaps towards Karime, her hair getting caught on her lips at her velocity. “Uh- yes, sorry it’ll be Y/n Y/l/n.” 

    Karime repeated her name, and asked for her to spell it, which she did while stuttering mildy. 

    “Here you go.” Clicking her pen against the marble countertop, Karime handed the check to y/n. “Listen, by no means do I wanna pressure you, but if you could get this down before the holidays are in full force, I would love that.” 

    “Oh, don’t worry. It won’t take me that long.” 

    .

    .

    And it definitely didn’t. 

    On Monday, y/n spent the entire day (and part of her night) driving to most of the places Karime had sent her through a text. She spent a few minutes googling the places and looking through the pictures that came up and cursing every time it would redirect her to yelp- because really who has yelp? The antique stores were all spread out in the Los Angeles area.

    There was one in Long Beach. The pictures showed a really big warehouse with chair lying on top of each other and tables littered with little statues and the likes. Here she bought baskets. Tons of them. Gus (the owner) has dedicated an entire isle to them. When he saw y/n’s cart, the laughed then asked her “Why dolly, whadda ya need all them baskets for?” And when she told him it was for business, he offered her coupons and package deals. 

    “Tell ya what,” he scratched the scruff on his chin, the only hair he had because he was bald, “You buy all these baskets,” he pointed to her cart, “I’ll give you a twenty pa’cent discount on ya purchase, and if ya want, you can pick anathin’ ya want from over there because no one wants tuh buy them.” Then he pointed to a pile of books that lay haphazardly next to a stove and a turquoise refrigerator. She paid one hundred and fifty.

    She walked out with wicker baskets, one being a picnic basket she snatched for herself, lined nicely with red patterned cloth and a lid for it to close, and that same picnic basket full of regency novels from the 90’s.

    There was another in Laguna. A beachside thrift shop, where she paid for (very overpriced) frames of painted lighthouses and beach landscapes for that ‘beach’ factor Karime wanted. By this time, she drove back towards Hollywood to drop the items back at Aromareads because her car was getting full. She didn’t go inside, just unloaded the tings in the back and Karime took them inside. If she had, she would’ve seen Harry.

    Y/n then took to the shops in the downtown area. One being, a swapmeet type place where you walked through and looked at all the furniture. They set up different sections for different themes. Victorian, regal, animal skin themed, and a hall full of mirrors. Y/n bought a large 8x8 mirror for five hundred dollars. It would be delivered the following day.

    One of the sections was retro-themed, and she snapped a picture of a hip-height lava lamp and sent it to Lucy. Lucy then proceded to beg y/n through to text to please buy that I fucking need it. Will pay u back. So she bought it; $100 that she knew would be no big deal for Lucy given all the business she had. 

    Her final stop, were the flowers and plants district. There, she placed a large order for 30 succulents, and an assortment of nearly 100 leafy plants to fill the baskets with. She blew $1,000 there. 

    By the end of the day, she’d wasted nearly all of Karime’s check; a measly two hundred remaining after she refilled her car with gas (give or take some). Y/n met with Karime at around 6, in the back parking lot again, and left everything she’d bought. 

    “Oh! And the mirror should be delivered tomorrow before closing time.” 

    Karime was wearing a caramel turtle neck and black slacks tucked into latex ankle boots, her hair pinned back and tied into a spiky ponytail. Her ears were adorned with pearl earrings, and her fingers were jammed into golden rings. Y/n felt embarrassed in her measly purple jumper and paint splattered mom jeans.  Her accessories consisted of a fanny pack full of nails and a hammer at her waist.

    “Good, good. Well, I’ll see you tomorrow-” Karime was already turning back and returning into the shop when Y/n said:

    “Actually I was hoping I could start now.” Her words lifted into a question at the end, half suggesting half stating. 

    Karime’s face morphed into one of confusion and surprise, but in the end she agreed, and told y/n to do as she pleased.

Upon first entering, y/n is disoriented. 

    She walks into a frenzy of… nothing. It’s like an industrial kitchen, but completely empty. Occupied only by the things she had brought in. She remembers that she walked into the back and not the front, and it made sense because Karime doesn’t offer anything that would require use of the kitchen. Everything she has is done at the bar by the barista outside. 

    Karime leaves y/n in the back, where she asses her items. The baskets. The frames. And well, that’s really all there is. It would be more with all the plants coming in. She realizes that she doesn’t really have much to work with and there really isn’t much to do than hang picture frames, and there’s only five of them. 

    Nonetheless, she goes outside with the first frame in hand. A soft blue painting of a lighthouse on an island with light from a hole in a cloudy sky shining on the building. When she picked this one up, she knew exactly where it would go. By the wall next to the sliding door that lead to the patio. She sauntered over to the spot then, dodging a woman on her boyfriend on her way there. It was packed, and rightfully (it was a tuesday).

    She reached the spot, and lifted the picture on the wall, lifting and tilting so it would fit naturally. Eventually, she found the sweet spot, and reached for the hammer she had stuck into her belt loop and the box of nails she’d placed into the fanny pack on her waist. 

    Without hesitation, she put the first nail on the wall, and started banging. Three taps in, and she hung the wire on the nail, balancing it so it looked the way she envisioned it. After she was done, y/n stepped back to admire her handiwork, and tilted her head to the side the way one does when their looking at a picture that’s upside down. 

    Perfect. 

    She walked around the shop then, with the purpose of noticing empty spots on the walls, anything that could be filled up with artistry. The simple tables? No they had to stay that way. Placing something on the tables would clutter them and tarnish the ‘relax’ mode people came in for. The window that faced the street? Yes. Y/n planned on lining them with hanging droopy plants on the edges, not obscuring but not leaving a clear view either. She’d have to buy shelves to place baskets on the walls. Hooks to hang them. This she would do with what was left from the check.

     Yet… something was missing. The alternative-ness she knew should be there. Something ‘hippie’ and ‘aesthetic’, off the minimalist side of things. 

    Looking into a corner where the walls met, a light bulb went off. She knew exactly what was missing. Letters. Y/n had seen an image on Pinterest not even less than a month ago. A picture of a string of letters. Or rather, a message. It said something along the lines of  ‘You are my light’ or something edgy like that. Each word had been hand cut and strung onto a piece of- she didn’t know, string? Tweed? A wire?- and hung in a corner of a room where walls met. It knocked off every box on the checklist. Minimalist. Crafty. Aesthetic. And cheap, considering how low the money was.

She knew she’d have to brainstorm phrases and pass them by Karime, but she’d worry about that later.

    .

    .

    It was Friday. One day after the plants had been delivered, and y/n was set to work full force. Sure, she’d have to work amongst customers, but no matter. It would get done. 

    She started in the back. With the plants. 

    Y/n had bought a plastic-type lining at the Home Depot to place soil in the baskets. She lined then all first, securing the material with tape around the edges. After, came the transfer and placement. She decided this would be a better method, and if there were extras she could have Karime sell them. This way, she wouldn’t overcrowd the place and stop when she saw an adequate fill of green. 

    The first, a circular basket with no handle the color of a waffle cone. Because it was one that would go on a shelf, she placed one of the droopiest plants in it, a green stream of vines and shrubby leaves.

    Last night, y/n had given Karime the benefit of the doubt, and allowed her to place shelves where she’d liked them So, before she opened at 7, Karime had decorated her store with wooden slabs for y/n to decorate. Taking the first plant, she walked out. 

   As expected, Aromareads was bustling with energy.     Women with mojitos in their hands, burnt out college kids hooked up to masks, older men and women laughing like tinkling bells. 

   She’s walking towards the first row of shelves she sees on the wall across from her, besides the sliding doors, basket held gingerly with both hands, when she hears:

   “Y/n!” 

   Looking to her left, she sees a sleepy, just-rolled-out-of-bed looking Harry. He’s wearing a black hoodie with the words ‘Treat people with kindness’ in a gradient rainbow color, and… and grey sweatpants. Grey. Sweatpants. 

   Grey sweatpants. 

   Y/n tries not to visibly swallow him whole as he walks towards her with an innocent smile on his face because god if she isn’t all hot and bothered right now. Her eyes seem to be magnetically attracted to his crotch, trying but failing to grasp and image of what may be lying underneath. 

“H-hey, Harry,” she smiles at him meekly, her voice cracking when she speaks. She cleared her throat and said again, “hey, Harry. S’nice to see you.” 

   “Nice to see you too.” He bows his head towards her, and endearing mannerism that has y/n’s heart pooling down to her ribcage. “I see you’ve brought out the green guns today.” A teasing grin on his extra red and shiny lips. Perhaps it was chapstick. It was rather windy outside.

   “You see correctly.” She giggles at his joke, at the same time, rolling her eyes at how cheesy he was being. “Today’s the day it all comes together.” 

“I’m excited to see how it all turns out. Don’t go falling on any chairs today alright?” He wags his finger at her, mocking a mother shunning her child.

“I’ll try not to. But if I do-” she said, coquettishly. 

“I’ll catch you.” 

“You better.” Laughing at him, she repeats his actions and lifts her finger up to point at him. 

   With a final laugh and a shake of his head, Harry walks away and into the working room. 

   Y/n watches him walk off, and walks off her own way as well, resting the basket against her hip as she went. When she reached the wall with shelves arranged in a checkered pattern, she placed the basket on top of the wooden plank, and tufted leaves so they look naturally messily placed. Unintentionally intentional; they way one teases their hair so it looks nice. 

   She went back to her work station: the now full kitchen, and repeated the process. Picked a basket, filled it with a plant, and took it outside. She left the hooks for last, wanting to leave of being in the way of people until she had too. Almost effortlessly, y/n filled Karime’s space with greenery. Cacti on shelves, large leaves and vines on walls, frames of beach paintings on nails. Once, she pricked her finger because her it had accidentally slipped inside the glass globe in which the succulent was in. 

    When the time finally came to walk into the room Harry was in, the outside was looking rather… forest-y. She liked the way it looked; a calm type of chaos. One that showed relaxation and no care for anything. Which was the point of the entire place. Come in. Relax. Breathe in from diffusers to get that extra push to decompress.

   Harry sat in his usual spot, directly in spot of the doorway, in one of the middle tables. Hunched over his computer with fingers flying over his keyboard. He had earphones in this time, white buds tucked right into his ears, stray strands of hair looping and covering them. His lips were placed in a puckered pout, the scrunched pink skin twitching from left to right.

    Humming to herself, y/n forces herself to walk past him, forces herself to not turn back and glance at Harry even if she can feel his gaze burning into her back. She makes it seem like the hook and plant in her hand are the most interesting things in the world. Turning it over in her fingers, and even going as far as to lift the basket (this on with a handle and curved bowl bottom) to her nose and smell it. 

    “Need a hand with that?” Harry says from behind her. She feels his presence from behind her, standing close enough that she can feel when he reaches to her front and takes the basket from her hands.  Y/n’s heart starts beating as fast as a hummingbird's wings. Closing her eyes to get a hold of herself, all she sees is green. Green, the color of his eyes.

   “Yes, please.” Her voice is small, shy.

    Harry, feeling bold, nudged the tip of his nose on the hair behind her ear. Enough to make her notice, but not enough to make her completely sure that it was there. “Where do you want it?” He says, breath hot on the shell of her ears. Her eyes widen, and her body goes on full alert. She’s suddenly aware of the closeness of his hips on hers, the brushing of the fabric on her the back of her hand.

    “Up…” Y/n steps forward, towards the wall. She places her finger on the smooth surface, and traces it over to where she wants it, doing loopty-loops to her desired spot. “...here.”

  He places the nail on the wall, hits it with the hammer that y/n gives him and hooks the basket as well. He turns to her when he’s done.

  “Got any more?” He asks, placing a hand on his hip.

  “Yeah, in the back. Wanna come help me?” Y/n points with a thumb to the doorway, half of her body turning as well.   

    “Lead the way.” 

    So they leave together to the backroom, y/n holding open the golden curtain for Harry to walk through. He looks around endearingly, his neck stretching and eyes darting from place to place as he takes in his surroundings. Y/n is stuck at the expression on her face, her heart strings pulling when her ears listen to the soft giggle that escapes his lips.

So they leave together to the backroom, y/n holding open the golden curtain for Harry to walk through. He looks around endearingly, his neck stretching and eyes darting from place to place as he takes in his surroundings. Y/n is stuck at the expression on her face, her heart strings pulling when her ears listen to the soft giggle that escapes his lips.

    “S’very nice back here.” 

    “Wanna grab a few baskets? Place ‘em in the lounge?” 

    “Sure thing.” Harry wraps his hand around the handle of three baskets at the same time, and with the other, he grabs the still-packaged hooks and wait for y/n by the doorway. She hurried to grab two succulents, and met Harry at the doorway. They had an awkward moment of deciding who’s going first. A huffle of backwards and forwards until eventually, Harry held his palm out to allow her to go through while biting his lip. Y/n ducked her head and felt the tips of her ears go warm. 

    “So, I tried Elton John yesterday.” He said, trailing behind y/n into the lounge like a little puppy. If he had a tail, it’d be wagging. 

    “Oh? How was it?” She replied, juggling the two glass casings in her hand, and then pricking herself again. She flinches, but doesn’t make any noises. 

    “Think I might have a new favorite,” he said, bashfully ducking his own head and peeking at her through his hair. Her heart fluttered, and if it could, she was sure it would bust out with the dreamy sighs she suppressed.

    “It’s that serious?” She asked. 

    “It’s that serious.” They reach the lounge, and y/n sets the succulents she carries in her hands down on a table.  “Have you had it yet?” Her stretches her hands out to Harry, signaling for him to give her his items. 

    “No, not yet. Should probably give it a try if its changed your mind. Can you pass me a hook?”  Harry gives her all four packages he holds in his one hand. When she wraps her hand around them, her finger brushes against the chubby part of his hand. 

    “Here you go- I only drank it ‘coz like, I’m on this diet thing and needed a drink with oat milk in it. Elton’s was the first one I saw. Woke me right up, too.” 

    “Diet you say?” y/n took the hammer and walked over to her desired stop, a few feet away from the one Harry had put in. 

    “Some altered version of keto. Had a really bad bug, had me feeling icky and ‘just decided it was the best.” He takes place next to her, watching as she positioned the nail and hit it a few times with the hammer. He held out a basket on his finger when she was done. She was a whirlwind, he thought. Busy little bee, never stopping. Harry nearly feels bad because she’s so full of energy, bouncing back from the table to the wall and arranging plants before he could even blink. “S’not fair. Not letting me do any work.” A pout appears on his lips, eyes teasing.

    “You just stand there and look pretty. I’ve-” she points to herself, finger at her chin. “Got this.” 

    Harry grumbles something that she doesn’t catch with his chin tucked into his neck. 

“What was that?’ she hums. 

    “‘Said, can’t exactly be pretty ‘coz you took that job too.” 

    Y/n’s hands still. Immediately, she feels her chest grow red roses blooming on her cheeks. She’s not exactly… embarrassed, per say. No. The familiar feeling of ants running wildly in her lower stomach began to burn, her ribcage tickling as butterflies try to creep out with beating wings. Pretty. He had called her pretty. 

    “Uhm, thank you?” 

    “You’re very welcome, darling.” His tone of voice is smug. And when she looks over at him with eyebrows raised, he’s biting his lip and his looking at her through his eyelashes like he had before, but there was no childish play in it this time. 

    “Say,” she picks up a succulent. “What’s it with you?” 

“Don’t know what you’re talking about.” He shrugs.

“Lovin’ all up on me.”  She puts the succulent back down.

“S’nothing wrong with lovin’ all up on a pretty girl.”

There it is again. Pretty girl. Y/n is on fire her entire face pink, color concentrated on her cheeks and nose as if she had taken a walk in the brisk wind. 

“Stop it,” she said. 

Harry’s face turns concerned, brows kissing and lines appearing on his forehead. “Am I making you uncomfortable?” All work is forgotten, and instead they stand facing each other. 

“No! No, no,” Y/n’s eyes widen and her hands waving back and forth to eradicate the thought of her being disturbed by him. “S’just,” she sighs. “Not used to it, is all.”

Upon hearing this, Harry’s face breaks into a smile. “Well then,” he starts. “Better get used to it.” 

“Oh, you.” She playfully slaps his shoulder and picks up the succulent again, this time actually going to put it on a shelf adjacent to the window; a little alcove Karime has placed in a weird spot.

“When do you get a break?” 

“I think I get to take it whenever I want, why?”     “Wanna head down to Rockstar? Craving a Madonna right about now.”

“Never pegged you as a Madonna guy,” (the Madonna was a sweet caramel iced coffee with whipped cream and chocolate chips; not actually what Madonna would drink, and the beverage itself being one of the few inaccurate ones). “Let me finish with this, and I’ll let Karime know.”

So she did, much faster with Harry’s help. He handed her nails, hooks, and the plants she asked for. He asked if he could leave his stuff in the back, and he followed her back there once again, ticking his bag into an empty cupboard next to y/n’s things. On her way out, she said a quick goodbye to Karime who she was sure didn’t even hear what she said. 

Harry and her walked the short block side by side, with him playfully knocking his shoulder into hers and smiling like a mushy schoolboy when she pushed him back. They made small talk about drinks and the weather, shoulders hunched up and chins tucked in because it was a little cold.   Y/n’s frayed highschool sweater wasn’t doing much to keep her warm, and she had half the wind to pull her hood up the way Harry had his. 

Looking over at his, his nose was going a bit raw. Pink and the skin around it a little pale. By the time he noticed she was looking at him, they’d reached Rockstar, and he was opening the door for her. Murmuring a small thank you she walked through, and stepped to the side to wait for him to step inn as well, given he’d held the door open for the few people that had been walking behind him as well. From inside, she could see him nodding and smiling at everyone who stepped in. 

“You wanna grab a table and I’ll get the drinks?” she says to him when he appears next to her with hands in his hoodie pocket; she’s craning her neck to meet his eyes.

    “Sure. I’ll be in the records?” He takes one hand out to point over to where the records are.

    “Okay.” Y/n nods and head to the counter, where Lucy is busy taking someone’s order. She only see y/n when she walks behind the person and makes a silly face at her. Lucy laughs, but continues taking the order, and y/n pushes through the doors to put on an apron and make her and Harry’s drink. 

“Well if it isn’t y/n!” Says Kim.

“Y/n! Girly its been forever,” Kelsey bumps her hip when y/n get to work alongside her at the steaming machine.  

“Yes, yes, I know. Missed my favorite baristas.” she giggles, bumping her hip a little harder and making Kelsey gasp in faint shock. “Where’s Tilly?”

“Called in sick. Poor think could barely speak.” replied Kelsey. Y/n hummed a response, and made her drink first, a hot chocolate, and set it to the side to allow it to cool down meanwhile she made Harry’s. When Kelsey noticed her reaching for another measuring cup after just making her own she says,

“Two drinks?”

“Got a friend waiting for me in the records.” Y/n explained, pumping an extra pump of caramel into the cup. She puts in less ice too, and extra chocolate chips and whipped cream. 

    “The records…” Kelsey craned her neck out of where customers pick of their drinks to peek tp the records section. “Wait, wait, the one in the hood?”     “Yep,” said y/n, unbothered as she capped Harry’s drink.

    “Y/n!” Kelsey hissed, “He’s hot!” 

    “Yes, Kelsey, I am aware.” Y/n rolls her eyes and picked up both drinks, turning on her heels to walk out but nearly bumps into Kim, who stood not even an inch away from her. She backs up instantly.

    “So are you and he a thing?” He asked, leaning in closer to y/n’s face,his breath smelling on the ramen he always ate during his lunch break. 

    Y/n, uncomfortable by his closeness, tried walking around him but he stepped to the side. “It’s none of your business Kim.”

    “You never accept my dates, but you’ll accept his?” Kim’s tone is angry, and when he takes a step towards her, Kelsey steps in front of her.

    “Kim, leave her alone.” Kelsey says, turning back to y/n and nodding her head in the direction y/n was heading. When she pushes past the swinging doors, she catches a bits of what Kelsey says to him in a harsh whisper, “just wait until Lucy hears about this.” 

    “Haarryy,” Y/n says in a sing-song voice, dodging people as she makes her way to the records. Harry’s standing with  a record in his hand, legs spread apart and leaning back a bit with  his other hand tucked into his opposite armpit. “Here’s your John.” 

    Harry takes the plastic cup from her, giggling as he looks at her. 

    “What’s so funny?” she asks, genuinely confused.

    “Still wearing your apron,” Harry wraps his lips around the straw, tongue poking out to lap at it and take it into his mouth as y/n tries really hard not to stare.

    Looking down at herself, y/n shrugs, and leaves it on, taking a seat on the nearest loveseat and wrapping her now empty hand around the warm cup. 

    “What did you get?” He asked her. 

    “Willy wonka.” She brings the cup to her lips, tilting it up slowly and her mouth waters when she catches the scent of the foaming chocolate. Harry takes a seat next to her, his thigh touching her jean-clad one. He sits with them spread, leaning back in an eased position, and y/n eyes jump down to the bunched grey fabric at his crotch. And… well, there’s a larger than normal bulge through the fabric, drawstrings bending over the imprint, and y/n chokes on her drink. Some of it sputters out onto her apron. 

    “Still hot?” She nods. “ Gotta be careful, love. Who picked the names?”

    Y/n looks over at him, head tilting to the side with eyes squinting. “Picked what?”

    The cloudy skylight streamed in softly, casting a soft grey glow on Harry’s side profile. “The names for the drinks. Who picked them?” He holds his drink in one hand, straw near his face so all he had to do was maneuver his wrist to the plastic tube was in his mouth. 

    “Lucy did. Well, for most of them. I picked Andre 3000, Madonna, Willy Wonka and made the drinks myself. They’re not accurate though.” She sipped from her drink. “The rest of them are.” 

    “How much of this decor did you do? Like, concepts and stuff.” Harry takes out the tucked hand to wave around, and then tucks it back in. 

    “Concepts? Hmm…” she trails off for a moment. “All of them. I don’t want to say that I made this place myself, because I wouldn’t have done it without Lucy’s guidelines, but I went out, bought the furniture. Everything you see me doing at Karime's, I did here… ‘cept Karime’s is just plants and this,” she waves around her in a gesture and leaves it at that.

    “Do you decorate apartments?” He asked.

    “W-what?” Y/n, in the middle of a sip, and very surprised at his question, stuttered at his 

    “‘Coz mine’s looking kinda bland right now, was thinking maybe you could help me put some life into it.” 

    “Harry, I-”

    “Kinda like the Rockstar vibes, but like, a little less on the trendy side? I dunn-” Harry isn’t looking at her, his eyes wandering and landing on everything but her. 

    “Harry.” she said a little more sternly, putting a stop to his little rant. He looked at her then, his expression  unreadable. “I’m not sure you want me to help you decorate your home.”

    “Why not? You’d be helping me is all, and I love the way you’ve made Aromatherapy and Rockstar look.” He licks his lips, moving his head to the side and bringing the straw into his mouth with his tongue (that y/n stare at for longer than necessary).

    “But it’s your home.”

    “I am aware. Help me make it more me.” He shifts his body towards her then, his knee bending so he chest is to her. “Please?” He makes the face Puss in Boots made in that one movie, y/n couldn’t remember then because Harry looked much cuter than that dumb cat did.

    Y/n tosses this idea around in her head. Helping Harry decorate his home. She was scared, not only because Harry was cute, but because home was a personal and private space to be calm and safe. What if she screwed it all up and then Harry was uncomfortable in his own home? What is she did such a shit job that, that- well such a bad job that a horrible result came out of it again. This thing with Harry, a budding friendship? She barely knew the guy, just that he had an affinity for showering her with compliments and he made her turn more red than that really bad sunburn she got in the 10th grade after she refused to put on sunblock on a trip to a pool resort. What her point was, is that decorating someone’s home- a place where the heart is pure- is a really big job. 

    “Of course, this would be after you’re done with Karime’s place. Don’t wanna stress you out or anything like that.” A nike shoe, white and crisp looking like it had come straight out of the box, pressed into his thigh when he wrapped a hand around his ankle and pulled his bent leg in tighter.  “Whadda ya say?”

After hemming and hawing a few times, y/n finally says, “Okay. But you’re gonna have to be one million times more specific okay?” She elbows him, his position causing her elbow to poke at his pec instead of his bicep, and y/n elbows into hard muscle. 

    “Heyyy, can’t go hurting the girls now,” He rubs over where he poked her, and pouts childishly, even going as far as sticking his tongue out at her. “Do you need to head back? I don’t wanna get you into any trouble, y/n.”     The use of her name makes her heart skip a beat. “Yes, we should probably get going.” She moves to get up, and accidentally places her hand on Harry’s thigh. Before she would say sorry for touching him, he says,

    “Alway using me to hold yourself, huh? Sneaky thing, I see what you’re doin.” 

    “You offered! Said it yourself, I’ll hold you so you don’t fall again,” she deepened her voice, and faked a british lilt as best she could. 

