#i hope my google translated messages made a lick of sense to them

[diseaseriddencube]

ooOoooUuuufghhhhhh bothering random people via dm my be-loathed D:

[ramp-it-up]

Request:

Y/N is for one year in America and try to learn the language More (she is from Germany ).

Chris saw her at target and realized that she was kind of lost and was loved to help her 👀

Okayyyy Nonnie! How's this for a challenge?

At first I didn't know how I was going to get there from here, but I cruised IG for some German inspiration. As a result, instead of Y/N, reader is named Maëlle. I also struggled with the knowledge that most Germans know more English than Americans know of any other language, but this is all in fun. 😛

Pairing: Chris Evans x Reader (Maëlle)

Word Count: Around 2K

Warnings: 18+, RPF, MINORS DNI, CURATE YOUR OWN EXPERIENCE, not proofread, Google Translate for the German, verry limited American knowledge of Germans and German culture, not full on Smut, but smutty thots, thoughts of oral sex, fingering, degradation kink, allusions to Dom! behavior, disregarding of stranger danger, the Red Sox, and an age gap.

Maëlle

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

One of your goals when you got settled was to go to Target, Ziel when you arrived in Boston for your graduate exchange year at Boston University.

You understood a great deal of English and could speak many phrases, but you’d hoped your year in America would make you fluent.

You were proud that you were able to get from the BU Student Union to the store. You surprised yourself with the ease that you used your phone to help you translate for what you needed.

Now, you were standing in front of the doors, almost in tears, trying to find where your Uber was to pick you up.

You didn’t pay attention to which way you entered and you needed to find VanNess street. It was about to leave. You suddenly felt helpless, hilflos.

—-

Chris needed to pick up some sunscreen before the game, he couldn't afford a burn right before filming. Even though he had his Red Sox cap on, he still needed some high grade sunblock.

He hurried through the doors of the Target near Fenway Park, head down, trying not to get recognized.

He passed by some beautiful long bronze legs and followed them up a smoking hot body clothed in a scarlet Boston University t-shirt tied up tight and short blue jean skirt.

Your face was framed by waist length blonde braids and your eyes were the most beautiful he’d ever seen.

Your lips deserved ten minutes all on their own, but he kept it moving, not wanting to seem creepy.

You were gorgeous, although you looked flustered. Chris didn’t slow his roll, because you were probably waiting on someone.

When he came back through, five minutes later, he heard your voice and slowed down. He was surprised, but shouldn’t have been. There were black people all over the world.

Even in Germany.

“Kannst du mir zeigen, wo die Van Ness Street ist? Can you tell me? Where is Van Ness Street?”

Your accent was heavy, but passersby just assumed you were crazy or joking with them and ignored you.

Chris was ashamed. That wasn’t what he wanted Boston to be. Even though he was close to being late for the first pitch, he stopped for you. He summoned some German from filming in Europe.

“Kann ich Ihnen helfen?” It was one thing he knew how to say with perfect inflection.

You perked up and smiled at him. “Ach bist du Deutscher? You’re German?”

You looked into the face of the handsome stranger. His eyes. Verdammt!

Chris melted a little bit. When you smiled, you were even more beautiful. Chris smiled back at you, smitten. He laughed.

“No. Italian.”

You understood, but you were confused. Why was this handsome American saying he was Italian and speaking to you in German? And why was he so familiar?

“Oh, Ich entschuldige mich. Sorry.” You smiled again, and Chris forgot all about the game. He wanted to try to talk to you for hours.

“No worries, he said. “Bitte?”

This handsome man’s German was indeed poor. He’d fooled you. He was a good actor. Something pinged in the back of your mind, but you overlooked it. Somehow, he’d made you feel better.

“Ich habe meinen Uber vermisst. Uber, gone!” You made a motion with your hand. “Kannst du mir zeigen, wo die VanNess Street ist?”

“Ohhhh! VanNess is this way,” he pointed toward the other side of the store, and he started leading you through.

You breathed a sigh of relief as you followed him.

You neared the electronics department and there was a giant movie display with dvds. The man saw it, pulled up, stopped, grabbed your hand and quickly led you back the other way.

You were confused.

“Come to think of it, I’ll give you a ride, my car is back out this way. Druben?”

Chris was not going to ruin his afternoon and a chance to talk to you by getting caught signing autographs in Target. He loved his fans, but he already liked you.

You followed him back out of the sliding doors to the parking lot and a blank Range Rover. You just went along with him, your hand feeling at home in his.

Then the panic set in.

You didn’t know this man from Adam.

Your mother had warned you about getting kidnapped by an American serial killer. This was it. You hated it when she was right.

“Wait!”

You said it perfectly, and the man caught your anxiety.

Chris stopped as he tried to open the door for you. He looked into your worried eyes. Shit, he’d gotten carried away. He looked down to where your hands were still locked.

He couldn’t help but smile at them. You smiled, too. Then he looked at you, blue eyes looking like the sea. You smiled back, somehow knowing that you were safe. You leaned back on the car.

“I’m not going to hurt you. My name is Christopher, what is yours?”

“Maëlle.”

Your smile was brightening his entire life. He was into you.

“That’s beautiful. Das ist schön?”

You smiled wider at his compliment. Then you bit your lip. Chris' knees got weak and he took a step closer to you to regain balance.

You were in each other’s space, Chris looking down at you and you at him. You were both getting warm even though it was a cool September day.

Chris pulled your hand instinctively, and you were even closer, your fingers entwined in his close to his thigh, which you could sense flexing through his jeans.

You were staring at his lips and he was doing the same as the butterflies flew around your stomach.

Were you really considering kissing someone you’d just met in Target? What would your mother think?

That thought made you smirk.

“What are you thinking?”

He was leaning over you, his voice in a lower register now. His breath tickled your ear and made you moan slightly.

Chris wanted to know what was going on in that mind of yours, if you were as crazy as he was feeling this kind of connection so fast.

You understood exactly what he was saying, but you just cocked your head and smiled as if you didn’t. You didn’t want him to think that you were thinking of his hands all over you, in your most intimate places.

Chris took a deep breath, trying to clear his head and regain blood flow to his brain. His cock was hard being this close to you and he had to regain composure.

He wasn’t that reckless kid he used to be, but man he wanted to do some depraved things to you. Like drag his tongue up your…

He had to stop. Chris took a step back.

You watched as his tongue peeled out to lick his bottom perfect pink lip. It was strange, but you felt like you knew him. And you wanted him to know you. Intimately.

And now those perfect lips were moving, but you weren’t paying close enough attention to translate what he was saying.

“Can I give you a lift to campus?”

You cocked your head in that pretty way again. He wondered what it would be like to feel your lips. On his lips. On his tattoos, around his…

Chris cleared his throat and tried to think of the words.

“Kann ich mitnehmen?”

He was so cute. You smiled brighter and nodded, “Yes, Christopher.”

Then you gestured to your bra-less breasts in your thin t-shirt. Chris could tell your nipples were hard. He licked his lips and looked around. This was a development.

Then he got your message. He shook his head, chuckling that his thoughts were in the gutter.

“Ooooooh! Boston University! You’re on campus. Yeah, that’s right near here. I’ll take you.”

“Danke. Thanks you, Christopher.”

Your smile would be the end of him. He had to think of a creative way to get your number.

“Hey! Let’s take a picture!” He had his phone out.

