#also sorry for the weird formatting i typed this out in my phone notes and copy pasted into tumblr sjkdjf. hope it makes sense

[toastsnaffler]

Would love to hear ur thoughts on Hades game sometime because I too loved but had beef with the game and I think we are the same ….

yessss, disclaimer I haven't played it for like 3 years and I only played 10 hours/got to the end once before I dropped it so i might be misremembering some things but I stick by my opinions! under the cut cuz this is long as fuck 🫣 my haterism has no limits

ok so basically my grievances w hades can be split into 2 main areas: gameplay + narrative, I'll break them down in that order.

firstly gameplay - roguelikes/lites are my fave genre so I was predominantly approaching hades from this angle + its failure here is the clincher for me.

I found the gameplay repetitive and stale. this isnt a criticism of its permadeath like ive seen some ppl make - I usually relish repetition/grind especially in permadeath-based games bc I find tactical challenge fun + love the learning curve, its soooo rewarding. but hades is ultimately just a glorified button masher. mob/boss movesets are boring + unoriginal, and can generally all be fought the same way. trying to do otherwise drags out fights; it actively discourages emergent gameplay so theres little variance WITHIN runs. the pool of rooms for procedural generation is far too small so theres little variance BETWEEN runs. there's no real challenge to combat, difficulty is mainly increased by heightened mob tankiness as you get further in a run. movement/combat doesn't flow well, its mechanically very weak, relying heavily on its permanent upgrade system instead of developing skill in the way you approach the game. all the weapons feel clunky and don't really offer any unique challenge/benefit so theres virtually no point switching between them and the grind to unlock them all is so pointless… god there are just SOOO many hack n slash crawlers that keep it fresh even for hundreds of hours and hades fails miserably at keeping it fresh for even 5 measly hours :^/

I didnt like the boon system either - its far too simplistic + shallow. its fine to rely on chance, this is part of the random generation, and I think it had a lot of potential in that it was a good way of combining aesthetic w gameplay itself. but this is pretty much the only form of resource management - and theres barely any management to it! theres no reward for exploring different builds, they dont really synergise BETWEEN gods in interesting or useful ways, so the game encourages you to just stick with one god throughout, and biases random generation towards boons youve already collected. part of the fun for me is learning HOW to design a build, and working with the randomiser to play flexibly, but hades just isnt interested in that at all...

also - I don't like the permanent upgrade system, I think this detracts from it as a rogue. every time you should be starting on square 1 - maybe you pick up health upgrades etc throughout each run, and maybe you unlock new weapons etc for the random generation pool, or purely cosmetic upgrades, but the point of permadeath is that it RESETS! zags base health + dmg should be the same 50 hours into the game as when u first open it. make a different genre of game if u dont wanna do that lol. I also think IF youre going to say fuck it and add a permanent upgrade system, you should also add unlockable permanent biome shortcuts bc ur just making it boring as fuck to have to waste time grinding thru earlier biomes with unskippable combat once youre op for them.

I GET that they did this to make the game more accessible* to players who dont typically enjoy rogues, but it just makes it really disappointing for those of us who DO love rogues, and it always feels cheap to me when games are like "well of you want challenge then set the difficulty yourself with these modifiers 🙄" like just make the base difficulty TOUGH up front and then add an easy/story mode and accessibility features* for players who don't want the challenge.. if you're gonna call yourself a rogue the gameplay should be the PRIORITY not a throwaway option

one of my biggest peeves with hades is how people now laud it as one of the best rogues - whenever I mention I like the genre I almost always get asked "oh, like hades?" and it pisses me off so much… its a rogueLITE not roguelike, ie. it has rogue ELEMENTS but its not a true one and imo, it does a pretty shit job implementing them! I would have a lot less resentment towards it if it wasnt marketed as the forefront of the rogue genre - frankly its a very basic rogue with very mid gameplay, its characters/design are by FAR its strong point and it should be sold as such. its misleading and makes me sad that this is what most people think of when they hear rogue :-(

*(side note - accessibility in this game is another major flaw. theres really no excuse for a game as popular as this to be so lacking in accessibility options. allow people to bind keys together or use coloured outlines or have colourblindness settings or alter font/text size etc - its not that hard! dead cells did a great job of this lol)

anyway... moving onto my second criticism - narratively, its also unsatisfying.

the hades plot is, loosely, about a cycle of abuse, so the 2 natural directions to go in with this are either: #1: escaping the cycle, or #2: continuing it forever.

#2 is the easiest to do with a rogue format - bc of permadeath the game is already cyclical, so all you have to do is create an ending which loops perfectly back to the start (smth like 'its impossible to truly defeat/reconcile with his father so even after zag beats him, hades drags him back to the start again). obviously this is a miserable story to tell, but tbh I think it wouldve been interesting + fitting - so much of greek mythos is about cycles and the unchanging nature of the gods, and they LOVED eternal cyclical punishments. plus theres smth rly tragic about zag gradually helping everyone else while no one else can save him from his family LOL

#1 is a bit harder to do - this is the story they WANTED to tell but I just don't think it worked… the driving force plot-wise is his desperation to escape. realistically for this to happen the game needs to be finite, which it can't be due to its rogue nature - somehow you have to end up at the very start again. the main solutions I can think of for this are:

a) after the final boss, insert some time travel shenanigans (easy to fit into the worldbuilding using a character like kronos) and all of zags progress with hades is unspooled. this can be completely out of his control, or it could be a choice the player makes (to end the game here or choose to go back and relive zags past in order to progress npc questlines). eg. what happens in dead cells. again, tragic but it makes more sense to me

-or b) bite the bullet and give the game a completely finite ending after beating hades. if players want to go back and play more to complete other npc questlines, they pick up play from before they beat hades. this isnt explained "narratively" bc the plot is already concluded and now theyre just playing for fun (eg. what going under does)

I also think for a character-focused story-rich game, roguelite was a really terrible choice of genre as it locks every interaction behind pure chance and hours of grinding - just really baffling why they decided to do this, especially when theyve had such success previously making games within different genres (transistor, bastion, pyre). the core of the issue for me is that the devs wanted to create a game that was both story rich AND a rogue - and these things arent mutually exclusive, but the best features of each contradict each other when you try to balance them in a way to appease their respective fans (ie. the challenge/complexity of the gameplay is heavily restricted by keeping it easy for ppl unfamiliar with rogues to pick up, but the strength of the narrative arc is simultaneously weakened by the fact that as a rogue it has to be perpetual bc of permadeath + you're working with procedural generation…)

I'm not going to beef with the artstyle or music bc I rly loved them both (even if I wish the body diversity was better!), or with the interpretations of greek gods bc literally every piece of media abt greek mythos has to decide how to interpret them and I think its silly to be like "this isnt CANON" - since we actually dont HAVE a strict "canon" for many of these stories bc theyve been retold/translated in so many conflicting ways lol. I've just heard ppl complaining abt that and I dont think its worth complaining about 🤷‍♀️

ANYWAY tl;dr: hades should've been an action-heavy isometric metroidvania… it wouldve made it far easier to focus on character questlines (ie. with respawn points + a fixed map), unified the story they wanted to tell with the gameplay SO much more effectively, and allowed them to reach the full potential of both, whilst also playing up to supergiant's previous game-making strengths. but thats my 2 cents!

#SORRY THIS ENDED UP BEING SO LONG I JUST HAVE A LOT TO SAYYYY #also sorry for the weird formatting i typed this out in my phone notes and copy pasted into tumblr sjkdjf. hope it makes sense #just really frustrating to me that it ended up how it did bc it couldve been soooo good if it was good. but it wasn't 💔 #whats even more frustrating is that hades 2 doesnt look like its gonna improve on any of this lmao. sad well theres other games! #hades #.asks #.diaries

[wittlesissyb4by]

Author's Note: If you're wondering where Chapter 4 is, you're not going crazy. Due to the nature and formatting (it uses chatlogs and explicit content) it is not suited enough for this prude-ass site. I'm sorry to say, but if you want to read Chapter 4 (and all the way up to 7), you'll have to subscribe to my SubStar. I'm sorry, I wish there was another way, but I will have it available for even the least expensive option of $3. My sincerest apologies. Still, I think you'll still be able to grasp the story without missing too much context from Ch. 4 (our main character, Alan, performed a task, and was rewarded with pictures of Persephone.) I hope you can still enjoy the story below. Thanks for reading!

The White Rabbit Chapter 5 - Cockslut

I had never jerked off to the same set of pictures so many times in my life. Even when I was younger and found my Dad’s dirty magazines, my prepubescent self didn’t spank it as much as I had to the photos I’d just received from Persephone.  I spent so long staring and fapping to those pictures she sent, every inch of her was embedded into my brain. Burned into my retinas like when a TV is left on for so long that it damages the display. Hell, it probably is burned into my phone screen from being up so many times. 

She’s even more gorgeous than I imagined. It’s rare that something can live up to the hype you’ve been building up for it for so long. I pored over every pixel of her perfect body, examined the contours of her cheeks, the twinkle in her eyes, the crooks of that devious smile, the splotches of colors in her tattoos, specifically the one of the little white rabbit.

“That doesn’t mean that’s what she really looks like. She could be catfishing you” That tiny voice in the back of my head still whispered.  But I shoved that thought aside, even after the post-nut clarity hit.

I still masturbated the way she told me to. Every single time. Fingering the head of my dripping clit through my little panties with a dildo in my mouth or ass. I didn’t last long at all. I imagined her standing over me, smiling that wicked smile, laughing at me while shoving that dildo in my mouth, or pounding me in the ass with it. I finally was able to give a face to the rubber dick I’d been shoving in my holes for so long. What I wouldn’t give to have her right there next to me, doing all the things I imagined, but in reality.

Persephone didn’t talk to me for a few days. I don’t know if she had something going on, or if she was just leaving me to my own devices, to stare longingly at her photos, to imagine scenarios of her in my head. They say absence makes the heart grow fonder, but I think it also makes subs more dependent on their Mistresses. 

Without her guiding presence, I was left with this odd sort of void. No one was telling me what to do anymore. How would I know how to “fuck my slutty little asshole” if she wasn’t there to tease and berate me with her messages?

I’m not proud of what I did in her absence. 

“Sorry, I had some things…come up at work.” She messaged after almost a whole week. 

“It’s fine.” I said, trying to sound nonchalant, like I wasn’t checking my phone every 30 seconds in hopes that she would finally respond. 

“Did you do okay while I was gone?”

“Yes Mistress.” I said, hoping to leave it at that.

“My little slut was able to handle herself?”

I guess you could say that.  “Yes Mistress.”

But something was eating at me. I didn’t know how to tell her, I didn’t know if I wanted to tell her. But this relationship—no matter how weird it was—had to be built on trust, right?

“I…i might’ve…” I typed out the next part, deleted it, then typed again. “I may have…found someone else…”

My heart was pounding as I waited for her response, but it didn’t take long. 

“Oh?”

She wanted me to elaborate. 

“Did you find a girl in real life that’ll dress you up like a sissy bitch and fuck your little butt, slut?”

I audibly scoffed at that. Like that would ever happen. 

“No I…found some other people online…”

“People? As in, more than one?”

“I…yea…”

She didn’t say anything for a while. She must have been fuming. 

“Are they girls? Or are they men?”

I felt myself flush, shriveling into myself. I felt so ashamed, not just because of what it was, but because I knew I was disappointing her. I was effectively ‘cheating’ on her. 

“Men…😞”

Nothing happened for a second, minutes, hours— or at least that’s what it felt like. Then, Persephone is typing…

It took a long time too. She must have been writing a novel. Berating me for being such a piece of shit. I finally found a girl to fulfill my dreams, and I went and blew it as soon as she stepped away for a few days. 

“You’ve gotta be fucking kidding me.” She said. “Did you sext with them??”

Again, I wanted to lie, but there was no denying it now. “Yes…”

“This is it. I blew it. A girl any submissive would kill for, and I let it slip away the first chance I got. 

Persephone is typing…

I was sweating, dreading what was to come. Finally, a massive text bubble hit the screen. 

“LMAOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO😂😂😂😂😂😂😂😂😂😂😂😂😂😂😂😂😂”

Well…that wasn’t the response I expected. 

“You fucking WHORE!! Hahaha”

I felt a bit of tentative relief, still not quite sure how she was taking it. 

“Did I tell you you had to do that??”

“No ma’am…😥”

“But you did it anyway?”

“Mhmm.. 😣”

“You know, this is the second time you’ve done something without my permission, and it always seems to involve cock…”

She was referring to the time I used the dildos she ‘made’ me buy. She didn’t tell me to use them, she didn’t have to, I just…did it anyway. 

“Because you’re a desperate little cockslut, aren’t you?”

My immediate reaction was to deny it, the same way I’d been doing my whole life. I always told myself ‘as long as a woman was making me be a slut for men, it was fine. It’s not gay.’ But the proof was right there. Even without her around I still went out and did what I always told myself I’d never do on my own. 

“I…i think so…😩”

“I wanna hear you say it.” 

“Say what?”

“Tell me what you are.”

It took a second to register what she meant, but then it hit me like a truck.

“I’m a little cockslut…” I said. Just typing the words made me feel weird, but also weirdly arroused…

“Louder.”

I switched to all caps, “I’M A LITTLE COCKSLUT!!”

“No no.” She replied, “I want you to make a video. Put your little panties on, get on your dildo, and start bouncing.”

I scrambled to obey, perhaps a bit too quickly. My cock was already fully erect by the time I pulled my panties up around it. I stuck the suction cup to the floor, making the rubber dick sway back and forth, squirted a generous amount of lube on the tip, worked some between my crack, pulled my panties aside, hit the video, and started recording. 

I slowly lowered myself down on it, wincing as it pressed inside my unrelaxed sphincter. There were several seconds of awkward fumbling and adjusting and lowering and gasping before it finally worked its way in and the sounds turned to sighing. 

“I’m a little cockslut,” I said softly, working the dildo further into me. 

“I’m a little cockslut.” I repeated, feeling it slide along my prostate. 

“I’m a little cockslut!” My eyes were in the back of my head. 

“I’M A LITTLE COCKSLUT!!” I practically shouted, burying the dildo all the way inside me until I was squatting down on the balls. There was no denying how good it felt to be full like that. I quickly clipped the video and sent it to Persephone. 

“Don’t stop now.” She replied. “I can see you leaking in your panties. You’re loving this!!”

She was right, my panties were soaked with precum. 

I bounced, swirled, grinded my hips back and forth. 

“How many guys did you sext with?”

I wanted to reduce the number, but I was too horny to deny it. 

“Seven” I managed to reply while still keeping rhythm. 

“Seven?! That’s more than I assigned you the other day!”

She was right. What felt like such a chore before quickly became something I craved, like a lot of things she was making me do…

The dildo felt so good. I was fully relaxed now, bouncing and taking that dick like the best of them. 

“How did it make you feel? Being a little whore for men and making them cum?”

“Like a slut, Goddess.”

“You fucking LOVED it, didn’t you?”

I did, and I told her so. 

“Show me how much you love that dick.”

I set the camera up again, putting it in selfie mode so I could see myself bounce on the cock. I needed to shave my legs, I needed to work out more, get in better shape to get a better body so I could attract more—

Oh my GOD! It felt so good. When I leaned back it hit my spot perfectly. I crab-crawled my arms backwards, putting all my weight on my hands so I could focus on gyrating my hips. 

I pulled the front of my panties to the side. I wanted her to see how hard I was. How much it made my dick swell to have something pumping in and out of my asshole. I was gonna be her little buttslut. Her little whore to pimp out like she always told me. My mind was swimming, my body was clenching, waves coursed through my legs and up to my pelvis, an immense rush came from inside my rectum and then—

The first shot caught me off guard. A huge spurt of semen flew straight up in the air. Another one went forward, spraying the floor and pretty much everything else around the room as my bouncing cock spewed like an unmanned firehose. 

It took several seconds for me to register what happened, to come off the high I just experienced. To snap back to reality, to realize this even was reality. I was still gasping for breath when I slowly slid the cock out. I sat there for a second, contemplating what just took place. 

I just had a sissygasm. 

I’d heard of it before, but I never thought it was actually possible other than by extremely practiced sissies. Professionals. Ones that knew what they were doing because they’d done it so much and so heavily enjoyed the feeling of co—

I grabbed my phone, swiping away a glob of cum that must have landed on the screen. I contemplated not sending the video to Persephone, but I had to see what she said. 

Her first several messages were a series of laughing emojiis. She even sent me an audio file of her cackling like an amused hyena. If I could have seen her face, it probably had tears of laughter leaking down the sides. 

“I knew you’d get there one day, but I didn’t expect it to be so soon!!”

I let her have her fun. Berating and humiliating and teasing me for proving what a “cockslut” I am. I don’t think there was anything I could do to deny it at that point. 

“Clean up your mess.” She finally said. 

I spent the next several minutes lapping up the many, many puddles of cum littered around the room. The thick globs refused to come up just from me tonguing it like a dog, so I had to press my lips around them and slurp it up like a dog. 

“You’re not done.” She said after I sent her the video of me gargling and swallowing some. 

