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angelisverba · 4 years

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i’ll hold you so you don’t fall again

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

pairing: interiordesing!y/n and eroticawriter!harry

word count: 21k+

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

Y/n wasn’t one to brag.

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

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

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

Because it definitely was one.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You know, like with a brush and paint can.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Okay, how do you want me?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And then,

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

“Y/N!!” Lucy yelled from the counter.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Y/N!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Oh! Um…”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Affection. Love. Companionship.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Let’s go.”

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

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

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

She couldn’t say no.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Biting into her toast, she opened the book.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Don’t call me that,” she mumbled.

“What do you wish I call you then?”

“Dani.”

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

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

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

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

strands then massaging down her neck and shoulders.

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

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

“No,” she said quietly.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And when it died out,

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

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

“... you know what I mean?”

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

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

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

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

Y/n truly wished she didn’t know.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

God.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Not falling.

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

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

Right. In front. Of her face.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Timidly, she responds, “Okay.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Thank you so much for h-”

“Y/n?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And it definitely didn’t.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Upon first entering, y/n is disoriented.

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

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

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

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

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

Perfect.

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

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

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

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

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

She started in the back. With the plants.

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

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

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

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

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

“Y/n!”

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

Grey sweatpants.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I’ll catch you.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Lead the way.”

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

“S’very nice back here.”

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

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

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

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

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

“It’s that serious?” She asked.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What was that?’ she hums.

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

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

“Uhm, thank you?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Stop it,” she said.

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

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

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

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

“When do you get a break?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Well if it isn’t y/n!” Says Kim.

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

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

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

“Two drinks?”

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

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

“Y/n!” Kelsey hissed, “He’s hot!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What did you get?” He asked her.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Do you decorate apartments?” He asked.

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

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

“Harry, I-”

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

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

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

“But it’s your home.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

God, what had she gotten herself into?

Y/n had saved Harry under “H.”

And received a text from him that same night.

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

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

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

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

So i think i know what i wanna go for

Was thinking maybe italy in the 70’s

What do you think :D ??

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

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

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

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

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

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

are you doing anything this weekend?

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

No. why? she responded.

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

and I have a measuring tape don’t worry

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

Saturday?

Seconds later,

see you Saturday

sweet dreams. H.x

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

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

Maybe.

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

She cried.

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

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

It said:

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

Friday.

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

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

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

Saturday.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Thank you, Felix. You too.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“How was-”

“So, you-”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I-I,” she stutters.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Sorry, sorry. What was it?”

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

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

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

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

“Hey! You said you had takeout,”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Good.”

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

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

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

“But-” Harry protested.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Dunno, its just second natur- heeyy,”

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

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

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

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

She says it teasingly.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Said, what about you?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Lemus Knox.

Harry was Lemus Knox. Harry was Lemus fucking Knox.

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

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

“You know who I am?” he said slowly.

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

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

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

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

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

3K notes · View notes

thenamesseven · 4 years

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Word count: 2.7k

Warnings: Jae getting a bit...Naughty xD

A/N: Hey! New chapter here! I just wanted to ask you all a question, are you guys still interested in this story? Each chapter is getting less and less notes and I feel like it is not interesting anymore, I would like you all to answer sincerely so I know if I should keep updating it or not! Thank you and enjoy the chapter! ^^

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Scoffing, Jaebum kicked a little stone that was on the ground as he walked outside of the building, hands in his pockets and eyes down as thousands of thoughts ran back and forward in his mind. He would have never thought things would turn out to be more difficult than he expected, at the beginning his task seemed to be incredibly easy, one that anybody could have done. You were single, he was fairly attractive and showing interest in you, he had been more than clear when it came to the kind of relationship he wanted to develop between the two of you.

But stupid Yugyeom had to show up and screw everything.

What did he have that he didn’t anyways? Jaebum was older than you, something girls definitely liked. In his opinion, he looked more mature and as a consequence he also looked slightly more attractive. Jaebum also had this kind of bad boy aura, the one people who weren't afraid of breaking the rules had while Yugyeom looked like somebody who could have never broken a plate. Those were the worst kind of guys, it wouldn’t surprise Jaebum if he stabbed you on the back as soon as he got tired of you or as soon as he got what he wanted from you.

Let’s see if he stays around when that project the two of you had was finished. Jaebum was ready to bet all his money on Yugyeom vanishing.

Since he didn’t have any money on him he decided his best option would be walking all the way back to your apartment, it wasn’t too far but it wasn’t close either, walking around would help clear his mind hopefully, maybe that was exactly what he needed. His eyes landed on Youngjae as he looked around, another sigh leaving his lips when he realized how the male discreetly tried avoiding him as soon as he realized Jaebum was by himself. He was going to ignore him, Jaebum wasn’t a huge fan of your neighbor either but he then remembered Yugyeom mentioning him and his plans quickly changed.

“Youngjae!” He called out so he would wait for him, Jaebum increased his pace in order to not make him wait too much, Youngjae already looked uneasy, he didn’t need to make things worse for him “Hey man, already on your way home?” He asked

Youngjae, being the nice person he was, nodded innocently, gesturing to the bus stop “Yeah, I’m already done with classes for today” Both males started walking, pace slow but fast enough to get to their destination in time.

“Mind paying for me? (Y/N) is busy and I don’t have any money right now, I’ll give you the money as soon as we get home” Jaebum asked, perfectly knowing the other wouldn’t say no to him.

“Sure” Youngjae didn’t sound too excited about his new bus partner, not because he didn’t like Jaebum but more because he was lowkey scared of him. “I thought you would stay around with (Y/N) for the entire day?” He asked curiously, glancing at him as they both stopped by the bus stop, hands in their pockets.

“Nah, she can concentrate better without me around” Jaebum forced a confident yet fake smirk on his lips that Youngjae obviously believed, quickly catching the insinuation on the male’s tone, making his cheeks turn slightly pink “But yeah, she and this Yugyeom guy were really busy talking about this upcoming project and I didn’t want to bother them”

“Oh! Yugyeom? I’m glad he managed to get paired up with her for this, he was really looking forward to working with (Y/N)” Youngjae said with a more relaxed smile on his lips.

The bus stopped in front of them and Jaebum took his chance to stay quiet, letting Youngjae walk in first, pay for their tickets and choose seats that would allow the both of them to sit together for the whole ride “Was he? Does he like her or something like that?” Maybe his question had been a bit too direct but honestly? He didn’t know how else to ask.

“I don’t think so?” Youngjae said, sitting right next to the window, looking at Jaebum as he sat down besides him “I mean, Yugyeom is not the kind of guy who goes after somebody that’s already taken” He said trying to reassure Jaebum about it but again, the two of them were bestfriends and he didn’t know if Youngjae’s opinion was completely neutral.

“He better don’t” Jaebum muttered under his breath, leaning back against the seat as he kept his eyes forward “Why is he so excited about being paired up with her though?”

“I mean, (Y/N) is really good at what she does” Youngjae admitted with a shy smile, which twitched slightly when the other male turned on his seat and looked at him with an arched eyebrow “I-I mean, she sometimes doesn’t use headphones when she works and plays music really loudly” He quickly added, panicking at the thought of Jaebum thinking about him trying to seduce his girlfriend “If some songs that I’ve heard are hers, I can understand why Yugyeom would want to work with her” Youngjae shrugged, dragging his eyes away from his seatmate to focus on the road “Besides she’s really nice and responsible, everybody likes her”

“Everybody?”

“(Y/N) is a very likable person, it’s just...Her nature, you know?”

“So I shouldn’t really worry about the crush my girlfriend used to have on Yugyeom right?” Jaebum asked, making Youngjae chuckle softly. By your reaction earlier he had easily guessed everyone knew about your feelings towards Yugyeom but you were too oblivious to realize just how obvious you were actually being.

“I guess not” Youngjae shrugged “Yugyeom has always kind of known, like, I’ve heard him comment how cute she always acts around him and how flustered she used to become when he was around but Yugs never acted on it, I doubt he will try to date her now that he knows you are her boyfriend”

“So you’re telling me he knew she had a crush on him and never said anything?” Jaebum frowned at the information he had just been given. If he was always so sweet and nice with you, if he had always been interested then why wouldn’t he have asked you out?

You know why? Because he was just leading you on.

Youngjae shrugged, not really wanting to talk bad about his best friend “If he knew, he never told me”

“What an asshole” He muttered under his breath, shaking his head as he glanced down at the rings in his hands, playing with them when it was time to bring up another subject, something that would surely make him embarrassed but it was time to admit he needed help, Jaebum couldn’t figure this out by his own and getting some advice would definitely help.

“I kind of need your help for something” Jaebum suddenly said, breaking the small silence that had settled down between the two of them. He slightly turned in his bus seat, facing Youngjae and ignoring some of the curious eyes that darted their way when they noticed the change in Jaebum’s tone.

“Me?” Youngjae asked, unable to hide the surprise in his expression. “I thought we...Like….Uh…” He was about to confess how he thought Jaebum hated him but preferred to stay quiet, not willing to screw this sudden friendly behaviour he was showing “What do you need my help for?”

“You know, when I lived abroad our relationship was more…” Jaebum stayed quiet thinking for the right words to describe something that never existed in the first place, a small frown appeared on his forehead, how was he supposed to explain all to Youngjae based on lies? “Passionate?” He asked himself, frown becoming deeper since he didn’t even know what he was exactly trying to explain “But now that I’ve showed up here and we live in the same place it’s all constant arguments and mood swings” He sighed as if he was desperate “Like there are moments when I think she’s going to kiss my soul out of me and then, seconds later, she looks like she’s about to slap me”

Youngjae looked at him dumbfounded, not really believing Jaebum was telling him that kind of information about the relationship he shared with you when the two of them hadn’t even shared a few hours together, hell, Youngjae thought Jaebum hated him this morning.

“What do you think I can do to make things a bit smoother between us?” Jaebum asked when Youngjae simply kept staring at him, shocked and surprised, his silence was honestly making him even more frustrated.

“Uh...What does (Y/N) like? Maybe buy her presents?” Jaebum scoffed obviously not happy with that reply, even when he had not even spent more than seventy two hours with you, he knew you weren’t the type of girl that was easily bought with those materialistic gestures. By the few conversations he had shared with you and the books he had spotted in your room, you were more of a romantic, someone who preferred being guided by feelings and not logic or greed.

You were a complicated one.

“That’s not going to make things better, trust me” He replied sighing, leaning his head back against the bus seat so he could stare at the ceiling. The bus would soon arrive to the apartment’s building and Jaebum was still as clueless as he was when he got out of the cafeteria before.

“What you need is to get back that spark, your relationship has turned dull, comfortable now that the two of you live together and you need to spice things up once again” Jaebum turned around, shocked when he found an old man sitting there. The smile on his face said he wasn’t making fun of him, that he was simply trying to help but Jaebum couldn’t help but feel slightly embarrassed that somebody else now knew he was incredibly lost when it came to relationships “Trust me young man, it worked with my marriage and I’ve been married for almost fifty five years with my Inhye”

“Fifty-five?” Jaebum asked surprised, hope resurfacing in his chest “So I just have to spice things up a little and everything will go back to being fine?” He asked, ignoring the way Youngjae started frowning besides him, he obviously disagreed with what the old man was saying but Jaebum knew someone as nice as Youngjae probably didn’t even know what spice up meant.

“Spoil her with attention and passion, show her you love her” Jaebum’s smile twitched when he heard those words, he kept his smile up though, afraid the people surrounding him would be able to see through his façade. Everyone would surely call him a hypocrite for criticizing Yugyeom when he was doing something similar.

Love was something that didn’t exist for Jaebum, it wasn’t in his nature to have those kinds of feelings in him. There was a time when he was human, when he also had stupid crushes like yours on girls that would have never noticed him, he also experienced heartbreaks well enough to know how hurt you would be if you knew why Yugyeom was being so nice and sweet, you were useful for him, you could make things easier in his life and you were silly enough to trust him blindly.

“Thanks for the advice, I’ll definitely do that” Jaebum said, standing up with Youngjae once the bus stopped. The old man reached out to pat his back, nodding and cheering for him enthusiastically while he walked out.

Jaebum still didn’t have a game plan but at least, he had a slight idea of what he would have to do now.

After attending your classes, having a quick lunch in a place nearby campus and working your entire shift in the coffee shop close to your university you were finally standing in front of your apartment’s door. A regular person would be completely happy and relaxed, content now that they could get rid of the uncomfortable clothes they were getting, take a shower and get some dinner before going to bed. You weren’t ordinary and you wouldn’t be able to relax as soon as you walked through that door.

By the soft music you could hear from your side of the door, you knew Jaebum was waiting for you inside. Doing what? You didn’t know but you just hoped he wasn’t in a mood as bad as the one he was in when he walked away during lunch period. You would have contacted him earlier, tried to talk things out to really find out what his problem was but since you didn’t even know if he had a mobile phone you couldn’t call him.

You gasped when you opened the door, surprised to see Jaebum was standing there. You hoped he had heard you coming up the stairs instead of waiting there for the entire afternoon because that would have surely been incredibly tiring. Opening your mouth to greet him, you were instantly silenced when he reached out and grabbed your wrist, pulling you closer to his body and allowing himself to embrace you with his arms.

What was going on?

“Uhm...Hello?” You said trying to look up at him, voice hesitant as Jaebum only pulled you closer to him. A soft blush appeared on your cheeks when you felt your breasts being squeezed against his hard chest, he was too close for your liking “What did you break?”

“Why would I break something?” He asked, instantly leaning back to look into your eyes

“I don’t know, being all lovely is what kids do when they’ve done something their mother is going to ground them for”

You couldn’t have known this but your words were pretty insulting for Jaebum’s ego. First you ignore him for some kind of guy that was obviously using you to get good marks and now, after he had gone through the efforts of preparing the romantic dinner that awaited you in the living room, you refer to him as a kid? Out of nowhere like that?

Jaebum spun the two of you around, making your back meet the front door with a soft thud. Like the night the two of you met, he kept his body pressed against yours, not letting you move away. Your hands instantly flew up to his chest, keeping a little and not enough for you space between the both of you.

“J-Jae?” The nickname slipped past your lips in a desperate attempt to get his attention, but the intense gaze in his eyes told you Jaebum was really set on doing whatever he was planning to do and that he wouldn’t back down now that he had you where he wanted

“I’m not a kid (Y/N)” He said quietly, his tone so low and husky that a shiver ran down your spine. He looked so different from the innocent Jaebum you’ve been with this morning, he wasn’t the same person, in fact, he looked like a predator hunting down the prey his been after for too long “And I would strongly advised you to change that attitude because my patience is running thin” His head moved lower, lips brushing against yours in a tempting way, making your heart pound against your chest.

“What are you…?”

