#Had this concept scribbled down on lined paper for awhile

[thedailyvio]

Day 11 & 12

WIP Below:

[tojitiddies]

✰ TEACH

pairing ⋆ toji fushiguro x fem!reader

synopsis ⋆ in all your years of teaching you’ve never encountered a parent like toji.

warnings ⋆ vaginal sex, oral sex, creampie, dacryphilia if you squint, dumbification

ꔵ the first time you ever saw toji fushiguro was around second month of school, when megumi had began acting up in class. you knew megumi to be a spoiled rich kid, as he was always being dropped off and picked up in sleek black cars with tinted windows, along with his older sister tsumiki. sometimes you’d catch a glimpse of the driver if megumi ever needed assistance getting his bag out the car, but that was the only semblance of adult supervision you’d seen megumi receive outside of school faculty.

megumi was always dressed crisply and his meals efficiently packed. he really didn’t seem to understand the concept of sharing or caring and relied on his tiny fists to solve conflicts. this was all a stark contrast to his sister tsumiki, seeing as his older sister’s teachers only sang her praises. truly you had tried to get through to the seven year old, but out of all the trouble makers you’d ever taught, megumi really liked to work your nerves.

which brought you here, at a parent-teacher conference with megumi’s father, toji fushiguro. his large figure looked comical as he sat in one of the small plastic, colored chairs, usually inhabited by first graders of course. he wore a plain black t-shirt and white slacks. he also had a black blazer that he he had draped over the side of his chair. the side of his lips was decorated with a menacingly large scar that twitched occasionally as he listened to you speak.

“... all i want is for megumi to have a good time here in first grade. i know he and his sister are new so making an adjustment may be difficult, but i’d like to make the transition for young megumi as smooth as possible.” you finished as you fiddled with your fingers.

toji shifted in his chair with a slight grunt. “mrs. ____ is it?” he asked. you shook your head.

“just miss actually.” you corrected him shyly. his entire demeanor was so intimidating you didn’t want to insult him. you almost miss the mischievous glint in his eye as you lift your eyes to face him again.

“i understand your concerns with my son. i had no idea what a little shit he was being. especially to such a beautiful young woman as yourself.” his tone is suggestive, contradicting the polite smile adorning his lips.

you smiled uncomfortably. “thank you, but i would never think of your son as...a little shit. i’m sure he has a sweet side somewhere. which is why, i thought maybe megumi could benefit from some sort of counseling?” you suggested, pushing forward a slip of paper. toji leaned forward taking the document from the desk and began to read over it, his brow quirking up in interest. “alongside being a first grade teacher i also serve as a counselor here at the elementary school.” you began to explain. “although i’ve never counseled a student of my own in fear of bias, i think it would be wise if megumi had someone whom he was acquainted with.”

toji set the slip back down and set his gaze on you. you squeezed your thighs together as he fixed you with his stare. he really was intensely attractive. “hm, how unfair is it that my son gets more alone time with you than i do?” this time he smirked. so it wasn’t your imagination, he was flirting with you.

“mr. fushiguro?”

“i’m only teasing teach.” he chuckled. “i agree. i think we could all benefit from megumi’s counseling,” he folded his arms over his broad chest, his muscles flexing beneath his shirt. “so when does he start?” your eyes zoned in on toji’s biceps before blinking back up at him he pretended not notice you ogling him. “ah well...next wednesday perhaps? all i need is for you to sign the slip.” you said sliding him a pen from your desk.

your fingers brushed against his as he took the pen. you tried to ignore it, knowing he was probably only try to get a rise out of you. he began to scribble his signature, once he finished he stood up from his seat and you followed suit. “thank you mrs. ____ for contacting me.” he said, holding out his hand for you to shake.

you took it, letting his large hands envelope yours. “ah...again it’s just ms. ____. i’m not married.” you corrected him again with a lighthearted laugh. toji smirked at that before he leant in towards you. startled, you froze, afraid he might kiss you, until you realized he was only leaning towards your ear. “we’ll be in touch then, ms. ____.” he spoke in a lower tone. you were left standing there completely dumbstruck as he retrieved his blazer and threw it over his shoulder.

“yes...” you murmured quietly in response as he left you alone in the classroom.

ꔵ three months into counseling with megumi you had begun to see progress. his angered outbursts only came in waves and he had stopped using his hands and started using his words. his attitude toward you had also warmed up and he had even began giving you hugs. you were happy all the exercises you’d been working on with him were finally starting to pay off.

the only big issue? his father.

every time you spoke to him there was always a flirty or suggestive undertone. he never crossed the line but he would constantly get close to doing so. there was one counseling session a couple weeks ago when he came to pick up megumi (something he had suspiciously started doing ever since your counseling had started). you were both standing outside the door of the classroom, with megumi inside coloring, as you briefed toji on his counseling session.

“so he’s doing well then, i’m glad. but how are you doing teach? i know dealing with these little brats all day can’t be good on your stress.” he said, resting his hand on your forearm. you glanced down at his thumb caressing your skin before laughing nervously, brushing his hand down. “ah...really i’m alright mr. fushi - “

“i’ve told you to call me toji.” he interrupted, his voice dropping to that low tone once again.

you cleared your throat, trying to settle the butterflies that formed in your stomach. “thank you toji. but really i don’t mind it. i’ve been doing this for almost eight years now..” you tried your best not to let your voice waver under this suggestive tension.

toji stepped forward, the space between the both of you becoming almost non existent as your breasts came in contact with his chest. “well just know teach...” he murmured, lifting his fingers to your chin, “if you ever need any stress relief - “

“papa!”

you jumped back from toji like a frightened feline, while toji stood in place clearly unfazed by his child’s sudden presence. you’d been so focused on trying not to jump toji’s bones right then and there, you hadn’t even noticed megumi open the classroom door. “can we go home now? i’m hungry.” he whined, brandishing a cute pout on his face.

you couldn’t help but smile at the cute kid. toji bent down and picked him up, resting him on his hip. “hungry huh? well you can eat this knuckle sandwich for interrupting ms. ____ and i.” he teased, playfully twisting his fist into megumi’s face. megumi giggled slapping away his large hand before turning to look at you. “sorry ms. ____.” he apologized sweetly. yet another skill he’d learned from his counseling sessions.

you grinned and leaned forward to pinch his cheek. “don’t worry about it lovebug! it wasn’t that important anyway.” you chirped, glancing over at toji to see his lips twitch into a frown. you held back a giggle at how identical his pout was to little megumi’s. you leaned into the classroom to take megumi’s backpack off the hook, which toji took and swung over his free arm.

“say goodbye to ms. ____, megumi.” toji instructed. megumi raise his arm to wave, which you met with a small high five instead. “i’ll see you in the morning megumi!” you cheered. toji glanced back at you briefly. “don’t forget about my offer ms. ___.” he said with a wink, before turning back around and walking off with his son.

once he and megumi were out if sight you fell back against the classroom door with a whine. toji fushiguro would truly be the end of you.

ꔵ the afternoon sun shone through your window as you finished up the last of your student reports. as you began to pack up, you heard a knock at your classroom door. “come in!” you called out, not bothering to look up from your work.

you sighed as you gave up on organization and just began to sweep the papers into a folder, but before you could finish, a large hand fell on top of yours. you let out a yelp, looking up to find toji fushiguro smirking down at you. he looked as though he’d come straight from work, blessing you with a tight button down shirt and black slacks. god, he was a work of art.

“afternoon teach.” he greeted you.

“mr. fushiguro what a surprise. what are you doing here? megumi’s gone home already hasn’t he?” you asked, trying to keep calm as a million more thoughts raced through your mind.

“ah, that’s right. he’s long gone. ‘s just you and me.” he said as he fixed you with his strong gaze, his hand closing around yours. “i came because i wanted to thank you. i haven’t seen megumi like this in awhile. i know this was mostly a school thing, but he’s been less of a little shit at home too,” he informed you, his thumb slowly caressing your hand.

you were becoming putty under his touch. “yes...i’m glad gumi’s doing do well at home too. all i want is the best for him.” you answered, stumbling over your words a bit. toji brought your hand up to his lips kissing your knuckles. “mhm...so i was wondering if you’d thought about my offer?” he asked, looking back at you through those lustful eyes.

“mr. fushiguro - “

“toji.”

“t-toji...i’m delighted you would pay me a visit simply to thank me, but it really isn’t necessary.” you could feel his aura start to envelope you, the tension between you two thickening with lust. the most he’d done was kiss your knuckles and already you were trying to keep from rubbing your thighs together.

still holding firmly onto your hand, toji began to walk around your desk. “ms. ____, i insist you let me properly thank you because i feel you’re deserving of it. do you not?” he murmured, gingerly pulling you up out of your seat, guiding your hand towards his chest. your fingers instinctively hooked around the fabric where he’d left his shirt unbuttoned. his other arm snaked its way around your waist.

“toji...we shouldn’t. this is highly unprofessional, i could get fired. and what about megumi?” you rambled, trying to keep your composure. toji leaned down and began to press sweet wet kisses down your neck. you sighed out, letting your hand fan out across his chest.

“megumi will be fine teach. no one has to know anything as long as you can keep a secret. now let me take care of you.” he whispered, licking a stripe up your neck. his knee came to situate between your thighs, you wasted no time grinding against him. a soft moan escaped your lips as you let your head fall back against your shoulders.

“kiss me...please?” you mumured, hooking your arm around his neck. toji’s scar twitched as his lips formed a smirk. he lifted his head, grazing your lips against his before pressing forward. the kiss was rough and sensual, both of you devouring each other in a clash of lips and tongue. you moaned into his mouth, continuing to grind against his thigh. when your lips finally separated, a string of saliva connected you before dripping down onto your blouse.

“enjoying my thigh teach?” he taunted, flexing his thigh muscles and causing you to let out a breathy moan again. “y-you’re teasing me.” you whined desperately trying to grind your clothed clit against his thigh muscles. the hand on your waist slid down taking your thigh and pinning it to his waist, granting you better access. “so needy for me hm?” he murmured into your ear, taking your lobe between his teeth. “tell me what you want baby.”

your hand fisted his collar as you desperately ground yourself against him. “please fuck me toji. i can’t take your constant teasing anymore.” you whimpered, nuzzling into his shoulder. toji chuckled at that before reaching behind you, clearing your desk in one fell swoop. papers and files fluttered to the ground as he lifted you up on top of your desk, spreading your legs.

you both hastily begin unbuttoning your shirts, one of your buttons popping off in the frenzy. toji chuckles as he lowers himself to his knees, his chest muscles rippling as he moves. “i can’t believe you have the nerve to walk around in a tight little skirt like this.” he laughs wickedly, sliding up your pencil skirt until it bunches up at your waist. you feel your cheeks heat up with embarrassment as the wet spot in your panties becomes noticeable. toji slides his finger up your covered folds, the slick coating his finger prints. “how lovely.” he purrs to himself.

