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#just recording the lines on the booth. Such a joy. people

fandomdumpsterfires · 11 months

Text

Dancing under projector light.

(Another norman/henry writing as these two are now my otp)

Henry walked out of the elevator as it reached the music department floor, grumbling to himself. His shoulders tense and brow creased, a set of papers and an ink stained pen in one hand as he sulked through the halls.

It was another one of those days.

Once again, joey had gotten on the artist's nerves. He had gotten the idea for a new character. Nothing too important, just a little side character. And yet, joey was insistant on rejecting it. Proclaiming that nothing would ever top bendy even though henry made it VERY CLEAR that this character wasn't gonna replace the little devil darling by any means.

He huffed in annoyance, being drawn to the recording studio where sammy was directing a new song for the cartoons. But he didn't go into the band room, he went up into the projector booth. Normally, he only came here during lunch hours, finding it more enjoyable than the noisy breakroom, but it was the only place he could think of to wind down his frustration. He took a seat at the desk and just buried his head in his arms, sighing.

...

"Joey got yer tongue?"

A voice from being almost made henry jolt, until he immediately recognized it. Turning around, he was met with the studio's projectionist, norman polk. Norman had his arms crossed, leaning against the booth's doorframe, watching henry with a quirked brow.

Henry sighed "..yeah, he's been doing that a lot lately.." he said, fully turning to face norman, who approached "what did he do this time?" He inquired. He was always good at that, asking questions. Norman was a very curious guy, wanting to know everything about what the mysterious joey drew was up to. Some people found his curiosity annoying and would go to say he's 'nosy', but henry didn't think that at all.

"Well," henry began, keeping his voice low as to not disrupt the band "i..went to show him a potential new character i've been working on, and he goes on a tangent about how nothing could top bendy! And that i should know better than to not try and replace him!" He stood up, getting fired up again "which wasn't what i was trying to do at all! I even made that obvious and yet he STILL brushed me off, ugh.." he turned towards the desk, slamming his hands down on it with what little force he could, making a small thump.

Norman's brow furrowed as he listened to henry's vent. He's been hearing more and more of these stories, lately. Joey just kept getting worse and worse as time went on..whatever he was up to, whatever was making him like this, he'd uncover it soon enough "joey deffinately ain't right in the head anymore if he's rejectin' your ideas now." The projectionist said, how could anyone do that? Henry's artwork was some of the best he'd ever seen, you'd have to be crazy to say no to it.

Norman noticed henry's stack of paper, being drawn to one paper in particular which had something on it as it stuck out. From what norman could see, it looked like a shoe, a shiny cartoon shoe like the ones bendy wore "wha's that?" He asked, pointing to it.

"Oh.." henry looked to the papers, slowly pulling out the one norman was curious about "this is the aforementioned 'replacement' for bendy." He went over to the taller man, showing him the drawing.

The character was about bendy's height, wearing a striped maroon vest with white gloves and shiny black shoes, suit adorned with a large crimson bowtie. The one thing that really caught norman's attention was the character's head. It was a projector, almost looking a bit too big for its body, a boater hat hanging off of one of its reel holders with a red ribbon tied around it. The projector's lense was mostly colored black, with an up curved line of white in the center, making it look like an eye closed in happiness, a grin of joy just below it. In the top right corner was 'vector the jector' written in clean handwriting, henry's signature written in the bottom left.

"Henry this lil' guy is amazing! Joey doesn't know what he's talkin' about." Norman said, earning a slightly flustered glance from the artist "uh, thanks." He replied, a tinge of red crossing his cheeks and ears "i..kind of based him off of you-"

This earned a suprised look and blink from the projectionist. Norman could feel his face heating up, yet mustered a smile "i'm..flattered to know that you'd think i'd make a cool toon, heh." He replied, handing henry back the picture.

Holding the picture in his hands again, he just stood there and looked at it, rubbing the spot that had his signature on it with his thumb. There was a sudden warmth on his shoulder, norman's hand giving the artist a feeling of reassurance "hey. Don't let joey get ya so down. Maybe tryin' again will convince 'em?" He suggested.

Henry smiled, but it was more of a sad one than a happier one "thanks, norman, but i think joey's made himself clear.." he was about to put the drawing back in the pile, only to pause and instead put it on the desk "..you can have him, though." Norman's brows raised in suprised "wait..really?" He said, not expecting that "well, you seem to really like him, so.." henry shrugged.

"Thanks, henry. 'Bout time i had a little company up here." Norman said. Henry gave him a look "hey, what about all those times i've come to visit you during break when wally isn't dragging you off to play poker?" He grinned, quirking an eyebrow "well, outside of those visits, of course." Norman chuckled, the two men staring at eachother as the music came to a slow.

When the music started up again, it was a gentle violin, followed by soft blips of a piano and the other instruments eventually came in to. Henry noticed the change in music, an idea jumping into his head as he offered out a hand "care to dance?"

Norman grew flustered. Dance? "I've..never really danced like this before.." he said, slowly taking henry's hand as the two got into position, henry putting his other arm around norman's waist while norman put his on henry's shoulder "i can teach you." Henry offered "that would..be kinda nice." Norman smiled, red dusting over his cheeks.

Henry showed norman how to slow dance, teaching him step by step. Norman was a little wary, henry was a fair bit shorter than himself and didn't wanna mess anything up, yet henry managed to make it work. And soon enough, the two were dancing at the same pace, the music continuing, eventually coming to a slow and a stop, the last rings of violin strings filling the room, sammy instructing everyone to pack it up for lunch.

As the music came to an end, henry found himself blissfully sighing in peace. He had completely forgotted what he had been angry about prior. Sure, it may come back later, but as he layed his head against norman's chest, he knew his time with the projectionist would outweigh any negatives.

#these gays are rotting my brain. if that wasn't obvious #NNDDJJSJSJSJ #i was debating on if this should be a comic or fic but i went with fic since it's easier for me to do #batim #bendy and the ink machine #henry stein #norman polk #henry x norman #normry #heman #moving pictures

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writers-ex · 2 years

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Yuna x you theme park date, fluff prompt/idea

i literally love you lily this is so soft <3 let's try a fall carnival bc its fall and i'm pretty sure there are mini carnivals out there where people make cute memories from uwu enjoy~

if you had one goal it would be to win your girlfriend a stuffed animal at the carnival the one she always talked about and pointed at everytime you would passby. after saving some money you eagerly countdown the days until it opened and you both had a free day. "don't we look like the cutest girlfriends ever~ i can't wait to show you off this time button." (shit i'm soft for this nickname now T_T) rolling your eyes you let yuna drag you inside the fall themed event. "what should we do first? get some pumpkin pie, play in the bumper cars, go on the ferris wheel-" putting a finger to her lips you shake your head and smile.

"nope! i'm going to do the thing i've always watned to do for you~" cupping her face you place a light peck on her lips before drawing her attention to the infamous game yuna's eyes widen as she looks at you.

"button…you're-you're going to get it finally? my dream teddy? are you serious? is that why you've been practicing your pitching skills with ryujin unnie all this time?" nodding yuna pecks your lips back and smiles. "you know…even if you don't get it its fine i'll always love you…just a tad a less." in a teasing voice she escapes your grip and rushes over to the stall. following after her you pay the worker for some balls and warm up your hands. taking a look at your excited girlfriend you hope and wish that all those weeks of practice would be worth it to see her beaming with pride. closing your eyes you take a deep breath, aim for the already rigged tin cans and throw the ball with all your might…

"…kill me…please yuna just do it, i'm tired of living."

"button it's just a teddy bear. it's not worth all of your savings, i could buy the bear off amazon or something-"

"nooooo i wanted to be the one to win and hand it to you, i'm your girlfriend and i had one job-" cupping your face in her hands she makes you look at her straight in the eye with a serious look.

"button, listen to the words that ar going to come out of my mouth right now- i didn't fall in love with your pitching skills i fell for the annoyingly stubborn girl with the pretty eyes that can match my stubborness and keep me in check." blinking you take a look into her geunine eyes and feel a smile slowly grow on your face. "so stop being so negative and lets go eat some candy apples and crash your stress away with some bumper cars ok?" giving her a small nod yuna's serious face turns upside down, taking your hand she starts dragging you toward the food booths and together

enjoying your time together you feed each other candy apples and enjoy a very sweet kiss while waiting in line for the bumper cars. yuna shows you no mercy as you crash multiple times against each other with you almost losing your phone as she literally rear ends you while you try to record her having a good time to upload to SNS. taking a bathroom break yuna runs off leaving you alone for a few minutes, looking around the fairly crowded carnival you spot the same booth from before and feeling the last of your funds in you pocket. debating you decide to give it one last try and either the worker was showing you pity from spending an hour there earlier or you got some ryujin like strength but you manage to knock out all the tins and win the prize your girlfriend wanted. beaming with joy you quickly rush back to where you had left her and hide the toy behind your back the best you could.

"hey button i-" pausing her steps she sees some fur stick out from behind you. "um…what is-OMG BUTTON YOU DIDN'T!!!" covering her mouth yuna squeals as you reveal the stuffed teddy and hold it out for her.

"i did!! yuna my love, my angel, my spoiled princess i got you the teddy! who's the best-umph!" unable to finish your sentence yuna engufls both you and the toy in a big hug and messy lip lock laughing the whole time. pulling away you hold her waist as she hugs the bear.

"button oh my gosh you're amazing!! you're the best girlfriend ever~ this day just got 3000% times more better!! i love you so much right now!" kissing your lips once more her squeals get louder drawing the attention of the crowd around you. too excited to care you spin her around smiling.

"i love you even more yuna, but now….shall we find our new child a sibling~?”

“BUTTON!!!”

#hannie.writes #itzy #itzy x fem reader #itzy x fem!reader #itzy fluff #itzy fluff hours #itzy fluff thoughts #yuna fluff #yuna imagines #yuna headcanon #itzy yuna #yuna #kpop fluff #itzy soft thoughts #itzy soft hours

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ultrakart · 1 year

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The elusive episode 5

Well, at least this time we didn’t get episode 5 almost at the END of the season lol.

-Bruh did Bob Roth really write a note on a 10 euro bill

-Mr. Banana... the expert analyst on superheroes

-”Stay peachy!” SO TRUE

-I bet Adrien is under a million layers of NDA to NOT say anything bad about the alliance rings...

-Gabriel you gotta cut it out with the good dad act. You’re scaring me

-Even Adrien isn’t sure what to feel about this!!

-He’s probs like “why does this not spark joy o_o”

-Like I know we’ve seen Gabriel attempting to be a good dad for like 3 episodes now and it doesn’t SEEM like he has any ulterior motives

-But this is Gabriel Agreste. Anything nice he does feels like he’s leading people on with a carrot on a stick

-Is he really in his “I’m dying and have to spend time with my son” arc

-Gabriel I got my eyes on you

-Comrade Mayo............ Akari did YOU write this episode

-Did YOU sneak into recording booth and swap out the lines for the voice actors to read

-OOP THERE IT IS

-”It’s allowing me to spend more time with the people I care about”

-Adrien that was just an excuse your father made up!! Your extra free time isn’t related to wearing the ring

-Ahhhhh why is Gabriel so GOOD at doing this to his son

-Nino’s plans are very... saucy

-Oh hey it’s Wayhem. His hair is darker than it used to be

-Does Nino’s headquarters have a name lol

-I do approve of operation “Piss off Gabriel Royally”

-Me me I’m next can I shove food in Gabriel’s face

-So... Gabriel can withstand using 5 miraculous because...?

-Because he says so? lol

-Well, Gabriel is evidently VERY good at 1 thing: throwing suspicion FAR away from himself

WOW that episode was. A lot.

In a way, I’m sort of glad that we got episode 5 in the weird order that we did. That way we saw Gabriel in the kitchen a couple times and we’re wondering “is he doing it? trying to be a good dad??” and we have time to stew on those thoughts before this episode BLOWS up that idea and turns out nope, it’s an act.

An act to convince Adrien to keep the alliance ring. (For marketing, to drive up sales. So he has more targets to transmit miraculous powers to)

Then pretending to get all A N G E R Y and pulling Adrien out of school (AGAIN) just to prove who’s in charge here.

Now I get it. NOW I see why Nathalie gets so defensive about Gabriel in the kitchen in later episodes.

Oof.

#ml #miraculous ladybug #ml spoilers #ml s5 spoilers #ml season 5 #illusion #kart reacts

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bebetae · 2 years

Text

lovers' quarrel | lee haechan/donghyuk

genre: smut, fluff, idol au, established relationship

pairing: idol!haechan x producer!f.reader

word count: 3.7k

synopsis: You and Haechan never give each other a break. Not in front of the members, not alone, and especially not when you’re craving each other.

Rating: 18+ NSFW WARNINGS UNDER THE CUT

a/n: kind of challenged myself on this one. when am i never making my readers sad then happy then sad again?

requested!

warnings: a lot of uncharacteristic bebetae fluff, mentions of other 127 members, kissing, unprotected sex, kind of(?) semi-public sex, oral (m receiving), fingering, dirty talk, mentions of voyeurism, hair pulling

“I just think it would sound better if the bass was louder,”

“But then it would drown out my mesmerizing voice!”

“This isn’t all about the vocals, you know. The track is just as important,”

“Are you saying my voice needs to be drowned out by the track? You imbecile–”

“Guys,” Johnny interrupted, exasperated. “This song isn’t going to be finished at all if you two don’t stop bickering like birds in a dumpster,”

“Okay, horrible analogy aside, we really do need to get this show on the road. Studio time is precious, people,” Jungwoo piped up, sprawled across the sofa behind you looking two seconds away from falling asleep. You sighed, frustrated, before looking back up from the audio interface and into the recording booth.

Haechan was standing at the mic, hands on his hips as the headphone band pushed his hair back from his forehead. Despite how annoying he was, arguing with you (the producer!), you observed his features in that moment with fondness.

“Let’s try the second line in verse 2 again,” you instructed, clicking a few times on your computer. “Try to be louder this time,” you added, smirking softly when you heard him scoff. Even though you were being, admittedly, equally as annoying as him, Haechan still had a sparkle in his eyes as he cleared his throat.