Jaebum proceeded to dig his face into your neck, running his nose against the sensitive skin in order to shut you up “I’m saying you’re mine and it’s about time you act like it” He whispered, breath tickling your earlobe as he moved his mouth up, teasing you with each warm breath he took “After all, I’m sure you’re smart enough to figure out what happens to bad girls, mhm?” Your face was absolutely red at this point, flustered was an understatement for how you felt

“I won’t play your games Jaebum” You warned, trying to sound as serious as you could, attempting to hide the trembling in your words

Jaebum scoffed ignoring you, shaking his head before he gently placed his forehead against yours “Bad girls get punished babygirl” He whispered, his hand snaking up your arm and towards your neck “And you don’t want to tempt me, trust me”

Taglist: @gold--gucciempress @harringtonsblackgf

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eykidswantsomefanfiction · 4 years

Text

Goodnight

(Artist!Kei Tsukishima x Assistant!Lazy!Male!Reader)

Y/n didn’t expect for his boss to be so uptight and strict on perfection. He only took the job because his two other jobs he has aren’t enough. A friend had suggested the opening and Y/n took it as fast as he could. Looks like that one art class he took a few months ago was worth it…

(i thought this was a interesting idea...meh)

Y/n woke up with his alarm screaming in his ears. Opening his eyes slowly, e/c orbs trailed to the alarm clock on the bedside table. With a slow raise of his arm, he silenced the annoying clock. A few seconds passed by as Y/n lay there, breathing in the scent of his room, hoping that it could wake him up a little. Alas it did not and the h/c grumbled before sitting up, swinging his legs over the edge of his bed.

Scratching his head sleepily, Y/n ambled to his bathroom to wash up. The lights in the bathroom flickered on and Y/n examined himself in the mirror. Smiling a little bit, Y/n shot finger guns to himself in the mirror before getting back to work.

Making a quick breakfast that consisted of a healthy portion of lucky charms and milk that’s almost expired, Y/n grabbed his keys, his phone, and his backpack full of snacks, knowing that his boss will probably yell at him for leaving for a snack break and set off to his job.

Holding his phone closely to his face, Y/n grumbled at the tight space on the subway. The h/c let out an ‘Ack!’ as an elbow was shoved into his side. Sighing tiredly, Y/n wished how he could just win the lottery and buy his own private jet to go to work. Actually with the money he won’t even need the job. Then again, he would probably spend it all fast, so he’ll keep his job...

Y/n absently scratched his cheek and opened up his messages. Just as he was about to click on the notification, another message came through.

“Hurry up.” Was all it said. Y/n clicked a few times on his phone and looked at the earlier message that was sent to him. “Wake up.” Jeez, maybe this guy could be a poet instead instead of an artist. Very moving words, Y/n thinks.

The door to the studio was heard opening up and the h/c let himself in without needing to ask. Setting his bag down at his desk, Y/n let himself sit down and decided to close his eyes for a little bit.

Just a few minutes later he heard a pair of footsteps enter the studio from a different room that’s connected to said studio.

“Finally, took you long enough.” Tsukishima said.

Y/n moaned as if he’s a zombie and sat up slowly. “C’mon boss, don’t be like that.” Shooting Tsukishima a pout, the blonde rolled his eyes.

“We have work to get to, I have a piece to finish.”

Throughout the day, Y/n would sluggishly hand Tsukishima his brushes and paints. The blonde had ignored the tiredness and sleepiness apparent in his employees eyes, though kept that information in the back of his head.

“I need more of the purple.” Tsukishima said, holding up his pallet towards the h/c. Feeling the weight of the paint being added, Tsukishima took back his pallet and continued to intensely paint in silence. There were certain times when the h/c didn’t need to do other things and instead sat next to the artist, occasionally helping when asked for assistance. These were Y/n favorites times as Y/n doesn’t have to hear Tsukishima’s yelling, instead the blonde would just politely ask him for the tools as he’s too focused on his work.

“Give me more grey.” Well, sometimes he’s polite. Y/n quietly added more paint to his pallet, watching him add the tiniest bit of the grey that won’t even be visible from about two feet away when it’s displayed. Yawning, Y/n pulled out a small bag of chips and crunches away, keeping one hand clean to still help the focused artist.

Y/n just barely missed the twitch of the blondes eyes and smiled lazily, deciding to continue his crOnch of chips. Tsukishima rolled his eyes and went to put his headphones on.

They both worked in silence, well, except that it wasn’t silent and only one was actually doing work.

Tsukishima asked for a paintbrush, but received no paintbrush on his hand. His eye twitched and he sighed. Turning to look at the h/c, Tsukishima was greeted with the sight of a sleeping Y/n slumped in his chair, his empty bag of chips resting in his lap.

Watching him for a few seconds, Tsukishima decides to call it a night, as the sun had already set long ago. Tsukishima sat up and stretched his limbs, feeling his stiff bones happily yell in delight as they finally moved. Silently packing away his supplies, Tsukishima looked back at the sleeping Y/n. That chair must be uncomfortable to sleep on....

It was then that the blonde took a close look at Y/n’s face. Dark circles littered underneath Y/n’s eyes and the h/c himself looked at peace, so relaxed....well, he’s always relaxed but the h/c looked even more relaxed like this. As relaxed as someone could when sleeping in chair. A blissful smile rested on Y/n’s lip and along with the small snores that flew out. The h/c did seem very tired and drained today...had...had he not gotten much rest lately?

Tsukishima hesitantly stood there. Usually he would wake up his assistant, but today felt different. Tsukishima is aware that the h/c worked himself to death, but today, Tsukishima really got a look at the outcome that came with it.

Biting his lip, the blonde decided that he probably shouldn’t wake up his assistant. The h/c’s apartment is farther than his own right? So maybe Y/n wouldn’t mind if he stayed at his bosses apartment right? It’s also dangerous to go home alone at this hour, half asleep. Tsukishima looked back at Y/n, at his blissful smile, and decided that he won’t wake him up.

Y/n felt his arm being wrapped around something....and he’s standing too. Oh wait, he’s leaning forward, but he’s also leaning on something warm. There’s something grabbing his legs, they’re lifting them up....now they’re wrapped around something, probably the same object that he’s leaning onto. He grumbled and buried his face into the warm object, wiping away his saliva on the object. A pair of arms tightened around his legs, and he decided to tighten his arms around the object he’s holding onto as well.

He felt the calming rhythms of bumps, and footsteps walking. A door opened and then he felt the nice cool air on his face. Y/n shivered a little. Not even a second passed before he felt himself sleep again.

Tsukishima wiped off his sweat and looked at the sleeping h/c on his couch. He doesn’t have a guest room, so the h/c has to sleep on the couch for now.

Tsukishima walked past his kitchen, deciding he’s not hungry. He went and showered, then did his usual nightly routine. Coming back into the living room, he hesitated once again as the blonde felt conflicted. He doesn’t want Y/n to sleep on the couch the whole night, but he doesn’t have an extra bed except for his own.

“Tch,” Tsukishima said and lifted the still snoring h/c in his arms. “You better be grateful tomorrow...” Tsukishima muttered to himself and carried Y/n into his own room. There, Tsukishima peeled away some layers of Y/n’s clothing so it’s more comfortable, then tucked him comfortably into bed.

Y/n immediately curled in the blankets, and if Tsukishima wasn’t so observant, he would have missed the male in his bed take in a deep breath, nose stuffed in the blankets. Then, Y/n raised his head, half lidded eyes staring right at him. Tsukishima panicked for a moment for waking up Y/n, but calmed down when he noticed the h/c’s glazed eyes. Seems like he’s barely holding onto consciousness.

“....Goodnight Tsukki..” Y/n sleepily mumbled, then immediately went back to sleep, flopping down on his bed.

He stared at the h/c as he slept in his bed peacefully, and can finally feel his muscles relax. Letting out just the tiniest of smiles, Tsukishima risked it and ducked down towards Y/n’s face, letting his lips just barely graze the h/c’s forehead.

“Goodnight Y/n.”

tsukki just likes to kiss his homies goodnight....right?

#kei tsukishima #x male reader #x male reader insert #haikyuu!!#fanfiction

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onthevirgeofdestruction · 3 years

Link

Tied in Green

Words: 5,858 Content Warnings: Food, Lonliness, Magical S//H in a weird way? Characters: Remus (POV), Roman, Virgil Ships: Dukexiety Rating: T Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort

FFN Mirror - Playlist

Remus isn’t ashamed of himself. He agrees that sometimes he doesn’t like the things that suck him in. The things that he can’t get out of his head and make him feel horrible for even thinking. Those things upset him, too. But ultimately, he’s not ashamed of who he is or what he likes. But he’s pretty certain everyone else is.

He doesn’t keep friends for very long. His mom pushes him aside more often than not. Remus can be himself in private, but not here, she says. It’s what she always says. People will laugh at his jokes in school, but they never actually want to hang out. Remus is alone again, listening to his brother and friends laugh in the other room. They sound like they’re having fun and he’s jealous. But he knows better than to ask to join. He would do something to ruin it for Roman, anyway. Remus knocked twice at his desk.

Roman gets all awkward and weird and it’s clearly just a pity invite even if Remus did ask to join. They don’t make fun of him, but there’s not much of an effort to include him either. Roman and his friends don’t let him in on inside jokes, don’t ask his opinions, and sometimes talked like he’s not there. They acknowledge him if he talks, but that’s it. Remus doesn’t get included, which hurts more than sitting alone, sometimes.

Remus only wanted to spend time with his brother. His friends are always over and Remus never has the chance anymore. He’s too busy with his homework when they’re not over. He missed Roman. And Remus couldn’t deny that it hurt that Roman always seemed to make time for his friends, but never for Remus.

They used to be inseparable. His mom used to joke that they were twins because Remus never acted his age and they looked so alike. They weren’t supposed to grow apart. When they were kids, they planned on having adventures together. But this was the third time this week alone that Remus is stuck listening to Roman playfully bicker with his friends the next room over.

The headphones weren’t enough sometimes, and tonight was one of those times. Remus sighed and dropped his computer headphones on his desk. He wasn’t paying any attention to this book, anyway. They were playing a four-player game with three players and kept lamenting that the game was too hard. But they never asked him to join. He kept hoping they would. He considered just going over and inviting himself, but he didn’t feel like being pitied today. And what if he said something? What if he did something? Remus rapped his knuckle on the desk again.

Remus slipped on his boots and a windbreaker and headed out of his room, glancing into Roman’s open door as he passed. They were laughing at a TV show together. He headed down the stairs with a sigh. “I’m going for a walk, ma,” Remus called into his mother’s office as he passed and she held her finger over her lips while she was on the phone. Right. Remus headed out the front door and locked up behind himself.

The fall night was enchanting. It was somewhat chilly for a windbreaker, but Remus welcomed it. Remus enjoyed having sleeves to play with, so he liked fall and winter. This windbreaker has a zipper on the cuff that Remus fiddled with while he walked down the street. He didn’t have anywhere in mind to go, honestly. He just wanted to get out of there. It didn’t feel right.

He could go to the corner store that was near his house that had a great selection of weird gummy candies. He could also go for some pizza-flavoured chips. This was a stomach ache waiting to happen, but Remus wasn’t exactly known for self-control. He was known for taking dares from strangers and getting suspended for scaling the wall of the school just to see if he could.

He kicked at an acorn as he walked down the sidewalk with his hands in his pockets. He was going to eat an entire package of pizza chips and he knew it. And they always made his breath smell like throw up, which Remus thought was incredibly cool that the flavourings could taste so good and smell so bad as soon as they got wet.

No one else liked his pizza-chip breath, though. Actually, he was the only one he knew who liked those pizza chips. Sour cream and onion sounded good, too. He liked to eat them with the pizza chips. If you got the right brands of chips, it was like eating pizza and ranch. His mom might get mad at him for just leaving to buy snacks at the corner store, so he’d need a way to hide the bag from her.

Remus wished he knew how to reign himself in, he honestly did. He was always running his mouth and getting himself in trouble before he even knew what was happening. He knew he could be unpleasant, too. And he was worried about what he was capable of. Remus had some bad thoughts and dark knowledge and he didn’t want to act on them, but they were there. He knew how to do lots of bad things. In a weak moment he could, right? He didn’t want to… but…

He tried his hardest, but he wasn’t soft and cuddly. Roman’s friend Patton was sweet and nice and Remus would give anything just to sit with him and watch a movie sometime. Patton talked through movies, too. They could whisper to each other and split a bowl of popcorn. It would be amazing. Patton smelled like fabric softener and made Remus feel bubbly with delight.

But Remus unsettled Patton. He was too nice to say it, but Roman asked him to dial it back for Patton’s sake more than once. Logan at least was interested when Remus brought up interesting things that popped into his head. But Remus had seen Patton recoil before. And Roman would sigh and roll his eyes and tell Remus that they shouldn’t talk about that. Patton would apologize sometimes.

That generally made Remus feel worse because it’s not like he intended to freak out Patton, but it wasn’t Patton’s fault for not liking the subject matter, either. They just came out of Remus’s mouth and it was his inability to not run his mouth that was the cause. Remus pulled at the zipper a few times, feeling bad all over again for it. It had been a while since Remus’s last fuck up with Patton, but Remus never forgot. He knew he should stop pining pointlessly.

Someone was coming up on the sidewalk drew Remus’s eye and out of his self-pity pit. It looked like there was a fellow weirdo out tonight. Someone in a stylistic fox mask and a trench coat was coming down towards Remus on the sidewalk from over the small hill Remus had to walk up to get to the corner store. The outfit reminded Remus of a comic book villain. Actually, if they flipped the fox mask for a kabuki one, they’d basically be Yokai from Big Hero Six. Remus wondered what a cosplayer or whatever was doing on a nighttime walk, and also if Remus could join them. Remus had a mostly put-together Deathstroke cosplay in his closet he could go put on.

“Hey, can I ask what the costume is? It looks great,” Remus waved when he got close enough for the stranger to hear.

“Thanks, but this is just me,” The stranger shrugged, walking up to Remus. “How would you like to be someone else, though?” The stranger asked out of absolutely nowhere.

“I’d give anything,” Remus replied before he even considered it.

“Even your soul?” The stranger asked, and Remus stopped to weigh his options. What was Remus doing with his soul, anyway? “I kid, you don’t actually have to think about that,” The stranger chuckled out a deep rattling noise that shook their whole torso while they shook their head. “Nothing so permanent. How about some time?” They offered again, an amused smile barely peeking out from under the mask.

“Like sitting through a seminar or something?” Remus asked, shifting his weight on his feet and furrowing his eyebrows.

“No, that’s so dreadfully boring. Just a bit off the end for as long as you use what I’m offering. It’s a very fair trade,” They reassured him dismissively. This was red flag central for some grade-A weird, dangerous shit. Awesome. Not awesome? Remus wasn’t sure. He still wanted to be someone else.