You were confused, but maybe this is what Americans did to get to know each other. Take pictures with strangers.

He took a couple of pics and then opened the door for you.

You brushed past him to get in, and Chris allowed his eyes to take in your form, especially your shapely legs.

You noticed him checking you out, and immediately got goosebumps, your nipples hardening again. Your panties were a little moist.

“Let’s just get you… “

Chris reached across you for the seatbelt with his right hand, face coming near yours as he leaned into the car.

“Buckled in…”

Now you were sure your panties were soaked.

Chris allowed his mind to go places, like your pussy, which he was sure was sweet, wet, hot and…

“….Tight.”

Chris gulped, trying not to drool all over you, although he would love to spit in your mouth and make you swallow as he fucked you raw.

“Danke.”

You whispered behind a breathy moan. You wanted not only to ride in this man’s car. You wanted to ride this man in his car.

Your eyes flickered down to his jeans and that’s when Chris realized that he had a raging hard on. He quickly put his hand in his pocket, trying to play it off, flashed a smile and closed the door quickly.

You giggled at how huge what you thought you saw was. You fanned yourself while you waited for him to get in trying to remember your decorum.

Chris stood outside the back of the car for a minute, trying to catch his breath and think. He had to be at least 15 year older than you, he just met you, and you didn’t speak English. None of this made sense.

He was going to drop you off at campus and try to be at the game for the second inning. And act his age.

Christopher got back in the car, much more formal, and started driving.

He looked over to see your legs open and started to wonder how easy it would be to reach over and under your skirt, pull your panties to the side, if you were wearing any, and…

Chris cleared his throat and focused on the road.

You could tell the air had changed. He was different. You wondered what happened.

You looked at his profile and decided that he was turned off by you being so forward. You decided to straighten up, so you did so, literally and figuratively.

You sat up straight and crossed your legs, like prim and proper young ladies do.

The curve of your spine and the crossing of your legs made Chris irrationally angry. It was like you were closing yourself off to him. Then he remembered.

You didn’t know each other.

You pointed out where to go as you neared your apartment. Chris pulled up in front of your unit and you both started talking.

“Danke, Christopher.”

“Hey, Maëlle…”

You both chuckled. Chris continued.

“Let me send you that photo. What’s your number?” He was fiddling with his phone. Then handed it to you. “Type it in for me.”

You grinned wide and his sly smile answered you. Now you understood. You entered your number and handed it back to him, your fingers sparking as you touched.

You were breathless.

“Well…”

“Christopher…”

You two interrupted each other again.

This time you continued.

“Thank you.”

You leaned over and gave him a kiss on the cheek.

Chris closed his eyes. Your lips felt as soft as he imagined. He wanted to do the whole turn his head trick but he wasn’t 23 anymore. But you sure made him feel like it.

He did turn to look at you as you got out of the car and waved after you closed it. You swung your bag in one hand as you walked toward the building, also swinging your hips, watching him as he drove away.

Chris watched you too, as far as he could in the rearview. When you disappeared from sight, he said, “Fuck it,” did a uturn and peeled rubber back to your apartments. He rolled down the window.

“Maëlle! Maëlle!” You stopped just before you reached your door. Chris grinned at you. “You ever been to an American baseball game before?”

You skipped back down the walk happily, grinning back as you leaned in the open window. You cocked your head in that way.

“No, but I like playing wit the balls.”

Chris groaned. He couldn’t tell if you were talking about sports or something else. But he’d figure it out later. You climbed in the car, winked at him and crossed your legs.

Chris licked his lips as he drove back toward Fenway Park, thinking about how he would teach you about keeping your legs open that night.

——

Hope it’s okay Nonnie! ❤️

@olyvoyl @summerofsnowflakes @sillyteecup @riiyy @honeysucklechocolatedrippin @theselilwonders @lonelydance @chattykathysquietsister @anh1020 @nissameta1782 @betterkeepmewetterthanabayou @jbrizzywrites @stilltoyou @donutloverxo @wallowsgirl14 @my-soulmate-is-mycroft @kiwisa @food8me @aiikaa @marvelfansworld @justanormalfangirlsworld @lost-in-a-state-of-mind @london-grunge @pheebsyells @douxtille @thesecretlifeofdaydreams @ximaginex @jdmacca92 @fofisstilinski @dyapraxicwhore @bertieandberries @ladystrawberry @bit-of-a-timelord @aaronhotchiee @calimoi @fangirlfree @bbaengtan @karolsboo @aliceforbes @insertpithyusername @sickknik @photmath @whorekneebrain @mostannoyingbillioner @anacravalho @iconicshit @spicybibimbap @chaoticsteverogers @txtsfromyourex @sadthotsonlylove @assoftheamericana @ikatieebabyy @nerdymugsharkempath @crossfitjesusinblackskinnyjean @maroonsunrise83

[suituuup]

comme une idylle

Beca gets an odd request from a stranger while in Paris

rating: G

word count: 2801

happy birthday @green-eyed-weirdo​  🥰 I hope you like it!

moodboard and beta by the lovely @snowonebutyou

ao3 link

*

“Dude, is this really necessary?”

Stacie hums. “It’s French fashion.”

Beca rolls her eyes. “I feel like if that were true, we would have seen some people wearing it by now. This just screams ‘I’m an American tourist’ to me.”

Stacie ignores her, adjusting the beret over her head as she stands in front of the mirror. “I think I look sexy with this. Very… chic.”

“Great. If you decide to walk around with that and a baguette under your arm I’m going solo on our tour.”

Stacie plucks another beret from the shelf and screws it over Beca’s head. “Aw, you look like Gavroche.”

“Fuck you, dude,” Beca mutters, taking it off and flattening her hair with her palm as she places the hat back in its initial spot. “I’m hungry.”

“You’re always hungry,” Stacie points out, and Beca can’t really contradict her.

Once Stacie has finally picked one of those ridiculous hats, they head up the cobblestone street and find themselves a brasserie (one of those restaurants where you can get just a drink or have a full meal) for lunch. It’s pretty hot (a bit too hot for Beca’s taste, but she’s hopefully applied enough sunscreen not to resemble a lobster by the end of the day) in Paris that day, but they find shelter under one of those huge parasols, a gentle breeze sweeping in ever so often as they gaze at the food options.

Melodic giggles draw Beca’s focus away from the badly translated menu and towards two tables over to her left. They belong to a redhead, who just happens to be as radiant as her laughter, and Beca finds herself staring a beat too long, catching Stacie’s attention.

“She’s cute.”

Beca’s cheeks heat up as soon as she realizes she’s been caught, and she looks back at her menu so quickly something in her neck twitches. She clears her throat. “What are you talking about?”

“Aww, you adorable baby bisexual. You should go talk to her. Or buy her a drink.”

“Dude, no,” Beca hisses.

Stacie is silent for a few beats, clearly listening in. “She’s American.”

Beca makes a noncommittal sound. “And?”

Stacie leans over, a smirk curving her lips. “Imagine how romantic it would be, you two meeting in Paris and finding each other again in the States. That’s Nicholas Sparks shit right here.”

Beca finds Stacie’s eyes over the menu. “You seem to have forgotten a slight detail: I don’t know how to talk to women.”

Stacie’s eyes roll skyward. “Maybe you should try.”

The waiter thankfully puts a temporary end to the conversation, and once he’s gone with their orders, Beca sees that so is the redhead and her friend.

