it's an iphone case

anonymous asked:

dark may be a sugar daddy but wil is a sugar auntie. just spoils everyone and gives endless candy and he's like "oh you wanted a new iphone?? here!! and its got a fuzzy case! and here have some lollipops!"

definitely! wilford is 100% that fun relative who spoils everyone rotten with items that he quote unquote “totally did not steal what are you talking about don’t give me that look dark” ❤️

2

Guess who finally got their phone case after it was shipped to the wrong fucking country 😂 Well something as perfect as witch! Dipper and cat!Bill deserves to have taken its sweet time!

For those wondering, this lovely case is from @elentori-art ’s lovely redbubble store! Yes, it is as perfect as it seems! She has lots of things! Like shirts, laptop cases/sleeves, iPhone cases, notebooks, etc… For stuff like Gravity Falls, Over the Garden Wall, Adventure Time, and soon to be available Percy Jackson!!!

So like, if you like cool stuff with hella art on it and good quality, I would highly recommend you going and getting all the shit from her store. Like all of it. Don’t ask questions, just do it, don’t let your dreams be dreams, especially as reality is an illusion and the universe is a hologram. Also you should buy it all in gold. Bye!

No but seriously, I’m in love with this case, the quality is amazing, and the prices were good for the amazingness! Thanks so much @elentori-art Best Mom 10000/10 💯💯

Hello Detective (Chapter 20)

Part 1   Part 2   Part 3   Part 4   Part 5   Part 6   Part 7   Part 8   Part 9   Part 10   Part 11   Part 12   Part 13   Part 14   Part 15   Part 16   Part 17   Part 18   Part 19   Part 20   Part 21   Part 22   Part 23   Part 24   Part 25   Part 26  Part 27  Part 28  Part 29  Part 30  Part 31  Part 32  Part 33  Part 34   Part 35   Part 36   Part 37   Part 38  Part 39   Part 40     Part 41   Part 42   Part 43   Part 44   Part 45   Part 46   Part 47   Part 48   Part 49   Part 50  Part 51  Part 52  Part 53  Part 54  Part 55   Part 56  Part 57 Part 58 Part 59 Part 60

(really long hahaha)

“We were worried when you didn’t come in this morning.” Lestrade said to you.

“Bit of a weird night.” You said, following Lestrade into his office where Donovan was waiting.

“Oh, look who decided to show up. What’d you do? Bang your head against the headboard to hard?” Donovan said, smirking and pointing to your bruised temple.

“Good morning to you too Sally.” You fake smiled, she was only jealous because Lestrade liked you more.

“You like the funny cases don’t you, the surprising ones.” Lestrade said to Sherlock, changing the subject.

“Obviously.” Sherlock said.

“Then you’ll love this.” Lestrade said. “That explosion.”

“Gas leak, yes.” Sherlock said.

“No.” Lestrade returned.

“No?” Sherlock asked surprised.

“No, made to look like one,” Lestrade explained, “Nothing left of the place, except a strong box. A very strong box, and inside it was this.” Lestrade said pointing to an envelope on his desk.

“You haven’t opened it.” Sherlock observed.

“It’s addressed to you, isn’t it?” Lestrade said. “We’ve X-rayed it. It’s not booby-trapped.”

“How reassuring.” Sherlock said. He examined the thick envelope under a desk lamp. “Nice stationary, Bohemian. From the Czech Republic. She used a fountain pen. Parker Duofold, iridium nib.” Sherlock deduced. He began to open it and dumped its contents out onto his hand. It was an iPhone in a pink case.

“But that… that’s the phone. The pink phone.” John stammered.

“What, from The Study in Pink?” Lestrade asked.

“Well obviously it’s not the same phone but it’s supposed to look like… A Study in Pink? You read his blog?” Sherlock asked annoyed.

“Of course I read his blog. We all do. Do you really not know that the Earth goes round the sun?” Lestrade asked, and Donovan snickered as she walked out of the room.

“It isn’t the same phone. This one’s brand-new. Someone’s gone to a lot of trouble to make it look like the same phone. Which means your blog has a far wider readership.” Sherlock said as he clicked the phone on. He went to the voicemail but all it was was 5 pips.

“Was that it?” Lestrade asked.

“No that’s not it.” Sherlock said, and he was right. After the message was over the phone received a text. It was a picture of a disheveled flat.

“What the hell are we supposed to make of that? An estate agent’s photo and the bloody Greenwich pips.” Lestrade said.

“It’s a warning. Some secret societies used to send dried melon seeds, orange pips, things like that. Five pips. They’re warning us it’s going to happen again.” Sherlock said.

“Hang on. I’ve seen that place before.” You said, taking the phone out of Sherlock’s hand.

“What’s gonna happen again?” John asked.

“Boom!” Sherlock replied.

The three men followed you out to the street to fetch a cab.

“I looked at this flat when I first moved here. We could have been flatmates.” You said to Sherlock.

“How do you mean?” Sherlock asked.

“This picture, it’s of 221C Baker Street.” You explained and the four of you caught a cab back to Sherlock’s flat. Sherlock hopped out first and went to unlock the door. The other two men followed, leaving you to pay.

“I’ll just pay then.” You said annoyingly as you handed the cabbie the fare.

“Mrs. Hudson!” Sherlock yelled as we entered the flat.

“I knew you looked familiar dear. You came to see about this flat around the same time Sherlock moved in here.” Mrs. Hudson said to you as she handed Sherlock the key.

“This door has been opened, recently.” He said.

“No, can’t be. That’s the only key. I can’t get anyone interested in this flat. It’s the damp, I expect. That’s the curse of basements. I’d a place once when I was first married. Black mold all up the wall…” Mrs. Hudson said, as the three men ignored her and walked down the stairs.

“Men…” you shrugged and smiled at her before following the guys down the stairs. When you made it to the bottom you saw that the only thing in the empty room were a pair of tennis shoes in the center. Sherlock began to walk towards them.

“He’s a bomber, remember.” John said, Sherlock continued on carefully. He knelt down next to the shoes slowly. Suddenly the pink phone rang, nearly making you jump. He stood up and answered it.

“Hello?” He asked.

“H…Hello… sexy.” the voice began, she was crying.

“Who is this?” Sherlock asked.

“I’ve…sent you… a little puzzle, just to say hi.”

“Who’s talking? Why are you crying?” Sherlock asked.

“I’m not crying. I’m typing and this study bitch is reading it out.”

“The curtain rises.” Sherlock mumbles to himself.

“What?” John asked, having heard him.

“Nothing.” Sherlock said.

“No, what did you mean?” John said.

“I’ve been expecting this for some time.” Sherlock replied.

“Twelve hours to solve my puzzle, Sherlock or I’m going to be so naughty.” The call ended.

Lestrade caught a cab back to Scotland Yard to start working things out back there, look for this poor kidnapped lady.  He instructed you to stay with Sherlock. This case was clearly all about him. Sherlock, John, and you went to Bart’s so you could start examining the shoes. Thank God Sherlock is a graduate Chemist.

