#my favorite article so far is about space suits | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

deadbiwrites · 4 years

Note

a video of supergirl grabbing lena luthor's ass starts circulating and it's very embarrassing for sc but extremely funny to their friends

(I am SO sorry. Where do these hide? Why do I never see them? How long has this been here?!

Anyways, have some cute nonsense!)

The day starts like any other, honestly.

Like, sure, Kara’s never thrilled when she wakes up 20 minutes late and has to use superspeed to get through her morning routine and into the office on time, but it happens regularly enough that she’s just sort of used to it by now. Like, the sky is blue, the grass is green, she manages time poorly. Whatever.

But she does get to work on time, with just enough to spare that she can make a brief detour to Nia’s desk for the coffee her protege has already bought for her, thank her profusely (with perhaps minor promising of firstborn children), and slip into the morning meeting just as Snapper, James, and Lena start handing out assignments for the day.

“Well, well, good of you to join us, Ponytail. Let me guess, a family emergency kept you out all night again?”

‘I mean, that Abraxian wasn’t my family, technically, but someone’s family, so…’ “Something like that. Sorry.”

Lena catches her eye and quirks a brow in question, but Kara just shrugs easily and sips her coffee, pulling a silly face at her friend when Snapper’s attention moves away from her. When her eyes uncross, she can tell Lena is fighting not to laugh, eyes sparking with mirth as she bites her lip. Kara takes another sip of coffee, feeling a bit smug that she can get Lena to smile without even having to say anything to her. That’s real talent, right there.

Especially since Lena has to stand up at the front with James, who has been by turns cold, dejected, and surly toward her since their breakup (a big, real, final one) a few weeks prior. Lena had said that the whole thing was a mistake, that she should’ve never gone for it in the first place because she’d been right the first time- they’d had some chemistry, after all, but it certainly wasn’t compatible long-term.

Which… Kara can certainly relate. Like, a lot.

Especially about the whole… James being kind of wounded about it part. That part had really sucked- when he’d done it with Kara, who he’d gone on like, a date with, it’d resulted in him deciding to become a vigilante. Rao only knows what he’ll do when it’s someone he dated on and off for over a year...

“Ponytail!”

Kara jumps, realizing too late that her wandering attention hasn’t gone unnoticed. “Yes, sir?”

Snapper rolls his eyes. “Great, now that you’ve stopped orbiting Saturn, you wanna go get that article started?”

Kara’s eyes widen slightly in a panic as she realizes that she has no idea what he’s talking about. “Uh…” Behind his back, Lena catches her eye and nods subtly. Thank Rao. “Yes. I super do.”

Lena snorts, James sighs deeply, and the meeting is adjourned.

“So what exactly am I supposed to be doing today?” Kara asks Lena as they stroll out of the conference room together.

“Well unfortunately for you, you have to interview a big-time CEO. You have a meeting scheduled with her in three hours.”

“You?” Kara asks hopefully.

“You’re very sweet,” Lena chuckles. “No, Elena Watts. She’s a real estate developer, and she runs a nonprofit organization for homeless youth. It’s one of the articles we’re doing for next month’s spread. Contrary to popular belief, Cat and I weren’t the only women with high-profile jobs in this city. ”

“Oh, that’s pretty cool! Have you met her?”

“Not personally, no, but I have donated to her charity- it’s a very good cause, especially the outreach they do with queer youth.”

Kara elbows Lena gently. “You’re such a softie.”

“Mmm, maybe. But if you tell anyone, you’re fired.”

Kara clutches a hand to her chest, feigning horror. “Why Miss Luthor, what a blatant abuse of power!”

Lena shrugs. “I’m a Luthor, darling, I have to keep up appearances somehow.”

“Ouch,” Kara laughs. “See you at lunch?”

“Only if lunch includes a milkshake- I have a teleconference with both boards today. Unless you feel like joining me?”

“Wow, well as fun as that sounds, I’m gonna go do literally anything else.” Her comms crackle to life, alerting her of a hostage situation downtown, and Kara sighs. So much for a work day. “Alright, well, I’m, um, gonna go… see what I can find on Elena Watts. Maybe over another cup of coffee at Noonan’s.” She widens her eyes a bit, trying her best to convey that she’s going to be on Super-duty for a little while.

Thankfully, Lena picks up on it and grins. “You just want sticky buns.”

“Lena, I always want sticky buns. They’re like, my second favorite thing to eat.”

“Oh? What’s the first?” Lena asks, voice just a bit lower than usual.

Kara opens her mouth and closes it, flushing slightly as she averts her gaze and adjusts the laptop bag on her shoulder. Stuff like that has been happening more and more, and she’s not 100% sure what to do about it. Because on the one hand, it makes her stomach do flips and tie up in knots and makes her brain do this… staticky thing where nothing filters in or out, just a pleasant buzz of how funny and smart Lena is and how much Kara likes hanging out with her and being flirted with (because that’s definitely what’s been happening, even if neither of them is really ready to address it) and just generally looking at Lena.... who is currently biting her lip and grinning up at Kara, and that buzz makes her kinda dumb, which is just really unhelpful. But on the other hand, it’s also kinda awesome and Kara really enjoys it, and-

“Kara?”

She spaced out again. Crap.

“Um. What time are you free for lunch?”

Lena sighs, seeming slightly disappointed that Kara isn’t flirting back at the moment (and thank Rao Lena can’t read minds), but she smiles back easily enough as they step off of the elevator. “I should be done by two.”

Feeling emboldened, Kara turns so she’s walking backwards in front of Lena and grins. “It’s a date,” she says with a grin, ducking forward to press a quick “friendly” kiss high on Lena’s cheek. She whirls and jogs out the double doors, leaving Lena smiling exasperatedly after her.

It is genuinely baffling to Kara that people still commit crimes in National City. It’s not even an ego thing, really, since Kara tries to keep herself humble (even when she manages to wrap up a hostage situation within twenty seconds of arriving on-scene without injuring any of the criminals or damaging the building too badly). Like, yeah, she gets that there’s a certain element of crazies who just sorta gravitate to places with a local hero, the big-bads who have their own suits and geek-toys and abilities. Them, Kara gets. Kinda sorta. But the regular ones, who are armed with like, pistols? Or knives? Just regular man made stuff without even the benefit of magic or kryptonite or something?

Why?

She’s sure that if she asked, Lena would have some sort of statistical thing about large cities and poverty and all sorts of other factors that would end up making Kara feel like a jerk for being uncharitable to the criminal element of her city, but at the moment she’s mostly too annoyed by the fact that she has to spend her weekdays chasing them around instead of chasing stories.

Once all the hostages are freed and the cops secure the scene, Kara departs, flying into the alley behind Noonan’s and changing into her regular clothes before she heads inside to do a bit of research before her meeting with Elena Watts in a few hours (just because she’d used it as a cover doesn’t mean it was a bad idea…). She finds her favorite little two-person booth tucked into a quiet corner, plugs in her laptop, and gets to work, asking the waitress to please keep both the coffee and the sticky buns coming.

She gets a surprising amount done by the time she needs to leave for the interview, having a good foundation for what she wants to write and who Elena Watts is.

Ms. Watts turns out to be a pretty nice lady around Eliza’s age, if a bit busy and distracted by the steady flow of people in and out of her office. She answers all Kara’s questions with aplomb, happy to elaborate on most every point and eager to draw attention to the rising issue of homelessness among children and teens in the US.

“When I was young, my dad lost his job at the auto plant. It was supposed to be a temporary layoff, but the factory never reopened. We ended up losing the house, and we lived so far from our extended family that staying with them wasn’t much of an option. We lived in our SUV for six months, sleeping at shelters every now and again, if we could find one that allowed families to stay together. We showered at the local YMCA. Five people and a dog, living and sleeping in an old station wagon- even now, it sounds ridiculous. Eventually, we got back on our feet, but I never forgot that. It was just six months, but it was- and remains- the scariest, most uncertain time in my entire life, and it shaped me in a lot of ways I didn’t expect. And there are kids and families who do that for years. I just want to help them the way I wish that someone had been able to help us.”

At the end of the interview, Kara thanks her profusely for her time and for sharing her story before hurrying off to CatCo to type up a draft for Snapper (“What’s wrong with you, Ponytail, why is everything you bring me sappy and sentimental?”), which she finishes an outline of just in time to send it off before running to Big Belly and L-Corp for lunch with Lena.

She greets the newest in a series of secretaries (Anna? Amy? Ava? Lena’s really missing Jess, these days, but from what she’s told Kara, Jess is kicking butt in her new role as VP of Operations and will probably take over for the COO when he retires in a few years), and the girl waves her in distractedly.

And that’s when Kara’s day goes from normal to not, because inside the office are two masked men holding a stone-faced Lena at gunpoint on her balcony and demanding… something, probably. Kara’s a bit distracted by the loaded gun aimed at Lena’s head.

“Hey!” she yells, attracting both their attention. They whirl on her and Lena’s eyes widen in alarm, and Kara suddenly realizes three things- 1) she’s in her Kara Danvers clothes, not the supersuit, 2) she can’t speed into the suit now that they’re both looking at her, and 3) she has no plan.

Crap.

“Who the hell are you?!” one of them demands.

Kara… doesn’t have a good or snappy answer for that, and instead does the only thing she can think of- she throws the large milkshakes she’s carrying at them as hard as she can.

Which, in retrospect, is too hard, apparently because while yes, it is both funny and gratifying to see two grown men get absolutely leveled by a tasty dairy treat to the face, the one closest to Lena manages to elbow her in such a way that she falls backwards over the rail with an instinctual scream that makes Kara’s heart fly into her throat. She whips off her glasses, and by the time she’s out the window and speeding toward Lena’s flailing form, the suit is materialized. She gets under Lena, catching her carefully and dropping a bit further before slowing down (because she’s been made aware that when she doesn’t, the people she’s saving may as well be hitting the pavement), finally coasting to a stop about 20 feet from the ground.

Lena’s face is screwed up in a forced sort of focus, her hands clutching tightly at Kara’s shoulders and cape as she holds her breath.

“Are you okay?” Kara asks quietly.

Lena swallows thickly and nods, eyes still firmly closed. “I’m alright. Thank you- I’ll admit, I wasn’t quite sure how to get out of that one.”

“What was that? What did they want?”

Lena cracks an eye open. “Oh. you know, just my quarterly assassination attempt. I think my mother was starting to miss me, so she wanted to reach out.”

Kara snorts. “That really shouldn’t be funny.”

“Maybe not, but here we are.” Lena shifts a bit in Kara’s arms, cheeks a bit flushed from the adrenaline rush, and clears her throat. “Not to be rude, Supergirl, but do you think that perhaps we could continue this conversation… on the ground?”

“Oh. Oh! Yeah, sorry. I forgot we were, uh, flying.”

Lena chuckles as they ascend slowly back up to her office. “You forgot you were flying?”

Kara shrugs with an easy smile. “I guess you have that effect on me.”

Lena huffs a laugh against Kara’s neck, eyes squeezed shut again. They alight on the balcony, finding the two men still unconscious, covered in Kara and Lena’s lunch. Lena sighs as Kara sets her down, pinching the bridge of her nose. “What a mess.”

“Yeah, sorry, I sorta… panicked.”

“I was so looking forward to a milkshake too…” Lena laments playfully.

“Well, then I have good news and bad news,” Kara says. She reaches out and gently wipes a bit of her own chocolate shake from Lena’s cheek with the pad of her thumb, tucking it into her mouth on instinct to get a taste of it. “The good news is, you do, in fact, have some shake on you!”

“Whats the bad news?”

“Also that you have some shake on you.” Kara laughs, gathering the two men in her arms and hefting them a bit so they’re easier to carry. “I’ll get you another one. Be right back.”

She drops the men at the police station with a brief explanation before flying back into the office. Lena hands over her discarded glasses with a wry grin.

“I figured you’d need these before the police arrive.” She’s putting on a brave front, but she’s clearly still more than a bit rattled, if her too-bright eyes and thundering heartbeat are anything to go by. Kara steps closer and opens her arms in invitation, and Lena doesn’t hesitate to step into them. “Thank you,” Lena says fervently, tucking her face into Kara’s shoulder and wrapping her arms tight around Kara’s waist.

“Always,” Kara promises, daring to press a reassuring kiss to Lena’s temple (and getting a bit of Lena’s strawberry shake for her troubles) before wrapping her up even tighter in her arms. “Are you actually okay?”

“I mean, my fear of heights has been reaffirmed,” Lena jokes, “but aside from that, I’m not hurt.”

“Good. I don’t like, love people pointing guns at you. Just so you know.”