“Well, there goes your Parisian romance,” Stacie says, sighing softly.

Beca doesn’t really think about the stranger again, not until the end of the day. Stacie insists on heading to the Eiffel Tower to catch the sunset (and probably take a bunch of pictures for her influencer Instagram account), and Beca ignores her aching feet, feeling like she’s already been complaining a lot today.

“Hi there.”

Beca twists her head to the left to find the stranger from the cafe. Her blue eyes nearly make her stumble. “Um, hi?”

“So this might sound really weird, but I’ve always wanted a romantic picture in front of the Eiffel Tower and my boyfriend just dumped me before this trip and well, I was wondering if you’d pose with me?”

That’s a lot of information in five seconds, and Beca blinks twice in slow succession. “Pose, as in…?”

“As in, kiss me?”

She hears Stacie gasp beside her and doesn’t even want to spare her a glance. Her ears feel like they just caught on fire and her voice is nowhere to be found.

It’s only when Stacie jabs her elbow into her ribs that Beca says something. “I, uh, I-- what?”

Well, close to saying something.

The other woman giggles. “You’re really cute. And I asked if you’d like to take a photo with me.”

“Kissing,” Beca echoes, just to make sure.

The redhead grimaces. “Sorry, you’re totes creeped out. I’ll find someone else.”

“She’ll do it,” Stacie announces before Beca can say anything else.

“What, dude,” Beca interjects.

“If you don’t I will,” Stacie mutters, and that shoves Beca into motion.

“Um yeah, sure,” she tells the stranger. A shaky nod. “I’ll do it.”

“Awes!” She hands Stacie her phone. “My friend Aubrey can take the pic.”

Beca notices the blonde standing off to the side and waves awkwardly before her friend slides her hand into hers and tugs her forward. Beca’s heart starts to race a little as they come to a stop at the top of the stairs splaying out over the Trocadero gardens.

“Wait, what’s your name?” The stranger asks, seemingly as an afterthought.

“Um, Beca,” Beca says.

“Nice to meet you, Beca. I’m Chloe.”

Beca nods, tongue poking out to wet her lips. “Cool. Cool, cool, cool. So um,” she wipes her hands over her jeans. “How should we…”

“I’ll just kiss you now,” Chloe says, amusement clear in her tone.

Beca wants to dig herself a hole. But that thought vanishes as soon as Chloe starts leaning in, and her eyes slam shut the moment those soft, full lips brush against hers in a gentle kiss. She hears herself humming as her head tilts forward to chase the remaining distance between them, pushing a firmer kiss against Chloe’s mouth. It’s Chloe’s turn to make a sound this time, and Beca nearly forgets her own name.

She instantly forgets about the photo, and the fact that Chloe is a stranger, too caught up in how good this feels to really care. She does, however, come to her senses when she starts to lack oxygen and pulls away with a sheepish smile, her cheeks flaming.

“Damn…” Chloe murmurs, eyes alight. “I picked well.”

Beca clears her throat and tucks a strand of hair behind her ear, avoiding her eyes. “Glad I could be of service,” she mumbles with an awkward salute.

(yes, yes, a goddamn salute because she’s a fucking dork.)

Chloe giggles and Beca suddenly feels high on the sound. “Too bad my friend and I have to leave tonight. I could have definitely gone for an encore performance.”

Beca isn’t sure how redder her face can get before it matches the shade of her plaid shirt. “That’s uh, too bad.”

“Well thanks for doing it for me,” Chloe says with a wink, then kisses her cheek. “Bye, Beca.”

“Bye,” Beca murmurs, somewhat still in a kiss-induced daze as she watches her go.

“Holy crap, dude,” Stacie says when she catches up with her. “You totally made out with her.”

Beca chuckles, rubbing the back of her neck. “We um, got carried away?”

Stacie punches her arm. “Tell me you got her number.”

Beca shakes her head. “She probably lives like, in LA or something.”

“Oh my god, you’re such an idiot.”

Beca has to agree; she’s the biggest idiot in the world.

The rest of their trip goes smoothly. Beca only has to listen to Stacie having sex once, which is a wonder, considering it’s Stacie, and the two fly back to New York at the end of the week, heads filled with good memories of their trip abroad.

“I still can’t believe you didn’t ask for her number,” Stacie says as they walk out of the arrival gate at JFK.

“Oh my god, would you let it go?” Beca groans, tilting her head back.

“She was so hot.”

“I know,” Beca whines. “But I won’t find her again so let’s just not talk about it anymore.”

“Fine.”

It’s a few days later, as she’s aimlessly scrolling through TikTok as she does every night before bed, that Beca sees it. She almost scrolls past it because ugh, couples, but the yellow summer dress and red hair catch her attention and have her sitting up with a jolt. Her breathes hitches in her throat as she reads the caption:

I hope this cute girl I met in Paris and asked for a pic of us kissing so I could pretend I had a romantic time in France sees this so I can take her out on a date

The video blew up, counting over a million likes and fifteen thousand comments. Her trembling thumb presses on the comment section.

Okay, TikTok, do your thing, we need to find this girl!!

Omg they’re so cute

Imagine they find each other!!

Beca swallows, licking her suddenly dry lips. “Imagine…” she breathes out as she presses on Chloe’s profile picture, hits follow, and then taps Message.

Hey, so… it’s Beca. The girl from Paris?

She locks her phone right after hitting send and buries her face in her palms, emitting a low groan. Her phone pinging less than a minute later makes her heart pound against her ribs. She reaches for it and peeks at the screen with one eye.

omg, hi!! it’s really you?

She figures maybe a few people have sent Chloe a message because hello, who wouldn’t, pretending it was her. So Beca thinks proving it is really her could be a good thing.

If by me you mean the dork who freaking saluted you after our kiss, yep that’s me.

Beca bites down on her bottom lip as she watches the three dots pop up on the screen.

I can’t believe it worked! I’ve been thinking about you a lot since that day.

Butterflies go off in her belly, and before Beca can ponder on how cheesy this is, she’s typing something back.

Me too. That was um, a really good kiss. And you’re pretty.

Oh god, I’m facepalming so hard right now. Sorry I… don’t really know how to talk to girls.

To her surprise, Chloe doesn’t seem put off by it.

You’re very cute. May I ask where you live?

Beca doesn’t want to get her hopes up, because the States are fucking huge, and she doesn’t see herself jumping into a long-distance whatever.

NYC. You?

I go to vet school in Ithaca.

Ithaca. Beca knows it’s in the state, but she googles how close just to make sure. Another message from Chloe comes through.

I’m usually in the city once a month since my best friend lives there. Would you… like to go out on a date when I’m around?

“Dude, chill out,” she mutters to herself when she feels a wave of warmth encompass her entire being.

Sure, yeah. I’d like that.

They exchange numbers and end up texting for most of the evening until Chloe announces she has to head to bed because she has an early lecture the following morning.

Beca is about to turn off the lights too, that idiotic smile still stuck to her lips, when her phone buzzes with a text message from Stacie.

DUDE!!! Watch this NOW

A TikTok link follows, and Beca knows what it is before she even opens it.

Wow. This really blew up, huh.

Stacie’s reply comes through less than five seconds later. That’s all you have to say?! Tell me you’re going to message her. I got dibs on Maid of Honor at your wedding, btw.