When you walked in the lab you hung up your blazer on the coat rack. Now you were just in heels, tight slacks, and a brown strappy blouse.

“Who do you think it was?” John asked, you weren’t sure if he was talking to Sherlock or you.

“The woman on the phone… the crying woman.” John said again.

“She’s just a hostage.” You said.

“She doesn’t matter, no lead there.” Sherlock said.

“For god sake I wasn’t thinking about leads.” John said.

“You’re not going to be much use to her.” Sherlock said to John.

You walked behind Sherlock and examined all his equipment out on the lab table. On his computer he was trying to find a match for the dirt lodged in the bottom of the shoes.

“Are you trying to trace it, trace the call?” John asked you.

“No, whoever is doing this, planning all these intricate puzzles out for him,” you said pointing to Sherlock, “is not dumb enough to let his whole scheme crumple because of one traced call, he’ll have either re routed it through proxy servers or blocked the trace completely. This man is completely organized, I don’t plan on him making any mistakes.”

“Can you pass me my phone?” Sherlock asked you.

“Where is it?” You asked, standing behind him.

“My jacket.” He said. You rolled your eyes and reached into his jacket, your hand running against his chest and reaching into the breast pocket to pull out his phone.

“It’s a text from Mycroft.” You said, looking at his phone.

“Delete it.” He instructed, never looking up from the microscope.

“Delete it?” You asked, not sure why he wouldn’t even read it.

“Missile plans are out of the country now. Nothing we can do about it.” Sherlock said.

“Well, Mycroft thinks there is. He’s texted you eight times. Must be important.” You said.

“Then why didn’t he cancel his dental appointment? Mycroft never texts if he can talk.” Sherlock said.

“That’s not true, he texts me all the time.” You said.

“That’s because he’s infatuated with you. Look, Andrew West stole the missile plans, tried to sell them, got his head smashed in for his pains. End of story. The only mystery is this, why is my brother so determined to bore me when somebody else is being so delightfully interesting?” Sherlock said.

“Hold up… Did you say Mycroft was infatuated with me?” You laughed.

“Well he did take you to lunch yesterday didn’t he?” Sherlock said.

“Well so? He also offered me a job, that doesn’t mean he’s infatuated with me.” You argued.

“You’re probably the first woman he’s ever met that’s his intellectual equal… or at least mine.” Sherlock said. You were astounded, firstly by the fact that Sherlock believed you were his intellectual equal, which was saying something, and secondly by the fact that he thought Mycroft was basically in love with you.

“Try and remember there’s a woman here who might die.” John said, disappointed in our banter.

“What for? There’s hospitals full of people dying, Doctor. Why don’t you go and cry by their bedside? See what good it does then.” Sherlock replied insensitively. John got a little upset and walked out the door. He probably just went to the loo, he’d be back in five minutes. He does love to be dramatic though.

Suddenly Sherlock’s computer beeped, indicating its found a match for the dirt on the shoes.  As Molly walked in the door your phone rang, Lestrade was checking in.

“Any luck?” Molly asked.

“Oh yes!” Sherlock said excitedly. You turned to take the call.

‘Hey, any luck with the missing persons reports?” You asked Lestrade, who was looking if any women had been reported missing within the last few days. You heard the door open again and another voice was heard in the room.

Molly was introducing the man to Sherlock, she then turned to you

“And this is Sergeant Gregson.” Molly said, you turned around at the sound of your name and quickly shook the man’s hand, clearly more interested in your phone call.

“No none reported recently. What about on your end?” Lestrade asked.

“Hang on let me ask… Sherlock Lestrade wants to know the progress.” you said. You turned to Sherlock, your phone still pressed against your ear. You rested the other hand on the lab table next to him.  

“Tell him to meet us at our flat in an hour.” Sherlock said, still looking into the microscope.

“So you’re Sherlock Holmes. Molly told me all about you, are you on one of your cases?” The man said, clearly no one was going to reply.

“Did you hear that?” You asked Lestrade.

“Jim works in IT, upstairs. That’s how we met. Office romance.” Molly giggled.

“Yup, I’ll see you guys then.” Lestrade  said.

“Gay. I mean, hey.” Sherlock said, after one glance at the man.

“Alright, bye.” You said, ending the call.

“Well, I better be off. I’ll see you at the Fox. About six-ish?” The man said, turning and walking towards the door. You never got a clear look at his face but the fact that his underwear was hanging off was good enough to prove to you that this man was indeed gay.

“What do you mean gay? We’re together.” Molly said.

“And domestic bliss must suit you, Molly. You’ve put on three pounds since I last saw you.” Sherlock said rudely.

“Two and a half.” she tried to defend herself.

“No, three.” Sherlock stated again.

“Sherlock.” you said, warning him.

“He’s not gay! Why do you have to spoil… He’s not!” Molly yelled.

“Please, with that level of personal grooming? Tinted eyelashes. Clear signs of taurine cream around the frown lines, those tired, clubber’s eyes. Then there’s his underwear.” Sherlock scoffed.

“His underwear?” Molly asked, appalled.

“Visible above the waistline. Very visible, very particular brand. That plus the extremely suggestive fact that he just left his number under this dish here.” Sherlock said, picking up the piece of paper.

“Maybe the number was for her, I mean her tits are practically hanging out.” Molly said pointing to you.

“Hey! Even if the number was for me, do you really want to continue dating someone who was trying to pick up another chick right in front of his current girlfriend. I’d say you better break it off now and save yourself the pain.” You said. Molly rushed out the door angrily.

You immediately looked down at your chest. Contrary to Molly’s statement, your breasts weren’t hanging out that much. You couldn’t help it you had them, they were just there. You pulled the straps up on your blouse to see if they’d go in any more but you had no such luck. Sherlock noticed what you were doing.

“What she said bothered you didn’t it?” He asked. You looked up awkwardly, your hands practically on your boobs.

“Well, yeah.” You said, moving your hands to your waist.

“Leave them alone, they look great.” Sherlock said. You blushed.

“Sherlock!” You giggled, punching him lightly on the arm.  

“What?” Sherlock smirked.

“I don’t know, it’s just not like you to say something like that.” You laughed.

“I guess I’ve just never had anyone make me feel like you do.” He said, your eyes widened as you looked into his blue orbs. All you wanted to do right now was run your hands through those curls and let him take you on this table. The computer beeping broke your thoughts.

Sherlock pushed one of the shoes towards you, asking you to take it. You raised an eyebrow at him.

“You know what I do, go on.” Sherlock said.

“You want me to do what you do?” you asked and he nodded. You smirked and picked up the shoe.

“They’re very clean, but the sole of well worn, suggesting they’re old. Cleaned properly, the owner must have loved them. They’re quite large, suggesting a man, but there’s faint traces of marker inside where a name would have been written.” You said, in an arrogant way with your best British accent.

