#to elise hello i cherish you | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

lovehotelreservation · 7 years

Text

Hot for Teacher - Say What Now? (1/5) [Rework]

Pairing: Reader/Adult!Reborn

Rating: R

HELLO EVERYONE!!! I found myself in a bit of a nostalgia trip after some dear cherished darlings of mine told me how they recalled my works back from my Luna days. And while I have been playing with this concept for a while, I thought it would be fun to at last give my hand at doing a rework of “Hot for Teacher,” one of my most well-known series of my earlier works!

Now, mind you this piece was written during my Junior year of high-school, which was reflected A GREAT DEAL in this fic, and thus in this rework, things have been tweaked considerably, as you shall see~

I’ve been wanting to do some kind of compare/contrast sort of thing with my writing for quite some time, and yesterday’s revelations inspired me to go ahead and do so! That said, I found it best to go through the chapter line by line and offering my new ~modern~ take on my old work!

As for whether I’ll continue on with another rework, I’m not quite sure at this point, but I thought to leave the possibility open, as you can see from the title. With all that said, I hope you all enjoy this nostalgia trip with me!

*Warning: the original referenced work depicts a student/teacher relationship in a high school setting

Summary: You: The naive schoolgirl that gives Tohru Honda a run for her money. Teachers: The most GQ mother*bleep*as that the world has to offer. Go. Various/Reader

Summary: While there never seems to be a dull day at Arcobaleno University, the usual shenanigans at campus amplifies to a great intensity once you have all the school’s equally absurd yet gorgeous professors rivaling one another for your heart.

In the year of 2009, a young philosopher by the name of David asked the most important question of all time, "Is this real life?"

....Wait, sorry, Freddie Mercury asked first.

In the year of 2015, a Canadian enchantress by the name of Claire Elise Boucher declared, “Welcome to Realiti” whilst writhing rhythmically across various Asian countries on film.

Either way, the following question was repeated by the Italian teacher of Arcobaleno Academy. That teacher? Why, none other than Reborn. Now, why is he lacking a last name, you ask? Well, you se-

The words crossed through the thoughts of Arcobaleno University’s top professor for their Italian language courses, Reborn. A charismatic individual, one who exuded a dangerous yet seductive aura that carried himself in inviting mystery.

"Say that again," Reborn ordered with a raised eyebrow, gazing down at you, obviously screwing the background information.

With one brow raised, the haziness in his half-lidded eyes furthered with lust as he demanded in a low, husky tone, “Say that again, amore.”

You leaned closer to him, whispering, "Baciami."

A deep, hot blush etched onto your face, you gathered up your courage to scoot a bit forward on his office desk surface to get closer to him. Your heart at an anxious flutter, you gazed right into his eyes as you whispered ever so sweetly, “Baciami.”

Yup...this was definitely real life and it was damn good!

Welcome to reality, indeed.

'Thank the lord for tenure,' Reborn thought, placing a hand behind your head, pulling you into a firm kiss. He hoisted you off of his desk, plopping you down on his lap, wrapping his arms around you. Goodness, how long had he waited to do this! His teeth nipped at your bottom lip, smiling when you parted your mouth.

Indulgence at its finest.

Was this opportunity to finally appease his hunger for you worth putting his career and reputation on the line?

Perhaps, but honestly, Reborn was far beyond the point of caring. If it meant either of you had to skip town to save face, then so be it. He’d be more than happy to take you along with him, with how long he harbored this ravenous desire for you.

You raked your fingers through his hair after you carefully removed his fedora. Wow, you never expected his hair to be so sof-

Moaning against his lips, you brought your fingers up towards his head. Though you were quickly getting swept up in the intensity of your professor’s kisses, you were mindful enough to carefully remove his cherished fedora. With his hair exposed, you didn’t wait to sate your curiosity and run your fingers through his black locks, the silky texture to each strand an absolute pleasure to touch.

You emitted an "Eep!" when you were suddenly laid on his desk, a grinning Reborn hovering over you, "Anything else, bella? I want to make sure your Italian well before my quiz tomorrow. And believe me, it won't be so easy."

However, you weren’t given the chance to fully appreciate his soft hair, as given that Reborn proceeded to press you down onto his desk. His lips parted from yours, his tongue poking out to run over them before he offered you a wickedly seductive grin. “Anything else I can do for you, tesoro mio? You know I like to be thorough in making sure that my students are prepared for my exams.”

One of his hands cupped your chin, the lightly calloused texture of his thumb running over your lips as he purred out, “After all, you know I can be merciless with my grading.”

Taking his hand, you placed it on the zipper of your uniform skirt, "Facciamo l'amore."

Modesty was a trait unknown to Reborn, as you observed during lectures and times you ran into him out of class. And yet, it was that same near arrogant confidence that made you so attracted to him, that made you be so daring as to take his hand and guide it towards your chest as you breathed out, “Facciamo l'amore.“

Not even missing a beat, he pulled the zipper down, muttering hotly against your ear, "Dimmi come lo vuoi."

Without a moment’s hesitation, Reborn squeezed your breasts, the soft sensation against his palm immediately inciting the dire need to tear off any piece of clothing that got in the way between your skin and his lips and fingers. His lips moved to your ear, hovering by as he hissed out, "Dimmi come lo vuoi."

"Easy."

You shuddered from his touch, your thighs pressing together in anticipation for what was to come. In a meek little whimper, you pleaded, “E-Easy.”

He chuckled lowly, rolling his hips against your's roughly, "I don't think I can do that for you, amore."

Admiring your sweet innocent reaction, Reborn chuckled darkly under his breath, a predatory glint in his eyes as he teased, “But that wouldn’t be fair to the other students, now would it, amore mio? Though...” The hand on your chest proceeded to drag down towards your thighs, intent on spreading them wide apart so he may finally get to feast in-between them. “...if you beg sweetly enough, I wouldn’t mind being gentle with you~”

"Aww, but you've made your quizzes easier before!"

"What?"

“’Gentle?’ That’s...a strange way of putting things, professor.”

Reborn's eyes flew open, coming face to face with you, standing right in front of his desk, a pout on your lips. Realizing that he was back in real life rather than the extremely awesome fantasy, two things came to the mind of snazzily dressed teacher: One, he, for the oddest of reasons, was fantasizing like he was Skull (Note, never decide to mix wine and a cappuccino together in an attempt to relax and get some grading done at the same time) and two, he didn't have tenure.

Guess real life isn't that damn good after all.

It seemed uncharacteristic of Reborn to be taken aback with a jolt. However, upon snapping out of his lascivious reverie, he realized that while he was still in his office, you were standing before his desk, your expression puzzled by your professor’s odd remark.

Instead of having you sprawled and mewling upon his desk while he made you squirm and cry out with his touch, it dawned on him that you were here to attend his office hours.

Reality continued to disappoint him.

The bell rung, causing you to let out a shrill of despair, "Ah! That was the second bell! Ohh! Lal's gonna kill me! Eh, I'll talk to you later, Reborn!"

And so, you and your jailbait-y ass zoomed out of the classroom, leaving Reborn alone with just him, his prep period and his Italian Rage.

And it was then that the campus bell rung, signaling that beginning of a new hour. Considering the timing of his afternoon hours, your body tensed as you squawked out, “On second thought, maybe I’ll just email you about tomorrow’s exam later, professor! I need to hurry to the baseball field before Coach Lal demolishes my attendance grade!”

Bidding your professor farewell, your legally able to consume alcoholic beverages in the United States of America self took off, thus leaving Reborn to recline in his sexually frustrated solitude.

And who caused such rage?

Nobody nobody one else but you.

Well, you caused it indirectly at least. Of all the three years you had attended the academy, Reborn was drawn to the conclusion that you, (Full Name),

Were.

Just.

Too.

Damn.

Innocent.

At first he let out a snort, followed by a humorless chuckle as he pressed a hand over his face. How ever did he--having led a life of romantic flings with absolutely no intention to ever settle down--get to this point where all he wanted was to claim you for himself? Of all the people he could possibly and helplessly fall for, it was the most innocent person in the world, and his student no less.

There you were, always never picking up on the innuendos or any of the double entendre he and some others would drop, believing that all was simply sunshine and sugar. Honestly, he could spend hours giving examples of such purity bu-

Any of the boys who attempted to woo you over failed if just because you were naive to their advances, double entendres flying over your head while blatant displays of vulgarity left you so adorably flustered. Truly, he would never tire witnessing your display of innocence whenever you were face to face with something naughty, which, made him conflicted between shielding you from such things to dirtying and desecrating you himself.

Suddenly, his teeth clenched while his pants began to feel constricting yet again.

Just how much of an effect did you have for him to be reacting in such an embarrassingly immature way?

Still, knowing this was a matter that had to be handled before his next class, Reborn rose from his desk, preparing to lock his office door.

But not before moving towards the nearby window to close it shut, having opened it earlier to allow in some fresh air.

Though, considering that his office did have a splendid view towards the grand expanse of Arcobaleno University’s many recreational areas such as its garden and baseball field, he peered below to where the latter of the two was, his eyes quick to seek you out.

He smiled at the sight of you dressed for yet another vigorous session of baseball with Lal--the main coach for a variety of Arcobaleno Unverisity’s sports teams and classes--his lips immediately became thin at the familiar boorish bellow of the other physical education instructor on campus.

"Lal's not here today because of a teacher's convention, so we're going to have a joint P.E. class today, hey! We're going to start with some baseball; boys vs. girls! (Your Name), you're coming with me, hey! Lal's been telling me your swing is way off!"

“Hey, as Lal emailed you all earlier, we’re having a joint class today since her flight back from that Crossfit conference got delayed! I’ve been told the lot of you have been slacking off with your running, so you’re gonna be practicing those sprints of yours on the double! Every single person here is running across the entire expanse of campus grounds starting...now!”

The mixed groans and whines of despaired students filled the air as they reluctantly adhered to the demands of the notoriously merciless but jovial Coach Colonello, who was grinning broadly as he watched the two classes take off.

As Reborn watched you prepare to join the rest of your fellow classmates, he heard Colonello call out your name, watching as the blonde jogged up towards you effortlessly to rest a hand upon your shoulder. He noted the sweet, questioning look on your face as you faced the coach, whose typically obnoxiously loud voice was kept to a near unsettling low level as he murmured something to you.

While Colonello’s voice was quiet, his actions were not, as he proceeded to gesture some bat swinging, his expression looking to be eager as he pointed between the two of you before motioning to the batting cages.

With the rest of the class slogging their way through their instructed sprint, this would leave just you and Colonello alone.

Together.

Reborn's hand curled into a fist once hearing his rival's voice from outside. He stood up and straightened his tie, proceeding to walk out of his classroom.

Trouble was afoot.

Reborn’s eyes narrowed just before his window was sent flying down shut with monstrous force yet smooth fluidity. However, there was no time to waste as he made his way out of his office in quick strides, while smoothing out the front of tailored black suit, his charming aura now tinged with aggravation.

If there was anyone not welcome to his reality, it was Colonello.

#reborn #katekyo hitman reborn #reader insert #super freaknasty writing #management will return in a queue minutes

14 notes · View notes

cosmos-five · 7 years

Text

ᴛʜᴇ ʏᴇʟʟᴏᴡ ʙᴏʏ » ᴄʜᴇɴʟᴇ 1/3

─ ʜɪɢʜ sᴄʜᴏᴏʟ x ɢʜᴏsᴛ ᴀᴜ

↠ ᴛʜᴇʀᴇ ᴡᴀs ᴀʟᴡᴀʏs ᴛʜᴇ sʟɪᴍ ʜᴏᴏᴅᴇᴅ ғɪɢᴜʀᴇ ʀᴜɴɴɪɴɢ ᴅᴏᴡɴ ᴛʜᴇ ʜᴀʟʟᴡᴀʏ ᴘᴀsᴛ ᴛʜᴇ ᴍᴜsɪᴄ ʀᴏᴏᴍ ᴡɪᴛʜɪɴ ᴛʜᴇ ᴀᴄᴀᴅᴇᴍʏ ʙᴜᴛ ғᴏʀ ᴇᴠᴇʀʏᴏɴᴇ ᴇʟsᴇ﹐ ɪᴛ ᴡᴀs ᴏɴʟʏ ᴛʜᴇ ғɪɢᴍᴇɴᴛ ᴏғ ʏᴏᴜʀ ᴏᴡɴ ɪᴍᴀɢɪɴᴀᴛɪᴏɴ.