Beca rolls her eyes. She ponders telling Stacie but decides to keep Chloe to herself for a while. I’ll think about it.

She’s a fidgeting mess the morning leading up to their date. Chloe told her to meet her by the River Cafe in Dumbo, and Beca has spent entirely too much time deciding on what to wear, which really never happens.

Chloe is already there when she makes it to the park, and Beca buries her hands into her jacket pockets to keep them from wringing together. Chloe doesn’t see her right away, gazing up at the Brooklyn Bridge instead.

“Do you have a thing for iconic iron monuments?” She teases as she approaches, catching Chloe’s attention. She narrows her eyes playfully. “Are you gonna try and kiss me again?” A gasp flies past her lips as she exaggeratedly lies a hand over her chest. “Are you just using me to go viral on TikTok?”

Chloe giggles. “You’re a dork,” she says, grinning. “Hi.”

“Hey,” Beca breathes out, relaxing her shoulders as she smiles back.

“You like ice cream?” Chloe asks, nodding towards the vendor across the grassy area.

“Sure,” Beca says, and they fall into a step towards it. She takes her brain for something to say before things get awkward, but Chloe beats her to it.

“So what’s it like being a TikTok sensation?”

Beca barks out a laugh. “Amazing. One of my life goals for sure,” she jokes, cutting Chloe an amused glance.

Chloe giggles. “I honestly didn’t think it would blow up. But I’m glad it did ‘cause not finding you would have sucked.”

Beca clears her throat, looking down for a second. “Me too. I was really beating myself up for not asking for your number back in Paris.”

Chloe’s lips curve in a small smile, and she looks like she’s about to say something, but it’s their turn to order.

Ice creams in hand, they settle down on the grass to enjoy them. The weather is nice, not too hot with a gentle breeze rolling by once in a while.

“So what are some of your life goals, then?” Chloe asks once they’ve sat down.

“Making a living out of music is the main one,” she says. “I work as assistant producer right now, but the job is pretty crappy.”

“I may or may not have stalked your Instagram,” Chloe admits next. “You have an amazing voice.”

“Oh,” Beca lets out, feeling her cheeks heat up. “Thanks.” She clears her throat. “You’re into music?” Strangely something that hadn’t come up during their texting.

Chloe nods, smiling. “I was in an acapella group in college.”

Beca’s eyebrows shoot up, and she laughs before she can help herself. “Wait, seriously? You’re an acapella nerd?”

Chloe shoves her shoulder, laughing as well. “Shut up.”

“I guess we all make questionable choices in college, huh?”

Chloe huffs, throwing Beca a glare. Beca spots a sprinkle of amusement in her eyes, so she doesn’t think Chloe is truly mad.

“I’m just messing with you,” she says, softening. “I think any kind of music is neat. And singing without instruments is actually pretty impressive.”

“Thanks,” Chloe says lightly. “There’s just… something about music, you know. It soothes the soul and makes you escape the real world for a few minutes.”

A genuine smile curves Beca’s lips. It’s exactly how she would describe what music does to her. “Yeah.”

She eyes Chloe’s profile, still a little bit struck over the fact that this gorgeous girl is on a date with her.

“What?” Chloe asks with curiosity swirling in her eyes when she catches Beca staring.

Beca blinks. “Nothing. I…” she clears her throat. “You’re just really pretty.” She scrunches up her nose. “See? I’m awkward as fuck.”

Chloe chuckles and slides her hand into Beca’s free one. “I think it’s cute.”

Beca grumbles. “I’m not cute, I’m badass.”

Their time together flies by as they learn more about one another, Beca even managing to convince Chloe to show her some acapella videos. The sun sets without either realizing and the park is near empty, save for a couple strolling by in the distance.

“I should head back to Aubrey’s,” Chloe says when it gets a bit chillier. “I said I’d be home for dinner.”

Beca is a bit disappointed, but she nods, smiling. “Okay.”

She pushes to her feet and helps Chloe to hers, her eyes dropping to Chloe’s lips once they’re both standing.

“You know… I didn’t really care about the video,” Chloe murmurs, stepping closer. “I saw you at the restaurant and thought you were really cute. When I spotted you again later, I had to think of something.”

Beca raises an eyebrow. “I noticed you at the restaurant, too.”

“I know. You weren’t being very subtle.”

Beca huffs. “Shut up.”

Chloe simply laughs, her eyes sweeping down to Beca’s lips before she leans in. Beca is a lot less nervous this time around, and she hums as those familiar lips glide over hers flawlessly, her hands bunching up in Chloe’s top as she holds her waist. It’s over way too soon for her liking, but she has to remind herself they’re in public, and how she’ll probably get to do that again very soon.

“See you soon?” Chloe murmurs when they part, brushing her nose against Beca’s.

Beca nods and squeezes her waist. “Yeah.”

With one last kiss, she watches Chloe go in a similar state of a daze as in Paris.

Something tells her this is the start of something amazing.

[ardentprose]

Cold Brew - Prologue

This is my attempt at the old coffee shop cliche. I’m warning you now, my writer’s block is strong. But I will tell you this story to the best of my abilities. 

*I don’t own the gifs.

*Dialogue: English will be in standard font while Korean will be italicized.

Yoongi x Reader

Genre: Fluff, Slow-Burnish, Romance

Warnings: Language (if more are found, please message me)

Summary: Going to an American college for music was an opportunity Min Yoongi could not pass up. Despite the comments about his eyes and accent, he’s determined to make it through the semester and prove himself to his parents back home. After an awkward but fateful conversation, Yoongi finds himself crushing hard for a girl he only has so many weeks to confess to. If he will at all.

November

He sits at a table shoved against a wall, his mind concentrated on chasing down the train of thoughts bustling through his mind before it escapes him. His hand scurries across the page, the inevitable pain slowly rising in his wrist as the pen audibly scratches through the journal. Now and then, his left hand brushes the pale hair settling on his eyelashes. The brim of round wire glasses faithfully slides down the smooth bridge of his nose and so his fingers are kept busy with this task as well.

In the past hour, the bell has jingled a hundred times, the voices of patrons intermingling with the whistling espresso machines and clank of the register drawer. It’s background noise easily tuned out, and yet with an uncanny sense, when the bell chimes again announcing a new arrival, Yoongi slams his journal closed, slipping it into the safe cavern of his backpack.

He pulls out his English Composition 101 textbook and the accompanying black spiral notebook to set on the table.

She slides into the chair across from him, her sweet perfume cutting through the ever present aroma of coffee. The soft thud of her messenger bag accompanies her warm tone.

“Yoongi.” His eyes train on his notebook, watching the veins in his hand flicker as he opens the massive textbook to the current chapter. Only after finding the correct page does he looks up at her and her awaiting smile. That brief moment of delay does nothing to prepare his heart as it skips twice, taking in her shining eyes, rosy cheeks, and chapped lips parted for him.

“Hey.” He swallows the strain in his vocal chords, hoping to disguise their fragility with a long sip of his cold brew.

“How are you? Did you get any sleep last night?” She asks as she leans forward and slips out her winter coat. She drapes it over the back of her chair, left in a hoodie dyed the navy blue of the university.

“The same.” He mumbles, licking the aftertaste from his lips and anticipating the crinkle in her brow.

“Yoongi, you have to learn to go to bed! It’s not healthy to skip sleep. One of these days you’re going to collapse from exhaustion.”