“You’re on sparkling form, what else?” Sherlock said, smiling at the accent.

“Adults don’t write their names in their shoes so these belonged to a child. Very ‘80s. Could be retro, or could be originals. If he loved them, kept this good care of them, then why did he lose them or give them up?” You added. “How did I do?”

“Well, Y/N, really well. I mean you missed almost everything of importance, but.” Sherlock said in an American accent. You laughed.

“That’s my line.” You said, smirking.

“Well, you know. I thought we were just doing impressions now,” Sherlock laughed, “You said that to me the day we met. God, I was so excited to find someone like me.” You smirked. You liked this Sherlock, this flirty, cocky, but still sweet. And always sexy.

“Your turn.” you smiled, handing him the shoe.

“Well you haven’t left me much left. He changed the laces three… No, four times. Even so, there are traces of his flaky skin where his fingers have come into contact with them so he suffered from eczema. Weak arches. Analysis shows the mud is from Sussex with London mud overlaying it. So the kid who owned these trainers, came to London from Sussex 20 years ago and left them behind.”

“So what happened to him?” You asked.

“Something bad. So a child with big feet gets…” Sherlock began and then he stopped. His eyes grew wide and you could tell he was thinking or remembering something.

“What?” you asked.

“Carl Powers.” He whispered.

“Who is that?” You asked.

“It’s where I began, Y/N. Go find John, we need to get back to Baker Street.” Sherlock instructed and you nodded.

When the three of you returned to Baker street, Lestrade was there waiting for you.

“Who is Carl Powers?” You asked Sherlock.

“1989, young kid, champion swimmer, came up from Brighton for a school sports tournament, drowned in the pool. Tragic accident. You wouldn’t remember it. Why should you?”

“But you remember?” You asked him.

“Yes.” He answered.

“Something fishy about it?” You asked again.

“Nobody thought so. Nobody except me. I was only a kid myself. I read about it in the papers.” Sherlock continued.

“You started young, didn’t you.” John commented.

“The boy, Carl Powers, had some kind of fit in the water, but by the time they got him out, it was too late. There was something wrong somewhere. I couldn’t get it out of my head.” sherlock said.

“What?” Lestrade asked.

“His shoes. They weren’t there. I made a fuss. I tried to get the police interested but nobody seemed to think it was important. He’d left all the rest of his clothes in the locker. But there was no sign of his shoes. Unit now.” Sherlock said, holding up the evidence bag with the shoes inside. You looked at your watch, there was only 6 hours left to solve the puzzle.

Sherlock sat down in the kitchen at his laptop researching. You sat opposite of him with Lestrade sifting through newspaper clippings. John was pacing in the living room, you knew he was concerned with the time and the kidnapped woman.

Sometimes, as an investigator it can be hard to remove yourself from the consequences. Just focus on the solution and stop stressing about what would happen if you didn’t solve the puzzle. In time sensitive cases like these it can be increasingly hard. Sherlock obviously has no problem with this. He wouldn’t even blink an eye if this woman died, all he cared about was solving it. Playing the game. Winning.

“Can I help? I want to help there’s only five hours left.” John said through the door, breaking you all out of your train of thought. You heard your phone ding in the other room.

“John would you mind getting that for me? It’s on the coffee table, thanks.” You said as he walked off to fetch it.

“It’s your brother. He’s texting her now about his case.” John said to Sherlock.

“Must be a root canal.” Sherlock said. John placed your phone on the table in front of you as you continued looking through the clippings.

“Look, he did say National importance.” John said.

“Hmph, how quaint.” Sherlock scoffed.

“What is?” John asked.

“You are. Queen and country.” Sherlock mocked, paying more attention to his investigation.

“You can’t just ignore it.” John chastised.

“I’m not ignoring it. I’m putting my best man onto it right now.” Sherlock said.

“Right good. Who’s that?” John asked, naively. You smirked, Sherlock looked up to him and raised his eyebrow.

“Well you better get going. Like you said… National importance.” Sherlock said.

The next time you looked at your watch there were only 3 hours left. Sherlock had moved to his microscope and Lestrade had gone out for coffee. Sherlock was analyzing the shoelaces from Carl Power’s trainers.

“Poison!” Sherlock yelled suddenly.

“What you going on about?” Mrs. Hudson asked, you hadn’t realized she’d entered the room to bring you all food.

“Clostridium botulinum! It’s one of the deadliest poisons on the planet.” Sherlock said.

“Are you saying he was murdered?” Lestrade asked from the doorway. He handed you your coffee and you thanked him.

“Remember the shoelaces. The boy suffered from eczema. It’d be the easiest thing in the world to introduce the poison into his medication. Two hours later, he comes up to London, the poison takes effect paralyses the muscles and he drowns.” Sherlock further explained.

“How come the autopsy didn’t pick that up?” Lestrade asked.

“It’s virtually undetectable. I’m sure no one would have been looking for it. It would have only taken about 75 nanograms to do it. One kg would be enough to kill the entire human population.” You answered.

Sherlock began typing furiously into his computer and you saw it was on his blog. Smart. This whole case was centered around him. The perp probably had text alerts for his blog.

“FOUND. Pair of trainers belonging to Carl Powers (1978-1989). Botulinum toxin still present. Apply 221b Baker St.” Sherlock typed.

“The killer kept the shoes all these years.” Lestrade said.

“Yes… Meaning?” Sherlock asked.

“He’s our bomber…” You answered. Suddenly the pink phone rang, again it was a blocked number.

“Well done, you. Come and get me.” The voice sobbed.

“Where are you? Tell us where you are.” Sherlock spoke into the phone. The woman answered and Lestrade looked to you, wide eyed.

“Let’s go!” He said to you. The two of you rushed down to his squad car and sped off to the location. You called for bomb squad once you got in the car.

“She lives in Cornwall. Two men broke in wearing masks, forced her to drive to the car park and decked her out in enough explosives to take down a house.” You explained to Sherlock once he met up with you guys back in Lestrade’s office at the Yard.

“She had to read off from this pager.” Lestrade said, placing the pager on the table.

“If she deviated by one word, the sniper would set her off.” Sherlock observed.

“Or if you hadn’t solved the case.” You pointed out.

“Oh… Elegant.” Sherlock said softly.

“What was the point? Why would anyone do this?” Lestrade asked.

“No, I can’t be the only person in the world that gets bored.” Sherlock said. Suddenly the pink phone buzzed again, indicating there was a voicemail. He played it and this time there were only four pips.

“First test passed, it would seem.” Sherlock said. “Here’s the second.” He held up the phone so Lestrade and you could see it. It was of a car, black, sporty.

“It’s abandoned, wouldn’t you say?” Sherlock observed.

“Go check if it’s been reported.” Lestrade instructed you, pointing outside to the phone and monitors. You nodded and glanced at the picture one last time, memorizing the make and license number. As you left the room Donovan entered, letting the ‘freak’ know he had a phone call. He stepped out of the room and stood near you, tapping away on the computer, holding the landline against your ear.

