#the camera work is…. creative to say the least

[cham0mil3]

ive never played resident evil, does he go to bingo

#i gotta play it… i need to see what all da fuss is abt #i almost finished the first game buts its pretty rough #the camera work is…. creative to say the least #my art #all i know abt leon kennedy is #hes a cop #he can do a sick flip #hes babygirl #thats literally all #resident evil 4 #fanart #resident evil #leon kennedy

[girlgerard]

i’ve been thinking a lot about gerard’s character they developed in the last leg of this tour and the way i believe it really solidified what we might have coming for us in the future.

it’s really sweet, if you look in the comments of some of the videos from brisbane and osaka, you can see people who’ve obviously been my chem fans for at least 15 years saying things like ‘i’ve watched every video from this tour and this is the first show where i really saw the spark come back’ and ‘that’s the gerard way i remember’ and other cheesy shit like that. and the thing is they’re totally right!

this whole tour developed more fluidly in intensity and meaning than in any of their previous gigs. mcr has always been a band to change with their time and creative drive, but this was a different type of transition to me. you could see as characters started to be built, from gerard DIY’ing his own costumes in europe to increasingly meaningful outfits with whole backstories in the USA all the way to one consistent character with a uniquely terrifying stage presence in the last leg.

that last character, at least to me, is totally gripping. she’s unexplained, she’s scary as hell, she’s near-undead, she has this commanding presence gerard hasn’t really done since early-mid black parade. in every single performance they’re so in-character and it’s such a BLAST

importantly, this character also showed up in the shortest, least-publicized part of the tour. imo she wasn’t meant for cameras, really.

to me it’s so clear that she’s a result of gerard earnestly solidifying where they might want their next artistic endeavors to go - that kind of serious direction, maybe even that character specifically.

he’s talked about how he always has stage characters that reflect his music and, broadly, things they’re working through in their life. the revenge stage character was a mix of both demo lovers which can have a ton of different interpretations, the patient was a joan-esque personification of grief and existentialism, party poison was a pop-art way of dealing with your own artistic/literal death. it makes me wonder why this character, the only truly consistent character this whole tour, came about, and if it’s related to gerard’s nightly diatribes on war and later-tour statements on (presumably) queer/trans rights.

it also makes me think that we have a lot coming in the future. a character that solid and a direction so suddenly bottlenecked into such a specific concept, such a mychemicalromance concept, especially out of a tour that was originally supposed to be a casual celebration of music, i think points towards something new.

#stoned as hell and rhinking about her #been a while sinfe i wrote a massive fucking rant but here we go #gerard way #my chemical romance

[moonchildstyles]

élan

élan part one: harry is a bodyguard by trade and y/n would do anything just to be left alone

wordcount: 18.5k+

cw: her dad is really mean tbh!! pls skip parts w him if you are senstive to that kind of thing!

—————

(Y/N) fought to keep her eyes focused in the dark of her father's office. The longer she sat there, listening to the shout of his voice, the easier it was to block it out as she waited for it to be over. She stopped listening when he went off on his tangent about how terrible she was (he loved to use the word selfish and anything he could think of to diminish her intelligence). He wasn't very creative anymore, these berating sessions feeling like a necessary task as opposed to a hurtful punishment these days. 

At least the interior designer he brought in last month had moved everything around, leaving his bookshelf behind his desk. This way, she could look over his shoulder and read the titles of his books. She was almost certain he hadn't read a single volume though he most likely told everyone that followed him in, that he had paged through each book more than once. 

"Are you even listening, (Y/N)?"

Perking up at the sound of her name, she nodded on instinct. "Mhm," she hummed absently. 

"What did I just say?" He was unimpressed—disbelieving. 

(Y/N) stayed silent. 

A heavy sigh fell from her father's lips. His eyes dimmed fro the angry fire she'd spotted before, leveling to disappointed embers the longer he looked at her. 

"This is what I mean, (Y/N)," he continued, harshly spitting out her name, "You don't care. Never have you thought about the consequences to your actions. You're too selfish to think of anyone but yourself!" The blaze sparked up once more as he flicked his gaze to the glossy tabloid splayed across his desk. "Can you even comprehend what this"—he gritted out the word, tapping his finger against the photo—"means for me? My investors are going to have my ass only Monday because you don't know how to control yourself for five minutes." 

She squirmed in her spot. Her gaze stayed locked on the tabloid cover. She was pictured with bitter features, her brows twisted in anger and eyes were ablaze. Her hand was outstretched as she dumped a full glass of rosé on Damien Moore's perfect, blonde head. Several angles were posted, documenting her gaped lips as she spat out venomous words while Damien looked on with seemingly innocent, wide blue eyes. The last in the series showed her walking out with the wine dripping down his features as he looked on in shock. A bold headline said: "Whore-mones or Another Drunken Rage?" 

(Y/N) swallowed as she took the scene in. 

Perfectly manicured nails clashed in her lap, the edges of her acrylics being worn dull from the restless ministrations. 

"Do you want me to fail?" her father prodded, unsatisfied with her silence. 

"It's not what it looks like—," she floundered, unable to keep her feelings out of it after looking at those photos, "He—Damien—" 

"It does not matter what happened, (Y/N)! This is what it looks like and that is what people are going to believe and what they are going to care about!" He seethed as he looked at her, (Y/N) unsurprised. "You're going to make us lose everything if you keep this up, do you understand that? Your apartment, everything you have in Paris, your stupid shopping sprees—you'll actually have to work if you want any of that. Did you think of any of that?" 

His harsh words slipped around her, filling every breath of air she pulled into her lungs. Any fight she had, any want to defend herself or give any kind of explanation, left her in an instant. "No," she answered, resigned. 

"I didn't fucking think so. You never think, anyway." 

(Y/N) just looked over his shoulder. Her gaze didn't shift even as his voice continued on, droning with insults and degrading remarks. 

She hadn't even known she was being photographed that day. There wasn't a single flash or shutter of a camera. The restaurant had even gone out of their way to assure them that no one would be able to slip inside without a reservation or loiter along the sidewalk in wait. 

But, inside sources and photographers always found a way, she supposed. Especially since it wasn't just her, it was her and Damien Moore on something that looked like it could have been a date. Of course paparazzi were going to find a way to get a photo of them together—anything to help fuel the rumors filling gossip pages and social media. 

This particularly source even went so far as to claim they were close enough to overhear the argument that sparked the thrown wine. Supposedly, (Y/N) had been seeing someone behind Damien's back (something that was impossible given the fact she had Damien weren't even talking like that, let alone in an exclusive relationship), and when he confronted her she blew up. She was so hopped up on her "whore-mones" as the headline so eloquently put it, and the obviously unfinished glass of wine, that she just had to throw the drink in his face. 

Because of course it was (Y/N)'s fault. Never could it have anything to do with Damien. He was the sterling Yale grad that came from the perfect family, while she was the "party girl" with divorced parents and a wild past. It was always going to be her fault, because that was more interesting than checking your sources. 

At least, that's what the "journalists" and "sources" said. 

It came with the territory, her dad had told her when she was freshly sixteen and photographers started waiting outside her private school. If you wanted to make the kind of money he made and be important in this world, there was going to be consequences, that's what he'd said when he saw the first photos of her and her friends having lunch on the quad. She was a pretty girl, anyway, of course there were going to be photos taken of her. She might as well take advantage of it instead of whining. 

She became a tabloid bunny before she had even turned eighteen, with every misstep documented on the internet and whatever publication bought the photos as exclusives. Because of that, this lashing was nothing to her. She'd "poorly reflected the family image" enough time to let her dad's words roll off of her. 

Her father was going to probably send her to the home in Malibu or whatever vacation rental was farthest from New York until he could stomach seeing her again. She'd happily take whatever location; it wasn't like she wanted to see him either. 

"(Y/N), we can't keep doing this." Finally focusing her gaze, she saw her father sitting with his eyes sealed closed, his thumb and forefinger pinching the bridge of his nose. "I can't keep doing this." 

As much as she was numb to moments like these, it was when his anger melted away and she was left with a disappointed father that she felt cracks appear in her walls. The little girl inside still ached to see her daddy so upset with her; so disappointed he couldn't even look at her. 

"I'm sorry," she offered, something genuine lying beneath the deadpan tone. 

"I'm sure you are," he sighed, "But, that's not enough anymore." 

Rolling her lips between her teeth, lipgloss smearing across her pout, she stayed quiet.

"At this point, it's like you need a babysitter again. You can't be left by yourself and expected to behave." 

Not this again, she wanted to grumble. Her last "babysitter" was nothing more than an uppity handler that cared more about PR rather than her actual well being. 

Beginning to shake her head, (Y/N) tried to politely decline before he steamrolled over her. 

"I'm going to have to hire someone, whether you want it or not. A bodyguard, a handler, or something, just to follow you around and keep you out of trouble." 

Her lashes fluttered as her eyes widened at his plan. Her last handler didn't do more than text her throughout the day and meet with her once a week. He wanted someone on her back all the time?

"Don't you think that's a little extreme?" 

He still wouldn't look at her as he spoke, "Since you keep acting like a child, that's how I'm going to have to treat you." 

A slight panic sparked in the pit of her stomach. If she couldn't have her freedom, then what was any of this for? None of this—putting up with her father, allowing him to jerk her around, take his berating—was fucking worth it, then. 

"Dad, seriously," she tried again, her hands beginning to shake, "Those pictures aren't what it looks like, I promise." 

"And the others?" he asked sharply, whipping his gaze to match hers intently, "The one with you and Francesca sneaking out of a club at three in the morning when you were nineteen? The one of you screaming at Terra at her birthday party? Or, of course, the clips of you showing off your underwear while getting out of some random man's car?" 

(Y/N) shut down at the mention of her most famous and well photographed mistakes. He never bothered to get her side of the story to those photos either, he just liked to bring them up to taunt her. He'd rather believe an "insider" over his daughter. It didn't matter that she was his family. It only mattered what his investors thought, or the men at the country club, or whoever he was trying to cozy up to for his benefit. Every attempt to clear her name was thrown out; not even when she showed him that one of these insiders had found her home address and started sending her letters. Not even when she told him she was beginning to get scared did he even pretend to care. 

"That's what I thought," her father continued after she left them in silence, "Now, I'm going to have to hire someone to ensure you don't keep causing trouble, and you are going to respect them. If you want any chance of me letting this go, you're going to respect them more than you apparently respect me." 

She stayed quiet. There wasn't anything she could add to this. 

"Is there anything you want to say?" he pressed. A faux offer of debate. 

(Y/N) only shook her head. 

"Fine," he spat out, "Then go to bed. I don't want to see you for the rest of the night."

She was up and out of her seat immediately, not wasting a single second before her Dior heels were rapidly clacking over the cherrywood floors of her father's office. Her eyes were on the ground, watching the transition between the wood to the sparkling marble throughout the rest of the flawless Upstate mansion. Everything was high-end and fine, perfect and unburdened. It was full of everything her dad wanted her to be but she could never manage to be as well behaved as a lamp or as quiet as a Persian rug. 

Trailing through the labyrinth of staircases and sealed doors, (Y/N) beelined to her childhood room. It was left exactly how it had been when she moved out at nineteen. It had way too much gold and hidden compartments her friends made to hide liquor for their slumber parties. Her bed was too big with a mattress that was too stiff and sheets too starchy from disuse. 

Her dad never bothered to clear it out or even change a single piece of furniture—not because he cared or wanted her to have a space in his life, but because he didn't think of her enough to even remember this was here. 

Shedding her Chanel sweater and dropping her skirt to puddle at her feet, (Y/N) dressed down to her undergarments before stealing an oversized shirt from a film festival she and Francesca had been invited to at seventeen. The fabric was soft and worn as it fell to the middle of her thighs, the fit slouching and stretched just like it was all those years ago. 

That was all the comfort she could find as she slipped into bed, the sheets dragging across her bare legs. With her head cushioned by an overstuffed pillow, (Y/N) shuttered her eyes as she laid of on her back. Taking in deep breaths, she did her best to keep herself from shedding any tears. 

There wasn't a single reason she should cry over her father. There was nothing there for her to be upset over; none of his words sliced the way he thought they did, that father-daughter bond having been severed when she was way too young. Her efforts were better utilized trying to figure out how to get out of this whole thing. 

Aside from the fact she didn't want a handler—or whatever this babysitter's official title would be—following her around, she needed her freedom. Having the space away from her father's world was the only thing keeping her sane, even if she was barely hanging on. 

She'd been suffocated enough of her life, she needed to find a way to get this pair of strangling hands off of her neck sooner rather than later.

—————

"He literally arranged a flight for me to meet him in Greece, but he only ever messages me after ten like I'm a booty call or something."

Francesca's babbling complaints were some of her favorite things. It was fun hearing what the biggest problems in her life were, as if it was really such a bad thing to have a billionaire entertaining a romance with you. Even if it only occurred after ten p.m.

"Isn't there a time difference between here and Greece?" (Y/N) asked, the Prada and Dior bags in the crook of her elbow brushing against each other as she raised her hand to flick a strand of hair off of her shoulder. Summer was beginning to fall over the city, that much she could tell from the humid breeze twirling around them. 

"I mean sure, but that's not the point," Fran argued, breathing out a frustrated sigh, "It's like he doesn't think I'll ghost him if he starts annoying me. He's not the only one with a yacht, you know." 

"I know, bu—" 

(Y/N) was cut off by the sound of her phone vibrating in her bag, the device rattling against her lipgloss tube. Francesca paused her story, watching as (Y/N) pulled her phone out of her bag. Clocking the name on the screen, she had to keep from rolling her eyes. There had already been a photographer taking photos of them through the windows of Prada and she wasn't sure if they'd followed, but a picture of her rolling her eyes before answering the phone would surely be spun into something sensational.

"Hold on, it's my dad," she mumbled before pressing the phone to her ear. 

Without waiting for a greeting, her father brightened through the receiver with a call of her name. "(Y/N)! Are you still out with Francesca?" She could hear his smile through the phone. The investor meeting must have gone better than he thought. 

"Yeah," she answered absently, "We just finished lunch and shopping. I think we're going to go back to my apartment before we go out tonight. Why?" 

"Would you be able to come home this afternoon, instead? There's someone I want you to meet."

The lax in her muscles evaporated at his words. Though it was posed as a question, she knew there was only one answer he would accept. It was never a good thing when he wanted her to meet someone, but it was a required thing she'd learned. More often than not, he wanted her to meet an investor's son, or some man he drank too much with at the country club. 

Cautiously, she asked, "Who is it?" 

"It's a surprise," he beamed over the phone, "Drop off your things and I'll have one of the drivers come to pick you up." 

"I mean, I think Franny actually made reservations at—" 

This time around, her father's voice had a curt edge underneath the faux sweetness he started the call with. "I think you're going to have to tell Francesca that you need to reschedule, sweetie," he said, voice too pleasant, "I need you to come home tonight." 

Swallowing around her dry throat, (Y/N) resigned herself to the change in the day's plans. "Okay, dad," she muttered. 

"See you soon, honey! Love you!" 

(Y/N) didn't bother to reciprocate his performance, instead just hanging up. He wouldn't shout at her over the dropped call if someone else was present anyway, might as well take advantage she decided.

Beside him, Francesca looked at her with a matching pout. "You have to go home, huh?" 

"Yeah," (Y/N) breathed, dropping her phone back into her purse as they crossed the busy intersection, "My dad wants me to meet one of his friends or something." 

Francesca affectionately bumped against Y/N's shoulder as the car taking them back to her apartment came into view. "Well, if you don't like this one, send me his number and I'll take him off your hands. Just make sure he also has a yacht in Greece." 

Though her features stretched into a smile with a bubbling laugh, (Y/N) wasn't too impressed with Francesca's comment. While she was the best friend (Y/N) had ever had, the only person that knew much about what happened at home and why she would do next to anything to avoid her father, Francesca didn't get it. She supported (Y/N) and didn't mind being the listening ear and the shoulder to lean on, but she never really understood why certain things bothered (Y/N). Everything was very light-hearted in Franny's eyes—there was never a reason not to be receptive if a rich man wanted to buy her a drink or a company wanted to use her likeness without permission. Everything was an opportunity, not a crossed boundary. 

"I doubt he will," (Y/N) played along, setting her shopping bags at her feet after climbing into the black car, "But I'll make sure to put in a good word for you in case he has one in Florence." 

Francesca's laugh filled the cab of the car though (Y/N) was already back home with her father, trying to navigate her way out of whatever he planned. 

—————

"Thank you, Sully," (Y/N) chirped as her driver helped her step out of the car. 

"My pleasure, Ms. (Y/N)," he offered, waiting for her to steady herself over the gravel of her father's long driveway, "Also, I wanted to say thank you again for the clothing you passed on to my daughter. She loved her prom dress and is already asking her mom if she can get it preserved so she can keep it forever. Thank you for taking the time and picking some things out for her—it made her night." 

"Of course," she bubbled, allowing Sully to escort her to the front door of the mansion, "I'm so happy she liked any of it! Let me know if she needs anything else for graduation or anything at all."

The smile on his face made it especially worth it to let go of her favorite vintage Dior gown. 

Waving goodbye to Sully, (Y/N) stepped over the threshold of the front door, already regretting not fighting harder to get out of this. Goosebumps touched her skin as the temperature dropped. She shut the warmth outside behind her, the lock ensuring nothing comforting could follow her into the lion's den.

Despite the place being her childhood home, there was nothing left for her here, she knew that. It barely even resembled the same place she used to celebrate holidays and share tense family dinners in. Her dad's favorite interior designer had the pleasure of redecorating the place every few years, erasing anything that made it not look like a catalogue. 

Her heels clicked over the floors as she made her way up to his office. She wanted to take her time, but she was sure her father already knew she was there. It was better to refrain from keeping him waiting. 

Scaling the stairs, she heard a pair of voices and distant laughter. She didn't need to see the space to know her dad had probably cracked open the decanter of whiskey he had on display on one of his shelves, crystal glasses filled for the both of them. It wasn't hard to imagine the kinds of lines her dad would offer in an attempt to schmooze with whoever was waiting for her. She'd heard it all dozens of times at this point. 

The other voice, though, took her by surprise. This one was too deep and mature to be any kind of investor's son, and too sober and untainted by years of smoking cigars to be one of the men at the country club. Her steps slowed some. Her expectations shifted as she trailed down the hallway in the direction of the office, heels muffled by the long rug under her feet. 

With the heavy door to his office in front of her, (Y/N) carefully knocked on the panel, listening as the voices inside stilled at her disruption. Typically, her father would just grunt a permission of entrance or already be raging when she stepped over the threshold, but she knew he was committed to whatever show he was putting on when he opened the door for her himself.

"(Y/N), sweetie," he greeted her, toothy smile on his lips. "Thank you for coming so quickly; I know you were busy with Francesca, but I'm happy you're here." 

If that wasn't enough, the hug he pulled her into was more than alarming. The last time he hugged her when cameras weren't present was the day her parents told her they were divorcing.  She didn't even know how to reciprocate. 

Before she had a chance to screw her head on right, he pulled away and began leading her inside his office. 

"Of course," she chirped, falling into her designated role for this scene. She kept her gaze high as she followed him in, feigning confidence in the midst of whoever it was that was awaiting her. 

"I have someone special for you to meet," he continued, pitching his voice louder as to catch the attention of the one other in the room. 

Around his shoulder, (Y/N) spotted a head of brown hair, black clothing stretched around broad shoulders and tan skin on the back of their neck. They faced forward despite the obvious way her father was trying to catch their attention. Pacing her breathing, (Y/N) fell into the loving daughter character, willing to do anything for her doting father. 

Welcome to the show. She just hoped it would be a short viewing. 

Approaching the pair of chairs positioned before the cherry-stained desk, her father held out a sweeping hand. "Harry," he said, looking to his guest, "This is my daughter, (Y/N)." 

At the sound of his name, the guest—Harry—stood from where he was sitting, moving with calculated grace as he turned to face the both of them. He stepped away from the cushioned seats, a stoic expression on his features as he looked towards her. 

He wore all black down to his shoes, standing taller than her father's height. His arms and chest were thick with muscle, tan skin and tattoos littering the space. He had beetles and mermaids, hearts and roses inked across, some sketches more faded than others. A cross had even been needed into his hand. The chain of a necklace glimmered in the lowlight though any pendant that may be attached were hidden under the neckline of his top. Moving up the column of his throat, his face was made of hard planes and sharp angles. His nose was strong and straight. Stubble shown blonde in the light across the bottom half of his face, a mole off to the side of his mouth. Everything softened as she matched his eye contact, mossy jade with sparkles of sunlight flecked through. Long curling lashes framed his gaze. 

He was gorgeous, that's for sure. Not the usual kind of person her father associated with. He must be some kind of new money millionaire, easily fooled by her father's charms. 

The man took her in as well, his gaze observant as if there was a notepad he had in his head to take down every detail of her. It didn't feel like the affectionate gaze she'd felt before tracing down her body. Especially with the way his practiced expression stayed level, a wall hidden behind his eyes. 

Nonetheless, she kept her facade up and ready, a beaming smile on her face. She reached out her delicately manicured hand, palm smelling of the Miss Dior cream she'd rubbed over her hands on the car ride over. 

"Nice to meet you, Harry," she greeted, a mild smile on her face. 

His grip was strong as he grabbed her hand, palm to palm with callouses matching the soft parts of her own. "Likewise." 

(Y/N) couldn't help but to recoil some as she retracted her hand. It wasn't a new reaction, especially some people who met her after reading too much into the tabloid stories and anonymous blogs. Half the time strangers waited for her to drunkenly blow up on them. Though it wasn't a typical reaction from those who requested to meet her. 

Her father didn't seem to pay any mind to the chilled interaction, rounding the width of his desk to take his throne on the other side, leaving (Y/N) and Harry to settle beside each other across from him. 

"Remember when we decided you wanted extra guidance, (Y/N)?" her dad asked, bleached white smile on his face, "After everything with Damien recently?" 

Ice touched her spine as she took in his sticky sweet words. She knew where this meeting was going now. 

As much as he tried to hide behind the "we" words and his fake smile, (Y/N) knew this wasn't some investor sitting beside her now. 

Harry was her new cage. 

"I remember," she offered, her own voice sounding far away. 

"Well," he continued with a flourish leaning over his desk with his elbow propped on the wood, "Harry, here, is that guidance we were looking for.  He used to work for Camila and Monroe as their head of security, but he's agreed to be your personal bodyguard until you're back on track." He looked too proud of himself as he spoke. "He's going to take good care of you, sweetie."  

Bodyguard. 

Her personal bodyguard. 

When her father pitched this whole idea and sent her to her room like a child, she honestly figured it would be another handler he would find for her. While it wasn't ideal, she knew she could deal with a handler. She could deal with an uppity woman bossing her around from a distance; she could deal with painting a facade and adhering to her father's guidelines through a handler. 

But, a bodyguard—or personal security, as he so delicately put it—was a different story. 

Harry would be tasked with following her everywhere. He'd have access to her home, access to the person she was around her friends, who she was around her father. Downtime would no longer be a thing with Harry around—recovery and privacy being thrown out. 

Francesca had a bodyguard when they were teenagers. Though it was only over the summers when they weren't away at school, those months he was present were... odd to (Y/N). He wasn't a mean man, but he was always there. Franny wasn't as bothered as she was, but (Y/N) felt like there was no privacy—no space to talk to her best friend about anything. He was always there listening, watching, and anticipating any need for protection. She felt exposed in his presence, no secrets truly secret or downtime when someone constantly had eyes on them. 

If this arrangement was anything like that, (Y/N) didn't know if her sanity was going to survive these months. 

Despite her insides beginning to churn, her glossy-lipped smile stayed intact with stiff cheeks. "Wow! That's amazing!" 

Her performance must have been subpar if the way her father flashed his gaze at her, a glance that hardened a little too much. She needed to be trying harder, was what he was telling her. She wasn't being perfect like he wanted. 

"I've already warned him about your history of outbursts," her father said, a stealthy jab at her, "and we discussed everything with Damien. I think he's up for the challenge." 

It was an interesting feeling being called a "challenge" by her own father, knowing he must have shared much more degrading comments behind her back disguised as warranted advice. It was all preparation, he probably thought. A proper warning. 

She shoved that feeling down—whatever that feeling was called—and instead focused on her role. As long as she bubbled, chirped, and smiled, she could get out of this room sooner rather than later. 

"Good," she said, a breathy laugh floating out with her voice, "I'll try not to give you any surprises, then." Looking to Harry, she leaned into her persona and played along. He didn't glance at her once, keeping his gaze forward on her father as if he were watching a movie. 

"There won't be any surprises, actually, right (Y/N)?" her father said, a tad too sharp under his act. 

"Right," she settled, calming under the weight of the room. 

Silence settled over, neither she nor her father plucking up the words while Harry stayed an observing pillar. 

This was her opening. If she acted fast, she could get out of here before either of them could stop her. 