↠ ᴄʜᴇɴʟᴇ x ᴛʜᴇ ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ﹐ ᴄʜᴀʀᴀᴄᴛᴇʀ ᴅᴇᴠᴇʟᴏᴘᴍᴇɴᴛ/sʟɪᴄᴇᴏғʟɪғᴇ

btw ;; the reader will be introduced in part two of this little series thing (ʃƪ'⌣’)

also credit to nakamotens for the cute ass gifset of nct dream omg

HELLO i’m here (sadly) with a headcannon kind of thing for this idea

it could honestly be a fanfic on it’s own but you’ll see more of chenle’s presence in the other nct dream stories i’m planning

moving along

chenle was such a happy person during his lifetime. a very lovable kid in his academy, his family, his close friends and outside of school

he made everyone smile no matter what the situation was and his hyper energy rubbed off on everyone else majority of the time

“sunshine” to “loud kid” went around the academy

he had a good amount of friends but of course! nothing replaced the dream for kids crew

dream for kids crew was for the boys in the academy who came here on scholarship or had a difficult home life

everyone in it valued the after school activities, random field trips to theaters or any other event someone mentioned and then the friendships everyone made with each other

the dream kids typically got their scholarship based on what they were strong in (e.g music theory, any instrument, sports, science, the art department, math, languages)

the academy particularly loves these boys (and girls because they have their own crew/program!) since they ended up usually being the success stories

chenle was determined to be one of those kids, the kids who had their photo taken for the wall with a ribbon on the side of it LOL

see chenle use to play the piano

he was really fucking good at it and he spent hours upon hours crafting the quality of the sounds that came out

his home life was a struggle but it was filled with warmth and love

chenle came from a pretty poor family consisting of his single father, his grandmother and younger sister who was only in pre school when he passed away

his mother had walked out on the family for another man so chenle didn’t really see her much except for holidays and sometimes birthdays if she wasn’t angry at his father

he didn’t really care if she did visit

his grandmother’s homestyle cooking, his father’s hearty laugh and his little sister whining to be held by him was all he needed

chenle discovered the piano when he entered into the academy

at first, he didn’t know exactly what he wanted to do since he was only six years old but as time went on… he was confused

he didn’t know what to do

he tried out astronomy with renjun but he wasn’t as stellar at it like his best friend

jaemin suggested joining the book club he’s in but after reading one chapter of a thick novel, he gave up

mark convinced him to do soccer but met with the words of “no thank you” because chenle knew those jerseys were itchy

jisung said to join the art community with jeno or come with him to an ap algebra class but chenle didn’t agree with any of those

haechan reminded him to be gentle with himself and wait it out

of course chenle got frustrated and vowed to be undecided for the rest of his life

until he heard the piano piece clair de lune and he knew he wanted to learn that instrument

so! he begged his father for a keyboard on his thirteenth birthday and wow! his father managed to buy it for him

he still owns the keyboard and yeah, it’s in bad shape but mark put all these stickers he got from the local dollar store plus jisung scribbled “butter fingers” on it so he’ll keep it even if it breaks

cliche but he loves playing für elise and that’s one of his go to audition songs

funny story : since it is mentioned that he auditions with that song, the teachers there always say “chenle, can you please pick another piece? we heard this last week lol” and he’s like “uh?? but you know you like hearing it so no!” they gave him this look so he starts playing a jazz piece bye

chenle’s pretty much self taught because taking lessons couldn’t happen for him

so he watched youtube videos and before you know it, he wasn’t tone deaf!

he learned any song ranging from twinkle twinkle little star for his little sister to stevie wonder’s isn’t she lovely

he finally knew where he belonged in the academy and what he wanted to be

he wanted to be a conductor one day

no one questioned him or made him feel crummy for it not being a typical dream job

but he didn’t care either way since it was his soon to be life, not theirs

the dream kids support him so much!!

jeno even lets him conduct his flute practices from time to time

chenle during the practice : ( ՞ਊ ՞)

jeno during the practice : (`_っ´) “chenle keep moving your freaking arms im off beat”

renjun wouldn’t let him conduct his percussion practices though lmfao

jeno and renjun would be like “band geeks united!” and chenle would have stood there pouting and mocking their handshake since piano wasn’t really in band or orchestra

it soon becomes “musical geniuses united!”

playing the piano made him feel safe

it was a whole new world for him besides his own earbuds and the dream kids

SPEAKING OF THE DREAM KIDS lets get mushy before the angst

chenle loved all of them

definitely jisung but he loved the slightly older kids like mark and renjun

jeno was his main dude though for arcade games if they had either enough spare change or they somehow smoothly talked the owner to let them in. sometimes the latter worked.

jaemin helped him tackle vocabulary terms in their english courses and taught him how to properly learn the difference between effect and affect

he still didn’t know

haechan helped him with science homework and actually helped him pass with a c-

jisung!! oh jisung!! was his childhood friend, basically since toddler days since their families mingled during community church meetings and such

jisung always told chenle that they are brothers and that no matter what happens, they wouldn’t live life to the fullest without each other

this is random but i forgot to mention that they live in really small town as well so everyone knew everyone. tight community i suppose

back to the mushiness

everyone in the group cherished and let me tell you, PROTECTED HIM WITH THEIR LIVES! jisung and chenle was everyone’s little brothers

chenle enjoyed teasing them and laughing with them with his iconic laugh (wow i really just heard his laugh in my own head bye) probably screaming too when mark didn’t get him ice cream

everything was to be kept light hearted and fun since things at home were pretty shitty for everyone

now for the angst

well sad angst

it was around the autumn seasons and it happened to be close to thanksgiving so school was out and families planned their own dinner parties

jaemin had invited all the boys to his house for the different tastings of breads and cheese his parents were serving

chenle ate a lot as per usual but everyone kind of already figured that would happen

jisung and chenle walked home together that evening whilst chewing on the sugar cookies jaemin’s mother left them

the little conversations they have are silly but calming

jisung and chenle pretty much talked about anything and loved adventures in general, even if it’s just these two they always manage to have fun

“when thanksgiving day is over, do you wanna go to the aquarium?”

“hm, sure, chenle. i’m gonna pay though. my dad gave me apology money.”

another random thing i forgot to mention but jisung and chenle have twinning skateboards i’m kinda crying about it

anyways

chenle’s aunt had decided to come down because she missed her brother and simply to eat her mother’s good cooking

chenle and his aunt were close you know, super close and whenever she came down to visit, they would go rollerskating

so she took him rollerskating and out for pizza before hopping back in the car to go home

on the way back, they did their own version of karaoke and it ended up being a huge laugh fest between the two

his aunt wanted to save this moment with him so she pulled out her phone

“we need pictures”

“yeah we definitely need pictures”

it was at a stop light

it wasn’t time for it change yet on either sides but the streets were empty and a car had decided to come through

during the pictures, in the camera finder, chenle could see the car swerving and coming straight for them

but before he say anything, all he saw was black and the white noise of ringing in his ears

his family had soon seen the manila folder with the words “hit & run, two dead, five minutes before death took place” labeled across it

chenle was identified by wearing a yellow hooded jacket and the receipt ticket from the skating rink lying next to his aunt with a small smile on his face

#chenle #nct dream #nct #nct dream scenarios #nct dream imagines #nct imagines #nct scenarios #chenle scenarios #chenle imagines #nct dream au #nct au #chenle au #**my writings #**creations #this au makes my heart ache i love it so much im already working on the other boys

37 notes · View notes

asexualspectrumspector · 7 years

Text

Um hello I wanted to ask a question about placiosexual/romantics. I recently discover that I am one, but I wanted to know that if my partner does give me romantic gifts, can I still love and cherish the thought behind it and accept the gifts and still be placiosexual/romantic? (Assuming that placioromantic means to desire to give romantic gifts and perform romantic gestures/acts, but no Desire to receive them)? Cause if my baby made something for me,ohhhh you better believe I’ll brag and praise the heck outta him

Hi @cherrypiewithasideofwingsplease

We don’t usually answer questions submitted through the submission box, but I just wanted you to know that yes, this is okay. A person in your situation would not care as much about the gifts themselves so much as the fact that their partner was thinking about them and cared about them so much that they wanted to physically show them. It’s those ideas that are what matter.

So if your partner made you something, then by all means, brag it up and praise them and show them how much you appreciate their thinking of you! Being placiosexual/romantic doesn’t have to stand in the way of that.

-Mod Elise

#ask asexualspectrumspector #placiosexual #placioromantic #cherrypiewithasideofwingsplease #submission

16 notes · View notes

just-french-me-up · 7 years

Note

Hello, Elise! for the writing prompts thing, Enjoltaire and "I wish we could stay like this forever" .

Here is a high school AU because my feelings will not be contained

The afternoon was drawing to a close, filling Grantaire’s bedroom in a warm, comforting light. There was something about this place that Enjolras cherished, a feeling of comfort he rarely found anywhere else.

Grantaire’s bedroom was more than the sum of its parts. It was not so much the Beatles and Fall Out Boy posters, or the pictures of Grantaire as a child, or the evolution of the watercolours stuck on the walls that created that sensation. Grantaire’s presence was so embedded in these walls that just being there made Enjolras feel light as a feather. Of course, having Grantaire with him only doubled the feeling. Oh lord, if he went any higher, he’d touch the clouds...

His boyfriend shuffled against him, pulling Enjolras out of his reverie. Grantaire’s head rested comfortably on his stomach, while Enjolras slowly played with his hair to the rhythm of Grantaire’s vinyls. The only thing his father had given him, apparently. That and a hatred for mathematics. And his hair, too. Enjolras had to say, he was grateful for that.

“So do you like it? The music?” Grantaire asked.

Enjolras had no idea what was playing.

“It’s catchy. I like it. The lyrics aren’t very... groundbreaking.”

“When it doubt, write something about love. Add in some vague physical attributes. There will always be a sucker somewhere to relate.”

There was truth to that. There was something about love songs that finally resonated with Enjolras lately. They didn’t all sound dumb anymore. Though most of them still did, but it was mostly due to bad poetry.

Enjolras was so engrossed in the music and in an atmosphere that he could only describe as “Grantaire” that he didn’t hear the knock on the door. It was too late when Grantaire’s mother came into the room, with Grantaire’s little sister in tow. Immediately, Enjolras’ bubble popped and a wave of panic engulfed him. He promptly took his hands off Grantaire’s hair and straightened his back, ready for the debacle. Something along the line of “Get away from my son!”

It never came.

Instead, Grantaire’s mother just smiled and put a platter of food and drinks on her son’s desk, without even batting an eye.

“I kept calling you from the kitchen, but the music must have been too loud. I thought you’d be hungry, it’s almost six.”

“Thanks, Mom.”

“Thank you,” Enjolras echoed timidly.

Grantaire’s sister, who must not have been more than 6, took a couple of steps into the bedroom.

“Can I play with you, R?”

Grantaire’s mom was quick to take the little girl by the hand to guide her the other way.

“I think Grantaire wants to hang out with his friend for the moment, Delphine. Come on, we should leave the boys alone, maybe they’ll want to play later.”

They were gone as quickly as they had come. Enjolras, still confused and on his guards, looked at the space Grantaire’s mother had occupied just a second ago. Grantaire had not moved an inch, as though the incident was absolutely nothing out of the ordinary. Had the same scene played in Enjolras’ bedroom, starring Enjolras’ mother, the outcome would have been radically different.

“So... that happened.”

“What happened?”

“Your mom. Catching you with me.”

Grantaire snorted.

“Oh come on, it’s not like she caught us doing the good ol’ beast with two backs! She’s seen more jarring than two guys cuddling on a bed.”

“So this is okay? I mean.. Your mom, she’s cool with us being together?”

“I guess. I mean I talked about it with her before, you know. All that bi stuff.”

Enjolras propped himself up on the bed to have a better look at Grantaire’s expression.

“Ooh.What did she say?”

“She made a bi flag cake,” Grantaire shrugged, though Enjolras could hear the fondness in his voice. “Raspberry, blueberry and blackberry. T’was a grand night. Never quite understood why blueberries where-Why are you smiling?”

“Nothing. I just wish we could stay like this forever.”

#answered #les miserables #enjoltaire #enjolras #grantaire #exr #les mis #written stuff #that was actually quite enjoyable to write #Enjolras my poor son #his household aint very lgbt friendly #Grantaire's mother is a fine gem pass it on #also Grantaire's bedroom is the kind of bedrooms that follow the curve of the roof you feel me #anyway #jjohnkeats

178 notes · View notes

mercerislandbooks · 6 years

Text

What Serves the Story: Discussing Imagination, Research, and Seattleness with Elise Hooper

Elise Hooper is coming to celebrate the release of Learning to See: A Novel of Dorothea Lange, the Woman who Revealed the Real America on January 22nd at noon. She will be signing copies of her two books as well as passing out some Dorothea Lange postcards. Read below to look at my interview with her about her writing process and newest release!

- Kelleen

Last Saturday was gorgeous, sunny, and temperate. Elise even commented later that she told the baristas, “I am going to go to the back of the shop because I am sort of blinded by this light.” I felt the same.

I arrived in a flurry, thinking I would be 15 minutes early, but she beat me there. Elise was writing in a vibrant blue notebook that she closed as I approached. I introduced myself in person (we had only talked over email). She commented that she thought she was early enough to get some writing done, which made me eye that notebook again. Learning to See is only a week from release, so it had to be something new. My first question came to me naturally…

IB: Can you talk about what you are working on right now?

EH: Sure, the new book I’m working on was sold to the same editor at William Morrow, its working title is “Fast Girls,” and it’s supposed to come out in the summer of 2020. It is about three pioneering women Olympians who are among some of the first women competing at track and field in the Olympics. Basically they all have these very interesting and different life stories which all come together at the 1936 Olympic Games in Berlin. It’s funny, when I tell people, they say, “I didn’t know women were there!” and I say, “Exactly.”

IB: So, you were born an East Coaster. How do you find the Seattle community in terms of readership?

EH: That’s an interesting question because I have only lived in Seattle as a writer, I haven’t come from another city with that career to compare. But, I do think that we are so lucky that we live in such a bookish place both in terms of readers and other writers. I have been delighted to build up a peer group of other writers I can chat with. Reading is alive and well here! People have come out of the woodwork to support my book. I do feel like there is a collective interest in reading and books, which is also remarkable due to that fact that Amazon is here. I would say the little novel is alive and well.

IB: You definitely consider yourself a novel writer, even with the hefts of research?