“Who is this? Is this you again?” you heard Sherlock ask. A moment passed before he spoke again.

“You’ve stolen another voice I presume.”

“Who are you? What’s that noise?”

The voice on your end spoke, killing your train of thought. You listened to the words they said, alerting you they found the car.

“Great.” you spoke, placing the phone back on the receiver.

“Found it.” you told Lestrade, passing by Sherlock who slowly lowered the phone from his ear. He turned to follow you and Lestrade out the door.

[Mark] Teacher's Pet (Chapter Eight)

All Chapters

“Abigail!” Bea urges me from the door of our hotel room. I sigh, as annoyed as her as I walk out of the bathroom.

“Just go down, I’ll be there in two minutes.” I mumble without looking at her or Melanie who stands in the doorway as well. I hear their footsteps fade away as I crouch down and look under Bea’s bed: nothing. I lift her pillow, her blanket, look behind the headboard: nothing. I look in the drawer of the nightstand next to her bed; it’s empty. When I’m about to examine my bed, I hear a soft knock on my door. I sigh and look up at the ceiling, searching for help. I said two minutes, for fuck’s sake!

“I’m coming!” I call out to whoever it is and flip my blanket over, nothing. Nothing under my pillow and my bed sheets. I get on all fours and search under my bed, nothing. The person knocks again. Fuck! As I get up, I bang my head on my bed, the pain making me cursing under my breath. I stomp to the door, trying to scratch the pain away.

“Yes.” I can’t help the exasperation in my voice as I open the door. Mr. Tuan is standing before me, a black Napapijri parka, a black scarf, blue jeans and a red beanie covering his head, but letting his little coif peek out of it.

“We’re waiting for you.” Is the first thing he says to me, and as good as he looks, he’s only fueling my frustration.

“I’m fine, thank you for asking.” I retort sarcastically, and his reaction is automatic. He reaches me and takes my head between his hands.

“No. No kiss.” I slap his hands away; I don’t need him to perturb me right now. Mr. Tuan looks surprised by my reaction, but doesn’t say a thing.

“I’m looking for my phone.” I mumble quietly, and he nods. Assuming he’s giving me time, I turn on my heels and resume my researches. I inspect Melanie’s section; her pillow, her bed, her nightstand. As I do I hear Mr. Tuan walking behind me.

“Abby, it’s right here.” I turn to see Mr. Tuan walking out of the bathroom, my IPhone six in its blue case in his hand. I sigh. I looked there like eighty-two times! I feel so dumb, and finding my phone back like this only fuels my bad mood. Carving for fresh air, I leap out of Melanie’s bed and snatch my phone from him. I need to go out.

“Gee, thank you, sir. What would I do without you?!” Mr. Tuan says sarcastically, his tone mirroring mine, and I glare at him. He gapes at me as I stare impassively at his face. He grins and takes my chin in his hand, making my cheeks wiggle. My lips twitches, and he chuckles. He was trying to make me smile, and he succeeded. He turns his cheek to me and taps it with his forefinger, asking for a kiss, and I oblige. Satisfied, he kisses my cheek as well. All of this is so weird, yet so natural.

“Come.” He says, nodding his head towards the exit. It’s Wednesday, and coach Barnes decided that this afternoon would be a touristic day of relaxation before the two days of practice and the two days of competition. The others are waiting for us in the lobby, and we have a coach we rented with Annabelle’s father’s money.

Mr. Tuan and I step into the elevator and he presses the ground floor button. The door closes and we go down for an 18 floors trip.

“Did you talk about us to your friends?” Mr. Tuan asks me.

“No.”

“Not eve Bea?” I shake my head.

“Why?” He sounds really surprised, and I start to feel bad. What kind of friend am I?

“Do you think I should?” I ask quietly.

“I’d rather you didn’t. I’m sure you understand why.” I nod. So he’s just surprised I haven’t told everyone. And suddenly I’m surprised by the faith he puts in of me, I could ruin his whole carrier after all, maybe he’s not playing with me. I am lost. The elevator comes to a halt, and as I glance up as the lights go out, and we’re in complete darkness.

“My god.” I gasp. My reaction is not intentional but automatic, I reach out and search for Mr. Tuan.

“I’m here.” I feel him on my fingertips, and he pulls me towards him as a small emergency light diffuses a subdued light.

“Scared of the dark?” The tenderness in his voice prevents me from punching him in the face. He wants to sound mocking but his eyes are comforting, I let him go.

“Ladies and gentlemen we are sorry to say that a black out is currently affecting our hotel. We are trying our best to know what is going on, and will keep you informed. Please don’t panic, and don’t try to go back to your rooms, the elevators are out of service. Don’t takes the stares in the dark. We implore your patience.” A feminine velvet voice rings in the cabin.

“Great.” I lift my eyes to the ceiling. Mr. Tuan’s reaction is to pull out his phone.

“I have service.” He mumbles to himself, and then he calls someone.

“Lauren? Yes, we’re in the elevator… I know…okay…I’ll call you.” He says and I understand he’s speaking to Barnes. He hangs up and turns to me.

“The others are leaving; we’ll have to catch up with them.” He says.

“Wonderful.” I roll my eyes, sliding down the wall and sitting on the ground. There goes my touristic day in Dallas.

“Is it that bad, being stuck with me?” Mr. Tuan says, sitting on the ground next to me. I give him an apologetic smile. No, being stuck with him is not bad at all.

“I think it’s a sign.” He says to me.

“A sign?” I frown.

“Yes. I say that this elevator won’t set off unless you don’t give me an answer.” I shake my head out of disbelief. Oh, there he was going.

“I need to-”

“You need to think.” He cuts me off, finishing my sentence.

“You’re thinking too much Abby. You know how I would act if I thought too much? I would tell myself you’re too young, I would tell myself I’m a pervert, I would tell myself you’re going to tell everything to your friends and I’ll be fired, and I wouldn’t dare talk to you.” He says. Wow, it’s crazy the number of questions he ignored, and I can’t say he was wrong.

“But right now, what I know is that I think I could like you, if I don’t already, and that I’m dying to kiss you right now.” He adds, making me blush. He sure knows how to make a woman feel irresistible.

“What about you?” He asks. I pretend to think, contemplating the idea.

“I think I could become attached.” I reply and he grins

“What a good start.” He says appreciatively.

“Is that a yes?” His question puts me at the wall’s feet again, and I feel like taking a big decision, and I want to step back from it. But I don’t want to say no either.

“Sir…” I whine. Why is he so rushed?

“Why is it so hard for you?” He asks. “I really need to think some more.” I reply. "If you want to know if you can trust me, you’ll have to try.” He says. The thing is: I’ll have to open up for him if I want to know if I can trust him, but what if he disappoints me? What is even his proposition? "I don’t understand. Are you asking me out or do you want to know my secrets? What do you want from me? What’s that proposition exactly?” I say.