I looked around for a puddle I’d missed, how had she seen something that I couldn’t?

“I’m not sure where, Goddess…?”

Was it my panties? They *were* quite wet, did she mean my panties? But she soon clarified:

“The dildo 😈” 

My stomach churned as I looked back at the rubber dick I’d just violated my ass with. “Oh Goddess…please no…”

This wasn’t me faking some sort of trepidation in order for her to have another chance to belittle me, this was genuine disgust. 

“I know it’s gross, honey. But if i’m gonna whore you out you’re going to have to get used to going ass to mouth. There are some very callous men out there…”

“Please…please don’t make me 🥺”

“I’m sorry, sissy, it has to be done. Let this be a lesson for you to keep yourself clean at all times. You need to be doing regular enemas. You never know who’s gonna stop and bend your bimbo ass over! Now get to cleaning. And don’t try to wipe it down first either, I can see the glistens of lube.”

Damn, that was my backup plan. There was no getting out of it. Well…there was. I could just stop talking to her altogether. Draw the line. Quit right here and now. But was I really going to let a dirty dildo ruin what we have? I’d probably never get this opportunity again. (Not to clean my ass juices off a fake dick—but have a powerful woman tell me what to do.)

I leaned in close, turning up my nose, trying to block out the faint, pungent smell. The fake black dick at least hid any damning streaks I may not have had the stomach to see. 

After tapping record on my phone, I tentatively opened my mouth and stuck my tongue to the tip, cringing at the taste that was probably more lube than anything else. I made a mental note to get the flavored stuff if this was going to be a regular occurance. 

A regular occurance? What was happening to me?? I went from wanting to be dominated by a stranger, to wearing panties, dirty talking creepy men, shoving dicks in my holes, and then shoving those dirty dicks back into my mouth. I never imagined wanting to be dominated would lead to me doing such depraved things. But here I was, slurping the lube off of a dick I just used to make myself cum without even touching my own dick. 

“I think you missed a spot…” Persephone said, “go deeper.”

I wonder if she enjoys this. Like genuinely enjoys watching guys in panties gag and sputter on a dirty dildos. Then again, I can think of several females I screwed over in the past that would probably pay good money for this very video. 

“Now the balls…”

If it was able to sparkle, it would have by the time I was done with it. My mouth was full of all sorts of conflicting flavors like cum, lube, and god knows what else. 

“Smack your face with it a few times, just for giggles!”

Oh how far I’d fallen. If only I had known at the time that this was only the very beginning. 

“Did you have fun?” She asked after it was all said and done. 

“Yes Goddess,” I said, even without being horny anymore, I found myself being truthful. 

“You like being my little slut?”

“YES Goddess!”

“Good. Because I have another assignment for you…”

~~To Be Continued~~

#the white rabbit #white rabbit

[saturnznct]

➸ note; wrote this just because i felt like it lol,, ALSO my laptop broke the other night (absolutely devastated ngl) and i took it to the apple store and i’m going to have to replace it😭 so as of now i only have my phone to type up and post things on. i don’t think this should slow anything down in terms of writing! however, i was in the process of redoing the format of past posts. i was working through my masterlist, and made it up to mark, so all the posts for members after him will look a bit weird until i manage to sort everything out, as my phone doesn’t let me edit posts for some reason?? so if layout or anything looks weird i’m sorry!

➸ word count; 576 words

➸ eunbi; aged 3

nct masterlist

⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯ ⋆✦⋆ ⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯

Taeyong’s eyes burn in the blue light of the computer screen. He’s been awake for hours, his inspiration usually strikes this late. He’s been throwing around ideas and been messing with the production programme, trying to come up with something tangible. NCT 127’s comeback preparations were well underway, and Taeyong was so immersed in his task that he didn’t even notice Eunbi open the door behind him and toddle in. At least not until she approaches the armrest of his chair, clutching her little pink blanket in one hand, rubbing her eyes with the other.

‘Oh hey little one,’ Taeyong smiles, lifting her up by her armpits and placing her on his lap.

She snuggles into him immediately, head nestling into his neck.

‘You ok Bee?’ He asks, brushing her hair with his fingers.

‘Can’t sleep daddy,’ she whispers, clearly tired but unable to drift off.

‘Ah poor baby,’ Taeyong pouts, kissing her cheek, ‘how’d you know I’d be in here?’

‘You weren’t in your bed,’ she mumbles.

‘What was wrong with mummy/mommy?’ Taeyong laughs, knowing that you would’ve been there in your bed.

‘Wanted you,’ Eunbi mumbles, ‘and you were awake and mummy/mommy is asleep.’

‘Why can’t you sleep?’

‘I don’t know,’ she shakes her head, ‘just awake.’

‘Yeah, sometimes that happens Bee,’ Taeyong wraps her blanket around her.

‘What are you doing?’ She asks, turning her attention to the computer screen.

‘Making songs,’ Taeyong explains, ‘wanna hear it?’

‘Yeah!’ Eunbi chirps.

Taeyong plays what he has for her, much to her delight.

‘I like it daddy,’ she smiles, ‘sounds good.’

‘You think? Good enough for daddy’s new album?’

‘Yeah definitely,’ she grins, ‘you sing it with uncles.’

Taeyong laughs, ‘yeah I will do angel.’

Taeyong then turns his attention away from his work, and to his daughter. She’s still so tiny, like a mirror image of himself. She’s slowly growing more independent, not needing him anymore, being able to brush her own teeth and ride a little stabilised bike. He wished he could freeze time. So that she would be like this, stay in his arms forever. But he knew eventually she would grow bigger, gain even more independence, and not need him to put her to bed or get her dressed anymore. Taeyong dreads the day, so whenever he has these moments he hugs her just a little bit tighter.

Eunbi yawns.

‘You getting tired Bee?’ Taeyong asks, giving her a kiss on the forehead.

She nods, eyes already heavy.

‘Wanna go to bed?’

She nods again, turning in his arms to get more comfortable.

‘Ok Bee,’ Taeyong slowly and gently wheels his chair back, carefully standing up and walking out towards Eunbi’s bedroom, careful not to move too much and wake her up.

‘Goodnight Bee,’ Taeyong lays her in her toddler bed, ‘I love you.’

‘Love you too dada,’ she mumbles.

Taeyong makes sure her nightlight is on and her window is closed, and then leaves the door open a crack.

He suddenly feels a sudden wave of his own fatigue, and decides to turn in for the night. He saves his work and closes down his computer, ready to crawl into your warm bed with you.

You shuffle around when you feel the bed dip beside you, into Taeyong’s arms.

‘Hi,’ he murmurs, ‘just me. Bee’s asleep.’

‘Get much work done?’ you mumble back.

‘Yeah, all approved by Eunbi.’

You giggle, ‘night Tae. Love you.’

‘I love you too, good night.’

#dad!taeyong #dad!nct #taeyong dad au #nct dad au #lee taeyong x reader #taeyong x reader #nct x reader #nct fluff #taeyong fluff #taeyong scenarios #taeyong fanfic #taeyong fic #taeyong drabble #taeyong imagine #taeyong timestamp #taeyong blurbs #taeyong x y/n #taeyong au #nct fic #nct fanfic #nct 127 fluff #nct 127 fanfic #nct 127 fic #nct imagine #nct drabble #nct au #nct timestamp #lee eunbi

[mykneeshurt]

Haunted pt 4

Price has some unexpected news for you.

Some smut heheh sorry the format is so weird I type it in my notes on my phone then copy and paste … also in my head he has hair like detective Loki from prisoners cause it makes me froth at the fuckin mouth. Part 5

If there was one way you’d describe Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley it would like an abused cat. He’d been hurt so badly in the past he struggled to trust, struggled to let people in. Everything was on his terms, no rushing, no pleasing, no begging for attention. When he felt ready you’d know about it, he’d make himself known. And when you earned that trust it never faltered. You knew when he relaxed into your hand on the plane, and kissed you first that you had earned it.

The rest of the plane ride was uneventful, you both shared furtive glances with one another. Trying desperately to not get caught, the last thing you needed was getting ribbed by Soap. Again in the jeep on the way to the safe house you were squashed in between Ghost and Soap. Except this time he relaxed into you, it took all of your strength to refrain from leaning your head on his shoulder. To feel even closer to him, longing for his warmth and touch.

Arriving at the new safe house in the dead of night was disorientating. You had no idea where you were, it was in the middle of no where, isolated and deserted. The old house was a modest size, 2 storey stone cottage. Must have been a farm house. On entering, the cold Russian air nipped at your nose making it go a bright shade of red. ‘Fuckin baltic in here’ Soap grumbled ‘get that fuckin fire goin.’ There were fire lighters next to the fire and fire wood outside which Gaz went to fetch.

While those two were starting the fire you wandered off to explore the house, Price opting to use the dining room to call Laswell. Walking up the creaky stairs you dragged your fingers along the bannister, you couldn’t help but wonder about all the people who have used these stairs. Who they were, what their story was. At the top of the stairs were 3 modest size bedrooms and one small bedroom. Opting for the small bedroom you could use as your sleeping quarters and clinic if needed. The house smelt old and musty, clearly not been used in a while. Flicking on the switch you sighed in relief, at least they’ve installed electricity. This was clearly the most impressive safe house you’ve stayed in, normally they were hovels with no electricity and a barely functioning toilet.

Setting up your clinic there was a small knock at the door, turning round to see who it is you instantly smiled. Ghost stood filling the doorway, ‘so you do know how to knock?’ you quipped.

‘Eh’ he shrugged ‘when the occasion calls for it. Besides it’s fun making people jump.’ Shooting him a glare you let out an unimpressed grunt, ‘you ok?’ Nodding he entered the small box room ‘just wanted to come see you. Make sure you’re settling in ok.’ Smirking you raised an eyebrow ‘I think I can handle unpacking Simon. Scariest thing here is you.’ He feigned offence whilst getting closer to you. ‘I’m glad you kissed me’ he muttered. You’re pretty sure your heart just skipped an entire beat.

Blushing you looked away from him ‘yeah? How come?’ Why did he make you feel like a giddy child with a crush? ‘Been wantin to do that to you for ages.’

‘Oh. And what stopped you?’

‘Not very good at that kinda stuff, I’m good at killin an’ telling bad jokes.’

‘Not something to be proud of, telling bad jokes’ you laughed ‘some of them are HORRIFIC!’ Letting out a quiet snort he closed you into the wall and placed his mouth watering arms to the sides of your head. You felt giddy, thighs once again seeking each other to relieve some of the pressure that was building. You placed your hands on his slutty little waist and pulled him closer still. Using your one hand you slipped his mask up just enough to see his lips. Both reaching for each other, your lips pressed together a moan slipping from your throat. ‘Steady now’ he drawled into your mouth ‘someone might catch us.’ Breathless you peered up at him ‘with how I feel right now I couldn’t give a fuck.’

Satisfied with your answer his giant hands cupped your face as he deepened the kiss. Gripping onto his tense forearms you felt his muscles ripple beneath your fingers. You slid your thumbs underneath to stroke the soft part of his forearms. ‘I’ve missed these lips’ he whispered.

‘It’s been less than 5 hours Simon’ you snorted.

‘Well, when you’ve waited a lifetime … ‘ he didn’t even need to finish the sentence before your mouth was on his. Sliding your tongue past his lips you met his, they danced slowly together. Your jaws moving in tandem with one another. You got lost in one another’s embrace, feeling every part of one another as if you’ve been touch starved.

A cough at the door interrupted the both of you. Peering round Simon, Soap was stood at the door arms crossed and eyebrow raised. ‘Price wants to see us … but I can let him know you’re busy.’

‘No! No no, we’ll be there now.’ You blurted out ‘Soap, not a fucking word’ you hissed pointing at him. He mimed zipping his mouth shut before walking downstairs. Giggling you placed a small peck on his lips before pulling the mask back down covering his face. ‘Come on, before they wonder when we went.’

Entering the dining room Price was at the head of the table, maps strewn all over it. ‘Nice of you two to join us’ he mused ‘now, intel states two of Makarov’s men will be meeting here, in this cafe tomorrow. We need to know what they’re up to. Ghost you’re on look out, plenty of buildings to use. Gaz and Soap you’ll be undercover outside the cafe, keep an eye out for any activity. Doc, I know it’s a big ask but we need you to go undercover too.’ Looking confused you went to speak but Price cut you off ‘nothing as bad as last time. Got another Sargent from Ghost team coming in to help. Knows Makarov like the back of his hand, his intel is priceless. You’ll be paired with him, act like a couple in the cafe and see what you can find out.’ Your eyes shot over to Ghost who was visibly tense and avoiding all eye contact with you. ‘Who is it im gonna be paired with?’

‘Sargent Keegan P Russ. He’ll be here in a few hours.’ Your face dropped and blood ran cold. Of all fucking people why did it have to be him? ‘There a problem?’

‘No, no. No problem sir’ you replied, voice wobbling.

But there was a problem. A fucking huge one. Keegan and you had been an item for a few years when you were younger. You were a rookie placed in his team and you were drawn to each other instantly. The sex was incredible, full of desire and passion. Pure lust.

𖦹

As soon as you stepped foot in your office, Keegan backed you against the wall. He sprang from behind the door, closing it as he crowded you. His arms placed either side of your head as he dipped close to your ear. ‘Fuck. I need you.’ Gazing up at him you could feel your stomach drop and thighs clench at his masked face.

‘How bad?’ You whisper to him, grinning slightly, making a conscious effort not to touch him. To deny him as much as you could. It’s more fun when he’s worked up. ‘I want to worship you. Feel you cum, hear you moan my name. Beg for me.’ Biting your lip you could feel your panties becoming soaked. He knew exactly what buttons to push.

The black paint around his ice blue eyes only made them more expressive, searching yours for any objection. He’d never find any. Ever. ‘Make me beg Keegan.’ Gripping your face you let out a small whimper as he reached inside your gym leggings. What the fuck is he doing? He let go of your face before his free hand met the other and you heard a ripping sound. One side and then the other, he did this so quickly, you didn’t have any time to register what he ripped before he’s tying your panties around my neck.

Your eyes widening in shock and hunger you whimpered again. This fucking man. Pulling your panties tight around your neck he moans in a low voice ‘You’re gonna have to beg me for mercy.’

𖦹

Suddenly feeling quite sick you left the dining room and quickly made your way outside. Retching into the snowy landscape the contents of your dinner reintroduced themselves. Eyes watering from the force of the vomit exiting your stomach you spluttered, trying to compose yourself. ‘Hey hey hey’ Ghost soothed rubbing your back. You reach back and gripped onto his arm to steady yourself. ‘Deep breaths, come on love. What the fuck has got you so wound up?’ Gulping for breath you steadied yourself and slowly stood up brushing the tears from your face. Moaning to yourself you eventually regulated your breathing. You walked over to a tree stump in the yard and plonked yourself with a thump. Ghost sat next to you and held your thigh with a reassuring grip. ‘I can’t do it Simon. I can’t do what Price wants of me.’

He slid his arm around your shoulders and pulled you in. All he wanted to do was to keep you safe and stop the obvious distress you were in. ‘Why? Price believes in you. I believe in you.’ That statement alone made you tear up, to hear that coming from him meant so much. Taking in a deep breath you flopped your head into your hands. ‘Keegan and I used to … be a thing. I’ve not seen him in years. We didn’t end on the greatest of terms … we hurt each other.’ His grip tightened on your shoulder, his breath sounded heavy. Feeling this you turned towards him and placed your hand on his face, forcing him to look at you. ‘This doesn’t change how I feel about you Simon.’

Without saying a word he got up and disappeared into the house. Feeling the bitter sting of rejection you stayed outside trying to calm your thoughts. ‘Alright kid?’ You jumped at the sound of Price’s voice cutting through the silence. ‘Oh, yeah, sorry sir. Must have eaten something funny.’ You tried to smile up at him but he saw straight through it. ‘You were fine till I mentioned Keegan. Anything I should know about?’

Letting out a deep sigh you crossed your arms ‘we were a thing, years ago. Didn’t end well. But I won’t let it get in the way of the mission sir.’

‘Make sure you don’t. But thanks for telling me kid. That have anything to do with Simon stomping off?’

‘Maybe’ you said blushing.

‘He’ll come round. Get some rest kid.’

Price was like the father you never had, reassuring, validating and truly believed in you. You went about your night routine almost mindlessly. Saying goodnight the boys you shut your door and ran your hands over your face. How you wanted to see Ghost, reassure him he’s the one you want. Settling into bed you tried to drop off, but your mind was racing all your thoughts muddling in together. Just as you felt as though you were finally about to drop off you heard your door creak open. The room was pitch black, you could vaguely see someone stood in the doorway. The light from the downstairs fire dimly lighting the hall behind them. You knew that silhouette anywhere. Simon.