“I thought that would never end,” you sighed, collapsing back into your chair with a huff. Haechan’s part was finally finished. The level of perfectionism the both of you craved musically was both a blessing and a curse, hours and hours going into the songs that topped the charts. Haechan swallowed from the water he was gulping and walked over to ruffle your hair with a small smile. You swat his hand away with force.

“Please, we know you enjoyed every second of it,” Mark teased, tossing his own empty water bottle toward the trash like a basketball.

“Even though us audience members were kept fully entertained,” Yuta added, snickering when Mark missed.

Haechan was the last to record yet the other members had been cycling in and out of the studio, visiting in hopes to witness the dumpster fire that was the two of you. That’s what made Haechan really, and I mean really fall in love with you; seeing how comfortable his members were around you. With the other producers, usually they were formal and polite, backs straight as they conceded to their every instruction, but with you, it was different. Creative input was encouraged, the boys were relaxed and comfortable, and Haechan could see and hear the joy you brought.

“Well, we’re off,” Johnny announced, getting up. Jungwoo whined, complaining about wanting to stay, but the older boy simply pulled him to his feet, Mark joining the effort to essentially shove him out the door.

“Give the fighting dumpster-lovebirds some time alone,” Yuta jokes, winking just before he closes the door behind them.

Haechan submitted himself to the comfort of the couch, his eyes watchful as you played over the bridge with careful attention.

“You can work on it another day, we were productive enough,” Haechan spoke, tentatively. It was hard to get between you and your work sometimes, you knew that. But you sighed, shutting the laptop and swiveling around in your chair. Haechan was already holding his arms open welcomingly, and you practically rushed to his warmth.

His torso was built beneath you, his chest caving in as he let out a large sigh. You curled into him and let him brush his fingers through your hair in silence. The studio had been busy with people all day, but now it had grown quiet, letting the two of you sink into each other.

“You did so well today,” you whispered into his simple black t-shirt, and he chuckled. Haechan didn’t bother replying, figuring he would simply rather wrap his arms around you tighter, holding you closer.

It was late evening, bordering on the next day, when you finally pushed the song progression back and left the studio. The company building was huge, and funded well enough that it housed every room it would possibly need. You only came here when you were working on a song for them, the rare visits making it near impossible to navigate your way through the endless hallways.

You were tracking your way to the nearest elevator, having already been walking around like a headless chicken for five minutes, when you heard something familiar emanating from one of the rooms. It was in the opposite direction from what you speculated was the elevator, but you trailed the music as if you couldn’t possibly help yourself.

It was the backing track of the song you had just been working on. The title track to NCT 127’s upcoming comeback. It was only the sample, and you knew it didn’t sound the same.

The door was covered in an opaque glass, and you stood there debating if you should open it. What if the members were practicing too intensely to be bothered by their producer? You guessed you were close enough with all of them that they would greet you welcomingly, but with a business connection to the boys, you had definitely seen all of them in their work mindset; you knew just as well as anyone else in this building the degree of seriousness they had when it came to their jobs.

But then you heard a frustrated groan, and you knew who it was.

The music paused just as you inched the door open, your eyes first noticing that Haechan was laying on the floor, panting.

And shirtless, his black shirt from before now on the other side of the room, probably flung there. Haechan’s head darted toward you in surprise, but he instantly relaxed when he recognized you.

“Thank god,” he gasped, a strained smile on his face as he forced himself to his feet. You noticed he did this a lot. He forced himself to crack a smile even when you could feel the stress seep from his body. “I thought you were Taeyong. I was worried he would come in and ask to practice with me–the guy never stops. I would’ve been here till 3 in the morning,”

“Aw, come here,” you pouted, letting the door click shut as you were now the one offering a hug.

“I’m really sweaty, Y/n–”

“Do you want a hug or not?”

Haechan practically scrambled up, jogging toward you until he could wrap himself around you. You leaned up and peppered kisses on his heated cheek, leaning back to brush through his hair. He hummed contentedly.

“Why are you still here?” he questioned, though he sounded relieved.

“I was heading out when I heard my little masterpiece blasting from the speakers,” you replied, running your hands down his shoulders. Haechan shuddered under your touch, hoping you didn’t notice. “You tell me I need a break, but that’s you,”

“You revived me,” he joked. “Like, I’m really energized now,”

Haechan watched as you peered up at his face, your eyes big and expectant. He reached for one of your hands tracing up his neck, guiding it lower until it rested on the dips of his stomach. Your fingertips were tracing the lines of his abs when he cupped your cheek and placed his lips softly on yours.

You leaned into his body, like you were dependent on him to keep you standing, and you felt as his other hand traveled down your hip, to the curve of your ass, finally wrapping around the back of your inner thigh. You whined as he pulled away, his forehead resting against yours.

“You’re right,” you whispered, already holding your giggles back. “You’re really sweaty,”

“Oh whatever,” he scoffed, but his smile reached his eyes that were so close to yours. “I love you,”

You stayed silent, hiding your giddy grin in his chest. He poked your side aggravatingly.

“I love you,” he repeated, dragging out the last syllable. “Say it back,”

You looked back up at him, biting his nose playfully. “No,”

That’s it. He whispered under his breath, both arms traveling to your waist and lifting you up. You laughed as he jumped around the room crazily, and when you peeked into the mirror you could see the scene in full. Haechan was so energetic, so happy, and he always made you feel like you were in a movie.

Eventually, he got tired, and he dropped to the floor bringing you down with him. His back felt sticky on the wood and you were on top of him, making him impossibly warmer. He was like a furnace and you pressed into his comforting warmth.

“Hm,” Haechan hummed, lifting his head to peer down at you. “You’re heavy,”

“Shut up,” you spat, your eyes still closed as you felt him breathe.

“But I need to pee,”

You finally sighed, moving to the side. You sat on the floor watching him sit himself up, the muscles in his torso rippling beneath his skin. You tried not to drool.

He could see the way you were looking at him through the corner of his eye, and he hid his smirk as he shook his damp hair out. You were so distracted that you jumped when he suddenly grabbed your wrist and pulled you up. Leading you out the door and through the hallway, Haechan finally stopped at yet another glass door.

“You’re bringing me into the bathroom with you?” you whisper-shouted. He barged in (still shirtless, by the way), and closed and locked it shut. “You didn’t really have to use it, did you?”

“Of course not. I’m really just surprised you didn’t figure it out earlier,” he joked, walking slowly toward you. He had a look in his eyes as he caged you in, the bathroom wall unsurprisingly clean when your back hit it. Haechan’s face was so close now that you could feel his breath fanning your cheeks, and your eyelashes fluttered as his lips approached yours. They touched for a moment, and you both stilled, and the entire moment was so intimate that you stopped breathing. And then he melted into you, finally, and you sighed.

His mouth tastes minty. You could kiss him for hours and still feel like you were with him for the first time. There was nothing you could do but reach up and thread your fingers through the nape of his hair. He grunted into your mouth; a sound of pleasure that rattled through you.

“I’ve been thinking about you all day,” Haechan admitted, speaking in between moments of attacking your lips. He couldn’t seem to get enough.

“I want you so bad,” you whimpered, your body rejecting the cool concrete to seek his touch. He chuckled as he pressed his lower body into yours.

“You can have me,” he whispered back, finally peeling away from you so you could take your tank top off. He unhooked your bra himself, leaning down and nipping at your right breast. You brought his head back up desperately, tugging at his sweats. He pulled them down quickly and you were thankful you wore a skirt as his hand snaked under it. He cupped your heat forcefully, and you moaned quietly the way he knew you would.

In a flurry of movement, you switched positions with him and pressed him against the wall, keeping eye contact with him as you lowered your skirt and panties down. Haechan was breathing harshly as he leaned against the wall, watching you hungrily. He reached forward to bring you back into him, but you denied his touch and knelt down to the floor. His eyes widened only slightly as he let you.

You inched over to him and pulled his underwear down, looking up at him and trying not to smirk at the way he tilted his head back with his eyes closed. He was already hard, and you licked up his length slowly. Sucking lightly on his tip made him jerk, especially as you licked under it.

“Fuck, Y/n,” he groaned, running a hand through his falling strands.

Your mouth bobbed down his length, going only halfway before he hit the back of your throat. You sucked harshly on his cock, thriving in his pleasure. He was jerking into your mouth with his hand lightly gripping your hair. It encouraged you to move further, choking on him. Haechan exhaled sharply through his nose, pulling you off by his hair. You licked around his cock as he collected himself.

“Come here,”

Haechan couldn’t lie, he was way too worked up to watch you indulge in him.

Once you stood, he pulled you into a wet, messy kiss that left your lips smacking noisily. He touched your neck softly and guided you against the wall, staring into your eyes as he ran his fingers through your folds. You gasped and his fingers tapped along your throat, delicate yet reminding you that he was in control.

He pressed two fingers in your entrance, and your mouth opened as he thrusted slowly. You were so wet the lewd noises were echoing off the walls, but it was not nearly enough for you.

“Haechan, baby please,” you begged, your hips moving on his hand searching for more.

“My greedy girl,” he pouted—teasing. It must’ve worked, though, because his thrusting sped up significantly. His fingers were long and reached spots inside of you that yours never could, reaching your g-spot easily. His fingers moved in a scissoring motion, stretching you out for him.

But then you peered down as you felt his hard length brush your leg, and you couldn’t be bothered with his fingers when his cock could be inside of you. He followed your eyes downward and got the message–he could always read you so easily–and drew his fingers out of you. He led his fingers up to your mouth, and you opened it obediently, but just as his fingers were going to slip past your lips he pulled them away and placed them into his own.

You stared at him cleaning your juices contentedly off your fingers, glaring at him for his endless teasing yet incredibly turned on at the same time. He used his same hand to pump up and down his length, guiding his cock toward your tempting pussy.

“So beautiful,” he murmured, his blunt tip brushing through your folds. He caught on your clit for a moment, once more, a third time, before you were twitching so much he had to be inside of you. Haechan pushed forward further, sinking deeper and deeper into your soaking heat until he was fully sheathed. You felt full, so full you moaned out, and Haechan had to cover your mouth with his palm as he started thrusting.

“Shhh,” he coaxed. “Someone could hear us, you know,”

At the thought, you clenched around his length and squeezed him impossibly tighter.

“Oh, you like that?” he drawled, the same old smirk on his full lips. “Your tight little pussy is squeezing my cock even more. Maybe, hm, you want someone to come in and see you getting railed in the company bathroom,”

“Don’t lie to yourself,” you scoffed. “You’d never want someone else seeing me,”

Haechan laughed outright, something you didn’t expect. You weren’t necessarily wanting to upset him, no, but it might have been a little fun.

And then he stopped, his cock still nestled inside of you as he reached behind you. You looked over, curiously, and watched him unlock the door. Your breath hitched, and you almost thought he was going to open the door when his hand rested on it. He pulled away though, as if he had thought things through, and he surprisingly pulled out instead. You looked at him, confused, but also realizing he really did have the upper hand here. You wanted him to continue more than anything.

He grinned at you mischievously as he led you toward the sink. He turned you around slowly, menacingly, and leaned you over the sink. Your hands supported you on the slick marble, the bright LED lights framing the mirror seeming to shine on you two light a spotlight. Now further away from the door, there was no stopping a late-night employee–or even worse, one of the members–from waltzing in and watching the scene unfold.

He shuffled closer to you, pushing back inside and distracting you for the time being by how utterly good he felt.

“Fuck,” he groaned, torn between throwing his head back and looking down at where the two of you were connected. “You have the best fucking pussy,”

“Your cock is so deep,” you moaned, figuring you might as well stop trying to antagonize him if you wanted him to keep going.

“Yeah? I want to stuff your pussy full all night, bring you back to the dorm and make all the members listen to you scream,”

You were pretty sure you’d already dug your own grave, and Haechan tightened his grip on your hips and began picking up his pace. He was thrusting quickly now, pounding into you hard enough you were sure the slapping of skin could be heard a few doors down. You couldn’t care less, though, not with the way your head spun off the pleasure.

“Oh fuck! Oh my god,” you moaned, your head cast down as you squeezed your eyes shut. He wasn’t having any of it, though, his hand snaking into your hair and pulling your head back.

“Don’t forget who’s making you feel this good,” he chastised, his grip firm and his thrusts piercing. He was truly fucking you now. He was no longer the soft, playful boyfriend you’d seen just thirty minutes before.

“You make me feel so good, Hyuk,” you said breathlessly, submitting to the dark look in his eyes as you watched each other through your reflections. At the sound of his real name he faltered a bit, and you knew it had gotten to him in the right way. He let go of your hair so he could place his hand back on your waist yet his expression told you to keep your head right where it was.

“That’s right, baby,” he panted, too worn out and euphoric to say much anymore. “Touch yourself,”

You reached down and rubbed your clit furiously, the both of you dangerously close to reaching your highs. As soon as you made contact with your neglected bud you nearly screamed, your thighs shaking as you tried to keep yourself standing. You could feel every detail in his thick cock as he thrusted with seemingly endless stamina, continuing to pummel into you until he was sure you’d cum.

His already damp, sweaty body was now glistening under the light, the golden tan of his skin enhancing the glow. His hair was dripping as it framed his handsome face and you couldn’t stop staring at him as he breathing grew more labored with each thrust forward.

“I’m gonna cum,” you announced, your eyebrows knitting together. With only one arm supporting you he had to keep you up with his bruising hold. Somehow, though, you still managed to rock yourself back into him needily. He was too wrapped up in you to make a snarky comment about it.

“Do it, cum for me, love,” he grunted, not stopping his fast pace. He really was reenergized.

Upon his command you felt yourself unraveling, your walls clenching down on him which only brought him closer as well. He finally let you close your eyes as you focused on not being too loud yet trying to soak in everything you were feeling in that moment. With your busy and conflicting schedules you knew you had to cherish every moment you had with him, even if it was while he was fucking your brains out in a bathroom.

With the way you were clenching around him and the soft, restrained noises you were making, Haechan finally gave into the pleasure and you felt him release into you, filling you up even further. He slowed his pace significantly but he still managed to pump into you leisurely, riding both of your orgasms out.

And then he stilled completely, and the two of you stood there staring at each other once again. Somehow, you then had the audacity to start giggling, and eventually, his laughter mixed with yours.