“please...” you whine breathily, scooting forward hoping he’d take the hint. he chuckles darkly blowing against your clothed clit before pulling aside your underwear to marvel at your dripping cunt. “look at that.” he marvels before letting his tongue dip between your folds. you let out a choked moan. it had been so long since you’d been touched this way by someone other than yourself, it felt like heaven. he paused only to hook his fingers around your panties and discard them who knows where.

just as quick as he was gone, he’s back to hungrily bury his tongue in your cunt, switching between prodding your hole with his tongue and sucking your clit. your fingers fisted his raven hair, as you loudly praised his skill through moans and chants. the wet sounds of him slurping and licking up your arousal egged you on to grind against his mouth. waves of arousal just keep coming, whatever his tongue couldn’t catch dripping onto the desk.

your thighs threatened to close around his head as you felt yourself coming close to climaxing. “fuck stop! toji i’m gonna cum,” you whine out, weakly trying to push his head away. you hear him hum in amusement as he instead, moves his hands up to spread your thighs back further. his tongue works your hole, slowly spreading it wider before he’s able to curl his tongue inside. you let out a loud cry, your hips jerking and bucking as you’re overwhelmed with pleasure. your vision spots as you cum all over his tongue, your thighs threatening to snap around his head but his hands keep you in place.

toji finishes licking up the rest of your arousal before rising up from between your legs, towering over your trembling figure. one hand comes up to your chin, roughly tilting your head up to look directly at him. “open,” he commands, to which you obey immediately. your tongue rolls out lewdly as he spits your arousal down your throat. “good girl,” he purrs. “now turn around, i’m about to fuck the living daylights out of you.”

eagerly you turn around on your stomach, thankful for the desk supporting your torso as your sure your wobbly legs would not be able to. you hear toji unbuckling behind you as your spread your legs slightly, swaying your hips hoping to entice him to move a bit faster. toji’s hands come to spread over the globe of your ass cheeks, kneading them in his palms.

“you’re so fucking sexy. i’m sure you already know ever since we’ve met this ass has been all i ever think about.” he chuckled, letting his hardened cock slide back and forth between your folds. you let out a whine moving your hips back against him. “i want you to fill me up so badly, please hurry.” your croak out, your voice hoarse from your previous climax. toji brings down his hand against your ass harshly, receiving a yelp in response. “and who you do you think you are ordering me, huh teach? i’m not one of your little first graders baby,” he grunts, spreading your ass cheeks again, letting the tip of his cock tease your aching hole.

“beg for it.” he taunts in a sing-song tone, sliding his cock up and down and against your cunt. your let out a small puff of air as you turn your head back to look at him with your pleading eyes. “please toji...please stuff me full. i haven’t been fucked in so long i wanna be filled up please.” you whimpered, your hips stuttering against his cock, now lubed up with all the juices he’d collected. your begging seemed to please toji, his scar twitching as his lips formed a smug smirk. “good girl.”

toji slammed his cock inside you, no regard for easing you on to his length whatsoever. tears pricked your eyes at the sharp pain, your insides spasming around him. “shit, you feel like a fucking virgin squeezing me so tight. you weren’t kidding about not being fucked in so long, hm?” he chuckled. you didn’t get the chance to respond as he was already pulling out to slam back in. it hurt so good, the pain and the pleasure of being stretched around his girth. he continued to thrust harshly inside your cunt only receiving broken moans and strings of curses from your lips.

his hand came to your hair, his fingers roughly grabbing your head back. your arousal began to return once more, dripping down his cock and making the most obscene squelching and sucking noises. “such a naughty teacher, letting a parent fuck her right in the classroom, huh?” toji’s gruff voice came from behind you. you whined, one of your hands reaching behind you to spread your ass cheeks to grabt him more access. “feels so fucking good, fuck me harder, please.” you manage to say through clenched teeth. “harder baby? you got it.”

before you can even think to react, his arms come to circle around your thighs, lifting you up against his chest. you let out a small cry, your arm instinctively circling around his neck for upper support. toji holds you up, legs spread over his cock. the cool air of the classroom hits your clit causing you whine out in frustration. toji chuckles. “impatient, are we teach?” he murmurs before ramming his hips up into you, his cock sliding back in immediately. “fuck!” you blurt out in surprise.

this new position had him hitting you in places no one had ever discovered and your tits bouncing up and down with fervor. your cunt fluttered, hearing his grunts so much closer to your ear. your lips fall slack, your tongue rolling out ever so slightly as he fucks you dumb. everything just feels so fucking good. “fuck keep squeezing around me just like that teach, i’m gonna cum.” he growls into your ear “fuck...stuff me full of your cum t-toji,” you sob, feeling yourself come closer to your second climax as well.

you bring your free hand down to your clit, rubbing it slow in contrast his quick thrusting. you wanted to savor this feeling. “god, keep touching yourself just like that baby,” he moans, swiveling his head to sink his teeth into to your shoulder. everything seems to slow, the pleasurable drag of his hardened cock against your walls, him hitting your spot just right, the way you sucked him back in as he pulled out...

“toji i’m - “ you can’t even finish before a wave of pleasure knocks over you, your vision spotting once again as he brings you to your climax for a second time. toji continues to fuck into you faster chasing his own high before you feel the spurts of thick cum filling your insides. you’re barely able to think, your fucked out daze taking over. you barely notice him move you off his softening length to set you down. you immediately grab ahold of him, your legs unable to support you at the time. you can feel his cum and your arousal begin to trickle out from your cunt, earning a satisfied whine from your lips. toji laughs softly, leaning down to press a kiss against your forehead. “i haven’t had a good fuck like that in awhile. you were better than i imagined, taking me like that.” he spoke, his voice sounding muffled to you as your daze still hadn’t worn off. you hum softly nuzzling into his warm chest.

toji bites his lip as he looks down at you, you’re just so fucking cute clinging to him that way. he lifts you up on to the desk, carefully dressing you back up. he can’t find your panties so he just pulls you skirt back down from where it had gathered at your waist. he tucks your breasts back into your bra and picks up your blouse from the floor. he smirks at the missing button, doing what he can to close your blouse back up.

you smile gently, watching toji perform his aftercare. this must be the fatherly side of him you rarely get to see. after he’s finished dressing you both back up, he sets his gaze back on you. “so, i’ll see you next wednesday ms. ____?” he asks, settling back into his usual smug demeanor. you scoff before muttering out a small confirmation. he grins that smug toji grin. “perfect then. i’ll be sure to tell megumi you said hello.” he walks out shutting the door behind him, his heavy footsteps echoing down the hall.

authors note ⋆ hi! this is my first time ever writing and posting something here on tumblr <3 i really hope this wasn’t too bad this took me like three days to write and i deleted and added a bunch of stuff so i hope it isn’t too wacky. thank you for reading!

[bumbershots]

A CERTAIN ROMANCE

CHAPTER THREE: WHO ARE YOU?

Author’s note: Hello! Once more I would like to thank you all for the love this story’s been getting, it truly blows my mind. I am also looking for a beta reader so if anyone out there is interested let me know! (: Let’s pick up right where we left off...

Story masterlist ** Word count: 2.3K **

Two souls don't find each other by simple accident, Harry thought after taking a seat for the first time that night, his feet were probably going to be swollen tomorrow, they were killing him already. But he wasn't keen on turning down a dance from the girl collapsing in the settee right next to him. A slow Amy Winehouse song was their cue to rest.

"Do you want a beer?" Her voice sounded a bit hoarse, probably from all the giggling and singing she did while dancing the night away.

"Yes please."

He watched her trot to the small bar on the other side of the flat, focused on how the multiple bracelets bounced in her left wrist as she instructed her brother which beer to give her. As she came back to take her previous seat, he felt a small wave of anxiety for wanting nothing more than to start a conversation with her, as she handed him the beer. Usually it was the other way around, but in most of the cases, people wanted to know his persona.

He knew the silence was becoming awkward, but he was still debating whether to ask about her upbringing or what she did for work, whatever the case was, he didn't want to make a fool out of himself, he almost never seemed to be that lucky.

"You're not used to people being calm around you, are you?" Alma’s frown os curiosity is a mirror to the one on the musician's face.

"Yes and no?" Harry's coy tone makes her smile warmly and shake her head in denial, "so, I'm Hampstead station guy?" Her eyes widen, a shy smile appears on her full lips before she takes another large sip of her drink.

"It's unlikely to find the same person thrice in the tube! I told my friend Laura, it felt like a glitch in the matrix." She answers and he lets out an amused laugh.

"For the record, I wasn't following you, at all..."

"I know, you just had to take the same line I did and it was a happy coincidence," she interrupts him, the new song gathers a few more dancers and Harry wonders if she will ask him to dance again, "although it would've made a great anecdote for my YouTube channel; story time, a famous musician follows me around the city possibly plotting my painful death." She joked as she gingerly flashed her hands before the two of them, as if presenting the latest play from the West End.

It was Harry's eyes turn to be wide and smack his hand into his forehead.

"You have a YouTube channel?" His interest was genuine and Alma made herself more comfortable on the sofa, before proceeding to fill him in about what that was about, just videos about her 'sort of interviewing remarkable people' or so she claimed.

It was something that started as a class project back when she was seventeen, trying to get good grades to win a scholarship and study abroad —none of those things happened. She kept doing it afterwards because it was too much fun, once she interviewed all her friends, she moved onto her family. "Believe me when I tell you, that I have more relatives than I should!" With a smile as big as hers, he sighed before breathing 'lucky' as his heart sped and she continued.

Restaurant owners, chefs, firefighters, barristers, doctors, accountants, waitresses, sexual workers, sex shop employees, bankers, homeless people, hairdressers and apparently every person from her home country had been on the informal interview series. Harry was impressed with the whole concept and her.

"I sort of abandoned it a little when I moved here last year, it was crazy busy the first couple of months and the whole bureaucracy... and I was a little homesick to be honest." For the first time in the night, her voice is thinner, he has to lean in a few inches to hear better, "I miss my parents, my cousins, my aunt, my grandparents. But this is something I've wanted for the longest time you know?" Her eyes bore into his, allowing him to see the vulnerability swimming in them, "I've never felt like an outsider here, never got lost in the tube, took the wrong bus or anything like that. Isn't it weird?" Harry smiled at the sentiment, thoughts of his latest trip to Japan flashing before him.

"No, I think it's marvellous that you feel that way." He cannot be real, is the only thing running through her mind like a restless hamster in its wheel.

Harry and Alma talked about everything they didn’t have in common, despite the brief interruptions to do some shots and drink champagne with the birthday boy. Their families were discussed, their favourite things to do in the summer. Alma even asked him how was work going, as if she didn’t know that he was one of th world’s most successful artists. Harry was thrilled to joke through their drinks and the girl wasn't shy to ask him for a couple more dances. None of them noticed the partying dying around them, it was only after Fernando said his goodbyes to his laughing sister, that they noticed how late/early it actually was.