The floorboard creaked underneath him as he made his way to the small bed. Facing the wall he slid in behind you, wearing a t-shirt and joggers. He snaked his hands around your waist and pulled you in close to him. Planting small kisses along your neck you reached behind you to find he wasn’t wearing his mask. Eye widening with realisation you went to turn round in the bed, which you’re sure would have looked comical. A man of his size trying to squeeze in next to you. ‘Shhhh face the wall’ he cooed. Doing as you were told you shifted back, his grip tightened on your hips. ‘That’s it … good girl.’ Biting your lip to stifle a moan you pushed back into him, his cock already hard. He slid his right arm under your neck and weaved his fingers into yours, before slowly inching his way into your pyjama bottoms. He coaxed your legs open slightly and tenderly dragged his fingers along your slit. Kneading your lips slowly, tantalisingly close to your clit you arched your back begging for him to touch you. Parting your lips with his ring and forefinger his slipped his middle finger down the middle. Just kissing your clit as he found how wet you were.

He let out a deep breathy moan in your ear ‘shit, already?’ You gripped his hand tighter, desperately seeking friction, any kind of friction, just something to ease the ache. He slowly inserted his middle finger causing you to throw your head back. He nuzzled into your neck, peppering it with kisses. He began to move his finger in a disgustingly delicious rhythm, before adding his ring finger. You turned your head into the pillow to muffle the noises coming from you. He was beginning to come undone, seeing you whimper beneath him. Your neck stretched out just as he’d imagined all those nights he spent alone palming his cock over the thought of you. The sound of your wetness filled the room ‘you sound perfect, let me hear you’ he cooed.

Reaching down you began to circle your clit, ‘that’s it … fuck’ he groaned. Circling your clit with a firm touch you began to feel your orgasm brewing. Whispering into the darkness you begged him to fuck you. Your voice giving out from pure need. He shifted slightly so you could feel how hard he was against you. ‘Not yet … you need be a good girl for me first.’ Becoming slightly teary eyed at the perceived rejection you muffled desperate begs into his arm. The tease of your orgasm had you writhing in the bed, sensing how close you were he shifted his arm so it laid over your mouth. ‘Moan into my arm love … let me hear you. Let me feel you around my fingers.’

That was it. That was enough to push you over the edge, your muscles tightening over him you let out a euphoric moan into his skin. Beads of sweat teased your brow as you rode out the blissful feeling. ‘Please kiss me Simon’ you somehow managed to mutter. Removing his fingers he inserted them into your mouth, coaxing you to taste yourself. Slowly sucking his fingers he hissed at the sensation before placing them in his own mouth, savouring your taste. Finally allowing you to shift you turned to face him, the darkness of the room still allowed him to feel comfortable. His face still hidden. Bringing your hand to his chest you slowly crept up his toned torso until you reach his neck, sliding your hands into his hair you pulled him close. His lips danced over yours as he nipped at your lips with his tongue, still tasting you on your skin. ‘You taste so fuckin good.’ Digging your nails into his scalp you silently urged him to kiss you. ‘Please…’ you pleaded again.

‘There it is’ he purred ‘you sound so good when you beg for me.’ Placing his lips on yours you sank into the kiss, involuntarily bucking your hips into his.

Your tongues intertwined as you became one in the bed, limbs tangled within each other desperate to feel every inch. He cupped your face, still revelling in the softness of your skin. He couldn’t believe his luck, not only did he feel safe with you, you wanted him. Knowing his past, what he’s been through, and it hasn’t scared you away. Soon enough you were asleep in his arms, he laid there with you for a while. Enjoying your warmth, your scent, the small noises you made when you slept. Before he knew it he allowed himself to … smile.

#fan fic smut #ghost x you #simon ghost riley #call of duty #smut #cod mw22 #fluff #ghost x reader

[matan4il]

Good morning, sweet Alice. I haven't read anything yet, so I'm coming in blind. I'm also glad I did send my thoughts in before so this doesn't sound disingenuous. I totally expected this but I'm gonna be honest it hurt my heart a little and here are the scattered reasons I noted.

What was the point of the donor story? Because if this was gonna go this way, all they did was separate Buddie all 6A for no reason. And again, I honestly don't get why it was there. Being the eternal cheerleader, I kept making excuses for the 6A storytelling, but apparently, it was just messy and bad.

They stole our couch metaphor. I'm sorry, but they did!!! All of the symbolism was just wasted. That was a low blow. Along with honestly all of the symbolism since the will reveal. Such wasted opportunities.

I actually don't understand the choice of Marisol and Natalia. They honestly just were extensions of Taylor and Anna again in different packages. Even the undertones of the stories looked like the same format as the latter's.

They robbed Ryan of an amazing opportunity for a coming out story. I honestly don't get what it was building, too, if it was this it. Marisol is adorable, but I don't see any difference from Anna, the actress, or the cute blind date. It just feels weird.

That's the short version. Trust me, you will be my therapist the next few months. I don't think season six will be something I rewatch again for a while. I'm so grateful ABC is taking over and that wasn't just it, because I will say again, just seemed vapid

I do feel optimistic that ABC took it for a reason, and a small part of that is the investment in Buddie. Don't get me wrong, it's all an investment, but the rest are pretty settled storylines. So fingers crossed!!

Also, just to make you laugh. ABC if you are reading... I wouldn't be mad if you opened with Kameron and Buck platonically raising BK Jr. (Buck Jr) together. Just some chaotic besties who Mother Maryed a baby. And Eddie spends all his time with his best friend and said baby because also, why not raise another kid together. Then they fall in love, and Kameron wants to get her groove back, and Buddie are overly gay protective big brothers about it all. Till one day, it's Ravi at the door. Then Kamerone and Ravi with Buddie raise kids and build an apartment empire together!!!!

Hello, my lovely darling! *hugs* Thank you for sending your thoughts! If you've read my 618 meta by now, you probably know that I feel very similarly to you...

I've mentioned that I see three possible scenarios for how s6 was shaped, and IDK which one we witnessed. Did the donor story play out as it was meant to, or was its ending changed in a rush? IDK, but the way it ended up playing out, the only thing it tied with is Natalia's name, which tells us they planned for her to be at the birth as soon as she was introduced. And I would be devastated if we found out that this was the planning all along, since 6a. If it was meant to be progress for Buck, it wasn't quite like how they wanted to present it, 'coz once more he was going above and beyond for others, regardless of the personal toll for himself, and then at the end it tied in with a romantic r/s that seems to be the same type of mistake, of jumping in with his whole heart into a commitment before he's sure, based on time and getting to know each other, not fantasy, that this girl really is who he wants to buy furniture together with...

Yep, I said the same in my meta about Natalia and Marisol. 911 literally hit the same beats with them, with even less investment in these LI's. And while Marisol was cute in her phone call, she and Eddie had even less of a build up than either Felisa (the actress) or Vanessa (the blind date).

It would be my honor to be here as your therapist until we get s7. ;) *hugs even more* Trust me, I think we all need that. But yes, endlessly happy that ABC took the show and I wanna believe they understand exactly how much letting Buddie go canon would benefit them and their new investment.

LMAO That was one wild ride, you should def write that as a fic! Sending you all the love. And as always, my ask tag. xoxox

#buddie #911meta #911 on abc #911 abc #buddie meta #911 meta #911abc #9-1-1 #evan buckley #eddie diaz #911onabc #911 #edmundo diaz #evan buck buckley #ask #daphnesvalley #fandom love #anti bucknatalia #anti eddiemarisol #kindness #thank you! #<3333

[jurisffiction]

what do you use for journaling?

answering this from my phone which means it's probably gonna fuck up especially as i am now realising how much i want to say. as always

what i USE rn is an app called iA Writer, but technically i don't really use it/its features for journaling so much as just a .txt file organiser. the actual files are synced in a google drive folder, so i could also just open them in any notes app and start writing, but ia writer lets me see all my files at a glance (i make a new .txt file for each month, start each new entry with a big "NEW ENTRY MONDAY 9 JANUARY") and looks nice enough and recognises markdown syntax for basic formatting. i think it's a paid app but i really don't remember.

i used to use Day One (of deeply weird recent tumblr ad fame) when i was 17 or so, which helped me get started because it 1) had daily prompts and 2) had a header image input which made me feel better about just taking one photo each day and counting that as an "entry" without sitting down to write. that was also the big shift i needed to actually become a regular journaler (journalist? diarist.): i was always given cute notebooks as a kid, and even now you can open up tens of them that just have "IM SO TIIIIIIIRED" over the first page followed by reams of blanks. meanwhile i learnt to type 100wpm on msn messenger when i was 11 or whatever, but it somehow didn't click until glossy apps started dropping that i could just type journal entries and even though it wasn't the pen to paper aesthetic fantasy people usually think of, it does what i need it to (and better than paper). all journaling really is (for my purposes! there's a lot of reasons to journal, i guess) is a form of externalising thought processes and emotion to cut down on rumination, pause before impulsive actions, improve my memory and get to know myself better, so the closer i can make that activity frictionless the better — and i already spend all dang day typing anyway, so it's easy.

on that note, i also have a solo discord server i use to keep links and notes to myself, and i've got a channel in there for journaling, because ia writer on my phone WORKS but sometimes the sync overlaps and glitches, and it's just faster to dump quick thoughts into discord, especially if i'm literally just panicking at a party and want to write down something someone said to me so i can remember later.

there is an opposite mode of thinking, which is that journaling/externalising should be very distinct, and separate, and analogue, and physical, etc, to the extent that the frictive challenges of handwriting and paper and sitting at a desk rather than texting at a party etc is the point and helps with recall and the whole process of it all, but, god. i just can't do that at all. i go walking in nature each morning to ground myself in all that and i tumble out every thought and stressor and hypothetical i can wring dry from my mind into a .txt file for 5 minutes (that can turn into an hour) before i sleep each night so that i CAN sleep. but if i forget or im too busy i don't beat myself up about missing it. i stopped journaling for like 3 years then just started up again one day. i skip months sometimes. sometimes my entries are still just "TIRED". but it being a folder of text files helps me know i can start again whenever, and that if i ever want to go check something i can do it easily.

sorry this is insanely long; i've not journaled properly for weeks and it shows 😭

#asks #long post #? #new ask game. you send an ask to sam jurisffiction and turn 1 word into 8 words. perpetual motion machine

[andysorbit]

Hi Andy :>

I’m sorry about your work being erased (´._.`)\(‘́⌣’̀ )

An advice I have is to consider (only if you want, of course! No pressure!) to always write using the notepad on your phone first or a Google Doc & then copy it over & format it after you paste it on tumblr (since sometimes formatting/spacing is lost when pasting from another source), so that you can always have at least another copy in case smth goes wrong you know what I mean?

If you decide to use the app only still, maybe you can try to save the draft after every paragraph or two that you type…it may seem tedious but it’s a safe way to know you won’t have lost a bunch of your stuff if something goes awry because you have updated the draft, so it’s less stressful…I don’t know how long you’ve been tumbling but just in case you didn’t already know, another thing I noticed is that, when you type posts on your phone in-browser (as oppose to the app), it auto-saves the draft pretty often without you having to click save— A little green message pops up & tells you that it just did, but you don’t have to exit the draft for that to happen…even an unaddressed email draft auto saves too & has formatting options too so you can type it exactly as you want to post it with any bolds or italics, etc ( ◠‿◠ ). Or if you use a laptop instead of your phone, Word (& maybe other word processors) and Google Docs (& still emails in browser also!) all have auto save features too~ I’m not a writer but i have been on tumblr’s janky ass site for like 11 or so years, and half of that ago I got sick of suffering the force-closing bugs that happens the minute the staff/devs decide the app needs an update iMMeDiAteLy or accidentally leaving the app & coming back only to find my timeline refreshing itself without my post being open…or even if my phone screen locked becauseI looked away for 30 seconds while I was on low-power mode, or just accidentally locked it in general, so I type in the iPhone Notes app when I’m gonna make a text post (big or small) or to send an ask (like this one ^^) because sometimes I can press send & the message sent thing doesn’t show up or the app closes instead the second I hit “ask”. That way, the worst case scenario I do have not just the one I copied the text from (which is also beneficial because if I’m trying to ‘select’ for whatever reason & accidentally “cut” or backspace a whole big ass portion of what I typed (🥲), when I shake the phone it lets me undo actions & so will restore what I erased. The phone shaking thing works in app sometimes too but it only works for the text chunk you were just in, as opposed to continuing to allow undos like in notes. If you don’t use iPhones, well, idk for sure but android or operating systems probably have some similar “hidden tricks” for undoing (or redoing, in add you undo something you didn’t mean to undo— I’m clumsy so I manage to goof in all kinds of ways upwards backwards under and sideways 🫠) things you have typed, you maybe could search engine to see if there exists such a thing before you start back writing, it could help you sorta feel more secure/less apprehensive to start up again? Idk how it is for other people but for me personally I feel more relaxed if I have a backup plan.

Plus, even then when you think you copied it over to a new post tumblr completely and thought you were done, if you deleted the notepad draft, there’s usually a “recently deleted” spot so you can still revive your work ^^ unlike this hellsite where if something is deleted, it is gone into the abyss forever with no retrieval.

I did notice however, that when I type on posts, sometimes it’ll seem like a bunch of shit just got deleted or stopped showing up even though I am typing??? and I can’t see the words anymore, (just black) but I figured out if you go to select a new font size of that chunk, (or sometimes even just changing the color) it makes the stuff I thought wasn’t being typed anymore, reappear😲 Weird, I know. It especially happens when I go to edit a sentence (something as small as a change in punctuation!😒) in a previous paragraph or paste a pic or something in the middle of two paragraphs. No clue why it’s like that, but then you can press back to the size or coloring you were trying to do originally where you left off. Sometimes if I have to paste something I wanted to have in between other places already there, I find it better from experience to paste it at the bottom and then rearrange the text blocks to the correct order afterward. I actually usually do multiple of these at a time because I’m so paranoid not just about posts but in life in general haha. I’m soft hearted and very sensitive so when my stuff gets messed up by tumblr I cry sometimes, even if it’s just that the proofreading I may have done after I copied from my notes to the post I was trying to create got unformatted lol 😓

*None of this is to say or assume that you don’t already know all of these things, I just thought to tell you juuuust in case you didn’t~ ^^*

If you don’t wanna & feel you weren’t ready or confident yet or anything hesitant, like I said we aren’t going anywhere 😊 and sometimes we (I read a LOT of fics 😅) have to wait months and months (or even a year or more…yes really 🥲) for a single chapter update, so it’s not as if you’ll have made us wait an assload of time for it; I’m not just saying it to butter you up, seriously, we’re lucky that you post as often as you do especially cus you’re a working mom raising your daughter alone! So try to chin up :)

I’m sure it’s very frustrating to have to redo it but…on the bright side, while you try to write it again, you may find words or another even better way of phrasing that you couldn’t think of for previous version to express what you’re trying to convey at that part 🤠. And if you don’t, that’s ok too!! No one but you knows what you had written, so it’s not like anyone could criticize you or say “it is worse this time”…we will eat what you put on our plates whenever you serve the meal & that’s that on that (◡‿◡✿)

[pat pat]

And even though some are from like [checks gallery save dates] 7 years ago, here’s some of my fav pics & screencaps of / with Doie in every flavor that I keep in my phone for extra Chin Up Flakes™️ 😊

Caseeeeeeeeey

thank you so much

I actually kinda do like what I have now. it feels less forced because before I was fighting through writer's block and I felt a bit out of touch with mc. I think I needed this to start over in order to get it right

I think I was worried about part 2 being just as good if not better that I started shutting down a little

also all of this doie helps so much thank you for being so kind and encouraging 🥹

#neoculturecollectives #andy's mail #casey 🩷

[tsuyusays]

(creating from a dead side blog I don’t use anymore because I’m not ready to out my main as a system. also sorry for the weird formatting - this pasted badly from my notes app and my phone isn’t letting me fix it)

Are autistic systems more likely to have introjects? I genuinely don’t know much about it but I think in my own experience it might track and i wanted to share.

Here’s the idea I’ve been having: something many autistic folks commonly do, especially as children, is practice from and mimicry of figures in media or other people irl in order to learn the social rules of the allistic society they live in and who they are within it. We even do things like communicate through echolalia (which I love). Some things I personally did a lot as an autistic child were copy the facial expressions of cartoon characters to properly display emotions and copy the voice inflections or commonly used phrases of whatever person I was talking to (I still do both but more subconsciously now, and definitely still use a lot of echolalia by accident). Another trait a lot of autistic people have is alexithymia or difficulty understanding and communicating emotion. It often made more sense to me as an autistic kid to use examples from other people to explain how I felt than to try to explain it organically. My point is that I learned how to be human and what inward and outward states were possible from other human (or human-created) sources around me.

To me, it makes sense that a logical extension of this for systems might be learning and communicating who our selves are by incorporating sources we resonate with or that impacted us greatly in some way. My example is a fictive but I see no reason why this can’t apply to other types of introjects. One alter in my system is a fictive of Killua Zoldyck. Notably, this alter has existed long before I ever knew of his source (Hunter x Hunter) or this character. He has resonated strongly with the bodies, characteristics, or stories of multiple people irl and in fiction across time, and although he has stable qualities, emotions, and roles that cause him to resonate with certain characters, those qualities are best articulated for him through other sources, similar to how we integrated others’ behavior into our own as a child. For Killua, his most stable self-constructions were that he was a factive of another child I knew irl for about a year, then he became a fictive of Boba Fett for over 10 years, and then immediately transitioned into being Killua after we watched HxH for the first time two years ago so he resonated with certain pieces of that character so strongly. He is always updating how to communicate his self-concept and self-explanation when he finds better representation of his traits and emotions.