You pulled away and turned to face him, brushing his hair out of his face once again. Your back was digging into the counter behind you but you couldn’t seem to care, his chest pressed against yours. You could feel each other’s hearts beating rapidly.

“I love you too,” you finally whispered, kissing him playfully on the nose. Satisfaction washed over his face even though he clearly knew it was all fun and games.

“You have no idea,” he sighed, almost sadly as he brushed a few strands of hair out of your face.

“About what? How much you love me?” you questioned. He leaned in and kissed you sweetly, a collective sigh running between the two of you as the air calmed around you.

“That too,” he spoke, as if he hadn’t thought about it. “But I really meant about how lucky you are to have me,”

You pushed his face away with a groan as he snickered in the corner.

wow i never write this sweet fluffy stuff but i found myself enjoying it a bit too much. i hope you liked it! thank you for your request!! <3

permanent taglist: @heyychannie @negincho @astroodledream @sunwoosbunny @mrkleelvr @bbyenha-hyung

please let me know if you want to be added to the taglist!

#neosmutcollective #ksmutclub #nctcreations #nshitty-frathouse #bebetae #kpop smut #kpop imagines #nct smut #nct 127 smut #nct dream smut #nct imagines #nct 127 imagines #nct dream imagines #haechan smut #haechan imagines #donghyuk smut #donghyuk imagines

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jesslockwood · 3 years

Text

Photo Opportunities

Word Count: 2.7k

Pairing(s): Tom Holland x Actress!Reader

Warnings: FLUFF with a slightly (barely) suggestive sentence towards the end

A/n: damn I can't write anything except actress reader? smh but this is for @londonspidey ‘s sit-com Writing challenge (ik I'm early lol) but I was so excited I wrote the whole thing in one go lmao the prompt is bolded!

Calling yourself a fan was an understatement. You were obsessed with anything and everything marvel. And oddly enough, you could after today say you were in the club. It wasn’t a public fact yet, until later that day actually, at the Marvel panel at comic con that you were being announced as the actress for the character, Felica Hardy and no one else knew except for the people who cast you and your best friend who signed an NDA. You were technically still a known actress for your roles on television mainly as Thalia on the PJO Disney + series and a couple of still decently sized films.

You were currently wrapping up signing autographs for fans of yours for today. Your team had planned it out so it wasn’t suspicious that you were at the con with a few of your castmates scattered doing other junkets and press so people wouldn’t guess who they were acting as the cast for new marvel projects.

You had been planning to go meet your best friend, who wasn’t in the industry before getting a text that she bought you both a photo-op with someone and she wouldn’t tell you who. You couldn’t only assume it was a marvel actor that you would indeed, freak out.

Y/b/n: btw I brought you a mask. I get the wig lol.

You: please tell me it doesn’t cover my full face. Also, how are we posing?

Y/b/n: I bought as many photo ops as I could so a lot of different ones, And if I tell you the poses it’ll spoil it.

You: is this with the money I pay you to be my assistant with? Lol fine I’m omw with security

Y/b/n: maybe…

Y/b/n: and they’ll need more backup security for who we’re getting a photo op with than you do for your hellfire.

You roll your eyes before taking your stuff and exiting the booth, before heading out the backways with staff security and your detailed security for the day. You only had security because you wanted to explore the con when you weren’t needed.

Your best friend had also been your assistant for the con weekend, but you didn’t want her to be confined to you the whole three days so when she could, you would let her explore it, at least she could experience it as a fan, right?

When you made it to that part of the building, you wanted to wait in line with her, which your security didn’t agree to so she texted you when there were about five people ahead of her. She was one of the last in line, with you asking her to be kind, so others would get their chance to be first with whomever it was.

When she texted you and your detailed exit, getting a few stares and others taking their phones out to either take photos or tweet, you wave at them before joining your best friend in line.

“Here,” she says before handing you none other than a black cat mask before she puts on a red wig.

You glare at her slightly trying to not make a scene, before putting it on.

“I’m assuming you're Mary Jane?” you laugh figuring out that it had to be someone from Spider-Man.

“How’d you- never mind.” She laughs with you.

She then explains how she’s going to pose for your five photo ops, joking in between how she should “get a raise for this”.

You catch sight of him before sucking in your breath. This was either going to go down amazingly or terribly, there was no in-between with you.

“Excuse Me, are you Y/n Y/l/n?”

You turn around and are met by some fans who were standing in line behind you.

“I am! How’s your con going?” you ask politely to the two of them.

“It's going amazing! We love you as Thalia! Could we maybe get a picture? Only if it’s okay?”

“Of course! Thank you for supporting me!” your best friend grabs their phone to take the photo, before you take off the mask, and stand between the two fans, and your best friend snaps a few photos.

“Thank you so much! And Are you fans of Tom?”

You start slowly walking back to catch up to the line.

“Yeah, I love him as Spiderman, but I also enjoy his other roles. He's very talented, I'd love to work with him one day!”

“Have you seen him in Uncharted? We love Him as Nathan drake!”

“I have, he was amazing per usual! How are you two posing with him?”

They show you their innovative pose. You laugh and tell them it's great before you have to wish them goodbye before heading up for your turn for the photo op.

“How do we want to pose- hang on, I recognize you!”

You freeze slightly before your friend mouths for you to flirt. You look down at the mask in your hand before getting into character and saying “Of course you do Spidey, I'm always causing you trouble.” you put on the mask and wink.

He seems slightly stunned, laughing, feeling like he’s seen you somewhere, not only because he found you extremely gorgeous, while in his peripheral vision he sees his brother/ assistant, Harry waving like a madman on the side.

Your friend directs you both through the poses, first, one both him putting “webs” onto you as she looks over his shoulder, the second one, both of you kissing his cheeks, the third, all jumping in the air in your best superhero poses, the fourth one she gets a photo op alone and the last one she gives to you,

“Seriously, who are you?”

“Your Wildest dreams, baby,” you say, taking off the mask.

Your best friend yells “freestyle” from the sidelines before Tom dips you, gently, with you shocked, holding the mask out with your free arm and the photo captures that moment.

He gently helps you stand back up fully, not before you drop the mask.

“Nice moves Spider-Man.”

“Not so bad yourself, Black Cat.”

You laugh before, taking off with your best friend, well more her dragging you to the printing station leaving the mask behind. Tom picks it up before shoving it in his back pocket to hopefully give back if he could find you.

`You were sitting in the green room, trending on Twitter before you were actually supposed to be trending on Twitter, and god knows where else.

Someone had snuck a video of you and Tom, up till him dipping you, and a video of you interacting with the fans in the line.

Your Y/b/n was currently reading off some tweets out loud

“‘A kind queen we stan.’ I agree, I also agree with ‘Date her if you can't date me tom!!!’.

‘THALIA AND PETER PARKER??? My two fandoms have collided.’ same, same. Oo this one says, ‘if she ain’t playing black cat I will sue marvel.’ I'm dying at the reply ‘She needs to post the photos or I'll sue her!’. This one’s funny, ‘she could squash him like a bug in heels but he liked his queen like that.’.”

She pauses watching you texting.

“Y/n? Y/n?”

“What? Sorry I was only half listening. I was texting my publicist. She said to stay on the DL until tonight.

“Well we should get food, you haven't eaten since this morning.”

“By the way, your show has shot to number one on Disney +. Also, you have like three times the followers you had before, probably cause you're trending on every platform, even Tumblr!”

“Wow you should just become my social media manager now.” you joke trying to ease the joy yet weirded out feeling in your stomach.

“Does that come with a raise? Because after today I've spent way too much of what I'm paid.” she jokes back.

After finishing his photo ops Tom asked Harry who she was and to find out. By the time he finished autographs for the day, Tom and Harry walked to the panel room in the back for announcements, one that included him for the new Avengers movie, while Harry gave him the rundown.

“So she’s an actress, she plays Thalia on Disney plus’ Percy Jackson series, and that's her most known project. The other girl with her is her assistant best friend, and now she's trending everywhere. People dug up some old photos of her being a marvel/Spider-Man fan, so there's that. And she's here at the con for the rest of the weekend. She's doing photo ops tomorrow at one, and yes she's single from what I gather since you were looking at her like this.” he makes a weird face before tom smacks him.

“And plus you have time in your schedule to get a photo op with her, that is if you eat lunch quickly.”

That gave Tom an idea.

“Harry I’m going to need you to book me one, oh and help me find a Spider-Man costume!” He says, before leaving harry to do ‘assistant’ work. entering the green room for the announcements, watching them announce a new movie.

“We are so excited to announce to the Marvel Universe, and spider-verse-” that perked tom’s ears, “-directed by Gina Prince-Bythewood, and today we are announcing our amazing Miss Felicia Hardy, please give a warm welcome to the stage, Your Black Cat!”

You suddenly emerged in an aisle way, dressed in all black with a leather jacket, black ankle boots, and of course black sunglasses indoors.

The music is marvel music until it suddenly changes after a recorded laugh from you into “I can’t be tamed by Miley Cyrus”.

You start owning the music while saying hi and touching fans’ hands. You decide to take off your sunglasses and throwing them to a fan, for them to keep, before getting on stage.

“What a Performance from the one the only Y/n Y/l/n!”

You laugh, being met with the loudest applause you had heard all con before being handed a Mic.

“Thank you but I'm a terrible dancer.” You Joke.

Tom was staring at the screen stunned. You had been the black cat all along. You were in the marvel universe and spidey one, so he'd definitely be seeing more of you. The hard part is that you seemed so genuine when you talked, interacted with fans and was no doubt, stunning.

“Better close your mouth or the flies will get in.” Tom turns around to find the voice of none other than his friend slash bully, Sebastian Stan, along with Anthony Mackie.

“Looks like the kid has a crush!” Anthony laughs, pointing to the screen you were on.

“I-I don’t! I don’t even know her!” Tom tries to come to his own defense, hopelessly.

“She’s got you whipped already don’t even deny it.” Harry comes in, joining the teasing of one, Tom Holland.

“Maybe we can invite her out for drinks tonight, then fanboy over here can meet her, and then probably scare her off!” Anthony mentions.

“You haven’t looked on the internet? They’ve already met.” Seb says, before showing Anthony twitter.

Anthony stands there slightly shocked before bursting into laughter.

“Well, she’s damn well a keeper for Tom since she obviously likes him.”

A staff member peaks their head in the green room to tell Tom he’s up next.

“Well, that’s my cue to leave you two!”

On the other hand, you were on an adrenaline high from being on stage, and seeing all the fans. You knew tomorrow was going to be crazy, as you expected people to book your photo op left and right since the announcement.

You had decided to decline an offer from your fellow marvel universe castmates, Sebastian Stan and Anthony Mackie, which they so graciously told you that whenever you’re free, the offer still stood.

You had gotten to your hotel room seeing your phone blowing up on the social media apps for the second time that day.

You responded to the important stuff, before heading to bed, knowing it was going to be hectic.

You had been right, it was absolutely insane, the number of people who showed up. You had fully booked all your time slots for photo ops. You had seen so many people dressed up in marvel cosplay, ranging from Loki to Ironman, even some people dressed up as your character, which was wildly insane to see.

You had been nearing the end of the line and had enjoyed every moment with the fans, and you couldn’t wait for your autographing session later that day, to truly get a chance to talk to the fans and connect with them and how they felt about you being their beloved Black Cat.

After a few more photos, posing how they wanted, you see a fully dressed, head to toe, mask and all, Spider-Man. You had seen some spider-mans but most took off their masks to snap a picture. The person was the last in line.

“Hey Black Cat.” The southern American accented voice tells you, seeming very familiar.

“Hey, Spider, what poses do you have up your sleeve?” you ask kindly.

“I bought a few, Cat.” they laugh.

“Okay, You can do whatever a spider can right?” you pull out a line out of the comics jokingly.

“I can do flips if that’s what you’re asking.”

“Is that some kind of nerd pick-up line? Because it’s only kind of working.” you laugh.

“I really can, but this is one.”

He gets down on one knee, holding a black cat mask instead of a ring. The photographer captures the shocked expression on your face.

“I- Don’t- What- Spider I-”

“Ow My feelings…” Suddenly their voice changes into a British accent before they pull off the mask to reveal-

“Tom?”

“I guess you don’t have a spidey sense darling?” The photographer captures the moment without warning eating the moment up.

You laugh at that.

“I guess you found out my true identity Spider. And it’s nice to officially meet you, Tom.”

He laughs, just as nervous as you, he notices he has gotten closer to you and a strand of hair loosely is blowing in your face, so naturally, he pushes it behind your ear. Another snap of the camera can be heard.

“NOW KISS!” a voice belonging to your best friend yells from the side, mid-eating a churro.

You both laugh really hard at that.

The both of you calm down, slowly leaning lost in the moment. The camera snaps again. You both look at the photographer weirded out, and they just shrug.

“Wait can you actually do a flip?” you ask, pulling away, not wanting prying eyes aka the photographer, to pry in your business.

“I can, though I’d show you later, maybe in the greenroom?”

“That sounds naughty, but, sure.” you joke around.

He laughs before, you both take off from the area going to grab the photos.

After spending most of the day together when you could, you get Tom’s number, before heading back to your hotel room. He texts you as soon as you get back.

Spider: I had fun today, minus finding our assistants making out.

You: we should ‘snog’ too, it’ll gross them out ;)

You: I had fun too btw. Are you leaving tomorrow?

Spider: lol we should. And yeah an early flight, 6 am to be exact. Hbu?

You: Yeah me too... another day another dollar lol

Spider: ill miss you, Cat.

You: stop talking like we’ll never see each other again lol. As a matter of fact, come to my room, we’re watching a movie!

Spider: alright, I’ll order snacks.

You sigh smiling at your phone. You haven’t felt this giddy in a long time.

Your phone pings with a few Instagram notifications.

Tomholland2013 has started following you.

Tomholland2013 has tagged you in a photo.

You open Instagram to find the photo of him “proposing” to you posted.

“Ow, my leg, my- feelings...Welcome to the Universe, Cat.” the photo is captioned. You decide to post, the photo of him dipping you.

“So what do you say, Spider? Wanna help me pull off the Heist of the Heist of the Century?” you caption it, Before getting comfortable to watch a movie.