“Oh, is this some deal with the devil shit?” Remus hummed curiously, still not sure how to parse this situation.

“No, no. Not affiliated. Just someone that gets called the devil often. I’m sure you can relate,” The masked stranger waved their hands.

“Boy, do I ever,” Remus agreed and crossed his arms. Remus’s stupid suggestions often got him in the hot seat. Not that he didn’t deserve it, but… “The exact amount of time? Not some stupid equation where I’m getting screwed like a prom date?” Remus did the smart thing and double-check for once instead of his impulsiveness taking the wheel.

“Damn, who are you dealing with usually? No, the exact amount of time. Second per second off the natural lifespan. If you started taking better care of yourself, you’d barely lose a thing,” They shrugged, speaking as if they didn’t understand the distrust.

“What’s in it for you?” Remus furrowed his eyebrows at the masked stranger, tapping his finger on his crossed arms.

“I get the time and the entertainment value of it all. The paranormal gets boring without doing this kind of thing every once in a while,” The stranger twisted their hand in the air and leaned on one leg. They put their hand on their hip and looked Remus up and down.

Remus was still suspicious about the whole thing. Something-something and deals with the fae? Not that this looked like a fairy or anything. Actually, how would Remus know how to identify the fae? The fae could look like anything, and Remus doesn’t have any iron on him.

“Iron does nothing to me, anyway. Soft and cuddly, right? Something Patton would like? I’ve got just the thing,” They held up a finger and a bright green ribbon materialized around it.

“Ah, didn’t realize you were listening,” Remus chuckled to himself. The stranger clearly knew what Remus wanted. He hoped that was the only thing they heard, though. “You know what, fuck me up, fam,” Remus declared, holding up his hand in the air triumphantly. The ribbon appeared in Remus’s hand and he gripped it enthusiastically.

“Just tie it onto yourself. Take it off to be human again, so put it somewhere easy to reach. And if it goes more than a small distance from you, it’ll show up in your hand again. This is only yours, so don’t bother trying to use it on someone else or giving it away. It’ll never work. If you try to show it off, it also won’t work, because that’s a fucking headache. You’ll have to change somewhere private. Have fun and try not to get yourself killed, please. That sucks for the both of us,” They sounded delighted while Remus looked at the silky ribbon. It was a bright green, like fresh leaves in spring and not subtle at all. Exactly his style. Remus shoved the ribbon in his pocket and bowed deeply, twisting his hand in front of him and stepping one leg to the side.

“So what does it do?” Remus asked, looking up to the masked stranger from his bow. They had lifted their mask just enough for Remus to make out a sharp-toothed grin as they faded from existence. Well, that was delightfully creepy. “Oh, points for style,” Remus hummed, and he made out the faintest deep cackle that also faded away.

What a nice… whatever that was. Mysterious entities that could read thoughts and create things from nothing were good in Remus’s book. He felt the ribbon between his fingers in his pocket. It felt pleasantly warm. He could find out what it did by putting it on. But this probably wasn’t private enough to use it. He was out in the open. Maybe it only mattered if people were looking at him? Well, he still had his chip-acquisition duty to get to.

Remus resumed his walk down the street. He couldn’t have anticipated a depression walk resulting in a deal with a demon or whatever, but it certainly was a better outcome than usual. He continued to feel the toasty ribbon in his pocket as he walked down the road. The possibilities filled his mind as he trekked on. Soft and cuddly, huh? Another Patton? That would be weird. A bear? Bears probably aren’t cuddly for very long. Remus would love to be a bear, though. Remus, but capable of fighting his impulsiveness? Unrealistic, even for magic.

Were there… weird magic people always listening to his thoughts? He really hoped not. Remus had some awful thoughts. Terrible, horrible, sickening thoughts. Thoughts he was always thankful that at least no one could hear. And someone heard. Magical beings probably wouldn’t listen all the time, right? If they were listening to all of his thoughts, they never would have talked with Remus. Or they would have treated Remus way worse. He also couldn’t imagine some weird magical entity wanting to listen to Remus thinking about what cooked stink bugs might smell like and what he would look like with a giraffe neck even when he wasn’t having shitty thoughts. Maybe they only listened out for random wishes. Was that a genie? No, there weren’t three wishes and the fox mask demon got something in return.

He should be more concerned about literally cutting his life short with a magic ribbon, but he wasn’t. Remus couldn’t think out that far. Every time he questioned if it was the right idea, he wondered what he got to turn into. It was something non-human, and it seemed like the random magic stranger didn’t like things that would make a big kerfuffle, so it was probably something that would blend in. It made the most sense with what they said. Unless it was all a trick, anyway.

Remus opened the convenience store door and made a bee-line to the snacks aisle. He grabbed some gummy brains and rats and examined the shelf for anything else. Candy moustaches? Sure, why not? Remus turned aisles to grab chips and headed up to the register, also tossing up a bottle of soda from a cooler near the register.

The cashier kept one eye on the TV while checking Remus out, not even acknowledging him. That was normal, at least. Remus waved after he picked up his bag of snacks, but the cashier was staunchly watching the TV again. He cracked open the bags of chips to snack on as he walked down the sidewalk, taking a handful of each flavour and shoving them all into his mouth at once.

It was a tasty combo. If Remus ate them down enough, he could roll the bags and make them easier to sneak past everyone, and since they were open, he’d have to eat them evenly, anyway. It was a win-win. Maybe not for Remus’s life span, but that was years out and Remus didn’t know how to even conceptualize that. He could start jogging or something. That’s healthy, right? Probably not enough to cancel out eating an entire bag’s worth of potato chips on the way home. But he already planned on doing that and just because he got a magic ribbon didn’t mean he needed to go changing his very important impulsive plans.

How did his lifespan work, anyway? Mm, chips. Remus decided he didn’t care. Was that an awful thought? Well, maybe as long as it was only Remus’s life span. It’s kind of like deciding to only eat fast food or something. He could ask the mysterious fox mask person if he ever saw them again, but otherwise, there wasn’t much else to do about it. He had more important things to do, like make sure he ate the same amount of chips from each bag.

The walk back to his house went much faster as Remus gorged himself on chips. He rolled up the remaining chips bags so they wouldn’t stick out of the shopping bag. Perfect, now he shouldn’t have to share if Roman saw and his mom won’t see and he won’t get in trouble. He still had a random grocery bag, but maybe luck would be on his side. He didn’t want to share any of this. It would throw off the balance of the bags.

The front door unlocked with a click and Remus stepped in, locking up behind himself. He glanced at the wall clock and realized the trip took a solid forty-five minutes longer than it should have. Does talking with weird demons warp time? He hoped he wasn’t in trouble. He could legally be out, but his mother didn’t like him wandering around at night getting in trouble. Remus walked down the hall, waving to his mom in the office. She didn’t even look up from her computer. What was she doing working that late, anyway?

Roman’s bedroom door was closed as he passed it. Remus sighed as he stepped into his bedroom and closed the door behind him. He had no reason to worry; it seemed. Nobody cared that he came home safe. Remus kicked off his shoes, which thudded on the floor, and dropped off the snacks bag on his desk.

Remus looked around the room and reached into his pocket. Well, it was the moment of truth. Did Remus hate being perceived in the manner he was so much he was willing to literally shorten his lifespan to be something else? He stared at the ribbon. Finding out what it was he could turn into would help him decide, right? This should be an important decision. Or something. He didn’t care anymore. Remus put his foot upon his desk chair and tied the ribbon into a bow on his ankle. As soon as the ribbons pulled into place, Remus felt overwhelmingly dizzy. Like he did a backflip into another dimension and out again.

His brain wasn’t working at first. There was so much new input he didn’t expect that it took him a moment to settle into even comprehending. Things were brighter and louder and stronger smelling. And… taller. Or he was significantly smaller. He did not know yet. Remus stumbled and fell over, reaching up for his head. There were no fingers, though, only a paw pad pressing into a damp nose. Huh. Remus closed his eyes and tried to get his bearings. He swore he had better senses and spatial awareness. Remus wobbled over to the floor-length mirror after he pulled himself up.

That was the largest cat he’d ever seen, staring back at him with bright spring-green eyes in the mirror. It was not a cat breed he’d recognized. He was thick with fluff and had tawny grey fur spotted with black tabby markings. Remus swished his tail and spun around, looking at himself before turning back to the mirror. A big fluffy cat certainly fit the bill. Remus wanted to pet himself, even.

Walking on all fours didn’t take any adjusting to after he gained his bearings, and there was no pile of clothes where he was, so magic must have been helping Remus to adjust. His tail was weirding him out, though. He could only control it if it consciously focused on it, but otherwise, it swished about without his input.

He licked his paw and ran it across the top of his head to make the big gray tuft there stick straight up. Other than being probably three times the size of his nana’s house cat, Remus was pretty cute. He sat on the floor and examined himself. He should turn back, right? No, he should check stuff out to help him decide. Remus headed around his room.

Things were bizarre at this height, but it was an interesting type of strange. Remus weaved under his desk chair and went under the desk. It was a nice hidey-hole as a cat. He disliked small spaces less; it was comfortable under here. He pushed his head on the corner of the desk and his eyes widened. Fuck, that feels nice. No wonder cats do it all the time. Remus pushed his head against the side of the desk a few more times.

Remus looked up at his loft bed. Could he get up there? Remus backed up across the room to get a running start and had to swerve to dodge the bed frame. Fuck, he was faster than he expected. He backed up to jump on top of his dresser instead and made it easily in a single leap. Remus primed himself for the wide gap at the edge of the dresser and bounded, landing easily in the middle of the bed. Wow, he could leap farther than he thought, too. It might have helped that he was big. He dug around in the sheets and curled up. Being a cat wasn’t the most fun possible choice when magic was involved, but he was loving every second of this.

He hopped down with silent ease off the bed and jumped up to work the knob. It took him multiple tries to grip it, but he got the door open and walked next door to Roman’s room. The door was closed, but that was no match for his monster kitty paws now that he knew the trick. Remus opened the door with ease and strutted into the bedroom. Roman was doing homework with his headphones on at the floor-height table. He bounced his knee while he sat bent over the textbook and his notebook, humming along to the music.

“Yeah?” Roman’s eyes moved to the door after a lag while he finished writing something. “Oh!” Roman chuckled to himself. “Did Remus bring you home or something?” Roman asked, holding out his hand. Remus walked up and sniffed Roman’s hand to keep up the act. It smelled strongly of pencil graphite and notebook paper, but there was a faint hint of some sugar cookies under that.

Remus bumped his head into Roman’s hand and Roman pet him. Remus thought it would feel more like a massage, but it was mostly that the motion was soothing. It made Remus feel safe and comfortable and loved. The petting was smooth and made his brain tingle in the best way. Remus flopped down on the floor next to Roman, who kept petting him. Roman leaned to look into the empty hallway.

“Re?” Roman called out, and Remus meowed in reply. “Hm. You’re very smart to get the door open, but stay out of my mom’s office. She won’t mind if you visit us, but she doesn’t like pets,” Roman warned Remus. He was well aware. Can’t please everyone. Remus laid his head against Roman’s leg and started purring. It must have been reflexive because he couldn’t stop even if he wanted to.

Roman continued petting Remus slowly while he went back to his homework. Remus’s ears twitched at the small noises the pencil made against the paper. He wouldn’t mind just sitting here doing homework quietly with Roman as a human, either. Maybe he could try again. But not right now. He couldn’t describe how happy he was to relax with Roman and get affection like this. It was honestly worth any minutes he lost off the end of his life.

What were minutes, anyway? They didn’t make a difference in the long run. Remus wasted minutes of his life on absolute shit. This was worth it. Remus closed his eyes and relaxed, listening to the muted sounds of Roman’s music and the rustling of pages while Roman worked. The time passed and Remus never second-guessed the use of his time again.

“Hey, kitty. I’ve got to get ready for bed. C’mon, let’s get you back to Remus,” Roman alerted him, standing up. Roman stretched out his legs. Remus meowed in objection and rubbed against Roman’s jeans. Roman moved past Remus and headed out his bedroom door into the hall. Remus followed, rolling his eyes. Roman pushed open Remus’s door the rest of the way and stuck his head in. “Remus—” Roman stopped talking and looked around the bedroom.

“Huh. I wonder where he is,” Roman hummed. He squatted down and signed, picking up Remus. “I guess I’ll take you back out myself,” Roman told him, and Remus meowed in objection again. “Sorry, kitty, we don’t have food or a bathroom for you. You can come to visit again, though. I don’t know exactly where Remus found you,” Roman explained evenly and headed downstairs. He unlocked the backdoor and dropped Remus outside. Remus spun around to glare at Roman before bolting back into the house.

“Cat, no!” Roman shot quietly, holding out his hand. Remus bounded up the stairs and rushed into his room. He couldn’t pull the door closed, so he rushed under his loft and yanked at the curtain before pulling off the ribbon with his teeth.

That dimension-hopping sensation overwhelmed Remus again, and he fell against his desk while the world did a triple somersault and took him with it. Remus ran his hand through his hair and exhaled hard, the air hissing through his teeth. He held his head with both hands and filled his lungs completely. The world didn’t smell as strong as a human. He let out the air slowly.

“Kitty,” Roman whispered, sticking his head into Remus’s room. “Kitty, where are you?”

“I’ll handle it, Ro,” Remus informed him, pulling open the curtain on his loft bed to look at Roman.

“Oh! I didn’t see you in there. Cute cat. It’s almost bedtime, so hurry,” Roman waved and stood up straight.

“G’night,” Remus waved back.

“Oh. Yeah. You too,” Roman sighed and turned into the hall. Remus slowly pulled himself up to his feet. The dizziness was all gone, but he was still disoriented from the missing senses and the height. Remus was so tall. How did he never notice?

Remus needed some contingency stuff. He pulled a fashion scarf out of his dresser and tied it onto the doorknob so Remus could pull his door closed. Well, there was still the potential of getting locked out if he left and couldn’t turn back… Remus glanced at the window. It’s the second story, so it’s not a big deal if he left it unlocked, right? Remus didn’t know how he’d get up there just yet, but maybe he could jump from the tree? The gap was wide for a human, but as a cat, he should be okay. Maybe he could change back and move some stuff around in the backyard. Remus unlocked the window with a small nod to himself.

He started to get ready for bed but ended up glancing at the window again. Maybe he should make sure he can make the gap, right? Remus kicked off his socks and opened up the window enough to get out, pulling out the screen and leaning it against the wall. He crawled through and sat on the slanted roof and closed the window again. He took a deep breath of the night air and looked up at the moon.

A good night to prowl. He tied the ribbon on his ankle and turned into a cat again. It was much easier this time, though it was still extremely disorienting. Remus waited to regain his sense of up and down before standing up and walking along the ledge of the roof towards the big honkin’ American Elm in the backyard. Roman and Remus’s tire swing still hung from a low, thick branch.