Before they knew it, golden hues streamed through the window behind them as Freddie walked out of his room and offered them coffee.

"I'm never drinking straight vodka again," Freddie mumbled to himself after finishing his cup of coffee.

"At least it wasn't Vodquila like last time," Alma's words make him groan but agree. "I should go now, need a shower and a healthy breakfast."

After Harry also admitted he needed to be on his way, with all their belongings gathered and after saying goodbye to a very ill Freddie, neither Harry or Alma looked forward to their imminent separation. He had spent hours hearing how busy she is, when not recording content, she was working at Wenzel's and teaching Spanish to her neighbour's daughter on the weekends. Still, he was determined to meet with her again.

As soon as they started moving down the street, Harry noticed the next one was where he had to turn right in order to go home. It wasn't a short walk but the most effective route for sure.

"So, the bus stop is that way," Alma nodded her head to the left, smirking knowingly as she stuffs her hands in her coat pockets.

"Of course," they had come to a rolling stop at the corner. Harry suddenly felt beyond nervous about asking the girl for her phone number. "Thank you, for keeping me company last night." It was amazing he wanted to add, but licked his lips quickly instead.

"You mean keeping you from catching up with all your friends," she corrected him.

Harry shakes his head and smiles, the dimples graciously adorning his cheeks, his racing heart giving him the last push needed to finally ask. "Do you think we could go, like for coffee... sometime?” With that she laughed, immediately memorising the sound of it, her loud cackle is one of the nicest things he has heard in awhile.

"Only if I can buy you something from the selection of pastries." Harry laughed loudly, completely relieved by her answer. She dug around her purse for a moment before taking out a pen and what seemed to be an old receipt, quickly scribbling down her number and handing it to him.

"I'll call you," he beamed, carefully placing the piece of paper in his wallet. He'd be an idiot to lose such a precious fragment of information.

"Looking forward to it," Alma smiled at him for one last time before she started walking to the opposite direction. "See you around Harry." His face was a bit puffy from not having slept properly, but she would be lying to say he didn’t look adorable at the same time.

He waved and watched her walked away, her sweet and tired morning smile seemed to be engraved into the musician's mind as he headed home.

The air was still a bit cold, but the heat was starting to rise and plague London for the rest of the day, the hot summer everyone's been yearning for was finally here, even Harry could feel it in his bones as he continued down his path. He was still highly enamoured by the amazing night he spent sharing a piece of himself with Alma. His feet felt heavy, were even burning a little, but it was nothing as he made his way through his home gate twenty minutes later.

He decided to get some toast and a cuppa for breakfast, his high spirits not faltering even one bit although he could feel the consequences from the all-nighter already with each yawn. After eating he decided to take a shower that got him ready for a well deserved sleep in his comfortable bed.

Waking up around six o'clock startles him at first, Harry is well rested now but a bit grumpy for the weird taste on his tongue, something usual after drinking beer. He scolds himself for not brushing his teeth earlier as he walks in his bathroom. The cool tiles against his bare feet wake him up a bit more. After some needed dental hygiene, Harry gets dressed to go out and pick up his sister for their weekly dinner. Hopefully he can convince her to stay in, that way he can go on and on about the events from the night before.

His feet still hurt, he can even feel a blister underneath his big toe. But it doesn't bother him, it's actually a nice reminder of the incredible things that miraculously happened. Harry knew that since Alma was related to Fernando, someone that was bound to be in his life for the next six months or so, there was a big chance they would've met at some point. But he'd rather think it was fate, some sort of good karma coming round, he stared at her contact on his phone, still charmed by the fact that she gave it to him on the back of a receipt. Ignoring that she only did it that way, because the thought of asking for his mobile to enter it herself, was a very bold move. And Alma wasn’t really that confident, not when his green eyes were boring into hers anyway.

"When are you gonna call her then?" Gemma's voice snaps him out of his daydream for the third time during their quiet dinner in her flat. "What is it? You've got that look."

"What look?" He asks before his sister frowns and pinches her bottom lip with her thumb and index finger. It's his nervous quirk, he sighs, "I don't know, I'm just so nervous." Without a valid reason, he knows the girl is so lovely, maybe that's why.

"You're afraid of fucking it up," she knows, Harry nods. "Well, you could tell her that, perhaps on a text—

"—I want to call her, texting her will make me feel a wanker." Gemma smiles at her little brother, he looked uncharacteristically unsure of himself but nonetheless excited. It was endearing how the first thing he told her after crossing her home's threshold was 'my life is officially a chick flick!' Before proceeding to explain with detail about the whole situation.

"What about a text that reads: hello, this is Harry please save my number so when I find the guts to call you, you don't think it's a telemarketing scam," Gemma might be joking and mocking him all at once, but has a point. A text so she also has his number, makes the situation more even, she can call him too. "Assuming she gave you a real phone number."

"What?" Harry is mortified.

"I'm kidding, you should've seen your face," his sister wanted to drag a bit more her joke, but the preoccupied look on his face stopped her. Gemma couldn't wait to tell their mum, knowing that she would be just as absorbed. "There's nothing wrong with showing interest right away. If you want this to be honest and genuine, set an example." She finished before taking the last bite of pizza.

Harry knew that to be true, but now he was left wondering if it was the right time for him. Had he really left behind all the ghosts and baggage from his past? Or was he still carrying them in the new tattoos of his knees?

Despite his sister's encouraging words about how nothing could go wrong this early with Alma, he couldn't help but wonder if his still grieving heart was ready.

He takes his time walking back home, not caring if it was a really long one, he was aware of the curious eyes once he reached the Southbank but paid no attention to them. He welcomed the chill breeze, hoping for it to cool his boiling mind. Remembering the last time he walked along the river arms around his former flame, her laughter still ringing in his ears, her tender kisses in his knuckles, her delicious scent flying away with the airstream into London's sunshine.

Missing someone is not wrong, Harry reminds himself.

There's no point going down the rabbit hole of what ifs about their relationship. Harry can admit his mistakes, no matter how hard it comes to him, he can also apologise wholeheartedly. He did all those things already, months ago. Which is why he was able to keep her as a friend, not a close one, more like an acquaintance. And she's happy, he can see that, knows it.

Why does he feel like he's still drowning? He's already been pulled from the vast ocean of hers. Harry groans, struggles to open his gate, his good spirits from this morning nowhere to be found.

He doesn't know if it's the memory of her, the fear of loneliness, coincidence and laziness, or a bad habit? But he doesn't text the girl with warm brown eyes, instead he plays the voicemail that sometimes haunts his nightmares, on repeat, for the rest of the night.

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Let me know if you like the story! *** Join the taglist!

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TAG LIST: @laurxn-robinson // @mellamolayla

Next chapter

[unadulteratedfandomtrash]

Kim Namjoon x Reader ~ Don’t Rush It

[My BTS Masterlist]

A/N: An extended ending will be posted separately and linked at the end of this story!

Word Count: 2366

“No, no, no,” Namjoon mutters exasperatedly to himself, fervently scribbling over the lines of lyrics he had written out only seconds ago. The words sounded better in his head than on paper, much like the many other versions that now sit in the wastebasket beside the man’s desk, or the ones that had been crumpled and balled up, then hurled across the room. “That was so lame. You can think of something more clever than that.”

Glancing up at the clock, Namjoon sighs. After over seven hours of brainstorming in his studio, the rapper has been unable to finish writing the lyrics to a new title track planned for the group’s upcoming album. The frustration is getting to his head; their fans are depending on them for a new, unique concept and songs to equally match such. He cannot let them down. He cannot disappoint them.

“Hyung,” Jungkook says from the doorway, his head peeking into the leader’s studio, “it’s late. We’re going home now. C’mon.”

“I can’t now, Jungkook. I need to finish this song.”

“We’re not releasing the comeback for another three months or so, hyung,” Jungkook reasons, his eyes silently pleading for the group’s leader to put down the journal and return to the dorm with everybody else. “The lyrics can wait.”

A silent shake of Namjoon’s head reiterates his position on the matter. Regardless of the truth in Jungkook’s words, the rapper demands perfection from all that he does, which means that the song lyrics must be completed and finalized by tonight. No exceptions.

When the maknae returns to the other members, who are waiting patiently in the dance studio, they immediately bombard him with their questions.

“Where’s Namjoon,” Yoongi inquires.

“Why isn’t he back with you?”

“What could he possibly be doing at this hour that is so important. We don’t have any upcoming events.”

Reporting back to his friends about their leader’s unwavering decision to depart until the lyrics meet satisfactory expectations, Jungkook is met with complaints and protests.

“Aish, that man,” Yoongi moans tiredly. Despite his own habit of staying up late to work on his music, recent events have exhausted the man, so, with a little convincing, rest is currently being prioritized over music. “I told him many times that I can help him after dance practice. We’ve been dancing all afternoon and need to rest while we still can. Once we release the new album, we’ll be working overtime.”

Taehyung nods in agreement with his hyung while resting his cheek against Jimin’s shoulder, adding, “He even asked me to look over it tomorrow.”

Being the motherly figure and eldest, Jin walks out of the room and barges into Namjoon’s studio, shaking the man by the shoulders as he loudly voices his concerns.

“You need to come home with us right now, Namjoon. I will not allow you to work yourself sick. We have plenty of time to work on the next album, so you should relax; put down the pen and leave the lyrics alone for tonight. They aren’t gonna grow legs and walk away by tomorrow morning. Beside, you should give your brain a break. Come back to this with a fresh mind in the morning.”

Resting a comforting hand atop the eldest’s own hand, Namjoon explains his self-driven urgency, claiming that the best ideas come at night and always play out in the end; he is not lying. Like many artists, especially Yoongi, the rapper’s mind is productive at night and produces ingenious concepts throughout the evening, no matter the time. However, due to the rigorous schedule of their previous tour and the current, short recovery period the company has granted them, Yoongi has slowly eased himself into a healthier sleep schedule, leaving Namjoon to be the lone night owl.

“Don’t worry. I won’t take long. I promise.”

“Fine,” Jin huffs, “You better be back before one, at the latest.”

“Aish!”

Five pairs of eyes look up at Jin, waiting for their friend to continue his train of thought. Jungkook and Taehyung, who are seated around the TV with game controllers in their hands, share a confused look before shrugging, promptly returning to their paused match of Mario Kart. Yoongi grumbles tiredly under his breath, bidding the other members a good night before shuffling down the hall to his room, an equally tired Hoseok in tow.