What an opportunity ;)

Tags:

@lolooo22 @webmeupspiderdaddy @harryhollandsgirlfriend @spideyspeaches @greenorangevioletgrass @queenofthepouges @sheranatic111 @keithseabrook27

#tom holland #peter parker #marvel #spider-man #tom holland fic #tom holland x reader #tom holland fanfic #tom holland fanfiction #tom holland x y/n #tom holland imagine #tom holland one shot #comic con #ace comic con seattle #ace con #comiccon #Katies4kwc

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vinyls-and-valentines · 2 years

Note

Okay but now it's your time to tell us more about your thoughts on emo Party Poison and scene Jet Star Mx. vinyls-and-valentines, don't think you'll get away that easily/lh

- Joy 🕸️

Why, there's no need for me to evade the topic, for you see: my canon Jet Star and Party Poison are both scene and an emo kids at heart! Also music-wise. Really, all they're missing is the well-defined aesthetic, which is partly because the fashion associated with midwestern emo is so Battery City, and because clothes don't tend to stay unscaved for long, so sooner or later everything ends up looking like it was lifted off a crust punk's bedroom floor.

Party Poison's love affair with emo started one faithful evening, when au and Dr. D were alone at the station and the pre-teen ventured into the recording booth to find D doing one of his bi-yearly record sorting sessions. When the Doctor notices aum, he of course asks if au wants to help him sort through the records whose covers are far too faded to be discernable anymore— "it's a mindless task, but it's got to be done sometimes or I wouldn't hear the end of it on air!" Not having anything better to do, Poison accepts and together they go through quite a few records, labeling them until Poison lands on a record from the 90s— not emo, but post-hardcore— which ends up becoming the gateway to aum getting into proper emocore and its dissolution across multiple branches of punk music.

Fashion-wise, black simply is Poison's color of choice because blood doesn't stain it easily, and because it is a form of going directly against BL/i dress code as much as wearing all neon colors. In Battery City and most neutral towns, dark colors are seen as somber and only fitted for formal wear or officials in positions such as exterminators, whereas light colors are seen as uplifting and appropriate for everyday wear as they encourage positive thinking and productivity. When Poison first came into the Zones most everything au knew about killjoys was what au was told by BL/i or the people in aur neighborhood (so nothing good) and so aur first instinct was to reject the color, but the white was also no longer safe, so au turned to the color black— doubling down on it to the point of having aur entire wardrobe be black as you'd expect someone at aur age at the time to do.

Jet Star's introduction to scene was at an after party at the Nest, where most people who were not quite old enough even by Zone standards to partake in certain activities or were just sensitive to strobing lights and such gathered outside and played cards/watched others play cards/bet who'd win at cards, while passing around a hand-held stereo to anyone with an 8-track or compact disk on them. As Star didn't quite have anything to his name yet other than kandi bracelets (which are a part of Zone culture as PLUR was kept alive through the live music scene) and a half-dead novelty lighter, he watched from the sidelines, commenting on the different matches with other joys and just soaking in the music playing and how it kind of clashed with the bass and fragments of other tunes from inside the Nest itself. The music played was purposefully shit, no matter how much the person who put it on talked about it like it was the coming of Destroya, but Star still found himself enjoying quite a few of the neon pop and techno and industrial-influenced tracks, which is where his whole music sense really stemmed from.

Fashion-wise, Star simply really enjoys "proper" killjoy fashion that is usually worn out at bars and concerts— brightly colored and pattern-heavy, layered in uncommon ways, but still very much oriented towards easily-readable and clunky shapes, with complex hairstyles and accessory combinations. It is hard at times to draw a line between his more glam rock inspired looks and the proper scene ones as they overlap in certain areas aesthetic-wise when Star is the one pulling them off, but then again, what is Zone culture if not genre (and gender) anarchy? He's also really into Gloomy Bear merch and the whole creepy-cute aesthetic, and has many many Gllomy Bear, Sanrio and rhinestone sticker sheets in one of the drawers in the garage

#cute of you to think you could uno reverse me on my own blog <3 /lh #also this took a while because i saw this last night in the middle of doing the party poison illustration and couldn't finish it in one go #but yeah the killjoys' aesthetics are not exactly well-defined but jet and poison's 'going out on the town' outfits are very much a #scene-glam hybrid and hardcore-punk hybrid respectively #danger days #killjoys #party poison #jet star #killjoy headcanons #character headcanons #heacanon #ttlotfk #answered #chaos-in-bright-pink-hairdye #long post

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felassan · 3 years

Text

Highlights and insights from the MELE launch cast & crew reunion panel

[rewatch link] [highlights & insights from the N7 Day 2020 reunion]

In case a text format is better for anyone (in terms of accessibility for example). Cut for length.

Some paraphrasing.

If anyone’s interested in just the line-reading session, it starts at timestamp ~1:04:45.

In addition to the cast and crew from the N7 Day reunion, at this reunion also in attendance were:

Mac Walters (Project Director for MELE, Lead Writer of the og MET)

Melanie Faulknor (Lead Producer for MELE)

Crystal McCord (Producer for MELE)

Fred Tatasciore (Saren)

Seth Green (Joker)

Kimberly Brooks (Ash)

Ash Sroka (Tali)

This was the biggest reunion / meetup of the cast so far, and some of the cast and crew were meeting for the first time here.

It’s been so long since the og MET that PW & KW are getting to watch their kids experience playing it for the first time

JHale doesn’t play but since MELE she’s been sneaking around Twitch jumping into peoples’ MELE livestreams to lurk, watch and comment a bit

What drew Seth to the character of Joker? The whole concept of the game. He likes games and MET’s mechanics (different trees of adventure, stacking reputation, choices carrying between games) at the time were the most sophisticated that he’d ever heard pitched. He thought this was new and exciting and wanted to be a part of it. For the character they cast him based on his personality traits (i.e. he sounds quite similar to Joker personality-wise)

Would Seth ever want to play Joker again if the opportunity presented itself? Sure, he loves the character, and if the writers ever had more things to explore/expand with Joker he’d be down for it.

Seth said that it’s a different kind of fan that approach him about this project. The fans have spent many many hours in an intimate exchange with “him” that he hasn’t been a part of, but they experienced it nonetheless. “I’ve hugged a lot of strangers, you know what I’m saying? It’s great, you get an interaction with fans that you never get as a performer in any other experience”

Seth has been a space guy since he was little, it inspires him

With the state of the world the way it is now [covid, masks etc], does Ash think Tali’s story will be more impactful now than it was before? Ash hopes so, and that anything they do here will have a positive impact on a bigger level. Ultimately that’s why most of them do what they do, they want to reach people in deep ways. She hopes Tali is an inspiration in courage, bravery, standing up for what’s right and thinking about the greater good

The [MELE I think] dev team had a last team meeting with Greg Zeschuk, one of the founders of BioWare, who they had invited to it. He was regaling them with stories of the inception of Mass Effect. “You would imagine this sort of well-laid out, drawing boards everywhere... [but] it was basically just a napkin sketch in a Greek taverna with him and Casey going ‘We wanna do a space opera’, and then it took off”

The process of creating lore through development is very organic. A lot of it comes from character and story development. It builds up over the course of the game’s development. They did the codex entries at the end, the idea being that if they saved them for as late as they could, then they could pull from the story, characters and meaningful moments, and build them from there

PW wrote a bunch of the codex entries, elevator banter & lots of little bits of lore. They describe their time on the og MET as being a “baby writer”. They originally came in after Mac had back surgery and a junior writer was needed to fill in. “It was really fun, it was us sitting in a room together going ‘What do you think a hanar or a krogan thinks about this or that’?” For a first project for them this was an amazing experience - the world building itself creatively with all these awesome people

They tried to add multiplayer in every game but only got it to work in ME3

They had a lot of plots laid out in ME1 that they called “global plots”. These were outside the core critical path and would take players from planet to planet, and were sprawling stories. They pulled out a lot of really interesting concepts and ideas from these that did make it into the game, but all of the global plots ended up getting cut due to time. Mac still has old diagrams and spreadsheets which detailed how all of these would have come together

Q. If you all had to take a long-distance road-trip with two squadmates, who would you take and why? PW: “Jack and Mordin. Mordin because the drive would never lack for things to talk about at length quickly, Jack because you know you wouldn’t pay for the room. You wouldn’t know how you’d get the room, but you wouldn’t be paying for it.” Courtenay: “I’d take Mordin because there’d be singing, and FemShep just to have this thing - happen. In the room that I get for free.” JHale at this point fistpumped while saying “Yeess” [then I think what she said was “steaming hot”]

Seeing as asari are long-lived, how open is Ali to one day reprising her role as Liara? “She’s a character very close to my heart, it was such a great opportunity. In some games that we work on the character has already been created or voiced by someone else, but this was really a group effort. When I first went into the booth, the only thing I’d seen of her was a sort of like, rendering, and we slowly kind of came to her voice and presence. I would love to bring Liara back any time... hey, she can live a really long time guys. :D”

Caroline and people who do what she does (Creative Performance Director) are so critical to the quality of games. Caroline: “This group of people are extraordinary. We were lucky to have such an extraordinary cast. Every [recording] session was new and challenging. It was a labor of love. I’m tearing up right now thinking about it. I’m remembering my last session with Jen, she was the last session, just sobbing and sobbing”. When JHale was trying to say the lines of Shepard’s goodbye with Garrus, a line hit her like a tonne of bricks and she was in tears and was like “Shepard does not cry”. “It took me a second, I got it out and took another run at it, it was in there but stuffed down as it should have been, and I finished the line [and there was silence in the booth when usually Caroline would have been talking to give direction or instruction] Did we lose her? Did Skype crash?” and it transpired that what had happened was that Caroline was in floods of tears

ME was the first time Keythe had ever come across branching dialogue. “Normally when we work on a script and it’s from page 1 to 100. In this it was get to page 5, then go back to page 2 and play it a little differently. The skill and the fun and joy of it was to be able to go back and play a scene in a different way, with different writing, with different outcomes. This was not only a challenge but a real treat. So to all the writers who dreamed up how this build-your-own-adventure plays out, you have my undying respect. It was a real pleasure”

VEDA is a proprietary system that BW use to record the dialogue, which is the closest way of having it feel like having people in the booth together (it’s all digital and VAs get to hear the line someone else has done in that scene). Caroline really pushed for this because of the amount of time etc that was wasted due to lack of this sort of thing on ME1. William: “It was a god send for me, thank you, getting to hear a cue from Jen or Mark.” Ali: “Us being able to bounce off each other helps make it more real. This for me was the most real acting experience on a game I had ever had - the writing being so good, Caroline helping us through, being able to hear each other.” JHale was always early coming in to record relative to the others so only got to use VEDA a few times - a bit of Liara content and the scene with Anderson towards the end. “Those two times, oh my god it was amazing”. VEDA being a thing also helps from a scheduling standpoint

Seth and Tricia Helfer (EDI) only got to be in the booth actually together 1 time, to record/shoot a piece of promotional video. “We actually got to record a scene together and we were like ‘oh my god this is the best thing ever’. It was great, even though I had to stand on a stool. She’s the best”

Seth: “As an actor, the kind of opportunity to do this kind of material in games just didn’t exist.” Fred: “Oh, never! I had never had a villain part that was complicated like that. In a game? Never before, it was really interesting”

Raphael always goes back to the fact that ME brought more women into gaming than any other game before it. “The writing and the complexity of the relationships gave us so much ballast”. “This set this apart from running, shooting, gunning, looting”

JHale: “What I noticed in the times before when I got to be around fans, there was a huge hunger among women in the gaming world for something they could really jump into. They were starving for something which fed them what they deserved and needed”

Mac: “[praising Caroline] Caroline would often come to us as writers and challenge us and say, as an example, ‘Do we really need another male character to do this? Why are we writing another male character for this?’ She pushed that very early and to the betterment of everything we created”

PW: “Karin and Cookie and all of the editors across the trilogy, [were critical in] making sure that Shepard sounded consistent - [especially since] we had a large writing team, writers came and went, Mac is the only one with a significant writing contribution on each of the games”

PW: “[on game dev] It’s a process of getting hundreds of people pointed in the same direction, all believing that this is something worth doing”

Ash: “Having all the different possibilities and avenues, going back to play them all out in the different ways [really helped to round the character of Tali out and make her feel like a natural person]”.

VAs only get paid for the original recording sessions, not again (as in they don’t any royalties or anything from something like the remaster)

In MELE, they left all the original credits at the end of each game in

Fred: “It’s creating in five dimensions [because of all the outcomes and relationships etc]”. Seth: “The cool thing is that the audience feels that. They’re immediately struck by how dense, thought-out, prepared and planned the entire universe is”

How was it for the new MELE devs coming onto this? Crystal: “I knew it [the series and fans’ love for it] was big, but I didn’t know it was BIG! Working on MELE there was this infectious excitement. Being part of it was so exciting.” Melanie: “I came on at ME3, I had a 3 or 4 year honeymoon period with BioWare. Coming onto MELE, I’m getting really emotional. One of my first meetings originally was going into a cinematic review for an epic Tali scene in ME3”. Crystal: “On MELE, we had an hour or 2 every day where the team came together to play the game. In those reviews, a lot of the devs who worked on the original would tell all these stories. It was really fun to hear all the inside stories on ME’s creation and be a part of that”

DC: “Should this unit get vaccinated?” Ash: “Of course”

How do they think ME will be viewed in the next 10-20 years, what do they think its legacy will be? A piece of history, ground-breaking. It broke down some barriers and opened doors for people. It’s a powerful, powerful community. It’ll continue to age quite well and be enjoyed by a new generation, it’s original and evergreen and there’s a lot in it that people go back to. There’s a lot of universal things in it (personal experiences, like there will always be love, people fighting to belong, trying to make sense of their pasts etc)

JHale and Alix did the “I love you Shepard, now go save the world again” Shep-Sam exchange and both got teary. It was then Seth’s turn to line-read: “Jesus Christ, now that I’m good and choked up, fucking mess”. Ali was also actually crying from it

Seth: “It can’t be overstated, this community is so large and global, it is one of the most powerful fandoms that I’ve ever been greeted with. Thank you”. Ash: “It’s the most amazing group of fans ever. We’re all so grateful”

Some funny anecdotes/stories:

PW didn’t realize that Alix could do different accents. They remember a time when they were listening in the booth and an Alliance soldier was complaining about the gear had been given. They said “Wow that’s really good, who is that?” and the VO producer said “That’s Alix, Patrick”, “because she wasn’t doing her [normal British accent but was doing a Californian accent instead]. Alix roasted me later for not recognizing her voice and never let me heard the end of it”

Alix: “[on Sam’s toothbrush] Caroline’s like, ‘So then she pulls her toothbrush’ and I’m like ‘What? Sorry? A toothbrush?’ and obviously it’s funny now as everyone knows that Sam’s thing is her toothbrush. Caroline’s like ‘Yeah, you’ve gotta like, flirt, over the toothbrush’ and I’m like ‘Who wrote this - a frickin toothbrush, are you kidding me? Really guys?’ ANYWAY. I was wrong and it worked. :D”

Fred: “I remember a 12 year old kid coming up to me and being like [flat tone] ‘Oh yeah. I killed you’.”