“I’m not a fan either, for the record,” Lena drawls, burrowing even closer. “Even though I know you’ll save me, it still puts a damper on my day.”

Kara huffs a laugh. “Same.”

They stay like that for a few minutes, until Lena’s calmed down enough to stop shaking and calls her assistant (Audra, apparently) in, telling her what’d happened and that the police would be arriving shortly to take her and Kara’s statements, and please advise the security team to let them up discreetly. After the cops arrive, it’s a blur of questions, and Kara has to concentrate on telling the story of how she’d panicked and thrown the milkshakes at the men, and one of them had knocked Lena over the balcony (all true), and Kara had yelled for Supergirl, who had knocked the men out on her way to Lena (also technically mostly true. Technically. Mostly.). The police are sure to tell Kara that next time, she shouldn’t throw things at people with guns, and also to tell them both how lucky they are that Supergirl had shown up when she did.

“She’s always there when I need her,” Lena agrees, throwing a sly wink over the officer’s shoulder at Kara.

Kara just shakes her head and smiles. Even almost dying isn’t enough to make Lena not flirt with her. The woman is truly a marvel.

Kara’s comms crackle again, accompanied by Alex’s custom ringtone on her cell, and after assuring the police that she has no issue with giving another statement if they need her to later, hurries over to the DEO (making a quick stop in the back alley to change into her suit).

When Kara arrives, she’s told that J’onn and Alex are waiting for her in the Directors’ offices. She makes her way there, waving to the agents and scientists she knows. But it’s very weird, because every time one of them sees her, they start giggling before quickly hurrying off in the opposite direction. Like, literally everyone is whispering and pointing and giggling, and it’s giving Kara such visceral flashbacks to high school that it’s all she can do to not check her cape for a taped on sign that says ‘Kick me’ or ‘Freak’.

(Kids are mean.)

By the time Kara gets to her destination, she’s fully paranoid, sure that someone’s playing a prank on her, somehow, and that everyone but her is in on the joke. She opens the door with more force than intended and catches it just before the handle puts a hole in the wall, throwing Alex and J’onn a sheepish smile. She closes the door extra gently and leans against it heavily. J’onn and Alex just stare at her, looking thoroughly unimpressed.

“Busy day, Supergirl?” Alex asks, and after half a lifetime of spending time with her, Kara recognizes that she, too, is trying not to laugh.

Kara’s had enough. “Okay, do I have something on my face? Or on the suit? Is someone messing with me?”

J’onn’s brow furrows. “No.”

“Then what’s the deal? Why is the entire DEO like… laughing at me? Did someone accidentally vent the lab fumes out into the main hub again?”

“No.”

“Did someone see me crash into that billboard last week?”

J’onn’s frown deepens. “What?”

“No,” Alex answers.

“Then why is everyone laughing at me?!”

“I mean, if I had to guess, I’d say it’s because of that,” Alex muses, nodding toward the big TV on the wall beside Kara.

She steps back to watch the news coverage of her dealing with the hostage situation this morning and frowns. “What, those guys? That was routine, what’s so funny about tha-”

“No, no, not that. That,” Alex clarifies, cranking up the volume.

“...reports are saying that the CEO of L-Corp, Lena Luthor, experienced an attempt on her life early this afternoon. Sources claim that she fell from a considerable height-”

“Hey, she was pushed,” Kara corrects.

“Shh!”

“...caught by Supergirl, who may have gotten a little… familiar with her.”

And there’s a video (clearly recorded on a cell phone but not the worst quality Kara’s ever seen) of Kara catching Lena and slowing to a stop above the sidewalk, of them talking quietly, of Kara’s hand definitely on Lena’s-

“Oh. Oh no.”

“Oh yes,” Alex drawls, clicking the TV off with relish, a large, evil-big-sister grin spreading across her face. “Congratulations, Supergirl- the world just watched you grope Lena Luthor’s ass.”

“But I’m not- I wasn’t groping, I was catching! My hands weren’t… If it was groping, I’d be all up on her, and I wasn’t!”

“Camera begs to differ. It’s already trending on Twitter in National CIty.”

Kara puts her head in her hands and groans. “Why?! I was trying to save her!”

“You were definitely trying to save part of her,” Alex agrees. “Granted, it’s a very nice part...”

Kara’s head pops up, and she shoots Alex a look that’s between a pout and a glare. “You’re not helping.”

Alex feigns confusion. “Am I supposed to be helping?”

“Alright, enough,” J’onn cuts in before Kara can retort. “We just wanted you to be aware. I don’t think that this is going to be taken for anything more than it is- a humorous moment in the middle of a successful rescue. You shouldn’t worry about the press.”

And truth be told, Kara isn't worried about the press- she’s worried about the fact that she’s going to have to face Lena after this. Lena, who she knows for a fact has google alerts set for herself, Kara Danvers, and Supergirl, a gesture which is normally actually sweet and kind but is right now definitely gonna bite her in the-

“Okay! So, is that all?”

Alex blinks, looks over at J’onn, and shrugs. “I mean, yeah. Try not to make a habit of groping your crush when you’re in the suit.”

“I wasn’t groping her-”

Alex grins. “So you admit you have a crush? Interesting…”

“Alex!”

J’onn’s prediction is mostly right- no one seems to be taking the shots of her grabbi- saving Lena as anything other than a funny blip of a moment in their coverage of it.

He was wrong about the sheer scale. The clip had gone totally viral in a matter of hours, and seemingly every major network in the country has run the clip at least once as a bit of filler-fluff, and almost every major network anchor (including the ones at CatCo, the traitors) has made at least a passing joke about Supergirl being ‘Super-Handsy'.

Which means that Kara is very late getting back to Lena’s office with replacement food. But like, she’s been busy, okay? It’s not like she’s avoiding Lena, or something, because she’s embarrassed- which she isn’t, because she didn’t do anything bad or wrong and-

Anyways, it’s well past sunset by the time Kara gets to Lena’s office door again. She hesitates outside it for just a moment before shouldering the door open and knocking tentatively.

Lena’s attention jerks from whatever she’d been absorbed in to Kara, and a relieved smile blooms across her face. “Hey there.”

Kara finds herself equally relieved to not experience a repeat performance of earlier scary situations. “Hi,” Kara says, unable to resist smiling back. She raises the bags and cup carrier. “I bring grease and milkshakes. Again.”

“Oh thank god, I’m starving,” Lena says, rolling her chair away from her desk and rising into a deep and probably much-needed stretch. Kara very determinedly does not stare at the slight sliver of soft tummy that appears between her blouse and skirt at the motion. “I’ve been staring at this screen for several hours. And Sam called to yell at me- she says hello, by the way- she and Ruby are in town next weekend.”

“Good!” Kara crosses the room to the couch as Lena does, easily spreading out the veritable buffet of fast food she’d brought over the coffee table. “I mean, not good that she yelled at you, or that you’re still at work, Miss Luthor,” she says pointedly, receiving only an unapologetic shrug in response. “But good that, um-”

“I get it,” Lena chuckles, resting a hand lightly on Kara’s knee and boy, if that doesn’t make Kara’s brain go fuzzy and dumb again… “Thank you, for checking in.”

“Of course I was gonna check on you, Lena,” Kara huffs. “Plus, I know you probably didn’t get lunch, so…”

Lena hums around a mouthful of burger, chewing until she can politely speak again. “Well it’s delicious. Did you make it yourself?” she teases with a sly grin.

“Oh, yeah, totally. Slaved away over a hot stove for this- I just wrapped it in Big Belly wrappers so you wouldn’t feel bad about it.”

“Very clever.” Lena pops the lid off of her milkshake and drags a fry through it (an advanced culinary delicacy Kara had horrified her with initially but had eventually become a bit of a guilty pleasure). “Although I have to say, traditionally you’d have to buy me dinner before you grabbed my ass.”

Kara chokes on a pickle. “Oh no,” she groans, dropping the burger onto the wrapper on the table and dropping her very red face into her hands as Lena laughs beside her. She peers out from between her fingers. “I am so sorry, I was just worried about you hitting the pavement and like, catching you in the least jarring way and I wasn’t paying attention to where my hands were and I didn’t even notice until I got back to the DEO and-”

“Well I have so say, I feel a bit offended that you didn’t even realize you were copping a feel...” When the only response is another groan and a deep flush spreading from Kara’s neck to the tips of her ears, Lena relents. “Kara, Kara, it’s fine!” she laughs, pulling Kara’s hands away from her face and giving them a grounding squeeze. “Nia’s been sending me memes about it all day, which has improved my mood significantly. On the grand scale of fallout from assassination attempts, this one was at least funny.”

“I know that’s supposed to be comforting, but all it makes me wanna do is wrap you in bubble wrap forever,” Kara informs her.

“Pass on that. But seriously, don’t worry about it- I know it wasn’t on purpose- unfortunately for me, you’re too noble to do something like that,” Lena laments playfully.

And whether it’s the knowledge that Lena is not, in fact, upset, the overall weirdness that has been this day, or this delicious burger fueling it, Kara feels a bit emboldened. “Hey Lena…”

“Yes?”

“What if I wanted to grab your butt? Just, y’know, as a hypothetical. For future reference.”

Lena quirks a brow at her, fighting a smile as she contemplates this. “Hmm. Strictly hypothetically?”

Kara scoots a bit closer on the couch. “Sure.”

“Well, you’ve already bought me dinner…”

“And lunch, technically. Even if I gave it to the bad guys.”

“True. Plus you saved my life, so that gets you some points, probably.”

Kara pauses in her sly scooching. “Oh, hey, wait, no, that’s not-”

“Kidding, Kara. I know you’d never use that to your advantage. I, however, have determined that strong moral fibre and nobility do, in fact, earn you more points, which is my choice on the matter and you get absolutely no say in it.”

“Oh. Um, alright, I think.”

Lena stares off into the middle distance, tapping her forefinger thoughtfully against her chin. Finally she shrugs. “Yes, I think you’re fulfilled the prerequisites for a bit of grab-ass today.”

Kara snorts, Lena laughs, and soon enough Kara takes her up on the offer.

“Hey Kara, remember that time you grabbed Lena’s ass and it made international news?” Nia asks around a mouthful of mushu pork.

“You mean last week? Yes, I remember,” Kara drawls. Beside her/halfway sitting on her lap, Lena snorts.

“That was the best.”

Alex glares. “Um, excuse you, no. No it was not. I had to sift through so much thirsting over my sister on like, every social media platform. It was the worst day of my life.”

Brainy’s brow furrows. “Surely that cannot be correct, Alex. Statistically speaking-”

Alex holds up a hand, cutting him off. “Trauma can’t be measured, Brainy.”

Kelly chuckles and presses a consoling kiss to Alex’s cheek, and it makes the tough agent melt into a doe-eyed puddle of mush that Kara snorts. And she says they’re gross... Kara sneaks a glance at Lena from the corner of her eye, and she catches Lena looking at her. She leans close and jostles her gently as she drops her head onto Lena’ shoulder. “We’re never gonna live that down, are we?”

“Probably not.”

“We have the worst friends.” When this elicits nothing but a chuckle, Kara tips her head back to see Lena still looking at her, a soft smile playing at her mouth and shining in her eyes. And like, this whole thing they’re doing is new, with the kissing and the actual dates and the... everything else. But the thing where Kara catches Lena looking at her and she doesn’t look away? That freakin’ knocks her out, every single time. “Hey,” she manages.

Lena grins down at her. “Hi.”

So yeah. Maybe the initial circumstances weren’t ideal, and she doesn’t love the mockery that’s been heaped upon her by all of her friends and loved ones (including Winn, who’d sent a missive from the future that literally just said ‘LOL’). But the fact is, Kara muses as she surges up just enough to kiss the corner of Lena’s mouth, that she doesn’t regret a thing.

#supercorp #prompts!#asks open #ask response #supergirl fanfic #kara x lena #humor #idiots #international news about idiots #kara danvers #lena luthor #i'm also deeply sorry that this is so long on mobile #i swear there's a read more that's supposed to be there #but alas

4K notes · View notes

lovinkiri · 3 years

Note

Since requests are open, how about some sweet aftercare with Villain Deku and Quirkless hero reader? As time passes, the more stronger and smarter S/O gets, the more popular she is, slowly achieving her dream. Unfortunately, this also leads to more harassment, bullying, and other discrimination from others while on hero duty. Deku comforts her after an extremely harsh day, especially since she was crying. Afterwards, Deku goes and kills the ones who made her cry-~

Ugly Articles

Author's Thoughts: My thoughts while reading this just 🥺🥺🥺🥺

Warning: Implied Murder, Suggested Love Making, Death Threats Mentioned, Really Bad Insults, etc.