“It’s nearly three o’clock and that man is still not back,” Jin cries out in frustration, hand running through his hair as he stares at the clock. For the past hour, he had been stress-cooking and pacing around the island; Yoongi had to force Jin to stay seated on the barstool by the island by threatening to burn his Mario plushies. No matter what, the man cannot help but worry for the group leader. “I told Namjoon one at the latest! How dare he disobey a direct order from me, his hyung!”

“Relax, Jin-Hyung. I’m sure Namjoonie probably fell asleep without realizing what time it is,” Jimin offers. “Yoongi-Hyung has done that many times before.”

“Yes, but this is Namjoon we’re talking about here. That man insists that his work is perfect and completed right then and there despite the fact that we still have plenty of time to work on the album.”

“Why don’t you guys just call (Y/n)-Noona,” Jungkook speaks up from the living room. The maknae shovels a handful of chips into his mouth and directs his eyes to the television screen to concentrate on beating Taehyung. “Hyung always listens to her.”

“It’s really late. I really don’t want to bother her, Jungkook,” Jin sighs. His fist nestles under his chin, propping up the ‘world-wide handsome’ face their at fans adore so dearly. Various possibilities pop into Jin’s head, but he shakes them off once he realizes they are not very realistic. He really dislikes the idea of contacting Namjoon’s childhood friend at three in the morning, especially because the young woman needs to wake up in two hours to get ready for work, but Jin has come to the conclusion that he has no choice. “Fine. I’m going to go call her.”

Jin’s statement falls on deaf ears; Taehyung is cheering loudly over Jungkook’s defeat in the final round and during the time Jin took to convince himself to call (Y/n), Jimin fell asleep.

“Yah! You two need to go to sleep! And you, Jungkook, should not be eating at this time!! Go put the snacks away and turn off that game. You can play more later on in the afternoon.”

The two hurry to comply with their hyung’s instructions as the man grabs his phone from the coffee table, unlocking the device with ease. He pulls up his contact list and scrolls down the index of names until the desired name shows up on the screen. Taking a deep breath with his fingers crossed, Jin taps on the little phone icon, listening to the dial tone without realizing that he is holding his breath.

An incessant ringing pulls (Y/n) out of her slumber. With her eyes still shut, she thrusts her hand out in the direction of the nightstand, slapping her hand down repeatedly until the cool, smooth surface of her phone comes in contact with her warm fingers.

“What do you want,” she mutters into the device without bothering to glance at the name displayed at the top of her screen.

Just hearing the exhaustion in (Y/n)’s voice leaves Jin feeling extremely guilty. He wants to go back in time and convince himself to go visit Namjoon himself; even though he would never be able to convince the rapper to leave his studio, at least the poor woman would not have to deal with a phone call at such an early time. 

Pausing briefly to gather his thoughts, the young man speaks chooses his words wisely, “(Y/n), it’s me: Jin. I want to start off by saying that I’m really sorry for waking you up. I know you have work soon, and normally I would never even think about disturbing your sleep, but this is really important. Please don’t hang up on me.”

A chuckle nearly slips past (Y/n)’s lips when Jin pleads for her to stay on the line. Though she would never just hang up on a friend, she cannot lie to him— she was tempted when the phone started ringing.

“Start talking, Jin.”

“Namjoon hasn’t come back to the dorm yet a-”

(Y/n) immediately springs up from her bed, duvet thrown aside without a care in the world upon hearing the words leave Jin’s mouth.

“What do you mean he didn’t come home? Where did you last see him? Have you tried calling him? Do I need to call the po-”

“Hold on,” Jin interrupts hastily. “Let me finish. He hasn’t come back yet because he was working on the new album. I told him he needs to return no later than one, but as you know, he did not do that.”

“Okay, not to be rude, but why are you calling me?”

“Because he will listen to you! Trust me, we’ve been trying to get him to leave at a normal time for awhile now, but he’s too focused with his work to listen to us.”

A quick glance at the digital clock on the nightstand tells (Y/n) that she has two hours before she needs to prepare for work. She throws her legs over the side of the bed with a deep sigh, feet sliding into her house slippers as the young woman turns on the lights.

“Fine. I’ll start heading over there in a bit, but you owe me big time, Jin.”

Cold air blasts into (Y/n)’s face once she steps into the practically-empty building; the only people present are security guards on the night shift. She pulls the identification badge from her purse as one of the guards approaches her and begins to explain the reason for her arrival.

“I’m looking for a friend of mine. He’s still working and I’m just here to convince him to go home for the night.”

Her explanation prompts an odd look from the man standing in front of her, but he assumes her motives are true to her word— the security clearance printed on the card being a major contributing factor— and escorts (Y/n) to the elevators before returning to his post, ignoring the ‘thank you’ echoing behind him. 

After several minutes of awkward elevator music and walking through the maze of hallways, (Y/n) reaches Namjoon’s studio. Without giving him the satisfaction of a warning, the young woman turns the knob and waltzes right in, causing the rapper to jump out of his chair when the door opens with a loud screech.

“Kim Namjoon, what do you think you’re doing at this hour?”

“(Y-Y/n)...?” Namjoon stutters, blinking several times to ensure that his exhausted mind is not playing tricks on him. “What are you doing here? Why aren’t you at home, sleeping?”

“I could as you the same thing,” she retorts back with her hands on her hips, a disapproving frown tugging at her lips. “Jin called me at three o’clock in the morning and asked me to drag you home because you said you would leave over two hours ago.”

“Wait, what are you…” A confused Namjoon plops back into his chair and spins it to face his laptop, opening the device to see that his best friend is indeed correct. On the bright screen, the laptop has the small numbers ‘03:55’ at the bottom-right corner. “Shi-”

“Watch your language, Joonie.”

“I’m sorry,” he apologizes earnestly. “I didn’t realize how late it is, and I’m still working on this set of lyrics. If I had known Jin-Hyung would wake you up to find me, I would’ve called or texted him.”

“That’s not what’s most important, Namjoon.” Setting her bag by the door, (Y/n) walks over to her friend and places her hands on his shoulders, looking deep into his eyes. “Everybody is worried about you, Joonie. The guys tried to stay up waiting for you, but you never came home. Jin is worried sick and insisted that you go back to the dorm to rest. I wouldn’t be here if you weren’t worrying me.”

Her hands wander over to the table where the rapper has been developing the lyrics that have kept him up all night. Curious eyes scan over all the sheets of paper, catching glimpses of annotations, corrections, and angry scribbles in red ink on a multitude of papers and notebooks. A plan quickly forms in her mind and before Namjoon can catch on to her intentions, (Y/n) has all the documents and writing utensils scooped up into her arms.

“What are you doing?!”

(Y/n) deposits the heap into her purse and zips up the bag, going so far as to attaching a small padlock to both keychains on either side of the pull tabs.

“You can’t keep working yourself into exhaustion, Namjoon. I know firsthand what that can do to you and I refuse to let you share the same fate. You know as well as I do what happened, so please, Joonie, take a break. Go home. Get some well-deserved sleep. The lyrics can wait for you until tomorrow, or even the day after that. Jin told me the album has to go through a lot of editing before its even being released.”

Painful memories resurface at the mention of (Y/n)’s past experience. He remembers picking up the phone and receiving a call from a hospital receptionist notifying him that his best friend had been admitted after collapsing at her workplace. That day, along with the months of her recovery period, had been the scariest moment in his life.

“I’m sorry for worrying you.”

Pulling the rapper into a hug with one arm, (Y/n) uses the other to close his laptop, clutching the device tightly.

“Well, you can make it up to me by going straight back to the dorm and sleeping like everybody else should be. No excuses.”

“Yes, ma’am!”

[Extended Ending]

[henry-hart]

“Kid Lightning” - a Charlotte Bolton One-Shot Series: Prologue - "The Pilot"

Okay, so @s4karuna messaged me one day a few weeks ago about a thread of Chenry headcanons, and we eventually got into talking about a possible fic idea for Charlotte. So many possibilities were born from then on. This is all her idea, by the way. Give her 100% of the credit. She came to me with such a brilliant concept, and I merely helped her expand on the whole thing. I ended up volunteering (because it’s just too good an opportunity to pass up) to turn her ideas into a series of one-shots, each piece dedicated to one of the tales she told me. The underlying theme stems from this one what if: what if Charlotte never told Henry that she knew his secret? Awesome, right? I know. @s4karuna is incredible, as are all her ideas. This first piece will be a bit of an introduction before it all gets rolling and the whole “Kid Lightning” bit gets explained. I’m excited to show you guys all that we have planned!

***Something to know before we start: This one-shot (and the rest that will follow) follow the sequence of events in "The Secret Gets Out"--i.e. Char still gets suspicious and pieces together that Henry is Kid Danger. The details are still the same, BUT she doesn’t confront him.

Dedicated to: First and foremost @s4karuna because well duh. Then we have my usual tag gang :) @sunbeameyes @ramune-ray @kiwikwami @youngbloodthekilljoy @up-the-tube @sleepylilsnowflake @shonashee @writing-excuses @coldasalaska @chewbaccaagainstthoughts @lesbian-so-what @an-anxious-gay-mess @periwinklechild @alissamikealson @jyrus-kelevra @x-cookies-art-x @knowwheretolook @thehotbrothburglar @ishouldbsleeping @can-you-believe-it and @food-o-matic and @jumpin-jaspers you’re joining the gang.

Fandom: Henry Danger

Summary: Charlotte discovers Henry’s big secret, but she doesn’t tell him that she knows. She keeps it to herself, deciding to use her knew knowledge of his identity to help her masked friend from the sidelines instead. But once she gets a small taste of the crime-fighting life, a spark is ignited inside of her, giving birth to a desire to be a protector of Swellview as well. ;)

A/N: Like I said, this is an intro piece. This is just the whole “I know your secret” scene edited to fit our narrative. Enjoy!!!!! xoxoxoxo (I’m actually shaking from excitement because I really want you guys to read this girl’s ideas!!! aksjlksj)

Charlotte burst through her front door, running past her parents who were waiting in the kitchen for her.

"No time to talk!" She announced, stopping them before they could even get a word out.

She knew they were looking for an explanation as to why Charlotte was only just getting home so late at night, but she didn't have the time. She had to get to her room, somewhere she could be alone, and get everything she'd just pieced together in her mind out before she lost it.

She made it to her room, accidentally slamming the door behind her in her haste. She dropped down into her desk chair, throwing her book bag on the table in front of her. She retrieved her notebook from her bag, her right leg bouncing up and down rapidly all the while.

She placed the notebook in front of her and flipped to the most recent page as quickly as she could, ripping a few pages in the process. In this notebook she recorded all of the observational notes she'd been taking on her best friend ever since he'd been hired at Junk 'n Stuff. She stopped on the most recent pages, scanning through what she had written.

Won't tell us what his job is. Has been really jumpy lately--more than usual. Is always making lame excuses before disappearing. Weird beeping watch???

She skipped ahead to the notes she'd made today.

Got really defensive when Jasper dissed Kid Danger.