    “I do not sound like that,” He whined. 

    He got up right after her, grabbing her hand to ‘pull’ himself back up, but he was really just holding it. His hand was cooler than hers (because he’d used the hand that had been holding his iced coffee) and enormous around hers. If he tried, he could close his finger tips and they’d be overlapping. When he was fully stood up, he reached around her neck, and lifted the black strap over her head, transfering the cloth over to the hand that held his cup, and then reaching again, this time around her waist to undo the knot. His front, not even a full step away from hers, and y/n got a whiff of detergent and something else she could only describe as ‘clean man’. If she were a shark, this would’ve been the moment her eyes turned black and rolled to the back of her head. 

    “There you go, no longer look like a little barista.” He hung the apron over he shoulder, and walked alongside her to the exit. Y/n split from him for a short second to return the apron, but then resumed her place next to him and they walked out together. She was hyper alert the entire way, taking notice of when their hands brushed, or when he pressed his bicep against hers. They walked a little stumbly, walking against each other almost. Had it been Lucy, she would’ve already yelled at y/n, and y/n would’ve walked near the sidewalk to avoid bumping into her again. But Harry?

Harry takes it like a champ. Giggling and pressing back against her, and he even placed her on the inside of the sidewalk when she walked to the side closest to the passing cars. 

    “So, tell me.” He starts, tossing his empty cup at a recycling bin as they waited for the light. “What kind of premeditated preparations should I take to be- as you said- extra specific?”

    Y/n still nurtures her cup in her hands, the coffee lid resting on her bottom lip. “Moodboards. Magazine scraps. Room inspiration on pinterest. Make a list of things you like. Anything really.  Anything that you like and would like to see in your apartment. Also, you need a budget.” 

    “Don’t worry ‘bout a budget. I’ll work on everything else. You want it done by a certain day?” He asked, gallantly placing a hand on the small of her back as they crossed the street.

    “Preferably within the next week or two. I’m pretty much done with Karime.” She straightens up when she feels Harry’s hand on her, a warm feeling spreading from where he pressed, unlike the nastiness Kim made her feel. 

    They’re three shops down when he said, “Gotta give me your number so I can send you everything then. You can keep me updated and I’ll keep you updated.” They pass by a tree whose branch is just low enough to graze Harry’s head, and it hooks onto the hood on his head, effectively pulling it back as he walks through. His hair looks incredibly soft. Wispy strands the color of the drink in her hands, billowing up and around his face, a ringlet falling in front of his right eye. 

    He licks his lips, using his fingers to push his hair back and raise the hoodie over his hair again. HE looks over at her as he does, waiting for her response. 

    “Oh, oh, yes. Sure thing. Got your phone on you?” Harry jams his hand into his pocket and pulls out his phone, the latest model, sleek and looking incredibly small in his hands. He placed it into her outstretched palm, unlocked but not on the contact app. Y/n has to swipe through shamefully, scared he’s gonna think that she’s snooping. She puts her number under ‘y/n :)’. 

    “Thanks, love.” He took the phone from her, his fingers sliding against the back of her hand. He hisses when he does so, saying, “Y/n your hands are so cold,” and then proceeds to take her hand and squeeze it between his own two. 

    She giggles sweetly, “Aye! Trynna hold my hand now?” she teased. 

    “No, trying to hold your hand would be this,” He grabs her hand with one, and lets it wall between them. They walk into AromaReads like that, with him holding her hand and the both of them laughing like they’d heard the funniest thing in the world. 

    Karime, standing at the counter and welcoming everyone as they come in, catches y/n’s eye and she smiles at herself knowingly. Y/n shakes her head while still laughing with Harry, and they both head to the back. Harry to get his stuff, and y/n to continue her job. Just when he’s walking between the isle and cabinets, his phone dings and he takes it out, his jaw dropping and palm slapping his forehead. 

    “SHIT! I completely forgot. I have a lunch meeting with my friend today. Fuck,” Y/n, this being the first time she hears swear words coming out of his mouth, rases her eybrow at him and chuckles. “I’m so sorry. I wanted to keep helping you, but-”

    She raises her hand, silencing him. “You do what you have to do. This is my job anyway. Just don’t forget to text me.” Basket handles fill her hands, wicker patterns pressing into her pals, and she tucks one of the last two frames under her hand too. 

    “I won’t. In fact, I’ll do that right now.” He types into the phone that’s still in his hand, and a few seconds later Y/n’s back pocket buzzes and chimes. She doesn’t pull it out to check. “Now you can text me if I forget.” He says finally, swinging his satchel over his shoulder.

“Bye, sweetheart!” He called out, turning back over to smile at her. Y/n’s  lips pulled up at the corners, gazing at him with a certain look in her eye as he walked out. 

    “Sweetheart, huh?” Karime stepped into her direct line of vision, snapping y/n out of the daydream in her head where she’s the housewife and Harry her husband leaving to work, calling out bye, sweetheart! as he walked out the door. 

    Karime’s looking at her with a smirk and a single pointy eyebrow raise. 

    God, what had she gotten herself into?

    .

    .

    Y/n had saved Harry under “H.”

   And received a text from him that same night.

    She’d been in her bathtub with cucumbers on her eyes when she heard her phone chime. Chin pointed upwards and wrists perched on the edges of her porcelain basin, she lay unbothered and unmotivated to even move. Arms aching and the soles of her feet tired from walking from place to place and lifting she did at Karime’s earlier that day. Tealight candles were the only source of light in the tiny bathroom, a soft yellow glow cascading on the skin of her neck.  The valley of her breast peaked out everytime she took a breath, her mind drifting off into thoughts of green eyes and warm hands, all she’d been able to think about that day.

    She planned on staying there 30 more minutes, but her phone dinged again. After she thought it was the two minute thing the phone does after receiving a message, but when it dinged again, she huffed from her nose and removed the soggy cucumber sliced off of her eyes. Should’ve turned off my phone, she thought to herself, grabbing the towel she left on the toilet seat across from the tub, and wrapping it around her torso. The phone screen a blaring white light in contrast to the dimness of the candles. 

    Y/n, eyes cloudy with sleep and limbs saggy with fatigue, is very much surprised to see that next to the app icon on the display screen, is ‘H.’ Hey eyes pop out of her head at the realization, and her heart shakes up the fatigue to beat up a storm for the boy she’d been thinking about all day since he’d left her. 

Standing in her bathroom, on bare tiles with water still dripping on her, it hit her full force. She liked Harry. Liked the way his cheek squished against his shoulder when he shrugged. They way he looked at her through his eyelashes, and they way he made sure that she was walking on the inside of the street. Liked how he smiled at her and said her name. She was obsessed with him. 

So i think i know what i wanna go for

Was thinking maybe italy in the 70’s 

What do you think :D ??

    And attached were varying pictures of vast rooms with big windows during golden hour and white flowy curtains with art pieces on the wall. It was minimal Even more minimal that what Karime asked for. This is what he wanted help with? Not to mention, the pictures he sent were of rooms far bigger than she’d ever seen for an LA apartment. Hell, those rooms might as well have been in Italy, one of the windows had a view of a pretty pink sunset and orange tree branches littering the way. 

    However, she couldn’t argue that they were very pretty rooms. Sweet and plain, easy for the eye to absorb and just the place you’d be able to melt on the floor with a book. 

    Or the kind in which you have slow, hazy afternoon sex, but who was she to say what harry would use his rooms for right?

    Disclaimer: if this is the look you’re going for

    Like

    This exact look? You’re gonna have 2 have a really big apartment   

        Not even a full minute goes by until the grey delivered letters turns into ‘Read at 10:15pm’ and the grey typing bubble appears at the bottom of her screen. Her palms begin to sweat and her breath hitches. She doesn’t realize she’s been holding in her breath until she releases it after his message comes through. 

        are you doing anything this weekend? 

        Y/n is confused, brows furrowed as she reads his message. Why does he want to know?

    No. why? she responded.

    so you can come and take measurements of my apartments. that way i know how to tweak what i want

  and I have a measuring tape don’t worry

Y/n rolled her eyes and giggled at her phone screen, turning and resting her bum on the edge of her sink. 

    Saturday? 

        Seconds later,

see you Saturday

sweet dreams. H.x

The idiot. Of course he’d sign off a text message. Scoffing, y/n let the towel drop to the floor, and reached into the tub to unclog the drain. As soon as she felt the pop of water flowing down the pipes, she took out her arm and walked out. 

.

.

On Wednesday, y/n laid in bed until 12. When she got up, it was only to brush her teeth, pee, and eat ramen with rice and egg like the asian lady in the liquor store had taught her to make. When she finished, she went back to bed. Maybe she masturbated to get herself to fall asleep again.

Maybe.

.

.

On Thursday, she went took Our Sign Of The Times and took it out to read in her car on signal hill. She finished it. 

She cried. 

When she went home, she started another one. Rogue Lover. This one with a really pretty purple flower on the front, and the first page when you open it is a raven haired man with shoulder length hair who’s propped up next to a busty redhead. Her nipple is in his mouth, and her head is thrown back in pleasure. Y/n fell a little more in love with 

Lemus Knox upon finding the dedication was a note rather than a name. 

It said:

Whoever reads this, I’ll be waiting for you where the stars and clouds meet. My heart is yours. Lemus.

.

.

Friday. 

She helped Lucy at Rockstar. A bald man with a blue beard came in asking for her. He has a boutique in Long Beach. Doesn’t want to come off overbearing. Will he help her? 

She said yes.They were set to meet next week. 

Also, Harry texted her asking if they were still on for tomorrow and come ready to eat because I made Italian food for a few friends I had over and there’s leftovers. 

.

.

Saturday. 

Y/n woke up with an appetite for Italian food. She didn’t have to be at Harry’s house until 12-ish. They hadn’t really clarified. And with it being 8 am and all that, y/n decided to take some time to shower and prep herself all nice and delicate. She spent 15 minutes lathering herself in her tub, letting her skin absorb berry scented bubbles that made her mouth water, and if she didn’t know any better she’d scoop up the bubbles and eat them.When her skin shriveled, she stood and drained the water, letting the stream from the overhead wash her off, and stepped out onto her heart shaped mat, the kind with little stubs that felt really nice against the bottom of her feet.

A little while back, she’d bought a lemon face scrub from a really expensive skincare place that had a sale, and meanwhile she put on her clothes, she put some on her cheekbones and forehead to sit for 15 minutes.  It required extra care when slipping her floral dress over her head. Once she managed to poke her head through, and the material rested all bunched up on her neck, the rest was a breeze. With a careful yank, the light material cascaded down her body, dropping just below her bum. Checking herself in her mirror, she smiled at the way she looked when she swayed her hips side to side. Cheeky flashes of her bum glint at her teasingly. Humming contently, she took off to wash off her face in the restroom. She was eager to find out how Harry liked the way she looked; her dress a low neckline, and she wasn’t wearing a bra because it was one of those dress in which the fabric bunched at the breasts to create a makeshift cup. The patter was a nice pink that looked nice against her skin, dainty little bows at the sleeves and in between her breasts accentuating her features.

Y/n opted for nothing other than a dark shade of lipstick, and let her hair flow down her back. As she was putting on her shoes, a pair of those recycled shoes that sent some of the proceeds to charity, she noticed that much of what she was doing felt like what she would have done if she were getting ready for a date. 

And… and Harry had food waiting for her at his place (apartment? Loft? She didn’t know specifically). Was this a date? She definitely wouldn't mind if it was.

She finished, and grabbed nothing other than her keys and shoulder bag, hesitating at her door whether she should grab the measuring tape, but deciding against it after remembering that Harry, quite teasingly, had said he had one at his house. 

In her car, she scrolled up her and Harry’s text to find the one which contained his address, tapped on it when she found it, and set in on the small mount on the headboard of her cart. Huffing, she set off to Harry’s house.

It didn’t take her long to get there, about ten minutes, and she parked in front of a much nicer version of her own apartment complex, but in Beverly hills.  A beige building that have the similar structure of a hotel, with turquoise patios and green roofing. Palm trees making a walkway to the entrance, which guarded by a security guard who asked who she was there to see.  

“I’m here to see Harry…” she falters, realizing she doesn’t know his name. 

The security, an old man with a limp and scrutinizing eyes, looked her up and down and said, “Ya one of dem girls das always botherin’ him ain’tcha? I suggest you turn back and go home. Mr. Styles won’t see you.” 

Y/n, with her jaw dropped, stood stunned in the middle of the pathway, not sure what to respond. Surely, he was confused. And whichever “girls that came around bothering Mr. Styles” she wasn’t one of them. 

“Go on and git,” he said, crossing his arms and standing possessively in front of a keypad. 

She hurried to reach into her bag for her phone, walking back to her car while she punched Harry’s “call” because she didn’t want to stand while an agitated security man watched her. 

He picks up the phone, and doesn’t even give her a chance to talk before he says, “is Felix giving you a hard time?” His voice gravelly and knowing. 

“The security guard? He said that you won’t see me.” She whines into the receiver. 

“Ah yes, the strict old man. Gimme a second.” He hangs up on her, leaving y/n clutching the strap of her bag so hard her knuckles turn white. 

“Ms. Y/n?!” Felix calls from behind her. She turns around, surprised to see that his face was completely transformed with a smile. His front tooth is gold and he’s missing a molar. “You can go on ahead, dolly. Mr. Styles just called and said you was a nice ‘un.”  He said, punching a thumb into the keypad behind him. “Sorry, bout that Miss. Enjoy the rest ‘ur dey!” He touches the tips of his fore and middle finger to his gleaming forehead and salutes her as she passes him, giggling and blushing. 

“Thank you, Felix. You too.” 

She walks through, and is greeted with a fine lobby. It really does look like a hotel lobby. Carpeted floors, a receptionist, and a door leading to a pool just outside the elevator. Before she can even wonder where to go, she hears her name being called by a familiar voice, 

“Y/n, over here!” Harry calls out, standing in front of open doors to the elevator to her right. He’s wearing a burgundy turtleneck and black slacks that are cuffed at the ankles. Yellow tortoise shell glasses and his hair is parted down the middle making him look like MiloThatch. A lavender towelette is in the grasp of his right hand, and he’s waving it at her like soldier girlfriends saying goodbye on the platforms. 

Stunned at his etherealness, y/n felt the roof of her mouth go dry. Staring at the way he filled out his clothing, she walked to him hypnotized, transfixed by his appearance. His chiseled features, boyish grin. She gravitated towards him. Enchanted.

“H-hi, Harry.” she said dreamily. Harry’s eyes raked her up and down when she came to a stop in front of him. 

“Why, hello. You look exceptionally lovely right now, darling.” He rasped, looking down at her sternly, all traces of a sweet smile gone and replaced by something a little more serious. A little more sinister.  His light green eyes turning a darker shade, y/n’s lips parting and knees weakening. 

She musters the words to say, “so do you,” and Harry’s lips turn up at the corners. 

“Shall we head up. Pasta and salad is waiting for you.” He turns away from her and presses the circular button that goes red when he pushes it. 

“How was-”

“So, you-” 

They both say at the same time, laughing and stopping to let the other speak and Harry says, “You go first.” 

“I see you’ve a few fans that bother you, and Mr. Felix has taken to guarding them off,” y/n commented. Her eyebrow quirked at him. 

Harry laughs, a single loud ha! “Felix just takes his job very seriously. That’s all.” 

“Doesn’t change the fact that you have women-” the elevator rings and the doors open, “lined up on your doorstep.” Harry steps in first, and uses his hand to stop the elevator doors from closing in on y/n. 

She steps through, and they both stand side by side in the metal encasing. Glancing up, she sees the ceiling is covered in mirror panels. 

“Well,” Harry shifts his body so his front is facing her, and takes a step, shoulders taking turns on tilting forward with every slow, torturous step he takes. “Does it,” Y/n takes a step back, breath hitching in her chest, “ bother,” her back collides with the cool wall, the floors on the meter above the doors keep going, 5, 6, “ you?” 

He’s a needle away from her nose, his mouth ghosting over her own and his chest rising up and down slowly while hers is an erratic mess. She’s breathing out of her mouth, her eyes shifting between his own two that are fixed and straight on hers. 7, 8,  Harry’s hand comes to rest on the right side of her face, caging her between the elevator wall and his bicep, his palm cupped her jaw and running a thumb tenderly over her cheekbone. 

“I-I,” she stutters. 

“Cat got your tongue, petal?” His breath smells like mint and coffee. The tips of the curls that hang in front of his eyes tickle y/n’s forehead and down the side of her temple and eventually her cheek when he leans in to put his lips at her ear. “Look so pretty right now, y'know?” HIs british drawl is heavy because his tone of voice is low. 

8, 9, “Harry,” she gasped, involuntarily tilting her head to the side when he noses at the back of her ear. “What are you doing?” 

The elevator comes to a stop at 10, and Harry retracts, leaving her a red, heated mess  and slightly panting. He takes the few steps to stand in front of the elevator doors, and clasps his hands behind his back. “Nothing. Nothing at all. Don’t know what you’re talking about.” He smiled at her sweetly, his demeanor innocent as if we weren't just going to ravish her in an elevator like Robet Patterson for that one Dior commercial.

The doors open to a long hallway that turns sharply at the end to the right, a door where it would’ve turned on the left side. The right wall is a window that looks out onto the middle of the building, where y/n could see the pool that had been behind door. The flooring is a green colored tile, the same as the roofing, and the walls are a flattering soft yellow bordering on white.

Harry’s shoes, expensive looking-black heeled boots that have a rainbow pattern on the, making clacking noises against the floor with every step he takes. Y/n can’t help but feel awkward while walking alongside him, but  Harry, humming along to the tune of Maneater, by Hall and Oates, doesn’t seem to share her opinions. At the end of the hall, he makes a sharp turn to left, and she bumps into him. Mumbling a sorry she steps back to allow him to open the door. 

It’s not locked, and with a quick turn of the brass knob, the door opens and the smell of tomato and basil hits them both in the face. 

Y/n’s stomach grumbles, and she places her hand over her bell and looks over at Harry with wide eyes, embarrassed. 

“I take it you’re hungry?” He steps through, holding the door open for her.

“...yes…” she mumbled, stepping through. 

“Just in time then because I…” Whatever Harry says is drowned out. Y/n is amazed. Harry doesn’t have an apartment. He has a goddamn penthouse suite. His living room wall is a window, his kitchen open and blending in with the rest of the space. There are no walls, just turns where the building walls connect. Tall and wide walls painted with angles of shadows and lights that stream in. No furniture other than a long, wooden dinner table and three white chairs, and his bed. A mattress and a white comforter messily strewn over pillows. Before the walls turn to the streetside view, Y/n catches glimpses of cedar wood bookshelves arranged in the middle of the room; just like in a library. 

“Y/n?”  Harry appears in her line of peripheral vision, a knowing look on his face.

“Sorry, sorry. What was it?” 

“Said, do you want spaghetti and meatballs or fettuccine?”

“Mmm,” She scrunches her face like she’s thinking real hard, “fettuccine.” Then she adds, “please.” 

“You got it.” He said, walking away while playing with the collar of his turtleneck. Y/n follows after him, to the kitchen isle and utilities placed in a little alcove underneath the stairs that lead upstairs. To what, y/n didn’t know. 

Then she sees the pots and pans that are still steaming, the cutting boards with chopped lettuce and other vegetables and realizes that-

“Hey! You said you had takeout,”

“I did.” He picks up the knife next to the tomato, and continues chopping the lettuce.  “But I left it out, and it went bad. I promised you Italian so I made it myself instead. Much better than Olive Garden, anyways.” He shrugs, looking up at her and pointing with the knife to a chair across from him. “Sit.”

“NO!” She said, exasperated. “Let me chop something, too.”

“Darling, this is finished. I’ve got it. Sit, the fettuccine is almost finished. Just,” he twists his neck to look behind him, at the clock above the stove, a cat with a swinging tail. “Five more minutes.” 

Y/n slides the bag she carried off her shoulder and hooks it in the back of the chair he had told her to sit on, which she still wasn’t.

“Harry, that’s not fair.” she stomped her foot, a flat slapping noise of her sole against his wooden floors.

“Oh sit, or I won’t give you any food.” He tuts his tongue at her, shaking his knife and turning to turn down one of the knobs on the stove.

Pouting like a child, y/n sits down with a plop and a screech of the chair sliding against the floor.

She sat and watched Harry as he took plates out of his cupboards and placed food on them. The only noises being the quiet bubbling of pasta sauce, the tapping of his heels, clinks of plates against each other, and y/n’s grumbling stomach. Her face was still puckered in a pout because Harry hadn’t let her help him, but it slowly eased off as she focused more and more on the way he looked in his fitting black pants. The way the fabric was tighter on his ass, how his thighs flexed with each stride. Suddenly, y/n got the urge to bite into them, and she felt herself blush at her own thoughts, especially when Harry turned to her with a sweet smile of his lips.

He placed a plate in front of her, complete with salad and garlic knots. 

“Would you like some wine? Got this really nice one the other day and I haven’t opened it yet. Figured since we’re having Italian, it fits.” Harry was holding a dark wine bottle in his hand, that he had just pulled out of his silver fridge. 

“Harry, I would love some, but-” Y/n tried to explain that she felt bad because she came here for take out and had cooked her a meal.

“NO buts. Have some.” And instantly, there was a cup of red wine next to her plate.

Even though he had a table for eating, he placed his own plate next to her, and sat down to eat. Y/n looked at him, deflated and with a pained look on her face, while he forked spaghetti into his mouth and raised his glass for a drink. 

He froze when he saw she was looking at him. Looking her up and down, he said, “Moppet, eat your food. We have work to do.” 

Y/n rubbed her palm down her face, her lips pulled down. With a groan, she picked up her fork, sulking, and twirled it in her pasta.

She didn’t know what she was expecting, but definitely not the mini piece of heaven that was in her mouth. Harry had managed to create the perfect blend of cheese and cream that glazed her tongue like silk. It was so good, she moaned, her fingers pressing against her mouth and head tilted back. 

“S’good,? Harry questioned, wiping his mouth with a napkin to hide his laugh.

“Very,” she said, shoving more of the pasta into her mouth.

“Good.”

They eat quietly, Harry snickering at her whenever inhumane noises of pleasure left her mouth.Y/n practically cleaned her plate with the garlic knots. She only remembered about the glass of wine when Harry set his down empty, lips stained, and eyes droopy if she looked at him hard enough. After she’d cleaned her plate, she reached for the thin stem of the g;ass and drank it like it was grape juice, only slightly wincing after it had gone down, the tart acidity washing down the sweeter tones of cream. 

“Slow down, Moppet. Don’t want you to get a tummy ache.” Harry said, patting her hand tenderly and pushing himself off the seat to place her plate in the sink. At this, y/n jumped from her chair and took the plates from Harry. 

“You cooked, not I wash the dishes.” She stuck her tongue out at him, the tip red from the wine.

“But-” Harry protested.

“No buts. Go,” she bumped her hip against his, and walked the last few steps to the sink, picking up the sponge and turning on the water. She washed the dishes, and like always, got the front of her dress wet, water splattering onto her chest. Sucking on her teeth, y/n used the towel hanging on the handle of the oven to pat off the water. Harry watched this from where he leaned against the isle across from the stove; a new glass of wine half empty.

Returning to the table, she grabbed her now full- no thanks to Harry- glass of wine and sipped from it. It settled nicely in her stomach, warming down the path it took to settle.

Clasping her hands, she said, “Okay, Harry. Let’s talk decor.”

Harry untucked his hand from underneath his armpit, and smacked his lips together, “Follow me.”

He started walking out to the living room area, and into the bookshelves y/n had seen. Up close, they were actually taller than her, just about Harry’s height. He walked past them, and stopped again at a corner where one building face meets the other. Here, he had pictures upon pictures laid out on the floor. He even had scraps of fabric.

Y/n stared, and nodded approvingly. “You did your research. Good job.” Looking closer, she saw what the images were. Albums (David Bowie, Stevie Nicks, Fleetwood Mac, The Eagles, The Beatles, Prince). Pop culture pieces (Andy Narwhal, Pulp Fiction, Sixteen Candles). Fabric patterns, colors, and a lot of velvet. About half of the pictures were shots of other room like the pictures he’d shown her. 

To her left, Harry tapped onto his phone, and seconds later, that song he’d been humming in the hallway, Maneater, played with clarity on speakers hidden from the eye. When he was satisfied with his queue choices, he knee and sat next to his big circle of inspiration, legs splayed out in front of him looking infinitely long.  Y/n noticed he had taken off his boots, and his feet, knobby and lanky, had toes painted blue and pink. He had black markings on his big toe, but she couldn’t see what it was.

“Look, sit sit, I was thinking…” Harry began, patting the area next to him and grabbing a few of the papers he had spewed on the floor. Y/n, inexplicably endeared, sat with her legs crossed to the side next to him, feeling her butt press onto the cold floor, and listened to him go on and on about his vision. 