Keythe: “The other assasin I play is Kellogg in Fallout 4. People come up to me like ‘Omg. I love you so much. And then I fucking KILLED you!’”

Courtenay once went out to dinner in NZ with a few prominent people from the Game of Thrones cast. “Everyone around was making a big deal out of it like ‘Omg, it’s so-and-so from GoT’. I was feeling a bit like ‘Hi, I’m here, just nobody’. And I looked around in the restaurant and there's one guy in the corner and he’s got an N7 shirt on and he’s just looking at me like [knowing look, does a peace sign]. And I’m like ‘I got one! I love you guys!’”

PW: “I have a question for the cast members, because I don’t know if JHale has done this to all of you or if she just does it to the devs. Show of hands if Jen has ever made you do push-ups.” JHale: “It’s just you guys”

Karin: “One of my favorite editing files that I ever had was a ME file. It was before Seth was coming in for a session. I opened it up and it was just 20, 25 lines with the word ‘Shit’, over and over again, and I was like, ‘This file is perfect, I don’t need to do anything to it, have fun!’”

Seth: “Didn’t we do a track that’s like 60 seconds of laughing? Escalating laughing? I don’t know about other actors but for me getting into a laughing fit is kind of like trying to get into a crying fit, it takes the same level of commitment, you start to follow a path until like you’re hysterically uncontrollably laughing. I remember looking through the glass, and I’m deep in it at this point, and I make eye contact, and I can see from the other side of the booth and they’re like [making ‘okay you can stop’ now gestures] - ‘Like that’s plenty, we got it’ and I was like ‘okay, okay [dying]’”

JHale: “The craziest thing Mark and I had to deal with was how many times we had to say ‘I should go’”. Mark: “We also, Caroline and I tended to use that as short hand when I needed to go to the bathroom”

The panel host: “The first time I interviewed Ali was a decade ago. She did the ‘I’ll flay you alive with my mind’ line halfway through, it was my first interview and I literally fell out of my seat [from being star-struck]”

Ash line-read Tali’s drunk omni-tattoo scene and in response DC said “I totally get why people wanna romanticize all these characters :D”. Karin: “We’ve had more than one person come up to us and show us actual tattoos that looked like that”

[source]

#bioware #mass effect #video games #covid mention #long post #longpost #garrus vakarian #best boy #feels #lul

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spokenleaf-a · 2 years

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you can imagine the torture he has put me through: when your voice is the only I want to hear and he has put you, there across the ocean and me here? I am suffering. god was cruel when he made you sound like that and me want to know everything - l

that was the last one he had sent to her, and it was going to be his last. there was no hesitancy in him depicting himself as depraved and overly romantic, no hesitancy in him going to the post: he always left his humility on paper. by the time an inkling of regret managed to weasel through his poetic conscience, it was too late, but in the face of that tiny tiny regret he found comfort in the fact that she likely wouldn’t be reading his letters (in his mind she has mountains of mail, each far more pathetic than his and with less of a punchline). he sought comfort in his habitual nature of seeking a new muse prematurely. it was how he functioned: delving in and out of record stores, coffee shops, the hearts of strangers for as long as he’d manage stick around for—but he still wondered about her. he wondered what brought her joy, aside from the whole opera-singing thing, and if she was a unique case like himself who was tormented by their own craft. he hoped not. he wouldn’t wish that fate on anybody. he still thought about her. it’s late afternoon and leaf is wrapping up his bi-weekly nomadic wanderings about sunset boulevard, past the mob of squeaky teenagers who had a bit too many questions for him when her name, stamped hugely across a marquee, interrupts his brainspace and thoughts of dinner-and-beer plans with his drummer. a name is digestible when its written on a record cover. having to pan your head from left-to-right to take it all in is another story. to the god character whose identity he had recently tarnished on lined paper—he still had it out for him. nothing made sense anymore. he hadn’t went to a gig in five years, seen a theatre production in about ten, and hadn’t been on stage himself in 364 days and counting. if he was really going to believe in something, now might have been a good time to start. according to the queue at the ticket booth, he was not dressed for an opera. people who attend operas don’t wear denim on denim, and they don’t have long hair. people who attend operas also don’t know him by name (for once more in his life he looked like a freeloading troublemaker who’d wandered into the wrong venue, this was fine by him), but someone who did was the concierge. “vip seating?” they asked, “we will provide you with the exclusive refreshments menu.” the vip crowd were always well-watered, no matter the time of day. “oh, no...no thank you, just regular admission for me, please.” it was unlike him to refuse a drink. it was unlike him to attend an opera. he felt small in the audience, sat quietly upon rich, velvety cushioning and in between two people grey-haired and half his age. there were also a bit of nerves there—to meet her, even if only from across thirteen full rows of heads, without speaking and just looking. he went into his breast pocket, felt past his carton smokes and lighter for a pen and went into the other for his notepad, committed to have her be exactly what she had been for him: his muse. @softmalldrifting

#softmalldrifting #//#ok lets go

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angelisverba · 4 years

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i’ll hold you so you don’t fall again

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

pairing: interiordesing!y/n and eroticawriter!harry

word count: 21k+

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

Y/n wasn’t one to brag.

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

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

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

Because it definitely was one.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You know, like with a brush and paint can.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Okay, how do you want me?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And then,

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

“Y/N!!” Lucy yelled from the counter.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Y/N!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Oh! Um…”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Affection. Love. Companionship.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Let’s go.”

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

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

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

She couldn’t say no.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Biting into her toast, she opened the book.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Don’t call me that,” she mumbled.

“What do you wish I call you then?”

“Dani.”

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

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

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

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

strands then massaging down her neck and shoulders.

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

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

“No,” she said quietly.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And when it died out,

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

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

“... you know what I mean?”

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

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

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

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

Y/n truly wished she didn’t know.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

God.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Not falling.

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

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

Right. In front. Of her face.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Timidly, she responds, “Okay.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Thank you so much for h-”

“Y/n?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And it definitely didn’t.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Upon first entering, y/n is disoriented.

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

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

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

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

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

Perfect.

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

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

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

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

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

She started in the back. With the plants.

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

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

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

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

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

“Y/n!”

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

Grey sweatpants.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I’ll catch you.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Lead the way.”

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

“S’very nice back here.”

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

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

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

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

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

“It’s that serious?” She asked.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What was that?’ she hums.

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

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

“Uhm, thank you?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Stop it,” she said.

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

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

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

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

“When do you get a break?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Well if it isn’t y/n!” Says Kim.

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

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

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

“Two drinks?”

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

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

“Y/n!” Kelsey hissed, “He’s hot!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What did you get?” He asked her.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Do you decorate apartments?” He asked.

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

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

“Harry, I-”

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

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

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

“But it’s your home.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

God, what had she gotten herself into?

Y/n had saved Harry under “H.”

And received a text from him that same night.

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

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

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

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

So i think i know what i wanna go for

Was thinking maybe italy in the 70’s

What do you think :D ??

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

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

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

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

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

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

are you doing anything this weekend?

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

No. why? she responded.

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

and I have a measuring tape don’t worry

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

Saturday?

Seconds later,

see you Saturday

sweet dreams. H.x

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

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

Maybe.

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

She cried.

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

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

It said:

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

Friday.

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

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

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

Saturday.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Thank you, Felix. You too.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“How was-”

“So, you-”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I-I,” she stutters.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Sorry, sorry. What was it?”

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

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

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

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

“Hey! You said you had takeout,”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Good.”

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

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

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

“But-” Harry protested.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Dunno, its just second natur- heeyy,”

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

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

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

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

She says it teasingly.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Said, what about you?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Lemus Knox.

Harry was Lemus Knox. Harry was Lemus fucking Knox.

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

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

“You know who I am?” he said slowly.

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

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

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

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

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

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hannie-dul-set · 4 years

Text

your face lit up upon seeing the message on your phone. despite your objections, jaehyun had insisted on picking you up and taking you home today (you had told him that if he were to drop you off after your date later, it'd take him almost an hour to get back home. to which he responded with "it's okay as long as i'd get to spend more time with you" which resulted in you nearly dropping your phone). after giving yourself one last check-up in front the mirror, you had finally opted to go downstairs.

now, seeing jaehyun in the usual suit and tie ensemble was undeniably heart-stopping, but seeing him in a plain black shirt and jeans? now that was something else. you had told him the night prior to wear something casual, and that was probably the best decision you've ever made thus far.

he was leaning on his car, a coat loosely hanging off of his shoulder and attention drilled on his phone. noticing your nearing presence, he quickly shut off the device, eyes gleaming and dimples appearing.

"you're here."

it was around four in the afternoon, the sky rendering a beautiful brilliant blue. patches of little white clouds littered the heaven's canvas, and the sun's glare showered directly on jaehyun's face.

"indeed i am," you laughed, finding your spot directly in front of him. jaehyun's gaze lingered on you a little longer, a light wash of pink painting his pale cheeks. you raised a brow, expecting him to say something but he only stifled out a cough, quickly scrambling to open the front door of his car for you.

"after you," he stuttered out, attempting to keep his composure. jaehyun was nervous— not because of you, but instead it's because the whole concept of going out for mere pleasure had been foreign to him since he was sixteen. you'd actually been a source of comfort for him; even if he embarks on the unkown, it would seem like nothing with your presence alone.

you thanked him before entering, and shortly thereafter he followed.

"so, where exactly are you taking us, miss y/n?" jaehyun asked you but his attention remained on the road before him.

"you'll see when we get there, jae— oh, you should go left from here," and so he did. the next couple of minutes went on like that— you giving him directions, and him attacking you with questions regarding your destination (you refused to answer any of them, of course). after a while, a large ferris wheel can into view as well as vague sounds of boisterous merrymaking.

"jaehyun, we're almost there!" you gushed in delight, slightly bouncing in your seat as you gleamed at the distant sight before you and jaehyun couldn't help but smile at your honeyed excitement.

the car had landed in the the parking lot, prompting you to go out. but before you could open the car door, jaehyun swiftly left his seat, jogged over to your side, and opened the door for you. he extended his hand for you to grab and you couldn't contain your laughter.

"such a gentleman," with a painted smile on your face, you placed your hand on his as you exited the vehicle.

you looked up to jaehyun to see if he was just as eager as you to try all of the rides and games, but his expression remained unreadable. a question came into thought, so you tugged on the short sleeve of his shirt, prompting the male's attention.

the wide grin on you refused to falter even as you neared the park's entrance. there was a spring in your step as you walked and your enthusiasm only grew once you saw the endless colorful booths and stalls lining up from the entrance.

"jae, have you ever been to an amusement park before?"

"a few times, yes," he answered, a somber feeling tracing his features. "but it was a quite long time ago so i don't really remember what it's like."

a frown appeared surfaced after hearing his response. being bred into a family that garnered such a reputation undeniably brought about an immense amount of pressure, so you weren't surprised that jaehyun gave up his childhood so early in order to live up to expectations of dozens and dozens of nameless people. you'd made the right decision of bringing him to the amusement park today— maybe through this he'd be able to relive what he had long forgotten.

"well then," you quickly stood before him, blocking his path to move forward. with your new found determination, you quickly grabbed his hand, eliciting a look of confusion from the tall male. "i'll help you remember."

with a swift tug of his wrist, you ran, jaehyun dragging behind you. "miss y/n, slow down—"

"keep up, jaehyun! or else i might leave you in the dust!" you sang, a wide smile spread on your lips. at first, jaehyun was caught in a daze, but with a quick shake of his head and chimes laughter leaving his lips, he suddenly overtook took your speed.

"keep up, miss y/n."

he teased, your positions switching in a blink of an eye. jaehyun's hair flew with the wind— you couldn't see his face, but you just know that he was beaming, and that alone made you swell with joy.

the afternoon went by rather quickly. after running around the park for a while, you two decided to try out the games first— and dear god, you were met with an entirely new side of jung jaehyun.

"miss y/n, do you mind stepping away for a while?"

"oh, sure," quickly, you scurried away from him, finding a spot a few steps away from the jaehyun.

in front of you two was a punch machine, glaring at you with its red and yellow lights. you had just left from the one of the shooting games where you both failed miserably, causing jaehyun to be a bit dejected. you had told him that it was most likely rigged, but the male swore that he'd regain his dignity. when you glanced up at him to see how he's holding up, and you couldn't help your amusement— jaehyun's brows were in a furrow, face in frozen ice. the fact that he was taking this so seriously was absolutely adorable.

a small crowd of children had formed around you, and you could see that the worker in charge of the game was getting impatient (jaehyun started stretching a bit, and you could tell that the guy was this close to kicking you out).

with a few swift steps and the swing of an arm—

bam.

952.

the small crowd started clapping, and the first thing jaehyun did was look at you— face glowing with a smile that looked as if he had just won the whole world. the way his cheeks lifted and eyes disappeared strung a different kind of chord inside of you. springing from the ground, you leaped towards him, arms spread to capture him in an embrace.

"jaehyun, holy shit, that's a new record!" you squealed, rupturing a wave of confusion from jaehyun. his right arm ended up wrapping around your waist and his opposite palm was resting on your head which was buried in his chest. like earlier, his bewilderment quickly washed away and his voice broke out a chuckle. you looked up, only to see him staring at you with stars in his eyes.

"i told you i'd make up for my loss."