"I want you to stop thinking.” He says. Why everyone telling me not to think? Not thinking is the best way to screw yourself. I don’t want to make a mistake; I don’t know if I will be able to handle it. I’m thinking again. God dammit!  

"You know what? I’ll reformulate my proposition:” He says.

"I told Lauren we would join the others as soon as we get out of here, but we could take advantage of the situation.” He says “We could spend the day together, just the two of us. We can walk around, we’ll eat anywhere you want, we can go shopping, or watch a movie, anything you want.” He proposes. A whole day with him? I don’t even need to think twice.

“Like a date?” I don’t know why this idea is so appealing.

"Like a date.”  He confirms.

"Does this proposition include texting?” I tease, and he grins. “Naturally.” He says, and I giggle.

“Then, I accept your proposition.” I reply. The cabin shakes a little bit, and then the lights go back on, and the elevator starts to move again. Okay, this must be a joke. Mr. Tuan chuckles as we go down again, just like he said.

-

“Does it mean you’ll start tutoring again?” I ask as we step out of the hotel. For me who’s used to the Californian climate, the intensity of the winter in Dallas surprises me. The streets are cleared out, but the cars have at least eight centimeters on their hoods.

“Do you miss it?” Mr. Tuan drapes an arm around my waist, I flush.

"Well, it’s an occasion to see each other.“ I mumble, and he grins.

"I’d be more than happy to give you private classes.” He kisses my temple. It reminds me I don’t know why he stopped at the first place.

"Why did you stop at the first place?“ I ask him.

"Did it hurt you?”

“Why do you always want to know how what you do makes me feel?” I ask.

“Because.” He replies. Maybe he was playing hard to get back then, and he just likes to hear that I cared about him. I feel like finding back the pretentious and egocentric Mr. Tuan.

“To flatter your ego?” I ask.

“Do you think I’m egocentric?” I see in his eyes that the idea could pain him, and my suspicions disintegrate. In fact, it did bother me that he stopped tutoring me like that, but then he must have calculated his action, as always. He’s always doing the right things to shake me up and make me flustered, and I hate it, but then I can’t do nothing about it because I don’t know how to drive him crazy, I know nothing about men.

“Abby, what’s wrong?” Mr. Tuan tugs at my hand and makes me stop in my tracks. I look anywhere but in his worried eyes as he pins me against a wall. He takes my chin in his hand and I’m forced to meet his gaze. I sigh.

“I feel like you’re holding all the cards. I mean, I’m not- I’ve never…” I don’t know where I’m going with this, and neither does he, according to the frown he’s showing me.

“I’ve never done this before.” I breathe.

“Listen, I can tell you everything about me, from my birth until now, but it won’t work if you don’t open up for me. You’re holding all the cards, Abby.” He says to me. Me? Holding the cards? I’m not controlling anything right now. But then if I’m like Anastasia, I do have some power on him. But then I am a Christian Grey in a way.  “Don’t think about this now, let’s have a nice date, okay?” He interrupts my course of thoughts. Why can’t I seem to be able not to think for a second? I smile to him, and he grins. “Can I have a kiss?” He asks, giving me his cheek. Will I ever get enough of this game?

-
Mr. Tuan too me in a cute vintage restaurant with a bar and stools and old coffee machines, just like in the gas stations on the highway in films. After we seat by the window, a tall brunette comes up to us to take our order. Her attitude changes as soon as she sees Mr. Tuan. She shows him a warm and welcoming smile.


“What would you like to eat?” She asks him, not me. In fact, she doesn’t look at me. Mr. Tuan briefly eyes her and turns to me.

“Pancakes.” I reply.

“At this hour of the day?” Mr. Tuan retorts, and I tilt my head to the side. What’s wrong with pancakes? Mr. Tuan gives me a faint smile and turns to the waitress.

“Pancakes for her, and I’ll take a sirolin with green vegetables and a little bit of fries on the side.” He says, and the brunette scribbles notes as he speaks.

“The cooking of the steak?” She pipes up, big blue eyes glued on his.

“Medium rare.” Mr. Tuan doesn’t hesitate.

“Any beverage?”

“Apple juice.” I reply, and Mr. Tuan lets out a laugh of spite, shaking his head.

“Water for me.” He says, trying to calm down. What is wrong with me?

“And will that be all?” I am annoyed by the fact that she hasn’t looked at me once.

“Yes.” Mr. Tuan replies.

“Coming right up.” She gives him a warm smile and sashays away, her high ponytail moving provocatively.

“What is wrong with you?” I ask my teacher, who doesn’t seem to be able to erase his smile.

“Pancackes and apple juice?” He snorts. I really don’t see what’s so funny about this. The fact that I don’t understand his point makes him smile. “You’re adorable.” I take the compliment, but I don’t know how to feel about it. I decide to do what we are here for, and start interrogating him.

“Do you have brothers or sisters?” I ask him.

“I have a little brother.” He replies.

“What’s his name?”

“Dylan.”

“You’re close to him?”

“Quite, yeah.”

“Are you single?” I don’t know why I’m asking that, but then it’s good to be sure.

“I thought that was a self-obvious point.” He replies and I shrug. A self-obvious point? So, he’s a faithful person, good to know.

“Relieved?” He asks, a boyish and proud smile sprawled on his face, and his radiating confidence makes me flush.

Shortly after, the waitress comes back with our meals in her hands. “Blue sirolin steak with fries and vegetables for sir, and pancakes for the little sister.” She says, and my inner bitch cracks her fingers. Mr. Tuan snorts, but tries to contain himself.

“She’s not my-”

“I’m his girlfriend.” I cut him off, shutting her up for good.

“Oh, my apologies.” She turns puce and turns on her heels. My inner bitch leans back in her armchair. As I look at her leave, I notice Mr. Tuan trying his best not to laugh to loudly.

“What?” I ask him.

“Abigail, you should take it as a compliment.” He laughs. I don’t even know what to say. I decide to let him in his own world and focus on my pancakes. “Jeez, Abby. Don’t let this sour your mood.” He says, and I can sense his smile disappeared. I ignore his remark.

“How old are you?” I ask.

“Twenty-six.” Eight years older than me, damn. How can he possibly be attracted to me?

“How come you’re teaching so young?”

“I had my high school degree when I was 15.” He says. Holy shit! He’s intelligent, just like Christian Grey.

“You’re a genius?” I ask, and he shrugs.

“You could say that.” He says not too convinced.

“Why teaching?” I ask, and he brings his brows together.

“I mean, you could totally be anything you want, why would you want to be a teacher?” I ask.

“It’s a long story.” He says.

“Long story short?” I insist.

“I had a crush on my math teacher.” He says. A crush would have made him dedicate himself to a not so well paid job?

“Fuck.” I whisper, and he hums appreciatively.

“Love fool?” I snort, and he nods.

“Not that much of a genius then.” I remark.

“Told you.” He says.

“You still can quit.” I reply, and he tilt his head to the side.