"It was really nice to meet you, Harry," she said politely, her fingers curling around the arms of her chair, "Thank you for coming to work with us. I actually have early breakfast plans with Fran tomorrow morning back in the city, so I should probably start hea—" 

"Actually," her father cut her off sharply, his eyes hardening as they landed on her, "I was hoping you would stay for dinner tonight, sweetie. After Harry and I finish ironing out his contract, I wanted to talk to you some more before he officially started with you." 

Instinctively, she wanted to fight him on this. Spending another night here less than a month after the last time she had a breakdown here wasn't on the top of her list of wants, currently. But, knowing there was someone here already expecting the worst from her, forced her to settle. If she talked back it would only reinforce everything her father probably spouted off about her earlier. 

"Okay," she smiled, standing to her feet before inching towards he door, "I'll wait in my room then and give you guys some privacy." 

While her father offered a small dismissal to her in the form of a stuff smile and a promise to call her for dinner, Harry didn't bother to look twice at her. She didn't waste a moment before she was rushing back to her room. She didn't care if they could hear the pacing of her heels over the floors, knowing she was all but running away from that room. 

After twisting the lock on her bedroom door, (Y/N) collapsed onto her bed. Her breathing was uneven, chest rising and falling a little too fast for her head to stay clear. Pinpricks of static began to dance on her palms, fingertips beginning to go numb. A hole began to develop in the pit of her stomach. 

This might be one of the last real moments of alone time for the next couple of months, and she was spending it on the verge of a panic attack. 

(Y/N) knew her dad didn't trust her, but to have someone on his payroll whose only purpose was to follow her around stung more than she was willing to admit. She wasn't a stupid child despite how much he wanted to believe that. 

Harry wasn't there to protect her, she knew that. He was a hired hand to put her back in her place every time her father wasn't there to do it himself. He was another body to crowd her into a corner and suffocate her as long as she kept smiling. Harry was another reminder that nothing was allowed to be hers; her thoughts, her time, her space was to be shared just like the rest of herself.

Besides, Harry might be the kind of person willing to sell stories to tabloids. Who better than someone tasked with observing her every mood to be an "insider"? It wouldn't be the first time a Secrets Edition came out about her. 

With her eyes fixed to a knot swirling in the marble flooring, (Y/N) tried to unlatch the phantom hands wrapped around her neck. 

What was going to be left of her if she was constantly going to be performing? 

Shuttering her eyes, (Y/N) fisted her hands in her lap, the hem of her Dior minidress caught in the fray. She needed to calm down. 

No matter what, she was still luckier than most people in this world. She needed to keep that in mind if she was going to keep her head on straight. She was going to figure this out, and she was going to be okay even if a tiny bit cracked at the edges. 

Curling up on her dusty bed, she leveled her breathing as much as she could despite the shuddering of her lungs. Every spiraling thought had to be neatly rolled up and put away.

A breakdown was probably on the list of banned surprises her father had in mind, anyway.

—————

Poking at her dry salad, (Y/N) watched the drops of condensation river down her glass of lemon water. Across from her, her father tore at his too-scorched steak, a side of hearty potatoes and glass of whiskey to compliment the meat. 

He hadn't said a word to her since she sat down, instead opting to focus on his tailored dinner while she was left with her pre-arranged salad. It was more lady-like, he'd told her once before, to eat like a rabbit. Leave the big things to men—they needed it after running the world, she'd heard him joke though she's sure it wasn't a joke to him.

As heavy as the silence was weighing on her, she wasn't going to be the first one to speak either. He was the one that requested she spend dinner with him, he was going to have to lead the conversation. That left only the clicking of utensils against the fine china plates. 

Suddenly piping up, (Y/N) lifted her gaze to her father's as he spoke, "You're going to have to start being nice to Harry, you know. He's not going away until I say, and I could tell you were being fake today. If you're going to lie, at least try harder."

As if her father wasn't the king of phony facades and fake personality traits. He was the one that shattered that illusion the second he couldn't hide his temper with her earlier. It didn't take much to notice he didn't actually care about her. 

Those hours in her room left her exhausted, though. She'd cried off and on until she finally convinced herself everything was fine and none of it truly mattered in the grand scheme of things; that her discomfort and fear was something minuscule enough to be pushed to the side and forgotten. She didn't have it in her to debate with him. 

"Yeah," she dejectedly agreed, running her fork through the leafy greens on her plate, "Sorry about that." 

Apparently, that was the worst thing she could have uttered with the way her father dropped his fork to clatter against his plate with his grip tightening on the handle of his steak knife. His jaw tensed, lips pinched. 

"I don't care how you feel about this, (Y/N)," he gritted out, "Don't think I don't mean that. You are going to show him some respect, listen to everything he says, and behave accordingly. Otherwise, he has full permission to correct you as he sees fit. And, he will tell me every time he has to correct you, so keep in mind that any kind of punishment he gives—mine will be ten times worse." 

She didn't doubt a word he said. If this was the kind of conversation he and Harry had after she left the room, there was no telling what kind of person her new security had to be to agree to a job with terms like these. She lacked faith in just how fairly he would "correct" her if his thoughts aligned with her father's. 

"Okay," (Y/N) mumbled, all the fight in her gone for the day. 

Her father sighed, disappointed as per usual. "This is going to be good for you," he told her, condescension tainting his tone, "I know you don't understand that now, but it will be. I just want you to settle down and stop giving people something to talk about. There's no reason to act like that if you want attention. You're pretty enough, people are already looking—there's no reason to be a bitch, too." Picking up his fork, he steadied his steak as he sliced off another too-tough bite. "Your life could be so much different—Damien might even take you back if you just apologized." 

The ice cubes in her drink slid against one another, melting in her water. "Okay." 

Chewing down his bite, her father took a long pull from his whiskey. 

"He starts with you on Friday. I told him to take a look at your apartment and make sure there isn't anything or anyone that isn't supposed to be there." His pointed gaze landed on her over the rim of his glass. "I will hear about everything, please remember that." 

His thinly veiled threat swept over her with nothing more than a meaningless brush. She kept her eyes on the drip of water traveling down the side of her glass. A melting ice cube clinked against the side. 

"Okay." 

—————

Phone pressed to her ear, (Y/N) flipped through her mail while Francesca bubbled in her ear. No matter how hard she tried to condition herself to be the same, Fran was always a much better morning person than she. 

"When do you see him again? Do you know yet, or is that a mystery, too?" Francesca was a little too excited to hear how inexpressive Harry had been in her father's office. His stoic coldness translated to mysterious heat to her. 

"My dad said he was supposed to start today, but I'm not sure. I woke up early and made an extra smoothie just in case, but he still hasn't shown." 

The envelopes in front of her were nothing but junk so far, her attention waning. 

"Ooh!" Francesca sang over the phone, "I'm so excited to meet him! We're still on for brunch this Sunday, right?" 

(Y/N) faltered where she stood, hands pausing on the collection of mail. "I don't know, Fran," she muttered, shifting her weight over the tiles of her kitchen, "I just—... He'd have to come with me." 

"I know, that's the point!" she bubbled, "You said he was cute and young, I want to meet him." 

"I know, but I wanted to talk about stuff, you know," (Y/N) pointed out. 

"And we will! You remember Barry from when we were in school, right? I promise you, your guy isn't going to care about anything going on as long as you aren't in danger," Francesca continued, referencing her security form when they were young. 

Sighing, (Y/N) wanted to correct Franny. Harry wasn't going to be eyeing out any suspects or worst case scenario moments, not if he was following her father's directions. He would be listening in and watching her for any and all infractions she could commit, including any topic of discussion that might be considered unbecoming. 

Francesca must have picked up on her lingering reluctance through the phone. "(Y/N), please," she pouted, "I know you're stressed and all about everything, but I don't want this to take you away from me. You can still live your life, you'll just have an extra shadow. That's all." 

A beat passed before she felt herself resign. "Okay, but if today is weird with him, I might be calling and cancelling." 

"Okay!" she squealed out, feeling as if this was her win no matter what, "Just keep an open mind today, and have fun!" 

"I'm sure I will," (Y/N) laughed, "Love you." 

"Love you, too! Bye!" 

With that, the call went dead leaving (Y/N)'s previous scroll through instagram lighting up her screen. Locking her phone, she took a breath to take a sip of her purple smoothie, hoping the addition of matcha and cherry juice this time would tap into some of her stress points and calm her. 

She kept up with her chosen routine for the morning, rifling through the remains of her pile of mail. Under a few more loose pieces of mail and catalogues was a navy blue envelope, stamped with silver starts and sparkling script spelling out her name. A faux wax seal laid the flap shut but gave away easily under a slight pick against the edge. Inside was an invitation to the annual 132 Gala—a benefit for the art gallery of the same name—she'd attended for the last couple of years, the dress code detailed out along with an RSVP request. Honestly, as much as she and her stylist had been anticipating the event, she almost forgot about it in the midst of all the variables entering her life. She was going to have to touch base with Dom to ensure he still had an idea in mind for her gown before she made any commitment. 

With the invitation being stowed away for later, a few more pieces of mail were thrown in the trash until she reached the final slip in the stack. She sighed when she spotted the familiar computerized script on the front. It was crumpled and creamy as opposed to a clean white. She was sure that if she had picked it up earlier in the week it would have still had that distinct woodsy scent as opposed to smelling like the inside of her mailbox. 

(Y/N) didn't need to peel open the flap to know that inside there would be a stack of glossy photos of her along with a typed letter. She knew there would be photos of her this week entering her apartment, going out with Francesca, driving to her father's, and the infamous event with Damien. Some of those photos would no doubt end up in a publication or posted along with a too-long article analyzing her outfit or body language. They always did. 

Without opening the envelope to verify her suspicions, (Y/N) bent to lay this letter with the rest in a drawer filled with junk and things she wanted to ignore. After pushing the drawer closed, she wiped every thought about her "admirer" from her thoughts. They weren't allowed to occupy her brain when there were much more pressing things to worry about. 

Flicking her gaze to the time blinking on her stove, she had to keep from rolling her eyes. While she wasn't much of a morning person, she couldn't believe her dad would allow someone to start a work day—no matter how informal—after nine a.m. With the time blinking well past ten in the morning and the sleep officially having been wiped from her eyes, she was growing unimpressed with the fact she was still waiting. 

Shuttering her eyes, (Y/N) centered herself, leaning back against the lip of the counter. She knew there was no reason to be upset with Harry, it wasn't like she had any say in his schedule nor was this lag truly disrupting anything for her. Her anxiety was beginning to manifest in ways she wasn't proud of and weren't helpful in any way. 

She thought some early morning yoga and a string of meditative poses would help settle her, work out that energy, but obviously none of that had the desired effect. Every time she tried to picture even what this Sunday's outing was going to be like, she wanted nothing more than to hide away and keep from encountering anyone or anything. It would be easier that way, she figured. That way she wouldn't have to explain who Harry was or why she needed any kind of security. 

Francesca was right, though. She knew that. Staying holed up and avoiding the world wouldn't do anything to get her father off her back. If it went on too long, eventually her father would begin picking out events for her to attend, and that was always a much worse outcome than just leaving her house on her own. 

Breathing the way her therapist from her teenage years taught her, (Y/N) centered herself as best she could with her bare feet on the cool tile of her kitchen. The chilled glass with her smoothie was slick against her palm, condensation dripping down the crystal. 

Everything was going to be fine. 

A buzz coming over the intercom knocked (Y/N) out of her head, her eyes flying open with her hand almost letting go of her smoothie. A stunted breath exhaled from her lungs as the moment she'd been waiting for laced together. 

She knew that was Harry waiting to be buzzed up to meet her for the second time. 

Forcing her head to clear, (Y/N) fell easily into her role of bubbly socialite. She had nothing to be afraid of, she told herself, it wasn't as if he was going to find anything her father would be ashamed of. She wasn't even his top priority, she reminded herself, her father and his company were Harry's clients, not (Y/N).

Pressing the small button on the stainless steel panel beside her front door, she dipped close to the microphone. "Good morning, how can I help you?" she asked as if she didn't already know what the answer would be. 

"Good morning, Ms. (Y/N)," answered the doorman from the lobby, the usual quiet settling in the background as he spoke, "I have a Mr. Harry Styles waiting down here for you. He said he's a part of your security team." 

"You can send him up, please," she replied, forcing a chirp to her voice. "Thank you, Claudio!" 

"Of course, Ms. (Y/N)," was all she heard back before the static went dead. Claudio was always a bit cold to her, but he never let any of the lurkers into the lobby so she'd take what she could get. 

The waiting game started again after the brief intermission, leaving (Y/N) in the silence of her apartment. She was suddenly too aware of the silk of her pajamas brushing her skin, the intricate threading on the hem of her shorts too heavy now. 

Lucky enough for her, it wasn't too long before she heard a knock reverberating through the door. It was firm and short, matching the man on the other side. 

A shot went through her system, a moment of static hitting her brain. She'd gone through worse bouts of anxiety and stressful situations, there was no reason to get worked up over something—someone—like this. 

With her mask on, complete with a reserved smile and detached gaze, (Y/N) opened her front door. The hinges glided like butter, welcoming Harry in where he stood in the hallway. 

Dressed in all black as she was starting to figure was his signature, he was waiting with an observant gaze being cast through the corridor. This was one of the few penthouse floors in the building leaving a bare space between where the elevator was stationed before leading to her front door. 

"Good morning," she told him pleasantly, "Come in." 

With a flourish, she stepped to the side with a space cleared for him to step into her apartment. 

"Good morning," he said, a slight smile on his features that appeared for a flash before he was back to his stoic state, "Thank you." 

Harry stepped in, acting as a dark spot with his fitted black t-shirt and trousers of the same shade against the understated hues of her home. (Y/N) locked the door behind him before turning to face him once more, a pleasant smile on her face. 

"How are you?" she asked, her voice even and warm despite how detached she felt. 

"Good, thank you," was his abrupt response, no followup about her own well being for the morning. He cast his gaze around her apartment, taking every corner and curve. She wasn't even sure he had properly looked at her at all since coming here. 

"Good," she said, trailing off awkwardly into the space around them. What kind of small talk do you make with a member of your security team? Especially one that didn't seem too keen on knowing their client. 

Leaning against her front door, she waited as he observed everything. He looked at her couch the same way he had looked at her days prior, as if he was compiling a list of all its attributes and deciding whether it not it had anything of value within. 

It was an odd feeling; she typically wasn't so blatantly compared to furniture to her face, that was usually left to the tabloids and internet trolls. 

Seeming to remember that she was still there, Harry stopped his game of finding everything in the room. He settled his eyes on her, a pointed look with a small pinch to his brows. 

Taking him in for that moment, she was reminded of just how pretty he was. He didn't look like the kind of man that would be guarding the models and gorgeous people, he should be one of the YSL or Gucci models that needed protecting from the crowds of people trying to get a closer look at him. Off-duty model, she figured would be the name of the article that Vogue would write about him, full of street style photos of him. 

With the green of his eyes meeting her own, he didn't waver where he stood. "Jus' go about your day like normal," he instructed her, arms crossed over his chest, "I want to learn your habits and your space first, but if you need to do anything out of the norm, let me know." 

"Okay," she sounded, voice quiet to her own ears. 

As much as she was sure she was meant to completely ignore him, she still felt odd crossing through her place towards her kitchen. She finished her smoothie and had left her blender and other supplies in the sink, so she could at least do the dishes maybe? At least that way her hands would be busy without plucking at her manicure.

Filling the sink with water, she did her best to treat Harry as nothing more than a shadow. To be fair, it wasn't that hard given the fact he barely made any noise as he traipsed around. It brought back memories of the way Barry used to hover around she and Franny when they were teenagers; it was easy to not pay too much attention to the extra body in the room, but her muscles never fully relaxed. 

From the corner of her eye, she saw him poking his head up the stairs to where her bedroom was, casting his gaze towards her ceiling, catching a view out her various windows as he went around. He was a perfect shadow dressed in black, but he seemed a bit too unimpressed for a neutral being. 

Harry stepped into her kitchen, the rubber soles of his shoes silent over the sparkling white granite flooring. "Do you have any kind of security system set up here? Cameras or anything like that?" he probed. 

Humming, (Y/N) picked up the rag she placed out for drying. "The building has some of those alarms installed with the codes and everything and there's the guys downstairs, but I don't have cameras set up in here or anything." 

Perpetually unimpressed, Harry only let out a, "Hm." 

She fixed her eyes onto her pink onyx countertops, tracing the swirling white lines in the faint pink of the stone. Why did he even care, she wanted to ask. What good would cameras in her home do when she was a nuisance outside of these walls? 

Watching as he headed down towards her guest rooms, she felt her tongue moving before her brain allowed it. "What are you looking for?" she poked, her question simple as he kept drying her dishes before placing them in cabinets. 

It wasn't like she was hiding any of the drugs or alcohol her dad surely warned him about, telling him to seek out and destroy before truly starting his job. If that was what he was toeing around her home for, he was going to be disappointed.

He didn't even turn to face her as he called back down the hallway to her, "Nothing in particular. Jus' noting things as I go; vantage points and the complete lack of any useful security around here."

Propping her hip against the lip of the counter, she let out a small sigh. Her hands twirled the rag she had used to dry her dishes, gaze following after her new security detail. 

"You don't have to pretend, you know," she started, saving them both some trouble by starting the conversation, "I know my dad didn't hire you to protect me or anything. He wants you protect the public, and his business from me." 

His ghosting footsteps came to a stop where stood down the hallway. He was in complete control as he turned to face her, that usual placid look molding his features. "Last I checked, you were my client. Not the public or your father's company." 

"But he's the one that's paying you," she countered, unwavering from the point she was trying to make, "I just don't want you to waste your time pretending to find something to protect me from." 

That deadpan look never changed from Harry's face. "'M not pretending, 'm doing my job." He paused only for a moment, his gaze bored and heavy on her skin. "Let me know if y'decide to go anywhere." 

That was the end of the conversation as far as (Y/N) was aware, Harry turning and leaving her as he went about doing whatever it was he considered to be his job. She didn't try to stop him again. If he wanted to waste his time, he could do just that. Not her problem, anymore.

Draining her sink, (Y/N) crept through her apartment to settle upon her plush couch. Clicking her television awake, she fumbled through streaming services until finally tuning into a rerun of a cooking show she was fond of. Though she couldn't quite sink into the cushions or yell to the T.V. as the contestants didn't see the obvious win she did, at least he wasn't right behind her. 

—————

"No, dad, I didn't give him any trouble yesterday." 

(Y/N) could practically hear the eyeball through the phone. "You know he's going to tell me, right? Lying won't change anything." 

It was her turn to give a petulant reaction, lashes fluttering as she almost got her eyes stuck in the back of her head. "I'm being serious. I'm not hiding anything, and I haven't even gone out or anything. There's been nothing to get upset over, dad." 

The trademark sigh of disappointment fluttered through the speaker. "What's the point of having a bodyguard if all you're going to do is stay home, (Y/N)?" 

"I'm going to brunch tomorrow with Fran and the girls," she countered, feeling her blood pressure rise over his argument. She was damned if she went out and was seen, damned if she stayed home and out of the public eye. She couldn't win. 

"Good," her father said, sounding all too pleased as if these plans were his doing, "I want him to see how you act in public, then we'll be able to start working on your problems." 

There was no argument she was going to give after that. She wasn't going to reward him or validate his claim that she is the problem. Because of course she was; it was never the photographers hounding her the second she turned sixteen, never the men around her that treated her like a tabloid bunny there for poking and prodding, and never him who didn't think to be a father for longer than it took for a flash of a camera to capture the moment. 

Dead air settled between them, (Y/N) pressing her phone to her ear with the help of her shoulder as she began to collect ingredients for her dinner. Her way of ignoring him came in redirection, instead focusing back on Harry, his new favorite person. 

"Harry thinks I should get a security system at my apartment," she offered, hoping the mention of his name was enough to get her father's head turning elsewhere. 

The beat that passed after her words showed she garnered the opposite reaction. "Did you tell him about those letters, (Y/N)?" he asked, voice hard as stone. 

Her lips thinned. "No." 

"Good. Don't." It didn't take much for (Y/N) to picture the way he was surely hanging his head over his dinner, perpetually disappointed in his only child. "Do not waste his time over those. Plenty of people take pictures with you, and if I find out you're having him worry about the one person that's actually a fan of you..." he trailed off as if she didn't know exactly what threat was about to leave his mouth, "I'm going to send you to stay with your mother." 

"Right. I won't." 

His worst punishment was always to push her off on others. The nannies she bonded with growing up, different boarding schools and summer programs, anyone that was willing to glance at her for longer than five seconds was in the running to take her off his hands. Her mother was always his favorite to threaten her with as if he knew where she was. 

(Y/N) didn't bother to listen to him anymore when it came to these moments. While she knew he'd never—could never—follow through with this particular threat, it was more than a little disheartening that he'd consider her calling for help as something that deserved a punishment. 

"Well," he started, speaking around his mouthful of whatever his chef had prepared for the night, "if I don't hear from Harry, I'll be calling you to see how tomorrow goes. Don't embarrass yourself, (Y/N). It's not worth it." 

"I know," she answered absently, her voice bored, "Goodnight, dad." 

"Night." 

Pulling her phone from her ear, (Y/N) focused on preparing the zucchini for the pasta primavera she'd been craving. Her thoughts turned methodical now that she had something structured to give her attention to. It was much easier to think when she wasn't firmly planted in her stubbornness and trying to ward off the kind of anxiety she hadn't felt since she was a teenager. 

Harry had gone home late into the afternoon yesterday, and didn't return today. He didn't tell her anything other than he'd see her on Sunday morning for brunch, but she had figured he'd have paid her another visit in the meantime anyway. It was an odd arrangement anyway, as far as she could tell. 

Stretching her memory back, Francesca's security was always there. Even when (Y/N) would spend the night or go away on trips with family, Barry was a constant shadow. The pool house in their backyard was his, an extra room for every rental or new vacation house taken into account so Francesca was never without her bodyguard. While she hadn't really wanted this, she figured Harry would be the same way—his services a button away in case of any kind of moment in need from her. 

He hadn't even taken her number down when he was over. 

It had only been a suspicion before, but perhaps her dad really had been honest with Harry: there was no real danger surrounding (Y/N), just her as the problem that needed fixing before interacting any with the public. There would be no reason for him to watch over her as she slept or be available to any emergency that might appear in his absence. 

Whatever, she figured, sliding the half-moons of her zucchini into a bowl. At least she cleaned out her guest room, something she'd been meaning to do.

(Y/N) was going to take her time alone as if it were gold. She had a feeling tomorrow was going to be rough enough without a bad night's sleep. 

—————

Swimming to the surface of sleep, (Y/N) was half aware of the sound of the static buzzing coming through her apartment. It was far enough away, the buzz panel situated by the door, that she could ignore it easily as she shifted between her sheets with her eyes cinched closed. Brunch wasn't for a few hours anyway, she knew that, and if any of the girls needed her they would have called prior. 

Soon enough the buzzing ceased, allowing her brain to fuzzy further and to retrace her steps back to her dreamland. Whatever that was, wasn't an emergency, then. 

Until the banging knocks started. 

These, she wasn't able to ignore. Forcing her eyes open, she reached for her phone on her night stand. No missed calls or texts filled her notifications, but the time of seven a.m. reflected at her. There was only one person who could be giving her this wakeup call, but there was no reason for him to be here already. 

With no contact to reach out to see if it was Harry waiting for her, she just had to trust that the doormen downstairs wouldn't send anyone up that they didn't recognize or who wasn't on the list to be cleared for her penthouse elevator. 

Her hair was a mess on the top of her head, tangled and falling out of the braid she had twisted for the night, eyes crusted with sleep in the corners, and limbs shaking from the abrupt pull from her sleep. The only clear thought she had was that she was goin to have to give him the access code to her apartment or a key after this; early morning wakeups like this were something she was ever going to be happy about. 

Swinging the door open for him during a pause in his banging, (Y/N) barely looked at Harry before she was trying to usher him in with a sweep of her hand. 

"Morning," she grumbled, voice sticky in her throat. 

"Morning," Harry reciprocated, "Are you ready?" 

"What?" she asked over the click of her lock going back into place. 

"I thought you had plans to go out with your friends this morning." His voice was bored as if he couldn't believe he was having to remind her of her own agenda.

"Yeah, for brunch," she added, "We don't have to leave for a while." 

"Hm," was all he had to offer in response. Unimpressed. 

(Y/N) didn't have it in her to care whether or not he liked brunch or thought she was silly for whatever reason. She was too tired, and her bed was too soft. 

"I'm going back to bed," she told him, edging towards the staircase to her bedroom, "You can do whatever you want." 

A beat passed before Harry offered an acknowledgement in the form of a hum. He was much more interested in investigating more of her home, she figured with the way his eyes traipsed through the space. 

The second her head hit the pillow in her bedroom, (Y/N) happily relaxed into the mattress. 

While there was a part of her that felt odd knowing that there was someone else in her home, settling in while she was elsewhere, there were other parts of her that didn't mind it all that much. She'd never felt lonely before, but she also never had known what it was like to have someone else around like this. 

Even if he was being paid to, it was nice to her soft, sleep-molded brain that he'd care if something happened while she slept.

That thought made it a little bit easier to fall asleep again. 