EH: I am totally a novelist. I use real people as inspiration, but I usually work with people where there is a little bit of mystery to their life. May Alcott—there was a ton of open space in which I could create her story. Louisa was an avid journalist and letter writer; her life was very well documented. From there, I could cobble together a maze through her other friends. Dorothea Lange’s life is documented very well visually, but she pretty much burned all of her letters. There is a PBS documentary about her, so that is the best way to hear her voice these days. Even with all the biographies out there on Lange, there was still some empty space that I felt like I could richly imagine her life.

IB: How do you balance research vs. imagination?

EH: That’s such a good question because that is something I grapple with every time I sit down to write. I love doing research, and I love that pretty much everyday I get to learn tons of new stuff about any given topic, but I really work hard to keep my eye on what serves the story. Research is like a big iceberg and in the book you should only see the tip of it. The author holds the rest. Your reader shouldn’t feel like they are reading an encyclopedia. They should be caught up in the action and the characters. I really work hard on trying not to let some of these finds consume me. These things are fascinating to me but may not be to the rest of the world.

IB: What is your favorite part of this writing process? Do you like your rabbit holes? Do you like the writing best?

EH: I love writing that first draft. That bad, lousy first draft that is basically just getting down the basic story. I love that because that is when you see how this whole story is going to come together and you see them. There is nothing quite like sitting down and figuring out how someone is going to approach a meal, for example. It can reveal a lot about characters. There is really a heady excitement about writing that first draft.

IB: What are you looking forward to with the release of Learning to See?

EH: I am really looking forward to reconnecting with friends and family, both here in the Puget Sound and also beyond! It’s really fun. I love doing some of these stops where I get to visit the library from the town I grew up in and see people I haven’t seen in a long time. A gift that has truly come from this whole process is that I have heard from people that I haven’t heard from in decades. I always try to send back the most grateful messages because someone took the time to read the book and the follow up with a message. That blows me away, and I cherish those so much.

IB: That’s some of our favorite parts too. Being able to see authors come into the store like Laurie Frankel and Garth Stein is so great because when they come in, they become part of our community more than the book on the shelf. Readers appreciate that too; they are drawn to the people that take the time to visit the shop. There is something magical about the idea that someone has been here and also is writing in an area nearby them.

EH: It’s funny, I have had a lot of people say to me that they were reading along in the book and had a moment where they thought, “Oh my gosh, Elise wrote this!” That sounds funny, but I totally know what they mean. The magic of seeing my book on the shelf has not gone away. I am still thrilled every time I see it.

IB: What attracted you to Dorothea Lange as your next subject?

EH: Oh, okay…this is kind of a fun story. When I think about what I am going to say at these events, this is where I am starting. I had thought that I needed to do a more local project. So, initially I was interested in Imogen Cunningham. I was an art minor in college; I was sort of familiar with her photography. I think she even had a studio at one point right around here in Pioneer Square. So, there I went diving into her life. As part of that, I was figuring out her social circles and influences. It turns out, over time, her best friend became Dorothea Lange. I was really familiar with Lange’s work, but as I really started learning about her—the woman behind these photos—I was struck by this huge transformation that Dorothea went through that was different from many of her peers.

EH: She started off as this hugely successful portrait photographer and then had this total turn-around to the world at large. She started documenting life during the Great Depression with social activism inspiring her work. I was really intrigued by that. It has honestly become more and more relevant. The book sold to my editor just after the last Presidential Election, and it has become even more frighteningly relevant. During the Women’s March in 2017, all these women were finding their voices and probably marching for the first time. That was so similar to Dorothea. She eclipsed Imogen in my mind because of her interest in social activism.

EH: I liked the pragmatism in her work but her idealism too. I liked that she was interesting in more than just the art of capturing people; she wanted a real story. I could totally relate to that.

Learn more about Elise and her new book next Tuesday! Come in and say hello.

#elise hooper #learning to see #the other alcott #louisa may alcott #seattle #local author #island books #kelleen #dorothea lange #imogen cunningham #photography #social activism #great depression #historical fiction #writing process #research

0 notes

imagine-that-one-thing · 8 years

Text

Styles & Co - Part 5

Authors Note: Smut warning.

✾ ✾ ✾

My fingers type away at my desk, composing an email for my boss, who doesn't have a way with words. He's not excessively formal. He's too straightforward and doesn't tend to stick to sophistication when it comes to emails.

My eyes leave the screen, and I see a shadow at the door.

I smile up at my best friend as she transits in with files in her hands. I lean back in my chair and cross my arms, taking note of her attire—a nicer than usual dress, and a pair of heels that look brand new.

"Addilyn, what's this?" I gesture my finger up and down, curious as to why her attire is nicer than usual. She gives me a timid smile, and I raise a brow. "Spill," I instruct, and she places the organised collections of documents on my desk.

"I'm going out after I get off," she bites her lip, intriguing my curiosity even further.

"C'mon, don't make me guess the details." I lament.

"Tonight's the night." She whispers, her eyes gleaming radiantly.

"The night?" I call into question.

The night for what?

Her very vague response only leaves me quaintly wondering what she means.

Honestly, it could be the night she finally gets rid of the repulsive Christmas sweater she wears when we are told to wear Christmas sweatshirts. It could also be the night she gets drunk for the first time.

She's quite the goody-good— some would say somewhat reserved and a smidge sheltered.

"You know." She whispers, blushing lightly.

"...the night for sex?" I challenge, just for my amusement.

Watching her eyes grow wide as the word sex slips off my tongue is entertaining. It makes me chuckle.

"No!" She reprehends, shaking her head at me.

The word sex is a word she tries to avoid coming to grips with, and as her best friend, it is my duty to bring it up and observe her as she squirms.

"Addy, there's nothing wrong if it's the night. It's pleasant," I assure her mischievously, imperceptibly winking at her.

In all honesty, I am correct. It's pleasant.

She huffs and stares at me. Okay, time to be serious-minded.

"What's tonight?" In a low voice, I interrogate, drawing the papers relating to a matter requiring attention to my lap and running my fingers over them.

"I think he's proposing." She shrieks, overly aroused as the words roll off her tongue.

"Really?" I narrow my eyes at her, considerably surprised that she thinks she's getting engaged.

This is the first I've heard about it, and I'd expect her lover to inform me if he's marrying my best friend.

"Yes, I found the box. I hinted I wanted a holiday proposal," Addy comments, sitting on the edge of my desk.

"Addy, I have found many boxes, and none of them has been an engagement ring. It could be earrings or something," I elucidate with a sigh, not wanting her to get her hopes up.

I recall the time I was attempting to find god knows what, and a small-sized Tiffany blue box fell from the built-in wardrobe.

Instantaneously I started freaking out and panicking that Harry was going to propose. I didn't open the box. I put it back and disquietly paced the house for a good hour. That night when he came home, I could barely gaze at him. It turns out he had brought me a pair of earrings to match my dress for his entrepreneurial party. So my panicking was literally for no reason. All because I presumed he was going to propose marriage.

"I think it is," she shakes her head.

"Let me know how it goes," I instruct, getting back to my work as she gets off my desk and leaves.

✾ ✾ ✾

I press my elbows to my desk, undesirous of being trapped in the office space.

Unlike Harry, I don't have a capital window with an aesthetic city view. Sometimes I envy him; darling office views are a spectacular thing— in my sentiment, so soothing, breathtaking, and a reminder of what lies below.

It's ten in the morning, and I still haven't had a coffee. How I am functioning, I do not know.

My phone takes my concentration, and I glance down at it.

✾ ✾ ✾

"Hope you're feeling better. Where are you? You're not at the house. I'm disappointed. X CEO. Styles.& Co -Harry."

"I feel better. I'm at work. You'll get over your disappointment. Fancy bringing me a coffee? I'll make it worth your while. ;)"

"Are you initiating to seduce me at your workplace? Elise, that is unprofessional. CEO. Styles.& Co -Harry"

"Take it or leave it, Styles. I'm surprised 'unprofessional' is in your vocabulary. Gotta work now. Xx"

✾ ✾ ✾

"You're not good at following instructions, are you?" Harry's voice disturbs me from my assigned work, and my eyes dart to him as he stands in my doorway.

What a charming surprising event.

"Hello, Harry," I greet, and he steps in, wearing his suit pants and jet black button-down.

Holy hell.

"All black, nice," I grin, appreciating how well-featured he views in all black.

If I weren't such a modest and somewhat angelic person, I'd tell him to take me under the table.

Oh, how I hold in detestation, yet cherish when he's in all black, so bloody alluring.

"Yes, why are you here?" He lowers his eyes on me, coming closer to my desk, disrupting me from my fixed stare.

"I work here. Why are you here?" I tilt my head, unsure of why he is in my office without warning.

He leans down and kisses my cheek, "I'm having a discussion with your boss, and I got coffee," Harry announces, holding up a cup of coffee, placing it on my desk, "I thought we agreed on you. Staying home?" Harry proceeds, his eyes staring down at me while my eyes gaze up, admiring his intensely black accoutre.

If only I could undo those buttons.

"You agreed on that, actually. I'm fine," I shake my head, emphasising who was the one who agreed on me ostensibly staying home. I never adhered to his instructions.

My hand reaches for the coffee, the warmth radiating at a moment's notice.

Ah, freshly brewed coffee, hand-delivered by the finest man.

"Thank you for the coffee," I smile up at him.

"It was a mutual agreement." Harry shakes his head, "and you weren't fine this morning at three A.M throwing up," he makes me remember my early morning tragedy, oh how I don't want to even think about how my morning started.

"I'm fine now. Why are you talking to my boss?" I softly interrogate, pressing the coffee cup to my lips, the coffee tasting exceptional, just the right amount of sugar and a touch of vanilla. Perfect.

"Business. He asked to meet," Harry vaguely answers, not giving me much to work with.

I sigh in an attempt to study his facial expression, curiosity sweeping over me.

What are Harry and my boss concocting? What could they possibly need to meet about?

Harry distracts my thoughts as I notice him picking up my notebook and opening it.

"Harry, stop snooping," I instruct, and Harry grabs a pen and scribbles down in my notebook.

"Ditch the idea, the business revenue sucks, and whoever pitched that idea is a fledgeling," Harry observes, placing my notebook back down.

"Harry!" I reprimand, grabbing the notebook and pushing it in my drawer, "you know nothing about the revenue." I murmur, knowing very well and good he expectably has a better understanding than what I do— but that's not the point. "Don't snoop." I forewarn, closing down the tabs on my computer.

"Whatever, I'm going to meet your boss. I'll see you sometime tonight." Harry dismisses me, leaning down and kissing my cheek, leaving me somewhat sullen.

I go back to my computer, working and reflecting upon Christmas.

The house semblances as if Scrooge dwells in it. There's not a single thing embellished. We don't even have a Christmas tree.

Who doesn't have a tree at Christmas?

I necessitate adding Holiday spirit to the home. Unfortunately, it's all too bland, and I don't have a taste for it.

I shake my thoughts away, making an effort to concentrate my task, but all I can consider is aureate twinkling lights being strung around the house. There's no way I can convince Harry to string the lights. I can scarcely persuade him to be home before I fall asleep.

✾ ✾ ✾

I step into the Styles and Co building, my heels gliding across the blackened glazed tiles.

"Ma'am, it is after hours," I overhear a woman courteously call, my eyes glance over towards the desk, and I give her a small smile,

"I'm with Harry," I graciously express, holding up my keys and watching as she bites her lip nervously.

"Elise?" She questions in a tender voice. I give her a nod, "I'm sorry, go ahead." She gestures towards the elevators, and I stride my way to them, making my way up to Harry's floor.

I make my way around the floor, stopping as I get to Harry's office space, finding it unoccupied. "He's in a late meeting." A familiar voice disrupts me.

I turn around, and my eyes meet his assistant, Anastasia. Her hair falls flawlessly over her shoulders, her makeup unblemished, her eyes glistening.

Labelling her as gorgeous would be an understatement.

"Oh," I sound, lost for words as I stand mesmerised by her beauty.

She flashes me a smile before her eyes dart around the area.

"Oh, Harry asked me to frame pictures for his office. Would you like to pick the pictures?" She affably formulates, beckoning for me to follow her to her desk.

I promptly follow, unsure of what kind of pictures he's placing in his office.

He definitely isn't the kind of man who initially desires to have things hanging on his walls, hence why his office isn't furnished with decorations besides the books. She pulls pictures from her drawer and lays them on her desk.

It takes me a moment to realise they're all pictures of him and me. I stare at them, bewildered. He truly wants to put our pictures on display.

"I was thinking of doing a collage. What do you think?" She smiles up at me, awaiting my decision.

Is there anything this woman isn't perfect at?

"I like that," I confirm with a nod, smiling down at the pictures in front of me—all from different times.

My heart flutters as my eyes lock down on a picture of Harry and me dancing. We were invited to a wedding, and the photographer snapped a picture of the two of us romantically slow dancing— it's one of my favourite pictures. So peaceful and romantic.

"So, I have permission to make a collage?" Anastasia composedly consults with. In return, I nod my head, yes.

I overhear a door close, and I turn around to see an ill-tempered man muttering and striding to another office. I glance back towards Anastasia, an ill at ease expression written on her face.

I don't even think I want to ask any questions.

"Elise," Harry's voice distracts me, and I turn to see him walking closer to me, his lips pursed in a fine line.

"Hey," I greet, and he places a little kiss on my cheek.