"you didn't have to, but i'm proud of you anyways."

after trying out most of the games and rides (as well as a second run at the viking, due to jaehyun's insistence), the light sky was replaced with the star-studded breath of the night. the lights hanging all over the park were shining— casting dozens of colors all over. the two had just gotten down from your ride from the ferris wheel. although the ride was spent primarily in silence while admiring the atmosphere and scenery before you, it wasn't at all awkward. instead, there was comfort lingering in the air inside the tiny box you two were enclosed in.

shortly thereafter you found yourselves eating dinner at the nearby boardwalk with the sight of the light-stained waters in front of you, and before you knew it the night was finally over. at 9:32 pm, you were already on yout ride back home— the card ride composing of you blaring one of jaehyun's playlists at full volume and singing your hearts out (at that instance, you had found out that jaehyun's voice was nothing less than heavenly and you had complained as to why he'd never told you before). moments later, the facade of your apartment building came into view, signalling the end of your date.

with the same routine as earlier, he had opened the door for you, hands pressed tightly together and showing no signs of letting go.

"i had fun today," you breathed out. the thoughtless grins on your faces mirrored each other, along with the enraptured adoration spiraling in your eyes. "so did you, i hope. if not, then i'd be really sad."

the streetlights and the stars were the only things lighting up the area, but everything suddenly became brighter when you heard the soft laughter slipping from jaehyun's pink tinted lips. "you being sad would be the last thing i'd want, miss y/n."

the cold wind nipped at your skin, causing you to hold onto jaehyun's hand tighter. as much as you didn't want to, you had to head back inside. it was already getting late and you still had work tomorrow morning.

"i should get going, jae," you spoke, earning a nod of understanding from the male. hesitantly, he slipped his hand off of yours, a glimpse of disappointment hinting at his features before being replaced once more with his dimpled smile.

"i'll wait until you get inside before i make my leave."

"alright, alright," you laughed, a gentle rose flushing you cheeks. "text me when you get home, okay?"

jaehyun nodded once more and you finally decided to head inside. once at the entrance, however, you turned your heels to see if he was still there, and indeed he was— standing alone under the coldness of the night, just because he wants to see you safely get inside. you see his expression— confused as to why you weren't opening the door yet, and suddenly you felt your heart jump in a giddy flight. your eyes met and you briskly scurried to unlock the door, lightly smacking on of your cheeks in attempts to calm the blazing red storm going about. you swung it open, but before you finally entered, a sudden thought went inside your head.

lips pressed together, you hesitated, but then ultimately decided

fuck it.

you swiveled around to face jaehyun again and you wordlessly speeded towards him, legs moving in a haste, the air gusting against you. he was flustered with you suddenly standing before him, and it didn't help his case when you looked up to him with your face flushed. without giving jaehyun any opportunity to speak, you sprung on your toes, quickly pressing a fluttering kiss on his jaw.

"goodnight, jaehyun!"

and just like that you ran inside, leaving jaehyun in a coral stained daze. he heard the door to your apartment building closing, and he snapped out. he shook his head, laughing to himself, before getting inside his car.

"goodnight."

gold painted canvas

the classic rich boy and poor girl love story but with less prejudice and more happiness

25 // goodnight

a/n: HHEHEHEH hope you enjoyed 1.9k words of tooth rotting fluff <33 pls lmk what you think hehehe

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imagines--harrystyles · 3 years

Note

I would literally die if you make an imagine where Harry meets a girl on a M&G and they barely have time to talk so the girl asks him to have a coffee with her and so he agrees. Then she invites him to go to her favourite places (like a lighthouse) and they get to to some of her favourite things(watch romcoms films) together in those 3-4 days Harry has between concerts and he surprises her with tickets for an a Ed sheeran concert (her favourite artist) and they kissed and skdjejwjaejrjejseur🌹

—-

You had been looking forward to this day for months. You still felt like it was too good to be true, like something would have to go wrong and you wouldn’t be able to meet Harry after all this time. You had it all planned out- what you would wear, what you would say to him. You’d had it planned out for weeks of course. And today was finally the day.

Although you wished your best friend would be able to come with you, you were only able to snag one meet and greet ticket so you would have to go alone. It didn’t bother you too much, though. You still were going to meet Harry Styles today.

Waiting in line to meet him felt almost unbearable; you just wanted to sprint past everyone and run into his arms and hug him forever. But you knew that would get you kicked out so you had to wait patiently, even though you were one of the last people in the line. After what felt like a day of waiting, you finally could get a glimpse of him as you made your way closer and closer to the table where Harry was sitting. His smile was bright and his eyes were brighter and you couldn’t believe how beautiful he was. Your hands began to shake as only five people remained in front of you, then four, three, two-

“Sorry everybody, we’re running behind schedule and Harry needs to be on his way to his way out of here in the next couple of minutes,” a large man standing next to Harry announced loudly. “Harry, we need you to just say hi to these last few folks and then we gotta go,” the man told Harry sternly. There were only a couple other people behind you and the disappointment that filled the room was almost audible.

“So sorry guys, I really appreciate you all coming here today,” Harry told you all with a genuine look of guilt. He came forward and hugged the two people remaining ahead of you and finally he embraced you for a short two seconds as the man began to usher him out.

“Wait!” You yelled as he turned away. Harry quickly turned back towards you, his eyebrows threaded in concern. “I’m sorry, I just have waited so long for this and I didn’t even get to talk to you, is there any chance you would meet me for coffee later when you have time?” You asked in a small voice, amazed at your sudden confidence.

Harry glanced at the man next to him who gestured for him to head towards the door. “I can do that,” Harry smiled at you and agreed to meet you at a local coffee shop the next morning.

“Thank you,” you breathed, feeling like you were in a dream and hoping with everything you had that he would actually show. Harry nodded his head, the smile still spread wide across his face, as the large man all but dragged Harry out of the room.

You let out a breath you didn’t realize you had been holding, realizing how much your hands were shaking now. A smile crept onto your face as you began to walk towards the exit, feeling as if you were in a dream.

–

You slept a total of maybe two hours that night with the anticipation of possibly grabbing a coffee with the Harry Styles the next morning. As excited as you were, you couldn’t help but feel like he wouldn’t show. He was a super busy pop star after all, so busy that he didn’t even have time to finish the meet and greet with you yesterday, so how would he have time to grab a coffee with you today?

Either way, you put on your second best outfit (you wished you hadn’t wasted your best one on the brief meeting the day before) and headed out the door. The coffee shop was only a 10 minute walk from your house. You told yourself you’d walk slowly as you left half an hour prior to the time you agreed to meet, but it wasn’t until you reached the coffee shop that you realized you had made it there in record time. You decided to scope out the place and chose an intimate booth towards the back where you would wait for Harry. Harry Styles. It still felt surreal.

Half an hour passed, and then another 20 minutes passed. The disappointment gradually flooded through you as you decided to tell yourself that this was it, realizing how idiotic it was to think he’d come in the first place. As you stood up and began to grab your things, you heard the bell ring that signaled someone had walked through the door. With a glum look on your face and the disappointment having consumed you, your eyes suddenly met bright and familiar green ones. Tousled brown hair and out of breath, none other than Harry Styles stood before you, a guilty look on his face similar to the one from the day prior when he had to leave the meet and greet early.

“I’m so sorry I’m late, my meeting this morning ran long and then when we were driving… anyways, I’m here now and I’ve been looking forward to meeting you this morning,” Harry breathed out, a smile forming on his beautiful face.

“I-oh, no, you don’t, it’s totally fine I just am happy to see you,” you stuttered, suddenly forgetting how to breathe.

Harry walked towards you and stretched out his arm. It took you a moment but realized that he was trying to shake your hand, and you extended yours as you tried to wipe the shocked look from your face.

“What is your name?” Harry asked as he moved to sit in the chair next to the one you had been sitting in as you waited for him. You let out a breath and shakily pulled out the chair next to his as you spent the next two hours talking about anything and everything.

“Wow I definitely am late for something,” Harry sighed as his phone buzzed for what felt like the hundredth time. You were surprised by how annoyed he seemed that his time with you was being interrupted.

“I’m really sorry for keeping you, I didn’t even realize how long we’ve been talking,” you murmured, truly surprised at how much time had passed as you glanced at the time on your phone.

“Time flies,” Harry replied with a grin spreading on his face. “I’m sorry that I have to go, I really enjoyed getting to talk with you. Maybe we could do this again tomorrow…?”

Your face immediately broke into a smile as you realized this dream might continue. “Yeah for sure, I actually have a place in mind we can meet tomorrow,” you replied, trying to hide the excitement in your voice. You were again surprised to find that same excitement mirrored on Harry’s face.

You agreed on a meeting place for the next day and parted ways, a giddiness in both of you that you’d never felt before.

–

After what felt like weeks, the next day came and it was time for you to see Harry again. Standing on the beach where you’d agreed to meet, you couldn’t help but feel this must be some sort of dream. In what world would Harry Styles agree to not only meet you for coffee, but then suggest that the two of you spend more time together? Unreal.

But yet, as you glanced over just past your favorite lighthouse, the gangly and exquisite man who had filled your thoughts for so long appeared as he walked towards you, that same smile spread across his face. Truly unreal.

“Hey there,” he said as he finally reached you, leaning in for a hug.

“Hi,” you breathed as you embraced each other firmly, as if you were old friends who hadn’t seen each other in years.

“It’s beautiful,” you heard Harry murmur as you looked down the length of the beach, the sunlight bouncing on top of the turquoise waves. You smiled and looked at Harry to find his eyes intensely focused on you. You looked down, overcome by the intensity of his gaze and the butterflies that suddenly filled your insides. You nodded and started to lead the way towards the light house as Harry followed behind.

“This is one of my favorite places, it makes me feel so calm,” you told him as you both walked along the sand, a look of peacefulness on both of your faces. Harry smiled and you both once again began talking for hours as you strolled along the beach, eventually making your way to your favorite park and walking in between rose bushes.

–

The next few weeks were spent watching your favorite rom coms with Harry on your sofa. You lit up as you heard him laugh at your favorite parts of He’s Just Not That into You, and your heart melted as you watched tears fall from his eyes at the end of The Notebook. You both were filled with such joy and serenity spending time together, and you hoped it would never end.

You had been to a couple of Harry’s concerts and watched in amazement from backstage as he brought thousands of people to tears as he belt out the words to “Falling”. You were so in awe of this man and still couldn’t believe he would choose to spend so much of his time with you.

He had a couple of days off before his next show and you were excited to spend some more time with him. You didn’t really have anything planned and felt bad that he was this exciting person used to doing exciting things, but all you really had to offer was walks to your favorite places and watching rom coms, not that you didn’t cherish those moments with him. You just felt like maybe switching things up would be a good idea, but you weren’t sure what to do.

“I have something for ya,” you heard Harry murmur as you sat in the back of the car with him following his show. You smiled as he extended his arm, holding two pieces of paper. You took them from him and lit up when you saw what they were- tickets to see Ed Sheeran, your favorite artist (besides Harry of course).

“Backstage passes. He happens to be a friend of mine,” Harry smirked. You couldn’t help but lunge towards him and wrap your arms around his neck. He held you tightly, exhausted and happy, his heart pounding for more reasons than just the adrenaline from performing in front of thousands of people. You leaned back and before you had a chance to thank him, his lips melted into yours, hot and soft and better than you’d ever dreamed. Seconds turned into minutes, and finally Harry pulled back to look at your face.

Your smile matched his and he kissed the top of your head before pulling you close. He was asleep within minutes, blissful as you held each other, the matching smiles remaining plastered on both of your faces.

#harry #harry styles #harry imagines #harry styles imagine #harry styles one shot #harry styles fanfiction #harry one shot #harry styles fluff #fluff

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muteashes · 4 years

Text

Note: If you have seen this on AO3 I made some edits to cut up paragraph length for mobile viewers

“Cody? What in the world?” Obi-Wan stands over the balcony ledge, eyes wide in surprise as he takes in his Commander hanging from the rail.

Cody closed his eyes, wondering how he keeps getting into these situations. “Sir,” He said, as if he hadn’t just been caught climbing into his general’s quarters.

Somewhere either his line of communication or the clones on watch had failed. The other man should have been at a dinner party celebrating some jedi’s recent knighthood. The potential failure would have to be addressed later, in case there is an underlying problem that could show itself while in the field. Obi-Wan moved further in as Cody dragged himself over the ledge.

When he had righted himself, Obi-Wan had folded his arms back into his sleeves and was pulling off ‘disappointed jedi master’ surprisingly well for all that he was in a bathrobe.

“Nice clothes, sir,” Cody remarked. Obi-Wan looked down blankly before readjusting the belt. There was nothing under the bathrobe, Cody realized before his mind blanked for a moment. Your mind is a mirror, he reminded himself fiercely.

Cody brought himself to attention, staring straight ahead. In his peripheral he could just make out the slow shadow that crept into the adjoining antechamber.

“What were you even doing, Cody?” Obi-Wan asked, when he seemed to have decided his approach. Stern and commanding; clearly knowing something is up and if you confess now you maybe able to save yourself. Cody is familiar enough with the act, he has to do it at least once a tenday.

“Good question, sir,” Cody started, ready to drag this out as long as he could. Obi-Wan didn’t seem particularly mad. Cody had been worried. Nat-borns had a peculiar sense of privacy, and he had known he would be treading in it. He had just hoped to be gone before he was caught.

“Recent policy overwrites to GAR protocol calls for the encouragement of outside activities to lead to more stable mental and emotional response,” Obi-Wan expression didn’t change. “Recreational climbing, sir,” he offered at last.

“You only get that technical when your trying to bore your way out of a problem,” Obi-Wan critiqued, not impressed. Cody tipped his head up.

“It works,” Cody acknowledged. He could get General Skywalker’s eyes to go blank in one sentence. Obi-Wan smiled for a short second, before his face smoothed out.

“Be that as it may,” Obi-Wan hid his smile behind his hand, as if stroking his beard in thought. “You haven’t told me why I found you outside my window. Should I be concerned?”

“It’s nothing bad, General,” Cody admitted.

From behind Obi-Wan he could just make out the shape of Rex as he passed through the main hall connecting the kitchen, bedroom and the antechamber. Cody didn’t say anything. Rex, like the brat Cody denies ever having a hand in raising, turned around and finger gunned him as he slid out the door.