Hours passed with them just talking about images, why Fleetwood Mac would go better than Prince (because Fleetwood Mac is more of an afternoon in the meadows, and Prince is a night going down the highway in Malibu) and fabric choices for the windows (i’m sorry Harry, y/n had argued, but unless you can find a near translucent velvet its not gonna work. If you want the summer in italy during the 70’s look, you need transparent curtains).

They sat long enough that the way the light filtered in at an angle according to the sun, changed completely (it was at a harsh slant with the morning light, now its at a soft bend with golden light). When the light made Harry’s face look a golden pink, he fell back onto the wooden floors with a groan and said,

“How do you do this, y/n?” He blew hair out of his lips to move the few strands that had fallen in front of his eyes.

“Dunno, its just second natur- heeyy,”

A midst the mess, she guesses they missed it. Underneath a picture of a fruit bowl and flowers, was a picture of a naked woman, with birds eye view from the bot of her head, so you could see the tips of her breasts with they way she arched her back, and the head of hair in between her thighs. Her mouth was open in a silent scream of pleasure, eyes closed and a hand fisting her own hair like she was doing to the man in between her thighs.

Her cheeks burn upon her discovery, and she feels a familiar buzz in the place where the woman in the picture had a tongue pressed against her. 

When he heard her little gasp, Harry shot straight up and when he saw the image in her hands he said, “Ah, I see you’ve finally found it. Was wonderin’ when it would come out.” Reaching across her, his chest smushed againt her shoulder, he plucks it from her hands and look at it, smirking.

“You didn’t tell me we’d be doing x-rated work.” 

She says it teasingly.

But maybe it was the way she was looking at him then. She couldn’t help it. The roots of his hair looked blonde in the light, and his eyes were clear, almost see through as light passed them. His lips looked particularly tasty, having been tinted red from the wine, glinting from his own spit, and swollen from how he’d plucked at them while he was thinking about her suggestions. The juncture of his throat was partly hidden, but she could still see every time he swallowed, hos his adam’s apple bobbed up and down. And… and it wasn’t her fault that black pants looked good on him either. The material stretching taught over his muscles, flexing with every, single movement he made, no matter how small.  

So, maybe she had been looking at his provocatively, and her comment had… fueled Harry. Tuned him in on what had been on her mind.

He lifts himself with one arm from his indian-style position on the floor, up to his knees, and crawls to her. Eyes looking with hers, y/n’s chest starts to heave, her breaths growing bated; shorter; faster. 

“Do you want to do x-rated work?” He said, his voice dangerously low. His rings clink against the wooden planks, and brush against her thighs when he comes close, hands bracketing her hips, his nose nudging hers.

She’s gupping, like a little guppy fish, her lips opening and close, but nothing comes out of them.

Harry’s nose moves to her cheek, pushing back her hair. “It’s okay, pet. I can ask you again. Do you want,” his lips are at her ear for the second time that day, except that she thinks maybe they’ll actually gets somewhere this time. All she has to do is say,

“Yes.” Her voice is small, an airy squeak when Harry presses a kiss to the back of her ear. Her hands, sitting dumbly on her lap, move tentatively to his chest, searching from something to hold onto. She clenches the soft fabric in her hands just as Harry starts to lean back, his palm falling into her naval, and pushing her back, back, back, until she has to stretch her legs out to lay comfortable on her back, staring up at him with bleary eyes, glossed over.

“Yes? Course you do, pet.” He moves his knees to straddle her hips, leaning down close so he’s almost talking into her mouth, and one of his hands smooths down the shape of her waist. Y/n feels herself grow wet when Harry dips his thumb into her belly button, and she’s whining because she hasn’t done anything with anybody in so long and she wants him to do something.

But, if he’s not gonna do anything, that she might as well. She stretched her neck the last of the way, flattening her lips against Harry’s. The relief is instant, she quells her desire of being closer to him, and Harry responds almost immediately, swiping his tongue on her bottom lip and licking into her when she lets him. Harry groans, because she still tastes like wine and a sweetness he can only credit to her. His kiss becomes urgent, smashing his against her soft, malleable mouth.

Y/n whimpers, hips jutting upwards when Harry takes her lower lip between his teeth, and bites down on it,hard enough to where the pain was pleasure. Although her mind is swimming, she knows that the bulge she feels through the flimsy cloth of her dress is Harry’s cock. Elated and driven mad by her need, she arches up into him, needing any friction she could.

Harry pulls away from her, their lips separating with a wet noise, and tuts his tongue at her. “Ah, ah, ah. You’re not getting my cock tonight, y/n. Not yet.”

She mewls, her eyebrows dipping and red, puffy lips pouting, “Harry, don’t be a tease. S’not fair.” She doesn’t care is she sounds pathetic, the space between her thighs aches, and she’d like him to very much sate it “Do something, please.”

He coos at her, pressing wet kisses along her neck, his hand sneaking past her waist, to the start of her dress, and slipping underneath it. “Whining like a little puppy, aren’t you?” His hand glides of her thigh, the shill of his rings sending a violent shiver up her spine. His nail scratches a path near the place where she’s most warm. Most needy, and she moans when he feels how close he is to touching her, the splotch on her panties expanding every time he spoke. “You’re alright puppy, I’ll take care of you.”

Y/n’s breath hitches when his finger hooks onto the strap of her underwear, snapping the material twice with a chuckle at the cries he elicited from her. 

“Harry, harry, harry,” she’s half mad with need, her eyes squeezed shut with anticipation, and when Harry sees the desperation in her slack mouth, his own features go soft, and he takes out his hand from underneath her dress to cup her cheek. 

“Puppy,” he said, and when she didn’t open her eyes, he said again, “Puppy, look at me.” his thumb rubs over her cheek, ignoring the imploring whines that leave her lips, and instead leaning down and kissing her to shut her up. “It’s okay, its okay. Do you want me to keep going?”

“Yes!” She shouted, eyes going wide, amazed that he’d even ask that. “Do something.” She ruts up again, the head of Harry’s cock nudging against her hood. Harry groans, noticing how fucking hard he is. He’s leaked through his pants, a darker splotch where his head it.

“Fuck, baby,” he said, more to himself than to her.

His hand makes the same trail it had before, flipping up her dress this time to see her clothed center. Her panties make him want to cum on the spot. Baby pink cotton with a bow on the center of the band. Biting his lip, he uses a knee to spread her thighs, and then he sees just how much she needs him. 

“Oh puppy. We’ve made a mess of your panties haven’t we?” He looks at her with amusement, “Guess they have to go, don’t they?” 

Y/n hums desperately, her hips writhing up to meet his fingers. Pressing a last kiss to her lips, Harry scoots back so his knees are by her feet, and he and slip off the material all the way off. Suddenly aware of how bare she is, he clasps her thighs sht, obscuring Harry’s view of her pussy. 

“C’mon now, honey. Don’t be shy,” with a strong hand, he pries her knees apart and lays himself down in front of her, his breath hot on her swollen clit. From that angle, he can see how much she glistens, and how her juices spill out of her every time she clenched her hole around nothing. “Look at you, just begging to be stuffed.”

With a single finger, he slides up and down her slit, collecting her wetness, and then slipping into her. 

Y/n bleats, his intrusion stirring her heat up more; she wanted more. Wanted to be filled than more with just his finger, but was scared to say. Instead she said, “another,”

Harry slid his middle finger inside her, scissoring his fingers and leaning down to lick a stripe on her clit. Y/n arched her back, and moaned loudly, her eyes squeezing shut and hands touching at the area around her, looking for something to hold on to and settling to clenching at her own dress.

He hears the sound of her hands colliding with the floor, and looks up to see her knuckles going white with hoe hands she was fondling her dress.

“Y’can pull my hair, puppy.” he said against her slit, the vibrations of his words sending prickled of pleasure to the building orgasm she feels in the pit of her stomach. The second her muddled brain comprehends what Harry said, her fingers jam themselves into her his hair, just as he suckles on her. Y/n’s eyes roll to the back of her head, and her gasps come out in staccatos.

Harry’s fingers are still pumping in an out of her, twisting every time he pushed them back into her. He’s looking for the spongy spot inside of her, when he hears her say something incoherently.

“What was that?” he asked her,his fingers stilling inside her.

“Said, what about you?”

Her voice is faint and weak, her voice and comment sending pin-pricks of satisfaction to his throbbing member. His heart clenches at her considerations, so touched by the fact that she’s so lost in her own heat but she’s still worried about him.

“This isn’t about me. It’s about you. Y’gonna cum for me, puppy?” He feels the pad of his middle finger slide against something that has a different texture that the rest of her, and when her breathing hitches and she lets out a long moan, he knows hes found what he’s looking for. Y/n’s pussy clenches around, her fingers tighten in his hair, so hard it makes Harry yelp. “Clenching m’fingers, puppy, I know you’re there.” 

Y/n feels the familiar slow burn of her orgasm twisting in the pit of her stomach, her entire body hyper aware of Harry and what he was doing to her. How he pressed a hand on her navel to keep her from lifting her hips, the harsh sucking of her clit, and then finally the flick of his pointer finger curling inside her.  The build-up unravels, and her mouth opens up in a silent scream like the women in the picture, her body going taught, and then falling limp when the wave calms.

“That’s it, love. All better now isn’t it?” Harry slowly takes his fingers out of her, reveling in the way she’s still squeezing around him. She’s sensitive and jerking from her orgasm when He lick his fingers clean, kissing his path up her body. Her thighs, her exposed navel, her clothed valley of her breasts, her collarbones, and up her throat, behind her ear where he’s taken a liking to kissing.

“Jesus, Harry. Where’d you learn to talk like that?” She titters sleepily.

“S’my job, puppy.” He nibbles at her earlobe and down her jawline.

Alarmed, y/n’s eyes pop open, and she sits up, pushing Harry’s chest and holding him at arms length. “What do you mean, it’s your job?” She’s scared she’s just been used or something along those lines.

“I mean it’s my job. Learned a few skills from writing erotica, pet.” He responses calmly, diving back in to continue his assault on the skin of her jaw. His voice warped against her, he adds, “write under a pseudonym. Lemus Knox.” 

Lemus Knox. 

Harry was Lemus Knox. Harry was Lemus fucking Knox.

“You’re…” she’s still. Almost like that fight or flight instinct. 

Harry stills when he realizes she has. He knows, simply by the tone of her voice that she knows who he is. Who Lemus Knox is.He withdraws to look at her, grinning fro  ear to ear.

“You know who I am?” he said slowly.

“Harry, I’d even go as far as saying I’m in love with Lemus,” she blurts, reddening as soon as the words leave her mouth, but Harry just smiles fondly at her.

“That’s okay, puppy. Lemus and I aren’t the same person. You have a right to love him,” he nuzzles into her neck, kissing down her shoulder, “Just as long as you save some love for me.”

And lying there, completely stunned ant with Harry’s hard cock pressing into her hip, y/n bursts out laughing. She laughs because she’s happy. Because she likes Harry. Because she loves Lemus Knox.

She laughs because for the first time in a long time, someone is laughing along with her, kissing her, holding her.

She laughs because she can’t wait to see where Harry will lead her.

[nataliedanovelist]

C-137 Vs. 46'\

C-137 Vs. 46'\ = A Gravity Falls & Rick and Morty crossover fic for @stephreynaart! I meant to finish this, like, forever ago, but I did my best and decided this has stayed hidden in my files long enough. I hope y’all enjoy it!

Stanchez for life!!!

~~~~~~~~~~

Episode Placement: GF = after the finale (season 3) R&M = Between S1E10 and E11 (In S2E2, Rick dates 1/12/2015 on the drop-off papers for Jerry. Though Alex hates dating cartoons, it can be estimated that GF took place during 2013 thanks to Sev'ral Timez, so the next summer would be 2014. So… yeah. I put way too much thought into this.)

The vast galaxy in front of them was an endless sea of stars and space-clouds of many different colors. Some were green, some were blue, some were magenta, it honestly looked like a generic Hot Topic galaxy t-shirt.

But Rick didn’t give a shit about some fucking space-clouds or some fucking shop for teenagers who were trying too hard to be goth. Rick didn’t give a shit about the fact that Morty barely knew how to drive the fucking spaceship. Rick only have a shit about getting away from the other fucking spaceships that were after the humans, but he couldn’t drive because Rick had to repair the fucking weapon to kill those fucking bastards. Fuck.

“Aw, geez, Rick, hurry it up!” Morty yelled.

“Don’t tell me how to do my job, Morty!” Rick snapped back as he tinkered with the huge ray-gun that laid by his feet.

The spacecraft jolted to the side as a beam just barely missed it. Rick caught his screwdriver as it flew in the air for a second and he finished the final turn. Rick grinned maliciously and aimed the newest invention out at the enemy. He pulled the trigger and rather than a beam of light or a bullet escaping the gun, it appeared that nothing happened, until each spaceship seemed to be covered with blood and guts from the inside, covering the windows and halting the enemies’ spaceships.

“Oh my God, Rick, what the hell?!” Morty screamed.

“Relax, Morty, you’ve seen worse. It’s just a gun that released microscopic ninjas that slice people up from the inside until they’re nothing b-b-but guts.” Rick burped through the alcohol and leaned on the big gun proudly with a monotone voice and facial expression.

“No, Rick, what the hell IS THAT?!”

Rick looked ahead to see a wormhole of pink, blues, and whites glowing brightly in front of them. Morty was trying to turn the spaceship away, but they were being pulled in by gravity.

“Well, fuck.”

~~~~~~~~~~

Mabel was bouncing like she had springs on the bottoms of her shoes as she held her Grunkle Ford’s hand. They were both wearing ponchos and on their way to the magical part of the forest. Mabel, Dipper, Stan, and Ford had only been back in Gravity Falls for two days and Ford wanted to start off this summer right by bonding with his favorite grandniece in the Multiverse.

Ford felt guilty of the little time they had spent together the previous summer. True, he had arrived home a little late in the season, but he had spent plenty of time bonding with Dipper, leaving not nearly enough for Mabel. Ford loved her very much, but with Dipper things were more predictable. The boy was a lot like him, so Ford knew what to expect and how to bond with him, like playing Dungeons, Dungeons, and More Dungeons or working or investigating an anomaly together. Ford had no clue what twelve… thirteen-year-old girls liked and Mabel’s overwhelming flood of love and affection had startled Ford like an old alley-cat.

Still, he admired her positivity and loved to do arts-and-crafts with her. They had captured time last summer for her to make a beautiful hand-turkey on Ford’s six-fingered hand; she had said that the extra feather made it special. The old scientist had no idea what he had done to deserve Mabel… no, he didn’t deserve Mabel, but she seemed to like him, so he owed her some alone-time. Mabel seemed to like the supernatural almost as much as Dipper (Dipper took a more serious approach to it while Mabel seemed to accept everything with loving arms), so Ford offered to take her out to the magical part of the forest over breakfast and Mabel nearly choked on her Stan-cake out of pure joy.

Now, as the morning sun rose and was nearly above their heads, after about an hour of traveling and quietly talking, they were starting to reach the magical part of the forest.

“So, why do we need ponchos, Grunkle Ford?” Mabel asked as she used her free-hand to play with the yellow hood that was over her beautiful brown hair.

“Because the fairies we’re going to investigate are… rather messy.” Ford landed on. The Barf Fairies used to turn his stomach, but after traveling through dimensions for over thirty years, Ford’s stomach had hardened and since Mabel also seemed to have a strong gag-reflex, he decided that he would try to learn more about the less-than-pleasant type of fairies. “I would hate for them to ruin a Mabel Pines original.” Ford added with a smile down at the young teenager.

Mabel grinned braces-free (she had them removed back in February) up at the old scientist, loving it when he called one of her sweaters a Mabel Pines original, and her eyes twinkled when she saw the blue sweater through Ford’s poncho, the one she had made for him with a golden six-fingered hand on the front, like his old journals. “So, these are…”

“Barf Fairies.”

“Right. What do you already know about them?”

“Only that we should avoid whatever they eat.”

Mabel laughed along with him and said, “Okay. Well… I’ve actually never talked to or met a fairy before, so looks like we’re both starting from square-one. Did you meet any fairies out in the Multiverse?”

“Yes, but they were very different than the one here in Gravity Falls. I once landed in a dimension where the seasons changing was caused by the fairies, and in another dimension I met a giant fairy-queen that looked more like a slug with wings covered in glitter.”

Mabel opened her mouth to contribute to the conversation, but they both heard a noise and stopped walking in the woods. The sound had made them think of clanking metal and yells. They looked up and around at the trees, but a little puff of smoke confirmed that they had heard some sort of machine.

“What was that?” Mabel asked quietly.

“I’m not sure.” Ford said honestly and started to walk them to a clearing.

The two Pines left the cluster of pinetrees so they could look around the skies more clearly. It was a beautiful cloudless early-summer day. As they looked up at the heavens above, a flying-disk of a spaceship was whizzing over their heads, having trouble staying up in the air. Ford held Mabel close in fear of it crashing down near them, but the spaceship staggered over the woods and crashed landed from a safe distance.

“Aliens!” Mabel gasped. “Dipper told me about the one under the town! Do you think this is like that one?”

Ford, whose mind was racing, shook his head to try to think straight, and he said, “No, I… I think I know what it is, but… Mabel, I’m afraid the Barf Fairies are going to have to wait.”

Mabel peeled off her poncho and shook her hair free, revealing her purple sweater with a heart and sunglasses on it that matched her red skirt and headband. Ford also took off his poncho, pocketed both of the big yellow articles of clothing in his trenchcoat, but then pulled out his gun. He opened his mouth to tell Mabel to stay close, but she already pulled out her grappling hook and was standing behind Ford, waiting for him to lead the way.

Ford crept back into the woods with Mabel behind him. He had a good idea of what had crashed into Gravity Falls, but he had hoped that he was wrong. He didn’t want Mabel to meet him. Ford was hoping he would never show up in this dimension, but if he was still traveling around the Multiverse…

A low hissing noise from a busted engine told Ford and Mabel where to go. They only had to walk a minute before the spaceship came into view, landing in between two trees and leaving a trail of up-turned dirt in its path before coming to a halt. Ford and Mabel slowly moved towards the ship with their weapons in hand, but they found it unnecessary as a boy stumbled out and coughed into a fist, on his hands and knees and ruffled from the crash.

“Oh geez, oh man, we’re dead. We’re dead. We survived, but we’re dead.” The boy moaned as he slowly stood up. He looked about Mabel’s age, had short brown hair, and wore jeans and a yellow t-shirt with white sneakers.

Mabel pocketed her grappling hook while Ford let his arms fall to his side, but he kept the weapon in hand, just in case. “Huh. That was… not what I was expecting.” Ford said, more to himself than to Mabel.

Mabel stepped forward with her hands up kindly and she cleared her throat, gaining the boy’s attention. He blinked at the two humans and Mabel said in a soft voice, “Uh, hi, I’m Mabel. Are you hurt?”

“What?” The boy asked. He seemed jittery from the crash, his eyes darting and his forehead glistening with sweat. “Uh, n-no. No, I’m fine. I’m…”

“MORTY!”

The boy groaned and squeezed his eyes shut as he tilted his head upward. “Yup, that’s my name. Morty.”

An older man in a white lab-coat with blue-white hair stumbled out of the spaceship, and not out of drunkenness for a change. “Morty, you little…”

“Sanchez.” Ford growled and covered Mable’s ears. He knew this guy had a foul tongue, and while Ford and his brother might have sailors’ mouths, at least he and Stan knew to censor themselves around the kids. Ford’s old friend didn’t.

The old man in the lab-coat looked at Ford and his eyes widened in shock before he grinned. “Oh, no way! Good to see you again, Fordsie!” He laughed, amused by the scenario in front of him. “Great, another genius. Mind giving me a hand with this piece of… erm, crap?”

Ford groaned and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Fine, the sooner I can get you out of my home dimension, the better.”

The man Grunkle Ford had called Sanchez appeared shocked again and he dug around his coat. “Wait, wait, wait. Your home dimension?” Sanchez pulled out a white flat gun with a green bulb on top and he seemed to be reading off a tiny screen. “Huh. Dimension 46’\. This one’s way out of the loop. There’s no way I could’ve gotten you home with this thing. How did you manage to pull that off?”

“Long story.” Ford said and pocketed his hand in his trenchcoat.

“Grunkle Ford,” Mabel piped and smiled up at the visitor. “Who’s this?”

Ford looked down at his niece and decided to share this piece of his thirty-year-long journey in the Multiverse with her. “Sweetie, this is my old acquaintance, Rick Sanchez. Rick, this is my great-niece, my brother Sherman’s granddaughter, Mabel.”

“Oh, hey, nice to meet you, little lady.” Rick said with a small smile and then jabbed a thumb back at Morty. “That little screw-up is my grandson, Morty.”

“Oh, yeah, like you could do any better, Rick.” Morty huffed with crossed-arms over his thin chest.

“I could do better, Morty,” Rick said and rounded on his grandson. “You know what else I can do? I can also leave you behind on Asteroid 3924987, but I won’t. I can also feed you to a five-headed mega-bird from Bird-Person’s homeworld, but I won’t. I can also send you to the citadel and trade you in for a new Morty, but I won’t, as long as you quit being a pain in the ass.”

“Rick, please!” Ford hissed.

“It’s okay, Grunkle Ford, I heard worse when I went to get a snack and Stan was watching football.” Mabel giggled, remembering the other night when Stan’s team was losing and he let out a long stream of colorful swears that made him turn red when he realized Mabel had heard him.

“Of course you have.” Ford groaned and shook his head. “Well, let’s see what the damage is, Sanchez. What caused the crash? Did your micro-verse battery finally start a rebellion?”

“No, because they know if they do, I’ll get a new battery, Genius. When we came to this dimension through a wormhole we hit a mountain side and a part broke off here…”

The two old men examined the spacecraft and were discussing ways to fix it, meanwhile Morty walked up to Mabel and rubbed an arm nervously. “So, uh… I guess they met out in the Multiverse, huh?”

Mabel nodded; she didn’t know how these two old men knew each other or why these two humans were in a spaceship, but based on context clues, Morty’s guess made the most sense. “Wait, so you two are from another dimension?”

“Yeah, pretty much.” Morty said with a shrug. “This is 46'\, right? My dimension is C-137.”

“Wow, cool!” Mabel said with shining eyes that threw Morty for a loop. “So, what’s different over there? Was Benjamin Franklin a man and never accomplished anything? Are dinosaurs still alive? Oo! I bet your sky is lavender-purple all the time, right?!”

Morty laughed a little and rubbed his arm again. “Uh, no. It’s, I think, pretty much the same as yours. My Grandpa Rick says there’s an infinite number of realities that are just slightly different from one another. M-M-Maybe the difference between C-137 and 46'\ is so small and unimportant it’s not obvious.”

“Oh, okay,” Mabel peered over to watch Rick and Ford work together for a little bit and then she smiled back at Morty. “So, do you always go on adventures with your Grandpa Rick?”

Morty sighed in a shaky puberty-voice and nodded. “Yeah, he’s always making me go on these stupid adventures with him.”

“What?” Mabel gasped with a smile. “They’re not stupid! I’d love to go to a different dimension with my Grunkle Ford! I’ve already been on one with him and Grunkle Stan when they had to rescue me from Dimension Mab3L. The other mes were a little self-centered, but it was a lot of fun to punch myself in the face and rescue my great-uncles.”

“Yeah, but from the sounds of it, your - what did you say, Grunkle Ford? - is nice to you.” Morty pointed out. “My Grandpa Rick treats me like garbage all the time, but then again he treats everyone like garbage, so at least he’s only signaling me out to stay hidden from the Federation or whatever.”

“Oh.” Mabel said quietly and held her hands behind her back bashfully, unsure of how to respond, but she decided to try to make Morty feel better. “Well, my other great-uncle, Grunkle Stan, is a little tough sometimes, but that’s only because he cares about his family and is toughening us up for a tougher world. He’s my hero!”

“That sounds nice.” Morty said with a small smile. He didn’t think Rick cared about his family like this Stan guy, but Morty wasn’t in the mood to kill Mabel’s optimism. “I like your sweater, by the way.”

“Thanks!” Mabel grinned proudly. “I made it!”

Morty’s eyes widened. “Wow, really?” Mabel held out her arm so Morty could feel her sleeve. “Oh my God, that’s amazing! You’re really talented.”

“Hey, thanks! If you want, I can make you one!”

“R-R-Really? You’d do that for me?”

“Sure! What’s your favorite color?”

“Uh… y-yellow.”

“Got it!”

Ford and Rick walked up to the teenagers and the six-fingered researcher said, “Well, I’m afraid the ship lost a part we need, but luckily I have the materials we need to build one in the lab back home.”

“Great!” Mabel said and grinned. “Let’s go! So, how did you two meet, anyway?”

Ford and Mabel led the way with Rick and Morty closely behind. “We met about twenty years ago in a high-security prison. I remember feeling relieved to see another human. I had been without human contact for a little under two years at the time since I had been stranded on some desert planet.”