“You could do something else, something you like.” I shrug. Mmmmh those pancakes are heaven.

“I could.” He shrugs.

“What’s all those necklaces? You always have one.” I understand it’s his turn to ask questions. I start to get uncomfortable.

“It’s just an accessory.” I lie.

“And it’s just a bad lie.” I don’t reply.

“What are you hiding?” He asks.

“My past.” I murmur.

“Are they scars?”

“No.”

“Birthmarks?”

“Yes.”

“You’re lying.”

“How can you know?”

“You’re not even looking it me.” I freeze. How can he read through me like this?

“I don’t want to talk about it.” I murmur.

“You know; it won’t work if you don’t try a little.” He replies. “I’d rather it didn’t work actually.” It’s my way of pushing him away. He’s getting to close, and I don’t like it. But then the silence he gives makes me realize my mistake. He resumes eating in silence. “I’m sorry.” I finally look up at him.

“They are scars.” I confess. “But please don’t ask how I got them, please.” I plead. “Yeah, because you’ll be obligated to tell me.” He replies bitterly. “Because I won’t tell you and you’ll get mad at me.” I reply, and he sighs heavily.

“You don’t have to be scared of talking to me, you know?” He softens a little bit. “I know; I just need time.” I give him a weak smile. After a moment of eyeing me, he gets up from his seat and it’s on the leather seat next to me. He swings an arm on the back of the seat behind my head so he’s facing me.

“Can I kiss you?” He asks.

“Since when do you need my permission?” I arch my brow, remembering his numerous unauthorized affronts.

“You prohibited me from kissing you yesterday.” I raise my eyebrows.

“That’s why you haven’t kissed me since the elevator?” I ask.

“Did you want me to?” He asks, his usual confident diamond smile making me flush.

“Yes.” I whisper.

-

“Look.” I gasp, stopping in my tracks as I spot a cute store on the street. "A vinyl store?“ I turn to my teacher, and he’s arching his brow.

"You don’t like?” I ask, but I don’t really care about his answer, I want to go in.

“It’s so vintage, I’ve always dreamed to go in a vinyl store.” He says as we step into the store.

“Why didn’t you go sooner?” I ask  carelessly, my eyes wandering around the store. Oh my god it’s so vintage! There is a jukebox and tons of old CD players, and I want to put all of them in my pocket.

“I guess I was waiting for you.” Mr. Tuan says, and I turn to him. What a Fiftyshadism. I smile to him. Suddenly, my eyes catch something behind him, I gasp.

“They have the vinyl edition of Nickleback’s first album, I am in heaven, or in the middle of a dream.” I breathe, walking to the stand with Nickleback’s first album cover stuck on the wall.

“You like Nickleback? I have all of their albums.” Mr. Tuan says as he walks beside me. He takes a CD in his hands, and he looks like a child in a candy store.

“I love them.” I reply, turning to him. We have common points!

“According to you, when was the peak of rock and roll?” Mr. Tuan asks me, and I immediately know he really likes rock and roll.

“94.” I reply firmly, and a light flashes in his eyes. He looks at me as if I had grown an additional limb.

“What?” I arch my brow. Maybe we’re not on the same page in which concerns music.

“Don’t give me that look. People who say it was 77 are real-” I notice a booth dedicated to Spyair, and I feel my skull explode. I gasp, and before I know it, I’m there, staring at Ike’s big eyes.

“Unbelievable.” I breathe. “I am in heaven.” If I was in a manga, I would have star-shaped eyes.

“You like Spyair? I love their songs.” Mr. Tuan asks once he’s behind me. I nearly disintegrate.

“They are my all-time favorites.” I beam at him. Omg he loves Spyair too!

“What’s your favorite song?” He asks me.

“Niji. What’s yours?” I reply.

“No where now here.” He says, and I beam at him.

“I love that song.” The lyrics start running inside my head, and it’s good to know he thinks I listen to good music. I can’t resist the urge inside of me, I take the vinyl edition of Niji.

“I have to buy one for Bea too.” I gasp, and chose their song Little Summer, her favorite. I’m giddy with joy, I’m so vintage and cool, almost Instagramly. Suddenly, Mr. Tuan snatches the CDs from my hands.


“What are you doing?” I ask in horror. My CDs!

“I’m buying them for you.” He says.

“What? No.”

“Watch me.” He winks.

“They are twenty dollars each, it’ll make eighty bucks.” I argue.

“I know.” He says, almost reminding me he’s a math teacher.

“I can buy them myself.” I say, and he rolls his eyes at me.

“It’s a gift, Abby.”

“I don’t want any gift from you.” I imagine him giving me the keys of my dream Mini Cooper, and the thought makes me shiver.

“They are CDs, not an Audi.” Mr. Tuan says as if he was speaking to a kid.

“It starts with CDs, then it’s an A3.” I reply.

“Abby, there is really no point in arguing over this.”

“I feel like you’re buying me.” I reply.

“Abby, I am no Christian Grey in which concerns money, and I’m not trying to make you my submissive.” He says. But is his proposition that different from Christian’s?

“You still want to have sex with me.” The heavy silence he gives me grips at my heart. He stares at me intently, and I start to feel guilty, I could even say he’s making me regret my words. He stares at me impassively, but his eyes are making me guilty, and I have to look down at his nose. I swallow.

“Buy them yourself if you want, I was just trying to please you.” He says harshly hands me the CDs, and now they disgust me. He turns on his heels and leaves to pay for his CDs. I don’t even know why I said this, he hasn’t given me any sign of wanting to have sex with me, he hasn’t even evoked the idea, which is actually a bit weird. Does he not want me anymore? All I know now is that I ruined the moment. It’s a stupid book, it makes me say silly things I know he doesn’t want me to be his sex slave. I roll my eyes and shake my head, and as I do my eyes stop on the promotions for Magic’s CDs. Their song ‘don’t kill the magic’ is on sale. The irony of the situation doesn’t fail me, and I want to scowl at Nasri, the singer.

I take slow and careful steps towards Mr. Tuan as he queues to pay for his CDs. I’ve never felt this guilty before, and I don’t know why the idea of him being mad at me is nauseating.

“Sir?” I tug the back of his parka, and he briefly turns to me. As much as I thought his behavior was inappropriate, I hate him being so distant with me.

“I’m sorry.” I murmur. "Do you really think I’m like him?“ He asks. I want to say no, but then he has so many common points.

"I shouldn’t have said that, I know we don’t have the same relationship as them.” I reply.

“Then why did you react like that?” He asks me. I shrug, looking down at my feet. I don’t even know what got into me. I feel stupid, I don’t know what to say. Mr. Tuan grabs my chin and tilt my chin up, locking his eyes with mine, and his eyes have softened.

"Can I buy them for you?“ He asks me.

"Yes you can.” I smile, handing him my CDs.

"Can I get a kiss too?“ He gives me his cheek. I make a move to kiss him but when he turns his head and kisses me first I know he’s back with me.