Then came the most important notes she'd made, the ones she'd written on the way home from Henry's house...

...Charlotte had forgotten one of her textbooks in Henry's room when she had been at his house studying, and she needed it to finish her homework for school the next day, so she decided to go back to his house to get it, despite how late it already was. The textbook was important, but it was more a front to mask her true intentions. She had another, more pressing reason to be at Henry's house--a reason that made the time seem to be of no consequence. 

She'd called Junk ‘n Stuff earlier that day to talk to Henry, but no one had answered. She could've just shrugged it off, chalking it up to any number of things (they were busy, no one was near the phone, the phones weren't working, etc.), but she didn't. Too many things about that store and Henry didn't add up. She couldn't let herself believe that it was nothing.

So, Charlotte decided to confront Henry about it. She would be tactical. She'd make like she came for her book, all the while scoping Henry's behavior out, possibly tripping him into admitting something.

She made her way to Henry's house and up to his room with fierce determination in her step. She was buzzing with anticipation. She might finally get to the bottom of whatever had been going on with Henry.

She knocked on his bedroom door a little harder than she meant to.

It took him awhile to answer.

“What are you doing here?" Henry asked, out of breath, looking nothing like a boy who had just gotten out of bed. He wasn’t even wearing pajamas. 

He pulled his lips into a tight line and drummed his fingers against the door frame while he waited for Charlotte to answer.

Charlotte knew immediately that something was up, but there seemed to be a lot of “somethings” up with Henry lately. She decided to wait to see how this was going to play out before she showed her cards.

"I came back for my math book. I forgot it, and I need it for tomorrow." She explained, watching Henry carefully through narrowed eyes.

He visibly relaxed. "Oh, yeah, right. Your book." He stepped away from the door, and Charlotte walked into his room.

Henry found her book immediately, and walked back to hand it to her. His posture was softer, more relaxed, and he was almost smiling. Obviously Charlotte's forgotten book proclamation had put him at ease.

Two things happened then, unbeknownst to Henry, that solidified Charlotte's working theory.

A gust of night wind blew in through Henry's open window--the fact that it was open and Henry's shoes were right beneath didn't go unnoticed by Charlotte--and washed over the two of them. Henry blocked the majority of the breeze from reaching Charlotte, and in consequence, a sweet smell wafted off of him.

Henry didn't exactly stink, but he most definitely didn't go around smelling like...syrup?

A news report she’d watched earlier that day flashed through Charlotte's mind: Captain Man and Kid Danger stopped a robbery at a syrup factory.

Her hand froze before she could grab her book. Her eyes widened as it all fell together in her mind, revealing to her the answer to all the questions she'd been relentlessly mulling over--all of them to do with Henry.

This was nothing like what she’d been expecting. She thought maybe he was in some secret club that he was too embarrassed to tell anyone about or something, but this?

Henry noticed that Charlotte looked a little spooked. "Hey, you okay?" He asked, not as tense now that he was sure she hadn't come here to confront him or anything. His secret was safe.

Henry's voice snapped Charlotte back to reality. She took her book from him, slowly backing away.

"Yeah, I'm fine." She muttered. She kept walking until she made it to the door. "I gotta go." She blurted and turned to bolt for the stairs, anxious to get away from Henry and somewhere she could reflect on everything she'd just figured out.

"Char, wait--" Henry tried to call after her, but she was already gone...

...Charlotte, now out of her flashback and back in the present, read the note she scribbled in her mad haste to make it back home. She had been writing too fast for her handwriting to be neat, but the messy scrawl read:

I called the store; no one answered. Went to his house. He was tense. Like there was something he was scared I'd find out. The window was open. His shoes were under it. He had just come in through his window.

Then came the most important note she had. This was the one that had been proof enough for her.

Captain Man and Kid Danger stopped a robbery at a syrup factory. Henry smelled like SYRUP (this was in all caps and underlined--her first definitive clue).

Her hand was shaking as she went to make her last note. Her writing was even worse than before now that she couldn’t keep her pen steady. She wrote:

Henry is Kid Danger.

It made so much sense. How could she have not seen it before? The same blonde hair. The same goofy grin. It was all Henry--not to mention the fact that every time he disappeared a news report about Captain Man and Kid Danger would air just as he made it back.

Charlotte leaned back away from her desk and her notebook. She stared at that last sentence.

Seeing it there, written, out of her mind and on paper, was almost surreal. 

For weeks Charlotte had this whole thing sitting heavily in the back of her mind. She knew there was something Henry wasn't telling her or Jasper, and she didn't like not knowing. She was practical, logical. If there was a problem, she found the solution. If there was a question, she found the answer. But this wasn't a mathematical problem nor was it a scientific question. This was Henry and some secret he was keeping. She couldn't just input some numbers or run some tests and have it all solved, and not being able to figure it out was driving her mad. It was keeping her up at night, keeping her from focusing, from eating. She felt like she was the one harboring some huge secret.

Initially, she'd been almost mad at Henry. She was one of his best friends. What could he not tell her? What could be worth making her feel this way? They told each other everything. What could make that change now?

Charlotte, ever the problem-solver, had taken matters into her own hands. She paid extra attention to Henry. She watched him closely, mentally logging anything odd or unusual or secretive that he did, and it had paid off. She now knew what Henry was so adamant to keep from her and Jasper.

And now that she new, she understood all the secrecy.

This wasn't like the time Henry had accidentally broken her telescope when they were kids and didn't tell her for a week. This was so much bigger. Henry was a superhero--well, a superhero's sidekick--who fought to protect Swellview. 

No wonder he was always so tired. 

He had to be a normal kid by day and a crime-fighter by night. That was a lot to put on anyone, especially a thirteen year old boy. Charlotte was a little hurt that Henry couldn't come to his best friends about any of it, but she knew why. He had a secret identity to think about. He couldn't do what he did--help Captain Man keep the city safe--if everyone knew who he really was.

Charlotte wasn't going to confront Henry about what she knew. She wouldn't do that to him. She'd let him believe that she was oblivious to his secret. She'd protect her best friend.

But she wished there was something she could do to lessen the weight of the burdens he was carrying. Kid Danger went up against criminals. That was dangerous work, even with the help of Captain Man. Now that she knew it was her best friend who faced those criminals, she had a sick feeling in her stomach. What if Henry got hurt?

That was a thought she didn’t want to further consider because she had no answer. If she saw on the news that Kid Danger had been hurt, she would know that it was really Henry, and then she’d feel guilty because she didn’t do anything to help him. But what could she do to help him? She wanted to, but how?

Charlotte sighed heavily and put her things away. She felt a weird sense of finality when she closed her notebook. It was like closing a book after reading it. It was complete. She’d figured it out. 

She got dressed for bed silently; there was a lot on her mind. She was so deep in thought that she didn't even notice when her Mom, Viola, had stepped in to say goodnight.

“Sorry, Mom.” Charlotte apologized, managing a small smile for her mother. “I’ve had a lot on my mind.”

Her mom quirked her eyebrow knowingly. “I noticed. It’s not every day you come running into the house at eleven o’clock at night.”

Charlotte winced when she looked at her clock and saw just how late it was. She was lucky her mother wasn’t grounding her right this second--unless that was what she had come to do.

“I didn’t realize it was so late, honest. I forgot my textbook at Henry’s house, and I needed it to--”

“Charlie, it’s okay.” Her mom interrupted, holding a hand up to stop her daughter.

Just hearing the nickname her mother always used was enough to calm Charlotte’s overworked mind. She sat down heavily on her bed, massaging her temples.

Normally, Viola would be angry at her daughter for disappearing into the night with no explanation, but looking at how exhausted Charlotte seemed, she couldn’t find it in herself to be anything but worried. It was typical of her daughter to be busy, to always look for a solution or a new way to look at things, something that kept her mind occupied, but this was something else entirely. This went deeper than just a setback on a new invention or a difficult mathematical equation. Whatever Charlotte was working on, it meant a great deal to her, and it was taking a great deal out of her. Viola noticed a crease in her daughter’s brow that didn’t seem to go away, and she didn’t like it.

She sat at the foot of her daughter’s bed. “What’s going on, sweetheart?”

Charlotte looked at her mom for a moment, trying to come up with a way to tell her what she was going through without actually telling her what she was going through. 

“Can I ask you something?” 

Her mom tilted her head, a confused look on her face. “You can ask me anything.”

Charlotte nodded, letting out a sigh that inflated her cheeks as it went. “What would you do--hypothetically speaking, of course--if you knew something about your friend that they didn’t want you to know and you want to use what you found out to help them, but you also don’t want to let them know that you know and are helping them because of what you know that they don’t want you to know?”

Viola stared expressionless at her daughter for five whole seconds. “What?”

Charlotte groaned in frustration. “I don’t know how else to word it.”

Her mom took a moment to think over what her daughter had told her. “I think I get it.” She said. She eyed Charlotte. “You say this is all hypothetical, right?” She of course didn’t believe that. Charlotte wouldn’t have put so much meaning behind her question if it wasn’t real. 

“Right,” Charlotte agreed. “Any advice--for this completely fictitious scenario?”

Viola nodded once very slowly, having to bite back a smile. “Well, in this, as you said, fictitious scenario, this person is my friend?”

“Your best friend,” Charlotte added a little too hastily. She hoped her mother didn’t pick up on it. 

Viola did, but she didn’t let on. “Since they’re my best friend, I would respect their wish to keep whatever it is a secret because I respect them. The reason they have for not telling me is surely a good one.” She studied her daughter’s reaction as she spoke, liking how that crease on her forehead seemed to ease up a little. “As for helping them, I would do everything in my power. I’m assuming whatever you know that they don’t want you to know is a lot to handle?” When Charlotte nodded, she continued. “Then I would try to make it easier for them. Maybe they aren’t including you--I mean, me in the whole ordeal because they’re worried about bothering me. That doesn’t mean they should have to shoulder it alone, though. If there’s some way I can make it easier, some way to anonymously help my best friend through a hard time, I’m going to do it, no acknowledgement needed.”

Charlotte let her mother’s words sink in. It was what she was already thinking, but hearing it from her mother helped convince her it was the right thing to do. The power of motherly advice, she supposed. 

“Thanks, Mom. That really helped.” Charlotte spoke, feeling like her words were coming a little easier now that she had started to figure things out again. She laid back in her bed, almost sighing in relief when she felt it’s softness on her tired body.

Viola smiled. “My pleasure, sweetie. I’m glad I could help with your hypothetical dilemma.”

Charlotte sucked in her lips, avoiding her mother’s knowing gaze, but Viola didn’t push any further. Charlotte appreciated that her mom respected her enough not to pry. Charlotte would come to her if she needed her, and Viola knew that. She didn’t need to force her daughter into anything.