My system is introject-heavy (5 fictives and one non-fictive with a fictionally sourced body, out of 12 known members), and I think it’s precisely for these reasons - we tend to be highly absorptive of outside sources and also find it easier to communicate through examples or parallels than by finding our own words.

I don’t know if any other autistic systems resonate with this, but I haven’t seen this talked about yet so I decided I’d put this out there.

#pdid system #actually traumagenic #actually autistic #autistic experiences #autistic system #did osdd #osdd system #osddid #actually plural #plural posting #system #introject #fictive #factive #long post

[tripthelight-fanfic]

Star-Crossed (Danny Wagner): Chapter Two

Two bands, both alike in dignity

At Lollapalooza where we lay our scene

From ancient grudge break to new mutiny

…… a pair of star cross’d lovers…...

Taglist: @flowervanfleet @weightofdreams-gvf @sierraahhhh @stardustschords @amourleger @ageofsewingmachine @theweightofstardust @gretavanhoney @samkiszkabreakmyback and potentially you, just lmk!!

(A/N): HEY LATE NIGHT READERS it’s been approximately 1.5 days since Chip Bunker so I hope you’re all still in a Danny mood. I’m sorry this chapter took so long, the press on nails I mentioned in the note for Acrylics have absolutely impeded my typing abilities… which is problematic in general given my profession.

BUT ANYWAY this will be the final pure-fluff chapter as we reach the midpoint of the story, the end of the act one if you will. I apologize if any of the formatting is off, I wrote this largely on my iPhone as I’m home visiting my mom this weekend. So if anything looks weird, blame tumblr mobile. Also this won’t be formally added to my master list until tomorrow night when I’m reunited with my laptop. now featured on the masterlist!

Ok let’s get this shit going!

********************************************

Chapter One

Chapter Two

DANNY POV

As I walked in the direction of the amphitheater, grinning like an idiot, I looked over the other notifications left by my bandmates on my phone. Lots of “where did you go?”s and “dude where the fuck are you we’re on soon”s. I sent out a text to Jake that I would be there in 5, since I knew if anyone he’d be the most annoyed with me right now.

But, God, I just couldn’t bring myself to feel sorry about it. Someone else could sound check my drums for all I fucking cared. With the way this girl made me feel, I wasn’t gonna leave her side a single second earlier than I had to.

I ran my fingers over my lips, still tingling from the sensation of hers. That kiss was something otherworldly, I had initiated it but I wasn’t ready for it to knock my socks off the way it did. It just felt so… Right. So correct. Like every person I’d kissed before today was leading up to her.

Leaving her was harder than I had expected, especially since I met her today and I was leaving her to go perform a headlining gig at a major music festival. This was a huge milestone for us, and yet my mind could not be less focused on the task at hand.

But then again, she’s coming to the show. I knew it would be impossible for me to find her in the crowd, but she sounded pretty genuine when she said she would go. I smiled to myself, thinking about her waiting for me after the show.

However, I was abruptly yanked out of my thoughts when I entered the amphitheater. Physically.

“Dude, finally, where the fuck were you all day? We’ve been trying like crazy to reach you!” Sam grabbed me by my shirt and pulled me down the hallway toward the dressing rooms.

All I could do was shrug, “Sorry, man. Time got away from me I guess. It’s a good thing I set that alarm for sound check though.”

“Yeah, and missed it, because you weren’t here! Jake’s about ready to kill you.” I rolled my eyes. Of course he was.

“Okay, well, I’m here now. We still have plenty of time before the show starts.” I said as we walked into the room where the twins were.

“He’s alive!” Josh wailed. Jake, on the other hand, briskly walked up to me with angry glare on his face.

“Where the hell have you been?”

I looked down at him and tried to hold back the smile that threatened to surface when I thought about where I had been all day. By the looks of it, if I smiled at Jake right now I might be going on stage with a shiner.

Instead, I looked around sheepishly, “I’ve been… you know, around. Seeing shows. Lost track of time.”

Josh squinted at me for a moment, then his face lit up. “Oh my God, you were with a girl weren’t you?”

This time I couldn’t resist cracking a small, all-telling smile and turning toward the rack with my show outfit on it.

“Holy shit he was!” Sam exclaimed. “Damn, all day?”

I chuckled to myself, “I mean, yeah, I did see most of the shows I saw today with the same girl… We might’ve kissed before I left but I mean-”

“You kissed her after knowing her for an afternoon?” Josh asked incredulously while I unbuttoned the shirt I had on and threw it onto the rack.

Sam let out a laugh, “Like you haven’t done more in less!”

I shook my head. “But like, it didn’t feel like it was just an afternoon. I-I don’t know how to explain it. We just kind of… connected, you know?”

Jake huffed in the corner, lighting a cigar. “Well, does she know you have obligations here too? You’re not just another festival-goer you actually have responsibilities.”

I rolled my eyes, buttoning up the shirt the stylist had picked for me as I turned to face the group again, “Jesus, Jake, I said I was sorry. I’m here in time, what more do you want from me?”

Again, Jake stepped closer to me, leaving a trail of cigar smoke from where he was sitting. He stops for a moment in front of me and says, “Commitment” before walking out the door.

I turned around to the other two Kiszkas, “Has he been like that all day?”

Sam shrugged, “Not all day, but we did get a little worried when you went all MIA on us. He was pretty freaked out before you showed up.”

“Look, I really am sorry I scared you guys, but I would never actually ditch something like this. I mean, come on! This is a huge deal!” I exclaimed, trying to bring back up the energy for this gig. Jake could be a sourpuss all he wanted on stage, I wasn’t gonna let him bring us all down.

Y/N POV

As James Bay started winding down, I decided to leave in search of the amphitheater. Surprisingly, the sea of venues was getting easier to navigate as the darkness of night settled in. Everything was lit up and music was pouring out from every which direction.

And yet, no signs of the amphitheater. Eventually, I stopped to ask a group of girls which way it was. “Oh, you’re going to see Greta too? Here, come with us we’re heading over too” One of the girls offered brightly. They seemed trustworthy enough so I agreed and followed along with them. On the walk over they gushed about boys named “Josh” and “Jake” but no mention of Danny. He had definitely said the amphitheater and Greta Van Fleet, but I suppose there had to be more members than just him.

Thankfully enough, they led me in the right direction and I found myself near the back of the pit in front of the stage. Nobody was out yet so I took the opportunity to light one of the joints I brought and prepare myself mentally for the possibility that his band fucking sucks and I have to see him again later.

My attention was refocused to the stage when the crowd suddenly erupted in applause and screams. There they were, four guys who looked to be around my age walking onto the stage one by one. I spotted Danny immediately, by far the tallest and bearing striking visual differences from the rest of the band. I was immediately taken aback by his hair- what was earlier tied up in a messy bun was now cascading down his shoulders. It was so much more than it looked when it was up. It was mystifying. He climbed behind the drum set and gave it a few testing strikes before leaning back into his seat as the rest of the band got their instruments ready.

I toyed with the joint in my mouth while taking in his stage presence. The plain navy button-down he was wearing with me has been exchanged with a more intricately patterned silk one. It coordinated well with the rest of the band’s outfits, but I couldn’t help but prefer the more relaxed and comfortable look. His skin looked almost luminescent in the spotlights, taking on a slightly lighter tone despite all the sun we had both gotten earlier today.

I was torn away from admiring him in the stage lights by a text. From….. Danny?

“Did u make it over? We’re about to start”

I knit my eyes in confusion and looked back up on the stage to see Danny putting his phone back into his pocket innocently, glancing at the other guys to see if they noticed. I chuckled to myself and responded,

“you did not just text me from ON STAGE U PSYCHO yes I’m here”

I looked back on stage and saw Danny jump ever so slightly at the vibration from his phone, eagerly reaching down to check it. It was endearing, really. Every damn thing about him was. I watched as he smiled at his phone, typed out a quick message and swiped it off.

A few moments later, my phone buzzed with his response,

“Good u can see me ;) Enjoy the show- meet me behind backstage area half hour after the set ok?”

I went to respond before my attention was snapped back up to the stage by a voice, “Are you ready?!” The one who I assumed to be the singer yelled into the mic. I recognized him as the curly haired boy sitting next to Danny at the fire the night before. The audience roared in response, making each of the guys on stage crack a small grin before launching head first into their opening song.

Thankfully, I had worried for nothing because his band was phenomenal. I didn’t even know any words and I found myself yelling and dancing along with the crowd to the music. Some of the songs were definitely more classic-rock style, but others were a bit folkier and slower, with the guitarist switching between electric and acoustic throughout the show.

Although I was wholeheartedly there for Danny, I couldn’t help but notice the stage presence of the other members. During the show I learned that they were brothers, and each of their names, but it was so intriguing to see how lost in their songs they were getting while performing them. They were playing like nobody was watching, letting the music move their faces and bodies in whichever way it commands. It was an inarguably authentic performance and I was happy for Danny that this was a group he got to be a part of.

However, it eventually came to an end, and I couldn’t help the twinge of guilt I felt for being excited that it was over. Only because now I get to go find Danny and tell him how much I loved it.

I made a wide loop around the audience area as people started to flood out, their set being one of the last of the night. By the time I got to the exit behind the backstage area, it had been about 20 minutes and I didn’t have to wait long to see Danny’s smiling face emerge from the doors. He closed the door quickly behind him, as if he were sneaking out, and then his arms were back around my waist the way they were before we parted ways. The way they snaked across my torso to fall to a rest at the small of my back made me consider if they were made to go there. Meant to. Destined.

“Hey you, what’d you think?”

I beamed up at him. “It was incredible. You guys are amazing. You’re amazing!”

Danny’s cheeks flushed slightly at the compliment. “I realized just before we started that I never mentioned what kind of music we do, I wasn’t sure if you’d be into it. Obviously a lot of people enjoy it but some people are really turned off by the sound, you know?”

I shook my head, eyes still wide with wonder staring up at him. I took a moment to reach up and brush the loose strands of hair out of his face as he looked back down at me. “No, no. The way you guys perform… you just really leave it all out there. It looks like you’re putting everything you’ve got into your performance. Anyone who truly appreciates music should appreciate your… you know, celebration of it, almost.”

It was at this point Danny’s lips started to curl upwards into a smile and I found myself tripping over my words, distracted by his mouth. I reached my hand up to fiddle with the buttons of his shirt- back to the one he was wearing earlier- before smiling back up at him. “And don’t worry, it’s safe to say your music did not turn me off.”

Danny chuckled, leaning in a bit to press his forehead back against mine. “Oh yeah? So one could even say it…turned you on?” his voice lowered to a gravelly murmur for the last part of the sentence.

This time it was my turn to flush pink. But I couldn’t lose my confidence now. My hands glided up his chest from the button I was fidgeting with, until they rested at his neck. I leaned in to ghost my lips over his before whispering, “Watching you sure did.”

That was all the reassurance he needed to lunge forward and reconnect our lips. Just like before, the contact started a frenzy under my skin, warming me up and making it feel like I was floating. This time, however, the kiss was turning more and more passionate. His tongue found its way into my mouth to greet mine and the two danced together between our teeth as we desperately tried to pull each other closer.

After a few minutes, we pulled away to catch our breath. “Do you… Do you wanna go somewhere? I know a trail around here that leads to a creek. I’m sure it’s empty by now. I just know the rest of the band’s gonna be out any minute and…” he turns to look back at the door as he takes a moment to articulate his thoughts. “… Quite frankly I want you all to myself tonight.”

My stomach fluttered at his words and all I could do was nod at him in confirmation. He grins at me and takes my hand, still feeling a little jolt when he did. However, just after we started walking, the back door opened once again, making us both turn around at the sound. And just like Danny predicted, one of his bandmates emerged. The one from the fire. Josh, I think. He was able to spot us about 50 feet away and a slow grin spread across his face. “Well if it isn’t Romeo and Juliet themselves. Have fun you two.”

Danny rolled his eyes and turned back around, pulling me with him. “Good night Josh” he said with a slightly annoyed tone.

“And good night Danny!” Josh yelled back in a much more suggestive tone, I could basically hear him wiggling his eyebrows.

We kept walking further away and from the distance I could hear the door opening again and voices, but Danny didn’t turn back around so I didn’t either. “Your band seems nice.” I offered.

Danny sighed, running a hand through his hair. “They are, they really are. But sometimes they can be a lot.” I nodded in agreement, unaware of what he’s referring to but trying to be supportive.

DANNY POV

I already knew I was gonna be in for it tomorrow from the guys for ditching them again tonight, but fuck if I cared. Hearing her gush over our performance and seeing her once more under the glow of the moon had me feeling like the band was the least of my worries. Because I might actually be falling in love with this girl.

I shivered slightly at the concept. We were just coming up on the 24-hour mark of our first meeting. If you could even call it that. Our little stare-off. But I genuinely feel like I’ve known this girl forever. Conversation flows so easily and my heart feels like it might just stop entirely whenever she smiles at me. Every logical component of my brain was screaming to run, to go back to my friends and avoid heartbreak once this festival ends and we start touring again.

I pushed those thoughts out of my mind as we approached the trail. It looked much darker compared to where we were standing, the lights from the festival illuminating the night.

I stopped and turned to look at her. “This is it.”

She looked into the darkness of the trail and then back at me. “You’re not taking me into the woods to kill me, are you?”

I couldn’t help but laugh and she smiled a bit too. “No, I promise it’ll be worth it. Besides if I wanted to kill you, you’d be dead already.” I added matter-of-factly.

She giggled and took my hand, and I felt my heart soar. “Well, I guess I should consider myself lucky, then. C’mon.”

She took a few steps into the trail and turned around to pull me in with her. “Not getting nervous are you?” She teased.

“Me? Nervous? Around you? Oh, never.” I joked as I walked into the trail with her.

We kept walking for a minute before she turned to look up at me with a smile, “So I make you nervous then?”

I let out a sigh, taking a moment to figure out how to word my next sentence. “The way you make me feel sure does.”

I watched as she smiled to herself, looking down at the trail we were walking on. “You don’t make me feel nervous. Usually I am around guys, but I don’t know. When I’m around you it feels like that’s where I’m supposed to be, you know?”

I did. I really did. All I could do was nod as a million thoughts raced through my head.

Soon we approached the clearing with the creek and thankfully, like I had hoped, it was void of people. I led her over to the edge and she reached a hand down to feel the water, the beautiful smile on her face growing as the sensation hit her. She immediately sat down and started taking off her shoes and socks before dipping her feet into the water with a sigh.

She looked back up at me, eyes sparkling like diamonds in the moonlight, “Well what are you waiting for? Are you telling me your feet don’t hurt after walking around all day?”

At that moment I felt the weight of the day rest onto the soles of my feet. She was right. Of course she was right. I followed suit and took my spot next to her, right hand resting on her left as we propped ourselves up. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw her look down and smile at the feeling, and I couldn’t help but smile too.

We sat in silence for a few minutes, listening to the running water and basking in each others presence. She leaned over to rest her head on my shoulder and I moved my hand from its place on top of hers to sling my arm around her shoulder. I closed my eyes and prayed to any god that would listen that this moment would never end.

However, it did when she let out a sudden gasp and sat back up. “Oh my God, I just remembered. I have something to make this moment perfect.”

It already felt pretty perfect to me, that is until I watched her pull a joint and a lighter out of her pocket, sparking the lighter playfully to illuminate the mischievous look on her face.

“Oh you just get better and better, don’t you?”

Y/N POV

We sat there on the riverbed, passing my brothers joint back and forth. At one point he made a point to blow the smoke right at me and I tried moving around to catch the smoke in my mouth, which made him laugh. God, his laugh is beautiful.

However, after learning my intentions, he took a long drag from the joint before leaning in close to me, opening his mouth to show me the smoke sitting right on his tongue. It was an invitation. A dare, almost. Come and get it.

And I did just that. I planted my open mouth on his and felt him push the hot smoke into my mouth, down my windpipe and deep into my lungs, before nibbling on my bottom lip. Joint forgotten, I blew the smoke out of my nose and reached my arms up to pull him closer into another deep kiss. We sat there for a bit, under the watchful eye of the moon and nobody else’s, making out on the edge of the creek. His lips made their way down to my jawline, peppering wet kisses across before diving down to my neck, leaving harsh nips that I would definitely have to explain the results of to my brothers tomorrow.

My eyes finally fluttered open when I leaned forward, placing my hand next to Danny’s to support myself. But I felt my fingers brush against something and knock it into the creek. My eyes opened in search of the object and they widened when I realized what it was.

“Oh no.” I whispered.

Danny immediately pulled his head up from the crook of my neck, resting his chin on my shoulder. “What is it?” He whispered back.

“The joint.” I respond, with a small smile as I pointed to the last third of the joint floating down the creek away from us.