“I have...too much work.” He reasons, watching the lavender scarf she claims to have knit herself unravel around her neck. She leans over to stuff it into her bag and then gives him a glare.

“We all have too much work to do, Yoongi. You need to sleep.”

Why does she keep saying my name? He muses, intrigued and yet horrified at the electricity that shoots through him every time he hears her say the familiar syllables.

“And you?” He chides, watching her momentarily cover a cough and then sniff. “You gonna catch a cold.”

“No, I’m not. I was just outside.” She shakes her head, tugging out her own textbook and note-taking utensils.

"Your voice is scratchy. That wouldn’t happen if you drank the warm honey water like I told you to.” Yoongi says.

“Yeah, well...” She sighs, and her eyes flicker to his along with a guilty smile. Despite her age, youth couldn’t prevent the exhausted wrinkles creasing under her eyes.

“Let’s both agree to take better care of ourselves. You go ahead and start, I’m going to order some tea.”

“I got it.” Yoongi says, allowing her to remain in her seat, albeit with a confused expression. He waves his hand above her head, catching the eye of the barista, who nods and disappears behind the kitchen. He returns promptly with a porcelain tea cup on a saucer, setting it down in front of her wide eyes.

“Thank you!” She glances from the barista to Yoongi, blinking several times at the steaming cup of tea.

“Let’s get started.” Yoongi clears his throat, taking another sip, and flipping open his notebook to the next blank page.

She hums, taking a careful sip of the spiced chai she so dearly craves. Soon, they slip into routine silence and time passes as it always does. She explains the English language in a patient voice, sometimes reaching over with her pen to point out a particular word or phrase. He writes it down, taking note of her correction and the way his knuckles burn when she grazes them in proximity. The atmosphere is calm and productive, and Yoongi can’t help but notice the contrast between the silent companionship in the café to the initial meeting they had only a mere three months ago.

September

He had just arrived in America, via a Student Visa and Study Abroad program. Though he had only spent three weeks at most on campus, he quickly realized the color of his skin and the accent of his words was evidence enough to attach numerous stereotypes to his character, most of which he had never heard of before in his life. The American students would clap him on the shoulder in class, asking if he could check their math homework. The teachers would speak to him in a patronizingly slow English, as if he had a mental issue, not a language barrier. A fair share of giggling girls with pretty Asian men tucked into phone cases would ask for his number, but struggle pronouncing his name. The worst of it came from the frat boys who, though having never seen his crotch, assumed it was lacking in comparison to their superior American-made crotches. It was by that time, Yoongi decided that save for the incredible opportunity it was to study music in America, the rest of it could burn in hell.

The only one stopping him from taking the next ticket back to South Korea was his roommate Hoseok, who came over on a dance scholarship the year before. Having acclimated for one year to American college life, Hoseok tried to convince Yoongi on a daily basis that not all Americans were as ignorant as they let on. However, it still took Hoseok disconnecting Yoongi’s laptop from the school Wi-Fi on a particularly climatic night in order to convince him to stay in America - at least until the end of the semester.

That being said, Yoongi had, fair or not, formed a prejudice against American students and avoided them at all costs. Ironically, it was this mindset that caused him to open his mouth, one picnic table away, and comment on some American’s awful pronunciation of his native tongue.

The soon to be victim was sitting at the picnic table next to his sitting with a presumably Korean girl.

“I haven’t gotten it down perfectly, but I definitely know how to have a basic conversation.”

“Really? Show me, show me!” Her loud volume caught Yoongi’s attention, which up until now had been focused on the next four measures under his pencil.

Having forgotten his earbuds in his dorm, he was left with no other choice but to eavesdrop.

“How are you?" The friend immediately asked and Yoongi could hear her smile in the eager question.

“I’m great! How are you?” The American responded.

A frown wrinkles Yoongi’s brow. He understood her words, but the pronunciation was slightly jarring, as if she was talking with rocks in her mouth.

“Very good!” The native encouraged and asked her what her career is, a basic introduction that any stranger would ask.

“College study gift. I’m study music and singer.“ Stumbling and humming her way through the sentence, Yoongi can’t help but snicker, holding his knuckles to his grin.

“Yes!” Expecting a correction, Yoongi scoffs as she ignores the obviously incorrect sentence and encourages her on. 

“Are you kidding me? She sounds like a damn Google translation.” He laughed, resuming his writing with a shake of his head.

“Hey! Who the fuck asked you?!”

Yoongi’s heart jumped into his throat. One moment he was scribbling notes on a composition sheet, chuckling to himself. The next, a furious Korean female was in his face, cursing him out. 

He blinked up at the sudden fire and brimstone before him. Before he fired back a few choice words of his own, he pieced together that his comment had been overheard. 

He glanced at the woman currently sitting at the other table, her tears brimming and her lips tucked in shame. She may not have understood his comment, but clearly, by the tone of his words and the righteous anger of her friend, he had insulted her. She cautiously lifted her eyes to him and Yoongi felt the boulder of remorse hit his stomach.

“Fuck.”

Leave it to him to insult the one American woman who, at the very least, was doing her best to understand his culture, and at the very most, was the prettiest woman he had ever seen.

Without a moment’s hesitation he met the eyes of the furious friend, choosing to deal with her first. “I’m sorry, I didn’t think you could hear me.”

“That doesn’t mean you can insult her! She was trying her best. We weren’t even talking to you.”

“I’m an asshole, okay? I didn’t mean to take it out on her. Can I at least apologize?” Choosing to agree in order to calm her down, Yoongi maintained his calm exterior despite the guilt twisting his stomach into knots.

The friend huffed, tossing her raven hair over her shoulder as she stepped back slightly. Yoongi cleared his throat, ignoring the tremble in his fingertips and shuffled over to the picnic table, sitting down on the opposite bench.

“Hey, I’m...” Doing his best to clearly pronounce his English was just another lash of shame against his burning cheeks.

“I’m very sorry for...my words. I was...idiot. Very big idiot. I...You speak...good Korean. More good than...I speak English...” Stuttering and flitting his eyes around her face, the table, and his shaking hands, Yoongi stumbled through an apology, his voice gruff but his expression sincere.

“It’s alright.” She sighed, swiping under her eyes with the back of her fingers. “I get it. I probably do sound really dumb. But thank you.” 

Her instant compassion tore at Yoongi all the more and he wondered at which point he turned into the monsters that terrorized him all day long.

“I...I help you, if you help me.” He was speaking the words before he could register them. Once they do, a cold terror drained his expression at the same time a large smile warmed her face.

“Really? You’d do that?”

“Hey, what about me?” The two glanced at the Korean friend who sensed the sudden shift in the conversation.

“I need all the help I can find, Eun. You know we hardly have time to meet up as it is. This is the first since two weeks ago I’ve been able to practice with you."

Eun rolls her eyes. “He just insulted you. Don’t trust him so easily.”

Yoongi blinks, lacking the words to defend himself and still processing why he offered his help to a stranger when he hadn’t given the time of day to anyone other than Hoseok - who wore a watch.

Her gaze fell on him now, taking in his features for the first time. Her eyebrows wrinkled. 

“Haven’t I seen you in a class before?”

“I...uh...I take music.”

“Oh, I am too! Music Production with Mrs. Harris, right? You’re the one who plays the piano all the time. I never see anyone with you. Have you made friends here?” Before he has time to think of an answer, she cuts him off. 