Viola turned off the lamp on the nightstand and pulled Charlotte’s covers over her, happy that she still had small moments like these to be a mother to her daughter like she had been when Charlotte was younger and the ways of the world couldn’t touch her or her precious mind.

“Goodnight, Charlie.” She whispered.

“Goodnight, Mom.” Charlotte whispered back.

Her mother left quietly, gently closing the door behind her.

Charlotte studied the glow-in-the dark stars she had stuck to her ceiling. She’d arranged them all in the form of already existing constellations. She kept her eyes trained on Orion’s belt, remembering the hunter’s story. She thought it was a nice sentiment to think that death could mean the night sky gained more stars. Of course, she knew it wasn’t real, but it was still interesting to think about.

Think. Even the word made her head hurt.

She was tired. Today had been mentally draining, and she felt physically drained in consequence, but she couldn’t fall asleep.

As much as her mother had helped her come to a decision, she still had a lot of questions.

She was going to help Henry. That much she had settled.

But how could Charlotte help Henry, help Kid Danger, without jeopardizing his secret?

It was a long time before Charlotte’s eyes closed and her mind went to rest.

A/N Part 2: What did you guys think???? Like I said, this is just putting everything into place for the rest of the series! Again, give all the kudos and props and compliments and credit to @s4karuna because this was all her! I can’t wait to hear from all of you!!! :)))))) xoxoxoxoxo

[daegunotes]

dimple

Summary: the lyrics to the newest song written by Namjoon raise suspicion in Yoongi, what happens next..... Genre: Fluff Words: 1.6k Pairing: Namjoon x Reader

“When is this going to end, my eyes feeling like they’re going to sink into their sockets, how many more lyric checks and concept checks do we have to do?” Yoongi said to Pddogg in a huff while crossing his arms across his chest.

“Just one more song Yoongi-ah, Namjoon really wants it in the album for some reason, here take the sheet, he was scribbling on it like a madman, I think we’ll have to clean it up.” Pdogg said while sliding the thin sheet of paper across the boardroom table to where Yoongi sat.

“Illegal? Is it a diss track?” questioned Yoongi squinting at the title scrawled in a neat hand on top of the piece of paper.

“That dimple is illegal ...no, it’s dangerous, oh yes..so I call you illegirl...your existence alone is a cr-...” “What is this??? What are these corny ass lyrics?? Did namjoon really write these? Am I on hidden camera right now??” he said in disbelief while looking around for any clue that he was being pranked.

“I asked him the same thing, he just kept mumbling something about dimples and how we need to give the fans a new love song.” Pdogg said with a slight laugh.

“Go talk to him about it, I don't know where his attention is nowadays.” he said as he turned around to return to reviewing the other songs.

“You bet I will, gotta knock some sense in that boy. What is the cheesy shit….can't believe the same dude wrote Spring Day.” mumbled Yoongi as he exited the main boardroom.

Yoongi was a little mad but mostly confused at this, in principle the song fit, it would sell and the fans would love it. What didn't make sense to him was how Namjoon suddenly vaulted into writing such simplistic songs.

While making his way to Mon Studio,  He ran into you.

“Oh hey Yoongi, how's the prep coming along? You getting some sleep?” you said cheerily to the rapper

“Sleep? Idk what that is anymore but what's new. What brings you here? Is Jimin being whiny again?” he shot off the questions in quick succession

“Hey, don’t call my best friend, whiny. That was one time! Anyway, I’m on my way to pick up Seokjin, Tae, Gguk and Chim for dinner. Hoseok wants us to try this new place he found 20 mins ago….he’s waiting for us there.” your voice trailed off as you saw Yoongi raise one eyebrow.

“What???”

“You’re going….to a restaurant….that hobi found out about 20 mins ago? No research into it, nothing?” he asked with an amused expression on his face.

“Hey, if Jung Hoseok says he’s found the best Jjajangmyeon in Seoul, you best believe I will haul ass and get there. I happen to believe in Hobi’s conviction.” you huffed with both your hands placed on either sides of your waist which was coincidentally your favorite fighting stance.

“Ok… whatever you say crazy. Also, thanks for getting those loud children out of our hair, we have a lot of work to do, gotta make Namjoon rewrite a whole damn song.” he said through gritted teeth as he started to walk down the hallway again.

“Won’t tell Seokjin you called him one of the children again. He’ll chew your ear off.” you said to him and laughed a little at the thought of a red in the face Seokjin yelling at Yoongi about disrespecting him.

“Thanks. Have fun.” Yoongi said, signalling his approval with a thumbs up and  continuing to walk down the hallway.

“You too. Don’t work Namjoon too hard!” you said to Yoongi as you ran in the other direction to pick up your quarry.

Yoongi had a soft smile on his face as he walked the length of the hallway to MON STUDIO, he liked your energy, he liked having (finally) some female energy around after years of dealing with the testosterone filled premises.

You had sprung into their lives quite suddenly, by the virtue of being Jimin’s best friend from his Busan Arts High days and had quickly become inseparable with 5 of the 7 members. Namjoon and Yoongi couldn’t really spare much time to hang out recently since they basically ate and slept in their respective studios but they still had a certain fondness for you. Yoongi was especially pleased with how you raised everyone’s spirit when you came around.

Without bothering to knock, Yoongi threw open the door to Namjoon’s studio and immediately started his verbal attack on the younger member, “Yah Namjoon - what’s going on with you bruh? Why the fuck are you writing songs about dimples and calling someone illegirl like how corny is that dude?” he said, finishing his tirade by plopping his behind into the grey couch.

Namjoon was visibly startled by Yoongi’s appearance and hurriedly closed the browser on his computer. Yoongi hadn’t noticed but the now closed browser tab looked suspiciously like a Facebook profile.

“What do you mean? It’s a perfectly fine song.” Namjoon was quick to rise to his own defence.

“Really? Wait what was it? Yeah, that dimple is illegal but I want it anyway… you ok Joon? Something you wanna discuss with me? It’s very….simplistic for you.” Yoongi said dropping his tone to a conspiratorial whisper.

“Hey, I have dimples too and we haven't really written a simple love song in awhile you know. I think our fans deserve a nice love song.” he said with more conviction than he actually could feel

“My spidey senses are tingling, that is an excuse and you know I see right through you.” Yoongi replied narrowing his eyes at his friend.

Namjoon’s mouth opened to explain but immediately closed. The two rappers could hear the faint sound of their other friends approaching the studio.

“Wow Y/N your dimples really come out when you laugh huh. Cuuuuute.” Taehyung could be heard saying.

“He’s right, I think yours might be deeper than Joon’s!” Seokjin responded for you.

“That reminds me when we were in the 6th grade, I was so mad that Y/N had dimples and I didn’t that I kept poking my cheek with dull end of a pencil.” Jimin said, laughing at the memory.

“Wow Jimin hyung I guess you’ve been a dumbass since forever.” Jeongguk’s quiet voice said and all 4 except for Jimin started to convulse in laughter, with yours ringing out the longest.

Yoongi scowled and got up to open the door, he didn’t like this decibel level at all.

“Hey, I thought you were taking these kids out, what happe….” he stopped dead in his tracks with the door half open, as the conversation he had overheard came together in his mind.

He stared at your face and the way your dimples deepened when you smiled, for a good 30 seconds until your voice shook him out of his reverie.

“Sorry I wanted to ask if Namjoon and you wanted to join us? Hoseok is already there.” you asked.

“You guys go ahead…….Namjoon and I will see you there. We just have this one song to nail.” Yoongi replied, with his scowl slowly turning into a smirk as the truth dawned on him.

“Suit yourselves! Bye! See ya later!” you said while bouncing out of the door and down the hall with the other 4 bickering and following you like a herd of sheep.

Yoongi turned around slowly and locked his gaze onto his friend. The friend who was currently shuffling his feet and looking at anywhere but in Yoongi’s direction.

“You idiot, you’re so transparent. Did you really think you would get this past me? How long has it been?” he asked while scoffing at Namjoon’s pathetic attempt at hiding his feelings

“I should’ve guessed, I can never get anything past you. I just….. I don’t know. I always thought she was cool but I think I started feeling….something more recently. You know me, it all pours out in verses.” Namjoon said sheepishly covering his reddened face with his hands.

“Well… the song’s good. Simple. If that’s how your feelings are too then you’ll be fine. Err.. I’m not good at this encouragement stuff, maybe ask Hoseok.” Yoongi replied in a hesitant voice, his hand automatically rubbing the back of his neck, a gesture he defaulted to when he was uncertain about something.

“Hoseok already knows, he’s been helping me build up my courage.” Namjoon said quietly

Yoongi rolled his eyes and smiled his trademark gummy smile at Joon, for a worldwide superstar, the man sure was shy.

“I might not know about love advice but I do know music advice so here’s some: don't call it illegal, call it something like….Dimple. She might never hear it on air waves if you call it Illegal.” he said.

“That’s good advice. Thank you. I’ll keep it in mind and re-work it a little.” Namjoon replied, a weight lifted off his chest.

“Oh and also, I am not singing this at all, get her bffs to do it. It’ll sound better as a vocal line only song.” Yoongi said offering the last piece of advice before he exited the room.

“Oh…. yeah I guess that’ll be more pleasing to her...I mean the fans’ ears.” Namjoon said quickly, covering his face with his hands again in case the colour of his cheeks had betrayed him.

His slip wasn’t heard by Yoongi however, as he was already out the door and laughing his way down the hall.

As the sound of Yoongi’s laughter died down, Namjoon started working on the lyrics again. This had to be the perfect song, he had a lot riding on it.

“Ok Namjoon, here you go, Dimple, don’t fuck it up…..”

[34floorsblog]

The Original Short Story

A bit edgy, but it still holds up well. Originally written for an 8th grade project. I had the concept long before but a bunch of things were changed to fit it into a one-story format— some that I’m glad to have discovered and am keeping, other that will be reverted back to their original plan. This is mostly for quick reference and to have something to look back on in the future.

Anyways. Here it is:

Final Draft Started March 1 2016 Finished March 10 2016

34 Floors (+ 1 More)

The cars on the streets, beeping with quick, harsh beats, coming to screeching halts and emitting toxic fumes into the air, were nothing but blades of grass in an outfield to her.

None was paid attention to, only the road ahead. A blur. Did she know where she was going? No. But she had to lead these people, these children, into a new life she didn’t want them to become a part of in the first place. And fast.

The crackle of her bike’s tires on its respective lane, almost like that of a real wood fire, was the only noise and even that was only a mere thought in the back of her head.