“Yeah, this nerd got into big trouble for the extinction of a few million species on Planet 8824816.”

“What?!” Mabel gasped and looked up at her great-uncle, unable to believe that he would cause such mass genocide. “Grunkle Ford, you didn’t?!”

“Of course I didn’t, Mabel.” Ford quickly reassured his niece. “That was the planet I thought was a sandwich. Anyway, at least I didn’t do what Rick was in for…”

“What did he do?”

“I purposely caused mass genocide on Sector 56, Dimension “”113.” Rick said in a scaringly monotone voice.

“What?!”

“Rick!” Ford and Morty both scolded at the same time.

“Hey, it was either me or the Valakawns!” Rick snapped back. “Those bloodsucking leeches didn’t see what hit them, until the Federation caught me hanging from a tree upside-down, passed out and drunk.”

“Alright, enough!” Ford said firmly. “Let’s just build the part we need so we can get you two back to your home dimension. And, Mabel, once they’re gone we’re going to patch the wormhole with alien adhesive.”

“Okay. Last thing we want is for Dipper to get stuck in Dimension Dipp-3R or something.”

“Who’s Dipper?” Morty asked quietly.

“My twin brother!”

“Oh, cool! I don’t have a twin, but I have met multiple versions of myself.”

“Hey, me too! I’ve met Table-Mabel, Explainble, Threebel, Military-Expert-Mabel, Brainbel, T-Rex-Mabel, Fire-Mabel, and even Anti-Mabel!”

“I’ve met an Evil-Morty with one eye-patch who worked for the worst Rick in the Multiverse. I’ve also… Well, let’s just say I’ve met a lot of mes.”

The two teenagers talked while the two old men chatted on ways to fix the ship as they got closer to the Mystery Shack. Rick looked up and down the place and then snorted, amused. “Huh. Not the kind of place I’d expect from Mr. Stick-In-The-Mud over here.”

“My brother had to make some… changes in order to pay off the mortgage.” Ford explained and led the way to the back door. He opened it and said, “My lab is downstairs behind the vending machine in the gift shop. I believe Soos is giving a tour, so it should be safe to enter.”

“Gift shop?” Rick laughed and poked Ford’s shoulder. “When did you get so soft?”

“I am not< soft.” Ford said dignified.

“You’re wearing a blue sweater with a gold six-fingered hand.”

“My niece made it for me!” Ford said proudly and puffed out his chest.

Mabel rolled her eyes with blushing chubby cheeks and a smile and decided to let the old guys fight. She took Morty’s hand and said, “Come on! I’ll show you my room! I have a huge sticker collection you’ll love!”

“Oh, okay!” Morty said and allowed her to drag her up to the attic; it was nice being dragged to something nice and safe rather than some new monster of a different dimension.

“But hey, you turned your lab into a gift shop.” Rick was saying while the teenagers did their own thing. “Least you’re making a profit.” Ford wasn’t sure if Rick was being sincere or not.

“Actually, it’s all my brother’s.” Ford said and waved the subject away. “We’re getting off track. Let's just get you and your grandson out of my dimension.”

“Geez, you used to be way more fun.” Rick said with sagged shoulders. “What happened to the guy who ranked up million on Lottocron Nine and got tattoos with octopus-armed piglets? What happened to the interdimensional criminal who once shot fifty Bureaucrats to save a fellow scientist’s ass?”

“He discovered what was most important, Sanchez.” Ford growled with his arms crossed over his chest.

“Oh, HO!” A voice laughed as he shook his head and left the kitchen. “I know this guy isn’t talking about Mr. Goody-Nerds-Shoes!”

Ford pinched the bridge of his nose. The last thing he wanted was for his twin and his old friend to meet, but it seemed like some greater being(s) really wanted this to happen, so here we go.

Rick grinned at the sight of a conman in his suit and fez, with a can in his hand, instantly giving Rick the vibe that this guy couldn’t be trusted but would be a hit at parties and wasn’t a total snitch. “Now THIS is what I’m talking about! Name’s Rick, Ford Two.”

Stan barked a laugh and shook his hand. “The name’s Stan, Genius. And please for the love of Moses you weren’t just talking about my brother?”

“Are you kidding, this guy was a total badass!” Rick jabbed a thumb back at the fuming scientist. “He was a total idiot, had no clue how the Multiverse worked, but he was always willing to barrel into whatever crap was out there and destroy some shit!”

“Okay, you and I need to talk.” Stan tossed him the can of soda and went into the kitchen to get some snacks. “I wanna hear more about what kind of crazy violent nomad Ford was back in the day!”

“You got it! Just tell me how the hell he ended up with a cool twin? What, did you inherit all the fun traits leaving him with hobbies like collecting alien stamps?”

Stan barked a laugh and was back, looping an arm around his skinny neck. “I love this guy! Now, please tell me you were there when he got his stupid tattoo.”

“Stanley,” Ford scolded. “We’re supposed to be working on building the part he needs so he can go home. Rick and his grandson are stranded here…”

“Please, I can make that piece of shit from scratch in my sleep.” Rick said. “And Morty’s fine. That niece of yours will keep his small brain entertained for hours.” He turned to Stan and asked, “You got any booze, we had a rough crash here and I need a drink.”

“I got a secret stash in my room,” Stan muttered. “I don’t like drinking with the kids here, but I guess you can have a shot of whisky to relax. Want some soda?”

“Sure, why not. There’s a bit in my flask to last.”

And the old men walked away for the ‘Employees Only’ part of the house, leaving Ford to grit his teeth in annoyance and then bite his lip in discomfort. This could only end one way and he was not looking forward to it.

To be continued...

[love-killed-the-superstar]

super late but here is day 6!! also: if the cottage was actually destroyed i’m sorry, but i combed through TOTS a LOT and couldn’t seem to find any proof it was actually fully destroyed so... please just suspend your disbelief for this one, lads

CASSUNZEL WEEK DAY 6 - TRUST AND HEALING

Interior decorating is something Rapunzel never figured she and Cass would have in common, but somehow, here they are.

To be perfectly honest, when Rapunzel decided to return to Gothel’s old cottage (or what was left of it, anyway) she wasn’t really sure how Cassandra would take the news. How exactly does one explain that they’re rebuilding your nearly-destroyed childhood home that may or may not hold a boatload of trauma inside its walls? In the end she had taken the coward’s way out and written her to break the news, fully expecting to be met with silence on Cass’s end, as so often happens when she receives news that’s hard to swallow. The fact that she returned to Corona less than a month after the letter had been sent surprised Rapunzel to no end.

(“So, we’ve got our work cut out for us,” she had said nonchalantly, climbing off of Fidella’s back and rolling up her sleeves as Rapunzel stared in shock. “Where should we start?”

“I-I didn’t think you’d actually – well, hang on a moment,” Rapunzel had replied, chickening out of the tough conversation. “Let me just find my clipboard.”)

Cass has been… a little quiet on the matter, to be honest. It’s been easy enough to keep distracted by the house; the foundation and floors have been rebuilt where they’d been torn through by black rocks, and Rapunzel had the roof rethatched several weeks earlier. Cassandra has thrown herself into repairing furniture, refitting the window panes and getting the water mill back up and running again, while Rapunzel has taken to repairing torn curtains, scrubbing mould and mildew and moss from the walls, weeding the cracks where plant life has inevitably sprung up from and filling them in afterwards. The effort to seal up the entrance to Gothel’s strange underground mirror lair takes the both of them, and although neither of them have much to say, it gives Rapunzel a grim satisfaction that the burned, smashed up hideout can’t be reached any longer.

This part of fixing the house takes just over two weeks of dawn-til-dusk of hard work, and each evening they ride back to the castle and fall into Rapunzel’s bed, too tired to really talk about it. Eugene finds the whole thing bizarre and doesn’t shy away from telling them so, but Rapunzel kind of got the feeling that he wouldn’t understand it from the moment she mentioned the idea to him.

(“Why are you dragging this ordeal out?” he had asked her one night, just two days before Cass showed up at the house without warning. “And why bring Cass into it at all? I don’t want to police your process, but isn’t it time to put Gothel behind you both and… learn to let go of the past?”

Rapunzel hadn’t known how to answer him. “It’s just something I want to do,” she had said instead. “And Gothel hurt her too, Eugene. I can’t keep it from her.”)

They don’t need to talk about it; not if they don’t want to. Rapunzel and Cassandra seem to have come to a silent agreement that they won’t push for some big heart-to-heart that ends in tears, or an argument that eventually turns into a greater understanding of each other’s pasts.

When it comes to the house that Gothel built, nothing really needs to be said at all. Right?

…

“I can’t believe we’ve done this, Cass.”

“Tell me about it. What exactly ignited this passion project of yours, anyway?”

“I wanted to breathe new life into this place, I guess.”

The two of them stand back and stare at their surroundings in satisfaction. There’s no more cobwebs or ivy or moss covering the walls, and where there are stains Rapunzel has thrown on a cream wash. The floors and ceiling and roof are repaired, the windows are no longer cracked and smashed, and the creak of the water mill can be heard faintly from outside. The salvaged furniture is stacked up in the centre of the room, and Rapunzel has decided that tomorrow they’ll take a trip to the market to replace the items that were too far gone to be saved.

Today, they’re focusing on the walls.

Rapunzel’s vision is a little… eclectic. Pale, neutral walls might be best, and perhaps they can be accented with floral imagery, or maybe even a mural of the cottage itself. Another part of her, however, dreams in full colour; cerulean walls, or perhaps celadon, with bright sunny yellow flowers and trees with purple leaves – and why stop there? She could paint some horses in a meadow, or birds soaring through the sky. Why not paint fairies, unicorns, dragons? Make this house its own storybook experience?

“I’m so torn on my vision,” she confesses to Cassandra as she stands between buckets upon buckets of paint, an entire rainbow of choice laid out in front of her. “I need a better idea of what to paint before I can even think about washes. Any thoughts?”

“I’m a little creatively stinted, Rapunzel,” Cass deadpans. “I thought you had a clear vision of this place when you started out?”

“I can’t narrow it down. Do I want to go simple, or do I want to completely transform this place?”

Cass shrugs listlessly, sitting down cross-legged by the stacks of furniture. “You just have to listen to your gut.”

Oh, if guts could talk, Rapunzel would be all ears. Her frown deepens as she contemplates her options. Maybe she should find a compromise. Pale walls, vibrant art? Maybe that will work best.

Hesitantly, she reaches for a muted green (the bedroom area can be a forest mural now, she’s decided, or maybe a marsh) and heads over to a wall in need of a fresh coat. Cassandra joins her, a comically large paintbrush in hand, and they paint in a sullen silence.

“So, Cass. I’m… I’m glad you came back to help me out with this,” Rapunzel ventures. “You didn’t have to.”

“You sounded afraid in your letter,” Cass says coolly, with a long sweeping stroke. “Like you thought I would be angry at you for doing this, so I thought I should come back. Besides, I… I wanted to see it for myself.”

Cassandra can be frustratingly hard to read sometimes, and now happens to be one such instance. Rapunzel isn’t sure what she wants right now. It was easy enough not to talk at first, but something about pouring some of her own flair into these walls makes her uneasy – has her overcome with this urge to get everything off their chests before she proceeds. What memories does Cass have of this place? Does it hurt to be here, even if she refuses to show it? Is there some good left in this place, parts that Cassandra might not want to let go of?

“Do you like what you see?” Rapunzel asks quietly.

“...I don’t know yet. I need a fuller picture before I draw any conclusions.”

Rapunzel feels like – hopes – she has some insight into how Cass might be feeling right now. Returning to the tower for the first time since reuniting with her family had given her all sorts to think about, and watching it fall had filled her with a nauseating combination of crisis and catharsis. After all, there were some good memories amongst all the long, drawn out days of agonising boredom and walking on eggshells around Gothel, always so afraid of saying the wrong thing and making everything worse. It wasn’t love, and her world was so small before she left the tower behind.

Even if her time with Gothel was far briefer, Rapunzel can’t help but wonder if Cassandra holds echoes of fond memories somewhere in there, as few and far between as they may have been.

“You know, when I returned to this place, I didn’t think the house would be salvageable,” Rapunzel confesses to the silence. “Given the spike tearing through it, and the way the mountain crumbled inside, I figured it would probably have fallen apart. So seeing that there was still a chance to restore it… I don’t know. I couldn’t really think about anything else, for weeks afterwards. In the end, Eugene just told me to get it all out of my system. He’s not exactly happy about it, but…”

“Well sure, the wedding will suck if you’re too busy thinking about complimentary paint colours to focus on your vows,” Cass points out dryly. Rapunzel laughs.

“Yeah, you have a point.” As she goes to dip her paintbrush again, she glances to the wall adjacent; cream, blank, inviting.

“...Do you have a date in mind yet?”

“Not yet. We’re thinking spring or summer though. We need time to get all the arrangements together, after all.” Rapunzel purses her lip. “You know, I think I’m going to start on some detailing. Mind finishing this off?”

Cass nods, and carries on in that same long silence. Rapunzel moves onto the wall. She envisions a recreation of that cottage. She’s been sketching it a lot, lately, and goes to retrieve her journal.

“You’re making a mural of the cottage?” Cass wrinkles her nose as Rapunzel leans the journal up against a beam at the edge of the wall. “So you step inside, just to see the outside all over again?”

“Well, it’s picturesque!” Rapunzel says. She lingers, paintbrush trailing in the beige she picked out for the base of the house. “Unless you don’t want me to paint it?”

A pause. “No, go ahead. Paint it. It doesn’t matter to me either way.”

Rapunzel begins slowly at first, glancing between the wall in front of her and the woman two metres away, still listlessly dragging the brush. She’s changed a little; her hair is getting longer, scraped back into a slightly lopsided ponytail to keep it out the way. Rapunzel is tempted to drag a comb through and tie it more evenly, but judging from the tension in Cassandra’s shoulders, it would probably be met with resistance.

After a while, however, Rapunzel soon falls into the trance of painting – absorbed into the gentle strokes of the brush, planning the subtle lighting and how to translate the details of the house in simple splotches of paint. She even forgets her original plight to talk things through with Cass, losing her awareness of the world around her until it is simply her and the brush and the wall, coming together to paint this fairytale home, where from now on only good things will happen and happy memories will be made and no child will ever feel abandoned or unwanted or hurt ever again–

“Rapunzel!”

Cass grabs her arm and Rapunzel jerks out of her vision, staring at her in confusion. Her paintbrush, dripping jade, is just inches from the edge of the beam in the corner. The stretch of grass she was in the middle of painting now has an uneven glob that slowly rolls down like a teardrop. Cass grips her arm tight, eyes bright with alarm.

“Cassandra, what’s wrong?”

“I…” Her grip loosens and, brow furrowing, she releases Rapunzel’s arm. “Nothing, nothing’s wrong, you just…”

“I just?” Rapunzel prompts, bewildered.

“The beam. You were – you were going to get paint on the beam.”

“Oh. Uh, good reflexes! I didn’t realise.” She laughs nervously. “Guess I got a little carried away, huh?”

“Yeah, well.” Cass mutters, stepping back. She sets her paintbrush back in its bucket and runs her fingers through her hair, uncaring that she smudges green paint against her scalp in the process. “Just be careful, Rapunzel, all right?”

“Uh, sure.” Rapunzel frowns. “Cass, are you sure you’re okay?”

“I’m fine, Raps.” She turns her back. “Look, I’m going to get some fresh air.”

She heads towards the door without looking back, leaving the door wide open and swinging as she goes. Rapunzel watches after her, thoroughly confused, before turning back to the wall. Maybe Cassandra does hate the mural. Maybe she hates everything Rapunzel is doing right now, and is just here to intervene when things get too much? After all, things have been strange between them since she returned. They’ve barely hugged or kissed or held hands, and Rapunzel knows they’re not in the giddy, starry-eyed closeness stage of their relationship anymore, and Cass has never been huge on big gestures of affection, but still… it’s impossible to ignore this atmosphere any longer.

As she sets her own paint brush aside, dejected, something catches the corner of her eye and she pauses. There’s something on the beam. When Rapunzel looks, she can’t work out at first why it grabbed her attention; it’s just a chip in the wood, a scrape maybe, but it’s fairly deep. She only noticed it from bending over, it’s not too far off the ground… and that’s when she sees more scratches. Some are shallower than others, some more controlled and some extremely wobbly and veering off to one side. But she can make out that they’re more than just someone chipping away at wood when they’re bored. There are… scribbles, wonky bodies, twigs for arms.

The lower part of the beam is covered in a child’s carvings.

The longer Rapunzel stares, the colder she begins to feel inside. This beam isn’t the only one; there are dozens of wooden trimmings, as her feet carry her across the room, and each with the same cast of characters – a tall scribble and a shorter scribble. Mother and daughter.

She needs to find Cass.

Rapunzel doesn’t need to look hard. She barely takes two steps outside before she sees the glint of Cassandra’s sword as it slashes through the air, sparring with herself. If she hears Rapunzel approach, she doesn’t acknowledge her until Rapunzel offers, “I saw the carvings. I’m sorry, Cass.”

“Why be sorry? You didn’t know they were there,” she mutters, swinging again, and again. “Nobody did. Even I didn’t, until we started the wash. Once we were standing there, the memories kind of hit me all at once.”

“They were yours, then.” No response. “...They looked quite advanced, for a four-year-old’s drawings.”

“Well, what else was I supposed to do to pass the time, once the floors had been swept and the beds had been made?” Cass snaps. Another swing. “I had nothing but free time with the house to myself, after all.”

“Cass, can we please talk about this without the deadly weapon thrown in?” Rapunzel pleads. Cass ignores her. Another swing.

“I’m just lucky she was never around long enough to really pay attention to them. I mean, can you imagine how she would have scolded me? Or worse?” Another swing.

“Cassandra, please. Put down the sword. Let me near you.”

“I don’t get it, Rapunzel! Why did… why did I just – why did I ever let Zhan Tiri fool me into thinking she might have loved me?”

“Cass, stop!”

Cass raises her sword to strike again when she feels arms wrap around her waist, halting her in her tracks. Rapunzel clings on, pressing her cheek to Cassandra’s back and feeling her erratic breathing as she stands still, finally allowing the sword to lower gently.

“...Why did it have to be this cottage, Rapunzel?” she croaks. “Isn’t it better to leave it all buried?”

“I don’t think so,” Rapunzel whispers. “Darling, I don’t think that will work forever.”

Cass sinks to her knees, taking Rapunzel with her, and they kneel in silence as the breeze rustles the trees around them.

“I feel sick,” Cass says dully, setting her sword down in the grass. Rapunzel presses her forehead to the space between Cassandra’s shoulder blades, breathing in her smell, trying to soothe her somehow.

“This is too weird, isn’t it?” she murmurs.

“Rapunzel, it’s so fucking weird.” Rapunzel winces. Cass does well not to curse in front of her, but, well… maybe now isn’t the best time to comment on it. “You never even lived here. Why do you have this need to mold it to your worldview instead of letting it rot away quietly like everybody else was happy to do?”

“This is a beautiful place,” Rapunzel protests. “Isn’t it beautiful? Why should it have to die because of the terrible things she did? You were born in this cottage, Cassandra, that means something! Gothel was a horrible person and she made both of our lives miserable, but – but that doesn’t mean we can’t still find something beautiful in this place.”

“Not everything has to be beautiful, or even saved. Fixing a house isn’t going to fix us, is it?”

The sharpness of her words cut right through Rapunzel, and pulls away from Cass, stunned. Cass cranes her neck to face her, regret already written all over.

“You’re right. I’m a fool, aren’t I, Cass? Because I – I actually hoped it would.” Rapunzel buries her head in her hands. “Darn it, I… I want to move on, just like you do. I always think I’m over the tower and Gothel, but then when I found this place… I just thought about how good it would feel to take it away from her and make it beautiful and then some new family could live here, a loving family who take care of each other and don’t b-belittle their kids…”

Cass turns around fully, and reaches over to squeeze Rapunzel’s shoulders.

“Don’t, Raps. You’re not foolish for wanting those things, all right? I just… I don’t think painting some walls will bring you any closure. And being here, surrounded by all these things that remind us of her, isn’t helping either.”

“I shouldn’t have written to you. Eugene told me to leave you out of this because he knew this was a bad idea and we’d both get hurt from it, but I didn’t listen, and now-”

“Seriously, stop. Do not give Fitzherbert the satisfaction of being right about something.” Rapunzel peeks up at her, and Cass offers her a small smile. “I didn’t feel like this the whole time. It has been kind of fun, repairing things and putting it all back together, but then I’d remember where we were and wonder why we were doing this, and – and I didn’t know how to even talk to you about it.”

“I thought you just didn’t want to talk, so I didn’t try to push it.” Rapunzel smiles faintly. “Eugene is going out of his mind, trying to understand the logic of the situation.”

“He’s not the only one.” Cass leans forward and kisses Rapunzel softly. “Look, if you truly believe that redecorating will somehow cleanse this house of Gothel forever and give us some catharsis, I’ll trust your judgement. But only if you trust mine when I say that this isn’t the only way to do that.”

Rapunzel nods, leaning over to kiss her back.

“I’m sorry Gothel hurt you,” she murmurs. Cass sighs sadly.

“I’m sorry she hurt you too.”

“I wish Zhan Tiri hadn’t forced you to remember all of this, but… do you regret knowing?” Rapunzel asks, running a thumb across Cassandra’s cheek soothingly. Cass leans into her touch, eyes fluttering shut.

“No. I always knew something was missing, so even though it hurts, at least the pieces are all there. I just – I wish it had gone differently, that’s all. I wish she had been different.”

They sit in silence, neither sure of what else to say, and Rapunzel glances back over at the house. It stands stout and quiet, charming on the outside, but somehow she can't bring herself to go back inside. “...You know, maybe we should leave it for today.”

Cass quirks an eyebrow in confusion. “Really? It’s barely noon, and the walls won’t paint themselves.”

“It’ll still be standing tomorrow! Besides, we’ve been perfect strangers since you came back. I want to take a moment just to be with you.”

She flops back, stretching out on the soft grass and staring up at the cloudless sky above. It truly is beyond beautiful out here. Cassandra’s face hovers over hers, presses a kiss to her brow, and then she lies back beside her.

“You know, when you take Gothel out of the equation, this place is really peaceful,” Cass comments.

“If we have our way, by the time we’re done no one will associate it with her ever again,” Rapunzel agrees. “Wouldn’t it be nice?”

“Paradise,” Cass remarks, and Rapunzel can hear the wry smile in her voice as she speaks. “It would be just paradise.”

When it comes to the house that Gothel built, they’re going to build it back up, better than ever before. Nothing else needs to be said. The clouds drift on and they lie there, hand in hand.

[delldarling]

flirting with danger | harper & peregrine pt. i

female faerie x gender/body neutral reader x male faerie 1.5k words sfw | a single nuzzle and a bit of hand touching

People do odd things when chasing adrenaline. Jumping out of planes, climbing mountains, hang-gliding or triathlons - but those are expected. The general populace might still think it’s crazy, but it makes sense. You’re chasing adventure! That involves big things and grand gestures. Photographic evidence and guides or trainers.

Walking the streets at night?

That’s never smart. That’s not chasing adventure, that’s asking for trouble. Flirting with danger.

It’s frustrating, hearing those words over and over. You’re not chasing danger or walking aimlessly through the streets after all. You’re looking for music. 

The rhythm of car tires over a dip in the road. The breeze whistling through the trees in the park and whipping the power lines into a frenzy overhead. It sounds like- you can close your eyes and nearly see the music, caught in the air like a bit of floating thread.

You scrub your hands over your forehead, trying to keep from gritting your teeth. You just need to find it for real. That refrain, that tune. You can remember it so clearly, can hear the sweet notes- until you think about it too much. It flits just out of reach when you try too hard, like a child teasing a cat. You keep trying to hook just a single finger into it and yet-

It’s maddening. No matter how long you’ve searched, no matter how many times you’ve gone wandering, eager to find that song, it stays forever out of reach. 

You've been walking for about a half hour tonight, not particularly hopeful, but still unwilling to give up the search. You kick at a pebble as you follow the beaten down sidewalk. It's cracked and corroded, weeds springing from the seams where it meets the road, spots shining iridescent in passing headlights. Oil spots, you note, and more that you likely can't see at first glance. 

Up ahead is an overpass, covered with graffiti, looking dangerous and dank in the flickering streetlights. It's not though. Dangerous, that is. It never has been, or it hasn't ever been for you.

Sometimes new art is scrawled over the walls, but you've never seen anyone out here to paint it. They just appear, as magic as the half remembered tune in your head, endlessly on repeat, urging you to seek it out. You hope that's what brought the graffiti, that same urge sitting heavy in your chest, that someone finally found that spot to paint and everything fell into place for them. Easier than pie. 