—————

Standing before her bathroom mirror, (Y/N) sharpened her features and pouted her lips at her reflection. With her hair pinned back and a silky robe draped over her body, she looked every bit the dreamy socialite she pictured herself as in her teens. Except for the wreck that was her makeup so far. 

Breaking her pose, she let out an annoyed grumble as she took a closer look at the section of eyeshadow that just wouldn't blend out. She felt like a toddler having a tantrum the way she wanted to stomp her foot on the ground and throw her makeup brush and eyeshadow palette away. 

Everything had been going perfect until she decided to daringly dip into a slightly deeper shade than she was used to on her eyes, and now she was stuck with a semi-sweet chocolate blob on the outer corner of her eye when she was hoping for a milk chocolate fade. And, she didn't have time to redo anything. 

Life could be so unfair sometimes. 

From down the hallway, she heard footsteps glancing over the flooring towards the bathroom. Moments later, Harry appeared in the mirror behind her, something a little more urgent than she was used to in his gaze but just as serious and uninviting as she remembered from this morning. 

When he didn't say anything, only tracing his eyes over her bathroom, (Y/N) piped up, "Is everything okay?" He hadn't come to see her once since she woke up. 

Catching her gaze in the glass, he said, "I heard you." 

"Sorry," she started, dropping her eyes to her palette of neutral powders, "I'm just annoyed right now. My makeup looks dumb, and I don't have time to redo it." 

Harry relaxed some where he stood, his arms dropping from across his chest as he leant against the doorjamb. The observations never stopped, even as she resumed trying to blend out her makeup. 

"I thought you had people to do that for you," he said, brows furrowing just a pinch. 

(Y/N) shrugged, fluffing a creamy shade over the deep mass in hopes of lightening the whole thing up enough to go out for a morning. "Sometimes; usually for really important things. Otherwise, I just like to do it myself." 

When the makeup cooperated, anyway. What she wouldn't give to have the hand of a makeup artist here to fix her mistake.

"Oh," Harry sounded behind her, silence settling between them. 

Expecting him to leave then, (Y/N) refocused on her eye makeup only for Harry to linger in the doorway. He stood there in his too-pretty glory, watching her as she worked. She felt as if each of her moves were being dissected, analyzed and broken down as if there was a chance he would have to step in. She guessed that technically was his job, though she could argue there might be much better things for him to do rather than watch her blend eyeshadow and bobby pin her hair to perfection. 

Once she had her face applied, extra blush and fluffy lashes added in hopes of distracting from her most disastrous shadow look to date (at least that's how she felt in the moment, but she was sure there were photos off er teen years that would love to beg to differ) and hair styled down to the single strand, she was left with her short robe on and her outfit picked out in her closet. Harry's eyes had documented each of her moves, grazing along her skin and observing every stretch. 

Finding that gaze in the mirror, she looked at him with a mild expression. "I just need to get dressed then we can go." 

Harry blinked at her. "Okay." 

That was all he had to say before she was left to head to her room. 

—————

Stepping through the lobby of her complex, (Y/N) couldn't help but to scope out the street as much as she could through the tinted glass doors of the entrance. Waiting on the curb was the all black SUV she called with pedestrians scattered along the sidewalks and recklessly stepping onto the street. All she was looking for was anyone lingering a little too close to the building with too nice of cameras to be normal. 

She'd always been a little cautious leaving her building once the address to her complex had been leaked, paparazzi having camped out for a week afterwards in hopes of catching her off guard, though now that Harry was going to be stepping out with her another layer was added. She could already imagine the headlines and blog posts that would be made when others caught wind of the fact she was seen with a member of the opposite sex. 

Some of her favorites loved to recount her "relationship timeline" as well as call into question her "body count" and how long this new "beau" will last. She was dreading reading those words again; it was bad enough when she actually liked one of those people in those photos with her, but Harry's new job required his presence around her. He couldn't even leave this narrative if he wanted to. 

Staying focused, (Y/N) gave a wave to the doormen standing behind the front desk though their stony faces didn't sway. Harry was quiet at her side, allowing her to take the lead as she took them out onto the street, a blast of air hitting them once the seal of the doors was pushed open. Outside, no one paid her any mind, her driver being the only person that acknowledged her with a grin on his face. 

"Morning!" she chirped, feeling more relaxed now that he was nearby. 

"Morning, (Y/N)," he greeted, opening the backseat door with a flourish for her. His gaze only shifted for a moment to her companion, but she knew he was much too polite to ask for details about any of her guests. 

Setting one foot inside, (Y/N) hesitated as she looked around the SUV door to Sully. "Sully, this is Harry," she started, tossing her hand in Harry's direction, "He's my new bodyguard"—her tongue felt odd around the word—"Harry, this is Sully. He's my primary driver." 

Sully gave her a momentary look the second he heard the word bodyguard. Out of most people in her life, he knew her almost better than Francesca, so he knew just as well as she did that a security detail wasn't something (Y/N) was in need of. Nonetheless, he kept his polite smile on his face when addressing Harry. 

"Nice to meet you, Harry," he said, offering a gentle hand out to shake. 

"Nice to meet you," Harry said with a gruff anchor to his voice. 

That was all that was shared before (Y/N) stepped into the car, Harry following behind her. Though she was sure Sully felt the same way she did about the situation, he didn't let any of it show when he took his spot in the driver's seat, his eyes meeting hers through the rearview mirror. 

"The new place still, (Y/N)?"

"Yes, please," she answered, a soft smile on her face. 

As they started the drive through the city, skyscrapers towering on either side of the street and too many people on the sidewalks, (Y/N) pulled out her phone. Though she was aware of Harry's presence on the bench seat beside her only inches away, she ignored him in favor of pulling up Francesca's text thread in her messages. 

Fran🫧

      are u bringing your bodyguard????? 

      jk ofc you are he has to come w u everywhere lol is he still cute today tho or was the other day just bc you saw him for the first time???? 

As much as she loved Franny like a sister, she didn't really want to talk about Harry at the moment. She knew much of brunch was going to be spent talking about her new security or talking around him as all of the girls were going to be varying levels of nosy about it all. (Y/N) didn't have a lot of interest in starting that trend any earlier than needed. 

Instead, she began scrolling through her Instagram explore page full of photos of nail art and cooking videos she planned on looking up the recipes for later. Ever-polite, Sully was the one to break the silence that filled the cab of his vehicle. 

"How long will you be joining us, Harry?" he asked, kind blue eyes shining in the rearview mirror. 

Uninterested as ever, Harry didn't break his gaze from where he was observing through the window. "As long as it takes for her father to be convinced that she's finally grown up." 

It was a callous remark, but one (Y/N) had heard before just in a different voice. It was an interesting thing to hear those biting words lack the familiarity of her father's tone. She'd never heard them like that before. 

Flicking her gaze up from her phone, she spotted Sully in the mirror through the fan of her lashes. He gave her one of those soft smiles he'd also seen him give his daughter before. It made it a bit easier to let that remark slide off her back when she knew he was on her side. 

"Won't be very long then," Sully continued, tipping his chin up in confidence, "It doesn't take very long to see how kind and responsible Ms. (Y/N) is, despite what all those silly magazines like to say." 

(Y/N) directed a quiet smile down at her phone. She hoped Sully knew just how much she appreciated him. 

—————

"I'll be back around noon, okay?" Sully said, offering a helping hand to (Y/N) as she stepped out of the SUV and onto the grey concrete sidewalk, "Let me know if you need me sooner or want to stay longer." 

Nodding her head, she gave him a bubbly smile with soft lips and warm cheeks. "Thank you." 

"It's my pleasure," he answered, squeezing her hand in his as she steadied herself on the concrete.

With Harry at her side, Sully was sent off with a wave from her manicured fingers. 

Though it wasn't new to feel eyes on her at time when she was out, it was different to have someone following along with her. His job was to watch her, and he made it known with the way she could feel his gaze stitched to her. He only drifted when he made a point to take in their surroundings. 

Was he even supposed to sit with them? Was he going to eat beside her? What was his job when it came to events like this? 

(Y/N) tried to think back to what Francesca's bodyguard would do, but she couldn't remember him ever joining them for a meal in public. Barry was typically meant to watch over Fran when no one else was around, leaving those group settings without him. Was Harry to do the same? Was he going to sit elsewhere or guard their table like a circling vulture? 

Her head hurt just thinking about it. Harry would do whatever he decided to do, she settled on. This wasn't his first security job, so hopefully he would do whatever he was used to with Camila and Monroe. 

Harry pushed the entrance door open for her, taking her by surprise as she stepped into the trendiest brunch spot in the city at the moment. Everything was sleek and warm, glass with golden hinges, wood pieces with uniform swirls and knots. Inauthentic authenticity. Falling into character, a bright smile landed on (Y/N)'s lips, her phone clutched in one hand with her purse hanging from the crook of her elbow. The clack of her heels was drowned out by the sound of chattering patrons and a busy kitchen. 

"Hello, how are you?" The young man stationed at the host stand greeted her, a dark denim uniform adorning his form. (Y/N) almost cringed for him; she couldn't imagine how hot it must be to work all day in a heavy outfit like that. 

"Hi, I'm good thank you," she greeted, feeling Harry just behind her as if he were breathing down her neck. How would he analyze this conversation? "I'm here to meet a few friends—there should be a reservation under—" 

Cutting her off, the boy piped up with, "Francesca, right? She and a few others just got here." 

Now that she wasn't so distracted by his outfit, she could see recognition in his gaze. He knew who she was and was definitely peeking over her shoulder to see who her companion was. 

"That's them," (Y/N) chirped, canting her head as the boy tapped away at the computer in front of him. 

"Perfect," he beamed, glancing up nonchalantly at them, "And will he be taking the sixth seat at the table?" 

A clear attempt to fish, but not one (Y/N) was going to be able to ignore. "Yes, please." 

The way the boy's eyes brightened had (Y/N) already dreading the articles that she would be tagged in across every social media platform, the headlines teasing about her new "mystery man" with all of the sources being an anonymous instagram account known for spreading gossip. Because that's journalism. 

"Follow me," he said, waving his hand as he stepped out from behind the podium.

Harry was a ghost behind her as (Y/N) made small talk with the host, answering with polite chatter about the weather while being led through the restaurant. Through the crowded tables, Francesca and the three other girls they frequently went out with came into view. Glasses of bubbling mimosas and an appetizer of cheese and crackers adorned the table, matching that of the rest of the patrons indulging in the brunch rush. 

Francesca was the first to spot them once the host dropped them off with a quiet wish for she and Harry to enjoy their food before he was off again. Fran's eyes lit up when she saw her, only for them to widen that much more when Harry came into view behind her. 

"(Y/N)," she cheered, gaining the attention of the other girls who broke their absent chatter to turn to face them. Fran no doubt had told them that (Y/N) would be bringing a guest. 

"Hi," she smiled, maneuvering around the table to the two empty seats between Emma and Rita, "Sorry I'm late. My makeup was not doing its job this morning." 

Emma piped up then, "No worries, honey! We're just happy you could make it. We already ordered a mimosa for you and some appetizers and all." 

Despite the girls seemingly talking to her, their eyes continuously drifted to her companion that ghosted behind her. Pulling out her chair, (Y/N) dropped her purse on the table before looking across from her to where Francesca was sat. Even she was pretending as if she wasn't bubbling in anticipation over Harry. 

"Thanks, guys," she said, taking her seat with Harry doing the same beside her, "Everyone, this is Harry. I bet Fran already told you a little bit, but he's going to be my personal security for the next few months or so. We're still trying to figure out how this all works for it, so thanks for letting him tag along today." 

"Of course," Kita giggled, leaning with her elbow on the table, "Fran did tell us that you were bringing someone special today." 

"Right," (Y/N) laughed, feeling slightly exposed despite the fact none of the girls were even looking at her. "I promised him we'd be on our best behavior today, so don't ruin this for me." 

The laughter that bubbled around the table was just a touch too melodious, too airy and light. Francesca even made eyes at (Y/N); she approved of him, that much was obvious. 

"I'm sure we'll still have fun with him," Toriana said, her spot right across from Harry making it easy for her to reach across and offer her hand up in greeting, "I'm Toriana, but the girls just call me Ana." 

"Nice to meet you," Harry answered, taking her hand into his in that same firm grip (Y/N) remembered. 

A domino effect started then, each of the girls taking the time to personally introduce themselves. Toriana and Kita were more than a little interested in him, asking questions right off the bat that (Y/N) wished they would keep to themselves. Franny and Emma seemed to prefer to watch, piping in at moments with their own bubbly comments or peals of laughter. Harry, reserved as ever, barely interacted. 

(Y/N) didn't know why she liked that as much as she did. Maybe it was just nice knowing she wasn't the only person he was cold with. Even if he did still end up talking to the girls more than he had all weekend with her. 

Soon enough—long enough still that (Y/N) sipped through a glass and a half of water, the cheese plate had dissipated to crumbs, and breakfast orders had been placed—the shine of Harry had finally been lost on the girls. The shorter his answers became the clearer the message that he wasn't interested in sharing became. Though Kita didn't pull too far away from him and Fran had eyes on him every few moments, there wasn't much fun in talking to a wall. 

The gossip shifted around the table, new topics being introduced as wait staff appeared to refill drained mimosa glasses. (Y/N) was seventy percent sure she saw one of the denim-clad employees pull her phone out and snap a shot of the table while clearing their small appetizer plates. No one seemed to notice the girl other than she and Harry, his eyes narrowing when he caught sight of the camera tilted in their direction. She wouldn't be surprised if the photo captured Harry's harsh gaze. 

Ignoring the snooping employee, (Y/N) tried to tune into the story Emma was sharing that had the rest of the table enraptured. As funny and kind as Emma was, she loved to gossip; she loved knowing things, even if the information had nothing to do with her. More often than not (Y/N) preferred to check out of her particularly scandalous stories, just because she knew what it was like to be the name coming off of other's lips in a spit. Francesca was the same, preferring to stay out of it all.

But, this story caught both of their attention for all the wrong reasons. 

"Then, I heard that Christal's parents are separating, because her dad also cheated with one of Christal's friends that got an internship at his company," Emma chattered, dipping her chin as if she was actually trying to keep this information a secret for only the table to hear. 

Toriana gasped, her hand coming up to cover her mouth with wide eyes. Leaning over the table, she conspired with Emma in a hushed tone that was far from being any level of quiet, "I heard they were separating because her mom was paying off her doctor to write prescriptions for, like, everything. Her dad is so over it, so he's supposed to be filing officially next week." 

The mention of prescriptions and doctors who didn't care to help anymore stung at (Y/N) behind her walls. It was bad enough speaking about Christal and her family dynamics when they barely knew her outside of nights partying in the Upper West Side, but those kinds of rumors weren't something (Y/N) could ever imagine repeating. Drug use and the breaking up of a marriage—no matter the reason—were things none of them should be discussing when they had no idea what was truly going on. 

It made (Y/N) think of her own parents and the years of swirling tabloids trying to figure out just how long her parents were on the rocks and what exactly had gone wrong. It was more than invasive. 

(Y/N)'s nails quietly tapped on the table as the attention was placed on her, her voice piping up once Emma finally paused for a breath, "We probably shouldn't be talking about this stuff, guys." 

Emma was the first to turn to her with a slighted look on her face, surprised to have anyone stopping her in the middle of her speculations. The remaining pairs of eyes turned to her, Francesca the only one that seemed to match her protesting while Kita and Toriana were just as taken aback as Emma. 

Saved by the bell, their waitress chose then to appear with trays of their food in her arms. Bowls of salads and plates of eggs were distributed amongst the girls, Harry's order being of avocado toast though she couldn't imagine him picking off more than a couple of bites with the way he was so focused on the scene around him. The women had settled while they were being waited on, beaming smiles and assurances that everything was perfect, they would love a refill, and whatever chattering small talk was started by the waitress in the meantime. 

It wasn't until everything had been cleared away, a plate of eggs Benedict with a kale apple salad off to the side in front of (Y/N), that Emma turned to face her once more. 

Now she was less shocked and more bewildered that (Y/N) had tried to end her conversation. "Don't you want to know what happened though, (Y/N)?" she asked, incredulous, "Her parents always seemed so obsessed with each other, doesn't that make you want to know even more?" 

"Sure," (Y/N) started, "But, it's a little too personal, don't you think? Especially if any of this is true, it's all probably really hard on Christal. I don't think it's fair to talk about it when we don't know anything about it, and she's not even here." 

That expression of furrowed brows and parted lips didn't leave Emma's face as (Y/N) spoke. "I mean I guess, but—" 

Before she could get much further, (Y/N) couldn't help but to step in. "Honestly, I'd rather hear about you and your fashion designer," (Y/N) started, leaning towards Emma with a conspiratorial smile on her face, "You haven't brought him up at all, even though you've posted him on your story at least five times now." 

Watching her friends' features light up told her just how effective her new topic was. There was nothing—not even hot gossip—Emma loved talking about more than herself. 

"You mean Stavros? What could you ever want to know about him?" Emma bubbled, acting coy with a lift of her shoulder and flutter of her lashes. 

"Stavros?! You never told me that was his name!" Kita chimed in, filling in where (Y/N) had left off. 

All it took was Emma starting with a Well... to get the table submitting again to conversation full of bubbling giggles and blushing cheeks, teases of Stavros's name and Emma's story telling about their time together so far. Even Francesca, after shooting (Y/N) a small smile, became invested in the chronicle of Emma's love life. 

Falling into silence, satisfied at the reroute of the conversation, (Y/N) finally tried the food in front of her. From the corner of her eye, she saw Harry observing her with calculating eyes, a pinch in his brow.

Suddenly, she felt more exposed than when dozens of cameras were posed in her direction. Was she not supposed to interfere like that? Was this new topic somehow equal to the one Emma had initially embarked on? 

Honestly, (Y/N) had almost forgotten about Harry's presence when she stepped in and redirected Emma into safer territory, but now she was wondering if she would have benefited more from keeping her mouth shut. Who knew what he would report back to her father with; how he would spin these events.

"(Y/N), don't you know his cousin? That Ferrill girl we met in Milan?" Francesca's voice chirping out her name had (Y/N) dropping back into the conversation, grateful for a distraction from what she was overthinking in her mind. 

"Oh, yeah, Ferrill! She's Stavros's cousin?..." 

—————

"You really have to go home?" 

Kita's over-pouted lips and pleading pulled a laugh out of (Y/N) as she pulled her into a hug. 

"I know, I'm sorry," she started, reciprocating her friend's hold, "You know I'd love to go with you guys if I could, but I already promised I'd call my stylist later today."

"I know," Kita whined, pulling away with her hug still around (Y/N)'s middle, "I just feel like you barely talked this morning, and I miss you."

 Despite being around them and having spent the better part of two hours with these girls, (Y/N) missed them too. Kita wasn't wrong in that she barely talked for the morning, Harry being a constant, extra fine sifter that filtered her thoughts before she even had them ready to go. It was hard to talk as freely when she knew he was analyzing every single syllable on her lips. 

"I'm sorry," (Y/N) pouted, playing along, "But, I'm sure I'll see you again soon. And, if you want, you can FaceTime me later so I can see what you got." 

Kita seemed satisfied with that answer, pulling (Y/N) in for another hug before joining the rest of the women who were beckoning to join them as they started down the sidewalk. Hugs and goodbyes had already been shared amongst the rest of them, Francesca promising to text her before she even had a chance to make it home. 

With a final wave from the three of them and calls of "Bye, Harry!", (Y/N) was left by Sully's car with an extra shadow. 

The truth was, she couldn't imagine trekking down Fifth Ave with Harry following behind her. It was uncomfortable enough to have him sit and eat with her, even more so thinking about him watching as she chattered with her friends and tried on different pieces of clothing. 

"Ready to head home?" Sully asked, hand poised on the handle of the back passenger seat for her. 

"Yes, please," she sighed, eagerly stepping in when he pulled open the door for her.

Following behind her, Harry settled in beside her in the back seat, the faux-leather soft under their weight. Sully smoothly integrated himself within the New York traffic, maneuvering around in ways that made (Y/N) that much more grateful that she wasn't the one in charge. 

Decompressing, her eyes fluttered closed with her shoulders untensing. It wasn't until now that she realized just how tightly she had been wound during the meal. No wonder she could feel the beginning band of an ache forming in her head. 

Breaking the static silence in the cab, Harry asked, "Is it always like that?" 

"Like what?" (Y/N) pressed, brows knitting together in the middle though her eyelids didn't flutter. 

She could hear the sound of him shifting against the leather. "Like, everything going on at once?" 

"A little," (Y/N) admitted, the words leaving on a breathing laugh, "This was on the tamer side. Usually, Toriana will try to debate everyone into agreeing to get a mimosa tower for the table—that's when things start happening all at once." 

A beat passed, (Y/N) assuming he was fine with the stopping point of the conversation until he spoke again. 

"Y'didn't drink today." 

Though it was less of a question and more of a statement, she still answered with, "No." 

"Why not?" 

Shrugging, her clothing shuffled against the faux-leather. "I don't really like drinking this early—it makes me too tired, so I don't usually do it." 

Despite the fact she didn't hear his voice again, (Y/N) could feel Harry's eyes on her through the remaining drive to her apartment.

—————

Laid flat on her back on her bed, (Y/N) raised her hand to look at the time on her phone once more. The closer the clock numbers to ten a.m., the more she wanted to curl up in her sheets. 

Dressed in her pastel pink workout set with her hair braided back and tennis shoes on her feet, (Y/N) was more than ready to head to her pilates class. She wanted to luxuriate in her poses and breathing, get a smoothie afterwards as her cooldown, and live her normal routine. The only problem was Harry. 

Though she loathed to admit it, she knew he was supposed to accompany her. Even if he wasn't policing her at home, she knew there were no exceptions to the rule of him going with her throughout her day should she chose to go out and about. That was the whole point of his job. 

She wanted to do as Francesca had told her—that she still needed to live her life even if it was with an extra shadow—, but, even with the fact that the Sunday brunch had gone well enough, taking Harry to her pilates class was completely different. She lacked friends in her class anyway, and this wouldn't make it any better. Most of the women already judged her enough, adding Harry into the mix wasn't going to help her case in not looking as pretentious and spoiled like they thought. 

Maybe, she could get away with only sending him a text? It wasn't as if she were going to an event or a high-profile dinner. Maybe her dad wouldn't care, leaving Harry to not care either. There wasn't much trouble she could get into while controlling her breathing and wiping sweat off the back of her neck, anyway. 

Looking at the time once more, she saw the minutes click that much closer to the start time for her usual session. Her chest rose as she pulled in a deep breath. 

If she wanted to get there on time and get a good spot, she was going to have to text Harry and move on. Sully was on the way anyway, she had to make her choice now before she had to cancel the car and instead curl up in bed just like she had been for three days since brunch. 

The sound of (Y/N)'s nails tapping at her phone screen filled her room as she made to sit up amongst the folds in her duvet.

     morning, harry! just wanted to let you know that im headed to my pilates class right now. it should end around 11 and i'll probably grab a smoothie after, so i'll be on my way back to my apartment after that. lmk if you need anything like to get into my apartment or anything like that before im home ! 

As soon as she pressed send with the blue bubble inflating against the dark background, she locked her phone. She couldn't overthink this whole thing anymore. She had plans she needed to stick to if she wanted to stay normal. 

The notification that Sully was downstairs waiting for her couldn't have come soon enough, not when she finished packing her things much too quickly. 

"No Harry?" Sully asked once she was secure in the back seat, the morning sun shining on the grimy streets of the city. 

Avoiding his gaze in the rearview mirror, (Y/N) shook her head. "Not today." 

—————

Buzz-buzz.

(Y/N) cinched her eyes closed tighter at the sound of a phone vibrating deep in someone's bag. her breathing came in even waves, chest rising and falling in even measures. 

Buzz-buzz.

One of the other students faltered on their breathing, the teacher pausing just a second too long in-between instructions as everyone heard the incessant noise.

"Now, take a breath and stretch into your high plank," the morning's instructor directed, voice calm in the middle of the studio, "Keep the height to your comfort, no reason to strain past a slight burn." 

Taking in a deep breath, (Y/N) listened with her hands planted solidly on the mat under her. Her back stretched slowly, legs keeping her steady as she fell back into the rhythm of the session.

Until another round of buzzing started, this string clearly from a phone call that was going to be ignored. 

The strength in her core faltered with her eyes cinched to a tight close at the sound.

(Y/N) knew good and well that it was her phone that was going crazy at the bottom of her bag, but there was no way she was going to make that obvious to anyone else in the class. She was sure a good chunk of them already assumed it was her anyway, but that didn't mean she had to admit to it. 

Instead, she kept up with the poses and the directions given, ignoring the device as best as she could. She was going to enjoy this class as much as she could before she would be forced to renter her reality.

She already knew what kind of notifications were waiting for her, anyway. Either Francesca and the girls randomly decided to start up another group chat, or Harry wasn't pleased with her decision to head out for the day with nothing more than a text sent his way. Either way, (Y/N) didn't want to deal with either of those things at the moment. 

"I'm sorry to interrupt, but would the owner of the phone that keeps going off, please, either silence or turn off your phone for the remainder of the class? I'm sure the class would appreciate the chance to keep their focus without any more interruptions." 