The air was cold, the sun barely peaking over the gray horizon. It was barely 7:00 am on a Tuesday in November… yet why did it feel like it was August? Oh August, those hot summer days in the city, nothing to do, nothing to see, nothing to feel but hot. In fact, now with the “temperature” change, it was basically the same then as it was now. A small voice was heard in the distance, repeating the same pattern of speech over and over and over and over, volume increasing and tone deranging as it went on. There was no time to look back. There was no time. Time, right now, was just how the theorists in the books described it: an illusion. Thoughts ran as fast as the bike was pedaled until that sequence of noises became a sequence of desperate yells. Her vision snapped back to it’s original accuracy as she peered over her shoulder, a mere counterfeit of The Scream biking behind her. She couldn’t see of the other child, who was most likely just behind the one she could see like he was supposed to be, but she didn’t want to. She was mortified. How could she do this to them? They were all she had left.

She repeated the loop yelled by the young face for the final time, but as a question.

“Stop?”

Her face saw the pavement. The back of her bike rose into the air.

Darkness.

The glass door opened with an antique squeak. Paige awoke from her daydream at the assistance counter, frazzled bleach-blond curls waking up as her eyes shot open. Before she knew it, three figures stood before her.

“Why hello there!” she greeted, extending the “hello” longer than needed. “Welcome to 34 Floors Hotel and Suite. How may I assist you today?”

The tallest and seemingly eldest one spoke first.

“We would like a room.”

The older woman’s mouth curled into a smile and promptly pulled out a pen out of seemingly nowhere, scribbling something on a paper on the desk in front of her.

“Alrighty then…. how long will you be staying with us?”

“As long as possible,” the young girl replied, not a hint of insincerity in her voice.

Paige was initially shocked, but then the state of her expression returned to a polite grin as she glanced over to a door on the other side of the room. She then daintily exited the small booth, finally allowing for the three to see her figure. She was extremely thin, almost to the point of concern. Her body held up a white dress down to her knees, slightly dirtied at the tips, with hair exactly the same except mid-back length. She was aged, but the expression on her face showed that her mind thought anything but it. “Peculiar” was one way to put it.

Paige had arrived at the door and disappeared for a moment, leaving the three friends to wait patiently. Awkwardly. They finally got to take a good look around the lobby; the maroon walls should’ve darkened the place, but the huge glass windows countered it. It was too bright to see anything outside.

She then reappeared with a large book, a little wider than a phonebook, almost the same shade as the walls. Paige had her mouth uncharacteristically pursed into a straight line, all attention on wiping off the copious amounts of dust. When she remembered where she was her focus returned, along with that friendly yet somehow unsettling grin.

“Alright honey,” she said, only the thinnest undertone of cruelness in her voice, “What is your name?”

“Harriet,” the eldest replied, surprisingly unphased.

“Come over here,” Paige offered, eyeing a faraway table blocked off by some crudely-made dividers.

Harriet looked to the others, each holding on to one of her arms. She hesitated.

“What about—”

“Oh, don’t worry about them,” Paige interjected in an almost sickly sweet voice, “they’re old enough to stay in the waiting room alone, yes?”

Harriet turned to one of the children, a girl with round glasses and neck-length jet-black hair. She nodded.

“I guess. Just… make sure that Reggie doesn’t get in any trouble, alright?”

The girl silently agreed again, exiting Harriet’s tight grip and making a straight path for herself and the boy over near the TV. After they were out of view, Harriet swiftly navigated from the scattered chairs and coffee tables to behind the divider, a makeshift desk and Paige eerily waiting for her. She sat down and crossed her legs, hands fidgeting with the peeling pleather of the chair’s arm.

“Now, about the price of your stay,” the headswoman started, “we may be able to find a permanent residence for you.”

“How much?” was Harriet’s immediate question. “I can get a job if I need to. Trust me, I can even work here if I can just stay.”

“I was just about get to that!” she spouted, as if she were an excited child and not a 40-something year-old. “You won’t need to pay a dime of your money or waste a moment of your time! Since I can obviously see you kids are in a rough spot, I’d be willing to let you stay for free, as long as you don’t cause any trouble,” she instructed, eyeing what she could see of Harriet’s dingy clothing. “It wouldn’t cost much to keep you three around, anyway,” she added peacefully.

Harriet couldn’t believe it, but she accepted the fact very quickly. A place to stay that was so nice, so hospitable for free? She hadn’t been in a hotel since 3rd grade; her dad had taken her there for a nice getaway. Mom wasn’t there, of course. Why couldn’t it still be like that, she would always wonder. But now it could, and she’d be with her real family. Or, at least, what she considered her real family.

“Now let me just get the paperwork,” Paige said, mouth eerily running into a straight line.

Harriet briefly wondered if her friends were okay.

Reggie waited patiently for the black box on the wall to light up with all the colors and sounds he was familiar with as his sister fiddled around with the the seemingly ancient cords behind the just as old wooden stand.

“Hey, uh,” she said softly, minding her tone, “could you please help me over here?” Reggie sat still, his eyes mindlessly wandering around the reflections of the curved glass. His sister waited a moment before speaking up again.

“Reginold!” she almost snapped, albeit still in a whisper. It was obvious that he wasn’t going to give up on not assisting just yet, so she let go of the tangle of cords frustratedly and moved behind the similar-looking boy to see exactly what he was so captivated by.

“Reg,” she called again, shaking his shoulders a bit.

“Shhh,” was his only reply.

“Reggie, this is no time for games!” she scolded.

Reggie unexpectedly pulled his sibling down to his view.

“Robin, look!” he whisper-yelled, pointing at a familiar figure in the reflection.

It was Paige. She was doing something to the security system, it looked like. A small beep was heard from across the room, confirming this theory.

“What is she doing?” Reggie questioned, keeping his voice low.

“I don’t know,” Robin replied.

Paige then went through another door, one hidden fairly well by the coloring which matched the walls. The siblings scurried over in curiosity.

The room was lit with what seemed to be multicolored lights dancing about. Jungle-like vines crept from one wall to the other, the biggest web covering what seemed to be a staircase. They froze when a new voice came from what seemed to be an on-speaker phone-call.

“Need the elevator today, miss?” said someone on the other line, seemingly a male.

“We have some new ‘guests’. Numbers nine, ten and eleven. They’re children. Easy-peasy.”

This was what shocked them the most. It sounded like the Paige, the one welcomed them to stay in the first place, but… it wasn’t her. Why was she numbering the like test subjects? Why the emphasis on “guests?”

“We haven’t had any children here in awhile.”

“Not since guest three!”

She finished this off with a very concerning laugh. The deeper voice sighed.

“Where to, boss?”

“Floor thirty-four.”

The person on the other end hesitated.

“A… are you sure? I mean, come on Paige, they’re only kids…”

“Sure I’m sure. Now get on it.”

The last thing heard of the conversation was the slam of a very old-fashioned telephone. The kids could just barely see Paige’s shadow coming out of the room when they fled, and they fled right to the door. A piercing, painful shriek of an alarm was heard as Robin’s hands failed to push the glass open. As they turned around, none other than Paige stood behind them, a forced smile greeting them.

“Silly kids. I shouldn’t have had as much trust in you. It’s not your fault, just your age,” she sighed.

The ding of the elevator astrayed all of their attention. The woman forcibly grabbed the hands of the children, both at once, and practically dragged them to the other side of the room. They had just missed the doors opening. A smaller-statured yet obviously older boy stood neatly at the entrance, suit adjusted to perfection and hat impeccably placed. He promptly moved out of the way to let the three in. Robin eyed the buttons. The only one lit up was one marked “34.” She then turned to the eldest partner, hoping for some sign of perseverance. So much had gone on in the past five minutes that she had neglected to realize that they were reunited with Harriet.

And she was mad.

“So, what brings yous here?” the bellboy asked.

“We crashed our bikes,” Harriet replied, crossley.

Silence.

It was then that the three realized that they didn’t actually miss the doors opening— there were no doors on the elevator. Room after room scrolled by leisurely, not a sign of life could be seen anywhere. It was practically pitch-black. Inside the elevator, however, it was almost a polar opposite; since it was such an old elevator on the outside, it would be assumed that the lighting wouldn’t be as bright, wouldn’t be as blinding as it was. Robin looked over to Reggie, who was practically closing his eyes.

“Why is it so bright?” Robin accidentally thought out loud.

The young man laughed.

“Ya see kid, that’s a funny story I ‘oughta tell ya,” he leaned up against a wall without buttons, closing his eyes. “There’s this lady that stays here. I bet you’ll meet her.”

“You’re the bellboy though, right? I’m sure you’ve seen her too when she goes down to the lobby.”

He laughed again, this time louder. The echo bounced to and fro from one wall to the other.

“Nobody goes down to the lobby, kid. Not even me.”

The three stood still, not sure what to do with this information. Was this supposed to be some sort of joke?

“Then she just… stays there? In her room?” Harriet questioned. “Ridiculous,” she spat under her breath

“Funny you should say that, ol’ ‘Good News’ is one of the exceptions. A lotta ‘em do

stay and just sit there like homebodies. But that’s not her thing. In fact, it’s why we gotta keep the lights on in here. She has her ways… she’s been in the elevator before and we wanna keep her out. Usually we just use the elevator to take people up, y’know?”

But they didn’t know. “Good News?” Was that some sort of nickname? If he had never saw her, how could he have even come up with one? Reggie, with his eyes still in a uncomfortable-looking squint, turned his head to Harriet, then to the bellboy.

“What does she do?” he asked curiously.

The male leaned down to Reggie’s height, even though he probably wouldn’t be able to

see him anyway.

“She interviews people. Tricks ‘em into thinking she’s s’posed t’a be travelling around like she does, maybe messes with their heads. That way she can be on Paige’s side and her own. Keeping the guests up here is what the owner wants, so by doin’ her job she has an excuse to get closer to the thirty-fifth floor.”

“But I thought there were only 34,” Harriet interrupted.

“That’s the code name for the basement,” the bellboy replied, as if they should’ve known already.

“And what happens if you get down there?”

He paused, expression suddenly becoming much colder. His hat hid his eyes.

“It’s the only exit, I’ll tell ya that.” The familiar ding rung once again as the bellboy practically pushed the three out the elevator and into the hallway before they could even question it.

Robin had too much on her mind, all at once. Thoughts swirling, mingling, fighting with each other in her head. For once she wished to know as little as Reggie, who was currently hiding under the sheets on the bed. What was he thinking about? She took a deep inhale. It was really musty. The dim lamp that Harriet had turned on just minutes earlier, barely shining enough to navigate the dresser drawers properly, showcased the dust flying around the room.

“Harriet,” she finally calls.

Said girl turned around from her under the bed, holding a rusty-looking something.

“What?”

“I think we need to get out of here.”

All attention suddenly was focused on Robin; even Reggie had uncovered himself from the painfully retro bedding.

“What?” Harriet repeated, although it was obvious that she had understood.

“This place… this doesn’t seem right.”

“Oh please!” she replied coldly, as if she was expecting this. “You’re such a worrywart, Robin! You know that story was fake. I could tell he was lying.”