You stroke a hand over a particularly vivid looking butterfly, smiling when your hand comes away yellow with dust. Is it.. is it chalk? That would explain the frequent variety. As soon as you rub your fingers together though, smearing the glimmering yellow over all your fingertips, a soft noise catches your attention. 

Sweet and poignant, familiar, but not… not exactly what you're looking for. The fiddle playing is still more than enough to capture your attention, to draw you away from the dizzying spiral of butterflies hidden in the shadows of the overpass. 

You follow the music, trailing your hand along the diamonds of the wire fence stuck haphazardly into the shallow dirt between the overpass walls and the sidewalk. The fiddle becomes… friendlier, the closer you get. It's the only way you can describe it, as a sudden lightness fills your steps. 

When you finally spot the fiddle player, busking in the overgrown dirty weeds on the side of the road, you can't quite make sense of what you're seeing. 

She's straddling the great tear in the wire, one foot on the cracked, weeded sidewalk, and the other firmly in a patch of bramble looking branches behind the fence. You might have passed her by if she hadn't been playing, but it's not her music or the strange way she's standing that makes you stop. 

It's her face.

Her hair hangs in messy ringlets framing her cheeks, tumbling down over her slight shoulders and back, and she's crowned with dandelions - and other weeds you don't think you can name. Her eyes are closed, all her focus on the music she's playing, but it's the small dark nose, the whiskers… the needle sharp cats teeth gleaming in her mouth, that make you stop and stare. 

The longer you look, the more sure you are that she's hiding pointed, furred ears under that riot of hair, but she still hasn't noticed you. Or maybe she doesn't care that someone is watching. She's wearing a gauzy looking dress with overall clasps, thin arm weaving back and forth with her bow. You think she might be sporting prickling cats claws as well, and you dearly, desperately want to ask her what party she came from, to dress in a costume like this and then be abandoned on the side of the road to play for her supper. 

The song comes to a close and you scrounge in your pockets, spying the open fiddle case at her feet. Yellow-green eyes flicker open and settle on your face, her arm lowering until her bow is hanging limply at her side, fiddle still resting underneath her chin. She doesn’t speak, doesn’t open her mouth until you set down the paltry few crumpled bills and coins you found in your pockets into her case. 

“It wasn’t I that called you first,” she says, clearly confused by your presence. She doesn’t seem displeased by your company though, hasn’t moved to step away from the gap in the fence. 

“I heard your playing, back by the overpass. It echoes down the road for a bit,” you explain, heart beginning to speed when you notice her strange narrowed pupils focused on your face. She looks.. Pleased. Hungry, almost. “It’s lovely,” you add, suddenly afraid that she might up and leave.

“I know,” she says simply, finally lifting her bow back up to her fiddle. “Tell me then, have you heard this one?” She starts playing again and singing, slow and haunting, and it feels like cotton is gathering in your brain. That’s… That’s the song. It’s the song you’ve been looking for, if you’d heard it from far off, from under water. You sway, and as soon as you take a step, she halts her playing, ceases using her sweet singing voice. She purses her cat lips and blows out a slow breath through her nose.

“How long has it been?” She asks, like she understands.

“I- years,” you finally say, staring at her in wonder. “How did you know? How did you- where did you learn that song?” You take another step closer, but she flicks her wrist and then her bow is just barely touching your chin. It’s a clear warning: Stay back. 

“Did you ever meet Peregrine?” She asks, tilting her head to the side, the burnished gold of her hair tumbling over her shoulder. “Or did he play his song and leave you behind like a lost duckling?”

“Peregrine?” You answer, helplessly confused. “I’ve no idea-”

“Harper,” she says, sudden as a whip crack, bowing at the waist and flourishing both her fiddle and bow behind her. “Would you like that geas thrown off? Or do you enjoy the endless searching?” She asks, straightening back up. “Wait,” she says, when you open your mouth. You shut it promptly, amused when she rolls her eyes at herself. “When Peregrine last played these streets, he played a reel, laid a geas over the music to draw out-” She stops, and you can’t help raising your eyebrows when she licks her lower lip. Her tongue too, looks much like a cats, rough and pink. “Well, it drew out you. Got a bit lost on your way though, didn’t you?” 

Harper packs away her fiddle, slinging the case over her shoulder with a strap that looks like it’s been woven of thick, golden flower stems. White blossoms twine strangely around the case, the breeze almost making it look as if they’re breathing. She offers you a hand, mindful of the curling claws and smiles when you hesitate.

“I’ll only scratch if asked nicely, and you’ll have to dance with me thrice before you can ask.” She wriggles her fingers, waiting, but impatient until you set your hand down in hers. “Now, off we go. The ear for it though,” she says, like she’s explaining everything, “that won’t leave you. Only the compulsion will fade when Peregrine stops his endless calling.” She purses her lips again though, glancing down at her feet, placed so carefully on either side of the fence. “But as you answered me too-” Harper makes a considering noise and then motions her head towards the foot she has in the brambles. “One foot on that side, yes?” She holds on tight, and you’ve no idea why you’re listening to her, why the strangeness of her face is so entrancing rather than unsettling. “Ready?”

“For what?” You can’t help asking, letting her take your other hand in hers when your feet have mirrored her as best you’re able.

“Like a lamb,” Harper teases, laughing and standing on tiptoe to press her dark nose to yours. “Ready to cross the bridge?”

[sergeant-donny-donowitz]

The Intern (CliffxReader)

Requested by @perawuat​

Let me know if you want me to add you on the OUATIH taglist! :)

"Y/n? You comin' or what?" Your roommates stopped and looked to you for an answer.

You shook your head with a sigh, "Not tonight, sorry guys."

One of your friends, Ziggy, raised her eyebrow, "Oh come on, Y/n. Live a little!"

There was a party on campus. One of the many....many parties you'd bailed out on that month alone.

They just weren't your scene.

You were a bit old fashioned. More of an intellectual.  You liked cafes, ballets, and developing photos. Your friends loved clubs, protests, and being in those photos. Most of your friends were hippies, and whether you liked to admit it or not, they kept you balanced up with the times.

Your other roommate, Rowan, nodded, and nudged you a little with his elbow, "Come on! It's gonna be far out, man!"

Your other friend, Odie, adjusted their collar, "I heard there's gonna be some cats from Berkeley, baby!"

You sighed.... Berkeley kids were known to be on another level of hippy-ness.

Ziggy wrapped her hands around your forearm and bounded up and down with pleading, wide eyes, "USC kids are coming through, come on!"

You studied at UCLA, USC also happened to be a bit of a party school, and was also a rival school. It was  certain there'd be a fight or two added to the expected chaos.

"There's gonna be booze, dudes, and no narcs! C'mon, it'll be groovy, baby!" Odie held their hands in the air, vibing and dancing with the wind, "Live a little, Y/n!"

You shook your head, your arms crossed over your books across your chest "Maybe next time, guys." Rowan groaned, "Aw don't be such a drag, Y/n!"

You smiled a little, "You guys go ahead. Catch you tomorrow?"

You walked to the end of the block together. They'd cross the street to get to the party, you'd keep walking down the block to get to your dorm.

There was a parking lot on the corner. It was empty save for a single trailer.

As you waited for the lights to change you all looked into the lot.

Rowan leaned in, and whispered "I heard it belongs to professor McHarris. Say his wife ditched him and how he lives in a trailer."

Odie shook their head, and rolled their eyes with a sigh, "Ugh boys. Who told you that? I heard..." They leaned into the circle, and muttered in annoyance, "It's. Just. Abandoned. Here."

Rowan frowned in disbelief, "Who'd abandon a perfectly good trailer?!"

Odie shrugged, pulling on a pair of shades as they squinted against the setting sun, "Who wouldn't?"

Ziggy, a theater major, and naturally a lover of storytelling, smirked as she leaned in. "Well...I heard some weird stuff goes on in there. Some cult leader or something crashes there late at night after he goes PSYCHO."  She waved her fist around like Norman Bates and laughed as the rest of you stepped back and shuddered in horror.

The light turned green and your friends waved goodbye.

You turned and walked down the block as they crossed the street.

You sighed as you climbed up the stairs to your apartment and opened the door. You sat down, and stacked your books and projects up, and started working. You didn’t like parties, but you liked fun and adventures. You liked doing your own thing, sometimes. But, right now you had some work to do...  You could have sworn you'd studied the whole night through.

You slammed the books shut. Your eyes were dry and tired from all the reading. You sighed and looked up at the wall. You had strung up photographs you'd developed over the weekend. Some of them were a bit questionable, a little on the avant-garde side of art. But all in all, your work was a masterpiece. The rows of strung up pictures were just a snippet of your impressive portfolio.

Consequently, you'd just gotten an internship in Hollywood on a set.

You were starting the next morning, and looking forward to it, though you were understandably nervous about it.

It was also part of the reason you didn't really want to go to the party..

True, you could have gone just for an hour or two...but acid and protest tunes weren't really up your alley. Maybe a cigarette, gin and tonic, and some Rat Pack records.

Your roommates and friends were probably talking about a protest that would happen on campus next week. But, that also wasn't your thing. You just weren't comfortable with crowds and loud noise. Mysteries.. Now that was where it was at.

At least to you.

You looked at your watch, expecting it to be 3 or 4 am... It was only midnight.

The night was still young.

And you were restless.

You stood up... For once in your life you were going to be impulsive and assertive. You were going to do something crazy.

You were going to find out who the hell really lived in the trailer.

You pulled on your denim jacket, and put on your red go-go boots, rushed out the door, and down the stairs, rushing to the parking lot before you lost your new found sense of curiosity.

You wrapped your fingers against the chain link fence, your eyes zeroing in on the lone trailer in the center of the dark lot.

You sighed, trying to force yourself to do one exciting thing with your life. "Don't be a drag. Don't be a drag, don't be a drag..."

You trudged through the darkness and hovered around the trailer. It was dark and silent. Maybe Odie was right. Maybe it really was just abandoned...

Or maybe...

Maybe Rowan was right. It was rare, but he had his moments.... Maybe that professor really was just trying to get by...

Or...horrifically but also possibly,  what if Ziggy was right?! She always had hear-say and gossip down to a t... Besides...

Serial killers weren't not a thing in big cities.... What if this cult leader rumor was real?!

You were close to the door..  You didn't even knock on the door when you heard a guttural growl and a loud bark.

You fell back in fear, and pushed back on your heels and palms.

You unexpectedly ran into something...

You turned around, feeling cold with fear, "Holy shit it's the serial killer..."

You looked up and he looked down.

He was wearing sunglasses for some reason...

You held your breath, "Definitely a serial killer."

He wore a denim jacket over a black shirt.

He reached down and pulled you up, with a seemingly, and oddly friendly smile. "She doesn't bite." He threw his cigarette onto the ground and put it out with his foot.

"Wh...who are..." He was kinda cute... A bit on the older side. And...also still probably a serial killer.

"My dog. Her name's Brandy." He shrugged matter-of-factly, as he looked through a key ring.

You sighed calming yourself down a bit, reasoning that a serial killer wouldn't be human enough to have a dog. You hoped...

He started to unlock the door as he clicked to calm his dog down. "So any particular reason why a kid like you's fuckin' around here and isn't home and asleep?" "Why wouldn't a kid like me be out?" You thought you had him. He shrugged, "Out in the street alone where there's some real creeps?"

"You're not a creep, are ya?"

He chuckled a little " No. I dont think so at least."

You smiled a little as he sat on his makeshift porch, his dog sitting by his side.

"I'm not a kid anyway. I'm twenty-two."

He chuckled a little. He remembered what it was like to be so young, "So why aren't you at a club or a party or a protest or somethin'?"

You shrugged a little "Not really my scene."

"So you're not a hippy?" He sighed a little, a bit more at ease. Even if they were for peace and all, they made Cliff Booth a little uneasy, which wasn't an easy thing to do itself.

"Not really. And you.... Youre not a m..." You bit your lip. Why would a murderer admit to being a murderer?

"A what?"

"Well... Your trailer popped up out of nowhere and there's been... rumors about you..."

Cliff chuckled a little. He wasn't quite a star in Hollywood but rumors always managed to keep him in the spotlight.

"Yeah? What kinda rumors?" He petted Brandy as she laid her head on his leg.

"The best one was you were either a professor that got divorced and lost everything. Or a culty serial killer."

He laughed, "That's crazy talk."

"Yeah...so...who are you?"

He took his glasses off and you saw his beautiful blue eyes under the moonlight. "My name's Cliff. What about you, intruder?"

"Intruder?!"

He nodded, a little amused by your response, "Pokin' around somebody's home at midnight? Makes you an intruder."

"Student parking lot. You are ...probably not a student right, Cliff?" You smirked a little.

"Touche, kid. So...intruders are strangers. You don't wanna be a stranger, right?"

You laughed, "Guess not." You shrugged, "My name's Y/n. I study photography there." You pointed to a building down two blocks, looming like a castle over the new city lights.

Cliff whistled a little, "UCLA. Nice school. You know what you're gonna do when you're through?"

You nodded, "I graduate in a few months. And I just got an internship on some set in Hollywood. I start tomorrow. I wanna work cameras for movies some day. Guess this is how I'll start."

Cliff smiled, "Sounds like a dream, kiddo. Good luck out there." Cliff knew more than anyone that Hollywood was a cut throat place.

He meant it when he wished you luck.

And something about the way he said it let you know that. "Thanks Cliff," You smiled, until you looked around the parking lot and the dark streets. A few hours from then it would be awake with cops raiding the parties and kids scrambling to get to their dorms.

"You gonna be ok, old timer?"

Cliff laughed a little, "Does get loud around here sometimes. College was never really my thing."

"No?"

He shook his head "Nah. I got drafted."

"Heavy."

"Yeah... So I move around every now and then to keep things fresh. There's an empty lot behind this theater. I've been thinkin' of movin' out there next."

You felt a little sad for him. It felt so lonesome out there at night.

You asked again "You gonna be ok, Cliff?"

He smiled a little, "I get by, kid. Don't worry. You go out there, show em whatchu got tomorrow, ok?"

You nodded, "Thanks again, mister," you smiled as you started walking away. "See you around, Cliff!"

You waved back at him and he waved back with a soft smile and a sigh, "See ya,  kid."

And...he did...

You were an intern on a set that you knew nothing about.

"Alright L/n. When the director says action you're gonna move down here with this camera. When you get to the third line you have to zoom in on Rick."

"Rick?" Your mentor of sorts nodded "Yeah. Rick fucking Dalton."

Your jaw dropped, "Rick Dalton? Like Bounty Law- Rick Dalton?!"

The cameraman nodded understanding you were star struck. You were fairly young so you'd probably grown up watching his shows. "Yeah. And. After lunch were gonna work with his stunt double over on the horses. That guy's crazy. His name's Cliff."

What were the odds...

"Cliff?"

You heard a third, familiar voice. "Yeah?"

The camernan smiled, "Speak of the devil!"

You turned around and sure enough there he was.

Cliff....

He took off his sunglasses, trying to figure out if it was really you. "Y/n?"

You smiled "Hi!"

He laughed "Well I'll be damned! This is where you're working!?"

You smiled and nodded "Yeah!"

Cliff smiled. He wanted to make sure you didn't end up like him. He knew a few names that might come in handy for you. He wanted to make sure you were alright.

Cliff didn't do that for many people...

Frankly...Well, he liked you.

And Cliff Booth didn't like many people.

He wasn't too social. A bit like you...

Somehow Rick convinced you to go to a Hollywood party with them.

Cliff had to go because Rick needed a ride, as always. And you went because you just wanted to spend some time with them.

They were quickly becoming some of your closest friends.

Cliff was becoming a little more than a friend, a little less than a fling.

But you wanted it to be so much more.

Cliff left you and Rick to get some drinks for the three of you.

Rick laughed as you told him the story of how you and Cliff met.  "A serial killer?!" He laughed and wiped away a tear, "Wait till you hear the rumors about him around Hollywood!"

You laughed a little but then Rick noticed something was wrong. You were worrying about something as you looked around at the producers, directors, and actors.

"What's goin' on sweetheart?"

"You think I'll make it?"

He lowered his cigarette and asked, "You shot the Mexican stand-off scene in this week's episode?"

You nodded, "Yeah...? Shit...did someone say something? Fuck did I blow it?!"

Rick shook his head, "Oh, no, no, no! You did great! You're all they talk about in the editing room!  You're gonna make it out here, kid."

Rick realized that couldn't be the only thing in your mind. He followed your eyes over to Cliff at the other side of the party.

Rick smiled a little as he murmured so only you could hear, "You know he really likes you?"

You smiled a little, "Ah, you’re just saying that."

Rick laughed and gestured to Cliff, "You really think he gets that cleaned up for just anybody, Y/n? You've seen him on set."

You giggled "I guess you're right."

Cliff made his way through a crowd and made his way back to you and Rick.

He smiled at you, and you smiled at him.

Something told you Rick might have been right...

You were going to make it.

And you were going to have Cliff by your side.

[visceryl]

HPHM D&D Club

Before getting into the prompt, I wanted to thank everyone who allowed me to use their characters! @hogwartsmysterystory @angrynar @one-very-angry-hufflepunk @ruby-and-opal-withers @aleksia-aries-hogwartsmystery @elefseija and @kathrynalicemc

-----

In the midst of a dim-lit stairwell, four cloaked figures teetered on their feet, heads constantly winding back over their shoulders to keep watch of any others who might be lurking. After a moment, the door to the Slytherin common room creaked open, a lithe figure curving around its frame before easing it shut again.

“It’s about damn time,” Ethren scolded in a hushed whisper.

“Are you kidding? You can’t rush perfection, Whitecross, you had me get the supplies. Sneaking them took time.”

Konn’s smile beamed from beneath his own cloak, pulling it back to reveal a small sack full of parchment, quills, and ink. His gaze glanced over the other three joining them. Skylar looming off to the side with his arms crossed over his chest, Daisy looking ready to bounce right out of her skin with excitement, and Hal who had his face pressed against the glass window hanging above the staircase.

The broad Hufflepuff blinked into the inky darkness of the water and jolted back, nearly tumbling down the steps, when something appeared to blink back. Hal quickly righted himself, a hand shooting up through his hair as he cleared his throat. “Sweet, let’s do this thing.”

A sigh ushered from Konn’s lips as he shook his head, stifling the beginnings of a smirk.

“Are the others waiting for us?”

“Hopefully. I told them to meet us right next to the clock tower entrance,” Ethren replied. 

“Kath may back out.” Skylar leaned back, a white, glittering grin rising to his lips. “She’s not sure she can keep up with our late-night escapades.”

“I’m sure she’ll be there! Come on!” 

Daisy didn’t wait for the others before she took off up the stairs. Her footsteps were surprisingly silent, making not a sound as she disappeared from sight. The boys couldn’t help but laugh and closed their ranks to follow after without disturbing anyone else.

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

The group of five took their time creeping through the desolate halls. Their wands lit up with Lumos, tucked discreetly at their sides to cast just enough of a glow for them to see where they were going. Ethren took the lead, wincing and smothering his light as one of the portraits stirred with a snore. 

Konn stopped just shy of smacking into the back of him. “Keep moving,” he hissed. A hand pushed to the back of the Gryffindor’s shoulder and impatiently directed him to continue. 

It was eerie navigating the castle at night. With the threat of bumping into Filch or some other professor hanging over, no one was keen to be caught out in the open. The only sounds to echo as they made their way past the sleeping portraits were their own footsteps ticking against the solid floor. Only a single strip of rug ran down the middle of the hall.

While most stuck to it, Hal found himself scuffling against wooded floors to shove up a shoulder at Skylar’s side. The other boy towered him. “Did you make your character already?”

“I tried, but it was confusing,” Skylar murmured back.

“Shhh!” Konn’s gaze burned into the both of them in warning. “You’re going to get us caught before we even catch up with the others.”

Up ahead, footsteps could be heard heavier than their own and everyone froze like deer in headlights. Did they scatter? Stand still and hope no one saw them? Make a run for the tower? Ethren and Konn shared a look as Daisy ducked behind everyone for cover. The two shared an agreeing nod as Konn stepped out from the group.

Controlled.

The outline of his shape started to broaden. Light blonde hair darkened several shades before settling to ebony at shoulder length. He dropped the hood of his cloak, the last of his features melding to that of Severus Snape as he flashed a wink back towards his group of friends. 

Just in time.

Not seconds later, the footsteps rounded the corner, three small shapes skidding to a stop and slamming into one another like dominoes. 

“P-Professor Snape!” Kath stammered out in a near wail. “Oh, we’re so sorry for sneaking out! Please don’t take points from us!”

Before Konn could reason with the stammering girl, Aleksia sent an elbow lightly into her ribcage and all at once the metamorphmagus roared with laughter.

A mixture of confusion and horror washed over the three girls as gazes darted from each other back to the figure that, while certainly looked like Snape, definitely wasn’t. Then Aisling’s eyes widened. “Konn?” She looked past him towards where the other four waited hunkered down silently.

Konn only laughed harder, doubling over and grasping at his sides. “You should have seen your faces!” he gasped. 

Then a fist crashed roughly against his shoulder.

“You’re awful!” Kath hissed bitterly, her cheeks stained red with embarrassment.

The groups found themselves quickly merging to one as Ethren stepped forward, trying to hide his own amusement. “Alright, alright. While punching on him is definitely warranted, we need to keep moving. Glad you three could make it.”

“We wouldn’t miss it for the world, Ethren,” Aleksia said. 

Hal, however, couldn’t wipe away his own look of horror as he approached Konn who’d already returned to his original self again. His shoulder clapped down on his best friend’s shoulder and he gave a pained grimace. “Please don’t ever laugh as Snape again. It’s unnatural.”

A wicked grin flashed back. “Duly noted.”

With Ethren back in the lead, the Dungeons and Dragon Club continued the trek together. They made it all the way up to the third floor where the Clocktower entrance was with minor hitches. If one considered narrowly scraping by Mrs. Norris as minor. Daisy had been prepared, scattering a line of cat food as a distraction while the rest slid past. From there it’d been a straight shot.

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

By the time everything had been laid out and set up, everyone sat in a circle on the floor of the Clocktower. Ethren, Konn, Hal, Skylar, Daisy, Aisling, Aleksia, and Kath. The eight of them had planned this campaign for weeks, prepping their characters and asking Ethren passing questions in the halls and during meals. Finally, it was their chance to play.

Dice juggled and twirled through the Dungeon Master’s fingers as they were carefully plucked out of a bag of disorganized chaos. Nobody had matching dice, it seemed, as Ethren passed them out one set at a time at random. “Here’s your d-six, Konnor.”

“Hey, no wait! That’s the green and gold one. I’m missing that one,” Aisling insisted.

“It doesn’t really matter, you can swap-”

Konn snatched the bag of dice from Ethren’s hands and greedily looked over the contents within before wrinkling his nose. “Ew. You don’t organize them?”

“Traveling around with a giant case of dice is inconvenient, give them back.”

“What’s the point of so many dice if you never see them paired together?”

Hal chuckled at that, pushing his own dice around. “He’s got a point.”

“They’re my dice! I’ll do what I want with them,” Ethren pouted stubbornly, stealing the dice bag back and turning away from everyone to divvy out the rest so that everyone held a complete set to play with.

Looking up, Ethren’s features washed white as he caught Skylar jamming the triangular three-sided dice up one of his nostrils. Skylar locked their gazes, face devoid of emotion, and plucked up a similar one from Aleksia to plug the second nostril.

“What the fuck are you doing?”

“Playing.”

Skylar turned his head back to Aleksia, tilted his head back, and blew. Both dice shot out, pummeling the poor girl who couldn’t keep a straight face as she playfully shoved him away. “Ew! Skylar! Was that my dice?” she laughed out.

“Maybe.”

Ethren wrinkled his nose in minor disgust, making mental note to wash all returned dice before tossing them into the bag later. “Okay then. Everyone get out your character sheets. We’ll be starting in Undermountain. We’ve all met each other-”

“Undermountain is the dungeon, right?”

His gaze leveled on Kath a moment and he nodded. “Yes. And we’ve all met each other outside of the dungeon. The idea is we’re a group of mercenaries trying to collect a big pay. We’ve just entered inside. So let me make sure I’ve got this right.”

Ethren began to point at each person in the group. “Aisling is the sun elf druid worshipping Sylvanus, Skylar is the human necromancer, Daisy is the fey-touched cleric with the animal domain, Aleksia is the high-elf ranger, Hal is the human barbarian, Kath is the tiefling bard, and Konn is the half-elf rogue.”

“Bloody right I’m the half-elf rogue,” Konn purred. He closed his eyes in focus, dulled ears shifting into small, elven points. “Look, I’m in character and everything. And what of you, oh mighty DM?”

“Naturally, I’m the Duskblade.”

Hal threw an arm around Ethren, a wolfish grin taking up the lower half of his face. He shook him. “Hell yeah, our characters can defend the weak together.”

“I’ll defend myself, thank you,” Aisling says with a wink.

“Oh, I wouldn’t doubt it.”