Remus primed himself and took a running leap of faith towards the Elm. He soared across the gap easily and ended up overshooting just barely able to sink his claws in another branch in time and avoided hitting one that was on his lower left and tumbled to the ground. Remus scrambled to pull himself up and took a deep breath for his pounding heart.

He looked down, and it looked like he was miles from the ground. He suddenly understood how cats got caught in trees because this was freaky. Remus knew intellectually that he could hop down to a lower branch or jump for the tire swing. The branch he was on didn’t allow for much mobility, so he made a hail-mary for the tire swing, landing in the net over the hole and getting his paw caught while the tire swing swung from the motion. Remus hissed at the net and pulled his foot out carefully before hopping down to the ground.

Well. That was scary-awesome. But Remus was a free cat right now who happened to be able to jump farther than Remus could even comprehend. Remus made a run for the fence and used his back claws to propel himself up the fence and bounded over easily. He jumped down into the grass and ran for the sake of it.

All the fun of running away without actually doing so. There was a playground they used to go to as kids that Remus wanted to check out. It was long since not fun anymore, but as a cat, who knows? Remus wanted to feel like a kid again. He was too amped up to sleep anyway, and he was once again at a height he could enjoy a playground at and it was all he could think of.

He bounded across yards and down the lane. The public park was between Remus’s neighbourhood and the apartment complex next door, so Remus had to make two blocks on much smaller feet. He was moving much faster, though, and had more endurance. He enjoyed the wind in his face as he ran down the lane.

The playground’s parking lot was lit, but the playground itself sat shrouded in darkness. That was no problem for Remus’s cat eyes, though. They adjusted almost instantaneously as he stepped into the shade and walked into the park. The playscape was probably not comfortable on his paws, but there were other things to check out, still. Remus walked past the play structure. The web might be fun. That was still kind of fun as an adult. The park was technically closed, though, and he couldn’t play on it while kids were here. He could hurt one of them or someone would think he’s a pervert, and he’d get in trouble and go to jail.

Remus wasn’t alone out here. There sat a person who looked Remus’s age sitting on the swings. Their head hung limply, and they held onto the chain at eye height. They were barely swinging at all. It was more like a minor despondent sway. They looked really miserable. Remus couldn’t swing as a cat, but he also was curious about the other stranger. One stranger tonight gave Remus magic powers, so random night strangers were much more interesting now.

That fact alone made Remus also wanted to return the favour to the universe if he could. The fox-masked being cheered Remus up. Maybe Remus could cheer up the sad person who appeared to be 70% hoodie by volume and kicking at the pebbles under the swings. Remus walked up in front of the person and sat down, meowing. Their head was down and their hood was up, so Remus couldn’t see their face.

The stranger didn’t look up from soundlessly staring down at nothing. Remus stepped closer, meowing again. He looked up at the stranger’s face from the ground. They looked empty. Their eyes were unfocused and their expression was somewhere between numb and desolate. Remus meowed louder, and the stranger blinked. They recoiled their head and rubbed their eyes, blinking a few more times before their eyes focused enough to notice Remus.

“Oh. Hey,” The stranger greeted Remus. Remus rubbed against the person’s legs. He hoped they weren’t allergic. They watched Remus weave around their legs for what felt like an eternity, but they never sniffled, so it seemed okay for now. “You’re really friendly, huh?” The person reached down their hand and Remus bumped into their hand right away.

The sad person let out a weak chuckle through their nose and scratched at Remus’s chin. Remus froze for a moment and pushed down into the stranger’s hand to help them scratch harder. That was better than pets. That made Remus feel like his entire body was tingling with elation. The stranger stopped scratching and sat up on the swing. But Remus wasn’t having that. He jumped up and deposited himself right on the person’s lap.

“Woah,” The stranger seemed amused and went back to gently scratching behind Remus’s ear. Remus purred like a motorboat idling on a lake. One that might explode and kill twenty bystanders and sink a dinghy named Frank. Remus’s back leg twitched automatically as he settled down. He was probably vibrating the entire stranger he purred so hard.

When the stranger stopped again, Remus meowed and licked at their hand, sitting limply next to Remus again. “You’re kind of needy,” The stranger sounded amused, switching to petting Remus with their other hand instead. Remus carefully laid down and licked the stranger’s hand again.

Remus liked it when cats did this, so he hoped this person would, too. They reached up to rub their eyes again and paused, sniffing the air. They sniffed again and tried smelling where Remus licked them.

“Fuck, cat, that’s noxious. What the hell did you eat?” They snickered, putting their hand back down. Remus tried to say ‘chips’, but a weird meow came out instead, so he rested his head on the stranger’s hand.

“Do you belong to someone?” The person asked curiously. They sat up more and looked around the area. They dug around at the thick fur on Remus’s neck and hummed in dissatisfaction. “A nice cat like you deserves a good home. It’s not safe out here for you,” They shook their head and went back to petting them. “But thanks for visiting,” They smiled down at Remus. “I’ve got school, I should get going,” They sounded sad, but Remus jumped off and spun around to sit and watch them get up.

The stranger dragged themselves off the swing and waved to Remus. Remus meowed and waved a paw back, which made the stranger give a small smile in return. Remus had school too, so he should probably get home. But he got them to smile, so it satisfied the need to do something nice for the world in return as he bounded down the street back towards his house.

---

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artificialqueens · 3 years

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Cause Though the Truth May Vary, This Ship Will Carry (Gigi/Nicky) - Campvanjie

AN: Based on the prompt: “You weren’t supposed to hear that.” - “Well, you shouldn’t be saying it then.” A slight AU Gigi/Nicky, little bit of unrequited crushing and a lot of fate, originally posted to my old AO3 account on May 24th, 2020. Edited as well to add non-binary pronouns for Gigi out of drag, as the original used male pronouns. Don’t worry, I’m the original author and only want all of my stories collected under one pen name.

Summary: Nicky and Gigi strike up a friendship online, but just can’t meet until the time’s exactly right.

CW: slight mentions of homophobia.

The sun’s almost setting on an August day when Gigi flicks through the games in their library, bored of sniping enemies from rooftops, set on finding something else that has a competitive mode, kicking underneath the bed to find their headset. It would probably be best to at least try to talk to other people, and maybe even count up all the times people call each other gay without even realizing they’re talking to someone, who’s made sixteen dollars an hour dressing up as a girl and working at the rock climbing wall for all of high school.

There’s gay, and then there’s Gigi Goode; with a closet hanging full of custom couture, not that they’d ever admit to their mom that her work isn’t the worst.

There’s only one player in the team’s group chat, as Gigi adjusts their headset so they can talk into the mic.

“Hello?”

“Hey.”

“Hi!”, laughs the voice in his headphones; crackling as Gigi shoots and blows apart a box in the game’s lobby. There’s an accent there he can’t quite place, not that it matters so much, since the guy on the other end easily guides him through the map and even cracks a couple of jokes as one of the other team’s players is booted off a cliff. Maybe he’s Spanish, or Russian, since there are lot of Russian people on the server at this time of almost- night.

They queue for another round, his player’s character stopping next to a poster of one of the girls in the game.

“I like her, do you?”, he asks, and Gigi cringes a little. Straight guys were fucking exhausting, but this was just embarrassing-

“Like, this coat, with the belt like this, makes her waist look like she is a wasp. The insect, not the white people.”, he keeps talking, and Gigi’s eyes widen a little.

“Yeah, I’d buy those boots.”, they joke, hoping that whoever it is, will take it in stride, and he won’t have to listen to someone who’d been cool for the past half an hour, suddenly start losing their mind over how gay that was to say out loud.

“The boots? I want this hair- I want just Mortal Kombat hair but like this color, and maybe instead of a gun I want the scepter, like Sailor Jupiter. You’ve seen that, yes?”

Gigi blinks a couple of times. He’s serious?

“Like, of course. Yeah.”

“She’s a Mugler bitch. Hm, aren’t you?”, the voice teases on the other end; kicking at one of the boxes in the game.

Gigi is silent, as their queue timer runs out, and their team join another game which is already active when they’re dropped in.

“It’s the Hermes winter collection.”

“What?”

“That jacket is a dupe from the Hermes winter collection. You said Mugler-”, Gigi repeats, blasting through a wall in the game.

“Oh- oh you’re saying- this past winter! Of course! Maybe someone on the design team is also a fan?”

“Maybe.”

The two of them finish the round, and Gigi eagerly hits yes; when a little box pops up to add TheNickyDoll to their friends list.

(Gigi adds him back on Discord, too- because they’re probably not taking the Xbox to college, and then, they can send pictures right away.

He’s not a serial killer, and he’s cute.

Gigi can’t help but wonder if Nicky thinks the same of them.)

They slowly knit together in between Gigi’s first semester, and when Nicky moves into a new apartment in the eleventh arrondissement in Paris, and pops a bottle of champagne against his camera on his phone, propped up in his new kitchen. He plays with the zipper on his hoodie, and Gigi still can’t help but be surprised with how simple his wardrobe is.

Gigi spends hours carefully curating their wardrobe, though they supposed in Europe, there were just better pickings.

“Don’t you have friends?”, Gigi jokes, shirtless against the white brick walls of their dorm.

“Everyone will be over later, but I just wanted to do a toast for your timezone. It will be like three am for you when everyone else gets off work.”

“So this is a private party? Well… okay let me get my card.”

“Seriously? Not that kind of party!”

“Didn’t say it was. Congratulations, by the way. I got you something! Well like, I found it, and it’s so you-“

Gigi flicks the camera to face forwards, swinging to a painting hanging in the closet.

“Aw, well you didn’t have to- what the fuck is that?”

“Putin! I painted him in like the eighth grade. My mom was dropping off some stuff last weekend and I can mail him-“

Nicky’s eyebrows shoot up, pots and pans clattering on the other end of the line.

“Bitch, I am trying to not be the victim of a hate crime.”

Gigi laughs a little bit, flipping the camera back to focus on their face.

“I never asked, what do you even do?”

“What?”

“Like you- you have a job right? What’s your job?”

“Ah, I’m working, well I worked at a makeup store, but now I have some contracts, and maybe, you know- this neighborhood is where all the bars and the clubs are. If there’s no work on the runways maybe some will be looking for new girls.”

Gigi’s cheeks run hot for a moment.

“Wait, you- you’re a girl?”, they ask weakly, hoping it won’t absolutely ruin their entire… whatever it is, when you’d rather have a private housewarming alone in bed, than pretend to enjoy the beers that are flowing through the rest of the hall downstairs.

“Only when I’m being paid. Do you know- well, you have to in America you have RuPaul’s show- it’s like that-“

“You do drag? Wait, really?”

“Shhhh.”, he stops them, pressing a finger between his lips. “It’s like, I haven’t got any bookings yet but some of the clubs are interested- some of the parties, too. I can be a bottle girl.”

Gigi simply blinks repeatedly in the screen.

“What- is that too gay? I thought we were both pretty gay.”

“Yeah. Yeah. Hey-“, Gigi keeps the camera on their face, their eyes flicking up towards the naked mannequin resting against the closet door. Most of Gigi’s things were still at home, but there was a black feathered swimsuit they’d been working on- if they took out the waist just a bit-

“What’s your favorite color?”

“Wow, we are getting deep in, Dr Phil.”

“Seriously, what is it?”

“I’m feeling pink recently. Usually just- something simple. Blue. Black. It’s soothing.”

“Black is not a color.”

“Then it’s my favorite not-color.” Nicky pours from the bottle into a flute on her counter. “Get something to drink, come on.”

“Uh-“

“Doesn’t matter what. Come on!”

Gigi reaches for Red Bull, yesterday’s alcohol mixed into it, tangy and stale in the metal can.

“Okay.”

“Pace a Salute!”, Nicky cheers, and they clink their drinks against the camera.

Two months later, there’s a wrapped package on his stoop, covered in foreign postage, wet at the edges like it’s been through- what Americans would call the ringer, the labels so scratched over he can barely make out the return address, when he cuts the cardboard open on his kitchen counter.

If this was that stupid Putin painting, he was deleting Gigi from his entire life-

Inside, is fabric folded in paper, a little cloth ribbon tied around where a card is tucked in.

“I dont know what your actual skin tone is because you need better lights but merry Christmas if it doesn’t fit or doesn’t match sell it on eBay and get better lights”,

Gigi has written, in neat, large letters.

Nicky carefully unfurls the rest of it, and there’s a blue and pink bodysuit inside, accented with green and yellow panels that glitter like the facets of a diamond, and a yellow jacket, the bottom cut off just below the ribs, hemmed in thick stitches so the fabric won’t roll up.

Had Gigi gone and had this made? Or was it off the rack?, he wondered, digging for price tags and labels in the fabric.

Nothing.

Shit.

He fires off a message to Gigi, who is still showing as offline, given it’s probably six in the morning where he is.

14:17

How much is this “gift” you got me? Wtf…

FaceTime me later.

There’s predictably no response, and that night; he paints carefully in the mirror in his bedroom, laying out the little black dress he had chosen for the performance on his bed.

At the very last minute though, it’s that little suit from Gigi that wins out, nude panels sliding over his tights as he shimmies in front of the mirror.

It’s not perfect, but it all looks very nice.

When later comes, Gigi is wearing a red wig with blonde streaks that she runs her long fingers through, winking at the camera.

“My mom’s actually a professional seamstress. It didn’t cost anything, babe.”, she says with a little shrug, a tight yellow dress barely moving around his shoulders. There’s always a party here; and Gigi can’t imagine hating it more, the little college town bigger than he was used to, and yet still- too small for what she really wanted.

“If you want other stuff, I’ll send it. There’s lots of stuff that I don’t really wear anymore and we kind of have the same style. It’s not like anyone can say anything, then they’d have to admit they’ve seen me out in public. Or I could even make you something, I’m bored all the time.”

“Why are you doing this?”, Nicky asks.

“I dunno. It’s not like you’re my competition. You’re my friend.”

19:41

Anyway, I’m dropping out of school, getting a nose job and moving out to LA.

Gigi types out on their phone, underneath the table at their family’s annual thanksgiving dinner.

19:41

Maybe not all at once.

Nicky’s reply comes lightning fast- making Gigi grin.

“Are you seriously getting nudes right now?”, one of their brothers asks, and their mother glares at the both of them over the table.

“I’m getting some new sketches from my atlier in Paris.”, they seethe, glancing back down at the floor. Nicky’s been trying to teach him French, like it’s something that occupies them so that Gigi doesn’t implode; in between sending him links to his favorite shows to watch, and YouTube links to makeup tutorials.

(He still hasn’t figured out if Nicky means it; or if he’s trying to be shady, and just doesn’t know how.)

“Atlier is where you get the clothes made, dumbass. Mom’s sewing room isn’t Paris.”

“Shut up!”