When Danny realized what had pulled me out of the moment, he tried to stifle a laugh. But then I turned to meet his eyes, and suddenly we were both leaning into each other roaring with weed-induced laughter. The once still silence of the night being filled by our fits of hysterics.

Once we’d calmed down, Danny threw his arm back around my shoulder and leaned back, pulling both of us flush onto the bedrock. I nuzzled my head into Danny’s shoulder and he pulled me closer to him, so that my head lay on his chest instead of his arm.

“Danny, do you believe in soulmates?”

If I had a clearer mind, I would’ve shot myself point blank for asking that question to a man I met a day ago. And yet, Danny turned to look deep into my eyes, before answering with a sigh, “You know what? I’m sure as hell starting to.”

I smiled back up at him and he pressed a tender kiss onto my forehead before we both turned back up to look at the stars.

I don’t even know when we fell asleep, or who did first, all I know is the sun is bright as fuck at 7am when you’re sleeping on a rock by a creek. I winced as the shade from the tree above us finally gave out and the sun started shining directly onto my face.

I opened my eyes to see Danny’s face inches from mine, breath fanning across my cheeks as he somehow continued to sleep. I leaned in and pressed a soft kiss onto his lips, causing his eyes to flutter open. My stomach erupted into butterflies as he smiled warmly at me, like he would be content waking up that way forever. Then, I watched as he slowly regathered his surroundings. “Oh shit we fell asleep out here!”

I couldn’t help but laugh, burying my face into his chest as he looked around at the handful of people on our once-private creek. He placed a hand on the back of my head, stroking my hair gently before mumbling, “We should probably head back then.”

I groaned into his chest, which made him chuckle, before leaning up to a seated position again, rubbing the sleep out of my eyes. “Yeah, probably. My brothers are gonna fucking end my life for not making it back last night.”

I stood up and reached my arms down for Danny’s, hoisting him to his feet when he obliged. He let one of his hands fall away while the other stayed firmly put in my hand. We walked in peaceful, content silence back out of the trail and toward the campground.

“Will I see you again later?” He asked hopefully.

I couldn’t help the grin spreading across my face as I swung our hands a bit. “Of course. I have my brothers’ set this afternoon, but I’ll come find you after.”

We approached a site with two tents and a picnic table being taken up by a boy in sunglasses with his hair tied up. Danny threw him a wave, “Morning Jake!” He didn’t look up from his book and instead raised a middle finger toward us.

I chuckled and Danny sighed, “Always the charmer.”

He turned back to me, “Alright, well I’ll see you later then. And if your brothers give you a hard time make sure they remember they’re without a stage crew if they kill you.”

I threw my head back laughing, missing Jake’s ears perking up and him closing his book, peering over at me over his sunglasses.

Danny leaned in for a parting kiss and I felt the warmth re-enter my body, flooding my system again with something unmistakably Danny. I couldn’t help the sigh that fell from my lips as he pulled away. He smirked at me, “Never gets old.” Before turning and disappearing into the tent.

I bit my lip to hide the smile forming on my face as I turned around to head back to my brothers tent, already dreading the idea of explaining my night to them. I was pulled out of my trance by someone clearing their throat.

I turned to see Jake standing up at the table he was sitting at, sunglasses noticeably absent as his eyes were burning daggers into me. I was taken aback a bit, seeing as I had barely just met him. I tried to shake it off and be friendly.

“Hey, I’m Y/N. You’re Jake, right? You guys were great last night.” I took a few steps closer, extending a hand toward him.

He looked down at my hand in disgust, crossing his arms over his chest before staring deep into my eyes.

And suddenly I remember.

The rude long haired boys from the first night.

I was looking one of them right in the eye. And it was Danny’s bandmate.

I hesitantly pulled my hand back, brushing it against my jeans as the smile faded from my face. “I, uh… I think I should go.”

Jake squinted at me. “I think you should.”

I turned and walked briskly away from the campground, suddenly more eager than ever to reach my brothers.

CHAPTER THREE COMING SOON

#yeah so Jake is Tybalt #danny wagner #jake kiszka #josh kiszka #sam kiszka #danny wagner fluff #danny wagner x y/n #danny wagner x reader #danny Wagner fanfiction

[heartcal]

“who do you believe?”; l.h. (pt. ii)

oh my GOD it’s here, it took longer than expected but she’s finally here! after the eye strain i got a sty so that threw me in for a loop, but the good news is my eyes are better! and i’m fully vaccinated too! please get the vaccine if you are able to :^) enjoy!

a/n: (formatting again lol) there’s a part where there’s supposed to be texts (in italics) so it may be a bit weird to read (hopefully not) (sorry for these parantheses) please let me know if there’s anything off!

pairing: luke hemmings x reader

summary: having known luke for years, it was bound to happen eventually. the crush you developed happened before you could stop it, and you did your best to keep it a secret. you told no one, did your best not to show it, so what do you do when his girlfriend finds out?

warnings: swearing (as usual), 

genre: angst, fluff, basically friends (to brief enemies but not really) to lovers?

wc: 5,201 (they’re getting longer, huh)

taglist: @1sosrvd1267 + @wowitsel (side note: i don’t have a current taglist, this is just for this fic!)

part one | my masterlist!

You skipped the after-party that night. You couldn’t bear standing in the same room as Luke and Rachel, so you booked a ride and left as soon as the car pulled up.

Had you stayed for the party, you would have crumbled under the looks of pity thrown at you by those who would have heard about what happened. The knowing looks that something bad had happened between two people everyone on the crew knew were best friends would have been uncomfortable.

The ride home is uncomfortably silent, but you were thankful the driver wasn’t the talkative type. The soft jazz playing on the radio wasn’t calming but it did distract you from the pain and embarrassment you felt from the argument.

Once the car had pulled up to your place, you bid a silent farewell to the driver and slid out.

You just wanted to get inside, take a shower, shut your phone for the night, and sleep until you physically can’t get any more sleep.

You’re not too surprised Luke stood up for his girlfriend. He does love her—he’s shown that with friends and with fans. But the way he glared at you, defended her without trying to find out what exactly went down…he had never looked at you like that.

You’ve seen that look before; it wasn’t something you were used to but it was the look he would give paparazzi when they would harass you, the guys, and his friends. The glare carried such strength that it would make people back off. And so when it was directed towards you, it struck you hard.

Having done what you wanted to do once you entered the house, you lay in bed with wet eyes staring at the ceiling. Your phone was face down on your nightstand, completely out of reach to the point one slight touch could knock it off.

Maybe you were the one at fault. Maybe you should’ve told the truth about your feelings to Rachel or Luke before this all happened. It could have prevented the fallout and you would be with the guys and the crew celebrating a successful show.

But what good would that have done? Had you told someone, anyone, that you liked Luke more than a best friend should, would that have caused the same problem but presented differently? Or would something come from it? Maybe nothing would have happened.

A sigh escapes your lips as you turn your back away from the nightstand, facing the empty half of the bed and before your mind drifts to more pitiful thoughts, you close your eyes.

You didn’t dream that night. It’s as if you blinked, with the night flying by faster than you had wanted and anticipated.

The sunlight beamed down on you from above your headboard. It was late morning and it was time to face the harsh reality of the day.

There is no doubt you have lost Luke as your best friend.

Wiping the sleep and crust from your eyes, you sit up and vacantly glance around the room. The box where you keep gifts from Luke is illuminated by the sunlight, and with the vacant stare you stand to walk towards it.

You hesitate to open it; it’ll bring back memories of good times and with the events of the previous night, you do not think you can handle the rush of emotions.

It’s then when you realize your phone was off, and though you don’t want to do anything social today and would rather stay home with your favorite snacks and shows, you know you have to let your friends know how you’re doing.

You stall by washing your face and brushing your teeth, albeit slower than usual. You know that once you turn your phone on, the onslaught of questions and missed calls are going to take possibly an hour to clear up.

Sure enough, as you turn your phone on, the missed messages come in, barely giving your notification tone a break and the missed calls and voicemails were coming in fast. You can feel the heat from the battery on your palm, and for the sake of the phone you switch the sound off and turn on Do Not Disturb to prevent any new calls from coming through.

The messages you saw were from the crew, asking where you went and if you were okay. Others were from the boys minus Luke, and looking through the missed calls, there was nothing from Luke.

You’re not surprised, but the pain was still simmering within and seeing no messages or missed calls from him was adding to it.

You responded to the crew’s messages first, since many of them sent one or two messages asking simple questions: “Are you okay,” “Where did you go,” and “Did you get home safe?”

Then you responded to the boys’, Michael’s first since he had the least amount of messages.

hey, you didn’t have to leave. we could’ve talked some sense into him when he calmed down (11:37pm)

did u get home okay? we know you didn’t drive here yourself. (11:58pm)

please let us know you made it home. let us know you’re okay (12:10am)

hope you made it home and that you’re safe and okay. thank u for ur work today. please text me when you see these. goodnight (12:49am)

You typed your reply to him, letting him know that you were okay and got home safe.

Calum’s messages were similar, asking the same questions but some were repeated to emphasize his worry. In response, you answered his questions like Michael’s.

But even before you can open Ashton’s messages, seeing double digits next to your conversation with him, rapid knocks on your front door grab your attention.

With a groan you stand and grab your robe from the hook on the door, wrapping it tightly around your body as you open the door and groggily walk to the front door.

It was a stupid idea, as you weren’t ready to face anyone yet Ashton stands in front of you. He’s well-rested, a stark contrast to you as you were sure your eyes were still puffy and bloodshot, along with an occasional sniffle from your nose.

His eyes travel from your face, down to your feet, and back up to your eyes. He can immediately tell you had a terrible night.

“You weren’t answering anyone last night,” he begins, tilting his head as he narrows his eyes, “we were worried about you after you left.”

“Yeah,” you sighed, “I just—I didn’t feel like talking to anyone.”

“You could’ve let one of us know that you were shutting off.”

You nodded with a frown, “I could have, yeah,” your eyes dart around behind him to avoid his worrisome eyes before asking him if he wanted to come in.

He doesn’t hesitate and steps in once you move aside, opening the door wider to give him enough room. He notes your bag in a heap on the floor a few inches away from the couch, and how your shoes were far apart, with one upside down, as if you flung them off.

“How are you holding up now?”

You shrug, still avoiding his eyes because you know if you make eye contact, you’ll break down and you won’t have control over the onslaught of emotions.

“Be honest,” his voice is soft, wanting to make you feel comfortable enough to open up.

You stare at the ground, biting the skin of your lower lip nervously. This is why you did not want to talk to anyone face-to-face. Talking to them over the phone, preferably through text, allowed you to lie to the other person (and if applicable, to yourself). But talking to someone in person, and to someone who can see through your lies, you were bound to break down and become vulnerable.

You inhale, taking careful steps to the couch and gently sitting down with a sigh. Ashton follows you, sitting next to you but giving you space to not overwhelm you.

“What happened last night—,” you lean back with your arms folded over your chest, “—was something that I feared. When I realized I liked Luke, I was so worried about him finding out and what the outcome would be. I knew from the beginning that things would never be the same if he found out, and I was afraid of the change that would come from it.”

Ashton listens intently, his eyes displaying sincerity as he listens to you list off your worries. What he saw last night bothered him to no end, and had he not exerted most of his energy during the show, he would not have slept at all and would have stayed up all night in a constant state of worry.

“So, now that Rachel knows, and no doubt Luke has caught on, I don’t know what to do. I responded to everyone’s texts before you arrived, and Luke sent nothing—not even a phone call.”

Ashton nods, swallowing before speaking, “Well, after you left, things went down that may be the reason why he hasn’t tried contacting you.”

Your head turns to face him, eyebrows furrowed as confusion embeds itself across the rest of your features.

Ashton readjusts himself, getting comfortable in his seat as he gathers the right words.

“Something happened after I left?” You ask as you shift in your seat to face him.

“Michael wanted to go after you, to at least offer you a ride back, but Calum went back to tell Luke that it was bullshit what happened. So, Michael went back to make sure they wouldn’t fight or anything. I also pointed out that he was a dick; choosing you over her when he’s known you the longest didn’t sit right with us. But he got defensive and kept wanting to leave but Rachel convinced him it was alright, so they stayed for the party. But the party was bad—the crew felt the tension and the vibes were down—,” he chuckles at the word choice, getting a small laugh out of you as well, “—it brought everyone out of the energetic and ecstatic mood we were in before the confrontation. We all kinda did our own thing during the party but we noticed things were tense between Luke and Rachel. And when the party ended, shit hit the fan.”

“What happened?”

Ashton sighs, “To make the long story short, they got into an argument when we were leaving the venue after Michael brought up your name. He said something like, ‘I hope they got home safe,’ and that you weren’t answering your phone at all. Calum and I pointed out, again, how rude Luke was to you and Luke kept defending himself. Rachel dropped an insult and something shifted. Basically, they’re done and the guys and I can finally fucking breathe.”

“Wait—,” you stand with bulging eyes, “—wait, are you saying they broke up?”

Ashton hums as he watches you mindlessly walk around your living room.

The guys have been waiting for their break-up. It’s not something they were open about, as to avoid any conflict with their best friend, but it was almost an unspoken agreement: Rachel was not liked.

As for you, it’s not like you were wishing for their break-up. You wanted Luke to be happy, and if he was happy in that relationship, then so be it. But you were not a fan of it. Yeah, you liked her in the beginning but when she started disregarding you as if you did something to offend her, you lost most of your respect for her. Now, with this news of their break-up, you don’t know what to do.

Are you happy? You don’t exactly feel happy about it, but there is some relief.

“So,” you sit back down on the couch slowly, “what am I supposed to do with this information?”

“Not sure,” Ashton shrugs, “but I recommend talking to Luke.”

You shake your head fervently, “No. I don’t feel like talking to anyone.”

“But you’re talking to me,” Ashton has a smirk, but you know there’s no malice behind his joke.

“You showed up unannounced, Ash,” you smile, “I was responding to everyone who sent messages and voicemails. I don’t feel like talking to anyone else in person.”

He holds his hands up in defense, “Fair enough, but don’t be a stranger.”

He gives you a quick hug, whispering something similar to ‘don’t shut Luke out’ before he pulls away and walks out.

Ashton’s words stuck with you for the next week. You felt comfortable enough a few days after the fact to contact the boys, eventually meeting up with Ashton and Calum for lunch and third-wheeling Michael and his fiancée. The only person out of your friend group and co-workers you have not contacted was Luke. He hasn’t contacted you either, but you do not think much about it as you’re still trying to figure things out. If he were to contact you, how do you talk about what happened?

You want to know why he was able to choose his then-girlfriend over you, but at the same time you don’t want to know the answer. You know that one day, and though it hurts, you will not be his number one. With the way he behaved that night, it felt like that dreadful moment came to earlier than expected, that he found his number one and you immediately became his second go-to person.

So it did surprise you when you were out with an old friend to receive a text from Luke.

Can we talk about what happened? (2:23pm)

You only stare blankly at the text, not even moving to type a response. You were in such a good mood, and not even this text would change it. Instead, you lock your phone and place it back in your pocket, noting to leave it alone until your day out comes to an end.

And when it does, you see that more texts from Luke had arrived, the final being sent an hour before the outing ended.

I know you’re mad, I understand that and I don’t blame you but please talk to me (2:31pm)

You’re reading these, please say something (2:33pm)

There are some things that I need to clear up with you, I want to apologize for what happened that night but I want to do it face to face. Please respond. (3:57pm)

Whenever you’re ready, I’ll be waiting. Sorry if I’m bombarding you with these texts, I just don’t want to lose you over something that I realize now should not have happened. Respond when you want to, I’ll be here. (5:49pm)

You could only let out a small chuckle at the persistent requests to talk, and you don’t deny the small—minuscule, honestly—flutter in your stomach. You don’t waste any time responding.

Sorry, I was busy. We can meet somewhere to talk. (7:08pm)

He responds about five minutes later, agreeing to meet at a small café the two of you love tomorrow afternoon.

The rest of the night for you is spent thinking of ways to carry yourself, being completely confident, and accepting the fact that you love your best friend. Pep talks in the shower and mirror to calm any arising nerves, revising the topics you want to talk about in your head so you keep the confidence.

As for Luke, he was struggling to gather all his thoughts. In the beginning, he thoroughly enjoyed the fact that you and Rachel got along. He liked seeing his best friend and girlfriend become friends like that. He didn’t notice the shift, however, and he wishes he did before things got out of hand.

When he defended Rachel, without finding out the story from all sides, he thought he was doing what was right. To him, friendships and relationships have the same base, but romantic relationships with a partner have a different structure than friendships do, and he was starting to see cracks in his friendship before he saw it in his relationship.

When he confronted Rachel after she insulted you, he started to see someone he never saw. He remembered the times Rachel ignored you, sometimes playing it off as if she never heard you. He remembered how she would make plans with everyone and exclude you, but he always played it off as an accident (even if he knew it wasn’t). He remembered all these times he noticed a change in mood when the two of you were in the same room, and he couldn’t believe he turned a blind eye to all of it.

It hurt him to break-up with Rachel—he won’t deny that because he did love her. It’s not that he saw the rest of his life with her as they weren’t at that mark in the relationship.