The Hufflepuff was still grinning as he let go of his friend to poke at Aisling while the Dungeon Master prepared the start of their very first campaign together.

And so it began.

The group started their journey in the midst of Undermountain, fighting their way through an army of undead only ten minutes into the gameplay after Konn had led them into an unlocked, untrapped room with his character in the lead.

Hal expertly dominated the vast majority, rolling several sixteens and eighteens to send four of the zombies back to their graves. Meanwhile, Aleksia struggled to master the art of the bow, her unlucky rolls leaving her arrows a useless volley past each one. 

Further in, Ethren was able to test his players’ mettle up against a puzzle and heavily trapped hallway. His eyes were alight, perhaps as happy as he’d been in a while, as he watched the group bicker over how to continue. 

“Let’s send a rat forward first,” Skylar suggested.

“Absolutely not! What if it gets hurt?!” Daisy’s cheeks washed red as she leaned forward stubbornly. “Let’s just try and solve the riddle.”

“No. I’ve got a better idea.”

Everyone snapped their gazes up in horror, watching Hal scoop up his twenty-sided dice, and send it crashing across the map Ethren had crudely drawn. It landed face-up on a natural twenty. “I go storming through the middle of the hallway at full speed with my axe ready to smack away anything that flies at me!”

Silence. 

Ethren flicked his gaze over the dice before leaning back with a bitter pout and crumpling a piece of paper he had in hand. “Alright. You race through, triggering the trap, and before it can swing down and hit you, you slam your axe against it and it breaks. You’re now at the other end of the hall. Let me draw.”

Eventually, even Kath managed to settle into the gameplay. After crossing paths with a few seasoned adventurers also plundering the depths of the magical maze for treasure, she played them an enchanting tune with her lute. One by one they had fallen beneath her, continuing alongside the party as unofficial groupies. 

Laughter rose up from the Clocktower, coiling out in cool mist beneath the stars. Nobody kept an eye on the time. Instead, playing by wand light, everyone had their wands pointed towards the gameplay area, illuminating the intricate mapping system. 

It was eventually revealed the group had not been chosen at random, but subconsciously summoned by the sleeping dragon that yearned for its freedom and stolen eggs at the center of the maze. 

In natural Daisy fashion, she’d instructed everyone on how to handle it without lethal aggression, proclaiming they needed to collect and return all the eggs to their mother if they could find them.

Unfortunately, only one egg was ever recovered. It hatched halfway through Konn’s navigation as the rogue, and much to Ethren’s dismay, Daisy was able to convince the little wyrmling she was its mother. Thus sparking the long debate of whether or not the party should leave the red dragon hatchling behind for their own safety or risk taking it into the final dungeon where its true mother was.

The vote had been split but with several threatening stares from Aisling, Aleksia, and Daisy, Ethren finally declared they’d keep the baby wyrmling for now and would have to suffer the consequences later.

It took the group another hour of exploration before finally coming to large, golden doors. Intricately carved within them were great draconic heads that glared out menacingly. 

But there were no doorknobs. 

Hal tried pushing. Skylar attempted to hit it with a knock spell. Only Konn was able to approach the door and utter something in a deep draconic tongue. The sounds of gears unwinding and clasping were beautifully mimicked by the Dungeon Master as the band of players nudged their way in.

Sleeping in all its towering glory, the ancient red dragon rested at the center of the room. Bound in chains at the neck and legs. Billows of smoke poured from nostrils with every breath.

“Hold on, hold on,” Konn scowled. “How the hell do we fight that!?”

Ethren looked up from behind his screen and gave an unhelpful shrug. “I don’t know. How do you fight it?”

The Slytherin boy paled. “We can’t!”

“Well duh,” Daisy giggled. “We can wake it and talk to it. Konn and I both have characters that know draconic.”

“Is that what you do, then, Daisy?”

“Yes!”

Ethren couldn’t smother the sinister grin that coiled at his lips as he disappeared behind his Dungeon Master screen, quickly tossing a few dice in preparation before rising once more. “Alright! Tell me what you do.”

Daisy clicked her tongue in thought as Konn’s forehead collided with the ground in a low groan. “Oh hush, you’re just jealous you didn’t think of this first,” the girl chastises. “I approach the dragon carefully and tap it on the nose.” “Okay, and does anyone else want to add anything?” Ethren is trying to smother a laugh.

“...I ready an attack with my waraxe,” Hal sputters. 

“I’ll cast shield of faith on all of us.”

“Okay, Aisling, you’ve provided everyone with a plus-three to their ACs. And on that, Daisy, you approach the slumbering dragon, and immediately the little wyrmling leaps from your arms with a cry. The mother’s golden eyes immediately snap open, one easily larger than your head as it locks to you.”

Ethren began to describe the events of the dragon rising up in defense of its wyrmling. The way its roar shattered everyone’s eardrums. The glisten of teeth longer than their forearms. Each character rolled a will save against fear, each one becoming deathly shaken by the superior monster. 

“Hal, you’re up, make your readied attack.”

Hal looked ready to piss himself as he scooped up his dice again. “Are you sure I can’t just run, instead?” he teased out. 

“I suppose you could.”

The Hufflepuff watched Ethren a moment in consideration and then shook his head with a snort. “Nah, I’ll go down with the ship.” The single dice crashed against the hard flooring of the Clocktower, bouncing once, twice- then landing on a natural one.

“NO!” Konnor blurted, falling back from the group and onto his back in defeat.

Light faded from Ethren’s eyes as he stared down at his own prepared dice rolls and grimaced. “...Well. Hal, you raise your waraxe to the dragon out of sheer panic and on your downward swing, instead of hitting scales, you send it right into the back of my skull. Killing me instantly.”

“Are you kidding?!” 

Everyone burst into an uproar of laughter and protest. Skylar curved an arm around Hal’s shoulders, a wide grin plastered over his features. “Well done, Hal. I think we all just died.”

“Oh most definitely,” Ethren agreed, having started to laugh as well. “And its the dragon’s turn. She rears back, straining against her chains as a torrent of flames erupt from her parted maw, spiraling down on all of you. No need to roll reflexes, you’re all immediately cooked.”

“Just like that?” Konn sat up now, brows furrowed in annoyance.

“You weren’t supposed to actually face the dragon.”

“I fucking told them that!” Arms crossed over the Slytherin’s chest and Aisling quickly nudged up against his side. 

“Don’t be so sour, Konn, we’ll just have to try again next time.”

“Next time, indeed. We’re all going to need new characters, so go ahead and be thinking about them.” Ethren reached out, beginning to pick up pieces of parchment that outlined their journey through Undermountain. “I want to aim for next week.”

He paused, his cheeks flaring pink. “...Did you guys enjoy it?”

Daisy flung forward, wrapping the Dungeon Master in a hug, and slowly, the others crowded over to join. 

“Absolutely.”

[amayawolfe]

HxH OC Fumiko Nakamura Story ~ Ch. 10 - Off To Town

My Stories Masterlist  

Word Count: 2331

Warnings: little blood, weapon (boar spear), mention of hunting, a wild bully suddenly appears

   Since Asuri had given you your orders for the day, she and Kimichi would now pretend you didn't even exist, which was completely fine with you. It meant you could enjoy your breakfast with Rin and Satomi in relative peace. Eating more than your fill, you helped with clean up and then went outside to doze while the milk cooled enough to pack for travel.

   Deciding to stay within easy earshot of the house, you had stretched out on the grass in the back yard. You could tell it was going to be a beautiful day. Definitely a warm one by later this afternoon, but you didn't believe it was going to be quite as hot as yesterday.

   As you dozed, you could hear the rustling of a breeze in the trees and the chickens scratching about the yard. Occasionally you would hear one of the cows low out in the distant fields. By now, Satomi's medicine was in full swing within your system and the warm morning sun on your body helped ease what little aches and pains you still felt. Feeling so utterly relaxed for once caused a faint smile to trace your lips and your doze slipped into a light slumber.

         ~         ~         ~         ~         ~         ~         ~         ~        ~        ~

   You weren't sure how much time had passed when the sound of light footsteps in grass roused you. Opening a single green eye you spotted Rin heading your direction. You closed your eye again and stretched, letting out a groan as you did so. Your muscles had stiffened up again, but no where near as bad as they were this morning.

   "Satomi wanted me to tell you the pull cart is nearly ready," relayed Rin. She looked you over carefully. "Are you going to be okay pulling it to town all by yourself?"

   You couldn't help but smile at your little sister's concern.

   "I'll be fine, Rinny," you assured, "Thanks to Tomi I'm feeling a lot better. Besides, the exercise will be good for me right now. Is anyone else coming to town with me?"

   You were both pleased as well as a little disappointed when Rin shook her head. No one coming with you meant that Asuri and Kimichi would be saying home, but it meant that neither Rin nor Satomi was coming either. Although you did enjoy your alone time, pleasant company was nice as well. And seeing how you and your siblings regularly had chores, time alone came about more frequently than free time with your younger sisters. Sensing your disappointment, Rin frowned.

   "I'm sorry big sister. I want to go, but Asuri has the four of us working in the gardens before it gets to hot. And after that we're going to put what we pick in jars. "

   Ah, that makes sense, you thought to yourself. At least Asuri has good reason for everyone else to stay home today, leaving ripe produce to sit in the garden is just asking for something to come along and eat it.

   You pushed yourself up into a sitting position and gave an apathetic wave of your hand along with a shrug of the shoulders.

   "Meh, don't worry about. Traveling alone just means more time to myself. I also tend to travel faster when I'm walking alone." You weren't lying. Your greater amount of stamina meant you could walk faster for longer periods of time than any of your sisters could.

  Judging by the sun in the sky, you figured it was just a couple hours till noon. As you got to your feet you plucked a piece of grass and stuck it in between your teeth, chewing on the end once again. Chewing on grass was a habit you had for years now, it helped prevent you from chewing on parts of your mouth and it even sometimes helped soothe mild agitation.

   "I guess I should get moving then," you said with a sigh. "Last thing I need is Asuri or Kimichi getting mad at me for not heading out soon enough."

   You brushed off your backside, tucked your hands into your overalls, and started walking to the front of the house with Rin quickly joining you at your side.

   Satomi had just finished up loading the pull cart as you came around. Looking up she nodded at the two of you as you approached, placing her hands on her hips she looked over the cart once more.

   The bottles of milk were placed inside two wooden crates that had cloth stuffed in between them to keep them from hitting against one another and possibly chipping or cracking the bottles. The reused egg cartons full of fresh eggs were sitting on top of the milk bottles and cloth. More cloth was laid across the top and a wooden lid was latched atop the box with the entire box strapped to the pull cart. A small sack was tied to the wooden crate as well.

   "That should be everything. Mr. Garson is expecting you so there shouldn't be any problems." Satomi pulled a piece of paper from her dress pocket and handed it over to you. "And if you could stop by the herbalist before you head back I would be grateful for it. Doc told me the herbalist was supposed to get in a fresh shipment of herbs and he wants me to practice making some basic medicines. This is the list of what he wanted me to get."

   "Are the herbs already paid for?" you asked, taking the list and and giving it a quick look over.

   "Doc said that she would put it on his tab. Oh, I also packed you a lunch and some water skins."

   You nod at Satomi's reply and put the list in your pocket.

   "Thanks, Tomi," you said with a smile. You walked to the front of the cart, picked up the handle and looked over your shoulder to your sisters, "How about we go down to the river to swim when I get back? I know I'm really going to need a good bath before bed tonight."

   "Yeah!!" Rin happily cheered.

   "We should be done canning by then," Satomi replied with a smile, "so that sounds like a great idea!"

   With a wave of your hand you started pulling the cart down the pathway to town.

~        ~       ~       ~        ~        ~        ~        ~       ~       ~

   The walk to town was uneventful. You simply hummed to yourself or spoke aloud while in thought, having only seen one other person heading the opposite direction when you reached a connecting path. They had simply nodded at you, acknowledging your presence, and continued on their way.

   When you reached town around an hour after leaving home,  you went straight for the smith master's shop. Seeing the only "friends" you had were Rin and Satomi, you really had no one you could really stop and visit with in town. That and you wanted to avoid running into some of the towns teen aged bullies that tend to wander around looking for their next target.

   Mr. Garson's shop door was open, allowing you to poke your head in the shop while still remaining outside to keep on eye on the cart. A boy close to your age with short sandy blonde hair and hazel eyes instantly recognized you upon your appearance.

   "Oh, hey Sadashi," Takibi greeted kindly, "here for that boar spear?"

   You nodded and made a gesture back behind you with a jerk of your head. "I've got what's been requested for the trade. Your uncle out back?"

   "Yeah, go ahead and bring the stuff in and set it on the counter, will yah? I'll go get him."

   "Got it." You turned back to the pull cart and walked up to it. You examined that wooden crate and hummed to yourself, wondering how you should proceed.

   Unload it one thing at a time or just take the whole crate in?

   To a normal short kid your age and size, these wooden crates were far from light. Each crate had a total of six gallons of milk packed in 12 half gallon glass bottles. On top of them were two cartons of a dozen eggs each. All of this together meant these crates were over 70lbs (31.75kg) each, easy. But thanks to the constant hard work you did on your family's farm and your unusual strength, these crates weren't that heavy at all, really. At least, not to you.

   Squatting down at the knees and hips while keeping your back straight, you grabbed ahold of the crate's hand holds and carefully stood back up. You turned and carried it to the lower part of the store's counter with ease and gently set the crate down.

   By the time you were walking in with the second crate, Takibi and Mr. Garson, Takibi's uncle, were coming out from the back. Takibi's eyes grew a bit wide and Mr. Garson pressed his lips tightly together upon seeing you carry in the large crate so easily on your own. They had seen you use your strength before, but it was always a bit unsettling to them when they saw it up close.

   You set the second crate down, avoiding eye contact. You hated it when people you knew would stare. It was bad enough others would stare at you. Worse when they called you names or go as far as to throw rocks at you due to your uncommon hair color alone.

   Thankfully, Takibi and his uncle were a couple of the very few people who were actually decent to you. Mr. Garson cleared his throat, breaking the awkward silence and came around front with the new boar spear in his hands and a kind smile on his face.

   "I do believe this is what you came for, little lady," he said warmly.

   To your eyes, the boar spear was an absolute work of art. With a shaft made of dark hardwood, it had a long, razor sharp double edged blade as the spear head which gleamed in the light. There where wings just before the base of the spear head to act as a guard stop preventing the spear from going to far into the target and getting stuck or broken; not to mention stopping an angry boar from rush up the spear at it's attacker. It truly was a master piece. There was just one problem that made you hum in thought and tilt your head with a slight frown.

   "It really is nice, but, isn't the shaft too short for papa?"

   "Oh, no no, he told me that he was wanting you to down a Razor while he was away..." Mr. Garson paused, the idea of you taking on a Razor Back alone seemed to bother him. But he gave his head a little shake and continued with that he was saying. "So I made this spear better suited for your size!"

   Your eyes grew wide with shock. "I-... It's for me?"

   You shakily reached out your hands and gingerly took the new spear from Mr. Garson. Despite how deadly this weapon was; it just felt so light, to the point of almost fragile, in your hands. The shaft felt as smooth as worn river rock and the gleam of the spear head reminded you of the reflective surface of water in the sunlight. You slid your hand up to the spear head and ever so carefully brushed your thumb across the blade in the manner you were taught to test the sharpness of it. With nothing more than a feather light touch, the blade bit into the pad of your thumb causing a cut akin to that of a mild paper cut.

   "It's perfect.." you breathed. You mannerism caused Mr. Garson to chuckle at your awe. He then extended his hand, wanting you to return the weapon to him. You did so with only brief hesitation. He picked up a leather sheath off the store counter and slid it over the spear head. Then Mr. Garson secured the sheath by wrapping some burlap cloth around it and tied it with some twine. Safety measure he always took for a weapon's journey to it's new home.

   "I'm sure you father has gone over how to keep the spear head from becoming dull or rusting," Mr. Garson stated. He then offered it back to you. You went to receive it once again, but stopped.

   "Actually, I have another errand I need to run before I can head back home. Is it okay for me to leave my spear and the pull cart here while I run over to Nadera's shop? I have to get some herbs for my sister to work with."

   Takibi perked up, "Oh, is Satomi practicing making medicines now?"

   "Mmhmm!" You nodded, pride for your little sister showing on your face.

   "I'll just leave the spear behind the counter then," Mr. Garson chuckled once again, "Tak can give it to you when you're ready to head home. We should have the crates emptied out and ready to go back with you as well when get back."

   "Alright, thank you!" You waved as you turned and ran out of the store, snatching up your lunch bag as you passed the pull cart on your way to the herbalist. You heart felt so light! Your very first spear! You felt as though nothing could ruin this oh so rare, happy mood that you were now in.

   That is until you rounded a building corner at your clipped speed and fully collided with someone hard, sending you falling backwards onto you backside. Sitting on the ground, mildly stunned, you shook your head in attempts to get your thoughts back in order. You were vaguely aware of the person you had knocked over moving about the ground just as stunned as you.

   "Hey, look, Tsume ," a familiar voice jeered, "it's that purple haired freak!"

Next Chapter: Ch. 11 - Hisoka and Abaki

[dakarimainink]

Chapter 4

No warnings this time, enjoy! :)

Another restless night. I couldn’t get the face of Tom out of my head or out of my dreams. It was a pleasant haunting I preferred not to let go of but being sleep deprived had its costs.

I laid in my bed with the cover halfway up my body and one leg sticking out. Mozart was lying on the pillow next to me, curled up in a small ball. I could faintly hear his hushed purrs as I scratched his head. A light rain drizzled outside and a blur of light crossed my room as a car drove by.

I checked my phone to see it read 02.36 AM. I let out a deep sigh as my eyes rested on the raindrops running down my window. It had almost turned into a habit of not getting enough sleep and my body was on borrowed power. I couldn’t drink coffee for the life of me, so I had to turn to tea to keep me awake during the day.

The only good thing to come out of my poor sleep schedule was more work for the firm and for my personal projects. I had worked so much overtime and taken on so much work that my boss – Daniel – almost forced me to take some vacation. Of course I did and I was glad I took some time off, as I got to explore more of the city and get some inspiration by visiting a couple of museums and art exhibitions. I had come back stronger than ever and received a bigger project from Daniel to work on, but the vacation didn’t cure my sleepless nights. I would toss and turn thinking of Tom, and whenever I got some sleep, I would always dream of him. I honestly didn’t mind it, but I had noticed that it took me longer to think or react, which was a bad sign.

Lilly had taken me to a doctor last week to get me checked up. Nothing much came out of it, I only ended up with a prescription for some sleeping medication. I took it the first night and ended up sleeping the whole next day. I remember Lilly franticly calling me, as I hadn’t turned up for my usual hot chocolate visit at the café. I decided to be careful with them after that.

I got out of bed and adjusted my pyjama shorts and t-shirt. I walked over to the kitchen and put on the kettle. The whole room was lit up by the streetlights outside. I should invest in some new curtains. I leaned on the countertop as I waited for my water to heat up. Mozart jumped up with a short meow and rubbed himself against my arm. “Sorry, buddy. No treats this time.” I chuckled and scratched under his chin. He let out another meow and I rolled my eyes. “Fine.” I drew out the word as I opened his food cabinet. I pulled out the treat bag and he frantically meowed at me. I walked over to the counter again and held a treat between my fingers. He wrapped his paws gently around my hand and ate the treat. “Good boy.” I kissed the top of his head and put down the bag.

I could hear the water boil inside the kettle. I turned the hob off and poured the water into a mug. I glanced through my box of tea and picked out a bag that read, strawberry and cucumber. I dropped it into the cup and put some sugar in the tea. The sweet smell filled my nostrils. I picked the mug up and walked over to the windowsill and sat down.

The street was empty, but I could see a few windows with lights in them. Guess I’m not the only one who can’t sleep, I thought to myself as I blew on the hot tea water. Mozart jumped into my lap and bundled down. I stroked his body as he purred his soul out. Only one thing missing; sitting between Tom’s legs, resting my back on his chest and his rough fingers stroking gently against my arm. Don’t think about him, dammit!

I shook my head as I let out a giggle. I was dreaming like a teenager in love for the first time, which was highly unusual of me to do. Usually my dreaming was about heroes and heroines, evil against good, magic and sword fighting, not some fairy tale love drama where I end up with the perfect man.

I leaned my head against the window and looked outside. The chill from the glass grew goose bumps on my arms and legs. It felt nice to feel the cold against my temple. “Am I hopeless, Mozart?” I asked and glanced down on the purring furball. “Yeah, I know.” I responded to myself and drew my eyes to one of the lit windows. I saw shadows moving around inside the apartment, but never an actual person. I continued to move my gaze to each lit up window.

My eyes froze on the fourth floor across the street. A person who also sat in the windowsill. It was a man sitting alone with a book between his hands. He was reading intently as I watched him. He suddenly looked up, as if he could feel my eyes on me and met my eyes. He smiled widely and waved at me. My eyebrows shot up in surprise and I waved slowly back. I could feel my heart beat a little faster from the sudden attention I had brought upon myself.

The man stood up and left the window. I saw his shadow cross the room and then disappear. A few minutes later he came back with a piece of paper and a pen. On the paper it was written – hi. I let out a giggle. I lifted Mozart to the side and went over to my bed and picked up my laptop. I opened a new word document and made the script as big as I could. I went back to the windowsill and turned the screen towards him – hi.

The man turned the paper and begun to scribble some more. Can’t sleep?

No, you too?

No. I’m Mark.

Hi Mark, I’m Luna.

Coffee?

Now?

24-hour café – down the block

I bit my lower lip. Should I really venture out with a stranger, at this time of night? I didn’t have anything better to do. I might even make a new friend. Downstairs in 10.

He gave me a thumbs up and I felt my stomach do a flip. I rushed over to my closet and pulled on a pair of black tights, a white sweater and my trusty green raincoat. Mozart looked at me with a – are you serious – face. I agreed with him, I was a complete idiot for doing this, but hey, adventures awaited.

Note:  Alright, I just want to let you know that it will be a little bit of time until we see Tom again, but I promise you, as soon as we get back to Tom, there will be a lot of Tom. I don't want to skip toooooo much, so I am filling in some cute moments in between for Luna, so you can somewhat follow her life. I have already thought ahead and I have a feeling this story might turn into some drama or whatever, but it will be good!

CHAPTER LIST

[melikeylikeyjimin]

Noir || One

(I don’t own this gif)

Word Count: 1.9k

Genre: Mafia AU! Sugar Daddy AU! Jungkook X Reader, fluff, angst.

Warnings: none yet

A/N: Hello! I’m here with the first chapter of my new series, Noir! I hope you enjoy it and look forward to the next chapters! If you’d like to be tagged whenever I post a new chapter of Noir, please DM me or leave a comment on this post! Thank you to anyone who I asked to read this before I posted it, I’m really grateful for your feedback on it!

Next Chapter ||

“When looking at these designs, you should be able to determine how the shadows of the piece create movement within the image.” Sitting with my head resting on the palm of my hand, the professor continues to talk about how each artist uses different forms of techniques to make movement throughout a painting.

The class drones on for what feels like forever. I don’t necessarily care for finding the deeper meaning in art, but art compositions is a required class. Not sure how art would help me in my future of being a doctor and helping others, but requirements are requirements. With the bell ringing, sighs erupted throughout the room as people heave their backpacks over their shoulders and leave the room.

Groaning I force myself up and walk towards the door. “Y/N!” Someone calls out my name and my head turns towards the origin of the voice. There stands Nicci, flailing around as she tried to get through the crowd of other students.

“Jesus, it never gets easier to get through these halls no matter what time of day,” she complains.

“Well, it doesn’t help that there happens to be a lot of art majors at our college, so the building is always filled.”

Her arm immediately intertwines with mine as she starts dragging me away from my classroom, “So, have you heard the tea?” As soon as I heard the word tea my attention was on Nicci. I didn’t live a very drama filled life so hearing other people’s drama was stimulating to me.

“Well, I heard from Katrina who heard from Joe who also heard fro-”

I cut her off, “Okay, I don’t need to know all the different people that know, just spill.”

“Well, you know that one girl from the business department Eunji?”

“Yeah, I share an economics class with her, why?” “Well, I heard she got some nasty STD from this guy she slept with!”

I wrinkled my nose at her words, “She didn’t use a condom or anything?”

“Apparently not.” I sighed, but what did I really expect, it’s college.

I felt an arm drape over my shoulder as the said person pulled me closer to them. “What inappropriate things are you telling my poor baby this time, Nicci?”

“Oh stop babying her Dylan, she’s an adult, not a kid! She knows what sex is!”

Dylan gasped as he covered my ears, “We don’t say that word around her!”

Nicci rolled her eyes and I moved to grab Dylan’s hands from my ears, “She’s right though, I’m not a baby.”

He rolled his eyes as he moved to grab my hand, “I should limit the time she gets to spend with you, she’ll corrupt you.”