“All of you just stop-”

19:43

It’s a hard time in life in general.

Try not to listen so much to those voices in your head.

Nicky’s text pops up with a loud, mechanical pinging noise, three dots still hovering under the message as Gigi forces looks up from the screen and glowers across the table as they reach for more baby carrots.

19:43

Make mistakes, but not too many, haha. You’ll figure it out.

If it makes you feel a little bit better, I’m moving to San Fran

19:43

What? For real?

Gigi’s nails frantically tap over the screen.

19:45

Yes! I bought a ticket.

And my husband called an immigration lawyer, we’re going to get my green card situation set.

“Lawyer-”, Gigi gasps; and their entire family pauses, glancing over the table at them.

“Jesus Christ. You did it, didn’t you? You got arrested your first semester, and you weren’t even gonna tell us-”

“You weren’t supposed to hear that.”, they snap, flipping the bird at their oldest brother.

“Well, you shouldn’t be saying it then.”

Their whole table erupts in a discussion Gigi can’t pay any attention to.

19:50

Cool.

That means I get to see you soon.

It’s gonna be great.

They taps ou, and close the app with a smile.

They hadn’t known if Nicky even had a boyfriend, not that it mattered; until it did.

Apparently; he had been married, for almost the whole time they had known each other- a blow Gigi hadn’t quite expected, to leave them as breathless as landing in Los Angeles; the shock not setting in, not in full, anyway- until they are standing in a new apartment, looking down at a menu of instructions on how to set up the wifi in the unit, fingers hovering over everyone in contacts.

They can’t call their mom; not this soon, and their brothers would tell her, and the whole plan would crumble; just like everything had with Nicky; whose calls Gigi had declined for the past solid month; the nights they had spent with their phones propped up behind desks and dressing room mirrors fading into something beyond memory; that they refused to think about any more than they had to, the messages asking if they’re alright answered in curt, short replies.

How could they have been so stupid, thinking that they were talking-talking, teasing that Nicky and they were friends; when Gigi didn’t even know what his real name was.

(Unless it was Nicky?)

Shit.

Gigi waits for their phone to load into the app, and refreshes the friends list a couple of times, until they can see Nicky’s icon at the top, the side of the circle cut through with a little green dot, and taps twice to start a call.

“Hi?”

Nicky’s greeting floats in the air, between a breath and utter silence before Gigi swallows their pride, pressing the phone to the side of their face.

“What do you know about connecting a router to a tower if I live on the…um third floor?”

The line crackles, but soon there’s a tiny, familiar chuckle. “First of all, that is not how you do any of that-”

They talk a little more, every day; in between, Nicky moves to New York and Gigi cuts a tape that they put in the mail with a wink. They’re due for a visit home soon, and carefully proposes- maybe it’s time they meet Nicky. New York isn’t far at all, and a layover would make for a cheaper flight, anyway.

Their plans stack up in hours of calls; and Gigi think they’re almost back to normal. Until, three days before the flight is supposed to leave, there’s a call they had forgotten to wait for, and their fingers hover over the message box below Nicky’s name, vibrating with anxiety and excitement all at once.

09:22

Hey. I had a family thing come up.

Gigi types, and then erases the text, steeling themselves as they taps out another one that makes a little more sense, and doesn’t seem like such a lie.

09:30

I’m so so so so sorry about this

I had some things come up and my trip fell through.

They send this instead, surprised to see Nicky start typing back immediately.

09:35

You’re not going to believe this

I have some work things that started recently and so it would have been really shitty to have a guest over now.

09:35

No way!

09:37

Yeah. :(( But we’re gonna hang out someday, I swear!

09:37

Dont worry! You’re definitely gonna see me.

Real real real soon!

“-Where do I go?”, Gigi asks, pulling at the bottom hem of the ornate jacket she wore, fiddling with the gold telescope in her hands. The lights behind the set burned brightly, making the thicker bottoms of the outfit feel much warmer than he had remembered them being.

“Go to that green square on the ground, and wait there, when you see the little arrow light up, you can enter the Werk Room and then we’ll have you stop inside, get your opening line, and let you see the other girls.”

“Okay.”

He does as he’s told, prancing in and kicking his boots in front of him as the lights move to capture Gigi’s entrance, his head only snapping to the side when given the signal, so he can see the others who are already crowded around the pink tables he’s only dreamed of seeing for so long.

“Holy Shit…Nicky?!”

In reality; Gigi can see far more of the detail of Nicky’s face; of her eyebrows and carefully painted cheeks and lashes, of all the effort that they had only really talked about, his eternal summer tan and the long fringe of black hair that he’s always nudging across his forehead, or slicked against a beanie, gone behind a platinum blonde veneer that’s so much brighter than Gigi has ever seen. She’s thinner, and taller, careful breaths underneath sequinned shoulder pads, knees knocking together as she gasps.

“Gigi!”

Widow and Crystal glance at each other over the pink table.

“Hold up, you guys know each other?”

In the flesh; Gigi is impossibly small, the sharp angles of her face, and the dark brown hair that sticks up in angles which Nicky traces against the white of his pillows in his bedroom on the screen of his phone in the morning, taped underneath a gold-tipped pirate hat, and lush, wavy curls. She looks like a model on the runways where Nicky used to work; so close to him that he can feel Gigi’s breath on the back of his hand, as he tightens his grip around the epaulets on her shoulder.

“Gigi Goode.”, she repeats, and Gigi giggles a little at that.

“The Nicky Doll.”, she laughs, and her voice sounds so much more solid, than it ever has over every crossed wire.

Gigi’s hand swings, squeezing Nicky’s tightly as they swing around the table; like the others who are there don’t matter at all. She rests her head on Nicky’s padded shoulder, cocking it just slightly, waiting there, as Crystal’s eyes flash at the scene before them.

“…and may the best woman win.”, Gigi whispers, only for Nicky to hear.

#rpdr fanfiction #nicky doll #gigi goode #gigi x nicky #pre-ship #fluff #online friends au #s12 #on set fic #queen au #campvanjie #concrit welcome

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yume-fanfare · 4 years

Text

translation - who is the owner?

this is a translation of one of the four short stories HoneyWorks posted at the beginning of the pandemic! it’s written by Kosaka Mari, you can read it in japanese here. this was translated from this spanish translation by mieltrabajos.

Other stories:

The whereabouts of the roast beef

Two people at the school festival

Aiming towards the heroine, Suzumi Hiyori!

Who is the owner?

Aizou woke up earlier than normal that morning, and was walking down the stairs holding his cat, Kuro.

He usually went straight to the bathroom in the morning, but he noticed his brother was tying his shoelaces in the entryway, and he stopped to wonder why.

(Isn't it too early?)

Usually, Aizou was the first one to leave home.

My brother Ken often sleeps until the very last minute, but today he's already put on his uniform and seems to be about to leave. Plus, there's a big handheld bag next to him.

“Hey! Where are you going?” Aizou yelled.

As Aizou's worry grew, Ken got up and looked at him.

(He's surely going to spend the night away!)

The last time his brother had left home and not came back was when Aizou was in middle school.

“What does this guy think he's doing?” Aizou yelled again.

He held out Kuro. His eyes were round and big, like a small child's.

“You picked him up. Leaving it alone… it's too irresponsible. If you're leaving somewhere, take him with you! If you can't, you shouldn't have picked him up!” he bursted out, furiously glaring at his brother.

“... To a school trip?”

After a few seconds of silence, Aizou squeaked:

“What?”

“School trip,” his brother repeated, grabbing the bag.

Aizou stared at him, still holding Kuro with both hands. His forehead dripped with sweat.

“... It's a school trip… I see... so it can't be avoided…” he mumbled, distraught, softening his voice and stare.

Aizou lightly punched his own head, trying to concentrate on what his brother was saying, and accidentally let out a “What the heck!”

“Do you want me to bring you a keychain?”

“I don't need that!” he frowned and pushed Ken's hand away.

“Well, I leave Kuro in your care!” Ken happily waved at him and left the house.

When the door closed with a loud bang, Aizou whispered:

“What the hell.”

(This is confusing…)

He sighed and walked towards the living room, holding Kuro against his chest.

On his way there, he turned to look at the door.

“But tomorrow I have to travel for work too!”

---

The next day, when Aizou arrived at the airport with his bag and a pet carrier for Kuro, his manager and Yuujirou were already waiting there for him.

“You're late! And you claim you always arrive on time.” His manager crossed her arms and scolded him.

“I took a taxi but there was a lot of traffic... I'm sorry.”

“Hey, why are you carrying a cat or something like that?”

Kuro meowed from inside the pet carrier and Yuujirou frowned.

“I couldn't do anything! Suddenly, that guy left for a school trip…!”

“Wouldn't it have been better to leave it at a pet hotel? Isn't that what people usually do?” their manager asked.

“What were you thinking?” Yuujirou said.

“I didn't have time!”

“I had never heard of a cat accompanying one at work. How professional is that?”

“Hey! I'll take good care of him, I won't let him interfere with our work!”

Their manager interrupted them, not wanting for a fight to break out again.

“Come on, hurry! I'm looking for a place to put your things, if we don't catch this flight, we'll be late to the radio recording!”

Following their manager, Yuujirou and Aizou ran with their luggage.

---

After their radio appearance, they left to a TV studio to be featured in a show.

While in the waiting room, Aizou put on his headphones to listen to music. Behind him, the manager talked to a staff member from the studio.

(School trip… where are you… Well… It doesn't matter…)

As he wondered vaguely, he glanced next to him on the couch.

Yuujirou was resting his cheek on his hand while he spent his free time moving a dried sardine in front of Kuro, who sat on the table.

Aizou sighed and put down his earphones.

“You… Why are you playing with the cat? Don't take him out of the bag.”

“He was already out.”

Kuro jumped forward, trying to catch with both paws the dried sardine Yuujirou was holding.

Maybe he was too engrossed by it, but his eyes were sparkling and it looked kind of fun.

Seeing it kind of annoyed Aizou.

“It’s nice… Didn’t the professionals say it’s great? I feel like I heard something like that… or maybe I imagined it?” Yuujirou wondered.

“This cat, this dumpling mass?”

“Dumpling? Don’t say that to your cat.”

(His name, Kuro, is also just a description of him...)

Aizou was reminded of the person who named him.

“He’s too round. Doesn’t he need some more exercising?”

“He’s cute, so it’s fine.” Aizou frowned and put on his headphones in again to avoid getting angry.

(It’s not like I’m his owner… so why does it bother me?)

After all, that person’s sense of responsibility hadn’t changed.

---

Shibasaki Ken stopped by the tourist-filled souvenir shop with Kodai, to look around. Meanwhile, Kotarou was with his childhood friend Hina, choosing some sweets to buy for their families.

Ken glanced at them and stifled a laugh.

“We shouldn’t bother them,” he muttered. “Hey, Kodai, what are you buying?”

“Just some presents for my family.”

Ken stopped in front of the keychains section, and Kodai did too.

“Keychains…?”

“Hey, this one, isn’t it really cool?!” Ken enthusiastically showed one to Kodai.

“Eh… I don’t think it’s that good.”

“Nope! It totally is!” Ken walked towards the counter, twirling the keychain in his finger.

Kotariou had finished his shopping and he approached Kodai, who was looking at Ken.

“What’s Shibaken buying?”

“A keychain.”

“For a girl? Takamizawa?”

Kodai gave Kotarou a doubtful look and then turned back to Ken, who was paying now.

“I don't think it's that.”

“I see…”

Kotarou tilted his head to the side.

“Then… whom is it for?”

#lipxlip #lip x lip #honeyworks #shibasaki aizou #shibasaki ken #someya yuujirou #only hiyori's story left to go!#mar's translations #hworks #hw links

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simeonstans · 4 years

Note

Hey, no worries, I'm the angst Nonnie. I was asking about like a brother (in this instance Mammon) catches MC cheating on their brother (lets say, Lucifer) with another demon. I want brotherly support

okie and the brothers you chose were the oldest 4! gotcha!! srry for taking long to make this :( also i made it so only Levi's was on purpose, i didn't have much of the heart to make MC an asshole cheater dhdjdk

Lucifer

You and Lucifer have been going out for a while now but now it seems like he has no time for you.

You understand all the work he has to do for the exchange program to succeed and how much work Diavolo gives him. But still, you couldn't help but feel lonely. He'd sometimes even kick you out of his office even when you weren't speaking or you were just scrolling through Devilgram. It was irritating.

Asmo might've seen you being bummed out and looking lonely lately, so he invited you to go clubbing at The Fall with him. Said you needed fresh air, so of course he went ahead and dragged you along with him. Dolled you up and everything.

At the club, you just sat at a table, a couple of glasses in and you honestly knew better than to get drunk with none of the brothers there to care for you. Sure Asmo was there and promised to be with you but he saw some guy walk into place and now he's probably getting it on in some closet. And now you're alone.

Figuring you could sober out, you decided to dance. Again, this was drunk you speaking so could you really make since of anything?

You felt this demon walk over to you, and now he was grinding behind you. Turning you saw black hair and black and red eyes staring at you. Lucifer? Maybe Diavolo invited him out?

You smiled up at him and began kissing him passionately, even grabbing his crotch. And the male returned every action back and groped your ass all he could.

Just at this moment Asmo walked in through the crowd looking for you. The guy he met was a heterosexual with a girlfriend only wanting clout for trying to hook up with him. And he wasn't gonna be bait. That's when he saw you making out with some weird guy.

"MC! What the hell are you doing?!" he pulled you back from him, looking at this freak. His eyes and hair were the same as Lucifer's but that's where the similarities end. "And what the hell is wrong with you preying on someone drunk, you @$!?&" He yelled even louder.

Out of all his brothers, Asmo has a good amount of patience. Only have you ever seen him snap at Mammon and it's usually when Mammon starts shit up. It's like the alcohol in you washed all away and now you're seeing the entire situation.

"A-Asmo... I am so so-" You sobbed out.

"Quit it. You need to tell Lucifer. He won't be happy but he may appreciate the honesty."

Afterwards, Asmo was there beside you when you confessed to Lucifer. He, once again, kicked you out of his office, and now you were in your room crying your eyes out. Asmo comforted you for a bit but for the rest of the night, he comforted Lucifer. Who hasn't cried as hard as the time he lost his sister. The other brothers, they tried not to hate you. But they also tried not to kill you at breakfast. It would take time to heal all wounds.

Mammon

Mammon told you he planned out a date. He had you wait outside some restaurant until he arrived and for the time being, you entertained yourself on your phone.

A couple demons have come up to you and asked you for your number but, of course, you declined them all.

Two hours passed and there were no signs of Mammon. You called him, no answer. You called Lucifer, again, no answer. No one answered.

So you stood and as you were going to walk back to the House of Lamentation, an arm grabbed you. "Hello, I'm sorry, but you're stunning. Please, give me your number." And before you could decline, the demon looked up behind you then down at you and kissed you before you turned around.