It wasn't easy, working your way up as one of the first quirkless heroes. You were always told you couldn't do it, told that it was impossible.

So when you finally did start to gain popularity, you thought you could handle the negativity. Only it was way worse than you thought.

People came up to you in the streets and mocked you, kids laughed like you were a joke. People sent hate mail to your agency with death threats and letters of disgust. They insulted your intelligence, they insulted the way you looked, they insulted your parents for having you.

People were ruthless.

And it wasn't like it was all bad. You gained some amazing fans, and met so many new people. You were given opportunities you only dreamed of as a kid. But the hate could get so overwhelming.

Your boyfriend, your little secret, he could see it.

One day, when you walked into your house after a really bad day, you almost tore off your hero suit and plopped down on the couch in tears.

They had come up with a new mean name for you that particularly stung.

You weren't aware of Izuku, who was in the kitchen trying to make you something to eat. The sound of your door was enough to let him know you'd returned home. It wasn't until he heard you sniffles that he came rushing over.

His presence wasn't surprising. Izuku often broke into your place before you got home. It was something you were used to.

"Hey, hey.." He sat next to you, arms immediately lifting you onto his lap. You immediately nuzzled into his shoulder and Izuku gently hushed you.

"Its okay, My Doll. Everything is alright. You're in a safe space now.."

It took you a moment before you were able to talk, a moment that Izuku patiently waited through.

When you were ready, you pulled away. "A journalist wrote a bad story about me. Hasn't published it yet, but he's planning to tomorrow morning."

Izuku cooed softly and kissed your forehead. "Everything will be okay, love. Just deep breathes."

You shook your head and went over to your hero suit, pulling a folded paper from one of the pockets of the utility belt.

You walked over and held it out to him. Izuku looked at you beforehand slowly taking the paper. He had some anger issues and he was hoping he'd be able to control them.

But then he read the letter, and he began to shake in anger.

The title? Useless Hero: Quirkless

The article went on to talk about how hated you were, how you'd never get far enough to be considered a 'real hero'. Instead of insulting your parents, talked about how ashamed the must be. Talked about how citizens would never feel safe being protected by the likes of you.

And the worst part was that wasn't the end. The article cut off at the bottom of the paper but Izuku assumed you'd only brought page one home.

Izuku balled it up and threw it away quickly. You shook your head and let out a broken laugh. "Says he might make it a regular column in his paper."

Willing himself to calm down as to not accidentally hurt you with his quirk, Izuku once more pulled you onto his lap.

"Hey, listen. I won't let that asshole publish that. So don't worry your pretty little head over lies like that. Those articles don't meant anything obviously." He paused to gently peck your lips, cupping your face between his palms. "And all the people you've saved would agree with me."

You cracked a smile and laughed. "Thank you, Zuku.. What did you make before I got here? It smells really good."

"Mm.. Thats a surprise. But it's one of your favorites. And afterwards, I'll hold you close. If you'd like, I'll tire you out and make you forget about today for a while. And by tomorrow, the article won't even exist. Neither will that journalist."

♡♡♡♡♡

The next morning, Izuku was next to you in bed, gently petting your head.

And this journalist, well his coworkers went looking for him after he missed work, something he didn't usually do.

His house was empty. Almost like he grabbed his stuff and moved.

Izuku was smart. He could definitely a murder victim look like a runaway.

#izuku midoriya x reader #villian #bnha #boku no hero academia #mha #my hero academia #x reader

83 notes · View notes

bluegarners · 3 years

Text

Dick realizes he’s forgetting his childhood.

~oOo~

It hits him one day. It hits him hard.

In reality, it must have been a gradual thing. An overtime thing. A steady decline thing that he just didn’t notice, like rain on eroding rocks. Chipping, chipping, chipping away and weathering it down into pebbles.

But when he stops to actually look around, takes a moment to really think, it hits Dick hard. The wind knocked out of him, train plowing into him, upper cut to the jaw, mind reeling hard.

He can’t remember what his mom’s voice sounded like.

He remembers the old song she used to hum to him, can still dredge up the melody if he really tries, but he can’t remember what she sounded like. He’s almost sure she had a beautiful voice. Almost sure it was breathy and lower in pitch because she was a proud woman that used her voice for authority and rule. Sometimes, if he sits down and thinks exceptionally hard, he thinks even his father might’ve sung with her too.

Oh. Another thing.

He can’t remember the name of the cologne his father used.

It was something spicy, Dick’s sure. Something spicy that smelled like a mix of all the worlds best fireplaces and cinnamon sticks. It was warm, Dick’s positive of it, but sometimes he catches a whiff of vanilla and his mind goes back to his father on Sunday evenings when they didn’t have a performance, so maybe the cologne wasn’t spicy and Dick is just forgetting and remembering it all wrong.

That’s terrifying. How can he forget something as unique and special as his own mother’s voice or his father’s scent? What kind of son forgets something so pertinent to their parents?

He’s read articles about trauma messing with memories. Something about stress hormones going into overdrive, infecting and plaguing the fear factor and hippocampus that the brain just doesn’t recall anything. But he’s also read articles that say trauma enhances memory, that the adrenaline is just so prolific that it literally encodes the events permanently into the hippocampus rather than erase.

He’s even read articles that victims of childhood trauma lose their innocent past completely in a blink. That they may even believe the events never happened and it was all just a dream.

But Dick knows he had parents. He knows that his father was a happy man, outgoing to the fullest and in love with life. He knows his mother made delicious pancakes straight out of the box and that she always used real maple syrup instead of Log Cabin. He knows that they were all very close and his parents never made him feel ashamed for being clingy or wanting to sleep in their bed after a nightmare or seeking comfort after yet another failed trick or flip.

Dick knows. He remembers.

But sometimes the details get fuzzy. Was his baby blanket, the one he knows his long dead nana stitched for him, blue or gray? Were there two rooms or just a bed and a couch in their tiny trailer? Did Pop Haly boom or rumble with laughter? He knows these things happened. How else would he even know he had a blanket or a trailer or the comfort of loud laughter during even louder performances?

But for all his remembrance, for all his recollection, he doesn’t know if it’s real. If what he thinks are memories are but fond daydreams substituted for the blank spaces. He doesn’t have many pictures, but he’s got so many posters from Haly’s Circus. Enough so that his father’s face will never be confused with some stranger’s on the street. Dick has stared at all the bright colors for hours on end, and he knows exactly what shade of green his mother’s eyes were. He could pick out their colors in a forest and still know it wouldn’t be as close to what his mother’s eyes were like.

He knows faces. He remembers faces. He doesn’t remember who they were though. Who these people were and what they sounded and smelled like. What stories they shared. What family lineage they held.

He doesn’t remember what routine they were doing that night. He thinks it was a daring one, one they hadn’t done many times before hand because they wanted to make a good impression in Gotham. They were only going to be there for a month, Dick remembers that, but he can’t remember why it was so important to impress.

He was up next. His father had just flung his mother into the air, twirling and falling, and then his father had caught her by the ankles and they were swinging through the air as if they had grown wings and learnt how to fly.

He was up next. Only nine. Nervous but excited. There were so many people in the crowd, but he can only picture a massive blob. Bright lights. His mother’s face. Green eyes. His father’s strong shoulders. Cinnamon carrying in the wind.

He was up next. He would leap out, flip twice, and somersault his way into his mother’s awaiting grasp. Then, they would float and trade off holds with one another and Dick would be the one holding his mother’s ankles and he would be upside down as well and then-

He was up next. He was up next and he could see his mother’s bright smile beaming towards him, his father’s reassuring grip on the bar steady, and Dick was tensing to make the leap and then-

The line snapped.

Dick thinks his mother might’ve called out to him as they plummeted. Maybe a cry for help. A startled yell. A gasp. A shriek. Terror.

Dick likes to think he remembered her calling out his name.

He doesn’t know if what he does remember is true or not; if his parents’ bodies actually crumpled like wet paper or if they snapped like dry wood. He remembers their descent, but maybe not, because Graysons were known for flying but his parents fell like they had weights tied to their legs. Sound escaped him, smell too, and maybe that’s his problem. Maybe he just can’t remember important senses like sound and scent, but he does remember the way the sawdust turned black.

They had all worn their favorite leotards that night. Red, green, yellow, bright and happy. He doesn’t remember why it was so important to impress Gotham. It just stained their uniforms anyway. Stained their livelihood.

He doesn’t remember how long he stayed up there, gazing down down down at his parents. Broken and bloody. There was white mixed in with the red, and a little bit of purple here and there, bright splotches of blue and pink, and it’s funny that he remembers all that because their leotards only had three colors.

He blanks on the rest. Just knows that Danny Poteet shoved his face into his shoulder as the crowd disappeared, the mass of blobs and blurry faces fading. Mister Poteet was a nice man. He can’t remember what Poteet did, what his act was in the circus, but he’s pretty sure he had a long beard. Was that important? Was that even his name? Dick doesn’t remember.

And it angers him to no end that he can remember the organs that split their way through his parents leos, can probably name them now that he’s older, but not what his mother said to him as she fell. Not what his dad smelled like. Not what Danny Poteet mumbled to him as red and blue lights filled the tent.

He’s forgetting. Did he ever remember?

He wants to tell stories of his childhood. So badly wants to regale his brothers of his days in the circus. He can tell them all the working secrets of how twenty clowns fit inside a car meant for a baby. How fire breathers drank oil without it ever touching their tongues. How the strong man was actually just a pillow lifter with down in his suit. How strong and fast and beautiful the Flying Graysons were on the trapeze.

He can tell all those things because they were simple and everyday and honestly common knowledge (which also scares Dick because what if he only “remembers” these things because he looked them up one day and just pretended that he always knew it because that’s how he grew up, that is how he lived, but what if he’s wrong-). More than anything though, Dick wants to tell them about his parents.

About Mary and John Grayson and how they were the kindest and most amazing people Dick ever knew. But he can’t. Not without lying, and his parents hated liars (he hopes they did, please, he hopes he remembers at least one truthful thing that he hasn’t made up).

So when Tim looks at him like he’s lost his mind when he says, “I think my dad smelled spicy,” or when Jason laughs at him when Dick tries to tell him about this baby elephant that might’ve existed at some point or when Damian only sighs when he tries to recall a story with so many holes and fragments that it’s just incomprehensible, Dick feels like crying.

How can someone just forget a lifetime of memories? How can he just lose the only connections he has to his parents like it’s nothing?

Posters only go so far. Faded and hazy dreams of a melody that won’t leave his throat only do so much. Wisps of vanilla and burnt wood only taper the feelings of loss ever so slightly.

It’s not enough. It’s not enough.

He’s forgotten. He’s forgotten.

241 notes · View notes

true-blue-megamind · 2 years

Note

Hi it’s not really a theory but it’s more of a discussion but it relates to two of the theories you wrote about- the minions suit one and how megamind is related to other movies. I think minions suit is small cause he likes it small maybe? His original orb was quite small so maybe it’s something about being confined? Idk tho. Anyway! I was literally watching monsters vs aliens like 2 minutes ago and I noticed galaxhar? Has the neck thing that goes high up? Idk what it’s called and his outfit is white and sparkly.. just like how megaminds parents wore so I thought that was interesting. You also mentioned how galaxhar might be a subservient race like minion and I noticed minion has that little Antenna coming out of his head and that’s a little messed up tbh but galaxhar doesn’t and so I actually think maybe he was just another species living along megaminds species or was another planet nearby and 3 planets were actually destroyed. I do tho these are just random thoughts I had 🤷🏼‍♀️

FAN THEORY THURSDAY - A Few Random Megamind Theories

Thank you to Mermaidsasss for this week's discussion! I respectfully have to disagree with you on one point, however: your suggestions are definitely worth a post.

Travel will prevent me from writing as long a Fan Theory post as usual, so this week will be a brief discussion of three possible theories related to the film Megamind. I promise I'll go back to boring you all to death with my verbose essays next week. Hahaha! In the meantime, let's get started.

Does Minion Prefer Small Spaces?

I have not been able to find any specific fan theories about this, but that doesn't mean the idea lacks merit. Indeed, Betta Fish are said to like smaller tanks, and according to Glaucus.org there are a variety of fish, such as Gobies and Bullheads, that live in small spaces between or under rocks, so it certainly isn't impossible for Minion to feel more comfortable in less open spaces.