Nicci glared at him, “It’s called having fun, you should try getting laid sometime.” Dylan and she argued back and forth as they usually did over me. I used to try to get them to calm down, but after many failed attempts I stopped trying and let them work it out. They reminded me of an old married couple who would squabble over the littlest of things but still made up in the end.

Dylan was and always has been protective of me since I got to know him. Nicci was the first friend I ever made here at college so she and I did almost everything together when it came to new experiences.

Having watched them argue for the past three minutes, I decided I’d step in as it was taking longer than normal to simmer down. I grabbed Dylan’s hand as he was usually easier to pacify, “Dylan, you said you were going to take me out for lunch, why don’t we go? You guys can continue your argument some other time, but I’m hungry.”

He sighed as his eyes softened and he nodded, “Alright, let’s go.”

Nicci scoffed, “Of course he’s a big softy for you…” Dylan gave her a hard glare as she walked away.

“Text me,” I shouted after her. She put an ‘okay’ sign up and maneuvered her way through the sea of people.

“Lunch?” I asked.

“Lunch,” Dylan confirmed.

After arriving at the fast food restaurant, Dylan went up and ordered the food as I sat at the table and waited for him to come back. I scrolled through my phone to quench my boredom and looked at some of my social media feed. Seeing nothing interesting, I locked my phone and put it face down on the table and watched as Dylan filled our drinks and was grabbing all the food. He walked back to the table and set the food and drink I ordered in front of me.

“You know you didn’t have to pay for my lunch, right? I could have paid.”

“You already have enough to worry about between tuition, rent, and feeding yourself, me buying you one meal won’t kill me.”

“Still, I feel bad…”

“Just eat.” I dropped the topic and took a sip of my drink.

“Are you free tonight?” He asked between bites of food.

I tilted my head, “Why?”

“Do you want to have a movie night, it could just be the two of us or we could see about inviting Nicci or Jisoo.”

“Hmm, I would love to but I work tonight.”

He gave a slight pout, “You always work.”

I smiled and pat his hand, “Gotta make money somehow.”

“Are you sure you’re doing okay? You’re able to manage work and school? Are you sleeping well? Are you still getting some free time?” Dylan fired question after question at me.

“You worry too much, Dylan. Of course, I’m okay. I don’t work myself to death, I promise I sleep well and I have free time.”

“Well, you just do so much that you worry me, Y/N.”

“I really do promise that I’m okay, Dylan. You’re just overly paranoid.”

“You would tell me if you needed anything, right?”

“Yes.”

“Good.” We continued to eat in silence but it wasn’t awkward or anything. I crumpled up the wrapper that my food came in as I continued to just sip on my drink until Dylan finished his food. “What time do you work?”

“Three,” I answered.

“I’ll drive you.” I nodded. I normally would argue with him but I felt like we had done enough arguing over me as it was. I went and threw our trash away as he waited for me. We walked out of the door and walked to his car.

Sitting inside, he started up the car and pulled out of the parking lot. “Are you sure you can’t just call in?”

“I really need the money, Dylan. I promise we can some other time.”

He sighed, “Alright, alright, I’ll get off your back about it. But I’ll definitely hold you to that.”

An eight-hour shift was never something I enjoyed. Working at a cafe til almost midnight was also frightening. Walking outside at night as a woman was something that always spiked my anxiety.

Today’s work was slow. Normally there was a rush hour between six and seven but tonight, there was hardly anyone there. “Did you wipe down the tables?” My manager yells from the back room.

“Not yet! I’ll do that after I finish cleaning the counters!”

“Okay!” My manager and I were closing tonight and I just couldn’t wait to go home and lay in bed and watch some tv. I thought about taking a bath to relax since tomorrow was Friday and we didn’t have school on Fridays, but I think I’d pass out in the bathtub if I tried. I finished wiping the counters with the old tattered rag and moved to wipe down the tables as well. I was hoping that after I finished wiping the tables that Jennie would let me go home and she would lock up.

Almost as if my prayers were answered I heard Jennie shout again from the back room, “Good work today! Once you finish the tables you can go ahead and go home!”

“Okay, thank you!” I finished up and put the rag back in the sink where it would be cleaned by the morning crew. Luckily I had the next two days off so I could take it easy. “I’m leaving now!”

“Okay, love, be careful on your way home, I know it’s late.” I grabbed my stuff and walked out the front door, letting it jingle signaling I had left. My apartment wasn’t too far away from where I worked so it would be a short ten-minute walk to get there. I hated walking out here late at night, but I worked so I had to. With my hands in my pockets, I began to fast walk my way home. The sooner I got there, the safer I would be.

The silence from around me was deafening. There were no cars on the roads and the only sound was my shoes hitting the pavement. The streetlights that illuminated the sidewalk were dim and in need of new lights. I sighed as I hugged my jacket to my body. Whenever I walked home late at night, I would keep my phone open on this alert app that Dylan made sure I always had. If I hit a single button the authorities would be called to my location in case anything happened. Nicci always complained whenever he talked to me about it because she thought it was over the top and too much. I agreed that it was a bit over the top but I also don’t really want to say that and then have something bad happen to me and not be able to get help, so I use it.

I was two minutes from my apartment when I heard a scuffling sound of a can being kicked. I felt my heart stop for a second before it started to beat even more heavily against my chest. I held my phone close to me and made sure my finger would hover over the emergency button.

I wanted to look behind me so badly, but I knew I shouldn’t. I heard the sound again and I went completely rigid. I couldn’t help myself. I looked behind me and didn’t see anything. It wasn’t until I looked down around my feet and saw a cat. It’s fur colored noir and it’s green eyes watching me carefully. I let out a sigh of relief realizing that it was only a cat and not someone else. I let my finger leave the button and I huffed as I continued my walk home.

I walked up the stairs to my door and pulled my keys out, unlocking the door and letting myself in. Finally feeling safe, I slid down the door and let myself relax. After a bit, I moved and locked the door, checking twice to be safe.

Pulling my shoes off my feet, I set them by the door and walk through to my living room. With a groan, I let my body sink into the couch and I pull out my phone to make sure I text Dylan. He asked me to text him every time I leave work and when I get back to my apartment when I have a later shift. Hearing the little ping noise of it sending, I let my phone fall to the floor. I felt too lazy to move from where I was so I decided, might as well sleep on the couch tonight. Turning the tv on to a random channel, I let my eyes droop. Within a few minutes, my eyes close entirely and I fall asleep with the tv playing in the background.

[argylemikewheeler]

102 Peach Street

|| started by this ask. will and mike are married and very happy ||

On Sunday mornings, Mike always liked to spend the early sunlight hours pulling weeds out of the garden. He’d stand in the warm sunshine, feeling the morning breeze on his arms and through his hair– he refused to cut it above his shoulders in the early nineties. Will would often stand at the kitchen window, washing the dishes, and smile down at him and their full green country yard.

It was part of Will’s therapy to tend to something that would grow and thrive if loved and taken care of– just like he would. The summer they moved out of Hawkins and into a place of their own, Mike helped Will plant greenery all along the front of the house and by the porch steps. Will watered and fixed the soil frequently, but Mike always offered to do the weeding; Will’s knees had gotten bad in his early college years from a childhood of incorrectly running (for his life) and couldn’t spend the hours hunched over like he used to.

Of course, though, Mike didn’t mind. He lovingly got his favorite pair of worn and tearing jeans and knelt in the dirt, reminding himself what it was like to actually do something with his hands– he really had something going as a kid with all those Lego projects. Those days, he really only spent time at his desk shuffling papers. Mike would willingly trade paper cuts for all that dirt under his fingernails. He didn’t dislike his job though, let that be known. Copy editing was a joy and writing in his free time reminded him of planning campaigns, but Hawkins just never had sunshine like this.

Will and Mike didn’t runaway from Hawkins necessarily, but they did give their (unwanted) family a very short notice before packing their car up and driving east. They unpacked their boxes in their small cottage, faint sounds of the ocean reminding them they were far from their childhood, but had finally come home. They eloped– in the way that they could– in ‘95. Neither spoke a word, but quietly changed the single, default name on the mailbox to both. Will painted it on with his best attempt at a flower that seemed to have a face of some kind– but maybe that was Mike’s interpretation.

Will’s middle school art students seemed to like the plant’s “face” when he drew it on their work too, understandably so: Demogorgons looked cute when they had googly eyes and smiley faces.

“Good morning, Mr. Byers.” Mike stood up and turned at the sound of a young voice behind him. A girl was standing at the end of their front walkway, holding up her bike. Her hair was in two pigtails on the top of her head, wrapped in pink fuzzy hair ties.

“Hi. What can I do for you?” He couldn’t remember her name, but he knew she lived just down the road. Her parents made them a pie when they first moved in. He was allergic to it– but he didn’t hold that against them.

“Do you know where Mr. Wheeler is?” She asked. They’d traded names so technically they weren’t noticeably married, but could still enjoy answering to the last name of the other. Mike really liked being a Byers.

“He’s just inside, I can get him if you want. What’s wrong?”

“I messed up my bike.” She sighed, holding it out to him.

“Oh! I can help with that.” Mike wiped his hands on his jeans and used his shoulder to nudge some of his curls out of his way.

“It’s not just the chain– I fixed that myself. When I fell I scratched the paint up pretty bad… and I know Mr. Wheeler has good paints in his garage.” She looked down at her accident’s handiwork– a long scrape going along the entire length of the frame.

“Oh! You need an artist’s help. I understand– I’ll be right back.” Mike grabbed the banister and swung up the front steps. He made sure not to leave any smudged fingerprints on the door as he opened it and stepped inside. He kept his dirty shoes on the doormat. “Oh, Mr. Wheeler, the girl from down the street is here to see you. She has an art emergency.”

Will ducked and emerged under the hanging cabinets in the kitchen. He’d cut his hair above his ears, almost to balance out Mike’s, and finally started letting his hair swoop back and show his forehead. He was the most handsome man Mike had ever seen, and Mike thought it every time he laid eyes on Will. He knew he was lucky just getting out of Hawkins alive, but he considered his greatest luck finding Will all those years ago.

“Sara?” Will placed his dish towel down on the counter and walked around, coming toward the door. “What happened?”

“She crashed and needs some new paint.” Mike held the door open for Will, letting him onto the porch. “Here he is, Sara.” Mike was glad someone remembered people’s names.

“Hey, sweetheart! What happened!” Will gripped Mike’s arm and braced himself as he took the stairs. Mike could practically hear Will’s joints squeaking as loudly as the wood steps.

“A car blew a stop sign and I skidded to stop so fast it went sideways and slid right out from under me!” She groaned, rolling it toward him and exposing the scrape.

“Oh, God. Are you alright?” Will asked, squeezing Mike’s arm in response.

“Yeah, I had my elbow pads and helmet on. I’m fine.” She said. “But Sandra here really got it.”

“You named her Sandra?” Will smiled and braced his knees to crouch and admire the flaking paint. His knees popped as he sank down. “I don’t think I ever named mine when I was growing up– did you, Michael?”

“Nope. Me neither.” Mike shook his head. “If I did, I completely forget by now.”

“That’s fair.” Will muttered. He adjusted his weight on his feet and ran his hand over the exposed frame. “I don’t know if I have the same color as your bike, so how about a stripe? I can give you a racing stripe right down the side!”

“Can you?”

“Of course I can.” Will laughed, nodding. “I can even do a little design for you– Michael, you know where my really nice white paint is, right? On the–”

“Top shelf of your metal cabinet, just by the garage door? Yeah. I know where.” Mike touched the top of Will’s head as he stepped past them. “I’ll get your good brushes too.”

“Thank you, Mike.” Will grinned, somewhat shyly due to their audience, and watched Mike cross the lawn.

The garage was disconnected from the house and held all of Will’s art supplies as well as Mike’s old typewriter. Will’s easel was leaned up against the model bench and Mike’s old manuscripts were still in a bit of a mess on the lid of one of Will’s toolboxes. He’d clean that later, after he found that one passage he’d written ages ago and suddenly found a way to repurpose.

It was a short paragraph, maybe three sentences, about a brief memory Mike remembered having as a kid, but knowing he’d never lived it. It was a image of this figure– this boy– passing in front of his vision and drawing him farther and farther in to him. It had been a dream Mike had, knocked out and lying on his local mall’s floor. He’d thought he was being drawn to death then, but it turned out he was brought back to consciousness by the faint tug of his heartstrings.

He wanted to find it and rework it for an upcoming anniversary. The manuscript had never seen the light or day or the desk of any publishing house, but it had stuck with Mike since he’d buried it under boxes of old bike parts and vinyl records.

Mike grabbed the paint and Will’s brushes by the door before backpedaling and going to Will and their neighbor. Will was sitting on the grass by then, legs stretched out and hands gently patting his left knee as he spoke.

“– it’s supposed to rain soon too, so my knees aren’t any better. I’m okay though, Sara. Mr. Byers and I are just old.”

“You aren’t even thirty.” Mike quipped, placing the paint beside Will and gently nudging his leg.

“I’ve got old man knees though.” Will said, rubbing them slowly. “Sara was just asking my why bones sound like popcorn.”

“I’m sorry.”

“No! No!” Will laughed, reaching over for her arm gently. “It’s alright! It’s funny. They do, they really do sound like popcorn. I got it from an old childhood accident.” He used the back of a paintbrush to pop the lid to the paint. Mike held the can still, letting his already dirty hands get covered in the flakes of dried white paint.

“Did you play a sport, Mr. Wheeler? My dad said he hurt his knee back in high school playing football.” Sara asked, gripping Sandra tightly by the handlebars.

“No, nothing like that. I just fell when I was a kid. I was running inside– which I shouldn’t have been doing, that’s never safe– and I tripped over something and took this big spill. Rolled myself up into knots and really bumped up both my knees.” Mike didn’t remember Will getting so good at telling that lie.

In reality, Will was running toward Hopper’s cabin, deep in the woods, completely barefoot. The ground was uneven and Will’s legs were flailing out in unhealthy and painful directions as he forced himself to go ahead another inch. It was pitch black and the rest of the Party was standing on the porch, waving him forward and screaming to go just a little farther. In the last stretch, and last jump over a fallen tree, Will’s ankle caught on a branch and brought him tumbling down to the ground. The growling behind him grew louder as he tumbled through the fallen leaves and into rocks and sticker bushes. Mike didn’t remember leaving the safety of the porch, but he remembered pulling Will out of the foliage and dragging him the rest of the way to the house. He remembered crying too. That’s all.

“I’m fine, Sara. Don’t worry, I’ve got Mr. Byers here to help.” Will looked over his shoulder and winked at Mike before leaning back to the bike with his dipped paintbrush.

“Is he your helper?” Sara looked at Mike with such innocence and kindness. There was an instinct to feel guilty– like it would all go away if she only knew the truth. But Mike knew it was a false sense of guilt. Their marriage was the best thing in Mike’s life. He wasn’t ashamed.

“No, actually Michael’s my husband.” Will said, his hand moving steadily and making a clean stripe on Sara’s bike. “I’ve known him since we were kids.”

“Oh. T-That’s cool, I guess.” Sara said, obviously taken aback. She didn’t seem bothered, just wildly surprised. She’d lived next door to them for most of her life, and apparently it never occurred to her that young, happy men could be married too.

Part of Mike was pleased to be a surprise. Typically, that meant the person had never met a gay couple before. Mike was glad he and Will could be her starting example.

“I’m going to leave you two to your work, alright?” Mike said, wiping his hands on his jeans again. Sara had stopped staring at him, but had now moved on to Will. Mike was sure she had more questions. “I want to clean up the garage, Plum. I’ll be back.”

—

Mike sat down on the garage floor and started separating the loose pages and clipped manuscripts. Mike avoided reading any of his very old writing– it was still embarrassing to think he was published in his college lit mag forever with such sappy love poetry. At least he still had the work’s muse living with him. Helped him improve and write the same message again, far better: later, said embarrassing poem became Mike’s wedding vows so it wasn’t all a loss.

Before Mike could reach the bottom of his stack, the garage side door opened. Will placed his paint and brushes down on the floor and slowly approached Mike’s sporadic piles.

“What are you looking for?” He stood tall but squinted to try and read the pages below him.

“Something I wrote in college. I remembered it the other morning– remember when I stumbled out of bed for my notebook?” Mike laughed, turning to look up at his husband.

“When you tripped three times just getting across the room? Yeah. I remember. I thought we were being robbed. But it was just you having a stroke of genius?”

“If you want to call it that.” Mike held his arms out to the scattered organization with a sigh. “Did you fix Sandra up?”

“Sara’s already on her way home! Gave her a stripe and even wrote ‘Sandra’ on the side. Gave her flowers and swords, the whole nine.”

“Swords?”

“She told me she’s learning about Joan of Arc.” Will shrugged. “I thought it was pretty cool.”

“It is. And so are you.” Mike placed his unsorted pages down, frankly not needing their words anymore. His world was right there. Being absolutely adorable. Will placed his hand over Mike’s face and shoved him playfully.

“Help me inside, Mr. Byers?”

“That bad?” Mike’s tone changed in a snap, pushing off the ground and getting to his feet. “We should change out those stairs, Plum.”

“No, it’s just the barometric pressure. They’re fine.” Will took Mike’s hand. “A convenient excuse to keep you around though, have to say.”

“Don’t make me carry you again.” Mike jokingly went to sweep Will off his feet. Will yelped and jumped back with a giggle. “I’ll only hit your head on the doorway a little bit this time.”

“I love having to tell the story of ‘no the bruise I got on my wedding night was because my husband walked me into the doorway’. My mom thought we were idiots.” Will sighed, following Mike out of the garage.

“Babe, we are idiots.”

“Yeah, but she didn’t need to know that this late in the relationship. We’ve kept it a secret for quite a while, I like to think.”

"Will, for every monster we fought on a school night is another ten reasons we’re both idiots.” Mike reasoned. He stepped up onto the stairs first, letting Will pull up on his tensed arm for leverage. “You taught me that.”

Will grunted quietly as he pushed himself up the rest of the stairs. At the landing, he broke into a smile. “I know. I’m just testing you, Michael. Just testing you.”

“Shut up and get inside.” Mike laughed, swinging the front door open. “Make sure all the windows are closed before it rains, I’m going to make you some tea.”

“What? That’s not how that works.” Will laughed, shaking his head as he kicked off his shoes. “You know we didn’t open any windows last night.”

“Welp, looks like you have to sit down and let me make you tea.” Mike said, dramatically sighing and starting off toward the kitchen. Will shuffled after him, trying not to slip in his socks.

Their house was about the size of Will’s childhood home, maybe a bit smaller. They didn’t need much room, if Mike was being honest. All their childhood they’d practically lived right on top of each other, being able to do so as adults was a bonus. Between the foyer and the kitchen was only a small alcove with their round wooden dining table. It only held the two of them; they rarely had guests anyway.

Every time he passed by the table, he remembered that first month, sitting in the morning silence and staring out the window at the long stretches of trees. Will was sipping tea, careful not to slurp too loudly and get under Mike’s skin at seven in the morning. Under the table, Mike could hear Will gently rubbing his feet together: a habit of comfort Mike had learned to observe. Mike had been drinking coffee and eating a bagel, definitely getting crumbs everywhere. He’d placed his breakfast down and cleared his throat– twice– and placed his hand on Will’s. Will still made him nervous sometimes.

“Hey, Will?” Mike had said, careful to break his peaceful look.

“Yeah, Mike?”

The words were so easy to say. Mike couldn’t remember a time when they seemed so far off: “Will you marry me?”

“So, what stroke of genius did you have?” Will asked, easing himself down into his chair. Mike placed the kettle onto the stove with a furrowed look. “You said your old writing– a new idea came to you?”

“Oh! Right. I got confused when you said genius.” Mike teased.

He got out Will’s favorite mug and placed it on the counter beside his teabag. Originally, it had just been a random floral mug his mother had found at a thrift store, just trying to get enough mugs for when the entire Party– and monster hunting congregation– found its way into the Byers house. Will had been drinking out of it when they solved their last mystery; was steeping tea when he got accepted to college, and nearly spilled it diving for the phone to call Mike; and brought it to his dorm for his four years at MICA. And, obviously, it was the one he was drinking out of when Mike proposed– if you want to call it that. Mike considered it a waking up of sorts, of finally getting his shit together and asking Will the most obvious question.

“So, what’s the idea?” Will asked, placing his feet up on Mike’s seat. “You know I like hearing about them.”

“Yeah, I know. But this one’s boring.”

“Your ideas are never boring, Michael. I love them.” Will said sternly, although his smile ruined the effect. “I’m listening.”

The kettle began to whistle and Mike tried to use it as a distraction, but he could feel Will’s eyes patiently watching him.

“It’s an old something I wanted to fix up… it’s from college, but it’s about back from before we started high school.” He waved it off before pouring their water.

“You say that like it’s not any good.”

"It’s just about… this dream I had once.” Mike sighed. He rolled his eyes at his own preface. “It was when– okay, so do you remember that time in Starcourt when I was hit? I fell down and smacked my head really hard?”

“Do I rememb– yes, of course I do.” Will exclaimed. “I thought you’d shattered your skull right open in the goddamn food court while we were running for our lives.”

“Well, it’s just about that. The dream I had while I was completely knocked out for five minutes.” Mike tried to nudge it away with another shrug. He returned to the table quickly, still trying to maintain a feeling of nonchalance. Will took the mug slowly, narrowing his eyes but still thanking him. “What!”

“You’ve never told me about this before.” Will said, moving his feet up off Mike’s seat so he could slide under them. Mike always let Will rest his feet on his lap. “How is this new to me?”

Mike set his jaw, trying to defeat his growing smile. “It’s supposed to be a surprise! Don’t ask too many questions. It’s your anniversary gift, so don’t go poking around.”

“Michael, you don’t have to do anything for me!” Will reached over and grabbed both of Mike’s hands. “I don’t want you to.”

“You married me and let me buy you a house.” Mike said, like it was the simplest rebuttal. “I have to thank you every year. Afraid my luck will run out.”

“How many times have I told you,” Will said, pulling Mike’s hand up to his lips, kissing it quickly. “It’s not luck. That’s not why we’re together. It’s–”

“I know, I know.” Mike sighed, smiling. “It’s fate.”

Will grinned, his face lighting up; it was what Will had said in his own wedding vows. The moment Mike heard it, unprepared and already wonderfully weak at the altar, he started weeping. Before then, he’d never thought that everything in his life had all been for something. All of his past suffering could stop hurting, even for a moment. It wasn’t going to come back and haunt him; he had finally reached his own, permanent happiness. The one his family never said he’d have, the one he started to believe he was never meant to experience– only write about, growing envious of his characters.

But Mike’s happiness was there, sitting across from him and all around. It was 102 Peach Street, house of Mr. Michael Byers and Mr. William Wheeler. It was waking up to the same faint sound of even and slow breathing– the reassurance he’d still get to live his best dream another day. On the hardest days, it was the paint-smudged young man that would come through the front door, smiling from ear to ear, already somehow knowing that Mike needed extra love– and an overly dramatic mwah of a hello kiss. On Mike’s best days, it was just Will.

No matter what, it was always Will. Mike had found his happiness, run headstrong into his fated future, and nothing was ever going to take it away.

Mike blinked, tears suddenly welling in his eyes, and thought of his dream. The floating figure was one he had always assumed as an angel– a sign that death was closer than it had ever been– and it was an angel. It was just that this one looked a whole lot like his childhood friend. Looked like his husband.

“Why are you crying?” Will moved his legs off Mike’s lap in order to pull his chair in closer. Will cradled Mike’s face, his thumbs moving over his cheeks slowly, waiting for a tear to fall. “Michael, what’s wrong?”

“Nothing. Absolutely nothing.” Mike laughed, sniffling. “I just forget how kind fate was to me… I got the perfect house, the most beautiful husband with the most extraordinary heart, neighbors that bake us pies for fuck’s sake… Did you ever think we’d get all this?”

“No.” Will said, shaking his head. “But I always knew I’d have you. And that was always enough.”

Mike hiccuped a short but loud sob, laughing wetly. “God, you’re making me cry more. I love you. So so much.”

Will didn’t speak– he often never did when Mike was in his moods of disbelief. He just pushed Mike’s hair back from his eyes, looking at him with a sense of wonder, before leaning forward to kiss him.

When Mike closed his eyes, he knew the vision was no longer a memory and it definitely wasn’t a dream. No, it was a feeling. It was this feeling. One of comfort and relief, of letting Mike’s whole body relax into the warm touch of another person– another man. Laying on the floor of the mall, in danger and unconscious, Mike had been given a glimpse into his own future– and it was gloriously simple, safe, and sweet. It was Will.

ao3

[serahsanguine]

School, Sex and Subterfuge NC-17

Chapter 6 of?

part one, part Two,  part 3, part 4, part 5,  AO3

tagging @today-in-fic @skullsmuldon @foxystarbucks

************************

Chapter 6;  Situations

Mulder walked towards the Lone Gunman, as they called themselves, which was on the other side of campus. He finally arrived at their newspaper office and knocked on the door, hearing a faint come in. He walked into the office looking around seeing only Frohike there.