"MC?!" You turned behind you to see Beel. "A-Are you cheating on Mammon?" the demon turned around and ran off, leaving you stranded.

"Beel, it's not what you think." "You kissed him."

Beel was huge on family. He loved his brothers more than anything, and now he saw you betray his brother. "Why?"

Mammon soon found out the entire situation as he found Beel standing on the street, he gave you the wrong address and was looking for you. His brothers phones either all dead or Lucifer cut their messages off temporarily as punishment again.

While Beel and his brothers understood the situation and how it was forced upon you, Mammon's insecurity went up the roof. And Mammon would rely on Lucifer and Beel to comfort him until he could accept your apology.

Leviathan

You loved your boyfriend. Really, you did. But he spent countless hours behind a computer screen. Always talking to his friends and going on raids. Only talked about Sucre Frenzy and Ruri-chan. No attention towards you.

You were tired of it so you decided to go down to the library and clear your mind of things. A friend you made in class invited you over after hearing how Levi would ignore you sometimes.

Thinking it could be a way for you to get out of the house and spend time seeing more things than what's usually on Levi's screen, you agreed.

This friend, Levi mentioned he felt rather jealous of him. But you reassured him that you only liked him and no one else, that this friend was just a friend. He is the Avatar of Envy, after all.

So after an hour or two, visiting a cafe after a quick trip to the library, you both sat beside each other. He was currently reading a poem to you off one of the books he checked out. And you were leaning onto his shoulder, your mind off somewhere.

"So, what did you think?" he hummed, closing the book. "Mmm sorry, I wasn't paying attention."

"Is it Levi? Your boyfriend? Is he neglecting you again?" You friend questioned you. You went off on how Levi would ignore you and gave more attention to his friends online that he's never met before, how he spent thousands of Grimm on some girl group he's seen live once, how he'd much rather marry some drawing of a girl in a poofy skirt and pigtails rather than you.

All the while you friend kept leaning closer to your face. "And it's like he doesn't- Woah, you're close to me." Your friend leaned in closer. No you shouldn't. Don't kiss him. You love Levi. Levi is your one true-

He closed the gap, and you kissed back. You knew it was wrong but you needed it. You wanted some sort of attention. You needed something physical. But Levi-

A cough interrupted you two. Satan was behind you.

"MC, did you and Levi break up? Or have I gone mad and caught you cheating on my insecure brother?"

Fuck.

Satan did tell Leviathan, in fact, he was face timing Levi the entire time. Your boyfriend asked Satan to pick up some treats at the cafe you were unknowingly at as a surprise and apology for ignoring you lately. Instead Satan overheard your conversation and faced the camera the entire time at you.

Afterwards, Levi shut himself in his room, lights off, headphones blasting and tears down his cheeks. He hugged the sweater you left in his room some time ago. Satan did go in to check up on him and he was especially mad at you. They all were. And you were the most angry.

Satan

Lucifer sent Satan up to Earth to sort some things out for him.

He mentioned it'd take two weeks but he promised he'd take you out and spend time with you as soon as he got back.

Now, there were three days left until he returned and you were estatic!

Deciding to go out to the store and buy some groceries and prepare him a feast before his arrival back to the Devildom.

Now the bag of special flour was on the top shelf. Demons were taller than the average human, so this shelf was especially high. You turned at a coworker that was walking past you and asked him to fetch you the flour on the top shelf.

Of course, he said yes and easily picked it up for you. "On one condition." He must be Joking. Seriously, dude, I'm a customer, you thought to yourself.

The condition was for a kiss and a date. You shook your head no and before you could open your mouth to say you already had a boyfriend, he pressed his lips against yours and handed you to flour. "Great, meet me at Ristorante Six in three days. 8pm sharp. Tell your folks I'll drop you off at 11." He walked off, smacking your ass.

Seriously what the fu-

"MC, are you cheating on Satan? You know he came back today, right?" Belphie was in front of you now. He knew he heard your voice and he thought of finding you so he could also make something for his twin.

You explained the situation to him. The sleepy boy did doubt you but told you to explain it all to Satan once you all got home. You agreed.

Satan, yes he was fuming, he was angry. Belphie had to remind him that you didn't even consent to a kiss nor an ass smack. And then you remembered he told you to meet him outside Ristorante Six.

Now the grocery store employee WAS there and he was dressed nice. And you were there too. And Satan was there too. Ready to beat the shit out of him. And he did. Satan was still hurt from the entire situation and did need some consolation from his brothers before he could hold you again. He just appreciated your honesty. Belphie, however, did say that if you were to ever hurt his brothers again, he won't hesitate to kill you again.

#obey me leviathan #leviathan #lucifer #asmodeus #obey me asmodeus #obey me beelzebub #obey me lucifer #obey me mammon #obey me belphegor #obey me satan #satan #obey me #beelzebub #simeonstanon #mammon #belphagor #srry this was done at 5am im sleepy ;(

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technicallymilkshakes · 4 years

Text

If You Say You Love Me [3]

Genre(s): Hurt/Comfort, Angst Pairing: Chanyeol x Reader Word Count: 2.3k

[Previous] || [Next]

Too loud.

Baekhyun and Sehun are up to some mischief with Jongin in the background egging them on. Low thumps like running echo through the apartment, laughter thundering along with it. Music starts playing and several protests ring out. Someone, Jongdae, he thinks, yells to turn the volume up.

It’s so loud that it’s painful. He strums louder, hoping to drown them out, to drown out everything--the way his heartbeat races to catch up to the rhythm, how his skin prickles and tightens. But the noise bleeds in and pollutes the song. He shudders, grips the neck of the guitar tightly before depositing it gently on its stand.

His hand automatically reaches out to his phone. It’s set three hand lengths away. He pulls his headphones on and his fingers move in a rhythm that has become as natural as a smile.

One ring, two rings. It goes on like that. He counts them in his head and the pattern calms him down, reassures him. He doesn’t even pray anymore. He hasn’t earned the right for someone to grant him wishes.

The call goes to voicemail, as it has for the past two weeks. He pulls his headphones off and lays down on the bed, closes his eyes, and lives in the noise that other people make. He is quiet. Quiet. He’s given his voice away.

All of the sudden he feels hot. He strips his shirt off then spreads out on the covers of his bed. They’re grey and soft and light. They were expensive, too, but he doesn’t regret buying them. You told him that he shouldn’t skimp on good sheets. He’s gotten some of the best nights of sleep on them, though not lately.

He rolls over.

There’s a soft knock, barely audible over the music. Chanyeol blinks slowly. He forgot about the noise.

“Oh.” Jongdae stares at him, eyes wide. “I didn’t think you were actually in here.”

Chanyeol stares back at him.

Jongdae frowns. “You’ve been awfully quiet lately…” He walks over to the bed and moves Chanyeol’s legs over so he can hop up. “You okay?”

Chanyeol just closes his eyes, hums something that is either word or song or both, and turns on his side.

He feels a brief flutter of gratefulness when he feels fingers massage through his hair. The boys, EXO… He’s so glad he met them, these people who have become part of his family. A hot tear streaks its way over the bridge of his nose and down the other cheek to soak into the covers.

It’s still not the same, though. Jongdae doesn’t know how to do it properly, only brushes over the same spot. His fingers don’t pull languidly through and down, down, walking their way along his neck and easing the tension from his spine. They don’t curve around his ear.

He bites down on his lip viciously. He’s an awful friend, an awful person all around.

But his heart beats and he knows. This isn’t the kind of quiet he was looking for.

Chanyeol wakes with a gasp and a flail, dislodging the pillow that’s been suffocating him.

“If I’m up, you’re up,” Jongin says, stalking out of the room. Chanyeol collapses back on his bed with a groan.

He aches something fierce. Concert preparations have begun in earnest and they’re spending hours and hours each day in the studio, running through the choreography and the details of the performance, taking promotional photoshoots, and scheduling fittings for stage outfits. All he’s had time to eat have been convenience store sausages and ramen, all eaten while he’s barely awake. Sometimes he wakes up with a half-eaten sausage on the pillow next to him.

If the managers and trainers are feeling nice, they’ll order food for them. Junmyeon sometimes talks about taking them all out to eat, but even he can’t seem to muster up the morale to drag all of them to some restaurant after practicing for hours, just another stop before home and bed. The farthest they’ve managed has been the tteokbokki place nearby, and only once at that. It’s one of the first places they went as trainees who would debut under EXO. Returning instills humility and awe at how far they’ve come now. To remember what they wished for themselves, what already seemed like a pipe dream, and to know this is where they are now, preparing for a world tour. Sehun especially seems to gain energy from going there and it cheers the members up, to see the maknae excited and regaling them with stories from pre-debut that they’re all heard a hundred times already.

It’s hard to keep the momentum, though. After a few minutes spent battling sleep, Chanyeol flips himself over. He grabs his phone and does a cursory check while he’s heading to the bathroom. He sets the phone down on the counter and calls.

Ring, ring, ring….

The voicemail kicks in while he’s in the middle of washing his face.

“Happy Sunday morning,” he says. “It’s… 3:07 AM right now, crap, that’s really early, isn’t it…. Sorry if I woke you up, go back to sleep, back to sleep…” He dithers, unsure whether he should hang up or not. “But since you’re up anyway if you’re listening to this, hey… Jongin actually woke me up today. I think his back’s been bothering him again and I guess I’ve been really tired because of the concerts coming up. I… I hope I’ll still see you there? You don’t have to come if you don’t want to, though! I understand…” Emptiness settles in him at the thought. You haven’t missed any of the tour kick-offs or the DOTs. “Anyways, I should get going… If you ever need me, ever need to talk or anything, I’ll be right--”

The voicemail ends abruptly, his here echoing in the bathroom.

Jongin knocks on the door. “Five minutes, Chanyeol!”

It’s 2:41 AM the following day, and Chanyeol’s just stumbling out of the bathroom before he falls into unconsciousness for a few hours. Practice had been an all day affair. He hardly feels like a person at this point. He sets his alarm on his phone and then jerks and sits up.

“Shit.”

1 Missed Call From Lucky Charm 2 minutes ago

He presses the call back button frantically. “Come on, come on,” he mutters, chewing on a fingernail, leg jumping up and down.

The call goes to voicemail.

“Come on!” he whisper-screams at his phone, shaking it. “It’s been two minutes, where could you have gone in two minutes?!”

He calls again.

It rings and rings and there’s a click that has him hoping, believing--

“Chanyeol.”

It must be the shock. He didn’t actually believe you would pick up. He sits there, dumb, staring at nothing until his eyes begin to water.

“Chanyeoool,” he hears you whine. There’s a little beep and you start muttering something.

“Hey,” he says softly. “What’s up?”

“It’s your fault. Can’t get in.”

He frowns. The way you’re talking…

“Are you drunk?”

“Like I said,” your voice is pointed this time, “this is all your fault.”

“What’s wrong? Where are you?” He’s already standing, searching for a jacket.

“I can’t get into my apartment.”

“What do you mean?”

“I can’t get into my apartment, Chanyeol!” He hears a beep and a thud.

“Okay, okay, don’t yell. Did you forget your pass code again?” It’s hard to fight the smile that creeps up on him. How many times has he had to do this?

You don’t say anything for a long time and he has to hold the phone away and clap a hand over his mouth to stifle his chuckle. You’re extra irritable when drunk and have a habit at taking offense at everything.

“It’s 12671, dummy.”

“It’s not and I am not a dummy.”

“What do you mean? You didn’t even try!”

“I did. It’s wrong.”

“Try it again.”

There’s a sigh and then he can hear the soft beeps as you press the numbers in and the little tone that plays back when it’s entered incorrectly.

“I told you.”

He frowns this time. “Are you sure you put it in right? One.”

“One.” A corresponding beep.

“Two.”

“Two...”

It goes on like that until the same tone from before plays.

You huff over the line. “I told you.”

“I bet you didn’t change your battery,” he says, shoving one arm into his hoodie. “Hold on.” He sets his phone down while he slides on the rest of the hoodie, ruffles his hair, and quickly presses the phone back up to his ear.

“--changed them.”

“When did you change them?” He slips out of his room and pads to the entrance. The automatic light clicks on and he kicks the mound of shoes around until he finds a pair of his buried at the bottom.

“Three weeks ago? Yeah. Something like that…..” He can hear the sleep settling in your voice and his heart picks up its pace in urgency.

“Okay, okay… Listen, I’ll be right over. You’re alone, right?”

“Mhm.”

“Then stay there,” he says, pointing a finger although you can’t see it. “I’ll be there soon, so just hang out a little, okay?”

“See you soon, Chanyeollie.”

It takes ten minutes driving to get to your area. Chanyeol runs into the nearest convenience store to buy batteries, pulling his hood up on the way. The cashier doesn’t seem to register who he is as she quietly reads out his total and lets him go without question once he’s paid.

Five minutes later, he’s sprinting down the hallway to your door. He slows the closer he gets. He can see straight through to the end, and you are nowhere in sight. Chanyeol spins around, glancing in the opposite direction, but the same scene unravels before him. Empty.

Dread begins to sink in. Maybe you got in? He rings the doorbell, standing in frame of the telecom camera. A minute ticks by and there’s no answer.

It’s okay, he tries to reassure himself even as his heart drops. Maybe you just fell into a drunken slumber once you got inside. You had sounded tired over the phone and he knows your drinking habits.

He flicks open the keypad. The light is green, so the batteries should still be good. That’s a good sign at least, there’s a chance you could be inside. He enters the code and is immediately denied.

Again, he tries, slower this time, repeating the numbers in his head. 12671.

Rejected.

Not once, in all the time that he’s known you, has he been locked out like this. That this has happened now, after the biggest fight the two of you had ever had, feels personal. Like you meant to keep him out. And the strangest thing is, now that he’s locked out, it’s not just you he misses. He misses this place, the security of it and the good memories harbored within. It’s home in a way that the dorms aren’t, not even his childhood bedroom.

All the horrendous thoughts of what might have happened flit through his head. He’s spent so much time, so much time, trying to keep you safe. Sure, he’s told you of sasaengs hiring cars to follow him around or some of the creepy letters he’s gotten. But never all of it. Not the time that that housekeeper ambushed him in a hotel, trying to lock him in with her in the bathroom. Or the time that a restaurant owner, upset with how much his daughter mooned over him, had hauled him up by the collar and threatened to sick his gang connections on him if he didn’t either marry his daughter or disappear. All that time he had been protecting you. He kept careful boundaries, everything he never said meant to be a buffer, a deterrent to keep all the monsters haunting him from reaching you. Not once did he ever suspect that he, himself, could be one of them.

“What did you do,” he moans quietly to himself. He grabs his phone and makes another call. It goes straight to voicemail this time. Your phone’s either off or dead.