Such an instinct might, potentially, even make evolutionary sense; Minion has sharp teeth, so he's clearly a predator, but he's relatively small, so his species is unlikely to have been apex predators on his home planet. As the henchfish does not appear to be built for speed, but does have small protrusions that may be similar to Angler Fish escae on the top of his head, a hunting method involving concealment, baiting, and a short ambush seems the most logical. That technique, in turn, could certainly be complimented by hiding in small spaces. All of this is far from conclusive, of course, but it does at least offer the foundation for a feasible supposition.

Is Galaxhar Connected with Megamind's Homeworld?

I won't spend a long on this one as I covered it reasonably thoroughly in Megamind's Connections Beyond the Film. It is, however, worth mentioning that there is a fan theory connecting Megamind with Monsters Versus Aliens, in which Galaxhar appears. In the aforementioned article, I explained that:

According to Fandom.com, Gallaxhar’s official backstory is that he “destroyed his home planet” for the implied reason that “he experienced bad childhood and unhappy marriage.” The fan theory is that that Gallaxhar’s planet was, in fact, Megamind’s home world, and that the former created or harnessed the black hole which destroyed it.

This is, of course, partially based on the similarities between Megamind and Galaxhar's appearance. While this does not necessarily mean that Galaxhar was from the same planet, it could be likely. His home world could have possibly been a third inhabitable planet in the Glaupunk Quadrant, although having so many inhabitable planets so close together would be highly unusual to say the least.

Why Does Minion Have an Antenna?

As far as why our favorite henchfish appears to have certain technological modifications--i.e. an antenna--the predominant fan theory is that he was partially biomedicially engineered by one of Megamind's parents to be their son's caretaker. Although some believe that Minion's species was already intelligent and sentient, others suggest that he was more like a pet before those alterations took place, which may explain the antenna. (You can read more about that in Megamind's Dad.)

The other major fan theory relating to Minion's antenna is that it could be how he controls his suit. We know that the robotic body appears to be a fully-integrated neuroprothsetic, and clearly there is nothing physically connecting him to it, so it seems logical that there would have to be some sort of wireless device allowing him to move his suit at will. Either supposition is feasible, and it's quite possible that both could be accurate.

And that's all for tonight! I hope you all enjoyed reading this! I will see you next week!

#Megamind #megamind #Megamind fan theory #megamind movie #megamind fan theory #megamind fan theories #fan theory thursday #fan theories #fan theory #minionsparty #minion #megamente #dreamworks #DWA

27 notes · View notes

hypnomicimagines · 4 years

Note

That fluff alphabet really is super cute, wow. If you're feeling up to it, could I request G, K, M, R and Z for Gentaro or Samatoki? (Whoever has the least requests the moment you decide to take this one on, please. I simp hard for both and cant make up my mind)

Aohitsugi Samatoki:

G = Gentle (Are they gentle? If so, how?):

Samatoki is gentle in his own way but overall, you don’t think the word really suits him. He’s more rough around the edges when it comes to love and he can be very direct when he wants to be, even if he also skates around certain topics as he fears what the outcome might be (he’s no pushover but he’s not rushing to lose you either). He handles you and your heart with far more care than you ever suspected though, knowing his gentle side mostly comes out when he’s putting the effort into being romantic.

K = Kiss (How do they kiss? Who initiated the first kiss?):

The emotional weight and intensity that are in each one of Samatoki’s kisses leave you always feeling satisfied if not a bit exhausted, putting forth all your effort into the more passionate ones as you don’t want to disappoint. It also almost always leads to more if you want it to and Samatoki is always raring to go even if you’re in his office or out in public together. He at least has the tact to kiss you chastly when you’re around others and in crowded public spaces but you can always tell by how he lingers that he hungers for more.

Samatoki did without a hint of hesitation. He knew he wanted this more than anything and you’d be showing the same signs, staring at his lips all night and flirting so hard he wondered how he hadn’t realized you had feelings for him before. It’s so incredibly surreal to finally be kissing someone he loved, someone he had been pining over for months, and he’s almost afraid to blink in case it all dissolves away before his very eyes.

M = Memory (What’s their favourite memory together?):

The time you spent an entire day inside a thrift store slowly carding through each and every item to find a totally new wardrobe. You seemed more excited than him when you found the store that was practically a warehouse, excitedly jabbering on about all the hidden gems that might be there. He couldn’t say he was extremely interested in finding some of these ‘hidden gems’ and thus started the journey of finding interesting new articles of clothing, finding stuff for Rio and Jyuto too (which you wanted to get for them more than him). You even walked out with matching hawaiian style shirts and you were so happy Samatoki knew he’d wear the ugly thing out in public just to see you smile.

R = Rainy Day (What do they like to do on a rainy day?):

Samatoki always gets bored and restless on rainy days, finding them to be tedious to deal with as it’s not as though he still doesn’t have to work in the rain. On days he doesn’t feel like going in and just stays at home he tends to cook just due to pure boredom, enlisting you in these activities and making you taste test new things he wants to try out for dinner. You always have a good time when Samatoki throws on the old cooking apron and you admire him from kitchen table as he cooks, trying to hold back all the househusband jokes brewing in your head.

Z = Zebra (If they wanted a pet, what would they get?):

Samatoki isn’t really a pet person and he thinks his ideal pet would be something like a snake or a lizard of some sort. The only thing stopping him from getting one is his hatred of bugs but if he found a way around having to handle the squishy bundles of protein for his pet he’d buy one in a heartbeat. Dogs are too high maintenance but cats are lowkey enough that he’d consider them, too. He thinks owning a bird would be funny considering how much Jyuto detests them and would threaten to have it in the front entrance of his office for days he doesn’t want to be bothered by the cop.

Yumeno Gentaro:

G = Gentle (Are they gentle? If so, how?):

Gentaro exudes gentleness and you’ll find that when romantically involved with him, things generally remain light-hearted. He doesn’t like to force situations and he’s the ‘sit back and see what happens’ type of person, approaching romance in a rather relaxed way that said there’d be no hard feelings if things didn’t work out. It can be to the point you don’t know how seriously he takes the relationship but heavy emotions wear Gentaro out, it’s why he lies so much because honesty is more exhausting but if you’re worth his time, you’ll get to see this side of him.

K = Kiss (How do they kiss? Who initiated the first kiss?):

Gentaro’s kisses are gentle in nature, starting off with him pressing his nose against yours and asking in a soft tone if you’d like him to kiss you. When you agree he briefly gives you exactly what you want but pulls away to tease, saying if you want more from him than you’d have to come get it. He’s almost always playful when he kisses you and he always manages to lift your spirits with his kisses; he seems surprised and flustered to hear you admit that but happy kissing you isn’t just self-serving (as his mood is always improved by you giving him a smooch too).

It was a real 50/50 decision, the two of you having to work together to achieve it in the long run. Gentaro liked to sit back, watch, and wait to see what you’d do, never acting even when you got so close to him you could feel his breath on your skin. It was almost annoying how he managed to hold out and keep it together while you were stumbling over yourself but when you finally tell him to kiss you he does so without complaint. He ends up stuttering afterwards which shows he’s not quite as together as he’d like you to think and you’re pleased that he’s now embarrassed after an entire night of leaving you guessing.

M = Memory (What’s their favourite memory together?):

Gentaro’s favorite memory was when the two of you were sitting on a bench in the park, holding hands as the sun set while chattering about this or that. There had been a few storytelling sessions where he’d seen how quick you were on the draw when he asked you about random passerby, a lot of laughs shared at the absolutely nonsensical stories of vampires and monsters that you came up with. He said you had a mind that rivaled his and that he’d gladly collaborate with you on a novel some day.

R = Rainy Day (What do they like to do on a rainy day?):

Rainy days are never boring with Gentaro as he can come up with a story for just about anything, though he’s sad he can’t people watch as he normally does. He’ll bury his nose in a book while sitting curled up on the couch under a thick warm blanket (you want to joke he looks like a very comfortable grandma but you don’t know if he’ll take it well) and if he’s not reading, he’s likely trying to write something using the rain as a type of white noise to help him concentrate.

Z = Zebra (If they wanted a pet, what would they get?):

Gentaro would love an elderly cat who just wants to live out its final years in peace, having it sit on his lap and tending to its needs. He loves cooing at the fluff ball and only gives it the best care, brushing its hair and humming happily to himself as he realizes, without caring, that he’s become a crazy cat man. He just enjoys the calmness an older cat brings with it and the lack of destruction to his house, amused that Dice doesn’t seem to trust it (nor does his cat trust Dice until he brings a can of tuna as an offering).

#Samatoki Aohitsugi #Aohitsugi Samatoki #Yumeno Gentaro #Gentaro Yumeno #Hypnosis Microphone #Hypnosis Mic #Hypnomic #Hypmic #Hypnosis Microphone Imagines #Hypnosis Mic Imagines #Hypmic Imagines #Hypnosis Microphone x Reader #Hypnosis Mic x Reader #Hypmic x Reader #aohitsugi samatoki x reader #samatoki aohitsugi x reader #gentaro yumeno x reader #yumeno gentaro x reader #Cute Alphabet

136 notes · View notes

idyoma · 3 years

Text

The Best Ways to Learn a New Language

Some of the Best Ways to Learn a New Language

My name is Tamara and I have always been interested in languages, how people communicate and how we can interact even more by learning new languages. I was able to take an international exchange program in 2019 and I started taking this interest to a new level by learning and interacting with friends and people that I was lucky to get to know.

I continue studying and trying to learn from home and this is what inspired me to write this article to help more people achieve their language goals and share some of my favourite ways to learn a new language.

People often recognize that being multilingual is associated with career benefits, but did you know that language learning can also enhance your cognitive health? Too often, people graduate from school and leave foreign languages behind in the classroom. Yet, there are some surprising advantages to tackling language learning later in life, too.

As you learn a new language, you build up your communication skills, supercharge your brain with heightened activity in its language centers, and possibly even open yourself up to new work and travel experiences.

Fortunately, today’s language learners have a wide range of instruction options, like Idyoma, that don’t tether them to a traditional classroom. Finding time to learn a new language outside the home can be difficult for people with full-time jobs and busy households. By learning a new language at home, you can adopt an instruction schedule that suits your time frame — and you can fit in practice when it’s most convenient for you. As you decide whether to embrace ESL or learn Japanese, Spanish, or French, keep the following information in mind to help you create a learning dynamic at home that supports your learning style.

Best Ways to Learn a New Language

Benefits of being mulitlingual

Setting up your learning space

Top 10 tips for learning fast

Tips for teaching kids a second language

Why You Should Learn a New Language: The Benefits of Being Multilingual

Although there are many new pastimes one might embrace — knitting or gardening, web design or data science — to fill time, learning a new language is both enjoyable and professionally useful. Today, the career marketplace is highly global.

Bilingualism and multilingualism can catapult your resume to the top of an employer’s list, especially if the company is international and relies on its multilingual staff to communicate across borders. Learning Korean or German can open up an entire range of job opportunities that you may never have thought of before.

Of course, there are other benefits of learning a new language, too. Language learning actually enhances your mental health. As we age, our cognitive function can diminish just as our physical health can. But, language learning can reduce that cognitive decline, slowing its process as you forge new neural pathways.

When you learn a new language you can boost your ability to focus, keeping our minds alert and agile. Many people who engage in language learning report that the time they engage in the study actually improves their mood. As you focus on the enjoyment and challenge of your lessons, you’ll focus less on the stress of all things left undone, giving your mind the opportunity to recharge and rejuvenate from your usual anxieties and inner chatter.

Finally, you might opt to learn a new language so that you’ll be prepared to get out into the world and explore. Being multilingual makes you a more skillful traveler, building confidence and helping you navigate new, far-flung places for a grand travel experience. And learning a new language improves your communication skills — a core interpersonal and professional talent that’ll get you far in relationships, in business, and beyond.

How to Set up the Ultimate Learning Space

Of course, before you start pricing hotels in Barcelona or Paris, you’ll need to begin language instruction. But before you hire a language tutor or sign up for an online class, prepare your learning space at home so that you have everything you need to support your learning goals conveniently in one area. If you have a home office, you can enlist that space to learn, but you don’t have to dedicate an entire room to your new initiative. A special niche in your bedroom, kitchen, or family room will also suffice.

As you set up your language study area, you’ll want to ensure that it’s both quiet and comfortable. Distractions will prevent you from learning effectively. Opt for a space with good acoustics, since you’ll be doing a lot of language listening. Good lighting is important since you’ll be doing a lot of reading and writing. A desk or small table and comfortable chair are essential furnishings for your study area — but why not take your language learning space to an even more exciting level?