But, when he did picture his future, he always saw you. He always thought it was just as a friend, someone who was just joined at the hip. Yet, he was quick to throw that away for someone he rarely saw when he pictured the future.

Which is why, the next day, as he sits at a booth near the window of the café, he carefully goes over what he wants to say. He doesn’t want to ruin the chance to fix things between the two of you. If it goes awry, not only does he lose you, but his friendships with the band and the team will take a hit since they all love you.

The bell above the door rings making his head turn to watch you walk in. Your eyes danced around the café before they fell on him.

He couldn’t help the smile the formed on his lips, a small breath of relief escaping as he watches you walk towards him. The smile doesn’t stay long though, because as you sit down with a stoic expression, the reality hits him.

“I got your usual,” he’s shy and timid, pushing the mug toward you as he eyes the liquid nearly spills the edge.

You mumble a ‘thanks,’ grabbing the mug and taking a small sip. It falls silent as the two of you wonder who should start first.

Luke makes the move first. He sighs, sitting up straight and wiping his palms on his pants.

He’s nervous. When the guys started touring, visiting new cities and countries, he would always be nervous and constantly wiped his hands on his thighs, sitting up straight and even straighter if he wasn’t slouching. It’s an old habit, but something you remember fondly as he had grown out of it. Or so you thought.

“I want to start with I’m sorry,” he begins, making eye contact but fails to hold it. His eyes instead drift to his drink, “I know what I did was wrong, and I put you in a spot that hurt you and disregarded you. At the moment, I thought I was doing the right thing because she was my girlfriend, but then—” he gulps, “when she insulted you, it struck a nerve and, not to sound cliché or anything, it felt like it opened my eyes. I saw someone I didn’t see when I first met them.”

You don’t respond, just nodding your head to let him know you’re listening.

He licks his lips before continuing, “When the guys brought up how you left on your own, I was feeling nervous and they started reminding me how much of a dick I was to you. I didn’t want to admit it myself, but now, I was such an ass. I’m just—I’m so sorry for what happened.”

“Luke,” you sigh, shifting in your seat, “I’m not saying I forgive you but I accept your apology. It hurt me so much that a friend, someone I’ve known for years was just so quick to turn their back and take someone else’s side. I know she was your girlfriend, but I wish you didn’t do what you did.”

“If I could go back and fix it, I would.”

You only nod again, trying to think about other things that need to be talked about. The one topic you hope to avoid is the possibility of him knowing your feelings—something you do not want to discuss, at least not yet.

“Did she say anything to you?”

The question leaves your mouth before you register it, and the widening of your eyes catches Luke off guard.

“What?”

“Nothing,” you mutter, grabbing your mug and taking a long sip.

“She didn’t tell me what started the problems between you two, if that’s what you mean,” Luke smiles a bit, watching you nervously play with the mug’s handle after the sip. It fades when your eyes move up to meet his, “I don’t know what happened between the two of you, but it isn’t important anymore. She’s out of the picture, and I don’t want to lose you.”

The silence returns, but unlike the previous bout, it’s a calming silence. It isn’t uncomfortable, rather the air is easier to breathe and the tension isn’t unsettling.

“Where do we go from here?” Luke asks, nervously wringing his fingers.

“I don’t want to lose you as a friend, Luke,” you offer a smile, “but it’s going to take some time to ‘heal,’ if you will.”

Luke smiles again, this time a bigger grin. He nods, leaning back in his seat, “Let me know what I can do to make things better. I’ll do it if I get to keep you.”

Over the next few months, your friendship with Luke was rekindled. The guys were at ease now that Rachel was gone and you seemingly had taken her place, even though you were friends. The awkward glances they would give when Rachel was in the same room were now playful rolls of the eyes over a dumb joke or pranks. You didn’t miss out on any outings you wanted to go to, now that everyone invited would check in with each other the night before. Things went back to the way they were before Rachel.

There was a change in your friendship, however. It wasn’t something you noticed right away, but it was something you thought about at night just a few weeks ago. Luke paid more attention to you, not that he didn’t pay attention before, but this was a noticeable change where he still looks at you even after you finished talking, and would only look away from you when you caught him. He would always cover his mouth with his index and middle finger, but you saw a small smile behind them. You played it off as friendly teasing, but it tugs on your heartstrings.

Another noticeable change is the hugs. Duration-wise, they were relatively the same. However the touch lingered; if he wrapped his arms around your shoulders, an arm would stay around your shoulder, meanwhile if they were around your waist, his hand would stay on the small of your back. You played it off as a friend being protective, but yet again, it did nothing to stop your growing love.

Tonight was the first night of their tour. The boys were up to their usual pre-show antics, as well as the nervous habits; Michael fixing his hair and deciding whether to go with a beanie or a hat, or neither, Ashton was warming up with his pre-show playlist, Calum testing his bass, and Luke was relatively fine.

Sure, he was nervous because it isn’t a crowd of 500, close to 20,000, but he was calm compared to the last time he performed. He didn’t have any worries to talk about, his vocal warm-ups were smooth, and getting dressed up was a breeze. He shared chuckles with you as you both watched the others move around with tense expressions (all with no malice, of course).

“You sure you’re not on edge?” you nudge Luke with your arm as he leans forward on the couch your sitting on to fix his shoe.

“Nope,” he sits up, leaning back in his seat.

“Really?” you inquire again, doubt laced in your tone with a hint of teasing.

“Yeah,” he chuckles, “if anything I’m excited about tonight.”

You hum, crossing your arms as you watch Ashton walk over.

“Ten minutes left,” he nods at Luke before walking to Michael to tell him the same thing.

You give Luke a look, wanting to get him to admit he is nervous, but all you get is a smirk and a shrug. He stands, patting your shoulder left before walking away to put in his in-ears.

You won’t deny you still don’t have feelings for him. Throughout the past few months, you were able to pinpoint the reasons why you fell for him. The small acts, the obscure things he would remember about you—especially the ones you don’t remember yourself—with the attention he would give you. It was staring you in the face, but you chose to deny all the signals to give yourself the satisfaction of thinking it was just a phase. But now you know why you love him.

Two minutes until showtime, Ashton finishes his speech and the crew is taking their places. The band stands at the opening, waiting for their cue to head out.

As you watched them hype themselves up, you noticed Luke looking around nervously. Of course.

“Nervous?”

His head whips toward you, and you can see it in his eyes.

“A little,” he mumbles, but you don’t hear it over the crowd’s excited screams.

“You got this,” you grab his shoulders to make him look you in the eyes, “like Ash said, you guys worked your asses off for this album. The fans loved it, your shows are all sold out, and you have thousands out there waiting to see you kill it.”

He’s silent, blue eyes staring into yours as they bounce from one eye to the other.

“I love you,” he blurts, loud enough just for you to hear.

You freeze, the grip on his shoulder loosens but remain.

He notices, “She did tell me something that night, and whether or not it’s true, I-I love you.”

“Sixty seconds!” a stage recites in the earpieces.

The boys turn to look at both of you, curious eyes turn into surprise as they watch your expression.

“I don’t know how long, I don’t know when, and I don’t know what it was, but I know for sure.”

Your eyes glance at Ashton briefly, not missing the knowing smile he gives you before you look back into Luke’s eyes.

“I…love you, too,” you respond, gripping his shoulders while your eyes drop down to his shiny shoes.

He doesn’t hear you over the cheers and screams, but reading your lips he knows the answer.

Luke smiles, grabbing the back of your head and kissing your forehead.

He leans down to your ear, “I expect to hear you say it when I come back.”

With flashing lights scattering across the stage, the boys run out to the stage, big smiles gracing their faces for multiple reasons with adrenaline pumping through their veins. From backstage, you watch the show you a smile, feeling high from the brief but fulfilling confession.

It’s two hours later when the show ends. Your heart is pounding as you watch the crew celebrate the successful first show.

Luke pulls you away from the crowd, into the hallway and away from the noise.

“So it was true, what Rachel said?” Luke begins, his hand still holding yours as a shy smile forms.

“What did she say?”

He exhales air through his nose in a laugh, “She said you were in love with me, and that you were trying to break us up.”

You scoff, shaking your head as you look at your intertwined fingers. He squeezes your hand to get your attention.

“I doubt that last part, but the first part I’m hoping is true in a sense.”

Your eyes meet his, adoration swimming in them bringing a smile to your face, “There may be a strong crush I have on you,” you tease, “and it may or may not have turned into love.”

He laughs, letting go of your hand to wrap you in a hug. His head dips down, his forehead on your shoulder as he breathes in your scent. He moves slightly, whispering in your ear, “Say it.”

Your head rested against his chest, hearing his heart beat rapidly and rhythmically.

“I love you,” you whisper.

You feel him smile against your shoulder before he pulls away, his arms resting on your hips as he smiles down at you.

“If you’d like,” he begins, his tone timid now, “that place you like in Seattle has a new dish. It’s our next stop…” he drifts off, hoping you’d catch on to him asking you out.

You do, laughing at how he remembered yet another thing you seem to have forgotten. It was a themed restaurant that had some of the best food you’ve ever eaten, and for days you wouldn’t stop talking about it. But you never went back to it, even during breaks, but somehow he seemed to remember.

“Yes, Luke.”

You know the shock will hit you later that night, that finally the person you’ve fallen for, who happens to be your best friend, admitted his feelings to you. But you’re happy, Luke’s happy, and with the boys’ and crew’s reaction to the two of you walking back to the area where they’re celebrating, the happiness is infectious.

On the road in the tour bus, Ashton passes you as you respond to emails.

“Thanks for not shutting him out,” he says, drinking a small bottle of water from the fridge.

“Did you know?”

He shrugs, avoiding your eyes as he finishes the bottle and tosses it in the recycling bag. “Maybe,” he walks towards the back where the beds are, “maybe not.”

You shake your head, “You did.”

“Didn’t want to spoil it,” he gives you a quick hug before retreating to bed.

Luke walks out of the bathroom shortly after, taking his spot next to you.

“Go to bed,” you slightly shift your shoulder as he lays his head on it, “you need the rest.”

“No,” he mumbles, sleep lacing his tone, “feels like a dream. Don’t wanna wake up.”

You chuckle at his nonsense, finishing off the last email before shutting the laptop and placing it on the counter next to you. You adjust yourself on the couch to have Luke lay down with you. He readjusts himself so he doesn’t crush you, wrapping his arm around your waist and placing his head on your chest.

“I wish I had known before all the drama,” he mumbles again, eyes closed, “I want you in my life, always.”

He drifts off to sleep with that, a faint smile on his lips.

You know what made you fall in love with your best friend. You accept it now, and you’re at peace knowing the feeling is mutual.

#5sos imagines #5sos preferences #5 seconds of summer imagines #5 seconds of summer preferences #5sos imagine #5sos preference #5 seconds of summer imagine #5 seconds of summer preference #5sos blurbs #5sos drabbles #5sos one shots #5 seconds of summer blurbs #5 seconds of summer one shots #5 seconds of summer drabbles #luke hemmings imagines #luke hemmings blurbs #luke hemmings drabbles #luke hemmings imagine #sidenote: microsoft word kept wanting to change the word 'lose' to 'love' lol #also i wish i had grammarly premium bc the amount of premium suggestions for this piece...oof #IT'S PAST 4AM LOL

[tiredbiostudent]

i love seeing your posts it's very motivating. if you dont mind me asking, do you have any advice for studying (or tricks you use for urself) ((it's v vague sorry))!!!

hi, thank you! honestly I am absolutely awful at studying but I will try to provide some helpful tips:

1. watching university vloggers always makes me feel more motivated to do work! my favourites atm are nayna florence, moya mawhinney, paigeyy (her old cambridge vlogs bc I think she’s graduated now), linh truong, and may gao 2. I have a really hard time getting started so sometimes you just need to be like alright I can at LEAST open up this pdf or assignment. and I can at LEAST create a new word document and write out what I have to do. and occasionally this tricks your brain into actually starting ;) 3. when you plan a study schedule, give yourself at least one free day where you have nothing planned bc at least for me I will absolutely need it. don’t cram your days full of unrealistic things to do! 4. take advantage of your productive moods, but also don’t be too hard on yourself when you’re feeling super tired or burnt out or unproductive. you can also try and flip your productivity switch on (tho this is hit or miss) by doing less taxing stuff like going on a walk, making your bed, watering your plants- any task that makes you feel like you’re accomplishing something 5. have a hobby and life outside of school. easier said than done, but this will really help alleviate the stress and anxiety you feel when something goes wrong academically and that’s the only “important” thing you feel like you have in life. take time for yourself to learn new things, relax, spend time with friends, be in nature, exercise. all about balance baby! 6. study based on what your exam will test you on. if it’s short answer, study the material but also practice writing out example answers. if it’s matching labels to diagrams, practice that! go beyond just writing out your notes, try and fit your studying method to the format of your test. it helps s o much. 7. similarly, ALWAYS DO THE REVIEW QUESTIONS. if you have no time to do anything else, DO THESE!!! I’ve been burned so many times because I feel obligated to retype out all my notes (bc I have to have everything altogether) and run out of time to do the practice questions my prof gives, and those are always the most relevant to what you’ll be tested on. hell, do these before anything else. cannot stress this enough lol!!!! 8. don’t do the readings unless you NEED to or it helps you learn. otherwise it’s a waste of time (and money for a textbook!) imo 9. switch up where you study. unfortunately this isn’t really feasible right now but I find I’m most productive at the library- at your university (if you go) try to find your favourite study spots, and have a few you can cycle through! for me it’s the lifesci commons, law library and the comp sci building because they’re chill, productive atmospheres (as opposed to the SUB or the health sci building, which are too loud and too intense respectively) 10. keep your phone out of sight lol. and get one of those browser locks like forest to dissuade you from getting distracted. for me it’s more of a split second compulsion to check and once there’s a barrier in my way I’m like oh. nvm. 11. my personal note-taking method is taking written notes in lecture of anything important that’s not on the slides. usually your prof will emphasize the important of a topic too! but if they don’t, pay attention to what they’re spending a lot of time going over. after class I’ll add my written notes to the lecture to supplement it and better explain everything we covered. (for virtual lectures, I basically have the slides open in one half of my screen and the lecture in the other and type notes onto the slides as it plays) 12. practice explaining concepts to yourself out loud- this is a great way to see if you’ve actually understood the material! if you can do this once solidly, you’re good to go and it’ll stick in your brain for a while. 13. also try and make connections between topics you’ve covered because often this is what profs like to ask about on exams (cough ~synthesis~). for instance, recognizing that keratin composes tissues in birds, mammals, reptiles, etc. 14. if you’ve been working hard or having a stressful time buy yourself a nice warm drink because you deserve it! :) 15. this one’s a little weird but if you need to remember something like what the foundational traits of vertebrates are, focus on memorizing how many you need to know! if I know there’s 6 of something I need to remember, it makes recalling them SO much easier 16. if you’ve been sitting down studying for a while take a break to just jump tf around your room. you could also go on a walk I guess but jumping is more fun. 17. it’s good to get a reminder of why you’re in school and what makes you passionate about what you’re studying to drive you to keep going. for me I love to watch nature documentaries or go on hikes or look through field guidebooks or read really neat academic papers :) 18. for the love of god please get enough sleep.

I also have a whole tag of #study tips that is 1000% more helpful than what I can provide so definitely take a look through there! good luck, you got this :) ps sorry this got so long winded lol I hope it helps!

#hilarious how long this got fdhksjdfjds as if I'm qualified to give study advice #asks #study tips #studyblr #productivity #stemblr

[krappykawa]

I read your s/o who likes to read hcs and was wondering if you could do the same request format or whatever it is you'd call it but with terishima,akaashi, iwa, Oikawa,and Daichi? Sorry if that's a lot! -anon

with a s/o that likes to read (part 2)

— iwaizumi, oikawa, terushima, daichi, and akaashi

word count. 1.4k

genre. fluff

note. i made these ones shorter than the ones in part two because anon requested a lot of characters and i didn’t wanna run out of headcanons to write,,, i hope you still like this though!

part one here

IWAIZUMI.

- will read the books that you’re reading just because he likes the feeling of being able to bond with you over something you love since you’re so supportive of him already (literally the perfect man. perfect bf. give me a kiss rn RN!!)

- maybe not all of them, but if you get him hooked on the description, then he will probably finish the book faster than you

- if he doesn’t like a book very much he’ll take ages to finish it though

- if you ask him about how he’s doing with reading it he’ll be like “oh i’m almost done” when in reality he’s only 20 pages in

- he’ll send you texts about the books you recommend but they’ll be super blunt like “this character just died” or “oh they kissed”

- you sit at your phone for 20 minutes debating on how to respond to those because HOW??