Frohike turned in his swivel office chair, turning away from the computer.

“Mulder my man, how are you?”

“I’m good Frohike. Are the other two in lectures?”

“Yeah man, I’m just writing this week's article. What brings you down here anyway? That little redhead causing you trouble?”

“No, she fine,”  Mulder face lit up on thinking about Scully.

“Oh man, you’ve got it bad. Not that blame you, she is pretty hot.” Mulder gave him a hard glair. Frohike laughed. “You know I won’t touch her. If this gets serious, though, promise you will bring her around.”

“You know that won’t happen. Rule one: don’t get emotionally involved.”

Frohikie gave him a sceptical look and thought ‘yeah, we will see how far that gets you’. Instead, he said nothing more on the subject and took the conversation in another direction.

“How’s Sam?”

“She’s good as far as I know.” I really should call her. “Do you mind if I stay for an hour or so until my next lecture?”

“Sure, you know what to do.”

Mulder walked in and went to one of the spare computers, he got to work and carried on chatting away to Frohike.

**********************************************************

Scully checked the time, she had about 30 minutes to grab some lunch before she had to go to her next lecture. She made quick haste to the small cafeteria as she had no time to go to her usual spot today. Grabbing a small salad and a bottle of water she went to meet Serah by the water fountain.

10 minutes later Scully was walking there expecting to see Serah hanging around with her friends. Instead, she spotted her alone in the shade, wearing a long sleeve jumper. She thought it was a bit odd but decided not to question her friend’s clothing choice. Scully looked again: she had to admit her friend did look quite beautiful. It wasn't necessarily the pose that her friend was in; but about how causal she seemed, her defences were down, she looked at peace. The leaves were scattered around her feet, the mix of green, brown, yellow and orange, contrasting against the green grass as well as Serah’s black jeans. She quickly got out her mobile opening the camera app and took a quick photo.

She walked over to Serah, lightly tapping her on the shoulder, which made Serah jump.

“Sorry I didn’t mean to startle you,” Scully said apologetically and sat down next to her, kneeling as best she could wearing the skirt she had picked, which as of today had become one of her favourites.  

“It’s okay Dana. I was reading some biography on Van Gogh, quite fascinating actually.”

“I’m sure it is.” Scully was smiling to herself, suddenly not paying attention. Warm memories of her escape that happened no less than an hour before flooded her brain.

“Well someone got laid this morning,” Serah said with a smirk and lightness to her voice.

“Umm, what was that?”

“Nothing,” Serah started laughing. “That’s a nice cologne you’re wearing,” and started laughing even harder when her friend turned a bright red.

Damn my Irish skin and also, shit! Do I smell of him? Do I smell of sex?

Serah started hiccuping, she was laughing so hard. When she finally managed to calm herself down she could see the worried expression on Scully’s face.

“Dana don’t worry I can’t smell him on you,” she leant towards her friend and smelled her skin. “Also you don’t smell of sex either, you have done a very good job with your perfume.”

Scully faced Serah and gave her a sceptical look: “How did you know then?”

“You were smiling. I haven’t seen you generally smile like that unless you’re thinking about a certain professor of ours,” the last part was a whisper so no one could hear her.

“Well yes, something did happen and I’m not going to discuss it so out in the open. While we are on the subject, I have the document for you to sign.”

“Thank you,” she looked at her watch “Dana, we must get going or we’re both going to be late for our lectures.”

Scully put away what she had of her lunch, and Serah put away her book amongst other things and both headed towards their lectures.

//  

A few weeks passed. Serah had indeed signed the document which leads to more sex which pleased them both. They were both enjoying their routine of Scully either being called to Mulder's office or her randomly turning up. Neither one were complaining, she was getting the best orgasms of her life and so was he. They enjoyed each other’s company but neither one was ready to admit to it. She was getting straight A’s and being true to his word she was not failing in his class.

Thanksgiving was just around the corner. Scully was looking forward to the welcome break away from school. It would be nice to see Mellissa again. She promised she would make it back from her trip in time and stay way past winter break.

On the flip side, Mulder was looking forward to seeing his sister again. She was making her way back from San Francisco for both Thanksgiving and Christmas and staying with him, first of all in the house he owned nearby and then in their father's old house in the Vineyard. Since both the parents died, he hadn’t had the heart to sell it, he instead rented it out for months at a time. That was why Sam was his whole world, they were all each other had.

*****************************************************

Scully had arrived at her mother's house. Dumping her bags by her side she gave her mum a long hug. She had missed her terribly.

“I thought I was going to pick you up from the airport Dana?”

“You were Mom, but I got an early flight. Is Ahab here?”

“Yes, he just went to the grocery store to pick up the fresh fruit and veg for tomorrow. Pick up your bags and put them in your room and if you want a small nap there are fresh sheets on the bed.”

“Thanks, Mom.”

Scully picked up her bags and walked up the stairs. Dumping them at the foot of the bed, taking off her jacket, she laid down and went for a small nap. It had been a long flight and an even longer day.

She woke up. The smell of a home cooked dinner mixing in with the smell of one of Melissa incenses. One thing was for certain: she had missed being home and spending time with the family.  

She wandered downstairs and peered through to the kitchen: mom and Ahab were putting the finishing touches on dinner. Bill, Melissa and Charlie were already sat at the table.

“Hey Starbuck, go sit down, dinner’s nearly ready,” her dad said before wandering back into the kitchen.

Scully peeked around the corner to see him hug her mom around the hips and kissing her on the cheek. She smiled. Maybe someday I will have a relationship like this.  

She walked back through to the dining room and Missy looked up and jolted away from the table the chair scraping slightly on the wood floor hugging her sister fiercely.

“Missy I can’t breathe!”

“Sorry.” She let go of her sister and sat back down.

“You need to tell me all about Europe.”

“And you need to tell me all about that guy,” Missy said a bit to loudly.

Bill instantly stopped talking to Charlie and looked in Scully’s eyes with a fierceness “What guy, Dana?”  

“There is no guy , Bill ” She put emphasis on both the guy and his name.

She matched his look with one of her own. And it turned into a staring contest. No more than 5 minutes later the spell was broken with the sound of their parents walking in and setting the food on the table.

“What is it, Mom? It smells amazing,” asked Charlie in such a young voice. Barely 15 and the only one left still living at home.  

“Nanna’s family recipe for beef stew, with some fresh carrots potatoes and broccoli.”

All the family smiled, it was one of everyone’s favourites.

//

An hour later, the beef stew eaten, no one had room for dessert. Charlie had gone into his room, and Bill into his. The girls had sat down in theirs after helping clean up. They kept talking about the visits away from home.

“Europe was amazing, so many different cultures. Such beautiful architecture. I brought so many new crystals and learnt so much more over there than I ever would have over here.”

“Sound’s amazing Missy. Are you going back?”

No, I don't think so. I have an art placement at the museum, working on restoring old paintings.”

“Are you staying in Maryland?”

“Actually I have been thinking of getting a flat in Washington and that way it means less commute.”

“Congratulations.”

She was happy for Missy, she would be able to call whenever she wanted and always have her to fall back on if she ever got in trouble. Which she could not have done if she was still in Europe.

“Enough about me. How’s School?”  

“School’s fine I'm doing well, making good friends, the usual.” She shrugged, her shoulders trying to deflect the conversation away from her. Missy was having none of it.

“You meet any cute guys?”

“No.”

Scully was a little too quick with her reply.

“Ok good. Well, then I’m going to go ahead and set you up on that date.”

“Wait, what date?”

“Just a date with a guy I knew from high school.”

“No Missy, please don’t,” she pleaded with her sister.

“Why? Have you got some hot date waiting for you back at school?”

Missy was teasing her and she knew it but she still squirmed under her sister scrutiny and she could also tell Missy was enjoying every minute of it.

“No!”

Missy picked up her mobile, and mock dialled a number.

“Ok, I have someone,” Scully finally admitted.

“Go on.”

“Well, he is older than me, he’s in my Psych class. He has kind hazel eyes, mousey brown hair. A body to die for.” She trailed off and smiled thinking about Mulder.  

“Well, well, well. It sounds like you are quite acquainted with this person’s anatomy by the glint in your eyes and that big old cheesy grin you have.”

Scully turned bright red in front of her sister and she knew she was gone.

“What’s his name?”

“I’m not saying,” Scully didn’t want to break the contract by revealing her relationship with Mulder.

“You love him,” Missy stated.

“I do not.”

She was sharp and fast with the reaction to her sister’s statement. But the truth was she didn’t know what she was feeling for him. She knew there was an attraction but not how far her feelings ran.

“It would be breaking the rules anyway, no attachments and that way we can both walk away.”

“If you say so, Dana. But I can tell these things and I’m certain he feels the same way.”

“Shut up Missy, you know I don’t believe in that new age shit.”

“Oh Dana, that language. Does Daddy know you talk that way?”

“Who do you think I learnt it from?”

They both fell into a fit of giggles and laughs, Mellissa dropping the subject for now. Until the time felt right to bring it up again.

*********************************************

Samantha had arrived in the wee hours of the morning. Mulder had picked her up not trusting the cab drivers that early in the morning with his baby sister. He let her sleep most of the day while he graded papers and daydreamed about a certain redhead. He was so lost in thought that he didn’t notice his sister walk in the room.

“Fox, who’s got you all dreamy eyed?”

“Humm, no one.”

He placed the last assignment in front of him. Turning to look at his sister in her ¾ trousers and vest top, hair in two braids. He smiled and watched her walk through to the kitchen turning on the coffee machine leaning against the side. She turned around to look at him.

“I know you’re lying big brother, wait till I have had some coffee. Once I wake up and we’re going to discuss this.”

“Nothing to discuss Sam.”

She threw him a look that said everything that needed to be said and he reluctantly knew he was going to have to talk to her about Scully.

Sam made her coffee and sat down opposite Mulder on the sofa. She took a few sips: he could tell she instantly felt better.

“So, Fox, I see you broke the biggest rule.”

“No, I haven’t.”

“You’re going for plausible deniability, interesting.” She sat back on her seat, crossing her legs in front of her, nursing her still steaming cup of coffee. She was smirking at him.

“Sam, I haven’t broken any rule,” he said slightly aggravated now.

“Who is she? I know you can’t tell me her name because that would make two rules on broken.”

He couldn’t help but notice the slight comment but decided to ignore it for now.

“She has fiery red hair and the most beautiful blue eyes. The kind you get lost in. She’s sweet, kind, passionate about her studies and loves to challenge me.”

“So she is the perfect woman for you,” she said mockingly.

“I didn’t say that.”

“You didn’t have to.”  She drank the last sip of her coffee, placing the empty mug on the coffee table.

“I love you, Sam, but you’re reading too much into this. Yes, she is a good student and a wonderful woman, but that’s as far as it goes”

“We shall see, won’t we?” She picked up her cup and proceeded to the kitchen, leaving him to his thoughts.

Did his feelings run deeper than he wanted to admit to himself? Did he see himself spending a future with Scully? But Sam was right: that was breaking the most precious rule he had set out. Never fall in love with the person you’re sleeping with. Never let your guard down. He was brought out of his thoughts when he heard Sam talk to him.

“You order the pizza and I will put on Silence of the lambs.”

****************************************

Thanksgiving was a good experience on both parts. They each enjoyed spending time with family. Melissa didn’t bring up the guy situation again. And Sam didn’t bring up the situation of Mulder falling for his student.

They had been back in School for about a week now. They hadn’t really had time to speak to each other. They said their quick hello’s in the gym each morning. He was busy with his lectures and she was busy making sure she had all of her assignments in and to a good standard.

He had found time on Friday’s lunch break to send her an email.

From: FWMulder@Hotmail.co.uk

To: DanaKScully@Hotmail.co.uk

Subject: Your Assignment.

Dear Scully, I would like to meet you in my office at 6.30pm to discuss the assignment that is due next week.

Yours Faithfully, Mulder.

Scully was at lunch when she received the email. Serah had just finished her club sandwich, and she was twirling her salad around with a fork. She read the email and her face lit up. She had missed him a little more than she liked to admit but this would probably be the last time they would meet up before they all went on winter break.

She wanted to tell him about her sister’s notorious idea of trying to get her on a date. They talked about Mellissa in the past and how she was the wild and free one and Scully herself was the shy one. Mulder had simply disagreed saying she was very wild in a certain department just remembering that statement made her blush all over again.

“Oh, loverboy messaging you again?” Serah said teasingly

“No, why would you say that?”

“You just get a look on your face that screams ‘I’m having great sex’”

“I do not.” Scully pushed herself away from the table crossing her arms around her chest.

“Yeah, you do.” There was a short pause and Serah turned to her friend and studied her. Dana’s body was tense: she definitely wasn’t amused and in complete denial. “Ok if you do not have any feeling more than just a casual sex relationship you should come to the party tonight. I’m betting there’re lots of young impressionable men and women that you could take advantage off.”

“You know I don’t swing that way,” Scully sharply replied.

“Whatever floats your boat, Dana. Are you coming or not?” she asked a little impatiently.  

“Humph, we will see.”

“Will you text me when you have decided either way?”

“I will do, promise. Now we really should be heading to class,”  she started putting her things in her bag and stood up.

“Sometimes Dana you can be a right stick in the mud” Serah also stood up and got pushed in the shoulder for the remark. “Ow.”

“Oh, poor baby” Scully replied sarcastically even putting on a mock pouty face.

“Shut up” she teasingly said back in the same manner.  

They both broke up into a fit of laughs and giggles walking back to the classes for the day.

//

Mulder had been pacing his office for the last hour. He was nervous; he knew he shouldn’t be, but there was that little nagging feeling that he had in the back of his mind ever since Thanksgiving when Sam pointed out certain things to him. There was soon a femine knock on the door. He turned on his heels and looked up at the clock. There was only one person that could be knocking at the door this time of day but the shadow of the woman was too tall to be Scully.

He walked up to his office door and opened it to find Vice Principal Fowley at his door.

“Good Evening Vice Principal Fowley. What can I do for you this evening?” He said with a sarcastic cheer.  

She walked into his office barging past him.

“Come straight in, why don’t you?” He muttered under his breath.  

“Fox, what are you doing this evening?” Mulder opened his mouth but before he could even get a word out she spoke again. “It doesn't matter, I want to take you to dinner since you’ll free.”

“Well, actually... Diana, I am not free, I have a student coming around. She needs help with her last assignment.”

She leaned close to him, his back flush with the door frame. Her fingers started walking seductively up his chest while whispering in his ear “But Fox I remember how much fun we used to have at dinner and after it.”  It physically made his skin crawl under her touch.

He placed his hand on her upper arms pushing her back slightly and looking her in the eye.

“Maybe once Diana, but that was a long time ago, and never again.”

He was still standing with his back against the door when he heard a woman’s cough from behind him. He turned seeing Scully standing there, her big blue eyes staring at him. God, she looked beautiful, her hair in two low pigtails, her face free of makeup, wearing jean shorts and a black tank top. He licked his lips feeling his heart hammer against his chest.  

“Miss Scully, do come in. Vice Principle Fowley was just leaving.”

Mulder watched Diana take a glance at Scully and her face soured like she had sucked a lemon. Scully smiled at Diana and walked into his office and if he didn’t know any better she put a little extra wiggle in her hips.

“Maybe another time Fox, good evening Miss Scully.”

Diana walked out of the office and out of sight. He instantly breathed a sigh of relief shutting the door behind him giving his full attention to the beautiful fiery redhead standing in his office.  

“So, professor, you have been busy”

He looked at her and her face was blank. They stared at each other and he watched her lips curl up at the corners and a full grin broke and a very girly laugh filled the room.

“Sit down Scully tell me how seeing your family went.”

They walked through to his private office and she sat on the sofa. He watched her, and couldn’t help staring at her ass, licking his lips again as those shorts left little to the imagination. He sat down next to her, his jeans touching the bare skin of her knees. Her hand resting on his leg just above where their knees touched.

“Thanksgiving was nice, Missy was back from Europe and she told me her stories about how exotic the men were there.”

He started kissing her neck, biting, nipping, licking up and down from her ear to the clavicle. His hand moved underneath the hem of her tank top making slow circles with his fingers.

“There’s a funny story, actually, do you want to hear it?”

He stopped kissing her neck and answered in a hoarse whisper.

“Yes”

He moved his hand up her stomach making small horizontal lines underneath her breast feeling her heartbeat underneath his hand. Her breathing was fast and small droplets of sweat were forming on her brow.

"Well while I was down visiting my family, Missy….. Oh, God."

He lifted up her top, so it was now sitting just over her breasts. He took a nipple within his mouth biting down hard, making her back arch away from the sofa and more into him. He greedily took more breast into his mouth and sucked vigorously.

He moved his hand down her stomach and underneath both her jeans and underwear finding her soaking wet for him. He glided his fingers through her wet folds before finding her clit. He played with it and gently flicked it with his fingers before making small circles in it. His mouth started working on her other breast giving it the same attention.

"She tried to set me up on a date," she blurted out.

Upon hearing this something clicked inside him. He couldn't place the sudden feeling within him but there was one emotion overruling them all. He felt anger towards her for the first time since they had met, the prospect of her going out and having sex with someone else made him angry.

He was brought back to reality when he heard Scully moan his name. With his mouth still on her breast his fingers still on her clit he wanted to cum and make her cum hard. He thrashed his fingers in her clit and bit down as hard as he could without drawing blood. He soon felt her body convulse and twitch under him. He smirked in satisfaction and removed his fingers and went and sat back on the chair across from her.

He sat there and watched her come out of the post orgasmic bliss and her realisation that he was sitting across from her. His anger bubbling inside of him.

"Did you agree on the date?" He said with a venomous sneer.

"No, why would I?" He watched the look of confusion come across her face.

"You're a beautiful young woman," he said it more as a statement than an answer.

"That may be true, but I didn't want to."

"Why? It's not like the contract says you can't sleep with anyone else."

"Wait, who said I was sleeping with anyone? It was just a date," she spat back angrily, she placed her top back where it was meant to be and stood up.

"Well you sleep with me, don't you? So I wouldn't be  surprised that a 'date' would turn into sex?" He was fuming with anger now. If there could be steam coming out of his ear there would be.

"Fuck you Mulder! I have no idea what has gotten into you but I am not your personal punching bag."

"We have done that several times."

"Maybe you should go sleep with Diana. Every student knows how well that went down." She walked out of his office and slammed the door behind her leaving him still seated staring at the door.

//

She walked down the hall ready to punch and scream at anything that got in her way. Why had he treated her like that after just giving her one of the best orgasms of her life? She hated him so much right now. She got her mobile out of her bag and punched number two on her speed dial.

"Hello?"

"Serah, are you still going to the party?"

"Yes, why?"

"Is the offer still open?"

"Of course! Does that mean you going?" Scully heard the change in her friend's voice; she went from sounding bored too very excited in 30 seconds flat.

"Yes. When are you leaving?"

"I was going to leave in 30 minutes, but now I need to help you with an outfit and makeup and hair."

"Thank you, I will be there in about ten."

"See ya then!"

Scully heard the dial tone and put the phone back in her bag. She was kind of glad Serah didn't ask about Mulder. She didn't want to get into it right now with anyone. She wanted to get drunk and forget about it.

1 Hour and 30 minutes later

Frat house

9.30pm

Serah and Scully were walking up towards the frat house with its disco light shining out of the windows illuminating the dark sky. The music could be heard from a mile away, and the vibrations could be felt while getting closer. They stood outside with drunk couples kissing and fornicating on the front punch. There were even a few people already passed out drunk sleeping on the grass.

Scully was wearing a slimline short lace dress with a sweetheart neckline. It wasn’t the dress she was comfortable in, and it was certainly not a dress she would ever buy. But as Serah pointed out, she wouldn’t care as soon as the alcohol kicked in, and she was right. She also pointed out that this dress would catch anyone's eye whether they were male or female.  She wore black stiletto heels making her seem a little bit taller and her slim legs longer. Her hair was wavy curling framing her face, her make up smooth with a smokey eye, and a deep red lipstick making her cheekbones and smile define her face.

Serah was wearing a spaghetti strapped crop corset with high waisted black leather look trouser with simple strappy heels. Sometimes she wished she had Serah’s confidence. But tonight wasn’t about sad thoughts it was about forgetting them entirely.

They walked arm in arm passed the people fornicating, passed the people asleep into the house in search for drinks to knock them senseless.

A few hours later

Scully was sitting on a brick wall, her heels next to her. Her feet freely swinging in the air. She was staring into the dark sky, watching the darkness floating, disappearing, swirling around the twinkling of the city lights. Her body was buzzing from all the alcohol consumed. She was lost in thought when she felt a warm feminine shoulder touch her shoulder and glide across her shoulder blade. She turned to see Serah sitting down next to her in someone's jacket.

“What are you staring at?”

“Nothing, just thinking.”

“No thinking tonight, you promised,” Serah pouted lightly pushing Scully’s shoulder.

“I know. Jesus, Serah, how many have you had?”

Serah swayed slightly before answering “Oh I lost count after the third or fourth shot,”  she placed her hand on top of Scully’s. “Why did you decide to come?”

“Mulder acting like he doesn't give a shit about anything or anyone. And best of all, he had the Vice principal with him.”

“He didn’t! That bastard...”

“Oh god, I’m too drunk to even think about this right now.”

Scully was momentarily taken back when Serah placed her lips against her own. Soft and succulent, so completely different than kissing a man. But this wasn’t right; this was her friend, her best friend. She is a woman, I don’t have feelings for her, do I? It’s just the booze. Isn’t it? She pulled back.

“Shit, Dana, I’m sorry.”

“I... I... can’t do this.”

“Dana!”

But she didn't listen to the rest of what Serah was saying, she picked up her shoes and went back inside.

Why is today going so wrong? First, it was Mulder, now it is Serah. Fuck this shit! I need a shot or two.

With many more shots consumed it was the early hours of the morning, around 3 o’clock, with what she could work out. Many of the party goes had passed out drunk or gone home. She wanted to go to her room but she didn’t want to see Serah. She started walking not knowing her destination.

This was all Mulder’s fault. She would have never got angry, got drunk, kissed Serah, fell out with her best friend, drank more, got hit on a couple more men...

She pulled out her mobile and started going through her contacts searching for professor Mulder’s name in her phone book. It’s a bad idea but I don’t care. I need to tell him how I feel. She punched dial and put the phone up to her ear listening to the ringing and eventually Mulder’s voice at the other end of the line.

"Hello."

"Prrrofessssoorr Mulderr," she noticed her Ss and Rs rolling, she couldn't help it.

"Scully?"

"No, it'sss your sssex ssslave." She tried to sound seductive but it wasn't working.

"Scully?"

"It'sss all your fault, Mulderrr."  She pouted, as if he could see her. She felt her legs starting to get sore, maybe even already sore. She wasn't really sure anymore. She sat down on the floor, cold and bumpy "If I didn't have feelingsss for you, thisss would neverrr have happened, and I would be getting laid rrright now"

"Scully are you drunk? Are you ok? Where are you?" He sounded aggravated now. Good, now we're getting somewhere.

"Ssshut up Mulderrr, was Diana good company? Or yet, even better, was your hand?" She let out giggle she couldn't help it.

"Scully where are you?" He still sounded angry.

"I'm sitting down, where are you?" She noticed herself starting to sober a little.

"I'm at home. Now, Dana where are you?" Now there was confusion in his voice.

"I'm on Frat Street at the end. I think."

"Stay there, I'm coming to get you."

She didn't even get a reply as she heard the dial tone.

//

Mulder hung up the phone and drove 5-10 minutes to find Scully standing up, holding her heels in one hand, with a frat boy hunting off her hip.

What was she thinking? Getting drunk flaunting herself. Damn it if I will let her get herself into any trouble. He sat for a couple of seconds as the man’s hand went up her dress and lent in to kiss her. She pulled away but he pulled her back.

He stepped out of the car. Making his presence known by fake coughing. Now he was closer he could tell it was a Med student he knew, as Daniel Waterston.

"Miss Scully, are you ok?" he said sternly.

"No, Professor Mulder, but Daniel was just leaving..." her voice wavered.

"Yes, I was just leaving..." and he snuck back into the shadows like a mole burning its way to the earth.

"Dana," he walked up to her.

"I think I'm gonna—"

And she fell and he caught her. He moved her into a better position. She barely weighed anything in his arms. He placed her laying across the back seat of his car making sure she was safe and secure before moving back to the pavement picking up her shoes and placing them in the passenger side of the car next to him. He sat in the driver’s side contemplating where to take her. He soon made the decision and drove her to his apartment.

******************************

Quick note;

 there is a scene in this chapter where Scully and Serah could get it on. Would you like to see this as an alternate scene? or maybe even a future chapter? or not at all? please let me know in the comments. I will also be posting a poll on twitter.

Thank you for Reading I appreciate your feedback good or bad.