-

Me and Mr. Tuan meander in the streets after a snowball fight, hand in head, enjoying each other’s company. I don’t really know where we going, it’s dark, quiet but yet lively, and I think Dallas is a really cool city.

"What’s your parents’ job?” Mr. Tuan asks me, breaking the silence that had taken place between us.

“My mom works in publishing and my father is a soldier.” I reply. “My father is in the army too.” Oh.

“Really?” I ask, and he hums in response. I’d love to see a picture of his parents, get to see the people who made such a beautiful person.

“You said you were realizing it wasn’t all about sex.” Mr. Tuan says after another moment of silence.
“And?” I ask.

“What did you mean by that?” Oh, so he’s pulling me this time. It’s my turn to play hard to get.

“Did it perturb you?” I tease, doing my best to hide my intentions and sounding truly curious. Well, I actually am.

“I thought it meant you liked me a little bit.” He shrugs. Oh that’s good. My subconscious hugs herself and squeals.

“Well, I don’t like you at all so…” I say jokingly, enjoying having him vulnerable. His face falls, and mine as well.

“I was joking, Mr. Tuan.” I say quietly. His face hardens.

“Do you think it’s funny?” He asks dryly.

“Sorry.” I roll my eyes. Jeez! Do I react like that when he plays hard to get?

“Hey.” Mr. Tuan says as he realizes his outburst. He tugs at my hand and stops me in my tracks. I look up at him impassively, and his eyes are apologetic.

“I’m sorry, okay?” He says.

“I just need to know if I’m heading straight into a wall or not.” I purse my lips. Maybe I just can’t play hard to get.

“I may like you.” I give in, and he grins, proud and boyish, and his smile is contagious. Happy, eh?

“Me too.” He says, and I try not to show it does something to me. Then all my interrogations come back to me like a wave, and I feel like engaging myself into something that goes beyond me.

“But-”

“No.” He cuts me off, and I keep silent. “We’ll see the buts later. What do you want to do now?” He says. Stop thinking, Abigail!

“I want to go back to the hotel.” I reply.

“Really?” He can’t hide his disappointment.

“I’m cold.” I purr, taking a step closer to him and burring myself against his chest as he wraps his arms around me.

“Fine.  We’ll take a taxi.” He says.

-

I’m glad to be back to the hotel, it’s so cold outside. It’s already dark and freezing, and all I need now is a hot chocolate and some tender pancakes. Mr. Tuan told me the others won’t come until six thirty, which give us about two hours of nothing, and it would be a shame not to take advantage of the situation. I proposed him to watch a movie in his hotel room. It’s only after he accepted that I realize the innuendo in my proposition. Is something going to happen in this room? Is that why he accepted? Is he expecting something from me? Will I be able to give it to him? Do I even want something to happen?

I don’t have the time to answer all of those questions that make my skull fume with confusion, I’m already laying down beside him with my favorite movie, Austin Powers, playing on the TV. I don’t know how to explain the way things escalated. What is a look? A touch? A caress? I don’t know how that spark came to life between us but there I am, as hungry as ever, every cell of my body devouring him.

I’m on top of him, straddling his waist, my fingers curling in his hair as I kiss him. I pull is tongue into a tortuous dance, and he takes my breath away. This kiss is the wake up call to this tingling sensation in the depths of my body, and I’m aching for him. One hand on my backside, the other in my hair, he holds me close to him, and I feel it, this mutual attraction making the atmosphere electric.

I can feel his erection straining against my groin, his hard shaft pressed onto my center as I shift fractionally. His hands are all over me, running, caressing, squeezing, paling, claiming my body as his, and I want to give myself to him, I want him to feed my carving. He flips us over and I’m lying under him, and my heart starts to race.

The pleasure evaporates and a familiar fear grips at my heart. He’s towering over me, his mouth all over my neck, and I feel like at any moment I could look at his face and see Liam take his good time on me. I feel vulnerable, at his mercy, I can’t control anything, I’m scared.

“Wait.” I breathe, pushing him off me. My voice is high pitched, shaky, barely audible over the TV, like a silent cry. His actions cease immediately and he locks his eyes with mine. I bring my hands to my mouth, and he brings is brow together. Tears run down my face, and I’m mortified.

“What’s wrong?” His face vanishes. I’m breaking down in front of him, I want to hide. How have I been so stupid? How did I not think of that? Did I really think I could have sex with him without him being on top of me? I have to go; I have to walk away from this. I make a move to run away.

“Abby.” He grabs my arm as I try to leap out of bed. He drafts me back to him, and I collide with his chest. Suddenly, all my strengths leave me. I don’t have the strength to fight him, and I realize it’s an effect he has on me since a long time. I burst into tears.

“Hey.” He says, moving to face me.

“Abby what’s wrong?” He takes my face between his hands and locks his alarmed eyes with mine.

“Abby, I’m sorry.” He says. I’m sure he doesn’t know what he’s sorry for. His eyes search into mine as I try to calm myself down. I think deep down I want him to know, I want him to understand and to help me, but I don’t have the strength to tell him.

“What on earth could traumatize so much?” He whispers, his thumb caressing my cheek. His eyes search and then his eyebrows cease. Something occurs him.

“Abby, just answer my question.” I sniffle in response. Is he really trying to guess what happened to me?

“Have you been raped?” He asks, and my reaction is totally unwanted, I burst into tears, giving the answer away.

“Am I right? Is that it?” I just can’t stop crying. I sob some more and he understands he’s right, cuddling me against his chest as I cry myself out. It feels liberating in a way, but then the thought of Liam won’t go away, and I can’t bare it. Eventually, once I’m all cried out, I manage to mumble something.

“Sorry.” I whisper at the sight of the stain I made on his T-shirt. I pull away from him and wipe my nose with the back of my hand.

“For what?” He tucks a strand of hair behind my ear. I feel like it’s too much baggage for him, that’s why I apologize. I don’t answer. I can’t compare my experience with Christian Grey’s, but I’m scared he is going to leave me now that he knows. And I understand Christian, Mr. Tuan is the only person who makes me feel this good, I don’t want to scare him away. Well, right now he’s still here. But then who would leave in such a situation. Maybe he’s just being polite and comforting me, maybe he’s already thinking about how he’s going to put an end to our relationship. I need to know.

“Now what do we do?” I ask quietly.

“Do you want to talk about it?” I shake my head. Mr. Tuan kisses me and takes place behind me, settling me between his warped legs, sneaking his arms around me and pulling me to him so I’m leaning against him. We lay here for a moment, as Austin Powers desperately tries to save his mojo. Suddenly I feel stupid. How can we not talk about this? Like, I’ve just revealed him a shocking information about myself and we’re just brushing it off in front of the TV?

“How did you guess?” I ask him after a moment.

“You clearly had a problem with sex, and your scars, and the way you got scared… You’re always so strong and brave and fearless… I’d never thought I’d ever see you this frightened.” He says.

“I don’t like people being on top of me.” I mumble quietly.