"'ello, why are you not home?" He queries, his eyes scanning me up and down.

"I just got off and wanted to see you." I respond, his eyes immediately filling with concern.

"Anastasia, I'll be in my office." He tenderly pulls me into his office, closing the door behind us.

I glance around. The office hasn't changed since I was last in here, the books in accomplished order, his desk in a pleasingly orderly and clean condition and flawless as usual, everything in an impeccable formation.

"Elle, are you okay?" He sweetly probes, his voice no longer sounding as strong and overpowering as it did previously.

I chuckle to myself, turning around to face him, and I lean on his desk.

"I am fine, Harry," I confirm with a nod, "are you? You seem concerned," I gently inquire, taking notice of how his shoulders seem to be tense, his eyes wearied and dark.

He gives me a brief nod, stepping closer to me, kissing me gently.

A gesture I can never refuse to indulge in.

A knock at the door pulls his lips away from mine, and a groan escapes his lips. I look up at him with a smile before he steps towards the door, allowing a worker to enter.

"I've concluded a marketing idea, sir." The young man stutters. I'd say he's comparatively newly born to the business world, he's youthful appearing, and doesn't expose any dominance.

He appears insecure, almost weak at his knees.

"I'll, uh— I'll wait outside." Then, in a low voice, I obtrude upon, being aware of as Harry's hand reaching for the papers relating to a matter requiring validation. He gazes at me, his dark eyes narrowing on me.

He shakes his head, "no, stay." He instructs, walking around and sitting at his desk.

I prop myself against his bookshelf, observing as the man anxiously awaits a response from Harry.

Silence sweeps across the office, and I apprehend how the young man is twiddling with his fingers, a sign of fretfulness. Poor guy expectably feels intimidated standing in front of his boss. I'd dislike intensely to be in his position. He appears to lack composure or dignity of manner. Harry always states that one should never show fear. Once fear is established, the battle is over, and the fear becomes the prey.

"The marketing idea sucks, it's weak, it's utter shit. Re-think it." Harry throws the file back at his worker, the file sliding across his desk, almost falling to the cold floor. "Don't just stand there, go." Harry waves bad-tempered towards the door, the man nodding sheepishly before hurrying out. Harry huffs, and he vigorously pulls his suit jacket up to his arms.

"Harry, that was harsh," I mutter while he grabs his keys from his desk.

"Being nice loses me money in my own damn business," Harry grunts broodily, his tone of voice somewhat irking me.

I have a feeling I'll be hearing about this for the rest of the night. "You didn't need to throw the file." I clear my throat, his dark eyes narrowing down on me, his hands adjusting the collar of his jacket.

"Was I meant to give it to him graciously? Pet him on the shoulder for an idea that would lose the company millions? Because that's not how I fucking work, Elise." Harry growls before taking a heavy breath.

He's had quite the unforeseen change of mood. He wasn't as readily angered moments ago. "Sorry." He mutters, shoving things into his briefcase.

"Harry—" I begin, shortly being cut off by Harry's voice.

"If you're going to lecture me, don't." He forewarns, appearing excessively aggressive and tense.

"Harry, please calm down. I'm your girlfriend, not an employer." I pleasantly remind him.

He heavily sighs, drawing his briefcase off the desk and stepping around the desk. "Let's go," Harry mutters, stepping out of his office with me trailing behind me.

✾ ✾ ✾

Harry thrusts open the door entering the foyer before travelling into the living room. He stops in the doorway and turns to stare at me. I can't tell if he's irritated, baffled, or both. "First, why do we have two Christmas trees up to the ceiling in our living room?" He narrows his eyes down on me, and I give him an impudent grin, "Elise, how many Trees did you buy?" He challenges, stepping into the living that is at present filled with boxes of assorted Christmas decorations.

I lean up and place a kiss on his cheek, "all that matters is you love me and that it is the season to be jolly," I remind him, stepping away from him.

He lets out a breath before peeking into a box.

"I do love you," Harry agrees, "but don't you think this will be a bit much?" Harry benevolently requests, gazing at me with tremendously exhausted eyes.

I shake my head, enthused to furnish the house with decorations and with Christmas spirit, after all— it's the most wonderful time of the year.

"Baby, it's going to look like Santas workshop threw up in here."

"There's nothing wrong with that, Scrooge," I wink at him as he turns to glare at me, not too content with the nickname.

"I am not a grumpy old man," he disputes, "where's the third tree? It better not be in our room," Harry advises, sounding precisely like a person who abhors Christmas.

"You're acting very grumpish. The third Tree is by the staircase," I inform him, observing as he tugs out stockings from a box.

"Elle, sweetheart— I'm just exhausted. Decorate as much as your heart desires." He lowers his voice, giving into my Christmas spirit and decorating until my heart is content.

"I had planned too," I murmur as he rolls his eyes.

"Alright, sassy. You have everything organised, so I'm going to relax. Have fun being buddy the freaking elf." Harry half-smiles, his eyes scanning the boxes again. "Sorry, totally wasn't trying to be hateful." He corrects himself, causing me to chuckle,

"Will you do me a favour?" I express with a grin, battering my eyes to bewilder him. He sighs yet again, giving me a nod. "Will you find the garland and hang it up on the staircase?" I sweetly pose. Harry glances at me inexpressively.

"The what?"

"The garland, Harry," I respond, observing as he rubs the back of his neck, seeming a little stray.

"Are you referencing some kind of lingerie? Because I'd love to find it and hang it on the staircase." He smirks, causing me to chuckle. Indeed, he is not serious right now.

"No, a garland is the Uhm, it's like one big wreath." I elucidate.

"Damn, my version is so much better." He shrugs his shoulders, "but, yes. I guess I can hang it." He nods, beginning to dig into boxes.

Harry pulls out random things, entertained by how much I bought.

"How much did all this cost?" Harry quaintly challenges, holding a crystal snowflake in his hand, somewhat appreciate it.

"That snowflake? Or everything?" I question. For a moment, Harry pauses and looks down at the snowflake. He thinks for a moment.

"Both."

"The snowflake its self is £80 apiece, the whole thing... just check the bank statement," I innocently bat my eyes.

"Well, at least now we have Christmas galore." He smiles, steadily placing the snowflake down and continuing to look through the boxes.

Buying three colossal size trees wasn't a brilliant idea. However, I didn't realise that putting ornaments on just one of them would be tremendously time-consuming and enervating.

I feel hands press to my shoulders, lightly working in circular motions.

"Want some help?" A sleepy voice offers, filling my heart with exaltation.

"No, it's okay, you're tired." I shake my head, not wanting to feel guilty for keeping him awake. He leans over me, placing an ornament on the tree.

"Hire someone to decorate it all for you and come to bed." He whispers, sending shivers down my spine.

Tempting, very tempting.

"C'mon, bed." He whispers in a firm tone, instructing instead of politely asking.

"Demanding," I comment, turning to face him as his arms wrap around me, his lips form a straight line, his eyes narrowing down on me before giving me a reverence.

"Well, your wish is my command." I place a small kiss on his lips, gladly taking his hand and leading him to the stairway. I smile, seeing the third tree standing tall by the staircase, optimally complementing the curve of the stairs.

We reach the top of the staircases, and I make my way into our lavishing sleeping quarters, leaping for the bed— childishly.

"If you break the bed, you're sleeping on the couch." Harry chimes, stepping in, his hand unclipping his watch from his wrist.

"We haven't broken it yet. I doubt me jumping once will." I impudently smile with satisfaction, noticing as he bites his lip.

"You, darlin', have gotten very cheeky," Harry announces, sitting on the bed.

Every girl has a bodacious and cheeky side. It just takes the right man to unleash it. I smile over at him and shrug, the sound of my phone abruptly distracting me.

"Elise, what happened to no phones in the bedroom?" Harry asks as he reaches over for my phone and looks at the caller ID.

"You always have yours." I shrug, taking the phone and answering it.

After a small conversation on the phone with Addilyn, accompanied by a few short squeals, I finally manage to hang up. I turn to Harry, his eyes closed as he lies soundly in bed. "Are you awake?" I softly ask, placing my phone on the side table,

"No," Harry mumbles, draping an arm over my stomach, pulling me closer to his warm body.

"Good, we have an engagement party to attend the twenty-third." I enlighten him, considerably surprised myself that Addilyn has indeed gotten engaged.

Harry let out a groan, burying his face into my neck, "that's the night before Christmas Eve." He dryly mumbles, sounding wistful.

"Yes, be there with me. It's black-tie attire." I yawn, allowing my body to become comfortable within the bed.

"Wait, Addy got engaged?" Harry gasps, his voice low and slow, weariness setting in.

"Yes."

"Hmm, she strikes me as the girl who wouldn't get married unless she dated the guy for ten years." But, of course, Harry exaggerates in his groggy yet adorable state.

"Well, she's engaged. We can talk about this in the morning. I'm tired." I instruct, cutting the conversation short.

A small kiss is placed on my cheek before Harry buries himself in his pillow, falling asleep almost instantly.

✾ ✾ ✾

I take a deep breath as I step out of the blacked-out car, my hand delicately being taken by the chauffeur.

"Ma'am," my driver nods, letting go of my hand as he closes the door and I gain balance.

"Elise," I politely inform him, not quite being fond of the fact I am addressed so formally. Especially while standing outside Addilyns engagement party.

A party that is currently held at an excessively large house, from what I gather. Needless to say, whoever House this is— is very well off.

"Ms Elise," he nods, a short smile forming on his lips.

"Thank you. I'll need you at around eleven," I give him notice, not particularly wanting to stay at the party for too long, especially since my boyfriend stood me up for our dinner and this party.

"As you wish." The man confirms with a nod, and I carefully walk up the seven stone steps to the beauteous house, my hand gliding along the white-coloured wooden railing. I smile at the two women at the entrance with bright smiles, holding crystal flutes of champagne.

"Welcome, champagne?" They offer courteously, handing me a glass before I can even decline.

"Thank you," I wear a smile, taking the glass in my hand and stepping into the house.

"Elise!" I overhear a familiar and overly excited squeal before I can even grasp my bearings of the house; I turn to my left and see Addilyn dressed in a navy-blue cocktail dress, a diamond necklace complementing her attire.

"Addy! Hi, congratulations." I hug her before handing her the small gift bag that is chaperoning her engagement gift.

"Thank you. Where is Harry?" She cracks a smile, taking the bag and pulling me towards the common area squired by many people.

"He's working." I quietly announce, "but if anyone asks, he's feeling ill," I sigh, Addilyn giving me a sympathetic look.

My eyes scan the capital room. A grand piano sits in the corner, being played by a young woman dressed in black, the melody echoing dimly in the background of the chatter.

The room is flattered by a tall ceiling, a beauteous chandelier glistening radiant warmth as it hangs delicately from the ceiling, filling the room with charm and class. Long red—silken curtains hang from the grand bay windows, standing modestly against the cream walls.

Men are dressed in tuxes, and women parade in graceful cocktail dresses of assortments of several colours.

Addi abandons me to mingle and associate with whom I assume are close family and friends of both her and her groom.

"Your dress is stunning." My attention gazes away from the bar and narrows down on the lady in front of me. I smile attentively, attempting to recall her name.

"Thank you." I clear my throat, deciding to be somewhat impolite and not address her formally.

Harry would be dissatisfied if he was here to witness this. She's dressed gracefully in a drawn-out coal-black dress, a silver-white clutch resting in her hand, matching both her earrings and necklace.

"Where is that handsome man of yours?" She bats her eyes with a small stifled laugh, "Surely he didn't make you come alone." She beams.

If only she knew. Unfortunately, he did make me come alone, handsome he may be, but tonight he's not punctual.

"He wasn't feeling too great, so I didn't drag him," I fake a giggle, hoping she doesn't see past my malicious story.

My charming boyfriend is presumably sitting in his office, clicking his excessively ornate pen. At the same time, he comes up with more business plans to augment the size of his empire— completely unacquainted of how displeased I am that he missed dinner and this event.

"Aw, what a shame. Tell him I hope he feels better," she takes a sip of her champagne, dismissing me as she stylishly walks away and joins a social group in the corner, leaving me in the middle of a crowded room, feeling alone.

A heavy sigh escapes my champagne tasting lips, my back leaning against the wall as I stand and observe the formal party from afar. I gaze at the fifth— possibly sixth, seventh perhaps, champagne flute in my hand, watching the bubbles before allowing the citrusy flavour to roll down my throat.

My body is telling me to lay off any sort of alcohol, but my mind is telling me to waltz to the bar and request a Jack Daniels on the rocks. I contemplate my thoughts, licking my lips as I watch the bartender pouring another one of the several drinks that have been requested.

"For someone drinking bubbly champagne, you don't look too bubbly yourself." A familiar voice distracts my desire for alcohol, my eyes meeting his brightly and richly green eyes.

I roll my eyes at him, "well, my boyfriend stood me up." Then, I ironically smile, "excuse me." I clear my throat, downing the last bit of the champagne, handing him the empty flute before striding away, making my way towards the bar. "Redbreast, neat," I civilly give precise instructions to the bartender, watching as he nods and instantly begins making my drink.

"Elise," Harry's voice takes my attention away from the bartender. He looks down at me and fetches a sigh.

"Can we talk?" He softly asks as the Redbreast Irish Whiskey is served to me. I take a sip, allowing the whiskey to coat my tongue.

I don't say a word to Harry. Instead, I walk away, tangling myself in a random conversation with one of the other guests.