Despite her tone of voice being respectful and calm as ever, (Y/N) knew the instructor was pissed. No matter how well-paying her clients were, there was no way she could keep standing for disruptions like this. Blinking her eyes open, she saw the rest of the class on the same level as their instructor: just as annoyed but feigning calmness as if the last half hour hadn't been spent ignoring phone call after phone call with text messages in between. 

She couldn't get up now, (Y/N) thought. Not when everyone was waiting to see who the culprit was so they could shoot daggers with their gaze. She could only imagine what the post-class powwow of complaints would sound like. 

(Y/N) cringed when her phone went off once more, the device rattling against a tube of lipgloss to make it that much lounger. 

Fuck. This was worse than waking up and seeing drunken photos of her posted. At least then she didn't have a dozen other people staring at her in the process. 

When her phone went off once more in what she hoped was a reminder notification and not another set of messages coming through, (Y/N) couldn't take it anymore. She had to fix this if she wanted to at least be welcomed back. 

Just as she went to break her pose, a clatter could be heard on the other side of the door. Muffled voices broke through the curated tranquility of the studio, sounding more and more aggravated as they drew closer to the room she was in. The doorknob twisted, resistance found on the other side when a clear "Sir!" was called through. 

A beat later, that resistance was broken, Harry barreling through the door. With a furrow pinching his brow and a blaze in his eyes, he looked just as bitter and grumpy as a stereotypical bouncer and not the seasoned security detail he was. His usual uniform of all black was crumpled and creased with his hair a mess on the top of his head. 

"Sir, there is a class in session!" A voice (Y/N) recognized from the front desk of the studio burst in behind him. Harry didn't flinch back for even a second. 

The second his gaze landed on her, his jaw hardened. "(Y/N)," he gritted out her name, "Come here, now." 

Having crumbled from her pose to sit with her legs folded underneath her, (Y/N) felt stuck where she sat. She could practically spot steam coming from the top of Harry's head. Her skin heated when she felt others' eyes land on her. 

This was definitely much, much worse than if she had just answered her phone. 

"Harry," she started, unsure of what exactly she was going to say but feeling as if she needed to say something anyway. 

His nose flared. "Sully is waiting outside. Let's go." 

There was a finality in her tone that had her scrambling to collect her things as soon as possible. The room was silent as she messily rolled her mat and clumsily stepped into her shoes. 

A mumbled thank you was offered to the silent instructor as she passed, a matching apology being told to the class though she was sure both sentiments fell on deaf ears. (Y/N) was definitely going to have to switch studios again. 

She wasn't surprised to see the rest of the studio having fallen in line, patrons and classes quiet and paused after the ruckus caused on her behalf. (Y/N) could only imagine the photos others snapped of her following after Harry like a puppy with her tail between her legs. She already knew what this was going to look like—the loud scene as well as following after Harry the way she was. 

Sully didn't say anything when (Y/N) quickly slipped into the backseat, Harry coming after with a loud slam of the door behind. 

The interior was almost humid with the way Harry fumed beside her, his arms a tight cross over his chest and his jaw anchored closed. From the corner of her eye, she could see the way his fingers were curled into fists under the shelter of his arms. 

(Y/N) felt silly to be sitting there with her cardigan and leggings, hands in her lap like a reprimanded child. 

The silence stretched on as Sully pulled away from the curb, routing directly back to her apartment without question. 

It wasn't until there was a stop in the traffic that any of them dared to speak a single word. Of course, it was Harry.

"I don't know what you were thinking this morning," he started, voice deceptively calm, "But, you almost cost me my job with that stunt." 

Staying quiet, she didn't know what to say. Honestly, she hadn't really thought about it like that when she left without him this morning. She had only been considering the pit in her stomach and how much she hadn't wanted to disrupt her own life. She acted just as selfish as she was sure Harry thought her to be at her core. 

From the corner of her eye, she could see the way Harry's gaze on her profile sharpened. She kept her eyes on her hands. 

"I thought we had a good understanding after this weekend, but I think I need to make a few things especially clear for you," he started, (Y/N) finally chancing a look at him. Harry's gaze steeled when she matched him. "When I was given this job, I was told to go with you everywhere, and 'm sure you were told the same thing. I don't care if you think your fathers's company, or the 'public' or whoever you think is my client, because that is not the truth. You are my client, and if you make trouble like this again, I will lose my job. Because of you." 

(Y/N) had never been reprimanded like this before, not as fat as she could remember. Her father's scoldings had never been this effective, even when she was young enough to still care what he had to say. 

Her throat was dry as she piped up, hoping to explain herself, "It was just my pilates class. I didn't think it would be a big deal." 

That seemed to be the very worst thing she could have said with the way Harry's shoulders tensed with hot air with his jaw quirked. His eye contact was unwavering as he glared at her. 

"I knew I was going to have to babysit you, but I didn't think it would be this much of a problem. Going forward, I do not care where you are going, I am going with you. I know you don't want me here, so the quicker you follow this and get over whatever princess complex you have after getting everything handed to you, the quicker we'll both be free of this contract. Please keep that in mind the next time you decide to go off with just a text." 

Harry's tone was harsh and grating, flaming hot underneath the calm facade he was just well-versed with as her own bubbly princess role. He could rival her father in just how much disdain he held for her. 

She couldn't blame his perception of her, really. With the way both her father and the media spoke of her, she could only imagine the kind of person she looked to be in his eyes. 

Nonetheless, (Y/N) could still feel that sting of hurt. 

But, he was right. Now, she knew where they stood. Now, she could try harder to get over her princess complex and show her father she didn't need a ghost and everything could go back to normal. 

If she tried hard enough, she could hopefully still make it to spend the winter in Francesca's family's Swiss cabin free of an extra shadow. That was a goal she could work towards this summer. 

"I understand," she told him, checking out of the conversation now that she had her own plan working in the background, her own terms to follow, "I'm sorry I put you in that position. I didn't mean anything by it, I just didn't think it was the kind of thing to bother you over." 

Deflating some, Harry blinked, his gaze falling down her features. "Okay," he settled, golden flecks swimming in his irises, "Now, we're both on the same page." 

(Y/N) quietly agreed with a small nod. 

The rest of the car ride was silent.

—————

Without a second thought, (Y/N) stowed the newest heavy, photo-laden envelope into her drawer of the others. She already knew what kind of pictures would be inside and the kind of story her admirer had spun in her honor. It would be the same photos that had been distributed by the same anonymous Instagram blog that always posted them along with the same story that all the tabloids picked up the next day. 

According to the internet as well as a few gullible publications, (Y/N) had shown up drunk to her class and Harry had come to collect her. Harry was also no longer her mystery man, and now her affair partner that she had cheated on Damien Moore with. Damien was also reportedly very hurt to be seeing her with Harry after everything that had gone down. Broken-hearted by the ice queen, one publication had been so bold to claim. Blurry photos accompanied the articles and tweets, with her looking to Harry with watery eyes ("alcohol-glazed") like a reprimanded child as she followed him out. 

Her admirer had no doubt clung to the claims that she was in a romantic relationship, their own version of events meandering around it all to erase the legitimacy of the claims along with photos of her back at her apartment without him to solidify their theory. While they would be right this time, that she and Harry were not linked in any way but professional, it still didn't make her feel very safe knowing they had gone to the length they did to verify as much as well as send a letter to prove it all. 

It'd been days since the incident and one day since the news hit the circuits, and (Y/N) was more than comfortable hiding out at her apartment to ensure she wouldn't have to deal with anyone, including Harry, until her nail appointment on Thursday. The whole thing was more than stupid, full of baseless claims and low-quality photos. It didn't deserve her attention. 

The only thing that had truly caught her off guard, was the lack of phone calls from her father. A full day had passed with the story being tweeted and mocked, and yet there was no scathing text message or berating call sent to her phone. This was just the type of story that would have him up in arms and fuming all throughout the mansion. The longer it didn't come, the more she felt on edge. 

Her father was built on being predictable, so when he deviated from the norm she couldn't help but to fear the worst. 

Ignoring it all for the time being, (Y/N) returned to her kitchen eager to take her mind off things in the form of trying out one of her stored up recipes. 

While she didn't usually have the chance to share it with others, cooking was one of (Y/N)'s favorite pastimes—a therapeutic hobby. She liked putting flavors together and the technique that went into making everything just the way she liked it. There was structure to it all—even the bendable rules gave her guidelines. 

Especially when she was attending her private school and spending her time in dorms and weekends alone at her parents' home, food was the one thing she could control that gave her a routine. She liked making cute meals and lunches for her friends at school and taking advantage of the illustrious pantry and fridge she had at home. It was easy to nurture her love for it when there was no other outlet open for her feelings. 

While there was nothing special she could imagine herself doing with her passion like she was sure that her father would have wanted, it didn't cheapen the love for her at all. It was the easiest way to fill herself with love even when she felt as if everything around her was hateful. 

Turning her phone to silent, (Y/N) happily turned on a rerun of her favorite cooking competition show, and started on her own meal. 

—————

élan is a French word that describes the sense of a movement coming; the grace with which time moves towards the next chapter

eeeek! thank u sm for reading! sorry for any mistakes and please lmk if theres any fun ideas or thoughts you have!

#writing #harry #harry styles #harry one shot #harry imagine #harry blurb #bodyguard harry #harry x reader #harry au #harry styles one shot #harry styles imagine #harry styles blurb #bodyguard harry styles #harry styles x reader #harry styles au #love on tour #pleasing #harrys house #as it was #satellite

[russellsppttemplates]

Uh oh, I'm falling in love (Lando Norris)

Y/N and Lando both have jobs that require good sight and attention to detail and yet they're oblivious to their feelings for eachother

Note: english is not my first language. I'm in a very fluffy mood, so I got really excited when I got this request! This also makes my expectations even higher and calls me single in about seventeen different languages at once...

Thank you so much to everyone who likes and reblogs, your feedback is appreciated 🤍 and I'm taking requests so if you have any ideas or concepts you want to share, feel free to do so as I'll try to get to them the best I can!

my masterlist

Tw: mentions a needle (for sewing)

Tag list: @myloverjk-blog

"Hey guys! How's everyone?", Max said to the camera as you made sure the set up was right, the screen showing his and Lando's faces on one screen and the table on the other like it was supposed to.

"As per your many, many requests, we have brought our graphic designer at Quadrant, Y/N", Lando announced as you appeared on camera, sending a very awkward first wave to the camera, "today's stream is little different than our usual programming, but it was the only way she agreed to be in one! You guys really wanted to see her, so we had to be creative!", Max said as he moved the friendship bracelets making kit into view on the table.

"Hey, Queen Taylor said we should make the friendship bracelets, so we're just following her!", you chuckled, looking at all the coloured threads and colourful beads, sorting them out and grabbing a pen and paper so you could draw your ideas.

"Since you guys wanted to get to know Y/N, can I tell them to send in questions?", Lando questioned you, "sure, I'll answer them to the best of mu ability", you smiled.

You were picking the letters you needed for the bracelet you were making when Max spoke up, "first one: how did you start working with Quadrant? I'd love to work on the team when I finish my degree!".

"I saw the job offer, and I must admit at first I didn't really know much about the company. I looked it up, looked cool enough and I sent my CV and portfolio in. So keep your eyes peeled for any offers, I guess? We have them now on the website, which was my doing, so you can check them out there if you want to be part of the team", you offered.

"I need help, guys", Lando said as he fiddled with his bracelet, the orange and grey beads with his initials sliding on the elasticated material, I can't do the closing knot on my own", he pouted as you placed your bracelet down.

"You have to flip it like this, here. Just put it on your wrist and I'll do the rest", you ushered him, your fingertips gingerly touching his hand and wrist as you quietly laced it, "this way we don't get frilly bits out and it looks pretty, see? Pretty!", you smiled, modelling his wrist for the camera.

Pretty, that's what he often thought about you. Not only pretty, but it was one of the first physical traits that came to mind.

"We should all have matching ones!", Max said as he completed his bracelet, impressively on his own, revealing the colourful beads with Quadrant spelled in white round beads with black letters, "I'll make one for each of you", he said as he watched you show your own, pink beads and a lyric he assumed was from a Taylor Swift song.

"I'll make Y/N's, she helped me after all", Lando said as one brave fan sent a comment into the chat.

He's so giddy to make Y/N a bracelet, it's a shame it will snap because of his lack of skills

Am I delusional if I say that they'd make a great couple?

If you're delusional, then what do I call myself? I still think they're making heart eyes at eachother whenever they catch the slightest glimpse!

We're joining forces, I think it's a noble pursuit!

He's a dork, Y/N, but you should give him a chance

Have you always known you wanted to be a graphic designer?

"I thought about different careers before I settled on this one, for now at least", you explained, "engineering was in the running up, but then I figured out that I was curious about how things worked, but that didn't mean that I wanted to be the one working on it. And this was a way to express my creativity, my strategy planning as well, and at the moment it's been quite good", you smiled as Lando grabbed your wrist softly, "I need to make sure this fits", he interrupted, "and it won't snap because I've learnt how to do it, thank you very much", he blushed. So he, too, was reading the comments, choosing not to dwell in them.

"Look, this way you always have a lucky charm with you everywhere you go, even if we're not together. We're eachothers lucky charms!", Lando announced as Max mafe a fake gagging noise.

.

"Are you all ready?", you said as you and Tara walked inside the room, clasping your watch on your wrist and hoping to find the boys ready.

Quadrant had been invited to a gala dinner that celebrated the companies in the same line of business, inviting five people to take part in the meal. After some team members politely declining the invitation since they had things booked already, the group ended up being Lando, Max, Callum, Tara and yourself.

The dress required everyone to up their usual style, hence the long dress you were wearing. Even though it was far from your usual everyday attire, you felt beautiful in the dress you ended up with after browsing the online shops for a while. The cut was simple, the skirt widening from your waist down and complimenting your curves as the sheen from the midnight blue fabric looked soft and sweet against your skin.

Lando seemed to think the same, trying his best to not let his mouth hang open when you and Tara walked inside their room, heels clicking on the wooden floor as you hurried them, "does it really take that long to put on a suit? I had to help Tara with the laces on her back and we still got ready faster than the three of you?", you asked, shaking your wrist to check if the dainty watch wasn't going to fall and that it wasn't too tight either.

Looking up to meet Lando's eyes, you were sure you physically and audibly gulped. No one should look that good in a plain white shirt. The cuffs were still unbuttoned, but the shirt itself was tucked in his black pants. He didn't have any jewellery, so his tanned skin caught your eye as it contrasted with his clothes.

"Lando has a problem with his shirt and we are trying to solve it", Max said, a little bit too antsy given that, at the naked eye, there didn't seem to be a big issue with the piece of clothing you had been inspecting quite closely.

"There was a loose button, and I tried to fix it, but I made it worse", Lando said as he pointed to the button on his hand, the slight movement showing you the place where it was supposed to he holding the piece together and closed.

"Three people in this room and no one thought about grabbing the sewing kit from the amenities?", Tara suggested, looking for it in the box that was the same as it was in your room, "see? Simple as that! Can you sew it, Y/N? My hand isn't fully healed yet, I can't quite grasp something that small yet".

Tara had injured herself earlier on in the week, prompting her to ask to tag out of the gala until you pleaded her to go so you wouldn't be alone, so she couldn't do it. None of the other guys seemed to even know how to pull the thread through the needle, so you grabbed the kit from Tara's hand, "sure, I'll do it", you said, "if that's okay with you, that is", you looked over at Lando.

"Sure, anything to solve this. Do I keep it on or should I take it off?", he questioned, wanting to slap himself straight after at his offer. Why would he volunteer to be shirtless in front of you? It certainly wasn't the way to go, shoving himself like that.

"On should be fine", you muttered, missing the snickers going on behind you as you wet the thread with your tongue, careful to not transfer any of the lipstick on it and ruining the piece without point of return for good, easily looping it through and adjusting the size of the ends.

"Button", you put your hand out so Lando could place it in your fingers, "I will do my best not to poke you, let me know if I do so accidentally", you mumbled at the closeness to him you found yourself in. It was the third button from the top, and as much as you loved the sight of the shirt slightly undone, the dinner required his shirt to be done up. Looping the thread on the button a few times, you moved to pierce the crisp white fabric so it would be secure, your hands dangerously close to his skin as you could hear his laboured breath. Lando still remembered and thought constantly about your fingers touching his hand and wrist when you did the friendship bracelets video for the YouTube channel, and right now, it only added to his predicament.

"It's done, all good!", you exclaimed, looking up as you cut the thread and seeing Lando's eyes on you. The intensity nearly threw you off of your balance as you stood the tiniest bit crouched down on your high heels.

Scrambling to further the distance between your bodies, you smoothed out the non existent wrinkles on your dress, storing the supplies back in the kit as Lando managed to utter out a thank you, too stunned and intoxicated by your scent to say anything else.

"I sewed a button as neither of you look any more ready that you were when we got here? We're going to be late!", you hurried, sitting next to Tara and ignoring her smirk as you scrolled through your phone.

.

"That shoot will have to wait since Lando won't be back here soon, then", you said, moving things around in the online shared calendar, "when did you say you could again? I'm sorry", you asked, rubbing your forehead and squeezing your eyes, adjusting your glasses and looking at him through the screen.

"The first weekend of the next month", Lando assured, "are you okay, Y/N?", he asked. The bags under your eyes didn't fool anyone and you looked tired. And sick, he guessed by the layers of clothing you had on.

"I had a pretty shit day, actually", you admitted, "I had to go with the guys from storage because there was an issue. The supplier sent the samples and we wanted to get things moving so I could have some ideas for the description and the social media team also wanted to prep the draft for the whole story telling, but it all went under. I also think I caught some bug, so it's been a fun day", you exaggeratingly smiled, mocking your own misery.

"You look like you need a hug, Y/N. Do you need a hug?", Lando asked as you nodded, "Actually, that would be pretty good, but I live alone. The neighbours would think I'm pretty weird if I went around like this asking for one, too", you reasoned.

Even though he wasn't next to you, Lando still managed to pull a smile out of you as he got up from the chair he was sitting in, hugging his laptop, "did you feel that hug?", he loudly wondered, "it's full of Get well soon fairy dust!", he smiled charmingly.

"Fairy dust, mate?", Callum wondered, reminding you of his presence in the videocall, "you try and spend more than a few hours with a little girl and you let me know. Mila has taught me all about fairy dust and princess magic", Lando added.

.

"How will we get out of here?", you wondered, starting to regret joining Lando, Max and Pietra when they said they were going to watch a football game. You loved the sport and you figured it would be a nice distraction after a work loaded week, but now, things were looking less than a distraction.

"We will let them space out once the game finishes, free up the roads as well because getting out of here will be a pain, too", Lando suggested.

The game granted your team a win and three points in the championship, the crowd going wild as they clapped, whistled and waved their scarfs, slowly leaving the stadium.

"Should we make a run for it now?", Pietra said, holding her boyfriend's hand as she allowed him to pull her away.

You followed Lando, thanking his choice of a colourful hoodie to wear today as it made it easier for you to spot him, "go in front of me, I'll back you up", he switched positions. You weren't having too much trouble until you were met with a ramp, people carelessly shoving others as they tried to leave as quick as they could, all with the same intent of avoiding traffic and crowded roads.

"Here, Y/N", you heard Lando as he grabbed your hand, lacing your fingers in his and pulling you along, excusing you two as you approached Max and Pietra again, "we're here", you tapped the blonde woman's shoulder with your free hand.

"Goodness, that was and adventure", she said once you reached the stadium car park, the crowd clearing up significantly as there was maybe another ten people headed the same way as you were now, "is everyone alright? I think someone stepped on my foot quite a few times, or many people stepped on it at various different times", you reasoned, walking alongside Lando still.

"Don't we need to hand the bracelets back?", Max said as he looked at the sign, taking his bracelet off and depositing it in the box in the booth, Pietra doing the same as you seemed distracted.

"Are you okay, Y/N?", Max asked, seeing you and Lando were still holding hands and, because of that, not taking off your bracelets.

"Yes, why wouldn't I be?", you scrunched your eyebrows, "we need to hand the bracelets back in, so I kind of need to have yours, too", he teased, looking at your hand still entwined with Lando's.

Removing your hand from Lando's as if it har started burning all of a sudden, you removed the bracelet, apologising quietly to the stadium employee as you thanked him, "shall we go now?".

"Dinner out?", Lando gulped, getting into the driver's seat, "Good idea, yes", Max added, sitting in the passenger's seat as you and Pietra sat in the back, your hand rubbing your other hand that had been laced with Lando's own one for a long time. Uh oh, you were falling in love.

.

The launch was finally over after an amazing response from the fans, leaving your heart happy and warm with a sense of mission accomplished.

"Is everything packed into the van?", you asked Tara, "yes, it's just this box. It has fragile things, so do you think you guys can take it in the car with you? It probably only fits at the front, so you'll have to squeeze in with the boys on the back", she smiled apologetically, "it's fine, we'll keep eachother warm like penguins do", you chuckled, holding the door open as she set the box safely.

Saying goodbye to her and the rest of the team, Max and Lando joined you, "You sit in the middle seat", Max pointed at you, opening the door ao you could scoot closer to Lando and he could get in.

"Could you tell me how long we have until get back?", Lando asked the driver, "with traffic at this hour, I'd say around 90 minutes", he smiled, turning on the blinker so he could leave the car park.

"Plenty of time for me to catch up on sleep, then!", you cheered, making yourself comfortable in the space you had, folding your scarf into an impromptu travel pillow, closing your eyes.

"Are you a snorer?", Max asked, making you blindly swat his thigh, "only when I'm sick, and lucky for you, I'm in presteen health, no blocked nose", you grumbled.

It didn't take you long to fall asleep. In the last week, all of the nights combined, you probably slept less than thirty hours, so your body was indeed in need of rest.

"And there it goes", Max said as your pillow undid itself, Lando lifting his shoulder in reflex so your head wouldn't drop drastically, landing on top of him, "Good thing she isn't our engineer, hm?", he chuckled, looking at how his bestfriend was looking at you like you hung the stars and the moon.

"I think I'm in love with Y/N", Lando whispered after he took your appearance in. You had forgone wearing make-up today, so he could see all your moles and scars, your pouty lips and the darkened skin under your eyes. It took everything in him to not bend down and kiss your forehead.

"Congrats on being the last one to find out, mate", Max added, shaking his head, "I genuinely thought you had some issue processing information, I'm glad to find out you don't.

"Now you just have to act on it, which is going to take you, what? Two, three more months?".

#lando norris imagine #lando norris fluff #lando norris fanfic #lando norris x reader #f1 imagine #f1 x reader #f1 fanfic #f1 fluff

[flamingpudding]

Fictober23 Prompt: 19 - "What if we're wrong?"

Fandom: DPxDC

Rating: T

Warnings: -

A/N: Sort of Danny's perspective and a different side to Prompt 4, probably not as creative as the awesome reblogs and comments but hope people will still like it. Also posting this early too because I am an impatient B and going to be busy with work tomorrow again.

Danny looked nervously up at his sister who was giving him an encouraging smile and had placed a comforting hand on his shoulder. His gaze wandered back to the paper in his hands, a face with a confident smile printed largely on it. A cutout from a business magazine Jazz had happened to read.

"It's not too late, we could still just turn around and go back to Amity." Danny muttered, the paper crumpling ever so slightly in his hands. His sister sighed, wishing that her brothers best friends could have come along with them.

"Danny, it will be fine." She told him her hand moved from his shoulder to rub comforting circles on her brother's back. "Let's settle into the hotel first. We have your entire semester vacation to figure out how to continue from there."

"But Jazz, what if we're wrong? Just because I was adopted as a baby and that Ancestry thing I did in middle school contacted us about someone matching up with the DNA I sent there in middle school, it doesn't mean that he is…"

"Danny." Jazz cut in, lightly pushing her brother forward so he would start moving. "You are starting to overthink again."

"But we could be wrong!" Danny insisted once more the paper now completely crumbled in his hands. "This sounds too good to be true! And you know that good things don't just easily happen to me! I know something is going to happen to mess it all up or maybe I will mess it all up and…"

Jazz turned on her brother to make him face her, they had barely managed to step out of the airport before her brother fell into another spiral, one of many he had ever since that Ancestry Agency had contacted them. She cradled her brother's face in her hands making him look at her.

"Danny. When you had that school project about Ancestry in middle school, Mom and Dad admitted to having you adopted as a baby but not your twin brother you already freaked out then. You did that whole DNA thing with the school project as cover in hopes that your brother might have done it too. When nothing came back from it, what did I tell you then?"

"That I was an idiot to do it behind your back?" Jazz pinched her little brother's cheeks with a fond smile.

"Not that, what else did I say?"

"That I will always be your brother no matter what?"

"And?"

"And… and that I shouldn't lose hope because you would help me if I really wanted to meet him."

Jazz changed her hold on her brother from cradling his face to hugging him tightly. "That's right idiot. So if you really want to go back to Amity Park we can easily do that, there is no need for you to panic." She felt her brother nodd into her shoulder. "So do you really want to go back?"