- he loves cuddles,,,, would literally die for cuddles

- so when you climb into his lap with a book in hand and bury your head in his neck as you read his heart literally malfunctions

- his cute s/o with their reading obsession that he secretly finds so endearing climbing into his lap for cuddle time,,,,,, his heart goes &2:$84!;💞💖💘💖💓💖💞/):&38,

- iwaizumi.exe has stopped working

- but he’s also not afraid to pull you into his lap if he sees you reading on the couch

- he’ll probably put on a monster movie and just hold you as you read and he watches

- probably also buried his nose in your hair and revels in your scent (also kisses your head every so often because he can’t help it and AHHHH HES SO CUTE)

- when you start sending him messages about your books, he will attempt to respond to every single text or he will just wait until you’re done and text back with “u done?” (not in a mean way though) there’s no inbetween

- he’s smiling every time you send him those texts though

- aoba johsai’s volleyball team (ESPECIALLY OIKAWA) teases him mercilessly if they ever catch him smiling at his phone in the locker room or during class or during lunch (basically u text him a lot lol)

- sometimes when you slam your book shut and scream into your pillow, he will just watch you with amused eyes and probably make an offhand comment that’s similar to “remember to breathe while you’re at it.”

- you end up throwing the pillow at him (which he catches and then proceeds to walk to where you are and swing you over his shoulder)

- get your mind out of the gutter on the “over his shoulder” part i swear he’s just teasing you for throwing a pillow at him (I CAN FEEL YOUR MIND WANDERING STOP IT)

OIKAWA.

- he makes an effort to read your books, really he does

- he’s just really busy, so most of the books he promises he will read stay only half way read through and never picked up ever again

- if you give him a sci-fi book though, this man will literally finish it at an insane pace

- literally he would be the one to text you at some ungodly hour (usually 3AM in the morning) because he just finished the book in one sitting and he’s literally brimming with reactions

- will text things like “WHAT THE FUCK HE JUST DIED”, “YN SEND HELP I THINK THEY’RE ABOUT TO DO SOMETHING STUPID”, “OH MY GODDDD I HATE THIS BITCH CAN THEY STOP TALKING” (always in all caps whenever he’s reacting to a book)

- you better pray that he doesn’t end up hating a character because he will text you every single time they show up on a page and complain about them

- “this character reminds me of ushijima why would you put me through this 🤕🤕”

- or “THEYRE TALKING AGAIN?? WHEN WILL THEY GET THE MEMO THAT I WANT THEM TO . ST F U ‼️😻”

- anyways, if it’s not sci-fi, it’s probably sitting on his nightstand and never touched again until you steal the book back

- CLAIMS he tried reading them (he got 2 pages in and then put it down)

- he is also a huge cuddler

- but you will not be able to read in his lap because he’s so fucking whiny

- “y/n-channn pay attention to meeee. you can read about that insanely hot dude in your book when you’re not already sitting in an insanely hot dude’s lap”

- big pouty face

- it works every single time and you hate him for it

- once you put your book down he will not let you go for a good ten minutes

- he also has tons of pictures of you reading on his phone because he thinks you’re so cute and feels like he has to snap a picture so he can remember how cute you looked at that very moment

- a lot like iwaizumi, oikawa will attempt to reply to every single one of your book related texts (except oikawa succeeds at replying to every single one)

- like you could literally send him fifty text messages in a row and you will get fifty replies back

TERUSHIMA.

- i am so sorry to say this but i genuinely cannot see terushima being interested in your books whatsoever

- he thinks that it’s boring and always questions how you can just sit down for hours on end and just read

- this changes when you give him one of those insane, mind-boggling, really dark, murder-mystery books

- he’ll scoff at it but after a lot of begging on your part, he’ll give it a try

- he loves it

- he told you that he never got bored and that feeling like that while reading a book is so weird to him

- that is the only book you’ll ever get him to read though (okay maybe he’ll read a few more if you beg him for it with that cute pouty face of yours that he cannot resist)

- like he’ll treat that murder mystery book as a holy grail and insist that nothing will ever top it

- i’m sorry again but he probably texts you “what u doing rn?” and if you say something about reading he’ll try to get you to do literally anything else (most likely will send a horny text to try and steal you away from your reading, let’s be honest here)

- “come over baby you can experience all that you’re reading in that book first hand 😏😏😏”

- if you send him text reactions of your book he will most likely reply with “awe babe ur so cute” but not say anything about the books in itself (IM SORRY HE’S NOT MEAN ABOUT IT THOUGH)

- cuddling with him while reading will never happen

- seriously

- he will do everything in his power to get you to put the book down

- like start peppering you with kisses or tickling you

- he just can’t stand sitting down in silence for so long lol

- he doesn’t put you down for reading though

- like yeah he might not understand it and thinks it’s boring, but he admires that you care so much about it and also admires your commitment

DAICHI.

- admires you for reading honestly

- like i feel like he’s the type to get really good grades but will not look at a book that he hasn’t been assigned to read for his life

- that being said, he probably has never read any of the books you ask him to read with you

- he’s told you he’s read one or two which is a lie (you know it’s a lie but you don’t tell him that because you know he feels bad about not reading them)

- he isn’t on his phone often so most of the time your texts don’t get answered for hours

- it’s kinda fun that way though because after a while you just start sending him long text threads and it’s like talking to yourself

- when he does respond it’s with something like “you look like you had fun there” (after that he’ll apologize for not seeing it and then ask if you had anything else about the book that you wanted to tell him about AWEHISHFNF)

- very good listener!! he’ll try and have a genuine conversation about the book even if he hasn’t read it (like if you want to talk about how you think the plot doesn’t work, he will either support you or give you valid reasons that sparks constructive conversation)

- will absolutely never see the texts you send at 1AM (until the morning) because he always passes out before 11PM

- will see them in the morning and will text back “well good morning to me”

- he has absolutely no clue what you’re talking about in the texts but tries his hardest to be supportive

- cuddling while you’re reading happens nearly every single time you’re together

- is very stressed from dealing with his volleyball children so he’ll more than happily sit on the couch and cuddle with you as you read

- sometimes he falls asleep while you cuddle and you just snuggle into him and it’s so cute

AKAASHI.

- THIS LITTLE SHIT

- man oh man he loves acting like a smart ass whenever you text him about your books

- you’ll be like “my favorite character just died!!” and he’ll be like “well tell them to not die then wtf”

- will stay up late texting you about your book though because he’s most likely reading it with you so you two can bounce ideas off of each other

- if you like a character that he hates he will not hesitate to start a debate about why you shouldn’t like that character (full one page of reasons. this man takes his opinions very seriously)

- if you’re together at his house or something and you start yelling at your book he’ll be like “y/n don’t hurt its feelings.”

- you momentarily pause your yelling to deadpan him

- he stares right back

- “just be nice.” (you’re like BWAH???)

- HE ALSO YELLS AT HIS BOOKS THOUGH

- it’s uncommon but it does happen

- if you’re both reading or you’re doing homework and he’s reading, he’ll slam the book shut and yell about how stupid this character is (and when i mean yell, i mean yell)

- and if he doesn’t like the ending of something he will rant for days and you’ll have to remind him to take a breath

- he gets so hyped up from reading books it’s so cute

- will read with you when you cuddle read (does that make sense??? like when you cuddle with him while reading)

- will mumble things under his breath while you’re both reading but you’re on his lap so you can hear everything and you just laugh

- one time he mumbled “stupid bitch just fucking die already” to this character he hated

- you had to put down the book because you were laughing so hard

#oikawa x reader #oikawa headcanons #iwaizumi x reader #iwaizumi headcanons #terushima x reader #terushima headcanons #daichi x reader #daichi headcanons #akaashi x reader #akaashi headcanons #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu headcanons

[wittlesissyb4by]

Author's Note: If you're wondering where Chapter 4 is, you're not going crazy. Due to the nature and formatting (it uses chatlogs and explicit content) it is not suited enough for this prude-ass site. I'm sorry to say, but if you want to read Chapter 4 (and all the way up to 7), you'll have to subscribe to my SubStar. I'm sorry, I wish there was another way, but I will have it available for even the least expensive option of $3. My sincerest apologies. Still, I think you'll still be able to grasp the story without missing too much context from Ch. 4 (our MC Alan performed a task, and was rewarded with pictures of Persephone.) I hope you can still enjoy the story below. Thanks for reading!

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

The White Rabbit Chapter 5 - Cockslut

I had never jerked off to the same set of pictures so many times in my life. Even when I was younger and found my Dad’s dirty magazines, my prepubescent self didn’t spank it as much as I had to the photos I’d just received from Persephone.  I spent so long staring and fapping to those pictures she sent, every inch of her was embedded into my brain. Burned into my retinas like when a TV is left on for so long that it damages the display. Hell, it probably is burned into my phone screen from being up so many times. 

She’s even more gorgeous than I imagined. It’s rare that something can live up to the hype you’ve been building up for it for so long. I pored over every pixel of her perfect body, examined the contours of her cheeks, the twinkle in her eyes, the crooks of that devious smile, the splotches of colors in her tattoos, specifically the one of the little white rabbit.

“That doesn’t mean that’s what she really looks like. She could be catfishing you” That tiny voice in the back of my head still whispered.  But I shoved that thought aside, even after the post-nut clarity hit.

I still masturbated the way she told me to. Every single time. Fingering the head of my dripping clit through my little panties with a dildo in my mouth or ass. I didn’t last long at all. I imagined her standing over me, smiling that wicked smile, laughing at me while shoving that dildo in my mouth, or pounding me in the ass with it. I finally was able to give a face to the rubber dick I’d been shoving in my holes for so long. What I wouldn’t give to have her right there next to me, doing all the things I imagined, but in reality.

Persephone didn’t talk to me for a few days. I don’t know if she had something going on, or if she was just leaving me to my own devices, to stare longingly at her photos, to imagine scenarios of her in my head. They say absence makes the heart grow fonder, but I think it also makes subs more dependent on their Mistresses. 

Without her guiding presence, I was left with this odd sort of void. No one was telling me what to do anymore. How would I know how to “fuck my slutty little asshole” if she wasn’t there to tease and berate me with her messages?

I’m not proud of what I did in her absence. 

“Sorry, I had some things…come up at work.” She messaged after almost a whole week. 

“It’s fine.” I said, trying to sound nonchalant, like I wasn’t checking my phone every 30 seconds in hopes that she would finally respond. 

“Did you do okay while I was gone?”

“Yes Mistress.” I said, hoping to leave it at that.

“My little slut was able to handle herself?”

I guess you could say that.  “Yes Mistress.”

But something was eating at me. I didn’t know how to tell her, I didn’t know if I wanted to tell her. But this relationship—no matter how weird it was—had to be built on trust, right?

“I…i might’ve…” I typed out the next part, deleted it, then typed again. “I may have…found someone else…”

My heart was pounding as I waited for her response, but it didn’t take long. 

“Oh?”

She wanted me to elaborate. 

“Did you find a girl in real life that’ll dress you up like a sissy bitch and fuck your little butt, slut?”

I audibly scoffed at that. Like that would ever happen. 

“No I…found some other people online…”

“People? As in, more than one?”

“I…yea…”

She didn’t say anything for a while. She must have been fuming. 

“Are they girls? Or are they men?”

I felt myself flush, shriveling into myself. I felt so ashamed, not just because of what it was, but because I knew I was disappointing her. I was effectively ‘cheating’ on her. 

“Men…😞”

Nothing happened for a second, minutes, hours— or at least that’s what it felt like. Then, Persephone is typing…

It took a long time too. She must have been writing a novel. Berating me for being such a piece of shit. I finally found a girl to fulfill my dreams, and I went and blew it as soon as she stepped away for a few days. 

“You’ve gotta be fucking kidding me.” She said. “Did you sext with them??”

Again, I wanted to lie, but there was no denying it now. “Yes…”

“This is it. I blew it. A girl any submissive would kill for, and I let it slip away the first chance I got. 

Persephone is typing…

I was sweating, dreading what was to come. Finally, a massive text bubble hit the screen. 

“LMAOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO😂😂😂😂😂😂😂😂😂😂😂😂😂😂😂😂😂”

Well…that wasn’t the response I expected. 

“You fucking WHORE!! Hahaha”

I felt a bit of tentative relief, still not quite sure how she was taking it. 

“Did I tell you you had to do that??”

“No ma’am…😥”

“But you did it anyway?”

“Mhmm.. 😣”

“You know, this is the second time you’ve done something without my permission, and it always seems to involve cock…”

She was referring to the time I used the dildos she ‘made’ me buy. She didn’t tell me to use them, she didn’t have to, I just…did it anyway. 

“Because you’re a desperate little cockslut, aren’t you?”

My immediate reaction was to deny it, the same way I’d been doing my whole life. I always told myself ‘as long as a woman was making me be a slut for men, it was fine. It’s not gay.’ But the proof was right there. Even without her around I still went out and did what I always told myself I’d never do on my own. 

“I…i think so…😩”

“I wanna hear you say it.” 

“Say what?”

“Tell me what you are.”

It took a second to register what she meant, but then it hit me like a truck.

“I’m a little cockslut…” I said. Just typing the words made me feel weird, but also weirdly arroused…

“Louder.”

I switched to all caps, “I’M A LITTLE COCKSLUT!!”

“No no.” She replied, “I want you to make a video. Put your little panties on, get on your dildo, and start bouncing.”

I scrambled to obey, perhaps a bit too quickly. My cock was already fully erect by the time I pulled my panties up around it. I stuck the suction cup to the floor, making the rubber dick sway back and forth, squirted a generous amount of lube on the tip, worked some between my crack, pulled my panties aside, hit the video, and started recording. 

I slowly lowered myself down on it, wincing as it pressed inside my unrelaxed sphincter. There were several seconds of awkward fumbling and adjusting and lowering and gasping before it finally worked its way in and the sounds turned to sighing. 

“I’m a little cockslut,” I said softly, working the dildo further into me. 

“I’m a little cockslut.” I repeated, feeling it slide along my prostate. 

“I’m a little cockslut!” My eyes were in the back of my head. 

“I’M A LITTLE COCKSLUT!!” I practically shouted, burying the dildo all the way inside me until I was squatting down on the balls. There was no denying how good it felt to be full like that. I quickly clipped the video and sent it to Persephone. 

“Don’t stop now.” She replied. “I can see you leaking in your panties. You’re loving this!!”

She was right, my panties were soaked with precum. 

I bounced, swirled, grinded my hips back and forth. 

“How many guys did you sext with?”

I wanted to reduce the number, but I was too horny to deny it. 

“Seven” I managed to reply while still keeping rhythm. 

“Seven?! That’s more than I assigned you the other day!”

She was right. What felt like such a chore before quickly became something I craved, like a lot of things she was making me do…

The dildo felt so good. I was fully relaxed now, bouncing and taking that dick like the best of them. 

“How did it make you feel? Being a little whore for men and making them cum?”

“Like a slut, Goddess.”

“You fucking LOVED it, didn’t you?”

I did, and I told her so. 

“Show me how much you love that dick.”

I set the camera up again, putting it in selfie mode so I could see myself bounce on the cock. I needed to shave my legs, I needed to work out more, get in better shape to get a better body so I could attract more—

Oh my GOD! It felt so good. When I leaned back it hit my spot perfectly. I crab-crawled my arms backwards, putting all my weight on my hands so I could focus on gyrating my hips. 

I pulled the front of my panties to the side. I wanted her to see how hard I was. How much it made my dick swell to have something pumping in and out of my asshole. I was gonna be her little buttslut. Her little whore to pimp out like she always told me. My mind was swimming, my body was clenching, waves coursed through my legs and up to my pelvis, an immense rush came from inside my rectum and then—

The first shot caught me off guard. A huge spurt of semen flew straight up in the air. Another one went forward, spraying the floor and pretty much everything else around the room as my bouncing cock spewed like an unmanned firehose. 

It took several seconds for me to register what happened, to come off the high I just experienced. To snap back to reality, to realize this even was reality. I was still gasping for breath when I slowly slid the cock out. I sat there for a second, contemplating what just took place. 

I just had a sissygasm. 

I’d heard of it before, but I never thought it was actually possible other than by extremely practiced sissies. Professionals. Ones that knew what they were doing because they’d done it so much and so heavily enjoyed the feeling of co—

I grabbed my phone, swiping away a glob of cum that must have landed on the screen. I contemplated not sending the video to Persephone, but I had to see what she said. 

Her first several messages were a series of laughing emojiis. She even sent me an audio file of her cackling like an amused hyena. If I could have seen her face, it probably had tears of laughter leaking down the sides. 

“I knew you’d get there one day, but I didn’t expect it to be so soon!!”

I let her have her fun. Berating and humiliating and teasing me for proving what a “cockslut” I am. I don’t think there was anything I could do to deny it at that point. 

“Clean up your mess.” She finally said. 

I spent the next several minutes lapping up the many, many puddles of cum littered around the room. The thick globs refused to come up just from me tonguing it like a dog, so I had to press my lips around them and slurp it up like a dog. 

“You’re not done.” She said after I sent her the video of me gargling and swallowing some. 

I looked around for a puddle I’d missed, how had she seen something that I couldn’t?

“I’m not sure where, Goddess…?”

Was it my panties? They *were* quite wet, did she mean my panties? But she soon clarified:

“The dildo 😈” 

My stomach churned as I looked back at the rubber dick I’d just violated my ass with. “Oh Goddess…please no…”

This wasn’t me faking some sort of trepidation in order for her to have another chance to belittle me, this was genuine disgust. 