Whether you’ve opted to learn Hungarian or Turkish, why not set up your space with some international flair for inspiration? Add some travel posters to your wall, and keep a globe handy. Incorporate the spirit of your Spanish independent study with a Mexican blanket slung on your chair, or enhance your study of Chinese with some picturesque paper lanterns hung near your window. By creating a fun language learning space, you’ll have a special space with a retreat-like atmosphere that may very easily become your favorite place in the house.

Top 10 Hacks to Learn a New Language

Once your study space is ready and you know what language you want to learn, it’s time to get down to business. Consider all the various applications available for learning a language at home. The following hacks will help you transform yourself into a multilingual virtuoso — or close to it! Keep them in mind as you develop your language learning goals and make your plan.

Enroll in an online course

Formal instruction is a good option for individuals who prefer to learn a new language with a more-or-less traditional dynamic. If you’re concerned that independent study isn’t conducive to your learning style, consider this tried-and-true learning route. A formal course features highly structured lesson plans, assignment deadlines, and interaction with a teacher and classmates, albeit virtually.

Download the app

You’ve probably seen the advertisements online for any number of language learning apps. Less formal than an online course, these apps still offer learners a rich level of instruction designed to help them progress at a clip. Apps are ideal for independent learners who don’t have time to meet consistently for an online class.

Update your library card

Your local library system will have a wealth of materials to enhance your language-learning experience. Plan to borrow language dictionaries and picture books, novels, and even films in the language you’re learning so you can read, watch, and practice your listening skills. Check out materials in person or reserve them online and pick them up at your convenience.

Quality earbuds, headphones, or speakers

When you’re learning to speak a new language, you need to be able to hear your learning materials clearly. A speaker that crackles or earbuds that cut in and out will compromise your learning experience. Plan to invest in quality listening devices so that you can hear instructors or your language learning app with crystal clarity.

Use flashcards

Flashcards work for kids, and they will still work for you, too. In fact, if you have kids, you might want to enlist their help — invite them to quiz you on your German verbs after you quiz them on their multiplication facts. You can also find flashcard apps for literally any language you want to learn.

Hire a language tutor

There comes a point when you might hit a stumbling block or a series of obstacles while learning a new language. Don’t despair! Check with area colleges, and engage a language tutor. This can be especially helpful if you’ve never learned a foreign language before or you want to stay on track and pick up speed as you move from beginner-level learning to the more complex, intermediate stages.

Find a learning partner

Convince your bestie, spouse, partner, or friend to consider learning a language with you. When you have a partner, you can keep each other motivated and take turns studying at one another’s homes. Of course, ideally, you’ll want to find someone who’s just as enthusiastic about learning Russian or Portuguese as you are, so choose your language learning pal wisely.

Listen to native speakers

One of the complaints that many students of languages have is that classroom and app models are too formal and not the stuff of everyday language you’ll hear on the streets of Rio, or Naples. Use your devices to track down native language speakers — like watching and listening to videos on the internet. This is particularly helpful if you plan to travel to the country whose language you’re learning.

Be kind and patient with yourself

Too often, people abandon their language pursuits because life interrupts them, and they find it difficult to resume their studies. Keep in mind that it’s okay to learn at your own speed and tempo. It may be asking too much of yourself to learn Italian in six months. If you need to adjust your goals, do it! The key is to keep going — and don’t be afraid to revisit old lessons when you need a refresher.

Immerse yourself in culture

Language learning may seem tedious at times, especially if you’re struggling with tenses or complex sentence structures.

Maintain your motivation to keep learning by immersing yourself in the culture of the language. Learning Greek? Invite your best friend to a luncheon at your favorite Greek restaurant. Learning Spanish? Set Saturday nights aside for a tapas feasting! You’ll find that cultural immersion boosts your learning — and enriches your life.

Tips to Teach Kids a Second Language

Speak It

If you speak a second or third language and you want your children to learn it, the first step is to speak it with them. Children learn through repetition. Consistency is necessary to develop a habit, so the more your kids listen to you speaking in another language, the easier it will be for them to grasp it.

Music

Just like for an adult, listening to music in a different language is one of the best tips to follow when trying to learn a new language. For both children and adults, starting with kid’s songs with easy and basic words can work best.

Audiobooks

For bedtime or nap time, you could aid yourself by using audiobooks. Following a story with the help of native speakers can work wonders for children to learn different intonations, accents, and vocabulary while also entertaining them.

Have fun

Doing fun activities in the language you are trying to teach your kids is another great way to help them grasp the language. If you grew up in another country, do you remember what activities you enjoyed when you were a child? You can plan a fun afternoon with games from your home country to do with your children. If this is not the case and you are just trying to teach your child to learn a new language, games with new vocabulary are always the best bet.

Video

Another good idea is to let them watch tv or movies in another language. Not only tv shows where they interact with the audience work, standard format movies, cartoons, and shows can help you at home, they don’t need to spend hours in front of a screen. This is only to aid you in the repetition, consistency, and the develop a habit side of the process. Remember it is important that they have access to other intonations, accents, and vocabulary for them to acquire the language faster.

Space to Learn

You can set up a special space for them to study. If they are being homeschooled, they would probably already have a designated space for their study work but if not, you can choose a corner in the kitchen, your home office, or their playroom for this purpose.

Things to add to their study space:

Get them a small table or desk their size with chairs.

Set up a whiteboard on the wall with markers for them to write down vocabulary words or to draw.

Corkboards are great to stick images and vocabulary words to.

Shelves for their storybooks and dictionaries.

Be sure to have good light.

Add color. Remember children’s classrooms are always colorful, this makes them feel in a fun and exciting environment. Bright colors stimulate the brain and can help children retain information.

Add storage. If you want to avoid clutter, add boxes or drawers for them to keep things they work with.

When is the best time to learn a language?

When young, human beings acquire new languages, they don’t actually learn them, so you could say the best age to learn a second language is as a young child.

But even if it’s easier to learn languages as a kid, don’t get discouraged. Remember that you can achieve anything you set your mind to. It’s scientifically proven that learning a language as an adult can also have its advantages. As adults, we can follow and understand grammar rules, so learning in a more technical way is easier for adults than for children.

Learning a new language enhances your life in numerous ways while providing you with a marketable skill. As you learn a new language, you’ll develop new communication skills, keep your brain agile, and even discover new writers and artists to read and enjoy as you encounter them in your studies.

Before you know it, you’ll be fluent in the language of your choosing, and who knows where you could go from there?

Written by Tamara Segal

#best ways to learn a new language #new language #tips to learn a new language

11 notes · View notes

angelisverba · 4 years

Text

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

rosesgonerogue · 4 years

Text

I didn’t so much fall in love - It kicked me in the face Chapter Six

Several days later, Marinette was making decent progress on the suits for the Wayne family - she had the bulk of the work finished, thanks to a night of insomnia, now she just had to do the final fittings and line them. It was a bit backwards, but the linings were intricate enough that she didn’t dare do it until she made sure the silhouette was perfect. She hadn’t spent hours hand-painting silk for it to sit wrong inside the suit-coats.

Bundling up her precious work, Marinette took Leo’s hand, leaving the hotel where a car was waiting for them.

“Did you bring the tie for Monsieur Alfred, Maman?” Leo asked, a sparkle in his eyes.

“Of course I did,” Marinette said, showing it to her son. “Do you think he’ll like it?”

Leo scrutinized the article of clothing before solemnly nodding. “It’s what he needs. He’s… sad.”

A chill ran down Marinette’s spine - Leo always seemed to know so much more than should be possible. But… “I’m glad that you like to make everyone happy, ma cher.”

“I want Maman to be happy most of all.”

Marinette blinked. “But I am happy, Leo. I have you, what more could I need?”

“You try to hide it, but you get sad sometimes. You want the same kind of happy that grandmere and grandpere have, the happy you get from a person you like a lot. I want Maman to be happy.”

“Leo,” Marinette murmured, her breath catching slightly. She hadn’t made any attempts at dating since… since Leo came along. In the beginning she’d been an emotional wreck, but she’d put the circumstances of his conception behind her years ago. With love, support, and therapy, she was… okay.

“We’re supposed to be in Gotham,” Leo affirmed. “It will help you be happy.”

“I’ll…” Marinette faltered, unsure how she was granted such a perfect child. “I trust you, Leo. I’ll look for opportunities. But no one can possibly make me more happy than you do.”

“Not more happy,” he assured her, patting her hand. “Different happy.”

That left Marinette blinking away tears when the driver announced their arrival at Wayne Manor. She took the time to thank him before clambering out of the car, Leo in tow.

None other than Alfred himself greeted them at the door, perfectly composed as always. “Miss Dupain-Cheng, you’re certainly welcome here, but I am currently the only other person home at the moment. The men won’t be available for their fittings for a while.”

“Thank you, Alfred. And it’s Marinette, please,” she said with a smile. “But this works out perfectly. I wanted to chat with you for a moment or two.”

“Please come in, then. May I offer you some tea?”

The three settled down comfortably, Leo gnawing on a cookie as Marinette tried to figure out how to broach the topic of… well, anything.

“Maman, give it to him,” Leo prompted.

“You’re absolutely right, Leo,” she said, retrieving a small gift bag. “For you, Alfred.”

“Miss Marinette, I couldn’t! You are a guest of the Wayne family, you shouldn’t feel obligated to make anything for me!”

“It was no obligation, I enjoyed it. Besides, it was partially at the request of a mutual friend.”

He hesitantly opened the bag, gingerly pulling out the tie, his hand shaking every so slightly. It was a beautiful piece of silk, carefully embroidered with intricate peacock feathers, the fabric a deep blue, exactly the same shade as -

“Duusu,” he breathed. “Is he well?”

“Would you like to ask him yourself?” Marinette nodded to Leo, who carefully placed a miraculous box on the coffee table.

“He told me of the other kwami,” Alfred said hesitantly, “and I felt something about you when we first met, but I thought it was just old age effecting me. If you don’t mind me asking, how-”

“Marinette is Ladybug!” Duusu chirped, startling both adults. “You two were taking too long, so Leo let me out.”

“Duusu, my old friend. It’s been decades.”

Marinette concentrated on stirring her tea intently, graciously giving the older man the emotional space that he needed and ignoring the tears that were building in his eyes.

“Alfie! I never thought I would get to see you again!” Duusu chirped, excitedly flying around the man’s head.

“We’ll give you some time alone,” Marinette said softly, leading Leo out of the room. When the door closed behind them, she patted his head. “You did an excellent thing. I think you just made Monsieur Pennyworth very happy.”

“We both did, Maman.”

“We did good, squirt.”

It wasn’t long before Alfred emerged, cupping the peacock broach in his hands with the utmost care.

“There is still some time before the family arrives for their fittings. I was preparing to make some desserts to serve with tea. This is not a demand or a request, but if you would like to help, I would not be opposed.”

“What do you think, Leo? We haven’t gotten to bake since we left Paris. Tikki would probably enjoy some fresh cookies.”

Before the child could respond, the kwami in question flew into sight. “I think that’s a great idea!”

********

For once in his life, Tim got home sooner than expected. A meeting had been cancelled, and his personal assistant seemed more worried about his lack of sleep than normal. Admittedly, he’d spent far too much time researching Ladybug. He couldn’t seem to wrap his head around everything he’d seen, not to mention the fact that the entire city of Paris had been able to keep their heroes a secret, especially as tourism had only increased since her debut.

There was one thing in particular that Tim couldn't stop thinking about. In all of the clips of Ladybug, (and he had watched all of them), there was one move she repeated not infrequently, a certain pivoting high kick that he had recently been introduced to. It was curious that Marinette was able to execute it so well, but it wouldn’t be the first time a civilian had imitated a vigilante’s moves. It was just… curious.

Also curious was the smells that greeted him upon opening the manor door. Alfred’s cooking always smelled good, but Tim was fairly certain that this was what heaven was supposed to smell like. He couldn’t help but follow the scent to the kitchen.

“Maman, the frosting needs more color,” a small voice said.

Leo was standing on a stool, stirring his bowl of frosting carefully enough that his apron wasn’t necessary in the least. Tim felt his heart skip a beat when Marinette turned around to help her son with a smile. Her eyes were soft, and unlike her son, her apron was covered in flour and flecks of batter. He swore his knees went weak when those eyes landed on him and she smiled like he was the sunshine in her life.

It was the way he remembered his mother smiling at his father.

“Leo, Monsieur Tim is home. Say bonjour!” she said, pointing. “Why don’t you explain what we’re making?”

“Bonjour, Monsieur Tim. Maman and I got here early, so we wanted to make treats for your family like my grandmere and grandpere make treats for me when I get home from school,” Leo said, his eyes the only indication of his excitement.

“So what are you teaching Alfred to make?”