“Oh my word - ignore that! That was so rude to ask! I’m so sorry.” 

Again, how could he have insulted the kindest person on campus?

Yoongi licked his lips, shrugging. There weren’t enough English words in his vocabulary to explain the prejudice-driven harassment and bitterness he had experienced since moving here. He never noticed someone so genuine and sweet in that classroom of entitled pricks, himself included as one of them.

“Never mind. All the more reason. It’s a deal, then.” She held out her hand, brimming with a newfound excitement that hadn’t caught onto him yet.

“You’ll fix my pronunciation. I’ll help you pass ESL 101.” She promised as Yoongi slid his palm over hers. The fact she knew he was taking the English as a Second Language course wasn’t a surprise. All exchange students were required to take it and this incident more than warranted her assumption of his class register.

Swallowing thickly he nodded, now finding himself the one put out. Eun rolled her eyes but sat down beside her friend again.

“At least tell each other your names if this is gonna happen.” She exhaled.

Yoongi’s new tutor laughed, and it’s so contagious, he cracked a smile.

“We’re off to a great start, aren’t we?” She giggled, giving him a look that could rival the stars.

Chapter One

[catalinda04]

Carried Away Chapter 62: A Can of Biscuit Dough

Masterlist 

Henry had five precious days with Lucy after the dress fitting, before the time came for him to leave for the Batman V Superman press tour. After spending all morning in bed with Lucy, the time came for him to leave. Though she was trying valiantly to hold them back, Henry could see the tears in her eyes.

    “Darling, it’s ok. I’ll call you every night, and I’ll see you in five short weeks in New York.”

    “We’ve only been married five weeks, by the time I see you again, we’ll have been apart longer than we’ve been together since our wedding,” she said, a tear slipping from her eye.

    Henry gathered her in his arms. “Darling, don’t cry. You know I’m not leaving because I want to, but because I have to. I love you, and I’ll miss you too. You’ll at least have Kal, I’m the one that’s going to be alone every night.”

    “You better be,” Lucy laughed through her tears. Henry gave a short laugh as well.

    Kal watched the goodbye with plaintive eyes. He could sense something was happening. He saw Henry’s suitcases, but hadn’t been harnessed to go with. He was confused. Henry knelt down to his level. He grabbed the dog behind the ears and rubbed. “Now, listen here Kal. I want you to watch out for our girl. Keep her safe for me,” he told the dog seriously. Kal nodded his head solemnly, looking from Henry to Lucy and back to Henry. Then he smiled his doggy smile, and gave Henry’s face one long slobbery lick. “Thank you bear,” Henry laughed, standing to turn back to Lucy, wiping his face with his hand.

He wiped the slobber onto his jeans, before cupping Lucy’s face in his hands and giving her one final deep goodbye kiss. “Goodbye my Darling. I love you.”

“Love you too,” Lucy replied with a sniff as she watched Henry walk to his truck.

“Well, Kal, what should we do now?” Lucy asked the dog as they walked back inside the house. “What’s that? You want to sit at my feet while I correct papers? That’s such a good idea,” she exclaimed, scratching his head. He turned to her with an expression that said, “I am not amused,” and he walked up the stairs to lay in his fluffy dog bed. “Fine, just abandon me, see if I care,” Lucy said to herself.

Three weeks later, Henry and Lucy were having their nightly phone call.

“Do you know, journalists are not the most original bunch ever? I was asked no less than nine times today about my “newest role” as husband. Seriously, they referred to our marriage as my newest role.”

“And what did you tell them?” Lucy asked.

“Only what we discussed. We got married on New Year’s Eve, we’re very happy, and planning to split our time between Minnesota and London,” Henry recited, ticking off the points on his fingers.

“Other than boredom from answering the same questions all day, How are you doing?” Lucy asked, concerned by the dark circles under his eyes.

“I’m fine, darling, a little tired, between the press and the workouts, my days are pretty full. I think a better question is how are you doing? I miss you so much Cupcake.”

“I miss you too, but I’m fine. Kal gave me some attitude for the first week or so, but he’s back to his normal self. I think he blamed me for you not taking him with on this press tour.”

“They’ve also asked me about him. Several of the reporters were quite disappointed to find he wasn’t with me,” Henry laughed.

“Where are you off to next?” Lucy asked, though his schedule had been synced to her phone.

“London. I’m anxious to get to sleep in a bed I recognize, even if you aren’t with me.”

“I miss you so bad. The bed is just too big without you hogging 80% of the space,” Lucy commented.

“Me?” Henry retorted. “The only reason I’m so close to you, is I’m trying to get the covers that you hoard on your side of the bed.”

“I like the weight,” she responded innocently. He didn’t reply, but she could hear his smile through the line. “How long until I get to see you again?” She asked, as she had everyday since he’d left.

“Too long darling,” he replied as he had every time she asked.

“I have an early morning tomorrow so I have to go. I love you, Darcy.” Lucy said.

“I love you more, Cupcake,” Henry replied, disconnecting the call. He sat back against the headboard of the bed in his hotel room in Mexico City. “Lucy would love it here,” he thought to himself. “She would probably drag me all over seeing this site and that. And I’d enjoy every second of it.” He smiled at the idea. Suddenly he had an idea. He did a quick google search to find just what he was looking for. He wouldn’t be able to take care of it anymore tonight, but tomorrow after his training session, and before his press commitments, he planned a trip he needed to take.

One evening, later that week, Lucy sat in her classroom correcting a stack of tests. She found herself staying later in the evening, since she had gotten approval from the school to bring Kal with her, in his capacity as a therapy dog. He had instantly charmed almost everyone at the school with his infectious grin and loving presence.

Her classroom phone rang. It being after school hours she answered with her less formal, “Hello?” as opposed to “Mrs. Cavill.” It was Gretchen, the office secretary. “A package just arrived for you. It’s in the front office if you want to come pick it up.”

“Thanks Gretchen. I’ll be right down,” Lucy replied, wracking her brain trying to think if she’d ordered anything lately. She entered the office and saw a cardboard box, about a foot and a half square, sitting on the floor, where the deliveries were usually kept. She saw her name on the address label, and looked for a return address. She saw Henry’s name along with the name of the hotel he’d been staying in in Mexico City.

She hefted the box into her arms, it was heavier than she had anticipated. Kal lifted his head from his front paw when she returned to her classroom. “Kal, daddy sent a care package,” she told the dog.She opened the box, and the first thing she saw was a note written in Henry’s confident scrawl.

Cupcake -

Being here in Mexico City reminds me of you. I keep thinking how much you would love being here, and all of the of different things you would drag me to. By the time you get this, I will no doubt be in London already, but my beautiful señora, enjoy these delights from Mexico.

Full discretion, I had Dany translate for me so the shop owners would get exactly what I was thinking. I hope you enjoy everything, and I hope your students enjoy them also, since I know you’ll be sharing with them.

I love you more than words can say, and I’m counting the hours until I get to hold you in my arms again.

Love for always,

    - Darcy

Under the note from Henry Lucy found that the box was full of Mexican candies, both traditional things like turron and not so traditional like various suckers coated with chili powder, and gummies shaped like sombreros.

She laughed to herself as she pulled bag after bag of sweet delights from the box. She sorted the goodies into three piles; a pile to share with her students (the fruit suckers and gummy candies), a pile to share with her colleagues (the turrones and other baked goods), and a pile to keep for herself (most of the chocolates). At the very bottom of the box, she even found a treat for Kal.