“I know it’s gross, honey. But if i’m gonna whore you out you’re going to have to get used to going ass to mouth. There are some very callous men out there…”

“Please…please don’t make me 🥺”

“I’m sorry, sissy, it has to be done. Let this be a lesson for you to keep yourself clean at all times. You need to be doing regular enemas. You never know who’s gonna stop and bend your bimbo ass over! Now get to cleaning. And don’t try to wipe it down first either, I can see the glistens of lube.”

Damn, that was my backup plan. There was no getting out of it. Well…there was. I could just stop talking to her altogether. Draw the line. Quit right here and now. But was I really going to let a dirty dildo ruin what we have? I’d probably never get this opportunity again. (Not to clean my ass juices off a fake dick—but have a powerful woman tell me what to do.)

I leaned in close, turning up my nose, trying to block out the faint, pungent smell. The fake black dick at least hid any damning streaks I may not have had the stomach to see. 

After tapping record on my phone, I tentatively opened my mouth and stuck my tongue to the tip, cringing at the taste that was probably more lube than anything else. I made a mental note to get the flavored stuff if this was going to be a regular occurance. 

A regular occurance? What was happening to me?? I went from wanting to be dominated by a stranger, to wearing panties, dirty talking creepy men, shoving dicks in my holes, and then shoving those dirty dicks back into my mouth. I never imagined wanting to be dominated would lead to me doing such depraved things. But here I was, slurping the lube off of a dick I just used to make myself cum without even touching my own dick. 

“I think you missed a spot…” Persephone said, “go deeper.”

I wonder if she enjoys this. Like genuinely enjoys watching guys in panties gag and sputter on a dirty dildos. Then again, I can think of several females I screwed over in the past that would probably pay good money for this very video. 

“Now the balls…”

If it was able to sparkle, it would have by the time I was done with it. My mouth was full of all sorts of conflicting flavors like cum, lube, and god knows what else. 

“Smack your face with it a few times, just for giggles!”

Oh how far I’d fallen. If only I had known at the time that this was only the very beginning. 

“Did you have fun?” She asked after it was all said and done. 

“Yes Goddess,” I said, even without being horny anymore, I found myself being truthful. 

“You like being my little slut?”

“YES Goddess!”

“Good. Because I have another assignment for you…”

~~To Be Continued~~

To Read Further, Head Over to SubStar!

[floralovebot]

Helia and Tecna friendship headcanons? -lambofzenith

AHHHHHHHHHH okay so

helia is really bad at technology right? pretty much anything that isn't covered in red fountain lessons, he's a complete no-go at. tecna takes it upon herself to try and help him understand basic technology a bit more and it goes so wrong. helia is literally the mom that squints their eyes and holds their phone away from their face while using One pointer finger to type everything. tecna hates it so much.

helia naturally doesn't understand a single thing that comes out of her mouth when she's talking technology but he still supports her nonetheless

helia is surprisingly rational most of the time! he's a firm Push All My Emotions Down And Then One Day I'll Die kind of person so even during really stressful missions, he's good at keeping a level head about things. tecna really appreciates this and it's not rare to see her, helia, and timmy discussing mission-related strategies During The Middle Of A Fight

tecna has a tendency to talk while she works (only noticeable around people she's comfortable with though) but she gets a little self-conscious about it. she knows it's not Bad or anything, but it doesn't seem Right either so she tries to keep quiet most of the time. helia on the other hand is so used to working while it's noisy that he's totally chill with it. they've gotten used to just vibing in the same room, working on their own things, and not actually talking to each other during it. they're comfortable around each other :) helia doesn't mind when she rambles out loud and tecna doesn't mind him pacing around the room every five minutes. symbiotic relationship.

tecna doesn't like talking about what she went through in the omega dimension, even with timmy. however, she does occasionally draw things out when she really needs to vent and can't think of any other way how. she's always been good at sketching due to her background in designing gadgets so this wasn't a weird transition for her. helia told her about this anonymous place for artists to submit their art with absolutely no names attached and after checking to make sure it was legit and she was completely safe, she started to submit one or two a year. she doesn't like to do it often but it does help to sort of "get it out" without actually talking about it.

while helia is notoriously Bad at video games, he does actually like the more "physical reality" ones (think that virtual reality tecmy scene!) mainly because it feels close enough to real life that he doesn't need to rely on just technology to do it. tecna and helia often have very competitive gaming matches but specifically within those kinds of games otherwise, he's really bad at it and she gets annoyed that he can't remember any of the buttons.

speaking of competitions, helia has an inner bet going on of How Much Can I Pretend To Not Know Jackshit About A Specific Technological Topic Before Tecna Notices. what he doesn't know, is that tecna knows he does this and has her own inner bet of How Long Can I Explain This Specific Topic Before Helia Gets Bored And Moves On. so far, the score is mostly even, with helia only winning because timmy isn't aware of this mental battle and will often jump in to explain things too. helia is very smug about this and tecna can't say anything to timmy otherwise she loses the fight that no one actually set firm rules on.

timmy is just really happy that his two best friends are also friends and sometimes he tries to invite helia and flora on their dates. tecna is okay with this only because she thinks it's funny. florelia were also okay with it but started to not be because they realized that their version of a date and tecmy's version of a date was extremely different. they've started to come up with increasingly ridiculous excuses for why they can't go and so far timmy is the only one that hasn't noticed. poor timmy, he genuinely thinks flora's best friend cactus is sick and needs care 😔

when timmy isn't available, helia will call tecna for any technology related issues he's having. on one hand, she likes that he trusts her and can rely on her, on the other hand, she's told him ten separate times not to leave his computer running all the damn time. (tecna: please turn the computer off when you're not using it. this will immensely help solve all of the problems you've been having. helia: okay so i'm gonna leave it on all the time?). he's not trying to be difficult though. he just forgets everything and assumes it should work regardless (he a little stupit).

roxy gets so much gender envy from both of them and it confuses her all the time. they have no idea what a gender envy is though and they're mostly just wondering how they stop giving it to roxy since it seems like it agitates her??? help please???? researching the matter doesn't help and it ends up becoming a meme on winx stan twt because tecna made a very official and serious post asking about the severity of "gender envy" and needing to know how contagious it is. now whenever either of them posts, earth teens just comment gender envy at them. helia still doesn't know what it means.

they don't watch movies/tv together but they will binge-watch the same shows and then talk about them later on. tecna's formatting is still very formal and functional meanwhile helia bounces off multiple points and forgets to make a conclusion. he stresses her out so much.

helia notices when tecna has stayed up too long for too many nights and will occasionally send her a "please sleep" message when he knows timmy is already asleep and can't do it. she doesn't always listen but sometimes she will, but not before sending the same message back because why the fuck is he up at this hour huh dumbass?????

tecna has a pet bird and helia has multiple cats and they absolutely cannot be in the same room together. her bird is constantly trying to fight his cats and while they're usually well behaved, he's genuinely scared they're gonna try to eat it (tecna: stop calling my bird an "it"; helia: stop putting your bird near my cats 😐)

they actually don't like hanging out when one of them is upset. they both have a hard time talking about their emotions (for different reasons obviously) and they always end up feeling like they have to say something when they're together. they just really prefer hanging when they're both in a good mood or at least calm. whenever one of them gets upset, they stop hanging out together until that person feels better.

connected to the last point, you'd think that would mean they don't know a lot about each other, but they surprisingly do! they're both relatively observant people (tecna gets better every year) and they're actually really good at figuring out why the other is upset and what would help. they just don't talk about it.

although, on a similar note, the one time they did have an emotional talk, it was about timmy. tecna was feeling upset again and worrying over whether or not she's "too logical/not emotional enough" and it was the one time where she actually allowed herself to hang out with him while being upset. they had a genuine heart to heart about things and especially about how she's way too hard on herself. they thought it would be awkward since they actively avoided this kind of thing but it wasn't! it went very naturally and helia even teared up a bit. he's very proud of her and the effort she makes every day and since that talk has been much more vocal about it.

when they went to earth in s4, they both spent way too much time learning about Earth Things; tecna about earth media (canon), and helia about animals since that's what flora was talking about. he started calling tecna "chip" after that because chipmunks reminded him of her. she disagrees with this assessment and he refuses to admit he mixed up chipmunks and squirrels. he still calls her chip to this day, and fortunately, it's grown on her. unfortunately, he calls timmy "chip" too, and now it's a hassle to figure out who he's talking to.

helia is surprisingly interested in zenith technology despite not understanding it all! he enjoys walking through the streets of zenith with tecna while she proudly points things out so he can go "ooo aaa" at everything. sometimes she tries to explain how things work and his mind starts playing elevator music automatically. tecna has gotten really good at knowing when helia is just. brain empty no thoughts because she recognizes the Empty look in his eyes. she enjoys catching it live and trying to figure out why he's just. not thinking (usually it's because he either doesn't understand something or got bored) (this happens often when sky starts talking) (sorry sky)

tecna is one of the winx (besides flora of course) that helia trusts the most. not in an emotional or friend way, but in a physical, we're on a mission way. she has good control of her magic and knows how to use it. she's good at thinking of strategies and applying them properly to the situation. and after the omega dimension, he had a newfound respect for her previously unknown to him survival skills. if he were even in severe danger, she would be the first winx he'd call (depending on the situation, she is occasionally ahead of flora).

helia is really bad at sharing details. he tends to go straight to the conclusion but doesn't share how he got there (adhd king 😌) and tecna is the best person to call in when this happens. her logical questioning makes it seem so easy because she has the patience and knowledge to connect the dots and ask the right questions. when anyone else tries its more like (helia: i'm sitting in a pool of blood; person: uhm do you know where it's coming from?; helia: probably the stab wound; someone: did you get stabbed??; helia: oh yeah definitely.)

#lamb.. i love them so much... #the comedy potential with these two are just off the roof #winx club #winx tecna #winx helia #answered #lambofzenith #mine.headcanons #ugh ik i mentioned it on the trivelia post but this made me think of the backstory i made up for helia #because tecna plays a big part in it later on in the story #i have an entire rewrite that i refuse to ever actually write ajhgljadlg #but tecna plays a big part in helia's Main Arc in the story... and its so self indulgent i just really love these two #posting now.. when no one is awake.. ajkdhljaghdlj

[angelisverba]

i’ll hold you so you don’t fall again

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

pairing: interiordesing!y/n and eroticawriter!harry

word count: 21k+

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

Y/n wasn’t one to brag.

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

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

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

Because it definitely was one.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You know, like with a brush and paint can. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

    “Okay, how do you want me?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And then, 

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

.

.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Y/N!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Oh! Um…” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Affection. Love. Companionship. 

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

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

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

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

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

.

.

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

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

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

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

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

“Let’s go.” 

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

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

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

She couldn’t say no. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Biting into her toast, she opened the book. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Don’t call me that,” she mumbled. 

“What do you wish I call you then?”

“Dani.” 

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

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

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

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

strands then massaging down her neck and shoulders.

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

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

“No,” she said quietly.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

    And when it died out,

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

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

.

.

“... you know what I mean?”

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

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

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

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

Y/n truly wished she didn’t know. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

God.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Not falling. 

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

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

Right. In front. Of her face. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

    Timidly, she responds, “Okay.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

    “Thank you so much for h-”

    “Y/n?” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

    .

    .

    And it definitely didn’t. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Upon first entering, y/n is disoriented. 

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

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

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

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

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

    Perfect. 

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

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

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

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

    .

    .

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

    She started in the back. With the plants. 

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

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

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

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

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

   “Y/n!” 

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

   Grey sweatpants. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I’ll catch you.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

    “Lead the way.” 

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

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

    “S’very nice back here.” 

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

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

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

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

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

    “It’s that serious?” She asked. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What was that?’ she hums. 

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

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

    “Uhm, thank you?” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Stop it,” she said. 

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

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

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

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

“When do you get a break?” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Well if it isn’t y/n!” Says Kim.

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

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

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

“Two drinks?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

    “What did you get?” He asked her. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

    “Do you decorate apartments?” He asked.

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

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

    “Harry, I-”

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

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

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

    “But it’s your home.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

    God, what had she gotten herself into?

    .

    .

    Y/n had saved Harry under “H.”

   And received a text from him that same night.

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

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

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

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

So i think i know what i wanna go for

Was thinking maybe italy in the 70’s 

What do you think :D ??

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

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

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

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

    Like

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

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

        are you doing anything this weekend? 

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

    No. why? she responded.

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

  and I have a measuring tape don’t worry

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

    Saturday? 

        Seconds later,

see you Saturday

sweet dreams. H.x

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

.

.

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

Maybe.

.

.

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

She cried. 

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

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

It said:

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

.

.

Friday. 

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

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

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

.

.

Saturday. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Thank you, Felix. You too.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“How was-”

“So, you-” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I-I,” she stutters. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Sorry, sorry. What was it?” 

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

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

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

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

“Hey! You said you had takeout,”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Good.”

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

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

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

“But-” Harry protested.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Dunno, its just second natur- heeyy,”

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

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

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

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

She says it teasingly.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Said, what about you?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Lemus Knox. 

Harry was Lemus Knox. Harry was Lemus fucking Knox.

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

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

“You know who I am?” he said slowly.

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

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

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

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

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

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[lilyginnyblackv2]

Here is the translation! I'm uploading this from my phone, so if any of the formatting is weird, that is likely why. Sorry!

Restore my little sister's dreams and sleep!

Setsuna: A Younger Sister Who Had Her Sleep Stolen From Her*

Moroha: A Cheerful and Openhearted Bounty Hunter

Towa: A Modern Day Girl Skilled in Martial Arts (Bushido)

Turning an abundance of love into a passion for acting.

*Asked about Towa's appeal / charm:

Matsumoto: Towa's not the theoretical type, rather I feel she is a girl who is driven by her own sense of justice for whether something good or bad. But there is a part of her that can see things from a broad perspective and that makes you think, "Ah, she's Sesshomaru's daughter." Since Sota's family looked after her, I feel they had a big influence on her too, and there is also that lively - strong in a fight - side of her as well. It's like that space between a child and an adult....her adolescence is spilling out everywhere. (lol) It gives a very realistic impression of a cute and cool 14 year old. **

*Talking about how the important thing in order to successfully capture all these aspects of Towa is "no assumptions."

Matsumoto: After conversing with Setsuna she showed me this sort of expression, after having an exchange with Moroha her speech patterns became like this - I wan to be able to express Towa's personality and expressions naturally, in ways that Towa doesn't even know herself. So I want to make room for myself so that I can give myself range.

*Though Towa was born in the Warring States Period, she was brought up in the present day and is a modern day girl. Are there any points in common between Towa and you, yourself, Matsumoto?

Matsumoto: Towa has common sense, but in the Warring States Period that doesn't apply, so the part of Towa that thinks, "Is doing something like this okay?" is the same as me, I think the feelings are similar. And then there are the parts where Moroha and Setsuna push her about it, she gets defiant, and then she gets cracking. I think it's very similar to the part of my audition where I got really caught up in the spirit of it and thought, "I have to do it!" During the audition for Towa's part, I was asked to do something different from the acting plan I had in mind, and in that moment it was like creating a new image. I took part in an audition where you had to think, "I gotta do it!" right in the moment.***

*Fighting alongside them, what kind of characters are Setsuna and Moroha?

Matsumoto: The impression of Setsuna is that she is "THE Daughter of Sesshomaru." A cold and unshakeable person. One who looks at their situation and doesn't ask others for help. It's something that I think is both cool, but also cute in its childishness, you know. That stubborn aspect is similar to Towa. Moroha is just as cute as I imagined she would be, based off the information that she was Inuyasha and Kagome's daughter and from her character design. Though she wasn't in "Inuyasha," for some reason, I feel like an auntie going, "Aww, she's all grown up...!" (lol).

Translation Notes:

* I know Setsuna having her "sleep" stolen from her (rather than "dreams" or something) sounds a bit odd. But that was what the Japanese said (眠り- nemuri - sleep).

** In this paragraph there are some interesting words used. For instance, "broad perspective" can also mean to see something from "a bird's eye view," and here broad perspective means more like a person who has a good sense of the variety of different outcomes, etc. That kind of thing. We also have the use of a word ダダ漏れ (dadamore), which can mean like a "huge spill" or a "huge leak (of information)" etc. It definitely appears to be a slang term, but all info I could find on it's meaning was just those two. So the sentence is a bit odd sounding still.

*** The Japanese word that I translated to "push [her]" is おしりをたたく (oshiri wo tataku), which literally means "hitting the butt," but can also mean things like "push someone to do something, urge someone to do something, bug someone to do something, nag someone to do something, etc."

General Notes:

The first paragraph/section of the interview is just mentioning stuff like "Yashahime started airing at the beginning of October, etc." And the last two paragraphs of the interview have some very basic and generic questions and answers about how Matsumoto-san was a fan of Inuyasha and Matsumoto-san expressing sentiments like, "I hope you all enjoy it, etc."

#hanyou no yashahime: sengoku otogizoushi #hanyou no yashahime #yashahime #Sesshomaru #towa higurashi #Towa #Setsuna #Moroha #translation #English translation #long post #Newtype