Cody must have made a face, or maybe somehow the brattiness seeped through the force, because Obi-Wan glances over and seeing the empty hall glances back. Obi-Wan stared at him curiously, Cody stared back. Let him ask, Cody feels daring in just thinking it.

The general had told him once that jedi can’t read minds. It’s not thoughts, but very strong feelings that give most away. Things that bleed across the force: like quilt and joy and anger.

Which was good because Cody was very good at faking confidence. He had been practicing since he was youngling, and found that faking often led to reality. So he just thought it. Pictured it, a sort of aggressive feeling of presence.

He kept thinking how solid he felt and how nothing could move him, he had no reason to be ashamed to be here in this room. With Obi-Wan. Who is half naked, the back of Cody’s mind helpfully added. Part of his brain found that very interesting.

He liked his general. Had always liked his general. Obi-Wan was one of the first people that hadn’t treated him as just another clone. Cody liked how he listened when Cody had something to say. He also liked the way Obi-Wan looked at him now, sort of like he was a puzzle and sort of like he was fascinated.

“What are you thinking?” Obi-Wan wondered quietly.

“Nothing bad, sir,” Cody said again. Equally quiet. He watched idly as Obi-Wan’s cheeks turned pink. The jedi’s eyes widened, hand pressed against his brow as he half turned away.

“Yes, well,” Obi-Wan coughed. He looked over, briefly meeting Cody’s stare again before flushing again. “It’s late, I think we can come back to this later.”

“As you say, General,” Cody said; then, softly, “Good night, Obi-Wan.”

Obi-Wan, face still pink, smiled fondly. The world seemed so small between them, “Good night, Cody,”

When the door behind him slid closed, Cody glanced back at the empty door way. Not the way he had thought it would go, but that was easier done then he thought. Sliding out of apartment to where Rex was waiting for him, before he managed to think too hard about it.

“The Coruscant Temple Practical Approach, forms one to five,” Rex read aloud from the liberated holopad, “I guess it makes sense that Kenobi would have a copy, but I can’t believe Skywalker did too.”

“Are you more surprised he reads?” Cody grinned.

“You’re lucky your driving, vode.” Rex smacked his shoulder with the pilfered pads. Cody shrugged. They had a bet to win.

Commander Thire of the guard had taken up a whole booth at 79s. He gave them a friendly smile when they stomped through the door.

“Vode. I hadn’t expected you to show up so soon.”

“Did we win?” Rex tapped the table with a fist. Cody dropped the holopads in front of them. Thire leaned across the table and scooped them up. Making a show as he examined them.

“Nope,” Thire shook his head in faux sadness, but his lips kept twitching as he fought a smile. Cody scowled when Thire caught his eye. “Wolffe and Ponds beat you by a good hour.”

“How did they beat us?” Rex demanded.

“Apparently they asked the jedi for their holopads.” Thire chuckled. He waved his hand from where it rested on the back of the booth, encouraging them to sit down.

Cody glanced at Rex, who was silently mouth ‘asked?’ to himself.

Cody felt the same. Asking General Koon would have been an easy one, though he was surprised Wolffe would take that route, but picturing them asking Windu for his holopad to win a bet raised his level of respect for his brothers. They had gumption. Maybe he could get a vid recording of it.

“Hey, you beat the others at least,” Thire consoled them cheerfully. “I can buy you drinks for that, and because you won me several bets on General Skywalker having a copy too.”

Rex scowled when Cody nudged him. No one actually thought the General couldn’t read, he just had never been seen with a holopad before so their were theories. Like general dislike of all texts. Or allergies.

“So,” Rex started. Then stopped, staring at the holopads.

“So,” Cody agreed. “Now we got to figure out how to return them.”

“You could mail them?” Thire suggested.

“Then they’ll notice it was taken in the first place.” Cody waved it off.

“Will General Skywalker, though?” Rex argued. “He’s going to think he lost it and someone helpfully returned it.”

#codywan #commander cody #Obi wan #captain rex #commander thire

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sgt-morgan · 3 years

Text

Lucky Kentucky ch. 1

Chapter 2

Hello there, this is my new Rockstar!Bucky x Reader fic. It was heavily inspired by my love of seventies mega rockstars, Almost Famous, Classic Rock, and a little bit of personal whimsy. I hope you enjoy, and read responsibly.

⚠️ WARNING ⚠️ : cussing, sexy times, drugs, booze, smoking, objectification, fornication, liberation, and a litany of other sordid topics and traumas.

Your name didn’t matter, at least not so far as you could tell. They called you Kentucky, sometimes if they felt cheeky, Bluegrass. You liked it, the first band that gave you that name was some shitty college band out of Detroit. They were convinced they were gonna be the next Led Zepplin. They called it quits three years later, a good old fashioned Rock n’ Roll suicide, booze, women, and drugs. The finer things always gets the best amateurs. However, their lead singer had a way with words, he came up with the nickname. He also wrote a beautiful song about a girl named Kentucky, who he just couldn’t swing, some big named country superstar sang the song and the last you’d heard he had been writing for the best of the best since. This earned you your title, Lucky Kentucky. A bit on the nose for your taste, but it made perfect sense. You kept following the music, you went to a band in L.A., the day you left, they signed a record deal with Sony. The next was a little English girl and her backing band, her first tour of England with you landed her a tour of the US faster than they could say ‘Burbon.’

You are what is known in the music business as a road manager, so far as you could tell, this was the job you were born to do. You made schedules, you supplied booze and other artifacts, you got hotels, paid off paparazzi, packed busses, and shoved half out of their mind rock stars on to stages in more countries than you could count, you couldn’t imagine any better life. You were the best of the best, you were who the record company called when everyone else had given up. You were a fixer, and an incredibly talented one at that. You had a gift for taking a mediocre side show band, and turning them into headliners.

So when you got the call from Tony and Pepper that you had to fix The Howling Comandos, you were shocked. They were big time, nothing like your usual fixer upper opener that you could make insta stars. They certainly weren’t your crowd, but you always had a problem saying no to Pepper, Tony’s company manager. Tony was a talented mixer, and a gifted album technician. So when he started his own label, it blew up pretty quickly. The comandos were the first band he signed. They had won Album of the Year their first Grammy season without even batting an eyelash. So once business started booming, Pepper took over the paper work, and Tony did what he did best, Fucking around with a mixing board. You had met them when you started working with Natasha and the Widows, a Blondie style punk outfit. They had a pension for eating men alive. Eventually, it got in the way of their success, so you stepped in and saved the band from total destruction. You and the starks had been thick as theives since.

“Tony, you mean to tell me, that the Commandos, the biggest artists of the decade, need my help?” You scoffed down the line, checking the Widows out of the last hotel of their tour with Greta Van Fleet.

“Yes Bluegrass, I do. Barnes is going through some existential heart break shit ‘cause ole bitch called of the wedding, and fucked the Guitarist of their opener. He’s been all drugs, booze, and sappy shit since, and someone’s gotta get the mother fucker back on stage. I’m Loosing money here Kentucky, something’s gotta give.” Tony sounded livid, there were very few times where Tony was as frazzled as this, so you knew it was serious.

“Alright, but I have conditions.” You sighed, you thought you could hear the sound of Pepper weeping tears of joy, but you couldn’t be sure. “I want the Widows to open, I’m not done with them yet Stark they’ve got some potential that still needs to be tapped. I want Frankie on security, I want Wanda for wardrobe and makeup, I want Vision for my techie, and I’m taking Peter as my Head roadie.” It was a big ask, but if you were doing this, you were gonna need the best possible team.

“Jeez woman, rob the treasure chest would yah? You want all of them? You just asked me for the entire roster. They’re on other tours! I can’t just- HEY! Woman don’t you-“ you heard a slap and an ow, and suddenly you were with the one and only Pepper Potts- Stark.

“Kentucky? You have a deal. You can have the Allstars in three months, everyone’s tours should be wrapping up, that puts you just in time for festival season. You up to it?” Pepper sounded like someone had just kicked her puppy. So you knew, you were the only one that could save the day.

“Virginia? Count me in. Give me the three months to plan and connect with the team and I’ll make sure James Barnes makes it onto that bus.” You could practically taste her relief through the receiver. What had you just signed up for.

————————————————————————

You’d done it. Six months, 7 bus rentals, 75 hotels, 107 plane rides, 20 festivals, 95 shows, 89 cities, and roughly 200 people later, you had managed to construct the American leg of one of the biggest and longest tours you had ever seen. All it took was two months, and 23 bottles of Jack Daniels, and you had done it. Now all you had to do was meet the band, and have your first tour meeting.

You had never been so nervous to meet a group of men in your life. Normally, these meetings we’re pretty laid back and informal. Lots of getting to know you, and goofing off. This time, you were in charge of a multi-million dollar tour that could make or break the band of the decades d ruin your career. No pressure. Needless to say, you were fairly nervous.

You were relieved upon arrival that the first people to make it in were the people who seemed to be the most reliable. Vision and Wanda were quietly whispering to eachother in the corner as always, their hands gently intertwined as they surveyed the rest of their new subjects. Frankie was standing off in another corner looking like an immovable brick wall. His sunglasses firmly in place on his nose, looking scary as always. Peter was off with the widows flirting with their drummer. You didn’t think it would end well, seeing as MJ was a bit of a hot head, and Peter was akward and nerdy, but to your surprise, they seemed to be getting along swimmingly. Natasha and Carol were staring at a book full of something, if you had to guess, it would be song lyrics of some variety, and to your shock and absolute awe, Peggy had saddled up to Steve Rogers. Steve was the guitarist of the Commandos, and he seemed to be thoroughly enjoying her company. Tony and Pepper were chatting with Clint and Sam the drummer and bassist of the Commandos, and Bruce Banner, your newly appointed second hand. James Barnes was nowhere to be seen.

“Well, well, good to see that most of you have arrived early!” You smirked walking to the head of the table with your big box of tour folders, Peter moving instantly to help you. “If I have not yet made your acquaintance, I am Kentucky, just Kentucky, you may call me Bluegrass or Lucky, but I will always prefer Kentucky. It has come to my immediate attention, that you sorry suckers were in need of a fantastic road manager, and here I am.” You survey the room as you spoke taking into account every face that you could see in the room and making sure everyone was following. “Now, where is James?”

————Some unnamed bar across town ————

Bucky’s head pounded. Wether it was from the booze or the pounding music he had no clue, but he could tell that it was far too early to be in this booth.

“You really went for it last night Barnes,” Bucky looks for the source of the voice to find that, Luke Cage, owner of the best bar in LA, was unloading boxes of tequila into his storage cabinets under the bar. “You shouldn’t have either, you’re late for your tour meeting.”

Bucky absorbed the information, and felt it melt out of his brain as if it were nothing more than an irritating ear worm. “How do you know about that?” He sighed running a hand down his face and slowly standing to grab his leather jacket.

“It’s sharpied onto your arm,” Luke chuckled pointing to Bucky’s right arm in just about the only clean space someone could fine. “Steve came in and did it last night before giving about a hundred dollars to let you sleep it off in that booth.”

“Of course he did,” Bucky scoffed, “the punk never knew when to leave well enough alone.” Bucky quickly slipped his sunglasses over his aching eyes, as he watched Luke slide a cup of coffee across the bar. “Goodbye Luke, your bar is the only thing I’m gonna miss about this town.”

“Goodbye Bucky, the free live music, and the fantastic tips are all I’m going to miss about you boys. I’ll tell Jess you said hello.” And with that final fond farewell, Bucky left Luke’s bar for the last time before he was trapped in a tour bus for six months.

The drive to Stark Records was as second nature to him as tying his shoes. He easily glided in between cars, making record time to his place of employment. He parked his bike next to a slot that occupied the sweetest little red corvette he’s seen in a good while. The tune in the reference catches his brain and he starts to whistle the chorus, wishing the artist formerly known as Prince was still around. He walked past Sharon, the desk clerk, giving her his customary wink and a smirk, stealing a sucker out of her candy dish and wandering into the meeting.

That’s when he saw her, the hottest piece of ass this side of the sunset strip. She looked powerful, she looked commanding, she was covered in tattoos and wearing the best looking little black number. She was saying his name. “Where is James?”

“Right here sweet thing, I hope I’m not too late to the party, I’d hate to miss anything that came out of that pretty little mouth.” Boy was it pretty, the full lips covered in a red shade that he could only seem to imagine smeared all over her moth as she panted his name.

“Ah, yes there he is. Hello, James. Just in time to-”

“James is my dad sugar, I’m sure we can think of something a little more clever for you to-”

“Alright then Junior if you don’t mind, I’m trying to conduct a meeting, and I will not be letting a drunken moron interupt my carefully planned work flow.”

Bucky’s jaw snapped shut as the people around him, some friends and some strangers, laughed at the clever lady’s little barb.

“Alright then, as I was saying, I’m here to help. I believe in the Peter Grant method of representation. The you-have-a-venue-you-want-it-filled-I-have-just-the-band-sixty-forty method.” She said, flipping her hair into a simple bun on the top of her head, which Bucky couldn’t find more attractive if he tried, “I have made hotel arrangements for every show, I have made bus arrangements, I have planned for added shows, and delayed dates. I have brought you the best opener I have, the best artists, roadies, security, and technicians I could scrape together, and most importantly, I have given you my time and my trust. I can make your touring life as easy and as simple as humanly possible, or I could ruin it. However, all I want is to get you out there, grinding again, reminding your fans the reason they love you. All you have to do, is let me work, and focus on the music. Can we do that?”

“Doll? I like the way you think.”

“Junior? It’s gonna be a long fucking six months.”

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romancandlemagazine · 3 years

Text

An Interview with Al Baker

I first came across Al Baker’s photography whilst looking through an old copy of a magazine called Flux I’d snaffled from Manchester’s world-famous second-hand wonderland, Empire Exchange.

Hidden in the magazine’s pages, between an interview with Mark E Smith and a review of a newly-released sci-fi film called The Matrix, were two black-and-white photos, snapped from the window of an ice-cream van, showing kids lined up for a bit of frozen respite from the summer heat. Reading the fairly minimal bit of text below, it turned out the photos were part of a series called ‘Ice Cream You Scream’.