“We’re making madeleines, a personal favorite of Leo’s. But no one does madeleine like a Dupain-Cheng.”

Tim glanced around smirking. “This looks like a lot more than just madeleines.”

“Well, Alfred wanted some tips on making macarons, and… I was raised by bakers, making small batches of anything has never been my strong suit. Luckily, I hear sweets don’t last long in the Wayne household.”

Neither Marinette nor Tim saw the look exchanged between the butler and the boy, but Alfred was soon clearing his throat. “Miss Marinette, I think Leo and I have things handled here if you would like to begin Master Tim’s fitting.”

“Are you sure? I can-”

“We’re fine, Maman,” Leo interrupted. “Someone needs to tell Monsieur Alfred when to take out the macarons.”

Marinette looked surprised. “Well, it seems my son has taken to Alfred. As long as he doesn’t mind, I guess it’s just you and me.”

“It’s a privilege, Miss Marinette,” Alfred promised. “Go on, you’ve got a job to do.”

Tim felt inexplicably nervous, and excited, and - did Alfred just wink at him?

Taglist:

@ii-fox-demon @queen-in-a-flower-crown @novaloptr @saphiraazure2708 @iamabrownfox @smolplantmum @redhoodedtoad @loysydark @slytheringinger300 @finallyaniguana @brokenwordsarehard2 @abrx2002 @mystery-5-5 @zalladane @moonlightstar64 @marinettepotterandplagg @black-streak @purplesundaze @maribat-is-lifeblood @the-fusionist @river9noble @chocolatecatstheron @darkthunder1589 @throneoffirebreathingbitchqueen @dast218 @k-poplunardreams @meanids @changelinggarden @ladybug-182 @pawsitivelymiraculous @zotinha456 @tumbling-down-hills-and-stuff @somebodyspersephone @spider-person95 @zestyzealot @toodaloo-kangaroo

Author’s Note:

This might be the last of the daily updates, but I don’t forsee the rest of the story taking much longer to write. We’re pretty much halfway in, so prepare yourselves. I’m also contemplating writing a sequel when Leo is a bit older, that could be a lot of fun. Let me know if you want to be tagged, or if I missed you!

#timinette #maribat #marinette x tim

307 notes · View notes

musings-from-mars · 3 years

Note

part 4 por favor? Maybe Ruby starts noticing the "tension" between Cinder and Blake and starts setting them up?

Freelance Love Triangle AU - Part 4

They arrived at the outdoor gallery, and Ruby was already zipping around here and there, thinking out loud about angles and framing, all while gushing about the art on display, choosing her favorites. “This is so cool!” She said to Blake and Cinder.

“It’s a lovely installation,” Cinder agreed, the corner of her mouth turned up. “Don’t you think so, Blake?”

It was a pretty magnificent showcase. Crude marble pillars of varying heights and widths stood in a seemingly random arrangement, each with art pieces hung on the sides. The pieces of 3D art stood in spaces between pillars. While there were two equally tall pillars that served as the “entrance” to the exhibition, it was open air and seemingly boundless, as the pillars became fewer and farther between the further from the center you moved.

At the very center of the gallery was a massive metal sculpture of what looked like a suit of armor, but it was matte black, and the plates of armor were spaced out from one another so it was easy to see right through the gaps. It stood on a concrete cube labeled “SOAPBOX” with “various artists” engraved underneath. The artists were making a point, and Blake’s mind raced trying to decipher what it might be.

But then Ruby started talking to Cinder, and that broke Blake’s focus immediately.

“The suit is faceless, and the armor having such obvious gaps indicates that the suit is vulnerable,” Cinder explained to Ruby as she looked up at the sculpture, which Ruby craning her neck to do the same. “Yet it stands on a soapbox, elevated and arrogant, despite the flaws in its defenses. I think it makes a point about the illusions of authority and strength of those in power, and the general populace’s compliance despite the obvious flaws that everyone can see if they look close enough.”

“Woah, that’s so cool…” Ruby murmured with wonder.

Blake didn’t want to feel as annoyed as she did, because Cinder’s take on it was pretty much exactly how Blake viewed the piece, but dammit, she wanted to impress Ruby too! She tried to come up with something original to say, but she didn’t want to sound desperate. Cinder was too smooth and eloquent.

“I imagine it took a long time to fashion the metal and assemble it, probably took several weeks, even for a team of artists,” Cinder pondered.

“If you were to get into contact with the artists, you might know for sure,” Blake remarked, not intending to sound so combative, but it was said. “There’s more to this than what the viewer can interpret. Anyone can come around here and write an article about what they think it all means in a day, but we’re putting together something bigger. We need testimonies from the artists, opinions of other creatives…”

Cinder had turned from the sculpture and was glaring at her, arms crossed over her chest. “Well, isn’t that why you’re here? You’re the networking specialist, after all.”

“It’s your project too, you know,” Blake said, stepping closer to her, then sort of regretting doing that now that she was close enough to smell her perfume. “I’m not doing all the interviews while you sit back and write down your opinions. You’ve got to pull your weight.”

“I’ve pulled plenty of weight. I haven’t even shown you the drafts I have yet,” Cinder countered, and for some reason thought it appropriate to smile at Blake. She looked down her nose a bit at her, making Blake resent Cinder’s slight height advantage. “After all, isn’t it only fair that I handle the majority of the writing, you acquire the testimonies, and Ruby handles the accompanying media? Let’s all do what we’re good at here, huh?”

Blake hated it when she made a good point. She wanted to counter-argue but she knew that would be counterproductive. “So I’m going have to handle all of the interviews? That will take up so much of my work time, you really will be on the hook for pretty much all of the writing.”

“Like I said, it’s what we’re good at,” Cinder repeated and shrugged. She leaned her weight on one leg in that sexy way that kind of pissed Blake off. “You think so, Ruby?”

Ruby had been silent the whole time, pressing her lips together as she stood by during the intense exchange. When she heard her name spoken, she snapped out of it a bit and blinked. “Oh, yeah, I think that’s a good idea. Uhm, Robyn wanted us to allocate, right?”

“Right,” Cinder agreed and nodded. “That was easy, we’ve already allocated. Wonderful job, team.”

If Blake gritted her teeth any harder she’d have to book a dentist appointment. Thankfully, Cinder took that moment to turn away from her and walk over to one of the gallery’s pillars, swaying her hips like an annoying exotic bird.

I hate you I hate you I haaaaate you—

“Ruby, I think if you got one of these pillars in the foreground with the sculpture in the background, that could maybe be a candidate for cover,” Cinder said.

Ruby hurried over to look at what she meant, leaving Blake standing next to Soapbox, shoulders slumped forward and her face burning hot.

Was getting cover worth it? Was getting to work with Ruby worth how insufferable and annoying aloof Cinder was? Blake was seriously considering it, but then she watched as Ruby giggled at something Cinder said, and she knew then that she had to stick with this, for whatever other reasons, but mostly to make sure Ruby and Cinder didn’t become a thing.