“Like a hard limit?” He asks. Is it really a hard limit? I thought being called Abby was a hard limit for me, but then it doesn’t bother me when it’s him. But then I didn’t expect to react that way. Will I ever get past this limit?

“Like touching for Christian.” I reply.

“You’re very Christian Grey-ish, you know?” He says, his words mirroring mine, and I smile. It’s crazy how my heart feels lighter now he understands me, and understands why I don’t like to be called Abby. I realize he is probably feeling guilty for not listening to me.

“You can call me Abby.” I say to him.

“It doesn’t bother you?” He asks. I take his hand in mine and start to play with his fingers, caressing them.

“Since when do you care?” I ask. His hands are so big.

“Since I laid my eyes on you.” He replies. I think about our discussion in the classroom.

“You’ve had a weird way of showing it.” I arch my brow though he can’t see me.

“I know, and I’ve apologized for it. Did I get better?” He says. The day we spent together comes back to me like a movie, the vinyl store, the snow, walking hand in hand with him, a smile ghosts over my face.

“Let’s say you’ve been saying the right things.” I reply petulantly, and I can sense his grin. Wow, he has beautiful fingers.

“That’s good to know. You always give me mixed signals.” He says.

“What?” I frown.

“For a second I think you’re having a good time and the next second you’re mad at me.” He says.

“That’s because I never know what you’re trying to imply through your actions.” I reply. We don’t know each other very well, and yet we’re both in some kind of complicated relationship.

“That’s a fiftyshadism.” He says, and I laugh. As if he could read my thoughts.

“You know the comics A Nickname for Your Pets?” I ask curiously, remembering how he reacted when I mentioned it during our first big discussion. He hums affirmatively.

“My father would give me one of them after each of my soccer games.” He precises.

“You play soccer?” I look up at him, and he gazes down at me, his eyes soft. “Played, when I was younger.” He kisses my forehead, and I look back at the TV. I imagine seven-year-old Tuan in his soccer outfit, and the picture is too cute to handle, but then I imagine him grown up like today in shorts and studs, and I flush.

“Soccer players are hot.” I murmur.

“Cheerleaders are sexy.” He whispers into my ear, and his voice is so sexy that I have to fight back a moan.

“Do you think I’m sexy?” I turn to him, and he looks at me intently. “You are the most desirable creature on earth, Abby.” He says seriously before kissing me.

“You’re not too bad yourself.” I reply, and he grins.

“Well, thank you Abigail.” He chuckles, and I give him my back again. He nuzzles my neck, his nose tracing the curve of my nape, and the he starts kissing me here and there. I can’t believe I’m having this kind of relationship with my math teacher, but what’s more unbelievable is that it feels incredibly right.

I remember he told me he had this kind of relationship too, maybe that’s why he is so cool about it, and doesn’t find it inappropriate.

“You said you fell in love with your math teacher.” I say, and he pulls his lips off my skin. I open my eyes, and realize I had closed them.

“Yes.” He says.

“Is it still the case?” I don’t know why I’m asking that.

“No.” He replies dryly.

“How do you know?”

“I’ve had girlfriends after her.”

“Older girls?” I ask cautiously. Maybe he likes older girls, like Christian only likes brunettes, but then Anastasia’s a brunette too. Mark keeps silent for a moment.

"Yes.” He replies. So he likes older girls.

“Why did she have that other girls didn’t?” I ask.

“I was too young and immature for girls in high school and Mrs. Cooper, she was so young in her head, so mischievous and funny.” He says. An older woman, who influenced the person he is now, just like in the book. “A little bit like a Mrs. Robinson.” I retort bitterly.

“No, Abby. Mrs. Cooper and I never went that far, nothing happened between us and I don’t feel anything for her anymore. It really is nothing like Christian and Mrs. Robinson’s relationship.” I run my fingernails up and down his palm, why does it bother me so much?

He’s right, at least she hasn’t beaten the shit out of him and fucked him up when he was fifteen. He shakes me out of my thoughts.

“Are you jealous, baby?” He sounds proud of himself, and as much as I want to sass back, my flush betrays me. He just called me baby, and I want to squirm. My subconscious hugs herself.

“You’re calling me baby now.”

“I’ve been dying to call you baby ever since you’ve told that waitress you were my girlfriend.” He murmurs and I frown.

“Why?”

“Because the idea wasn’t that unpleasant.” I freeze, stopping playing with his fingers and glancing around the room. The idea of dating me not that unpleasant? I don’t know what to do. There is an innuendo in his words. Is he asking me out? Maybe he isn’t. What do I do? What do I say?

“If you don’t like it, I’ll stop.” He adds quickly, and I glance up at him. He seems detached from the subject, but his eyes betray a light of fear. And I feel like we’re talking about something deeper than a nickname. The thought of stopping everything is appalling.

“No, it’s okay, I like it.” I reply, and he smiles down at me. He kisses me on the lips slowly, tenderly, using his free hand to caress my cheek with his thumb. All of the unspoken gets crystal clear, and it’s more than signing a contract. He’s embracing me, as I give myself to him. His tongue flicks against mine, and shit, I think I’m dating my math teacher.

Sherlock Season 4 Vlog Countdown
63 Days until January 1, 2017, 9:00PM UK Time

I forgot to mention in this take that I was actually going to a Halloween party, hence the costume. So yeah, just humour me. I’ll dress up again tomorrow for you ;) And yes, the pauses are actually really me thinking about the numbers.

2

I finally finished it! I sketched this out a year ago, forgot about it, re-discovered it, and began working on it again~ If you can’t figure out which characters are which, here’s the list going clockwise:

Shepard/Alice
Kasumi/Cheshire Cat
Samara/Duchess
Miranda/Queen of Hearts
Jacob/King of Hearts
Tali'Zorah/Dormouse
Garrus/Mad Hatter
Legion/March Hare
Mordin/Mock Turtle
Jack/Gryphon
Javik/Carpenter
Wrex/Walrus
Steve/Duck
Samantha/Lory
James/Dodo
Ashley/Tweedledee
Kaidan/Tweedledum
Joker/White Knight
EDI/White Queen
Liara/White Rabbit
Zaeed/Knave of Hearts
Thane/Caterpillar
Grunt/Bill

I put it up in my stores in case if anyone else wants the design! 

Redbubble | Society 6

3

iPhone 7 + 7s | Apple

Apple has revealed the latest versions of its hugely popular iPhone, with a redesigned water- and dust-resistant casing and a variety of new features.

The iPhone 7 and iPhone 7 Plus were unveiled by CEO Tim Cook earlier today, at this year’s edition of the tech giant’s annual conference at the Bill Graham Civic Auditorium in San Francisco.

The new designs are available in a new high-gloss Jet Black version, created so surfaces between the front and back are seamless, and a matte Black edition.

A production video showing the manufacturing processes prove most interesting with the advanced polishing processes of the aluminium and the anodising to give it a high quality edge.