"I guess… I could at least see if all these magazines are telling the truth and if he really is living a good life." Jazz pulled away from her brother now holding him by his shoulders and beamed at him happily. Before leading her brother to the hotel she had booked for them.

Both did not notice that their little exchange had happened in perfect view of a surveillance camera and had gotten caught by someone who had gotten interested in their movements ever since a certain someone had a little freak out in regards to finding someone that shared his DNA.

Later at night on the same day, Danny found himself unable to sleep. Feeling restless he decided to take a look at the night sky's of Gotham in hopes to calm his growing nervousness ever since he arrived in this city. Jazz was sleeping peacefully in the room next to his, so to not disturb her, he changed forms, turned invisible and phased through several ceilings until he reached the roof.

Once there Danny dropped his invisibility as well as transformation and just sat on the roof, not on the edge mind you, but by the door that usually would have led up here doing his best to look as much as a normal civilian trying to enjoy the night sky as possible. He had heard about Batman not wanting any Metas in his city, Phantom probably wouldn't be very welcomed either then.

Danny sat there staring up at the cloudy skies, frowning how with the light pollution and clouds he was unable to see even a single star. He was contemplating the pros and cons about changing form and flying above the cloud level to see the stars when he heard a soft thud not too far from him. Too silent to be picked up by normal hearing but his ghost enchanted one picked it up.

"You are not from Gotham, are you?" Danny tensed at the voice that resounded over the roof. His head turned towards where the voice came from and noticed the figure shadowed by the clouds, glad in red and black colores. "Gothamites know not to be out on roofs at night."

Danny swallowed but didn't move as the figure stepped closer. "You are Red Robin."

"So you know of me?" Danny watched how the other twirled around a bo-staff, if he didn't know better he would have said that the vigilante appeared nervous.

"My best friend kind of told me about the vigilantes of Gotham when he learned that I was going to visit the city." He carefully admitted to Red Robin and Danny wasn't lying Tucker had prepared an entire list about Gotham's vigilantes as well as all the celebrities. Danny was very thankful that he had not mentioned to his best friend that Tim Drake-Wayne might be the twin he had been looking for for years now. That would have been a whole other ordeal he didn't want to deal with yet.

"Got a favorite yet?" The vigilante asked and did Danny imagine it or was his tone weirdly hopeful?

He shrugged as answer, noting how the vigilantes' shoulders appear to drop in disappointment. Though a moment later Red Robin walked a bit closer and crouched, while Danny had yet to move from his sitting position. "So… why are you out on the roof late at night?"

"I was hoping to see the stars."

"The stars?"

"Stargazing always helped me calm down." Danny admitted turning his gaze from the vigilante to the cloudy sky. He didn't take his eyes completely off the other, his shoulders were still tense but for some reasons his body wanted to relax in the other's presence.

"You went up on a roof late at night to calm down?" He eyed the vigilante, wondering why the other was so interested in Danny right now but also wondering if Danny was really going to dumb his whole emotional turmoil on a complete stranger. What would Jazz say if she knew about this? Probably psycho analyze this whole situation and reason that Danny just wanted someone not involved to just listen to him without the objectives Jazz wasn't able to provide.

He eyed the vigilante once more, noting how the other appeared to be just as tense as Danny was, before opening his mouth. "I am only in Gotham because the twin I have been looking for for years lives here."

The vigilante hummed, sounding interested, indicating for Danny to continue. "I don't even know if he knows about me or would even want to see me. For all I know he doesn't even know I exist. Mom and Dad adopted me from the orphanage as a baby but not my twin brother."

Danny started to ramble on not noticing the sharp intake of air Red Robin took. "He may have a perfectly good life! And here I am appearing out of nowhere and possibly destroying it! What if I mess up his whole family dynamic! I mean how crazy is that? A stranger just appears out of nowhere saying he is your twin with no proof other than the stupid mail from an Ancestry DNA Testing facility stating they found a DNA similar to your own? Ancients, this sounds even more stupid when I say it out loud!"

In his rant Danny hadn't noticed Red Robin having come closer and their hand carefully hovering over his shoulder. "Hey…"

He looked up sharply at the vigilante next to him that was now placed on his shoulder, radiating a warmth that felt grounding to Danny. "I am sure it is not as bad as you think it is. If those Ancestry people contacted you, they might have contacted your twin also and who knows he could possibly be very interested in learning more about your whole situation?"

Danny blinked at the vigilante that was apparently trying to give him a reassuring smile despite the upper half of his face being covered by a mask and he couldn't help but return the smile with a small grateful one of his own.

The vigilante looked like he wanted to say something else but Danny's phone suddenly started buzzing, he hurried to pull it out of his pockets noticing several texts from his sister arriving in a rapid fashion.

"My sister." He muttered, looks like Jazz had woken up and tried to check on him like he was still a little child, he smiled fondly at the phone.

Side eyeing the vigilante, both stood up. "I uh…"

"You better hurry back in. She will probably grow more worried the longer you stay up here."

Blinking at the vigilante, Danny nodded, moving towards the door that would lead back into the building while the vigilante started to move towards the edge of the building. Before Danny could try to see if the door was locked or open he turned over his shoulder wanting to voice his thanks to the other for listening to his ranting but found the vigilante gone.

Staring for a moment before shrugging Danny let his eyes wander over the roofs of the other buildings just in case before deciding to forgo his transformation and just phase through the floors invisible without it until he reached his room.

In the shadows on the roof of the building to the side Red Robin arched an eyebrow under his mask before turning to the coms. "Meta status is confirmed. Also Nightwing, think you can help me create the most natural and unsuspicious situation for me to meet him tomorrow? I already have a couple of ideas."

"I think we can work something out easily RR."

"Good."

"It sounded like there was a whole lot more to this twin situation than we originally thought."

"Yea..."

"Chin up Red! We will get to the bottom of this!"

"He likes stargazing..." Red Robin mutter to himself, not really listening to his siblings on the coms. "I will take him to the planetarium, first chance I got."

#fictober23 #danny fenton #danny phantom #dp x dc #crossover #dpxdc #dcxdp #tim drake #fanfic #tim and danny are twins #neither are a Fenton or Drake #they got adopted by two different families as babies #The drakes wanted an heir #the Fentons only one companion for their daughter #Danny learned about his twin in middle school #he has been trying to find him since then #Tim only found out recently #The Drakes never intended for him to find out #Danny was prepared to never let Tim know #Tim has other ideas though #Danny just doesn't know that yet #Danny doesn't know that Tim is Red Robin #Tim knows that Danny is Phantom

[i-smoke-chapstick]

‘THE VALLEY, [hard kinks! hcs]

-GOTHAM!VILLAINS X READER-

⋆ Characters ↬ Oswald Cobblepot, Victor Zsasz, Edward Nygma, Jerome Valeska, Jervis Tetch

⋆ 𝐒𝐘𝐍𝐎𝐏𝐒𝐈𝐒 ; hard and unusual kinks hcs with the gotham villain men

⋆ tags/warnings. GOTHAM!villains x female reader. PURE PORN like this is absolutely filthy and descriptive. Some of these are probably too creative and WAY out of character, but oh well. I need to practice my smut writing skills and what better way to do it then with some short scenarios of our boys ? HARD KINKS (all of them are too kinky for there own good) sadomasochistic sex warning for victor and jerome,,, and (sort of?) non-consensual hypnosis warning for jervis, somnophilia and bondage warning for ed. controlling and degrading behavior.

𝛰𝑆𝑊𝐴𝐿𝐷 𝐶𝛰𝐵𝐵𝐿𝐸𝑃𝛰𝑇

♫ “Obey, like I’m your master babe.” The Valley by Miguel

He has a habit of leaving in the mornings. He’s a gangster, a crime lord. He loves his job…you think. But it’s hard. Especially seeing him go. Which is why when the two of you fuck, he makes it worth your while.

Yes, he’s shy. He despises indecency. He doesn’t fuck, he makes love. At least, that’s what he likes to think, so you let him.

But you know better. Oswald can’t control anything about himself. The man is impulsive and spoiled. And when he wants you to feel something, you feel it. For better or for worse.

Which is why when he’s awfully pent up and sexually frustrated, you reap the benefits of the king of gotham’s cock pistoning into you. He needs to feel wanted. He needs the two of you to feel loved. He thinks the two of you are sweetly and slowly fucking in his mind. But in reality?

His thick length is hammering into you, selfishly ignoring your pleas. No, he gets drunk on them. Even if he doesn’t want to admit how obscene he’s being.

You’ll feel his sticky tip align with your pussy. He means to enter you slowly, but before you know it, he’s letting himself go. Every inch of his cock is filling you up, taking you in. His eyes are rolling back as he feels you clench around him, and he tries to push all the more unsavory thoughts out of his head.

Thoughts of you tied up. Worshipping him. Unable to resist him. Thoughts of you riding his thighs, while he gives the order to shoot someone dead. The idea of you bending to him, being a good servant. Kissing his shoes, groveling and kneeling. Degrading you.

His fingers sink into the fat of your thighs and ass, clawing at any part of you he can grasp.

His mother taught him better, he reprimands himself. But how can he stay composed and loving when you look at him like he’s the only man in the world?

Oh, he wants to make you feel good, loved, and have this be an act of intimacy. It’s what he was raised to believe sex was for. But he also wants you on your knees, choking on his length, collared like a dog.

𝑉𝐼𝐶𝑇𝛰𝑅 𝑍𝑆𝐴𝑆𝑍

♫ “I wanna fuck like we're filming in the valley.” The Valley by Miguel

Victor is always upfront with what he wants. And he’s been around the block one too many times. He’s fucked around quite a bit. He’s a ladies man, what can he say?

Which is why vanilla sex is entirely boring to him. Well, maybe not entirely. Not with you.

But theres something so special about mixing physical pain, his sole desire, with you, his other sole desire. It’s his lifes work, meeting the love of his life. What’s not to like?

Which is why he blunty suggests the idea. And boy is he glad he did.

A phone camera is pushed into your face while he records everything. The sloppy noises of your pretty pink mouth slipping and sliding around his cock.

It’s not just any homemade porno either, no. It’s a borderline snuff film.

He films himself slotting his cock into your swollen lips, one hand recording, another hand on a pistol pressed firmly against your head while you choke on his cock. The gun isn’t loaded of course, at least, you don’t think it is.

If the gun is loaded, you’re sure he’s playing a dangerous game with himself. Testing his own capabilities. He’s the best of the best, and his fingers are placed firmly on the trigger. If he loses control or focus for even a moment, you could never see the light of day again. Each time he cums is like a self-made test for himself, an ego trip. He’s excercising the greatest control not to accidentally pull the trigger and pop your top.

You’re spitting wildly, tears and saliva and cum mixing on your face. You’ve been sucking him off for what feels like hours, playing this game, and it’s still not enough. No, the man could live his whole life with your face inbetween his thighs. You have no clue what round you’re on.

“There you go…sweetness. Uh-huh…take it.” He’ll press the gun further into your temple, talking down to you slowly. It’s awfully demeaning.

He never shuts the fuck up during sex. This is no exception. His dry humor persists in every word, even as his gun comes into contact with your fucked out wet face, or a blade slices through your sweet soft thighs.

He’s doing close-up shots of every cut he makes on your skin. He marks the both of you, respectively. He keeps the videos in his pocket for later. Y’know, just in case you aren’t there, and he needs something to jack off to. He’s a manwhore, and he can admit it.

He’ll ask to show the videos to Wendell. Just so he knows Victor wasn’t lying about his girl being a total catch.

𝐸𝐷𝑊𝐴𝑅𝐷 𝑁𝑌𝐺𝑀𝐴

♫ “I wanna taste your sweat, force my fingers in your mouth.” The Valley by Miguel

Oh, Eddy. Ever the show man. Oddly enough, I think he has the dirtiest mind and the highest sex drive out of everyone on this list. In the words of CMS, "He loves donuts and getting laid." You're no exception babe.

Similarly, he isn't the kinkiest when he's at the GCPD. The poor baby is so vanilla; so eager to please. If you want a man to put your needs above his own? Look no further. Eddy is your guy. But similar to Ozzy, the man grapples with control. How can he resist when your small sleeping body looks so innocent? So willing?

You wake up to him pumping his dick deep into your hole, groping your breasts and ass, hips plowing harshly into your stretched cunt. He wants to apologize, for waking you. He feels bad of taking advantage of you. But it's your fault. The man is a little bit of a creep and has gone his whole life without pussy. What did you expect?

That being said...when he undergoes his transformation of sorts? It's like he has something to prove, to you and himself. Riddler baby is tired of hiding in the shadows, no, it's show time. If you thought the somnophilia was kinky, you've seen nothing yet.

Season 3-4 Ed is desperate to dominate you. Claim you in every way. Prove to himself that you're not going anywhere. It's a deep seated need to exert control, with a touch of dramatic flair.

Which is why, from time to time, especially on special occasions, you'll wake up from being drugged, ball-gagged in a warehouse, tied to a chair, moaning around a vibrator overstimulated against your cunny. He'll watch the whole show, pleased with his handiwork.

Might even turn it into a game. How many riddles can you answer? Maybe if you get one right, he'll let you cum. And if you don't get one right, prepare to be in for a long, long night.

Ed's pushing his thick long fingers into your tight little pussy, watching your cream spread along his fingertips. He'll force his fingers in your mouth, making you taste yourself. Making you taste what he's doing to you.

He's giggling while he does so, smile wide while you gag around him. Oh, this will be fun.

𝐽𝐸𝑅𝛰𝑀𝐸 𝑉𝐴𝐿𝐸𝑆𝐾𝐴

♫ “lips, tits, clit, sit.” The Valley by Miguel

Would it be too brave to go on record to say the mans a virgin? I'm sorry, but he didn't get any pussy in that carnival.

Which is why he's incredibly sex starved. The man is feral. Hungry. He fucks you like a dog in heat half the time. You're his own personal pocket pussy, who will love him no matter what.

So when he tells you to do something, you better do it.

For instance, when he tells you to sit on his face, he means sit. No hovering. No, he wants the entirety of your weight in his mouth so he can tongue fuck you into oblivion.

He's wildly gripping at you, laughing like a mad man as he keeps you in place firmly. He's digging into your cunt with his tongue like a man whose getting his first lick of pussy. He's slapping your ass, letting you ride his face like a cowgirl.

He'll slap your sopping cunt. He'll spit in your mouth, on your face, on your pussy. He loves everything feral and sloppy. And for his own good, the man can't shut up. He loves some good dirty talk.

"Hah! There you go, doll. You want it raw? You do, don'tcha? Naughty, naughty girl." Excuse his breeding kink. "Should just pump you right up with my cum. Get you all messy. Cream-pie you riiiiiiight here," He cackles, hand hovering over you're lower stomach.

He likes seeing your face contort in pleasure and pain when your thighs scratch the staples on his face.

Oh, he's a biter. Your thighs might be bleeding by the time he's done, biting hard enough to break skin. You'll yelp in pain and it will spur him on, like you're his own personal show to watch.

God, please hit him back. Slap him. Push him around. He adores it- the two of you fucking like wild animals, clawing and at each others throats, all the while his girthy length his pounding into your sweet tight hole.

𝐽𝐸𝑅𝑉𝐼𝑆 𝑇𝐸𝑇𝐶𝐻

♫ “Tell me that you love it darling." The Valley by Miguel

Jervis has a very deep seated need to have you close to him. To have you bonded with him. He's obsessive, clingy, stalkerish. And he loves a good old fashioned Victorian flirtation. But god, he gets tired of waiting.

He's a gentlemen through and through. But even gentlemen have needs. And when he sees you in that light blue dress he bought you, pussy peaking out through the short skirt? Or how you lick your lips when the tea he makes you dribbles down?

He'll have to take what he wants eventually.

He knows you'll say yes. Even though the two of you have never talked about sex. No, you're his Alice. His willing little girl. Why would you ever say no to him? And he's right. He could ask, and you would probably say yes.

But, just for a precaution...Can't have you running off like the white rabbit, can he?

It will be late night after the two of you have tea. And he'll pull out his pocket watch. And before you know it, you'll be pinned on top a table, dress pooling between your legs, pulling on his hair against your will.

It's a sight he will never sick of. His sticky ropes of cum dripping, tainting the dress he'd bought you. It trickles down from your spine. You'll be too fucked out to walk the next day, and you won't even remember why.

He takes you, ignoring your pleas and whines of overstimulation. He'll continue to stuff his cock inside you until he feels pity for you.

Hypnotizing you while he's balls-deep inside of you, messily thrusting as he tries to concentrate. "You love this. Tell me you love me. Tell me you love this." His words scramble as he comes undone himself, letting your mind wash over and speak the words against your will.

If somehow you piece two and two together, the cum stains on your dress- and the feeling of being stretched out the next morning...assure him he doesn't have to hypnotize you.

Or let him keep it up. It's more fun for him this way.

#x reader #gotham #gotham x reader #batman #batman rogues #batman x reader #gotham villains x reader #batman rouges gallery #dc comics #victor zsasz x reader #victor zsasz x reader smut #victor zsasz headcanons #gotham victor zsasz #victor zsasz gotham #oswald cobblepot smut #oswald cobblepot imagine #oswald cobblepot gotham #oswald cobblepot x reader #oswald cobblepot #oswald cobblepot headcanons #oswald cobblepot x reader smut #the penguin x reader #the penguin gotham #gotham smut #gotham mad hatter #gotham jervis #jervis tetch x reader #jerome valeska x reader #jerome valeska imagine #jerome valeska smut

[mercurialrain]

I Couldn’t Have, I Was Playing Hopscotch with Hawkmoth

Felix slid into his seat next to Dupain-Cheng, wondering what would happen today. 

It seemed that her new policy of dealing with Lila’s lies and the simultaneous ire of the class was to say whatever crazy thing popped into her head whenever they accused her of something. It had been rather entertaining, to say the least. 

The first time she’d done it, their faces had been so comical that it had made Felix wish he’d brought his camera to school. 

“Marinette! How could you shove Lila into the lockers?” Kim had stood in front of the crowd, his arms crossed in what was clearly meant to be an intimidating pose. 

Marinette had looked up with a blank expression. 

“I couldn’t have, I was playing hopscotch with Hawkmoth. He’s a really bad loser, so I had to leave before he had a full-on temper tantrum.” She had said it with the blandest tone he’d ever heard her use, which only added to the effect. 

Everyone’s mouths had opened and closed like a fish’s, trying to figure out how to respond to her answer. It was obviously not true, but how did someone respond to that?

She’d held Kim’s gaze, no trace of amusement on her face. 

It had worked exactly how he suspected she intended; they hadn’t managed to come up with anything before Bustier had come back in the room, breezily instructing everyone to turn to page 294 in their textbooks. 

The next time, it seemed that they had come a little better prepared, allowing Alix to lead the charge. She was notorious for having a witty retort to everything, so it made sense. Unfortunately, Marinette had also come with a plan. 

“Marinette! Care to tell us why you sabotaged Lila’s project in the art room?”

Marinette had held up a finger, digging in her backpack. The class had watched with interest, as this was the first reaction that hadn’t been outright hostile or bland. 

She’d pulled out her tablet and typed something before turning it around. 

Can’t talk. I lost my voice after too much yelling at the heavy metal concert I went to last night. 

Alix had blinked at the idea of sugar-sweet Marinette attending a heavy metal concert, but recovered quickly. “Ok, so type out why you destroyed her project!”

Some more typing, then a response. Couldn’t have, I was helping scientists extract DNA from mosquitoes in amber to make dinosaurs.

“That’s the plot of Jurassic Park!”

Where do you think they got the idea from?

Alix had stared for a moment more before throwing up her hands. “This is useless, she’s clearly gone off the deep end!” She’d stormed out, leaving the rest of the class behind, unsure of what to do now that they’d lost their ringer.

Again, Bustier had made the decision of what to do for them, coming in with a reminder of the worksheet they had due at the end of class. 

Needless to say, Felix believed that this was a very good use of her creative mind. Watching her outsmart the idiots of the class in her own way was endlessly amusing and had quickly become his favorite part of the day. 

Today, before the daily confrontation, Bustier had assigned them a project, a partner project with their deskmate. For Felix, that was Marinette. Since they’d been working on the project all day, Lila hadn’t had the chance to leave and lie about anything, pushing the confrontation to likely after the lunch break. Felix could hardly wait to see what she said this time. Maybe this project would allow him to get to know and understand her better.

“So for the project I was thinking that we make a PowerPoint-” Marinette cut herself off, staring at him with a puzzled expression. “You’re almost smiling at me. Are you feeling alright?”

Felix immediately wiped his expression, mildly mortified that he’d outwardly shown his amusement, but forged ahead. “I see you got your voice back. Was the heavy metal worth it?”

“What? Oh, that. I’m fine.”

“Oh, I know. Your recent interactions with the class have been thoroughly entertaining.” 

“Glad you’ve been enjoying it. Confusion is certainly better than outright hostility.” She sighed, suddenly looking very tired. 

“It’s about time that you started retaliating, even if it’s just by scrambling the two collective brain cells they have left. I don’t know that I could’ve put up with Rossi’s bullshit for as long as you have with the patience you’ve had.”

Her eyes snapped to him. “You know she’s lying?”

He scoffed. “Please, don’t insult my intelligence like that. Of course I know she’s lying.”

Marinette was silent. He could almost see the burden on her shoulders getting lighter with the realization she wasn’t alone in knowing Rossi was a liar and was about to comment further on it when Marinette smiled. It was a mischievous smile that promised trouble, which immediately intrigued Felix. He hadn’t seen much of her troublemaker side except for the few glimpses from her last interactions with the class, but he had a feeling there was one hell of a wicked streak somewhere underneath that cotton candy. 

“You wanna help?”

He considered for a moment. Was it worth getting involved in? On one hand, it was enjoyable to just be merely a spectator. On the other hand, he wanted to know more about this side of Marinette and it was always enjoyable to see idiots put in their place. 

“I’m in.”

- - - - - -

After school, Felix and Marinette were at their desk, waiting for the confrontation. 

And like a bad penny, the class came back to try again. It seemed that they were shuffling who was leading the ‘Marinette how dare you’ brigade, and this time they had chosen Adrien. Felix knew about her crush on him, so he supposed that it was a rather strategic move on their part, if he wasn’t able to see the barely hidden disdain for the boy on her face. 

“Marinette, you know that it wasn’t kind of you to throw Lila’s backpack down the stairs while she was in the cafeteria. That’s not the everyday Ladybug we all know and love.” 

Ah, the guilt trip method. Usually foolproof on someone as empathetic as Marinette, rendered useless by Marinette’s developing apathy towards the class.

“It must’ve been someone else. I spent the lunch break teaching Mr. Ramier’s pigeons how to moonwalk. I wouldn’t have gotten back in time if Felix hadn’t realized the time and dragged me back.”

“Now, Marinette, don’t lie about it.”

“I’m not. Felix?”

Felix nodded, pulling up a video on his phone and showing it to the class. In it, Marinette stood next to some pigeons, clearly demonstrating how to moonwalk. The pigeons looked on curiously, occasionally pecking at her shoes and awkwardly waddling backwards. Mr. Ramier sat in the background, alternately cheering or throwing birdseed to the pigeons. The video clearly had the timestamp of about ten minutes before their break ended, so they would’ve had to rush to get back to class. There was no way they could’ve done anything.

Marinette looked back at Adrien and folded her arms. “Well? I’ll take my apology now.”

Felix snorted at the flabbergasted expression on Adrien’s face, casually putting his arm over Marinette’s shoulders. He didn’t really know why he did it, only that it felt right. Apparently she didn’t mind, since she just readjusted to be a bit more comfortable. “Give him a minute, he’s rebooting.”

“Wait, are the two of you dating?” He blurted out, then immediately looked like he regretted it. 

This time, Marinette snorted. “Because the only reason he’d support me was if he was my boyfriend? No, that’s what friends are meant to do, Adrien.” The last sentence was laden with poison that Felix didn’t know the context for, but Adrien did, because he flinched. 

“I’m sorry,” he muttered, turning away. 

As soon as the class turned away, her head fell on his shoulder, her face crumpling in pain. He didn’t know what to do but hug her shoulders tighter. He’d seen that her love language was physical touch, so maybe it would help? After a while, her face smoothed and she lifted her head, seemingly doing better. 

“Hey, thanks for backing me up.”

Felix shrugged. “It was fun.”

She turned to look at him. “No, I’m serious. It’s been a long time since anyone’s had my back, even if it’s just to mess with someone. Thank you.”

Why did he suddenly feel all warm inside? “So what’s the next plan?”

Marinette looked surprised. “You want to be involved in the next one?”

“Sure, why not?”

She looked away, her cheeks turning a light pink. “Maybe we could, well, I don’t know, I don’t want you thinking that I’m just saying this because Adrien said it because I promise I’m really not, but maybe we could, um, discuss it on a date?”

“But we hardly know each other.” What did she see in him that she liked? Sure, he’d helped her once, but that was hardly grounds for someone liking someone, was it?

“That’s the point of the date. To get to know someone. Besides, I want to see if you’re as nice as I suspect you are under that prickly exterior.” She was looking at him again, cheeks now a bright red, but with determination in her eyes. 