He scrubs a hand over his face and tries the code one more time. It doesn’t let him in. He starts pounding on the door, just long enough before he gets too nervous that your neighbors might come check what’s going on.

Where are you??? He texts. I’m outside your door. I told you to stay put. Are you okay? Call me back as soon as you see this If I don’t hear back from you by morning I’m gonna call the police I’m not kidding Please call me back

Despite his complete and utter exhaustion, it is almost impossible for Chanyeol to sleep that night. He paces around the apartment, prepared to rush out at the drop of a hat. A few times, he turns to wake up another member. He can’t handle this alone. It feels like there’s too little air and too much quiet. Pressure builds in his ears.

But then he remembers what you said. It’s your fault. This is all your fault. He’s worthless, isn’t he. Can’t do anything. Why does he always try to get other people to solve his problems?

Chanyeol sits on the couch with the TV on in the background, cradling his phone in his palm. He feels paralyzed. He nods off a couple times only to jerk back awake a moment later, desperately checking his phone.

He makes no less than 72 calls that night.

At 5:19 AM, his phone pings.

I’m fine the text says. I fell asleep at a friend’s Attached is a blurry image of you, cheek mushed against a pillow accompanied by a sleepy smile and a victory sign. Sorry for worrying you You can go to sleep now, Yeollie

Junmyeon walks out to find Chanyeol crying.

“Chanyeol?” he asks. “What’s going on?”

Blurry-eyed, Chanyeol gets up from the couch and rushes over to Junmyeon, who folds him into a hug. He curls into the leader, smaller and smaller.

“She’s okay,” he mumbles wetly against Junmyeon’s shoulder. “Thank God. She’s safe.”

A/N: Thank you, as always, for reading! It’s been a while since I updated this story. I am wishing you all happiness and health. If this story comes as a welcome distraction, so much the better.

#exowritersnet #exo fanfiction #exo fanfic #chanyeol fanfic #chanyeol fic #exo fic #chanyeol fanfiction #exo imagines #exo scenarios #chanyeol scenario #exo #chanyeol #park chanyeol #chanyeol imagine #chanyeol angst #exo angst

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lordxgrinnyxboy · 4 years

Text

watching Flowers For Mrs. Harris! Act One!

(thanks Ellie and Mary! :D) (edit: contains spoilers!)

first thought “wow it’s super silent huh” my headphones weren’t on u-u ooooh Music

okay so we’re opening with a Table and Two People okay who are they okay are they having breakfast? I like the background. the background looks cool.

i’m go with crimson just bc i think scarlet would have a little more orange to it wouldn’t it? wait a second is the teapot a snail? my god that’s Adorable sir

“that was 31 years ago” moooooooooooood

awwww he wants her to sell his watch to do something nice for herself? that’s sweet :’3

i think the teapot is not a snail :(

“all i ever needed was here, right here” i’m heeeeeeeeeeere

is that real bread

awwwwwwwwwww

im emotionally invested in these two already

IT’S REAL BREAD?

wait he’s not...gonna die is he....he doesn’t DIE and then she sells the watch? please?

it’s dark and im Nervous

WAIT WHAT DO YOU MEAN YOU MISS HIM

WHAT DO YOU MEAN DON’T YOU MISS YOUR

DID HE DIE? DID HE JUST WALK OFF STAGE AND DIE?

WHAT

YOU WERE VERY LUCKY?

IS HE DEAD?

oh my god he died did

is it real cake

is this what it feels like to step in one of those traps where it’s the loop of rope and you’re walking minding your own business and then it yoinks you up into the air by your ankle

it is real cake wow

but he’s DEAD? and it’s been a YEAR?

oh no Something’s Going To Happen? u-u

i like the the friend and i like Ada, both Very Good, Seem like Nice People.

oh to live close enough by a Buddy to drop by and surprise them with Cake :3

how fancy is this dress dear lord

haven’t got a read on Rich Lady yet but i hope she’s Friendly even if it is in a condescending rich person way like pls be nice to Ms. Ada thanks

love how that one strip of stage looks like a Tie going one way and a kind of Gregorian ShyGuy (from Kirby?) Monk the other way

i like that she’s found an Art Thing to be super into like? for some people it’s paintings or sculptures or theater or dance or literature or music or whatever and for her i guess it’s fashion/dresses! Fantastic! Good for her!

i support u ada live ur dream

“numbers” i don’t think there is any more on-brand certified Mr Maskell, immediate “yep that’s mr maskell”-inducing way that he couldve said that. that was some signature Mr. Maskell right there.

alright ‘bob’ who are you in love with who’s this ‘her’

pamler okay

still allergic to standing up i see

“just look at me. why would such beautiful perfection ever look at me” i see Gwyn was not a one-off

are his glasses frames leopard-print

HOW DARE YOU SMACK THOSE PAPERS OUT OF HER HAND WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU

ha. nerd. he’s got some cuteness to him. some endearing qualities. oh mr maskell.

shfjsfhajfhajk his hands he’s got good hands

he sees a pretty woman and just. does that. wow it’s like God just threw him at a windshield

hashtag petition to Help Bob. he needs it. desperately.

so. pamler and bob huh

WHAT ARE YOU DOING ON THAT CHAIR BOB YOU’RE GOING TO BREAK YOUR ANKLE

“he’s acting like a proper twit” HE IS BUT YOU DON’T HAVE TO SAY IT PAMLER

that’s right bob you take your chair and go have fun being wobbly

who is THAT 👀 the person who just put the box on the floor 👀

aw countess

“something to come home to” awww

don’t be mean to her ma’am you gotta support your friend! sure it might not be the most practical dream but dreams rarely are! let her have this!

DON’T FIGHT LADIES PLEASE

VIOLET COME ON DON’T DO THIS

DISAPPOINTED IN HER? WHAT?

HE’S NOT DEAD?

oh oh i see :(

😭😭😭

what about the watch? is Violet going to be even more upset if the coupon she left winds up winning? or?

oh hey is that my person who put the box on the floor but now in a tux?

DAMMIT BOB

BOB?

oh god Bob please Bob oh my god Bob, BOB no,

B O B

bob

oh pls tell me it’s gonna work out pls let her be able to go pls pls pls

my box person! heyoo!

oh no oh no don’t talk up bad news don’t be doing that

aw :(

okay but what about the watch?

pls tell me he wasn’t buried with it

bc if so it’s time to exhume a fella we got stuff to do

wait does she have some pennies put by in the flower vase tho

yeah ada let’s math this let’s get Bob to run the numbers and see how that money might be found let’s do it i believe in u lemme see your budget i’ll do it for free we’re gonna get you what you need ma’am

YEAH VIOLET GOOD GIRL

oh god my heart i’m. oh god 😭

ma’am pls take care of yourself you can’t enjoy your dress if you run urself into the ground trying to get it u-u

oh hi bobert

was it necessary to say ‘wonderland’ Like That OwO

ohmygod what did you just do with your head. do it again. i gotta rewind

oh 🙏 mr 🙏 maskell 🙏

oh no oh no mrs harris pls don’t get sick and have to spend all your savings on hospital we can’t have that pls don’t pls get inside

THAT LAUGH I’M

DAMMIT BOB

she’s about to give all her savings to her little client people isn’t she u-u

oh mrs h why you telling tales

MOULIN ROUGE??????

honestly Mrs H idk if Bob even needs an explanation in order to take a picture for you you could probably be like “hey. photo me” and he’d be like “okay”

oh his little laugh i’m 😭 we never got this with Gwyn 😭

is she about to die and the afterlife is where the dress is i mean for goodness’ sake i have Concerns

idk shouldn’t u make sure you’ve got a little bit extra for Just In Case scenarios?

PAMLER DON’T BE MEAN

OH NO OH NO WHY THIS WHY NOW

where’s the watch sell the watch!

THERE YA GO ALBERT TELL HER

i mean if he originally wanted her to sell his watch and use the money to do something nice for herself then technically anything she gets with the watch money is basically a present from him which means the watch’s “last thing I have left of you” properties are transferable to anything she uses the money to buy

TRUST ME MRS H THAT’S HOW IT WORKS. USE THE WATCH IT’S WHAT HE WANTED

😭😭😭

oh my god 😭

YEEHAW SHE’S GOING TO PARIS GOOD JOB MA’AM

#flowers for mrs harris spoilers #i've never been so stressed out invested in hoping someone succeeds in obtaining a Really Expensive dress before

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curiousconstellations · 4 years

Text

Signs of Love

Hi @shireness-says I’m your CS Secret Santa! It’s been so great talking to you for the past few weeks (even if it was sporadic on my end, apologies!) and I hope you enjoy this gift (and I may or may not be working on a fic that includes the tropes you love that I didn’t include here!) I hope you have a wonderful Christmas and enjoy your favourite traditions- I’m curious to know what ornament you received :)

And thank you @cssecretsanta2k19 for hosting a great event this year!

“I know I’m here for Mary Margaret and David, but God I hate this lame, cheesy shit.”

Killian is more amused than offended by this comment, having heard plenty of grumbles from the tag-along partners of his customers that sneer and scoff at his products. He stands around the corner from the checkout, hidden by a wall that allows him to eavesdrop on the one-sided conversation of the woman’s phone call.

“I know they love this stuff but I’m the one that has to spend money. I’d rather it not be on crap, you know?” The woman continues and Killian begins to feel a little defensive. His store was a small but well-crafted selection and range of rustic items, mostly his own versions of things people see in magazines and want in their homes.

The wooden ‘live, laugh, love’ signs were the most popular, along with wicker log baskets and white metal heart ornaments, boxes and photo frames. Killian is aware that this is a particular taste in décor but he takes pride in his business of local production and sales.

“Okay, well I’ll ask if they do that kind of thing, if anyone even works here. This place is literally empty.”

Killian waits for the woman to hang up the phone before making an appearance, catching her checking out the price tag on a photo frame with an expression that looks like actual interest.

“Can I help you?” Killian asks politely. The woman has the decency to look a little sheepish as she looks up at him, but she quickly dismisses the photo frame to march up to the checkout counter.

“I need a gift for my friend’s wedding. I was wondering if you did custom orders?” The woman asks assertively. There’s a hardness to her green eyes that means business and it’s clear she’d like to get this gift and be done quickly.

“Aye, we do custom orders. It can take up to 6 weeks depending on what you want, so if it’s a last-minute gift I’m afraid it won’t be done in time.” Killian tells her, fighting back a grin when her eyebrows shoot up.

“Are you insinuating that I’m a crappy friend that buys wedding gifts last minute?” The woman retorts and Killian puts his hands up defensively.

‘Not at all, love. I’m merely informing you to avoid receiving a complaint that it isn’t ready for the event. We strive for the best quality production, which can sometimes not be quick enough for some customers, even if it is lame, cheesy shit.’ Killian replies, letting a smirk spread across his lips when he uses her words. The woman appears to be shocked at first, but with the twitch of her lips and the drop of her shoulders she shakes her head and softens slightly.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to be rude. All this wedding stuff is just stressing me out.”

“Why don’t we start over? I’m Killian Jones, at your service to design whatever gift you wish.” He extends his hand with a soft smile, watching as the woman’s eyes roam over his face for an intense moment before she slides her hand into his.

“Emma Swan, maid of honour for her best friend’s wedding and entirely void of sentimentality.” She says quietly, offering him a small, short-lived smile. Their hands slip away, and Killian slides a folder on the counter towards her.

“This has all the choices of material we have available, ranging from metal to several different types of wood. It also has all the styles of engravings and personalized messages and how much it costs. Feel free to browse through.” Killian says softly, looking up to see Emma chewing her lip as she quickly flicks through the pages in the folder.

“Yeah, I have no idea about any of this stuff. Do you have any suggestions?” Emma sighs, looking up at him with desperation in her eyes.

“How about you come on back, I have some sample products I can show you to get some ideas.’ Killian offers, gesturing behind him to the back room of the store. Emma glances around and Killian chuckles, much to Emma’s surprise.

“This place is, as you said, literally empty. I’ve got more work to do back there than out here anyway.” He explains, and Emma silently nods in agreement, a light blush rising to her cheeks as he repeats her less than kind words once again.

“So, how long have the happy couple been together?” Killian asks as Emma walks around the counter to join him, the folder tucked under her arm.

‘Three years this December. Mary Margaret found an injured bird and brought it to David’s vet clinic, and I guess they fell in love over a broken wing. They’re that couple, you know?” Emma snorts, but he can tell she thinks a lot of her friends underneath the derision.

“Well, I have a few bird ornaments if you want something like that. Or I can make something with their wedding date on.” Killian offers, watching Emma as she looks around his workshop with curiosity. She stops at a wooden sign he’s in the middle of carving for the Robinson family and hums thoughtfully.

“I think something like this would be nice on their porch, maybe with a bird on each end and ‘The Nolans’ in the middle. And then maybe something else with their wedding date on too, is that okay, can you do two things?” Emma asks sheepishly. He feels himself smile at the way she crinkles her nose when making the request.

“Of course, love. I’ll make anything you pay for.” Killian teases, pleased when she actually laughs a little. He grabs some scrap paper and draws some designs for her, and he’s surprised when she helps him with ideas and seems excited. They look over types of wood and measurements until he has a clear vision of what she wants. Judging by the genuine smile on her face, he thinks he has convinced her that his shop isn’t just lame, cheesy shit after all. He creates an initial invoice for her and spontaneously decides to write his number on the bottom, just in case she had any inquires or requests of course. Her expression tells him she knows exactly what he is doing, but there is something in the way her mouth curves into a light smile that gives him hope she might actually keep it.

-/-

Winter is here in full force this evening as Emma gets out her car and races into Killian’s store away from the billowing snowstorm. She groans at the feel of the heat once inside, kicking the snow off her boots and shivering. Killian isn’t in the front of the store, so she heads into the workshop in the back like she’s a regular (at this point though maybe she is, letting herself in when the store is closed and all that). He’s sanding away at some wood with headphones in, his head nodding to the beat as he works. She can hear him singing quietly too, his voice deep and pleasant. Emma has to admit, he looks particularly attractive when he’s in his workshop and his hair gets messy and his shirt clings to his arms.

She walks in front of his work bench, waving when he looks up in surprise.

“Swan, hi.” Killian says, sounding flustered. He takes out his headphones and brushes his forehead with his arm.

“Hey. I’m sorry for dropping in uninvited. I just wanted to um…ask you something.” She feels ridiculous now, realizing she should have just sent a message instead of coming out here like this.

“I’m sorry to disappoint, but I haven’t quite finished The Nolans’ gift.”

“No, it’s not that. Well, it kind of is I guess. Related to the gift. I mean, more like the wedding itself but anyway. I just wanted to ask if you would be my plus one for the wedding? Of course you shouldn’t feel obligated to come just because I asked and you’re making the gift but there was some confusion. I was going to bring my son as my guest, but David and Mary Margaret counted him as a guest on the list already and now there is an extra seat and everyone I know is already going and I can’t be the maid of honour and be responsible for screwing up the numbers so I’m inviting you.”