I’d missed the exhibition by approximately 20 years, but thanks to the high-speed time-machine known as the internet, I managed to track him down. Here’s an interview about his fine photos, his time living in Hulme Crescents and the benefits of carrying cameras in a Kwik Save bag...

Classic ‘start of an interview’ question here, but when did you get into photography? Was there something in particular that set you off?

Like a lot of young people, I knew that I was creative but hadn’t quite found my place. I didn’t know whether I wanted to be a writer or in a band. I used to doodle, copy Picasso’s in biro, so off I went to art college and tried my hand at different things. All it really taught me was that I had neither the patience, technique or talent to become a painter. Photography seemed a much easier way to make images, a more instant result. Of course, the more you get into it you realise that whether you’re any good or not does rely upon patience, technique and talent after all.

Was ‘being a photographer’ something that people did in Manchester in the early 90s? Who did you look up to back then?

Not really. It was very rare to see another person wandering around with a camera back then. Even years later when I began photographing the club scene in Manchester no-one else seemed to be doing the same thing. Not at the night clubs I went to anyway.

Now it’s very different. These days you see people with cameras everywhere. Club nights almost always have a photographer. People are far more image-conscious due to social media. Today most people are busy documenting their own nights out with their phones. Look at footage from any major gig these days and half the room is filming it. Back in the 90s no-one seemed to care about documenting anything like that. You were very unlikely to see the photos that someone might be taking the next day or, in fact, ever. People often used to ask ‘What are you taking photos for?’ with genuine surprise or distain.

In terms of photographers whom I looked up to there are so many! There are great image masters like Cartier-Bresson or Elliott Erwitt. Photographers of war and social upheaval like Don McCullin and Phillip Jones-Griffiths. I liked Alexander Rodchenko and Andre Kertez, how they broke the conventions of their day with wit and invention.

I loved the dark and dirty images of Bill Brandt, and his inspiring nude studies too. I loved the city at night recorded by Brassai. Paris in the 1930s definitely seemed to be the place to be. Diane Arbus, Jane Bown and Shirley Baker. American street photographer Gary Winogrand was a huge influence on me, as was Nick Waplington’s book ‘Living Room’.

I was also quite lucky to be living in Manchester at that time. Daniel Meadows and Martin Parr had both attended Manchester Polytechnic. Denis Thorpe had worked for the Guardian in Manchester. I saw Kevin Cummins iconic Joy Division images, Ian Tilton documenting The Stone Roses. Both were regularly in among the inky pages of the NME.

I also saw an exhibition of Clement Cooper’s photographs of the Robin Hood pub in Moss Side, which was another big influence. I was also very lucky in that my very first photography tutor was Mark Warner, who produced very beautiful images, did a lot of work for Factory Records. He shot The Durutti Column’s (1989) Vini Reilly album sleeve. He was probably the first person who ever really encouraged me.

I really like that series of photos you took from inside an ice-cream van in the late 90s. What was the story behind that?

The initial idea for that project came from my friend Steve Hillman, who is an actor. At the time he was ‘between jobs’, which is an actor’s euphemism for being unemployed, so he was working an ice-cream round to help to pay the rent. I was at his flat one night, thinking aloud about where I might go next with my camera. I’d spent quite a long time following graffiti artists work around Hulme, and had my first exhibition based around that. But it only seemed to lead to offers of more work with graffiti artists, and I wanted to do something else.

I’d done a 2nd exhibition based around portraits of my friends in Hulme. I’d flirted with some one-day projects, like Belle Vue dog track, Speakers Corner in Hyde Park. Anyway, while I was talking, not really knowing what I was going to do next, Steve simply stated ‘You should come out on the ice-cream round with me. No-one ever comes to the van without a smile on their face.’ And it just struck me as a beautiful & simple idea. So, one day we just set off. 4 or 5 rolls of film and all the free ice-cream I could eat, which I discovered wasn’t very much!

What was the logistical side of those photos? Were they taken from the same van?

They were all shot on the same day, the same van, all around Salford. It was good fun, but actually very hard work. Trying to constantly find new angles, different framing and working on a hot August day in such a small confined space. By the end of the day I felt that I had enough strong images for my next exhibition. They were much jollier images than ones I’d made before. As a result, because it had more universal appeal, I got quite a lot of good publicity out of it, and Walls gave us hundreds of free Magnum ice-creams to give away on the opening night!

These days I could think of more than a few reasons why you probably shouldn’t drive around Salford photographing other people’s children without permission haha (in fact, I’m surprised that I wasn’t hung from the nearest lamppost!) but I was much younger and far more naive back then. Besides, that was something that I’d learned from living in Hulme. You don’t ask for permission. Someone will only say ‘No’. Just crack on and do it anyway.

You also documented the last years of the Hulme Crescents. A lot of people talk about that time and place in Manchester, even now—but what was the reality of it? What was a normal weekend there like?

It was quite unlike anywhere that I’d ever lived before. It looked like a fascist dystopian nightmare, only one peopled by Rastas and anarchists. Bleak concrete interconnecting walkways. No through roads whatsoever. A fortress feel to the place. The entire estate was earmarked for demolition before I arrived. Everyone else seemed to be busy moving out. But I was already spending a lot of time there, post-Hacienda, parties, friends, lost weekends.

There were lots of young people living there. Families had mainly moved out as the heating didn’t work properly, flats were cold & damp, often infested with cockroaches. There were traces of old Irish families, the Windrush generation, interwoven with punks and drop-outs.

There was a cultural & artistic flowering among the ruins. A Certain Ratio, Dub Sex, A Guy Called Gerald, Edward Barton, Ian Brown, Dave Haslam, Mick Hucknall, Lemn Sissay, all lived there at one time. It was the original home of Factory, where all the post-punk bands played. In turn that led to Factory Records, New Order, and the Hacienda. The PSV club later hosted raves and notorious Jungle nights. It was a good time to be young.

You lived there as well as shooting it. Do you think it’s important to be a part of the thing you’re photographing, rather than just an outsider with a camera?

I don’t know that it’s important to be a part of the thing you’re photographing, ‘embedded’ is what the war photographers call it, but you definitely capture different images. Certain things that might have been shocking to an outsider were commonplace, normal & every day to me. Boring even. On the other hand, I was much less likely to be robbed walking around. That meant I could take my camera places that other people couldn’t, or maybe shouldn’t!

I used to wear my camera beneath my coat so it couldn’t be seen, and I carried my film and lenses in a Kwik Save shopping bag so as not to attract unwanted attention. I got into the habit of handing that bag over the bar at the pubs I went in. I would collect it the next day if I could remember where I’d been the night before. Bless you, saintly barmaids of old Hulme.

If you look at my images of Hulme people they’re usually reacting to me and not the camera. Either that or they’re not reacting at all. They’re ignoring the fact that I’m taking a picture. That’s what gives them that ‘fly-on-the-wall’ feeling.

This is something that I put to greater effect later when I was photographing in night clubs, skulking stage side or hiding in a DJ booth. When DJs & MCs see you week in week out at the club doing the same thing they stop posing for the camera and just get used to you being there. You become part of the furniture. And when people stop being conscious of the camera, when they ignore that you’re even present, you can step in much closer. Put simply, you get better pictures. They’re much less performative and far more honest. It’s not often people can say they like it when they’re being ignored, but for photographers it’s a gift.

Do you think somewhere the Crescents could exist now, or was it just a case of the perfect accidental recipe for that kind of creative, DIY activity?

No, I don’t think anywhere like Hulme will ever happen again. I think the city council learned that lesson a long time ago. It was a dystopian utopia for us, but it grew out of failure. When I 1st went to university they warned us never to set foot there. I said, ‘But what if you live there already?’ and there was an embarrassed silence. They really hadn’t expected a poor boy from Hulme to be in the room. Now they own half of it and it’s all student Halls of Residence.

The city centre has been regenerated, redeveloped & gentrified. We can’t afford to live there anymore, and people like me are pushed out. Hulme was a failed social housing experiment, an eyesore & an embarrassment to the people who had commissioned it. People like me moved in & we made it our own. They’re never going to allow anything like that to happen again. Every quaint old fashioned pub that closes becomes a block of flats. The footprint is too valuable to property developers. One day all we will have will be faded photographs to bear witness to a very different way of living.

Was it through the Crescents that you started shooting graffiti? 

When I first arrived in Hulme I’d just spent 3 years living with mates in a couple of houses elsewhere in the city. It suddenly struck me that that part of my life was over and I had very few photographs of that time. I’d been too busy learning photography, taking the kind of photos that every art student takes: Broken windows; abandoned buildings, and bits of burnt wood. I vowed I wouldn’t do that again. I began documenting the life that was around me.

I started with the architecture, as it was quite unlike any other place I’d ever seen. It had a desperate, faded beauty even then. The whole estate had been condemned for demolition before I arrived, but the city council had given up on the place long before that.

I started to notice graffiti pieces going up, seeing the same names repeated. It was obvious that there was a small group of writers trying out their styles on a large canvas for the 1st time. Wanting to claim this derelict space as their own Hall Of Fame. I started to document them as they sprang up. Then I noted that context was crucial, and so I began to include the soon-to-be-derelict buildings in the images also. The shapes & colours of the graffiti looked positively psychedelic beside the drab monochrome of the setting.

With your graffiti shots, you show a lot more than just the pieces. Was it an intentional thing to show the act behind it a bit?

Because it was Hulme and no-one cared, these guys weren’t working in the dead of night like most graffiti writers do in the train yards and what-have-you. They were working during the day, right out in the open. So, documenting their work, it wasn’t long before I ran into Kelzo. He really didn’t trust me at first, but I kept coming back. So, I got to know them. They started to let me know where they were going to be painting next.

In 1995 Kelzo organised the 1st SMEAR JAM event (named after a young aspiring writer who used to come down to Hulme to learn, and had died suddenly from a nut allergy). That was such good fun that another event arrived the following year, another & another. Graf writers came from London, Edinburgh, Leeds, Sheffield, and as far afield as Spain. The local community came out to support and, as usual, it turned into a party that lasted all weekend.

I got into the habit of taking 2 cameras. One loaded with B&W film to capture the event itself, and another with colour transparency to document the finished artwork.

Graffiti… hip-hop… kids getting ice cream… I suppose there’s a few different subjects there, but was there an underlying thing or theme you wanted to show with your photos? Maybe getting a bit philosophical, but they’re all quite free acts—is it about enjoying what’s there?

It was more about documenting the life I saw around me. Moving to Hulme was what led to me capturing graffiti, and graffiti led to hip-hop events. Once Hulme was demolished I moved my camera into the city centre and began photographing club nights. House and hip-hop turned into Drum’n’Bass, and then dubstep. Residents and warm-up acts have now become headliners in their own right. Manchester has always been a great city for music, and it kept me busy throughout the naughty Noughties. I’ve pretty much retired from all of that now. I’d had enough after over 15 years of it. I no longer feel compelled to document something as ephemeral as a club night anymore when half of the audience are doing it themselves anyway. Then coronavirus came & properly killed it all off. I don’t know what it’s going to be like now going forward, but it’ll be someone else’s turn to document whatever that is.

What do you think makes a good photograph? 

You need to have a good eye. You need to notice & be aware of the world around you. You always see an image before you create one. You don’t require expensive equipment. Mine never was. And you don’t need to be trained. It’s one of those areas where you really can educate yourself. A certain amount of technique and technical understanding goes a long way but, again, you can pick those things up as you go along.

There are different kinds of photography, of course, but for me it was always about capturing a moment. The Decisive Moment, as Cartier-Bresson so eloquently put it. It’s something that the camera has over the canvas. For me the camera has always been a time machine. Like an evocative love song on the radio, it can transport you back immediately to a time & place long gone. It also acts as a witness for those people who were not there. Images tell stories. And we all like to hear and tell stories.

A couple of years ago I was invited to talk at the University of Lancaster for a symposium on documentary photography, which is a tradition that I had always considered my photographs sat within. But oddly, as I gave my slide-show presentation, images that I have seen and shown many times before, and thought I knew very well, I suddenly saw in a brand-new light. I could see myself in every image. Almost like a self-portrait from which I was absent but my own shadow cast large. I realised that I haven’t been documenting anything other than my own life. 25 year old images suddenly had something new to say, something new to tell me.

Do you still take photos today? What kind of things are you into shooting these days?

I don’t really do a lot of photography these days. I teach and facilitate as part of my job now. I still do the odd event but night club photography is a much younger man’s game. I really don’t have the levels of commitment, energy or enthusiasm I once did. I feel like I’ve taken enough images. If I never took another photograph ever again, that’s OK. Maybe, perhaps, I’ll get into a different kind of image making in my twilight years … but for now I’m trying to reassess the images I made 25 years ago. People are far more interested in them now than they ever were at the time. Now they have become documents of a time and place which has gone. The graffiti and the walls that they were written on have disappeared. Many of those night clubs have closed. Time moves on. The images and the memories are all that is left.

Over all those years, how has the art of photography changed for you?

Back when I started taking photographs, where I lived in Hulme, the kind of music that I was into, the magic of a night club moment, there were very few people I knew of who were doing the same thing. Now I am aware of others who were. Almost everyone is their own photographer now. Mobile phones & social media have given a platform for anyone to make & share images of their individual lives, whether it be their friends & families, holidays, public events or more private & intimate moments. Anyone can document their own lives now, so I no longer feel that I have to. I do still love photography, it’s still my favourite form of art, but I don’t feel compelled to capture it all anymore.

I suppose I’ve pestered you with questions for a while now. Have you got any wise words to wind this up with?

If you want to become a photographer you must learn your craft. Keep doing it, and you will get better. But you must remember to always be honest. Make honest images. Listen to the voice of your own integrity. Don’t worry too much if no-one sees any value in what you do. If you’re any good people will eventually see it. It may take years, it did for me, but images of the ordinary & everyday will one day become historical, meaningful & extraordinary.

We live in a world today mediated by images, a Society of the Spectacle, but we still need photographers: People who have a good eye, an innate feel for the decisive moment; what to point the camera at and when to press the shutter. The images that you make today will be the memories of the future.

See more of Al’s photos here.

#Photography #Interview #Al Baker #Manchester #Hulme Crescents

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