Well, hadn’t he wanted to get to know her better too? “Sure.”

#felinette #felix graham de vanily #marinette dupain cheng #genuinely keep forgetting to post my fics on tumblr #crack fic #lila salt

[heliads]

Hiya Lisa my love!! I think this may be the first request I’m sending you (omg!?) But I am so excited to do so, and of course for our best boy Jack Wilder <3

Okay this one’s a little silly but I’m thinking Jack Wilder x reader where the reader is part of the Horsemen, but Jack and her don’t exactly get along all too well (enemies/reluctant allies to lovers). I’m thinking they’re sent off together to check out and map a location for the Horsemen’s next big act (maybe a fancy gala! That’d be so fun!), but the whole time they’re just bickering and shooting jabs at each other and the other guys are on comms and are just So Tired™ of their bullshit 😭

amber i love you for this

masterlist

You don’t think you’ve ever seen the magical enigma known professionally as J. Daniel Atlas and familiarly as a pain in all of your asses as stressed as he is right before the start of a new job. The Horsemen are world renowned for their intricate performances and flawless setups, which only serves to increase the pressure on all of you to keep one-upping yourselves every time you appear in the spotlight. Danny has taken it upon himself to make sure that all of you stay perfect, and that responsibility is manifesting itself in the form of a lecture right now.

He’s standing in front of you, eyes wild with the fire of what could be creative genius or perhaps too much coffee, and rattling off a series of questions to make sure you know what you’re doing.

“Where are you going?” He asks first.

You meet his gaze steadily. “The Metropolitan Museum of Art. Specifically the busiest areas during the Met Gala.”

“How are you entering?” Danny queries.

“Two ways. First, as a tourist, to spot the security cameras. Then, I’ll go again at night, to lay some cameras of our own and run some more thorough investigations.”

Danny takes a step closer. His hands are steepled together, making him the perfect picture of a plotting supervillain from one of those bad action movies Merritt keeps playing. “What, specifically, are you looking for?”

You want to roll your eyes, but you learned a long time ago that showing any sort of emotion except for intensity in front of Daniel Atlas during his mad planning sessions is only asking for trouble. So, you keep your cool, or you try to, at least. “The normal stuff. Alcoves and closets where we can hide. Areas with low security presence. Entrances and exits. Janitors. Extra uniforms. That sort of thing.”

Daniel nods once, the only sign that you’re not outright bombing his little pop quiz. “And who is going with you on this reconnaissance mission?”

This time, you can’t disguise your sigh of disgust. “I’m taking a stubborn child.”

Danny gives you a cool stare. “Try again.”

You give him a look, but Daniel is prone to winning staring contests, especially when he’s in this sort of mood, so you cut your losses and give in. “Fine. I’m taking Jack.”

To your side, someone starts clapping. “Perfect response!”

You and Daniel both turn in unison to see your recon partner applauding your sarcastic answer from his chair a few paces away. His feet are kicked up on the table in front of him, and although he had been aimlessly scrolling through his phone this entire time, he’s put the device down temporarily so he can remind you just how strong a bond the two of you share. Which is to say, in no uncertain terms, none at all.

Daniel glances back at you. “You’re not going to let the two of you working together be a problem, will you?”

You fold your arms across his chest, affronted. “I won’t. You might want to double-check with my so-called partner, though. Who, by the way, is free to answer any of these questions on his own. I don’t see why I’m the one who has to know everything while he gets off easy. Aren’t we sharing this responsibility? And by extension, this interrogation?”

Jack just flashes you a thousand-watt smile. “You seemed to have it covered, sweetheart. Besides, I just like hearing the sound of your lovely voice.”

You flip him off. He blows you a kiss, then does the same. Daniel looks ready to burst a blood vessel. “Focus, you two. I want no slip ups. We’re stealing the show of the Met Gala. If we make a mistake, I think Anna Wintour will personally kill us.”

“She’s going to do that anyway,” Jack muses, “We’re interrupting her little fashion show. God forbid someone focuses on us instead of all the celebrities who aren’t even dressing to theme. If I had that money, I could do way better, is all I’m saying.”

You shoot him a perplexed look. “Since when have you paid attention to the Met Gala outfits? Last time I tried talking about it, you told me that was all absurdist nonsense.”

“Maybe I was just talking about you,” Jack answers vaguely. “I’m allowed to, like, develop interests.”

You toss him a glare, then turn back to Daniel, who for some reason looks somewhat entertained. “Can we go back to the plan, please?”

Danny straightens up. “Yes, I’d like that. I’ve briefed both of you on the entrances and exits I need you to scout out–”

“Too many times,” Jack cuts in. He’s not wrong. Danny’s been over this every hour on the hour since you got the call to stage your own show at one of the most famous fashion opportunities of the year.

Daniel, however, seems to think that he hasn’t mentioned the details enough. Now Jack is on the receiving end of not just your glare but Daniel’s as well. “As I was saying,” Danny continues smoothly, “You’ll get in and get out. Try not to move too quickly, you don’t want to attract attention, but don’t linger too long, either.”

“We’ll be fine,” you assure him. “Not our first rodeo.”

Danny nods hesitantly. “I know. Just your first rodeo together in a while.”

That’s no big secret. You and Jack may both be Horsemen, but that certainly doesn’t mean you have to like each other. In fact, you couldn’t be farther from it. You’re not enemies, so to speak, an enemy is the FBI or the CIA, but referring to whatever exists between you as friendship is stretching the truth. You’re more like uncertain, unhappy allies. You’ll work together so long as you get paid and stay in the spotlight while you’re at it, but you’re not likely to grab drinks after a show together.

However, the Horsemen come first above any personal squabble. Always. That’s the one thing you and Jack can agree on. What you’re working on is bigger than the two of you, it’s bigger than all of you. To most of the world, you are magic. No rift between teammates is worth damaging that ideal.

That’s why Jack straightens up at last, and dons an expression verging on solemnity. “We’ll do our part, Danny. No need to worry.”

“There had better not be,” Daniel comments, but he backs off after that, and leaves to track down Merritt to deliver a similar speech.

Now alone, Jack’s familiar cavalier attitude comes back in a flash. “Can’t wait for our little date tomorrow, L/N,” he tells you.

You roll your eyes. “It’s going to be so much fun.”

The next morning, you and Jack wait your turn in the entrance queue at the Metropolitan Museum of Art. You’re both disguised with baseball caps pulled low over your heads, then paired with sunglasses, and you each have fake IDs in your pockets just in case. It’s surprisingly easy to get around undetected; although the Horsemen are famous the world over, no one expects to see them outside of one of your performances. It makes no sense to spot one of you in a coffee shop or in line ahead of you, so their minds just glance over you as if you were never there at all.

It’s certainly convenient. You could always go to an outside source for intel, but if there’s one lesson you’ve learned throughout your time, it’s to never trust anyone outside of your immediate circle. There are always people who’ll sell off your secrets, or debunkers frothing at the mouth to show how you do what you do.

No, it’s best to keep everything under wraps, even if it makes disguises necessary. There’s a brief moment of panic in which the security guard checking Jack’s bag lingers on his face a little longer than usual, but he’s waved through soon enough and then you’re able to wander further into the museum.

A voice crackles over your earpiece. “What was that about?” Danny, paranoid as always.

Jack shrugs, directing his voice towards you so no one will suspect he’s talking to anyone else. “Probably just a newbie convinced they’ll catch a would-be robber by checking my hand sanitizer close enough. They didn’t plant any bugs, we’re good. Most likely, she was just captivated by my exceedingly good looks and got distracted.”

You scoff. “Or maybe she was just fascinated by your hideousness and wanted a better look.”

Jack clutches a hand to his heart, feigning agony. “My hideousness?” Y/N, I’m hurt.”

“Good,” you smile saccharinely at him.

Daniel sighs in a gust of static over your earpiece. “Focus, you two. Please.”

“Aye aye, Captain,” Jack says. “We’ll get to work.”

You and Jack slip through the exhibits, pretending to examine paintings in sculptures when, in reality, you’re looking harder at the security features in each room. The Horsemen already have a rough plan in mind for how you’re going to enter and exit, but the security presence could change which specific entrance you use.

When you loiter a little too long near one oil painting of two nobles dancing at a lavish ball, Jack doubles back to your side. “Everything alright? We haven’t been noticed yet, have we?”

You shake your head, snapping yourself back to reality. “No, we’re fine. Just looking. I love this year’s theme for the gala. If I had an actual invitation, I would have worn something like the dress in this painting. I would want to, at least. Of course, that would only happen if we weren’t breaking in, but. Yeah. That’s what I would do.”

You realize you’re rambling and try to cut yourself off, but you’ve already been going on for a while. You wait for Jack to tease you, but instead, the corner of his lips tugs up in a soft half-smile. “It would look good,” he admits, “You would. Maybe we should petition Danny to let us dress up. We could recreate the painting.”

He swoops closer, placing one hand on your waist and taking yours with the other, spinning you into a waltz just like in the painting. Jack pulls you close in an exaggerated dip just like in the painting, one that takes you a little too near the painting. One of the security guards surges across the room to tell you two to move away again. Jack lets you up, then exaggeratedly apologizing, slapping the guy on the back as a gesture of camaraderie. As the guard walks away, you can see the tracer he’s planted, one that will give you two much-needed information on the paths each guard takes on their shift.

“Nice one,” you breathe.

“Yeah,” Jack says, but he’s still looking at you, as if mentally cataloging each and every place his hands had been just moments before. “I am nice.”

You swat him on the shoulder, and he winks. Rather than give that an answer, you head to the next exhibit. The two of you tag the next few guards you come across, noting janitor’s closets and fire exits while you’re at it. 

It’s easy to settle into a rhythm. You go from room to room, you snipe at each other, you get the job done. Jack passes a sculpture of a nude woman and suggests that be the costume you wear to the Gala, wiggling his eyebrows suggestively; you tell him that you’ll do it only when he’s got biceps the size of the Greek hero statue next to it.

Eventually, you only have one tag left. This one, though, will be the most difficult. The chief security guard has access to the central security station of the museum; by bugging him, you can get the passcode to the main room, which would be a significant help. The only problem is that you’ll have to get close enough to talk to the guy, and he looks far more suspicious of everyone around him than any of the other guards.

You volunteer to do it, and weave your way over to the guard in charge. It takes a heady dose of flirting, but you’re able to get the job done eventually. You do have to shell out a fake phone number, but he’ll only find out the number isn’t yours later that night. No harm, no foul.

Or, not according to you, at least. When you walk back over to Jack, though, your partner in crime has his arms folded tight across his chest, and he looks more annoyed than you’ve seen him all day. At last, something has managed to pierce his armor of sarcastic, joking indifference, but you’re not sure what.

“He seems nice,” Jack says, voice unnaturally calm, “Maybe you do want to take him out on a date after this, like you said.”

You laugh. “We both know that was an act, Wilder. No need to get jealous.”

“I’m not jealous,” he insists, “I have nothing to be jealous of.”

“Nothing?” You ask, one brow raised. “So you wouldn’t mind if I went back and gave him my real number?”

Jack slings an arm around your shoulder in a pretense of affection, but it feels more like he’s pinning you to him, making sure you can’t go back and do as threatened. “That would be ridiculous. It would ruin our whole act.”

You grin. “What act?”

“That we’re here on a date of our own, obviously,” Jack says.

“We haven’t done anything of the sort the whole time we were here,” you point out. “It makes more sense for him to think we’re just friends.”

“Then we’ll have to fix that, won’t we?” Jack suggests, and although you do notice the glint in his eyes when he says it, you’re still not expecting him to lean forward and kiss you. The kiss is– startling, yes, but not bad, not at all, and when he finally breaks away and looks triumphantly over at the guard who’d been flirting with you, you get the feeling that Jack thought so too.

“I think we should do this all the time,” Jack whispers to you. “Maybe we should ask Danny to change our assignments around.”

“Actually,” a voice crackles over your earpieces, “I’d rather neither of you ever spoke to me again. If I have to think about you two making out one more time, I’ll pour bleach directly into my brain.”

You slap a hand over your mouth to stop from laughing. “Oh, no. Daniel, how long have our comms been on?”

“The whole time,” your showman says, “I hated all of it, thank you for asking.”

Jack snorts. “And you didn’t remind us to turn off our mics?”

“Merritt wanted to see if you’d actually commit enough to do it,” Danny says, sounding supremely unhappy. “Now we’re both traumatized. Just get your asses back here and never bring this up again.”

This time, you can’t hide your laugh. “Alright, we will. Try to stay away from the bleach in the meantime.”

“I make no promises,” Danny grumbles, sending you and Jack into a wave of laughter again.

Jack reaches up to switch off his own earpiece, then does the same for you, gently brushing the side of your face with his hand while he’s at it. “Well,” he says slowly, “We might as well make the most of our time right now, hadn’t we? I’d hate for our ticket money to go to waste.”

You grin. “Quit the theatrics and kiss me.”

Jack Wilder doesn’t usually do as told. This time, though, he makes an exception.

requested by @hiya-itsamber, i hope you enjoy!

now you see me tags: @mayfieldss

#jack wilder #jack wilder imagines #jack wilder x reader #jack wilder oneshot #now you see me #now you see me imagines #now you see me x reader #now you see me oneshot #nysm #nysm imagines #nysm x reader #nysm oneshot #nysm jack #nysm jack imagines #nysm jack x reader #nysm jack oneshot #now you see me jack #now you see me jack imagines #now you see me jack x reader #now you see me jack oneshot

[rojacatmisa]

Hey, I'm going for it ! This is the start of my Misa fic. I planned it to be quite long in several short chapters. Also, I'm not personally feeling the Y/N + you kind of writing, so I've written the story at the first personne and chosen a nickname that you can pretend to be yours if you like.

No warning at the moment, but there'll be sex in the further episodes. I'll put the warning when needed.

Sorry again for any grammar and voc mistakes, english is not my mother tongue.

✩✩✩✩✩✩✩✩✩✩✩✩✩✩✩✩✩✩✩✩✩✩✩✩✩✩✩✩✩✩✩✩✩✩✩✩✩

Starting over in Madrid

Chapter 1 :  A harder job than I thought

I was never really interested in football before getting employed at Real Madrid. Of course, I used to watch a few games on TV during the main championships. But I have never intended to work for a football club, least of all, in Spain. But here I was, late twenty, speaking a few words of Spanish, entering the Cuidad Real Madrid for day one of my new job as the new official photographer.

Introductions went well. Staff was nice. Work seemed interesting, with quite a lot to do on the creative side. I felt great. My office was located on the second floor on the west side of the building, a bit appart from the training grounds. I took time to settle a few minutes in my chair, gazed through the window at the Alfredo di Stephano stadium and saw the tiny silhouettes of the footballers training. My manager, Ana, came back to have me introduced to the girls. I quickly grabbed my camera and followed her to the pitch. 

The sun blinded me as I came out. My eyes took a moment to ajuste. Shouts of trainers and players echoed all around. They were many. Ana spoke with some guys and training slowly stopped. The Real Madrid players came toward us and gathered, some of them still panting. Ana spoke again. 

"Hello everyone, let me introduce you our new photographer Y/N. But you can call her Nicky as she likes it better." 

"Hi, I never liked my name" I said nervously. 

The girls stared at me, smiling. I couldn’t help to notice their muscular arms and thighs. Strength oozed from their bodies. There were pretty faces too. Ana spoked the name of each players. One very tanned girl was looking away, looking slightly bored. 

"And finally, this is Misa" She said pointing at her. Misa looked at me, her eyes rested on my face just a moment while quickly waving her hand in a welcoming gesture and then looked away again. I felt my face grew hot. I was a professional photographer. It was explicitly written in my employment contract that dating the team members was prohibited. I shook of my inappropriate feelings as the introducing part ended. 

A few days passed as I settled in my new life. I had found in a tiny appartement in Lavapies. Got everything I needed. I was rather happy to start over. I had quitted my toxic ex girlfriend a few months ago and my very boring previous job. Each day, I went to the pitch to film the team arriving and to take pictures of the footballers training in order to post on the social networks. They all seemed nice, thought some of them looked bothered to be photographed all the time. Linda, Naomi, Sofie and Hayley clearly enjoyed being in front of the camera while Ivana, Olga and Misa tried to avoid it most of the time. We had chatted very little, everyone focused on their respective work. 

***

Then, arrived the day of the brand new kits big photoshoot. It was a very busy day. Adidas had designed a specific set with a moss background and real plants around. It was a bit to much for my tastes but I didn’t had my word to say as the campagne was managed by the brand. I was assisting the Adidas photographer by giving pose instructions to the girls. I took some shoots too. We were shooting for nearly five hours when came Misa’s turn. I couldn’t say I didn’t noticed how pretty she was in her new pale purple kit. Her tan skin contrasted frankly with the fabric. She had a piercing on her left nostril I’d never seen before. Her long hair was taken down, falling on her broad shoulders. She took her place, clearly used to being a model.

"Misa, face the camera" I said. Her dark eyes crossed mine before she looked straight at the camera and composed a smile. I could tell she was feeling confident, but I wasn’t sure she really was enjoying it. "Switch to profile, please". "Strike a pose". "Now put your gloves on". Misa obediently took all the poses shots after shots. 

"Are we done ?" She asked, looking at me patiently. 

"I think we are thank you. Thanks god you’re the last one !"

"I find it long already, so I can’t imagine how it must be for you." She said, her brows frowning. She walked aside from the set. I started to put away the equipment next to her. "It’s okay, I like my job. Today is just a bit repetitive"

"Are we cool models ?" I looked up at her. Her face was relaxing since the photoshoot ended. A shy smile appeared on her lips as she suddenly seemed to think her question was embarrassing. "In fact yes, indeed. Like, as a photographer, they’re is everything to ajuste. When you’re training, you’re moving fast so I have to increase shutter speed. When you’re posing like today, shutter can be slower but you have to have good exposure…" My voice trailed off as I took a glimpse of her perplex expression. "Sorry I have never known how to talk about my job. You see, technic plays a huge part in photography." 

"Don’t worry, I haven’t a clue of what you are taking about but it actually got me interested." She was smiling frankly now and that made her ever more beautiful. I tried to focus one folding the spotlights back in there bags. "Those lights make you very warm and sweaty" she said. "I’m sorry I’ll go and change. See you Nicky." 

"Bye Misa."

I was feeling both disappointed by her departure and relieved to be able to finish tidying thinks up more serenely when I heard Misa’s embarrassed voice rise from the backroom. "Hum… please can someone help me?"

I dropped the camera I was packing and went there thinking that fucking day would never end. I suppressed a laugh when I saw Misa struggling with her jersey up her head. The collar was picked up somewhere around her nose. I forced myself to look away from her well shaped abs and the low-cut of her sports bra.

"Misa, I’m there, what’s happening ?" 

"the jersey… in my nosering. I can’t take it off !"

"hold still, I’do it."

I slowly came close to Misa and delicately hold the jersey’s collar while looking for where her piercing had gotten stuck. A fabric fiber had indeed been taken inside the small golden ring. I tried hard to concentrate. Her mouth was twitching nervously. I was so close to her face I could feel her breath. She pursed her luscious lips as I finally removed the string, let out a sight and took off the jersey. Her eyes met mine again while I took a step back. "Thanks, I thought I’d lose my nose on this one…" 

"You did well to ask for help, you could have hurt yourself." 

"I’m glad it was you and not some random Adidas guy, all my friends are gone by now." 

"anytime !" I shrugged, feeling hot again. She gathered her clothes and started taking off her shorts. Footballers really weren’t modest. I turned around, ready to leave. I felt I was unable to take anymore glances at Misa’s body parts. "Bye then" I said softy.

"Bye, and Nicky, you definitely have to teach me some photo stuff ! I’m serious." I slowly turned back to her. She had already put her trousers and T shirt on. "Yes, sure… after tomorrow’s training if you’d like." 

"Yeah, count on me". She gathered her stuff, gestured goodbye and left.

My job was turning out to be harder than I expected.

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That's it for chapter 1, hope you enjoyed it. Drop a like if you're hyped !

Chapter 2 Chapter 3

#woso x reader #woso community #woso fanfics #woso blurbs #woso imagine #misa rodriguez #misa rodriguez x reader #woso #woso soccer #espwnt #spainwnt #fanfic #fanfic art #real madrid femenino

[themisimagines]

oh, you hate to love me

content: inspired by succession (in terms of the drama and tension but not much else), could not be bothered to flesh out the back story so tl;dr you and artem are lawyers in rival firms and keep going head to head in court. one night you both get stuck in a lift and resolve your differences... creatively. characters: artem wing x fem!reader warnings: rough sex, name calling, semi-public sex

Another late night at work. You're coming out of the court file room, where you've been going over the evidence again and again, preparing for round two before the judge tomorrow. The only thing that's keeping you going at this point is the thought of wiping the cool expression off your rival's face – Artem Wing.

Just thinking about his face makes your temperature rise a couple of degrees from sheer anger. In the eight times you've gone up against each other in court this year, you've been evenly matched, winning an equal amount of cases. But each time, it's gotten more and more personal for you, mostly because you swear you overheard him once, telling someone on his team that he thought you were inexperienced and shouldn't have been in the courtroom at all.

And who is he to speak? You know that his parents are basically the law themselves, and it's given him all kinds of leg-ups over the years. You had to work for your position, and you're doing a damn good job of it too. Your boss promised you that if you won this case, it's a likely promotion to partner locked in. So you have to win. But first, you have to get back home and grab whatever sleep you can to pummel that bastard in court tomorrow.

But speak of the devil and he shall appear. As you're waiting for the lift, you see none other than Artem Wing emerging from another room down the hallway, nonchalantly walking down towards the lift too. You wish that the lift had arrived, so you could shut it in his face. But unfortunately, it seems to be extremely slow despite the lack of people using it, and he comes to a stop beside you, giving you a nod.

'Good evening,' he greets you cordially. You roll your eyes. He was probably schmoozing up to the judge, who is probably his godfather or something. You nod in response to his greeting.

The lift arrives and he gestures to let you in first. Who does he think he is? Does he think he's being gentlemanly for the cameras?

'You first,' you insist, and awkwardly, Artem sidles into the elevator although it seems like it physically hurts him to not let you in first. You feel rather smug as the doors close.

'So,' Artem clears his throat. 'What's keeping you here this late at night?'

'Some of us actually put in the work to prepare for our cases.' You retort. It's late. You genuinely have no energy to keep it cordial. What's with the small talk? You've never heard Artem Wing do small talk, ever.

If Artem is shocked by your tone, he gives no indication that he is, but at least it stops his painful attempts at talking to you.

The lift ride is painfully slow.

'Are we... moving?' He asks. You look up at the display, and it seems to be stuck on the 3rd floor. You press the buttons to leave, but there is no response.

'I think we're stuck,' you say, pressing other buttons, and trying to tap the intercom. The person on duty says that they will investigate the situation, and just to stay patient and wait.

'I guess we just have to wait,' you say. 'Sounds like we might be here a while.' You lean against one of the walls, sighing and closing your eyes. Artem stands uncomfortably on the other side of the lift, the distance between you both as far as possible.

You sneak a glance under your eyelids, and see him loosening his tie, unbuttoning the stiff collar of his shirt. If you had to admit to yourself, you thought him attractive on the first day you met, before he opened his mouth and absolutely destroyed your case. Those feelings were quashed pretty quickly, but sometimes you can't help but imagine what things might be like if you were working together rather than against each other. But you've also heard that Artem Wing doesn't date anyone, much less coworkers. Everyone wants to figure him out, but they can't seem to be able to.

'So what are you doing here so late?' you finally ask, just to break the awkward silence.

'The same as you, I suppose. Working on the case,' he replies.

'I thought you were supposed to be a prodigy.'

'I thought you were cleverer than to listen to unfounded rumours,' Artem dismisses you. Ouch, that stings, but you guess you deserve it after being so hostile towards him.

'Well, at least I got where I am now because I worked hard for it, not because my parents got me my first job.'

Artem's eyes widen in surprise at the accusation. His face soon morphs into a familiar one that you've seen at court, when he's raring for a good fight. Your heart is pumping through your chest like you're in court. Triumphant at having struck a blow, at having been able to shake his impassable face.

'Well, at least I don't have a chip on my shoulder,' He retorts, crossing his arms. 'What have I ever done to you?'

'I hate people like you, Mr. Wing. People who think that they're better than everyone else but who actually got where they are today thanks to other people.'

In your anger, you've moved closer and closer to him, until you are close enough that you could reach out your hand and slap that beautiful face of his.

'You are greatly mistaken about my history. I must say I'm disappointed, I thought you were better than this.' Artem shrugs. He's dismissing you. That makes you angry beyond belief, and the only thing stopping you from tearing into him is the fact that when the lift gets fixed, it's pretty obvious who did it, since there's only two of you in there.

'You're disappointed in me?' You get even closer. 'You're the one making unfounded judgements on people. I heard you that day. You said that I wasn't fit to stand in front of the judge. More like I wasn't fit to go up against you.'