“Kal, daddy sent you something,” Lucy said, waving the treat in his direction. Kal jumped up from his laying down position, his tail wagging fiercely as his tongue lolled out the side of his mouth. She threw him the treat, which he caught neatly in is mouth, then proceeded to lay down and chew on it.

Lucy snapped several pictures, one of the pile of goodies, one of Kal enjoying his treat, and one of herself giving him an incredulous face. She sent him all three pictures along with a short message. “I got a huge box of goodies today. This is too much! But thank you. Kal loves his treat, and I’m sure the kids will love theirs as well. Love you!”

Finally the day before Spring break arrived. The day dragged like no other day in her history had. Lucy had dropped Kal with her parents for the weekend, and had her suitcase in her car. She had managed to talk one of her colleagues into taking her last hour class, so, combined with her prep period, she could cut out two hours early, and make her early evening flight without having to speed too much to get to the airport.

It was after 10:30 by the time Lucy got to the hotel near Central Park. The lobby was almost empty, except for a few people making their way into or out of the hotel bar. Lucy approached the reception desk.

“Good evening madam, how may I help you?” The smartly dressed man behind the desk asked, with just the slightest hint of a British accent.

“Lucy Cavill, checking in, My husband is already checked in, I just need a key.”

“Certainly madam, I just need to see an ID before I can accommodate you.” Lucy handed over her driver’s license and watched as the man typed on the computer. He placed her license and a key card on the desk in front of her. “Thank you for waiting Mrs. Cavill. Your room is going to be number 2101, take the left bank of elevators, insert your key card into the slot, and it will take you to your floor. Enjoy your stay.”

Lucy thanked the man, and made her way to the elevators. As the elevator ascended, Lucy could feel a calm settling over her the closer she got to Henry. The elevator slowly glided to a stop, as the doors whispered open Lucy took hold of the handle of her suitcase, preparing to step out. She double checked the room number and looked up to see which way she should turn, when she saw him. Henry, leaning against the wall opposite the elevator, waiting for her. She smiled as tears filled her eyes.

She stepped out of the elevator as he pushed off from the wall grinning at her. “Excuse me miss, do you need help finding your room?” He asked, offering her his arm.

“Why thank you, I do get hopelessly lost without help,” she said playing along, taking his proffered arm.

He led her to the room, and waited as she unlocked the door.

She put a hand to his chest as he tried to follow her in, “excuse me sir, I am a married woman, my husband could be here at any moment.”

Henry stepped toward her, slowly gliding his hand around her waist to the small of her back. “That’s ok, I can be quick,” he said, dropping his mouth to hers while backing her into the room.

“You better not be,” Lucy said, stripping off her coat, before falling on him again.

Their hands made quick work of divesting each other of their clothing, leaving a trail of clothes from the door to the bedroom, while their mouths dueled passionately, trying to make up for lost time.

Henry gently lowered them to the bed, slowing his kisses to a more leisurely pace. He pressed slow kisses down her neck, his lips mapping her lines and curves, while his hands explored their way further south. His fingers worked their way to her core, tangling in her curls, finding her hot and ready for him. His fingers played over her folds, while his mouth sought her breast. He sucked one nipple deep into his mouth, his tongue playing over the tip. Lucy groaned in response.

“Henry, please, I need you,” she begged, her system feeling overloaded with sensation.

“No, no, darling. I want to savor this,” he teased, kissing his way to her other breast.

She grabbed his head in her hands, bringing his face back up to hers, looking him in the eye. “You can go slow next time. I need you now,” she said, taking his mouth in a possessive kiss.

“Whatever you want, darling,” Henry replied, sliding his fingers from her core. Lucy whimpered at the sudden loss of sensation, only to release a long groan of satisfaction as he thrust into her in one long smooth stroke, joining them completely. Neither of them moved for a long moment, staring into each other’s eyes, relishing the feeling of being together after so long. Lucy gasped as he slowly retreated, only to thrust home again, her every nerve ending tingling in anticipation.

He continued his torturously slow pace, teasing them both, until he couldn’t control himself anymore. His hips took on a frantic pace, pushing them both to climax, the whole time, their eyes remained locked together. Lucy screamed his name as she came apart in his arms, and he followed her, his body stiffening with the power of his climax.

Henry touched his forehead to Lucy’s, both of them breathing heavily. Lucy took his face between her palms, and kissed him deep, but sweetly. “I’ve missed you.” Henry rolled to the side, bringing Lucy with him. She lay sprawled across his chest as he lay on his back with his arms around her.

“Welcome to New York,” he quipped, once his breathing had returned to normal.

Lucy burrowed her nose into his chest, inhaling his masculine scent. “Mmmm, you smell good,” she commented, then stiffened, her head popping up off his chest. “That’s right, I’m mad at you,” she said, propping herself up on her elbow to look down at him.

“Me? What did I do?” He asked, genuinely confused.

“You, sir, have been doing copious amounts of interviews wearing these damned button down shirts, and you leave the top three buttons undone. That is just plain mean, and unnecessarily sexy. Do you know what it’s like for me to watch all these interviews of my husband, looking like god’s gift to women, then have to go to bed alone? So like I said, I’m mad at you.”

“Oh, my darling, I’m so sorry,” he said dramatically.

“Well, you’ve got about six weeks of sexual frustration to help me work off, so you better get to it,” she commanded.

He smiled while rolling her back onto her back, “yes ma’am,” he said, slowly kissing his way down her body.

Saturday morning, after an intense round of lovemaking, Lucy and Henry were eating breakfast in bed. “So, darling, what are your plans for the morning?”

“Apparently Dany has me booked into a bunch of spa treatments here, before it’s time to get ready for the premiere. So really I should ask you, what your plans are,” she said ripping off a piece of croissant.

“I will be at the spa as well. Apparently I’m in desperate need of a moisturizing treatment, or some such thing. Later I have a thing to do, so Dany will take you to the premiere, and I will meet you there,” Henry explained, munching on a strawberry.

“Is this that charity thing?” She asked, and Henry nodded in answer.

Lucy and Henry, dressed very casually in sweatpants and T-shirts, made their way to the spa several floors below their room. They stepped off the elevator and followed the signage to the spa. A tall man with dark hair was several paces ahead of them, walking in the same direction.

Henry called out to the man, “Ben!” The man slowed his pace and turned at Henry’s voice. “Ben, I’d like to introduce you to my wife, Lucy. Lucy this is Ben.”

Lucy stood frozen, staring up at the incredibly tall man standing next to her husband. He extended his hand toward her, “Lucy, it’s so great to finally meet you.”

Lucy took the hand, and shook it weakly, “It’s nice to meet you, Ben...Affleck…” she greeted, and giggled nervously.

“Are you enjoying New York?” Ben asked, trying to put her at ease, as the three continued on their way to the spa.

“I got in late last night, I had to work yesterday,” Lucy explained.

“Well, I, for one, am glad you could come, because I don’t know if I could take anymore of this one moping around like a love sick puppy,” Ben laughed, slapping Henry on the shoulder.

“Hey, be nice,” Lucy said in her teacher voice, “we haven’t even been married for three months. We’re literally in the honeymoon stage,” Lucy laughed.

“Well, Lucy, it was lovely to meet you, and I will see you later at the premiere. Bye Henry, see you later,” Ben said, walking off with the spa attendant.