I feel an arm delicately wrap around me, a kiss becoming planted to my cheek, and I am forced to falsify a smile and enjoy the company of Harry.

"Harry, I'm surprised you're here. Elise told me earlier you were feeling ill." A lady comments. Her eyes are sparkling as they meet Harry.

"He's just full of surprises," I murmur, taking another drink of my beverage.

Deplorably it wasn't a surprise when he was not mindful of the arrangements with me this evening.

"I'm feeling much better now. Couldn't leave this one all alone here for too long." He debonairly beams, engaging in conversation with the lady as I pretend to be interested in the discussion, as well as pretending to love Harry's arm securely around me.

✾ ✾ ✾

"How much have you had to drink?" Harry interrogates as he waltzes over to me, and I stand, leaning against the railing of the stairs.

I glance at him, ultimately taking note of how he is dressed in his black pants, white button-down shirt, the sleeves rolled a quarter of the sleeve up, and the top two buttons undone, imperceptibly exposing his skin.

No, I have to stay mad at him— no matter how desiring he looks.

"I don't know, but I'm very dissatisfied with you." I assert my eyes, doing my best to sound embittered and firm with him.

"I gathered that much. Let's get you home." He suggests, beckoning towards the door. I obstinately shake my head.

As much as I want to leave and go home, I don't want him to get a free pass, not tonight.

"No, you missed dinner and forgot about the evening." I remind him, pushing away from the staircase, my heels causing me to move clumsily.

Harry gently grabs me, stifling a chuckle as he steadies me. "Elise—" he begins, but I cut him off,

"No, you don't get to say sorry and work your charm." Although, I shake my head, "you probably didn't even remember the party until I texted you saying you were in the dog house." I broodily mumble, allowing him to continue to keep an arm around me as we make our way to the door.

"I'm not going to lie. I forgot the stock market has me busy at this time, especially with investors." He breathes a sigh, "I'll make it up to you. I promise." He assures me, carefully guiding me down the concrete stairs where the chauffeur is standing at the car, waiting.

"You're in the doghouse. You could have at least told me you wouldn't make dinner. I was waiting like an idiot." I babble, stepping into the car and sliding along the leather seats.

I adjust my dress and place my clutch in my lap, leaning back on the seat, feeling a sense of relaxation. "I am sorry—"

"You're always sorry," I cut him off, my vision becoming a little hazy as the last drink sinks into my bloodstream.

Harry releases a sigh from his lips, growing quiet for the rest of the way home.

✾ ✾ ✾

I stumble my way out of the car, the chauffeur offering a hand and steadying me, "thank you," I giggle, finding it amusing how he perhaps thinks he doesn't get paid enough to deal with ridiculous shenanigans like a tipsy girlfriend of Harry or overhearing the murmurs of us arguing in the car. "You're welcome, Ms Elise." He nods, Harry gently grasping me,

"I've got her from here," Harry smiles, only making me chuckle further. I pull away from him and cross my arms.

"You're in the doghouse," I shake my head, stepping into the grass on accident, my heels sinking into the freshly watered lawn, my body crumbling. Oops.

"Bloody hell, Elise," Harry mutters, "I've got it. I'll see you in the morning." He dismisses his driver, swiftly walking towards me as I sit on the moistened lawn, letting out a sigh.

He glances down at me, his hands in his pockets as his eyes stare at me. "It's impolite to stare," I comment, running my fingers through my hair.

Harry doesn't say a word, he offers me his hand, but I refuse to take it. I am not going to give in so easily.

"Fine," Harry mutters, walking away and walking towards the house.

I attempt to push myself to my feet, my heels digging into the grass, making it a difficult challenge to stay steady. "When you're done being stubborn, I'll be inside. The sprinklers come on in five," Harry calls, stepping up the steps to the house.

Damnit.

I probably shouldn't have been so stubborn. But, in my defence, I am allowed to be irritated with him every once in a while and not always be the perfect, understanding girlfriend.

"Take your heels off. It might help," Harry's voice echoes before he disappears inside the house.

I take his useful piece of information and delicately take my heels off, making my way towards our house.

I step inside, feeling the tepid air radiate my cold and somewhat wet body.

I follow the trail of lights in the house, eventually finding myself in the master bedroom upstairs.

I drop my heels to the floor, watching as Harry leisurely unbuttons his shirt. Finally, he turns to me, a crooked smirk becoming prominent on his face. "You found your way in, I see," Harry observes, the shirt sliding down his arms and falling to the floor.

My eyes burn into his skin. The few tattoos are hidden by the shirt, becoming exposed.

You'd never pick him to have tattoos under his shirt— a secret canvas of art. But I guess everyone has a darker side.

I take a step closer, my hand trailing his soft skin, making its way to the rose settled right on his bicep. He doesn't have very many tattoos drawn onto his flawless skin, but the ones he does, he keeps well hidden. So unless you've seen him shirtless (which is a marvellous view), you would never know the artwork that lies under the business attire.

"So, enchanting," I mumble, placing my lips to leave delicate kisses on his bare skin, moving to his neck.

"Mhm," Harry sounds, allowing my kisses to rain over him.

I lean up and press my lips to his, colliding us, tangling us within a sweet kiss.

He pulls away gently, "you're tipsy," Harry reminds me of the few too many glasses I managed to drink.

"And?" I tilt my head, admiring his physique.

"I know where this is leading." He whispers, my finger trailing the rose again. The petals look so delicate, the shading immaculate. Perhaps the only word to remarkably describes the work of art is to use the word unique.

"And?" I simply request, unsure of what the problem is.

He's intriguing, charming, most of all— he's mine. I want all of him right now. So, before he can proceed to speak, I keep him quiet with my lips, locking them once again with his, the strokes of his tongue being an opiate I have no desire to quit.

"No, Elle." Harry pulls away, shaking his head, his hands resting on my hips.

I glance at him, confused as to why he's currently turning me down. I frown for a moment, watching him lick his lips, imperceptibly. "You're tipsy. We aren't having sex," Harry adamantly announces, "also, you're pissed with me. It's just the alcohol intriguing, my love." He sighs, graciously stepping away from me.

I cross my arms, rolling my eyes at him.

"Actually," I commence, grasping his attention, "it is a fact you're shirtless and fine as hell." I remind him, gesturing towards his toned body,

"Whatever it is, no. Get some sleep." He beckons towards the bed, "first, take your dress off. It's wet." He reminds me as I look down and see a few grass particles. Oh well.

"Which is it? I keep clothes on, or I take them off?" I smirk, purposely being a smart ass just to hassle him a little bit. He eyes me, holding back his tongue as he bites his lip.

"Elise, I am going to bed," Harry clears his throat, pulling on a pair of sweatpants, "I suggest you do the same," he kisses my cheek, promptly getting in the bed, leaving me standing in the middle of the bedroom.

I shrug, promptly sliding my dress off and grabbing a long sleeve from the pile of clean clothes I have neglected to put away. I don't bother with pants. Let's face it. I don't want to go through the trouble of finding pants, not to mention, sleeping with no pants is better.

✾ ✾ ✾ ✾ ✾ ✾

I sit focused on the papers on my desk when I'm interrupted by a knock on my door. Confused, as I wasn't expecting anyone so close to my departure, I stand and open the door. Standing before me is an elevated man, dirty blonde hair and dark brown eyes. He is dressed in a suit that is form-fitting and looks at me with a somewhat cocky and charismatic smirk.

"Ms Elise?" He questions, unsure of the stranger before him.

I nod yes, "And you are?"

"Logan Meyer," he offers his hand to me. "May I come in?"

I firmly place my hand in his, giving it a shake before stepping aside to allow him in.

I watch as he walks past me, shoving a small paper into his coat pocket.

"I hope you have a moment to discuss some business matters." He says, looking at me with a stern gaze.

I feel like stuttering as he makes his dominance known, something I do not care for.

"I have time," I say quickly, assuring him. "Give me a second." I turn briefly, texting Harry,

✾ ✾ ✾

"Last minute thing at the office, won't make the dinner reservation, rain cheque? X"

✾ ✾ ✾

I place my phone back on my desk before turning to face Logan again.

"I need you on my team, Elise," Logan leaves nothing to the imagination as he says exactly what he wants right off the bat. "You are the keystone to this business, and I am positive you will also be the keystone to mine."

I'm taken aback slightly. Keystone?

"On your team? As what position, may I ask?" I delicately challenge, tilting my head lightly as I await an answer.

He nods, leaning on the arm of the chair beside him. "My personal assistant."

I internally scoff. Of course, he wants a little assistant to tend to him all day— I couldn't imagine that profession for myself.

"I'm flattered, but-," I begin, promptly being cut off.

"Let me stop you right there," he says, holding out a hand, "I know you would rather change your job location to one which pays you in a high amount," Logan exposes, fixing a button on his coat jacket. "But Meyer's enterprise could offer you a much greater cheque than any other company ever could, my dear," Logan insists, a cunning grin on his face, his eyes sternly staring into me.

"I am flattered, Mr Meyers, but I must admit I'm not sure if the role of an assistant is for me," I answer honestly, but I hope he takes this as my disapproval of his offer. "I have no interest in leaving my current job as of now." I continue, not wanting to give him false hope.

Me? An assistant? I can barely get Harry lunch when he asks me to help him out and bring him something tasteful.

Logan leans again, this time with less authority than before.

I can see him pondering as his eyes flick from me to his watch repeatedly for a few seconds. I await an answer as he does this.

"I understand," Logan nods, taking my answer lightly. "What if we talk numbers? Say, £500,000 a year, with full benefits and paid vacation? We will also pay for a penthouse suite of your choice in the city and pay for all your amenities when you travel for the company." Logan's figures cause me to consider his proposal.

I lean onto my desk, now lightly sitting on it, my hands subtly adjusting the length of my dress, pulling the hem down. I do not answer as I glance towards him, interested as to what enticed him to meet with me in this manner. I lower my eyes, not caving into his offer. Harry taught me not to go with the first offer, play hard— if they want you bad enough, they'll make offers until you're satisfied.

"Scratch that. Whatever the salary you want, you will be granted. No matter the cost - We need you on our team, Elise." He pushes tremendously ambitious to win me over, but why would he want me so bad as his assistant?

His hand reaches out to my shoulder, lightly gripping it as he gives it a light shake.

"So, what do you think? Are you onboard?" Logan smiles, awaiting my answer.

I feel uneasy as the man I have just met places his grasp onto me. His question is immediate, considering we have been speaking for a whole of 10 minutes, and he has already gotten my future planned out for me. I pray for a way out of this, or at least for a fitting answer to completely show my disinterest.

"Mr. Meyer, I am not -," I am cut off by my office door opening, saved by the bell, or in this case, saved by Styles.

I gaze at him and watch as his eyes raise to the man sitting dangerously close to me, his hand still gripping my shoulder.

Upon hearing the door, Logan, too, turns to gaze at our guest. Once the two lock eyes, I can see Harry begin to become ablaze with fury.

Meyer, upon recognising Harry, drops his hand from my shoulder and stands up. He buttons his suit jacket, and he walks over to Harry in long strides, holding out a hand. "Styles." Logan salutes, giving him a firm handshake.

Harry just nods, pressing his lips together as his gaze goes from Logan to me. From behind Logan, I motion at Harry, in my best attempt to show my discomfort.

"Logan, may I ask just what the fuck you're doing here?" Harry mutters.

Logan scoffs, "Only trying to get Elise here to join Meyer Enterprise." He explains, naively. "Have you two met?" Logan maliciously grins, his smirk seeming to embitter Harry further.

I'm at a loss for words as Logan looks at me for a response. I immediately look over to Harry, expecting him to answer.

"We have, actually. She's lovely, ain't she?" Harry asks, gaining a nod from Logan before he glances back at me. "Which is exactly why I made her my girlfriend," Harry speaks in a raspy tone, showing his absolute dominion over another CEO.

This is such a turn on.

"Now listen, Meyer, I would get your ass out of this office -," He looks down at him with an unwavering gaze. "And I would do it promptly before I buy your company from right under you and leave you on the side of the road. Are we at an understanding?" Harry threats, his voice deep and firm.

Logan smirks, shaking his head at the ground before looking back at Harry.

"And you have the means to do that?" Logan cross-examines, appearing to get a thrilling sentiment out of aggravating Harry, almost purposely prompting Harry to follow through with his threat.

"Don't underestimate my power, Logan," Harry responds, pointing the finger at him.

Logan smiles with a sneering smile again, pushing Harry to his absolute edge. Harry will not lose his composure here, not in front of someone inferior.

"You got it, 'Boss.'" Logan replies with a swindling sneer.

Harry opens the door wider, stepping aside and motioning Logan to leave. He stands there for a moment, leaning towards his exit but still looking at me.

"Consider it, Elise," Logan says to me, offering a wink before walking off.

"Have a good one, Mr Styles." He nods at Harry, before ultimately walking off.

Harry shuts the door behind him, running his fingers through his hair as he comes over to me, placing his hand on my thigh.

"Fucking wanker." He shakes his head, talking about Logan.

I let out a light sigh, smiling gently at Harry. He leans down to kiss me, before saying, "I could give you far more than he ever could."

Oh, darling... I know you can give me far more, and not just money-wise...

I give Harry a reassuring smile, placing a kiss on his lips, "so much power and authority in one room." I chuckle, gently resting my hands on Harry's broad shoulders.