'I didn't say that,' The look on his face is one of genuine surprise. From this close, you can smell his cologne, mixed in with his laundry soap and natural scent. His eyes are blue, so blue and soft. You're considering – oh, what the hell.

'Shut up,' you say, and drag him down towards you by his tie to kiss him. His lips are soft and god, does he use lipbalm? He doesn't seem sure what's happening at first, but when he realises that you're kissing him, he doesn't pull away, and instead his hands come around you to clutch you closer, searing heat through your clothes and giving you a longing for his hands to be on your bare skin instead. You bite down on his lip and he growls, just dragging you closer, hands already fumbling with the buttons of your blouse.

It becomes a game of trying to undress each other faster as your lips are still locked, tongues battling, teeth nipping and drawing blood, each trying to get the upper hand over the other, to force each other to concede. When you both finally break apart for some air, you are panting and flushed, your shirt completely unbuttoned and lacy cups of your bra peeking through, thanking whoever's up there that you wore your nice lingerie today. Your skirt has been hiked up your thighs, exposing your stockings with lace rims, held up by suspenders. Your back is pressed up against the corner of the elevator, and Artem is looming over you. He hums in appreciation when he sees you in such a messy state, but he's no better himself, trousers unbuckled and shirt pulled open. You swear you accidentally popped a button, heard it clink on the floor as it rolled away.

You help Artem free his painfully hard cock from his briefs, and in a single swoop, he hikes up your legs, holding you there between the lift walls and his solid body, chiseled abdomen looking extremely attractive from your viewpoint. He uses two fingers to peel your soaking underwear from your cunt, and gives you a hungry look.

'What are you waiting for?' You ask impatiently. The cool air on the entrance of your cunt is making you shiver. Your hips are moving of their own accord, and you long to be filled.

'I'm just enjoying the fact that I'm going to make you come again and again until you're a writhing mess around my cock,' he says casually.

You reach out and tangle your hands in his hair, pulling back hard until his throat is bared, sure that it must hurt him but he's still looking at you with that smirk on his face.

'I bet you come before I'm anywhere near satisfied,' you spit. 'Don't be so full of yourself.'

In response to that, he takes the opportunity to thrust his full length into you roughly, and you both moan in pleasure. Artem doesn't give you any chance to adjust, instead starting a ferocious pace, skin slapping against skin, slamming your back into the lift wall again and again until you see sparks of pleasure beneath your eyelids.

'Look at how wet you are for me,' Artem snarls, not letting up his thrusts. 'And you said that you hated me.'

'I still hate you,' you bite back, and to distract him, you clench your cunt around his length, tightening as you bite down on the soft part of his neck, and you feel his cock twitch – it forces him to slow down, panting as he tries to get himself under control.

'Your tricks aren't going to get me,' he struggles to say, strokes turning long and leisurely, trying to get his breathing under control, eyes closed to stave off his orgasm.

In retaliation, he reaches one hand down to drag your skirt further up and rub at your clit, and your cunt twitches even harder when you're all but crushed against the lift walls, when Artem plunges into you again and again, dragging involuntary sounds from your throat.

'Ah, ah, ah!' you whimper in time with his thrusts, clinging on and scrambling to try and keep your own orgasm at bay. His attentions to your clit are almost sending you over the edge but you can tell that its effect on your cunt is a double edged sword, and Artem is doing his best to keep going without coming himself.

'Just come for me already,' he rasps in your ear. 'I can make you feel so good.'

It's a tantalising prospect, but despite his words, you can tell that he is pleading for his own sake rather than taunting you, judging by the throbbing of his cock deep inside you.

'No deal,' you pant, dragging your nails down his back so that he arches it towards you, the lace of your bra rubbing against his chest. He looks down and that seems to give him an idea. Freeing your clit for a moment, he uses his hand to deftly unclip your bra and free your breasts, before leaning down and sucking hickeys onto the creamy flesh of your breasts, snaring your nipple in his mouth, rolling it between his tongue and teeth. The hand returns back to your clit and rubs and rubs, even as his cock continues to thrust so far into you that you can practically feel him nudging at the entrance of your womb.

All of the sensations come to a head and you can't help it. You cry out as you come, both out of pleasure and disappointment. But just as your whole body starts to shake, a blinding orgasm overtaking your entire body, you feel Artem's cock swell and grow inside you, and then the hot sensation of his cum filling you up, even as he chases the last few moments of pleasure by thrusting slowly, luxuriating in the sensation of his orgasm. His lips seek yours, crushing you to him in a final gasp.

When he finally lets you down onto the floor again, your legs feel like jelly. The intercom suddenly blares to life. They managed to fix the problem, so the lift should be back in action in the next 15 minutes or so. You both scramble to get your clothes back on in some semblance of normality.

When the lift doors ding open, the security men are profusely apologising for the inconvenience, and you and Artem say that it's alright, that it's just late, you want to get back. You feel Artem's cum dripping from your cunt down your leg, a slick memory of what just happened.

You both walk to the carpark, and Artem insists on walking you to your car.

'Well, this is me. Goodnight,' You say awkwardly. He's standing there as if he wants to say something but doesn't quite dare.

'You know,' he clears his throat. 'My car is just over there. I've never really sat in the backseat that many times, but to my understanding it fits two grown adults quite... comfortably.'

'Mr. Wing, are you inviting me to have sex in your car?' You ask disbelievingly. His face turns red and he doesn't want to meet your glance.

'Well... I just thought... It doesn't have to be my car. But if you wanted to do that again...'

'Mr. Wing, I intend on going home and getting a full 6 hours of sleep before court tomorrow, and after I defeat you in court and win the case for my client... well, I don't have any plans on the weekend. I might be able to fit you in.'

'Of course,' he coughs. 'But so... there might be a next time?'

'I'll think about it.' You wink at him, and get into your car.

He taps your window, and you roll it down.

'By the way,' he says. 'When I said I thought you were inexperienced, that was taken out of context. I said that it was incredible you could beat me despite not having that much experience. I could have phrased it better, I know, but –'

You cut him off with a kiss. Somehow, it's comforting to know that wasn't his intention all along.

You drive off, and in the rearview mirror, you watch as he gives a small smile. You can't help but smile too.

#tears of themis #tears of themis imagines #artem wing #artem wing x reader #artem wing smut #tears of themis smut #tot imagines #tot smut #i apologise for literally knowing nothing about how court works #or like lawyer stuff in general. sorry

[cinnamonglrls]

all the pills that you take to keep me at arms length don't work [rr.]

pairing: roman reigns x fem!reader.

warnings: asshole roman. toxic work relationship. injury. angst. sunshine jey.

summary: an accident that occurs backstage seems to be the straw that breaks the camel’s back for Isabel. 

wc: 2.6k.

an: the idea for this story literally made me create this account i kid u not. happy reading & leave some comments if u liked it. ♡🦋💗💞

—————————

MONDAY NIGHT RAW.

It was the reverberation of your shrill cry once your body weight leveled out on your ankle that spared you his once-over.

He’s been a complete dick to you since he’s met you to say the least, and even more so since creative pitched the concept between you two. But this? 

This is absolutely unacceptable.

Just five month ago in Seattle, you were apart of a promo segment where Roman, Cody, and his entourage get into a heated debacle. Roman was supposed to clear the premise and you were supposed to slide out the bottom ring at the first sign of trouble, but instead you remained in the ring— stuck in a corner due to missed timing. Gradually you found yourself in the center with your back facing his and then simultaneously you two turned to faced one another, chests heaving at the adrenaline of destruction and the electrifying energy zapping throughout the arena. 

To the camera, you were a deer caught in headlights. A damsel in distress, the seemingly next prey of wrestling entertainment’s most notorious apex predator. 

In reality, you were a deer caught in headlights. An amateur who’s incident of pure human error just so happened to unfurl on live television and in front of wrestling veterans.

However, to your luck, the twenty-two second clipped segment went ultra-viral and not for the reasons you feared it would. 

It was the smoldering smoke and fire between you two the clip unveiled that sent it globetrotting. A furrowed-brow herculean Roman, wet hair curtaining the frame of his face as he’s stopped dead in his track of demolition because of the presence of a sultry femme fatale a mere handful of inches before him.

Roman — like a seasoned professional — ended up slowly backing away before exiting the ring without removing his eyes from yours with The Wiseman hot on his tail, as if this was the exact way the segment was supposed to conclude. But this would kickstart the beginning of an extremely hostile and deeply uncomfortable work relationship between you and him.

He’d made it no secret that he was no fan of yours.

He was cold in every sense of the word. He’d spend majority of his free time backstage and in the lounges with your co-workers, chatting it up and cracking jokes. It was merely the addition of your presence in any room that would sour his demeanor. At first this was very unsettling for you especially due to your deep unrealistic desire to be liked by every human you cross paths with, but eventually Becky clued you in to the rumors that creative had pitched him an idea about a potential romance between you two after keeping a close eye on the brewing demand and spiked viewership. Apparently, out of respect for his wife, when he was negotiating his contract he’d requested a clause stating that he would be excluded from any future romantic narratives.

Still, stomachs grumbled for the story and viewership was gradually skyrocketing as a result of even crumbs of you two in the same frame. Roman’s wishes be dammed, according to management.

So then it began. Five months of a meticulous slow-burn. Five months of animosity. Five months of him disregarding your entire existence if there wasn’t a cameraman within a ten-foot radius. Five months of zero rehearsals despite your persistent request to prevent another blunder like that night in Seattle. Five months of snide remarks and passive aggressive comments beneath his breath. Throughout it all you made sure to hold all your grievances close to your chest and take it all to the chin, as its simply your nature to do so. Everyone knew you as the roster’s sweetheart, too reserved to really hold your ground. It was the what made those around you want to protect you so adamantly. 

Ultimately you made peace with the state of your turbulent relationship with your coworker.

But there is nothing quite peaceful about the agonizing white-hot sensation shooting up the tendons in your right calf right now.

You messily crumble to your feet, your hands immediately cupping the compromised heel as your shrill cry perks his ear, stopping Roman dead in his tracks. 

Tonight’s segment was supposed to be swift and hurried, you were supposed to be approached by Cody and a couple women backstage. The gist of the idea was Cody would sic the women on you as he’d know Roman was quite fond of you and they’d do some damage. Roman would then soar to your rescue, brawl with Cody and scare them off and it would end with him carrying you away bridal-style as one of the women would have fucked your leg up pretty badly. 

Tossing you off of him the millisecond the camera stopped rolling was never apart of the script.

Your voice is a wail yet still a burning red-hot flame, “what the fuck is wrong with you!” You can tell both by the shocked expression written on his face and the hesitant step forward he just took that he doesn’t exactly know what to do at the moment and that he didn’t intend on causing you any harm, but that doesn’t quell the hell you’re about to raise.

You’ve had it up to your wits end.

He tries to say something that you can’t quite hear because the radiating pain shooting from your ankle is too distracting to do anything but heave and whimper as your hands hover over your ankle as if doing so will prevent any further damage. Roman tries to lower and sit on his haunches, looking immensely out of his element as this is the most concerned he’s ever been about you since meeting you, “hold o-,”

Gathering the courage to apply your body weight on your other foot as you stand, you immediately scurry to your feet, inhaling a tight gust of air and squeezing your eyes shut. Desperate to distance yourself away from the catalyst of this debilitating pain. Your thunderous voice is the flame to curious moths, attracting stray eyes backstage, “get away from me you piece of shit!” your hand clutches onto a black equipment box for dear life to support your frame in staying upright despite the fact that you’re in no condition to do so at the moment.

You can see Naomi and the twins quickly approaching with concerned expressions at the commotion past Roman’s shoulders as he too begins to stand from his lowered stance. But you don’t allow that to deter your fury-driven tunnel vision, “why is it that you think you’re the first married man who’s had a romance angle? are you and your wife that insecure that a fictitious tale for television would shake the foundation of your weak marriage?”

You can hear a few distant gasps as Naomi and Becky rush to your side once they see the state of your hunched stature and how your hand keeps gravitating back towards your sorry ankle, only half-way overlooking the appalling confrontational tone of your voice as it’s the polar opposite of the timid person they’ve always known you to be. They place each of your arms around the necks and grab your hip, “cmon. Cmon. Medical’s right there on the left Beck.”

His face hardens, his jaw still locked. 

“You just sprained my fucking ankle. Answer me!”

“Aye, aye, aye. What’s going on?” Jey stands between you two, placing his palm to Roman’s chest to deescalate the situation. When Becky and Naomi turn you to help you to medic, you mumble something inaudible beneath your breath and wince as everyone who tuned in due to the commotion from wrestlers to venue staff watch you limp away.

Jey turns around to catch the tail end of a brooding Roman flexing his right hand before walking the opposite way.

—————————

Chest heaving and lungs aflame, both of your hands cup your kneecaps when your torso bends forward as you slow down to catch your breath, “shit.”

“You sit on your ass for a couple weeks and lose two decades off your knees? Up.” Becky stalks up to you, kissing her teeth when you breathlessly shake your head and sink your back into the nearest corner of the ring. Since your debut, you can’t count on both hands how many times Becky has consistently either shown up for you and or has taken the fall for you— whether that’s been through showing you the ropes when you were just a new hire or filling the holes during ambiguous social interactions with others backstage. She’s a constant through and through.

You run your tongue over your bottom lip as you glance over your shoulder and scan the empty arena hours before showtime, “you said you’d take it easy on me.”

“I am,” she alters her stance in a fashion that commands your compliance and you sigh out of your nostrils in defeat before pulling yourself out of the corner, bending at your knee and meeting her posture in the middle of the ring. You two roughen each other up for another solid twenty-five minutes before you decide to take another brisk break to take some pressure off your recovering ankle for preventative purposes.

“Izzy motherfuckin’ Osbourne! Say it ain’t so.” 

In typical Jey fashion, you hear him before you see him. He’s halfway down the ramp when you and B turn your heads and his direction makes you believe he came from the side stage. The human manifestation of sunlight, you have no choice but to cheese at him, “there she is. That’s what we like to see.” You slide out of the bottom ring and he meets you at the bottom of the ramp with open arms that you just sink into, your arms wrapped around his back. He rocks you two back and forth so sweetly it’s reminiscent of a warm older brother.

You pluck the end of his cropped top when he releases you from his bear hug, “I thought I told you to stay out of my closet.” 

His eyes widen, his index finger pointing at you as he looks at B past your shoulder, “she got jokes!” His attention gravitates back to you and specifically your heel— his tone less comedic than the second before, “how she doing?” You nod and spend a minute catching him up on your progress and recovery. He crosses his arms and listens attentively when you detail what your doctors told you and he double checks your confidence about your match later tonight. 

—————————

A month and a half.

The fact that it’s been a month and a half since you’ve been overwhelmed by the deafening roar of the crowd is all that you’re mulling about as you walk past the ramp and crossfade backstage after your first match back since your injury, your fingers mindlessly playing with your wristband. 

“Isabel.”

You toss a quick glance over your shoulder at the mention of your name, never once stopping your stroll. 

You almost want to laugh at the audacity once you see Roman using his back to push himself off the wall near the curtains and if you didn’t know any better you might even say he were waiting for you. You turn around and continue walking, “uh oh. What’s next? My wrist?”

“Can we speak?” his tone is so authoritative that even his questions sound like statements.

“We’re speaking.”

The close proximity of his voice clues you in to the fact that he’s definitely following you and as agitated as you are, last month’s confrontation diffused almost everything you were internalizing since that first night in Seattle. You don’t have anything left to say to him. Roman sighs at your stubbornness when you push the door of your locker room open as you finally reach it, “please.” 

Begrudgingly, you enter the dressing room— blind to the way his vigilant eyes swiftly scan the hallway clear of wandering eyes before he follows after you.

He’d never admit it out loud but he’d recently formed a nasty habit of bitting his fingernails raw in an unhealthy attempt to relieve tension he doesn't seem to want to pinpoint the source of. In fact, he’s formed a scroll of destructive habits here recently if the bags beneath his lower lash line are any indication. He hovers near the arm of your black velveteen sofa when you gravitate to your vanity and push your hair behind your ears, briskly removing the backs of your earrings. 

“You got a haircut.”

Your fleeting eyes meet his in the reflection of your vanity mirror like a lock and key, your hands busy at your ears. Silent at his observation.

“You didn’t answer my message.”

You hum in acknowledgement. You didn’t. Why would you? You didn’t have anything left to say to him and everything you had bottled up prior, you unloaded like a sniper the second you landed on your ankle wrong due to his negligence. You’ve never been a fan of apologies anyway. What’s the point when the damage is already done? 

“I know.”

“Why?”

You don’t answer.

“I didn’t mean to do that. You know that.”

“Do I?”

“Isabel.”

His tone is different; nearly pleading. You don’t answer.

He sighs out from his nose and you watch him lower himself to sit on the couch, his dark fitted-cargos enveloped burly thighs spread and his elbows settled on his knees. He’s spent longer than he would ever like imagining how this conversation was going to pan out when you’d return. The depth of his regret is far greater than his ability to ever express it, “I’m trying here.”

Your stomach contracts at the intensity of his gaze that you can just feel so you keep your lips sealed. Your don’t know if its because you don’t know what to do with yourself or because you want to see him suffer a little longer. Or both. 

“Why’d you cut your hair,” he tries again, his voice softer.

“Why’s it matter?”

He shrugs, “I liked it.”

“Then thank god I cut it.”

Roman chuckles, his index finger and thumb glides across his chiseled beard.

He can see you struggle to stifle a smile at your corny joke in the reflection of the mirror as you roll your wristband off your forearm.

“… Twins won’t shut up about you.”

This compels you to turn around, your arms crossed on your chest. The less-than-impressed look on your face makes him shrug obliviously, “I don’t know how to act. My bad. This is weird. I’m sorry. Man. I mean it. Even if it wasn’t my intention, you didn’t deserve that shit. That made me feel like shit for a long time. Tried to reach you after but you weren’t receptive and I get it but… you gotta know. As coworkers in an organization this hazardous, our trust and faith in one another is critical. That’s the bottom line and I fucked that up. I did.” He looks at his phone when it rings it and mindlessly silences it.

You take a deep breath at his vocalized stream of consciousness, a little startled at his honorable regard as the only regard he’s ever reserved for you before the incident were short sentences and cold withdrawn interactions. Your stomach tightens at his first genuine acknowledgement and accountability for his transgressions. You look at the floor as your fingertips flex against your arms, too intimidated to meet his eyes again for reasons unbeknownst to you.

“Thank you.”

—————————

pt 1 <3. ♡

#roman reigns #roman reigns x reader #roman reigns fic #roman reigns fanfiction #wwe #roman reigns one shot #poc writer #roman reigns angst #wwe one shot

[eurotrip]

"The Miracle"

It’s the Untold story of how a Mexican mechanic saved Ferrari.

In 1950, the Pan American Race emerged. One of the most demanding endurance races in history that tested the best cars and the most experienced and daring drivers of the time.

Umberto Maglioli in his Ferrari 375 Plus was leading the fourth and final stage of the race. Shortly before finishing stage four, his car began to fail. His Ferrari 375 Plus had an oil leak through a hole in the carter.

In the middle of nowhere and without a spare part for this vital part of the car, hopes of finishing the race were practically nil.

On the fifth leg of the race and when the car was practically about to stop working, Umberto Maglioli made a stop in the middle of the road when he saw a small workshop called “El Milagro”.

Maglioli was received by Renato Martinez who was the owner and sole mechanic of the workshop in the middle of nowhere. Renato Martinez confirmed to Maglioli that it was in fact an oil leak in the crankcase and that he had a "creative" solution to repair it in moments. At least to be able to finish their journey.

Renato Martinez caught a bucket and a big bar of soap. He also took three small bottles of Coca-Cola and gave them to Maglioli saying, "While you drink this Coke I will repair your car."

An Unbeliever Maglioli could only sit, drink the coke and wait for a miracle. Meanwhile, Renato Martinez dismantled the Ferrari and using the bar of soap began to gradually rub the carter with it. By friction the soap melted and created a paste that sealed the leak hole. Soap "cuts" the oil and adheres to the metal in the crankcase and when solidified it became hard as a rock.

Amazed, Maglioli thanked Renato and pulled out of Ferrari a small Roliflex camera which he used to capture that miraculous moment. Workshop "El Milagro" and Renato next to the Ferrari 375 Plus under repair were immortalized.

Umberto Maglioli in his Ferrari 375 Plus, finished the fifth stage of the race in first place and changed Ferrari history forever.

While Ferrari was a well-known car in Europe, it wasn’t in America and the brand was far from being an economically viable business. Ferrari desperately needed to prove to America that their cars were superior, fast and reliable. Winning the race would bring them recognition and with its sales in the United States, which would help them save the brand from bankruptcy.

Some time later, Renato Martinez received by mail the printed photograph Maglioli had taken of that moment. The photograph was signed:

"To my friend Renato M. From Umberto Maglioli. "

The photograph came along with a letter thanking Renato and said: "Renato, The Mexican Miracle that helped Ferrari."

That letter was signed by a man named Enzo Ferrari.

#ferrari #Ferrari 375 #racecar #supercar #hypercar #sportscar #muscle car #muscle cars #musclecar #musclecars #classic #aesthetic #aesthetics #classic car #vintage #vintage car #car #cars #luxury car #aes #exotic car #dream car

[mr-styles]

Aube Perrie is doing his best to keep things slimy and gross.

Some excerpts from Aube Perrie's recent article with promonews.tv:

PROMONEWS/DK: I was going to say that you’ve had a busy year so far, but I guess that this run of work has been going longer than that…

AUBE PERRIE: I have a bad memory for these things, but it's been pretty continuous. And I guess it started around a year ago, when Harry's team, actually H’s creative director Molly Hawkins and Columbia’s SVP Bryan Younce reached out and we started to try to make something happen for the new album. That's when, among other things, I wrote Satellite and Sushi. Satellite was actually written first.

I mean, there were also a couple before that - it was a long process. Among many things, Molly Hawkins is a brilliant creative director. She’s very cautious about the work they put out there, and so is H, Bryan and this whole team. But I was very fortunate and spoiled enough for having them letting me explore on a couple tracks, being extremely open and supportive. The process spread on a whole year, but that was all to the benefit of pushing the creative, pushing the ideas, giving ourselves the opportunity to explore and use the time to make something that really feels right.

When Satellite was written, I think we all liked it, but it just stayed only as an idea, we kept exploring, maybe we weren’t going to do it. And then it came back like, months later - after Sushi. It was a busy year but giving lots of time to reflect, to develop.

What did they give you, to prompt your ideas apart from the music?

The briefs were very different. Satellite was completely open. For Sushi they actually mentioned just one thing: Harry wanted to be a fish. That was the brief.

And he went from a fish to sort of disgusting Tulu octopus - that's what I was aiming for. I guess I didn't want to make a classic mermaid figure. And we tried to make it as disgusting as possible. But somehow, I don't know, Harry is so handsome…

Yes. So it still ends up being quite glamorous...

Exactly. It's terrible! But we really did our best to really make this world very slimy and gross - I kept insisting on that, and we were lucky to have everyone very much on board to go for a world that felt sweaty and textured. The texture of the tail and the squid body part had fight scars, our brilliant prosthetic lead Chelsea Delfino added the ones that white sharks have, went for a skin marked with shells. We really tried to put some gross details in there.

I wanted to design a world and restaurant location as disgusting as possible, that had this very odd and long back story. My friend and producer Josh Sondock took me to this great location that was already pretty intense, it has this crazy backstory that has been untouched, an amazing kitchen to work with - and we made it ten times worse. Still, H’s beard is kind of hot...

Having said that it's glamorous, he's still a very convincing man-squid. How did you go about creating something that good, that really does look like it was captured in-camera? 

It was very much captured all in-camera. Time was challenging because we had very little time to build the tail, the prawn masks, in time to fit the schedule. H was in the middle of the craziest tour, to say the least. We presented two different options. Something more fishy - closer to the classic mermaid I guess, but still pretty gross and unsettling, more like a slimy eel– and the squid, which was more difficult to do, but got us very excited. And H, Molly, everyone went straight for the squid. So much fun.

Wow. Not much time to fit in a lot of narrative. Did you get a much of a chance to discuss with him beforehand what was going to happen?

H definitely kept an eye on everything and it was nice to have him excited and on board jumping into a huge slimy tail and catching fishes in-camera beforehand, so we knew the main challenge would be to make it through the days. But at least we were all super aware of the challenge and up for it including H.

A lot goes through Molly, but they're also very close, so if you're discussing with Molly, you're discussing with H eventually. But I guess there was not so much discussion, but more support, especially for Sushi. It was just very easy and supportive and went very smoothly. There was just a lot of trust. And we were all here to try getting something fantastic.

I think we were all very strongly convinced it was actually good to try going for what was not so much expected of him. And I think we all were very excited picturing a result that felt like it had the potential to be quite unique. Including H.

He's familiar with the film world, having done features, and I guess he's toying with his image in quite an interesting way. Obviously not all pop stars are prepared to do that.

More should - because…it’s fun. Take Sushi. The shot list was wild. We had one day with H. At some point, you have no time to always explain what you’re shooting all over the place with A & B cam, you just need to get on with it. I guess it was way more indie film than blockbuster. But H is blockbuster. So the day would be impossible without him being very much prepared to be on the same boat as everyone one else to get it, embracing it and having fun with it. There is just no other way.