“So, you’re inviting me, a man you’ve known for two weeks, to your best friend’s wedding where I will be joining you presumably at the front of the wedding reception along with your child whom I’ve never met?” And didn’t know existed, she’s sure he’s thinking too.

“Okay, when you put it like that, yeah it’s weird. I’m sorry I asked, I’m way overstepping.” Emma feels her face burn and suddenly all she wants is to back outside in the snowstorm.

“I never say no, lass.” Killian chuckles, putting down the sandpaper and wood on the bench and standing close to her. She can see the mischievous glint in his eye before his expression becomes a little more serious.

“I would love to accompany you, Swan. Send me the details and the colour of your outfit so I can dress accordingly.”

“Killian, this isn’t the prom, we don’t have to colour coordinate.” Emma snorts, shaking her head as he wiggles his eyebrows. She’s learned over the past couple of weeks that Killian is usually flirtatious and humorous, and she’s come to expect his eyebrow raises and cheeky grins. She wishes she didn’t fall for it quite so much, but he also seems like a pretty decent guy and she knows he’s putting in a lot of work to get the gifts made for her.

“I do have to warn you though, a lot of people are going to ask if we’re dating. Actually, I know for a fact my friend Ruby is going to pounce on you the second we get to the wedding. I just don’t want things to be awkward, and Henry doesn’t even know you so…” Emma trails off, the gears in her head making her realize this probably isn’t the best idea.

“No worries, this is a purely platonic arrangement, I understand.” Killian nods, making her sigh with relief. She doesn’t want to deal with not bringing a guest but in all honesty she hadn’t fully considered actually bringing Killian as a guest either. She’s sure David and Mary Margaret would appreciate meeting the man who literally carved their wedding gifts, but she has not had a plus one that wasn’t her son in a very long time, and she knows full well that people lap that kind of gossip up at weddings.

“How old is your boy?” He asks, and Emma knows he’s trying to quell her concerns.

“He’s ten. He’s a great kid, wise beyond his years. It’s been me and him his whole life.” Emma stops there, thinking that is plenty of information to share for now. Killian smiles and nods but doesn’t push for more details and she is appreciative, glad when he turns her attention to the woodwork. He makes her feel the smooth edges and wiggles out compliments from her on his handiwork and she decides that she made the right decision in wanting Killian as a friend in her life.

-/-

The wedding party is in full swing, everyone dancing and laughing around the newlyweds. Emma watches Henry as he gleefully cheers while Killian gives him a piggyback around the dancefloor. It had been surprisingly easy introducing Killian to everyone, but Henry was the most excited and receptive, immediately asking Killian to say things in his ‘funny accent’ and asking him what comic books he likes.

“It’s almost like Killian is the perfect guy for you.” Ruby grins as she sits down beside her, and Emma rolls her eyes. She’s surprised she held out this long without saying anything.

“Ruby, we’re just friends. He’s a great guy and Henry seems to really like him but I’m not looking for this to be anything more.”

“Sometimes things just happen when you’re not looking though. Just think about it.” Ruby says, a bit too seriously for Emma’s liking. She brushes her off and pretends to go grab some food but instead heads over to the Christmas tree by the window where it is quiet. David and Mary Margaret went for a rustic winter aesthetic for their wedding but couldn’t resist adding some Christmas decorations. It’s perfectly picturesque outside too, with the snow lightly falling and dusting the trees with white, a fairy tale winter wedding fit for her friends.

Emma knows Ruby means well, and all her friends who’ve told her how great Killian is tonight, but Emma finds it more important to enjoy people being in her life than trying to define their relationship or make it something immediately. Besides, she has Henry to think about. It’s one thing for her to get potentially hurt in a relationship, but she absolutely does not want Henry to get hurt.

“You look like you could use a drink.” An accented voice tells her from behind, and she turns to see Killian with two glasses of champagne, extending one out to her.

“Thanks, I definitely could.” She laughs, clinking her glass lightly with his.

“Your boy is wonderful, Swan.” He says softly, and she thinks about Henry’s happy laugh with Killian just now.

“I think he likes you too. He’s so open with everyone, but I admit I’m cautious about introducing him to new people. Friends like David and Mary Margaret will always be in his life, but some people are more like his dad than them.” Emma feels instant regret at her words, hating that she turned their conversation serious.

“That’s perfectly understandable. My older brother essentially raised me, and he was always cautious of people coming into my life after our father left. Defense mechanism and all that.” Killian shrugs before taking a long drink of champagne. Emma studies him for a moment, looking over his clean suit and shiny shoes. He’s wearing spicy cologne and she recalls that his hair, now messy from giving Henry a piggyback ride, had been carefully styled at the beginning of the ceremony. He had put a lot of effort into preparing himself for tonight and she feels warm at the thought that he cared about it.

“Does your brother know a woman you’ve only known for a few weeks asked you to her best friend’s wedding?” She jokes in an attempt to lighten the mood.

“My brother is no longer with us, but if he was I’m sure he would get a laugh out of hearing that before lecturing me.” Killian smiles a little, but Emma still internally curses herself for probing about his brother. She’s about to apologize but he shakes his head.

“It’s fine, honestly. He’s been gone ten years now. It was not long after we started the business together, so I find the most important thing for me has been keeping it afloat.”

“Oh God, now I feel even worse calling it lame shit when I first came in!” Emma cringes, covering her face with her hand in mortification.

“Lass, it was funny, I’m truly not offended. Besides, you gave me a pretty decent cheque so I will not hold it against you.” Killian laughs, and Emma downs the rest of her champagne in embarrassment.

“Well, I have one more job for you that will add to that cheque. Could you maybe help with putting up the Nolan sign on their front porch? I wanted to do it when they’re away on their honeymoon, so when they come back its there.” Emma asks, crinkling her nose in the way she knows Killian finds amusing.

“Aye, I can help. But not for any payment.”

“Okay, fine. Only if you come dance with me.” Emma smiles. The champagne must have gone straight to her head, but she tries to stop thinking so much as she grabs Killian’s arm and pulls him back into the main reception room. Killian puts down their glasses and she laughs as he swings her around quickly to the music. He’s messing around but she can tell he is a good dancer.

It’s when the music becomes slower and the couples around them start swaying that Emma comes down from the fun a bit and realizes Killian takes hold of her like they’ve done this numerous times before.

“I’m not so good at this part.” Emma quietly laughs as she figures out where to put her arms around Killian. He hums, and the sound is soft and deep in her ear.

“Well, all you need to do is pick a partner who knows what he is doing.” Killian replies, and Emma finds herself softening into his arms. For a moment, she forgets where she is and all the anxieties she had about bringing him here and just enjoys the moment. It’s the first time in a very long time she’s felt comfortable with someone new, and instead of overthinking it or running like she always does, Emma decides to embrace it.

-/-

4 years later

Killian tries to fight through the craziness of the workroom, dividing the projects up based on what is ready for pick up and what is still being worked on. It’s the store’s busiest Christmas yet and he can’t imagine a time when he did this by himself. Will and Robin are working away at their own stations and David has stopped by to lend a hand, thankfully.

He’s running back and forth between the store front and the workroom helping customers and bringing out their orders for most of the day, not even taking notice when it’s dark outside and the store hours are long over. The chaos is finally under control when David heads home for the night, and Killian decides to work on the finishing touches on one more project before doing to same.

“So, he goes up to this woman at the bar right, and starts turning on the charm when this big guy, absolutely all muscle, comes up behind him, picks him up and drops him off away from his girlfriend.” Robin laughs hysterically as he tells the story of his and Will’s latest escapades in the pub, Will trying to downplay the incident while exclaiming “it wasn’t like that!”

“I would have loved to have seen that. Why didn’t you guys mention when you were heading to the pub?” Killian asks as he finishes off a coat of varnish on a wooden ornament.

“You were having dinner at Emma’s that night; we didn’t think you’d want to go.” Robin shrugs, glancing over at Will quickly.

“I’m always down for a night at the pub.” Killian jokes, but he narrows his eyes at the looks between his friends.

“What?”

“Nothing. It’s just we’re both single and we like to, you know, chat to women and stuff. You don’t seem to be all that interested in doing that.”

“I’m single.” Killian is met with snorts from his friends and he gestures with his hands in confusion.

“Come on, Jones. You’re deeply in love with Emma and everyone knows it. Ain’t fair to any other women to lead them on.” Will tilts his head at him and Killian feels the judgment in his eyes.

“And when did ‘everyone’ come to that conclusion?”

Robin and Will are silent for a moment, before Robin clears his throat and puts down the piece of wood his is working on.

“Look, we all think you and Emma would be great together. We just wish you would actually realize that yourselves.”

Killian scratches his ear awkwardly. He is perfectly aware that he and Emma’s relationship is the topic of much discussion among their friends, but they’ve been friends for four years now so the comments really ought to stop, particularly now that Emma is seeing Walsh.

“Emma is in a relationship; I hardly doubt she has feelings for me. Besides, I may have liked Emma when we first met but I’m way past that now.” Killian knows that’s a bald-faced lie even as he says it but he doesn’t know what else to say to get them off his back.

“Then why did Walsh return the gift he got her for Christmas earlier?” Robin challenges and Killian feels a sudden lurch in his chest.

“He did?”

“Yeah, he came in and returned the gift, said that he didn’t need it anymore and he was sure there were other things from your store Emma would prefer instead.”

Killian silently digests this information, feeling awful for hoping this meant that Emma’s relationship was over. He had been spending far less time with Emma since she had met Walsh, and spent even less time with the man to judge him all that well and knew any negativity he felt toward him was born out of jealousy. He could admit that to himself, but God help him if Emma ever knew that.

“The way I see it is you’ll never get what you want if you don’t go for it, and I think there is a long overdue conversation you need to have with her.” Will offers, Robin nodding in agreement. Killian thinks on it for a long time, and soon Will and Robin head home for the night and he is alone. He absentmindedly turns things off and packs things away before going home himself, standing for a moment by his car as the snow falls. It is quiet tonight, his store far enough out that he can’t hear and sounds from town.

For some reason he thinks of the sight of Emma at David and Mary Margaret’s wedding, standing by the Christmas tree with the snow falling outside. He’d been lucky enough to spend a couple of Christmases with Emma since then, but sometimes he wishes he could go back to that moment and just tell her he liked her then, so that four years down the line being in love with his best friend wouldn’t be as torturous.

Killian rubs his hands together to warm up before getting in his car, completely ready to crawl into bed. And yet, twenty minutes later he finds himself pulling up outside Emma’s apartment. Henry answers the door, and Killian suddenly realizes he has no idea what he plans to say to neither Emma nor Henry.

“Thanks for coming, I feel like you’d be better at this than me.” Henry says, and Killian frowns as he enters the apartment, slipping off his shoes and hanging his coat on the peg he always does. He checks his phone quickly and sees a message from Henry, asking him to come comfort Emma after Walsh left. Killian breathes a sigh of relief and clings to this excuse for coming over. Henry is a tall lad now and his voice is so deep Killian forgets he is only fourteen and probably correct in saying he is not the best at comforting his mother through a heartbreak.

“No worries, lad. Thanks for thinking of me.”

“Well you’re the one other person that makes mom the happiest, and I know you would do anything for her.” Henry has always been an observant boy, but Killian has always suspected he sees more than he lets on. He squeezes Henry’s shoulder and makes his way to Emma’s room, knocking on the door lightly before entering once he hears her small voice and closing the door behind him.

“Killian, what are you doing here?” Emma asks, looking around at the stuff on her bed with wide eyes. Killian’s eyes glance down, and he notices an open box and several cards, pieces of paper and tickets. He can’t quite make out what any of it is specifically, but he suspects it was things Emma had gathered over the course of her five-month relationship with Walsh.

“Henry messaged, thought you could use a friend.” He shrugged, watching as she scoops everything up and puts it back in the box.

“Because of Walsh? I’m honestly fine.” Emma replies, and he’s surprised at the steadiness of her voice.

“Are you sure? You seem…nostalgic.” He gestures at the box, raising his eyebrow when Emma scoffs.

“I am, but none of this is to do with Walsh. Um, it’s actually stuff from over the last few years, things we did together and things from you.” Emma puts the lid back on to hide everything, holding the box close to her chest as if trying to still keep it a secret. She’s missed one piece of paper, and he picks it up before she notices it. It’s the invoice for the wedding gift four years ago, the one he wrote his number on (he remembers claiming it was in case she had any more requests for the order, and the look she gave him at the time knowing fine well she could use the store number for such things).

“And you said you were void of sentimentality.” Killian says, the first thing that comes to mind. He’s taken by surprise when Emma laughs, but he’s pleased that she isn’t brushing him off. In fact, she lifts the lid back off the box and pushes it towards him at the end of her bed. He looks through the contents, smiling at all the memories and keepsakes she had collected. There was a strip of pictures from a photobooth they had taken two years ago at an arcade for Henry’s 12th birthday. The one with all three of them smiling at the camera was framed in the living room with several other photographs, but it was the last one Killian was drawn to. Henry had darted out of the booth in the previous picture and Killian and Emma were left alone, looking at each other.

“I feel like in that picture it looks like you could love me. Sometimes I look at it to try and convince myself that you really do.”

“It was one of the few moments I couldn’t stop myself. I must have done a good job of trying to hide it the rest of the time, at least to you.” Killian murmurs, and he watches Emma suck in her bottom lip. He suddenly realizes what a fool he is being and walks over to kiss her, feeling her immediately lean into his touch.

“If it wasn’t already clear, I do love you, Swan.” He whispers against her cheek, feeling her cheeks move as she smiles.

“I love you, too.” She replies, and Killian feels the knot in his chest that had been building for four years suddenly loosen at those words.

-/-

This year, Killian truly felt like part of the Swan family Christmas, instead of simply a guest like the previous couple of years. He took part in all of their little traditions, like driving around the neighbourhoods on Christmas Eve to see all the Christmas lights, followed by hot cocoa and a Christmas film. He helped Emma prepare the food and played games with Henry, and once they were done eating he shared his hope for the next year like Henry and Emma always do. They played cheesy Christmas songs and danced, Emma’s hands comfortably finding their way when they swayed to the music this time. Killian would catch sight of the stockings every so often, and seeing his name next to Emma and Henry’s made him smile. It was truly perfect, only beaten by the following Christmas, when Emma unwrapped the ‘Swan-Jones’ family sign he had made and immediately said yes before he had even asked the question.She later showed him the bauble she had Will and Robin carve up that had the very same family name in the middle that she had also planned to propose with, and they hung it up proudly on the tree, soon followed by a bauble with their wedding date.

#cssecretsanta2k19 #cs ff #captain swan #my writing

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