He nods his head, leaning down to rest his forehead against mine, "mhm, you're not working for that twat. You're mine." He whispers, sending shivers down my back, his breath hitting my neck, "you owe me. You blew me off for that jackass." Harry mumbles, leaning down and placing tender kisses on my lips, purposely teasing me, his hand leisurely gliding further up my thigh over my black dress.

If I had known earlier that Logan would bring out a somewhat envious, overly protective, and touchy Harry, I would have initiated the meeting sooner. "Take me home," I instruct, forcing myself to pull away from his indulgent lips. They're so enthralling and tasteful.

Harry looks at me, his eyes grey and full of desire, his lips form into a smirk, his tongue licking his lips as he gently pushes his hand further up my thigh, hitching my breath in my throat. "Styles, home." I clear my throat, and he gently pulls his hand away, taking a step back.

I composedly collect the files on my desk, forcing them in my drawer and locking it, a fire burning inside me that is eager to get us home, an acute surge of desire filling my soul. "Elise, c'mon, darlin'" Harry gestures towards the door as I grab my bag, throwing my phone into it. I turn back around, bumping into Harry, his tall figure shadowing me. He wastes no time in kissing me, his hand resting in the crook of my neck, making me weak at my knees.

"Harry," I pull away, once again composing myself, controlling myself. "We need to go." I clear my throat, taking his hand with mine, pulling him out of my office. Harry chuckles as I struggle to lock my office door, my hand shaking, my mind wandering to other places.

"Baby, relax." He whispers, his hand reaching over and taking the key, locking the door for me. "Here." He smiles, placing the key in my hand, "told you I can offer you more than Logan ever can." His breath whispers down my neck, alluring me further.

I bite my lip as I turn away from the door, gently guiding him towards the elevator.

Everyone has already left the building. Just a few offices are still illuminated. The receptionist is the only one in the hall. She gives me a small smile, her eyes beaming towards Harry. I give her a slight nod, my polite way of saying goodbye before we are at the elevator. We step inside soundlessly. I take the quiet moment to ponder about Logan's advances. An assistant doesn't, in the general run of things, earn £500,000 a year. That's an immoderate amount to offer. The most I have ever heard of an assistant profiting is £125,000, and of course, that is from a high profile businessman.

"Harry, how much do you pay Anastasia?" I mildly interrogate, curious as to how well he pays his assistant. I only assume he pays her moderately, she is at his beckon call and his last assistant— who I did not care for, if I may add, was paid approximately £85,000 yearly.

"As of right now, she is expected to earn £92,500 a year, so roughly £46 an hour," Harry responds, right off the bat knowing exact figures for his assistant. There's quite a difference between £92,500 and £500,000. I'm quite baffled as to why Logan is determined to pull me into his enterprise. Surely he can lure any assistant he desires— someone who authentically wants to be a personal assistant. "Does she get benefits?" I ask Harry. Harry puts his phone in his pocket and ganders at me just as the elevator doors open.

"Darlin', are you wanting to be an assistant? I'll gladly hire you as my assistant, with extra benefits." He winks, my hand impishly slapping his arm before we step out of the elevator.

"No, I'm just asking." I shake my head, my heels echoing against the glazed tiles in the entrance hall of my boss' building.

"I could use with a little extra help in the business." He mockingly nudges me, his hand gently grabbing my hand.

I chuckle, shaking my head at his merriment.

"No, Harry. I was just curious." I respond, his hand pushing the door open, allowing me to step out first.

"Good, I don't want you being my assistant. You'd distract me too much, especially in that dress." Harry's hand intertwines with mine again as we step down the steps. The ice-cold air immediately whistling around our bodies, reminding me of the wintery month of December.

"I don't want to be your assistant. I heard you're a contemptible and obnoxious person for a boss." I fool around, my eyes noticing the limousine in front of me.

"What?" Harry halts, letting go of my hand, "really?" He furrows his eyes brows, awaiting an answer, taking my response all too seriously.

I shake my head, "darling, I was kidding." I assure him, taking a step closer to him and kissing his tender lips, "just a joke, I promise." I press, watching as he lets out a sigh of relief. He presses a kiss to my lips before the door to the limousine is opened, Harry's driver standing courteously, holding the door for us. I smile at the driver.

"Ms— I mean, Elise." He nods, correcting himself. I give him another smile. I'm satisfied with this chauffeur much more than Harry's latest one. His latest one had no sense of humour, always had a grim expression on his face and always said my name in an unusual tone.

"Thank you." I graciously nod, sliding into the limo just as the man salutes Harry formally and adequately. "Mr Styles." I shamelessly comment as the door closes behind Harry.

Harry rolls his eyes, attempting to hide the smirk becoming slowly painted across his lips. "Elise, are you being cheekily bodacious?" Harry raises a brow, his hand gently resting on my thigh while I lean back against the leather seats.

Me? Cheeky?

Well, Styles should know by now that I have my moments where I'm not so innocent and angelic. Instead, I have my darker side, a side that enjoys teasing, mimicking, and seducing Harry into my corner.

"Depends, Mr Styles," I whisper, sharing an artful look with him, my gleaming eyes baiting him. He licks his lips, his eyes staring into mine.

"Elise, this conversation is leading to inappropriate behaviour in a limousine." He whispers, squeezing my thigh delicately as if to meddle with me intentionally. Styles thinks he can tease me in a Limo and get away with it, wait until we get to the house.

"Inappropriate behaviour? Mr Styles, I would never." I shake my head, holding back my chuckles as he rolls his eyes at my cheerfulness.

"Call me Mr Styles one more time, and I'll—" he begins, but before he can finish, I cut him off mid-sentence,

"You'll what?" I engage in playful teasing, "I'm inquisitive as to what you'll do, Mr Styles." I tilt my head, challenging him immediately.

He bites his lip, staying quiet for a moment, his eyes burning into me.

He doesn't do well with provocation, especially with me.

He's a dominant figure. But, of course, you have to be when you're a CEO. He leans down, "Ms Elise, it is not wise to tease me." He whispers against my ear, moving his hand a little further up my thigh, gently gliding the hem of my dress a little further up. "I'm a man of many means. I do not work well with temptation and teasing." He proceeds to add, his voice low and hoarse, sending shivers down my body.

I bite my lip, debating whether to continue the teasing game or wait until arriving home to have him all to myself.

Can I resist his touch and inclination? And if so, for how long I can work my magic in this limousine?

"I do not work well with orders and dominance," I murmur, gently moving and placing soft kisses to his neck, sucking lightly to get the point across.

"Elise, you don't want to play this game with me right now." He chuckles, my lips leaving his skin. I settle my hand to rest on his chest, moving my kisses to his jawline, his hand moving further up my thigh until he's high enough to rub his thumb on the inside of my thigh to coax me, still making sure the hem of the dress covers me appropriately— just in case we are interrupted by some odd chance.

"Elle," he whispers, my lips brushing against his teasingly. I lean down to kiss him, but I stop, the small circles being drawn on my thigh weakening me. Damnit. "I warned you." He chuckles cockily, intriguing me further.

Darling, you haven't won.

I crash my lips into his, pulling him into my dangerous kiss, my hand leisurely gliding down his chest, making its way to where he's vulnerable. "Elise, that's dangerous grounds." He whispers against my lips, beginning to be aware of my scheme.

I lean back and look into his eyes, "oops." I smirk, watching as he bites his lips, his hand calmly moving away from my thigh. "C'mon, mutual ground until we're home." He clears his throat, placing a few soft kisses to my lips. I shake my head, biting down gently on his lip, initiating a more vigorous, seducing kiss.

I pull away, licking my lips with a swindling grin, a wink escaping my lustful eyes. He runs his fingers over his plump lips, his other hand resting back down on my thigh while I readjust my position, sitting back normally in the leather seats.

The limo comes to a halt, and the door opens. Harry wastes no time in climbing out. He offers his hand as I slide closer to the door, taking it and stepping out gracefully.

Harry courteously dismisses his driver, reaching into his coat pocket and handing him a sum of money. I smile at the driver before Harry whisks me towards the house, his hand gripping mine, greedily waiting to get me into our home.

I hurry up the precious stone steps, a giggle escaping my lips as I feel the fire burning between us. I step into the chilly house, my heels sounding against the white marble tiles of the foyer, "Elise," Harry's voice travels after me. With a smirk I turn on my heel to face him.

I allow him to come closer, holding back my brazen hands that are aspiring to appreciate every inch of his magnificent body.

Every single inch.

He wastes no time as he presses his lips against my neck, a breath exhaling my lips as I indulge in his tender kisses, his hand boldly playing with the zip on the side of my dress.

I gently press my hands to his chest, gliding them up as he bites down on my neck, my hands squeezing his shoulders, "no," I mumble, not wanting to have visible love bites on my neck, he respects my wishes and proceeds to place tender kisses on the column of my neck, unhurriedly moving to taste my lips.

I gently pull away from the kiss, stepping away from him deliberately. He frowns for a moment, his eyes analysing me.

He tilts his head taking in a breath, "I'm tired." I fuck around with, waltzing to the stairs at a slow pace, glancing over my shoulder as he crosses his arms over his chest, staring at me from across the foyer.

"Oh really?" He challenges, refusing to move from his stance. I give him an innocent nod, beginning to climb the stairs. "Darling, you need some help? You're striding the stairs extremely slowly." His voice low and husky. I stop, gazing over at him, I think for a moment, my hand pressing against the railing, observing as he awaits an answer.

"I think I can manage," I respond with a bit of a smile.

"Mhm, I think you forgot something down here." He looks down for a moment, gesturing to the first floor.

"And what is that, Mr Styles?" I curiously ask, watching as he bites his bottom lip, controlling himself. "Would you mind bringing to me what I forgot?" I tilt my head to the side, my hand still pressed against the railing of the stairs. Harry nods, proceeding to stride to the staircase, climbing the stairs leisurely.

He comes to me, taking my hand in his. "So that you know, I haven't forgotten the teasing in the car." He says in a low voice, placing a kiss on my cheek before disconnecting himself from my hand, walking past me and climbing the rest of the stairs.

I follow him, stepping into our master bedroom, finding him gradually taking his suit jacket off, gliding it down his arms effortlessly, allowing it to fall to the floor while his eyes burn into me.

I lean against the doorframe, crossing my arms as I take notice of his cunning smirk, that smirk that can drive me from 0-10 in an instant. His hands move to his top button, beginning to fiddle with it, exposing part of his chest. "Don't touch another button," I instruct, unable to watch him lazily unbutton his shirt. No, those buttons are for my hands, not his.

"Baby, I'm tired." He shrugs, stepping closer to me, his fingers undoing another button. I lower my eyes on him, releasing myself to him, my hands instantly taking ahold of his shirt. A chuckle escapes his lips as I use my fingers to undo another button for him, "hmm, that easy to make you cave?" He asks.

"Harry—" I begin, but stop. He mildly presses me against the wall, appeasing me with a deep kiss, bewitching me, my fingers ripping his shirt, not bothering to continue with the damn buttons. My hands feel his exposed skin, straightaway running themselves up against his body, pushing the shirt over his shoulders.

He assists and allows the shirt to fall to the floor, tactfully pulling me away from the wall. The bold caress of his tongue draws us closer, intriguing me further. An Aching tension between us building rapidly.

With an evocative stroll to the bed, I am placed down on the king bed, having just a moment to take a breath as Harry's delicious lips part from mine. "It's so fun to tease you." The narcotic power of his voice and smouldering eyes were enough to put me into overdrive.

"Don't tease!" I exclaim, his hands running up my body, his left hand fondling the zip of my desk, his lips leaning down and pressing kisses to my neck as the zip sounds, loosening the dress.

He leaves the dress on me, his hand running down to my hip before reaching the bare skin of my thigh, coaxing me as he slowly runs his hand up my outer thigh, "Harry." I breathe, "take it off." I instruct, feeling a smirk form on his lips as he releases one last kiss to my neck.

"Oh, you want the dress off?" He teases in a husky voice.

I take in a deep breath, his hand moving to the inside of my thigh, "Harry!" I firmly announce, unable to control the need I have.

He chuckles and does as I wish, stripping me of my dress, throwing it to the cold floor, leaving me in nothing but my skimpy, lacy, red lingerie. "Mm, my favourite." He eyes my body up and down.

His greedy mouth takes possession of my skin, kissing the slender column of my neck before moving to my chest, making his way down to my stomach, sucking gently, while my fingers run through his silky curls, gently tugging for his bold mouth to take possession of my lips.

He moves back to my lips, his hands running up and down my body as my agile hands work with his pants. I wrap my arms around his neck, his fingers trailing at my abdomen, working their way to tease the lining of my underwear, slipping in and out of the material, tampering with my sanity. "Tease me one more fucking time, and I swear—" I groan, being cut off by his kiss; A long, liquid kiss that rushes lust through me.

His hand slips under the lacy underwear, "so demanding." He gravelly utters into me, his tongue skimming across my trembling lips.

My legs tighten around his body as his finger circles in me, indulging me in unchaining wild, delicious pleasure.

I lean my head back in pleasure, taking In a breath as my hand is pressed to the back of his neck, my thighs quivering as he continues to pleasure me sliding in another finger.

He grasps my knees and eases them apart, enlightening me that he's about to thrust into me, and I'm going to feel the onslaught of raw physical desire. His hard thighs crowning my hips, my fingers tangled in his silken curls while it becomes a frantic race to fulfilment. His body surged into mine, brings on a brutal strength of his passion filling me with great pleasure, the building of a gripping sensation settling in with every thrust.