But I’m so glad that’s who he is. Everyone saw that day he’s definitely amazing at doing that and getting it. He’s very much prepared indeed. And by focusing the energy on nothing but getting it, it allows space for fun. And more than anything, it was all a lot of fun. That’s how it should be.

You can read the whole article here!

#harry styles #aube perrie #mentions

[heart4reigns]

HELLOO!! (idk if ur taking requests but if you aren’t, you can ignore this) A Cody Rhodes one-shot where it’s the readers b-day and cody is stressing because he doesnt know what to get her. Luckily the reader is very well known and everyone loves her cuz she’s so cool and kind (im sorry im a sucker for a sweet sunshine reader) so everyone starts helping cody plan for gifts and a cute party just for her. Then rhea helps cody get reader like a piece of jewelry she’s always wanted (like a cute hello kitty necklace or something) and y/n freaks tf out. I SUCK AT EXPLAINING THINGS YGHSHHSHW

CAKES AND RINGS, cody rhodes.

gif credits: mxmoth

warnings: curse words, FLUFF FULL FLUFF, kissing

tags: brock lesnar with balloons, i want cody as my bf too, superstar bday bash!!

THE sound of people talking filled the locker room. "okay, let me repeat the errands. everyone's cool with helping right?" they nodded in unison. "of course we are! it's (y/n)'s birthday after all, she always makes all of our birthdays a big deal, we need to do the same for her." bayley said. "right." cody took a second to open up his notes ap. "bianca with the cake, rhea and dom with decorations, brock with balloons-" "shit, now i gotta get balloons?" the big wrestler cut him off. "you wanna bail out?" brock shook his head. "anything for (y/n), i'll get those damn balloons." they laughed. "okay, let me continue."

your birthday was coming up and everyone made sure that it was going to be a big thing, especially for your boyfriend, cody. you were loved by everyone, even the crews. you made sure that everyone was enjoying their time with you, on and off stage. "have you talked to creatives about this?" roman asked. "yeah, they allowed it. we're gonna do it after our match." the black-haired wrestler nodded. "damn, i can't believe you're gonna fight her on her birthday." he added. "well i guess it's really her lucky day."

on the other side of the locker room, you were getting out of your gear. to your surprise, the locker room was empty. it was weird seeing your coworkers not messing around, but you brushed it off. as soon as you were out of your gear, you walked out of the room. "hi todd! you did a good job today!" you saw one of the crews carrying his camera. "thanks, (y/n). as soon as i developed these rolls, i'll email you. got some cool shots of you slamming cody on the table." you chuckled at his sentence.

speaking of your boyfriend, where is he? you thought. you pulled out your phone, calling him. "hey babe, where are you?" you asked. "hey, sweetheart. wait in the parking lot, okay? i'll be right there in a second." he replied. "okay baby, i love you." "and i love you too!" with that, the call ended. you passed several crews, trying your best to keep a positive attitude despite feeling tired after work. there was a sudden commotion near locker room b, you couldn't help but to take a quick peek.

"hello, why is it so crowded here?" your voice caught everyone off-guard. "oh, hi babe!" you said, as soon as you spotted your boyfriend in the middle of the other superstars. "hi babe." the worry from his face disappeared when he realized that you didn't hear the conversation. "we were just talking about how we could differentiate locker room a and b, since it gets kinda confusing." dominik made up an instant lie. cody took a note to buy him coffee for his smooth lie. "i know right! i once walked into montez trying to fix his pants!" "hey, that was embarrassing!" the entire locker room sighed in relief as you had no idea what was going on.

to say the least, cody was stressed out. everything was ready, everything except for your present. he wanted to give you the perfect present and he had no idea what to buy you. you were called by your manager to talk about your future bookings, leaving him alone in the house with your dogs. "you got any idea what we should buy her, p?" pharaoh only wiggled his tail in response. "you're no help." cody sighed.

he groaned in despair, pacing around the house, still looking for ideas. his thoughts were cut-off by his phone ringing. "fuck, thank god you called." cody heard rhea and dominik arguing in the call. "we got the decorations already. where do you want us to put it?" dominik asked. "you can keep it in your trunk, we can bring them inside on d-day." cody replied, still fiddling with his shirt. "alright, then everything's ready." rhea's voice came to the call-line. "wait," cody paused for a second. "i still don't know what to get her."

silence filled the call as cody waited for their answers. "you know, she took an interest in dominik's engagement ring, she almost cried seeing it. does that say anything about her?" then it clicked. it was the perfect timing after all. he was going to propose to you. "god, fuck! rhea, i'm buying you coffee tomorrow. thank you so much!" he immediately got dressed and drove off to the mall.

"i got the perfect ring for (y/n)." cody's eyes lit up with excitement since he had no idea what ring to buy you. "she came here with bianca for her engagement ring, we talked a bit about her dream ring... i also keep notes on my customers incase their partners ever come here to buy a jewelry for them." he pulled out a notepad filled with names. "(y/n) took an interest in this ring." the man excused himself to get the jewelry.

it was a diamond ring, pure and brilliant–cody could imagine you wearing the ring already. "god, that's perfect." he muttered, examining it. "i mean she will like it, she mentioned something about the thought behind it, so what made you decide that it's time?"

cody knew that you were the one when you first met him. you came back to the industry not long after him, due to your injuries. everyone seemed to talk highly of you, making him interested in meeting you, and they were right. everyone knew that the two of you were going to end up with each other. it didn't surprise them when you started dating him. maybe it was the way you were willing to drop everything for him, or the way you made space on the bed for him every time he came home late, or maybe, no one has ever loved him the way you do.

the man was in love and he couldn't wait to spend the rest of his life with you.

days went by and you were busy with work. you couldn't wait to go home. it was a tiring day and you just wanted to go home. it was your birthday tomorrow and you couldn't careless. it was just another day, you thought. sure, you were excited, but with work, nothing else mattered. "hi baby, how was your day?" your mood was lifted up as soon as you saw your boyfriend. "HI BABYYYYYYY!" you yelled, leaping into a hug. cody had no choice but to drop his bottled water to catch you. "missed you the entire day, you left me and p alone." cody fake pouted. "sorry, i was doing work stuff. but i'm here now!"

the night went on, you cooked dinner and cody helped with the dishes. you talked about your day and he talked about his day as well. it turned out that he was pretty bored without you, he said he spent the day just laying around, saving up his energy for tomorrow. you couldn’t help but to chuckle as his laziness sometimes. the domestic life of yours was one of the reasons why you loved your day offs. it was just you and him (and pharaoh, your dog), just laying around, not doing anything. today was actually your day off but you got called by your manager–leaving cody alone to his own business.

"i can't wait for tomorrow." you chuckled, petting pharaoh. the two of you were lying on the bed, saving up the energy for tomorrow. "excited for your birthday or excited to beat my ass?" you laughed at his sentence. "i'm excited to be with you, that's all." you replied, earning a smile from him. "i love you so much and i'm thankful that we're together." you mimicked his expression. "god, (y/n). you're such a blessing, i love you too."

the alarm caught you both with a surprise. "happy birthday baby."

"here comes the birthday girl, happy birthday!" your friends greeted you as soon as you stepped inside the arena. "thank you loves." you hugged them all. "how are you feeling today?" dominik asked. "feeling great, i'm beating my boyfriend's ass today!" cody groaned. "i'm letting you beat me because i love you." you couldn't help but to smile at his response. "i'll see you later babe, gotta change to my gear." you kissed his forehead and walked away from the scene.

"ready for tonight?" dominik nudged him. "course i am." cody replied, pulling out the ring box from his pocket. "shit, man. good luck." the wrestler wasn't nervous of his fight tonight, he was nervous with his proposal. of course he was nervous, it was going to be a special moment for the two of you.

you were already in your gear, ready to face your boyfriend. your makeup was also done and you were standing in the sidelines, waiting for your song to play. your boyfriend practically skipped his way to your side. “ready?” he asked. “as ready as i should be.” he couldn’t understand your positivity sometimes. "good luck out there, baby." he gave you a hug and you returned the gesture. "good luck getting your ass beat, baby!" your song started to play and it was time to go out.

the match started and it played off beautifully. you hit him with your signature moves and he did the same. it was quite an irony for you to finish the match with a cross rhodes, but it made the crowd go wild. he slightly nodded at you, wanting you to do the finisher move. "a cross rhodes by (y/n), what an irony!" the commentator yelled. you pinned cody in the middle of the ring, locking his legs with your forearm. the audience counted down and it was official, you were the winner. "here is your winner, (y/n) (l/n)." the crowd went wild as you took the belt and did your signature pose. the cameras went off, the show ended.

all the sudden, the lights went off–causing you to jump a bit. the next thing you knew, your boyfriend was gone. he wasn't in the middle of the ring. you looked around, trying to find him. "we heard it's someone's birthday today!" you heard your boyfriend's voice. you looked up and saw your friends on the other side of the stage. they were all wearing party hats, even the audience was wearing them as well. your heart skipped a beat as you smiled.

"happy birthday, (y/n)." everyone chanted. you couldn't help but to cry. the support you had was overwhelming and you were very thankful to have your friends and your boyfriend on your side. they got inside the ring, with cody carrying the cake. "happy birthday, baby." he smiled. "blow the candle now!" jey commented. "okay, okay." you chuckled. you blew the candles and everyone cheered on you.

your friends gave you a big group hug and brock passed balloons to you. it was quite comical to see such a big man carrying pink balloons, you thought. you had the mic now. "oh my god, everyone..." you stuttered. "thank you so much for this, god... i can't express how thankful i am to be here." you chuckled, still holding the balloons brock gave you. "i don't want to make this a big deal today because it's just another day for me. but hey, i just won the match and it's my birthday!" you smiled, intertwining cody's hands with you.

you made eye-contact with him, giving him the biggest smile that he had ever seen. "i love you." you mouthed. "and i love you too." he replied, like usual. "anddd i love my friends, i love you all too! thank your coming out today." it was true that one of the best wrestling moments happens when the cameras were already off. everyone was having the time of their lives.

"now, now. everyone calm down." cody had the mic. "we'd like to thank your parents for bringing a sunshine to our lives." the crowd cheered. "who here is always excited to see (y/n) wrestler?" cody asked the crowd, earning cheers from the crowd once again. "everyone loves her but i got some news for everyone..."

he breathed out, "today was the last day (y/n) will perform under her (l/n) family name." you furrowed your eyebrows in confusion. "because the next time she'll be in the ring, it'll be (y/n) rhodes." you were still trying to process what was happening. the next thing you knew, cody was kneeling down in front of you–a ring box in his hand. your eyes widened in surprise as you realized that he was proposing to you.

"(y/n), will you marry me?"

a/n: crying bc im single as hell,,, hope u enjoyed it!!! <3 now excuse me while i go cry

#cody rhodes #cody rhodes imagine #cody rhodes x reader #roman reigns #the usos #jey uso #jimmy uso #brock lesnar #rhea ripley #dominik mysterio #bianca belair #wwe #wwe imagines #wwe x reader #wwe imagine

[rrr-is-gay]

RRR ON-SCREEN KISS OPPORTUNITIES, rated for her pleasure

1. Immediately following the fisher boy rescue. They go onto the dock and kinda embrace one another but fail to kiss. Not okay. 3/10

2. The thigh touch scene. Come onnnnn, I know they’re talking about Sita, but they coulda squeezed a lil kissy kiss in there, if they had any courage at all. 8/10

3. RAMBHEEM SQUAT WORKOUT. Not exactly the ideal shot for an onscreen kiss; we’d need to get a little creative with the camera work to keep it cohesive. But it would be the literal hottest thing EVER, so I hate that it isn’t real. 8/10

4. MAKEOVER SCENE!!!!!!!!!!!! This one demands a kiss, multiple times! The beard trim? Pop a lil kiss on his nose, Ram! The hair treatment? Kiss his forehead! Changing his shirt? Bheem, give’m a nice lil smooch! It’s practically canon, the camera just cuts too quickly for us to see it. 10/10, peak kiss opportunity.

5. Pre-Naatu. How fucking SWAG would it be for them to just pop the fastest lil kiss on each other’s lips RIGHT at the moment they dunk on Jake for not knowing Naatu? This precise moment, when Bheem twirls around and Ram puts his arm on his shoulder? KISS!! 6/10

6. Post-Naatu piggyback ride. Would have loved to see Bheem kiss Ram’s cheek here. Totally ungrateful that he doesn’t. Wtf Bheem. 9/10

7. Sopping fucking wet. Bheem could totally pop a quick kiss onto Ram's lips before administering the antidote here. He's all up in Ram's face anyway, tending to him, caring for him, healing him. A nice kiss would help!!!!!!! 7/10

8. MARRIAGE CEREMONY. Bheem. BHEEM. You adorn your lover with the holy thread of your tribe, but don’t seal the deal with a kiss?? Maybe he thinks it’s dubcon cuz Ram is basically unconscious. Would’ve loved a kiss here, but I respect the consent king. 4/10

9. REVEAL YOURSELF TO ME IN BED. Bheem could have AT LEAST kissed Ram’s hands here, I mean wtf!!!!!! You think you might die tonight, and you could be saying goodbye forever, and you DON’T kiss????? 10/10, scene incomplete without a tender smooch.

10. Devastating fight. Bheem could’ve gone out on a limb here and really brought Ram back to reality if he’d gone in for a kiss. A bold move, yes, but not out of character for Bheem. 3/10

11. Pain, pain paaaaiiinnnn. Ram is more devastated in this moment than he’s ever been in his entire life. He would absolutely kiss Bheem’s head while holding his limp body in his arms. Only gets a pass cuz Ram is still undercover and a kiss would’ve given him away. 2/10

12. Hand nuzzle. CANON, I TELL YOU!!!! It’s CANON that Bheem kisses Ram’s hand here! It was only cut from the film because of homophobia! 11/10

13. Burn this lanka down. Okay. It’s one swift move to pull Ram out from the cell and onto Bheem’s shoulders. So a kiss on the lips couldn’t work. But Ram could, and should, totally kiss Bheem’s head right here. And Bheem should kiss Ram’s wrist! The fight can wait one millisecond!!! JUST KISS ALREADY! 8/10

14. Bridal carry. A nice swift peck from Ram to Bheem would really boost both of their morale right here. And it's such a brief shot, I'm sure the kiss happened, we just didn't get to see it. Once again, homophobia. 9/10

15. CANON CANON CANON CANON. I don’t wanna hear ANY debate or disagreement on this one, you little freaks! They DO kiss here! I can see the intention in Bheem’s eyes! That slow lean inward!!!! He’s about to kiss this man smack on the lips!!!! And Ram is so tired, but he’s BLISSFULLY here for it! He’s flat on his back, ready for Bheem’s plush lips to smother his right NOW! HEAL THIS MAN WITH YOUR SWEET KISS, BHEEM!!!! 10000000000/10

16. Phallic rifle. Would love a nice little makeout sesh right here in front of Governor Scott. How fucking badass would that be? Not a little peck either, I want them to get really filthy for a minute, because they’ve earned it! Grip that rifle and stick your tongues in each other’s mouths! Come on, the movie’s almost over! What have you got to lose?! 9/10

17. “What can I offer you in return?” “KISS ME!” This really is the last chance for these two men to show us how they really feel. I get that it’s kinda awkward in front of their friends and family, but it’s all worth it just to make Jenny uncomfortable. (Why is she there?????) Oh wait, Sita’s there too. Meh. I still want them to smooch. 7/10

18. Etthara Jenda! Dance, smile, skip, cheer, KISS! This song is all about victory and pride. Wouldn’t an onscreen kiss just be the cherry on top?! I think so. 9/10

#rrr #rambheem #ram/bheem #analysis #meta

[mindibindi]

No Place like Home...? 🌈

So what...Ted Lasso just goldfishes his way into forgetting about his big diverse found family so that he can return to humble, hometown heteronormativity? Look, I get that "be a goldfish" is a cute moment from s1 and an idea that has some (limited) practical value. But isn't it also emblematic of Ted's initial overly positive attitude which ultimately just served to ignore difficult emotions, interactions or situations? This is his big advice to his son and his parting words to his audience? Wasn't the whole point of his time in Richmond and his return to his son to establish and encourage an alternative kind of masculinity? One that expresses, not represses? One that deals with difficulty maturely rather than just avoids it? One that actively and ethically chooses rather than simply doing what's always been done?

Honestly? There was plenty of stuff about the finale that I really liked. Colin's kiss was the best bit. That godawful wedding moment the worst, for many reasons. But I'm unsure how to even read Ted's ending, and not in a oh-gosh-it's-so-rich-and-ambiguous way but in a whaaaa....???-this-is-not-consistent-storytelling-this-is-missing-the-mark-for-me kinda way. When Ted looks at the camera, are we supposed to feel happy for him? Happy that he is happy? Is it a happy ending? Is he happy?? He doesn't look happy. Or sad. Or content. Or much of anything really. He just looks kind of vacant. Which is how he looked most of the episode. The final game (which wasn't even the final game and I suppose they justified not showing it for "creative" reasons, okay, sure, whatever) was the only time he looked engaged, and even then it wasn't fully. Most of the time, he did look like a gaping goldfish with a 6-second memory.

When it was time to say goodbye to everyone, there was no sense of nostalgia for the past 3 years and no sense of those relationships continuing. There were no promises or assurances of visits or skypes or calls. Phones, planes and the internet suddenly ceased to exist (when they'd served him and Henry quite well up until then). While the corniest song choice ever played (yes! we get it! the sacred struggle of fatherhood! GAAAHH), one family was sacrificed for another because both couldn't possibly co-exist. Two things at once makes brain hurty. After all the good work they did around dismantling traditional models of masculinity, in the end they reinforced a version of masculinity which centred supposedly noble self-sacrifice rather than ethical self-actualisation, regression over growth and singularity over plurality.

Sure, it bookends the series poignantly, if predictably. And truth is, Ted leaving Henry was baked into the premise of the show from ep 1. It's actually a pretty big emotional leap to take with a character but, as the audience, we made that leap because we understood that this extraordinary move away from his son was necessary for adventure, narrative and growth to occur. In real life, this move would've been highly questionable (esp for a female parent). But we are in a fictional reality here so we are bound as well as freed by the rules of genre, character and narrative. Without Ted leaving Henry, there is no story. We also understand that Ted's adventures will ultimately benefit Henry, who gets a dad who is fully engaged, professionally challenged and supported by a community of like-minded peeps who think he's super cool. By sending Ted back (or at least sending him back in this way), it implies that there is no more story to tell, Ted's story is over, his growth is done. It robs him of further growth and adventure, robs his son of a happy and fulfilled dad and robs the audience of imagining future failures and glories all shared by an indefatigable Richmond FC.

The whole point of this show was to show Ted building a new life, home and family after the disintegration of his marriage. This marriage did not provide the space or opportunity for him to heal childhood wounds or expand as a man. He was a small man, living a small, limited, conventional life. Which would be okay, if he wasn't suffocating in the process. He needed to find a bigger pond. It's possible that Ted's panic attacks were not a sign that Richmond was unhealthy or overwhelming for him. It's possible that there, he could breathe for the first time in years, he had the time and space to feel his feelings, pay attention to his past pain, move up and out and onward. Are we supposed to believe after that 3 years away and maybe 1 of therapy that that's it? He's done now, all healed, squared away? What exactly has changed in Kansas to assure us that he will be any happier there than he was prior? Henry was there then too. Little has changed with Michelle. His mum delivered some food and guilt then left. The show hasn't spent enough time in Kansas to assure us of Ted's happiness or continued growth. Literally, all we know is Henry is there. And BBQ sauce. (And Michelle's boyfriend has turned into a dick suddenly, conveniently).

What we do know well is what Ted is leaving behind. A rich and challenging world, wacky and wonderful experiences with a diverse community, a loved and actively loving chosen family. So are we supposed to read this ending like "The Wizard of Oz" which has the most disingenuous final line in movie history? Yes, Oz has some dangerous territories and menacing figures (represented by Rupert etc). But Oz is also where Dorothy's friends, her found family are. Oz is in bright technicolour. It's surprising and bizarre and bright. It's larger than life and full of weird characters and unexpected episodes. Oz is where we all want to be, to live, to stay. Richmond is Ted's real life Oz. It's where we want to be and want him to stay, even if only in our imaginations. In the finale he says: "There's no place like home but there's no place like Richmond either" (or something similar, only watched it once). This implies that Richmond is not his home, that homes are just where you come from. Homes are not found or created or collaborated on together. They aren't malleable, moveable. They aren't out there in the wild, potential beyond. They are behind us always, defining us by our often sad pasts.

Again, this idea is entirely contrary to the premise of the show and the progress of its characters who banded together under Ted's leadership to create a home, a family, a community. Unlike Ted's small, conventional family unit, his found family is queer-coded (as all found families are, since they suggest an alternative to traditional nuclear family units based on shared biology but not necessarily values). Logical families are the family you find after you have been ejected from the traditional biological family unit. They are sought and created, based on common interests and mutual support. They are made up of people who are likewise separated from their homes, due to distance, circumstance, fracture, whatever. The home world is displaced, but it is still home (and all the more precious for it). In this case, the queer-coded found family of TL includes and celebrates LGBT+ folk (took a while for them to get there but eventually they did), women, people of colour and any man choosing to do masculinity his way. This is the environment the show set up. This the environment the creators invited us into. This is the environment Ted left behind.

Now, I do think there could have been a way for Ted to return to Kansas and Henry (but not Michelle) that would have been consistent with and faithful to this initial set-up and its themes. But that isn't what we got. Like Dorothy waking up to a dingy black and white world where there's nothing to do but talk to your dog about all the adventures you long to have over the rainbow, Ted's Kansas looks grey and dull and muddy. And Ted looks like he only half-remembers the most vivid and important things he's ever seen and done. "Be a goldfish" is a useful idiom for dropping baggage that weighs you down. If you burn your tongue on your coffee but don't wanna be irritated all day, then it works. It doesn't work for a scenario in which you need to deal with the reality that you and your co-parent/ex have carved out very different life paths. Simple, wilful ignorance is not a solution to the sort of complex family circumstances that grown adults face every day. Just forgetting the past 3 years and moving on like nothing ever happened does not in any way guarantee Ted's happiness or his success as a father. Attempting to find fulfillment through that one! special! person!! is unlikely to end well. Whether it's a parent, partner or child, the burden on them is unfair.

Ted's predicament is a huge one but it's also one that has been there from the very beginning. They had 3 years and 30+ episodes to resolve it satisfactorily, using all of the freedoms that fictional realities can afford. And yet, when Rebecca brings up the various ways in which she is willing to adjust to Ted's fatherhood, these suggestions are made to sound ridiculous, impossible and totally futile. But are they? Are they anymore outlandish than any of the other highly optimistic plot points they've gleefully included? Ted flourishes personally and professionally in this milieu. And had they made a move earlier in the series, Henry could also have integrated into it and benefited greatly from it. (He clearly enjoys the club when he's there). As Rebecca implies, Ted has the opportunity to offer Henry a richer, wider and more diverse view of the world than he would otherwise have. He would have access to a queer-coded community that includes and celebrates, experiments and strives. He would see his dad loved, celebrated and supported. This show takes some BIG optimistic swings. If audiences were able to make the emotional leap of accepting Ted leaving his son in ep 1, then they can probably be trusted to make the leap of him staying, esp. if the writers took the time each season to establish how they will manage their relationship and the benefits each will glean from such an arrangement.

After all, Ted is not one to back down from a challenge. Taking the job at Richmond was a bold and brave move. This is the same man who pledged to "win the whole fucking thing". This is the same man who looked Rupert Manion in the eye then promptly whipped him at darts. But when it comes to distance co-parenting, he's not even open to suggestions? No "I appreciate you" for the boss/bestie, just oh-so-sage resignation? Please. These writers set up this predicament then refused to resolve it in a satisfactory way. Instead, they reduced Richmond FC to a dream and Ted to a memory-challenged goldfish who flails about when faced with the reality of a pre-existing predicament of his own creation. He rejects the help of others who could actually provide real-world solutions. Nor does he seem to register the possibility of a mature relationship with a woman who wants him and connects with him. Instead, he chooses to forget, keep swimming, paddle backwards -- not onward, not forward. He has a big pool, a new home, a found family that represents human complexity and plurality. But he chooses the small, simple and singular. A traditional three-part family unit that was supposed to make him happy but never did. He had his little holiday jaunt in technicolour land, a fun lil detour into an expansive rainbow family community. He came in, tinkered about with some people's problems: gave a middle-aged woman confidence here, supported a sad gay there. But rainbow families are not just a temporary playground for white cishet dudes with a saviour complex to get their own admirable values reflected back to them. In the end, Ted's found family had something absolutely vital to teach him that he did not stick around long enough to learn.

#ted lasso #ted lasso finale #ted lasso tv #ted lasso season 3 #spoilers #jason sudeikis #brendan hunt et al #ted should have stayed #ted x rebecca #btw this is airing during pride week/month while some parents are trying to keep their kids from learning about the big bright queer world