Lucy and Henry were separated to go to their individual treatments. Lucy’s day started in the steam room. She was shown to a changing room and told to disrobe, wrap herself in a towel, and someone would collect her from the steam room when it was time. When Lucy entered the hot, moist tiled room, there were already two women in there, chatting. Lucy sat on one of the benches they weren’t occupying and leaned her head against the tiles. The women continued their conversation. Lucy tried not to eavesdrop, but the room wasn’t very big, and she was positive she recognized one of the voices.

“Excuse me,” she said butting into the conversation, “sorry to interrupt, but you’re Amy Adams aren’t you?” Lucy asked the red-headed woman.

“I am,” she answered warily.

Lucy stuck out her hand toward the woman. “Lucy Cavill, you’re my husband’s girlfriend.”

Instantly the woman’s face changed from a mask of uncertainty, to a full smile. “Lucy it’s so great to meet you finally. Henry’s told us so much about you,” she said, taking Lucy’s hand. “Congratulations on the wedding, by the way.”

“Thank you. It still doesn’t quite seem real, but the name plate outside my door says Mrs. Cavill, so, I guess it’s true!” Lucy joked.

“When did you two get married?” The other woman asked, with a slight accent that Lucy couldn’t place.

“New Year’s Eve, it was a great time, and a great party. I’m sorry, I don’t know you,” Lucy said extending her hand to the stunning brunette.

Amy jumped in, “Oh, Lucy, this is Gal. She’s in the movie too. She plays Wonder Woman.”

A light of recognition turned on in Lucy’s brain as the woman took her hand. “It’s very nice to meet you Lucy.”

“Likewise, Gal.”

The three women chatted like old friends until they were collected one by one, by the spa staff. Lucy spent the rest of the morning being rubbed and smeared and exfoliated. When she was deemed done, she was directed back to her room, where she found the suite much changed from that morning.

When she and Henry had left, the living room area of the suite held two couches and a coffee table. Now a full makeup station, complete with lighted vanity, and been set-up, and what appeared to be a small hair salon. Dany was also there, looking gorgeous in a black jumpsuit with a wide gold belt.

Dany greeted Lucy with a quick hug, before directing her to the chair set-up in the middle of the room. The hair stylist consulted with her about what she would like to do. “I was thinking, like old Hollywood glam curls, like Blake Lively is fond of,” she said.

The stylist got to work as Dany outlined everything that would happen that afternoon. Her hair was still in rollers, when Henry entered wearing a charcoal suit, and looking dashing as ever. “Darling, I have to leave now, but before I go, I wanted to give you this,” he said, producing a long flat rectangular jewelry box. “I love the dress you chose for tonight, but we just thought it could use some color,” he explained handing her the box.

She opened the box to find a bracelet in the velvet lined space. Blue teardrop opals were arranged around sapphires to create a grouping of flowers that gathered into a silver branch encircling her wrist. She raised her gaze to Henry, “Henry, this is too much, you shouldn’t have,” she protested.

He silenced her protests with a kiss, “I should have, and I did. I have to be going, I will see you on the red carpet. Dany, take care of my girl.”

“She can take care of herself, I’ll just make sure she looks fabulous. Now go, you don’t want to be late,” Dany shooed him out the door.

Over an hour later, Lucy was primped and painted and squeezed into the dress she chose. It was as beautiful as she remembered, and the silver nail polish she’d chosen at the salon earlier that week in Minnesota went perfectly.

She and Dany rode the elevator down to the parking garage where a limo was waiting to take them to the premiere. Once they were safely ensconced in the car, Dany reminded her, “now that you and Henry are married, the press will probably be more interested in you. Feel free to answer whatever questions you want, if you don’t want to answer the question, say that’s something you and Henry need to discuss. Make sure to always be smiling, even or especially when you’re not in the picture grouping. We don’t want rumors starting that there’s already trouble in your marriage.”

Lucy’s head was spinning trying to remember everything, but once she got to the waiting area and saw Henry, she just did what came naturally. Lucy stood nervously but proudly next to Henry for each photo session. When she wasn’t needed, Dany was there to talk to. She saw Henry gesture in her direction several times while talking to different media outlets, but he never waved her over to join him in the interview.

Finally the time came for them to sit down in the theater for the movie. When he appeared wearing his Clark Kent clothes, she leaned over and whispered, “you should wear glasses more often.”

“Just wait,” he whispered back, as Clark sat on the edge of the bathtub talking to Lois. Lucy gripped his thigh when Clark climbed into the tub.

“That was hot,” Lucy whispered, when the scene ended.

“That’s the short version, we filmed so much more than that,” he replied.

“There was more?” She asked, fanning herself.

As the movie came to a close, and they were exiting the theater, Lucy turned to Henry. “So, you’re just dead? Superman can’t die. Just give him some sunlight! How can they film a Justice League movie without Superman? I don’t understand.”

“I’m dead, but not dead,” he said before lowering his voice so only she could hear. “When I get home, I’ll let you read the script.”

“You better. You could have warned me that you were going to die. I really didn’t appreciate that!”

“I’m so sorry, darling, what can I do to make it up to you?” He asked suggestively.

“Well, that thing you did this morning, that would help,” she smiled at him.

“Consider it done, Cupcake,” he promised, pressing a kiss to her temple. “But until then, let’s party.”

They put in their time at the party. Lucy stuck with Henry for the most of the night. They received many congratulations on their marriage, and answered questions about the wedding all night. Lucy had a great conversation with Amy about life, and she gave Lucy some tips to remember about being married to an actor. Lucy found out later that someone had taken a picture of the two of them talking and posted it on one of the celebrity gossip sites, with the caption “Mrs. Cavill, and Mrs. Superman”.

Henry and Lucy said their goodbyes and took their leave of the party around midnight. Lucy laid her head on his shoulder as they rode the elevator up to their floor. They were both tired and more than a little tipsy. Once they were alone in their room, Henry’s hands began to roam, while his lips took nibbling bites of Lucy’s lips.

“You’re going to have to help me out of this dress,” Lucy said, “and what’s underneath it.”

Henry began to slowly lower the zipper of the dress, while kissing the back of her neck, “oh, I intend to.”

“No, I’m serious, I’m wearing a double layer of Spanx under this, I haven’t taken a full breath since you gave me the bracelet.”

“Well, then let’s get you out of them,” he insisted. She stepped out of the dress, and hung it up, before turning back to Henry in her decidedly unsexy compression underwear.

Henry walked toward her, he tried to work his fingers into the top of the band that stopped just under her breasts. His fingers wouldn’t fit. “Darling, how are you supposed to get out of that? It’s so tight,” he said, laughter in his voice.

“I think my best bet with this one is rolling,” she laughed, as she pressed her palms to the top of the band. It slowly started to roll over on itself. “You may want to step back, this could be a can biscuit dough situation,” she laughed holding her hand up toward him. Finally the support band rolled itself until it stopped at her thighs. She heaved a huge breath, pulling it off the rest of the way, before flopping on the bed on her back.

Henry himself had collapsed in a fit of giggles, from her expressions and comments. He managed to crawl over to the bed, and lever himself up next to Lucy. He propped himself up on his elbow and caressed her face with his hand. “My darling, life with you will never be boring,” he said, pressing a kiss to her lips.

Chapter 61           Chapter 63