Was that shitty of her? Maybe. But the thought of that happening made her blood boil.

~~~

“How about I take you both for a drink?”

The offer felt like it came out of nowhere. The three of them were waiting on a bench not far from the gallery. Night had fallen, and while they had gotten plenty of photos and Blake had gotten the chance to take some notes about the various artists, it wasn’t that late. Blake was about to hail a rideshare because she just wasn’t in the mood to walk all the way home, but (while she kind of hated that she did), Blake considered Cinder’s offer.

“That sounds like fun, sure!” Ruby said. She sat between Blake and Cinder, tapping away at her laptop as she backed up the photos of the day. Even as time went on, she hadn’t lost any energy, which Blake was impressed by. She certainly couldn’t say the same for herself she was fresh out of college.

“Lovely,” Cinder said with a smile.

Well, if Ruby was going with Cinder, Blake was definitely going, too. “Sure. I could use a drink. But I’m not staying out late, nor should any of us. We’ve got more work to do tomorrow.”

Cinder nodded knowingly. “Just a little excursion. We’ll save the proper night out for Friday.” Blake couldn’t tell if she was joking or not. “I know I nice little bar near here. It’s the quaint type, for hipsters like us.”

Blake chuckled a bit at that. “Great, I love craft beer,” she said sarcastically.

“I’ve never had anything other than hard seltzer,” Ruby admitted with a shy chuckle. “Do they have that?”

“I’m sure they do, hun,” Cinder assured her with a smile that made the hairs on the back of Blake’s neck stand up.

Ruby rubbed the back of her neck bashfully as she shut her laptop, having finished saving her images. “Not to be a stereotypical gay or anything.”

Blake snorted a laugh, then blushed at the fact she’d snorted. “What, do gays like hard seltzer?”

“I guess?” Ruby shrugged, still blushing.

“I’m more of a red wine lesbian myself, we all have our tastes,” Cinder told her, her voice dripping with a flirtatious lull, as if she were already a glass deep.

Blake chewed on the inside of her mouth. She figured “whatever sounds good at the time bisexual” wouldn’t sound as sexy as red wine lesbian. Then again, she’d never had a hard seltzer. “I’ll get whatever you get, Ruby. I’m curious.”

Ruby giggled, her cheeks rosy and dimpled when she grinned. “Oh no, now I really hope you like it or else I’ll seem like I have bad taste.”

Blake smiled and shook her head. “Don’t worry, hun, I think I’ll like it just fine.” She felt proud of herself for slipping a “hun” in there like Cinder had. The combination of Ruby blushing and Cinder shooting her a glare of recognition was a satisfying confidence boost.

Ruby tapped her feet on the concrete a few times, like she was letting out a sudden excess of energy, and she hopped off the bench. “We should go! The night’s not getting any younger, right?”

Cinder stood with her, her hands tucked in her jacket pockets. “We should. I’ll lead the way.”

Blake sighed as she followed, the group beginning to follow Cinder’s lead away from the park. She hoped she’d seen the end of Cinder’s funny business, but she knew that was a hope in futility. She had to be planning something, right?

The best Blake could think to do was be there to see what it was.

#freelance love triangle au #pawling petals #rwby #ruby rose #blake belladonna #cinder fall #drabble

11 notes · View notes

tomfooleryprime · 4 years

Text

The Deep Space Nine episode “Statistical Probabilities” is my favorite Trek story of all time. Don’t remember it? That’s not surprising.

There are more than fifty year’s worth of articles listing the best episodes of Star Trek across the various series with passionate defenses. The same episodes generally top these lists, even if the order shifts around. Does “City of the Edge of Forever” or “Inner Light” deserve top billing? Or should it be “Yesterday’s Enterprise” or “Far Beyond the Stars?”

Perhaps the reason no one ever considers this episode is it’s less of a story and more of a thought experiment. In today’s highly polarized environment, this inconspicuous DS9 episode feels more salient than ever.

In 2020, social media fights devolve into reductive arguments where everyone is assumed to be either a nationalist or a socialist and depending on your worldview, one of those words is a dirty slur and the other is a badge of honor. Even everyday discourse outside of social media has seen us turn words like “patriotism” and “treason” into weapons to suit narratives, with both sides firmly believing they are the true patriots while the other side is comprised of traitors.

I get caught up in this myself. I don’t want to get into my own political views or start a “both sides” argument, so this is where I turn it over to Star Trek and Dr. Julian Bashir, who finds himself caught in an impossible situation that calls into question the very nature of patriotism and treachery and shows how easily the line between those two concepts can be blurred.

A little background if you’re not familiar—in the year 2374, the Federation is made up of thousands of member planets. War is rare, poverty has been eliminated, aliens of all different species live in general harmony with each other. Then the Dominion, an interstellar military empire run by shape-shifting aliens shows up and wants to annex the Federation under its control.

The Federation, understandably miffed at the Dominion’s plans for stripping them of their autonomy, tells the Dominion to kick rocks. A war breaks out. Unfortunately, the Federation is outclassed, outgunned, and outnumbered in just about every way. It’s tough to win a war against an opponent with a larger force, superior technology, and aliens who can shape shift into literally anything, from a table to a Federation starship captain, making them able to easily swipe any intelligence they want on a whim.

It’s also important to note that the Dominion, while an imperialist superpower, isn’t necessarily out to break, exploit, and subjugate the spirits of the people under its control. For planets willing to peacefully submit to Dominion rule, life for the average citizen probably continues on more or less the same—people probably still have barbecues and go to church and do whatever they did before—they just trade one government for another. For planets not willing to yield, punishment is swift and severe.

And this is where “Statistical Probabilities” comes in. Dr. Julian Bashir is tasked with working with several genius “augments” to develop a statistical model to predict the outcome of a Federation-Dominion War. Unfortunately, it doesn’t take the augments long to recognize the Federation will never win with its current resources. They determine if the Federation fights back, it will suffer the loss of hundreds of billions of casualties and Dominion reprisal for their resistance will make life very brutal for the survivors.

However, they calculate that if the Federation peacefully surrenders, there will be no casualties and no Dominion reprisals—the only thing that will functionally change is who people make out their tax checks to. Not only that, with the saved lives and resources of averting a catastrophic zero sum war, the Federation will position itself to develop technologies within a few generations to successfully defeat the Dominion and re-declare independence in the future.

So the augments recommend immediate and strategic surrender. Dr. Bashir is disheartened to hear this, but he sees the logic in temporary capitulation because he’s a medical doctor and the idea of saving hundreds of billions of lives has to fit into that “first do no harm” ethic, surely. So you know what’s coming.

So he tells his higher ups what they’ve discovered, and you can imagine how that goes.

So the augments’ next play is to go full WikiLeaks. They calculate that if they were to give the Federation’s battleplans to the Dominion, the war would be short, casualties would be minimal, and the Dominion would still treat them relatively well once all the member states learned to toe the line.

This is the part I’ve chewed on for decades. When is treason not treason, or at least, when is treason the better option?

I served in the U.S. Army. I took an oath to protect and defend the United States of America against all enemies, foreign and domestic. The idea of freely giving the enemy all the actionable intelligence they need to defeat my country makes me nauseated. The only thing that makes me sicker is the thought of most of my fellow citizens being senselessly murdered if I didn’t go all Benedict Arnold on their asses.

The dictionary says treason is “the crime of betraying one's country, especially by attempting to kill the sovereign or overthrow the government.” But is betraying your country and betraying your government always the same thing? A country is made up of people, and a government is made up of a few people who should, in theory, support what is best for the greatest number of citizens. So what is to be done when a few people in power decide they would rather die free than live in subjugation, even if it comes at massive cost to the citizenry they have a duty to serve? A conversation that goes like this.

As an American, I fully appreciate that many of my fellow citizens have a lust for freedom that borders on psychopathy, but I personally accept that most of life is lived in shades of gray and not in black and white. There’s a pretty wide spectrum between total freedom and total slavery and life at either of the extremes would be pretty bleak. But there’s also no apparent consensus on what even constitutes independence or oppression.

Just look at the debate over masks in the midst of the Covid-19 pandemic. On the one hand, you could argue being required to wear a mask is a total violation of your personal freedom. On the other hand, you could argue we wear masks so that you can be free to live your life as safely as possible. Perhaps the truth is actually somewhere in the middle—wearing a mask is a small concession of individual freedom for the greater freedom of everyone.

I’ve thought about “Statistical Probabilities” and Dr. Bashir’s conundrum a lot in recent years. Would he be a patriot for supporting his government, even if he knows it would result in unimaginable death and suffering in the name of the theoretical ideal of freedom, or would he be a patriot for betraying his government for the sake of a practical outcome, which is saving the lives of hundreds of billions of people and ensuring the quality of their lives is bearable?

And the reality is he’ll be a traitor no matter what he does, but what kind of traitor is better? I have a sneaking suspicion that how people answer this question is probably a powerful predictor of their political affiliation, and how quickly they answer it is directly correlated to the amount of wisdom they possess.

I won’t tell you how he gets out of this awful pickle because of course he does. Dr. Bashir is fictional and exists in a universe where everyone gets a tidy copout in the end. Us mortals in the real world are rarely so lucky and we’re doomed for eternity to grapple with impossible questions, each of us more convinced than the last that our solution is the right solution and everyone else it’s everyone else who’s the traitor.

#star trek #Star Trek: Deep Space Nine #Star Trek Deep Space 9 #statistical probabilities #Julian bashir #Benjamin sisko #ds9

78 notes · View notes

vintagedolan · 4 years

Text

overturned (egd)

ethan’s tried everything to get you to hear him out, and you aren’t budging until a news article on twitter changes everything in an instant

word count: 4.7k

requested by: anon (thank you bby!)

warnings/tags: angst angst angst angst, did I say angst???, but in typical lynds weak bitch fashion it ends up okay at the end 🥴

feel free to send in requests! and check out my masterlist if you wanna :)

You were running out of counter space, and that was saying something. The kitchen was beginning to smell like a florist shop, rich and beautiful with the number of bouquets. Luckily, they’d all come in vases, or you wouldn’t have had enough containers to keep them in.

As if on cue, the doorbell rang again. You grabbed a water bottle from the fridge, already feeling guilty. When you opened the door, it was the same sweet woman who had been there everyday, twice a day at least, for the last 6 days.

“Hi Mary,” you sighed. You’d begun a bit of a friendship with her, the exchange of her handing over the flowers commonplace now.

“Hi Ms. Y/N. Those are particularly good ones, I think the shop found a new supplier. Blue hydrangeas are hard to come by, especially out here. He must be paying a fortune for those,” she said, raising her eyebrows. You knew that - your favorite flower wasn’t common in California.

“Money isn’t really an issue for him,” you mumbled, holding out the water. “Here, take this, I know it’s hot out. I’m sorry you keep having to come out here for all these. You’d think he’d take the hint.”

“Oh nonsense honey, I don’t mind at all! It’s actually quite heartwarming.” She took the water, offering you a warm smile.

“Heartwarming?”

“To see young love so strong. Most people these days just give up and move on. He’s persistent.” Mary gave you a look that was laced with meaning, like she was trying to convince you of something. But she let it go quickly, sensing she may have gone too far.. “Well, I’ve got more deliveries to make. I’m sure I’ll be seeing you soon.”

You waved as she got back into the delivery van and pulled out of the driveway. Pulling the door behind you, you carried the bouquet in and sat it amongst the others, her words ringing in your ears.

Persistent. That was one word for it. Guilty might be more fitting.

It’d been a week since your argument, and you were still wrestling with the whole thing. The fact that you could play the entire thing back, word for word in your mind, wasn’t helping anything.

-----

“You can’t keep doing this,” Ethan said, leaning back against the couch. The fact that he was being callous about it wasn’t helping matters in the slightest.

“The hell I can’t. Don’t try and put this on me Ethan, don’t you fucking dare.”

“What the hell did you want me to do?” He snapped back.

“Just fucking tell me. That’s literally all I ever ask for you to do, and you just keep hiding shit from me!”

“I’m not hiding anything, you’re just paranoid.”

Wrong answer.

“Oh, okay, you’re right. Yeah, just paranoid. Well, hope you don’t mind, I’m gonna go spend the whole day with my ex. Oh wait, shit, shouldn’t have said that, too much information for you.” You spat the words, the anger you’d been holding in finally bubbling to the surface.

“We were filming, it’s for work.” His tone was short, anger escalating.

“I understand that. But you could have at least told me that’s what you were doing, instead of some vague ‘oh I’m just filming a collab’ bullshit. Don’t treat me like I’m stupid.”

“I don’t tell you shit because you always react like this! Everything I do makes you pissed at me!” Ethan said, exasperated.

“No, I react like this because you don’t tell me in the first place! You never ask me if I’m okay with anything-”

“I shouldn’t have to!” He was yelling now, something he never did. He knew how you got when people raised their voices, knew how it made you feel. “You don’t get to control my life! I’m my own fucking person!”

“Control your life...” you breathed it out, shaking your head in disbelief. “Right. I control you. I control you, but I’m the one who can’t ever post a picture with my boyfriend, can’t post a snapchat because people might realize that we’re together, can’t go out without telling you where I’m gonna be. Can’t have my clothes in your closet in case it’s in the back of a video, can’t leave our room when you’re filming in case my fucking reflection or the sound of my footsteps end up in shot. I can’t hold my own boyfriend’s hand in public, I can’t go on a date without security there. But you’re right, I’m the controlling one.” The tears were coming now, and Ethan’s eyes were wide. You made it a point to never complain about the things that life with him entailed - it was always worth it. But right now, you let them fly. You wanted him to know, to realize, to fucking appreciate exactly what you did every day, just for him. Maybe it would make him understand why you were so upset.

“I-” He started, but you cut him off.

“I give up so many little things, every fucking day, and I do it for you. And I ask you for one fucking thing - just to give me the respect of telling me when you’re gonna be around your ex for work, and you can’t even give me that. Just one fucking thing Ethan, that’s all.”

“You knew what you signed up for when you decided to date me.”

You weren’t sure what response you were expecting, you weren’t even sure what response you wanted. All you knew were his conceited words were the final straw.

“Yeah. I guess I did.”

-----

When you came back out of the memory, you were gripping the flowers so hard you were surprised you hadn’t broken the vase they were in. With a deep breath you went to the counter, scooting another vase to the side to make room for the new ones.

You pulled the card from the small holder nestled amongst the flowers. Your name was scrawled on the outside of the envelope in Ethan’s handwriting.

You never thought that handwriting could make your heart hurt. With delicate fingers you pulled it open, fishing out the tiny card provided by the florist shop.

I never thanked you enough for everything you gave up for me. I’m sorry. I love you more.

The tears were instantaneous, just like they were every time you opened one of the notes. They were all gathered in a little pile by one of your candles, each one a small declaration from Ethan.

I fucked up.

I can’t imagine my life without you. Please call me back.

Please give me a chance to make it up to you.

I miss you so fucking much.

But it didn’t matter what he said - each one ended with the same four words, and that’s what brought the tears every time without fail.

I love you more.

You could remember the first time he’d said it. Toes in the sand at the end of a picnic blanket on the beach, fire behind you keeping you warm as you watched the waves crash. His arm had been around your shoulder, you were leaning into his chest. And you said I love you to him for the first time.

And he’d responded with ‘I love you more’, as if that was the only correct response.

“What?” You’d asked.

“Well, you love me. Take that and add just a little more, and that’s what I feel for you. So, I love you more.” He explained it as though it was common sense.