My Eyes narrow to half-mast, a tangy taste and male scent radiating the scenes, the longing desire throbbing inside me. With rapid shallow breaths, I feel molten waves of pleasure.

My head twists dizzily as the climax comes at me in drugging waves.

The soft cosiness of passion's aftermath hits me as Harry falls beside me, and all that's heard between us is heavy breathing. Dizziness continues to overcome me, my legs still quivering from passions aftermath while I try to recover from the intensity of the passion.

My head spins, the aftermath being something I wasn't fully ready for. I sit up, forcing myself to my shaky legs too quickly, stumbling as I promptly press my hands to the bed, "you 'lright, Elle?" Harry questions, watching me as he stays lying down tangled between the sheets.

"I'm dizzy as fuck." I murmur, realising my body needed a little more time to recover.

Whatever he did, he did it quite well.

"Elle, come back to bed." He gestures, sitting up slowly as I straighten my posture and remove my hands from the bed.

"I just need a cold drink and maybe some clothes." I flash him a small smile.

With a heavy sigh, he gets off the bed, pulling on a pair of sweatpants while I shakily reach down for one of his t-shirts that I have neglected to put away correctly. I press my hands back to the bed, debating whether my dizziness will wear off quicker if I just lie down. "I prefer you without clothes," he cheekily comments, making his way over to me, his arms wrapping around me protectively.

"mhm, What are you doing?" I softly ask, leaning up to press a kiss to his lips.

"Taking you to get a drink." He responds. "No protests." He adds firmly, CEO Harry making himself known, stopping me from further commenting.

I sit on the kitchen counter with a cold glass of water, my head no longer spinning so much from pleasure and desire, "you ruined after sex leg tangles and sloppy kisses." Harry brings to my attention as he presses his body to my knees, his hands resting on the side of my thighs while I take another sip of the cold water.

"I'm sorry, I needed something cold." I sigh, giving him a small pout to show my own distaste for ruining sloppy after sex kisses, tangled within the sheets with our bodies pressed together.

"I'll forgive you, I guess." He presses a small kiss to my cheek, "after all. It was me that made you dizzy." He whispers with amusement.

"Mhm, don't get too confident." I roll my eyes at his cheeky comment. He's right, he is the reason for the dizzy sensation, but I'm not going to admit that he finally managed to hit me in all the right spots.

"Don't deny the fact that it was bloody great." He proceeds, quite pleased with himself.

"Shut up." I gently swat his arm, a giggle escaping my lips, "I'm not boosting your ego!" I press, shaking my head at his charming grin.

"Whatever." He rolls his eyes, "you feelin' alright?" He lowers his eyes on me, becoming serious as he asks the question. I give him an assuring nod.

"I'm fine, Harry," I respond, looking down at my quivering thighs that still haven't calmed themselves down.

"You sure?" He questions adorably, a side of him that sometimes gets lost in his business world.

"I promise, darling. Come on, let's go to bed." I offer, pressing my hands to his shoulders, and he gently lifts me off the counter, placing me on the floor.

"Round two?" He chuckles.

"I don't think so. I'm out." I shake my head, knowing I am not up for round two. I'm barely up for kissing his delicious lips. I'm exhausted, to say the least.

"I was joking." But, Harry insists, "c'mere. You look like a baby deer that just found its legs." Harry laughs, gently pulling me to him before picking me up.

"You're so sweet." I roll my eyes before resting my head against his chest.

"Quivering baby deer." He presses, teasing me about my legs.

"Keep being mean, and you'll never get sex again," I mutter, gently pinching his arm as he carries me up the stairs.

"Yeah, yeah, whatever." He murmurs with sarcasm to his voice, knowing very well and good that he will likely get a lot more action.

We're young, we're in love, and quite honestly, I hate going a week without even cuddling him in bed and feeling his arms around me; I don't think I'd last denying the two of us great pleasure.

231 notes · View notes

thefederalistfreestyle · 8 years

Photo

Hamilton Star: Michelle Obama Gave Me ‘the Best Compliment I Have Ever Received’ (Time):

[. . .] I had anticipated that the First Lady might come, one day, when we made it to Broadway, but downtown—at the Public Theater? It wasn’t until after the show ended that they said, “Michelle Obama’s here!” At the time I shared a dressing room with Jasmine Cephas Jones and Reneé Elise Goldsberry, my Schuyler sisters. We hurriedly got out of costume to say hello. Giddy with excitement, we made our way to the greenroom. There she stood. So poised and beautiful. She said hello to each and every one of us. I will never forget what Mrs. Obama said, “This is the best piece of art that I’ve ever seen.” I was floored. She has seen so much art in her life. Coming from her, our First Lady, the modern-day Schuyler sister incarnate, and one of the most inspirational women of our time, it was the best compliment I have ever received.

Hamilton is, of course, closely tied to the Obamas because Lin first performed the opening number at a White House poetry jam. I didn’t know anything about Eliza when I first got the call about Hamilton. Tommy Kail, the director, asked me if I wanted to be a part of it. I knew what he was talking about because I’d seen the video of Lin performing it at the White House for Barack and Michelle Obama. I specifically remember a friend showing me that YouTube clip while I was a student in drama school. Cut to five or six years later when Tommy calls me and asks me to be a part of a December reading of Act II of what was then called “Hamilton Mixtape.” I did what most people do when they don’t know something, I googled Eliza. I saw that she was his wife but there wasn’t a lot more. I just chalked it up to me being a lazy researcher. I thought, Okay. I’ll do digging later. I’ll go and see what this project is and enjoy the experience. Hearing the music for the first time was incredible. It had such an instant cool factor. But it wasn’t until I got into the room with Lin, Alex, and Tommy (I would end up working with Andy a few months later) that I truly discovered what the “Hamilton Mixtape” really was. I thought: These artists and creators that I’m working with . . . this story . . . is going to change the world. And I get to be in this room. And it changed me, too. I just didn’t know it yet.

In December of 2013, the end of the play still hadn’t been written. It actually wasn’t until that workshop in January, a day before our presentation, that Lin gave me the last song. In the moment at the end of Hamilton when Eliza steps out and you see her, most people tell me they are so taken aback. “Oh my gosh! She’s the one who is telling us this story, like we’re learning this story because of her.” That was the way that I felt getting that last song. A moment of: Really? And you want me to finish the play? I mean I’d love to but . . .

Lin went on to explain that in the song you look and see everything that she did after Hamilton died. I was just as surprised and awestruck by the beauty of this woman’s legacy that not many people know about, and how beautiful this moment was that we’re giving her, a voice and a place in history for the first time. It’s huge.

[. . .]

When Eliza says, “I took myself out of the narrative,” in reference to guarding her privacy after Hamilton’s cheating is revealed, her situation feels stunningly contemporary. It took me a while to understand this particular moment in Eliza’s journey. In discovering how to play Eliza, I first asked myself, “What is the difference between the common woman then and the common woman now?” But that proved to be less useful. I was only separating myself from Eliza. So I started to ask the question, “What do all women, past and present have in common?” The answer: survival. Women have struggled a great deal, yes. But it has been their ability to overcome, the way women have chosen to deal with their struggles. Not only survive, but flourish through their achievements. The struggle is real, the struggle has always been real and will continue to be real. It’s just a matter of how you choose to find your way through whatever challenges you face. Eliza is empowered by taking herself out of the narrative. I think that’s why forgiveness is such a huge part of the play.

People seem confused when Eliza forgives Hamilton. I suppose it is because we have more options now. It’s easy to opt to avoid someone, avoid forgiveness, avoid conflict, or avoid complicated feelings, love and disgust, that coexist. But ultimately it doesn’t matter how many options we have; it is a miracle that we choose to survive.

[. . .]

In his last letter to Eliza, Hamilton calls her “the best of wives and the best of women.” If I’m trying to get into Hamilton’s brain, he was saying “best of wives” like “best of who you are to me” and “best of women,” meaning who you are to the world. The letter used to be in the show. I used to read it. I still remember every line:

This letter, my very dear Eliza, will not be delivered to you, unless I shall first have terminated my earthly career to begin, as I humbly hope from redeeming grace and divine mercy, a happy immortality.

If it had been possible for me to have avoided the interview, my love for you and my precious children would have been alone a decisive motive. But it was not possible, without sacrifices which would have rendered me unworthy of your esteem. I need not tell you of the pangs I feel, from the idea of quitting you and exposing you to the anguish which I know you would feel. Nor could I dwell on the topic lest it should unman me.

The consolations of Religion, my beloved, can alone support you and these you have a right to enjoy. Fly to the bosom of your God and be comforted. With my last idea I shall cherish the sweet hope of meeting you in a better world.

Adieu best of wives and best of Women. Embrace all my darling Children for me.

Ever yours

I used to read it, and I don’t anymore. I think we cut it out for time’s sake, but the idea of the letter still lives. It’s chilling. It gives me chills.

I’m a total believer in the universe and the over soul. Somehow the energy that our Founding Mothers put into our history has lasted and has traversed centuries and found its way to me. Eventually, it will leave me and find its way to somebody else. It does feel like ages have passed by the end of the three-hour play so I definitely use that. Because Hamilton has had such a universal voice, it’s brought some of the most amazing women into my life. Women who are politicians, who are actors, who are writers, who are my family members that I respect so much, strangers—mothers and daughters who have lost their loved ones, all of these women, choosing to survive. And to be able to share it with them in this way, I feel like it’s paying homage to them, it’s paying homage to Eliza, and to all the other versions of Eliza that have existed throughout history and will exist for ages to come.

From “The Best Wives and Best of Women” by Phillipa Soo as published in The Meaning of Michelle edited by Veronica Chambers.

read Phillipa’s full beautiful essay

#hamilton #phillipa soo #michelle obama #eliza hamilton #who tells your story #time magazine

1K notes · View notes

imagine-that-one-thing · 8 years

Photo

Authors note: Sorry there’s a lot of dialogue, I'm trying to work on it! Hope you all enjoy part 4.

✾ ✾ ✾

My fingers type away at my desk, composing an email for my boss who doesn't have a way with words. He's not excessively formal, he's too straightforward and doesn't tend to stick to sophistication when it comes to emails.

My eyes leave the screen and I see a shadow at the door. I smile up at my best friend as she transits in with files in her hands. I lean back in my chair and cross my arms, taking note of her attire. A nicer than usual dress, and a pair of heels that look brand new.

"Addilyn, what's this?" I gesture my finger up and down, curious as to why her attire is nicer than usual. She gives me a timid smile and I raise a brow. "Spill," I instruct and she places the organised collections of documents on my desk.

"I'm going out after I get off," she bites her lip, intriguing my curiosity even further.

"C'mon, don't make me guess the details." I lament.

"Tonight's the night." She whispers, her eyes gleaming radiantly.

"The night?" I call into question.

The night for what?

Her very vague response only leaves me quaintly wondering what she means.

"You know." She whispers, blushing lightly.

"...the night for sex?" I challenge, just for my own amusement.

Watching her eyes grow wide as the word sex slips off my tongue is entertaining, it makes me chuckle.

"No!" She reprehends, shaking her head at me.

The word sex is a word she tries to avoid coming to grips with, and as her best friend it is my duty to bring it up and observe her as she squirms.

"Addi, there's nothing wrong if it's the night, it's pleasant," I assure her mischievously, imperceptibly winking at her.

In all honesty, I am correct, it's pleasant.

She huffs and stares at me. Okay, time to be serious-minded.

"What's tonight?" I, in a low voice, interrogate, drawing the papers relating to a matter requiring attention to my lap and running my fingers over them.

"I think he's proposing." She shrieks, overly aroused as the words roll off her tongue.

"Really?" I narrow my eyes at her, considerably surprised that she thinks she's getting engaged.

This is the first I've heard about it and I'd expect her lover to inform me if he's marrying my best friend.

"Yes, I found the box. I hinted I wanted a holiday proposal." She comments, sitting on the edge of my desk.

"Addi, I have found many boxes and none of them has been an engagement ring. It could be earrings or something." I elucidate with a sigh, not wanting her to get her hopes up.

I recall the time I was attempting to find god knows what, and a small-sized, Tiffany blue box fell from the built-in wardrobe. Instantaneously I started freaking out and panicking that Harry was going to propose. I didn't open the box, I put it back and disquietly paced the house for a good hour. That night when he came home I could barely gaze at him. Turns out, he had brought me a pair of earrings to match my dress for his entrepreneurial party. My panicking was literally for no reason. All because I presumed he was going to propose marriage.

"I think it is," she shakes her head.

"Let me know how it goes," I instruct, getting back to my work as she gets off my desk and leaves.

I press my elbows to my desk, undesirous of being trapped in the office space. Unlike Harry, I don't have a capital window with an esthetic city view. Sometimes I envy him, darling office views are a spectacular thing— in my sentiment, so sedative, breathtaking, and a reminder of what lies below.

It's ten in the morning and I still haven't had a coffee, how I am functioning, I do not know.

My phone takes my concentration and I glance down at it.

✾ ✾ ✾

"Hope you're feeling better. Where are you? You're not at the house, I'm disappointed. X CEO. Styles.& Co -Harry."

"I feel better. I'm at work, you'll get over your disappointment. Fancy bringing me a coffee? I'll make it worth your while. ;)"

"Are you initiating to seduce me, at your work place? Elise, that is unprofessional. CEO. Styles.& Co -Harry"

"Take it or leave it, Styles. I'm surprised 'unprofessional' is in your vocabulary. Gotta work now. Xx"

✾ ✾ ✾

"You're not good at following instructions, are you?" Harry's voice disturbs me from my assigned work and my eyes dart to him as he stands in my doorway.