“It’s not about the story, Harriet. Reggie and I... we saw the 35th floor! The lady from the counter was there… and… and she was talking to the bellboy! The guy from earlier! It was malicious, Harriet! We’re on the top floor for a reason!”

“Yeah!” Reggie agreed enthusiastically. He was now sitting on the mattress, hands on his hips just like Robin as if he were a baby duck and she were his mother. “We heard that lady calling him! Him and the phone guy have the same voice!”

“They think we’re troublemakers! That’s why we’re so far away from the lobby! Did you think that just because you’re younger you could get away with running away like that?” Harriet chided.

Robin ignored this and continued firing her argument.

“Have you noticed that we’re the only guests here? Other than Paige and the bellboy, we haven’t seen anyone! Don’tcha think that’s just the tiniest bit strange? We bike past this route every day, and yet I’ve never heard of this place.” Robin swiftly walked over to the nearest window and roughly pulled down the cord for the blinds, revealing nothing but a frame plastered onto the wall. “There has to be a reason for this. We need to go. It’s not safe.”

“What do you expect for free?” Harriet countered.

“Why are you so insistent on staying here?” Robin shot back. Her voice cracked from anger for the first time in months.

“You can’t go anyway, remember what happened with the door?”

“But you can get out from the basement…” Reggie added.

“The ‘thirty fifth floor’ isn’t real, Reggie. None of what that guy says is true.”

“But we saw it!” Reggie insisted.

“I’m sure you did,” Harriet replied harshly, shooting a look of pure rage at the youngest, “but how can you say it wasn’t some sort of break room?” She walked over to him and lifted his chin up to her face, fake patientness masking her anger. “Reginald Quinn, this isn’t a game. You’re too young to have a say in this. I suggest you keep playing until we have this settled out, alright?”

And at this moment, Robin’s thoughts finally broke out; they agreed on their differences. Harriet was the eldest, the leader, the one who fixed mistakes more than she made them. She would never go so low… never go so low as to yell at Reggie like that. Reggie might be younger, but he was always equal. That’s what they all agreed on. That they were equal minds, had an equal say. Harriet was sounding like the distant voice of her mother, it seemed. The one she had never seen, but heard the complaints of.

The complaints of how she never saw anyone as equal to her.

Now, with no thoughts at all, Robin stood there blank-faced. Reggie’s arm was lightly grabbed by his sister as he was stood up. On instinct he followed to their next destination: the door. Harriet’s scolding continued until she realized what was happening. She ran up to them.

“What are you doing?”

“Leaving.”

“You can’t just… you can’t just do that! Do you know what they’ll do to us if they find us escaping again?”

“So you agree. It’s not normal.”

“No, maybe not, but it’s better than where I was before!”

“Where you were before.”

“Yes!” she yelled. The anger had transitioned to an almost desperate yell, Robin now tuning her out as she sped down the dark corridor.

“If you want to leave, for God’s sake,” Harriet called, “at least leave Reg here! He’ll get hurt!”

Robin turned her head back.

“You’re not his sister.”

And off into the dark, soulless hallway the two went. Reggie looked back at Harriet for a moment, but was turned back by the force of Robin’s hand. A faint ding was heard in the distance, Harriet trying hard not to scream and yell and shout and cry like she wanted to. It was too late now.

“Fights with friends, eh?” asked a familiar voice. Harriet turned around to face the bellboy, leaning in his elevator. She didn’t reply.

“Haven’t seen that situation before. Don’t worry ‘bout it, though.”

“You.”

“Me?”

“You scared off my friends. My family.”

“Scared ‘em? Geez miss, I’m sorry,” he apologized. His usual smile was replaced with sincere-looking frown of concern.

“Why did you have to tell that story?”

His eyes widened in shock.

“ ‘Story?’ Miss, I hate to break it you ya, but that ‘story’ was nothin’ but the truth. Good News use ta be like you, y’know. She hated her life, thought it was better for her here. I bet she regrets staying for as long as she has. Makes it harder to get out.”

“I can escape any time I want,” Harriet remarked.

“This place has it’s ways, girlie. It’s all in the mind. Paige didn’t offer you to stay for

free, you offered to stay away forever, y’know?”

As he said this, the elevator dinged once again.

“But I don’t know,” Harriet interjected quickly.

“Exactly,” the bellboy replied, “the only ones who do are the ones who get out.”

Harriet kept her painful gaze as the elevator shakily started to leave. A look of shock overtook the man’s face as if he remembered something.

“Oh! And before I forget,” he said, taking a familiar object from behind his back, “I believe this is yours, ma’am.”

It was a broken-down tricycle. Reggie’s, once hers.

He tipped his hat in exit as the elevator finally descended, leaving only a hazardous hole due to the lack of a door.

The bellboy, who, after being asked his name, simply requested to be addressed as “Bellboy,” came up at that same time every night since. Through all the garbled metaphors and clues Bellboy spat out, at least it was something to look forward to. Harriet soon adapted, keeping her feelings towards the others’ missing company in the back of her head rather than the forefront. At first the trike she had retrieved was kept in her room safely leaned against the bureau, neat and somewhat proper, but as the days passed it slowly fell. Between talking and sleeping and the things she didn’t remember that she did, she had always forgotten to. One night, or at least she thought it was night, at what felt like the same time everyday, Harriet locked her door and sat in front of the elevator waiting patiently for the ‘ding’ that meant she wasn’t lonely again. And sure it was; the empty cavern soon shone with light as a figure appeared before her.

But this… this wasn’t Bellboy.

A woman about the same age as Bellboy cheerfully bounced before her. While Harriet was dissapointed, company was company.

“Hello,” the person in the elevator greeted softly.

“What are you here for?” Harriet asked.

“Why the long face?” She inquired, ignoring the previous question.

“I was expecting someone else.”

“Who?”

“The bellboy.”

The girl opened her eyes in shock but quickly closed them, as if she was hiding something behind her eyelids. She scribbled something onto a pad of paper that had somehow appeared in her hands.

“Ah, so you know him. Could you do me a favor?” She looked around for a moment and then cupped her hands around one of Harriet’s ears, lowering her voice to a whisper. “Don’t tell him I was here.”

Harriet was puzzled at this request, but then soon remembered something vague and washed away. Is this…?

“Sure,” Harriet agreed before even considering the consequences. Only for a moment did she ponder if this could be dangerous.

“Great! Great great great! Now before I go, I have a question for ya.”

“Hit me.”

“Why are you here?”

Harriet gulped. The air seemed to get colder and thinner as what seemed like forever passed by. After this awkard silence, in which the woman was waiting patiently for it to end, Harriet replied.

“Because I don’t want to leave.”

“Your parents wouldn’t care?” the interviewer asked, looking up from her writing.

“My mom wouldn’t care.”

“Then how about your dad, then?”

“My dad would’ve cared,” she started, “but he isn’t... around.”

“Oh,” the reporter breathed, understanding what she meant. “I’m assuming he was the one that gave you that bee-yoo-tiful bike in your room then, huh?”

She motioned at the room’s open door fully showcasing the tricycle.

“Yes. But it’s not mine, it’s…”

She paused. Who’s was this?

“Reggie’s. It’s Reggie’s,” she messily finished. How could she forget about Reggie?

“Ah. You mind if I speak to this ‘Reggie’?”

“He’s not here, he left. Him and his sister.”

“Then why are you keeping the bike?

“It used to be mine.”

“But it’s not anymore, and he obviously didn’t take it, so he must not want it. You barely remembered him in the first place! Where are you gonna ride a bicycle around here, anyway, even if you did decide to give it back to yourself? In fact, why did you even take him with you if you’re not related?”

“I…”

The reporter glared daggers into Harriet’s brown eyes. She was sick and tired of these questions. Sick and tired of not having enough to answer with. Sick and tired of not having an answer in which to have this person stop poking at something she couldn’t remember.

“I don’t know,” she said.

The woman sighed and closed her notepad, putting it back into her satchel. She tucked the pencil over her ear. The woman remained unimpressed until she briefly look around, spotting what she had been looking for.

“Excuse me,” the interviewer asked, interrupting Harriet’s currently spaced-out demeanor, “what’s in your pocket right there?”

Harriet finally came to terms with reality and grabbed what had been there: the sharp metal object from under the bed when her friends were still there. She held it up to the taller female���s view.

“You can have it if you want,” Harriet offered. She could never figure out what it was for, so she had deemed it useless and had forgotten all about it.

The woman snached it almost predatorily, then stood up straight again as if nothing had ever happened. She thanked the adolescent and was met by a wary smile.

“Oh, and by the way…” she said as she put a foot out of the box and into the hallway. “there’s something I think you’ve forgotten. It’s no big deal, really, most of the guests have.”

“Alright then, tell me.”

The reporter took a deep breath before speaking.

“There is a reason you’re here, you know.”

She ran off, rusty, sharp something in hand.

The next night, Harriet did as usual.

At what the clock said was the same time as always, she walked into the hallway in front of the elevator, this time with the tricycle. The air was thick, emotion barren in the cold hallway. Was it winter, or was the place just always this cold? Harriet couldn’t remember.

Everything went as expected.

Bellboy, ascending from the next floor below with his usual smile and a slew of snacks, was only a quarter in view.

“Harriet!” he greeted, “sorry for not gettin’ back to you yesterday. I hope this’ll make up for it.”

Harriet nodded.

A noise, a clip, echoed from above. There was a sudden shake, and the young man’s face turned into a sudden worry.

“H-hey… what’s goin’ on? Harriet?” his voice crescendoed.

She remained quiet, gripping onto the trike as if it was life support. The elevator slowly sank. Bellboy looked down, and then back up, mortified. It seemed like as if he knew why, but not who. Harriet didn’t know why, but she had a feeling who. They could’ve clicked, could’ve escaped together, but all Harriet could think of was that she was here for a reason.

There is a reason you’re here, her mind reminded her in the voice of the guest from last night. It finally all made sense to her: she wasn’t supposed to be happy here. It was her fault.

The speed of the descent slowly rose. Harriet was still, even when he was in full view and could very easily be saved.

A small voice was heard in the distance of her mind, repeating the same pattern of speech over and over and over and over, volume increasing and tone deranging as it went on.

Time, right now, was just how the theorists in the books described it: an illusion.

Her focus snapped back to it’s original accuracy as she peered over to the descending box, a mere counterfeit of The Scream falling down, down, down. She couldn’t see the one whose laughs echoed above, who was most likely just around the corner, but she didn’t want to. She knew who it was. She knew this would happen  How could she do this to him? He was all she had left.

“Good news, good news” the laugh seemed to call.

Harriet repeated the loop yelled by the young face for the final time, no emotion left to be portrayed.

“I’m sorry.”

She picked up the tricycle, caked with dust and unusable. It took no effort to throw it into the cavern before her.

A deafening crash was heard in the down below. The light that once lit up the dead hallway flickered.

Darkness.