And it had become the most unplanned little trademark in your relationship that you cherished more than you realized. Every time you said I love you, that was his response. When you were leaving for the day, when he made a stupid joke, cuddling in bed, after sex, when you were done singing terribly in the car.

He never missed one, never forgot.

You were realizing now that you’d taken advantage of what it really felt like to be loved like that.

“Fuck,” you muttered to yourself, wiping at your eyes. You’d cried too much over the last few days, not having enough distractions to keep the memories and thoughts at bay. You couldn’t even use your phone - the missed calls and texts were too tempting to respond to. You needed to hold strong, and really think about everything when you were rational enough to figure out what you wanted to do.

It wasn’t that you didn’t love Ethan anymore - you’d always love him. In fact, it was that maybe you loved him too much. Maybe you were giving up too much to fit your life into his. You wanted the simple things, the little things in your relationship. You wanted to go get ice cream with him on friday nights, hold his hand while you shopped, post stupid instagram stories and snapchats. You wanted to be able to talk to your friends about your own boyfriend and not be afraid that they might be using you to get information to sell to tabloids. They were little things, but they were still part of the ideal relationship you always dreamed about having.

And you knew that Ethan did it to protect you. He didn’t want fans harassing you any more than they already did, didn’t want you in danger. You’d been around for the stalker, and he’d almost broken it off right then for your own safety. But you’d stayed, and you’d followed his rules and you’d given it all up.

You did what you had to, but you never really thought about how it made you feel. Were you being selfish? Maybe. But part of you needed to be - you were bad about putting other people’s problems in front of yours, pushing down what you wanted, what you needed, in order to appease everybody else.

So as badly as you wanted to, you didn’t call him. You didn’t text him, you didn’t facetime him. You put your phone in a bag with a towel and some sunscreen, changing into a bathing suit and heading out to enjoy some California sunshine.

The pool in your neighborhood wasn’t as nice as the one at the boys house, but it would do the trick. It was part of the reason you’d decided to rent the place, but you’d only used it a few times. In fact, you might as well have given up your lease for the last 6 months anyways - you were rarely anywhere but Ethan’s.

Maybe that was it. Maybe you just needed some time to yourself, to figure out how you’d changed over the last year of your relationship, figure out who you were when you weren’t with him. Either way, you were going to have to talk to him about everything eventually - and you needed to get your mind settled on exactly what you wanted before you said anything.

You laid out on one of the lounges, closing your eyes and trying to relax. But the images wouldn’t stop rolling behind your eyelids, like a slideshow of all the best things you never wanted to forget.

And Ethan was in every single one of them. It didn’t matter how hard you tried - anything worth remembering and reliving had him written all over it. Your road trip across the US, he was right there in the passenger seat. The fourth of july when you’d gone camping and set off fireworks - he was the one with the lighter. The first time you’d caught a wave surfing, he was the first thing you saw when you turned back, arms raised high as he cheered you on, loud enough for the whole beach to hear.

This was going to be harder than you thought.

You fought within your mind for a few more hours, reaching farther back, back before you’d met Ethan, trying to find memories. It worked for a little bit - some trips you took when you were younger, late nights with old friends. You were finally getting the hang of it when someone tapped you on the shoulder.

“Uh, ma’am? Sorry, but you’ve gotta leave.” You opened your eyes, blinking up at the boy who’d tapped you. He was a young teenager, you could tell, and after spotting his whistle and red shorts you realized it was the lifeguard. “There’s a storm coming in, supposed to be pretty bad,” he added.

“Oh. Okay, yeah, sorry,” you mumbled, trying to orient yourself again. As you packed up your things, you looked up to see a rolling dark cloud coming in above your building. It was rare that it even rained in LA, much less stormed.

Guess your mood really could bring the weather.

You went back to your house, assaulted by the smell of the flowers after being out of the room for so long, and changed into shorts and a tank top. You couldn’t tell if it was getting darker from the sun going down or from the storm. Either way, you decided it was time for dinner - cooking would keep you occupied enough.

You pulled up an intricate recipe, one you knew would take a lot of focus and time, writing down the instructions so you could pull up Netflix on your phone and watch a few episodes of your favorite show. The more things on your mind, the less space for Ethan to creep in.

The method worked, and you moved around the kitchen, cutting up herbs and mincing garlic, enjoying the process and the relief from your thoughts. You frowned when you looked over the tops of the flowers on the counter - the sky outside was so dark that it could have been midnight. You paused, heading over to the doors.

As soon as you opened them, you realized that the storm was going to be a bad one. The wind was whipping, and the temperature had dropped at least 20 degrees, causing goosebumps to rise on your arms. You’d never seen a storm come through LA like that.

“Damn,” you muttered, closing the door and locking it before heading back inside to finish up your dinner. Even over the sound of your show and the air conditioning, you could hear the wind outside. Eventually it even began to thunder - you didn’t mind. Storms were always your favorite weather.

You know who didn’t love storms? Ethan. He hated them. You were hit with another memory, from when you’d flown home to New Jersey with him. A storm had rolled through, with harsh winds and hail, and he’d clung to you through the whole thing, making sure you stayed at his side and away from the windows. He couldn’t sleep that night, and you’d stayed up with him watching harry potter to keep his mind off of things.

He wasn’t going to be doing well during this storm, that was for sure. You were overwhelmed suddenly with the thought of him alone in the house, curled up on the couch under a blanket. Just the thought of it made you sick to your stomach - you hated seeing him upset.

Before you could dwell on it any longer, you were suddenly surrounded in darkness.

‘What the fuck?” You moved to the light switch, testing it.

The storm had knocked the power out. Lovely.

“Well... pb&j it is then,” you sighed to yourself, turning off the burners on the stove and abandoning your dinner plans that definitely required electricity. It was like the universe was playing some sick joke - oh you wanna ignore your problems and distract yourself? Nice try.

With a lost appetite and nothing else to do, you retired to the couch, deciding to just keep watching netflix as the storm rolled outside. You expected it to blow over, but even after two episodes it was still raging outside. It sounded a bit like your house was going to come apart at the seams.

Trying to ignore it, you kept watching, dismissing your phone’s notifications of 20, then 10 percent battery. You were sure the power would be back on soon anyhow and you could charge it.

And then everything happened very quickly after that.

It started with a text from your best friend. You swiped down so you could read it.

have you checked twitter? wtf is going on

You frowned at that, exiting out of your texts and opening the app. You didn’t get on often - usually it was just slander, but occasionally you would check to see what was going on in the world. And even though it had been a while, your notifications were much, much higher than usual.

It only took a second for you to realize why. The article had been sent to you at least a dozen times, all with messages of concern attached. But you couldn’t read any of them - all you could see was the TMZ headline.

Dolan Twin involved in major LA crash, scene shut down

And right below it was an image of a mangled white tesla, upside down on the side of the road.

You couldn’t breathe. That was Ethan’s car. Ethan was in that car.

“Oh no, oh no no no no,” you groaned, immediately closing out and going to your contacts. He was the first one on the list of recents, and you immediately clicked to call him.

The dial tone came through three times before the call disconnected.

“Fuck, fuck fuck fuck,” you cried, going to your text messages.

are you okay? was all you had typed, and then your screen went black.

Your phone was dead.

“FUCK!” you yelled, panic overriding everything else. In the back of your mind you knew that you had a power bank somewhere that you could charge your phone off of, but the thought of looking for it wasn’t even feasible.

By the time you found it, you could be halfway to their house.

Without another thought you ran to the table by the door, grabbed your keys and sprinted to your car.

The rain was coming down in sideways sheets, droplets stinging against your bare skin as they hit. Even though your car was right outside, you were soaked by the time you threw the driver’s door open and climbed inside.

You fumbled with the keys, trying to start the car, hands shaking. You were a mess. It wasn’t going to do you any good to get to try to get to their house if you didn’t make it there yourself.

“Okay breathe Y/N, breathe,” you mumbled, turning the key and starting to back out of the driveway. The rain was relentless, your wipers going as fast as they could on the highest setting as you started down the road. You drove painfully slow, lucky to find that there were very few people out on the roads. You could hardly see in front of you at all.

In the back of your mind, you weren’t even sure why you were going to the house. He wouldn’t be there. Maybe Grayson was there. Grayson would know what to do.

The drive that usually took 10 minutes took 20 this time - you couldn’t go over 25 without losing your visibility entirely. Your heartbeat was through the roof the whole drive, and you were blinking the panicked tears away as they came so you could see. Both hands were gripping the wheel so tight your knuckles were white until you got to the house. You pulled up to the small box that unlocked the gate, typing in the code without thinking.

The power was out. The gate wasn’t going to open.

“Fuck!” You yelled again, still panicking. In a moment of insight, you remembered something. When they’d installed the gate, you’d been there to help supervise, and the installer had shown you all something.

“There’s a reset code that will activate the battery pack in here. In case you ever get locked out, or there’s no power. Just type it in and then type in your usual code and it should open right up.”

“Shit, shit shit,” you mumbled, reaching out the window and trying to remember the code, remembering the numbers but not the order. 6736. No. 3766. No dice. 7663. Nothing. Finally, you tried again. 7636. The buttons lit up blue, signaling you’d done something right.

You quickly typed in the code, letting out the breath you’d been holding when the gates began to swing open. You rolled up your window and pulled up the driveway, throwing your car in park and climbing out immediately into the rain.

And to your confusion, the driveway was full. The Porsche was parked in it’s usual spot, the Bronco behind it. Ethan’s Jeep was to the side, and there right in front of you was the Tesla, in perfect condition, parked and waiting.

“What-”

“Y/N? What the fuck? What’re you doing?”

When you turned at the voice, you could have fallen to your knees right there in the rain.

Standing outside the front door, still under the stoop and protected from the rain was Ethan, whole and unharmed.

Every doubt you’d had, every question you’d asked yourself about what you wanted and what you needed over the last few days was suddenly irrelevant. None of it mattered. You’d do anything, you’d do everything for him. There wasn’t a single fiber of your being that questioned it anymore. He was the only man you were ever going to love, and you’d been dumb to think otherwise, even for a second. You were meant to be with him, and that was the end of the story.

You ran straight for him, dropping your keys on the way and barreling into his arms. He caught you, the force of it almost knocking him off his feet.

“Hey, hey what’s wrong, what’s goin’ on?” He carried you inside, into the dark, and it wasn’t until you were out of the wind and the rain that you realized that you were sobbing. You could hear the gasps coming from you, like they were being ripped out with hooks. You knew you were scaring the shit out of him, but you couldn’t get enough of a breath to even say anything. All you could do was cling to him, relish in the reassurance of having him there with you, perfectly fine and alive and safe. You buried your face in his shoulder, breathing him in as best you could through your gasps.

He seemed to realize that you were incapable of speaking, so he sat down on the couch, you in his lap pressed to him as tightly as you could be. He wrapped his arms around your back, squeezing you to him in the most blissful way as the sobs continued, rough and ragged.

“Sweetheart, you’re shakin’ like a leaf. You must be freezing,” he mumbled, grabbing a blanket off the back of the couch and wrapping it around your back. You were still soaking wet, and you knew that the water would probably ruin it, but he didn’t seem to mind.

“Are you hurt? Baby please - talk to me.” He pulled back just enough to look at your face, and even just that tiny loss of contact was excruciating.

“Are you hurt?” He repeated, some of the worry leaving his eyes when you shook your head no. “Then what is it? What’s wrong?”

“I saw an a-a-article, and I t-thought-” you couldn’t get the rest of the sentence out, you just broke down again.

“I saw it too. They already took it down, and their asses are getting sued,” Ethan said, a bitterness in his tone that you weren’t used to.

“I thought it was your car, I thought it was y-y-you,” you stuttered, burying your face in his neck.

“I’m sorry baby, I’m so sorry. Why didn’t you call?”

“I tried- it disconnected.”

“I was probably on the phone with the lawyer,” he mumbled his explanation, still unsure. “But hey, I’m okay, I didn’t even leave the house today. I’m safe, and I’m here. I’m right here.”

“Yeah,” you whimpered, the tears still coming.

“Tell me what to do, tell me how to help,” he pleaded, obviously at a loss. He’d always told you he hated seeing you upset, even a little bit.

“Just hold me, please,” you asked, feeling vulnerable but knowing it was what you needed.

“Okay. Okay.”

He wrapped his arms around you even tighter, pressing you into his chest. His arms were strong and stable as they coiled around your waist. You focused on the feeling of them around you, holding you steady as he rocked side to side, so subtle that you weren’t even sure that he realized he was doing it. You breathed him in, the smell a mixture of his skin and his deodorant and the ghost of the cologne you knew he’d put on that morning. It was the most grounding thing you could find besides his voice in your ear, whispering sweet reassurances.

It took a few minutes, but you were able to breathe again, body finally processing out your adrenaline and allowing you to stop shaking. He didn’t let go, even when the tears had ceased - he kept his hold, leaning his head against yours, pressing kisses to your temple, your neck, your shoulder.

“I’m so glad you’re okay,” you whispered when you got to the point where you could trust your voice, sitting up and taking a deep breath.

“Me and smooth cat are just fine,” he said, and you couldn’t help but laugh. It was the first time you’d laughed in a week, and it felt almost foreign.

“There’s that smile I’ve been looking for.” Ethan breathed out a sigh of relief, reaching up to wipe your tears. When he did, you laid your cheek in his palm, so thankful for the feeling of his skin on yours.

“I’m sorry you thought I died. But I’m really fucking glad you’re here,” he admitted, staring at you, eyes tracing the features of your face in the candlelight. You’d barely even noticed they were burning, giving off just enough light for you to see each other.

“I’m glad I’m here too,” you smiled. You couldn’t believe you’d ever thought you could live without him.

“Did you get my flowers?”

“Which ones? The first bouquet or the 15th?” You teased.

He blushed at that, cheeks turning your favorite shade of pink. “I went a little overboard huh.”

“I made friends with the flower delivery lady,” you shrugged.

“Of course you did,” he chuckled, shaking his head. “I missed you so much, you have no idea.”

“I missed you too. I missed us,” you sighed.

“Does that mean... does that mean we’re okay then?” He asked it nervously, obviously scared of what you would say.

You watched the relief cross his face when you smiled. “Yeah. We’re okay.”

“Oh thank god,” he said, hugging you to him again. The blanket fell off your shoulders and you shivered as the cold air hit your skin again. You weren’t dripping wet anymore, but you were still damp, the occasional droplet falling from your hair and onto Ethan’s shirt.

“Well in that case, let’s get you warmed up huh? And get you away from these windows.”

You let him carry you to his room, past his bed and into the bathroom where he sat you down and started running a bath and lighting the candles he always kept on the sides of the tub for you. It was as easy as breathing to undress and climb into the water, feeling it warm you up from head to toe. Though the most relaxing part was when Ethan climbed in behind you, leaning you back gently so you were resting on his chest.

And when you rolled over just slightly so you could look at him and tell him that you loved him, you knew exactly what he was going to say. The words were so much sweeter falling from his lips than they had been when they were on paper.

“I love you more.”

#two imagines in two days???? a bitch CREATIVE #hope you all like the angst #i did my best #now i want it to storm haha #lynds writes #ethan imagine #ethan imagines #ethan dolan #ethan dolan imagines #dolan twins #dolan twins imagines

272 notes · View notes