What a charming surprising event.

"Hello, Harry." I greet and he steps in, wearing his suit pants and jet black button down.

Holy hell.

"All black, nice." I grin, appreciating how well-featured he views in all black.

If I wasn't such a modest and somewhat angelic person, I'd tell him to take me under the table.

Oh how I hold in detestation, yet cherish when he's in all black, so bloody alluring.

"Yes, why are you here?" He lowers his eyes on me, coming closer to my desk, disrupting me from my fixed stare.

"I work here, why are you here?" I tilt my head, unsure of why he is in my office without warning.

He leans down and kisses my cheek, "I'm having a discussion with your boss, and I got coffee." He announces, holding up a cup of coffee, placing it on my desk, "I thought we agreed on you staying home?" He proceeds, his eyes staring down at me while my eyes gaze up admiring his intensely black accoutre.

If only I could undo those buttons.

"You agreed on that, actually. I'm fine." I shake my head, emphasising on who was the one who agreed on me ostensibly staying home. I never adhered to his instructions.

My hand reaches for the coffee, the warmth radiating at a moment's notice.

Ah, freshly brewed coffee, hand-delivered by the finest man. "Thank you for the coffee," I smile up at him.

"It was a mutual agreement." He shakes his head, "and you weren't fine this morning at three A.M throwing up." He makes me remember my early morning tragedy, oh how I don't want to even think about how my morning started.

"Business. He asked to meet," Harry vaguely answers, not giving me much to work with. I sigh in an attempt to study his facial expression, curiosity sweeping over me.

What are Harry and my boss concocting? What could they possibly need to meet about?

Harry distracts my thoughts as I notice him picking up my note book and opening it.

"Harry, stop snooping," I instruct and he grabs a pen and scribbles down in my notebook.

"Ditch the idea, the business revenue sucks and whoever pitched that idea is a fledgeling," Harry observes, placing my notebook back down.

"Whatever, I'm going to meet your boss. I'll see you sometime tonight." Harry dismisses me, leaning down and kissing my cheek, leaving me somewhat sullen.

I go back to my computer working and reflecting upon Christmas. The house semblances as if Scrooge dwells in it, there's not a single thing embellished, we don't even have a Christmas tree.

Who doesn't have a tree at Christmas?

I necessitate adding Holiday spirit to the home. It's all too bland and I don't have a taste for it.

I shake my thoughts away, making the effort to concentrate my task, but all I can consider is aureate twinkling lights being strung around the house. There's no way I can convince Harry to string the lights. I can scarcely persuade him to be home before I fall asleep.

✾ ✾ ✾

I step into the Styles and Co building, my heels gliding across the blackened glazed tiles.

"Ma'am it is after hours," I overhear a woman courteously call, my eyes glance over towards the desk and I give her a small smile,

"I'm with Harry," I graciously express, holding up my keys and watching as she bites her lip nervously.

"Elise?" She questions in a tender voice. I give her a nod, "I'm sorry, go ahead." She gestures towards the elevators and I stride my way to them, making my way up to Harry's floor.

I make my way around the floor, stopping as I get to Harry's office space, finding it unoccupied. "He's in a late meeting." A familiar voice disrupts me. I turn around and my eyes meet his assistant, Anastasia. Her hair falls flawlessly over her shoulders, her makeup unblemished, her eyes glistening.

Labelling her as ravishing would be an understatement.

"Oh." I sound, lost for words as I stand mesmerised by her beauteousness.

She flashes me a smile before her eyes dart around the area.

"Oh, Harry asked me to frame pictures for his office, would you like to pick the pictures?" She affably formulates, beckoning for me to follow her to her desk. I promptly follow, unsure of what kind of pictures he's placing in his office.

He definitely isn't the kind of man who initially desires to have things hanging on his walls, hence the reason his office isn't furnished with decorations besides the books. She pulls pictures from her drawer and lays them on her desk.

It takes me a moment to realise they're all pictures of me and him. I stare at them, bewildered. He truly wants to put our pictures on display.

"I was thinking of doing a collage. What do you think?" She smiles up at me awaiting my decision.

Is there anything this woman isn't perfect at?

"I like that," I confirm with a nod, smiling down at the pictures in front of me—all from different times.

My heart flutters as my eyes lock down on a picture of Harry and I dancing. It was a wedding we were invited to and the photographer snapped a picture of the two of us romantically slow dancing— it's one of my favourite pictures. So peaceful, and romantic.

"So, I have permission to make a collage?" Anastasia composedly consults with. In return, nod my head, yes.

I overhear a door close and I turn around to see an ill-tempered man muttering and striding to another office. I glance back towards Anastasia, an ill at ease expression written on her face.

I don't even think I want to ask any questions.

"Elise," Harry's voice distracts me and I turn to see him walking closer to me, his lips pursed in a fine line.

"Hey," I greet and he places a little kiss on my cheek.

"'ello, why are you not home?" He queries, his eyes scanning me up and down.

"I just got off and wanted to see you." I respond, his eyes immediately filling with concern.

"Anastasia, I'll be in my office." He tenderly pulls me into his office, closing the door behind us.

I glance around, the office hasn't changed since I was last in here, the books in accomplished order, his desk in a pleasingly orderly and clean condition and flawless as usual, everything in an impeccable formation.

"Elle, are you okay?" He sweetly probes, his voice no longer sounding as strong and overpowering as it did previously.

I chuckle to myself, turning around to face him and I lean on his desk.

"I am fine, Harry," I confirm with a nod, "are you? You seem concerned," I gently inquire, taking notice of how his shoulders seem to be tense, his eyes wearied and dark.

He gives me a brief nod, stepping closer to me, kissing me gently.

A gesture I can never refuse to indulge in.

A knock at the door pulls his lips away from mine and a groan escapes his lips, I look up at him with a smile before he steps towards the door, allowing a worker to enter.

"I've concluded a marketing idea, sir." The young man stutters. I'd say he's comparatively newly born to the business world, he's young appearing, and doesn't expose any dominance.

He appears insecure, almost weak at his knees.

"I'll, uh— I'll wait outside." I in a low voice obtrudes upon, being aware of as Harry's hand reaching for the papers relating to a matter requiring validation, he gazes at me, his dark eyes narrowing on me.

He shakes his head, "no, stay." He instructs, walking around and sitting at his desk.

I prop myself against his bookshelf, observing as the man anxiously awaits a response from Harry.

Silence sweeps across the office and I apprehend how the young man is twiddling with his fingers, a sign of fretfulness. Poor guy expectably feels intimidated standing in front of his boss. I'd dislike intensely to be in his position, he appears to lack composure or dignity of manner. Harry always states that one should never show fear, once fear is shown, the battle is over and the fear becomes the prey.

"The marketing idea sucks, it's weak, it's utter shit. Re-think it." Harry throws the file back at his worker, the file sliding across his desk, almost falling to the cold floor. "Don't just stand there, go." Harry waves bad-tempered towards the door, the man nodding sheepishly before hurrying out. Harry huffs and he vigorously pulls his suit jacket up to his arms.

"Harry, that was harsh," I mutter while he grabs his keys from his desk.

"Being nice loses me money in my own damn business," Harry grunts broodily, his tone of voice somewhat irking me.

I have a feeling I'll be hearing about this for rest of the night. "You didn't need to throw the file." I clear my throat, his dark eyes narrowing down on me, his hands adjusting the collar of his jacket.

"Was I meant to graciously give it to him? Pet him on the shoulder for an idea that would lose the company millions? Because that's not how I fucking work, Elise." Harry growls before taking a heavy breath.

He's had quite the unforeseen change of mood, he wasn't as readily angered moments ago. "Sorry." He mutters, shoving things into his briefcase.

"Harry—" I begin, shortly being cut off by Harry's voice.

"If you're going to lecture me, don't." He forewarns, appearing excessively feisty and tense.

"Harry, please calm down. I'm your girlfriend, not an employer." I pleasantly remind him.

He heavily sighs, drawing his briefcase off the desk and stepping around the desk. "Let's go," Harry mutters, stepping out of his office with me trailing behind me.

✾ ✾ ✾

Harry thrusts open the door entering the foyer before travelling into the living room, he stops in the doorway and turns to stare at me. I can't tell if he's irritated, baffled, or both. "First, why do we have two Christmas trees up to the ceiling in our living room?" He narrows his eyes down on me and I give him an impudent grin, "Elise, how many Trees did you buy?" He challenges, stepping into the living that is at the present time filled with boxes of assorted Christmas decorations.

I lean up and place a kiss on his cheek, "all that matters is you love me, and that it is the season to be jolly," I remind him, stepping away from him.

He lets out a breath before peeking into a box.

"I do love you," Harry agrees, "but don't you think this will be a bit much?" Harry benevolently requests, gazing at me with tremendously exhausted eyes.

I shake my head, enthused to furnish the house with decorations and with Christmas spirit, after all— it's the most wonderful time of the year.

"Baby, it's going to look like Santas workshop threw up in here."

"There's nothing wrong with that, Scrooge," I wink at him as he turns to glare at me, not too content with the nickname.

"I am not a grumpy old man," he disputes, "where's the third tree? It better not be in our room," Harry advises, sounding precisely like a person who abominates Christmas.

"You're acting very grumpish. The third Tree is by the staircase," I inform him, observing as he tugs out stockings from a box.

"Elle, sweetheart— I'm just exhausted. Decorate as much as your heart desires." He lowers his voice, giving into my Christmas spirit and decorating until my heart is content.

"I had planned too." I murmur as he rolls his eyes.

"Alright, sassy. You have everything organised, so I'm going to relax. Have fun being buddy the freaking elf." Harry half smiles, his eyes scanning the boxes again. "Sorry, totally wasn't trying to be hateful." He corrects himself, causing me to chuckle,

"The what?"

"The garland, Harry," I respond, observing as he rubs the back of his neck, seeming a little stray.

"Are you referencing to some kind of lingerie? Because I'd love to find it and hang it on the staircase." He smirks, causing me to chuckle. Surely, he is not serious right now.

"No, a garland is the, Uhm, it's like one big wreath." I elucidate.

"Damn, my version is so much better." He shrugs his shoulders, "but, yes. I guess I can hang it." He nods, beginning to dig into boxes.

Harry pulls out random things, entertained by how much I bought.

"How much did all this cost?" Harry quaintly challenges, holding a crystal snowflake in his hand, somewhat appreciating it.

"That snowflake? Or everything?" I question. For a moment Harry pauses and looks down at the snowflake, he thinks for a moment.

"Both."

"The snowflake its self is £80 a piece, the whole thing... just check the bank statement," I innocently bat my eyes.

"Well, at least now we have Christmas galore." He smiles, steadily placing the snowflake down and continuing to look through the boxes.

Buying three of colossal size trees wasn't a brilliant idea, I didn't realise that putting ornaments on just one of them would be tremendously time-consuming and enervating.

I feel hands press to my shoulders, lightly working in circular motions.

"Want some help?" A sleepy voice offers, filling my heart with exaltation.

"No, it's okay, you're tired." I shake my head, not wanting to feel guilty for keeping him awake. He leans over me, placing an ornament on the tree.

"Hire someone to decorate it all for you and come to bed." He whispers, sending shivers down my spine.

Tempting, very tempting.

"C'mon, bed." He whispers in a firm tone, instructing instead of politely asking.

"Demanding," I comment, turning to face him as his arms wrap around me, his lips form a straight line, his eyes narrowing down on me before giving me a reverence.

"Well, your wish is my command." I place a small kiss on his lips, gladly taking his hand and leading to the stairway. I smile seeing the third tree standing tall by the staircase, optimally complimenting the curve of the stairs.

We reach the top of the staircases and I make my way into our lavishing sleeping quarters, leaping for the bed— childishly.

"If you break the bed you're sleeping on the couch." Harry chimes, stepping in, his hand unclipping his watch from his wrist.

"We haven't broken it yet, I doubt me jumping once will." I impudently smile with satisfaction, noticing as he bites his lip.

"You, darlin' have gotten very cheeky," Harry announces sitting on the bed.

Every girl has a bodacious and cheeky side, it just takes the right man to unleash it. I smile over at him and shrug, the sound of my phone abruptly distracting me.

"Elise, what happened to no phones in the bedroom?" Harry asks as he reaches over for my phone and looks at the caller ID.

"You always have yours." I shrug, taking the phone and answering it.

"No," Harry mumbles, draping an arm over my stomach, pulling me closer to his warm body.

"Good, we have an engagement party to attend the twenty-third." I enlighten him, considerably surprised myself that Addilyn has indeed gotten engaged.

Harry let's out a groan, burying his face into my neck, "that's the night before Christmas Eve." He dryly mumbles, sounding wistful.

"Yes, be there with me, it's black tie attire." I yawn, allowing my body to become comfortable within the bed.

"Wait, Addi got engaged?" Harry gasps, his voice low and slow, weariness setting in.

"Yes."

"Hmm, she strikes me as the girl who wouldn't get married unless she dated the guy for ten years." Harry exaggerates in his groggy, yet adorable state.

"Well, she's engaged. We can talk about this in the morning, I'm tired." I instruct, cutting the conversation short.

A small kiss is placed on my cheek before Harry buries himself in his pillow, falling asleep almost instantly.

248 notes · View notes